Greenes neuer too late. Or, A powder of experience: sent to all youthfull gentlemen to roote out the infectious follies, that ouer-reaching conceits foster in the spring time of their youth. Decyphering in a true English historie, those particular vanities, that with their frostie vapours nip the blossoms of euery ripe braine, from atteining to his intended perfection. As pleasant, as profitable, being a right pumice stone, apt to race out idlenesse with delight, and follie with admonition. Rob. Greene in artibus Magister.

Greenes Neuer too late.

Nunquam sera est ad bonos mores via.

NO sooner did Phoebus burnish the heauen with his brightnesse, and deckt in a glorious diadem of chri∣solites, had mounted him on his Coach to lighten the Lampe that makes Flora beauteous, but the Palmer was vp and at his Ory∣sons, beeing as deuoute in his thoughts, as hee was mindfull of his trauels: walking in the garden all alone, and seeing the Sunne new peeping out of the East, he began to meditate with himselfe of the state of man, comparing his life to the length of a spanne, or the compasse of the Sunne, who ri∣sing bright and orient, continueth but his appointed course, and that ofttimes shadowed with so many Clowdes, and strainde with a sable vale of such thicke fogges, that he is more darkened with s••ormes than beautified with light: and if it fortune his shine is without blemish, yet he setteth and that more oft in a folde of Clowdes, than in a cléere Skie: so man bor•••• ••n the pride of beautie or pompe of wealth, bee his honors equall with his fortunes, and hee as happie as Augustus; yet his life hath but his limittes, and that clogged with so many cares and crosses, that his daies are more full of miseries than of pleasures, and his disas••er mishaps are more than his prosperous fortunes: but if the starres grace him with all fauourable aspects, and that hée

liue full of content in many honours and much wealth, yet his prime hath his Autum, his faire blossomes turnes to tawnie leaues, age will shake him by the shoulder, and na∣ture will haue his due, that at last he must set with the Sunne, and perhaps in such a clowde of sinne, as his rising may be in a storme of sorrowes. Thus did the Palmer me∣ditate with himselfe, ••éeing penitent for the follies of his youth, that at last thinking to be as musicall to himselfe, as the birds were melodious, he chaunced out this O••e.

The penitent Palmers Ode.

Whilome in the winters rage A Palmer old and full of age, Sat and thought vpon his youth, With eyes, teares, and harts ruth, Being all with cares yblent, When he thought on yeares mispent. When his follies came to minde, How fond loue had made him blinde, And wrapt him in a ••ield of wo••s, Shadowed with pleasures shoes, Then he sighed and said alas, Man is sinne and flesh is grasse, I thought my mistris haires were gold•• And in their lockes my heart I folde: Her amber tresses were the sight That wrapped me in vaine delight: Her Iuorie front, her preti•• chin, Were stales that drew me on to sin: Her starrie lookes, her Christall eyes, Brighter than the Sunnes arise: Sparkling pleasing flames on fire, Yoakt my thoughts and my desire, That I gan crie ere I blin, Oh her eyes are paths to sin.

H••r face was faire, her breath was sweete, All her lookes for loue was meete: But loue is follie this I kn••we. And beautie fadeth like to snowe•• Oh why should man delight in pride, Whose blossome like a deaw doth glide: When these supposes toucht my thought, That world was vaine and beautie nought, I gan sigh and say alas, Man is sinne and flesh is grasse.

The Palmer hauing ended this Ode, sat in a great dump in the garden, when his Host accompanied with his wife, desirous to heare out Francescos fortune, were come into the place and gaue him the bon iorno thus. Courteous Palmer, a kinde salute to waken you from your mornings meditation, I see you keepe the prouerbe for a principle, to bed with the Bée and vp with the Larke: no sooner the Sunne in the Skie but you are at your Orysons, either ru∣minating passions or penance, either some old remembrance or some newe reuerse. Howsoeuer (gentle Palmer) tis no manners to enter to•• farre into your thoughts, and there∣fore leauing your secrets to your selfe, Com•• stat•• la vos••ra signoria quest a matina. The Palmer that had learned a little broken Italian, seeing his honest host in such a merie moode, made this answer. Io sto bensignior di•• merce, ringratiando∣••i sonnamenti di vostra grande cor••esia, holding it fi•• for my fortunes to haue many cares and little s••eepe, that my pen∣nance may be great sith my sinnes are many: long slumbers are for idle persons, not for penitent Palmers; and sweete dreames are no instances of hartie deuotion; therefore doo I watch with the mouse to argue my selfe miserable, and en∣ioyne my selfe to much paines, because I am combred wi••h many passions. This morning entring into this garden•• I sawe by the workes of nature the course of the world: for when I sawe Floras glorie shut vp in the soldes of I••is

frownes, I began to consider that the pride of man was like the pompe of a flower, that to day glories in the field and to morrowe is in the furnace; that we be like the flies Heme∣rae, that take life with the Sunne and dye with the deaw; that our honors are compared to the blossomes of a Cedar, which vanish ere they begin to burnish, and al our triumphs like caracters written in snowe, that printed in a vapour, at the least Sunne shine discouer our vanitie, for they are as soone melted as our pleasures are momentarie. Tied by Fates to this ti••kle state, wee haue nothing more certaine than to dye, nor nothing more vncertaine than the houre of death: and therefore when I call to minde the follies of my youth, how they haue been tickled with vice, I eouet in the flower of mine yeares to repent and amend: for

Nunquam sera est ad bonos mores via.

You doo well sir (quoth the Gentleman) in al your actions to consider the end; for he that forerepents, foresees many perrills•• Had I wist is a great fault, and after wits are bit∣ten with many sorrowes: therefore such as gréeue at their follies, & couet to preuent dangerous fortunes, they which take an antidote of grace against the deadly aconiton of sinne, and with present remorse preuent ensuing vanities: such indeed, as they liue well, shall dye blessed. But leauing this humour till another time, you may see by our earely ri∣sing how my wife and I were delighted with your euen∣ings par••ie: for trust me sir, desire of Francescos further fortunes made vs thus watchfull, and therefore seeing the morning is gray and our longing great, and yet a good while to breakefast, if your leisure may affoord so much, I pray you sit downe and tell vs what was the ende of his loues, and the effects of his repentance. The Palmer verie willing to pleasure his courteous host, sat him downe in an Arbour and began thus.

The Palmers tale of Francesco.

AS soone as Francesco awak•• from his slumber, and began to enter further into the consideration of Infi∣das cousenage, his heart throbd at his follies, and a present passion of his great misfortunes so payned him, that all perplexed he began againe to sing his former song, and to say that womens thoughts were like to the leaues of a Da••e tree that change colours with the wind••, in a moment figuring out sorrowe with teares, and in that instant deci∣phering pleasure with smiles: neither too resolute with the Stoickes to yeeld to no passions, nor too absolute with the Esseni to surfet with ouer much chastitie: their desires (quoth he) resemble Aeolus forhead, that next euery storme contains a calme: their déedes are like Almanacks that de∣cipher nothing but vncertaintie; either too scrupulous with Daphne to contemne all, or too voluptuous with Venus to desire all; and straight neither flesh nor fish as the Porpus, but time pleasers, to content themselues with varietie of fancies. In this humorous melancholie hee arose vp and raunged about the Citie, despayring of his estate as a man pennylesse, and therefore impatient because he knewe not how to redresse his miseries: to relie vppon the helpe of a Curtizan, he sawe by experience was to hang hope in the ayre: to stand vpon the fauour of friends, that was boote∣lesse; for he had fewe in the Citie, as being but a straunger there, and such as he had were wonne with an Apple, tren∣cher friends, ••nd therefore to bee left with the puffe of the least blast of aduersities. To goe home to his wife to faire Isabel, that was as hard a censure as the sentence of death, for shame of his follies made him ashamed to shewe his face to a woman of so high desarts. In this perplexitie he passed ouer three or foure daies till his purse was cleane emptie,

his score great, and his hostesse would trust him for no more money, but ••hreatned him, if present payment were not made, to lay him in prison. This newes was hard to Fran∣cesco, that knewe not how to auoyd the preiudice, only his refuge was to preuent such a misfortune to carrie his appa∣rell to the Brokers, and with great losse to make money to pay for his diet: which once discharged, he walk•• vp and downe as a man forlorne, hauing neither coyne nor credite. Necessitie y^t stingeth vnto the quick, made him set his wits on the tenter, and to stretch his braines as high as Ela, to sée how he could recouer pence to defray his charges by any si∣nister meanes to salue his sorrowes: the care of his parents and of his owne honor perswaded him from making gaine by labour: he had neuer been brought vp to any mechani∣call course of life. Thus euery way destitute of meanes to liue, he sight out this olde sayd sawe, Miserrimum est fu∣isse beatum: yet at last, as extremities search very farre, he calde to minde that he was a scholler, and that although in these daies Arte wanted honor, and learning lackt his due, yet good letters were not brought to so lowe an ebbe, but that there might some profite arise by them to procure his maintenance. In this humour he fell in amongst a compa∣nie of Players, who perswaded him to trie his wit in wri∣ting of Comedies, Tragedies, or Pastorals, and if he could performe any thing worth the stage, then they would large∣lie reward him for his paines. Francesco glad of this mo∣tion, seeing a meanes to mitigate y^e extremitie of his wa••••, thought it no dishonor to make gaine of his wit, or to get profite by his pen•• and therefore getting him home to his chamber writ a Comedie, which so generally pleased all the audience, that happie were those Actors in short time that could get any of his workes, he grewe so exquisite in that facultie. By this meanes his want was releeued, his credit in his hosts house, recouered his apparell in greater braue∣rie then it was, and his purse well lined with Crownes.

At this discourse of Francesco, the Gentleman tooke his

guest by the hand and broke off his tale thus. Now gentle Palmer, seeing we are fallen by course of prattle to parlie of Playes, if without offence doo me that fauour to shewe me your iudgement of Playes, Playmakers and Players. Al∣though (quoth the Palmer) that some for being too lauish a∣gainst that facultie, haue for their satiricall inuectiues been well canuased, yet seeing here is none but our selues, and that I hope what you heare shall be ••roden vnder foote, I will flatlie say what I can both euen by reading and expe∣rience. The inuention of Comedies were first found a∣mongst the Greekes, and practised at Athens: some thinke by Menander whom Terence so highlie commends in his Heautontimorumenon. The reason was, that vnder the ••ouert of such pleasant and Comicall euents, they aym••d at the ouerthrowe of many vanities that then raigned in the Citie: for therein they painted out in the persons the course of the world, how either it was graced with honor, or dis∣credited with vices: There might you see leueld out the vaine life that boasting Thrases vse, smoothed vp with the selfe conceipt of their owne excellence; the miserable estate of couetous parents, that rather let their sonnes ••ast of any misfortunes, than to releeue them with the superfluitie of their wealth: the pourtraiture of parasiticall friends and flattering Gnatos, that only are time pleasers and trencher friends, which sooth yong Gentlemen subtellie in their fol∣lies, as long as they may: Ex eorum sullo viuere was set out in liuely colours. In those Comedies the abuse of Bawdes that made sa••e of honest virgins, and liued by the spoyle of womens honors, was deeply discouered. To be short, Lecherie, Couetousnesse, Pride, selfe-loue, disobe∣dience of parents, and such vices predominant both in age and youth were shot at, not onely with examples and in∣stances to feede the eye, but with golden sentences of mor∣all works to please the ear••. Thus did Menander win ho∣nor in Greece with his works, & reclaime both old & yong for their vanit••es by y^e pleasant effects of his Comedies. Af∣ter him this facultie grew to be famous in Rome, practised

by Plautus, Terence, and other that excelled in this quali∣tie, all ayming as Menander did in all their worke•• to sup∣presse vice and aduance vertue. Now, so highlie were Co∣medies esteemed in those daies, that men of great honor and graue account were the Actors, the Senate and the Con∣suls continuallie present, as auditors at all such sports, re∣warding the Author with rich rewards, according to the ex∣cellencie of the Comedie. Thus continued this facultie famous, till couetousnesse crept into the qualitie, and that meane men greedie of gaines did fall to practise the acting of such Playes, and in the Theater presented their Co∣medies but to such onely, as rewarded them well for their paines: when thus Comedians grewe to bee mercinaries, then men of accompt left to practise such pastimes, and dis∣••ained to haue their honors blemisht with the staine of such base and vile gaines•• in so much that both Comedies and Tragedies grew to lesse accompt in Rome, in that the free sight of such sports was taken away by couetous desires: yet the people (who are delighted with such nouelties and pastimes) made great resort, paide largely, and highly ap∣plauded their doings, in so much that the Actors by conti∣nuall vse grewe not onely excellent, but rich and inso∣lent. Amongst whome in the daies of Tully one Roscius grewe to be of such exquisit perfection in his facultie, that he offered to contend with the Orators of that time in ge∣sture, as they did in eloquence; boasting that he could ex∣presse a passion in as many sundrie actions, as Tully could discourse it in varietie of phrases: yea so prowde he grewe by the daylie applause of people, that he looked for hon••ur and reuerence to bee done him in the streeres: which selfe conceipt whe•• Tully entred into with a pearcing insight, he quipt at in this manner.

