The triumphs of Gods revenge against the crying and execrable sinne of (willfull and premeditated) murther VVith his miraculous discoveries, and severe punishments thereof. In thirtie severall tragicall histories (digested into sixe bookes) committed in divers countries beyond the seas, never published, or imprinted in any other language. Histories which containe great varietie of mournfull and memorable accidents ... With a table of all the severall letters and challenges, contained in the whole sixe bookes. Written by Iohn Reynolds.
Reynolds, John, fl. 1621-1650., Payne, John, d. 1647?, engraver.
Page  [unnumbered]Page  395

GODS REVENGE, AGAINST THE CRYING AND Execrable sinne of Murther.

Lorenzo murthereth his wife Fermia: Hee some twenty yeares after (as altogether unknowne) robbeth his (and her) sonne Thomaso, who likewise not knowing Lo∣renzo to be his father, doth accuse him for that robbery, for which he is hanged.

THose who (by the pernitious instigation, and fatall temptation of Sathan) doe wilfully imbrue their hands in innocent bloud and so make themselves guilty of murther, are no longer men but have pro∣digiously metamorphosed themselves into the na∣ture and quality of devils. And as after this their crime, they are worthy of all true christians dete∣station, so most commonly (without Gods saving grace and mercy) their hearts are so obdurated with impenitency of security, and their soules seared up and abandoned to all kinds of atheisticall prophannesse and impiety, that they are so far from thinking of God, as they beleeve there is no God, and so far from fearing of his judgements and punishments, as they are desperately confident they have not deserved any: But because their hearts and actions are as transparent to Gods eyes and knowledge, as Gods decrees, and resolution are invisible to theirs, therefore (despight this their blindnesse and the devils malice and subtilty to obscure and conceale it, this world will affoord them no true peace, nor this life pro∣duce them any perfect tranquility: But wheresoever they goe or live, their guilty thoughts and consciences as so many hellish bloudhounds will incessant∣ly persue and follow them, till in the end they drag them to condigne shame, misery, and confusion for the same: which this subsequent history will veri∣fie and make good to us, in a wretched and execrable personage, whom it mournefully presents to our view and consideration. Let us read it in the feare of God, that we may weigh that benefit by it which becomes good Christians to make.

Page  396 IT is not the meannesse of the personages, but the greatnesse and eminence of Gods Judgements which hath prevailed with me to give this History a place among my others: The which to draw from the head-spring, and originall, we must understand, that in Italy, (the Garden of Europe, as Europe is that of the whole world) and in the City of Genova, (seated upon the Me∣diterranean Sea, which the Italians for the sumptuousnesse and statelinesse of her buildings, doe justly stile and entitle, proud Genova) neare unto the Arse∣nall upon the Key, there dwelt (of late yeares) a proper tall young man, of a coale blacke haire, some twenty five yeares old, named Andrea Lorenzo, who by his trade was a Baker, and was now become Master of his profession, and kept forth his Oven and shop for himselfe; wherein he was so industrious and pro∣vident, that in a short time he became one of the prime Bakers of that City, and wrought to many Ships and Galleyes of this Estate and Seigniory: He in few yeares grew rich, was proffered many wives, of the daughters of many wealthy Bakers, and other Artificers of Genova, but he was still covetous, and so addicted to the world, as he could fancy none, nor as yet be resolved or per∣swaded to seeke any maid or widdow in marriage, sith hee knew it to be one of the greatest and most important actions of our life, and which infallibly drawes with it, either our chiefest earthly felicity or misery.

But as marriages are made in heaven, before consummated on earth; So Lo∣renzo going on a time to the City of Savona, which (both by Sea and Land) is some twenty little miles from Genova, and heretofore was a free City and Estate of it selfe, but now swallowed up in the power and opulencie of that of Genova, he there fell in love with a rich Vintners daughter, her father named Iuan Baptista Moron, and shee Firmia Moron, who was a lovely and beautifull young maiden, of some eighteene yeares of age, being tall and slender, of a pale complection, and a bright yellow haire, but exceedingly vertuous and religious, and endowed with many sweet qualities and perfections; who al∣thouhh she were sought in marriage by divers rich young men, of very good families of that City, with the worst of whom (either for estate or extraction) Lorenzo might no way compare, yet shee could fancie none but him, and hee above all the men of the world she (secretly in her heart and minde) desired might be her Husband. Lorenzo (with order and discretion) seeks Fermia in mariage of her father Moron, who is too strong of purse, and to high of hu∣mour to match his daughter to a Baker, or to any other of a mechanicall pro∣fession, and so gives him a flat and peremptory deniall. But Lorenzo finds his daughter more courteous and kinde to his desires, for she being as deeply en∣amoured of his personage, as he was of her beauty and vertues, after a jour∣ney or two which he had made to her at at Savona, she consents and yeelds to him to be his wife, conditionally that hee can obtaine her fathers good will thereunto, but not otherwise; which Lorenzo yet feared and doubted would prove a difficult taske for him to compasse and procure; for her father know∣ing Fermia to be his owne and onely childe and daughter, and that her beautie and vertuous education, together with the consideration of his owne wealth and estate, made her every way capable of a farre better husband than Lorenzo: As also that his daughter in reason and religion, and by the lawes of heaven and earth, was bound to yeeld him all duty and obedience (because of him she had formerly received both life and being) therefore he was resolute that Lorenzo should not have his daughter to wife, neither would he ever hearken to accept, or consent to take him for his sonne in Law.

Page  397Lorenzo having thus obtained the heart and purchased the affection of his sweet and deare Fermia, he now (out of his fervent desire and zeale to see her made his wife, and himselfe her husband) makes it both his ambition and care (according to her order) to drawher father Moron to consent thereunto, where∣in the more importunate, humble, and dutifull he (both by himselfe & friends) is to Moron, the more imperious, averse, and obstinate is he to Lorenzo, as dis∣daining any farther to heare of this his suit and motion for his daughter. But Lorenzo loves the daughter too tenderly and dearly thus to be put off with the first repulse and deniall of her father, and so (notwithstanding) hee againe persevereth in his suit towards him, with equall humility and resolution: Hee requesteth his consent to their affections with prayers, and his daugh∣ter Fermia (having formerly acquainted her father with her deare and invio∣lable love to Lorenzo) she now prayes him thereto with teares: But (as one who had wholly wedded himselfe to the singularity of his owne resolution and pleasure) he againe proudly refuseth him with disdaine, and peremptorily re∣jecteth her with choller and indignation, and so secretly vowes to himselfe, and publikely sweares to them, that he will first die, and salute his grave, be∣fore ever he will permit him to marry his daughter. Which unkinde answer, and thundering resolution of his, proves the extreame greife of his daughter Fermia, and infinite affliction and sorrow of her lover Lorenzo, who hereupon are enforced to beare up with the time, yea, and to make a vertue of necessi∣ty, by separating their bodies, but not their hearts and affections. So hee re∣turnes to Genova, and she lives and remaines with her father in Savona, having no other comfort left them in their absence but hope, nor no other consola∣tion, but sometimes to visit each other with their Letters, which they doe.

