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.

Dom Diego and Gineura

¶ DOM DIEGO a Gentleman of Spaine 〈◊〉〈◊〉 in loue with faire GINEVRA, and she with him: their loue by meanes of one that enuied DOM DIEGO his happie choise, was by default of light credite on hir part inter∣rupted. He constant of minde, fell into despair, and aban∣doning all his 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and liuing, repaired to the Pyrene Mountains, where he led a sauage life for certain mōths, and afterwardes knowne by one of his friendes, was (by maruellous circumstaunce) reconciled to hys 〈◊〉〈◊〉 〈◊〉〈◊〉, and maried.

The. xxix. Nouel.

MEnnes mischaunces oc∣curring on the bruntes of diuers Tragicall for∣tunes, albeit vpon their first taste of bitternesse, they sauor of a certaine kinde of lothsome relish, yet vnder the Kinde of that vnsauerouse sappe, doeth lurke a swéeter ho∣nie, than swéetenesse it selfe, for the fruite that the posterity may gather and learne by others hurtes, howe they may 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and

shunne the like. But bicause all things haue their sea∣sons, and euery thing is not conuenient for all times and places, I purpose now to shewe a Notable exam∣ple of a vaine and superstitious Louer, that abando∣ned his liuing and friendes, to become a Sauage de∣sert man. Which Historie resembleth in a manner a Tragical comedie, comprehending the very same ma∣ter and argument, wherewith the greatest part of the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 sortearme them selues to couer and defende their follies. It is red and séene too often by common custome, and therfore 〈◊〉〈◊〉 héere to display what rage doeth gouerne, and headlong hale fonde and li∣centious youthe conducted by the pangue of loue, if the same be not moderated by reason, and cooled with sacred lessons euen from the Cradle to more mature and riper age. For the Tiranny of loue amongs all the deadly foes that 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 our mindes, glorieth of his force, vaunting himselfe able to chaunge the pro∣per nature of things, be they neuer so sounde and per∣fect: who to make them like his lustes, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 himself into a substance qualified diuersly, the better to intrap such as be giuen to his vanities. But hauing auouched so many examples before, I am content for this present to tel the discourse of two persons, chaun∣ced not long sithens in Catheloigne. Of a Gentleman that for his constancy declared two extremities in him selfe of loue and follie. And of a Gentlewoman so fic∣kle and inconstant, as loue and they which waited on him, be disordered, for the trustlesse ground wherupon such foundation of seruice is layed, which ye shall ease∣ly conceiue by well viewing the difference of these twaine: 〈◊〉〈◊〉 I meane to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to the listes, by the blast of this 〈◊〉〈◊〉 trumpe. And thus the same beginneth.

Not long after y^t the victorious & Noble prince, yong 〈◊〉〈◊〉, the sonne of Alphonsus King of Aragon was dead, Levves the twelfth, that time being Frenche King, vpon the Marches of Catheloigne, betwene Barce∣lona and the Mountaines, there was a good Lady then a widow, which had bene the wife of an excellent and Noble knight of the Countrey, by whome she had left one only daughter, which was so carefully brought 〈◊〉〈◊〉 by the mother, as nothing was to deare or heard to be brought to passe for hir desire, thinking that a creature so Noble and perfecte, could not be trained vp too deli∣cately. Now bisides hir incōparable furniture of beau∣tie, this yong Gentlewoman was adorned with haire so faire, curle, and yealow, as the new fined gold was not matchable to the shining lockes of this tender in∣fant, who therefore commonly was called Gineura la Blonde. Halfe a dayes iorney from the house of this wi∣dow, lay the lands of an other Lady a widow also, that was very rich, and so wel allied as any in all the land. This Lady had a sonne, whom she caused to be trained vp so wel in Armes and good letters, as in other honest exercises proper and méete for a Gentleman and great Lord, for which respect she had sent him to Barcelona the chiefe Citie of all the Countrey of 〈◊〉〈◊〉. Senior Dom Diego, (for so was y^e sonne of that widow called) 〈◊〉〈◊〉 so well in all things, that when he was. 〈◊〉〈◊〉. yeares of age, there was no Gentleman of his degrée, that did excell him, ne yet was able to approche vnto his perfections and commēdable behauior. A thing that did so wel content y^t good Lady his mother, as she could not tell what countenaunce to kéepe to couer hir ioy. A vice very commen to fonde and folish mothers, who flater them selues with a shadowed hope of the future goodnesse of their childrē, which many times doth more

hurt to that wanton and wilfull age, than profit or ad∣uauncement. The persuasion also of such towardnesse, full oft doth blinde y^t sprites of youth, as y^t faults which folow the same be far more vile thā before they were: wherby the first Table (made in his first coloures) of y^t imagined vertue, cā take no force or perfection, and so by incurring sundry mishaps, the parent & childe com∣monly eskape not without equall blame. To come a∣gaine therefore to our discourse: it chaunced in y^t time that (the Catholike king deceased) Philippe of Austrich which succéeded him as heire passing through Fraunce, came into Spaine to be inuested and take possession of al his seigniories and kingdomes: which knowen to the Citizens of Barcelona, they determined to receiue him with such pompe, magnificence and honor, as duely ap∣pertaineth to the greatnesse and maiestie of so great a Prince, as is the sonne of the Romane Emperour. And amongs other things they prepared a triumphe at the Tilt, where none was suffred to enter the listes, but yong Gētlemen, such as neuer yet had folowed armes. Amongs whome Dom Diego as y^t Noblest person was chosen chiefe of one part. The Archduke then come to Barcelona after the receiued honors and Ceremonies, accustomed for such entertainment, to gratifie his sub∣iects, and to sée the brauery of the yong Spanish Nobili∣tie in armes, would place himself vpon the skaffolde to iudge the courses and valiance of the runners. In that magnifique and Princely conflict, all mens eyes were bent vpon Dom Diego, who course by course made his aduersaries to féele the force of his armes, his manhode and dexteritie on horsebacke, and caused them to muse vpon his towarde 〈◊〉〈◊〉 in time to come, whose no∣ble gests then acquired the victory of the campe on his side. Which moued King Philip to say, that in al his life

he neuer saw triūph better handled, and y^t the same sée∣med rather a battell of strong & hardy men, than an ex∣cercise of yong Gentlemen neuer wōted to support the dedes of armes & trauaile of warfare. For which cause calling Dom Diego before him he sayd.

God graūt (yōg Gentleman) y^t your ende agrée with your goodly begin∣nings & hardy shock of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 done this day. In memory wherof I wil this night y^t ye do your watch, for I mean to morow (by Gods assistance) to dub you knight.

The yong gentlemā blushing for shame, vpō his knees kissed the Princes hāds, thanking him most hūbly of y^e honor and fauor which it pleased his maiestie to do him, vow∣ing & promising to do so wel in time to come, as no mā shold be deceiued of their conceiued opinion, nor y^e king frustrate of his seruice, which was one of his most obe∣dient vassals & subiectes. So the next day he was made Knight, & receiued the coller of y^e order at the handes of King Phillip, who after y^e departure of his prince which toke his iourney into Castille, retired to his owne 〈◊〉〈◊〉 & house, more to sée his mother, whōe long time before he had not séene, than for desire of pleasure y^t be in fieldes, which notwithstāding he exercised so well as in end 〈◊〉〈◊〉 perceiued 〈◊〉〈◊〉 in townes & cities, to be an imprisō∣ment 〈◊〉〈◊〉 respect of that he felt in Countrey. As y^e Poets whilom fained loue to shote his arrows amid y^t 〈◊〉〈◊〉, forrests, fertile fields, sea coasts, shores of great riuers and fountaine brinkes, and also vpon the tops of huge and high Mountaines at the pursute of the sundry sor∣ted Nymphes and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 dimigods, déeming the same to be a meane of libertie to folow loues tract without sus∣pition, voide of company and lothsome cries of Cities, where 〈◊〉〈◊〉, enuy, false report, and ill opinion of all things, haue pitched their camp and raised their tents. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 contrariwise frākly and without dissimulation in

the fieldes, the friend discouering his passion to his Mi∣stresse, they enioy the pleasure of hunting, the naturall musike of birds, and somtimes in pleasant herbers 〈◊〉〈◊〉 with the murmur of some running brookes, they communicate their thoughts, beautifie the accorde and vnitie of louers, and make the place famous for y^t first witnesse of their amorous acquaintance. In like man∣ner thrice & foure times blest 〈◊〉〈◊〉 they there, who lea∣ning the vnquiet toile that ordinarily doeth chaunce to them that abide in Cities, do rendre 〈◊〉〈◊〉 y of their stu∣dies to the Muses whereunto they be most minded. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Dom Diego at his owne house loued & cherished of his mother, reuerenced and obeyed of his subiects af∣ter he had imployed some time at his study, had none o∣ther ordinary pleasure but in rousing the Déere, hun∣ting the wilde Bore, run the Hare, somtimes to flie at the Heron or fearfull Partrich alongs the fields, For∣restes, pondes and stepe Mountaines. It came to passe one day, as hée Hunted the wilde Mountaine Goate, which he had dislodged vpon the Hill toppe, he espied an olde Harte that his dogges had found, who so ioyfull as was possible of that good lucke, followed the course of that swift and fearefull beast. But (suche was his Fortune) the dogges lost the foote of that pray, and he his men: for being horssed of purpose, vpon a fair Ien∣net, could not be followed, and in ende loosing the sight of the Déere, was so farre seuered from companie, as hée was vtterly ignoraunt which way to take. And that which grieued him most was his horse out of breth skarse able to ride a false galloppe. For which cause he putte his horne to his mouthe, and blewe so loude as he could. But his men were so farre off, as they could not heare him. The yonge Gentleman being in this di∣stresse, could not tel what to doe, but to returne backe,

wherin he was more deceiued than before, for thinking to take the way home to his Castle, wandred still fur∣ther off from the same. And trotting thus a long time, he spied a Castle situated vpon a little Hill, wherby he knew himself far from his owne house. Neuerthelesse hearing a certaine noyse of hunters, thinking they had bene his people, resorted to the same, who in déede wer the seruaunts of the mother of Gineura with the goldē locks, which in company of their mistresse had hunted the Hare, Dom Diego, when he drue nere to the crie of the Hounds, sawe right well that he was deceiued. At what time night approched, & the shadowes darkening the earth, by reason of the sunnes departure, began to clothe the heauens with a browne and mistie mantell. When the mother of Gineura sawe the Knight which rode a soft pace, for that his horsse was tired, and could trauaile no longer, and knowing by his outward appe∣raunce that he was some great Lord, and ridden out of his way, sent one of hir mē to know what he was, who returned againe with such answer as she desired. The Ladie ioyfull to entertaine a Gentleman so excellent and famous, one of hir next neighbors, went forwarde to bid him welcome, which she did with so great curte∣sie as the Knight sayd vnto hir:

Madame I thinke that fortune hath done me this 〈◊〉〈◊〉, by setting me out of the way, to proue your curtesie and gentle entertain∣ment, and to receiue this ioy by visiting your house, wherof I trust in time to come to be so perfect a 〈◊〉〈◊〉, as my predecessors héeretofore haue bene. Syr sayd the Ladie, if happinesse may be attributed to them, y^t most doe gain, I thinke my self better fauored than you, for that it is my chaunce to lodge and entertaine him, that is the worthiest persone and best beloued in all Cathe∣loigne.

The Gentleman blushing at that praise, said no∣thing

else, but that affection forced men so to speake of his vertues, notwithstanding such as he was, he vow∣ed from thence for the his seruice to hir and all hir hou∣shold. Gineura desirous not to be 〈◊〉〈◊〉 in curtesie, sayd y^t he should not so do, except she were partaker of some part of that, which the Knight so liberally had offred to the whole family of hir mother. The Gentlemā which till that time tooke no héede to the diuine beautie of the Gentlewoman, beholding hir at his pleasure, was so 〈◊〉〈◊〉, as he could not tell what to answer, his eyes were so fixed vpon hir, spending his lookes in 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of that freshe hew, stained with a red Uermili∣on, vpon the Alabaster and fair colour of hir cleare and beautifull face. And for the imbelishing of that natural perfection, the attire vpon hir head was so couenable & proper, as it séemed the same day she had looked for the comming of him, that afterwards indured so much for hir sake. For hir head was adorned with a Garlande of Floures, interlaced with hir golden and enameled haire, which gorgeously couered some part of hir shoul∣ders, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and hanging downe, sometime ouer hir passing faire forhead, somewhiles vpon hir ruddie che∣kes, as the swete and pleasant windie breath did moue them to and fro: ye should haue sene hir wauering and crisped tresses disposed with so good grace and comely∣nesse, as a man would haue thought that Loue, and the thrée Graces coulde not tell elsewhere, to harbor them∣selues, but in that riche and delectable place of plesure, in gorgeous wise laced and 〈◊〉〈◊〉. Upon hir ea∣res did hang two sumptuous and rich orientall perles, which to the artificial order of hir haire added a certain splendent brightnesse. And he y^t had beholden the shining and large forhead of that Nimph, which galantly was beset with a diamonde of inestimable price and value,

chased with a tresse of golde, made in fourme of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 starres, woulde haue thought that he had seene a ranke of the twinckelyng Planettes, fixed in the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 in the hottest tyme of Sommer, when that faire sea∣son discouereth the order of hys glitteryng cloudes. In like maner the sparkling eyes of the fayre Gentle∣woman, adorned with that goodly vaulte with two ar∣ches, equally by euen spaces distincte and diuided, dy∣ed with the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Indian trée, dydde so well sette forth theyr brightnesse, as the eyes of them that stayed their lookes at noone dayes directly vpon the Sunne, coulde no more be dazeled and offended, than those were, that dyd contemplate those two flamyng starres, whyche were in force able throughly to pierce euen the bottom of the inwarde partes. The nose well formed, iustely placed in the amiable valey of the visage, by equal con∣formitie distinguished the two cheekes, stained with a pure carnation, resemblyng two litle Apples that wer ariued to the due time of their maturitie and 〈◊〉〈◊〉. And then hir Coralline mouthe, through whiche breathing, issued out a breath more soot & sauorous than Ambre, Muske, or other aromatical parfume, that euer the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 soile of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 brought forth. She somtime vnclosing the dore of hir lips, discouered two rancke of perles, so finely blanched, as the purest Orient would blushe, if it were compared with the beautie of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 incomparable whitenesse. But hée that will take vpon hym to speake of al hir inspeakable beautie, may make his vaunte that 〈◊〉〈◊〉 hathe séene all the greatest perfec∣tions that euer dame Nature wrought. Now to come a little lower, on this freshe Diana appeared a necke, that surmounted the blaunche colour of mylke, were it neuer so excellent white, and hir stomacke somwhat mounting by the two pomels and firme teates of hir

breastes, separated in equall distaunce, was couered with a vaile, so lose and 〈◊〉〈◊〉, as those two litle pretie mountains might easily be séene, to moue and remoue, according to the affection that rose in the centre of that modest and sober pucelles mynde: who ouer and besi∣des all this, hath suche a pleasaunt countenaunce and ioyefull chéere, as hir beautie more than wonderfull, rendred hir not so woorthie to be serued and loued, as hir naturall goodnesse and disposed curtesie appearyng in hir face, and hir excellent entertainment and com∣ly grace to all indifferently. This was not to imitate the maner of the moste parte of our faire Ladies and 〈◊〉〈◊〉, who (moued with what opinion I know not) be so disdaynfull, as almoste theyr name causeth discontentment, and bréedeth in them greate imper∣fection, who by thinking to appeare more braue & fine, by too much squeymishe dealyng, doe offuscate and dar∣ken with Follie their exterior beautie, blotting and de∣facing that which beautie maketh amiable and worthy of honour. I leaue you now to consider whether Dom Diego had occasion to forgo his speache, & to be berest of 〈◊〉〈◊〉, being liuely assailed with one so wel armed as Gi∣neura was with hir graces & honestie: who no lesse aba∣shed with the port, countenāce, swete talk, and stately behauior of the knight, which she vewed to be in him by stealing lokes, felt a motiō (not wōted or accustomed) in hir tender hart, y^e made hir to change color, & by like occasion spechlesse: an ordinarie custom in thē y^t be sur∣prised with y^e maladie of loue to lose y^t vse of spech wher the same is most necessarie to giue the intier charge in the heart, which not able to support and beare the bur∣den of so many passions, departeth some porcion to the eyes, as to the faithfull messangers of the myndes se∣crete conceipts, which tormented beyond measure, and

burning with affection, causeth somtimes the humor to gushe out in that parte that discouered the first assault, and bredde the cause of that feuer, which frighted the hearts of those two yong persons, not knowing well what the same mighte be. When they were come to the Castle, and dismounted from their horsse, many welcomes and gratulations were made to the knight, which yelded more wood to the fire, and liuely touched the yong Gentleman, who was so outraged with loue, as almost he had no minde of himself, and rapt by litle and litle, was so intoxicated with amorous passion, as all other thoughts were lothsome, and ioy displeasant in respect of the fauourable martirdome which he suffe∣red by thinking of his faire and gentle Gineura. Thus the knight which in the morning disposed him selfe to pursue the harte, was in heart so attached, as at eue∣ning he was become a seruant, yea and such a slaue, as y^t voluntarie seruitude wholy dispossessed him from hys former fréedome. These be the frutes also of follie, in∣uegling the eyes of men, that launch themselues with eyes shut into the gulfe of despaire, which in end doth cause the ruin and ouerthrow of him, that yeldeth ther∣vnto. Loue procedeth neuer but of opinion: so likewise the yll order of those that be afflicted with that passion, riseth not elsewhere, but by the fond persuasion which they conceiue, to be blamed, despised and deceiued of the thing beloued: where if they measured that passion ac∣cording to his valor, they wold make no more accompt of that which doth torment them, than they do of their health, honor and life, who for their seruice and labour delude them, and recompense an other with that which the foolish louer shall employ, that doth haste despair to hym, and ende more than desperate, by séeing an other come to enioy that, for which he hath beate the bushes.