It chanced that Roscius & he met at a dinner, both guests vnto Archias the Poet, where the prowd Comedian dared to make comparison with Tully: which insolencie made the learned Orator to growe into these termes; why Roscius,

art thou proud with Esops Crow being 〈◊〉〈◊〉 w••••h ••he glo∣rie of others feathers•• of thy selfe thou canst say nothing•• and if the Cobler hath taught thee to say•• Aue Caesar, ••is∣dain not thy tutor, because thou pratest in a Kings chamber: what sentence thou vtterest on the stage, flowes from the censure of our wittes; and what sentence or conceipte of the inuention the people applaud for excellent, that comes from the secrets of our knowledge. I g••a••nt your action, though it be a kind of mechanical labour; yet wel done t••s worthie of praise: but you worthlesse, if for so small a ••oy you wa••e proud. At this Roscius waxt red, a••d bewraied his imper∣fec••ion with silence: but this check of Tully could not keepe others from the blemish of that fault, for it grew to a gene∣rall vice amongst the Actors, to excell in ••••de as they did exceede in excellence, and to braue it in the streets, as they bragge it on the stage•• so that they reueld it in Rome in such costly roabes, that they seemed rather men of great patrimo∣nie, than such as li••ed by the fauour of the people. Whic•• Publius Seruilius very well noted; for hée being the sonne of a Senatour, and a man very valiant, met on a day with a player in the streetes richly apparrelled•• who so ••arre for∣gat himselfe, that he tooke the wall of the young noble man•• which Seruilius taking in dis••aine, counterchecke with ••his f••ump: My friend (quoth hee) be not so bragge of thy sil∣ken roabes, for I sawe them but yesterday make a gre•••• shew in a broakers shop. At this the one was ashamed, and the other smilde•• and they which ••ea••d the ••uip•• ••augh•• at the folly of the one & the wit of the other. Thus sir ••aue you heard my opinion briefly of plaies, that Menander deuise•• th•••• for the s••ppressing of vanities, necessarie in a common we••••••••, as long as they are vses in their right kind; the play makers worthy of ••onour for their Arte: & pla••er•••• men de∣seruing both pray••e and profite, as long as they wa•• ••••••ther couetous nor insolent. I haue caused you 〈◊〉〈◊〉 (••uoth y^• gen∣tlemā) to make •• large digressiō•• but y••u haue resolued me in a matter that I long doubted of: and therefore I may 〈◊〉〈◊〉

againe to Francesco. Why then thus quoth th•• Palmer•• After he grew excellent for making of Comedies, he wa••t not onely braue, but full of Crownes: which Infida hearing of, and hauing intelligence what course of life he did take•• thought to cast foorth her lure to r••claime him, though by her vnkindnesse he was proued haggard; for she thought that Francesco was such a ••ame foole that he would he brought to strike at any stale, ••ecking her selfe therefore as gorgi∣ously as she could, painting her face with the choyce of all her drugges, she walk•• abroade where shee thought Fran∣cesco vsed to take the ayre; Loue and Fortune ioyning in league so fauoured her, that according to her desire she met him. At which incounter I gesse, more for shame than loue she blasht; and fild her countenaunce with such repentant remorse (yet hauing her lookes full o•• amorous glaunces) that she seemed like Venus, reconciling her selfe so froward Mars. The sight of Infida was pleasing in the eyes of Francesco, and almost as deadly as the basilisk: that had hee not had about him Moly as Vlisses, he had been inchaunted by the charmes of that wylie Circes; but the abuse so s••ucke in his stomack that she had profered him in his extremitie, that he returned all her glaunces with a frowne, and so par∣ted. Infida was not ama••ed with his angry moode, as one that thought loues furnace of force to heat•• the coldest Amatist, and the swe••te words of a woman as able to dr••w on desire, as the Syrens melody the passengers. What quoth shee, though for a while he be cholerick, Beautie is able to quench the ••••ame, as it sets hearts on fire; as Helens faultes angred Paris, so her fauours pleasd Paris: though she were false to Menelaus, ye•• her faire made him brook her follie••: Women are priuiledgd t•• haue their words and theyr wil••, and whome they kill with a ••rowne they can reuiue with •• smile. Tush, Francesco is not so froward, but he may hee wonne, hee is n•• Saturnist to beare anger long, hee is soone hot and soone colde, cholerick and kinde harted; who though 〈◊〉〈◊〉 be sco••ded away with bitter words 〈◊〉〈◊〉 will be reclaimed

againe with sweete kisses•• a womans teares are Adam••nt, and men are no harder than Iron•• and therefore may ••ee drawne to pitie their passions. I will faine, fla••ter, and what not, to get againe my Francesco; for his purse is ful, and my coffers wax emptie. In this humor taking pen and paper, she wrote a letter to him to this effect.

Infida to Francesco wisheth what he wants in health or wealth.

IF my outward penaunce (Francesco) could discouer my inward passions, my sighe•• bewray my sorrowes, or my countenaunce my miseries, then should I looke the most desolate of all, as I am the most distrest of all; and the fur∣rowes in my face ••ee numberlesse, as the griefes of my heart are matchles: But as the feathers of y^• Halciones gli∣ster most against the ••orest storme, and Nylus is most calme against a deluge•• so the sorrowes of my minde are so great that they smother inwardly, though they mak•• no out••••rd appearance of mishap. All these miseries Francesco grow from the consideration of mine owne disc••••••esies: for when I thinke of thy constancie, thy faith, thy ••••••ture, and thy beautie, and weigh with my selfe how all these v••wed vnto Infida, they were lost by the disloyaltie of Infida: I ca•••• i•• in question, whether I had better dispaire and die, or in ••ope of thy fauour linger o•••• my life. Penaunce of freewill me∣rits pardons of course, and griefes that grow from rem••rse, deserue to ••ee salued with ru••h. I confesse Francesco that I wrongd the••, and therefore I am wroong at y^• hear••: but so doth the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of thy perfection, & the excellence of thy ••••••∣tues 〈…〉〈…〉 in my heart 〈◊〉〈◊〉 although th•••• shouldest vow t•• lo••th me. I 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ceas•• to ••oue thee. O•• consider, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 haue their f••ults 〈◊〉〈◊〉 their fo••l••e••, & act y^• in an houre which they rep••t a•• their life alter. Though Mars & Ven•••• 〈◊〉〈◊〉, they were friends after 〈◊〉〈◊〉 for 〈…〉〈…〉

and forget Francesco then hartelie, that I repent so deepely: grace thy Infida againe with one smile, ease her impatient passions with thy sweete presence; and assure thy selfe shee will satisfie with loue, what shee hath offended with follie. Bones that are broken & after set again, are the more stron∣ger: where the Beech Tree is ••ut, there it growes most hard: reconciled friendship is the sweetest amitie. Then be friends with thy Infida: looke on her, and but visite her: and if shee winne not thy loue with her wordes, and shewe her selfe so penitent that thou shalt pardon: then let her perish in her owne misfortunes, and die for the want of thy fauour. Farewell.

Thine euer, dispay••ing Infida.

THis letter shee sealed vp and sent it by a secret friend to Francesco: who at the first, knowing from whence it came, would scarcely receiue it; yet at last willing to heare what humor had made the Curtizan write vnto him; hee ••roke ••pe the seales and read the former con∣tents: which when he had throughly perused•• hee found him∣selfe perplexed: for the cunning of her flatterie made y^• poore man passionate. In somuch that sitting down with the let∣ter in his hand; he began thus to meditate with himselfe.

Why doost thou vouchsafe Francesco to looke on her let∣ters that is so lewd, to view her lines that are powdred with flatterie, to heare her charmes that seekes thy preiudice, to liste•• to such a Calipso that almes onely at thy substāce, not at thy person? Whilt thou wer•• poore her forhead was full of frowns, and in her loo•••• sate the stormes of disdaine: but when the sées thou ••ast fethered thy ••est, & hast crowns in thy purse, shee would play the hors-le••ch to ••uck awaie thy wealth: & n••w would shee be 〈◊〉〈◊〉 harts gold, while she ••est thee not one dra•• of go••••e. Oh Francesco she ••ides her ••lawes, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 loo••••s ••or her pray with the ••y••er, she weepes

with the Crocodile, and smiles with the Hi••na, and ••••••tters with the Panther, and vnder the couer•• of a 〈…〉〈…〉, shrowdes the intent of thy ••a••e. Knowest thou not that a•• the Marble dr••p••s against rayne, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 their teares fo••••poynt mischiefe, that the sauours of a Curtizan are like the song•• of the Grashoper, that euer fortel some fatal disparagement, Beware then Francesco (Pisca•••••• actu•• s••pl••) shee hath once burnt thee, feare fire with the Chil•••• shee hath crost thee with disdaine, couet not her with desi•••••• h••••e h••••, ••or in loathing such a one thou louest thy GOD. Returne not with the dog to the vomit, wallow not with ••wine in the myre, foresee not the best & follow the worst. And 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Fran∣cesco trust me shee is faire, bea••tifull and wise: I but with that a Curtizan•• perhaps she will now loue thee faithfully•• if she doe, fond man, is not her hartie liking, hatefull lu••t•• dangero••s to thy bodie, and damnation to thy Soule. Tis a saying not so common as true, that he which looketh con∣tinually against the Sunne shall at la•••• be blind•••• that who so handleth pitch must needes be de••iled, the tree 〈◊〉〈◊〉 abi∣deth many blasts, at last falleth by the Carpenter 〈◊〉〈◊〉, th•• bird y^• striketh at euery stale cannot long escape the 〈◊〉〈◊〉, ••o long goeth the pitcher to the brooke•• that at last it ••omes bro∣ken home, and hee that securely swimmeth in 〈◊〉〈◊〉 shall surely be drowned in iniquitie, who so ••indeth sins to∣gether shall neuer be neuer be vnreue••g••d in the one, and he that de∣lighteth to offend in youth, shall no doubt fe••le the p••nish∣ment. Quod defir••ur n••n ••nfertur. Though GOD for a time suffer a man to wallow in his owne wick••••nesse, and to say vnto his soule, Tush the Lord regardeth not the way of sinne 〈…〉〈…〉

seeme the more, and thy sinne the greater. He that hath the dropsie, drinketh while he bursteth and yet not 〈◊〉〈◊〉; the Horseleach hath two daughters that neuer trie ••••••ugh who so is slung with the Serpent Dipsas, burneth, ••ut can neuer be c••••led: and who so is inflamed with sinne, thirsteth conti∣nuallie after wickednes•• vntill he hath s••ppe•• the dregges of Gods displeasure, to his owne destruction. Beware by this, fall not into the trap, when thou fee•••• the traine: for knowing the sinne, if thou offendest against thine own con∣science; the Lord will send vpon thee cursing, trouble, and shame in all that thou settest thy hand vnto, and will not cease to reuenge vntill thou perish from off the face of the earth. Oh hast thou not at home an Isabel that is the wife of thy youth and the onely friend of thy bosome, indued with such exquisit•• beautie and exce••ding vertue, that it is hard to iudge whether the pure complexion of her bodie, or the perfect consti••ution of h••r minde, holds the supremacie. And is not a peaceable woman and of a good heart, the gi••t of the Lord? There is nothing so much worth as a woman well in∣structed•• a shame fast and faithfull woman is a double grace, and there is no treasure to bee compared to her continent mind: but as the glistering beames of y^• sun when it ariseth, decketh the heauen: so the beautie of a good wife adorneth the house: & as golden pillers ••••e shine vpon the sockets of siluer, so doth a faire face in a vertuous minde. Shall the fear of God then Francesco be so farre from thine eyes as to leaue thine owne wife and imbrace a Curtizan, to leaue the law of God, and suffer thy heart to be subuerted by ••u••t. The Lyon so abhorreth this crime, as he killeth the Lyo∣nesse, for commit••ing this fac••. Th•• Storke neuer m••d∣let•• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 with ••is 〈◊〉〈◊〉. The Iaci••th 〈◊〉〈◊〉 w•••• not be wor••e on the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of 〈…〉〈…〉, nor the Oliue grow, if pl••••ed 〈◊〉〈◊〉 one tha•• lendeth his life in vnlawfull lusts: and wil•• thou 〈◊〉〈◊〉 thy self more ••a••••les in this crime than 〈…〉〈…〉, more ••••ckles th•••• vnreasonable creatures, more 〈◊〉〈◊〉 than 〈◊〉〈◊〉•• y••a far lesse in vertue than a man, & far 〈…〉〈…〉

vice thā a beast. Thē 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the Lord l••ok down from heauen, and plague thée with a heauy 〈◊〉〈◊〉. At this ••••••use standing a great while in a maze, at last hee stepe to h••s 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and wrote this answere.

Francesco wisheth to Infida remorse of conscience, & regard of honesty.

I Haue read thy letters Infida wherin I hoped to haue 〈◊〉〈◊〉 more honesty and l••sse vani••y; a signe of better though•••••• and lines of more remorse; else had I lef•• them sealed, as I c••uet to leaue thee vnseene. But I percei••e as no time wil alter the Panther from his spots, the Mouse from hir feare, nor the Tyger frō his fearcenes; so neith••r date nor reason will change the conditiōs of a Curtizan: Thou writest thou are pe••i••••••••, so I think, but it is no•• for thy sinnes; but that thou hast not libertie enough to ••in, enioynd by some ouer∣thwart neighbour to be more honest than thou wo••l••••t be, which is ••s great a penāce to one of thy trade, as along pil∣grimage to a s••••rowful Palme••. A ••eare in a 〈…〉〈…〉 like heat ••••ops in a bright 〈…〉〈…〉 the Crocodile when she weep••, a Cur••e••••••s laughter is like to lightning, y^• beawtifies the ••eau•••• for a bl••ze but fore•••••• stormes and thunder. Art tho•• in loue with Francesco, ••••••∣rie gippe Giglet, thy loue sits on thy ••onges 〈◊〉〈◊〉, readie to leape off assoone as thy mouthe ope••s•• and thine hones••ie hangs at thine ••ye•• which fall•• away with euerie 〈…〉〈…〉 art 〈◊〉〈◊〉 with my be aw••••, that is because thou hear••••t I haue a rich p••rse, not afaire face•• for thou va••e west as much of beautie without pence, as a horse of a foyre ••tabl•• without prenēder. Thou art en••ised by my vertues, I wo••∣der how that word vertue comes in thy mouth, when it is so far from thy heart•• and pe••••••o••r••••••••e, for the most infecti∣ous Serpents ha••e sweet••t breathes: ••nd the commone••t Curtezans, the most curteous speeches.

