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.

THE TRIVMPHS OF GODS REVENGE AGAINST THE CRYING, AND EXECRABLE sinne of Murther. (Book 5)

HISTORIE XXI.

Babtistyna and Amarantha poyson their Eldest Sister Iaquinta, after which, Amarantha causeth her servants Bernardo and Pierya to stifle her Elder Sister Babtistyna in her bed; Bernardo flying, breakes his necke with the fall off his Horse, Pierya is hanged, so likewise is Amarantha and her body af•…•…er burnt, Bernardo being buried, his body is again taken up, hanged to the Gallowes by his feet, then burnt, and his ashes throwne into the ayre.

THe Golden times being past, what doth this Iron or flintie age of ours produce, but Thornes for Roses, and Brambles for Lillies, I meane, bloudy and barbarous actes in stead of deedes of Compas∣sion and workes of Charitie. Not but that Christianitie (as a faire and glorious vayle) covereth the face of Europe, as the firmament of Heaven doth that of Earth; and that (by the mercie of God) there are now great variety of learned and godly Preachers, who (by the sanctity of their lives, and the purity of their Doctrine) spend the greatest part both of their time, and of themselves to propagate Vertue, and Pietie in us, and consequently to roote out vice and Sinne from among us; But it is the vanity of our thoughts, the corruption of our depraved Natures, the infirmity of our Iudgements, the weake∣nesse of our Faith, the coldnesse of our Zeale, and our neglect of prayer, which sometimes (O that I might not say too too often) transporteth our selves, beyond our selves, and our resolutions and actions beyond the bounds of reason, yea and violently carrieth us to desperate and inhumane attempts, which this next deplora∣ble History will so apparantly and perspicuously verifie vnto us, that we shall diffi∣cultly reade it without sighes, nor understand it without teares, at least if wee have but the sparkes of so much Charitie in our hearts, and Pietie in our Soules as the unfortunate authors, and miserable actors hereof wanted.

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IF Tuscany be the beauty & glory of Italy, then Florence (the capital Citie thereof) must needs be that of Tuscany; or else it could not so justly and generally deserve that true and excellent Epithite of faire. It is a Citie which hath given both life and being to the Illustrious family of the Medicis, (or as some affirme, they to it.) The worst grounds about it are V•…•…eyardes, and the best are dainty Meadowes, and de∣licate Gardens, or rather their Gardens are Meadowes for their spaciousnesse, and their Meadowes are Gardens for their fertility & beauty. It is divided and crossed in two parts by the famous River Arno, and that river againe by two stately Bridges curiously embelished and adorned with many Marble and Alabaster Statues. The streetes hereof are well paved, broad and long; the buildings (for the most part) ra∣ther Palaces then private houses, and the Temples for sumptuousnesse and beauty, nothing inferiour to the best, and richest of Italy, especially the two most sumptu∣ous and unparalleld Chappels of the Babtistaria, and Saint Lorenzo, as also the Do∣mo, and Campanella (which is the Tower) thereof, it being a most magnificent and stately Cathedrall Church, which not onely catcheth our eye with wonder, but surpriseth our thoughts with admiration, as all our English Noblemen and Gentle∣men Travellers, doe (peradventure) know farre better then my selfe; I say in this rich and fayre Citie of Florence, neere the Church of the Dominican Fryers, in the latter dayes of the great Duke Ferdinand, there dwelt an ancient, vertuous, and gene∣rous Cavallier, named Seignior Leonardo Streni, descended of a Noble family, neere to the Citie of Pistoia, where his Auncestors left him many fayre demeanes, and a very rich Patrimony, the which (through his Frugality, Vertue and Wisedome, the true foundation of most of the chiefest houses, and best familyes of Italy) hee managed and improved so well, that within the space of twenty yeares he became exceeding rich and oppulent; but neere about this time, that the sweetnesse of his content, might receive some checke of bitter affliction, to shew him that man is subject to God, and that there is no perfect or permanent felicity heere on Earth, his Lady Alcydina dyed, which brought him much sorrow and affliction, having onely yet this joy and consolation left him, that he had by her in marriage, three proper young Ladyes to his Daughters, named, Iaquinta, Babtistyna and Amarantha, who albeit, he hoped would prove the stayes and comforts of his Age, yet they will futurely afoord him, farre lesse felicity, and more misery then he can expect, or my Readers (as yet) any way conceive or imagine, the which, to approve and verifie, they are by me prayed to understand, and remember, that these two youn∣gest Daughters, Babtistyna, and Amarantha, are wonderfull fayre and beautifull, of a reasonable tall stature, very streight and slender; But Iaquinta, the eldest Daughter is of a browne complexion, short, and Crooke-backd, but shee hath this sleight, that her Taylors art serves to overvayle the defects, and to cover the deficiencie of her Nature; and she her selfe hath the skill to put on fresh tincture and complexion on her face, vices which the puritie and simplicity of former Ages were not ac∣quainted with, or else purposely disdained and hated, although the pride and vanity of these our times doe ambitiously allow and practise them. Againe, Iaquinta is proud and stately, Babtistyna chollericke, sullen, and revengefull, and Amarantha (to the eye and judgement of the world) pleasant and courteous. Have we but a little patience, and we shall shortly see each of these three Sisters, appeare in their true coulers, and in very different wayes to act their severall partes upon the Stage and Theater of this their History.

Streni seeing himselfe a widdower, not so much favoured of God to have any Sonne to enjoy his name and Landes, and all his three Daughters to be now capa∣ble

of marriage; He (as a provident and loving Father) holds it a great poynt of affection and discretion in him now to leave his Mannor house of Cardura neere Pistoia, and to betake himselfe to live and reside in Florence, hoping thereby with lesse difficulty, and farre more advantage, to looke out and provide fit Husbands for his daughters, answerable to their ranke and degree; which disposition and resolution of his pleased them well, and administred them cause of great content and joy, siith it is now growne to a custome, and a habit, that young Ladyes and Gentlewomen doe infinitely desire to live in great Townes and Cities, where they may see, and be seene, and especially in those of Italy, more then in any Country of the World, where the whole Nobilitie and Gentrie make all their aboad and resi∣dence, the which indeed is one of the maine poynts, and essentiall reasons, why their Cities are so rich, populous, and fayre.

Thus we see Streni and his three Daughters by this time come to Florence, and dwel (as I have formerly said) neere the Monastery of the Dominican Fryers, where his wealth, birth, and port, cause him to be visited and frequented of the best and noblest sort of that Citie, and as the time of his residence, so the number of his acquaintance encreaseth, for vertue is capable to purchase friends every where, and his wealth and Daughters beauties like so many powerfull Lures and Adamants draw many young gallant Gentleman to his house to see and serve them; Where although Babtistyna and Amarantha, are beloved and sought in marriage of many, yet their Father is re∣solute to marry their eldest Sister Iaquinta first, wherefore when any noblemen or Gentlemen come to his house, she is to be seene, and courted, but Babtistyna and A∣marantha are mewed and fast locked up in a Chamber. They grieve hereat, but they can neither alter nor remedy this their Fathers resolution, for his word must bee their Oracle, and his will their Law. Now before I proceed farther in the dilati∣on of this History, as I one way commend Streni his resolution to marry his eldest daughter first, so yet in approving his discretion for her preferment, I must never∣thelesse taxe his want of affection, in hindring that of his two youngest daughters; For as it was a courtesie of him to have Iaquinta seene of Suters, so it was a de∣gree of dis-respect, I may say, of cruelty in him to confine Babtistyna and Amaran∣tha as prisoners to their Chambers, when divers of them came purposely and ho∣norably to his house, both to see and seeke them in marriage.

But Iaquinta (armed with her fathers love and authority) growes extremely im∣perious and stately; She triumpheth in conceit to see her selfe preferred of her fa∣ther before her Sisters. Shee sees her two sisters Babtistyna and Amarantha are sued and sought for in marriage by divers Cavalliers, and the very consideration hereof grieves, and the remembrance afflicts her, but withall shee observes, that they dare not disobey, or contradict their fathers command, to affect or speake with any, and therefore the very knowledge and remembrance hereof, againe rejoyceth her. As it is a happinesse for us to purchase friends, so it is a misery to lose them. Her Si∣sters love her, but she loves not them, they are as unworthy of her hatred, as she is of their affection. Nature (indeed) hath given her the prerogative, and priviledge, but yet she should consider, that they are her Sisters, and not her Servants, and that their bloud is hers, and hers theirs. It is an argument both of indiscretion and in∣solencie, for one Brother or Sister to thinke themselves better then another; But many Gentlewomen, who are Sisters, esteeme pride a second beauty, or at least an excellent Grace and Ornament to them, and therefore to preferre and elevate themselves, they care not how they disparage and deiect others. The beauty of Babtistyna and Amarantha is an eye-sore to Iaquinta. The tree of malice never pro∣duceth good fruit. It is still a happy vertue for us to checke and vanquish our

owne vices. She knowes that many Gentlemen love them, but sees and observes with griefe, that none affect her. Her desire to marry is so immodestly licentious and boundlesse, as she could willingly resolve to accept of any Gentleman for her husband, that would be content to take her for his wife: but Incontinencie prooves still a pernicious counsellor to young Ladies and Gentlewomen. Now, as Cantha∣rides flie still to the fayrest flowers; so shee sees (and indeede infinitely bites the lip, and grieves to see) that all Lovers and Sutors flie to one of these her two Si∣sters, and wholly abandon and forsake her selfe: but being a woman, she wants not an invention to apply a present remedy to this her discontent and choller. Shee must have her Sisters beauties and braveries eclipsed, that hers may appeare more bright, and resplend and shine with more lustre and glory: She knowes that Chri∣stall seemes precious when Diamonds are not in place; to which end, shee very passionately, and yet subtilly workes upon the affections of her Father, and obtaines of him, that as her yeares, so her apparell may excell and exceede that of her Si∣sters, the which hee inconsiderately grants her; and this shee receives and con∣ceives to bee a step to her advancement, and an obstacle to theirs. So if they for∣merly grieved to see themselves imprisoned in a chamber, whiles shee to her con∣tent and pleasure rejoyceth both to see, and bee seene of Gentlemen: So now their discontent thereof growes into choller, and their choller into rage, to see this their elder sister Iaquinta not onely to step some degrees beyond them, but likewise many beyond her selfe in her apparell.

It is ever a wise and discreet vertue in Parents to distribute their favours and af∣fections equally to their Children, or if they chance to affect one better then others, at least that they bee so reserved and cautious, as to conceale it secretly to them∣selves, that the rest may neither perceive nor know it. That Streni sought to marry Iaquinta before Babtistyna and Amarantha (as I formerly have sayd) he did well, but yet to make them lose when they might find and gaine a fortune, was withall to be indiscreet, if not unnaturall. Mens fancies and affections in marriage are many times counselled and led by the eye, as the eye is by the heart. Some will prise and af∣fect beauty without vertue, others vertue without beauty; but where both meete and concurre, it doth not onely please, but delight, and so joyntly sympathize to make each other excellent. Many of the best and noblest Cavalliers of Florence love Babtistyna and Amarantha, but not Iaquinta; or if they seeme to court Iaquin∣ta, it is but with a reserved hope and intent to injoy the sight and company of Bab∣tistyna and Amarantha: but as Iealousy and Malice have alwayes foure eyes in stead of two; so it is at least a torment, if not many deaths, to Iaquinta, to see her two Sisters to live and be beloved of all Sutors, and her selfe of none; the which to pre∣vent, and so to stop the progresse of their triumphs, and consequently of her owne discontent and affliction, she (not desirous to have two such starres of beauty to ap∣peare and shine together in the firmament of her Fathers house in Florence) doth so secretly undermine, and so cunningly prevail with him, as her two sisters (when they least dream or think thereof) are by his order and command suddenly sent away by Coach to his Countrey house of Cardura, neere Pistoia (whereof wee have already made mention) notwithstanding all their requests, sighes, and teares to the contra∣ry, and there by his appoyntment to be privately and disconsolately shut up, from any accesse or conversation of any man whatsoever, and under the charge and cu∣stody of an old ill-favoured Beldame (sometimes their Schoolmistris) named Dona Malevola.

Babtistyna and Amarantha, being enforced to banishment from Florence to Cardura, beleeved that it proceeded as well by the pride and malice of their Sister Iaquinta

as by the severitie of their Father; They know not from what Saint to implore aide or assistance, or from what point their Art, or Invention to expect for hope or redresse hereof; But at length (being constrained to make a Vertue of Necessi∣tie) they brooke this their disgrace, with as much patience as they may, no way doubting (much lesse dispayring) but that a little time will worke a great alteration in their Estates and Fortunes; But seeing a moneth past over, and their Keeper Malevola, still more and more bent to restraine them of their liberty, without suffe∣ring them to see or speake with any stranger, or any stranger with them, they at last recollect, and plucke up their spirits to themselves, and so resolve to write a faire Letter to their Father, and a peremptory one to their Sister Iaquinta, to pro∣cure their returne to Florence, which they doe, and send it by one Bernardo a trusty Servant of theirs, That to their Father spake thus.

BABTISTYNA and AMARANTHA to STRENI.

IT is with much astonishment and griefe to us, that you have so sodainely banished us from your presence, and from Florence, to live here rather as Prisoners, then your Daughters, in your Countrey house of Cardura; And having the honour to be so great a part of your selfe, wee doe not a little wonder what our Errours or Crimes should be, that wee must bee enforced to be deprived of that felicitie, and to taste and suffer this misery. If we have beene sought or sued unto by any Noblemen or Gentlemen, it hath beene in the way of marriage, and therefore in that of honour, and yet we have still so strictly tyed our fancies to our Duties, and our affections to our obedience towards you, that in the least degree wee have not swerv'd from your consent, but have done, and doe still inviolably make your Pleasure therein our re∣solution, and your Will and Commands our Law. But wee are confident that although you are the cause, yet that our Sister Iaquinta is the sole Author of this our sorrowfull and im∣merited sequestration; Who (peradventure) in regard that her beautie comes short of ours, that her Malice therefore must not onely exceed the bounds of Reason, but of Nature. And although shee alledge her Priviledge and Prerogative of yeares against us, yet because our blood is as good as hers, and our Hearts and Education no worse, therefore wee humbly be∣seech you to bee so favourable, and kind to us, that in regard her Malice and Pride hath made her our Accuser, and which is worse our Enemy, that you will not make her our Iudge, but that wee may speedily reobtaine the happinesse to returne and live with you in Florence, without which we shall assuredly either live here in Dispaire, or shortly dye in Discontent and Misery: Which request of ours is so just and equall, as you cannot deny it to us either in affection or nature, much lesse in Reason or Pitie. God ever blesse you with happinesse, and make us happy in your blessing.

• BABTISTYNA.
• AMARANTHA.

Their Letter to their Sister Iaquinta depainted these passions.

BABTISTYNA and AMARANTHA to IAQVINTA.

HAving curiously examined our thoughts and actions, wee cannot find the least shaddow of cause, much lesse of Reason, why thou shouldst so sharpely exasperate our Father •…•…ainst us, so suddenly to banish and exile us from Florence to Cardura, neither doe wee •…•…ke it is for that wee are fairer then thy selfe, but that thou art more malicious then us, •…•…ch hath occasioned thee, and thou precipitated him to this sharpe resolution against us.

If thou art desirous of a Husband, let it content thee, that as yet wee no way intendor desire to become Wives to any, and therefore if thou wilt not beleeve us, at least beleeve this truth from us, that thou hast farre more reason to doubt thine owne haste, then any way to suspect or feare ours therein, for whiles thou prayest for a Husband, wee will first make it our Prayers to God, that wee may bee capable and happy to deserve good ones. Wee advise thee therefore in Love, and counsell thee in Affection and Charitie, to consider seriously with thy selfe, that wee are thy Sisters, not thy Servants, much lesse thine Enemies; and in that regard that wee are as unworthy of thy malice, as unwilling and uncapable to digest it, because the priority of thy yeares can no way justly introduce an inequality in our blood; and if thou wilt not inforce us to degenerate from our selves, and consequently from the nature and affection of Sisters, thou shalt doe us great right, and to thy selfe more reason, to cause our Father to recall us home to him, with as much celerity and favour, as he sent us away from him with discourtesie and indignation.

• BAPTISTYNA.
• AMARANTHA.

The Lackey Bernardo arriving to Florence, and having delivered these two Let∣ters to Streni and Iaquinta, they breaking up the seales thereof, perused and read o∣uer their Contents; when he smiling to see the indiscretion of these his two daugh∣ters, attributed this their disobedience towards him, and their discontent towards their sister Iaquinta, rather to ignorance and simplicity, then to malice, and yet hee could not but wonder at this their bold and peremptory Letter sent him: But for Iaquinta, shee was so galled and nettled with her two sisters insolent carriage and Letter towards her, that it exceedingly troubled and perplexed her, but especially, and farre the more, for that shee feared that their Letter to her Father might cause him to grant their returne to Florence, the which to her possible power shee would no way willingly permit or suffer, as desirous to rule and governe her Father alone, and so to raigne sole Lady over his humors and house, without rivalls or competi∣tors: to which end shee goes to him, and in the softest and sweetest termes which either her art, or malice could invent, she extreamely incenseth him against her Si∣sters, alledging to him that their stay in Cardura was necessary, and their disobedient motion for their returne to Florence too insolent and insupportable, and that she ho∣ped with confidence, that he would not permit their malice so unjustly to fall and reflect on her, because she was as innocent as they guilty thereof; and that for any thought and desire of a husband she vowed she had none, but that his will and plea∣sure should in all things be hers, as resolving both to live under his commands, and to dye in his favour and service: Which sugred and treacherous speeches of hers so prevailed and vanquished the credulity of her old Father, yea and so powerful∣ly wrought and trenched upon his affections, that being all in choller against Bab∣tislyna and Amarantha, hee resolves with himselfe to returne them a sharpe answer, and commands Iaquinta to doe the like, the which they both write and send backe to them by Bernardo, who returning to Cardura, hee deliuereth his two young La∣dies and Mistresses these two Letters, and they speedily and privatly retiring them∣selves to a close shaddowed arbour in the Garden, they there with much earnest de∣sire and impatiencie, first breake up that of their Father, wherein contrary to their hopes, but not to their feares, they finde this language.

STRENI to BABTISTYNA and AMARANTHA.

IF it be not purposely to crosse your owne good fortunes, you would not so rashly and perem•…•… torily have attempted to crosse my good intentions and affection towards you, in sendi•…•…

you to Cardura, but would have brooked it with as much patience as I see you doe with dis∣content, and before this act of your disobedience, now reveal'd mee in your Letter, I held you for my Daughters, not for mine enemies, and my house of Cardura to be rather a Pallace then a Prison for you: So if you knew how ill those errours of yours become you, you would rather redeeme them with repentance and teares, then remember them either with the least thought of delight, or conceipt, or sense of joy. Nay thinke with your selves what modesty it was, what wisedome it is, for your greene youth to presume (or to dare presume) to teach my gray age how, or when, to chase you husbands, when God knowes that neither your yeares, nor your discretion, doe as yet make you capable to thinke of husbands; and if you have any judge∣ment remayning in you, then judge with your selves how false and incongruous your reasons are, when in words you pretend to obey my commands, and yet in effects you wilfully oppose and contradict them. And having used me with so small respect, see againe with how much untruth and envy you abuse your sister Iaquinta, who to my knowledge is as innocent of those false aspersions of pride and malice towards you, as your selves are guilty of them towards her, sith shee loves nothing more, and you affect nothing lesse then humility and charity, their contraries; for believe me I finde her to bee your true friend, and your selves to be the grea∣test and onely enemies to your selves; for otherwise you cannot live in the smallest degree of despaire, discontent, or misery, because such is my care of your education and maintenance, that no young Ladies of Tuscanie, and few of Italy, of your ranke and quality, are brought up in more bravery, delight, and honour, the which my indulgencie and affection shall still continue to you, if your disobedience and folly henceforth give mee no farther motive to the contrary: and therefore as you tender my blessing, I charge you to make it your delight and practice to thinke of God, not of Husbands; of your love to your sister Iaquinta, not of her hatred to you; and of your Prayer-bookes, your Lutes, and your Needles, and not of such vaine conceipts, and passions, wherewith you have stuff'd and farced up your Letter to mee; the which, together with the Coppie of this of mine to you, I now inclose and returne to your Governesse Malevola, that she hereafter may be more carefull of your conduction and car∣riage, and that you give more houres to discretion and honour, and lesse to idlenesse and va∣nity, to the end that she seeing her fault in yours, she may thereby the better futurely know how to teach, and you how to learne to reforme them. And so I beseech God who hath made you my Daughters, to blesse, and make you his faithfull servants.

STRENI.

They having thus perused their Fathers Letter, and seene his spleene and passions towards them, they cannot so much accuse him of choller, as they be∣lieve they have reason to condemne their sister Iaquinta of cruelty towards them; wherefore with more speed then affection, and with more haste then charity, they likewise breake up the seales of her Letter, wherein she greets them thus.

IAQVINTA to BABTISTYNA and AMARANTHA.

I Am so farre from incencing, or precipitating our Father against you, as I vow to God, and to you, that his sending of you from Florence to Cardura, was not onely without my consent, but without my knowledge; and for calling in question eyther the thought of your beauties, or of my husbands, you equally wrong me, and the truth therein; for it is that most whereof I trouble my heart and minde least: and therefore my haste to marry comes in∣finitely short of your jealousie and feare; and except it bee out of your pride and malice, of Sisters to become mine enemies herein, I know no cause in Nature, and lesse reason in Grace, why those false suggestions of yours should fall within the compasse of your conceipts, or those

untrue scandalls within the power of your heart and pen, and it is as vaine as ridiculous ei∣ther for your love or counsell ever to thinke to make mee believe or conceive the contrary. As for the priority of my yeares, it shall never make mee esteeme-worse-of you then of my selfe; for my conscience to God, and my actions to the world shall still make it apparent, that although you contemne my friendship, I will yet corroborate and cherish yours, and that there shall want no good will or zeale in mee, that (according to your desires and expe∣ctation) our father doe not speedily recall you from Cardura to Florence, where your pre∣sences shall still bee my happinesse, and your company my content and felicity: And except your deportments and carriage towards me give mee not henceforth just cause to divert mee from this sisterly affection and resolution, I am constantly resolved both to live and dye in the same.

IAQVINTA.

Babtistyna and Amarantha having thus read and considered these two severall Letters of their Father and Sister Iaquinta, they are infinitely incensed and chol∣lericke to see his discourtesie, and her dissimulation and cruelty towards them, in that they must bee inforced to live a solitary countrey life in Cardura, whiles shee triumphs in pride, and flants it out in bravery in Florence; and as they much re∣pine and murmure at his dis-affection, so they infinitely disdaine and complaine of her imperious courses and carriage towards them, adding no beliefe to her Letter, but judging it to be hypocriticall. They pitty the weakenesse of their Fa∣thers judgement, in suffering himselfe to bee so violently transported and carried away by the subtile policie and secret malice of their Sister towards them; where∣in although their duety and obedience doe some way excuse his age, yet their blood and beauty can no way possibly dispense with the pride and malice of her youth, which they hourely see confirmed and made apparent in the unaccustomed strict and hard usage of their Governesse Malevola towards them, which with her best endeavours and ambition sought as well to captivate their mindes as their persons, by making her selfe to be as much their Goaler as their Governesse; but they vow to requite her unkindenesse, and to revenge their Sister Iaquinta's cruel∣ty towards them: They see her deformity in their beauty, her malice in their love, and her pride in their humility; so they alter the course of their naturall affe∣ction, and now decline, in stead of increasing, in sisterly love and charity towards this their Sister. To goe retrograde in vertue, is to goe forwards in vice; for as it is the marke, so it is the duety of Christians to render good for evill, but not e∣vill for good: yea, all contrary examples and Axiomes are ill taught, and worse practised, and it is to bee feared, that the end thereof will produce at least sor∣row, if not misery and destruction.

But Baptistyna and Amarantha are too young and wilfull to make good use of their Sister Iaquinta's bad affection, and malicious carriage towards them; for else, had they had as much wit as beauty, or as much affection as malice, they would then flie that which they follow, and detest this bloudy designe and resolution of theirs, which they now intend to imbrace and put in practice. They are weary of their Sisters hard usage of them, they cannot digest her imperiousnesse and pride, and (in all outward semblance and apparance) if they stay from marriage till she be married, they may all dye Mayds, and as our English adage goes, Whi•…•… Apes in hell for company. They preferre their beauty before hers, as much as she•…•… doth her age before theirs, and deeming it impossible for them to have husband•…•…

ere shee bee a wife, they thereupon abandon all reason and religion, and so at one time beginne both to desire and to plot her death; and of these two wretched Sisters Babtistyna is the most forwards in this their intended deplorable busi∣nesse; for she is so weake with God, and Sathan so strong with her, that she sayes often to her selfe, shee can reape no content in this world, before her Sister Iaquin∣ta see another. It were better for us not to foresee a sinne, then seeing it, not to prevent, but perpetrate it. To which end, shee purposely lets fall some words to her Sister Amarantha, tending, and bending that way; but Amarantha is too curteous to be so cruell, and too religious to bee so outragious and diabolicall to a∣ny, especially to her Sister: had shee lived in the piety, and persevered in the inte∣grity of this opinion and conscience, peradventure her dayes had seene: better fortunes, and her end beene freed from so much misery. It is not enough for us to bee vertuous and godly, except wee religiously and faithfully continue therein; for constancie in all good and pious actions, makes men and women excel∣lent, and of being wholly mortall, to become (in a manner) partly divine: But (to report truth in her naked colours) Amarantha is too weake to resist her Si∣ster Babtistyna's strong temptations and perswasions. It is an excellent vertue and happinesse in us, to have our eares still open to good counsell, and shut to that which is evill and pernicious: but Amarantha hoping and desiring to gaine a good Husband, makes her in a small time consent to the losse of a bad Sister; and now shee is therefore fully resolved to joyne with Baptistyna, to make Iaquinta away, Good God, what cruelty, rage, and barbarisme is it for two Sisters to resolve to murther their third! But this is not all; for we shall see more bloud spilt upon the Theater of this History, before we see the Catastrophe thereof. These two un∣naturall young Gentlewomen having thus swapt a bargaine with the Devill to dispatch their Sister Iaquinta, they now consult on the manner thereof, whether or no, they should performe it, with Ponyard, or Poyson; but at last they agree up∣on Poyson, but disagree which of them shall administer it to her, and if there were anysparke of grace remaining in either of these two bloudy minded Sisters, it was in Amarantha; for she cannot finde in her heart or conscience to doe it, and yet she is so gracelesse and impious, as shee freely gives way to the performance of this bloudy fact; so in the end, they fall upon this ungodly resolution, that Lots must decide it: thus the Devill holds, and they as his infernall factors and agents, draw them, and it falls to Babtistyna to doe it. But here ere they proceede farther in the progresse of this lamentable businesse, and how to execute it, they are now as∣sayld with a doubt and difficulty of no meane importance; for as they hold it requisite for them to performe this Murther in Florence, so they know not how to escape from their watchfull Governesse Malevola from Cardura: but they are Women, and therefore they will bee industrious in their malice; they are La∣dies, and therefore they will bee swift and subtile in their revenge; for ha∣ving gold (though not their liberty at their command) they resolve that the first shall speedily procure the second: To which end, they, by their servant Ber∣nardo, secretly hire a Coach for foure Duckatons, the next night to carry them a∣way very closely and privately from Cardura to Florence, and with so many more to corrupt the Gardiner to give him the Key of the Garden Posterne gate; both which (with much care, fidelity, and silence) hee effecteth, being himselfe onely by them appoynted to attend, and commanded to accompany them in this their •…•…ourney.

These two revengeful Sisters having thus given order for their escape, and secret∣•…•…y packed up such things as they held necessary to carry with them, as soon as their

Governesse Malevola was in bed and fast asleepe, who was as innocent as they were guilty of this their clandestine departure, in comes Bernardo about midnight to their chamber doore, to which giving a soft knocke, they presently descend the stayres with him to the Garden, and from thence to the Coach, wherein sea∣ting themselves, they leave Cardura, and so with great speed drive away for Flo∣rence, where they arrive to their Fathers house, betwixt nine or ten of the clocke the next morning, hee much wondring, and their sister Iaquinta extreamely per∣plexed and grieved at this their suddaine and unexpected arrivall, they cast them∣selves at their Fathers feete, and crave his blessing and excuse, but hee receives them with more anger then joy, and so gives them frownes and checks in stead of Kisses: He heares their reasons of their unlook'd for departure from Cardura, which hee rejects both with contempt and choller, sharpely reproves their disobedience, and voweth speedily to returne them; they answer him, that his presence is the sole felicity and glory of their life, and that they had rather dye with him in Flo∣rence, then live without him in Cardura. As for their Sister Iaquinta, shee dissem∣bles her love to them, as they doe their malice to her; for whiles shee secretly wisheth them out of Florence, so (in counterchange) do they as silently wish & desire her in heaven: but after a day or two was past over, then their hypocrisie and dissi∣mulation was such each to other, as (to the eye of the world) it seemed they could not be better friends, nor dearer or kinder Sisters, then now they were; so artifi∣cially could all of them overvaile their malice, and so cunningly could they con∣ceale their different intentions, thereby the better to compose their countenances and speeches. But when Iaquinta againe perceives that the Gallants of Florence doe afresh repayre and flocke to her Fathers house, purposely to neglect her, and to admire and adore the excellent beauties of these her two younger Sisters, then her old jealousie revives, and inflame her new malice towards them; so as with all her power and art, shee againe secretly tampers with her Father, either to returne them againe to Cardura, or to contract and espouse them to a Nunnery, that shee might thereby triumph alone at her pleasure, and being then sole heire to all his lands and estate, might wed her self to the greater fortune, and nobler Husband; and she wanted neither sighes nor teares to draw him to this her earnest desire and re∣solution.

This is not so secretly borne betwixt their Father and Sister Iaquinta, but Babtistyna and Amarantha have present and pregnant notice heereof, the which strongly and fully to prevent, they (now incouraged and animated by the Devill) resolve to reduce, and draw their bloudy contemplation into action, and so (with more hast then good speed) to dispatch their Sister for heaven, because they loved Florence, disdayned Cardura, and above all (from their hearts and soules) infinite∣ly detested to spend and end their dayes in a Nunnery; when neither having the feare of God in their hearts, nor his justice or judgements before their eyes, Ama∣rantha buies the poyson, and Babtistyna administreth it to their Sister Iaquinta, in a Lemmon posset, which they observed she often used to drinke the Summer time, so that some ten dayes after she dyed hereof, when none but God, besides them, was witnesse of this their unnaturall and bloudy businesse: So they rejoice as much as their father grieves and sorrowes hereat, and now they are alone, and domineere at their pleasures in their Fathers house at Florence, without rivalls o•…•… competitors: But God is as just as they are sinfull, and therefore they shall reap•…•… but poore and miserable fruits of this their bloudy victorie. For within lesse the•…•… sixe weeks after the deplorable death of Iaquinta, a sudden languishing sicknes ore∣takes and surpriseth Babtistyna, so as the white tincture of her face lookes yellow,

and the fresh roses and lillies of her beauty did exceedingly fade, and wither of the Iaundies: A sicknesse, which I thinke God sent her purposely to punish her for that execrable crime of hers in poysoning her Sister. But the beauty of Bab∣tistyna cannot be so much eclipsed or deformed, as that of Amarantha daily growes more deliciously sweet, and sweetly delicious and amiable; so as all those No∣bles and Gallants of Florence and Tuscanie, who come to seeke Streni his Daugh∣ters in marriage, doe infinitely preferre Amarantha before Babtistyna, and passio∣nately desire the first, as much as they now sleight and neglect the second: Bab∣tistyna is not ignorant hereof, but sees it with griefe, observes it with sorrow, and remembers it with choller and indignation; and yet she seekes and strives to con∣ceale it from her Father, and to dissemble it to her Sister Amarantha. She in this wane of her beauty and joy, beginnes now to participate of her dead sister Ia∣quinta's living humours and conditions; she is now become the eldest Sister, and therefore will not permit or suffer her younger to bee her mate, or equall, much lesse her superiour; and although her Sicknesse hath depriv'd her of a great part of her beauty, yet it hath no way diminished, but rather increased and augmen∣ted her desire to marry, shee envies the sight and fame of her Sister Amarantha's beauty, as much as shee lamenteth the decayes, and pittyeth the ruines of her owne; and both grieves and scornes to see so many Gallants court and seeke her in marriage, and none her selfe: Now as pride and malice (for the most part) are in separable companions, so her discontent hereof hath made her so devillish∣ly malicious, as shee secretly vowes to her selfe, that shee could almost finde in her heart to make Amarantha as well a companion of Iaquinta's fortune, as of her bloud: but God then presenting her first Murther to her eyes and remembrance, the devil was not then enough prevalent or powerful with her, to draw her to con∣ceive or commit a second. Thus not being willing to adde murther to murther, and so to gallop in stead of pacing to hell and destruction, she neverthelesse deter∣minately resolves to emulate and imitate the actions of her dead Sister Iaquinta, to∣wards her living one Amarantha; and yet so to wreake her malice and revenge on her, as closely to insinuate, and under hand surreptiously to prevaile with her Fa∣ther, that shee bee speedily eclipsed, and againe sent away to Cardura, under the guard and custody of Malevola, the which shee effectually and briefely obtayneth of him; so our young and faire Amarantha (though infinitely against her will) is now inforced to leave Florence, and suddainely (when shee least thought or dreamt thereof) is againe confined and banished to Cardura, notwithstanding all her sighes, teares, and prayers to her Father to the contrary.

Amarantha (with much sorrow and more indignation) being arrived to Cardura, she is not a little perplexed and grieved therat, but rather exceedingly discontented with her Father, and infinitely incensed against her Sister Babtistyna for the same, as well knowing that it wholly proceeded from her meere pride and malice to∣wards her; the which she now doth not conceale, but make apparant to her old Bel∣dame Governesse Malevola, both in her lookes, speeches, and actions. She won∣dreth that her Sister is so inconsiderate of her selfe, and so imperious and bitter towards her; and how it is possible for her so soone to forget either their joynt crime, or their severall danger for their so inhumanely and cruelly poysoning their elder Sister Iaquinta; the consideration and remembrance whereof is of so sharpe and bitter digestion to her, as her thoughts vow to her heart, and her heart sweares to the Devill, that she neither can nor will long indure it; yea, the time seemes so irkesome to her, and her stay in Cardura so infinitely long and tedious, as if houres were yeares, and dayes ages, that shee often thought to steale away

from thence to Florence, either on foot or horse-backe, and so to have put her∣selfe into some disguised apparell, that none should know thereof before she came to her Fathers house and presence: but at last considering, that her reputation and fortune might suffer much in this action, she holds it not amisse, rather conve∣nient, first to write to her Father and Sister, to see if her Letters may prevaile with them for her returne; the which she doth, and sends them to them to Flo∣rence, by her old trusty servant Bernardo. Her Letter to her Father bewrayed these passions:

AMARANTHA to STRENI.

MY obedience hath not deserved so much contempt and hatred, as that (without cause or reason) you should thus againe banish me from Florence to Cardura; and with how much griefe and sorrow I digest it, I can better relate with discontent, then conceale with pattence: How deare your sight and presence was, and ever shall be to me, if you will not know, and withall remember, God doth; for my soule appeales unto him, and my heart to Heaven, that I made it the chiefest life of my joy, and the sweetest joy of my life; So as if you are not the cause, I am sure my Sister Babtistyna is of this (undeserved) cruelty to∣wards me, who out of her pride, ambition, and malice, strives to bee as unnaturally imperious to mee, as my deceased Sister Iaquinta was both to her selfe and mee. The remedy here∣of is every way worthy of you, as you are my Father, and of my selfe, as God and Nature have made mee your Daughter; for if you will not permit mee to respire and breath the ayre of Florence, I will shortly hazard my life to injoy that of heaven: for already this my inforced exile hath brought mee to extreame discontent, and that almost to utter despaire.

AMARANTHA.

Her Letter to her Sister Babtistyna carryed this Message:

AMARANTHA to BABTISTYNA.

COuldst thou not bee contented to live happy in Florence, but that thou must needes constraine our Father to make mee live miserable here in Cardura? Is our Sister Ia∣quinta's blood already colde, or is the memory as well as the manner and cause of her death already of thee forgotten, and so raked up in the dust of her Grave? Iudge with thy selfe (if thou art not wholly as devoyde of judgement, as of affection and charity) what a palpable, yea what a grosse and sottish vice it is in thee, heereby to make thy selfe both guilty of her pride, and Heire apparant to her malice. I remember those ingratefull crimes and vices of hers towards us with pitty, and I pitty these of thy selfe to mee with admira∣tion, in that thou wilt not suffer mee to live at the curtesie of thy tongue, when thou well knowest that thy life stands at the mercie of mine; Not that I am eyther so malicious to thee, or so uncharitable or undiscreet to my selfe, to wish thee any disaster or danger to the prejudice of mine owne happinesse, and safety; for I desire all peace, affection, and atone∣ment betwixt us: the which if thou wilt graunt mee, by causing our Father speedily to re∣call mee home to Florence, hee shall then see, and thou assuredly finde, that I will bee as much thy Handmayd as thy Sister, and that I will farre sooner both hope and pray for a good Husband for thee, then for my selfe: but if thou denye mee this curtesie, then blame

not me, but thy selfe, if the event and issue of this thy cruelty come too short of thy hopes, and so (peradventure) flie a pitch farre beyond thy expectation.

AMARANTHA.

Bernardo being thus charged by his Lady Amarantha, for the safe and speedy delivery of these her two Letters, as also to procure her Fathers and Sisters An∣swers to them, hee rides away to Florence, where hee is no sooner arrived at Stre∣ni his house, but meeting with the young Lady Babtistyna, and thinking to deli∣ver her Letter (whether it were out of ha•…•…te, or misfortune, or both) hee delivers her her Fathers Letter, in stead of her owne, the which shee well observing, shee hastily and purposely breakes up the seales thereof, and silently reades it to her selfe; whereat growing first red with choller, and then againe pale with envie, shee foldes it up, and committing it to her pocket, turnes to Bernardo, and de∣mands him for her Sister Amarantha's Letter to her selfe; for (quoth shee) that which I have already read and perused, is hers to my Father; when Bernardo (as much amazed at his errour, as afflicted at his foolish simplicity) reading the direction of the second Letter, and finding her speeches and his mistaking true, hee then gives her her owne Letter, and desires backe the other for her Father, as also both their answers thereunto, for his Lady and Mistresse Amarantha; where∣unto, when shee had perused her owne Letter, shee (with disdaine in her lookes, and malice in her eyes) teares her Fathers Letter before Bernardo's face, and then returnes him this bitter answer; Tell that proud Girle thy Mistresse from me, that it is my Fathers pleasure and mine, that she shall stay in Cardura, and not see Florence, till she receive other order from us; and for any further answer, either from our Father, or my self, it is both a vanity and a folly for her to expect: And so (in much choller and indignati∣on) shee flies from him, and violently throwes fast the doore against him. Ber∣nardo, not expecting such sharp and cold entertainement, and seeing it now wholly impossible for him to have any accesse to Streni, or answer from Babtistyna, hee leaves Florence, and speedily returnes to Cardura to his Lady Amarantha, to whom hee punctually and fully relates the bitter reply, and sharpe and proud answere which her Sister Babtistyna had given and sent her, and leaveth not a syllable un∣rehearsed, but onely silenceth his mistaking, in giving of her her Fathers Letter in stead of her owne, as right now we understood.

Amarantha is all inflamed with choller at this proud and cruell carriage of her Sister Babtistyna towards her, yea the remembrance thereof, so transporteth her thoughts with envie, and her heart with revenge against her, that shee vowes shee neither can, nor will brooke it at her hands; and heere, not hearkening either to Reason, or Religion, or to her Conscience, or Soule, shee now violently se∣duced, and exasperated by the Devill, doth afresh revive her old malice, and re∣sumes her former pernicious resolutions to her Sister Babtistyna: Shee hath nei∣ther the wit, much lesse the grace, to consider, That Choller increaseth her own torment and misery, and that if wee vanquish not our owne malice and revenge, it is more to bee feared then doubted, that it will in the end both vanquish and ruine us. Shee hath formerly con•…•…ented to poyson her eldest Sister Iaquinta, and now she likewise vowes, that shee will cause her elder Sister Babtistyna either to bee poyson'd or pistoll'd to death; but which of these to make choice of, as yet shee is irresolute, and upon this bloudy businesse her thoughts runne incessantly to her heart, as so many lines to their centre. O that so young a Lady, and so sweete a beauty should make her selfe accessary and guilty of so foule

and inhumane crimes: but this I may write to her shame, and the Reader may please to observe it to his comfort, and retaine it to his instruction; That had she had the grace to have beene formerly sorrowfull and repentant for her first Mur∣ther, she had then never proceeded so farre, as to have made het selfe guilty of con∣triving and resolving a second.