During the time that supper was preparing, the Lady sent hir men to séeke the huntesmen of Dom Diego, to giue them knowledge where he was become, and ther∣of to certifie his mother, who when she hearde tell that he lay there, was very glad, beyng a righte good friende and very familiar neighbor with the Lady, the hostesse of hir 〈◊〉〈◊〉. The Gentleman supping after he had ta∣sted the feruent heate that broiled in his minde, coulde eate litle meate, rather satisfied with the féeding diete of his amorous eyes, which without any maner of iea∣lousie, distributed their nourishment to the heart, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 very soberly, priuily throwing his secrete prickes, with louely and wanton looke, to the heart of the faire Ladie, which for hir part spared not to render vsurie of rollyng lookes, wherof he was so sparing, as almost he durst not lift vp his eyes for dazelyng of the same. Af∣ter supper, the Knight bidding the mother and daugh∣ter good night, went to bedde, where in steede of sléepe, he fell to sighing and imagening a thousande diuers 〈◊〉〈◊〉 〈◊〉〈◊〉 like numbre of follies, such as they doe whose braines be fraught with loue.

Alas (sayd he) what meaneth it, that always I haue liued in so great libertie, and now doe féele my selfe attached with such bondage as I can not expresse, whose effects neuerthe∣lesse be fastned in me? Haue I hunted to be takē? Came I from my house in libertie, to be shut vp in prison, and do not know whether I shall be receiued, or beyng re∣ceiued, haue interteinement, according to my desert? Ah Gineura, I would to God, that thy beautie did prick mée no worsse, than the trée whereof thou takest thy name, is sharp in touching, and bitter to them that 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the same. Truely I estéeme my comming hither happy (for all the passion that I indure) sith the purchase of a griefe so luckie dothe qualifie the ioy, that made me to

wander thus ouer 〈◊〉〈◊〉. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 fair amongs the fairest, truly the fearful beast which with the bloody hareboun∣des was torne in pieces, is not more martired, than my hart deuided in opinions vpon thine affection. And what do I know if thou louest an other more worthy to be fa uored of thée thā thy poore Dom Diego. But it is impos∣sible y^t any can approch y^e sinceritie y^e I féele in my hart, determining rather to indure death, thā to serue other but fair & goldē Gineura: therfore my loyaltie receiuing no cōparison cānot be matched in man sufficiēt (for re∣spect of y^e same) to be called seruāt of thine 〈◊〉〈◊〉. Now come what shal, by means of this, I am assured y^t so long as Dom Diego liueth, his hart shal receiue none other impression or desire, but y^t whiche inciteth him to loue, serue, & honor y^e fairest creature at this day within the cōpasse of Spaine.

〈◊〉〈◊〉 herevpō, sweating, labo∣ring & trauelling vpon y^e framing of his loue, he founde nothing more expediēt thā to tel hir his passion, & let hir vnderstād y^e good wil y^t he had to do hir seruice, & to pray hir to accept him for such, as from that time forth wold perpetrate nothing but vnder y^t title of hir good name. On y^e other side Gineura could not close hir eies, & knew not y^t cause almost y^t so 〈◊〉〈◊〉 hir of sléepe, wherfore now tossing on y^e one side, & thē turning to y^e other inhir rich & goodly bed, fātasied no fewer deuises thā passiona∣ted Dom Diego did. In y^e end she cōcluded, y^t if y^t knight shewed hir any euidēt sign, or opened by word of mouth of loue and seruice, she wold not refuse to do the like to him. Thus passed y^e night in thoughts sighs & wishes be∣twene these. 〈◊〉〈◊〉. apprentises of the thing, whereof they y^t be lerners, shal sone attain y^e experience, & they y^t folow the occupation throughly, in short time be their 〈◊〉〈◊〉 masters. The next day y^t knight would depart so soone as he was vp: but y^e good widow, imbracing y^t personage & good order of y^e knight in hir heart, more thā any other

that she had séen of long time, intreated 〈◊〉〈◊〉 so earnest∣ly to tarie as he which loued better to obey hir request thā to depart, although fained y^e contrary, in y^t end appe∣red to be vanquished vpō y^e great importunitie of the la∣dy. Al that morning y^t mother & the daughter passed the time with Dom Diego in great talk of cōmon matters. But he was then more astoonned & inamored than the night before, in such wise as many times he 〈◊〉〈◊〉 so vnaptly to their demaūds, as it was easily perceiued that his minde was much disquieted with some thing, y^t only did possesse y^e force & vehemēce of y^t same: not with∣stāding y^e lady imputed y^t to y^e 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of y^t gentle∣mā, & to his simplicity, which had not greatly frequēted y^t cōpanie of Ladies. When diner time was come, they were serued with such great fare & sundry delicates, ac∣cordingly as w^t hir hart she wished to intertain y^e yong lord, to y^e intent frō that time forth, he might more wil∣lingly make repaire to hir house. After diner he rēdred thāks to his hostesse for his good cheere & intertainment that he had receiued, assuring hir, y^t all y^e dayes of his life he wold imploy himself to recompense hir curtesie, and withal dutie & indeuor to acknowledge that fauor. And hauing taken his leaue of the mother, he went to y^e da∣mosell, to hir I say, that had so sore wounded his heart, who alredy was so depely grauē in his mind, as y^e mark remained there for euer, taking leaue of hir, kissed hir hāds, & thinking verily to expresse y^t whervpō he imagi∣ned al y^e night, his tong & wits wer so tied & rapt, as the gētlewoman perfectly perceiued this alteratiō, wherat she was no whit discōtented and therfore all blushyng, saide vnto him:

I praye to God sir, to ease and comfort your griefe, as you leaue vs desirous and glad, long to enioy your companie. Truly Gentlewoman (aunswe∣red the Knight,) I thinke my selfe more than happie, to heare that wysh procéede from such a one as you bée,

and specially for the desire whiche you say you haue of my presence, which shall be euer redie to do that which it shall please you to 〈◊〉〈◊〉.

The Gentlewoman bashful for that offer, thāked him very hartily, praying him with swete and smiling countenance, not to forget the waye to come to visite them, béeyng well assured, that hir mother wold be very glad therof.

And for mine owne parte (quod she) I shall thinke my selfe happy to be partaker of the pleasure and great amitie that is be∣twene our two houses.

After greate reuerence & leaue taken betwéene them, Dom Diego retourned home, where he tolde his mother of the good interteynement made him, and of the great honestie of the Lady his ho∣stesse:

wherfore Madame (quod he to his mother) I am desirous (if it be your pleasure) to let them know how much their bountiful hospitalitie hath tied me to them, and what desire I haue to recompense the same. I am therfore willing to bidde them hyther, and to make thē so good chéere, as with al their heart they made me whē I was with them.

The Ladie whiche was the assured friende of the mother of Gineura, liked well the aduise of hir sonne, and told him that they should be welcome, for the aunciente amitie of long time betwéene them, who was wont many times to visit one an other. Dom Diego vpon his mothers words, sent to intreat the La∣die and faire Gineura, that it woulde please them to doe him the honour to come vnto his house: To whiche re∣quest she so willingly yelded, as he was desirous to bid them. At the appointed day Dom Diego sought al mea∣nes possible honourably to intertaine them: In mea∣tes wherof there was no want, in instrumentes of all sortes, Mummeries, Morescoes, and a thousand other passetimes, wherby he declared his good bryngyng vp, the gentlenesse of his spirite, and the desire that he had

appeare such one as he was, before hir, which hadde al∣readie the full possession of his libertie. And bicause hée would not faile to accomplishe the perfection of his in∣tent, he inuited all the Gentlemen and Gentlewomen that were his neighbours. I will not here describe the least part of the prouision for that feast, nor the diuer∣sitie of meates, or the delicate kyndes of wines. It shall suffise mée to tell that after dinner they daunced, where the knight toke his mistresse by the hand, so glad to sée hir selfe so aduaunced, as he was content to be so néere hir, that was the swéete torment and vnspeaka∣ble passion of his minde, which he began to discouer vn∣to hir in this wyse:

Mistresse Gineura, I haue bene al∣ways of this minde, that Musike hath a certain secrete hidden vertue (which well can not be expressed) to re∣uiue the thoughts and cogitations of man, bée they ne∣uer so mornful and pensiue, forcing them to vtter some outward reioyse: I speake it by my self, for that I liue in extreme anguish & paine, that al the ioy of the world séemeth vnto me displeasaunt, care, and disquietnesse: and neuerthelesse my passion, agréeing with the plain∣tife voyce of the instrument, doth reioyse and conceiue comforte, as well to perceyue insensible thinges 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to my desires, as also to sée my selfe so néere vnto hir, that hath the salue to ease my payne, to dis∣charge my disease, and to depriue my minde from all griefs. In like maner-reason it is, that she hir selfe doe remedy my disease, of whom I receiued the pricke, and which is the first foundation of all mine euil. I can not tell (sayde the Gentlewoman) what disease it is you speake of, for I should be very vnkinde to giue him oc∣casion of griefe, that dothe make vs this greate chéere. Ah Ladie mine (sayd the Knight) fetching a sighe from the bottome of his hearte, the intertainement that I

receyue by the continuall contemplation of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 beauties, and the vnspeakeable 〈◊〉〈◊〉 〈◊〉〈◊〉 those two beames, whyche twynckle in youre 〈◊〉〈◊〉, bée they that happily doe vere me, and make me drinke thys cuppe of bitternesse, wherein not wythstanding I fynde suche swéetenesse as all the heauenly drinke called Ambrosia, fayned by the Poetes, is but gall in respecte of that which I taste in mynde, féelyng my deuotion so bente to doe you seruice, as onely Death shall vntye the knotte wherewith voluntarilye I knytte my selfe to bée youre seruaunt for euer, and yf it so please you, youre faythfull and loyall friend and husbande.

The yonge Damoselle not woonted for to heare suche Songs, did chaunge hir coloure at least thrée or foure tymes, and neuerthelesse 〈◊〉〈◊〉 a little angre of that whych dydde contente hir moste: and yet not so sharpe, but that the Gentle∣man perceyued well enough, that shée was touched at the quycke, and also that hée was accepted into hir good grace and fauoure. And therefore hée con∣tinued styll hys talke, all that tyme after dynner, and the mayden sayde vnto hym:

Syr, I will nowe confesse that griefe may couer alteration of affections procéedyng from Loue. For although I hadde deter∣mined to dissemble that whiche I thynke, yet there is a thyng in my mynde (whyche I maye not name) that gouerneth me so strongly, and draweth me farre from my propre deuises and conceiptes, in such wise as I am constrained to doe that which this second in∣spiration doeth leade mée vnto, and dothe force my mynde to receyue an Impression, that what will bée the ende thereof, as yet I knowe not. Not withstan∣dyng, reposyng me in youre vertue and honestie, and

acknowledgyng your merite, I thinke my selfe hap∣pie to haue suche 〈◊〉〈◊〉 for friende, that is so faire and comely a Knight, and for suche I doe accepte you vn∣till you haue obtained of my Ladie my mother, the seconde poynte, whych accomplisheth that whyche is moste desired of them, that for vertues sake do loue. For but onely for that, you shall be none otherwyse fauoured of me, than hytherto you haue bene. Till nowe haue I attended for this right happie daye of ioye and blisse (sayde the 〈◊〉〈◊〉) in token whereof, I doe kisse your white and delicate handes, and for ac∣knowledgyng the fauour that presently I doe receiue, whereby I maye make my vaunt to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the seruaunte of hir, that is the fairest, moste curteous, and honest Gentlewoman on thys syde the Mountaynes.

As hée hadde ended those woordes, they came to couer for supper, where they were serued so honourably, as if they hadde bene in the Court of the Monarch of Spayne. After supper, they wente to walke abroade alongs the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 syde, besette with wyllowe trées, where bothe the beautie of the tyme, the runnyng 〈◊〉〈◊〉, the charme of the naturall musicke of byrdes, and the pleasaunt murmure of the tremblyng leaues, at the whistelyng of the swéete Westerne wynde, moued them agayne to renew theyr passetyme after dynner. For some dydde gyue them selues to talke, and to de∣uise of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 matter: some framed nosegayes, gar∣landes, and other pretie poesyes for theyr friendes: Other some dyd leape, runne, and throwe the barre. In the end a great lord, neighbor to Dom Diego, whose name was Dom Roderico, knowing by his frends coū∣tenance to what saint he was vowed, & perceiuing for whose loue 〈◊〉〈◊〉 feast was celebrate, toke by 〈◊〉〈◊〉 hand a gen∣tlewoman

that sate nexte to faire Gineura, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 hir to daunce after a song, whervnto she béeing plea∣saunt and wyse, made no great refusall. Dom Die∣go failed not to ioyne with hys mystresse, after whom folowed the reste of that noble traine, euery of them as they thought best. Now the Gentlewoman, that be∣ganne to daunce, song thys song so apte for the pur∣pose, as if shée hadde entred the hearte of the eni∣mie and mystresse of Dom Diego, or of purpose hadde made the same in the name of hir, whome the matter touched aboue the rest.

Who may better sing and daunce amongs vs Ladies all, Than she that doth hir louers heart possesse in bondage thrall?

The yong and tender feblenesse Of mine vnskilfull age, Wherof also the tendernesse Doth feeble heart assuage: Whome beauties force hath made to frame Vnto a louers hest. So soone as first the kindled flame Of louing toyes increst.

Who may better sing and daunce, amongs vs Ladies all, Than she that doth hir louers heart possesse in bondage thrall?

I haue assayed out to put The fier thus begoonne, And haue attempted of to cut The threede which loue hath spoonne: And new alliance faine would flee Of him whome I loue best, But that the Gods haue willed mee To yelde to his request.

Who may better sing and daunce amongs vs Ladies all, Than she that doth hir louers heart possesse in bondage 〈◊〉〈◊〉

So amiable is his grace, Not like among vs all: So passing faire is his face, Whose hue doth staine vs all: And as the shining sunny day Doth eu'ry man delight, So he alone doth beare the sway, Amongs eche louing wight.

Who may 〈◊〉〈◊〉 sing and daunce amongs vs Ladies all, Than she that doth hir louers heart possesse in bondage thrall?

Why should not then, the fairest dame, Apply hir gentle minde, And honor giue vnto his name, With humble heart and kinde? Sith he is full of curtesie, Indewd with noble grace, And brest replete with honestie, Well knowne in eu'ry place.

Who may better sing and daunce amongs vs Ladies all, Than she that doth hir louers heart possesse in bondage thrall?

If I should loue, and serue him than, May it be counted vice? If I retaine that worthy man, Shall I be demde vnwise? I will be gentle to him sure, And render him mine aide: And loue that wight with heart full pure, That neuer loue assaide.

Who may better sing and daunce amongs vs Ladies all, Than she that doth hir louers heart possesse in bondage thrall?

Thus the most sacred vnitie, That doth our hearts combine: Is voide of wicked flattery, The same for to 〈◊〉〈◊〉.

No hardned rigor is our guide, Nor follie doth vs leade: No Fortune can vs twaine deuide, Vntill we both be deade.

Who may better sing and daunce amongs vs Ladies all, Than she that doth hir louers heart possesse in bondage 〈◊〉〈◊〉?

And thus assured certainly, That this our loue shall dure, And with good lucke hope verely, The same to put in vre. The sowen sedes of amitie, Begon betwixt vs twaine, Shall in most perfite vnitie, For euermore remaine.

Who may better sing and daunce amongs vs Ladies all, Than she that doth hir louers heart possesse in bondage thrall!

This song delited the minds of many in y^t company, and principally Dom Diego & Gineura, who felt them∣selues tickled without laughing: notwithstanding, the maiden reioysed to hear hir self so greatly praised in so noble a company, & specially in y^t presence of hir friend who had no lesse pleasure by hearing the praises of his beloued, than if he had bene made Lord of all Aragon. She for all hir dissembled countenaunce vsed openly, could not hide the alteration of hir minde, without sen∣ding forth a sodain chaunge of colour, y^t increased y^t fair & goodly taint of hir face. Dom Diego seing y^t mutation, was so ioyful as was possible, for thereby he knew and iudged himself assured of the good grace of his mistresse & therfore wringing hir finely by the hands, sayd vnto hir very soberly 〈◊〉〈◊〉. What greater pleasure my louing wench can there happen vnto your seruaunt, than to sée the accomplishmēt of this Prophetical 〈◊〉〈◊〉?

