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         *       *       *       *       *
             *       *       *       *
         *       *       *       *       *


                        THE

                 PALACE OF PLEASURE

                      VOL. II.


         *       *       *       *       *

                 *Ballantyne Press*
             Ballantyne, Hanson and Co.
                Edinburgh and London

         *       *       *       *       *


                        The

                *PALACE OF PLEASURE*

_Elizabethan Versions of Italian and French Novels_
  _from Boccaccio, Bandello, Cinthio, Straparola,_
            _Queen Margaret of Navarre,_
                    _and Others_


                 Done Into English

                By WILLIAM PAINTER


       _Now Again Edited For The Fourth Time_

                  By JOSEPH JACOBS


                      VOL. II.

        [Illustration (Publisher’s Device):
                 IN NUCE LIBELLUS]

  _London: Published by David Nutt in the Strand_

                      MDCCCXC




TABLE OF CONTENTS.

VOLUME II.

  TOME I.--_Continued._

   Novel                                         Page

   XLVII. Galgano and Madonna Minoccia              3
  XLVIII. Duke of Venice and Ricciardo              8
    XLIX. Filenio Sisterno                         18
       L. Muleteer’s Wife                          29
      LI. King of Naples                           32
     LII. Princess of Flanders                     38
    LIII. Amadour and Florinda                     45
     LIV. Duke of Florence                         75
      LV. Francis I. and Count Guillaume           81
     LVI. Lady of Pampeluna                        84
    LVII. Strange Punishment of Adultery           97
   LVIII. President of Grenoble                   101
     LIX. Gentleman of Perche                     104
      LX. Gentleman That Died of Love             107
     LXI. Lady of the French Court                113
    LXII. Rolandine                               116
   LXIII. The Prudent Lady                        135
    LXIV. Lady of Tours                           139
     LXV. Doctor of Laws                          142

  TOME II.

  Title                                           147
  Dedication                                      149
  Contents                                        154
  Authorities                                     158
       I. Amazons                                 159
      II. Alexander and Sisigambis                166
     III. Timoclia of Thebes                      172
      IV. Ariobarzanes                            176
       V. Aristotemus the Tyrant                  209
      VI. Tanaquil                                221
     VII. Sophonisba                              236
    VIII. Poris and Theoxena                      252
      IX. Lady of Hidrusa                         256
       X. Empress Faustina                        260
      XI. Two Maids of Carthage                   264
     XII. Letters of Trajan                       279
    XIII. Lamia, Flora, and Lais                  301
     XIV. Zenobia                                 311
      XV. Euphemia and Acharisto                  320
     XVI. Marchioness of Monferrato               338
    XVII. Ansaldo and Dianora                     342
   XVIII. Mithridanes and Nathan                  348
     XIX. Katharine of Bologna                    355
      XX. Thorello and Saladin                    363
     XXI. Anne of Hungary                         383
    XXII. Alexander De Medici                     406




  THE PALACE OF

  _Pleasure Beautified_

  *adorned and well furnished*

  vvith pleaſaunt Hiſtories and

  *excellent Nouels, ſelected out

  of diuers good and commendable Authours*


  *By William Painter, Clarke*
  of the Ordinaunce and Armorie


    ¶ Eftſones peruſed corrected
    and augmented


  1575
  IMPRINTED AT LONDON
  _by Thomas Marſhe._




*The Palace of Pleasure.*

THE FORTY-SEUENTH NOUELL.

  _A gentleman called Galgano, long time made sute to Madonna
  Minoccia: her husband sir Stricca (not knowing the same) diuers
  times praised and commended Galgano, by reason whereof, in the
  absence of her husband, she sent for him, and yelded herself vnto
  him, tellinge him what wordes her husbande had spoken of him, and
  for recompence he refused to dishonest her._


In the Citie of Siena in Italie there was a rich yong Gentleman
called Galgano, borne of noble birth, actiue, and wel trained in
al kinde of exercise, valiaunt, braue, stoute and curteous, in
the maners and orders of all countries verye skilfull. This
Galgano loued a Gentlewoman of Siena named Madonna Minoccia, the
wyfe of sir Stricca a comely knight, and wore in his apparell
the colour and deuises of his Lady, bearing the same vppon his
helmet and armour, in all Iustes, Tourneyes and triumphes,
obseruing noble feastes and banquettes for her sake. But for all
those costly, sumptuous and noble practises, this Lady Minoccia
in no wyse would giue eare vnto his sutes. Wherfore Galgano at
his wittes ende, was voyde of aduise what to do or saye, seing
the great crueltie and rigor raigning in her breste, vnto whom
hee dayle prayed for better successe and fortune than to
himselfe. There was no feast, banquet, triumph, or mariage, but
Galgano was there, to do her humble seruice, and that daye his
minde was not pleased and contented, wherein he had not seene
her that had his louing harte in full possession. Very many
times (like a Prince that coueted peace) he sente Ambassadours
vnto her, wyth presentes and messages, but she (a proude and
scornefull Princesse) dayned neither to heare them or receiue
them. And in this state stode this passionate Louer a longe
time, tormented with the exceeding hote Loue and fealtie that he
bare her. And many times making his reuerent complaints to loue,
did say: “Ah Loue, my deare and soueraigne Lorde, how cruell and
hard harted art thou, how vnmercifully dealest thou with me,
rather how deaf be thine eares, that canst not recline the same
to my nightly complaintes, and dailye afflictions; How chaunceth
it that I do in this maner consume my ioyfull dayes with pining
plaintes? Why doest thou suffer me to Loue, and not to be
beloued?” And thus oftentimes remembringe the crueltie of loue,
and his ladies tyrrany, hee began to dye in maner like a wight
replete with despaire. But in fine, he determined paciently to
abide the good time and pleasure of Loue, still hoping to finde
mercie: and daily gaue himselfe to practise and frequent those
thinges that might be acceptable and pleasant to his Lady, but
shee still persisted inexorable. It chaunced that sir Stricca
and his fayre wyfe, for their solace and recreation, repaired to
one of their houses hard by Siena: and upon a time, Galgano
passing by with a Sparhauke on his fiste, made as though he went
on Hauking, but of purpose onely to see his lady. And as he was
going by the house, sir Stricca espied him, and went forth to
meete him, and familiarly taking him by the hand, prayed him to
take parte of his supper with his wyfe and him: for which
curtesie Galgano gaue him thanckes, and said: “Sir, I do thancke
you for your curteous requeste, but for this time I pray you to
hold me excused, because I am going about certaine affayres very
requisite and necessary to be done.” Then sayde sir Stricca: “At
least wise drincke with mee before you depart.” But giuing him
thankes he bad him farewell. Maister Stricca seing that hee
could not cause him to tary, toke his leaue, and retourned into
his house. Galgano gone from maistre Stricca, sayd to himselfe:
“Ah, beast that I am, why did I not accept his offer? Why should
shamefastness let me from the sight of her, whom I loue better
than all the world besides.” And as he was thus pensife in
complaintes his spaniells sprong a Partrich, wherat he let flee
his Hauke, and the Partrich flying into sir Stricca his garden,
his Hauke pursued and seassed vppon the same. Maister Stricca
and his Ladye hearinge that pastime, ranne to the garden window,
to see the killing of the Partrich: and beholding the valiante
skirmishe betweene the foule and the hauke, the lady asked whose
hauke it was: her husband made aunswere that he knew well
inoughe the owner, by the goodnesse and hardines of the same.
“For the owner of this hauke (quoth hee) is the trimmest and
most valiaunt gentleman in all Siena, and one indued with beste
qualities.” The lady demaunded what he was? “Maister Galgano
(said her husband,) who euen now passed by the gate, and I
prayed him very earnestly to supper, but hee woulde not be
intreated. And truly wyfe, he is the comliest gentleman, and
moste vertuous personage, that euer I knewe in my life.” With
those wordes they wente from the windowe to supper: and Galgano,
when he had lured his Hauke, departed awaye. The Lady marked
those words and fixed them in minde. It fortuned within a while
after, that sir Stricca was by the state of Siena sent in
ambassage to Perugia, by reason wherof, his Lady at home alone,
so sone as her husband had taken his iourney, sent her most
secrete and trustie maide, to intreat maister Galgano, to come
and speake with her. When the message was done to Galgano,
(if his heart were on a merie pinne, or whether his spirits
dulled with continuall sorrowe were againe reuiued, they knowe
that most haue felte the painefull pangues of Loue, and they
also whose flesh haue beene pearced wyth the amorous arrowes of
the little boy Cupide:) he made aunswere that hee would
willingly come, rendringe thanckes both to the maistresse and
maide, the one for her paine, and the other for her good
remembraunce. Galgano vnderstanding that sir Stricca was gone to
Perugia, in the eueninge at conuenient time, repaired to the
house of her whose sight he loued better than his owne eyes. And
being come before his Lady, with great submission and reuerence
hee saluted her, (like those whose hartes do throbe, as
foretellinge the possession of good tournes and benefites, after
which with longe sute and trauaile they haue aspired) wherewith
the Lady delighted, very pleasantly took him by the hande, and
imbracing him, said: “Welcome mine owne sweet Galgano, a hundred
times I say welcome.” And for the time with kisses, makinge
truce with their affections, the lady called for comfictes and
wyne. And when they had dronke and refreshed themselues, the
lady toke him by the hande and said: “My sweete Galgano, night
beginneth to passe awaye, and the time of sleepe is come,
therefore let vs yeld our selues to the seruice and commaundment
of our very good Ladye, madame Cytherea, for whose sake I
intreated you to come hither.” Galgano aunswered, that he was
very wel contented. Being within the chamber, after much
pleasaunte talke and louing discourse betweene them, the Lady
did put of her clothes, and went to bed. Galgano being somewhat
bashfull, was perceyued of the Lady, vnto whom she said: “Me
thincke, Galgano, that you be fearful and shamefast. What do you
lacke? Do I not please you? Doth not my personage content you?
Haue you not the thing which you desire?” “Yes madame,” said
Galgano: “God himself could not do me a greater pleasure, than
to suffer me to be cleped within your armes.” And reasoning in
this sort, he put of his clothes also, and laide himselfe by
her, whom he had coueted and desired of long time. Being in the
bed, he said: “Madame, I beseech you graunt me one resquest.”
“What is that, Galgano?” (quoth she.) “It is this, madame,” said
Galgano: “I do much maruell, why this night aboue all other, you
haue sent for mee: considering how long I haue bin a suter vnto
you, and although I haue prosecuted my sute, by great expence
and trauaile, yet you would never yelde before now: what hath
moued you now thus to do?” The Lady answered: “I wil tell you
sir: true it is, that not many dayes agoe, passing by this
house, with your Hauke on your fiste, my husband told me that so
sone as he sawe you, he wente oute to meete you, of purpose to
intreate you to supper, but you would not tarrie: then your
Hauke pursued a Partrich, euen into my garden, and I seing the
Hauke so egerly seasing vpon the same, demaunded of my husband
whose Hauke it was. He told me that the Hauke did belong to the
most excellent yong man of all Siena: and that he neuer in all
his life knewe a gentleman better accomplished with all vertues
and good qualities, and therewithal gaue vnto you singuler
prayse and commendacion. Whereuppon hearing him in such wise to
prayse you, and knowing righte well your affectionate minde and
disposition towards mee, my hart attached with loue, forced me
to sende for you that I mighte hereafter auoyde disdaine and
other scornefull demeaner, to impeache or hinder your loue: and
this briefely is the cause.” “Is this true?” said Galgano. “Most
certaine and true,” aunsweared the Lady.” “Was there no other
occasion?” “No, verely:” said the lady. “God defend,” (quoth
Galgano,) “that I should recompence the curtesie and good will
of so noble a gentleman (as your husband is) with reproch and
villany. Is it meete that good turnes should be requited with
vnkindnes? If euer man had cause to defende the honor of his
vnknowen frend, cause haue I right good and apte. For now
knowinge such a frende, that would by vertuous reportes haue
aduaunced me to higher matters, than wherof I am in possession,
should I reward with pollucion of his stocke and wife? No, no,
lady! my raginge sute by loue, is by vertue quenched. Vertue
onely hath staunched the flames of vile affections. Seeke
another frende, to glut your lecherous minde. Finde out some
other companion, to coole thy disordinate loue. Shal I be
disloyal to him, that hath been faithfull vnto me? Shall I be
traytor to him, that frendly hath commended me? What can be more
required of humane hearte, or more desired of manlike mind, but
wilfull bente, and fixed to do him good, that neuer erst by
iuste desert deserued the same.” With which wordes sodenly hee
lept out of the bed, and when he had furnished himselfe againe
with his apparell, hee also put vppon him vertuous friendship,
and takinge his leaue of the Lady, neuer after that time he gaue
himself to matters of Loue. And maister Stricca he continually
obserued both with singuler loue and dutifull friendship:
whereby it is vncertaine whether was most singuler in him, his
continency at the very instante by refrayning that vehement
heate of loue, which so long time with great trauaile and coste
he had pursued, or his regard of frendship to sir Stricca vppon
wordes of commendacion spoken behinde his backe. Both no doubte
be singuler vertues meete for all men to be obserued: but the
subduing of his affections surmounted and passed.




THE FORTY-EIGHTH NOUELL.

  _Bindo a notable Architect, and his sonne Ricciardo, with all his
  familie, from Florence went to dwell at Venice where being made
  Citizens for diuers monuments by them done there, throughe
  inordinate expences were forced to robbe the treasure house. Bindo
  beinge slaine by a pollicie deuised by the Duke and state, Ricciardo
  by fine subtelties deliuereth himselfe from foure daungers.
  Afterwards the Duke (by his owne confession) vnderstandinge the
  sleightes, giueth him his pardon and his doughter in marriage._


In the goodly citie of Venice there was once a duke, that was a
noble gentleman and of greate experience and wisedome, called
Valeriano di messer Vannozzo Accettani. In the chiefest Churche
of which Citie called San Marco, there was a steple, very faire
and sumptuous, and of greatest fame of any thinge at that time
that was in Venice, which steeple was like to fall downe by
reason of certaine faultes and decayes in the foundacion.
Wherfore the Duke caused to be searched thorow out all Italie,
some cunning workeman that would take in hand the reparacion and
amendmente of the same: with promise of so much money as he
would demaund for doing thereof. Whereuppon an excellent
Architect of Florence, named Bindo, hearing tel of this offer,
determined to go to Venice for the accomplishmente of that
worke, and for that purpose with his onelye sonne and wyfe, hee
departed Florence. And when he had seene and surueyed the
steeple, he went straight to the Duke, and told him that he was
come thither to offer his seruice for repayringe of the same,
whom the Duke curteously intertayned and prayed him, that he
would so sone as he coulde begin that worke. Whereunto Bindo
accorded, and wyth great diligence and small time he finished
the same, in better forme and surety than it was at the first:
which greatly pleased the Duke, and gaue Bindo so much money as
he demaunded, making him besides a Citizen of Venice, for the
maintenaunce of whose state, hee allotted him a sufficient
stipend: afterwards the Duke called him vnto him, and declared
that he would haue a Treasure house made, wherein should be
disposed and layde vp all the Treasure and common ornamentes for
the furniture of the whole Citie, which Bindo by and by toke
vppon him to do, and made it of such singuler beautie, as it
excelled all the monuments of the Citie, wherein all the said
Treasure was bestowed. In which worke hee had framed a stone by
cunninge, that mighte be remoued at pleasure, and no man
perceiue it: meaning thereby to goe into the Chamber when he
liste: whereunto none in all the world was priuie but himselfe.
When this Palace and Treasure house was done, he caused all the
furnitures of Silkes, hanginges, wrought with Golde, Canapees,
clothes of state, riche Chayres, Plate, and other Ornaments of
Golde and Siluer to be caried thither, whiche he called La
Turpea del Doge, and was kept vnder fiue keyes: whereof foure
were deliuered to foure of the chiefe Citizens, deputed to that
office, which were called Chamberlaynes of the Treasure house,
and the fift keye the Duke himselfe did keepe, so that the
Chamber coulde not bee opened excepte they were all fiue
presente. Nowe Bindo and his famelie dwelling at Venice, and
beinge a citizen there, beganne to spende liberallye and to liue
a riche and wealthye life, and hys sonne Ricciardo consumed
disordinatelye, whereby in space of time, they wanted Garmentes
to furnishe their bodies, whiche they were not able to maintaine
for their inordinate expences: wherefore the father vpon a night
calling his sonne vnto him, got a ladder, and a certaine yron
instrumente made for the purpose, and taking also with him a
litle lime, went to the hole, which Bindo artificially had made,
who taking out the stone, crept in, and toke out a faire cup of
gold, which was in a closet, and afterward he wente out,
cowching the stone againe in due place. And when they were come
home, they brake the cup and caused it to be solde by peece
meale, in certaine Cities of Lombardie. And in this sorte, they
maintayned their disordinate life begonne. It chaunced not long
after, that a Cardinall arriued at Venice, about affayres with
the Duke, and the state, who the more honorablie to receiue him,
opened the Treasure house to take oute certaine furnitures
within, as plate, clothes of state, and other thinges. When the
dore was opened, and had taken out the saide necessaries, they
founde a cuppe lesse than oughte to be, wherewith the
Chamberlaines contended amonge themselues, and wente to the
Duke, telling him that there wanted a cuppe: whereat the Duke
marueiled, and said that amonges them it must needes be gone.
And after many denialls, and much talke, he willed them to saye
nothing, till the Cardinall was departed. When the Cardinall was
come, he was receyued with honorable interteignemente, and
beinge departed, the Duke sente for the foure Chamberlaines, to
consult about the losse of the cup, commaunding them not to
departe the Palace before the same was found, saying that amongs
them it muste needes be stolen. These four persons being
together, and debating how and by what meanes the cup should be
taken away, were at their wittes ende. At length one of them
saide: “Let vs consider whether ther bee anye comminge into the
Chamber besides the doore.” And viewinge it they coulde not
perceiue anye entrie at all. And to proue the same more
effectuallye, they strawed the chamber aboute with fyne fifted
chaffe, setting the same on fier, which done, they shutte fast
the windowes and doores, that the smoke and smoulder might not
goe out. The force of which smoke was sutche as it issued
through the hole that Bindo made, whereby they perceiued the way
howe the robbery was committed, and went to the Duke to tell him
what they had done. The duke vnderstanding the fact, wylled them
to saye nothing, for that he woulde deuise a pollicie how to
take the theefe: who caused to be brought into the chamber a
caldron of pitche, and placed it directly vnder the hole,
commaunding that a fyre should be kept daye and night vnder the
caldron, that the same might continually boyle. It come to passe
that when the money was spent which the father and sonne had
receiued for the cup, one night they went agayne to the hole,
and remouing the stone, the father went in as he did before, and
fell into the caldron of pitche (which continually was boyling
there) vp to the waste, and not able to liue any longer, he
called his sonne vnto him, and fayde: “Ricciardo myne owne
sweete sonne, death hath taken me prysoner, for halfe my body is
dead, and my breath also is ready to departe. Take my head with
thee, and burie it in some place that it be not knowen, which
done, commend me to thy mother, whome I pray thee to cherishe
and comforte, and in any wyse take hede that warely and
circumspectlye thou doe departe from hence: and if any man do
aske for me, say that I am gone to Florence about certaine
businesse.” The sonne lamentably began to lament his father’s
fortune, saying: “Oh deare father, what wicked furie hath thus
cruelly deuised sodaine death.” “Content thy selfe, my sonne,”
sayd the father, “and be quiet, better it is that one should
dye, than twoo, therefore doe what I haue tolde thee, and fare
well.” The sonne tooke vp his father’s head, and went his waye,
the reste of his bodye remayned in the caldron, like a block
without forme. When Ricciardo was come home, he buried his
father’s head so well as he could, and afterwardes tolde his
mother what was become of his father, who vnderstanding the
maner of his death, began piteously to cry out, to whom her
sonne holding up his hands, sayd: “Good mother holde your peace,
and geue ouer your weeping: for our life is in great perill and
daunger, if your outcrie be heard. Therefore good mother, quiet
yourselfe, for better it were for vs to liue in poore estate,
than to die with infamie, to the vtter reproche and shame of all
our familie.” With whiche woordes he appeased her. In the
morning the bodye was founde and caried to the Duke, who
maruelled at it, and could not deuise what he should be, but
sayd: “Surely there be two that committed this robberie, one of
them we haue, let vs imagine how we may take the other.” Then
one of the foure Chamberlaines sayd: “I haue found out a trap to
catche the other, if it will please you to heare mine aduise,
which is this: Impossible it is, but this theefe that is dead,
hath either wife, children, or some kinsman in the citie, and
therfore let vs cause the bodie to be drawen throughout the
streates, and geue diligent hede whether anye persone doe
complaine or lament his death: and if any such be found, let him
be taken and examined: which is the next way as I suppose, to
finde out his companion.” Which being concluded, they departed.
The body was drawen throughout the citie with a guard of men
attending vpon the same: as the executioners passed by the house
of Bindo, whose carcasse laye vppon the hurdle, his wyfe stode
at the wyndowe, and seing the body of her husband so vsed, made
a great outcrie. At whiche noyse the sonne spake to his mother
and sayde: “Alas, mother, what do you?” And beholding his
father’s corps vpon the hurdle, he toke a knife and made a great
gashe into his hande, that the bloud aboundantly issued out. The
guarde hearing the noyse that the woman made, ran into the
house, and asked her what she lacked. The sonne answered: “I was
caruing a peece of stone with this knife, and by chaunce I hurt
my hande, which my mother seeyng cryed out, thynking that I had
hurt myselfe more than I haue.” The guarde seeing his hande all
bloudy and cut, did belieue it to be true, and from thence went
round about the liberties of the Citie, finding none that seemed
to lament or bewayle that chaunce. And returning to the Duke,
they tolde him howe all that labour was imployed in vayne,
whereupon he appointed them to hang vp the dead body in the
market-place, with secret watche in like maner, to espie if any
person by day or night, would come to complaine or be
sorrowefull for him. Which body was by the feete hanged vp
there, and a continuall watche appointed to kepe the same. The
rumor hereof was bruted throughout the Citie, and euery man
resorted thither to see it. The woman hearing tell that her
husbandes carcasse should be hanged vp in the market-place,
saide diuerse times to her sonne, that it was a very great shame
for him to suffer his father’s body in that shamefull sort to be
vsed. To whom her sonne made answere, saying: “Good mother, for
God’s sake be contented, for that whiche they do is for none
other purpose, but to proue me: wherefore be pacient a while,
till this chaunce be past.” The mother not able to abide it any
longer, brake out many times into these words: “If I were a man
as I am a woman, it should not be vndone now: and if thou wilt
not aduenture thy selfe, I will one night giue the attempt.” The
yong man seing the froward nature of his mother, determined to
take away the body by this policie. He borrowed twelve friers
frockes or cowles, and in the euening went downe to the hauen,
and hired twelue mariners, and placed them in a backe house,
geuing them so much meate and drinke as they woulde eate. And
when they had well whitled and tippled themselues, he put vpon
them those friers cowles, with visards vppon their faces, and
gaue euery of them in their hands a burning torch, making them
to seme as though they had ben Diuels of hel: and he himself
rode vpon a horse al couered with blacke, beset rounde about
with monstrous and vglie faces, euerye of them hauinge a burnyng
candle in his mouthe, and riding before with a visarde of
horrible shape vpon his head, sayde vnto them: “Doe as I doe:”
and then marched forward to the market-place. When they came
thether they ran vp and downe with roring voyces crying out like
Deuils being then past midnight and very darke. When the watche
sawe that straunge sight they were affrayde, thinking that they
had bene Deuils indeede, and that he on horsebacke in that forme
had ben the great Deuill Lucifer himselfe. And seing him runne
towardes the gibet, the watche toke their legges and ran away.
The yong man in the shape of the great Deuill toke downe the
body and layd it before him on horsebacke, who calling his
companie away, roode before in poste. When they were come home,
he gaue them their money, and vncasing them of their cowles sent
them away, and afterwardes buried the body so secretly as he
could. In the morning newes came to the Duke that the bodye was
taken awaye, who sent for the guarde to knowe what was become
thereof. To whome they sayde these wordes: “Pleaseth your grace,
about midnight last past there came into the market-place a
companie of Deuils, among whom we sawe the great deuil Lucifer
himselfe, who as wee suppose did eate vp the bodye, which
terrible sight and vision made vs to take our legges.” The Duke
by those wordes perceiued euidently that the same was but a
practise to deceiue them of their purpose, notwithstanding he
determined once again to deuise some meanes in the ende to knowe
the truthe, and decreed a constitucion that for the space of xx
dayes no fresh meate shoulde be solde in Venice: at which decree
all the citie marueiled. Afterwardes he caused a verie faire
fatte calfe to be solde, sessing the price of euery pounde at a
fiorino, which amounteth to a French crowne or thereaboutes, and
willed hym that solde it to note and marke them that bought it:
thinking with himselfe, that he which is a theefe is licorous of
mouth delicate in fare and would not stick to geue a good price,
although it cost him a French crown for euery pound: making
proclamation, that he which would buye any fresh meate should
resort to the market-place where was to bee solde. All the
Marchaunts and Gentlemen repaired to buye some of the veale, and
vnderstanding that euery pound would not be solde under a
Frenche crowne, they bought none at all. This calfe and the
price was bruted in all places, and came to the knowledge of the
mother of this yong man, who said vnto her sonne: “I haue a
minde to eate some of the veale, now solde in the market.”
Ricciardo aunswered. “Mother make no haste to buye it, first let
it be cheapened by other, and at length I will deuise a meane
that you shall have it: for it is not wysedome for vs to be the
firste that shall desire it.” The mother like an ignoraunt and
vnskilfull woman, was importunate to haue it. The sonne fearing
that his mother would sende for some of the veale, by other,
caused a Pie to be made, and prepared a flagon full of wyne,
both which were intermixed with thinges to cause sleepe, and
taking bread, the sayd Pie, and the flagon of wyne, when it was
night, putting on a counterfait beard, and cloke, went to the
stall where that veale was to bee solde, which as yet was whole
and vnbought. And when he had knocked at the shop dore, one of
the guard asked who was there. To whom Ricciardo said: “Can you
tel me wher one Ventura doth kepe his shop?” Of whom one of them
demaunded what Ventura? “I know not his surname,” sayde
Ricciardo, “that I would he had bene hanged, when I came first
to dwell with him.” “Why who sent thee?” said one of the guarde.
“His wyfe (quod Ricciardo) who bade me cary him this meate and
wyne for his supper: but I pray you (sayde Ricciardo,) let me
leaue the same with you, till I goe home to know better where he
kepeth his stall. And maruell not, my maisters, though I know
not where his shop is, for it is not long sithens I came to
dwell in this Citie.” And so leauing behind him the Pie, and the
bread with the flagon of wyne, he made haste to departe, and
tolde them that he wold come againe by and by. When he was gone,
one of them toke the flagon and drancke, and afterwardes gaue it
to his companion, and said: “Drinke, for thou neuer diddest tast
of better wyne in all thy life.” His companion dranke, and
merily communing of this matter, they fel a sleepe. Ricciardo
loking in at a hole of the dore, seing them a slepe, went in,
and toke the calfe, and caried it home whole as it was, and
saide to his mother: “Hold, mother, there is your luste, cut it
out:” and by and by she cut out a great pece. The duke so sone
as he heard that the calfe was stolen, and the maner howe, did
wonder very muche, purposing yet to knowe what hee was: and
caused a hundred poore people to come before him, whose names
being written, he said vnto them: {“}Get ye to all the houses in
Venice, vnder colour to begge almes. And marke if you see in any
house fleshe dressed, or any pece in making ready to be eaten at
the fier, which if you doe, ye must be importunate in begging,
till they giue you either flesh or broth. And he among all you
that shal bring me the first newes, I wil giue him xx crownes.”
These beggers dispersed themselues into euery corner of the
Citie, crauing their almes, amongs whom one of them asked his
almes at the house of Ricciardo, and approching nere, espied
openly fleshe at the spit, and besought a morsell thereof for
God’s sake: to whom the vndiscrete woman seeing that she had
plentye, gaue a litle pece. The poore man thanked the good wife,
and prayed God to saue her life. And as hee was going down the
steps of the dore, Ricciardo met him with the flesh in his hand.
Wherewithal astonned, he willed him to retourne, and sayde he
would giue him more. The begger glad of that, went in againe,
whome Ricciardo caried into his chamber, and when he was within,
he strake suche a full blowe vpon his head with an axe, as he
killed hym, and threwe him into a iakes, shutting the doore
after him. In the euening, these poore men retourned to the
duke, according to their promise, and sayde they coulde finde
nothing. The Duke called them by their names, and compting the
number founde one lesse than he had sent, whereat he maruelled.
And after he had well aduised with himselfe, what should become
of him that lacked, he sayde: “Certainely the poore man is
Slayne.” Then causing the councell to be assembled, he declared
what he had done: and yet sayde that it were meete the party
were knowen. Whereunto one of the Senatours sayde: {“}Your grace
hath duely made search by the belly and mouth, to finde out this
verlet: I thinke it nowe necessarie that triall be made by
lechery, whiche commonly accompanieth licorous mouthes.” Then it
was concluded that the moste riotous and lecherous yong men,
suche as the Duke had in greatest suspicion, to the number of
XXV. should be warned to appeare before him: whiche accordingly
was done, amonges whome was this Ricciardo. These yonge roisters
assembled in the palace, euery of them maruelled wherefore the
Duke had caused them to come thether. Afterwarde the Duke
commaunded XXV. beddes to be made in one of his great chambers,
to lodge euery of the sayd XXV. persons by hymself, and in the
middes of the chamber he commaunded a riche bed of estate to be
set vp and furnished, wher was appointed to ly his own daughter,
which was an exceading faire creature. And in the night when
these yong men were layde in their beddes, manye gentlewomen
attendant vpon the Lady, came in to bryng her to her lodging:
and her father deliuered to her a sawcer full of black die, or
stayning, and saide vnto her: “If any of these yong men that doe
lie here by thee, doe offer to come to thy bedde, looke that
thou marke him in the face with this staining colour, that he
may be knowen.” At which wordes all the yong men maruelled and
therefore durste not attempt to goe vnto her, but said one to
another: “Surely this commaundement of the Duke hath some
secrete misterie in it.” Notwithstanding Ricciardo determined
about midnight to go to her bedde: and when the candle was out
being a wake of purpose, he rose vp and went to the
gentlewoman’s bedde and began to imbrace and kisse her. The
maiden when she felt him, sodainly dipped her finger in the
colour and stained his face, not perceiued of him. When he had
accomplished the thing he came for, hee retourned to his place:
and then began to imagin vpon the Duke’s wordes, and for what
policie he spake them. And lying a litle while still musing vpon
the same, he went againe to the gentlewoman’s bedde, hauing
throughly disposed himself to the pleasures of this paradise
lambe: and perceiuing her to dippe her finger in the sawcer and
rubbe his face, Ricciardo toke away the sawcer from the bedde’s
side, and round about bestowed the colour vpon the faces of his
felowes, who were so faste a sleepe that they did not fele him.
Some he marked with two spottes, some with six and some with X.
himselfe he painted but with foure besides those wherewith
already he was berayed by the gentlewoman: whiche done he set
the saucer agayne by the bedde’s side, and when he had bidden
her farewell, faire and softly he returned againe to his bedde.
In the morning betimes, the damosels of the chamber came in to
helpe the ladye to make her readye, which done they wayted vpon
her to the duke, who asked her how the matter stode. She
aunswered well, for she had done his commaundement: and tolde
him howe one came vnto her three times, and euery time she gaue
him a tainte in his face. The duke by and by sent for them that
were of his counsell. To whome he said: “Sirs, I haue founde out
this good fellow, and therfore I haue sent for you, that we
altogether may goe to see him.” They went all into the chamber,
and viewing them round about, they perceiued all their faces
coloured, whereat they fell into a great laughter: then one of
them sayde to another: “Suerly this fellowe hath the subtilest
head that euer was knowen:” and concluded that one of the
company had set that colour in their faces. The yong men
beholding one another paynted in that sorte, brake into great
sporte and pastime. Afterwardes the duke examined euery of them,
and seeing that he was not able by any meanes to vnderstande by
whome it was done, he determined to knowe the man before he
departed, and promised to him that should confesse the truthe,
to giue his daughter to him in mariage, and with her a very
great dowrie, and a generall pardon. Wherefore Ricciardo
vnderstanding the duke’s minde, toke him asyde, and tolde hym
the whole matter particularly from the beginning to the ende.
The duke imbraced hym, and gaue him his pardon, and with great
ioye and triumphe he solemnized the mariage betwene hym and his
daughter. Wherewithal Ricciardo encouraged, proued a very stoute
and valiaunt man in suche wyse almoste as the affaires of the
whole state passed through his handes. And liued a long time
after, with the loue and good wyll of the whole cominaltie of
Venice.




THE FORTY-NINTH NOUELL.

  _Philenio Sisterno, a Scholler of Bologna, being mocked of three
  faire Gentlewomen, at a banket made of set purpose he was reuenged
  on them all._


At Bologna, whiche is the noblest citie of Lombardie, the mother
of studies, and accomplished with al things nedefull and
requisite for sutch a florishing state, there was a yong
scholler, a Gentleman of the countrie of Crete named Philenio
Sisterno, of very good grace and behauiour. It chanced that in
his time, there was a great feast made in the citie, wherunto
were bidden the fayrest dames, and beste of reputation there:
there was likewyse many Gentlemen and Schollers of Bologna,
amonges whom was this Philenio Sisterno: who followyng the
manner of young men, dallying sometime with one, sometime with
another, and perceiuing them for his purpose determined to
daunce with one of them: and comming to one whiche was called
Emerentiana, the wyfe of sir Lamberto Bentiuoglia, hee prayed
her to daunce: who, beyng verie gentle and of no less audacitie
than beautiful, refused not. Then Philenio leading forth the
daunce very softly, sometymes wrynging her by the hand, spake
somewhat secretly vnto her these wordes: “Madame, your beautie
is so great, that without doubt it surmounteth all that ever I
sawe, and there is no woman in the world to whome I beare so
great affection, as to your persone, whiche if it were
correspondent to me in Loue, I would thinke myself the beste
contented man in the world, otherwyse I shall in shorte tyme bee
depriued of life, and then you shall be the cause of my death:
and louing you (Madame) as I doe, and as my dutie requireth, you
ought to take me for your seruaunt, vsing me and those litle
goodes whiche I haue as your owne: and I doe assure you, that it
is impossible for me to receiue greater fauour from heauen, then
to see myselfe subiecte to sutch a gentlewoman, as you be,
whiche hath taken me in a nette lyke a byrde.” Nowe Emerentiana,
whiche earnestly had marked those sweet and pleasaunt woordes,
like a wyse gentlewoman, semed to geue no eare thereunto, and
made him no aunswere at all. The daunce ended, and Emerentiana
being set down in her place, this young scholler went to take
another gentlewoman by the hand, and began to daunce with her:
whiche was not so sone begonne, but thus he said vnto her: “It
nedeth not Madame, that by woordes I doe expresse the feruant
Loue which I beare you, and will so doe, so long as my poore
spirite shall gouerne and rule my members: and if I could
obtaine you for my Maistresse and singuler Ladye, I would thinke
myself the happiest man aliue. Then louing you as I do, and
being wholly yours, as you may easely vnderstand, refuse me not
I besech you for your humble seruaunt, sithe that my life and
all that I haue dependeth vpon you alone.” The yong gentlewoman,
whose name was Panthemia, perceiuing his meaning, did not
aunswere him any thing at that time: but honestly proceded in
her daunce: and the daunce ended, smyling a litle, she sat downe
with the other dames. This done, amorous Philenio rested not
vntil he had taken the thirde by the hand, (who was the
gentlest, fairest, and trimmest dame in all Bologna,) and began
to daunce with her, romyng abrode, to shewe his cunning before
them that came to behold him. And before the daunce was
finished, he saide thus vnto her: “Madame, it may so be, as I
shall seme vnto you very malapert to manifest the secret Loue
that I haue and doe beare you at this instant, for which you
ought not to blame me but your beautie, which rendreth you
excellent aboue al the rest, and maketh me your slaue and
prysoner. I speake not of your commendable behauiour, of your
excellent and maruellous vertues, which be such and of so great
effect, as they would make the gods descend to contemplate the
same. If then your excellent beautie and shape, so well fauoured
by nature, and not by art, may seeme to content the immortall
Gods, you ought not to be offended, if the same do constraine me
to loue you, and to inclose you in the priuie cabane of my
harte: I beseeche you then, gentle Madame (the onely comfort of
my life) to haue pitie vpon him that dieth a thousand times a
daye for you. In so doing, my life shall be prolonged by you,
commending me humbly vnto your good grace.” This faire
gentlewoman called Simphorosia, vnderstanding the sweete and
pleasaunt woordes vttered from the very harte of Philenio, could
not dissemble her sighes, but waying her honor, because she was
maried, gaue him no answere at all. And the daunce ended, she
retourned to her place. Nowe it chaunced, as these three ladies
did sit together iocundly disposed to debate of sundrie mery
talke, behold Emerentiana, the wife of Seignior Lamberto, not
for any euill, but in sporting wise said vnto her companions:
“Gentlewomen, I haue to tell you a pleasaunt matter which
happened to this day.” “What is that?” said her companions.
“I haue gotten this night, (said she) in dauncing, a curteous
louer, a very faire Gentleman, and of so good behauiour as any
in the worlde: who said that he was so inflamed with my beauty
that he tooke no rest day nor night:” and from point to point,
rehearsed vnto them, all that he had said. Which Panthemia and
Simphorosia vnderstanding, answered that the like had chaunced
vnto them, and they departed not from the feaste before eche of
theim knewe him that was their louer: whereby they perceiued
that his woordes proceded not of faithfull Loue, but rather of
follie and dissimulation, in suche wise as they gaue so lyghte
credite thereunto, as of custome is geuen to the woordes of
those that bee sicke. And they departed not from thence vntill
all three with one accorde, had conspired euery one to giue him
mocke. Philenio continuing thus in Loue, sometime with one,
sometime with another, and perceiuing that euery of them seemed
to Loue him, hee determined with himselfe, if it were possible
to gather of them the last frute of his Loue. But he was greatly
deceyued in his desire, for that all his enterprise was broken:
and that done, Emerentiana whiche could not any longer dissemble
the loue of the foolishe scholer called one of her maydes, which
was of a fayre complexion and a ioly wenche, charging her that
she should deuise meanes to speake with Philenio, to geue him to
vnderstande the loue which her maistresse bare vnto him: and
when it were his pleasure she willingly would one night haue him
at home at her house. Which newes when Philenio heard, he
greatly reioyced, and said to the maid: “Returne to your
Maistresse, faire maide, and commend me vnto her, telling her in
my behalf, that I doe praye her to loke for me this euening, if
her husband be not at home.” During which time, Emerentiana
caused a certaine number of fagots of sharpe thornes to be made,
and to be layd vnder her bedde still wayting for her minion.
When night was come, Philenio toke his sworde, and went to the
house of his enemy, and calling at the dore with the watchworde
the same incontinently was opened: and after that they had
talked a litle while together, and banketted after the best
maner, they withdrew themselues into the chamber to take their
reste. Philenio had no soner put of his clothes to goe to bedde,
but Seignior Lamberto her husband came home: which the
Maistresse of the house perceiuing, made as though she had bene
at her wittes ende, and could not tell whether to conuey her
minion, but prayed him to hide himself vnder the bedde. Philenio
seeing the daunger, wherein both he and the wife were, not
taking with him any other garmentes, but only his shirte, crept
vnder the bed where he was so cruelly prickt and scratched with
the thornes, as there was no parte of his body (from the toppe
of his head to the sole of his foote) free from bloud, and the
more he sought to defende himselfe in that darke place, the more
sharpely and piteously he was tormented, and durst not crie for
feare least Seignior Lamberto would kill him. I will leaue to
your consideration in what plight this poore wretche was in, who
by reason of his miserable being, as he was brechelesse in that
terrible purgatorie, even so was he speachlesse and durst not
speake for his life. In the morning when Segnior Lamberto was
gone forth, the poore scholler put on his clothes so well as he
could, and all bloudy as he was, returning to his lodging, was
like to die: but being deligently cured by phisicians, in short
time he recouered his former health. Shortly after, Philenio
began to pursue again his loue towardes the other two, that is
to say, Panthemia and Simphorosia, and found conuenient time one
euening to speake to Panthemia, to whom he rehearsed his griefes
and continuall tormentes, praying her to haue pitie vpon him.
The subtile and wise wenche Panthemia, fayning to haue
compassion vppon him, excused her selfe by lacke of meanes to
content his desire, but in thend vanquished with faire
supplications and maruellous sighes, shee made him to come home
to her house, and being vnready, dispoyled of al his apparell to
go to bed with his Lady she required hym to go with her into a
litle closet, wher all her swete smels and perfumes were, to the
intent he might be well perfumed before he went to bedde. The
yong dolt not doubting the subtiltie of this wicked woman,
entred the closet and setting his foote vpon a borde vnnnayled
from the ioyst, fell so depe into a store house where
marchauntes vse to lay there cottons and wolles, as he thought
he had broken his necke and his legges, notwithstanding as
fortune would he had no hurt. This poore scholler being in that
darke place, began to seke for some dore or ladder to go out,
and finding nothing for his purpose he cursed the houre and time
that euer he knew Panthemia. When the dauning of the day began
to appeare, the simple sot discried in one place of the
storehouse certain ventes in the wall, which gaue some light,
because they wer old and couered ouer with mosse, in such wise,
as he began with maruelous force, to pluck out the stones in the
moste decaied place of the wall, and made so great a hole, as he
went out. And being in a lane hard by the great streate,
barefoote and bare legged, and in his shirt, he went home to his
lodging vnknowen of any. A litle whyle after Simphorosia
vnderstanding of the deceits whiche the other twoo had done to
Philenio, attempted to geue hym the thirde, whiche was not
inferior to the other twayne. And for that purpose, she began a
farre of to caste her amorous lokes vpon him, letting hym to
knowe that shee was in great distresse for his Loue. This poore
soule hauing already forgotten his fortune paste, began to walke
vp and downe before her house, like a man altogether tormented
and pained with Loue. Then Simphorosia, seing him to be farre in
loue with her, sent hym a letter by an old woman, whereby she
aduertised hym, that his beautie and good behauior, so
puissantly did gouerne her affections as she could take no rest
night nor day, for the earnest loue that she bare him: wherefore
she praied him if it were his pleasure to come and speake with
her. Philenio receiuing that letter, and perusing the contentes,
not considering the deceite prepared for him, ne yet any longer
remembring the iniuries past, was more ioyfull and glad then
euer he was before: who taking pen and paper, aunswered her
againe, that he for his parte suffered no lesse tormentes for
her sake, yea and in respect of vnfayned Loue, that he loued her
farre better than she did hym, and at al tymes when shee
pleased, hee woulde be at her commaundement to doe her seruice:
the aunswere read, and oportunitie found, Simphorosia caused him
to come home to her house, and after many false sighes, she
saide vnto him: “My deare frend Philenio, I knowe none other in
all the world, that hath brought me into this state and plighte
wherein presently I am, but you, because your beautie, good
grace and pleasaunt talke, haue so sette my harte on fyre as I
feele it to kindle and burne like drye woode.” Which talke
Maister scholler hearing, thought assuredly that she consumed
for loue of him: this poore Nodgecock, contriuing the time in
sweete and pleasaunt woordes, with his dareling Simphorosia, the
time approched that he should go to bed with his faire lady, who
said vnto him: “My swete frend Philenio, abide a whyle, and let
vs make some banket and collation:” who taking him by the hande,
caried him into her closet adioyning, wher was a table ready
furnished with exquisit conficts and wynes of the best. This
gentlewoman had made a composition in the wyne, to cause this
yong gallant to sleepe for a certain time. Philenio thinking no
hurte, toke the cup and filled it with the wyne, and dranke it
vp at one draught. His spirits reuiued with this refreshing,
after he had bene very well perfumed and washed in swete waters,
he went to bedde and within a while after this drinke began to
woorke, and hee slepte so soundly, as canon shot, or the
greatest gonnes of the worlde were not able to wake hym: then
Simphorosia perceiuing the drinke beginne to woorke, called one
of her sturdy maides that wel was instructed in the game of this
pageant: both whiche carying this poore sleepy scholler by the
feete and armes, and opening the dore very softlye, they fayre
and well bestowed hym in the middeste of the streete, a good
stone’s caste of from the house, where he lay all the nighte.
But when the dawning of the daye dyd appeare, or an houre
before, the drynke lost his vertue, and the poore soule began to
awake, and thinking that he had bene a bedde with the
gentlewoman he perceiued hymself brechelesse and in his shirt
more dead then aliue, through the colde that he had endured, by
lying starke naked vppon the earth. The poore wretche was not
able to help himselfe so much as with his armes and legges,
ne yet to stande vppon his feete without great paine:
notwithstanding, through creping and sprawling, hee got home to
his house, vnseene of anye, and prouided so well as hee could
for recouery of his health: and had it not been for his youth,
which did helpe him at that instant, his sinewes had been
benommed for euer. In the ende, hauing atteined his former state
of health he still remembred the iniuries past, and without
shewing any signe of anger or displeasure, made as though he
loued them all three better then euer he did before, and
sometime seemed to be in loue with the one, and sometime with an
other: they againe for their part nothing mistrusting the malice
of Philenio, set a good face on the matter, vsinge amorous
cheere and countenance towards him, but when his backe was
tourned, with mockes and floutes they toke their pleasure. He
bearing in his brest secrete despite, was still desirous with
his hand to marke them in the face, but like a wise man, waying
the natures of women, he thought it woulde redounde to his
greate shame and reproche, if hee did them any hurt: and
therefore restrayning the heate of his choler vsed pacience. And
yet by deuising and practising, how he might be euen with them
and reuenged, hee was in great perplexitie. Very shortly after
it chaunced that the scholler had inuented a meane, easely to
satisfie his desire, and so sone as hee had fully resolued what
to do, fortune therunto was fauorable: who hyred in the citie of
Bologna a very faire house which had a large hall, and comodious
chambers: and purposed to make a greate and sumptuous feast, and
to inuite many Ladies and Gentlewomen to the same: amongs whom
these three were the first that should be bidden: which
accordingly was done: and when the feast day was come the three
gentlewomen that were not very wise at that instante, repaired
thither nothing suspecting the scholler’s malice. In the end a
litle to recreate the Gentlewomen and to get them a stomacke,
attendinge for supper time, the Scholler toke these his three
louers by the hand, and led them friendly into a chamber,
somewhat to refresh them. When these three innocent women were
come into the Scholler’s Chamber, hee shut fast the doore, and
going towards them, he sayde: “Beholde faire ladies, now the
time is come for me to be reuenged vpon you and to make you
suffer the penaunce of the torment wherwith ye punished me for
my great Loue.” The Gentlewomen hearing those cruell woordes,
rather dead then aliue, began to repent that euer they had
offended him, and besides that, they cursed themselues, for
giuinge credit vnto him whom they ought to haue abhorred. The
Scholler with fierce and angry countenaunce commaunded them vpon
paine of their liues to strippe themselues naked: which sentence
when these three goddesses heard, they began to loke one vppon
another, weeping and praying him, that although he woulde not
for their sakes, yet in respect of his owne curtesie and
naturrall humanitie, that hee woulde saue their honor aboue all
thinges. This gallant reioysing at their humble and pitifull
requestes was thus curteous vnto them, that he would not once
suffer them to stand with their garmentes on in his presence:
the women casting themselues downe at his feete wept bitterly,
beseeching him that he woulde haue pitie vpon them, and not to
be the occasion of a slaunder so great and infamous. But he
whose hart was hardened as the Diamonde, said vnto them, that
this facte was not worthy of blame but rather of reuenge. The
women dispoyled of their apparel (and standing before him, so
free from couering as euer was Eue before Adam) appeared as
beautifull in this their innocent state of nakednes, as they did
in their brauerie: in so much that the yong scholler viewing
from toppe to toe, those fayre and tender creatures, whose
whitenesse surpassed the snow, began to haue pitie vppon them:
but calling to his remembraunce the iniuries past and the
daunger of death wherein he was, he reiected all pitie and
continued his harde and obstinate determination. Then he toke
all their apparell, and other furnitures that they did weare,
and bestowed it in a little chamber, and with threatning words
commaunded all three to lie in one bed. The women altogether
astonned, began to say to themselues: “Alas, what fooles be we?
what wil our husbands and our frendes say, when they shal
vnderstand that we be found naked and miserablie slaine in this
bed? It had been better for vs to haue died in our cradels, than
apprehended and found dead in this state and plight.” The
Scholler seeing them bestowed one by another in the bed, like
husband and wyfe, couered them with a very white and large
sheete, that no part of their bodies might be seene and knowen,
and shutting the Chamber doore after him Philenio went to seeke
their husbands, which were dauncing in the hall: and the daunce
ended, he intreated them to take the paines to goe with him: who
was their guide into the Chamber where the three Muses lay in
their bedde, saying vnto them: “Sirs, I haue broughte you into
this place to shewe you some pastime and to let you see the
fayrest thinges that euer you saw in your liues.{”} Then
approching neere the bed, and holding a torch in his hand, he
began fayre and softly to lift vp the shete at the bed’s feete,
discouering these fayre ladies euen to the knees. Ye should haue
seen then, how the hushands did behold their white legges and
their wel proporcioned feete, which don he disclosed them euen
to the stomack, and shewed their legges and thighes farre whiter
than alablaster, which seemed like two pillers of fine marble,
with a rounde body so wel formed as nothing could be better:
consequently he tourned vp the sheete a litle further, and their
stomackes appeared somewhat round and plumme, hauing two rounde
breasts so firme and feate, as they would haue constrayned the
great God Iupiter to imbrace and kisse them. Whereat the
husbandes toke so great pleasure and contentmente, as coulde be
deuised: I omitte for you to thincke in what plighte these poore
naked women weare, hearinge theyr husbandes to mocke them: all
this while they laye very quiet, and durst not so much as to hem
or coughe, for feare to be knowen: the husbands were earnest
with the Scholler to discouer their faces, but hee wiser in
other mennes hurtes than in his owne, would by no meanes consent
vnto it. Not contented with this, the yong scholler shewed their
apparel to their husbands, who seing the same were astonned, and
in viewing it with great admiration, they said one to another:
“Is not this the gowne that I once made for my wife? Is not this
the coyfe that I bought her? Is not this the pendant that she
weareth about her necke? be not these the rings that set out and
garnisht her fingers?” Being gone out of the chamber for feare
to trouble the feast, he would not suffer them to depart, but
caused them to tarie supper. The Scholler vnderstandinge that
supper was ready, and that the maister of the house had disposed
all thinges in order, he caused the geastes to sit downe. And
whiles they were remouing and placing the stooles and chayres,
he returned into the chamber, wher the three dames lay, and
vncouering them, he sayd vnto them: “Bongiorno, faire Ladies:
did you heare your hushandes? They be here by, and do earnestly
tarie for you at supper. What do ye meane to do? Vp and rise ye
dormouses, rubbe your eyes and gape no more, dispatche and make
you ready, it is time for you now to repayre into the hall,
where the other gentlewomen do tarie for you.” Behold now how
this Scholer was reuenged by interteigning them after this
maner: then the poore desolate women, fearing least their case
would sorte to som pitiful successe, dispayring of their health,
troubled and discomforted, rose vp expecting rather death than
any other thing: and tourning them toward the scholler they said
vnto him: “Maister Philenio, you haue had sufficient reueng vpon
vs: the best for you to do now, is to take your sword, and to
bereue us of oure life, which is more lothsome vnto vs than
pleasaunt: and if you will not do vs that good tourne, suffer vs
to go home to our houses vnknowen, that our honours may be
saued.” Then Philenio thinking that he had at pleasure vsed
their persons, deliuered them their apparel, and so sone as they
were ready, he let them out at a litle dore, very secretlye
vnknowen of anye, and so they went home to their houses. So sone
as they had put of their fayre furnitures, they folded them vp,
and layd them in their chestes: which done, they went about
their houshold busines, till their husbands came home, who being
retourned they founde their wives sowing by the fire side in
their chambers: and because of their apparell, their ringes and
iewels, which they had seene in the Scholler’s Chamber, it made
them to suspect their wiues, euery of them demaunding his
seuerall wife, where she had bin that nighte, and where their
apparell was. They well assured of themselues, aunswered boldly,
that they were not out of their house all the euening, and
taking the keyes of their cofers shewed them their aparell,
their ringes and other things, which their husbandes had made
them. Which when their husbandes saw, they could not tell what
to say, and forthwith reiected all suspicion, which they had
conceiued: telling them from point to point, what they had seen
that night. The women vnderstanding those woordes, made as
though they knew nothing and after a little sport and laughter
betweene them, they went to bed. Many times Philenio met his
Gentlewomen in the streates and sayde vnto them: “Which of you
was most afraide or worste intreated?” But they holding downe
their heads, passed forth not speaking a word: in this maner the
Scholler was requited so well as he could of the deceites done
against him, by the three Gentlewomen aforesaid.




THE FIFTYETH NOUELL.

  _The piteous and chaste death of one of the muleters wiues of the
  Queene of Nauarre._


In the citie of Amboise, there was a muleter that serued the
Queene of Nauarre, sister to king Fraunces the firste of that
name, which was broughte a bedde of a sonne at Blois: to which
towne the said muleter was gone to be paide his quarter’s wages:
whose wyfe dwelled at Amboise beyond the bridges. It chaunced
that of long time one of her husband’s seruauntes did so
disordinately loue her, as vppon a certaine day he could not
forbeare but he muste vtter the effect of his loue borne vnto
her. Howbeit shee being a right honest woman, tooke her man’s
sute in very ill part, threatning to make her husband to beat
him, and to put him away, and vsed him in suche wyse, that after
that time he durst not speake thereof any more, ne yet to make
signe or semblance: keeping yet that fier couered within his
brest, vntill his Maister was ridden out of the towne, and that
his Maistresse was at euensong at Saint Florentine’s, a Church
of the Castle, farre from her house: who now being alone in the
house, began to imagine how he might attempt that thinge by
force, which before by no supplication or seruice he was able to
attaine. For which purpose, hee brake vp a borde betweene his
Maistresse chamber and his: but because the curteins of his
maister and maistresse bed, and of the seruauntes of the other
side couered and hid the walles betweene, it could not be
perceyued, nor yet his malice discried vntill suche time as his
Maistresse was gone to bed, with a litle wenche of XII. yeares
of age: and so sone as the poore woman was fallen into her first
sleepe, this varlet entred in at a hole which he had broken, and
conueyed himself into her bed in his shirt, with a naked sworde
in his hande: who so sone as she felt him layed downe by her,
lepte out of her bed, perswading him by all possible meanes
meete for an honest woman to do: and he indued with beastly
loue, rather acquainted with the language of his mulets than
with her honest reasons, shewed himselfe more beastly then the
beasts with whom he had of long time bin conuersant: for seing
her so oft to runne about the table that he could not catch her,
and also that she was so strong, that twise she ouercame him, in
dispaire that he should neuer enioy her aliue, hee gaue her a
great blow with his sword ouer the raines of the back, thinking
that if feare and force could not make her to yeld, paine and
smart should cause her. Howbeit, the contrarie chaunced: for
like as a good man of armes when he seeth his owne bloud, is
more set on fier to be reuenged vpon his enemies to acquire
honor: euen so the chaste hart of this woman, did reenforce and
fortefie her courage in double wise, to auoyde and escape the
hands of this wicked varlet, deuising by all meanes possible by
fayre words to make him acknowledge his fault: but he was so
inflamed with furie, there was no place in him to receiue good
counsell. And eftsones with his sword, he gashed her tender
bodye with diuers and sondry strokes, for the auoydiug wherof,
so fast as her legges could beare her, she ran vp and downe the
chamber: and when through want of bloud she perceiued death
approch, lifting vp her eyes vnto heaven, and ioyning her hands
together, gaue thanckes vnto God, whom she termed to be her
force, her vertue, her pacience and chastitie, humblie
beseeching him to take in good part the bloude whiche by his
commandemente was sheade in honor of that precious bloude, which
from his owne sonne did issue vppon the Crosse, whereby shee did
beleeue, firmelye and stedfastlye that all her sinnes were wiped
awaye and defaced from the memorye of his wrathe and anger, and
in sayinge: “Lorde receiue my soule which was dearely bought and
redeemed with thy bounty and goodnes:” shee fell downe to the
ground vpon her face where the wycked villaine inflicted her
bodye with manifold wounds: and after she had lost her speache
and the force of her body, thys most wicked and abhominable
varlet toke her by force, whiche had no more strength and power
to defende herselfe: and when he had satisfied his cursed
desire, he fled away in such hast, as afterwards for all the
pursute made after him he could not be found. The yong wench
which lay with her, for feare hid herselfe vnder the bed. But
when she perceyued the villaine departed, shee came vnto her
Maistresse and finding her speachlesse and without mouing, she
cryed out at the window vnto the nexte neighbours to come to
succour her: and they which loued her and esteemed her so wel as
any woman in the towne, came presently vnto her, and brought
diuers surgeons with them, who findinge vpon her body XXV.
mortall woundes, they did so much as in them laye to helpe her:
but it was impossible. Howbeit shee laye one houre without
speache, makinge signes with hir eyes and hands, declaring that
she had not lost her vnderstanding: being demaunded by the
priest, of the fayth wherin she died, and of her saluacion, she
aunswered by such euident signes, as her liuely speach and
communication coulde not haue declared it better, howe that her
trust and confidence was in the death of Iesus Christ, whom she
hoped to see in the Celestiall citie, and so with a ioyfull
countenaunce, her eyes erected vp to the heauens, she rendred
her chast body to the earth, and her soule to her Creator: and
when shee was shrouded ready to the buriall, as her neighbours
were attending to followe her to the Church, her poore husbande
came home, and the first sight he sawe, was the body of his dead
wife before his doore, wherof before that instant hee had no
newes. And when he vnderstode the order of her death, he then
doubled his sorrowe, in such wyse that he was also like to die.
In this sort was this marter of chastitie buried in the church
of S. Florentine, where all the honest dames and wiues of the
citie endeuoured themselues to accompany her, and to honour her
with suche reuerence as they were able to do: accomptinge
themselues most happie to dwell in that towne, where a woman of
such vertuous behauiour did dwell. The foolish and wanton seing
the honour done to that deade bodye, determined from that time
forth to renue their former life, and to chaunge the same into a
better.




THE FIFTY-FIRST NOUELL.

  _A king of Naples, abusing a Gentleman’s wife, in the end did weare
  the hornes himselfe._


In the citie of Naples when king Alphonsus raigned, in whose
time wantonnesse bare chiefest sway, there was a Gentleman so
honest, beautifull and comely, as for his good conditions and
wel knowen behauiour an old Gentleman gaue to him his daughter
in mariage, which in beautie and good grace was passingly well
beloued and comfortable to her husband. The Loue was great
betwene them, till it chaunced vpon shrouetide that the king
went a masking into the citie, where euery man endeuoured to
intertaine him the best he could. And when he came to this
Gentleman’s house, he was best receyued of any place in all the
towne, aswell for banqueting, as for musicall songes, and the
Gentlewoman, the fayrest that the king sawe in all the citie to
his contentacion. And vpon the end of the banket, she sang a
song with her husbande, with a grace so good as it greatly
augmented her beautie. The king seeing so many perfections in
one body, conceyued not so great pleasure in the sweete accords
of her husband and her, as he did howe to deuise to interrupt
and breake them: and the difficultie for bringinge that to
passe, was the great amitie that hee sawe betweene them,
wherefore he bare in his hart that passion so couert, as he
possibly could. But partly for his owne solace and comforte, and
partly for good will of all, hee feasted all the Lords and
Ladyes of Naples, where the Gentleman and his wife were not
forgotten. And because man willingly beleeueth that he doth see,
he thought that the lokes of that gentlewoman promised vnto him
some grace in time to come, if the presence of her husband were
no let therunto. And to proue whether his coniecture were true,
he sent her husbande in commission to Rome, for the space of XV.
dayes or III. wekes. And so sone as he was gone, his wyfe which
hitherto had not felt any long absence from her husband, made
great sorrow for the same, whereof she recomforted by the king,
many times by sweete perswasions and by presents and gifts, in
such sort, that she was not onely comforted, but contented with
her husbande’s absence. And before the three weekes were expired
of his returne, she was so amorous of the king as she was no
lesse sorowful of his comming home, then she was before for his
departure. And to the intent the king’s presence might not be
loste, they agreed together, that when her husband was gone to
his possessions in the countrie, she should send word to the
king, that he might haue safe repair vnto her, and so secretly
that his honour, (which he feared more then he did the fact)
might not be impaired. Vpon this hope, this Ladie’s hart was set
on a merie pin: and when her husband was come home, shee
welcomed him so wel, that albeit he knewe how the king made much
of her in his absence, yet he would not beleeue that he so did
for any dishonest fact. Howbeit by continuance of time, this
fier that could not be couered, by litle and litle began to
kindle, in such wise as the husband doubted much of the truth,
and watched the matter so neere, as he was almost oute of doubt.
But for feare, least the partie which did the wrong, should do
him greater hurt, if he seemed to know it, he determined to
dissemble the matter: for he thought it better to liue with some
griefe, then to hazard his life for a woman that did not loue
him: notwithstanding, for this displeasure, he thought to be
euen with the king if it were possible. And knowinge that many
times despite maketh a woman to do that which Loue cannot bring
to passe, specially those that haue honourable harts and stoute
stomacks, was so bold without blushing, vpon a day in speaking
to the Queene, to say unto her, that he had pitie vpon her, for
that shee was no better beloued of the king her husband. The
Queene which heard tell of the loue betwene the king and his
wife: “I cannot (quoth she) both enioy honour and pleasure
together: I knowe well that honor I haue, whereof one receiueth
the pleasure, and as she hath the pleasure, so hath not she the
honor.” He which knewe wel by whom those words were spoken, said
vnto her: “Madame, honor hath waited vpon you euen from your
birth, for you be of so good a house, as to be a queene or
Empresse, you cannot augment your nobilitie, but your beautie,
grace, and honestie, hath deserued so much pleasure, as she that
depriueth you of that which is incident to your degree, doth
more wrong to her self then to your person. For she for a glorie
that hath turned her to shame, hath therewithall lost so much
pleasure, as your grace or any Lady in the realme may haue. And
I may saye vnto you (Madame) that if the kinge were no king as
he is, I thincke that he could not excel me in pleasing of a
woman: being sure that to satisfie such a vertuous personage as
you be, he might exchaunge his complexion with mine.” The Queene
smiling, answered him: “Although the king be of more delicate
and weaker complexion than you be, yet the loue that he beareth
mee, doth so much content mee, as I esteeme the same aboue all
thinges in the world.” The gentleman said vnto her: “Madame, if
it were so, I woulde take no pitie vpon you, for I know wel that
the honest loue of your hart, would yeld vnto you great
contentment, if the like were to be found in the king: but God
hath foreseene and preuented the same, least enioyinge your owne
desire, you would make him your God vppon earth.” “I confesse
vnto you (saide the Queene) that the Loue I beare him, is so
great, as the like place he could not find in no woman’s hart,
as he doth in mine.” “Pardon me, madame (saide the Gentleman) if
I speake more francklye, your grace hath not sounded the depth
of ech man’s harte. For I dare be bold to say vnto you, that I
do know one that doth loue you, and whose loue is so great, as
your loue in respecte of his is nothing. And for so much as he
seeth the kinge’s loue to faile in you his doth grow and
increase, in such sort, that if your loue were agreable vnto
his, you should be recompensed of all your losses.” The Queene
aswel by his words as by his countenaunce, began to perceiue,
that the talke proceded from the bottom of his hart, and called
to her remembraunce that long time he had endeuored to do her
service, with such affection, as for loue he was growen to be
melancolike, which she thought before, to rise through his
wiue’s occasion, but now she assuredly beleued that it was for
her sake. And thus the force of Loue, which is well discryed
when it is not fayned, made her sure of that, which was vnknowen
to all the world. And beholding the gentleman which was more
amiable than her husband, and seing that he was forsaken of his
wife, as she of the king, pressed with despite and ialousie of
her husband, and prouoked with loue of the gentleman, began to
say with finger in eye, and sighing sobbs: “O my God, must
vengeaunce get and win that at my hand, which Loue cannot doe?”
The gentleman well vnderstanding her meaning, aunsweared:
“Madame, vengeance is sweete vnto him which in place of killinge
an ennemye, giueth life to a perfecte freinde. I thincke it time
that trouth doe remoue from you the foolishe loue, that you
beare to him which loueth you not: and that iust and reasonable
loue should expell from you the feare, which out not remaine in
a noble and vertuous hart. But now madame, omittinge to speake
of the greatnesse of your estate, let vs consider that we be
both man and woman, the most deceiued of the world, and betrayed
of them which we haue most dearely loued. Let vs now be reuenged
(madame) not onely to render vnto them, what they deserue, but
to satisfie the loue which for my part I can no longer beare,
except I should die. And I thincke, that if your harte be not
harder than flinte, or Diamont, it is impossible but you must
perceiue som sparke of fier, which increaseth more than I am
able to dissemble: and if pitie of me which dieth for your loue,
doth not moue you to loue me, at least wyse let loue of your
self constraine you, which (being so perfect a creature as
you be) doth deserue to enioy the hartes of the noblest and most
vertuous of the world. Suffer I say, the contempt and forsaking
of him, [to] moue you, for whom you haue disdayned al other
persons.” The Queene hearing those wordes, was so rauished, as
for feare to declare by her countenaunce the trouble of her
spirite, leaning vppon the Gentleman’s arme, went into a garden
hard by her Chamber, where she walked a long time not able to
speake a woord. But the Gentleman seeing her halfe wonne, when
he was at the ende of the Alley where none could see them, hee
certified her by effect, the loue which so long time he kept
secrete from her. And both with one consent reioyced in reuenge,
whereof the passion was importable. And there determined, that
so oft as hee went into the Country, and the king from his
Castell into the Citie, he should retourne to the Castel to see
the Quene. Thus deceyuing the deceyuers, all foure were
partakers of the pleasure, which two alone thought to enioy. The
accord made, they departed, the Lady to her Chamber, and the
Gentleman to his house, with such contentacion, as they had
quite forgotten al theyr troubles past. And the feare which
either of them had of the assembly of the king and of the
Gentlewoman, was tourned to desire, which made the Gentleman to
go more oft then he was wonte to doe into the countrye, being
not past halfe a mile of. And so sone as the king knew therof,
he fayled not to visite his Lady, and the gentleman the night
following went to the Castle to salute the Queene, to do the
office of the kinge’s Lieutenaunt, so secretly as no man did
perceiue it. This voyage endured long time, but the king because
he was a publike person, could not so well dissemble his Loue,
but all the worlde did vnderstand it, and all men pitied the
gentleman’s state. For diuers light persons behinde his backe
would make hornes vnto him, in signe of mockerie, which he right
well perceyued. But this mockerie pleased him so wel, as he
esteemed his hornes better then the king’s Crowne. The king and
the Gentleman’s wife one day, could not refraine (beholding a
Stagge’s head set vp in the Gentleman’s house) from breaking
into a laughter before his face, saying, how that head became
the house very well. The gentleman that had so good a hart as
he, wrote ouer that head these words.

  _These hornes I weare and beare for euery man to view,_
  _But yet I weare them not in token they be trew._

The king retourning againe to the Gentleman’s house, finding
this title newlye written, demaunded of the gentleman the
signification of them.

Who said vnto him:

  _“If princesse secret things, be from the horned hart concealed,_
  _Why should like things of horned beastes, to Princes be revealed._

But content your selfe: all they that weare hornes be pardoned
to weare their capps vpon their heads: for they be so sweete and
pleasaunt, as they vncappe no man, and they weare them so light,
as they thincke they haue none at all.” The king knew well by
his wordes that he smelled something of his doings, but he neuer
suspected the loue betwene the Queene and him. For the Queene
was better contented wyth her husbande’s life, and with greater
ease dissembled her griefe. Wherefore eyther parts lived long
time in this loue, till age had taken order for dissolucion
thereof. “Behold Ladyes (quoth Saffredante) this Historye which
for example I have willinglye recited to thintente that when
your husbands do make you hornes as big as a Goate, you maye
render unto him the monstrous heade of a Stagge.” “Peace (quoth
Emarsuite smyling) no more wordes, least you reuiue some
sleeping sweet soule, which without stur would not awake; with
any whispring.”




THE FIFTY-SECOND NOUELL.

  _The rashe enterprise of a Gentleman against a Princesse of
  Flaunders, and of the shame that he receyued thereof._


There was in Flaunders a Lady of an honorable house, which had
two husbands, by whom shee had no children that were then
liuinge. Duringe the time of her widowhoode shee dwelte within
one of her brothers, that loued her very well, which was a noble
man, and had maried a king’s doughter. This yong Prince was
muche giuen to pleasure, louinge huntinge, pastime, and the
company of fayre Ladyes, accordingly as youth requireth. He had
a wyfe that was curst and troublesome, whom the delectations of
her husband in no wyse did contente and please: wherefore this
noble man caused his sister daily to keepe company with his
wyfe. This Gentlewoman his sister was of pleasaunt conuersation,
and therewithal very honest and wyse. There was in the house of
this noble man, a Gentleman whose worship, beautye and grace did
surpasse all the rest of his companions. This Gentleman
perceyuing the sister of his Lorde and Maister to be pleasaunte
and of ioyfull countenaunce, thoughte to proue if the attempt of
an honest frende would be vouchsaued, but he founde her aunswere
to be contrary to her countenaunce: and albeit that her aunswere
was such as was meete for a Princesse and right honest
Gentlewoman, yet because she perceyued him to be a goodly
personage, and curteous, she easily pardoned his bold attempt,
and seemed that she toke it not in ill part when he spake vnto
her. Neuerthelesse shee warned him, after that time, to moue no
such matter, which he promised, because he would not lose his
pleasure, and the honour that hee conceyued to entertaine her.
Notwithstanding, by processe of time his affection increased so
much as he forgot the promise which he had made her, wherefore
he thoughte good not to hazarde his enterprise by wordes, for
that hee had to long against his wyll experimented her wyse and
discrete aunsweares: and therewithall he thought if he could
finde her in some conueient place (because she was a yong widow,
of lusty yeares and good complexion) it were possible shee
woulde take pitie vppon him, and of herself. And that he might
bring his purpose to effecte, he said to his Maister that he had
besides his owne house very goodlie game, and that if it pleased
him to kill three or foure Stagges in the moneth of May, he
should see very good pastime. The Lord aswell for the loue hee
bare to the Gentleman, as for the pleasure he had in hunting,
graunted his request: and went to his house, which was so faire
and well furnished, as the best Gentleman in all the countrey
had no better. The gentleman lodged his Lord and Lady in one
side of the house, and in the other directly against it her
whome he loued better than himselfe. The Chamber where his
maistres laye, was so well hanged with tapistrie, and so trimely
matted, as it was impossible to perceiue a falling dore, harde
by the bed’s side, descending to his mother’s chamber, which was
an old Lady, much troubled with the Catarre and Rume. And
because she had a cough, fearing to disease the Princesse which
laye aboue her, she chaunged her chamber with her sonne. And
euery night the olde Gentlewoman brought comficts to the Lady
for her recreation, vpon whom the Gentleman wayted, who (for
that he was well beloued and very familier with her brother) was
not refused to be present at her rising and going to bedde.
Whereby he daily toke occasion to increase his loue and
affection: in suche sorte as one night, after he had caused the
Ladye to sit vp late, (she being surprised with sleepe) he was
forced to depart the chamber, and to repaire to his own. Wher
when he had put on the most brauest perfumed shirt that he had,
and his cap for the night so trimmely dressed, as there wanted
nothing, he thought in beholding himself, that there was no Lady
in the world that would refuse his beautie and comlinesse.
Wherefore promising himselfe a happie successe in his
enterprise, hee went to his bed where he purposed not long to
abide, for the desire that he had to enter into another, whiche
should be more honourable and pleasaunt vnto him. And after he
had sent his men away, he rose to shut the dore after them, and
hearkened a good while, whether he could heare any noyse in the
Ladie’s chamber aboue. And when he was sure that euery man was
at rest, he began to take his pleasaunt iourney, and by litle
and litle opened the falling dore, whiche was so well trimmed
with cloth, that it made no noyse at all, and went vp to the
Ladie’s bed side, which then was in her first sleepe, and
without respecte of the bonde and promise that he made vnto her,
or the honorable house wherof she came, without leaue or
reuerence, he laid himselfe down besides her, who felt him
betwene her armes before she perceiued his comming. But she
which was somewhat strong, vnfolded her self out of his handes,
and in asking him what he was, began to strike, to bite and
scratche, in suche wyse, as he was constrained (for feare least
she should crye out) to stoppe her mouth with the couerlet,
which was impossible for him to do. For when she sawe him to
presse with all his force to despoyle her of her honor, she
spared no part of her might to defende and kepe her selfe, and
called (so loude as she could) her woman of honor, that laye in
her chamber, whiche was a very auncient and sober gentlewoman,
who in her smock, ran straight to her maistresse. And when the
Gentleman perceiued that hee was discouered, hee was so fearfull
to be knowen of the Ladye, as sone as he could hee shifted
himself down by his trapdore. And where before he conceiued hope
and assuraunce to be welcome, now he was brought in despaire for
retourning in so vnhappy state. When he was in his chamber, he
found his glasse and candle vpon the table, and beholding his
face all bloudy with the scratchings and bitinges, whiche shee
had bestowed vpon him, the bloud wherof ran down his fayre
shyrt, better bloudied then gilted, he began to make his moone
in this wise: “O beautie, thou art nowe payed thy desert, for
vppon thy vayne promise haue I aduentured a thing impossible.
And that which might haue bene the augmenting of my delight is
nowe the redoubling of my sorowe. Being assured that if she
knewe howe contrary to my promise I haue enterprised this
foolishe fact, I should vtterly forgoe the honest and common
conuersation whiche I haue with her aboue al other. That which
my estimation, beautie and good behauiour doe deserue, I ought
not to hyde in darkenesse. To gaine her loue, I ought not to
haue assayed her chaste bodye by force, but rather by seruice
and humble pacience, to wayte and attend till loue did
vanquishe. For without loue all the vertue and puissance of man
is of no power and force.” Euen thus he passed the night in such
teares, griefes and plaintes, as can not be well reported and
vttered. In the morning, when he beheld his bloudy face all
mangled and torne, he fained to be very sicke, and that he could
abide no light, til the company were gone from his house. The
Ladye whiche thus remained victorious, knowing that there was no
man in all her brother’s Court, that durst attempt a deede so
wicked, but her hoste which was so bolde to declare his loue
vnto her, knew well that it was he. And when she and her woman
of honour had searched all the corners of the chamber to knowe
what he was, and could not finde hym, she sayd vnto her woman in
great rage: “Assure your selfe it can be none other, but the
Gentleman of the house, whose villanous order I wyll reueale to
my brother in the morning, in such sorte, as his head shalbe a
witnesse and testimony of my chastitie.” Her woman seing her in
that furie, sayd vnto her; “Madame, I am right glad to see the
loue and affection which you beare to your honor, for the
increase wherof you doe not spare the life of one, which hath
aduentured himselfe so muche for the loue that hee beareth vnto
you. But many times such one thinketh by those meanes to
increase loue, which altogether he doth diminishe. Wherefore
(Madame) I humbly beseche you to tell me the truthe of this
facte.” And when the Ladie had recompted the same at lengthe,
the woman of honour sayd vnto her: “Your grace doth say that he
got no other thyng of you, but scratches and blowes with your
fistes.” “No, I assure you (quod the Ladie) and I am certaine if
hee gette hym not a good Surgeon, the markes will be seene to
morowe.” “Wel Madame (quod the gentlewoman) sithens it is so, me
thinketh you haue greater occasion to prayse GOD, then to muse
vpon reuenge: For you may beleue, that sithens he had the
courage to enterprise so great an exploit, and that despite hath
failed him of his purpose, you can deuise no greater death for
him to suffer, then the same. If you desire to be reuenged, let
Loue and shame alone bring that to passe, who knowe better which
way to tormente him than your selfe, and with greater honor to
your persone. Take heede Madame from falling into such
inconuenience as he is in, for in place of great pleasure whiche
he thought to haue gayned, he hath receiued the extremest
anoyance, that any gentleman can suffer. And you Madame, by
thinking to augment your honor, you may decrease and diminish
the same. And by making complaint, you shal cause that to be
knowen, which no man knoweth. For of his part (you may be
assured) there shall neuer be anything reuealed. And when my
Lorde your brother at your requeste, shall execute the iustice
which you desire, and that the poore Gentleman shal be ready to
die, the brute will runne that he hath had his pleasure vpon
you. And the greatest numbre will say, that it is very difficult
for a Gentleman to doe suche an enterprise, except the Lady
minister some great occasion. Your grace is faire and yong,
frequenting your life in pleasant company, there is none in all
the Court, but seeth and marketh the good countenaunce you beare
to that Gentleman, whereof your selfe hath some suspicion: which
will make euery man suppose that if he hath done this
enterprise, it was not without some consent from you. And your
honor which hetherto hath borne your port a loft, shall be
disputed vpon in all places where this historie shall be
remembred.” The Princesse well waying the good reasons and
aduise of her gentlewoman, knewe that she spake the truthe: and
that by moste iust cause she should be blamed: considering the
familiaritie and good countenaunce which dayly she bare vnto the
Gentleman. Wherefore she inquired of her woman of honour, what
was beste to bee done. Who aunswered her thus. “Madame, sith it
pleaseth you to receiue mine aduise, by waying the affection
whereof it procedeth, me thinke you ought in your hart to
reioyce, that the goodliest, and moste curteous Gentleman that
liueth, could neither by loue, or force, despoile you of your
greatest vertue and chastitie. For which (Madame) you are bounde
to humble your selfe before God, acknowledging that it is not
done by your vertue, bicause many women walking in a more
paineful and more vnpleasaunt trade then you do, haue humiliated
and brought low by men farre more vnworthy of loue, then he
which loueth you. And ye ought now to feare more than euer you
did, to vse any semblance and take of amitie, bicause there haue
bene many that haue fallen the second time into daungers and
perils, which they haue auoyded at the first. Remember (Madame)
that loue is blind, who blaseth mens eyes in such sort, as where
a man thinketh the waye moste sure, ther his most readie to fal.
And I suppose Madame, that you ought not to seme to be priuie of
this chaunce, neither to him, ne yet to any els, and when he
remembreth anye thing to you, doe make as though you did not
vnderstande his meaning, to auoyde twoo daungers. The one of
vaine glorie for the victorie you haue had, the other to take
pleasure in remembring things, that be so pleasaunt to the
flesh, which the most chaste haue had much a do to defend
theimselues from feling some sparkes, although they seke meanes
to shunne and auoyde them with all their possible power.
Moreouer, Madame, to thende that he thinke not by suche hazard
and enterprise to haue done a thing agreable to your minde, my
counsell is, that by litle and litle, you doe make your selfe
straunge, and vse no more your wonted grace vnto him, that he
may know how much you despise his folly and consider how great
your goodnesse is, by contenting your self with the victory
which God hath geuen you, without seeking any further vltion or
reuengement. And God graunt you grace (Madame) to continue that
honestie which hee hath planted in your hart, and by
acknowledging that all goodnesse procedeth from him, you may
loue him and serue him, better than euer ye did.” The Princesse
determined to credite the counsayle of her gentlewoman, slepte
with so great ioye as the poore gentleman waked with sorrow. On
the morrow the noble man ready to depart, asked for his hoste,
vnto whom answere was made that he was so sicke, as he could not
abide the light, or endure to heare one speake. Wherof the
Prince was sore abashed, and would haue visited him, but that it
was told him he was a slepe, and was very loth to wake him.
Wherefore without bidding him farewell, he departed, taking with
him his wife and sister, who hearing the excuse of the Gentleman
that would not see the Prince, nor yet his companie, at their
departure, was persuaded that it was he, that had done her al
that torment, and durst not shew the markes which she had signed
in his face. And although his Maister did sende oftimes for him
yet came he not to the Court, vntill he was healed of his
woundes, except that whiche loue and despite had made in his
harte. When he came to the Courte and appeared before his
victorious enemie, he blushed for shame of his ouer throwe. And
he which was the stoutest of all the company was so astonned as
many times being in her presence, hee could not tell which way
to loke or tourne his face. Wherfore she was assured that her
suspicion was certain and true, by litle and litle estraunging
her self from him, but it was not done so sleightly or
politikely but that he perceiued well enough, and yet he
durst make no semblaunce, for feare of worse aduenture.
Notwithstanding he conserued both loue in his hart, and pacience
in his minde, for the losse of his Ladie’s fauour, which he had
right well deserued.




THE FIFTY-THIRD NOUELL.

  _The loue of Amadour and Florinda: wherein be conteined mani
  sleightes and dissimulations, together with the renowmed chastitie
  of the said Florinda._


