The second tome of the Palace of pleasure conteyning store of goodly histories, tragicall matters, and other morall argument, very requisite for delighte and profit. Chosen and selected out of diuers good and commendable authors: by William Painter, clerke of the ordinance and armarie. Anno. 1567.

The Lorde of Virle

¶ The Lorde of VIRLE, by the commaundement of a a faire yong widow called ZILIA, and for his promyse made, the better to attaine hir loue, was contented to re∣maine dumbe the space of three yeares, and by what mea∣nes he was reuenged, and obtained his sute.

The. xxvij. Nouel.

THey that haue passed the most parte of their youth in humain folies, and haue rather follo∣wed the vanities of foo∣les & insensate louers, in matters of loue, and that the contemplation of heauenly things, or else of those that here on erth may giue some entrie for man to at∣tayne glorie and honor of his name, they I say, shall serue me for witnesses, to confirme the opinion of long time rooted in the fan∣sies of men: which is, that the beautie and comely fauor of a woman, is the very true & naturall Adamant that can be found, sith the same stone (for a certain attrac∣tiue power and agreable qualitie therin inclosed) doth not better draw the iron, than y^e woman doth, by a cer∣tain hiddē force, which resting vnder y^e alluremēt of hir eye, draweth vnto it y^t hearts & affectiōs of men, which hath made many beléene, that the same onely essence

was sent to vs below, to serue both for mens torment and ioy together. But yet there is an other thyng of greater wonder it is not to heare tel that Paris for sooke Troy, to go visite Helena in Grece, that Hercules had gi∣uen ouer his mace, to handle the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 at the cōman∣dement of a woman, or that Salomon was sotted in his wisedom to dalie with those that made hym a volū∣tarie slaue. But that a woman of whom a man had re∣ceiued no fauour and curtesie at all, had forgotten hir owne duetie to hir seruant, if it séeme not straunge, I can not tell what to call wonderfull or maruellous: if defense of speach for loue, is not déemed such, wherby man is different from brute beastes: (for reason is al∣together refused by louers, and notwithstanding oure fathers haue séene the example of that vertue no long time past in the person of a Gentleman, very wise and well trained vp in other things. A case so straunge as declaring the singular force of nature in that matter, wherin the séemeth to haue giuen y^e prefermēnt aboue all things in earth. Examples hereof, is the effemina∣tion of Hercules, the depriuation of Samsons strength, the losse of sense, and the idolatrie of the famous and wise king Salomon, and the simplicitie of a warelesse and vncircumspect Gentleman, of whom ye shal reade the Historie.

Thurin (as is well knowne to them that haue tra∣uelled Piedmont) is the ornament & bulwarke of al the countrey, so well for the naturall site of the place, as for the artificial and industrious worke of mans hand, which hath instaured and furnished with great magni∣ficence, that which nature had indifferently enriched, for the rudenesse and litle knowledge of the time past. Now besides this stately & strong citie, there standeth a litle town named Montcall, a place no lesse strong,

and of good defense, than well plāted in a faire and rich soyle. In this towne there dwelt a Gentlewoman a widowe called Zilia, beautifull amongs the most excel∣lent faire Gentlewomen of the countrey, which coun∣trey (besides the other happie & heuenly influences) se∣meth to be specially fauoured, for hauing the most fai∣rest and curteous Gentlewomē, aboue any other with∣in the compasse of Europa. Notwithstanding this faire Zilia, degenerating frō the nature of hir climate, was so haggarde and cruell, as it might haue ben thoughte. she had bene rather nourished and brought vp amidde the most desert mountains of Sauoy, than in the plea∣sant and rich champayn countrey, watered and moist∣ned with Eridanus, the father of riuers, at this day cal∣led the Pau, the largenesse whereof doth make men to maruel, and the fertilitie allureth euery man to be de∣sirous to inhabite vpon the same. This faire rebellious widow, albeit that she was not aboue. xxiiij. or. xxv. ye∣res of age, yet protested neuer more to be subiecte to man, by mariage, or otherwise, thinking hir self wel able to liue in single life: A minde truly very holy and cōmendable, if the pricks of y^t flesh do obey the first mo∣tions and adhortations of the spirite, but where youth, pleasure, and multitude of suters do addresse their en∣deuour against that chastitie (lightly enterprised) the Apostles counsell ought to be followed, who willeth yong widowes to marie in Christ, to auoide the temp∣tations of the flesh, and to flée offensiue slaunder and dishonor before men. Now mistresse Zilia (hir husbād being dead) only bent hir selfe to enrich hir house, and to amplifie the possession of a litle infant which she had by hir late departed husbande. After whose death she became so couetous, as hauing remoued, and almoste cut off quite the wonted port she vsed in hir husbandes

dayes, imployed hir maids in houshold affairs, thinking nothing to be well done y^t passed not through hir owne handes. A thing truely more praise worthy, than to sée a sorte of effeminate, fine, and daintie fingred dames, which thinke their honor diminished if they holde but their nose ouer their housholde matters, where theyr hande and diligence were more requisite, for so much as the mistresse of the house is not placed the chiefe to heare only the reasons of them that labor, but therunto to put hir hands, for hir present eye séemeth to giue a certaine perfection to the worke which the seruauntes do by hir commaundement. Which caused the historians in times past, to describe vnto the posterity a gen∣tlewoman called Lucretia, not babbling amongs yong folish girles, or running to feastes and Maigames, or Masking in the night, without any regard of the honor and dignitie of hir race and house, but in hir Chamber sowing, spinning, and carding, amids the troupe of hir maiden seruants: wherin our mistresse Zilia passed the most parte of hir time, spending no minute of the day, without some honest exercise, which she did for that she liked not to be séen at feasts and bankets, or to be gad∣ding vp and downe the streats, wandring to gardeins or places of pleasure, although to suche places youth sometimes may haue honest repaire to refreshe their wearied bodies with some vertuous recreation, & ther∣by to reioyce the heauinesse of the minde. But this Gētlewoman was so seuere in following the rigorous and constrained maners of our auncients, that impos∣sible it was, to sée hir abrode, except it were when she went to Mattens or other deuine seruice. This Gen∣tlewoman séemed to haue studied the diuinitie of the Egiptians, which paint Venus holding a key before hir mouth, & setting hir foote vpon a Tortus, signifying vnto

vs therby, y^t duety of a chast woman, whose tong ought to be locked, that she speake not but in time and place, and hir féete not straying or wādering, but to kéepe hir self within the limits of hir owne house, except it be to serue God, and sometimes to render our bounden duty to them which haue brought vs into light. Moreouer Zilia was so religious (I wil not say superstitious) and rigorous to obserue customs, as she made it very squei∣mish and straunge to kisse Gentlemen that met hir, a ciuilitie which of long time hath bene obserued, and yet remaineth in the most part of the world, that Gen∣tlewomen doe welcome straungers and guestes into their houses with an honest and chaste kisse. Notwith∣ding the institution and profession of this widow had wiped away and deferred this poynt of hir youthe: whither it were for that she estéemed hir self so faire, as all men were vnworthy to touche the vtter partes of so rare and precious a vessell, or that hir great and inimitable chastitie made hir so strange, to refuse that which hir duetie and honor would haue permitted hir to graunt. There chaunced about this time that a gen∣tleman of the Countrey called Sir Philiberto of Virle, estéemed to be one of the most valiant Gentlemen in those partes, repaired vpon an holy day to Montcall, (whose house was not very farre off the Towne) and being at diuine seruice, in place of occupying his sense and minde in heauenly things, and attending the ho∣ly woords of a Preacher, which that day declared the woorde of God vnto the people, hée gaue himselfe to contemplate the excellent beautie of Zilia, who hadde put off for a while hir mourning vaile, that she might the better beholde the good father that preached, and re∣ceiue a little aire, bicause the day was extreame hotte. The Gentleman at the first blushe, when hée sawe

that swéete temptation before his eyes, thought hym selfe rapt aboue the third heauen, and not able to with∣draw his looke, he fed hymselfe with the venome which by litle and litle, so seased vpon the soundest partes of his minde, as afterwards béeing liuely rooted in heart, the Gentleman was in daunger still to remaine there for a guage, without any hope of ease or comforte, as more amply this folowyng discourse, shall giue you to vnderstande. Thus all the mornyng hée behelde the Gentlewoman, who made no more accompt of them, that with great admiration did beholde hir, than they themselues did of their life, by committing the same to the hands of a woman so cruell. This Gentleman be∣ing come home to his lodging, enquired what faire wi∣dow that was, of what calling, and of what behauior, but he heard tell of more truely, than he would of good will haue knowne or desired to haue ben in hir, whom he did presently choose to be the onely mistresse of his moste secrete thoughts. Now vnderstanding wel the stubburne nature and vnciuile maner of that widow, hée coulde not tell what parte to take, nor to what Sainct to vow his deuotion, to make sute vnto hir he thought it time lost, to be hir seruant, it was not in his power, hauing already inguaged his libertie into the handes of hir, which once holdyng captiue the hearts of men, will not infraunchise them so soone as thoughte and will desire. Wherefore bayting hymselfe wyth hope, and tickled with loue, hée determined what soe∣uer chaūced, to loue hir, and to assay if by long seruice he coulde lenifie that harde hearte, and make tender that unpliant will, to haue pitie vpon the paine which she saw him to endure, & to recompense his laborsome trauels, which he thought were vertuously imployed for gayning of hir good grace. And vpon this settled de∣liberation,

he retired againe to Virle (so was his house named) where disposing his things in order, he retor∣ned again to Montcall to make his long resiance there, to put in readinesse his furniture, and to welde his ar∣tillerie with suche industrie, as in the ende he mighte make a reasonable breach to force and take the place: For surprisyng whereof, he hazarded great dangers, the rather, that he hym selfe might first be taken. And where hys assaultes and pollicies could not preuaile, he mynded to content him selfe with the pleasure and passetyme that hée myght receiue in the contempla∣tion of a thyng so fayre, and the ordinarie sight of an image so excellent. The memorie of whome rather in∣creased hys paine than yelded comfort, dyd rather mi∣nister corrosiue poyson, than gyue remedie of ease, a cause more of cruel and sodaine death, than of prolon∣ged life. Philiberto then being become a citizen of Mōtcall, vsed to frequent the Churche more than hée was wont to doe, or his deuotion serued hym, and that by∣cause he was not able elsewhere to enioy the presence of his Sainct, but in places and temples of deuotion: whiche no doubt was a very holie and woorthie disposition, but yet not méete or requisite to obserue suche holy places for those intentes, whiche oughte not to be prophaned in thyngs so fonde and foolishe, and actes so contrary to the institution and mynde of those, which in tymes paste were the fyrst founders and erectours of temples. Signior Philiberto then moued with that religious superstition, made no conscience at all to speake vnto hir within the Churche. And true it is, when she wente out of the same, he (moued with a certaine familiar curtesie, naturall to eche Gentle∣man of good bryngyng vp) many tymes conducted hir home to hir owne house, not able for all that (what so