I assure you y^t in al my life I neuer heard musike, y^t de∣lited me so much as this, & therby do vnderstand y^t good wil of the Gentlewoman, which so curteously hath dis∣couered yours towards me, & the faithful seruice wher of you shall sée me from hence forth so liberall, as nei∣ther goods nor life shal be spared for your sake. Gineūra who loued him with al hir heart, thanked him very hū∣bly, and prayed him to beleue that the song was not vn truly soong, and y^t without any fail, she had therby ma∣nifested al the secrets of hir minde. The daunce ended, they sate them downe round about a cleare fountaine, which by silent discourse, issued from an high and moi∣sty rock, enuirōned with an infinite numbre of Maple∣trées, Poplers & Ashes. To which place a page brought a lute to Dom Diego, wherupō he could play very wel, & made it more pleasātly to sound for that he accorded his fayning voice to the instrument, singing this song that foloweth.

That I should loue and serue also, good reason doth require, What though I suffre lothsome grief, my life in woe to wrappe? The same be thonely instruments, of my good lucke and happe, The foode and pray for hungry corps, of rest th'assured hire.

By thought wherof (O heauy man) gush forth of teares great store And by & by reioyst againe, my driery teares do cease: Which guerdon shal mine honor sure, in that triumphāt peace, The summe whereof I offer now, were it of price much more.

Which I doe make withall my heart, vnto that blessed wight, My proper Goddesse here on earth, and only mistresse dere: My goods and life, my brething gost within this carcase here, I vow vnto that maiestie, that heauenly starre most bright.

Now sith my willing vow is made, I humbly pray hir grace, To end th'accord betwene vs pight, no longer time to tracte:

Which if it be by sured band, so haply brought to passe, I must my self thrice happy coūt, for that most heauenly fact.

This song made the company to muse, who commi∣ded the trim inuention of the Knight, and aboue al Gi∣neura praised him more than before, & could not so well refraine hir lokes from him, & he with countre change rendring like againe, but that the two widowes their mothers conceiued great héede therof, reioysing great∣ly to sée the same, desirous in time to couple them toge∣ther. For at that present they deferred the same, in cō∣sideration they were both very yong. Notwithstāding it had bene better that the same coniunction had bene made, before fortune had turned the whéele of hir vn∣stablenesse. And truely delay and prolongation of time sometimes bringeth such and so great missehaps, that one hundred times men cursse their fortune, and little aduise in foresight of their infortunate chaunces that commonly do come to passe. As it chaūced to these wi∣dowes, one of them thinking to loose hir sonne by the vaine behauior of the others daughter, who without y^t helpe of God, or care vnto his will, disparaged hir ho∣nor, and prepared a poyson so daungerous for hir mo∣thers age, that the foode therof prepared the way to the good Ladies graue. Nowe whiles this loue in this ma∣ner increased, and that desire of these two Louers, fla∣med forth ordinarily in fire and flames more violent, Dom Diego all chaunged and transformed into a newe man, receiued no delite, but in the sight of his Gineura. And she thought that there could be no greater felici∣tie, or more to be wished for, than to haue a friend so perfect, and so wel accomplished with all things requi∣site for the ornament and full furniture of a Gentle∣man. This was the occasion that the yong Knight let

no wéeke to passe without visiting his mistresse twice or thrice at the least, and she did vnto him the greatest curtesie and best entertainment, that vertue could suf∣fer a maiden to doe, who is the diligent treasurer and carefull tutor of hir honor. And this she did by consēt of hir mother. In like manne, rhonestie doth not permit y^t chaste maidens should vse long talke, or immoderate spéeche, with the first that be suters vnto them: & much lesse séemely it is for them to be ouer squeimishe nice, with that man which séeketh (by way of marriage) to winne power and title of the body, which in very dede, is or ought to be the moitie of their soule. Such was y^t desires of these two Louers, which notwithstanding was impéeched by meanes, as hereafter you shal heare. For during the rebounding ioy of these faire couple of loyall louers, it chaunced that the daughter of a noble man of the Countrey, named Ferrando de la Serre, which was faire, comely, wise, and of very good behauior, by kéeping daily company with Gineura, fel extréemely in loue with Dom Diego, and assayed by all meanes to do him to vnderstand what the puissance was of hir loue, which willingly she meant to bestowe vpon him, if it wold please him to honor hir so much, as to loue hir w^t like 〈◊〉〈◊〉. But the Knight which was no more his own man, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 rather possessed of another, had lost with his libertie his wits, and minde to marke the affection of this Gentlewoman of whome he made no accompt. The Maiden neuerthelesse ceased not to loue him, and to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 al possible wayes to make him hir owne. And knowing how much Dom Diego loued Hawking, she bought a 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the best in all the Countrey, and sent the same to Dom Diego, who with all his heart recei∣ued the same, and effectuously gaue hir thanks for that desired gift, praying the messanger to recommend him

to the good grace of his Mistresse, and to assure hir selfe of his faithfull seruice, and that for hir sake he would kepe the hauk so tenderly as y^e balles of his eyes. This Hauk was the cause of the ill fortune that afterwards chaunced to this pore louer. For going many times to sée Gineura with the Hauke on his fist, & bearing with him the tokens of the goodnesse of his Hauke, it escaped his mouthe to say, that the same was one of the things that in all the world he loued best. Truely this worde was taken at the first bound contrary to his meaning, wherwith the matter so fell out, as afterwards by des∣paire he was like to lose his life. Certaine dayes after, as in the absence of the Knight, talke rose of his vertue and honest conditions, one prainsing his prowesse & va∣liaunce, another his great beautie and curtesy, another passing further, extolling the sincere 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and con∣stācy which appeared in him touching matters of loue, one enuious person named Gracian spake his minde thē in this wise:

I wil not deny but that Dom Diego is one of the most excellent, honest and brauest Knightes of Catheloigne, but in matters of Loue he séemeth to me so waltering and inconstant, as in euery place where he commeth, by and by he falleth in loue, and maketh as though he were sick, and wold die for the same. Gineu∣ra maruelliing at those woords, sayd vnto him: I pray you my friende to vse better talke of the Lorde Dom Diego. For I do thinke the loue which the Knight doth beare to a Gentlewoman of this Countrey, is so firme and assured, that none other can remoue the same out of the siege of his minde: Lo how you be deceiued gen∣tlewoman (quod Gracian,) for vnder coloure of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 seruice, he and such as he is doe abuse the simplici∣tie of yong Gentlewomen.

And to proue my saying

true, I am assured that he is extremely enamored with the daughter of Dom Ferrando de la Serre, of whome he receiued an Hauke, y^t he loueth aboue all other things. Gineura remembring the words which certaine dayes before Dom Diego spake touching his Hauke, began to suspect and beleue that which master Gracian alleaged, and not able to support the choler, which colde iealosie bred in hir stomake, went into hir Chamber full of so great grief and heauinesse, as she was many times like to kill hir self. In the end, hoping to be reuenged of the wrong which she beleued to receiue of Dom Diego, de∣termined to endure hir fortune paciently. In y^e meane time she conceiued in hir minde a despite and hatred so great and extreame against the pore. Gentleman that thought little héereof, as the former loue was nothing in respect of the reuenge by death, which she then desi∣red vpon him. Who the next day after his wonted ma∣ner came to sée hir, hauing (to his great damage) the Hauke on his fiste, which was the cause of all that iea∣losse. Nowe as the Knight was in talke with the mo∣ther, séeing that his beloued came not at all (according to hir custome) to salute him and bid him welcome, in∣quired how she did. One that loued him more than the rest, sayd vnto him:

Syr, so soone as she knewe of your comming, immediately she withdrew hir selfe into hir Chamber.

He that was wise and well trained vp, dis∣sembled what he thought, imagining that it was for some little fantasie, whereunto women willingly be subiecte. And therefore when he thought time to de∣parte, he tooke leaue of the widowe, and as hée was going downe the staires of the great Chamber, he met one of the maides of Gineura, whome he prayed to com∣mend him to hir mistresse.

Gineura during all this time toke no rest, deuising how she might cutte of cleane hir loue entertained in Dom Diego, after she knew that he caried the Hawke on his fist: which was the only cause that did put hir into that frensie. And therefore thinking hir selfe both despised and mocked of hir Knight, & that he had done it in des∣pite of hir, she entred into so great rage and choler, as she was like to fall mad. She being then in this trou∣ble of minde, behold hir Gentlewoman came vnto hir, and did the Knights message. Who hearing the simple name of hir supposed enimy, begā to sigh so strangely, as a man wold haue thought hir soule presently wold haue departed hir body. Afterwards when she had van∣quished hir raging fit which stayed hir speach, she gan very tenderly to wéepe, saying:

Ah traitor & vnfaithful louer, is this the recompense of the honest and firme a∣mitie which I haue borne thée, so wickedly to deceiue me vnder the colour of so faint and detestable a friend∣ship? Ah rashe and arrant Théese, is it I vpon whome thou oughtest to vende thy wicked trumperies? Doste thou thinke that I am no better worthe, but that thou prodigally shouldest wast mine honor to bear y^t spoiles thereof to hir, that is in nothing comparable vnto me? Wherin haue I deserued this discurtesie, if not by lo∣uing thée more than thy beautie & fained loue deserue? Diddest thou dare to aduenture vpon me, hauing thy conscience wounded with suche an abhominable and deadly treason? Durst thou to offer thy mouth to kisse my hand, by the mouth of another, to whome thou had∣dest before dedicated thy lying lips in thine owne pro∣per person? I praise God that it pleased him to let me sée before any other worse chaunce hath happened, the poyson by thée prepared for the ruine of my life and ho∣nor. Ha foole, hope not to take me in thy trap, nor yet

to deceiue me through thy sugred and deceitful words. For I sweare by the almighty God, that so long as I shall liue, I wil accompt thée none other, but as y^e most cruel and mortal enimy that I haue in this world.

Then to accomplish the rest of hir careful minde, she wrote a letter to giue hir farewell to hir olde friend Dom Diego. And for that purpose instructed hir Page with this lesson, that when the Knight should come, he should be ready before hir lodging and say vnto him in the behalfe of hir, that before he passed any further, he should reade the letter, and not to faile to doe the con∣tents. The Page which was malicious, and ill affectio∣ned to Dom Diego, knowing the appointed day of his comming, waited for him a quarter of a mile from the Castle, where he had not long taried, but beholde the innocent louer came, against whome the Page went, bearing about him more hurtfull & noisome weapons, than all the Théeues and robbers had in all the Coun∣trey of Catheloigne. In this manner presenting his mi∣stresse letters, he sayde vnto him:

My Lord, Madame Gineura my mistresse hath sent me vnto you, & bicause she knoweth how fearfull you be to displease hir, pray∣eth you not faile to reade this letter before you passe a∣ny further, and there withall accomplishe the effecte of the same. The Knight abashed with that sodaine mes∣sage, answered the Page: God forbid my friend (quod be) that I shold disobey hir by any meanes, vnto whom I haue giuen a full authoritie and puissance ouer mine affections.

So receiuing the letters, he kissed them thre or foure times, and opening them, found that he hoped not for, and red that which he thought not off. The cō∣tents wherof were these.

The Letters of faire Gineura, to the Knight Dom Diego.

THere shall passe no day of my life, from making complaintes of thée disloyall and periured Louer, who being more estemed and better beloued than 〈◊〉〈◊〉 diddest deserue, hast made so small accompte of me, whereof I will be reuenged vpon my selfe, for that I haue thus lightly beleued thy wordes so full of crafte and guile. I am in 〈◊〉〈◊〉 that thou from hence for the shalt flye, to buzze and beate the bushes, where 〈◊〉〈◊〉 suspectest to catche the pray: for héere thou art like to be deceiued. Goe varlet, (goe I say,) to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 hir which holdeth thée in hir nets and snares, and whose Presentes (althoughe of small value) haue 〈◊〉〈◊〉 thée more than the Honest, vertuous, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Loue, that vertue hir selfe began to knitte betwéene vs. And sith a carrion Kite hath made thée 〈◊〉〈◊〉 fur∣ther off, than the winde of the aire was able to beare thée, God defend that Gineura should goe aboute to hinder thy follies, and much lesse to-suffer hir selfe to be beguiled through thine excuses. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 rather God defend (except thou desirest to sée me die) that thou shouldest euer be in place where I am, assuring 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of this my minde, neuer to be chaunged so long as my soule shall rest wythin my body: which giuing breth vnto my panting breast, shall neuer be other, but a mortall enimie to Dom Diego: and such one as euen to the Death will not faile to prosecute the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of the most traiterous and vnfaithfull Knighte, that euer was girte with girdle, or armed with sword.

〈◊〉〈◊〉 beholde the last fauour that thou canst, or ough∣test to hope of me, who liueth not but onely to martir and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 thée, and neuer shall be other but

The greatest enimie that euer thou hast, or shalt haue, Gineura the faire.

The miserable louer had no sooner red the contents of the letter, but lifting vp his 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to the 〈◊〉〈◊〉, he sayd:

Alas, my God thou knowest well if euer I haue 〈◊〉〈◊〉, that I ought to be banished from the place, where my contentation is chiefly fixed, & from whence my heart shall neuer departe, chaunce what missehappe and fortune so euer. Then tourning himself towardes the Page, he sayd: Sir Page my friend, say vnto my Ladie, most humbly commending me vnto hir, that for this present I will not sée hir, but heareafter she shall heare some newes from me. The Page well lesso∣ned for the purpose, made him aunswere, saying: Sir she hath willed me to say thus much by mouthe, that ye cannot do hir greater pleasure, than neuer to come in place where she is: for so much as the Daughter of Dom Ferrando de la Serre hath so 〈◊〉〈◊〉 you in hir nettes, that loth she is your faithfull heart should hang in ballance, and expect the vncertaine loue of two La∣dies at once.

Dom Diego hearing the truth of his missehap, & the occasion of the same, made light of the matter for that time, till at length the choler of his mistresse shold be∣gin to coole, that therby she might know vpō how brit∣tle grounde she hadde planted a suspition of hir most faithfull and louing seruaunt, and so retiring towards his house, altogether vexed and ill contented, he went into his Chamber, where with his dagger he paunched

the gorge of the pore Birde, the cause of his Ladies 〈◊〉〈◊〉, saying:

Ha vile carraine Kite, I sweare by the bloud of him, that thou shalt neuer be the cause againe, to make hir fret for such a trifling thing as thou art: I beleue that what so euer furie is hidden within the bo∣dy of this curssed Kite, to engender a Plague, the same now is seased on me, but I hope to doe my mistresse to vnderstande what Sacrifice I haue made of the thing which was sent me, ready to do the like vpō mine own flesh, where it shal please hir to commaund.

So taking inke & paper, he made answer to Gineura as foloweth.

The letters of Dom Diego to Gineura the faire.

BUt who would euer haue thought (my Lady deare) that a light opinion could so soone haue diuided and disparkled your good iudgement, to condempne your Knight before you had heard what he was able to say, for himselfe? truely I thought no more to offend you, than the man which you neuer knewe, although you haue bene deceiued by colored words, vttered by those that be enuious of my happe, and enimies of your ioy, who haue filled your minde ful of false report. I swear vnto you (by God, my good Lady) that neuer thing en∣tred into my fantasie more, than a desire to serue you alone, and to auoide the acquaintaunce of all other, to preserue for you a pure and entire heart. Wherof long agone I made you an offer. In witnesse wherof I hum∣bly 〈◊〉〈◊〉 you to beleue, that so soone as you sée this Birde (the cause of your anger and occasion of my mis∣hap) torne and pluckte in pieces, that my heart féeleth no lesse alteration or torment: for so long as I shal vn∣derstand

your displeasure to endure against me, assure your selfe my life shall abide in no lesse paine than my ioy was great, when I frankly possessed your presence. Be it sufficient (madame) for you to knowe, that I ne∣uer thought to offende you. Be contēted I besech you, with this sacrifice whiche I send you, if not, that I doe the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 vpon mine own body, which without your good wil and grace can not longer liue. For my lyfe depen∣ding vpon that onely benefite, you ought not to bee a∣stoonned if the same 〈◊〉〈◊〉 his nourishmente dothe pe∣rishe, as frustrate of that foode, propre and apte for his appetite: and by like meanes my sayd life shall reuiue, if it may please you to spreade your beames ouer mine obscure and base personage, and to receiue this 〈◊〉〈◊〉 for a fault not cōmitted. And so waiting a gentle answere from your great 〈◊〉〈◊〉, I humbly kisse your white 〈◊〉〈◊〉 delicate handes with all humilitie, praying God swéete ladie, to let you se how much I suffer with∣out desert, and what puissaunce you haue ouer him that 〈◊〉〈◊〉 all your

Faithfull and euer seruant most obedient Dom Diego.