Babtistyna hath a Chamber-mayd named Pierya, of some twenty foure yeares old, who was farre more faire then rich, as being heire to much beauty, though to no lands, or estate; and having hereto fore for some trivial respects somtimes incur∣red the anger and displeasure of her Lady, and for the same received many a sharp word, and bitter blow from her, as being a freer Gentlewoman of her hands, then of her purse; Shee now accidentally chancing to breake a faire rich Loo∣king-glasse of hers, her Lady doth not onely exceedingly beat her, but also with∣out pitty or humanity drawes and drags her by the haire about her Chamber, and then againe and againe kickes her with her foot. Pierya's heart is not so ill lodged, nor her extraction and quality so contemptible, but that shee is very sensible of this her disgrace, as holding her fault farre inferiour to her correction, and there∣fore disdaining any longer to serve so cruell a Mistresse, she very privately packes up her apparell, leaves Florence, and flies to Cardura, forsakes Babtistyna, and so resolves henceforth to live and dye with her younger Sister Amarantha: But as there are many of both these places, who report that it was onely her hatred to Babtistyna, and her affection to Amarantha, which drew her to this resolution; yet there are diverse others both of Florence, Cardura, and Pistoia, who (better acquainted with Pierya, and her secrets) have solidly affirmed to mee, that it was wholly her affection to Bernardo, which was the truest reason, and strongest motive thereof, and the event and issue of this History, will confute the first, to confirme this second opinion of these her deliberations and resolutions; for, for the terme of at least three or foure yeares heretofore, Pierya was knowne to be passionately in love with Bernardo, and shee had imployed many friends towards him, to per∣swade and draw him to marry her; but hee was still as averse, as shee forward in this sute: For although hee were inamoured of her beauty, and loved her tall and slender personage, yet hee hated her poverty, and (because of some small lands and meanes hee had) as hee thought himselfe too good to bee her husband, so she in regard of her beauty, youth, and chastity, both highly and infinitely dis∣dayned to bee his strumpet; and indeed the passage, and processe of these their affections was not from time to time unknowne to Amarantha. Pierya is as wel∣come to Amarantha, as Babtistyna is sorrowfull for her departure, and the youngest Sister now entertaynes her with as much courtesie, as the eldest formerly retayned her with cruelty; as for Bernardo, hee inwardly delights, though outwardly will not seeme to rejoyce in her company, and so gives her his eyes, though not his heart; and for Pierya, her carriage was so modest, and yet withall so respective to him, as if shee indeavoured to make it her chiefest ambition and glory, that her vertues and chastity should make as true and as perfect a conquest of his heart, as her beauty had of his eyes: as for Babtistyna (her quondam Lady) she is now angry with her selfe, as soone as shee knew of her departure from her; but when shee understands that Pierya is fled to Cardura, and lives with her discontented Si∣ster Amarantha, then (under hand) shee makes strong meanes to her to returne againe to her service, intimating to her that shee is ready to redeeme her former discourtesie towards her, both with acknowledgement and requitall. But these her hopes will deceive her, for she will finde that errors are not so soone repayred as committed, and that her want of kindenesse to her Chamber-mayd Pierya may

in the end (perchance) prove cruelty to her selfe. Pierya is deafe to all these her •…•…equests, and indeavours rather to tye her selfe to Amarantha's new affection, then •…•…o Babtistyna's old unkindnesse, as preferring the courtesie of the first to the choller and indignation of the second. On the other side, Amarantha is glad of this re∣solution of her new Mayd Pierya; for the Devill being still at her elbow, he con∣tinually sets fire to her malice, and (as an infernall incendiary) perpetually blowes the coles to her revenge against her Sister Babtistyna; yea, and now he so captivateth her soule, and extinguisheth her devotion and zeale towards heaven, that (I write it with pitty and sorrow, and not with passion, but compassion) shee had neither the power to pray, nor the happinesse or grace, either to frequent the Church for Gods sake, or to desire Gods presence and assistance for her owne: No, no; Such thoughts of piety were farre from her prophane thoughts and minde: for as her best blood, so her best zeale was now corrupted and polluted with revenge to∣wards her Sister. And here, as a wretched Lady and a bloudy Sister, shee doth yet farre worse; for (by the Devills suggestion) shee assumes this horrible reso∣lution, not onely to ingage and hazard her selfe, but others therein, as if shee tooke a pride, and conceived a glory, not to shipwracke her selfe alone, but to confound and cast away others with her for company in this prodigious and la∣mentable businesse of hers. The manner is thus:

Shee knowes, that by reason of her strict exile in Cardura, she must needes im∣ploy some factors and agents, either to poyson or murther this her Sister Babtistyna in Florence; and therefore shee thinkes none so fit and proper to attempt and per∣forme it, as her old trusty servant Bernardo, and her new mayd Pierya his sweet-heart, whom (by degrees) shee purposely drawes and obligeth to her by gifts and promises; and her reason for this conceipt and opinion of hers, that they will concurre with her in this bloudy fact, is derived from this foundation and ground, that Love and Money may easily act wonders in the hearts and mindes of those, who desire the one, and want the other; as also, for that shee perfectly knowes, that for many yeares Pierya hath deepely loved Bernardo, and deerely desired and wished him for her husband, and that hee hath ever affected her, but onely disli∣ked her poverty: Wherfore believing that she would doe much for the obtayning of this husband, and he for preferment and gold, she is resolute in making this her bloudy proposition to them; when not caring any more to write to her Father, shee is now as hasty as bloudy in her malice and revenge towards her Sister; and so impatient of delay (and without any further consideration with her selfe, or consultation either with her soule, or with God) shee taking time at advantage, first breakes with Pierya about this bloudy businesse, adding withall, that her de∣sire and resolution is to have her Sister Babtistyna stifled in her bed; for now the Devill hath cast off her resolutions from poyson or ponyard; to which effect, shee promiseth to gaine her Bernardo to her husband, and to give them where∣withall to maintayne themselves well being marryed, if shee will consent with him to undertake and performe her request: which profers and promises of her Lady doe sound so sweetly in poore Pierya's •…•…ares, and worke so deepe an impres∣sion in her heart, especially that shee shall hereby injoy Bernardo for her husband, whom shee loves farre dearer then her owne life, that being wholly vanquished with the consideration thereof, as also inchanted with the sweet melody of her Ladies sugred perswasions, shee (without any feare or thought of God, as an in∣considerate and gracelesse Mayden) yieldes to her ungodly and inhumane re∣quests; who then swearing her to secrecie, shee within a day or two after like∣wise boardeth her servant Bernardo upon this bloudy businesse, the which if hee

will performe for her, and take Pierya to his wife, shee faithfully promiseth to give him 150 Duccatons of yearly Annuity, during his life, and to remayne their true and constant friend for ever. At first Bernardo wondereth and staggereth at the hearing of this cruell and lamentable project, as amazed and astonished thereat, as if hee were now so good a Christian, that Grace triumphed above Na•…•…ure in his heart, and God above Satan in his soule; but at last being deeply inamoured of Pierya's delicate youth and beauty, which he likes well, and of this yearly summe of gold for their maintenance in marriage, which hee loves dearely, hee (for∣getting himselfe, and which is worse God) without any further rubbes or rumi∣nation, gives his Lady Amarantha his free consent and promise to performe both her requests, as well of the Murther as Marriage. Whereupon shee carries him to her Closet, and there calls for Pierya and acquaints her with her and Bernardo's conclusion; So in her presence they (by j•…•…yning of hands) contract themselves each to other; and then they all three doe severally and joyntly swea•…•…e secrecie, as also punctually to accomplish this which they have concluded: When this wretched and execrable Amarantha (the faster and stronger to tye them to her desires and their promises) opens a Ca•…•…ket of hers, and gives each of them fifty Duckatons in gold, as a pledge and earnest penny of her love to them; and then faithfully promiseth to reward them with so much more, as soone as they have sent her Sister Babtistyna to heaven; when Bernardo and Pierya (to testifie their thankefulnesse to her) doe both vow and sweare, that herein (as in all things else) her will shall bee their law, and that both their best services and best l•…•…ves shall for ever bee prostrate to her commands. But they shall •…•…epent the taking, and Amarantha the giving of them this gold, because it is the price and hire of in∣nocent bloud.

This lamentable (because sinfull) compact, being thus secretly shut up, and im∣piously concluded betweene these three wretched personages, then Bernardo and Pierya fall so close and thicke to their amorous kisses, as being desirous to become one in body, as already they are in heart and minde, they request their Lady Amarantha, that shee would please to permit them to finish and consummate their marriage, before they perpetrate the murther of her Sister Babtistyna; but shee (who was clearer sighted in her malice and revenge to her said Sister, then they in their judgements and affections to themselves) considering that this seale of their marriage was the great tye, and Gordian knot for them to performe and finish her desire, the which if it were once solemnized, then their devo•…•…ion and zeale there∣unto might (peradventure) afterwards, either grow cold, or freeze, if not shortly wither and dye away upon the designe, shee strongly opposes and contradicts it, as affirming they shall first dispatch her sister before they marry; the which Ber∣nardo well observing and considering, hee thinkes it no folly in him to learne by her, and so to make her discretion his: and therefore that this Murther beeing once committed, shee might after at her pleasure revoke her verball Annuity gi∣ven him; the which to prevent (and so to bee as wise in his covetousnesse, as she was cruell and bloudy in her bounty) he tells his Lady Amarantha, that accor∣ding to her desire he will willingly deferre his marriage till then, but withall, hum∣bly requesteth her to give him her promised Annuity written, and signed with her owne hand; the which because shee cannot well refuse, shee then and there doth in these tearmes:

IN consideration, that my servant Bernardo doe espouse, and take to his wife my Cham∣ber-mayd Pierya, I doe promise, that (after the consummation thereof) upon my fidelity

and honour, I will yearely give and pay unto the said Bernardo, or his Assignes, during all the tearme of his life, the full and intire summe of one hundred and fifty Duckatons of Flo∣rence Money, and in witnesse and testimony of this truth, I hereunto subsigne my name.

AMARANTHA.

A promise and contract written with more bloud then inke, or rather not with inke, but wholly with bloud, and which therefore God, in his divine providence, may hereafter produce, and bring to light, to serve as a powerfull witnesse, and Instrument of his glory, and peradventure to the infamy and confusion of those who gave and received it.

Amarantha having thus given this promise to Bernardo, and likewise received his, and his intended wifes Pierya's oaths in counterchange, she now thinkes with her selfe, that she must againe returne Pierya to Florence, and by some slie hypocri∣sie, to reinvest and skrew her anew into her old Lady Babtistyna's service, thereby to be the more able and fit to dispatch her. Now, as she is maliciously rumina∣ting on this invention, there falls out an accident, which seemes both to favour her hopes, and to further her desires and expectation herein; For by this time, Babtistyna writes over to Malevola, to deale secretly and seriously with Pierya for her returne to Florence to her service, and that shee shall finde her welcome to ex∣ceed her expectation and desires: So the truth is apparant, that Pierya (instructed by the Premises) now needs not many great perswasions from Malevola, to draw her to consent to this resolution; for as she and her Bernardo receive the first motion of this (unexpected) newes with joy, so Amarantha imbraceth and entertaines it with de∣light; and now their last consultation is held between them, about the conclusion and finishing of this mournefull businesse. To which end, Pierya is dispatched for Florence, and the fifteenth day after, Bernardo is likewise secretly and precisely to arrive there to her by night, and then is, the direct appoynted time for them to close and shut up this Tragedy. Wee must now allow and conceive Pierya to be againe entertayned of her old Lady Babtistyna in Florence, with much courtesie and joy; and for the seale and cyment of this their reciprocall reconciliation, her La∣dy gives her a new blacke wrought Silke Gowne, and a purple Damaske Petti∣coat, the which (as a treacherous dissembling wretch) she seemes to receive of her with much content and thankefulnesse, the which yet wee shall shortly see her re∣quite with a most inhumane and prodigious ingratitude; for her desire of marri∣age, and longing for a husband makes her thinke every houre ten, before the fif∣teenth day bee arrived. And for her late Lady Amarantha (who sees by no o∣ther eyes but by those of malice and revenge towards her Sister) shee thinkes eve∣ry day an age, before shee heare of her dispatch. At the expiration of which time (according to their former agreement) Bernardo arrived by night at Streni's house in Florence, and at one of the Clocke after midnight hee findes the little Garden doore open, and his Pierya there purposely to receive and welcome him; so they beginne their meeting with kisses. Shee leades him by the hand to the outer doore of her Ladies chamber, and they two having agreed on the manner how to stifle her in her bed, shee had there to that purpose provided two pillowes, keepes one and gives him another to effect it: These miserable wretches (for the more secrecie) put off their shooes, and out the candles, and the darknesse of the Moone, and the obscurity of the night seeming to conspire to their conspiracie, they softly enter her chamber, goe one by one side, and the other by the other, where unfortunat Babtistyna lying soundly sleeping and snoring, they stifle her with their Pillowes, and then a little whiles after thrust a handkercher into her mouth, and their fury and malice was so fierce and implacable towards her, as shee hath neither the grace to speake, nor the power once to screech or crye. Thus she who

had formerly poysoned her elder Sister Iaquinta, is now also cruelly murthered by the treachery of her youngest Amarantha, which makes me crie out and say, O Lord, as thou art immense in thy mercie, so thou art inscrutable in thy judgements, and that ther∣fore, as wee ought not, so we cannot resist his divine power and eternall preordination.

Bernardo and Pierya (as two limbes of the Devill) having finished this cruell murther on Babtistyna, they leave her breathlesse body on her b•…•…d, and then with∣drawing themselves from her Chamber, they softly pull fast the doore, which had a Spring locke, and then shee secretly throwes in the key within side, at a pri∣vate hole, or crannie; when her Sweet-heart and her selfe descend the stay•…•…es, and with wonderfull silence stalke away to the Garden, without the Posterne doore whereof, his horse, tyed up to an Iron ring in the wall, awayted, and atten∣ded him; where with a multitude of kisses they part, he faithfully promising her to returne to her againe at Florence within a moneth after at most, and then to marry her: So whiles Pierya now (in the depth and dead of this dismall night) betakes her selfe to her bed, and there (as devoyd of feare as of grace) sleepes soundly, her sweet-heart Bernardo, that very obscure night, gallops thorow the streers of Flo∣rence towards the gate which leads to Pistoia, where God (in all seeing providence) causeth his horse to stumble, and fall with him to the ground, whereof hee brake his necke, and presently dyed, and his horse then rising flyes from him stragling∣ly in the streets, leaving the breathlesse corps of Bernardo in the street, having not the happines either to crie or utter one word at this his sudden & disastrous death; God having so ordain'd and decreed in his Star-chamber of heaven, that although for the murthering of the Lady Babtistyna he deserved a more shamefull end, yet that this poore horse which brought him to Florence, should at the same time and place be his executioner, as also that there was scarce one houre between his crime and his punishment, between her murther and his own death: An act and example of Gods justice, worthy of all men to know, and of all Christians most especially to remember, so secret and sacred are the judgements of the Lord of Hosts. All that night Bernardo's dead body lay gored in his blood (which abundantly issued forth his mouth) as also in the dirt of the street, unespyed of any mortall eye; but as soone as the morning began to appeare thorow the windowes of heaven, then it was found, and likewise to bee done by the fall of a horse, whereof his necke the beholders saw was broken, the which the sooner they were induced and led to believe, because they likewise found a horse neere him stragling in the streets without his rider: This his dead body is therefore presently exposed to the Criminall Iudges of that faire and famous City, who forthwith cause his Pockets to be searched, where in stead of gold they by the direction of God find the before nominated promise of a yearly Annuity, which we have formerly un∣derstood Amarantha gave him: Whereupon, they knowing the Lady Amarantha to be Seig. Leonardo Streni's daughter, & by this note confidently believing this dead man to be the same Bernardo, and he to be Amarantha's servant, they (without once suspecting or dreaming of any murther committed by him) hold it a part of their office and duety to acquaint Streni herewith. But the newes of this dead found Corps ratling thorow the streets of the City, it devanceth this care of theirs, and so speedily arrives to Streni's house before them; whereat Pierya (looking for no∣thing lesse) takes so hot an allarum of griefe, feare, and despaire, that her guilty thoughts and conscience (like so many Blood-hounds) still pursuing her, she see∣ing this unlookt for disaster and death of her Bernardo to bee an act of God, and a blow from heaven, which infallibly predicted both her danger and death; she therefore presently flies out a doore, and (with much celerity, and more feare) betakes her selfe to the least frequented and most remotest streets of the City for

her safety. By this time the Criminall officers are arrived at Streni's house, whom they acquaint with this mournefull accident, shew him this assurance of Annui∣ty, and inquire of him if it bee the Lady Amarantha his Daughters hand, as also the dead Corps, and if this were her servant, who (with a countenance compo∣sed of astonishment, feare, and sorrow) acknowledgeth to them, that it is his Daughter Amarantha's owne hand writing, and the dead personage to bee her Ser∣vingman Bernardo: Whereupon they confidently believe, and hee sorrowfully feares, that this death of his, and that assurance of hers, doth either import or include some greater disaster and misfortune; whereupon, they againe modestly, yet juridically, demand of him for his Daughter Amarantha, and her Chamber∣mayd Pierya, who returnes them this answer, that the first is at his Mannor of Car∣dura neere Pistoia, and the second here in his house, and now serving his eldest Daughter Babtistyna; they demand to speake with Pierya, whom hee causeth to bee sought in all places of his house, but shee is not to bee found; so hee sends to looke her in his Daughters chamber, her Mistresse, but his servants returne and report that the doore of that Chamber is fast lock'd, and that they can get no speech either of her, or of the Lady Babtistyna; which answer of theirs doth exceedingly augment the jealousie of the Iudges, and the feare of the Father: So 〈◊〉〈◊〉 all resolve to ascend themselves to that Chamber, where they aloud againe calling both the Lady and her Mayd, and hearing no answer of either of them, they instantly cause the doore to bee forced open; where (contrary to their ex∣pectation) they finde the Lady Babtistyna dead, and well neere cold in her bed, and causing her body to bee secretly searched by some Chirurgians, and neighbor Gentlewomen, they all are of opinion, that shee is undoubtedly stifled in her bed, and her face very much blacke and swolne with struggling for life against death. They are amazed, and her Father Streni almost drowned in his sorrowfull teares at the fight of this deplorable accident, and mournefull spectacle; and therefore what to say, or how to beare himselfe herein hee knowes not.

But the Iudges upon farther knowledge and consideration of the flight of Pierya, the death of Bernardo, and the promised Annuity of Amarantha upon their marriage (as it were prompted by God) doe vehemently suspect and believe that they all three were undoubtedly consenting & guilty of Babtistyna's death, notwithstanding that the Key of her Chamber was found thrown in within side: So they presently leave this sorrowfull Father to his teares, and betaking themselves to their Seat of Iustice, doe instantly cause all the Gates of the City to be shut, and a strict and cu∣rious search to be made in all parts thereof, for the apprehension of Pierya, which (in their zeale and honour to sacred justice) they performe with so much care and speed, as within three houres after shee is found out, and apprehended in an Aunts house of hers, who was a poore woman and a Laundresse of that City named Eleanora Fracasa. The Iudges being presently advertised hereof, convent her be∣fore them, and (by vertue of this Annuity) charge both her and her lover Bernar∣do to bee the actors, and Amarantha to bee at least the accessary, if not the authour with them of murthering Babtistyna, shee can hardly speake for teares at this her examination, because her sighes still cut her words in pieces; and yet she is so farre from grace and repentance, as at first shee stoutly denyes all, and boldly affirmes that both Amarantha, Bernardo, and her selfe were every way innocent of attemp∣ting any thing against Babtistyna's life, and that if shee were dead, shee dyed onely of a naturall death by the appoyntment of God, and no otherwise; and to this Answer of hers the Devill had made her so strong, as shee added many fearfull oaths and deprecations, both for her owne and their justification; but yet (not∣withstanding

this her Apologie) these grave and cleere-fighted Iudges are so farre from diminishing, as they augment their suspition both of her and them, and so commit her to prison, and forthwith to the racke. At the pronouncing of which Sentence, Pierya is much daunted, seemes to let fall some of her former fortitude and constancie, and to burst forth into many passionate teares, sighs, and exclama∣tions: But they will nothing availe her; for, seeing her pretended Husband Bernardo dead, in whom lived the imaginary joyes of her heart, shee so fainted, as at the very first sight of the Racke (with some teares, and more deep fetch'd sighes) shee confessed to her Iudges, that shee and Bernardo had stifled her Lady Babtistyna in her bed; but still constantly affirmed that her sister Amarantha was wholly innocent thereof, flattering her selfe with this hope, that for thus her clee∣ring of her Lady Amarantha from this crime and danger, shee (in requitall there∣of) could doe no lesse then bee a meanes to procure a pardon for her life: But these hopes of hers will deceive her, and flie as fast from her hereafter, as ever shee for∣merly did from God. So the Iudges (in detestation of this her foule and bloudy crime) adjudge her to bee hanged for the same; but first they send her backe to prison, and the very next morning before breake of day, they secretly send away three of their Isbieres (or Sergeants) to Cardura, to fetch the Lady Amarantha to Florence, being very confident (notwithstanding Pierya's denyall) that shee likewise had a deepe finger and share in her Sister Babtistyna's murther.

Amarantha not dreaming in Cardura what had betided in Florence to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and Pierya, but flattering her selfe with much hope and joy, that by this time they had undoubtedly made away her Sister Babtistyna, and consequently that she should shortly revisite Florence, and there domineere alone, and obtaine some gallant Ca∣vallier of her Father for her husband, shee in expectance of her servant Ber∣nardo's returne, and of his pleasing newes, had that day (as it were in a bravery and triumph) purposely dighted her selfe up in her best attire, and richest appa∣rell; and so betaking her selfe to her Chamber, and to that window which loo∣ked towards Florence, shee with a longing desire expecteth ev'ry minute when he will arrive; when about ten of the clocke before dinner (contrary to her expecta∣tion) shee sees three men to enter into the house, apparelled as Florentines, where∣at shee much museth and wondereth, as not knowing what they, or their com∣ming should import. These three Sergeants having entred the house, they are brought to the Governesse Malevola, who brings them to her young Lady Ama∣rantha in her Chamber; to whom (with a dissembling confidence) they report to her, That Se•…•…gnior Streni her Father hath sent them to conduct and accompany her speedily to Florence. Amarantha inquires of them for her Fathers Letters to that effect, whereunto one of the subtlest of them makes answer very slylie and artificially to her, that her Fathers haste, and her preferment would not permit him to write to her, for that hee perfectly knew from him, hee was now upon matching her to a rich and noble Husband: Her Governesse Malevola likewise demands of them, if hee had not written to her selfe, they answer no, but that hee bad them tell her, that he will'd her without delay to bring away his Daugh∣ter Amarantha with her, and themselves to Florence by Coach, and onely one Foot-boy. The Pupill and Governesse consult hereon, and the very name of a Husband makes the first as willing as the second is discontented to goe to Florence without a Letter; but the policie of the Sergeants so prevaile with the simpli∣city of this young Lady, and old Gentlewoman, that they speedily packe up their Trunkes, so dine, and then take Coach and horse, and away for Florence; du∣ring which short journey, although the mirth and joy of Amarantha bee great, yet

shee findes so many different reluctations, and extravagant thoughts in her minde at the absence and silence of her man Bernardo, as shee cannot possibly againe re∣fraine from musing and wondering thereat. They all arrive at Flor•…•…nce, where these Sergeants (having learnt their parts well, and acting them better) in stead of Amarantha's Fathers house, doe clap her up close prisoner in the Common Goale of that City, notwithstanding all her prayers and cries, sighes and teares to the contrary; and then send her Governesse Malevola home to her said Father to advertise him hereof; who tearing the snow-white haire of his head and beard at this sad newes, and extreamely fearing the dangerous consequence of this de∣plorable accident, he (with teares in his eyes, sorrow in his lookes, and sighes in his speeches) repaires speedily to the Iudges, to whom sorrowfully and humbly casting himselfe almost as low as their feet, hee prayes them to thinke of his age, and of his imprisoned Daughters youth, and that having unfortunately lost his eldest Daughter, that they would not deprive him of his youngest, nor cast her life away either upon bare presumption or circumstance, or upon the wrongful re∣ports and malice of his and her enemies: But these grave and Lynce-ey'd Magi∣strates (who looke as deepely into the priviledge and dignity of Iustice, as hee doth into the passions of paternall affection and nature) cut him off with this sharpe reply, That they honour his age, and respect his Daughters youth, that she shall have justice, and that by the lawes of Florence he must expect no more; with which cold answer hee returnes home to his house, as disconsolate, as hee came foorth sorrowfull, beeing not permitted, but defended to see, or speake with his Daughter Amarantha in prison, onely hee hath permission to bury his murthered Daughter Babtistyna, the which hee performeth with farre more griefe and sor∣row then solemnity.

The truth and decorum of this History must now invite the Reader to visite Amarantha in prison, who being there debarr'd from speaking with any, or any with her, except (those miserable comforters) her Sergeants and Goalers, shee now seeing the imminencie of her danger, and fearing the assurance of her death, for that shee heard a secret inckling (from the lower Court, through her Cham∣ber window) That her Sister Babtistyna was murthered, her Mayd Pierya imprisoned, and shee her selfe vehemently suspected for the same: Shee therefore now beginnes to think of her former bloudy crimes with repentance, and of these her inhumane cruelties towards her two elder Sisters with contrition, and solemnly vowes to God, that if his divine Majesty will now please to save her life, shee will hence∣forth religiously redeeme the first and second with repentance. So in the middest of these good thoughts, though vaine desires and wishes of hers, shee yet still flatters her selfe with this poore hope, that if her man Bernardo bee living, then her promised Annuity to him written with her owne hand is still sure, and there∣fore tacitly dead in his custody; and that both hee and Pierya cannot any way wrong her without infinitely wronging themselves, and indangering their owne lives: so albeit her Iudges have matter of suspicion, yet they can have no cause of death against her, or if peradventure they have, yet that the power of her Fathers greatnesse and friends are so prevalent in Florence and Tuscany, that (if the worst fall out) he and they can obtaine at least her reprivall for the present, if not her par∣don for the future. But (contrary to all these her weake and triviall hopes) the very next morning she is sent for before her Iudges to a private examination, who (after they had made a grave and religious speech to her) they demand her, first, If shee imployed •…•…ot her servant Bernardo, and Pierya to murther her Sister Babti∣styna, the which shee firmely and constantly denyes; Secondly, If shee had not

given an Annuity of 150 Duckatons during his life to marry Pierya, the which sh•…•…e likewise denyes; then they produce and shew it her under her owne hand writing, whereat (they measuring her heart by her countenance) shee seemes to be so much perplexd with sorrow, and amaz'd with feare, as shee cannot refraine from giving them lesse words, but more teares; Of which her Iudges conceiving a good opinion & hope (& therfore deeming themselves now to be in a faire way, and a direct course to obtain the whole truth of this lamentable busines from her) they bethinke themselves of a policie, thereby to effect and compasse it, which is every way worthy of themselves and their offices, of their discretion and justice. They tell Amarantha, that in regard of her youth and beauty, and of her Fathers age and nobility, they desire and intend to save her, if shee will not wilfully cast her selfe away; That her safe•…•…y and life now consisteth in her plaine confession, and not in her perverse denyall and contestation, of being accessary and consen∣ting to the murther of her Sister Babt•…•…styna; That they have proofes thereof, as cleare, and as apparant as the Sunne: and that they having caused Pierya to bee executed for the same this morning, shee confessed it to them at her death, yea and dyed thereon. At which speeches of her Iudges, and confession and death of Pierya, this wretched and unfortunate Lady Amarantha (seeing her selfe so palpa∣bly convicted of this her bloudy and inhumane crime) being wholly vanquished either with feare toward her selfe, or choller towards Pierya, she falls on her knees to her Iudges feet, and (with a great showre of teares) makes her selfe (by her free confession) to bee the prime authour of her Sister Babtistyna's murther; That shee had hired Bernardo and Pierya to performe it, and given him an Annuity of 150 Duckatons per annum, and to each of them 50 Duckatons more in hand to that effect, concealing no poynt or part therof, as we have already formerly under∣stood: when (contrary to the expectation of her Iudges) she most bitterly exclay∣med on the name, memory, and ingratitude of this base wretch Pierya (for so shee then termed her) in that she could not be contented to die her self, but also as much, and as maliciously, as in her power, to think likewise to hazard her owne life with her. And now our chollericke, and yet sorrowfull Amarantha (between these two different extreames of hope and feare) layes hold of her Iudges late promise and profered courtesie to her to save her, and then and there (with many reverences, teares, and ringing of her hands) most humbly beseecheth them for Gods sake, and for honours cause, to bee good unto her, and to give her her life, although she confesseth she is most worthy of death, in being so degenerate and bloudy minded towards her owne Sister. But they (having by this commendable meanes, and arti∣ficiall policie, drawn this worme from Amarantha's tongue, I meane this truth from her mouth) are exceeding sorrowfull, and as much detest this her barbarous fact, as they pitty her descent, youth, and beauty; but well knowing with themselves that God is glorifyed in the due and true execution of Iustice upon all capitall ma∣lefactors, and especially on murtherers (who are no lesse then monsters of nature, the disgrace of their times, and the very butchers of mankinde) and that the greatnesse of their quality and blood doth onely serve but to make these crimes of theirs the greater: therefore (I say) these wise and religious Iudges proove deafe to her requests, and blinde to her teares; and so having first caused then to signe this her confession, and then confronted her with Pierya, who now to Ama∣rantha's face confirmed as much as she her selfe right now confessed and affirmed, they now in expiation of this her cruell murther, adjudge her likewise to bee hanged the next day, at the common place of execution, in company of Pierya, although her aged sorrowfull Father Seignior Strent (being well nigh weighed

down to his grave with the extreme grief and sorrow of these his misfortunes and calamities) profered the Iudges and the great Duke the greatest part of his estate, and lands, to save this his youngest, and now his only Daughter Amarantha: But his labor proved lost, and his care and affection vaine in this his sute and solicitati∣on, because those learned Iudges, and this prudent and noble Duke, grounded their resolutions and pleasures upon this wholsom and true Maxime, That Iustice is one of the greatest Colossus and strongest columns of kingdoms and common-weales, and the truest way and means to preserve them in florishing prosperity and glory, and consequently, that all wilfull and premeditated murtherers cannot bee either too soone exterminated, or too severely punished, and cut off from the world. So Amar antha with more choller then sorrow, and Pierya with more feare then choller, are now both sent backe to their prisons; and that night Streni sends his Daughter, and the Iudges send Pierya, some Fryers and Nunnes to prepare their soules for heaven, but (in honour of the truth) I must affirme with equall griefe and pitty, that both these two female monsters had their hearts so sealed, and their soules so seared up with impiety, that neither of them could there be perswaded, or drawne, either to thinke of repentance or of God.

Whiles thus Florence resounds of these their foule and inhumane crimes, as also of their just condemnations, the next morning about ten of the clocke, they are brought to the destin'd place of execution, there to receive their condigne pu∣nishments for the same. Pierya first mounts the Ladder, who made a short speech at her death, to this effect, That her desire to obtaine Bernardo for her husband had chiefely drawne her to commit this murther on her Lady Babtistyna, and that it was farre more her Sister Amarantha's malice to her, then her owne, which seduced her to this bloudy resolution; and that this her owne shamefull death was not halfe so grievous to her, as the unfortunate end of her lover Bernardo, whom, shee there affirmed to the world, and tooke it to her death, that shee loved a thou∣sand times dearer then her owne life, with many other vaine and ridiculous spee∣ches tending that way, and which savoured more of her fond affection to him, then of any zeale or devotion to God; and therefore I hold them every way more worthy of my silence, then of my relation: and so shee was turned over. To second whose unfortunate and shamefull end, now our bloudy and execrable Amarantha (with farre more beauty then contrition, and bravery then repentance) ascends the Ladder; who (to make her infamy the more famous) had purposly dighted and apparelled her selfe in a plaine blacke Sattin gowne, with silver lace, and a deepe-laced Cambricke Ruffe of a very large Set, with her hayre unvailed, and decked with many roses of filver Ribband: At her ascent, her extraction, beauty, and youth, begate as much pitty, as her bloudy and unnaturall crime did detestation, in the eyes and hearts of all her spectatours: When after a pause or two, shee (vainely composing her countenance, more with contempt, then feare of death) there to a world of people, who flocked from all parts of the City and Countrey to see her dye (with a wondrous boldnesse) confessed, That shee had not onely caused her Sister Babtistyna to bee stifled in her bed by Bernardo and Pierya, but that her sayd Sister Babtistyna and her selfe had formerly poysoned their elder Sister Iaquinta, and that it was onely their imperiousnesse and pride to∣wards her, which drew her to this resolution and revenge against them both; the which shee affirmed, shee could now as little repent, as heretofore remedy, and •…•…hat shee more sensibly lamented, and grieved for the sorrowes of her Fathers •…•…fe, then for the shame and infamy of her owne death: when, without any shew •…•…f repentance, without any speech of God, or which is lesse, without so much as

once looking up towards heaven, or inviting or praying her spectatours to pray to God for her soule, shee (with a gracelesse resolution, and prophane bold∣nesse) conjured her Executioner speedily to performe his office and duety, which by the command of the Magistrate he-forthwith did. So this wretched Amaran∣tha was hanged for her second murther, and then by a second decree and sentence of the Criminall Iudges, her body is after dinner burnt to ashes for her first; who likewise, in honour to Iustice, and to the glory of God, doe also cause the dead body of Bernardo (for two whole dayes) to bee hanged by his feet in his shirt to the same Gallowes, and then to bee cast into the River of Arno. And here the Iudges also, to shew themselves, themselves, were once of opinion to have unbu∣ryed Babtistyna, and likewise to have given her dead body some opprobrious pu∣nishment, for being accessary with her Sister Amarantha to poyson their elder Si∣ster Iaquinta; but having no other evidence or proofe hereof, but onely the tessi∣mony of her condemned dying Sister Amarantha, whom it was more probable then impossible, shee might speake it more out of malice then truth, as also that God had already afflicted a deplorable end and punishment to her, they there∣fore omitted it. And thus was the deserved ends, and condigne punishments of these wretched and execrable murtherers; and in this manner did the just re∣venge, and sacred justice of God meete and triumph over them and their blou∣dy crimes.

And now here fully to conclude and shut up this History in all its circumstan∣ces; The griefes and sorrowes of this unfortunate old Father was so great and infinite, for the untimely and deplorable deaths of all these his three onely Daugh∣ters and Children, that although piety and religion had formerly taught him, that the afflictions of this life are the joyes of that to come, yet being wholly van∣quished and depressed with all these his different bitter crosses and cala∣mities, hee left Florence, and retired himselfe to a solitary life in Cardura, where hee not long survived them, but dyed very pensively and mournfully.

GODS REVENGE AGAINST THE CRYING AND EXECRA∣ble Sinne of Murther.

HISTORIE. XXII.

Martino poysoneth his Brother Pedro, and murthereth Monfredo in the streete; He after∣wards growes mad, and in confession reveales both these his murthers to Father Thomas his Ghostly Father, who afterwards dying, reveales it by his Letter to Cecilliana, who was Widdow to Monfredo, and Sister to Pedro and Martino. Martino hath first his right hand cut off, and then is hanged for the same.

AS it is a dangerous wickednesse to contrive and plot mur∣ther; So much more it is a wretched and execrable one to finish, and perpetrate it; for to kill our Christian Bro∣ther, who figuratively beares the image of God, is an act so odious, as Nature cannot excuse, and so diabolicall, as no Clemencie can pardon; And yet this age, and this world is but too plentifull and fertile of such bloudy Ti∣gers, and inhumane Monsters, and Butchers of mankinde, as if they had not a Conscience within them to accuse them, a God above them to condemne them, and a Hell below them to punish them; or as if they had not the sacred Oracles of Gods eternall Word, I meane the Law and the Gospell, and the blessed Precepts and Doctrine of the holy Pro∣phets and Apostles, yea, of Christ Iesus himselfe, the great Shepherd, and sacred Bishop of our soules, to teach us the rules of Mercie, Meekenesse, and Long∣suffering, whiles wee live in this vale of misery here below, and that wee must imbrace and follow Peace and Charity with all men, if ever wee thinke to parti∣cipate of the true felicity and joyes of Heaven above: But neverthelesse (yea di∣rectly contrary hereunto) this insuing History will produce us one, who though sufficiently instructed in the rules of Piety and Charity, yet hee wilfully abando∣ned the first, and contemned the second, by cruelly and unnaturally imbruing his hands in innocent bloud; for the which wee shall see, that hee in the end suffereth a severe and shamefull death. May we reade this History to the glory of God, and the instruction of our selves.

THe Scene of this History is layd in Spayne, in the famous Province of old Castile, and in the faire and ancient City of Burgos, where lately dwelt a no∣ble and rich old Gentlewoman, termed Dona Catherina A•…•…z (a Sirname much

knowne, and famous in that City, Province, and Kingdome) who had by her de∣ceased Husband Don Roderigo de Ricaldo, two sonnes, Don Pedro, and Don Martino, and one Daughter named Dona Cecilliana. Her eldest sonne Don Pedro was a gal∣lant Cavallier of some eight and twenty yeares of age, tall, and well-timbred, by complexion and hayre blacke, and of a swart and martiall countenance, who for the space of seven yeares served as a voluntary Gentleman under that wise and va∣liant Commander Don Gonsalez de Cordova in Germany, and against the Lords States of the Netherlands, and since in the Voltoline and Millane, against the Grisons and French; In both which warres, he left behind him many memorable testimonies of his prowesse, and purchased divers honorable trophees of true valour, and genero∣sity: but for any other intellectuall endowments of the minde, hee was no schol∣ler, and but of an indifferent capacity, yet very honest, courteous, and affable, particularly to his friends, and generally to all the world. His Brother Don Martino was of some foure and twenty yeares of age, short of stature, very slen∣der, but crooke-back'd, of an Aubrun hayre, a withered face, a squint eye, of in∣clination extreamely sullen, and of disposition and nature envious and revenge∣full, as desirous rather to entertaine a night-quarrell in the street, then a day-com∣bate in the Field; but as God is many times pleased to countervaile and reward the defects of nature in the body, with some rich gifts and perfections of the mind, so though not by profession, yet by education he was an excellent Scholler, of an active and sharpe wit, a fluent tongue, and singularly able either to allure or divert, to perswade or disswade, according as the streame of his different passi∣ons and affections led him; Vertues enough relucent and excellent to build a fame, and sufficient to rayse an eminent fortune, if his former vices doe not too fatally eclipse the one, and deface the other. Their Sister Cecilliana (aged of some twen∣ty yeares) was of an indifferent height, but growing to corpulencie and fatnesse, of a blacke hayre, an amiable browne complexion, a big rolling eye, and the ayre of her countenance rather beautifully amorous, then modestly beautifull: Shee was of a nimble wit, of humour pleasant and facetious, yet so reserved in the ex∣ternall demonstration thereof, that through her Mothers pious and austere edu∣cation of her, shee (in all outward semblance) seemed rather to bee fit for a Nun∣nery then a Husband, and more proper to make a Saint, then a Wife; but as the face proves not still a true Index of the heart, nor our lookes and speeches still a true Sybile of our soules, so how retired soever her Mother kept her from the company of men, yet her wanton eye, conspiring with her lascivious heart, made her the more desirous thereof, and farre the more licentiously, in regard shee was strictly forbidden it; so as (not to contradict or dissemble the truth) I am here inforced to relate and affirme, that shee imparteth her favours upon two or three young Gentlemen of that Citie, of her private acquaintance, and is more famili∣ar with them, then modesty can well warrant, or chastity allow of. But there is a young Gallant of this City likewise (more noble by birth, then rich in estate and meanes) named Don Balthazar de Monfredo, who (deeming Cecilliana as famous for her chastity, as for her beauty) beares a singular affection to her; yea, his heart and thoughts are so fervently intangled in the snares of her delicious beauty, that in publicke and private, in his desires and wishes, and in his speech and actions he proclaimes her to bee his Mistresse, and himselfe her servant; and if hee affect and desire Cecilliana for his Wife, no lesse doth shee Monfredo for her Husband; so that they many times by stealth meet and conferre privately in remote Chur∣ches and Chappells, it being rather a prophane then a religious custome of Spaine (wherein Heaven is too much made to stoope to Earth, and Religion to Impiety)

for men to court their intended wives, and (which is worse) many times their Courtizans and Strumpets. Cecilliana (oftentimes warranted by her Mothers in∣disposition) can no sooner take Coach to injoy the pleasure and benefit of the fresh ayre abroad in the fragrant fields, but Monfredo assuredly meets her, where leaping from his Coach into hers (and leaving his Page to accompany her Wayting-gen∣tle woman in his own) they at first familiarly kisse and confer, and in a few of these meetings at last effectually resolve to give themselves each to other in the sacred bonds of marriage; so he gives her a rich Diamond ring, and she reciprocally re∣turnes him a paire of Gold bracelets, in token of marriage, and they then and there (calling God to witnes) very solemnly contract themselves man and wife, yet for some solid reasons, and important considerations, which conduce to the better ac∣complishing of their desires, they for a time conclude to beare it secretly and si∣lently from all the world; and it is concluded and agreed betweene them, that a moneth after, and not before, hee shall attempt to seeke her publikely in marri∣age, both of her Mother the Lady Catherina, as also of her two Brothers Don Pedro and Don Martino. So when this moneth is past over (which to these out two Lovers seemes to be many ages) Monfredo very fairely and orderly seekes her of her Mother in marriage, and likewise (in tearmes fit for him to give, and them to receive) acquaints her two Brothers with his sute and affection to their Sister, and with his best art and eloquence indeavoureth (on honorable tearmes) to gaine and purchase their consents thereunto. As for her Mother, she (preferring wealth to honour, and riches to content) considering the weakenesse of Monfredo's estate, the death of his parents, whereby shee sees him deprived of all future hope to raise his fortunes, doth absolutely denye to bestow her Daughter on him in mar∣riage; and the more to bewray her extreame distaste of this his sute and dislike of himselfe, shee (with much obstinacie and choller) forbids him her Daughters company, and (with more incivility and indignation) conjures him to leave and forbeare her house, telling him shee hath already firmely ingaged her word and promise to Don Alonso Delrio, that hee shall shortly espouse and marry her. Now although this sharpe answer of hers seeme to nip Monfredo's hopes and desires in their blossomes, yet relying more on the affection and constancie of the Daugh∣ter, then on the power or resolution of the Mother, hee againe and againe (with a most respective and honourable importunity) solliciteth her consent; but he sees it lost labour, because shee is resolute that her first shall bee her last answer to him herein. As for her Brother Don Pedro, he loves his Sister so perfectly, and her con∣tent so dearely, that hee findes him to stand well affected to their affections, and in regard of his love to her, and respect to him, that hee utterly contemnes the motion and mention of Delrio; and therfore faithfully promiseth Monfredo his best assistance towards his Mother for the effecting of their desires. But for her yonger Brother, Don Martino, he findes a contrary nature and disposition in him; for he never loved, but hated his Sister Cecilliana, and therfore hates Monfredo for her sake, •…•…nd loves Delrio, because he heares she hates him, and so animates his Mother a∣gainst them; and thus hee gives Monfredo cold answers, and (the sooner and bet∣•…•…r to convert his hope into despaire) tells him plainely, that Delrio must and shall •…•…arry his Sister, and none but hee: Thus Monfredo departs, as glad of Don Pe∣•…•… his love, as hee is sorrowfull for his Mother and Brother Don Martino's hatred. And here (to observe the better order in this History, and likewise to give the curi∣•…•…sity of the Reader the fuller satisfaction) it will not be improper rather pertinent •…•…or us to understand, that Don Delrio was a well descended Gentleman likewise of •…•…e same city of Burgos, rich in lands and monyes, but at least fifty five yeares old,

having a white head and beard, of a hard and soure favoure, and exceedingly ba∣ker-legged; yet as old as hee was, hee was so passionately inamoured of the fresh and sweet beauty of Cecilliana, that hee thought her not too young to bee his wife, nor himselfe too old to bee her husband, but led more by his lust then his judgement, and incouraged by Dona Catherina her Mother, for that his great lands and wealth wholly inclined and weighed downe her affection towards him, hee often visiteth her Daughter Cecilliana, and with his best oratory and power seeks and courts her affection in the way of marriage: but shee having her heart fixed on Monfredo's youth, and comely feature, shee highly slights Delrio's frozen age, as disdayning to make her selfe a May to this December, because shee appa∣rantly knew, and perfectly believed, that hee was every way fitter for his grave, then for her bed; for it was Monfredo, and onely Monfredo, whom her heart had elected and chosen for her second selfe and Husband: And suppose (quoth she) that Monfredo bee not so rich as Delrio, yet all Castile, yea all Spayne well knowes, that by descent and generosity hee is farre more noble, and that there is as great an Antithesis and disparity betweene the vertues of the first, and the defects and imperfections of the last, as there is betweene a Clowne and a Captaine, and a Peasant and a Prince; therefore let my Mother say whar she will, Delrio what he can, or my Brother Martino what he dare, yet they shall see, and the world know, that I will bee wife to none but Monfredo, and that either hee, or my Grave, shall bee my Husband.