Old Moron now finds his young daughter Fermia, farre more pensive, reser∣ved, and sorrowfull than heretofore, and therefore although he grieve to see her affection intangled with this Baker Lorenzo, yet he rejoyceth to see that he comes to Savona, as also to understand that his daughter hath no way ingaged her selfe to him in promise of marriage, but with the condition of his free will and consent thereto, which as heretofore, so now againe, hee deeply sweares he will never be drawne or perswaded to grant. And the sooner and better eternally and fully to dash these their irregular loves and affections, he thinks it fit for him to provide, and requisite to present his daughter with ano∣ther Husband: To which end he gives her the choice of two or three proper young men, and of very good families in Savona, but shee will have none of them, for her affection is so deeply fixed, and constantly setled on Lorenzo, that say her father what he will, or doe hee or they what they can, hee can hardly draw her to see, much lesse to speake with any one of them: Whereat he cals her foolish Gigglet, and fond Girle, and sweares that he will wholly renounce her for his daughter, and absolutely disinherit her, and leave her a begger, if she marrie Lorenzo, and then and there flies from her in rage and choller, and leaves her alone to her selfe, to entertaine her disconsolate and sorrowfull thoughts, with a world of sighs and teares.

As for the Letters which passe from Genova to Sevona, and that are also re∣turned from Savona to Genova, betweene these our two lovers Lorenzo and Fermia, deeming them impertinent to this their History, I have therefore purposely excluded, and for order and brevities sake omitted them: The which entertained their time, and tooke up their affections and patience so long, that three yeares are now past and blowne over, since they first saw Page  398 each other, and since Lorenzo first motioned Moron for his consent to marry his daughter, during all which long tract of time, which to those our two young lovers seemed at least so many ages. The Reader is prayed to under∣stand and take notice, that Lorenzo hath made five or six journeyes from Ge∣nova to Savona to see his Fermia, and hath importunately requested her father Moron for his consent, and that at least as many times shee likewise hath im∣ployed all her Parents and friends towards him, yea, and hath beene more of∣ten on her bended knees to him to begge it, but all these their requests and so∣tions towards him prove vaine.

When Lorenzo at last considering and remembring, that he had used all the lawfull meanes he could possibly invent, and Fermia all her best endevours and inventions which lay in her mortall power to draw her father Moron to their desires and wishes of mariage, and that neither they nor all the world could prevaile with him, he thinkes it now high time (as well for the setling of his fortunes and trade, as also for the confirmation of his hearts content) to lay close siege to his Fermia, that (notwithstanding her fathers refusall) she would consent and yeeld to marry him, and so very secretly by night to leave him and Savona, and to come live and die with himselfe in Genova, telling her, that although he had never a Duckaton of marriage money with her from her father, yet that God had given him estate and meanes enough to maintaine her and his family, in full and plentifull prosperity, and that hee would bee a thousand times more tender and carefull of her than of his owne life. Thus with a world of sweet words and sugred promises, and perswasions, this sweet and faire young maiden (contrary to her former wholesome, vertuous, and obedient resolutions) is at last drawne and tempted away by him, now to prove disobedient to her father, yea, and to forsake and flie away both from his house and himselfe. So Lorenzo having to that end secretly provided himselfe of a fine small Frigot, of foure oares in each side, hee therewith comes by night into the key of Savona, (which the policie of the Genouesses (now their Lords and Superiours) have dammed up, and made uncapable of ships of burthen, that thereby all the trade and commerce by Sea, may arrive to their owne capitall City) where giving notice to Fermia of his being there, shee (taking her best cloathes, and other chiefest necessaries with her) in the dead time of the night, when her father and his servants were fast in sleepe, and all things being hushed up in silence, seemed to conspire to her rash and inconsiderate escape, shee by the Garden doore issueth forth to Lorenzo, who there received her with much joy, and many kisses, and so conducts her to the Frigat, where the wind (in favour of this their clandestine flight) proving very faire, they hoise up saile, and early the next morning arrive at Genova, where (within two houres after) Lorenzo conducts her to St. Saviours Church, and there very secretly (yet solemnly espouseth and marries her. But O Fermia, how I pitie thy youth and beauty, thine innocencie and indiscretion, thy few yeares and many vertues, thy affection and misfortune, and thine ignorance and credulity, so rashly and disobediently to flie from Savona to Genova, and to take (or rather to steale) away thy selfe from thy father, purposely to give thy selfe in marriage to Lorenzo, for which indiscreet and disobedient fact of thine, it is not unpossible for thee to see this ensuing position verified and confirmed in thy selfe, That there is nothing so easie in young people as to commiter∣rours, nor so difficult as to repaire them.

Whiles thus our young maried couple celebrate their nuptials in GenovaPage  399 with delight and joy, old Moron the father grieves and stormes thereat in Sa∣vona, for the sudden flight of his daughter: When fearing and beleeving that Lorenzo had stollen her away, he secretly makes enquiry thereof at his house of Genova, from whence he hath perfect notice, that she is there, and maried to him, whereat he passionately converts his griefe into choller, both against her and him, and (in regard of this their disgrace and dishonour offered him) most constantly vowes to himselfe, and to all who are neere him, that they shall never touch nor enjoy the vallew of one Duckaton of all his Estate and wealth, as long as he or they live, and that he will not once send after thm, nor ever hereafter see them, which sharp vow and bitter sentence against our Lorenzo and Fermia, we shall be enforced to see him too carefully to keepe, and too severely and punctually to performe.

Some ten dayes after this mariage of Lorenzo and Fermia, when their wed∣ding joyes and pleasures had given them some truce and time to consider of their worldly affaires, because they know & repute it folly, to thinke to be able wholly to live by love, Lorenzo considering the injury & disgrace which he had offered his father in law Moron in this action, and therefore very desirous yet now againe to seeke his consent and good will to this their mariage, that thereby he may participate and share of some part of his wealth, he determi∣neth shortly to ride over to Savona to him, and with his best respects and duty to comply and labour with him for a reconciliation; and yet neverthelesse he thinks it very fit, and hold it most expedient, that his wife in the meane time should first excuse her selfe to her father by her Letter, the which she doth in these tearmes:

FERMIA to MORON.

ALthough the cause and manner of my departure from you and your house make me more worthy of your indignation than of your pordon, yet when you shall please to remember that you are my father, and myselfe your only childe and daughter, and that God and his holy Church hath of Lorenzo my friend, now made him my Husband, and also tha•… for the tearme of three whole yeares, I with teares and prayers came many times pro∣strate to you on my bended knees to obtaine your consent thereunto, then I hope you will at least excuse, if not wholly forget and pardon this errour of mine: Or if these reasons bee not enough powerfull to interceed with your displeasure, I most humbly beseech you further to consider, that herein I have neither blemished nor disgraced your reputation with any point of dishonour, for as I came to my Husbands bed a pure Virgin, so I will live and die with him a chaste wife; and that as this clandestine flight and mariage of mine was the first, so it shall be the last act of my disobedience towards you. Some small portion of your wealth at our first beginning, will doe my Husband and selfe a great deale of good in our trade, but this I leave, as to your consideration, so to your pleasure. Onely in all hu∣mility and duty (as low as the earth, and lower if I could) I desire your blessing to me, and implore your prayers to God for me, the which in religion you cannot, and in nature I hope you will not deny me. My Husband will shortly second this Letter of mine to you with his presence, and will then commit that taske to his tongue, which I have now obediently im∣posed and commanded to my pen: And my prayers and hopes, and his promises and ver∣•…es doe assure me, that (in his respects and service to you) you shallever finde him to be as much your servant as your sonne in law. God ever prosper your age with health, and blesse your health with prosperity.

FERMIA.