The letter closed and sealed, he deliuered to one of his faithfull and secrete seruantes, to beare (with the deade Hauke) vnto Gineura, chargyng him diligentely to take héede to hir countenaunce, and aboue all, that faithfully he should beare away that which she dyd saye vnto him for aunswere. His man fayled not to spéede himself with diligence: and being come before Gineura, he presented that which his master had sent hir. She ful of wrath and indignation, woulde not once 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to reade the letter, and much lesse to accept the present whiche was a witnesse of the contrary of that she dyd 〈◊〉〈◊〉, and tournyng vnto the Messanger, she sayde:

My friende, thou mayest goe gette thée backe agayne, wyth the selfe same charge whiche thou hast brought, and say vnto thy maister, that I haue nothyng to doe with his Letters, his excuses, or any other things that commeth from hys handes, as one hauyng good expe∣perience of hys sleightes and deceipts. Tell hym also, that I prayse God, in good tyme I haue taken héede to the little fayth and truste that is in him for a coun∣tergarde in tyme to come, lightly neuer to bée decey∣ued.

The seruyng man woulde fayne haue framed an Oration to purge his master, but the fierce Gentle∣woman brake of his talke, saying vnto hym, that she was well resolued vpon hir intente, which was, that Dom Diego shoulde neuer recouer place in hir minde, and that shée hated hym as much at that tyme as euer shée loued him before. Upon which aunswere the Mes∣sanger returned, so sorowfull for the misfortune of his master (knowing him to be very innocent) as he knew full well into what despaire his master wold 〈◊〉〈◊〉, when he vnderstode those pitiful and heauie newes: not with standing nedes he must know them, and therfore when he was come before Dom Diego, hée recited vnto hym from poynt to poynt his ambassage, and deliuered him againe his letters. Whereof the infortunate Gentle∣man was so sore assooned, as he was like to haue fallen downe dead at that instant.

Alas (sayde he) what yll lucke is this, that when I thought to enioye the bene∣fite of my attempte, Fortune hath reuolted to bryng me to the extremitie of the moste desperate man that euer lyued? Is it possible that my good seruice shoulde bée the cause of my approached ouerthrowe? Alas, what may true and faithfull louers henceforthe hope for, if not the losse of their time, when after long de∣uoire

and duetie, an Enuious foole shall come to de∣priue them of their ioy and gladnesse, and they féeling the bitternesse of theyr abandoned farewell, one that loueth lesse shall beare away the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of suche hope, and shall possesse without deserte the glorie due to a good and faithfull 〈◊〉〈◊〉. Ah fayre Gineura, that thou séest not the griefe whych I doe 〈◊〉〈◊〉, and the affection wherewith I serue thée, and howe muche I woulde suffer to gayne and recouer thy good grace and fauor. Ha vayne hope, whyche vntyll nowe haste fylled me, wyth myrthe and gladnesse, altogether spente and powdred in the gaulle of operation of thy bytter sa∣uoure, and the taste of thy corrupted lycour: better it hadde bene for mée at the begynnyng to haue refu∣sed thée, than afterwardes receyued, cherished, and sin∣cerely beloued, to be banished for so lyght occasion, as I am full sore ashamed to conceyue the same wythin remembraunce: but Fortune shall not haue hir wyll ouer me: for so long as I shall lyue, I wyll continue the seruaunt of Gineura, and my lyfe I will preserue, to lette hir vnderstande the force of Loue: By conti∣nuance whereof, I will not sticke to sette my selfe on fyre with the liuely flames of my passion, and then withdrawe the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of my ioye, by the rigour and frowardnesse that shall procéede from hir.

When he had finished his talke, he began to sigh and lament so straungely, as his man was about to goe to call the la∣die the mother of the Knighte his master: In whome dydde appeare suche signes, as yf Death hadde 〈◊〉〈◊〉 at hande, or else that he hadde ben attached with the Spirite of phrenesie. But when he sawe hym aboute to come agayne to hymselfe, he sayd thus vnto hym:

How now syr, wil you cast your selfe away for the foo∣lishe

toy of an vndiscrete girle, yl manered and taught, and who perchaunce doth all this, to proue how constāt you would be? No no sir, you must turne ouer an other leafe, and sith you be determined to loue hir, you must perseuere in your pursute. For at lengthe it is impos∣sible, but that this diamont hardnesse, must néedes bée mollified, if she be not a diuel incarnate, more furious than the wildest beastes, whych haunte the desertes of Lybia.

Dom Diego was comforted with that admoniti∣on, and purposed to persist in hys affection, and there∣fore sent many messages, giftes, letters, and excuses to his angred mistresse Gineura: But she made yet 〈◊〉〈◊〉 accompt of them than of the firste, chargyng the mes∣sangers not to trouble them selues about those 〈◊〉〈◊〉, for she had rather die than to sée hym, or to receyue a∣ny thing from him, whom she hated aboue all things of the worlde. When newes hereof came to the knight, he was altogether impacient, and séeyng the smal pro∣fite whiche he dyd gaine by pursuing his foolish opinion, and not able to bestowe his loue elsewhere, he deter∣mined to die: and yet vnwilling to imbrue his handes with his owne blood, he purposed to wander as a vara∣bunde into some deserte, to perfourme the course of his vnhappie and sorowfull dayes, hoping by that meanes to quenche the heate of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 amorous rage, either by length of time, or by 〈◊〉〈◊〉, the last refuge of the mise∣rable. For whiche purpose then, he caused to bée made two pilgrims wéedes, y^e one for himself, & the other for his man, and prepared all their necessaries for his voy∣age. Then wryting a Letter to his Gineura, hée called one of his men, to whome he sayde:

I am going about certaine of mine affaires, wherof I will haue no man to know, and therfore when I am gone, thou shalt tell my Lady mother what I saye to thée, and that within

twentie dayes (God wyllyng) I meane to retourne. Moreouer I require thée, that foure dayes after my de∣parture, & not before, to beare these letters to mistresse Gineura, and if so be she refuse to receiue them, faile not to deliuer them vnto hir mother: take héede therefore if thou loue me, to doe all that which I haue giuen thée in charge.

Afterwards he called his seruaunt vnto hym, which had done the first message vnto Gineura, whiche was a wise and gentle fellow, in whome the Knyghte reposed great affiance, to hym he declared al his enter∣prise, and the ende whervnto his fierce determination did extende. The good seruant which loued his master, hearyng his intent so vnreasonable, sayde vnto hym: Is it not enough for you sir to yeld your selfe a praie to the most fierce and cruell woman that liueth, but thus to augment hir glorie, by séeing hir selfe so victorious ouer you? Are you ignorant what the malice of womē is, and howe muche they triumphe in tormentyng the poore blynded soules that become their seruantes, and what prayse they attribute vnto 〈◊〉〈◊〉, if by some misfortune they driue them to dispaire? Was it with∣out cause that the Sage in tymes paste did so greately hate that sexe and kinde, as the common ruine & ouer∣throw of men? What moued the Greke Poete to syng these verses, against all sortes of women?

A common woe though silly woman be to man, Yet double ioy againe she doth vnto him bring: The wedding night is one, as wedded folke tell can, The other when the knell for hir poore soule doth ring.

If not for that he knew the happinesse of man consisted more in auoiding the acquaintaunce of that furie, than by imbracing and cherishyng of the same, sith hir na∣ture is altogether like vnto Aesops serpēt, which being deliuered from perill and daunger of death by the shep∣hierd,

for recompense thereof, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 his whole house with his venomous 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and rammish breath. O how happie is he that can master his owne affections, & 〈◊〉〈◊〉 a frée man from that passion, can reioice in libertie, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 from the swéete euyll whiche (as I well 〈◊〉〈◊〉) is the cause of your despaire. But sir, your wisedome ought to vanquish those light conceiptes, by settyng so light of that your rebellious Gentle woman as shee is vnworthie to be fauoured by so great a Lord as you be, who deserueth a better personage than hirs is, and a frendlier entertainemen than a farewell so foolishly 〈◊〉〈◊〉. Dom Diego, althoughe that he tooke pleasure to heare those discourses of hys faithfull seruaunt, yet he shewed so sowre a countenaunce vnto him, as the other with thys litle worde helde his peace.

Sith then it is so syr, that you be resolued in your missehappe, it may please you to accept me to wait vpon you, whither you are determined to go: for I meane not to lyue at 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ease, and suffer my master, in payne and in griefe. I will be partaker of that whiche Fortune shal prepare, vntill the heauens doe mitigate theyr rage vppon you, and your predestinate mishappe.

Dom Diego, who 〈◊〉〈◊〉 no better companie, imbraced hym very louingly, thanking him for the good will that hée bare hym, and sayde:

This present night about midnight, wée wyll take our 〈◊〉〈◊〉, euen that way whether our lotte and also Fortune shall guide vs, attending either the ende of my passiō, or the whole ouerthrow of my selfe.

Their intent they did put in proofe: For at midnight y^t Moone being cléere when all things were at rest, and the cric∣kets chirping through the creauises of the earth, they toke their way vnséene of any. And so soone as Aurora began to garnish hir mantle with the colors of red and white, and the mornyng starre of the Goddesse of stea∣ling

loue, appeared, Dom Diego began to sigh, saying:

Ah ye freshe and dewy mornings, that my happe is far from the contentation of others, who after they haue rested vpon the cogitation of theyr ease and ioy, doe awake by the pleasaunt chirpyng of the birdes, to per∣fourme by effect that whiche the shadowe and fantasie of theyr mynde, dyd present by dreaming in the night, where I am constrained to separate by greate distance excéeding vehement continuation of my tormentes, to folowe wylde beasts, wandring from thence where the greatest number of men do quietly slepe and take their rest. Ah Venus, whose starre now cōduceth me, & whose beames long agoe didde glowe and kyndle my louing heart, howe 〈◊〉〈◊〉 it that I am not intreated ac∣cording to the desert of my constant mind and mening most sincere? Alas, I loke not to expect any thing certē from thée, sith thou hast thy course amongs the wādring starres. Must the influence of one starre y^t ruleth ouer me, deface that which y^t 〈◊〉〈◊〉 wold to be accōplished, & that my cruel mistresse, deluding my languors & griefs triumpheth ouer mina infirmitie, & ouerwhelmeth me with care and sorow, that I liue pining away, amongs the sauage beasts in y^t wildernesse? for somuche as 〈◊〉〈◊〉 y^t grace of my lady, all cōpany shall be so tedious & loth∣som vnto me, y^t the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 thought of a tru 〈◊〉〈◊〉 w^t hir, y^t hath the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of me, shal serue for y^t comfort & true remedie of all my troubles.

Whiles he had with these pāgs forgotten himself, he saw y^t the day began to waxe clere, the Sun alredy spreading his goldē beanies vpon the earth, and therfore began hastily to set forthwards, vsing byways, and far from cōmon vsed trades, so nere as he could, y^t he might not by any meanes be knowne. Thus they rode forth euen vntill noone: but seing their 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to be weary and faynt, they lyghted at a village,

sarre from the high waye: where they refreshed them∣selfes, and baited their horsse vntill it was late. In this sort by the space of thrée dayes they trauersed the 〈◊〉〈◊〉, vntill they 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to the foote of a mountain, not frequented almoste but by wilde and sauage beastes. The countrey rounde about was very faire, pleasaunt, and fit for the solitarinesse of the knight: for if shadow pleased him, he might be delighted with the couerte of an infinite numbre of fruitful trées, where with onely nature had furnished those hideous and sauage deserts. Next to the high and well timbred forrests, there were groues and bushes for exercise of hunting. A man could desire no kinde of veneson, but it was to be had in that wildernesse: there might be séene also a certain sharpe and rude situation of craggy and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 rockes, which notwithstanding yelded some plesure to y^t eyes, to sée them tapissed with a pale moasure gréene, whiche disposed into a frizeled guise, made the place pleasaunt and the rocke soft, according to the fashion of 〈◊〉〈◊〉. There was also a very fair and wide caue, which liked him well, cōpassed round aboute with firre 〈◊〉〈◊〉, Cedre trées, pine apples, Cipres, and trées distillyng a certaine rosen or gumme, towardes the bottom wher∣of, in the way downe to the valley, a man might haue 〈◊〉〈◊〉 a passing companie of Ewe trées, Poplers of al sortes; and Maple trées; the leaues whereof felt into a lake or ponde, which came by certain small gutters in∣to a fresh & very cléere fountain right against that 〈◊〉〈◊〉. The knight séeing the auncientie and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of the place, deliberated by and by to plant there the siege of his abode, for performing of his penance and life. And therfore sayd vnto his seruant: My friende, I am 〈◊〉〈◊〉 that this place shall be y^t monasterie, to make y^t 〈◊〉〈◊〉 profession of our religion, and where we wyll

accomplish the voyage of our 〈◊〉〈◊〉.

Thou 〈◊〉〈◊〉 both the beautie and solitarinesse, which do rather commaūd vs here to rest, than any other place nere at band.

The seruaunt yelded to the pleasure of his master, and so lighting from their horsse, they dissurnished thē of their saddles and bridles, giuing to them the libertie of the fields, of whome afterwardes they neuer heard more newes. The saddles they placed within the caue, & lea∣uing their ordinary apparell, they clothed thēselues in Pilgrimes wéedes, fortifying the mouth of the caue, y^t wild beasts shold not hurt thē when they were a slepe. There the seruaunt began to play the 〈◊〉〈◊〉, and to make. y. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 beds of mosse, whose spindle and whéele were of woode, so wel poollished & trimmed, as if he had bene a carpenter wel expert in y^t occupation. They 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of nothing else but of y^t frutes of those wilde trées, sometimes of the fruits of herbs, vntil they had deuised to make a crosbow of wood, wherwith they killed now & then a Hare, a Cony, Kid, & many times some stron∣ger beast remained with thē for gage: whose blood they pressed out betwéene. 〈◊〉〈◊〉. pieces of wood, & rosted them a∣gainst the Sunne, seruing the same in, as if it had bene a right good dishe for the first course of their sobre & vn∣delicate table, wherat the pure water of the fountaine, next vnto their holow and déepe house, serued in 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of the good wines and delicious drinkes that abounded in y^t house of Dom Diego. Who liuing in y^t pore estate, ceased night nor day to complaine of his harde fortune and curssed plight, going many times through the de∣serts all alone, y^t better to muse and study therupon, or (peraduenture) desirous that some hungry Bear shold descend from the Mountaine, to finish his life & painful griefs. But the good seruaunt knowing his masters so∣row & mishap, would neuer goe out of his sight, but ra∣ther

exhorted him to retourne home to his goodes and possessiōs, and to forget that order of life, vnworthy for such a personage as he was, and vncomely for him that ought to be indued with good reason & iudgement. But the desperate Gentleman wilful in his former delibe∣ration, wold not heare him sprake of such 〈◊〉〈◊〉. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 y^t if it escaped the seruaūt to be earnest & sharpe against y^e rudenesse & sottish cruelty of Gineura, it was a 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to sée Dom Diego mount in choler against him, saying:

Art y^u so hardy to speake ill of the gentlewoman, which is the most vertuous & honest personage vnder y^e coape of heauen? Thou maist thāk the loue I bear thée, other∣wise I wold make thée féele how much the slaūder tou∣cheth me at the heart y^t thou vttrest against hir, which hath right to punish me thus for mine 〈◊〉〈◊〉, and y^t it is I that cōmit the wrong in cōplaining of hir se∣uerity. Now sir said the seruant, I do in déede perceiue what maner of thing the contagion of loue is. For they which once do féele the corruption of that aire, thinke nothing good or sauory, but the filthy smell of y^t 〈◊〉〈◊〉 meat. Wherfore I hūbly beseche you a litle to set apart, & remoue frō minde, that 〈◊〉〈◊〉 & presumptuous dame Gineura, and by forgetting hir beauty, to measure hir desert & your grief, you shall know then (being gui∣ded by reasōs lore) y^t you are the simplest and weakest man in the world, to tormēt your self in this wise, and that she is the fondest girle, wholly straught of wits, so to abuse a Noble man y^t meriteth y^e good grace & swete embraeemēt of one more faire, wise & modest, than she 〈◊〉〈◊〉 hir self to be to you. The Knight hearing this, thought to abādon pacience, & therfore said vnto him: I sweare vnto thée by God, y^t if euer thou haue any suche talke againe, either I will die, or thou shalt depart out of my cōpany, for I cānot abide by any means to suffre

one to despise hir whom I do loue and honor, & shall so 〈◊〉〈◊〉 during life.

The seruaunt loth to offend his master, held his peace, heauy for all that in heart, to remember how the pore Gentleman was resolued to finish there, (in the desert vnknowen to his friends) all the remnāt of his life. And who aswell for the euill order, and not 〈◊〉〈◊〉 nouriture, as for assiduall plaints and wé〈◊〉〈◊〉, was become so pale & leane, as he better resem∣bled a dry chippe, than a man hauing féeling or life. His eyes were soonke into his head, his beard 〈◊〉〈◊〉, his hair staring, his skin ful of filth, altogither more like a wilde and sauage creature (such one as is depainted in brutall forme) than faire Dom Diego, so much commē∣ded and estéemed through out the kingdome of Spaine. Nowe leaue we this amorous Hermite to passionate & plaine his misfortune, to sée to what ende the Letters came that he wrote to his cruell Mistresse. The day 〈◊〉〈◊〉 for deliuerie of his Letters, his seruaunt did his charge, and being come to the house of Gineura, found hir in the Hall with hir mother, where kissing his maisters letters, he presēted them with very great reuerence to the Gentlewoman. Who so soone as she knewe that they came from Dom Diego, all chaunged into raging coloure and foolishe choler, threw them in∣continently vpon the ground, saying:

Sufficeth it not thy maister, that already twice I haue done him to vn∣derstand, that I haue nothing to do with his letters nor Ambassades, and yet goeth he about by such assaultes to encrease my displeasure and agonie, by the only re∣membraunce of his follie? The mother séeing that vn∣ciuile order, although she vnderstoode the cause,

and knew that there was some discorde betwéene the two Louers, yet thought it to be but light, sith the Comike Poet doeth say:

The louers often falling out, And prety wrangling rage: Of pleasant loue it is no dout, The sure renewing gage.