But the Lady Catherina her Mother (notwithstanding her Daughters aversnesse and obstinacie) layes her charge and blessing upon her to forsake Monfredo, and take Delrio, urging to her the poverty of the one, and the wealth of the other, what delights and contentments the last will give her, and what afflictions and misery the first doth threaten her: but the affection of Cecilliana is still so firmely fixed, and strongly setled and cymented on her Monfredo, that she is deafe to these requests, and blinde to these reasons of her Mother, in seeking to disswade her from him, and in consenting and perswading her to accept of Delrio for her Hus∣band; and although her Mother follow her in all places as her shadow, and haunt her at all times as her Ghost, to draw her hereunto, yet shee still findes her Daugh∣ter as resolute to denye, as shee is importunate to request it of her, vowing that shee will rather wed her selfe to a Nunnery, then to Delrio, whom shee sayth shee cannot affect, and therefore peremptorily disdayneth to marry. Her Mother see∣ing her daughter thus constantly and wilfully to persevere in her obstinacy against her desires, shee (with much choller and griefe) relates from poynt to poynt to her Sonne Don Martino what had past betweene them; whom shee knew did as much love Delrio, and hate Monfredo, as her eldest Sonne Don Pedro hated Delrio, and loved Monfredo for their Sister in marriage. Martino takes advantage of thi•…•… occasion and oportunity, and thinking to give two blowes with one stone, b•…•… crossing his Sister in her affection, and his Brother in his designes and wishes, dot•…•… now more then ever incense his Mother against her, alledging that it would bee 〈◊〉〈◊〉 farre greater honour, and lesse scandall to their Name and House, that shee wer•…•… rather marryed to a Nunnery, then a Beggar, and with many powerfull reasons and artificiall perswasions, strives to make her incli•…•…able to this project, and flex•…•… ble to this resolution of his, as indeed in a little time she doth: For the Moth•…•… being thus wedded to her will, and therein now confirmed by the slie polici•…•… and fortifyed by the subtile insinuation of her Sonne Don Martino, shee hereup•…•… constantly resolves to betake and give her Daughter to God and the Church, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 firming that shee shall never reape any true content in her thoughts, nor peace

her heart, before she see her cloystered up and espoused to a Nunnery. But this compact of theirs is not so closely carryed betweene them, but the vigilancie of Don Pedro (whose affection and care aymes to give Monfredo and his Sister con∣tent) hath perfect notice and intelligence hereof, the which for a time hee holds fit to conceale from them both; when firmely purposing to prevent it, and so to crosse his Mother and Brother, who herein delight and glory to crosse him, hee bethinkes himselfe of an invention (worthy of himselfe) how and which way to effect it. Hee sends for Don Alonso Delrio to the Cordeliers Church, and there re∣lates him the friendship he beares him, that hee will not see him runne himselfe in∣to an errour in seeking his Sister Cecilliana in marriage, whom hee knowes he can∣not possibly obtayne; Shee (to his knowledge) beeing already firmely contra∣cted to Monfredo, notwithstanding all that his Mother and Brother Don Martino have sayd or can doe to the contrary. Delrio heartily thankes Don Pedro for the expression of this love to him, the which he affirmes he shall ever finde him ready both to deserve and requite; when measuring the time future by the present, and of Cecilliana's blooming youth by his weather-beaten and blasted age, hee vowes to Don Pedro, that hee will henceforth no more desire or seeke his Sister in marriage, nor yet speake with her, or come neere his Mother or Brother; so that businesse is for ever dashed, and receives an end, almost as soone as a beginning. The which Don Martino (out of his deepe reach and politicke pate) understanding, and knowing that this falling off of Delrio, from farther seeking his Sister in marri∣age, proceeded wholly from the secret underminig of his Brother Don Pedro, he is extreamly in choller against him for the same; and so (with more passion then discretion) goes and chargeth him herewith: Whereupon these two Brothers fall at great contention and variance, and many bitter words and outragious speeches here interchangeably passe betweene them, the repetition whereof I thinke good to bury in silence, because it matters not much to give it a place in this History; onely (to deale on generalls) I must say that Don Pedro was high, and Don Martino hot, and that the first spake not so much as hee dared, and the last dared not so much as hee spake. But this tongue combate of theirs was so violent and bluste∣rous, as the issue thereof redounding to Don Pedro's glory and generosity, and to Don Martino's shame and basenesse, and Martino finding that he had more will then power to bee now revenged hereof on his brother, hee is inflamed with choller and revenge against him for the same, as consulting with Satan, not with God, hee is so revengefull and inhumane, as hee wisheth his sayd brother in heaven, and from thenceforth plotteth with himselfe how to finish it, reasoning thus unchari∣tably and damnably with himselfe; That hee being dead, and his sister pent and mewed up in a Nunnery, hee shall then bee sole heire and Lord to all the Lands and Estate which his Father left him.

Thus in the heat of his choller, and the fumes of his revenge against his bro∣ther Don Pedro, hee repayres to his Mother, informes her how it is hee and his policie which hath beaten off Delrio from seeking his sister Cecilliana in mar∣riage, and that through his close treacherous dealing, hee hath prevayled with him for ever to abandon her; yea, hee here leaves no invention unassayed to in∣tense his mother against his brother, nor meanes unattempted to inflame her a∣gainst his sister, by still putting her in minde of his rashnesse towards Delrio, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 her disobedience towards her selfe; and here (hee remembring his owne a∣•…•…ritious ends) doth againe modestly perswade, and then againe importunately •…•…ay his mother to constitute her to a Nunnery; whereunto (as we have former∣•…•… understood) hee knowes shee is already resolutely bent and resolved: When

shee (being vanquished with her owne desires, and his importunity) promiseth him very shortly to effect it. But first shee sends for her Sonne Don Pedro, and in a language of thunder rebukes and checkes him for his double crime, in dis∣swading Delrio from so suddainly forsaking his sister, and in perswading so strong∣ly to affect Monfredo, adding withall, that notwithstanding his treachery and po∣licie, and her ingratefull disobedience to her, shee is inviolably resolved shortly to send •…•…onfredo to seeke another wife, and to give and betake her to no other Husband then a Nunnery. Don Pedro, holding it his duety to entertain this choller and these speeches of his mother rather with modesty then passion, returnes her this answer, that hee hath nor sayd, nor done any thing to Delrio, but what hee can well justifie with his obedience to her, and his honour to the whole world; that his affection to his sisters present content, and care of her future prosperity, makes him assume this beliefe and confidence, that Delrio is as unworthy of her, as shee worthily bestowed on Don Monfredo, and therefore that it is both pitty and shame, that the wealth of the first should bee preferred to the nobility and gene∣rosity of the second; hee prayes her to consider, that as Cecilliana is her daugh∣ter, so shee is his sister, and that hee is so well acquainted with her disposition and secrets, as not to dissemble her the truth, hee holds her farre more fit to make a Wife then a Nunne, and a Nunnery therefore (every way) to bee impro∣per for her, and shee for it; that he is not ignorant that it is the policie, or rather the malice of his brother Don Martino, which hath wrought these false impressi∣ons in her beliefe against himselfe, and this her uncharitable resolution against his sister; for which base treachery and ingratitude of his, if hee thought him as worthy of his care, as hee knowes hee is of his scorne, hee would not faile to call him to a strict account for the same, but that Nature and Grace prescribe him contrary rules. Dona Catherina beeing farre more capable to distaste, then to relish this bold answer of her Sonne Don Pedro, and contenting her selfe to have now delivered him her minde and resolution at full, she leaves him, and findes out his brother Martino, to whom shee punctually relates what had past betweene her and his brother Don Pedro; whereat hee is afresh so netled with choller, and inflamed with revenge against him, as what before hee hath despe∣rately plotted and resolved against his life, hee now vowes and sweares short∣ly to execute, whereat his bloudy thoughts (without intermission) aime and tend, and next thereunto hee desires nothing so much, as to see his Sister made a vowed and vayled Sister.

Whiles thus his mother and himself are deep in conference, and busie in consul∣tation how to effect and compasse these their different designes, Don Pedro goes to his sister Cecilliana, findes out Monfredo, and to them both sincerely delivers what hath past betweene his mother, his brother, and himselfe, in their behalfes; yea, it is a jest (both worthy, and well beseeming his laughter) to see how betweene earnest and jest, hee tells his sister (in presence of her lover Monfredo) that shee must shortly prepare her selfe for a Nunnery, for that their brother Don Martin•…•… hath decreed it, and their mother Dona Catherina sworne it: At this pleasant pas∣sage and conceipt of Don Pedro, Cecilliana cannot refraine from blushing, nor Mon∣fredo from smiling: for looking each on other with the eyes of one and the sa•…•… tender affection and constancie, hee smiles to see her blush, and shee againe blush∣eth to see him smile hereat, here shee tells her brother Don Pedro plainely, and h•…•… lover Monfredo pleasantly, that shee will deceive her mothers hopes, and her bro∣ther Don Martino's desires, in thinking to make her a cloystered Sister; when 〈◊〉〈◊〉 gaine metamorphosing the snow-white lillies of her cheekes into blushing dama•…•…

roses, shee with a modest pleasantnesse, directing her speech to Monfredo (who then lovingly led her in the Garden by her arme) tells him, that his house should bee the Nunnery, his armes the Cloyster, and himselfe the Saint, to whom (till death) shee was ready to profer up, and sacrifice both her affection and her selfe; that as shee did not hate, but love the profession of a Nunne in others, so for his sake shee could not love, but hate it in her selfe, adding withall, that for proofe and confirmation hereof (if it were his pleasure) shee was both ready and wil∣ling to put her selfe into his protection, and to repose her honour in the confidence of his faithfull affection and integrity towards her. Monfredo first kissing her, then infinitely thankes her for this true demonstration of her deare and constant affection to him, when againe intermixing kisses with smiles, and smiles with kisses, hee sweares to her, in presence of God, and her brother Don Pedro, that if the Lady her mother wholly abandon her, or resolve to commit her to a Nun∣nery, he will receive and entertain her in his poore house with delight and joy, and preserve her honour equally with his owne life, and that in all things (as well for the time present, as the future) hee will steere his actions by the starre of her de∣sire, and the compasse of her present brother Don Pedro's commands: for which free and faithfull courtesie of his, Cecilliana thankes him, and no lesse doth Don Pe∣dro, who in requitall hereof makes him a generall and generous tender of his best power and service to act and consummate his desires; and so for that time, and with this resolution, they part each from other, leaving the progresse of their af∣fections, and the successe thereof partly to time, but chiefely to God, whom they all religiously invocate to blesse their designes in hand.

Leave wee them for a while, and come wee now againe (cursorily) to speake of their mother Dona Catherina, and of Don Martino their brother, who being the oracle from whom shee derives and directs all her resolutions, shee is still con∣stant to her selfe, and therfore still vehemently bent against her son Don Pedro, her daughter Cecilliana and Monfredo, swearing both solemnely and seriously, that shee will rather dye, then live to see him her sonne in law: and yet whatsoever Don Martino doe say, or can alledge to her to the contrary, shee yet loves Don Alonso Delrio so well, and her daughter Cecilliana so dearely, that before she will attempt to cloyster her up in a Nunnery, shee hoping to reclayme him to affect her, and to revive his sute of marriage, doth by a Gentleman her servant send him this Letter.

CATHERINA to DELRIO.

I Am wholly ignorant why thou thus forsakest thy affection and sute to my Daughter Cecilliana, whereof, before I am resolved by thee, I have many reasons to suspect and thinke, that it was as feigned, as thy promises and oaths pretended it to befervent. Sure I 〈◊〉〈◊〉, that as Envie cannot eclipse the fame of her vertues towards the world, so Truth dare •…•…t contradict the sincerity of my well wishes and affection towards thee, in desiring to make thee her Husband, and her thy Wife. Her poore beauty (which thou so often sworest thy •…•…art so dearely admired and adored) hath lost no part of its lustre, but is the same still; and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 am I, who have ever wished, and ever will faithfully desire, that of all men of the world, •…•…y selfe onely may live to injoy it. If thou thinke her affection bee bent any other way, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 dost her no right, but offer a palpable wrong to thine owne judgement, and to my know∣ledge: Or if thou imagine the Portion be too small, which I promised to give, and thou to •…•…ceive with her in marriage, thou shalt command that augmentation from me, which none 〈◊〉〈◊〉 thy selfe shall eyther have cause to request, or power to obtayne; yea, thou shalt finde, that

for the finishing and consummating of so good a worke (which thou so much deservest, and I so much desire) I will willingly bee contented to inrich her fortunes with the impoverishing of mine owne. If thou send me thine Answer hereunto, I shall take it for an argument of thy unkindnesse: but if thou bring it thy selfe, I will esteeme it as one of thy true respects and affection to mee.

CATHERINA.

Don Martino being solicited and charged by his Lady mother likewise to write effectually to Delrio to returne to seeke his sister Cecilliana in marriage, yet notwith∣standing drawne thereunto for his owne covetous ends, secretly to desire and wish that hee might never marry her, but shee a Nunnery, hee therefore to that effect writes, and sends him a most dissembling and hypocriticall Letter by the same messenger, to accompany hers, but hee is so reserved and fine, as hee purposely conceales the sight and reading thereof from his mother. This Letter of his, which was as false and double as himselfe, reported this language:

MARTINO to DELRIO.

MY duety ever obliging mee to esteeme my Mothers requests as commands, I therefore adventure thee this Letter, as desiring to know who or what hath so suddainly with∣drawne thee, or thy affection from my Sister Cecilliana. Thou canst not bee ignorant of my hearty well-wishes and love to thee in obtayning her to thy wife; and yet it is not possible for thee to conceive, much lesse believe, the hundreth part of the bitter speeches, which I have beene inforced to receive and packe up, from her and my Brother Don Pedro, for de∣siring and wishing it. I know that inforced affections prove commonly more fatall then for∣tunate, and more ruinous then prosperous; therefore I am so farre from any more perswa∣ding thee to seeke her in marriage, that I leave each of you to your selves, and both unto God. And to the end thou mayst see how much the Lady my Mother affects thy sute, and distastes that of Monfredo to my sister, she upon thy forbearance and absence hath vowed unto God, that if thou bee not, hee shall not, but a Nunnery must bee her Husband. My Mother is desirous to see thee, and my selfe to speake with thee; but because Marriages ought first to bee made in Heaven, before consummated in Earth, therefore thou knowest farre better then my selfe, that in all actions (especially in Marriage) it is the duety of a Christian to wait on Gods secret Providence, and to attend his sacred pleasure with patience.

MARTINO.

Delrio receives and reades these two Letters, and (consulting them with his judgement) findes that they looke two different wayes; for Dona Catherina the mother would marry her daughter to himselfe, but not to Monfredo, and her sonne Martino, aymes and desireth to have her marryed to a Nunnery, and not to him∣selfe; wherein wealth and covetousnesse are the chiefest ends and ambition of them both, without having any respect to the young Ladies content, or regar•…•… to her satisfaction; and although the speech which Don Pedro delivered him i•…•… the Cordeliers (or Gray Friers) Church, have so much wrought with his affecti∣on, and so powerfully prevailed with his resolution, that hee will no farthe•…•… seeke Cecilliana in marriage, yet in common courtesie and civility hee holds him selfe bound to answer their two Letters, the which hee doth, and returnes the•…•… by their owne messenger. That to the Lady Catherina had these words:

DELRIO to CATHERINA.

THough you suspect my sincerity, yet if you will believe the truth, you shall finde, that the affection which I intended the Lady Cecilliana your daughter was fervent, not feigned; and because you are desirous to know the reasons why I forbeare to seeke her in marriage, I can give you no other but this, that I know shee is too worthy to bee my wife, and believe that I am not worthy enough to bee her husband: so though envie should dare to bee so ignorant, yet it cannot possible bee so malicious, either to eclipse the lustre of her beauty, or the fame of her vertues, sith the one is so sweete a grace to the •…•…ther, and both so precious ornaments to her selfe, that infinite others besides my selfe hold it as great a pro∣phanenesse not to adore the last, as a happinesse to see and admire the first. For your affe∣ction in desiring my selfe hers, and shee mine in marriage, I can give you no other requi∣tall but thankes for the present, and my prayers and service for the future. How your daughter hath, or will dispose of her affection, God and her selfe best know; and therefore I shall doe her right, and your knowledge and my judgement no wrong, rather to proclaime my ignorance, then my curiosity herein: but this I assure you, that if hers to mee had e∣quallized mine to hers, I should then thankfully have taken, and joyfully received her with a farre lesse portion then you would have given mee with her. To your selfe I wish much prosperity, and to the Lady your daughter all happinesse. I must returne you this mine an∣swer by mine owne servant, and whether you make it an argument of my unkindnesse, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 affection, in pleasing your selfe, you shall no way displease mee.

DELRIO.

His Letter to Don Martino spake thus:

DELRIO to MARTINO.

I Have (by my Letter) given the Lady thy mother the reasons why I desist from any far∣ther seeking thy sister Cecilliana in marriage; and because I know shee will acquaint thee therewith, therefore I hope they will suffise both for thee and her. I am as thankefull to thee for thy well wishes to have obtained her for my wife, as I grieve to understand that thou hast received any bitter speeches, either from her or thy brother don Pedro, for my sake. It rejoyceth mee to see thee of the opinion that inforced marriages proove commonly fatall and ruinous, in which beliefe and truth, if thou and thy mother persevere, I hope you will espouse your sister to don Monfredo, and not to a Nunnery, because (if I am not misinformed) her affections suggest and assure her, that shee shall receive as much content from the first, as misery from the second. As thy mother is desirous to see mee, so am I to serve her, and likewise thy selfe; and as thou writest religiously and truely, that Marriages should first bee made in heaven, ere solemnized in earth; so, doubtlesse, God hath reserved thy sister for a farre better husband then Delrio, and him for a •…•…rre worse wife then Cecilliana: And thus (as a Christian) I recommend her with •…•…ale to the Providence, and my selfe with Patience to the Pleasure of Almigh∣ty God.

DELRIO.

When in regard of his former affection, and future respect, devoted to the •…•…eautie and vertues of Cecilliana, and seeing her selfe, her Mother and Brother

Don Martino bent to dispose otherwise of her in marriage, he will yet be so jealous of her good, and so carefull of his owne honour and reputation, as hee holds himselfe obliged to take his leave of her by Letter, sith not in person, and so to recommend her and her good fortunes to God; the which he doth, and gives his Letter to the same bearer, but with a particular charge and secret instructions to deliver it very privately into the Lady Cecillianas hands, without the knowledge either of her mother or brother don Martino, which hee faithfully promised to performe: His said Letter to her was charged with these lines.

DELRIO to CECILLIANA.

BEing heretofore informed by your brother don Pedro of your deare affection to don Monfredo, and your constant resolution to make him your husband, I held my selfe bound, out of due regard to you, and firme promise to him to surcease my sute to you, and (because the shortest errours are ever best) no more to strive to make impossibilities possible, in persevering to seeke you in marriage, whom I see (heaven and earth have conspired) another must obtaine and injoy: And when I looke from my age to your youth, and from that to Monfredo's, I am so farre from condemning your choyce, as I both approve and applaud it, praying you to bee as resolute in this confidence, as I am confident in this resolu∣tion, that my best prayers and wishes shall ever wish you the best prosperities. And to the •…•…d you may perceive that my former affection shall still resplend and shine to you in my fu∣ture respect, I cannot, I will not conceale the knowledge of this truth from you, that by Let∣ters which right now (by this bearer) I received from the Lady your mother, and brother don Martino, they have some exorbitant and irregular designe in contemplation, shortly to reduce into action, against the excellencie of your youth and beautie, and the sweetnesse of your content and tranquillity; which howsoever (to your selfe and the world) they seeme to shadow and overvaile with false colours, yet although they make religion the pretext, you (if you speedily prevent it not) will in the end finde that their malice to your lover Monfre∣do is the true and onely cause thereof. God hath indued you with a double happinesse, in giving you an excellent wit to second and imbellish your exquisite beauty, whereunto if in this businesse you take the advice of your best friend Monfredo, and follow that of your noble brother Don Pedro, you will then have no cause to doubt, but all the reasons of the world to assure your selfe that your affections and fortunes will in the end succeed according to my prayers, and your merits and expectation.

DELRIO.

The Messenger first publikely delivereth the two former Letters to his Lady Dona Catherina, and her sonne Don Martino, and then privately the other to the young Lady Cecilliana, according to his promise and Don Delrio's request: As for the mother she grieves to see that Delrio will not bee reclaymed, but hath quite forsaken her Daughter; But for her Sonne don Martino hee is exceeding joyfull hereof; for now he is confident, that (according to his plot) his mother upon Delrio's refufall, will (in meere malice to Monfredo) assuredly commit his sister to a Nunnery: Thus if hee obtayne his ends and desires hee cares not who misse theirs. As for Cecilliana, shee doth not a little rejoyce at Delrio's Letter to her, and at his constant resolution to leave, and commit her to Monfredo; yea shee re∣putes his advise to her concerning her mother, and her brother don Martino's in∣tended discourtesie towards her to much respect and honour. She acquaints her brother don Pedro, and her Monfredo with this Letter of Delrio, who now plainely

see their mother and brothers former resolution confirmed, in ayming and inten∣ding to make Cecilliana a holy Sister, whereat they againe laugh and jest at her, and shee to them, for in their hearts and thoughts they all know, and resolve to prevent it. But they cannot but highly approve of Delrio's noble respect and true discre∣tion, in being so constant to give over his sute to her, and yet so courteous and ho∣nest towards them all in this his kind and respectfull Letter to Cecilliana; the which above the other two, shee cheerefully receives, and joyfully welcomes, that shee resolves shee can (in honour) doe no lesse, then returne his complement, and answer his Letter with one of her owne to him, the which shee doth in these tearmes.

CECILLIANA to DELRIO.

WHat my brother don Pedro informed you concerning Monfredo and my selfe, was the very truth and sincerity of those affections wherewith God hath inspired •…•…r hearts, and setled our resolutions each to other. As I was never doubtfull of your well∣wishes and love, so now I am not a little thankefull to you for your deare respect towards mee, in approoving my choyce, and in praying to God to make it prosperous, whereas the obstina∣cie of my Lady mother, and the malice of my brother don Martino (without ground or reason) affirme it must needes proove ruinous. I have heeretofore beene advertised, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 (by your care of mee, and respect to mee which clearely resplends and shines in your L•…•…t∣ter) an•…•… fully confirmed that my said mother and brother have some undeserved designe a∣gainst mee, and my content; and although my poore beauty and silly wit no way deserve those excellent prayses of your pen, yet my heart shall consult with don Pedro how to beare my selfe in this so weighty and important a businesse, whereon (although the cause be malice, and the pretext religion) I know depends either my future content or affliction, my happinesse or my misery, in the meane time I will pray for those who vitiously hate mee, and honour these 〈◊〉〈◊〉 vertuously affect and honour mee. Of which last number, I ingenuously and grateful∣ly acknowledge, that your generosity, not my merits, hath condignely made you one.

CECILLIANA.

When shee had dispatched this Letter to Delrio, then Monfredo by her consent, and the advice of her brother don Pedro, holds it very requisite now once againe to sound the affection, and to feele the pulse of their mother dona Catherina's reso∣l•…•…tion towards him, to see whether yea or no shee will please to give him her daughter in marriage; and it is agreed of all sides betweene them, that at the very time and houre which he goes there, that shee and her brother don Pedro will purposely absent themselves, and ride abroad in their Coach, to take the aire, which they doe: To this effect Monfredo takes his Coach, and goes directly to the Lady Catherina's house, and sends up his name to her, as desiring to have the honour to salute her, and kisse her hand; but shee is so inraged and transpor∣•…•…ed with choller at his arrivall and message, as shee sends him downe a flat and •…•…eremptory denyall, that shee will not see him, and as formerly shee prayed, so •…•…ow shee commands him to depart, and ever hereafter to forbeare her house. An •…•…swer so unkinde and uncivill, that Monfredo well knowes not whether hee have •…•…cason to digest it with more choller or laughter; so returning her answer by her •…•…ayting-gentlewoman, that hee will obey her commands, and no more trou∣•…•… either her house or her patience, yet that hee will still remaine her most hum∣•…•… servant, and although shee refuse to see him, that hee will ever pray for her

long life and prosperity: don Martino is now at home, and laughs in his sleeve as a Gipsie, to see what brave entertainment his mother gives Monfredo, he expecteth al∣so that hee should visite him, but because his mothers stomacke is so high, there∣fore his cannot descend so low, as owing him no such duety and service, and so takes Coach and away; and knowing where don Pedro and his Mistresse Cecilliana were, in the fields, hee drives away presently to them, and very pleasantly re∣lates them the whole long storie of their mothers short entertainment to him, which administreth matter of laughter to them all, and farre the more, in regard neither of them expected lesse; so Monfredo staying an houre or two with them in the fields, and then bringing them to the gates of the City, they for that time take their leave each of other, and all appoynt to meet the next day after dinner, in the Garden of the Augustine Fryers, and there to provide and resolve for their affaires, against the discontent of their mother, and the malice of their brother don Martino.

The next morning, the Lady Catherina (storming at Monfredo's yesterdayes presumption and boldnesse) sends for her daughter Cecilliana into the Garden to her, as being fully resolved to deale effectually with her for ever to forsake Mon∣fredo, or if shee cannot, then to commit her to a Nunnery. Shee comes; when (in great privacie and efficacie) shee layes before her the poverty of Monfredo, the which shee affirmes will bring her to more misery then shee can expect or thinke of, or indeed which shee deserves, at least if shee bee not so wilfull to ruine her selfe and her fortunes, as shee is to preserve them. Cecilliana now seeing her mo∣ther bent to play her prize against the merits and honour of her Monfredo, and therefore against the content and felicity which shee expects to injoy by injoying him, shee no longer able to brooke or digest it, cuts her off with this reply, that (her duety excepted) it is in vaine for her, either to seeke to disparage Monfredo, or any way of the world to attempt to withdraw her affection from him, and therefore with much observance and respect prayes her to affect and honour him, if not for his owne sake, yet for hers. Her Lady mother weeps to see her daughter thus ob∣stinate (shee might have sayd thus constant) in her affection to Monfredo, and there∣fore (with frownes in her lookes, and anger in her eyes) she thunders out a whole Catalogue of disprayses and recriminations against him; and because yet shee despayreth to prevaile with her hereby, shee now (thinking it high time) resolves to divert and change the streame of her affection from him to God, and so at last to mew and betake her to a Nunnery, whereon her desires and intentions have so long ruminated, and her wishes and vowes aymed at: to which end calming the stormes of her tongue, and composing her countenance to patience and piety, she with her best art and eloquence speakes to her thus; That in regard she will not accept of don Delrio for her husband, with whom shee might have injoyed pro∣sperity, content, and glory, but will rather marry Monfredo, from whom she can, and must expect nothing but poverty, griefe, and repentance, shee therefore (out of her naturall regard of her, and tender affection to her) hath by the direction of God, bethought her selfe of a medium betweene both, which is to marry nei∣ther of them, but in a religious and sanctifyed way to espouse her selfe to God and his holy Church; when (thinking to have taken time by the forelocke) shee depainteth her the felicity and beatitude of a Nunnes profession and life, so plea∣sing to God and the World, to Heaven and Earth, to Angels and Men: When her daughter Cecilliana being tyred and discontented with this poore and ridicu∣lous oration of hers, shee lifting up her eyes to Heaven, with a modest boldnesse, and yet with a bold truth, interrupts her mother thus, that God hath inspired he•…•…

heart to affect Monfredo so deerely, and to love him so tenderly, as shee will ra∣ther content her selfe to beg with him, then to live with Delrio in the greatest pro∣sperity which either this life or this world can afford her; that although shee had no bad opinion of Nunnes, yet that neither the constitution of her body, much lesse of her minde, was proper for a Nunnery, or a Nunnery for her; in which regard, shee had rather pray for them then with them, and honour then imitate them: when the Lady her mother, not able to containe her selfe in patience, much lesse in silence, at this audacity (and as shee thought) impiety of her daughter, she with much choller and spleene demands her a reason of these her exorbitant spee∣ches. When her daughter no way dejecting her lookes to earth, but rather advan∣cing and raysing them to heaven, requites her with this answer; That it is not the body, but the minde, not the flesh, but the soule, which is chiefly requisite and re∣quired to give our selves to God and his Church; that to throw, or (which is worse) to permit our selves to be throwne on the Church through any cause of constraint, or motion of distaste or discontent, is an act which savoureth more of prophanenesse then piety, and more of earth then heaven; that as Gods power, so his presence is not to bee confined or tyed to any place, for that his Centre is every where, and therefore his circumference no where; that God is in Aegypt as well as in Palestyne or Hierusalem, and that heaven is as neere us, and wee hea∣ven, in a Mansion house, as in a Monastery or Nunnery; that it is not the place which sanctifyeth the heart and soule, but they▪ the place; and that Churches and Cloysters have no priviledge or power to keepe out sin, if we by our owne lively faith, and God by his all-saving grace doe not. Which speech of hers as soon as she had delivered, and seeing that the Lady her mother was more capable to answer her thereunto with silence then reason, she making her a low reverence, and craving her excuse, departs from her, and leaves her here alone in the Garden to her selfe and her Muses.

Her mother having a little walked out her choller, in seeing her daughters firme resolution not to become a Nunne; shee leaves the garden and retires to her Chamber, where sending for her sonne Martino, she relates him at full what confe∣rence had there past betweene his sister and her selfe, who likewise is so much perplexed and grieved hereat, as putting their heads and wits together, they within a day or two, vow to provide a remedy for this her obstinacie and wilfulnesse. As for Cecilliana shee likewise reports this verball conference, which had past be∣tweene her mother and her selfe, to her brother Don Pedro, and Monfredo, when (according to promise) they met that afternoone in the Augustines garden, who exceedingly laugh thereat; and yet againe fearing lest the malice of their brother Don Martino towards them, mought cause his mother to use some violence or in∣durance to her, and so to make force extort that from her will, which faire meanes could not, they bid her to assume a good courage, and to be cheerefull and gene∣rous, promising her that if her mother attempted it, that Monfredo should steale her away by night, and that hee, as hee is don Pedro her brother, will assist her in her escape and flight; whereon they all resolve with hands, and conclude with kisses: Neither did their doubts prove vaine, or their feare and suspicion deceive them herein; for her incensed mother being resolute in her will, and wilfull in •…•…er obstinacie, to make her daughter a Nunne, shee shuts her up in her Chamber, makes it no lesse then her prison, and her brother don Martino her Guardian, or •…•…ather her Goaler. Poore Cecilliana now exceedingly weepes and grieves at this •…•…ruelty of her mother, and brother don Martino, which as yet her deare brother don •…•…dro cannot remedy, by perswading, or prevailing with them to release her; hee

acquaints Monfredo herewith, and they both consulting, finde no better expedient to free her from this domesticall imprisonment, then counterfeitly to give her mother to understand and believe, that her daughter hath now changed her mind, and that (by Gods direction) shee is fully resolved to abandon Monfredo, and so to spend and end her dayes in a Nunnery; but contrariwise, they resolve to fetch her away by night, and without delay. Accordingly hereunto Cecilliana acts her part well, and pretends now to this spirituall will and resolution of her mother, sa before she was disobedient. Her mother infinitly rejoyceth at this her conversion, and no lesse (or rather more) doth her brother don Martino, who to fortifie and con∣firme her in this her religious resolution, they send some Friers and Nunnes to perswade her to appoynt the precise day for her entrance into this Holy house and Orders; which with her tongue shee doth, but in her heart resolves nothing lesse, or rather directly the contrary. The mother now acquaints both her sonnes with this resolution of their sister, which is the next Sunday to give her selfe to God and the Church, and to take holy Orders; when don Pedro purposely very artificially seemes as strongly to oppose, as his brother don Martino cheerefully approves thereof, now extolling her devotion and piety as farre as the Sky, if not many degrees beyond the Moone; so the day appoynted for her entrance and reception drawing neere, the Lady Abbesse is dealt with by her Mother, her Cell provided, her Spirituall apparell made, all her kinsfolkes and chiefe friends invited to a solemne Feast, to celebrate this our new Holy Sisters marriage to God and the Church. But whiles thus dona Catherina the mother, and don Mar∣tino her sonne are exceeding busie about the preparation and solemnity of this Spi∣rituall businesse, don Pedro and Monfredo resolve to runne a contrary course, and so to steale away Cecilliana the very night before the prefixed day of her entrance into the Nunnery, as holding that Saturday night the fittest time and most voyd of all suspicion and feare, whereof (both by tongue and letter) they give her exact and curious notice; which striking infinite joy to her heart and thoughts, shee accordingly makes her selfe ready, packes up all her Iewells and Bracelets in a small Casket, and acquainting none of the world therewith, for that her bro∣ther don Pedro's chamber was next to hers, and hee as vigilant and watchfull as her selfe, for Monfredo's comming about midnight, which was the appoynted houre for his Rendevouz: when at last both their severall Watches (in their severall Chambers) assuring them that it was neere one of the clocke, it being the dead of the night, none of the house stirring, but all hushed up in silence,, as if eve∣ry thing seemed to conspire to her escape and flight; then, I say, don Pedro issues forth his Chamber to hers, where the doore being a little open, and her candle put our, hee findes his sister ready, when conducting her by the arme, they soft∣ly descend the stayres, and so to a Posterne doore of the Garden; where they finde Monfredo (joyfully ready to receive the Queene regent of his heart) assisted with two valiant confident Gentlemen his friends, who were well mounted on excellent horses with their swords and Pistolls, and for himselfe and her a Coach with sixe horses: When briefely passing over their Complements and congees each from other, they (with a world of thankes) leave don Pedro behinde them, and so away as swift as the winde, who seeing them gone, secretly and softly re∣turnes to his Chamber and bed, silently shutting all the doores after him, whiles Monfredo with his other selfe and his two friends drive away to Valdebelle, a Man∣nor house of his some eight leagues from Burgos.

Don Pedro lyes purposely long in his bed the next morning, thereby the better to colour out his ignorance and innocencie of his sisters Clandestine flight and

escape: So his mother about five, or neere sixe of the clocke, sends Felicia her daughters Wayting-gentlewoman to her Chamber, to awake and apparell her, to receive many young Ladies and Gentlewomen, who were come to visit her, and to take their leaves of her before her entrie into Gods house: but Felicia speedily returnes to her with this unlookt-for answer; That her Ladies Chamber doore is fast locked, whereat shee hath many times call'd and knock'd aloud, but heares no speech. The mother is amazed hereat, and no lesse (rather more) is her sonne don Martino; so they both run to her Chamber, and knocke and call aloud, but hearing no answer, they force open the doore, where they finde the nest, but the bird flowne away; whereat the mother infinitely weeps, and her sonne don Mar∣tino doth exceedingly rage and storme, at this their afront and scandall, he tells his mother he will ingage his life, that his brother don Pedro is accessary to his sister Ce∣cilliana's flight, and gone with her; so they both run to his Chamber, but find him in his bed fast sleeping and snoring, as hee pretends and they believe: their out∣cries awake him; but they shall finde him as subtile and reserved in his policie to∣wards them, as they were in their malice to his sister; so he heares their newes, puts on his apparell, seemes to bee all in fire and choller hereat, profereth his mother his best indeavours and power to recover his sister, and to revenge himselfe on the villaine who hath stolne her away. But his brother don Martino is so galled and netled at the escape of his sister, and these words of his brother, as hee tells him to his face, in presence of their mother, that his speeches and profers are counter∣feit, and himselfe a dissembler, and that it is impossible but hee assisted and fa∣voured her escape and departure; for which uncivill and foule language of one brother to another, don Pedro gives him the lye, and seconds it with a boxe on the eare, and then very cunningly betakes himselfe to consolate and comfort the La∣dy his mother, who is not a little grieved and angry at this her second affliction, and the more in regard hee did it in her presence; so don Pedro reconducting her to her Chamber, and leaving her weeping in company of many of their sorrowfull •…•…folkes and neighbours, hee then calls for his horse, and under colour to finde out his sister, hee rides to Valdebelle to her and Monfredo, stayes there some eight dayes, where being exceeding carefull of the preservation of his sisters honour and reputation, hee before his departure sees them solemnly but secretly mar∣ryed; where leaving them to their Nuptiall joyes, and pleasures, hee againe re∣•…•…es to Burgos, and tells his Mother it is impossible for him to heare any newes of his sister.

And now, what doth the returne, sight, and presence of don Pedro doe here in his mothers house at Burgos, but onely revive his brother don Martino's old ma∣•…•…e, and new choller and revenge against him, for the lye and boxe on the eare, which hee so lately gave him? For the remembrance thereof so inflames his heart and thoughts against him, that hee forgetting his conscience and soule, yea •…•…ven and God, as hee assumes and gives life to his former bloudy resolution to •…•…ther him, and thinkes no safer, nor surer way for him to effect it, then by •…•…yson, that ingredient of hell, and drug of the Devill. But don Martino is reso∣•…•…e in his rage, and execrable in his bloudy malice and revenge against this his •…•…erous and noble brother don Pedro; so (disdayning all thoughts of religion, •…•…d considerations of piety) he procureth a paire of poysoned perfumed Gloves, •…•…d treacherously insinuating them into his brothers hands and wearing, the fatall •…•…enom'd sent thereof in lesse then two dayes poisoneth him; so he is found dead •…•…s bed: when don Martino, the more closely to overvaile this damnable fact 〈◊〉〈◊〉 his, purposely gives it out, that it was an Impostume which broke within

him, and so hee dyed suddainly thereof in his bed, there being no servant of his owne, nor none else that night neere him, or by him to assist him, and this report of his passeth currant with the world; so the Lady his mother and himselfe cause him to bee buryed with more silence then solemnity, and every way infe∣riour to his honourable birth and generous vertues, because shee still affected and loved don Martino farre better then him: so his death did not much afflict or grieve her, and farre lesse his brother don Martino. But for his sister Cecilliana, as soone as shee understood and heard hereof, shee is so appalled with griefe, and daunted with sorrow and despayre, that shee sends a world of sighes to heaven, and a deluge of teares to earth for the death of this her best and dearest brother. Her husband don Monfredo (for henceforth so wee must call him) likewise infinite∣ly laments don Pedro's death, as having lost a constant friend, and a deare and in∣comparable brother in law in him; and yet all the meanes which hee can use to comfort this his sorrowfull wife, hath will, but not power enough to effect it; for still shee weepes and sobs, and still her heart and soule doe prompt and tell her, that it is one brother who hath killd another, and that her brother don Mar∣tino is infallibly the murtherer of his and her brother don Pedro; but she hath one∣ly presumption, no proofes for this her suspicion, and therefore shee leaves the detection and issue hereof to time, and to God.