Page  400Moron received this Letter in Savona, and understanding by the messenger who brought it, that it came from his daughter Fermia from Genova, he was at first in such a fret and fume of choller thereat, as hee once thought to have throwne it into the fire, without vouchsafing to read it: But after hee had made three or foure turnes in his Parlour, and so somewhat abated the vio∣lence of his passion and choller, hee then procures so much time from his pleasure, and so much patience from himselfe, as he breaks up the seales there∣of, and peruseth it, the which as soone as he had performed, he in presence of the messenger who brought it, teares her Letter in peeces, and then (all en∣raged with choller) throwes it into the fire, when againe turning himselfe to him, he bade him tell the Gigglet his daughter, That her carriage had beene so base, disobedient, and ingratefull to him, that he disdained to returne any answer to her Let∣ter, and was very sorry that he had so much descended from himselfe as to have received and read it: When without once enquiring of him how his daughter did, yea, without giving the messenger any reward, or which is lesse, without making him drinke, he hastily and chollerickly flings from him, and will no more see or speake with him. Who returning to Genova, and reporting to Lorenzo and his wife what cold entertainment his Letter and himselfe had of her father Mo∣ron in Savona; she grieves and stormes thereat publikely, and he privately, and at their first relation and knowledge of this her fathers unkindnesse in answe∣ring her Letter with silence, they looke each on other with their countenances composed partly of discontent, and partly of sorrow, and for her part shee cannot refraine from teares, till at last her Husband Lorenzo steps to her, when (as much to dissipate her griefe, as to dissemble his owne) he gives her many smiles, and comforts her with these speeches; That according to her promise (in her Letter) to her father, he will the next weeke goe over to him, and will then beare himselfe so respectively towards him, that he hopes his presence shall purchase his affection, which her Letter could not, so she hereat remaines better satisfied than her Husband contented with this harsh carriage, and un∣kinde resolution of their father towards them.

Now some eight dayes after Lorenzo rides over to Savona, (handsomely clad, and rather above than below his quality) and putting up his horse in an Inne, hee a little before supper time, goes to his father in law Morons house, where enquiring of his servants for him, they tell him he is above in his cham∣ber, when desirous to see and speake with him, one of them steps up to him and enformes him thereof: Whereat Moron starting up as if he had beene sud∣denly awaked out of a dreame, he at the first mention and name of Lorenzo, but especially of that of his sonne in law Lorenzo, bolts himselfe fast in his chamber, and then calling up his servants to him, hee flatly chargeth them to deny his being within to Lorenzo, and as soone as he is gone forth, to shut the doores against him, and at any hand not to admit him into his house, for that his pleasure and resolution is neither to see nor speake with him. Lorenzo bites the lip at this baffle of his servants, first to say their Master his father in Law was within, and then in one breath to contradict and deny it. When for that time he holds it discretion to depart, goes to his Hostary (or Inne) to Supper, and returnes thither againe speedily after, but findes the same answer. So then fearing the truth, that his father Law was (infallibly) within, and yet would not be within, he returnes to his lodging, and in much choller betakes him∣selfe to his bed, but this discourtesie of his father in Law will not permit him any sound rest, but onely affords him many broken discontented slumbers. Page  401 The next morning very early hee returnes thither againe to see and speake with him, but the first prove the last answer of his servants, whereat Lorenzo (all nelted with choller and anger) takes horse and rides away for Genova.

Allow we him by this time returned to Genova, where hee truly and fully relates to his wife Fermia the discourtesie of her father towards him, from point to point as wee have formerly understood, which (poore sweet soule) exceedingly grieves her heart, and infinitely perplexeth her minde and thoughts, but how to remedie it shee knowes not, for as shee knowes shee (by her disobedient flight and mariage against h•… fathers consent) hath committed a greatfault towards him, so now she s•… that (of necessity) shee must owne and make the best of it: When he c•…orting his wife with en∣couragement, and she reciprocally encouraging •…m with comfort, they re∣ferre the issue of this their fathers pleasure or displeasure unto God; but yet rather hoping than despairing, that a little time will make him more tractable and flexible to their desires, they passe away their time merrily and sweetly to∣gether, he proving a courteous & loving husband t•…er, and she a kinde and dutifull wife to him. He exceeding provident to ge•… & thrive by his trade, and she as carefull in her house and family to save what he gets, and thus in six mo∣neths after they neither goe nor send to their father, thinking and hoping that although it be unlikely, yet it is not impossible but that hereafter of his owne free accord and good disposition and nature, he may shortly exchange his displeasure into courtesie, and his malice into affection towards them; but as yet they still finde the contrary, for in all this time, he never sends to them, nor so much as once hearkens after them.

At the end of six moneths Lorenzo prayes his wife Fermia to ride over to Savona to see what alteration this long time hath wrought in her fathers affe∣ction, and so recommends her portion from him to her care & remembrance, but resolves not to write to him because of his unkindnesse to him at his last being at Savona. Fermia (more in obedience to her husband, than out of her owne willingnesse or desire) accepts of this journey, but still she feares that shee shall finde her father to bee one and the same man in his discontent and displeasure against them. But yet in regard shee is his owne flesh and bloud, his onely childe; and therefore a great part of himselfe, she yet flatters her selfe with this hope, that he cannot be so unnaturall to her, as he was unkinde to her husband. She comes to Savona, but looke what entertainment her hus∣band Lorenzo found from her father, the same in all respects and points doth she, and no otherwise: For he will neither speake with her, no nor see, nor per∣mit her, either to lie, eat, or drinke in his house, but most uncourteously and unnaturally causeth his doores to be fast shut against her; yea, and to adde cruelty to his unkindnesse, he is extreame angry with his servants for daring to admit her to speake with him, and with her Aunt Alcyna, (his owne sister) for receiving and lodging her.

Our sweet Fermia the daughter is extreamly perplexed, afflicted, and grieved at this her fathers bitter unkindnesse and cruelty towards her, the which she seales with many sighs, and confirmes with infinite Rivolets of teares, which trickle downe her beautifull cheeks as so many pearled drops of dew on blu∣shing and fragrant damaske Roses: When againe imploying her aforesaid Aunt Alcyna, and likewise entreating father Bernardin De Monte, her fathers owne ghostly father, to perswade him in her behalfe, which they doe. But at last seeing the requests of the one bootlesse, and the spirituall exhortations of Page  402 the other vaine and to no effect, then as she came from Genova to Savona with some hope and joy, so she is againe constraind to returne from Savona to Geno∣va, with infinite griefe and dispaire; Where from point to point (betwixt anger and teares) shee relates to her husband Lorenzo, the unnaturall discourtesie, which her father had offered her: Whereat as before, so now he againe dissem∣bleth his discontent thereof and with many sweet speeches, and some few kisses seekes to comfort and pacifie her: But still the remembrance hereof stickes deepe in her minde, and yet farre deeper in his thoughts, for the know∣ledge of his father in Law Morons discourtesie first offered to himselfe, and now to his wife in Savona, being knowne and reported to many of his neigh∣bours and friends in Genova, they scoffe and taunt at his foolish ambition, in marrying and stealing away his wife, and in all companies which he frequen∣teth, they give him this quip, that hee had done farre wiser to have marryed a poore trades mans daughter in Genoua with a small portion, then a rich Vint∣ners in Savona with nothing: which foolish and malitious speech of theirs, falles not so easily from his memorie as from their tongues, but leaves an im∣pression therein, for from henceforth, Lorenzo of a wise man proves himselfe a foole, of an honest man a knave, and so of a good christian to God, an ex∣treame bad husband both to his wife and himselfe: for now seeing the moun∣taines of his hopes of a rich wife turned to molehils, and they to nothing through his fathers displeasure and unkindnesse to them, hee lookes not on his wife with so kinde and respective an eye as heretofore, although poore harmelesse young woman, shee knowes farre better to lament and greive, then how to remedy her fathers cruelty towards them: But this is but the beginning of his ingratitude and her unfortunacy, for before a whole yeare be past since their marriage, her husband so farre forgets his love to his wife, his regard to himselfe and his reputation and credit to the world, as hee first beginnes to sleight her, and then to neglect both himselfe and his profession: And here now it is that idlenesse beginnes first to enter into his hands, vice into his heart, and sinne into his soule; and here it is that he first fals into bad courses, and wicked company from whence in the end (I feare) will proceed nothing but shame, repentance, misery, and confusion of all sides.