She went vnto hir Daughter, saying: What great rage is this? Let me sée that letter that I may read it: For I haue no feare y^t Dom Diego can deceiue me with the swéetenesse of his hony words. And truly daughter you néede not feare to touch them, for if there were a∣ny poison in them, it proceaded from your beautie that hath bitten and stong the Knight, whereof if he assay to make you a partaker, I sée no cause why he ought to be thus rigorously reiected, deseruing by his honestie a better entertainement at your handes.

In the meane time one of the Seruing men tooke vp the letters, and gaue them to the Lady, who reading them, found writ∣ten as foloweth.

The letters of Dom Diego to Mistresse Gineura.

MY dearest and most wellbeloued Ladie, sith that mine innocency can finde no resting place within your tendre corpse, what honest excuse or true reasō so euer I do alleage, and sith your heart declareth it selfe to be implacable, and not pleased with him y^t neuer of∣fēded you, except it were for ouermuch loue, which for guerdon of y^t rare and incomparable amitie, I perceiue my self to be hated deadly of you and in such wise con∣temned, as the only record of my name, causeth in you an insupportable griefe and displeasure vnspeakeable. To auoid I say your indignation, and by my mishap to render vnto you some 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and contentment, I haue

meant to dislodge my selfe so far from this Countrey, as neither you nor any other, shal euer hear by fame or true report, the place of my abode, nor the graue wher∣in my bones shall rest. And although it be an 〈◊〉〈◊〉 hearts sorow and torment, which by way of pen can not be declared, to be thus misprised of you, whom alone I do loue and shal, so long as mine afflicted soule shall hang vpon the féeble and brittle thréede of life: yet for all that, this griefe falling vpon me, is not so 〈◊〉〈◊〉, as the punishment is grieuous, by imagining the passion of youre minde, when it is 〈◊〉〈◊〉 with 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and wrathe againste me, who liueth not, but to wander vpon the thoughtes of youre perfections. And forsomuch as I doe féele for the debilitie that is in me, that I am not able any longer to beare the sowre shoc∣kes of my bitter torments and martyrdome that I pre∣sently doe suffer, yet before my life do faile, and death doe sease vpon my senses, I haue writen vnto you this present letter for a testimoniall of your rigour, which is the marke that iustifieth my vngyltinesse. And al∣though I doe complain of mine vnhappie fortune, yet I meane not to accuse you, only contented that eche man doe know, that firme affection and eternall thraldome do deserue other recompense than a farewell so cruell. And I am well assured, that when I am dead, you will pitie our torment, knowing then, although to late, that my loyaltie was so sincere, as the report of those was false, that made you beléeue, that I was very farre in loue with the daughter of Dom Ferrande de la Serre. A∣las, shall a noble Gentleman that hath bene wel trai∣ned vp, be fordidden to receiue the gifts that come from a vertuous Gentlewoman? Ought you to be so incapa∣ble and voide of humanitie, that the sacrifice whiche I haue made of the poore birde, the cause of your disdaine,

my repentance, my lawfull excuses, are not able to let you sée the contrary of you persuation? Ah, ah, I sée that the darke and obscure vaile of vniust disdaine & 〈◊〉〈◊〉 anger, hath so blindfold your eyes, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 your minde, as you can not iudge the truth of my cause and the vnrighteousnesse of your quarel. I will render vnto you none other certificat of mine innocencie, but my languishing heart, whiche you clepe betwene your hands, feling such rude intertainment there, of whome he loked for reioyse of his trauels. But for somuch then as you do hate me, what resteth for me to do, but to pro cure destruction to my selfe? And sith your pleasure cō∣sisteth in mine ouerthrowe, reason willeth that I obey you, and by death to sacrifice my life in like maner as by life you wer the only mistresse of my heart. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 on∣ly thing chereth vp my heart, & maketh my death more miserable, which is, that in dying so innocent as I am, you shal remaine faultie, the onely cause of my ruine. My life will depart like a puffe, & soule shal vanish like a swéete sōmers blast: wherby you shal be euer déemed for a cruell womā and bloodie murderer of your deuout and faithful seruants. I pray to God mine owne swete Ladie, to giue you such contentation, ioy, pleasure, and gladnesse, as you do cause through your rigor, discōten∣tation, grief & displeasure to the poore lan guishing cre∣ature, and who for euermore shall be

Your most obedient and affec∣ted seruant Dom Diego.

The good Ladie hauyng redde the Letter, was so astoonned, as hir woordes for a long space stayed with∣in hir mouth, hir heart panted, and spirite was full of confusion, hir minde was filled with sorow, to consider the anguishes of the poore vagabund and foster hermit.

In the ende before the houshold dissembling hir passion which moued hir sense, she toke hir daughter aside, whō very sharply she rebuked, for that she was the cause of the losse of so notable and perfecte a Knyght as Dom Diego was. Then she redde the Letter vnto hir, and as all hir cloquence was not able to moue that cruel dam∣sell, more venomous than a serpent against the knight who (as she thought) had not indured the one halfe of that which his inconstancie and lightnesse & well deser∣ued, whose obstinate mind the mother perceiuing, said vnto hir:

I pray to God (deare daughter) that for youre 〈◊〉〈◊〉, you be not blinded in your beautie, & for the refusal of so great a benefit as is the alliāce of Dom Diego, you be not abused with such a one as shal dimme the light of your renoume & glory, whiche hitherto you haue gained amongs the sobrest and modest maidens.

Hauing said so, the wise and sage widow, went toward the seruant of Dom Diego, of whō she demaūded what 〈◊〉〈◊〉 his master departed, which she knowing, & not igno rant of the occasion, was more wroth than before: not∣withstānding she dissembled what she thought, & sending back his seruant, she required him to do hir hartie com∣mendations to the lady his mistresse, which he did. The good lady was ioyful therof, for not knowing y^t cōtents of hir sonnes letters, she loked y^t he had sent word vnto his lady of the iust houre of his returne. But when she saw that in. xx. dayes, nor yet within a moneth he came not, she could not tell what to thinke, so dolorous was she for the absence of hir son. The time passing without hering any newes frō him she began to tormēt hir self, and be so pensiue, as if she had heard certaine newes of his death.

Alas (quod she) and wherfore haue the heuēs giuē me the possession of such an exquisite fruite, to de∣priue me thereof before I doe partake the goodnesse

and swéetenesse therof, and enioy the grifts proceding from so goodly a stocke. Ah God, I feare that my im∣moderate loue is the occasion of the losse of my 〈◊〉〈◊〉, and the whole ruine of the mother, with the demolition and wast of all our goodes. And I woulde that it had pleased God (my sonne) that hunters game had neuer ben so dere, for thinkyng to catche the praie thou thy selfe was taken, and thou wandring for thy better dis∣port, missing the right way, so strangely didst 〈◊〉〈◊〉, that hard it is to reduce thée into the right track again. At least wise if I knew the place, whervnto thou arte repaired to fynde againe thy losse, I woulde trauaile thither to beare 〈◊〉〈◊〉 companie, rather than to lyne here voide of a husbande, betrayed by them whome I best trusted, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 from the presence of thée my sonne, the staffe and onely comforte of myne olde age, and the certaine hope of al our house and familie.

Now if the mother vered hir selfe, the sonne was eased with no great reioyse, being now a frée citizen with the bea∣stes & foules of the forestes, dennes and caues, leauing not the profunditie of the wooddes, the craggednesse of the rocks, or beautie of the valey, without some signe or token of his grief. Sometime with a puncheon well sharpned, seruing him in stéede of a penknife, he graued the successe of his loue vpon on hard stone. Other times the soft barke of some tender and new growen spraye serued him in place of paper or parchement. For there he carued in 〈◊〉〈◊〉 proprely combined with a knotte (not easily to be knowne) the name of his Ladie, inter∣laced so proprely with his owne, that the finest 〈◊〉〈◊〉 might be deceiued, to disciphre the right interpretatiō. Upon a day then, as he passed his time (according to his custome) to muse vpon his myssehaps, and to frame his successe of loue in the ayre, he ingraued these verses

on a stone by a fountaine side, adioyning to his sauage and rusticall house.

If any forrest Pan, doth haunt here in this place, Or Wandring Nymphe, hath heard my wofull plaint: The one may well behold, and view what drop of grace, I haue deseru'de, and eke what griefes my heart doth taint, The other lend to me some broke or shoure of raine, To moist mine heart and eyes, the gutters of my braine.

Somewhat further of many times at the rising of the Sunne, he mounted the toppe of an highe and gréene Mountaine to solace himselfe vpon the freshe and gréene grasse where four pillers were erected, (ei∣ther naturally done by dame Nature hir self, or wrou∣ght by the industry of mā,) which bore a stone in forme foure square, wel hewed, made and trimmed in maner of an Altare, vpon which Altare he dedicated these ver∣ses to the posteritie.

Vpon this holy squared stone, which Altare men doe call, To some one of the Gods aboue, that consecrated is, This dolefull verse I consecrate, in token of my thrall, And deadly griefes that do my silly hearte oppresse. And vexe with endlesse paines, which neuer quiet is. This wofull verse (I say) as surest gage of my distresse, I graue on Altare stone for euer to remaine, To shew the heart of truest wight, that euer liued in paine.

And vpon the brims of y^t table, he carued these words:

This Mason worke erected here, shall not so long abide, As shall the common name of two, that now vncoupled be, Who after froward fortune past, knit eche in one degre, Shall render for right earnest loue, reward on either side.

And before his lodging in that wilde and stony 〈◊〉〈◊〉 vpon the barke of a goodly & lofty Béeche trée, féeling in himself an vnaccustomed lustinesse, thus he wrote:

Th' increasing beautie of thy shape, extending far thy name, By like increase I hope to see, so stretched forth my fame.

His man séeing him to begin to be merily disposed, one day said vnto him:

And wherfore sir serueth y^t lute, which I brought amongs our males, if you do not assay therby to recreate your self, & sing thereupon y^t praises of hir whome you loue so well: yea and if I may so say, by worshipping hir, you doe commit Idolatry in your mind. Is it not your pleasure that I fetch the same vn∣to you, that by imitation of Orpheus, you may moue the trées, rockes, and wilde beasts to bewaile your misfor∣tune, and witnesse the penaūce that you do for hir sake, without cause of so heinous punishmēt: I sée wel (〈◊〉〈◊〉 the Knight) y^t thou woldest I should be mery, but mirth is so far from me, as I am estraunged frō hir y^t holdeth me in this misery. Notwithstāding I wil perform thy request, and will awake that instrument in this desert place, wherwith sometime I witnessed y^t greatest part of my passions.

Then the Knight receiuing the Lute, sounded therupon this song ensuing.

The waues and troubled 〈◊〉〈◊〉, that moues the seas aloft, Which runs & roares against the rocks, & threatneth dāgers oft, Resembleth loe the fits of loue, That daily doe my fansie moue.

My heart it is the ship, that driues on salt sea 〈◊〉〈◊〉, And reason sailes with senselesse wit, and neuer loketh home, For loue is guide, and leades the daunce, That brings good hap, or bredes mischaunce.

The furious flames of loue, that neuer ceaseth sure, Are loc the busie sailes and oares, that would my rest procure, And as in Skies, great windes do blo, My swift desires runnes, fleting so.

As swete Zephyrus breth, in spring time fedes the floures, My mistresse voice wold ioy my wits, by hir most heauenly powers, And wold exchaūge my state I say, As Sommer chaungeth Winters day.

She is the Artique starre, the gracious Goddesse to, She hath the might to make and marre, to helpe or else vnde, Both death and life, she hath at call, My warre, my peace, my ruine and all.

She makes me liue in woe, and guids my sighs and lokes, She holdes my fredome by a lace, as fish is held with hokes, Thus by despaire, in this concaite, I swallow vp both hoke and baite.

And in the deserts loe I liue, among the sauage kinde, And spend my time in woful sighs, raisde vp by care of minde, All hopelesse to, in paines I pine, And ioyes for euer doe resine.

I dread but Charons boat, if she no mercy giue, In darknesse then my soule shal dwell, in Plutos raigne to liue, But I beleue, she hath no care, On him that caught is in hir snare.

If she release my woe, a thousand thankes therefore, I shall hir giue, and make the world to honor hir the more, The Gods in Skies will praise the same, And 〈◊〉〈◊〉 beare of hir good name.

O happy is that life, that after torment 〈◊〉〈◊〉, And earthly sorowes on this mould, for better life shal 〈◊〉〈◊〉, And liue amongs the Gods on high, Where loue and louers neuer die.

O life that here I leade, I freely giue thee now, Vnto the faire where ere she rests, and loke thou shew hir 〈◊〉〈◊〉 I linger forth my yeares and dayes, To winne of hir a crowne of praise.

And thou my pleasant lute, cease not my songs to sound, And shew the tormēts of my mind, that I through loue 〈◊〉〈◊〉 found, And alwayes tell my Mistresse still, Hir worthy vertues rules my will.

The Foster Louer.

The Foster louer singing this song, sighing 〈◊〉〈◊〉 times betwene, the trickling teares ranne downe his face: who therby was so disfigured, as searse could they haue knowen him, which had all the dayes of their life frequented his companie. Such was the state of this miserable yong gentleman, who dronk with his owne wine, balanced himself down to despair rather than 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the hope of that which he durst not loke for. Howbeit like as the mischiefs of men be not alwayes durable, & that all things haue their proper season, euē so fortune repenting hir euil intreatie, which wrongfully she had caused this pore penetenciarie of Gineura to endure, prepared a meanes to readuaunce him aloft vpon hir wheele, euen when he thought least of it. And certes, herein appeared the mercy of God, who causeth things difficult & almost impossible to be so easie, as those that ordinarily be brought to passe. How may it héereby be perceiued, that they which were plūged in the bottom

〈◊〉〈◊〉 defiance, déeming their life vtterly forlorne, be sone exalted euen to the top of all glory and felicitie? Hath not our age séene that man which was by authoritie of his enimie iudged to die, ready to be caried forth to the scaffold miraculously deliuered from that daunger, and (wherin the works of God are to be maruelled) y^t same man to be called to the dignitie of a prince, and prefer∣red aboue all the rest of the people. Nowe Dom Diego attending his fieldish Philosophy in the solitary valeis of the rich Mountaine Pyrene, was holpen with helpe vnloked for, as you shall heare.

You haue hard how he had a neighbor & singuler frēd, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Noble gentleman named Dom Roderico. This gētle∣man amongs al his faithful cōpanions, did most lamēt the hard fortune of Dom Diego. It came to passe. 〈◊〉〈◊〉, months after y^t the pore wilde penitēt person was gon on his pilgrimage, y^t Dom 〈◊〉〈◊〉 toke his iorney into Gascoine for diuerse his vrgēt affairs, which after he had dispatched, were it y^t he was gon out of his way, or that God (as it is most likely) did driue him thither, he ap∣proched toward y^t coast of the Pyrene mountains, wher y^t time his good frend Dom Diego did inhabite, who dai∣ly grew so weake & féeble, as if God had not sēt him so∣dain succor, he had gained y^t he most desired, which was death y^t shold haue ben the end of his trauails & afflicti∣ons. The traine of Dom Roderico being thē a bow shot off frō the sauage caben of Dom Diego, they espied the tracts of mens féete newly 〈◊〉〈◊〉, and begā to maruel what he shold be y^t dwelled there, cōsidering y^e solitude & 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of the place, & also that y^e same was far of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 or house. And as they deuised hereupon, they saw a man going into a Caue, which was Dom Diego, comming frō making his cōplaints vpō the rock 〈◊〉〈◊〉 〈◊〉〈◊〉 before. From which hauing 〈◊〉〈◊〉 his face towarde

that part of the world where he thought y^e lodging was of that saint, wherunto he addressed his deuotiōs, Dom Diego hearing the noise of the horsse, was retired bi∣cause he wold not be sene. The knight which rode that way, seing that, & knowing how far he was out of the way, cōmaunded one of his men to gallop towards the Rocke, to learne what people they were y^t dwelled 〈◊〉〈◊〉, & to demaund how they might coast to the high way y^t led to Barcelone. The seruaunt approching neare the caue, perceiued the same so well empaled & fortified 〈◊〉〈◊〉 beastres skins before, fearing also y^t they were theues & robbers y^t dwelled there, durst not approche, & lesse en∣quire the way, & therfore returned towards his master to whom he told what he saw. The Knight of another maner of metal & hardinesse than y^t rascall and coward seruaunt, like a stout, couragious & valiant mā, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to the caue, & demaunding who was within, he sawe a man come forth so disfigured, horrible to loke vpō, pale with staring hair vpright, that pitifull it was to behold him, which was the seruaunt of the foster hermite. Of him Roderico demaunded what he was, & which was y^t way to Barcelone.

