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

The 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.