Now, by this time, wee must understand that dona Catherina hath perfect newes, that it is Monfredo who hath stolne away her daughter Cecilliana, and keepes her at his house of Valdebelle, in the Countrey, but as yet shee knowes not that hee hath marryed her; wherefore being desirous of her returne, not for any great affection which shee now bore her, but onely to accomplish her former desires, in frustrating her marriage with Monfredo, and in marrying her to a Nunnery, shee againe still provok'd and egg'd on by the advice of her sonne don Martino, sends him to Valdebelle to crave her of Monfredo, and so to perswade and hasten her re∣turne to her to Burgos, but writes to neither of them. Don Martino arrives thi∣ther, and having delivered don Monfredo and his sister Cecilliana his mothers mes∣sage for her returne to Burgos, hee then vainely presumes to speake thus to them from himselfe. Hee first sharpely rebukes her of folly, and disobedience, in fly∣ing away from his and her mother, and then (with more passion then iudgement) checkes him of dishonour to harbour and shelter her; that this was not the true and right way to make her his wife, but his strumpet, or at least to give the world just cause to thinke so; and if he intended to preserve her prosperity and honor, and not to r•…•…ine it, that hee should restore his mother her daughter, and himselfe his sister, and no longer retayne her; but speakes not a word of his brother don Pedro's death, much lesse makes any shadow to mourne, or shew to grieve or sorrow for it. His sister Cecilliana (at his first sight) is all in teares for the death of her brother don Pedro, and yet extreamly incens'd with him for these his base speeches towards her and her Monfredo, she once thought to have given him a hot and chollericke re∣ply, but at last considering better with her selfe (as also to prevent Monfredo, whom she saw had an itching desire to fit him with his answer) she then in generall termes returnes him this short reply; That shee is now accomptable to none but to God for her actions, who best knowes her heart and resolutions, and therefore for her returne to her mother at Burgos, or her stay here at Valdebelle, shee whol∣ly referres it to don Monfredo, whose will and pleasure therein shall assuredly bee hers, because shee hath, and still findes him to bee a worthy and honourable Gen∣tleman: when (before shee conclude her speech to him) shee tells him, that shee thought his comming had beene to condole with her for the death of their bro∣ther

Don Pedro, but that with griefe shee is now enforced to see the contrary, in re∣gard his speeches and actions tend to afflict, not to comfort her, and rather to bee the argument of her mourning, than the cause of her consolation. But Monfredo being touched to the quicke, with these ignoble and base speeches of Don Martino, both to himselfe and Cecilliana, he is too generous long to digest them with silence, and therefore preferring his affection to her, before any other earthly respect, and her reputation and honour dearer than his life, hee composing his countenance to discontent and anger, returnes him this answere: That if any other man but him∣selfe, had given him the least part of those unworthy speeches, both against his ho∣nour, as also against that of his sister Cecilliana, his Rapier, not his tongue, should have answered him; That his affection and respects to her, are every way vertuous and honourable; and that shee is, and shall be more safer here in Valdebelle, than the life of his noble brother Don Pedro was in his mothers house at Burgos; That as the young Ladie his sister is pleased to referre her stay or returne to him, so (re∣ciprocally to requite her courtesie) doth hee to her; and for his part, hee is fully resolved not to perswade, much lesse to advise her to put her selfe either into her Mothers protection, or his courtesie; for that hee is fearefull, i•…•… not confident in this beliefe, that the one may proove pernitious, and the other fatall and ruinous to her. And so with cold entertainment, and short ceremonies, Don Martino is en∣forced to returne to Burgos to his Mother, without his Sister, where assoone as hee is arrived, hee tells his Mother of his Sister Cecilliana's constant resolution, from whence hee thinkes it impossible to draw or divert her, because he finds Monfredo of the same opinion: but whether hee have married her or no, hee knowes not, neither could he informe himselfe thereof. And here yet Don Martino is so cau∣tious to his Mother, as he speakes not a word or syllable of any speech or mention they had of the death of his brother Don Pedro. But as soone as hee had left his Mother, and retyred himselfe to his chamber, then hee thinkes the more thereof; yea, then hee againe and againe remembers what dangerous speeches he publikely received from his Sister Cecilliana, and Monfredo, concerning that his sudden death, whereby they silently meant, and tacitely implied no lesse than murther; Where∣fore hee is so helli•…•…h and bloudy minded, that hee resolves shortly to provide a playster for this sore; and hee knowes, that to make their tongues eternally si∣lent, hee cannot better or safer performe it, than by murthering them, whereof hee sayes the reason is apparantly and pregnantly true: for as long as that suspi∣tion lives in them, hee therefore can never live in safetie, but in extreame danger himselfe. But because of the two, Monfredo seemed to intend and portend him the greatest choller, and the most inveterate rage, therefore (as a limbe of the De∣vill, or rather as a Devill incarnate himselfe) hee resolves to begin with Monfredo first, and as occasions and accidents shall present, then with his sister Cecilliana after, without ever having the grace to thinke of his Conscience or Soule, or of Heaven or Hell, or without once considering, that our owne malice and revenge doth more hurt us then our enemies; That anger is a short madnesse, and that it is a most assured happinesse for us rather to forget offences, than to revenge them; and which is more, that (in a manner) it is but right now that hee came from poysoning of his owne brother, whose innocent blood is yet hardly cold in his untimely grave, but still cries alowd for vengeance from Heaven on his head for that cruell and damnable fact.

But this shame, this monster of nature, don Martino, who feares none lesse than God, and loves none more than the Devill, will not thus forsake his cruell ma∣lice, norabandon his execrable revenge: but understanding that Monfredo some∣times

(though secretly) leaves Valdebelle to see Burgos, hee hearkens out there∣fore for his next comming thither: when being assured that hee was now in the Citie, hee wayting for him as hee issued forth his house, which hee did betweene eleven and twelve at night, hee with his small Target, and darke Lanterne in his left hand, and his Rapier drawen in his right, runnes him twice thorow the body therewith, of which two mortall wounds he presently fell dead in the street, his misfortune being then so great, as hee had no Servant nor Friend present to assist him, and his feare and care of himselfe so small, as he was kill'd before he could see his enemie, or have the leasure to draw his sword in his owne defence and assistance; so fierce and suddaine was Martino's rage and malice, in murthering of this harmelesse and innocent Gentleman: the which assoone as hee had perfor∣med, hee secretly hies home to his Mothers house, and speedily betakes him∣selfe to his bed, where the Devill rocking him asleepe in securitie, hee as his in∣fernall Agent, and bloody Factor, nothing cares what God or man can doe unto him. The next morning at breake of day, this breathlesse body of Don Menfredo is found in the street: so all Burgos resounds of this his lamentable murther, but no mortall eye hath seene, or tongue as yet can tell who the murtherer should bee. But God (in his divine Iustice, and for the exaltation of his sacred Glorie) will shortly bring both it and him to light, by an accident no lesse strange than remarkeable.

Dona Catharina heares hereof, and is so farre from grieving, as shee rejoyceth thereat, no way doubting, but Monfredo being dead, shee with much facilitie (ac∣cording to her desires and wishes) shall now of two resolutions, draw her Daugh∣ter Cecilliana to embrace and follow one; that is, either to marrie Delrio in ear∣nest, or a Nunnery no more in jeast. The next day after Dinner, the Relation of this deplorable accident arrives to Valdebelle, and consequently to the know∣ledge of our Cecilliana, who so pitifully weepes and mournes thereat, as for meere griefe and sorrow shee teares her hayre, bolts her selfe into her Chamber, and there throwes her selfe downe on the floore, and neither can, nor will bee com∣forted, no, nor permit any one to administer it to her, or which is lesse, to see or speake with her. So although Monfredo's Kinsfolkes and friends doe infinitely lament this his unfortunate death, yet all their sighes and teares put together, are nothing in regard of those of his young wife, and now widdow Cecilliana, who (out of the immoderate excesse of this her anxietie, and affliction) is now become so reasonlesse, and desperate, that first the murther of her deare brother Don Pe∣dro, and now this of her sweet Husband Monfredo, is both a griefe to her thoughts, and a torment to her heart and minde, yea to her very soule: For still shee re∣maines confident in this opinion, that her brother Don Martino is infallibly th•…•… murtherer of them both; and from this suspicion of hers, shee cannot, shee will not bee diverted; yea, her living affection to their dead memories, is so extreame and fervent, that to bee assured whether it bee him, or who else that have mur∣thered them, it leades her minde to a resolution, to prove an Experiment, which though prophane curiositie in some persons sometimes seeme to allow and pra∣ctise as tolerable, yet sacred Religion must and doth for ever both reject and con∣temne it as Diabolicall. Shee disguiseth her selfe in her apparell, and very early in the morning rides to one Alphonso Sanchez, a famous reputed Wizard or Sor∣cerer, who dwelt at Arena, some sixe leagues off from Valdebelle, and giving him the two pictures of her murthered Brother and Husband, as also a perfect note of their age, and horoscope of their Nativities, shee prayes him to discover and shew her in a Looking-glasse, the true pictures and representations of their mur∣therers;

When to have him dispatch both it and her selfe the sooner, shee gives him tenne Duckets, upon the receipt whereof hee promiseth her his best Art and skill, makes her stay till almost darke night, & then fooles her off with this flamme, That he hath effectually invocated and raised his Spirit, from whom hee could get no other answer, but that God for that time would not permit him to shew her these Murtherers pictures in a glasse; whereby this Wizard proving himselfe more a cheating knave than a Sorcerer, and more a true Impostor, than a Chri∣stian, hee herein makes a foole of this sorrowfull young Lady, in thinking to make her know that, which it is both a foule shame, and a shamefull ignorance for any Christian to be ignorant of, (to wit) That it is not the Devill, or his Agents, but only God, who (in his divine pleasure and providence) hath power to reveale Murthers, and Murthe∣rers, both when, where, how, and by whom it seemes most agreeable and pleasing to his All∣seeing, and sacred Majestie.

Cecilliana returning home, more loaden with doubts than gold from this Mon∣ster of men, (because in effect hee makes it his profession to bee lesse a man that a devill) shee is ashamed of her ignorance and impietie herein, and for mee•…•…e griefe and sorrow) weepes, to see that the foundation of her faith should bee so weake and reeling, as not constantly to relye upon the providence and justice of God, but to repose her foolish curiositie and beliefe upon this prophane and sottish Sorce∣rer, for the detection of these Murthers. But leaving her for a while in her discon∣solation and sorrow at Valdebelle, I come now to this wretched villain Don Martino her brother in Burgos, who having thus committed these two cruell and la∣mentable Murthers, doth for the first two or three moneths after put a cheere∣full and frolike countenance thereon, thereby the more absolutely to betray, and bleare the eyes of the world, that the least sparke or shadow thereof should not diffuse or reflect on him. But here before I proceed further, the Reader is reque∣sted to observe this one remarkable circumstance of Gods Iustice and Providence, in detecting of Don Martino, to bee the sole Author, and Actor of these two unna∣turall and deplorable Murthers. For as the Devill had made him so cautious in his malice, and subtill in his revenge, that hee imployed no other Minister, nor used no other agent or assistant herein but himselfe; so being deprived of any witnesse, ei∣ther to accuse, or make him guiltie heereof; God (I say) out of the immensitie of his power, and profundity of his providence, will make himselfe to become a wit∣nesse against himselfe, and wanting all other meanes, will make himselfe the onely meanes both to detect and destroy himselfe. The manner thus.

As there is no felicitie to peace, so there is no felicitie or peace comparable to that of a quiet and innocent conscience; It is a precious Iewell of an inestimable •…•…alue, and unparalelld price, yea, a continuall Feast, than which Heaven may, but Earth cannot afford us either a more rich or delitious: and the contrary it is, where the heart and conscience have made themselves guiltie of some foule & enormous crimes, and especially of Murther, wherein we can never kill Man the creature, but we assuredly wound God the Creator: for then, as those, so this, (with lesse doubt and more assurance) gives in a heavy and bloody evidence against us, and which commonly produceth us these three woefull and lamentable effects, Dispaire, Hor∣rour, Terrour; the which wee shall now see verified and instanced in this bloody and miserable wretch, Don Martino, who (as I have formerly sayd) hath not fully past over the tearme of three moneths in externall mirth, jollitie, and braverie, thereby to cast a cheerefull countenance and varnish on those his bloody villanies, but God so distracted his wits & senses, struck such astonishment to his thoughts, and amazement to his heart and Conscience, as it seemed to him, that (both by

night and day) the ghosts of his harmelesse brother Don Pedro, and of innocent Don Monfredo still pursue him for revenge, and justice of these their murthers. And now his lookes are extravagant, fearefull, and ghastly, which are still the signes and symptomes either of a distempered braine, a polluted conscience and soule, or of both. Hee knowes not to whom, or where, or where not to goe for remedy here∣in, but still his heart is in a mutinie and rebellion with his Conscience, and both of them against God. He is afraid of every creature he sees, and likewise of those who see him not. If he looke backe, and perceive any one to runne behinde him, he thinkes 'tis a Sergeant come to arrest him; and if he chance to be hold any Gen∣tleman in a scarlet cloake comming towards him, he verily beleeves & feares 'tis a Iudge in his scarlet Robes to arraigne and condemne him. He hath not the grace to go into a Church, nor the boldnesse to looke up to the Tower therof, for feare lest the one swallow him up alive, and the other fall on him, and crush him to death: If hee walke in any woods, fields, or gardens, and see but a leafe wagge, or a bird stirre, hee is of opinion there some furies or executioners come to torment him; or doth he heare any Dog howle, Cat crie, or Owle whoot, or screech, he is there∣at so suddenly appalled and amazed, as hee thinkes it to bee the voyce of the De∣vill, who is come to fetch him away. Hee will not passe over any bridge, brooke, or River, for feare of drowning, nor over any planke, gate, or style, lest hee should breake his necke. The sight of his shadow is a corosive to his heart, and a Pa∣nique terrour to his thoughts, because he both thinkes and beleeves, that it is not his owne, but the hang-mans; and when any one (out of charitie or pitie) come to see and visite him, hee flyes from them, as if Hell were at his backe, and the De∣vill at his heeles. The very sight of a Rapier, stabs him at his heart, and the bare thought, or name of Poyson, seemes to infect and kill his soule; and yet miserable wretch and miscreant that he is, all this while he hath not the goodnesse to looke downe into his heart and Conscience with contrition, nor the grace to lookeup to Heaven and to God with repentance. The Lady Catherina his Mother is won∣derfully perplexed and grieved hereat, and so are all his kinsfolkes and friends in and about Burgos, who cause some excellent Physicians and Divines to deale with him, about administring him the meanes to cure him of this his lunacie and di∣straction. But God will not permit, that either the skilfull Art of those, or the powerfull perswasions of these doe as yet prevaile with him, or performe it. Two Moones have fully finished their Celestiall course, whiles thus his phrensie and madnesse possesseth him; and in one of the greatest, and most outragious fits ther∣of, hee (without wit, or guide) runnes to Saint Sebastiano's Church, finds out Father Thomas his Confessor, and in private and serious confession, reveales him, how he hath poysoned his brother Don Pedro, and also murthered Don Monfredo; adding withall, that God (out of his indulgent mercie) would no longer permit him to charge his soule with the concealing thereof, and then beggs his absolution, and remission for the same. His Confessor (being a religious Church-man) much la∣menting, and wondring at the foulnesse of these his (Penitents) two bloody facts, although hee finde more difficultie than reason to grant his desire, yet enquiring of him, if there were any other accessary with him in these murthers, and Don Martino freely and firmely acknowledging to him there was none, but the Devill and himselfe: hee (after a serious checke, and religious repremendo) in hope of his future contrition and repentance, gives him a sharpe and severe penance (though no way answerable to his crimes) and so absolves him; and yet for the space of at least a whole moneth after, his lunacie (by the permission of God) still followes him, when (for a further triall of his comportment, and hope of his repentance)

God is againe pleased to slacke the hand of his judgement, and so frees him from his madnesse and distraction, to see whether he will prove Gold or Drosse, a Chri∣stian or a Devill.

Not long after this, his Confessor Father Thomas (being Curate of one of the neighbouring parishes) falls extreame sicke of a Piurisie, and so dangerously sicke, that his Physician (despairing of his life) bids him prepare his body for death, and his soule for Heaven, and God: Who then revoking to minde (what hee hath heard and seene) how grievously and sorrowfully the Lady Cecilliana takes the Deaths of her Brother and Husband, and the more, in that she is ignorant who are their Murtherers, he is no longer resolved to burthen his conscience and soule with concealing thereof; but to write it to her in a Letter, the which he chargeth and conjureth his owne Sister Cyrilla to deliver into her owne hands, some three dayes after his buriall; the which we shall see her shortly performe: for the Priest Fa∣ther Thomas, her brother, lived not three weekes after.

In the meane time, come we to the Lady Dona Catherina, the Mother, who ha∣ving outwardly wept for the death of her eldest Sonne Don Pedro, for the disobe∣dient flight and clandestine Marriage of her Daughter Cecilliana to Monfredo, who is now murthered, but by whom shee knowes not, and seeing her sayd Daughter thereby made a sorrowfull Widdow, shee (as an indulgent and kinde Mother) for∣g•…•…ng what she had formerly done and beene, and now desirous to comfort her, and to bee comforted of her, againe sends her sonne Don Martino to Valdebelle, to sollici•…•…e his Sister to returne, and to live with her in Burgos: Who (detesting this p•…•…ject and resolution of his Mother) is very sorrowfull thereat; but seeing that shee will be obeyed, he rides over to Valdebelle, to his Sister, and there delivereth his Mothers will and message to her; but in such faint and cold tearmes, as shee thereby knowes, hee is farre more desirous of her absence than her presence, and of her stay, than her returne; yea (and to write the truth of her minde) his very sight strikes such flames of feare into her heart, and of suspicion into her thoughts, that shee still assumes and retaines her old opinion and confidence, that hee is the absolute Murtherer of her brother Don Pedro, and her husband Don Monfredo, but herein shee now holds it discretion to conceale her selfe to her selfe, and so gives him kinde and respective entertainment; shee prayes him to report her humble duety to her Mother, that she will consider of her request, and either send or bring her 〈◊〉〈◊〉 resolution shortly: but inwardly in her heart and soule, she intends nothing lesse, than either to hazard her content upon the discontent of her Mother, or (which is worse) her life on the inveterate malice of her brother Don Martino.

And now we approch and draw neere, to see the judgements and justice of God overtake this our wretched Don Martino, for these his two most lamentable and bloudy Murthers. And now his sacred Majestie is fully resolved to detect them, and his Arrow is bent, and Sword whetted, to punish him for the same; for wee must understand that the very same day which her brother Don Martino was last with her at Valdebelle, his Confessor Father Thomas dyed; and some three dayes after, his Sister Cyrilla (according to his dying order) rides over to the Lady Cecil∣liana, and delivereth her the Priest her brothers Letter; at the receipt whereof, Cecilliana findes different emotions in her heart, and passions in her minde: 〈◊〉〈◊〉 going into the next roome, she breaks up the seales, and finds therein these Lines.

FATHER THOMAS to CECILLIANA.

WEll knowing that the Lawes of Heaven are farre more powerfull and sacred than those of Earth, as I now lye on my Death-bed, ready to leave this life, and to flie

into the Armes of my Saviour and Redeemer Christ Iesus, I could not goe to my Grave in peace, before I had signifyed unto thee, that very lately thy brother Don Martino, in Saint Honoria's Church, delivered unto me in confession, That he had first poysoned thy brother Don Pedro with a paire of perfumed Gloves, and then after murthered thy husband Don Monfredo with his Rapier in Burgos: And although I must and doe acknowledge that he was in his Fit of Lunacie and Madnes, when he thus made himselfe a witnes against himselfe hereof, yet no doubt the immediat finger and providence of God led him to this resolution as an act which infinitly tends to his sacred Honor and Glory. I send thee this Letter by my Sister Cyrilla, whom I have strictly charged to deliver it to thee three dayes after my buriall, because I hold it most consonant to my Profession and Order, that not my Life, but my Death should herein violate the seale of Confession; and thou shalt shew thy selfe a most religious and Christian Lady, if thou make this use hereof, that it is not my selfe, but God who sends thee this Newes by mee.

FATHER THOMAS.

Cecilliana having o're-read this Letter, and therein understood and found out that her brother Don Martino is the cruell Murtherer, both of her brother Don Pe∣dro, and her husband Don Monfredo, her griefe thereat doth so farre o'resway her reason, and her malice and revenge her religion, as once shee is of the minde to murther him with her owne hand, in requitall hereof; but then againe strangling that bloudy thought in its conception, shee vowes, that if not by her owne hand, he shall yet infallibly dye by the hand of the common Executioner: When Love, Pitty, Nature, Reason, Griefe, Sorrow, Rage, and Revenge, acting their severall parts upon the Stage of her heart, shee findes a great combate in her heart, and re∣luctancie in her soule, what, or what not to doe herein; when with many teares and prayers (by the Advice and Counsell of God) shee enters into this consul∣tation hereon with her selfe. Ahlas, unfortunate and sorrowfull Cecilliana! It is upon no light presumption, or triviall circumstances, that I believe my brother Martino to be the inhumane murtherer of my brother Don Pedro, and husband Mon∣fredo; for besides that God ever prompted my heart, and whispered my soule that this was true, yet now here is his owne Confession to his Ghostly father, and his Ghostly Fathers owne Letter and Confession to mee, to the same effect, Eviden∣ces and Witnesses, without exception, as cleere as noone day, and as bright as the Sunne in his hottest and brightest Meridian, that hee, and onely he, was the Mur∣therer of them both: but Oh poore Cecilliana (quoth shee) to what a miserable e∣state and perplexity hath these his bloudy facts and crimes now reduced mee! for he hath murthered my brother and husband, shall I then permit him to live; but withall, he is likewise my brother, and shall I then cause him to dye? True it is, I cannot recall their lives, but it is likewise as true that I may prevent his death; for as the first lay not in my power to remedie, yet all the world knowes, that the second meerely depends of my pity, courtesie, and compassion to prevent: but Ahlas (saith she) the tyes of heaven are, and ought to be infinitly more strong than those of earth, and the glory of God to be far preferred before all our naturall affe∣ctions and obligations to our best Friends, or neerest or dearest Kinsfolkes whoso∣ever. Therefore, as to detect these Murthers of his, thou art no friend to Nature, so againe, to conceale them, thou thereby makest thy selfe an enemy to Grace; for assure thy selfe, unfortunate Cecilliana, that God will never bee appeased, nor Iustice satisfyed, untill their innocent blood be expiated, and washed away in his, who is guilty thereof; because, as by detecting Murther, wee blesse and glorifie God, so by concealing it, we heap a fatall Anathe•…•…a, and curse upon our own heads.

As Clouds are dis•…•…pated, and blowne away, when the Sun ariseth, and mo•…•…teth in his Verticall lustre and glory, so Cecilliana having thus ended her consultation with her selfe, and now began her resolution with God, she leaves Valdebelle, takes her Coach, and dispeeds away to Burgos; where, in steed of going to he Lady Mother's, shee goes directly to the Corrigador's (or Criminall Iudges) of that Ci∣tie, and with much griefe and sorrow (her teares interrupting her sighes, and her sighes her teares) before them accuseth her brother Don Martino to bee the bloudy murtherer of her brother Don Pedro, and her husband Don Monfredo; and for proofe of this truth, produceth the Letter of Father Thomas his Confessor. The Iudges reade it, and are astonished with this report of hers, and farre the more, in regard they here see a Sister call the life of her owne Brother in question; but they see that shee hath as much right and reason for her Accusation, as her inhu∣mane brother Don Martino wanted for his Malice, in making himselfe guilty of these foule and bloudy Crimes: Wherefore attributing it wholly to the pleasure and providence of God, they highly extoll her piety and integrity towards his sacred Majestie, in preferring his Glorie before the Scandall and Misery of her so wretched and execrable brother; and then (out of their zeale and honour to Iu∣stice) they (to evince and vindicate the truth of this lamentable businesse) send away for Cyrilla, and (as soone as she came) upon her Oath propose her these three Questions; First, whether she had this very Letter from her deceased brother Fa∣ther Thomas his owne hand, and that hee gave her order and charge to deliver it to the Lady Cecilliana, three dayes after his decease? Secondly, if it were of his 〈◊〉〈◊〉 writing and sealing? And thirdly, if shee with her owne hands delivered this Letter to the Lady Cecilliana? To all which three Questions, Cyrilla (with a stayd looke and countenance) answereth affirmatively, and thereupon (with haste and secrecie) grant out a Warrant to apprehend Don Martino, when hee was as it were drowned in voluptuousnesse, security, and impenitencie, as making it his vain∣glory to build Castles of content in the aire, and to erect Mountains of wealth and preferment in the V•…•…opia of his ambitious desires and wishes, without ever having the grace, either to thinke of his former horrible Crimes, or future punishment for the same. Hee is amazed at his Apprehension by the Sergeants, but farre more, at the sight and presence of the Criminall Iudges, before whom hee is now brought. They sharpely accuse him of these two aforesayd foule Murthers, and for evidence, and witnesses, produce him his Confessor Father Thomas his Letter, his sister Cyrilla, and his owne sister the Lady Cecilliana; at the sight and knowledge whereof, hee at first seemed to bee much appalled and daunted, but at last recol∣lecting his spirits (taking co•…•… of the Devill, and not of God) assumes a bold countenance, puts himselfe and his tongue on the poynts of denyall and justifica∣tion, and so to his Iudges tearmes his Confessor a devill, and no man, and Cyrilla and his Sister Cecilliana witches, and no women, so unjustly and falsely to accuse him of these foule Murthers, whereof he affirmes not onely the act, but the very name and thought is odious and execrable to him. But God will not be mocked, nor his Iudges deluded with this his Apologie: So they adjudge him to the Racke; the first tortures whereof, hee indureth with an admirable fortitude and patience, but the second hee cannot; but then and there confesseth himselfe to be guilty, and the sole Authour and Actour of both these deplorable Murthers: but yet his heart and soule is still so obdurated by the Devil, as he hath neither the will to be sorrowfull, nor the grace to be repentant for the same.

For Expiation of which his inhumane and bloudy Crimes, his Iudges condemne him to be hanged, and his Right hand to bee first cut off and burnt the next mor∣ning,

at the Common place of Execution, notwithstanding that his afflicted and sorrowfull Mother (out of the naturall and tender affection which she bore him) imployed all her friends and possible power, yea and offered all her owne estate and Landes to save his life; but shee could not prevaile or obtaine it. So the next morning, (in obedience to this his Sentence) this Monster of Nature Don Martino is brought to the Common place of Execution, to take his last farewel of this life, and this world: Hee was clad in a blacke Silke Grograine Sute, wi•…•…l a faire white Ruffe about his necke, and a blacke •…•…eaver Hat on his head, which hee drew downe before his eyes, that hee might neither see, nor be seene of tha•…•… great concourse of people there present, who came to see him conclude the la•…•… Scene and Catastrophe of his life; When after his Right hand was cut off and burnt, which held the Rapier, whereby he murthered Don Monfredo, he then ascen∣ded the Ladder: Where the Spectators expecting some repentant and religious Speech from him before his death, he resembling himselfe (I meane, rather an A∣theist than a Christian, and rather a Devill than a Man) as he lived, so hee would dye, a prophane and gracelesse Villaine; for some speeches he (betwixt his teeth) mumbled to himselfe, but spake not one word that could be heard or understood of any one: and so most resolutely hee himselfe putting the Roape about his necke (although all the people, and especially two Friers neere him, cryed to him to the contrary) he saved the Hangman his labour, and so (with more haste and desperation then repentance) he cast himselfe off the Ladder, and was hanged. And thus was the bloudy life and deserved death of this Hell hound and limbe of the Devill, Don Martino, and in this fort and manner did the just revenge of God triumph ore his foule and bloudy Crimes; which, may all true Christians reade to Gods glory, and to the instruction of their own soules. And if the curiosity of the Reader make him farther desirous to know what became of the •…•…old Lady Catherina the Mother, and of Dona Cecilliana •…•…he Daughter, after all these their dismall and disastrous Accidents, I thought good (by the way of a Post∣script) briefely to adde this for his satisfaction: That the Mother lived not long after, but her Daughter was first reconciled to her, and shee to her Daughter, to whom shee (having no other child) left all her whole Estate: And for her, who was now become likewise very rich, as having a faire yearely Revennue and Ioyn∣ture out of her deceased husband Don Monfredo's Lands and Meanes, although she were again sought in Marriage by some noble Gallants of Castile and Bur•…•…, yet shee resolved never to marry more; and as I have within these very few yeares understood, shee then lived sometimes at Burgos, and somtimes at Valdebelle, in great Pompe and Felicity.

GODS REVENGE AGAINST THE CRYING AND EXECRA∣ble Sinne of Murther.

HISTORIE. XXIII.

Alphonso poysoneth his owne Mother Sophia, and after shoots and kils Cassino (as he was walking in his Garden) with a short Musket (or Carabyne) from a Window. Hee is be∣headed for these two murthers, then burnt, and his ashes throwne into the River.

AS Faith and Prayer are the two pillars of our Soules, and may well be called the Fortresse of Christian piety against the tentations of Sathan: so by the contrary wee expose and lay open our selves to the treacherous lures and malice of the Devill. For if by Faith wee doe not first beleeve, then pray unto God for our owne preservation, it will bee no hard matter for him to tempt us in our choller, to quar∣rell with our best friends, and in our malice and revenge to murther even our neerest and dearest Kindred. O Faith, the true foundation of our soveraigne felicitie! O Prayer, the sweet preservative, and sacred Manna of our soules, how blessed doe you make those who embrace and retaine you! and con∣trariwise, how miserable and wretched are they who contemne and reject you! Of which last number, this insuing Historie will produce us one, who (by his de∣bauched life, and corrupt conversation) trampled those two heavenly Vertues and Graces under his feet, without thinking of God, or regarding, much lesse fearing his judgements: But how God (in the end) requited him for the same, this Hi∣storie will likewise shew us. May we therefore reade it to Gods glory, and to our owne instruction.

IN the Citie of Verceli, (after Turin, one of the chiefest of Piedmont) bordering neere to the Estate and Dutchy of Millan, there lately dwelt a rich Cannon of that Cathedrall Church, named Alosius Cassino, who had a daintie sweet young Gentlewoman to his Neece, named Dona Eleanora, whose mother (being sister to Cassino) named Dona Isabella Caelia, lately died, and left this her onely daughter and •…•…ild her heire, very rich both in demeanes and moneys, when her Vncle Cassino, •…•…eing neerest her in blood, takes Eleanora and her Estate into his protection and •…•…ardship, and is as tender of her breeding and education, and as curious of her •…•…omportment and cariage, as if shee were his owne daughter; for there is no sweet •…•…alitie, nor exquisite perfection requisite in a young Gentlewoman of her ranke

and extraction, but he caused her to become, not superficiall, but artificiall therein, as in Dancing, Musicke, Singing, Painting, Writing, Needling, and the like, wherof all the Nobility and Gentry of Verceli take exact notice and knowledge; yea, her beautie grew up so deliciously with her yeares, that she was (and was justly) repu∣ted to be the prime Flower and Phenix of the Citie. Cassino considering that his house was desti•…•…te of a Matron, to accompany and oversee this his Neece Eleano∣ra, that his age was too Stoicall for her youth, and that his Ecclesiasticall profession and function called him often to preach and pray; hee therefore deeming it very unfit and unseemely (in the Interims of his absence) to leave her to her selfe, and to be ruled and governed by her owne fancy and pleasure, shee being now arrived to twelve yeares of age. He therefore provides her new apparell, and other pertinent necessaries, and giving her a wayting-mayd, and a man of his owne to attend her, hee sends her in his Coach to the Citie of Cassall, in the Marquisat of Montferrat, to the Lady Marguerita Sophia, a widdow Gentlewoman, l•…•…ft by her deceased hus∣band but indifferently rich, but endowed with all those ornaments of Art and Ho∣nour, which made her famous, not onely in Piedmont and Lombardie, but also to all Italy; and to her he therefore writes this ensuing Letter to accompany his Neece, and chargeth his man with the delivery thereof to her.

CASSINO to SOPHIA.

TO satisfie your courteous Requests, and my former promise, I now send you my Neece Eleanora to Cassall, whom I heartily pray thee to use as thy daughter, and to command as thy Hand-maid. She hath no other Vncle but mee, nor I any other acquaintance but thy selfe, with whom I would entrust her for her Education, and recommend her for her Instructi∣on. Shee is not inclined to any vice that I know of, except to those imperfections wherein her youth excuseth her ignorance, and it is both my order and charge to her, that she carefully and curiously adorne her selfe with vertues in thy example and imitation, without which the pri∣vileges of Nature and Fortune (as Beauty and Wealth) are but only obscure shadowes, and no true substances, because there is as much difference betwixt those and these, as betweene the puritie of the soule, and the corruption of the bodie, or betweene the dignitie and excellencie of Heaven, and the invaliditie and basenesse of Earth I am content to lena her to you for a few moneths, but doe infinitely desire to give her to thy Vertues for ever. In which my voluntary transaction and donation, thou wilt conferre much happinesse to her, and honour to mee, and consequently for ever bind both her Youth, and my Age to thee in a strict obligation of thanks and debt. What apparell, or other necessaries thou deemest her to want, thy will shall be mine. God ever blesse her in his feare, and you both to his glory.

CASSINO.

The Lady Sophia receives this sweet young Virgin with much content and joy, yea, shee sees her tender yeares already adorned with such excellent beautie, and that beautie with such exquisite vertues, that it breeds not only admiration, but af∣fection in her towards her, whom shee entertaineth with much respect and care, as well for her owne sake, as also for her Vncle Cassino's, whose letter shee againe and a∣gaine reads over, highly applauding his vertuous and honourable care of this his Neece, whom in few yeares she hopes will prove a most accomplished & gracious Gentlewoman; when Cassino's Coach-man after a dayes stay, deeming it high time for him to returne to Verceli to his Master, he takes his leave of his young Mistris Elia∣nora, who, out of her few yeares, and tender affection and dutie to her Vncle, with teares in her eyes, prayes him to remember her best service to him at his comming home; and the Lady Sophia by him likewise returnes and sends him this letter in answere of his.

SOPHIA to CASSINO.

I Know not whether you have made mee more proud, or joyfull, by sending me Eleanora, wherein you have given mee farre more honour than I deserve, though farre lesse than she meriteth, and who henceforth shall be as much my Daughter in affection, as shee is your Neece by Nature; and if I have any Art in Nature, or Iudgement in Inclinations, her vertues and beautie doe already anticipate her yeares; for as the one is emulous of Fame, and the other of Glory: so (as friendly Rivals, and yet honourable friends) they already seeme to strive and contend in her for supremacie: to the last of which (as being indeed the most precious and soveraigne) if my poore capacitie, or weake endeavors may adde any thing, I will esteeme it my ambition for your sake, and my felicitie for hers. But if you resolve not rather to give her to mee for some yeares, than to lend her to mee for a few moneths, you will then kill my hopes in their buds, and my joyes in their blossomes, and so make me as unfortunate in her ab∣sence, as I shall bee happie in her sight and company. As for her Apparell, and other neces∣saries, shee shall want nothing which is either fit for her to have, or you to give. Let your prayers to God ever desire, and follow her welfare, and then rest confident, that her prayers and mine shall never faile to wish you long life, and to implore all prosperitie for you.

SOPHIA.

Cassino did well to place his young neece Eleanora with the Ladie Sophia, but ill in forgetting that she had a very debauched yong Gentleman to her sonne, named Seignior Alphonso, of some two and twentie yeares of age, who (to her griefe and shame) haunts her and her house as a ghost, makes himselfe the publike laughter and pitie of all the different humors of Cassall, yea the lewdnesse of his life, and the irregularitie of his conversation, and actions, hath reduced him to this fatall point of miserie, that he holds it a noble vertue in him, to precipitate himselfe and his reputation into base debts, vices, and company, making this his shame his glorie, and lewd vices his honour, till in the end not caring for the world, the world will not care for him, nor hee for himselfe, untill he have wholly lost himselfe in him∣selfe, without either desert, or hope ever to be found or recalled againe. But at last seeing so sweet a Beautie, and so rich an heire as Eleanora fallen into his mothers hands, and therefore he vainely thinkes into his; and hoping that her wealth shall redeeme his prodigalities, and revive his decayed Estate and Fortunes, he secretly courts her: but Eleanora (as young as shee is) sees his vices with disdaine, himselfe with contempt, and his affection to her with scorne. Hee is importunate in his sute, and shee perverse and obstinate in her deniall, but shee resolves to conceale it from all the world. As for Alphonso, hee (after some six moneths time) acquaints the Lady Sophia his mother herewith, and with his fervent desire and affection to marry Eleanora; but shee chargeth him on her blessing, never to proceed any far∣ther herein without her consent and order; and quoth shee, if here (in the presence of God and my selfe) thou wilt now sweare wholly to abandon all thy former vi∣ces, henceforth to bee absolutely led by my advice and counsell, and to steere all thy actions by the star of Honour, and the card of Vertue, then I will promise thee to use all my best endeavors, and possible power, both with Cassino, and Eleanora, to effect thy desires. Alphonso hereat (with much courtesie and humilitie) thanks his mother, and solemnly sweares to God and her, to performe all these poynts care∣fully and punctually; and to adde the more Religion and reverence to this oath, he doth it on his knees; and it is a wonderfull joy to her, to see that the fruits and •…•…ffects thereof doe accordingly fall out and follow: for this her sonne Alphonso

in a very few dayes, is become a new man, and shee (from her heart and soule) prai∣seth and glorifieth God for this his happy conversion: and if his mother Sophia bee glad heereof, no lesse is our sweet young Eleanora, for now hereby shee sees that shee is rid of her Sutor.

Cassino comes over three severall times to Cassall to see his Neece. The Ladie Sophia gives him her best entertainment. Hee is wonderfull glad to see that shee hath imprinted such characters of vertue and honour in her; and during his stay there, Sophia chargeth her sonne Alphonso, not to speak or motion a word to Cassino, of this his affection to his young Neece Eleanora: so he beares himselfe exceeding modestly and respectively towards him, and for his mother, she holds it fit not as yet to breake or speak a word hereof to Cassino. Cassino (no way dreaming of their intents and desires towards his Neece) tells the Lady Sophia, he is infinitely joyfull to see that her sonne Alphonso proves Fame to bee no true, but a tatling goddesse in his condition, and conversation; whereat shee heartily thankes him: and thinking then (though reservedly and secretly) to take time and opportunity at advantage, shee leaves not a vertue of her sonnes either undisplayed, or unmagnified, but ex∣tols them all to the skie, and himselfe beyond the moone, and so leaves the remain∣der hereof to time, and the issue to God. But yet revolving and ruminating in her mind, how (in a faire and honorable way) to obtaine this rich and beautifull young prize for her sonne; and holding it discretion, not as yet either to motion or menti∣on it to her, she secretly layes wait at Verceli to know when Cassino will have home his Neece, and so some three weekes before that time shee holds it fit to motion it to him by her Letter, which shee doth in these tearmes.

SOHHIA to CASSINO.

THe fervent affection, and vertuous desire of my sonne Alphonso, to marry your Neece Eleanora, is now the sole cause and argument of this my letter to you, the which I had not attempted to write or send you, but that I know his love and zeale to her is as pure, as her beautie and vertues are excellent. He (without my privacie or knowledge) hath already mo∣tioned his sute to her, and as hee tells me, shee hath returned him her deniall instead of her consent, whereof I held my selfe bound to advertise you, because his ambition and mine herein is so honourable, as it shall goe hand in hand with your goodwill and approbation, but never without it, especially in regard you have pleased to recommend her to my charge and custody, wherein I faithfully promise you, nothing shall be designed or practised to the prejudice either of her honour, or your content. All the estate and meanes which I can give, or you require of me, to make my sonne a fit Husband for your Neece, I will freely and cheerefully depart with; and yet were I not fully and firmely assured, that he is now as deeply enamoured of ver∣tue and goodnesse, as heretofore he was of their contraries, neither my tongue or pen had da∣red thus to have presented his sute to her acceptance, and your consideration. The joy and blessing of which marriage (if God in his secret and sacred providence resolve to make it a Marriage) will I hope in the end bee theirs, the honour mine, and the content your owne; wherein I request your Answere, and entreat you to remaine most confident, that both in this, and in all things else, Alphonso's will and resolution shall ever bee Sophia's, and hers Cassino's.