Thou wo••ldest haue mee g••ace thee with my prese•••••••• and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 our old•• friendshippe: so I will, when ••

meane to giue my bodie to y^• Surgeon, & my Soule to the Diuell: for in louing thee, I must needes graunt this Le∣gacie. Thy reason is, that bones once broken, vnited againe, are the strongest. I would thy neck might make the expe∣rience, and then I would trust the instance. But why pe∣••ter I so much paper to so lew•• a person? as I found thee at the first, I leaue thee at the last, euen empty gordgde to bai••e at a full purse, incon••inient, false, periured; as far from God as thou art friend to the Diuell: and so adieu.

Franc••sco penitent, and therefore a persecuter of curtizans.

AFter hee had written this letter he sent it to Infida, ••horeading it, and seeing shee could get••e no 〈◊〉〈◊〉 at the hands of Francesco; that wrought she neuer so subtillie, yet her traines were discouered, that her painted luers could no•• make him stoop, so had ••e with reasō re••elled his former follie: whē she perceiued (I say) that all her 〈◊〉〈◊〉 potions were found to ••e•• poyso••s, though shee couered them neuer so clarkly•• she ••el not in dispaire with ouermuch loue, but swore in her selfe to intend him some sec••e••e ••••e∣iudice, if euer it lay in her by any meanes to procure i••: but leauing her to the Iustice of him that poyseth the deedes of such impenitent persons in his ballance, and committing Francesco to the making of some strange comedie•• I will shew you how Fortune made an assault to the vnfained af∣fection of fayre Isabel.

The discourse of Isabels Fortune••.

ISabel liuing thus pensiue in that shee wanted ••••e pre∣sence of her Francesco, yet for her patience and vertu•• grew so famous, that all Caerbranck talked of her pe••∣fections:

her beautie was admired of euerie eye, bee ••••••li∣ties applauded in euerie mans eare, that she was estéemed for a patterne of vertuous excellence throughout the whole Citie. Amongst the rest that censured of her curious fa∣uours, there was one Signor Bernardo •• Bourgomaster of the Citie, who chauncing on a time to passe by the ••••••re where Isabel so iourned; seeing so sweete a Saint, began to fa••l enamoured of so faire an obiect: and although he was olde, yet the fire of lust crept into his eyes and so inflamed his heart, that with a disordinate desire he began to affect her: but the renowme of her chastitie was such, that it al∣most quatted those sparkes that heated him on to such law∣lesse affection. But yet when he calde to minde that want was a great stumbling blocke, and sawe the necessitie that Isabel was in by the absence of Francesco, he thought gold would bee a readie meanes to gaine a womans good will•• and therefore dispayred not of obtaining his purpose. After that this Signor Bernardo had well noted the exquisite per∣fection of h••r bodie, and how she was adorned with most speciall gifts of nature, he was so snared with the ••etters of lasciuious Concupiscence, as reason could not redresse what lust had ingrafted; his aged yeares yéelded vnto danitie, so that he turned away his minde from God, and durst not lift vp his eyes vnto heauen, least it shoul•• be a witnesse of his wickednesse, or a corasiue to his guiltie conscience: for the remembrance of God is a terrour to the vnrighteous, and the sight of his creatures is a sting to the minde of the ••••∣probate. He therefore feeling his diuellish heart to b••e ••••r∣plexed with such hellish passions, carele•••••••• cast off the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of God from before his eyes, neither remembr•••••• 〈…〉〈…〉 was an Elder to giue good counsaile, ••or a Iudge in th•• ••••∣tie to minister right: his hoarie haires could not ha••e him from sinne, nor his calling conuert him from filthinesse, but he gréedilie drunke vp the dregges 〈…〉〈…〉 carefullie ••us••ed his braines to oppresse 〈…〉〈…〉 obtaine his purpose 〈◊〉〈◊〉 his 〈◊〉〈◊〉 thus. Being 〈…〉〈…〉

Bourgomaster in all the citie, he determined to make a pri∣uie search for some suspected person; and being master of the watch himselfe, to goe vp into her chamber, and there to discouer the depth of his desire, so he thought to ioyne loue and opportunitie in one vnion, and with his office and his age to wipe out all suspition. Age is a crowne of glorie when it is adorned with righteousnesse, but the dregges of dishonor when tis mingled with mischiefe: for honourable age consisteth not in the tearme of yeares, nor is not measu∣red by the date of a mans daies, but godlie wisedome is the gray haire, and an vndef••led life is ••lde age. The Herbe grace the older it is, the ranker smell it hath: the Sea starre is most blacke being olde: the Eagle the more yeares, the more crooked is her bill; and the greater age in wicked men, the more vnrighteousnesse: which this Signor Bernardo tried true; for desire made him hate delap, and therefore within two or three nights, picking out a watch answerable to his wish, hee himselfe (as if it had béen some matter of great import) went abroade, and to colour his follie with the better shadowe, hee searched diuers houses, and at last came to the place where Isabel lay, charging the host to rise and to shewe him her chamber; for (quoth he) I must con∣ferre with her of most secret affaires. The good man of the house obeyed willinglie, as one that held Bernardo in great reuerence, and brought him and the match to the chamber doore. Bernardo taking a ••andle in his hand, ••ad them all de∣part till he had ••alked with the Gentlewoman, which they did, and he entring in shutting the doore, found her fast on sleepe; which fight ••raue the olde Lecher into a 〈◊〉〈◊〉 for there seein•• nature in her pride, lust 〈◊〉〈◊〉 him y^• more, that he sat on ••he bed side a great while viewing of her beau∣tie: at last starting vp, he awak•• her out of a sw••ete ••••umbe•••• Isabel looking vp, and seeing one of the Bourgomasters in the chamber, (for Bernardo was knowne for his grauit•••• and wealth of euery one in the Citie) she was amazed•• yet gathering her wits together, raysing herselfe vp on her pil∣lowe, 〈2 pages missing〉〈2 pages missing〉

although he knewe she 〈◊〉〈◊〉 rightly refell hi•• follie, and ••a••••ly perceiued her c••••••s••ile cooled the extreame of his desires, yet the feare of God was so farre from him, that he prose∣cuted his intent thus.

Signor Bernardos answer to Isabels replie.

WHy Isabel (quoth he) thinkest thou thy painted sp••••••ches, or thy hard d••nialls shall preu••il•• against 〈◊〉〈◊〉 pretended purpose? No, he is a coward that y••eldeth at the first shot, and h•• no•• w••••thie to weare the bud of beautie that is daunted with the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 repulse. I haue the tr••e in my hand and meane to enioy the fruite: I haue he••ten the bush and now will not let the birds ••••ie•• and seei••g 〈…〉〈…〉 here alone, your 〈…〉〈…〉 shall stand for no sterlin•• ••hat if you consent, bee 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of a most trust••e fr••••nd•• if not, hope for no other hap b•••• open infamie. For ••••ou knowest (Isabel) that a womans chiefest treasure is her good 〈◊〉〈◊〉, & that shee which hath 〈◊〉〈◊〉 her ••redite is h••lfe hanged, for death cu••s off all miseries, but 〈◊〉〈◊〉 is y^• beginning of all sorrowes. Sith then infamie i•• worse than losse of life, as∣sure thy sel••e I will 〈◊〉〈◊〉 thee to the quicke, for I will pre∣sentlie send thee to prison, and cause some R••ffi••n in the ci∣tie to sweare ••hat stars y^• absence of thy 〈…〉〈…〉 Franc••s•••••• he hath 〈…〉〈…〉 so shall 〈…〉〈…〉 punishm••nt, and make 〈◊〉〈◊〉 laughing stocke to the world, odious to thy friends, a••d to liue hated of thy husband: mine 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and au••hor••tie, my ag•• and 〈…〉〈…〉 my pr••ten••e 〈…〉〈…〉 th••n (••ai••e Is••bel) 〈…〉〈…〉 of thy 〈…〉〈…〉 thy selfe a wi••e woman, 〈…〉〈…〉 ••••••••bel hearing the mis••hieuous 〈…〉〈…〉 Le••h••r and se••ing he had 〈…〉〈…〉 she coul•• not auoid 〈…〉〈…〉

of the bodie or the destruction of the soule, was so driuen in∣to such a passionate dilemma, that she burst foorth into teares, sighes and plaints, which she blubbred foorth on this wise.

Alas (quoth she) most vile and vniust wretch, is the feare of God so farre from thy minde, that thou seekest not only to sacke mine honour, but to sucke my bloud? Is it not in∣iurie enough that thou seekest to spoyle mine honestie, but that you long to spill my life? Hath thy swéete loue preten∣ded such bitter tast? Is this the fruite of your fained fan∣cie? No doubt the cause must bee pernicious when the ef∣fect is so pestilent. Flatter not yourselfe in this thy follie, nor sooth not thy thoughts in thy sinnes; for there is a God that seeth and will reuenge, and hath promised that who bindeth two 〈◊〉〈◊〉 together shall not be vnpunished in the one. But what auaileth it to talke of wisedome to a foole, or of the wrath of God to a wilfull reprobate. The Charmer charme hee neuer so wisely, charmes in vaine if the Adder be deaffe; and he casteth stones against the winde that see∣keth to drawe the wicked from his follie: let me therefore (poore soule) more narrowlie consider mine owne case, I am perplexed with diuers doubtfull passions, and gréeuous troubles assaileth me on euerie side: if I commit this crime though neuer so secretly, yet the Lord is 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, and pear∣ceth into the verie thoughts, and mine owne conscience will be a continuall witnesse against me of this wickednesse: Sto∣pendium peccatimors, then what other hap can I hope for but perpetuall damnation, sith the Lord himselfe hath pro∣mised to bee a swi•••• witnesse against all wilfull adulterers: And if I consent not vnto this vnrighteous wretch, I am like to be vniustlie accused of the like crime, and so shall I being guiltlesse, haue mine honour euer blemishe with infa∣mie. By this meanes what a discredite shall I bring to my parents, to my husband and my children: the hoarie hai••es of my father shall be brought with sorrowe vnto the graue, Francesco shall be ashamed to shewe his face in the streates

of the Citie, and my 〈…〉〈…〉 seede of an harlot•• and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 alas I m•• self•• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ••ack∣lesse. Why my secret offence shal 〈◊〉〈◊〉 al this open shame; The Lord is slow to wr••th, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 his mercie exceedeth al his workes: hee wisheth not the death 〈…〉〈…〉 ••nd 〈◊〉〈◊〉 re∣pentance pacifi••th his displeasure. But oh vile wretch that I am, why doe I blaspheme 〈…〉〈…〉 the L•••• and his Law? why doe A 〈…〉〈…〉 C••n I say I will rep•••••• at my 〈◊〉〈◊〉 or shall I 〈◊〉〈◊〉 sinne in hope because the Lorde is merci••••ll? 〈◊〉〈◊〉, it i•• better for me to fall into thy handes 〈…〉〈…〉 commit the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 than to sinne in the sight of the Lor•••• shal I not rather feare God than man; and dread him more that killeth both soule and body, than him that h••th pow••r 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to kil the bodie one∣ly? Yet his feare shall be my def••••ce. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 with 〈◊〉〈◊〉 shee raysed her selfe vp, spitted in his face, and wisht him to doe his worst: whereupon ••e calle•• vp the w••tch, and comman∣ded her to make hee readie, for sh•••• should to priso••. Her Host wondring what the cause should 〈…〉〈…〉 to her ••ctions and the ••ertue of he•• life; 〈…〉〈…〉 his word for he••, that she should the ••ext day 〈◊〉〈◊〉 what∣soeuer should be obiected against her•• but hi•• wo••de woulde not be taken; for Bernardo 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ••ull of ••urie, & caried her a∣way to prison; where d••epel•• grie••••d, and yet smothering her sorrow wi••h patience, 〈…〉〈…〉 next morrow assoone as day brake, she cald for pen and inck and wrote this mournfull 〈◊〉〈◊〉.

Isabels Sonnet that she made in prison.

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No 〈…〉〈…〉 For 〈…〉〈…〉 The 〈…〉〈…〉 The 〈…〉〈…〉

Report that sild to honour is a friend, May many li••s against true meaning mynt: But yet at last, Gainst slaunders blast, Truth doth the silly sackles soule defend.

Though false reproach seeks honour to distaine, And enuy bites the bud though nere so pure, Though lust doth seek to blemish ••hast desire: Yet truth tha•• b••o••kes not falshoods flaunderous staine, Nor can the spight of en••ies wrath indure: Will trie tru•• loue from lust in I••stice fire: And mau••ge•• all Well free from thr•••••• The guiltles soule that keepes his footing sure.

Where innocence triumpheth in her prime, And guilt cannot approach the honest mind; Where chast intent is free from any misse, Though 〈◊〉〈◊〉 striue, yet searching time With piercing insight will the truth out finde, And make discouerie who the guiltie is•• For time still tries The truth from lies: And God makes open what the world doth blinds.

Veritas Temp••ris filia.

