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.

GODS REVENGE, AGAINST THE CRYING AND Execrable sinne of Murther. (Book 6)

HISTORY XXVI.

•…•…mperia for the love she beares to young Morosini, seduceth and causeth him (with his two Consorts, Astonicus and Donato) to stifle to death her old Husband Palme∣rius in his bed; Morosini misfortunately letting fall his gloves in Palmerius his chamber that night which he did it; They are found by Richardo the Nephew of Pal∣merius, who knowes them to be Morosinies, and doth thereupon accuse him and his Aunt Imperia, for the Murther of his Vnkle,; So they together with their accessa∣ries Astonicus and Donato, are all foure of them appehended and hanged for the same.

THose Intemperate and lascivious affections which sa∣vour more of Earth than Heaven, are still attended on with shame and repentance, and many times followed by misery and confusion: For God being our Maker by Creation, and our Saviour by Re∣demption, consequently should be of our loves and affections, and the true & sole object, in whom on∣ly they should begin and terminate: For Nature must be a handmaid, not a Mistresse to Grace, be∣cause God (in his Divine decree and creation of man) hath made our bodies mortall, but our soules immortall. And the like Antithesis which there is betweene Lust and Charity, the same there is be∣tweene sinfull adultery, and sanctified mariage. But where our youthfull affe∣ctions beginne in whoredome, and end in murther, what can be there expected for an issue, but ruine and desolation. Crimes no lesse than these doth this en∣suing History report and relate: A History I confesse, so deplorable for the persons, their facts and punishments, that I had little pleasure to pen it, and lesse joy to publish it; but that the truth and manner thereof gave a contrary

Law to my resolutions, in giving it a place among the rest of my Histories; That the sight and knowledge of others harmes, may the more carefully and conscionably •…•…each us to avoid and prevent our owne.

THe free Estates and Common-weales of Italy, more especially the fa∣mous Seigniory of Venice, (which for wealth and power gives place to no other of Christendome) holds it no degree of disparagement, but rather an happy and honourable vertue in their Nobles and Gentlemen, to ex∣ercise the faculty a•…•…d p•…•…ofession of Merchants, the which they generally per∣forme in Turkie, and all other parts of the Levant Seas▪ with as much profit as glory, to the admiration of the whole world and the envie of their pri∣vate and publike enemies: Of which number of Venetian Gentlemen, Seig∣nior Angelo Morosini is one, a young m•…•…n, of some twenty & foure yeares of age, descended of a Noble name and family, and (if reports be true) from whence ours here in England derives their Originall: He is tall and slender of stature, of a lovely sanguine complection, a bright Chestnut-coloured haire, but as yet adorned with a small apparition of a beard: He is active of body, of a sweet carriage, and nimble wit, and a most pleasing and gracefull speech; and hee is not so young, but he hath already made two severall voyages to Constantinople and Alexandria, in both which he resided some five or six yeares, and through his wisdome and industry wonne some wealth, but more reputation and fame, in so much as his deportments and hopes, to the eye and judgement of the world, promiseth him a fortune, equall, if not exceeding his bloud and extra∣ction. Holding it therefore rather a shame than a glory as yet to marrie, or which is a thousand times worse, to passe his time vainly and lasciviously at home among the Ladies and Courtisans of Venice, upon whom (by the way of a premonition and precaution) he saw so many deboshed young Gallants to cast away their Estates and themselves, he assumes his former ambition to tra∣vell, and so undertakes a third voyage t•…•… Constantinople: He embarkes himselfe upon a good ship, named the Little Saint Marke of Venice, and in company of Seignior Astonichus, and Seignior Philippo Donato, likewise two young Gentle∣men, Mearchants of Venice of his deare and intimate acquaintance (with a pleasant gale and merry wind, they set saile from Malanoca, the Port of that City, and so direct and shape away their course for the Islands of Corfu and Zant, where they are to stop, and take in some commodities, and from thence thorow the Archipelagus, by Candy and Cyprus, to the Port 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the Grea•…•… Seignior. But as men propose, and God disposeth of all terrestriall a•…•…ons and accidents; so they are overtaken by a storme, and with contrary winds put into the Har∣bour and City of Ancona, a rich▪ populous and strong City which belongs to the Pope, and which is the Capitall of that Province of the Mar•…•… 〈◊〉〈◊〉, from whence it assumes and takes its denomination, and wherein there are well neare three thousand Jewes still resident, who pay a great yearly Revenue to his Holinesse. The wind being as yet contrary for our three Venetian Gal∣lants, and they knowing that our Lady of Loretto (the greatest and most fa∣mous Pilgrimage of the Christian world) was but fifteene small miles off in the Countrey, whereas yet they had never either of them beene, they in meere devotion ride thither, their ship now being fast anchored and mored in the Peere of Ancona, which stands on the Christian side, upon the Adria∣tique Sea, vulgarly tearmed the gulfe of Venice.

And here it is neither my purpose or desire to write much, either of the

pretended pietie of this holy Chappell of Loretto, which the Romanists say was the very Chamber wherein the Virgin Mary brought up her Sonne, our Saviour Iesus Christ; or of her Picture which they likewise alleadge was drawne by the hand and pensill of the Apostle Saint Luke, and both the one and the other, as they affirme miraculously brought over the Seas from Pa∣lestine by Angells, and first placed by them on the Hills of Recagnati (three lit∣tle miles thence) and long since by the said Angels translated and placed here in this small Towne of Loretto. But as for my selfe, this legend is to weake to passe current with my faith, much lesse to esteeme it as an Article of my Creed. Only this I will confesse and say. That as it was devotion not curiosity which carried our Morisini, Astonicus and Donato thither: so it was my curiosity not my Devotion which made me to take the sight thereof in my Travells. Where in the rich and sumptuous Quire of a stately Cathedrall Church, I saw this lit∣tle old Bricke Chamber (now termed the Holy Chappell, verie richly adorned with great variety of massie Gold and Silver Lampes, and this Picture of the blessed Virgin in a Shrine of Silver, most richly decked with Chaines and Robes, imbroidered with Gold and Silver, and set with pretious Stones of inestimable valew, which (to expresse the truth in one word) bred much ad∣miration in my thoughts, but no veneration at all in my heart. So I leaue Lo∣retto, and returne againe to our History, which was the onely Relique that I brought thence.

The two first dayes, our three Venetian Gallants visit this holy Chappell with much solemnity and devotion, where not to Iesus the Sonne, but to Marie the Mother they offer up their prayers, and pay their vowes of thank∣fulnesse for their deliverance from the late storme which put them and their Ship in safety at Ancona. But the third day there betides an unexpected acci∣dent to Morisini, which will administer matter and life to this History. Hee leaves his two friends and companions in bed, and steales away to the holy Chappell, where being on his knees to his devotion, hee neere to him, sees a sweet young Gentlewoman likewise on her knees at her devotion and ori∣sons very rich in apparell, but incomparably faire and beautifull. He curiously markes her Roseat Lilly Cheekes, her piercing Eye, the Amber Tresses of her Haire, her Alablaster Necke and Paps, and her streight and slender wast, all which made her to bee the Pride and Glory of Nature; At whose sight and contemplation, his minde is so sodainely inflamed with affection to her, that hee who heretofore could not possibly bee drawne to love any Gentlewoman, or Mayden, now despight of himselfe, (and of his contrary inclination and re∣solution) hee at first sight is inforced to love her and only her. For the more hee sees her, the more hee affects her, which engendereth such strange moti∣ons, and sodaine passions in his heart that the sweetnesse of this sweet object, enforced his eyes incessantly to gaze on her both with affection and admirati∣on. Our Morosini would faine have boarded and saluted her there, but that hee would not make Heaven so much stoope to Earth, nor prophane the holi∣nesse of his affection and of this place with such impietie. But at last seeing her to rise from her prayers, and so to depart the Chappell, hee could not, hee would not so leave her, nor forsake the benefit of this sweet opportunity to make himselfe knowne to her; When withdrawing his Devotion from the old Lady of Loretto to give it to this his young Lady (and pretended Mistris) in Loretto, hee trippes away after her, into the body of the Church where seeing her only attended, by a well clad Boy and her young waiting Gentle∣woman,

(after salutes on both sides performed,) hee there profereth her his service in these generall Tearmes.

Moros. I know not sweet young Lady, whether I may terme my selfe happy or unfortunate, in being this morning honoured with the sight of so beautifull a Nymph, and Virgin as your selfe, because in thinking to gaine my soule, I feare I have lost my heart in the amorous extasies of that delitious Object and Contemplation; therefore I beseech you thinke it not strange, that having received my wound from your Beautie, I flie to your Courtesie for my cure and remedy thereof; and that seeing you so weakely guarded, I presume to request the favour of you that you will please to accept of my Company to reconduct you to your home.

This young Lady, seeing her selfe so much gazed on by this unknowne Gentleman in the holy Chappell, and now so courteously saluted by him in the Church, shee could not refraine from dying her Lilly Cheekes with a Vermillian blush, when having too much beautie to bee too unkinde, and yet too much coynesse and modestie at first to prove too courteous to him, shee (brooking her name well) returnes him this answer.

Imp. Sir you being so happie to have given up your Soule this morning in your devotion to the blessed Lady of this place, I doe not a little wonder, that you so soone prophane it, by endevoring to make mee believe, that you have lost your heart in the contemplation of so poore, and so unworthie a beautie as mine; For herein as you prophane your zeale to her, so doe you your affe∣ction to me, sith that should bee more sacred, and this not so much faigned or hypocriticall. But such wounds still carry their cures with them, and therefore as my beauty was not capable to occasion the one, so shall not my courtesie be guilty in granting the other: If my weake guard bee not strong enough to conduct mee to my home, my Innocency and Chastity are, as also to defend mee from the snares and lures of those Gentlemen, whose best Vertue consists more in their tongues then their soules, and more in their complements then their actions; Of which number fearing and taking you to be one, and my Fa∣thers house being so nigh, I shall not want your company, because as I deserve so I desire it not, and therefore I will leave you, and yet not without lea∣ving my thankes with you, for this your proffered favour, and unexpected courtesie.

Although Morosini could not refraine from smiling at this her sharpe and wittie answer, yet hee seeing his complement retorted, and his courtesie re∣turned with a refusall, hee could not yet refraine from biting his Lip thereat. But againe considering her to bee exceeding faire and vertuous, and hoping withall that her father might likewise prove rich, hee would not disgrace his breeding nor make himselfe a Novice in Love to bee put off with this her first repulse, but againe sounds her in these tearmes.

Moros. My devotion to the Mother of our Saviour doth not prophane but I hope blesse and sanctifie my affection to you and therefore if it bee not the custome of the young Ladies and Gentlewomen of Loretto to use strangers with this discourtesie, I cannot believe that you would purposly thus exercise your wit in my patience, by inflicting on mee this your unjust refusall. As for your feigned shewes of Hipocrisie: I am as innocent of them as you suspect and tearme mee guiltie and have no more snares or lures in proferring you my affection and service, than that which your pure beautie and chast vertues give mee. Neither am I of the number of those Gentlemen, whom you please

to traduce and disparage because their hearts and tongues agree not, or for that their actions prove not their speeches, and complements reall; because I as much disdaine as you condemne them; Therefore if you cannot give me the courtesie, I pray at least lend me the favour that I may waite on you to your Fathers house; whom I shall ever bee readie to serve with as much humility for your sake, as to cherish and obey your selfe with affection for mine owne.

This answer of Morosini makes this young Gentlewoman (whose name he and wee shall anon know) as sweetly calme, as right now shee was unkindlie passionate, so that looking stedfastly on him, and composing her countenance rather to smiles than frownes, she rejoynes with him thus.

Imp. It is the custome of the Ladies and Gentlewoman of Loretto, to use Strangers rather with too much respect than too little favour, especially those Gent. who savor more of honor than vanity. If therfore I have any way wron∣ged mine owne judgment, in suspecting or not acknowledging your merits, I know I am yet as worthy of your excuse as of your reprehension. And because I understand by you that you are a stranger to this place though not to this Country, as also that you seeme to be so importunatly desirous and willing to conduct me to my Fathers house; I will therefore give a contrarie Law to my owne will, and now make civillitie dispence with my discretion by accepting of this your kinde proffer, and you shall not accompany mee thither to him, with so much respect and zeale as I will you with observance and thankes.

Which kind speech she had no sooner delivered and Morosini received, but he againe closed with her thus:

Moros. Sweet Lady, this courtesie of yours seconding your beautie, shall eternally oblige mee to your service; and in requitall thereof, I will ever e∣steeme it my best happinesse to receive your Fathers commands, and my chiefest felicity and glory to execute yours: When reciprocally exchanging salutes, hee takes her by the hand and arme, and very gracefully conducts her to her Fathers house, not farre off from this sumptuous Church, and by the wayth ther (among other speeches and complements he gathers from herthat her Fathers name is Signior Hierome Bondino, and hers Donna Imperia his only Daughter. Wherein hee for the former fame of his wealth and the present sight of her Beautie doth both delight and glory, as dreaming of a future feli∣city which hee shall enioy in her sight and company; whereof for the time present hee hath farre more reason to flatter than to assure himselfe.

Now wee must heere understand that this Seignior Bondino her Father, is a Gentleman of an ancient house and noble descent; and of a verie great estate both in lands and meanes, and withall he was exceeding covetous, as glory∣ing more in his wealth than in his generositie, and more in his faire and beau∣tifull Daughter Imperia, then in any other of his Children. Heere Morisini brings Imperia home, and shee presents him and his courtesie to her Father, who receives him respectfully and kindly thankes him for this his observance and honour to his daughter: who led by the lustre of her eyes and the delica∣cie of her beautie, was so extreamly inflamed with affection towards her, as at that very instant he proclaimed himselfe her Servant, and shee the Lady Re∣gent of his heart and desires, and then it was that hee first acquainted her with his name and quality, with his intended voyage to Constantinople, but chiefely with his constant desire and resolution to seeke her in marriage both of her selfe and her father. Wherefore to contract this History into a narrow Vo∣lumne,

I will passe over his often courtings and visits of her, as also those sweet speeches, and amorous discourses and conferences which past betweene them during the space of three weekes; wherein the winde proving contrary to his voyage, proved therefore propitious to this his sute and affection. In which time hee proved himselfe so expert a Scholler (or rather a Master) in the Art of Love that hee exchanged hearts with her, obtained her affection and consent to bee his Wife upon his first returne from Constantinople, but yet it was wholly impossible either for he or her to draw her fathers consent here∣unto, although many times hee sought it of him with prayers, and shee with teares. For hee making wealth to bee the verie image and idol of his devoti∣on, and gathering that Morosini's birth farre exceeded his estate and meanes, as also that in his opinion, that his estate was yet farre greater than his capaci∣tie or judgement, hee would never hearken to him, much lesse give way that hee should bee his Sonne in Law: but with much obstinacie and resolution, vowed that hee would first rather see his Daughter married to her grave than to him, the which froward and harsh resolution of his, makes our two lovers exceedingly to grieve and lament thereat. But how to remedie it they know not. Morosini now acquaints his two consorts Astonicus and Don•…•…to with his affection to Imperia, and brings them the next morning to see her, who highly commend his choice, and extoll her beautie and vertues to the skies; They in Morosini's behalfe deale effectually with Bondino to draw his consent to this match, mount his praises and merits as high as Heaven, and in a word they leave no friendly office, or reasons unatempted to perswade and induce him hereunto, but they speake either to the winde, or to a deafe man; for his will is his Law, and therefore they finde it a worke, not only of extreame difficul∣tie but of meere impossibilitie to effect it; for neither they nor Morosini, can so much pray and exhort Bondini to this match, as hee with sharpe words and bitter threates seekes to divert his Daughter from it; which pierceth and galleth these two Lovers to their verie soules. For by this time their affecti∣ons and hearts are so strongly and firmely united, that Imperia loves Morosini a thousand times deerer than her owne life, and hee her no lesse. So when they thinke of their seperation and departure each from other, the verie conceit and thought there of drawes even droppes of blood from their hearts, and an Ocean of teares from their eyes. But because they are more amorous then su∣perstitious in their devotion and affection each to other and that (in their thoughts and desires) they sacrifice more to the Altars of Venus then to that of the Virgin Marie. Therefore Fortune more envying then pittying them, and therefore resolving to separate their bodies as farre assunder, as their hearts are neerely linked and combined together: the winde comes faire, and the Master of their Shippe sends speedily from Ancona to them to Loretto to come away, for that he is resolute to omit no time but with all expedition to weigh Anchor, and set saile for Corfu.

Morosini receives this newes with infinite sorrow, and Imperia with ex∣treame griefe and amazement, so as if grace had not prevailed with nature, and her obedience to her Father vanquished and given a law to her affection towards Morosini, shee could then and there have found in her heart to have left Italy, and to accompanyed him in his voyage to Turkie and Constantinople, so sweet was his sight and presence, and so bitter was the verie thought of his abscence to her heart and minde; Here Morosini comes againe with his hat in his hand and Imperia on her knees with teares to her father, that hee will

grant they may contract themselves each to other before his departure, but he is deare to his requests, and inexorable to her teares and prayers. For hee vowes hee cannot, and sweares hee will not consent thereunto; And there∣fore heere the Reader must conceive, for it is impossible for mee to expresse the thousand part of the sighes which hee, and the teares which shee expends at this their sorrowfull departure in so much as I cannot truly define whether hee then gave her more kisses, or shee him teares. So here shee vowes to re∣maine unmarried till his returne, and hee both promiseth and sweares, that he will returne within one yeare to her and marrie her, the which the more au∣thenti•…•…ally to seale and confirme hee gives her a rich Emerauld ring from his finger, and shee him a faire carkamet of Orient Pearle from her necke, with whom the great droppes of her teares trickling downe her vermillion cheekes seemed to have some perfect sympathy and resemblance; Of which inter∣changeable and mutuall contract Astonicus and Donato are joyfull witnesses, who seeke to adde comfort and consolation to these her unspeakeable sor∣rowes, and unparalleld afflictions for this their separation; whiles Imperia in the meane time at the verie thought and consideration hereof, (shee gazing on her Morosini) seemes to burst her heart with sighing, and to drowne the Roses and Lillies of her beautie with the showers and rivulets of her teares. So Morosini being againe and againe called away by Astonicus and Donato, hee then takes leave of Bondino, and then of his deere and sweet Daughter Imperia in whose heart and brest hee imparadiseth all his most religious prayers, and treasureth up all his amarous desires and wishes, and from thence (with his two faithfull friends and companions takes horse for Ancona, where as soone as they come their long boate is a shoare and takes them in, when the Winde continuing still exceeding faire, they presently for Corfu and Constanti ople. Where wee will leave them floating on the Seas, exposed to the favour and mercy of the windes, and according to the order of our History come wee a∣gaine to speake of Bondino, and of his sweet and faire daughter Imperia, to see what matter they will administer us, and what Actions and Accidents they will produce.

Whiles our faire Imperia day and night weepes and sighes for the absence of her dearest and second selfe Morosini, and with her eies and hands elected to Heaven continually praies for his pr•…•…speritie and returne, her old Father Bondino assumes a direct contrary course and resolution; for within two or three moneths of Morisini's departure, hee makes it his greatest care and am∣bition to provide another husband for this his Daughter. Hee is not ignorant of her teares and pensivenesse for his absence, and knowes full well, that her solitarie walkes and palle thinne cheekes, lookes still constantly to him and never from him. But hee is resolute that his old covetousnesse shall prevent and deceive this her young affection, and that to worke on the advantage of Morosini's absence, his best and shortest course is to heave him out of her heart and minde, and contrariwise to propound and place another Husband in his stead. To which end his said daughters beautie and his owne wealth having already procured her two or three other Sutors, who earnestly seeke her in marriage, hee likes none of them so well, as old Seignior Palmerius a rich Marchant of Ancona, aged of at least sixtie yeares; whereas his faire Daughter Imperia was not above twentie foure, who was of so deformed and decrepit a personage and constitution, that hee seemed but as a withered Ianuary to this fresh Lady May, and his age but a frozen Winter to the fragrant flouri∣shing

Sommer of her youth and beautie. But this old dotard Palmerius (who is every way fitter for his owne grave than for Imperia's bed) is so taken with the daintinesse of her personage, as he hopes that her youth and her fathers age will stoope and strike saile to his wealth, and therefore hee trickes and prides himselfe up both in his apparell and beard, as if Love had taken away much of his Age, now purposly to adde it to his vanity and indiscretion, so hee comes to Bondino's house at Loretto, and seekes this his faire daughter in marri∣age, where the consideration of his great estate and wealth act such wonders with her fathers heart and resolution, that her father and hee have already swapt a bargaine that hee, and none but hee shall marry his daughter, before as yet hee have the happinesse to see her. But at last her father brings her to him, chargeth her with his commands to dispose her selfe to affect and marry him, and speakes to her not onely in the language of a father, but of a King, for such is his pleasure. These speeches of her father, and the sight of this her old lover yet new sutor Palmerius, doth much amaze and terrifie his young Daughter Imperia: so shee receives and heares those with infinit affliction and sorrow, and him with much contempt and disdaine; For she rejects his suteand himselfe, and boldly tells both her father and him, that Morosini is too deeply lodged in her heart, for any other of the world to have entrance or admit∣tance, and therefore (with sighes and teares) casts her selfe at her fathers feet, and prayes him that hee will not force her to marry Signior Palmerius whom shee affirmes shee cannot possibly affect; much lesse obey. But her father is re∣solute to have it so, and therefore (passing over all other respects and conside∣rations) hee addes threates, to his commands, and vehemently chargeth her againe and againe to consent thereto. But her absent Morosini is still so present in her heart and minde, and so fresh and pleasing to her eye and memorie, that shee cannot, shee will not forget him. So that for this time her father can no more enforce her to speake with Palmerius, or draw her to see him, and thus shee puts him off for his first comming to Loretto to her. Imperia being now infinitly glad to have thus given her father the foile, and old Palmerius the repulse, shee raiseth a thousand new Trophees of joy, and victories of delight in her heart for the same, as if that outragious storme and tem∣pest (so contrary and displeasing to her heart) had received end almost as soone as beginning. Thus now ruminating on nothing lesse then on Palmerius, nor on nothing more than on her sweet and deere Morosini, (to whom in his absence shee sacrificeth all the flames of her heart, and all the vowes, desires and wishes of her soule) shee passeth away her time in perpetuall praying for his returne, for the which shee leaves not the Lady, no nor any other Saint of Loretto unadored, or unprayed to. But con∣trary to her hopes and desires herein, this her old sutor Palmerius, (having wholly lost the soliditie of his judgement in the excellency of her beautie) hee still keepes good correspondence, and curious intelligence with her fa∣ther, and continually his heart runnes as much on her youth as her fathers co∣vetousnesse doth on his wealth and gold; so within two moneths hee returnes againe to Loretto, where he is received with as much joy of Bondino, as with ex∣treame discontent and sorrow of his Daughter Imperia, who now poore soule can receive no peace nor truce from either of them, but they incessantly haunt her as her ghosts, and faile not day and night to importune her for the con∣summation of this contract and marriage, but her heart is so close united and wedded to Morosini, that it is as yet impossible for either, or both of them to

divorce or withdraw her from him. Palmerius thinkes to gaine her by ric•…•… gifts and presents, but shee refuseth them all for the sake of the giver, and her father now tempts her with sweet speeches and perswasions, and then againe, terrifies her with bitter commands and threats, hoping thereby in the end to make her flexible to his desires and wishes; But his daughter Impe∣ria notwithstanding all this (with a constancie worthie of her beautie, and e∣very way equall to her selfe) resolves to frustrate the hopes of the first, to an∣nihilate and make vaine the expectation of the second, and so to deceive the desires and wishes of them both, and to keepe her heart wholly for Morosini as shee hath formerly promised and obliged her selfe to doe.

But although Palmerius were heretofore the first time so easily beaten off with Imperias refusall, hee will not bee so the second, and therefore his heart and mind telling him that the sweetnesse of her youth, and the delicacy of her beauty deserve a stronger, and longer siege of his affection. Hee (by the free advise and consent of her Father) resolves to stay and burne all that Sommer in Loretto, hoping that time would change her resolutions and make that fea∣sable in his Daughters affection, which now in a manner seemed to bee im∣possible. Thus if Palmerius use his best endevours to beare and conquer Impe∣ria one way, no lesse doth her Father another way, for the first gives her a world of sugred words and promises, and the second of sharpe and bitter threates to effect it; Poore Imperia seeing her selfe thus streightly and nar∣rowly begirt on both sides, shee hath againe recourse to her sighes and teares, the only weapons left her in the absence of her Morosini to defend her affecti∣on and constancie against the lust of Palmerius, and the power and tyrranny of her father Bondino. A thousand times a day shee wisheth that Constantinople were Loretto, or Loretto Constantinople, and as often prayes that either she were in Morosini's armes, or hee heere in hers. But Palmerius being as obstinate as her father was resolute and furious in this sute and motion towards her, shee shuts her selfe up in her Chamber, where seeming to drowne her selfe in her teares, shee consults with her affection, how shee should beare her selfe in a matter of this weight and importance, and what invention shee should finde out and practise, to abandon Palmerius, and to call home her Morisini to marry her, then which under Heaven shee desired nothing more, or to write truer nothing else. So at last shee resolves to send one purposely to Constantinople to hasten his returne (which now wanted but a little of his prefixed time of a yeare) when making choice of a deere friend of his of Ancona named Seignior Mercario, and furnishing him with gold for so long a journey, as to saile from Brundisium, to Ragusa, and so from thence by poast to Constantinople, she takes pen and paper, and thereon (as much with teares as incke) traceth her Morosini these lines where with shee dispatcheth him away.

IMPERIA to MOROSINI.

I Should betray my affection to thee, and consequently make my selfe unworthy of thine, if by this my letter (which I purposely send thee by thy friend Seignior Mercario) I did not now acquaint thee, with how much impatiencie and sorrow my selfe, and with how much joy my Father brookes thy long absence. Thou knowest in what a sweet, and strict sympathie of Love, our hearts are united. So as measuring Morosini by Imperia, I am confident that all those Seas betweene Ancona and Constantinople are not capa∣ble to wash away the remembrance thereof either from thy heart or my soule. And yet hol∣ding it a part both of my dutie and of my selfe, I am enforced to command my pen to re∣late

then, th•…•… my F•…•…ther Bondino begins to excercise a point not onlie of his will, but of his power, ye•…•… I may justly say of his ty•…•…ie over 〈◊〉〈◊〉, to perswade me to leave my young Morosini 〈◊〉〈◊〉 marry his old Palmerius. In which regard & consideration, if my poore beauty o•…•… •…•…rit 〈◊〉〈◊〉 •…•…ft any impress•…•… in thy brest or memorie, I now most heartily pr•…•… thee to •…•…ue Turkie for Italy, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 C•…•…ople for Loretto, and to make me as happie in 〈◊〉〈◊〉 thy sight and presence, as I am miserable without it. And when our God, and 〈◊◊〉〈◊◊〉 shall permit this my innocent and sorrowfull letter to fall into thy 〈◊〉〈◊〉, thinke, ye•…•… judge with thy selfe, what an ingratitude, yea what a crime it will bee for thee 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to bring mee thy selfe, but to send mee any excuse whatsoever to the contrary. Farewell my other selfe, thy sweet selfe, and may God and his Angells ever prove propiti•…•… thy Desires, and my Wishes.

IMPERIA.

Mercario (in three weekes time) arrives at Constantinople, and finds out his friend Morosini, to whom he delivereth his Mistris Imperias letter; the which he first kissing, presently peruseth it, and very passionatly both rejoyceth & grieves thereat: So Morosini very kindely feasts his friend Mercario there some eight dayes, and then returneth him home with an answer, which in lesse than a moneths time hee delivereth into Imperias owne hands in Loretto, who is ex∣treamely glad thereof, and then beautifying her snow white cheekes, with some crimson blushes, shee hies to her closet and breaking up hastily the seales thereof, findes it traced and charged with this message

MOROSINI to IM•…•…IA.

THy health and constancy makes mee as ioyfull in the receit of thy Letter, as thy Fa∣ther Bondino his disrespect to mee and love to Palmerius makes mee sorrowfull, for so deere and tender is the true effection of my Imperia to her Morosini, and the sim∣pathy of our hearts so sweetly and sacredly united, that for my part not only those small ri∣vers of the Mediteraneum and Adriatique Sea betweene Constantinople and An∣cona, but that of the vast Ocean is incapable to wash off the least sense or memory thereof, But as in the actions and accidents of hu•…•…ane life, reputation and profit, deserve some times to bee entermixed with pleasure, because the sweetnesse thereof is still made sweete•…•… by its subsistance and permanency. So by the Seigniory of Venice, and by Landy their Ambassadour resident here in Constantinople, (contrary to my expectation or meritt) I am now made Consull of Aleppo. I cannot therefore so soone leave Turkie for Italy which I infinitly desire, nor in that consideration so soone imbrace and kisse my faire and deare Imperia, which above all the Crownes and Scepters of the world I chiefly love and long for; but what this yeare cannot performe the next shall, and then (all delayes and excuses set apart) I will bring thee thy Morosini with as much true joy as hee transpor∣ted himselfe from thee with bitter teares and unfained sorrows, in the meane time my hopes and heart tell mee, that thy affection to mee shall surmount thy Fathers tyranny to thy selfe, and that thy bea•…•…y and meritt are so incomparably resplendent, that though Palmerius •…•…ee the fayle, yet Morisini shall live and dye the Diamond of thy love and the Love of thy Heart, as God i•…•… of thy Soule. O then my deere and sweet Imperia, repute it 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ingratitude much lesse a o•…•…ime in mee to send thee this letter of excuse in steed of bringing thee my selfe, for I sp•…•…ke it in presence of God and his Angels, that as thou art my other halfe so I am wholly thine, and that thou canst not bee the thousand part so sorrowfull a•…•… I am •…•…serable in this our short yet too long sequest•…•…tion. •…•…well, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the only Sa•…•… of my heart, and Goddesse of my affections, and

assure thy selfe that no mortall man whatsoeuer is, or can bee so much thy faithfull Servant and Slave, as

MOROSINI.

Our Imperia kisseth this Letter a thousand times for her Morisini's sake who wrote and sent it her, and againe as often weepes to see, that hee loved Honor and profit better then her selfe, and Turkie better than Italy, so whereas shee formerly hoped, now shee begins to despaire of his speedy returne, and esteemes herselfe as miserable without him, as shee thought to have beene happy with him. Shee reades over his Letter againe and againe, and then weepes as fast as shee reades, at the very perusall and consideration thereof; shee would faine draw comfort from any part or branch of it, but then his in∣tended stay affords her nothing but disconsolation and sorrow in stead there∣of. Shee blames her owne misfortune, as much as his unkindnesse, and then againe imputes this impatiencie of hers, more to her fathers crueltie, than to Morosini's discourtesie; shee loves him as much as shee hates Palmerius, and hates her selfe because Morosini will not love her more, and Palmerius lesse. But Morosini is so firmly seated and enthronized in her heart that she is constantly resolved to stay his returne, and rather to dy his victim and martyr than to live Palmerius his wife. And here her affection acts a great part in passion, as this pas∣sion doth in Love, she cannot refraine from enquiring of Mercario how Mori∣sini lives, and how he looks, who performes the part of a friend, to his friend and tells her that hee lives in great pompe and reputation, and is the properest and bravest young Gallant either of Venice or Ital•…•… which hee saw in Constanti∣nople, at the report whereof, shee could not refraine from blushing and smiling as if her delight and ioy thereof were such, as shee could not receive or heare it, without these publike expressions and testimonies of her private zeale and interiour affection to him; But all this notwithstanding, wheresoever shee goes or turnes her selfe, her Father as her shadow, and Palmerius as her spirit, are never from her, but still follow her in all times and places without inter∣mission. It is a wonder to see and consider their obstinacy to make it a match, and her resolution and refusall against it, as if they were wholly composed and made of commands and shee of denialls. In which interchangeable comport∣ment, and different carriage of theirs. Wee must allow sixe moneths time more past and slidden away, where in despight of Palmerius his importunities and her fathers power shee still remaines inflexible to them constant to her Morosini, and true to her promise. But at last this old lustfull Lover Palmerius (who was fitter to kisse an image in the Church, then so sweet and faire a yong Lady as Imperia in her bed) seeing that hee had consumed and spent so long time in vaine by courting her, and that shee sleighted him and his sute as much if not more now, than when hee first meant and intended it to her, hee be∣thinkes himselfe of a new po•…•…icy and proposition to gaine her, which love can not so much excuse, as discretion iustly condemne in him; Hee goes t•…•… her fa∣ther Bondino, and proffers him that if his daughter will become his wife, that he will infeoffe, and endow her with the one halfe of his lands, and give all the rest of his Estate and wealth into his hands and custody, for him to purchase her more. Which great and unexpected proffer of his doth solely and fully weigh downe her covetous father to Palmerius his will and desire, as hee con∣stantly tells him; that in lieu of this his great affection and bounty to his daughter: hee will speedily use all his power and authority with her full•…•… to

dispose her to a•…•…ect and content him; To which end Bondino goes to his daughter Imperia, acquaints her with this great gift, and voluntary proffer of Palmerius to her if shee will marry him. Hee lyes before her how infinitly it will import his content, and her owne good and reputation, and that few Gentlewoman of Loretto, or Ladies of the whole Marca of Anconitana, doe enioy such rich Fortunes, that his wisdome and wealth is farre to be preferred to the vanitie and prodigallity of Morosini, and that the first will assuredly bring her much content and prosperitie, but the second nothing else but po∣verty, ruine and misery, and therefore hee most importunately conjures and commands her to cut and cast off all delayes and so forthwith to dispose her selfe to love and marry Palmerius, or else hee vowes for ever to renounce her for his Daughter, and no more to acknowledge him selfe for her Father. A crueltie which (in my opinion and judgement) ought to bee admired with pittie and pittied with admiration, and not to serve for a precedent and Ex∣ample to other Parents, because this of Bondino's was grounded on farre more passion than reason, and covetousnesse than vertue; and which Nature hath all the reasons of the world rather than to tearme tyranny then Providence or fatherly affection in him.

Our Imperia is, as it were, strucke dead with griefe and sorrow, at the thun∣derbolt of these her Fathers cruell speeches towards her, so that shee cannot speake, nor yet weepe for sighing and sobbing but at last encouraged by her owne Vertue, as much as shee was daunted and dismayed by her fathers seve∣ritie and crueltie towards her, shee (casting her selfe at his feete) with a trem∣bling heart and faltering voice, returnes her heart and minde to him in these tearmes.