〈◊〉〈◊〉 he sayd) to winne the thing that was able to in∣gender any litle contentation, which grieued him ve∣ry much: For the cruell woman fained as though 〈◊〉〈◊〉 vnderstode nothing of that he sayde, and turnyng the wayne against the oxen, by contrary talke she began to tell him a tale of a tubbe, of matters of hir house∣holde, whervnto he gaue so good héede, as she did to the hearing of hys complaintes. Thus these two, of dy∣uers affections, and moued with contrary thoughtes, spake 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to an other, without apt answere to eithers talk. Wherby y^e Gentleman cōceiued an assured argu∣ment of his ruine, which voide of al hope & meanes, he sawe to be ineuitable, and therfore practised with 〈◊〉〈◊〉 dames of the Citie, that had familiar resort vn∣to hir house, and vsed frequent conuersation with 〈◊〉〈◊〉 rebellious lady Zilia. To one of them then he determi∣ned to communicate his secrets, and to do hir to vnder∣stande in dede the only cause that made him to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 at Montcall, and the griefe which he sustained, for that he was not able to discouer his torment to hir, that had giuen him the wounde. This Gentleman therfore, re∣paired to one of his neighbors, a woman of good corage, which at other 〈◊〉〈◊〉 had experimented what meates they fede on, which 〈◊〉〈◊〉 at Venus table, and what bitter∣nesse is intermingled, amid those drinkes that Cupido quaffeth vnto his guestes. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 whom (hauing before coniured hir to kepe secret that which he wold declare) he disclosed the secrets of his minde, expressing his loue without naming of his lady before he herd the answer of his neighbor, who vnderstanding almoste to what purpose the affections of the pacient were directed, said vnto him:

Sir, nedefull it is not to vse long orations, the loue that I bear you for the honest qualities which hitherto I haue knowne to be in you, shall make me

to kéepe silent, that wherof as yet I do not knowe the matter, and the assurance you haue, not to be abused by me, constraineth me to warrant you, that I will not spare to do you all the pleasure & honest seruice I can. Ah mistresse (answered sir Philiberto) so lōg as I lyue, I will not faile to acknowledge the liberalitie of your 〈◊〉〈◊〉, by offering your selfe pacientely to heare, and secretely to kepe the wordes I speake, accorduig∣ly as they deserue: and that (which is more than I re∣quire) you doe assure me that I shall finde suche one of you, as will not spare to giue your ayde. Alas, I resemble the good and wyse Captaine, who to take a 〈◊〉〈◊〉 doth not onely ayde himselfe with the forwarde∣nesse and valiance of his souldiers, but to spare them, and to auoyde slaughter for makyng of way, planteth his cannon, and battereth the wall of the fort, whiche he woulde assayle, to the intent that both the souldier and the ordinaunce maye perfourme and suffise the perfection of the platte, whyche hée hath framed and deuised within his politike heade. I haue already en∣couraged my souldiers, and haue lost the better part truly in the skirmish which hath deliuered vnto me my swéete cruell enimie. Now I am driuen to make redy the fire, which resteth in the kindled match of your cō∣ceipts, to batter y^t fort hitherto 〈◊〉〈◊〉, for any assault which I can make. I vnderstand not (sayde she smiling) these Labyrinthes of your complaints, except you speake more plain. I neuer haunted the warres, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 knewe 〈◊〉〈◊〉 thing it is to handle weapons, impro∣per and not séemely for myne estate and kynde.

The warre (quod he) whereof I speake, is so naturall and common, as I doubt not, but you haue somtymes 〈◊〉〈◊〉, with what 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and camisados men vse to

take their enimies, how they plant their 〈◊〉〈◊〉, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 what meanes bothe the assaylant and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ought to vse. So far as I sée (sayd she) there 〈◊〉〈◊〉 nothing for vs, but the assurance of the fielde, sith we be ready to enter in combat: and do thinke that the fort shal not be hard to winne, by reason of the walles, dikes, ram∣pars, bulwarks, platformes, counterforts, curtines, vamewres & engins which you haue prepared, besides a numbre of false brayes and flanks, placed in good or∣der, and the whole defended from the thundryng can∣nons and bombardes, which doe amaze the wandring enimie in the field. But I pray you leauing these war∣like tumults, to speake more boldly without these ex∣trauagantes and digressions, for I take pitie to sée you thus troubled, and ready to excede the boundes of your modestie and wonted wisedom. Do not maruell at all mistresse (quod he) sith according to newe occurrents and alterations, bothe the purpose, talke, and counsell ordinarily do change. I am become the seruant of one which maketh me altogether lyke vnto those that 〈◊〉〈◊〉 madde, and bounde in chains, not able to speake or say any thing, but what the spirites which be in them, doe force them to vtter. For I neither wil, thinke, or 〈◊〉〈◊〉 any thing, but that which the enchaunter Loue dothe commaunde and suffer to expresse, who, so rigorously doth 〈◊〉〈◊〉 my heart, that in place where boldenesse is most requisite, he depriueth me of force, and leaueth me without any countenance. And being alone, God 〈◊〉〈◊〉 how frankly I doe wander in the place, where myne enimie may commaunde, and with what 〈◊〉〈◊〉 I do inuade hir prouince. Alas, is it not pitie then to sée these diuersities in one self matter, and vpon one very thing? Truely I woulde endure willyngly all these trauailes, if I 〈◊〉〈◊〉 in the end my seruice might

be accepted, and hoped that my 〈◊〉〈◊〉 shold finde relief: but liuing in this 〈◊〉〈◊〉, I must néedes no∣rish the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and the solace of the vnhappy, which are wishes and vaine hope, trusting that some God, will 〈◊〉〈◊〉 me a faithfull friend that will assaye to rid me from the hell wherinto I am throwne, or else to shortē this miserable life, which is a 〈◊〉〈◊〉 times more pain∣ful than death.

In saying so, he began to sigh so strange∣ly as a man would haue thought that two smithes 〈◊〉〈◊〉 working at the 〈◊〉〈◊〉, had giuen two blows at his stomake, so vehement was the inclosed winde within his heart, that made him to fetche forth those terrible 〈◊〉〈◊〉, the eyes not forgetting to yelde forth a riuer of teares, which gushing forth at the centre of his heart, mounted into his braines, at length to issue forth, through the spout proper to the chanell of such a foun∣taine. Which the gentlewoman seing, moued with cō∣passion, could not contain to kepe him company in 〈◊〉〈◊〉, and therewithall sayd vnto him.

Although mine estate and reputatiō, which to this day I haue kept vn∣spotted, defend the vse of my good will in things y^t may 〈◊〉〈◊〉 mine honor, yet sir by séeing the extremitie which you suffer, to be 〈◊〉〈◊〉, I wil somwhat 〈◊〉〈◊〉 my conscience, & assay to succor you with so good heart, as 〈◊〉〈◊〉 you trust me w^t the secretes of your thought. There resteth only for me to know, the thing that you will haue me to doe, and towardes what woman your deuotions be inclined: for sure I am to giue hir suche 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of that which I haue séene and known of your good wil & seruice towards the mistresse of your heart, that 〈◊〉〈◊〉 shalbe altogether out of tast, and voide of appetite, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 she do not accept that affectionate offred wil, the like wherof shall neuer be profered againe. And truly such a womā may iudge hir self right happy to haue a Gen∣tleman,

so 〈◊〉〈◊〉, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and faithfull, for 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and louer, which honoring and seruing hir beautie 〈◊〉〈◊〉 good 〈◊〉〈◊〉, is the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and ornament of the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of his Ladie. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the earth 〈◊〉〈◊〉 〈◊〉〈◊〉 forth in these dayes like 〈◊〉〈◊〉, men being growne to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 disloyaltie, as in the ende it will defraude the vertue of Fidelitie from them, and wholly plant the same, in the soyle of womens heartes: and they not a∣ble to departe the force and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 thereof, will 〈◊〉〈◊〉 vpon them conditions that be cruell, to punish the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 〈◊〉〈◊〉, who disguised with the visard of fained friendship, and painted with coloured amitie, languishing in sighes and sorowes, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to deceiue them that prodigally employ 〈◊〉〈◊〉 〈◊〉〈◊〉 into the handes of those cruell, inconstante 〈◊〉〈◊〉 foolish suters. Ah Mistresse answered the Gentleman: how may I be able to recompense that onely 〈◊〉〈◊〉 which you 〈◊〉〈◊〉 promise me now? But be sure that you sée 〈◊〉〈◊〉 a Souldier and Gentleman which shall no lesse be prodigall of his life to doe you 〈◊〉〈◊〉, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 you be liberall of your reputation to ease his paines. Now sith it pleaseth you to shew such fauoure to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 me your helpe and support in that which paineth me, I require no more at your hands, but to beare a Letter which I shall wryte to Mistresse Zilia, with whome I 〈◊〉〈◊〉 〈◊〉〈◊〉 〈◊〉〈◊〉 in loue, as if I doe receiue no solace of my 〈◊〉〈◊〉, I know not howe I shall auoide the cutting of my thréede, which the spinning sisters 〈◊〉〈◊〉 twisted to prolong my life, that henceforth can receiue no succor, if 〈◊〉〈◊〉 your meanes I 〈◊〉〈◊〉 not atchieue the thing that holdeth me in such bondage. The Gentlewoman was 〈◊〉〈◊〉 sorowfull, when she vnderstoode that 〈◊〉〈◊〉 〈◊〉〈◊〉 had 〈◊〉〈◊〉 his Loue vpon such one, as would not 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to that request, and much lesse would 〈◊〉〈◊〉

any rest vnto his miseries, and therefore 〈◊〉〈◊〉 hir selfe to moue that 〈◊〉〈◊〉 fantasie out of his 〈◊〉〈◊〉.