Hee who formerly prayed often with his wife and family in his house and was a devout and religious frequenter of his Church, now he is so dangerously fled from God and so desperately following of the devill as hee scornes the Church, and will neither pray himselfe at home with his wife, nor (which is worse) permit or suffer her to doe it at home with her family: He hath forgotten her deere affection and constancy to him, and how shee hath incurred her fathers indignation for making him her husband and herselfe his wife: He hath forgotten his former oathes and promises of his tender affecti∣and constant love to her, and how that in life and death hee would live and dye more hers then his owne: Hee hath forgotten how for his sake, and for the fervent love shee bore him, that she forsooke divers rich young men of Savona who were every way his Superiours in Birth, Wealth, and profession: Or els if he did remember it, hee would not thus sleight her by day, or lye from her by night in lewd and lascivious company, spending both his time, his meanes, and himselfe: upon panders, bauds, and strumpets, from which ungodly life and sinfull conversation, neither her prayers, intreaties, requests, perswasions, sighes or teares can possibly reclaime him; but he lets all things runne at ran∣dome and confusion without order, care, or consideration, so that within the Page  403 compasse of one yeare and a halfe, his trade is neglected, his credit crackt, his reputation lost, his estate spent, and nothing left either to maintaine himselfe or releive her, but griefe, sorrow, dispaire and misery. Shee sets all his best friends, and most vertuous acquaintance to convert him from this his abhomi∣nable life, yea she holds it more shame, then sinne to acquaint his confessor therewith, who taking a fit time, deales roundly with him for his reformation, and failes not to paint out his sinnes and vices, as also their deserved punish∣ments in their foulest and most hideous colours: But still her husband Lorenzo is so strongly linked to the devill, and so firmely wedded to his beastly vices and enormities that all the world cannot divert, or disswade him from them, and still he is so farre from abandoning and forsaking them, as he adds new to his old: for the devill hath now taught him to delight in cursing and swearing, for in his speeches and actions he useth many feareful oathes and desperate ex∣ecrations: He beginnes to revile her, and to give her foule language, tear ming her Beggar, and her father villaine, and that hee is bound to curse them both, because (saith he) they have beggerd him: When God and his sinnefull soule and conscience well knowes that there is nothing more untrue or false: For if his piety toward God, or his care and providence of himselfe and his family had equallized hers, he had than made himselfe as happy as nowhe is miserable; and she as joyfull, as now we see her disconsolate and sorrowfull; and then no doubt but time and God would have drawne her father Moron to have bestow∣ed some portion on him with his wife, whereas now the knowledge of his im∣pious life and lascivious prodigalities doth justly occasion him to the contra∣ry. Againe here befalls another accident which brings our sorrowfull Fermia new griefe, vexation and teares, for shee sees herselfe great, yea quicke with childe by her Husband Lorenzo so as that which shee once hoped would have beene the argument of her joy, now proves the cause of her affliction and sor∣row, for his vices hath scarce left her wherewith to maintaine herselfe, and therefore it grieves her to thinke and consider, how hereafter she shall be able to mainetain her childe, when God in his appointed time shall send it her, for he hath so consumed his estate, and spent, sold, and pawned all their best hous∣hold stuffe and apparell, that almost they have nothing left to give themselves maintenance, hardly bread: But yet still how lewd and irregular soever Loren∣zo be, his vertuous and sorrowfull wife Fermia serves God duely and truely, and spends a great part of her time in prayer, still beseeching the Lord to give her patience, and to forgive her husband all his foule sinnes, towards him, and cruell ingratitude towards herselfe: When in the middest of this her poverty and misery, once she thought to have left her husband in Genova, and to have cast herselfe at her fathers feet in Savona, that he would pardon, receive and en∣tertaine her: But then againe considering his flinty heart and cruelty towards her, and that he would rather contemne then pitty her youth and misery, but especially calling to minde her duty to her husband, and her Oath given him in marriage, in presence of God and his Church for better for worse, for richer for poorer: Then I say the consideration and remembrance thereof, is so strong a tye to her conscience and so strict an obligation to her soule, that she thinkes his vices and poverty hath now more need of her assistance, prayers and company then of her absence, so as a vertuous wife and a religious chri∣stian, she will not consent to forsake and leave him, but resolves to stay and live with him, to see what the Lord is pleased to impose on her, and (for his sinnes and hers) what afflictions and miseries hee hath ordained and decreed Page  400〈1 page duplicate〉Page  401〈1 page duplicate〉Page  402〈1 page duplicate〉Page  403〈1 page duplicate〉Page  404 for them: And yet being desirous to draw hope and comfort any way, because she findes griefe and dispaire from all parts, she resolves to acquaint her father with her calamities, as also (earnestly and humbly) to pray him to releive them, the which she doth in this her sorrowfull letter to him, which she sends him safely to Savona.

FERMIA to MORON.

I Now finde to my griefe, and know to my shame and Repentance, that my disobedience in marrying Lorenzo against your consent and without your blessing, is the reason why God hath thus punished me with a bad husband in him: whose fervent affection to me is so soone forgotten and frozen, and whose Vertues in himselfe are so sodainely and sinfully exchanged into vices, that his prodigalitie hath spent and consumed all his estate, and left not wherewith either to give himselfe or mee mainteinance: In which regard be∣cause my afflictions are so great, and my miseries so infinite, that I rather deserve your pitty then your displeasure; Therefore if not for my sake who am your living Daughter, yet for my Mothers sake and remembrance, who is your dead wife, either give my Husband meanes to set up his old trade and forsake his new vices Genoua, or else take mee home to live with you againe in Savona: And if you will not in Nature re∣spect me as your Daughter, yet in compassion entertaine mee as your Hand-maid, and I most humbly and religiously beseech you to thinke and consider with your selfe to what great wants and necessity I am now reduced, sith I write you this my letter rather with teares then incke: God direct your heart to my reliefe and consolation, as mine is eternally devoted to your service, and consecrated to his glory.

FERMIA.

Her father Moron after a long consultation and reluctation with himselfe, whether he should read or reject this letter of his Daughter. He at last (ha∣ving formerly understood of her husbands prodigalitie, and her poverty and misery) breakes up the seales thereof and peruseth it, and surely if there had beene any sparke of humanity or reason, or of good nature or pitty in him at all, his former knowledge of her miseries, and now this present assurance and confirmation thereof, should have perswaded him to grant her, if not the first, yet the second of her requests, which was to receive her, and give her maintenance: but hee is still so hard hearted to her as he will neither releive her wants, nor pitty her afflictions, but (more out of hatred then affection to her) thinks he hath done enough in sending her not his love but this his sharp letter in answer of hers.