Honoured Sir, although my afflictions and sorrowes are such, and so infinit that I am farre more capable to weepe and sigh, then to breathe or speake them forth to you, yet I hold it my dutie, not my disobedience to acquaint you, that because marriages are first made in heaven, before contracted or consummated in Earth, therefore being so happie first to love Morosini before I was so unfortunate as to see Seignior Palmerius, I hope it is the pleasure of God, that hee hath ordained the first to bee my Husband, and consequently my selfe never to bee Wife to the second; I am proud in nothing but in my humility and obedience and therein I hope I shall still both triumph and glo∣ry, and yet I farre more undervallew Palmerius wealth than you doe Morosini's vertues. If then you will not for my sake, I humblie beseech you for my Mothers sake or which is more, for Gods sake, to make mee Wife to Mo∣rosini and not to Palmerius, because my heart and mind tells me, that I shall bee as happy in the company of the one, as miserable in that of the other. In granting mee which iust desired favour and courtesie, my sovle shall become pledge and caution for my heart, and my heart for my tongue, that you shall have no true cause, either to renounce mee for your daughter, or to deny your selfe for my Father; And to conclude this my s•…•…rrowfull and humble speech, it is impossible for you to wrong mee, but you must and will extreamely wrong your selfe, by attempting and resolving to enforce mee to the con∣trary; But if yet you will not bee sensible heereof, then I invoke God to bee a just witnesse, and Iudge betweene us, of your crueltie towards mee, and of my can did innocency towards you, and my betrothed spouse Morosini.

Imperia had no sooner (with sights and teares) delivered this her speech to

her father on her knees, but (as if he had lightning in his eyes, and thunder in his tongue) he suddenly rusheth forth her company, when, more to dis∣please her than to please himselfe, hee looking backe on her, gives her this sharp answer, and cruell farewell; Minion (quoth hee) I will very shortly coole thy courage and thy tongue, and make thee know with repentance, what it is to disobey thy father, in making so much esteeme of Morosini, and so little of Seignior Palmerius, contrary to my advise and request to thee, for I say, consider well with thy selfe, and thou shalt then doe well speedily to forsake this errour and obstinacy of thine, except thou resolve to die as miserable, as I desire thou shalt live happy: Once more Girle consider and re∣member what I have now said to thee, and beware least Morosini prove thy shame, as much as Palmerius will thy glory. Imperia weeps because shee can weepe no more at these heart-killing speeches of her father to her, against her absent Morisini: So being not well she betakes her selfe to her bed, and there againe consults with God and her selfe, what she shall doe in this perturbation of minde, and affliction of heart, and then and there (with waking eyes) reads a whole nights lecture to her selfe of her obedience to her father, and her affection and constancie to the other halfe of her selfe, Morosini; when in the morning being prompted by her thoughts and desires, that shee shall receive more delights and joyes from the last, then discontents from the first, she at her up-rising resolves againe to write away for her Morosini, as hoping that his presence would easily dispell and scatter all these her clouds and tem∣pests, when dispatching a private messenger to Ancona for Mercario, she againe earnestly prayes him to undertake a second voyage for her either to Aleppo or Constantinople, to her Morosini, the which he then promiseth; so that night againe perusing over his Letter, shee then from point to point punctually makes answer to it, and the next morning very secretly gives it to Mercario in her chamber, and therewith takes off a rich bracelet of sparks of Diamonds from her right arme, and prayes him to deliver it to him as a token of her true affection and constancie, the which shee affirmes to him shall, ever live and die with her. Mercario having received his commission from Imperia, as also more Gold for the discharge and defraying of his journey, hee hires a small Brigantine to transport him to Corfu, and from thence embarques himselfe on a ship of Marseilles, which accidentally stopped there, and so sailed first to Aleppo; where being arrived in lesse than three weeks, and finding his deare friend Morosini to be Consull there for the Seigniory of Venice, he secretly de∣livereth this bracelet and Letter of Imperia to him in his study, where he was then hastily writing a dispatch for Constanti•…•…ople: But the arrivall of Mercario, who hee knew came from his dearest friend and Mistresse Imperia, (for meere joy) made him presently to cast away his hat and pen, and so to kisse and re∣ceive this her Letter and token from him, whereof with much haste, and more affection breaking up the seales, he therein found couched these ensu∣ing lines.

IMPERIA to MOROSINI.

I Had little thought (because lesse deserved) that either profit or preferment had bee•…•…e dearer to thee than Imperia, or that the Seigniory of Venice, or their Ambassador Landy had had more power to stay th•…•…e in Aleppo, than she to have requested or con∣jured thy returne to Loretto; for if my poore beauty, or rich affection to thee, bee of so l•…•… and base an esteeme, as thou preferrest thy wealth and rep•…•…tation to it, then I am as

miserable, as I thought my selfe happy in my choice, and the sweetnesse of my desires and wishes consequently have end, as soone as they received a beginning. And see what a palpa∣ble incongruity yea, what an apparant contradiction there is betweene thy heart and thy pen, sith feignedly endevouring to make me beleeve thou lovest my kisses & embraces above all the Crownes and Scepters in the world, I y•…•…t am truly enforced to see that thou lovest Turkie far better than Italy, and art well contented that Palmerius should love me bet∣ter than thy selfe for else thou wouldest never permit that my fathers tyranny to me should (in thy absence, give a law to my affection to him, or consent that Palmerius should be the Di•…•…mond, and thy selfe prove onely the faile of my heart and love: And if this ingra∣titude of thine be not a crime, I know what a crime is, nor how, nor in what tearmes to define or determine thereof. Iudge therefore with thy selfe, (at least if thou art not as wholly exempt of judgement as of love) what a poore halfe, yea, what a small part I am of thee, when by thy voluntary absence thou wilt wholly re•…•…gne me up to another, and that Palmerius must be my husband, when my heart and soule, yea, when God and his Angels well know, I desire nothing under Heaven so much, as to live and die thy Wife, or else thou wouldest not have beene so unkinde. to confine thy will, or to bound thy obsti∣nacie to no lesse than a whole yeares s•…•…questration and absence from me, which if thy heart were equall, or but the least shadow of mine, thou wouldest deeme to containe as many moneths as houres, and as many ages as moneths. But God forbid this discourtesie of thine should prove so great a cruelty to me, or before I know what belongs to fortuna∣cie, I should be constrained to feele and suffer so much infelicity. Come away therefore my deare Morosini, and my sighs, teares, and prayers shall implore the winds and Seas to prove propitious to thy speedy returne; and blame not me but thy selfe, if thy absence, and my fathers obstinacie bereave me of my sweet Morosini, and thee of thy Deare.

IMPERIA.

Morosini could not refraine from blushing at the reading of this his Mi∣stresse Imperia's Letter, as ashamed to see what an exceeding advantage her courtesie had got of his unkindnesse. He oftentimes kisseth this her Letter and bracelet, as the two sweet pledges of h•…•…r sweetest love and affection to him, the which he vowes to requite, and shortly to make his returne, redeeme and ransome the ingratitude of his long stay from her. Hee shewes this Letter of hers to his two old Camerados, Astonicus and Donato, (for their friendship and familiarity is still so great, as they cannot, they will not forsake each other) who infinitely tax. his unkindnesse, and condemne his inconstancie, in seque∣string himselfe so long from so sweet and faire a Mistresse as Imperia. Now for the space of some ten dayes Morosini feasteth his friend Mercario in Aleppo, wherein he forgets not continually to solemnize his Imperia's health in the best and richest Greeke wines; at the end whereof (very hountifully reward∣ing his love and paines, for so often crossing those dangerous Seas in his be∣halfe) he chargeth him with his Letter in answer of his, and in requitall of her bracelet of sparks of Diamonds, he returnes and sends her a faire chaine of God, and a rich Diamond Ring fastned to the end thereof, with a paire of Turkish silver embroydered bracelets, and so commits him to the mer∣cie of the winds and Seas; who in six weeks after arrives safely to Ancona, and the next morning poasts away to Loretto where repairing secretly to Bon∣dino's house, he finds out his daughter Imperia alone, solitarily walking at the farther end of the Garden among •…•…anks of Sicamour and Olive trees: Who no sooner espies Merc•…•…rio, but all her bloud flashing into her face for joy, shee

speedily trips away towards him, (who after salutes) bidding him a thousand times wellcome home, and hee giving her Morosini's Letter and token, shee clappes the last in her pocket, and hastily kissing and breaking up the seales of the first, steps aside a pace or two, and therein findes and reades these lines.

MOROSINI to IMPERIA.

THy sweet beautie, and rich affection and constancy, shall not only command my re∣solution but my selfe, and it is impossible either for my profit or reputation to give but to receive a Law thereof; for thy requests beeing to me commands, and consequently thy felicity and misery equally mine, I will therefore shorten and hasten the time of my stay and so convert a whole yeere into a few moneths: For if Imperia bee Palmerius his wife Morosini can then never bee either himselfe or his owne friend, and to write thee the life of my heart, as thou hast now the heart of thy soule, It is not the ambition of a Con∣sulary dignity, nor all the treasure of Turkie, or the Indies, which shall keepe mee from enioying of my faire and sweet Imperia, in whose divine cheekes and eyes, my heart hath imparadized, all my most soveraigne earthly felicitie; So that I not only deny but defie that Palmerius or any other of the world, is capable to love her the thousand part or so tenderly or deerely as my selfe, to whose sake and service I will still be found readie to lay downe my best blood, and to prostitute and sacrifice my deerest Life. O then my faire and sweete Imperia live therefore my deere Wife, and Morosini will assuredly dye thy loving and constant Husband, and thou shalt briefly see that I will hate ingratitude as much as thy inconsiderate Father loves and intends crueltie towards thee, and make thee as joyfull in my presence, as thou writest mee thou art afflicted and sorrowfull in my absence. I come my sweet Imperia, and if I want windes or Seas to bring mee to thy blessed presence, my sighes shall encrease the one and my teares supply and augment the other to effect it. Prepare therefore thy heart and eies to see and salute mee, as I doe mine armes and lips to embrace and kisse thee, and I both hope and rest confident, that my praiers and constancy seconded by thine, will make thy Fathers obstinacie vaine, and prove Palmerius his attempts and hopes ridiculous in thinking to have thee to his Wife, who art already mine, by choise and promise.

MOROSINI.

This Letter of Morisini, affoords no small musique to the heart, or melody to the minde of our Imperia, for shee sweetly and carefully treasureth it up in her brest and memory, and now in hope of his short returne shee leaves no Church nor Chappell in or about Loretto unfrequented to pray for it, yea shee is so religious and vertuous, as shee gives her selfe wholly to prayer, the soo∣ner to obtaine it; whiles (in the meane time) her cruell Father Bondino (con∣trary to her expectation and desires) cuts her out new worke, in resuming his old resolution to marry her to her old Lover Palmerius who still loves her so tenderly that for her sake, hee will not forsake Loretto to live in Ancona, so that heere the Reader is prayed to understand and know, that Bondino finally, (and once for all) to cast his daughter Imperia and her affection from Mor•…•…sini to Palmerius, seeing that all other meanes will not prevaile, he infinitly debarres her of her liberty, takes away from her, her chiefest apparell and jewels (the delight and glory of young Ladies and Gentlewomen) as also her best vianes and diet, and in a word intreateth her so rigorously, as (upon the matter) hee makes her more his prisoner than his Daughter. Imperia who was never here∣tofore

acquainted with such sharpe severity and course entertainement, bites her lip and hang•…•… her head hereat, But the more shee prayes her father to re∣serve her for Morosini, the more tyrannously hee commands her speedily to marry Palmerius, so that all her sighes and teares to the contrary doe rather exasperate then appease his indignation against her, and now shee findes the long stay of Morosini from her, not only to exceed her first expectation, but also his last promises to her in his Letter, and is inforced to see, that her Father is as cruell as Palmerius is obstinate and resolute in his sute to her. Shee hath nothing to comfort her but the memory and letters of Morosini, and yet no∣thing doth so much confound her hopes and patience, as her fathers crueltie in crossing this her affection. But at last dispairing of Morosini's returne, and vanquished by her Fathers tyranny, shee with an unwilling willingnesse) is in∣forced to suffer her selfe to bee overcome by him, as also to permit the walles of her affection, and the bulwarkes and fortifications of her constancy to bee battered and razed downe, by the incessant sollicitations, gifts, and prayers of Palmerius; So that forgetting her promise, and her selfe, and putting a rape on her former resolution, shee is at last contracted and married to him, or ra∣ther to the calamities and miseries which wee shall shortly see will ensue thereof.

Heere now then this old dotard Palmerius is married to faire Imperia, who esteemes himselfe as happie as shee findes her selfe unfortunate in this match. His Age is to old for her Youth, and her youth farre to young for his Age; Disparity of yeares seldome (or never) breedes any true content or felicitie in marriage. Hee cannot sufficiently estimate, much lesse deserve or requite the dainties of her youth, so that truth must heere needs implore this dis∣pensation for mee of modesty, to affirme that his chiefest power was desire; and his best performance but lust towards her, for whiles every night, as soone as he comes to bed to her, he falls to his sleepe; so poore young Gentlewoman shee turnes to her repentance, wishing (from her very heart and soule) that her husbands bed were her grave, and that her Nuptialls had beene her fune∣rall. A thousand times every day and night shee accuseth her Fathers crueltie and (with bitter sighes and teares) as often condemneth her owne levity and inconstancy for consenting thereunto. Shee can neither honour or love her husband, or rather not love him because shee so tenderly loves the person, and honoureth the memory of Morosini. Thus whiles Palmerius retaineth and en∣joyeth our Imperia in his bed, no lesse doth shee her Morosini in her heart, so that the first hath only her body, but the second wholy her minde and affecti∣on, the sorrowfull consideration and remembrance whereof, doth so torment her heart and perplexe her minde, that shee protesteth publikely to her selfe, and privatly to all the world, that there is no calamity equall to hers, nor no misery comparable to that of a discontented bed. Thus being as much a maid as a wife, and yet more a Nunne than a maid, shee makes spirituall bookes her exercise, solitarinesse her pastime, her chamber her chappell, and her closset her Oratory to pray to God to forgive her Fathers cruelty, and her husbands indiscretion towards her, as also her owne inconstancy and treachery towards Morosini, which foule ingratitude and crime of hers shee cannot remember but with extreame griefe, nor once thinke of, but with infi∣nite shame sorrow, and repentance. Although this her old husband Palmerius, bee so amorous and kinde to her, and so tender of this his faire young wife, that hee leaves no cost unbestowed on her. aswell in rich apparell, as chaines

and Iewells, wherein the Ladies and Gentlewomen of Italy chiefly pride themselves. But this was not the content and felicity which our Imperia desi∣red because deserved; because her fresh youth, and her husbands feeble and frozen Age, cast her heart on other opposite conceits, and her minde on other different contemplations.

Whiles thus Bondino and Palmerius as much rejoyce as Imperia mournes and grieves at this herunequall and discontented match, and Morisini confidently relying on the firme affection & constancy of his Imperia made his stay in Alepo, some 10. months longer than his promise to her. He at lastled by the star of her beautie and his owne affection to her, leaves Turkie, and (in company of his constant old friends Astonicus and Donato) sets saile for Italy, and purposly puts in with their ship into Ancona, where they and hee are no sooner arrived, but Mercario finding him out, entertaines him with the welcome of this sorrow∣full newes, that his Mistris Imperia is now in this Cittie of Ancona, and marri∣ed to old Signior Palmerius, whereat Morosini infinitely grieves and Astonicus and Donato much wonder. He is stricken at the heart at this sorrowfull newes, and (too too soone for him) believes it with as much affliction as admiration. By this time likewise is Imperia advertised of his and their arrivall, whereat she seemes to drowne her selfe in a whole deluge of teares; yet not for sorrow but for joy of his arrivall. He imployes Mercario to her to grant him a private visit, the which most joyfully the next night shee doth in her owne house, her old husband being in bed and snoring fast a sleepe. At Morisini's first sight and en∣trance into her chamber (where shee all alone privately stayes for him) shee throwes her selfe on her knees at his feet, and with sighes, teares, and blushes begges his pardon for her unconstancy in marrying Palmerius, the which shee no way attributes to his long stay, but rather to her fathers cruelty and her owne misfortune. Morosini is as joyfull of her sight as sorrowfull of this her errour, and so will not permit her to kneele, because hee sees and knowes, and also assureth her, that she is still the Goddesse of his heart and af∣fection. Hee takes her up in his armes, and there embraceth and freely par∣dons her, and so they reciprocally speake each to other in the sweet language of love, I meane of kisses, sighes, and teares, with the last whereof, they againe and againe, bedew and wash each others cheekes, as if love had made them far more capable to sigh than speake, and to weepe than sigh: Here their old af∣fections revive, and flame forth a new with more violence and impetuositie. Shee hath no power to deny him any thing, no not her selfe. For as he sweares to live her servant, so she constantly vowes to live and dye his handmaid, and that his will shall ever bee her Law, and his requests in all things her com∣mands. Heere his heart beates for love, and her brest pants for j•…•…y. For as he promiseth her, that shee shall bee his sole and only love; so shee willingly) forgets her selfe so farre, as solemnly to protest to him, that hee shall bee more her Husband than Palmerius, when with many embraces and kisses, they for that night part.

The next morning Morosini and his two consorts Astonicus, and Donato (by the feigned way of a rejoycing complement) doe visit his young Mistris Impe∣ria, and her old husband Palmerius, who (more out of his owne goodnesse than their deserts) bids them all most kindly and courteously welcome. They con∣gratulate with him for this his happy match with Imperia, for which, old Palmerius respectively thanks them, but he knowes not what dangerous snakes lurke under the greene leafes of this their pretended faire courtesie. As for

his Wife Imperia, shee is so reserved in her comportment, and so coy in her carriage towards them, that (according to the custome of Italy) her Husband can hardly perswade or cause her to see and salute them, the which at last shee faintly and feignedly performes, rather with an eye of disdaine than of re∣spect. They all see the young Wife with love and pity, but looke on her old Husband with contempt and envie; yet Morosini then and there in stealth sees Imperia's heart in her eyes, when in counterchange, she knowes his heart by his enamoured lookes and countenance: So Palmerius (being as innocent as aged) having discoursed with them about their voyage, and about Turkie and Constantinople, and courteously prayed them to be no strangers to him and his house, whiles the contrary winds kept them here in Ancona, which they rea∣dily and thankfully promise him, they for this time take leave each of other, Astonichus and Donato highly applauding the beauty of Imperia, and Morosini infinitely condemning and contemning the simplicity and age of her old Husband Palmerius.

But this is not all, for that very after-noone Morosini (out of the intempe∣rate heat and passion of his love) by a confident messenger sends to pray Im∣peria to meet him at three of the clocke in her Garden, which was a pretty way distant from her house, the which shee joyfully grants him; and here it is where they meet, and where I am enforced to say, that in the pavillion or banquetting house of this Garden, these our two youthfull lovers (after a thousand sweet kisses and embraces) first received each of other those amo∣rous delights and pleasures, which modesty will not, and chastity and honesty cannot permit mee to mention, as also for that these pils of sugar are most commonly candide in bitter wormwood and gall, and but too frequently prove honey to the palate, but poyson to the heart and soule.

And here in this her Garden (I say againe) was the very first time and place where our faire Imperia, who was so famous in Loretto and Ancona for her piety and chastity, forgetting the first, made shipwracke of the last, and where of a Gentlewoman of honour, shee lost her honour, by committing this her beastly sinne of sensuality and Adultery. When the winds, which were con∣trary to Morosini's voyage, proved so favourable and propitious to his lustfull desires, that he thinks of nothing lesse than of his returne to Venice, nor of any thing so much as of his stay here in Ancona, with his faire and sweet love Imperia; who likewise finds lesse content and pleasure in the company of her Husband Palmerius than she hoped for, and now farre more in her deare friend Morosini than she either dreamt or expected: In which triviall regard, and sin∣full consideration, shee (in a manner) abandons the first, and gives her selfe wholly over to the will and pleasure of the second, and so turning the custome of these their lascivious daliances into a habit, and that into a second nature, both in her Garden, and her owne house, shee very often (both by day and night) commits this bitter-sweet sinne of Adultery with Morosini, whereof a subtill young Nephew of Palmerius, of some eighteene yeares old, who was his sisters sonne, and termed Richardo, takes exact and curious notice, and once among the rest hee peeps in at the key-hole of his Aunts chamber doore, and there sees her and Seignior Morosini on the bed together, and in no lesse familiarity than was requisite, or could be expected betwixt his Unkle her Husband Palmerius and her selfe; whereupon secretly envying and hating her, because he was afraid shee should beare away all, or at least the greatest part of his said Unkles Estate and wealth from him, (who for want of chil∣dren,

hoped that he therefore should be his adopted heire) he therefore mali∣tiously beares the remembrance of this object & accident in his mind, with an intent that when occasion should hereafter present the report and knowledge thereof to his said Unkle, might justly cause him wholly to heave and raze her out of his good opinion & affection. As for Morosini and Imperia, they (not∣withstanding all this) doe still strongly endeavour to bleare the eyes of her Husband Palmerius, who (thinking his wife to be as chaste as faire, and rather a Diana than a Lais) out of his good nature doth sometimes in his house feast Morosini, and his two Consorts Astonicus and Donato: But they will prove pernitious and fatall guests to him, for ere long we shall see them require this hospitality and courtesie of his, with a prodigious and treacherous ingrati∣tude. In which meane time all Ancona resounds of the great expence and profuse prodigality of Morosini, and his two associates, for they here revell it out in the best Tavernes and companies of the City, and not onely exceed others, but also themselves, in the richnesse and bravery of their apparell, but most especially Morisini, whose apparell is every way fitter for an Italian No∣bleman, than a Venetian Merchant. Our lustfull and lascivious Imperia is ne∣ver well contented or pleased but in his presence, and her Husbands absence; and here to relate the truth of her heart, Morosini is more her Husband than Palmerius, or rather Palmerius is but the shadow, and Morosini the essentiall sub∣stance of her Husband, and therefore (I desire the Reader to know and re∣member) that in that regard and consideration I have purposely entituled this History not to be of Palmerius and Imperia but of Morosini and Imperia.

Morosini, Astonicus, and Donato (in their lodging and chambers) have many times many private speeches and conferences, what pity it is that so sweet and faire a young Gentlewoman as Imperia, should (by the constraint of her un∣kinde and cruell father) thus bee clogged and chained in mariage to so old a dotard as Palmerius, (for a more favourable Epithite their vanity and folly could not afford to give him) and Morosini (in the dumbe eloquence and Lo∣gicke of Imperia's sighs and teares) apparantly beleeves that (in her heart and soule) she infinitely desireth and wisheth that Palmerius were in Heaven, and himselfe now her Husband here on earth in his place: He reads as much in her looks and countenance, and is therefore confident that her heart and ambi∣tion aspire to no sweeter earthly felicity. Hee hath not lost his wit in his affe∣ction, nor wholly drowned his judgement, either in the fresh Roses and Lil∣lies of her beauty, or in the resplendent lustre of those sparkling Diamonds and starres, her eyes. He knowes that his Estate is farre inferiour to his birth and extraction, and yet that his prodigalities and expences (both in Turkie and Italy) are farre superiour and above his Estate: He would faigne (there∣fore) finde out the meanes to beare up his port, and consequently to preserve his reputation with the whole world, the which he esteemes equall to his life, if not above it. Hee knowes that Imperia is already more his Wife than her Husbands, and is very confident that he can make her apt for any impression, and capable of any designe, which may advance his owne fortunes, and con∣firme both their contents, whereunto conjoyning the sweetnesse of her beauty the excellencie of her feature, and the exceeding great wealth of her old Husband, hee adding all these considerations together, they here weigh him downe to Hell & Satan, by terminating his thoughts and fixing his heart upon this hellish resolution, to send him speedily to Heaven in a bloudy winding sheet; and no other charitable thought, or Christian consideration

can divert him from this inhumane and bloudy project, neither can hee pos∣sibly reape any truce of his thoughts, or peace of his heart, before hee have attempted and finished it.

To which end, the very next night that he lay and wantonized in bed with his Imperia (for God knowes her old Husband lay but seldome with her) and finding her extraordinarily to sigh, hee layes hold of this advantage, and op∣portunitie, and very earnestly demands of her what ayles her, where at her tongue then fled to her heart, because her heart was then flying from God to the Divell, so shee continues her sighing, but is still mute and returnes him no answer. Till at last Morosini suspecting that in her which his hopes desired, and his desires hoped for, then I say what his demands could not obtaine of her his kisses doe, when swearing him to secresie, shee) after many farre fetcht fighes) tells him; that shee loves him so deerly and tenderly, as for his sake shee either wisheth her selfe in her grave or her husband Palmerius in Heaven which is the sweet musique and melody that Morosini expects, and which to his unexpressable joy hee now receives from her, when paying her the prin∣cipall and interest of this her deerest Love and affection towards him, with many kisses; he passionately intreates her, that shee will imploy him to finish this pleasing tragedy, but shee is againe mute hereat, and therefore hee againe more earnestly entreates her to conferre this favour on him; Who then taking counsell of her Lust, and of Hell, shee grants his first request here∣in with silence, but his second with a free and cheerefull consent. When as two wretched and bloody miscreants) they reciprocally sweare secresie herein each to other, as also that they wil speedily dispatch him, and so in a very short time after marry each other & no longer live in Ancona but in Venice. But what a fatall, what a hellish contract was this, which they equally confirme as well with oathes as kisses, and how at one time do I pitty both their youth & folly, and hate their obscence affections each to other; and their foule crimes unto God herein. They cannot content themselves with lust but with blood, for they are so resolutely inhumane and impious, as they will needs adde murther to adultery, as if one of these two foule sinnes were not enough sufficient to make both of them wretched in this life, if not miserable in that to come; but the Devill is so strong with them as they vow to advance, and disdaine to re∣tire in the perpetration of this deplorable businesse; So from the matter they proceed to the manner hereof. Morosini proposeth poyson, but Imperia rejects this his opinion, as being dangerous both in the procuring, and administring When she propoundeth to have him stifled by night in his bed, to the which after two or three pauses and consideratious, hee will and freely consenteth. So heereon they both doe finally agree and resolve. But because Morosini knowes his Imperia to be a wife and weake woman, and therefore fitter for counsell than execution, and himselfe alone peradventure not strong enough (with safetie) to performe it without some other mens assistance, he therefore tells her that hee will likewise engage his faithfull friends and companions Astonicus and Donato herein. But Imperia is extreamely against it, as grounding her apprehension and feare upon this Maxime. That as one is more capable and proper to keepe counsell then two, so consequently are two than foure. But when (in answere hereof) he vowes and sweares to her that they they are no lesse his faithfull friends and servants than hee hers; then (with much alacrity and joy) shee yeelds thereunto, so they confirming this their agreement with many oathes, and sealing it with a world of kisses

hee leaves this his faire sweet-heart in bed, and at breake of day departs from her, and so hies him home to his owne Lodging to his two companions Asto∣nicus and Donato, who (the premises considered) doe perfectly know, at what midnight Masse he hath beene, what shrine he hath visited, and what Saint a∣dored and prayed to.

Some three houres after they all call for their breakfasts, the which as soone as they have taken and ended, (for still as yet the winde is contrary for them to set saile for Venice) Morosini prayes them forthwith to walke with him up to the Domo (or Cathedrall Church) of that Cittie which stands over it on a high rockie Hill, and there proudly lookes up toward, the Mountaines of Lo∣retto, and Recagnati, and downe to the azurd plaines and valleyes of the A∣driatique Sea (whereon Boreas rings his Northerne peales, and Neptune danceth his Southerne Lavolta's.) So here in this famous Church, (which was built for offering up religious prayers to God, and not for making up bloody conferen∣ces and contracts to, and with the Devill) Morosini first acquaints them with this businesse, and with his, and his Imperia's most earnest prayers, and affe∣ctionate requests for their assistance therein; Sith the life of her old doating Husband was no lesse their affliction and misery, then this his death would in∣fallibly prove their prosperity, triumph and glory, because shee was formerly contracted to himselfe, long before hee marryed her: which shee was enfor∣ced and constrained to doe through the cruelty and tyrannie of her Father. Now as their needs not many good words and perswasions to base hearts, and polluted and prophane soules, who of themselves are already disposed to wic∣kednesse, and prepared to sinfull actions. So (because of Morosini's old friend∣ship and familiarity, of Imperias beauty, and her old Husband Palmerius his ex∣ceeding great wealth and riches) these two gracelesse wretches Astonicus and Donato doe cheerefully promise Morosini, the very utmost of their possible powers for the accomplishment heereof, whereon they all three doe there solemnly and interchangeably give their hands and oathes as also for eternall secresie. Which done they returne to their Lodging; and at dinner (when they had purposly sent away their Servants, as also those of the house) they in very great glasses of Albania wine, doe on their knees drinke healths to the prosperitie of this their intended great busines: The which after dinner Mo∣rosini (with much ioy) fully relates to his Imperia, and shee (for her part) under∣stands and receives it from him with no lesse delight and exhileration. When being (as strongly seduced & provoked by their lacivious desires, as they were meerely propagated and engendered by the Devill who was the first and sole Author thereof, impatient of all delayes they conclude to finish this busi∣nesse the second night after, which (as I have beene credibly informed in An∣cona) was the very Eve of the purification of the blessed Uirgin Mary so famous and famoused in Loretto, and hereon these our two lustfull and lewd Lovers Morosini and Imperia doe give and take exact and curious directions each from other, both of the houre and the manner thereby the better to dispatch it, with lesse danger, and more assurance and facilitie; And they are so lascivious in their wishes, so vaine and prophane in their hopes, so cruell and in humane in their desires, and so fierce and bloody in their resolutions, as they thinke every houre an age before they see it effected.

All this while our innocent and harmelesse old Palmerius, albeit hee have the will but not the power to please his young wife Imperia by night, yet by day (yea and almost every day) hee hath hoth the power and will to bestow

some rich gifts and presents on her, and to raine downe showers of Gold into her lap, as Iove did to his faire Danae, and as one way hee held it his felicity to gaze & contemplate on the excellency of her pure beautie, so againe he made it his delight and glory to see her flant it out in rich and brave apparell, and al∣so to provide her the most rarest Viands and dantiest dyet that gold or silver could procure. But poore Palmerius (all this cost and courtesie of thine to thy Wife notwithstanding) I am enforced to write with equall pitty to thee, and shame to her, little dost thou conceive or thinke, what a dangerous Cockatrice or pernitious Viper thou harbourest in harbouring her in thy House, thy Bed, thy Bosome.

The dismall night being now come, which these foure execrable person; have designed and destined for the finishing of this deplorable businesse. It is no sooner twelve of the Clocke by Morosini's watch, but hee with Astonicus and Donato (with their Rapiers and Pistols without any light) iffue forth their Lodging, and presently trip away to Palmerius house, where (according to promise) they find the street doore a little open and Imperia (as a fury of hell) there readie to receive them, when although it were a time and place farmore fitter for them to tremble than kisse; yet so fervent is the fire of Morosini & Im∣perias lascivious and furious affection; as they cannot yet refraine from giving each other one, or two at least. When leaving Donato (with his Rapier drawn) closewithin the doore, to guard and make it good against all opposing and in∣tervening accidents, Morosini leades Imperia by her right arme, and Astonicus by the left, and so for the more securitie (purposely) leaving their shoes below with Donato, and drawing on wollen pumpes, they all three ascend the staires when shee with wonderfull silence) first conducts them to her owne Cham∣ber (which was some two distant from her (Husbands) where the windowes being close shut, and a small waxe candle burning on her table, and her prayer booke by it wherein (still expecting the houre of midnight) shee silently read whiles the Divell held the candle to her, shee there gives each of them a pil∣low to worke this damnable fact, having silently given such order, that her Husbands Nephew Richardo, and all the Servants of the house, were gone to bed above three houres before: Thus this treacherous Shee-Devill Imperia (for I can no more tearme her a woman, much lesse a wife, and least of all a Christian) is the fatall guide to bloody Morosini and Astonicus, who brings them first to the doore of her old Husband Palmerius his Chamber, which shee had purposly left a little open, and then to his bed, who is deeply and sound∣ly sleeping in his innocency towards them, as they were but too too wide wa∣king in their inveterate malice against him, shee keeping the doore, and Moro∣sini standing by one side of the bed and Astonicus by the other, they there in regard of his impotency and weakenesse) doe easily stifle him to death, not so much as suffering him either once to cry or screech, and then to make sure worke, they speedily and violently thrust a small Orenge into his mouth, thereby the better to cover and colour out this their villany to the world in making all men beleeve, that it was Palmerius himselfe, who had put that Orenge into his owne mouth thereby purposely to destroy himselfe, when leaving his breathlesse body in his bed, they secretly issue forth the Chamber and shee drawes fast the door after her, and so descends with them down the staires to the street doore, where with much triumphs ioy, and thankes be∣tweene them all; Morosini giving his Imperia many kisses, and shee desiring them all three immediately to repaire to their Lodgings, and not to stirre

thence till they heare from her, which she promiseth Morosini shall be as soone as conveniently and possibly shee can, they depart home. When she first softly bolting the street doore, and then her owne chamber doore, shee presently (with much security and no repentance) betakes her selfe to her bed, where (vilde wretch that shee is) shee no more wakes for griefe at the life, but now sleepes for joy at the death of her old doating Husband Palmerius. But wee shall not goe farre before we see God convert these her triumphes into teares and this her false joy into true misery and confusion for the same, The man∣ner thus.

Whiles Morosini, Astonicus, and Donato, doe in their lodging for joy of this their bloudy fact, carowse the remainder of the night, and the next morning keepe their beds till nine of the cloke, without once thinking of God or hea∣ven, or of fearing either Hell or Satan. Imperia putting an Angells face on her divellish heart, goes (according to her accustomed manner) about sixe of the clocke in the morning away with her waiting maid, and her prayer booke and beades in hand to heare Masse at Saint Francis (which is the gray Fryers) Church neere to the Iewes Street, with an intent to stay there in her Orai∣sons till past eight. But let the reader judge with what a prophane zeale, and prodigious and impious devotion shee doth it, as also farther know, that God who is the great Iudge of Heaven and Earth (in his sacred Iustice) is now re∣solved to bring this lamentable murthering of Palmerius to detection and light and to proclaime and publish it to the sight and knowledge of the world by a way no lesse strange than remarkeable.