But he was already resolued in his misehappe, which perceiuing in the ende she sayd:

To the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Sir that you doe not thinke that I doe meane to ex∣cuse the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of my promise, make your letters, and of my Faith I will deliuer them.

And albeit I know 〈◊〉〈◊〉 well what be the honoures and glory of that Pilgrime, yet I will render to you againe the true answere of hir 〈◊〉〈◊〉 which she shall vse to me, whereby you maye consider the gaine you are lyke to make by pursuing of a woman (although faire) of so small deserte. The Gentleman failed not to giue hir 〈◊〉〈◊〉 thankes, praying hir to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 vntill 〈◊〉〈◊〉 had wrytten his letters: whereunto she most wil∣lingly obeyed. He then gone into his Chamber, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 a hundred hundred matters to write vnto his Ladie, and after he had fixed them in minde, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 incke and paper wryting as foloweth.

The Letters of Seignior Philiberto of Virle, to Mistresse Zilia of Montcall.

THe passion 〈◊〉〈◊〉 whiche I endure (Madame) through 〈◊〉〈◊〉 loue of you, is such, as 〈◊〉〈◊〉 that I am assured of the little loue you beare me, in 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of the incredible seruitude which mine 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and desire is 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to employe, I haue no will to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 my force, ne yet to ridde my selfe from 〈◊〉〈◊〉 〈◊〉〈◊〉 〈◊〉〈◊〉 〈◊〉〈◊〉 will to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 〈◊〉〈◊〉

beautie, although euen from the beginning I felt the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of the mortall 〈◊〉〈◊〉 which now 〈◊〉〈◊〉 〈◊〉〈◊〉 〈◊〉〈◊〉. Alas I 〈◊〉〈◊〉 not know 〈◊〉〈◊〉 what 〈◊〉〈◊〉 I am borne, nor what fate doeth 〈◊〉〈◊〉 my yeares, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 I doe 〈◊〉〈◊〉 that heauen and loue, and hir whome I 〈◊〉〈◊〉 doe conforme themselues with one assent to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 mine ouerthrowe, who thinke my self of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 born and sustained in my first yong age, to be the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 man and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 seruaunt of you my 〈◊〉〈◊〉 deare, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 whome alone, I yelde my heart 〈◊〉〈◊〉 as it is, and the ioy of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 thoughts 〈◊〉〈◊〉 in my 〈◊〉〈◊〉, by the contemplation and remembraunce of your ex∣cellent and perfect grace, wherof if I be not fauored, I 〈◊〉〈◊〉 for death, from which euen presently I 〈◊〉〈◊〉: 〈◊〉〈◊〉 〈◊〉〈◊〉 feare of that which she can doe, or of the vgly 〈◊〉〈◊〉 which I conceiue to be in hir, but rather to confirme my life, this body, for instrument to exercise the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 〈◊〉〈◊〉 for doing of your commaundements, where I shall proue that vnworthy cruelty, both of your gen∣tle 〈◊〉〈◊〉, and of the body fraught ful of that, which dame Nature can departe of hir aboundant graces. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 sure madame that you shall shortly sée the end of him, which attendeth yet to beare so much as in him 〈◊〉〈◊〉 lie, the vehement loue into an other world, which ma∣keth me to pray you to haue pitie on him, who (atten∣ding the rest and final sentence of his death or life) doth humbly kisse your white and delicate hands, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 god to giue to you like 〈◊〉〈◊〉 as his is, who 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to be,

Wholy yours, or not to be at all. Philiberto of Virle.

The letter written, closed and sealed, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 neighbour, who promised him againe to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 him 〈◊〉〈◊〉 at night. Thus thys 〈◊〉〈◊〉 went

hir way, leauing this poore languishing Gentleman hoping against his hope, and faining by and by some ioy and pleasure, wherin he 〈◊〉〈◊〉 himself with great contented minde. Then sodainly he called againe vnto remembrance, the crueltie & 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of Zilia, which shewed before his eyes so many kindes of deathe, as times he thought vpon the same, thinking that he saw the choler wherewith his little courteous mistresse fu∣riously did intertaine the messanger, who found Zilia comming forth of a gardein adioyning to hir house, and hauing saluted hir, and receiued like courteous saluta∣tion, she would haue framed hir talke, for honest excuse in that 〈◊〉〈◊〉 charge & message: for hir also vnto whome she was sent, and for some ease to the pore ge∣tleman which aproched nearer death than life. But Zi∣lia brake of hir talke saying:

I maruell much gentle neighbor to sée you héere at this time of the day, know∣ing your honest custome is to let passe no minute of the time, except it be employed in some vertuous exercise. Mistresse answered the messanger, I thank you for the good opinion you haue of me, and doe pray you to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the same. For I do assure you that nothing vaine & of little effect hath made me slacke my businesse at this time, which me think I do not 〈◊〉〈◊〉, when I inforce my self to take pitie and mercy vpon the afflicted sort: and the cause therof I would disclose, if I feared not to offend you, and breake the loue which of long time be∣twene vs two hath bene frequented. I know not (sayd Zilia) wherunto your words do tēd, although my heart doth throbbe, and minde doth moue to make me thinke your purposed talke to be of none other effecte, than to say a 〈◊〉〈◊〉 which may redoūd to the preiudice of mine 〈◊〉〈◊〉. Wherfore I pray you, doe not open any thing y^t 〈◊〉〈◊〉 be contrary, be it neuer so little to the duetie of

Dames of our degrée. Mistresse sayd the neighboure, I suppose that the little likelihoode which is in you with the thing for the helpe whereof I come to speake, hath made you féele the passion, contrary to the griefe of him that indures so much for your sake. Unto whome not thinking therof I gaue my faith in pledge to beare this Letter. In saying so, she drew the same out of hir bosome, and presenting them to cruell 〈◊〉〈◊〉, she sayde: I beseeche you to thinke that I am not ignoraunt of the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 wherewith the Lorde of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 is affected, who wrote these letters. I promised him the duetie of a messanger towardes you: and so constrained by promise I could doe no lesse, than to deliuer you that which he doeth send, with seruice such as shall 〈◊〉〈◊〉 for euer, or if it shall please you to accept him for such a one as he desireth. For my parte I pray you to reade the contents, and accordingly to giue me answere: for my faith is no further bound, but faithfully to re∣porte to him the thing whereupon you shall be resol∣ued.

Zilia which was not wont to receiue very ofte such embassades, at the first was in minde to breake the letters, and to returne the messanger to hir shame. But in the end taking heart, and chaunging hir affec∣tion, she red the letters not without shewing some ve∣ry great alteration outwardely, which declared the meaning of hir thought that diuersly did striue within hir minde: for sodainely the chaunged hir coloure twice or thrice, now waring pale like the increasing 〈◊〉〈◊〉, Eclipsed by the Sunne, when the féeleth a certaine darkening of hir borowed light, then the Uermilion and coloured tainte came into hir face againe, with no lesse hewe than the blomed Rose newly budded forth, which encreased halfe so much againe, the excellencie of that wherewith Nature 〈◊〉〈◊〉 indued hir. And 〈◊〉〈◊〉

〈◊〉〈◊〉 paused a while. Notwithstanding, after that shée had redde, and redde againe hir louers letter, not able to dissemble hir foolishe anger which vered hir hearte, she sayd vnto the mistresse messanger:

I wold not haue thought that you, being suche as eche man knoweth, would (by abusing your duetie,) haue bene the ambas∣sador of a thing so vncomely for your estate, and the house whereof you come, and towardes me which ne∣uer was such one (ne yet pretend to be,) to whome sute should be made for doing of such follies. And trust to it that it is the loue I beare you, which shall make me dissemble that I thinke, and holde my peace, reser∣uing in silence, that which (had it come from an other than you) I would haue published to the great disho∣noure of hir which had made so little accompte of my chastitie. Let it suffise therfore in time to come for you to thinke and beleue, that I am chaste and honest: and to aduertise the Lord of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to procéede no further in his sute: for rather will I die, than agrée to the least point of that which he desires of me. And that he may knowe the same, be well assured that he shall take his leaue of that priuate talke which sometimes I v∣sed with him to my great dishonor, as farre as I can sée. Get you home therefore, and if you loue your ho∣noure so much, as you sée me curious of my chastitie, I beséeche you vse no further talke of him, whome I hate so much, as his 〈◊〉〈◊〉 is excessiue, by louing hir which careth not for those amorous toyes and sained passions, whereunto such louing fooles do suffer them selues to be caried headlong.

The messanger ashamed, to heare hir selfe thus pinched to the quicke, answered hir very quietly without mouing of hir pacience:

I pray to God (mistresse) that he may remedy the diffe∣rent disease almost incurable in either of you twaine,

the same béeing so vehement, as altered into a 〈◊〉〈◊〉, maketh you in this wise, incapable of reasō.

Fini∣shing these words she toke hir leaue of Zilia, and arri∣ued to the louers house, she founde him lying vpon his bedde, rather dead than aliue: who séeing his neighbor returned backe againe, with face so sadde, not tarying for the answer which she was about to make, he began to say:

Ah infortunate Gentleman, thou payest well the vsurie of thy pleasures past, when thou diddest liue at libertie, frée from those trauails which now do put thée to death, with out suffring thée to die. Oh happie, and more than right happie had I bene, if inconstant Fortune had not deuised this treason, wherein I am surprised and caught, and yet no raunsom can redeme me from prison, but the most miserable deth that euer poore louer suffred. Ah mistresse, I know well that Zi∣lia estemeth not my letters, ne yet regardeth my loue, I confesse that I haue done you wrong by thus abusing your honest amitie, for the solace of my pain. Ah fickle loue, what foole is he which doth commit himself to the rage and furie of the waues of thy foming and tempe∣stuous seas? Alas I am entred in, with great gladsom chéere, through the glistering shew before mine eyes of the faint sunne beames, wherunto so soone as I made saile, the same denied me light to thrust me forth into a thousande windes, tempests, and raging stormes of raine. By meanes wherof I sée no meane at all to hope for end of my mishaps: and much lesse the shipwracke which sodainely may rid me from this daunger more intollerable, than if I were ouerwhelmed wythin the bottomlesse depth of the maine Ocean. Ah deceiuer, & wily souldier, why hast thou made me enterprise the voyage farre of from thy solitudes and wildernesse, to giue me ouer in the middest of my necessitie? Is this

thy maner towardes them, which franckly follow thée by trace, and pleasantly subdue themselues to thy trai∣terous folies? At lest wise if I saw some hope of helth I would indure without complaint therof: yea, and it were a more daungerous tempest. But O good God, what is he of whom I speake? Of whom do I attende for solace and reliefe? of him truely which is borne for the ouerthrow of men? Of whom hope I for healthe? Of the moste noysom poyson that euer was myngled with the most subtile druggs that euer were. Whome shall I take to be my defender? He which is in ambush traitrously to catch me, that he may martir me worsse than 〈◊〉〈◊〉 hath done before. Ah cruell wenche, that thou shouldest measure so euill the good will of him that ne∣uer purposed to trespasse the least of thy commaunde∣mentes. Ah, that thy beautie should finde a subiecte so stubborn in thée, to torment them that loue and praise thée. O maigre and vnkinde recompense, to expel good seruantes that: be affectionate to a seruice so iust and good. Ah Basiliske, coloured ouer with pleasure and swéetenesse, howe hath thy sighte dispersed his poyson throughout mine heart? At least wise if I hadde some drugge to repell thy force, I should liue at ease, & that without this sute and trouble. But I féele and proue that this sentence is more than true:

No physike herbes the griefe of loue can cure, Ne yet no drugge that paine can well assure.