SOPHIA.

Cassino, upon the receit and perusall of this Letter of the Lady Sophia, is not a little displeased, to see her ambition in desiring his Neece Eleanora for wife to her sonne Alphonso, and although he be formerly well acquainted with the weaknesse of the mothers estate, as also perfectly advertised of her sonnes debauched life, and

corrupt and prodigall conversation, howsoever she pretend •…•…o put a vertuou•…•… glos•…•…e and colour hereon to the contrary, yet hee holds it discretion to seeme to bee ig∣norant of the one, and not to take notice of the other, but will frame his excuse to them herein, that he hath already disposed of his Neece, and that their motion to him for her came too late, when in heart resolving to make her p•…•…eferment and fortunes more assured, and not so doubtfull; and to match her in a higher blood; and nobler family then that of theirs; hee yet in descretion and honour, knowing himselfe bound to answer the Lady Sophia's Letter, cals for pen and paper, and by her owne Servant and Messenger returnes his mind and resolution to her thus.

CASSINO to SOPHIA.

ALthough the tender yeares of my Neece Eleanora make her incapable of marriage, yet your rich deserts and resplendant merits, and your Sonne Alphonso's honourable affection and zeale to her (which every way exceeds her poore beauty and vertues) had infallib∣ly made mee to grant her for his wife, which I am now enforced to deny, in regard I have already (by my promise) disposed and given her to another before your Letter came to my hands, and consequently before that motion of his arrived to my knowledge and understan∣ding: For to me it would and should have beene both a sweet joy and a singular honour, to have seene your Sonne matched to my Neece in the lincks of Wedlocke. But God having otherwise decreed it; you have many reasons to rest confident, that your Sonne is reserved for her better, and shee promised to his inferiour; and therefore the freenesse of this your profe∣red courtesie to her, and of your honourable respect and affection towards mee, shall for ever tye me to a thankefull acknowledgement and an immortall obligation; and I will make it my chiefest Felicity and Ambition, if (in requitall thereof) I may any way either serve you in your Sonne Alphonso, or him in his Mother Sophia, of whose conversion to vertue, and propension to goodnesse, your Letter hath so firmely and joyfully assured mee, that the truth hereof will, I hope, hereafter prove his happinesse in your content and glory; the which my most Religious Prayers shall still desire of God, because he is your onely Child and Sonne by nature, and your selfe my most honourable friend, both by desert and purchase.

CASSINO.

Within three weekes after that Cassino had dispatched away this his Letter to the Lady Sophia, hee then (in contemplation and consideration of the debaushed life and corrupt prancks and vices of her Sonne Alphonso) not thinking his Neece Eleanora to bee safe with her in Cassall, for feare lest her old wit, or his smooth tongue might peradventure too farre prevaile and worke upon her young yeares and indiscreet affection: hee therefore sends over his Coach, and one of his Ser∣vants to bring her home, and to the Lady Sophia writes this gratulatory Letter for her honourable education and entertainment.

CASSINO to SOPHIA.

ACcording to my last Letter to you, having heretofore privately contracted my Neece Eleanora to a husband, reason and religion, his request and my promise now require, that I take her from you in Cassall, to give her to him here in Vercely; to which effect I here send my Coach and Servant to you for her, and desire you to returne her to mee with your best prayers, as I sent her to you with my best affection: and had not God now visited me with sick∣nesse, my resolution for her returne had not beene either so suddaine or so speedy. For your ho∣nourable

care in adorning her few yeares with so many excellent vertues and sweet perfecti∣ons, I know not how to deserve, much lesse how to requi•…•…e, except in my Prayers and Orisons to God for his best favours and graces to you, and the best prosperities and honours to your Sonne: But if my age now cannot, I hope her youth hereafter will endeavour partly to free me of that debt, and to aquit her selfe of that strong obligation, till when as I will not faile to give it a place in my heart, so I am sure will not she likewise to allot it one in her remem∣brance: In which meane time, I forget not my chiefest respects first to your selfe, then to your Sonne. God give us all his Grace that wee may live and dye his Servants.

CASSINO.

Now as Cassino's first Letter to Sophia (wherein hee denied her Sonne to marry his Neece) exceedingly afflicted and discontented her, so this his second to her wherein he so suddainly sends for her away from her, doth extremely afflict and torment her, and not only her, but likewise her Sonne Alphonso, who is all in sor∣row, all in griefe hereat: For now they feare that their •…•…s of this young Lady are frustrated, and shee according to her Vncles report in his Letter is contracted to some Gallant of Vercelly: When Alphonso againe laying before his Mother the fervencie of his affection to Eleanora, and representing unto her the extremity of the griefe and misery which her refusall of him, and his losse of her, will occasion him, he with sighs and teares againe and againe entreats his Mother to seeke out some cure for this his disconsolation, and that she will please once more to try her chiefest wits and invention to change Eleanora's refusall, and her Vncle Cassino's deniall of him to bee her husband; when at last his Mother being much moved and induced with these his sorrowfull passions and importunities, shee before her departure doth her selfe breake this motion for her Sonne to her, wherein her wit and age sets upon the innocencie and simplicitie of her youth, with the sweetest oratory and most delicious speeches and perswasions which possibly she could in∣vent, but she finds her Art to be Ignorance, and her Eloquence Folly therein. For Eleanora is (as young as she is) deafe to her requests, and dumbe to her entreaties and perswasions; returning contempt to the first, and little deafnesse to the second, and disdaine to both; so as in detestation of his sute, and envie of his affection, shee will no more heare the Mother for her Sonnes sake, nor see the Sonne for his Mo∣thers sake. When yet againe, although Sophia despaire of the Neece, yet shee will once more make farther triall of her Vnkle Cassino, flattering her selfe with this hope, and her hope with this conceit, that his pretence of precontracting her to another, mought bee but onely a policie of his, to try her Sonnes affection in his constancie towards his Neece, and her owne zeale in her perseverance thereof towards himselfe: When seeing Break-fast ended, the Coach prepared, and Elea∣nora ready to depart, shee betakes her to her Closset, where taking pen and paper, she hastily scribles out a few lines, and sealing up her Letter, delivereth it privately to Eleanora, whom shee secretly prayeth, and effectually conjureth to deliver it carefully to her Vncle Cassino at her comming to Vercelie, which this young Lady confidently promiseth her; when likewise taking her owne Coach, shee and her Sonne conduct her three or foure miles in her way, where the Mother with many sugred speeches and complements, and the Sonne with many amorous sighes, re∣gards and kisses, take their leave of her, they returning to Cassall, and she driving away to her Vncle Cassino at Vercelie, who receives her with much joy; and wel∣comes her with infinit gladnesse and humanity; to whom she delivering the Lady Sophia's Letter, he hastily breaking up the seales thereof, finds therein this language.

SOPHIA to CASSINO.

BEfore I was so happy to answere your first Letter, your second, which now cals home your Neece from me, makes me againe double unfortunate: Neither doe I hold it your resoluti∣•…•…n, but rather your pleasure, or at least your policie, in thinking to make me beleeve you have formerly contracted her to another. I will not say but that she deserves my Sonnes betters in mrriage; but thus much I will speake for him out of my knowledge of his affection, and •…•…fidence of his zeale towards her, that in heart and soule hee is a perfect honourer of her Vertues, and a true Admirer of her Beauty: Yea, and no way to exceed or stray from the truth, I have many pregnant reasons for this beliefe of mine, that he is a Servant to the first, and a Slave to the second, and that his flame is so fervent towards her, that he would thinke himselfe honoured to prostrate his life at her feet, and esteeme himselfe blessed to receive his Death at her commands. Thinke not then so slightly of him, who thinkes so seriously and sin∣cerely of her; and this assure your selfe, that if you will give her to him in marriage, I will give nothing which I enjoy•…•… the world from him. In obedience to your request and order; I 〈◊〉〈◊〉 send you your Neece, and I am sure that her proficiencie, as her stay, hath bin so small with 〈◊〉〈◊〉 in Cassall, as it neither deserves her debt, or your obligation, your requitall or her re∣membrance. My Sonne was desirous to have visited you with his Letter, but that I comman∣•…•…d his pen and resolution herein to silence: And notwithstanding all your prayers for his p•…•…erity, I am assured he is more your reall Servant, then you as yet are his intended friend. God blesse your selfe and my Sonne, and your Neece and my selfe, and make us all the Lovers if his Grace, and the heires of his glory.

SOPHIA.

Cassino upon the perusall of this Letter, perceiving that the Lady Sophia and her Sonne Alphonso, were so farre from giving over of their sute to his Neece Eleanora, as they now prosecuted it with more importunity and violence then before, hee not onely cals her respect toward him, but her discretion in her selfe likewise in question, to see that she is incredulous that he hath precontracted her, or that his former Letters to her in that behalfe are not worthy of her beliefe, and confi∣dence: Whereupon being sensible of a kind of disrespect and wrong, whereof she had voluntarily made her selfe guilty towards him, in the passage of this busines, and absolutely refusing to hearken to, or to entertaine any other parley, and so to cast away his Neece on the vices and prodigalities of her Sonne, He arming his pen with Discontent and Choller, returnes her this peremptory answer, which he covenanteth and resolves with himselfe, shall be the very last that hee will either write or send to her in this nature.

CASSINO to SOPHIA.

I Had well hop'd and thought, that your affection and judgement would have deemed my former Letters to you (in contracting my Neece) to bee currant, not counterfeit? yea, to bee the pure truth, and therefore no way my policie to informe you of the contrary; for such pro∣•…•…edings to any one, especially to your selfe (whom I so much respect for your Birth, and honour 〈◊〉〈◊〉 your Vertues) are as unworthy of me, as I am and will be ignorant of them: As for your Sonne, his zeale to my Neece, or his affection to her service in the way of marriage, if it bee 〈◊〉〈◊〉 pure and fervent as you affirme it, shee is the more bound to him; but I notwithstanding, •…•…e lesse to your selfe, in that you endeavour to make me an enemy to my selfe, and to mine owne •…•…nour, which next to my soule is the best part of my selfe, in perswading mee to take her

from a Gentleman, to whom (by faith and promise) I have solemnly given her; and as this was my first, so it shall be my last resolution and answer to you, which I assure you I write not slightly, but (to use your owne words) seriously and sincerely: Therefore I thanke you for im∣posing silence to your Sonnes pen; and if you will henceforth likewise prescribe the same Law to your owne herein, I will take it both for a courtesie and a respect from you; only in•…•… other matter whatsoever that you shall thinke me capable to sleed him or serve you, your will and pleasure shall be my Law, and your Letters shall receive many respects and kisses from me. I have received my Neece, and her tongue, and mine eye and care informe me, how much we both are bound to you for your care, and her proficiencie in Cassall, the which my Age and her Youth will expose to Vsury before I have the honour to pay you the Principall, and she the Interest thereof. God ever blesse you, and your Sonne Alphonso, and give you no lesse Ioy and Honour of him, then I hope and desire to find in mine owne Neece Eleanora.

CASSINO.

The Lady Sophia grieves, and her Sonne Alphonso stormes at the receipt of this unkind Letter from Cassino, whereby they see their hopes of his Neece Eleanora re∣versed and frustrated; and although this his flat refusall made her of opinion no more to stirre or enter-meddle herein, yet (as Lovers are impatient of denials and delayes) some three weekes after, hee prayes his Mother to ride over to Vercelie, againe to prove Cassino, and likewise to (againe) motion and solicit it to Eleanora, hoping that her presence may purchase that which her Letters cannot procure; and he is very desirous and willing to accompany her himselfe. His Mother Sophis grants both his requests; they arrive to Vercelie, where the Mother courts the Vncle, and the Sonne the Neece; and although they find exceeding great Cheere and noble Entertainment, yet in the point of their busines, which is Alphonso's mar∣riage to Eleanora, they find themselves lost, and their sute in vaine, and so they are enforced to returne to Cassall with their definitive sentence of deniall, which makes her bite the lip, and infinitly grieves and exasperates her Sonne; so now he againe casts off the Cloake of vertue, and farre worse then ever, flies to his old vices and sinnes, which his Mother with her sweet perswasions and remonstrances, can no longer retaine or conceale, especially from his Whoring and Drunken∣nesse: yea, and which is most lamentable and deplorable, hee will no longer serve God, either abroad or at home, for he forsakes the Church, and wholly abando∣neth that sweet and Heavenly Vertue of Prayer, which is the spirituall food and life of the soule. His Mother Sophia exceedingly weeps and grieves hereat, but how to remedy it she knowes not: For his discontent hath made him so vicious, his vices so obstinate, and his obstinacie so outragious and violent, as his Mother surfets with his Love-sute to Eleanora, and will no more entermeddle with it. Hee prayes and reprayes her, to make one Iourney more for him to Vercelie, to see what alterations time may have wrought in the hearts of Cassino and Eleanora, but shee is as averse and wilfull, as he is obstinate and peremptory: and therefore constant∣ly vowes, neither to write, nor ever to conferre more with them herein. But this resolute answer of the Mother breeds bad blood in the Sonne, yea it makes a Mutiny in his thoughts, a Civill warre in his heart, and a flat Rebellion in his resolutions against her for the same, to which the Devill (the Arch-enemy, and In∣cendiary of our soules) blowes the Coles. For he who here•…•…ofore looked on his Mother with obedience and affection, cannot (or at least will not) see her now but with contempt and malice; yea, hee is so devoid of Grace, and so exempt of Goodnesse, that hee lookes from Charitie to wrath, from Religion to Revenge,

from Heaven to Hell; and so resolves to murther her, thinking with himselfe, that if hee had once dispatcht her, he should then be sole Lord of all her wealth, and that then this his great and absolute estate would soone induce Cassino and Eleanora, to ac∣cept of his affection: But he reckons without his soule and without God, and there∣fore no marvell if these his bloody hopes deceive and betray him: his Religion and Conscience cannot prevaile with him, neither hath his Soule either grace or power enough to divert him from this fatall busines, and execrable resolution; for he will be so infernall a Monster of nature, as to act her death of whom he received his life. He consults with himselfe, and the Devill with him, whether hee should stab or poyson her, but he holds it farre more safe and lesse dangerous, to use the Drug then the Dagger, and so concludes upon poyson; to which •…•…nd he being re∣solute in his rage, thus to make away his Mother, he as an execrable Villaine (or indeed rather as a Devill) provides himselfe of poyson, the which hee still carries about him, waiting for an opportunitie, to give an end to this deplorable busines, the which the Devill very shortly administreth him: The manner thus.

This refusall of Cassino to her Sonne Alphonso, and his miserable relapse to whoredome, drunkennesse, and neglect of prayer, doth exceedingly distemper the Lady Sophia his Mothers spirits, and they her body, so that she is three dayes sicke of a Burning feaver; when to allay the fervor of that unaccustomed heate, shee causeth some Almond-milke to bee made her, the which shee compoundeth with many coole herbes, and other wholesome Ingredients of that nature and quality, which she takes three times each day; morning, after dinner, and before shee goes to bed: So the third day of her sicknesse, walking in the afternoone in one of the shaddowed Allies of her Garden with her Sonne, and there with her best advice rectifying and directing his resolutions from Vice to Vertue, she is unexpectedly surprised with the Symptome of her Feaver, when sitting downe, and causing her waiting Maid to hold her head in one of the Arbours, she prayes her Sonne Al∣phonso to runne to her Chamber, and to bring her a small wicker Bottle of Almond milke, the which he doth; but bloody Villaine that he is, nothing can withhold him (but his heart being tempered with inhumanitie and crueltie) hee first poures in his poyson therein and then gives it her, who, good Lady, drinkes two great draughts thereof; when a sweat presently over spreading her face, and shee begin∣ning to looke pale, he (as a wretched Hypocrite) makes a loud outcry from the Garden to the house, and calling there Servants to her assistance, hee likewise cals for a Chaire, so she is brought to her Chamber, and laid in her bed, and within few houres after (as a vertuous Lady and innocent Saint) she forsakes this life and this world for a better, and the ignorance of her Servants, and her bloody Sonne (drench'd as it were in the rivolets of his fained teares, together with his excessive lamentations) doe coffin her dead body up somewhat privately and speedily, so that there is no thought nor suspicion of poyson; and thus was the lamentable Murther, and deplorable end of this wise and religious Lady Sophia committed by her owne wretched and infernall Sonne. Now this Devill Alphonso (to set the bet∣ter luster on his forrowes, and the better varnish and colour on his mourning for the death of his Mother) gives her a stately Funerall, the pompe and cost where∣of, not only equalized, but exceeded their ranke and quality: For he left no Gen∣tleman, or Lady in or about Cassall uninvited to be at her buriall, and his Feast, and dighted himselfe and all his Kinsfolkes and Servants in mourning attire, thereby the better to carry off the least reflexion or shaddow of suspicion from him of this his foule and inhumane Murther.

The newes of the Lady Sophia's death, runs from Cassall to Vercelie, where Cassino,

and his Neece Eleanora understanding thereof, they both of them exceedingly la∣ment and sorrow for it, in regard she was a very Honourable, Wise, and Religious Lady, and to whom the tender youth of Eleanora was infinitly beholding and indebted for many of her sweet vertues and perfections; so that as her Vncle ho∣noured her, so this his Neece held her selfe bound to reverence her, as making her eminent and singular vertues, the mould and patterne whereon shee framed all her terrestriall comportments and actions, which in few moneths after were so many, and so excellent, that as she was knowne to bee one of the most beautifull, so shee was likewise justly reported to be one of the wisest young Ladies of all that Citie and Countrie, which together with her owne great Estate, as also that of her Vncle Cassino's, to the full enjoying whereof (in contemplation of her vertues and con∣sanguinity) he had justly both designed and adopted her his sole heire; the which made her to be sought in marriage by divers young Gallants of very noble and chiefe houses; most whereof were superiour to Alphonso, both in blood and wealth. When her Vncle at last (with her owne free affection and consent) pri∣vately marries her to Signior Hieronymo Brasciano, a rich and brave young Gentle∣man of Vercelie, who was Nephew and Heire to the Bishop of that Citie; but he being likewise very young, the tendernesse of both their ages dispenced them from as yet lying together, and both the Bishop and her Vncle Cassino (for some impor∣tant reasons best knowne to themselves) caused this their marriage as yet to bee concealed from all the world with great privacie and secrecie, hee for the most part living with the Bishop his Vncle at the Citie of Turin (which is the Court of the Duke of Savoy) and she in Vercelie with her Vncle Cassino, only they visit each other with their Letters, which is all the familiarity that as yet they are permitted to reape and receive each of other.

And here the true order of our History cals us againe, to speake of this dege∣nerate and debaushed Gentleman Alphonso, who had no sooner embrued his guilty hands in the innocent blood of the Lady Sophia his Mother; but he then without any farther shew of sorrow, or sight or sense of repentance for the same, againe desperately abandoneth himselfe to all old vices and prodigalities, flaunting it out in brave apparell (for his mourning weeds he speedily cast off) and swimming as it were in the Vast Ocean of all his carnall delights, and worldly pleasures and sen∣sualities, never thinking of Religion or Prayer, but passeth away whole dayes and nights, yea consumeth whole weekes and moneths in all licencious riots, and excessive prodigalities with his debaushed Companions and Strumpets, which be∣gan to drowne his Estate, and to devoure his Lands apace: and in the heate and ruffe of these his Ioviall follies, and exorbitant intemperancies, he be thinkes him∣selfe againe of the wealth and beauty of the young Lady Eleanora, and so (in the vanity of his conceits, and the imbecility of his judgement) flattering himselfe, that being now Lord of all his deceased Mothers lands and wealth, her Uncle Cassino could not refuse to give her him in marriage, not so much as once dreaming or remembring how plainely and peremptorily, both hee and she had formerly given him the repulse: To which effect hee dights himselfe and his Followers in exceeding rich apparell, and (with a traine too worthy of himselfe) he rides over to Vercelie, and there becomes a most importunate Sutor, both to Cassino and Elea∣nora, first seeking her, and then courting her Vncle for her: but all in vaine, for he puts him off with disrespect, and she rejects him with disdaine; and when yet they see that his importunacie herein passeth the bounds of reason, and excee∣deth the limits of Discretion and Civilitie, then Cassino tels him plainely that his Neece is married; and that therefore (in that consideration) hee forbids him his

house and her company; which point of discourtesie (and as Alphonso termes it of dishonour) to him, he takes in so ill part from Cassino, that exchanging his reason into rage, and forgetting himselfe to bee a man, or which is more a Gentle∣man, or which is most of all a Christian, he againe strikes hands and agrees with the Devill, and for meere despight and rage vowes that hee will murther Cassino: The Devill making him strong in the vanity of this beliefe and confidence, that this speech and suggestion of his, that his Neece Eleanora is married, is but fabu∣lous and false, and that if he were once dead, he could not impeach or hinder him from enjoying the faire and rich Eleanora to his wife, which is the same prodi∣gious baite and lure whereby Sathan formerly drew, and betrayed him to poyson his Mother: the Devill still so closely over-vailing his conscience and soule, and so ecclipsing, and wincking his understanding and judgement, that as his hand so his heart is inured and obdurated to the effusion of innocent blood, and therefore he will not retire with grace, but onwards with impiety to the finishing of this cruell Murther of Cassino; and although hee had an itching desire, and a hellish ambition likewise to effect it by poyson, yet in regard he was denied accesse to his house and company, as also for that he was unacquainted with any Apothecary or Physician of Vercelie, hee therefore resolves with the Devill to doe it by a Cara∣bine, which many times by night hee wore and carried about him. There is no∣thing easier then to doe evill, and as it is the nature, so it is the policie of Sathan, as well to furnish us with the meanes, as the matter thereof: For when we cast our selves from Malice to Revenge, and from Revenge to Murther, he then makes us industrious, first in the contriving, and then in the execution thereof, but in the end God will so ordaine that this hellish policie shall turne to misery.

Alphonso's malice against Cassino will give no peace to his thoughts, so he in∣formes himselfe, that every morning and evening he is accustomed to walke alone in his Garden, for an houre or two in his spirituall meditations, and therefore hee thinkes this a fit place (from some adjacent house and window) to shoote at him; when being likewise assured, that there was a poor smal taverne (not much frequen∣ted with company) that lay some-what neere and commodious to Cassino's Garden, he resolves to make choise of that, and there to give end to this bloody busines, which his heart so much desireth, so abandoned by God, and guided and condu∣cted by the Devill, he about sixe of the clocke in the evening rides thither, and ty∣ing up his horse to the doore, he in a disguised sute of apparell, pretending there to stay for a friend of his, which promised to come thither to meet him (and having purposely sent away his Servants before him to Cassall) he goes up into the Cham∣ber, cals for wine and something to eate, the better to favour and colour out his stay there, when bolting the Chamber doore to him, hee (putting aside the paper Casements, which they use in Italy to expell the fervencie of the Sunne) from thence (according to his former intelligence) plainely perceives Cassino walking in his Garden, with his Hat in one hand, and his Breviary (or Praier-booke) wherein he reads, in another, with the which hee was as busie with God in his meditations and devotions, as he was with the Devill, in charging his Carabine with a brace of bullets, and dressing of his fire locke, and priming of his powder touch-holl, when, without the least sparke of grace, or feare of God, or his punishments, hee lets fly at him; and the Devill had made him so expert a Marke-man, that as Cassi∣no was saftly comming on, walking towards the window, wherein he secretly and scelerously stood, both the bullets hit him right in the brest a little below the left pap, whereof this harmelesse and religious old Gentleman Cassino fell presently dead to the ground, and none being in the Garden with him (wherein I my selfe

have since some times beene) I could not understand, that hee had the power or happinesse to speake a word: But wee shall see, that this his inhumane and bloody Murtherer, shall not goe farre before the judgements of God will surprise and ore take him. The manner whereof is thus.

As soone as Alphonso had given this bloody blow, and seene Cassino fall dead to the ground, he unbolting the Chamber doore, presently resolves to take horse and fly a way, but God ordained the contrary: For as hee had againe put up his Cara∣bine into his Belt, God presently strucke him into a stupified swoone, whereof falling to the ground, the noyse of his fall, the report of his Carabine, and the ratling of his sword and it, presently invited the people of the house below, to see what had befallen above to this Gentleman, where finding him groveling and gasping for life, they (by Gods immediate direction) doe thinke that hee hath there shot and murthered himselfe; when devesting him of his apparell, and lay∣ing him in bed to search for his wounds, they find none; but yet it is an houre be∣fore they perceive any motion, or action of life in him: And then opening his eyes, he with a distracted looke and amazed countenance, deeming himselfe upon the very point of death; and that for his murthering of Cassino, the Lord in his judgement had infallibly strucken him with suddaine death, he finding this foule and bloody act of his, to lie heavie upon his soule and conscience, in this last Scene (as he then thought) of his life, he (rather raving then speaking) in the heate of his madnesse and distraction, cryes out againe and againe, that he had murthered Cassino: The which the people of the house are exceedingly astonished to under∣stand. And now by this time Cassino is found dead in his Garden, and shot tho∣row with a brace of bullets. So his Neece •…•…leanora is all in teares hereat, and all Vercelie resounds of this his lamentable murther. When Cassino's friends and ser∣vants make speedy search for the Murtherer, and finding a horse tyed to this little Taverne doore, they find the Man, Wife, and Servants thereof in out-cryes and amazement: So they ascend the staires, find Alphonso in bed, with his Carabine by him on the bench, and his clothes on the Table, and examining the people of the house, they report to them this suddaine accident of his swooning, and therein of his confession of the murthering of Cassino; so they all praise and glorifie God, in that they have so soone, and so readily found out the inhumane Authour, and Actor of this bloody Murther.

But here before I proceed farther, I (in the name and feare of God) doe re∣quest and invite the Reader to take notice of another remarkeable (I may say mira∣culous) circumstance of Gods mercy and glory, which likewise appeares in this detection and confession of Alphonso, to be the cruell Murtherer of this innocent, harmelesse Gentleman Cassino; for he being no better then distracted of his wits, before God had caused and brought him to confesse it, which else hee had never done, but that in the agonie and anxiety of his stupified spirits hee (as I have for∣merly said) thought himselfe on the point and brinke of death, and no shaddow of hope left him, either of this life or this world: Then I say, as soone as hee had confessed it, God in his good pleasure and providence presently restored him againe to his perfect health, strength, and memory; so that being put in mind, and againe remembring his confession, and seeing the eminencie of his danger by the presence of Cassino's friends and servants, who were there present about his bed, to apprehend and carry him away to prison for the same; he now with teares, and bitter oaths, and curses, declines and recants what he hath formerly spoken thereof, and, rather as a Devill then a Christian, in lofty and proud speeches stands upon the termes of his Iustification, alleadging and affirming to them far∣ther

that what he had formerly confessed, or said to them, concerning the Murther of Cassino, proceeded from the destemperature of his heart and braines, in that of his distraction, or else from the delusions and temptations of the Devill, and no otherwise. But his owne confession, the testimony of those of the house who heard it, and the rest of the presumptions and circumstances are so pregnant and apparant, that he is the undoubted Murtherer of Cassino, as they beleeve not what he now sayes in his owne behalfe and Apologie, or that it is any way the delusions of the Devill, but the good pleasure of God, which brought him to this detection and conviction of himselfe for the same: So they being deafe to his requests and oathes, they enforce him to draw on his apparell, and then by order of the criminall Iudges, they that night commit him to prison, where the Devill having brought him, he now leaves him to himselfe, and to his owne mi∣sery and confusion, which it is to be beleeved, that the Lord hath ordained shall speedily befall him.

The next morning this Monster of nature Alphonso, is called to his araignment, where being by his Iudges, charged with this foule Murther, the Devill hath as yet so obdurated his heart, as hee not onely denies it, but contests against it with vehemencie and execrations. So the Vintner and his wife, and servants are pro∣duced against him as witnesses, who acknowledge and confesse his owne confessi∣on thereof, as also the report of his Carabine, and the vicinitie of their house, and prospect from the Chamber wherein hee was, to Cassino's Garden, wherein as he was walking he was shot to death. When the mournefull and sorrowfull young Lady Eleanora, is likewise brought forth as a witnesse against him, who informes his Iudges, that Alphonso was a most importunate Suter to her, both in his Mothers house at Cassall, as also at her deceased Vncles house, here in Vercelie; adding with∣all, that (in her heart and soule) shee verely beleeves him to bee the Murtherer of her said Vncle. But still he denies it with choler and indignation: whereupon, the presumptions and circumstances hereof, being more apparant to his Iudges, then the knowledge of this truth, they adjudge him to the Racke, where at his very first torments thereof, he with teares confesseth it; and God is now so mer∣cifull to his soule, as hee seemes to be very sorrowfull and repentant thereof: so they seeing him guilty, pronounce sentence against him, the next day to have his head cut off for the same; and that night the Iudges (out of their honourable zeale to charitie and pietie) send him some Friers to Prison to him, to direct his soule to Heaven; who willing him to disburthen his conscience and soule of any other capitall crime, which hee mought have committed in all the course of his life, to the end that it mought not hinder her passage and transmigration from Earth to Heaven; Hee then and there reveales them, how hee had also formerly poysoned his owne Mother, the Lady Sophia, at Cassall, for the which he likewise craved absolution both of them and of God. Whereat his Iudges are exceedingly amaz'd and astonished, to see a Gentleman so degenerate, inhumane and bloody, as to be the death of his owne Mother, of whom formerly hee had received his life.

The day following (according to his sentence) Alphonso is brought to the place of execution, clad in a blacke sute of silke Grograine, and a falling band, where ascending the scaffold, and drawne to much humility and contrition, by his secu∣lar Priests and Friers, hee in presenee of a great concourse of people, there made this short speech. That these two murthers of his, and especially that of his owne Mother, the Lady Sophia, were so odious in the sight of God and man, that he acknowledged, hee no longer deserved to tread on the face of the earth, or to

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looke up to Heaven. That he knew not justly, whereunto to attribute this infamy and misery of his, but to his continuall neglect and omission of prayer, whereby he banished himselfe from God, and thereby gave the Devill too great an interest over his body and soule; that he desired God to forgive him, these his two soule and bloody crimes of Murther, as also that of his neglect of Prayer; and so (with teares in his eyes) besought all who were there present, likewise to pray unto God for him: When againe beseeching the vertuous young Lady Eleanora, to forgive him the murther of her good old Vncle Cassino, hee often making the signe of the Crosse, and recommending himselfe into the hands of his Redeemer, bad the Executioner doe his office, who presently with his sword severed his head from his body, and both were immediatly burnt, and the ashes throwen into the River of Ticino, without the wals of Vercelie, although his Iudges were once of opinion, to send his said head and body to Cassall, for the Iudges of that place to doe their pleasure therewith, for there poysoning of his owne Mother, the Lady Sophia.

And thus was the miserable (and yet deserved) death and end, of this bloody and execrable Gentleman Alphonso, and in this sort did the judgements and punish∣ments of God befall him, for these his two most inhumane, and deplorable Murthers. May God of his infinit grace and mercie, still fortifie and confirme our faith by constant and continuall prayer (the want whereof was the fatall Rocke whereon hee perished) that so we may secure our selves in this world, and our soules in that to come.

GODS REVENGE AGAINST THE CRYING AND EXECRA∣ble Sinne of Murther.

HISTORIE XXIV.

Pont Chausey kils La Roche in a Duell. Quatbrisson causeth Moncallier (an Apothe∣cary) to poyson his owne Brother Valfontaine, Moncallier after fals, and breakes his necke from a paire of staires. Quatbrisson likewise causeth his Fathers M•…•…er 〈◊〉〈◊〉 〈◊〉〈◊〉 murther, and strangle Marieta in her Bed, and to throw her body into his Mill-Pond. Pierot the Miller is broken alive on a wheele, and Quatbrisson first beheaded, then burnt for the same.

WEe may truely affirme, that the world is in her wane, when Murther is become the practice of Christians, which in∣deed is the proper office of the Devill; and how frequently those wofnll accidents happen, wee cannot thinke of, but with much horrour, nor remember but with grie•…•…e of mind, and compassion of heart; For is it not to m•…•…ke our selves wilfull Traitors and Rebels to God, to violate his Divine Majestie, in spoiling his true Image and resemblance; yea, is it not the high-way of Hell? But that this age of ours produceth such Mon∣sters of nature, reade we but this ensuing Historie, and it will informe us of much innocent blood shed, we know not whether more wilfully or wickedly.

IT is not unknowne, that the Province of little Britaine, was (long since) annexed and united to the flourishing Kingdome of France, by the marriage of Charles the Eighth, with Anne the young Dutchesse thereof, notwithstanding that she we•…•…e formerly contracted to Maximilian (Arch-duke of Austria) where we shall under∣stand, that in the Citie of Vannes (formerly the Court and Residence of those British Dukes) thereof late yeares dwelt a noble Gentleman (of rich Demaines and Revenues) termed Monsieur de Caerstaing, who by his wife Madamoyselle de la Ville Blanche, had two Sonnes, the eldest named by his title Monsieur de Quatbrisson, and the youngest Monsieur de Valfontaine: The first aged of twenty foure yeares, being short and corpulent, the second of twentie, being tall and slender; both of them brave and hopefull Gentlemen, as well in their outward personages, as in the •…•…ward perfections, and endowments of their minds; For in all respects, the care and affection of their Parents, had made their education answerable to their births. Valfontaine (for the most part) lived in the Citie of Nantes (the second of

that Dutchie) with an Vncle of his named Monsieur de Massie, being President of the Kings Chamber of Accounts which is kept there, who frequenting the Bals or publike Dancings (whereunto the youth of France are generally adicted) a∣mongst many other excellent beauties, wherewith that Citie is graced, and those pastimes and meetings honoured, he sees a young Gentlewoman (being a stranger, and newly come to the Citie.) so infinitly rich in the excellencies of nature, and the treasure of lovelinesse and beauty, as (with a kind of imperious commanding power) shee atracts all mens eyes to behold, to admire, to affect her. So as al∣though Valfontaines youthfull heart and yea•…•…es, had never as yet stooped or sacri∣ficed to Love, yet at the very first sight of this sweet young Gentlewoman, (whose name wee shall not goe farre to know) hee cannot retaine his enamored eyes from gadding on the Roses, and ranging on the Lillies of her sweet com∣plexion, nor his resolutions from enquiring, what her name and her selfe was; when being informed, that she was the onely daughter and heire of a rich and noble Gentleman, a Widdower termed Monsieur de Pennelle, of the Parish of Saint Aignaw, fower leagues from the Citie, and her name Madamoyselle la Pratiere, of the age of some seventeene, hee at the very first sight likes her so well, and loves her so deerely, that (if her interiour vertues come not too fhort of her exteriour beauty and feature) he vowes he will be her Sutor and Servant; and so he attempts to court and seeke her for his wife.

To which end, he (more like a Tutor then a Pupill, in the Art and Schoole of love) is so farre from neglecting any, as he curiously and carefully seekes all op∣portunities and occasions to enjoy the felicity of her company, and so (for the most part) hee conducts her to and from the dauncings, sits and talkes with her in her lodgings, meets her at Church, where as well at Vespers as Masse, he accompa∣nies and prayes with her, and (briefly) shee can difficultly be present any where, where he is long absent from her; For by this time (which is scarce a moneth since he first saw her) her peerelesse beauty, and unparalell'd vertues and discourse, have acted such amorous wonders in his heart, as hee vowes, hee must either live her Husband, or die her Martyr. But see the providence and pleasure of God, for if Valfontaine tenderly love our sweet and faire La Pratiere, no lesse doth shee him; for knowing him to be the Sonne of his Father, and therefore a Gentleman of noble extraction and worth; and seeing him to bee wise, discreet, and proper, as also remembring and marking, that he fervently and infinitly affects her, shee is so delighted with his neat feature and personage, and ravished with the melodie of his discourse, as albeit at first, her tongue bee so civill and modest to conceale her affection from him, yet her eyes (the Ambassadors of her heart) cannot but in dumbe Eloquence, and silent Rhetorike bewray it him. So as (to omit the gifts, presents, and especially the letters, which interchangeably past betweene them) and which indeed powerfully assisted to the sympathising and cimenting of their youthfull affections, it sufficeth that we take notice and knowledge, that Valfon∣taines presence was La Pratiere's delight, and the enjoying of her company, his felicity and glory, and that she in life and death would remaine his obedient and faithfull Wife, and he her faithfull and loving Husband; Onely she prayes him, carefully and respectfully to conceale her affection to him, and so likewise to ob∣serve her Father in seeking his consent to their marriage, the which hee promiseth her shortly to performe; For as soone as La Pratiere hath left Nantes, and purpose∣ly retired her selfe home to her Fathers house, at Saint Aignaw, Valfontaine is not many dayes behind her, where hee acquaints her Father Pennelle, with his affection to his daughter, seekes her in marriage, requesteth his consent, and with many

reasons, fairely and discreetly endeavoreth to induce him thereunto, where for three or foure dayes, hee takes up his lodging and residence, under pretence to court the Daughter, whom we know he hath already won, but his sute is no way pleasing, but distastfull to Pennelle, who although he know, that Monsieur de Caer∣stainge his Father (as well for lands as blood) is every way rather his Superiour then his Equall, yet because his Daughter La Pratiere is his only child and heire, and Valfontaine but a Cadet (or younger Brother) therefore covetousnesse makes him assume this resolution, that hee will have none of him for his Sonne in Law: but this reason, and conclusion hee conceales to himselfe, and so (in generall termes) gives Valfontaine a cold and averse answere, little better in effect then a flat deniall; and thus for his first Iourney, Valfontaine takes leave of his sweet La Pratiere, no way doubting but that his second to her, will prove lesse distastfull and more for∣tunate, he leaves Nantes and rides home to Vannes.

Being arrived at Vannes, he acquaints his Father and Mother, with his affection and sute to Madamoyselle La Pratiere, the onely daughter and heire (as we have heard) of Monsieur de Pennelle, of Saint Aignaw, whereunto (because they know him to bee rich and noble, and his Daughter faire and vertuous) they give good approbation and allowance, when Valfontaine praying his Father to ride over to Monsieur de Pennelle, to conferre with him about this busines, whose presence hee hopeth will effect that with him, which hee feares and knowes his poore power cannot: But his Father although he be very glad, to procure his Sonnes advance∣ment and content by this match, yet being at that time much troubled with the Gout, he excuseth himselfe upon his indisposition, and so defers off that Iourney to another time. Valfontaine missing of his Father, deemes it rather expedient then impertinent, to entreat his brother Quatbrisson herein, to whom hee fully relates what hath past betweene Pennelle and himselfe, but withall conceales upon what termes he stands with La Pratiere, or that she is any way his, or hee hers, either by contract or promise, to the end that he may have no just cause, either to taxe her immodesty, or condemne her indiscretion, in so suddainely giving her selfe to him. Quatbrisson very willingly yeelds to his brothers request; when (followed with a •…•…raine and equipage answerable to their rancke and quality, and armed with their Fathers Letter to Monsieur de Pennelle) they take horse and ride to Saint-Aignaw. Now as it is the errour (or nature) of Lovers to be still unsecret Secretaries, in de∣lighting to talke and pratle of their Mistresses, whom they esteeme their sove∣raigne good and chiefest felicity: So all the way, betweene Vannes, and Saint Aignaw, Valfontaine could neither refraine, nor restraine his tongue from painting forth La Pratiere in all the excellencie of her prayses, and from extolling her beauty and perfections above the skies; yea, he ran so curious a division, and so ample a comment on the wonders and raritie of her beauty, that his verball rela∣tion already prepared his Brothers eyes to behold a female Master-peece of nature in La Pratiere; but being arrived to her Fathers house (a little before dinner time) and seeing, and saluting first him, then her, at the very first encounter and sight, his senses are so surprised with the sweetnesse of her countenance, and so taken with she exquisitnesse of her feature, as he now finds that his brothers report and pray∣ses of her come infinitly short the dignity and excellencie of her beauty.