Within lesse than halfe an houre that Imperia went away to Masse to Saint Francis Church, an Innekeeper of Loretto who dwelt there at the signe of the Crowne named Antonio Herbas, arrives there in Ancona to Palmerius house with a letter for him from his Father Bondino, who speaking with his Nephew Richardo, hee delivereth and sendeth up the Letter to his Vnckle, who then opening the lat•…•…h of his chamber doore, he no sooner entereth but with his foote hee stumbles at a paire of rich gloves, which taking up and knowing them to belong to Seignior Morosini, because some two or three daies together he had seene him weare them, he with a smile claps them into his pocket, and so giving his Uncle the good morow, he advanceth up to his bed to deliver him this Letter; When withdrawing the curtaines he (contrary to his expectation) findes him dead, and well neere cold in his bed with a whole small Orenge in his mouth, wherat he makes so lamentable and sorrowfull an outcry, that the noise thereof brings up two Servants of the house to enquire and know what the cause thereof might be. Who being likewise sad specta∣tors of this their masters sodaine and unfortunate death, they conceieve and beleeve, that hee had voluntarily stopped his owne breath, and destroyed himselfe by putting this Orenge in his mouth, and that his face being blacke and swollen, was only his owne strugling for life against death; which opi∣nion of theirs in common sence and reason was probable enough, if God had not here resolved to disprove it, in verifying and making apparant the contra∣ry. For Richardo (who was of a pregnant wit, and of a sharpe and quicke ap∣prehension) considering that these were Morosini's gloves which hee found there in his Vncles chamber; And his memory now telling his heart, what la∣scivious daliances and obscene embraces and familiarity his eyes had lately seene and known between him, and his Aunt Imperia, as also that God hereto∣fore prompted and informed his soule, that they both had an equall share and

hand in this lamentable murther of his Uncle, and that it was farre better for him justly to ruine her now, then she unjustly to begger him hereafter. Hee therefore (with teares in his eyes) prayes the Servants to stay a little while in the Chamber with his dead Vncle till his returne; and then with those gloves in his pocket, and this letter in his hand) hee speedes away to the Po∣destate (or criminall Iudge) of this Cittie named Seignior Loudovicus Ceranno and in a passionate and sorrowfull speech makes him know as much as himself knowes of this lamentable murther of his Vncle Palmerius, for the which hee strongly chargeth Morosini and his said Aunt Imperia to bee the Author and Actor, and so craves Iustice on them both for the same. This grave personage is very sorrowfull at this lamentable accident, and likewise at this relation and accusation of Richardo, aswell for the manner thereof, as for the qualitie of the persons who he heares, and feares are interested herein, when walking a turne or twodeeply contemplating hereon in his chamber, he sits himselfe down in his Chaire, and then (bidding Richardo approach neerer to him) he seriously de∣mands of him these foure Questions. First if he were assured that these were Morosini's gloves, to which Richardo answered he perfectly knew them to bee his, for that hee had seene him weare them three or foure severall times. Se∣condly, where Morosini was lodged in that Cittie, whereat he replyed that he and his two associates Astonicus and Donato, lay at the signe of the ship upon the Kaye; Thirdly, where he thought his Aunt Imperia now was, whereat he tells him, shee is now in Saint Francis Church in her devotions, and fourthly what letter that was which hee held fast sealed in his hand, when hee also infor∣med him, that this was the very same Letter, which hee formerly told him of, the which Signior Bandino (the Father to his Aunt Imperia) sent to his Vncle this morning from Loretto, by an Innekeeper of that Towne named Antonio Herbas, whom he said hee had brought along with him to affirme so much, the which being called up before the Podestate, hee upon his corporall oath did so, when the Podestate taking that Letter from Richardo, and breaking up the seales thereof, hee findes it to speake this language.

BONDINO to PALMERIVS.

IT was a sensible griefe to me, when I first heard of Morosini's arrivall from Turkie to Ancona; But farre the greater, when I since understand of his long and lingring stay there, and to write thee the truth of my heart, my thoughts by day, and my dreames by night doe still prompt and assure mee, that as it is likely hee will attempt some thing against the Chastity of thy wife my Daughter, so it is not impossible for him likewise to plot somewhat against thine owne life, for by Nature and inclination I heare he is very malitious and revengefull. If he depart speedily to Venice, then burne this Letter in An∣cona (which I now send the there by my Neighbour Antonio Herbas) But if he farther protract his stay there, then speedily bring thy selfe, and thy wife away to me here in Lo∣retto; where my House shall be a Sanctuary for her, and a Castle and Cittadel for thy self: sleight not this my carefull, and tender advise to thee, but rather resolve with considence, that as God gave it first to my heart, so from my Heart I most affectionately now send it to thee.

BONDINO.

The Podestate being ascertained of all these Evidences, from the confession of Richardo, the gloves of Morosini, the Letter of Bondino, and the acknowledg∣ment of Herbas, although hereupon hee verily beleeves that Palmerius was sti∣fled

in his bed by his Wife Imperia and her lover Morosini, yet (as a wise Iudge and a prudent magistrate) hee will informe his knowledge of one important point more, for the better disquisition and vindication of the truth of this de∣plorable businesse. Hee will not send any subordinate Officer, but a private friend of his to the Hoast of the Ship upon the Key, where Morosini lodged, whose name hee now knowes to bee Stephano Fundi, and that (in favour of a cup of Wine) hee should courteously allure him home to his house and pre∣sence, the which that friend of his performes, where the Podestate then told him, that hee hath beene informed by divers, that hee is an honest man, and therefore in friendly sort hee prayes him to answer him the truth of three de∣mands which he shall make unto him. First if Morosini and his friends Astonicus and Donato lay in his house all the last night, or if not, when they went abroad, and at what houre returned. When Fundi (performing his duty & reverence to the Podestate) tells him, that they all three, went forth of his house together the last night with their Rapiers without any lights, a little after twelve of the clocke and returned home againe a little before two as neere as hee could guesse. Secondly, the Podestate shewes him the gloves, and askes of him if he thought these were Morosini's to the which he answered, he did assure himselfe they were, for that he had many times seene him weare them. Thirdly he en∣quires of him if he knew where Morosini, Astonicus, and Donato now were; wher∣unto he made answer, that after they came home to his house the last night, they merrily carowsed and dranke in their Chamber till sixe of the clocke in the morning; that they then went to their beds, and there as yet, they all lay soundly sleeping. The Podestate having thus happily cleered all these rubs he makes no doubt they were the murtherers of Palmerius, and therfore resolves speedily to lay sure hold of them all. But hee is so solid and wise in his admini∣stration of justice, as he will adde subtiltie to his power, and discretion to his authority. First therefore in friendly manner he confines Fundi to a chamber here in his owne House to prevent that hee should not returne home to tell tales to Morosini and his associates. Then hee presently sends away two of his owne Sonnes who were gallant young Gentlemen, named Seignior Alexan∣dro and Thomaso Ceranno (who were ignorant of all this matter) with his coach to Saint Francis Church, and when they there see the faire Gentlewoman Im∣peria to issue forth, then in courteous manner not to faile to bring her away in coach with them to his House, under pretext and coulour that the Lady Hono∣ria their mother doth desire to see and speak with her, and that she will please to passe one houre with her in her garden, with whom, and where she (by the way of visits) had formerly sometimes beene. These two young Gentlemen (in obedience to their fathers commands) drive away to that Church, and pre∣sently espie Imperia on her knees who now riseth and goes forth, they fol∣low her, and in the street with their hats in their hands do present their Lady Mothers request and errand to her, as wee have formerly heard. Imperia knowing them to bee the Podestates two Sonnes, shee at first is so infinitly perplexed, grieved and amazed hereat. Yea shee is hereupon vexed and tor∣mented in so strange a manner, that with much perturbation of mind, she now (through her foule and guilty conscience) looks pale for sorrow, and present∣ly red againe for shame, so that in the turning of a hand, and twinckling of an eye shee exchangeth the Lillies of her cheekes into Roses, and those Roses as soone againe into Lillies. But then (fearing her danger least when shee had all the reasons of the world both to doubt and feare it most) considering that

the Podestate and the Lady his wife were her kinde and honourable good friends, and had now sent their coach for her, as also observing the faire carri∣age, and courteous language of these two her young sonnes towards her. Shee then (being blinded by the Devill) doth so wholly forget both her crime and her danger, her judgement and her selfe, that rejecting her feare, and compo∣sing her countenance to a modest cheerefullnesse, she willingly obeyes the mothers commands, and accepts of the Sonnes courtesie and so goes along home with them in their Coach, where being arrived. These two young Gentlemen, doe usher and conduct her up to the gallery, where not the Lady their Mother, but the Podestate their father, (accompanied with two other grave Officers of Iustice attend her comming. Their very first sight is suffici∣ently capable to daunt her courage with feare, and to transpierce her heart and soule with sorrow; When the Podestate calling her to him, hee with a sterne countenance gives her this thundering peale for her goodmorrow and breakefast. That hee is sorry to see that so faire a Gentlewoman as her selfe, should harbour and enshrine so foule a heart. That her good old Husband Seignior Palmerius is this morning found stifled to death in his bed with an Orenge in his mouth, and that he both thinkes and assures himselfe, it is done by her, and by her bloody Ruffian and Enamourato Morosini, for the which he saith he is constrained (in honour to justice) to make her Prisoner to the Pope his holinesse, his Soverainge Lord and Master, wherat this false Hipocrite Im∣peria (with a world of sighes and teares cries out and tells him, that she left her old Husband Palmerius in perfect health in his bed this morning, that therfore shee hopeth and trusteth in God hee is not murthered, or if hee bee, that it must needs bee done by his wretched Nephew Richardo, who impatiently ga∣ped and hoped for his great wealth and riches, or else by some Devill in his shape, of his seducing and hiring him therunto. That Morosini is not her Ruffian or Enamourato, but a brave marchant by his profession, & an Honorable Gen∣tleman of Venice by birth and extraction, and that shee dares pawne her life for his that they are both of them as innocent of this foule crime, as the infants who were borne but the last night, and that shee hath farre more reason to weepe for the death of her husband, than any way to feare her owne life, be∣cause shee knowes that God is the defender of innocents, and the protector of the righteous, with many other passionate and sorrowfull speeches con∣ducting and looking that way; but these her speeches and teares cannot pre∣vaile with the Podestate, for both hee and his two collegues doe yet firmely beleeve that shee is guilty of this inhumane murther; So he imprisoneth her in a chamber of his owne house for that day, and intends at night to send her to the common Goale of that Citty. Now as shee is led along betwene two Ushers (or Serjeants) through a lower roome, where all the Podestates Ser∣vants and some few others of the Citty were flocked thither to see her passe by, shee infinitly more caring for her Morosini's life, and fearing his death than her own, it is her chance to espy Mercario (whom we have formerly understood shee sent with her Letters to him to Constantinople and Aleppo, and knowing that the Serjeants would then difficultly permit her to speake with any of the company, shee amidst her teares be thinkes herselfe of a pretty policy; for as shee past close by Mercario shee purposly lets fall her gloves and wet hand∣kerchiefe for him to take up, the which he doth; and as hee was stooping to effect it, shee secretly and swiftly rounds him in his eare thus. I pray goe in∣stantly upon the Kaye to Morosini's lodging, and tell him that I am a prisoner

in the Podestates house, for the businesse hee knowes of, and herefore that he (and Astanicus and Donato) doe speedily provide for their safety; as also that if I had a thousand lives I would willingly lose and sacrifice them all for to pre∣serve his, and that I will live and dye his most loving friend and faithfull hand∣maide, the which as soone as shee had uttered, shee is imprisoned in a darke Chamber: where shee hath none but her guilty conscience, the bare walles, and the two Serieants for her miserable comforters; and yet here (thinking to breath and draw some hope among all her dispaire and sorrowes she praies one of the Serjeants to report her humble service to the Lady Honoria the Po∣destates Wife, and to pray her to oblige and honour her so much as to see and speake a word with her. But she having beene informed by the Iudge her hus∣band that he absolutly held and beleeved her to be the murtherer of her own Husband Seignior Palmerius, shee was too Honourable to grant Imperia this courtesie, and therefore (in detestation of her foule fact) highly disdained to afford her this charitie and consolation, and so slatly denies either to see or speake with her.

And now doe the Podestate, and his two Colleagues sit and debate in councell with themselves, how and in what manner to surprise Morosini, Asto∣nicus, and Donato, for although they are not sure, yet by their absence the last night from their lodging with Morosini they thinke that they two are Acces∣saries with him herein; First, they are of opinion to seize on their ship, which is at anchor in the Roade, termed the Realto of Venice (a name I thinke deri∣ved and taken from the marchants Exchange of that ci•…•…ty tearmed the Real∣to, or else from the Realto Bridge, which (for one Arche) is doubtlesse the rarest, fairest, and richest Bridge of the world) which ship was of some three hundred Tonnes, and bore some twenty peeces of Ordinance, and then pre∣sently after to seize on themselves in their Lodging. But upon more mature deliberation, they resolve to abandon this their opinion, and so to seize on their persons, but not to arrest or make stay of their Ship and although their reale to justice, and hast for their apprehension be very great, yet Mercario out of his respects to Imperia and affection to Marosini tripped on through the by Streetes and neerest way to the Key so swiftly, as hee had allready secretly re∣lated him and his two consorts the sorrowfull newes which Imperia sent them by him. Whereat with feare in their hearts and courages, and amazement in their lookes and countenances, they all three leape from their beds to their swords, discharge their Inne, packe up their Truncks and bagage and resolve with all possible speed to flie to their ship, and then if not with, yet against the windes to put into Sea, and for their safetie to leave Ancona, and saile for Ve∣nice. But yet here Morosini's heart is perplexed with a thousand Torments to understand of his Imperia's eminent and apparant danger, and with many Hels in stead of one to see that hee must now thus sodainly leave her deere sight and company, which hee every way esteemes no lesse then either his earthly felicity, or his Heaven upon earth. But here againe violently called away by the importunate cries of Astonicus and Donato, and yet farre more by the consi∣deration of his owne proper feare and danger; Mercario is no sooner stollen away from them, but they all three with their swords drawne rush downe the stayres with equall intents and resolution to exchange their Inne for their Ship, and thereby to metamorphose their danger into security; But they shall see that these weake and reeling hopes of theirs will now deceive them. For they finde all doores of their Inne lockt within •…•…ide, and surrounded and be∣leagured

without, with many armed Serjeants Soldiours, and Citizens for their apprehension: And although Morosini, Astonicus and Donato, were so inflamed with their youthful bloud and courage, as they were once generously resolved to sell their lives deerely, and with their Pistolls, and Swords to prefer an ho∣nourable to an infamous death, yet being farre overmastered with numbers and therefore enforced to take a Law of the stronger; Whereunto they the sooner hearken and consent, in regard the Serjeants and officers doe politick∣ly cry out to them, and pray them to yeeld, as affirming that to their knowledg their resolution and feare doth far exceed the danger of their offences. They make a vertue of necessity, and unlocking the doores of their In and chambers do cheerfully yeeld up their persons, pistolls and swords to the Popes Officers of Iustice, who as soone conveigh them all three to the common prison of that Citty, which was the same wherein our not so sorrowfull as unfortunate Impe∣ria was already entred, and where to her unexpressible griefe, and Morosini's unparalel'd affliction & disconsolation, such exact charge was given of the Po∣destate, and such curiousheed observed and taken of the Goaler, that he could not possibly be permitted either to see or speak with her, or she with him, the which indeed they conceived to be farre more sharp than their crime, and in∣finitly more bitter than the consideration either of their feare or danger.

Now the newes of these lamentable Accidents being speedily posted from Ancona to Loretto, our Imperia's cruell Father Bondino no sooner is ascertained thereof. But seeing his sonne in law Palmerius murthered in his bed, and his wife and his own only daughter Imperia (with her Ruffian Morosini and his two consorts) to be imprisoned as the Authors, and actors thereof, hee for the love hee bore to her life and the tender pitty and sorrow hee felt of the infamy of her approaching death, sodainly falls sicke, and dies; Wherof his imprisoned Daughter Imperia understanding, shee (in regard of his former severity to∣wards her) is so much passionate, and so little compassionate as shee rather re∣joyceth than lamenteth at it; Onely shee prayes God to forgive his soule of that crueltie of his in enforcing her to marry Palmerius, which shee knowes to bee the the originall cause, and fatall cloud from whence have proceeded al•…•… these dismall stormes of affliction, and tempests of untimely death, which shee feares must very shortly befall both her selfe, and her second selfe Mo∣rosini.

Whiles thus Astonicus and Donato grieve at their hard fortune and danger, and Morosini and Imperia doe reciprocally more lament and sorrow for their separation then for their imprisonment, and that the Podestate and other offi∣cers of Iustice of Ancona are resolved first to informe the Pope, and then to ex∣pect his holinesse pleasure for the arraignment, and punishment of these foure prisoners, it pleased God, exceedingly to visit the towne of Loretto, and espe∣cially the Cittie of Ancona with the Plague, wherof many thousands in a few moneths were swept away, so by speciall commission and order from Rome, they (in company of divers other Prisoners) are conveyed to the citty of Po∣legnio, two small dayes journey from Ancona and there to be arraigned and tri∣ed upon their lives and deaths; At which time as they past by the old, little,. Citie of Tolentino where I then (in my intended travells towards Rome) lay u∣pon my recovery of a burning feaver; When I say the nature of their crimes, and the quality of their persons made my curiosity so ambitious, as to see and obserue them in their severall chambers of the Inne where they that night lay which was at the signe of the Popes armes, as for Astonicus and Donato I found

them to be rather sad than merry; Morosini to be farre more merry then wise, and Imperia to bee infinitly more faire than fortunate, and all of them to bee lesse sorrowfull for their affliction and danger, than for the cause thereof.

Within three houres of their arrivall to Folig•…•…io they are all foure convented before the two criminall Judges, who are purposly sent from Rome thither and are there, and then severally charged with this foule murther of stifling, to death the old Signior Palmerius in his bed which all and every one of them apart doe stifly deny. Notwithstanding that Fundt the hoast, and Richardo the Nephew, give in evidence of strong presumption against them, and also not∣withstanding of Morosini's gloves and Bondino's letter written to his Sonne in law Palmerius, and delivered by Herbas as we have formerly understood. But these two grave and prudent Iudges, yet strongly suspecting the contrary, they will not be deluded with the airy words, and sugred speeches and prote∣stations of their pretended innocency, but consult between themselves what here to resolve on for the vindication of this truth; So at last they hold it expedient and requisite first to expose Astonicus to the torments of the Racke, the which (hee being a strong and robustuous man) hee endureth, with a firme resolution and constancy every way above himselfe, and almost beyond beliefe, and still confesseth nothing, but his innocency and ignorance of this deplorable fact, whereof the Judges resting not yet satisfied, they within an houre after adjudge Donato to the tortures of the Scarpines, who being a little timbred man, of a pale complexion and weake constitution of body, his right foote no sooner feeles the unsufferable fury of the fire, and his tormen∣tors then confidently promising him all desired favour from his Iudges if hee will confesse the truth, but after some sorrowfull teares, and pittifull cries hee fully and amply doth, and in the same manner and forme, as in all its cir∣cumstances we have formerly understood. The which when the Iudges heare of, they cannot refraine, first from admiring and wondering there at, and then from lamenting that personages of their ranke and quality should bee the Au∣thors and Actors of so foule and lamentable a murther especially of this faire Gentlewoman Imperia to her owne good old husband Palmerius. Now by this time also are Morosini, Imperia and Astonicus acquainted with this fatall confessi∣on and accusation of Donato against them for this murther, wherat they do in∣finitely lament & grieve, because they are therby perfectly assured that it hath infallibly made them all three liable, and obnoxious to death, as also for that their supposed firme friend Donato proved himself so false a man, and so true a coward to be the cause therof, wherin they so much forget themselves, as they doe not once thinke, and they will not therefore remember, that the detecti∣on of this their foule murther proceeded immediatly from Heaven, and originally from the providence and justice of the Lord of Hostes.

The very same after noone, the Iudges send for Morosini, Imperia and Astoni∣cus to appeare before them in their publike tribunall of Iustice, where they first acquaint and charge them with Donatos confession and accusation against them for murthering of Palmerius, whereat they are so farre from being any way dismayed ordanted, as they all doe deny, and re•…•…ell his accusation, and so in high tearmes doe stand upon their innocency, and iustification. But when they see Donato brought into the court in a chaire, (for his fiery torments of the Scarpines, had so cruelly scorched, and pittifully burnt away the flesh of the sole of his right foote almost to the bone that he was wholly vnable either to goe or stand) and that they were to be confronted face to face with him, as

also they being also hotly terrified and threatned by the iudges with the tor∣ments of the Racke and Scarpines, then God was so gratious to their hearts and so mercifull to their soules, that they looking mournefully each at other, shee weeping, and they sighing, and all of them dispairing of life, and too per∣fectly assured of death, they all confesse the whole truth of this foule fact of theirs, and so confirme as much as Donato had formerly affirmed of this their bloody crime of murthering Pal•…•…rius in his bed; when one of these two re∣verend and grave Iudges immediately thereupon doe condemne them all foure to be hanged the next morning at the common place of execution of that cittie: although Donato because of his confession hereof (in vaine) flatte∣red himselfe that he should receive a pardon for his life; So they are all sent backe to their prison from whence they came, where all the courtesie which the importunate requests of Morosini, and the incessant sighes and teares of Im∣preia an obtaine of their Iudges is that they grant them an houre of time to see, converse, and speak one with the other that night in prison, in presence of their Goalers, and some other persons before they dye. When Morosini being guided towards her chamber, such is the weakenesse of his religion to∣wards God; and the fervency (or rather the exorbitancy) of his affection to∣wards her that as he passeth from chamber to chamber, he is so far from once thinking much lesse fearing of death, as he absolutely beleeves he is going to a Victory, and a triumph, here Moro•…•…ni with a world of sighes throwes himself into his Imperia's neck & brest; and here Imperia with a whole deluge of teares embraceth and encloystereth her •…•…orosini in her armes, when after a thou∣sand kisses they beg pardon one of another, or being the essentiall and actuall cause each of others death, and doe enterchangeably both kisse and speake, sometimes privately, and most times publikely before the spectators, that if those reports be true which I first heard therof in Tolentino next in Folignio, and lastl•…•… in Rome, I say to depaint and represent it at life in all its circumstances, I should then begin a second history, when I am now on the very point and pe∣riod to end the first, neither in my conceit is it a taske either proper for me to undertake or pertinent for my pen to performe, because (to speak freely and ingeniously) I hold the grant and permission of this their amorous visit & en∣terview in prison before they dye, to be every way more worthie of the pittie than of the gravity or piety of their Iudges. If therefore I doe not content the curiositie, I yet hope I shall satisfie the judgement of my Christian Rea∣der, here briefly to signifie this their limited houre is no sooner past, but to the sharpe affliction of Morosini, the bitter anxiety of Imperia, they by their Goalers are separated and confined to their severall chambers, where (by the charity of their Iudges) they finde two Friers and two Nuns attending them, to pre∣pare their soules for Heaven, and in a lesse vaine, and a more serious and religi∣ous conference to entertaine both their time, and themselves, from an Earth∣ly to the speculation and contemplation of a divine and heavenly love, as also from them to Astonicus and Donato.

But before I proceed farther, Wee must understand, that the two Fryers have not been with Morosini and the two Nuns with Imperia above an houre, But by the two Iudges there is a cheife subordinate Officers of theirs sent to prison to tel Imperia, that her Uncle Seignior Alexandro Bondino, a great Senator and famous Iudge of Rome, hath obtained her pardon of this present Pope Vr∣ban the eighth. But shee is not of glad of this newes, as shee is then curious to enquire if her Morosini bee likewise pardoned, so the Officer tells her no, and

that hee absolutely must suffer death, then shee weepes farre faster than shee rejoyceth, and affirmes that shee will not live but dye. The Iudges send for her, and perswade her to live, but she begges them as importunarely to give Morosini his life, as they doe her to accept and receive her owne. They tell her they have not the power to grant her the first, and she replies, that shee then hath not the will to embrace and entertaine the second. They acquaint Mo∣rosini herewith, who by their order and by their selves doe strongly perswade her hereunto, but her first answer and resolution is her last, that shee willac∣cept of no life if he must dye, neither will hee refuse any death conditionally that shee may live to survive him. The two Friers and two Nunnes use their best Art and Oratory to perswade her hereunto, but they meet with impossi∣bility to make her affection to Morosini, and her resolution to her selfe flexible hereunto. Her life is not halfe so pretious to her as is his, for if shee had many as shee hath but one, shee is both ready and resolute to lose and sacrifice them all for his sake, and would esteeme it her felicity that her death might redeem and ransome his life. The Judges (out of their goodnesse and charity;) afford a whole day to invite and perswade her hereunto, but shee is still deafe to their requests, and still one and the same woman, desirous to live with him, or constant and resolute to dye for him. Therefore when n•…•…thing can prevaile with her, because dye he must, so dye shee will; to the which shee cheerefully prepares her selfe, with an equall affection and resolution, which I rather ad∣mire than commend in her.

So the next morning theyare all foure brought to the place of common exe∣cution to suffer death. Where Donato is first liftedup to the Ladder, who being fuller of paine than words said little in effect, but that he wished he had either died in Constantinople or Aleppo, or else sunke in the sea before he came to Anco∣na and not to have here ended his daies in misery and infamy. The next who was ordered to follow him was Astonicus, who told the world boldly and plain∣ly, that hee cared lesse for his death than for the cause thereof, and that hee lo∣ved Morosini so perfectly and dearely, that he rather reioyced than grieved to dye for him, only he repented himselfe for assisting to murther Palmerius, and from his heart and soule beseeched God to forgive it him, and so he was tur∣ned over. Then Morosini ascends the Ladder •…•…ad in a haire coulour sattin sute and a paire of crimson silke stockings, with garters and roses edged with silver lace, being so vaine in his carriage, action, and speeches, as before hee once thought of God, hee (with a world of sighes) takes a solemneleave of his sweet heart Imperia, and with all the powers of his heart and soule prayes her to ac∣cept of his life, and so to survive him; He makes an exact and godly confessi∣on of his sinnes to God and the world, and yet neverthelesse hee is so vaine in his affection toward Imperia, as hee takes both to witnesse, that had hee a thou∣sand lives he would cheerefully lose them all to save and preserve hers. As for Imperia such was her deere and tender affection to him, as she would faine look on him, as long as he lives, and yet she equally desires and resolves rather to dy than to see him die, and because she hath not the power, therefore she turnes her •…•…ace and eies from him, and will not have the will to see him dye; When he having said his prayers and so recommended his soule into the hands of his Redeemer, he is also turned over.

Now although our Imperia bee here againe and againe solicited by the Iud∣ges, Friers and Nuns to accept of her life, yet she seeing her other selfe Morosini dead, shee therefore disdaines to survive him; shee hath so much love in her

heart, as she now hath little life, and lesse joy in her lookes and countenance. Shee ascends the Ladder in a plaine blacke Taffeta Gowne, a plaine thicke set Ruffe, a white Lawne Quayfe, and a long blacke Cypresse vayle over her head with a white paire of gloves, and her prayer booke in her hands. When bee∣ing farre more capable to weepe than speake, shee casting a wonderfull sad and sorrowfull looke on her dead lover Morosini, after many volleyes of farre fetchd sighes shee delivers this short speech to that great concourse of people who from Citty and Country flocked thither to see her and them dye,

Good People: I had lived more happy and not dyed so miserable if my Father Bondino had not so cruelly enforced mee to marry Palmerius whom I could not love, and to leave Morosini, whom in heart and soule I ever affected a thousand times deerer than mine owne life, and may all fathers who now see my death, or shall hereafter heare or reade this my History bee more pittifull and lesse cruell to their daughters by his Example. I doe here now suffer ma∣ny deaths in one to see that my deere Morosini is dead for my sake, for had hee not loved mee deerly and I him tenderly he had never died for mee, nor I for him, with such cheerefullnesse and alacrity as now we doe. And here to deale truly with God and the world, although I could never affect or fancy my old husband Palmerius, yet no•…•… from my heart and soule I lament and repent that ever I was guilty of his innocent and untimely death, the which God forgive me, and I likewise request you all to pray unto God to forgive it me. And not to conceale or dissemble the truth of my heart, I grieve not to dye, but rather because I have no more lives to lose for my Morosini's affection and sake. I have and doe devoutly pray unto God for his soule, and so I heartily request and conjure you all to doe for mine. Thus I commend you all to happy and prosperous lives, my selfe to a pious and patient death in earth, and a joyfull and glorious resurrection in Heaven, when signing her selfe often with the signe of the crosse, she pulls her vaile downe over her face, and so praying that she might be buried in one and the same grave with Morosini, she bad the exe∣cutioner performe his office, who immediatly turnes her over.

And if reports be true. Never three young men, and one faire young Gen∣tlewoman died more lamented and pittied then they. For Morosini died with more resolution than repentance, and Imperia with more repentance than re∣solution; thus was their lives, and thus their deaths. May wee extract wisdome out of their folly, and charity out of their cruelty, so shall wee live as happy as they died miserably and finish our daies and lives in as much content and tranquillity as they ended theirs in shame, infa∣my, and confusion.

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

HISTORY XXVII.

Father Iustinian a Priest, and Adrian an Inne-keeper, poyson De Laurier, who was lodged in his house, and then bury him in his Orchard; where a moneth after a Wolfe digges him up, and devonres a great part of his body; which father Iustinian and Adrian understanding, they flie upon the same, but are afterwards both of them ap∣prehended and hanged for it.

WHeare our hearts are given to Covetousnesse, and crueltie, there is little signe of grace, and therefore lesse hope of our prosperity either in this life, or the next; For those are sinnes which so ecclipse our judgments, and obscure and darken our Vnder∣standings, that we thereby runne blindefolded, and headlong to all misery and confusion, and make our estates so desperate, that we shall not deserve to be pitied of others, because wee would neither pitie nor compassionate others, or which is worse our selves. A deplorable example whereof, this ensewing History will present to our knowledge and consideration, in the persons of two execrable wretches which did wilfully cast away themselves, and their lives upon f•…•…e and enor∣mous motives. May we religiously reade it to the information of our Con∣sciences, the reformation of our lives.

A Rich Gold-smith of Dijon (the Capitall City of Burgundie) named Mon∣seiur De Laurier, aged of some threescore yeeres or upwards, having bin at Franckford Marte. and there sold many. Iewelis, Bracelts, and chaines of Pearle, for the which hee had there received some 1700 Crownes; as hee re∣turned

homewards with all that great summe of money, converted into cou∣ble pistolls, which hee carried behind him in his cloake bag and some remai∣ning Iewells; and in a private leather girdle next to his body, It chanced that he fell sicke on the way, whereof finding himselfe ill and weak, and therefore both unwilling and unable to travell, hee got into a poore Countrey Taverne upon the high way, some five leagues off from the towne of Salines, where he tooke up his Lodging for that night, and there three other marchants who were in his company (whereof one was of Auxone, and the other two of Troyes in Champagne) very unkindly forsooke him, and left him alone to himselfe; His sicknesse that night increasing (which gave him much paine and little rest) he not liking his lodging, and fearing himselfe not safe there; the next morning takes horse, and very softly rides towards Salynes, where hee arrived about some two of the clocke after dinner and went into the very first Inne which he met, at the extreamest end of the Town, at the signe of S. Denis, whereof the Hoast of the house was named Adrian, and his wife Isabella, they were both of them about some forty yeeres old, very short of stature, and weake of con∣stitution of body, he of a cole blacke countenance, but she faire and of a palle white colour, as for him hee was of a dissolute life and carriage, extreamly gi∣ven to wine and women. He was of poore Parentage and borne to no means at all, but shee was well descended, and brought him at least two thousand Crownes to her portion in marriage, the which hee had prodigally wasted, and deboshedly spent and squandered away, in following of his vitious riots and obscene pleasures and prodigalities: As for her she was of a modest car∣riage and of a vertuous disposition and inclination, so that by Antithesis I may well averre and affirme, that his base Vices made her sweet Vertues the more apparant and conspicuous, and her vertue his vices to all that knew them Shee made Chastity and Piety to bee the two sweet ornaments and •…•…eall vertues of her life, yea to be the Eli•…•… of her life, and the life of her soule. It was therefore an extreame griefe to her heart, and a matchlesse torment to her minde, to see the sordid actions and humors of her Husband, as being every way more capable to pitty than to remedy them. Shee grieved to see how because hee would not serve God, shee could not serve him, and therefore that hee had vitiously spent so much, as now in a manner hee had al∣most nothing more left to spend. The sight and knowledg whereof drownes all the pleasures of her life, insomuch as shee could sacrifice to nothing but to Sorrow and Repentance, and that which grieved her most and worst of all was to see that hee disdained her advise and counsell, and that hee was so far from reformation, as his vices grew and encreased with his yeares: and had now not only taken up a habit but a second nature in the perversity of his lewd actione and affections. All the Lillies of her joyes and the Roses of her content were turned into thornes of griefe, and briers and th•…•…les of her vex∣ation, insomuch as shee was farre more able to sigh than to speake forth her Calamities and miseries. He loved not his house, and which was worse he ha∣ted her company, yea his estate was so miserable, so deplorable, as hee never conversed with God in prayer, and very seldome frequented his Church, the Service or Sacraments, and to shew himselfe the more prophane he hated all Priests and Preachers of Gods holy word and ordinances, and loved none so well as his rio•…•…us and •…•…oaring companions, the very bane of the heart, and the true 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of the soule.

And into this house, and to this vitious Ho•…•…st Adrian, is our sicke De Laurier

entred, for the end of his sicknesse, and the recovery of his health; and I write rather with teares than inke, that it was impossible for him to have en∣tred into a worse; but such was his fate, such his misfortune. He likes the car∣riage of Isabella his Hostesse, farre better than the countenance or condition of Adrian her Husband; but as his disease gives him no truce, so consequent∣ly he can give no peace to his patience. He grieves to be sicke in an unknowne place, and among strangers, but farre more to be so farre off from his owne house, and from his onely childe and sonne Leonardo, whom hee loves farre dearer than himselfe. It is another affliction to him, that his money and some jewels are here, and not at his home, and if his judgement faile him not, he sug∣gesteth to himselfe, that the sight and knowledge thereof may engender him farre more danger than security; but hee conceales and dissembles that, farre better than he can his sicknesse, for he puts his little Casket wherein it is, un∣der his head and bolster. Hee causeth Adrian his Hoast to bring him a Physi∣tian, named La Mo•…•…te, who seeing his water, and feeling his pulse, tels him he is very dangerously sicke of a burning Feaver, the which to prevent, hee lets him bloud two severall dayes following and then gives him farre more hope than despaire of his health: But all this notwithstanding, De Laurier finds himselfe very weake, and his sicknesse rather much to increase, than any way to diminish. As for Isabella, according to the lawes of hospitality (which ought to be unviolable to all the world) shee tends him with much respect and diligence, and in a word, performes the part and duty, both of a good Hostesse, and of a good woman: But for her Husband Adrian, his thoughts and resolutions runne another contrary course and Carriere; for hee ima∣gining De Laurier to bee rich doth therefore verily hope and pray that hee may speedily die in his house, or else hee hath already swapt a bargaine with the Devill, to murther him, thereby to make up the breaches and tuines of his poore and totteri gestate. He finds it a worke not onely of difficulty, but of impossibility, to know what rich stuffe hee hath in his Casket and Cloak-bagge, because hee still keeps it under his pillow; and yet gathering and wresting from him, that hee is a Goldsmith of Dijon, and that hee came now from Franckford Mart, he therefore beleeves that he hath store of Gold and Jewels about him. His poverty and his covetousnesse gives the switch to the Devill, and the Devill gives the spur to him, to raise his uncharitable con∣templation into bloudy actions, and his thoughts and resolutions as so many lines, runne to terminate in this one onely Centre, which is that of De Lauriers death. He sets his wits and invention on the Tenter-hooks, to discover this imagined Indies but he finds him to be as cautious and secret in concealing, as hee himselfe is curious to bewray it. Hee purposly keeps all company from him, and will not so much as permit his Physitian or Apothecary to speake a word with him, but hee will still bee present to heare and understand it. Hee with oylie words and silken speeches, pryes into his deepest secrets, and pur∣posly endevoureth to insinuate and screw himselfe into his familiarity. But De Laurier doth rather feare than love him, and so esteemes the revealing of his Cold to be the accelerating of his danger, to which end, with many colou∣rable excuses and evasions, he puts him off the knowledge thereof. But hee is so miserable to see his miseries approach, because the violence and impetuo∣sity of his Feaver doth every way advance, no way retire; and now it is that his hopes of the recovery of his health doe fade, not flourish, and rather quaile than prosper. Hee resolves to bee as Religious as hee is sicke, and therefore

prayes his Hoast Adrian to bring him a Priest to give him the Sacrament; Adrian performes his request, but brings him a Priest named father Iustini•…•…n, of his owne humour and complexion, and who loves Whores and Wine, better than he doth either Heaven or God; so this unspirituall Father gives him the extreame Unction, and prepares him for his journey and trans∣migration from Earth to Heaven. His continuall vanities and prodigalities hath likewise made him poore, so being equall with Adrian both in Vice and Poverty, he is likewise equall, and sympathizeth with him in hope and de∣sire to repaire his Indigence, and to enrich himselfe by the supposed treasure and death of De Laurier. But as this deboshed Priest is malitious in this his policy, so he is also polititike in this his malice, for imagining that Adrian le∣vels and aimes with him at the same Butt and marke; he dares, but yet will not acquaint him with his bloudy purpose, to contract a hellish league and confederation with him, for the violent dispatch, and inhumane and untimely dispeeding of him away from Earth to Heaven. Whiles thus De Lauriers sick∣nesse and weaknes encreaseth, and his Priest and Adrians covetousnesse begins wholly to weigh downe their soules and resolutions to hasten his deplorable death; as the Priest is ready to breake his minde to Adrian, how and in what manner they should finish and compasse this bloudy businesse, Adrian contrari∣wise, yea, and directly contrary to the rules of Nature, and Lawes of Grace, breaks his minde hereof to his vertuous and Religious wife Isabella, whom he seeks to draw in as an Actor in this mournfull, and as an Agent in this cruell Tragedy. He is as gracelesse, as impudent in this foule and fatall attempt of his; for he sets upon her with the sweetest speech, and smoothest perswasi∣ons, that either Art could suggest, or the malice of the Devill invent or dictate to him, and therein ever and anon, leaves not to conveigh and distill in her minde, yea, and to imprint in her memory their fore-past wealth, their present poverty and misery, and the undoubted great riches of Gold and Jewels which De Laurier had with him, in that (as formerly we have observed) he very carefully day and night kept his Casket under his pillow, and in a hellish eloquence represents unto her the facility of this fact, either by Pony∣ard or poyson, adding withall, that the danger thereof would infallibly die with him, with a thousand other damnable alluring speeches, conducing and looking that way, which I am farre more inclinable to silence than expresse: But wretched Villaine, and execrable miscreant that hee is, hee speaks not a word, no not a syllable of God or his Justice, of Heaven or Hell, or of the foulnesse of that fact, or the just revenge and punishment incident and due thereunto.