Alas, the seare clothe will not serue, to tense the wounde the time shall be but loste, to cut the same is but increase of paine, to salue the same bredeth matter to cause mine ouerthrow. To be short, any dressing can not auaile, except the hand of hir alone which gaue the wounde. I would to God the sawe the bottome of my heart, and viewed the closet of any minde, y^t she might

iudge my firme saith and know the wrong she doth me by hir rigor and froward wil. But O vnhappie man, I féele that she is so resolued in obstinate mynde, as hir rest semeth only to depend vpon my paine, hir ease vp∣on my grief, and hir ioy vpon my sadnesse.

And saying so, began strangely to wepe, and sighing betwene, la∣mented, in so much as, y^t mistresse messanger not able to abide the grief and painful trauaile wherin she saw the pore gentleman wrapped, went home to hir house: not withstanding she told afterward the whole successe of his loue to a Gentleman, the friende of Philiberto. Nowe this Gentleman was a companion in armes to the lorde of Virle; and a very familiar friend of his, for which cause he went about by all meanes to put away those foolish and frantike conceits out of his fansie, but he profited as much by his endeuour, as the passionate gained by his heuinesse: who determining to die, yelded so much to care and grief, as he fel into a greuous sick∣nesse, which both hindred him from slepe, and also of his appetite to eate and drinke, giuing himself to muse vp∣on his folies and fansied dreames, without hearing or admitting any man to speake vnto him. And if he dyd heare them, his words tended to the complainte of the crueltie of one, whom he named not, and sounded of de∣sire he had to end his life vpon that cōplaynt. The phy∣sitians round about wer sought for, who could giue no iudgement of that disease (neither for al the signes thei saw, or any inspection of the vrine, or touching of the pulse) but saide that it was a melancholie humor distil∣ling from the braine, which caused the alteration of his sense: howbeit their arte and knowledge were void of skil to euacuate the grosse blood that was congeled of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 melancholie. And therfore dispairing of his helth, with handes full of money they gaue him ouer. Whiche his

friend and companion perceiuing, maruellous sory for the affliction of his friend, ceased not to practise al that 〈◊〉〈◊〉 could by letters, gifts, promises and complaintes to procure Zilia to visite the pacient. For he was assured that the only presence of hir was able to recouer hys friend. But the cruell woman excused hir self through hir widdowhed, that it should be vnséemely for one of hir degrée (of intent) to visite a Gentleman, whose pa∣rentage and aliance she knew not. The soliciter of the Lord of Virle his health, séeing how litle his prayers a∣uailed with his implacable furie, knewe no longer to what 〈◊〉〈◊〉 he might vow himself for counsell, in the ende resolued to sollicite hir which hadde done the first message, that she might deuise some meanes to bring them to speake together. And fyndyng hir for his pur∣pose, thus he sayd vnto hir:

Mistresse, I maruel much that you make so litle accompt of the pore lord of Virle who lieth in his bedde attending for death. Alas, if e∣uer pitie hadde place in womans hearte, I beséech you to gyue your ayde to helpe hym, the meane whereof in whome it lyeth, is not ignorant vnto you. God is my witnesse (quod she) what trauaile I could take, to help him: but in thyngs impossible, it is not in man to de∣termin, or rest assured in iudgemēt. I wil go vnto him and comfort him so well as I can, that peraduenture my promises maye 〈◊〉〈◊〉 some parte of his payne: and afterward we wil at leisure better consider vpon that which we shall promise.

Herevppon they went toge∣ther to sée the pacient, that beganne to looke vp more 〈◊〉〈◊〉 than he was wonted:

who séeyng the Gen∣tlewoman, sayde vnto hir: Ah mystresse, I woulde to God I had neuer proued youre fidelitie, to féele the pas∣sing cruell hearte of hir, that rather dothe estéeme hir honour, to practyse regour and tyrannie vpon me,

than with gentlenesse to maintaine the life of a poore féeble knight. Sir (sayde she) I can not tell what you meane thus to tormēt your self: for I trust to cure you betwene this and to morow, and wil do mine endeuor to cause you speake with hir, vpon whom wrongfully perchaunce you doe complaine, and who dareth not to come vnto you, lest some occasion be giuen of suspition to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 speakers, which wil make the report more slan∣derous, when they know the cause of your disease. Ah (sayd the pacient) howe ioyfull and pleasant is youre talke? I sée wel that you desire my helth, and for that purpose, would haue me drinke of those liquors, which superficially do appeare to be swéete, afterwardes to make my life a hundred times more fainte and féeble than now it is. Be you there sayde she? And I sweare vnto you by my faith not to faile to kéepe my promise, to cause you speke alone with mistresse Zilia. Alas my∣stresse sayd the louer, I aske no more at your handes, that I may heare with myne owne eares the last sen∣tence 〈◊〉〈◊〉 or defiance. Well put your trust in me, sayd she, and take you no thought but for your health. For I am assured ere it be long, to cause hir to come vnto you, and then you shall sée whether I am diligent in those matters I toke in hande, and to what effecte myne attemptes do proue. Me think already (quod he) that my sicknesse is not able to stay me from going 〈◊〉〈◊〉 hir that is the cause of my debilitie, when it shal 〈◊〉〈◊〉 hir to commaunde me, where soeuer it be, sith hir on∣ly remēbrance will be of no lesse force in me, than 〈◊〉〈◊〉 clerenesse of the sun beames is to euaporate the thick∣nesse of the morning mistes. Euen so is she (if such be hir chéere to me) the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 wherein my day shall take increase, or the night whiche eclipseth and obscu∣reth the brādishing brightnesse of my first sunbeames.

With that the Gentlewoman tooke hir leaue of him, (who without let of his companion (immediately rose vp) and she went home attending oportunitie to speke to Zilia, whome two or thrée dayes after shée mette at Church, and they two beyng alone together in a Cha∣pell, sayd vnto hir with fained teares, forced from hir eyes, and sending forth a cloude of sighes:

Madame, I nothing doubt at al, but y^t last letters which I brought you, made you conceiue some yll opinion of me, which I do gesse by the frownyng face that euer sithens you haue borne me. But when you shall knowe the hurte which it hath done, I think you will not be so harde, and voyde of pitie, but with pacience to hearken that which I will say, and moued to pitie the state of a pore Gentleman, who by your meanes is in the pangs of death.

Zilia, whiche til then neuer regarded the payne and sicknesse of the pacient, began to sorow, with such passion, not to graunt him further fauour than he had alreadie receiued, but to finde some means to ease him of his griefe, and then to giue him ouer for euer. And therfore she said vnto hir neighbor:

Mistresse I thought that all these sutes had bene forgotten, vntil the other day, a Gentlemā prayed me to go sée the Lord of Virle, who told me as you do now, that he was in great dan∣ger. But séeing that he wareth worsse and worsse, I will be ruled by you, beyng well assured of your hone∣stie and vertue, and that you wil not aduise me to that which shall be hurtfull to myne honour. And when you shall do what you can, you shall winne so much as no∣thing, & yet shall ease him nothing at all, which wrong∣fully plaineth of my crueltie. For I do not purpose to do any priuate facte with him, but that which shall be mete for an honest Gentlewoman, and such as a faith∣full tutor of hir chastitie, may graunt to an honest and

vertuous gentleman. His desire is none other (said the gentle woman) for he intreateth but your presence, to let you wit by word, y^t he is redy to do the thing which you shall cōmand him. Alas, said 〈◊〉〈◊〉, I know not how I shal be able to do the same: for it is impossible to go to him without suspition, which the common people wyl lightly conceiue of such light & familiar behauiour. And rather wold I die than aduēture mine honor, hitherto conserued with great seueritie & diligēce. And sith you say, y^t he is in extremes of deth, for your sake I wil not stick to go vnto him, y^t hereafter he may haue no cause to cōplaine of my rudenesse. I thank you (said the mes∣sanger for the good wil you beare me, & for the help you promise vnto the poore passionate gentleman, whome these newes wil bring on foote againe, & wil do you re∣uerence for that good turne. Sith it is so (saide Zilia) to morow at noone let him come vnto my house, where in a low chamber, he shall haue leisure to saye to me hys minde. But I purpose by Gods helpe, to suffer him no further than that whiche I haue graunted. As it shall please you (sayd hir neighbour) for I craue no more of you but that only fauour, which as a messanger of good newes, I goe to shew him, recommending my selfe in the meane time to your cōmaunde.

And then she went vnto the pacient, whom she found walking vp & downe the chamber, indifferently lusty of his persone, and of colour metely freshe for the tyme he lefte his 〈◊〉〈◊〉.