In the Countie of Arande, in Aragon, a region in Spaine, there
was a Ladie whiche in the best time of her youth, continued the
widow of the Earle of Arande, with one sonne, and one daughter,
called Florinda. The sayde Lady brought vp her children in all
vertue and honestie, meete and conuenable for Lordes and
Gentlemen, in such sorte, as her house was renowmed to be one of
the most honorable in all the Region of Spaine. Many times she
repaired to Tolledo, where the kinge of Spaine helde his Court,
and when she came to Sarragosa, which was harde adioyning to the
court, she continued long with the Queene, and in the Courte,
where she was had in so good estimation as any Lady might be.
Vpon a time going towardes the king, according to her custome,
which was at Sarragosa, in his castle of Iafferie, this Lady
passed by a village that belonged to the Viceroy of Catalongne,
who still continued vppon the frontiers of Parpignon, for the
great warres that were betwene the Frenche king and him.
Howebeit, at that time peace being concluded, the Viceroy with
all his captaines were come to do reuerence to the king. The
Viceroy knowing that the Countesse of Arrande did passe through
his countrie, went to mete her, as well for auncient amitie, as
for the honor he bare vnto her being allied to the kyng. Nowe
this Viceroy had in his companye diuers honest Gentlemen, whiche
through the frequentation and continuance of the long warres,
had gotten suche honour and fame, as euery man that might see
them and behold them did accompt them selues happy. But amonges
all other, there was one called Amadour, who although he was but
XVIII. or XIX. yeares of age, yet he had such an assured grace
and witte so excellent, as he was demed amongs a thousand
persones worthy to haue the gouernement of a common wealth,
whiche good witte was coupled with maruellous naturall beautie,
so that there was no eye, but did content it self eftsones to
beholde hym. And this beautie so exquisite, was associated with
wonderfull eloquence, as doubtfull to say, whether merited
greatest honor, either his grace and beautie, or his excellent
tongue. But that which brought him into best reputation, was his
great hardinesse, whereof the common reporte and brute was
nothing impeached or staied for all his youth. For in so many
places he shewed his chiualrie, as not only Spain but Fraunce
and Italie, did singularly commend and set forth his vertue:
bicause in all the warres wherin he was present, he neuer spared
him self for any daunger. And when his countrie was in peace and
quiet, he sought to serue in straunge places, being loued and
estemed both of his frendes and enemies. This Gentleman for the
loue of his Captaine was come into that countrey, where was
arriued the Countesse of Arande, and in beholding the beautie
and good grace of her daughter, which was not then past XII.
yeres of age, he thought that she was the fairest and most
vertuous personage that euer he sawe: and that if he could
obtaine her good will, he should be so well satisfied as if he
had gained all the goods and pleasures of the worlde. And after
he had a good whyle viewed her, for all the impossibilitie that
reason could deuise to the contrary, he determined to loue her,
although some occasion of that impossibilitie might ryse through
the greatnesse of the house wherof she came, and for want of age
which was not able as yet to vnderstande the passions of loue.
But against the feare thereof he was armed with good hope,
persuading himselfe, that time and patience would bring happie
ende to his trauayle: and from that time gentle Loue whiche
without any other occasion than by his own force was entred the
harte of Amadour, promised him fauour and helpe by all meanes
possible to attaine the same. And to prouide for the greatest
difficultie, which was the farre distance of the countrie wher
he dwelt, and the small occasion that he had thereby any more to
see Florinda, he thought to marry against his determination made
with the ladies of Barselone and Parpignon, amonges whom he was
so conuersant by reason of the warres, as he semed rather to be
a Cathelan, than a Castillan, although he wer borne by Tollede,
of a riche and honourable house, yet bicause he was a yonger
brother, he inioyed no great patrimonie or reuenue.
Notwithstanding, loue and fortune seing him forsaken of his
parentes, determined to accomplishe some notable exployt in him,
and gaue him (by meanes of his vertue) that which the lawes of
his countrey refused to geue. He had good experience in factes
of warre, and was so well beloued of al Princes and Rulers, as
he refused many times their goodes, being resolued not to care
or esteme the benefites of Fortune. The Countesse of whome I
spake, arriued thus at Saragossa, was very well intertained of
the king, and of his whole Court. The Gouernour of Catalogne,
many times came thither to visite her, whom Amadour neuer failed
to accompany, for the onely pleasure he had to talke with
Florinda: and to make himselfe to be knowen in the company, hee
went to Auenturade, whiche was the daughter of an old knight
that dwelt hard by the house, whiche from her youth was brought
vp with Florinda, in such familiar sorte, as she knewe all the
secrets of her harte. Amadour, as well for the honestie that he
found in her, as for the liuing of III.M. ducates by the yeare
which she should haue with her in mariage, determined to geue
her such intertaignement, as one that was disposed to marry her.
Wherunto the gentlewoman did willingly recline her eare: and
bicause he was poore, and the father of the damosell rich, she
thought that her father would neuer accorde to the mariage,
except it were by meanes of the Countesse of Arande. Wherupon
she went to madame Florinda, and saide vnto her: “Madame, you
see this Castillan gentleman, which so oftentimes talketh with
me, I doe beleue that his pretence is to marry me: you do know
what a father I haue, who will neuer geue his consent, if he be
not persuaded therunto by my Lady your mother and you.” Florinda
which loued the damosell as her selfe, assured her that shee
would take vpon her to bring that matter to passe, with so
earnest trauaile as if the case were her own. Then Auenturade
brought Amadour before Florinda, who after he had saluted her,
was like to fall in a sowne for ioy, and although he were
compted the moste eloquent persone of Spaine, yet was he now
become mute and dumb before Florinda, wherat she maruelled much:
for albeit she was but XII. yeares of age, yet she vnderstode
that there was no man in Spaine that had a better tongue, or a
more conuenable grace than he. And seing that he said nothing
vnto her, she spake vnto him in this wise: “The fame which is
bruted of you (sir Amadour) throughout the whole countrie of
Spaine, is such as it maketh you knowen and estemed in this
company, and giueth desire and occasion to those that know you,
to imploy themselues to do you pleasure: wherefore if there be
any thing wherin I may gratifie you, vse me I besech you.”
Amadour that gased vpon the beautie of that lady, was rapt and
surprised, not well able to render thankes vnto her. And
although Florinda maruelled to see him without aunswere, yet she
imputed it rather to bashfulnesse than to any force of loue, and
departed without further talke. Amadour knowing the vertue which
in so tender yeares began to appeare in Florinda, saide vnto her
whome he purposed to marry: “Doe not maruell, though my speache
do fayle before Madame Florinda, for the vertues and discretion,
hidden in that yonge personage, did so amase mee, as I wiste not
what to saye: but I praye you Auenturade (quod he) who knoweth
all her secretes, to tell me, if it be otherwyse possible, but
that she hath the harte of all the Lordes and Gentlemen of the
Court: for they which know her and doe not loue her, be stones,
or beastes.” Auenturade whiche then loued Amadour more than all
the men in the worlde, and would conceale nothing from him, said
vnto him: that Madame Florinda was generally beloued: but for
the custome of the countrie, fewe men did speake unto her. “And
(quod she) as yet I se none that make any semblance of loue vnto
her, but two young Princes of Spaine, which desire to marry her,
whereof the one is the sonne of the Infant Fortune, and the
other of the Duke of Cadouce.” “I praye you then (quod Amadour)
to tell me which of them as you think, doth loue her best.” “She
is so wise” said Auenturade, “that she will confesse or graunt
her loue to none, but to such as her mother pleaseth. But yet so
far as we can iudge she fauoureth muche better the sonne of the
Infant Fortune, than the Duke of Cadouce: and for that I take
you to be a man of good iudgment, this day you shall haue
occasion to consider the truth: for the sonne of the Infant
Fortune is brought vp in Court, and is one of the goodliest and
perfectest yong Gentlemen in al christendome: and if the mariage
do procede, according to our opinion, which be her women, he
shalbe assured to haue Madame Florinda: and then shalbe ioyned
together the goodliest couple in the world. And you must
vnderstand, that although they be both very yong, she of XII.
yeares of age, and he of XV. yet is there three yeares past
since their loue first began: and if you be disposed aboue other
to obtain her fauour, mine aduise is, that ye become friend and
seruaunt vnto him.” Amadour was very ioyfull to heare tell that
his Lady loued some man, trusting that in tyme he should wynne
the place, not of husbande, but of seruaunt: for he feared
nothing at all of her vertue, but a lacke of disposition to
loue. And after this communication, Amadour bent himselfe to
haunt the societie of the sonne of the Infant Fortune, whose
good will he sone recouered, for all the pastimes whiche the
yong Prince loued, Amadour could doe right well: and aboue
other, he was very cunning in riding of horsses, and in handling
al kindes of armes and weapons, and in all other pastimes and
games meete for a yong Gentleman. Warres began in Languedoc, and
Amadour was forced to retire with the Gouernour, to his great
sorrowe and grief, for he had there no meane to returne to the
place where he might se Florinda. For which cause he spake to
his owne brother, whiche was Steward of the king of Spaine’s
houshold, and declared vnto him what courtesie he had found in
the house of the Countesse of Arande, and of the damosel
Auenturade: praying him that in his absence he would do his
indeuour, that the mariage might proceede, and that he would
obtaine for him the credit and good opinion of the king and
Queene, and of al his friendes. The Gentleman which loued his
brother, as well by nature’s instigation, as for his great
vertues, promised him his trauaile and industrie to the
vttermoste. Which he did in such wise as the old man her father,
nowe forgetting other naturall respect, began to marke and
beholde the vertues of Amadour, which the Countesse of Arande,
and specially faire Florinda, painted and set foorth vnto him,
and likewyse the Yong earl of Arande whiche increased in yeares,
and therewithall in loue of those that were vertuous, and geuen
to honest exercise. And when the mariage was agreed betweene the
parentes, the said Steward sent for his brother whilest the
truce endured betwene the two kings. About this time, the king
of Spain retired to Madric, to auoyd the euil aire that was in
many places, where by the aduise of diuers of his counsell, and
at the request of the Countesse of Arande, he made a mariage
betwene the yong Duchesse the heire of Medina Celi, and the yong
Earle of Arande, as wel for the vnion of their house, as also
for the loue he bare to the said Countesse. And this mariage was
celebrated in the Castell of Madric, whereunto repaired Amadour,
who so well obtained his suite, as he maried her, of whom he was
muche better beloued, than his smal loue toward her deserued,
sauing that it was a couerture and meanes for him to frequent
the place where his minde and delight incessantly remained:
after he was maried, he became well acquainted and familiar in
the house of the Countesse, so that he was so conuersaunt
amonges the Ladies, as if he had bene a woman: and although hee
was then but XXII. yeares of age, he was so wise and graue, as
the Countesse imparted vnto him all her affaires, commaunding
her sonne and daughter to intertayne him, and to credite all
thinges wherein hee gaue counsell. Hauing wonne this great
estimation, he behaued him selfe so wyse and politike, that euen
the partie whiche he loued knewe no parte of his affection: but
by reason of the loue that Florinda bare to the wife of Amadour,
whome shee loued more than any other woman, she was so familiar
with him, as shee dissembled no part of her thought, declaring
vnto him all the loue that she bare the sonne of the Infant
Fortune: and he that desired nothing more than throughly to
winne her, ceassed not from continuance of talke, not caring
whereof he spake, so that he might hold her with long discourse:
Amadour had not after his mariage continued a moneth in that
companie, but was constrained to retire to the warres, where hee
continued more than twoo yeares, without retourne to see his
wife, who still abode in the place where she was brought vp.
During the time, Amadour wrote many letters vnto his wife, but
the chiefest substance therof consisted in commendations to
Florinda, who for her part failed not to render like vnto him,
many times writing some pretie worde or posie with her own hand,
in the letter of Auenturade. Which made her husband Amadour
diligent many times to write again vnto her, but in al this
doing Florinda conceiued nothing, but that he loued her with
such like loue as the brother oweth to the sister. Many times
Amadour went and came, but in the space of fiue yeares he neuer
sawe Florinda twoo monethes together: notwithstanding, Loue in
despite of their distaunce and long absence, ceassed not to
increase: and it chaunced that hee made a voyage home to see his
wyfe, and founde the Countesse farre from the court, bicause the
kyng of Spain was done to Vandelousie, and had taken with him
the yong Earle of Arande, whiche then began to bere armes. The
Countesse was retired to a house of pleasure, which shee had
vpon the frontiers of Arragon and Nauarre, and was right ioyfull
when shee see Amadour, who almoste three yeares had bene absent.
He was very well recieued of euery man, and the countesse
commaunded that he should be vsed and entreated as her howne
sonne. During the time that he soiourned with her, she
communicated vnto him all the affaires of her house, and
committed the greatest trust thereof to his discretion, who wan
such credite in the house as in all places where he liste, the
dores were opened vnto him: whose wysedome and good behauiour
made him to be estemed like a Sainct or Aungell. Florinda, for
the loue and good wyll she bare unto his wyfe and him, made
muche of him in all places where she sawe him: and therfore
tooke no hede vnto his countenaunce, for that her hart as yet
felt no passion, but a certen contentation in her selfe, when
she was in the presence of Amadour, and of any other thing she
thought not. Amadour to auoyde the iudgement of them that haue
proued the difference of Louers countenaunces, was very ware and
circumspect: for when Florinda came to speake vnto hym secretly
(like one that thought no hurt) the fier hydden in his breste,
burned so sore, as he could not staye the blushyng colour of his
face, nor the sparkes whiche flewe out of his eyes: and to the
intent, that through long frequentation, none might espie the
same, he intertaigned a very fayre Ladye called Paulina, a woman
in his tyme accompted so fayre, as fewe men whiche behelde her,
coulde escape her bondes, This Ladye Paulina vnderstanding howe
Amadour vsed his Loue at Barselone and Parpignon, and how he was
beloued of the fayrest Ladies of the Countrie, and aboue all of
the Countesse of Palamons, whiche in beautie was prysed to be
the fayrest in all Spayne, and of many other, sayde vnto hym:
“That shee had great pitie of hym, for that after so manye good
Fortunes, he had maried a wyfe so foule and deformed.” Amadour
vnderstanding well by those woordes, that she had desyre to
remedy her owne necessitie, vsed the best maner he coulde
deuise, to the intent that in makyng her beleue a lye, he should
hyde from her the truthe. But shee subtile and well experimented
in Loue, was not contente with talke, but perceyuing well that
his harte was not satisfied with her Loue, doubted that hee
coulde not serue his Lady in secrete wise, and therefore marked
hym so nere, as daylye she had a respecte and watche vnto hys
eyes, whiche hee coulde so well dissemble, as she was able to
iudge nothyng, but by darke suspicion, not without great payne
and difficultie to the Gentleman, to whome Florinda (ignoraunt
of all their malice) dyd resorte many tymes in presence of
Paulina, whose demeaner then was so familiar, as he with
maruellous payne refrayned his lookes against his harte and
desire: and to auoyde that no inconuenience should ensue, one
daye speaking to Florinda, as they were both leaning at a
wyndow, sayd these words: “Madame, I beseche you to tell mee
whether it is better to speake or to die.” Whereunto Florinda
answered readily, saying, “I will euer geue councell to my
frendes to speake and not to dye: for there be fewe wordes
spoken but that they may be amended, but the life lost cannot be
recouered.” “Promise me then” said Amadour, “that not onely ye
will accept those wordes which I will say, but also not to be
astonned or abashed, till ye haue heard the end of my tale.” To
whom she aunswered: “Say what it please you, for if you do
affray me none other shall assure me.” Then he began to saye
vnto her: “Madame, I haue not yet bene desirous to disclose vnto
you the great affection which I beare you, for twoo causes: the
one, bicause I attend by my long seruice, to shewe you the
experience thereof: the other, for that I doubted you would
thinke a great presumption in me (which am but a poore
gentleman) to insinuate my selfe in place whereof I am not
worthy: and although I were a Prince as you be, the loyaltie yet
of your harte, will not permitte any other, but him which hath
already taken possession (the sonne I meane of the Infant
Fortune) to vse in talke any matter of loue: but Madame, like as
necessitie in time of great warr constraineth men to make hauoke
of their owne goodes, and to consume the greene corne, that the
enemy take no profit and reliefe thereof, euen so doe I hazard
to aduaunce the frute, which in time I hope to gather, that your
enemies and mine may inioye thereof none aduauntage. Knowe ye
Madame, that from the time of your tender yeares, I haue in such
wyse dedicated my selfe to your seruice as I ceasse not still to
aspire the meanes to achieue your grace and fauour: and for that
occasion, I did marry her whome I thought you did loue best: and
knowing the loue you beare to the sonne of the Infant Fortune,
I haue indeuoured to serue him as you haue sene: and that
wherein I thought you dyd delighte, I haue accomplished to the
vttermoste of my power. You doe see that I haue gotten the good
wil of the Countesse your mother, of the Earle your brother, and
of all those that doe beare you good wyll: in sutche sorte as in
this house I am estemed, not like a seruaunt, but as a sonne:
and all the labour whiche I haue sustayned these fiue yeares
past, was for none other cause, but to lyue all the daies of my
life with you: and vnderstand you wel that I am none of those
whiche by these meanes doe pretende to receiue of you anye
profite or pleasure, other than that which is good and vertuous:
I do know that I can neuer marrie you, and if I could I would
not for letting the loue that you beare vnto him, whom I desire
to be your husbande, likewise to loue you in vicious sorte, like
them that hope to recompence their seruice with dishonour of
their Ladies, I am so farre of from that affection, as I had
rather be dead than to see you by desert worthy of lesse loue,
and that your vertue shoulde by any meanes be diminished for any
pleasure that might happen vnto mee. I do pretend and craue for
the ende and recompence of my service, but one thing: which is,
that you will continue my loyall and faithfull maistresse, neuer
to withdrawe from me your wonted grace and fauour, and that you
will maintaine mee in that estate wherein I am. Reposinge your
trust and fidelitie in me more than in any other, making your
selfe so assured of me, as if for your honor or any cause
touching your person, you stand in neede of the life of a
Gentleman, the same shal right willingly be employed at your
commaundement: in like maner all thinges vertuous and honest
which euer I shal attempt I beseech you to thinke to be done
onely for the loue of you: and if I haue done for Ladies of
lesse reputacion than you be, any thing worthy of regard, be
assured that for such a maistresse as you be, my enterprises
shal increase in such sort, as the things which I found
difficult and impossible, shall be easelie for me to
accomplishe; but if you do not accept mee to be wholy yours,
I determine to giue ouer armes, and to renounce valiaunce,
because it hath not succoured me in necessitie: wherfore,
Madame, I humblie beseech you that my iust request may not be
refused, sith with your honour and conscience you cannot well
denie the same.” The yong Lady hearing this vnaccustomed sute,
began to chaunge her colour, and to caste downe her eyes like an
amased woman, notwithstandinge, being wyse and discrete she said
vnto him: “If (Amadour) your request vnto me be none other than
you pretende, wherefore have you discoursed this long Oration?
I am afraid lest vnder this honeste pretence there lurketh some
hidden malice to deceiue the ignoraunce of my youth, wherby I am
wrapt in great perplexitie how to make you aunswere: for to
refuse the honest amitie which you haue offered, I shall doe
contrary to that I haue done hitherto, for I haue reposed in you
more trust than in any liuing creature: my conscience or mine
honour cannot gainesay your demaunde, nor the loue that I beare
to the sonne of the Infant Fortune, which is grounded vpon fayth
of mariage: where you say that you pretende nothinge but that is
good and vertuous, I cannot tell what thing should let me to
make you aunswere according to your request, but a feare that I
conceiue in hart, founded vpon the small occasion that you haue
to vse that speache, for if you haue alreadye what you demaunde,
what doth constraine you to speake so affectuouslie?” Amadour
that was not without an aunsweare, said vnto her: “Madame, you
speake very wisely, and you do me so much honour, for the
confidence and truste which according to your sayinge you do
repose in me, as if I doe not content my selfe with such a
benefite, I were the vnworthiest man aliue: but vnderstande
Madame, that he which goeth about to builde a perpetual mansion,
ought to haue regard to a sure and firme foundacion: wherfore I
which desire perpetually to remaine your seruaunte, doe seeke
not onely the meanes to kepe my selfe neare about you, but also
to foresee that none doe vnderstand the great affection that I
do beare you: for although my mind be so vertuous and honest, as
the same may disclose it selfe before the whole worlde, yet
there bee some so ignorant and vnskilfull of louers harts, as
manye times will iudge contrary to trouth, wherof proceedeth so
ill brute and report, as if the effectes were wicked: the cause
which hath made me so bold to say and declare vnto you thus
much, is the suspicion that Paulina hath conceyued, for that I
cannot loue her: who doth nothing els but marke and espie my
countenaunce in euerye place, and when you vse your familiar
talke with me before her, I am so afraide to shewe any signe
whereby shee maye grounde or verifie her iudgemente, that I fall
into that inconuenience, which I would willingly auoyde:
wherefore I haue thought good to beseech you (before her and
those which you do know to be so malicious) to refraine from
talkinge with mee so sodainlye, for I had rather dye, than anye
liuinge creature should haue mistrust thereof: and were it not
for the loue which I beare vnto your honour, I had not yet
declared the same vnto you, for I do hold my selfe sufficiente
happy and content of the onely loue and affiaunce that you put
in me, crauing nought els butt the continuance of the same.”
Florinda wel satisfyed with this aunswere, began to feele in
harte a further thing to growe than euer she did before: and
hearing the honest reasons alleaged by him, said, that her
honestie and vertue shoulde make aunsweare for her, and
therewithall assented to his demaunde: whereof whether Amadour
were ioyful, Louers neede not doubt: but Florinda credited more
his counsell, than he would haue had her. For shee being
fearefull and timerous, not onely before Paulina, but in all
other places, vsed farre other countenaunce than she was wont to
do: and in this alienation of her former familiarity, she
misliked the conuersation that Amadour had with Paulina, whose
beauty was such, that she could not otherwise beleeue, but that
hee loued her: and Florinda to passe ouer her heauinesse, daily
vsed the company of Auenturade, that began maruelously to be
ialous betweene her husbande and Paulina, whereof shee made
complaint many times to Florinda, who comforted her so well as
shee coulde, like one attached with the same disease: Amadour
coniecturinge by the countenaunce of Florinda, that not onely
shee was estraunged from hym through his former aduertisement,
but also that there was some other displeasure conceyued,
comming vpon a time, from euensong out of the Monasterie, he
sayd vnto her: “Madame, what countenaunce do you make me?” “Such
as I thincke doth please you best,” answered Florinda. Then
Amadour suspecting a matter, to know whether it were true, began
to saye: “Madame, I haue so vsed Paulina, as she beginneth to
give ouer her opinion of you.” She answered him: “Ye cannot do a
better thing either for your selfe or for me: for in doing your
selfe a pleasure, you do honour vnto me.” Amadour iudged by
these words that she thought he toke pleasure to talke of
Paulina, wherewith he became so desperate, as hee could not
forbeare to say vnto her in anger: “Madame, you begin very sone
to torment your seruante: there was neuer paine more greeuous
vnto mee, than to be forced to speake to her whom I loue not:
and sithens al that which I do for your seruice is taken in ill
part, I wil neuer speake againe vnto her, whatsoeuer happen: and
to dissemble mine anger and contentacion, I wil addresse my
selfe to some place hereby, till your fancie be ouer past: but I
hope I shall receiue newes from my captaine, to retourne to the
warres, where I will so longe continue, as you shall well knowe,
that nothing els but you alone doth force me to tarrie here.”
And in saying so, without attending for her aunswere, hee
incontinently departed, and shee remayned so sad and pensive as
any woman coulde be: and loue began to shewe his greate force in
such wyse as shee knowing her wrong incessantly, wrote to
Amadour praying him to retourne home, which he did within a few
dayes after that his choler was past, and to tell you what
businesse there was, to interrupte and breake the ialousie
conceiued, it were superfluous: but in the ende, he wanne the
field, so that she promised him, not onely to beleeue that he
loued not Paulina, but also helde her selfe assured that it
should be to him a martirdome intollerable, to speake vnto her
or any other, except it were to do her seruice: after that loue
had vanquished this presente suspicion, and that the two louers
began to take more pleasure in their mutuall talke than euer
they did before: newes came that the king of Spaine was about to
addres his Armie to Saulse, wherfore he that was wont to be
there with the first, was not like now to fayle to augment his
honour: but true it is, that his griefe was presently more
greate, than at other times before, aswell for losinge the
pleasure which he enioyed, as for feare to finde some mutacion
and chaunge at his returne, because he saw Florinda pursued by
great Princes and Lords, and alreadye come to the age of XV.
yeares, and thought that if she were maried in his absence, he
should neuer haue occasion to see her againe, except the
Countesse of Arande would appointe his wyfe to waite vppon her:
for accomplishment wherof he made such frends, as the Countesse
and Florinda promised him, that into what soeuer place she were
maried his wyfe Auenturade should attende vpon her: and although
it was in question that Florinda should be maried into
Portugall, yet determined that his wyfe should neuer forsake
her: and vppon this assuraunce, not without vnspeakeable sorow,
Amadour departed and left his wife with the Countesse. When
Florinda was alone, her seruaunt departed, shee gaue her selfe
to all vertuous life, hopinge thereby to atteine the fame
of a most perfecte Lady, and to be counted worthie the
interteignemente of such a seruaunt. Amadour arriued at
Barsalone, was banqueted and intertayned of the Ladies after the
old maner, but they finding him so altered and chaunged, thought
that Mariage could neuer haue had such power vppon man, as it
had ouer him: for he seemed then to disdaine, what somtime he
greatly desired, and specially the Countesse of Palamons, whom
he derely loued, could deuise by no meanes to make him go alone
home to his lodging: Amadour tarried at Barsalone so little
while as hee coulde, because hee might not come late to the
place where hee purposed to winne and atchiue honour: and being
arriued at Saulse, great and cruell warres were comenced betwene
the two kinges, which I purpose not to recite, ne yet the noble
enterprises done by Amadour, whose fame was bruted aboue the
rest of his companions. The duke of Nagyers arriuinge at
Parpignon, had charge of two thousand men, and prayed Amadour to
be his Lieuetenaunte, who with that hand serued so well, as no
crie was hard in al the skirmishes, other than of Nagyers. It
chaunced that the king of Thunis, which of long time had warre
with the Spaniards, vnderstandinge howe the kinges of Spaine and
Fraunce were together by the eares at Parpignon and Narbonne,
thought that in better time he could not anoye the king of
Spaine: wherefore he sent a great nomber of Foists and other
vessels, to robbe and spoile those frontiers which were ill
guarded and kept: they of Barsalone seing a nomber of Shippes
passe before the Towne, aduertised the king that was at Saulse,
who immediatly sent the Duke of Nagyers to Palamons: and when
the shippes discried that the place was well guarded, they made
as though they would passe further: but about midnight they
retourned, and landed so many men, that the Duke of Nagyers was
taken prisoner. Amadour which was very vigilant, hearing
allarme, presently assembled so many men as he could, and
defended him self so wel, as the force of his enemies a long
time could not hurt him: but in thende knowing that the Duke of
Nagyers was taken prisoner, and that the Turks were determined
to burn the Citie of Palamons, and then to fier the house which
he strongly had forced againste them, hee thought it better to
render himself, than to be cause of the losse of so manye good
souldiors as were vnder his gouernmente, and also by putting
himselfe to raunsome, he hoped in time to come to see Florinda:
then he submitted himselfe to a Turke called Derlyn, the
gouernor of the king of Thunis, who conueyed him home to his
maister, where he was well entertaigned, and better kept: for
they thought that hauing him in their hands, they had gotten the
only Achilles of Spaine. In this sort Amadour continued almost
the space of two yeares, in the seruice of the king of Thunis:
newes came into Spaine of this ouerthrow, wherof the frends of
the Duke of Nagyers, were very sorowfull: but they that loued
the honor of their countrie, thoughte Amadour to bee the
greatest losse, the brute wherof was noysed in the house of the
Countesse of Arande, wher at that time the poore gentlewoman
Auenturade lay very sore sicke. The Countesse suspecting very
much the affection that Amadour bare vnto her daughter, which he
suffered and dissembled for his vertue’s sake, called her
daughter aside, and told her the pitious newes. Florinda which
could well dissemble said unto her, that it was a great losse
for al their house, but specially she pitied the state of his
poore wife, because at that time she was so sore sicke. But
seing her mother weepe so bitterly, she let fal some teares to
keepe her company, least through to much dissimulacion her loue
might be discouered. After that time, the Countesse spake to her
many times, but she could neuer perceiue by her countenance, any
cause of certaine suspicion. I will leaue to speake of the
voyages, the prayers, the supplications and fastings, which
Florinda did ordinarily make for the safegard and prosperitie of
Amadour, who incontinently so sone as he was ariued at Thunis,
sent newes to his frends, and by a sure messenger aduertized
Florinda, that he was in good health and hope to retourne. Which
newes was to the poore Lady, the only meanes to releue and ease
her sorow. And doubt ye not, but the meanes of writing, was
vtterly debarred from Amadour, wherof Florinda acquited herself
so diligently, as by her letters and epistles, he receiued great
consolation and comfort. The Countesse of Arande receiued
commaundement from the king to repaire to Saragosa, where hee
that time was arriued. And there she found the yong Duke of
Cardonne making sute to the king and Queene, for mariage of her
daughter. The Countesse vnwilling to disobey the king, agreed,
thinkinge that her daughter being very yonge, had none other
affection, but that which already had taken sure impression.
When the accorde was concluded, shee sayde vnto her daughter,
that she had chosen that matche, as best worthy to ioyne with
her person. Her daughter considering howe in a thing already
done it was to late to take counsell, said vnto her, that God
was to be praised in all things. And seing her mother so far
alienated from her intent, she thought it better to shew her
selfe obedient, than to take pitie vpon herselfe. And to comfort
her in that sorowe, she vnderstode that the infant Fortune was
at the point of death. But before her mother or any other
person, she shewed not so much as one signe or token therof,
strayning her grief so much, as the teares by force retiringe to
her harte, did cause the bloud to issue forth at her Nose, in
such abundance, as her life was in present daunger. And to
recouer her of that disease, shee was maried vnto him, for whose
sake shee had rather haue chaunged her life for present death.
After the mariage, Florinda went wyth her husbande into the
Duchy of Cardonne, and in her company Auenturade, to whom she
secretly made complaint, as wel of her mother’s rigor, as also
of the sorow she conceyued for the losse of the sonne of the
Infant Fortune. But of her griefe for Amadour, she spake no
worde, but by way of comforting her. This yong lady then
determined to haue God and the respect of her honoure before her
eies, and so wel to dissemble her griefes, as none at any time
should perceiue that shee misliked her husband. In this sort
Florinda passed long time, in a life no lesse pleasaunt than
death. The report whereof she sent to her good seruaunt Amadour,
who vnderstanding her great loue, and wel disposed hart, and the
loue shee bare to the Infant Fortune, thought that it was
impossible she could liue long, and lamented her state more than
his owne. This griefe augmented his paine of imprisonmente,
wishinge to haue remayned a slaue all the days of his life, so
that Florinda had had a husbande respondent to her desire,
forgettinge his owne griefe by feeling that his frende did
suffer. And because he vnderstode by a secret friend which he
had gotten in the Court of the king of Thunis, that the king was
minded to offer him the gibbet, or els to make him renounce his
fayth, for the desire hee had to retaine him still, and to make
him a good Turke, he behaued himself so well, wyth him that toke
him prisoner, that he gaue him leaue to depart vpon his fayth,
taxing him at so greate raunsome, as he thought a man of so
small substance was neuer able to pay. And so without speaking
to the king his maister, hee let him go vpon his fayth. After he
had shewed himselfe at the Court of the king of Spaine, he
departed incontinently to his frends to get his raunsome, and
went straight to Barsalone, whether the yong Duke of Cardonne,
his mother, and Florinda, was gone aboute certaine affaires.
Auenturade so sone as she heard tell that her husband was come,
declared the same to Florinda, who seemed for her sake greatly
to reioyce therat. But fearing that the desire she had to see
him would make her chaunge countenaunce, and that they which
knew not the cause therof, would conceiue some ill opinion, she
stode still at a window to see him come a far of: and so sone as
she espied him, shee went downe a paire of darke staires that
none mighte perceiue her chaunge of colour. When she had
imbraced Amadour, shee led him into her chamber, and from thence
to her mother in law, which had neuer seene him before. He had
not continued there two dayes, but he was so well beloued, as he
was before in the house of the Countesse of Arande. I will
omitte the words and talke betwene Florinda and Amadour, and the
complaintes which he made vnto her of his ill aduenture, that
hee had sustayned in his absence. And after manye teares vttered
by her, for the heauines she had taken, aswel for the mariage
against her wil, as for the losse of him that she loued so
dearely, and for him whom she thoughte neuer to see againe, shee
determined to take her consolation in the loue and fidelitie
that she bare to Amadour, which notwithstanding she durst not
open and declare: but he that much doubted therof, lost no
occasion and time to let her know and vnderstande the great loue
he bare her. And euen vppon the point that she was ready to
receiue him, not as a seruaunt, but for her assured and perfect
frend, there chaunced a maruellous fortune: for the king, for
certaine matters of importance, incontinently sent forth
Amadour, wherof his wyfe conceyued such sorrow, as hearing those
newes, she souned and fell from the stayres where she stode,
wherewith she hurte herselfe so sore, as neuer after she
reuiued. Florinda (that by the death of her had lost all
comfort) made such sorrow, as one that was destitute of good
frends and kinsfolke, but Amadour toke the same in worst part:
for he had not onely lost one of the most honest women that euer
was, but also the meanes that he should neuer after that time
haue occasion to visit Florinda. For which cause he fell into
such sicknes, as he was like to haue died sodainly. The old
Duchesse of Cardonne, incessantly did visite him, and alledged
many philosophical reasons to make him paciently to receiue
death, bu{t} it auayled nothing: for if death of thone side did
torment him, loue on the other did augment his martirdome.
Amadour seing that his wyfe was buried, and that the king had
sent for him, (hauing no occasion of longer abode there) he
entred into such dispaire, as hee seemed to be oute of his
wittes. Florinda which in comforting him was almost desolate,
remayned by him one whole afternone, vsinge very honest and
discrete talke vnto him, thinking thereby to diminishe the
greatnesse of his sorrowe, and assured him that shee would
deuise wayes how he might visite her more oft than he did thinke
for. And because he must depart the next morning, and was so
feeble and weake that he could not rise from his bed, he
intreated her to come and se him at night after euery man was
retired to bed: which she promised to doe, not knowing that
loue’s extremety was voyd of reason. And he that saw no hope
euer after that time to see her againe, whom so long time he had
serued: and of whom he had neuer receyued other interteignment
than that you haue heard, was so beaten and ouercom with loue
long dissembled, and of the despaire he conceiued, that (all
meanes to vse her company taken away) he purposed to play double
or quit, either to lose her, or to win her fauour for euer, and
to pay himself at one instant the rewarde which he thought he
had right wel deserued. Wherfore he caused the curtaines of his
bed to be drawen, that they which came into the chamber mighte
not see him, complayning of sicknes more than he was wont to do,
wherby they of the house thought he would not haue liued XXIV.
houres. After euery one of the house had visited him at night,
Florinda (at the special request of her husband) came to see
him, thinking for his comfort to vtter vnto him her affection,
and how aboue all other she would loue him, so far as her honor
did permit: and sitting downe in a chayre at the bed’s head, she
began to comfort him, and therwithal powred out many teares.
Amadour seing her sorowful and pensife, thought that in her
great torment he might easely attaine the effect of his intent,
and lifted himself vp in his bed, which Florinda perceyuing, she
would haue staied him, because she thought that through weakenes
he was not able to moue: and kneeling vpon his knees, he said
vnto her: “Must I for euermore forgo your sight mine owne deare
Lady?” And in saying so he fel downe betwene her armes like one
that fainted for lack of strength. Then poore Florinda imbraced
him, and of long time held him vp, doing all that was possible
for his comfort. But the medecine she gaue him to ease his
sorow, did rather increase the same more strong: for in fayning
himself half dead, without speaking any word, he attempted that
which the honor of womanhode doth defend. When Florinda
perceiued his ill intent, she could scarce beleue the same,
considering his honest requests made before time, and therfore
asked him what it was that he desired. But Amadour fearing to
heare her aunswere which he knew well could be none other but
chaste and vertuous, without further talke, pursued his purpose
so earnestly as he could, wherwith Florinda beinge astonned did
suspect he had bin out of his wittes rather than beleue that he
wente about her dishonor. Wherefore with loude voice she called
a gentleman that was in the chamber. Which Amadour hearing,
vtterly in dispaire, threw himself so sodenly into his bed, as
the gentleman thought he had beene dead. Florinda rising out of
the chaire, said vnto him: “Goe quickly and fetch some good
vineger.” Which the gentleman did. Then Florinda began to say
vnto him: “Amadour, what follie hath inchaunted your wisedome?
And what is that which you would haue done unto me?” Amadour
that through the force of loue had lost al reason, said vnto
her: “Doth my long seruice merite a recompence of such cruelty?”
“And wher is the honesty then,” said Florinda, “which so many
times you haue preached vnto me?” “Ah, madame!” said Amadour:
“I beleue it is impossible your selfe more faithfully to loue
your owne honour than I do. For when you were vnmaried, I could
so wel subdue my harte and affection, as you did neuer
vnderstand my will and desire. And now that you be maried, to
the intente your honour may reste in couerte, what wrong do I to
aske that which is mine owne, for by force of loue I haue won
you? He that first enioyed your harte, hath so ill followed the
victorie of your bodye, as hee hath well deserued to lose
altogether. He that possesseth your body, is not worthy to haue
your hart, wherefore your body is none of his, ne yet he hath no
title in the same. But I Madame, these fiue or sixe yeares haue
susteyned suche paynes and trauaile for your sake, as you are
not ignoraunt but to me appertayneth both your body and harte,
for whose sake I haue vtterlye forgotten mine owne. And if you
can finde in your hart to defende mee from my right, doubt ye
not but they which haue proued the forces of loue, wil lay the
blame on you, which hath in this sort robbed me from my
libertie, and with your heauenly graces hath obscured my sences,
that not knowing hereafter what to do, I am constrayned to go
without hope for euer to see you againe. Notwithstanding
warrante your selfe, that in what place so euer I am, you shall
still possesse my harte, which shall continue your’s for euer,
be I vppon the lande or water, or betweene the hands of my moste
cruell enemies. But if I could recouer before my departure, that
surety of you which the greatnesse of my loue deserueth, I shall
be strong enough paciently to beare the griefes of my long
absence. And if it please you not to graunt me this request, you
shal shortly heare tell that your rigor hath rendred vnto me a
most vnhappy and cruel death.” Florinda no lesse astonned than
sorie, to heare such words proceede from him, of whom she neuer
had any such suspicion, weepinge saide unto him: “Alas, Amadour,
is this the meaning of those vertuous words which sithens the
beginning of my youth ye haue vttered vnto me? Is this the honor
of the conscience, which you haue many times perswaded me rather
to die than lose the same? Haue you forgotten the good examples
recited vnto me of vertuous dames that haue resisted foolish
loue? And is this the maner of your contempt of Ladies that were
foolish and vaine, whose light behauiour you dissembled so much
to abhorre? I cannot beleeue Amadour that you are driuen into
such madnes and furie, as the feare of GOD, your owne
conscience, and the estimacion of mine honor, should be
altogether out of your minde and memorie. But if it so be as you
say, I do praise the goodnes of God, which hath preuented the
mishap that nowe I am fallen into, in shewing me by your words,
the hart which I did not know. For hauing lost the sonne of the
Infant Fortune, who not onely is maried into another place, but
also loued another, and I now maried to him, which I cannot
loue, I thought and determined wholly, with all mine hart and
affection to loue you, founding the same vpon that vertue which
I knew to be in you, which loue by your meanes onelye I haue
conceiued, and therfore did more esteeme my honor and
conscience, than the price of mine owne life. Vppon assurance of
this stone of honestie, I am come hither thinking to build a
most sure foundacion. But (Amadour) in one moment thou haste
declared, how in place of a pure foundacion, thy buildinge is
reared vpon a light sand, and vnconstant ground, or els vpon a
filthy and foul quamire. And where I began to erect a good part
of the lodgings of this building vpon the ground of the
fidelitie, hoping to dwel there for euer, sodenly thou hast
ouerthrowen the whole plot. Wherfore, you must immediately
breake in sonder the hope and credit that euermore you haue
found in me, and determine that in what place soeuer I be, not
to pursue me either by worde or countenaunce. And do not thinke,
that I can or will at anye time hereafter chaunge this mine
opinion, reciting this my last adieu with great sorrow and
griefe. But if I had made an othe of this perfect amitie and
loue, I know mine harte would haue died vpon this breach,
although the astonishment in that I am deceiued, is so great, as
I am wel assured it will make my life either short or sorowfull:
and therefore I bid you farewel and that for euer.” I purpose
not to tel you the sorow which Amadour felt by hearing those
words, because it is impossible not only to write them, but also
to thincke them, except it be of such as haue had experience of
the like. And seing that vppon this cruel conclusion she would
haue gone away, he caught her by the arme, knowing well that if
he did not remoue that ill opinion, which by his owne occasion
she had conceyued, hee should lose her for euer. Wherfore he
said vnto her with a very faint chere: “Madame, al the dayes of
my life I haue desired to loue a woman endued with honestie and
vertue: and because I haue found so few, I would fain haue tried
whether your person had bin worthy of estimacion and loue,
wherof now I am wel assured, and humblie do praise God
therefore, because mine hart is addressed to such perfection:
beseching you to pardon this fond and bold attempt, sith you see
that the end doth redound to your owne honor and contentacion.”
Florinda, which began to know by him the malice of other men,
like as she was hard to beleue the euill wher it was, euen so
she was more difficile to credite the good where it was not, and
said vnto him: “I pray to God your words be true: yet am I not
so ignorant but that the state of mariage wherein I am, hath
made me euidently to know the strong passion of blind loue which
hath forced you vnto this follie: for if God had losed my hande,
I am wel assured you would not haue plucked back the bridle:
they that attempt to seeke after vertue, do not take the way
that you do tread: but this is sufficient if I haue lightly
beleeued any honestie in you, it is time for me now to know the
truth, that I may rid my self from you.” And in saying so,
Florinda went out of the chamber, and all the nighte long, she
neuer left weeping, feeling such great griefe in that
alteracion, as her hart had much to do, to sustaine the assaults
of sorrow that loue had made: for although reason thoughte neuer
to loue him againe, yet the hart which is not subiect to our
fancie, would not accord to that crueltie: for which
consideracion, she loued him no lesse than she was wont to do,
and knowing that loue was the cause of that fault, she purposed
for satisfaction of loue, to Loue him with all her hart, and yet
for the obedience and fealtie due to her honor, she thought
neuer to make any semblance. In the morning Amadour departed in
this sort, troubled as you haue hearde, neuerthelesse his
couragious heart centred not in dispaire, but renued a fresh
hope once againe to see Florinda, and to win her fauour: then he
toke his iourney towards the Court of Spaine (which was at
Tolledo) taking his way by the Countesse of Arande, wher late in
an euening he arriued, and found the Countesse verye sicke for
the absence of her daughter Florinda: when shee saw Amadour,
shee kissed and imbraced him, as if he had beene her owne child,
aswel for the loue she bare vnto him, as for the like which she
doubted that he bare to Florinda, of whom very earnestly she
inquired for newes, who tolde her the best that he could deuise,
but not the whole truth, and confessed vnto her the loue
betweene Florinda and him, (which Florinda had still conceiled
and kept secrete) praying her ayde to bring him againe into her
fauour: and so the next morning he departed. And after he had
done his businesse with the Queene, he repayred to the warres,
so sadde and chaunged in all his condicions, as the Ladies,
Captaynes and all they that were wonte to keepe him companie,
did not know him. His apparell was all blacke, mourning for the
death of his wife, wherby he couered the sorrow which was hid in
his hart. In this wyse Amadour passed three or 4 yeres before he
returned to the Court. And the Countesse of Arande which heard
tell that Florinda was so much altered, as it would haue moued
any hart to behold her, sent for her, hoping that she would haue
come, but her expectacion was frustrate, for when Florinda
vnderstode that Amadour had told her mother the good will
betweene them, and that her mother being so wise and vertuous
giuing credite to Amadour, did beleue his report, she was in
marueilous perplexitie, because of the one side she saw that her
mother did esteeme him so well, and on the other side if she
declared vnto her the truth, Amadour woulde conceiue
displeasure: which thing she had rather die than to do:
wherefore she thought herselfe strong inough to chastise him of
his folly, without helpe of frends. Againe, she perceyued that
by dissembling the euil which she knew by him, she should be
constrained by her mother and her frends, to speake and beare
him good countenaunce, wherby she feared he would be the more
encoraged: but seing that he was far of, she passed the lesse of
the matter: and when the Countesse her mother did commaunde her,
she wrote letters vnto him, but they were such as he might wel
gather that they were written rather vpon obedience, than of
good wil, the reading wherof bred sorrow vnto him in place of
that ioye he was wonte to conceiue in her former wrytings.
Within the terme of two or three yeres, after he had done so
many noble enterprises as al the paper of Spaine could not
containe them, he deuised a new inuention, not to wynne and
recouer the harte of Florinda (for he demed the same quite lost)
but to haue the victorie ouer his enemy, sithens she had vsed
him in that sorte, and reiecting al reason and specially feare
of death, into the hazarde wherof he hasted himselfe, he
concluded and determined his enterprise in such sorte, as for
his behauiour towardes the Gouernour, hee was deputed and sent
by him to treate with the king of certaine exploytes to be done
at Locates, sparing not to impart his message to the Countesse
of Aranda, before he told the same to the king, to vse her good
aduise therein: and so came in poste straight into the Countie
of Aranda, where he had intelligence in what place Florinda
remained, and secretly sent to the Countesse one of his frendes
to tell her of his comming, and to pray her to keepe it close,
and that he might speake with her that night in secrete wise
that no man might perceiue: the Countesse very ioyfull of his
comming, tolde it to Florinda, and sent her into her husbande’s
chamber, that she might be ready when she should send for her
after eche man was gone to bed. Florinda whiche was not yet well
boldened by reason of her former feare, making a good face of
the matter to her mother, withdrewe her selfe into an oratorie
or chappell, to recommend her selfe to God, praying him to
defend her hart from al wicked affection, and therwithal
considered how often Amadour had praysed her beautie, which was
not impaired or diminished, although she had bene sicke of longe
time before: wherefore thinking it better to doe iniurie to her
beautie by defacing it, than to suffer the harte of so honest a
personage by meanes thereof wickedly to be inflamed, shee tooke
vp a stone which was within the Chappell, and gaue her selfe so
great a blowe on the face that her mouthe, eyes and nose, were
altogether deformed: and to thintent no man might suspect what
she had done, when the Countesse sent for her in going out of
the Chappell, she fell downe vppon a great stone, and
therewithall cried out so loude, as the Countesse came in and
founde her in pitious state, who incontinently dressing her
face, and binding it vp with clothes, conueyed her into her
chamber, and prayed her to goe into her closet to entertaigne
Amadour, tyll she were weary of his companie: whiche she did,
thinking that there had bene somebody with hym: but finding him
alone, and the doore shut vpon her, Amadour was not so well
pleased as she was discontented: who nowe thoughte eyther with
loue or force to get that, whiche hee had so long tyme desyred:
and after he had spoken a fewe woordes vnto her, and found her
in that mynde hee lefte her, and that to dye for it shee woulde
not chaunge her opinion, desperatly he sayde vnto her: “By God
madame, the fruite of my labour shall not be thus taken from me
for scruples and doubtes: and sithe that Loue, pacience, and
humble desires, cannot preuayle, I will not spare by force to
get that, which except I haue it will be the meanes of mine
overthrowe.” When Florinda sawe his face and eyes so altered,
and that the fairest die and colour of the world, was become so
red as fier, with his most pleasaunt and amiable loke
transformed into horrible hew and furious, and therewithall
discried the very hote burning fier, to sparkle within his harte
and face: and how in that fury with one of his strong fistes he
griped her delicate and tender hands: and on the other side shee
seeing all her defences to fayle her, and that her feete and
handes were caught in suche captiuitie as she could neither run
away nor yet defend her selfe: knewe none other remedie, but to
proue if he had yet remaining in him any griftes of the former
loue, that for the honour therof he might forget his crueltie.
Wherefore she sayd vnto him: “Amadour, if now you doe accompt me
for an enemy, I besech you for the honestie of the loue which at
other times I haue found planted in your harte, to geue me leaue
to speake before you doe torment me.” And when shee saw him
recline his eare, she pursued her talk in this wyse: “Alas,
Amadour, what cause haue you to seke after the thing wherof you
shall receiue no contentation, inflicting vppon me such
displeasure as there can be no greater? you haue many times
proued my wil and affection in the time of my youthfull dayes,
and of my beautie farre more excellent than it is now, at what
tyme your passion might better be borne with and excused, than
nowe: in such wyse as I am nowe amased to see that you haue the
harte to torment me at that age and great debilitie wherewith I
am affected: I am assured that you doubt not but that my wyl and
mind is such as it was wont to be: wherefore you can not obtayne
your demaunde but by force: and if you sawe howe my face is
arrayed, you would forget the pleasure whiche once you conceiued
in me, and by no meanes would forcibly approche nere vnto me:
and if there be lefte in you yet any remnantes of loue, it is
impossible but that pitie may vanquishe your furie: and to that
pitie and honestie whereof once I had experience in you, I do
make my plaint, and of the same I do demaund grace and pardon,
to thintent that according to theffect of your wonted perswasion
and good aduise you may suffer me to liue in that peace and
honestie, which I haue determined and vowed during life: and if
the loue which you haue borne me be conuerted into hatred, and
that more for reuengement than affection, you doe purpose to
make me the moste unhappy of the world, I assure you, you shall
not be able to bryng your intent to passe, besides that you
shall constrayne me against my determination, to vtter and
reueale your villany and disordinate appetite towardes her which
did repose in you an incredible affiance: by discouering
whereof, thinke verely that your lyfe cannot continue without
perill.” Amadour breaking her talke sayde vnto her: “If I die
for it, I will presently be acquieted of my torment: but the
deformitie of your face (whiche I thinke was done by you of set
purpose) shall not let me to accomplishe my will: for since I
can get nothing of you but the bones and carcase, I will holde
them so fast as I can.” And when Florinda sawe that prayers,
reason, nor teares could not auayle, but that with crueltie he
woulde nedes followe his villanous desire, which she had
hetherto still auoided by force of resistence, she did helpe her
selfe so long, till she feared the losse of her breath, and with
a heauy and piteous voice she called her mother so loud as shee
could crie, who hearing her daughter crie and cal with rufull
voyce, began greatly to feare the thing that was true: wherfore
she ran so fast as she could into the warderobe. Amadour not
being so nere death as he saide he was, left of his holde in
suche good time, as the Ladye opening her closet, founde him at
the dore, and Florinda farre enough from him. The Countesse
demaunded of him, saying: “Amadour what is the matter? tell me
the truthe.” Who like one that was neuer vnprouided of excuse,
with his pale face and wanne, and his breath almoste spent,
sayde vnto her: “Alas, madame, in what plight is my lady
Florinda? I was neuer in all my life in that amase wherin I am
now: for as I sayd vnto you, I had thought that I had inioyed
part of her good will, but nowe I know right well that I haue
none at all: I thinke madame, that sithe the time she was
brought vp with you, shee was neuer lesse wise and vertuous than
shee is nowe, but farre more daungerous and squeimishe in
speaking and talking then behoueth, and euen nowe I would haue
loked vpon her, but she would not suffer me: and when I viewed
her countenaunce, thinking that it had bene some dreame or
vision, I desired to kisse her hande, according to the fashion
of the countrey, which shee vtterly refused. True it is Madame,
I haue offended her, wherof I craue pardon of you, but it
chaunced only for that I toke her by the hand, which I did in a
maner by force, and kissed the same demaunding of her no other
pleasure: but she like one (as I suppose) that hath sworne my
death, made an outcry for you (as you haue hearde) for what
cause I know not, except that shee were afraide I would haue
forced some other thing: notwithstanding Madame, whatsoeuer the
matter be, I protest vnto you the wrong is myne, and albeit that
she ought to loue al your honest seruaunts, yet fortune so
willeth as I alone, the moste affectioned of them all, is
clerely exempt out of her fauour: and yet I purpose still to
continue towardes you and her, the same man I came hither,
beseching the continuance of your good grace and fauour, sithens
that without desert I haue loste hers.” The Countesse which
partely beleued, and partelye mistrusted his talke, went vnto
her daughter, and demaunded wherfore she cried out so loud.
Florinda answered that she was afrayde: and albeit the Countesse
subtilly asked her of many things, yet Florinda would neuer make
other answere, for that hauing escaped the handes of her enemy,
she thought it punishement enough for him to lose his labour:
after that the Countesse had of long tyme communed with Amadour,
she lefte him yet once againe to enter in talke with Florinda
before her, to see what countenaunce shee would make him. To
whom he spake fewe wordes except they were thankes for that she
had not confessed the truthe to her mother, praying her at least
wise that seing he was dispossessed out of her hart, she would
suffer none other to receiue his place: but she answering his
former talke, saide: “If I had had any other meanes to defend my
selfe from you than by crying out, she should neuer haue heard
me, and of me you shall neuer heare worse, except you doe
constrayne me as you haue done, and for louing any other man,
you shall not neede to feare: for sithe I haue not found in your
harte (which I estemed the most vertuous in all the world) the
good successe that I desired, I wyll neuer beleue hereafter that
vertue is planted in any man. And this outrage shall make me
free from all passions that Loue can force.” And in saying so
she tooke her leaue. The mother which behelde her countenaunce,
could suspecte nothing, and after that tyme, shee was persuaded
that her daughter bare no more affection to Amadour, and thought
assuredly that she was voyde of reason, because she hated al
those things which she was wont to loue: and from that time
forth there was such warre betwene the mother and the daughter,
as the mother for the space of VII. yeares would not speake vnto
her, except it were in anger: which she did at the request of
Amadour: during which time, Florinda conuerted the misliking of
her husband, into mere and constant loue, to auoyde the rigour
and checkes of her mother: howbeit, seing that nothing could
preuayle, she purposed to beguile Amadour, and leauing for a day
or two her straunge countenance towards him, she counselled
Amadour to loue a woman, whiche as she sayd, did commonly
dispute and talke of their loue. This lady dwelt with the Queene
of Spaine, and was called Lorette, who was very ioyfull and glad
to get such a seruant: and Florinda founde meanes to cause a
brute of this newe loue to be spred in euery place, and
specially the Countesse of Arande (being at the Court) perceiued
the same, who afterwards was not so displeased with Florinda, as
she was wont to be: Florinda vpon a tyme heard tel that a
Captain the husband of Loret, began to be ialous ouer his wife,
determining by some meanes or other, he cared not howe, to kill
Amadour. Florinda notwithstanding her dissembled countenance,
could not suffer any hurt to be done to Amadour, and therefore
incontinently gaue him aduertisement thereof: but he retourning
againe to his former follies, answered, that if it would please
her to intertaigne him euery day three houres, he would neuer
speake againe to Lorette, whereunto by no meanes shee would
consent. Then Amadour saide vnto her: “If you will not haue me
to liue, wherefore go ye about to defend me from death? except
ye purpose to torment me aliue with greater extremitie then a
thousand deathes can do: but for so much as death doth flie from
me, I will neuer leaue to seeke him out, by whose approche only
I shall haue rest.” Whilest they were in these tearmes, newes
came that the kyng of Granado was about to enter into great
warres against the king of Spain: in suche wyse as the king sent
against hym the Prince his sonne, and with hym the constable of
Castile, and the Duke of Albe, twoo auncient and sage Lordes.
The duke of Cardonne and the counte of Arande not willing to
tarie behinde, besought the kyng to geue eyther of them a
charge: whiche hee did according to the dignitie of their
houses, appointing Amadour to be their guide: who during that
warre, did sutche valiaunt factes as they seemed rather to be
desperately than hardily enterprysed: and to come to the effect
of this discourse, his great valiaunce was tryed euen to the
death: for the Moores making a bragge as though they would geue
battayle, when they sawe the army of the Christians,
counterfaited a retire, whome the Spaniardes pursued, but the
olde Constable and the duke of Albe doubting their pollicie,
stood still, against the will of the Prince of Spaine, not
suffering him to passe ouer the Ryuer, but the counte of Arande
and the Duke of Cardonne, (although they were countremanded) did
followe the chase, and when the Moores sawe that they were
pursued with so small a number, they returned, and at one
recountrie kylled the Duke of Cardonne, and the Counte of Arande
was so sore hurte as hee was lefte for dead in the place.
Amadour arriuing vpon this ouerthrowe, inuaded the battayle of
the Moores with sutche rage and furie, as hee rescued the twoo
bodyes of the Duke and Countie, and caused them to be conueyed
to the Prince’s campe, who so lamented their chaunce, as if they
had bene his owne brethren: but in searching their woundes, the
Countie of Arande was founde to be aliue, and was sent home to
his own house in a horselitter, where of long time he was sicke,
and likewise was conueied to Cardonne the dead bodie of the yong
Duke. Amadour in rescuing those two bodies, tooke so little
heede to him selfe, as he was inclosed with a great number of
the Moores, and because he would bee no more taken, as well to
verifie his faith towardes God, as also his vowe made to his
Lady, and also considering that if he were prysoner to the kyng
of Granado, either hee should cruelly be put to death, or els
forced to renounce his faith, he determined not to make his
death or taking glorious to his enemies: wherefore kissing the
crosse of his sworde, and rendring his body and soule to the
handes of almighty God, he stabbed him selfe into the body with
sutche a blow, as there neded no second wound to rid him of his
life: in this sorte died poore Amadour, so muche lamented as his
vertues did deserue. The newes hereof was bruted throughout
Spaine, and came to Florinda who then was at Barselone, where
her husbande in his life tyme ordeined the place of his buriall:
and after shee had done his honourable obsequies, without making
her own mother, or mother in law priuie, she surrendred her
selfe into the monasterie of Iesus, there to liue a religious
life, receiuing him for her husband and friende, whiche had
deliuered her from the vehement loue of Amadour, and from a
displeasaunt life so great and vnquiet as was the company of her
husband. In this wise she conuerted all her affections, to
pietie and the perfit loue of God, who after she had long time
liued a religious life, shee yelded vp her soule in such ioye as
the Bridegrom doth when he goeth to visite his spowes.




THE FIFTY-FOURTH NOUELL.

  _The incontinencie of a duke and of his impudencie to attaine his
  purpose, with the iust punishement which he receiued for the same._


In the Citie of Florence (the chiefest of all Thuscane) there
was a Duke that maried the Lady Margaret the bastarde daughter
of the Emperour Charles the fift. And bicause shee was very
young, it was not lawfull for him to lye with her, but taryng
till she was of riper yeres, he interteigned an vsed her like a
noble gentleman. And who to spare his wife, was amorous of
certaine other Gentlewomen of the citie. Amonges whom he was in
loue with a very fayre and wyse Gentlewoman, that was sister to
a Gentleman, a seruaunt of his, whome the Duke loued so well as
himselfe, to whome he gaue so muche authoritie in his house, as
his word was so wel obeied and feared as the Duke’s him self,
and there was no secrete thing in the Duke’s minde, but he
declared the same vnto him, who might ful wel haue bene called a
second himself. The duke seing his sister to be a woman of great
honestie, had no wayes or meanes to vtter vnto her the loue that
he bare her (after he had inuented all occasions possible) at
length he came to this Gentleman which he loued so well, and
said vnto him: “My friend, if there were any thing in all the
world, wherein I were able to pleasure thee, and woulde not doe
it at thy request, I should be afraid to say my fantasie, and
much ashamed to craue your help and assistance: but the loue is
such which I bare thee, as if I had a wife, mother, or daughter,
that were able to saue thy life, I would rather imploy them,
than to suffer thee to die in torment: and if thou doe beare
vnto me that affection which am thy maister, thinke verely that
I doe beare vnto thee the like. Wherefore I will disclose vnto
thee suche a secrete and priuie matter, as the silence thereof
hath brought me into sutche plight as thou seest, whereof I doe
loke for none amendement but by death or by the seruice whiche
thou maiest doe me, in a certayne matter which I purpose to tell
thee.” The Gentleman hearing the reasons of his maister, and
seing his face not fayned, but all besprent with teares, tooke
great compassion vpon him and sayd: “My Lorde, I am your humble
seruaunt: all the goodes and worship that I haue doth come from
you. You may saye vnto me as to your moste approued frende.
Assure your self, that all which resteth in my power and
abilitie, is already at your commaundement.” Then the Duke began
to tell him of the loue that hee bare vnto his sister, which was
of sutche force, as if by his meanes he did not enioye her, his
life could not long continue. For he saide, that he knew right
well that intreatie and presentes were with her of no regard.
Wherfore he praied him, that if he loued his life, so well as he
did his, to finde meanes for him to receiue that benefite, which
without him he was in despaire neuer to recouer. The brother
which loued his sister and honor of his kindred, more than the
Duke’s pleasure, made a certain reuerence vnto him, humbly
beseeching him to vse his trauaill and pain in all other causes
sauing in that, bicause it was a sute so slaunderous and
infamous, as it would purchase dishonor to his whole familie,
adding further, that neither his hart nor his honor could serue
him, to consent to do that seruice. The Duke inflamed with
vnspeakeable furie, put his finger betwene his teeth, and biting
of the nayle, said unto him in great rage: “Well then sithe I
finde in thee no frendship, I know what I haue to doe.” The
Gentleman knowing the crueltie of his Maister, being sore
afraide, replied: “My Lorde, for so much as your desire is
vehement and earnest, I will speake vnto her and brynge you
aunswere of her mynde.” And as he was departing, the Duke sayde
vnto him: “See that thou tender my life as thou wylt that I
shall doe thyne.” The Gentleman vnderstanding well what that
woorde did meane, absented him selfe a day or twaine to aduise
what were best to be done. And amonges diuers his cogitations,
there came to his remembraunce the bounden dutie which he dyd
owe to his Maister, and the goodes and honours which he had
receyued at his handes, on the other syde, hee considered the
honour of his house, the good life and chastitie of his syster,
who (he knewe well) would neuer consent to that wickednesse, if
by subtiltie shee were not surprised, or otherwyse forced, and
that it were a thing very straunge and rare, that he should goe
about to defame hymselfe and the whole stocke of his progenie.
Wherefore hee concluded, that better it were for hym to die,
than to commit a mischief so great vnto his sister, whiche was
one of the honestest women in all Italie. And therewithall
considered how he might deliuer his countrie from sutch a
tyrant, which by force would blemishe and spot the whole race of
his auncient stock and familie. For he knew right wel that
except the duke were taken away, the life of him and his
affinitie could not be in securitie and safegarde: wherfore
without motion made to his sister of that matter, he deuised how
to saue his life and the reproche that should follow. Vpon the
second daye he came vnto the duke, and tolde hym in what sorte
he had practised with his sister, and that although the same in
the beginning was harde and difficult, yet in the ende he made
her to consent, vpon condicion that hee would keepe the same so
secrete as none but hymselfe and he myght knowe of it. The duke
desirous and glad of those newes, dyd sone belieue hym, and
imbracing the messanger, promised to geue him whatsoeuer he
would demaunde, praying hym with all speede that hee might
inioye his desyred purpose. Whereupon they appointed a tyme: and
to demaunde whether the duke were glad and ioyfull of the same,
it were superfluous. And when the desired night was come, wherin
he hoped to haue the victorie of her whom he thought inuincible,
he and the gentleman alone withdrewe themselues together, not
forgetting his perfumed coif and swete shirte wrought and
trimmed after the best maner. And when eche wight was gone to
bed, both they repayred to the appointed lodging of his Lady,
where being arriued they founde a chamber in decent and comly
order. The gentleman taking of the Duke’s night gowne, placed
hym in the bedde, and sayde vnto hym: “My Lorde, I wil nowe goe
seeke her, which can not enter into this chamber without
blushing, howbeit I truste before to morrowe morning she wyll be
very glad of you.” Which done, he left the Duke, and went into
his own chamber, where he founde one of his seruantes alone, to
whome he sayde: “Hast thou the harte to followe me into a place
where I shall be reuenged vpon the greatest enemie that I haue
in the worlde?” “Yea sir,” aunswered his man. Whereupon the
Gentleman toke him with him so sodainly, as he had no leasure to
arme him selfe with other weapon but with his onely dagger. And
when the Duke heard him come againe, thinking he had brought her
with hym that he loued so derely, hee drewe the curteine, and
opened his eyes to behold and receiue that ioye which he had so
long loked for, but in place of seeing her which he hoped should
be the conseruation of his life, he sawe the acceleration of his
death, which was a naked sworde that the Gentleman had drawen,
who therwithall did strike the Duke, which was in his shirte
voyde of weapon, although well armed with courage, and sitting
vp in his bedde grasped the Gentleman about the body, and sayde:
“Is this thy promise whiche thou hast kept?” And seeing that he
had no other weapon but his teeth and nayles, he bitte the
gentleman in the arme, and by force of his owne strengthe he so
defended himselfe, as they bothe fell downe into the flower. The
gentleman fearing the match, called for hys manne, who finding
the Duke and his maister fast together, that he wyst not whether
to take, he drewe them both by the feete into the middest of the
chamber, and with his dagger assayde to cut the Duke’s throte.
The duke who defended himselfe, till suche time as the losse of
his bloud made him so weake and feeble that he was not able to
contende any longer. Then the Gentleman and his man laide him
againe into his bed, where they accomplished the effect of that
murther. Afterwardes drawing the curteine, they departed and
locked the dead body in the chamber. And when he saw that he had
gotten the vicctorie of his enemy, by whose death he thought to
set at libertie the common wealth, he supposed his facte to be
vnperfect if he did not the like to fiue or sixe of them which
were nerest to the Duke, and best beloued of him. And to attaine
the perfection of that enterpryse, he bad his man to doe the
like vnto them one after another, that hee had done to the Duke.
But the seruaunt being nothing hardie or coragious, said vnto
his maister: “Me thinke, sir, that for this time ye haue done
enough, and that it were better for you now to deuise waye howe
to saue your owne life, than to seeke meanes to murder any more.
For if we do consume so long space of time to kill euery of
them, as we haue done in murdering of the Duke, the day light
will discouer our enterprise before we haue made an ende, yea
although wee finde them naked and without defence.” The
gentleman whose euill conscience made him fearfull, did beleue
his seruaunt, and taking him alone with him, went to the bishop
that had in charge the gates of the citie, and the vse of the
Postes, to whom he sayd: “This euening (my Lord) newes came vnto
me that mine owne brother lieth at the point of death, and
crauing licence of the Duke to goe se him he hath giuen me
leaue. Wherefore I beseche you commaunde the Postes to deliuer
me two good horse, and that you will sende worde to the porter
that the gates may be opened.” The bishop which estemed no lesse
his request than the commaundement of the Duke his maister,
incontinently gaue him a billet, by vertue wherof both the gates
were opened, and the horse made ready according to his demaunde.
And vnder colour and pretence of visiting his brother, he rode
to Venice, where after he had cured himselfe of the duke’s
bitinges fastened in his fleshe, he trauailed into Turkey. In
the morning the duke’s seruauntes seing the time so late before
their maister retourned, suspected that he was gone forth in
visiting of some Ladye, but when they sawe he taried so long,
they began to seke for him in euery place. The poore Duchesse
into whose harte the loue of her husbande strongly did inuade,
vnderstanding that he could not be founde, was very pensife and
sorowfull. But when the Gentleman which he so dearely loued, was
not likewyse seene abroade, searche was made in his chamber,
where finding bloud at the chamber dore, they entred in, but no
man was there to tell them any newes, and following the tract of
the bloud the poore seruantes of the Duke went to the chamber
dore, where he was, which dore they found fast locked, who
incontinently brake open the same: and seing the place all
bloudy, drew the curteine, and found the wretched carcasse of
the Duke lying in the bedde, sleeping his endlesse sleepe. The
sorrow and lamentation made by the duke’s seruauntes, carying
the dead bodye into his palace, is easie to be coniectured.
Wherof when the Bishop was aduertised, he repaired thether, and
tolde how the Gentleman was gone awaye in the night in great
haste, vnder pretence to goe to see his brother: whereupon it
was euidently knowen that it was he that had committed the
murder. And it was proued that his poore sister was neuer priuie
to the facte, who although she was astonned with the sodaynes of
the deede, yet her loue towardes her brother was farre more
increased, bicause he had deliuered her from a Prince so cruell,
the enemy of her honestie: for doing whereof he did not sticke
to hazard his owne life. Whereupon she perseuered more and more
in vertue, and although she was poore, by reason her house was
confiscate, yet both her sister and shee matched with so honest
and riche husbandes as were to be founde in Italie: and
afterwardes they both liued in good and great reputation.




THE FIFTY-FIFTH NOUELL.

  _One of the Frenche kinge’s called Frauncis the firste of that name,
  declared his gentle nature to Counte Guillaume, that would haue
  killed him._


In Digeon a town of Burgundie, there came to the seruice of king
Frauncis, (whiche was father to Henry the second of that name,
whiche Henry was kylled by Mounsier Mongomerie, in a triumphe at
the Tilt, and graundfather to Charles the IX. that now raigneth
in Fraunce) an Earle of Allemaigne called Guillaume, of the
house of Saxon, whereunto the house of Sauoie is so greatly
allied, as in old time they were but one. This Counte for so
much as he was estemed to be so comely and hardy a Gentleman as
any was in Almaigne, was in sutche good fauour with the king, as
he tooke him not onely into seruice, but vsed him so nere his
persone, as he made him of his priuy chamber. Vpon a day the
Gouernour of Burgundie, the Lorde Trimouille (an auncient knight
and loyall seruaunt of the kyng) like one suspicious and
fearfull of the euill and hurte of his Maister, had daylie
espies ouer his enemies, vsing his affaires so wysely,
as very fewe thinges were concealed from hym. Among other
aduertisementes, one of his friendes wrote vnto him that the
Counte Guillaume had receiued certain sommes of money, with
promise of more, if by any meanes he could deuise which waye to
kill the king. The Lorde of Trimouile hearing of this, failed
not to come to the kyng to giue him knowledge thereof, and
disclosed it lykewyse to Madame Loyse of Sauoye his mother, who
forgetting her amitie and aliaunce with the Almaigne Earle,
besought the king forthwith to put hym awaye. The kyng prayed
his mother to speake no more thereof, and sayde, that it was
impossible that so honest a Gentleman would attempt to doe a
deede so wicked. Within a while after, there came other newes of
that matter, confirming the first: whereof the Gouernour for the
intire loue he bare to his Maister, craued licence either to
expel him the countrie, or to put him in warde. But the king
gaue speciall commaundement that he should not make any
semblaunce of displeasure, for that hee purposed by some other
meanes to knowe the truthe. Vpon a time when he went a hunting
he girded about him the best sworde that hee had, to serue for
all armes and assayes, and toke with him the Counte Guillaume,
whome he commaunded to wayte vpon him, the firste and chiefest
next his owne persone. And after he had followed the hart a
certayne tyme, the kyng seing that his traynes was farre from
hym, and no man neare him sauing the Counte, tourned hym selfe
rounde about, and when hee sawe that hee was alone, in the mydde
of the forest, hee drew out his sworde, and sayd to the Counte:
“How saye you, (sir counte) is not this a fayre and good
swoorde?” The counte feling it at the point, and well viewyng
the same, aunswered that he neuer sawe a better in all his life.
“You haue reason,” sayde the kyng, “and I beleue that if a
Gentleman were determined to kyll mee, and did knowe the force
of myne armes, and the goodnesse of myne harte accompanied with
this sword, he would bee twyse well aduised before hee attempted
that enterprise. Notwithstanding I would accompt him but a
cowarde, wee being alone withoute witnesses, if he did not
attempt that, which he were disposed to do.” The Counte
Guillaume with bashfull and astonned countenaunce aunsweared:
“Sir, the wickednesse of the enterprise were very great, but the
folly in the execution were no lesse.” The king with those
wordes fell in a laughter, and put the sword in the skaberd
againe: and hearing that the chase drewe neare him, he made to
the same so faste as he coulde. When he was come thether, he
said nothing of that which had passed betweene theim, and
verelye thoughte that the Counte Guillaume although that he was
a stronge and stoute gentleman, yet he was no man to do so great
an enterprise. But the Counte Guillaume, fearing to be bewrayed
or suspected of the fact, next day morning repayred to Robertet
the Secretarie of the kinge’s reuenues, and saide that hee had
well wayed the giftes and annuities which the kinge would giue
him to tarrie, but he perceiued that they were not sufficient to
interteigne him for halfe a yeare, and that if it pleased not
the king to double the same, hee should be forced to departe,
praying the sayde Robertet to know his grace’s pleasure so sone
as he coulde, who sayd vnto him, that he himselfe could without
further commission disbursse no more vnto him, but gladly
without further delay he would repaire to the king: which he did
more willingly, because he had seene the aduertisements of the
Gouernor aforesaid. And so sone as the kinge was awake, he
declared the matter vnto him in the presence of Monsier
Trimouille and Monsier Bouinet, lord admirall, who were vtterly
ignorant of that which the king had done. To whom the kinge
said: “Loe, ye haue bene miscontented for that I would not put
away the Counte Guillaume, but now ye see he putteth away
himselfe. Wherefore Robertet (quoth the king) tell him, that if
he be not content with the state which he receiued at his first
entrie into my seruice, whereof many gentlemen of good houses
would thinke themselues happie, it is meete that he seeke his
better fortune, and tell him that I would be lothe to hinder
him, but wilbe very well contented, that he seeke where he may
liue better, accordingly as he deserueth.” Robertet was so
diligent to beare this aunsweare to the Counte, as he was to
present his sute to the kinge. The counte said that with his
licence he would gladly go forthwith: and as one whom feare
forced to depart, he was not able to beare his abode 24 houres.
And as the king was sitting downe to dinner, fayning to be sorye
for his departure, but that necessitie compelled him to lose his
presence, hee toke his leaue. He went likewise to take leaue of
the king’s mother, which she gaue him with so great ioy, as she
did receiue him, being her nere kinsman and freind. Then he went
into his countrie: and the king seing his mother and seruantes
astonned at his sodaine departure, declared vnto them the Al
Arme, which he had giuen him, saying, that although he was
innocent of the matter suspected, soe was his feare greate
ynoughe, to departe from a maister wyth whose condicions
hitherto he was not acquainted.




THE FIFTY-SIXTH NOUELL.

  _A pleasaunt discours of a great Lord to enioy a Gentlewoman of
  Pampelunæ._


There was in the time of king Lewes the XII. of that name,
a young Lord, called the lorde of Auannes sonne to the Lorde
Alebret, and brother to king John of Nauarre, with whom the said
Lord of Auannes ordinarely remayned. Now this yong Lorde was of
the age of XV. yeares, so comely a personage, and full of
curtesie and good behauiour, as he seemed to be created for none
other purpose, but to be beloued and regarded: and so he was in
deede of al those that did wel behold and note his commendable
grace and condicion, but chiefly of a woman, dwelling in the
citie of Pampelunæ in Nauarre, the wife of a rich man, with whom
she liued honestly: and although she was but 23 yeres of age,
and her husband very nere fiftie, yet her behauior was so
modest, as she seemed rather a widow than a maried wyfe, who
vsed not to frequent and haunte any mariages, banquets, or
common assemblies without the company of her husbande, the
vertue and goodnes of whom she so greatly esteemed, as she
preferred the same before the beautie of al others. The husband,
hauing experience of her wisedome, put such trust in her, as he
committed al thaffaires of his house to her discretion: vpon a
day this rich man with his wife, were inuited to a mariage of
one that was nere kinne vnto him: to which place (for the
greater honor of the mariage) repaired the yong Lord of Auannes,
who naturally was giuen to dauncing, and for his excellencie in
dauncing there was not his like to be found in his time: after
dinner when they prepared to daunce, the Lord of Auannes was
intreated thereunto by the rich man: the said lord asked him
with what gentlewoman hee should lead the daunce. He aunsweared
him: “My Lord if there were any one more beautifull, or more at
my commaundement then my wyfe, I would present her vnto you,
beseeching you to do mee so much honour as to take her by the
hande.” Which the yong Lorde did, and by reason of his youthfull
courage he toke more pleasure in vaultinge and dauncinge, then
in beholding the beautie of the Ladies: and she whom he ledde by
the hand, contrarywyse regarded more the grace and beautie of
the said yong Lord, then the daunce wherin she was, albeit for
her great wisedome she made therof no semblance at al. When
supper time was come, the Lord of Auannes badde the companie
farewell and went home to the castle: whether the riche man
accompanied him vppon his moile: and riding homewards together,
hee saide vnto him: “My Lord, this day you haue done so great
honor vnto my kinsemen and mee, that it were great ingratitude
is I should not offer my selfe with all the goods I haue to do
you seruice: I knowe sir that such Lordes as you be which haue
nere and couetous fathers, many times do lacke money which we by
keeping of smal houshold, and vsing good husbandrie do heape and
gather together. Now thus it is sir, that God hauing giuen mee a
wife accordinge to my desire he would not in this world
altogether indue mee with heauenly pleasures, but hath left me
voyde of one ioy which is the ioye that fathers haue of
children. I know sir that it is not my dutie, and belongeth not
to my state to adopt you for such a one, but if it maye please
you to receiue mee for your seruaunt, and to declare vnto me
your small affaires, so farre as a hundred thousande Crownes
shall extende, I will not sticke to helpe your necessities.” The
yong Lorde of Auannes was very ioyfull of this offer, for he had
suche a father as the other had described vnto him: and after he
had giuen him hartie thanckes, he called him his friendlye
father. From that time forth the sayd riche man conceiued such
loue in the yong Lord, as daily he ceased not to inquire of his
lacke and want, and hid not from his wyfe the deuocion which he
bare to the said Lorde of Auannes, for which she rendred vnto
him double thanckes. And after that time the said yong Lord
lacked not what he desired, and many times resorted to that rich
man’s to drincke and eate with him, and finding him not at home,
his wyfe rewarded him with his demaunde: whoe admonished her by
wyse and discrete talke to be vertuous, because he feared and
loued her aboue all the women of the worlde. She which had God
and her honor before her eyes, was contente with his sight and
talke, wherin consisted the satisfaction of his honestie and
vertuous loue: in such wise as she neuer made any signe or
semblaunce, wherby he might thinke and iudge that shee had anye
affection vnto him, but that which was both brotherlie and
christian. During this couerte amitie, the Lord of Auannes
through the foresaid ayde, was very gorgious and trimme, and
approching the age of XVII. yeares, began to frequent the
company of Gentlewomen more then he was wont to do: and although
he had a more willing desire, to loue that wyse and discrete
dame aboue other, yet the feare which he had to lose her loue
(if shee misliked her sute) made him to hold his peace, and to
seeke els wher: and gaue himself to the loue of a Gentlewoman
dwelling hard by Pampelunæ, which had to husband a yong
gentleman, that aboue all thinges loued and delighted in dogges,
horsse, and Hawkes. This noble Gentleman began (for her sake) to
deuise a thousand pastimes, as Torneyes, running at the Tilt,
Mommeries, Maskes, feastes and other games, at all which this
yong dame was present: but because that her husband was very
fantasticall, and saw his wyfe to be faire and wanton, hee was
ialous of her honour, and kepte her in so straite, as the sayde
Lord of Auannes colde get nothing at her hands but words,
shortly spoken, in some daunce, albeit in litle time and lesse
speache, the sayde Lorde perceyued that there wanted nothing for
full perfection of their loue, but time and place: wherfore he
came to his new adopted father the rich man, and said vnto him
that he was minded with great deuocion to visite our Lady of
Montferrat, intreating him to suffer his houshoulde traine to
remaine with him, because he was disposed to go thither alone.
Whereunto he willingly agreed: but his wyfe whose hart the great
prophet loue had inspired, incontinently suspected the true
cause of that voyage, and cold not forbeare to saye vnto the
Lord of Auannes these woords: “My Lord, my Lorde, the pilgrimage
of the Lady whom you worshippe, is not farre without the walles
of the Citie, wherefore I beseech you aboue all thinges to haue
regarde vnto your health.” Hee which feared her, and loued her,
blushed at her words, and without talke by his countenaunce he
seemde to confesse the trothe: whereupon he departed, and when
he had bought a couple of faire Genets of Spaine he clothed
himself like a horsekeeper and so disguised his face as no man
knew him. The Gentleman which had maried that fonde and wanton
gentlewoman, louinge aboue all thinges (as is sayde before)
fayre horses, espyed those two Genets which the lord of Auannes
did lead, and incontinently came to buy them: and after he had
bought them, hee beheld the horse-keeper which rode and handled
them passing well, and asked him if he were willing to serue
him: the Lord of Auannes answeared yea, and added further how he
was a poore horse-keeper vnskilfull of other science but of
keepinge of horse, which practize hee could do so well, as he
doubted not but he should content and please him: the Gentleman
very glad thereof, gaue him charge of all his horse, and called
forth his wyfe vnto him, vnto whom he recommended his horse and
horsekeper, and told her that he himself was disposed to go to
the castel: the gentlewoman so well to please her husband as for
her owne delight and pastime, wente to loke vpon her horse and
to behold her new horskeper, who seemed to be a man of good
bringing vp, notwithstanding she knewe him not. He seing that
she had no knowledge of him, came to do reuerence vnto her after
the maner of Spaine, and taking her by the hand kissed the same,
and by kissing of her hand, he disclosed himself so much as she
knew him: for in dauncing with her many times he vsed the like
curtesie: and then she ceased not to deuise place wher she might
speake to him a part: which she did the very same euening: for
being bidden to a feast wherunto her husband would faine haue
had her to go, she fayned herselfe to be sicke and not able: and
her husband loth to faile his frends request, said vnto her:
“For so much (my good wyfe) as you be not disposed to go with
me, I pray you to haue regard to my dogges and horse that they
may lack nothing.” The Gentlewoman was very wel contented with
that comission: howbeit without chaung of countenance she made
him answere that sith in better things he would not imploie her,
she would not refuse the least, to satisfie his desire: and her
husband was no soner out of the gates, but she went down into
the stable, where she founde faulte wyth diuers things: for
prouision whereof she committed such seueral busines to her men
on euery side, that shee remayned alone with the master
horskeper: and for feare least any should come vpon them
vnwares, she said vnto him: “Go into my garden and tarie my
comming in the litle house at the ende of the alley.” Which he
did so diligently as hee had no leasure to thancke her, and
after that she had giuen order to the yeomen of the stable, shee
went to see the dogges, counterfaiting like care and diligence
to haue them wel intreated: in such wise as she seemed rather a
mayde of the chamber then a maistresse of the house: which done
shee returned into her chamber, where she made her self to be so
werie, as she went to bed, saying that she was disposed to
sleepe. All her women left her alone except one in whom she
reposed her greatest trust, and vnto whom she said: “Go downe
into the garden, and cause him whom you shall finde at the end
of the alley, to come hither.” The mayde wente downe and founde
the Maister horskeeper there, whom forthwith shee brought vnto
her maistresse: and then the gentlewoman caused her mayd to go
forth to watch when her husbande came home. The lord of Auannes
seing that he was alone with his maistres, put of his
horsekeeper’s apparrel, plucked from his face his false nose and
beard, and not as a feareful horsekeeper, but like such a Lord
as he was, without asking leaue of the Gentlewoman, boldly laied
him downe beside her: where hee was of that foolishe woman
receiued so ioyfully, as his estate and goodly personage did
require, continuing with her vntil the retorne of her husband:
at whose comming putting vpon him againe his counterfaite
attire, left the pleasure which by policie and malice he had
vsurped. The gentleman when hee was within, hearde tell of the
dilligence which his wife had vsed vppon his commaundemente, and
thanked her very hartelie. “Husband (said the gentlewoman) I do
but my dutie, and do assure you that if there be no ouerseer to
checke and commaunde your negligent seruaunts, you shal haue
neyther dogge nor horse well kept and ordred: forasmuche as I
knowe their slouth, and your good wil, you shalbe better serued
then you haue bin heretofore.” The gentleman who thought that he
had gotten the best horsekeeper of the worlde, asked her how she
liked him. “I assure you sir (quoth she) he doth his busines so
well as any seruaunt, howbeit he had neede to be called vppon,
for you know seruaunts in these dayes without an ouerseer, wilbe
be slow and carelesse.” Thus of long time continued the husbande
and wyfe in greater amitie and loue then before, and gaue ouer
all the suspicion and ialousie which hee had conceyued, because
before time his wyfe louinge feastes, daunces and companies, was
become intentife and diligente about her household: and
perceiued that now many times she was contented in homely
garmentes to go vp and downe the house wher before she was
accustomed to be 4 houres in trimming of herselfe: whereof shee
was commended of her husbande, and of euery man that knew not
how the greater deuill had chased awaye the lesse. Thus liued
this yonge dame vnder the hypocrisie and habite of an honest
woman, in suche fleshlye pleasure as reason, conscience, order
and measure, had no longer resting place in her: which insaciat
lust the yong Lord of delicate complexion was no longer able to
susteine, but began to waxe so pale and feeble, as he needed no
visarde for disfiguring of himselfe. Notwithstanding the folish
loue which he bare to that woman so dulled his sence, as he
presumed vppon that force which fayled in the monstruous giant
Hercules, whereby in the ende constrayned with sicknes and
councelled by his maistresse, which loued not the sicke so well
as the hole, demaunded leaue of his maister to go home to his
frends: who to his great griefe graunted him the same: and
caused him to make promise that when he was recouered hee should
returne againe to his seruice. Thus went the Lord of Auannes on
foote away from his maister, for he had not paste the lenght of
one streate to trauaile. And when he was come to the rich man’s
house his new father, he found none at home but his wyfe, whose
vertuous loue shee bare him was nothing diminished for al his
voyage: but when she saw him so leane and pale, she could not
forbeare to say vnto him: “Sir, I knowe not in what staye your
conscience is, but your body is litle amended by this
pilgrimage, and I am in doubte that the way wherein you
traueiled in the night, did wearie and paine you more, then that
vppon the daye: for if you had gone to Hierusalem on foote, you
mighte perhappes haue returned more Sunne burned, but more leane
and weake it had bin impossible. Now make accompt of your
pilgrimage here, and serue no more such Sainctes, for in place
of raysinge the deade from life, they do to death those that be
on liue: moreouer I shall saye vnto you, that if your bodye were
neuer so sinfull, I see well it hath suffred such penaunce, as I
haue pitie to renewe anye former payne.” When the Lorde of
Auannes had hearde all her talke he was no lesse angrie with
himselfe then ashamed, and saide vnto her: “Madame, I haue
sometimes heard tell that repentaunce insueth sinne, and now I
haue proued the same to my cost, praying you to excuse my youth
that could not be corrected but by experience of that euill,
which before it would not beleeue.” The Gentlewoman chaunging
her talke, caused him to lye downe vppon a fayre bedde, where he
lay the space of XV. dayes, feedinge onely vppon restoratiues:
and the husband and wyfe kept him so good companye, as one of
theim neuer departed from him: and albeit that he had committed
those follies, (suche as you haue heard) against the minde and
aduise of that wyse and discrete dame, yet shee neuer diminished
the vertuous loue which shee bare him, for shee still hoped that
after he had spent his yonger dayes in youthly follies, he would
retire at length when age and experience should force him to vse
honest loue, and by that meanes would be altogether her owne.
And during those fifteene dayes that he was cherished in her
house, she vsed vnto him womanly and commendable talke, onely
tending to the loue of vertue, which caryed such effect as he
began to abhorre the follie that he committed: and beholding the
gentlewoman which in beautie passed the other wanton, with whom
he had delt before, he imprinted in minde more and more the
graces and vertues that were in her, and was not able to keepe
in harte the secrete conceipt of the same, but abandoning all
feare, he sayd vnto her: “Madame, I see no better means, to be
such one, and so vertuous as you by wordes desire me for to be,
but to settle my harte, and giue my selfe to be holie in loue
with vertue, and the qualities therunto appertinent. I humblie
beseech you therfore (good madame) to tel me if your selfe wil
not vouchsafe to giue me al your ayde and fauor that you
possiblie can, for thobteyning of the same.” The maistresse very
ioyful to heare him vse that language, made him aunswere: “And I
do promise you sir, that if you wilbe in loue with vertue as it
behoueth so noble a state as you be, I wil do you the seruice
that I can to bring you thereunto with such power and abilitie
as God hath planted in mee.” “Well madame,” saide the Lorde of
Auannes, “remember then your promise, and vnderstande that God
vnknowen of the Christian but by fayth, hath dayned to take
flesh, like to that our sinful which we beare about vs, to thend
that by drawing our flesh into the loue of his humanity, he may
draw also our minde to the loue of his diuinitie, and requireth
to be serued by thinges visible to make vs loue by fayth that
diuinity which is inuisible: in like maner the vertue which I
desire to imbrace all the dayes of my life, is a thing inuisible
and not to be seen but by outward effects. Wherfore needeful it
is, that she now do put vpon her some body or shape to let
herselfe be knowen amonges men: which in deede she hath don by
induing herself with your form and shape, as the most perfect
that she is able to find amonges liuing creatures. Wherfore I do
acknowledge and confesse you to be not onely a vertuous
creature, but euen very vertue it self. And I which see the same
to shine vnder the glimsing vaile of the most perfect that euer
was: I will honor and serue the same during my life, forsaking
(for the same) all other vaine and vicious loue.” The
gentlewoman no lesse content then marueling to here those words
dissembled so wel her contented minde as she said vnto him: “My
Lord, I take not vpon me to aunswere your diuinity, but like her
that is more fearefull of euill then beleful of good, do humblie
beseech you to cease to speake to me those words of prayse, that
is not worthy of the least of them. I know right wel that I am a
woman, not onely as another is, but so imperfect, as vertue
might do a better acte to transforme me into her, then she to
take my forme, except it be when she desires to be vnknowen to
the world: for vnder such habite as mine is, vertue cannot be
knowen, according to her worthines: so it is sir, that for mine
imperfection, I wil not cease to bere you such affection, as a
woman ought or maye do that feareth God, and hath respect to her
honour: but that affection shal not appere, vntill your harte be
able to receiue the pacience which vertuous loue commaundeth.
And now sir I know what kinde of speach to vse, and thincke that
you do not loue so well, your owne goodes, purse or honour, as I
doe with all my hart tender and imbrace the same.” The lord of
Auannes fearefull with teares in eyes, besought her earnestly
that for her woordes assuraunce, shee woulde vouchsafe to kisse
him: which she refused, saying that for him, she would not
breake the countrie’s custome: and vppon this debate the husband
came in, to whom the Lord of Auannes said: “My father, I knowe
my selfe so much bounde to you and to your wife, as I besech you
for euer to repute me for your sonne.” Which the good man
willingly did. “And for surety of that amitie, I pray you,” said
Monsier D’Auannes, “that I may kisse you.” Whiche he did. After
he said vnto him: “If it were not for feare to offend the Law,
I would do the like to my mother your wyfe.” The husbande
hearinge him saye so, commaunded his wyfe to kisse him, which
she did although she made it straunge, either for the Lord’s
desire or for husband’s request to do the same: then the fier
(which words had begunne to kindle in the harte of the poore
Lorde) beganne to augmente by that desired kisse, so strongly
sued for, and so cruelly refused: which done the sayde Lord of
Auannes repayred to the Castell to the kinge his brother, where
he told many goodly tales of his voyage to Montferrat, and
vnderstode there, that the kinge his brother was determined to
remoue to Olly and Taffares, and thinking that the iorney woulde
be longe, conceiued great heauines, which made him to muse how
he mighte assaye before his departure, whether the wise
Gentlewoman bare him such good will, as shee made him beleeue
shee did: and therefore hee toke a house in the streate where
she dwelt, which was old and ill fauoured and built of Timber:
which house about midnight of purpose he set on fier, wherof the
crye was so great throughout the Citie as it was hard within the
rich man’s house. Who demaunding at his window wher the fier
was, vnderstode it to be at the Lord of Auannes, wherunto he
incontinentlye repayred with all the people of his house, and
found the yonge Lord in his shirt in the middest of the streat,
whom for pitie he toke betweene his armes, and couering him with
his nighte Gowne, caried him home to his house with al possible
speede, and saide vnto his wife which was a bed: “Wife, I giue
you to kepe this prisoner, vse him as my selfe.” So sone as he
was departed the sayd Lord of Auannes, who had good wil to be
interteigned for her husband, quicklie lept into the bed, hoping
that the occasion and place would make that wise woman to
chaunge her minde, which he founde to be contrary: for so sone
as he lept into the bed of thone side, shee speedelie went out
of the other, and putting on her night Gowne she repaired to the
bed’s head, and said vnto him: “How now sir, do you thincke that
occasions can chaunge a chaste harte? beleeue and thincke that
as gold is proued in the Fornace, euen so an vnspotted hart in
the middest of temptacion: wherein many times an honest hart
sheweth it selfe to be more strong and vertuous, then els where,
and the more it is assailed by his contrary, the coulder be the
desires of the same: wherefore be you assured that if I had bin
affected with other minde then that which many times I haue
disclosed vnto you, I would not haue fayled to finde meanes to
haue satisfyed the same: praying you that if you will haue me to
continue the affection which I beare you, to remoue from your
minde for euer not onely the will but the thoughte also, for any
thinge you be able to doe to make me other then I am.” As she
was speaking of these words her women came into the chamber,
whom she commaunded to bring in a colacion of all sortes of
comficts and other delicats: but that time hee had no appetite
either to eate or drincke, hee was fallen into suche dispaire
for fayling of his enterprise: fearing that the demonstracion of
his desire, would haue caused her to giue ouer the secrete
familiaritie betweene them. The husbande hauinge ceased the
fier, retorned and intreated the Lord of Auannes that night to
lodge in his house, who passed that night in such nomber of
cogitacions as his eyes were more exercised with weeping then
sleeping, and early in the morninge he bad them farewell in
their bedde, where by kissing the Gentlewoman hee well perceiued
that she had more pitie upon his offence, then euill will
against his person, which was a cole to make the fier of loue to
kindle more fiercely. After dinner he rode with the king of
Taffares, but before his departure he went to take his leaue of
his newe alied father and of his wyfe: whoe after the furst
commaundement of her husband, made no more difficultie to kisse
him then if he had bin her owne sonne. But be assured the more
that vertue stayed her eye and countenaunce to shew the hidden
flame, the more it did augment and become intollerable, in such
wyse as not able to indure the warres which honour and loue had
raysed within her hart, (who notwithstanding was determined
neuer to shewe it, hauing lost the consolacion of her sight, and
forgeuen the talke with him for whom she liued) a continuall
feuer began to take her, caused by a Melancholicke and couert
humor, in such wyse as the extreme partes of her body waxed
cold, and those within burnt incessantly. The Phisitions (in the
hands of whom man’s life doth not depend) began greatly to
mistrust health by reason of a certaine opilacion which made her
melancholicke: who counceiled the husbande to aduertise his wife
to consider her conscience, and that she was in the handes of
God (as thoughe they which be in health were not in his
protection): the husbande which intirely loued his wyfe, was
wyth their woordes made so heauye and pensife, as for his
confort he wrote to the Lord of Auannes, beseechinge him to take
the paynes to visite them, hoping that his sight would greatly
ease and relieue the disease of his wife. Which request the Lord
of Auannes immediatly vppon the recepte of those letters slacked
not, but by poste arriued at his father’s house: at the entrye
whereof hee founde the seruauntes and women makinge great
sorrowe and lamentacion accordinglie as the goodnes of their
maistresse deserued: wherewith the sayde Lorde was so astonned
as he stoode stil at the doore like one in a traunce, vntil he
sawe his good father: who imbracing him beganne so bitterlie to
weepe, that he was not able to speake a worde. And so conueied
the sayd Lorde of Auannes vp into the Chamber of his poore sicke
wyfe: who casting vp her languishing eyes looked vppon him: and
reaching his hand vnto her, she strayned the same with all her
feeble force, and imbracinge and kissinge the same made a
marueylous plainte, and sayd vnto him. “O my Lord, the houre is
come that all dissimulacion must cease, and needes I must
confesse vnto you the troth, which I to my greate paine haue
concealed from you: which is, that if you haue borne vnto me
greate affection, beleeue that mine rendred vnto you, hath bin
no lesse: but my sorrow hath farre surpassed your griefe, the
smarte whereof I do feele now against myne hart and will:
wherefore, my lord, yee shall vnderstand, that GOD and mine
honour would not suffer mee to disclose the same vnto you,
fearing to increase in you that which I desired to be
diminished: but knowe yee, my Lorde, that the woordes which so
many tymes you haue vttered vnto mee, haue bred in me such
griefe, as the same be the Instrumentes and woorkers of my
death, wherewyth I am contente sith GOD did giue mee the grace
not to suffer the violence of my Loue, to blotte the puritye of
my conscience and renowne: for lesse fire then is wythin the
kindled harte of mine, hath ruinated and consumed most famous
and stately buildinges. Nowe my hart is well at ease, sithe
before I dye, I haue had power to declare myne affection, which
is equall vnto yours, sauing that the honor of men and women be
not a like: beseechinge you, my Lorde, from henceforth not to
feare to addresse your selfe to the greatest and moste vertuous
Ladies that you can finde: for in such noble hartes do dwell the
strongest passions, and there the same be moste wisely gouerned:
and God graunt that the grace, beautie and honestie, which be in
you, do not suffer your loue to trauell wythout fruite: haue in
remembrance good, my Lord, the stabilitie of my constante minde,
and do not attribute that to crueltie which ought to be imputed
to honor, conscience and vertue: which are thinges a thousande
times more acceptable, then the expence and losse of transitorie
life. Nowe, farewell, my Lorde, recommendinge vnto your honour
the state of my husband your good father, to whom I pray you to
reherse the troth of that which you doe know by mee, to the
intent that he may be certefied how dearely I haue loued God and
him: for whose sake I beseech you to absente your selfe out of
my sight: for from henceforth I do meane holye to giue my selfe
to the contemplacion of those promises which God hath louingly
decreed, before the constitucion of the world.” In saying so
shee kissed him, and imbraced him wyth all the force of her
feeble armes. The sayde Lorde, whose hart was dead for
compassion, as her’s was in dying through griefe and sorrow,
without power to speake one onely worde, withdrew himselfe out
of her sight and laye downe vpon a bed within an inner chamber:
where he fainted many times. Then the gentlewoman called for her
husbande, and after she had giuen him many goodly lessons, shee
recommended him to the Lord of Auannes, assuringe him that nexte
to his parson, of all the men in the worlde shee had him in
greateste estimacion: and soe kissinge her husbande shee badde
him farewell. And then was brought vnto her the holye
Sacramente, which shee receyued with such ioye, as one certaine
and sure of her Saluacion, and perceyuinge her sighte begynne to
fayle, and her strength diminishe she pronounced aloude: _In
manus tuas_, &c. At which crie the Lorde of Auannes rose vp from
the bedde, and piteously beholding her, he viewed her with a
swete sighe, to rendre her gloriouse ghost to him which had
redemed it. And when he perceiued that shee was dead, hee ran to
the dead bodie, which liuing he durst not approche for feare,
and imbraced and kissed the same in such wise, as muche a doe
there was to remoue her corps out of his armes: wherof the
husband was very much abashed, for that he neuer thought that he
had borne his wife such affection. And in saying vnto him: “My
Lord, you haue done enough:” they withdrew them selues together.
And after long lamentation, the one for his wife, and the other
for his Lady: the Lord of Auannes told him the whole discourse
of his Loue, and howe vntill her death she neuer graunted him
not so muche as one signe or token of loue, but in place therof
a rebellious minde to his importunate sutes: at the rehersall
whereof, the husbande conceiued greater pleasure and contentment
than euer he did before: which augmented or rather doubled his
sorrow and griefe for losse of such a wife. And all his life
time after, in al seruices and duties he obeyed the Lord of
Auannes, that then was not aboue eightene yeres of age, who
retourned to the Courte, and continued there many yeares without
will to see or speake to any woman, for the sorrow which he had
taken for his Lady, and more then two yeres he wore blacke for
mourning apparell. Beholde here the difference betweene a wise
and discrete woman, and one that was wanton and foolish, both
which sortes expressed different effectes of loue: whereof the
one receiued a glorious and commendable death, and the other
liued to long to her great shame and infamie. The one by small
sute sone won and obteyned, the other by earnest requestes and
great payne pursued and followed. And till death had taken
order, to ridde her from that pursute, she euer continued
constant.




THE FIFTY-SEUENTH NOUELL.

  _A punishment more rigorous than death, of a husband towarde his
  wife that had committed adulterie._


King Charles of Fraunce, the eight of that name, sent into
Germany a gentleman called Bernage, lorde of Cyure besides
Amboise: who to make speede, spared neither daye nor nighte for
execution of his Prince’s commaundement. In sutch wyse as very
late in an euening he arriued at the Castle of a Gentleman, to
demaunde lodging, which very hardly he obtained. Howbeit, when
the gentleman vnderstode that he was the seruaunt of such a
kyng, he prayed him not to take it in ill parte the rudinesse of
his seruantes because vppon occasion of certain his wiue’s
frends which loued him not, he was forced to kepe his house so
straight. Then Bernage tolde him the cause of his iourney,
wherein the Gentleman offered to doe to the king his maister all
seruice possible. Leading him into his house where he was
feasted and lodged very honorably. When supper was ready, the
Gentleman conueyed him into a parler wel hanged with fayre
Tapistrie. And the meate being set vpon the table, and he
required to sit down, he perceiued a woman comming forth behind
the hanging, which was so beautifull as might be seene, sauing
that her head was all shauen, and apparelled in Almaine blacke.
After bothe the Gentlemen had washed, water was brought to the
Gentlewoman, who when she had washed she sat down also, without
speaking to any, or any word spoken vnto her againe. The Lorde
Bernage beholding her well, thought her to be one of the fayrest
Ladies that euer he sawe, if her face had not bene so pale and
her countenaunce so sadde. After she had eaten a litle, she
called for drinke, which one of the seruauntes brought vnto her
in a straunge cup: for it was the head of a dead man trimmed
with siluer, wherof she drancke twice or thrice. When she had
supped and washed her handes, making a reuerence to the Lord of
the house, shee retourned backe againe that way shee came,
without speaking to any. Bernage was so much amased at that
straunge sighte, as he waxed very heauie and sadde. The
gentleman who marked hym, sayde vnto hym: “I see well that you
be astonned at that you saw at the table, but seyng your honest
demeanour, I wyll not keepe it secrete from you, because you
shal not note that crueltie to be done without greate occasion.
This gentlewoman whiche you see, is my wyfe, whom I loued better
than was possible for any man to loue his wyfe. In such sorte as
to marry her I forgat all feare of friendes, and brought her
hither in despite of her parentes. She likewyse shewed vnto me
suche signes of loue, as I attempted a thousande wayes to place
her here for her ioye and myne, where wee lyued a long tyme in
suche reste and contentation, as I thought my self the happiest
Gentleman in Christendome. But in a iourney whiche I made, the
attempt whereof myne honour forced me, shee forgot bothe her
selfe, her conscience, and the loue whiche shee bare towardes
mee, and fell in loue with a Gentleman that I brought vp in this
house, whiche her loue vpon my retourne I perceiued to be true.
Notwithstanding the loue that I bare her, was so great as I had
no mistrust in her, tyll sutch tyme as experience did open myne
eyes, and sawe the thynge that I feared more than death. For
whiche cause my loue was tourned into furie and dispayre, so
greate, as I watched her so nere, that vppon a daye fayning my
selfe to goe abroade, I hydde my selfe in the chamber where now
shee remayneth. Into the whiche sone after my departure shee
repayred, and caused the Gentleman to come thether. Whome I did
beholde to doe that thinge, which was altogether vnmeete for any
man to doe to her, but my selfe. But when I sawe him mounte
vppon the bed after her, I stepped forth and tooke him betwene
her armes, and with my dagger immediatly did kill him. And
because the offence of my wife semed so great as the doing of
her to death was not sufficient to punish her, I deuised a
torment which in mine opinion is worse vnto her than death. For
thus I vse her, I doe locke her vp in the chamber wherein she
accustomed to vse her delightes, and in the companie of hym that
she loued farre better than me. In the closet of which chamber I
haue placed the Anatomie of her friend, reseruing the same as a
precious Iewell. And to the ende shee may not forget him at
meales, at the table before my face, she vseth his skulle in
steade of a cup to drinke in, to the intent she may behold him
(aliue) in the presence of hym whom through her owne fault she
hath made her mortal enemy, and him dead and slain for her sake,
whose loue she preferred before mine. And so beholdeth those
twoo thinges at dinner and supper which ought to displease her
moste, her enemie liuing, and her friend dead, and al through
her own wickednesse, howbeit I doe vse her no worse than my
self, although shee goeth thus shauen: for the ornament of the
heare doth not appertaine to an adultresse, nor the vayle or
other furniture of the head to an unchast woman. Wherefore she
goeth so shauen, in token she hath lost her honestie. If it
please you, sir, to take the payne to see her, I wil bring you
to her.” Whereunto Bernage willingly assented. And descending
into her chamber whiche was very richely furnished, they founde
her sitting alone at the fier. And the Gentleman drawing a
Curteine, whiche was before the Closet, he sawe the Anatomie of
the dead man hanging. Bernage had a great desire to speake vnto
the Ladye, but for feare of her husband he durst not. The
Gentleman perceiuin the same, said vnto him: “If it please you
to speake vnto her, you shal vnderstand her order of talke.”
Therwithall Bernage sayde vnto her: “Madame, if your pacience be
correspondent to this torment, I deme you to be the happiest
woman of the worlde.” The lady with teares trickeling down her
eyes with a grace so good and humble as was possible, spake thus
vnto him: “Sir, I doe confesse my fault to be so great, as all
the afflictions and torment that the Lorde of this place (for I
am not worthy to call him husbande) can doe vnto me, be nothing
comparable to the sorrowe I haue conceiued of myne offence.” And
in sayinge so, she began pitifully to weepe. Therewithall the
Gentleman toke Bernage by the hande, and led him forth. The next
day morning he departed about the businesse which the king had
sent him. Notwithstanding, in bidding the Gentleman fare well,
he sayde vnto hym: “Sir, the loue whiche I beare vnto you, and
the honor and secretes wherewith you haue made me priuie, doth
force me to saye vnto you howe I doe thinke good (seing the
great repentance of the poore Gentlewoman your wife) that you
doe shewe her mercie. And bicause you be yong and haue no
children, it were a verie great losse and detriment to lose such
a house and ligneage as yours is. And it may so come to passe,
that your enemies thereby in time to come may be your heires,
and inioye the goodes and patrimonie whiche you doe leaue
behinde you.” The Gentleman which neuer thought to speake vnto
his wife, with those wordes paused a great while, and in thend
confessed his saying to be true, promising him that if she would
continue in that humilitie, he would in time shew pittie vppon
her, with whiche promise Bernage departed. And when he was
retourned towardes the king his maister, hee recompted vnto him
the successe of his iourneyes. And amonges other thinges he
tolde him of the beautie of this Ladie, who sent his Painter
called Iohn of Paris, to bring him her counterfaicte: which with
the consent of her husband, he did. Who after that long
penaunce, for a desire he had to haue children, and for the
pitie hee bare to his wyfe which with great humblenesse receiued
that affliction, tooke her vnto hym agayne, and afterwardes
begat of her many children.




THE FIFTY-EIGHTH NOUELL.

  _A President of Grenoble aduertised of the ill gouernement of his
  wife, took such order, that his honestie was not diminished, and yet
  reuenged the facte._


In Grenoble (the chiefe citie of a Countrie in Fraunce called
Daulphine, which citie otherwise is named Gratianapolis) there
was a President that had a very fayre wyfe, who perceiuing her
husbande beginne to waxe olde, fell in loue with a yong man that
was her husband’s Clark, a very propre and handsome felowe. Vpon
a time when her husband in a morning was gone to the Palace, the
clarke entred his chamber and tooke his Maister’s place, whiche
thing one of the presidente’s men, that faithfully had serued
him the space of XXX. yeres like a trustie seruant perceiuing,
could not keepe it secret, but tolde his Maister. The President
whiche was a wise man, would not beleue it vpon his light
report, but sayde that he did it of purpose to set discord
betwene him and his wife, notwithstanding if the thing were true
as he had reported, he might let him see the thing it selfe,
whiche if he did not, he had good cause to thinke that he had
deuised a lye to breake and dissolue the loue betwene them. The
seruaunt did assure him that he would cause him to see the thing
wherof he had tolde him. And one morning so sone as the
President was gone to the Court, and the Clarked entred into his
chamber, the seruaunt sent one of his companions to tel his
maister that he might come in good time, to see the thing that
he had declared vnto him, he himself standing stil at the doore
to watch that the partie might not goe out. The President so
sone as he sawe the signe that one of his men made vnto him,
fayning that he was not wel at ease, left the audience, and
spedely went home to his house, where he founde his olde
seruaunt watching at the chamber dore, assuring him for truth
that the Clarke was within, and that he should with spede to goe
in. The President sayd to his seruant: “Do not tarrie at the
dore, for thou knowest ther is no other going out or comming in
but onely this, except a litle closet wherof I alone do beare
the keye.” The president entred the chamber, and found his wife
and the Clarke a bed together, who in his shirt fell downe at
the president’s feete, crauing pardon, and his wife much afraid
began to weepe. To whome the President sayde: “For so muche as
the thing which thou hast done is such, as thou maist well
consider, that I can not abyde my house (for thee) in this sort
to be dishonored, and the daughters which I haue had by thee to
be disauaunced and abased: therfore leaue of thy weeping, and
marke what I shall doe. And thou Nicolas (for that was his
Clarke’s name) hide thy selfe here in my closet, and in any wise
make no noyse.” When he had so done, he opened the dore and
called in his olde seruaunt, and sayde vnto him: “Diddest not
thou warrant and assure me that thou wouldest let me see my
Clarke and wyfe in bedde together? And vppon thy words I am come
hether, thinking to haue killed my wife, and doe finde nothing
to be true of that which thou diddest tell me. For I haue
searched the chamber in euery place as I will shewe thee.” And
with that he caused his seruant to looke vnder the beddes, and
in euery corner. And when the seruant founde him not, throughly
astonned, he sayde to his maister: “Sir, I sawe him goe into the
chamber, and out he is not gone at the dore: and so farre as I
can see he is not here: therefore I thinke the Diuel must nedes
carrie him awaye.” Then his maister rebuked him in these words:
“Thou art a villayn, to set such diuision betwene my wife and
me, wherefore I doe discharge thee from my seruice, and for that
which thou hast done me, I will paye the thy dutie, with the
aduauntage: therefore get thee hence, and take hede that thou
doest not tarrie in this town aboue XXIIII. houres.” The
President for that he knew him to be an honest and faithfull
seruaunt, gaue him five or sixe yeares wages, and purposed
otherwise to preferre him. When the seruaunt (with ill will and
weping teares) was departed, the President caused his Clark to
come out of his Closet: and after he had declared to his wife
and him, what hee thought of their ill behauiour, he forbad them
to shewe no likelyhode of any such matter, and commaunded his
wyfe to attire and dresse her selfe in more gorgeous apparell,
than she was wont to weare, and to haunt and resort to company
and feastes, willing the Clarke to make a better countenaunce on
the matter then hee did before, but whensoeuer he rounded him in
the eare and bad him depart, he charged him after that
commaundement not to tarry foure houres in the towne. And when
he had thus done, he retourned to the palace Courte, as though
there hadde no sutche thing chaunced. And the space of fiftene
dayes (contrary to his custome) he feasted his frendes and
neighbours, and after euery those bankettes, he caused the
minstrels to play, to make the Gentlewomen daunce. One daye he
seing his wife not to daunce, he commaunded his Clarke to take
her by the hande, and to leade her forth to daunce, who thinking
the President had forgotten the trespasse past, very ioyfully
daunced with her. But when the daunce was ended, the President
faining as though he would haue commaunded him to doe some thing
in his house, bad him in his eare to get him away and neuer to
retourne. Now was the Clark very sorowfull to leaue his Ladye,
but yet no lesse ioyfull he was that his life was saued.
Afterwardes when the President had made all his frendes and
kinsfolkes, and all the countrey, beleue what great loue he bare
to his wife, vppon a faire day in the moneth of May, he went to
gather a sallade in his garden, the herbes whereof after she had
eaten, she liued not aboue XXIIII. houres after, whereof he
counterfaited suche sorrowe, as no man could suspect the
occasion of her death. And by that meanes he was reuenged of his
enemy, and saued the honour of his house.

“¶ I will not by this Nouell (said Emarsuitte) prayse the
conscience of the President, but herein I haue declared the
light behauiour of a woman, and the great pacience and prudence
of a man: Praying you good Ladies all, not to be offended at the
truthe.” “If all women (quo Parlamente) that loue their Clarkes
or seruauntes, were forced to eate such sallades, I beleue they
would not loue their gardens so well as they doe, but woulde
teare and plucke vp all the herbes bothe roote and rinde, to
auoyde those thinges that by death might aduaunce the honor of
their stock and ligneage.” “If sallades be so costly (quod
Hircan) and so daungerous in May, I will prouoke appetite with
other sawces, or els hunger shall be my chiefest.”




THE FIFTY-NINTH NOUELL.

  _A gentleman of Perche suspecting iniurie done vnto him by his
  friend, prouoked him to execute and put in proufe the cause of his
  suspicion._


Besides the countrie of Perche, there were two Gentlemen, which
from the tyme of theyr youthe lyued in sutche great and perfect
amitie, as there was betwene them but one harte, one bed, one
house, one table, and one purse. Long time continued this
perfect frendship: betwene whom there was but one will and one
woorde, no difference in either of them: in so muche as they not
onely semed to be two brethren, but also they appeared in al
semblances to be but one man. One of them chaunced to mary:
notwithstanding they gaue not ouer their frendship, but
perseuered in their vsual amitie as they were wont to doe: and
whan they happened to be strained to straight lodging, the
maried gentleman would not stick to suffer his friend to lie
with him and his wife. But yet you ought for frendship sake to
consider that the maried man lay in the mids. Their goodes were
common betwene them, and the mariage did yelde no cause to
hinder their assured amitie. But in processe of time, the
felicitie of this worlde (whiche carieth with it a certaine
mutabitie) could not continue in the house, which was before
right pleasaunt and happy: for the maried man forgetting the
faithfull fidelitie of his friend, without any cause conceiued a
greate suspicion betwene hym and his wyfe, from whom he could
not dissemble the case, but sharpely tolde her his mynde. She
therewithall was wonderfully amazed: howbeit, he commaunded her
to doe all thinges (one thing excepted) and to make so muche of
his companion as of himselfe. Neuerthelesse he forbade her to
speake vnto hym except it were in the presence of many. All
which she gaue her husbande’s companion to vnderstande, who
would not beleue her, knowyng that hee had neither by thought or
deede done anye thing whereof his companion had cause to be
offended. And likewise because he used to kepe nothing secrete
from hym, he tolde him what he had sayde, praying hym to tell
him the truthe of the matter, because he purposed neither in
that, ne yet in any other thing, to geue occasion of breach of
that amitie which of long time they had imbraced. The maried
Gentleman assured him that he neuer thought it, and how they
which had sowen that rumor, had wickedly belied him. Whereunto
his companion replied: “I knowe wel enough that Ielousie is a
passion so intollerable as loue it selfe. And when you shall
conceiue that opinion of Ialousie, yea and it were of my selfe,
I should do you no wrong, for your selfe were not able to kepe
it. But of one thing which is in your power, I haue good matter
whereof to complayne, and that is because you will concele from
me your maladie, sith there was no passion or opinion which you
conceiued, that before this time you kept secret from me.
Likewise for my owne parte if I were amorous of your wife, you
ought not to impute it as a fault vnto me, because it is a fier
which I bare not in my handes, to vse at my pleasure. But if I
kepe it to my selfe from you, and indeuour to make youre wife
knowe it by demonstration of my loue, I might then be accompted
that vntrustiest friend that euer liued: and for me I doe assure
you that shee is a right honest and a good woman, and one that
my fansie doth lest fauour (although she were not your wife) of
all them that euer I sawe. But now sithens there is no cause,
I do require you that if you perceiue any suspicion, be it neuer
so litle, to tell me of it, because I would so vse myself, as
our frendship which hath indured so long tyme, might not bee
broken for a woman: and if I did loue her aboue any thing in the
worlde, yet surely I would neuer speake worde vnto her, bicause
I doe esteme our frendship better then the greatest treasure.”
His companion swore vnto him very great othes that he neuer
thought it, praying him to vse his house as he had done before.
Whereunto he aunswered: “Sithe you will haue me so to doe, I am
content: but I praye you if hereafter you doe conceiue any
sinistre opinion in me, not to dissemble the same, which if you
doe I will neuer continue longer in your companie.” In processe
of time, liuing together according to their custome, the maried
Gentleman entred againe into greater Ielousie than euer he did,
commaunding his wife to beare no more that countenaunce towards
him that she was wont to doe. Whiche commaundement she tolde her
husbande’s companion, praying him after that time to forbeare to
speake vnto her, for that she was forbidden to doe the like to
him. The gentleman vnderstanding by wordes and certaine
countenaunces, that his companion had not kept promise, he sayd
vnto him in great choler: “To be Ialous (my companion) is a
thing naturall: but bicause thou diddest sweare vnto me by othes
not to dissemble, I can by no meanes forbeare any longer: for I
did euer thinke that betwene thyne harte and mine, there could
be no let and interruption: but to my great griefe and without
anye fault on my part, I doe see the contrarie. For as muche as
thou art not only very Ialous betwene thy wife and mee, but also
thou wouldest dissimulate and couer the same, so that in the
ende thy maladie and disease continuing so long, is altered into
mere malice, and lyke as oure loue hath bene the greateste that
hathe bene seene in oure tyme, euen so our displeasure and
hatred is nowe moste mortall. I haue done so mutche as lyeth in
mee, to auoyde this inconuenience, but sithe thou hast suspected
me to be an ill man, and I haue still shewed my selfe to be the
contrary, I doe sweare, and therwithal assure thee, by my faith,
that I am the same thou thinkest me to be, and therefore from
henceforth take hede of me: for since suspicion hath separated
the from my loue and amitie, despite shall deuide me from
thine.” And albeit that his companion would haue made him beleue
the contrarie, and that hee mistrusted hym nothing at all, yet
he withdrewe his part of his moueables and goodes that before
were common betweene them, so that then both their hartes and
goodes were so farre separated as before they were vnited and
ioyned together. In such wyse as the vnmaried Gentleman neuer
ceassed till he had made his companion cockolde, according to
his promise.




THE SIXTIETH NOUELL.

  _The piteous death of an Amorouse Gentleman, for the slacke comfort
  geuen him to late, by his beloued._


Betwene Daulphine and Prouence, there was a gentleman, more
riche and better furnished with beautie, vertue, and good
condicions, then with the goodes of fortune: who fill in loue
with a gentlewoman that for this time shall want a name, for
respecte of her parentes that are come of honorable houses, and
the Gentleman’s name also shalbe vntolde, for like respecte,
although altogether not so honorably allied, as the Gentlewoman
that he loued, and yet the historie very certen and true. And
bicause his degree was not so high as hers, hee durst not
discouer his affection: for the loue which he bare her, was so
good and perfect, as rather would he haue bene tormented with
the panges of death, then couet the least aduauntage that might
redounde to her dishonor. And seing his state to base in
respecte of hers, had no hope to marry her. Wherefore he
grounded his loue vpon none other foundation and intent, but to
loue her with all his power so perfectlye as was possible, which
in the ende came vnto her knowledge. And the Gentlewoman knowing
and seing the honest amitie which he bare her, to be ful of
vertue, ioyned with chast and comly talke, felt her selfe right
happie to be beloued and had in prise, of a personage so well
condicioned, practising dayly cherefull countinaunce towardes
him (whiche was the best rewarde he pretended to haue) whereof
he conceiued great ease and contentment. But malice the cancred
enemy of all reste and quiet, could not long abide this honest
and happie life. For some frowning at his good happe, (as malice
euer accompanieth a well disposed mynde) tolde the mother of the
mayden, howe they marueiled that the Gentleman should bee so
familiar in her house, inferring therewithall that the beautie
of her daughter was the only cause, with whom they sawe him many
times to vse secrete and priuat speach. The mother which by no
meanes doubted the honestie of the Gentleman, no more then shee
did of her own children, was very sorie to vnderstand that some
shold be offended at that their familiarity. She thought
therfore to shunne the cause of their offence. And at length,
(fearing that slaunder might be raised of malice) she required
the Gentleman for a tyme to haunt no more her house, as he was
wont to doe. A thing to him of harde digestion, knowing his own
innocencie, and lesse desert to be estranged from the house, for
respect of the honest talke he vsed to the yonge gentlewoman.
Notwithstanding, to stoppe the rage of malicious tongues, he
withdrew himself, till he thought the brute was ceased, and then
retourned after his wonted maner: whose absence nothing abridged
his auncient good will. And he began no soner to be familiar
there again, but he vnderstode that the mayden should be maried
to a Gentleman, that was not so ritche and noble (as semed to
hym) and therfore he thought he should receiue great wrong, if
she were bestowed vpon that Gentleman, and not on hym, that had
bene so long a sutor. And thereupon conceiued corage to preferre
hym selfe in playne tunes, if choyse were geuen to the maiden.
Howebeit, the mother and other of her kynne, sollicited and
chose the other gentleman because (in dede) he was more welthie.
Whereat the poore gentleman fretted with displeasure, seing that
his Ladie should for worldly mucke be defrauded of her greatest
ioye, by little and little without other maladie, began to
languishe, and in litle tyme was so altered, as in his face
appeared the visage of death. Neuerthelesse he could not
forbeare the house of his beloued, but continually from time to
time made his repaire thether to fede himselfe with the baulme
of that beautie, which he thought would prolong his dayes, but
it was the onely abridgement. In thend the poyson he sucked by
the viewe of that beautie, consumed his strength, and force
failing him, was constrained to kepe his bedde. Whereof he would
not aduertise her whome he loued, for greuing her, knowing well
that she would bee tormented with the newes. And so suffring him
selfe to runne the race of past recourye, lost also his appetite
to eate or drinck, and therewithall his slepe and rest fayled,
in suche plight as within short space he was consumed in visage
and face, as it grewe to be vglie and cleane out of knowledge.
Brought to this lowe estate, one of his frends certified the
mother of his mistres, that was a very charitable and kinde
Gentlewoman, and loued so well the man, as if all their parentes
and kinne had bene of her’s and the mayden’s opinion they would
haue preferred the honestie of him, before the great substance
of the other. But the frendes of the father’s side by no meanes
would consent vnto it. Yet the good Gentlewoman and her daughter
(for all the other’s frowardnes) vouchsafed to visit the poor
gentleman whom they founde, rather declining towards death, then
in hope of life. And knowing his ende to approche, he was
shriuen and receiued the holy Sacrament, purposing of present
passage by panges of death, neuer to see any of his frendes
againe. Being in this case and yet seing her, whome he counted
to be his life and sauftie, felte suche soudden recouerie, as
hee threwe hym selfe alofte his bedde and spake these wordes
vnto her: “What cause hath drieuen you hither (mistres myne) by
takyng paines to visite him, who hath one of his feet alreadie
within the graue, the other stepping after with conuenient
speede, for execution whereof you bee the onely Instrument.”
“Howe so, sir?” sayde the mother. “Is it possible that hee, whom
we so derely loue, can receiue death by our offences? I pray you
sir to tell me, what reason leadeth you to speake these wordes.”
“Madame,” sayde he, “so long as I could, I dissembled the loue
that I bare to my deare mistres your daughter: so it is that my
parentes and frendes speaking of a mariage betwene her and me,
haue clattred thereof moe nedeles woordes then I desired, by
waying the mishap that might insue, and nowe doth happe past all
hope not for my particular pleasure, but bicause I knowe with
none other she shalbe so well intreated nor beloued as she
should haue bene with me. The benefit which I see she hath lost,
is the most perfect frende the best affected seruaunt that euer
shee had in this worlde, the losse wherof summoneth death to
arrest the carcase, that should haue bene imployed for her
seruice, which intierly was conserued and should haue bene for
her sake: but sithe nowe it can serue her to no purpose, the
simple losse shall redounde to greatest gaine. I meane my selfe
(good Ladies bothe) that lieth bewrapped in death before your
faces, whose withered clammes hath catched the same within her
reach, and hath warned the clocke to tolle the dolefull bell for
his poor lovyng ghoste, nowe stretchynge out for the winding
shete to shrowde his maigre corps, all forworne with the watche
and toile, that such poore men (affected with like care) do
feele. It is my selfe, that erst was rouing amid the troupe of
Courtlie knightes decked with comely face, whose hewe dame
Nature stayned with the colours of her golden art. It is I that
of late was loued of that Nymphe, and earthie Goddesse, who with
courtinge countenaunce imbraced the place where I did stande,
and kissed the steps wherein I trode. It is my selfe I saye,
that whilom in painefull blisse, did bath my selfe, and fedde
mine eyes with the happie viewe of the heauenliest creature that
euer God did make. And by forgoing of those ioyes by to to much
mishap, and sacred famine of cursed mucke, I am thus pined as ye
see, and wrapte in hopeles state.” The mother and doughter
hearinge this complainte, did their indeuour to cheere him vp,
and the mother sayde unto him: “Be of good courage sir, and I
promise you my fayth, that if God giue you health, my doughter
shal haue none other husband but you, and behold her here, whom
I commaunde to make you present promise.” The mayden weeping
with a virginall shamefastnes, consented to her mother’s hest.
But knowing when he was recouered, that he should not haue her,
and that the mother was so liberal of her fayre words, to
recomfort him and assaye if she might restore him: he said vnto
them, that if those words had bin pronounced three monethes
past, he had bin the lustiest and most happie gentleman of
Fraunce: but helpe offred so late, was past beliefe and hope.
But when he saw, that they went about to force him to beleeue
it, he said vnto them: “Now that I see ye go about to promise
the good tourne which can neuer chaunce vnto mee, yea although
consent ioyned with vnfayned promise desires the effect, for
respect of the feeble state wherein I am: yet let me craue one
thing at your hands, farre lesse then that ye offer, which
hitherto I neuer durst be so bolde to aske.” Whereunto they both
assented and swore to performe it, intreating him not to be
ashamed to requyre it. “I humbly beseech ye (quoth hee) to
deliuer her into mine armes whom ye haue promised to be my wife,
and commaunde her to imbrace and kisse me.” The mayden not vsed
to such priuie sutes, ne yet acquainted with such secrete facts,
made some difficultie, but her mother gaue her expresse
commaundement to doe it, perceyuing in him no likelihode or
force of a man to liue. The maiden then vpon that commaundement,
aduaunced herselfe uppon the bedde of the poore pacient, saying
vnto him: “Sir, I beseech you to be of good cheere.” The
languishing creature, so hard as he could for his extreeme
debilitie, stretched forth his faint consumed armes, and with al
the force of his body imbraced the cause of his death, and
kissinge her with his colde and wanne mouth, held her so long as
he could, and then spake vnto the mayden: “The loue which I haue
borne you hath bin so great, and the good will so honest, as
neuer (mariage excepted) I wished anye other thinge of you, but
that which I presentlye haue, throughe the wante whereof and
with the same I will ioyfully render my spirite to God, who is
the parfaicte Loue, and truest Charitie, whoe knoweth the
greatnes of my loue and the honestie of my desire: humblie
beseeching him, (that nowe I hauing my desire betweene mine
armes,) to interteigne my ghost within his blessed bosome.” And
in saying so he caught her againe betweene his armes with such
vehemencie, as the feeble hart not able to abide that assault,
was abandoned of all powers and mouinges: for the instant ioye
so dilated and stretched forth the same, as the siege of the
soule gaue ouer, making his repaire and flighte to his Creator:
and because the senceles bodye rested withoute life, it gaue
ouer his holde. Howbeit the loue, which the Damosell had still
kept secrete, at that time shewed it self so strong and mightie,
as the mother and seruauntes of the dead Gentleman had much a do
to separate that vnion, but by force they haled away the liuing,
almost deade with the deade. After the funerall was done with
honourable exequies: but the greatest triumph was spent in
teares, weepinges and cryes, specially by the gentlewoman, which
so much more were manifeste after his death, as before in his
life time they were dissembled, bestowinge them as an expiacion
or sacrifice, to satisfie the wrong she had done vnto him. And
afterwards (as I haue heard tell) she was maried to one, for
mitigacion of her sorow, that neuer was partaker of the ioye of
her harte. See here good Ladies an Image of perfect loue, that
so muche had seazed vpon thaffections of this amorous Gentleman,
as the pange neuer gaue ouer, till death (the rest of all
troubles) had diuided life from the body. Yet some perchaunce
for the desperate part of this hopeles louer, will terme him to
be a fonde louing foole: and say that it is not meete that they
should neglecte theyr liues for womens sakes, which were not
created but for their helpe and comforte. And that being true as
verifyed and auouched by Scriptures, there is no cause of feare
to demaunde that of them, which God hath enioyned them to giue
vs. In deede a sensuall loue, and such as is grounded to
satisfye beastly luste, is a thinge horrible to Nature, and
abhominable in the sight of him that made both those creatures,
whom he fraughted with reason and knowledge for the refusall of
those vices, which are onely to be applied to beastes voyde of
reason. But loue founded in the soyle of Vertue, for auoyding
carnall lust exercized in the state of Wedlocke, or first
begonne and practized for that ende, is very ciuil and to be
honoured. And if that loue attaine not equall successe, through
parents default or vnkindnes of frendes or other humane
accidents, if that loue so perce the hart, or otherwyse afflict
the pacient with dispaire of helpe, and so occasioneth death, it
is not to be termed follie or dotage, but to be celebrated with
honourable titles. The honest amitie then of this gentleman,
borne long time to this gentlewoman, meriteth euerlasting
praise: for to finde such great chastitie in an amorous hart, is
rather a thing deuine then humaine. A mocion moued aboue amongs
the heauenly route, and not an ac{t} wrought in the grosenes of
man’s infirmitie.