His vertuous wife Isabella is amazed and astonished at this bloudy and inhu∣mane proposition of her Husband, and all trembling, with sighs and teares, receives it from him with no lesse true affliction and sorrow, than he delivered it her with cruelty and impiety. Her cheeks were as red for shame, as his were pale with envie thereat; when God infusing as much goodnesse into her heart and tongue, as Satan had cruelty into his soule and resolutions, she fell on her knees to his feet, and with her eyes and hands erected towards Hea∣ven, delivered him this vertuous and Religious speech; That it was with in∣finite griefe and amazement that shee understood this his bloudy position to her, which he knew she could derive from none but Hel and Satan: She repre∣sents to him (with much griefe and passion) that as punishment is ever the re∣ward of sinne, so that of all sinnes murther was the foulest, and the most perni∣tious

and diabolicall. She tels him farther, that covetousnesse is the root of all mischiefe, that for her part she is as thankfull to God, as he is displeased with himselfe for their povertie, and that shee would ever choose rather to live in want, than to dye in shame and misery, and which is worst of all either to live or dye in the horrours and terrours of a guilty and ulcerated Conscience. That it is a prophane and prodigious impiety to violate the lawes of Hospitality, but a fearefull, yea a horrible crime, to kill any one under our owne roofe, and who (in the right of humanity and christianity) comes to us for shelter and protection. When rising againe from her knees, shee takes him about the neck and (bedewing his cheekes with her teares) conjures and prayes him, by the remembrance of her youth and beautie, which had formerly beene so deere and pretious to him, by the memory of their sixteene yeares sweet cohabita∣tion and conversation together in the holy Estate of Wedlocke, yea for his owne sake, for his soules sake, and for Gods sake, that hee would defie this di∣vell, which thus with his two bitter sweet pills of Covetousnesse and Murther mocked and sought to betray him: and that therefore (in the name and feare of God) hee would henceforth resume, and put on a constant and religious resolution, no more to seduce her, or to suffer himselfe to bee seduced by the Devill in imbruing their guilty hands in the innocent blood of this honest and harmelesse Goldsmith De Laurier, whom God hath now made their guest and Lodger; In doing whereof (quoth shee) the same our sacred Lord and God, (in his due time) will bee gratiously pleased to encrease our estate and means and to blesse our povertie with plenty. But her Husband Adrian (as a most wretched Villane takes this godly refusall and deniall of his Wife in ill part, and in requitall and consideration thereof, henceforth lookes on her with a squint eye, I meane with an eye rather of contempt and envie than of affecti∣on; But at board, and bed, yea day and night he haunts her as a ghost, and ne∣ver leaves pursuing of her with his prophane and importunate solicitations to draw her consent to the acting and perpetrating of this bloody businesse; But God so well assisted her minde and thoughts, with the grace of his holy Spirit, and so divinely fortified her heart and soule with his sacred feare, that her Husbands sweet perswasions could not gaine, nor his threats or menaces ob∣taine any thing of her but still shee answered this murtherous request of his, sometimes with religious refusalls, and then againe with passionate and pe∣remptory denialls, and therefore the more that shee sees her Husband bent to maligne and hate De Laurier, the more devoted and resolute shee is to respect and tend him, still bearing a curious, a carefull, and a vigilant eye over him du∣ring all the time of his sicknesse to see that no disaster whatsoever might befall him in her house

Adrian missing of this his purpose and desire in his Wife hee is yet so hastie and violent in this his bloody malice towards De Laurier, that measuring of Fa ther Iustinian the Priest, by himselfe, and finding a conformity in their debo∣shed vices and inclinations, hee the sooner hopes to finde a sympathy in their affections and resolutions, and therefore although hee bee a Priest, yet know∣ing him to bee extreame poore, hee therefore the more easily beleeves, that the hope of Gold and Silver will act wonders with him, and make him act wonders for the obtaining thereof.

Upon these hopes, and this confidence, hee delayes no time, but on a Mun∣day morning repaires to his house, and after their morning cups, telling him he hath a secret of great importance to reveale him, he takes him into a little

Grove of Walnut Trees, behinde his house and there (swearing him to secre∣sie) reveales him this his bloody businesse, where this vitious Priest Iustinian, in hope of De Lauriers wealth needed no great labour or industrie to be drawn to make one in this deplorable Tragedy. For had not Adrian now opened it to him, such was his insatiable thirst and desire of gold though with bloud, that the next day he was fullie resolved to doe it to him, so he freely consents to him herein, and sweares to assist and second him in murthering of De Laurier and the tye and condition of this their hellish bargaine is, that what gold, sil∣ver, or jewells they shall finde him to have, they will instantly after his death equally divide and share betweene them; and hereunto like two bloody hell∣hounds, they enterchangeably give hands, and solemnly sweare each to other. Now from the matter of this their bloody designe and resolution, they pro∣ceed to the manner and time thereof, but they then are prevented therein, For Father Iustinians little Boy which was accustomed to answer him at Masse comes thither hastily and with his little wine pot on his finger tells him, that there were many persons who stayed for him before the Altar on their knees and earnestly enquired for him to say Masse, whereupon they both referre the conclusion hereof to the very next morning, and in the very same place and Grove, but at least an houre sooner; So away goes Adrian home to his house, and away likewise trips Father Iustinian with his Surplesse under his arme and his Breviary (or Matines booke) in his hand to the Church, where every one may imagine what a prophane sacrifice, his bloody heart and hands offereth up to the Lord.

They this night thinking of nothing but of gold and blood, in the morning they (impatient of all delayes) come at the aforesaid time and place of their rendezvous where they presently fall to their former consultation of the man∣ner and time of murthering De Laurier, first, they propose to stabbe him in his bed to death, but this they reject, because the blood would appeare in the sheets, bed, and chamber; So they resolve to poyson him, and to this end A∣drian buies the poyson and Father Iustinian will give and administer it to him in a wafer or Agnus Dei, the which hee is sometimes accustomed to give him in his sicknesse; But here father Iustinian suggesteth another doubt; and pro∣poseth another designe, which is that Adrian must likewise draw in his wife Isabella to make one in this bloody conspiracy and murther, or else hee allead∣geth that it can never bee safe for them to attempt or effect it; Adrian answe∣reth him that hee hath heretofore with his best power and art sought to se∣duce his wife hereunto, but that hee finds it wholly impossible to draw her to this consent: But father Iustinian will yet make another tryall and experiment on her himselfe, so hee and her Husband Adrian set afresh on her, to allure her to bring at least her consent, if not her hand to the murthering of De Laurier. But our sweet and vertuous Isabella is still one and the same woman, for shee heares these bloody speeches and perswasions of theirs, with infinite discon∣tent and detestation. Shee is too much a Christian to bee so much a Devill to consent to the murtherof this honest man; and therfore (with a world ofteares and prayers) shee seekes to divert them from it, but especially her Husband, because (quoth shee) the issue thereof will infallibly prove ruinous to them both. They are both much grieved at this her resolute repulse and deni∣all, and yet to make a vertue of necessity, and to cast the better glosse and varnish on their villany, they now falsly seeme to bee diswaded from this murther, by the sight of her teares and the consideration of her requests and

prayers; Wherfore with a prophane & hellish dissimulation) they tell her, that God by her religious speeches and disswasions hath now made them wholly to abandon that bloody attempt of theirs against De Laurier, as also the very thought thereof, and therefore they conjure her to keepe and sweare secresie herein from all the world, the which she willingly doth. But yet her feare prompts her heart, that this humane conversion, and religious resolution of theirs is only false and faigned, as every way savouring more of dissimulation than truth. In which regard shee feares with suspition, and suspects with doubt, that no lesse than honest and innocent De Lauriers life, lies now at the stake of their bloudy malice and envie

Here Father Instinian, and Adrian (to make smooth and cleere work) do con∣clude and resolve that Isabella must bee speedily removed from Salines to some place in the countrey without once seeing or speaking with De Laurier when a favourable occasion seconds their damnable intents, and desires herin: for now there is unexpectedly brought them word, that her owne old Father who dwelt some foure leagues off from Salines is very sicke and not like to live; Whereupon Adrian presently dispatcheth away his wife Isabella to him, and with her their Servant maide Graceta. But before hir departure shee is de∣sirous to see De Laurier, and to take her leave of him; but her Husband will by no meanes permit her; So shee goes from her home, and from him into the Country, with a sorrowfull and a trembling heart, as farre more fearing De Lauriers unnaturall death, then doubting of her fathers naturall case. For her heart frames her so many apprehensions, feares, and terrours; that her husband and father Iustimian are fully resolved to murther and make away De Laurier, as shee absolutely and sorrowfully beleeves, that hee shall never see her more nor she him. Poore De Laurier takes his Hostesse Isabellas sodaine and unexpe∣cted departure from him very pensively and heavily, and far the more in that shee could not bee permitted to see him before shee went. He holds it for a bad presage, and fatall Omen to him, in regard she was as diligent as her Hus∣band distrustfull to him, for that her care and carriage towards him, pleased him as much as his harsh lookes and soure countenance discontented him; and now it is that God first imprints in his heart and thoughts, a fearefull suspici∣on and a suspitious feare, that his Hoast Adrian, and father Iustinian the Priest have assuredly some dangerous and execrable plot, both against his gold and his life. For hee now sees himselfe reduced to this misery and despaire, that hee can bee permitted to see no body, nor no body to see him, except onely they two. Hee prayes them both, that his Phisition La Motte may come to him to conferre with him about the state of his sicknesse, but they malitiously and willfully deny it him, and tell him hee is gone into France; This refusing answer of theirs doth now very much appale and daunt our fieke and discon∣tented De Laurier, so that his feare encreaseth with his sicknesse, and his 〈◊〉〈◊〉 with his feare. Every day and night brings him more cause of 〈◊〉〈◊〉, than hope of consolation, and almost every moment hee wisheth his gold and himselfe in 〈◊〉〈◊〉 with his Sonne Du Pont, or he heere in Salynes with him, to comfort him with his sight and presence. He still conceales his go•…•… and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 from this Priest and his Hoast, with the greatest art and care hee can, and •…•…ot hee thinkes and feares that their ielousie thereof is not onely the founda∣tion, but will also move the acceleration of his danger, for he very often se•…•… them privatly whispering together and still hee observes some bad signe and and fatall apparition in their lookes and countenances, which infallibly tell

him that all is not well. And although they yet give him some sweet words and sugred speeches, yet hee notwithstanding the more beleeves that they are candide in wormewood and confected in gall; and that they are no other but false and flattering Sune shines, which portend some ensewing cruel storms and dismall tempests towards him. Once he was minded to write and send to Dijon for his Son, but then hee as soone resolves the contrary, as finding it to relish more of danger than discretion, aswell for the matter which his letter might contain, as also for the party who should carry it thither to him. But leave we him a little to his weaknes, and sicknes to his doubts and feares, and to his sorrowes, calamities and perplexities, and come wee againe to speake of wretched Adrian his Hoast, and of prophane •…•…ather Iustinian the Priest, to see in what shapes they will come forth to act their bloody parts upon the stage of this History.

They are both of them so inhumane and cruell in their resolution to mur∣ther poore sicke De Laurier, that neither the consideration of Heaven nor Hell is capable to reclaime or divert them from this their bloody attempt. As fos his hellish hoast Adrian, hee is so willfull and hastie in his malice, as hee tels father Iustinian, that they delay too long from murthering De Laurier, and that it is high time yea more than time for them to dispatch him. But for father Iustinian who was no lesse malitious in his subtilty, but yet farre more subtill in his malice towards De Laurier. Hee I say maturely considering that it were both a folly and a madnesse for them to murther him before they first knew hee were rich, and that hee had some store of gold about him, hee therefore in sweet tearmes and phrases pathetically adviseth him to write and send for his Sonne Du Pont, to come over to visit and comfort him, when likewise the bet∣ter to guild over his speeches with the more pleasing and palpable shew of af∣fection hee proffereth to ride to Dijon himselfe to deliver it him with his own hands. Our poore sicke De Laurier taking this Priests kinde advise to him in good part, hee thereupon first thankes him for this his courtesie, but then a∣gaine deeming and fearing that it proceeded more from false treachery, than from any true or reall affection to him hee begins to grow cold therein, and so rather to reject, than embrace and follow that resolution; But at last weigh∣ing and considering his sicknesse by his danger, and his gold and jewells by both, as also if he should chance to dye or miscarry there, that his Sonne were then consequently ruined in the losse thereof; Hee thereupon changeth his resolution; and presently resolves to write and send over to Dijon for his Son and to that end requesteth Father Iustinian to excuse him, and so prayes his Hoast Adrian to undertake that journey and businesse, the which hee willing∣ly and cheerefully granteth. Now the rest of that day and the greatest part of the next night De Laurier lies ruminating and musing in his bed what he should write to his Sonne, and no lesse doth father Iustinian and Adrian to thinke and know what hee would write him. The next morning, sixe of the clocke ha∣ving strucken, De Laurier takes his pen and paper, and with a weake and trem∣bling hand writes his Letter to his Sonne: An houre after, Adrian comes into his Chamber booted and spurred to receive his commands, whom hee had to take and ride his owne horse, then gives him foure double pist•…•…ls to defray his iourney, and so seales and gives him this ensewing Letter, and prayes him and his Sonne Du Pont to make all possible speed backe from Dijon to him.

DE LAVRIER to DU PONT.

SOme seven weekes since, comming from Frankford Marte, I fell sicke at Salynes where I still lie very weake in body and much discontented in minde in 〈◊〉〈◊〉 •…•…use of mine Hoast Adrian (the bearer hereof) whom I purposly send over to thee, to pray and command thee to come ride hither to me with all possible speed, I have herewith me in gold and Iewells to the vallew of one thousand seven hundred Crownes, and for some private reasons) I feare that neither it nor my life is safe here; Come away with an intent to finde me dead or dying. Conceale this Letter from all the world. Love this Messenger but trust him not; God prosper my Health, and ever blesse thy prosperity.

DE LAVRIER.

As soone as De Laurier had delivered his Hoast Adrian this Letter, and he ta∣ken leave of him, father Iustinian begs leave of De Laurier to see Adrian take horse. But alas these two lewd Villaines doe deceive his honest hopes, to per∣forme their own treacherous Intents and purposes; For they fly to a low par∣ler, and then locke and bolt the doore to them; where (as if the devill had throwne them on covetousnesse, or covetousnesse on the devill) they ha∣stily breake up the seales of De Lauriers letter to his Sonne (which we have al∣ready seene and understood) wherein they glut and surfet their hopes with joy of this new desired treasure and discovered Indyes, and so they presently sacrifice it to the fire, and wretchedly resolve to make that very same ensu∣ing night to bee the very last of De Lauriers time and the first of his eternity. To which end Adrian husheth himselfe up privately in his house from the sight of all the world, and especially from De Lauriers knowledge and so here he ends his pretended, but not his intended journy to Dijon, before he begin it: And hee having procured exceeding strong poyson therewith that night to send De Laurier to Heaven whereof giving a little to his great old mastive dog in a peece of bread for a triall he therewith presently fell dead to the ground; he likewise sends away Thomas his Ostler a dayes journey into the Country upon some feigned businesse, to the end hee should bee no witnesse of this foule and cruell fact of theirs and then all things being first by the devill, and then by these his two execrable agents prepared in a readinesse; Father Iusti∣nian goes up to De Lauriers chamber, and treacherously entertaines him with the hope of his recovery of his health, the hast of Adrians Iourney, and conse∣quently with the speedy returne of his Sonne Du Pont to him from Dijon. But I write it with truth and griefe, that De Lauriers heart and mind is preoccupa∣ted with too many obnoxious apprehensions and feares, and taken up with too much doubt and dispaire to the contrary; For as most sicknesses and dis∣eases are most commonly devanced and preceeded by their symptomes so all that day and all that evening he found a swimming in his head, and his sight obscured and darkened, as if some blacke scarfe, or fatall cloud had been drawn and extended before his eyes. His heart likewise pants, beats and trembles within him, as if it and his senses were in a factious mutinie each with other at this their direfull departure and fatall sequestration. For still his feares and doubts informe him, and his apprehensions and dispaire prompt him that either father Iustinian the Priest, or his Hoast Adrian, or both of them, had conspired to murther him, the which hee once thought to have revealed to

Father Iustinian, but yet againe he dares not, as holding it more folly than dis∣cretion, and that it might therefore produce him more danger than safety; he neither can nor will eat any thing that day, and his heart and minde is so incessantly perplexed with feare, that he feares he shall not out-live the next ensuing night: And now indeed comes that sorrowfull and dismall night, wherin these two bloudy Villaines have fully resolved to poyson him, Adrian having in a lower roome the poyson ready, and Father Iustinian above, almost ready to call for it: Whiles thus the candle in De Lauriers chamber burnt dimme and obscure, as disdaining to see, or bee accessary to so cruell a mur∣ther; neare about twelve of the clocke of that night hee awakes out of his sorrowfull distracted slumbers, and prayes Father Iustinian to give him a little spoonfull or two of warme wine, in a small earthen pot wherein he was used to drinke; when this monster of men rejoycing for this fit opportunity, hee steps forth to his bloudy companion Adrian, takes the poysoned wafer from him, and powres the poyson from it into this small blacke pot of wine, and so warmes it a little by the fire in De Lauriers chamber, and then gives it to him to drinke, the which he as greedily as innocently doth, whereof, after ma∣ny strong convulsions and struglings, he within one houre after dieth, having neither the meanes to utter one word, or the power to scritch or cry, and yet for feare and doubt hereof, like two furies, or Devils incarnate of Hell they with thebed-staves ramme in a great holland towell into his mouth, that he may tell no tales, when God knowes that deadly strong poyson had wrought its operation before, made a full conquest of his life, and given up his soule into the hands of his Redeemer, of whom he had formerly received it.

As soone as these two wretched miscreants have dispatched this lamen∣table businesse, then they teare off his secret leather girdle full of gold from his waste, and then breake open his Casket which was under his pillow, wherein (before his breathlesse body was halfe cold) they finde this aforesaid great summe of Gold and Iewels, the which they presently divide, and equally share betweene them, when having curiously searched his purse, poc∣kets, doublet and hose, they make a great fire, and immediately burne it all, as also his riding Coat, Casket, and leather Girdle, yea, and his hat, band and cuffes, that no marks might remaine either of it or him, and like∣wise turne his horse into the open field and hye-wayes, to seeke for the for∣tune of a new Master; so wise (as they thought) were they in their villany, and so industrious and cautious in this their devillish cruelty and in humanity. By this time, as the murthered corps of De Laurier growes cold, these two Factors of Hell likewise beginne to provide for his buriall; so a little after two of the clocke, they digge a pit in Adrians Orchard, next adjoyning to his house, and so giving him no other winding sheet or coffin but his shirt, they secretly and silently carry downe his body betweene them, and there bury him, and to make all things sure, they cover over the pit, or his grave with greene turffes, that no mortall eye might take suspition or notice there∣of. This bloudy businesse being thus acted and perpetrated by these two exe∣crable wretches, Father Iustinian and Adrian, who now surfet in Gold, and wallow in Iewels, they presently dight themselves into new apparell, and cost∣ly suits, and then day and night haunt and frequent the Tavernes and Stewes, as if they wilfully meant to drowne themselves in all sorts of ungodly riots, prodigalities and voluptuousnesse, whereof their neighbours, yea, all Salynes take exact observation and knowledge, as wondring at the manner, but farre

more at the cause thereof, or from whence it should proceed.

Some three weeks being past over, Adrian now holds it fit to send home for his wife Isabella to Salynes, the which hee doth, who much wondring at her Husbands unaccustomed bravery, she presently enquires of him for Mon∣sieur De Laurier, as if she had farre more cause to doubt and feare of his dan∣ger, than any way to assure her selfe of his safety and welfare: When, he put∣ting on a brazen face, and steeling and tempering his tongue with equall false∣hood and impiety, tels her that hee departed thence safe and well some ten dayes since; that he gave him fifty crowns for the charges of his entertainment and lodging, and for a token of his love, had likewise left her and Father Iusti∣nian, to each of them twenty other Crownes in Gold: But his wife Isabella out of her goodnesse and piety) deeming these speeches of her Husbands to be as false as fatall, and verily suspecting and fearing, that he (with the assi∣stance of Father Iustinian) had sent that harmlesse good old man to an un∣timely death and grave; shee bursts forth into immoderate sighs and teares, as suspecting all was not well, yea, fearing nothing more, and beleeving no∣thing lesse, than that which hee affirmed to her herein. He proffers her the twenty Crownes in Gold, but (good vertuous woman) she fearing it to bee the hire and price of innocent bloud, her tender conscience is too prevalent, and her harmlesse heart and soule too powerful with God to accept therof, and therfore she refuseth it with as much disdaine and discontent, as he endeavou∣reth to give it her with affection and desire. And that the Reader may the more fully be informed of her integrity and charity herein, I mean to the pre∣sent memory and well wishes of absent De Laurier, whom she silently feares is for ever absent, both from this life & this world; she never goes into the cham∣ber where he lay sicke, but she sacrificeth some sighs to sorrow in his behalfe, and her imaginary apprehension of his death, makes her mournfully con∣ceive, that either shee still sees his living picture, or his dead ghost and re∣presentation, such was her charitable care of him, such her Christian feare for him.

We have seene this deplorable and cruell murther committed on the harm∣lesse person of old De Laurier, by these two members of Satan, Adrian, and Father Iustinian the Priest, and if the truth deceive not my hopes, wee shall not proceed much farther in this their Historie, but we shall see Gods just Iudgements miraculously to resplend and shine forth in his punishments on them for the same: For I may properly tearme murther and punishment to be Individuals and Companions, in regard the one followes the other, as the sha∣dow doth the body, as the first derives its originall from Satan, so doth the second from God, to whom (in a language of bloud) it stil cries for restauration and satisfaction. But neverthelesse God is as secret as sacred in disposing of the manner and time thereof, and in ordaining by whom, when and how he will afflict and execute it: It is no false axiome in Philosophy, but a true tenent and maxime in Divinity; That God who made all things, sees and governes all things, and that nothing can be concealed from the eyes of his sacred Power and di∣vine Providence: All the foure Elements are the ministers of his justice, yea, Men and Angels, the Sunne, Moone, and Starres, the fowles of the aire, and the beasts of the field prove many times the Agents of his Revenge; of which last sort and nature, the Reader (to Gods glory, and his owne infor∣mation and admiration) may here obserue a lively example, and receive a most powerfull president; but whether more strange for the truth, or rare for the

strangenesse thereof I know not, and therefore will not define. For the same day moneth next after, that Adrian and father Instinian had buried the dead body of De Laurier, behold a huge and ravening Wolfe (being lately arrou∣sed from the the adjacent vast woods) seeking up and downe for his prey, came into Adrians Orchard next adjoyning to his house (purposly sent thither by God as a minister of his sacred justice and revenge) who senting some dead carrion (which indeed was the dead Corpes of De Laurier, that was but shal∣lowly buried there in the ground) hee fiercely with his pawes and nose tares up the Earth, and at last pulls and dragges it up, and there till an houre after the breake of day remaines devouring and eating up of the flesh of his armes legges, thighes, and buttocks. But (as God would have it) hee never touched any part of his face, but leaves it fully undissigured; When instantly some Gentlemen hunters of Salynes, a•…•…d the Neighbour parishes, being ascertained by some Peasants in the fields, that the Wolfe was past that way, they closely follow him with their Dogges and Hornes, and so at last finde him in Adrians Orchard, eating as they thinke of some living beast or dead carrion; But the Wolfe being terrified with the noise of the hunters loud shoutes and cryes, as also of their Dogges fierce yawling and bawling, presently forsakes his prey, and saves his life by his flight, although the Dogges and many Peasants doe eagerly pursue him; Whiles all the Gentlemen (as if led by the immediate fin∣ger of God) with their Iavelins and boarespeares in their hands, rush into the Orchard to see and finde out whereon the Wolfe had preyed, when loe (con∣trary to their expectations) their amazed eyes are enforced to behold the pi∣tifull spectacle, and lamentable object of a mangled dead mans body, misera∣bly devoured and eaten by that savage Wolfe, and the which they saw he had digged and torne vp, as they fully beleeved from his untimely grave: They therefore at first stand astonished with griefe, and amazed for sorrow at this prodigious and deplorable sight, and yet such was their living compunction to this dead corpes, and consequently their zeale to Gods glory and Iustice, as confidently beleeving that he was proditoriously murthered by some in∣humane person or persons; that the odious stinch of this long buried body; could not hinder them from approaching to survey and behold it; They find the greatest part of the flesh of his body devoured by the Wolfe, but (as be∣fore) his face whole and untouched, when they see (and extreamly grieve and sorrow to see) that it was a grave old man with a long white beard, but so be∣smeared with earth and dust as they coud not refraine from sighes and teares to behold it. Here they cease to pursue the Wolfe, and because neither of them knew this poore and miserable dead carkase, they therefore step to the other end of the Orchard, and there consult what is fit to bee done in this lamentable businesse and accident. But their opinions as so many lines concur and terminate in this centre, that absolutely this dead body was cruelly mur∣thered, and there by the murtherers privately and silently buried. They far∣ther vehemently suspect and beleeve, that because it was buried in Adrians Orchard, that therefore it was apparantly probable, it was hee with his wife and Servants who had murthered and buried him there, wherefore to keepe these suspected bloody birdes in their Cages, they (as wise and juditious Gentlemen) place a strong guard of their Servants and Peasants to watch the doores and windowes of Adrians house, that none issue forth thence, and they themselves goe presently to the Criminall judges of the Towne, and acquaint them with this lamentable object and accident.

In the mean our harmelesse and vertuous Isabella, hearing these loud shouts and outcries at her doores so soone in the morning, shee in the absence of her Husband; (who lay forth of his house that night deboshing and revelling with his cups and Queanes) fearing that all was not well, and therefore her a∣mazed and sorrowfull heart; not willing to know that whereof shee was in∣finitely desirous to bee ignorant, shee lay still bitterly sighing and weeping in her bed, because her thoughts and mind, her suspitions and feares told her, that this unseasonable alarum and noise might descend and reflect from some fatal newes which had betided De Laurie•…•…, and if this storme and tempest fell not on her, yet alas shee extreamely feares and doubts it would fall on Adrian her hus∣band, whom shee vehemently thought and feared had imbrued and imba∣thed his hands in the innocent blood of this honest man. As for Thomas her Ostler, and Gracetta her maid, although this unaccustomed noise made them sodainly forsake their beds and apparell themselves to receive their mistris commands how they should beare themselves in this hurly burly, yet because they were white with innocency, yea so innocent as they knew no hurt, or thought of danger they only deemed, that it was either some unlawfull assem∣bly of Peasants, or else some cast and disbanded souldiers from Flanders who came to rob their masters house or poultry in his absence, wherfore meere feare hereof, kept them from either opening the doores, or looking out at windowes. By this time the Gentlemen hunters bring the criminall Iudges on the place to view this dead body, and with them come a great number of the Neighbours and Inhabitants of Salynes to doe the like, and amongst the rest, the Physitian La Motte (of whom this History hath already made mention and he of all the rest knowes the dead body, and therefore with much passion and sorrow cries out: that it was a Gold-smith of Dijon named Monsieur De Lau∣rier, who lay long sicke in Adrians house, and that hee had formerly given him Physicke there, and so hee said and affirmed that hee perfectly knew him to be the same, and verily imagined that he was brought to some untimely end, and so buried there, but by whom he knew not.

The Iudges therefore beleeving the report of this honest Physitian La Motte; they cause the remainders of the flesh of this dead body to be searched and visited, the which they finde without any wounds. And yet neverthelesse deeming both Adrian, his wife Isabella, and their Servants to bee the murthe∣rers of this honest man; they breake open the doores, and missing Adrian they seize on his wife Isabella, as also on her Ostler Thomas, and his maide Graceta and then bring them to the sight of this dead body with whose murther they flatly charge them, and enquire what is become of Adrian himselfe. At this un∣expected sorrowfull newes and object, Isabella is all in Teares, yea shee is so extreamly perplexed and afflicted, as wanting all other assistance and comfort shee implores that of God. Shee tells them that her Husband Adrian lay not at home with her the last night, and freely and plainely affirmes to them; that that dead body was Monsieur De Laurier a Gold-smith of Dijon, who lay long sicke in her house as he came from Frankford Mart, but how he came to his end or by whom, shee takes heaven and earth to witnesse shee knowes not, and with this her deposition doe her Ostler and maid concurre and agree in all proofes and circumstances. The Iudges likewise causing a curious search to be made in Salynes for Adrian, it was found out that that night he lay in father Iustinians house the Priest, and two whores in their Company drinking and re∣velling all night, and upon the very first report they heard of De Lauriers un∣buriall

by a Wolfe, they both (galled with guilty consciences) betake them∣selves to their heeles, and left both their two Strumpets to their repentance. Their flight proclaimes their guiltinesse of this murther to all the world espe∣cially to the Iudges. Who upon knowledge thereof to finde out the truth of this deplorable disaster, they adjudge Isabella, Thomas and Graceta to the racke: As for Thomas and Graceta, their innocency makes them brooke their torments with admirable patience and constancy, for they can never bee drawne to re∣veale that of which they are ignorant not to accuse themselves of that wherof they are not guilty. But for Isabella the incessant prayers and importunate re∣quests and solicitations of many of her honest neighbours doth ingrave such deep impressions of her vertues and piety, and of her sweet inclination and dis∣position in the hearts of the iudges, as they change their resolutions against her and so dispence with her for that torture. When sending every way abroad to pursue Adrian and father Iustinian they content themselves to keepe the Mi∣stris, the man and the maid close prisoners. They are so advised in their iudg∣ments, and so juditious in their advise, as they speedily send away Poast to Di∣jon to acquaint Du Pont the Sonne, with this disasterous accident which had betided his father De Laurier here in Salynes, who at the first alarum of this sad unexpected newes, seemes now to drowne himselfe in his teares thereat, and so thereupon rather to flye than poast away from Dijon to Salynes where hee confers with the criminall Iudges of that Town, who report to him the flight of father Iustinian and Adrian, as also of their imprisoning of his wife Isabella, of her maid Graceta, and her Ostler Thomas, in whose house his father lay sick. So Du Pont visits the dead, stinking, mangled body, and findes it to be that of his father, wherat nature and duty prescribe him so powerful a Law, as at the sight thereof, he bursts forth into many bitter teares and lamentable cries and passi∣ons. When giving him a decent and solemn burial in the next Church, he then informes the Iudges, that to his knowledge his father had good store of gold and jewells about him, so hee entreats them, that Adrian and father Iustinians houses maybe curiously searched for the same, which is performed, but finding no part thereof, and both of them fled, he is confident in his heart, that their flight proclaimes them guilty of his fathers murther, and consequently that Isabella her Ostler and maid infallibly were accessaries thereunto: Whereupon he repaires againe to the Iudges, and with many importunities prayes them that all three of them may be put to the rack for the same, thereby to bolt and find out the truth of this lamentable accident, the judges approve of Du Ponts living affection and zeale to his dead father, but (as impartiall Ora∣cles and Officers of Iustice) they tell him that they have already caused Thomas and Graceta to be racked, and that they both have strongly justified their inno∣cency of his fathers Murther, by suffering their torments with incredible for∣titude and patience. And as for their Mistris Isabella. They tell him they are fully resolved and assured, that shee was absolutely innocent, as well for that shee was many daies absent with her father in the Country, when by all like∣lihood and circumstance, his father was murthered, as also because the gene∣rall votes and voices of all her neighbours reported her to bee a very vertuous and religious woman, and that therefore in their hearts and consciences, they must needs exempt and free her from those torments. But they told him far∣ther, that in honour to justice, and to see what God and time might produce, they would detaine them all three in Prison for the space of three or foure moneths, in which meane time concurring with him in opinion that father

Instinian and Adrian undoubtedly were the murtherers of his father De Laurier, they therefore perswade him with all possible speed and diligence to pursue them up and downe the Countrey, untill hee had detected, apprehended, and brought them to justice; the which Du Pont doth, but with such extraordina∣ry zeale and hast, that he forgat a singular circumstance, of no meane impor∣tance, the omission where of might very well have made his research of them vaine. For hee forgate at Salynes to take with him their Pictures and Effigies whereby to finde them out in the Country, with farre the more ease and faci∣lity, whereof hee afterwards much repented himselfe.