Now when sir Philiberto sawe the messanger, he sayd vnto hir:

And howe nowe mystresse, what newes? Is Zilia so stubborne as 〈◊〉〈◊〉 was wonte to be? 〈◊〉〈◊〉 may sée hir (sayde she) if to morrowe at noone you haue the hearte and dare goe vnto hir house. Is it pos∣sible (sayde hée imbracynge hir) that you haue procu∣red for me that good tourne, to delyuer mée from the

〈◊〉〈◊〉, wherein I haue so long tyme bene 〈◊〉〈◊〉? 〈◊〉〈◊〉 trustie and assured friende, all the dayes of my life I will remember that pleasure and benefite, and by acknowledgyng of the same, shall be readie to render lyke, when you please to commaunde, or else let me be counted the moste vnkynde and vncurteous Gen∣tleman that euer made profession of loue: I wyll goe by Gods helpe to sée mystresse Zilia, with intent to en∣dure all trouble that Fortune shall send vnto me, pro∣testing to vere my self no more, although I sée my 〈◊〉〈◊〉 happe otherwise to ende than my desert required and that good lucke hath cause to worke againste me. But yet against Fortune to contend, is to war against my self, wherof the victorie can be but 〈◊〉〈◊〉.

Thus he passed al the day, which séemed to last a thousand ye∣res to him, that thought to receiue some good intertain∣mēt of his lady, in whose bonds he was catched before he thought that womās malice could so farre excede, or display hir venomous sting. And truly that mā is void of sense, whych suffreth him selfe so fondly to be char∣med, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the peril of the abused ought to serue him for example. They be to the masculine kinde a great con∣fusion, and vnwares for want of due forsight, the same 〈◊〉〈◊〉 suffer it self to be bound & taken captiue by y^e very thing which hath no being to worke effecte, but by his own fréewil. But this inchantmēt which riseth of wo∣mens beautie, being to men a pleasant displeasure, I thinke to be decked with that drawing vertue and al∣lurement, to punish and torment the faults of men, for they once fed and baited with a fading fauor & poisoned swetenesse, forget their owne perfection, and nousled in their foolishe fansies, séeking felicitie and soueraigne gyfte, in the matter wherein dothe lie the summe of their vnhappes. In like maner the vertuous and sham∣fast dames, haue not their eyes of mynd so blindfolde,

but that they sée whervnto those franke seruices, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 〈◊〉〈◊〉 faithes and vices coloured and stuffed with, ex∣terior vertue do tende: and doubt not but those louers do imitate the Scorpion, whose venome lyeth in hys taile, the ende of such loue, beyng the ruine of good re∣noume, and the decay of former vertues. For whych cause the heauens, the friende of their sexe, haue gyuen them a prouidence, which those gentle, vnfauoured lo∣uers terme to be rigor, that by those meanes they may proue the desert of a suter, both for their great conten∣tation and praise, and for the rest of them that do them seruice. This iuste right and modeste prouidence, that cruell Gentlewoman vsed not to the good and faithfull louer, the Lord of Virle, who was so humble a seruant of his vnkinde mistresse, as his goodnesse redounded to his great 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and folie, as manifestly may appere by that which foloweth.

Sir Philiberto then thinkyng to haue gained muche by hauing made promise, liberally to speake to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 La∣die, went vnto hir at the appointed time, so wel a con∣tented man truely of that grace, as al the vnkindnesse past was quite forgot. Nowe being come to the lod∣ging of mistresse Zilia, he found hir in the deuised place with one of hir maides wayting vpon hir. When shée saw him after a litle colde entertainement, she began to say vnto hym with fained ioy, that neuer moued hir within, these wordes:

Nowe syr, I sée that youre late 〈◊〉〈◊〉 was not so straunge as I was giuen to vnder stande, for the good state wherin I sée you presently to be, which from henceforth shall make me beleue, that the passions of men endure so long as the cause of their affections continue within their fansies, much like vn∣to looking glasses, which albeit they make the equalitie or 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of things represented to apere, yet when the

thing séene doth passe & vanish away, the formes also do voide out of remembraunce, like the wind which light∣ly whorleth too & fro through the plain of some depe va∣ley. Ah madame answered he, how easie a matter it is for the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 person to counterfait both ioy & dissi∣mulatiō in one very thing, which not only may forget y^t conceit that moueth his affections, but the obiect must 〈◊〉〈◊〉 remaine in him, as painted and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 in his mind. Which truly as you say is a loking glasse, not such one for all that, as the counterfaited apparance of represented formes hath like vigor in it, y^t the first and true 〈◊〉〈◊〉 & shapes can so soone vanish without leauing the trace of most perfect impression of such formes w^tin the mind of him, which liueth vpon their only remem∣brance. In this mirror then (which by reason of y^e hiddē force I may wel say to be ardent & burning) haue I lo∣ked so wel as I can, thereby to forme y^e sustentation of my good 〈◊〉〈◊〉. But y^e imagined shape not able to support suche perfection, hath made the rest of the body to faile (weakned through y^e minds passions) in such wise as if y^t hope to recouer this better part half lost, had not cu∣red both, y^e whole decay of the one had folowed, by thin∣king to giue some accōplishmēt in the other. And if you sée me Madame, attain to some good state, impute not y^e same I beséeche you, but to the good will & fauor which I receiue by seing you in a priuate place, wherin I cō∣ceiue greater ioy than euer I did, to say vnto you the thing which you would not beleue, by woords at other times procéeding from my mouth, ne yet by aduertise∣mēt signified in my 〈◊〉〈◊〉 letters. Notwithstāding I think y^t my Martyrdome is known to be such as euery man may perceiue y^t the summe of my desire is only to serue and obey you, for so muche as I can receiue no greater comfort, thā to be cōmaunded to make repaire

to you, to let you know that I am hole (although 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ouer by 〈◊〉〈◊〉) whē you vouchsafed to employ 〈◊〉〈◊〉 in your seruice, and thinke my self raised vp againe 〈◊〉〈◊〉 one 〈◊〉〈◊〉 thousande deathes at once, when it shall please you to haue pitie vpon the grief & passion, which I 〈◊〉〈◊〉. Alas what causeth my 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to sée y^t 〈◊〉〈◊〉 beautie of yours to make the proofe of a crueltie so great? 〈◊〉〈◊〉 you determined Madame thus to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 gentleman that is ready to sacrifice himself in your 〈◊〉〈◊〉, whē you shal depart to him some fauor of your 〈◊〉〈◊〉? Do you thinke that my passions be 〈◊〉〈◊〉 or 〈◊〉〈◊〉? Alacke, alacke, the teares which I haue shed, the losse of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to eate and drinke, the weary pas∣sed nights, the long contriued sléepelesse time, the rest∣lesse turmoile of my self, may well assure that my 〈◊〉〈◊〉 heart is of better merite than you estéeme.

Then séeing hir to fire hir eyes vpon the groūd, and thinking that he had already wonne hir, he reinforced his faire talke, & sighing at 〈◊〉〈◊〉 betwéene, not sparing the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 which trickled 〈◊〉〈◊〉 alongs his face, he prosecuted his talke, saying:

Ah faire amongs the fairest, would you blot that diuine beautie with a cruelty so furious, as to cause the death of him which loueth you better thā him selfe? Ah mine eyes, which hitherto haue bene 〈◊〉〈◊〉 with two liuely springs to expresse the hidden griefes within my heart, if your vnhappe be such, that the only dame of your contemplatiōs, and cause of your teares, doe cause the humor to encrease, which hitherto in such wise hath emptied my braine, that there is no more in me to moisten your drouthe, I am content to endure the same, vntill my hearte shall féele the laste pangue, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 thēe of nourishment, and me of mine 〈◊〉〈◊〉. The Gentlewoman, whether she was weary of that 〈◊〉〈◊〉, or rather doubted that in the end hir cha∣stitis

should receiue some assault through the dismesu∣red passiō which she saw to endure, sayd vnto him with rigorous words:

You haue talked and written inough, you haue 〈◊〉〈◊〉 well sollicited hir, which is throughly resolued by former minde, to kepe hir honor in y^t worthy reputacion of degrée, wherin she maintai∣neth the same amongs the best. I haue hitherto suffred you to abuse my pacience, and haue vsed that familia∣ritie which they deserue not that goe aboute 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to assaile the chastitie of those women that paciently giue them 〈◊〉〈◊〉, for the opinion they haue conceiued of some shadowing vertue of such foolish suters. I now doe sée y^t all your woords doe tend to beguile me, and to depriue me of that you cannot giue me: which shall be a war∣ning for me henceforth, more wisely to looke about my businesse and more warely to take hede of the charmes of suche as you be, to the ende that I by bending mine open 〈◊〉〈◊〉, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 not both surprised and ouercome with your enchauntments. I pray you then for conclusion, and the last sentence of my will, that I heare no more these woords, neither from you, nor yet from the Am∣bassadour that commeth from you. For I neither will, ne yet pretend to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to you any other fauoure than that which I haue enlarged for your comfort: but ra∣ther do protest, that so long as you abide in this Coun∣trey, that I will neither goe forth in streate, nor suffer any Gentleman to haue accesse into this place except he be my neare kinsman. Thus for your importune sute. I wil 〈◊〉〈◊〉 my self, for 〈◊〉〈◊〉 vnto you in those requests which duety & womanhode ought not to haue 〈◊〉〈◊〉. And if you do procéede in your folly, I wil séeke redresse according to your desert which 〈◊〉〈◊〉 now I haue deferred, thinking y^t time would haue put out the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 heat of your folly and wanton youth.

The infortunate Lord of Virle, hearing this 〈◊〉〈◊〉 sentence, remained long time without speach, so aston∣ned as if he had bene falne from the clouds. In the end for all his despaire he sayd to Zilia 〈◊〉〈◊〉 countenaunce indifferent mery:

Sith it is so madame, that you take from me all hope to be your perpetual seruaunt, & that without other comfort or contentation I must 〈◊〉〈◊〉 depart your presence, neuer (perchaunce) hereafter to speake vnto you again, yet be not so squeimish of your beautie, and cruell towards your languishing louer, as to deny him a kisse for a pledge of his last farewell. I demaund nothing here in secrete, but that 〈◊〉〈◊〉 you may performe opēly. It is all that alone which I craue at your hands in recompēse of all the trauails, paines, & afflictions suffred for your sake. The malitious dame full of rancor and spitefull rage sayd vnto him: I shall sée by and by sir, if that loue which you 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to beare me, be so vehement as you séeme to make. Ah Madame (sayd the vnaduised louer) commaūd only, and you shal sée with what deuotion I wil performe your wil, were it that it should cost me the price of my proper life. You shall haue (quod she) the kisse which you require of me if you will make promise, and sweare by the sayth of a Gentleman, to doe the thing which I shall commaund, without fraud, couin, or other delay. Madame (sayd the ouer wilfull louer) I take God to witnesse that of the thing which you shall commaund I will not leaue one iote 〈◊〉〈◊〉, but shall be executed to the vttermost of your request and will. She hearing him sweare with so good affection, sayd vnto him smiling: Now then vp∣on your othe which I beleue, and assured of your ver∣tue and Noble nature, I wil also perfourme and kepe my promise:

And saying so, she embraced him & kissed him very louingly. The pore gentleman not knowing

howe 〈◊〉〈◊〉 he had brought that dissauorable fauour, and bitter swéetenesse, helde hir a whyle betwéene his armes, doublyng kisse vpon kysse, with such pleasure, as his soule thought to flie vp to the heauens with that impoisoned baulme which he sucked in the swéete and sugred breath of his cruel mistresse: who vndoyng hir selfe out of hir louers armes, sayde vnto hym:

Sith that I haue made the first disclosure bothe of the pro∣mise and the effect therof, it behoueth that you perform that whiche resteth, for the full accomplishment of the same. Come on hardily (saith he) & God knoweth how spedily you shal be obeyd. I wil then (quod she) & com∣maund you vpon your promised faith, y^t frō this presēt time, vntil y^t space of thrée yeres be expired, you speake to no liuing person for any thing that shal happen vnto you, nor yet expresse by tongue, by sounde of worde, or speach, the thyng you want or desyre, otherwise if you shall doe, I will neuer trust liuing man for youre sake, but will publishe your same to be villanous, and your person periured, and a promise breaker.