ISabel wetting her sonnet with ••eares, and pronouncing euery line with a sigh, sate in a dump. Whilest the fame of this fact was spread abroad throughou•• al Caerbrāck, euery man began sundrie coniectures as affection led them: her friendes sorrowing suspected the cankred mind of the Burgomaster; yet for his calling durst not discouer their suspition: hir foes laughing saide, that dissembled holynes was a double sinne, and that the holi••st cou••••enaunce hath

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mischiefes, I thought it my duety to bring her into open infamie that she may be punished for her fault, knowen for a h••rlot, and from hencefoorth liue dispised and hated of all For proofe that shee hath liued long in this leawd kinde of life, this young man shall here before you all make present deposition; and with that he reacht him •• bible: whereo•• he swore that hee had long time conuerst dishonestly with Isa∣bel, euer since the departure of her husband. At which oath the people that were Iurours in the cause, beleeuing the protestation of Bernardo, and the deposition of the youth, presently found hir guiltie: and then Bernardo and the rest of the B••rgomasters gaue iudgement, that she should pre∣sently haue some open and seue•••• punishment, & after ••t bani∣shed ••ut of the town. Assoone as Isabel heard the censure, she appeald for no mercy, nor bashed any whit, as one desirous of fauour; but lifting vp her eyes to heauen, onely sayd thus. O God which seest the secrets of all hearts, and knowest all things before they come to passe, which des••er••est the very inward thoughts, and ••riest the heart and the reines: Thou knowe••t that because I would not consent vnto the filthie Iust of this ••oting lecher; nor agree by defiling my husbands bed to fulfil his fleshly desires, that he hath slandred me with that crime wherof I was neuer guilty, that he hath produced this young ma•• by sinister subornation to periure himself in a fault wheras not so much as in thought I cōmit∣ted such a fact; he hath to satisfie his malicious mind without cause deuised this false crime. I confesse O Lordis be a most grieuous offend••r, and to deserue farre greater punishment, but not for this d••••••e. Heare then O Lord my pr••yer, and let the innocence of my case plead before thy deuine maies••y: if it be thy will pre•••••••• his 〈◊〉〈◊〉, confound his coun∣sels and let him which hath digged the pit for others, fall into the snare himselfe. Thou hast neuer as yet O Lorde lets the su••c••••rles without helpe•• but hast deliuered them which feare thee frō al aduersiti••: thou did••se set free Ioseph from the handes of his brethren which sought to spill his

bloud, and didst preuent the practises of S••••l, inte••••ed a∣gainst thy seruant Dauid•• Elize•••• 〈…〉〈…〉 Dotham was not onely freed from his 〈◊〉〈◊〉 but also guar∣ded about with a troupe of holy Angels: Elias was ••re∣serued from the cruel••ie of Iesabel, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 with Rauens. But chiefly in my case; howe mightily ••i••st thou 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Susanna from the ••reacherie of the two Elders in raysing vp young Daniel to maintaine her right•• Nay 〈◊〉〈◊〉 hath tru∣sted in thy mercie, which hath come to mish••ppe•• or who hath put his hope in thee and hath suffered harme. So O Lord, if it be thy will thou canst disciose the deuise of this Signor Bernardo, and vnfoulde the follyes of this false wit••esse: helpe then O LORD, for in thee is my trust.

The people hearing the solemne protestation of sorrow∣ful Isabel, though•• she had spoken these words to excuse her fault, but not that shee was guiltles of the fact; giuing more credite to the reuerend age of Bernardo, and the ••ath of the young man countena••••tou•• by the B••rgomaster; th••n to the young yea••es of a simple woman, supposing her spea∣ches were more of custom•• to cloake her follies, than of con∣science to cleare her of that crime; and therefore they woul•• haue returned her back againe vnto prison, till the day as∣signed for her punishment. As sh••e was readie to be caried away, hee which had accused I••abel ••••are vp as a man lu••••∣ticke, and cried out vnto the peopl•••• Thus I haue ••ame•• men of Caerbranck, I haue sinned•• the thought of my ••••e∣sent periurie is a hell to my 〈◊〉〈◊〉; for I hau•• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 fal••ly against th•• innocent and haue co••sented to condemne Isabel without cause: an•• wi••h that hee 〈◊〉〈◊〉 at the ba••re how Signor Bernardo had 〈◊〉〈◊〉 him against the Gentlewoman, and how in all hi•• life before he neuer wa•• in her comp••••••e. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 which confession of the young man, the Burg••m••st••••s examined the matter more effec••••∣ally, and found tha•• ••sabel was cleare, tha••••, honest and vertuous, and Bernardo was a doting lecher: where••p••••

they not onely amersed him in a great fine, to bee payde to Isabel, but put him for euer after from ••earing any office in the Citie.

Thus was Isabel deliuered from her enimies, and rec∣koned more famous for hir chastitie through al Caerbranck. This strange euent spread abroad through all the countrey•• and as fame ••lies swift and far, so at last i•• came to the eares of Francesco: for he sitting in Tr••ynouant at an ordinarie a∣mongst other Gentleman, heard this fortune of Isabel re∣ported at the table for straunge newes, by a Gentleman of Caerbranck, who brought in Isabel for a myrrour of chasti∣tie, and added this more, that she was married to a Gentle∣man of a ripe witte, good parentage, and well skild in the liberall Sciences, but (quoth he) an vnthrist; and one that hath not beene with his wife this sixe yeares. At this all the table condemned him as passing vnkinde, that could wrong so vertuous i•• wife with absence: He was silent and blusht, feeling the worme of his conscience to wring him; and that with inch a sharpe sting, that assoone as he got into his chamber, he fell to meditate with himselfe of the great abuses he offered his wife, the excellence of her exteriour perfection, her beautie, vertue, and other rare ornaments of nature presented themselues into his thoughts, that he be∣gan not onely to be passing passionate; but deepely peni∣tent, sorrowing as much at his former follies, as his hope was to ioy in his ensuing goood fortunes: Now he saw that Omnia sub sole vanitas: that beautie without vertue was like to a glorious flower without any operation, which the A∣pothecaries set in their shoppes for to be seene, but assoone as it withereth, they cast it into the furnace as an vnprofi∣table weede: that the imbracings of a Curtizan seeme they neuer so sweete, yet they were the paths to destruction; that their lookes were stales vnto death, and the foldes of their ha••des are fetters to snare men in sinne. Now hee sawe that pride was extreame folly, for such as look•• most high against the Sunne grew soonest blinde: that Icarus caught

his fall, by soring high•• that ••ime 〈◊〉〈◊〉 spent in••••••itie, in ry∣otous companie, amongst a ••rew of carelesse Caualier••, that would boast it in the towne, not braue in the field wa•• neither to bee recalled nor recompen••••. Oh Francesco (quoth hee) how 〈◊〉〈◊〉 thou beene lead away with euery loo••e, fed vppon with Trencher flie••, eaten aliue ••ith fla••te••••rs, giuen to look at a ••••oddesse more than thy God, more readie to a Bowle th••n thy Boo••e, squaring in the streetes when thou shoul••••st bee meditating in thy chamber. If thou knowest these to be extreame parts o•• follie, repent and amend: The Deare knowing Tam••risk is deadly to his nature, scornes to come neare the tree. The Unicorne will not brooke to re••t vnder a Cytron t••ee, for that hee holdes it mortall: The Eleph••n•• will flie out of the comp••nie of a murtherer. These brute beasts auoide what nature tells them is perilous: thou huntest after those harmes with greedinesse, that thou knowest are pre∣iudiciall.

Well Francesco, then now or else n••uer t••ey with such follies; steppe at the bottom, ••nd then it is S••ro, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 let it bee Seri•••• home to thy wife of shy youth, recon••ile thy selfe to her, she will forgiue and forget thy former fondnesse, a••d entertaine her penitent pa••••m••••r, with as great kind••esse•• as he comes home with penau••••e: What man, Nu••qu•••• sera ••st ad bonos mores via. With that Francesco tooke ••en•• and paper, and wrote this 〈◊〉〈◊〉.

Francescoes Sonnet, made in the prim•• of his penaunce.

With sweating browes I long haue plowde the sand•••• My seeds was youth, my cr••ppe was endl••sse care: Repent hath sent me home with emptie hands At last, to tell how rife our follies are:

And time hath left experience to approue•• The gaine is griefe to those that traffique lo••e.

The sil••nt thought of my repentant ye••res That fill my head, haue cald m•• home at last: Now loue vnmaskt a wanton wretch apeares; Begot by guilefull thought with ouer hast. In prime of youth a rose, in age a we••de, That for a minutes i••ye payes endlesse neede.

Dead to delights, a foe to fond conceipt, Allied to wit by want, and sorrow bought: Farewell fond youth, long fostred in deceipt: Forgiue me Time disguis•• in idle thought. And Loue adew, loe hasting to mine ende; I finde no time too late for to amend.

HAuing framed this sonet, he gaue the coppy to some of his friends•• making ma••ifest to them his resolu∣tion to leaue Troynouant, and to go home, and by their help, who furnished him with such necessaries ••s he did want, he in short time tooke his iour••ey. The day of his de∣parture was ioyfull to all his friends, in so much that as manie as knew of his Iurney, gathered themselues togea∣ther, and made him a banquet; where (verie merie and plea∣sant) they karoust to the health of his Isabel: One amongst the rest who loued Francesco so tenderlie, tooke a cuppe of wine in his hand, & with teares in his eies, said thus: Fran∣cesco, I haue nothing to giue thee, being my selfe pinched with want: but some precepte•• of witte that I ha••e bought with much experience, those shalt thou haue at my ha••des. which if thou put in practise, think I haue giuen much tre••∣sure.

The farewell of a friend.

• 1 Let gods worship be thy mornings work, and his wisedome the direction of thy daies labour.
• ...

• 2 Rise not without thankes, not sleepe not without re∣pentance.
• 3 Choose but a fewe friends and trie those; for the fla••∣terer speakes fairest.
• 4 If thy wife be wise make her thy Secretarie, else locke thy thoughts in thy heart, for women are sildome silent.
• 5 If she be faire, bee not iealous; for suspition cures not womens follies.
• 6 If she be wise, wrong her not: for if thou louest others she will loath thee.
• 7 Let thy childrens nou••••ure be their richest portion: for wisedome is more precious than wealth.
• 8 Be not proude amongst thy poore neighbours: for a poore mans hate is perilous.
• 9 Nor too familiar with great men: for presumption wins disdaine.
• 10 Neither bee too prodigall in thy fare, nor die not in∣debted to thy bellie, but enough is a feast.
• 11 Bee no•• enuious, least thou fall in thine owne thoughes.
• 12 Vse patience, mirth, and quiet: for care is enemie to health.

And Francesco (quoth his friend) that thou maiest re∣member my precepts I drinke to thée. Upon this he pl••••∣ged him, and so in pleasant that they past away the time till breakfast was done, and then he ga•• him to horse, and then brought him a mile out of the Cit••e. At last, alt••ough they playd loth to depart, yet Francesco must away, but before he departe••, when they were readie to shake hands, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 out of his sléeue a Sonnet that he had made and gaue them it. The effec••s were these.

Francescos Sonnet cald his parting blow.

Reason that long in prison of my will Hast wept thy mistris wants and losse of time: Thy wonted siege of honour safely clime, To thee I yeeld as guiltie of mine ill.

Lo (fettered in their teares) mine eyes are prest To pay due homage to their nati••e guide, My wretched heart wounded with bad betide, To craue his peace f••••m reason, is addrest.

My thoughts ashamd since by themselues consumd, Haue done their duetie to rep••ntant wit: Ashamde of all sweete guide I sorie sit, To see in youth how I too farre presumde.

Thus he whom loue and errour did betray, Subscribes to thee, and takes the better way. Sero sed serio.

Assoone as hee had deliuered them the Sonnet, shaking hands, he put spurres to his horse and roade onward on his iourney•• within fiue vaies hee arriued at Caerbrancke, where assoone as he was lighte•• he went to the house where his wife soiourned, and one of the maides espying Frances∣co, yet knewe him for all his long absence, and ••anne in and tolde it to Isabel that her husband was at the d••ore: she be∣ing at worke in he•• chamber, sat at this newes a•• one in an extasie, vntill Francesco came vp, who 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ••he 〈◊〉〈◊〉 sighe of his wife, considering the excellencie of her beautie, her ver∣tues, chastitie, and other perfections, and measuring he•• constancie with his disloyaltie, stoode as a man metamor∣ph••sed: at last he began thus.

Ah Isabel, what shal I say to thy fortunes or my 〈◊〉〈◊〉? what exordium shall I ••se to shewe my penance, or disco••e•• my sorrowes, or expresse my present ioyes & For I ••ell th••e I conceiue as great pleasure to s•••• th•••• well, as griefe in that I haue wronged thee with my absence. Might sighes, (Isabel) teares, plaints, or any such exteriour p••ssions pour∣tray out my inward repentance, I would shewe thee the A∣natomie of a most distressed man: but ••mongst many sor∣rowing thoughts there is such a confusion, that superflu•••••••• ••f griefes stops the source of my discontent. To figure out my follies or the extremitie of my fancie••, were but to m••∣nifest the bad course of my life•• and ••o ra•• the fearre by ••••••∣ting out mine owne scathe•• a•••• theref••re 〈◊〉〈◊〉 it suffice, I r••∣pent heartelie, I sorrowe ••eeplie, and meane to amend and continue in the same constan••ite. A•• th•••• Francesco st••••de and w••p••, which Isabel seeing, conteined by ••is outward griefes his secret passions, and therefore taking him about the necke, wetting his cheekes with the teares that fell from her eyes, she made him this womanlie, and wise an∣swere.

What Francesco, comest thou home ful of woes, or s••ekest thou at thy returne to make me wéepe? Hast thou be•••• long absent, and now bringest thou me a treatise of discon••ent? I see thou are penitent, and therefore I like not to heare wh••t follie•• are past. It 〈◊〉〈◊〉 for Isabel that he••cefoor••h thou wilt loue I••••bel. and vpon that condition without any more wordes welcome to Isabel. With that she smiled and wept, and in doing both together sealed vp all her contra∣rie passions in a kisse. Many lo••kes p••st betweene them, many odde 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and many fauours•• but what they did, or how th••y agreed in secrete that I 〈…〉〈…〉 foorth they c••me great 〈◊〉〈◊〉 out of the chamber, where Frances∣co was welcomed home of his wifes ••ost with great cheate•• who to shewe his kindnesse the more, ••ad prouided •• ••••∣lemne ••an••••e••, hauing hidden many of hi•• neighbours to supper, that they might accompanie F••••••••esco.

Well, supper being done and they sitting by the fire, the host seeing them all in a dumpe, sayd, that to driue them out of their melancholie he would tell them a tale, which they al desirous of, sat silent, and he began thus.

The Hosts tale.