As for our two execrable wretches, father Instinian and Adrian their guilty thoughts and consciences (like so many Ghosts and bloodhounds) so inces∣santly pursued them and stupified their judgements, that resolving to flye and save themselves from the free Countie, into Switzerland, they hush themselves up the day for shelter in some thicke grove or Wood, and travel∣ling all night from Salynes, they notwithstanding, the next morning (to their unspeakeable feare and vexation) saw themselves againe within a little league thereof, and in this manner they for some eight nights following, travelled a foore through unknowne waies and woods, and yet here let the Reader be∣hold and observe the wonderfull Iustice of God towards them, for at the end thereof, they are not as yet fully gone seven leagues off from Salynes, and they could not ascend the least Hill or Hillocke, but they looking backe behind them, the Towers and Turrets of Salynes were still apparent and conspicuous to them, as if they pursued and followed them, the which indeed stroke ex∣treame feare to their guiltie hearts and, and infinite terrour and amazement to their foule and trembling consciences. But this circumstance of Gods wrath and revenge towards them, is forthwith seconded and followed by a∣nother, wherein his divine Providence and justice miraculously appeares and shines forth (with infinite lustre and glory) to all those who shall reade, or heare this History. For the tenth evening after their flight from Salynes, they being extreamely wearied and tired with their foote Travells (for horses they dared not buy any) and within a mile off entering into a great wood, they in afaire plaine, seeing no body present, they at last espyed an Erring Horse, without Rider, Saddle, or Bridle: which resolving to seize on thereby to re∣create their wearied limbes and bodies they approach and surprize him. And then Adrian knowing him well to be De Lauriers horse, which (we have heard they had formerly turned off in Salynes the same night wherein they murthe∣red his Master. They extreame joyfull of this unlooked for good fortue, make a halter of their girdles and garters, and so casting their cloakes under them, they both ride away on him, and night drawing on, they hope to recover the Towne of Pontarlin before break of day; But God is here strongly bent against them, so that this Horse which they tooke for the cause of their joy, will verie shortly prove the matter of their misery, & that which they thought would be the matter of their safetie will fall out to produce their inevitable danger and confusion. For God (in his revenging Iustice) carring their horse, and he them a straying and masking that night through contrary waies and Lanes, they the next morning at break of day to their unspeakeable griefe, doe see themselves three great leagnes off from Pontarlin, when their soule facts and consciences make them still so tremblingly fearefull, that every Bush they beheld, every bird they heare, and everie •…•…fe they found wagging, they thinke are so ma∣nie Serjeants come to arrest them, as also every tree they fast; they confidently

beleeve are so many Judges come to sentence and condemne them to death for this their cruell murthering of De Laurier, such was their prodigious dis∣paire, such their ominous and fatall feare for the same.

But here their horse (orecharged with this foule and monstrous burthen) beginnes to faile them, so the more hee l•…•…sseneth his pace the more it in∣creaseth their apprehension and feare: And here they consult what to doe, whether to retire with their horse into the next Wood till night, or else to advance towards Pontarlin. But their Bread and Meat failing them, and they seeing the coast cleare, they therefore resolve to ride thither, and far the sooner doe they assume and embrace this resolution; because as yet they knew it was timely in the morning, and consequently few or no people stir∣ring. Now to dispatch their journey the sooner, Adrian is content to walke on foote, and father Iustinian to ride, and both of them are equally resol∣ved to put cheerefull faces on their perplexed and trembling hearts. And here as I will not say it was their bad, but their just fortune, which con∣ducted them within lesse than one league of Pontarlin, without being espy∣ed or seene of any. So it was likewise the providence and Iustice of God, at that very houre and place first to bring Du Pont in sight of them, who in two dayes was parted from Salynes, and in all that time had left no Hamlet Village, or Towne unsought to finde out and apprehend these murtherers of his father; Now as hee drawes neere them, his eye tells him that the Horse whereon one of these two men rid, was of the very same haire and shape as was that of his fathers, which strucke some suspition and apprehension in his heart, that sure these were father Iustintan and Adrian and farre the more because by his habit hee knew that hee who rid was a Priest. The better therefore to bee fully assured hereof, hee resolves to outride them, there∣by the more narrowly to observe both the horse and them, the which hee doth. Hee passeth by them and viewes them with his countenance purpo∣sly composed more of neglect than of observation towards them. When perfectly knowing the horse (by his two white feete, and white Starre in his forehead) to bee his Fathers, and therefore they by all consequence and apparance they to bee his murtherers, then I say Nature and Grace in∣fused a secret reluctation into his heart and soule, whether hee should more grieve or rejoyce to see them; Now as hee is loth to leave them behinde him, so hee bethinkes himselfe of a prettie policie. For riding some hun∣dred paces before them, hee descends from his horse, ties him up to the branch of a Tree, casts downe his sword and riding coate in the high way untrusseth his points, and steps within the hedge, as if hee purposly meant to ease himselfe; but indeed it was to have them passe before him, that so hee might incompasse them as two murthering Wolves in a Toyle; At his descent from his horse (as guilty consciences are still afraid of all things) father Iustinian and Adrian first beginne to feare this Stranger, as being sent to apprehend them, and so resolve to trust to their heeles and the woods for their safety, but when they see his sword, and coate in the way, and himselfe within the hedge with his hose downe, then they againe take courage and heart at grace and so proceed on in the way towards the Towne, but still they looke backe on him as if the foulenesse of their fact continually made their feares and dangers the more eminent. This is carefully and curiously observed of Du Pont. who (now comes after them a soft •…•…ot) contenting himselfe to see them a flight shot before him; as well knowing that his horse was farre nim∣bler

and swifter than theirs, and that therefore he might fetch them up at his pleasure. By this time they two arrive at Pontarlin, which they enter; where (being hungrie and fearefull, and their horse wearie and hungry) they take up one of the next Ins, which is at the sign of the Tygre where thinking themselves free of him who followed them, they recommend their horse to the Ostler, and calling for some Mutton, Bread and Wine, they there privately hush themselves up in their Chamber. But the vigilant eye and care of Du Pont sees where they are entered, so hee puts up his Horse to another Inne close by, and presently with much silence and celerity, trippes away to the Tygre Inne where they are; and knowing them to bee above the staires in their chamber to breakfast, he calles for the Hoast thereof, takes him into a close low roome next the doore; tells him that the Priest and the other man which entred his house right now, had cruelly murthered his father in Salynes, and therefore most courteously and earnestly prayes him, to step presently and fetch the Criminall officers of that Towne to apprehend them for the same, and till his and their returne, that he will give him two of his servants to guard the doors that they escape not away; The Host of this house in detestation of this foule fact of theirs, and to the honour and reputation of himself and his house, speedes away to the Officers who presently arrive with him, to whom Du Pont sorrowfully and passionately relate, that this Priest named Iustinian and this Adrian who was an Innekeeper of Salynes and now above, had very lately in his owne house, murthered his father De Laurier, who was a Goldsmith of Dijon, stript and robbed him of much gold and Jewells, and then buried him in his Orchard, and therefore (with teares in his eyes) conjures them to doe him justice by speedily apprehending them for the same, the which they as soone grant him. So they all ascend to their Chamber where they find them deeply tippling in their cups, asmuch devoid and insensible of danger as of grace. Here Du Pont (with equall passion and sorrow) strongly chargeth them both with the murther of his father De Laurier, as also for robbing of his gold and jewells and for burying of him in the Orchard. But these two bloody fa∣ctors of Hell, with a world of stout lookes, impious oathes and fearefull asseve∣rations, vow and sweare the contrary. So the Officers take them aside and ex∣amine them severally hereon. But they can receive nothing from them but peremptory denialls and prophane execrations. The which Du Pont hearing and understanding hee (with much affection to his father, and discretion to himselfe) to vindicate and know the truth hereof with the more facility and the lesse time; entreats the Officers to search them both narrowly for his fa∣thers gold and Iewells, which by Gods direction they doe, the one after the other, when they finde quilted up in their dublets and hose, store of gold, and some rich jewells and rings, and yet these two bloody villaines deny this murther of theirs with much audacity and impudency, swearing that they found this treasure in a Casket in the high way a little league beyond Salynes. But this lye of theirs is as false, as their murther and robbery of honest old De Laurier was too true, which God (in his mercy and Justice) will briefly bring to light and punishment far sooner than these bloody Miscreants either think, or feare of.

Du Pont (all this notwithstanding) constantly assures these Officers, that all this gold and jewells, and much and many more were his Fathers, and therefore ate now his both by right and propriety, as being his only Sonne and child and so demands possession thereof. But these Officers mildly deny

this request of his, tell him they must take them by an inventory, and so toge∣ther with the two prisoners to send them to the Iudges of Salynes under whose jurisdiction they affirmed they were. So for that night they commit father Iustinian and Adrian to two severall prisons, where they shall finde leisure though not enough to repent this foule and lamentable fact of theirs. Which was no sooner done, but Du Pont (having •…•…hanked these Officers of Pontarlin) sends away a Poast to Salynes to acquaint the Iudges thereof, of his apprehen∣ding of these the two Murtherers of his father, whom hee earnestly besought to hasten their executions; so according to his request at the end of two daies these two Prisoners are sent for, and brought from Pontarlin to Salynes, and there imprisoned.

The very next morning the criminall Iudges send for them to one of their houses, and first severally private, and then publikely by confrontation, exa∣mine them on this cruell murther and robbery, but the Divell is still so strong with them, that with much courage and vehemency, they continue and stand firme in their negative resolution and deniall; But De Laurier being now found and knowne to have layen some seven weekes sicke in Adrians house, aswel by the confession of Isabella his wife of Graceta her maid and of Thomas their Ost∣ler, as also of the Apothecary La Motte, then his body found buried in his Or∣chard, and Adrian and father Iustinian their sudden flight upon the same, and now lastly his horse, gold, and jewels found upon them in Pontarlin by the offi∣cers of that Towne, and his Sonne Du Pont, were evidences as bright and ap∣parant as the Sunne that (in honour to justice and in glory to God from whom all true justice is derived) these wise and grave Iudges of Salynes, doe reject these denials of Adrian and father Iustinian as false, prophane, and impious, and therefore that very instant adjudge them both to the racke, at the hearing of which sentence they seeme to be nothing apalled and daunted, but they be∣ing advertised that Isabella his Wife was likewise imprisoned for this fact, she for her part, by some friends of hers makes sute to the Iudges, that she may be permitted to speake with her Husband, and so doth father Iustinian that hee likewise may speake wirh her. But the Iudges hold both of these their re∣quests to bee vaine and impertinent and therefore flatly contradict and deny them.

So Adrian is first brought to the racke, who though hee bee weake of con∣stitution yet hee is still so strong in his villany, as hee will not bee perswaded or drawne to confesse it, but with much courage of body, and animosity of minde, suffers himselfe to bee fastned thereto, whereof the Judges being ad∣vertised, they in their discretion, hold it expedient to delay his torments for a time, and so first to make triall of father Iustinian, to see if these his torments will make him lesse stout, and more flexible in the confession thereof. Wherein (I write it with joy) their judgements nothing deceive them, for at the very first wrench of the racke, God is so mercifull to his soule, and so pro∣pitious to his new conversion and repentance, that hee then and there confes∣seth this lamentable murther, in all its branches and circumstances (as wee have formerly understood; Affirmes only himselfe and Adrian to be the Au∣thors and Actors thereof; Sweares that Isabella, Graceta and Thomas were e∣very way innocent thereof, and had no hand or knowledge therein whatso∣ever. Whereupon the Iudges send againe for Adrian, and cause him a new to bee brought to the racke, but first they hold it fit to confront him with his bloody companion father Iustinian, who boldly affirming, and constantly

confirming all his former deposition to him in his face to bee sincere and true Adrian is amazed and daunted there at, as also at the sight of the racke which was againe prepared and brought for him, when the devill flying from him, and hee casting his heart and soule at the sacred feet of Gods mercy, hee there very sorrowfully confirmed all father Iustinians confession to be true, and then falling on his knees, hee with many bitter sighes and teares) said againe and againe aloud; that his wife his man, and his man were as truly innocent, as father Iustinian and himselfe were alone truly guilty of this foole and cruell murther and robbery of De Laurier. When their Iudges, asmuch rejoycing 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the detection and confession of these their crimes as they lamented and dete∣sted their perpetrations thereof. They condemne them both to bee hanged the next morning and because father Iustinian had violated his sacred Order, and Adrian the humane and Christian Lawes of Hospitalitie, their bodies af∣ter to bee burnt to ashes.

So as soone as Father Iustinian was degraded of his Sacerdotall Order, and Habit, and committed to the secular powers, hee together with Adrian were for that night returned to their prison and repentance, where two Priests, and one Fryer of the order of the Iacobyns prepare their soules for Heaven against the next morning. It was a griefe to Isabellas heart, to heare that he was guilty of this foule and lamentable murther, but a farre greater torment and Hell to her minde to understand that hee must suffer death for the same, and that she should neither see nor speake with him any more either in this life, or this world. Againe looking from him to her selfe, as shee could not hope for his life, so shee thought shee had some small cause, or at least scruple to doubt and feare her owne, in regard it lay at the courtesie or cruelty of her Husband and father Iustini•…•…n, for that (as we have formerly understood) they acquainted her with their intents and desires to murther De Laurier, and shee revealed it not. But yet (neverthelesse) in the purity of her heart, and the can did innocency of her soule, shee commits the successe both of her life, or death to God, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 not being able to sleepe away any part of that night for sorrow, shee as a religi∣ous woman, and a most vertuous wife) passeth out the whole obscurity there∣of, in the brightnesse of heavenly ejaculations and prayer, which from the profundity of her heart, shee proffereth up to Heaven both for her Husband and her selfe.

Very early the next morning, before father Iustinian and Adrian went to their execution; Du Pont, and (at his request) the Iudge repair to the Pri∣son to them; where hee and they enquire of him, to what all•…•…w of gold and iewells they had taken from his dead father, who tell him, that in a letter which his Father had written to him 〈◊〉〈◊〉 •…•…jon, and the which they had sup∣pressed and burnt; hee therein mentioned the vallew of one thousand seven hundred crownes. And being againe demanded by him, what and where was become of all that great summe in gold and Iewels, they freely and inge∣niously tell him, that one third part thereof was taken from them, by him and the Officers of justice in Pontarlin, and another third he should finde hidden in such and such secret places of their houses, and for the other third part, they •…•…shed not to confesse and averre, that they had since paid some old debts bought some new apparell, and spent the rest thereof upon their whores, and other o•…•… their voluptuousnesse and prodigalities. So the Iudges and Du Pont speed away to Adrian and father Iustinians houses, where they finde the gold and jewels according to their confessions, the which together with the other

former part taken from the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 〈◊〉〈◊〉 (both which amounted to some 〈◊〉〈◊〉. 〈◊◊◊〉〈◊◊◊〉) 〈◊◊〉〈◊◊〉 and honest judges deliver up unto Du Pont, who received it from them with joy and thankefullnesse, but as a good Sonne rejoy∣ces •…•…rre more at the now approaching deserved deaths, of these two bloody and execrable wretches, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and Adrian, the murtherers of his good old father De Laurier of whom some twenty and five yeares before, he had the happinesse to receive his life.

Some two houres after, which was about tenne of the clocke in the mor∣ning these our two condemned malefactors are brought to the place of exe∣cution where a great concourse of people of Salynes, and the country therea∣bout attend to see them finish the last Scene and Catastrophie of their lives. The first who ascends the Ladder is Adrian who speakes little; Only he takes it to his death, that his decre wife Isabella, his servant maid Graceta, and his Ostler Thomas, are as absolutely innocent of this murther of De Laurier, as hee himselfe here againe confesseth hee is guilty thereof. Hee prayes God to for∣give him this foule fact, and beseecheth all that are present to pray to God for him, and for his wretched and miserable soule, the which he knoweth hath great need and want of their prayers, when casting his handkerchiefe over his face, and privately ending some few prayers to himselfe hee is turned over. In∣stantly after him rather Iustinian mounts the Ladder, who (in his lookes and countenance) seemes to bee very repentant and penitent for this his soule and hainous fact, the which hee praves God to absolve and forgive him, hee here againe cleeres Isabella, Graceta, and Thomas of this murther. Hee much lamen∣teth that hee hath so highly scandalized the sacred order of Priesthood in his crime and person; and therefore beseecheth all Priests and Churchmen ei∣ther present or absent to forgive it him; when repeating some Ave Maries, and often making the signe of the crosse, hee was likewise turned over.

And thus was the miserable life and death of this impious Priest, and wick∣ed and bloody Host, and in this sharpe manner did God justly revenge him∣selfe and punish them with shame and confusion for this cruell and lamenta∣ble murther. Immediately after which execution of theirs, the Iudges set our vertuous and innocent Isabella, and her maid, and Ostler free from their unde∣served indurance and troubles, whereat all the Spectators, doe as much praise God for the liberty of the three last, as they detest the foule crime, and rejoyce at the just punishments of the two first: If we make good use of the knowledge of this sorrowfull history, the profit, and confo∣lation thereof will be ours, and the glory Gods, which God of his best favour and merey grant us.

Amen.

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

HISTORY XXVIII.

Hippolito murthereth Garcia in the street by night▪ for the which he is hanged. Do∣minica and her Chamber-maid Denisa, poysoneth her husband Roderigo; De∣nisa afterwards strangleth her owne new borne Babe, and throwes it into a Pond, for the which she is hanged; on the ladder she confessed that she was accessary, with her Lady Dominica in the poysoning of her Husband Roderlgo; for the which Do∣minica is apprehended, and likewise hanged.

HOw easily doth malice and revenge enter into our hearts, and how difficultly doe wee expell and ba∣nish it thence, & what doth thus promise, or rather threaten un o us, but that it is a wretched •…•…gne and testimony that the Devill hath more power with •…•…s than God, that wee more dearly af•…•…ct Nature than Grace, and Earth than Heaven. In many •…•…nnes there is some pretence or shadow of pleasure, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 in murther there is none except wee desire •…•…hat it should bring griefe and repentance to our hearts, horrour and terrour to our consciences, and misery and confusion to our soules, which indeed despight of our earthly policie and prophane preventi∣on it will infallibly both shew and bring us. But (to shew our wickednesse in in our weakenesse) through the •…•…e subtilty and treachery of Satan, we think wee act and perpetrate it so secretly, that it cannot bee found out of men, no•…•… detected or punished of God. Wherein what 〈◊〉〈◊〉 foo•…•…es, and •…•…oolish mad∣men are we thus to deceive and betray ourselves with false hopes and errone∣o•…•… suggestions, for although men may be de•…•…ded and not •…•…ee 〈◊〉〈◊〉, yet •…•…an God

bee mocked, or will hee be blinded and deceived herein. O no, his decrees and resolutions are secret and sacred, and though invisible to our eyes, yet our designes and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 are transpar•…•…nt to his▪ For hee in his all-seeing provi∣dence) reserves 〈◊〉〈◊〉 himselfe the manner and time, how and where to punish it. A•…•… reade wee this approaching History, and it will confirme as much in the lives and deaths of some bloody and inhumane personages, who were bor•…•…e to honour, and consequently to have lived more happie, and died lesse ignominiously.

IN the rich and popu•…•…us Citie of Gra•…•…ado (which Ferdinand and Isabella King and Queene of Sp•…•…ine, Anno. 1492. so famously and fortunately con∣quered from the Moores) there (within these few yeares) dwelt an ancient Lady, named Dona Ali•…•…a Serv•…•…tella, who was descended o•…•… noble parentage, and by her late Husban•…•…, Do•…•… Pedro de Car•…•…s (dying a chiefe Commander in the West Indyes) shee had two children, a sonne and a daughter, hee named Don Garcia, and shee Dona Do•…•…nica, hee of some twenty yeeres of age, and shee of some eighteene, hee t•…•…l of statur•…•… but some what hard favoured and shee short▪ but e•…•…ceeding •…•…ir and beautifull. Their mother Cervantella be∣ing not left rich by her de•…•…eased Husband, did yet bring up these her two children very hono•…•…rably and vertuously, and maintained them exceeding gallant in their apparell, though shee clad her selfe the worse for it for their sakes▪ Shee observes her Sonne D•…•…n Garcia to be of a mild disposition, and very wittie and judi•…•…ious; but for her daughter Dominica, shee sees with feare, and feares with griefe, that her wit will come short of her beauty, and her chastity of her wit; In which regard and consideration shee loves him better than her and yet beares sovigilant an eie over her actions, that as yet s•…•…e keepes her within the lists of Modesty, and the boundes of obedience as hol∣ding i•…•… •…•…rre truer di•…•…etion to make her more beloved than feared of her, or rather that feare and love by •…•…urnes, might act their severall parts upon the Theatre of her youthful heart, and resolutions. There is an old rich gentle∣man of that City nobly descended, tearmed Don Hippolito S•…•…vino, commonly knowne and named onely Don Hippolito; aged of some threescore and tenne yeares and much subject to the Gowt, a disease better knowne than •…•…red, and which loves rich men as much as poore men hate it. And this old Hippolito in the Frost and Winter of his age falls in love with our •…•…re young Lady Domi∣nica, and so by the Lady the Mother seekes her daughter in marriage. As for the Mother shee loves Hippolito's gold better than her daughter doth his age and affects his lands as much as she hates his personage. But Don Garcia at the often requests of his sister being at last vanquished by her imortuni•…•…e soone changeth his mothers opinion and good esteeme of Hippolito, and so they all three give him the repulse and deniall. But his affection to this deli•…•…ate fresh young beauty makes him more perverse and obstinate than his age, so he will take no answer for an answer, nor a refusall for a refuse from them but will or nill frequent their company daily, and their house almost hourely they are all three tired with his sottish in•…•…illity and doting im•…•…ortunacy▪ es•…•…ecially Dominic•…•…, who measuring his age, by her youth▪ and knowing him to be farre •…•…ter for his grave than a wife she therefore scornes him as much as he loves her but vet say shee what shee will, or doe her Mother and Brother what they can yet they cannot free their house or shift their hands of him; although they many times make him looke upon bare walles, content himselfe to con∣verse

with the meanest of their Servants and so to returne without seeing ei∣ther of Mother, Sonne, or Daughter.

But Dominica, holding her beautie and yeares, now to bee worthie of a hus∣band, shee is so incivill and incontinent as shee prayes her mother to procure and provide her one. For (to use her owne words) shee saith shee is weary to lye alone, and live single, and fully resolved no longer either to triflle away her time, or to cast away her youth and beautie; Her Lady Mother (in most vertuous tearmes) checks her impudency, blames her impudicity, and concludes that if shee for∣sake those immodest humours and inclinations, and so serve and feare God religiously then there is no doubt but in good time, hee (of his propitious fa∣vour and goodnesse towards her) will provide her one, when turning from her Daughter, the verie teares of sorrow fall aboundantly from her old eyes, to see her thus immodest, thus irregular and wanton, as doubting and fearing that in the end it will prove ominous and fatall to her.

But her lascivious Daughter Dominica is not contented with this generall answer of her Mother, for shee is yet so vainly impudent, and so vitiously im∣prudent, as shee importunately prayes her brother Don Garcia, effectually and speedily to solicite her Mother to provide her a husband, whereat hee rather laughes than gives eare. But when againe hee ruminates and considers with himselfe this her foolish levity and wantonnesse, fearing the worst, and to the end shee might not hereafter prove a disgrace to her selfe, a scandall to their house, and a dishonour to their blood, hee (taking time at advantage) breakes and treates with his mother hereon; who concurring in opinion with him, returnes him rather her consent than her deniall, the which hee reports to his immodest sister Dominica, who is thereat as joyfull as before shee was discon∣tented.

Not long after it fell out that Dominica with her Mother going on a great Holyday in the morning to the Church of the Benedictine Monkes, and being behinde her on her knees to her Beades and Oraisons, her devotion was so cold and her zeale so frozen towards God, as seeing a very proper young Gen∣tleman (richly apparreled) likewise there on his knees to his prayers not farre from her; shee as a poore (I may say as a prophane) Christian beckons her mothers man to come to her, and whispers him in the eare, that he discreetly goe and enquire what that young Cavallier is, whom she describes to him by his apparell and especially by a rich Diamond Ring which hee weares on his finger; Her mothers man demanding of the Gentlemans servants returnes speedily to his young Lady, and tells her in her eare, that it is Don Roderigo, Sonne and heire to Don Emmanuell de Cortez, whereat her lustfull affection makes her heart leape and dance within her forjoy, for so incivilly unchast is shee in her desires and wishes, that at his very first sight shee desires him for her Husband before any other man of the world, yea before any other earthly felicity. Whereupon shee vowes that her Mother shall have no truce, nor her Brother any peace of her before they powerfully make this motion of mari∣age for her to Don Roderigo, who being often solicited and provoked by her importunate requests, they consult hereon, and both of them approve and desire it, as holding it a match equally honourable to them both. The Sonne will have his mother first to breake the ice of this motion to Don Roderigo, but the mother will have her Sonne first to performe that office to him, and so to take a faire occasion to invite him home to her house to speake with her, the which Don Garcia performes, and deales herein so effectually with Don Rode∣rigo

that home hee comes with him. The Lady Cervantella (after many com∣plements and speeches) presents this motion to him. Hee sees the young La∣dy Dominica her daughter, and finding her to bee exceeding faire and wittie, hee likes and loves her and so takes time to advise hereon with his father, for the Lady his Mother was formerly gone to heaven. Roderigo breakes this mo∣tion to Don Emanuell his father, who not pleased therewith seekes to divert his Sonne from it, in regard he knowes that her Mother Dona Cervantella is ve∣ry poore. and of a weake estate, as being much incumbred with the great depts of her deceased Husband. Roderigo alleageth to his Father, his true affection to the true beautie and vertues of Dominica, and that her descent and blood is no way inferiour to his. But his father being of an exceeding covetous dispo∣sition, will have wealth to oversway beauty, and not beauty wealth, and so is resolute to heare no more of this motion, whereat his sonne Roderigo bites the lippe, and is much discontented. Yet neverthelesse hee hath cast his affection so deepely and firmely on the fresh and delicate beauty of Dominica, that hol∣ding it to bee the Gold of Nature, and shee the Queene and Phoenix of Beau∣ty, hee cannot, hee will not refraine, but very often frequents Dona Cervan∣tella's house, and her daughters company. To whom (notwithstanding his Fathers distast of her) hee yet gives farre more hope than dispaire that hee wil bee her Husband, which ravisheth her with delight, her Mother Dona Cervan∣tella, and her brother Don Garcia with content.

But the order of our History envites us for a while to leave Don Roderigo to feast his eyes and surfet his thoughts and contemplations on the Roses and Lillies of his Mistris beauty, and againe to returne to speake of our old Dotard Hippolito. Who now (led by his lust and voluptuous desires, as they are by the instigation of the Devill) comes to performe and act a bloody and deplorable part on the stage of this History. Hee sees with griefe and grieves to see that hee is refused of the Lady Dominica whom hee loves farre deerer and tenderer then his life, and understanding that Don Roderigo de Cortez, doth still frequent her company, hath gained her affection and shall shortly marry her, he there∣upon turnes his reason into rage, converts his judgement into revenge, and so resolves to murther him by night, as soone as hee findes him to issue forth of the Lady Cervantella's house, the Devill making him strong in the vanity of this beliefe and confidence, that hee being once dead, undoubtedly the faire Dominica will fall for his share and wife. So hee is resolute in this his bloody and damnable designe: and consults with himselfe whether hee should doe it by himselfe, or by some second instrument, but finding it dangerous to effect it by another, beeause he must then commit his life to his courtesie, and see∣ing that his Gout had now forsaken him, hee therefore resolves to doe it by himselfe. But first hee thinkes it not improper, rather pertinent for him to write Roderigo a letter, the which hee doth in these tearmes and sends it him by one of his owne confident Servants.

HIPPOLITO to RODERIGO.

WErt thou informed but of the hundred part of my deere affection to the faire young Lady Dominica, and reciprocally of hers to me, thou wouldst (if not out of ho∣nour, yet out of Iudgement) surcease thy suite to her, and not make thy obstinacie ridicu∣lons by thinking to obtaine her to thy Wife, and although shee feede thee with the sugar o•…•… many sweet protestations and promises to the contrary yet if I have any eyes in my head, or

thou judgement in thine to discerne the truth hereof, thou hast farre more reason to rely upon the integrity of my age, than the Vanity and inconstancy of her youth; And wert thou not a Gentle •…•…an whom I love for thine owne and honour for thy Fathers sake, I had not so long permitted thee to frequent her company, nor so often to converse with her to the prejudi•…•…e of my content and thy discretion, and if this friendly Ambassador of my heart, my Letter, will not yet induce thee to leave her to mee, whom Heauen and Earth, God and her Mother have given mee. I will then either by thy Father, or by the usuall course of Iustice take that order with thee therein, as shall red•…•…d as much to my honour and fame, as to thy infamy and disreputation,

HIPPOLITO.

Roderigo having received and read this Letter of Hippolito, hee cannot re∣fraine from smiling and laughing to see his sottish errour and ridiculous igno∣rance herein, for he perfectly knowes, that both Dominica, and the Lady Cer∣vantella her mother are long since resolved to heare no more either of him or of his sute, and therefore hee holds it more worthie of his laughter than of his observation, likewise to see, that this old dotard, when nature is ready to wed him to his grave, that his lust should yet bee so forward to desire to mar∣ry so young and beautifull a Lady as Dominica; The which considering, once hee thought to returne him no other answer but silence, but at last respecting his age and Quality more than his indiscretion or power, after he had shewne his letter to Cervantella, to Dominica, and her brother Don Garcia, who all con∣cur in opinion with him to make it the publike object, as both it and himselfe were the private cause of their generall laughter, hee calles for pen and paper and (rather with contempt than choller) by Hippolito's owne servant returnes him this answer.

RODERIGO to HIPPOLITO.

I Have as small reason to doubt of thy affecti•…•…n to the young Lady Dominica, as to beleeve that hers is reciprocally so to thee and therefore I see no just cause in honour or solid ground in Iudgement to surcease my sute towards •…•…er, much lesse to deeme my ob∣stinacy ridiculous in hoping to obtaine her to my Wife; And although it bee in thy plea∣sure, yet it is not in thy power to make mee doubtfull of her fairewords, or to call in que∣stion, or suspition her sweet promises and protestations to mee, sith that were to prophane the purity of my zeale to her, and of her true and sincere affection to mee, the which yet to doe thee a courtesie, I will rather excuse than condemne in thee, because I am consident it exceeds thy knowledge, though not thy feare, and in this behalfe and assurance, thine eyes cannot so much prevaile with my Iudgement, but that I will more rely upon the in∣tegrity of her youth, than the vanity of thy Age. As for thy love to mee or honour to my Father, when I finde it so I will acknowledge it to bee as true, as now I conceive i•…•… feigned: but for thy threates to mee in thinking thereby to make mee forsake the conversation and company of that faire and vertuous young Lady, I doe rather pitty than esteeme them, and every may moré contemne than care for them, assuring thee that I cannot possibly refr•…•… from laughter to see thee so devoid of common sence, as to thinke to bee able, either to scarre mee with the power of the Law, or to daunt me with the prerogative and authority of my father in making mee to forsake her whom in life and death, I neither can nor will forsake, resolve therefore henceforth to prevent thy infamy and disreputation, for I will bee left to my selfe to establish mine owne content and honour, as I please.

RODERIGO.

Hippolito upon the receit and consideration of this peremptory letter of Don Roderigo, is so inflamed and incensed against him to see that (perforce) he will

make him weare a Willow Garland, as (without any more delayes or expostu∣lations) understanding him to bee that very same night which hee received his Letter with his Lady Dominica at her mothers house, the Devill causeth him to gather all his malice, wits and strength together about him that night to murther him as he issueth forth to goe home, which bloody stratagem of his to effect and finish, hee chargeth a pistoll with three bullets and hee waites his comming thence: but Don Garcia accidentally issuing forth all alone pri∣vately to goe visit a friend of his not farre off, this wretched old villaine Hippo∣lito taking him to bee Roderigo lets flye at him, and all three bullets pierce his body, so hee falles downe dead to the ground. The blow is heard, and the breathlesse body of Don Garcia is found reeking in his blood, whose mother, sister, and Don Roderigo are amazed and astonished at this deplorable disaster, and ready to drowne themselves in their teares for sorrow thereof. So Roderigo leaving some Neighbours to comfort them, hee takes order to finde out the murtherers, and goes himselfe speedily throughout the street to that effect; When the good pleasure and providence of God directs his course to finde out this old execrable wretch Hippolito going lirping and limping in the street, having throwne away his Pistoll, and only holding his darke lanthorne in his hand, which then (the better to collour out this damna∣ble fact of his) hee opened to light him. Roderigo measuring things past by the present, and finding Hippolito there in the streets all alone, at this undue and unseasonable houre of the night. God prompts his heart with this suspition, that hee in likelyhood was the murtherer of Don Garcia, and so layes hold of him, and caus•…•…th him to be committed to the prison, notwithstanding all the entreaties, meanes and friends, which hee could then possibly make to the contrary. The next day all Granado rings and resounds of this murther, and of the suspition and imprisonment of Don Hippolito for the same, when the Lady Cervantella goes to the Criminall Iudges of the City and accuseth him for the same, and with griefe, sorrow, and passion, followes it close against him; and although Hippolito at his first examination denies it, yet being by his cleeresighted Iudges adjudged to the racke for the same, hee at the very first sight thereof confesseth it, for the which bloody and lamentable crime of his, hee is sentenced the next day to be hanged, although hee proffered all his estate and meanes to save his life; But the zeale and integrity of his jud∣ges was such to the sacred name of Iustice as they disdained to bee corrupted herewith.

So the next Morning this old bloody wretch Hippolito is brought to the common place of execution, where a very great concourse of people repaire from all parts of the Citty to see him take his last farewell of the world, most o•…•… them pittying his age, but all condemning the enormity of this his foule and bloody crime. He was dealt with by some Priests and Fryers in prison, whose Charity and Piety, endevoured to fortifie his heart against the feare of death, and to prepare his soule for the life and joyes of that to come. But the Devill was yet so strong with him that hee could not bee drawne to contriti∣on nor would not bee either perswaded or enforced to repentance, or to aske God, or the world forgivenesse of this his bloody fact, but as hee lived pro∣phanely so hee would dye wretchedly and desperately, for on the Ladder hee made a foolish speech, the which because it savoured more of beastly concu∣piscence and lust, than of Piety or Religion, I will therefore burie it in oblivi∣on, and silence, and so hee was turnedover.

Come we now to speake of Don Emanuell de Cortez the Father, who under∣standing of his Sonne Roderigo his continuall frequenting of Dona Cervantella's house, and her daughter Dominica's company, and now hearing of this mur∣ther of her Sonne to her doore, his owne Sonne being then therein present; he is much discontented therewith; and because he will sequester him from her sight and provide him another Wife, hee sends him to Asnalos, a mannor house of his, some tenne leagues off in the Country, with a strong injunction and charge, there to reside till his farther order to returne. Roderigo is won∣derfull sorrowfull thus to leave the sight of his faire and deere Mistris Domi∣nica, and (to the view of the world) no lesse is shee, so hee transporteth only his body to Asnallos, but his heart he leaves with her in Granado. But a moneth is scarce expired after his departure, But the Lady Cervantella (by the death of her Sonne Don Garcia, wanting a man to conduct and governe her affaires, especially her law sutes, wherewith (as wee have formerly heard) she is much incumbred, shee thereupon (as also at the instant request of her Daughter) writes Roderigo this letter for his returne.

CERVANTELLA to RODERIGO.