THE SIXTY-FIRST NOUELL.

  _A Gentlewoman of the Courte, very pleasauntly recompenced the
  seruice of a kinde seruaunte of her’s, that pursued her with seruice
  of loue._


In the Courte of king Fraunces, the first of that name, not
longe sithens Frenche king, the graunde father of Henry the 3 of
that name now raigning: there was a Gentlewoman of good grace
and interteignment, wanting not both minde and witte, such as
the like of her sexe, are not to seeke, vnder what climate
soeuer they be borne and bred, whose comly demeaner, curteous
behauiour and eloquent speache, was agreeable to her other
qualities of nature’s giftes: whereby she gayned the hartes and
good minds of nombers of seruauntes, with whom shee was cunning
ynough to spend her time, (hauing respect to the sauftie and
saufgard of her honor, which she preferred before all other
solace) by such delectable consumption of time, as they that
could not tell howe els to imploie their leasure, thoughte
themselues most blessed, if they might attaine the delightfull
presence of this well nourtered Dame. For they that made
greatest assuraunce of her fidelitie, were in dispayre, and the
most desperat were yet in some hope to winne her. Howbeit in
deceyuing the most nomber, she could not forbeare intirely to
loue one, who for his part was not able to plaie the
counterfait, to colour the substance of his longe pursute: but
as nothing is sure and stable, their loue tourned to
displeasure, and by frequent renewing of what was well knowen
the hole Court was not ignoraunt, what deuocion thone did beare
to thother. One day the Gentlewoman, aswell to let him know that
his affection was not bestowed in vaine, as to make him to feele
some smart and paine for his louing seruice, the more louingly
to forde him on, with preety morsells of her dissembling
concept, made show vnto him of greater fauour, then euer she did
before: for which cause he that was faultles either in deedes of
armes, or in prowesse of loue, began liuely and valiantly to
folow her, to whom long before with gentlenes and humilitie he
had many times bin a suppliante. Who fayning that she was not
able any longer to rest obstinate, made semblance of a womanly
pitie and accorded to his demaund. Telling him that for respect
of his tedious trauaile, she was now disposed to go to her
chamber, (which was in a Gallerie of the Castell where that time
the kinge did lie) where shee knew was none that could hinder
what they two intended: willing him not to faile but so sone he
saw her depart the place she was in, to folow after to her
chamber, where he should finde her alone, tarying for him with
good deuocion. The gentleman beleeuinge her appointmente, was
readie to leape out of his skinne for ioye: and therewithall
began to dalye and sport with other Ladies, attending the time
of her departure. She wanting not the practize of any fine
sleight or subtile pollicie, most pregnaunte in birds of her
Ayrie, called two of the greatest Ladies to the present chamber
window and said vnto them: “If it may please you good Ladies,
I will discouer vnto you the pretiest pastime of the world.”
They which hard the grief of melancholie, besoughte her to tell
what it was. “Thus it is” (quoth shee) “such a gentleman, whom
you know very well, to be both honest and vertuous, hath longe
time (as partlie you haue by to much experience seene,) gone
about diuers wayes to winne that, which he shall neuer get: for
when I began to applie my fancie towards him, he (vnconstant)
ceased not to couet and folow other Ladies with like pursute hee
did me: whereat I conceyued such more then spitefull hatred, as
notwithstanding my outwarde semblaunce, I coueted reuenge. Nowe
therefore maistresse, Occasion hath lente me a porcion of
oportunitie, to be requited of his vaine and fickle sute: which
is, that hauinge appointed him to come to my chamber, whither he
meaneth presently to follow me, it maye please you to giue
heedefull eye and watch: and that when hee hath passed alonge
the Galerie, and is gone vp the stayers, that both of you wil
recline your heads out of this window to helpe me singe the
holding of the Caroll, that I meane to chaunte vnto him. And
then shall you see the raging choler of this Gentleman, that at
other times presumed to be a quiet Suter: wherat perhaps through
his malapert boldnes, it cannot dash his blushles face, but yet
if he do not deale vnto me like spiteful reproch in open
hearing, I know full well in hart he will wishe me X. M.
mischifes.” This conclusion was not spoken without treble
laughter: for there was no gentlemen in all the Courte, that had
warred so much with the woman kind as hee, and yet welbeloued
and esteemed of euery one, that listed not to be intrapped
within his daunger. Therfore these Ladies thinking to carie
awaye some part of the glorie, which one alone hoped to atchieue
vpon this gentleman, were contente to assent to the other’s
liking. So sone then as they saw her depart, that purposed this
enterprise, they began to espie the countenaunce of the betrayed
partie, who paused not long before he exchaunged the place: and
when he was oute of the chamber, the Ladies trayned after, to
lose no part of the sport, and went the faster that he might not
be out of theyr sight. And he that doubted not the successe,
threwe his cape about his necke to hide his face, and went downe
the staiers out into the Court, and afterwards mounted vp
againe: but perceyuing some approche which he was loth should be
a witnes, he went downe againe, returning another way on the
other side. All which the Ladies sawe, vnknowen to him. But when
he came to the stayers where he beleeued verely, that he might
surely enter into his Maistres chamber, the two Ladies put they
heads out of the window, and incontinently perceyued the
gentlewoman alofte, crying out a lowde, “A theefe, a theefe:”
wherunto they two below aunswered with so vehement voyce,
doubling the other’s outcrie, as all the castell ronge of it.
I leaue for you to consider in what despite this gentleman fled
to his lodginge, but not so closely, but that he was ouertaken
by those that knew this misterie: who afterwards oftentimes
reproched this fact vnto him, speciall she that had deuised the
reuenge: but hee had armed himselfe with aunswers and defences
so readely, as he told them that he foreknew their deuise, and
mente nothing by his pilgrimage but to solace his beloued. For
of her loue long time before he was out of all hope, as hauing
reasonable proofe by his longe pursute and seruice. Howbeit the
Ladyes would not hold his excuse for a veritie, which euen to
this day hangeth in suspence.




THE SIXTY-SECOND NOUELL.

  _The honest and maruellous loue of a mayden of noble house, and of a
  gentleman that was base borne, and howe a Queene did impeche and let
  their mariage, with the wise aunswere of the mayde to the Queene._


There was in Fraunce a Queene, who in her company and traine
broughte vp many maydens, that were issued of great and
honourable progenie: amonges other that serued this Queene there
was one named Rolandine, which was nere kinne to the Queene. But
she for a certaine displeasure conceyued against her father,
bare vnto the yonge gentlewoman no greate good will. This
Maiden, although shee was none of the fayrest, yet so wyse and
vertuous as many great Lords and personages made sute to her for
mariage, to whom she rendred for earnest sutes, cold aunsweares:
because shee knew her father to be more bent to keeping of
money, then to thaduauncement of his children: and her
Maistresse (as is before said) bare vnto her so little fauour as
they which esteemed the Queene’s good grace, woulde neuer make
anye sute vnto her. Thus by father’s negligence and Maistres
disdaine, the poore gentlewoman remayned long time vnmaried. And
as shee that forcibly was payned, not so much for griefe of
mariage, as for that shee was not required or sued vnto, became
so werie of worldly life, as deuoutly she bent herselfe to GOD,
and by forsakinge the toyes and brauerie of the Courte, passed
her time in prayer, or els in other vertuous exercise: and by
withdrawing herselfe to this kinde of life, she spent her youth
so soberlie and deuoutly as was possible for a woman to do. When
she approched nere the age of XXX. yeares, there was a gentleman
a bastarde borne, of right honorable house, a uery curteous and
honest personage, whose every riches and beautie was such, as no
Lady or gentlwoman for pleasure would haue chosen him to
husband. This poore gentleman was voide of frends for
maintenaunce of lyuing, and vnhappie in mariage sutes, although
he pursued many, till at length he borded this poore Gentlewoman
Rolandine: for their Fortunes, complexions and condicions were
very like, and by vse of seuerall complaints made one to
another, ech of them fell in ernest loue with the other: and
being both thrall vnto mishap, they sought desired comforte by
vertuous and honest talke: and by that vse and frequentacion
greater loue increased and grew betwene them. Those which had
seene the maiden so straungly retired from wonted demeanor, as
she would speake to none, now marking her continuallie to
interteigne the bastard gentleman, incontinently conceiued ill
opinion of her, and told the mother of the Queene’s maids
(called Modesta) that she ought not to suffer such familiaritie
betweene them. Which report Modesta reuealed to Rolandine,
sayinge that diuers persons did speake euill of her, for that
she vsed to talke with the bastard, that neither was of
sufficient abilitie for her to marie, ne yet of beautie worthie
to be beloued. Rolandine which daily was more rebuked for her
austeritie of life, then for worldly toyes, sayd vnto Modesta
her gouernesse: “Alas, mother, you see that I cannot haue a
husband according to the worthines of my bloud, and that dailye
I haue auoyded those which be beautifull and yonge: for feare to
incurre the inconuenience wherinto I haue seene other to fall:
and now hauing chosen this wise and vertuous gentleman, who
preacheth vnto me words that be good and godly, what wrong do
they to me that make this report, sith in this honest order I
doe receiue consolacion of my griefes?” The good old Lady who
loued the maiden (which she called maistresse) as herselfe, said
vnto her: “I see well, that you are worse delt withall at your
father and maistres handes then you deserue. Howbeit sith such
reporte is made of your honor, you ought to refuse to speake
vnto him, although he were your naturall brother.” Rolandine
weeping saide vnto her: “Mother, for so much as you aduise me
therunto, I will performe your request, although it be very
straunge that without slaunder, a woman can haue no comfort or
seeke freedome without misreport.” The bastard gentleman, as he
was before accustomed, came to visite her, but she tolde him
(a farre of) those words which her gouernesse had said vnto her:
and with teares prayed him to refraine for a time to speake vnto
her, vntill the brute and rumor were somewhat appaised: which
thing he did at her request. But during this long time, either
of them hauing loste their consolacion, began to feele such
torment within themselues, as shee for her part neuer felte the
like. She ceased not from praying vnto God, from goinge on
pilgrimage, and fasting: for this vnacquainted loue brought her
to such disquiet as she could not rest the space of one houre.
Wherewith the noble bastard was no lesse tormented: but he which
had alreadie minded in hart to loue her and pursue her till
mariage, and hauing respecte (for loue sake) to the honor he
should acquire by the same, thought to finde meanes to declare
his minde vnto her, and aboue al things to get the good wil of
her gouernesse: which he did, declaring vnto her the miserie
wherein her poore maistresse remayned, which was voide of al
comfort and other frendship. Then the poore old Lady Modesta,
gaue him thankes for the honest affection that hee bare to her
maistresse: and deuised meanes how the two louers might impart
their minds together. Rolandine fayned herselfe to be sicke of a
Mygrim and paine in her heade, the brute of whose maladie was
feared to be greater then it was, and so concluded betwene them
that when her companion were gone into the chamber, they two
should remaine together alone to satisfie ech other with mutuall
talke. The bastard gentleman was very glad, and ruled himselfe
holy by the councell of the Gouernesse, in such sort as when he
liste, he spake vnto his louer and vertuous Lady: but this
contencaion did not indure: for the Queene who loued her but a
little, inquired what Rolandine did so long in her Chamber, and
one made aunswere that it was by reason of her sicknes. Albeit
there was another which knewe to well the cause of her absence,
sayde vnto her, that the ioye which Rolandine had to speake vnto
the bastard was able to ease her Mygrim. The Queene which found
out the veniall sinnes of other, by mortall offences in
herselfe, sent for her, and forbad her in any wyse not to speake
vnto the bastard, except it were in the hall or within her owne
Chamber. The Gentlewoman made as though she vnderstode her not,
but mildlie aunswered that, is shee knew any talke betweene them
might offend her maiestie, she would neuer speake vnto him
againe. Notwithstanding she determined to finde out some other
secret meanes that the Queene should not know of their meeting:
which was this. The Wednesday, Fridaye, and Saturday, the
gentlewoman vsed to fast, and for that purpose kept her Chamber
with her Gouernesse Modesta, where she had leysure to talke
(whilest the reste did suppe) with him whom she began so
earnestlie to loue: and as constrainte of time did force their
talke to be shorte, the greater was their affection in
vtteraunce of the same: because for the doing therof they stole
time, as the theefe doth his desired praye. This order of their
contentacion could not proceede so secretely, but that a
certaine varlet a yeoman of the Chamber, chaunced to see him
resort vnto her vpon a fasting day, and told it in such place
wher of some hearer, it was disclosed to the Queene herself, who
was so sore offended as neuer after that time the poore bastard
gentleman durste once attempt to go into the maiden’s chamber
againe. And to thintent that he might not lose the commodity of
talke with her, whom he so derely loued, oftentimes he fayned
himselfe to go on pilgrimage, and in the euening returned to the
Church and chapell of the Castel, in the habite of a frier, or
Iacobin (so wel disguised and altered, as no creature could know
him) and thither repaired the gentlewoman Rolandine, with her
Gouernesse to enterteigne him. He marking the great loue that
she bare him, feared not to say vnto her: “Madame, you see the
daunger which I hasard for your seruice, and the warnings that
the Queene hath giuen for our talke. You see on thother side
what a father you haue, who careth not after what sort he bestow
you in mariage: and you hauinge refused so many greate states
and noble men, I know not one, either farre or neare, that is
minded to haue you. I confesse my selfe to be but poore, and
that you may marie diuers gentlemen of greater reputacion and
richesse, then I am: but if loue and good wil were deemed
treasure and richesse, then woulde I presume to be the richest
gentleman of the world. God hath indowed you with great plentie
of goodes, and you are yet in choise to haue more: and if I were
so happie as you would vouchsafe to chose me for your husband,
I would accompt my selfe to be vnto you both husband, frend and
seruaunt, all the dayes of my life: and againe, if you should
take one equall to your nobilitie (a thinge very harde to finde)
he would rule and gouerne ouer you, and haue more respecte to
your goodes, then to your person, to your beautie then to your
vertue: and in triumphinge with dispence of that you haue, hee
maye chaunce to intreate you otherwise then you deserue. The
desire of this contentacion, and the feare that I haue, least
you should graunte it to some other, do force me to beseech you,
that by one only meanes you would make me happie and your selfe
the most contented and best intreated woman that euer was.”
Rolandine giuing eare to that communication which shee herselfe
ment to haue pronounced, aunswered him with stoute courage:
“I am very glad and wel pleased that you haue begunne the sute
your self, which I of long time haue determined to breake vnto
you: for which cause these two yeres past as you know, I haue
not ceased to thincke and deuise all the reasons and arguments
for and against you, that I could inuent: but in thend for so
much as I do meane to take vpon me the state of Matrimonie, it
is time that I begin to chose such husbande, with whom I shall
in my conscience like to liue at rest and quiet all the dayes of
my life: and amidde all the troupe of my thoughts in choise,
I cannot finde anye one, were he neuer so faire, riche or noble,
with whom my hart and minde can so well agree and match as with
you. I know that by marying of you I shall not offende God, but
rather do the thinge that hee commaundeth. And touching my Lord
my father, he hath had so litle consideracion of my perferment,
and so often refused it, as the law now will suffice, that I
giue my selfe in mariage withoute his consent, and therefore
cannot disenherite me, or worthely thincke ill of me: and by
hauing a husband (a thing appertinent to women kinde) such as
you be, I shall esteeme my selfe the richest woman of the
worlde. As for the Queene my maistresse, I oughte not to take
any care or remorse of conscience by displeasing her, to obey
God: for she hath not ceased to hinder that aduauncement, which
in my youth I mighte haue had, and by paine and diligence
towards her did well deserue: but to thend you may vnderstand,
that the loue and good will which I beare you, is founded vppon
vertue and honor, you shall promise me, that if I doe accorde
this mariage, you shall neuer purchase or require the
consummacion thereof, Vntill my father be deade, or els do finde
some meanes to make him consente hereunto.” Which the bastard
gentleman willingly did graunt: and vppon these promises and
termes, either of them gaue eche other a ringe in the name of
mariage, and did kisse together in the Church before God, whom
they toke to witnes of their assurance, and neuer after betwene
them was any other priuie fact committed, but only kissing. This
litle easement of mind did greatly satisfie the harts of these
two perfect louers: and were a great while without seing ech
other, liuing only by this assurance. There was no place where
honour mighte be gotten, but thereunto the bastarde made his
repaire with so great delight, as he thought he could neuer be
poore for respect of that riche wife which God had prouided for
him. Which wyfe in his absence, did euer continue her absolute
amitie towards that gentleman: and although many made sute yet
they receyued none other aunswere from her but deniall, and for
that she had remayned so long time vnmaried, she was minded
neuer to take vppon her that state. This her aunswere was so
generall as the Queene heard of it, and asked her for what
occasion shee was so determined. Rolandine saide vnto her, that
it was to obey her: for that shee knew shee would neuer suffer
her to marie, because in time and place where she might haue bin
honorablie matched to her well liking, she denied the same, and
that the vertue of pacience had taught her to contente herselfe
with the state wherein she was. And still as she was sued for in
mariage, she rendred like aunswere. When the warres were ended,
and the bastarde returned to the Courte, shee neuer spake vnto
him in open presence, but wente alwayes into some Church to
interteigne him vnder colour of Confession: for the Queene had
forbidden both him and her, that they should not talke together,
vnlesse it were before companye vpon paine of losse of their
liues. But honest loue, which feareth no defence, was more prest
to find meanes, for their mutuall talke, then their enemies were
ready to separate the same: and vnder the habite or colour of
all the religions they could deuise, they continued that honest
amitie, vntil the king remoued into a house of pleasure, not so
nere as the Ladies were able to go on foote to that Church, as
they were to the Church of the Castell, which was not situate in
such conueniente wyse for their purpose, as they could secretely
repaire (vnder colour of confession) to talke together:
notwithstanding if on the one side occasion fayled, loue found
out another for their contentment: for there arriued a Lady to
the Court, to whom the bastard was very nere kin. This Lady with
her sonne were lodged in the king’s house, and the chamber of
this yong prince was far beyond the body of the lodging, where
the king himselfe did lie: but so nere vnto Rolandine’s Chamber
as he might both see and speake vnto her, for their windowes
were properlie and directly placed at either corner of the
house: in which chamber (being ouer the hall) were lodged al the
Ladies of honor, the companions of Rolandine. Who beholding many
times the yong king at that window, caused the bastard to be
aduertized therof by her gouernesse: who after he had well
beholden the place, made as though he had great delighte to read
vpon a booke of the Knightes of the Round Table, that lay in the
chamber window of the yong king: and when euery man was gone to
dinner, he prayed the yeoman to suffer him to make an end of the
historie, and to shut him within the chamber. The other which
knew him to be the kinsman of his maistres, and an assured man,
suffred him to read so long as he liste. On thother side
Rolandine came vnto her window, who to find occasion to tarrie
there the longer, fayned to haue a paine in her leg, and dined
and supped in so good time, as she went no more to the ordinarie
of the Ladies: wher she began to set herselfe a worke about the
making of a bed of Crimson silke, placing her worke vpon the
window, as desirous to be alone. And when she saw no man to be
there, shee interteigned her husband, to whom she might speake
in secret wise, so as none was able to vnderstande them: and
when any person came nere, she coughed and made a signe that the
bastard might withdraw himselfe. They that were appointed to
watche them, thought vndoubtedlie that their loue was past and
ended, because she went not out of the Chamber, wher safely he
coulde not see her, for that hee was forbidden the same. Vppon a
day the mother of the yong Prince being in her sonne’s Chamber,
repayred to the windowe where that great booke did lie, and shee
had not staied there long, but one of Rolandine’s fellowes which
was within her Chamber saluted her. The lady asked her how
Rolandine did, who sayd that shee might very wel see her, if it
were her pleasure: and caused her to come to the window wyth her
night geare vppon her head. And after they had talked a while of
her sicknes they withdrew themselues. The other ladie espying
the great booke of the Round Table, sayde to her yeoman of the
Chamber: “I do marueille much why yong men do imploie themselues
to read such follies.” The yeoman made aunsweare, that he
marueled much more, why men of good yeres, counted and esteemed
wise and discrete, should haue greater delight in reading of
such trifles, then those that were yong. And to iustifie that
maruel hee told her how her cosin the bastard did spend 4 or 5
houres in a day to read vppon the same. Vpon which words by and
by she conceyued the cause of his deepe studie, and charged him
to hide himselfe in some place to mark what he did. Which
commaundement the yeoman performed, and perceiued that the booke
which the bastard read vpon, was the window out of which
Rolandine talked with him: and therewithal called to remembrance
many wordes of the loue which they thought to keepe very
secreete. The next day he rehersed the same vnto his maistresse,
who sent for her cosin the bastard, and after many tales told
him, she forbad him to resort thither any more, and at night she
gaue like warning to Rolandine, threatninge her that if she
continued in her fond and foolish loue, she woulde tell the
Queene the whole circumstaunce of her lighte demeaner. Rolandine
(nothing astonied with those woords) did sweare that sith the
time she was forbidden by her maistresse the queene’s maiesty,
she neuer spake vnto him: the troth whereof shee might learne
aswel of the gentlewomen her companions, as of other seruauntes
of the house: and touching the window whereof she spake, she
boldly aduouched that she neuer talked with the Bastard there.
Who (poore gentleman) fearing that his affayres would be
reuealed, kept himselfe farre out from daunger, and longe time
after did not retourne to the Courte. Howbeit, he wrote many
times to Rolandine by such secret meanes as for all the espiall
that the Queene had put, there passed no weeke but twise at
least shee hearde newes from him: and when one meanes did fayle
hym, hee deuised another, and many tymes sent a litle Page
clothed in colours (so often altered and chaunged as he was
sent) who staying at the gates when the Ladies passed by,
delyuered his letters priuelye in the middest of the prease.
Vpon a time as the Queene for her pleasure walked into the
fieldes, one which knew the Page and had charge to take hede
vnto those doings, ranne after him: but the Page which was a
fine boye, doubtinge leaste hee should be searched, conueyed hym
selfe into a poore woman’s house, where spedelie he burnt his
letters in the fier, ouer whiche a potte was boyling with meate
for her poore familie. The gentleman that followed him stripped
him naked and searched his clothes, but when he sawe that he
could finde nothing, he let him goe: and when he was departed,
the olde woman asked him wherefore he searched the boye: who
aunswered: “to finde letters which he thought he had about him.”
“Tush,” (quod she) “serch no more, for he hath hidden them very
well.” “I pray thee tell me,” (quod the Gentleman) “In what
place:” hoping to haue recouered the same. But when hee
vnderstode that they were throwen into the fire, he well
perceiued that the boye was craftier then him selfe. All whiche
incontinently hee tolde the Queene, notwithstanding from that
time forthe, the bastard vsed no longer the Page, but sent one
other of his olde seruauntes, whom he faithfully trusted, and he
(forgetting feare of death which hee knewe well the Queene
threatned on them that had to doe in those affaires) tooke vpon
him to carie his maister’s letters to Rolandine. And when hee
was entred the Castell, hee wayted at a certen doore placed at
the foote of a paire of staiers, by whiche the ladies passed to
and fro: where he had not taried long, but a yeoman which at
other times had sene him, knewe him and thereof told the maister
of the Queene’s house, who soudainly made searche to apprehende
him. The fellowe which was wise and politique, seing that diuers
loked vpon him a farre of, retourned towardes the wall
(as though he would haue made his water) tearing his letters in
so many small peces as he could doe for his life, and threw them
behinde an old gate: who had no soner done the facte, but hee
was apprehended and throughly searched, and when they could
finde nothing about him, they made him {s}weare whether he had
brought any letters or not, vsing him partly by rigor, and
somewhat by faire perswasion to make him confesse the truthe:
but neither through promise or threate, they could get any thing
at his handes. Report hereof was brought to the Queene, and one
of the companie gaue aduise that searche should be made behind
the gate, where he was taken: in which place they founde nothing
but litle peces of letters. Then they caused the kinge’s
Confessor to be sent for, who recouering the peces layd them
vpon a table, and red the lettre throughout, where the veritie
of the mariage (so much dissembled) was throughly discifered,
for the bastard in those letters called her nothing els but
wife. The Queene not meaning to conceale the fault of her
kinswoman, (which she ought to haue done) fil into a great rage
and storme, commaunding that the poore man by al meanes possible
should be forced to confesse the true tenor of that letter, to
thintent that the same by his affirmacion might not be denied:
but doe what they could, they were not able to make him alter
his former tale. They which had commission to examine him,
brought him to the Riuer side and did put him into a sack,
saying that he did lie before God and the Queene, and against an
approued trothe. He that had rather lose his life than accuse
his maister, prayed them to suffer him to haue a ghostly father
that like a Christian he might ende his life, and so entre the
ioyes prepared for all repentant sinners, and after that he had
clered his conscience, he said vnto them: “Maisters, tell my
Lorde and maister the Bastarde, that I recommend vnto him the
poore estate of my poore wife and children, trusting his honour
will haue consideration of them for my sake, for so mutch as
with good and loyall harte, I doe imploye my life for his honor
and suretie: and with me doe what you list, for you get nothing
at my handes that shall redounde to his hurt and preiudice.”
Then to put him in greater feare, they bounde him within the
sacke and threwe him into the water, crying unto him, if thou
wilt tell the trouth thou shalt be saued: but they seing that he
would make no aunswer drew him out againe, making reporte to the
Queene of his faith and constancie. Who then sayd, that neither
the king nor she were so happy in seruauntes as the Bastarde
was, that had not wherewith to recompence such fidelitie. The
Quene did what she coulde to get him from his seruice, but the
poore fellowe would in no wise forsake his maister.
Notwithstanding in thende by his said maister’s leaue, he was
put into the Queene’s seruice, where he liued many happy dayes.
The Queene after she vnderstode by the bastarde’s letters the
trouth of the mariage, sent for Rolandine, and in great rage,
called her caitife and miserable wretche, in stede of cosin,
reciting vnto her the disparagement of her noble house, and the
villanie she had committed against the honorable race whereof
she came, and against the will of her which was her Queene,
kinswoman and maistres, by contracting mariage without the
licence of the king and her. Rolandine whiche of long time knewe
the small devocion that her maistres bare vnto her, vsed her
with like affection: and bicause she was werie of the Quene’s
displeasure, thinking that her correction vttered in presence of
many proceded not of loue, but rather to make her ashamed,
abandoned feare, and conceiuing courage, when she sawe the
Queene in her chiefest rage, with gladsome and firme
countenaunce answered her in this wise: “Madame, if you cannot
conceiue the malice of your owne harte, I will set before your
eyes the rancour and displeasure of the same, which malice of
long time you haue borne towardes the Lorde my father and me:
whereof madame, I doe fele the smarte, to my great losse and
grief: for if it had pleased you to haue borne vnto me that good
wil which you do to those that are not so nere about you as I
am, I had before this tyme been placed and preferred in mariage
as well to the likyng of your honour as to my greate
satisfaction: but you haue regarded mee as one forgotten, and
cleane out of fauour, in such wyse as all the noblemen, with
whome I might haue been matched, haue contempned me, as well
through the negligence of my Lorde my father, as for the like
estimation and accompt that you haue made of me: by meanes
whereof I fell into that dispaire which if my health could haue
susteined the order and state of religion, I would willingly
haue taken it vpon me, to haue seuered my selfe from the
continuall hatred and enuy which your grace ful rigorously hath
showen vnto me: and being in this dispaire, I chaunced to finde
out him, that is proceded of so noble a house as my selfe. If
the loue of twoo persones is to be regarded, that meane to
accomplishe the holy state of wedlock: for you knowe that his
father in nobilitie farre excelled myne. He hath of long time
loued me, and made great sute vnto me, but you madame, whiche
neuer pardoned me for any small offence, ne yet praysed anye
good acte of myne (although you know by experience that I haue
not vsed to talke of matters of loue or other worldlie affaires,
and that I minded aboue all things to leade a more religious
life then any other) doe make it an hainous matter that I should
talke with a Gentleman (so infortunate as my selfe), by whose
loue, I thought or sought for nothing els but the ease and
comfort of my minde. And seing my selfe voyde and frustrate of
mine expectation, I shall imploie indeuour so well to seeke my
rest and quiet, as you haue gone about to dispoyle me of the
same: and then will celebrate the mariage which is already
assured by promises and by a ring. Wherefore, madame, I thinke
that you doe me great wrong by terming me to be a wicked woman,
sithe that in so great and perfect amitie I might haue founde
occasion (if I would) to haue committed euills: but there was
neuer betwene him and me any priuie fact, other then that is
honest, hoping that God wil shewe me such fauour, as before the
mariage be consumat, I shall obtaine the fauour and good will of
my Lorde my father: wherby I do neither offende God, nor my
conscience, for I haue taried till the age of XXX. yeares, to
see what you and my father would doe for me. I haue kept my
selfe so chast and honest, as no man liuing is able to laye the
contrarie to my charge. And with that reason wherewith God hath
indued me, being olde and voyde of hope, to finde a husbande
agreable to my nobilitie, I am determined to marie sutche a one
as I like beste, not for the pleasure or satisfaction of the eye
(for you know he is not faire) nor for lust of the flesh (for
there hath bene no carnall fact committed) ne yet for pryde and
couetousnes (for he is but poore and of litle estimation) but I
haue a sincere respecte and pure regarde to his vertue, honestie
and good grace, for whiche the worlde doth geue him praise, and
the great loue also that he beareth me, maketh me hope to finde
with him great rest and quiet. And after I had deuised and
considered the good and euill that might insue by this my
choise, I still persisted in that mind, and haue well wayed and
pondered the same these twoo yeares past, being throughly
resolued to waste and spende the rest of my dayes with him which
I meane still firmely to kepe in despite of all the tormentes
and cruelties, that the greatest enemies I haue, be able to make
my poore bodie suffre, no not death it selfe shall force me to
refuse hym. Wherefore Madame, I beseech you to accept this my
reasonable excuse, whereunto your self is nowe made priuie, and
suffer me to liue in that peace, whiche I hope for euer through
him, in these mine elder to finde.” The Queene wel marking her
stout wordes and countenaunce, and knowing the same to be very
true, was not able to aunswere her againe with reason: but
continuing, her rebukes and taunting checkes began to waste, and
at length fell out into this rage: “Ah, presumptuous drabbe, and
caitife wretch, in stede of humbling thy selfe and repenting
thine offence, thou carpest boldly without dropping or sheading
any teare, whereby thou doest manifestly declare that stubbornes
and hardnes of thy harte: but if the king, and thy father, would
follow mine aduise, they should put thee into a place, where
force should make thee to vse other language.” “Madame,” said
Rolandine, “because you haue accused me of bolde talke and
presumptous speache, I meane from henceforth to hold my peace,
except you geue me leaue to make mine aunswere.” And when she
was commaunded to tell forth her mynde, she said: “It is not my
part, Madame, boldly or without duetifull reuerence to speake
before your maiestie (whiche is my maistresse, and the greatest
Princesse in Christendome). The wordes which I haue said, be not
spoken (Madame) of presumption, but to declare that I haue none
other aduocate to pleade for me, but the trouth of my cause. And
therefore am bolde without blushing feare to disclose the same,
hoping that if your grace did knowe the secret concept of my
poore faithfull harte, you woulde not iudge mee to be that woman
which you terme me to be. I doe not doubt that any mortall
creature vnderstanding my behauiour in those matters wherwith I
am charged, would blame me, for my liberall speache, sithe I am
sure that God and myne honor in no point I haue offended. The
cause which maketh me thus without feare to saye my minde is,
because I am assured that he whiche seeth my harte, is the geuer
of my life also, and remaineth with me. If then such a Iudge and
Guide doe order and dispose my life, why should I be afrayd of
them that be subiect vnto his iudgement? And why then Madame,
should I wayle or wepe, sithe mine honor and conscience without
remorse or grudge do wel like of these my doings, which if they
were newly to begin, I would not repente me to doe the same
againe. But it is you (Madame) that hath good cause to wepe, as
well for the great displeasure, euer borne me from my youthfull
dayes, as for the wrong you doe me nowe by reprehending me
before the face of all the worlde for a faulte, whiche ought
rather to be imputed vnto you then vnto me. For if I had
offended God, the king, or you, my parentes, or my conscience,
I were well worthy to be counted very obstinate, if with great
repentaunce I did not lament the same, but for a dede that is
right good and vertuous, I ought not to wepe, whereof there was
neuer other rumor spred but verie honorable, except the slaunder
which your selfe hath raised, whereby your desire to increase my
shame and dishonor appeareth to be greater then the respecte you
haue to conserue the nobilitie of your house, or kindred wherof
you come. But because it pleaseth you, Madame, so to vse me,
I purpose not to withstand you. For when you shall ordeine that
punishment for me, which you like best, I shal reioyse no lesse
to suffer the same without desert, then you be willing to
bestowe it vpon me without cause. Wherefore Madame, commaunde my
Lorde my father to put me to what tormente you will, for the
execution wherof you shall not finde him vnwilling. And I shall
not be altogether without ioy, to see him prest and redie to
obey your wilfull mynde. But I haue a father in heauen, who
(I am sure) will geue me suche pacience, as I shall be able to
abide and indure, what affliction soeuer you prepare for me, in
whom only is al my hope and trust.” The Queene, so angrie as she
could be, commaunded her out of her sight, and to be shutte into
a chamber alone, that none might speake vnto her. In which
imprisonment shee was not depriued from the companie of her
gouernesse, by whose meanes she let the Bastarde vnderstande all
her fortune, and she likewise vnderstode what he thought best
for her to doe. Who thinking that the seruice which he had done
to the king, would stand him in some stede, came vnto the Court
with all spede, and founde the king in the fieldes, to whome hee
rehearsed the trouth of the facte, beseching his maiestie that
vnto him (who was a poore gentleman) he would shewe such fauour
and grace as the rigor of the Queene’s maiestie might be
appeased, and the mariage fully consumat and ended. The king
made him none other aunswere, but saide: “Is it true that thou
hast maried her?” “Yea sir,” saide the Bastarde: “by wordes only
as yet: but if it please your maiestie, the same may be
throughly made perfit.” The king nodded his hed, and for that
time geuing him none other aunswere, hee retourned straite to
the Castell, and when he was almost there, he called the
Captaine of his Guarde, and commaunded him to apprehend the
Bastarde. Notwithstanding one of his frendes which knewe the
kinge’s countenaunce, willed him to absent himselfe, and to
retire to one of his houses, and if the king made serche after
him (as he suspected) he would incontinently aduertise him
therof, that he might auoyde the realme: and when the king’s
displeasure was pacified, he would sende him worde. The Bastarde
beleued him, and vsed such diligence as the Captain of the
Guarde could not finde him. The king and the Queene councelled
together what they might doe with this poore damsell, whiche was
their kinswoman, and by the Queene’s aduise it was concluded,
that she should be sent home to her father, with the true
aduertisement of the whole matter. But before she was sent,
diuerse Diuines and learned men of the Clergie, were demaunded
their opinions of the priuat mariage, and the Counsell also did
sit vpon the same, who concluded that for so muche as the
mariage was not celebrated but by wordes, it might easely be
vndone, vntill one of them had acquited the other. Which the
king commaunded to be performed for the honor of the house
wherof she came. But she made them aunswere, that in all thinges
she was redie to obey the king, except it were in matter against
her conscience, sayinge, that those whome God had coupled
together by heauenly aduise, could not bee separated by man’s
decree, praying them not to attempt a thing so vnreasonable: for
if loue and good will founded vpon the feare of God, were the
true and sure knot of mariage, then she was so wel bounde and
tied, as neither iron, fier, or water coulde breake that band,
but death alone. Wherunto, and to none other constitution, she
was determined to rendre her ring and othe, praying them not to
speake, do, or proceede, to any thing that were contrarie vnto
that: wherin she was so stedfastly resolued, as she had rather
die by keping her faith, then liue to denie the same. The
Commissioners retorned to the king and Queene the constant
answere of the Gentlewoman, and when they sawe no remedie could
be found to make her renounce her husband, they conueyed her
home to her father, in such pitifull sorte, as by the way she
passed, eche man and woman lamented her fortune. And albeit shee
had offended, yet the punishement and affliction she suffred was
so great and her constancie so firmely bent, as she made her
fault to be estemed a vertue. The father receiuing those
pitifull newes, would not see her, but sent her to his castell
that stoode in a forest, which he had before time builded for an
occasion, worthy to be rehersed hereafter, and there kept her in
prison a long time, sending worde vnto her, that if shee would
forsake her husband, he would take her for his doughter, and set
her at libertie. Who for all that offer was firme and constant,
and loued her prison the better by obseruing the bond of
mariage, then al the libertie of the world, without the hauing
of her husband. And it semed by her countenaunce, that al the
paynes she had indured were most pleasaunt pastimes, for that
she suffred the same for his sake, whome she loued best. What
should I speake of men? This Bastarde at length became
vnmindeful of her, and fled into Alemaine, where he had many
frendes. Whose inconstancie afterwardes appeared so manifest, as
the vertue of true and perfit loue outwardly seming to remain in
him, was conuerted into the vice of odible ingratitude, whereby
it was euident, that the causes that made him so hotte a Suter,
were the vglie monsters of Auarice and Ambition, where he fill
in loue with an Almaine Ladie, he forgetting to visite her with
letters, that for his sake had susteined so great and manifold
tribulations. For what rigor or affliction soeuer Fortune
offred, coulde neuer before that tyme put awaye the meanes from
writing one to an other, but onely the vices before named, and
the foolish and wicked loue wherin he suffred him selfe to fall.
Which sudden and newe loue so perced the hart of Rolandine, and
so fiercely assailed the same, as she could no more content and
rest her self. Afterwards vpon the viewe of his wrytinges and
letters, seing him to be so chaunged and altered from his
accustomed stile, what tormentes then she suffred, they doe
knowe that haue felte and tasted the bitter cup of like
passions. And yet her perfecte loue would not suffer her to fixe
certaine iudgement vpon this aduertisement, and therefore
deuised secretly to sende one of her seruaunts whome shee
trusted best, to espie, and priuely make serche whether the same
were true or not. Whiche her seruaunt being retourned, hee
truely tolde her, howe the Bastarde Gentleman was in loue with a
Ladie of Almaine, and howe the brute was that he made great sute
vnto her for mariage, because shee was very ritche. These newes
brought sutche extreme sorrowe and grief to the harte of poore
Rolandine, as being not able to abide the bruntes thereof, she
fill very sicke. Those whiche vnderstode the originall of her
disease, sayde vnto her (in the behalfe of her father) that for
so muche as nowe she knewe the great villanie of the Bastarde,
shee might iustly forsake hym: persuading her thereunto with the
greatest reasons they could deuise. But for all those
persuasions, no remedie could be founde to make her chaunge
opinion: in whiche her laste tentacion shee declared the great
constancie wherewith she was affected: for like as loue was
decreased in him: so the same augmented in her, whiche remained
and persisted in despite of all the malice of the worlde. For
that loue, whiche fayled, and was fledde from him, tourned and
retired into her. And when she perceiued her selfe alone fully
possessed with that whiche before was deuided betwene them
bothe, shee determined to obserue the same vntill death had made
an ende of her fatall dayes. Wherefore the goodnes of God (which
is perfect charitie and true loue) had pitie vpon her sorrowe,
and regarded her pacience in such wise, as within few daies
after the Bastarde died in the pursute of the other ladie’s
Loue. Wherof Rolandine being dauertised by those which saw him
buried, prayed them to trauell with her father by humble sute,
that he would vouchsafe to giue her leaue to speake vnto him.
Who at their request, (although he neuer spake vnto her before,
during the tyme of her imprisonment) incontinently was pleased
so to doe. And after that he had herde the discourse of her
iuste reasons, in place of rebukes, and his promise made to kill
her (which many times he threatened by woordes) he cleped her
betweene his armes, and bitterly weping, sayde vnto her:
“Daughter, I wel perceiue your vertue and constant mynde, which
farre surmounteth any thing that is good in mee, for if there be
any faulte or lacke of consideration of your estate, I am the
principal occasion thereof: but sith the goodnes of God hath
thus ordeined it, I wil make satisfaction for mine offence
past.” And afterwardes he sent her home to his house, where he
vsed and interteigned her like his derest and eldest daughter.
In the ende she was demaunded in mariage by a Gentleman of name
and armes, to her estate and bloud not inferior. Who was bothe
wise and vertuous, and so louingly regarded Rolandine (whome he
many times visited) as he attributed vnto her the prise of
prayse for that, which others accompted worthy of rebuke,
knowing that her intent of former loue was grounded vpon the
foundation of vertue. The mariage was well liked of her father,
was acceptable to Rolandine, and was forthwith concluded. True
it is that a brother she had, the only inheritour of her
father’s landes, who would not agree that she should receiue her
childe’s porcion, obiecting that she had disobeied her father.
And after the death of the good old man (her father) her brother
vsed her very rigorously and cruelly. For her husbande was but a
yonger brother, and had wherewithal scarce able to liue: for
which want, God bountifully prouided: for the brother whose
gredie minde did craue in one daie to be possessor of al, by
sodain death was depriued, as well of his sister’s porcion as of
al the rest. By whose death she remained the whole inheritor of
that honorable house: and afterwardes liued an honorable and
stately life, in great wealth and pleasure, and was welbeloued
and duetifully intreated of her husband. Finally hauing by her
husband two goodly sonnes, she very vertuously brought them vp,
and finishing her aged dayes, she ioyfully rendred her soule
vnto him, in whom of long time she had reposed her onely trust
and confidence. Now good ladies let them come forth that be the
common displaiers of women’s inconstancie, and let them bring
forth in presence, so good and perfect a husband as this was a
good and constant woman, indued with semblable faith and vertue.
I am sure to bring this to passe the matter wilbe very
difficult: and therfore I had rather discharge them of this my
chalenge, then put them to payne to trauell and seeke for such a
one. Whose vertuous loue and godlye continuance of the same, is
worthye to bee sounded by Trompe of fame to the extreame partes
of the Earth. And yet I would aduise yonge Ladies and
gentlewomen to beware how they be inamoured, and pursue the
trade of loue, contrarie to the will of parentes, who ought in
time of infancie to be their guide, and also in riper yeares to
procure them mariage according to their worthines: which they
may the better and soner do, is by vertuous education they arme
and instruct their tender and youthly age.




THE SIXTY-THIRD NOUELL.

  _The Wisedome of a woman to withdrawe the foolishe loue of her
  husband, wherwith he was tormented._


Many yeares are not yet expired sithens there was a Gentlewoman
of noble house (whose name I may not disclose), so wise and
vertuous as shee was wel beloued and esteemed of her neighbours:
her husband (not without good cause) trusted her in al his
affaires, which she ordred and gouerned so wisely, as her house
by her meanes grew to be one of the richest and best apparelled,
that was in the countrie wherein she dwelled. Liuing thus a long
time with her husbande, by whom shee had many goodly children,
their happie state and felicitie (after which daily insue their
contraries) began to decaie, because that he, defatigated with
to much quiet, abandoned restfull life, to seeke after
troublesom trauell: and had gotten a custome when his wife was a
sleepe to rise from her side, and not to returne vntill it was
very nere morning. The gentlewoman misliking this maner of life,
became very ielous of her husband, and yet made as though she
mistrusted nothing: but that spitefull passion entred her
stomacke so farre, as in thende shee forgot thaffayres of her
house, the diligence of her person, and good gouernment of her
familie, like vnto one that verely supposed that (do what shee
could) she had lost the fruite of her paine and labour, which
was the great loue of her husband, for continuance whereof shee
spared no trauaile or toile: but losinge altogether as shee
manifestly perceiued, shee grew to be so carelesse of her
housholde state and houswiferie, as speedelie appeared the
fruites of slouth and negligence: for her husband for his part
spent without order, and she staied her trauell from matters of
houshold: in such wise as the same was growen to so great
penurie, as the high and stately woodes were felled downe to the
stubbe, and the goodly maners deliuered into the handes of sir
Mathewe Morgage. One of the gentlewoman’s frendes and kinsemen
which knew her disease, tolde her of her fault, and rebuked her
for that carelesse life: sayinge, that if loue of husband could
not make her to haue respecte of housholde profite: zeale and
regarde of poore children’s state ought to moue her thereunto.
This good councell of her frende touched her very nere, and the
pitie of her children at lengthe made her to recouer her
spirits, and to assaie by all meanes possible to wynne againe
her husbande’s loue. See here the nature of honestie, and
condicion of well disposed life: this gentlewoman was infected
with the plague of Ielousie (an ordinarie disease in women,) and
not without iust cause: for what Grisilde could suffre her
wedded husband, assembled in bedde, in depthe of slepe, to rise
and runne a straie like a wylde horse, neying after the straied
female kinde of that sorte? This good Gentlewoman, I saye,
almoste besides her wittes for alienation of her deserued loue,
now growen careles of worldly thinges, as you haue heard, is
vpon the louing admonicion of her nerest frend, pricked with
naturall regarde of Infantes: launching forth that festred sore
of Ialousie, serched meanes by policie to wynne that which
Ialousie could not get, whiche was her husbande’s loue, whom
with curteouse wiuely shame not before assemblie of neighbours,
or straungers audience, by huy and crye as many doe, but in
domesticall boundes, within the compas of housholde, and within
the circuit of secret chambre, shee made him blushe from former
life, and to deteste all filthie and beastly factes in future
time. Suche be the frutes of a right matrone’s life. Suche be
the gaines of the milde and quiet wife. Such a wife, I say, is
the honor of her husband’s name, the onely vpholder and
restoratife of his renowme and fame. But turne we againe to the
experienced wisedome of this Gentlewoman. The next day she
diligently watched by false slepe, the time of his vprising from
her: and when he was gone, shee rose likewyse, putting her night
gowne about her, causing the bedde to bee made, and saying her
prayers, she waited the retourne of her husband, who being
retired into his chambre, she came before him to kisse hym, and
brought him a basen with water to washe his handes: and musing
at the vnaccustomed order of his wife, he tolde her that he was
come but from the priuie, and therfore neded not to washe.
Whereunto she answered, that although it were no great matter,
yet cleanly and honest, to washe the handes, being come from an
vncleane and stinking place, by which wordes she was desirous to
let him vnderstande his follie thereby to hate his dishonest and
filthie life. But for all that wyse and pretie taunte hee
amended nothing at all: Howbeit she continued that ordre the
space of one yere. And when she sawe, that her diligence could
not reforme his vsuall trade of lyfe, on a tyme wayting for her
husband, which taried longer then he was wont to doe, shee was
desirous to seeke hym out, and went from chamber to chamber,
till at lengthe shee founde hym a bedde in a back chambre and a
sleepe with the moste ill fauoured, foule and filthiest Slutte
of her house, such a homely pece and durty beaste, as the lyke
was not to be founde in a countrie. The gentlewoman beholding
this manerly sight, thought to teache him a lesson howe to
remembre the difference betwene the sweete and pleasaunt
lodging, with a fayre and duetifull wife, and the vncleanly
couching with a stinking and lothsome Queane. Wherupon she
caused a burden of Strawe and worne rushes to be brought vnto
her, setting the same on fier in the middes of the chamber, but
when she sawe her husband almoste choked with the great smother,
she waked hym, and plucked him out of the bed by the armes,
crying: “fier, fier.” If the husbande were ashamed, and offended
with him selfe to be founde in a bedde with such an vncleanly
matche, by his faire and honest wife, I referre the iudgement to
all indifferent men, that be coupled with like wiues. Then his
wyfe said vnto him: “Sir I haue assaied the space of one whole
yeare, to withdrawe you from this vile and wicked life, by
gentlenes and pacience, and shewed example by washing you
without, that you might also clense your selfe within. But when
I sawe myne endeuour could take no place, I attempted to helpe
my selfe with the element that shall ende and consume vs all:
assuring you, sir, that if this doe not amende you, I cannot
tell if the seconde time, I be able likewise to ridde you from
the daunger that may happen. I praye you sir to thinke and
consider that there is no greater dispayre or dispite, then that
whiche is conceiued of loue: and had I not set before mine eyes
the feare of God, I could not haue practised suche pacience, as
I haue done.” The husband very glad, that he had escaped that
misfortune, promised her neuer to geue occasion, that shee
should take like payne to bring him to order. Whiche promise the
Gentlewoman very willingly beleued, and with her husbande’s
consent, she expelled out of her house, that which did displease
her moste: and from that time forth, they louingly liued
together, and the former faultes of this reformed life, was an
increase of ioyful and mutuall delightes. I beseche you
Gentlewomen (if there be any in the place where this nouell is
redde) if God doe geue you such husbandes to beware of dispaire,
vntill ye haue assayed all possible meanes to reduce them to
good ordre. For there be in the daye XXIIII. houres, in euery of
whiche houres a man may chaunge opinion: and a woman ought to
accompt her selfe moste happie, if by pacience and long
suffraunce she wynne her husbande, excepte fortune and frendes
haue procured one that is alreadie perfecte. This example
therefore maye serue al sortes of maried women. Let her take
example that list (quod Dame Partelot) for it is impossible for
me to vse suche long pacience. But let Dame Partelot speake her
pleasure, I would aduise all husbandes to lyue honestly with
their honest wiues, and doe praie to God to plant mo sutch wiues
to store the barren worlde that neuer or seldome bryngeth forth
such increase.




THE SIXTY-FOURTH NOUELL.

  _The notable charitie of a woman of Tours towards her husbande._


Another hystorie of like example I thincke meete to bee annexed:
which telleth howe in the Cittie of Tours in Fraunce, there was
a fayre and honest wyfe which for her vertues was not onelye
beloued, but also feared and esteemed of her husband. So it was
that he followinge the fragilitie of those men, which be wearie
of delicate fare, fill in loue with a woman of the Countrye that
kepte his house there, and many times departed from Tours to
visite his countrie woman, where he commonlye taried II. or III.
dayes before his retorne: and when he came home againe to Tours,
he ordinarely did take cold, whereof his good wife had much to
do to recouer him. And so sone as he was hole, hee failed not to
returne to the place, where pleasure made him forget all his
former griefe and sicknes. His wife which aboue all thinges
loued his life and tendred his health, seinge him commonly
broughte into so poore estate, went into the Countrye, where she
founde out the yong woman that her husband loued. Vnto whom (not
in choler but with smilinge cheere and countenaunce) shee sayd:
“How she knew well that oftentimes her husband repaired thither
to visite her, and that she was not well content that she vsed
him no more carefully, for when he came home from her he toke so
great cold as long time after she had much a doe to recouer
him.” The poore woman as wel for the reuerence of the Dame, as
for the trouth of the matter, could not denie the facte, and
therefore fallinge downe vppon her knees, asked her forgiuenes.
The maistresse required to see the bedde and chamber, where her
husband laie, which she perceiued to be so cold, ill fauoured,
and out of order, as she pitied and lamented the case: wherefore
incontinently she sent for a good bedde furnished with sheetes,
blanquets and Couerlet, accordingly as she knew her husband
loued, causing the chamber to be repaired, hanged, and dressed
vp, after the best maner: she gaue her also plate and vessell to
serue her husband at meales, together with a punchion of wyne,
spice, and other confections: and then prayed the woman to sende
home her husbande, no more so sicke, but to interteigne and
cherishe him after the most delicate and carefull maner she
could. The husband taried not long at home, but after his olde
custome wente againe into the countrie to visit his woman, and
marueiled much to finde her poore lodging so trimlye garnished,
but much more he wondred when calling for drincke he sawe her to
bringe him a siluer potte, asking her where she had gotten all
those goodes. The poore woman sayde vnto him weeping, that it
was his wife, which hauing so great pitie vppon his ill
intreatie, had furnished her house, and had committed vnto her
the charge and regard of his health. Hee seing the greate
humilitie and goodnes of his wyfe, and that shee for the
vnkindnes he shewed vnto her, had requited him with that
curtesie and louing kindnes, well pondering and regarding his
owne frailtie, and the honeste demeanor of his wyfe, afterwards
rewarded the poore woman with money, and perswaded her from that
time foorth to liue an honest life. And then returned home to
his wyfe, confessing vnto her the negligence of his dutie, and
that excepte she had vsed that kinde of curtesie and goodnes
towards him, it had bin impossible for him to forsake and giue
ouer his vngodlye life: and afterwardes vtterly abandoning his
behauiour past, they liued together in great rest and quietnes.
Belieue me if ye list (to you good wiues I speake) that there be
verye few ill husbands, whom the pacience and loue of the wyfe,
is able at lengthe to winne, or els they be more harde then
stones, which the soft and feble water by continuance of time,
is able to weare and make holow: for when the wiue’s lenitie
shall enter his carelesse stomacke, and her pacient suffraunce
renew remembraunce of dutie, then doth conscience bite, and gnaw
the cancred cord that tyeth vp the good consideracion of his
office, and regarde to maried life: then doth age abhorre the
lewdnes of former life, and commeth home to cherish the holsome
Nourice of his pleasant state. Then regardeth he the bande
wherewith matrimonie hath bound him, and both at bedde and borde
obserueth the ful perfections of the same.




THE SIXTY-FIFTH NOUELL.

  _The simplicitie of an olde woman, that offered a burning candle to
  S. Iohn of Lions._


In the Church of S. Iohn at Lions, there was a very darke
Chappell, and within the same a Tombe made of stone, erected for
great personages, with pictures liuely wroughte, and about the
same Tombe there doe lie manye worthie knightes of great fame
and valiaunce. Vpon a hote Sommer’s daye, a souldiour walking vp
and downe the Church had great delight to sleape, and beholding
that darcke chappell which was colde and fresh of ayre, thoughte
to reste vpon the Tombe as other did, besides whom he layde him
downe to sleepe. It chaunced that a good old woman very deuoute,
came thether when the souldior was in the depth of his sleepe.
And after shee had sayd her deuocions, wyth a wax candle in her
hande, she would haue fastened the same vpon the Tombe, and
repayring nere the place where the souldiour lay, desirous to
sticke it vppon his forehead, thinking it had been the stone,
the waxe would take no hold. The old woman, which thought the
cause that her candle would not cleaue was the coldnesse of the
Image, she warmed the souldior’s forehead with the flame of the
candle, to sticke it faste. But the Image which was not
insensible, beganne to cry oute, whereat the poore woman was so
afraide, as like one straught of her wittes, she brake into
exclamacion crying: “A miracle! A miracle!” They within the
Church hearing an outcry of a miracle, ranne in heapes as though
they had been madde, some to ring the belles, and some to see
the miracle: whom the good woman broughte to see the Image,
which then was remoued: whereat many began to laughe. But diuers
priestes not willing so to give ouer so great a Miracle,
determined afterwards to vse that tombe in reuerence, therby to
get money.




THE SIXTY-SIXTH NOUELL.

  _A Doctor of the Lawes boughte a cup, who by the subtiltie of two
  false varlets, lost both his money and the cuppe._


To conclude our nomber of Nouels, I haue thought good (gentle
reader) to bringe in place a Doctour and his wyfe, to giue thee
a merye farewell: because thou haste hitherto so frendly and
pacientlye suffred thy selfe to be stayed in reading of the
reste: wherefore with a pleasaunt Adieu in a short and merie
tale, which discloseth the subtiltie of two false knaues to
beguile a poore Doctor and his wyfe, I meane to end. And
therfore do saye, that in the Citie of Bologna in Italie, there
was a worshipful Doctor of the Lawes, called Maister Florien,
which in other thinges sauing his profession was but a slouen,
and of so ill behauiour as none of his facultie the like: who by
sauing of many crustes, had layed vp so good store of Crownes,
as he caused to be made a very great and costly Cup of siluer,
for payment of which Cup he went to the Goldsmithe’s house, and
hauinge payed for the siluer, the guilt, and for the fashion,
being without his Clarke to carie it home, he prayed the
Goldsmith to lend him his man. By chaunce there were newly come
to the Citie, two yonge men that were Romaynes, which ranged vp
and downe the streates with eares vpright, to view and marke
euery thinge done in the same, bearing about them counterfait
Iewels and lingots, guilt of S. Martine’s touche, to deceiue him
that would playe the foole to buy them. One of them was called
Liello and the other Dietiquo. These two Marchantes being at
good leasure to wander the streates, beholding the passangers to
and fro, by fortune espied the Goldsmithe’s man, who (to set
forth the workemanship and making of the cup) caried the same
open. These gallants bearing a spite to the cup, more for the
siluer than for other malice, purposed to inuent some sleight to
get the Cuppe, and a farre of with slie pase, followed the
Goldsmithe’s man, of whom they craftelie inquired of the owner
of the Cup, and where hee had left maister Florien. When they
had concluded vppon their enterprise, Liello (the finest boye of
them both) went straight to buy a Lamprey of great price, and
hiding the same vnder his cloake, repayred directly to Maister
Doctour’s house, where finding his wife of semblable wit and
behauiour that her husband was, with vnshamefast face and like
grace, said vnto her: “Maistresse, Maister Florien your husbande
hath sent you a fishe, and prayeth you to dresse it and to make
dinner readie, because he bringeth a company of other Doctoures
with him: in the meane time he requireth you, to retorne vnto
him the Cuppe againe, whiche hee sent you this morning by the
Goldsmithe’s man, because he had forgotten to stampe his armes
vppon it.” The woman receyuinge the fishe, franckly deliuered
him the Cup, and went about to prepare dinner. Liello (which
hunted after gaine but better caught his prey) hied him a pace
and conueyed himselfe with speede to the house of one of his
Countriemen, and there reioyced with his companion, attending
for the comming of the Royster Dietiquo, who taried in the
Towne, wayting and viewing what pursute was made after his
fellowe. Sone after maister Florien retourned to his house and
finding his dinner more delicate than it was wont to be,
marueyled, and asked his wyfe who was at all that coste. His
wyfe very scornefully aunswered: “Why sir, haue you forgotten
that you sente me word this morning that you woulde bring home
with you diuers Gentlemen to dinner?” “What” (quoth the Doctour)
“I thincke you be a foole.” “I am not” (sayd shee) “and for
better witnesse you sent mee this fishe, that I would you had
been better aduised before you had bestowed such coste.”
“I assure thee:” quoth hee, “I sent thee no fishe, but belike it
was some folishe knaue that had forgotten his arrant and
mistaken the house: but howsoeuer it was wyse, we at this time
will be content to fare well, at other mennes charge.” “Why sir
(sayd his wyfe) call your selfe to better remembraunce, for hee
that brought the Lampry, came to me for your Cup, by this token
that you would haue your armes engrauen vppon the same.” At
those words the poore Doctour, after he had discharged three or
foure Canons laden with haile shot of scolding words wente out
into the streate, running hither and thither demaunding of al
them he met, if they saw none carrie a Lampry home to his house.
And you would haue said if you had seen the Doctour wyth his
hode hanging at one side, that he had been out of his wittes.
Dietiquo stode still in a corner, and beheld the Doctour’s
frantike order, and albeit that he was sure the stealinge of the
Cuppe by Liello his companion was impossible to be knowen, yet
being sorye that the Lampry cost so much, determined also to
play his part, and seinge the doctour stayed from making further
complaintes and pursute, he went home to the Doctour’s house,
where smiling with a good grace and bould countenaunce saide
vnto his wyfe: “Maistresse Doctour, good newes, the Cup is
founde, one whom you know caused the same to be done in sport to
bring your husband Maister Florien in a choler, who now is
amonges diuers of his frendes iesting at the pleasuant deceipt,
and hath sent me hither to fetch their dinner, wherein they
praye you to remember the Lamprey, and to come your selfe to
take part of the same, bicause they purpose to be mery.” The
woman ioyful of those newes, began some what to complaine of the
griefe which she had taken for losse of the cup, and deliuered
to Dietiquo the rosted Lamprey with the sause, betwene two
platters who incontinently hid the same vnder his cloke, and
wyth so much speede as he could, went to seeke out his companion
Lielo, and their countrimen, which all that while had taried for
him: and God knoweth whether those good fellowes did laugh and
mocke the poore Doctour, and his wife or not, and when she had
made herself gay and trimme to go eate part of the Lamprey, as
she was going out she met Maister Florien lookinge lowringlie
vppon the matter, to whom she said (smiling like a frumenty pot)
“How now, sir, come they hither to dinner? I haue sent you that
Lamprey ready dressed.” Then Maister Doctor after faire talke,
beganne to discharge his double Cannons, callinge his wyfe
Whore, bitch, and beaste, and vnderstandinge that he was twice
begiled and could not tell by whom, for spite and despayre he
tare of his beard, and the heare of his head, which bruted and
knowen in the Citie, the Iesters and pleasaunt felowes bent
themselues to laugh, and deuise pastime at the poore begiled
Doctour and his wyfe.


FINIS.




  The ſecond Tome
  of the Palace of Pleaſure,
  *conteyning store of goodly Hiſtories,*
  Tragicall matters, and other Mo-
  *rall argument, very re-*
  _quiſite for delighte_
  *and profit.*

  _Choſen and selected out of_
  _diuers good and commen-
  dable Authors:_

  By William Painter, Clerke of the
  Ordinance and Armarie.
  ANNO.1567.

  Imprinted at London, in
  Pater Noster Rowe, by Henry
  Bynneman, for Nicholas
  England.




  _To the Right Worshipful Sir George Howard Knight, Maister of the
  Quene’s Maiestie’s Armarye._


Every science hauing his peculier commodity, and conducinge to
the trauayler and dilligent searcher, a due deserued benefyte
(besydes the exercise and shunninge the pestilent monster
Idlenes) discloseth the miraculous effect of the Diuinity, and
the excellency of his Creature: who breathing life into that
sencelesse worke, framed within the mould of humayn Conception,
forceth in him by nature and timely institution such capacitye
of Science, as not onelye by that knowledge hee glorifyeth his
Creator, but also besydes himselfe, helpeth and doth good to
other. For profe whereof the Science of that surpassing and
delightsome pasture of Theologie, is profitable to teache,
argue, reproue, and instruct, that by pacience and consolation,
we may conceiue hope of Eternitye. The knowledge of Philosophie
cureth the Mynde, auoydeth childish care, expelleth feare, and
shunneth fond desyres. O Philosophye, the guide of life,
(exclameth Tullie) the inquisitor of Vertue and expeller of
vice. Rethorike (affirmeth he) causeth vs to learne that we know
not and that we know to teach to other: by the same we exhort,
with that we perswade, with that we comfort the afflicted, by it
we encourage the astonned, and appease the outragious. Musike,
easeth the troubled mynde, lenifyeth sorrowe, comforteth the
heauye harted, and erecteth a contemplatyon of heauenlye
thinges. Astronomye, reuealeth the nature of the Starres and
Planets, presageth dayes and times for the helpe and
maintenaunce of life. Poesie teacheth amendment of manners,
directeth what things be mete for imitation, and with what
detriment wantonnes anoyeth the bodye of man. By meanes of it
(Sainct Augustine saith,) he learned many good lessons to
profite himselfe and do good to other. To be short euery science
is so necessary, as the same taken away, reason is depriued and
the Life of Man (of due order and gouernment) defrauded. Thinke
(sayth a Greke Oratour) the knowledge of many thinges to bee
more precious and excellent, then a Chest heaped vp with
abundance of money: for the one quickly fayleth, and the other
for euer lasteth. For Scientia (affirmeth hee) is the onelye
immortall storehouse of all possessions. Amonges which troupe of
Sciences, the knowledge and search of Histories deserueth a
place in the chefest rank, and is for example of humaine
affayres, a Christal light to shew the pathes of our Auncestors.
The same displaieth the counsels, aduises, pollicies, actes,
successe, and endes of Kinges, Princes and great men, with the
order and discription of time and place. And like a liuely image
representeth before our eies the beginning, end and
circumstaunce of ech attempt. The same (like a Mistresse of our
life) by probable examples stirreth vp our sluggish mindes, to
aspyre the eternal glorie of praise and fame, and terrifyeth the
desperate and aduenturous, from enterprise of things vnseemely.
The same is a passing picture of verity, and an absolute paterne
framinge the matter greatter nor lesse then it is. And because I
am not ignorant what Encomia innumerable Authors in time past,
and wryters of our tyme do attribute vnto that science, and with
what titles the Prince of them all decketh the praise of
Historicall knowledge, I only refer the worthines to the
practisers, and the syngularitye of Histories trauel and
delight, to ech willing minde that imploye their leasure and
tyme therin. And I for my parte do confesse (that by reading of
Histories) I fynd the saying which Tullie aduoucheth of Publius
Scipio to bee true: that he was neuer lesse idle, then when he
was idle, and neuer lesse alone, then when he was alone, meaning
therby, that when he was at best leisure, he was neuer idle, nor
when he was alone vnoccupied. For when labor resteth him selfe
in me, and leisure refresheth other affaires nothing delights
more that vacant tyme, than readinge of Histories in such vulgar
speache, wherein my small knowledge taketh repast. And for that
my priuat reading might not delyte and pleasure me alone, to
auoid the nature of that cankred churle and foe of humain
companye, Timon of Athens, that liued but for him selfe, I haue
(after my skill) culled some floures and fruites from that
pleasaunt store of those my readinges to impart for vniversal
gayne and benefite, chosynge rather hereby to followe the
liberalitye of Cimon a gentleman of that Cittye, who knowynge
hymselfe to bee borne to profite other and for the enriching of
his Couutry, not only atchiued maruailous matters for
furtherance of Comon wealth, but lefte his Gardens and Orchards
open for all men to participate the Fruictes of his pleasure and
trauell. Wherby so wel as I can I follow the tract and practice
of other, by whose meanes, so manifold sciences in our known
toung and translation of Histories be frequent and rife amonge
vs. Al which be done after our commodity, pleasure, solace,
preseruation and comfort, and without the which we cannot long
be sustayned in this miserable lyfe, but shal become not much
vnlyke the barbarous, ne discrepant from the sauage sorte. The
inuestigatours and bringers to light, wherof direct their eyes
and meaning to none other end but for the benefyte of vs and our
posteritye, and that our faces be not taynted with the blushing
coloure to se the passing diligence of other Countryes by
curious imbelishinge of their states with the troublous trauaile
of their brayne, and laboursom course of penne. Who altogeather
imploi those paynes, that no Science lurke in Corner, that no
Knowledge be shut vp in cloysters, that no History remaine vnder
the maske and vnknowne attyre of other tongues. Among which crew
(I say) I craue an inferiour place and haue vndertaken the
vnfolding of sundry Histories from the couerture of foren
language for none other purpose and intent but to vniuersal
benefyte. Part whereof, two yeares past (almost) were made
commune in a former boke, now succedeth a second, furnished
withlike ornaments that the other was. The first (by duties
chalenge) was addressed to the right honorable the Earle of
Warwik, for respect of his honour, and my calling. This the
second by lyke band, your worship may iustly clayme as a iust
tribute now this moneth of Nouember, payable. Or if your
curtesye would not deale so roughly with youre bounden
creditoure, yet for duty sake I must acquite and content that
which hath so long ben due. The same I offer now not with such
vsury and gayne as your beneuolence and syngular bounty, by long
forbearing hath deserued, but with such affected will and desyre
of recompence, as any man alyue can owe to so rare a friend.
Your worship I haue chosen for the firste person of this boke,
and the protector of the same (the matter moste specially therin
comprised, treating of courtly fashions and maners, and of the
customes of loue’s gallantise, and the good or yll successe
therof,) because you be an auncient Courtier, and one of the
eldest Trayne, and such as hath bene imployed by sundry our
Princes, in their affayres of greatest wayght and importance,
and for that your selfe in your lustiest tyme (euer bred and
brought vp in Court,) haue not ben vnacquainted with those
occurrants. If I shoulde stand particularlye to touch the
originall of your noble Auncestry, the succession of that
renowmed line, their fidelity for graue aduise and counsel, your
honowrable education, the mariage of a mighty kyng with one of
your sisters, the valiant exploites of your parents againste the
Frenche and Scottes, the worthye seruice of your selfe in
fielde, wherby you deseruedly wanne the order of Knighthode, the
trust which her maiestie reposeth in you, by disposing vnder
your charge the store of her Armure, and your worthy preferment
to be Maister of her Armary generall. If I should make recitall
of your careful industry and painful trauel sustayned, for
aunswearing her Maiestye’s expectation, your noble cherishing of
the skilful in that science, your good aduancemente of the best
to supply the vacant romes, your refusall of the vnworthy: and
finally of your modest and curteous dealings in that office,
I feare lacke of ability (and not of matter) would want grace
and order by further circumstaunce to adde sufficient prayse:
yea although my selfe do say nothinge, (but reserue the same in
silence to auoyd suspecte of adulation) the very armure and
their furnitures do speake, vniuersal testimony doth wonder, and
the Readines of the same for tyme of seruice doth aduouch. Which
care of things continually resting in your breast, hath atchyued
such a tymely diligence, and successe, as when her Maiestye’s
aduersary shal be readye to molest, she shal be prest (by God’s
assistance) to defend and march. But not to hold your worship
long by length of preamble, or to discourse what I might further
saye, either in fauour of this boke, or commendation of youre
selfe, I meane (for this instant) to leaue the one to general
iudgment, and the other to the particular sentence of ech of
your acquaintance. Humblye making this onlye sute that my good
wil may supplye the imperfection of myne abilitye. And so with
my harty prayer for your preseruation to him that is the auctor
of life and health, I take my leaue.

    From my pore house besides the Tower of London,
                the iiij. of Nouember,
                          1567.
                            Your most bounden
                                   WILLIAM PAINTER.




TO THE READER.


As shewed curtesie deserueth grateful acquital and frendly
fauour forceth mutual merit. So for gentle acceptation of my
other boke, I render to thy delite and profit a second Tome, for
which I craue but like report: albeit, neither worthy of any: or
other then the rude artificer gayneth by tryal of his art. Who
hauing committed to his skil and workmanship, some substance of
gold, or other precious matter, fashioneth the same with such
bungled shape and order, as (besydes disprayse) it carieth the
vnablenes of the workman. Howsoeuer (then) the ablenes or
perfection herof vniuersally shal content or particularly
displease: the boke craueth mild construction, for imploied
paines. And yet the same (liking or lothing the licorous diet,
and curious expectation of som) shal beare regarde with those
that more delite in holsom viandes (voyd of variety) than in the
confused mixture of foren drugges fetched farr of. Who no doubt
will supply with fauorable brute, default of ablenes and riper
skil in the Histories of forren spech. Which is the guerdon
(besides publike benefyte) after which I gaze, and the best
stipend that ech wel willinge mind (as I suppose) aspireth for
their trauel, and briefly to touch what comodity thou shalt
reape of these succeding Histories, I deme it not vnapt for
thine instruction, to vnfold what pith and substance, resteth
vnder the context of their discourse.

In the Nouel of the AMAZONES, is displayed a straunge or
miraculous port, (to our present skill) of womens gouernment,
what state they subdued, what increase of Kingdome, what combats
and conflictes they durst attempt contrary to the nature of that
sexe.

In ALEXANDER the greate, what ought to bee the gratitude and
curtesye in a puissant Prince, toward his slaue and captiue, and
to what perilous plunge he slippeth by exchange of vice for
vertue.

In TIMOCLIA and THEOXENA the stoutnesse of two noble Dames to
auoyde the beastly lust and raging fury of Tyrantes.

ARIOBARZANES telleth the duty of a subiect to his Prince: and
how he ought not to contende with his souerayn in matters of
curtesy, at length also the condition of courting flatterers:
and the poison of the monster Enuy.

ARISTOTIMVS disgarboyleth the intralles of Tiranny, describing
the end whereunto Tirants do attein and how that vice plagueth
their posterity.

The two Romayne QUEENS do point (as it wer) with their fyngers,
the natures of Ambition and cruelty, and the gredy lust (hidden
in that feeble sexe) of souerainty.

SOPHONISBA reporteth the force of beauty, and what poyson
distilleth from that licourous sappe to inuenim the hartes of
valiant gentlemen.

The gentlewomen of HYDRVSA the ficlenes of Fortune.

The Empresse FAUSTINA, and the countesse of CELANT, what
blossoms blome of whorish life, and what fruictes therof be
culled.

The letters of the Emperour TRAIANE, do paynt a right shape of
vertue, a good state of gouernment, and the comly form of
obedience.

Three Amorous Dames reueale the sleights of loue the redines of
Nobles to be baited with the amorous hoke, and what desire such
infamous strumpets haue to be honored.

Queene ZENOBIA, what the noble Gentlewomen (whom the fates
ordayne to rule) ought to do, how farre their magnanimity ought
to stretch, and in what boundes to conteine their souerainty.

EVPHIMIA a king’s daughter of Corinth, and the vnfortunate
Duchesse of Malfi, what match of mariage Ladies of renowne, and
Dames of Princelye houses ought to chose.

Mistresse DIANORA, MITHRIDANES and NATHAN, KATHERINE of Bologna,
and SALADINE, the mutual curtesies of noble and gentle
Personages, and for what respectes.

Quene ANNE of Hungarie, the good nature and liberalitye of a
Quene: and with what industry Gentlewomen of priuy chamber ought
to preferre the sutes of the valiant, and of such as haue wel
serued the common welth.

ALEXANDRE de Medices, Duke of Florence, the iustice of a Prince,
and gouernour to the wronged party, what vertues ought to shine
in Courtiers, and with what temperance their insolence is to be
repressed.

IVLIETTA and RHOMEO disclose the harty affections of two
incomparable louers, what secret sleights of loue, what danger
either sort incurre which mary without the aduise of Parentes.

Two Gentlewomen of VENICE, the wisedom and pollicy of Wiues to
chastice and restrain the follies of husbands, and the stoutnes
they ought to vse in their defense.

The Lord of VIRLE, and the widow ZILIA, geue lessons to Louers,
to auoyde the immoderate panges of loue, they prognosticate the
indiscretion of promised penance, they warne to beware al
vnseemly hestes, lest the penaltyes of couetise and vayn glory
be incurred.

The Lady of BOEME, schooleth two noble Barons that with great
boast assured themselues to impair her honor.

DOM DIEGO and GINEVRA, record the cruelty of women bent to hate
and the voluntarye vow performed by a passionate Knight, with
the parfect friendship of a true frend in redresse of a frend’s
mishap.

SALIMBENE and ANGELICA, the kindnes of a gentleman in deliuerie
of his ennemy, and the constant mynd of a chast and and vertuous
mayden.

Mistresse HELENA of Florence discouereth what lothsom lustes do
lurk vnder the bark of fading beauty, what stench of filthy
affection fumeth from the smoldring gulfe of dishonest Loue what
prankes such dames do play for deceit of other, and shame of
themselves.

CAMIOLA reproueth the mobility of youth such chiefly as for
noble auncestry regarded ritches more than vertue, she lyke a
mistresse of constancye lessoneth her equalles from wauering
myndes, and not to aduenture vpon vnstedie contracts: with those
that care not (vnder what pretence) they com by riches.

The lords of NOCERA fortel the hazardes of whordom, the rage of
Ielousy, the difference of duty betwene Prince and subiect, the
fruites of a Rebell, the endes of Traitery and Tiranny, and what
monstruous successe such vices do attain.

The king of MAROCCO describeth the good nature of the homely and
loial subiect, the maruaylous loue of a true and symple
Countryman towarde his liege and soueraygne Lorde, and the
bounty of a curteous Prince, vpon those that vnder rude attyre,
be garnisht with the floures of vertue.

To be short, the contentes of these Nouels from degre of highest
Emperour, from state of greattest Quene and Lady, to the homelye
Cuntry peasant and rudest vilage girle, may conduce profite for
instruction, and pleasure for delight. They offer rules for
auoiding of vice and imitation of vertue to al estates. This
boke is a very Court and Palace for al sortes to fixe their eies
therein, to vew the deuoyres of the Noblest, the vertues of the
gentlest, and the dutyes of the meanest. Yt is a stage and
Theatre for shew of true Nobilitye, for profe of passing loialty
and for tryal of their contraries. Wherfore as in this I haue
continued what erst I partelye promised in the first so vppon
intelligence of the second signe of thy good wil, a third
(by Gods assistance) shal come forth. Farewell.

  _Authorities from whence these Nouelles be collected: and in the
  same auouched._

  Strabo.
  Plinie.
  Quintus Curtius.
  Plutarche.
  Titus Liuius.
  Dionysius Halicarnassæus.
  Appianus Alexandrinus.
  Ouide.
  Horace.
  Propertius.
  Cicero.
  Valerius Max.
  Trebelius Pollio.
  Xenophon.
  Homere.
  Virgilius.
  Baptista Campofulgosus.
  Bandello.
  Bocaccio.
  Gyraldi Cynthio.
  Belleforrest.
  Boustuau.
  Petro di Seuiglia.
  Antonio di Gueuarra.




*The Palace of Pleasure.*




THE FIRST NOUELL.

  _The hardinesse and conquests of diuers stout, and aduenturous
  women, called Amazones, the beginninge, and continuance of their
  Reigne, and of the great iourney of one of their Queenes called
  Thalestris to visit Alexander the great: with the cause of her
  trauaile._


Where the firste booke beegan with a Combate fought, and tried
betweene two mighty Citties, for Principality, and Gouernement,
the one hight Rome after called the head of the World (as some
thinke by reason of a man’s head found in the place where the
Capitole did stand) the other Alba. To which Combat sixe
Gentlemen of eyther city were appoyncted, and the victory
chaunced to the Romayne side: In this second parte, in the
Forefront, and first Nouell of the same, is described the
beginninge, continuaunce and ende of a Woman’s Common wealth
(an History rare and straunge to the vnlearned, ignorant of the
world’s fickle ruled stay) which contented with the mighty
Princes and puissant Potentates for defence of their kingdome,
no lesse than the Carthaginians and Romaynes did for theirs. But
as it is no wonder to the skilful that a whole Monarche, and
kingdome should be intierly peopled with that Sexe: so to the
not well trained in Histories, this may seeme miraculous.
Wherefore not to staye thee from the discourse of those straunge
and Aduenturous women, diuers be of diuers opinions for the
Etimologie of the word: whereof amonges the Grætians be diuers
iudgementes. These Amazones were most excellent warriers, very
valiaunt, and without man’s aduice did conquer mighty
Countreyes, famous Cities, and notable Kingdomes, continuinge of
longe time in one Seigniory, and gouernment. These people
occupied and enioyed a great part of Asia. Som writers deuide
them into two Prouinces, one in Scythia in the North part of
Asia: other by the hill Imaus, which at this day is called the
Tartarian Scythia, different from that which is in Europa: the
other sort of the Amazones were in Libia a prouince of Africa.
But because the common sort of Authors doe vnderstand the
Amazones to be those of Asia, I meane to leaue of the
difference. The Scythians were a warlike people, and at the
beginninge of their kingdome had two kinges, by whom they were
gouerned. Notwithstandinge the nature of dominion beinge of it
selfe ambicious, cannot abide any companion or equall: which
caused these two kinges to be at variaunce, and afterwards the
matter grew to ciuill warres, wherein the one beinge Victor, two
of the principal and chiefe of the contrary faction, called
Plinius and Scolopithos, were banished with a great number of
their adherentes, al which did withdraw themselues to the limits
of Cappadocia in the lesser Asia, and in despite of the Countrey
Pesantes, dwelled alonges the riuer of Thermodon, which entreth
into the Sea Euxinum, otherwise called Pontus. And they beinge
made Lordes of the countrey, and of the places adioyninge,
raygned for certayne yeares, vntill the Peasantes and their
confederates made a conspiracy agaynst them: and assemblinge by
Pollicy, ouercame and sleewe theym all. The newes of theyr death
knowen to their Wyues dwellinge in theyr countrey, caused them
to conceiue great heauinesse, and dolor extreme: and although
they were women, yet did they put on manly courage, and
determined to reuenge the death of their husbandes, by puttinge
theyr hands to weapons wherewithal they did exercise themselues
very ofte: and that they might all be equall, and their sorrow
common, they murdred certaine of their husbandes which remayned
there, after the other were banished. Afterward beinge
altogether, they made a great army, and forsooke their dwellinge
places, refusinge the mariage of many suters: and arriuinge in
the lande of their enemies (that made small accoumpt thereof,
although foretolde of their approche) they sodaynly came vpon
them vnprouided, and put them all to the sword. This beinge
done, the women tooke the gouernment of the Countrey,
inhabitinge at the beginninge alonge the Riuer of Thermodon,
where their husbandes were slayne. And although many Authors do
differ in the situation of the place where the Amazones did
dwell, yet the truth is, that the beginning of their kingdome
and of their Habitation was vppon that Riuer. But of their
manyfolde conquestes, be engendred diuers opinions declared by
Strabo, and others. They fortified themselues in those places,
and wan other countreys adioyninge, choosinge amonge them two
Queenes, the one named Martesia, and the other Lampedo. These
two louingely deuided the army and men of Warre in two partes,
eyther of them defendinge (with great hardinesse) the Landes
which they had conquered: and to make themselues more dreadfull
(sutch was the credite and vanity of men that time) they fayned
to be the daughters of Mars. Afterward these miraculous women
liuing after this maner in peace and iustice, considered that by
succession of time, for want of daughters that might succeede,
warres, and time, would extinguish their race. For thys cause
they treated maryage with their neyghbors named Gargarians
(as Plinie sayeth) with condition, that vpon certayne tymes of
the yeare, their husbandes should assemble together in some
appoincted place, and vse them for certaine dayes vntyll they
were with chylde, whych beinge done and knowen, they should
returne home agayne to their own houses. If they brought forth
daughters, they norished and trayned them vp in armes, and other
manlik exercises, and to ride great Horse: they taught them to
run at Base, and to followe the Chace. If they were deliuered of
males, they sent them to their fathers, and if by chaunce they
kept any backe, they murdred them, or else brake their armes and
legs in sutch wise as they had no power to beare weapons, and
serued for nothynge else but to spin, twist, and to doe other
feminine labour. And for as mutch as these Amazones defended
themselues so valiantly in the Warres with Bowe, and Arrowes,
and perceyued that their breastes did very much impech the vse
of that weapon, and other exercises of armes, they seared vp the
right breasts of their yonge daughters, for which cause they
were named Amazones, which signifieth in the Greeke tongue,
wythout breasts, although some other do geeue vnto that name any
other meaninge. Afterwards, increasing by course of time in
number and force, they made greate preparation of Weapons and
other Engins for the Warres, and leauing their countrey (which
they thought was very small) in the keepinge of some, whom they
specially trusted, the rest marched abroade, conqueringe and
subduinge all those which they found rebellious. And hauing
passed the river of Tanais, they entred Europa, where they
vanquished many countreys, directing their way towardes Thracia,
from whence they returned a while after, with great spoyle and
victory, and comminge agayne into Asia, they brought many
prouinces vnder their subiection, proceedinge euen to Mare
Caspium. They Edified, and peopled an infinite number of good
citties, amongs which, according to the opinion of diuers, was
the famous Citty of Ephesus, the same beeinge the chiefe of al
their Empire, and the principal place that stoode vpon
Thermodon. They defended themselues in Warres with certayne
Tergats, made in fashion of a halfe Moone, and entring into
battaile vsed a certaine kinde of Flutes to geue the people
corage to fight, as the Lacedemonians were wont to do. In this
wise increased more and more the fame of those women, and so
continued vntill the tyme that Hercules, Theseus, and many other
valiaunt men liued in Græcia. The sayd Hercules, kinge Euristeus
of Athenes commaunded, to proceede with great force of people
against the Amazones, and that hee should bringe vnto him the
armures of the two Queenes, which then were two sisters, that is
to say Antiopa and Oritia. At this commaundement Hercules
incoraged with desire of honor and glory, accompanied with
Theseus, and other his frends, sayled alongst Pontus, and
arriued in most conuenient place vpon the shoare of Thermodon,
where he landed in sutch secret manner and with sutch oportunity
of tyme, as Oritia, one of the two Queenes was gone out of the
countrey with the greatest part of her women, to make Warre, and
conquer new Countreyes, in so mutch that he found Antiopa, which
doubted nothinge, ne yet knewe of his comminge. Vppon which
occasion, Hercules and his people surprisinge the Amazones
vnwares, and although they entred into Fielde and did put
themselues in defence with sutch diligence as they could, yet
they were ouercome, and put theym to flight, and many of them
slayne and the rest taken: amongst whom were the two sisters of
the Queene, the one named Menalipe whych was Hercules prysoner,
and the other Hipolita, the prysoner of Theseus. Certane
Historians do say that they were subdued in a pitched field, and
appoynted battle. And that afterwards the two sisters were
vanquished in singuler Combat. The Queene Antiopa then seeinge
this ouerthrow, and the takinge of her sisters, came to
composition with Hercules, to whom shee gaue her armure to cary
to Euristeus, vpon charge that he shoulde render vnto her, her
sister Menalipe. But Theseus for no offer that she coulde make,
woulde deliuer Hipolita, with whom he was so farre in loue, that
he caried her home with him, and afterward toke her to wyfe, of
whom hee had a sonne called Hipolitus. Hercules satisefied of
his purpose, returned very ioyful of his victory. Oritia
certified of these news, beinge then out of her countrey,
conceyued no lesse shame than sorrow, who fearing greater
damage, returned speedily with her women, the greater part
whereof beinge of her opinion, perswaded Antiopa to be reuenged
vpon the Grekes. For which purpose they made great preparation
of warre. Afterwards leuyinge so great a number of the Amazones
as they could, they sent to Sigilus king of Scythia for succour:
who sent them his sonne Pisagoras, with a great number of
horsemen, by whose helpe the Amazones passing into Europa, and
Countrey about Athenes, they greatly annoyed their ennemy: but
Pisagoras entred in quarel agaynst the Queene and her women, by
meanes whereof, the Scythians could not fight, but withdrew
themselues aside, whereby the Amazones (not able to support the
force of the Greekes,) were ouercome, and the greatest part of
them cut in peeces. Those which did escape, ran to the Scythians
Campe, of whom they were defended: afterward being returned into
their countrey, they liued in lesse force, and surety than
before. In processe of time the Greekes passed into Asia, and
made a famous conquest of the Citty of Troy, when Penthesilea
was Queene of the Amazones, who remembringe the iniuries
receyued by the Greekes, went with a great army to helpe the
Troians: where the Queene did thinges worthy of remembraunce,
but the Troianes vanquished, in many Skirmishes al the Amazones
were almost slayne. And Penthesilea amonges other, was killed by
the hand of Achilles. Wherefore those that remained, returned
into their countrey with so litle power (in respect of that they
had before) as with great difficulty they susteyned, and
defended their old possessions, and so continued till the time
that Alexander the great went into Asia, to make warre against
the Hircanians. In which time one of their Queenes named
Thalestris accompanied with a great number of the Amazones, went
out of hir countrey with great desire to see and know Alexander.
And approchinge the place where hee was, shee sent her
Ambassadour vnto him to the ende that shee might obtayne safe
conduct to see him, makinge him to vnderstand how mutch the
Renoume of his personage had inflamed hir heart to see him.
Whereof Alexander beeinge tolde, graunted hir hys safe conduct.
By meanes whereof, after she had chosen out some of hir
principall women, leauinge the rest in a certayne place in very
good order, she went towardes Alexander, of whom she was
curteously entertayned, and then with very good countenaunce,
shee offered vnto him the effect of al her ability. Who prayed
hir to tell him, if he were able to do her pleasure, and
promised that hir request should be accomplished. She aunswered
that hir comminge was not to demaund either landes or dominions,
(whereof she had sufficient) but rather to knowe and be
acquainted with sutch a famous Prince as hee was, of whom she
had heard maruellous and straunge report. But the chiefest cause
of hir comminge was, to pray him of carnal copulation, that she
might be conceiued with childe, and haue an heire begotten of so
excellent a Prince, telling him that she was come of noble
kinde, and of high parentage, and that he ought not to disdaine
hir vse. Promisinge hym that if it pleased the Gods, that she
should haue a daughter, she would nourishe it her selfe, and
make it her vniuersall Heire, and if it were a Sonne, she would
send it vnto him. Alexander asked her if shee woulde go with hym
to the warres, which if she would, he promised hir his company.
But she excusinge hir selfe, aunswered that she could not goe
with hym without great shame, besides the hazardinge the losse
of her kingdome. Wherefore she prayed him agayne to satisfie hir
request. Finally she kept company with Alexander by the space of
XIII dayes in publike and secret sort, which beinge expired, she
tooke hir leaue, and returned home to hir prouince. But as it is
the property of tyme to consume all thinges: euen so the
kingdome and power of the Amazones grew to vtter decay, no one
sutch nation at this day to be found. For what monstruous Sexe
was this that durst not onely by many armies encountre with
puissant nations, but also by single Combate, to fight with that
terrible personage Hercules, whose vnspeakable and incredible
labours and victories, are by antiquity reported to be sutch, as
none but he, durst euer aduenture the like. What nation euer
comparable to the Greekes, or the Athenian Citty? and yet these
mankinde women for reuenge shronke not to peerce their Prouince.
What like besieged towne as that of Troy was? and yet
Penthesilea one of their Queenes with hir mayny, indeuoured to
rayse the Greekes, that so many yeares had lien before the same.
What Queene (nay what Stalant) durst sue for company of meanest
man? any yet one of these presumed to begge the matche of the
mightiest Monarch that euer ruled the world. The maners and
qualities of which nation, bycause they were Women of no common
spirite and boldnesse, bee thought good in the front of this
second Volume to be described: bycause of dyuers Womens liues
plentifull variety is offered in the sequele. And for that some
mention hath bin made of the great Alexander: and in what wise
from vertue hee fell to vice, the seconde Nouell ensuinge shall
geue further aduertisement.




THE SECOND NOUELL.

  _The great pitie and continencie of Alexander the great and his
  louinge entertaynment of Sisigambis the wyfe of the great monarch
  Darivs after he was vanquished._


Great Monarches and Princes be the Gods, and only Rulers vpon
Earth, and as they be placed by God’s only prouydence and
disposition, to conquere and rule the same, euen so in
victorious battayles and honorable Exploytes, they ought to rule
and order their conquestes like Gods: that is to saye, to vse
moderate behauiour to their Captiues and slaues, specially to
the weaker sort and feminine kynde, whom like Tyrauntes and
barbarous, they ought not to corrupt and abuse, but like
Christians and vertuous victors, to cherish and preserue their
honour. For what can bee safe to a woman (sayde Lucrece, when
she was rauished by the Romayn Tarquine) her chastity beinge
defiled? Or what can be safe to a man, that geueth himselfe to
incontinency? For when he hath despoyled the virgin, robbed the
wyfe, or abused the Wydow of their honor and good name, they
protrude themselues into many Myseries, they bee impudent,
Vnshamefaste, Aduenturous, and Carelesse howe many myschiefes
they doe. And when a Prince or Gouerner doth geue himself to
licentious life, what mischieues, what rapes, what murders doth
hee commit? No frende, no Foe, no subiect, no enemy doth he
spare or defende. Contrarywise, the mercifull and continent
captayne, by subduinge hys affections recouereth immortall fame,
which this History of kinge Alexander full well declareth. And
because before we spake of that great conqueror in the Nouell of
the Amazones, and of the repayre of Queene Thalestris for vse of
his body, at what tyme (as Curtius sayth) he fell from vertue to
vice: we purpose in thys, to declare the great contynencie and
mercy that hee vsed to Sisigambis, the wife of the Persian
prince Darius, and briefly to touch the time of his abused life,
which in this maner doth begin. Alexander the great hauing
vanquished Darius and his infinite army, and retiringe wyth hys
hoast from the pursute and slaughter of the Persians, entred
into their campe to recreate himselfe. And beinge with his
familiers in the mids of his banket, they sodaynly heard a
pitifull cry, with straung howlinge and cryinge out, which did
very mutch aston them. The Wyfe and Mother of Darius, with the
other noble women newly taken Prisoners, were the occasion of
that present noyse, by lamentinge of Darius, whom they beleeued
to be slayne, and which opinion they conceyued through one of
the Eunuches, which standinge before Their tent doore, saw a
Souldier beare a peece of Darius Diademe. For which cause
Alexander, pityinge their misery, sent a noble man called
Leonatus to signifie vnto them that they were deceyued, for that
Darius was liuing. Repayring towards the Tent where the women
were with certayne armed men, he sent word before, that he was
comminge to them with message from the kinge. But when sutche as
stoode at the tent doore saw armed men, they thought they had
bene sent to murder the Ladies: for which cause they ran in to
them, cryinge that their last houre was come, for the souldiers
were at hande to kille them. When Leonatus was entred the
Pauilion, the Mother and wife of Darius fell downe at hys feete,
intreatinge him that before they were slayne, he would suffer
them to bury Darius, accordinge to the order and maner of his
Countrey, after the performance of which obsequies, they were
content (they sayd) willingly to suffer death. Leonatus assured
them, that both Darius was aliue, and that there was no harme
ment towardes them, but should remayne in the same state they
were in before. When Sisigambis heard those wordes, she suffered
her selfe to bee lifted vp from the grounde, and to receyue some
comforte. The next day, Alexander with great diligence buried
the bodies of sutch of his owne men as coulde be founde, and
willed the same to be done to the noble men of the Persians
geuinge licence to Darius mother to Bury so many as she liste,
after the custome of her Countrey. She performed the same to a
few that were next of her kin, accordinge to the hability of
their presente fortune, for if shee should haue vsed the
Persians Pompe therein, the Macedonians might haue enuied it,
whych beinge victors, vsed no great curiosity in the matter.
When the due was performed to the dead, Alexander signified to
the women prisoners, that hee himselfe would come to visite
them, and causinge sutch as came with him to tary without, he
onely with Ephestion entred in amongs them. The same Ephestion
of all men was best beloued of Alexander, brought vp in his
company from his youth, and most priuy with him in all thinges.
There was none that had sutch liberty to speke his mynde playnly
to the kinge as hee had, whych hee vsed after sutch sorte, that
he seemed to doe it by no authority, but by sufferaunce. And as
he was of like yeres vnto him, so in shape and personage he did
somwhat excell him. Wherefore the Women thinkinge Ephestion to
be the kinge, did fall down and worship him (as their Countrey
maner was to do to kinges) till sutch time as one of the
Eunuches that was taken prisoner, shewed which of them was
Alexander. Then Sisigambis fell down at his feete, requiringe
pardon of her Ignorance, forsomutch as she did neuer see him
before. The kinge tooke her vp by the hande, and sayd: “Mother
you be not deceiued: for this is Alexander also.” Then he
behaued himselfe after sutch a maner, that hee exceeded in
continency and compassion, all the kinges that had bin before
his time. He entertayned the two Queenes with those virgins that
were of excellent beauty, so reuerently, as if they had bin his
sisters. He not onely absteyned from al violation of Darius
wyfe, which in beauty excelled all the women of hir time, but
also tooke great care and diligence, that none other should
procure her any dishonour. And to all the women he commaunded
their ornaments, and apparell to be restored: so that they
wanted nothinge of the magnificence of their former estate,
sauinge only the assured trust that creatures want in misery:
which thinges considered by Sisigambis, she said vnto the kinge:
“Sir, your goodnes towards vs, doth deserue that we should make
the same prayer for you, that whilome we did for Darius: and we
perceive you worthy to passe so great a king as he was, in
felicity and good fortune, that abound so in iustice and
clemency. It pleaseth you to terme me by the name Mother and
Queene: but I confesse my selfe to bee your handmayde. For both
I conceiue the greatnesse of my state past, and feele that I can
bear this present seruitude. It lieth only in your hands how we
shal be delt withall, and whether you will make vs notable to
the worlde through your clemency or cruelty.” The king comforted
them al that he might, and willinge them to be of good cheere
tooke Darius sonne in his armes. Thereat the childe was nothing
afraid, hauing neuer seene him before, but toke and imbraced him
about the necke. He was so moued with the constancy of the
childe, as he beheld Ephestion, and sayde, “Oh, I would that
Darius had had some part of this childe’s gentlenesse.” Which
mercy, continency, humility and constancy of minde in Alexander,
if hee had still kept to his latter daies, might haue bin
accoumpted mutch more fortunate than he was, when hauinge
subdued all Asia from Hellespont to the ocean Sea, he did
counterfayte the Triumphes of Bacchus. Or if amonges the residue
of his conquests, hee would haue trauayled to ouercome his pride
and wrath, beinge vices inuincible. Or in his dronkennes
abstayned from the slaughter of his Nobility, and not to haue
put to death those excellent men of warre without iudgement,
which helped him to conquer so many Nations: but at this time
the greatnes of his fortune had not yet altered his nature,
although afterwards he could not beare his victories with that
Vertue, wherewith he wan them: for when he gaue himself to
feasting and banquettinge, he vsed the company of Harlots:
amonges whom there was one Thais, who vpon a day in hir
dronkennesse, affirmed to Alexander, that he should wonderfully
win the fauour of the Greeks, if hee commaunded the Palace of
Persepolis to be set on fire. The destruction whereof (she sayd)
they greatly desired, for so mutch as the same was the chiefe
seat of the kings of Persia, which in times past had destroyed
so many great Citties. When the dronken harlot had giuen her
sentence, there were other present, who being likewise dronken,
confirmed hir wordes. Alexander then that had in him more
inclination of heat than of pacience, sayd: “Why do we not then
recouer the fauour of the Greekes by settinge this Citty on
fier?” They were all chafed with drinkinge, and rose immediately
vpon those words to burne that city in their dronkennesse, which
the men of warre had spared in their fury. The kinge himselfe
first, and after his guestes, his seruauntes and his Concubines,
set fier in the Pallace, which beinge builded for the most part
of Ceder trees, became sodenly in a flame. When the army that
was encamped neere vnto the City, sawe the fire, which they
thought had ben kindled by some casualty, they came runninge to
quenche the same againe. But when they sawe the kynge there
presente increasynge the fyre, they poured downe the water whych
they broughte, and helped lykewyse the matter forwardes. Thus
the Pallace that was the heade of the whole Orient, from whence
so many nations before had fetched their lawes to liue vnder,
the Seat of so many kynges, the onely Terror sometime of Greece,
the same that had bin the sender forth of 9000 Ships, and of the
armes that ouerflowed all Europa, that made Brydges ouer the
Sea, and vndermined mountaynes where the Sea hath now his
course, was consumed and had his ende, and neuer rose againe in
all the age that did ensue: for the kynges of Macedon vsed other
Citties which be now in the Persians handes. The destruction of
this citty was sutch, that the foundation thereof at thys day
could not be found, but that riuer of Araxes doth shew where it
stoode, which was distant from Persepolis XX. furlonges, as the
Inhabitants rather doe beleue than know. The Macedonians were
ashamed that so noble a Citty was destroyed by their kinge in
his dronkennes: yet at length it was turned into an earnest
matter, and were content to thincke it expedient that the Citty
should haue ben destroyed after that maner. But it is certayne,
that when Alexander had taken his rest, and was become better
aduised, hee repented him of his doinge: and after he had kept
company with Thalestris aforesayde, which was Queene of the
Amazones, hee tourned his continency and moderation (beinge the
most excellent vertues appearinge in any kind of estate) into
pride and voluptuousnes, not esteeminge his countrey customes,
nor the holsome temperance that was in the vsages, and
discipline of kynges of Macedon. For he iudged their ciuill
vsage and maner, to be ouer base for his greatnesse, but did
counterfaite the height and pompe of the kings of Persia,
representinge the greatnesse of the Gods. Hee was content to
suffre men there to fall downe flat vppon the grounde and
worship him, and accustomed the victors of so many nacions, by
litle and litle to seruile offices, couetinge to make them like
vnto his Captiues. He ware vpon his head a Diademe of Purple
interpaled with white, like as Darius was accustomed: and
fashioned his aparell after the maner of the Persians, without
scrupulosity of any euil token that is signified, for the
victorer to change his habite into the fashion of him whom he
had vanquished: and although he vaunted, that he ware the
spoyles of his enemies, yet with those spoiles he put vpon him
their euil maners, and the insolency of the mynde followed the
pride of the apparell. Besides he sealed sutch Letters as he
sent into Europa, with his accustomed seale, but all the Letters
he sent abroade into Asia, were sealed with Darius Ringe. So it
appeared that one minde could not beare the greatnesse that
appertayned to two. He apparelled also his frends, his Captayns,
and his horsemen in Persian apparell, whereat though they
grudged in their mindes, yet they durst not refuse it, for feare
of his displeasure. His courte was replenished with Concubins,
for he still mainteined three hundred, and threescore that
belonged to Darius, and amonge them were flocks of Eunuches
accustomed to performe the vse of women. The olde Souldiours of
Philip naturally abhorringe sutch thinges, manyfestly withstoode
to be infected with sutch voluptuousnes, and strange customes:
wherevpon there rose a general talke and opinion throughout the
campe, that they had lost more by the victory, than they won by
the wars. For when they sawe themselues ouercome in sutch
excesse, and forayne customes so to preuayle, they iudged it a
simple guerdon of their longe beeinge abroade, to returne home
in prisoners maner. They began to be ashamed of their kinge,
that was more like to sutch as were subdued, than to them that
were victorious: and that of a kinge of Macedon, was become a
Prince of Persia, and one of Darius Courtiers. Thus this noble
Prince from continency and mercy fell into all kynde of
disorder, the originall whereof, hee tooke by delite in Women,
which beinge vsed in sort lawfull, be great comfortes and
delightes, otherwise, the very springe of all cruelty and
mischife.