〈◊〉〈◊〉 answered y^t disguised person: I know not how to answer your demaund, & much lesse I know the countrey wher we now presently be. But sir said he sighing, true it is y^t we be two pore cōpaniōs whome fortune hath sent hither, by what il aduēture I know not, to do penance for our trespasses & offenses.

Roderico hearing him say so, begā to cal to his remem∣brāce his friend Dom Diego, although he neuer besore y^t time suspected the place of his above. He lighted then frō his horsse, desirous to see the singularities of y^t 〈◊〉〈◊〉, and the magnificence of y^t cauish lodging, where be en∣tred and saw him whome he sought for, and yet for all that did not know him: he cōmoned w^t him a long time

of the pleasure of y^t solitary life in respect of them that liued intangled w^t the cōbresome follies of this world.

Forsomuch quod he as y^t sprite distracted & withdrawn frō worldly troubles is eleuable to the contēplation of heauenly things, & soner attendeth to the knowledge & reuerēce of his God, than those y^t be conuersāt amongs mē, and to conclude, the cōplaints, y^t delites, ambitions, couetousnesse, vanities & superfluities y^t aboūd in y^e cō∣fused maze of worldly troup, do cause a misknowledge of our selues, a forgetfulnesse of our creator, and many times a negligence of pietie and purenesse of religion.

Whiles y^e vnknowne Hermit & the Knight Roderico talked of these things, the seruaunts of Ro. visiting all the corners of the depe and stony cel of those penitēts, by fortune espied two saddles, one of thē richly wrou∣ght & armed with plates of stéele, y^t had bene méete for some goodly Ienet. And vpon the plate well wrought, grauen & enameled, the golde for all the rust cankring the plate, did yet appear. For which purpose one of thē said to y^t seruaūt of Dom Diego.

Good father hitherto I see neither Mule nor horsse, for whome these saddles cā serue, I pray 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to sel them vnto vs, for they will doe vs more pleasure, than presently they do you. Maisters (quod the Hermit,) if they like you, they be at your cō∣maundement. In the meane time Roderico hauing en∣ded his talk with the other Hermite, without knowing of any thing that he desired, said vnto his mē. Now sirs to horsse, & leaue we these pore people to rest in peace, & let vs goe seeke for the right way which we so wel as they haue lost. Sir (quod one of his mē,) there be. y. sad∣dles, & one of them is so exceding faire, so wel garnished & wrought as euer you saw.

The knight feling in him∣self an vnaccustomed motion, caused thē to be brought before him, & as he viewed & marked the rich harnesse

and trappings of the same, he stayeth to loke vpon the hinder part minonly wrought, & in the mids of the en∣grauing he red this deuise in the Spanish tong.

Que brantare la fe, es causa muy fea. That is to say. To violate or breake faith, is a thing detestable.

That only inscription made him to pause a litle more. For it was the Poesie y^t Dom Diego bore ordinarily about his armes, which moued him to think y^t without doubt one of those Pilgrimes was the very same man to whome y^t saddle did appertain. And therfore he bent himself very attentiuely afterwards to behold first the one, & then the other of those desert Citizens. But they were so altered, as he was not able to know thē again. Dom Diego seing his friend so neare him, & the desire y^t he had to know him, chafed very much in 〈◊〉〈◊〉 mind and the more his rage begā to ware, when he saw Roderico approche neare vnto hym more aduisedly to looke vpon him, for he had not his owne affections so much at com∣maundement, but his bloud moued his entrailes, and mounting into the euident place, caused outwardly the alteration which he endured, to appear. Roderico seing him to chaūge colour, was assured of that which before he durst not suspect: & that which made him y^t 〈◊〉〈◊〉 be∣leue y^t he was not deceiued, was a little tuft of haire, so yelow as golde, which Dom Diego had vpon his necke, wherof Dont Roderico taking heede, gaue ouer al suspi∣tion, & was well assured of y^t he doubted. And therefore displaying himself w^e his armes opened vpon the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of his friend, & imbracing him very louingly, bedewing his face w^t teares, sayd vnto him:

Alas my Lord 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Diego, what euil luck frō heauen hath departed you 〈◊〉〈◊〉 y^t good cōpany of thē which die for sorow, to see thēselues be reued of y^t beuty, light & ornamēt of their felowship:

What be they that haue giuen you occasion thus to e∣clipse the brightnesse of your name, when it ought most clerely to shine, both for your present pleasure, & for the honour of your age? Is it from me sir, that you oughte thus to hide your selfe? Doe you thinke howe I am so blinde, that I know not right wel, you to be that Dom Diego, that is so renoumed for vertue and prowesse? I woulde not haue taried here so long, but to beare away a power to reioyse two persons, you being the one, by withdrawing you from this heauie and vnséemely wil∣dernesse, and my selfe the other, by enioying your com∣panie, and by bearing newes to your frendes, who sith your departure, do bewaile and lament the same.

Dom Diego seing that he was not able to conceyle the truthe of that which was euidently séene, and féeling the lo∣uing imbracements of his best friende, began to féele a certaine tendernesse of heart like vnto that which the mother conceiueth, when she hath recouered hir sonne that was long absent, or the chast wife, the presence of hir deare husbande, when she clepeth him betwene hir armes, and frankely culleth and cherisheth him at hir pleasure. For which cause not able to refrain any lon∣ger for ioy and sorow together, weping and sighing be∣gan to imbrace hym with so good and heartie affection, as with good wil the other had sought for his knowledge And being come againe to him self, he sayd to his faith∣full and most louing friend:

Oh God, howe vneasie and difficult be thy iudgements to cōprehend? I had thought to lyue here miserably, vnknown to all the world, & be∣holde, I am here discouered, when I thought lest of it: I am 〈◊〉〈◊〉 dede (quod he to Roderico) that wretched & vnfor∣tuante Dom Diego, euen that your very great & louing friende, who werie of his life, afflicted with his vnhap, and tormēted by fortune, is retired into these deserts,

to accomplishe the ouerplus of the rest of his yll lucke. Now sith that I haue satisfied you herein, I besech you that being content with my sight, ye wil get you hence and leaue me here to performe that litle remnāt which I haue to liue, without telling to any person that I am aliue, or yet to manifest 〈◊〉〈◊〉 place of my abode. What is that you say sir (sayd Roderico) are you so farre straught out of your right wits, to haue a minde to continue this brutal life, to depriue al your frends from the ioy which they receiue by inioying your cōpanie? Thinke I pray you, that God hath caused vs to be borne noble men, & hauing power and authoritie not to liue in corners, and buryed amid the slaue rie of the popular fort, or remain idle within great palaces or priuie places, but rather to illustrat and giue light with the example of our vertue to them which applie themselues to our maner of good behauior, & do liue as depending vpon our 〈◊〉〈◊〉 & com∣maūdements: I appele to your faith, what good shal suc∣cede to your subiects, who haue both heard & also known the benefit bestowed vpō them by god, for that he gaue them a lord so modest and vertuous, & before they haue experimented the goodnesse and vertue, be depriued of him, that is adorned and garnished with suche perfecti∣ons? What comfort, contentation and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 shall my la∣die your mother receiue, seeing the losse of you to bée so sodain, after your good & delicate bringing vp, instructed with such great diligēce to be vtterly bereued of y^t frute of that educatiō? It is you sir, y^t may cōmaund obediēce to parēts, succor y^t afflicted, & do iustice to thē that craue it: Alas, they be your poore subiects y^t make cōplaints, e∣uen of you, for denying thē your due presence. It is you of whō my good madame doth cōplaine, as of him y^t hath broken & violated his faith, for not cōming at y^t promi∣sed day.

Now as he was about to to continué his orati∣on, Dom Diego vnwilling to heare him, brake his talk

saying: Ah sir, & my great friend: It is an easie matter for you to iudge of mine affaires, & to blame mine ab∣sence, not knowing peraduēture y^e occasion y^e same. But I esteme you a mā of so good iudgement, & so gret a frēd of things honest, & of the same 〈◊〉〈◊〉, as by vnderstā∣ding my hard luck when you be aduertised of y^t cause of my withdrawing into this solitarieplace, you wil right ly confesse, & plainly sée that the wisest & most constant haue cōmitted more vain folies than these done by me, forced with like spirite y^t now moueth & tormēteth my minde. Hauing sayd, he toke aside Roderico, wher he did tel vnto him the whole discourse both of his loue & also of the rigor of his Lady, not without wéeping, in such a∣bundāce & with such frequēt sighes & 〈◊〉〈◊〉, as interrup∣ted his spech, that Roderico was cōstrained to kepe him cōpany, by remēbring y^t obstinacie of hir y^t was the mi∣stresse of his heart, & thinking y^t alredie he had séene the effect of like missehap to fal vpon his own head, or nere vnto y^t like, or greater distresse thā that which he sawe his dere & perfect friend to indure. Notwithstāding he assayed to remoue him from that desperate mind & opi∣nion of continuāce in y^t desert. But the froward penitēt swore vnto him, that so long as he liued (without place recouered in the good graces of his Gineura, he wold not returne home to his house, but rather change his being, to seke more sauage abode, & lesse frequēted thā y^t was.

For (said he) to what purpose shall my retourne serue, where cōtinuing mine affection, I shal fele like crueltie y^t I did in time past, which wil be more painful & 〈◊〉〈◊〉 for me to suffer than voluntarie exile & banishement, or bring me to that ende wherein presently I am. Con∣tent your selfe, I beséeche you, and suffer me to be but one vnhappie, and doe not persuade mée to proue a seconde affliction, woorsse than the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 〈◊〉〈◊〉.

Roderico hearing his reasons so liuely and wel applied, woulde not replie, onely content that he would make him promise to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 there two monethes, and in that time should attempte to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 him selfe. And for 〈◊〉〈◊〉 owne parte, he swore vnto him, that he wold be a mea∣nes to reconcile Gineura, and bring them to talke toge∣ther. Moreouer, he gaue him assurance by othe, that he should not be discouered by him, nor by any in his com∣panie. Wherwith the Knight somewhat recomforted, thanked him very affectuously. And so leuing with him a fielde bed, two seruauntes, and money for his 〈◊〉〈◊〉, Roderico toke his leaue, telling him that shortely he woulde visite him againe, to his so great contenta∣tion, as euer he was left and forsaken with griefe and sorow, himselfe making great mone for the vnséemely state, and miserable plighte of Dom Diego. And God knoweth whether by the way, he 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of pitilesse Gineura, blaspheming a million of times the whole sexe of womankind, peraduenture not without iust cause. For there lyeth hidden (I knowe not what) in the breasts of women, which at times like the wane and increase of the Moone, doth chaunge and alter a 〈◊〉〈◊〉 can not tell on what foote to stande to conceiue the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of the same: whiche fickle fragillitie of theirs (I dare not say mobilitie) is suche, as the subtillest 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of them al, best skilled in Turners Art, can not (I say not deface) so much as hide or colour that naturall im∣perfection.

Roderico arriued at his house, frequented many ty∣mes the lodging of Gineura, to espie hir fashions, and to sée if any other had conquered that place, that was so wel assailed and besieged by Dom Diego. And this wise and sage knight vsed the matter so well, that he fell in acquaintance with one of the Gentlewomans pages,

in whome she had so great trust, as she conceyled from him very fewe of hir greatest secretes, not well obser∣uing the precept of the wise man, who counselleth vs not to tell the secretes of the minde to those, whose iud∣gement is but weake, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 tong very franke of speach. The knight 〈◊〉〈◊〉 familiar with this page, dan∣dled him so with faire wordes, as by litle and litle hée wrong the wormes out of his nose, & vnderstode that when Gineura began once to take pepper in snuffe, a∣goinst Dom Diego, she fel in loue with a Gentleman of Biskaye, very poore, but beautifull, yong, and lustie, which was the steward of the house: and the page ad∣ded further, that he was not then there, but would re∣turne within thrée dayes, as he had sente worde to hys mistresse, and that two other Gentlemen would accom∣panie him to carie away Gineura into Biskaye, for that was their last conclusion:

and I hope (quod he) that she wil take me with hir, bicause I am made priuie to their whole intent.

Roderico hering the treason of this flight and departure of the vnfaithfull daughter, was at the first brunt astoonned, but desirous that the page should not marke his alteration, sayd vnto him:

In very dede mete it is, that the Gentlewoman shold make hir own choise of husbande, sith hir mother so litle careth to pro∣nide one for hir. And albeit that the Gentleman be not so riche and noble, as hir estate deserueth, hir affection in that behalfe ought to 〈◊〉〈◊〉, and the honestie of hys person: for the rest Gineura hath (thankes be to God) wherwith to intertaine the state of them bothe.

These wordes he spake, farre from the thought of his hearte. For being by himself, thus he sayd: O blessed God, how blinde is that loue, which is vnruled, and out of order: and what dispaire to recline to them, whiche (voide of reason) 〈◊〉〈◊〉 féede so foolishly of vaine thoughts and fond

desires, that two cōmodities, presented vnto them, by what ill lucke I know not, they forsake the beste, and make choise of the worst. Ah Gineura, the fairest Ladie in all this countrey, and the most vnfaithfull woman of our time, where be thine eies and iudgement? whi∣ther is thy minde strayed and wandred, to acquite thy selfe from a great lord, faire, rich, noble, and vertuous, to be giuen to one that is poore, whose parentes be vn∣knowne, his prowesse obscure, and birth of no aparant reputation. Behold, what maketh me beleue, that 〈◊〉〈◊〉 (so well as Fortune) is not onely blynde, but also da∣zeleth the syghte of them that hée imbraceth and capti∣uateth vnder hys power and bondage. But I make 〈◊〉〈◊〉 vowe (false woman) that it shall neuer come to passe, and that thys maister Biskaye shall neuer enioye the spoyles whiche iustely bée due vnto the trauaple and faythfull seruice of the valyaunt and vertuous 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Dom Diego. It shall be hée, or else I will dye for it, whyche shall haue the recompense of his troubles, and shal féele the caulme of that tempest, whych presently holdeth hym at anker, amydde the moste daungerous rockes that euer were.

By thys meanes Roderico knewe the way howe to kéepe promyse wyth hys friende, whyche lyued in ex∣pectation of the same. The two dayes paste, whereof the Page hadde spoken, the beloued of Gineura, say∣led not to come, and wyth hym two Gallauntes of Biskaye, valyaunt Gentlemen, and well exercised in armes. That nyghte Roderico wente to sée the olde wydowe Ladye, the mother of the mayden, and syn∣dyng oportunitie to speake to the Page, he sayde vn∣to hym:

I sée my friende, accordingly as you told mée, that you 〈◊〉〈◊〉 vpon departing, the Steward of the house

béeing nowe returned. I praye thée tell mée, yf thou haue néede of mée, or of anye thyng that I am able doe for thée, assuryng thée, that thou shalte obtayne and haue what so euer thou requirest. And there∣withall I haue thought good to tell thée, and gyue thée warnyng (for thyne owne sake specially) that thou kéepe all thyngs close and secrete, that no 〈◊〉〈◊〉 or 〈◊〉〈◊〉 doe followe, to blotte and deface the fame and prayse of thy Mistresse. And for my selfe I hadde rather dye, than once to open my mouthe, to discouer the least intente of this enterpryse. But tell mée, I praye thée, when do you depart? Syr (quod the page) As my mystresse sayth, to morow about ten or eleuen of the clocke in the euenyng, when the Ladye hir mother shall bée in the sounde of hir fyrst sléepe.

The knyght hearyng that, and desirous of no better time, tooke hys leaue of the Page, and wente home, where hée caused to bée sente for tenne or twelue Gentle∣men, hys neyghboures and tenauntes, whom he made priuie of his secretes, and partakers of that he wente about, to delyuer out of captiuitie and miscrie, the chie∣fest of all hys friendes. The nyghte of those twoo louers departure, beyng come, Dom Roderico, which knewe the waye where they shoulde passe, be stowed hym selfe and hys companye in Ambushe, in a little groue, almoste thrée myles off the lodgyng of this fu∣gitiue Gentlewoman: where they hadde not long ta∣ried but they hearde the trampling of horsse, and a cer∣taine whispring noyse of people rydyng before them. Nowe the nyghte was somewhat cléere, whych was the cause, that the Knyght amongs the throng, knewe the Gentlewoman, besides whome rode the miserable wretche that hadde 〈◊〉〈◊〉 hir away. Whome so soone

as Roderico perceyued, full of despite, moued with ex∣treme passion, welding his launce into his rest, brake in the nerest way vpon the infortunat louer, with 〈◊〉〈◊〉 vehemencie, as neither coate of maile or placard was able to saue his lyfe, or warraunt him to kéepe com∣panie with that troupe which banded vnder loues En∣seigne, was miserably slaine, by the guide of a blynde, naked, and thieuish litle boye. And when he saw he had done that he came for, he sayd to the rest of the compa∣nie: My friends, this man was carelesse to make inua∣sion vpon other mens ground. These poore Biskayes sur∣prised vpon the sodaine, and séeyng the ambushment to multiplie, put spurres to their horsse to the best aduan∣tage they coulde for expedition, leauing their 〈◊〉〈◊〉 or gaping for breth, & gyuing a signe that he was dead. Whiles the other were making them selues readie to runne away, two of Roderico his men, couered wyth skarfes, armed, and vnknowne, came to sease vpon so∣rowfull Gineura, who beholding hir friend deade, began to wepe and crie so straungely, as it was maruell that hir breath fayled not.