Dinner being ended, and Quatbrisson delivering his Fathers Letter to Pennelle, with whom making a slight and superficiall conference, concerning his brothers affection and sute to his Daughter, he turnes from him to her, who dying her milke white cheeks with a roseat blush to entertaine him, hee ravished with the delicacie of so amorous an encounter, and sweet object, could not like wise refraine from

blushing to see her blush, when enquiring of her, if she pleased to take the aire of the Garden (where her Father and his Brother were already gone and attended them) and she replying, that his pleasure therein should be hers, hee taking her by her hand conducts her thither; where Valfontaine in civilitie purposely walking aloofe off, because he hoped and assured himselfe, that his brother Quatbrisson now meant effectually to speake with his Mistresse in his behalfe, there being then no wit∣nesses to their conference, but only the sweet Quiresters of the woods (the Thrushes and Nightingales) who purposely and pleasantly sate on every bush and tree, to delight them with their melifluous melodie; the very first words he admi∣nistred and directed to her was; That if shee pleased to sweare her tongue to secrecie, to what hee should now say and deliver to her, hee would reveale her a secret which should infinitly import her good. La Pratiere (wondring at the na∣ture of Quatbrissons first speech and request, and what it mought meane or con∣cerne) stood a little while mute and silent, not knowing what to conceive thereof, much lesse what to answer thereto: But at last considering that Valfontaine was her Lover, and Quatbrisson his brother, shee imagined there was some plot secretly compacted betweene them, that if her Father would not condiscend to their de∣sires, that they had then resolved to steale her away from him, and so to make it a Clandestine marriage: Whereupon (her affection being desirous to know the certaintie hereof, and her curiositie ambitious to see this abstruse mysterie unloc∣ked) she grants him his request, vowing to impose secrecie to her tongue in what he should deliver, or intrust her with: When he kissing her, and evaporating ma∣ny farre fetch'd sighes (as the Herauld to proclaime his affection) he tels her; that her incomparable beauty hath captivated his thoughts, and made his heart both her Tributary, and her Prisoner; that hee envies his brothers happinesse, in having the honour to see her before himselfe. That as he is his Superiour in yeares so he is in affection to her, and that he knowes his brother is as unworthy of her, as himselfe worthily bestowed on her: La Pratiere (whose affection and thoughts ran a direct contrary Cariere, lest dreaming of that which she is now enforced to understand) is so afflicted, and withall so incensed at these unexpected speeches of Quatbrissons, that (her passion giving a law to her civilitie) casting a snow-white vaile over her crimson cheeks, and bending her brow (in whose furrowes it seemed that discontent and choller sate now triumphant) her affection is so sincere and en∣tire to Valfontaine, as she returnes his discourteous Brother Quatbrisson, this short and sharpe answer: Quatbrisson (quoth shee) to have offered this unkindnesse of yours to your friend, had beene ignoble ingratitude, but to doe it to your owne brother, can be no lesse then treachery; and therefore this know from me, that I esteeme your Primogenitorship as inferiour to Valfontaines vertues, as they are in all respects superiour to yours, and had you not tied and wedded my tongue to silence, I would now presently publish it to the world, to the admiration and de∣testation of all good men, and so (with a looke ingendered of choller, and deri∣ved from disdaine) shee hastily and suddainly trips away from him, leaving him alone in the Garden to his Muses; Quatbrisson biting his lip at this sharpe repulse of La Pratiere, is yet resolute not thus to leave her, when hoping to find her Father more tractable and propitious to his sute then his Daughter, hee seekes him out, and in faire termes informes him of his affection and love to her, and that (not∣withstanding his brothers research of her) hee himselfe infinitly desireth her to be his owne wife. Old Pennelle (being more covetous of his Daughters preferment, then any way carefull of her content) gives an attentive and pleasing eare to this motion of Quatbrisson, and is so delighted with the melody of his speeches, as

already in heart, he wisheth her married to him, but how to answer, or give con∣tent to Valfontaine he knowes not.

Now the better to effect, and compasse this match, so much wished of Quat∣brisson, and desired of Pennelle; hee (in the absence of Valfontaine) sends for his Daughter into his closet, shewes her what preferment and happinesse is now offe∣red her, if she will forsake Valfontaine and accept of his elder Brother Quatbrisson for her husband. La Pratiere (both moved and grieved with this her Fathers pro∣position and speeches) very humbly beseecheth him; that if ever he will respect her content, or regard her life, that Valfontaine may be her Husband, and not Quat∣brisson, because she confesseth shee loves the younger Brother, but that she neither can nor will affect the elder: Now although this her resolute and obstinate an∣swer, doe exceedingly afflict and grieve her Father, yet hoping that a little time will prove capable to draw her to his desires, hee secretly bids Quatbrisson to ride home to Vannes, to take his Brother with him, and shortly after to returne againe to Saint-Aignaw without him, and that hee shall find no cause to feare, or reason to doubt, but that hee shall enjoy his Mistresse; the managing whereof, hee prayes him to referre to his care in his absence: Thus wee see the Father and Daughter differently affected, hee loves Quatbrisson and not Valfontaine, and she Valfontaine, but not Quatbrisson, who grieving as much at the Daughters refusall, as hee rejoy∣ceth at her Fathers consent: He now venteth his malice on the Innocencie, and his treachery on the integrity of his Brother, by acquainting him, that hee hath used his best power and art of solicitation towards Pennelle; and that he finds it impossi∣ble to draw him to reason; adding withall, that hee is so farre from consenting, that hee shall obtaine his Daughter in marriage, as (upon the whole) in termes enough cleare and apparant, he futurely denies him accesse to his house; Where∣fore Brother (quoth hee) because I see with griefe, that you strive against the streame, and that in all actions and accidents whatsoever, the shortest errours are still best, let us to morrow take horse and away, and let this indifferency bee your resolution: That if God have decreed it shall be a match, it then will bee, other∣wise not. Valfontaines heart bleeds at Pennelles aversenesse and crueltie, and his eyes overflow with teares, so soone to forsake the sight and company of his Daughter, of his deare and faire Mistresse La Pratiere; but (being ignorant of all his bro∣thers passages, and treacheries intended, and meant towards him) hee holds it folly to impugne, or contradict his pleasure, and so resolves to leave Saint-Aignaw, and depart home with him to Vannes.

Our faire La Pratiere, seeing all things bent to crosse her desires, and her Val∣fontaines wishes, she (out of her tender affection to him) resolves to give him a private meeting and conference, when that very night (as her Father and his Bro∣ther were in their beds soundly sleeping) shee sends for him into her Chamber, where seeing him extremely pensive and sorrowfull; she bids him bee cheerefull and couragious, tels him that he hath no reason to despaire, but to hope, for that in life and death she will bee his, and onely his; and then informes him, that in∣stantly upon his arrivall to Vannes, shee will write and send him a Letter, wherein she will acquaint him with the passage of a busines; whereof hee neither can con∣ceive or dreame; conjuring him now to enquire no farther what it is, for that her tongue was enjoyned to secrecy, and sworne to silence, and so (with much chat, and more kisses) he giving her a Diamond Ring from his fingers, and shee him a paire of pearle Bracelets from her armes, in token of their mutuall constancie and affection each to other, they (infinitly against their minds) are enforced to take •…•…ave each of other, and the succeeding morne being come, the two Brothers pre∣pare,

and dispose themselves for their Iourney. When break-fast ended, accor∣ding as it was concluded betwixt Pennelle and Quatbrisson, Pennelle takes Valfon∣taine aside to a window, and in short termes prayes him, henceforth to forbeare his house, and refraine his Daughters company, for that he hath provided another Husband for her; so having severally and solemnly taken their Congees, first of the Father, and then of the Daughter, they take horse and away. Now as they are riding home towards Vannes, as it is a sensible and heart-killing griefe to La Pra∣tiere, so soone to bee deprived of her Valfontaines deare and sweet company, so againe she cannot refraine from smiling, to see how ingratefully and subtilly Quat∣brisson goes to worke to betray his Brother, in seeking to obtaine her for himselfe in marriage; but measuring the integrity of the one, by the treachery of the other, and likewise remembring her promise to Valfontaine, to write to him at the end of two dayes after their departure, she (by a confident Messenger) accordingly sends him this Letter.

LA PRATIERE to VALFONTAINE.

MY promise owes you this Letter, whereby I give you to understand, that I know not whether you have greater cause to love mee, or to hate your brother Quatbrisson, in regard he vowes, hee affects me dearer then your selfe, and hath attempted to rob you of your Wife, and consequently me of my Husband; and as this is ingratitude in a friend, so it must needs be treachery in a Brother. I have heard his courting, and seene his comple∣ments tending that way, but for your sake I relish those with distast, these with neglest, and himselfe with contempt and disdaine. He hath won my Father to his will, but rest you con∣fident (my deare Valfontaine) that he neither can, nor shall draw me to his desire. And because true affection, especially in accidents of this nature, cannot still bee exempt of feare, therefore if any arise, or engender in your thoughts, let this dissipate and dispell it, that al∣though my Father have banished you his house, yet his Daughter is (till death) constantly re∣solved to retaine and cherish you in her heart, and none but you: Manage this your Pratie∣res advice with discretion towards my Father, and not with choller towards your Brother, and be but a little time a patient Spectator of my affection and constancie to you, and you shall assuredly see him act his owne shame, and your glory; his affliction, and your content and desire.

LA PRATIERE.

Valfontaine having received and read this Letter; the base ingratitude and foule treachery of his brother Quatbrisson, doth extremely afflict and torment him; yea the knowledge and remembrance thereof, throwes him into such passions of choller, and fumes of revenge, as once he resolved to right himselfe on him, by sending him a Challenge, and fighting with him; vowing that the bonds of na∣ture were not by farre so strong, as those of affection, and that his brother having given the first cause of offence, and breach of amity betwixt them, it was no marvell that he tooke that course, and preferred that forme of proceeding to any other. But then againe considering his deare La Pratieres injunction and prohibi∣tion from choller, this last reason ore-swaied and prevailed against his former re∣solution, when knowing himselfe infinitly obliged to her for her courtesie, and constancie, so sweetly expressed to him in this her Letter, he can doe no lesse, then returne her an answer thereof in requitall, the which he doth by her owne Messenger in these termes.

VALFONTAINE to LA PRATIERE.

OF all men of the world, I least thought that my brother Quatbrisson would have pro∣ved my Rivall, in attempting to love you, because he perfectly knowes, I affect you farre dearer then the whole world; yea this errour (or as you justly terme it, this treachery) of his, is so odious, so strange to me, as it had farre exceeded my beliefe, if your affection and con∣stancie had not so courteously revealed it to me in your Letter, the which I both blushed and palled to peruse. Neither is it any thankes to him, that he missed of his desire, in missing of you, rather to your vertuous selfe, which distasted his courting and complements for his owne sake, and disdained him for mine. Deare and sweet La Pratiere, in that my brother hath won your Father, I exceedingly grieve, but in that I have not lost his Daughter, I farre more triumph and rejoyce: But why thinke I of losing you, sith to call your constancie in question, is no lesse then to prophane your affection and my judgement, and so to make my selfe both uncapable and unworthy of you, for how can my love to you, retaine any spice or sparke of feare, for that being banished your Fathers house, I am yet so happy, to recover so safe a Harbour and Sanctuary, yea so precious a Temple, as your heart; In which regard it is every way fit, that your requests should be to me commands, for otherwise my Sword had already called me Coward, if by this time I had not called my Brother to a strict and severe account for this his treachery. I will still observe your Father with respect, though he refuse to respect me with observance; and for my ingratefull and treacherous Brother, he may act his owne shame and affliction, but cannot conduce to content, or desire, because that must soly proceed from your selfe, sith in the sweet enjoying of you to my Wife, consists the onely content of my life, and the chiefest of all my earthly felicity.

VALFONTAINE.

Some two dayes after that La Pratiere was made joyfull with this answer of her Valfontaine, shee hath againe sorrowfull newes of Quatbrissons arrivall to her Fa∣thers house at Saint-Aignaw, who had purposely given it out to his brother Valfon∣taine at Vannes, that he rides to Hennbon. He here renewes his late sute to the Fa∣ther and Daughter, but he finds them both in the same humours and resolutions, he left them; he willing, and she coy, hee desirous to have him his Sonne in law, and she resolute never to make him, but his brother Valfontaine her Husband. He profereth her many rich gifts and presents, and a blancke to write downe what Iointure she pleaseth to demand, but she peremptorily refuseth it all, and bids him bestow it on some other, of whom it may find better acceptance; yea I may safely say, and truely affirme, that their affections are farre more opposite, and contrary, then their sexes; for the more he sees her, he loves her, and the oftner she beholds him, the more she hates him; so that when he apparantly perceives, that she deep∣ly vowes to her Father, and himselfe, onely to marry his brother Valfontaine, or her Grave, he seeing his labour for the time present lost, and his affection to her in vaine; having nothing left to comfort him against the repulse of this amorous sute, but the constant friendship of her Father, hee sorrowfully takes his leave of them, and rides home to Vannes; but as close as hee beares this his Iourney from his brother Valfontaine, yet La Pratiere holds her selfe bound to signifie it to him, the which the very next day she doth by her second Letter, which speakes thus.

LA PRATIERE to VALFONTAINE.

I Hold it a part of my duty and affection to advertise you, that these two dayes, I have beene againe importunately haunted and solicited by your unkind Brother Quatbrisson for marriage, but hee hath found my first answer, to bee my second and last; Yea I have so nipt his vaine hopes in their blossomes, by signifying to him and my Father, my infallible re∣solution, either to wed you or my grave, as I thinke (except their hopes betray their judge∣ments) the one is assured, and the other confident, that time will make it apparant to the world, that my words will prove deeds, and that the last will make the first reall: But if your said brother will yet (notwithstanding) farther exercise his folly in my patience, and so make himselfe as ridiculous to mee, as to you he is treacherous, I (out of the deare affection, and tender respect which I beare you) will then fall on my knees to my Father, to hasten his con∣sent to our marriage; that in seeking my content, you may therein find your owne; and this is my resolution, wherewith if yours concurre and sympathise, Heaven may, but Earth shall not crosse our desires.

LA PRATIERE.

Valfontaine receives this second Letter from his Mistris with smiles and frownes; with smiles to see her inviolable constancie and affection, with frownes to behold his brother Quatbrissons continuall malice and treacherie towards him, the which considering (as also because it so neerely concernes him) hee resolves to taxe him thereof, and to see whether (by faire requests and perswasions) hee may reclaime him from affecting his faire and deere La Pratiere, and so to give over his sute to her, but first hee knowes himselfe indebted and obliged, to returne her an an∣swer to this her last Letter, the which he doth in these termes.

VALFONTAYNE to LA PRATIERE.

IT is every way your affection, no way your duty (sweet La Pratiere) which againe ad∣vertiseth me of my Brother Quatbrissons perseverance in his treachery towards mee, by seeking to betray and bereave mee of your selfe, in whom my heart and thoughts imparadise their most soveraigne earthly felicity; and your resolution in nipping his hopes, and your Fa∣thers will, by electing me or your grave for your Husband, doth so ravish my heart with joy, and so rap my conceits in an extasie of sweet content, as I am confident God hath reserved La Pratiere, to bee Valfontaines sweet Wife, and he to bee her deare Husband. But as I know not whether my unkind and treacherous Brother, will yet farther bewray you his folly, in exercising your patience with his importunity; so to save you that labour and penance, which for my sake and love you are ready to impose to your selfe, I am both ready and resol∣ved, not onely to fall on my knees to your Father, but also to your sweet selfe, that our mar∣riage be hastned; for as your resolution herein, is, and ever shall be mine, so our hearts and thoughts sympathising in these wishes, I hope that both Heaven and Earth have resolved, not to crosse, but shortly to consummate and finish our desires.

VALFONTAINE.

He having thus dispatched and sent away his Letter, to his sweet and faire Mi∣stresse, hee now resolves to have some conference with his unkind Brother, to see what a brazen face, hee either will, or can put upon this his ingratitude and trea∣chery: But Quatbrissons policie will anticipate and prevent him; for he having his heart and contemplations deepely fixed on La Pratieres beauty, and having ranne

over all the inventions of his art and affection, how to make her forsake he coy∣nesse, and so how to obtaine her for his wife, hee at last resolves to faine himselfe sicke, and so then to reveale to his brother Valfontaine, that it is his deare and fer∣vent affection to La Pratiere; which is the cause thereof. To which purpose hee keepes his bed, and in his perfect health is twice let blood, thereby to looke ill; when sending for his brother to his Chamber, and exempting all other compa∣ny thence, he acquaints and informes him, That since he first saw La Pratiere, hee still most tenderly loved her, and that hee must now die, because she will not affect and love him; He prayes and conjures him (by vertue of all the same blood which equally streames in both their bodies) for the saving and preserving of his life, that hee will now abandon his affection from her, and so yeeld him up all the power and interest that hee hath, or pretends to have in her, and that in requitall thereof (if occasion require) hee shall still find him ready, not onely to expose all his meanes, but his dearest blood and life at his command: A request so unjust, and a proposition so devoid of common sense and reason, as Valfontaine observing it, and therein seeing his brothers impudencie, now growne to the height of basenesse and folly, hee exceedingly incensed thereat (with a disdainefull looke) returnes him this sharpe and bitter, yet deserved reply. Was it not enough that I understood your treachery, by my faire and deare La Pratiere, in seeking and at∣tempting to bereave me of her, but that thou art thy selfe become so sottish, to •…•…ake thy tongue the Advocate, as well to plead and apologise thy treachery to me, as to publish thy shame to thy selfe, and to the whole world, in seeking and desiring me to surcease my affection to her, and to renounce my interest of her to thy selfe: No, no, base Quatbrisson (for henceforth I highly disdaine to terme or esteeme you my brother) I give thee to understand and know, that in heart, and in honour she is mine, and I hers, and therefore you shall die and damne, before I will permit thee to inrich thy selfe with my losse of her, whom I affect and prise a thousand times dearer then my selfe, or then all the lands and treasures of the world; when without any other farewell, he hastily and chollerickly flings forth his Chamber from him.

Quatbrisson seeing his brothers furious departure, and remarking his perempto∣ry and incivill answer to him, hee (in his heart and thoughts) vowes revenge, and in his resolutions sweares to make him repent it. To which effect, forsaking his bed, and abandoning his counterfeit sicknesse, his choller hardly affording his pa∣tience three dayes to recover his blood and strength, but knowing his brother to be now at Nantes with their Vncle De Massy, hee seekes out a deare and intimate friend of his named Monsieur La Roche, whom ingaging to be his second in a Duell against his owne brother Valfontaine, they ride over to Nantes, when comming to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 small Parish, termed Saint-Vallerge, within a league of the Citie, he writes a Challenge, delivers it to La Roche, and so dispeeds him away with it to his bro∣•…•…r. La Roche comes to Nantes, finds out Valfontaine at the President, his Vncles •…•…use, being in the company of a very intimate friend of his, of that Citie, na∣•…•…ed Monsieur de Pont Chausey, and delivereth him, his brothers Challenge fast sealed, •…•…e which hee hastily breaking open, and perusing, hee finds that it speakes this •…•…guage.

QVATBRISSON to VALFONTAINE.

•…•…N regard it is impossible for both of •…•…s to enjoy the faire La Pratiere to wife, therefore it is fit that one of us dye, that the other may survive and live, to be enriched with so •…•…ious a treasure, and crowned with so inestimable a blessing and felicity; which conside∣ring,

as also because my modest requests have (undeservedly) met with thy incivill carriage, and beene requited with thy malicious execrations, Therefore find it not strange, to see affection give a Law to Nature, and mine honour to contemne thy contempt and malice, in enviting thee, and thy Second, to meet me and mine with your single Rapiers, to morrow twixt two or three after dinner, in a faire meddow at the East end of Saint-Vallery, within a little flight shot thereof, where thou shalt find this Gentleman (whom I have prayed to be the Bearer hereof) who will safely conduct thee to me, where I will patiently attend thee; I expect no other answer but thy selfe, neither doe I any way doubt (much lesse despaire) of thy meeting me, since by birth I know thou art Noble, and by inclination pretendest to be gene∣rous.

QVATERISSON.

Valfontaine smiles at the reading of this Challenge, and in conceit laughing at his brother Quatbrissons errours and folly, hee cheerfully turnes himselfe to La Roche, to whom he speakes thus. Monsieur La Roche, I make no doubt but you are Quatbrissons Second; to whom he replies; My respect to your Brother hath enga∣ged me thereunto, insteed of a more worthy, and yet I ingenuously confesse and protest (Sir quoth hee) that I have promised no more to him, then (if occasion presented) I am ready to performe for your selfe, Valfontaine thankes him, and prayes him to returne his Brother Quatbrisson this answer, That to morrow at the appointed houre and place hee will not faile to meet him: When entreating La Roche to walke with him into the next Chamber, hee told him, hee presumed hee should shew him his Second; when Valfontaine taking Pont Chausey to the win∣dow, hee shewes him his brothers Challenge, and prayes him to honour him in being his Second. Pont Chausey (not out of any feare in himselfe, but in love to these two brothers) as a Christian Gentleman profereth to ride over to Quat∣brisson to Saint-Vallery, and to use his best power and endeavours to take up and reconcile these differences betweene them; but La Roche tels him hee may save that Iourney and labour, For that (to his knowledge) Quatbrisson is both resolute and irreconcilable in that quarrell; whereupon Pont Chausey freely engageth him∣selfe to Valfontaine, and so these two Seconds (though not as loving friends, yet as friendly and honourable enemies) very secretly that evening provide their Ra∣piers, which done, La Roche rides backe to Saint-Vallery, acquainting Quatbrisson with his brother Valfontaines generous resolution, to meet and fight with him the next day, as also that Pont Chausey is his Second: And although (by the instiga∣tion of Sathan) that Choller and Revenge make minutes seeme houres, and houres yeares, ere it hath wrought his wished effects, and effected his bloody designes: So these our foure rash and inconsiderate Gentlemen (more full of Valour then Vertue, and of Courage then Christianitie) the houre appointed for the Rendes∣vous approaching, and Quatbrisson with his Chirugion, being first in the field, hath difficultly made two turnes, before La Roche ushereth in his brother Valfon∣taine, his Second Pont Chausey and their Chirugion; when they all tying up thei•…•… horses to the hedge, they (according to the custome of Duels) doe all throw of their dublets, and each unbooting his fellow, they appeare in their silke stocking•…•… and white pumps, as if they were fitter to dance Coranto's or Pavins, then t•…•… fight Duels.

So the two brothers first draw, and approach each other, and at their first com∣ming up, Valfontaine (without being touched himselfe) gives Quatbrisson a deep•…•… wound in his right thigh, and if his Rapier had not beaten downe the thrust, it ha•…•… undoubtedly nailed him to the ground; at their second encounter they are bo•…•…

hurt, Quatbrisson in the right arme, and Valfontaine of a scarre in the necke, and here they make a stand to take breath, Quatbrisson not as yet despairing, nor Val∣fontaine triumphing or assuring himselfe of the victory, and the sight and effusion of their blood is so farre from rebating or quenching, as it rather revives their courages with more spleene and animositie, so they will againe try their fortunes; They now traverse their ground, and approach each other, and although they are not lesse vallorous then before, yet (to the eyes of their Seconds and Chirurgi∣ons) they are now more cautious in their plea, and more advised in choosing and refusing their ground, when Valfontaine breaking a thrust (which his brother pre∣sented him) he then calling to mind the sweetnesse of his La Pratieres beauty, and the foulnesse of his brothers malice and treachery towards him, drives home a thrust at him, which entereth betwixt his short ribs, and making the blood to gush and streame forth, doth soone quaile his courage; so as he who right now thought himselfe master of his brothers life, now feares his owne, so that hee thinkes hee hath given enough, if not received too much in counter-exchange, as well to secure his reputation from the scandall of his friends, as to warrant his generositie from the detraction of his enemies, and therefore throwing away his Rapier, he (with more wisedome then honour) begs his life of his brother, vow∣ing henceforth wholly to forsake and leave him La Pratiere, and to love him as dearely as formerly hee hated him deadly: Which cowardise of his, is so farre from being relished, or approved of the Spectators, as it proves the wonder of Valfontaine, the laughture of Pont Chausey, the disdaine of his owne Second La Roche, and the contempt of both their Chirurgions; but Valfontaine was as benigne as Quatbrisson was base and envious, and as noble as he was treacherous, and so upon his submission, hee sheathes up his sword, gives him his life, and with his hat in his hand embraceth him, and thus with many fraternall words and comple∣ments, these two brothers (in all outward shew) are againe reconciled, and become perfect friends: But the end proves all things.

Now to follow the streame of our History, and the ceremonies of Duels, wee must passe from Quatbrisson and Valfontaine the Principals, to La Roche and Pont Chausey, their Seconds, to see in what shape they will come forth, and how they resolve to beare themselves in the conclusion, and knitting up of this reconcilia∣tion; As for Pont Chausey, hee thinkes it no disparagement or shame to him now to refuse to fight, sith his Principall hath given his Enemy the foyle, in giving him his life; but contrariwise, La Roche being Second to the Challenger, not the Challenged, hee therefore holds it no lawfull plea or excuse for him to exempt himselfe from fighting. Pont Chauseys modesty seemes to over-vaile his valour with •…•…lence and indifferencie, which the insulting vanity of La Roche doth so farre misconstrue, as he erroniously attributes it, rather to feare and cowardise, then to reason or judgement. The worst of Pont Chauseys malice venteth no other spee∣ches and language, but that he will follow and abide the censure of their Princi∣pals, whether they being their Seconds ought to fight or no, and accordingly hee is ready either to retire or advance; But La Roches intemperate passions (flying a higher pitch) with much vehemencie and choller protesteth, that he came into the field purposely to fight, and not to keepe sheepe, or to catch flies with his Rapier. The two brothers interpose and consult hereon, and doe joyntly affirme, that be∣cause they themselves are reconciled, and become good friends, they hold it re∣pugnant to reason and contradictory to the right and nature of Duels, that their Seconds should once draw their weapons, much lesse fight; But this neither doth nor can as yet satisfie La Roche, whose choller is now become so boundlesse, as he

in lofty termes elevateth Valfontaines valour to the skies, and dejecteth Quatbrissons cowardise as low as Hell, begging permission of the one to fight with his Second, and peremptorily informing the other, that he will fight; But both Quatbrisson and Valfontaine condemne those fumes, and this heate of La Roche, and are so farre from applauding it in him, as they (in downeright termes) repute it to temeritie and rashnesse, and not to magnanimity and valour; yea his impatiencie hath so provoked and moved their patience, as (not in jest but in earnest) they bandy these words to him, that he glorieth so much in his generositie, as in now ambitiously seeking to adde to his valour, hee substracteth from his judgement. When Pont Chausey (to retort and wipe off the least taint or blemish, which either La Roche, or the two brothers might conceive, lay on his reputation) thinkes it now high time to speake, because as yet he had spoken so little, and prayes La Roche to find out some expedient, either that they might returne as loving Friends, or fight it out as Honourable Enemies, and that for his part hee is so farre from the least shaddow of feare, or conceit of cowardise, as hee tels him plainely, hee shall find his Rapier of an excellent temper, and his heart of a better: Whereupon vaine and miserable La Roche, consulting with nature, and not with grace; he to give end to this difference, resolves on an expedient as wretched as execrable, the which he proposeth to Pont Chausey and the two brothers in these termes; That the onely way, and his last resolution is, that a faire paire of dice shall be the Iudge and Vmpier betweene them, and that who throwes most at one cast, it shall bee in his choice either to fight or not to fight, whereunto Pont Chausey willingly consenteth, although Quatbrisson and Valfontaine doe in vaine contradict and oppose it. But the decree is past, and La Roche (very officious in his wickednesse, and forward in his impiety) spreads his Cloake on the ground, drawes a paire of dice forth his pocket, and because he was of the Challengers side, he will throw first, which he doth, and the fortune of the dice gives him seven; Pont Chausey followes him and likewise taking the dice throwes onely five: Whereat La Roche gracelesly insul∣ting and triumphing, with an open throat cryes out, fight, fight, fight; and so pre∣sently drawes his Rapier. Pont Chausey seeing his enemy armed, thinkes it no lon∣ger, either safe or honourable for him to be unarmed, when (yet with a kind of religious reluctancie, and unwilling willingnesse) hee likewise unsheathes his Ra∣pier, and so without any farther expostulation, they here approach each other: But because (for brevities sake) I resolve to passe over the circumstances, and only to mention the issue of their single combat, let mee (before I proceed farther) in the name and feare of God conjure the Christian Reader, here to admire with wonder and admiration, at his sacred Providence, and divine Iustice which in the issue of this Duell is made conspicuous and apparant to these two rash and uncon∣siderate Gentlemen, the Combattants, and in them to all others of the whole world; For loe, just as many picks as each of them threw on the Dice, so many wounds they severally received each from other, as Pont Chausey five, and La Roche seven, and he who so extremely desired to fight, and so insatiably thirsted after Pont Chauseyes blood, is now here by him nayled dead to the ground, and his breathlesse corpes all gored and washed in his owne blood. A fearefull example and remarke∣able president for all bloody minded Gentlemen of these our times, to contem∣plate and looke on, because wretched La Roche was so miserable, as hee had no point of time to see his errour, no sparke of grace to repent it.

Quatbrisson and his Chirurgion (as sorrowfull for his death, as his brother Val∣fontaine is glad thereof) take order for his decent transporting to the Citie; whiles Valfontaine congratulates with Pont Chausey for his good fortune and victory; who

for •…•…ty flies to Blavet, untill the Duke of Rayes (to whom he was homager) had procured and sent him his Pardon from the King, the which in few weekes after he effected. Monsieur de Caerstaing, and Madamoyselle Ville-blanche his wife are advertised of their two Sonnes quarrell at Saint Vallery, and of the cause and issue thereof, who condemne Quatbrisson for his treachery and malice, and applaud Val∣fontaine for so nobly giving of his brother his life, when it lay in his power and pleasure to have deprived him thereof, which newes is likewise speedily conveied first to Nantes, and then to Saint-Aignaw, where Pennelle as much grieves at Quat∣brissons foyle and disgrace, as his Daughter our faire La Pratiere triumphs at her Valfontaines victory, and because she will no longer bee deprived of his presence, whose absence deprives her of all her earthly content and felicity, shee makes her prayers and teares become such incessant Orators, and importunate Advocates to her Father, as she now drawes his free consent to take Valfontaine for her husband, which at last to their owne unspeakeable Ioy, and the approbation and content of all their parents of either side, is at Saint-Aignaw performed and consummated with much pompe and bravery.

But albeit Quatbrisson (as we have formerly understood) have all the reasons of the world, to bee fully and fairely reconciled to his brother Valfontaine, yea (and according to his promise and oath) to affect him tenderly and dearely, yet where the heart is not sanctified and in peace, the tongue may pretend though not intend it; For the more he gazeth on his sister in law La Pratieres beauty, the more the freshnesse and delicacie thereof, revives and inflames his lascivious lust towards her, when knowing her to bee as chaste as faire, and being confident that he was out of all hope to receive any immodest courtesie, or familiarity from her, whiles her Husband his brother Valfontaine lives, the Devill hath already taken such full possession of his heart, as (with a hellish ingratitude and impietie) hee wretchedly resolves to deprive him of his life, of whom as it were but right now he had the happinesse to receive his owne.

As soone as we thinke of Revenge we meerly forget our selves, but when we con∣sent to murther we absolutely forget God; for that hellish contemplation, and this inhumane and bloody action, doe instantly worke so wretchedly in us, that of men we become Monsters, and (which is worse) of Christians Devils; for thereby we make our selves his slaves and members. A misery to which all others are not comparable, because those are finite, in regard they have only relation to the life of our bodies, but this infinite in regard it occasioneth the death of our soules: But all this notwithstanding, it is not in jest but in earnest, that Quatbrisson assumes this bloody resolution to murther his brother Valfontaine; For seeing that it was neither in his power or fortune to kill him in the Duell, he therefore holds it more safe, lesse dangerous to have him poysoned, and so deales with his brothers Apo∣thecarie, named Moncallier, to undertake and performe it, and in requitall thereof he assureth him of three hundred crownes, and gives him the one halfe in hand, whereupon this Factor of the Devill, this Empericke of Hell, confidently promi∣seth him speedily to effect and performe it, the which he doth, The manner thus.

Valfontaine within sixe weekes of his marriage, finds his body in an extreme heate, some reputing it to an excesse of wine, which he had the day before taken at Po•…•…tivie Faire, and others for having beene too amorous and uxorious to his sweet young wife La Pratiere; But it matters not which excesse of these two gave him his sicknesse, onely let it satisfie the Reader, that (as we have already heard) his body was very much inflamed and hot, the dangerous symtomes either of a bur∣ning

Feaver, or a Plurifie, the which to allay and coole, he sends for his 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the ca∣rie Moncalier from Vannes to Saint Aignaw, and after their consultation he openeth him a veine very timely in the morning, and drawes ten ounces of blood from him, and towards night gives him a Glister, wherein hee infused strong poyson, which spreading ore the vitall parts of his body, doth so soone worke its opera∣tion, and extinguish their radicall moisture, that being the most part of the night tortured with many sharpe throes, and heart-killing convulsions, hee before the next morning dyes in his bed: His wife La Pratiere being desperately vanquished with sorrow, doth (as it were) dissolve and melt her selfe into teares, at this sudden and unexpected death of her Husband Valfontaine, and indeed her griefes and sor∣rowes are farre the more infinite and violent, in that she sees her selfe a widdow almost as soone as a wife. Her Father is likewise pensive and sorrowfull for the death of his Sonne in Law, and so also is his owne Father and Mother at Vannes. But for his inhumane brother Quatbrisson, although he neither can, or shall bleare the eyes of God, yet hee intends to doe those of men, from the knowledge and detection of this foule and bloody fact; for hee puts on a mournefull and discon∣solate countenance, on his rejoycing and triumphing heart, for the death of his brother, the which he endeavoreth to publish in his speeches and apparell; so hee rides over to Saint Aignan to his sister in law La Pratiere, condoles with her for her Husband his brothers death, and with his best oratory strives to dissipate and dis∣pell her sorrowes; but still her thoughts and conscience doe notwithstanding prompt her, that (considering his former affection to her, and his fighting with his brother her, Husband for her) sure hee had a hand in his death, but in what manner or how she knowes not, and so as a most vertuous and sorrowfull Lady, leaves the revealing thereof to the good pleasure and Providence of God; and the curious heads both of Nantes and Vannes concurre with her in the same con∣ceipt and beliefe.

But three moneths are scarce past over, since Valfontaine was laid in his grave, but Quatbrisson is still so deepely besotted with his owne lust, and the beauty of La Pratiere, as he sels his wit for folly, and againe becomes a Sutor to marry her, ha∣ving none but this poore Apologie to colour out his incestuous desires; that hee will procure a dispensation from Rome to approve it; and that hee hath already spoken to Yvon Bishop of Reimes to that effect, who was many yeares Penitentiarie (or Almoner.) to Pope Paulus Quintus. And what doth this indiscretion of his worke with La Pratiere, but onely to encrease her jealousie, to confirme her suspi∣cion, and to make her the more confident, that her Husband had beene still in this world if he had not beene the meanes so soone send him into another: Wher∣fore she rejecteth both his sute and himselfe, tels him, that if he can find in his heart and conscience to marry her, shee cannot dispence with her soule to espouse him, and therefore that he shall doe well to surcease his sute, either to the Pope or Bishop, sith if it lay in their powers, yet it should never in her pleasure to grant, or resolution to effect it; but this peremptory refusall of hers cannot yet cause Quat∣brisson to forsake and leave her; For if his lust and concupiscence formerly made him peevish to seeke her for his wife, now it makes him meerely sottish and impu∣dent to alter his sute, and so to attempt and desire to make her his strumpet: But hee hath no sooner delivered her this his base and obscene motion, but all the blood of her body flushing in her face, shee highly disdaineth both his speeches and himselfe, and vowing and scorning henceforth ever more to come into his com∣pany, so she informes her Father of his dishonourable intent, and unchast motion to her, who to rid himselfe of so incivill and impudent a guest, thereupon (in

sharpe termes) forbids him his house and his Daughters company, as having here∣by altogether made himselfe unworthy to enjoy the priviledge of the one, or the honour of the other, when this sweet and chaste young Lady (to be no more haun∣ted with so lascivious a Ghost and Spirit) being sought in marriage by divers no∣ble and gallant Gentlemen, shee among them all (after a whole yeares mourning for her first) makes choice of Monsieur de Pont Chausey for her second Husband, and marries him; Quatbrisson seeing himselfe so disdainefully sleighted and rejected of La Pratiere, he (as a base Gentleman, and dishonourable Lover) metamorpho∣seth his affection into hatred towards her, and vowes that his revenge shall shortly match her disdaine, and meet with her ingratitude, and so flies her sight and com∣pany as much as hee formerly desired it. But as the best Revenge is to make our enemies see that we prosper and doe well, so hee quite contrary makes it his pra∣ctise and ambition to doe evill; For from henceforth among many other of his vices he defileth his body with whoredome, and gives himselfe over to Fornica∣tion and Adultery, which hath taken up so deepe a habit in him, as it is now growne to a second nature; for he wholly abandoneth himselfe to Queanes and Strumpets, that be she maid, wife, or widdow, his wanton eye scarce sees any, but his lustfull heart desireth, and his lascivious tongue seekes.

Now Quatbrisson (among many other) hearing that a poore Peasant, or coun∣trey man, termed Renne Malliot, of the parish of Saint-Andrewes, three miles from Vannes, had a sweet and faire young Daughter, hee therefore very lewdly resolves to see her, and to tempt her to his obscene desires, when provoked and halled on by his lust, as that was likewise by the Devill, hee rides over to her Fathers house, and alighting from his horse cals there for some wine, but with his Hauke on his fist, and his laquay and dogs at his heeles, thereby the better to over-vaile and colour out his lascivious designe and in•…•…ent: And that the Reader may the better and apparantly behold this countrey Virgin Marieta; shee was aged of some six∣teene yeares, and towards her seventeenth, tall and straight, and rather a little en∣dining to fatnesse then to leanesse; her haire was of a bright flaxen colour, and she of so fresh a beauty, and sweet and delicate complexion, that her eyes were capable to inflame desire, and her cheeks to engender and exact affection, so that as it was a wonder among many to find so delicate a Countrey-lasse, it was also many wonders in one, to see how sweetly her rich beauty graced her poore clothes, whiles they (though in vaine) endeavour to disgrace it. Quatbrisson no sooner sees Marieta, but she is so faire and amiable in his eyes, as they informe him, that re∣port comes infinitely short of her beauty, when burning in the flames of his beastly concupiscence towards her, his lust so exceedingly out braves his reason, that his eyes and heart doe already doe homage to hers, and he is so farre caught and insnared in the contemplation of her fresh youth and beauty, as hee vowes to leave no art unattempted to obtaine his lustfull desires in enjoying of her virgi∣nity: To which end hee very often and secretly visiteth her, discovereth her his lewd desires and affection, gives her Gloves, Bonlace, Lawne, woorsted Stockings, and the like trifles, thereby the sooner to prevaile with her, when God knowes this faire poore maiden was so chaste, as yet shee knew not what belonged to un∣chastity, such was her obscure dwelling, and innocent education, and yet behold the Devill was so busie with her, and Quatbrisson with the Devill, to draw and prostitute her to sinne, as she was so farre in love with his gay clothes, sugred spee∣ches and faire promises, rich gifts, and especially because hee was a Gentleman, that in a few weekes shee had hardly the power or will to deny him any thing, no not her selfe.

But whiles thus Quatbrisson laies close siege to the chastity of the daughter, her Mother Iane Chaumett (being of a quicke wit and sharpe apprehension, measuring his youth by her Daughters beauty) begins to mistrust and feare that by his often visits, he endeavored to put a rape on her vertue, in seeking to inrich himselfe with the losse of her maiden-head, the which to prevent, she forbids him her house, shewing him that she had rather dye, then live to see her Daughter made a Strum∣pet, adding farther, that if hereupon he did not forbeare her house and her daugh∣ters company, shee would forthwith acquaint his Father Monsieur de Caerstainge therewith, alleadging, that how close so ever hee bore himselfe, shee knew him to be his Sonne and heire, and termed Quatbrisson; which crosse speeches of hers doe much afflict and perplexe him, and the more because hee sees he cannot now ap∣proach Marieta, and which is worst of all, in regard he knowes not whom to em∣ploy towards her, to win her to his desires: But at length remembring that hee was well acquainted with an old Franciscan Frier of Auroy, named Father Sympli∣cian, who many yeares begged the Countrey for the repairing of their Monastery, and with whom he had often caroused and beene merry: He therefore holds him a fit Instrument and Agent for his purpose, and so rides over to Auroy, and sends for him to his lodging, where giving him good cheere, and well heating his head with wine, he there from point to point discovereth this secret, and laies open him∣selfe to him: So this old Frier loving his cups better then his beads, and Monsi•…•… de Quatbrisson better then his Guardian (because hee had twice formerly expelled him the Monastery for some of his dishonest and debauched prancks) hee freely engageth himselfe to him, affirming that he well knew both Father, Mother, and Daughter, having heretofore many times layen in their house, when hee hath beene over taken, either by night or raine.

Hypocrisie is the Devils Maske or Visard, and there is no way so subtle or sinful to deceive, as under the Cloake and Colour of Religion, and therefore it is a most pernitious and odious shame to Christians, that those who professe piety should prophane it. This good fellow Frier Symplician (taking the tide of time, and the wind of opportunity) under the pretext of visiting some of his kinsfolkes leaves Auroy, repaires to Vannes, and so to Malliots house in the countrey, where purpose∣ly faigning himselfe sicke, thereby to procure himselfe the better colour for his stay, and the better meanes for the dispatch of this love busines for Monsieur Quatbrisson, there Malliot and his wife Iane Chaumet (out of their respect to Reli∣gion, and reverence to Church-men) entertaine him lovingly, and attend him care∣fully and diligently, thinking no cost too much, nor any meat, care or labour enough which they spent and bestowed on him; But we shall see him requite this Hospitality, and repay this courtesie of theirs with a base ingratitude.