THE THIRD NOUELL.

  _Timoclia, a gentlewoman of Thebes, vnderstandinge the couetous
  desire of a Thracian knight, that had abused hir, and promised her
  mariage, rather for her goods than loue, well acquited hir selfe
  from his falshoode._


Qvintus Curtius, that notable Historiographer, remembringe the
stout fact of thys Thebane gentlewoman, amonges other the Gestes
and Facts of Alexander the great, I haue deemed not altogeather
vnfit for this place, to reueale the fine and notable pollicy
deuised by her, to rid hir selfe from a couetous caitife of the
Thracian kinde, who for lucre rather than loue, for gayne than
gratitude, promysed golden Hylles to thys dystressed poore
Gentlewoman. But shee in the ende payinge hym hys well deserued
hyre, was liked and praysed of Alexander for hir aduenturous
facte, beinge not one of the least vertues that shined in him,
before hee grewe to excessyue abuse: but bycause Plutarch in hys
Treatyse _De claris mulieribus_, more at large recounteth this
Hystory, I haue thought good almost (_verbatim_) to follow him.
Theagenes a Gentleman of Thebes, ioyninge himselfe wyth
Epaminondas, and Pelopidas, and with other noble men, for
preseruation of their countrey of Greece, was slayne in the
chace of his enemyes, as he pursued one of the chyefe of hys
aduersaries, the same cryinge oute vnto him: “Whether doest thou
pursue vs, Theagenes?” “Euen to Macedonia:” aunswered hee. Thys
Gentleman thus slayne had a sister, whose vertue and neerenesse
of kin by noble deedes, she well witnessed, although she was not
well able to manifest her vertue, for the aduersity of the tyme,
but by pacient sufferance of the common calamityes. For after
Alexander had won the Citty of Thebes, the Souldiours greedy of
Spoyle runninge vp and downe the Citty, euery of them chauncinge
vppon sutch Booty as Fortune offred them, it hapned that a
Captayne of the Thracian horsmen, a barbarous, and wycked
wretch, came to the house of Timoclia, who somewhat neere the
kynge both in name, and Kyn, in manners, and conditions, was
greatly different from him: hee neyther regardynge the noble
house, ne yet the chastity of hir forepassed life, vpon a tyme
after supper, glutted and swilled wyth abundance of wine, caused
Timoclia forcibly to be haled to his dronken Couch: and not
contented with the forced wronge, as they were in talke
together, diligently demaunded of her, if she had in no place
hidden any Golde or Siluer, and partly by threates, and partely
by promise to keepe her as his wyfe, endeuoured to get that he
desired: but shee being of ready wit, takinge that offered
occasion of her aduersary: “I would to God,” (sayd shee) “that
it had beene my lucke to haue died before thys night, rather
then to liue: for hitherto haue I kept my body pure and
vntouched from all despite, and villany, vntill vnlucky fate
forced mee to yelde to thy disordinate lust: but sith my hap is
sutch, why should I conceale those thyngs that bee thine owne,
thou beinge mine onely tutor, lord and husband (as thou sayst)
when the Gods shal please to bringe the same to passe: for by
thy will and pleasure must I vnhappy Thebane Wench be ruled and
gouerned. Ech vanquished wight must subdue their wyl and minde
to their lord and victor: I beinge thy slaue and prisoner, must
needes by humble meanes yelde vp my selfe to the vnsaciate hest
of thy puissant heart: what shall let me to disclose the pray
that thou desirest, that we both, if thy minde be sutch, may
rather ioye the same, than the soyly filth of stinkinge Earth,
should deuoure sutch spoyle, which for feare, and hope of future
fortune, I buried in the bowels of the same. Then marke my
words, beare them well in mynde, sith lot had wrought me this
mishap. I hauinge plenty of coyned siluer, and of fyned gold no
little store besydes sutch Iewels as belonge to the settinge
forth of the grace of woman’s beauty, of valure and price
inestimable: when I saw this Citty brought to sutch distresse as
vnpossible to be saued from takinge, all the same I threw away,
or more truely to say, I whelmed altogether in a drye Ditche
voyde of water, which my fact fewe or none did knowe. The Pit is
couered with a little couer aboue, and thickly round about beset
with bushes and thornes. Those goods will make thee a welthy
personage, none in all the Campe to be compared to thee, the
riches and value whereof, wyl witnes our former fortune, and the
state of our gorgeous, and stately house: all those doe I
bequeathe to thee, as on whom I thinke them well bestowed.” This
greedy Lecher, laughinge to him selfe for this sodaine pray, and
thinking that his lady fast holden within his barbarous armes
had tolde him truth, routed in his filthy Couch till the day had
discouered the morning light, then gapinge for his hoped gaine,
he rose and prayed her to tell the place, that he might recouer
the same. She then brought him into her Garden, the doore
whereof she commaunded to be shut, that none might enter. He in
his Hose and Doublet, went downe to the bottome of the Pit: when
Timoclia perceiued him down, she beckned for certaine of her
maids, and rolled downe diuers great stones with her own hands,
which of purpose she had caused to be placed there, and
commaunded hir maides to tumble downe the like. By which meanes
she killed that lecherous and couetous vilayne, that rather
carked to satisfie his desire, than coueted to obserue hys
promisd faith. Which afterwardes beinge knowen to the
Macedonians, they haled his body out of the Pit: for Alexander
had made proclamation, that none should dare to kill any
Thebane, and therefore apprehendinge Timoclia, they brought her
to the kinge, accusinge her for doinge that murder: who by her
countenaunce, and stature of body, and by her behauiour and
grauity of maners, beheld in her the very image of gentle kinde.
And first of al, he asked her what she was: to whom boldly with
constant cheere, she stoutely answered: “Theagenes was my
brother (said she) who beinge a valiaunt Captaine, and fightinge
against you for the common safegard of the Greeks, was slaine at
Chæronea, that we together might not sustaine, and proue the
miseries, wherewith we be now oppressed: but I rather than to
suffer violence vnworthy of our race and stocke, am in your
maiestie’s presence brought ready to refuse no death: for better
it were for mee to dye, than feele sutch another night, except
thou commaunde the contrary.” These wordes were vttered in sutch
rufull plight, as the standers by could not forbeare to weepe.
But Alexander sayinge, that hee not onely pitied the woman
endewed with so noble wit, but mutch more wondred at her vertue
and wisedome, commaunded the Princes of his army, to foresee no
wronge or violence to be done to the Gentlewoman. He gaue order
also, that Timoclia and al her kin, should be garded and
defended from slaughter or other wronges. What say yee (good
Ladies) to the heart of this gentlewoman that durst be so bolde
to stone this Caytife wretch to death, and for wronge done to
her bodie til that tyme vntouched, to wronge the corps of him
that sauoured of no gentle kinde: who rather for earthly mucke,
than for loue of suche a pleasaunt prisoner, exchaunged Loue for
Gold? but note hereby what force the puritie of mynde vnwilling
of beastlye lust doth carye in it selfe: a simple woman voyde of
helpe, not backed with defence of husbande’s ayde, doth bring a
mighty Captayne, a strong and lofty lubber to enter into a Caue,
and when shee saw her best aduauntage, thacked him with stones,
vntil he groaned foorth his grieslye ghost. Such is the might
and prowesse of chastitie: no charge to burdennous or weightye
for suche a vertue, no enterprise too harde for a mynde so pure
and cleane.




THE FOURTH NOUELL.

  _Ariobarzanes great steward to Artaxerxes king of Persia, goeth
  about to exceede his soueraigne lord and maister in curtesie: where
  in be conteyned many notable and pleasaunt chaunces, besides the
  great patience and loyaltie naturally planted in the sayd
  Ariobarzanes._


A question is mooued manye times among learned men and Gentlemen
addicted to the seruice of the Court, whether commendable deede,
or curteous and gentle fact done by the Gentleman or Courtier
towardes his soueraine Lord, ought to be called Liberalitie and
Curtesie, or rather Band and Dutie. Which question is not
proponed with out greate reason. For so muche as ech man doth
know, that a seruaunt do what he can for his Mayster, or lette
him imploy the vttermost of his endeuour, al the labor and
trauayle he bestoweth, all trouble and daunger which he
sustayneth, is to little, yea and the same his very bounden
duty. Haue wee not red of many, and knowne the lyke that to
gratifye their prince and mayster, haue into a thousande
daungers and like number of deaths, aduentured their own propre
liues? Marcus Antonius that notable oratour beying accused of
incest, and broughte to the iudgement seate, his accusers
required that his seruante should be called, for because he bare
the candel before his maister, when hee went to do the deede,
who seyng his mayster’s life and death to depend vpon his
euidence, vtterly denied the facte: and notwithstanding that he
was whipped, racked, and suffered other cruel tormentes, would
rather haue loste his lyfe than accuse and betray his mayster.
I could alleage and bring forth in place, the example of
Mycithus, the seruaunt of one Anaxilaus Messenius, the fidelitye
of the seruauntes of Plotinus Plancus, the faythful mayden
called Pythias, that waited vpon Octauia, the chast Empresse and
wife of that monster Nero, with diuers other: but that I thinke
they be to the learned wel knowen, and of the vnlearned the
vertue of seruauntes fidelitye is greatly liked and commended:
but if the faythful seruaunt know that his desertes do gayne the
grace and fauoure of his mayster, what trauayles, what payns
ought he to suffer to mayntayne his reputation and to encrease
the fauour obtayned? for as the common prouerbe and wise sayinge
reporteth, that the vertve is no lesse to conserue Frendship
gotten, than the wisedome was great to get and win the same.
Other there be which do contrarily contend, and with very
stronge argumentes do force to proue that al which the seruant
doth besydes his duetye and beyond the obligation, wherein he is
bound to his mayster, is and ought to be termed, Liberality,
which is a matter to prouoke his patrone and mayster to deuyse
new benefytes for his seruaunte: and that at al tymes when a man
doth his duty and seruice appoynted by his mayster, executing
the same with all diligence and industry requisite therunto,
that then he deserueth to be rewarded. Which is not to be
discommended. For no true and honest seruant will refuse any
trauayle for commodity of his mayster, ne yet discrete and wyse
mayster will leaue the same vnrewarded according to that portion
of ability wherewith he is possessed: but leauinge questions and
disputacion aside procede we to that which this Nouel purposeth.
I say then that there was in the kyngdome of Persia, a kyng
called Artaxerxes, a man of most noble mynde, and of great
prowesse in armes. This was he that firste beynge a priuate man
of armes, not hauing as yet obtayned any degree in the fielde,
kylled Artabanus the last kinge of the Arsacides, whose
souldiour he was, and recouered the Persian kingdome, which was
then in the Macedonians subiection (by the death of Darius,
which was vanquished by Alexander the great) the space of 538
yeares. This noble gentleman hauing deliuered all Persia, and
created king, kept a princely court, wherin were many
magnificent factes and vertuous deedes exercised and done, and
hee himselfe moste noble in all affayres, besydes the tytles
which hee worthelye wanne in many bloudy battels, was estemed
throughout the east part of the worlde, to be the most liberal
and magnanimous prince that in any age euer raigned: in feastes
and bankets he was an other Lucullus, royally entertaining
strangers that repayred to his court. This king had a Senescall
or steward, named Ariobarzanes, whose office was, that when the
king made any pompous or publike feast, to mount vpon a whyte
Courser with a Mace of gold in his hand, and to ride before the
esquiers and Sewers for the king’s own mouth, and those also
that bare the king’s meat in vessel of gold couered with fine
napery, wrought and purled with most beautiful workemanship of
silke and gold. This office of Senescall was highly estemed and
commonly wont to be geuen to one of the chiefest Barons of the
Realm. Wherfore this Ariobarzanes besydes noble Linage and
incomparable ritches was the most curtious and liberal knight
that frequented the court whose immoderate expence was such, as
leuing the mean, wherin al vertu consisteth, by reason of
outrage which many times he vsed he fel into the vice of
prodigality, wherby he semed not only in curtious dedes to
compare with the king, but also contended to excel him. One day
the king for his recreation called for the chessebord, requiring
Ariobarzanes to kepe him company, which game in those dais among
the Persians was in greate vse, in such wise as a player at the
Chestes was no les commended then amonge vs in these dais an
excelent Oratour or famous learned man: yea and the verye same
game in common vse in the Court, and noble mens houses of oure
time, no doubt very commendable and meete to be practised by all
states and degrees. The king and Ariobarzanes being sette downe
at a table in the greate Hall of the Pallace, one right against
another, accompanied with a great number of noble personages and
Gentlemen lookinge vpon them, and marking their playe with
greate silence, they began to counter one another with the
Chesse-men. Ariobarzanes, whether it was that he played better
than the kinge, or whether the kinge took no heede to his game,
or what so euer the occasion was, hee coursed the king to such a
narow straight, as he could not auoid, but within two or three
draughtes, he must be forced to receiue the Checkemate: which
the king perceiuing, and considering the daunger of the Mate, by
and by there grew a greater colour in his face than was wont to
bee, and imagininge how hee mighte auoyde the mate, besides his
blushing he shaked his head, and fetched out diuers sighes,
whereby the standers by that marked the game, perceiued that hee
was dryuen to his shiftes. The Senescall espyinge the kinge’s
demeanour, and seeing the honest shamefastenesse of the king,
would not suffer him to receiue such a foyle, but made a draught
by remouing his knighte backe, to open a way for the King to
passe, as not onely hee deliuered him from the daunger of the
Mate, but also lost one of his Rockes for lacke of taking hede:
whereupon the game rested equall. The King (who knew the good
nature and noble mynde of his seruaunt, by experience of the
same in other causes) fayning that hee had ouerseene the takinge
of hys rocke, gaue ouer the game, and rysing vp, sayd: “No more
Ariobarzanes, the game is yours, and I confesse my selfe
ouercome.” The king thought that Ariobarzanes did not the same
so much for curtesie, as to bynde his soueraigne lorde and king
by benefit to recompence his subiecte’s like behauiour, which he
did not very well like, and therfore would play no more.
Notwithstanding the king neither by signe or deede, ne yet in
talke, shewed any token of displesure for that curtesie done.
How be it, he would that Ariobarzanes in semblable act, shoulde
abstayne to shewe himselfe curteous or liberal, except it were
to his inferiours and equalles, because it is not conuenient for
a seruant to contend with his maister in those qualityes. Not
long after the kinge beyng at Persepolis (the principal citye of
Persia,) ordayned a notable day of hunting of diuers beastes of
that countrey breede: and when all thinges were in a readinesse
he with the most part of his Court repayred to the pastyme. When
they were come into the place, the king commaunded a woodde to
be set about with nettes and toiles, and appointed eche man
where he should stand in most conuenient place, and he himselfe
attended with the dogs and hornes to cause the beastes to issue
forth oute of their Caues. And beholde, they raysed a wyld
beast, which with greate swyftnesse leapte ouer the nettes and
ranne awaye with greate spede. The King seyng that strange
beast, purposed to pursue him to death: and makinge a signe to
certayne of his noble men which hee desired to keepe him
companye hee gaue the rayne and spurre to his horse, and
followinge the chace Ariobarzanes was one of those noble men
which pursued the game. It chaunced that day the kinge rode vpon
a horse, that was the swiftest runner in his stable, which hee
esteemed better then a thousande other, as wel for his velocity,
as for his readinesse in factes of armes. Thus following with
bridle at will, the flying rather then running beast, they wer
deuided far from their company, and by reason of the kinge’s
spedines, none was able to followe him but Ariobarzanes, and
behind him one of his seruants vpon a good horse which alwaies
he vsed in hunting matters, which horse was counted the beste in
all the court. And thus following the chace with galloping spede
Ariobarzanes at length espyed the horse of his soueraigne lord
had lost his shooes before, and that the stones had surbated his
hoofes, wherupon the kyng was driven either to geue ouer the
chace or else to marre his horse: and neyther of these two
necessities but would haue greatly displeased the kinge, that
perceiued not his horse to be vnshod. The Senescall did no
sooner espye the same but sodainly dismounted from his owne,
caused his man to deliuer vnto him a hammer and nailes (which
for such like chaunces he always caried aboute him) and toke of
two shoes from the horse feete of his good horse, to set vpon
the kynge’s not caring for his own rather then the king should
forgoe his pleasure: wherfore hallowing the kinge which was
earnestly bent vppon the chace, tolde him of the daunger wherein
his horse was for lacke of shoes. The kinge hearinge that
lighted from his horse, and seyng two shooes in Ariobarzanes
manne’s hand, thinking that Ariobarzanes had brought them with
him, or that they were the shoes which fell from his owne,
taried stil vntil his horse was shod. But when he saw the
notable horse of his senescall vnshod before, then he thought
that to be the curtesie of Ariobarzanes, and so did let the
matter passe, studying by lyke meanes to requite him with
Curtesie, which forced himselfe to surmount in the same: and
when his horse was shod, he gaue the same to Ariobarzanes in
rewarde. And so the king chose rather to lose his pleasure of
hunting, then to suffer himselfe by his man to be excelled in
curtesie, wel noting the stoutnesse of Ariobarzanes mynde which
semed to haue a will to contend with his prince in factes
renoumed and liberal. The senescall thought it not conuenient to
refuse the gyft of his liege lord, but accepted the same with
like good will as before he shod his horse, still expectinge
occasion how he might surpas his master in curtesie and so to
bind him to requite the same againe. They had not taried there
long, but many of those that followed did ouertake them. And
then the king got vp vpon a spare horse and returned to the city
with all his company. Within few daies after the king by
proclamation sommoned a solemne and pompous iust and tryumph at
the tilt, to be done vpon the kalends of May next ensuing. The
reward appointed the victor and best Doer in the same was a
couragious and goodly curser with a brydle and byt of fine gold
rychly wrought, a saddle correspondent of passing great pryce,
the furniture and trappers for the brydle and saddle of like
cost and workmanship, the rayns wer twoo chaynes of golde very
artificially made, the barbe and couerture of the horse of cloth
of golde fringed round about with like gold, ouer which horse
was placed a fine sword the hiltes an chape wherof together with
the scabard wer curiously beset with Pearles and Precious stones
of Inestimable value. On the other syde was placed a very
beautiful and stronge Mace, verye cunninglye wrought with
damaskin. The Horse was placed in forme of triumph, and besydes
the same all the Armours and weapons meete for a Combatante
Knyghte, riche and fayre without comparison. The Placart was
marueylous and stronge, the Launce was guilte and bygge, as none
greatter in all the troupe of the chalengers and defendauntes.
And all those furnitures were appoynted to be geuen to him that
should do best that day. A greate assemblye of straungers
repayred to that solemne feast, as wel to doe deedes of Armes,
as to looke vpon that pompous tryumph. Of the kynge’s Subiectes
there was neither knyghte nor baron, but in ryche and sumptuous
apparell appeared that day, amonges whom, of chiefest fame the
kynge’s eldest sonne was the fyrst that gaue his name,
a Gentlemanne very valorous, and in deedes of armes of passing
valour brought vp from his very youth, and trayned in the fielde
and other warlyke exercises. The Senescall also caused his name
to be inrolled: the like didde other knyghtes as wel Persians as
other straungers: for that the proclamation was general, with
safeconducte for all forrayners, noble men or other that should
make their repayre. The king had elected three auncient Barons
to be Judges and Arbitratours of their deedes, sutch as in their
tyme for their owne personages had bene very valiant, and in
many enterprises well exercised, men of great discretion and
iudgement. Their stage was placed in the middes of the Listes,
to viewe and marke the Counterbuffes and blowes of the
Combatants. We nede not to remember, ne ought to forget the
number of ladies and gentlewomen assembled out of al partes to
behold and view this triumphe, and peraduenture eche knight that
ran that day was not without his amorous lady to note and behold
his actiuity and prowesse, euery of them wearing his ladie’s
sleeue, gloue, or other token, according to the common custome
in such lyke cases. At the day and houre appoynted appeared all
the Combatantes in greate Tryumphe and Pompe, with rych
furnitures as wel vpon them selues as vpon their horse. The
triumphe begon and many Launces broken in good order, on either
sides Iudgement was geuen generally that the Senescall
Ariobarzanes had wonne the prise, and next vnto him the kinge’s
sonne did passe them all, for that none of al the combatantes
hadde broken past V. staues, and the sayd yong Gentleman had in
the face of his aduersary broken in pieces IX. at the least. The
Senescall brought for the eleuen launces, which were
couragiously and houourably broken, by breaking of the last
staffe which was the twelfth he was iudged most worthy. The
condition wherof was, that euery combatant should runne twelue
courses with twelue launces, and he whiche should first breake
the same should without doubt or further controuersie obtayne
the reward. What pleasure and delight the king did conceiue to
see his sonne behaue him selfe so valiantly that day, I referre
to the iudgement of fathers, that haue children endued with like
actiuity. But yet it greued him that the Senescall had the
greater aduantage, and yet being a matter so wel knowen and
discerned by the Iudges, like a wyse man he discembled his
countenaunce. On the other syde, the yong Gentleman which did
combate before his amorous ladye was very sorrowful for that he
was voyde of hope of the chiefest honour. So that betwene the
father and the sonne, was one very thought and desire: but the
vertue and valor of the Senescall did cut of eythers greefe. Now
the tyme was come that the Senescall should runne with his last
staffe mounted vppon the horse which the king gaue him when he
was an huntyng, who knowing wel that the king was very desirous
that his son should excell all men, perceyued likewyse the
inflamed mynd of the yonge gentleman for the presence of his
lady to aspyre the honour, purposed to geue ouer the honour
atchieued by himselfe, to leaue it to the sonne and heir of his
lorde and mayster: and yet hee knewe ful wel that those his
curtesies pleased not the king, neuerthelesse he was determined
to perseuer in his opinion, not to bereue the king of his glory,
but onely to acquire fame and honour for him selfe. But fully
mynded that the honour of the tryumphe should be geuen to the
kynge’s sonne, he welded the staffe within his reste, and when
he was ready to encounter (because it was he that shold come
agaynst him,) he let fal his launce out of his handes, and said:
“Farewel this curtesie of myne, sith it is no better taken.” The
kinge’s sonne gaue a gentle counterbuffe vpon the Placarde of
the Senescall, and brake his staffe in many pieces, which was
the X. course. Many heard the wordes that the senescall spake
when his staffe fell out of his handes, and the standers by well
perceiued that he was not minded to geue the laste blowe,
bicause the king’s sonne might haue the honor of the triumph,
which he desyred so much. Then Ariobarzanes departed the listes:
and the Prince withoute any great resistance wan the prise and
victory. And so with sounde of diuerse instruments the prise
borne before him, he was throughout the citie honorably
conueyed, and among other, the senescall still waited vpon him
with mery countenance, greatly praising and exalting the
valiance of the yong Prince. The king which was a very wise man,
and many times hauing experience of the chiualry of his
Senescall at other Tourneis, Iustes, Barriers, and Battels, and
always finding him to be prudent, politike, and for his person
very valiant, knewe to well that the fall of his launce was not
by chaunce but of purpose, continued his opinion of his
Senescall’s liberalitye and courage. And to say the trouth, such
was his exceding curtesie, as fewe may be found to imitate the
same. We daily se that many be liberall of Fortune’s goods
inuestinge some with promotion, some with apparel, Gold and
Siluer, Iewels and other things of great value. We see also
noble men, bountifull to theyr seruaunts, not onely of mouable
thiugs, but also of Castels, Lands, and Cities: what shal we
speake of them, which will not sticke to sheade their owne
bloud, and many tymes to spende theire lyfe to do their frendes
good? Of those and such like examples, all recordes be full: but
a man that contemneth fame and glorye or is of his owne honour
liberal, is neuer founde. The victorious Captayne after the
bloudy battayle, giueth the spoyle of his ennemies to his
souldiours, rewardeth them with prisoners, departeth vnto them
the whole praye, but the glory and honor of the battel he
reserueth vnto himselfe. And as diuinely the father of Romaine
eloquence doth say, how that philosophers by recording the
glorious gestes and dedes of others, do seke after glory
themselues. The king was displeased with these noble dedes and
curtesie of his Senescall, because he thought it not mete or
decente that a Subiecte and seruant should compare with his lord
and mayster: and therfore did not bare him that louing and
chereful countenance which hee was wont to doe. And in the ende,
purposed to let him know, that he spent his brayns in very great
errour, if he thought to force his mayster to be bound or
beneficial vnto him, as herafter you shal perceiue. There was an
auncient and approued custome in Persia, that the kinges yerely
did solemnise an Anniuersarye of theyr Coronation with great
feast and tryumph, vpon which day all the Barons of the kyngdome
were bounde to repayre to the courte where the king by the space
of VIII. dayes with sumptuous bankets and other feastes kept
open house. Vpon the Anniuersary day of Artaxerxes’ coronation,
when al thinges were disposed in order, the king desirous to
accomplish a certayne conceiued determination commaunded one of
his faythful chamberlaynes spedely to seeke out Ariobarzanes,
which he did, and telling him the kinge’s message, sayde: “My
lorde Ariobarzanes, the king hath willed me to say vnto you,
that his pleasure is, that you in your own person euen forthwith
shal cary your white steede and Courser, the mace of gold, and
other ensignes due to the office of Senescal vnto Darius, your
mortal enemy, and in his maiestye’s behalfe to say vnto him,
that the kynge hath geuen him that office, and hath clerely
dispossessed you thereof.” Ariobarzanes hearing those heauy
newes, was like to dye for sorrowe, and the greatter was
his grief, because it was geuen to his greatest enemy.
Notwithstanding lyke a gentleman of noble stomacke, would not in
open appearaunce signifie the displeasure which hee conceiued
within, but with mery cheare and louing countenaunce answered
the chamberlayne: “Do my right humble commendations vnto the
king’s maiesty, and say vnto him, that like as he is soueraine
lord of all this land, and I his faythful subiecte, euen so mine
office, my lyfe, landes and goods, be at his disposition, and
that willinglye I wil performe his hest.” When he had spoken
those woordes hee rendred vp his office to Darius, who at diner
serued in the same. And when the king was set, Ariobarzanes with
comly countenance sate downe among the rest of the lords, which
sodenlye deposition and depriuation, did maruelously amaze the
whole assembly, euery man secretly speking their mind either in
praise or dispraise of the fact. The king all the dinner time,
did marke and note the countenance of Ariobarzanes, which was
pleasaunt and merie as it was wont to be, whereat the kinge did
greately maruell: and to attaine the ende of his purpose, hee
began with sharpe wordes in presence of the nobilitie to
disclose his discontented minde, and the grudge which he bare to
Ariobarzanes: on the other syde the king suborned diuers persons
diligently to espy what he saide and did. Ariobarzanes hearing
the king’s sharpe wordes of rebuke, and stimulated by the
persuasion of diuers flatterers, which were hired for that
purpose, after he perceiued that his declared pacience, that his
modest talke and his long and faithful seruice, which he had
done to the king, his losse and hinderance sustained, the perill
of his life, which so many tymes he had suffred preuayled
nothing, at length vanquished with disdayne he brake the bridle
of pacience, and sorted out of the boundes of his wonted nature,
for that in place of honoure he receiued rebuke, and in stede of
reward was depryued of his office, began in a rage to complayne
on the king, terminge him to bee an vnkynd prince, which among
the Persians was estemed a worde of great offence to the
maiesty: wherefore faine he would haue departed the court, and
retired home to his countrey, which he could not doe without
speciall licence from the king, and yet to craue the same at his
handes, his heart would not serue him. Al these murmures and
complaintes which he secretly made, were tolde the king, and
therefore the king commaunded him one day, to be called beefore
him, vnto whome he sayd: “Ariobarzanes, youre grudging
complaintes and enuious quarels, whyche you brute behinde my
backe throughout my Courte, and your continuall rages
outragiously pronounced, through the very Windowes of my Palace
haue pierced mine eares, whereby I vnderstand that thing which
hardly I would haue beleued: but yet being a Prince aswell
inclined to fauoure and quiet hearinge of all causes, as to
credite of light reportes, would faine know of you the cause of
your complaints, and what hath moued you therevnto: for you be
not ignorant, that to murmure at the Persian king, or to terme
him to be vnkinde, is no lesse offence than to blaspheme the
Gods immortall, bicause by auncient Lawes and Decrees they be
honored and worshipped as Gods. And among all the penaltyes
conteyned in our lawes, the vyce of Ingratitude is moste
bytterlye corrected. But leauing to speake of the threates and
daungers of our lawes, I pray you to tell me wherin I haue
offended you: for albeit that I am a king, yet reason persuadeth
me, not to giue offence to anye man, which if I should doe (and
the Gods forbid the same) I ought rather to be termed a tyrante
than a Kinge.” Ariobarzanes hearing the king speake so
reasonably, was abashed, but yet with stoute countenaunce he
feared not particularly to remember the woordes which he had
spoken of the king, and the cause wherefore he spake them. “Wel
(said the king) I perceiue that you blush not at the words, ne
yet feare to reherse the same vnto my face, wherby I do perceiue
and note in you a certayne kind of stoutenes which naturally
procedeth from the greatnes of your mynd. But yet wisdome would
that you should consider the reason and cause why I haue
depryued you from your office. Do you not know that it
appertaineth vnto me in all myne affaires and deedes to be
liberal, curtious, magnificent, and bounteous? Be not those the
virtues that make the fame of a Prince to glister among his
subiectes, as the Sunne beames doe vpon the circuit of the
world? Who oughte to rewarde wel doers and recompence ech wight
whiche for any trauell haue al the dayes of their lyfe, or els
in some perticuler seruice vsed their endeuor, or aduentured the
peril of their life, but I alone being your soueraygne Lord and
Prince? To the vertuous and obedient, to the Captayne and the
Souldiour, to the pollityke and to the learned and graue,
finally, to ech wel deseruing wight, I know how to vse the noble
princely vertues of curtesie and liberality. They be the comly
ensignes of a kynge. They be the onely ornaments of a prince.
They be my perticular vertues. And will you Ariobarzanes, being
a valiaunt Souldioure, a graue counsayler, and a pollityke
personage, goe about to dispossesse me of that which is myne?
Wil you whiche are my seruaunte and Subiecte of whome I make
greateste accompt and haue in dearest estimation, vpon whom I
did bestow the greatest dignity within the compas of my whole
Monarchie, grate benefite at my handes, by abusinge those
vertues whiche I aboue other do principally regard? You do much
abuse the credite which I repose in youre greate wisedome. For
hee in whome I thought to fynde most graue aduise, and deemed to
bee a receptacle of al good counsel, doth seeke to take vppon
him the personage of his Prince, and to vsurpe the kinglye
qualitie which belongeth only vnto him. Shal I be tyed by your
desertes, or bound by curteous deedes, or els be forced to
rendre recompence? No, no, so long as this imperiall crowne shal
rest on royal head, no subiect by any curteous deede of his,
shal straine vnwilling mynde, which mente it not before. Tel me
I beseech you what reward and gift, what honour and preferment
haue I euer bestowed vpon you, sithens my first arriual to this
victorious raigne, that euer you by due desert did bynde me
thereunto? Which if you did, then liberal I cannot be termed,
but a slauish Prince bound to do the same, by subiects merite.
High and mightie kinges doe rewarde and aduaunce their men,
hauing respect that their gift or benefite shal exceede deserte,
otherwise that preferment cannot bee termed liberal. The great
conquerour Alexander Magnus wan a great and notable Citie for
wealth and spoyle. For the principalitie and gouernment wherof
diuers of his noble men made sute, alleaging their paynful
seruice and bloudy woundes about the getting of the same. But
what did that worthy king? was he moued with the bloudshead of
his captaynes? was he styrred with the valiaunce of his men of
warre? was he prouoked with their earnest sutes? No trulye: But
calling vnto him a poore man, whome by chaunce he found there,
to him he gaue that riche and wealthy citie, and the gouernmente
thereof, that his magnificence and his liberalitie to a person
so pore and base, might receiue greatter fame and estimation:
and to declare that the conferred benefyte didde not proceede of
deserte or dutie, but of mere liberalitie, very curtesie, true
munificence and noble disposition, deriued from princely heart
and kinglye nature. Howbeit I speake not this that a faythful
seruaunt should be vnrewarded (a thing very requisite) but to
inferre and proue that reward should excell the merite and
seruice of the receiuer. Now then I say, that you going about by
large desert and manifold curtesie to binde mee to recompence
the same, you seeke thy next waye to cut of the meane whereby I
should be liberall. Do not you see that through your vnaduysed
curtesie I am preuented, and letted from myne accustomed
liberalitye, wherewith dayly I was wont to reward my kynde,
louing and loyal seruauntes, to whom if they deserued one talent
of golde, my manner was to geue them two or three: if a thousand
crownes by the yeare, to geue them V. Do you not know that when
they loked for most rewarde or preferment, the soner did I
honour and aduaunce them? Take heede then from henceforth
Ariobarzanes, that you liue with such prouidence and
circumspection as you may bee knowen to be a seruant, and I
reputed (as I am) for your souerayne Lord and mayster. All
Princes in myne opinion requyre two thinges of theire seruantes,
that is to say, fidelity and loue, which being hadd they care
for no more. Therefore he that list to contende with me in
curtesie, shal fynde in the ende that I make smale accompte of
him. And he that is my trusty and faithful seruant, diligente to
execute and do my commaundementes, faythful in my secret
affayres, and duetyfull in his vocation, shal truely witte and
most certaynlye feele that I am both curteous and liberall.
Which thou thy selfe shal wel perceiue, and be forced to
confesse that I am the same manne in dede, for curtesie and
liberalitye whom thou indeuorest to surmount.” Then the king
held his peace. Ariobarzanes very reuerentlye made answear in
this manner: “Most noble and victorious Prince, wel
vnderstanding the conceiued grief of your inuincible mind
pleaseth youre sacred maiesty to geue mee leaue to answer for my
self, not to aggrauate or heap your wrath and displeasure (which
the Gods forbid) but to disclose my humble excuse before your
maiesty that the same poized with the equall balance of youre
rightful mind, my former attempts may nether seme presumptuous,
ne yet my wel meaning mind, well measured with iustice, ouerbold
or malapert. Most humbly then, prostrate vpon my knees I say
that I neuer went about, or else did think in mind to excede or
compare with your infinite and incomprehensible bounty, but
indeuored by al possible means to let your grace perceiue, and
the whole world to know that there is nothing in the world which
I regard so much as your good grace and fauour. And mighty Ioue
graunt that I do neuer fal into so great errour to presume for
to contend with the greatnes of your mynde: which fond desire if
my beastly mynd should apprehend, I myghte be lickned to the man
that goeth aboute to berieue and take away the clerenesse of the
Sun, or brightnesse of the splendant stars. But euer I did
thinke it to be my bounden duety not only of those fortunes
goods which by your princely meanes I do inioy to bee a
distributer and large giuer, but also bound for the profite and
aduauncement of your regal crowne and dignitye, and defence of
your most noble person, of mine owne life and bloud to be both
liberall and prodigall. And where your maiesty thinketh that I
haue laboured to compare in curtious dede or other liberall
behauiour, no deede that euer I did, or fact was euer
enterprised by me for other respect, but for to get and continue
your more ample fauour and daily to encrease your loue for that
it is the seruant’s part with all his force and might to aspyre
the grace and fauoure of his soueraygne lorde. How beit (most
noble prince) before this tyme I did neuer beleue, nor hard
youre grace confesse, that magnanimity, gentlenes and curtesie,
were vertues worthy of blame and correction, as your maiesty
hath very manifestly done me to vnderstande by wordes seuere,
and taunting checkes, vnworthye for practise of such rare and
noble vertues. But how so euer it bee, whether lyfe or death
shal depend vpon this prayse worthy and honourable purpose,
I meane hereafter to yeld my dutye to my souerayne lord, and
then it may please him to terme my dedes courteous or liberal or
to thinke on my behauiour, what his owne princely mynde shal
deme and iudge.” The king vpon those wordes rose vp and sayd:
“Ariobarzanes, now it is no tyme to continue in further
disputation of this argument, committing the determination and
iudgement herof, to the graue deliberation of my counsel who at
conuenient leasure aduisedly shal according to the Persian lawes
and customes conclud the same. And for this present time I say
vnto thee that I am disposed to accompt the accusation made
agaynste thee to be true, and confessed by thy self. In the mean
tyme thou shalt repayre into the country and come no more to the
court til I commaund thee.” Ariobarzanes receiuinge this
answeare of his souerayne lorde departed, and to his great
contentation, went home into his countreye merye, for that he
should be absent out of the daylye sight of his enemies, yet not
wel pleased for that the king had remitted his cause to his
Councell. Neuerthelesse minded to abyde and suffer al Fortune,
he gaue him selfe to the pastime of huntinge of Deere, runninge
of the wylde Bore, and flying of the Hauke. This noble Gentleman
had two onlye daughters of his wife that was deceased, the most
beautiful Gentlewomen of the countrey, the eldest of which two
was peerelesse and without comparison, older than the other by
one yeare. The beauty of those fayre ladies was bruted
throughout the whole Region of Persia, to whome the greatest
Lordes and Barons of the countrey were great and importunate
suters. He was not in his countrey resiant the space of fower
monethes, which for salubritie of ayre was most holsome and
pleasaunt, full of lordlike liberties and Gentlemanlike
pastimes, aswel to bee done by the hound as folowed by the
spaniell, but one of the kinge’s Haraulds sente from the Court,
appeared before him with message to this effecte, saying vnto
him: “My lord, Ariobarzanes, the kinge my souerayne Lord hath
commaunded you to send with me to the Court the fayrest of your
two daughters, for that the reporte of their famous beautie hath
made him hardlie to beleeue them to be such, as common bruite
would fayne doe him to vnderstand.” Ariobarzanes not well able
to conceiue the meaning of the king’s commaundiment, reuolued in
his mynde diuers thinges touching that demaund, and concludinge
vpon one which fel to his remembrance, determined to send his
younger daughter, which (as we haue sayde before) was not in
beautie comparable to her elder sister, whereupon hee caused the
mayden to be sent for, and sayde vnto her these wordes:
“Daughter, the king my maister and thy soueraigne Lord, hath by
his messanger commaunded me to sende vnto him the fayrest of my
daughters, but for a certaine reasonable respect which at thys
time I purpose not to disclose, my mynde is that thou shalt goe,
praying thee not to say but that thou thyselfe art of the twayne
the fayrest, the concealinge of whiche mine aduise wil breede
vnto thee (no doubt) thy great aduauncement, besides the profite
and promotion that shal accriue by that thy silence: and the
disclosing of the same may hap to engendre to thy deere father
his euerlasting hindrance, and perchaunce the depriuation of his
lyfe: but if so be the Kinge doe beget the with childe, in anye
wise keepe close the same: and when thou seest thy belly begin
to swell, that no longer it can be closely kept, then in
conuenient time, when thou seest the kinge merily disposed, thou
shalt tell the king that thy syster is far more beautifull than
thyselfe, and that thou art the yonger sister.” The wise maiden
well vnderstanding her father’s minde, and conceiuing the summe
of his intent, promised to performe his charge, and so with the
Haraulde and honorable traine, he caused his daughter to be
conueyed to the Court. An easie matter it was to deceiue the
king in the beauty of that maiden: for although the elder
daughter was the fairest, yet this Gentlewoman seemed so
peerelesse in the Courte, that without comparison she was the
most beautifull that was to be found either in Courte or
countrey: the behauiour and semblance of whiche two daughters
were so like, that hard it was to iudge whether of them was the
eldest: for their father had so kept them in, that seldome they
were seene within his house, or at no time marked when they
walked abroade. The wife of the king was dead the space of one
yeere before, for which cause he determined to mary the daughter
of Ariobarzanes, who although she was not of the royall bloud,
yet of birth she was right noble. When the kinge sawe this
Gentlewoman, he iudged hir to be the fairest that euer he saw or
heard of by report, whom in the presence of his noblemen he
solemnly did marry, and sent vnto her father to appoynct the
Dowry of his married Daughter out of hande, and to returne the
same by that messenger. When Ariobarzanes hearde tell of thys
vnhoped mariage, right ioyfull for that successe, sent vnto his
Daughter the Dowry which he had promised to geue to both his
Daughters. Many of the Court did maruell, that the kynge beinge
in aged yeares woulde mary so yongue a mayden, specially the
daughter of his Subiect, whom he had banished from the Courte.
Some praysed the kinge’s Disposition for taking hir whom he
fansied: ech man speakynge his seuerall mynde accordynge to the
dyuers customes of men. Notwythstandinge there were diuers that
moued the kinge to that mariage, thereby to force him to
confesse, that by takinge of the goods of Ariobarzanes, he might
be called Courteous and Liberall. The mariage being solemnized
in very sumptuous and princely guise, Ariobarzanes sent to the
kinge the like Dowry which before he had sent him for mariage of
his daughter, with message to this effect: That for so mutch as
hee had Assigned to his Daughters two certayne Dowries to mary
them to their equal feeres, and seeinge that hee which was
without exception, was the husbande of the one, his duety was to
bestow vpon his grace a more greater gift, than to any other
which should haue bene his sonne in law: but the king would not
receiue the increase of his dowry, deeming himselfe wel
satisfied with the beauty and good condicions of his new spouse,
whom he entertayned and honored as Queene. In the meane time she
was with childe with a Sonne (as afterwardes in the birth it
appeered) which so wel as she coulde she kept close and secret,
but afterwardes perceiuinge her Belly to wax bigge, the
greatnesse whereof she was not able to hide, beinge vppon a time
with the kinge and in familiar disporte, she like a wise and
sobre lady induced matter of diuers argument, amonges which as
occasion serued, she disclosed to the king, that she was not the
fayrest of hir father’s daughters, but hir elder sister more
beautifull than she. The king hearing that, was greatly offended
with Ariobarzanes, for that he had not accomplished his
commaundement: and albeit hee loued well his wife, yet to
attaine the effect of his desire, he called his Haraulde vnto
him, whom he had first sent to make request for his wyfe, and
with him returned agayne his new maried spouse vnto her father,
commaunding him to say these wordes: “That for so mutch as he
knew himselfe to be vanquished and ouercome by the king’s
humanity, his grace did maruell, that in place of curtesie, he
would use such contumacy and disobedience, by sending vnto him,
not the fairest of his daughters, which he required, but sutch
as he himselfe liked to sende: a matter no doubt worthy to be
sharpely punished and reuenged: for which cause the kinge beinge
not a litle offended, had sent home his daughter agayne, and
willed hym to sende his eldest daughter, and that he had
returned the Dowry which he gaue with his yonger.” Ariobarzanes
receyued his daughter and the dowry with willinge minde, and
sayd theese words to the Harauld: “Mine other daughter which the
king my Soueraygne Lord requireth, is not able presently to go
with thee, bycause in hir bed she lieth sicke, as thou mayst
manifestly perceiue if thou come into hir chamber: but say vnto
the king, that vppon my fayth and allegiaunce so soone as she is
recouered, I will sende hir to the court.” The Haraulde seeing
the mayden lye sicke on her bed, weake and Impotent, not able to
trauel, returned to the king, and told him of the sicknesse of
the eldest Daughter of Ariobarzanes, wherewithall beinge
satisfied, he attended the successe of his desired sute: the
Gentlewoman no sooner beinge recouered, but the tyme of the
other’s childbirth was come, which brought forth a goodly Boy:
both the Mother safely brought to Bed, and the childe strong and
lusty. Whych greatly contented and pleased Ariobarzanes, and the
greater grew his ioy thereof, for that hee sawe the Childe to be
like vnto the kinge his father: and by that time the yong
Gentlewoman was rysen from her childbed, the sister was
perfectly whole, and had recouered her former hiewe and beauty,
both which beinge richely apparelled, Ariobarzanes with an
honourable trayne, sent vnto the kinge, instructinge them first
what they ought to say and do. When they were arriued at the
courte, one of the pryuy chamber aduertised the king that
Ariobarzanes had not onely sent one of his daughters, but both
of them. The kynge hearinge and seeinge the liberalyty of
Ariobarzanes, accepted the same in gracious part, and determined
for that curtesie, to vse him with sutch princely liberality, as
he should be forced to confesse himselfe ouercome. And before
the messanger which had brought the yong gentlewoman did
departe, he caused to be called before him his only sonne called
Cyrus, vnto whom he sayd: “Bycause Cyrus the time of thy yeares
bee sutch, as meete they be to match the in Mariage, for hope I
haue to see some Progeny proceede of thee before I die, my minde
is that thou shalt mary this goodly Gentlewoman here, the syster
of my Wyfe.{”} To which hys father’s hest, the yong gentleman
willingly assented. Then the kyng toke again his owne, and
ordayned a royall feast, for the mariage of his Sonne, which was
celebrated and done with great triumph and solemnity,
continuinge the space of 8 dayes. Ariobarzanes hearinge these
good newes, would not yet acknowledge himselfe to be ouercome,
and seeinge that his purpose was nowe brought to an extremity,
determined to send the little childe, a little before begotten
of hys daughter, to the kinge, which so resembled the kinge’s
face and Countenaunce as was possible: and therefore caused a
cradle to bee made of the fairest Iuory that was to be gotten,
embossed and garnished with pure Golde, adorned and set wyth
most precious Stones and Iewels, wherein he caused the childe to
be placed, and couered wyth rich clothes of fynest gold and
silke, and together with the Nourice, accompanied with a pompous
trayne of Gentlemen, he sent him to the kinge, the very time
that the solemne mariage should be celebrated: and the kinge
beinge in his great Hall, which was hanged with maruellous rich
and costly Arras, attended vpon with a great numbre of his
Barons and noble men, hee that had the charge of the conduction
of the child, vpon his knees presented the same before him,
lyinge in the Cradle. The king and the Noblemen, meruelling what
that did meane expected what the Messenger would say, who
holding the Cradle by one of the Pomels, sayd these wordes:
“Most renoumed and victorious Prince, in the behalfe of
Ariobarzanes, my Lorde and your Subiect, most humbly I present
vnto your maiesty, with al Submission and reuerence, this gift:
and my sayd Lord doth rendre infinite thankes vnto your
highnesse, for the great curtesie it hath pleased you to vse, by
vouchsafinge to entertayne him into your alliaunce: for which
not to seeme vnmindfull, this present (and therewithall he
opened the Cradle) by mee hee hath sent vnto your maiesty.” When
the Cradle was discouered, there apeared a goodly yong Chylde,
Smilinge and Laughing vpon his father, the ioyfullest sight that
euer his father sawe, and so like vnto him, as the halfe Moone
is lyke the proportion of the rest. Then euery of the Standers
by began to say his minde touchinge the resemblaunce of the
Chylde to hys Father, hardily protesting the same without doubt
to be his owne. The kyng could not be satisfied with the sight
of his child, by reason of the great delight he had to looke
vpon him, and of the generall opinion whych all men auouched
touchinge his lykenesse. The Chylde agayne vpon the common
reioyce made vpon hym, but specially of hys Father, wyth preaty
motions and sweete laughinges, representinge two smilinge pyttes
in his ruddy Cheekes, crowed many tymes vpon his father, toyinge
vp and downe hys tender handes: afterwardes the kynge behelde
the workmanship of that sumptuous cradle, and demaunded whereof
the substaunce was. Vnto whom the Messenger discribed the
Hystory and whole content of that incomparable Iewel: who
hearinge that discourse, caused the Queene to be called forth,
and by her was further certified of her father’s noble
disposition, wyth exceeding contentation, and wonderfull
reioyce, he receyued the little Chylde, and confessed hym selfe
in maner vanquished: notwythstandinge seeming to be thus
surmounted, he thought if he did not surpasse this curtesy, his
noble and princely minde should be disgraced: wherefore he
determined to vse a kind of magnanimity, thereby eyther to
ouercome Ariobarzanes, or else hauinge apparant occasion
altogether to fall out and to conceyue a mortall malice agaynst
hym. The Kynge had a Daughter of the age of 21 yeares, a very
fayre and comely Lady (accordinge as her Royall education and
princely bringinge vp required) whom as yet he had not matched
in mariage, meaninge to bestowe her vppon some kynge or great
Monarch with a dowry of Ten hundred thousand Crownes, besides
the pryncely and great costly Apparell and Iewells whych her
owne mother lyinge vppon her death Bed did bequeathe her. The
kynge then purposinge to excell Ariobarzanes, mynded by
couplynge hym wyth hys Daughter, to make hym his sonne in lawe:
whych to a Lady of Royall Linage, appeareth some debacinge of
her noble bloud, to be matched with a man of inferiour byrth:
the lyke to a Man how honourable so euer he be cannot chaunce,
if he take a Wyfe of Degree neuer so Base: for if hee bee borne
of Noble and Gentle kynde, hee doth illustrate and aduaunce the
Woman whom he taketh, all be it shee were of the meanest trampe
of the popular sorte, and the Chyldren whych be borne of them by
the Father’s meanes, shalbe Noble and of a gentle kynd: but a
woman, although shee be most Noble, if shee bee married to hir
inferiour, and that hir husbande bee not so Noble, the chyldren
that shall be borne of them shall not receiue the honour of the
mother’s stock, but the state of the father’s lotte, and so
shall be vnnoble. Sutch is the Reuerence and Authoritie of the
Sexe of man, wherevpon doeth ryse the comparyson of the wyfe,
which doth resemble the man vnto the Sunne, and the Woman to the
Moone. For wee see that the Moone of hir selfe doth not giue
light, ne yet can yelde any brightnesse to the darknesse of the
Night, if she did not pertake some shining of the Sun, who with
his liuely flames at times and places doth brighten the starres,
and maketh the moone to shine: euen so the woman dependeth of
the man, and of hym doth take hir nobility. The kyng therefore
thought the match not meete for Ariobarzanes to marry his
Daughter, and feared he should incurre some blemish of his
house: but for all respect and feare of shame, the emulation
whyche hee had to be victorious of his forced curtesie did
surpasse. Wherefore he sent for Ariobarzanes to come vnto the
Court: who vpon that commaundement came: and so soone as hee was
entered the palace, he repayred to do his reuerence vnto the
kinge, of whom he was welcomed with glad and ioyfull
entertaynement: and after they had a whyle debated of diuers
matters, the kyng sayd vnto him: “Ariobarzanes, for so mutch as
thou art without a wyfe, we minde to bestowe vpon thee a
Gentlewoman, which not onely wee well like and loue, but also is
sutch a one, as thou thy selfe shalt be well contented to take.”
Ariobarzanes aunswered: That he was at his commaundement: and
that sutch choyse as pleased his maiesty, should very well
content and satisefie him. Then the kyng caused his daughter, in
riche vestures sumptuously attired to come before him, and there
openly in presence of the whole Court commaunded that
Ariobarzanes should marry her: which with seemely ceremonies
being consummate, Ariobarzanes shewed little ioy of the
parentage, and in apparance made as though he cared not for his
wyfe. The Nobles and Gentlemen of the Courte wondred to see the
straunge behauiour of the bridegroome, consideringe the great
humanity of their Prince towardes his Subject, by takinge him
for his Father, and Sonne in lawe: and greatly murmured to see
the obstinacy and rudenesse of Ariobarzanes, towards the kynge
and the Fayre newe maried Spouse, mutch blaminge and rebukinge
hys vnkinde demeanour. Ariobarzanes that day fared as though hee
were besides himselfe, voyde of ioy and mirth, where all the
rest of the Courte spent the tyme in sport and Triumph, the
Ladies and Noble women together with the kynge and Queene
themselues. dauncinge and maskinge, vntil the time of night did
force ech Wyghte to Retyre to their Chaumbers. Notwithstandinge
the kynge did marke the Gesture and Countenaunce of
Ariobarzanes, and after the Banket the Kynge in Solempne guise
and great Pompe caused hys Daughter to bee accompanyed wyth a
great Trayne to the Lodginge of Ariobarzanes, and to be caried
with hir, hir Pryncely Dowry, where Ariobarzanes very Honourably
receyued hys Wyfe, and at that Instant, in the presence of all
the Noblemen and Barons that wayted vpon the Bride, hee doubled
the Dowry receyued, and the same wyth the Ten hundred thousand
Crownes geuen hym by the kynge, hee sent back agayne. This
vnmeasured Liberality seemed passynge Straunge vnto the kynge,
and bredde in him sutch disdayne, as doubtful he was whether to
yelde, or to condemne him to perpetuall Banishment. The kynge
thought that the greatnesse of Ariobarzanes mynde was
Inuincible, and was not able paciently to suffer, that a subiect
in matters of curtesie and liberality, should still compare wyth
his king and maister: herewithal the king conceiuing malice,
could not tell what to say or do. An easy matter it was to
perceiue the rage and furie of the king, who was so sore
displeased, as he bare good looke and countenaunce to no man:
and bicause in those dayes the Persian kings were honored and
reuerenced as Gods, there was a lawe that when the king was
driuen into a furie, or had conceiued a iust displeasure, he
shoulde manifest vnto his Counsellers, the cause of his anger,
who afterwardes by mature diligence hauing examined the cause
and finding the kinge to be vniustly displeased should seke
meanes of his appeasing: but if they found his anger and
displeasure to be iustly grounded, the cause of the same,
according to the quality of the offence, little or great, they
should punish, eyther by banishment or capital death: the
sentence of whom should passe and be pronounced without appeale.
Howbeit Lawfull it was for the Kynge to mitigate the pronounced
sentence, eyther in al, or in part, and to diminish the payne,
or clearely to assoyle the party: whereby it euidently appeared,
that the Counsellers Sentence once determined, was very iustice,
and the kynge’s wyll if he pardoned, was meere grace and mercy.
The kyng was constrayned by the statutes of his kyngdome to
disclose vnto his Counsell the cause of his displeasure, which
particularly he recited: the Counsellers when they heard the
reasons of the kynge, sent for Ariobarzanes, of whom by due
examination they gathered, that in diuers causes he had prouoked
the kynge’s dyspleasure. Afterwards the Lords of the Counsell,
vpon the proposed question began to argue, by inuestigation and
search whereof, in the ende they iudged Ariobarzanes worthy to
loose hys head: for that he would not onely compare, but also go
about to ouertoppe him in thinges vndecent, and to shewe
himselfe discontented with the mariage of his daughter, and
vnthankfull of the benefites so curteously bestowed vpon him.
A custome was obserued amonge the Persians, that in euery acte
or enterprise, wherein the seruaunt endeuored to surpasse and
vanquish his lord and maister (albeit the attempt were
commendable and prayseworthy) for respect of want of duety, or
contempt to the royall maiesty, he should lose his best ioynt:
and for better confirmation of their iudgement, the Counsellers
alleaged a certayne diffinitiue sentence, regestred in their
Chronicles, whilom done by the kyngs of Persia. The cause was
this: one of the kyngs of that Region disposed to disporte with
certayne of his noble men abrode in the Fields, went a Hauking,
and with a Faucon to fly at diuers game. Within a while they
sprang a Hearon, and the Kynge commaunded that one of the
faulcons which was a notable swift and soaring Hauke, should be
cast of to the Hearon: which done, the hearon began to mount and
the faucon speedely pursued, and as the Hauke after many batings
and intercourses, was about to seaze vpon the hearon, he espied
an Egle: the stoute Hauke seeing the Egle, gaue ouer the
fearfull Hearon, and with swift flight flewe towardes the hardy
Egle, and fiercely attempted to seaze vpon her: but the Egle
very stoutly defended her selfe, that the Hauke was forced to
let goe hir holde. In the ende the good Hauke, with her sharpe
talendes, agayne seazed vpon the Egle’s neck, and wyth her beake
strake her starke dead, wherewithall she fel downe amid the
company that wayted vpon the king. Al the Barons and Gentlemen
highly commended and praysed the Hauke, affirminge that a better
was not in the worlde, attributing vnto the same sutch prayse,
as they thought meete. The king for all the acclamations and
shoutes of the troupe, spake not a worde, but stoode musing with
himselfe, and did neyther prayse nor blame the Hauke. It was
very late in the eueninge, when the Faucon killed the Egle, and
therefore the kinge commaunded ech man to depart to the Citty.
The next day the king caused a Goldsmith to make an exceeding
fayre crowne of golde, apt and meete for the Falcon’s head.
Afterwards when he saw time conuenient, he ordayned that in the
market place of the Citty, a Pearche should be erected, and
adorned with Tapestry, Arras, and other costly furnitures, sutch
as Prynces Palaces are bedecked withall. Thither with sound of
Trumpets hee caused the Faucon to be conueyed, where the kinge
commaunded one of his noble men to place the Crowne vpon his
head, for price of the excellent pray atchieued vpon the Egle.
Then he caused the hangman or common executioner of the Citty,
to take the Crowne from the Faucon’s head, and with the
trenchant sword to cut it of. Vppon these contrary effectes the
beholders of this sight were amazed, and began diuersly to talk
thereof. The king which at a window stoode to behold this fact,
caused silence to be kept, and so opened his princely voice, as
he was wel heard speaking these words: “There ought (good
people) none of you all to Murmur and grudge at the present fact
executed upon the Faucon, bycause the same is done vppon good
reason and iust cause as by processe of my discourse you shall
well perceiue. I am persuaded that it is the office and duety of
euery magnanimous prince, to know the valor and difference
betweene vertue and vice, that all vertuous actes and worthy
attempts may be honoured, and the contrary chastised and
punished, otherwise he is not worthy of the name of a Kyng and
Prynce, but of a cruel and trayterous Tyrant: for as the prince
beareth the title by principality and chiefe, so ought his life
chiefly to excell other, whom he gouerneth and ruleth. The bare
title and dignity is not sufficient, if his conditions and
moderation be not to that supreme state equiualent. Full well I
knew and did consider to be in this dead Faucon a certayne
generosity and stoutnesse of minde, ioyned wyth a certayne
fierce actiuity and nimblenesse, for which I Crowned and
rewarded hir wyth thys golden Garland, bycause of the stoute
slaughter which she made vpon that myghty Egle, worthy for that
solemne guise. But when I considered how boldly and rashely she
assayled and killed the Egle, which is hir Queene and
Maystresse, I thought it a part of Iustice, that for hir bolde
and vncomely act, she shoulde suffer the payne due to hir
deserte: for vnlawful it is for the seruaunte, and vnduetiful
for the subiect, to imbrue his handes in the bloud of his
Soueraygne Lord. The Faulcon then hauinge slayne hir Queene, and
of all other Birdes the Soueraygne, who can with reason blame me
for cuttinge of the Faucon’s head? Doubtlesse none, that hath
respect to the quiet state betweene the Prince and Subiect.”
This example the Iudges alleaged against Ariobarzanes when they
pronounced sentence: and applyinge the same to him, ordeyned
that first Ariobarzanes, for his Magnanimity and liberal
curtesie should be Crowned wyth a Laurell Garland, for the
generosity of his minde and exceedinge curtesie, but for his
great emulation, earnest endeuour, and continuall dyuice to
contende wyth hys Prynce, and in Liberality to shew him selfe
superior, bysides the mutteringe speech vttered agaynst hym, his
head ought to be striken of. Ariobarzanes beinge aduertised of
thys seuere condemnation, hee purposed to sustayne the Venemous
Darte of Fortune, as hee had endured other bruntes of that
Enuious inconstant Lady, and in sutch maner behaued and directed
his Gestes, and Countenaunce, as no Sygne of Choler or Dyspayre
appeared in him, onely Pronouncinge thys Sentence with ioyfull
Cheare in the presence of many: “Glad I am that at length there
resteth in me so mutch to be liberall, as I employ my life and
bloud, to declare the same to my Soueraygne Lorde, which right
willingly I meane to do, that the World may know, how I had
rather lose my lyfe, than to faynt and geue ouer in mine
accustomed liberality.” Then callinge a Notary vnto him, he made
his Wyll (for so it was lawfull by the Persian lawes) and to his
Wyfe, and Daughters hee increased their Dowries, and to his
kinsfolke and freendes he bequeathed diuers rich and bountifull
Legacies. To the kyng he gaue a great number of most precious
Iewels. To Cyrus the king’s sonne, and his by mariage (besides a
great masse of money) he bequeathed all his Armure, and Weapons,
with all his instruments for the warres, and his whole stable of
horsse. Last of all he ordayned, that if (perhaps) his wyfe
should be found with chylde, and brought to Bed of a Sonne hee
should be his vniuersall heyre: but if a Woman chylde, to haue
the dowry that his other daughters had. The rest of his goods
and cattel he gaue indifferently to al III. equally to be
deuided. He prouided also, that all his seruantes accordinge to
their degree, should be rewarded. The day before he should be
put to death (according to the custome of Persia) his prayses
and valiaunt factes, as wel by Epitaphes fixed vpon poasts, as
by proclamation, were generally sounded throughout the Realme,
in such wise as ech wight iudged him to be the most liberall and
noble personage that was in all the Countrey, and in the borders
confininge vpon the same. And if there had not bene some enuious
persons nere the kyng, which studied and practised his
ouerthrow, al other would haue deemed him vnworthy of death.
Sutch is enuy of the maliciously disposed, that rather than they
would see their equals to be in better estimation with the
prynce than themselues, study and deuise all pollicy eyther by
flattery or false surmise to bringe them in discredite, or to
practise by false accusation, their vtter subuersion by Death or
Banishement. But whiles Ariobarzanes was disposinge his thinges
in order, his Wyfe and Daughters with his Friends and Cousins,
were affected with great sorrow day and night, complayning for
the heauy state of that noble Gentleman. The eight day being
come (for the lawe allowed that space to the condemned, for
disposition of their thynges) a Skaffolde was made by
commaundement of the king, in the middest of the Market place,
al couered with black cloth, and an other right ouer against the
same with Purple and Silk, where the kyng (if he list) in the
mids of the Iudges should sit and the inditement redde,
iudgement (by the kynge’s owne mouth declared) should be
executed, or if it pleased him, discharge and assoyle the
condemned. And the kynge vnwillinge to be present, gaue to one
of the eldest iudges hys full power and authority. But yet
sorrowful that a Gentleman so noble and valiaunt, his father and
sonne in lawe, should finish his life with a death so horrible,
would needes that morninge be present himselfe at that
execution, as wel to see the continent and stoute ende of
Ariobarzanes, as also to take order for his deliuery. When the
time was come, Ariobarzanes by the Sergeante and Garde was
brought vnto the Skaffolde, and there Aparelled in rich
Vestures, the Laurel Crowne was set on his head, and so
continuinge for a certayne space, the garment and Crowne was
taken of agayne together with his other Apparell. The
executioner attendinge for commaundement to do his office, and
lifting vp his sworde to do the fact, the king desired to see
the countenaunce of Ariobarzanes, who neuer chaunged coloure for
all that terrour of death. The king seeing the great constancy
and inuincible mind of Ariobarzanes, spake aloud that all men
might heare hym, these wordes: “Thou knowest Ariobarzanes, that
it is not I, which haue wroughte thy condemnation, ne yet by
enuious desyre haue sought thy bloude, to brynge thee to thys
extremity, but it hath bene thy ill disordred life, and the
statutes of this Realme, which haue found thee guilty, and
thereupon sentence and death pronounced, and execution now ready
to be done, and the minister ready to aduaunce his arme, to play
the last acte of this Tragedy: and yet for that our holy lawes
doe geue liberty that I may assoyle and delyuer whom I list, and
them restore to their former state, if nowe thou wilt
acknowledge thy selfe vanquished and ouercome, and accepte thy
lyfe in gratefull part, I will pardon thee, and restore thee to
thyne offyces and promotions.” Ariobarzanes, hearying these
wordes, kneeled downe wyth hys heade declyned, and expecting the
blow of the Sworde, lyfted vp himselfe, and turnynge his face to
the kinge, perceyuing his malice not so sore bent against hym as
the enuy and malice of his ennemies desired, he determined to
proue and vse the pitiful liberality and fauour of his
Soueraigne Lorde, that his Foes by his death might not Triumph,
ne yet attayne the thinge, for which so long they aspired.
Wherefore in reuerent wyse kneelinge before his maiesty, with a
stout and perfect voyce sayd these words: “Most vyctorious and
mercifull Soueraygne Lord, in equall worship and honour to the
immortall Gods, sith of thy abundant grace and mercy it hath
pleased thee to graunt me lyfe, I do most humbly accept the
same, which if I wyst should be prolonged in thy disgrace and
wrath, could not be pleasaunt vnto me, and therefore do confesse
my selfe in curtesie and liberality altogether surmounted and
ouercome. I most humbly then do geue thee thankes for
preseruation of my lyfe, hopinge hereafter to employ the
vttermost of myne endeuour for the benefite and honour of thy
Crowne and dignity, as readyly and without supplication made in
my behalfe, thou hast vouchesafed to restore the same: and sith
thy clemency hath reuiued me thyne humble vassall, I beseech thy
maiesty to giue me leaue to say my minde, trustinge thereby to
do thee to vnderstand the effect and cause of that my former
presumption.” The kinge made signes that he should arise and
boldly speake the summe of his desire. When he stoode up,
silence was proclaymed, who then began to speake these wordes:
“Two things there be, (most sacred Prince) which doubtlesse do
Resemble the raging Waues of surginge Seas, and the mutability
of vnstable windes, and yet great is the folly of an infinite
numbre, which imploy their whole care and diligence to the
pursute thereof. These two thinges whereof I speake, and be so
deerely beloued of flattering Courtiers, are the grace and
fauour of their soueraygne lord, and the luringe loue of Amorous
Dames: whych two do so often beguyle the courtly gentleman, that
in ende, they engender nought else but repentance: and to begin
with the loue of Ladies, they, as by common experience is
proued, most commonly do recline to their Inferiours. It is
dayly seene by to mutch vnhappy proofe, that a yongue Gentleman
by Byrth noble, and otherwyse riche, vertuous, and indued with
many goodly gyfts, shall choose and worship one for his
soueraigne Lady and maistresse, and her shall serue and honour
with no lesse fayth and fidelity then is due to the immortall
Gods, and shal not sticke to employ for her loue and seruice all
the possible power and trauell he is able to do, and yet she in
dispite of all his humble endeuour, shall imbrace an other voide
of all vertue, makynge him possessor of that benefite, after
which the other seeketh, and shee not longe constant in that
minde, afterwards wil attend to the first Suter, but in sutch
mouable and disdaynfull sort, as the wandring starres (through
their natural instability) be moued to and fro, and him in the
ende will suffre to fall headlong into the bottomlesse pit of
dispayre: and to him that asketh hir the reason of this variety,
she maketh none other aunswere but that her pleasure is sutch,
and wilfull will to dally with her sutors: so that seldome times
a true and perfit louer can fasten his foote on certayne holde,
but that his life is tossed vp and downe like the whirling
blastes of inconstant windes. The like succedeth in the Courtes
of Kings and Princes, he which is in fauoure with his soueraigne
Lord in al mens eyes, so great and neare, as it seemeth the
Prince is disposed to resolue vpon nothing without his aduise
and counsell, when such fauored person shall employe his whole
care and industrie to maintaine and encrease the commenced grace
of his soueraigne Lord, behold, vpon the sodaine the minde and
vaine of his Lord is changed, and an other without desert, which
neuer carked to win good will, is taken in place, cherished as
though hee had serued him an hundred yeares before: and he that
was the first minion of the Courte in greatest grace and
estimation, is in a moment dispysed, and oute of all regarde: an
other within fewe dayes after, shall supplie the place of the
other twaine, verye dyligent and careful to serue a man trained
vp in courtly exercise, whose mindfull mind shall bee so caring
ouer his lord’s affayers, as vpon the safegard and preseruation
of his owne life: but all his labour is employed in vayne: and
when the aged dayes of his expired life approch, for the least
displeasure he shalbe thrust out without reward for former
trauel, that right aptly the Common Prouerb may be applied: the
common Courtier’s life is like a golden misery, and the
faithfull seruant an Asse perpetuall. I haue seene my selfe the
right wel learned man to sterue in Court for want of meate, and
a blockish beast voyde of vertue, for lust, and for merite,
aduaunced and made a Gentleman: but this may chaunce bicause hys
Lord is not disposed to vertue, nought esteeminge those that be
affected with good sciences, and that onely for lacke of
carefull trayninge vp in youthfull dayes, or else for that his
minde cannot frame with gentle spyrits, the closets of whose
breasts be charged and fraught with infinite loades of
learninge, and haue not bin noseled in trade of Courtes, ne yet
can vse due courtly speech, or with vnblushinge face can shuffle
themselues in presence of their betters, or commen with Ladies
of dame Venus toyes: or race of birth not mingled with the noble
or gentle Sire: for these causes perhaps that vertuous wighte
cannot attain the hap of fortune’s giftes. Which person thoughe
in Court he be not esteemed, yet in schoolehouse of good arte he
is deemed famouse, and for his worthy skill right worthy to be
preferred aboue the heauens. In semblable wise, how oftentimes
and commonly is it seene that the man perchance which neuer thou
sawest before, so sone as he is seene of the, sodaynly he is
detested lyke a plague, and the more earnest he is to do the
seruice and pleasure, the greater is thy wrath bent towards him?
Contrarywise, som other vpon the first view shal so content and
please the, as if he require the bestowing of thy life, thou
hast no power to denie him, thou arte in loue with him, and let
him thwart thy mind and wil neuer so much, thou carest not for
it, all is well he doth: but that these varieties do proceede
from some certayn temprement of bloud within the body conformed
and moued by som inward celestial power, who doubteth? And
surely the foundation of these Courtly mutations, is the
pricking venomous Goade of pestiferous Enuye, whych continually
holdeth the fauour of Prynces in ballaunce, and in a moment
hoisteth vp him which was below, and poizeth downe agayne him
that was exalted: so that no plague or poison is more
pestiferous in Courts, than the hurtfull disease of Enuy: all
other vices with little paine and lesse labour may easily be
cured, and so pacified as they shall not hurt thee: but rooted
Enuy by any meanes is discharged, with no pollicye is expelled,
ne yet by any Drugge or medicine purged. Veryly wythout great
daunger, I know not which way the poynaunt bittes of Enuy can be
auoyded: the proude man in Courte, the arrogant and ambitious,
the lofty minded Foole, more eleuate and lustie than Pride it
selfe, if reverence bee done to him, if he be honoured, if place
be giuen to him, if hee be praysed and glorified aboue the
heauens, if thou humble thy selfe to him, by and by he will take
thee to be his frend, and wyll deeme thee to bee a curteous and
gentle companion. Let the lacyuious and wanton person giuen to
the pleasures and lust of women, fixing his mind on nothing else
but vpon fugitiue pleasures, if his loue bee not impeached, ne
yet his wanton toyes reproued, if he be praysed before his
Ladie, he will euer be thy friend: the couetous and gloutonous
carle, if first thou make hym quaffe a Medicine, and afterwardes
byd hym to thy table, the one and other disease is speedily
cured: but for the enuious person, what Phisicke can be sought
to purge his pestiferous humour? which if thou go about to heale
and cure, rather muste thou remedye the same by wasting the life
of him that is so possessed, than find causes of recouerie. And
who knoweth not (most sacred Prince) that in your Courte there
be some attached with that poisoned plague, who seeing me your
maiestie’s humble vassall in greater fauoure with your grace
than they, my seruice more acceptable than theirs, my prowesse
and exercise in armes more worthy than theirs, my diligence more
industrious than theirs, my advise and counsell more auayleable
than theirs, all mine other deedes and doings in better
Estimation than theirs: they I say, dallied in the lap of the
cancred witch dame Enuy, by what meanes are they to be
recouered? by what meanes their infection purged? by what meanes
their mallice cured? If not to see me depriued of your grace,
expelled from your Court, and cast headlonge into the gulfe of
death extreme? If I should bribe them with great rewardes, if I
should honour them with humble reuerence, if I should exalt them
aboue the Skyes, if I should employ the vttermost of my power,
to do them seruice, all frustrate and cast away: they wil not
cease to bring me into perill, they will not spare to reduce me
to misery, they will not sticke to ymagin all deuyses for myne
anoyance, when they see al other remdyes impotent and vnable:
this is the poisoned plague which enuenometh all Princes
courtes: this is the mischiefe which destroyeth all kyngdomes:
this is the monster that deuoureth all vertuous enterpryses and
offendeth eche gentle spirite: this is the dim vale which so
ouershadoweth the clerenes of the eyes as the bright beams of
verity cannot be sene, and so obscureth the equity of iustice,
as right from falshode cannot be discerned: this is the manifest
cause that breadeth a thousand errors in the workes of men: and
to draw nere to the effecte of this my tedious talke, briefly,
there is no vice in the worlde that more outragiously corrupteth
Princes courtes, that more vnfrendly vntwineth frendship’s band,
that more vnhappely subuerteth noble houses, then the poysone of
Enuy: for he that enclineth his eares to the enuious person, he
that attendeth to his malignant deuises, vnpossible it is for
him to do any dede that is eyther good or vertuous: but to
finishe and end for auoyding of wearines and not to stay your
maiesty from your waighty affayres, I say that the enuyous man
reioiceth not so much in his own good turnes nor gladdeth
himself so greatlye with his owne commodityes, as hee doth
insulte, and laugh at the discommodityes and hinderance of
others, at whose profite and gain he soroweth and lamenteth: and
to put out both the eyes of his companion, the enuious man
careth not to plucke out one of his own. These wordes (most
inuincible prince) I purposed to speake in the presence of your
maiesty, before your gard and courtlyke train, and in the
vniuersal hearing of all the people that ech wighte may
understand how I not of your maiestie’s pretended malice, or
mine owne committed faulte, but through the venemous tongues of
the enuious fel into the lapse of your displeasure.” This moste
true oration of Ariobarzanes greatly pleased the noble Prince,
and although he felt himself somwhat touched therwith, and
knowing it to bee certayn and true and that in tyme to come the
same mighte profite all sortes of people, hee greatlye praised
and exalted him in the presence of all the assembly. Wherefore
Ariobarzanes having recouered his lyfe confessed himselfe to bee
vanquished and ouercome by the king, who knowing the valoure and
fealty of that noble Gentleman, and louing him with harty
affection, caused him to come down from the mourning Scaffolde,
and to assend the place where he was himselfe, whom he imbraced
and kissed, in token that al displeasure was remitted: all his
auncient offices were restored to him agayne: and for his
further aduancement, he gaue him the Cittye of Passagarda where
was the olde monument of kinge Cyrus, and made him lieuetenaunt
generall of his realmes and dominions, commaundinge euery of his
subiects to obay him as himselfe. And so the kyng rested the
honourable father in law to Ariobarzanes, and his louinge sonne
by mariage crauing stil in al his enterpryses, his graue aduyse
and counsell: and there was neuer thing of any importance done,
but his liking or disliking was firste demaunded: Ariobarzanes
then returned into greater grace and fauour of his souerayne
lord than before, and for his singular vertue hauing disperced
and broken the aimes and malyce of all his enimies, if before he
were curteous and liberal after these so stoute aduentures, he
became more then princely in his dedes, and if sometymes he had
done one curteous act now he doubled the same. But sutch was his
Magnanimitye, so noble were his indeuors, tempred with such
measure and equanimity, as the whole worlde clerely might
deserne, that not to contend with his souerayne lorde but to
honour and serue him, therby to expresse the maiestye of his
Prince, he employed his goodes and liuing al which the kinge and
fortune had bountifully bestowed vppon him: who vntil his dying
day famously mayntayned himselfe in the good grace and fauour of
his prince, in such wyse as the kyng more clerely then the
shining Sunnebeames, knew Ariobarzanes to bee framed of nature
for a christalline mirrour of curtesie and liberalitye, and that
more easie it was to bereiue the fyre of heate, and the Sonne of
lighte then despoyle Ariobarzanes of his glorious dedes.
Wherfore he ceassed not continually to honour, exalt and enrych
him, that hee might vse the greater liberality, and to say the
treuth, althoughe these two vertues of curtesie and Liberality
be commendable in all persons, without the which a man truely is
not he whereof hee beareth the name yet very fitting and meete
for euerye ryche and welthie subiect, to beware how he doth
compare in those noble vertues with Princes and great men, which
beyng ryght noble and pereles vppon yearth canne abyde no
Comparisons.




THE FIFTH NOUELL.

  _Lvcivs one of the garde to Aristotimvs the Tyrant of the cittye of
  Elis, fell in loue with a fayre mayden called Micca, the daughter of
  one Philodemvs, and his cruelty done vpon her. The stoutnesse also
  of a noble matron named Megistona in defence of hir husbande and the
  common wealth from the tyranny of the said Aristotimvs: and of other
  actes done by the subiectes vppon that Tyrant._

You haue heard, or as it were in a manner, you haue beeholden
the right images and courteous conditions of two well
conditioned persons mutually ech towards other obserued: in the
one a Princely mind towards a Noble Gentleman his subiecte: in
the other a duetieful obedience of a louing vassal to his
soueraigne Lord and Maister: in both of them the true figure of
Liberality in liuely orient colours described. Now a contrary
plotte, grounded vpon extreame tiranny, is offred to the viewe,
done by one Aristotimus and his clawbacks againste his humble
subiects of the City of Elis, standyng in Peloponessus,
a country of Achaia (which at this tyme we cal Morea.) This
Aristotimus of nature was fierce and passing cruell, who by
fauour of king Antigonus was made Tyran of that City: and like a
Tyran gouerned his countrye by abuse of his aucthority with newe
wronges, and straunge crueltyes vexing and afflicting the poore
Cityzens and all hys people: which chaunced not so much for that
of himself he was cruel and tyrannous, as for that his
counsellours and chiefe aboute him were barbarous and vicious
men, to whom he committed the charge of his kyngdome and the
guarde of his person: but amonges all his mischiefes wrongfully
done by him which were innumerable, one committed agaynst
Philodemus (the same which afterwarde was the cause of the
depriuation of his lyfe and kingdome) is specially remembred.
This Philodemus had a daughter called Micca, that not onely for
hir chast qualityes and good condicions whiche vertuously
flourished in hir but for her extreame and goodly beautye, was
in that citty of passing fame and admiration. With this fayre
maiden one of the Tyrant’s guarde called Lucius fel in loue, if
it deserue to be called loue, and not the rather, as the end ful
wel declared, a most filthy and beastly lust: this Lucius was
deerly beloued of Aristotemus, for the fiendish resemblance and
wicked nerenesse of his vile and abhominable condicions: and
therfore feared and obeied as the Tyrante’s owne person: for
which cause this Lucius sent one of the yeomen of the kinge’s
chamber to commaunde Philodemus at an appoynted hour, al excuses
set apart, to bring his daughter vnto him. The parentes of the
mayden hearing this sodayne and fearful mesuage, constrayned by
Tyrante’s forse and fatal necessity, after many tears and
pittious sighes, began to perswade their daughter to be
contented to goe with him, declaringe vnto her the rigour of the
magistrate that had sente for hir the extremety that would be
executed, and that ther was no other remedy but to obay. Alas,
how sore agaynst their willes, with what trembling gesture, with
what horror the good parentes of this tender pusill were
affected, to consider the purpose of that dreadefull message,
all dere fathers and naturall mothers can tell. But this gentle
mayden Micca which was of nature stoute, and yet vertuously
lessoned with sundry good and holsome instructions from hir
Infante’s Age was Determined rather to Dye, then to suffer her
selfe to be Defloured. This vertuous Mayden fell downe Prostrate
at her Father’s Feet, and clasping him fast about the Knees,
louingly did pray him, and Pitifully besought him, not to suffer
hir to bee haled to so filthy and vile an office, but rather
with the piercing blade of a two edged sword to kill her, that
therby she might be rid from the violation of those fleshly and
libidinous varlets, saying, that if her virginity were taken
from hir, she should liue in eternal reproch and shame. As the
father and daughter were in these termes, Lucius for the long
tariance and delaye, dronke with the Wine of lechery, made
impacient and furious, with cursed speede posted to the house of
Philodemus, and finding the maiden prostrate at her father’s
feete weeping, her head in his lappe with taunting voice and
threatning woordes commaunded presently without longer delay she
should ryse and go with him: She refusing his hasty request, and
crying out for Father’s help, who (God wot) durst not resist,
stoode still and would not goe: Lucius seeing hir refusal ful of
furie and proude disdaine, began furiously to hale hir by the
garments, vpon whose struggling he tare hir kirtle and
furnitures of hir head and shoulders, that hir alablaster necke
and bosome appeared naked, and without compassion tare and
whipte hir flesh on euery side, as the bloud ranne downe,
beating that tendre flesh of hirs with manifold and greuous
blowes. O vile tirant, more wood and sauage than the desert
beast or mountaine Tigre: could cruelty be so deepely rooted in
the hart of man which by nature is affected with reason’s
instinct, as without pity to lay handes, and violently to hurt
the tendre body of a harmlesse Maidee? Can such inhumanity
harbor in any that beareth aboute him the shape of man? But what
did this martyred maiden for all this force? Did she yeld to
violence, or rendre hir self to the disposition of this
mercilesse man? No surely. But with so great stoutnesse of mind,
she suffred those impressed wounds, that no one word sounding of
sorrow, or womanly shriech was heard to sound from hir delicate
mouth: howbeit the pore father and miserable mother at that
rueful and lamentable sight, moued with inward grief and natural
pity, cried out aloude. But when they sawe that neyther playnt
nor fayre speech coulde deliuer their Daughter out of the hands
of that cruell monster, they began with open cryes and horrible
exclamation to implore helpe and succour at the handes of the
immortall Gods, thinking that they were vnworthely plaged and
tormented. Then the proud and most barbarous wretch, moued and
disquieted by cholers rage and fume of chafinge Wyne, sodaynly
catched the most constant virgin by the hayre of the head, and
in her father’s Lap did cut her white and tender throte.
O detestable fact, right worthy iust reuenge. But what did this
vnfaythfull and cruell Tyrant Aristotimus, when by the
blustering bruit of people’s rage he heard of this vengeable
murder, not only he shewed himselfe contented wyth the fact, but
had him in greater regard than before, and towards them which
made complaint hereof, greater cruelty and mischyefe was done
and executed. For in open streat, lyke beastes in the Shambles,
they were cut and hewed in peeces, which seemed to murmur at
thys bloudy and vnlawfull act: the rest were banished and
expelled the cytty. Eight hundred of these exiled persons fled
into Etolia (a prouince adioyninge to Epirus, which now is
called Albania.) Those people so banished out of theyr country,
made instant sute to Aristotimus to suffer Wyues and chyldren to
repayre to them: but theyr suite was in vayne, their peticions
and supplycations seemed to be made to the deafe, and dispersed
into the wyndes: notwithstandinge, within few dayes after, he
caused by sound of trumpet to be openly proclaymed, that it
should be lawful for the wyues and chyldren of the banished to
passe wyth their baggage and furniture to theyr husbands in
Ætolia. This Proclamation was exceeding ioyfull to al the women
whose husbands were exiled, which at the least by common report
were the numbre of 6 hundreds: and for more credite of that
Proclamation, the wicked Tyrant did ordayne, that al the company
should depart vpon a prefixed day. In the meane time, the ioyful
Wyues glad to visit their poore husbands, prepared horse and
wagon, to cary theyr prouisions. The appoynted day of their
departure out of that City being come, all of them assembled at
a certayne gate assygned for their repayre, who that time
together resorted with their little children in their hands
bearing vpon theyr heads theyr garments and furnitures, some on
horseback, and some bestowed in the wagons according as ech of
theyr states required: when al things wer in a readinesse to
depart, and the gate of the City opened, they began to issue
forth. They wer no soner gone out of the City walles, and had
left behind them the soile of theyr natiuity, but the Tyrants
guard and Sergeants brake vpon them, and before they were
approched they cried out to stay and go no further vpon pain of
theyr liues. So the pore amazed women, contrarry to the promise
of the Tyrant, wer forced to retire. Which sodain countremaund
was sorowful and woful vnto the afflicted flock: but there was
no remedy, for procede they could not. Then those Termagants and
villains caught theyr horse by the bridles, and droue back again
theyr wagons, pricking the pore oxen and beasts with theyr
speares and Iauelins, that horrible it is to report the tyrany
vsed towards man and best, in such wyse as the pore miserable
women (God wot) contrary to their desyres, were forced in
dispyte of theyr teeth to retourn. Som alack fell of theyr horse
wyth theyr little babes in theyr lappes, and were miserably
troden vnder the horsefeete, and ouerrun with the wheles of the
wagons theyr brains and guts gushing out through the weight and
comberance of the cariage, and (which was most pitiful) one of
them not able to help an other, and much lesse to rescue theyr
yong and tendre sucking babes, the vyle sergeants forcing ech
wight with theyr staues and weapons maugre theyr desirous mindes
to reenter the City. Many died by the constrained meanes out of
hand, many were troden vnder the horsefeete, and many gasping
betwene life and death: but the greatest soart of the litle
infants were slaine out of hand, and crusht in pyeces: those
whych remayned alyue, were commytted to Pryson, and the goods
which they caryed wyth them altogyther seased vpon by the
tyrant. Thys wycked and cruell facte was most intollerable and
greeuous vnto the Cytyzens of Elis, wherevppon the holy dames
consecrated to the God Bacchus, adorned and garnyshed wyth theyr
pryestly Garments, and bearyng in theyr Handes the sacred
mysteryes of theyr God, as Aristotimus was passyng through the
Streete garded with hys Souldyers and Men of Warre, wente in
processyon to fynde hym oute. The Sergeauntes for the reuerence
of those religious women disclosed, and gaue them place to enter
in before the Tyrant. He seing those Women apparelled in that
guise, and bearing in their hands the sacred Bachanal mysteries,
stoode stil, and with silence heard what they could say: but
when he knew the cause of their approch, and that they wer come
to make sute for the poore imprisoned women, sodainly possessed
with a diuelish rage, with horrible hurly burly, bitterly
reprehended his garrison for suffering those women to come so
neare him. Then hee commaunded that they should be expelled from
that place without respect, and condemned euery of them (for
their presuming to intreat for such caitiue prisoners{)} in II.
Talents a piece. After these mischiefs committed by the tyrant,
Hellanicus one of the pryncipal and best esteemed persons of the
City, although that he was decrepite, and for age very weake and
feeble, cared not yet to aduenture any attempt what soeuer, so
it might extend to the deliuery of his countrey from the
vnspeakable tyranny of most cruel Aristotimus. To this gray
haired person, bicause he was of aged yeares, void of children
which were dead, this Tyrant gaue no great hede ne yet emploied
any care, thinking that he was not able to raise any mutine or
tumult in the City. In the mean space, the Citizens, which as I
haue sayd before, were banished into Etolia, practysed amongs
them selves to proue their Fortune, and to seeke al meanes for
recouery of their countrey, and the death of Aristotimus:
wherfore hauing leuied and assembled certaine bands of
Souldiers, they marched forth from their bannished seat, and
neuer rested till they had gotten a place hard adioyning to
their City, where they might safely lodge, and with great
commodity and aduantage besige the same, and expel the tyrant
Aristotimus. As the bannished were incamped in that place, many
citizens of Elis daily fled forth, and ioyned with them, by
reason of which auxiliaries and daily assemblies they grew to
the ful numbre of an army: Aristotimus certified hereof by his
espials was brought into a great chafe and fury, and euen now
began to presage his fall and ruine: but yet meaning to foresee
hys best aduantage, went vnto the pryson where the Wyues of the
banished were fast inclosed, and bicause he was of a troublesome
and tyrannical nature, he concluded with him self rather to vse
and intreat those wiues with feare and threates, than with
humanity and fayre wordes: being entred the pryson, hee sharpely
and wyth great fiercenesse commaunded them to write vnto their
husbands that besieged him without, earnestly to persuade them
to giue ouer theyr attempted warres: “Otherwyse (sayd he) if ye
do not follow the effect of my commaundement, in your own
presence I wil first cause cruelly to be slayne al your little
Children, tearyng them by piece meale in pieces, and afterwardes
I wyll cause you to be whipped and scourged, and so to dye a
most cruel and shamefull death.” At which fierce and tyrannycal
newes, there was no one woman amongs them that opened theyr
mouthes to answer him: the most wycked and vile tyrant seing
them to be in such silence, charged them vpon theyr liues to
answer what they were disposed to doe: but although they durst
not speake a word, yet with silence one beholding eche other in
the face, fared as though they cared not for hys threats, more
ready rather to dye than to obey his comaundement. Megistona
then, which was the wife of Timolion, a matrone aswell for hir
husband’s nobility as hir owne vertue, in great regard and
estimation, and the chief amongs all the Women, who at his
comming in would not rise, but kept her place, nor vouchsafing
to doe any reuerence or honor vnto hym, and the like she bad the
rest: in this wyse sitting vpon the ground with vnlosed tongue
and liberty of speach, stoutly she answered the tyrant’s demaund
in this manner: “If there were in thee, Aristotimus, any manly
prudence, wisedome, or good discretion, truly thou wouldest not
commaund vs poore imprisoned women to write vnto our husbands,
but rather suffer vs to goe vnto them, and vse more moderate
wordes and myld behauiour, than wherewith of late thou diddest
entertaine vs, by scoffing, mocking, and cruelly dealyng with
vs, and oure pore children: and if now thou being voyd of all
hope, doest seeke to persuade by our meanes likewise to deceiue
our husbands, that be come hither to put theyr Lyues in Peryll
for our deliveraunce, I assure the thou vainly begilest thy
selfe, for wee henceforth do purpose neuer to bee deceyued of
the: wee require thee also to thinke and stedfastly beleeue,
that our husbands heades bee not so mutch bewitched with Folly,
as despysing their Wyves and Chyldren, Neglecting their duetyes
towards them, wyll, being in this forwardnesse, abandon their
preseruation and geeve ouer the Liberty of theyr countrey: think
also that they little esteme or wey the regard of vs, and theyr
children, in respect of the great contentation they shal attaine
by vnyoking the liberty of theyr countrey from thy pride and
intollerable bondage, and which is worst of al, from that
tyranny which neuer people felt the like: for if thou were a
king as thou art a tyrant, if thou were a Gentleman borne of
noble kind as thou arte a slaue, proceding from the deuil, thou
wouldest neuer execute thy cursed cruelty against a feble kind,
such as women be, and werest thou alone ioyned in singular
combat with my valyant and dere beloued husband, thou durst not
hand to hand to shew thy face: for commonly it is seene, that
the Courtly Ruffyan backed on wyth such mates as he is himself,
careth not what attempt he taketh in hand, and stares with hayre
vpright, loking as though he would kil the deuyll, but when he
is preast to seruyce of the field, and in order to encountre
with his Prynce’s foe, vpon the small sway by shocke or push
that chaunceth in the fight, he is the first that taketh flyght,
and laste that standeth to the face of hys ennimy. Such kind of
man art thou, for so long as our husbands wer farre of, absent
fro theyr Country, not able to rid vs from thy thral, thou
wroughtest thy malyce then against theyr wyues at home, doyng
the greatest cruelty towardes them and theyr suckyng babes, that
euer deuyl could do vpon the damned sort, and now thou seest
them arriued here vnder our country walles, thou flyest and
seekest help at women’s hands, whose power if it serued them
according to their willes, would make thee tast the fruit of thy
commytted smart.” And as she would haue proceded further in hir
liberal talk, the Caytife tyrant not able to abyde any further
speach, troubled beyond measure, presently commaunded the litle
child of hir to be brought before him, as though immediatly he
would haue killed him, and as his seruants sought him out, the
mother espied him playing amongs other children, not knowinge
for his small stature and lesse yeres, wher he was becom, and
calling him by his name, said vnto him: “My boy, come hither,
that first of al thou mayst lose thy life, to feele the proufe
and haue experience of the cruel tyranny wherin we be, for more
grieuous it is to me to see the serue against the nobility of
thy bloud, than dismembred and torn in pieces before my face.”
As Megistona stoutly and vnfearfully had spoken those words, the
furious and angry tyrant drew forth his glistring blade out of
the sheath, purposing to have slaine the gentlewoman, had not
one Cilon the familiar freend of Aristimus stayd his hand,
forbidding him to commit an act so cruel. This Cilon was a
fayned and counterfayt frend of the tyrant, very conuersant with
other his familiar frends, but hated him with deadly hatred, and
was one of them that with Hellanicus had conspired against the
tyrant. This gentleman then seeinge Aristotimus wyth so great
fury to waxe wood agaynst Megistona, imbraced him, and sayd,
that it was not the part of a gentleman proceeding from a Race
righte honourable, by any meanes to imbrue hys Handes in Woman’s
bloud, but rather the signe and token of a cowardly knyght,
wherfore he besought him to stay his hands. Aristotimus
persuaded by Cilon, appeased his rage, and departed from the
imprisoned women. Not long after, a great prodige and wonder
appeared in this sort: before supper the tyrant and his wyfe
withdrue themselues into their chamber, and being there, an Egle
was seene to soare ouer the tyrante’s palace, and being aloft,
by little and little to descend, and letting fal from her
tallands a huge and great stone vpon the top of that chamber,
with clapping wings and flying noyse soared vp againe, so far as
she was cleane out of sight from them that did behold hir. With
the rumor and shouts of those that saw this sight, Aristotimus
was appalled, and vnderstanding the circumstance of the chaunce,
hee sent for his diuine to declare the signification of this
Augurye, which greatly troubled his minde. The Southsayer bad
him to be of good chere, for that it did portend the great
fauour and loue which Iupiter bare vnto him. But the prophet of
the City whom the Cytizens had wel tryed and proued to be
faithfull and trusty, manifested vnto them the great daunger
that hong ouer the tyrant’s head, sutch as the lyke neuer
before. The confederats which had conspired wyth Hellanicus,
made great speede to prosecute theyr enterprise, and the next
night to kil the tyrant. The very same night Hellanicus dreamed
that he saw his dead sonne to speak vnto him these woords: “What
meane you father this long tyme to sleepe, I am one of your
sonnes whom Aristotimus hath slayne, know you not that the same
day you attempt your enterpryse, you shalbe captaine and prince
of your country?” By this vision Hellanicus confirmed, he rose
bytimes in the morninge, and exhorted the conspirators that day
to execute the benefit of their country. That time Aristotimus
was certified how Craterus the Tyrant of another Citty, with a
great army, was comming to his ayde agaynst the Banished people
of Elis, and that hee was arriued at Olympia, a Citty betweene
the mount Ossa, and the mountayne Olympus. With whych newes
Aristotimus beinge incouraged, thought already that he had put
to flight and taken the banished persons, which made him to
aduenture hymselfe abroade wythout Guard or garrison,
accompanied only wyth Cilon and one or two of his familiar
frendes, the very same time that the conspiratours were
assembled to do the facte. Hellanicus seeing the time so
conuenient to deliuer his beloued countrey by the death of the
traiterous tirant, not attending any signe to be geuen to his
companions (although the same was concluded vpon) the lusty old
man liftinge vp his handes and eyes vnto the heauens, with
cleare and open voyce cried out to his companions and sayd: “Why
stay yee, O my Cityzens and louinge countrymen, in the face of
your Citty to finish this good and commendable act?” At whych
words, Cilon was the first which with his brandishing blade
killed one of those that wayted vpon the Tirant. Thrasibulus
then and Lampidus assayled Aristotimus, vpon whose sodayne
approche, he fled into the Temple of Iupiter, where hee was
murdred with a thousand wounds vpon his body, accordingly as he
deserued. He beinge thus deseruedly slayne, his body was drawen
vp and down the streetes, and proclamation of liberty sounded
vnto the people: whereunto ech Wyght assembled, amonges whom the
imprisoned Women also brake forth, and reioysed with their
countrey deliuerers of that egregious enterprise, by fires and
bankets outwardly disclosinge their exceedinge great ioy wythin,
and in mid of their mirth the people in great thronges and
companies ranne to the Tyrant’s Palace, whose Wyfe hearinge the
people’s noyse, and certified of her husband’s death, inclosed
her selfe in a chamber with her two daughters, and knowinge how
hatefull she was vnto the Citizens, with a fastned cord vpon a
beame she hong hir selfe. The chamber dores being broke open,
the people viewed the horrible sight of the strangled Lady,
wherewithall not mooued they tooke the two tremblinge Daughters
of the Tyrant, and caryed them away, purposinge to Rauish and
Violate the same, firste to saciate their lust with the spoyle
of theire virginitye, and afterwardes to kyll them (those
gentlewomen were very beautiful and mariageable) and as they
were about to do that shamefull deede, Megistona was told
thereof, who accompanied with other Matrons sharpelye rebuked
theire furye sayinge: that vncomely it were for them which
sought to establishe a ciuill state, to do such a shameles act
as tyrant’s rage would scarce permit. Vpon that noble matron’s
auctoritye and interception, they ceassed from their filthy
fact: and then the woman tooke the virgins out of the people’s
handes, and brought them into the chamber where there strangled
mother was. And vnder standing howe it was decreede that none of
the tyrante’s bloude should rest a liue: shee turned her face to
the two yonge gentlewomen and sayde: “The chiefest pleasure
which I can do vnto you, resteth in this choyse, that it shall
be lauful for eyther of you to chose what kind of death you
list, by knyfe or halter, if you wil to dispatch your liues from
the headles peoples greatter fury, vppon whose two whyte and
tender bodyes if they do seaze the goddes do knowe and we do
feare the cruelty and great abuse which they do mean to vse,
I thinke not for despyte of you, but for the iust reuenge of
your most cruell father’s actes, for the tyrannous life of whom
the goddes do thunder downe the boltes of their displeasure,
afflicting his nearest blood and bestbeloued wyfe and children,
with vengeance poured from heauens.” Vppon the sentence of this
the fatall ende, the elder mayden of the twayne vnlosed a gyrdle
from her middle, and began to tye the same to hang hir selfe,
exhorting her yonger sister to do the lyke: and in any wise to
beware by sparing of her life, to incur the beastly rage of the
monstruous people, which cared not to do ech vile and filthy
act, vnworthy theyr estate. The yonger sister at those wordes,
layd handes vpon the fastened corde, and besought hir right
earnestly first of al to suffer hir to die. Wherevnto the elder
aunswered: “So long as it was lawfull for me to liue, and whiles
we led our princely time in our father’s courte, and both were
free from enimie’s danger, all things betwene vs two were common
and indifferent, wherefore the gods forbid (that now the gates
of death be opened for vs to enter, when with the Ghostes of our
deere Parentes our soules amids the infernall fieldes be
predestined to raunge and wander) that I shoulde make denyall of
thy request. Therfore goe to good sister mine, and shrink not
when thou seest the vgly face of her, that must consume vs all:
but yet (dere sister) the deadly sight of thee before my selfe,
will breede to me the woe and smart of double death.” When she
had so sayd, she yelded the coller to her sister, and counselled
hir to place the same so neere the necke bone as shee could,
that the sooner the halter’s force might stop her breath. When
the vnfearefull yonger sister was dead, the trembling hands of
the dredlesse elder maid vntied the girdle from her neck,
couering in comely wise her senselesse corps. Then turning hir
self to Megistona, she humbly prayd hir not to suffer their two
bodies to be seene naked, but so sone as she could, to bury them
both in one Earthly graue, referring the frutes of their
virginity to the mould wherof they came. When she had spoken
these wordes, without any stay or feare at all, with the selfe
same corde she strangled herselfe and so finished her fatal
dayes. The guiltlesse death of which two tender maydes there was
none of the citizens of Elis (as I suppose) so stonye hearted
and voyde of Nature’s force, ne yette so wrothe agaynst the
tyrant father, but did lament, as wel for the constant stoutenes
and manner of their death, as for their maydenlyke behauiour and
right honest petitions made to that noble matrone Megisthona,
who afterwardes caused the other dames to bury those two bodyes
in one graue. O how happy and famous had these two sisters bene,
if they had not bene the daughters of so wicked and cruell a
father? But parentes offence or childrens trespas ought not to
deface the vertuous dedes of their posterity.




THE SIXTH NOUELL.