MORON to FERMIA.

IF thy Husband prove not to thy liking, thou hast just reason to thanke thy selfe, and to condemne thine owne temerity and disobedience in choosing him, and if his affection bee so soone forgotten or frozen to thee, it is a just punishment of God, because thine was so first to me, whereof as that is the effect, so doubtlesse this is the prime, and originall cause thereof, and as his vices and prodigality hath spent all his estate, so I have not so lit∣tle judgement, (though thou so small understanding) to thinke that mine shall redeeme it, which (upon the whole) were then to immytate and second him in his folly, and conse∣quently to make my selfe guilty in consuming it. And because thou fleddest with him without my knowledge from Savona to Genoua; and didst there marry him without my consent, therefore it is neither thy Griefe nor Misery, or thy shame and repentance, Page  405 which shall induce me either to respect or pitty thee as my daughter, or which is lesse, to re∣leive and entertaine thee as my handmaid, you both are young enough to worke and labour for your living, as thy mother and my selfe did for ours, and therefore know that thy youth deserves no compassion from my age, and if this will not satisfie thee, then the best ad∣vise and counsell which I can or will give thee is, that thou continually direct thy pray∣ers to God, for thy releife and consolation: And herein thou wilt then serve thy selfe, please mee, and glorifie him: And as thou regardest my Commands, or desirest my blessing, let me neither see thee, or hereafter heare any more of thy vaine and foolish Letters.

MORON.

The receit of this her fathers unkinde and cruell letter to her, doth at one time kill both her hopes with dispaire, and her heart with griefe; or if that doe not, then the mad tyranny, and new cruelty of her deboshed husband doth: for now contrary to nature, beyond reason and opposite to Grace, he many times beates her; she is all in teares hereat, useth all possible meanes to reclaime him from his new vices to his old vertues: She continually perswades him fairely with exhortations, sweetly with sighes, and deerely with teares, yea poore sweet young woman, shee many times casts herselfe at his feet, and with her armes crossed, her hands elevated towards heaven, her haire dishevelled and dandling about her cheekes, and her pearled teares bedewing the lillies of her mournefull and disconsolate countenance, begs him to forsake his vices to himselfe, and his undeserved unkindnesse and cruelty towards her: But all this is in vaine, for hee proves death to her requests and prayers, and blinde to her sighes and teares. He hath no longer mony to buy corne, and is so farre from selling any bread to others, as he hath scarce enough to give to himselfe and to his great bellied wife, and as for his servants hee is inforced to put them all a∣way: His vanity to himselfe and cruelty to his wife is too too lamentably no∣torious and remarkeable, for when he wants mony, he beats her, if she will not presently supply his wants, and furnish his expences. Now in the middest of all these her griefes and miseries, God sends her a faire young sonne, of whom the father is not worthy, no nor of his vertuous wife who bore it: For had not the care, affection, and charity of her neighbours beene farre greater then that of her husband to her, both the mother had miscarryed, and the childe perished in the sharpe throwes and agony of her delivery; and the name of this her little sonne, whom she causeth to be christened in a very poore man∣ner and ceremony, is Thomaso: for she is so poore as she hath nothing but raggs to wrappe and cover him with, and therefore with much griefe and shame, she begges poore linnen clouts of her neighbours to keepe him cleane and sweet: When it is waking, she lookes and kisseth it often with joy, but when it sleepes or suckes, then shee grieves that it is so unfortunate both in a wicked father, and poore disconsolate mother, who hath more meanes to lament and pitty, then milke to feed and nourish it: Shee often shewes her husband his child, and importunately begges him hence forth to have a more provident care of himselfe for his childes sake, and of his childe for his owne sake: But hee as a lewd husband and too degenerate a father doth neither love nor care for either but hates both of them, yea his vices & crueltie makes her sorrow so infinit, that she reputes herselfe a burthen to herselfe, & a thousandtimes wish∣eth she were in heaven; And one time among the rest after her husband with∣out cause, had given her many bitter words and some sharpe and cruell blowes Page  406 her childe being in its cradle, he gone forth from her in choller, she fals downe on her knees to prayer, the which so soone as shee had ended, and her childe awaking and crying, she takes it up in her armes, and mournfully sitting downe on the floore by her bed side, she (weeping as fast as her poore infant babe sucked) having bolted her chamber doore, was over-heard by one of her neighbours, (twixt whom and her selfe there was but a wainscot enterclose and partition) to pronounce these (or the like) sorrowfull speeches to her selfe.

O poore Fermia, it had beene an infinite happinesse for thee if thou hadst never seene thy Husband Lorenzo, or perished and sunke in the Sea when thou fleddest with him from Sevona to Genova, before hee was thy Husband. For surely thou hast great causeto thinke, and reason to beleeve, that this cruelty of his towards thee, is a just plague and punishment sent thee from God, for disobeying thy father, in marrying without his consent and blessing; with whom when thou livedst single, thou hadst so much felicity and joy, as thou knewest not what belonged to sorrow and misery, and now living a wife to this thy Husband, thou art enforced to taste so much griefe and misery, as thou knowest no more what belongs to joy and felicity. Then thou didst surfet with the choice of the costliest meats and viands, and now thou art ready to starve meerly for want of bread: Then thy apparrell was rich, but now rent and torne: Then thy beauty made thee sought in mariage by divers, and now the griefes and sorrowes having defaced and withered it, thou art contemned and hated of him who maried thee. For can thy griefes be matched, or thy afflictions and sorrowes parralleld, when thou hast a Husband who neither feares nor serves God, who will neither goe to Church, or pray himselfe, or permit or suffer thee to doe it; and who is so farre from loving thee, as hee loves nothing better than to hate, revile, and beat thee: For (aye me) hee drownes himselfe and his wits in wine, and keeps whores to thy nose, spends all his estate upon them, and upon Bawds, Panders and Drunkards (the off∣scumme and Catterpillers of the world) with whom he consumes his time and himselfe, making night day, and day night in these his beastly revels, and ob∣scene voluptuousnesse, and upon whom he hath spent so much, as hee now hath nothing left either to spend or maintaine himselfe and thee; yea, thy miseries are so great, and thy afflictions and sorrowes so sharpe and infinite, that thou hast no parent left to succour or releeve thee, and which is lesse, no friend who will assist or comfort thee. Poore young woman, and disconso∣late sorrowfull wife that thou art, it were a blessed happinesse, and a happy blessing for thee that thou wert either unborne or unmarried. Alas, alas, thy mother died too soone for thee, when thou wert young, and therefore shee cannot, and thy father lives, (and is exceeding rich) yet hates thee so much as he will not assist & releeve thee. And as all thy kinsfolks refuse to lend or send thee any comfort in these thy wants and calamities; so those who professed themselves thy friends in thy prosperity, will not now either see thee in thy poverty, or know thee in thy misery. When againe and againe looking on her pretty babe, and giving it many tender kisses, then (her teares interrupting her words, and her sighs againe cutting her teares in peeces) shee continueth her speech thus: And thou my sweet babe, what shall I say to thee, sith almost I can doe nothing for thee, for I have no food to give my selfe, how then can I give milke to thee; and yet I love thee so dearly and tenderly, that although thy unkinde and cruell father hate me so deadly, yet I will starve before thou Page  407 shalt want, yea, I will cheerfully worke, and (if occasion serve) begge my selfe to death to get sustenance and necessaries for the preservation of thy life. For live thou my sweet babe as happy as thy poore mother is miserable and unfortunate: And if I die before thee, (as I hope I shall not live long) say thou hadst a mother who loved thee a thousand times dearer than her own life, and who was rich in care and affection, though poore in estate and means to main∣taine thee. And if I leave thee nothing behinde me, (because I have now no∣thing left me either to give or leave thee) yet I will give thee my blessing, and leave thee heire to these my most religious prayers; That God in his divinest favour and mercy will not power downe his wrath and punishments on thee, but thou mayest live to be as happy in thy vertues, as I feare thy father will be miserable in his vices; and as true a servant and instrument of Gods glory, as (with griefe and teares) I see he is of his owne disgrace and dishonour.