IN Thessalie, where Nature hath made the soyle proude with the beautie of Shepheards, there dwelled a swayne called Selador; auncient, as hauing age seated in his haires; and wealthie, as infeoffed with great possessions; and honest, as being indued with many vertuous qualities. This Selador had to ioy him in his age a daughter of great beautie, so exquisite in her exteriour feature, as no blemish might eclipse the glorie that Nature b••stowed in her linia∣ments. As thus she was faire, so was she wise, and with her wit ioyned vertue, that to behold, she was Helena; to heare, Pallas; and to court, a Daphne. This Damosell whose name was Mirimida, kept h••r fathers shéepe, & in a scarlet peticoate, with a chaplet of flowers on her head, went euery day to the ••••••lds, where she plide the care of her fa∣thers foldes with such diligence, that she seemed with La∣bour to enter armes against Loue, & with her hands thrift to preuent her hear••s gréefe. Using thus daylie the playnes of Thessalie, the Shepheards delighted at the gaze of so excellent an obiect, and held their eyes fortunate when they might behold her feature, estéeming him happie that could lay his flockes néerest to her foldes. Amongst the rest of all the swaynes that fed their thoughts 〈◊〉〈◊〉 hee fauours, there was one called Eurymachus, a young youth that had th•• pride of his yeares triumphing in his countenance, wittie and full of pleasant conceipts, and that Fortune might iumpe with loue, and make him gracious in womens eyes he was wealthie; for gold is the Chrisocoll of loue. This Eurymachus alwaies so plotten the course of his shéepe

walke, that he was next neighbour to Mirimida, in so much that to discouer his fancie hee did her often fauours; for when any of her Lambes went ••••tray, or any thing grewe amisse, then Eurymachus was the swayne that indeuoured by his labour to redresse euery losse. By this meanes hée waxed priuate and familiar with Mirimida, which was the meanes that wrought him into a preiudiciall l••borinth; for he did so neere acced••r•• ad ig••em, that hée did calescere plu•• quam saetis: for as none comes néere the fume of the Mis∣selden but he waxeth blind, nor any touch the Salamander but he is troubled with the palsie; so none could gaze on the face of Mirimida 〈◊〉〈◊〉 they went away l••nguishing. This did poore E••rymachus experience: for although he knewe Loues fires were fatall, and did not warme but scortch; yet he loued with the bird ••o flie to the ••lame though he burne his wings and fell in the ••ush; he would not with Vlisses stop his eares, but sit and sing with the Syreus; he feared no inchantment, but caroust with Circes, till his ouerdaring drewe him into a passionate danger, and so long suckt in the beautie of Mirimida with his euer thirstie eyes, till his hart was fuller of passions, than his eyes of affections: yet disco∣uer his thoughts he durst not, but smoothered vp his inward paynes with outward silence; hauing the Ouen the hatter within for that it was dam•• vp, and his gre••fes the deeper for that they were concealed. To ma••ifest his maladie to her he durst no••, he thought himselfe too homely a patient for such a Phisition: to vtter his loue•• to another and make any his Secretarie but himselfe, he supposed was to drawe in a riuall to his loues. Thus was Eurymachus perplexed, till at last to giue a little ••ent to the flame, sitting on a day on a hill, hée puld foorth pen and incke, and wrote this fancie.

Eurymachus fancie in the prime of his affection.

When lordly Saturne in a sable roabe Sat full of frownes and mourning in the West, The euening starre scarce p••••pt from out her lodge, And Phoebus nowly gallopt to his rest: Euen th••n Did I Within my boate sit in the silent streames, All voyd of cares as he that lies and dr••am••s.

As Phao so a Ferriman I was, The countrie lasses sayd I was too faire, With easie toyle I labourd at mine ••are, To passe from side to side who did repaire: And then Did I For pain••s take pence, and Charon like transport Assoone the swayne as men of high import.

When want of worke did giue me l••aue to rest, My sport was catching of the wanton fish: So did I weare the tedious time away, And with my labour mended oft my dish•• For why I thought That idle houres were Calenders of ruth•• And time ill spent was preiudice to youth.

I scornd to loue, for were the Nimph as fa••re As she that loued the beauteous Latmian swayne, Her face, her eyes, her tresses, nor her browes Like Iuorie could my affection gaine:

For•• by I said With high disdaine, Loue is a base desire, And Cupids flames, why the are but ••atrie fire.

As thus I sat disdayning of proud loue, Haue euer F••rri•••••• there cried a boy, And with him was a paragon, for bu•• A louely 〈◊〉〈◊〉 beauteous and coy, And ••••ere With her. A maiden, couered with a t••••nie val••, Her face vnseene far breeding louers bal••.

I stird my boate, and when I came to shoare The boy was wingd, me thought it was a wonder: The dame had eyes like lightning or the flash That runnes before ••he 〈◊〉〈◊〉 report of thunder; Her smiles. Were sweet••, Louely her face: was neere so faire a creature, For earthly cark••sse had a heauenly feature.

My friend (quoth she) 〈…〉〈…〉 behold, We three must passe, but not af••r thing fare, But I will giue (for 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Queene of l••ue) The brightest lasse thou lik'st vnto thy share, Choose where Thou ••••est, Be she as faire as Loues sweete Ladi•• is, She shall 〈◊〉〈◊〉 if 〈◊〉〈◊〉 will be thy blisse.

With that she smiled with such a pleasing face, As might haue made the marble rocke relent: But that I triumph•• in disdaine of loue, Bad 〈◊〉〈◊〉 on him 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ••o fond loue was bent,

And then Said thus, So light the Ferriman for loue doth care, As Venus passe not, if she pay no f••r••.

At thi•••••• a frowne ••at on her angrie brow, She winkes vpon her wanton sonne hard by: He from his quiuer drow a bolt of fire, And aymd so right as that he pearst mine eye: And then Did she Draw downe the v••le that hid the virgins face, Whose heauenly beauti•• lightned all the place.

Straight then I leande mine arme vpon mine eare, And ••ookt vpon the Nymph (if so) was faire: Her eyes were starres, and like Apollos lo••ks Me thought appeard the tramels of her haire. Thus did I ga••e And suckt in beautie till that sweete desire Cast fue•••• on and set my thought on fire.

When I was lodgd within the net of loue, And th••t they saw my heart was all on flame, The Nymph away, and with her trips along The winged boy, and with her goes his dame. Oh then I cried Stay Ladies stay and take not any care•• You all shall passe and pay no penny fare••

Away they fling, and looking coylie backe They laugh at me: oh with a loude disdaine. I send out sighes to ouertake the Nimphs, And t••••res a•• lures to call them backe againe:

But ••••ey Flie ••hence, But I sit in my boat••, with 〈…〉〈…〉 And feele a pain••, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 knowe not what 〈◊〉〈◊〉 sore.

At last I feele it is the flame of loue, I striue but bootlesse to expresse the paine, It cooles, it fires, i•• hopes, i•• feare••, i•• fr••ts, And s••irreth passions thr••••ghout euery 〈◊〉〈◊〉 That 〈◊〉〈◊〉 I sat•• And sighing did fair•• Venus lawes appr••••••, And swore n•• thing so ••weete and sowre as loue, ••r•• ••lorida pungu••••.

Hauing made this Canzon he put it in his bosome, and oft when he was by himselfe would reade it, easing his pas∣sion with viewing the conceip••s of his owne fancie: on a day hauing brought downe his s••eep•• he espies Mirimida, a••d to her he goes, and after his wonted salut•• sat downe by her, and fell to such ••hat 〈…〉〈…〉, int••r∣medling his passion with so 〈◊〉〈◊〉 sighes, 〈…〉〈…〉 his eye so effectually vpon her face without 〈◊〉〈◊〉, that she per∣ceiued the Shepheard had 〈…〉〈…〉, and that there was none but she that b••re the Antidote. As thus she noated his passions, she espied a 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of paper sticking out of his bosome, which she 〈…〉〈…〉 p••••ceiuing it was a Sonne•• she read it, and th•••• lo••king ear∣nestlie on Eurymachus 〈…〉〈…〉, and she with a friendly smile began to crosse him 〈◊〉〈◊〉 this 〈◊〉〈◊〉.

What Eurymachus 〈…〉〈…〉 labours wipe away wanton Amours, nor thy sh••••pes care preuent thy 〈◊〉〈◊〉 loue? I had thought fancie 〈◊〉〈◊〉 not 〈◊〉〈◊〉 on thy ••••ele, nor affection presented any obiect ••o thine eye•• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 now 〈…〉〈…〉 the Cameli••n cannot liue without ayre, 〈…〉〈…〉∣••er without fire: so men 〈…〉〈…〉 quiet in 〈◊〉〈◊〉 life, vnlesse

they acquaint them with l••ue: I see swaynes are not such swads but they haue thoughts and passions, and be they ne∣uer so lowe they can looke at beautie. Corydon in his gray cassocke had his faire Phillis, and Menalcas could court Galatea in his Shepheards cloake, and Eurymachus be he neuer so homely will hazarde, but at whome there lies the question.

At whom (quoth Eurymachus) ah Mirimida, at one that is too high for my thoughes, and too beauteous for my for∣tunes: so that as I haue soared with the Hobby, I shall bate with the Bunting; & daring with Phaeton, I shall drowne with Icarus: mine eye was too proude, my thoughts too for∣ward; I haue stared at a ••••arre, but shall stumble at a stone, and I feare because I haue ouerlookt in loue, I shal be ouer∣laid in loue. With that he sighed, and Mirimida smiled and made this replie. Why Eurymachus, a man or a mouse? what is there any Cedar so high but the slowest snayle will créepe to the top? any fortune so base but will aspire; any loue so precious but hath his prize? What Eurymachus, a Cat may looke at a King, and a swaynes eye hath as high a reach as a Lords looke. Vulcan in his leather sutes courted Venus in her silkes: the swayne of La••mos w••ed Luna, both dare••, and both had their desires. What? Loue re∣quires not wealth but courage, & parentage is not so high prizd by fancie as personage: fe••••e not man, if thou hast lookt hie, followe thy though••s, and crie loues fauours, for deniall is no dishonour. Eurymachus hearing Mirimida in such an amorous humour, incouraged by her perswasions, thought now to strike while the yron was hot, and therefore taking her by the hand began thus.

Trueth Mirimida, Venus ••awes are bounded with con∣straint, and when loue leadeth the eye, desire kéepes no com∣passe: when Paris courted Helena, though she were coy and denied, yet was she not discourteous & disdained; for she an∣swered thus mildly: Nemo etenim succens••t amanti. This (Mirimida) makes me hardie to take thee by the hand, and

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Nay (quoth Eu••ymachus) and hee tooke her ••ast by the arme, if I were sure you had power as Diana had to plague me with Act•••••••• punishment, you passe not without a little more prattle; if I anger you, tis first a preparation ••o •• good stomacke, for ••holler is a friend to digestion: secondly, as the Chrisocoll and the golde by long stri••ing together growe to bee one mettall; so by o••e falling out we shall be be••ter friends: for

Amantium i••ae amoris redintegratio est.

Therefore (faire Mistris) si•• still and graunt some fauour to him that is ••e pained with fancie, I will loue you though I am poore, and a King can doo but so much: if you thinke my degrée be to•• lowe for so high beautie, thinke of all parte•• the meane is the mer••iest, and that the Shepheards gray hath lesse grie••e ••ho•• th•• Lordly estates: I knowe women must be coy, because they are women, and they must haue time to be wonne, or else they would be thought to ••e wan∣tons•• therefore whatsoeuer you say now I holde it not au∣thent••call, yet for that I would haue some hope, goo•• M••∣rimida let me see th••e laugh. She could not but smile to see the Shepheard so pleasant, and so Eurymathus rested con∣tent, and from amor••us that they fell to talke of other mat∣ters till euening grewe on, and then they folded their sheepe and with a friendly 〈◊〉〈◊〉 parted.

Eurymachus was not alone thus 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of the fal•••• Mirimida, bu•• all the Shepheards of Thessalie wri•• Po∣••ms and D••••••es of her bea••••ie, and we••e ••ute••s to her for fauour; she like 〈◊〉〈◊〉 held loue in 〈◊〉〈◊〉, and yet wa•• courteous to all 〈◊〉〈◊〉 o••her kinde of conference. Amongs•• the rest, Venus (••e••••ke) willing to bee pleasant, had 〈◊〉〈◊〉 one in the laborinth of loue called Mullidor, a ••ellow•• ••h•••• was of honest patents, but very poore, and his person•••••• was as if he had been cast in Esops moul••, his 〈◊〉〈◊〉 like•• 〈…〉〈…〉 of the largest life in folio, able to furnish a Coble•••• 〈◊〉〈◊〉

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sat downe to his pottage and eate off his 〈◊〉〈◊〉 full, the old woman stumbles to the pot againe for a fresh messe. Ah mother (quoth hee with a great sigh) no more br••ath ••o nigh••: with that she clapt her hand o•• her knee, and swore her ••oy was not well that hée forsooke his supping, yet hée fell to a peece of bacon that stood on the board, and a ••ough barley pudding: but he rose before the rest and gat him into a corner, where folding his armes together he sat thinking on his loue. Assoone as the rest of the swaynes were vp from the table and turning Crabbes in the fire, she tooke her sonne into the seller, and sitting downe in her chaire began thus.

Sonne Mullidor, thy chéekes are lea••e, and thou lookest like le••ton, pale & wanne, I saw by thy stomacke to night thou art not thine owne man, thou hadst alate (God saue thée) a louely fat paire of chéekes, and now thou lookest like a shotte•• herring: Tell me Mullidor, and feare not to tell me, for thou tellest it to thy mother, what aylest thou? Is it griefe of bodie or of minde that keepes thée on holidaies from frisking it at the footeball? Thou art not as thou wert wont, & therefore say what thou aylst, and thou sh••l•• see old women haue good counsaile.

At th••se spéeches of his mother, Mullidor fetche a great sigh, and with that (being after supper) he brake winde•• which Callena hearing, oh sonne (quoth she) tis ••he Collic•• that troubles thée; to bed man, to bed, and wée will haue a warme p••tled. The Collick mother, no tis a disease that all the cunning women in the Countrie cannot cure, and strangely it holdes me for sometimes it paynes me in the head•• somewhiles in mine eyes; my heart, my heart, oh there mother it playes the diuell in a morter•• somewhile it is like a frost, cold•• sometimes as a fire, hot: when I should sleepe then it makes m•• wake; when I eate it troubles my stomacke; when I am in companie it makes me sigh; and when I am alone it makes me crie right out, that I ••an

wet one of my newe Lo••ker•••• ••apkins w••••h weeping. It came to me by a great chau••••e•• for as I 〈◊〉〈◊〉 on a faire ••lower, a thing I knowe not what 〈◊〉〈◊〉 in at 〈◊〉〈◊〉 eyes, a••d ranne round about all my vay••••s, and at last ga•• int•• my heart, and there euer since hath remained, and there mother euer since so wring•• me, that Mullidor must dye, and with that he fell on weeping.