I leaue for you to thinke whether this vnhappie louer were a∣mazed or not, to heare such a straunge request and cō∣maundement so vniust, and therwithall the difficultie in the performance. Notwithstanding he was so stout of heart, and so religious an obseruer of his 〈◊〉〈◊〉, that at that very time he began to do the part which she had commaunded, playing 〈◊〉〈◊〉, and vsing other signes, that he would do his duetie, accordynge to hir demaund. Thus after his right humble reuerence vn∣to hir, he went home, wher fayning that he had lost his speach by means of a Catarre or reume which distilled from his braine, he determined to forsake his coun∣trey vntil the time of his penance was expired. Wher∣fore settyng staye in his affaires, and prouidyng for

his traine, he made hym redie to depart. Notwithstan∣ding, he wrote a Letter vnto Zilia, before hée toke hys iourney, whych was towards the countrey of France, that in olde tyme hathe beue the solace and refuge of the miserable, as well for the pleasantnesse and tem∣perature of the ayre, the greate wealthe and the a∣bundaunce of all thyngs, as for the curtesie, gentle∣nesse, and familiaritie of the people: whyche maye compare with any other Nation vppon the earth.

Nowe the Letter of Philiberto, fell into the handes of Ladie Zilia, by meanes of hys Page instructed for that purpose: who aduertised hir of the departure of his mayster, and of the despaire wherein hée was. Whereof shée was somewhat sorye, and offended: but yet puttyng on hir aunciente seueritie, tooke the Letters, and breakyng the seale, found that which fo∣loweth.

THE very euill that causeth mine anoy The matter is that bredes to me my ioy, Which doth my wofull heart full sore displease, And yet my hap and hard yll lucke doth ease. I hope one day when I am franke and free, To make hir do the thing that pleaseth me, Whereby gaine I shall, some pleasaunt gladnesse, To supply mine vndeserued sadnesse, The like whereof no mortall Dame can giue To louing man that here on earth doth liue. This great good turne which I on hir pretende, Of my conceites the full desired ende, Proceedes from thee (O cruell mystres mine) Whose froward heart hath made me to resigne The full effect of all my libertie (To please and ease thy fonde fickle fansie)

My vse of speach, in silence to remaine: To euery wight a double hellish paine. Whose faith hadst thou not wickedly abusde No stresse of paine for thee had bene refusde, Who was to thee a trustie seruaunt sure, And for thy sake all daungers would endure. For which thou hast defaced thy good name, And there vnto procurde eternall shame. I That roaring tempest huge which thou hast made me felt, The raging stormes whereof, well nere my heart hath swelt By painefull pangs: whose waltering waues by troubled skies And thousand blastes of winde that in those seas do rise Do promise shipwracke sure of that thy sayling Barke When after weather cleare doth rise some tempest darke. For eyther I or thou which art of Tygres kinde, In that great raging gulfe some daunger sure shalt finde, Of that thy nature rude the dest'nies en'mies be, And thy great ouerthrow full well they do foresee. The heauens vnto my estate no doubt great friendship shoe And do seeke wayes to ende, and finish all my woe. This penance which I beare by yelding to thy hest Great store of ioyes shall heape, and bring my minde to rest. And when I am at ease amids my pleasaunt happes, Then shall I see thee fall, and suarlde in Fortunes trapes. Then shall I see thee banne and cursse the wicked time Wherin thou madest me gulpe such draught of poysoned wine. By which thy mortall cuppe, I am the offred wight, A vowed sacrifice, to that thy cruell spight. Wherefore my hoping heart, doth hope to see the daie, That thou for silence nowe, to me shalt be the praie. I O blessed God most iust, whose worthy laude and praise With vttered speach in Skies aloft I dare not once to raise, And may not wel pronoūce & speak what suffrance I sustain, Ne yet what death I do indure, whiles I in life remaine.

Take vengeance on that traitresse rude, afflict hir corps with woe, Thy holy arme redresse hir fault, that she no more do soe. My reason hath not so farre strayed, but I may hope and trust To see hir for hir wickednesse, be whipt with plague most iust: In the meane while, great hauinesse my sense and soule doth bite, And shaking feuer vexe my corps for grief of hir despite. My mynde now set at libertie, from thee (O cruell dame) Doth giue defiance to thy wrath, and to thy cursed name, Proclamyng mortall warre on thee, vntill my tongue vntide Shall ioy to speake to Zilia fast wepyng by my side. The heuēs forbid, that causelesse wrōg abrode shold make his vaūt, Or that an vndeserued death, forget full tombe shoulde haunt: But that in written boke and verse their names should euer liue, And eke their wicked dedes should die, and vertues still reuine. So shall the pride and glorie both, of hir be punisht right, By length of yeares, and tract of time. And I by vertues might Full recompense therby shall haue, and stande still in good fame, And she like caitife wretche shall liue, to hir long lasting shame. Whose fond regarde of beauties grace, contemned hath the force Of my true loue full fixt in hir: hir heart voide of remorse, Esteemed it selfe right foolishely, and me abused still, Vsurping my good honest faith and credite at hir will. Whose loyall faith doth rest in soule, and therin still shall bide, Vntill in filthie stincking graue, the earth my corps shall hide. Then shal that soule fraught with that faith, to heuēs make his 〈◊〉〈◊〉. And rest amōg the heuenly rout, bedeckt with sacred aire. (paire, And thou for thy great crueltie, as God aboue doth know, With rufull voice shalt weepe and waile for thy great ouerthrow, And when thou wouldest fain purge thy self for that thy wretched No kindnesse shal to thee be done, extreme shal be thy mede (dede And where my tongue doth want his will, thy mischief to display My hande and penne supplies the place, and shall do so alway. For so thou hast constrainde the same by force of thy behest: In silence still my tong to kepe, t'accomplishe thy request.

Adieu, farewell my tormenter, thy friend that is full mute, Doth bid thee farewell once againe, and so he ends his sute.

He that liueth only, to be reuenged of thy cruelty, Philiberto of Virle.

Zilia like a disdainfull woman made but a iest at the letters and complaints of the infortunat louer, saying that she was very well content with his seruice. And that when he should performe the time of his probati∣ou, she should sée if he were worthy to be admitted into the felowship of them which had made sufficient proofe of the order and rule of loue. In the meane time Phili∣berto rode by great iourneys (as we haue sayd before) towards the goodly and pleasant Countrey of Fraunce. wherein Charles the seuenth that time did raigne, who miraculously (but giue the French man leaue to flatter & speake vvel of his ovvne Countrey, according to the flatte∣ring and vaunting nature of that Nation) chased y^e Eng∣lish men out of his lands and auncient Patrimonie in the yeare of our Lord. 1451. This king had his campe then warfaring in Gascoine, whose lucke was so fortu∣nate as he expeld his enimies, and left no place for thē to fortifie in the sayd Countrey, which incouraged the king to folow that good occasion, and by prosecuting his victorious fortune, to profligat out of Normandie, & to dispatch himself of that enimy, into whose handes and seruitude the Coūtrey of Guiene was rightly deliuered and victoriously wonne and gottē by the Englishmen. The king then being in his Campe in Normandie, the Piedmont Gentleman the Lord of Virle aforesayd, re∣paired thereunto to serue him in his person, where hée was well knowne of some Captaines which had séene him at other times, and in place where worthy Gen∣tlemen are wont to frequent, and in the Duke of Sa∣uoyes

court, which the Frenchmen did very much 〈◊〉〈◊〉, bicause the Earle of Piedmont that then was Duke of Sauoy had maried Iolanta the second daughter of Charles the seuenth. These Gentlemen of Fraunce were very much sory for the misfortune of the Lord of Virle, and knowing him to be one of the brauest and lustiest men of armes that was in his time within the Country of Piedmont, presented him before the King, commending vnto his grace the vertue, gentlenesse, and valianee of the man of warre: Who after he had done his 〈◊〉〈◊〉 according to his duetie, which he knew ful well to doe, declared vnto him by signs that he was come for none other intent, but in those warres to serue his maiesty: whom the king heard and thākfully receiued, assuring himself and promising very much of the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Gitle∣mā for respect of his personage which was comely and wel proportioned, and therfore represented some force and great dexteritie: and that which made the king the better to fantasie y^t gentlemā, was y^e report of so many worthy mē which extolled euen to y^t heanēs y^e prowesse of y^t Piedmont knight. Wherof he gaue assured testimo∣ny in y^t assault which y^t king made to deliuer 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the chief Citie & defense of all 〈◊〉〈◊〉 in y^e yeare of our Lord. 1451. wher Philiberto behaued himself so 〈◊〉〈◊〉 as he was y^t first y^t moūted vpon y^t wals, & by his dexte∣ritie & inuincible force, made way to the soldiers in the breche, wherby a litle while after they entred & sacked y^e enimies, driuing thē out of y^t Citie, & wherin not long before, y^t is to say. 1430. y^t Duke of Somerset caused loane y^t Pucelle to be burnt. The King aduertised of y^t seruice of the dūbe Gentleman, wold recōpense him according to his desert, and bicause he knewe him to be of a good house, he made him a Gentlemā of his chābre, and gaue him a good pension, promising him moreouer to cōtinue his liberality, whē he shold sée him prosecute in time to