Neither is our vertuous Fermia deceived in the cloze of this her passionate and presaging speech towards her husband, for he continues his odious and un∣godly course of life both towards God and her, and now (as well in his fresh as his drunken humours) makes it his practice to revile, and his delight and glo∣ry to beat her; who not withstanding yet thinking and hoping to worke some good in him, through his sight of this poore infant his sonne. Shee often shewes it to him, and with sighs and teares prayes him to leave off this his sinfull life towards God, and these his cruell courses and actions towards her selfe. But he is still the same man, yea, he is so wretchedly debauched and vi∣tious, as he will not endure to thinke of making himselfe better, and to say the truth, I beleeve and thinke that the devill cannot possibly make him worse; the wich his poore sorrowfull wife perceiving, as also that her childe being now by this time almost two yeares old, shee hath not wherewithall in the world to maintaine it meat or cloaths, she is enforced to make a vertue of ne∣cessity, and so works exceeding hard with her needle, thereby to give life to her selfe, and her pretty young sonne; and yet say she what she will with sighs, and doe she what she can with teares, her husband still forcibly takes away the two parts of the poore profit, and small revenewe of her labours, both from her selfe, and her little sonne Thomaso, not caring if they starve or die, so hee have to maintaine his vitious expences among his lewd Consorts and Compa∣nions; yea, her miseries and wants are now so great, and her affection to her childe so deare and tender, that when shee hath no meanes to set her selfe to worke, nor can procure any from others, then (though to her matchlesse griefe and shame) shee descends so farre from her selfe, as shamefully and se∣cretly in remote streets and Churches, she begs the almes and charity of some well disposed people for their subsistence and maintenance: But at length, when she sees that her husband is informed and acquainted therewith, and that he is so inhumane in himselfe, and so cruell hearted to her and her sonne, that he likewise takes these small moneyes away from her, (which in effect is to take bread out of their mouths, and life out of their bodies) then not know∣ing what (in the world) to doe, or which way to winde or turne her selfe any longer, to maintaine her son, which (by many degrees) she loves better than her selfe, she resolves to write to her father to take him home to him at Sa∣vona; and maintaine him, which she doth by this her ensuing Letter, which carried him this humble language and petition:

Page  408

FERMIA to MORON.

THe increase of my Husbands vices are those of my wants and miseries, which are now growne so extreame and infinite, that I have nor cloaths nor food left to main∣taine my selfe, or my poore little sonne Thomaso, nor scarceto give life to us: And con∣sidering that I am your daughter, (yea your onely childe) me thinks both in Nature and Christianity, that my father should not see me driven to these sharp and bitter extremi∣ties, without releeving me, especially, because as heretofore, so now my sighs begge it of you with humility for charities sake, and my teares with sorrow for Gods sake. Or if yet your heart will not dissolve into pity, or relent into compassion towards me, at least let it towards my poore and pretty young childe, whom now with prayers and teares I be∣seech you to take from me and maintaine, though not as a great part of me, yet as a little peece of your selfe, and whom God (in his sacred power and secret providence) may (for his honour and glory) reserve to be as much happinesse to you, as I your sorrwfull daugh∣ter, and his poore mother see my selfe borne to affliction and misery: God will requite this your charity to him, and thereby I shall the sooner forget your unnaturall unkindnesse and cruelty towards my selfe. And so may you live in as much prosperity, as I feare I shall shortly die in extreame indigence and misery.

FERMIA.

Her father Moron receiveth and peruseth this third Letter of his daughter Fermia, whereat being yet nothing moved in charity, or touched in compassi∣on towards her, but onely towards her young sonne (and his grand childe) Thomaso, he returnes her this short answer.

MORON to FERMIA.

I See thou art both wilfull and obstinate in disobeying my commands with thy Letters, wherein I beleeve thou takest more glory, than either I conceive griefe at the relation of thy wants, or sorrow at the repetition of thy miseries, the which I am so farre from re∣leeving, as I onely pitie it that I am thy father, but not as thou art my daughter. And yet because thy young sonne Thomaso is as innocent as thou art guilty of my displeasure and indignation, therefore give him to this bearer, whom I have purposely sent to receive hi•… of thee, and I will see whether it be the pleasure of God that I shall be as happy in hi•… as I am unfortunate in thy selfe, and if in his sacred providence he hath ordained and de∣creed that he prove as great a comfort to thy age, as thou art a crosse and calamity to •…ine, which if it prove so, then give God the onely praise and glory, which is the best use and requitall which thou canst make, or I desire.

MORON.

Our poore and desolate Fermia having received and over-read her fathers letter, although she be wonderfull sorrowfull at the perseverance of his cruelty towards her selfe, yet she is infinitely glad and joyfull at his compassion and kindnesse towards her young son, who apparelling the very best that possibly she could, which God knowes is ragged, meane, and poore) she (with a thousand sighs, teares, prayers, blessings, and kisses) gives him to her fathers messenger, and to whose affection and education, as also to Gods gracious protection and preservation, shee religiously recommends him; when (to her exceeding griefe and sensible affliction) she sees it out of her possible power once to per∣swade Page  409 her husband Lorenzo either to kisse or see him at his departure, as if it were no part of his affection to blesse it, or of his duty to pray to God to blesse it, much lesse to kisse it at parting. A most unkinde and unnaturall part of a fa∣ther to his sweet and pretty young sonne. Which strange and discourteous in∣gratitude of his, it is not impossible for us to see God as strangely both to re∣quite and revenge.

Sorrowfull Fermia having thus sent away her little sonne Thomaso to her fa∣ther Moron at Savona, she the very same night dreames in her poore bed and house in Genova, that she shall never be so happy to see him againe; when be∣ing awaked, and remembring this her sorrowfull dreame, she for meere griefe bitterly weeps thereat, and although she would, yet she cannot possibly for∣get or suppresse the remembrance thereof, or once put it out of her minde; so that thinking her selfe fortunate in placing this her little sonne with her fa∣ther, and his Grandfather, shee is now very pensive and sorrowfull for his ab∣sence, because she can no longer see him, play with him, and kisse him, and is infinitely disconsolate and mournfull when she thinks of her dreame of him. In the meane time her lewd husband growes from bad to worse, so that her coha∣bitation is but a bondage with him, and her mariage and wedlocke but an In∣denture of slavery, and a contract of misery under him. Such is her incompa∣rable griefe, such her unparalleld afflictions and calamities.