Call••na seeing her sonne shed ••••ares, fell to her hemp••n apron and wipt her bleared eyes, and at last demaunded of him if it were not loue. At that question he hung downe his head and fighthed. Ah my sonne (quoth she) now I see tis loue; for he is such a sneaking fellowe, that if he bu•• le••••e in at the eylid a••d diue downe into the heart, and there rests as colde as a stone, yet touch him and he wi•••• s••••ike: for t••ll me Mullidor, what is she that thou lo••est and will not loue thee? If she bee a woman as I ••m, she cannot ••ut fancie thée; for mine eye though it bee now olde (and with that vp went her apron and she wipt them cléere) hath b••en a wanton when it was young, and would haue chosen at the first glance the prope••est springall in the Parish: and trust me Mullidor, but bée not proude of it, when I looke on thee I finde ••hee so louely, that I count her worse th••n accurst would not ch••ose thee for her Paramour. With these woordes Mullidor began to smile, and trou••led his mother ere she had halfe ended he•• tale on this ma••∣ner.

Mother, I may righ••••y compare the Church to a l••o∣king glasse; for as man may see himselfe in the one, and the••e see his proportion: so in the other the wenches e••••s are a testificate; for vpp•••• whome you se•• all the girles looke, hée for foo••e and fare carries away the bell, and I am sure for these two yeares I ne••er come in••o the Church and was no sooner set, but the wenches began to winke one on another to looke on mée and laugh. Oh ware mo∣ther when a dogge wagges his taile hée loues his master,

and when a woman laughs, for my life she is ouer the head & eares in loue. Then if my fortune serue me to be so well thought on, why should I not ••enter on her I loue. It is (mother) Seladors daughter Mirimida. Now Gods bles∣sing on thy heart (quoth Callen••) for louing such a smugge lasse, marrie her (my sonne) and thou shalt haue my benizon in a clowte. Mirimida? marie tis no mar••ell if thy chéekes are fallen for her: why, she is the fairest b••ossome in all the towne: to her sonne, to her, tricke thy selfe vp in thy best re∣parrell, & make no bones at it but on a woing: for womens desires, I may tell thee boy, are like childrens fancies, won oft with an apple when they refuse an Angell, and Mulli∣dor take this with thee and feare not to speede: A womans frowne is not euer an instance of choller: if she refuse thee outwardlie, she rega••ds t••ee inwardly; and if she shake thée vp and bid thée be packing, haue the better hope, Cats and Dogs come together by s••ratching: if she smile, then sonne say to thy selfe, she is thine•• and yet women are wyl••e cattel, for I haue seene a woman laugh with anger, and kisse him she hath desired to kill: she will be co•• (Mullidor) but care not for that, tis but a thing of course; speake thou faire, pro∣mise much, praise her hig••ly, comm••nd her beautie aboue all, and her vertue more than all, sigh often, and shewe thy selfe full of passions, and as sure as thy cap is of wooll, the wench is thine.

Mullidor hearing his mother giue such good counsaile, sayd he would ieopard a ioynt, and the next day haue a fling at her. With that he sayd his heart was eased, and his sto∣macke somewhat come downe with her good perswasions: where••pon the Am••rie was opened, and he turned me ouer the cantle of a Chée••e and went to bed. The next morning vp he rose, and his holy day roabes went on, his sta••d ••ppes ••ewe black••, his cappe faire brush••, and a cleane Lockeram band. Thus ••etyred, away flings Mullidor to the field, and carried away his sheepe & led them into the playnes where Mirimida sought to feede her flockes: comming there, he

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that Venus fires as well warme the poore as the rich, and that deformitie was no meanes to abridge fancie: where∣vpon she replied thus. Why Mullidor are you in loue, and with me: i•• there none but Mirimida that can fit your eye, b••ing so many beautifull damzels in Thessalie; take heede man, look•• before you leap least you fall in the ditch: I am not good enough for so proper a man as your selfe, es••e••i∣ally being his mothers onely sonne: what Mullidor, let m•• counsaile you, there are more maides than Malkin and the countrey hath such choice as may breede your better con∣tent: for mine own part at this time I meane not to mar∣ry. Tis no matter quoth Mullidor what you say: for my mother tolde me, that maides at first would bee coy when they were wooed, and mynse it as ••were a mare ouer a mouth full of This••les, and yet were not a whit the worse to be likte, for twas a matter of custome. Well then Mul∣lidor quoth Mirimida, leaue off for this time to talke•• of loue; and hope the best: to morrow perchaunce it will bee better: for women are like vnto children, that will oft refuse an Apple, and straight crie for the paring: and when they are most hungrie, then for fullennesse fast: This Mullidor quoth she, is the frowardnesse of loue: Marie then quoth he, if they haue childrens malladies, twere good to vse chil∣drens medicines, and thats a rod: for ••e they neuer so fro∣ward, a ier••k or two will make them forward: and if that would bring women to a good temper; my mother hath a stiffe cudgell, and I haue a strong arme.

Thus these two past away the day, till presently they espied a farr•• off a Gentleman with a Ha••ke on his fist, to come riding towards them: who drawing nie and seeing so faire a Nimph, raind his horse, and stoode still, as Acteo•• when he gazed at Diana: at last hee alighted, and comming towards her, saluted her thus curteously•• Faire vi••gin when I saw such a sweete Saint with such a crooked Apo∣stle, I straight thought Venus had bee•• walking abr••ad•• to take the ••yre with Vulcan; but ass••ne as mine eyes be∣gan

narrowly to make 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of thy b••••utie, I found V••∣nus ••lemishe with thy rare 〈…〉〈…〉 sheepe that are folded by su••h 〈…〉〈…〉 are the••e shephear••s that enioy the presen••e of such a beaute∣ous creature: no marue•••••• if Apollo became a 〈◊〉〈◊〉, o•• Mercury a ••eatheard, when their 〈◊〉〈◊〉 are recompe••st with such loues. My selfe faire damasell, if either my de∣gree were worthy, or my deserts any, wo••lde craue to haue entertainemēt to become your dutif••l 〈…〉〈…〉 wh••le Mirimida held downe her head and blush••: at last, lifting vp her eyes full of modestie, and her face full of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 colours•• such as florish out the fronts of Dianas virgins she made the Gentleman this answere. My seruant sit (quoth shee) 〈◊〉〈◊〉, your worth is far aboue my wealth, and your dignity 〈◊〉〈◊〉 high for my degree, p••ore cuntrie Damo•••••••• must n••t ayme too hie at fortune, nor flye too fast in desires, least ••ooking at their ••eete with the Peacock they let fall their pl••••es, and so shame at their owne follies: but if my gr•••• w•••••• so great as to enterteine such seruants, I must bestowe vpon 〈◊〉〈◊〉 some changable liuorie, to shew the ••arietie of the•••• minds•• for mens hearts are like to the ••oli••e, tha•• will 〈…〉〈…〉 to all col••ors but ble••, and their though••••s into all 〈◊〉〈◊〉 but const••ncie•• In that sit, ••ou•• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ••azled and 〈…〉〈…〉, for Venus, 〈…〉〈…〉

Gentleman t••••s abu••e h••s patience, as a man conceipted in his owne propernesse, and especially afore Mirimida, thwarte•• him thus. You master meacock that stand vpon the beauty of your churmnilke face; as brag with your Buz∣zard on your fist, as a Sow vnder an apple tree: know that wee countrey swaines as we are not beholding to Nature for beautie, so we little accompt of Fortune. for any fauour: Tush man, my crooke back harboureth more honest condi∣tions, than thy fleering countenaunce: and these course suites, can fetch more pence than thy silkes: for I beleeue thou makst a sco••••e of the Mercers booke: thou hast made such sure entrance there, that thou wilt neuer from thence till thou beest come out by the eares. Goodman courtier, though we haue backes to beare your fr••mps; yet we haue queake stomack•• tha•• will hardly brooke them: and there∣fore fine foole, be gone with your foule, or I wil so be labour you, as you shall feele my fingers this f••rtnight: And with that Mull••dor heaued vp his sheephook & bent his bro••••s, so that the Gentleman gi••ing Mirimida the ••die••, hee pu•• spurs to his horse and went his way.

At this manly part of Mullidor, Mirimida laugh•• heartilie; and he tooke a great conceipt, that hee had shewd himselfe such a ••all man: Upon this, Mirimida gaue him a Nosegay which stuck in her bosome for a fauour; which hee accepted and gratefully, as though another had giuen him a tunne of golde. Night drew on, and they folded th••ir sheepe and departed, shee to her Father, and hee towardes olde Callena, as ioyful a man as Paris, when he had the pro∣mise from Venu•••• hee plodded on his way with his head full of passions and his heartfull of new thoughts, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 eye was on the Nosegay, in so much that he stoode in a 〈◊〉〈◊〉 whether it were Loue or some other 〈◊〉〈◊〉 worse 〈…〉〈…〉, that thu•• hincht him & pin••ht him: at la•••• he fel with himselfe 〈◊〉〈◊〉 this meditation. Now doe I pe••••••iue that Loue is a purgation, and searcheth euery v••ines tha•• though & ente•• at the ••ye, yet it runnes to the heart, and then it 〈…〉〈…〉

olde coyle, where it worketh like a iuglers 〈◊〉〈◊〉. Oh Loue thou art like to a flea which ••itest sore, and yet leapest ••way and art not to be found: or to a pot of strong al••, that ma∣keth a man cal his Father whoreson: so both them bewitch a mans wits that he knoweth not a B. from a Battildore. Infortunate Mullidor, and therefore infortunate, because thou art ouer the eares in Loue; and with whome? with Mirimida: whose eyes are like to sparks of f••re, and ••hine like a pound of butter, like to be melted with her beau••y, and to cōsume with the frieng flame of fancie. Ah Mullido•• her face is like to a ••ed & white Daisy growing in a greene meddow, & thou like a bee, that commest and suckest honie from it, and cariest it home to y^• hiue with a heaue & hoe: that is as much to say, as with a head full of woes, & a heart full of sorrowes and mala••ies. Be of good cheare, Mirimida laughes on thee, & thou knowest a womans smile is as good to a louer, as a sunshine day to a Ha••maker: she shewes thee kind looks, & ca••ts many •• sheeps eye 〈◊〉〈◊〉 thee: which signif••es that shee counts thee a man worthi•• to iumpe a ma••ch with hir: nay more Mullidor, shee hath giuen thee •• Nosegay of flowers wherin as a top gallant for all y^e rest, is set in Rose∣mary for remembrance: Ah Mullidor cheere thy s••lfe, feare not; loue & fortune fauors lusty 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ••owards are n••t friend•• to affection: therefore venter•• for thou has•• wonne her: els 〈◊〉〈◊〉 she not gi••en thee this no••egay. And with this remembring himselfe, he 〈◊〉〈◊〉 vp, left off his am••rous passions and ••••ud∣geth home to his house; where comming i••, olde Calena stumbles to see in wha•• humour hir sonne c••me ho••e: ••••••••∣lick he was, & his ••ap on the one••ide, he askt if supper we••e ready: his mother seeing his stomack was good, thought there was some hope of her Sonnes good fortunes, and therefore sayd, there was •• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 in the po•• that is almost enough: but sonne quoth she, what newes•• what successe in thy loues? how doth Mirimida 〈…〉〈…〉 Ah, ah, quoth Mullidor, and he smiled, how should I be vsed: but as one that was wrape in his m••••hers smock when hee was borne, Can the s••nne want heat, and the winter cold: or a proper

man be denied in his suites? No mother, assoone as I began to circumglaze her with my Sophistrie: & to fetch her about with 2 or three venies: frō mi••e eyes I gaue her such a thūp on the brest, that she would scarce say no: I told her my mind & so wrap•• hee in the prodigallitie of my wit that she said an other time shoulde: but then wee parted laughing, with such a sweete smile that it made mee loose in the ha••t like a dudgin dagger: she gaue me this nosegay for a fauour, which how I est••emed it gesse you•• thus haue I vsed her in ki••d∣nesse, and she vsed me in curtesie; & so I hope we shal make a friendly conclusion. By my troth sonne quoth she, & I hope no lesse, for I tell you, when maids giue gifts, they meane well; and a woman if she laugh with a glauncing looke wi∣sheth it were neither to do nor vndone: she is thine my sonne feare not: and with that she laid the cloth and se•• victuals on the borde where Mullidor tried himselfe so tall a trencher man, that his mother perceiued by his drift he would not 〈◊〉〈◊〉 for loue. Leauing this passionate ••ubber, to the conceip•• of his loues •• let vs returne to the young cou••••yer called Ra∣dagon, who ••ro••ting a soft pace vpon his cours••r seeing the sunne now bright and then ouershadowed with clouds, be∣gan to ••ōpare the state of the weather fantas••ically to the hu∣mor of his Mirimidas fancies: saying, when Phoebus was eclipst with a vapour, then she lowred: when hee shewd his glorie in his brightnesse, the•• she smiled•• Thus hee dallied in an ••n••oth m••tion so long, that at last hee began to feele a fire that fretted to the heart. Ryding thus in a quandarie he entred into the consideratiō of Mirimidas beauty wher∣upon frolickly in an extemperat humor he made this sonnet.

Radagons Sonnet.

No cleare appeard vpon the azurd Skie, A val•• of stormes had shadowed Phoebus face•• And in a sable man••le of disgrace: Sate he that is ycleap••d heauens bright eye, As though that he, P••rplex•• for Clitia, meant to leaue his place,

And wrapt in sorrowes did resolue to di••; For death to louer•• woes is euer me•• Thus foulded in a hard and mournfull laz•• Distrest sate hee.