  _The maruaylous courage and ambition of a gentlewoman called
  Tanaqvil, the Queene and wife of Tarqvinivs Priscvs the fift Roman
  king, with his persuasions and pollicy to hir husbande for his
  aduauncement to the kingdom, her lyke encouragement of Servivs
  Tvllivs, wherein also is described the ambition of one of the
  II. daughters of Servivs Tvllivs the sixt Roman king, and
  her cruelty towards her owne natural father: with other accidents
  chaunced in the new erected common welth of Rome, specially of the
  last Romane king Tarqvinivs Svperbvs, who with murder atteined the
  kingdome, with murder maynteined it, and by the murder and insolent
  lyfe of his sonne was with al his progeny banished._


Ancus Marcius beynge the fourthe king (after Romulus the first
builder of that Cittye) there came to dwell in Rome one Lucumo,
a lusty gentleman, ryche and desirous of honour, who determined
to continue his habitation there. The same Lucumo was the son of
one Demaratus, a Corinthian, that for sedition fled his owne
countrye, and dwelt in Hetruria amonge the stocke of the
Tarquines: and after he was maried he begat II. sons, one of
them was this Lucumo, and the other was called Aruns. Lucumo was
heire to his father, for that Aruns died before leauing his wife
gret with child, the father not knowing that his daughter in law
was with child, gaue nothing in his wil to his nephew: for which
cause the child was called Aruns Egerius{.} Lucumo being the
sole heire of his father, maried a noble woman named Tanaquil,
and bicause the Thuscans could not abide to see a straunger grow
to abundance of welth and authoritie, shee despised hir owne
countrey rather than she would suffer her husband in any wise to
be dishonoured. Wherfore she deuysed to forsake the Tarquinians
and to dwel at Rome, where she thoughte among that honourable
sorte and new erected state that her husband beyng stout and
valiant should attayne some place of resiaunce. For she shall be
called to remembrance that Tatius the Sabine, Numa borne of the
stocke of Curetes and Ancus, broughte forthe by a Sabine woman
all straungers, did rayne and became noble and mightye. Thus
ambicion and desire of honoure easily doth perswade any deuyse:
wherfore carying with them all their substance they repaired to
Rome. It chaunced when they came to Ianiculum, as he and his
wife were sitting in a Wagon, an Eagle hooueringe hir wings ouer
Lucumo, sodenly toke away his Cappe, which don she soared ouer
the Wagon with great force, then she retourned againe, as though
he had bene commaunded by some Celestyall prouidence, and aptly
placed his cappe againe vpon his head, and then soared away vp
into the element. Tanaquil conceiuing this act to be some
Augurie or Prophecie, being cunning in that knowledg
(as commonly all the people of Hetruria be) imbraced hir husband
and willed him to be of good cheere and to expect great honour.
And as they were ymagining and consulting vpon these euentes,
they entred the City, and when they had gotten a house for him
and his family, he was called Tarquinius Priscus. His riches and
great welth made him a noble man amonges the Romanes, and
through his gentle entertainment and curteous behauioure, he
wanne the good willes of many, in so much as his fame and good
reporte was bruted through out the pallace. At length he grew in
acquaintance with the king him selfe, who seeing his liberall
demeanor and duetifull seruice, esteemed him as one of his
familiar and nere frends, and both in his warres and also at
home he imparted to him the secrets of his counsell, and hauing
good experience of his wisedom, by his laste will and testament
appointed him to be tutor of his children. Ancus raigned XXIIII.
yeres, a man in peace and Warre, in pollicy and valiance with
any of his predecessours comparable: his children were very
yong, and for that cause Tarquinius was more instant to summon a
parliament for creation of a kyng. When the day was come he
sente the young children abroade a huntyng, and then ambiciously
presumed to demaunde the kyngdome, beinge the first that euer
attempted the like. For the better conciliation and obteynyng of
the peoples good will, hee vttered his oration: “I do not
presume to require a straunge or newe thynge: that was neuer
before put in practyse, nor yet am the first, but the third
stranger and foraine borne that affected and aspired this
gouernment: for which consideration there is no cause why any
man ought to muse or maruell more than behoueth. It is euidently
knowen that Tatius, not onely being a stranger but also an
ennemy, was made king. Numa also was made king, being altogether
a Forraine and Stranger borne, not through his owne request, but
rather voluntarily accited and called thereunto by the Romaynes:
but for my parte, after I was able to gouerne my selfe,
I repayred to dwell at Rome with my Wyfe, my Children, and all
my substance, where I haue spent the chiefest portion of my
lyfe, specially after it was mature and able to execute ciuile
magistery, which I chose rather to bestowe at Rome than at home
in myne owne country. I haue learned the Romane rites and lawes,
aswell sutch as be meete to serue abroade in the warres, as also
necessary to be practised at hoame, at the handes of mine olde
maister Ancus Martius your late king, a mayster right worthy and
famous in all poynctes to bee followed: I shewed myselfe an
humble and obedient subiect to the kyng and in frendship and
familiarity toward others, I contended with the kyng himselfe.”
When he had spoken those woordes, which in deede were very true,
wyth the whole consent of the people he was saluted kynge: and
as all thynges succeeded his Noble request, euen so after hee
was settled in hys kyngdome, hee gaue himselfe to amplifie the
common wealth: he chose an hundred graue persons, whych he
called the Fathers of the lesser Countryes. He warred first with
the Latines, and wan the Citty of Appiolas, who bryngyng from
thence a greater spoyle and booty than was looked for, ordayned
richer and more gorgeous Playes than any of hys predecessours:
hee buylded certayne Galleries and other places of assembly
aboute the Forum, hee walled the City round about wyth Stone:
and as he was doing these things, the Sabines interuented him
vpon the sodayne, in so much as they were passed the Ryuer of
Anienes before the Romane hoste was in a readynesse: whych was
an occasion of great feare and styrre at Rome. In the ende after
the battayles were ioyned betweene them both, a cruell and
blouddy slaughter was commytted, the victorye falling to neyther
parte. Then the Romanes sought meanes to renue theyr force, by
addyng to theyr armye a further bande of horsemen. Wherefore
Tarquinius sent to the Rammenses, Titienses, Luceres: to the
bandes that Romulus had conscribed, hee added other new troupes
of horsemen, purposing that the same should contynue in memorye
of him after hys death: and bicause Romulus dyd the same without
aduyse of the Southsayers, one Accius Nauius, the notablest
Prophecier in those Dayes, wythstode that constitutyon,
affyrmyng that it was not lawfull for him eyther to appoynt a
newe order or to alter the olde, except the byrdes and auguries
did assent thereunto: wherewith the kynge was displeased and
deluding that Scyence, said: “Go to M. Southsayer: tell me now”
(quod he) “is it possible to bring that to passe which I haue
now conceiued in my mynd?” “Yea,” quod the Southsayer, “if you
tel me what it is.” “Then” quod Tarquinius, “I haue deuised that
thou shalte pare thine owne skin with a raser: therfore take
thys knyfe and doe as thy byrdes doe portend and signifie.” And
as it was reported he pared his owne Skin in deede: in memory
whereof an Image of Accius was erected, with his Head couered:
after that tyme there was nothing attempted without those
auguries. Notwithstandyng, Tarquinius proceeded in hys
constytutyon, and added to the Centurias an other number, for
that 1800 horsemen wer conteyned in the three Centuriæ: the
latter addytion was called also by the same name, whych
afterward were doubled into VI. Centurias. When hys Numbre was
thus increased, once again he ioyned battell wyth the Sabines,
who by a notable pollicy recouered a great victory: and bicause
the Sabines doubled a fresh onset without any order of battell
or good aduysement, they were ouerthrowen, and then constrained
to make petition for peace: the City of Collatia, and the
Country confining vpon the same, was taken from the Sabines. The
Sabine warres beinge in this sorte ended, Tarquinius in
tryumphaunt maner retourned to Rome. At that time a prodyge and
myraculous wonder chaunced to bee seene in the Palace. The head
of a Chyld whose name was Seruius Tullius lying a slepe in the
palace, was seene to burn. The kyng was brought to see that
myracle: and as one of his seruaunts was going to fetch water to
quench the fire, he was stayed by the Queene, who commaunded
that the child should not once be touched vntyll he awaked of
hymselfe: and so soone as hee rose from sleepe, the fire
vanyshed: then she tooke hir husbande aside, and sayd: “Doe you
see this Chyld whom we haue very basely and negligently brought
vp? I assure you sir (sayd she) he wil be the onely safeguard
and defender of this our doubtfull state, and will be the
preseruer of our household when it is afflycted: wherefore let
vs make much of him, that is lyke to be the ornament and a
worthy stay to all our famyly.” After that they had accompted
him amongs the Number of theyr Chyldren, and traded him vp in
those Arts, which excyte all good dispositions to aspyre vnto
houour, the pleasure of the Gods appeared in shorte tyme: for
the child grew to a royall behauior, in so much, as among all
the Romane youth there was none more mete to mary the daughter
of Tarquinius. This Seruius Tullius, was the sonne of one
Seruius Tullius that was a Captaine of a towne called
Corniculum, at the apprehension whereof, it chaunced that the
sayd Tullius the father was slayne, leauing his wife great with
child: the mother being a captiue and bondwoman was delyuered of
hir Child at Rome, in the house of Priscus Tarquinius. After
Tarquinius had raigned 38 yeres, the yong man began to grow to
great honor and estimation, aswell with the kinge himselfe, as
also with the Fathers. Then the Romanes conceiued a hateful
indignation against the king, for that he being put in trust to
be the tutor and gouernour of Ancus children, displaced them
from theyr ryght inheritance, and specially for that he himself
was a stranger, fearyng also that the kingdome should not return
again to the election of themselues, but degenerat and grow into
seruile bondage. They also caled to remembrance, that the city
continued one hundred yeres after the sublation of Romulus, an
intier kingdome within one city, and that it was a shame for
them to suffer a bondeman, borne of seruile kind, to possesse
the same, and would redounde to their perpetuall ignominie,
hauing the progenie of Ancus aliue, to suffer the same to be
open to strangers, and bondmen: wherefore they determined to
defend the griefe of that iniury, and to be reuenged rather vpon
Tarquinius, than upon Seruius. In fine, they committed the
execution of that fact to two shepherds chosen out for that
purpose: who deuised this pollicy: before the entry into the
Palace they fell togyther by the eares, vpon whych fray al the
kinge’s officers assembled and repaired thither to know the
cause of theyr falling out, when they were parted, they appealed
to the king, with such exclamation as they were heard to the
Palace: beyng called before the king, both of them fell to
brauling, and one of them striued of purpose to hinder the tale
of the other. The king’s sergeant rebuked them, commaunding them
to tel theyr tales in order: when they were a lyttle quieted,
one of them beginneth to discourse the tale. And as the king was
attentife to heare the plaintif, the other tooke vp a hatchet
and threw it at the kyng, and leauing thee weapon stickinge in
the wound, they conueyed theymselues out of the dores. Those
that wayted vpon the kynge, made hast to releeue him, and the
Sergeantes followed to apprehend the malefactors. Wyth that a
hurly burly rose amongs the people, euery man maruellinge what
the matter shoulde be. Tanaquil commaunded the Palace Gates to
be shut, and seeketh remedy to cure her husband, as though some
hope fayled of his recouery, she called Seruius before her
(whych maried her daughter) and shewed vnto him her dead
husband, holdinge him fast by the right hande, shee intreated
hym that he would not suffer the death of his father in the law
to be vnreuenged, to the intent he might not be ridiculous to
the traytours, saying to him further these wordes: “If thou bee
a man of thy handes (O Seruius) the kyngdome is thyne and not
theirs, which thus cruelly by the handes of other haue committed
thys abhominable fact: wherefore put forth thy self, and the
Gods be thy guide: for they did portend this noble head to be
the gouernour of this city, at such tyme as they circumfused the
same with a fire descending from aboue. Let that heauenly flame
excite thy courage: be throughly awaked: we beyng straungers
sometimes haue raigned. Thinke and consider what thou art, and
not from whence thou camest: if the strangenesse of the case do
affray the, my counsel from time to time shall relieue thee.”
The cry and stirre of the people being vnmesurable, that one
could scarse heare an other, Tanaquil opened the windowes that
had their prospect to the new way (for the king dwelt at the
temple of Iupitor Stator) and then spake to them in thys wyse:
“Be of good cheere (good people) the king is but amazed with the
sodainesse of the stroke, the wound is not very deepe, for euen
nowe he is come agayne to hym selfe, and the wounde being opened
and dressed there is good hope of life: I trust within these
fewe dayes you shall see hym: in the meane time, I pray you to
shewe your obedyence to Seruius Tullius, who is appointed to
execute the lawes, and to doe all other affayres in the absence
of my husbande.” Seruius occupyinge the state and authoritye of
the kyng, executed the lawes in some cases, and in other some
made the people beleue that he would consult with the king him
selfe. The death of the king was concealed and kept close a
certaine space til such tyme as Seruius had gathered his force
about him. After the death of the kynge was disclosed, Seruius
beinge garded with a strong garrison, toke vpon him to be king,
not by the consente of the people, but by the will of the
Fathers. The children of Ancus vnderstanding that the kyng was
aliue, and that Seruius power and force was greate, conveyed
themselues in exile to Suessa Pometia: and leaste the children
of Tarquinius should attempte lyke enterpryse against him, as
the children of Ancus did agaynst Tarquinius, hee maryed II. of
his daughters to Lucius and Aruns the chyldren of Tarquinius.
But yet the deuise of man could not breake the necessity of fate
and constellatyon, for the hatred conceiued in desire of
ambicious gouernment, made all thyngs vnstable and vnfaythfull
amongs domestical frends: but yet to quyet and pacyfye the
present tyme, warre was renued with the Veientes, and other
Cytyes of Hetruria: wherein the Fortune and valiance of Tullius
excelled: for when he had given an ouerthrow to the ennimy,
least the people’s and fathers good wil should be withdrawne, he
retourned to Rome: who then attempted and broughte to passe a
notable worke in the common wealth. He instituted a certaine
yerely taxe and reuenew, to satisfie and discharge all charges
susteined in the time of peace and warre, with sundry other
notable lawes and deuises for the defence of the publique state.
After that he had mustered the whole numbre of the Citizens in
the field called Martius, the same amounted to LXXX.M. and as
Fabius Pictor saith, there were so many that were able to beare
armure. Then the hilles Quirinalis, Viminalis and Exquiliæ, were
added to the Citye. He compassed the town round about wyth a
vamure, enuironyng the same with a double trench. He deuyded the
Romanes into V. bandes called Classes, and into Centurias, whych
bee bandes of an hundred men. He also builded a temple to Diana,
with the helpe and assistance of the Latine people. Amongs the
Sabines there chaunced an Oxe in the House of an Husbande Man to
bee broughte forth, of an huge bignesse and maruellous shape
(the hornes whereof were placed at the porche of Diana’s temple
for a monument long time after.) The Southsayers prophecie that
where the same Oxe shoulde be first sacrificed to Diana, there
the Chyefe empire and principall gouernement should remaine:
which prophecie came to the knowledge of the Chyefe minister of
Diana hir Temple. One of the Sabin’s expecting for a day mete to
be employed in that sacrifice, brought the sayde Oxe to Rome to
the Temple of Diana, placing the same before the altar. The
chiefe Minister calling to remembrance the oracle, and saw that
the greatnesse of that sacrifice should be famous, spake to the
Sabine these wordes: “What dost thou meane (thou impure
Straunger) to prepare sacrifice to Diana, before thou bee
purified and clensed in the lyuelye Riuer of Tiber? Here belowe
in this valley the sayde riuer doth runne: go get the hence and
wash the.” The Sabine attached with a religious feare, goeth
downe to the Riuer, and while he is washing himselfe a Romane
doth offer the Sacrifice, which was right acceptable both to the
kyng and his country. The king althoughe that of longe tyme he
had raigned, yet vnderstoode that the elder Tarquinius which was
maried to one of his daughters, did bragg and report eftsones
that his father in law obteined the gouernment and kingdom
without the consent of the people: wherfore the king through his
lyberalyty by dyuyding the conquest atchyeued of the Ennymye
amongs the common people, conciliated theyr fauor and good wils:
in so much as he affirmed that he would raign in despite of them
all, and that there was no king at any tyme that raigned with a
more generall consent: all whych did nothing diminish the hope
and desire of Tarquinius. He had a Brother whose name was Aruns,
being of a quiet and gentle disposition. Both they married two
of the king’s daughters, which were of manners and conditions
very vnlike. The yonger daughter being the wife of Aruns, the
sharper shrewe, and fiercer of nature, seeing that hir husbande
was nothing giuen or plyant to match with hir vngracious deuice
or ambicious stomack, attempted hir brother, whose condicion was
correspondent to hirs, and sayd vnto him, that he was a Man in
deede, and one worthy to be accompted to be borne and proceede
of the bloud Royall. Then she began to contemne hir sister, for
that she hauing such a man to hir husbande, would suffer him to
neglect so meete and iust occasion for recouery of the kingdom.
Their natures being of one disposition, as commonly one
myschyefe procureth an other, al things began to be disquieted
throughe the attempt of that vngracious woman. To be shorte,
they two deuysed meanes, that Aruns hys Brother, and the Elder
Tullia hir sister were slain: which done, they two maried
together. The wicked woman ceased not daylye to animate and
prouoke hir husbande from one parricide to an other. And amongs
all hir wicked talke and cruel instigations, she vsed these
words: “If thou be that man vnto whom I thinke I am maryed, then
I wil call the both husband and king: but if thou bee not hee,
then the alteratyon is chaunged to the worse, and cruelty is
matched with cowardise. But why doest thou not put thy selfe in
a readinesse? Why thou commest not nowe from Corinthe, or from
the Hetrurian Tarquines, to atchieue and conquere newe kingdoms
as thy father did. The familiar Gods and the Gods of thy
countrey, the nobility of thy father, and thy royal bloud, thy
stately seate within thine own house, and thy name Tarquinius,
do create and make kyng. But if in al these occasions thou dost
wante stomacke, why dost thou make the whole Citye conceyue a
false opinion of thee? Why dost thou not shewe thyselfe to be
the sonne of a king? Auoide hence I say, and go to the
Tarquinians, or to Corinth, retire again to thy firste lynage:
thou dost rather resemble thy brother’s effeminate hart, than
the valiant stomacke of thy father.” With these wordes and sutch
like, she pricked forward hir husbande, and she hir self could
in no wise bee quiet. Then Tarquinius went forth to the fathers
of the lesser countries, and called to theyr remembraunce the
benefites vnto them by hys father extended, desiring the like to
bee shewed and rendered vnto hym, he allured the yonger sort of
the City by giftes and other lyberall rewardes, promising them
if he atteined his purpose, more frankly to recompence them. By
this meanes the king became odious and offensiue to the people.
Tarquinius seeing his time, guarded with a bande of Men, entred
the market place, wherewith the common people were greatly
abashed, then he mounted into the palace, and placed himselfe in
the royal seate of the same, causinge the Fathers to be cited
before hym by the haraulde, vnto whom he repeted the petigree of
Seruius, and his first entrance into the kingdom. As he was
speaking these wordes, Seruius in great haste repayred to the
Palace, and findyng Tarquinius sitting in his place, sayd to him
these wordes: “Why? what is the matter Tarquinius (quod he?)
Howe darest thou be so bolde so long as I am liuing to call the
Fathers, or yet presume to sit in my seat?” Wherunto Tarquinius
fiercely replyed: “That hee possessed but the roume of his
father, which was more mete for a king’s sonne and heyre, than
for suche a bondeman as hee was, and that hee had long enough
abused his lordes and maisters.” Wherwithal a great hurly burly
and tumult began to rise by the fautors of both parts, so that
he was like to attaine the Garland, which best could daunce for
it. Tarquinius forced to giue the laste aduenture, beynge more
lusty and stronger than the other, tooke Seruius by the myddle,
and caryinge hym oute of the Courte, threwe hym downe the
Staires, whyche done, hee caused the Senate to retourne into the
Palace. Then the kynge wyth all hys trayne of Offycers, and
other hys seruaunts ranne away, and as they were flying, hee was
slayne by those that Tarquinius sent after to pursue hym, in the
streete called Cyprius. Tullia vnderstandyng that Seruius hyr
father was slayne, she bashed not in hir Wagon to come into the
market place before all the assemblye there, called hir husband
out of the Court, and boldly was the first that called him king.
But being rebuked and commaunded by him to auoid out of that
greate throng of people, she retired home agayn, and when she
was paste the vpper ende of the said strete called Cyprius, the
wagoner dryuing toward the right hand to the Hill called
Exquiliæ, hee stayed the Wagon, and shewed his Ladye the bodye
of hyr Father, lyinge starke dead in the streete. In memory of
which shamefull and vnnatural fact, long tyme after ther
contynued a Monument: for the same strete was called Vicus
Sceleratus. Some report that she caused the wagon to be dryuen
ouer the dead corps of hir father, wyth the bloud of whom and
hir husband, hir wagon being contaminated, she presented the
same to hir Gods: after which abhominable beginnings, like end
ensued. This Seruius Tullius raigned XLIIII. yeres. Then
Tarquinius began to raigne, vnto whom Superbus was added for his
surname: this wicked sonne in law would not suffer the dead body
of Seruius to be buried. His conscience being pricked with the
abhominable gaine of hys kyngdom, fearying also least other
might conceiue like example, he guarded his person with a band
of armed men, executing all thinges wyth force and tyranny,
contrary to the aduyse and consents of the Senate and people. He
caused the fautors and frendes of Seruius to be put to death,
whereby the numbre of the Fathers was diminished, whose places
he suffred none other to supply, of purpose to bring that
honourable order to contempt. He gouerned the common welth by
his own domestical and priuate Counsel: War, peace, truce,
society of the Cyties adioining, he vsed as he list, without any
further assent. The Latines he specially regarded, to the intent
that through forreine aide hee might raign in more surety at
home, with the chief of which country he ioyned affinity. One
Octauius Manilius, a Tusculan born, was the prince and chief
ruler of that country, descending from the stock of Vlisses, and
the Goddesse Circes, if the same be true, vnto whom Tarquinius
gaue his daughter in mariage: by reason wherof he conciliated
great alliance and frendes. Tarquinius beinge of great authority
among the Latines, appointed them vppon a day to assemble at a
woode called Ferentina, there to intreat of matters concerninge
both the states. To which place the Latines repaired vpon the
breake of the day, but Tarquinius came not thither till the
Sunne was set. During whych time many things were in talke.
There was one amonges them called Turnus Herdonius, whych in
Tarquinius absence had inueyed vehemently agaynst hym,
affirminge that it was no maruell though he was called Superbus
by the Romanes. For what prouder mock could be inforced to the
Latines, than to make them wayt a whole day for his pleasure.
“Dyuers Princes and Noblemen (quod he) that dwel far of, be come
according to the appointment, and he which first allotted the
day, is not present. Heereby it most euidently appeareth in what
sort he will vse vs if he myghte once attayne the soueraynty.
And who doubteth in thys so manyfest apparance, but that he went
about to affect the Dominion of the Latines? If the Romanes haue
had iust cause to beleeue him, and if their Kyngdome had ben but
gotten and not violently rapt and stolne by parricide, then the
Latines mighte also beleeue hym, who being but a straunger to
them, had no great cause to beleeue hym. Hys owne subiects do
repent the time that euer he bare rule: For some be slayne and
heaped vpon the dead bodies of other, some be banished, some
haue lost their goods: what other frutes than these maye the
Latine people expecte and look for? Therefore if they would be
ruled, he required euery man to returne home to his own house,
and geue no more attendaunce for the day of Counsel, than he
doth which first appoincted the same.” These wordes and sutch
like, this sedicious and desperat man declared: Whose talke
Tarquinius interuented, and vpon his comming euery man conuerted
him selfe to salute him. Then Tarquinius began to excuse his
long tariaunce, for that he was appoynted an arbitrator betwene
the father and the sonne, for whose reconciliation he was forced
to stay that longe space, and to spend the time of that day.
Wherefore he appoynted the next day. The conceit of which excuse
Turnus could not kepe secret, but sayd: that a matter betwene
the father and the sonne might be ended in few wordes: for if
the childe would not be obedient to his father, some mischyef
must needes lyght vppon him. Tarquinius vnderstanding these
inuections made againste hym by Turnus, immediatly deuyseth
meanes to kil him, to the intent he myght inculcate like terror
to the Latines, that he did to his owne subiects. And bicause he
was not able to sort his purpose to effect by secrete malice, he
attempted to accuse him of Treason, and suborned (by means of
diuers of the Citty of Aricia) his owne man whom with gold he
had corrupted to bring in a forged accusation, whych was that
his maister had prepared in one night a number of men with
Munition and weapon to distroy the Nobility of the Latines, of
purpose to recouer the principalitye of the same. This matter
began to be suspicious, by reason of the Tumult made the day
beefore against Tarquinius, and therefore the people the soner
did credit the case. In fine, Turnus was condempned, and
therefore a new kind of death deuised for him. Who being laide
vpon a Hurdle his face vpward, was throwen into the water of
Ferrentina. This execution being done Tarquinius reuoked the
Latines to Counsel, wherein he praised them for their Iustice
extended vpon Turnus, and then spake these wordes: “I may by an
old order and constitution iustlye say thus mutch vnto you. The
whole nation of the Latines descending from the City of Alba are
bounde to obserue that truce which the Albanes wyth all their
colonies annexing themselues to the Romane Empyre in the tyme of
Tullius Hostilius, were firmely obliged to accomplishe. The
renouation whereof will nowe conduce more aduauntage and vtylity
to them al, than euer it did beefore. For throughe this Truce
the Latines shall possede and participate parte of the
prosperous successe of the Romane people. Better it were in this
sort to ioyne themselues togither, than to see Destruction of
either Cities, Depopulacions and spoiles of their countries,
whych in the time of Ancus (my father then raygnyng) he
suffered. The like also (if you do forsake this offer) ye may
styll expecte and suffer.” The Latines herevnto were soone
perswaded, a Day was appointed when the lustiest sorte of theyr
Countrie should be ready armed at the wood called Ferrentina.
Being ioyned in order of battel, they marched towardes the
Volsciens, and wanne the Citye of Suessa Pometia, the spoile
wherof Tarquinius solde for XL. Talents, imploying the same vpon
the Temple of Iupiter. Afterwards he assaulted the Gabinians,
and when he saw he coulde not by force obteyne the same, he
surmised a pollicy. Who seeming to bend him self wholy vpon the
building of the Capitole and to set aside the affaires of his
warres, deuised with his sonne Sextus, which was the youngest of
the three, that he should runne to the Gabinians, and complayne
of his father’s intollerable crueltye, whych accordingly he did.
Who shewinge hymselfe as a voluntarye exyle, sayd that hys
father had conuerted hys tyrannye from other, and began to
execute the same vpon his owne freendes, and that he was also
weary of the presence of his owne chyldren going about to remoue
hys domesticall conuersants oute of hys house, as he had done
the like out of the Court, to the intent hee would leaue no
ofspring or heyre behinde him to possesse his kingdome: adding
further, that he was escaped euen through the midde of his
father’s weapons and fury, thincking no place better for his
safegarde and refuge, than to seeke succour amongs his ennimies.
“And bicause (quod he) ye shall not be deceiued, he is euen now
preparing of warres against you, and purposeth vpon the sodaine
to set vpon you. Now if there be no place of abode for me your
humble suppliant amongs you, I must needes wander through Italy,
and first I will attempt the Volscians, afterwardes the Æquians
and Hernicians, tyll sutch tyme as I finde some Nation willing
to defend the poore Chylde from the cruell and wicked furye of
the Father: and perchaunce (quod he) ye shall wynne hym that may
bee an Instrument and courage vnto you all, to represse that
proude kyng and cruell Natyon.” The Gabinians delyberating what
was best to be done in this case, the young man seemed as though
he were offended, and would in al hast depart, and seeke refuge
of others, then they curteously interteined him: thys yong man
was had in great estimation amongs them, throughe craftye and
vaine persuasions, makyng them belieue that he would conduct
their army euen vnder the walles of Rome, with sundry other
fained instigations to brynge him self the more in credit. At
length he was chosen captain of theyr warres, and recouered
sundry victories for the Gabinians: whereby the foolishe Nation
both of the lower and chiefest sort, beleeued that their
captayne was sent vnto them by the prouidence of the Gods. He
susteined perill and payne in like sort as the common Souldier
did, liberally deuidinge his spoiles and booties amongs them. He
was so well beloued, that hys father Tarquinius at Rome was of
no greater authority than hee was among the Gabinians. When he
thought that he had recouered force enough to answer his
father’s expectation, he sent a post to Rome to know his
father’s pleasure, although the gods had giuen him sufficient
authority amongs the Gabinians. And bycause Tarquinius was
doubtful of the trust and fidelity of the messenger, hee would
aunswer nothing by worde of mouth, but carying the messenger
into a garden, hard adioyning his house, with a wand which he
caried in his hand, he cut of the heads of the highest Poppies
that grew in the garden, meanyng therby that he shoulde
dispatche the heads of the chiefest and principal in the City.
Whervpon the messanger without answere by mouth returned. But by
declaryng those signes and circumstances which his father vsed
in the garden Sextus conceiued his meaning. Then like a naturall
sonne, following the steppes of his father, he cut of the heads
of the Gabinian nobility, wherupon som ran away, vpon whose
departure the goods as wel of them as of other that were put to
death were deuided. The state of the Gabinians being in this
doubtful case, void of al counsell and succour, at length was
surrendred to the Romanes. Then Tarquinius concluded peace with
the Æquians, and renued a truce with the Thuscanes and wholly
bent him self to the affayres of the City. This Tarquinius was
the father of him that rauished the noble Lady Lucretia: the
lamentable history whereof, is recited in my former Tome, by the
end of which stock, remembred in that history, and begining of
the same described in this Nouell, may be gathered, what
fruyctes Ambytyon and lothsome luste bryng forth. For Tarquinius
Priscus repairing out of Hetruria, to dwell at Rome, by the
ambycyous wyll of hys wyfe aspired and atchyeued the kyngdome,
whych was by the sundry deuyce of Tullia, the daughter of
Seruius Tullius mainteyned, and by the libidinous desire of
Sextus Tarquinius, the sonne of Superbus the 6 Romane kynge
ended, and the whole race expelled and euerlastingly banished
out of that Citty. So meete an example for those that breath,
and longe after the Rightes, titles, and Kyngdomes of other, as
may bee read in any Author. For although the Springe appeare
very fresh and lusty, of some degenerate grifft planted vpon
some auncient stock, yet the fruyct most commonly in taste
eateth somwhat sower, and the Rellishe in mouth not altogether
so pleasaunt, as that whych both in soyle and stocke, is duely
planted.




THE SEUENTH NOUELL.

  _The vnhappy end and successe of the loue of King Massinissa, and
  Queene Sophonisba his wyfe._


If men would haue afore consideration of theyr owne doings,
before they do attempt the same, or els premeditate and study
the scope and successe thereof, I do verely beleeue that a
numbre would not cast themselues headlong into so many gulfs of
miseryes and calamityes as they do, specially Noblemen, and
Prynces, who oftentymes doe exceede in temerity and rashnesse,
by lettynge the Raynes of theyr own Lustes, to farre to raunge
at large, wherein they deepely Plunge thymselues to theyr great
Preiudice and Dishonour, as teacheth thys goodly hystorie
ensuinge, whych declareth that there was a Prynce called
Massinissa, the Sonne of Gala kynge of Massæzali, (a people of
Numidia): who warfaring with the Carthaginians in Spaine agaynst
the Romaynes, hauinge first fought honourably agaynst kynge
Syphax in Numidia, it chaunced that Gala hys Father dyed, vppon
whose death hys Kyngdome was inuaded and occupied by other,
wherefore sustayninge stoutly the surges of aduersity combatinge
wyth hys Enemyes, sometymes getting part of hys Kyngdome, and
sometymes losinge, and many tymes molestinge both Syphax and the
Carthaginians, was in dyuers Conflicts lyke to be taken or
slayne. Wyth these hys trauels, impacient of no payne and
trouble, he became very Famous and Renoumed, that amonges the
people of Affrica, he acquired the name and title of a valiant
and puissant Souldier, and of a pollitique and prouident
Captain: afterwards he was generally welbeloued of the
Souldiers, bicause not like the king’s sonne or a prince, but as
a priuate souldier and companion, his conuersation and vsuall
trade of life was amongs them, calling euery man by his propre
name, cherishing and esteeming them according to their desert,
obseruing neuerthelesse a certaine comelinesse of a Superiour.
This Massinissa by meanes of one Syllanus being in Spayne,
priuely entred acquaintance and familiarity with that Scipio
which afterwardes was surnamed Affricanus, and who in those
dayes with the authoritie of Proconsul in that prouince,
victoriously subdued the Carthaginians: the same Massinissa
entred league with the Romanes and inuiolably so long as he
liued obserued amity with the Romane people, and lefte the same
to his children and posteritie as an inheritance. When the
Romanes began warres in Affrica, spedily with that power he was
able to make, he repaired to his old friend Scipio: within a
whyle after Syphax beyng ouerthrowen in battell and taken,
Massinissa and Lælius were sent to surprise the chief city of
that kingdom, which sometimes were king Syphax owne, called
Cirta. In that city remayned Sophonisba, the wyfe of Syphax and
daughter to Hasdrubal of Giscon, who had alyenated hir husband
from the Romanes, being in league with them, and by hir
persuasions went to aide and defend the Carthaginians.
Sophonisba perceiuing that the ennimies were entred the City of
Cirta: and that Massinissa was going towardes the palace,
determined to meete him, to proue his gentlenesse and curtesie,
whereupon in the middes of his Souldiers thronge, whych were
already entred the Palace, she stoutly thrust, and bouldlye
looked round aboute, to proue if she could espye by some signes
and tokens the personage of Massinissa. She amongs that prease
perceeiued one for whose apparel, armure and reuerence don vnto
him, semed vnto hir that without doubt the same was the king:
and therefore incontinently kneeled downe before him, and
pitiously began to speake in this manner: “For so mutch
(O puissante prince) as felicity and good fortune, but specially
the fauour of the Gods immortall haue permitted, that thou
shouldest recouer thine auncient kingdome descended vnto the by
righte and lawfull inheritaunce, and therewithall hast taken and
vanquished thine ennimy, and now hast me at thy wyll and
pleasure to saue or spyll, I poore wretched myserable woman
brought into bondage from Queenelyke state, whilom leading a
delycate life in Princely Courte, accompanyed with a royall
traine of beautifull dames, and nowe at thy mercifull
disposition, doe humbly appeale to thy mercye and goodnesse,
whose Princely maiesty and comfortable aspect, chereth vp my
woefull heart to loke for grace, and therefore am bold thus to
presume with most humble voice to implore and crie out,
beseechyng thee to reach me hither thy victorious handes to
kisse and salute.” This Lady was a passing fayre gentlewoman, of
flourishing age and comely behauiour, none comparable vnto her
within the whole region of Affrica: and so much the more as hyr
pleasant grace by amiable gesture of complaint did increase, so
much the heart of Massinissa was delyted, who being lusty and of
youthly age (according to the nature of the Numides,) was easily
intrapped and tangled in the nettes of Loue: whose glutting eyes
were neuer ful, nor fiery hart was satisfied in beholding and
wondring at hir most excellent beauty: not foreseeing therefore,
or taking heede of the daungerous effect of beautie’s snares,
his heart being so fiercely kindled with the swingyng flames of
loue, who causing hir to rise, exorted hir to prosecute hir
supplication: then she began to procede as foloweth: “If it may
be lawfull for me thy prysoner and bondwoman (O my soueraign
lord) to make request, I humbly do beseech thee, by thy royal
maiesty, wherein no long time past my husband and I were
magnificently placed in so kynglike guise as thou art now, and
by that Numidicall name, common vnto thee and my husbande
Syphax, and by the sauinge Gods and Patrons of this City, who
with better fortune and more ioyfull successe do receyue thee
into the same, that expelled Syphax out from thence: it may
please thy sacred state, to haue pity on me. I require no hard
and difficult thinge at thy handes, vse thine imperiall
gouernement ouer me, sutch as law of armes and reason of Warre
require: cause me if thou wilt, to pyne in cruel pryson, or do
me to sutch death with torments, as thou list to vse, the sharp,
fierce and cruel death that any wight can suffre, or Perillus
Bull shall not be dreadfull vnto me, but more deare and
acceptable than wonted life in pleasures led: for no death shal
bee refused of mee, rather than to be rendred into the proud
handes of the most cruell Romanes. Rather had I tast the trust
of a natiue Numidie, borne with me in Affrike soyle, than the
faith of straungers kinde: I know full well that thou dost knowe
what curtesy a Carthaginian and daughter of Hasdrubal, shal
surely looke for at the Romanes hands: whose mind is fearfull of
nothing more than of theyr pride and glory intollerable: if thou
(my lord) haddest sisters of thine own, or daughters of thy
royal bloud brought forth think that they may chaunce
(if fortune frown) to slide into the Pit of aduerse lucke, so
well as I am nowe: of that forme Fortune’s wheele is made, whych
we dayly see to be vnstable, turninge and dyuers, that now peace
and now warre it promiseth, now euill it threatneth, now mirth,
now sorrow it bringeth, now aduauncinge aloft, now tumbling
downe the clymbers up. Let Syphax bee cleare and liuely Example
to thee, whych coulde neuer finde any stedfast stay vnder the
Moone’s Globe. He was the mightiest and the richest kinge that
raigned in Affrica, and now is the most miserable and vnlucky
wight that liueth on Land. The Gods graunt that I bee no Prophet
or Diuiner of future euill, whose omnipotency I deuoutly beseech
to suffer thee and thy posterity in Numidie land and most
happyly to raygne. Vouchsafe then to deliuer me from the Romanes
thraldome, which if thou bee not able safely to bryng to passe,
cause death (the ease of al woe) to be inflicted vpon me.” In
speaking those words, she tooke the kynge’s right hande and many
times sweetly kissed the same. And then her teares turned to
pleasant cheare, in sutch wise as not onely the mynde of the
armed and victorious Prynce was mooued to mercy, but straungely
wrapped in the amorous Nets of the Lady, whereby the victour was
subdued by the vanquyshed, and the Lord surprysed of his
Captiue, whom with tremblinge voyce thus he aunswered: “Make an
end, O Sophonisba, of thy large complaynt, abandon thy conceyued
feare, for I wil not onely ridde the from the Romayne handes,
but also take thee to my lawfull wyfe (if thou therewyth shalt
be content) whereby thou shalte not leade a prisoner’s life, but
passe thy youthfull dayes and hoarye age (if gods doe graunt thy
life so long) as Quene vnto a king, and wife vnto a Romane
frend.” When he had sayd so with weeping teares, he kissed and
imbraced hir. She by the countenaunce, Sygnes, Gestes, and
interrupted Woordes, comprehendyng the Minde of the Numide king
to be kindled with feruent loue: the more to inflame the same
beemoned her self with such heauinesse, as the beastly heartes
of the Hircane Tygres would haue bene made gentle and dispoiled
of al fiercenesse, yf they had beheld her: and againe she fel
downe at hys feete, kissinge the armed Sabbatons vppon the same,
and bedewinge them with hir warme teares. After many sobbes and
infinite sighes, comforted by him, she sayd: “O the the glorie
and honor of all the kynges that euer were, bee or shall bee
hereafter: O the safest aide of Carthage mine vnhappy countrey
without desert, and now the present and most terrible
astonishment: if my hard fortune and distresse after so great
ruine might haue bene relieued, what greater fauour, what thing
in all my life, coulde chaunce more fortunate, vnto me, than to
bee called wife of thee? O, I blessed aboue all other women to
haue a man so noble and famous to husband. O mine aduenturous
and most happy ruine. O my moste fortunate misery, that such a
glorious and incomparable mariage was prepared for me: but
bicause the Gods be so contrary vnto me, and the due ende of my
life approcheth (my deare soueraygne lorde) to kindle againe in
me, my hope half dead, or rather consumed and spent, bicause I
see myself wrapped in a state, that in vayne against the
pleasures of the Gods, I go about to molest thee: a greate gift
(and to say truthe) a right great good turne, I make accompte to
haue receiued of thee, if mine owne death I should procure by
thee, that dyinge by thy means or with thy handes, (whych were
more acceptable,) I shoulde escape the feare of the Romaynes
thral and subiection, and this soule deliuered of the same,
should streight passe into the Elysian fieldes. The final scope
of this my humble plaint, is to ryd me from the hands of the
Romanes, whose thraldom to suffer I had rather die. The other
benefit which thou dost frankly offer to me pore wretch, I dare
not desire, mutch lesse require the same, bicause the present
state of my mishap dareth not presume so high. But for this thy
pity and compassion ioined with louing regard and mind toward
me, mightye loue with al the other Gods reward and blesse thy
gotten kingdom in long raign, enlarging the same with more ample
bounds to thine eternal renoum and praise: and I do not only
render humble thanks for this thy kynd and louing enterteinment,
but also yeld my self thine own, so long as lyfe gouerneth this
caitif corps of mine.” These words wer pronounced with such
effect, as Massinissa was not able for pity to hold his teares,
which watred so his comely form, as the dew therof soaked into
his tender heart, and not able a long time to speake, at last
thus hee sayd: “Gyue ouer (O my quene) these cares and thoughts,
dry vp thy cries and plaints, make an end of all these dolorous
sutes, and reioyce, that frowarde Fortune hath changed hir mind:
the Gods no doubt with better successe, wil perfourm the rest of
thy liuing dais. Thou shalt henceforth remain my Quene and wife,
for pledg whereof the sacred Godheads I cal to witnesse. But if
perchaunce (which the thundring mighty God aboue forbid) that I
shalbe forced to render thee the Romanes prisoner, be well
assured, that on liue they shall not possesse the.” For credit
and accomplishment of this promisse, and in signe of his assured
faith, he reached his right hand to Sophonisba, and led hir into
the inner lodging of the king’s Palace, wher afterward
Massinissa with himself considering how he might perform hys
promised faith, vexed and troubled with a thousand cogitations,
seing in a maner his manifest ouerthrow and ruine at hand,
prouoked with mad and temerarious loue, the very same day in
open presence he toke hir to wife, solemnizing that mariage,
which afterwardes bred vnto hym great vexation and trouble,
meanynge by the same to haue dyscharged Sophonisba from the
Romanes rule and order. But when Lælius was come and hearde tell
thereof, hee fretted and chafed, and wyth threatnynge Wordes
commaunded Massinissa to send his new maried wife (as the booty
and pray of the Romanes) together wyth Syphax, to their captaine
Scipio. Notwithstanding, vanquished with the supplications and
teares of Massinissa, referring the matter wholy to the
iudgement of Scipio, he dispatched Syphax with the other
prisoners and bootie, to the Romane campe, and he himself
remained with Massinissa for the recouerie of other places of
the kingdome, minding not to returne before the whole prouince
were brought vnder the Romane subiection. In the meane time
Lælius gaue intelligence vnto Scipio, of the successe of
Massinissa his mariage: who knowing the same to be so hastilye
celebrated, was maruellouslye offended and troubled in Minde,
mutche maruellynge that Massinissa woulde make sutch posthast
before the comming of Lælius. Yea and vpon the very first day of
his entrie into Cirta, that hee would consummate that vnaduised
wedding: and the greater was Scipio his displeasure towards
Massinissa, for that the loue which he had conceiued of that
woman, was vnsemely and dishonest, wondering not a little that
he could not find out some Lady within the region of Spain of
semblable beauty and comlinesse, to please and content his
honest and commendable intent: wherfore he iudged Massinissa his
fact to be done out of time, to the preiudice and great decay of
his honor and estimation. Howbeit like a wise and prudent
personage he dissembled his conceiued gryefe, expecting occasion
for remedye of the same. Now the time was come that Lælius and
Massinissa were sent for to the Campe. But to declare the teares
and lamentable talke, the great mone and sighes vttered betwene
this new maried couple, time would want, and tediousnesse would
ouercome the Reader. He had scarce lyen with his beloued two or
thre Nyghts, but Lælius (to their great grief and sorow) claymed
hir to bee hys prysoner. Wherfore verye sorowfull and pensiue
hee departed, and retourned to the Campe. Scipio in honourable
wyse accepted him, and openly before his Captaines and men of
warre, gaue thanks to Lælius and him, for theyr prowesse and
notable exploites. Afterwards sending for him vnto his Tent, he
said vnto him: “I do suppose (my dere frend Massinissa) that the
vertue and beneuolence which you saw in me did first of all
prouoke you, to transfrete the straits, to visite me in Spaine,
wherein the good will of my valiaunt frend Syllanus did not a
little auaile, to sollicite and procure amity betwene vs. And
the same afterwards inducing your constant minde, to retire into
Affrica, committed both your selfe and all your goods into my
hands and keeping. But I well pondering the quality of that
vertue whych moued you thereunto, you beinge of Affrica, and I
of Europa, you a Numidian borne, and I a Latine and Romane, of
diuers customes and language different, thought that the
temperance and abstinence from venerial pleasures which you haue
sene to bee in me, and experience therof wel tried and proued,
(for the which I render vnto the immortal Gods most humble
thankes) would or ought to haue moued you to follow mine
example, being vertues which aboue all other I doe most esteme
and cherish. For he that well marketh the rare giftes and
excellent benefits wherwith dame Nature hath arraied you, would
thinke that ther should be no lacke of diligence and trauell to
subdue and ouercome the carnall appetytes of temporal beauty:
which had it bene applied to the rare giftes of nature planted
in you, had made you a personage to the posterity very famous
and renoumed. Consider wel my present time of youth, full of
courage and youthly lust, which contrary to that naturall race I
stay and prohibite. No delicate beauty, no voluptuous
delectation, no feminine flattery, can intice my youth and state
to the perils and daungers whereunto that heedelesse age is most
prone and subiect. By which prohibition of amorous passions,
temperatly raigned and gouerned, the tamer and subduer of those
passions, closing his breast from lasciuious imaginations, and
stopping his eares from the Syrenes, and Marmaydes, of that sexe
and kinde, getteth greater glorye and fame, than wee haue gotten
by our victory agaynst Syphax. Hanniball the greatest ennimy
that euer we Romanes felt, the stoutest gentleman and captain
without peere, through the delites and imbracements of women
effeminated, is no more the manlike and notable emperor that hee
was wont to be. The great exploits and enterprises which
valyantly you haue done in Numidia, when I was farre from you,
your care, readinesse, animosity, your strength and valor, your
expedition and bold attemptes, with all the reste of your noble
vertues worthy of immortal praise, I might and could
perticulerly recite, but to commend and extol them my heart and
minde shall neuer be satisfied, by renouacion wherof I should
rather giue occasion of blushing, than my selfe could be
contented to let them sleepe in silence. Syphax as you know is
taken prisoner by the valyance of our men of warre, by reason
whereof, him selfe, his wife, his kingdome, hys campe, landes,
cities, and inhabitants, and briefly all that which was king
Syphax, is the pray and spoile to the Romane people, and the
king and his wife, albeit she was no Citizen of Carthage, and
hir father, although no captayn of our ennimies, yet we muste
send them to Rome, there to leaue them at the pleasure and
disposition of the Romane Senate and people. Doe you not know
that Sophonisba with her toyes and flatteries did alienat and
withdraw king Syphax from our amitie and friendship, and made
hym to enter force of armes against vs? Be you ignoraunt that
she, full of rancor and malice aganyst the Romane people,
endeuoured to set al Affrica against vs, and now by her fayre
inticementes hath gayned and wonne you, not I say our ennemy,
but an ennymy so farre as shee can, with her cruell
Inchauntments? What Damage and hurt haue lyghted vppon dyuers
Monarches and Prynces through sugred Lippes and Venemous
Woordes, I wyll not spend tyme to recite. With that prouocations
and coniured charmes shee hath already bewitched your good
nature, I wyl not now imagine, but referre the same to the deepe
consideration of youre wisdome. Wherefore Massinissa, as you
haue bene a Conquerer ouer great nations and prouinces, be now a
conquerer of your own mind and appetites, the victorie whereof
deserueth greater prayse than the conquest of the whole world.
Take heede I say, that you blot not your good qualities and
conditions, with the spots of dishonor and pusillanimitye.
Obscure not that fame which hitherto is aduaunced aboue the
Regyon of the glytterynge Starres. Let not thys vyce of Femynine
Flatterye spoyle the desertes of Noble Chyualrye, and vtterly
deface those merytes with greater ignomynie than the cause of
that offence is worthye of disprayse.” Massinissa hearynge these
egree and sharpe rebukes, not onely blushed for Shame, but
bytterly Weepinge, sayde: that hys poore prisoner and wyfe was
at the commaundement of Scipio. Notwithstanding, so instantly as
Teares coulde suffer hym to speak, he besoughte hym, that if it
were possible, hee woulde gyue him leaue to obserue hys faythe
foolishlye assured, bicause hee had made an othe to Sophonisba
that with life shee shoulde not bee delyuered to the Handes of
the Romanes. And after other talke betweene them, Massinissa
retired to hys pauylyon, where alone wyth manifolde sighes, and
most bytter teares and plaintes, vttered wyth sutch houlinges
and outcryes, as they were hearde by those whych stoode neare
hande, hee rested al the daye bewailynge hys presente state: the
most part of the nyghte also hee spent with lyke heauynesse, and
debating in hys mind vpon diuers thoughts and deuises, more
confused and amazed than before, hee could by no meanes take
rest: somtimes he thought to flee and passe the straights
commonly called the Pillers of Hercules, from thence to saile to
the Fortunate Islandes with his wife: then agayne hee thoughte
with hir to escape to Carthage, and in ayde of that City to
serue agaynst the Romanes, somtimes hee proposed by sworde,
poyson, halter, or som such meanes to end his life and finish
his dolorous days. Many times hee was at pointe by prepared
knife and sworde to pierce his heart, and yet stayed the same,
not for feare of death, but for preseruation of his fame and
honor. Thus thys wretched and miserable louer burned and
consumed in loue: tossing and tumbling him selfe vppon his
bedde, not able to find comfort to ease his payne, thus began to
say: “O Sophonisba, my deare beloued wyfe, O the life and
comfort of my life, O the deynty repast of my ioy and quiet,
what shall become of vs? Alas and out alas I crye, that I shall
see no more thine incomparable beauty, thy surpassyng comely
face, those golden lockes, those glistering eyes which a
thousand times haue darkned and obscured the rayes and beames of
the Sunne it self: Alas I say, that I can no longer be suffred
to heare the pleasaunt harmonye of thy voice whose sweetenesse
is able to force Iupiter himselfe to mitigate his rage when with
lightning Thunderbolts and stormie claps in his greatest furie
he meaneth to plague the earth. Ah that it is not lawfull any
more for me to throw these vnhappy armes about thy tender neck,
whose whitenesse of face entermingled with semely rudds,
excelleth the Morning Roses, which by sweete nightly dewes doe
sproute and budde. The Gods graunt that I doe not long remaine
on liue without thy sweete haunt and company, which can no
longer draw forth this breathing ghoste of myne, than can a
Bodye lyue wythoute like Breathe in it. Graunt (O Myghty
Iupiter) that one graue may close vs twaine to liue among the
ghostes and shadowes that be already past this world for like
right louing fitts, if intent of life be ment to mee without thy
fellowship and delectable presence. And who (O good God) shal be
more blisful amongs the Elysian fields, wandryng amids the
spirites and ghostes of departed soules, than I, if there we two
may iette and stalke amonge the shadowed friths and forests
huge, besette with Mirtle trees, odoriferous and sweete? that
there we may at large recount and sing the sweete and sower
pangs of those our passed loues without anye stay or let at all:
that there I say we may remembre things already done, reioycing
for delights and sighing for the paines. There shall no harde
hearted Scipio bee found, there shal no marble minded captain
rest, which haue not had regard of Loue’s toyes, ne yet haue
pitied bitter payns, by hauing no experience what is the force
of loue. He then with ouer cruell wordes shall not goe aboute to
persuade me to forsake thee, or to deliuer thee into the Romanes
handes, to incurre miserable and most cruell bondage: he shal
there neuer checke me for the feruent loue I beare thee: we shal
there abide without suspition of him or any other: they can not
seperate vs, they be not able to deuide our sweetest companye.
I would the Gods aboue had graunted me the benefite, that hee
had neuer arriued into Affrica, but had still remayned in
Sicilia, in Italy or Spayne. But what stand I vpon these termes,
O I fole and beast? what meanes my drousie head to dreame sutch
fansies? if he hadde not passed ouer into Affrica, and made war
against kinge Syphax, how should I haue euer seene my faire
Sophonisba, whose beauty farre surmounteth eche other wight,
whose comelines is withoute peere, whose grace inspeakable,
whose maners rare and incomparable, and whose other qualities
generally disparcled throughoute dame Nature’s mould by speach
of man can not bee described? If Scipio had not transfraited the
seas to arriue in Affrike soile, how should I, (O onely hope and
last refuge of my desires) haue knowen thee, neither should I
haue bene thy feere, ne yet my wife thou shouldest haue ben, but
great had ben thy gaine and losse not much, neuer shouldest thou
haue felt the present painfull state, wherein thou art, thy life
(whereof most worthy no doubt thou art) shoulde not haue lien in
ballance poize, or rested in doubtfull plight, which now in
choyse of enimies thrall thou maist prolong, or else in Romanes
handes a praye or spoile by captiue state. But I beseech the
gods to preuent the choyce to be a Romane prysoner. And who can
thinke that Scipio euer ment to graunt me the life of one, and
goeth about to spoile me of the same? Did not he giue me the
pardon of one, when he sent me to besiege the City of Cirta,
where I found fayre Sophonisba which is my Life? A straunge
kinde of pardon, by giuing me a pardon to dispossesse me of the
same. Who euer hard tel of such a pardon? So much as if he said
to me, thus: ‘Massinissa, go take the paine to cause the city
yeld, and ransack it by force, and I wil pardon thee thy lyfe.
And not wyth the onely benefit, but with Cræsus goods I wil
inrich thee, and make thee owner of the happy soyle of Arrabia,
and when I haue so done and rased the walles by myne indeuor,
wherein myne onely lyfe and ioy did rest, at my retourne for
guerdone of that Noble fact, in steede of lyfe hee choppeth of
my head, and for fayre promyse of golden mountes, hee strips me
naked, and makes mee a Romane slaue: accordynge to whych case
and state he deales wyth me. For what auailes my Lyfe, if in
gryefe and sorrowes gulffe I drown the pleasures of the same?
Doth not he berieue my life and bredes my death by diuiding me
from my fayre Sophonisba? Ah Caitife wretch, what lucke haue I,
that neither storme nor whirle Wynde could sende him home to
Italian shore, or set him packing to Sicile land? what ment
cruell Scipio, when so sone as Syphax was taken, he did not
streight way dispatch him to Rome, to present the glorious sight
of the Numidian king to the Romane people? If Scipio had not
beene here, thou Sophonisba frankly hadst bene mine: for at
Lælias hands I could haue found some grace: but surely if Scipio
did once see Sophonisba, and reclined his eyes to viewe hir
perelesse beauty, I doubt not but he would be moued to haue
compassion vpon hir and me, and would iudge hir worthy not
onelye to be queene of Numidia but of all the prouince besides.
But what, do I make this good accompt? The common prouerbe
sayth, that he which counteth before his hoste, must recken
twice: and so perhaps may be my lot: for what know I if Scipio
did wel view hir, whether himselfe would be inamored of hir or
not, and so utterly depriue me of that Iewel? He is a man no
doubt as others be, and it is impossible me think, but that the
hardnesse of his heart must bow to the view of such a noble
beauty. But (beast as I am) what mean these wordes? what follies
doe I vaunt by singing to the deafe, and teachyng of the blynd?
O wretch, wretch, nay more than myserable Wretch. Marke the
words of Scipio, he demaundeth Sophonisba, as a thing belonging
vnto him, for which cause he sayeth that she is the pray and
part of the Romane spoile: but what shall I do? shal I gyue hir
vnto hym? He wyll haue hir, hee constraynes me, he exhortes mee,
hee prayes mee, but I know full well wherevnto those intreaties
tend, and vnder the Grasse what lurking Serpent lieth. Shal I
then put into his hands mine own Sophonisba? But before I so
doe, the armipotent God aboue, with his flashing fires and
flamming brands shall thunder me downe into the depthe of Hell.
The gapyng ground receiue my corps, before I yeld to that
request, the trampling steedes of sauage kinde do teare my
members in thousand gobbets, the desert beastes consume my
flesh, the rauening gripes and carrain kites pick out my tongue
and eyes, before I glutte his rauenous mind with that demaund to
break the fayth which by holy othe I haue promised to performe.
O curssed caitif, but what shall I doe then? it behoueth to
obey, and in despite of my teeth to do that which the Romane
Emperour commaundeth. Alas, by thinking vpon that straight and
needefull lot, I die a thousand deaths: wherfore of euils to
chose the least of twaine, and to preserve my plighted faith,
O swete Sophonisba, thou must die, and by meanes of thy beloued
feere, shalt voyd the yoke of Romanes thral, for so it pleaseth
vnmindeful Ioua to appoynt. The wretched Heauens by cruel fate
haue throwen their lot, that I of mine owne mischiefe shal be
the minister. And so (O life most deere) I shall performe the
effecte to kepe the fayth whych last of all before thy face I
did confirme.” By this speach and maner of talke, the good
Prince bewayled his case, excogitating by what meanes he myght
doe to death the thing which aboue al the world he loued best:
at length it came vnto his minde to sende hir a draught of
poysoned drink, which deuise he had no sooner founde, but he was
driuen into a new kinde of fury, and kindled with disdayne, his
braynes were on fire with extreme madnesse, and as though
Sophonisba had bene before him, hee talked and raued in
Bedlemwyfe: somtimes with taunts he checked hir to hir teeth,
sometimes lamented hir vnfortunate state, sometymes with pawes
displayed, he seemed to rampe into hir face, and then agayne
into amorous toies his passions droue him forth. When I doe
thinke what kinde of a man Massinissa was, who in deede was a
crowned and most noble king, and who with sutch prudence
gouerned his new conquered and recouered kingdoms, and so
constantly perseuered in amity of the Romane people, I pray to
God to graunt my frendes and myselfe also, not to enter into so
intricat and louesome Labyrinth, wherein this Noble Prince was
tangled, and wyth more temperaunce to gouerne our beloued
things. But{ }retourning agayne to this afflicted gentleman
Massinissa. He sent vnto his beloued wyfe and Queene a pot of
poyson to rid hir of hir life: but yet staying his messenger, he
cried out these words: {“}God forbid that I should commit this
infamous murder vpon hir whom I most deerely loue, I would
rather conuey hir into the extreme partes of the vnknowen sandy
Coaste of Libia, where the countrey is full of venomous beasts
and crawling poysoned Serpents, in which we shalbe safe and sure
from the danger of cruell and inexorable Scipio, by which meanes
he shall neuer see the rare and diuine beauty, which the
serpents once beholding, will mitigate and asswage their bitter
poyson, and for whose sake they will not annoy ne yet hurt me
hir louing husband and companion: wherefore let vs make hast to
flee thither, to auoide the bondage and death prepared for vs:
and if so be we be not able to cary with vs gold and siluer, yet
shal we not want there some reliefe to maintayn our liues: for
better it is to feede on bread and water, then to liue in
perpetual thraldome. And liuing with thee (sweete wyfe) what
pouerty and beggery am not I able to sustayne? The stormes of
exile and penury, I haue already suffred: for beinge driuen out
of my kingdome many times, I haue repayred to obscure dens and
caues, where I haue hidden my selfe, and liued in the
Wildernesse among the sauage Beasts. But what meane I thus to
say of my selfe, whom no misaduenture can affray or myslyke? But
thou deare wyfe whych hast ben trayned vp and nourished amongs
the delicacies and bankets of the Court, accompanied wyth
traynes of many fayre and noble ladies, lining lyke a Queene in
al kinde of pleasures and delights: what shall I doe wyth thee?
I know thy heart will not suffer thee to follow me, and yet if
the same would serue thee, from whence shall I procure present
shippinge? Vpon the Sea the Roman fleete beares swinge, vpon the
land Scipio wyth hys Army occupieth euery Coast, and is generall
Lord of the field. What then shall I most miserable and
vnfortunate caitife do? for whilest I am thus makinge my bitter
playnts, the night is past away, day light approcheth, and the
bright shining mornyng begynneth to cleare the earth. And behold
yonder commeth the General’s messanger for Sophonisba, whom I
must eyther deliuer into his hands or else commit her to present
slaughter, beinge assured that she had rather make choise to dy,
than fall into the Laps of the cruell Romans.” Whereupon he
determined to send hir the poyson, and for very sorrow fell
downe vpon the ground like a man halfe deade. Afterwards being
come agayne to him selfe, he cursed the Earth, the Ayre, the
Fyre, Heauen, Hell, and all the Gods of the same, and exclaming
in lamentable wyse he called vnto him one of his most faithfull
seruants, who according to the custome of those dayes, alwaies
kept poyson in store, and sayde vnto him: “Receyue thys Cuppe of
Golde, and deliuer the same with the poyson, to Queene
Sophonisba now abiding within the City of Cirta, and tel hir
that I with greatest good will would fayne haue kept the mariage
knot, and the firste fayth whych I plighted vnto hir, but the
Lorde of the Fielde, in whose power I am, hath vtterly forbidden
the same. I haue assayed all possible meanes to preserue hir my
Wyfe and Queene at liberty, but he which commaundeth me, hath
pronounced such hard and cruell sentence, as I am forced to
offend my self, and to be the minister of mine own mischief.
Thys poyson I send hir with so dolefull Message, as my poore
hearte (God knoweth) doth only fele the smart, being the most
sorowfull present that euer was offred to any fayre Lady. This
is the way alone to saue hir from the Romanes handes. Pray hir
to consider the worthines of hir father, the dygnity of hir
countrey, and the royal maiesty of the II. kings hir husbands,
and to do as hir mynd and wil shall fansie best. Get the hence
with all possible spede, and lose no tyme to do thys Message:
for thou shalt cary the bane and present death of the fairest
Ladye that euer Nature framed wythin hir fayrest mould.” The
seruaunt with this commaundment did departe, and Massinissa lyke
a Chylde beaten with the rodde, wept and cried. The messenger
being come to the Queene, and giuing hir the cup with the
poyson, declared his cruell ambassage. The Queene took the
poysoned Cuppe, and sayd vnto the messenger: “Geeue the king thy
mayster myne humble thankes, and say vnto hym, that I receyue
and Drynke thys Poyson wyth a wyll so good, as if hee had
commaunded me to enter in Tryumph wyth Laurel Garlande ouer myne
ennymyes: for a better gifte a husbande can not gyue to wyfe,
than accomplyshment of assured fayth the funeralles whereof
shall bee done wyth present obsequie.” And sayinge nothynge else
vnto the messenger, shee tooke the Cuppe, and mynglynge well
together the poyson wythin, shee vnfearfully quafft it vp: and
when she had dronke it shee delyuered the messenger hys Cuppe
agayne, and layed hir selfe vpon hir bed, commaunding hir
gentlewomen in comely wyse to couer hir wyth Clothes, and
withoute lamentation or Sygne of feminine minde, shee stoutly
waighted for approching death. The Gentlewomen which wayted vpon
hir, bewayled the rufull state of their Maystresse, whose
plaints and scriches were heard throughout the palace, whereof
the brute and rumor was great. But the good Queene vanquished
with the strong force of the poyson, continued not long before
she died. The messanger returned these heauie newes vnto
Massinissa, who so sorowfully complained the losse of his
beloued wife, in such wise as many tymes hee was lyke to kyll
hymselfe, that hys Soule might haue accompanied the ghost of
hir, whych was beloued of hym aboue all the dearest things of
the Worlde. The valyant and wyse capitayne Scipio vnderstanding
the newes hereof, to the intente Massinissa shoulde not commit
any cruelty agaynst hymselfe, or perpetrate other vncomely
deede, called hym beefore him, and comforted hym wyth the
sweetest wordes he could deuise, and frendly reproued him. The
next day in the presence of al the army hee highly commended
him, and rewarded him wyth the kyngdome of Numidia, geuing hym
many rych Iewels and treasures, and brought hym in great
Estimation amonges the Romaynes: whych the Senate and people of
Rome very well approued and confirmed with most ample
Priuileges, attributinge vnto hym the title of kynge of Numidia,
and freende of the Romaynes. Sutch was the ende of the vnhappy
loue of kynge Massinissa, and of the fayre and lucklesse Queene
Sophonisba.




THE EIGHTH NOUELL.

  _The cruelty of a Kynge of Macedone who forced a gentlewoman called
  Theoxena, to persuade hir children to kill and poison themselves:
  after which fact, she and hir husband Poris ended their lyfe by
  drowninge._


Bvt now we haue beegon to treate of the stoutnesse of certayne
noble Queenes, I wyll not let also to recite the Hystory of a
lyke vnfearfull dame of Thessalian land, called Theoxena, of
right noble Race, the Daughter of Herodicus Prynce of that
Countrey in the tyme that Phillip the Sonne of Demetrius was
kynge of Macedone, tolde also by Titus Liuius, as two of the
former be. Thys Lady Theoxena, first was a notable example of
piety and vertue and afterwardes of rigorous cruelty: for the
sayd kyng Philip, hauinge through his wickednesse first murdred
Herodicus, and by succession of time cruelly done to death also
the husbands of Theoxena and of Archo hir naturall sister, vnto
eyther of them being Wydowes remayninge a Sonne: afterwardes
Archo being maryed agayne to one of the principall of their
Countrey named Poris, of him she had many children. But when she
was dead, the sayd Lady Theoxena hir sister, who was of heart
more constant and stout than the other, still refused the second
mariage, although sued vnto by many great Lordes and Princes: at
length pityinge her nephewes state, for fere they should fall
into the handes of some cruell Stepdame, or that theyr father
would not bryng them vp with sutch diligence, as tyll that tyme
they were, was contented to bee espoused agayne to Poris,
(no lawe that time knowen to defend the same) to the intente she
might trayne vp hir sister’s children as her owne. That done she
began (as if they were hir owne) to intreate and vse them
louingly, with great care and industrie: wherby it manifestly
appeared that she was not maried againe to Poris for hir owne
commodity and pleasure, but rather for the wealth and
gouernement of those hir sister’s children. Afterwards Philip
king of Macedone, an vnquiet Prince, determininge to make newe
warres vpon the Romanes (then throughout the worlde famous and
renouned for theyr good fortune) exiled not onely the chiefe and
noble men, but almost al the auncient inhabitants of the Cities
along the sea coaste of Thessalia, and theyr whole and entier
families into Pæonia afterwards called Emathia, a Countrey farre
distant from the sea, giuing their voided Cities for the
Thracians to inhabite, as most propre and faithful for the
Romains warres, which he intended to make: and hearinge also the
cursses and maledictions pronounced against him by the banished
people, and vniuersally by al other, thought he was in no good
surety, if he caused not likewyse all the sonnes of them, whom a
litle before he had slayne, to be put to Death. Wherefore he
commaunded them to be taken and holden vnder good gard in
prison, not to do them al to be slain at once, but at times now
one and then an other, as occasion serued. Theoxena
vnderstanding the edicte of this wicked and cruell king, and wel
remembring the death of hir husband, and of him that was husband
to hir sister, knew wel that hir sonne and nephew incontinently
should be demaunded, and greatly fearinge the king’s wrath, and
the rigour of his guard, if once they fell into theyr hands, to
defend them from shame and cruelty, sodainly applied hir minde
vnto a straunge deuice: for shee durst to saye vnto hir husband
their father’s face, that soner she would kil them with hir owne
handes, if otherwise she coulde not warraunt them, then suffer
them to bee at the will and power of kinge Philip. By reason
wherof Poris abhorring so execrable cruelty, to comfort his wife
and to saue hys Chyldren, promysed hyr secretelye to transporte
them from thence, and caryed them himselfe to certayne of hys
faythfull Fryendes at Athens, whych done wythoute longe delaye,
hee made as thoughe hee woulde goe from Thessalonica to Aenias,
to bee at the Solemnytye of certayne Sacrifices, which yearelye
at an appoynted tyme was done wyth greate ceremonies to the
honour of Ænêas the founder of that Citty, where spendinge the
time amonges other in solemne bankets, the thrirde watch of the
night when euery man was a sleepe, as though he would haue
returned home to his countrey with his wyfe and children,
priuely embarked himselfe and them, in a ship hired of purpose
to passe into Euboea, and not to retourne to Thessalonica. But
his intent was cleane altered and chaunged, for his ship was no
sooner vnder saile, but at that instant a contrary winde and
tempest rose, that brought him back againe, in despite of their
labour, and all the endeuour they were able to doe. And when
daye lighte appeared, the king’s garrison descried that shippe,
and manned out a boate, to bring in the same, which secretly
they thoughte was about to escape away, giuing them straight
charge, that by no meanes they should returne without hir. When
the boate drew neare the shippe, Poris bent him self to
encourage the mariners to hoyse vp saile againe, and to make way
with their oares into the Sea, if it were possible, to auoide
the imminent and present daunger, to saue the life of him selfe,
his wife and children: then hee lyfted hys handes vp vnto the
heauens to implore the helpe and succor of the Gods, which the
stoute Gentlewoman Theoxena perceiuing, and manifestly seeing
the Daunger wherein they were, callinge to hir minde hir former
determinate vengeance which she ment to do, and beholding Poris
in his prayers, she prosecuted hir intente, preparing a poysoned
drink in a cuppe, and made readye naked swordes: al which
bringing forth before the Childrens face, she spake these words:
“Death alone must bee the reuenge of your siely liues, wherunto
there be two wayes, poison or the sworde. Euery of you choose
which ye list to haue: or of whether of them your heart shall
make the frankest choice. The king’s cruelty and pride you must
auoid. Wherfore deare children be of good chere, raise vp your
noble courage: ye the elder aged boyes, shew now your selues
like men, and take the sword into your handes to pierce your
tender hearts: but if the bloudy smart of that most dreadfull
death shal feare and fright your greene and vnripe age, then
take the venomed cup, and gulpe by sundry draghtes this poisoned
drinke. Be franke and lusty in this your destened Death, sith
the violence of Fortune, by Sea, doeth let the lengthning of
your life. I craue this requeste of choyse, and let not the same
rebound with fearfull refuse of thys my craued hest. Your mother
afterwardes shal pass that strayght, whereof she prayeth hir
babes to bee the poastes: ye the vaunt currours, and shee, with
your louing sire, shall end and finishe Philip’s rage bent
agaynst vs.” When shee had spoken these woordes and sawe the
enimies at hand, this couragious dame, the deuiser of the death,
egged and prouoked these yong trembling children (not yet wel
resolued what to do) with her encharmed woords in sutch wyse, as
in the ende, some dranke the poyson, and other strake them
selues into the body and by hir commaundement were throwen ouer
boord, not altogether dead, and so she set them at liberty by
death whom tenderly she had brought vp. Then she imbracing hir
husband the companion of hir death, both did voluntarily throw
themselues also into the sea: And when the kinge’s espials were
come aborde the ship, they found the same abandoned of theyr
praye. The cruelty of which fact did so moue the common people
to detestatyon and hatred of the kinge, as a generall cursse was
pronounced against him and his children, which heard of the Gods
aboue was afterwardes terribly reuenged vpon his stocke and
posterity. Thys was the end of good Poris and his stout wyfe
Theoxena, who rather then she would fall into the lapse of the
king’s furie, as hir father Herodicus, and hir other husbande
did, chose violently to dye with hir own hands, and to cause hir
husband’s children and hir owne, to berieue them selues of Lyfe,
whych although agaynst the louinge order of naturall course, and
therefore that kinde of violence to bee abhorred, as horrible in
it self, yet a declaration of a stout mind, if otherwise she had
ben able to reuenge the same. And what coward heart is that,
that dare not vpon such extremity, when it seeth the mercilesse
ennimy at hand, with shining blade ready bent, to stryke the
blowe, that withoute remedye must ridde the same of breath,
specially when it beholdeth the tremblyng babe, naturally
begotten by hys owne kinde and nature, before the face imploryng
father’s rescue, what dastarde heart dare not to offer himselfe,
by singular fight (thoughe one to twentye) either by desperate
hardinesse to auoyd the same, or other anoyance, aduenture what
he can? which in Christians is admitted as a comely fight,
rather than wyth that Pagane Dame to do the death it selfe. But
now returne wee to describe a fact that passeth al other forced
deedes. For Theoxena was compelled in a maner thus to do of
meere constraint to eschue the greater torments of a tyrant’s
rage and thought it better by chosen death to chaunge hir lyfe,
than by violent hands of bloudy Butchers to be haled to the
slaughter. But thys Hidrusian dame was weary of hir owne life,
not for that she feared losse of lyfe, but desperate to think of
Fortune’s fickle staye: whych if fortune’s darlings would
regarde in time, they would foresee theyr slippery holde.




THE NYNTH NOUELL.

  _A straunge and maruellous vse, which in old time was obserued in
  Hidrvsa, where it was lawfull, with the licence of a magistrate
  ordayned for that purpose, for euery man, and woman that list, to
  kill them selues._


Bandello amonges the company of hys Nouels, telleth this
history: and in his own person speaketh these words. If I should
begin to tell those things which I saw in the tyme that I sayled
alongs the Leuant seas, very tedious it would be for you to
heare, and I in reporting could not tell which way to ende,
bicause I saw and heard thynges ryght worthy to bee remembred.
Notwythstandinge, for satisfaction of dyuers that be my frendes,
I will not sticke to reherse some of them. But first of all one
straunge custome, whych in the Romayes tyme was vsed in one of
the Ilandes of the sea Ægeum, called Hidrusa, in these dayes by
the trauaylers called Cea or Zea, and is one of the Ilandes
named Ciclades, whilome full of Populous and goodly Cities, as
the ruins therof at this day do declare. There was in olde time
in that Iland a yery straunge lawe and ordynaunce, which many
hundred yeares was verye well and perfectly kept and observed.
The Law was, that euery person inhabitant within the sayd Isle,
of what sexe and condition so euer, being throughe age,
infirmity, or other accidents, weary of their lyfe, might choose
what kind of death that liked them best: howbeit it was prouyded
that the partye, before the dooing of the same, should manifest
the cause that moued him therevnto, before the Magistrate
elected by the people for that speciall purpose, which they
constituted because they sawe that diuers persons had
voluntarily killed themselues vpon trifling occasions and
matters of little importance: according to whiche lawe very many
Men and Women, hardily with so merry chere went to theyr Death,
as if they had gone to some bankette or mariage. It chaunced
that Pompeius Magnus the dreadfull Romane, betwene whom and
Iulius Cæsar were fought the greatest battailes for superiority
that euer were, sailing by the Sea Ægeum, arriued at Hidrusa,
and there goynge a land vnderstoode of the inhabitantes the
maner of that law and how the same day a woman of great worship
had obteined licence of the Magistrate to poyson hir selfe.
Pompeius hearing tell hereof, was driuen into great admiration,
and thought it very straunge, that a woman which al the dayes of
hir life had liued in great honour and estimation, shoulde vpon
light cause or occasion poyson her selfe sith it was naturally
giuen to ech breathyng wyght to prolong theyr liuing dayes with
the longest threede that Atropos could draw out of dame Nature’s
webbe. Whervpon he commaunded the said matrone to be brought
before hym, whose Death for hir vertue was generallye lamented
by the whole Countrye. When the gentlewoman was before hym, and
had vnderstanding that she was fully resolued and determined to
dye, hee began by greate persuasions to exhort hir, that she
should not wilfully cast hir selfe away, vpon consideration that
she was of lusty yeares, riche and welbeloued of the whole
countrey: and how greate pitye it were but shee shoulde renue
hir Mynde and gyue hir selfe still to lyue and remayne, till
Natural course dyd ende and finysh hir life: howbeit his graue
and earnest persuasion could not diuert hir from hir intended
purpose. But Pompeius loth to haue hir dye, ceassed not styll to
prosecute hys former talke with newe reasons and stronger
arguments. All which shee paciently heard with fixed
countenaunce, til at lengthe with cleare voyce and smiling
cheere she answered him in this maner: “You be greatly deceyued
(my lord Pompeius) if you do beleeue that I wythout very great
prouidence and mature aduise goe about to ende my dayes: for I
do know and am fully persuaded, that eche creature naturally
craueth the prolongation and lengthninge of lyfe, and so mutch
abhoreth to die, as the desirous to lyue detesteth the poyson
whych I haue prepared for consumation of my lyfe. Whereupon as I
haue diuers times thought, considered and discoursed with my
selfe, and amongs many considerations oftentimes debated in my
minde, there came into the same the instability and fickle
change of Fortune, whose whirling wheele neuer ceasseth, ne yet
remayneth stedfast. It is dayly seene how she doth exalte and
aduaunce some man from the lowest and bottomlesse Pit, euen to
the top of high Heauens, endowinge him with so mutch Substaunce
as he can desire. An other that was most happy, honoured in this
world lyke a God, vnto whom no goods and welfare were wantinge,
who might wel haue bene called in his lyfe, a three times happy
and blessed wyght, sodaynly from his honour and state depriued
and made a very poore man and begger. Some man also, that is
both riche and lusty, accompanied with a fayre wyfe and goodly
Children, lyuinge in great mirth and ioylity, this wicked Lady
Fortune, the deuourer of all our contentations, depriueth from
the inestimable treasure of health, causeth the fayre Wyfe to
loue an other better than hir husbande, and with hir venomous
Tooth biteth the children, that in short space myserable death
catcheth them al within his dreadfull Clouches whereby he is
defrauded of those children, whom after his death he purposed to
leaue for hys Heyres. But what meane I to consume tyme and words
in declaration of Fortune’s vnsteady stay, which is more cleare
than the beams of the Sunne, of whom dayly a Thousande thousande
examples be manifest: all histories be full of theym. The mighty
countrey of Græcia doth render ample witnesse wherein so many
excellent men were bred and brought vp: who desirous with their
finger to touch the highest heauen, were in a moment throwen
downe: and so many famous Cities, which gouerned numbers of
people, now at this present day we see to be thrall and obedient
to thy City of Rome. Of these hurtfull and perillous mutations
(O noble Pompeius) thy Romane City may be a most cleare glasse
and Spectacle, and a multitude of thy noble Citizens in tyme
past and present, may geeue plentifull witnesse. But to come to
the cause of this my death, I say, that fyndyng myself to haue
liued these many yeares (by what chaunce I can not tell) in very
great prosperity, in al which tyme I neuer did suffer any one
myssehappe, but styll from good to better, haue passed my time
vntil thys daye: nowe fearyng the frownynge of Ladye Fortune’s
face, and that she will repente hir long continued fauour,
I feare, I say, least the same Fortune should chaung hir stile,
and begynne in the middest of my pleasaunt life to sprinckle hir
poysoned bitternesse, and make mee the Receptacle and Quiuer of
hir sharpe and noysome arrowes. Wherefore I am nowe determined
by good aduyse, to rid my selfe from the captivity of hir force,
from all hir misfortunes, and from the noysom and grieuous
infirmities, which miserably be incident to vs mortall
Creatures: and beleeue me (Pompeius) that many in theyr aged
dayes haue left their life with little honour, who had they bene
gone in their youth, had dyed Famous for euer. Wherefore
(my lord Pompeius) that I may not be tedious vnto thee, or
hinder thyne affayres by long discourse, I besech thee to geeue
me leaue to follow my deliberate disposition, that frankely and
freely I may be vnburdened of all daunger: for the longer the
life doth grow, to the greater annoysaunce and daunger it is
subiect.” When she had so sayd, to the great admiration and
compassion of all those which were present, with tremblinge
handes and fearefull cheare, she quaffed a great Cup of poysoned
drynke, the which she brought with hir for that purpose, and
within a while after dyed. This was the straunge vse, and order
obserued in Hidrusa. Which good counsel of the Dame had the
noble and valiaunt captayne followed, no doubt he would haue bin
contented to haue bin brought to order: and then he had not lost
that bloudy battel atchieued agaynst hym by Iulius Cæsar at
Pharsalia in Ægypt. Then hee had not sustayned so many
ouerthrowes as he did, then had hee not ben forsaken of his
frendes, and in the ende endured a death so miserable. And for
so mutch as for the most part hitherto we haue intreated of many
Tragicall and bloudy chaunces, respyring now from those, let vs
a little touch some medicinable remedies for loue, some lessons
for gouernment and obedience, some treaties of amorous Dames,
and hauty Gestes of Prynces, Queenes and other persons, to
variate the chaungeable diet, wherewyth dyuers bee affected,
rellishinge their Stomackes wyth some more pleasaunt Digestions
than they haue tasted.




THE TENTH NOUELL.

  _The dishonest Loue of Favstina the Empresse, and with what remedy
  the same loue was remoued and taken away._


True and most holy is the sentence, that the Lady, Gentlewoman,
or other wyght of Female kinde, of what degree or condition
soeuer she be, be she fayre, fowle, or ylfauoured, cannot be
endued with a more precious Pearle or Iewell, than is the neate
and pure vertue of honesty: which is of sutch valour, that it
alone without other vertue, is able to render her that
glistereth in her attire, most famous and excellent. Be she more
beautiful than Helena, be she mightier than the Amazon, better
learned than Sappho, rycher than Flora, more louinge than Queene
Dido, or more noble than the best Empresse and Queene of the
worlde, or be she full of any other vertue, if she want the name
of chast, shee is not worthy so mutch as to beare the title of
honour, nor to be entertayned in honest company. Yee shall
peruse hereafter an history of a Countesse of Celant, that was a
passing fayre Dame, singularly adorned with Nature’s gifts. She
was fayre, pleasaunt, amiable, comely, and perchaunce not
altogether barrayne of good erudition and learninge: she could
play vpon the instruments, sing, daunce, make and compose witty,
and amorous Sonets, and the more her company was frequented, the
more amiable and gracious the same was esteemed. But bicause she
was unshamfast and lesse chaste, she was voyde of honest
regarde. Sutch as bee dishonest, do not onely hurt themselues,
but gieue cause to the common people to mutter and grudge at
their parentes education, at their husbands gouernment and
institution of their Children, causing them most commonly to
leade a discontented and heauy lyfe. Thinke you that Augustus
Cæsar (albeit he was a victorious Emperour, and led a triumphant
raygne) liued a contented life when he saw the two Iuliæ, one of
them his daughter, the other his Niece, to vse them selues like
common strumpets, constrained through their shameful acts to
pin, and close vp himselfe, shunning the conuersation of men,
and once in minde to cut his Daughter’s Vaynes to let out hir
Lusty bloud? Was not he wont (the teares trickling downe his
Princely Face) to say, that better it was neuer to haue children
and to be deade without them, than to haue a fruteful wife and
children so disordred? He termed his Daughter to be a Carrion
lumpe of fleshe, full of stenche and filthinesse. But if I list
to speake of women of this age, from noble to vnnoble, from an
Emperor’s Daughter to a Ploughman’s modder, whose liues do frame
after Iulia hir lore, my pen to the stumpes would weare, and my
hande be wearied with writing. And so likewise it would of
numbres no doubt in these dayes that folow the trace of Lucrece
line, that huswifely and chastly contriue the day and nightes in
pure and Godly exercise. But of the naughty sorte to speake,
(leauing to voyde offence, sutch as do flourish in our time)
I will not conceale the Empresse Messalina, that was Wyfe to the
emperour Claudius, not only vnworthy of Empresse degree, but of
the title of Woman: who being abused by many, at length arriued
to sutch abhominable lust, as not contented with dayly
adulterous life, would resort to the common stewes, where the
ruffians and publike harlots haunted, for little hire, and there
for vilest price with eche slaue did humble herselfe: and at
night not satisfied, but weared, returned home to hir Palace,
not ashamed to disclose hir selfe to any that list to looke vpon
hir: and for victory of that beastly game, contended with her
lyke. But not to say so mutch of hir as I finde in Plinie his
naturall history, in Suetonius, and Cornelius Tacitus, I leaue
hir to hir selfe, bycause I haue made promise to remember the
dishonest loue for example sake, which I read of Faustina, whose
beauty of al Writers is vouched to be most excellent, if
excellency of good life had thereunto ben coupled. She was the
daughter and wyfe of two holy and vertuous Emperours, the one
called Antonius Pius, the other Marcus Antonius. This
M. Antonius in all vertuous workes was perfect and Godly, and
singulerly loued his wife Faustina, and although she was
infamous to the world, and a Fable to the people, yet he cared
not for the same, sutch was the passing loue hee bare vnto hir.
Leaue we to speake of hir beastly behauiour amongs the noble
sort, without regard vnto hir most noble husbande, and come wee
to treate of a certaine sauage kind of lust she had to one of
the Gladiatores, whych were a certaine sort of Gamsters in Rome,
which we terme to be Maisters of defence. She was so far in loue
with this Gladiator, as she could not eat, drink, or slepe, ne
take any rest. This Faustina was so vnshamefast, as not
regarding hir state, being as I sayde before the daughter and
wife of two most worthy Emperors, dysdayned not to submitte her
Body to the Basenesse of one of the vilest sort, a Rascal
Fencer, and many times would goe to Caieta, a Citie and hauen of
Campania, to ioyne hir selfe with the galye slaues there. Hir
husbande which loued her dearely, comfortying his feble louing
wyfe so well as he coulde, caused the best Physicians he could
finde, to come vnto hir for recouery of hir health. But all the
deuysed physike of the world was not able to cure her, she was
so louesicke. In the end knowing by long experience the fauour
and loue hir husband bare vnto hir, and knowing that nothing
could withdraw his continued minde, she tolde him, that al the
torment and payne shee sustained, was for the loue of a
gladiator, towards whom hir loue was so miserably bent, that
except she had his company, death was the next medicine for hir
disease. The good husband whych beyond measure loued his wife,
comforted hir with so louing wordes as he could, and bad hir to
bee of good cheare, promisinge hee would prouide remedy.
Afterwards consulting with a wise man a Chaldee born, opened
vnto him the effect of his wiue’s disease, and how she was
louesicke with sutch a person one of the Gamsters of the City,
promising great rewardes if he could by his secretes serche out
redresse to saue hir life. The Chaldee could tel him none other
remedy, but that he must cause the Gladiator to be slaine, and
with the bloud of him to anoint the body of the Empresse, not
telling vnto hir what the ointment was: which don, that he must
goe to naked bed to hir, and do the act of matrimony. Some
Historiographers do write, that the Chaldee gaue him counsell,
that Faustina should drinke the bloud of the Gladiator, but the
most part, that hir body was bathed in the same. But how so euer
it was, it would haue cooled the hottest Gentlewoman’s stomack
in the world, to be anoynted with like Salue. To conclud the
Gladiator was slayne and the medicine made and applied to the
Pacient, and the Emperour lay with the Empresse, and begat hir
with childe. And immediatly she forgot the Gladiator, neuer
after that tyme remembring him. If this medicine were applied to
our carnall louinge dames (which God defend) they would not
onely follow Faustina in forgetfulnes, but also would mislike
hir Phisike: and not greatly regard the counsell of sutch
doctours. By meanes of this medicine and copulation was the
Emperour Commodus borne, who rather resembled the Gladiator than
his Father: in whose breast rested a storehouse of mischyefe and
vyce, as Herodian and other Wryters plentifully do wryte.




THE ELEUENTH NOUELL.

  _Chera hid a treasure: Elisa going about to hang her selfe, and
  tying the halter about a beame found that treasure, and in place
  thereof left the halter. Philene the daughter of Chera going for
  that treasure, and busily searching for the same, found the halter,
  wherewithal for dispayre she would haue hanged hir selfe, but
  forbidden by Elisa, who by chaunce espied hir, she was restored to
  part of hir losse, leading afterwards a happy and prosperous lyfe._


Fortune, the Lady Regent and Gouernesse of man’s lyfe, so
altreth and chaungeth the state thereof, as many times we see
the noble borne from that great mighty port, wherein they be,
debased so farre, as either infamously their lyfe is spent in
the hungry lap of Dame Penury, or else contriued in the vgly
lothsom house of Wantonnesse, the stepdame of all honesty and
vertue. Sometimes we marke the vnnoble ladde that was nooseled
in the homely countrey caban, or rude ciuile shoppe, attaine to
that whych the onely honorable and gentle do aspire: and he
agayne that is ambicious in climbing vp the turning wheele,
throwen down beneth the brink of aduerse luck, whelmed in the
ditch and pit of black despaire. We note also sometimes that the
carelesse wyght of Fortune’s giftes, hath (vnlooked for) his
mouth and throte crammed full of promotion and worlde’s
delights. Such is the maner of hir fickle stay: whereof this
History ensuing, gyueth some intelligence, by remembring the
destenied luck of 2 pore sory girles that were left destitute of
desired things, both like to fal into despaire, and yet both
holpen with that they most desired: which in this sort
beginneth. In the time that Scipio Affricanus had besieged the
City of Carthage, Chera that was a widow (dwellinge there)
seeinge the daunger at hand wherein the Citty stoode, and
doubtynge the losse and ouerthrowe of the same, and that the
honor of the dames and womankinde, coulde vneths be safe and
harmelesse, determined not to abide the vttermost: and hauinge a
good quantity of Gold and precious stones, she bestowed the same
in a casquet, and hid it vpon one of the beames of hir house,
purposinge when the stir and daunger was past, to retourne to
hir house agayne for those hir hidden things. Which done, in the
habite of a poore woman with her onely daughter in hir hand that
was about 5 or 6 yeares of age, she went out of Carthage, and
passed ouer the Seas into Scicilia, where falling sicke, after
she had bene there three or foure yeares, at length died. But
before shee departed, shee called her Daughter before hir, then
about Ten yeares olde, and told hir the place where she had
layed hir Casket. And by reason of the victory gotten by Scipio,
the city was maruellously chaunged, and amongs other things, the
house of Chera was giuen to a Romane Souldiour that was so
enriched with Nobilyty of Mynd, as hee was poore of Fortune’s
Goods. Whych Chera vnderstandyng, was sorowfull, and doubted of
hir thynges secretlye bestowed vppon the beame. Wherevpon she
sayd vnto hir daughter, that for so much as their house was in
the possession of an other, she ought to be wise and circumspect
in the recouerye of hir hidden goods: and that hir death was the
more greuous vnto hir, because she must leaue hir (so yong a
maiden) vnprouided of frendes for hir good gouernement. But yet
she incouraged hir againe and sayd: that sith necessity
approched, she must in childyshe age, put on a graue and
auncient minde, and beware howe shee bewrayed that casket to any
person, for that of purpose shee reserued the knowledge thereof,
to hir self, that it might serue for hir preferment, and procure
hir a husband worthy of hir selfe. And the maiden demaundinge
the value of the same, shee told hir that it was worth CC.
Talentes, and gaue hir in writing the particulars inclosed
within the Caskette, and that the lyke bill shee should find
within the same, written wyth hir owne Hande. And so the good
woman within a while after dyed, leauyng behynde hir the yong
mayden hir daughter, that maruellously lamented the death of hir
mother, accordingly as nature taught hir, and ech other
reasonable wyght depriued from their dearest friends. The maiden
for hir yeres was very wise, and would disclose to none what her
mother had sayd, keeping the writing very carefully. Not long
after Philene (whych was the maiden’s name) fell in loue with a
Gentleman of Scicilia of greate reputation and authority, who al
bee it he saw hir to be very faire and comely, yet cared not for
hir loue in respect of Maryage, for that hee knewe hir to bee
poore, and withoute dowrie mete for a Gentleman, iestyng and
mocking to see hir fixe hir minde on him, for desyre to haue him
to hir husbande, that was a personage so noble and rich: which
refusall pierced the hearte of the tender maiden, bicause she
saw hir selfe forsaken for nothynge else, but for want of goods:
whych made hir to think and consider, howe shee myght recouer
the riches that hir mother had layed vp in Carthage. It chaunced
as she was in this meditation, the daughter of him to whome the
House of Chera was giuen, called Elisa, was likewise enamoured
of a noble yong gentleman in Carthage, who bicause Elisa was the
daughter of a Souldiour, and not very rich, in like manner
laughed and iested at hir loue, no lesse than the other did at
Philene. Notwithstanding Elisa attempted al meanes possible to
induce the yong man to loue hir, but hir practise and attemptes
tended to none effect. And last of all, desirous to haue a
resolute answere, and thereby vnderstode, that he would rather
dye than take hir to Wyfe, she fell into despayre and curssed
fortune, and hir fate, that she was not borne riche enough to
match wyth hir chosen Gentleman, and that she being poore, must
fall in loue wyth sutch a personage: whereupon she miserably
tormented hir selfe, still bewaylinge hir vnhappy lucke, that
shee could not win him to be hir husband, for whych only intent
and purpose she loued him. And this amorous passion incredibly
growing in hir, the rootes whereof be planted in the restlesse
humor of melancholy, and wanting all hope and comforte to stay
that Ranke and Rammishe weede, it so increased in her, as shee
franticke in raging loue gaue hir selfe ouer to the spoyle of
herself: and to rid her from the griefe, she determined to kill
hir selfe, imagining whych way she might do the same. At length
she was resolued, with hir father’s sword to peerce hir body:
but hir heart not seruing hir thereunto, deuised by the halter
to end her lyfe, saying thus to herselfe: “Thys death yet shal
do me good, that the cruel man may know that for his sake I haue
done this fact: and if his heart be not made of Iron or steele,
he can not chose but sorrowe and lament, that a poore mayde
whych loued him better than hir owne lyfe, hath made sutch
wretched ende onely for his cruelty.” Elisa concludinge vpon
this intent, prepared a Halter: and being alone in her house, in
the chamber where the Casket lay vpon the beame, placed a stoole
vnder the same, and began to tye the halter about the beame: in
doinge whereof, she espied the casket, and reached the same vnto
hir, who feeling it to be heauy and weighty, immediatly did open
it, and founde the Byll within, which Chera had written with hir
owne hand, agreable to that which she had deliuered to hir
daughter, wherein were particularly remembred the Iewels and
other riches fast closed within the casket. Who disclosing the
bagges wherein the gold and Iewels were bound vp, and seeing the
great value of the same, wondred thereat, and ioyfull for that
fortune, hid the rope which she had prepared for hir death, in
the place where she found the casket, and with great gladnesse
and mirth went vnto hir father, and shewed him what she had
found, whereat the father reioyced no lesse, then his daughter
Elisa did, bicause he sawe himselfe thereby to be discharged of
his former poore life, and like to proue a man of inestimable
wealth and substance: and saw likewise that the poore wench his
daughter, by the addicion of those riches, was like to attayne
the party whom shee loued. When he had taken forth those bagges
and well surueyed the value, to the intent no man might suspect
the sodayne mutation of his state, tooke his daughter with him,
and went to Rome, where after he had remayned certayne monethes,
hee returned to Carthage, and began very galantly to apparell
himselfe, and to keepe a bountifull and liberall house. His
table and port was very delicate and Sumptuous, and hys Stable
stored wyth many fayre Horsse, in all poynctes sheewinge
himselfe very Noble and rich: by which sodayne chaunge of state,
the whole Citty beleeued that he had brought that wealth from
Rome. And bicause it is the common opinion of the vulgar sort,
that where there is no riches, there is no nobility, and that
they alone make men noble and gentle (a foolyshe Opinion in
deede proceedinge from heads that be rash and light) the people
markynge that porte and charge kept by the Souldiour, conceyued
that he was of some noble house. And throughout the whole Citty
great and solemne honour was done vnto him: whereupon the young
Gentleman, with whom Elisa was in loue, began to bee ashamed of
himselfe, that he had disdayned the mayden. Whych mayden seeing
hir Father’s house to be in sutch reputation, made sute to her
father, that he would procure the Gentleman to bee hir husband.
But hir father wylled hir in any wyse to keepe secret hir
desire, and not to seeme her selfe to bee in loue, and wysely
tolde hir, that more meete it was that she should bee solicited
by him, than shee to make sute or request for mariage:
alleaginge that the lesse desirous the gentleman had bene of
hir, the more deare and better beloued shee shoulde be to hym.
And many tymes when hys Daughter was demaunded to Wyfe, he made
aunswere that matrimony was a state of no litle importance, as
enduring the whole course of Lyfe, and therefore ought well to
bee considered and wayed, before any conclusion were made. But
for all these demaundes and aunswers, and all these stops and
stayes, the mayden was indowed with an honest dowry, and in the
end her louer and she were maried, with so great pleasure and
satisfaction of them both, as they deemed themselues happy. In
the meane time while these things were done at Carthage, Philene
in Scicilia toke thought how she might recouer her goods geuen
to her by her mother, desirous by their meanes also to sort hir
earnest and ardent loue to happy successe. And debatinge with
her selfe (as we haue sayd before) howe she might obtayne them,
because the house was in possession of an other, thought it to
bee agaynst reason and order, that although she had lost hir
house, yet hir goods ought to be restored vnto hir, which were
hir onely mayntenance and reputation, and the fittest instrument
that should conduct her loue to happy ende. And hearinge tell
that the Father of Elisa the possessor of hir mother’s house
liued at Carthage in great royalty and magnificence, thought
that if by some sleight and pollicie she founde not meanes to
enter the house without suspicion, hir attempt would be in
vayne: determined therefore to goe to Carthage, and to seeke
seruice in that house, counterfaytinge the kynde and habite of a
Page. For she considered, that if she went thither in order and
apparell of a mayden, she should incur the perill of her
virginity, and fall into the lapse of diuers other daungers,
purposed then to go thyther in maner of a Page and lacky. And
when she had in that sort furnished hirselfe, she passed the
Seas, and arriued at Carthage. And seekinge seruice about the
City at length chaunced to be retayned in a house that was next
neyghbour to the Souldier, and bicause this wench was gentle and
of a good disposition, was wel beloued of her maister, who being
the frend of Elisa, hir Father many times sent vnto him diuers
presents and gifts by Philene, wherevppon she began to be
acquainted and familiar with the seruantes of the house, and by
her oft repayre thyther viewed and marked euery corner, and vpon
a time entred the chamber wherein hir Mother Chera {t}olde hir,
that shee had bestowed hir goods, and lookinge vpont the Beames
espied by certayne Signes and tokens, one of them to be the same
where the Casket lay: and therewithal wel satisfied and
contented, verily supposed that the casket still remayned there,
and without further businesse for that time, expected some other
season for recouery of the same. In the ende, the good behauiour
and diligence of Philene, was so liked of Elisa, as hir father
and she made sute to hir maister to giue hir leaue to serue
them, who bycause they were his friends, preferred Philene vnto
them, and became a page of that house. And one day secretly
repayrynge into the chamber, where the treasure lay mounted
vppon a stoole, and sought the beame for the casket: where she
found no casket, but in place where that lay, the halter,
wherwithal Elisa woulde haue strangled hir self. And searching
all the parts of the Chamber and the beames, and finding nothing
else but the halter, she was surprised with sutch incredible
sorrowe, as she seemed like a stock, without spiryte, voice or
life. Afterwardes, being come againe to hir selfe, shee began
pitifully to lament and complayn in this maner: “Ah wretched
Philene, vnder what vnluckie signe and planet was thou begotten
and borne? wyth what offence were the heauens wroth, when they
forced thee to pierce thy mother’s wombe? Could I poore creature
when I was framed within the moulde of nature, and fed of my
mother’s substance within hir wombe, and afterwards in due time
brought forth to light, commit such crime, as to prouoke the
celestiall impressions to conspire agaynst my Natiuity, to
brynge mine increased age into such wretched state and plighte
wherein it is now wrapped? No, no, my faulte was nothing, it was
parent’s offence, if any were at all: for many times we see the
innocent babe afflicted for the father’s guilt. The Gods do
punish the posterity, for som sacrilege or notorious crime
committed by progenitors: theyr manner is not to suffer heynous
faultes vnreuenged: their iustice cannot abide such mischief
vncorrected for example sake: so fareth it by me. First my
father died, after wardes my Mother a widow was driuen to
abandon natiue soyle, and seeke reliefe in forrain land: and
leauing that wherwith we were possessed in enimies keping, were
forced a simple life to leade among straungers. And my mother,
yelding forth hir ghost, made me beleue that shee had hidden
great treasures here: and I vnhappy wench thinking to obteine
the pray, haue wandred in counterfeit kind, and fetcheed many a
bitter sigh, vntil I came into this place: and the thing I hoped
for, which myght haue bene the meanes and ende of all my care,
is turned to nothyng: a casket transformed into a halter: gold
and Iewels into a piece of rope? Is this the mariage dowry
(Philene) thou art like to haue to match with him whom thou so
derely louest? Is this the knot that shall conioyne you both in
yoke of man and wife? Ah wretch and miserable caitife, the goods
thy mother layd vp for thee, for maintenance of thy rest, and
safegarde of thine honour, and for the reputation of thy noble
house, wherof thou camst, is now berieued from thee: they that
kepe this stately house, and beare their lofty port amid the
best, haue despoiled thee pore wench of that after which thou
didst vainly trauayle. But what remedye now? sith thy wicked lot
doth thus fall out, sith thy cruel fate is loth thou shouldest
atteine the thing on whych thy mind is bente, and sith thy
painfull lyfe can take no ende, make spede to rid thy selfe from
misery by that meanes which he hath prepared for thee that hath
found thy goods: who seeing his good aduenture to be thy bane,
his happy pray to bee thy spoyle, hath left in lieu of treasure,
a halter, that therwith thou mightest dispatch thy selfe from
all thy griefes, and in their vnhappye companye to cease thy
life, that the lothsom, lengthning of the same might not
increase thy further plaints, sorowes, anguish and affliction.
And in the place where infortunate Philene toke hir beginning,
ther the Miserable wretche must finishe that, which without hir
desired gaine no longer can be maynteined. Peraduenture it may
come to passe as when thy soule is losed from this mortall
charge, it shall stalke by hym, by whom it liueth, and by him
also whom she thought to ioy in greatest contentation that euer
mortall woman did.” And thus plaininge and sighing hir il
fortune, when she had ended those words she tyed the halter
about the beame, where sometimes hir Treasure lay, which beyng
done shee put the same about hir necke, sayinge: “O crooked Lady
Fortune, that hast thus vnfrendly dealt with thine humble
clyent: Ah dispayre, thou vgly wretch and companion of the
distressed that is vnwillinge to leaue my haunte vntyll thou
playe the Hangman. Ah Dyuell incarnate that goest aboute to hale
and plucke the innocent into thy hellish caue. Out vppon the
thou deformed hellish dogge, that waitest at the fiery gate to
lette them in, which faine would passe an other porte.” And as
shee was powrying forth these spitefull wordes, redy to remove
the stoole to fetch hir swynge, the Gods which would not giue
consent, that the innocent wench should enter that vile and
opprobrious death, moued the heart of Elisa, to passe by the
place where she was in workynge on her selfe that desperate end:
who hearing those moneful plaints vttred after such terrible
manner, opened the Chamber doore, and saw that myserable sight:
and ignorant of the occasion, moued with pity, ranne and stayed
hir from the fact, saying thus vnto hir: “Ah Philene,” (whych
was the name that she had giuen to hir selfe) “what folie hath
bewitched thy mind? What phrensie hath incharmed thy braine?
What harde aduenture hath moued thee in this miserable wise, to
ende thy life?” “Ah” (sayd Philene) “suffer me Elisa, to finish
my tormentes: giue me liberty to vnburden myselfe from the bande
of cares that do assaile me on euery side: lette these
Helhoundes that stande heare rounde about mee, haue theyr praye
for which they gape. Thou moued by compassion, arte come hither
to stay mee from the Halter: but in doyng so, thou doest mee
greater wrong, than doeth despayre whych eggeth me therunto.
Suffer I say, that mine afflictions may take some end, sith
cruel fortune willeth it to be so, or rather vnhappy fate: for
sowre death is sweeter in my conceit, than bitter life contriued
in sharper sauce than gall or wormwood.” Elisa hearing her
speake these wordes, sayd: “For so much as thy myshap is such,
as onely death is the nearest remedy to depriue thy payne, what
wicked chaunce hath induced thee, in this house to finish those
thy miseries? What hath prouoked the to sutch augury to this our
most happy and ioyfull family?” “Forced is the partye” (sayd
Philene) “so to doe when destenye hath so appointed.” “What
desteny is that?” demaunded Elisa. “Tell mee I beseech thee,
perchaunce thou mayst preuent the same by other remedy than that
whereabout thou goest.” “No,” (answered Philene) “that is
impossible, but to satisfie thy request which so instantly thou
crauest of me, I wil tel thee the summe of al my miserie.” In
saying so the teares gushed forth hir eyes, and hir voice brake
oute into complaints, and thus began to say: “Ah Elisa, why
should I seke to prolong my wretched life in this vale of
wretchednesse, wherein I haue ben so miserably afflicted? my
mother pitieng mine estate and seeynge me voide of frends, and a
fatherlesse child vpon hir death bed, disclosed vnto me a
treasure which she had hidden vpon this beam whervnto this
halter (the best remedy of my misery) is tied: and I making
serch for the same, in place of that treasure found this halter,
ordeined as I suppose (by what misfortune I knowe not) for my
death: and where I thought among the happy to be the most happy,
I see my selfe amongs al vnlucky women to be the most
vnfortunate.” Elisa hearing hir say so, greatly maruelled and
sayd: “Why then I perceiue thou art a woman and not a man.”
“Yea, truly,” answered the vnhappy mayden: “A singuler example
of extreme misery to all sortes of women.” “And why so?”
demaunded Elisa. “Bicause” (answered Philene) “that the
pestilent planet vnder which I was borne, will haue it to be
so.” And then she told hir al that which had chaunced from the
time of hir mother’s departure out of Carthage, and how she went
into Scicilia and recounted vnto hir the loue that she bare to a
Scicilian Gentleman, and howe that he disdayning hir for hir
pouerty, refused to be hir husband: whervpon to atchieue hir
desire as loth to forgoe him, was come in maner of a page to
Carthage, to recouer the riches which hir Mother had hidden
there, to the intente she might obtaine (if not by other meanes)
with som rich dowrie, the yong Gentleman to husband whom she so
dearely loued. And then reenforcing hir complaint, she said:
That sith Fortune had despoiled hir of that which might haue
accomplished hir desire, resting no cause why she should any
longer liue, the halter was prepared for hir to end her daies,
and to rid hir life from troubles. And therefore she praied hir
to be contented, that she might make that end which hir
misaduenture and wicked fortune had predestinate. I doubt not
but there be many, which vnderstanding that the treasure did
belong to Philene, if they had found the like as Elisa did,
would not onely not haue forbidden hir the Death, but also by
speedy meanes haue hastened the same, for so mutch as by that
occasion the hidden treasure should haue ben out of strife and
contention: so greate is the force of couetousnesse in the minde
of man. But good Elisa knew ful wel the mutability of Fortune in
humaine thinges, for so mutch as she by seeking death, had fonde
the thinge which not onely deliuered hir from the same, but made
hir the best contented woman of the worlde. And Philene seekinge
hir contentation, in place thereof, and by like occasion, found
the thinge that would haue ben the instrument of hir death, and
moued with very great compassion of the mayden, desired to haue
better aduertisement howe that treasure could belong to her.
Then Philene shewing forth hir mother’s writing, which
particularly remembred the parcels within the casket, and Elisa
seeinge the same to be agreeable to the hand wherewith the other
was written that was founde in the casket, was assured that all
the gold and Iewels which she had found, did belong vnto
Philene, and sayd vnto hirselfe: “The Gods defend that I should
prepare the halter for the death of this innocent Wench, whose
substaunce hath yelded vnto mee my hart’s desire.” And
comforting the mayden, in the ende she sayd: “Be contented
Philene, and giue ouer this thy desperate determination, for
both thy lyfe shalbe prolonged, and thy discontented minde
appeased, hoping thou shalt receyue the comforte thou desirest.”
And with those words she losed the halter from hir neck, and
takinge hir by the hand, brought hir to the place where hir
Father and husband were, and did them to vnderstand the force
and terms whereunto the fier of loue and desperation had brought
that amorous mayden: tellinge them that all the treasure and
Iewels which she had found (where she left the halter, and
wherewith Philene was minded to hang hir selfe) did by good
right and reason belonge to hir: then she did let them se the
counterpayne of that bill which was in the casket, in all points
agreeable thereunto, declaringe moreouer that verye lyke and
reasonable yt were, like curtesie should bee vsed vnto her, as
by whom they hadde receyued so greate honoure and delyghte. Her
husband which was a Carthagian borne, very churlishe and
couetous, albeit by conferring the writings together, he knewe
the matter to be true, and that Philene ought to be the
possessor thereof, yet by no meanes would agree vnto hys wyue’s
request, but fell into a rage, callinge hir Foole and Ideot, and
sayinge that hee had rather that shee had bene a Thousande tymes
hanged, than he would giue hir one peny: and although she had
saued hir life, yet she ought to be banished the Citty, for so
mutch as the same and all the propertie thereof was brought into
the Romane’s handes, and amongs the same hir mother’s house, and
al hir goods in possession of the victors, and euery part, at
their disposition and pleasure. And moreouer, for so mutch as
hir mother and shee had departed Carthage, and would not abide
the hazarde and extremity of their country as other Citizens
did, and hauing concealed and hidden those riches which ought to
haue ben brought forth for the common defence of their countrey,
and gone out of the Citty as though she had ben a poore simple
Woman, poorely therefore she ought to lyue in Scicilia, whyther
she was fled. Wherefore he was of opinion, that she in this
maner beinge departed when the Citty had greatest neede of hir
helpe, was disfranchised of all the rightes and customes of the
countrey, and that like as a straunger can recouer nothinge in
that Citty, except he haue the priuiledge and Freedome of the
same, euen so Philene (for the considerations before recited)
ought to be compted for a straunger, and not to participate any
thinge within the City, accordingly as the lawes forbid. When he
had so sayd, he was like by force to expell the sorrowfull
mayden out of the house. These wordes greatly grieued Philene,
who doubted least his father in law would haue ioyned with him,
and agree vnto hys alleaged reasons, whych seemed to be of great
importaunce and effect: and therefore thought newly to returne
to the Halter for remedy of hir griefes; but it otherwise
chaunced, for the Father of Elisa, which was a Romane borne, and
affected with a Romane minde, and therefore of a Gentle and well
disposed nature, knew ful wel, that although the house was giuen
vnto him by the consent of Scipio, and other the Captaynes, yet
he knew that their pleasure was not to bestowe on him the
treasure hidden in the same, and therefore ought to be restored
to the true owner, or else confiscate and properly due to the
Romane Eschequer, or common treasure house of the same: and
albeit that it was true that hir Mother went out of Carthage, in
the time of the Siege, and therefore had forfayted the same, yet
he determined to shewe some curtesie vnto the younge mayden, and
to be thankfull to fortune, for the benefite which by hir meanes
he had receyued, thinkinge that she would be displeased with
him, if he with vngratefull minde or dishonourable intent should
receyue hir giftes. For in those dayes the Romans highly
reuerenced Lady Fortune, and in hir honour had Erected Temples,
and Dedicated Aultars, and in prosperous tyme and happy
aduentures, they consecrated vowes, and sacrifices vnto hir,
thinkinge (although supersticiously) that like as from God there
proceeded none euil, euen so from him all goodnesse was deriued:
that all felicity and other good happes, whych chaunced vppon
the Romane Common wealth, proceeded from Fortune, as the
Fountayne and most Principall Occasion, and that they which
would not confesse hir force, and be thanckful vnto hir
Godheade, incurred in the ende hir Displeasure and Daungers very
great and haynous. This Romane then hauing this opinion, beinge
(as I sayd before) of a gentle Disposition woulde at one instant
both render thankes to Fortune, and vse curtesie vnto that
mayden, by whose riches and goods from lowe degree he was
aduanced to honourable state. Wherefore turning his Face vnto
hir, with louing countenaunce he spake these wordes: “Right
gentle damosel, albeit by the reasons alleged by my sonne in
law, none of the treasure hidden by thy mother, and founde by my
Daughter in thys house, of right doth appertayne to thee, yet I
will that thou shalte vnderstande my curtesie, and that thou see
how the Romanes doe more esteeme the nobility of their minde,
than all the riches of the world. Therefore that thou mayst
enioy thy loue, I referre vnto thee and to thy disposition all
the goods and Iewels that were in the Casket, and contayned in
thy writinge. Beholde therefore (causing the casket to be
brought vnto him) all the Iewels and other parcels that were in
the same when they were founde, take so mutch thereof as thou
wilt, and if so bee thou desire the whole, willingly I render
the same vnto thee, sithens by means of those riches, and the
industry of my trafique, I haue gayned so mutch, as hauinge
gyuen a conuenient dowry vnto my daughter, I honorably liue
without it.” Philene seeing the curtesie of this valiaunt
gentleman, gaue him infinite thanks, and then sayd vnto him:
“Sir, I for my part dare aske nothinge, well knowinge that if
you geue me nothinge, there is no cause why I shoulde complayne
of you, but of my hard and wicked fortune, whych hath offered
and giuen that to you, which ought to haue bin mine. Wherefore,
sith your curtesie is sutch, as you refer the whole to mee,
I purpose to take nothing, but will that the whole shall bee in
your disposition, and giue mee what you list, and that so gieuen
of your liberality, I shal more thankfully receiue, than if debt
or duty did constrayne it: and if it shall please you to giue me
nothing, my heart shal bee so well appeased, for that your
curtesie, as rather woulde I chose to liue in the poore estate
wherein I am, than be rych with your displeasure.” Howbeit, the
Romayne intreated Philene to take thereof what shee thought
good: and Philene craued no more than it pleased hym to gyue.
Eyther of them standinge vpon these termes Elisa, brake the
strife, who knowinge the force of loue, and the griefes incident
to his clients, by hir own harmes, moued to haue compassion vpon
the afflicted, turned towardes hir father, and sayd vnto him:
“Right louinge father, the contencion betweene Philene and you,
is risen of a matter which came by me. The treasure for which
you striue, and committed to the will of Philene, was found by
me, whereof if it please you both, I wyll take sutch order, as
both you shalbe satisfied.” “I am contented,” sayd hir father:
“And I likewise,” aunswered Philene. Then sayd Eliza: “You
father hitherto haue had but one Daughter, which am I, vnto whom
like a chylde and louinge daughter I haue bene obedient, and
shalbe all the dayes of my lyfe: and I agayne haue receiued from
you sutch fatherly education, as your ability and state
required. This treasure I found and gaue to you for ease and
comfort of vs both: to me it yelded the only delectation of my
heart in choyse of husband: to you honour and estimation within
thys Citty. Wherefore, sith the principal came from me, and the
right resteth in this careful maiden, my desire is, that where
before you had but one daughter, you will adopt this mayden for
another, and thinke that you have twaine, and that you will
intreate Philene in like sort as if shee were my sister: and
where this Inheritance and reuenue wherewith now you be
possessed, and this casket also ought to be onely myne after
your decease, for that you haue no sonnes, nor other Issue, my
desire is that you geue vnto her the halfe, and that you accept
hir for your daughter, as I doe meane to take hir for my sister:
and accordingely to vse hir duringe lyfe.” With these wordes
Elisa imbraced Philene, and louingly dyd kisse hir, sayinge vnto
hir: “For my sister I entertayn thee Philene.” And then shee
tooke hir by the hand and gaue hir vnto hir father with these
wordes: “Beholde father, your new daughter, whom I beseech you
so hartily to loue as you do Elisa your naturall chylde.” The
father praysed the curtesie of Elisa, and receiued Philene for
his daughter and was contented wyth the Arbitrament of his
Daughter. But Elisa perceyuing hir husband to be somewhat
offended therewyth, specially for that the same should be
deuided into two partes, which was like to haue bene hys wholly
before, persuaded hym by gentle meanes to be content wyth that
agreement: and although at the first he could not well brooke
the liberality of his wyfe, yet at length viewinge the good
behauiour and gentle disposition of Philene, and the contented
minde of his father in law, together with the noble nature of
his wyfe, and hir wise aduertisement of Fortune’s fickle
assurance, yelded, and acknowledged Philene for hys kinswoman.
And so Philene put in possession of the halfe of those goods,
whereof she was altogether out of hope, was well satisfied, and
had the Romane for hir father, Elisa for hir sister, and hir
husband for hir kinsman. That valyant Roman was so careful ouer
Philene, as if she had ben his owne daughter, and so indeuored,
as he brought to passe that she obteined hir beloued Scicilian
to husbande: who also sent for hym to Carthage, where he
continued with his wife in the Romane’s house, and loved them
both so dearely as though he had ben father to the one, and
father in lawe to the other. In this maner these two poore
wenches attained their two husbands, for hauing of whom, theyr
onely care was for Ryches, and for lacke thereof were dryuen to
despayre: and in the ende both (though diuersly, and the one
more fortunat than the other) recouered riches, and with the
same theyr husbandes, to their heartes singular ioye and
contentation. Which lucke I wyshe to all other poore Girles (but
not hangyng rype, or louynge in despayre) that bend their mindes
on Mariage, and seeke to people by that estate, their countrey
common wealth. But leauinge for a time these Tragicall Nouels
and heauy chaunces, wee purpose to remember some morall matters
right worthy of remembraunce: Letters they bee from a godly
Pagane clerk, the famous Philosopher Plutarch, Schoolemaister to
an Emperour of no lesse vertue, than hys mayster’s Schoole and
mynde was fraught with diuine Precepts. Wherefore proceede (good
Reader) to continue the paynes vpon the readinge of these, so
well as thou hast vouchsafed to employ thy time before. They
shal no lesse delite thee, if vertue brooke thee, they shal no
lesse content thee if duty please thee, than any delightsome
thing, whereupon (at any tyme) thou hast employed thy vacaunte
tyme.