come, y^t towardnesse of seruice which he had so haply be∣gon. The dūbe Gentleman thanking the king very hū∣bly, both for y^t present princely reward, & for promise in time to come, lifted vp his hād to heauē, as taking God to witnesse of the faith, which inuiolable he promised to kepe vnto his Prince: which he did so earnestly, as har∣dely he had promised, as well appered in a skirmish be∣twene y^t French, & their auncient enimies the English men, on whose side was y^e valiāt & hardy Captain the Lord Talbot, who hath eternized his memory in y^e vic∣tories obtained vpon y^t people, which sometimes made Europa & Asia to trēble, & appalled y^e monstrous & war∣like Countrey of Affrica. In this conflict the Piedmont knight ioyned w^t the lord Talbot, against whō he had so happy successe, as vpō y^t shock & 〈◊〉〈◊〉, he ouerthrew both man & horse, which caused y^e discōfiture of y^t Eng∣lish mē: who after they had horssed again their captain, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 amain, leauing the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 bespred w^t dead bodies and bludshed of their cōpaniōs. This victory recouered such 〈◊〉〈◊〉 & boldnesse to y^t Frēch, as from y^t time forth the English mē began w^t their places and forts to lose also their hearts to defēd themselues. The king excedingly wel cōtented with the prowesse & valiāce of the dumbe gentlemā, gaue him for seruice past the charge of v. C. men of armes, & indued him with some possessions, at∣tending better fortune to make him vnderstand howe much y^e vertue of valiance ought to be rewarded & che∣rished by Princes that be aided in their necessitie with the diligence of such a vertuous & Noble Gentleman. In like manner when a Prince hath something good in himself, he can do no lesse but cherish y^t which 〈◊〉〈◊〉 himself by Princely conditions, sith y^t vertue in what so euer place it taketh roote, can not choose but produce good frute, y^t vse wherof far surmounts them all which aproche y^t place, where these first séedes were thrown.

Certaine dayes after, the king desirous to reioyee his Knights and Captaines that were in his train, and de∣sirous to extinguish quite the wofull time which so 〈◊〉〈◊〉 space helde Fraunce in fearful silence, caused 〈◊〉〈◊〉 triumph of Turney to be proclaimed within the City of Roane, wherin the Lord of Virle was déemed and estemed one of the best, which further did increase in him the good wil of y^e king, in such wise as he determined to procure his health, and to make him haue his speache againe. For he was very sory that a gentleman so valiāt was not able to expresse his minde, which if it might be had, in councel would serue the state of common wealth, so well as the force and valor of his body had til then ser∣ued for defense and recouery of his places. And for that purpose he made Proclamation by sound of Trumpet throughout the Coūtreis aswel within his owne king∣dome, as the regions adioyning vpon the same, y^t who so euer could heale that dumbe Gentleman, shold haue ten thousande Frankes for recompense. A man might haue then séene thousandes of Physitians assembled in field, not to skirmish with the English mē, but to com∣bate for reward in recouery of the Pacients speache, & begon to make such warre against those ten thousand Franks, as the King was afraide that the cure of that disease could take no effect: and for that cause ordained furthermore, that who so euer would take in hande to heale the dumbe, and would not kepe promise within a certaine prefixed time, shold pay the sayd summe, or for default thereof should pledge his head in gage. A man might then haue séene those Physicke maisters, aswell beyond y^t Mountaines, as in Fraunce it self, retire home againe, bléeding at the nose, cursing with great impiety their Patrones, Galen, Hypocrates and Auicen, and bla∣med with more than reprochful words, the Arte wher∣with

they fished for honor and richesse. This brute was spred so far, and babbling Fame had already by mouth of Trumpe published y^e same throughout the most part of the Prouinces, Townes, and Cities neare and far off to Fraunce, in such wise as a man wold haue thought that the two yong men (which once in the time of the Macedonian warres broughte tidings to Vatinius that the King of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 was taken by the Consull Paulus Emilius) had bene vagant and wādering abrode to cary newes of the Kings edicte for the healing of the Lord of Virle. Which caused that not only the brute of the Proclamation, but also the credite and reputation wherin the sayd Lord was with the French King, came euen to Montcall, and passed from mouth to mouth, til at length Zilia the principall cause thereof vnderstoode the newes, which reioysed hir very much, séeing y^e firme amitie of the dumbe Lord, and the sincere faith of him in a promise vnworthy to be kept, for so much as, wher 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and feare beare swinge in hearts of men, religi∣on of promise, specially the place of the giuen fayth, gi∣ueth ouer his force and reuolteth, and is no more boūd but to that which by good will he would obserue. Now thought she, thought? nay rather she assured hir selfe, that the Gentleman for all his wrytten letter was so surprised with hir loue, and kindled with hir fire in so ample wise, as when he was at 〈◊〉〈◊〉: and therfore determined to goe to Paris, not for desire she had to see hir pacient and penetenciarie, but rather for couetise of the ten thousand Frāks, wherof already she thought hir selfe assured, making good accompt that the dumbe Gentleman séeing himself discharged by hir of his pro∣mise, for gratifying of hir, wold make no stay to speak, to the intent she might beare away both the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and money which all others had 〈◊〉〈◊〉 till that time. Thus

you sée that she whome honest amitie and long seruice could little induce to cōpassion and desire to giue some ease vnto hir most earnest louer, yelded hir selfe to co∣uetous gain and gredinesse for to encrease hir richesse. O curssed hunger of Money, how long wilt thou thus blinde the reason and sprites of men? Ah perillous gulfe how many hast thou ouerwhelmed within thy bottōlesse throte, whose glory, had it not bene for thee, had surpassed y^e clouds, and bene equal with the bright∣nesse of the Sunne, where now they be obscured with the thicknesse of thy fogges and palpable darknesse. A∣las the fruites which thou bringest forth for all thine outwarde apparance, conduce no felicitie to them that be thy possessors, for the dropsey that is hidden in their mind, which maketh them so much the more thirsty, as they drinke oft in that thirsty Fountaine, is cause of their alteration: and most miserable is that insaciable desire the Couetous haue to glut their appetite, which can receiue no contentation. This only 〈◊〉〈◊〉 somtimes procured the death of the great and rich Ro∣mane Crassus, who through Gods punishment fell into the hands 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the Persians, for violating and sacking the Temple of God that was in Hierusalem. Sextimuleus burning with Couetousnesse and gredinesse of money, did once cut of the head of his patron and defender Ca∣ius 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the Tribune of the people, incited by the Tyrant, which tormenteth the hearts of the couctous. I will not speake of a good number of other examples in people of all kindes, and diuers nations, to come a∣gaine to Zilia. Who forgetting hir vertue, the first or∣nament and shining quality of hir honest behauior, fea∣red not the wearinesse and trauaile of way, to commit hir self to the danger of losse of 〈◊〉〈◊〉, and to yeld to the mercy of one, vnto whom she had done so great iniury,

as hir conscience (if she hadde not lost hir right sense) ought to haue made hir thinke that hee was not with∣out desire to reuenge y^t wrōg 〈◊〉〈◊〉 done vnto him, & specially being in place where she was not knowne, and he greatly honoured and esteemed, for whose loue that Proclamation and searche of Physicke was made and ordained. Ziha then hauing put in order hir affairs at home, departed from Montcall, and passing the Mountes, arriued at Paris, at such time as greatest dis∣paire was had of the dumbe Knights recouery. When she was arriued there, within fewe dayes after she in∣quired for them that had the charge to entertaine such as came, and would take vpon them the cure of the sayd pacient.

For (sayd she) if there be any man in the world, through whome the Knight may get his health, I hope in God that I am she which shal haue the praise.

Héereof the Commissaries deputed hereunto, were ad∣uertised, who caused the faire Physician to come be∣fore them, and asked hir if it were she, that wold take vpon hir to cure this dumbe Gentleman.

To whome she answeared, my masters it hath pleased God to re∣ueale vnto me a certain secrete very proper and meete for the cure of his malady, wherewithall if the pacient will, I hope to make him speake so well, as he did these two yeres past & more. I suppose sayd one of the Com∣missaries, that you be not ignorant of the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of the Kings Proclamation. I know ful (quod she) the effect therof, & therfore do say vnto you, that I wil loose my life if I doe not accomplish that which I doe pro∣mise, vpon condition that I may haue licence to ta∣ry with him alone, bicause it is of no lesse importance than his health. It is no maruell sayde the Commissa∣ry, considering your beauty, which is sufficiēt to frame a new tong in the most 〈◊〉〈◊〉 person, y^t is vnder the

heauens. And therefore do your indeuor, assuring you, that you shall doe a great pleasure vnto the King, and besides the prayse which you shall acquire, gette the good wil of the dumbe gentleman which is the most ex∣cellent man of the world, and therefore shall be so wel recompensed, as you shal haue good cause to be routen∣ted with the Kings liberalitie. But (to the intent you be not deceiued) the meaning of the Proclamation is, that within. xv. dayes after you begin y^e cure, you must make him hole, or else to satisfie the paines ordained in the same.