A mistie fogge had thickned all ••he ayre, Iris sate solemne and denied her showers Flora in taunie hid vp all her flowers And would not diaper her meads with faire, As though that shee Were armd vpon the barren earth to lowre Vnto the founts Diana nild repaire, But sate as ouershadowed with dispaire Solemne and sad within a withered bower Her Nymp••es and she.

Mars malecontent lay sick on Venus knee, Venus in dumps sat muffled with a frowne Iuno laid all her frollick humors downe, And Ioue, was all in dumps as well as she: Twas Fates decree. For Neptune (as he ment the world to drown) Hea••d vp his surges to the highest tre••, And leagud with Eol, mard the Seamans gle•• Beating the Cedars with his billows downe Thus wroth was hee.

My mistris deynes to shew hir sunb••ight face, The ayre cleard vp, the clowds did fade away, Phoebus was frollick when she did display The gorgious bewties, that her frunt do grace. So that when she•• But walkt abroad, the stormes then fled away, Flora did checker all her treading place, And Neptune calmde the surg•••• ••ith his mace, Diana a••d hir Nimphes were bl••the and gaie, When h••r th••y see.

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kill a thousand men. Indeed I cannot denie but oft sub mel∣le latet venenum, that beautie without vertue is like a boxe of Iuorie containing some balefull Aconiton, or to a faire shooe that wrings the too••e; such loue as is laid vpon such a foundation is a short pleasure full of payne, and an affec∣tion bought with a thousand miseries; but a woman that is faire and ve••tuous maketh her husband a ioyfull man; and whether he be rich or poore, yet alwaies he may haue a ioy∣full heart. A woman that is of a silent tongue, shamefast in countenance, sober in behauiour, and honest in condition, a∣dorned with vertuous qualities correspondent•• is like a goodly pleasant flower deckt with the colours of all the flo∣wers of the garden: and such a one (quoth he) is Mirimida, and therfore though she be poore I will loue her and like her; and if she wil fancie me I will make her my wife. And vpon this he resolued to prosecute his sute towards her, in so much that assoone as he came home and had rested himselfe a while, he stept to his standish and wrote her a letter.

Radagon was not more pained with this passionate ma∣ladi•• than poore Eurymachus, who could t••ke no r••st, al∣though euery day in her presence he fed his eye with y^e beau∣tie of her face: but as the Hidaspis the more he drinkes the more thirstie he is; so Eur••machus the more he looked the more he loued, as hauing his eye deeply e••amoured of the obiect; reueale any more his su••e he durs•• not, be••••use wh••n he began to that of loue she sha•••• him off•• and either 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ••∣way in a rage, or else forst him to fall to other prattle; in so much that he determined to discourse his minde in a letter•• which he performed as cunningly as he could & sent it her••

Mullido•• that asse r••pt out his reasons diuers ••imes to Mirimida, vntil she was weary of the 〈…〉〈…〉 fooleries, and so with a sharpe wor•• or two ••ip•• him on the pate: whereupon asking his mothers counsaile, she persw••∣ded him to write v••to Mirimida, altho••gh he and a p••n wer•• as fit as an ••••••e and •• harpe•• 〈…〉〈…〉 and stealing into the Churchyard vnder an Appletre•••• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 in his muses he framed a letter and sent it her.

Thus had Fortune (meaning to be merrie) appoynted in her secret synod that al these three should vse one meanes to possesse their loues, & brought it so to passe that the thrée let∣ters from these three riuals were deliuered at one instant: which when Mirimida saw, she sat her downe and laught, wondring at the rarenes of the chance y^t should in a moment bring such a conceipt to passe; at last (for as then shee was leading foorth her shéepe) shee satte her downe, and looking on the superscription saide to her selfe; what Adamants are faire faces that can draw both rich, poore & fooles to lodge in the laborinth of their beauties: at this she sighed, & the first letter she broake open, because he was her first louer, was Eurymachus. The contents whereof were these.

Eurymachus the Shepheard to Mirimida the Goddesse of Thessalie.

WHen (Mirimida) I sit by thy sweet selfe & wonder at thy sight, feeding as the Bée vpon the wealth of thy beauties, the conceipt of ••hine excellencie driues me into an extasie, that I became dumme with ouer much delight; for Nature sets downe this as an authenticke principle:

Sensibile sensui suppositum nulla fi•• sensatio.

If the flower be put in the nostrill there is no smell; the co∣lour clapt close to the eye blemisheth the sight: so a louer in presence of his mistris hath y^e organs of his speech tied, that he conceales with silence, a••d sighs out his smoothered pas∣sions with sorowes. Ah Mirimida, consider y^t loue is such a fire as either will burst foorth or burne the house; it is such a streame as will either haue his course, or breake through the bankes & make a deluge, or els force their hart strings crack with secrecy. Thē Mirimida, if I be lauish in my pen, blame me not y^t am so laden with loue; if I be bold, attribute it to thy beautie, not my impudencie, & thinke what I ouer dare in, it growes through the extremitie of loyal affection, which is so déeply imprinted in my thoughes, as neither time can diminish nor misfortune blemish. I aime not (Mirimida) at thy wealth, but at thy vertues; for the more I consider thy

perfection, y^e more I grow passionate, & in such an humour, as if thou denie, there is no meanes to cure my maladie but that salue which healeth all incurable sores, & that is ••eath. Therefore (sweet Mi••imida) consider of my loues & vse me as my loyaltie deserues: let not my pouertie put in any barre, nor the basenesse of my birth be•• any excuse of thy af∣fection; weigh my desires, not ••y degrees, & either send me a speedie pla••ster to salue my ••espairing passions, or a cora∣siue to cut off my lingering sorowes, either thy fauour with life, or thy deniall with death, betwéene which I rest in hope till I heare thine answer.

Thine, who can be no others but thine, the Shepheard Eurymachus.

To the end of this letter (for that he would runne des••ant vpon his wit) he set downe a Sonnet written in the forme of a Madrigale, thus.

Eurimachus in laudem Mirimidae, his Motto Inuita fortuna dedi vota concordia.

When Flora proude in pompe of all her flowers Sat bright and gay, And gloried in the d••aw of Iris sh••wers, And did display Her mantle checquered all with gawdy greene: Then I Alone A mournfull man in Er••cine was seene.

With folded armes I trampled through the grasse, Tracing as he That held the Throane of Fortune brittle glasse, And loue to be Like Fortune fleeting as the restlesse wind Mixed With mists Whose dampe doth make the cleerest eyes grow blind.

Thus in a maze I spied a hideous flame, I cast my sight, And sawe where blythly bathing in the ••ame With great delight, A worme did lye, wrapt in a smokie sweate: And yet Twas strange It carelesse lay and shrunke not at the heate.

I stood amazd and wondring at the sight, While that a dame That shone like to the heauens rich sparkling light, Discourst the same: And sayd, my friend this worme within the fire Which lies Content, Is Venus worme, and represents desire.

A Salamander is this princely beast, Deckt with a crowne, Giuen him by Cupid as a gorgeo••s erest Gainst fortunes frowne, Content he lies and bathes him in the flame, And goes Not foorth•• For why he cannot liue without the same.

As he: so louers lie within the fir•• Of feruent loue, And shrinke not from the flame of hot desire•• Nor will not mooue From any heate, that Venus force imparts: But lie Conten•• Within a fire and wast away their harts.

Vp flew the da•••• and vanisht in a cl••wd••, But there stood I, And many thoughts within my mind did shrowde Of loue: for why, I felt within my heart a scortching fire, And yet As did The Salamander, twas my whole desire.

Mirimida hauing read this Sonnet, she straight (being of a pregnant wit) conceip••ed the drift of his Madrigale, smiled and layd it by, and then next tooke vp Radagons let∣ter, which was written to this effect.

Radagon of Thessalie to the faire Shep∣herdize Mirimida health.

I Cannot tell (faire Mistris) whether I should praise For∣tune as a friend, or curse her as a foe, hauing at vnwares presented me with the view of your perfection, which sight may be either the sunne of my blisse, or the beginning of my vale: for in you rests the b••llance either to weigh me downe my 〈◊〉〈◊〉 with courte••••e, or my deniall with ex••reame vnkindnes. Such as are pric••e with the boanes of the Dol∣phin, heare musicke and they are presently ••eales of their maladie; they which are i••ne••ymed with the U••per, rubbe the so••e with R••barb and feel•• a remedie, and those which drinke Aco••iton are cured by Antidotes. But loue is like the sting of a Scorpion, it must be salued by affection; for neither charme, hear••e, stone, nor mynerall hath vertue to cure it: which made Apollo excla••e this passion.

Hei mihi quod nullis amor est medicabilis herbis.

With the same distresse (swéete Mirimida) am I pained, who lighting by chance as Paris did in the vale of Ida vpon Venus, haue seene a brighter Danie than Venus; but I feare me lesse courteous than Venus. I haue no golden

apple (faire Nymph) to present thee with, so to prooue thée supreme of beautie; but the deuotion of my thoughts is of∣fered humblie at thy feete, which shall euer confesse none so beauteous as Mirimida. Then as Venus for reward gaue Paris Helena, so courteous Nymph bee prodigall of thy fa∣uours and giue me thy heart, which shall bee to me more deare than a hundred Helens.

But here perhaps thou wilt obiect, that mens pleas are like Painters pe••sels, which drawe no substance but sha∣dowes, that to the worst proportions giue the richest co∣lours, and to the coursest pictures the finest glasses, that what wee write is of course, and when wee faine passions, then are wee least passionate, hauing sorrowfull pens when wee haue secure hearts, and louring lookes when wee haue laughing thoughts. I cannot denie (sweete Mistris) but that hot loues are like a bauins blaze, and that men can pro∣mise more in a moment than they will performe in a mo∣neth. I knowe there was a Demophon that deceiued Phil∣lis, an Aeneas that falsified his faith to Dido, a Theseus that forsooke his Ariadne: yet measure not all by some mens minds; of a fewe particular instances, conclude not generall axiomes; though some haue been fleeting•• thinke not all to be false; trie me, I referre your passions to my proofe, and as you finde me loyall so reward me with loue. I craue no authenticall graunt, but a superficiall fauour: say (Mirimi∣da) that Radagon shall bee welcome if he bee faithfull, and then my hope shall comfort my heart. In which s••spence •• rest confused, at the barre of your courtesie. Farewell.

Mirimidas Radagon, though she will not be Radagons Mirimida.

This she read ouer twise and bl••sht at it, as féeling a little heate, but straight she sighed and shake it from her heart, and had laid it by, but that turning ouer the next

page she espied certaine verses, which was a Canzon per•• thus.

Radagon in Dianam Non fuga Tencrus amat: quae ••amen odit habet.

It was a valley gawdi•• greene, Where Dian at the fount was seene, Greene it was, And did passe All other of Dianas bowers, In the pride of Floras flo••••••s.

A fount it was that no Sunne sees, Circled in with Cipres trees, Set so nie, As Phoebus eye Could not doo the Virgins seathe, To see them naked when they bathe.

She sat there all in white, Colour ••i••ting her delite, Virgins so Ought to go: For white in Armorie is plast To be the colour that is chast.

Her ta••t a Cassocke might you see Tucked vp aboue her knee, Which did show There below Legges as white as whales bone. So white and chast was neuer non••.

Hard by her vpon the ground, Sat her Virgins in a round

Bathing their Golden haire, And singing all in notes hye Fie on Venus flattring eye.

Fie on loue it is a toy, Cupid witlesse and a boy, All his fires And desires Are plagues that God sent downe from hie, To pester men with miserie.

As thus the Virgins did disdaine Louers ioy and louers paine, Cupid nie Did espie, Greeuing at Dianas song, Slylie stole these maides among.

His bow of steele, darts of fire, He shot amongst them sweete desire•• Which straight flies In their eyes. And at the entrance made them start, For it ran from eye to hart.

Calisto straight supposed loue Was faire and frolicke for to loue: Dian shee Scapt not free: For well I wot hereupon She loued the swayne Endimion.

Clitia Phoebus, and Cloris eye Thought none so faire as Mercu••ie:

Venus thus Did discusse By her sonne in darts of fire, None so chast to checke desire.

Dian rose with all her maids, Blushing thus at loues braids, With sighs all Shew their thrall. And flinging hence pronounce ••his saw, What so strong as Lou•••• sweet l••w?

Mirimida hauing read the letter of Radagon, perceiued that loue was in his eyes, and pe••haps had s••ylie toucht hi•• heart: but she that was charie of her choyce, and resolute not to fetter her selfe with fancie, did passe ouer these pas∣sions, as men d•••• the shadowes of a painters pensell•• which while they view they praise, and when they haue praised, passe ouer without any more remembrance: yet she could not but enter into the humorous ••each of his conceipt, how hee checkt the coy disdaine of women in his Sonnet, she blusht, and her thoughts went away with her ••loud, and so she lighted on the letter that Mullidor had sent her, which droue her into a pleasant vaine. The effects of his passions were these.

Mullidor the malecontent, with his pen clapt full of loue, to his Mistris Miri∣mida greeting.

AFter my heartie Commendations remembred, hoping y•••• be in as g••••d health as I was at the making hereof. This is to certi•••••• you, that loue may well bee compared 〈◊〉〈◊〉 a bottle of hay, which once set 〈…〉〈…〉 or to a cup full of strong ale, which when a man hath once tasted, he neuer leaues till he hath drunke it all vp: so Mi∣stris

Mirimida, after the furious flames of your two eyes had set my poore heart on the coales of loue, I was so scor∣thed on the grediron of affection, that I had no rest till I was almost turned to a c••ale, and after I had tasted of the liquour of your sweete phisnomie, I neuer left supping of your amiable countenance, till with loue I am almost rea∣die to burst. Consider with your selfe faire Shepheardize, that poore men feele paine as well as Princes; that Mulli∣dor is sicke of such a malladie, as by no meanes can bee cu∣red, vnlesse your selfe lay a sea••ecloth to draw away my sor∣rowes: then be pitifull to me least you bee counted disdain∣ful, to put so trustie a louer out of his right wits; for theres no ho but either•• I must haue you, or els for very plaine loue runne mad. It may be (Mirimida) you thinke me too base for your beautie: why? when you haue married me I am content to serue you as a man, and to doo al those indeuours that belongs to a seruant, and rather to holde you for my Mistris than my wife. Then seeing you shall haue the so∣ueraintie at my hands, which is the thing that all women desire, loue me sweete Mirimida, and thinke this, if you match with mee, olde Callena my mother hath that in a ••lowte that will doo vs both good. Thus hoping you will ponder my passions in your minde, and be more courteous than to cast away a young man for loue. Farewell.