AS thou tenderest the prosperity of my affaires, and the content and ioy of my Dough∣ter, I request thee speedily to leave Asnallos, and to returne to reside heere in Gra∣nado, for I wanting my Sonne Garcia, who was the ioy of my life, and shee her Roderi∣go who art the life of her joy, thou must not finde it strange if my age, and her youth, and if my Law sutes and her love affections and desires assume this resolution: Thy Father is a Noble man of Reason, and his Sonne shall finde this to bee a request both 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and reasonable, except thou wilt so farre publish thy weakenesse to the world, tha•…•… thou doest more feare thy Father than love my Daughter, for if thou shouldest once •…•…mit thy obedience to him so farre to give a Law to thy affection to her, thou wilt then make thy selfe as unworthy to bee her Husband, as I desire it with zeale, and shee with passion. Shee is resolved to second this my letter with one of her owne to thee, to which I referre thee; God blesse thy stay, and hasten thy returne.

CERVANTELLA.

Dominica resolving to make good her promise to her mother, and that of her mother to Roderigo she withdrawes her selfe to her chamber to write and knowing her mothers messenger ready to depart, chargeth him with the deli∣very of her letter to her lover Roderigo, and to cast the better lustre and varnish over her affection, she takes a Diamond Ring from her finger, and likewise sends it him for a token of her love.

DOMINICA to RODERIGO.

AS the death of my Brother Don Garcia made 〈◊〉〈◊〉 extreame sorrowfull, so thi•…•… of thy absence made mee infinitely miserable, for as that nipt my joyes and hopes in their blossomes, so this kills them in their riper age and 〈◊〉〈◊〉. When I 〈◊〉〈◊〉 received thy love, and gave and returned thee mine in exchange, I had 〈◊◊〉〈◊◊〉 thou hadst affected me too dearly so soone to leave my sight, and to •…•…sh thy 〈◊◊〉〈◊◊〉 my company, but now I see with griefe, and feelewith sorrow that th•…•… lovest thy F•…•…er farre bettter than •…•…ee, and delightest to preferre his content bef•…•… 〈◊〉〈◊〉 for else

thou hadst not made me thus wretched by thy absence, who am as (it were) but entering into the happinesse of thy presence. If thou canst finde in thy heart to obey his commands, before thou grant my requests, then come not to Granado but stay still in Asnallos, but if the contrary, then leave Asnallos, and come to mee in Granado, w•…•…ere I will chide thee for thy long stay, and yet give thee a world of thankes and kisses for thy so soone returne, and as my heart and soule doth desire it, so the prosperity of my Mothers affaires doth likewise want, and therefore crave it. Iudge of the fervency of my affection to thee, by thine to my selfe; and then thou wilt spe•…•…dily resolve to see thy Dominica, who desires nothing so much under Heaven as to have the happinesse of thy sight, and the felicity and Honour of thy Company.

DOMINICA.

Roderigo receives these their two Letters; reputes that of the mother to much respect, and this of her Daughter to infinite affection, so as the very knowledg and consideration thereof makes him rejoyce in the first, and triumph in the second, and therefore knowing himselfe to be a man, and past a child, and that as he is bound by nature and reason to obey his farther, so he is not tyed to bee commanded by him beyond it, wherefore he resolves to give content to the mother for the daughters sake, and to the daughter for his own sa•…•…e and so by their own messenger returnes them these answers; That to the Lady Cervan∣tella spake thus.

RODERIGO to CERVANTELLA.

I So much tender the prosperity of thy affaires, and thy daughters content and joy that my resolutions shall so dispose of my selfe towards my Father; as verie shortly I will see thee with respect and observance, and visit her with affection and zeale; for this desire of hers and request of thine, is so honourable so reasonable, as my Father should be guilty of unkindnesse, to deny the one, and my selfe of ingratitude not to grant the other; Or if he will yet continue to crosse our affections I will then make it apparant to the world, that I will not feare him the thousand part so much as I will love her, and that I will ambiti∣ously strive and resolve to make my affection to her; to equalize thy zeale and her passion to mee and that I cannot receive a greater felicity and honour, than to see her my Wife and my selfe her Husband. I have given an answere to her Letter, and very shortly I will give her my selfe every way answerable to her merits, to thy expectation and my promise.

RODERIGO.

His Letter to Dominica was charged and fraughted with these lines.

RODERIGO to DOMINICA.

To deface thy sorrowes for thy Brothers death, and thy miseries for my absence and likewise to preserve thy ioyes in their blossomes, and thy hopes in their riper age and maturity, I am f•…•…ly resolved very shortly to grant thy request in leaving Asnallos; to live and dye with thee in Granado, and thou doest offer a palpable wrong to the truth and an immerited disparagement to the purity and candour of my affection, to thinke that I any wa•…•… preferre my obedience to my Father, before my affection to thee, or consequently his content to thine. Therefore prepare thy selfe to kisse not to chide mee, for else I will resolve to chide and not to kisse thee at my returne. My best

endevoure shall write on the prosperity of thy Mothers affaires, and my best love and service shall eternally attend on her Daughters pleasure and Commands, and judge thou if my zeale to thee, doe not exceed thine to my selfe, sith Earth is not so deere to mee, as the Honour of thy sight, nor Heaven as the felicity of thy company.

RODERIGO.

Hee hath no sooner dispatched these two Letters to his Mistris and her Mo∣ther, but the very next day after hee enters into a resolution with himselfe; that hee shall not doe well so soone to disoblige and disobey his father, by so speedily precipitating his returne from Asnallos to Granado, as urging this rea∣son to his consideration, and proposing this consideration to his judgement, that Dominica's affection and beauty can difficultly make him rich, but that his Fathers discontent and displeasure towards him may easily make him poore: Whereupon resolving to cherish his constancy to her, and yet to retaine his obedience to him, hee holds it no sinne if a little longer hee dispence with his content and promise to temporize for his discretion and profit, as grounding his hope upon this confidence, and his confidence upon this presuming infal∣libility, that his Lady and Mistris Dominica is as chast as faire, and will prove as constant to him as she is beautifull in her selfe. But she is a woman and there∣fore she may deceive his hopes, and he is a man and therefore it is possible that her beauty may betray his judgement, the which prediction and prophesie (to his griefe and sorrow, and to her shame and misery) wee shall shortly see made true and verified, the manner thus.

Dominica (as wee have formerly understood) being of a wanton disposition and carriage, and very unchastly and lasciviously enclined, shee finding Rode∣rigo's stay in Asnallos to exceed his promise and her expectation, shee cannot live chast, shee will not remaine constant in his absence, but hath a friend or two, I meane two proper young Gentlemen of Granado to whom shee many times privately imparteth her amorous favours and affection, the which shee acteth not so closely, but the Lady her Mother (being a Lincy-eyed, and curi∣ous observer of her actions) hath notice thereof, and thinking ro reclaime her from this foule sinne of fornication and whoredome, which threatens no lesse than the ruines of her fortunes, and the shipwracke of her reputation; she first attempteth to perswade her by faire meanes with teares and prayers; but see∣ing shee could not thereby prevaile with her, then shee gives her many sharpe speeches and bitter threates, and menaces as wholly to deprive her of her Fa∣thers portion, and either to make, her spend her daies in a Nunnery, or end them in a Prison. That shee is not worthie to tread upon the face of earth, or looke up to Heaven because this her foule crime of fornication, makes her o∣dious to God, and an infinite shame and scandall to all her Parents and friends in generall, and to every one in particular, with many other reasons looking and conducing that way, the which for brevities 〈◊〉〈◊〉, I resolve to omit and bury in silence.

But this lectu•…•…e of the Mother prevailes not with the Daughter, but rather inflames than quencheth the fite of her inordinate and lascivious lust; the which shee perceiving, and to prevent her owne scandall in that of her daugh∣ters, shee (as a carefull Mother and a wise Matron) me weth her up in her cham∣ber, where Dominice (for meere griefe and choller (to see her selfe thus debard of her pleasures in the restraint of her liberty) shee growes very ficke, lookes

exceeding wanne, pale and thinne, and sokeepes her bed, the which the Lady Cervantella takes for a fit occasion and opportunity againe effectually to write to Roderigo to hasten his returne to Granado, as doubting least her Daughters Belly should chance to swell and grow big in his absence. This her Letter to Roderigo, reported her minde, and represented her desires to him in these tearmes.

CERVANTELLA to RODERIGO.

THou doest thy selfe no right, but mee and my Daughter infinite wrong in staying so long from Granado, in regard it is contrary to thy promise, to my expectation and to her deserts and merits; For her affection is so entire and fervent to thee, because shee conceives and hopes that thine (in requitall) is so to her, that shee hath this many moneths languished in expectation of thy, returne; whereof now beginning to dispaire, that dis∣paire of hers hath strucke her into so dangerous a consumption, that I feare it will shortly prove fatall to her, for already the Lillyes have banished the Roses of her cheekes yea her cheekes are growne thinne, and those sparkling starres her eyes have lost a great part of their wonted lustre and glory, so if thy affection will not, yet pitty should move thee to ha∣sten thy returne to see and comfort her; especially sith thou wilt scarce know her when thou seest her, in regard I may (almost) justly affirme that shee is no longer Dominica, but rather the living Anotomy of dead Dominica. How thou canst answer for this her sicknesse to thine honour (which is occasioned by thy unkindnesse, I know not, but sure I am if shee goe to her grave before thou come to her, thou canst never sufficiently answer it to thy conscience, nor thy conscience to God. In her sicke bed, thou art the only Saint to whom shee offereth up her devotions, and therefore it will bee a miserable ingratitude in thee to permit her to dye thy Martyr.

CERVANTELLA.

At the receit and perusall of this Letter Roderigo is infinitly sorrowfull, es∣pecially when hee considereth that it is only Dominicas deere affection to him and his long stay from her, which hath occasioned her sicknesse, whereupon his love consulting with his honour, his honour with his conscience, and his conscience with God, hee conjureth the Messenger to returne speedily to Granado to the Lady Cervantella and her daughter Dominica from him and to assure them that all busines of the world set apart, hee will be there with them the next day, and bring them the answers of their letters himselfe; whereat at the messengers returne they both of them exceedingly rejoyce, Roderigo now (according to his promise) comes to Granado, visiteth Cervantella, and his sicke Mistris Dominica, salutes the one with complements, the other with kis∣ses. Dominica intending to give him her body, but not her heart, dissembleth her affection to him, and frownes on him exceedingly, as if her love to him and his to her were deerer to her than all the world, and farre more pretious than her life. But contrariwise Roderigo intends as hee speakes, and speakes as hee intends; yea hee is so sincere and reall in his affection to her, as shee is coun∣terfeit and treacherous to him. So glorying in her beauty, and triumphing in her youth, hee with much difficulty, obtaines his fathers consent and marries her, their Nuptials being solemnized in Granado with state and bravery answe∣rable to their descents and qualities, but he will finde a wanton L•…•…is for a con∣stant Lucrece, and a lascivious Phryne for a chast Penelope. Never Husband bore himselfe more respectfully, lovingly, and courteously to his Wife than doth

Roderigo to his Dominica, for hee thinkes that her fare cannot bee curious, nor her apparell costly enough for her, yea such was his tender respect to her, and affection of her, that hee willingly permitted her to goe where she would, and to come when shee pleased, contrary to the custome of Spaine, and generally of most Spanyards, who hold it farre more folly than affection to give this li∣centious freedome and liberty to their Wives, which wee doe in England and France, the which we shall see verified in our young Bride Dominica; for the more her husband Roderigo loves her, the more she sleights him, and the more he respects her, the more she neglects and contemnes him, wherat he grieves, his mother in law Cevantella stormes, and his owne father Don Emanuell de Cortez re•…•…ines and murmures: But as it is labour in vaine to thinke to make an Aethiopian white, so all of them cannot reclaime Dominica to love her husband nor scarce to lye with him. He conceives infinite griefe hereat, which breeds him a lingring consumption in earnest, as his Wife Dominica was formerly possessed of one in jest, whereat shee the more hates him in regard the extrea∣mitie of his sicknesse and weaknesse will not permit him to performe the rites and duties of a Husband towards her, but she need not care, much lesse grieve thereat for shee takes her obscene and lascivious pleasures abroad, whiles her deere sicke husband (for griefe of body and mind) is ready to dye at home. He bewailes his hard fortune in marying her, but yet loves her so tenderly and deerely, as hee will not speake ill of her himselfe, nor suffer any other to doe it either in his presence, or her absence. Yea, her love is so frozen to him, though his bee still constantly and fervently inflamed to her, as shee difficulty sees him once in three daies, nor yet speake two words with him when shee sees him, and yet when hee is so happy to obtaine her sight and company, hee so excee∣dingly reioyceth thereat, that it seemes to him, his paine for that time gives him peace, his sorrowes truce, his sickenesse ease, his heart comfort; and his thoughts consolation. But Dominica hath not deserved, the least part of all this true affection and courtesie from him heretofore, much lesse will shee requite it to him hereafter, except in a most ingratefull and bloody manner, which is thus.

The Devill resolves to trouble the harmony and serenity of their mariage, or rather our Dominica hath hellishly derived and drawne this resolution from the Devill, to poyson her Husband, and the sooner she fixeth her minde up∣on this infernall Ingredient, and setteth her barbarous cruelty upon this de∣villish drugge, because the violence of his consumption having already made almost an Anatomy of his body, she therefore flattereth her selfe with this opinion, that no suspition at all can seize upon the beleefe of any that hee is poysoned, much lesse of his Father, or her Mother. She cannot procure poy∣son her selfe, and therefore albeit shee be very unwilling to acquaint or im∣ploy any other herein, yet she is enforced thereunto. Of all her acquaintance she thinkes shee may more safely entrust and repose this great secret with her Chamber maid Denisa, for having formerly made her accessary to her sinnes of Fornication and Adultery, shee thinks shee may with lesse difficulty, and more ease now draw her to conceale and participate in this murther with her; the which the better and sooner to effect, she gives her fifty Du•…•…s, and ad∣ding thereunto many sweet perswasions, and sugred promises, of her conti∣nuall care and affection for her preferment, this wretched miserable Wench yeelds her consent thereto so they give their hands, and sweare secrecie each to other, the Devill laughing at this their bloudy compact and capitulation.

So (without either the grace or feare of God) they are resolute in this their rage, and outragious in this their barbarous cruelty, thinking every mi∣nute a moneth, and every day a yeare, before they have finished and perpe∣trated this lamentable businesse: So this Fury, this shee-devill Dominica, be∣ing as impatient in her lascivious lust to her selfe, as in her deadly malice to her kinde and honest Husband Roderigo, she makes Denisa secretly to procure some strong poyson, from some remote unknowne Apothecary, and not on∣ly causeth, but sees her to put it into some white broth for him, which the Chamber-maid brings, and the Wife and Mistresse gives to her Husband, in morning before he was out of his bed, under pretence and colour of some comfortable broth, and hot meat; whereof (O griefe to thinke it! O pity to report it!) before night he died thereof; and Don Emanuel de Cortez his fa∣ther, being at that time ridden to the Citie of Sevil, in the Province of A•…•…dou∣lesia, about some important businesse of his, she (taking the opportunity and advantage of his absence, thereby the better to overvaile this her foule and bloudy fact) doth speedily cause this his breathlesse body to be encoffined, and so buried somewhat privately, but not in that solemne manner as was requisite either for his quality, or her reputation, yea, contrary to the opinion of the Lady Cervantella her mother, who much grieved and feared at this sudden death of her sonne in law Roderigo, as doubting lest her daughter, his Wife, had too hastily and untimely sent him to Heaven in a bloudy winding sheet. This mournfull Tragedy thus acted, our wretched Dominica, of a disconten∣ted Wife, is now become a joyfull and frolike Widdow; and now her exor∣bitant lust, and lascivious desires, breake pale, and range, both beyond the bounds of chastity, and the limits of discretion, for shee will hearken to no advise, nor follow any counsell from the Lady Cervantella her mother, but forsakes her house and her sight the greatest part of the day, and which is worse, many whole nights, to keepe company with those vitious Gallants, and deboshed young Gentlemen of her former acquaintaince and familiarity, with whom she delighteth to lose her honour, to cast away her chastity, and to shipwracke her reputation, if not her soule; when neither thinking of God or her Conscience, of Heaven or Hell, of her murthering selfe, or mur∣thered Husband, she so incessantly (without any intermission or repentance) abandons her selfe to her prophane and beastly whoredomes, that in a very short time shee makes her selfe the laughture of the worst, and the pitie of the better and most vertuous sort of people of Granado, yea, her actions are so devoid of Graces and repleat of impiety, that her owne Mother is asha∣med to speake with her, and Don Emanuel De Cortez, her father in law, to see her. And here, Christian Reader, let me request thy curiosity to observe and thy piety to remarke, how (by degrees) the indignation, and Justice of God fals upon this deboshed young Lady, for the foulnesse of these her crimes, the very cry and sent whereof hath pierced the windowes of Heaven, and are now ascended to the eares and nostrils of the Lord of Hosts, to draw downe condigne vengeance on her for the same, yea, and at those times when shee least dreames or thinks thereof, and when shee is in the very prime of her prophanenes, and the chiefest ruffe of her lascivious jollity, and voluptuous sensuality. The manner whereof is thus:

Two moneths are scarce expired since she sent this her Husband Roderigo thus untimely and cruelly to his grave, but having as it were drowned her Wits and Senses, her Reason and Indgement, yea, her Heart and Soule in the

Ocean of her beastly lusts, and lustfull desires and pleasures, (but to her owne shame, to the griefe of her mother, and the contempt and anger of her fa∣ther in Law De Ca•…•…tez) she marrieth Don Lewes De Andrada, one of her former Favourites and Paramours, for her lover I cannot, and therefore I will not tearme him; a very proper Gentleman of his Personage, but every way as deboshed and vitious as her selfe, and therefore a fit Husband for such a Wife. That shee was honest, hee know the contrary, but hoping that her wealth should supply his wants, and repaire the ruines of his decayed fortunes, was that which soly induced him to become her Husband. But at last when he saw her wealth to come short of his expectation, and her lustfull desires to exceed it; then he thinks it high time to be wise, in not imitating the example of his predecessour Roderigo, in his carriage and conduction towards this his lasci∣vious Wife Dominica, so hee holds a strict hand over her, and in a manner makes her no better than a Prisoner to her Chamber, and a Scholler to her Booke and Needle, in such sort, that her ranging unchaste thoughts are now bounded in her new Husbands jealousie, and pent and immured up in her owne griefe and discontent; for thus hee reasoneth with himselfe, that al∣though formerly hee made her his Curtisan, yet now hee will not permit that she make him a Cuckold; then he was her friend, now her Husband, and then she was answerable for her owne life and actions to God, but now hee is both for his owne and for hers. But this her present affliction and misery is but the shadow and least part of her future; for Andrada her Husband being as re∣solute in reforming her, as she was neither to digest or endure it, he the bet∣ter to curbe her incontinencie, and to debarre her from any more returning to her former lewd pranks, and deboshed life and conversation, he keeps her very short of money, takes from her most of her best apparell, and all her Rings, Chaines, and Iewels, which the Ladies of Spaine (more than any others of the world) hold to be a great part of their earthly felicity.

Dominica is amazed, yea all in teares to see this strange alteration of her for∣tune, and difference of her two Husbands, and now (though too late) shee sees Rodorigo's love, in Andrada's hardnesse towards her; shee speaks to her Mother to reconcile her to her husband, but having shut u•…•… this her second match without her knowledge or consent, shee rejects and abandoneth her from her favour to seeke her owne fortune, as holding her unworthy of the blood which Nature, and the education which God and her selfe had given her. She was cruell to her first husband, and therefore no marvell if the second prove unkinde to her, yet hee doubting of her secret malice towards him hee apprehends her revenge as much as hee condemnes her lubricitie. Hee will not adde faith to her dissembling promises, nor hazard beliefe to her treache∣rous teares and kisses but keepes her still rather as a prisoner than a wife, and more like a criminall than a companion; and yet as close and retired as hee kept her in his house, his vigilancy and jelousie was enforced to meet wih this unknowne misfortune that hee was no sooner abroad, but shee had ano∣ther friend or ruffian at home with whom she very often and very dishonestly familiarized, in so much that shee had infallibly murthered her second hus∣band, as she had formerly done her first, if God out of the inestimable treasure of his mercy and goodnesse) had not prevented her rage, and disappointed and dissipated her bloody designe and revenge by another accident as mournefull as miraculous▪ and wherein the Iustice and providence of God doth equally resplend and shine forth unto us for out instruction with a most divine power and heavenly influence.

For we must here know and understand that the fifty Duckats which Denisa had given her of her Lady Dominica, for co•…•…enting to poison her Master Ro∣derigo, gave her new app•…•…ell, and they likewise procured her a new sutor or sweet heart, named Hugo (who made shew to marry her, but intented it not) with whom shee wantonized so often, as in a short time shee became guilty of a great Belly, the which she concealed from all the world, except from Hugo the father of her unborne childe, who upon notice thereof, either for feare of present punishment, or of future danger, or that he should bee constrained to marry her, and so to maintaine her and her childe, when he had not means to maintaine himselfe, he fled from Granado to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 without taking his leave of Denisa, or any way acquainting her therewith, and now when it is too late, this wretched wench exceedingly grieves thereat, when knowing his returne uncertain, his affection to her doubtfull, her self poore and her Lady & Mistris Dominica, as then not able to maintaine her or her child; shee assumes another bloody resolution, which is, that as shee was formerly accessary to the poyso∣ning of her Master, so shee now will bee a principall▪ Actor in murthering and making away of her owne child, as soone as it shall be borne, and neither conscience nor her feare are able to divert her from this her bloody and dam∣nable purpose. For being provoked thereunto first by her shame, then by her necessity, but chiefly and especially by her f•…•…all▪ Counsellor and instigatour the Devill, shee being delivered (almost a moneth before her time) of a faire young Sonne as soone as it had cried once (to bewaile his owne misery and his inhumane Mothers cruelty) she as an execrable fury of hell, strangles it, giving him his mournefull and untimely death, in that very same houre and instant, which God and her selfe gave it life, and the very same evening, wrappes it in a cleane white li•…•…in cloth, and with a Packthred tyes a great stone thereunto and (the devill giving her strength, the very same night caries it halfe a mile off to a pondwithout the east gate of the Citty, where seeing no body present to see her, shee (not as a mother, no not as a woman, but rather as a fury of hell there throwes it in, which before her departure thence presently sunck to the bottome.

And here let us behold and contemplate on the wonderfull mercy and Iudg∣ment of God in so speedily revealing this deplorable and cruell murther of this harmelesse and innocent little new borne babe, whom being so newly brought from the adulterate wombe of his pittilesse mother, she malitiously cast into that Pond, giving it death for life, the Pond for its Cradle, a banck of mud and Oze for its bed and pillow. For upon the instant of Denisas delivery and her murthering and throwing of this her infant babe into the Pond; God (to revenge this soule and bloody fact of hers) deprived her of discretion and judgement to returne for that night to her Masters house, for shee thinking to make sure and sound work for her owne reputation and safety shee that very night takes up her lodging in the next poore Inne, which was at the signe of Saint Io•…•… head, where to the Host and Hostesse, shee pretends •…•…amenesse by the receit of a fall. But God will give her but small time to rest and repose her selfe in the guiltinesse of this her cruell sinne of murthering her own innocent new borne babe, for with in one houre after, a Groome riding to water his horse in the same pond, his Horse •…•…eth and starts exceedingly, pawing in the water with his farther fore foote, and many times thrusts downe his head therein. The Groome gives him the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and switch to bring him off, but in vaine, for the horse the more pa•…•…th with his foote, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 •…•…eth with his

nose, yea so long till at last (it seemes) the packthred being broken the white cloth appeares and flotes upon the water, which the groome upon the strange behaviour of his horse (but indeed by the immediate providence and plea∣sure of God, who then and there was well pleased to make this reasonlesse Beast an instrument of his glory in the detection of this cruell murther) cau∣seth to bee fetched a shore, where opening the cloth in presence of some o∣thers, who flocke thither to the pond side to see what this may be. They find a sweet young Infant boy, whose body was as white as the snow, with a flaxen coloured haire, a cheerefull looke, a cherrie lip, and some blacknesse about his throate and necke, wherby they guessed it to be newly borne and strangled of some Strumpet his mother, whom to detect and finde out, they search all the adjacent houses, and at last finde out Denisa in her Inne, when the Officers of Iustice, setting a Midwife and some three or foure elderly women to search her, they (dispight of her resistance or prayers to the contra∣ry) give in evidence against her that shee was that day delivered of a child, so shee is imprisoned, and the next day brought to her arraignement, where (threatned with the racke) shee confesseth the strangling of her child, and the throwing of it into this pond, for the which soule and in humane fact of hers, shee is the next day condemned to bee hanged: When desirous to save her soule though through the instigation of Satan) she hath miserably cast away her body; she entreateth that father Eustace a Priest of her acquaintance may be sent to her in Prison, to prepare her soule for her spiritual journy to heaven, who is accordingly sent her. Who after a long and a religious exhortation to her, falling on this point, that she should do well to disburthen her conscience of any other capitall crime which she in all the whole course of her life might have committed, as affirming that the revealing thereof, exceedingly tended to Gods glory, and the felicity of her owne foule, she (with teares and sighes) deepely thinkes thereof that night in prison. Now the next morning shee is brought to the place of execution, where a great number of people flocke to∣gether to see her end, and there on the Ladder after shee had againe confessed the strangling of her infant and her throwing of it into the Pond, shee like∣wise then and there confessed, That she was accessary and consented with her Lady Dominica to poyson her Master Roderigo, which shee affirmed they both effected in the same manner as wee have formerly understood. The confessi∣on of this her otherfoule murther, as also of her Lady Dominica, doth much a∣maze her Auditors and astonish her Judges, who to cleere and vindicate the truth hereof, they cause her to descend the Ladder, and to be confronted with her said Lady Dominica who by this time in the middest of her security is like∣wise apprehended and brought before the Criminall Judges, where contrary to her expectation being enforced to understand the effect and tenour of her Chamber maid Denisa's confession and accusation against her for the poyso∣ning of her Husband Roderigo, shee with much passion and choller tearmes her witch and devill, and curseth the houre that ever shee fostered up so pestilent a Viper in her house to eate out her own heart and life when with more con∣fidence and boldnes than contrition and repentance (being first by her judges threatned with the torments of the racke) she confesseth her selfe likewise to be guilty of murthering her first Husband Roderigo. So Denisa's sentence is al∣tered, for shee is condemned to be hanged for her first murther, and her dead body after to be burnt to ashes for her second, and the Lady Dominica to bee hanged for poysoning her husband which newes so resounds and rattles

through all the streets and corners of Granado, that almost all the people of that Citie flocke the next morning to the place of execution, to see this cru∣ell Mistresse and her bloudy Chamber-maid, take their last farewell of this world; for the Lady Dominica must likewise die, notwithstanding her Mo∣ther Cervantella's teares, and her Husband Andrada's importunate requests and passionate praiers to her Judges to the contrary.

And first Denisa is caused to ascend the Ladder, (who was a tall and come∣ly young woman) to whom God was so mercifull to her soule, that there with many bitter sighs and teares, she was wonderfull sorrowfull for these her two foule murthers, especially for that of her poore Infant babe, whom she had al∣most as so one dispatched out, as she brought into the world: She earnestly be∣sought all her auditors and spectators to pray unto God to forgive her, and to bee mercifull to her soule; shee affirmed that her Lady Dominica's entice∣ments and Gold first drew her to be accessary to the poysoning of her Master Roderigo, the which againe and againe from her heart and soule, shee prayed God to pardon her; when entreating all young people, especially all young women, to be more wise and religious, and lesse prophane and bloudy min∣ded, by her example; and now recommending her soule into the hands of her Saviour and Redeemer, she is turned over. When immediately after this our wretched Lady Dominica is likewise brought to her execution, whom the vanity of her heart, and the impurity and prophanenesse of her soule, had purposely dighted in her best dresse, and richest apparell; which was a pur∣ple wrought Velvet Gowne, and a curious great laced Ruffe, with all things else sutable to it; but which is lamentable to see, and fearefull to consider, she was as carelesse of her soule, as curious of her body; for the Priests and Friers in her prison could not abate or beat down her impiety, but as there, so here on the Ladder, she enters into many deepe execrations and curses, as well against her second Husband Andrada, as against her Chamber-maid Denisa, who she said was now rather gone to the Devill than to God; but no spark of grace, no shew of sorrow, or signe of repentance could appeare in her looks, or bee heard in her speeches, for poysoning of her first Husband Roderigo, but with much choller and vehemencie, shee there uttered many other lewd and lasci∣vious speeches, the which grieved her Christian Auditours to heare, and therefore I will not defile my pen, or offend the Readers religious and chast hearts with the knowledg thereof; so this miserable and wretched Lady was turned over the Ladder, who made her death answerable to the foulnesse and enormity of her life, being not so happy in her death as her bloudy Chamber-maid Denisa, and I feare me as exempt of grace and goodnesse as the Devill could wish her. But God is the Lord of Justice, and father of mercy, to whom I leave her.

They youth and beauty of this cruell and inhumane Lady Dominica, was pi∣tied of many, but her foule fact abhorred and detested of all who were pre∣sent at her death; may we who reade her History, cherish our Vertues by the sight and knowledge of her Vices, and fortifie our soules with Religion and Piety, as she ruined hers by the neglect and want thereof.

Amen.

GODS REVENGE AGAINST THE CRYING AND Execrable Sinne of Murther.

HISTORY XXIX.

Sanctifiore (upon promise of mariage) gets Ursina with child, and then afterwards very ingratefully and treacherously rejecteth her, and marieth Bertranna. Ursina being sensible of this her disgrace, disguiseth her selfe in a Fryers habit, and with a case of Pistolls kills Sanctifiore as he is walking in the fields, for the which shee is hanged.

IT is a poore profit, a wretched pleasure, for the satis∣faction of choler and revenge, to imbrue our hands in the innocent blood of our neere kindred, sith in seeking to wound him, wee more properly kill our selves in soule and body; striking him (who is the figu∣rative image of God) wee presumptuously stab at the Majesty of God himselfe, by whom our soules must, without whom they can never bee saved. There∣fore if wee will not know as wee are men, yet wee ought firmly both to know and beleeve as wee are Christians, that revenge and murther are the two prodigious twins of Sathan, the last being engendered and propagated of the first, and both from Hell: For revenge is nothalfe so sweet in the beginning as bitter in the end, nor murther by many degrees so pleasing as it proves pernitious to her Authors; as this ensuing History will verifie, and make apparant unto us.

LEt your thoughts be carried over those high hills of Europe, the Alpes, and Appenins, to the noble and famous citie of Naples, the head and capitall of that flourishing kingdome (and from whence it receives and derives its denomination) a city exceeding rich, populous and faire, and graced and

adorned with more Nobilitie and Gentrie of both sexes than any other of Italy whatsoever. Wherein of very late yeares (when the Duke of Ossuna was Vice∣roy thereof) there dwelt two rich and beautifull young gentlewomen, the one named Dona Vrsina Placedo, the onely daughter and child of Seignior Agustino Placedo, & the other Dona Bertranna de Tores likewise the only child and daugh∣ter of Seignior Thomaso de Tores, the first native of Ferenzolo, in Pulia, and the second of Materana in Calabria, both of them being exceeding rich and well de∣scended Gentlemen, who with their wives and daughters for the most part built up their residence in Naples, but especially all the winter time. Now because these two young gentlewomen (whom henceforth wee will tearme by their Christian and not by their Surnames) are two of the chiefest personages, which give life to this History, therefore I hold it not impertinent for mee, superfici∣ally to give the Reader their different caracters and delineations; Vrsina was past the twentieth yeare of her age, and Bertranna entring into her eighteenth, Vrsina was tall and slender, Bertranna short and somewhat crook-backed: Vrsina was the fairer of the two, but Bertranna by far the subtiller and wiser. Vrsina was of a deepe Amber hayre, but Bertranna of a coale blacke: & to conclude this point, Vrsina was affable and courteous, but Bertranna coy, proud, and malitious.

The truth and order of this History must here informe us, that although these two rich young Gentlewomen had divers brave Gallants, who were sutors to them for marriage, yet none of them so dearely and passionatly loved Vrsina, as the Baron of Sanctifiore of Capua, a verie rich young Nobleman; but far more proper than wise, and withall far more lascivious than rich, nor did or could Bertranna in her heart and mind affect any other but the said Baron: neither was it possible for her father De Tores to perswade or draw her to desire any other Nobleman or Gentleman for her husband than him. Thus wee see Sanctifiore deeply to love Vrsina, and Bertranna him, but not hee her; and wee shall not goe far till we likewise see what effects these their different affections will produce.

Whiles Vrsina is assured of Sanctifiores love to her, Bertranna contrariwise by her selfe and her friends makes it her chiefest care and ambition to perswade and draw him to forsake Vrsina, and to love and marry herselfe, but shee will find more opposition and difficulty therein than shee expects. True it is, that al∣though the Baron of Sanctifiore doe continually frequent Placedos house, and his daughter Bertrannas company, yet understanding and considering with him∣selfe, that Vrsina honoured him with her constant love and affection, hee therefore held himselfe in a manner bound sometimes to see and visit her, although indeed it was every way more to content and please her, than himselfe, where albeit that her policy to her selfe, and her affection to him, gives him many quips and jerkes of his Mistris Vrsina, yet his reputation and discretion makes him com∣port his actions and speeches so equally towards Bertranna, that although hee give her little cause to hope, yet he gives her none to despaier of his love and affection to her, in requitall of hers to him, and upon these and no other tearmes stand Sanctifiore and Bertranna. But as for Vrsina, her hopes and heart of Sanctifi∣ores affection to her, sayls on with a more pleasing and joyfull gale of wind, for shee loving him as deeply as hee doth her dearly, she accounts her selfe his, and he hers: as we may the more particularly and perfectly perceive by foure love-letters of theirs, which secretly and interchangeably past betweene them; the which for the Readers better satisfaction I thought good here to insert and publish, whereof his first to her spake thus.

SANCTIFIORE to VRSINA.

THe Sweetnes of thy beauty, and the excellencie of thy Vertues have so fully taken up my thoughts, and so firmely surprised and vanquished my heart, that I am so much thine hoth by conquest and duty, as I know not whether I doe more affect or honour, or more admire or adore thee; Wherefore if thou art as courteous as faire, and as loving to me as I am faithfull to thy selfe, then returne mee thy heart as I now give and send thee mine, and assure thy selfe that my affection is so infinite and entire to thee, that I love and desire thee•…•… thousand times more than mine owne life, and will esteeme my death both sweet and happy, if thou wilt henceforth live mine by Purchase, as I am now thine by Promise. Thy will shall be my law, and as there is a God in Heaven, so Vrsina hath not so fervent a lover, or constant a servant on earth as her

SANCTIFIORE.

Vrsinas answer hereunto was couched in these tearmes.

VRSINA to SANCTIFIORE.