THE TWELFTH NOUELLE.

LETTERS OF THE EMPEROUR TRAIANE.

  _Letters of the Philosopher Plutarch to the noble and vertuous
  Emperour Traiane, and from the sayd Emperour to Plutarch: the lyke
  also from the sayd Emperour to the Senate of Rome. In all which be
  conteyned godly rules for gouernment of Princes, obedience of
  Subiects, and their duties to common wealth._


Bicause these Letters ensuinge (proceeding from the infallible
Schoole of Wisedome, and practised by an apt Scholler of the
same, by a noble Emperor that was well trained vp by a famous
Philosopher) in myne opinion deserue a place of Recorde amonge
our Englishe Volumes, and for the wholsome errudition, ought to
Englishmen in english shape to bee described, I haue thought
good in this place to introduce the same. And although to some
it shal not peraduenture seeme fit and conuenient to mingle holy
with prophane, (accordinge to the prouerbe) to intermedle amongs
pleasaunt histories, ernest epistles, amid amorous Nouels,
learned Letters, yet not to care for report or thought of sutch
findefaults, I iudge them not vnseemely, the course of those
histories. For amid the diuine works of Philosophers and
Oratours, amongs the pleasaunt paynes of auncient Poets, and the
Nouell writers of our time, merry verses so well as morall
matters be mingled, wanton bankets so wel as wise disputations
celebrated, tauntinge and iocund Orations so well as effectuall
declamations and persuasions pronounced. These letters contayne
many graue and wholesom documents, sundry vertuous and chosen
Institutions for Prynces and Noble men, yea and for sutch as
beare offyce and preferment in commonwealth from highest title
to meanest degree. Theese letters do vouch the reioyce of a
Schoolemayster for bringinge vp a Scholler of capacity and
aptnesse, to imbrace and Fix in Memory sutch lessons as he
taught him. These Letters do gratulate and remembre the ioy of
the disciple for hauinge sutch a maister. These letters do
pronounce the minde of a vertuous Prince towardes hys subiects
for choyse of him to the empire, and for that they had respect
rather to the vertue and condition, than to the nobility or
other extreme accident. To be short, these letters speake and
pronounce the very humblenesse and fealty that ought to rest in
subiectes’ hearts: with a thousand other excellent sentences of
duties. So that if the Emperour Nerua had bin aliue agayne to
peruse these letters and Epistles of congratulation betweene the
Schoolemayster and Scholler, he would no lesse haue reioysed in
Plutarch than king Philip of Macedon did of Aristotle, when hee
affirmed himself to be happy, not so much for hauinge sutch a
sonne as Alexander was, as for that he was borne in sutch a
time, as had brought Aristotle to be his maister. That good
Emperor Nerua, shewed a patern to his successor by his good
vertuous lyfe and godly gouernment, which made a successor and a
people of no lesse consequence than they were trayned,
accordingly as Herodian voucheth, that for the most part the
people be wont to imitate the Life of their Prince and
soueraygne Lord. If Philip deemed hymselfe happy and blessed for
hauing sutch a sonne and mayster, then might Nerua terme
himselfe threefolde more happy for sutch a Nephew and sutch a
notable Schoolemayster as Plutarch was, who not only by doctrine
but by practise proued a passing good Scholler. Alexander was a
good Scholer and for the time wel practised his maister’s
Lessons, but afterwards as glory and good hap accompanied his
noble disposition, so did he degenerate from former life, and
had quite forgotten what he had learned, as the second Nouell of
this Booke more at large declareth. But Traiane of a toward
Scholler, proued sutch an Emperour and victor ouer himselfe, as
schoolinge and rulinge were in him miraculous, and surmounting
Paragon of piety and vertue: wherefore not to stay thee from the
perusinge of those Letters, the right image of himselfe: thus
beginneth Plutarch to write vnto his famous Scholler Traiane.


  _A Letter of the Philosopher Plutarch to the Emperor Traiane,
  wherein is touched how Gouerners of Common wealths ought to be
  prodigal in deedes and spare in words._

My most dread soueraygne Lorde, albeit of longe tyme I haue
known the modesty of your mynde, yet neyther I nor other liuing
man did euer know that you aspired to that, which many men
desire, which is to be Emperour of Rome. That man should
withdrawe himselfe from honour, it were cleane without the
boundes of wysedome: but not to lycence the heart to desire the
same, that truely is a worke diuine, and not proceedinge of
humayne nature. For he doeth indifferently well, that represseth
the works which his handes be able to do, without staying upon
his owne desires, and for good consideration wee may terme thine
Empire to be very happy, sith thou hast so nobly demeaned thy
selfe to deserue the same without search and seekinge
industrious pollicy to attayne thereunto. I haue known within
the city of Rome many great personages, which were not so mutch
honored for the offices whych they bare, as they were for the
meanes and deuises whereby they sought to be aduaunced to the
same. May it please you to vnderstand (most excellent Prince)
that the honor of a vertuous man doth not consist in the office,
which he presently hath, but rather in the merites that
preferred him thereunto: In such wise, as it is the office that
honoreth the partye, and to the officer there resteth but a
painful charge. By meanes wherof, when I remember that I was
your gouerner from your youth, and instructed your vertuous mind
in letters, I can not chose but very much reioyce, so well for
your soueraigne vertue, as for your maiestie’s good fortune,
deming it to be a great happinesse vnto me that in my time Rome
hath inioyed him to be their souraigne lord, whom I had in tymes
past to be my scholler. The principalities of kyngdomes some
winne by force, and maintayne them by armes, which ought not so
to be in you, nor yet conceiue opinion of your selfe, but rather
to thinke that the empire which you gounerne by vniuersall
consent, yee ought to entertayne and rule with general iustice.
And therfore if you loue and reuerence the Gods, if you bee
pacient in trauels, warie in daungers, curteous to your people,
gentle to straungers, and not couetous of treasure, nor louer of
your owne desires: you shall make your fame immortall, and
gouern the common wealth in soueraign peace: that you be not a
louer of your own desires, I speake it not withoute cause, for
there is no worse gouernement than that which is ruled by selfe
wyll and priuate opinion. For as he that gouerneth a common
wealth ought to lyue in feare of al men, euen so mutch more in
feare of him selfe, in so mutch as he may commit greater errour
by doinge that which his owne luste commaundeth, than if he were
ruled by the counsell of other. Assure you sir, that you can not
hurt your selfe, and mutch lesse preiudice vs your subiects, if
you do correct your selfe before you chastise others, esteemyng
that to bee a ryght good gouernment when you be prodigal in
workes, and spare of speache. Assay then to be such a one now,
that you do commaunde, as you were when you were commaunded. For
otherwise it would lyttle auaile to do things for deseruing of
the empyre, if afterwards your dedes be contrary to former
deserts. To com to honour it is a humane worke, but to conserue
honour it is a thing diuine. Take hede then (most excellent
Traiane) that you do remembre and still reuolue in minde, that
as you be a Prince supreme, so to apply your self to be a
passing ruler. For there is no authority amongs men so high, but
that the Gods aboue be iudges of their thoughts, and men beneth
beholders of their deedes. Wherfore sith presentlye you are a
mighty Prince, your duety is the greater to be good, and leisure
lesse to be wycked, than when you were a pryuate Man. For hauing
gotten authority to commaund, your lyberty is the lesse to bee
idle: so that if you bee not sutch a one as the common people
haue opinion of you, and such againe as your maister Plutarch
desireth, you shall put your selfe in greate Daunger, and myne
Ennymyes wyll seeke meanes to bee reuenged on mee, knowynge wel
that for the Scholler’s faulte the Mayster Dayly suffreth wronge
by slaunderous checke imputed vnto hym (although withoute
cause.) And for so much as I haue ben thy maister, and thou my
scholer, thou must indeuour by well doyng, to render me some
honour. And lykewyse if thou do euyll, great infamy shall lyght
on me, euen as it did to Seneca for Nero his cause, whose
cruelties don in Rome were imputed to his mayster Seneca. The
like wronge was done to the Philosopher Chilo, by beyng burdened
with the neglygent nouriture of his Scholler Leander. They
truely were famous personages and greate learned men, in whom
the gouernemente of myghty Princes was reposed: notwithstandyng,
for not correcting them in their youth, nor teachying them with
carefull dylygence, they blotted for euermore theyr renoume, as
the cause of the destruction of many common wealthes. And
forsomuch as my pen spared none in times paste, bee well assured
Traiane, that the same will pardon neither thee or mee in tyme
to come: for as wee bee confederate in the fault, euen so we
shal be heires of the pain. Thou knowest well what lessons I
haue taught thee in thy youth, what counsell I haue gyuen thee,
beeying come to the state of man, and what I haue written to
thee, sithens thou hast ben Prince, and thou thy selfe art
recorde of the wordes which I haue spoken to thee in secrete: in
all whych I neuer persuaded thyng but that intended to the
seruice of the gods, profite of the common wealthe and increase
of thy renoume: wherfore, I am right sure, that for anye thing
which I haue written, sayd, or persuaded there is no cause I
should feare the punishment of the gods, and much lesse the
reprochful shame of men, verily beleuing that al which I coulde
say in secrete, might without reproch be openly published in
Rome. Nowe before I toke my pen in hand to write this Letter,
I examined my lyfe, to know, if (during the time that I had
charge of thee) I dyd or sayd in thy presence any thing that
might prouoke thee to euill example. And truely (vnmete for me
to say it) vpon that searche of my forepassed life, I neuer
found my selfe guilty of facte vnmeete a Roman Cytyzen, nor euer
spoke woorde vnseemelye for a Phylosoper: by meanes whereof I
doe ryght heartely wyshe, thou wouldest remember the good
educatyon and instructyon whych thou dyddest learne of mee.
I speake not thys, that thou shouldest gratifie me againe with
any Benefite, but to the ende thou myghtest serue thy selfe,
esteemynge that no greater pleasure there is that can redounde
to me, than to heare a good report of thee. Be then well assured
that if an Empyre bee bestowed vpon thee, it was not for that
thou wer a Citizen of Rome or a couragious person descended of
noble house, rich and mighty, but only bicause vertues did
plentifully abounde in thee. I dedicated vnto thee certaine
bookes of old and auncient common wealth, which if it please
thee to vse, and as at other times I haue sayd vnto thee, thou
shalte finde mee to be a proclaimer of thy famous workes, and a
chronicler of all thy noble facts of armes: but if perchaunce
thou follow thine owne aduise, and chaunge thy selfe to bee
other than hitherto thou hast ben, presently I inuocate and cry
out vpon the immortall Gods, and this Letter shall be wytnesse,
that if any hurt do chaunce to thee, or to thine Empire, it is
not through the counsell or meanes of thy maister Plutarch. And
so farewell most Noble Prynce.

  _The aunswere of the Emperour Traiane to hys mayster Plutarch._

Cocceius Traiane Emperour of Rome, to the Philosopher Plutarch,
sometimes my mayster: salutation and consolation in the Gods of
comfort. In Agrippina was deliuered vnto me a letter from thee,
whych so soone as I opened, I knew to be written wyth thine owne
hand, and endited with thy wysedom. So flowing was the same with
goodly woordes and accompanied with graue sentences, an occasion
that made mee reade the same twice or thrice, thinking that I
saw thee write and heard thee speak, and so welcome was the same
to me, as at that very instant I caused it to be red at my
table, yea and made the same to be fixed at my bed’s heade, that
thy well meanyng vnto me might be generally knowen, how mutch I
am bound vnto thee. I esteemed for a good presage the
congratulation that the Consul Rutulus did vnto me from thee,
touchinge my commyng to the empire: I hope through thy merites,
that I shall be a good Emperoure. Thou sayest in thy letter,
that thou canste by no meanes beleue that I haue giuen bribes,
and vsed meanes to buye myne Empire, as other haue done. For
aunswere thereunto I say, that as a man I haue desired it, but
neuer by solicitation or other meanes attempted it: for I neuer
saw wythin the City of Rome any man to bribe for honour, but for
the same, some notable infamy chaunced vnto hym, as for example
wee may learne of the Good old man Menander, my friende and thy
neyghbour, who to be Consul, procured the same by vnlawful
meanes, and therfore in the end was banished and died
desperately. The greate Caius Cæsar, and Tiberius, Caligula,
Cladius, Nero, Galba, Otho Vitelius, and Domitian, some for
usurpyng the Empire, some for tyranny, some for gettyng it by
bribes, and some by other meanes procuryng the same, lost
(by the sufferance of the righteous gods) not onely their honour
and goodes, but also they died miserably. When thou dydst reade
in thy schole, and I that time an hearer of thy doctrine, many
times I hearde thee say, that we ought to trauel to deserue
honour, rather than procure the same, esteemynge it vnlawfull to
get honour by meanes vnlawfull. He that is without credite,
ought to assay to procure credite. Hee that is with out honour,
ought to seeke honour. But the vertuous man hathe no neede of
noblenesse, ne hee himselfe, ne yet any other person can berieue
him of due honour. Thou knowest wel Plutarch, that the yere
past, the office of Consul was gyuen to Torquatus, and the
Dictatorship to Fabritius, who were so vertuous and so little
ambitious as not desyrous to receyue such charges, absented
themselues, although that in Rome, they might have ben in great
estimation, by reason of those offices, and yet neuerthelesse
without them they bee presently esteemed, loued and honoured:
and therefore I conceiue greater delight in Quintius Lincinatus,
in Scipio Affricanus, and good Marcus Portius, for contemning of
theyr offices, than for the victories which they atchieued: for
victories many times consist in fortune, and the not caryng for
honorable charge in onely wisedome. Semblably, thou thy selfe
art witnesse, that when myn vncle Cocceius Nerua was exiled to
Capua, he was more visited, and better serued, than when he was
at Rome: whereby may bee inferred, that a vertuous man may bee
exyled or banished, but honour he shall neuer want. The Emperour
Domitian (if you do remember) at the departure of Nerua, made me
many offers, and thee many fayre promises to entertain thee in
his house, and to send mee into Almayne, which thou couldest not
abyde, and much lesse consent, deeming it to be greater honour
with Nerua to be exiled, than of Domitian to be fauored.
I sweare by the Gods immortall, that when the good olde man
Nerua sent me the ensigne of the Empyre, I was vtterly ignorant
thereof, and voyd of hope to atteyne the same: for I was
aduertised from the Senate, that Fuluius sued for it, and that
Pamphilius went about to buy it. I knew also that the Consul
Dolobella attempted to enioy it: then sith the gods did permit,
that I should be Emperour, and that myne vncle Nerua did
commaund the same, the Senate approued it, and the common wealth
would haue it to be so: and sith it was the generall consent of
all men, and specially your aduyse, I haue greate hope that the
Gods will be fauorable vnto me, and Fortune no ennimie at all:
assuring you, that like ioy whych you do saye you had by
teachyng me, and seing me now to be Emperour, the lyke I haue to
thynke that I was your Scholler: and sith that you wyll not call
mee from henceforth any other but Soueraygne Lord, I wyll terme
you by none other name, than Louyng father. And albeit that I
haue ben visited and counselled by many men since my commyng to
the Empyre, and by thee aboue the rest, whom before all other I
wyll beleue, consideryng that the intent of those which counsell
me, is to draw my mynd to theyrs, your letters purportyng
nothyng else but mine aduauntage. I doe remember amongs other
woordes, which once you spake to Maxentius the Secretary of
Domitian, this saying: that they which doe presume to gyue
counsell vnto Prynces, oughte to bee free from all passions and
affections: for in counsell, where the wyll is moste enclined,
the mynde is more prompte and ready: that a Prince in all thyngs
doe his wyll I prayse not: that he take aduise and counsell of
euery man I lesse allowe. That which he ought to doe (as me
thinke) is to doe by counsel, forseeing for al that to what
counsel he applieth his mynd: for counsel ought not to be taken
of hym whom I doe well loue, but of hym of whom I am well
beloued. All this I have wrytten (my mayster Plutarch) to
aduertise you that from henceforthe I desire nothyng else at
your handes, but to be holpen wyth your aduise in myne affayres,
and that you tell me of my committed faults: for if Rome do
thinke me to be a defender of their common wealth I make
accompte of you to bee an ouerseer of my life: and therefore if
you thinke that I am not thankfull ynough for the good aduyse,
and holsom warenings that you gyue me: I am to intreate you
(myne owne good mayster) not to take it in ill part, for in such
cases, the griefe that I conceiue, is not for the good lessons
you gyue me, but for the shame that I fayle in followyng them.
The bryngyng of me vp in thy house, the hearyng of thy lectures,
the folowyng of thy doctryne, and liuing vnder thy disciplyne,
haue ben truly the pryncipal causes that I am commen to this
Empyre. This mutch I say (mayster) for that it were an vnnatural
parte in thee not to assist me to beare that thing, which thou
haste holpen me to gayne and winne: and although that Vespasian
was of nature a very good man, yet his greatest profite
redounded to him by entertayning of the Philosopher Appolonius.
For truelye it is a greater felicity for a Prince to chaunce
vpon a good and faythfull man, to be neare about him, than to
atchieue a large realme and kingdome. Thou sayest (Plutarch)
that thou shalt receiue great contentation, from henceforth, if
I be such a one now as I was before, or at lestwise if I be no
worse. I belieue that which thou doest say, bicause the Emperour
Nero, was the first fiue yeares of hys empyre good, and the
other nine yeares exceedyng euill, in sutch wyse as he grew to
be greater in wickednesse, than in dygnity. Notwithstanding, if
thou thinke that as it chaunced vnto Nero, so may happen vnto
Traiane, I besech the immortall Gods rather to depriue me of
life, than to suffer me to raigne in Rome: for tyrantes bee
they, whych procure dygnytyes and promotyons, to vse them for
delighte and filthye luste: and good Rulers bee they which seeke
them for profite of Common wealthe: and therfore to them whych
before they came to those degrees were good, and afterwardes
waxed Wycked, greater pity than enuye ought to be attributed,
consideryng specyally, that Fortune did not aduaunce them to
honour, but to shame and villany: beleue me then (good maister)
that sith hitherto I haue ben reputed vertuous, I wyl assay by
God’s assistance to aspire to be better, rather than to be
worsse. And so the Gods preserue thee.

  _The Letter of the Emperour Traiane to the Senate of Rome, wherein
  is conteined, that honour ought rather to be deserued than
  procured._

Cocceius Traiane Emperour of the Romanes, euer Augustus, to our
sacred Senate health and consolation in the gods of comfort. We
beinge aduertised here at Agrippina of the Deathe of the
Emperour Nerua, your soueraigne Lord and my predecessour, and
knowing it to be true, that you haue wept and bewailed the losse
of a Prince so noble and ryghteous, we likewise haue felt like
sorow, for the death of so notable a father. When children lose
a good father, and subiects a good Prynce, eyther they muste dye
wyth them, or else by teares they must rayse them vp again, for
so much as a good Prince in a common wealth is so rare, as the
Phœnix in Arabia. My lord Nerua broughte me out of Spayne to
Rome, nourished me vp in youth, caused mee to bee trained in
letters and adopted me for his sonne in mine olde age: which
graces and benefits truly I can not forget, knowyng that the
ingrate man prouoketh the Gods to anger, and men to hatred. The
death of a vertuous man is to be lamented of all men, but the
death of a good Prince, ought to be extremely mourned: for if a
common person die, there is but one dead, but if a god Prynce
die, together with him dieth a whole Realme. I speake this (O ye
Fathers) for the rare vertues abounding in myne vncle Nerua: for
if the gods were disposed to sell vs the liues of good Prynces
already departed, it were but a small ransome to redeeme them
with teares: for what gold or syluer may be sufficient to buie
the lyfe of a vertuous man. Truely there woulde be a greate
masse of money gyuen by the Greekes for Alexander, by the
Lacedemonians for Lycurgus, by the Romanes for Augustus, and by
the Carthaginians for Annibal. But as you knewe the gods hauing
made all thynges mortall, so haue they reserued onely themselues
to bee immortall. How eminent and passing the vertue of the good
is, and what priuiledge the godly haue, it may easily bee
knowne: for so mutch, as honour is carried euen to the very
graues of the dead, but so it is not to the greate Palaces of
the wycked. The good and vertuous man, without sighte or
knowledge we loue, serue, and aunswer for him: wherein the
wycked we cannot beleue what he sayeth, and lesse accepte in
good part the thyng whych he doeth for vs. Touchynge the
electyon of the Empyre, it was done by Nerua, it was demaunded
by the people, approued by you, and accepted by me. Wherefore I
prayt the immortall Goddes that it may bee lyked of theyr
godheades: for to small purpose auayleth the election of
Prynces, if the gods doe not confyrme it: and therefore a man
maye knowe hym whych is chosen by the Gods, from him that is
elected by men, for the one shal declyne and fal, the other
shalbe vpholden and preserued: the choyse of man so vaynely
exalted doth bowe and abase, but that which is planted by the
gods, although it bee tossed to and fro wyth seuerall Wynds, and
receiueth greate aduersitye, and boweth a lyttle, yet the same
shall neuer fal. Ye know right wel (most honorable Fathers) that
I neuer demaunded the Empyre of Nerua my Soueraigne Lorde,
although he broughte me vp and was his Nephew, hauing heard and
wel remembring of my Mayster Plutarch, that honour ought rather
to bee deserued than procured. Notwithstanding I wyll not deny
but ioyfull I was when my Lord Nerua sent me the ensigne of that
greate and hygh dignity: and yet I wyll confesse that hauing
begon to tast the trauailes and cares which that imperiall state
bringeth, I did repent more then a Thousand times for taking
vppon mee a charge so great: for Empire and gouernement is of
sutch quality that although the honor be mighty, yet the
gouernour sustaineth manifold paines and miserable trauailes.
O how greatly doth he bind himself, which by gouernment bindeth
other! for if hee bee iuste they call hym cruell, if hee bee
Pitifull, he is contempned, if liberall, he is esteemed
Prodigall, if he keepe or gather together he is counted
couetous, if hee be peaceable and quiet, they deeme him for a
coward, if he be couragious, he is reputed a quareller, if
graue, they will say he is proude, if he be easie to be spoken
to, hee is thought to be light or simple, if solitary, they will
esteeme him to be an hypocrite, and if he be ioyfull, they will
terme hym dissolute: In sutch wise as they wil be contented, and
vse better termes to al others what so euer, than towardes him,
which gouerneth a common wealth: for to sutch a one they recken
the morsels which he eateth, they measure his pases, they note
his words, they take heede to his companies, and iudge of his
works (many times wrongfully,) they examine and murmure of his
pastimes, and attempt to Coniecture hys Thoughtes: consider then
the trauayles which bee in gouernement, and the enuy which many
times they beare vnto him that ruleth. We may say, that there is
no state more sure than that which is furthest of from Enuy. And
if a man cannot but wyth great payne gouerne the wyfe which hee
hath chosen, the children which he hath begotten, nor the
seruaunt which he hath brought vp, hauing them altogether in one
house: how is it possible that he can still conserue in peace a
whole commonwealth? I praye you tell mee, in whom shall a poore
Prince repose his trust, syth that many times hee is most
slaundered by theym whom he fauoureth best? Prynces and great
Lordes cannot eate without a Garde, cannot sleepe without a
watch, cannot speake without espiall, nor walke without some
saufety, in sutch wise as they being Lords of al, they be as it
were, Prisoners of their owne people. And if we wil beholde
somewhat neerely, and consider the seruitude of Princes, and the
liberty of Subiectes, we shall finde that he which hath most to
doe in the Realme, or beareth greatest swinge, is most subiect
to Thraldome. So that if Princes haue authority to geue liberty,
they haue no meanes to be free themselues: the gods haue created
vs so fre, and euery man desireth to haue hys liberty so mutch
at wyll, that a man be he neuer so familiar a freende, or so
neare of kin, we rather haue him to be our subiect, than our
Lorde and mayster: one man alone commandeth all, and yet it
seemeth to him but little: ought we then to marueile, if many be
weary to obey one? Wee loue and esteeme our selues so mutch, as
I neuer saw any which of his owne good wil would be subiect, ne
yet agaynst his will was made a Lord, a Principle by dayly
experience proued very true: for the quarrels and warres that be
amongs men, are not so mutch for obedience sake, as for rule and
commaundment. I say moreouer, that in drinking, eating,
clothing, speaking, and louing, al men be of diuers qualities:
but to get lyberty, they be all conformable. I haue spoken thus
mutch (O Fathers conscript) vpon occasion of mine owne Empire,
which I haue taken with good will, albeit afterwards I was sory
for the great charge. For the waltering Seas and troublesome
gournement be two things agreeable to beholde, and daungerous to
proue. Notwithstanding sith it hath pleased the Gods that I
should be youre Lord, and you my subiects, I beseech you hartely
to vse your obedience, as to your soueraygne lord, in that which
shall be right and iust, and to aduertise me like a father, in
things that shall seeme vnreasonable. The Consul Rutulus hath
sayed mutch vnto mee in your behalfe, and hath saluted me for
the people, hee himselfe shall bring aunswere and shal salute
you al in my name. The Allobrogians and the inhabitaunts about
the riuer Rhene, be at controuersie for the limittes of their
countrey, and haue prayed me to be their Arbitrator, which will
stay me a little there. I require that this letter may be red
within the Senate house, and manifested to the whole people. The
Gods preserue you.

  _An other Letter of the Emperour Traian to the Romayne Senate,
  contayning how gouerners of Common wealths ought to bee friendes
  rather to those whych vse traficke, than to them that gather and
  heape together._

Cocceius Traiane Emperour of the Romaynes to our holy senate
health and consolation in the Gods of comfort. The affayres be
so manyfolde, and businesse so graue and weighty, which we haue
to doe with diuers Countries, that scarce we haue tyme to eate,
and space to take anye rest, the Romane Prynces hauing still by
auncient custome both lacke of tyme, and commonly want of money.
And bicause that they which haue charge of common wealths, to
the vttermost of their power ought to be fryends to traficke of
marchandise, and enimyes of heapynge treasure together, Prynces
haue so many people to please, and so greate numbre of crauers,
that if they keepe any thing for them, the same shall rather
seeme a spice of theft than of prouidence. To take away an other
man’s goodes, truly is a wycked part: but if it bee permitted to
take Treasure, better it were to take it out of the Temples,
than to defraude the people: for the one is consecrated to the
immortall Gods, and the other to the pore commons. I speake this
(right honorable fathers) to put you in remembraunce, and also
to aduise you, that you take good heede to the goodes of the
common wealth, howe they bee dyspended, howe gathered together,
howe they bee kepte, and howe they be employed. For ye ought to
vnderstand, that the goodes of the Common wealth be committed to
you in trust, not to the ende yee shoulde enioy them, but rather
by good gouernement to vse them. We do heare that the Walles be
ready to fal, the Towers be in decay, and the Temples in great
ruine, wherof we be not a lyttle offended, and you ought also to
be ashamed, for so mutch as the damages and detryments of the
Common wealth, we ought eyther to remedy, or else to lament. Ye
haue wrytten vnto mee to know my pleasure, whether the censors,
pretors, and ediles should be yearely chosen, and not
perpetuall, as hitherto they haue bene: and specyally you say,
that the state of the Dictators (which is the greatest and
highest dignity in Rome) is onely but for sixe moneths. To that
I aunswer, that we are wel contented wyth that aduyse: for not
wythout cause and iust reason our predecessours dyd abolyshe the
fyrst kynges of Rome, and ordayned, that the Consuls should
yearely be chosen in the Common wealthe. Whych was done, in
consyderation that hee whych had perpetuall gouernement, many
tymes became insolente and proude. And therefore that the
charges and offices of the Senate, should be yearely, to auoyde
danger, which if they should be perpetual there myght ensue
great hurt and damage to the common wealth: for if the Officers
beyng yerely chosen, be good, they may be continued: and if they
bee euyll, they may be chaunged. And truely the officer, whych
knoweth that vpon the end of euery yeare he must be chaunged and
examined of his charge, he wyll take good heede to that whych he
speaketh, and first of all wil consider what he taketh in hand.
The good Marcus Portius was the first that caused the Officers
of the Romane Common Wealthe to bee thus visited and corrected.
And bycause that these Almayne Warres doe styll increase, by
reason that kyng Deceball wyll not as yet bee brought to
obedience of the Romanes, but rather goeth about to occupy and
winne the Kingdomes of Dacia and Polonia, I shall be forced
through the businesse of the wars, (so long continuing) to
deuyse and consult here vppon the affayres touchyng the
gouernement of the common wealth of Rome. For a lesse euyll it
is for a Prynce to be neglygent in matters of Warre, than in the
gouernement of the Common Wealth. A Prynce also ought to think,
that he is chosen, not to make wars, but to gouerne, not to kyll
the Enimies, but to roote out vices, not that he goe in person
to inuade or defend his foes, but that he reside and be in the
Common Wealth, and not to take away other men’s goodes, but to
do iustice in euery man, for so mutch as the Prynce in the
warres can fight but for one, and in the publyke wealth he
committeth faults against a numbre. Truly it liketh me wel, that
from the degree of captaines men be aduaunced to bee emperors,
but I think it not good, that emperours do descende to be
captains, considering that, that realm shal neuer be in quyet,
where the Prince is to gret a warrior. This haue I spoken
(fathers conscript) to the intent ye may beleue, that I for my
parte if these warres of Almayne were to begin, I being at Rome,
it wer impossible that I should be brought vnto the same, for
that my principal intent, is to be estemed rather a good
gouerner of a common wealth, than a forward captain in the
field: nowe then principally I commend vnto you the veneration
of the temples, and honor of the gods, bicause kings neuer liue
in surety, if the gods be not honored, and the temples serued.
The last words which my good lord Nerua wrot vnto me were these:
“Honour the Temples, feare the gods, maintein Iustice in thy
commonwealth and defend the pore: in so doing thou shalt not be
forgotten of thy friend, nor vanquished by thy foe.” I do
greatly recommend vnto you the vertues of amity and fraternity,
for that you know how in great common wealthes, more hurt and
damage do ciuile and neighborly wars bryng vnto the same, than
those attempted by the enimies. If parents against parents, and
neighbours against neighbours had not begon mutuall hatred and
contention, neuer had Demetrius ouerthrowen the Rhodes, neuer
had Alexander conquered Thyr, Marcellus Syracusa, Scipio
Numantia. I recommend vnto you also the poore people, loue the
orphanes and fatherlesse children, support and help the widowes,
beware of quarrels and debates amongs you, and the causes of the
helplesse se that ye maintaine and defende: bicause the Gods dyd
neuer wreake more cruell vengeance vpon any, than vpon those
which dyd ill intreate and vse the poore and neady: and many
times I haue heard my Lord Nerua say, that the gods neuer shewed
themselues so rygorous, as agaynst a mercilesse and vnpitifull
people. Semblably, we pray you to be modest of woords, pacient
to suffer, and ware in your forme of lyfe. For a great fault it
is, and no lesse shame to a Gouerner, that he prayse the people
of his common wealth, and gyue them occasion to speake euill of
him: and therefore they which haue charge of the common wealth,
ought rather to repose trust in their workes, than in theyr
woords, for so mutch as the Citizens or common people, do rather
fixe theyr iudgement vpon that which they see, than on that
which they heare. I would wysh that (touching the affayres
appertinent to the Senate) they might not know in you any sparke
of ambicion, malice, deceipte, or enuy, to the intent that the
iust men might not so mutch complain of the commaunding of the
common wealth, as vpon the entertainment and profite of the
same. The Empire of the Greeks putting theyr felicity in
eloquence, and we in well doing. I speake this (ryght honorable
Fathers) to Counsell and Exhorte ye, that when ye be assembled
in Senate, ye do not consume tyme in dysputing and holding
opinions for the verification of any thynge. For if you will
iudge wythout parciality and affection without great
disputation, ye may come to reason. I do remember that being at
a lesson of Appolonius Thianeus, I heard him say that it was not
so expedient that Senators and Emperors should be skilful and
wyse, as if they suffred themselues to bee gouerned by those
that were of great experience and knowledg: and verely he said
truth: for by that meanes he prohibited and forbad them, not to
arrest and stand vpon their owne opinion, whereof they ought to
be many times suspicious. Lykewyse we recommend vnto you the
censores, who haue charge of Iudgement, and the Tribunes, whose
office is to attende the affrayes of Common Wealthe, that they
bee wyse and learned in the Lawes, expert in the Customes,
prouident in Iudgementes, and ware in theyr trade of lyfe: for I
say vnto you, that a wyse man is more availeable in gouernement
of a common wealth, than a man of ouermutch skyll and
experyence. The forme then whych ye shal obserue in matters of
Iudgement shall be thus: that in ciuile processe you keepe the
law, and in criminall causes to moderate the same, bicause
haynous, cruell, and rigorous lawes be rather made to amaze and
feare, than to be obserued and kept. When you giue any sentence,
ye ought to consider the age of the offendaunt, when, how,
wherefore, with whome, in whose presence, in what time, and how
longe ago, forsomutch as euery of these thyngs may eyther excuse
or condempne: whych you ought to beare and vse towards them in
lyke sort as the gods towards vs, who giue vs better helpe and
succoure and correct vs lesse than we deserue. That
consideration the Iudges ought to haue, bycause the offenders
doe rather trespasse the Gods than men: if then they be forgiuen
of the gods for offences whych they commit, reason it is that we
pardon faultes don by those rather then by our selues. In like
maner we commaund you, that if your enimies do you any anoiance
or iniury, not incontinently to take reuenge, but rather to
dissemble the same, bicause many wrongs be don in the world,
which were better to be dissembled than reuenged. Wherin ye shal
haue like regard, touching offices in the Senate and Common
Wealth, that they be not giuen to ambicious or couetous persons:
for there is no Beaste in the World so pestiferous and Venomous,
to the Common Wealth, as the Ambicious in commaunding, and the
couetous in gathering togither. Other things we let passe for
this tyme, vntil we haue intelligence howe these our
commaundements be fulfilled. This Letter shal be red in the
chyefest place within the Senate, and afterwards pronounced to
the people, that they may both know what yee commaunde, and see
also what ye doe. The Gods keepe you, whome we pray to preserue
our mother the City of Rome, and to send vs good successe in
these our Warres.


  _A notable Letter sent from the Romane Senate to the Emperour
  Traiane, where in is declared how sometimes the region of Spayne did
  furnish Rome wyth golde from their Mines, and now do adorne and
  garnish the same with Emperours to gouerne their Common wealth._

The sacred Romane Senate, to thee the great Cocceius Traiane new
Emperour Augustus, health in thy gods and ours, graces
euerlastyng wee render to the immortall Gods, for that thou art
in health, which wee desyre and pray may be perpetual. We
signified vnto thy maiesty the death of Nerua Cocceius, our
soueraigne Lord, and thy predecessor, a man of sincere lyfe,
a fryend of his Common Wealth, and a zealous louer of Iustice,
wherein also we aduertised, that like as Rome did weepe for the
cruell lyfe of Domitian, so mutch the more bitterly doth she
bewayle the death of thine vncle Nerua, whose councel (although
hee was very olde and diseased) which he gaue vs lyinge on his
Bedde, we loued better, and imbraced with greater comforte, than
all the enterpryses and deedes don by his predecessors, when
they were in health and lusty: and besides the ordinary mourning
vsed to bee done in Rome for Prynces, wee haue caused all
recreation and pastime to cease, so wel in the common wealth as
with euery of vs particularly. We haue shut vp the Temples and
made the Senate vnderstand, how displeasantly we accept the
death of good men. The good old gentleman Nerua dyed in hys
house, and was buried in the fielde of Mars: he died in debte,
and we haue payd hys debtes: he dyed callyng vppon the Gods, and
we haue canonized him amongs theyr numbre, and that which is
most to be noted, hee died commending vnto vs the common wealth,
and the Common wealth recommending it self vnto him: and a
little before his latter gaspe, to the principall of the holy
Senate, and many other of the people, standing about his
bedside, he sayde: “O ye fathers, I committe vnto you the common
wealth and my selfe also vnto the Gods: vnto whom I render
infinite thankes, bicause they haue taken from me my children,
to bee mine heires and haue lefte mee Traiane to succede.” You
do remembre (most dread soueraign lord) that the good Empereour
Nerua had other successours than your maiesty, of nearer
alyance, of greater frendship more bound by seruice, and of
greater proofe in warfare: notwithstandyng amongs other noble
personages, vpon you alone he cast his eyes, reposinge in you
such opinyon and confidence, as to reuiue the prowes and
valyaunt facts of the good Emperor Augustus, he suppressed in
oblivion the insolent facts of Domitian. When Nerua came vnto
the Crowne, he found the treasure pilled, the Senate in
dissentyon, the people in commotion, Iustice not obserued, and
the Common wealth ouerthrowen: which you likewyse presentlye
shall finde, although otherwyse quiet and wholy reformed:
wherfore we shalbe right glad, that you conserue the Common
wealth in the state wherin your vncle Nerua left it, consideryng
specially that new Prynces vnder colour to introduce new
customs, do ouerthrow their common Wealths: fourtene Prynces
your predecessours in the Empyre were naturally borne in Rome,
and you are the firste straunger Prynce. Wherefore we pray the
immortall Gods, (sith that the stocke of our auncient Cæsars is
dead) to send thee good Fortune. Out of the countrey of Spaine
was wont to come to this our Romane city great abundance of
gold, siluer, steele, leade, and tinne, from theyr mines: but
now in place thereof, she giueth vs Emperours to gouern our
common wealths: sith then that thou commest of so good a
countrey as Spayne is, from so good a Prouince as is Vandolosia,
and from so excellent a citty as Cales is, of so noble and
fortunate a Linage as is Cocceius, and aduaunced to so noble an
Empire, it is to be supposed that thou wilt proue good and not
euil: for the Gods immortall many times do take away their
graces from vngratefull men: moreouer (most excellent prince)
sith you wrote vnto vs the maner and order what we ought to doe:
reason it is that we write to you agayne what you ought to
foresee: and sith you haue tolde vs, and taught vs to obey you,
meete it is that we may know what your pleasure is to commaunde:
for that (it may come to passe) that as you haue bene brought vp
in Spayne, and of longe time bene absent from Rome, through
followinge the Warres, that not knowing the lawes whereunto we
are sworn, and the customes which we haue in Rome, yee commaunde
some thinge that may redound to our damage, and to your
dishonor: and therefore we accoumpt it reason that your Maiesty
bee aduertised hereof, and the same preuented, for so much as
Princes oftentimes be negligent of many things, not for that
they wil not foresee the same, but rather for want of one that
dare tell them what they ought to doe: and therefore we humbly
beseech your most excellent maiesty, to extende and shewe forth
your wisedome and prudence, for that the Romanes hearts bene
drawen and made pliant rather by fauourable diligence, than by
prouoked force. Touchinge the vertue, Iustice, may it please you
to remembre the same: for your olde vncle Nerua was wont to say,
that a Prince for all his magnanimity, valiaunce, and felicity,
if he do not vse and maintayne Iustice, ought not for any other
merite to be praysed and commended. Semblably we make our humble
Petition, that those commaundements which you shal send and
require to be put in execution, be thoroughly established and
obserued: for the goodnesse of the lawe doth not consist in the
ordinaunce, but in the fulfilling and acomplishement of the
same: wee will not also omit to say vnto you (most famous
Prince) that you must haue pacience to suffer the importunate,
and to dissemble with the offenders: for that it is the deede of
a Prince to chastise and punishe the wrongs done in a common
wealth, and to pardon the disobedience done vnto him. You send
vs word by your letters that you wil not come to Rome, vntyll
you haue finished the Germaine Warres: whych seemeth vnto vs to
be the determination of a vertuous and right noble Emperour, for
so mutch as good Princes such as you be, oughte not to desire
and chose places of delite and recreation, but rather to seke
and win renowne and fame. You commaunde vs also to haue regarde
to the veneration of the Temples, and to the seruice of the
Gods: whych request is iuste, but very iuste it were and meete
that your selfe should doe the same: for our seruice would
little preuaile, if you should displease them. You wil vs also
one to loue an other, whych is the counsel of a holy and
peaceable Prince: but know ye that wee shal not be able to doe
the same, if you wil not loue and intreat vs all in equall and
indifferent sorte: for Prynces chearyshinge and louing some
aboue the rest, do raise slanders and grudges amongs the people:
you likewise recommend vnto vs, the poore and the widowes:
wherin we thinke that you ought to commaund the Collecters of
your Tributes, that they do not grieue, when they gather your
ryghtes and customes: for greater sinne it is to spoyle and pill
the needy sort, than meritorious to succour and relieue them.
Likewise you do persuade vs to be quiet and circumspect in our
affayres, which is a persuasion resembling the nature of a
worthye Prynce and also of a pitifull father. In semblable maner
you require vs not to be opinionatiue and wilfull in the Senate,
ne affectionate to self wil whych shal be done accordingly as
you commaund, and accept it as you say: but therwithall you
ought to think that in graue and wayghty matters, the more
depely things be debated, the better they shall be prouided and
decreed: you bid vs also to beware, the Censores be honest of
lyfe and rightful in doing iustice: to that we aunswere, that in
the same we will haue good respect, but it is expedient that you
take hede to them whom you shal name and appoint to those
offices: for if you do chose such as they ought to be, no cause
shal rise to reprehend them. Item wher you say, that we ought to
take hede, that our children committe no offences to the people,
wherein the aduise of the senate is, that you do draw them awaye
from vs, and cal them to the Almayne warres, for as you do knowe
(right souerain prince) that when the publike welth is exempt,
and voyd of enimies, then the same wil begin to bee replenyshed
wyth youthfull vices. Notwithstanding when the warres bee farre
of from Rome, then the same to them is profitable, bicause there
is nothing which better cleanseth common wealths from wicked
people, than warres in straunge Countries. Concernyng other
things which you write vnto vs nedefull it is not now to recite
them, but onely to see them kept: for truely they seeme rather
to be the lawes of God Apollo him selfe, than counsels of a
Mortall man. The gods preserue your Maiesty, and graunt you good
successe in those your warres.

These Letters and Epistles, although besides the Scope and
Nature of a Nouell, yet so worthy to be read and practysed, as
no History or other mortall Precepte more: expressing the great
care of a maister towards his scholler, that he should proue no
worse being an emperor, than he shewed hymselfe diligent when he
was a Scholer: fearing that if he should gouerne contrary to his
expectation, or degenerate from the good institution, whych in
hys yong yeares hee imbraced, that the blame and slaunder should
rest in hymselfe: that was his tutor and bringer vp. O careful
Plutarch, O most happy maister, as well for thine owne industry,
as for the good successe of such a Scholer: and O most fortunate
and vertuous Emperor, that could so wel brooke and digest the
blissed persuasions of sutch a maister, whose mind wyth the
blast of promotion, was not so swolne and puffed, but that it
vouchsafed to cal him father and maister, stil crauing for in
instigation of reproofe, when he slid or slypped from the path
of reason and duety. And happy Counsel and Senate that could so
wel like and practyse the documents of such an Emperour.




THE THIRTEENTH NOUELL.

  _A notable History of three amorous Gentlewomen, called Lamia,
  Flora, and Lais: conteyning the sutes of noble Princes and other
  great Personages made vnto them, with their answeres to diuers
  demaundes: and the manner of their death and funerals._


Leauynge now our morall discourse of a carefull Mayster, of a
prouydent Scholer, of a vertuous Emperoure, of a sacred Senate,
and vniforme magistery, returne we to the setting forth and
description of three arrant honest Women, which for lewdnesse
wer famous, and for wicked Lyfe worthy to be noted with a blacke
coale, or rather their memory raked in the Dust and Cinders of
their Corpses vnpure. But as all histories be ful of lessons of
vertue and vice, as Bookes, sacred and prophane, describe the
liues of good and bad for example sake, to yelde meanes to the
posterity, to ensue the one and eschue the other, so haue I
thought to intermingle amongest these Nouels the seuerall sortes
of either, that ech Sexe and Kinde may pike out like the Bee, of
ech Floure, Honny, to store and furnishe with delightes their
well disposed myndes. I purpose, then, to vnlace the dissolute
lyues of three Amorouse Dames, that with their graces allured
the greatest Princes that euer were: enticed the noble men, and
sometimes procured the wisest and best learned to craue their
acquaintance, as by the sequele hereof shall well appeare. These
three famous Women, (as Writers do witnesse) were furnished with
many goodly graces and giftes of nature: that is to say, great
beautye of face, goodly proporcion of body, large and high
foreheades, theyr breastes placed in comely order, smal wasted,
fayre handes of passing cunning to play vpon Instruments,
a heauenly voice to fayne and sing: briefly, their qualities and
beauty were more famous than euer any that were born within the
Countries of Asia and Europa. They were neuer beloued of Prince
that did forsake them, nor yet they made request of any thing
which was denied them: they neuer mocked or flowted man (a thing
rare in women of theyr condition) ne yet were mocked of any: but
theyr specyal propreties wer to allure men to loue them: Lamia
wyth hir pleasaunt loke and eye, Flora with hir eloquent tongue,
and Lais wyth the grace and sweetenesse of hir singing voyce:
a straunge thinge that he which once was surprysed wyth the loue
of any of those three, eyther to late or neuer was delyuered of
the same. They were the richest courtizans that euer lyued in
the worlde, so long as theyr life did last, and after theyr
decease, great monumentes were erected for theyr remembraunce,
in place where they died. The most auncient of these three
Amorous dames was Lamia, who was in the tyme of King Antigonus,
that warfared in the seruice of Alexander the Great, a valyant
gentleman, although not fauored by Fortune. Thys kynge Antigonus
left behynde hym a sonne and heyre called Demetrius, who was
lesse valyaunt, but more fortunate than his father, and had bene
a Prynce of greate estimation, if in hys youthe hee had acquyred
frendes, and kept the same, and in hys age had not ben gyuen to
so many vices. Thys King Demetrius was in loue with Lamia, and
presented hir wyth rich giftes and rewardes, and loued hir so
affectionately, and in sutch sort, as in the loue of his Lamia
he semed rather a fole than a true louer: for, forgetting the
grauity and authoritye of his person, hee dyd not onelye gyue
hir all such things as she demaunded, but besides that hee vsed
no more the company of his wyfe Euxonia. On a tyme Kyng
Demetrius asking Lamia what was the thing wherewyth a woman was
sonest wonne? “There is nothing,” answered shee, “whych sooner
ouercommeth a Woman, than when she seeth a man to loue hir with
al hys hart, and to susteyne for hir sake greate paynes and
passyons wyth long continuance and entier affection, for to love
men by collusion, causeth afterwards that they be mocked.”
Agayn, Demetrius asked hir further: “Tell me, Lamia, why doe
diuerse Women rather hate than loue men?” Whereunto she
answered: “The greatest cause why a Woman doth hate a man, is,
when the man doth vaunt and boast himselfe of that which he doth
not, and performeth not the thing which he promiseth.” Demetrius
demaunded of her: “Tell me, Lamia, what is the thing wherewith
men doe content you best?”--“When wee see him,” sayde she, “to
be dyscrete in wordes, and secrete in his dedes.” Demetrius
asked hir further: “Tell me, Lamia, how chaunceth it that men be
ill matched?” “Bycause,” answered Lamia, “it is impossible that
they be well maryed, when the wife is in neede, and the husbande
vndiscrete.” Demetrius asked hir what was the cause that amitye
betwene lwo louers was broken? “There is nothing,” answered she,
“that soner maketh colde the loue betwene two louers, than when
one of them doth straye in loue, and the Woman louer to
importunate to craue.” He demaunded further: “Tell me, Lamia,
what is the thinge that moste tormenteth the louing man?” “Not
to attayne the thing which he desireth,” answered she, “and
thinketh to lose the thing whych he hopeth to enioy.” Demetrius
yet once agayne asked hir thys question: “What is that, Lamia,
which most troubleth a Woman’s hart?” “There is nothing,”
answered Lamia, “wherwith a woman is more grieued, and maketh
hir more sad, than to be called ill fauored, or that she hath no
good grace, or to vnderstand that she is dissolute of lyfe.”
This lady Lamia was of iudgement delicate and subtyll, although
il imployed in hir, and thereby made al the world in loue with
hir, and drew al men to hir through hir fayre speach. Now,
before she lost the heart of Kyng Demetrius, shee haunted of
long time the vniuersities of Athenes, where she gayned great
store of money, and brought to destructyon many young men.
Plutarch, in the lyfe of Demetrius, saith, That the Atheniens
hauing presented vnto him XII. C. talents of money for a
subsidie to pay his men of warre, he gaue al that summe to his
woman Lamia: by meanes whereof the Atheniens grudged, and were
offended wyth the kyng, not for the losse of their gift, but for
that it was so euil employed. When the King Demetrius would
assure any thynge by oth, hee swore not by his gods, ne yet by
his predecessors, but in this sort: “As I may be styll in the
grace of my lady Lamia, and as hir lyfe and mine may ende
together, so true is this which I say and do, in this and thys
sort.” One yere and two Moneths before the Death of King
Demetrius, his frend Lamia died, who sorowed so mutch hir death,
as for the absence and death of hir, he caused the Phylosophers
of Athens to entre in this Disputation, Whether the teares and
sorow whiche he shed and toke for her sake, were more to be
estemed than the riches which he spent in her obsequies and
funerall pompes. This Amorous gentlewoman Lamia, was borne in
Argos, a City of Peloponnesus, besides Athenes, of base
parentage, who in hir first yeares haunted the countrey of Asia
Maior, of very wyld and dissolute lyfe, and in the ende came
into Phænicia. And when the Kyng Demetrius had caused hir to be
buried beefore hys chamber-window, hys chiefest frendes asked
him, wherefore hee had entoomed hir in that place? his aunswere
was this: “I loued hir so wel, and she likewyse me so hartyly,
as I know not which way to satisfie the loue which she bare me,
and the duety I haue to loue her agayne, if not to put hir in
such place as myne eyes maye wepe euery day and mine hart still
lament.” Truely this loue was straung, which so mighty a Monarch
as Demetrius was, did beare vnto such a notable curtizan,
a woman vtterly void of grace, barren of good workes, and
without any zeale or spark of vertue, as it should appeare. But
sith we read and know that none are more giuen or bent to
vnreasonable loue, than mighty Princes, what should it bee demed
straung and maruellous, if Demetrius amongs the rest do come in
place for the loue of that most famous woman, if Fame may
stretch to eyther sorts, both good and euill? But let vs come to
the second infamous gentlewoman, called Lais. She was of the
isle of Bithritos, which is in the confines of Græcia, and was
the daughter of the great Sacrificer of Apollo his temple at
Delphos, a man greatly experienced in the magike art, wherby he
prophecyed the perdition of his daughter. Now this amorous Lias
was in triumph in the time of the renowmed King Pyrrhus,
a Prince very ambitious to acquire honor, but not very happy to
keepe it, who being yonge of sixteene or seuenteene yeares, came
into Italy to make warres against the Romains: he was the first
(as some say) that aranged a camp in ordre, and made the
Phalanx, the mayne square and battell: for before hys time, when
they came to entre battell, they assailed confusedly and out of
array gaue the onset. This amorous Lias continued long time in
the campe of Kynge Pyrrhus, and went wyth hym into Italy, and
wyth him retourned from warre agayne, and yet hir nature was
sutch, as shee woulde neuer bee mainteined wyth one man alone.
The same Lias was so amorous in her conuersatyon, so excellent
fayre, and of so comely grace, that if shee would haue kept hir
selfe faythfull to one Lorde or gentleman, there was no prynce
in the world but if he would haue yelded himselfe and all that
he had at hir commaundement. Lias, from hir retourne out of
Italy into Greece, repayred to the citye of Corinth, to make hir
abode there, where she was pursued by many kings, lordes, and
prynces. Aulus Gellius saith (which I haue recited in my former
part of the Pallace of pleasure, the fiftenth Noeuill,) that the
good Philosopher, Demosthenes, went from Athens to Corinth, in
disguised apparell, to see Lais, and to haue hir company, But
before the dore was opened, she sent one to demaunde .XII. C.
Sestercios of siluer: whereunto Demosthenes answered: “I buy not
repentance so deere.” And I beleue that Demosthenes spake those
wordes by folowyng the sentence of Diogenes, who sayeth, that
euery beast after such acte is heauy and sad. Som wryters
affirme of this Amorous Lais, that thing whych I neuer reade or
hearde of Woman: whych is, that shee neuer shewed signe or token
of loue to that man whych was desyrous to doe her seruice: nor
was neuer hated of man that knew her. Whereby we may comprehend
the happe and fortune of that amorous Woman. Shee neuer shewed
semblance of great loue to any person, and yet shee was beloued
of all. If the amorous Lamia had a good Spirite and mynde, Lais
truely had no lesse. For in the art of loue she exceeded all
other women of hir detestable Arte and Scyence, as well in
Knowledge of Loue as to profite in the same. Vppon a Daye a
Younge Man of Corinth demaundying of hir, what hee shoulde say
to a Woman whome hee long tyme had loued, and made so greate
sute, that thereby he was like to fal into dispayre. “Thou shalt
say,” (sayd Lais) “vnto hir, that sith she wyl not graunt thy
request, yet at least wyse it myght please hir to suffer thee to
bee hir seruant, and that shee would take in good parte the
Seruice that thou shalt doe vnto hir. Whych requeste if shee doe
graunte, then hope to attayne the ende of thy attempte, bycause
wee Women bee of such nature, as opening our mouthes to gyue
some mylde and pleasant answere to the amorous person, it is to
bee thoughte that wee haue gyuen our heart vnto hym.” An other
Daye, in the presence of Lias, one praysed the Phylosophers of
Athens, saying, that they were very honest personages, and of
great learnynge. Whereunto Lais aunswered: “I can not tell what
great knowledg they haue, nor what science they studye, ne yet
what bookes youre Philosophers doe reade, but thys I am sure,
that to me beynge a woman and neuer was at Athenes, I see them
repayre, and of Philosophers beecome amorous persons.” A Theban
knighte demaunded of Lais, what he might doe to enioy a ladye
wyth whose loue hee should bee surprised: Shee aunswered thus.
“A man that is desirous of a woman, must folow his sute, serue
hir, and suffer hir and somtymes to seeme as though he had
forgotten hir. For after that a womans heart is moued to loue,
she regardeth more the forgetfulnesse and negligence vsed
towards hir, than she doth the seruice done before.” An other
Gentleman of Achaia asked hir what he shoulde doe to a woman,
whom he suspected that she had falsified hir fayth{.} Lais
aunswered, “make hir beleue that thou thinkest she is very
faythful and take from hir the occasions wherby shee hath good
cause to be vnfaythful: For if she do perceiue that thou knowest
it, and dissemblest the matter, she wyll sooner dye than
amende.” A gentleman of Palestine at another time inquired of
hir what hee should doe to a Woman whych he serued, and did not
esteeme the seruyce done vnto hir, ne yet gaue him thankes for
the loue which hee bare hir. Lais sayed vnto him: “If thou be
disposed to serue hir no longer, let hir not perceiue that thou
hast gyuen hir ouer. For naturally we women be tendre in loue,
and hard in hatred.” Beyng demaunded by one of hir Neyghbours
what shee shoulde doe to make hir Daughter very wyse. “Shee”
(sayde Lais) “that wyll haue hir Daughter to bee good and
honest, must from her youth learne hir to feare, and in going
abrode to haunte litle company, and that she be shamefast and
moderate in hir talke.” An other of hir neighbors inquyryng of
hir what shee myght doe to hir daughter whych began to haue
delyght to rome in the fieldes and wander abroade. “The remedy”
(sayde Lais) “that I finde for your daughter disposed to that
condition, is, not to suffer hir to be ydle, ne yet to be braue
and sumptuous in apparel.” This amorous gentlewoman Lais, dyed
in the Citye of Corinth, of the age of .lXXII. Yeares, whose
death was of many matrones desired and of a great numbre of
amorous persones lamented. The thyrd amorous gentlewoman was
called Flora, which was not so auncient, ne yet of so greate
renoume as Lamia and Lais were, whose country also was not so
famous, For she was of Italy, and the other two of Grecia, and
although that Lamia and Lais exceded Flora in antiquity, yet
Flora surmounted them in lineage and generositie. For Flora was
of noble house, although in life lesse than chast. She was of
the country of Nola in Campania, issued of certayne Romans,
Knights very famous in facts of Armes and of great industrie and
gouernement in the common wealth. When the Father and mother of
this Flora deceased, she was of the age of XV. yeares, indued
with great riches and singular beauty, and the very orphane of
all hir kynne. For shee had neyther brother lefte wyth whom shee
myght soiourne, ne yet vncle to gyue her good counsell. In such
wyse that lyke as this young maistres Flora had youthe, riches,
lyberty and beauty, euen so there wanted neyther baudes nor
Pandores to entyce hir to fal, and allure hir to folly. Flora
seeing hir self beset in this wise, she determined to goe into
the Affrick warres, where she hazarded both in hir person and
hir honor. This dame florished and tryumphed in the tyme of the
firste Punique warres, when the Consul Mamillus was sent to
Carthage, who dispended more Money vpon the loue of Flora, than
hee did vpon the chase and pursute of his enimies. This amorous
lady Flora had a writyng and tytle fixed vpon hir gate, the
effect wherof was this: _King, Prince, Dictator, Consul, Censor,
high Bishop, and Questor may knocke and come in._ In that
writyng Flora named neither emperor nor Cæsar, bycause those two
most Noble names were long tyme after created by the Romanes.
Thys Amorous Flora woulde neuer abandon hir Person, but wyth
Gentlemen of Noble House, or of greate Dygnitye and Ryches. For
shee was wonte to say that a Woman of passinge Beauty shoulde be
so mutch esteemed as shee doth esteeme and sette by hir selfe.
Lias and Flora were of contrary maners and conditions. For Lias
would first bee payde, before shee yelded the vse of hir bodye:
but Flora wythout any semblance of desire eyther of golde or
siluer was contented to bee ruled by those with whom shee
committed the facte. Wherof vppon a day being demaunded the
question, she answered: “I gyue my body to prynces and noble
Barons, that they may deale with mee lyke Gentlemen. For I
sweare vnto you by the Goddesse Venus, that neuer man gaue me so
little, but that I had more than I looked for, and the double of
that which I could demaund.” This Amorous lady Flora was wont
many times to saye, that a wise woman (or more aptly to terme
her a subtyll Wench) oughte not to demaund reward of her louer
for the acceptable pleasure which she doth hym but rather for
the loue whych she beareth him, bycause that al thinges in the
world haue a certayn pryce, except loue, which cannot bee payde
or recompenced but wyth loue. All the Ambassadors of the worlde,
whych had accesse into Italy, made so greate reporte of the
Beauty and Generositie of Flora, as they dyd of the Romane
common wealth, bycause it seemed to bee a Monstrous thynge to
see the Ryches of hir house, hir trayne, hir beauty the princes
and great lordes by whom she was required, and the presents and
giftes that were gyuen vnto hir. This Amorous Flora had a
continual regard to the noble house whereof shee came touchyng
the magnyficence and state of her seruyce. For albeit that she
was but a common woman, yet she was serued and honored lyke a
great lady. That day wherein she rode about the city of Rome,
she gaue occasion to be spoken of a whole month after, one
inquirynge of an other what great Romaine lords they were that
kepte her company? Whose men they were that waighted vpon her?
And whose liuery they ware. What Ladies they wer that rode in
her trayne. The brauery of hir apparell, hir great beauty and
port, and the wordes spoken by the amorous gentlemen in that
troupe were not vnremembred. When this maistres Flora waxed old,
a yong and beautifull gentleman of Corinth, demaunded her to
wyfe, to whom she answered: “I know well that thou wilt not
marie, the three score yeares whych Flora hath, but rather thou
desirest to haue the twelue hundred thousand Sestercios which
she hath in hir Coffres. Content thy selfe therefore, my frende,
and get thee home agayne to Corinth from whence thou comest. For
to sutch as be of myne age great honor is borne, and reuerence
done for the riches and wealth they haue, rather than for
mariage.” There was neuer in the Romane Empyre, the lyke amorous
woman that Flora was, indued wyth so many graces and Queenelyke
qualities, for shee was of noble house, of singuler beauty, of
comely personage, discrete in hir affayres, and besides al other
comly qualyties, very lyberall. This maistres Flora spent the
most part of hir youth in Affrica, Almayne and Gallia
Transalpina. And albeit that she would not suffre anye other but
great lords to haue possession of hir body, yet she applyed hir
selfe to the spoile of those that were in place, and to the
praye of those that came from the warres. This amorous Flora
died when she was of the age of LXXV. yeares. She left for the
principal heire of all hir goods and Iuells. the Romain people,
which was estemed sufficient and able to make newe the Walles of
Rome, and to raunsome and redeme the common Wealth of the same.
And bycause that shee was a Romaine, and had made the state
therefore hir heyre, the Romaines builded in hir honor a
sumptuous Temple, whych in memorye of Fora was called Florianum:
and euery yeare in the memorye of hir, they celebrated hir feast
vppon the day of hir death: Suetonius Tranquillus sayeth, that
the first feaste which the Emperour Galba the second celebrated
wyth in Rome, was the feast of the amorous Flora, vpon whych
daye it was lawful for men and women, to doe what kynd of
dishonesty they could deuise. And she was estemed to be the
greater saint which that day shewed her selfe moste dissolute
and wanton. And bicause that the temple Florianum, was dedycated
to amorous Flora, the Romanes had an opinion, that al women
which vpon the same day repayred to the Temple in whorish
apparell, should haue the graces and giftes that Flora had.
These were the fond opinions and maners of the auncient, which
after their owne makinge and deuises framed Gods and Goddesses,
and bycause she proued vnshamefast and rich, a Temple must bee
erected, and Sacrifices ordayned for hir Whorish triumphes. But
that noble men and Kings haue bene rapt and transported with the
lurements of sutch notorious strumpets, is and hath bene common
in all ages. And commonly sutch infamous women be indewed with
greatest gifts and graces, the rather to noosell and dandle
their fauorers in the laps of their fadinge pleasures. But euery
of them a most speciall grace, aboue the rest. As of a Kyng not
lot long agoe we reade, that kept three, one the holiest,
another the craftiest, and the third the meriest. Two of which
properties meete for honest Women: although the third so
incident to that kinde as heat to a liuinge body. Cease wee then
of this kynde, and let vs step forth to be acquaynted with a
lady and a Queene the Godlyest and stoutest, that is remembred
in any auncient Monument or Hystory.




THE FOURTEENTH NOUELL.

  _The lyfe and giftes of the most Famous Queene Zenobia with the
  letters of the Emperour Avrelianvs to the sayde Queene, and her
  stoute aunswere thereunto._


Zenobia Queene of Palmyres, was a right famous Gentlewoman, as
diuerse Hystoriographers largely do report and write. Who
although shee was no Christian Lady, yet so worthy of Imitation,
as she was for hir vertues and heroycall facts of Immortall
prayse. By hir wysedome and stoutnesse she subdued all the
empire of the Orient, and resisted the inuincible Romans. And
for that it is meete and requisite to alleage and aduouch
reasons by weight, and words by measure, I wil orderly begin to
recite the History of that most famous Queene. Wherefore I say,
that about the .284. Olimpiade, no long tyme after the death of
the vnhappy Emperour Decius, Valerian was chosen Emperour by the
Senate, and (as Trebellius Pollio his Hystorian doth describe)
he was a well learned prince, indued with manyfold vertues, that
for his speciall prayse, these wordes be recorded of him. _If
all the World had bene assembled to chose a good Prince, they
would not haue chosen any other but good Valerian._ It is also
written of hym, that in liberality he was noble, in words true,
in talke wary, in promise constant, to his frends familiar, and
to his enemies seuere, and which is more to be esteemed, he
could not forget seruice, nor yet reuenge wronge. It came to
passe that in the XIV. yeare of his raygne, there rose sutch
cruell Warres in Asia, that forced he was to go thither in his
owne person, to resist Sapor king of the Persians, a very
valyaunt man of Warre and fortunate in his enterprises, which
happinesse of hys not long time after the arryuall of Valerian
into Asia, hee manifested and shewed. For beeyng betwene them
such hot and cruell warres, in a skyrmish, throughe the greate
faulte of the General, (which had the conduct of the armye) the
Emperour Valerian was taken, and brought into the puissance of
King Sapor hys ennimy, whych cursed tyrant so wickedlye vsed
that victory, as hee woulde by no meanes put the Emperour to
raunsome, towards whom hee vsed such cruelty, that so oft and so
many tymes, as hee was disposed to gette vp on horsebacke hee
vsed the body of olde Valerian to serue hym for aduauntage,
setting his feete vppon the throate of that aged gentleman. In
that myserable office and vnhappy captiuity serued and dyed the
good Emperour Valerian, not wyth oute the greate sorrowe of them
that knew him, and the rueful compassion of those that sawe him,
which the Romans considering, and that neither by offre of gold,
or siluer, or other meanes, they were able to redeeme Valerian,
they determined to choose for Emperour his owne sonne called
Galienus: which they did more for respect of the father, than
for any minde or corage they knew to bee in the sonne. Who
afterwardes shewed himselfe to bee farre different from the
conditions of his father Valerian, being in his enterprises a
cowarde, in his promisses a lyer, in correction cruell, towards
them that serued him vnthanckfull, (and which is worse,) hee
gaue himselfe to his desires, and yealded place to sensuality.
By meanes wherof, in his tyme the Romain Empyre more than in any
others raygne, lost most prouinces and receiued greatest shame.
In factes of warre he was a cowarde, and in gouernement of
common wealth, a very weake and feeble man. Galienus not caryng
for the state of the Empire, became so myserable as the
Gouernors of the same gaue ouer their obedience, and in the tyme
of hys raygne, there rose vp thyrty tyrants, whych vsurped the
same. Whose names doe followe, Cyriades, Posthumus the yonger,
Lollius, Victorinus, Marius, Ingenuus, Regillianus, Aureolus,
Macrianus, Machianus the younger, Quietus, Odenatus, Herodes,
Mœnius Ballista, Valens, Piso Emilianus, Staturnius, Tetricus,
Etricus the younger, Trebelianus, Heremianus, Timolaus, Celsus,
Titus, Censorinus, Claudius, Aurelius, and Quintillus, of whom
XVIII, were captaynes and seruiters vnder the good Emperour
Valerian. Sutch delight had the Romanes, in that auncient world,
to haue good Captaynes, as were able to bee preferred to be
Emperours. Nowe in that tyme the Romanes had for their Captayne
generall, a knight called Odenatus, the Prynce of Palmerines,
a man truely of great vertue, and of passinge industry and
hardinesse in facts of warre. This Captayne Odenatus maried a
woman that descended of the auncient linage of the Ptolomes,
{s}ometymes Kinges of Ægypt, named Zenobia, which (if the
historians do not deceiue vs) was one of the most famous Women
of the Worlde. Shee had the heart of Alexander the great, shee
possessed the riches of Cræsus, the diligence of Pyrrhus, the
trauel of Haniball, the warie foresighte of Marcellus, and the
Iustice of Traiane. When Zenobia was married to Odenatus, she
had by hir other husband, a sonne called Herodes, and by
Odenatus shee had two other, whereof the one was called
Hyeronianus, and the other Ptolemus. And when the Emperour
Valerian was vanquyshed and taken, Odenatus was not then in the
Campe. For as all men thought, if he had ben there, they had not
receyued so greate an ouerthrow. So sone as good Odenatus was
aduertized of the defaict of Valerian, in great haste he marched
to the Roman Campe, that then was in great disorder. Whych with
greate diligence hee reassembled, and reduced the same to order,
and (holpen by good Fortune,) wythin xxx. Dayes after hee
recouered all that whych Valerian had loste, makynge the Persian
kyng to flee, by meanes whereof, and for that Odenatus had taken
charge of the army, hee wanne amonges the Romanes great
reputation, and truely not with out cause: For if in that good
time he had not receyued the charge the name and glory of the
Romanes had taken ende in Asia. Duryng all thys tyme Galienus,
lyued in hys delyghtes at Myllan, wythout care or thoughte of
the Common wealth, consumynge in his wylfull vices, the Money
that was leuied for the men of war. Whych was the cause that the
gouernours of the prouinces, and Captens general, seing him to
be so vicious and neglygent, vsurped the prouinces and armies
which they had in charge. Galienus voyde of all obedience sauing
of the Italians and Lombards, the first that rose vp against him
were Posthumus in Fraunce, Lollians in Spayne, Victorinus in
Affrica, Marius in Britane, Ingenuus in Germanie, Regillianus in
Denmark, Aureolus in Hungarie, Macrianus in Mesopotamia, and
Odenatus, in Syria. Before Odenatus rose against Valerian,
Macrianus enioied Mesopotamia and the greatest part of Syria,
whereof Odenatus hauing intelligence, he marched with his power
agaynst him and killed him, and discomfited all his army. The
death of the Tyran Macrian being knowen, and that Galienus was
so vicious, the armies in Asia assembled and chose Odenatus
Emperour: which Election although the Senate publickly durst not
agree vpon, yet secretly they allowed it, bycause they receyued
dayly newes, of the great Exploytes and deedes of armes done by
Odenatus, and saw on the other side the great continued follies
of Galienus. Almost three yeares and a halfe was Odenatus
Emperour and Lord of all the Orient, duringe which time he
recouered all the Lands and Prouinces lost by Galienus, and
payde the Romane army all the arrerages of their wages due vnto
them. But Fortune ful of inconstancy, suffred not this good
Prynce very long to raygne. For hauing in hys house a kinsman of
hys, named Meonius, to whom he bare great good will, for that he
sawe him to be a valiant man of warre, although Ignorant of his
Enuy and couetousnesse: it chaunced vpon a day as they two rode
on huntinge, and gallopinge after the pursute of a wylde Bore,
with the very same Bore Speare which Meonius caried to strike
the beast, he killed by treason his good Cousin Odenatus. But
that murder was not long time vnreuenged. For the Borespeare
wherewith he had so cruelly killed the Emperour his Cousin, was
incontinently known by the hunters which folowed Odenatus:
whervpon that day the head of Meonius was striken of. And
Galienius vnderstandinge the death of Odenatus, gaue great
rewardes and presents to them that brought him the newes, beinge
so ioyfull as the Romans wer angry to vnderstand those pitiful
tydings, bycause through the good ordre which Odenatus vsed in
Asia, they had great tranquillity and peace throughout Europa.
Now after the death of thys good Emperour Odenatus, the Armies
chose one of his two Sonnes to be Emperour of the Orient: But
for that he was younge, they chose Zenobia to be Protector of
hir sonne, and gouerner ouer the sayd Orient Empyre. Who seeing
that vpon the decease of Odenatus certayne of the East Countries
began to reuolt, shee determined to open hir Treasure, ressemble
hir men of Warre, and in hir owne person to march into the
fielde: where she did sutch notable enterprises, as shee
appalled hir enemies, and made the whole world to wonder. About
the age of .XXXV. yeares Zenobia was widow, beinge the Tutrix of
hir children, Regent of an Empyre, and Captayne generall of the
army. In which weighty charge she vsed hir selfe so wisely and
well, as shee acquired no lesse noble name in Asia, than Queene
Semiramis did in India. Zenobia was constant in that whych she
tooke in hand, true in words, liberall, mylde, and seuere where
she ought to be, discrete, graue, and secrete in her
enterprises, albeit she was ambicious. For, not content with hir
title of Gouernesse, or Regent, she wrote and caused her selfe
to be called Empresse, she loued not to ride vpon a Mule, or in
a littor, but greatly esteemed to haue great horse in hir stable
and to learne to handle and ryde them. When Zenobia went forth
of hir Tent to see the order and gouernment of hir Campe, she
continually did put on her Armure, and was well guarded with a
band of men, so that of a woman, she cared but onely for the
name, and in the facts of Armes shee craued the title of
valiaunt. The Captaynes of hir Army, neuer gaue battell, or made
assault, they neuer skyrmished or did other enterprise of warre,
but she was present in her owne person, and attempted to shewe
hirselfe more hardy than any of all the troupe, a thinge almost
incredible in that weake and feeble kinde. The sayd noble Queene
was of stature, bigge and well proporcioned, her eyes black and
quicke, hir forehead large, hir stomak and Breastes fayre and
vpright, her Face white, and ruddy, a little mouth, hir Teeth so
whyte, as they seemed like a rancke of white pearles, but aboue
all things she was of sutch excellent Spirit and courage, as
shee was feared for hir stoutnesse, and beloued for her beauty.
And although Zenobia was indued with so great beauty,
liberality, riches, and puissaunce, yet she was neuer stayned
with the blemish of vnchaste lyfe, or wyth other vanity: and as
hir husband Odenatus was wont to say, that after shee felt hir
selfe wyth chylde, shee neuer suffred hym to come neare her,
(sutch was hir great Chastity) sayinge that Women ought to marry
rather for children than for pleasure. She was also excellently
well learned in the Greke and Latine tongue. Shee did neuer eate
but one Meale a Day. Hir talke was verye lyttle and rare. The
Meate which shee vsed for hir repaste, was either the hanch of a
Wylde Bore, or else the syde of a Deere. Shee could drinke no
Wyne, nor abyde the sent thereof. But shee was so curyous in
good and perfect Waters, as shee would gyue so great a Pryce for
that, as is ordinaryly gyuen for Wyne bee it neuer so excellent.
So soone as the Kinges of Ægypte of Persia, and the Greekes,
were aduertized of the death of Odenatus, they sent theyr
Ambassadours to Zenobia, aswell to visite and comfort hir, as to
bee her confederats and frendes. So much was she feared and
redoubted for her rare vertues. The affayres of Zenobia beinge
in sutch estate in Asia, the Emperor Galienus died in Lombardie,
and the Romanes chose Aurelianus to bee Emperour, who although
he was of a base and obscure lineage, yet hee was of a great
valiance in factes of Armes. When Aurelianus was chosen
Emperour, he made great preparacion into Asia, to inferre warres
vpon Queene Zenobia, and in all hys tyme hee neuer attempted
greater enterprise for the Romanes. When hee was arryued in
Asia, the Emperour proceded agaynst the Queene, and shee as
valiantly defended hir selfe, continually being betwene them
great Alarams and skirmishes. But as Zenobia and hir people were
of lesse trauell and of better skyl in knowledge of the Country,
so they did greater harme and more anoiance vnto theyr Enimy,
and thereof receiued lesser damage. The Emperour seing that hee
should haue mutch adoe to vanquishe Zenobia by armes, determined
to ouercome hir by gentle wordes and fayre promisses: for which
cause he wrote vnto hir a letter, the tenor whereof ensueth.

Aurelianus Emperour of Rome and Lord of al Asia, to the right
honorable Zenobia sendeth greetyng. Although to such rebellyous
Women as thou art, it should seeme vncomely and not decente to
make request, yet if thou wylt seeke ayde of my mercy, and
rendre thy selfe vnder myne obedience, bee assured that I wyll
doe thee honour, and geue pardon to thy people. The Golde,
Siluer, and other riches, within thy Pallace I am content thou
shalt enioy, together with the kingdome of Palmyres, which thou
mayest keepe duringe thy life, and leaue after thy death to whom
thou shalt think good, vpon condicion notwithstandinge, that
thou abandone all thine other Realmes and Countryes which thou
haste in Asia, and acknowledge Rome to be thy superior. Of thy
vassalls, and subiectes of Palmyres, we demaund none other
obedience, but to be confederates and frendes, so that thou
breake vp thy Campe, wherewyth thou makest warre in Asia, and
disobeyest the city of Rome, wee will suffer thee to haue a
certayne number of men of warre, so wel for the tuicion of thy
person, as for the defence of thy kingdome, and thy two Children
which thou haddest by thy husbande Odenatus. And he whom thou
louest best shal remayne with thee in Asia, and the other I will
carry with me to Rome, not as prisoner, but as hostage and
pleadge from thee. The prisoners which thou hast of ours, shalbe
rendred in exchange for those which we haue of thine, without
raunsome of eyther parts{.} And by these meanes thou shalt
remayne honored in Asia, and I contented, will retourne to Rome.
The Gods be thy defence, and preserue our mother the city of
Rome from all vnhappy fortune.

The Queene Zenobia hauinge reade the letter of the Emperour
Aurelianus, without feare of the contents, incontinently made
sutch aunswere as followeth.

Zenobia Queene of Palmyres, and Lady of all Asia, and the
kingdomes thereof, to thee Aurelianus the Emperour, health, and
consolation, &c. That thou do intitle thy selfe with the
Emperour of the Romanes I doe agree, but to presume to name thy
selfe lord of the East kingdomes, I say therein thou doest
offend. For thou knowest wel, that I alone am Lady Regent of all
the Orient, and the only dame and maystresse of the same. Th’one
part whereof descended vnto me by lawful Inheritaunce from my
predecessors, and the other part, I haue won by my prowesse and
deedes of armes. Thou sayest that if I rendre obedience vnto
thee, thou wilt do me great honor: To that I aunswere, that it
were a dishonest part of me, and a deede most vniust, that the
Gods hauing created Zenobia to commaund all Asia, she should now
begyn to bee slaue and thral vnto the city of Rome. Semblably,
thou saiest that thou wylt gyue and leaue me al the golde,
siluer, and other ryches whych I haue: Whereunto I aunswer, that
it is a wycked, and fond request, to dispose the goodes of
another as they were thine owne. But thine eyes shall neuer see
it, ne yet thy handes shal touche it, but rather I hope in the
Gods aboue to bestow and crye a larges of that which thou haste
at Rome, before thou finger that whych I haue and possesse in
Asia. Truely Aurelianus, the warres which thou makest agaynst
me, and thy quarell, bee most vniuste beefore the supernall
Gods, and very vnreasonable before men, and I for my part if I
haue entred or doe take armes, it is but to defend my self and
myne. Thy comming then into Asia is for none other purpose, but
to spoile and make hauocke of that which an other hath. And
think not that I am greatly afrayde of the name of Romane
Prynce, nor yet the power of thyne huge army. For if it bee in
thy handes to gyue battell, it belongeth onely to the gods to
gyue eyther to thee or me the victory. That I remaine in fielde
it is to me greate fame, but thou to fight with a widdowe,
oughtest truelye to bee ashamed. There be come vnto myne ayde
and Campe the Persians, the Medes, the Agamennonians, the
Irenees, and the Syrians, and with them all the Gods immortall,
who be wont to chastice sutch proude princes as thou art, and to
helpe poore Widowes as I am. And if it so come to passe, that
the Gods doe permit and suffre my lucke to be sutch, as thou do
bereue me of lyfe and dispoyle me of goods, yet it will be
bruted at Rome, and published in Asia, that the wofull wight
Zenobia, was ouerthrowne and slayne, in defence of hir
Patrimony, and for the conseruation of hir husbande’s honor.
Labor no more then Aurelianus, to flatter and pray me, nor yet
to threaten me: requere me no more to yeelde and become thy
prisoner, nor yet to surrender that which I haue: for by doinge
that I can, I accomplish that I ought. For it will be sayd and
noysed through the world, (may it so come to passe as Fortune do
not fauor mee) that if the Empresse Zenobia be captiue, she was
not yet vanquished. Now touchinge my son which thou demaundest
to cary with thee to Rome, truely that request I cannot abide,
and mutch lesse do meane to graunt, knowing full well that thy
house is stored full of manyfolde vices, where myne is garnished
with many notable Philosophers: whereby if I leaue vnto my
Children no great heapes of goods, yet they shalbe wel taught
and instructed: For the one half of the day they spend in
Learninge, and the other halfe in exercise of Armes. For
conclusion of thy demaund, and finall aunswere, thereunto,
I pray thee trauayle no more by letters to write vnto mee, ne
yet by ambassage to spende any furder talke, but attend vntill
our controuersie bee decided rather by force of Armes than by
vttered wordes. The Gods preserue thee.

It is sayd that Aurelianus, receiuing that aunswere did reioyce,
but when he had red it, he was greatly offended, which
incontinently hee made to bee known, by gathering together his
Camp, and besieginge the Citty wherein Zenobia was. And
Aurelianus, wroth and outraged with that aunswere, although his
army was weary and halfe in dispayre (by reason of the longe
Warres,) yet he vsed sutch diligence and expedition in the siege
of that place, as the Queene was taken and the city rased: which
done, the Emperour Aurelianus retourned to Rome, caryinge with
him Zenobia, not to doe hir to death, but to tryumph ouer her.
At what tyme to see that Noble Lady goe on foote, and marche
before the tryumphinge Chariot bare footed, charged with the
burden of heauy chaynes, and hir two children by hir side: truly
it made the Romane Matrons to conceyue great pity, being wel
knowen to al the Romans, that neither in valorous deedes, nor
yet in vertue or chastity, any man or woman of hir time did
excell hir. The dayes of the triumph being done, all the noble
Ladies of Rome assembled and repayred to Zenobia, and vsed vnto
her great and honorable entertaynement, giuing hir many goodly
presentes and rewards. And Zenobia liued in the company of those
noble Matrons the space of .X. yeares before she dyed, in
estimation like a Lucrecia, and in honour like a Cornelia. And
if Fortune had acompanied hir personage, so well as vertue and
magnanimity, Rome had felt the egrenesse of hir displeasure, and
the whole world tasted the sweetnesse of hir Regiment. But nowe
leaue we of, any longer to speak of Zenobia, that wee may direct
our course to the hard fate of a King’s daughter, that for loue
maried a simple person bred in hir father’s house, who in base
parentage, and churlishe kynde coulde not be altered: but shewed
the fruicts of brutishnesse: tyll Lady Fortune pityinge the
Ladie’s case: prouided for her better dayes, and chastized her
vnkinde companion with deserts condigne for sutch a matche.




THE FIFTEENTH NOUELL.