Ah traiterous théenes (sayd she) and bloodie murderers, why do ye not addresse your sel∣ues to execute crueltie vpon the rest, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 you haue done to death him, that is of greater value than you all? 〈◊〉〈◊〉 my dere friend, what crooked and greuous fortune haue I, to sée thée groueling dead on the grounde, and I aby∣ding in life, to be the praie of murderous theues, & thou so cowardly bereued of life?

Roderico with his face co∣uered, drewe nere vnto hir, and sayde: I beséeche you gentlewoman, to forget these strange fashions of com∣plaint, sith by them ye be not able to reuiue the deade, ne yet make your ende of griefs. The maidē knowing the voice of him that had bereued hir freinde, began to crie out more fiercely than before. For which cause one

of the Gentlemen a companion of Roderico, hauyng a blacke counterfait bearde with two lunets, in maner of spectacles, very large and greate, that couered the most part of his face, approched nere the basheful may∣den, and with bigge voice and terrible talke, holdyng his dagger vpon hir white and delicate breast, said vn∣to hir: I sweare by the Almightie God, if I heare thée speak one word more, I wil sacrifice thée vnto the gost of that varlet, for whome thou makest thy mone, who deserued to ende his dayes vpon a gallowe trée, rather than by the hands of a gentleman. Hold thy peace ther∣fore thou foolish girle, for greater honour and more am∣ple benefite is meant to thée, than thou 〈◊〉〈◊〉 deserued. Ingratitude onely hath so ouerwhelmed thy good na∣ture, that thou art not able to iudge who be thy friends. The Gentlewoman fearing deth, which as she thought was present, held hir peace, downe alongs whose eies a riuer of teares dydde runne, and the passion of whose heart, appeared by 〈◊〉〈◊〉 sighes, and neuer ceassing sobbes, whiche in ende so qualified hir chéere, that the exteriour sadnesse was wholly inclosed in the mynde and thought of the afflicted Gentlewoman. Then Ro∣derico caused the body of the dead to be buried in a little Countrey chappell, not farre oute of their way. Thus they trauailed two dayes before Gineura knew any of them, that had taken hir away from hir louer: euen so they permitted none to speake vnto hir, nor to any of hir companie, whiche was none else but a waytyng mayde, and the page that hadde discouered all the se∣cretes to Dom Roderico.

A notable example surely for stolne and secrete ma∣riages, whereby the honour of the contraded partes, is moste commonly blemyshed, the commaundement of God violated, who enioyneth obedience to our pa∣rents

in all rightfull causes, who 〈◊〉〈◊〉 for any light 〈◊〉〈◊〉, they haue power to take from vs the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 which otherwise naturall lawe woulde giue vs, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ought they of duetie to doe, where rebellious 〈◊〉〈◊〉 abusing their goodnesse, do consume without feare of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 bertie, the thyng whiche is in the hande and wyll 〈◊〉〈◊〉 their fathers. In like manner dyuers vndiscréete 〈◊〉〈◊〉 foolyshe mothers are to be accused, which suffer their daughters of tender and chyldishe age, to bée 〈◊〉〈◊〉 red of theyr seruantes, not remembryng 〈◊〉〈◊〉 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the fleshe is, howe prone and redy men be to doe euill, and how the seducing spirite waiting still vpon vs, is procliue and prone to surprise and catche vs within his snares, to thintent he may reioyse in the ruin of soules washed and redéemed with the blood of the son of God. This troupe drawyng nere to the caue of Dom Diego, Roderico sent one of his men to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 hym of their commyng, who in the absence of hys friende, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 wyth hope, shortely to sée the onely La∣die of hys hearte, accompanyed wyth a merie 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ioyfull traine, so soone as he had somewhat 〈◊〉〈◊〉 hys wylde maner of lyfe, he also by litle and litle 〈◊〉〈◊〉 a good parte of his lustie and freshe colour, and al∣moste hadde recouered that beautie, whiche he hadde when he first became a Citizen of those desertes. Now hauing vnderstanded the message sent vnto him by Roderico, God knoweth yf wyth that 〈◊〉〈◊〉 tydyngs he felte a motion of bloode, such as made all hys membres to leape and daunce, whyche rendred hys mynde astoonned, for the onely memorie of the thyng, that poysed hys mynde vp and downe, not a∣ble to stande wyth equall balaunce, whyche rather hée ought to haue made reioyse than complaine, be∣ing assured to sée hir, of whome hée demaunded onely

grace and pardon, but for recouerie thereof, he durst not repose any certaine Iudgement. In the ende hoy∣styng vp his head like one rysen from a long and sonnd sléepe, hée sayde:

Praise be to God, who yet before I dye, hath done me that pleasure, to suffer me to haue a sight of hir, that by causing my martirdome, conti∣nueth thys disordered lyfe, which shall procure in like sort mine vtter ruine and decay: Upō the approch wher of, I shall goe more ioyful, charged with incomparable loue, to visite the ghostes beneath dead, in the presence of that cruel swete, and who tormenting me with tick∣lish tentation, hath made me taste honie sugred with 〈◊〉〈◊〉 gall, more dangerouse than the sucke of poison, and vnder the vermilion rudde of a new sprouted rose 〈◊〉〈◊〉 blowen forthe, hath hidden secrete thornes, the prickes whereof hath me so liuely touched, as my wounde can not well be cured, with any baulme that maye be therevnto applied, without enioying of that mine owne happie missehap, or without that remedie, which almost I féele the same only resting in death, that so long and oftenymes I haue desired, as the true re∣medie of my paines and griefe.

In the meane whyle Dom Roderico, whiche tyll that tyme was not known vnto Gineura, drewe néere vnto hir by the way as he rode, and talked with hir in thys sorte:

I doubte not (Gentlewoman) but that you thynke youre selfe not well contented to sée me in this place, in such company, and for occasion so vnséemely for my degrée and state: and moreouer knowing what iniurie I séeme to do vn∣to you, that euer was, and am so affectionate and frend∣ly to y^t whole stock of your race & linage, & am not igno∣rant that vpon y^t first brūt you may iudge my cause vn∣iust to cary you away from the handes of your friende,

to bring you into these 〈◊〉〈◊〉, wylde, and solitarie places. But yf ye considered the force of that true a∣mitie, whiche by vertue sheweth the common bondes of hearts and mindes of men, & shall measure to what ende this acte is done, without to muche staying 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the light apprehension of choler, for a beginnyng som∣what troublesom, I am assured then (that yf you be not wholly depriued of reason) I shall not bee altogether blamed, nor you quite of faulte.

And bycanse 〈◊〉〈◊〉 drawe néere vnto the place, whether (by the helpe of God) I meane to conduct you, I beseeche you to consy∣der, that the true seruaunt whiche by all seruice and duetie studieth to execute the comaundementes of him that hath 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ouer hym, dothe not deserue to bée beaten or driuen away from the house of his master, but to be fauoured and cherished, and ought to receyue equall recompense for his seruice. I speake not this for my selfe, my deuotion being 〈◊〉〈◊〉 elsewhere, and not to you, sauing for that honest affection which I ought to beare to all vertuous and chaste persons. The 〈◊〉〈◊〉 whereof I will not denie vnto you in tyme and place, where I shal vse such 〈◊〉〈◊〉 towards you, as is mete for a maiden of your age and state. For the gretnesse of noble men & puisant, doth most appeare & shew forthit self, when they vse mildenesse & gentlenesse vnto those, to whō by reson of their authoritie they might do 〈◊〉〈◊〉 tie & malice. Now to y^t end y^t I do not make you doutful long. Al y^t which I haue done & yet do mean to do, is for none other purpose, but to ease the greuous paines of y^t most faithful louer that liueth at this day vnder y^t cir∣cle of the Moone. It is for the good Knight Dom Diego, y^t loueth you so derely & stil worshippeth your noble fa∣me who bicause he wil not! shew him self disobedic̄t, li∣ueth miserably amōg brute beasts, amid y^e craggy rocks

and mountaines and in the déepe solitudes of comfort∣lesse dales & valleis. It is to him I say that I doe bring you, protesting vnto you by othe (Gentlewoman) that y^t misery wherin I saw him, little more than. vj. wekes past, toucheth me so neare the heart, as if the Sacrifice of my life sufficed alone, (& without letting you to féele this painefull voyage) for the solace of his 〈◊〉〈◊〉 I wold spare it no more, than I do mine owne endeuor and honor, besides the hazarding of y^t losse of your good grace and fauoure. And albeit I wel perceiue, that I do grieue you, by causing you to enter this painfull iour∣ney, yet I beseche you that y^t whole displeasure of this 〈◊〉〈◊〉 may be imputed vnto my charge, and that it wold please you louingly to deale with him, who for your sake vseth such cruell misdemeanor against himselfe.

Gineura as a woman halfe in despaire for the death of hir friend, behaued hir self like a mad woman voide of wit and sense, and the simple remembraunce of Dom Diego his name so astonned hir, (which name she hated far more than the pāgs of death) that she staide a long time, hir mouth not able to shape one word to speake. In the end vanquished with impacience, burning with choler, and trembling for sorow, loked vpon Dom Ro∣derico with an eye no lesse furious, than a Tigresse caught within the net, and séeth before hir face hir yong Fawnes murdered, wringing hir handes, and beating hir delicate brest, she vsed these or such like words:

Ah bloudy traitor and no more Knight, is it of thée that I ought to looke for so detestable a villanie and treason? 〈◊〉〈◊〉 darest thou be so hardie to entreate me for an o ther that hast in mine own presence killed him, whose death I wil pursue vpon thée, so long as I shal haue life within this body? Is it to thée false théefe and murde∣rer, that I ought to render accompte of that which I

meant to do? who hath appointed thée to be arbitrator, or who gaue thée commission to capitulate the articles of my mariage? Is it by force then, that thou woldest I shold loue that vnfaithful Knight, for whome thou hast committed & done this acte, that so long as thou liuest shall blot and blemish thy renoume, and shall be so wel fixed in my minde, and the wounds shal cleaue so neare my heart, vntill at my pleasure I be reuenged of this wrong? No, no, I assure thée that any force done vnto me, shal neuer make me otherwise disposed, thā a mor∣tall enimy both to thée which art a Théefe & rauisher of an other mans wife, & also to thy desperate friend Dom Diego, which is the cause of this my losse: And now not satisfied with the former wrong done vnto me, thou goest about to deceiue me vnder the colour of good and pure amitie. But sith wicked Fortune hath made me thy prisoner, doe with me what thou wilt, and yet be∣fore I suffer and endure that that traytor Dom Diego doe enioy my virginitie, I will offer vp my life to the shadowes and ghosts of my faithful frend and husband, whom thou hast so traiterously murdred. And therfore (if honestly I may or ought entreate mine enimie,) I pray thée y^t by doing thy duetie, thou suffer vs in peace, and giue licence to me, this Page, and my two pore maidens, to departe whether we list. God 〈◊〉〈◊〉 (quod Roderico) that I should doe a trespasse so shamefull, as to depriue my dearest friend of his ioy and contentati∣on, and by falsifiing my faith be an occasiō of his death, and of your losse, by leauing you without companie, wādring amids this wildernesse.

And he cōtinued thus his former discourse and talke, to reclaime this cruell Damsell to haue pitie vpon hir pore penitent, but he gained as much by his talke, as if he had gone about to

number the sandes alongs the sea coastes of the maine Ocean. Thus deuising from one talke to an other, they arriued neare the Caue, which was the stately house of Dom Diego: where Gineura lighted, and saw the pore amorous Knight, humbly falling downe at hir féete, all forworne, pale, and disfigured, wéeping with warme teares, he sayde vnto hir:

Alas my deare Ladie, the a∣lone and only mistresse of my heart, do you not thinke that my penaunce is long inoughe for the sinne which ignorauntly I haue committed, if euer I haue done a∣ny fault at all? Beholde I beséeche you (good Ladie deare) what ioy I haue conceiued in your absence, what pleasures haue nursed mine hope, and what con∣solation hath entertained my life: which truely had it not bene for the continuall remembraunce of your di∣uine beautie, I had of long time abreuiated to shorten the paines which doe renewe in me so many times the pangs of death: as oftentimes I thinke vpon the vn∣kindenesse shewed vnto me by making so little ac∣compte of my fealtie: which can, nor shall receiue the same in good parte, were it so perfect as any assuraunce were able to make it.

Gineura swelling with sorow, and full of feminine rage, blushing with fury, hir eyes sparckling forth hir cholerike conceiptes, vouchsafed not so much as to giue him one woord for answere, and bicause she would not looke vpon him, she turned hir face on the other side. The pore and afflicted louer, sée∣ing the great crueltie of his felonious mistresse still knéeling vpon his knées, redoubling his armes, fet∣ching his sighes with a voyce, that semed to be drawne by force from the bottome of his heart, sayd vnto hir:

Sith the sinceritie of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 faith, & my long seruice 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Gineura, cannot persuade you that I haue bene a

most obedient, faithful, & very loyal seruaunt towards you, as 〈◊〉〈◊〉 any man that hath serued Ladie or 〈◊〉〈◊〉, and that without your fauour & grace it is 〈◊〉〈◊〉 possible for me any longer to liue, yet I doe very hūbly beséeche you, for that all other comfort is denied me, if there be any gētlenesse and curtesie in you, that I may receiue this onely grace at your hands for the last that euer I hope to craue: which is, that you being thus gre∣uously offended with me, would doe iustice to that vn∣fortunate man, which vpon his knées doeth instantly craue the same. Graunt (cruell mistresse) this my re∣quest, doe vengeance at your pleasure vpon him, which willingly yeldeth him self to death with the effusion of his pore innocent bloud to satisfie you, and verily farre more expedient it is for him thus to die, by appeasing your wil, than to rest on liue to your discontentment or anoyance. Alas, shall I be so vnfortunate, that both life and death should be denied me by one person of the world, whom I hope to content and please by any sort or meanes what so euer resting in mine humble obedi∣ence? Alas Gentlewoman rid me from this torment, and dispatch your selfe from the griefe which you haue to sée this vnhappy Knight, who would say and estéeme himself to be happy (his life being lothsome vnto you) if he may content you, by death done by your owne hands, sith other fauor he cannot expect or hope for.

The maiden hardned in hir opinion, stoode stil immoueable, much like vnto a rocke in the midst of the sea, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 with a tēpest of billowes and fomie 〈◊〉〈◊〉, in such wise as one word could not be procured frō hir mouth. Which vnlucky Dom Diego perceiuing, attached with the feare of present death, and failing his natural force fell downe to the ground, and fainting sayd:

Ah, what a recompense doe I receiue for this so faithfull Loue?

Roderico beholding that hideous 〈◊〉〈◊〉, whilest the o∣thers wēt about to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Dom Diego, repaired to Gi∣neura, and full of heauinesse mingled with 〈◊〉〈◊〉, sayde vnto hir: By God (false 〈◊〉〈◊〉 woman) if so be that I do change my minde, I will make thée féele the smarte, no lesse than thou shewest thy selfe dishonourable to them that doe thée honour: Arte thou so carelesse of so great a Lorde as this is, that humbleth hymselfe so low to such a strumpet as thou art? who without regard ei∣ther to his renoume, or the honour of his house, is con∣tent to be abandoned from his noble state, to become a fugitiue and straunger? What crueltie is this for thée to misprise the greatest humilitie that mā can imagin? What greater amendes 〈◊〉〈◊〉 thou wish to haue al∣though the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 which thou presupposest had ben true? Now (if thou be wise) change this opinion, except thou wouldest haue mée doe into so many pieces, thy cruell 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and vnfaithfull heart, as once this poore knight did in parts the vnhappie hauke, which through thy fol∣lie did bréede vnto him this distresse, and to thy selfe the name of the most cruell and disloyall woman that euer liued. But what greater benefite can happen vnto thée, than to sée this Gentleman vtterly to forget the fault, to conceiue no sinister suspicion of thy running away, crauing thyne acquaintaunce, and is contented to sacri∣fice him self vnto thyne anger to appease and mitigate thy rage? Nowe to speake no more hereof, but to pro∣cede in that which I began to say, I offer vnto thée then bothe death and loue, choose whether thou liste. For I sweare againe by hym that séeth and heareth al things, that if thou play the foole, thou shalt féele and proue me to be the cruellest enimie that euer thou hadst: and such a one as shall not feare to imbrue 〈◊〉〈◊〉 handes with the bloode of hir that is the deathe of the chiefest of all my

friendes.