For in the absence of the Father and Mother, this deboshed Fryer teacheth their faire Daughter Marieta a new Catechisme; hee tells her that Monsieur Quatbrisson is deeply in love with her; that if shee will hearken to his Affection, and so be∣come flexible to his desires, hee will shortly steale her away from her Parents, and either maintaine her Gentlewoman-like in brave apparell, or els marry her to some rich Serving-man, or Farmers Sonne, with whom she might live merrily; and at her hearts content all the dayes of her life; adding withall, that it was pitty 〈◊〉〈◊〉 delicate fresh beauty should bee so strictly and obscurely mewed up in her Fathers poore Cottage, and that it was a shame to her to prove an enemy to Nature, who had beene so bountifull and so true a friend to her, with many more obsce•…•… rea∣sons, and deboshed speeches looking that way, the which (in modesty) I cannot remember without shame, nor relate without detestation. So this pand•…•…rising old▪

Fryer (degenerating from his habit, profession, and name) what with the honey (or rather indeed the poyson) of his speeches and promises, and the sugar of some gifts and tokens which he delivered her from Qu•…•…brisson, he drawes this harmlesse and innocent poore Countrey mayd, so farre to forget her selfe, her Parents, and God, that in hope of rich apparell and a good husband, shee tells Father Sympli∣cian, that she is wholly Quatbrissons a•…•… command, and that for his sake and love she is absolutely resolved to forsake her Father and Mother, and to goe away with him any night or day, when he pleaseth to fetch her; the which he shortly doth, and shee accomplisheth: And thus was the odious ingratitude of this Fryer Sym∣p•…•…cian, towards honest Malliot and his Wife, for his good cheere, lodging, and entertainment, to betray and bereave them of their onely childe and daughter, whom they well hoped would have proved the Ioy of their life, and the staffe and comfort of their Age.

Quatbrisson (in the vanity of his voluptuous thoughts) having thus (by him∣selfe and the Fryer) played his prize in stealing away faire Marieta, hee by night brings her to his owne old Nurse her house, which is a little mile distant from that of his Father, where he secretly keepes her, takes his pleasure of her, and as often as hee pleaseth, lyes with her whole nights together; but Marieta's sorrowfull Fa∣ther and Mother seeing themselves thus robbed of their only Iewell their daugh∣ter, they bitterly lament her losse, and their owne misfortunes therein. They com∣plaine to all their Neighbours thereof, and leave few adjacent Parishes or houses •…•…ought for her; yea her Mother Iane Chaumets griefe and jealousie transport her so farre, as vehemently suspecting that Monsieur de Quatbrisson had stolne her away, •…•…rips over to his Fathers house, and there (with sorrow in her lookes, and teares in her eyes) acquaints both him and the Lady his Wife thereof; who presently send for their Son Quatbrisson before them. They shew him what an infinite scan∣dall this foule fact and crime of his will breed him, and likewise reflect upon themselves, and all their Kinsfolkes and Family. How the Iustice of God infal∣libly attends on whordome and fornication, and that he hath no other true course or meanes left him to expiate and deface it, but Confession, Contrition, and Re∣pentance, and by returning the poore Countrey girle againe to her aged and sor∣rowfull parents: But Quatbrisson their Sonne (as a base deboshed Gentleman) denyes all, termes old Malliots wife an old hagge and devill, to charge him thus falsly with the stealing away of her Daughter; and so without any other redresse or comfort, this poore Mother returnes againe home to her sorrowfull husband, and Quatbrisson secretly to his Nurses, to frollicke and sport it out with his sweet and faire Countrey Mistris Marieta.

But to observe the better Order and Decorum in the dilation and unfolding of this History, leave we (for a small time) this lascivious young couple, wallowing in the beastly pleasures of their sensuality and fornication, and come we a little to speake how suddenly and sharply (at unawares) the vengeance and justice of God surpriseth our execrable Apothecary Moncallier, who so wretchedly and lamenta∣bly (as we have formerly understood) had sent innocent Valfontaine from earth to heaven, by that damnable drug and ingredient of Poyson. The manner whereof briefely is thus:

Quatbrisson (as wee have already seene) having exchanged his former affecti∣o•…•… into future malice and envie towards his Sister in law La Pratiere, doth still re∣•…•…aine such bloudy thoughts against her, as (striking hands with the Devill) hee 〈◊〉〈◊〉 favour of three hundred Crownes more) hath againe ingaged his Hellish A∣pothecary Moncallier likewise to poyson her, at his first administring of Physicke

to her; which intended deplorable Tragedy of theirs is no sooner projected and plotted of the one then promised speedily to be acted and performed by the other, to the end (quoth these two miserable wretches) to make her equall, as in marri∣age, so in death with her first husband: Valfontaine. Thus Quatbrisson longing, and Moncallier hearkening out for La Pratieres first sickenesse, two moneths are scarce blowne over, since her marriage with Pont Chausey, but shee is surprised with a pe∣stilent Fever; when hee as a loving and kinde husband (at the request of his sicke Wife) ri•…•…es over to Vannes for this monster of his profession and time Moncallier, to come with him and give her Physicke, the which presently (with as much trea∣cherous care, as feigned sorrow) hee promiseth to effect; and so inwardly resolves with the Devill, and himselfe to poyson her: but we shall see here that Gods pro∣vidence will favorably permit the first, and his goodnesse and mercie miraculously prevent the second.

Moncallier sees this his faire and sweet Patient La •…•…ratiere, but he is yet so farre from shame or repentance that he had poysoned her first husband, as (with a grace∣lesse ratiocination) he confirmes his former impious resolution likewise to dispatch her selfe: but for that time hee contenteth himselfe onely to draw sixe ounces of bloud from her, and promiseth to returne to her the next morning with Physicke, and therein to insinuate and infuse the Poyson. But here (in the feare, and to the glory of God) let mee request the Christian Reader to admire and wonder with mee at the strangenesse of this suddaine and divine punishment of God, then and there showne on this wretched Apothecary Moncallier: For as he was ready to de∣part, and being on the top of the Stayres (next to the Chamber doore where La Pratiere lay sicke) complementing with her husband Pont Chausey at his farewell, hee trips in his Spurres, and so falls downe headlong at the foot thereof, there breakes his necke, and which is lamentable and fearfull, he hath neither the po•…•…er or grace left him to speake a word, much lesse to repent his cruell poysoning of Valfontaine, or to pray unto God to forgive it him. And thus was the miserable end of this wretched Apothecary Moncallier, who, when hee absolutely thought that that bloudy fact of his was quite defaced and forgotten of God, then God (as we see) in his due time remembred to punish him for the same, to his utter confu∣sion and destruction, that as his Crime was bloudy, so his punishment should bee sudden and sharpe.

Returne we now againe to Quatbrisson (who amidst his carnall pleasures with his young and faire Marie•…•…a) is advertised of Moncalliers sudden and unnaturall death at S. Aignaw, wherat (resembling himselfe) he is so far from any apprehension or griefe, as he exceedingly triumpheth and rejoyceth thereat; yea, he is as glad that he hath thus broke his necke, because hee can now tell no tales, as sorrowfull if now before his death he have not poysoned La Pratiere, as formerly he did her first husband Valfontaine his brother. Whiles thus Quatbrissons joy in injoying Marieta, proves the griefe and disconsolation of her Parents, for it is now generally bruted in Vannes, that Quatbrisson hath stolne away Malliots daughter Marieta, whereof her Father and Mother being sorrowfully acquainted (hee being weake and sickly) shee againe repaires to Monsieur de Caerstaing and his Lady, and with teares in her eyes throwing her selfe at their feet, acquaints them with this publicke report, humbly beseeching them to bee a meanes to the Gentleman their sonne, that hee restore them their daughter; but they are (in a manner) deafe to her requests, and so only returne her this generall answer, that they will again examine their son, and cause all their tenants houses neer about to be narrowly searched for her, and this i•…•… all the redresse and consolation which this sorowfull mother could get from them;

Whereof Quatbrisson being advertised, he (with much secrecie and haste) about midnight, causeth Pierot his Fathers Miller, to fetch Marieta away from his Nur∣ses house to his Mill, which is some quarter of a League from his Fathers house, the which accordingly Pierot effecteth. The very next morning Quatbrisson goes secretly to the Mill and visits her; he informes her how her parents have incensd his against him, and against her-selfe likewise: he bids her be of good comfort, that shee shall want nothing, that hee will very shortly procure her a better lodging, and provide both for her safety and reputation, and so continually frollickes it out, and there takes his pleasure of her; yea, he lyes so often with her many whole nights and some dayes at this Mill, that at last her belly swells, and both of them appa∣rantly perceive that shee is with child by him: when poore soule, seeing her selfe as it we repent up in a prison, that she had no new Apparell, nor was towards any Husband; yea looking backe into the foulnesse of her fault, and seeing that she had made her selfe the griefe of her Father and Mother, the laughter of the world, and almost the contempt and disdaine of Quatbrisson, who (surfetting in his pleasures •…•…th her) beganne now to looke lesse familiar, and more strange to her then accu∣stomed, shee with many sighes and teares repents her selfe of her errour; but how to remedie it, she knowes not.

As for Quatbrisson, hee supposing he had his Fathers Miller Pierot at his com∣mand, profereth him two hundred French Crownes to marry her; whereat this Meal-cap Miller (being a lusty young fellow of some five and twenty yeares old) could not at first refraine from blushing and laughing; when seeing Marieta to be young and faire, hee is so farre in love with her, as at first hee wisheth her to his wife; but then againe considering that shee hath a great belly by his young Master, that hee still lyes with her, and that if he should marry her, he would undoubted∣ly bee more Master and owner of her then himselfe, hee prayes him therefore to excuse him, for that hee is fully resolved not to marry her. When Quatbrisson yet farther desirous to draw him to take her to his wife, profereth Pierot a new Lease and Estate of his Mill from his Father for seven yeares, at his owne cost and char∣ges. But this Miller (being a pleasant joviall wag) tells his young Master that hee had rather never heare the clacking of his Mill, then to live to see himselfe cornu∣ted; and so upon no tearmes will marry Marieta, but for any other service, hee sweares to him, that he is, and ever will bee wholly at his command. Poore Ma∣rieta now seeing her hopes grow small, and her belly great, and consequently her joyes decline, and her sorrowes increase, finding that she is now rather Quatbrissons prisoner then his prize, and the Miller rather her Goaler then her Landlord, shee (with many farre fetcht sighs and brinish teares) very passionatly beseecheth Quat∣brisson on her knees, that he will speedily either provide her a husband, or permit her with her shamefull and sorrowfull burthen to returne home to her afflicted and angry parents. Two requests, and both so reasonable (quoth she to him) as if it be not in your power to grant me the first, yet I hope it will be your pleasure not to deny me the second. But Quatbrisson, notwithstanding all these teares and prayers of Marieta, he is still so vexed, as well with her importunity, as with the sharp com∣plaints of his own parents, and the bitter lamentations and outcries of hers, that (in the heat of sottish choller and ingratefull disdaine) he flies from her, absents him∣selfe longer then accustomed, and thenceforth (by degrees) beginnes as much to loath her, as hee formerly loved her. Marieta perceiving this his unexpected and ingratefull unkindnesse towards her, it pierceth her very heart with griefe, and her soule with despaire; Shee requests the Miller to tell Monsieur de Quatbrisson that she prayes him to see her, or to permit her to see him; but hee perceiving that his

young Master slighted her, and that his hot affection was by this time waxed cold and frozen to her, hee refuseth to goe himselfe, and so sends his boy: But what doth this importunity of hers procure or effect with Quatbrisson, but onely the more inflame his choller, and therein the more increase her owne sorrowes, and accelerate and hasten on her miseries? For he bids the boy tell her, that he is gone to Rennes, and will not returne in a moneth; and withall, he wills him to bid his Master to come secretly to him in the morning, at his Fathers Orchard. So if Quatbrissons unkindnesse to Marieta formerly made her seeme to bee the picture of sorrow, Ahlas, now this his discourteous departure, and disdayning either to see her, or once bid her farewell, makes her really to bee sorrow her selfe; for shee teares her haire, and (with a mournfull and sorrowfull Ambition) indeavoureth to drowne her selfe in the Ocean of her teares; yea, her griefes are so infinite, and her discontents so insupportable (in that she hath so deeply disobeyed her parents, and offended God with her Fornication) as the remembrance of these sinnes and crimes of hers make her not dare to looke up to heaven for assistance; a thousand times shee repents her selfe of her folly, and as often sayth and dictateth to her, that shee should be as happy as now she is miserable, if she againe were a child, and not with child, and that she were againe as living in her Mothers belly, as now by this time she findes her owne poore unfortunate innocent b•…•…be is in hers. Shee as high as heaven exclaimeth on Quatbrissons ingratitude, and curseth the name and memory of Fryer Simplician as low as hell, for thus betraying and seducing her to sinne, which hath now brought her to misery and disconsolation; yea, her unfor∣tunacie is so great, as she cannot write for assistance from any where, or if she could, shee knowes not from whom once to expect, much lesse to receive it: but rather sees her selfe reduced to such extreme affliction and misery, that she is every way farre more capable to weep or sigh forth her sorrowes to her selfe, then to speake, or make them knowne to the world.

Whiles thus Marieta is pensively and pittifully ecchoing forth her complaints to the bare walls of her poore Chamber, Pierot the Miller findes out his young Master Quatbrisson, in the Orchard behinde his Fathers house, according to his ap∣poyntment, where betwixt this wretched and execrable couple the Reader must prepare to see them consult and conclude a most bloudy and mournfull businesse, which will both exact pitty, and command lamentation from the most flinty and barbarous heart, yea in a word, from any living mortall man, whose prophane life and impiety hath not absolutely made him a meere devill. For Quatbrisson ha∣ving thus satiated and surfetted himselfe in reaping his beastly pleasures of poore Marieta, and (as before) exchanged his familiarity into malice, and his affection into envie towards her, knowing that shee will bee a perpetuall eye-sore to his pa∣rents, and a continuall shame and scandall to himselfe, as long as shee lives in this world, hee therefore most ingratefully and cruelly resolves speedily to send her in∣to another; and no consideration whatsoever, either of her youth or beauty, of her great belly, or of his quicke childe within her, or of his owne soule, can pre∣vaile with him to the contrary: but the Devill is so strong with him, that hee is miserably resolute not to retire, but to advance in this bloudy businesse. To which effect, hee breakes with Pierot the Miller to attempt and finish it, and againe pro∣miseth him the Fee-simple (or at least a Leafe of seven yeares) of his Mill, to fi∣nish it; which this bloudy miscreant (out of his hellish covetousnesse, and itching desire to please his young Master) promiseth to accomplish. They now consult of the manner how to murther Marieta: The Miller affirmes it to be the surest way (under some pretext) to take her into the next Wood by night, and there to mur∣ther

her, which Quatbrisson contradicteth, because (saith he) her dead body being found so neere his Fathers house, this her murther will reflect on him; and there∣fore to make sure worke, hee bids the Miller to strangle her by night in her bed, and so to bury her in his outer yard, and there to clap a Wood-vine over her: where∣on they both agree. When swearing perpetuall secrecie each to other, this exe∣crable Miller here promiseth Quatbrisson to dispatch her within three dayes at far∣thest.

This bloody bargaine and compact being thus concluded between them, Pierot the Miller returnes to his Mill, where poore Marieta (litle suspecting or dreaming, what a dismall stratagem was plotted and resolved against her life) shee (finding comfort from no where, and therefore seeking it every where) enquires of him if he came from Monsieu•…•… de C•…•…er stainges house, and if his Sonne Monsieur Quat∣b•…•…sson were departed for •…•…nes, as his Mill-boy had told her; who (here the better to lull her asleepe, thereby with more facility to finish his bloody designe on her) tels her that he was gone thither, but that before his departure he had left secret word for him to use her •…•…urteously in his absence, the which hee swore to her hee would carefully performe; whereat Marieta thankes him, but yet againe prying more narrowly into this Millers lookes then his speeches, shee found that he now looked more sullen and haggardly to her then accustomed, or else that either her conceit or his countenance and Physiognomy deceived her therein. But here (before I proceed further) let us remarke the strange effects, and events here∣of; For as dreames prove seldome true, because they are as incertaine as their •…•…uses, which for the most part either proceed from the influence of the heart, or •…•…se now from the operations of the braine in their different pa•…•…ions of affection, Envie, Hope, Feare, Ioy, Sorrow, or the like; So it pleased God that the very same night Marieta dreamt, that Pierot the Miller killed her, and threw her dead body into the Pond; the which remembring the next morning, shee likewise re∣membred to acquaint him therewith, who •…•…vild wretch and dissembling Hypo∣crite) seemed to bee in choller thereat, vowing and swearing to her with many oathes and deprecations, that shee was and should be as safe in his Mill, as if shee were either in the Tower of Blyn, or the Castle of Blavet, which indeed are repu∣ted to be two of the strongest and most important peeces of little Britany; where∣at poore Marieta againe and againe thankes him. But this notwithstanding, I now here tremble to report, that the very next ensuing night (Marieta proving too true a Herauld and Prophetesse, to her owne immediate mournfull Tragedy) as the night had given truce to her teares, and sleepe administred rest to her eyes, as shee lay in her poore pallet bed, then this bloody villaine Pierot the Miller very secretly enters her Chamber, and softly convaies a small cord under her head, and fastning it to her further bed poast (his strength conspiring with his malice) hee then and there strangles her dead, giving her neither the power or time to cry, much lesse to speake one word, and as soone as this Agent of Hell had bereaved her (and con∣sequently the fruit of her wombe) of life, hee within lesse then an houre af∣ter (not to give the lye to her owne dreame) changeth his purpose in the manner of her buriall, and so (in her clothes as she was) carries her to his little Mill-boat in the Pond, where fastning a great peece of an old broken Mill-stone to her mid∣dle (or waste) by a strong new rope which he had purposely provided, hee there throwes her into the deepest place of his Pond, hoping, yea assuring himselfe, that he should never see not heare more of her.

The very next morning after the finishing of this deplorable fact, Pierot the Mil∣ler (not able to sleepe for joy) at the very breake of day, despeeds himselfe away

with the newes hereof to his young Master Quatbrisson, who heares and receives it with much content and joy, when (by his promise and oath againe assuring the Miller of his Mill) he the better to beare, and wipe off the suspicion which this Murther might reflect or cast on him (if it should ever hereafter come to be dete∣cted or discovered) rides away to the Citie of Rennes, where the States Generall of that Province (which we in England terme our Parliament) was then to assem∣ble, where rejoycing that hee had so happily dispatched his clownish Strumpet Marieta; and Pierot the Miller at home likewise singing and triumphing at this his easie purchase of his Mill, they not so much as once looke up to Heaven and God, or downe to their owne consciences and soules, what this foule and detesta∣ble Murther of theirs deserves. And not to goe farre, by this time the Lord thinks it high time, to bring this their cruell Murther to light, by a strange (I may justly say by a miraculous) accident, which at unawares and when they least thinke thereof, will (amidst their mirth and security) befall them.

A moneth is not full past over since this murther of Marieta, but God (in his sacred mercie and justice) is now resolved to make Monsieur de Pont Chausey (La Pratieres second Husband) to be the first meanes for the detection hereof (and in that likewise afterwards of: the poysoning of Valfontaine) who being one day at Vannes with three other Gentlemen, his friends, hee is desirous to hunt a Ducke with two of his owne Spaniels; And no Pond being so fit or neere as that of Monsieur de Caerstaignes, he makes choise thereof, but the Ducke is no sooner in the Pond and the Dogs after her, but these two poore harmelesse curs swimming eagerly for their prey, as they come to the place where Marieta's dead body was suncke and tied, they instantly forsake and abandon the Ducke, and there pudling with their feet, and sn•…•…ffling with their noses in the water, they most lamentably set up their tunes, and aloud houle and barke each at other, without departing or stirring thence, the which Pont Chausey and the other Gentlemen well observing, God instantly inspires their conceipts with this apprehension, and their hearts with this jealousie; that (peradventure) there was some body, either accidently or purposely drowned there, and that it now pleased his divine Majestie to make these two poore dogs his Agents and Officers to discover it, whereupon they once resolve to draw up the sluce, and to let out all the water of the Pond, but first they resolve to make another triall and experiment hereof, so for that time they take up their Ducke, depart, and call away their Spaniels, but after dinner they returne, and the Ducke being againe put in, the Spaniels in the very same place doe the like as in the morning, still howling and barking most lamentably, the which in∣deed yeelds harsh and displeasing musicke to the trembling heart and guilty con∣science of this murderous Miller, but still the Devill his Schoole-master makes him put a brazen face on his feare. Now this second action and demeanor of the Spaniels, confirmes the first jealousie and apprehension of Pont Chausey and his associats, who (to vindicate this truth) are now resolute in their former proposi∣tion, and desire of letting out the water of the Pond, the which they attempt to effect: But then this wretched Miller seeing himselfe now so narrowly put to his trumps and shifts, and therefore knowing it high time to prevent them, at least if he meane to provide for his owne safety and life; hee with many humble and sugred speeches (not seeming any way to take notice of their apprehension) tels them, that he is a poore young man, that this is his first yeare of setting up his Trade of a Miller for himselfe, that it being now in the midst of a hot and dry Summer, his Pond will not receive in water againe for his Mill to goe in a weeke or two after, which will infallibly begger him, and therefore (almost with teares)

he beseecheth them to desist from their purpose, and not to turne out the water of his Pond, yea he speakes so passionatly and pittifully to them, as his reasons pre∣vaile with the three other Gentlemen, but with Pont Chausey they cannot, but ra∣ther the more confirme his former apprehension and beliefe, that sure there was some one or other drowned, and withall God doth afresh distill and infuse into his imaginations, that this very Miller himselfe might have some hand therein, not∣withstanding all his humble prayers and smooth speeches to the contrary: To which end Pont Chausey the better to effect his desire and resolution, hee (as a wise and discreet Gentleman) grants the Miller his request, when purposely sending away his Servants, Ducke and Dogs, hee enquires of the Miller if he have any dice or cards in his Mill, who answereth him that he hath cards, but no dice: So into the Mill they all fower goe, and play at Lansknight for Cartdescus, and the Miller (now ravished with Ioy to see how his faire tongue hath kept the water in his Pond) is wonderfull diligent to waite, and officious to attend them and their commands.

But they having played an houre, Pont Chausey now thinkes it high time for him to effect his designe and resolution, and then tels Pierot the Miller, that he is very dry and thirsty, demanding of him if there bee any wine to sell neere his Mill, who tels him there is none neerer then the Towne, where hee willingly profereth to goe and fetch some speedily, which indeed is that very part and point whereat Pont Chausey only aimed: So hee gives him money to fetch two grand pots of wine; when this inconsiderate and secure Miller (without either feare or wit) seemes rather to fly then to run to the Towne with Ioy for it, thinking and assu∣ring that the storme of his danger was now already quite past and blowen over; but he is no sooner out of sight, but Pont Chausey presently throwes up the Cards, and prayes the rest of the Gentlemen to assist him in drawing up the sluce and emptying the Pond, for that his heart still prompts him there is some one drow∣ned therein, whereunto they all give free consent; so by that time the water is halfe out, Loe (with much admiration and pitie) they behold a dead body floating therein, and yet fastned with a rope to the bottome of the Pond. And prying more narrowly to discerne it, they (by the coats it wore) perceived it to be a wo∣man, whom they cause to be taken up in the Mill-boat, but her flesh is so riveld and withered with the water, and eaten and disfigured by the fish, as it was impossible to know what she was, and she st•…•…nke so odiously, as almost none durst approach her. Pont Chausey (and his associats) seeing this wofull and lamentable spectacle, and comparing there with the Millers earnest refusall, not to permit them to emp∣ty his Pond, he here confirmes his former jealousie, and now confidently suspects him, either to be the Author or Actor of this cruell murther; To which end hee and his associats lay exact and curious waite for his returne with the wine; who comming therewith from the Towne merrily singing, and not so much as once dreaming what had hapned at the Pond, hee ascending the top of the Hill by the Woods side, and espying his Pond emptied, then the foulnesse of his fact and conscience, and the eminencie of his danger doth so terrifie and amaze him, that he sets downe his pots of wine on the ground; and (committing his safety to the cele∣rity and swiftnesse of his heeles) he with all possible speed runs away towards the centre of the Wood; the which Pont Chausey and the rest of the Gentlemen espying, they need no other evidence but this his flight, to proclaime himselfe guilty of this murther, and so they speedily send after him, and within one houre after he is found out, apprehended and brought backe; they vehemently accusing, and he as resolutely excusing himselfe of this murther; but notwithstanding they

shut him up close in his own Mill, till it be found out what this drowned murdered woman is.

The report of this mournfull accident being speedily divulged in Vannes, and bruted in the neighbour parishes, there are a world of people, who from all parts flocke to the Pond, to bee spectators of this dead woman; and among the rest, Yvon Malliot and his wife Iane Chaumet, no sooner understand hereof, but knowing it to be a woman, and drowned in Monsieur de Caerstaings Pond, they ex∣ceedingly feare it is their Daughter Marieta, and to see the issue and truth hereof she runs before, and hee limpes after as fast as he can, as if they should not come time enough to make themselves miserable, with the fight and object of their mi∣sery. Now they are no sooner arrived to the Pond, but they see all the people stand aloofe from this murthered corpes, because of the stinch thereof; but they (hardned by their feare, and encouraged by their affection) doe willingly rush to∣wards it, but cannot as yet discerne what she was, by reason the fishes had almost eaten away all the flesh from her bones, which therefore no way satisfying their curiosity and enquirie, they then fall to wash away the mud and oze from her clothes, hoping to draw some information and light from them, as alas they now instantly doe, for they find the Wast-coat and two Petty-coats, that of ash colour serge, and these of greene and red bayes to be the very same which their Daughter Marieta wore, when she either fled, or was stolen from them; whereat crossing their armes, and sending their sighes to heaven, and their teares to earth, this poore afflicted Father and Mother cry out that it was the dead body of their faire and unfortunate Daughter Marieta, and doubtlesse, that either Monsieur Quatbrisson or Pierot the Miller, or both of them were her Murtherers; whereat all the people admire and wonder, every one speaking thereof as their severall fancies led them, and as they stood affected, or disaffected to Quatbrisson, and the Miller.

But Pont Chausey rides presently to Vannes (leaving the other three Gentlemen his friends to guard the Miller in his mill) and advertiseth the Seneshall, and the other two Iudges of this deplorable fact; so they send for this Miller to Vannes, and the next day being brought before them, they examine and accuse him for thus murthering of Marieta, but (having learnt his answer and resolution of the Devill) hee with many bitter oathes and curses denies it, deposing and swearing that he never knew her nor saw her; but this false answer and counterfeit coine of his will no way passe current with his Iudges, but they forthwith ordaine him to the Racke. Our wretched Miller Pierot is amazed and terrified at the sight here∣of, yea now his courage begins to faile him, as fearing it to be the true Prologue, and fatall Harbinger to his death; so he endures the single torment reasonable well, but feeling the pinches and tortures of the second, and well knowing that his heart, Ioints, and patience can never endure it, hee then and there confesseth to his Iudges, that he was the only Author and Actor of this murther, and that he stran∣gled her in his Mill, and then suncke her in his Pond, because she would never consent or yeeld to be his wife, but speakes not a word of Qua•…•…brisson, or that hee had any way seduced or hired him to commit it; but fed his exorbitant thoughts and erroneous hopes with the ayre of this vaine beleefe, That when he was con∣demned to die here in Vannes, that hee would then appeale thence to the Court of Parliament of Rennes, where he knew his young master Quatbrisson then was, and where he presumed he had so many great and noble friends, as he should not need to feare his life: But (contrary to these his weake and poore hopes) the very next morning when hee expected to heare the sentence of death pronounced against him, his Iudges againe adjudge him to the torments of the Scarpines, to know if

Monsieur Quatbrisson, or any other were accessary with him in this murther, when they cause his left foote to be burnt so soundly, as hee will not endure to have his right touched, and so confesseth that his young master Quatbrisson seduced and hired him to strangle Marieta in her bed in his Mill, and promised him the Fee Simple or Lease thereof to performe it, that he it was who likewise threw her in∣to the Pond, and that he also beleeves she was quick with child by his said master.

All Vannes wonder and talke of Quatbrissons base ingratitude and cruelty, to∣wards this silly and harmelesse young countrey maiden Marieta, yea this foule and lamentable murther, administreth likewise talke in all the adjoyning Townes and Parishes; So this execrable Miller Pierot is by the Seneshall condemned to be broken alive on the Wheele, but yet (in regard of the necessitie of his confron∣tation) they deferre his execution till Quatbrisson be apprehended in Rennes, where the Seneshall, and Kings Atturney Generall of Vannes, doe by post send away his accusation to that famous Court of Parliament; where whiles hee is prauncing in the streets of that Citie on his great Horse, and ruffling in his scarlets and sat∣tins, with three Lackies (richly clad) at his heeles, the height of this his pompe and bravery makes his shame the more apparant, and his crime the more foule and notorious; For then when he thought himselfe to bee farthest from danger, loe the Iustice and Providence of God brings him neerest to it; for hee is now here by a band of Huysiers (or Purs•…•…vants) taken off from his horse, apprehended and imprisoned by the command of the Lieutenant Criminall of that great Court, who yet vainely reposing on the fidelitie and secrecie of Pierot his Fathers Miller, hee seemes to be no way dismaid or daunted thereat; But when he heares his accusation and enditement read, that Marieta's murthered body was found in the Pond, that Pierot the Miller was apprehended and imprisoned for the same, and that he had confessed him to bee the Author, and himselfe the Actor of this her cruell murther, then I say hee is so appalled and daunted, and so farre from any hope of life, as he utterly despaires thereof, and palpably sees the Image of death before his eyes: When (with a few teares, and many sighes) he here to his Iudges confesseth himselfe to be the Author of this foule fact, and so begs pardon thereof of God; for from these his grave and incorruptible Magistrates hee is assured and confident to find none; Whereupon although foure of the Councel∣lors, and one of the Presidents, were resolved in regard of this his inhumane and base crime, to have him hanged, yet the rest of that wise and honourable Senate, knowing him to bee Sonne and Heire to a very ancient Gentleman, nobly descen∣ded, they ore sway and prevaile with the others, and so they adjudge him the very next day to have his head cut off, although this his sorrowfull aged Father Mon∣sieur de Caerstainge, offred the one halfe of his lands to save his life, and likewise was a most importunate Suppliant to the Duke of Tremoville (who then and there pre∣ceded at the Estates for the Nobility) to intercede with that Farliament for his reprivall, and with the King for his pardon, but in vaine; For that noble Duke (considering the basenesse and enormity of this his inhumane fact) was too wise to attempt the one, and too honourable and generous to seeke the other. So the very next morning Quatbrisson (apparalled in a sute of blacke Sattin, trimmed with gold Lace) is brought to the Scaffold (at the common place of execution, which is in the midst of the Citie) where a very great concourse of people of all sorts, re∣sort and flocke to see him take his last farewell of this world, of whom the greatest part and number, lamented and pittied, that so proper and noble a Gentle∣man, should first deserve, and then receive so untimely a death: When after the Priests and Friers have here prepared and directed his soule, hee aseending the

Scaffold, with some what a low voice, and dejected and sorrowfull countenance, he delivered this short speech.

That in regard hee knowes, that (now when he is to take his last leave of this life) to charge his conscience with the concealing of any capitall crime, is the di∣rect and true way to send his soule to hell in stead of heaven, hee will now there∣fore reveale, that hee is yet more execrable and bloudy, then his Iudges thinke or know, or his spectatours imagine, for that he not only hired Pierot his Fathers Mil∣ler to murther Marieta, but also the Apothecary Moncallier to poyson his owne brother Valfontaine; of both which foule and bloudy crimes of his, he now free∣ly confesseth himselfe guilty, and now from his heart and soule sorrowfully la∣menteth and repenteth them; that his filthy lust and inordinate affection to wo∣men was the first cause, and his neglect of prayer to God the second, which hath justly brought him to this shamefull end and confusion; that therefore he besee∣cheth all who are present to bee seriously forewarned of the like by his wofull Example, and that (in Christian charity) they will now joyne their devout pray∣ers with his to God for his soule: When on the Scaffold praying a little whiles silently to himselfe kneeling, and then putting off his Doublet, hee commits him∣selfe to the Executioner; who at one blow severed his head from his shoulders. But this punishment and death of Quatbrisson suffiseth not now to give full content and satisfaction to his Iudges, who (by his owne confession) considering his inhu∣mane and deplorable poysoning of his owne brother Valfontaine, they as soone as hee is dead, and before he be cold, adjudge his body to bee taken downe, and there burnt to Ashes at the foot of the Gibbet, which accordingly is performed.

And here our thoughts and curiosity must now returne poast from Rennes to Vannes, and from wretched Quatbrisson to the base and bloudy Miller Pierot, whom God and his Iudges have now ordayned shall likewise smart for this his lamenta∣ble murther on poore and harmelesse Marieta. Hee is brought to the Gallowes in his old dusty mealy Suite of Canvas, where a Priest preparing him to dye, hee (either out of impiety, or ignorance, or both) delivereth this idle speech to the people, That because Marieta was young and faire, hee is now heartily sorry that he had not married her, and that if he had beene as wise as covetous, the two hun∣dred Crownes, or the Lease of his Mill, which his yong master Monsieur Quatbrisson profered him, might have made him winke at her dishonesty, and that although she were not a true Mayd to her selfe, yet that she might have proved a true and honest wife to him, with many other frivolous words and lewd speeches tending that way; which I purposely omit, and resolve to passe over in silence, as holding them unworthy either of my relation, or the Readers knowledge: when not having the grace once to name God, to speake of his soule, to desire heaven, or to seeme to bee any way repentant and sorrowfull for this his bloody offence, hee is stripped naked, having onely his shirt fastned about his waste, and with an Iron barre hath his legs, thighes, armes, and brest, broken alive, and there his miserable body is left naked and bloudy on the Wheele, for the space of two dayes, thereby to terrifie and deterre the beholders from attempting the like wretched crime. And the Iudges of Vannes being certifyed from the Court of Parliament at Rennes, that Quatbrisson at his death charged the Apothecary Moncallier to have (at his hiring and instigation) poysoned his brother Valfontaine, they hold the Church to be too holy a place for the body and buriall of so prophane and bloudy a Villaine: When after well neere a whole yeares time that he was buried in Saint Francis Church in that Towne, they cause his Coffin to be taken up, and both his body and it to bee burnt by the common Hang-man, and his Ashes to bee throwne into the aire; Which to the Ioy of all the Spectators is accordingly performed.

GODS REVENGE AGAINST THE CRYING AND EXECRA∣ble Sinne of Murther.

HISTORIE XXV.

Vasti first murthereth his Sonne George, and next poysoneth his owne Wife Hester, and being afterwards almost killed by a mad Bull in the Fields, hee revealeth these his two murthers, for the which he is first hanged, and then burnt.

TO religious hearts, there can nothing be so distastfull as Sinne, nor any Sinne so odious and execrable as Murther; for it be∣ing contrary to Nature and Grace, the very thought, much more the act thereof, strikes horrour to their hearts and con∣sciences. Wherefore, if this foule and bloudy Sinne bee so displeasing to godly men, how infinitely more detestable is it then to God himselfe, who made all living creatures to serve Man, and onely created Man purposely to serve Himselfe? But as Choller and Malice proceede from the passions of men, so doth Murther from the Deuill; for else wee should not so often and frequently see it perpetra∣ted in most Countryes and Cities of the World as we doe: A mournefull Exam∣ple whereof I here produce to your view and serious consideration.

THe place of this History, is Fribourg (an antient city of Switzerland) which gives name to one of the Divisions (or Cantons) of that famous and warlike country; Wherein (of fresh memory) dwelt a rich Burger named Peter Vasti, who had to his wife a modest, discreet, and vertuous woman named Hester, by whom he had one only child, a Sonne called George Vasti, whom God sent them the latter end of the first yeare of their marriage; and for the tearme of some ten yeares follow∣ing, this marryed couple lived in most kinde, and loving sort each with other, yea their hearts and inclinations so sympathized in mutuall and interchangeable affe∣ction, as they held and reputed none of their Neighbours so rich in content as themselves; for she was carefull of her Family, and he very diligent and industri∣ous to maintaine it; both of them being chaste and continent in themselves, very religious towards God, and exceeding charitable, affable, and courteous to all their Neighbours and Acquaintance, onely they are so temperate in their drinking, as •…•…ee would not, and shee could not bee tainted with that beastly Vice of Drunken∣•…•…esse, whereunto that Countrey, and the greatest part of that People, are but too excessively addicted and subject: So that had Vasti still imbraced and followed

those Vertues in the course and conduction of his life, hee had not then defiled this History with the profusion of so many sinnes, nor besprinckled it with the effusion of so much innocent bloud, nor consequently have administred so much sorrow to the Reader, in perusing and knowing it: but as contrary Causes pro∣duce contrary Effects, so he (by this time) polluting himselfe with filthy and per∣nicious Company, it is no marvell if he leave his temperancie to follow drunken∣nesse, his chastity to commit fornication and adultery; yea, it is no marvell I say, if these foule sins (as Bawds to rage and revenge) exact such power in his heart, and predominancie in his soul, as in the end to draw him to murther: for goodmen can∣not receive a greater plague, nor the Devill afford or give them a worse pestilence, then bad company. It is the fatall Shelves, and dismall Rocks, whereon a world of people have, and doe daily suffer shipwracke; yea, it is the griefe of a Kingdome and Countrey, the bane of our Age, and the corruption and poyson of our Times; for it turnes those who professe and pursue it, out of their estates and homes, which they are then inforced either to sell, or rather to give away to Vsurers and Cormo∣rants, and consequently which makes themselves, and their poore wives and chil∣dren ready to starve and dye in our streets. So this is now the cause of our Vasti, and therefore it will be his happinesse, if it prove not his misery hereafter; for af∣ter twelve yeares time of a most peaceable cohabitation, and Godly conversation betweene him and his vertuous wife Hester, it is a thousand griefes and pitties that she must now be inforced to see so brutish and beastly a Metamorphosis in her husband; for hee is no more the man which hee was, nor the husband which shee formerly found him to bee. Hee loves neither his house nor his wife, but stayes abroad every day with his whores, and then at night returnes home to her starke drunke, and in lamentable sort reviles and beats her, whereas heretofore he would rather have lost his life then have strucken her, and whereas heretofore he affected and loved her so dearely, as he thought he could not be kinde enough to her, now (in the extravagancie of these his deboshed humours) he hates her so deadly as he deemes and supposeth hee cannot be sufficiently cruell to her, although her affecti∣on be still so fervent to him, and her care so vigilent and respectfull of him, as shee gives him nothing but either sweet words, teares, sighs, silence, or prayers; yea, shee proves her selfe so good a woman to so bad a man, and so courteous and ver∣tuous a wife to so unkinde and vitious a husband, as to the eyes and judgements of all their kinsfolkes and neighbours, they know it is now her praise and glory, and feare it will hereafter prove his shame and misery. She leaves no meanes unassay∣ed, or invention unsought and unattempted, to divert and turne this foule inunda∣tion of his Vice into the sweet streames of Vertue, and the pure rivers of God∣linesse: But Ahlas good woman, her care proves vaine, and her affection and zeale impossible herein, although her pale cheekes, mournefull eyes, brinish teares, far∣fetcht sighs, religious prayers, and sweet perswasions, doe still second and accom∣pany her indeavours in this her desired hope of his reformation; for she is infor∣ced to know that hee keepes a young strumpet, named Salyna, at the Towne of Cleraux, some sixe Leaugues from Fribourg, whither most mornings hee goes to her, and to make himselfe the more treacherous a dissembler to his wife, and the more execrable a traytor to his soule, he fortifyeth and coloureth out this his ac∣customed journey to his strumpet with this false Apologie, that he goes to Cleraux to heare the Sermons of M^r Abraham Tifflin, a very famous and religious Preacher there, when God and his ulcerated soule and conscience know the contrary, and that this pretended excuse of his is but only a false cloak to overvail his true Adultery, and prophane Impiety: for he needed not to have formerly added Whordom to his

Drunkennesse, and now Ingratitude, Cruelty, and Impiety to his Whordome, in regard the least of these enormous crimes and sinnes assuredly have the power, and will infallibly finde the meanes to make him futurely as miserable, as now he foo∣lishly thinkes himselfe happy; for these his journeyes to Cleraux are onely the Pilgrimage of his wanton Lust. Salyna is the Saint of his voluptuous devotion, her House the Temple of his obscene wishes, and Adultery the Oblation and Sacrifice of his lascivious desires.

Wee can difficultly make our selves guilty of a fouler sinne on earth, then to seeme sanctifyed in our devotions towards God, when we are prophane, or to in∣deavour to appeare sound without, when we are rotten within in our Faith and Re∣ligion: For as Man is the best and noblest of all Gods creatures, so an Hypocrite towards God is the worst of men, yea or rather a Devill and no man; for our hearts and actions, and our most retired thoughts, and secret darling sinnes, are as conspi∣cuous and transparant to Gods eyes, as his decrees and resolutions are invisible to ours, sith he sees all things, and we see nothing when we doe not see him. A mi∣serable hight of impiety, in making of our selves foolishly sinners, and wilfully Hypocrites, and yet it is a more fatall and fearefull degree thereof, when we so de∣light in sinne and glory in hypocrisie, as to make Apologies for the same.