IF thy heart be as full of affection, as thy letter is of flattery to mee, I should then have as just cause thankfully to beleeve that, as now I have to suspect and feare this; For the iniquity of our times, and the misery of many former examples doe prompt and tell mee, that most men love more with their tongues, than with their hearts, and that they all know far better how to professe than preserve their affecti∣ons and fidelities to their Mistresses. As for mee, judge with thy selfe how courteous and loving I am to thee, for if I perfectly knew that thy Letter were the true Am∣bassadour, and unfeigned Eccho of thy heart, I would both say and promise thee, that I would love thee, and none but thee: Make my selfe thy wife, when and as soone as thou wilt please to bee my Husband, for in life and death I here now promise thee to bee more thine than mine owne: Resolve mee of this doubt, and free mee of this feare, and then manage this affection and favour of mine with discretion, and requite it with fidelitie to thy

VRSINA.

The Baron of Sanctifiores second letter to her contayned this language.

SANCTIFIORE to VRSINA.

AS I am not guilty, so I am not answerable for other mens crimes of infidelity, but doe as justly detest and scorne, as you unjustly feare them in mee. That my affection is pure and sacred, and shall bee inviolable to thee, bee God my Iudge, and my heart and conscience my witnesses: Therefore to resolve thy doubt, and to free thy feare thereof, I vow by the purenesse of thy beauty, and by the dignity of thy vertues, that both my former letter and also this, are the true Ambassadours and Ecchoes of my heart, and which is more, of my soule. I will shortly kisse thee for thy love to mee, then love thee for thy kisses, and after embrace and thanke thee for both, and when I faile of my affection and fidelity to thee, may God then faile of his Grace and mercy to my selfe. I will make my selfe thy deere Husband, and thee my sweet wife, when thou pleasest to crowne and honour mee with that sweet joy, and to ravish my heart with this desired felicity.

SANCTIFIORE.

Vrsinas answer hereunto was traced in these tearmes.

VRSINA to SANCTIFIORE.

RElying on the Purity of thy affection, and the preservation and performance of thy constancy to mee, for the which thou hast invoked God for Iudge, and thy heart and Conscience as witnesses thereof, I now freely acknowledge my selfe to bee thy wife by Purchase, and thou to bee my Husband by Promise, and doe therefore wholly take me from my selfe, eternally to give my selfe to thee. I desire the enjoyance of thy company and presence, with as much impatiency as thou longest for mine, and thou shalt find, that I will make it my chiefest care and ambition to love thee, and my greatest glory to honour and obey thee, and let both of us beware of infidelity each to other, for God will assuredly punish it with justice, requite it with revenge, and revenge it with misery on the Delinquents and Offenders.

VRSINA.

By the perusall and consideration of these foure precedent Letters, wee may plainly perceive, what a firme promise, and secret contract there was past betweene the Baron of Sanctifiore and the Lady Vrsina, and how servently and sweetly they had given themselves each to other in the promise and assurance of mariage, so not contented to have gotten the Daughters good will, hee in very honourable fashion and tearmes likewise seekes her Father Seignior Placedos consent thereto; whom though for some few Monethes hee found to bee averse and opposit to his desires therein, yet upon Sanctifiores importunate intreaties and his Daughter Vrsinas frequent teares, hee at last consenteth to this their mariage, only he delayed the consummation thereof for some secret reasons, and considerations best knowne to himselfe, the which I cannot publish, because I could never gather or understand them. Whiles thus the Baron of Sanctifiore remaines in Naples, his long stay, great trayne, prodigall expenses there, and his absence from Capua where his lands and meanes lay, made him bee in some distresse and want of mony, and not knowing how to procure it there, thereby to support his fame and reputation with his pretended Father in law, and also with his intended wife his Daughter, it greatly perplexed and troubled him; But at last hee saw himselfe reduced to this extremity, that hee was enforced to bor∣row of one Nobleman and Gentleman of his Friends to pay another; a Course which hee well saw could not long endure and subsist, without clamorously calling his reputation in question; The which to prevent, knowing Seignior Pla∣cedo to bee a hide bound, and close fisted old Gentleman, who loved his gold far better than his God, and that if hee offered to borrow any of him, hee would absolutely refuse and deny to lend it him, and that it was not impossible, but rather very probable, that hereby the prodigality of the one, and the covetousnes of the other might prove a great blot and hinderance to this his marriage, hee therefore as a deboshed and vicious young Nobleman, despayring of the fathers love, resolves to make sure worke with the daughters affection, who with a thou∣sand amorous speeches, and lascivious lures, daliances and temptations, he seekes to draw her to his lustfull desires, and so by usurping on her chastity (which is the honour of Ladyes, & the glory of Gentlewomen) to have carnali knowledge of her before he were married to her. Vrsina (who loved her sweet heart Sanctifiore farre dearer than the whole world, and yet her honour and chastity a thousand times more deare and pretious than her owne life) infinitly grieves and wonders

at this his intemperancy and obscenitie; when (as a chaste and vertuous Gentle∣woman) shee with sighes and teares layes before his eyes and consideration, and represents to his heart and soule, the lewdnesse of his desire, the impiety of his request, the foulnes and odiousnes of this fact both to God and man, the losse of her reputation and honour, both with her father and with all the world, and that in the end it would assuredly prove the breake-necke of their mariage, and con∣sequently the ruine of both their contents and fortunes, as also that she is ready to be his wife, but disdaineth to prove his strumpet, with many other wise and godly reasons tending that way, and therefore utterly refuseth to blemish or shipwracke her chastity, by participating with him in the share of this lascivious and impious sinne of fornication; and indeed it had been a happines and glory, very worthy both of her selfe, and of her honourable old Father, if she had lived in the purity, and continued in the piety of this chaste and vertuous resolution.

But this lascivious Baron Sanctifiore seeing his lust so strongly opposed by he chastity, hee is so far from grace and from God, as hee redoubleth his violence and impetuositie thereof, as also of his lures and prayers, of his art and policy, to inrich himselfe with her losse of that inestimable and irrecoverable Jewell her Virginity; so that day and night she cannot be in quiet for him, nor hee with∣out her; but still he followes her as her ghost and shadow, and with many false oathes and feigned sighes and teares doth bewitch or rather minstralize into her eares and heart, that his desire of this sweet pleasure which hee requesteth from her, proceeds wholly from his tender affection to her, & so with a thousand lasci∣vious words hee makes so large and so impious an Apology to her for this his obscene request, that because modesty cannot, discretion will not permit mee to relate it; as well knowing that the expression and publishing thereof, will every way prove unprofitable to the Reader, & no way pleasing but displeasing to God, when this weake and inconsiderate Gentlewoman, loving him far dearer than her owne life, and confidently relying on his sworne affection and fidelity to her, which hee so passionatly, and so often had reiterated to her, shee so rashly and foolishly permitted her selfe to be weighed downe, overcome and vanquish∣ed with the importunacy of his requests and oathes, that it was neither in her power or will to deny him any thing, no not her selfe, but as she formerly had given him the full command of her heart, now she likewise gives him the free use and possession of her body. Thus Sanctifiore bereaves and unparadiseth his Mistris Vrsina of the most pretious Jewell which ever Lady Nature gave her, I meane her chastity and honour, but both of them shall shortly pay deare for these their bitter sweet pleasures (or rather sinnes) of sensuality and fornication; and shall redeeme and ransome them with no lesse than shame and repentance: The manner whereof is thus.

After hee had thus deflowred, and taken his obscene pleasure of his young and beautifull Mistris, and stayed an houre or two complementing with her, he then takes his leave of her, when triumphing more in the conquest of her shame, and his folly, than in his owne repentance for occasioning the one and committing the other, hee within a weeke or two after againe makes her so flexible and tractable to his desires, as hee three or foure times more familiarly wantonizeth with her in this lascivious manner, and she with him, as not contented to staine and blemish, but wholly to defile and pollute themselves in this their beastly sin of concupiscence and fornication. But here now begins his infamie, and her griefe and misery: For (as a base Nobleman) hee forgetting his oathes and promises to her, and her extraordinary love and affection to him, and which is more, his

honour, and himselfe, and his soule, and his God, hee (by degrees) now begins to freez in his affection to her, visiteth her seldome, and then but faintly and cold∣ly, and when (with equall blushes and teares) shee motioneth him to marry her, hee is either deafe to her requests, or else answereth her so impertinently and am∣biguously, as (with much perturbation of mind and affliction of heart) shee be∣gins to suspect and doubt with her selfe, that she hath more reason to feare, than cause to hope of his future affection and fidelity towards her. Neither is her feare vaine, or her judgement and apprehension deceived of him herein: for as men love nosegayes in the morne, and throw them away ere night, so this ignoble Nobleman Sanctifiore after hee had surfetted and satiated his desire of this his intended and contracted wife Vrsina, hee in lesse than three moneths after, is so ingratefull and treacherous towards her, as in a manner hee abandoneth her fathers house, and forsakes her sight and companie, leaving her nothing to com∣fort her, but her sighes, teares, and repentance, and which is worse, a growing great belly, as the true seale of her present griefe and sorrow, and the undoubted pledge and presager of her future shame and misery, which torments and terrifies her heart and soule, but how to remedie it she knowes not. And now (with as much speed as vanity and infidelity) away goes Sanctifiore to his other second sweet heart Bertranna, who not for her beautie, but for her fathers great wealth, and his owne pressing wants, hee now seemes to affect and court a thousand times more familiarly and tenderly than before, whereof shee is infinitly glad & joyfull. For having a long time loved him in her heart and mind, and therefore desiring nothing so much under heaven, as to see him her Husband here on earth, and having to that end her secret eyes and spies every where abroad upon his life and actions, she is at last advertised, that there is some great distaste and difference fallen out betweene him and the Lady Vrsina, as also that being farre from his home, hee wanteth monyes to defray his Port and expences in Naples; shee being of a sharp wit, and deepe judgement, thinkes that the last of his defects was the cause of the first, and that peradventure Sanctifiore having at∣tempted to borrow some money of her father Seignior Placedo, and received the repulse, hee therefore was fallen out, and become displeased and discontented with his daughter: And although her conceit and judgement missed of the truth herein, yet the better to estrange Sanctifiore from Vrsina, and consequently the more powerfully and strongly to unite and tye him to her selfe, shee well know∣ing that her owne father De Tores exceedingly loved him, and desired him for his sonne in law, as much as shee did for her Husband: shee therefore as much in love to him, as in disdaine and malice to Vrsina, doth under hand deale so politickly, and yet so secretly with her Father to lend Sanctifiore some monyes, that hee meeting him the very next day in his house, hee takes him aside in his study and told him, that in regard of his absence from Capua, and his long stay and great expences here in Naples, it was rather likely than impossible that hee might want some monyes, and therefore hee freely lent, and then and there laid him downe 500 double pistolls: adding withall, that if hee needed more, hee should have what hee pleased, and repay it him againe when hee pleased, and that if hee would honour him so much as to marry his daughter, hee would give him all the lands and wealth hee had.

This great courtesie of De Tores to the Baron of Sanctifiore hee held was redoubled to him in the value, in that hee lent it to him so freely and unde∣manded, as also for that it came so opportunely and fitly to pay his debts, and satisfie his wants, as after a long and respective complement betweene them.

Sanctifiores necessitie so easily prevailes with his modesty, that hee most thank∣fully takes this gold of De Tores, and likewise gives him more hope than despaire to his motion of marrying his daughter the Lady Bertranna; wherewith the one rests well satisfied, and the other exceeding well contented. This point of cour∣tesie being thus performed betweene them, Sanctifiores joy thereof was so great; I may say so boundlesse, as he presently finds out his new Mistris Bertranna; and with a frolick countenance and cheerfull voice, relates her, how much her father had obliged him, and from point to point what had past betweene them, and immediately after no lesse doth her father, the musick of which newes was so pleasing to her mind, and so sweet to her heart and thoughts, that she hereupon flatters her selfe with a confident hope that hee will shortly marry her, and in this hope doth hee still feed and entertaine her, being seldome or never from her, but ever and anon both together billing and kissing, drowning his judgement so wholly in her company, and his heart ranging and dreaming so fully on her youth and beauty, and on her fathers great wealth and estate, that hee hath not the grace, no nor which is lesse, the will or good nature, once to thinke of his poore desolate and forsaken Vrsina, of whom in her turne I come now to speake.

Wee have formerly understood with sorrow, and our sorrowfull and unfor∣tunate Vrsina hath to her griefe too too soone seene, how unkindly Sanctifiore hath used, and how basely and treacherously abused her in the points of her honour, and his infidelity; and yet all this notwithstanding, her love and affection is still so deare and constant to him, and her hopes so confident of him, that all this discourtesie of his to her, is only but to try her patience, and that considering what familiarity hath past betweene them, it is impossible for him to bee so cruell hearted towards her, as in the end not to marry her. She hath likewise acquainted him, that she is with child by him, and when all other reasons and persuasions faile, shee hopes this will prevaile to reclaime his affection to her, and to induce him to take pitty of her, and compassion of his unborne babe within her. But to resell and dissipate all these her flattering and deceitfull hopes, and which is worse to make her lose all hopes of this her desired happines and good fortune from him, his new contracted and incessant familiarity be∣tweene him and the Lady Bertranna, is not so privatly carried and hushed up in silence betweene them, but shee hath secret and sorrowfull notice thereof; which so inflames her mind with hot jelousie, and likewise afflicts her heart with cold feare and apprehension, that shee hath seduced and drawen his affection from her to himselfe, as also that hee will utterly forsake her to marry Bertranna, that shee fully beleeves that the wind of his discourteous absence from her pro∣ceedes from this point of the compasse. Wherefore fearing that which shee already knowes, but far more that which shee knowes not of this their famili∣arity betweene them, all her hopes of Sanctifiore are almost vanished and banished, and her heart is as it were wholly depressed and weighed downe with bitter griefe and sorrow thereof. She dares acquaint no body with her disgrace, much lesse her Father, and her looking on her great belly doth but infinitely augment her sorrowes and increase her afflictions, in regard that that which should have beene the cause of her joy and glory, shee now knowes will shortly prove the argument of her shame and misery. A thousand times a day, yea I may truly say as many times an houre, shee wisheth shee had beene more chaste and lesse faire, and not so easily to have hearkned to Sanctifiores sugred oathes and temptations, as to have lost her honour and fortunes in seeking to preserve them in her affe•…•…tion to him, shee would faine draw comfort from all these •…•…er

calamities, or from any one of them, and yet shee knowes not from whom except from her Sanctifiore, when presently shee checks her folly and reproves her am∣bition for tearming him hers, when shee beleeves she hath far more cause to feare than reason to doubt, that hee already is, or shortly will bee Bertrannas husband. And yet againe, because the excesse of her sorrowes hath more eclipsed her joyes than her judgement, and more dulled and obscured her heart than her under∣standing, therefore judging it a master peece of her policy if shee can se∣quester and reclaime her Sanctifiore from Bertranna, and so retaine him to her selfe in marriage, shee to that end, that very morning sends for Sebastiano her fathers coachman (whom shee knew to be faithfull to her) and taking off a rich Diamond ring from her finger which Sanctifiore well knew, she bade him find out the Baron of Sanctifiore at his lodging, or elsewhere, to deliver that ring as a token of her love to him, and to tell him that shee infinitly desires him to honour her with his presence at her Fathers house sometimes the forenoone. Sebastiano ac∣cordingly findes out the Baron, and delivers him his young mistris ring and message, by whom hee returnes this answer; Commend me to the Lady Vrsina, and tell her I will be with her immediatly after dinner. Whiles thus our sorrow∣full Vrsina (betwixt hope and feare, griefe and consolation) prepares to receive him, hee arrives to her in his owne coach, and her Fathers servants attending for him, doe conduct him up to her chamber, where composing her countenance to affection, and yet to sorrow, shee meets him at the doore, and conducts him to the window which answereth and lookes into the garden, where hee giving her onely one slight kisse, and shee absenting her Fathers servants, shee bursts forth into teares and sighes.

Shee complaines of the coldnesse of his affection, of his long absence from her, of the violation of his oathes and vowes to her, and of her great belly by him, which shee tells him hee may better see than shee conceale, but especially of his deepe promise to marry her, praying him to set downe the time and place when hee will performe and consummate it, and that it would infallibly prove his shame and infamy, if hee forgat himselfe, his honour and conscience, to forsake her, and marry the Lady Bertranna, whom shee affirmes to him with teares, that shee understands is the mistris of his thoughts and heart, and the Queene Regent of his desires and affections. When this base Baron is so cruell hearted to her, as (preferring his fury to his affection, and his passion to his com∣passion) hee replyes not a word to all the former parts and branches of her speeches and complaints, but only to the two last hee gives her this thundering and heart-killing answer: Know Vrsina that I have used all lawfull and possible meanes with my parents to draw their consents that I might marry thee, but it is out of my power ever to obtaine it of them, and without it I will never marry: as for Bertranna, shee is not so much thy inferiour in beauty, as shee is thy superiour in vertues, therefore provide thou for thy fortunes, and so will I for mine, when with a looke (which savored no way of love, but wholly of con∣tempt and indignation) hee hastily throwes her her Diamond ring, and without once kissing her or bidding her farewell, suddenly rusheth forth her chamber, wherein hee leaves her to her selfe and her muses, and so takes coach and away, vowing to himselfe as hee went forth the doores, that hee will not bee Father to a bastard, nor Husband to a whore.

Here let all vertuous Ladies and Gentlewomen, and all true hearted and ge∣nerous Noblemen and Gentlemen judge, if this Sanctifiore did not shew him∣selfe a most base Nobleman and a cruell hearted tyrant towards th•…•… sweet and

unfortunate Gentlewoman sith the consideration of her youth and beauty in her selfe, of her tender love and affection to him, of his oathes and promises to bee her husband, of the losse of her honour and fortunes, yea sith the sight of her leane and thin cheekes wherein the roses and lillies of her former beauty were withered with her sorrowes and his infidelities, and the sight and consideration of her great belly which hee had given her, together with her birth, and quality, and the infinitnesse of her sighes, prayers, sobs, and teares could draw no more reason or compassion from him towards her.

And now it is, that at the sight and consideration of this his barbarous cruelty towards her; her very heart and soule is wounded and pierced thorow with sor∣row, and now it is that she looks backe on her former folly & errour, on her present affliction and griefe, & on her future shame & miserie, and now it is that deeming him lost to her for ever, and her selfe consequently ruined without him; that her sorrowes and miseries are so great, so infinite, that shee is ready to drowne her selfe in her teares, and most willingly desirous to forsake this life and this world to flie up to heaven and to God upon the wings of her sighes, and prayers. But ahlas poore soule, thou art too unfortunate to be yet so happie, because these thy afflictions and sorrowes doe as it were but now begin; therefore thou must prepare and arme thy selfe to suffer them with patience and to end them in lesse passion, and more repentance and piety.

Although this ignoble Baron triumph in this his cruelty towards his former love Vrsina, and so speedily poast away and acquaint his new one Bertranna therewith, who as much rejoyceth, as the other bitterly weeps and laments thereat; yet (according to order) I must againe speake of our sorrowfull Vrsina, who hath other more mournfull parts, and lamentable passions to act upon the stage of this her History. Who having thus received the repulse and refusall from her treacherous lover Sanctifiore, she (within a moneth after) with a sorrow∣full heart & courage, resolves (as well as she may) to dispence for a time with her teares, and to provide for her reputation, shee hath as yet acquainted none but Sanctifiore with her disgrace of her great belly, for neither her kinsfolkes, friends, neighbours, father, or his servants doe as yet know it; shee is of a weake body and feeble constitution, and therefore to conceale this scandall from her father, as also from all the world, and to provide for the lying downe of her great belly, she holds it requisite to discover this great and important secret but only to one, and so to crave the aid & assistance of this confident bosom friend. To which end, she thinkes none so fit for her purpose, & therefore makes choice of no other, but of an old aunt of hers, who was her mothers sister named Dona Mellefanta, who being a wise and rich widdow woman, dwelt at Putzeole some 10 small miles distant from Naples, a place so famous for its sub•…•…rianeamgrots, vaults, and water workes, when inventing an excuse to her Father. which was as worthy of her 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and policy as shee was every way unworthy of these her crosses and afflictions; shee tells him that it is not unknowne to him how she hath a long time beene weake and sickly, that the aire of Naples is neither wholesome for her, nor pleasing to her, and because shee hath often dreamt she shall in a little time recover her former health in Putzeole, shee humbly beseecheth him that hee will speedily •…•…nd her thither to live some small time there with her Aunt Melle∣fanta her Father Seignior de Tores, whose age, contentment, and joy lived chiefly in the youth, prosperity and health of this his only child and daughter, makes her will and desire herein to be his, when not knowing any thing of the distast that had past betweene his daughter, and the Baron of Sanctifiore, or of his

affection to the Lady Bertranna, hee demanded of her when you are at Putzeole what shall become of the Baron of Sanctifiore, to whom (rather from her ap•…•…∣strings than her heart) she returnes this witty and speedy answer, if Sanctifiore love me, hee will then sometimes leave Naples and visit mee, or if hee doe not I will not love him; which reply of hers pleased her father so well that hee causeth her to fit up her apparell and bagage, and within three daies after, (at∣tended on by a chamber maid, and a man of his sends her away to Putzeole in his coach to his sister Mellifanta, where being arived shee speedily and privatly acquaints her aunt with this great secret of her great belly, which so much im∣ports her reputation, or disgrace, and also with all the circumstances thereof, and so prayes her best love and assistance to her herein, the which shee faithfully promiseth her, adding withall, that because shee is of her owne blood, shee will regard and love her as her owne child, telling her that shee highly com∣mended her policy, for thus blinding the eyes of her father, and for leaving Naples, to come lay downe her great belly with her in Putzeole; yet shee could not chuse but blame her for the cause thereof in suffering her selfe to bee thus abused and betrayed, by so base a Nobleman as the Baron of Sanctifiore, but then againe shee excuseth that errour of this her neece upon the freshnes of her youth, and beauty, and bids her feare nothing but to resolve to bee here cheerfull, couragious and merry with her.

Here we see our beautifull Vrsina safe at Putzeole under the wings and pro∣tection of her aunt Mellifanta, and far of from the eyes of the knowne or suspected rejoycing enemies of her disgrace; lodged in a dainty house, a delicate a yre hav∣ing variety of curious sweet gardens, and dainty ranckes and groves of orenge and lemon trees to walke in, well attended on, and f•…•…ing most delitiously; and who therefore would beleeve, that shee would not now quite abandon her for∣mer sorrowes and teares, and wholly reject and cast of that base Baron of Sanctifiore who so ingratfully had ruined, and so treacherously had first forsaken and rejected her; but here in Putzeole wee shall see her performe nothing lesse; for although she yet hold him to bee intangled in the lures of Bertrannas beauty, and the temptations of her father de Tores wealth, yet judging his heart and affections by her owne, and measuring him by her selfe, shee still loves him so dearely that she neverthelesse beleeves hee cannot hate her so deadly as to reject and repundiate her to marry the said Bertranna, when the more to fortifie her beleefe and resolution thereof, she very often againe reads over his two for∣mer letters which wee have heard and seene, and therein finding, that by his conscience and soule, and by heaven and by God hee had bound himselfe to marry her, and to love and die her faithfull husband; shee then beleeves that no man, much lesse a Nobleman, and least of all a christian will bee so prophane and impious (without any cause or reason) to violate all these his great oathes and promises so deeply made, and so religiously attested unto God, wherefore although this Baron of Sanctifiore were absent from her, yet seeing him still pre∣sent in her eyes and heart, shee therefore (in consideration of the promises) doth yet continually so plead for him against her selfe, and for his affection and fidelity to her against her suspition and disfidence of him, that she yet flatters her selfe with a conceit that in the end his conscience will so call home his thoughts, and God his conscience, that hee will marry her selfe, and none but her selfe. Againe consi•…•…ng him to be the Father of her unborne babe, shee thinkes her selfe a very unkind and unnaturall mother, if shee should not love him for her childs sake as well as for his owne, and that God would neither blesse

her nor her burthen, it shee should any way neglect or omit him; upon the foundations of which reasons, (truely and courteously laid by her, but so falsly and treacherously by him) shee thinkes it a good way and an excellent, expedi∣ent for her, to seeke to reclaime him to her by a letter, the proofe whereof since his defection from her, she had not as yet practised or experienced, but as shee began to fall on this resolution, her hope and despaire of Sanctifiore and yet her love and affection to him, make her meet and fall on a doubtfull scruple, whe∣ther shee should write kindly or cholerickly to him, but at last her affection to him, declining and excusing his infidelity to her, and her love, and courtesie giving a favourable construction to his cruelty towards her, shee holds it more behouefull for her desire, & his returne, to write to him passionately and effectu∣ally, but not harshly or severely, and so to take the sweet and faire way which shee desired, but not the sharp and bitter which hee deserved; when flying to her closet, she (full of griefe and teares) writes him this ensuing letter, the which without the knowledge of her Aunt Mellifanta shee sends him to Naples, by her trusty menssenger Sebastiano her Fathers coachman.

VRSINA to SANCTIFIORE.

TO preserve thine honour, and prevent mine owne disgrace and shame I have left Naples to sojourne here for a time in Putzeole with the Lady Mellifanta mine aunt, where thy presence will make mee as truly joyfull and happie, as I feele and know my selfe infinitly miserable without it; For although of late (but for what cause, or reason, God knowes I knowe not) it hath pleased thee to excercise my affection and patience in thy discontent; yet in regard I am thy wife by purchase, sith thou art my Husband by promise, whereof the copies of thy former letters will informe and remem∣ber thee, that thou madest God the judge, and the soule and consciences the witnesses, I cannot beleeve that thou art so irreligious, or that thou bearest mee so little love, or so much malice, to make thy selfe guilty of such foule infidelity to mee, and impiety towards God, and I appeale to them all if my tender & untainted affection to thee have not every way deserved the contrary at thy hands. Againe, as in hoping to marry thee I gave thee my heart, so in assurance and counfidence thereof, thou didest likewise be∣reave mee of my honour, and therefore if the conterpane of that contract doe anyway fade or dye in thy memory, yet rest confident, that the Originall lives still in Heaven, as the pledge and seale thereof doth now in my unhappie wombe here on earth; mistake mee not my deare Sanctifiore, for I write not this out of any malice, but out of true affection to thee, to the end that thou maiest thereby seriously consider, and religiously remember with thy selfe, what I am to thee, thou to my selfe, and what that unfortunate Innocent unborne babe in my belly is to us both. And although I am thy wife before God, yet I will now in all humility make my selfe thy handmaid and with a world of sighes and teares throw my selfe at thy feet (and lower if I could) to conjure and begge thee; By my poore beauty which once thou didest so much admire and adore, by the memory of my lost virginity, which thou wrested'st from mee with so many amarous sighes and teares, by all thy deepe oathes, vowes and promises which thou so religiously gavest mee to remaine still loving to mee, by thine honour which should bee dearer to thee than thy life, by thy conscience, and soule which ought to bee far more pretious to thee than all the lives and honours of the world, yea for thy poore infants sake, and lastly for Gods sake, abandon thy unjust displeasure and immerited discontent conceived against mee, and my deare Sanctifiore come away to mee to Putzeole, and there make mee thy wife in the sight of his Church and people, as I am already in

that of heaven and his Angells, I say againe, come away to mee my sweet Sanctifiore, for thy sight will delight my heart, and thy presence and company ravish my soule with joy. It is impossible for Bertranna, either to love or honour thee the thousand part so dearly as thy Vrsina doth, and till death resolves to doe; I will freely forget all thy former escapes and discourtesies towards mee, and doe attribute them more to her foolish vanity, than any way to thy unkind disposition or inclination, yea I will not knit my browes when thou comest to mee, but will cheerfully and joyfully prepare my selfe to feast thee with smiles, and to surfet thee with kisses: But if contrariwise thou wilt not hearken unto mee, or this my letter, or regard these my just requests and sorrowes, nor obey and follow God and thy conscience herein, in speedily repairing to mee to make mee thy joyfull wife, then what shall I doe or say, but according as I am bound in affection and duty to thee, I will notwithstanding still resolve to love thee dearly, though thou, hate mee deadly, and to pray for thee though thou curse mee; yea I will then leave thee to God, and religiously beseech his divine majestie, to bee a just judge betweene both of us, of my firme affection and constancy to thee, and of thy cruell ingratitude and treacherie to mee. Live thou as happie, as thy constant Vrsina knowes that without thee, shee shall assuredly live sorrowfully and die miserablie.

VRSINA.

Her messenger Sebastiano arives privatly at Naples and finds out the Baron of Sanctifiore in his chamber by the fire to whom hee gives and delivers this letter, who at first (knowing from whom it came) stood a pretty whiles musing and consulting with himselfe, whether he should read or burne it, but at last hee breakes up the seales thereof, and with much adoe affords himselfe the time and patience to peruse it, which having done, although hee no way merited to re∣ceive so sweet and loving a letter from Vrsina, yet not blushing for shame, but looking pale with envie and malice thereat, hee darting forth a disdainfull frowne, and tearing the letter in peeces, throwes it into the fire, when turning himselfe hastily towards Sebastiano who stood neere him and saw all that hee had done, hee in great choler spake to him thus. Tell that proud and foolish gigglet Vrsina, that I disdaine her as much as shee writes, shee loves mee, and that as now so ever hereafter I will returne no other answer to her, and her let∣ters but contempt and silence, when to expresse his greater fury, Sebastiano was no sooner forth his chamber, but he very hastily throwes fast the doore after him, and in this furious and cholericke manner doth this base Sanctifiore receive the love, and entertaine the letter of our sweet and sorrowfull Vrsina.

Sebastiano as much grieving as admiring at the incivill choler and rage of Sanctifiore, presently leaves Naples, and carries home this poore newes and cold comfort to his young Mistris the Lady Vrsina at Putzeole, the which hee faith∣fully and punctually delivers to her, who expected nothing lesse but derectly the contrary thereof. She is amazed to understand this his disdainfull, barba∣rous, and cruell answer, and infinitly perplexed in mind, that hee should first teare then burne her letter and for converting his pen into Sebastianos tongue for his answer thereof; But above all that word of his gigglet kild her very heart with sorrow, to thinke that for all her former courtesies shewed him, hee should now at last repay her with this foule ingratitude and scandalous aspersion, at the sor∣rowfull thought and consideration whereof, resolving to make her piety exceed his cruelty, shee could not refraine from bedewing her roseat cheeks with many pearled teares, nor from evaporating this heavenly ejaculation from the pro∣fundity of her heart, and the centre of her foule; God forgive the Baron of

Sanctifiore, and bee mercifull to mee Vrsina a great and wretched sinner, had shee continued in this godly mind and resolution shee had done well, but ahlas (not∣withstanding the wholesome comfort and councell of her aunt Mellefanta) wee shall shortly see her runne a contrary course and cariere.

It is a common phrase, and proverb, that misfortune seldome comes alone, which wee shall now see our sorrowfull Vrsina will verifie by her deepe sighes, and confirme by her bitter teares for this discourtesie of Sanctifiore to∣wards her, for shee hath so deeply nayled it in her mind, and rive•…•…ed it in her heart, that it begins to impaire her health and strength, and consequently to pervert and alter the constitution of her body, so that whereas her poore unborne babe had lived but one full moneth within her, she now finds so many suddaine throwes, and unacustomed convulsions, that shee is speedily constrained to be∣take her selfe to her bed, when calling upon her aunt Mellefanta, and withall possible hast sending a way for the midwife, shee after many sharpe torments, and bitter cries and groanes (to the great perrill and eminent danger of her life) is delivered of a verie pretty little sonne, which God sends into the world dead borne; now although shee want no curious care, comfort and attendance from her aunt, in this her sicknes and extremity, yet shee weeps bitterlie, and pitti∣fully for the abortive birth, and untimely death of her poore innocent babe, and infant, and because her aunt sees, that this last affliction and sorrow of her neece doth infinitly encrease and revive her former, and that shee also conceives a wonderfull feare in her heart, and scruple in her conscience that it is only her im∣moderate griefe and sorrow which hath kild her child, therefore as a discreet matrone and wise Lady, (to remove this article out of her neeces beliefe and me∣mory) tells her plainly and freely, that shee is extremly deceived in that point and doubt of feare, and that it is not her sorrow, but the base ingratitude and treachery of her false lover Sanctifiore to her selfe which kild her child within her; A tart and yet a true speech, which Vrsina neither will so soone, nor can so easily forget, as her aunt Mellefanta hath spoken it, but shall I here tearme this to be affection in Vrsina towards Sanctifiore, or a needlesse vanity, or superfluous ceremony in her selfe: For shee desires to kisse her breathlesse innocent babe for his sake, which shee doth, when giving it a thousand kisses, then washing his face with her teares, and lamenting and grieving that shee could not breath life into it with her sighes, shee recommends it againe to her aunt, and shee the same night to its secret and decent buriall.

Whiles thus Vrsina remaines very weake and sicke in her bed, yet still her heart and affection lookes constantly on Sanctifiore as the needle of the compasse doth to the north, notwithstanding all his base ingratitude, and cruelty from time to time shewed towards her, and because it is a thousand grieses and pitties that ever hee set his eyes on her, or shee on him, and as many shames for him; first to seduce and then to betray her, therefore who would any way commend her for continuing of her love to him, or rather who would not infinitly blame her of folly, and condemne her for want of wit, and judgment, ever any more either to hope or hearken after him: And yet this silly young Lady is so bewitch∣ed to him as in the very middest of her sicknes and sorrowes, and contrary to all sence and reason here breakes forth a sparckle and flash of her polley in her selfe, and of her affection towards him; She neither can, nor dare trust any other but Sebastiano her coachman, with this great secret which so much imports her honour or disgrace, or with this her message with Sanctifiore from whom (though in vaine) shee expects some hope and content, when exempting all from her

chamber, she calls him to herbeds side, and swearing him to secrecy, (for want of strength to write chargeth him presently to ride poast to Naples againe to find out the Baron of Sanctifiore and to tell him from her, that she her selfe is extreme sicke, and not like to live, that shee is delivered of his & her Sonne who is dead borne, and therefore that she begs him, that for Gods sake hee will speedily come over to her, because for his good, and her content, she infinitly desireth to discharge her mind and conscience to him before she goe to heaven; So Sebasti∣ano, (in discharge of his dutie, and his Ladies commands) seems rather to fly than poast to Naples, where ariving to Sanctifiores house, and finding him with∣in; hee sends him up his name by one of his men, as also that hee most earnestly desires to speake a word with his Lordship: but Sanctifiore knowing who it was, and therefore imagining from whom hee came, bids his man carry Sebastiano backe this answer that hee will neither speake with him nor see him. Sebastiano is perplexed with this his short and sharp reply, but because his message is of great importance, as also for that hee exceedingly respecteth and honoureth his young Lady and mistris, hee resolves not to returne to her as a foole; to which end, at the foot of the staires hee enquireth of another of his servants when hee thinkes his Lord will goe forth, who tells him hee will take coach within halfe an houre; whereof Sebastiano being exceeding glad, hee thinkes it best to stay for him in the street, where (with much vigilancy and impatiency) hee attends his comming, so at last hee sees him issue forth his gate; when presently Sebastiano placeth him selfe betwixt him and his coach, and with his hat in his hand, very resolutly and orderly delivereth him his mistris her message at full, the which Sanctifiore un∣derstanding, hee at first smiles thereat, but then presently againe entering into choler, hee rounds Sehastiano this answer in his eare, tell that strumpet thy mistris Vrsina from mee, that I wish shee were buryed with her bastard, and that they were both with the devill, and so without speaking any one word more, in a mighty fume of anger and disdaine, hee throwes himselfe a way from Sebastiano into his coach, and speedily hurries away to his sweet heart Bertranna, from whom hee is seldome or never absent, to whom hee revealed all that had past in this passage, endevouring as much as in him lyes to make it to be as wel her laugh∣ture, as his owne contempt and scorne.