Wherunto she submitted hir self, blinded by Auarice and presumptiō, thinking that she had like po∣wer ouer the Lord of Virle, as when she gaue him that sharpe and cruel penance. These conditions promised, the Commissaries went to aduertise the Knight, how a Gentlewoman of Piedmont was of purpose come into Fraunce to helpe him: whereof he was maruellously a∣stonned. Now he would neuer haue thought that Zilia had borne him so great good wil, as by abasing the pride of hir corage, would haue come so farre to ease y^e grief of him, whome by such great torments she had so won∣derfully persecuted. He thought againe that it was the Gentlewoman his neighboure which sometimes had done hir endeuor to helpe him, and had prouoked Zilia to absolue him of his faithe, and acquite him of his pro∣mise. Musing vpon the diuersitie of these things, & not knowing wherupon to settle his iudgement, the depu∣ties commaunded that the woman Physitian shold be brought to speake with the patient. Which was done: and brought in place, the Commissaries presently with drew themselues. The Lord of Virle seeing his enimie come before him, whom sometimes he loued very 〈◊〉〈◊〉, iudged by and by the cause wherefore she came, that onely auarice and gredy desire of gaine 〈◊〉〈◊〉 rather pro∣cured

hir to passe the mountains trauail, than due and honest amitie, wherwith she was double boūd through his perseuerance and humble seruice, wherby hée was estraunged of himselfe, as he fared like a shadowe and image of a dead man. Wherfore callyng to mynd the rigour of his Ladie, hir inciuilitie and fonde comman∣dement, so long time to forbidde his speache, the loue which once he bare hir, with a vehement desire to obey hir, sodainly was so cooled and qualified, that loue was turned into hatred, and will to serue hir, into an appe∣tite of reuenge: whervpon he determined to vse that present fortune, and to playe his parte with hir, vpon whom he had so foolishly doted, and to pay hir with that mōney wherwith she made hint féele the fruites of vn∣speakable crueltie, to giue example to fonde and pre∣sumptuous dames, how they did abuse Gentlemen of such degrée whereof the Knyght was, and that by ha∣uing regarde to the merite of such personages, they be not so prodigall of themselues, as to set their honoure in sale for vile rewarde and filthy mucke: which was so constantly conserued and defended by this Gentle∣woman, against the assaultes of the good grace, beau∣tie, calour, and gentlenesse, of that vertuous and ho∣nest suter. And notwithstanding, in these dayes we sée some to resist the amitie of those that loue, for an opi∣nion of a certaine vertue, which they thinke to be hid∣den within the corps of excellent beautie, who after∣wards do set them selues to sale to him y^t giueth most, and offreth greatest reward. Such do not deserue to be placed in ranke of chast Gentlewomen, of whom they haue no smack at all, but amongs the throng of strum∣pets kynde, that haue some sparke and outward shew of loue: for she which loueth money 〈◊〉〈◊〉 hunteth after gaine, will make no bones, by treasons trap to betray

that vnhappie man, which shall yelde himselfe to hir: hir loue tending to vnsensible things, and such in dede, as make the wysest sorte to falsifie their faithe, and sell the righte and equitie of their Judgemente. The Lorde of Virle, séeing Zilia then in his companie, and almost at his commaundement, fayned as though hée knew hir not, by reason of his small regarde and lesse intertainment shewed vnto hir at hir first comming: Which gretly made the poore Gentlewoman to muse. Neuerthelesse she making a vertue of necessitie, and séeing hir selfe to bée in that place, from whence 〈◊〉〈◊〉 coulde not departe, without the losse of hir honor and lyfe, purposed to proue Fortune, and to committe hir selfe vnto his mercie, for all the mobiltie whiche the auncient attribute vnto Fortune. Wherfore shutting fast the doore, shée went vnto the Knight, to whom she spake these words:

And what is the matter (sir knight) that now you make so litle accompte of your owne Zi∣lia, who in tymes past you sayde, had greater power and authoritie ouer you? What is the cause that mo∣ueth you herevnto? Haue you so soone forgotten hir? Behold me better, and you shal sée hir before you, that is able to acquite you of youre promise, and therefore prayeth you to pardon hir committed faultes done in tymes past by abusing so cruelly the honest and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 loue which you bare hir. I am she, which through follie and temeritie did stoppe your mouth, and tied vp your tong. Gyue me leaue I beséeche you, to open the same agayne, and to breake the lyne, which letteth the li∣bertie of your speache.

She séeyng that the dumbe Gentleman woulde make no aunswere at all, but Mumme, and shewed by signes, that hée was not a∣ble to vndoe his tong, wéepyng began to kysse hym,

imbrace hym, & make much of him, in such wyse, as he whiche once studied to make eloquent orations before his Ladie, to induce hir to pitie, forgat then those ce∣remonies, and spared his talke, to shewe hymselfe to bée suche one as shée had made at hir commaundement, mused and deuysed altogether vpon the execution of that, whiche sometyme hée hadde so paynefully pur∣sued, both by words and continuall seruice, and coulde profite nothyng. Thus waked agayne by hir, whiche once had mortified hys mynde, assayed to renue in hir that, whyche long tyme before, séemed to bée a sléepe. She more for feare of losse of lyfe, or the price of the rewarde, than for any true or earnest loue, suf∣fered hym to receyue that of hir, which the long suter desireth to obtaine of his mistresse. They lyued in this ioy and pleasure the space of. xv. dayes ordayned for the assigned terme of hir cure, wherein the poore Gen∣tlewoman was not able to conuert hir offended frend, to speake, although she humbly prayed hym to shewe so muche fauour, as at least she might go frée, from ey∣ther losse: tellyng hym howe litle regarde shée hadde to hir honour, to come so farre to doe hym pleasure, and to discharge hym of his promise. Muche other gay and lowlye talke shée hadde to moue the Knyghte to take no regarde of that she sayde, for he determined to bryng hir in suche feare, as he had bene heaped full of heauinesse, whiche came to passe at the expired time. For the cōmissaries seing that their pacient spake not at all, summoned the gentlewomā to pay the penaltie pronounced in the edict, or else to lose hir lyfe. Alas, howe bytter séemed this drinke to thys poore Gentle∣woman, who not able to dissemble the grief that prest hir on euery side, beganne to say:

Ah I wretched and

Caitife woman, by thinkyng to deceiue an other, haue sharpened the sworde to finishe mine owne life. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 it not enough for me to vse such crueltie towardes this myne enimie, which moste cruelly in double wise ta∣keth reuenge, but must I come to be thus tangled in his snares, and in the hands of him, who inioying the spoiles of mine honour, will with my life, depriue me of my fame, by making me a common fable, to all po∣steritie in time to come? O what hap had I that I was not rather deuoured by some furious and cruell beast, when I passed the mountains, or else that I brake not my neck, down some stéepe & headlong hil, of those high and hideous mountaines, rather than to be set here in stage, a pageant to the whole citie to gaze vpon, for en∣terprising a thing so fondely, done of purpose by hym, whome I haue offended. Ah Signior Philiberto, what 〈◊〉〈◊〉 rewardest thou for pleasures receiued, and fauors felt in hir, whom thou didst loue somuch, as to make hir die such shamefull and dreadfull death. But O God, I know that it is for worthie guerdon of my foolishe and wicked life. Ah disloyaltie and fickle trust, is it possi∣ble that thou be harbored in the hearte of hym, whiche hadde the brute to bée the moste loyall and curteous Gentleman of his countrey? Alas, I sée well nowe that I must die through mine only simplicitie, and that I muste sacrifice myne honoure to the rigour of hym, which with two aduantages, taketh ouer cruel reuēge of the litle wrong, wherwith my chastitie touched him before.

As she thus had finished hir complaint, one came for hir to cary hir to prison, whether willingly she wēt for that she was already resolued in desire, to liue no longer in that miserie. The gentlemā contented with that payne, and not able for to dissemble the griefe, whyche hée conceyued for the passion which he sawe

his welbeloued to endure, the enioying of whome re∣nued the heate of the flames forepast, repaired to the kyng, vnto whom to the great plesure of the standers by, and exceding reioyse of his maiestie (to heare him speake) he tolde the whole historie of the loue betwene him and cruell Zilia, the cause of the losse of his spech, and the summe of his reuenge.

By the faith of a Gen∣tleman (sayd the King) but here is so straunge an hi∣storie as euer I heard: and verily your faith and loyal∣tie is no lesse to be praised and cōmended than the cru∣eltic and couetousnesse of the woman woorthye of re∣proch and blame, which truly deserueth some greuous and notable iustice, if so be she were not able to ren∣der some apparant cause for the couerture and hidyng of hir follie. Alas sir (sayde the Gentleman) pleaseth your maiestie to deliuer hir (although she be worthy of punishment) and discharge the reste that be in prison for not recouerie of my speache, sith my onely helpe did rest, either at hir comandement which had bounde me to that wrong, or else in the expired time, for which I had pledged my faith.

To whiche request, the Kyng very willingly agréed, greatly praisyng the wisedome, curtesie, and aboue all the fidelitie of the lord of Virle, who causing his penitenciarie to be sette at libertie, kept hir companie certaine dayes, as well to feast and banket hir, in those landes and possessions whiche the kings maiestie had liberally bestowed vpon him, as to saciate his appetite with the frutes whereof he had sa∣uoured the tast when he was voluntarily dumbe. Zilia founde that fauour so pleasaunt, that in a maner shée counted hir imprisonment happie, and hir trauel rest, by reason that distresse made hir then féele more liuely the force and pleasure of libertie, whiche she had not founde to be so pleasant, had she not receiued the expe∣rience

and pain therof. Marke here how fortune 〈◊〉〈◊〉 with them whiche trusting in their force, despise (in respect of that which they do them selues) the litle porciō that they iudged to be in others. If the vainglo∣rie and arrogant presumption of a chastitie impregna∣ble had not deceiued this Gentlewoman, if the sacred hunger of golde had not blinded hir, it coulde not 〈◊〉〈◊〉 bene knowne, wherin hir incontinencie consisted, not in the minion delightes and alluring toyes of a passio∣nate louer, but in y^t couetous desire of filling hir purse, and hypocritical glorie of praise among men. And not∣withstanding, ye sée the gaine which she made, to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 hir turne nothing at all, but to the perpetuall reproch of hir name, and raised a slaunder, such as yll speakers and enimies of womenkind, do burden that sexe with∣all. But the fault of one which by hir owne presump∣tion deceiued hir selfe, ought not to obscure the glorie of so many vertuous, faire and honest dames, who by their chastitie, liberalitie and curtesie, be able to deface the blot of folie, couetousnesse, and crueltie of this gen∣tlewoman here, and of all other that do resemble hir. Who taking leaue of hir louer, went home agayne to Piedmont, not withoute an ordinarie griefe of hearte, which serued hir for a spurre to hir cōscience, and con∣tinually forced hir to thinke, that the force of man is lesse thā nothing, where god worketh not by his grace, which failyng in vs, oure workes can sauor but of the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 & corruption of our nature, wherin it tumbleth and tosseth like the Sow that waloweth in the puddle full of filth and dirte. And bicause ye shall not thinke in general termes of womans chastitie and discretion, that I am not able to vouche some particular exāple of later yeares, I meane to tel you of one, that is not on∣ly to be praysed for hir chastitie in the absence of hir

husband, but also of hir corage and policie in chastizing 〈◊〉〈◊〉 vaunting natures of two Hungarian lords that made their braggs they would winne hir to their willes, and not onely hir, but also al other, what soeuer they were of womankinde.