Gineura hearing that resolute answere, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 hir selfe to be nothing afraide, nor declared any to∣ken of feare, but rather 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to haue encouraged Ro∣derico, in braue and mannish sort, farre diuers from the simplicitie of a yong and tender maidē, as a man wold say, such a one as had neuer felt the assault es and trou∣bles of aduerse fortune. Wherfore frouncing hir bro∣wes, and grinning hir téeth with closed 〈◊〉〈◊〉, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 very bolde, she made hym aunswere:

Ah thou knight, which once gauest assault to cōmit a villanie & treason, thinkest thou now without remorse of consei∣ence to cōtinue thy mischief? I speake it to thée villain, which 〈◊〉〈◊〉 shed the blood of an honester mā thā thou art, fearest not nowe to make mée a companion of his death. Which thing spare not hardily to 〈◊〉〈◊〉, to the intent that I liuing, may not be such a one as thou falsly iudgest me to be: for neuer man hitherto 〈◊〉〈◊〉, and neuer shall, that he hathe hadde the spoyle of my virginitie: from the frute whereof, lyke an arrant thiefe, thou hast depriued my loyall spouse. Nowe doe what thou list: for I am farre better content to suffer death, be it as cruel as thou art mischeuous, & borne for the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 & vexation of honest maidēs: not with∣standing I humbly beséech almightie God, to gyue 〈◊〉〈◊〉 so muche pleasure, contentation and ioy in thy loue, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 thou hast done to me, by hastening the death of my dere husbande. O God, if thou be a iust God, suche a one, as from whome wée thy poore creatures do beleue, all 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to procéede, thou I say, which art the rampire and refuge of all iustice, poure downe thy vengeance and plague vpon these pestiferous thieues and murderers, which haue prepared a worldely plague vpon me thine innocent damsell. Ah wicked Roderico, thinke not that death can be so fearefull vnto mée, but that wyth good

heart, I am able to accept the same, trusting verily that one daye it shall be the cause of thy ruine, and ouer∣throwe of hym, for whom thou takest all these pains.

Dom Roderico maruellously rapte in sense, imagined the woman to be fully bent against hym, who then had puissaunce (as he thought,) ouer hir owne hearte: and thynkyng, that he sawe hir moued with like rage a∣gainst hym, as she was against Dom Diego, stode still so perplered and voyde of righte minde, that hée was constrained to sitte downe, so feeble he felt him self for the onely remembrance of hir euill demeanor. And whilest this was a doing, the handemayde of Gineura, and hir Page, inforced to persuade their mystresse to haue compassion vpon the knight that hadde suffered so muche for hir sake, and that she would consente to the honest requestes and good counsell of Roderico. But she which was stubbornly bente in hir foolishe persuasions, sayd vnto them:

What fooles? are you so much be wit∣ched, either with y^t fained teares of this disloyal knight, which colorably thus doth torment himself, or els ar ye inchāted with the venomous honie & tirānical brauerie of the thief which murdered my husband and your ma∣ster? Ah vnhappie caytife maiden, is it my chaunce to endure the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of suche Fortune, when I thoughte to liue at my beste case, and thus cruelly to tomble in∣to the handes of hym, whome I hate so much as he fay∣neth loue vnto me? And morcouer my vnluckie fate is not herewith content, but redoubleth my sorrowe, euen by those that be of my frayn, who ought rather to incourage me to die, than consente to so vureasonable requests. Ah loue, loue, how euil be they recompenced which faithfully do homage vnto thée? & why should not I forget al 〈◊〉〈◊〉, neuer hereafter to haue mind on mā

to proue beginning of a pleasure, which tasted and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 bringeth more displeasure than euer ioy engendred 〈◊〉〈◊〉. Alas, I neuer knewe what was the frute of that which so straungely did attache me, and thou O 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and thieuishe Loue, haste ordeined a banket 〈◊〉〈◊〉 with such bitter dishes, as forced I am perforce to taste of their egre swéetes: Auaunt swéete foly, auant, I doe henceforth for euer let thée 〈◊〉〈◊〉, to imbrace the death, wherein I hope to finde my greatest reste, for in thée I fynde noughte else but heapes of straynyng 〈◊〉〈◊〉. Auoyde from me all my myssehap, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 from me ye furious ghostes and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 most vnkynde, whose gaudes and toyes dame loue hath wrought to kéepe oc∣cupied my louing minde, and suffer me to take ende in thée, that I may lyue in an other life without thée, be∣ing now charged with cup of grief, which I shal 〈◊〉〈◊〉 in venomous drink soaked in the soppes of 〈◊〉〈◊〉. Sharpen thou thy selfe, (O death vnkinde) prepare thy darte, to strike the corpse of hir, that she may voyd the quarels shot against hir by hir aduersarie. Ah pore hart strip thy self from hope, and qualifie thy desires. Cease henceforth to wishe thy lyfe, séeing and féeling the ap∣pointed fight of loue and life, combattyng within my minde, elsewhere to séeke my peace in an other world, with him to ioy, which for my sake was sacrificed to the treason of varlets hands, who for the persite 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of his desires, nought else didde séeke but to soile his 〈◊〉〈◊〉 〈◊〉〈◊〉 with the purest bloode of my loyall friend. And I this abundance of teares do sheade to saciate his felo∣nous moode, which shall be the iuste shortenyng of my doleful dayes.

When she had thus complained, she be∣gan horribly to torment hir selfe, and in furious guise, that the cruellest of the companie were moued wyth compassion, séeing hir thus strangely straught of wits:

〈◊〉〈◊〉 they did not discontinue by duetie to sol∣licite hir to haue regarde to that whiche poore fayntyng Dom Diego dyd endure. Who so sone as with fresh 〈◊〉〈◊〉 water hée was reuiued, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 stil the heauinesse of his Ladie, and hir incresed disdain and choler against him, vanished in diuers soundings: which moued Rode∣rico frō studie 〈◊〉〈◊〉 wherin he was to ryse, wherevnto y^t rage of Gineura had cast him down, bicause forgetting all imaginarie affection of his Ladie, and proposing his dutie before his eyes, which eche Gentleman oweth to gentle damsels and women kind, stil beholdyng with honourable respect the griefe of the martyred wylder∣nesse Knight, sighyng yet by reason of former thought, he sayde vnto Gincura.

Alas, is it possible, that in the heart of so yong and delicate a maiden, there maye bée harbored so straunge furie and vnreasonable rage? O God, the effecte of the crueltie resting in this woman,

paintyng it selfe in the imaginatiue force of my minde, hath made me feare the like missehappe to come to the cruell state of this disauenturous gentlemā: Notwith∣standing (O thou cruell beast) thinke not that thys thy furie shall stay me from doyng thée to death, to ryd thée from follie and disdaine, & this vnfortunate louer from dispaire and trouble, verily beleuing, that in time it shall be knowne what profite the worlde shal gaine by purging the same of such an infected plague as is an vn∣kinde and arrogant heart: and it shall féele what vtili∣tie ryseth by thyne, ouerthrow. And I do hope besydes that, in time to come, men shal praise this dede of mins, who for preseruing the honour of one house, haue cho∣sen rather to doe to death two offenders, than to leaue one of them aliue, to obscure the glorie and brightnesse of the other. And therefore (sayd he) tourning his face to those of his traine) Cut the throte of this 〈◊〉〈◊〉

and froward beast, & doe the like to them that be come with hir, shewe no more fauor vnto them all, than that curssed strumpet doeth mercy to the life of that mise∣rable Gentleman, who dieth there for loue of hir.

The maiden hearing the cruel sentence of hir death, cried out so loude as she could, thinking reskue would haue come, but the pore wenche was deceiued: for the desert knewe none other, but those that were abiding in that troupe. The Page and the woman seruaunt exclamed vpon Roderico for mercie, but he made as though he heard them not, and rather made signe to his men to do what he commaunded. When Gineura sawe that their deathe was purposed in déede, confirmed in opinion rather to die, thā to obey, she said vnto the exe∣cutioners:

My friends, I beséeche you let not these in∣nocentes abide the penaunce of that which they neuer committed. And you Dom Roderico, be 〈◊〉〈◊〉 on me, by whome the fault, (if a womans faith to hir husband may be termed a faulte) is done. And let these 〈◊〉〈◊〉 depart, y^t be God knoweth, innocent of any crime. And thou my frend, which liuest amongs the shadowes of faithfull louers, if y^u haue any féeling, as in déede thou prouest being in another world, beholde y^t purenesse of mine heart & sidelitie of my loue: who to kepe the same inuiolable, doe offer my self voluntarily to the death, which this cruell tyrant prepareth for me. And y^u hang∣man the executioner of my ioyes, and murderer of the immortall pleasures of my loue (sayd she to Roderico) glut thy gluttonous desire of bloud, make dronke thy minde with murder, & 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of thy little triūphe, which for all thy threats or persuasible words, thou 〈◊〉〈◊〉 not get frō the heart of a simple maiden, ne cary away the victory for all y^e battred breach made into the rāpare of hir honoure.

When she had so sayd, a man would haue

thought that the memory of death had cooled hir heate, but y^t same serued hir as an assured solace of hir paines. Dom Diego come to himself seeing the discourse of that tragedie, being now addressed to the last 〈◊〉〈◊〉 & end of y^t life and stage of faire & golden locked Gincura, making a vertue of necessitie, recouered a little corage to saue, (if it were possible) the life of hir, that had put his owne in hazard miserably to end. Hauing stayed them that held the maidē, he repaired to Dom Roderico, to whom he spake in this wise:

I sée wel my good Lord and great friend, that the good will you beare me, causeth you to vse this honest order for my behalf, wherof I doubt if I should liue a whole hundred yeares, I shall not be able to satisfie the least of the bondes wherein I am bound, the same surpassing all mine abilitie and power. Yet for all that (deare friend) sith you 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the fault of this missehap to arise of my predestinate ill lucke, and that man cannot auoide things once ordained, I beseech you do me yet this good pleasure (for all the benefits y^t euer I haue receiued) to send back again this gentlewoman w^t hir traine, to the place frō whence you toke hir, with like assuraūce & 〈◊〉〈◊〉, as if she were your sister. For I am pleased with your endeuor, & cōtented w^t my mis∣fortune, assuring you sir besides, y^t the trouble which she endureth, doth far more grieue my hart than al y^t paine which for hir sake I suffer. That hir sorowe then may decrease, and mine may renue again, y^t she may line in peace, and I in warre for hir cruel beautie sake, I will wait vpon Clotho, the spinner of the threden life of mā vntill shée breake the twisted lace that holdeth the fa∣tal course of my doleful yeares. And you Gentlewomā liue in rest, as your pore suppliāt, wretched Dom Die∣go shalbe citizen of these wild places, & vaunt you 〈◊〉〈◊〉 that you were y^t best beloued maiden y^t euer liued.

Maruellous truely bée the forces of Loue, when they discouer their perfection: for by their meanes things o∣therwise impossible be reduced to such facilitie, as a mā woulde iudge that they had neuer bene so harde to ob∣taine, and so painefull to pursue. As appeared by thys damsell, in whome the wrathe of fortune, the pinche of iealosie, the intollerable rage of hir friendes losse, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ingendred a contempt of Dom Diego, an extreme desire to be reuenged on Dom Roderico, and a 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of longer life. And now putting of the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of blinde ap∣petite, for the esclarishyng of hir vnderstanding eyes, and breaking the Adamant rock planted in the middes of hir breast, she beheld in open 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the stedfastnesse, pacience and perseueration of hir greate friende. For that supplication of the Knight had greater force in Gi∣neura, than all his former seruices. And full well 〈◊〉〈◊〉 shewed the same, when throwing hir selfe vpon y^t neck of the desperate Gentleman, and imbracing hym very louingly she sayd vnto him:

Ah syr, that youre felicitie is the beginning of my great ioy of minde, which 〈◊〉〈◊〉 now of swéetenesse in the very same, in whome I imagined to be the welspring of bitternesse. The dimi∣nution of one griefe is, and shall bée the increase of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 bonde, such as for euer I wil cal my self the most hum∣ble slaue of your worshyp, lowly beséeching you neuer∣thelesse to pardon my follies, wherewith full fondely I haue abused your pacience. Consider a while sir, I be∣seech you, the nature and secrecie of loue. For those that be blinded in that passion, thinke them selues to be per∣fecte séers, and yet be the first that commit most 〈◊〉〈◊〉 faultes. I doe not denie any committed wrong & tres∣passe, and doe not refuse therfore the honest and gentle correction that you shall appointe mée, for expiation of mine offense. Ah my noble Ladie (aunswered y^e knight)

all rapt with pleasure, and half way out of his wits for ioy, I humbly beséeche you inflicte vpon my pore wret∣ched body no further pangs of death by remēbring the glory of my thought sith the recitall bringeth with it a tast of the trauails which you haue suffred for my ioy & contentation. It is therfore (quod she) that I think my self happy: for by that meanes I haue knowne the per∣fect qualities that be in you, & haue proued two extre∣mities of vertue. One consisteth in your cōstancie and loyaltie wherby you may vaunt your self aboue him y^t sacrificed his life vpō the bloudy body of his Lady, who for dying so, finished his trauails. Where you haue cho∣sen a life worse than death, no lesse painfull a hundred times a day, than very death it self. The other cōsisteth in the clemency wherwith you calme and appease the rage of your greatest aduersaries. As my self which be∣fore hated you to death, vanquished by your curtesie do confesse that I am double bound vnto you, both for my life and honor: and hearty thankes doe I render to the Lord Roderico for y^t violence he did vnto me, by which meanes I was induced to acknowledge my wrong, & the right which you had to complaine of my folish resi∣stance. All is wel, sayd Roderico, sith without perill of honor we may returne home to our houses: I intend therefore (sayd he) to send woord before to my Ladies your mothers of your returne, for I know how so wel to couer and excuse this our enterprise and secrete ior∣neis, as by Gods assistāce no blame or displeasure shal ensue therof. And like as (sayd he smiling) I haue buil∣ded the fortresse which shot into your campe, and made you flie, euen so I hope (Gentlewoman) that I shall be the occasion of your victory, when you combat in close cāpe, with your swéete cruel enimy.

Thus they passed the iorney in pleasant talke, recompēsing the. 〈◊〉〈◊〉. louers

with al honest & vertuous intertainmēt for their 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and troubles past. In the meane while they sent one 〈◊〉〈◊〉 their seruants to the two widow ladies, which were 〈◊〉〈◊〉 great care for their childrē, to aduertise them y^t Gineura was gone to visite Dom Diego, then being in one of the castles of Roderico, where they were determined if it were their good pleasure, to consūmate their mariage, hauing giuen faith & affiance one to the other. The mo∣ther of Gineura, could not here tel of more pleasant ne∣wes: for she had vnderstāded of the folish flight & escape of hir daughter, with y^t steward of hir house, wherof she was very sorowful, & for grief was like to die, but assu∣red & recōforted with those news, she 〈◊〉〈◊〉 not to mete the mother of Dom Diego, at y^e apointed place whither the y. louers were arriued two days before. There the mariage of that fair couple (so long desired) was 〈◊〉〈◊〉 with such magnificence as was requisite for the state of those two noble houses. Thus the torment 〈◊〉〈◊〉, made the ioy to sauour of some other taste than they do feele, which without pain in y^t exercise of loues pursute, attain the top of their desires: And truly their pleasure was altogether like to him that nourished in superfluous delicacie of meates can not aptely so well iudge of pleasure, as he which sometimes lacketh that abundance. And verily Loue without bitternesse, is al∣most a cause without effectes: for he that shall take a∣way griefs and troubled fansies from louers, depriueth them of the praise of their stedfastnesse, and maketh baine the glorie of their perseuerance: for he is vnwor∣thie to beare away the price and garlande of triumph in the conflict, that behaueth himself like a coward, and doth not obserue the lawes of armes and manlike due∣ties in the combat. This historie then is a mirrour for loyall louers, and chaste suters, and maketh them de∣test

the vnshamefastnesse of those, which vpon the first view do folowe with might and maine, the Gentlewo∣man or Ladie that giueth them good face or countenāce wherof any gentle heart or mind, noursed in the schole∣house of vertuous education, will not bée squeymish to those that shal by chast salutation or other incountrie, doe their curteous reuerence. This historie also yeldeth contempt of them, which in their affection forget them selues, abasting the generositie of their courages, to be reputed of fooles, the true champions of Loue, whose like they be that desire such regarde. For the perfecti∣on of true Loue consisteth not in passions, in sorowes, griefes, martirdomes, or cares, and much lesse arriueth he to his desire, by sighes, exclamations, wepings, and childish playnts: for so much as vertue ought to be the bande of that indissoluble amitie, which maketh the vnion of the two seuered bodies of that woman man, which Plato describeth, & causeth man to trauell for his whole accomplishment in y^t true pursute of chast loue∣In which labor truly fondly walked Dom Diego, thin∣kyng to finde the same by his dispaire amidde the sharp solitarie deserts of those Pyrene mountains. And truly the duetie of his perfect friende, did more liuely disclose the same (what fault so euer he dyd) than all his counte∣nances, eloquent letters or amorous messages. In like maner a man dothe not know what a treasure a true friend is, vntil he hath proued his excellencie, specially where necessitie maketh him to tast y^e swetnesse of such delicate meate. For a friend being a second himself, a∣gréeth by a certaine natural 〈◊〉〈◊〉 & attonement to the affections of him whō he loueth, both to participate his ioyes and pleasures, and to sorrowe his aduersitie, where Fortune shall vse by some misaduentures, to shewe hir accustomed moblitie.