  _Evphimia the Kyng of Corinth’s daughter fell in love with
  Acharisto, the seruaunt of her father, and besides others which
  required hir in mariage, she disdayned Philon the King of
  Peloponesus, that loued hir very feruently. Acharisto conspiring
  against the Kyng, was discouered, tormented, and put in prison, and
  by meanes of Evphimia deliuered. The King promised his daughter and
  kingdome to him that presented the head of Acharisto, Evphimia so
  wrought, as hee was presented to the King. The King gaue him his
  daughter to wyfe and when he died made him his heyre. Acharisto
  began to hate his wyfe, and condemned hir to death as an
  adulteresse. Philon deliuered hir: and vpon the sute of hir
  subiects, she is contented to mary him, and therby he is made Kynge
  of Corinth:_


Constancy in honest loue (being a perfect vertue, and a precious
ornament to the beloued, induinge eyther, besides ioy and
contentacion, with immortall fame and Glory,) hath in it selfe
these onely marks and properties to be knowen by, Chastity, and
toleration of aduersity: For as the mynde is constant in loue,
not variable, or geuen to chaunge, so is the body continent,
comely, honest and pacient of Fortunes plages. A true constant
minde is moued with no sugred persuasions of frendes, is
diuerted with no eloquence, terrified with no threats, is quiet
in all motions. The blustering blasts of parents wrath, cannot
remoue the constant mayde from that which she hath peculiarly
chosen to hir selfe. The rigorous rage of frendes, doth not
dismay the louing man from the embracement of hir whom he hath
amongs the rest selecte for his vnchanged feere. A goodly
example of constant and noble loue this history ensuing
describeth, although not like in both, yet in both a semblable
constancy. For Euphimia, a kings daughter, abandoneth the great
loue borne vnto hir by Philon, a yong prince, to loue a servant
of hir father’s, with whom she perseuered in great constancy,
for all his false and ingratefull dealings towards hir. Philon
seeing his loue despised neuer maried vntill he maried hir, whom
afterwards he deliuered from the false surmised treason of hir
cancred and malicious husband. Euphimia fondly maried agaynst
hir father’s will, and therefore deseruedly afterwards bare the
penaunce of hir fault: and albeit she declared hir selfe to be
constant, yet duty to louinge Father ought to haue withdrawen
hir rash and heady loue. What daungers do ensue sutch like
cases, examples be rife, and experience teacheth. A great
dishonour it is for the Lady and Gentlewoman to disparage hir
noble house with mariage of hir inferior: yea and great griefe
to the parents to see their children obstinate and wilfull in
carelesse loue. And albeit the Poet Propertius describeth the
vehement loue of those that be noble, and haue wherewith in loue
to be liberall, in these verses:

  _Great is the fayth of Loue,_
    _the constant mynde doth mutch auayle:_
  _And hee that is well fraught with wealth,_
    _in Loue doth mutch preuayle._

Yet the tender Damosell or louing childe, be they neuer so noble
or rich, ought to attend the father’s tyme and choyse, and
naturally encline to parent’s will and likinge, otherwise great
harme and detriment ensue: for when the Parentes see the
disobedience or rather rebellious mynde of theyr childe, their
conceiued sorrow for the same, so gnaweth the rooted plante of
naturall loue, as either it hastneth their vntimely death, or
else ingendreth a heape of melancholie humors: whych force them
to proclaime defiance and bytter cursse against their propre
fruit, vpon whom (if by due regard they had bene ruled) they
would haue pronounced the sweete blessyng that Isaac gaue to
Iacob, the mother’s best beloued Boye: yea and that displeasure
may chaunce to dispossesse them of that, whych should haue bene
the onely comfort and stay of the future age. So that neglygence
of parent’s hest, and carelesse heede of Youthfull head,
breedeth double woe, but specially in the not aduised Chylde:
who tumbleth himselfe first into the breach of diuine lawes, to
the cursses of the same, to parent’s wrath, to orphan’s state,
to begger’s lyfe, and into a sea of manifold miseries. In whom
had obedyence ruled, and reason taken place, the hearte myght
haue bene satisfied, the parent wel pleased: the life ioyfully
spent, and the posteritie successively tast the fruits that
elders haue prepared. What care and sorrow, nay what extremetie
the foresayde Noble Gentlewoman susteined, for not yelding to
hir father’s minde, the sequele shall at large declare. There
was sometimes in Corinth, a Citty of Grecia, a Kinge, which had
a daughter called Euphimia, very tenderly beloued of hir father,
and being arriued at the age of mariage, many Noble men of
Grecia made sute to haue hir to wife. But amongs al, Philon the
young king of Peloponesus, so fiercely fell in love wyth hir, as
he thought he could no longer liue, if he were maried to anye
other: for which cause her father knowing him to be a King, and
of singular beautye, and that he was far in loue wyth his
Daughter, would gladly haue chosen him to be his sonne in lawe,
persuading hir that she should liue with him a lyfe so happy as
was possyble for any noble lady matched wyth a Gentleman, were
he neuer so honorable. But the daughter by no meanes would
consent vnto hir father’s wyll, alleaging vnto him diuers and
sundry consideracions wherby hir nature by no meanes would
agree, nor heart consente to ioyne wyth Philon. The king aboue
all worldly thynges loued his fayre daughter: and albeit hee
would fayne haue broughte to passe, that she should haue taken
him to husband, yet he would not vse the father’s authoritie,
but desired that Loue rather than force should mach his
daughter, and therfore for that tyme was contented to agree vnto
hir wyll. There was in the Court a young man borne of hir
Father’s bondman, whych hyght Acharisto, and was manumised by
the kinge, who made him one of the Esquiers for hys body, and
vsed his seruyce in sundrye enterpryses of the warres, and
bicause hee was in those affayres very skilfull, of bolde
personage, in conflicts and battayles very hardy, the king did
very much fauor him, aswell for that he had defended him from
manifold daungers, as also bycause he had deliuered him from the
treason pretended against him by the kyng of the Lacedemonians:
whose helpe and valyance, the king vsed for the murder and
destruction of the sayde Lacedemonian king. For whych valiant
enterpryse, he bountifully recompenced him wyth honorable
prefermentes and stately reuenues. Vpon this yong man Euphimia
fixed hir amorous eyes, and fell so farre in loue, as vpon him
alone she bent hir thoughtes, and all hir louing cogitations.
Whereof Acharisto being certified, and well espying and marking
hir amorous lookes, nouryshed with lyke flames the fire
wherewyth she burned. Notwythstanding his loue was not so
feruently bent vpon hir personage, as his desire was ambicious
for that she shoulde be hir father’s onely heyre, and therfore
thought that he should be a most happy man, aboue al other of
mortall kynde, if he myght possesse that inheritance. The king
perceiuing that loue, told his daughter, that she had placed her
minde in place so straunge, as hee had thought hir wysdome would
haue more warely foreseen, and better wayed hir estate and
birth, as com of a princely race, and would haue demed sutch
loue, farre vnworthy hir degree: requiringe hir wyth fatherly
words, to withdraw hir settled mynde and to ioyne with him in
choyse of husbande, for that he had none other worldly heire but
hir, and tolde hir how he ment to bestow hir vppon sutch a
personage, as a most happy life she should leade, so long as the
destenies were disposed to weaue the Webbe of her Predestined
life: and therefore was resolved to Espouse hir vnto that noble
gentleman Philon. Euphimia hearkned to this vnliked tale, and
with vnliked words refused hir fathers hest, protesting vnto him
sutch reasons to like effect as shee did before, therby to draw
him from his conceiued purpose, wherunto the wise king hauing
made replye, continuing his intended mynde, at length in ragyng
wordes, and stormed mind, he sayd vnto Euphimia: “How mutch the
sweter is the wyne, the sharper is the egred sawce thereof.
I speake this Parable, for that thou not knowing or greatlye
regarding the gentle disposition of thy father’s nature, in the
ende mayst so abuse the same, as where hitherto he hath bene
curteous and benigne, he may become through thy disordred
deedes, ryghte sowre and sharpe:” and without vtterance of
further talke, departed. Who resting euill content wyth that
fonde fyxed Loue, thoughte that the next way to remedy the same,
was to tell Acharisto how greuously he toke his presumed fault,
and in what heinous parte he conceiued his ingratitude, and how
for the benefits which liberally he had bestowed vpon him, he
had broughte and enticed hys daughter to loue him, that was
farre vngreeable her estate. And therfore he called hym before
hym, and with reasons firste declared the duetye of a faythfull
seruaunt to his Soueraigne lord, and afterwards hee sayd: That
if the receyued benefits were not able to lette him know what
were conuenient and seemely for hys degree, but would perseuere
in that which he had begon, he would make him feele the iust
displeasure of a displeased Prince, whereby hee shoulde repent
the tyme that euer hee was borne of Woman’s wombe. These woordes
of the Kyng seemed greeuous to Acharisto, and not to moue hym to
further anger hee seemed as though that (being fearfull of the
Kyng’s displeasure) he did not loue his daughter at all, but
sayd vnto hym, that he deserued not to bee so rebuked, for that
it lay not in his power to wythstand hir loue, the same
procedyng of hir own good wyll and lyberty: and that hee for his
part neuer requyred loue: if shee did bend hir mynd to loue hym,
hee could not remedye that affection, for that the freewyll of
sutch vnbrydled appetite rested not in hym to reforme.
Notwythstandyng, bycause he vnderstoode hys vnwyllyng mind, he
from that tyme forth would so endeuor hymselfe as he shoulde
well perceyue that the vnstayde mynde of the young gentlewoman
Euphimia, was not incensed by hym, but voluntarily conceyued of
hir selfe. “You shall doe well” (sayde the kyng) “if the effecte
procede accordinge to the promise: and the more acceptable shall
the same bee vnto mee, for that I desyre it shoulde so come to
passe.” The king liked wel these words although that Acharisto
had conceiued within the plat of his entended mind, som other
treason. For albeit that he affirmed before the kyng’s owne
face, that hee would not loue his daughter, yet knowing the
assured wil of the louyng gentlewoman, hee practised the
mariage, and like an vnkind and wretched man, deuised conuenient
tyme to kil him: and fully bent to execute that cruel
enterpryse, he attempted to corrupt the chiefest men about him,
promising promocions vnto some, to some he assured restitucion
of reuenewes, which by father’s fault they had lost beefore, and
to other golden hilles, so that hee mighte attayne by slaughter
of the king, to wynne a kingly state and kingdome: which the
sooner he peruaded himself to acquire, if in secrete silence,
they coulde put vp that which by generall voice they had agreed.
And although they thought themselues in good assurance, that
theyr enterpryse could take no ill successe, by reason of their
sounde and good discourse debated amonges themselues for the
accomplishement thereof, yet it fortuned that one of the
conspiracy (as commonlye in sutch lyke trayterous attemptes it
chaunceth) beeynge wyth hys beloued Ladye, and shee makyng mone
that little Commodytye succeeded of hir Loue for hir
Aduauncement, brake out into these wordes: “Hold thy peace”
(sayde hee:) “for the tyme wyll not bee longe before thou shalt
bee one of the chiefest Ladies of this land.” “Howe can that
bee?” (sayde hys Woman.) “No more adoe?” (quod the Gentleman:)
“Cease from further questions, and bee merrye: for wee shall
enioye together, a verye Honourable and a quyete Lyfe.” When hir
Louer was departed, the gentlewoman went to an other of hir
gossips very iocunde, and tolde hir what hir Louer had sayd: and
shee then not able to keepe Counsell, wente and tolde an other:
in such wyse as in the ende it came to the eares of the King’s
steward’s wyfe, and she imparted the same vnto hir husband, who
marking those words, like a man of great wisedome and
experience, did verily beleue that the same touched the daunger
of the king’s person: and as a faythfull seruant to his lorde
and maister, diligently harkned to the mutteringe talke murmured
in the Court, by him which had tolde the same to his beloued
Lady: and knowinge that it proceeded from Acharisto, which was
an obstinate and sedicious varlet, and that he with three or
four other his familiars, kept secret company in corners, iuged
that which he first coniectured, to be most certayne and true:
wherefore determined to moue the king thereof, and vpon a day
finding him alone, he sayd vnto him, that the fidelity and good
will wherewith he serued him, and the desire which he had to see
hym lyue in longe and prosperous Estate, made hym to attend to
the salfegard of hys person, and to hearken vnto sutch as should
attempt to daunger the same: for which cause, marking and
espying the doings of certayne of his chamber (whose common
assemblies and priuy whisperings mislyking) he feared least they
conspiring with Acharisto, shoulde worcke treason, for
berieuinge of his life: and to th’ intent their endeuours might
be preuented, and his safety foreseene, he thought good to
reueale the same to hys Maiesty. Then he tolde the King the
words that were spoken by the first Gentlewoman, to one or two
of her companions, and disclosed the presumptions which he had
seene and perceyued touchinge the same. Amongs the ill
conditions of men, there is nothinge more common than Poyson,
Conspiracies, and Treason of Prynces and great Lordes: and
therefore euery little suspicion presuming sutch perill, is a
great demonstration of lyke myschiefe: which made the Kyng to
geue credit to the Woords of hys Steward, hauing for hys long
experience knowen him to be faythfull, and trusty. And sodaynly
he thought that Acharisto attempted the same, that after hys
death, by mariage of Euphimia, he might be the Inheritour of hys
Kyngdome: the beliefe whereof, and the singular credite which he
reposed in hys Steward, besides other thinges, caused hym to
commaund the captayne of hys Guard to apprehend those 4 of whom
hys Steward told hym, and Acharisto, committinge them to
seuerall Prisons. Then he sent hys Officers to examyne them, and
found vpon their confessions, the accusation of his steward to
be true: but Acharisto, although the whole effecte of the
Treason was confessed by those foure conspirators that were
apprehended, and aduouched to his Face, and for all the
Tormentes wherewith he was racked and cruciated, yet still
denied, that eyther he was authour of the enterprise, or
partaker of a treason so wicked: then the king incontinently
caused the foure Gentlemen of hys Chamber to be rewarded
accordinge to the worthinesse of their offence, and were put to
death, and Acharisto to be repryued in sharpe and cruell prison,
vntill with torments he should be forced to confesse that which
he knew to be most certayne and true by the euidence of those
that were done to death. Euphimia for the imprisonment of
Acharisto, conceiued incredible sorrow, and vneths could be
persuaded, that hee would imagine, mutch lesse conspyre, that
abhominable fact, aswell for the loue which Acharisto seemed to
beare vnto hir, as for the great good wyl wherewith he was
assured that she bare vnto hym, and therefore the death of the
kyng to be no lesse griefe vnto him, than the same woulde be to
hir selfe, the Kyng being hir naturall and louing father:
Acharisto thought on the other side, that if hee might speake
with Euphimia, a way would be founde eyther for hys escape, or
else for hys delyuery. Whereupon Acharisto beinge in this
deliberation, found meanes to talke wyth the Iaylor’s wyfe, and
intreated hir to shewe hym so mutch fauour, as to procure
Euphimia to come vnto him: she accordingly brought to passe,
that the yong Gentlewoman in secrete wise came to speake wyth
thys trayterous varlet, who so soone as he sawe hir, shedinge
from hys eyes store of teares, pitifully complayninge, sayd vnto
hir: “I know Euphimia, that the kinge your father doth not
inclose me in this cruell prison, ne yet afflicteth me wyth
these miserable torments, for any suspicion he conceyueth of me
for any intended fact, but only for the loue which I beare you,
and for the like, (for whych I render humble thanks) that you do
beare to me: and because that I am wery of this wretched state,
and know that nothing else can rid me from this paynefull Lyfe,
but onely death, I am determined wyth myne owne propre hands to
cut the threed of life wherewith the destinies hitherto haue
prolonged the same, that thys my breathinge Ghoast, which
breatheth forth these doleful playntes, may flee into the Skyes,
to rest it selfe amonges the restfull spirites aboue, or wandre
into the pleasaunte hellish fieldes, amongs the shadows of
Creusa, Aeneas wyfe, or else wyth the ghost of complayning Dido.
But ere I did the same, I made myne humble prayer to the maiesty
diuine, that hee would vouchsafe to shew me so much grace, as
before I dye, I myghte fulfil my couetous eyes with sight of
you, whose ymage still appeareth before those greedy Gates, and
fansie representeth vnto my myndfull heart. Which great desired
thing, sith God aboue hath graunted, I yeld him infinit thankes,
and sith my desteny is sutch, that sutch must be the end of
loue, I doe reioyce that I muste dye for your sake, which only
is the cause that the King your father so laboureth for my
death: I neede not to molest you wyth the false euidence giuen
against me, by those malicious villaines, that be already dead,
which onely hath thus incensed the Kinge’s Wrathe and heauy rage
agaynst mee: whereof I am so free, as worthilye they bee
executed for the same: for if it were so, then true it is, (and
as lyghtly you myght beleue) that I neuer knew what Loue you
beare mee, and you lykewyse did neuer knowe, the loue I bare to
you: and therefore you may thinke that so impossible is the one,
as I dyd euer meane, thinke, or ymagine any harme or peryll to
your father’s person. To be short, I humbly do besech you to
beleue, that so faythfully as man is able to loue a woman, so
haue I loued you: and that it may please you to bee so myndfull
of me in thys fadyng Lyfe, as I shal be of you in that life to
come.” And in sayinge so, wyth face all bathed in teares, he
clypped hir about the myddle, and fast imbracing hir said: “Thus
takinge my last farewell of you (myne onely life and ioy)
I commende you to the gouernement of the supernall God, and my
selfe to death, to be dysposed as pleaseth him.” Euphimia, which
before was not persuaded that Acharisto was guylty of that
deuised Treason, nowe gaue full belyefe and credite to his
wordes, and Weeping wyth him for company, comforted him so wel
as she could, and bidding him to bee of good chere, she sayde,
that she would seeke such meanes as for hir sake and loue he
should not dye: and that before longe time did passe, shee would
help him out of prison. Acharisto, although he vttered by ruful
voice that lamentable talke, for remedye to ridde himselfe from
pryson, yet he did but fayne all that he spake, addyng further:
“Alas, Euphimia, do not incurre your Father’s wrath to please my
minde: suffer me quietly to take that death, which sinister
Fortune and cruell fate hath prouided to abridge my dayes.”
Euphimia, vanquished with inspeakable griefe and burning passion
of loue, said: “Ah, Acharisto, the onely ioy and comfort of my
lyfe, do not pierce my heart with such displeasant wordes: for
what should I do in this wretched world, yf you for my sake
should suffre death? Wherfore put away that cruel thought, and
be content to saue your Lyfe, that hereafter in ioye and myrth
you may spend the same: trusting that yf meanes may be founde
for your dispatche from hence, we shal liue the reste of our
prolonged Lyfe together, in sweete and happy dayes: for my
Father is not made of stone flint, nor yet was nourced of Hircan
Tigre: he is not so malicious but that in tyme to come hee may
be made to know the true discourse of thine innocent life, and
hope thou shalt atteyne his fauour more than euer thou didst
before, the care whereof onely leaue to me, and take no thought
thy selfe: for I make promise vpon myne assured faith to brynge
the same to passe: wherefore giue ouer thy conceyued gryefe, and
bende thy selfe to lyue so merie a life, as euer gentleman did,
trained vp in court as thou hast bene.” “I am content,” said
Acharisto, “thus to doe. The Gods forbid that I should declyne
my hearte and mynde from thy behest, who of thy wonted grace
doest seeke continuance of my Lyfe, but rather, sweete Euphimia,
than thou shouldest suffre any daunger to performe thy promise,
I make request (for the common loue betwene vs both) to leaue me
in this present dangerous state: rather would I lose my lyfe
than thou shouldest hazard the least heare of thy heade for my
releefe.” “Wee shall be both salfe ynough, (aunswered Euphimia)
for my deuice proceedinge from a woman’s heade, hath already
drawen the plot of thy deliueraunce.” And with those wordes they
both did end their talke, whose trickling teares did rather
finishe the same, than willing mynds: and eyther of them geeuing
a kysse vnto the Tower Walle, wherein Acharisto was fast shutte,
Euphimia departed turmoyled wyth a Thousande amorous Pryckes,
and ceased not but firste of all to corrupt and winne the
Iayler’s Wyfe, whose husband was sent forth on businesse of the
king’s: the conclusion of which practise was, that when shee
caried meate to Acharisto, according to the order appoynted, she
should fayne hirselfe to be violently dispoyled of the Pryson
Key by Acharisto, who taking the same from hir: should shut hir
in the Prison and escape, and when hir husband did returne, shee
should make complaynt of the violence done vnto hir: accordinge
to which deuise, the practyse was accomplished: And when hir
husbande returned home, hearing his wyfe crie out within the
Tower, was maruayllously amazed, and vnderstandinge that
Acharisto was fled, (ignoraunt of the pollicy betwene his Wyfe
and Euphemia,) hee fell into great rage, and speedely repayred
to the Kynge, and tolde him what had chaunced. The Kinge
thinking that the breach of Prison was rather through the
woman’s simplicity than purposed malice, did mitigate his
displeasure, howbeit forthwith he sent out scouts to spy, and
watch into what place Acharisto was gone, whose secret flight,
made all their trauayle to be in vayne. Then the Kinge when hee
saw that he could not be found, made Proclamation throughout his
realme, that who so would bringe vnto him the head of Acharisto,
should haue to Wyfe hys onely Daughter, and after hys decease
shoulde possesse his Kingdome for Dowry of that mariage. Many
knightes did put themselues in redinesse to atchieue that
enterprise, and aboue al, Philon was the chiefe, not for
gredinesse of the kingdome, but for loue which hee bare vnto the
Gentlewoman. Whereof Acharisto hauinge intelligence, and
perceyuinge that in no place of Europa hee could bee safe and
sure from daunger, for the multitude of them which pursued him
vnto death, caused Euphimia to vnderstand the miserable Estate
wherein hee was. Euphimia which bent hir minde, and employed hir
study for his safegarde, imparted hir loue which shee bare to
Acharisto, to an aged Gentlewoman, which was hir nurse and
gouernesse, and besought hir that she would intreat hir sonne
called Sinapus, (one very well beloued of the king) to reach his
help vnto hir desire, that Acharisto might retourne to the court
agayn. The Nourse like a wyse woman lefte no persuasion
vnspoken, nor counsell vnremembred, which she thought was able
to dissuade the yong gentlewoman from hir conceiued loue: but
the wound was so deepely made, and hir hearte so greuously
wounded with the three forked arrows of the little blinde archer
Cupide, that despising all the reasons of hir beloued nurse,
shee sayde, how she was firmely bent eyther to runne from hir
father, and to seke out Acharisto, to sustaine wyth him one
equall fortune, or else with hir owne hands to procure death, if
some remedy were not found to recouer the king’s good grace for
the returne of Acharisto. The Nurse vanquished with pity of the
yong mayden, fearinge both the one and the other daunger that
myght ensue, sent for Sinapus, and vppon their talke together,
Euphimia and hee concluded, that Acharisto should bee brought
agayne vnto the Courte, and that she hir selfe should present
him to the King: wherein should want no kinde of diligence
vntill the Kyng did entertayne him agayne for his faythfull
seruaunt, as he was wont to do. Vpon which resolution, Acharisto
was sent for, and being come, Sinapus and Euphimia together with
the nurse tolde hym in what sort they three had concluded
touchinge his health and safegarde: which of him being well
lyked, did giue them humble thankes: and then Sinapus went vnto
the kyng, and told him, that there was one newly arriued at
Corinth, to make a present vnto his grace of the head of
Acharisto. At which newes the kynge shewed hymselfe so ioyfull,
as if hee had gotten an other Kingdome: and beinge placed vnder
his cloath of state, with his Counsell and Princely trayne about
hym, tellinge them the cause of that assembly, commaunded hym
that brought those news, to bring the party forth newely come
vnto the City to present the head of Acharisto before the
presence of the King, who no sooner looked vpon him, but fell
into sutch a rage, as the fire seemed to flame out of his angry
eyes, and commaunded him presently to be taken and put to death.
But Acharisto falling downe vpon hys knees, humbly besought his
maiesty to geeue him leaue to speake: but the kinge not
suffering him to vtter one word commaunded hym away. Then the
Counsellours and other Lords of the Court, intreated his grace
to heare him: at whose requestes and supplications he seemed to
be content. Then Acharisto began to say: “Most sacred Prynce,
and redoubted souerayne Lord, the cause of this my presumptuous
repaire before your maiesty, is not to shew my selfe guilty of
thy late deuised conspiracy, ne yet to craue pardon for the
same, but to satisfie your Maiesty, wyth that contented desire,
whych by Proclamation ye haue pronounced through your highnesse
Realmes and dominions: which is, to offer this heade for reuenge
of the faulte vniustlye layed vnto my charge by those foure,
which worthily haue tasted the deserued payne of theyr offense.
Wherfore I am come hither of myne owne accord, to shew the loue
and greate desyre, whych euer I had to serue and please your
Maiesty: and for that I would not consume my life in your
displeasure, I make offer of the same to your mercifull wyll and
dysposition, chosynge rather to die, and leaue your maiesty
satisfied and contented, than to lyue in happy state, your
princely minde displeased: but desyrous that your maiesty should
know myne innocence, I humblye besech your grace to heare what I
can say, that my fidelity maye bee throughly vnderstanded, and
the wickednesse of the Varlets, mine accusers wel wayed and
considered.” Then he began to rehearse all the things done by
hym for the seruyce of his crowne and maiestye, and finally into
what daunger he did put himself, when he kylled the Lacedemonian
king, that went about by treason to murder him: whych enterpryse
might appeare vnto him to bee a sure and euident testimony, that
hee ment nothinge hurtfull or preiudiciall to his highnesse: and
that hee esteemed not his life, when hee aduentured for his
seruice and sauegard to employ the same: and after these
alleaged causes, he added briefly, that the loue which his
maiesty knew to be betweene him and Euphimia his Daughter, ought
to haue persuaded him, that he had rather haue suffered death
himselfe, than commit a thing displeasant to Euphimia. And
knowing that a more offensive thynge coulde not chaunce to hir,
than the vilent death of her father, hee myghte well thyncke
that hee woulde haue deuysed the death of a Thousande other,
rather than that horible and abhominable deede, sutch as hys
greatest Ennemy woulde neuer haue done, mutch lesse hee whych
was bounde vnto hym by so many Receyued Benefittes, for whose
seruice and preseruacion he had dedicated and vowed hys Lyfe and
Soule: but if so be his maiestie’s rancor and displeasure could
not be mitigated, but by doinge him to death, hee desired that
none of his alleaged reasons should bee accepted, and therefore
was there ready to sacrifice his life at his maiestie’s
disposition and pleasure. Acharisto by nature could tel his tale
excedingly well, and the more his tongue stode him in seruice,
the greater appeared his eloquence: whych so pierced the minde
of the king and persuaded the Counsellers, and other of the
Court, as he was demed giltlesse of the treason: and the matter
was so debated, and the King intreated to graunt him pardon, as
he was accompted most worthy of his fauour. Then the kyng, by
the aduise of hys Counsell, was perswaded, that by force of hys
proclamation, hys daughter should be giuen to Acharisto in
mariage, and his kingedome for a dowrie, bicause hee had offered
his owne heade, accordyng to the effecte of the same. So the
kinge repentinge himselfe that he had offended Acharisto, in the
end agreed to the aduise of his Counsell, and gaue him his
daughter to wife: whereof Euphimia was so ioyful, as they bee
that atteyne the summe of their heart’s desire. The father liued
one whole yeare after this mariage, and Euphimia so pleasant a
life for a certaine time, as was possible for any Gentlewoman.
Hir father was no sooner dead, but the vnkinde man, nay rather
brute beaste, had forgotten all the benefits receyued of his
kinde and louing wife: and hauing by hir onelye meanes got a
Kingdome, began to hate hir so straungely, as he could not abide
hir sight, (sutch is the property of cancred obliuion, which
after it crepeth into ambicious heads, neuer hath minde of
passed amitie, ne regardeth former benefite, but like a monster
and deadly ennimy to humaine nature, ouerwhelmeth in his
bottomlesse gulfe all pietie and kindnesse) and determined in
the ende for recompence of sutch great good turnes, to despoyle
hir of hir Lyfe. Howe thinke you, fayre Ladies, was not this a
fayre rewarde for the loue, the trauailes and sorrowes susteined
for this ingrate and villanous man, by that royal lady, to saue
his life, and to take him to husband? Here is manifest
(_probatum_) that in a vile and seruyle minde, no vertue, no
duety, no receiued benefites can be harboured. Here is a lesson
for yong Gentlewomen to beware howe they contemne and despise
the graue aduise of theyr auncient fathers. Here they may see
the damage and hurt that vnaduised youth incurreth, when
neglectyng theyr Parents holesome admonitions, they gyue
themselues to the loue of sutch as be vnworthy theyr estate and
callyng. For what should ayle the Gentle pucell borne of gentle
bloud but to match her selfe in like affinity, and not to care
for curryshe kind, or race of churle. Bee there no Gentlemen to
be found of personage and beauty worthy to ioyne in loue wyth
them? Bee they so precious in nature or tender in education as
theyr lyke can not be vouchsafed to couple in mariage yoke?
Compare the glysteringe gold to drossie durte, and sutch is the
difference betweene gentle and vngentle. But perhaps bringyng vp
may alter nature, and custome transforme defect of birth: as
Licurgus the lawemaker dyd trye betwene the Currish whelpe and
the Spanyell kinde, both by trayning vp running to their
contraries, the Spanyel not vsed to hunt eigre vpon the potage
dishe, the other nouseled in that pastime pursuing his game. But
that Metamorphosis is seldome seene amongs humane sort, and
therfore I aduise the gentle kind, to matche themselues in
equall lotte, and not to trust Sir Custome’s curtesie in choyse
of feere. Returne we then to vnkind Acharisto, who now in full
possession of his desired praie, reuertinge to his puddle of
carlishe will and cancred nature, after many thousand wronges
don to his most noble and gentle Quene, accused hir to be an
adulteresse, and as one indeede, (although most innocent) she
was condemned to the mercilesse fire. Philon, Kyng of
Peloponesus, which (as we haue sayd before) loued Euphimia as he
did the balles of his owne eyes, vnderstanding the crueltye that
this wicked Man vsed towards hir, to whom both his lyfe and
Kyngdome did belonge, moued wyth nobility of mynd, determined to
declare to Euphimia the inward feruent loue which he bare hir,
and to chastise Acharisto for his ingratitude with due
correction. Wherfore depely debating wyth himselfe of this
aduenture, thus he sayde: “Now is the time Euphimia, that Philon
shewe what faythful Loue he hath euer borne vnto thee, and that
he delyuer thee both from the present daunger wherein thou art,
and from the hands of that vnkynde wretche, that is farre
vnworthy of sutch a wife: for if thou haddest agreed to thy
father’s wyll, and yelded to the pursute of him that loued thee
beste, thou haddest no neede of rescue nowe, ne yet bene in
perill of the wastfull flames of fire, which be ready to consume
thy flesh and tender corps, full tenderly sometimes beloued of
thy deare father, and of thy louyng frend Philon.” When he had
spoken those wordes, hee earnestly disposed him self vpon that
enterpryse. There was in those daies a custome in Corinth, that
they which were condemned to death, were caried III. miles forth
of the City, and there the sentence pronounced against them,
were put to execution. Philon hauyng intelligence hereof, did
put in readinesse a good troupe of horsemen, and being secretly
imbarked, arriued at Corinth, and closely the nyght before
Euphimia should be brought to the fire, harde by the place where
the miserable Lady should be burnt, into a woode he conueyed his
People: and so soone as the Sergeants and officers were
approched neere the place wyth the lady, he issued forth, and
did set vpon the throng, not sufferyng one of them to remayne
aliue, to carye newes. When he had delyuered Euphimia from that
present daunger of hir lyfe, and the companye dispercled, he
sayd to the Queene: “Nowe thou mayst see (fayre Queene) the
diuersitie, betwene the disloyaltie and vnkindenesse of
Acharisto, and the faith and loue of Philon. But for that I
meane not to leaue hys ingratitude vnrevenged, thou shalt staye
here, vntyll thou heare newes of the due chastisment which I
shall gyue hym.” Those dire and cruell words foretold of hir
husband’s death moued hir honest and Pryncely hearte that by no
meanes could bee altered from the gentle nature, which it first
had tasted and receiued: and althoughe shee had suffred Mortall
and Solempne iniury of hir vnkynde husbande for Manyfolde
Benefites, yet (shee good gentlewoman) woulde permyt no duetye
of a trustye and faythfull Wyfe vnperformed. Wherefore shee
besoughte Philon vpon her knees, not to procede to further
reuenge of Acharisto, telling him, that enough it was for hir to
haue escaped that present peryl, from which he like a princely
Gentleman had deliuered hir, and therefore duering hir life was
most bounde vnto him. Philon greately wondred at the goodnesse
of this Ladie: howbeit the ingratitude of that Varlet by no
meanes he would suffer to bee vnpunished. And beeing aduertised
that Acharisto remayned in hys Palace without any suspicion of
this aduenture, banded neyther with Guarde or other assurance,
committed Euphimia to safe custodie, and sodainly assailed the
Palace of Acharisto: and finding the Gates open, he entred the
city, crying out vpon the Wickednesse and treason of Acharisto.
At which wordes the whole City began to ryse, to helpe Philon in
his enterpryse: for there was no state or degree, but abhorred
the vnkind order of that Varlet, towards the noble woman their
Queene. Philon aided with the people, assaulted the Palace, and
in short space inuaded the same: and the Varlet beeing
apprehended, was put to death. The Corinthians seeing the noble
mind of Philon, and the loue which he bare to Euphimia, and
knowing that their late Kyng was disposed to haue matched her
wyth Philon, were very willing to haue him to be their Kinge,
and that Euphimia should be his wife, supposinge that vnder the
gouernement of a Prynce so gentle and valiant, they might liue
very happily and ioyefullye. Execution don vpon that moste
vnkinde varlet, Philon caused the Lady to be conueyed home into
hir royal pallace: and the people with humble submission, began
to persuade hir to marie wyth that younge Prince Philon. But
shee which had lodged hir thoughts and fixed hir mind vpon that
caytife, who vnnaturally had abused hir, would by no meanes
consent to take a new husband, saying, that the seconde mariage
was not to bee allowed in any woman. And albeit that shee knewe
howe greately she was bounde to Philon, as duringe life not able
to recompence his louing kindnesse and valyante exployte
performed for hir safegard, yet for al hir vnhappy fortune, shee
was minded styll to remayne a widowe, and well contented that
Philon shoulde possesse hir whole domynion and kingdome, and she
pleased to lyue his subiecte: which state she sayd, did like her
best. Philon, that not for desire of the Kingdome, but for loue
of the Lady had attempted that worthy and honourable enterprise,
sayd vnto hir: “Euphimia, it was onely for youre sake that I
aduentured thys daungerous indeuor, to ridde you from the
slander that might haue ensued your innocent death, and out of
the cruel hands of hym, whom vnworthily you did so dearely loue.
No desyre of kyngdome or worldly glorye induced me herevnto: no
care that I had to enlarge the boundes of my countrey soile
pricked the courage of my mynd (that is altogether empty of
ambytion) but the Passion of carelesse Loue, whych thys long
tyme I haue borne you in your happy father’s dayes, to whom I
made incessant sute: and to your selfe I was so long a Suter,
vntyll I receyued extreame repulse: for which I vowed a
perpetuall single Lyfe, vntyll thys occasyon was offred: the
brute whereof when I hearde first, so stirred the mynde of your
most louyng knight, that drousie sleepe or greedy hunger, coulde
not force this restlesse body to tarry at home, vntyl I reuenged
my selfe vpon that villaine borne, which went about wyth
roasting flames to consume the innocente flesh of hir whome I
loued best. And therfore mustred together my men of armes and in
secret sort imbarked our selues and arryued here: where wee haue
accomplished the thyng we came for and haue settled you in quiet
raygne, free from peryl of traiterous mindes, crauing for thys
my fact nought else of you but wylling mynd to be my wife: which
sith you do refuse, I passe not for rule of your kyngdom, ne yet
for abode in Corinth, but meane to leaue you to your choyse. For
satisfied am I, that I haue manifested to the world the
greatnesse of my loue, which was so ample as euer king could
beare to vertuous Queene: and so farewell.” At which words he
made a signe to his people, that they shoulde shippe them selues
for return to Peloponesus. But the Senatours and al the people
of Corinth seing the curtesie of Philon, and how greatly their
Queene was bound vnto him, fel downe vpon their knees, and with
ioyned hands besought hir to take him to husbande, neuer ceasing
from teares and supplication, vntyl she had consented to their
requeste. Then the mariage was solempnised with great ioy and
triumph, and the whole City after that tyme, lyued in great
felicity and quiet, so long as nature lengthned the dayes of
those two Noble Prynces.




THE SIXTEENTH NOUELL.

  _The Marchionisse of Monferrato, with a banket of Hennes, and
  certaine pleasant wordes, repressed the fond loue of Philip the
  French Kynge._


Good Euphimia (as you haue harde) did fondly apply hir loue vpon
a seruile man, who though bred vp in court where trayninge and
vse doth alter the rude conditions of sutch as be intertayned
there, yet voyde of all gentlenesse, and frustrate of Nature’s
sweetenesse in that curteous kinde, as not exchaunginge natiue
fiercenesse for noble aduauncement, returned to hys hoggish
soyle, and walowed in the durty filth of Inhumanity, _whose
nature myght wel with fork, or staffe be expelled, but home
againe it would haue come_, as Horace pleadeth in his Epistles.
O noble Gentlewoman, that mildly suffred the displeasure of the
good king hir father, who would fayne haue dissuaded hir from
that vnseemely match, to ioyne with a yong Prince, a king,
a Gentleman of great perfection: and O pestilent Carle, being
beloued of so honourable a pucell, that for treason discharged
thy head from the block, and of a donghill slaue preferred thee
to be a king, wouldest for those deserts in the ende frame
sayned matter to consume hir. With iust hatred then did the
Noble Emperour Claudius Cæsar prosecute those of bond and
seruile kinde that were matched with the free and noble. Right
well knew hee that some taste of egrenesse would rest in sutch
sauage fruite, and therefore made a law, that the issue of them
should not haue like liberty and preheminence, as other had,
which agreeably did couple. What harme sutch mariage hath
deferred to diuers states and persons (t’auoide other examples)
the former Nouell teacheth. Wherfore to ende the same, with
bewailing of Euphimia for hir vnluckie lot, begin we now to glad
our selues with the wise and stoute aunswer of a chaste
Marquesse, a Gentlewoman of singular beauty and discretion, made
to the fond demaund of a mighty Monarch, that fondly fell in
loue with hir, and made a reckening of that, which was doubtfull
to recouer. This king by Louing Hir whome he neuer saw, fared
like the man that in his slepe dreamed that he had in holde the
thynge furthest from him. For the King neuer saw hir, before he
heard hir praised, and when hee hearde hir praised, for purpose
to winne her, he trauailed oute of his way, so sure to enioy
hir, as if he had neuer seene hir. This historie, although
briefe, yet sheweth light to noble dames that be pursued by
Prynces, and teacheth them wyth what regarde they ought to
interteine such suters. The Marquesse then of Monferrato,
a citye in Italy, beynge a Gentleman of great prowesse and
valiance, was appointed to transfrete the Seas in a generall
passage made by the Christians, wyth an huge Armie and great
furniture. And as it chaunced, vpon a day greate talke was had
in the court of king Philip surnamed Luscus (bicause he was
poreblinde) who likewyse was making preparation to depart out of
Fraunce in the said iorney. Report was made by a knight which
knewe the said Marquize, that in all the world there was not the
like maried couple, as the Marquize and his wyfe were, as well
bicause the Marquize was bruted to be an excellent gentleman, as
also for that his wyfe amonges al the troupe of Ladies, that
liued in the world that time, was the fairest and most vertuous.
Which words so entred the French king’s head, as sodainely
(neuer seeing hir in all his life) he began to loue hir, and for
that purpose determined to imbarke him selfe at Genoua, that by
trauailyng that way by lande, he myght haue good occasion to see
the Marchionisse, thinking that her husband being absent, hee
might easily obtein that he desired. And as he had deuised, he
began his enterpryse: who sending al his power before, toke his
iorney wyth a meane trayne of Gentlemen: and beynge within one
Daye’s iourney of the Ladye’s House, hee sent hir worde that the
nexte Daye hee would visite her at Dynner. The sage and discrete
lady ioyfully aunswered the Messanger, that she would accompt
his comming for a great and singuler pleasure, and sayd that hys
grace should be most heartily welcome. Afterwards she maruelled
why sutch a king as he was, would in hir husband’s absence, come
to hir house: and in that maruel and consideration she was no
whit deceyued, coniecturinge that the fame of hir beauty was the
cause of hys comminge. Neuerthelesse, like a wise Lady and
honest gentlewoman, she determined to do him honour, and caused
the worshipfull of hir country sutch as remayned behinde, to be
assembled, for aduice in all thinges that were necessary for hys
intertaynement. But the feast and variety of meats that should
be serued, she alone tooke vppon hir to dispose and order:
wherefore speedily sendinge about, and makinge prouision for all
the Hennes that might be gotten throughout the countrey,
commaunded hir cookes, of those Hennes without other thing what
so euer, to prepare diuers seruices. The king fayled not the
next day to come accordingly as he had sent word: and was with
great honour receyued of the Lady, and in beholdinge hir, she
seemed vnto hym (besides hys imagination comprehended by the
former woordes of the Knyght) to be farre more faire, honest and
vertuous, than hee thought, attributyng vnto hir, singular
prayse and commendation. And so much the more his desire was
kindled, as she passed the estimation bruted of hir. And after
that the King had wythdrawen him selfe into the chamber ordeined
and made ready for him, as appertained to a Prynce so greate,
and that dinner time was come, the King and Madame the
Marchionisse sat together at one boorde, and other accordyng to
their degrees were placed at seueral tables. The King serued
with many Dishes and excellent Wynes, beholdinge sometymes the
Lady Marchionesse, conceyued great delight and pleasure. But
vewing the seruice, and meates (although dressed in diuers
sortes) to be but Hennes, he began to wonder, specially knowing
the soyle wherein they were to be so rich and plentifull, as by
little trauayle, great abundance of Foule and Venison might haue
bin prouided, and thought that she had indifferent leysure to
Chase and Hunt, after that he had sent hir woorde of hys
comminge. Notwythstandinge he would not take occasion to enter
into talke of those wants of better Cheare (hir Hennes only
excepted) who lookyng vpon hir, with mery Countenaunce hee sayde
vnto hir: “Madame were all these Hennes bred in thys countrey
wythout a Cock?” The Marchionisse which full well vnderstoode
the cause of his demaunde, thinkinge that God had sent hir an
apt tyme for aunswere as she desired, boldly aunswered the
Kinge: “No and it please your grace, but of Women, albeit in
honour and apparell there is some difference, yet they be al
made in this Countrey as they be else where.” The kyng hearing
hir aunswere, right wel did know the occasion of the Banket of
Hennes, and whereunto hir wordes did tend: and considred that to
bestow any further talke to so wyse a Lady, it were in vayne,
and that force there could take no place. Lyke as vnaduisedly he
fell in loue, so it behoued him of necessity wysely to staunch
the fire for his honour sake, and wythout any more taunting
wordes, fearing hir reuenge, he dined without hope to get other
thinge of hir. And when hee had done, to the intent by hys
sodayne departure, he might couer his dishonest comming,
thankinge hir for the honour which he had receyued, and she
recommending him to God, he departed to Genoua. Here may be
proued the great difference betweene Wysedome and Folly,
betweene Vertue and Vice. The King more by Lust, than other
desire, by circumstances endeuoured to sound the deapth of the
Ladie’s minde: she by comely answere, payd hym home for his
folly. A liuely representation of a noble creature, so well
bedecked wyth Vertue as wyth Beauty.




THE SEUENTEENTH NOUELL.

  _Mistresse Dianora demaunded of maister Ansaldo a garden so faire in
  Ianuary, as in the moneth of May. Mayster Ansaldo (by meanes of an
  obligation which he made to a Nicromancer) caused the same to bee
  done. The husband agreed with the gentlewoman that she should do the
  pleasure which maister Ansaldo required, who hearinge the liberality
  of the husband, acquited hir of hir promise, and the Necromancer
  discharged maister Ansaldo._


Of all things commonly accompanying the maner and trade of man’s
life, nothing is more circumspectly to be attended and prouided
for, than regard and estimation of honesty: which attire, as it
is most excellent, and comely, so aboue al other vayne Toyes of
outward apparell to bee preferred: and as honesty hath all other
good Conditions included in it selfe, as the same by any meanes
cannot stray out of that tract, troden before by the steppes of
that most excellent vertue: euen so, impossible it is for the
party adorned with the same, to wander one iote from that
foretrodden Path: wherefore let eche wyght that traceth this
worldly Lyfe, foresee the due obseruation of all thinges
incident to that which is honest. Nothinge in thys lyfe (sayth
Tully in his oration, for the Poet Archias) is so mutch to bee
regarded. Honesty, for the gettinge whereof all torments of
body, all perills and daungers of death be not to be regarded:
honesty then beinge a Treasure so precious, what care not onely
for the atchieuinge but for the conseruation ought to bee
employed? in the practise whereof, one speciall thinge ought to
be attended, which is, how a vow or promise ought to be made, or
how the estimation of honesty ought to be hazarded for any
thinge seeme it neuer so impossible: for what is it that loue
and Money hath not brought to passe? what heard aduentures by
Iason? what sleight by Alexander the Sonne of kynge Pryamus?
what monsters slayne and labours sustayned by Hercules? what
daungers and exploits some haue incurred and other attempted by
diuers? to bee short,

  _Nihil est quod non effreno captus amore, ausit._

As Ouide the Poet sayth:

  _Nothinge there is, but that the louing man doth dare,_
  _Surprised with frantike fit, eche deed he doth not spare._

Wherfore let euery wight beware how they gage their honesty for
any enterprise (seeme it neuer so impossible). Maistresse
Dianora deerely beloued of a gentleman, and earnestly assayled,
in the ende yelded vpon a condition: which if it could be
brought to passe (which she thought impossible) was content to
surrender to his loue: who consulting with a Magitian, performed
hir request: then what folowed, and what counsel hir husband
gaue hir, after she had broken the effect of hir promise to hym,
and what Curtesie was vsed on all sides, the sequele hereof
dyscloseth. The Countrey of Frioli although it be colde, yet is
it pleasaunt by reason of many faire mountaines, riuers, and
cleere sprynges that are in the same: where there is a City
called Vdina, and in the same sometime dwellyng a faire
gentlewoman called Mistresse Dianora, the wyfe of Gilberto,
a notable rich man, a very curteous personage, and of good
behauiour. This Lady, for hir graces and vertues, was intierly
beloued of a Gentleman and great Lord, called maister Ansaldo
Grandese, who for his liberalyty and valyance in armes, was
famous and well knowen: and albeit that hee loued hir feruently,
seking al meanes possible to be beloued of hir, soliciting hir
many tymes by Ambassadours, yet his labour was in vayn. And the
Lady being offended for hys dayly sute and trauayle, hee for al
hir refusal and disagreement to his desire, would not abstaine
from louing hir, but still mayntayne his importunate sute: she
deuising with her selfe how to rid him away, made a request vnto
him, so straunge and impossible, (in hir iudgement) as he was
not able to bring the same to passe: and vpon a day she sayd
vnto an old woman, (the which cam often tymes to sue vnto hir in
hys behalf) these words: “Good wife, thou hast many times
assured me, that Maister Ansaldo doth loue mee aboue all other,
and thou hast offered vnto me maruellous giftes and presents in
hys name: al which I haue refused, vpon consideration, that I
mynd not to fauour or loue him for his goods: but if thou canst
iustify by warrantize or other probable argument, that hee
loueth me so mutch as thou sayest, I will condescend without
fayle to loue him againe and to doe the thing that it shal
please him to commaund me: therfore if he wil assure me to do
that thing which I shal require hym to do, tel him that I am at
his commaundement.” “What is that madame,” (said the old woman)
“that you desire?” “The thing which I demaund” (answered the
Gentlewoman) “is, that he should cause to be made here without
the Citie, during the moneth of Januarie next commyng, a garden
full of greene herbes, floures and trees, bespred wyth leaues,
euen as it were in the moneth of May: and if so be that he do it
not, then let him neuer send thee or any other vnto me agayn:
for if afterwards he be importunate vpon me, like as I haue
hitherto kept it close from my husbande and parents, euen so
complayning vnto them, I wyll assaye to bee dispatched from hys
long and tedious sute.” When the knight vnderstoode that
request, and the offer that hys Mystresse made him (although it
seemed a thinge very difficulte and all most impossible to bee
done) knowinge very well that she did the same for none other
purpose, but onely to put him out of hope that euer hee should
enioy hir, hee determined notwithstandinge, to proue what hee
was able to do. And for that purpose sent to seeke in many
places of the Worlde if there were any man that could assist him
and geue him Counsel therin. In the ende there was one found
that offred to doe it (if he were well waged thereunto) by the
art of Necromancie, with whom maister Ansaldo bargained for a
great summe of Money. Then he expected the moneth of Ianuarie
with great deuotion, whych beeing come, euen when the coldest
wether was, and that al places were ful of snow and yce, this
Necromancer vsed his art in sutch sort, as in the night after
the holy dais of Christmasse, in a faire medow adioyning to the
city, ther appered in the morning (as they can testify that saw
the same) one of the fairest gardens that euer any man saw, full
of herbes, trees, and fruites of all sortes: which when maister
Ansaldo had seen, God knoweth if he were glad or not: and
incontinently caused to be gathered the fairest fruites and
floures that were there, and secretlye sente the same to his
Friende, inuiting hir to come and see the Garden which she had
procured him to make, to the intent thereby she might know the
loue that he bare hir, and to remember the promise which she
made him, and confirmed by othe, that he might from that time
forth esteeme hir a woman so good as hir promise. When the
Gentlewoman sawe the flowers and fruictes and hearing tell by
report of the straunge things that were in that Garden, began to
repent hir selfe of the promise which shee had made: but for all
her repentaunce, she like one desirous to se straung things,
wente wyth many other women to see the same: and hauing praised
it, not wythout greate admiration, she returned home, the
angriest woman that euer was, when she had considered in what
sort she had abused hir selfe by meanes of that Garden: and hir
rage was so greate, that she could by no meanes keepe the same
so secrete or close, but that her husband muste perceiue the
same, who woulde needes knowe of hir al the whole matter: the
Gentlewoman a long time kepte it secrete: in the ende she was
constrained to declare vnto him the same in order. Hir husbande
hearing what she had promised was sodainly very angry:
afterwardes considering the pure intente of his wife, hee wisely
appeaseed hir, and sayd: “Dianora, it is not the acte of a wyse
and vertuouse wife to encline hir eare to sutch messages as
those be, and lesse honest to make any marte or bargain of hir
honesty with any person, vnder what condicion soeuer it be.
Words which the hart receiueth by the eares, haue greater force
than many do esteme, and there is nothing so difficult, but by
the amorous is brought to passe. First therfore thou hast done
euil to giue eare vnto such ambassage, and afterwards for
agreement to the bargaine: for the weight of chastity is so
ponderous, as by no meanes it ought to be laid in balance,
eyther by impossibilities to boast and bragge therof, or else by
assurance of their conceiued thought to bring it into question,
leaste in all places the same may be dysputed vpon, and blemysh
with the note of lightnesse, the person tyll that time
vnspotted: but bycause I know the purity of thy heart, I wyll
agree vnto thee for discharge of thy promise, whych
peraduenture, some other would not doe, moued therunto for the
feare I haue of the Necromancer, who if he see Mayster Ansaldo
to be offended bicause thou hast deluded hym, may doe vs some
displeasure: wherfore I wyll that thou go to maister Ansaldo,
and if thou canest by any meanes to vse thy selfe (as thyne
honour saued) thou mayst discharge thy promise, I shall commende
thy wit: but if there be no remedye otherwyse, for that onely
time then lende forth thy Body and not thy wyll.” The
gentlewoman hearyng hir husband so wisely speake, could doe
nought else but weepe, and sayd, that she would not agree to his
requeste. Notwythstanding, it pleased the husband (for al the
denial whych his wife did make) that it shoulde be so: by meanes
wherof, the next morning vpon the point of day the Gentlewoman
in the homliest attire she had, with two of hir seruantes
before, and hir mayde behinde, wente to the lodging of maister
Ansaldo, who when he hearde tell that hys Louer was come to see
hym, maruelled mutch, and rising vp, called the Necromancer, and
sayde vnto him: “My wyll is, that thou see how mutch thyne arte
hath preuailed:” and going vnto hir, without any disordinate
lust, he saluted hir wyth reuerence, and honestly receiued hir.
Then they entred into a faire Chamber, and sittyng downe before
a great fire, he sayde vnto hir these Wordes: “Madame, I humbly
beseeche you, if the loue which I haue borne you of long time,
and yet doe beare, deserue some recompence, that it please you
to tell me vnfainedly the cause which haue made you to come
hither thus early, and with such a company.” The shamefast
Gentlewoman, hir eyes ful of teares, made answere: “Sir, the
loue which I beare you, nor any promised faith haue brought me
hither, but rather the only commaundement of my husband, who
hath greater respect to the payne and trauaile of your
disordinate loue, than to his own honour or my reputation, who
hath caused me to come hither, and by hys commaundement am redy
for this once to satisfie your pleasure.” If Mayster Ansaldo
were abashed at the begynnyng, be much more did maruell when he
hearde the Gentlewoman thus to speake, and moued with the
liberality of hir husband, he began to chaunge his heate into
compassion, and said: “Mistresse, God defend if it be true that
you do say, that I should soyle the honour of hym, whych hath
pity vpon my loue, and therefore you may tarrie here so long as
it shall please you, with sutch assurance of your honesty as if
you were my naturall sister, and frankly may depart when you be
disposed, vpon sutch condicion, that you render in my behalf
those thanks vnto your husband which you shal thinke conuenient,
for the great liberality whych he hath imployed vpon me, deeming
my selfe henceforth so much bound vnto him, as if I were his
brother or Seruaunt.” The Gentlewoman hearing those wordes, the
best contented that euer was, sayd vnto him: “All the worlde
could neuer make me beleue (your great honesty considered) that
other thing could happen vnto mee by my commyng hyther, than
that which presently I see: for which I recken my selfe
perpetually bounde vnto you.” And takynge hir leaue, honorablye
returned in the aforesayde company home to hir husband, and
tolde hym what had chaunced, which engendred perfect loue and
amytye betweene hym and mayster Ansaldo. The Necromancer to whom
maister Ansaldo determined to gyue the price, couenanted betwene
them, seyng the liberality which the husbande had vsed towards
mayster Ansaldo, and the like of mayster Ansaldo towards the
Gentlewoman, sayd: “God defend, that sith I haue seene the
husband lyberall of his honour, and you bountiful of your loue
and curtesie, but that I be likewyse franke in my reward: for
knowing that it is well employed of you, I purpose that you
shall keepe it still.” The knyghte was ashamed, and would haue
forced him to take the whole, or part: but in offryng the same,
he lost his laboure: and the Necromancer the third day after,
hauying vndon his Garden, and desirous to departe, tooke his
leaue. Thus Ansaldo extinguishing the dishonest loue kindled in
hys hearte, for inioying of his Lady, vpon consideration of
honest charity, and regard of Curtesie, repressed his wanton
minde, and absteyned from that which God graunte that others by
lik Example may refrayne.




THE EIGHTEENTH NOUELL.

  _Mithridanes enuious of the liberality of Nathan, and goinge aboute
  to kill hym, spake vnto him vnknowne, & being infourmed by himself
  by what meanes he might do the same he found him in a little wood
  accordingly as hee had tolde him, who knowinge him, was ashamed, and
  became his friende._


Straunge may seeme thys following Hystory, and rare amonges
those, in whom the vertue of liberality neuer florished: many we
reade of, that haue kept Noble and bountifull houses,
entertayninge Guestes, both Forrayne and free borne, plentifully
Feastinge them with variety of cheere, but to entertayne a Guest
that aspyreth the death of his hoast, and to cherishe hym after
hee knew of it, or liberally to offer his life, seldome or neuer
we reade, or by experience knowe: but what moued the conspirator
to frowne at the state and life of Nathan? euen that froward
pestilent passion Enuy, the consumer and deadly monster of all
humanity: who imitatinge the like cost, and port of his deuout
hoast Nathan, and seekinge after equall glory and fame, was
through enuie’s force for not attayninge the like, driuen to
imagine how to kill a good and innocent man: for enuy commonly
wayteth vpon the vertuous, euen as the shadow doeth the body.
And as the Cantharides (which similitude Plutarch vseth) delight
in ripe and prosperous wheate, and crawle in spreadinge roses,
so enuy chiefly them which in vertue and richesse do abound: for
had not Nathan bene famous for hys goodnesse, and glorious for
liberality, Mithridanes would neuer haue prosecuted him by enuy,
nor gon about to berieue hys lyfe. He that enuieth the vertuous
and industrious person, may bee compared to Dedalus, whom the
Poets fayne to murder Telon hys Apprentice for deuising of the
Potter’s wheele: and Mithridanes disdaynfull of Nathan’s
hospitality, would haue slayne him: but how ashamed Mithridanes
was of his practise, this example at large discourseth. Very
true it is (at least wyse if credite may bee gieuen to the words
of certayne Genoua Merchauntes, and of others whych haue
trauayled that countrey) how in Cataya, there was sometimes a
rich Gentleman without comparison, named Nathan, who hauing a
place or Pallace ioyning vpon the high way, by which the
trauaylers to and from the West, and East, were constrayned to
passe, and hauing a noble and liberal heart, desirous by
experience to haue the same to be knowen, and wyth what nature
and quality it was affected, he assembled dyuers maister Masons
and Carpenters, and in short tyme erected there one of the
stateliest Pallaces for greatnesse and costly furniture that
euer was seene in that countrey, which afterwards he caused to
be stored with all things necessary, honourably to entertayne
ech Gentleman that passed that way: and with a great trayne of
seruantes he welcomed and accepted sutch as iourneyed to and
fro. And in this commendable custome he perseuered so longe as
both in the East and West partes, report was bruted of his
renoume and fame: and being come to auncient yeares, not for all
that weary of his liberality, it chaunced that his fame flewe to
the eares of a yong gentleman called Mithridanes, who in a
country not farre of from his, had his abode and resiance.
Mithridanes knowing himselfe to be so rich as Nathan, enuious of
his vertue and liberality, purposed by some meanes or other to
defame and obscure his neyghbour’s good reporte: and hauing
builded a Palace like to that which Nathan did possesse, began
to vse curtesies to those which passed to and fro, in outragious
and disordred sort: whereby in little time he purchased great
fame. Now it chaunced vpon a day, as Mithridanes was alone in
the court of his Palace, a poore woman entring in at one of the
gates of the same, craued almes, and had it and so successiuely
euen to the twelfth and thirtenth time, also she retorned
agayne, which Mithridanes perceiuing, said vnto her: “Good wyfe
you come hither very often:” and yet he denied not hir almes.
The old woman hearing those words, sayd: “O how maruellous is
the liberality of Nathan, whose palace hath XXXII. entries by
seuerall gates, so greate as this, and daily begging almes
there, neuer made semblance as though he knew me, and yet the
same was not denied me: and being come hither but XIII. times,
I haue bene marked and reproued:” and saying so, she went her
way, and neuer after came thither agayne. Mithridanes hearyng
these wordes to proceede from the old woman fell into a great
rage, deeming the fame reported of Nathan to be a diminution of
his own, and said: “Ah wretch, when shal I be able to attayne
the liberality of Nathan’s greatest things? and why then goe I
about to excel him, when in litle matters I am not able to come
neare him? verily I labour all in vaine, if I myselfe do not
seeke meanes to rid him of his life, sith croked age is not
disposed to dispatch him, I must therfore doe the same with myne
own hands.{”} And in that fury makyng no man priuy to his
intent, he rode forth with a smal traine, and in three dayes
arriued where Nathan dwelte, and then commaunded his men in any
wise not to be knowen that they came with him, and likewise that
they knewe him not, but to prouide lodging for themselues,
vntyll sutch tyme as they had further newes from him.
Mithridanes then being arriued about evening, al alone, found
Nathan walking vp and downe before his faire Palace, without
other company than himself, who in simple attire and garment
went forth to meete him: of whom Mithridanes, bicause he knew
not Nathan, demaunded if he could tell him where Nathan dwelt.
Nathan pleasantly made him answer: “My sonne, ther is no man in
these quarters that can better tel thee than I, and therfore yf
thou please, I wyll bring thee thither.” Mithridanes said, that
he should doe hym a very great pleasure: but he would not if it
were possible bee seene or knowen of Nathan: “And that can I
very wel do,” said Nathan, now that I know your mynd. Being then
lighted of from his horse, he went with Nathan, who by and by
interteined him with diuersity of talk, to his faire Palace: and
Nathan incontinently caused one of his seruaunts to take
Mithridanes’ horse, and said vnto him in hys eare that he should
wyth all speede giue order to his housholde, that none should
tel the younge Man that he was Nathan, which accordingly was
done: but after they were in the Palace, Nathan brought
Mithridanes into a very fayre chambre, that none mighte see him
excepte sutch as he had appoynted to serue hym: and causinge
greate honour to bee done vnto him, hee hymselfe kepte him
company. As they two were together, Mithridanes asked him
(to whom hee vsed conuenable reuerence as to his father) what he
was? whom Nathan answered: “I am one of Nathan’s pore seruaunts,
that from the time of my youth haue bene broughte vp wyth him,
and neuer aduaunced me to any thing but to that which you see:
wherefore, although euery man greatly prayseth him, yet haue I
no cause to commend hym.” These wordes gaue some hope to
Mithridanes, by better aduise and surety to execute his wicked
intente: and Nathan asked him very curteously what he was, and
for what businesse he was come thither, offeryng him helpe and
counsel in that he was able to do. Mithridanes then paused a
while before he would make him answere: and in the ende
purposyng to put his trust in him, required with great
circumstance of wordes his fayth and after that his counsell and
ayde. Then he wholy discouered what he was, wherefore he was
come, and the cause that moued hym. Nathan hearing those
woordes, and the mischieuous determination of Mithridanes, was
chaunged and troubled in mynde, notwythstandyng wythout making
any semblaunce of displeasure answered him with bolde
countenaunce: “Mithridanes, thy father was a Gentleman, and of
stoute stomacke, from whome so farre as I see, thou wylt not
degenerate, by attemptyng so great an enterpryse as thou hast
done. I intende to be lyberall to ech man and praise greatly the
Enuye whych thou bearest to the Vertue of Nathan, bycause if
there were many sutch, the Worlde which is now myserable, would
shortly become prosperous and happye: and doe make thee promyse,
that the intent thou goest about, shall be kepte secrete,
whereunto I can sooner gyue Counsell than any great helpe, and
mine aduyse is this: you may see from the place where we now be
a lyttle Groaue, about a quarter of a Myle hence, whereunto
Nathan in a maner walketh euery mornyng, and tarrieth there a
long time: there you may easily finde him, and do your pleasure:
and if you kyll him, you may goe, (to the intent without daunger
you may returne home to your owne House) not that way you came,
but by that you see on the lefte hand leade out of the wod,
whych although it be not so common as the other, yet is the
nearest way and safest for you to passe.” When Mithridanes was
thus informed, and that Nathan departed from him, he caused
worde secretly to be sent to his Men, which likewyse lodged
there, in what place they should waight for him the next day:
and when the day was com, Nathan not altering the counsel he
gaue to Mithridanes, ne chaunging any part of the same, went all
alone into the little woodde, to receiue his Death. When
Mithridanes was vp, and had taken his bowe and sword, (for he
had none other weapons) he mounted vpon his horse, and rode to
the little woodde, where a farre of he espied Nathan, commyng
thitherward all alone, and determining before he would set vppon
him to see him and heare him speake, made toward him, and
catchyng him by the band vpon his head, said vnto him: “Old
chorle thou art dead.” Whervnto Nathan made none other answer,
but said, “I haue deserued it.” When Mithridanes heard his voyce
and looked him in the face, he knew by and by that it was he
which had curteously receiued him, familiarly kept him company,
and faithfully had gyuen him counsel. Wherupon, his fury
asswaged, and his anger conuerted to shame: by meanes whereof,
throwing downe his sworde which he had drawn to strike him, he
lighted of from his horse, and did prostrate himselfe at Nathan
his father’s feete, and said vnto him weeping: “I manifestly
perceiue right louing father your great lyberality, and by what
pollicy you be come hyther to render to me your lyfe: whereunto
I hauyng no ryght, declared my selfe desyrous to haue the same:
but our Lord God, more carefull of my deuoir than my self, hath
euen at the very point, when it was moste needefull, opened the
eyes of myne vnderstandynge, which curssed spite and cancred
enuy haue closed vp: and therefore, the more you were ready to
gratify my desire, the greater punishment I knowledge my selfe
to deserue for my faulte. Take then of me if it please you sutch
vengance as you thynke meete for myne offence.” Nathan caused
Mithridanes to rise vp, kissinge and imbracinge hym tenderly,
and sayd vnto hym: “My sonne, thou needest not to demaund
pardon, for the enterprise done, good or euill as thou list to
name it: for thou diddest not go about to rid me of my lyfe for
any hatred thou diddest bear me, but only to be accompted the
better: be assured then of me, and verily beleue, that there is
no lyuing man, that I loue better than thy self, considering the
greatnesse of thine heart not inclyned to hoorde or gather
togither the drossy muck of Syluer, as the myserable do, but to
spend that which is gathered. Be not ashamed for hauing a will
to kill me, thereby to great renowme: for Emperours and greatest
kings, neuer streatched forth their power, and racked their
Realmes, and consequently aspired fam, for other purpose but to
kyl: not by murdering one man as thou didst meane, but of
infinit numbers, besides the burning of Countries, and rasing of
Cities: wherefore if to make thy selfe more famous, thou
wouldest have killed me alone, thyne enterprise was not newly to
be wondred at, but a thyng in dayly practise.” Mithridanes no
more excusinge hys wicked intent, but praysinge the honest
excuse, which Nathan had deuised, drew neare vnto hym to enter
into further talke wyth hym, which was, how he greatly
maruelled, that he durst approch the place, with so litle
rescue, where his death was sworne, and what he meant him selfe
to tell the way and meanes: wherein he required him to say his
mynde, for disclosinge of the cause. Whereunto Nathan replied:
“Maruell not, Mithridanes, of mine intent and purpose, for
sithens I was at age disposed to myne owne free will, and
determined to do that which thou hast gone about to do, neuer
any came to me, but I haue contented them (so farre as I was
hable) of that they did demaund: thou art come hither with
desire to haue my lyfe, wherefore seeing that thou diddest
craue, I forthwith dyd meane to gieue it, that thou alone
mightest not be the man that should depart from hence without
atchieuing thy request: and to bring to passe that thou myghtest
haue the same, I gaue thee the best Counsel I could, aswel for
bereuing of my lyfe, as for enioyinge of thyne owne: and
therefore I say to thee agayne, and pray thee for to take it,
thereby to content thy selfe, if thou haue any pleasure therein:
for I do not know whych way better to imploy it. I haue all
ready kept it foure score yeares, and haue consumed the same in
pleasures, and delights, and do know by course of nature in
other men, and generally in all things, that long it cannot
reast in breathing dayes: wherefore I think good, that better it
is to geue, as I haue dayly done, and departe with my Treasures,
than keepe it till nature cary it away in despite of my Teeth,
and maugre that I haue. It is a little gift to giue one hundred
yeares, how mutch lesse is it then to giue sixe or eyght of
those I haue to liue? Take it then if it please thee, I thee
beseech: for neuer yet found I man that did desire the same, ne
yet do know when I shall finde sutch one, if that thy selfe
which didst desire it, do not take it: and if it chaunce that I
do finde some one, I know full well that so mutch the longer as
I shall keepe the same the lesse esteemed it shall be, and
therefore before the same be vile and of little price, take it I
beseech thee.” Mithridanes sore ashamed, sayd: “God forbid, that
by separating so deare a thing as is thy life, that I should
take it, or onely desire the same, as I did erst, from which I
would not diminish yeares, but willingly would of myne owne ad
thereto if I could.” Whereunto Nathan by and by replyed: “And if
thou couldest, wouldest thou gieue them? and wouldest thou cause
me do to thee that which I neuer did to any man, that is to say,
to take of thy things which neuer I did of any liuing person?”
“Yea verily,” aunswered Mithridanes. “Then,” sayde Nathan: “thou
oughtest there to doe that which I wyll tel thee: which is to
remayne here in my house so younge as thou art, and beare the
name of Nathan, and I would goe to thine, and bee called
Mithridanes.” Then Mithridanes answered: “If I had also so great
experience as thou hast, I woulde not refuse thine offer, but
bicause I am assured, that my deedes woulde diminish the renoume
of Nathan, I wyll not marre that in another, which I cannot
redresse in my selfe: and therefore I wyll not take it.” After
thys talke, and a great deale more betwene them, they repayred
to the Palace, vppon the request of Nathan, where many dayes he
did great honour to Mithridanes, incoraging and counselling him,
so wel as he could, dayly to perseuere in his high and great
indeuour. And Mithridanes desirous to returne home with his
company, Nathan (after that he had let him well to know, that he
was not able to surpasse him in liberality) gaue him leaue.




THE NINETEENTH NOUELL.

  _Mayster Gentil of Carisendi being come from Modena, tooke a woman
  out of hir graue that was buried for dead, who after she was come
  agayne, brought forth a Sonne, which mayster Gentil rendred
  afterwardes with the mother to mayster Nicholas Chasennemie her
  husband._


Reading this History, I consider two straung and rare chaunces:
the one a lyberall and courteous act of an earnest louer towards
his beloued and hir husband, in leauinge hir vntouched, and not
dishonored, although in full puissance to doe his pleasure: the
other a lyke liberall offre by presentinge whom he dearly loued,
and a newe borne Chylde: both supposed to be dead by hir
freendes, and therefore Intoumbed in Graue. Wherewithall is to
bee noted the rare and singuler desire of a gentlewoman, by
humble sute for conseruation of her honour, although longe time
pursued by a Gentleman that reuiued hir almost from death, and
thought her vtterly to be void of life. To praise the one, and
to leaue the other not magnified, it were a part of discurtesy:
but to extol both with shoutes, and acclamations of infinite
praise no dout but very commendable. If comparisons may be made
with Prynces of elder yeares, and not to note those of later,
truely Mayster Gentil by that hys fact, seemeth not mutch
inferior to Scipio Africanus for sparing the wyfe of Indibilis,
ne yet to king Cyrus for Panthea the wyfe of Abradatus: although
both of them not in equall state of loue, (as wholly estraunged
from that passion) like to maister Gentil, who in deed for
subduing that griefe and motion, deserueth greater prayse. For
sooner is that torment auoyded at the first assault and pinch,
than when it is suffred long to flame and raigne in that yelding
portion of man, the heart, which once fed with the bayt of loue,
is seldome or neuer loosed. To do at large to vnderstand the
proofe of those most vertuous persons, thus beginneth the
history. At Bologna a very notable Citty of Lombardy, there was
a Knyght of very great respect for his vertue, named maister
Gentil Carissendi, who in his youth fell in loue with a
Gentlewoman called maistresse Katherine, the wyfe of one mayster
Nicholas Chassennemie. And bicause during that loue he receiued
a very ill counterchange for his affection that he bare vnto
hir, he went away (like one desperate) to be the iudge and
potestate of Modena, whereunto he was called. About the time
that hir husband being out of Bologna, and the gentlewoman at
hir Manour in the countrey, not past a mile and a halfe from the
Citty, (whither she went to remayne, bicause she was with
childe) it chaunced that she was sodenly surprised with a
sicknesse, which was of so great force, as there was no token of
lyfe in her, but rather iudged by all Phisitians to be a dead
Woman. And because that hir neerest Kinne reported that they
hearde hir saye, that shee could not bee longe time with Childe,
but that the infante must be perfect in her wombe and ready to
be deliuered, and therefore affected wyth some other disease and
griefe that would bring hir to hir ende, as a Timpany or other
swelling, rising of grosse humors, they thought hir a dead
Woman, and past recouery: wherefore vpon a time she falling into
a traunce, was verily supposed to be dead. Who after they had
mourned hir death, and bewayled the sodayn expiration of hir
soule, caused hir to be buried without hope of recouery (euen as
she was in that extasie) in a graue of a church adioyning harde
by the house wher she dwelt. Which thing incontinently was
aduertised master Gentil by one of his frends, who although he
was not likely, as he thought, to attayne hir fauor and in vtter
dispayre therof, yet it gryeued him very mutch that no better
heede was taken vnto hir, thynking by diligence and time shee
woulde haue reuyued agayn, sayinge thus in the end vnto him
selfe: “How now madam Katherin, that Death hath wrought his wyll
wyth you, and I could neuer obteyne durynge your life one simple
looke from those youre glistering eies, which lately I beheld to
my great ouerthrow and decay, wherfore now when you cannot
defend your self, I may bee bold (you being dead) to steale from
you some desired kisse.” When hee had sayd so, beyng already
Nyght, and hauynge taken order that none should know of his
departure, he gat vpon his Horse, accompanied with one only
seruaunt, and wythout taryinge anye where, arriued at the place
where his Lady was buryed, and opening the Graue, forthwith he
entred in, and laying himself downe besides hir, he approched
neare hir face, and many times kissed hir, pouryng forthe great
abundance of teares. But as we see the appetyte of Man not to be
content excepte it proceede further (specially of sutch as bee
in loue) beyng determined to tarrye no longer there, and to
departe, he sayd: “Ah God, why should I goe no further, why
should I not touche hir, why should I not proue whyther she be
alyue or dead?” Vanquished then wyth that motyon, hee felt hir
brests, and holding his hand there for a certayne tyme,
perceyued hir Heart as it were to pant, and thereby some lyfe
remayning in hir: wherefore so softly as he could, wyth the
helpe of his man, he raised hir out of the graue: and settynge
hir vppon his Horse before him, secretly caried hir home to his
house at Bologna. The mother of maister Gentil dwelled there,
which was a graue and vertuous Matrone, who vnderstandyng by her
sonne the whole effect of that chaunce, moued wyth compassion,
vnknowne to anye man, placing hir before a great fire, and
comfortyng hir wyth a bathe prepared for the purpose, she
recouered lyfe in the Gentlewoman that was supposed to bee
deade, who so soone as she was com to hir self, threw forth a
great sigh and sayd: “Alas, wher am I now?” To whom the good old
woman sayd: “Be of good cheere swete hart, yee bee in a good
place.” The Gentlewoman hauing wholly recouered hir senses, and
looking round about hir, not yet well knowing where she was, and
seing maister Gentill before hir, prayed his mother to tell hir
how she came thither. To whome maister Gentil declared in order
what he had done for hir, and what meanes he vsed to bryng hir
thyther: wherof makyng hir complaynt, and lamentyng the lyttle
regard and neglygence of hir frends, she rendred vnto hym
inumerable thankes. Then she prayed him for the Loue which at
other times he bare hir and for his courtesie, that she might
not receyue in hys house any thing that should be dishonorable
to hir person, ne yet to hir husband, but so soone as it was
Daye to suffer hir to goe home to hir owne House: whereunto
maister Gentil answered: “Madam, what soeuer I haue desired in
time past, now am I fully purposed neuer to demaund any thyng
specially in this place or in any other but the safety of your
honour, and that I would doe to myne owne sister, sith it hath
pleased God to showe me that pleasure, as by my meanes you are
reuiued from death to life, and to delyuer you to mee in
consideration of the loue that I haue born you heretofore: but
this good worke, which this Nyghte I haue done for you, well
deserueth some recompence. Wherefore my desire is, that you deny
me not the pleasure which I shall demaund:” whome the
gentlewoman curteously answered, that shee was very ready, so
the same were honest and in hir power to doe. Then sayd mayster
Gentil: “Mystresse, all your kin and al they of Bologna, doe
beleue for a trouth that you bee deade, wherefore there is none
that loketh for your recouery agayne: and the pleasure then
whych I demaund, is that you wyll vouchsafe secretlye to tarry
here wyth my mother, vntill I retourne from Modena, which shal
be with so great expedition as I can: and the cause why I desire
the same, is, for that I intend to make a fayre and acceptable
present of you vnto your husband in the presence of the
principal of this City.” The gentlewoman knowing hir self to be
greatly bound to the knight, and that hys request was honest,
was content to doe what hee demaunded. Albeit shee desired
earnestly to reioyce hir frendes for hir recouered life, and so
promised vppon hir faith. And vnnethes had she ended hir talke,
but she felt the pain of chyldbirth: wherfore wyth the ayde of
the mother of maister Gentil, she tarried not long before she
was deliuered of a fayre Sonne, which greatly augmented the ioy
of maister Gentil and hir. Mayster Gentil commaunded that she
should haue al thyngs that were necessary to be ministred vnto
hir, and that she should be vsed as his owne Wyfe. Then he
pryuily returned to Modena, where when he had a while supplied
his office, he returned to Bologna, and prepared a great feast
at his house, the same morning that he arriued, for diuers
gentlemen of the city, amongs whom Nicholas Chasennemie was one.
When the company of the bidden guests wer com, (the gentlewoman
in so good health and lykyng as euer she was, and hir Child wel
and lusty), he sate down amongs them doing vnto them
incomparable myrth and pastime, and serued them bountifully wyth
dyuers sortes of meates. When dinner was almost done, hauing
before told the Gentlewoman what he ment to doe, and in what
manner she should behaue hir selfe, he began thus to say: “My
Maysters, I do remember that whilom I haue hearde tell that in
the Country of Persia, there was a goodly custom (as me seemeth)
that when som one was disposed to do great honour vnto his
friend, he bad hym home to his house, and there shewed him the
thing whych he loued best, were it wyfe, woman, or daughter, or
what so euer it were, affirming that like as he disdayned not to
shew the same, which outwardly he loued best, euen so he would
if it were possible, willingly discouer his owne heart: whych
custome I purpose to obserue in this City. Ye of your curtesie
haue vouchsafed to do me so great honour, as to repayre vnto
this my simple feast, which benefite I wyl recompence after the
Persian manner, by shewing vnto you the thinge which I loue
moste deerely aboue any in this worlde, or hereafter shal be
able to loue so long as my life endureth: but before I doe the
same, I pray you to tell mee your opynyon in a doubte whych I
shall propose. There was a certayne person whych in hys house
had a good and Faythfull Seruaunte who became extremely sick:
that Person without attendyng the end of his diseased seruaunt,
caused him to be caried into the midst of the streate wythout
any further care for him. In the meane tyme there came a
straunger by, who moued by compassion of the sicke seruaunt,
bare him home to his owne house, where wyth great care and
diligence, sparing no cost or charge, made him to recouer his
former healthe: I would now fayne know of you, whither for
retaining and vsing the seruice of that seruaunt, his first
maister by good right myghte complayne vpon the seconde, if he
should demaund hym agayne, or by demaunding of him agayne, the
second not disposed to restore him, might susteyne any damage.”
The gentlemen after many opinions and arguments debated too and
fro amonges them, and at length all concluding in one mind, gaue
charge to Nicholas Chasennemie, (bicause he was an eloquent
talker) to make the answer: who first praising the Persians
custome, said that he was, (with the rest) of this opinion, that
the first maister had no further title in his seruaunt, hauing
in sutch necessity not onely forsaken him, but throwen him into
the streate, and that for the good turnes whych the second
maister had don him, he ought by good right to be hys: wherefore
by kepyng him, he did no wrong, force, or iniury to the first.
Al the rest at the Table (which were very discret and honest
persons) sayd altogyther that they were of hys opinion. The
knight content with that answer, and specially bycause Nicholas
Chasennemie had pronounced it, affyrmed that hee was likewyse of
that minde, and afterwards he sayd: “Time it is then that I
render vnto you the honor which you haue done me, in manner
accordyngly as I haue promysed.{”} Then he called vnto him two
of hys Seruaunts, and sent them to the Gentlewoman, whom hee had
caused to be apparelled and decked very gorgeously, praying hir
by hir presence to content and satisfie al the company. And she
taking in hir armes hir little faire sonne, came into the hall,
accompanied with the two Seruauntes, and was placed (as it
pleased the kynght) besides a very honest gentleman, and then he
sayde: “Syrs, behold the thing which I loue best, and purpose to
loue aboue all worldly things, and whither I haue occasion so to
doe, your eyes may bee Iudges.” The gentlemen doing their
reuerence unto hir, greatly praised hir, and said to the Knight
that ther was good reason why she oughte to be beloued: Vpon
which commendations they began more attentyuely to behold hir,
and many of them would haue sayd and sworne that it had bin shee
in deede if it had not bin thought that she had bin dead. But
Nicholas beheld hir more than the rest, who very desirous to
know what she was, could not forbeare (when he saw that the
Knight was a little departed from the place) to aske hir whyther
shee was of Bologna, or a straunger. When the Gentlewoman saw
hir husband to ask hir that question, she could scarce forbeare
from making aunswere, notwithstanding to atchieue that whych was
purposed, she helde hir peace. Another asked her yf that little
Boye was hers: And another if shee were the Wyfe of mayster
Gentil, or any kin vnto hym: vnto whom shee gaue no answere at
all. But when maister Gentil came in, one of the straungers sayd
vnto him: “Syr, thys gentlewoman is a very good creature, but
she seemeth to be dumbe. Is it true or not?” “Syrs,{”} sayde
maister Gentil, “that is but a little argument of hir vertue for
this time to hold hir peace.” “Tell vs then (sayde he) what is
she?” “That wil I do very gladly,” sayd the knight, “vnder
condition that none of you shall remoue out of his place for any
thing I speake, vntill I haue ended my tale:” which request
being graunted, and the table taken vp, maister Gentil which was
set downe by the Gentlewoman, sayd: “My maysters, this
gentlewoman is the loyall and faithful seruant, of whom earst I
propounded the question, whom I haue releeued from amids the
streate, whither hir kin, little caring for hir, threw hir as a
vile and vnprofitable thing: and haue by my great care brought
to passe, that I haue discharged hir from death, vpon an
affection which God knoweth to be so pure and perfect, as of a
lumpe of dead lothsome flesh hee hath reuiued so fayre and
freshe as you see: but to the intent you may more playnly
vnderstand how it is come to passe, I will open the same in few
words.” And beginning at the day when he fell in loue with hir,
he particularly told them, what had chaunced till that time, to
the great maruell and admiration of them that heard him, and
then added these woordes: “By meanes whereof, if your minde be
not chaunged within this litle time, and specially master
Nicholas, of good right she is my wife, and none by iust title
can clayme hir.” Whereunto none at al made answere, looking that
he shoulde haue proceeded further. In the meane while Nicholas
and the rest that were there, fell into earnest weepinge. But
maister Gentil, rising from the borde and taking in his armes
the little childe, and the gentlewoman by the hand, went
towardes Nicholas, and sayd vnto him: “Rise vp sir gossip, I do
not restore vnto thee thy Wife, whom thy frends and householde
did cast into the Streat, but I will geue thee this Gentlewoman
my Gossip, with the litle childe, that is, as I am assured
begotten of thee, for whom at the christening I made answere and
promise, and called him Gentil, and do pray thee that she be no
lesse esteemed of thee now (for being in my house almost three
moneths) than she was before. For I swere by the almighty God,
who made me in loue with hir, (peraduenture that my loue might
be the cause of hir preseruation) that she neuer liued more
honestly with hir father, mother, or with thee, than she hath
done in company of my mother.” When he had sayd so, he returned
towards the Gentlewoman, and sayd vnto hir: “Maistresse, from
this time forth, I discharge you of the promise which you haue
made me, and leaue you to your husband franke and free.” And
when he had bestowed the gentlewoman, and the chylde in the
fathers armes, he returned to his place agayne. Nicholas
ioyfully receyued his Wyfe and childe, for the whych so mutch
the more he reioysed, as hee was furthest of from hope of hir
recouery, rendering inumerable thankes to the Knight and the
rest, and moued with compassion hee wept for company, greatly
praysing maister Gentil for that act, who was commended of ech
man that heard the reporte thereof. The Gentlewoman was receiued
into hir house wyth maruellous ioye: And longe tyme after she
was gazed vpon by the Citizens of Bologna, as a thing to their
great wonder reuiued agayne. Afterwards Maister Gentil continued
styll a friend vnto Nicholas, and vnto hys Wyfe and Chyldren.




THE TWENTIETH NOUELL.

  _Saladine in the habite of a Marchaunt, was honourably receyued into
  the house of mayster Thorello, who went ouer the Sea, in company of
  the Christians, and assigned a terme of his wyfe when she should
  mary agayne. He was taken, and caried to the Sovldan to be his
  Faulconer, who knowing him, and suffering himself to be knowen, did
  him great honour. Mayster Thorello fell sicke, and by Magique Art,
  was caried in a night to Pavie, where he found his wyfe about to
  mary agayne, who knowinge him, returned home with him to his owne
  house._


Very comely it is (sayeth Cicero in the second booke of hys
Offices,) that Noblemens houses should styll be open to noble
Guestes and Straungers. A saying by the honourable and other
Estates to be fixed in sure remembraunce, and accordingly
practised: For hospitality and houshold intertaynment, heaping
vp double gayne and commodity. The Guest it linketh and knitteth
in fast band of perfect friendship, common familiarity, disporte
of mynde and pleasant recreation, the poore and needy it
feedeth, it cherisheth, it prouoketh in them deuout prayers,
godly blessings, and seruice in tyme of neede. Hospitality is a
thing so diuine, as in law of Nature and Chryst, it was well and
brotherly obserued. Lot disdayned not to receyue the Aungels,
which were straungers vnto him, and by reason of hys common vse
thereof, and theyr frendly intertaynment, he and his houshold
was delyuered from the daunger of the City, escaped temporal
fire, and obteined heauenly rewarde. Abraham was a friendly host
to straungers, and therefore in his old dayes, and in the
barrein age of his wyfe Sara, he begat Isaac. Ietro albeit he
was an Ethnicke and vnbeleuyng man, yet lyberally intertained
Moyses, and maried him to Sephora, one of his Daughters. The
poore widow of Sarepta interteined Helias, and Symon the Currior
disdayned not Peter, nor Lydia the purple silke woman, Paule and
his fellowes. Forget not Hospitality, (saith the said Apostle
Paule,) for wyth the same diuers haue pleased Aungels by
receiuing them into theyr houses. If Paule the true preacher of
eternall Healthe, hath so commended kepyng of good Houses which
by the former terme wee call Hospitality, then it is a thing to
bee vsed amonges those that bee able to mainteine the same: who
ought with liberall hand frankely to reach bread and victuals to
their acquaintance, but specially to straungers, whych wandering
in forein places, be vtterly vnable to helpe themselues, and
peraduenture in sutch neede, as without sutch curtesie, do
perishe. For the further amplification of whych vertue, what
shall I neede to remember straunge and prophane Histories? as of
Symon of Athens, who was so famous in the same, as the tyrant
Crytias, when he wished for the ryches of Scopades and the
victories of Agesilaus, forgat not also to craue the liberality
of Cimon. Pacuuius also, the Prynce of Campania, so friendly
entertained Annibal, as when his sonne to do the Romanes a good
turne, would haue killed him as he sat at supper, was staied by
his fathers request (whom he made priuy of his intent before
they sate downe.) Pacuuius had he not more regarded the office
of hospitality, than the safety of his countrey, might ful wel
by that murder, haue defended the same from the destruction
whereunto afterwards it fel. Homere reporteth, that Menelaus
fighting a combat with Paris of Troy made inuocation and prayer
vnto the Gods, that he might be reuenged vpon him for the rape
of his wife Helena, to the intent the posterity hearing of his
punishmente, mighte feare to polute friendly housholde
interteynment. Wherefore, sith hospitality hath bene thus put in
vse in elder tyme, practysed in all ages, and the poluters of
the same detested and accurssed, and hath notorious commodities
incident vnto it, I deeme it so worthy to be frequented in noble
men and all degrees, as theyr Palaces and great houses should
swarme wyth guests, and their gates lustring with whole
multitudes of the poore to be satisfied with relief. Sutch hath
ben the sacred vse and reuerent care of auncient tyme. Sutch
hath bene the zealous loue of those whose fieldes and barnes,
closets, and chestes haue bene stored and stuffed with worldely
wealth, that comparing that golden age, glistering with piety
and vertue, to these our worsse than copper days, cancred with
all corruption, we shal find the match so like, as darke and
light, durt and Aungell golde. Ceasing then of further discourse
hereof, this history folowing shall elucidate and displaye the
mutuall beneuolence of two noble personages, the one a mighty
Souldan, an enimy of God, but yet a fryende to those that
fauored good entertainment and housekepyng: the other a
Gentleman of Pauie, a rich and liberall marchaunt, and a
friendly welcomer of straungers. The Souldan demaunding the way
to Pauie, somewhat digressing from the same, is not onely
honourably conueyed to Pauie, and feasted there, but also
sumptuously cheryshed, banketted, and rewarded by the sayd
Marchant before his commyng thyther. The marchant man desirous
to be one of the holye voyage intended by christian Princes,
passed ouer the seas, who put to his shifts there throughe the
aduerse lucke receyued by the Christians, became the Souldans
Fawconer, and afterwardes knowen vnto him by certaine markes and
signes, is with greater honor intertained of the Souldan, and
more richly guerdoned, sent home agayne by Magike Arte to
anticipate the mariage of his wife, vnto whom he had prefixed a
certaine date and terme to marry againe if before that tyme, he
did not returne. All which Noble entertainment, and the
circumstances thereof, in this manner do begin. In the time of
the Emperour Fredericke the firste, the Chrystians to recouer
the Holy Lande, made a generall voyage and passage ouer the Sea.
Saladine a most vertuous Prynce, then Souldan of Babylon, hauing
intelligence thereof, a certayne time before, determined in his
own person to see and espy the preparation which the Christian
Princes made for that passage, the better to prouide for his
owne, and hauing put order for his affayres in Ægypt, making as
though he would go on Pilgrimage, tooke his iourney in the
apparel of a Marchant, accompanied only with two of his chiefest
and wisest counsellers, and three seruaunts. And when he had
searched and trauelled many christian prouinces, and riding
through Lumbardy to passe ouer the Mountaynes, it chaunced that
betweene Millan and Pauy, somwhat late he met wyth a gentleman
named mayster Thorello de Istria of Pauy, who with his
houshoulde, his dogges and hawkes, for his pleasure went to
soiorne in one of his Manours, that was delectably placed upon
the ryuer of Tesino. And when maister Thorello sawe them come,
thinckinge that they were certayn Gentlemen straungers, he
desired to do them honour. Wherefore Saladine demaunding of one
of mayster Thorello his men, how farre it was from thence to
Pauie, and whether they might come thither time inough to go in,
master Thorello would not suffer his man to speake, but he
himself made aunswere, saying: “sirs, yee cannot get into Pauie
in time, for that the Gates will be shut before your comming.”
Than sayd Saladine: “tell us then wee pray you, bicause we be
straungers, where wee may lodge this night.” Maister Thorello
sayd: “That will I willingly do, I was about euen presently to
send one of my men that be here, so far as Pauie, about certayne
businesse, him wil I appoint to be your guide to a place where
you shall haue very good lodging,” and callinge one of his
wysest men vnto him, he gaue him charge of that he had to do,
and sent him with them, after whom he followed: where
incontynently in so good order as he could, caused to be made
redy a sumptuous supper, and the tables to be couered in a
pleasant garden. Afterwards hee went himselfe to entertayne
them. The seruaunt talking with the Gentlemen of many thinges,
conducted them at leysure somwhat out of the way to protract the
time, to his maysters house: and so soon as maister Thorello
espied them, he with liberall heart and bountifull mynde bad
them welcome. Saladine which was a very wyse man, well perceyued
that the Gentleman doubted that they woulde not haue come vnto
hym if he had inuited them at their first meetinge, and for that
cause, to the intent they should not refuse to lodge at his
house, he had pollitiquely caused them to be conducted thither,
and aunsweringe hys greeting, sayd: “Syr, if a man may quarrell
with them that be curteous, wee may complayne of you, who
leauinge a part our way which you haue caused somewhat to be
lengthened, without deseruinge your good will, otherwise than by
one onely salutation, you haue constrayned vs to take and
receyue this your so great curtesie.” The wise and well spoken
Knight, sayd: “Syr, thys curtesie which you receyue of me, in
respect of that which belongeth vnto you, as by your
countenaunce I may wel coniecture, is very small, but truely out
of Pauie ye could haue got no lodging that had ben good: and
therefore be not displeased I pray you to be caried out of the
way, to haue a little better intertaynment,” and saying so, his
men came forth to receyue those straungers, and when they were
lighted, their horsses were taken and conueyed into the stables,
and mayster Thorello caryed the three Gentlemen to their
chambers, which he had prepared for them, where their Bootes
were pulled of, and excellent wyne brought forth, somewhat to
refresh them before supper: then he held them with pleasaunt
talke vntyll the houre of supper was com. Saladine and they
which were with him, could all speake Latine, and therefore well
vnderstanded, and they lykewise vnderstoode eche man, by meanes
whereof euery of them, thought that the Gentleman was the most
curteous and best conditioned Personage, indued with the most
eloquent talke that euer they sawe. On the other side it seemed
to mayster Thorello, that they were the noblest and Princelik
personages, and far more worthy of estimation then he thought
before. Wherefore, he was very angry wyth himselfe, that he had
no greater company and better intertaynment for them that night,
which he purposed to recompence the next day at dinner.
Wherefore hee sent one of hys men to Pauie, being not farr from
thence, to his wife, that was a very wise and noble gentlewoman,
and afterwards he brought them into the garden where he
curteously demaunded what they were. To whom Saladine answered:
“we be marchaunts of Cypres trauailing to Paris, about our
businesse.” Then said maister Thorello: “I would to God that
this country brought forth such gentlemen as the land of Cypres
maketh marchants,” and so passed the time from one talke to
another, vntyll supper time came: Wherefore to honour them the
better caused them to sit downe at the Table, euery of them
according to his degree and place: And there they were
exceadingly wel intreated and serued in good order, their supper
being farre more bountifull than they looked for. And they sate
not longe after that the table was taken away, but maister
Thorello supposing them to be weary, caused them to be lodged in
gorgeous and costly beds: and he likewyse within a while after
went to bed. The seruaunt sent to Pauie, did the message to his
mistresse, who not like a woman wyth a womanish heart, but like
one of Princely Mind, incontinently caused many of her husband’s
frends and seruaunts to be sent for. Afterwards she made ready a
great feast, and inuited the noblest and chiefest Citizens of
the City: apparelling hir house wyth clothe of gold and silke,
tapistrie and other furnitures, putting in order all that which
hir husband had commaunded. The next day in the morning the
Gentleman rose, with whom maister Thorello mounted on
horsebacke, and carying with him his Hawks, he brought them to
the Ryuer, and shewed them diuers flightes. But Saladine
demaunding where the best lodging was in Pauie, maister Thorello
sayd: “I wyll shew you my selfe, for that I haue occasion to go
thither.” They beleeuing him, were contented, and rode on their
way, and being about nine of the clock, arriued at the City,
thinking they should haue ben brought to the best Inne of the
towne: but maister Thorello conueyed them to his owne house,
where fiftye of the chiefest Citizens ready to receiue them
sodaynly appeared before them. Which Saladine, and they that
were wyth him perceyuinge, coniectured by and by what that dyd
meane, and sayd: “Maister Thorello, this is not the request
whych wee demaunded, your entertainment yesternight was to
sumptuous and more then we desired, wherefore giue vs leaue we
praye you to departe.” Whom maister Thorello answered: “My
maisters, for that which ye receyued yesternight I wil giue
thanks to Fortune, and not to you: for I ouertaking you by the
way, forced you in a maner to make your repayre vnto my homely
house: but for thys morninge voyage, I haue my selfe prepared,
and likewyse the Gentlemen about you, with whom to refuse to
dine, if you thincke it curtesie, doe as yee please.” Saladine
and his companions vanquished wyth sutch persuation, lighted,
and being receiued by the Gentlemen in louing and curteous
order, were conueied to their chambers, which were richly
furnished for them, and hauing put of their riding apparel, and
somewhat refreshed themselues, they came into the Hall, where
all things were in redinesse in triumphant sorte. Then Water was
brought them to washe, and they placed at the Table, were serued
wyth many delicate meats in magnificent and royal order, in
sutch wise, as if the Emperour himselfe had bene there coulde
not haue bene better entertayned. And albeit that Saladine and
his companions were great Lordes, and accustomed to see
marueylous thynges, yet they wondred very mutch at thys,
considering the degree of the Knight, whom they knewe to bee but
a Citizen and no Prynce or great Lord. When dinner was done, and
that they had talked a little together, the weather waxing very
hot, the Gentlemen of Pauie, (as it pleased mayster Thorello)
went to take their rest, and he remayned wyth his three Guests:
with whom he went into a chamber, where to the intent that
nothing which he had and loued might be vnseene, caused his
honest Wyfe to be called forth: who being very beautiful and wel
fauored, clothed in rich and costly array, accompanied with her
two yong sonnes, which were like to Aungels, came before them,
and gratiously saluted them. When they saw her, they rose vp,
and reuerently receiued hir, then they caused hir to sit downe
in the mids of them, sporting and dalying with hir two fayre
sonnes. But after she had pleasantly entred in talk, she asked
them of whence they were, and whither they were going? To whom
the Gentlemen made the same aunswere that they had done before
to maister Thorello. Then the Gentlewoman sayd vnto them with
smilinge cheere: “I perceyue then that mine aduice being a
woman, is come well to passe. And therefore I pray you, that of
your special grace you will do me this pleasure, as not to
refuse or disdain the litle present that I shall bring before
you, but that you take it, in consideration that women according
to their little ability, giue little things, and that yee regard
more the affection of the person whych offreth the gist, then
the value of the giuen thing.” And causing to be brought before
euery of them two fayre Roabes, the one lined with silke, and
the other with Meneuayr, not in fashion of a Citizen, or of a
Marchant, but Noblemanlike, and III. Turkey gownes with sleeues
of Taffata, lined with linnen cloth, she sayde vnto them: “Take
I pray you these roabes, with the like whereof this day I
apparelled my husband, and the other things may also serue your
turnes, although they be little worth, considering that yee be
farre from your Wyues, and the greatnesse of your iorney, which
you haue taken, and haue yet to make, and also for that
Marchantmen loue to be neat, and fine in things appertinent to
their bodies.” The Gentlemen mutch maruelled, and playnly knew
that Maister Thorello was disposed not to forget any one part of
curtesie towards them, and doubted (by reason of the beauty and
richesse of the roabes not marchantlike,) that they should not
be knowne of mayster Thorello, notwithstandinge one of them
aunswered her: “These be (Gentlewoman) very great gifts, and
ought not lightly to be accepted, if your intreaty did not
constraine vs, against which no denial ought to be made.” That
done, when mayster Thorello returned into the chamber, the
Gentlewoman tooke her leaue, and went hir way: and then shee
furnished the seruants with diuers other things necessary for
them, and Mayster Thorello obtayned by earnest request, that
they should tary all that day. Wherefore after they had rested
themselues a while, they did put on their roabes, and walked
forth on horsebacke into the Citty: and when supper tyme was
come, they were bountifully feasted in honorable company: and
when bed time approched, went to rest. And so soone as it was
day they rose, and founde in steade of their weary Hackneyes,
three fat and fayre Palfreyes, and also the like number of fresh
and mighty horsses for their seruaunts: Which Saladine seeing,
turned towardes his companions, and sayd vnto them: “I sweare by
God that ther was neuer a more liberall Gentleman, more
courteous or better conditioned than this is. And if Christian
kings for their part be sutch, I meane indued with sutch kingly
qualities as this Gentleman is, the Souldan of Babylon shall
haue inough to do to deale with one, and not to attend for all
those which we see to be in preparation for inuasion of his
Country.” But seeing that to refuse them or render them agayne,
serued to no purpose, they thanked him very humbly, and got
vppon their horse. Mayster Thorello wyth many of his frends,
accompanied them out of the Citty a great peece of the way: And
albeit that it mutch greeued Saladine to depart from mayster
Thorello (so farre in he was already in loue with him) yet being
constrayned to forgo his company, hee prayed him to returne, who
although very loth to depart, sayd unto them: “Syrs, I will be
gone, sith it is your pleasure I shall so do, and yet I say vnto
you, that I know not what you be, ne yet demaund to know, but so
farre as pleaseth you. But what soeuer yee be, you shall not
make me beleue at this tyme, that yee be marchauntes, and so I
bid you farewell.” Saladine hauing taken hys leaue of those that
accompanied mayster Thorello, answered him: “Syr, it may come to
passe, that we may let you see our marchaundise, the better to
confirme your beleefe.” And so departed. Saladine then hauing
thus taken his leaue, assuredly determined if he liued, and that
the Warres he looked for did not let him, to do no lesse honor
to mayster Thorello, then he had done to him, and fell into
great talke with his companions of him, of his Wyfe and of his
things, acts and deedes, greatly praysing all his entertaynment.
But after he had trauayled and vewed al the west parts,
imbarkinge himselfe and his company, he returned to Alexandria,
throughly informed of his enemies indeuors, prepared for his
defence. Mayster Thorello returned to Pauie, and mused a long
time what these three might be, but he coulde not so mutch as
gesse, what they were. When the tyme of the appoynted passage
for the Chrystians was come, and that great preparation
generally was made, Mayster Thorello notwithstandinge the teares
and prayers of his Wyfe, was fully bent to go thither, and
hauinge set all thinges in order for that Voyage, and ready to
get on horsebacke, he sayd vnto hir whom he perfectly loued:
“Sweete Wyfe, I am goinge as thou seest, this Iourney, aswell
for myne honour sake, as for health of my soule: I recommende
vnto you our goodes and honor: And bycause I am not so certayne
of my retourne, for a thousand accydentes that may chaunce, as I
am sure to goe, I praye thee to doe mee thys pleasure, that what
so euer chaunceth of mee, yf thou haue no certayne newes of my
life, that yet thou tarry one yeare, one Moneth, and one day,
the same terme to begin at the day of my departure.” The
Gentlewoman whych bytterly wept, answered: “I know not dear
husband how I shal be able to beare the sorrowe wherein you
leaue mee, if you goe awaye: But yf my Lyfe bee more stronge and
sharpe, than sorrowe it selfe: and whether you lyue or dye, or
what so euer come of you, I wyll lyue and dye the Wyfe of
Mayster Thorello, and the onely spouse of hys remembraunce.”
Whereunto mayster Thorello sayde: “Sweete Wyfe, I am more than
assured that touching your selfe, it wyll proue as you do
promise: But you beyng a younge Woman, fayre, and well allyed,
and your Vertue greate and well knowne throughoute the Countrye,
I am sure that many greate Personages and gentlemen (if any
suspytyon bee conceyued of my Death) wyll make requestes to your
brethren and Kindred, from whose pursute (althoughe you be not
disposed,) you can not defende your selfe, and it behoueth that
of force, you please theyr wil, whych is the onely reason that
moueth mee to demaunde that terme, and no longer tyme.” The
Gentlewoman sayd: “I wil doe what I can for fulfilling of my
promyse: And albeit in the ende that I shall bee constrayned to
doe contrary to my lykyng, be assured that I wyll obey the
charge whych nowe you haue gyuen me: And I moste humbly thanke
Almyghty God, that hee neuer brought vs into these termes before
this tyme.” Theyr talke ended, the Gentlewoman weepyng embraced
mayster Thorello, and drawyng a Ryng from hir Fynger, she gaue
it hym, sayinge: “If it chaunce that I dye before I see you,
remember me when you shal beholde the same.” He receiuinge the
ring, got vp vppon his horse, and takinge his leaue, went on hys
voyage, and arriued at Genoua shipped himself in a Galley, and
toke his way, whereunto wind and weather so fauored, as wythin
fewe dayes he landed at Acres, and ioyned wyth the army of the
Chrystyans: wherein began a great mortalytye and Plague, duryng
which infection (what so euer was the cause) eyther by the
industrie or Fortune of Saladine the rest of the Christians that
escaped were almost taken and surprised by him, without any
fighte or blowe stricken. All which were imprysoned in many
cities, and deuided into diuers places, amongs whych prysoners
maister Thorello was one, who was caryed captyue to Alexandria,
where beyng not knowne, and fearyng to be knowne, forced of
necessitie, gaue him selfe to the keepyng of Hawkes, a qualitie
wherein he had very good skyll, whereby in the ende hee grew to
the acquaintance of the Souldan, who for that occasion (not
knowing him that time) toke hym out of pryson, and retayned him
for his Fawconer. Maister Thorello which was called of the
Souldan by none other name than Chrystian, whome hee neyther
knewe, ne yet the Souldan him, had none other thing in his mynde
and remembraunce but Pauia, and manye tymes assayed to escape
and run away: But he neuer came to the poynt: Wherfore dyuers
Ambassadoures from Genoua being come to Saladine, to raunsome
certayne of theyr Prysoners, and being ready to returne, hee
thought to wryte vnto his wyfe, to let hir know that he was
aliue, and that hee would come home so soone as he coulde,
praying hir to tarry his retourne: Which was the effecte of hys
Letter: verye earnestly desiring one of the ambassadours of his
acquayntaunce to doe so mutch for hym as safely to delyuer those
Letters to the Handes of the Abbot of _S. Pietro in ciel Doro_,
whych was hys Vncle. And Mayster Thorello standing vppon these
termes, it chaunced vpon a day as Saladine was talking with him
of his Hawkes, Thorello began to smyle and to make a Iesture
wyth hys mouth, whych Saladine beyng at his house at Pauie did
very well note, by which act Saladine began to remember him, and
earnestly to viewe hym, and thought that it was he in deede.
Wherefore leauing his former talke, he sayd: “Tell me Chrystian
of what countrey art thou in the West parts?” “Sir” sayd Mayster
Thorello, “I am a Lombarde, of a City called Pauie, a poore man
and of meane estate.” So soone as Saladine heard that, as
assured wherof he doubted, said to himself: “God hath giuen me a
time to let thys man know how thankfully I accepted his curtesy
that hee vsed towards me,{”} and without any more words, hauing
caused all his apparell in a chamber to be set in order, he
broughte him into the same and sayd: “Behold Christian, if
amonges al these roabes, there be any one which thou hast seene
before.{”} Maister Thorello began to looke vpon them, and saw
those which his wyfe had giuen to Saladine: but he could not
beleue that it was possible that they should be the same,
notwithstanding hee answered: “Sir, I knowe them not, albeit my
mind giueth me that these twayne do resemble the roabes which
sometimes I ware, and caused them to be giuen to three marchaunt
men that were lodged at my house.” Then Saladine not able to
forbear any longer, tenderly imbraced him, saying: “You be
maister Thorello de Istria, and I am one of the three Marchaunts
to whom your wife gaue those roabes: and now the time is come to
make you certenly beleue what my marchaundise is, as I tolde you
when I departed from you that it myght come to passe.” Maister
Thorello hearyng those wordes, began to be both ioyfull and
ashamed, ioyfull for that he had entertained sutch a guest, and
ashamed that his fare and lodging was so simple. To whom
Saladine said: {“}maister Thorello, sith it hath pleased god to
send you hither, thynke from henceforth that you be Lord of this
place and not I.” and making great chere, and reioysing one wyth
an other, he caused him to be cloathed in royall vestures, and
brought him into the presence of al the Noble men of his
country: and after he had rehersed many thinges of his valor and
commendation, commaunded him to be honoured as his owne person,
of all those which desired to haue his fauor: Which thing euery
Man dyd from that time forth: but aboue the rest, the two Lords
that were in company with Saladine at his house. The greatnesse
of the sodain glory wherein maister Thorello sawe himselfe, did
remoue oute of his mind, his affayres of Lombardie, and
specially, bicause hee hoped that his letters should trustely be
deliuered to the hands of his vncle. Now there was in the camp
of the Christians the daye wherein they were taken by Saladine,
a Gentleman of Prouince, which dyed and was buryed, called
maister Thorello de Dignes, a man of great estimation: whereby
(maister Thorello of Istria known through out the whole army for
his nobility and prowesse) euery man that heard tell that
maister Thorello was dead, beleued that it was mayster Thorello
de Istria, and not he de Dignes, and by reason of his taking,
the truth whether of them was deade, was vnknown: Wherfore many
Italians returned with those newes, amongs whom som wer so
presumptuous, as they toke vpon them to saye and affyrme that
they saw him deade, and were at his burial: Whych knowen to his
wyfe and his friends, was an occasion of very great and
inestimable Sorrow, not onely to them: but to all other that
knewe him. Very long it were to tell what great sorrow,
heauinesse, and lamentation his wife did vtter, who certain
moneths after shee had continually so tormented hir selfe, (and
when hir grief began to decrease, being demaunded of many great
personages of Lombardie) was counselled by hir brothers, and
other of hir kin, to mary again. Which thing after she had many
times refused, in very great anguish and dolor, finally being
constrained thereunto, she yelded to the minds of hir parents:
But yet vpon condicion, that the nuptials should not be
celebrate vntyll sutch tyme as she had performed hir promise
made to maister Thorello. Whilest the affaires of this
Gentlewoman were in those termes at Pauie, and the time of hir
appoyntment within eight dayes approched, it chaunced that
maister Thorello vpon a day espyed a man in Alexandria, (which
hee had seene before in the company of the Ambassadors of
Genoua,) going into the galley that was bound with them to
Genoua, wherfore causing him to be called, he demaunded what
voyage they had made, and asked him when they arriued at Genoua?
To whom he sayd: “Sir the Galley made a very ill voyage as I
hard say in Creta, where I remayned behynd them, for being neare
the coast of Sicilia there rose a maruellous tempest, which
droue the galley vpon the shoare of Barbarie, and not one of
them within bord escaped, amongs whom two of my brethren were
likewise drowned.” Mayster Thorello giuing credite to the words
of this fellow, which were very true, and remembring himselfe
that the terme whych he had couenaunted with his Wyfe was almost
expired, and thinkinge that they could hardly come by the
knowledge of any newes of hym or of his state, beleued verily
that his Wyfe was maried agayne, for sorrow whereof he fell into
sutch melancholy, as he had no lust to eate or drinke, and
laying him downe vpon his bed, determined to die: whych so soone
as Saladine, (who greatly loued hym) did vnderstand, he came to
visite him, and after that he had (through instant request)
knowen the occasion of his heauinesse and disease, hee blamed
him very mutch for that he did no sooner disclose vnto him his
conceipt: And afterwards prayed him to be of good cheere,
assuring him if he would, so to prouide as he shoulde be at
Pauie, iust at the terme which he had assigned to his Wyfe: and
declared vnto him the order how. Mayster Thorello geuinge credit
to the words of Saladine, and hauinge many times hard say, that
it was possible, and that the like had bene many times done,
began to comfort himselfe, and to vse the company of Saladine,
who determined fully vpon his voyage and returne to Pauie. Then
Saladine commaunded one of his Nycramancers, (whose science
already he had well experienced) that hee shoulde deuise the
meanes how mayster Thorello might be borne to Pauie in one
night, vpon a bed: Whereunto the Nycromancer aunswered that it
should be done, but that it behoued for the better doing
thereof, that he should be cast into a sleepe: And when Saladine
had geuen order thereunto, he returned to mayster Thorello, and
finding him fully purposed to be at Pauy if it were possible at
the terme which he had assigned, or if not, to die: sayd thus
vnto hym: “Mayster Thorello, if you do heartely loue your Wyfe
and doubt least she be maried to an other, God forbid that I
should stay you by any manner of meanes, bicause of all the
Women that euer I saw, she is for maners, comely behauiour, and
decent order of apparell, (not remembring her beauty, which is
but a fading floure) mee thyncke most worthy to bee praysed and
loued. A gladsome thynge it woulde haue beene to mee (sith
Fortune sent you hither) that the tyme which you and I haue to
liue in this worlde, we myght haue spent together, and liued
Lordes of the Kingdome which I possesse, and if God be minded
not to do me that grace, at least wyse sith you be determined
either to dye or to returne to Pauie, at the terme which you
haue appointed, my great desire is, that I myght haue knowen the
same in time, to the intente you myghte haue bene conducted
thither wyth sutch honour and trayn as your Vertues do deserue:
Which sith God wyl not that it bee brought to passe, and that
you wyll neades be there presently, I wyll send you as I can in
manner before expressed.” Whereunto maister Thorello said: “Sir,
the effect (bisides your wordes) hath don me suffycient
knowledge of your good wyll, which I neuer deserued, and that
whych you told me, I cannot beleeue, so long as Lyfe is in me,
and therefore am most certayne to dye: But sith I am so
determyned, I beseeche you to do that which you haue promised
out of hand, bicause to morrow is the last day of the
appoyntment assigned to my wyfe.” Saladine said, that for a
truth the same should be don: And the next day the Souldan
purposing to send hym the nyght following, he caused to be made
ready in a great hall a very fayre and rych bed, all quilted
according to their manner (wyth vyluet and clothe of gold), and
caused to be layed ouer the same, a Couerlet wroughte ouer with
borders of very great pearles, and rich precious stones: which
euer afterwardes was deemed to be an infinite treasure, and two
pillowes sutelike vnto that bed: that don, he commaunded that
they should inuest maister Thorello, (who now was lustie) with a
Sarazine roabe, the richest and fairest thing that euer anye Man
saw, and vpon his head one of his longest bands, wreathen
according to theyr manner, and being already late in the
Euenyng, hee and diuers of his Barons went into the Chamber wher
Mayster Thorello was, and being set down besides him, in weeping
wise hee began to say: “Maister Thorello, the time of our
separation doth now approche, and bicause that I am not able to
accompany you, ne cause you to be waited vpon, for the qualitie
of the way which you haue to passe, I must take my leaue here in
this chamber, for which purpose I am come hither: Wherefore
before I byd you farewel, I pray you for the loue and friendship
that is betwene vs, that you do remember me if it be possible
before our dayes do end, after you haue giuen order to your
affayres in Lombardie, to come agayne to see me before I dye, to
the end that I beyng reioyced with your second visitation, may
be satisfied of the pleasure which I lose this day for your
vntimely hast: and trusting that it shall come to passe, I pray
you let it not be tedious vnto you to visite me wyth your
letters, and to require me in thynges wherein it may lyke you to
commaund, which assuredly I shall accomplish more frankely for
you, than for any other liuing man.” Maister Thorello was not
able to retaine teares: wherefore to staye the same, he answered
him in few woordes, that it was impossible that euer hee shoulde
forget his benefites, and his worthy friendship extended vpon
him, and that without default he would accomplish what he had
commaunded, if God did lend him life and leysure. Then Saladine
louingly imbracing and kissing him, pouring forth many teares,
bad him farewell, and so went oute of the chamber: And all the
other Noble men afterwards tooke theyr leaue likewise of him,
and departed with Saladine into the hal wher he had prepared the
bed, but being already late, and the Necromancer attending, and
hasting his dispatch, a Phisitian broughte him a drinke, and
made him beleue that it would fortifie and strengthen him in his
iorney, causing him to drinke the same: which being done within
a while after he fell a sleepe, and so sleeping was borne by the
commaundment of Saladine, and layd vpon the fayre bed, whereupon
he placed a rich and goodly crowne of passinge pryce and valor,
vpon the which he had ingrauen so plaine an inscription, as
afterwards it was knowne that the same was sent by Saladine to
the wife of maister Thorello. After that he put a ring vpon his
finger whych was beset wyth a Diamonde, so shining, as it seemed
like a flamynge Torche, the Value whereof was hard to bee
esteemed. Then he caused to bee girte aboute hym, a Sworde, the
furniture and garnishing whereof could not easily be valued: and
besides all thys, hee honge vppon hys Necke a Tablet or Brooche
so beset wyth Stones, and Pearles, as the lyke was neuer seene.
And afterwards he placed on either of hys sides, two exceding
great Golden basens, full of double Ducates, and many cordes of
Pearles and rings, girdels, and other things to tedious to
reherse, wherewith he bedecked the place about him. Which done,
he kissed him againe, and wylled the Necromancer to make hast.
Wherfore incontinently maister Thorello, and the bed, in the
presence of Saladine was caried out of sight and Saladine taried
stil, deuising and talkyng of hym amongs his Barons. Maister
Thorello being now laid in S. Peter Churche at Pauie, according
to his request, with all his Iewels and habilliments aforesayd
about him, and yet fast a slepe, the Sexten to ring to Mattens,
entred the Church with light in his hand: and chauncing sodenly
to espy the rych Bed, dyd not onely maruel thereat, but also ran
away in great feare. And when the Abbot and the Monkes saw that
hee made sutch hast away, they were abashed, and asked the cause
why he ranne so fast? The Sexten tolde them the matter: “Why how
now?” sayde the Abbot, “Thou art not sutch a Babe, ne yet so
newlye come vnto the Church, as thou oughtest so lightly to be
afraide. But let vs goe and see what bug hath so terribly frayed
thee.” And then they lighted many Torches: And when the Abbot
and his Monkes were entred the Church, they saw that wonderfull
rich bed, and the Gentleman sleeping vpon the same. And as they
were in this doubte and feere, beholding the goodly Iewels, and
durst not goe neare the bed, it chaunced that maister Thorello
awaked, fetchyng a gret sighe. The Monkes so soone as they saw
that, and the Abbot with them, ran all away crying out, “God
helpe vs, our Lord haue mercy vpon vs.” Maister Thorello opened
his eyes, and playnly knew by loking round about him, that he
was in the place where he demaunded to be of Saladine whereof he
was very glad, and rising vp, and viewing particularily, what he
had about him, albeit he knew before the magnificence of
Saladine, now he thoughte it greater, and better vnderstood the
same than before. But seeynge the Monkes run away, and knowyng
the cause wherefore, he began to call the Abbot by hys name, and
intreated hym not to bee affrayde: For he was Mayster Thorello
his Nephewe. The Abbot hearyng that was dryuen into a greater
feare, bicause he was accompted to bee dead diuers moneths
before: but afterwards by diuers arguments, assured that hee was
maister Thorello, and so often called by hys name (making a
signe of the Crosse) he went vnto him. To whom maister Thorello
sayd: “Whereof be you a frayd good father? I am aliue I thanke
God, and from beyond the Sea returned hyther.” The Abbot
(although he had a great beard, and apparelled after the guise
of Arabie) crossed hymselfe agayne, and was wel assured that it
was he. Then he tooke hym by the hande, and sayde vnto hym as
followeth: “My Sonne thou art welcome home, and maruell not,
that wee were afrayd: For there is none in all thys Citty, but
doth certaynly beleeue that thou art dead. In so mutch as madame
Adalietta thy Wyfe, vanquished with the prayers and threates of
hir frinds and kin, agaynst hir will is betrouthed agayne, and
this day the espousals shall be done. For the mariage, and all
the preparation necessary for the feast, is ready.” Mayster
Thorello risinge out of the rich Bed, and reioysing wyth the
Abbot and all his Monks, praied euery of them not to speake one
word of his comminge home, vntill he had done what he was
disposed. Afterwards placing al his rich Iewels in surety and
sauegard, hee discoursed vnto his vncle what had chaunced vnto
hym till that time. The Abbot ioyfull for his fortune, gaue
thankes to God. Then mayster Thorello demaunded of his vncle,
what he was that was betrouthed to hys Wyfe. The Abbot tolde
hym: To whom maister Thorello sayd: “Before my returne be
knowen, I am desirous to see what Countenaunce my Wyfe wyl make
at the mariage. And therefore, albeit that the religious doe not
vse to repayre to sutch Feastes, yet I pray you for my sake take
payne to go thither.” The Abbot aunswered that he would
willingly doe so. And so soone as it was Daye, hee sente woorde
to the Brydegrome, that he, and a Frende of hys, woulde bee at
the mariage: whereunto the Gentleman aunswered, that he was very
glade thereof. When dinner tyme was come, mayster Thorello in
the habite and apparel wherein he was, went with the Lord Abbot
to the weddinge dinner, where euery of them that saw him, did
maruellously beholde hym, but no man knew him, bicause the Abbot
aunswered them that inquired, that he was a Sarazene, sent
Ambassador from the Souldan to the French Kinge. Mayster
Thorello was then placed at a table which was right ouer agaynst
his Wyfe, whom he beheld with great pleasure and delight, and
perceyued very wel by hir face that she was not well content
with that mariage. She likewise beheld him sometimes, not for
any knowledge she had of hym, for his great beard and straunge
attire, the firme credite and generall opinion also that hee was
deade, chiefly hindred it. But when mayster Thorello thought
tyme to proue whether she had any remembraunce of him, he
secretly conuayed into hys hande, the ring which she gaue him at
hys departure, and called a little Boy that wayted vpon hir, and
sayd vnto him: “Go tell the Bryde in my behalfe, that the
custome of my countrey is, that when any Straunger (as I am
here) is bydden by any new maried woman (as she is now,) for a
token of his welcome, she sendeth vnto him the cup wherein she
drinketh full of Wyne, whereof after the straunger hath dronke
what pleaseth him, he couereth the cup agayne, and sendeth the
same to the Bryde, who drinketh the rest that remayneth.” The
Page did his message vnto the Bryde, who like a wise Gentlewoman
wel brought vp, thinking he had ben some great personage, to
declare that he was welcome, commaunded a great cup all gilt,
standing before hir, to be washed cleane, and to be filled ful
of Wyne, and caried to the Gentleman, which accordingly was don.
Mayster Thorello hauing put into hys mouth the aforesayd ring,
secretly let fall the same into the Cup as he was drinking, not
perceyued of any man, to the intent that she drinking the latter
draught, might espy the ringe. When he had dronk, he returned
the cup vnto the Bryde, who thankfully receyued the same. And
for that the manner of his countrey might be accomplished, when
the cup was deliuered vnto hir, she vncouered the same, and
pleadging the rest of the Wyne, beheld the ring, and without
speaking any word, wel viewed the same, and knowing that it was
the very Ring which she had geuen to maister Thorello, when he
departed, tooke it out. And stedfastly did marke and looke vpon
him, whom she supposed to be a straunger, and already knowinge
him, cryed out as though she had bene straught of hir wittes,
throwing downe the Table before hir: “This is my Lord and
husband, this is of trouth Mayster Thorello.” And runnynge to
the table without respect to hys apparell of Cloth of Gold, or
to any thinge that was vpon the table, pressinge so neere him as
she could, imbraced him very heard, not able to remoue hir
handes from about his Necke for any thing that could bee sayd or
done by the company that was there, vntill mayster Thorello
required hir to forbeare for that present, for so mutch as she
shoulde haue leysure inough to vse hir further imbracements.
Then shee left him, and contented hir selfe for the tyme: but
the brydale and mariage was wholly troubled and appalled for
that sodayne chaunce, and the most part of the Guests excedingly
reioyced for the return of that Noble knight. Then the company
beinge intreated to sit and not to remoue, Maister Thorello
rehearsed in open audience what had chaunced vnto him from the
day of his departure vntill that tyme, concludinge with a
petition to the Bridegrome, that had newly espoused his Wyfe,
that he woulde not be displeased if he tooke hir agayne. The new
maried Gentleman, albeit it greeued hym very sore, and thought
himselfe to be mocked, aunswered liberally and like a Frende,
that it was in hys power to do wyth hys owne what hee thought
best. The Gentlewoman drawinge of the Rings and Garland which
shee had receyued of hir newe Husbande, did put vppon hir finger
the Ring which shee founde within the Cup, and likewyse the
Crowne that was sent vnto hir by Saladine: And the whole troupe
and assembly leauing the house where they were, went home with
mayster Thorello and his wyfe, and there the kin and frends, and
all the Citizens which haunted the same, and regarded it for a
myracle, were with long feastinge and great cheare in great ioy
and triumph. Mayster Thorello departing some of his precious
Iewels to him that had bene at the cost of the marriage,
likewise to the Lord Abbot and diuers others, and hauing done
Saladine to vnderstand hys happy repayre home to his Countrey,
recommending himselfe for euer to his commaundement, liued with
his Wyfe afterwards many prosperous yeares, vsing the vertue of
curtesie more than euer hee did before. Sutch was the ende of
the troubles of maister Thorello, and hys wel beloued Wyfe, and
the recompence of their franke and honest curtesies.