Five yeares our disconsolate Fermia lives in this rich misery, and miserable poverty with her husband, and yet all the whole world cannot perswade her father Moron to take her home to him and maintaine her. She hath no conso∣lation left her but prayers, nor remedy but enforced patience; so shee armes her selfe with the last, and adorneth her selfe with the first. She was conten∣ted to begge for the maintenance of her little sonne Thomaso, but now being eased of that burthen, she will give it over, so she works hard to get her hard and poore living, which yet she cannot get so fast as her husband spends it pro∣digally and lasciviously. Her care and vertues make her the pitie, as his lewd∣nesse and vices make him the scorne and contempt of all their neighbours. So whiles she sits at home close at her needle in poore apparell, he idlely wanders and gads abroad untill he have brought his apparell to ragges, and himselfe almost to nakednesse. And here it is that her wretched husband Lorenzo now first beginnes to hearken to the devill, yea, to prove a very devill him∣selfe towards this his deare and vertuous wife; for he enters into a consulta∣tion with himselfe, that if he were once rid of his wife Fermia, he might mar∣ry some other with a good portion to maintaine him, and so againe set up his trade of baking which now had forsaken him, because he had vitiously and un∣thriftily forsaken it. When his faith being as weake with God, as his infamous life and vices were odious to the world, he assumes a bloudy and damnable re∣solution to murther her, and hereunto the Devill is still at his elbow to pro∣voke and egge him onward, and continually blowes the coales to this his ma∣lice and indignation against her: So neither his minde or heart, his conscience or soule can divert him from this fearfull enterprize, and lamentable and bloudy businesse: The which to performe and perpetrate, he on a great holi∣day (which was the purification of the blessed Virgin Mary) takes her with him into a Vineyard some halfe a mile from the City of Genova, under colour to recreate themselves, and to take the aire, which God knowes she poore soule takes for a great, because an unaccustomed favour and courtesie at his hands, where she most lovingly and willingly goes with him, and there feigning him∣selfe Page  410 fast a sleep, and she (innocent harmlesse young woman) then & thereslept soundly, and every way being as devoid of feare as he was of grace, he with a barbarous and diabolicall cruelty, (seeing the coast cleare) softly riseth up and cuts her throat, without giving her the power, time or happinesse to ut∣ter one word before her death: Where leaving her weltring and goring in her bloud, he speedily and politikely enters Genova by a contrary gate, thereby to avoid all suspition of this his bloudy and damnable fact.

The very same night this her breathlesse murthered body is found out by some of Genova, who accidentally walked that way; and they causing it to be brought to the City, it is knowne by some of Lorenzo's neighbours to bee his wife Fermia, whereat to adde the better cloke to his knavery, and shadow to his villany, he seemes to be wonderfully sad, and passionately sorrowfull for the same, and so requesteth the Criminall officers both in and about the City, to make curious research and enquiry for the murtherers of his wife, which they doe; but this hypocriticall sadnesse and false sorrow of his, though (to the eye of the world) it prevaile for a time, yet (to that of Gods mercy and justice) in the end it shall little availe him; so he gives her a poore and obscure buriall, every way unworthy the sweetnesse of her beauties, and the excel∣lencie of her vertues. Her father Moron hath speedy notice of this deplorable death of his daughter, who considering how she had cast away her selfe upon so bad a Husband as Lorenzo, though outwardly hee seeme to bewaile and la∣ment it, yet inwardly he much cares not for it; and for her little sonne Tha∣maso, his few yeares dispenceth with his capacity from understanding, much lesse from lamenting and mourning for this disastrous end of his mother.

A moneth after the cruell murther and buriall of this vertuous, yet unfortu∣nate young woman Fermia, her bloudy and execrable husband Lorenzo (is yet so devoid of feare and grace) as he goes to Savona to request his father in law Moron to give him some maintenance, in regard he had no portion from him with his wife his daughter, as also to see his sonne Thomaso. But Moron by his servants sends him a peremptory refusall to both these his requests, and so will neither see him, nor suffer him to see his sonne, but absolutely for ever forbids him his house: Whereat Lorenzo all in choller leaves Savona and re∣turnes to Genova, where selling away his wives old cloaths to provide him new, he seeks many maidens and widdowes in mariage, but the fame of his bad life and infamous carriage and deportment with his late wife is so fresh and great, that they all disdaine him; so that utterly despairing ever to raise him∣selfe and his fortunes by mariage, he forsakes and leaves Genova, inrols himselfe a Bandetti, and for many yeares together practiseth that theevish profession, to the which we willl eave him, and speake a little of his young and little sonne Thomaso.

Old Moron traines up this his Grand-child Thomaso very vertuously and in∣dustriously, and at the age of fourteene yeares bids him chuse and embrace any trade he best liketh: When Thomaso exceedingly delighting in limming, graving, and imagery, he becomes a Goldsmith, and in foure or five yeares af∣ter is become a singular, expert, and skilfull workman in his trade: His Grand∣father loves him dearly and tenderly, and intends to make him his heire; but Thomaso (led as I thinke by the immediate hand and providence of God, or out of his owne naturall disposition and inclination) being of a gadding hu∣mour to travell abroad, and see other Cities and Countreyes, and having a particular itching desire to see Rome, (which he understood is one of the very Page  411 prime and chiefe places of the world for rich and curious Goldsmiths.) Hee finding a french ship of Marseilles (which by contrary winds stopt in the Road of Savona bound up for Civita Vechia, very secretly packes up his trunke and trinkets and so goes along in that ship: Now as soone as his Grandfather Mo∣ron understands hereof, he very much grieves at this his rash and sodaine de∣parture: So Thomaso arrives at Civita Vechia, goes up to Hostia by sea, and thence on the River Tiber to Rome, where hee becomes a singular ingenious Gold-Smith, and thrives so well, as after a few yeares) he there keepes shop for him∣selfe and constantly builds up his residence.

In all this long tract and progression of time, which (my true information tels me) is at least twenty foure yeares, his father Lorenzo continues a theevish Bandetti in the state of Genova and Luca, where hee commits so many Lewd robberies, and strange rapines, depraedations and thefts, as that country at last becomes too hot for him, and he too obnoxious for it so he leaves it and tra∣velleth into Thoscany, and to the faire & famous Citty of Florence which is the Metropolis therof, where with the moneys he had gotten by the revenewes of his robberies he againe sets up his old trade of a Baker; in which profession he knew himselfe expert and excellent, and here hee setleth himselfe to live and dwell, takes a faire commodious house, and lookes out hard for some rich old maiden or young widdow to make his new wife: But God will prevent his thoughts and frustrate his designes and desires herein: For as yet his bloudy thoughts have not made their peace with his soule, nor his soule with his all seeing and righ∣teous God for the cruell murthering of his old wife Fermia which as an impe∣tuous storme and fierce tempest will sodainely befall him when hee least dreams or thinkes hereof, yea by a manner so strange, and an accident so mira∣culous that former ages have seldome if ever paralleld, or givenus a precedent hereof, and wherein the power and providence, the mercy and Iustice of God resplends with infinite lustre and admiration, and therefore in my poore judg∣ment and opinion) I deeme it most worthy of our observation as we are men, and of our remembrance as we are christians.