But Vasti not thinking either of Religion or God, frolicks it out with Salyna his strumpet in Cleraux, whiles his owne vertuous wife Hester weepes at home at Fri∣bourg, and when he returnes thence, hee is still so hard hearted and cruell to her, as he continually beates her. Now by this time George their Sonne is sixteene yeares of age, of a mans courage and stature, and of a very pregnant wit; so that as young as he is, hee hath beene long enough a sorrowfull eye-witnesse of his Fa∣thers cruelty, in beating of his Mother; Hee hath formerly seene the lamentable effects, and now he falls on his knees to her, and (with teares and prayers) beseech∣eth her to acquaint him with the true cause thereof, and from whence it proceeds; when his Mother (adding more confidence to his wisedome then to his youth) from point to point fully relates it to him, accordingly as we have formerly under∣stood, George bursts forth into sorrowfull passions at her repetition, and his know∣ledge hereof, as not able to refraine from sighing to see her sigh, nor from wee∣ping to see her weepe; Hee as much grieves to be the Sonne of so vicious a Fa∣ther, as he rejoyceth and gloryeth to be that of so vertuous a Mother, so he makes her sorrowes his, and here weds himselfe to her quarrell (with promise and oath) either to right it with his Father, or to revenge it on Salyna, whom he knowes to be the originall cause of all these stormes and tempests, of all these afflictions and miseries which befall his Mother, and in her himselfe. He will no longer bee a child, because God and nature hath now made him a man, so the very next time hee sees his Father beate his Mother hee steps to her assistance, and defends her from the tyrannie of his blowes, and then advanceth so farre, as hee performes it with an unwilling willing resistance of him, the which his Father takes extremely ill and chollerickly from him, gives him sharpe words, and menaceth him with bitter blowes. George his Sonne, first returnes him a briefe rehearsall of the wrongs and indignities he still offereth to his Mother, when protesting of his obedience to him, he yet tels him, that he is willing to entertaine his words, but no longer ca∣pable to digest and receive his blowes, adding withall (as a passionate Corolary) that ere long he will visit his Strumpet Salyna in Cleraux, and make her feele a part of her base carriage, and ill deservings, both towards his Mother and himselfe: •…•…asti is much astonished at this audacity and boldnesse of his Sonne, but farre •…•…re to heare him name and threaten Salyna, the very thought of which his

speeches grates him to his heart, and grieves him to his soule, so he puts water in his wine, holds it for that time a vertue, to be no longer stormy but calme, and then (chollerickly threatning him with his finger) he departs to his Chamber, lea∣ving his Wife and his Sonne consulting in the Parlour, how (with most assurance, and least scandall) they may provide for their affaires.

The next morning, Vasti his Father keepes his bed, and gives order, that neither his Wife or Sonne have admittance to him, the which discourtesie of his, gives his Sonne a fresh and strong motive, to revive his last nights discontent against his Father, and his choller against Salyna, when bidding his Mother the good mor∣row, and craving her blessing, he (purposely) frames an excuse to leave her till she be ready, and so very privately takes horse, and that morning acts a busines, every way worthy of himselfe, and indeed farre more worthy of laughture, then of our pitty. For it is not so much his malice to Salyna, as his affection to his Mother Hester, which carries him and his resolution to Cleraux; where entring Salyna's house; he (with fire in his lookes and thunder in his speeches) cals her whore and strumpet, chargeth her for abusing his Father, and in him his Mother and himselfe. His choller cannot retaine his patience, to heare her false answers and apologies to the contrary, but disdaining as much to use his sword on a woman, as to foule it on a strumpet, hee takes his mans short cudgell, and gives her at least a dosen blowes on her backe, armes and shoulders therewith, seriously vowing and swear∣ing to her; That if she forsake not his Fathers company, and use the meanes that henceforth he doe utterly abandon hers, hee will shortly give her so bitter a pay∣ment and requitall, as hee will hardly leave her either the will or power to thanke him for his courtesie, and so remounts his horse, and presently gallops home to his Mother, whom hee acquaints therewith, but yet conceales it from his Father, whereat she seemes not to be a little joyfull, and yet heartily prayeth to God; that this breed no bad blood in her husband, or prove either an incitation to his chol∣ler against her selfe, or a propension of revenge against their Sonne.

But this joy of Hester and her Son George, proves the sighes and teares of Salyna, who not accustomed to receive such sharpe payment, and usage from any mans hands whosoever, it makes her extreme chollericke and vindictive, so that her sto∣macke is so great, and her heart so highly and imperiously lodged, that she will not suffer this cruell affront offered her by George Vasti, to goe unrequited; but yet she will be as advised and secret in her revenge towards him, as hee was rash and pub∣licke in his towards her. To which end and purpose, seeing that Vasti his Father came not to her that day (whereby she judged hee was wholly ignorant what had befallen her from his Sonne) she that night writes him a short Letter, and the next morning sends it home to Fribourg to him, by a confident messenger of hers, who arriving there and finding him pensively walking in his Garden, hee respectfully delivered it to him, who breaking up the seales thereof, found it spake thus.

SALYNA to VASTI.

BY all the inviolable love and tender affection which is betwixt us, I pray and conj•…•… you to leave Fribourg, and come over to me with haste and expedition to Cleraux, be∣cause I have a great and important secret to reveale you, which equally concernes us, and which I dare not to commit to pen and paper; for that the relation and knowledge th•…•… needs no other witnesses but our selves. If you any way neglect this my advise, or deny, or de∣fe•…•…e this my request, the griefe will bee mine n•…•…, but the prejudice and repentance yo•…•…s hereafter. I write you these few lines •…•…ith infinite affliction and for ro•…•…, which nothing

can deface but your sight, nor remedy but your presence, and when you come to mee, prepare your heart and resolution, to receive it from mee, with farre more teares then kisses.

SALYNA.

This letter of hers doth so nettle Vasti with apprehension and feare, that his Son George hath offered her some violence and out-rage, as he is almost as soone in Cle∣raux as he is out of Fribourg, where his Mistris Salyna very passionatly and chol∣lerickly informes him of his Sonnes cruelty towards her, and (to adde the more efficacie to her speeches, the more power to her complaints, and the more oyle to the fire of his anger and revenge) she forgets not to paint out to him (in all their colours) the number of his Sonnes blowes, and the nature and quality of his threats given her, when watering her words with her teares, she sweares, that if he speedily doe not right and revenge these her wrongs upon his said Sonne, she will never kisse, or see him more. Vasti takes these speeches from Salynas tongue, and placeth them in his owne heart; yea he hereat is so chollerickly intended towards his Sonne, and so sottishly affected to her, as consulting with rage, but not with reason, and with Sathan, not with God, hee (to exhale her teares, and so to give consolation to her sorrowes) tels her; That hee loves her so tenderly and con∣stantly, as he will not faile to kill his Sonne for this incivill and inhumane fact of his towards her. Salyna is amazed and astonished at this his unnaturall resolution to his Sonne, the which (as vicious as she is) shee abhors and condemnes in him as soone as understands. So she •…•…s him plainely, that albeit she have given him her heart and body, yet that she is not so exempt of grace, or so wretchedly instructed in Piety, as to take away her soule from God, and therefore that although she bee guilty of Adultery, yet shee will never bee of Murther; so in religious termes (worthy of an honester woman then her selfe) shee powerfully seekes to disswade him from this bloody and unnaturall attempt, as well to prevent their future wrongs and feares, as to secure their dangers and reputations, and so prayes him to seeke out some other remedy and requitall towards his Sonne, the which hee pro∣miseth her, and seales it with some oathes and many kisses, stayes and dines with her, and immediatly takes horse and rides homewards. His Sonne George finding his Father ridden forth, and being ascertained that hee was gone to Cleraux, to his strumpet Salyna, where she would acquaint him at full with his beating of her, he fearing his choller, holds it more discretion then disobedience in him, to take his sword with him for his defence; when choosing a good horse out of the stable, •…•…d deemes it more secure and lesse dangerous to meet his Father •…•…alfe way, be∣twixt Cleraux and Fribourg, and there in the open field to expect and attend what he had to say to him. Vasti seeing his Sonne George a farre off come riding to∣wards him, with his sword by his side, hee much marvelleth thereat, when well knowing his courage and valour, and that (as young as hee was) he had lately at •…•…fouse acquitted himselfe of a Duell to his honour and reputation, hee therefore resolves to make it a tongue and not a sword quarrell with him, and so they meet; George doing his duty to his Father with his hat off, and his Father speaking not angerly but mildly to him; Their meddow conference which they then and there had betwixt them was thus.

Fa. What reason hadst thou so cruelly to beat poore Salyna?

So. A thousand times more then you have to beat my Mother Hester.

Fa. Tell me why.

So. The reason is just and pertinent, because that is your lascivious whore, and this your chaste and vertuous wife.

Fa. What hast thou gotten by this thy rash choller in beating her?

So. Not by farre so much as you have lost by your sottish lust in kissing her.

Fa. It is thy Mothers jealousie which hath sowne and scattered these untruths in thy beliefe.

So. I pray excuse me, for they are palpable and apparant truths, and such as it is wholly impossible either for your hypocrisie or policie to root thence.

Fa. Since when becamest thou so sawcie and peremptory?

So. From that very time I first understood you were become so vicious.

Fa. I have a mad Sonne in thee.

So. It were a great happinesse both for my Mother and my selfe, if you proved a tamer Husband to her, and an honester Father to me.

Fa. If thou follow those courses, to love thy Mother better then my selfe, I vow I will wholly disinherit thee.

So. If you follow these courses, to love Strumpets better then my Mother, I sweare you will shortly consume all your estate, and disinherit your selfe first.

Fa. This word Strumpet is very rife in thy mouth.

So. I wish to God that the thing were not so frequent in your heart.

Fa. Wilt thou be friends with Salyna, and reconcile thy selfe to her?

So. Yes, when I see you become an enemy to her, and a friend to my Mother, and your selfe, but not before.

Fa. Why, Charity is the true marke of a Christian.

So. But I assure you, so is not Adultery and Cruelty.

Fa. Shall I make peace betwixt thee and Salyna?

So. No, but I would make it the joy of my heart, and the glory of my life, if I might be so happy to knit & confirm a good peace betwixt your self & my Mother.

Fa. Wilt thou attempt it, if I request thee?

So. I will, if you please to command me.

Fa. I pray thee George doe.

So. My best indeavours shall herein wayt on your desires, and dutifully follow your commands.

Fa. But be carefull to make my reconciliation with thy Mother eternall.

So. It can never subsist, nor prosper, if you henceforth resolve to make it tem∣porary, because affection and amity which once receives end, had never beginning.

Fa. Here I vow constantly a reformation of my life from all other women, and a perpetuall renovation of my affection to my Wife thy Mother.

So. God and his Angels blesse this your conversion, and confirme this resolu∣tion in you.

Fa. And God blesse thee my Sonne, for wishing and desiring it.

So. I thanke you Sir, but I humbly pray you likewise to forgive and forget this my boldnesse to you in my Mothers behalfe.

Fa. George, here in presence of God I cheerfully & freely doe it from my heart

So. Amen, Amen, Sir.

This meddow conference thus ended betweene them, they ride home towards Fribourg, and by the way Vasti willeth and prayeth his Sonne, to finish this peace betweene him and his mother that very night, and to dispose her so effectually thereunto, as that they may make a merry supper of it, and all former differences betweene them, to be then and there ended; and for ever trampled under foot, the which George his Sonne to the best of his possible power cheerefully and joyfully promiseth him; So home they come; Vasti walkes in his Garden, and George finds out his Mother in her own Chamber, being newly risen from her prayers, wherin

she was so zealous and religious as shee spent the greatest part of her time. Here George informes his Mother Hester at full, what conference had now past in the open fields betwixt him and his Father: And (in a word) he here acts his part and duty so well and discreetly, as hee leaves no art nor perswasions unattempted to draw her to this attonement with his Father. When shee at first considering the nature and quality of her husbands unkind and cruell usage to her, shee found an opposi∣tion hereof in her mind, a resistance in her will, and a reluctancy in her nature and judgement; But at last giving now her former discontent to charity, her passions to peace, her sorrowes to silence, her resolutions to religion, her anger to affe∣ction, her malice to oblivion, and her griefe unto God, she (after a briefe consul∣tation, and a short expostulation hereof betweene them) with a cheerefull counte∣nance thankes her Sonne for his care of her, and his affection to her herein; and so informes him, That shee (having never justly offended her husband in thought word or deed) is as willing of peace and reconciliation with him, as he can possibly desire or wish, and here to testifie it to her Sonne as well in action as words, shee would then have gone downe with him to her husband, there privately to have concluded this Christian busines betwixt them, had her Sonne not diverred her from it; For being exceeding carefull to preserve his Mothers right and reputa∣tion, he prayes her to stay, alleadging that he would presently fetch and conduct his Father to her Chamber to her, as holding it more requisite and just, that the delinquent should first see and seeke the party wronged, before the party seeke the delinquent, whereat she cannot refraine from smiling, and then bids him goe: So George descends to the Garden, and acquaints his Father with his Mothers free disposition, and cheerefull resolution to a perpetuall peace with him, whereat he seemes infinitly glad and joyfull, and so ascends her Chamber, and having saluted her, tells her, that hee is very sorrowfull and repentant for his former ill carriage and unkindnesse towards her, whereof he prayes her pardon, and constantly vowes reformation; so this his vertuous and kinde wife Hester freely forgets and forgives Vasti her husband; and then hee gives her many kisses in requitall, and bids his sonne George to provide good cheere for Supper; and the better to seale and solem∣nize this their reconciliation and atonement, hee bids him to invite some of their Kinsfolkes and Neighbours to bee present thereat, who were formerly acquain∣•…•…d with their debates and differences; where no good cheere and choice wine is wanting; So they are wonderfull frolicke, pleasant, and merry, all rejoyce at this good newes, and highly applaud their Sonne George, for his discreet carriage and care in the managing of this busines. Thus all things seeme to be fully reconci∣led, and here Vasti drinkes many times to his wife Hester, and shee againe to her husband with much affection and joy: When supper being ended, their guests departed, and their Sonne George having received both of their blessings, they be∣take themselves to their Chamber and Bed.

Now (in all humane sense and reason) who would once conceive or thinke, that after this Meadow conference of Vasti to his Son George, but that this his now Table reconciliation with his wife Hester were true, and pronounced with much i•…•…egrity from himselfe, with deep affection to her, and infinite zeale and devoti∣on to God; but Ahlas nothing lesse, for here I am inforced to relate, that Vasti the same night had not laien in bed by his wife five or six houres, but she (good woman) sleeping in her innocencie, he (as a devill incarnate) was waking in his malice and revenge, and laughing in his sleeve to see how cunningly and subtilly he hath lulld •…•…eep the courage of his Sonne with a Meadow conference, and the iealousi•…•… of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Wife with a Supper, and a few sweet words and kisses: When here againe the

the Devill blowing the coles to his lust, and marshalling up his former obscene desires and resolutions, onely his body is in bed with his wife Hester, here in Fri∣bourg, but his affection and heart is still in the bosome of his strumpet Salyna in Cleraux; yea the Devill I say, is now both so busie and so strong with him, that (as a hellish councellour, and prodigious pen-man) he writes downe this definitive sen∣tence in his thoughts, and fatall resolution in his heart, That Salyna he will love, and his wife Hester he cannot, and that shortly he will give so sharpe a revenge to his son George, for his disobedience towards him, and for beating of his Salyna, as she shall have no further cause to feare his cruelty, nor himselfe his courage; and because he prefers her love to his owne life (as being dangerously intangled and captivated in the snares of her youth and beauty) hee likewise resolves to write and send her a Letter the very next morning.

Now judge Christian Reader, is not this like to prove a sweet reformation and reconciliatlon of Vasti to his wife and sonne, sith these are the sparkes which diffuse and flie out from the fire of his lust, and the fatall lines which issue forth from the Centre of his bloudy heart, and sinfull soule; for in the morning before his wife is out of her bed, hee is stirring, and writes this Letter to Salyna, which hee sends her by a trusty messenger.

VASTI to SALYNA.

I Am plotting of a businesse, which will infinitely import both our contents; so if thou wilt resolve to brooke my absence, with as much patience, as I doe thine with sorrow, I shall fi∣nish it the sooner, and consequently the sooner see thee. I have met with an Accident, which I thought was wholly impossible for mee to meet with; and though at first it brought me feare and affliction, yet at length I was inforced to interpose discretion, insteed of courage, there∣by to draw security out of policie, which I could not hope for out of resistance; for I must in∣forme thee of this truth, that if my Zeale and Affection to thee had not beene of greater pow∣er and consideration then that of mine owne life, I should then with more facility and willing∣nesse rather have hazarded it for thy sake, then have reserved it for mine own. But the mists of those doubts are now dissipated, and the •…•…lowds of these feares blowne away; or if not, I will shortly take that order, that thou shalt have no cause to feare the one, or I to doubt the other. When I shall be so happy to see thee, I know not, but if Fortune prove propitious to my desires and wishes, my returne shall be acted with as much celerity, as it is eagerly longed for of me with Affection and Passion.

VASTI.

Salyna receives this letter of Vasti with equall feare and joy; for as she was glad to hear of him and his news, so she was sorowfull, as fearing that for her sake he should imbarke himselfe in some bloudy businesse, which might proove ruinous to them both: And although her apprehension doe farre exceed her knowledge herein, yet her suspicion will give her no truce, neither can her jealousie administer any peace either to her heart or minde, before she be resolved by Vasti of the doubtfull and different truth hereof. Shee is so prophane and lascivious, as she can content her selfe to make him guilty of Fornication; but yet Religion hath left some sparkes and impressions of Piety in her, that she would still have him innocent of Revenge and Murther: to which effect, by his own messenger she returnes him this answer.

SALYNA to VASTI.

BEcause you deeme mee unworthy to know your Designes, therefore I have assumed the boldnesse to feare them; in which regard and consideration, finde it not strange that I 〈◊〉〈◊〉

intreat you to ingrave in your heart, and imprint in your memory, that Malice is most com∣monly squint ey'd, and Revenge still blinde: therefore if you will not ruine our affections and fortunes, take heed that you imbrue not your heart or hand in innocent bloud; for Mur∣ther is a crying and a Scarlet sinne which God may forgive and make white by his Mercie, but will not by his Iustice; whereof this my Letter of Advice to you shall be a witnesse betwixt God, your selfe, and mee: and therefore, as you love mee, bazard not your life for my sake, but preserve it for your owne. As it is in your will to make your stay from me as long or short as you please, so it shall be in my pleasure to judge thereof, and thereby likewise of your affecti∣on to me. I wish I could be more yours then I am, and your selfe as often in my sight and com∣pany, as I desire God prosper you in your stay, and mee in your absence.

SALYNA.

Vasti having thus settled his affection and affaires with Salyna, he sees with griefe that it is now almost impossible for him to see her in Cleraux, because of the vi∣gilant and watchfull eye of his Sonne George, over himselfe and his actions here in Fribourg; wherefore notwithstanding her wholsome and religious advice to him to beware of bloud, yet his lustfull affection to her doth so outbrave and con∣quer his naturall love to him, that to satisfie his inordinat concupisence, and to give content to his obscene and beastly desires, he vowes he will shortly send him to heaven in a bloudy Coffin. Now the sooner and better for him to compasse and finish this his deplorable stratagem, and unnaturall resolution against his sonne, his counsellour the Devill adviseth him that hee must for a short time make wonder∣full faire weather with him, and gild over all his speeches and actions to his wife Hester, with much respect and courtesie; the which Vasti doth speedily put in pra∣ctice: So for a moneth or sixe weekes time, hee sees not Salyna, but all things (to the eye of the world) goe in great peace, affection, and tranquillity betwixt Fa∣ther, Mother, and Sonne. But this false sunshine will be too soone o'retaken with a dismall storme and tempest; for what religious or Christian shew soever Vasti ex∣ternally makes unto them, yet although he have God in his tongue, he neverthelesse internally carries the Devill about him in his heart; so againe and againe he defini∣tively vowes & swears to himself, that his son George shal not live but die. Thus be∣ing resolute in his bloody purpose, he likewise resolves to adde policie to his ma∣lice against him, as thinking and hoping thereby, with more facility to draw him to the lure and snare which (in his diabolicall invention) he hath ordained for his de∣struction, hee fills his head with the fumes and honour of military actions, inflames his courage with the generosity and dignity of a souldier, whereunto as also to travell into other Countries, he knew that this his Sonne of himselfe was already ambitiously inclined and affected. At other times hee representeth to him, to how many dammages and dangers Idlenesse is exposed and subject, and what a noble part and ornament it is in young men to learne Vertues abroad, thereby to bee the more capable to know how to practise them at home, and with what renowne and glory their Auncestors have heretofore beaten and ruined the Dukes of Burgundie, their professed enemies, and now made themselves and their country famous to the greatest Princes and Potentates of Europe, especially to the Kings of France & Spain, who these many yeares, and now likewise at present (qd. he) doe equally court our affections & service, though not with the same or like integrity. And these, and such treacherous Lectures, doth Vasti still reade unto his sonne George, as often as he calls him into his company and presence, untill at last the fame and name of a souldier, and the honour of travell, have so surprised his youthfull affection, and seizd on his

ambitious resolutions, that at last hee beseecheth his Father to send him abroad, in some martiall service, or generous imployment. But the Father being as cunning as his sonne is rash and inconsiderate, suffereth himselfe of purpose to bee earnestly and frequently importuned by him to that effect; the which hee doth: When at last his Father promiseth to send him to Rome, to his Vncle Andrew Vasti, who (he saith) is a chiefe Captaine of one of the Companies of this present Pope Vrban VIII. his Guard, who was an old man, very rich, and without wife, child, or kinsman with him. George thankes his Father for this his courtesie and honour, and importuneth him againe and againe to hasten this his departure and journey to Rome to his Vncle; the which hee then firmely promiseth him: but yet the greatest difficulty hereof is, how hee may obtaine his Wifes consent to this jour∣ney of her Sonne; who at first opposeth it very strongly and passionately, as know∣ing her Sonne to bee her onely childe, her right arme, a great part of her selfe, the delight and joy of her life, and the prop and stay of her age. But the Father leaves his Sonne to draw and obtaine his Mothers consent, as politickely knowing and foreseeing, that the lesse himselfe, and the more his Sonne importun'd her, the soo∣ner she would graunt it; the which indeed fell out as he expected. Onely where∣as the Sonne requested to stay foure yeares abroad, his Father gave him but three, and his Mother would graunt him but two, whereunto at last both Father and Sonne were inforced to condescend; and now this cruell hearted Father provides his courteous-natur'd sonne George a new Sute of apparell, a Horse, and Money, and resolves to accompany and bring him as farre as Turin in his journey; which courtesie of his, his Wife and Sonne take most lovingly and thankefully. The morne of George his departure comes, and because his Mother the precedent night dreamt that her Sonne should dye in this journey, she was now exceeding sorrow∣full to let him goe and depart from her; but being againe fortifyed and rectifyed by the advice of her husband, and likewise vanquished by the importunate requests and praiers of her son, she bedews his cheeks with her teares, gives him much good counsell, some gold, and her blessing; and so they take leave each of other, God put∣ting apprehension into her heart, and the Devill assurance into her husbands reso∣lutions that shee should never see her sonne againe: And indeed I write with grief, that we shall progresse very little farther in this History, before we see her dreame verifyed, and her apprehension confirmed. The manner thus:

For Vasti (being privately as resolute in his malice and revenge to his sonne, as this his sonne is innocent in not deserving it of his Father) is so farre from bringing him to Turin, as hee will not bring him as farre as Geneva, but a mile before hee comes to Losanna (where he tels his son he would lye that night) the night approa∣ching, and in a long narrow Lane, where he saw that no earthly eye could see him (being wholly deprived of the grace and feare of God, and absolutely abandoned to Satan and Hell) as his sonne rides close before him, hee shoots him thorow the backe with his Pistoll, charged with a brace of bullets, who immediately falling dead to the ground, hee there descends his horse, and (without any remorse or pit∣ty, as no Father, but rather as a Devill incarnate) cuts off his nose, most lamentably scarres and mangles his face, that he might not be knowne, and so takes him on his shoulders, and there throwes him into a deepe ditch or precipice, as also the saddle and bridle of his horse, and turning the horse to seek his fortune in the wide fields, hee (to provide for his safety) rides swiftly to Morges, and there very secret∣ly husheth himselfe up, pretending to bee sicke, and eight dayes being expired (which was the prefixed time and day hee gave his wife for his returne) hee by a contrary Rode way of Rolle, and Saint Claude, arrives home to Fribourg to her, brings her word of the health of her sonne, and of the remembrance of his duty

to her, and that he left him well in Turin, expecting the benefit of good company to travell up to Rome; whereat, harmlesse loving Mother, she weepes for joy, and yet rejoyceth in weeping.

And now for some ten dayes after his returne from acting this wofull and de∣plorable tragedy on his sonne, hee keepes a good correspondencie and decorum with his wife Hester; but at the end thereof (soly forgetting his heart and soule, his God and his conscience, his promises and oaths, and his attonement and re∣conciliation) hee againe falls into the dangerous relapse of his former old Vice; Whordome and Drunkennesse; and yet counselled by a better Angell then his owne, hee forbeares to beate her, as well seeing, and now knowing, that thereby nothing redounded to him, but scandall and scorne from all his Neighbours, Friends, and Kinsfolkes. But now his lust is againe so great, and his desires so fervently lascivious towards Salyna, that in staying lesse then eight weekes, hee thinkes hee hath stayed more then seven yeares from her; when pretending ano∣ther journey to his Wife, hee rides over to Cleraux to her. Salyna gives him many kisses for his welcome, and as many more for relating her that hee hath sent away his sonne George to Rome, to reside and live there: for shee being his Fathers Strumpet, her guilty and sinfull conscience made her stand in ex∣treame feare of him; but yet amidst her kisses and pleasures with him (remem∣bring the tenour and contents of his last Letter to her, and her answer thereof to him) her thoughts are something touched with doubt, and her minde assaulted and perplexed with feare, that the Father had played no faire play with his Sonne, but that in regard of his inveterate malice to him for beating her, hee might have sent him to heaven, and not to Rome. To which purpose, shee feeles and sounds him every way, but he is as constant to denye it, as shee curious to inquire after it. So shee believing that hee had assumed no bloudy thoughts against his Sonne, she is not yet so devoyd of grace, or exempt of goodnesse, but shee gives him this re∣ligious caveat for a Memento, which she delivers to him accentively and passionatly, That if shee knew hee had made away his Sonne by any untimely end, or unnatu∣rall accident, or that hee were any way accessary to any prodigious disaster which had befalne him, shee vowd to God, and swore unto him, that shee would spit in his face, disdaine his company, and reject his affection and himselfe for ever; for that shee was most assured and confident that God (in his due time) would po•…•…re down vengeance and confusion on those whom the Devill had seduced and drawn to imbrue their hearts and hands in innocent bloud. But Vasti is past grace, and therefore slightly passeth over these vertuous speeches of his vicious Salyna, with a denyall and a kisse; and then againe they fall to their mirth and familiarity, and hee stayes there all that day, and lyes with her the whole night foll•…•…wing; but still Salyna (resembling her selfe and her profession) is very fingrative of his gold, and he as sottishly prodigall in giving it to her, as shee is covetous to crave and de∣sire it of him: so (after hee had glutted himselfe with his beastly pleasures of Sa∣lyna) hee the next day rides home to his wife, who knowing where, and with whom hee had beene, and considering it to be the first time of his new errour, and his first relapse into his old one, since their reconciliation, shee sayes nothing to him to discontent him; but yet thinkes and feares the more: When retiring her selfe into her Garden (after many bitter sighes and teares for these her immerited crosses and calamities) shee there grieves and repents her selfe for permitting her sonne George to goe to Rome, and a thousand thousand times wisheth his returne to assist and comfort her: but her teares herein prove as vaine, as her wishes are im∣possible to be effected, although at present very needfull and necessary for her.

For now Vasti her husband (to make her sorrowes the more infinite, her hopes the more desperate, and her afflictions the more remedilesse) fals againe to his old practice of beating her, notwithstanding all his late oathes and new promises to the contrary; but he the more especially playes the Tyrant with her in this kind, when he comes home to her from his cups and whores, for she knowes with griefe, that he retaines and entertaines more then Salyna, onely she is too sure that Salyna hath his purse, his company, his affection, and his heart at her command, farre more then her selfe; she sends her sighes to heaven, and her prayers to God, that (out of the profunditie of his mercie and goodnesse) hee would bee pleased, either to amend her Husband or to end her selfe; for griefes, sorrowes, and affli∣ctions are so heaped on her, and (like the waves of the Sea) fall so fast one upon the necke of the other to her, that she is weary of her life, and of her selfe. When on a time after hee had cruelly beaten her, torne off her head attire, given her a blacke eye and swollen face, and desheveled and disparpled her haire about her eares and shoulders (making God her Protector, and her Chamber her Sanctuary, exempting her servants who came to assist and comfort her, and fast bolting her doore) she to her selfe very pensively and mournfully breathes forth these speeches.

O poore Hester, what sensible griefe is it to thy heart, to thinke, and matchlesse torments to thy mind, to see and remember, that whiles thou art true to thy hus∣band Vasti, hee proves both ingratefull and false to thee, and that hee continually makes it his delight and glory to hate thee who art his deare wife, purposely to bestow his time and his affection, yea to cast away his estate and himselfe, on his lewd young strumpet Salyna: O were hee more happy and lesse guilty in that las∣civious and beastly crime, I should then be lesse miserable, and more patient and joyfull in the remembrance thereof. O how wretched is his estate and condition, and therefore how miserable is thine, in that hee wilfully forsakes God and his Church to follow adultery and drunkennesse, and abandoneth all piety and prayer, to shipwracke himselfe, and (which is worse) his soule, upon all carnall pleasures and voluptuous s•…•…sualities; The which grieving to see, and almost drowning my selfe night and day in my teares to understand, I have none but God to assist mee in these my bitter afflictions and miseries, and under God, none, but my hopefull Sonne George, lest to comfort mee in these my unparalelled calamities and discon∣solations. Therefore, O God, if ever thou heardest the prayers, or beheldest the teares of a po•…•…re miserable distressed woman, because I can neither now see, nor futurely hope 〈◊〉〈◊〉 any reformation, in the life and actions of my debauched and vicious Husband, be (I beseech thee) so indulgent and gracious to me, thy most unworthy Hand-maid, that either shortly thou returne me my said Sonne from 〈◊〉〈◊〉, or spe•…•…oily take •…•…ee to thy selfe in heaven; But yet O my blessed Saviour and Redeemer, not my, but thy will be done in all things.

She having thus (privately to her selfe) vented her sorrowes, but not as yet found the meanes, either how to remedy or appease them, because her husband is no Changeling, but is still resolute in this ingratefull unkindnesseand cruelty towards her, she is now resolved (though with infinit griefe and reluctation) to acquaint the Preacher of the parish, and some two of her husbands deerest and neerest kins∣folkes to speake with him againe, and to acquaint them with his pernitious relapse into all his old vices of drunkennesse, whoredome, and fighting, and to desire them to use all their possible power to divert him from it, wherein her resolution hat•…•… this just •…•…cuse, that if they cannot worke it, none but God can; But all their c•…•…e, a•…•… and •…•…eale cannot prevaile with him; For he with the filthy dog retur•…•… to 〈◊◊〉〈◊◊〉, and with the brutish swine againe to wallow in the durt, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉

in the mire of his former vices and voluptuousnesse. For now her husband Vasti is oftner at Cleraux with his Salyna, then at home at Fribourg with his wife, who (as formerly we have understood) still makes him pay deare for his pleasures, and as a subtle rooking strumpet, emptieth his purse of his gold, as fast as he foolishly fil∣leth it, he being not contented to waste his body, to shipwracke his reputation; to cast away his time, but also to cast away his estate, and himselfe on her; the which his vertuous wife cannot but observe with sorrow, and remember with griefe and vexation, but she sees it impossible for her how to redresse it: For she is not capable to dissemble her discontent to him so privately, as he publickely makes knowen his cruelty to her, wherefore her thoughts suggest her, and her judgement prompts her, to proove another experiment and triall on him. To which end she tels him, that if hee will not henceforth abandon beating of her, forsake his old vices, and become a new man, and a reformed husband, that then all delayes set apart, she will speedily (by some one of her neerest kins folkes) send poast to Rome to his brother Captaine Andrew Vasti, that her Sonne George returne home to her to Fribourg, the which shee is more then confident, upon the receipt of her first Letter, he will speedily and joyfully performe.

Her husband Vasti is extremely galled with this speech, and netled with this re∣solution of his wife Hester, because (wretched villaine as he is) he (but too well) knowes hee hath already sent his Sonne to heaven in a bloody winding sheet, and therefore both feares and knowes, that by this his wifes sending poast to Rome, his deplorable and damned fact will infallibly burst forth and come to light, the which therefore to prevent, hee (as bad, and cruell hearted as the Devill himselfe) is execrably resolved to heape Ossa upon •…•…elion, to adde blood to blood, and mur∣ther to murther; and so now to poyson the Mother his wife, as hee had lately pi∣stolled his and her onely Sonne to death. O Hester, it had beene a singular happi∣nesse for thee, that thou hadst not thus threatned thy husband Vasti, to send to Rome forthy son George, but that thou hadst either bin dumbe when thou spakest it, or he deaf when he heard it: for hereby thinking to preserve, thou hast extremely indan∣gered thy selfe, and hoping to make thy Son thy refuge and champion, I feare with griefe, and grieve with feare, that thou hast made thy selfe the ruine of thy selfe.

For Vasti is so strong with the Devill, and so weak with God, in this his bloody designe, to murther his wife Hester, as neither Grace or Nature, Religion or God, the feare of his bodies tortures in this life, or of his soules torments in that to come are able to divert him from it, he having no other reason for this his damna∣ble rage, nor no other cause for this his infernall and hellish cruelty, but this triviall and yet pittifull poore one, that his wife Hester is an eye-sore to him, because his Salyna is so to her. A wretched excuse, and execrable Apologie, and no lesse ex∣ecrable and wretched is he that makes it. So he (turning his backe to God, and his face and heart to the Devill) provides himselfe of strong poyson, and cunningly infusing it into a muske Mellon, which he knew she loved well, and resolved to eate that day at dinner, shee greedily eating a great part of it, before night dies thereof. When very subtlely he gives out to his servants and neighbours, that she died of a surfet, in then and there eating too much of the muske Mellon; and so all of them confidently beleeve and report.

Thus we have seene with sorrow, and understood with griefe, that this execrable wretch Vasti hath •…•…layed the part of a Devill, in poysoning his vertuous and harmelesse wife Hester; and now we shall likewise see him play the part of an Hy∣•…•…rite to conceale it, as if it lay in his power to blind-fold the eyes of God, as •…•…ll, or as easily, as to hood wincke those of men from the sight and knowledge

thereof. He seemes wonderfull sorrowfull for his wifes death, dights himselfe and his servants all in blacke, provides a great dinner, and performes her funerall with extraordinary solemnity. But notwithstanding God lookes on him with his eye of Iustice, for both these his cruell and inhuman barbarous murthers of his son and wife, and therfore now (in his Providence) resolves to punish him sharply and se∣verely for the same; As marke the sequell, and it will instantly informe us how.

Our debauched and bloody Vasti, immediatly upon his wifes death and buriall, doth without intermission haunt the house and company of his lascivious strum∣pet Salyna at Cleraux, as if the enjoying of her sight, presence, and selfe, were his chiefest delight, and most soveraigne earthly felicity. Hee spends a great part of his estate on her, and to satisfie her covetous and his lustfull desires, hee is at last enforced to morgage and sell away all his Lands. For as long as hee had money, she was his, but when that failed him, then she (as a right strumpet, acted a true part of her selfe) failed in her accustomed kindnesse and familiarity towards him, and casts him off.

The judgements of God, and the decrees of Heaven, are as secret as sacred, and as miraculous as just, which we shall see will now by degrees be apparantly made good and verified in this Monster of men, and Devill of Fathers and Husbands, Vasti. For his mansion house, and all his utensills and moveables in Fribourg, are consumed with a sudden fire, proceeding from a flash of lightning from heaven; as also all his granges of corne, and stacks of hay, and yet those of all his neigh∣bours round about him are untouched and safe. His corne also which growes in the field brings forth little or no encrease, his vines wither and die away, all his horses are stolen from him, and most of his cattle, sheepe and goats, dye of a new and a strange disease; For being (as it were mad) they wilfully and outragiously run themselves to death one against the other; hee is amazed at all these his (un∣expected) wonderfull losses and crosses, and yet this vild Miscreant and inhumane Murtherer, hath his conscience still so seared up, and his heart and soule so stupi∣fied and obdurated by the Devill, that he hath neither the will, power, or grace to looke up to Heaven and God, and so to see and acknowledge, from whom and for what all these afflictions and calamities befall him: He growes into great poverty, and againe to raise him and his fortunes, hee now knowes no other art or meanes left him then to marry his strumpet Salyna, to whom hee hath given great store of gold, and on whom (as wee have formerly heard) he hath spent the greatest part of his lands and estate. Hee seekes her in marriage, but (hearing of his great losses, and seeing of his extreme poverty) shee will not derogate from her selfe, but very ingratefully denies and disdaines him, and will not henceforth permit him to en∣ter into her house, much lesse to see or speake with him: hee is wonderfull bitten and galled with this her unkind repulse, and then is driven to such extreme wants and necessity, as he is enforced to sell and pawne away, all those small trifles and things which are left him, thereby to give himselfe a very poore maintenance. So (as a wretched Vagabond whom God had justly abandoned for the enormity of his delicts and crimes) he now roames and straggleth up and downe the streets of Fribourg, and the countrey parishes and houses thereabouts, without meate, money, or friends, and which is infinitly worse then all, without God. But all these his calamities and disasters, are but the Harbingers and Fore-runners of grea∣ter miseries and punishments, which are now suddenly and condignly prepared to surprize and befall him; whereof the Christian Reader is religiously prayed to take deep notice, and full observation; because the glory of God, and the Triumphs of his Revenge, in these his Iudgements, doe most divinely appeare, and shine forth to the whole world therein.

Vasti on a time returning from Cleraux towards Fribourg (where hee had beene to begge some money or meate of Salyna, either whereof she was so hard hearted to deny him) the Providence and pleasure of God so ordained it, That in the very same Meadow and place, and neere the same time and ho•…•…e, which formerly he, and his Sonne George had their conference there (being very faint and weary) he lay himselfe downe to sleepe there at the foote of a wild Chesnut-tree; yea, he there slept so soundly, the Sunne being very hot, that he could not heare the great noyse, and out cry which many people there a farre off made in the Meadow, for the taking of a furious mad Bull; This Bull I say, no doubt but being sent from God, ran directly to our sleeping and snoring Vasti, tost him twice up in the ayre on his hornes, tore his nose, and so wonderfully mangled his face, that al who came to his assistance held him dead; but at last they knowing him to bee Vasti of Fri∣bourg, and finding him faintly to pant and breath for life against death, they take off his clothes and apparell, and then apparantly discover and see, that this mad Bul with his hornes hath made too little holes in his belly, whereof at one of them a smal peece of his gut hangs out, they carry him to the next cottage, and laying him downe speechlesse, they and himselfe beleeve, hee cannot live halfe an houre to an end, and as yet he still remaines speechlesse; but at last breathing a little more, and well remembring himselfe, and seeing this his disasterous accident, it pleased the Lord (in the infinitnesse of his goodnesse) to open the eyes of his faith, to mollifie the fl•…•…ntinesse of his heart, to reforme the deformity of his conscience, & to purge and cleanse the pollution of his soule; for now he laies hold of Christ Iesus and his promises, forsakes the Devill and his treacheries, and God now so ordaineth and disposeth of him, that for want of other witnesses (seeing himselfe on the brink and in the jawes of death) he now becommeth a witnesse against himselfe, and confes∣seth before all the whole company, That he it was, neere Losanna, who murthered his owne Sonne George with a Pistoll, and who since poysoned his owne wife Hes•…•… with a muske Mellon, for which two foule and inhumane facts of his, he said, he from his heart and soule begged pardon and remission of God.

He•…•… upon this his confession, some of the company ride away to Fribourg, and acquaint the Criminall Officers of justice thereof; who speedily send two Chi∣rurgions to dresse his wounds, and foure Sergeants to bring Vasti thither alive, if possibly they can. They search his wounds, and although they find them mortall, yet they believe hee may live three or foure dayes longer. So they bring him to Fribourg in a Cart, and there hee likewise confesseth to the Magistrates his two a∣foresayd bloudy and cruell Murthers, drawne thereunto as he saith, by the treache∣rous alluremements and temptations of the Devill: So the same day, they, for sa∣tisfaction of these his unnaturall crimes, doe condemne him to be hanged, and then his body to be burnt to ashes; which is accordingly executed in Fribourg, in pre∣sence of a great concourse of people, who came to see him take his last farewell of the world, but they thinking and expecting that he would have made some religious speech at his death, he therein deceived their hopes and desires: for he only pray∣ed to himselfe privatly, and then repeating the Lords prayer, and the Creed, and re∣commending his soule to God, and his body to Christian buriall, without once mentioning or naming his son George, his wife Hester, or his strumpet Salyna, he (lif∣ting up his eies to heaven) was turned over; and although (being a tall and corpulent man) he there brake the rope and fell, yet he was found starke dead on the ground.

And thus was the wretched life, and deserved death of this bloudy Monster of Nature Vasti. May we therefore reade this his History to Gods glory, and to our owne reformation.

The End of the Fifth Booke.