Yours halfe mad because he would bee yours, Mullidor the male∣content.

Such a poetical ••urie tooke Mullidor in the braines, that he thought to shewe his vaine in verse, and therfore annexed to his letter this pleasant Dittie.

Mullidors Madrigale.

Dildido dildido, Oh loue, oh loue, I feele thy rage romble below and aboue.

In sommer time I sawe a face, Trope belle pourmoy helas helas, Like to a st••••nd horse was her pace: Was eu••r yong man so dismaid, Her eyes like waxe torches did make me afraid, Trop belle pour moy voila mon trespas.

Thy beautie (my Loue) exceedeth supposes, Thy haire is a nettle for the nicest roses, Mon dieu aide moy, That I with the primrose of my fresh wit, May tumble her tyrannie vnder my feete, He donque ie sera vn ie••ne roy. Trope belle pour moy helas helas, Trop belle pour moy voyla mon trespas.

Mirimida hauing read this humorous fancie of Mulli∣dor, began thus to meditate with her selfe. Listen not fond wench to loue, for if thou doest thou learnest to loose, thou shal•• finde griefe to bee the gaines, and follie the paymistr••is that rewards all amorous trauells. If thou web thy selfe to Radagon, thou aimest beyond thy reach: and looking higher than thy fortunes, thou wilt repent thy desires; for Mirimida affects beyond compasse, haue ofttime infortu∣tunate effects; rich roabes haue not euer sweete consent, and therefore the meane 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the merriest honour. What then, mu••t Eurymachus of all these t•••••••• bee the man that must make vp the match; he is a shepheard and harbours quiet in his cottage, his wishes are not aboue his wealth, nor doth his conceipt climbe higher than his deserts. He hath sufficiēt

to sh••owde thee from wa••••, and to maintaine the state of an honest life. Shep••eards wrong not their wiues with suspi∣tion, nor doo countrie Swaynes estéeme lesse of their loues than higher ••egrees. But Mirimida, meane men haue frownes as wel•• as kings; the least haire hath his shadow, the Flye her spléene, the Ant her gall, and the poorest Pea••sant his chol••er. Peasants can weld a cudgell better than a great Lord, and dissention will haue a fling amongst th•• meanest. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 therfore mariage must haue her inconuenience, better golden gyues than yron fetters. What saiest thou then to Mullidor? that he is Mullidor, and let that suffice to shake him off for a foole; for it were thy discredite to haue onely a woodcock to keepe the woolfe from the doore. Why then, meanest thou not to loue? No fond lasse if thou bee wise; for what is sweeter than libertie? and what burthen heauier than the fist of a froward husband. Amongst many Scorpions thou lookest for one E••le; amongst a hedge full of nettles for one flower; amongst a thousand flatterers for one that is faithful; & yet when thou hast him thy thoughts are at his will, and thy actions are limited to his hum••••rs. Beware Mirimida, strike not at a stale because it is pain∣ted; though honey be sweete Bées haue stings; there is no sweeter life than chastitie, for in that estate thou shair liue commended and vncontrold.

Upon this she put vp the letters, and because she would not leade her Louers into a labori••th of hope, the appoyn∣ted them all to meete her at the Shéepfolds on one day and at one houre, where the Woers that ••••ood vpon thornes to heare her censure met without faile. After salutes post be∣tweene Mirimida and them, she began to parley with them thus.

Gentlemen, all riualls in loue and ••••me••s at o•••• fortun•••• though you three affect like desire to haue M••rimidas fa∣uour, yet but one of you can were the flower, and perhaps none, for it is as my fancie censures: therefore are you con∣tent that I shall set downe which of you, or whether none of

you shall enioy the ende of you•• sutes, and who so is forsa∣ken, to part hence with patience and neuer more to talke of his passions. To this they all agreed and she made this an∣swere. Why then Radagon and E••••ymachus weare you two the Wil••owe Garland, not that I hold either your de∣grees or deserts worthlesse of a fairer than Mirimida: but that the destinies doo so appoynt to my desires, that your af∣fects cannot worke in me any effects. At this, Radagon and Eurymachus frowned, not so much that they were forsaken, but that so beautifull a creature would wed her selfe to such a deformed asse as Mullidor, and the foole he simpered it in hope to haue the wench. Now (quoth she) Mullidor may hope to bee the man: but trust me as I found him I leaue him, a dolt in his loues, and a foole in his fortunes. At this they laught and he hung the head, and she left them all. Ra∣dagon taking his hawke to goe flie the Partridge•• Eury∣machus marching with his sh••ephooke to the folds; Mulli∣dor ••ying home to his mother to recount his mishaps, and Mirimida singing that there was no Goddesse to Diana, no life to libertie, nor no loue to chastitie.

Francesco, Isab••l, and all the rest of the guests applauded this discourse of the pleasant Host: and for that it was late in the night they all rose, and taking their leaue of Frances∣co departed, he and his wife bidding their Host good night, and so going to bed, where wee leaue them to leade the rest of their liues in quiet.

Thus (quoth the Palmer) you haue heard the discouerie of ••ouths follies, and a true discourse of a Gentlemans fortunes.

But now courteous Palmer (quoth the Gentleman) ••t rests that we craue by your owne promise the reason of your pilgrimage to Venice. That (quoth the Palmer) is discourst in a word: for knowe sir, that enioyning my selfe to penance for the follies of my youths passions hauing liued in loue, and therefore reape all my losse by loue•• ••earing that of all the Cities in Europe, Venice hath most semblance of Ve∣nus

vanities. I goe thether not onely to see fashions, but to quip at fol••••es, that I may drawe others from that harme that hath brought me to this hazard. The Gentlewomen of Venice your neighbours, but vnknown to me, haue more fauours in their faces than vertue in their thoughts; and their beauties are more curious than their qualities be pre∣cious, caring more to be figured out with Helen, than to bée famozed with Lucrece; they striue to make their faces gor∣geous, but neuer seeke to fit their minds to their God, and couet to haue more knowledge in loue than in religion: their eyes bewray their wantonnesse, not their modestie; & their lookes are lures that reclaime not Hawkes, but make them onely bate at dead stales: As the Gentlewomen so are the men, loose liuers and straight louers, such as hold their con∣science in their purses and their thoughts in their eyes, coū∣ting that houre ill spent that in fancie is not mispent. Be∣cause therefore this great Citie of Venice is holden Loues Paradize, thether doo I direct my pilgrimage, that seeing their passions, I may being a palmer, win them to penance, by shewing the miseries that Venus mi••eth with her mo∣mentarie contents: if not, yet I shall carrie home to my countrimen salues to cure their sores; I shal see much, heare little, and by the insight into other mens extreames, re∣turne both the more warie and the more wise. What I see at Venice (sir) and what I note there, when I returne back, I meane to visite you and make you priuie to all.

The héedfull Host hauing iudiciallie vnderstoode the pi∣tifull report of the palmer, giuing truce to his passions with the teares he spent, and resolued to requite that thankfullie which he had attended heedfullie, gaue this Catastrophe to his sad and sorrowfull discourse. Palmer, thou hast with the Kitrell foreshewed the storme ere it comes, painting out the shapes of loue as liuely, as the Grapes in Zeuxis Tables were pourtraied cunningly; thou hast lent youth Egle eyes to behold the Sunne; Achilles sword to cut and recure, leauing those medicines to salue others, that hath

lost thy selfe, and hauing burnt ••hy wings with t••e 〈…〉〈…〉 dallying too long with th•• ••••re•• thou hast bequeathe•• other•• a lesson with the Unicorne to preuent poyson by preserues before thou tast with the lippe. The onely request I make in requit••ll of my attention, is, that thou leaue certaine te∣stimonies on these walles, where••n whensoeuer I looke, I shall remember Francescos follies and thy foresight.

The Palmer estéeming the courteous replie of his hos••, and desirous to satisfie his request, drawing bloud from the vaine Cephalia, (on an arch of white Iuorie erected at the ende of an Arbour, adorned with Honysuckles and Roses) he wrote thus with a pencell.

In greener yeares when as my greedie thoughts Gan yeeld their homage to ambitious will, My feeble wit that then preuailed noughts, Perforc•• presented homage to his ill: And I in follies bonds fulfild with crime, At last vnloosd: thus spide my losse of time.

As in his circuler and ceaseles ray The yeare begins, and in it selfe retu••nes Refresht by presence of the eye of day, That sometimes ni•• and sometimes farre soiournes: So loue in me (conspiring my decay) With endles fire my heedles bosome burnes, And from the end of my aspiring sinne, My paths of error hourely doth begin.

[illustration]

Aries.

When in the Ram the Sunne renewes his beames, Beholding mournfull earth araid in griefe, That waigh•• ••eliefe from his refreshing gleames, The tender flockes r••ioycing their reliefe Doo leape for ioy and lap the siluer streames. So a•• my prime when youth in me was chiefe, All Heifer like with wanton horne I playd, And by my will my wit to loue betrayd.

[illustration]

Taurus.

When Phoebus with Europas bearer bides, The Spring appeares, impatient of delaies The labourer to the fields his plow swaynes guides, He sowes, he plants, he builds at all assaies, When prime of yeares that many errors hides, By fancies force did trace vngodly waies, I blindfold walkt disdayning to behold, That life doth vade, and yong men must be old.

[illustration]

Gemini.

When in the hold whereas the Twins doo rest, Proud Phlaegon breathing fire doth post amaine: The trees with leaues, the earth with flowers is drest: When I in pride of yeres with peeuish braine Presum'd too farre and made fond loue my guest; Wi••h frosts of care my flowers were nipt amaine. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 height of weale who beares a careles hart, R••pents too late his ouer foolish part.

[illustration]

Cancer.

When in Aestiuall Cancers gloomie bower, The greater glorie of the heauens dooth shine; The aire is calme, the birds at euerie stowre To tempt the heauens with harmonie diuine. When I was ••irst inthrald in Cupids powre, In vanei I spent the May-month of my time•• Singing for ioy to see me captiue thrall To him, whose gaines are griefe, whose cōfort smal.

[illustration]

Leo.

When in the height of his Meridian walke The Lions holde conteines the eye of day, The riping corne growes yeolow in the stalke, When strength of yeares did blesse me euerie way. Maskt with delights of follie was my talke, Youth ripened all my thoughts to my decay: In lust I sowde, my frute was losse of time; My hopes were proud, and yet my bodie slime.

[illustration]

Virgo.

When in the Virgins lap earths comfort sleepes, Bating the furi•• of his burning eyes, Both corne and frutes are firmd, & cōfort creepes On euerie plant and flowre that springing rise: When age at last his chiefe dominion keepes, And leades me on to see my vanities; What loue and scant foresight did make me sow•• In youthfull yeares, is ripened now in woe.

[illustration]

Libra.

When in the Ballance Daphnes Lemman blins The Ploughman gathereth frute for passed paine: When I at last considered on my sinnes, And thought vpon my youth and follies vaine; I cast my count, and reason now begins To guide mine eyes with iudgement, bought with paine, Which weeping wish a better way to finde, Or els for euer to the world be blinde.

[illustration]

Scorpio.

When with the Scorpion proud Apollo plaies•• The wines are trode and carried to their presse, The woods are f••ld gainst winters sharp affraies: When grauer yeares my iudgements did addresse, I gan repaire my ruines and decaies: Exchanging will to wit and soothfastnesse: Claiming from Time and Age no good but this, To see my sinne, and sorrow for my misse.

[illustration]

Sagittarius.

When as the Archer in his Winter holde The Delian Harper tunes his wonted loue, The ploughman sowes and tills his labored molde; When with aduise and iudgement I approue, How Loue in youth hath griefe for gladnes solde, The seedes of shame I from my heart remooue, And in their steads I set downe plants of Grace And with repent bewailde my youthfull race.

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Capricornus.

When he that in Eurotas siluer glide Doth baine his tresse, beholdeth Capricorne, The daies growes short, then hasts the winter tide The Sun with sparing lights doth seem to mourn, Gray is the green, the flowers their beautie hides: When as I see that I to death was borne, My strength decaide, my graue alreadie drest, I count my life my losse, my death my best.

Aquarius.

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When with Aquarius Phoebes brother staies, The blythe and wanton windes are whist & still, Colde frost and snow the pride of earth betraies: When age my head with hoarie haires doth fill, Reason sits downe, and bids mee count my dayes, And pray for peace, and blame my froward will: In depth of griefe in this distresse I crie, Peccaui Domine, miserere mei.

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Pisces.

When in the Fishes mansion Phoebus dwells, The dayes renew, the earth regaines his rest: When olde in yeares, my want my death foretells: My thoghts & praiers to heauē are whole addrest Repentance youth by follie quite expells, I long to be dissolued for my best, That yong in zeale long beaten wi••h my rod, I may grow old to wisedome & to God.

The palmer had no sooner finished his circle, but the Host ouer read his conceipt, and wonde∣ring at the excellencie of his wit, from his ex∣perience began to suck much wisedome, & bee∣ing verie loath to detaine his guest too long: af∣ter they had broken their fast, and the goodman of the ••ouse courteouslie had giuen him thankes for his fauor, the Palmer set forward towards Venice: what there he did, or howe hee liued, when I am aduertised (good Gentlemen) I will send you tidings. Meane while, let euerie one learne (by Francescoes fall) to beware, least at last (too late) they be enforced to bewaile.

FINIS.