Charles now Cardinall of Medicis going up to Rome to receive his hat of this present Pope Vrban VIII. and Cosmos the great duke of Florence his Brother, (in honour to him and their illustrious bloud and family whereof they are now chiefe (resolving to make his entry and aboade in that Citty of Rome to be stately and magnificent: Hee causeth his house and traine in all points to be composed of double officers and Servants to whom he gives rich and costly li∣veryes, and among others, our Lorenzo is found out, elected and pricked downe to be one of his Bakers for his owne trencher in that Iourney, where in Rome he flaunts it out most gallantly and bravely in rich apparell, and is still most deboshed and prodigall in his expenses before any other of the Cardinals me∣niall Seruants, without ever any more thinking or dreaming of the murthe∣ring of his wife Fermia but rather absolutely beleives, that as he, so God had wholly buryed the remembrance of that bloudy fact of his in perpetuall si∣lence and oblivion: But the devill will deceive his hopes: For now that La∣mentable murther of his, cryes aloud to Heaven and to God for vengeance: Wherein we shall behold and see, that it is the providence and pleasure of God many times to punish one sinne in and by another, yea and sometimes one sin for another as reserving it in the secret will and inscrutable providence, to pu∣nish Capitall offenders, whereof murtherers are infallibly the greatest, both Page  412 when, where, and how he pleaseth, for earthly and sinfull eyes, have neither the power to pry into his heavenly decrees, nor our minde and capacity to dive into his divine actions and resolutions, because many times hee ac∣celerateth or delayeth their punishments, as they shall stand most fit and requisite for his Iustice and their crimes.

When therefore the Panders and strumpets, and the new pride and bravery of our Lorenzo had eaten out all his mony and credit in Rome, and that (to his griefe) he now saw that by no possible meanes he could procure or borrow any more there being infinitely unwilling to let his vice and pro∣digalitie strike saile, and so as hee vainely and foolishly thinkes to disgrace his Lord Cardinals service instead of honouring it: Hee once was minded, and resolved to steale some gold out of the Argentiers or pay masters truncke; But then consulting with his Iudgement and discretion, and finding that at∣tempt to bee full of danger, ingratitude, and infamy: He buries that resolu∣tion as soone as it was borne, and then gives conception and life to another, which was to steale some peices of plate out of a young Goldsmithes shoppe there in Rome with whome hee was familiarly acquainted, and whose shoppe and company, hee with divers others of his fellowes) very often haunted and frequented since his comming to Rome; The which, watching and taking his time he doth, and from him takes away two faire rich guilt Chalices, and a cu∣rious small gold crucifix set with a few Saphires and Emeralds, all mounting to the valew of foure hundred and fifty Dukatons. This young Goldsmith (whose name we shall anon know) is amazed at this great losse, when being guided and directed by the immediate finger of God, he knowes not whom to suspect or accuse for this robbery but Lorenzo the Cardinall of Florence his Baker: whom hee saw, and observed did very often and too familiarly frequent his shop, and farre the more doth he fortifie and increase this his suspition of him, because then making a curious enquiry and research of his former life and acti∣ons, he found both the one and the other in all points so vitious and deboshed, as we have formerly understood, onely the murther of his wife Fermia excep∣ted, which as yet none but God and himselfe knew: Whereupon well know∣ing that hee lay not in his Lord Cardinals palace, which as all others are privi∣ledged as sanctuaries, but in a Taylors house neere adjoyning: Hee with an officer searched his chamber and trunke wherein he found one of his Chalices, but not the other, or the gold crucifix, which Lorenzo immediately had sold both to pay his debts, and to put some double pistols in his pockets for his vaine and prodigall expences; When hunting after this his theife Lorenzo he presently finds him, commits him to prison, and accuseth him to the Cap∣taine and Iudges of Rome: Who upon knowledge and sight of one of the cha∣lices found in Lorenzoes trunke, and also upon his confession of having sold a∣way the other, and likewise the crucifix of Gold, they condemne him to bee hanged the very next day for the same, Lorenzo bitteriy weeping and fuming at this his disaster) doth most humbly sue and petition the Lord Cardinall his Master to begge his life of the Pope, who considering him to bee a base Companion, and no Gentleman, and his fact (during this his service) to bee very foule and scandalous, Hee is too Noble and wise to attempt or undertake it, and therefore becomes deafe to his requests; Whereupon Lorenzo is that night returned to his prison, where he hath lea∣sure though not time enough, to thinke upon his conscience and soule, upon Page  413 the basenesse of this his robbery, and the foulenesse and bloudinesse of mur∣dering his wife Fermia.

The next morning hee is brought to his death, at the common place of execution at the Bridge foot, in a little walled court close to the castle of Saint Angelo, where a world of people flocke from all parts of Rome to see the Cardinall of Florence his Baker take his last leave of the world, and being the night before prepared by a Fryar, in his soules journey towards heaven, as soone as hee ascended the Ladder, hee there confes∣seth this his robbery: And likewise that his name was Andrea Lorenzo, and that he (about some Twenty and three yeares since) murthered his owne wife named Fermia Moron in a vineyard neere Genova, whereof hee saith hee will no longer charge his soule: The which the young Gold-Smith (whose name was Thomaso Lorenzo over hearing) hee presently bursts forth into teares, and very passionately and sorrowfully cryes out, that this man on the Ladder is his owne Father; and that Fermia Mo∣ron was his owne Mother, and therefore hee with a world of sobbes, sighes, and teares prayeth the Officers, and then the Executioner of Iustice to forbeare, and leave the prisoner for a small whiles, which accordingly they doe: When at the descent of his Father from the Ladder: Tho∣maso (in presence of all that huge number of people who were present) throwes himselfe at his feet, and seeming to drowne himselfe in his teares for sorrow, confesseth himselfe to bee his Sonne, and acknowledgeth Fer∣mia Moron to bee his mother, and therefore prayes him to forgive him this his innocent ingratitude towards him, in seeking his death of whom hee had received his owne life: And although the consideration of his mothers lamentable Murther doth pierce him to the heart with griefe, yet knowing him likewise to bee his Father, and himselfe his Sonne, hee freely and willingly offers the Captaine of Rome, and the Iudges all his Estate to save his Fathers life, but this his robbere is so foule, and that former murther of his so inhumane and lamentable, yea so odi∣ous to God and the world, and so execrable to men and Angells that none will presume or dare to speake in his behalfe: So the next day Lorenzo is hanged, having first freely forgiven his Sonne Thomaso, and entreated him likewise to forgive him for murthering of his mother, and for any other thing else, hee at his death said little: But cursed the name and memory of that miserable and covetous wretch his Father in Law Mo∣ron, whose unkindenesse and cruelty hee said had occasioned and brought him to all this misery. But he spake not a word of his griefe or sorrow for ha∣ving murthered his wife Fermia Moron; Onely he said and beleeved that this his untimely death was a just revenge and punishment of God to him for the same.

The common sort of the Spectators and people of Rome, seemed to taxe the Cardinall of Florence his Master for not saving this his Bakers life: but the wiser and more religious sort, applauded his generosity and piety for not attempting it from the Pope: But all doe admire and wonder at Gods sacred providence and divine Iustice in making the Sonne the cause and instrument of his fathers hanging for murthering of his mother, the which indeed gave cause of speech and matter of wonder to Rome, Genova, Savona, and Florence, yea to all Italy: And thus was the wicked life and deserved death Page  414 of this bloudy Villaine Lorenzo, and in this manner did the Iustice of the Lord triumph ore his crime in his punishment. And as for his Sonne Thomaso (the Goldsmith) after this infamous and scandalous death of his Father, hee could no longer content himselfe to live in Rome, but returned to Savona to his Grandfather Moron, who received him with many de∣monstrations of Ioy, and affection, and after his death made him sole heire to all his wealth and Estate.

To God be all the Glory.