THE TWENTY-FIRST NOUELL.

  _A Gentleman of meane callinge and reputation, doth fall in loue
  with Anne, the Queene of Hungarie, whom shee very royally requited._


Following the preceding arguments treated in certayne of the
former Nouelles, I wyll now discourse the princely kindnesse and
curtesy done to a poore Gentleman, by a Lady of later dayes,
Anne the Queene of Hungary. whych Gentleman, though beyonde hys
reache to catch what he aspired, fell in loue with that
bountifull and vertuous Gentlewoman, thinkinge (by like) that
she in end woulde haue abased her Maiesty, to recline to hys
vayne and doting trauayle. But she like a Queene, not despisinge
the poore mans loue, vouchsafed by familiar speech to poure some
drops of comfort into his louinge minde, and once to proue, on
whom he fixed his fansie, reached him a Nosegay, and prayed him
to bestowe it vpon whom hee liked best. All which familiar
dealings she vsed, to keepe the poore pacient from despayre,
that so highly had placed hym selfe. But in end perceyuinge his
continuaunce, would not reiect and geue hym ouer, or with
Scornes and Flouts contemne the Amorous Gentleman: and that
longe loue myght gayne some deserued guerdon, she neuer left hym
vntyll she had preferred him to a Noble office in Spayne. The
noble disposition of this chast and gentle Queene, I thought
good to adioyn next to that of maister Thorella and Saladine:
who for curtesie and passinge mutuall kindnesse, are worthy of
remembraunce. And for you noble Dames for a Christall to sharpen
your sightes, and viewe the recompence of loue, done by a Queene
of passing beauty, and yet most chast and vertuous, that it
might somewhat touch your squeymish stomackes and haulty hearts,
and lenifie that corrosiue humor, which with frowning face,
forceth you to ouerperke your humble suppliants. A helpinge
preseruatiue I hope this Hystory shalbe to imbolden you, in
sutes and petitions to their prince and soueraygne: An
incoragement (I hope) to be mediators for sutch, as by seruice
and warfare haue confirmed their faythfull deuoirs for defence
of their Countrey. Remember the care the Romane matrones had for
those that deserued well of their Common wealth: as how they
mourned for Lucius Brutus one whole yeres space, for his good
reuenge ouer the rauishers of Lucrece: and for Martius
Coriolanus, for hys piety and mothers sake, discharging his
Countrey from the enemies siege. Let mistresse Paolina of the
priuy Chamber to this Queene Anne, render example for preferment
of sutch as be worthy to be cherished and esteemed. O how
Liberality beseemeth a Queene, no lesse (as one maketh
comparison) than the bright beames of the Sunne, or the
twinkling starres in the Firmament. Oh how diligence in
Gentlewomen, aduaunced to Princes Chambers, no lesse than the
greene leaues to braunched Trees, or dyuers coloured Floures in
Nosegayes. So flourishing be the fruites that bud from
liberality, and freshe the benefites that succeede of the
payneful trauayles sustayned in the sutes of seruiceable
Gentlemen. This Philippo whom the Queene preferred, and
liberally rewarded, was a meane Gentleman, but yet learned and
well furnished with commendable qualities. His deserued
aduauncement may stirre vp ech Gentle heart, to merite and serue
in Common wealth. His warninge and other vertues may awake the
sluggish Courtier, from loytering on Carpets, and doinge thinges
vnseemely: His diligence also reuiue the blockish sprites of
some that rout their tyme in sluggish sleepe, or waste the day
in harlotrie and other filthy exercise. Whose example yf they
practise, or imitate sutch commendable life as becommeth their
estates, then glory will followe their deedes, as the shadowe
doeth the body. Then welfare and liuelihoode aboundantly shal
bee mynistred to supply want of patrimonie or defect of parents
portion. And thus the Hystory doth begin. Not long sithens
Queene Anne, the sister of Lewes, that was king of Hungarie, and
wife to Ferdinando Archeduke of Austriche, (which at this day is
parcel of the kingdome of Hungary and Boeme,) together with the
Lady Mary daughter of Philip kynge of Spayne, and wife of the
sayd Lewes, went to keepe hir abode, and soiorne in Hispurge,
a Countrey among the Dutch very famous, where many tymes the
Court of the Hungarian Prynces longe space remayned. These two
Noble Queenes remained within the Palace of king Maximilian,
Emperour at that time elected, which Palace is so neare
adioyning to the Cathedrall Church, as without sight of the
people at their pleasure they mighte by a secrete Gallerie passe
to the Church to heare diuine seruyce accustomably celebrated
there. Which vse they dayly obserued with theyr Ladies and
Gentlewomen, and other Lordes and Gentlemen of the Court. In
which church was made and erected a high place in manner of a
Closet gorgeously wrought, and in royall manner apparelled of
sutch amplitude as it was hable to receyue the whole trayn and
company attendant vpon the Persons of the two Quenes. Now it
came to passe that a Gentleman of Cremona in Italy called
Philippo di Nicuoli, whych in those dayes by reason of the
recouery of the Duchie of Milane, by the Frenche, departed
Lombardie, and went to Hispurge, and was Secretarie to Signa
Andrea Borgo, bicause he was well learned, and could wryte very
fayre, and therwithall a proper and very haundsome man. This
yong Gentleman very mutch frequenting the Church, and seeing the
beauty of Queene Anne, to excell all the reast of the Ladies,
adorned and garnished with princely behauiour and Queenelyke
qualytyes, not foreseeyng (when hee beheld hir) the nature of
loue, whych once being possessed, neuer leaueth the pacient til
it hath infebled his state lyke the quality of poyson,
distillinge through the vaynes, euen to the heart. Which louing
venim this Gentleman did drinke with the lookes of his eyes, to
satisefy and content his desired minde by vewinge and intentife
considering hir wonderful beauty, that rapt beyond measure, he
was myserably intangled wyth the snares of blind and deceiptfull
loue, wherewith he was so cruelly inflamed, as he was lyke to
sorte out of the bounds of reason and Wyt. And the more he did
beholde the hyghnesse of hir Maiesty, and the excellency of so
great a Lady, and therewithal did weigh and consider hys base
degree and Lignage, and the poore state whereunto frowarde
fortune that tyme had brought him, the more he thought hymselfe
frustrate and voyde of hope, and the more the perillous flames
of loue did assayle and fire his amorous heart, kindlinge hys
inward partes with loue so deepely ingraffed, as it was
impossible to be rooted out. Mayster Philippo then in this
manner (as you haue heard) knotted and intrapped within the
fillets and laces of loue, supposing all labour which hee should
imploy to be lost and consumed, throughly bent himselfe with all
care and diligence to atchieue this hygh and honorable
enterprise, whatsoeuer should come of it: whych effectually he
pursued. For alwayes when the Queenes were at church to heare
deuine seruice, he fayled not to bee there. And hauinge done his
duetyfull reuerence, whych very comely he could do, he vsed to
bestow himselfe dyrectly ouer agaynst hir: where delitinge in
the beauty of the Queene whych dayly more and more inflamed his
heart, would not depart from thence tyll the Queenes were
disposed to goe. And if perchaunce for some occasion, the
Queenes went not to Church, maister Philippo for all that (were
his businesse neuer so great and needefull) would vouchsafe at
least wise to visite the place, where he was wont to see his
Lady. Sutch is the ordinary force of loue that although liberty
of sight and talke be depryued from the pacient, yet it doeth
hym good to treade in the Steps of that Ground where his
Mistresse doth vsually haunt, or to see the place vppon whych
she eased hir tender corps, or leaned hir delicate elbowes. Thys
young man bayted, and fed in amorous Toyes and Deuyses, now
armed wyth hope, and by and by disarmed by despayre, reuolued in
hys mynde a thousand thoughts and cogitations. And although he
knew that hys Ladder had not steps inow to clyme so hygh, yet
from his determined purpose hee was not able to remoue: but
rather the more difficult and daungerous hys enterpryse seemed
to bee, the more grew desire to prosecute and obiect hymselfe to
all daungers. If peraduenture the Queenes for their disport and
pastime were disposed to walke into the fieldes or gardens of
the Citty of Hispurge, he fayled not in company of other
Courtiers to make one of the troupe, beinge no houre at rest and
quiet if he were not in the sight of Queene Anne, or neere the
place where shee was. At that time there were many Gentlemen
departed from Lumbardy to Hispurge, which for the most part
followed the Lord Francisco Sforza the second, by whom they
hoped when the Duchy of Mylane was recouered, to be restored to
their countrey. There was also Chamberlayne to the sayd Lorde
Francesco, one mayster Girolamo Borgo of Verona betwene whom and
mayster Philippo, was very neere freendship and familiarity. And
bicause it chaunseth very seldome, that feruent loue, can be
kept so secrete and couert, but in some part it will discouer it
selfe, mayster Borgo easily did perceyue the passion wherewith
mayster Philippo was inflamed. And one mayster Philippo Baldo
many times being in the company of mayster Borgo and Philippo,
did marke and perceiue his loue, and yet was ignorant of the
truth, or voyde of coniecture with what Gentlewoman he was
inamored. But seeing him contrary to wonted custome altered, and
from vsual mirth transported, fetchinge many sighes and
strayninges from his stomake, and markinge how many times he
would steale from the company he was in, and withdraw himselfe
alone, to muse vppon hys thoughts, brought thereby into a
melancholy and meane estate, hauing lost his sleepe, and stomak
of eating meate: iudged that the amorous Wormes of loue did
bitterly gnaw and teare his heart with the nebs of their forked
heades. They three then being vppon a time together, debatinge
of diuers thinges amonges themselues, chaunced to fall in
argument of loue, and maister Baldo, and Borgo, the other
Gentlemen, sayd to mayster Philippo, how they were wel assured
that he was straungly attached with that passion, by marking and
considering that new life, which lately he led contrary to
former vse, intreating him very earnestly, that he would
manifest his loue to them, that were his deere and faythfull
frends, tellinge him that as in weighty matters otherwise he was
already sure what they were, euen so in this he might hardily
repose his hope and confidence, promisinge hym all their helpe
and fauour, if therein their indeuour and trauayle might
minister ayde and comfort. Hee then like one raysed from a
trance, or lately reuiued from an extasie, after he had composed
his Countenaunce and Gesture, wyth teares and multitude of
sobbes, began to say these woordes: “My welbeloued freendes, and
trusty companions, being right well assured that yee (whose
fidelity I haue already proued, and whose secret mouthes be
recommended amongs the wise and vertuous), will keepe close and
couert the thinge which you shall heare me vtter, as of sutch
importaunce, that if the yong Romane Gentleman Papyrus had been
here, for all his silence of graue matters required by hys
Mother, I woulde vnnethes haue dysclosed the same vnto hym.
Indeede I cannot deny, but must needes confesse that I am in
loue, and that very ardently, which I cannot in sutch wyse
conceale, but that the blinde must needes clearely and euidently
perceyue. And although my mouth would fayne keepe close, in what
plight my passions do constrayne my inward affections, yet my
face and straung maner of life, which for a certayne tyme and
space I haue led, doe wittnesse, that I am not the man I was
wont to bee. So that if shortly I doe not amend, I trust to
arriue to that ende whereunto euery Creature is borne, and that
my bitter and paynful life shall take ende, if I may call it a
lyfe, and not rather a lyuing death: I was resolued and
throughly determined, neuer to discouer to any man the cause of
my cruell torment, being not able to manifest the same to hir,
whom I doe only loue, thinking better by concealinge it through
loue, to make humble sute to Lady Atropos, that shee woulde cut
of the thred of my dolorous lyfe. Neuerthelesse to you, from
whom I ought to keepe nothynge secrete, I wyll dysgarboyle and
vnlace the very Secretes of my Minde, not for that I hope to
finde comfort and reliefe, or that my passions by declaration of
them, will lesson and diminishe, but that yee, knowinge the
occasion of my death, may make report thereof to hir, that is
the only mistresse of my life, that shee vnderstandinge the
extreme panges of the truest louer that euer liued, may mourne
and wayle hys losse: which thinge if my seely Ghost may knowe,
no doubt where soeuer it do wander, shall receyue great ioy and
comfort. Be it known vnto you therefore, the first day that myne
Eyes behelde the diuine beauty and incomparable fauor of that
superexcellent Lady Queene Anne of Hungary, and that I (more
than wysedom required) did meditate, and consider the singuler
behauiour and notable curtesie and other innumerable giftes
wherewith shee is indued, the same beyond measure did so inflame
my heart, that impossible it was for me to quench the feruent
loue, or extinguish the least parte of my conceyued torment.
I haue done what I can to macerate and mortefie my vnbridled
desire, but all in vayne: My force and puissaunce is weake to
match with so mighty an aduersary. Alas syres, I knowe what yee
will obiect agaynst mee: yee will say that mine ignobility, my
byrth and stocke be no meete matches for sutch a personage, and
that my loue is to highly placed, to sucke reliefe: And the same
I do confesse so wel as you. I do acknowledge my condition and
state to base, I confesse that my loue (nay rather I may terme
it folly) doth presume beyond the bounds of order: For the first
tyme that I felt my selfe wrapped in those Snares, I knewe her
to beare the Port amonges the chyefest Queenes, and to bee the
peerelesse Pryncesse of Chrystendome. Agayne, I knew my selfe
the poorest Gentleman of the Worlde, and the most myserable
exile: I thought moreouer it to be very vnseemely for me to
direct my mynde vpon a wight so honorable, and of so great
estate: But who can rayne the Bridle, or prescribe lawes to
loue? What is he that in loue hath free wil and choyse? Truely I
beleeue no man, bicause loue the more it doth seeme to accorde
in pleasure and delight, the further from the mark he shooteth
his bolte, hauing no respect to degree or state. Haue not many
excellent and worthy personages, yea Dukes, Emperours and
Kinges, bin inflamed with the loue of Ladies, and Women of base
and vile degree? Haue not most honorable dames, and Women of
greatest renoume despised the honor of theyr states, abandoned
the company of theyr hushands, and neglected the loue of theyr
Chyldren, for the ardent loue that they haue borne to men of
inferiour sort? All Historyes be full of examples of that
purpose: The memoryes of our auncestors be yet in fresh
remembraunce, whereof if they were ignorant vnto you that be of
great experience, I could aduouche assured testimony: Yet thus
mutch I say vnto you, that it seeme no newe thing for a man to
be ouercome by his owne affectyon: It is not the Nobility of hir
state, or for that shee is a Queene, it is not the consideration
of one parte or other, that moued me first hereunto: But loue it
is, that is of greater force than we our selues bee of, which
many tymes maketh that to seeme lawfull, which altogether is
vnlawful, and by subduing reason maketh the great potentate
lorde tributarie to his wyl and pleasure, whose force is farre
greater then the lawes of Nature. And albeit that I neuer hope
to attayne to prosperous end of this magnifike and stately loue,
whych more and more doth seeme infortunate, yet I can not for my
Lyfe else where apply the same, or alter it to other place: And
consumynge still through faithful and feruent loue borne to the
Queene, I haue forced and constrained my self by al possible
meanes to gyue ouer that fond and foolish enterprise, and to
place my mynd else where: but mine endeuour and all my labour
and resistance is employed in vayne: Yea and if it were not for
feare of eternall damnation, and the losse of my poore afflicted
soule (which God forbid) myne owne Handes before this time had
ended my desires. I am therefore determined (sith that I can
attaine no successe of Loue, and that God doth suffer me to be
inspyred wyth that most honourable and curteous Lady, beyond all
order and estimation) to content my selfe with the sight of
those hir fayre and glistring eyes, farre excelling the
sparcling glimpse of the Diamonde or Saphire, and to serue, loue
and honour hir, so long as life doth last within this feeble
corpes: Vpon whose radiant and excelling beautie, my hope
shall continually feede: and yet I am not so far voyd of
vnderstandinge, but that I do most euidently know none other to
be the guide of thys vnmeasurable loue, but folly most extreme.”
Vpon the end of those words he let fal many teares, and being
staied with sobbs and sighes he was able to speake no more. And
in very deede he that had seene him, would haue thought that his
heart had bene tormented with most bitter and painfull passions.
Now they being very attentiue to his pytifull oration, were
attached with incredible sorrow, thinking that they had ben in a
dreame by hearing of this discourse, and stode styll a while one
loking vpon an other, without speaking word: Afterwards comming
to themselues, distraughte almost, for the greate admiration and
wonder to heare him speake those words, mayster Girolamo and
Baldo, with suasible arguments went about to counsell him to
withdraw his fonde and foolysh mind, praying him to place the
same elsewhere, shewing him the impossibility of hys enterpryse,
and the great peril that might succeede thereof. But they spake
to a man that seemed to be deaf, who replied, that hee neither
coulde or would giue ouer his loue, that had already made so
depe impression, what so euer came of it: Notwythstandyng they
ceased not still with sharp admonitions to beate into his head,
the fonde begynning of his foolish loue: and not onely at that
tyme, but continually when they were together, they dyd theyr
best by oft repetition of his vayne conceipt, to let him
vnderstande his manyfest error: but theyr labour and friendly
lessons were to no purpose: Wherefore mayster Borgo, determined
to giue him ouer, and to attende what would succede therof.
Mayster Philippo continuing hys pursute, neuer faylyng to be at
church when he knew the Quenes to be ther, at length it chanced
that they began to espy his loue, for that both of them did mark
his order, gesture and demeanure, and did note his oft
frequentation of the places where they continually haunted and
his manner in placyng himselfe at the church directly ouer
agaynst them, and his common vse in beholding and loking vpon
their faces, iudgyng thereby that without doubt he was in loue
with one of them, or at least with some Gentlewoman of their
trayne whereof the two Queenes began to vse some talk, although
not certain vpon whom his loue was bent. Neuerthelesse they wer
desirous to know the troth, and expected oportunitie somtime to
dissolue that doubt. In the meane while maister Philippo thought
by gazing on theyr beauty, to remoue the fire that miserably did
consume the suck and marow of his bones, seking comfort and
relief for his afflicted heart, the more I say he sought for
ease, the greater he felt his payn: And truely all they that
feruently do loue, aspire to that, which otherwise they woulde
eschue, by sight of them whome they do loue, not remembering
that the more they doe contemplate the beloued beauty, the more
increaseth desire, and with desire extreme and bitter smart.
Maister Philippo then lost no occasion or time stil to behold
Madame the Queene, were it in the church or courte, or were she
disposed for disport and recreation to walke abrode. It chaunced
now while things wer at this poynt, the ladies very desirous to
know vpon whom maister Philippo did expend his loue, that
fortune opened vnto them a meane to vnderstand the same: It was
then about that time of the yere, wherein al floures and roses
were by Titans force constrained to adorne and decke ech gardens
and place of pleasure, and with their fragrant smells and odors,
to sent the same in the moneth of May: it was when the Twinnes
were dysposed to shroud themselues amongs the hawthorn boughs
and honysuckles that yeld to euery wyght greatest store of
delyghts, at what time roses and other floures at theyr first
budding be very rare and scant, sauing in Kings Courtes and
prynces Palaces, where sutch rarieties by art and industrie be
most abundant, and all men haue delight to present sutch
nouelties to the pryncipall ladies. Vpon a day Queene Anne had
in hir hands certayne floures in due order couched in a Nosegay,
and for hir disport walked vp and down a very fayre and gorgeous
garden, in the company of Queene Mary, and other Ladies and
gentlewomen, about that tyme of the day the Sun wearie of
trauaile, went to hide him self in the back side of the western
mountains, wher amongs other of the Courte was maister Philippo.
Queene Anne when she had espyed him, determined to make proufe
with what Lady amongs them all, mayster Philippo was in loue,
and sporting hir self with softe and prety walkes vp and downe
the garden, pleasantly iesting with diuerse there attendant,
(as the maner is of like Ladies) with trimme and pleasant talk,
at length happed vpon maister Philippo, who although he was in
communication with certain Italian Gentlemen, neuerthelesse his
mynde and eyes were fixed vpon the Queene, that whensoeuer she
appeared before him his eyes and face were so firmelye bent
vppon hir, as the beholder might easily perceiue, that the
Vysage of the Quene was the vndoubted harborough of his thought.
Philippo, seeing the Queene come toward him, did honor hir wyth
gentle and dutifull reuerence, in sutch humble wise, as hee
seemed at hir hands pitifully to craue mercy. And truely
whosoeuer doth loue with secret and perfect heart, seemeth to
vtter more words to his Lady with his eies, than he is able to
speak wyth his tongue. The Queene being come vnto him with a
grace right graue and demure, sayd vnto him: “You Gentleman of
Lombardie, yf these floures which we haue in our hands were
giuen vnto you liberally to vse at your pleasure, and requyred
to make some curteous present of the same to one of vs the
ladies here that liked you best, tell mee I pray you, to whether
of vs would you giue the same, or what would you do or say?
Speake frankely we pray you, and tell youre mynde wythout
respect: for thereby you shall doe to vs very great pleasure,
and we shal know to whether of vs you beare your chiefest loue.
For it is not to be supposed, that you being a young man, can
spende your time without loue, being a naturall quality in euery
creature.” When mayster Philippo felt the swete voyce of the
Queene pleasantly to pierce his eares, and hearde that he was
commaunded for the loue of hir that he loued, not onely to tell
whome he loued best and most intierly, but also hir whom he
worshipped and serued in heart, was almost besides hymselfe,
sutch was the ticklyng ioylitie that he felt in hys heart, whose
face was taynted wyth a thousand colors and what for superfluous
loue and ioy, wherof the like he neuer tasted before, fell into
an extasie, not able to render answere. But when he had
recouered stomack, so well as he coulde with soft and trembling
voice, he answered the Queene in this wise: “Sith your maiesty
(to whom I yelde myne humble thanks for that curtesie) hath
vouchsafed to commaund me (besides the infinite pleasure and
honour, for which eternally I shal stande bound to your
highnesse) I am ready sincerely and truely to dysclose my mind,
being promised by your maiesty in opening of the same, to
deserue great thanks: Wherfore your pleasure being such I do say
then, with all due reuerence, that not onely here at thys tyme,
but at al times and places wher it shal please god to appoint
me, being not able to bestow them in other sort than they be,
but wer they more precious and fayre, the more ioyfull I should
bee of them. These floures I say shall of me right humbly be
presented to your maiesty, not bicause you be a Queene and of a
royal Race (whych notwythstandinge is a great vertue) but
bicause you bee a Phœnix, a rare Lady, and of all the troupe the
fayrest, garnished with infinit gifts, and passinge vertues, for
your merites worthy to be honoured wyth farr more excellent
gifts, than these simple floures be, as she that (aboue all
other Ladyes that liue at this day) is the honour and onely
glory of all womanhoode of our age, as shee that is the Paragon
peerelesse of the vniuersal worlde.” when he had sayd those
words, he held his peace. The Queene with great delight hearing
the ready aunswere of the yong Gentleman, sayd vnto hym: “And we
do giue you thanks for the great honor and commendation done
vnto vs.” When she had sayd so, without further talke, she went
forth vsing pleasant talke and sport with diuers that wayted
vpon hir. Queene Anne now vnderstode, and so likewise Queene
Mary, which of them the yong Lumbard Gentleman did accept for
his soueraign Lady, whose loue she disdayned not, but in her
mynde rather commended, esteeming him better than euer she did
before: and lyke a discreet and wyse Lady gaue him infinite
prayse. She did not now as other women wont to do, who when they
see themselues of birth more noble, or of degree more ample than
their louers be (whych gift they receyue through the fauor of
the heauens) do not only despise them, but mock them, and their
faythfull seruice, and many tymes with fayned countenance and
dissembled words do extol them and set them vp aloft, and by and
by almost with one breath, exchanging their fayned prayse into
rebuke, they thrust them downe headlong from the tipe of hope
and comfort, to the bottomlesse pit of despayre: and the fuller
she is of floutes, the finer Girle esteemed. But farre better is
she to be regarded, that not findinge in hir hart to loue hir
suter, will frankly tell him at the first, that she cannot like
hym, nor fashion hir mynde to loue him, and requiring him not to
feede his minde with vayne hope, or contriue the tyme with words
and lookes, and pray him to seeke some other that can better
fansy his person than she: And although perchance a man do very
feruently loue a woman, and that it wer great sorrow and grief
vnto him to bee cast of, and receiue such refusall, yet in myne
opinion it were lesse griefe openly to receiue that repulse,
than to be fawned vppon, and flattered with fained talke, and
for the time choaked with the baite of vaine hope, and
afterwards become ridiculous, and gired by the scorneful. I am
assured, that the woman which giueth hir seruant sutch repulse,
shall bee counted mutch more cruell, than Maistresse Helena was
to the scholler of Paris, after he was returned from the
vniuersitie to Florence, written by Boccaccio in his Decamerone,
and hereafter in place described. But let vs retourne to maister
Philippo, who although hee coulde not imagine ne conceiue the
intent, wherfore Queene Anne made that demaund, yet the same was
very deare and acceptable vnto him, vppon the which he neuer
thought, but felt great contentation in his mynd, and was more
iocund and pleasant than he was wont to be before. On the other
side the Queene, which was very discrete and wise, when she saw
maister Philippo at the church or other place to make obeysance
vnto hir very curteously requited the same, bowing hir head to
him agayn, (which she neuer vsed but to Barons and Knights of
great reputation) declaryng thereby how wel in worth she
regarded his reuerence made vnto hir: Whereat he receiued
maruellous pleasure and delight, hoping for none other
recompence at hir handes, than continuance of sutch curtesies
and honourable entertaynment. Amongs certayne Italians that were
vppon a Day assembled in the presence chamber of Queene Anne,
waiting there vpon Madonna Barbara the wyfe of Maister Pietro
Martire Stampa, who wyth hir two daughters were gone to salute
the two Queenes that were that time together: There was also
maister Philippo, with whom Borgo and Baldo reasoned of diuerse
matters: And as they wer in talke, both the Queenes came forth,
which was the occasion, that al the lords and Gentlemen
attended, vppon whose approch, ech man rose vp, and bareheaded
expected whither the Queenes would goe. Quene Anne perceyuing a
company of Italians together, left Queene Marie, and went
streight to them, and very gently inquyred of dyuerse of the
Gentlemen, their names, and of what partes of Italy they were,
then she came to the place where they III. were standing
together, and curteously asked first maister Girolamo, what his
name was, of what countrey, whether he were a Gentleman? To whom
reuerently he said: “that his name was Girolamo Borgo,
a Gentleman of Verona.” Mayster Baldo likewise being demaunded
the same, answered so well as he coulde: “that he was a
Gentleman borne, of an auncient house in Milane, and that his
name was Philippo Baldo.” When she had receiued theyr answere
with cheereful and smiling countenance she returned to maister
Philippo, inquyryng of him also his name and countrey, and
whether he were a Gentleman or not? Whom maister Philippo after
his duety done reuerently answered: “Madame, my souerain Lady
and only mistresse, I am a Gentleman, and am called by the name
of Philippo dei Nicuoli, of Cremona.” The Queene making no
further demaundes of any of the other Gentlemen, sayd to Mayster
Philippo: “You say true sir, I dare warrant you to be a
Gentleman in deede, and hee that sayd the contrary, should
declare himself to be voyd of Iudgement what a Gentleman is.”
She sayde no more, but from thence with Queene Mary and the
whole trayne she went to Church. All they that hard the Queene
speake those words, dyd wonder, and could not deuise what shee
meant by them, notwithstanding ech man thought that the Queene
bare to maister Philippo singuler good will and fauour. He
(as it was his custome) full of diuerse cogitations, whose head
was building of great cities, went to church, bestowing himselfe
in his wonted place, reuoluing in hys mind the Queene’s words
spoken vnto him. And although he could not perceiue to what end
that honorable lady had spoken them, yet hee thought that hir
maiesty had done him great honour. And verily the humanity and
curtesy of a Lady, so excellent and noble is worthy to be
extolled with infinite prayses, who being of high estate and
lineage, and the wife of a Prince that proceded of the stirpe
Imperial, not only did not disdaine to be beloued of a man of so
base degree, and banished from his own Country, but also with
great care and diligence did deuise, and in effect declare that
she was the same whome the Italian yong gentleman did loue as
partly it was euidently to bee perceiued, not for other purpose
doubtlesse, but to do some Noble deede couenable for the
greatnesse of hir estate, and incident to the feruent loue of
the amorous yong Gentleman, which afterwardes in very dede she
accomplyshed. But howe many be there in these dayes, I doe not
speake of Queenes and Pryncesses, but of simple and priuate
Gentlewomen, that beyng of meane worship, indued with some shew
of beautie, be without good conditions and vertue, who seeyng
themselues beloued of some Gentlemen, not so enriched with the
goods of Fortune as they be, do scorne and mocke them, thynking
themselues to good to be loked vpon, or to be once moued of
vertuous loue, scornfully casting their face at one side, as
though the suters were vnworthy their company? Howe many
likewyse be possessed and ouerwhelmed with pryde by reason
Nature more propicious vnto them then other, be descended of
some great parentage, that will accompt a great iniurie done
vnto them, if any gentleman except he be rych, do make sute to
loue them? Again a great number of women (I speake of them whose
minds do not so mutch aspire to fame or honour as they seeke
their delights and brauerie to be mainteined) bee of this
trampe, that they care not whether theyr louers bee discrete,
well condicioned, vertuous and gentle, so that theyr pursses be
full of money, or theyr shapes amiable, not waying the valour
and good conditions of the minde, ne yet a thousand other
qualities that ought to garnish a Gentleman, whereby all
vertuous Gentlemen dayly do growe beautiful, and be enriched
wyth greater perfections. Some there be that fixe their minds
vpon those, that be of goodly personage, although void of good
behauiour, louing rather a piece of flesh with two eyes, than an
honest man well furnished with vertue. Thynk not yet for all
thys, that herein men ordinarily bee more wyse than women,
althoughe they ought to bee accomplished with greater witte: but
to say the truth, they all be spotted with one kind of pitch,
that warfare here in the large campe of this present worlde:
whereof it commeth to passe, that light loue as we see to beare
no good foundation, and to haue no longe continuance, euen so
the end and conclusion to consume like the beauty of the floure.
And therupon many times it chaunceth, that when loue is not
grounded but vpon transitorie beauty, which doth dissolue like a
windy cloude, the little heat thereof doth not wax more hote,
but rather congealeth to frost, and many times conuerteth into
hatred and mischiefe most cruel. A worse thing yet than this is
in common practise: There be many that wyll needes bee counted
and called gentlemen, bycause they come of Auncient and Noble
race, and being growen vp to man’s state, doe appeare in shapes
of men, but are altogether without approued manners, vtterly
ignorant what the nature of Gentle is, accomptyng themselues to
be ioly fellowes, when in company of other as bigge beastes as
them selues, they contriue theyr time and make their bragges,
vaunting that Sutch a woman is at my commaundment, and sutch a
man’s wyfe I do keepe, sutch a one is my companion’s friende:
whereby they bryng many women, yea and of the best sort, into
slaunder and infamie. Diuerse Gentlewomen also bee so fond, and
of so simple discretion, that although they know and clearely
perceyue thys to be true, yet allured with the personages and
beauty of sutch Roisters, passe not to giue the rayne to these
vnbridled Iades, not foreseeing (lyke ignorant Woodcockes) that
in fewe dayes through their own temeritie, they incur the common
shame of the vulgar people, being pointed at in the streates as
they goe: where sutch as be wyse and discrete, doe dayly feare
the least suspition that may be conceiued. There is no woman
that is wyse, but so neare as she can, wil shunne and auoyde all
occasion whereby slaunder may aryse, and will chose vnto hit
amongs a number, sutch one as can best please hit fansie, and as
with whome for hys vertue and honesty she purposeth to match hir
selfe in maryage, which is the final ende of all honest loue.
Howe be it Nature hath not framed euery creature of one metall,
ne yet Minerua infused lyke brayne into euery head. And truely
this our age dothe breede many fayre and worthie Women, whose
condicions bee good and honest, adorned with comely qualities,
the Generositie, stoutnesse and Valoure of whose myndes doe
deserue syngular prayse and estymatyon. And what is hee,
chauncynge vppon a curteous and Vertuous Dame, that wyll not
gyue ouer the Loue of all other, to honour and loue hir for
euer? But wee haue digressed too long from our Hystorye, and
therefore, retourning to the same agayne, I say, that Fortune
the guide of maister Philippo, was fully determined to bestow
hir fauor vpon him: For besides that the Queene dearely estemed
his loue, it seemed that all thyngs wer vnyted and agreed to
sort his enterpryse to happy successe. The Queene had to her
Gouernesse Madonna Paola dei Cauali, a Gentlewoman of Verona,
very auncient and graue (aduaunced to the callyng, by Madonna
Bianca Maria Sforza the wyfe of the Emperour Maximilian) whom
Queene Anne requyred dylygently to procure for hir, sutch
Rithmes in the Thuscane language and other Italian workes, as
were to be found, bicause hir dysposition was to be conuersant
and familiar in that tongue, and employed great diligence to
learne and exercise the same, wherein shee attained sutch
perfection, as all Italians coulde very well vnderstande her.
Now (as the good lucke of mayster Philippo woulde haue it) he
that day went to the Courte alone, continuallye deuisinge if it
were possible, at al tymes to be in presence of the Quene: Whome
so soone as Madonna Paola espyed, bicause she familiarly knew
him went vnto him, and sayd: “My welbeloued friend maister
Philippo, bicause the Queene hath great delight to learn our
tongue, and therein already hath some towardnesse, as by hir
common speakying of the same you may perceyue, this mornyng at
hir vprising shee gaue me a great charge to procure for hir,
certayne Italian Rithmes, who besides those bookes in that
tongue already prynted, gladly desireth to see some trymme
deuises of diuerse learned men that make in oure Daies.
specially hir mind is earnestlye disposed vpon Rithmes cunningly
composed, whereof I thinke you haue some store by reason of your
delight in that exercise: Wherefore I thought good to repayre
vnto you, and doe heartily pray you, to make hir Maiesty
pertaker of sutch as you haue, wherein you shal do hir great and
grateful seruice, and I shal remain continually bound vnto you:
besides that I doe purpose when I present them vnto hir, to make
hit priuie that I receyued them at your hands, which bicause of
the loue shee beareth to our Natyon, she wyl fauorably accept,
and the same no doubte when opportunitye serueth, liberally
reward.” Maister Philippo in curteous wise thanked the
gentlewoman, and said, that he was sorry he was not able better
to satisefie hir request, bicause in that countrey he had small
store of sutch desired things, neuerthelesse he would make
diligent search, to get so many as were possible to be found,
either amongs the Gentlemen that folowed the Court, or else
where they were to be gotten. In the meane time, he sayd, that
he would deliuer those few hee had, and bring them vnto hir that
night, praying hir to commend hym to the good grace, and fauour
of hir maiesty. And so he tooke hys leaue, and went strayght to
hys Lodging, where diligently he began to search among his
writings (the gladdest man in the Worlde for that occasion
offered) and founde amonges the same diuers rithmes which hee
thought vnworthy to passe into the handes of so great a Lady,
sauing the third Rithme or Chapter, as we commonly call it, made
by a notable Doctor of the lawes, and excellent Poet called
M. Niccolo Amanio, of Crema, who no doubt for making of vulgar
rithmes, thereby expressing the amorous affections of Louers,
was in our time without comparison. And bicause the same was so
apt for the purpose of mayster Philippo his loue, as could be
desired, he wrote the same fayre (being in deede a very fayre
sheete of Paper,) which soundeth to this effect.

  _Quanto piu cresce (Amor) Paspro tormento, &c._

  The more (O Loue) thy bitter pangs augment,
      Melting by times my sad accensed spreete,
      The more to burne I feele my selfe content:
  And though ech day a thousande times I fleete
      Twixt hope and dreade, all dolour yet and smart
      My glorious proofe of enterprise makes sweete.
  The fire so high which kindled hath myne hart,
      As by loue’s flames none euer had (I know)
      So lofty source of heate in any part,
  Sweete then my torments are, sweete is my woe,
      Sweete eke of loue the light, sweete the conceyte
      From so high beames, fallen in my breast, groe.
  Sutch power of porte, sutch maiesty most gret
      I tremble to beholde, and do confesse
      My lot to base, so worthy a blisse to get.
  But will herein my Reason doth suppresse,
      And those fayre eyes, where loue himselfe ny lies,
      Armed with lookes of ioy and gentlenesse,
  Lookes that vpliftes my soule aboue the Skies,
      And in each coast al cloudes expelling cleane,
      Do teach ten thousand pathes to Paradise.
  My Goddesse braue, Angelicall Sirene,
      Fayrenesse it selfe, Dame Beautie’s sacred heire:
      What mounts of ioy may match my happy paine,
  Whose scaling hope how so ensue dispeire,
      Leues vaunt of thoughts, which once so highly flew
      As honour, all that earth besides doth beare,
      Comparde to this, but baggage were to vew.

When Mayster Philippo had written out these verses, immediately
he returned to the court, and caused Madona Paolo, to be called
vnto him by one of the Gromes of the Chamber, to whom he sayd:
“Maystresse Paola, I haue brought you a ditty, that is very trim
and prety, which I pray you deliuer to the Queene, and I will do
what I can to get other.” Maistresse Paola tooke them, and went
into the chamber, and findinge the Queene alone, sayd to hir:
“Madame, this morninge yee commaunded me to get you some Italian
Rithmes, and vpon inquirie I haue receyued these few verses of
mayster Philippo, secretary to the Lord Andrea Borgo, who hath
promised to bring me other.” The Queene hearing hir speake those
words, smilinge receiued the Paper, and read the same: the sense
whereof she liked very well, thinking that mayster Philippo had
bene the compositor of the same, and that of purpose he had made
them for hir, whereby shee was out of doubt that it was shee
that mayster Philippo so feruently loued, and the better hir
opinion was confirmed, bicause some of the words tended to the
state of hir personage. And considering the valor of hys minde,
she praysed Nature, for that in a man so basely borne shee had
sowen the seeds of a gentlemanlike and noble heart, greatly to
hir selfe commendynge the yong man. Then she conferred the whole
matter wyth hir Coosin Queene Marie: which was a wyse and comely
Ladye, and vpon that loue they vsed many discourses, more and
more hauing in regard the behauiour of that yong Gentleman.
Queene Anne determined, when conueniently shee might, to rendre
to mayster Philippo, for his great loue condigne rewarde: and
studying still how to requite his curtesie, euer when she saw
maister Philippo, shee vsed him with her wonted chere and
grateful salutation (which thinge onely euery honest gentleman
ought to expect that is indued wyth reason at the hands of a
pryncesse so noble and worthy, as a reward sufficient, the
inequality of the parties considered.) Whereof mayster Philippo
was the best contented man of the world, and durst not hope for
greater guerdon, continuing his wonted lyfe fed hym self stil
with that beloued sight, in sutch wyse as many Gentlemen enuied
the fauor borne vnto him by the Queene, who for none other cause
did vse that curtesy, but for that she saw him to be Vertuous
and well learned: continually esteemyng sutch as wyth learning
or other gyftes of the mynd were indewed: and when occasion
chaunced, shee vouchesafed to bestowe vpon them curteous
intertaynment and lyberall rewardes. It fortuned about that time
that the Emperor Maximilian died, Charles his nephew (which was
the Emperor Charles, the fifth,) then beyng in Spayne, by reason
of whose death the Lord Andrea Borgo, purposed to send one of
hys Gentlemen to kyng Charles, for the confirmation of that
lyuing he enioyed, giuen vnto him for his long and faythfull
seruyce by the said Maximilian. Amongst al he chose this maister
Philippo, for his wisdome and experience in sutch affayres.
Which don, he went to the Queenes, and gaue them to vnderstand
that shortely he would send his Secretarie into Spayne, and told
them the cause, humbly praying them both, that they would write
their fauorable letters in his behalf. The Queenes knowing what
payne and trauell hee had sustayned in the seruice of
Maximilian, and what daungers he had passed, were very willing
therunto. Now Queene Anne remembred that she had conuenient time
to recompence maister Philippo for hys long loue born vnto hir:
and bicause she was the most curteous Lady of the world, and
therwithal most bountifull and liberal, and not onely with
comely talke and gesture: but also in effecte willing to do them
good, whome she honoured in minde, concluded what to do,
requiring the Lord Andrea to send his Secretarie vnto hir, when
he was ready to depart, for that besides Letters, she woulde by
mouth commit certain businesse for hir to do in the Courte of
Spayne. When the Lord Andrea was gone, Queene Anne began to
deuise with the other Queene what she mighte doe for mayster
Philippo, who prayed Queene Anne, after she had commended him in
letters, to suffer hir to make the ende and conclusion of the
same. Whereupon both the Queenes wrote many letters into Spayne,
to king Charles, and to the Lord Chancellour and other Noble
men, whome they thought to bee apte and mete ministers to bring
the effect of their letters to passe. When the Lord Andrea had
put all thinges in order for that dispatch, he sayd to mayster
Philippo, (which was now furnished with all thyngs necessary and
apertinent for that long voyage:) “Philippo, remembre this day
that you goe to Quene Anne, and tell her, that I require you to
come vnto hir, to know if she would commaund you any seruice to
the Catholike Kynge, where you shall humbly offer your seruice,
in what it pleaseth hir to commaunde: you shall also tel hir
what things I haue gyuen vnto you in charge by speciall
commission.” Neuer could more pleasant talke found into the
eares of maister Philippo, than this, who for that he should
bothe see and speake vnto his Lady before his departure, and for
that she would commit vnto him the doing of hir affayres in
Spayne, was the gladdest and best contented man of the world.
The houre come when he thought good to repayre to the Queene, he
went vnto hir, and gaue hir to vnderstand by one of the priuy
Chamber, that he was attendant there to know hir pleasure. The
Quene certyfied of his readinesse to depart, by and by toke
order that he should come into hir chambre, who entring the same
with trembling heart, and after he had done hys humble
reuerence, with great feare and bashfulnesse, said: “Pleaseth
your Maiesty, that my Lorde Borgo, being about to addresse mee
hys Secretarie into Spayne, to the Catholike King there, hath
commaunded me to wayte vpon your hyghnesse, to knowe your
pleasure for certain affayres to be don for your maiesty:
Wherfore may it please the same to employ mee, your humble
seruaunte, I shall thinke my self the happiest man of the world:
A thing so blessed and ioyfull vnto me, as no benefite or
commoditie can render vnto me greater felicitie.” Then he
dysclosed vnto her thee rest of his message, which was committed
vnto hym by his lord and maister. The Queene beholding hym wyth
mery countenaunce gently sayd vnto hym: “And we for the trust we
haue in you to do our message and other affayres in Spayne, haue
requyred you to come hither: And bycause we knowyng you to be a
Gentleman, and assured that you wyll gladly do your endeuour in
any thing that may do vs pleasure, haue chosen you aboue any
other. Our wyl and commaundement is, that fyrst you delyuer
these letters, conteining matters of great importance to the
hands of the catholike King, and that you do our humble
commendations to his maiesty. Then al the rest accordingly as
they be directed, which principally aboue other things we pray
you to dispatch vpon your arriuall: And if we bee able to do you
any pleasure, eyther for your preferment, or for other
commodity, spare not to write vnto vs your mynd, and (we doe
assure you) the same shalbe efectually accomplyshed, to the
vttermoste of our indeuour, whych we do of our owne motion
frankely offre vnto you, in consideration of the fidelitie,
worthinesse, and honeste behauiour alwayes knowen to be in you.”
Mayster Philippo hearynge these wordes was replenyshed with
sutch ioy, as he thought hymselfe rapt into the heauens, and his
heart felt sutch pleasure, as it semed to flote in some depe sea
of delights: and after the best maner he coulde, thanked hir for
hir curtesie: and albeit (he sayd) that hee knew hymself
vnworthy of that fauor, yet he dedicated the same to hir
commaundement, surrendring himselfe as a slaue and faythful
seruant to hir maiesty. Then vppon his knees, to his great
contentation he kissed hir hands, which of hir selfe she offred
vnto him, and then reuerently he toke his leaue. When hee was
gone oute of the chamber, he met with the Queene’s Coferer, that
attended for him, who taking him aside, did put into his hand a
purse with 500. crowns, and the maister of the horsse presented
vnto him a very goodly and beautifull horse, wherewith maister
Philippo was so well pleased, as he was like to leape out of his
skin for ioy. Then he toke his iorney and arriued at the Courte
in Spayne, where at oportunity, he deliuered his Letters to King
Charles, and accomplished other busines and message prescribed
vnto him by Quene Anne: And when he had dispatched the Queene’s
other letters, he attended the businesse of his Lord Andrea
Borgo. The king perused the Contentes of the letters sent vnto
him by his sister and kynswoman, so did the Lord Chauncellour,
(which at that time was the Lord Mercurino Gattinara,) and
other, to whom the Queenes had written: whereby the king was
solicited to stand good Lord, to the Lorde Andrea Borgo, and
likewise exhorted him to be beneficial to mayster Phylippo, whom
for his good condicions and experience they had sent vnto him in
the ambassage. Vpon a day the king moued by the Lorde
Chancellor, caused maister Philippo to come before him, to whom
kneling before his maiesty, the king said these words: “The
testimony and report so honorably made of you by the two
Queenes, from whom you brought vs letters, and the hope which we
haue to find you a faithful and profitable seruant, and to be
correspondent in effecte to the tenor of those letters, moueth
vs to accepte you into the numbre of one of our Secretaries,
wherein before our presence you shal sweare vnto vs to be
faithfull and true.” Maister Philippo that expected for no sutch
dignity, maruelled at the Kyng’s wordes, and there by oth
ministred vnto hym by the Lorde Chauncellour was receyued into
his seruice, and exercysed that office, in singular fauor of the
King, to the great satysfaction of al men. And after that King
Charles was elected Emperor, knowing the experience that maister
Philippo had in the affaires of Italy, and specially in
Lombardie, he commytted vnto hym all matters touchyng the state
of the region, which so happily came to passe to maister
Philippo, as besides the ornaments of vertue and wisedom, he
acquyred greate riches, and yet he continually serued and
worshipped the Queene as his noble patronesse and worthy
mystresse. Tel me now ye faire Ladies and Gentlewomen! What
shall we say of the princely behauiour and noble disposition of
this Queene? Truly in my iudgment, she deserueth that prayse and
commendation that may be attributed to the moste excellente
Ladye of the Worlde, who neuer gaue ouer her faythful seruant
tyl she had bountifully with hir own hands and commendation,
rendred vnto hym a most Pryncely rewarde. And as the funne in
beautye and bryghtnesse doeth surmounte the other furniture of
the Skies, euen so Magnyfycence, and liberality in ech Lady doth
excell all other vertues, specially in those personages, that
keepe the state of Princes. But to conclude, mete and requisite
it is, that yee beautify this most curtuous and liberall Queene
wyth due prayses: For surely in my iudgement, if all Women would
confer theyr heades and Wittes together, and deuise Hymnes and
Sonnets of Liberality, they can neuer sufficiently be able to
celebrate the prayse and glory of thys Queene.




THE TWENTY-SECOND NOUELL.

  _The gentle and iust act of Alexander de Medices Duke of Florence,
  vpon a Gentleman whom he fauoured, who hauing rauished the Daughter
  of a poore Myller, caused him to mary hir, for the greater honour
  and celebration whereof, he appoynted hir a rich and honourable
  Dowry._


If the Force of Vertue were apparant at the sight of eye, it
would be deemed to be of lesse value than the greatnesse thereof
deserueth (for sundry causes rising in the mindes of men) and
that by performinge the little which rested for th’entier
perfection of hir whole vnited glory. Now because that hir
effects be diuerse, and that dyuersly they be vsed, the examples
also of sutch diuersity, do variate and make diuerse the
affections of men: some to follow that quality and other that
part, proceeding from the whole and perfect body of vertue,
which hath caused some to win the price of modesty and
temperance in their deedes, other full of magnanimity (not
familiar to many) haue resisted the assaults of fortune. Many
other haue embraced that only honor whych is the nourice of ech
good act, whereby they haue either wel ruled the state of free
citties, or guided the armies of mighty Monarchs. And sutch
whilom the cities of Rome, Athenes, Sparta, and the auncient
Monarchs of the Medes, Persians, and the Assyrians did see.
I wil omit a good company of the sage and wyse, which haue
appaysed the troubles of Citties, the inquietations of Palaces,
the cries of Iudgement seates, the dissimulation and deceiptfull
flatteries of Courts, the carefull griefs which the householder
by gouernment of his house and family doth sustaine and feele,
of purpose more frankly to retire to the study of sapience,
which alone is able to make a man happy, and worthy to be
partaker of the diuinity. But aboue al, I wil prayse him which
not subiect to the law lyueth neuerthelesse like him that is
most thrall thereunto, or without respect of bloude or frendship
shall exercise Iustice vpon his dearest and best beloued: as in
olde time Manlius and Torquatus at Rome, the people of Athenes
towards one Timagoras, who beyond the duty of the Ambassador of
a frank citty, fel down on his knees and worshipped the Persian
king. And in our time the Marquize of Ferrara, by doing to death
his own son for adultry committed wyth his mother in Law. And
yet Iustice may fauour of some cruelty, which rather turneth to
shame than praise: as Ihon Maria Visconte Duke of Milan, when he
caused a couetous priest to be buried quick with the corps of
him whom he had refused to bury without money, the history
wherof is hereafter remembred. So as mediocrity of punishment
ought to be yoked with the rigor of law, for the mitigation
thereof. And beholde, wherefore the great Dictator Iulius Cæsar
loued better to gayn the heart of his enemies with mercy, than
vanquish and bring them to obedience with massy manacles and
giues of Iron. Moreouer in our age Alphonsus of Aragon (the true
Sampler of a iust and Righteous Prynce) dyd not hee esteeme
(when hee strayghtly besieged Gaiette) the Vyctory to be more
Gloryous and better gotten, which is done by composition and
gentlenesse, than the bloudy conquest, colored wyth teares and
bloud of a poore simple people? And truly princes, and great
lordes, specially they which newly (without succession receyued
from their ancestors) arriue to the gouernment of some
commonwealth, ought continually to haue before their eies, an
honest seuerity for the holines of the law, and a graue
mildnesse, to moderat the rigour of their duety: For by that
meanes right is mainteined, the heart of man is won, so wel as
by violence: and the state of gouernment taketh so good footing,
as the winde of no sedition afterwards can remoue the same,
beinge founded vpon a sure stone, and framed vpon a rock durable
for a long tyme. Whereof wee haue an example of fresh memory of
a kinde act, full both of wysedome and of gentle seuerity, in a
prynce of our time, who wythout effusion of bloud punished with
rigor enough, a trespasse committed, and sweetely remitted the
payne vpon him, which merited grieuous, nay mortall punishment,
as at large you shall see by the discourse that followeth.
Alexander de Medices, fauoured by the Church of Rome, (and armed
with the Papall standard) was hee that first with great actiuity
and Wisedome inueyed the Seniory of Florence, immediatly
vsurping the name, title, and prerogatiue of Duke. The same
albeit vpon the prime face he was odious to the people of
Florence, wroth for losing of their ancient liberty, and
displeasant to the Senatours and potentates, to see them selues
depriued of the soueraignty of Iustice, and of the authority
they had to commaund ouer all the Citizens, yet for all that was
he indued wyth so good qualities, and gouerned so wel his
principality, as that which at the beginning was termed Tyranny,
was receyued as iust domination, and that which was supposed to
be abused by force, seemed to be done as it were by lawfull
succession. And they counted themselues happy (when they saw
their lucke to bee sutch as their common wealth must needs obey
the aduice and pleasure of one Prince alone) to haue a soueraygn
lord, so wise, so vertuous and so ful of curtesie: and albeit in
all other things he shewed himselfe prayse worthy, noble, and of
gentle kinde, yet in this he vanquished himselfe in himselfe, by
that indifferent iustice, which made him wonderful, denying the
same to none, and in no one iote shewed himselfe parcial to any,
which thought by hym to bee supported in their follies: And that
which is more to bee wondred in him, and doth augment the prayse
of his integrity in iudgement, was, that he punished in another
the thynge, which hee ought to haue pardoned and remitted, hee
hymselfe beinge attaynted wyth that dysease. But thys good Duke
applyed to Reason, to tyme, and to the Grauity of the fact and
quality of the offended persones: For where the greatnesse of a
deede surpasseth all occasion of pardon and mercye, there the
Prynce, Iudge, or Magistrate ought to dispoyle and put of his
sweetest affections, to apparell himselfe with rigor, whych
reacheth the knyfe into the hand of the Ruler, of purpose that
pryuate familiaritie, do not in ende rayse in the subiect’s
hearte a contempte of superiours, and unbrydled licence,
lawlesse to liue at their pleasure. Now the thing which I meane
to tell, consisteth in the proofe of a rare and exquisite
Prynce, which seldome or neuer harboureth in yong age, the
heates whereof can not but with greate difficultie, feele the
coldnesse and correction of reason: And likewise the causes from
whence wisdome’s force proceede, do rest in longe experience of
things, whereby men waxe olde in ripenesse of witte, and theyr
deedes become worthy of prayse. This Duke Alexander ordred so
wel his estates, and kepte sutch a goodly and plentifull Court,
as the same gaue place to no Prynce of Italy, how great or rich
so euer it was, which noble court he kept aswell for his owne
garde and honor as to shew the naturall stoutnesse of his
corage, not vsing for all that any insolencie or vnseemely
dealing agaynste the haynous and auncient enemies of his
familie. Amongs his gallant troupe of Courtiers, which
ordinarily attended, there was a Florentine gentleman, very
neare the Duke, and the beste beeloued of them all. This yong
Gentleman had a Manor hard by Florence, where he was very well
and stately lodged, which caused him many times to forsake the
City, wyth two of his companions, to recreate himself in that
pleasant place. It chaunced vpon a time, he being in his
fieldish house, besides the which there was a Myll, the maister
of the sayd Myll had a passing fayre daughter, whom thys
Gentleman did well marke and beholde, and with hir beauty
beecame straungely in loue, in whom also appeared some Noble
port, that exceded the bloud and race whereof she came. But
what? The heauens be not to spare distributers of theyr gifts,
but sometimes they diuide them with the least measure, and at
some other times in equall weight or greatest heape, to them
that be of the basest sorte and popular degree, so wel, as to
the greatest and of most noble race. Rome somtimes hath seen a
bondman and slaue, somtimes a Runnegate’s sonne, for his wit and
Courage to beare the Scepter in his hand, and to decide the
causes of that lofty people, who by sleyghts and practises
aspired the Empyre of the whole worlde. And he that within our
Fathers remembrance desireth to knowe what great Tamberlane of
Tartarie was, the astonishment and ruine of al the East partes,
shall well perceyue that his originall sorted from the vulgar
sorte, and from the lowest degree that was amongs all estates:
whereby must be confessed, that the goodnesse of nature is sutch
and so great, as she will helpe hir nourice children (whatsoeuer
they be,) the best she can: Not that I meane to infer hereby,
but that the bloud of Predecessors, with the institution of
their Posterity, mutch augmenteth the force of the spirit, and
accomplisheth that more sincerely whereunto nature hath giuen a
beginninge. Now to com to our purpose, this yong Courtier, taken
and chayned in the bands of loue, settred and clogged wyth the
Beauty and good grace of that Countrey wench, forethought the
meanes how he myght inioy the thynge after which hee hoped. To
loue hir he deemed it vnworthy of his degre: And yet he knew hir
to be sutch (by report of many) as had a very good Wit, tongue
at wyll, and which is more esteemed, a Paragon and mirror of
chaste life and modesty. Which tormented this amorous Mounsier
beyond measure, and yet chaunged not his affection, assuring
himselfe that at length he should attayne th’ end of his
desires, and glut that his vnsatiable hunger, which pressed him
from day to day to gather the soote and sauorous frute which
Louers so egerly sue for at maydens handes of semblable age, who
then was betweene XVI. and XVII. yeares. This Louer dyd to
vnderstand to hys companions his griefe and frensie, who sory
for the same, assayed by all meanes, to make him forget it,
telling hym that it was unseemely for a Gentleman of his
accompt, to make himselfe a fable to the people, which woulde
come to passe if they knew how vndiscretely hee had placed hys
loue: and that there were a number of fayre and honest
gentlewomen more to whom besides conuenably and with greater
contentation he might addresse the same. But he which mutch
lesse saw, than blind loue himselfe that was his guid, and he
that was more bare of reason and aduice than the Poets fayne
Cupido to be naked of apparell, would not harken to the good
counsel, which his companions gaue him, but rather sayd that it
was lost time for them to vse sutch spech, for he had rather dy,
and indure all the mocks and scoffs of the world, than lose the
most delicate pray (in his mynde,) that could chaunce into the
hands of man, adding moreouer, that the homelynesse and rudenes
of the country, had not so mutch anoyed his new beloued, but she
deserued for hir beauty to be compared with the greatest Minion
and finest attyred gentlewoman of the Citty: For this mayden had
but the ornament and mynionnesse which nature had enlarged,
where other artificially force by trumperies, to vsurpe that
which the heauens deny them. “Touching her vertue let that passe
in silence, sithens that she” (quod he sighinge) “is to chast
and vertuous for one whom I would choose to daly withal: My
desire is not to make hir a Lucrece, or some of those auncient
Matrones, which in elder yeres builded the temple of woman’s
Fortune at Rome.” The companions of this louer seeing how
he was bent, promised him what they were able to doe, for
accomplishment of his will, for the which he thanked them very
heartely, offring like duty, where fortune should prepare the
proofe of their affection and neede of his amorous seruice: In
the mean time, conceiuing in his minde some new deuice, which so
soone as he had found out was not able to be brought to passe,
and knowing that the duke seldome would haue him out of his
sight, began to inuent lyes, doing hym to vnderstand that he had
necessary occasion, for a certain time, to remain and be at his
country house. The duke which loued him, and who thought that
either he had som secret sicknes, or els som wench which he was
loth to discouer before his companions, gaue him leaue for a
month, which so pleased this amorous Gentleman, as he lept for
ioye, and was not able to rest one hour before he had found out
his frends and companions, to mount on horsback to visit hir
that had vnder hir power and obeisance the best portion of him,
which was his hart and his most secret thought. When he was come
to his Countrey house, hee began to stalke abrode, and daunce a
round about the Mill, where his beloued did dwel, who was not so
foolish, but by and by suspected whereunto those goings and
commings of the Pilgrim tended, and for what pray he led his
Dogs in lease, and caused so many Nets and Cords to be displayed
by hunters of euery age and sexe, who to discouer the Countrey,
assayde by beating the Bushes, to take the Beaste at forme: For
which cause she also for hir part, began to fly the snares of
those Byrders, and the raunging of the Dogs that vented after
hir, strayinge not from the house of the good man hir Father:
whereof this poore louer conceyued great dispayre, not knowinge
by what meanes he might rouse the Game after which he hunted, ne
finde the meanes to do hir vnderstand his playnts and vnmeasured
griefe of heart, the firme loue, and sinceere mynde wherewyth he
was so earnestly bent, both to obay and loue hir aboue all
other: And that which most of all increased his payne, was that
of so great a troupe of messages whych he had sent, with giftes
and promisses the better to atchieue his purpose, no one was
able to take place or force (neuer so little) the chastity of
that sober and modest mayde. It chaunced one day as this
Gentleman was walking a long a wode side newly felled, hard
adioyning to his house, by whych there was a cleare and goodly
fountayne shadowed betweene two thick and lofty Maple trees, the
Myller’s Daughter went thither for water, and as she had set
downe hir payles vpon the fountaine brink, hir Louer came vnto
hir, litle thinking of sutch a ioyful meeting, which he wel
declared by these words: “Praysed be God, that when I hoped
least of this good hap, he hath sent me hither, to see the onely
substaunce of my ioy.” Then turninge his face towards the
mayden, sayd vnto her: “Is it true that thou art heere (or do I
dreame) and so neare to him that most desireth to gratyfie thee
in any thynge wherewyth it may please thee to commaunde him?
Wilt thou not haue pity vpon the paynes and griefs which
continually I indure for the extreme loue I beare thee?” And
saying so, he would haue imbraced hir. But the mayde, which
cared no more for his flatteries, than before she did for his
presents and messages seeing the same to tend to nothing else
but to hir ruine and great dishonor, wyth stout countenaunce,
and by hir liuely colour declaring the chast and vertuous motion
of her bloud, sayd to this valiant Gentleman: “How now, syr, do
you thinke that the vilenesse of myne apparell, holdeth lesse
vertue, than is vnder the rich and sumptuous Ornaments of
greatest Ladyes? Do you suppose that my bringing vp hath bred in
me sutch grose bloud, as for your only pleasure, I shoulde
corrupt the perfection of my minde, and blot the honour which
hitherto so carefully I haue kept and religiously preserued? Be
sure that sooner death shall separate the soule from my body,
than willingly I would suffer the ouerthrow and violation of my
virginity. It is not the part of sutch a Gentleman as you be,
thus to espy and subtlely pursue vs poore Countrey maydens to
charme vs with your sleights and guilfull talke: It is not the
duety of a Gentleman to subborne sutch vaunte currors to
discouer and put in perill, the honour of chaste maydens and
honest Wyues, as heretofore you haue done to me. It ought to
suffice, that you haue receyued shame by repulse of your
messengers, and not to come your selfe to bee partaker of their
Confusion.” “And that is it, that ought to moue you sweete
heart” (aunswered he) “to take pitty vpon my griefe, so playnly
seeing that vnfaynedly I doe loue you, and that my loue is so
well planted, as rather had I suffer death, than occasion the
least offence that may displease you: Only I beseech you, not to
shew your selfe so cruel vnto him, who disdayning all other,
hath made you so frank an offer both of himselfe and of al that
he hath to commaund.” The maide not greatly trusting his words,
feared that he prolonged time to make hir stay till hys seruants
came to steale hir away: And therefore without further aunswere,
she taking vp hir payles, and half running till she came neere
the Myll, escaped his hands, telling hir father no part of that
talk betwene them: who began already to doubt the treason,
deuised by the Gentleman, agaynst the pudicity of his daughter,
vnto whom he neuer disclosed his suspition, were it that he knew
hir to be vertuous inough, and constant to resist the luring
assaults of loue, or considred the imbecillity of our flesh, and
the malice of the same, which dayly aspireth things thereunto
defended, and by lawes limitted and prescribed, which lawes it
ought not to excede, and yet therof it wisheth the abolishment.
The Gentleman seeinge that the mayden had forsaken hym, and
little esteemed hys amorous onset, outraged for loue, and chased
wyth choler, spake these wordes to hymselfe: “Ah foolish and
dastard louer, what didst thou meane when thou hadst hir so
neere thee, in place so commodious, where shee durst not
gaynesay thee that thou didst no better pursue hir? And what
knowest thou if shee came of purpose to ease thy payne and to
finish thy troublesome trauels? Surely I suppose she did so, but
that shame and duety forced hir to vse those wordes, to make mee
thinke, that lyghtly she would not bee ouercome by persuasions:
And put the case that it were not so, who coulde haue let mee to
take by force that, whereunto willingly she would not accorde:
But what is she to be reuenged of sutch an iniury? She is for
conclusion the daughter of a Miller, and may make hir vaunte,
that she hath mocked a Gentleman, who beinge alone wyth hir, and
burninge wyth loue, durst not staunch hys thirst (although full
dry) so neere the fountayne: And by God (sayd he rising from a
greene banke neere the fountayne’s side) if I dy therefore,
I wyll haue it eyther by loue or force.” In this wicked and
tyrannicall mynde, hee returned to hys place, where his
companions seeing him so out of quiet, sayd vnto him: “Is thys
the guise of a gentle minde, to abase it selfe to the pursute of
so simple a Wench? Doe not you know the malice of that sexe, and
the guiles wherewith those Serpents poyson men? Care you so
little for a woman as she doth for you, and then wyll she
imbrace you and make mutch of you, whose only study is (which I
beleeue) to frame hirselfe agaynst all that, for which humble
sute is made: But admit, that women hath some qualities to draw
men to loue them, to honour and serue them, which if it so be
truely that office and dutifull deuoyre ought to be imployed in
seruice of them, that be honourable and in spirite and iudgement
of gentle kinde, which no doubt wil counteruayle the merite of
sutch a suter: And certesse I am of opinion that a man may
vaynely consume a yere or two in pursute and seruice of this
mealy Countrey wench, so well as addresse his loue in the
obedience of some fayre and honest Gentlewoman: which
courteously and with some fauour wyll recompence, the trauayles
of hir seruaunt, where that rude and sottish gyrle, by pryde
will vaunt and looke a loft, at the honor done vnto hir, despise
theym whose worthynesse she knoweth not, and whom neyther she
nor the best of her seede, be worthy to serue in any respect:
will you know then what I thinke best for you to do? myne aduice
is then, that one of these euenings, she be trussed vp in a
Maile and brought hither, or in some place els where you thinke
good, that you may enioy at pleasure the beauty of hir whom you
do praise and wonder at so mutch: And afterwards let hir
dissemble it she lust, and make a Iewel of hir chastity when she
hath not to triumph ouer you, by bearing away the victory of
your pursutes.” “Ah my good friend,” aunswered the desperate
louer, “how rightly you touch the most daungerous place of al my
wound, and how soueraygne a salue and plaister you apply
therevnto: I had thought truly to intreate you of that, whereof
euen now you haue made the ouerture, but fearing to offend you,
or to mutch vsurpe vpon your friendship, rather had I suffer a
death continuall, than rayse one point of offence, or
discontentation in them, which so frankly haue offred to doe me
pleasure, whereof (by God’s assistaunce) I hope to be acquited
with all duety and office of frendship. Now resteth it, to put
in proofe, the effect of your deuise, and that so shortly as I
can: In like manner you see that the terme of my heere abode,
will shortly expire, and if wee be once at the Courte,
impossible it is for me to recouer so good occasion, and
peraduenture she wil be maried, or some other shal cary away the
pray after which I haue beaten the Bush.” The plot then of this
mayden’s rape, was resolued vpon, and the first espied occasion
taken: But the louer which feared least this heat of his
companions would coole, sollicited them so mutch, as the
execution was ordayned the following night: which they did, not
so mutch for the pleasure of their frend, to whom in sutch
aduentures they ought to deny all helpe, (sith frendship ought
not to passe, _Sed vsq; ad aras_, as Pericles the Athenian sayd,
so far as was sufferable by the lawes of God) as for that they
wer of nature of the self same tramp, which their passionate
companion was, and would haue made no conscience to enterpryse
the same for themselues, although the other had not tolde them
hys affections: These bee the Fruictes of vnruled Youth, wherein
onely the Verdure and greennesse of the Age beareth greatest
sway, the wyll whereof reason can not restrayne, which sooner
reclineth to the carnall part, than to that which tendeth to the
honest repast and contentment of the mynd. The next night, they
three accompanied with V. or VI. seruauntes (so honest as theyr
maisters) gaue the onset in armure and weapons well appointed to
defende and hurt, if any resistance were made, they myght be
able to repell theyr aduersaries. Thus about two of the clocke
in the night they came to the Mil, the Heauens hauyng throwne
theyr mantell ouer the vaporous earthe, and dymmed hir Face with
theyr vayle obscure and darke, and yet not sutch, but that the
ayre was cloudye cleere: and when no man doubted of so great
offence, and of sutch vnhappy rape, they brake into the poore
Miller’s House, beetwene whose armes they toke away his daughter
deare, and almost dead for feare, piteously began to cry for
help, defending herself so well as she could from those Theeues
and Murderers. The desolate father raging with no lesse fury
then the Hircanian Tigre, when hir Faucons be kylled or taken
away, ran first to one, and then to another, to stay them from
carying of hir away, for whom they came. In the end the amorous
rauisher of his daughter sayd vnto hym: “Father, Father,
I aduyse thee to get thee hence if thou loue thy lyfe, for thy
force is too weake to resist so many, the least of whome is able
to coole this thy foolish heart and choler, for the whych I
would be sory, for the great Loue I beare vnto thy daughter, who
(I hope) before she depart my company, shal haue wherewith to be
contented: and thou cause to pacifye this thine immoderate rage,
which in vayne thou yalpest forth agaynst this troupe.” “Ah
false Knaue and theefe,” (sayd the honest pore man) “it is thou
then, which by thine infamous filthinesse and insaciable
knauery, doest dishonor the commendable fame of my daughter, and
by like meanes shortnest the hoped yeres of me hir poore vnhappy
father, loosinge through thy wickednesse, the staffe and stay of
myne olde aged life? Thynkest thou Traytor, that liuing till
this day (for all my pouertye) in reputation of an honest Man,
in myne olde Dayes will become an vnshamefast and vyle Minister
and Chapman of my daughter’s maidenhoode and virginity? No knaue
thinke not that I forget the wrong receiued of thee, for which
by some meanes or other, I wyll purchase iust reuenge vpon thee
or thyne?” The Gentleman caryng little or nothyng for the old
man’s wordes, hauyng in hys hand his desired spoyle, commanded
his Men to marche before with the Mayden, leauing behind the
poore olde Man which thundred against them a thousand bitter
cursses, threatning and reuyling them, by all the termes he
could deuise, desirous (as I think) to haue them turne backe to
kyll him. But thereunto they gaue so little heede, as when he
wylled them to leaue his daughter behynde them: to whome the
amorous courtier addressing himselfe, began to kysse hir, and
assayed by all meanes with pleasaunt Woordes and many sweete
promisses to comfort hir: but the poore Wenche knowyng full
well, that they wente about to play the Butchers wyth her
Chastitye, and to commyt Murder wyth the floure of hir
Virginity, began to cry so piteously with dolorous voice, as she
would haue moued to compassion the hardest Hartes that euer
were, excepte the Hearte of hym which craued nothyng more than
the spoyle of that his sweetest Enimy. When the poore Wenche saw
hir Vertue ready to be spoyled by one, who (not in Maryage
ioyned) wente aboute to vyolate and possesse the same, and knewe
that afterwardes hee woulde vaunte hymselfe for the Victorye of
sutch a precious pryce: “Alas (quod she) is it possyble that the
Souerayne Iustyce of God can abyde a Myschiefe so greate and
curssed, and that the Voyce of a poore Wretched afflicted Mayde
cannot be heard in the presence of the Myghty Lord aboue? Why
may not I nowe rather suffer Deathe, than the Infamy whych I see
to wander before myne Eyes? O the good olde Man my deare and
louing Father, how farre better had it bene for thee to haue
slayne mee wyth thy Dagger, betwene the Handes of these moste
wycked Theeues, than to let mee goe to bee the praye of those my
Foes that seeke the spoyle of Vertue, and the blotte of thy
reputation. O happy a hundred hundred tymes bee yee, whych haue
already passed the ineuitable tract of Death when ye were in
cradle, and I poore vnhappy Wench no lesse blessed had I bene if
pertaker of your Ioy, where now I rest alyue to feele the smarte
and Anguish of that Death more egre to support, than that whych
deuydeth the body and soule.” The Gentleman offended with those
complaynts, beganne to threaten, that hee woulde make hir forget
hir disordered behauiour, sayinge that shee must change an other
tune, and that hir plaints were to no purpose amongs them which
cared not, nor yet were bent to stay vppon hir Womanishe teares,
Lamentations and cries. The poore Mayden hearinge there
resolution, and seeing that shee vaynely dysparckled hir Voyce
into the Ayre, began to holde hir peace, whych caused the Louer
to speake vnto hir these wordes: “And what my Wench? Dost thou
thinke it straunge, that for the heate of loue I beare to thee
that I should force sutch violence? Alas it is not malyce nor
euill wyll that causeth me to doe the same, it is loue whych
cannot bee inclosed, but must needes breake forth to manyfest
his force. Ah that thou hadest felt, what I doe suffer and
indure for loue of thee. I beleeue then thou wouldest not bee so
hard hearted, but haue pitty vppon the griefe whereof thou
shouldest haue proued the vehemence.” Whereunto the mayde
aunswered nothinge but Teares and Syghes, wringing hir Armes and
Handes, and sometymes makinge Warre vppon hir fayre Hayre. But
all these Feminine Waylinges nothinge mooued thys Gallant, and
lesse Remooued hys former desire to haue hir, which hee
atchieued in dispite of hir Teeth, so soone as hee arryued at
his owne House. The remnaunt of the Night they lay together,
where hee vsed hir wyth all sutch kynde of flatteringe and
louinge Speech, as a Louer (of longe tyme) a Suter could deuise
to do to hir, whom at length he dyd Possesse. Now all these
flatteringe Follies tended onely to make hir his owne, to keepe
hir in hys Countrey House for hys Pleasure. Shee that for hir
Age (as before is sayd) was of condition Sage, and of gentle
mynde, began subtilely to dissemble and fayne to take Pleasure
in that which was to hir more bitter than any Aloes or Woode of
Myrrha, and more agaynst hir heart than remembraunce of Death,
whych styll shee wyshed for remedy of hir gryefe, and
Voluntaryly woulde haue killed her selfe lyke a Lucrece, if the
feare of God, and dreadfull losse of Body and Soule, had not
turned hir mynde, and also hoped in God that the Rauysher should
repayre the fault whych he committed, and beare the penaunce for
his temerity, whereof she was no whit deceyued, as yee shall
perceyue, by that which presently doth follow. Now whilest the
Rauisher tooke his pleasure wyth his Rape, the miserable father
made the Ayre to sound with his complaints, accusinge fortune
for letting the Whorish varlet so to passe, wythout doing him to
feele the lustinesse of hys age, and the force that yet reasted
in his furrowed face, and corpse withered with length of yeares.
In the end knowing that his playnts, curses, and desire were
throwne forth in vayne, perceiuing also his force vnequal to
deale with sutch an Ennimy, and to get agayne by violence hys
stolne Daughter, or to recouer hir by that meanes whereby she
was taken away, he determined the next day to go and complaine
to the Duke: and vpon that determination he layd him downe to
sleepe vnder the trees, which ioyned to the fountayne, where
sometimes the Courtier had communed with his daughter. And
seeing that the Element began to to shewe some splendent hue
Interpaled with coulours of White, Yealow, and Red, Signes
preceedinge the risinge of fresh Aurora, started from his sleepe
and tooke hys way to Florence, whither he came, vpon the
openinge of the Citty Gates. Then going to the Pallace of the
Duke, he tarried vntill he saw the Prynce goe forth to seruice.
The good man seeing him of whom he attended to receyue succour,
fauour, and iustice, began to freat, and rage for remembraunce
of his receyued wronge, and was ashamed to see himself in place
not accustomed: and although it grieued his heart wyth hardy
speach to presume in presence of so many, yet the iust anger and
desire of vengeance emboldned hym so mutch, as kneelinge vpon
his knees before the Maiesty of the Duke, aloud he spake these
woordes: “Alas (my Soueraygne Lord) if euer your grace had pity
vpon a desolate man, full of dispayre, I humbly beseech the same
that now you do regard the misery which on euery side assayleth
me. Haue pity vpon the pouerty of that vnfortunate olde man
agaynst whom one hath done sutch wrong, as I hope by force of
your vertue and accustomed iustice, you wil not leaue a sin so
detestable without deserued punishment, for respect of
mischiefes that may insue where sutch wickednesse shalbe
dissembled without due correction.” Sayinge so, the great teares
ran downe his hory Bearde, and by reason of his interrupted
sighes and continual sobbes, the panting of his stomack might
easily haue bene perceiued all riueld for age, and Sunneburned
with heate and continuall Countrey trauaile: and that which
moued most the standers by, was the ruefull loke of the good old
man, who casting his lookes heare and there, beheld eche one
with hys holowe and dolorous Eyes, in sutch wise as if he had
not spoken any word, hys countenance would haue moued the Lords
to haue compassion vpon his misery, and his teares were of sutch
force, as the Duke which was a wyse man, and who measured
thinges by reason’s guide, prouided with wisedome, and
foreseeinge not without timely iudgement, would know the cause
whych made that man so to make his plaint, and notwithstanding
assailed (with what suspition I know not) would not haue him
openly to tel hys tale, but leading him aside, he sayd vnto him:
“My frend, albeit that greeuous faultes of great importance,
ought grieuously and openly to be corrected, yet it chaunceth
oftentimes, that he which in a heate and choler doth execution
for the guylt (although that iustly after hee hath disgested his
rage, at leasure hee repenteth his rigor and ouer sodaine
seueritie,) offence being naturall in man, may sometyme (where
slaunder is not euident) by mild and mercyfull meanes forget the
same without infringing or violating the holy and ciuil
constitutions of Lawmakers. I speake thus mutch bicause my heart
doeth throbbe that some of my house haue don some filthy faulte
against thee or some of thine. Now I would not that they openlye
should be slaundered, and yet lesse pretend I to leaue theyr
faultes vnpunished, specially sutch as by whose offensiue cryme
the common peace is molested, wherein I desyre, that my People
shoulde lyue. For which purpose God hath constituted Prynces and
Potestates as shepheardes and guides of hys flocke, to the ende
that the Tyrannicall fury of the vitious, mighte not destroy,
deuoure and scatter the impotente flock, of no valoure if
it be forsaken and lefte forlorne by the mighty Armes of
Pryncipalities and Monarchyes.{”} A singuler modesty doubtlesse,
and an incredyble example of Clemencye in hym, whome hys
Cytyzens thoughte to be a Tyrant and vniust vsurper of a free
Segnyorye, who so priuily and with sutch familiarity, as the
Friend could wish of his companion, hearkened to the cause of
the poore Countrey man, and moreouer hys modesty so great, as
hee would it not to bee knowen what fault it was, or else that
the offenders shoulde publikely bee accused, offering for all
that to be the reuenger of the wronge done vnto the poore, and
the punisher of the iniury exercised agaynste the desolate,
a worke certainly worthy of a true Chrystian Prince, and which
establisheth kingdomes decayed, conserueth those that be,
rendring the Prynce to be beloued of God, and feared of his
Subiects. The pore olde man seeing the Duke in so good mynde,
and that accordingly hee demaunded to know the wrong don vnto
him, the Name of the factor, and that also he had promised him
his help and ryghtfull correctyon due vnto the deserued fault,
the good olde man I say conceiuing courage, recited from poynt
to poynte the whole discourse of the rape, and the violence
done, vppon hys poore vertuous Daughter, declaring besides the
name and surname of those which accompanied the Gentleman, the
author of that conspiracy, who (as we haue already sayd) was one
that was in greatest fauor with the Duke: who notwithstanding
the Loue that he bare to the accused, hearing the vnworthinesse
of a deede so execrable, said: “As God liueth this is a
detestable facte, and well deserueth a sharpe and cruell
punyshment: Notwithstanding freend, take good heede that thou
doeste not mistake the same, by accusing one for an other, for
the Gentleman whome thou haste named to be the rauisher of thy
daughter, is of all men deemed to bee very honest, and doe well
assure thee that if I finde thee a lyer, thy heade shall answere
for example to eche false accuser and slaunderer in time to
come. But if the matter be so true as thou hast sayde, I promise
thee by the faith I beare to God, so wel to redresse thy wrong,
as thou shalt haue cause to be thoroughly satisfied with my
iustice.” To whome the good olde man thus answered: “My Lord the
matter is so true, as at this day hee keepeth my Daughter (like
a common strumpet) in his house. And if it please your highnesse
to send thither, you shall know that I do not falsely accuse or
vtter lying woordes before you, my Lord and Prynce, in presence
of whom as before the mynister and Lyeuetenaunte of God, Man
oughte not to speake but truely and religeously.” “Sith it is
so,” sayd the Duke, “get thee home to thy house, where God
willing, I will be this day at dinner, but take hede vpon thy
life, thou say nothing to any man what so euer he be: for the
rest let me alone, I will prouide according to reason.” The good
man almost so glad for his good exploit, as the day before he
was sorowful for his losse, ioyfully went home to his homely
house and Countrey Cabane, whych he caused to be made ready so
wel as hee could, attending the comming of his deliuerer,
succor, support, and iudge, who when he had heard seruice,
commanded his Horse to be made ready: “For (sayd he) I heare say
there is a wylde Boare haunting hereby, so well lodged as is
possible to see: wee wyll goe thyther to wake hym from his
sleepe and ease, and vse that pastime til our dinner be ready.”
So departing from Florence, he rode straight vnto the Mil wher
his dinner was prepared by hys Seruauntes. There he dined very
soberly, and vsing fewe words vnto his company, sate stil al
pensiue, musing vpon that he had to doe: For on the one side the
grauitie of the facte moued him rigorously to chastise him which
had committed the same. On the other side the loue which he bare
him (mollifing his heart) made him change his minde, and to
moderate his sentence. The Prynce’s minde, thus wandering
beetwene loue and rigor, one brought him worde that the Dogs had
rousde the greatest Hart that euer he sawe: which newes pleased
him very mutch, for by that meanes he sent away the multitude of
his Gentlemen to follow the chase, retaining with him his moste
familiar friends, and those that were of his priuy and secrete
councel, whom he would to be witnesses of that which he intended
to doe, and causing his hoast to come before him, he sayd: “My
friend, thou muste brynge vs to the place whereof thys Mornynge
thou toldest me, that I may discharge my promyse.” The Courtyers
wondred at those Woordes. ignoraunte whereunto the same were
spoken: but the good Man whose Hearte leapte for ioy, as already
feelynge some greate Benefyte at Hand, and Honoure prepared for
the beautyfyinge of hys House, seeynge the Duke on Horsebacke,
ran besydes hym in steade of hys Lackey, wyth whome the Prynce
held mutch pleasaunt talke all along the way as they wente
togyther, but they had not gone farre, but the Gentleman the
Rauysher, wyth his Companyons, vnderstandyng that the Duke
hunted there aboutes, came to doe hym reuerence: and his Fortune
was sutch, as hee nor any of his frends perceiued the olde man,
by meanes whereof they nothing suspected what did insue. For
that cause the said Rauisher said to his prince: “My Lord, if
fortune had so mutch fauored me, as I mighte haue knowen of your
commyng into these quarters, I would haue don my duetie to
entertaine you, not as appertayneth to the greatnesse of your
excellency, but according to the ability of the least, and yet
the most obedient of your seruaunts.” To whom the Duke
dissembling his anger sayd: “Sir, I dined heere hard by within
my tents, not knowing that your house was so neare vs: but sith
that I haue met you vpon your own Marches and Confines, I wyll
not goe hence before I see your lodging: for so farre as I can
iudge by the outwarde parte of this goodly building, me thinkes
the workman hath not forgotten any thing that should serue for
the setting forth and ornament of this parte of the house, which
for the quantity is one of the fairest plottes that I haue
seene.” So approching the Castell the Duke lyghted to view the
commodities of the place, and specially the image, for whych
alone hee was departed from his City, whereof the Mayster of the
House (dronke with the sodaine pleasure to see the Duke there)
thought nothyng. So descending into the base Court, they saw a
Marble fountaine that discharged the water in foure greate
gutters, receiued by foure naked Nimphes, and by them poured
into Vessells, richely wrought with Damaskyne, where was an
armed Knyght, lying vnder an hyghe and broade tree, that
ouershadowed the Fountaine: And hard by, they espied a lyttle
doore whych shewed the way into so singulare and well planted
a Garden, as euer the delycious and pleasant Gardens were
of Alcinoe: For in the same (bysides the Artyfyciall
Workemanshyppe, and ordinarye Trauell of the Gardener) Nature
produced foure Fountaynes in the foure Corners, makynge the
Place and plaine of Garden equally parted in fouresquare forme.
Now these fountaynes watered all the fayre knots of the same,
wythout any payne to the Gardener, except to open certayne
little Conduicts, whereby the water sprange and ran to what part
he thought it needfull. I will heere leaue to speake of the
Trees and fruictes deuided in fiue forme order, the Laberynthes
subtilely and finely wrought, the sweete Herbers yelding sutch
contentation to the eye, as if the Duke had not respected the
wrong done to the Miller’s daughter, the gentlenesse of the
mayster of the house, and the singularity of the place,
perchaunce might haue made him forget himselfe within that
little earthly Paradise. And to performe the excellency of that
Garden, the workinge hand and industry of man, holpen by the
benefite of Nature, had formed within the Ground wherein were
bestowed a number of Antiquities, and wherein the immortal voice
of an Eccho answered their talke with a triple sounde in that
profound and earthly place: which moued the Duke to call the
Gentleman vnto him, vnto whom he sayd: “If it bee so, that the
rest of the house doe match wyth that whych I haue already
seene, I am out of doubt it is one of the fayrest and most
delectable houses at thys day wythin the compasse of all Italy.
Wherefore my Frende, I pray thee that wee may see the whole,
both for the contentation of our Mindes, and also that I may
make some vaunt that I haue seene the rarest and best furnished
little House that is within the iurisdiction of Florence.” The
Gentleman bathed in ease and full of pleasure, seeynge that the
Duke lyked so well his House, brought hym from chamber to
chamber, which was enryched eyther with stately tapissarie of
Turkey making, or with riche Tables diuinely wrought, vtensils
so neate and fit, as the Duke could cast his eye vpon none of
them, but he was driuen into an admiration and Wonder. And the
further he went, the greater hee sawe the increase, and almost a
Regeneration, or as I may say, a newe Byrth of rare thinges,
which made the littlenesse of the Place more Stately and
wonderfull: Wherefore hee greatly esteemed hym in hys Mynde
whych had deuysed the Magnificence of sutch a Furnyture. After
then that hee had visited the Portals, Galleries, Parlers,
Chambers, Garrets, Wardrobes, Closets, and chiefest Romes of
that house, they came into a Gallerie, which had a direct
prospect vpon the Garden, at the end wherof there was a chamber
shut, ouer which sutch Antike and Imbossed worke, as it was
maruell to behold, and vpon the garden side in like
workemanship, yee mighte haue viewed a troupe of Nymphes (a long
the side of a woode adioyning vpon a great Riuer) flying from an
hierd of Satires, that made as though they would haue ouerrunne
them: a pleasure it was to see their gaping mouthes, theyr eyes
fixed vpon the place where theyr clouen-footed pursuters were,
and the countenance of them, which so well expressed theyr
feare, as there wanted nothing but speache. Moreouer a better
sight it was to beholde the Satire Bucks, with dysplayed throte,
and theyr fyngers poynting at the hast of those pore fearfull
runawayes, as though they mocked theyr sodaine flyghte. Within a
while after ye might haue seene Hercules lyinge a Bed with his
wife, towards whom a Faunus came thinking to enjoy the beauty
and embracements of the sleping dame: But fayrer it was to see
how that strong Amphitrionian gaue him the mocke, and strained
him so hard, as he thought his belly would burste. The Duke
beholding as he thought, the fayrest Chamber of the house so
shut, by and by suspected the truth of the cause: For the
Gentleman knowing the comming of the Duke, had withdrawen his
woman into the same for that it was the most secrete of his
house, and the furdest from all ordinary seruice. Vpon surmise
the Duke demaunded wherefore that Chamber was not opened so wel
as the rest: “I suppose the same to be your treasure house?”
(quod hee) “and the storehouse of your most delicate things: Wee
pray you let vs looke into it.” “My Lord” (sayd the Gentleman)
“the place is to farre out of order, at this time to shew your
grace: Moreouer I knowe not where the Keyes be, for thys morning
the keeper of my house is gone into the city, and I can not tell
to whom hee hath delyuered them.” The Duke which heard the end
of his excuse, not accepting the same for the pryce which the
Courtier woulde and thoughte to haue solde it, was sure then of
that which before he did suspect. Wherfore with furious
countenaunce he sayd vnto him: “Goe too, goe too, either with
the key, or without the Key, let this door be opened, that I may
see all thy secretes within.” The rauisher seeing the Duke to be
earnest, could not tell at the first Face, of what Woode to make
his arrowes, stode stil astonned, and was surprysed wyth a newe
feare. In the end notwythstandyng, playinge the good fellowe,
hee went vnto the Duke, in whose eare smilinge hee whispered
(bicause he knew right well that the Duke was an indifferent
good companion, and loued so well his neighbor’s Wyfe, as his
owne:) and sayd: “My Lord there is a prety wench within, whome I
do kepe, and would not shewe hir to any lyuing man but to you.”
“That is the cause I aske” (sayd the duke) “let vs see hir that
I may geue iudgement of hir beauty, and tell you whither shee
bee worth the keeping or not.” The mayster of the house opened
the chamber dore, thinking to haue gained mutch, and supposed to
insinuate himselfe the better into the fauor of the Duke, but
immediatlye hee saw himselfe farre deceiued of his accompt. For
the rauished and shamefast maiden comming forth of the Chamber
with hir hayre about hir eyes, and hir garments berent and
torne, hir stomake and breast all naked and discouered, hir Face
and Eyes all blubbered wyth Teares, lyke a desperate woman threw
hir selfe at the Prince’s feete, crying out: “Ah (my lord)
beholde heere and haue pity vpon the most vnfortunate Wenche of
all most wretched caytyfe Women, who shamefully and Trayterously
hath bene abused and defloured by him, whych impudently dareth
to bryng you into the place the wytnesse of hys abhominable and
wycked Lyfe.” The Duke seeing this sight, and hauing compassion
vpon the Maiden, turned his face towardes the Gentleman and hys
Companyons (which by chance wer come thither, as the Duke was
entred into the Gallerie) not with milde and pleasant
countenance as hee shewed from the beginning, but with a looke
so graue and seuere, as the hardiest of the company could not
tell what to do, or what answere to make hym. Vpon them than
began the ryghteous Prynce to vomit his dyspleasure, sayinge:
“Is this the innobling of the Bloud whereof thou art descended,
to rauyshe thy Neyghbors and my subiectes Daughters, that
duetyfully lyue vnder myne obeysance and protection? Doest thou
thus abuse the familiaritie whych hytherto I haue shewed vnto
thee? Thinkest thou that the Lawes be peruerted together with
the chaunge of the common Wealth of Florence? No, I assure thee,
for so long as the Soule shal abyde within my body, I will be he
that shal pursue the wycked wyth all extremitie, and shall not
indure the oppressyon of the pore, enough afflicted with their
own proper misery. O God could I haue thought that a Gentleman
of my House, woulde haue bene so prodigall of his honour, as to
soyle hys Hands so filthily by rauishing of them which ought to
be required, and to dishonour them in place where their Vertue
ought to shine for generall example? I cannot tell what stayeth
me from cutting those curssed Heades of yours from of your
shoulders like arrant Traytors and Theues as you be. Get ye
hence, ye infamous villaynes and beastly Ruffians, the troubles
of your Neyghbors rest, and the spoylers of the fame of hir,
that is more worth than all ye together.” Then speaking to the
Mayde hee sayd: “Rise vp my wench, and on me repose thy comfort,
for I promise the by the faith of a Gentleman, that I will do
thee sutch reason, and vse thee so vpryghtlye as bothe my
Conscience shal be quieted, thou contented, and thine honour
restored for the wrong and iniury whych it hath receiued of
these Gallantes.” And by and by he commaunded the Miller to come
before him, and all those whom he had brought wyth hym to assist
his doings, before whom he caused to be brought both the
rauished maiden, and the condempned of the rape: vnto whom he
said: “This is the pray my friends that I sought after, which I
haue taken without toyles, nets, or chaunting of the Dogs.
Beholde, I pray you the Honoure whych my Householde Seruauntes
doe vnto my House, who ouerrunne the Symple Countrey People, and
rauyshe theyr Daughters betweene the Armes of theyr propre
parentes, who breake, beate downe, and ouerthrowe the Doores of
theyr Houses, that under the Lawes of our City and ought to
enioy lyke Pryuiledge of Lybertye and Franchyze. If one respecte
(whych I wyll not dysclose) dyd not impeache and stay mee,
I would doe sutch cruell iustice vppon the offenders as the
posterity should make report thereof. Notwithstanding it shal
suffise that they receiue this shame before you all, by seeing
themselues vanquished of a crime, which for expiation and
reuenge, deserueth most shamefull death, and to receyue of mee
for proofe of mercy, an vndeserued pardon of their fault: with
condition neuerthelesse that thou (speaking to the Gentleman
Rauisher) shalt take this mayden to Wyfe, for otherwyse thou art
not able to repayre the honour thou hast taken from hir) and
shalt loue hir so dearely, as fondly heeretofore she was beloued
of thee, to esteeme and loue hir so mutch, as if she were the
very sister of me the Duke of Florence, who commaundeth thee for
the raunsome and redemption of thy head, presently to mary hir.
I will moreouer, and ordayne by reason of hir father’s pouerty,
that for the wrong which he hath receyued of you three, that his
daughter shall bee indowed wyth two thousand Crownes by him that
marrieth hir, and with a thousand of eyther of the two other, to
th’ entent that if hir husband dy (wythout heire,) shee haue
wherewith honestly to mayntayne hir degree, and the honest port
of hir house. And hereof I will that without delay a contract be
made, and a publike instrument of good record inrolled, swearing
once agayne before thee, that if I vnderstand, thou vse her
otherwise, than a Wyfe ought to bee of hir husband, I will deale
sutch punishment and correction ouer thee, as all men in time to
come shal take example.” The Gentleman which expected no better
meede than death, ioyfull of that sentence, fell downe prostrate
before the Duke in signe of consente, and the lyke did his
Companions. But the ioy of the Miller and his daughter cannot be
expressed, who extolled the vertue and iustice of the Prynce vp
into the heauens: to whom with sutch humility they rendred theyr
humble thanks, as he would doe that saw himselfe in so great
calamity, and brought to sutch dishonour as earst they were
seene to be, by meanes of him that acknowledged one of them for
his sonne, and the other for hir lawfull Spouse. Thus was the
mariage consummat in presence of the Duke, with so great ioye,
and content of all partes, as there was rage and trouble for the
Rape of the Bryde. The Duke beinge retourned to Florence, the
Brute of this act incontinently was disparkled almost throughout
the Region of Italy, and this iudgement no lesse praysed, than
the sentence which Kynge Solomon gaue vppon the Controuersie of
the two Harlots for the liuing childe, which eyther of them
claimed for hir owne. And for this cause was hee extolled aboue
any other Prynce or Lorde that in tymes passed did commaund or
rule the Common wealth wythin the Countrey of Thuscan. In thys
wyse that modesty made him worthy of the Principality, which
almost against all ryght he had vsurped, and of a prayse whych
shall no lesse continue, than the Memory of man is able to
extende the same from one generation to an other, and which
those that be Couetous of the prayse of a Prince so vertuous,
iust and modest, shal not cease to illustrate and gloriously
aduaunce him in open euydence, to the ende that hys like may
exercise like things, or of greater consequence, by not
sufferinge venemous and vnprofitable hearbs to grow within the
Garden of their Common wealth. Wythin the which, a little mildew
or vntimely rayne, is able to marre and corrupt all the good
Seedes and Plantes sowen, and grifted there before: For commonly
wicked Weedes and Bastard Impes take deeper roote than those
that beare a good and fauorous fruict, for conseruation whereof,
the diligent husbandman imployeth his labour throughout all the
Seasons of the yeare.




END OF VOL. II.

BALLANTYNE PRESS: EDINBURGH AND LONDON.


         *       *       *       *       *
             *       *       *       *

Errors and Inconsistencies:

The printed book did not include an Errata list. It is therefore
impossible to tell whether irregularities of spelling, punctuation and
typography in the primary text are unique to the Jacobs edition (1890),
or whether they were deliberately carried over from Haslewood (1813)
and/or Painter (1566 and later).

As noted above, missing spaces, punctuation--chiefly quotation
marks--and single letters are shown in {braces} without further
annotation.

Other possible errors, including superfluous punctuation, are listed
here.

  “Most certaine and true,” aunsweared the Lady.”
    [superfluous close quote]
  setting his foote vpon a borde vnnnayled from the ioyst
    [“nnn” in original]
  forsaking of him, [to] moue you  [brackets in original]
  fewe men whiche behelde her, coulde escape her bondes,
    [final comma for period]
  and sayd vnto him. “O my Lord  [period for comma]
  And by forgoing of those ioyes by to to much mishap
    [“to to” in original]
  Wherof Rolandine being dauertised  [error for aduertised]
  and for the enriching of his Couutry  [error for Country]
  the constant mynd of a chast and and vertuous mayden
    [and/ and at line break]
  wherevpon there rose a general talke  [where-/vpon at line break]
  which were couragiously and houourably broken  [error for honourably]
  not onely of mouable thiugs, but also of Castels  [error for things]
  together with the kynge and Queene themselues.  [period for comma]
  Cilon the familiar freend of Aristimus  [error for Aristotimus]
  which excyte all good dispositions to aspyre vnto houour
    [error for honour]
  to atchieue and conquere newe kingdoms as thy father did.
    [period for question mark]
  she sayd: “O the the glorie and honor
    [the/ the at line break]
  the thrirde watch of the night  [error for thirde]
  what was the cause that amitye betwene lwo louers was broken?
    [error for two]
  whose country also was not so famous,  [comma for period]
  the principal heire of all hir goods and Iuells. the Romain people
    [period for comma]
  whych in memorye of Fora was called Florianum  [error for Flora]
  the auncient linage of the Ptolomes, sometymes Kinges of Ægypt
    [s in “sometymes” invisible]
  Whervnto Nathan made none other answer  [Wher-/vnto at line break]
  and not I.” and making great chere
    [punctuation and capitalization unchanged]
  a Lady of later dayes, Anne the Queene of Hungary.  [period for comma]
  of the vniuersal worlde.” when he had sayd
    [punctuation and capitalization unchanged]
  that make in oure Daies. specially hir mind
    [punctuation and capitalization unchanged]
  _Sed vsq; ad aras_  [abbreviation for “usque”]
  the Element began to to shewe some splendent hue
    [“to to” in original]
  The Courtyers wondred at those Woordes. ignoraunte whereunto
    [period for comma]
  repayre the honour thou hast taken from hir)
    [superfluous parenthesis in original]





End of Project Gutenberg's The Palace of Pleasure, by William Painter