Now here ere I proceed farther, I know there is no christian whatsoever, but that his very heart and soule, will yearne within him, at the reading of these cruell, barbarous and hellish speeches of this base hearted Nobleman against our sorrowfull and unfortunate Vrsina, and her poore harmlesse deceased babe, and no lesse doth Sebastiano in hearing & my selfe in penning and relating them: doe I tearme him Nobleman? O let mee (with respect and repentance) revoke that noble title from Sanctifiore, and to give him his due, let me tearme him as hee is a monster of men, or if hee will, a noble deboshed villaine, or whether hee will or no, a meere tyrant, or else a devill in the shape of a man, to use such in∣gratefull cruelties, and hellish actions and speeches against these two innocent persons, who contrariwise in the highest degree, deserved from him all manner of affection, respect, charity, pitty and compassion; but let him looke to him selfe as well as he can, yet (God being as just as mercifull) it is not impossible for him in the end to pay deare for these his foule infidelities and cruelties.

Returne wee now to Sebastiano who (by this time) is returned to Putzeole whereof hee presently sends up notice to his young Lady and mistris Vrsina who still keepes her bed through discontent and sicknes, but at the newes of his arri∣vall, or rather hopeing that hee had brought her some good newes from her

Sanctifiore; shee (without any regard to her weaknesse and sicknesse) riseth from her bed by the fire, and calls her chamber maid for her night gowne, which have∣ing drawne on, thee bid•…•… her for a whiles to absent her selfe, and to send up her coachman 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to her, and although in his sorrowfull lookes and counte∣nance shee m•…•…y already tacitly reade a large lecture of the bad newes hee brings her from 〈◊〉〈◊〉, yet shee •…•…lls him to her, and bids him speake on; but ahlas hee speaketh too soone fo•…•… •…•…er, fo•…•… (with a falt•…•…ing and trembling voice) hee tells her the •…•…arsh entert•…•…nment, which Sanctifiore gave to him and his mess•…•…ge in Naples, and the inhumane and cruell answer which hee bad him returne to her in Putzeole, without any way adding or diminishing a word thereof; the which as soone as she understood; shee for the extremity of her griefe and sorrow hangs downe her head, and crossing her armes uttereth this passionate speech: good God is it possible that Sanctifiore will thus abuse mee, or is this the favour which I must expect of him in req•…•…itall of those extraordinary courtesies hee hath re∣ceived from •…•…ee; when walking up and downe her chamber, shee thankes Sebastiano, and giving him some gold for his paines, bids him to leave her, and to send up her •…•…unt 〈◊〉〈◊〉, and her chamber maid to bring her to bed; who thereupon running up hastily to her, her aunt chides her for the little care shee had of her owne health, but more for her foolish •…•…eares, and indiscreet sorrowes. Now after they had laine her in her bed, and that Vrsina had purposly sent away her maid, shee prayes her aunt to shut her chamber doore, and then to sit downe by her beds side for that shee had some secrets of importance to reveale unto her; when with a thousand sighes and teares, bedewing the roses and lilies of her fresh and lovely cheeks, she acquaints her from point to point, what had now againe past betweene Sanctifiore and her selfe, in this second journey of Sebastia∣no to him at Naples. Her aunt Mellefanta laughes as much at this folly of her neece Vrsina, as shee her selfe weepes at her owne sorrowes and afflictions; and having a•…•… much wit as the other had weaknes, shee makes bold to call her •…•…ot, and foole, to care for him who contemned and scorned her, and for setting that to her heart which hee did at his heele, yea shee advanced further in this her passionate c•…•…oler to her and said, fie, fie neece, sell your sorrowes to buy more courage and wit, and so because that base Baron Sanctifiore detests and de∣fies you, pay him in his owne coyne, and doe the like to him, a sharpe and bitt•…•…r speech which Vrsina (amidst her sorrowes) now conveyes to her heart, and it may be wee shall hereafter see her to remember it, when her aunt Mellefanta hath forgotten it: for poore soule, shee being as it were depressed and weighed downe, with the multitude of Sanctifiores affronts and disgraces, and of his treacheries and cruelties to her, shee hath wept so much as shee yet weeps be∣cause shee can weepe no more thereat; as if the difference of their const•…•…llations and horoscopes were such, that as San•…•…ifiore was borne to hate her, so was shee notwithstanding, (as yet) to affect and love him.

Ahlas Vrsina▪ It is true indeed, that the least of these treacheries, and cruel∣ties of Sanctif•…•…e to thee, are causes enough of all thy teares and sorrowes▪ but yet the consideration and comparing of those with these, conducts and le•…•…s mee to this di•…•…ma; that I know not whether hee bee more to be bl•…•…med for committi•…•…g the first, o•…•… thou for permitting the second, in regard they •…•…e every way more worthy of thy scorn•…•… than of thy care and of thy contempt th•…•…n of thy affliction. His ingratitude, and crimes to thee I know are many in quantity, and very base and odious in quality, yea their number is so great and their nature so foule, that their recapitulation cannot bee drawen within a smaller nor their

repetition contracted in a lesser or narrower volume than this; hee hath betraid his love, violated his faith, and falsified his oathes and promises to thee▪ he hath bereaved thee of thy virginity, to•…•…e and burnt thy letters, disdained to see thee, called thee gigglet and whore; thy innocent babe bastard, and which is worst of all, hee hath wilfully and cholerickly wished both of you to the devill; so judge with thy selfe Vrsina, if all these bee not faire motives for thee still to love Sanctifiore, or rather if they bee not just •…•…easons and provocations for thee now at last to hate him; or if thou thinke they bee not enough to worke and establish this metamorphosis in thee, have but a little patience, and it is not impossible for thee to find more to affect and finish it; for now whiles her aunt Mellefanta is rating and ratling her for not casting off her heart and hopes from Sanctifiore; and Vrsina (in counterexchange) chi•…•…ing her aunt because shee cannot indu•…•…e that she should eternally love him, here falls out an unexpected accident (with∣in a moneth after she had prettily recovered her health and strength) which wee shall presently see will worke and produce strang effects both in her heart and mind as also in her affections and resolutions towards her Sanctifiore, •…•…r as yet (privatly toher selfe) shee many times so tearmes and stiles him.

On a faire afternoone, when the •…•…unne (that glorious lampe of heaven) had in his fiery glistering chariot taken leave of the fouth▪ and was po•…•…sting towards the west, to view the Atlanticke seas, as the Lady Mellefanta caried her neece Vrsina forth in her coach to take the ayre, and too recreate her sorrowfull spirits, in a great walke of orenge trees, orderly and pleasantly growing upon the banckes of a fine christall brooke about a mile from Putzeole, they a f•…•…r of (in the boote of the coach) espied two horsemen gallopping de•…•…ctly towards them, when Vrsina flattering her selfe with hope, and therefore blushing for joy, that it was her Sanctifiore, who was purposely come from Naples towards Putzeole to see her, she therefore cries out to her coachman Sebastiano to stay the coach and to at∣tend and expect them; when presently shee sees her hopes deceived, and her joyes ended as soone as began, for the one was a servant of Mellefantas who from Putzeole conducted thither to Vrsina a servant of her father Placedo's who came from Naples with a letter from him to her, whereupon the aunt much wonder∣ing, and the neece far more what this suddaine busines might bee, they both descend the coach, and Vrsina taking her fathers letter from his man, shee steps a little aside from her aunt Mellefanta, and breaking up the seale thereof; (directly contrary to her expectation and desires) finds these lines therein.

PLAC•…•…DO to VRSINA.

HOping that by this time the sweet ayre of P•…•…tzeole hath recovered thy health, my will and order therefore to thee now is, that thou speedily returne home to mee to Naples (in thy coach) by the bearer hereof, whom I have purposely sent to conduct thee hither. I beleeve that thy country absence▪ hath lost thee a good fortune here in the citty, for yesterday morning the Baron of Sanctifiore was (in the augustines Church) married to Dona Bertranna, daughter to Seignior de Tores, with great state and solemnity, whom I had well hoped should have beene thy husband, I remember my best respects to my sister, thy aunt Mellefanta, and my best prayers to God for thy vertues and prosperity, as being thy loving father

PLAC•…•…DO.

Vrsina hath no sooner read this letter, but every member of her body trembles for griefe and vexation thereat, yea her sorrowes are so great, as shee cannot speake a word, when being ready to fall to the ground, her aunt Mellefanta steps to her assistance and so doe the two men, but they have all of them much adoe to support her up, when at last wringing her hands, and looking up stedfastly to heaven, she throwing her letter to her aunt to reade, utters forth this bitter ex∣clamation against Sanctifiore; and hath this base Nobleman at last requited all my love, with this monstrous ingratitude and treachery! O why doe I live to suffer it? and O wherefore should hee live for offering it to mee? her aunt reads her letter and in detestation of Sanctifiores basenes, shee addes fuell to the flame of her neeces choler against him, but shee needs not, for this very last act of his marriage with Bertranna, sets her all in fire and revenge against him, yea her heart is so absolutely diverted, and taken away from him, as heretofore she never loved him so much as now shee hates him; shee sweares to her selfe, that shee will make him pay deare for this his ingratitude and treachery towards her, and limits her revenge with no lesse than his death for so basely abusing and deceiving her, shee but now threw away his letter for sorrow, but now shee againe takes it up for joy, because it calls her home to Naples, where as soone as shee arives shee againe and againe resolves and vowes with her selfe that shee will murther him her selfe, or cause him to bee murthered by some others, her aunt Mellefan∣ta by all sweet meanes and perswasions, seeks to pacifie her discontent and fury, and so to appease and coole the raging tempests of her heart; but shee speakes to a deafe woman, who is not capable, either of councell consolation or reason, for her mallice and revenge against Sanctifiore have so sully taken up her heart and soule, and so absolutly surprised her thoughts and possessed her resolutions, that shee neither resolves nor thinkes of any thing else, but how and in what manner shee may murther him; to which end shee takes coach for Putzeole, there packes up her baggage, conceales her bloody intents and resolutions to∣wards Sanctifiore from her aunt Mellefanta, thankes her most lovingly and cour∣teously for all her care of her, and affection to her, the remembrance whereof she affirmes she will beare to her grave, and from thence to heaven, and so within three daies takes leave of her, and returnes to Naples to her father, who receives her with much content and joy, and is very glad of the recovery of her health, and yet perceives some secret discontent lie lurking in the furrowes of her browes; but shee dissembleth it both to him and the world, and so beares her selfe fairely, modestly, and temperatly towards him in her speeches and actions, who all this whiles is every way ignorant of her disgracefull great belly, as also of the birth & buriall of her infant child. She is no sooner come to Naples, but her deadly malice and revenge to Sanctifiore will give no truce to her thoughts, nor peace to her resolutions, for her heart having conspired with the devill, and both of them against God to dispatch him to heaven; so now from the matter shee falles to the manner, and from her consultation to the practise thereof. She first thinkes it best to get him poysoned, to which end within ten dayes after her arivall to Naples shee sends for her owne Apothecary named Antonio Ro∣mancy, and having sworne him to secrecy profers him two hundred duckatons to poyson her mortall enemy the Baron of Sanctifiore, but Romancy is too honest a man and too religious a christian to undertake it, and so utterly refuseth her, and rejecteth her profer; and then and there with many godly reasons and pious speeches, endevoureth to disswade her from this foule and bloody fact, but hee speakes either to the wind or to a deafe woman, for shee is resolute not to retire

but to advance in this her cruell and inhumane designe, only shee here againe strongly conjures this honest Apothecary to secrecie, the which hee solemnly promiseth.

Vrsina is still implacable in her malice and revenge against Sanctifiore, the which revives with more violence, and flames forth with the greater impetuo∣sitie, when shee (by her secret spies) is given to understand that hee triumpheth in her affliction and scandall, and reputes it his chiefest content and felicity to have erected the trophees of his joy upon the ruines of her honour and the de∣molitions of her reputation and fame, as also that shee and this her disgrace is now become the publike laughter and private scorne and glory of his proud and ambitious wife Bertranna: so shee cannot endure the thought, much lesse digest the remembrance and consideration hereof, and therefore shee speedily resolves to reduce her malitious contemplation into bloody action towards him, and to try another experiment and conclusion thereof. She in a pleasant morning somewhat sooner than accustomed, walkes alone with her waiting maid, in her fathers curious and dainty garden, but not to please her eyes with the delicious sight and fragrant smell of the great variety of rare and faire flowers where∣with it was richly adorned and diapred; or to recreate and delight her eares with the mellifluous ditties and madrigalls of those sweet quiristers of the aire, the nightingalls, thrushes, and lennots, who sate chaunting of some sweet division on some trees of this garden, and on some branches of these trees; or to preserve her selfe from the intemperate heat of the scorching sunne beames; and therefore either to passe her time, either in some shaddowed walkes and arbours, or to sit her selfe downe by some curious chrystall fountaine, with all which delights and rarities this her fathers garden was deliciously inriched and embelished; O no, nothing lesse, for shee was resolute to make her selfe more miserable, and not so happie, because her thoughts were wholly bent on blood, and her resoluti∣ons on the murther of Sanctifiore at what price or rate soever. Having therefore formerly mist of her Apothecary Romancy to poyson him, shee else knowes not any so fit or proper to dispatch him as her trusty coachman Sebastiano, who (as wee have formerly understood) was both an eye and an eare witnesse of this his base and ignoble crueltie towards her: wherefore shee by her waiting maid, sends for him into the garden to her, and with many ruthfull lookes, and sorrow∣full sighes, having first commended and applauded his fidelity to her, and then sworne him to secrecy to what shee should now relate and deliver unto him, shee tells him, that shee cannot live except that base Lord Sanctifiore dye, and therefore shee profereth him an hundred Spanish double pistolls of gold, if hee will either murther him by night in the streets with his rapier, or pistoll him to death abroad in the fields, at his first seeing, and meeting of him, to the which shee very earnestly prayes and requests him. Sebastiano as amazed at this bloody proposition and entreaty of his young Lady Vrsina, whom hee ever held to bee more charitable, and not so cruell hearted to any one of the world, and although hee be poore, yet hee is so honest, vertuous and religious, as hee highly refuseth to distaine his heart, or dip his hands in innocent blood for any silver or gold whatsoever. So in humble (and yet in absolute) tearmes, hee gives her the deni∣all, and (with teares in his eyes) prayes her to desist from this her cruell purpose, because hee affirmes to her, that the end of murther proves most commonly but the beginning of shame, repentance, misery, and confusion to their authors; so shee bites her lip, and hangs her head for sorrow, at this his repulse and re∣fus•…•…ll; and yet is so cautious and wary in her actions, as shee makes him againe

swear secrecy to her in all thinges, which now doth, othereafter may concerne this businesse, the which hee faithfully promiseth her, provided, that her com∣mands and his seruice bee every way exempt of the effusion of innocent blood, and the perpetration of murther, to the which hee constantly vowes to her, it is impossible for him ever to bee seduced or drawen, and so hee takes leave of her, and leaves her solitarily alone in the garden to her muses; but yet as hee was issuing forth shee againe calls him to her, and strictly chargeth him first care∣fully and curiously to informe himselfe, and then hee her, of Sanctifiores most frequent haunts, and walkes without the cittie, the which hee likewise promis∣eth her to performe.

Our malitious and revengefull Vrsina is not contented to receive the deniall from her Apothecary Romancy, and the repulse from her coachman Sebastiano, about the finishing of this deplorable busines, but without making any good use of their honest and religious disswasions of her from it, or without once looking up to God, or thinking of heaven or hell, shee as a fatall member, and prodigi∣ous agent of Sathan, is still resolute to proceed therein; for he is still so strong with her heart, because her faith and soule are so weake with God, that shee sees not her selfe so often in her looking glasse with delight, as shee both sees, and finds Sanctifiore in her heart and mind with detestation; for her mallice to him hath quite expelled all reason, and banished all charity and piety in her selfe, and consequently now made her memorative and capable of nothing but of revenge and blood towards him; which takes up every part, and usurpes every point both of her time, and of her selfe, yea and workes so strang (I may rather truly say so miserable) a metamorphosis in her, as if shee were now wholly composed of one, or both of these two impious and diabolicall vices, so that every moment seemes a yeare, and every day an age to her, before shee hath dispatched him for heaven; she now sees that shee cannot (with safety) employ any other herein but her selfe, and therefore day by day calling upon Sebastiano to know of him, where Sanctifiores usuall haunts and walkes were without the cittie, hee at last tells her that hee is fullie assured, that most mornings and evenings he takes his coach and some times his page, but many times alone, and so goes a mile out of the cittie beyond the gate which lookes towards Saint Germaines and there in a dainty grove of olives and orenge trees (neere a small rivers side) hee with his booke in his hand, and his spaniell dogge at his heeles passeth an houre or two alone in his private contemplations, his coach being sometimes out of sight from him, and sometimes returnes to the cittie, and so comes and fetcheth him backe againe; which report is no sooner heard and un∣derstood of Vrsina from her coachman, but shee receives it with much joy, and entertaines it with infinite content and delectation; shee is therefore so cruell in her thoughts, and so determinate and bloody in her resolutions, as shee will pro∣tract no time, but shee speedily bethinkes her selfe of a hellish stratagem and po∣licy (no lesse strange than cruell) which the devill him selfe suggested and found out for her, to wreake her inveterate malice and infernall revenge in mur∣thering of Sanctifiore, the manner whereof is thus.

She very secretly provides her selfe of a friers complete weed, as a sad ruffer gowne, & coule, with a girdle of a knottie rope, & woodden sandalls, proper to the order of the Bonnes homes (which is the reformed one of that of S. Francis) with a false negligent old beard, and haire for his head sutable to the same, and in one of the pockets of this frocke, shee puts a small begging box, such as those friers use to carry in cittie, and country when they crave the charitable almes

and devotion of well disposed people, as also a new breviary (or small masse booke) of the last edition and forme of Rome, boundup in blew turky leather richly guilt, but in the othor pocket thereof shee puts a couple of small short pistolls which shee had secretly purloined out of her father Placedo's armory, and had charged each of them with a brace of bullets, fast rammed downe, with priming powder in the pans, and all these fatall trinckets, shee (with equall silence and treachery) packes and tyes up close in the gowne, expecting the time and houre to worke this her cruell and lamentable seate on innocent Sancti∣fiore, who little thinkes or dreames what a bloody banquet his old love, and now his new enemy Vrsina is preparing for him.

And here I write with griefe that it was the tuesday after Palme Sunday, (a time and weeke which the blessed passion of our Saviour Christ Jesus, makes sacred and famous, and which all true christians in his commemoration ought to keepe holy, and not to polute or defile it with barbarous and bloody sacrifices) when our masculine monster, or rather our femall fury Vrsina, being assured by Sebastiano that the Baron of Sanctifiore was that day about three of the clocke af∣ter dinner gone out alone in his coach to his aforesaid usuall place of walking a mile off the cittie in the fields; shee infinite glad of this desired occasion and longed for opportunity, bids Sebastiano make ready his coach, and silently to leave him without the posterne gate of her fathers garden, and so presently to come up to her chamber to her, the which hee as soone performes; to whom she now (prophanely and treacherously sayes) Sebastiano, (by the favour and mercy of God) I have now exchanged my cruelty into courtesie towards the Baron of Sanctifiore, and doe therefore presently resolve to give him a merry meeting in the fields, whereat before our departure and returne, I know thou wilt rejoyce and laugh heartely at the fight hereof; the which indeed was very welcome and pleasing newes to Sebastiano, to whom shee then gives this little fardell, and so purposely leaving her waiting maid behind her, shee cheerefully and speedily followes him to the coach, wherein being seated and the litle fardell likewise within by her; shee bids him drive away withall speed to find out Sanctifiore, the which (armed with his innocency) hee joyfully doth. Now as they are come within two flight shots of him, Vrsina bids Sebastiano not to proceed farther, but to drive in the coach into some close shaddowed place out of the high way, where they might see Sanctifiore, but not (as yet) to bee either seene or espied of him; which accordingly hee doth, where shee descends her coach, drawes off her 〈◊〉〈◊〉 apparell, and so puts on her false friers apparell as also the haire, and beard, having made and prepared all things fit and ready before, and here likewise shee soldeth up the tresses and tramells of her owne haire under it, and hath purpose∣ly shaved away the haire of a little part of the crowne of her head, and all this whiles her coachman Sebastiano turnes her chamber maid here in the fieldes to make her ready, where hee cannot refraine from exceedingly smiling and laugh∣ing to see what a strang metamorphosis this now is, that his young Lady Vrsina is here become an old frier, but still shee hides and conceales her two pistolls carefully in her pocket from him, as also her bloody designes and intents towards Sanctifiore, and whereof hee as every way as innocent, as shee her selfe, and only her selfe is guilty thereof. Now being all in a readines, she out of her other pocket takes her almos box and holds it in one of her hands, and her howres (or breviary) in her other, and so taking leave of her coachman, and (with a diffembling cheerefull countenance) charging him to pray for her good fortune, and speedily to bring up her coach to her, as soone as hee sees her wave her white

handkercher towards him; so, as a jolly old frier, away this 〈◊〉〈◊〉 •…•…vill so•…•…y trips towards Sanctifiore, having piety in her lookes; but proph•…•… and •…•…∣barous cruelty in her heart and intentions, and all the way as shee go•…•…; 〈◊〉〈◊〉 cannot refraine from laughing to see this great change, and alteration in his young Lady and mistris, but directly beleeving that shee in m•…•…ent 〈◊〉〈◊〉 maying or masking, such was his ignorance that he least thought, o•…•… dream•…•… 〈◊〉〈◊〉 shee went to commit murther, or what devill was here vailed and shrouded under this friers weed.

So (with more assurance than feare, and with far more impiety than g•…•…e) shee goes on towards Sanctifiore, who was there alone walking and reading, to whom approaching, and giving him a ducke or two, she holding up her begging box, and counterfeiting an old friers vo•…•…, prayes him for the blessed V•…•…rgin Maries sake, and also for holy saint Francis sake to bestow some thing on him for their society and order; which Sanctifiore (being alone, as having sent b•…•…e his coach to the cittie) resolving to doe, hee seeing that faire new 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the friers hands, hee fairly takes it from him, and carefully vieweth and peruseth it, which being that which Vrsina aimed and looked for, shee for 〈◊〉〈◊〉 sake (but indeed purposely and malitiously) steps behinde him, and very •…•…oftly draw∣ing out one of her pistolls out of her pocket which was already 〈◊〉〈◊〉; shee levels it at the very reines of his backe, and so lets flye at him▪ whereof hee presently was falling to the ground, when (the devill making •…•…mble and dexterious in her malice) in the turning of a hand, shee whips but the other pistoll out of her pocket, and to make sure worke with him likewise dischargeth it in his brest, and to make her inveterate malice and revenge to▪ him the more conspicuous and apparant to all the world, as neere as shee could gue•…•…e to his very heart, of which mortall wounds made by her foure bullets Sanctifiore fell immediatly dead to the ground, having neither the power, grace o•…•… happines to speake a word; and then she pulling off her false beard, discovered her selfe to him as hee was dying, and spurning him most disdainfully and mali•…•…usly with her foote gave him this cruell farwell, such deaths such villaines deserve, who triumph and glory to betray harmelesse and innocent Ladies; which having acted and said, shee waving her hand kercher to her coachman, hee comes up•…•…o her with her coach as 〈◊〉〈◊〉 as the wind, who is all amazed and in teares to behold this woefull accident and lamentable spectacle; for descending speedily from his coach, hee finds the Baron of Sanctifiore dead, and his soule already fled and ascended from earth to heaven, to whom his Lady Vrsina (in a gracelesse insulting bravery) sayes, rejoyce with thee Sebastiano, that I have now so b•…•…vely and for∣tunately revenged my selfe on this base and treacherous Baron Sanctifiore; but honest 〈◊〉〈◊〉, (being as full of true griefe, as shee was of fals•…•…ny) replies and tells her, O•…•…dame! what have you done? for this is no cause, and therefore no time to rejoyce but rather •…•…o •…•…ent and mourne, for this lamentable fact and cri•…•…e of yours, and not to disse•…•…ble you the truth, as much as yo•…•… (in this •…•…all frie•…•… •…•…cke) did •…•…e your bloody in•…•…tions, I have fa•…•… more reason to fe•…•…e than cause to doubt, that your •…•…urthering of the Baro•…•… of Sancti•…•…, will p•…•…ove the ruine and confusion of your selfe, except God •…•…ee gratiously p•…•…ed •…•…o •…•…e more mercifull to you, than you have 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to him; therefore looke from his danger and misfortune speedily to provide for your owne safety; which as soo•…•…e as hee had said, hee (in the •…•…riersweeds) spe•…•…ly takes her up in the coach, and then drives away a full gallop to the shadowed thicke•…•… from whence •…•…hee 〈◊〉〈◊〉, where she c•…•…sts of her •…•…iers apparell, bea•…•…, 〈◊〉〈◊〉, box and book•…•…, as also the •…•…o

pistolls, the which they two wrap up all in the gowne, and throw it into a deepe ditch or precipice, and so hee helpes her to put on all her owne apparell and a •…•…ire and then with more hast than good speed drives home a maine towards Naples, and it was a disputable question, whether our bloody and execrable wretch V•…•…a more rejoyced, or her honest coachman Sebastiano lamented and grieved at this unfortunate and deplorable fact.

Wee have seene with what a malitious courage, and a desperate and pro∣phane resolution, this cruell hearted Gentlewoman Vrsina hath (in the habit of a frier) murthered this unfortunate Baron Sanctifiore, and the reader shall not goe much further in this history before (if not in the same moment, yet in the same houre) hee see the sacred justice of God will surprise and bring her to condigne punishment for the same, as if the last (as indeed it is) were co-incident and hereditary to the first, or as if it were wholy impossible for her to rejoyce so much here on earth for that, as God and his Angells doe both triumph and glory in heaven for this.

Gods judgments are as just as sacred, and as miraculous as justs: so that all people should rather admi•…•… it with awfull reverence, than any way neglect it with a prophane presumption. But our wretched Vrsina will not make her selfe so happie to bee of the first, but rather so miserable to bee of this second rancke; for shee wholly dispiseth Gods justice, and so absolutely forgets God himselfe, as shee neither thinkes of •…•…hat shee hath now done, what shee now is, or which is worst of all what hereafter shee may bee; but rather (as an inconsiderate and wretched gipsie) laughes in her sleeve for joy, to have thus happily bereaved Sanctifiore of his life, who so lately and so treacherously had bereaved her of her honour and chastity. While•…•… thus sorrowfull Sebastiano is hurring away his joy∣full murtherous young mistris the Lady Vrsina in her coach towards her Father Seignior Placedo's house in Naples, as (thinking to make his way the shorter and securer) hee drave his coach on a narrow path by the side of a hill, it so pleased God (in his sacred providence) as of his two coach horses, that of the out side fell sheare over the path and drew his fellow horse, the coach, the Lady Vrsina, and her coachman Sebastiano downe the hill after him; with which suddaine terrible •…•…ll the coach was shattered and torne in peeces, shee brake her right arme (wherewith shee had discharged these two pistolls) and hee his left legge, so that shee had the power but not the will, and hee the will but not the power to step to her assistance, only hee leaps from the coach box to the ground on his right legge, and with his knife cuts off the stayes and trappings of his horses, that they in their amazed fury might not draw the coach and themselves after them; and yet such is her impenitency and his affliction, as shee here was not halfe so much terrified, as hee perplexed and astonished at this their misfortunate disaster; the which though shee sleighted, as only looking downe to her selfe, yet hee deemed & conceived it to be no lesse than a blow from heaven, as looking up to God, and therefore that it was a fatall Omen, portending some dismall calamities and afflictions which were immediately to surprise and betide them.

As thus distressed Vrsina, and her lame and sorrowfull coachman Sebastiano, •…•…ate downe on the b•…•…e ground, rather able to behold, than to know how to helpe one the other; and they both grieving to see their coachlye to•…•…e on the lee side and shore of the hill, and their two coach-horses (without hurt or feare) licenti∣•…•…sly playing their friskes and figuaries below in the valleies, neither hee nor shee knew what co•…•…se to take for their present consolation and safety, and so to prevent the imminency of their danger, but at last shee taking some ten double

pistolls of Spanish gold out of her pocket, and giying it him, she againe makes him swear secrecie, never to reveale what hee had seene her performe to Sancti∣fiore, the which (with more reluctancy than willingnes) hee doth. Then as it was agreed betweene them, hee by some loud cries and holla's should call in some contadines (or country labourers) to their assistance, whom they saw a good distance off very busily working in the vines, the which as hee was about to doe, loe God (in his sacred providence) so ordained, that the Baron of Sancti∣fiores coach came ratling above them, where they two sate comfortlesse and sorrowfull upon the ground; and in the coach was his page Hieronymo, who therewith was going to fetch home the Baron his master, who perfectly seeing and knowing the Lady Vrsina, and her coachman Sebastiano, and seeing her coach lye by her all reversed, shattered and t•…•…rne to peeces, grieving at this her disaster, hee for the respect hee bore her for the Baron his masters sake, (whom hee knew formerly loved her) takes his coachman with him, and so descends downe to her assistance, where being more fully acquainted, of the breaking of her arme, and her coachman Sebastiano's legge, hee very humanely and courte∣ously profers her his Lords coach, and his best service to conduct and cary them both home to her father Seignior Placedo's house in the cittie, little thinking or dreaming, that shee came from so cruelly murthering his kind Lord and master Sanctifiore, or that his breathlesse body lay now exposed as a prey to the fowles of the aire in the fields.

Sebastiano is much perplexed and grieved, but his Lady Vrsina infinitely more at this unexpected encounter, and ominous, meeting of Sanctifiores page, coach, and coachman, which threatned her no lesse than feare, and this feare no lesse than imminent danger and confusion, especially to her selfe, if not to him, when looking wistly and sorrowfully each on other, they know not how to beare them∣selves in the unfortunacy of this accident, neither dare shee accept, or well knowes how to refuse this profered courtesie of the page Hieronymo. But at last (despight of her selfe) shee is enforced to imbrace this opportunity, when ma∣king a vertue of necessitie, shee (though much against her will) is constrained, very thankfully to accept, and make use of this kindnes of Hieronymo, who lead∣ing the Lady Vrsina by her leftarme, and his coachman, hers by his right, they softly bring them up the hill to the Baron their masters coach, and so convey her home to her father Seignior Placedo's house in the cittie, who was then gone forth to sup with the Prince of Salerno (who by the mothers side, was his cosen Ger∣mane) where Vrsina (setting a good face upon her bad hea•…•…t) gives the page many hearty thankes, and the coachman three duckatons for this their courtesie, so they take leave of her, and speedily returne with their coach into the fields to fetch home the Baron their master, to whom they resolve at full to relate this accident; when Vrsinas feares far exceeding her hopes, and knowing upon what ticklish •…•…earmes and dangerous points both her selfe and her life now stood, shee (in the absence of her father) speedily resolves to provide her a swift coach and so to flye from Naples to her aunt Mellefantas house in Putzeole, where shee promised her selfe far more safetie and lesse danger than here at home with her father; but contrariwise, wee shall see that God is now resolved to deceive both her hopes, and her selfe herein, to her utter shame and confusion.

The page Hieronymo being sorrowfull for the Lady Vrsinas misfortune, and yet exceeding glad that hee had the happines and good fortune to performe her this faire office, and friendly courtesie to her, hee now bids his coachman drive away ore the fields to that pleasant grove to find out their Lord and master

Sanctifiore, where being arived hee descends his coach, and with his vigilant eye lookes about every where for him, when ahlas hee hath scarce gone forty paces off, but (directly contrary to his expectation) hee finds him there dead on the ground and most lamentably all gored, and engrained in his owne blood, at the sight whereof hee bursts forth into many bitter teares and out cries, yea hee throwes away his hat, and teares his haire for griefe and sorrow hereof, and no lesse doth his coachman. They are here both of them so amazed with griefe and astonished with sorrow at this lamentable spectacle and accident, as they (for a quarter of an houres time) know not what to thinke or say hereof, as whe∣ther this their Lord and master had here kild himselfe, or were murthered and robbed by theeves, but at last this sorrowfull page Hieronymo, will stay alone weeping by the breathlesse body of his Lord, and master, and so sends away the coachman, in his coach speedily to Naples, to acquaint their Lady Dona Ber∣tranna, and her father Seignior de Tores with this sad and sorrowfull newes, where∣at shee almost drownes her selfe in her teares, and hee very bitterly laments and sorroweth for it; so (being incapable of any hope comfort or consolation) they doe both of them take coach and drive away into the fields, where shee almost murthereth her eyes with her teares, to see her deare Lord and husband lie thus murthered in his blood. They here see none in sight of him, neither doe they know any body but them selves that hath seene him; so by whom, or how hee is kild they cannot as yet either conceive or imagin, when the father leaving his daughter to wash and bedew her dead husbands cheekes with her teares, hee himselfe gallops away in his coach to Naples and brings thence along with him the crimynall officers of justice, first to know and then to bee eye witnesses of this sad and deplorable accident; at the hearing and sight whereof, (in nature and justice) they cannot refraine from equally woondering and grieving at it, when (to act the part and duty of themselves) they cause the coachman to spread his cloake on the ground, then to remove the dead corps from his blood, and to lay him thereon, and so they make a chirurgion (whom they had purposely brought with them) to unapparell and search his body for wounds, who finds and shewes them, that hee was shot with two pistoll bullets in his backe, and other two in his brest, (when missing likewise of his purse) they all of them doe confidently beleeve, that undoubtedly hee was murthered and robbed by theeves. The which the better to discover, the judges send their sergeants, and servants, and De Tores likewise sends the page and his coachman searching and scouring all over the adjacent fields to apprehend and bring before them all those whom they finde there; who are so far from meeting of many persons, as they all of them bring in but one poore ragged boy (of some twelve or fourteene yeares old) who some two hundred paces off, kept a few cowes (which yeelded milke to the cittie) and him they find sitting within a hedge in a ditch whom they bring along with them to the judges, where hee sees this dead body lying on the ground be∣fore them, where at poore silly boy hee shakes and trembles for feare.

The judges demand his name of him, who tels them hee is called Bartholo∣meo Spondy, they further enquire of him what his father is, and where hee dwels, who replies that his father is a poore butcher named Pedro Spondy, and dwels at Naples in Saint Iohns suburb (which the judges afterwards find true) then these grave judges perceiving the poore boy to be bashfull and timorous, they there∣fore bid him bee of good cheere, and to feare nothing, for the which hee thankes them both with his cap and knee. Then they enquire of him if hee saw any one to come neere and kill this gentleman, to whom in plaine and rusticke tearmes he

answereth them, that from the hedge within w^ch he kept his fathers cowes, he saw this gentleman walke alone by himselfe at least an houre with a booke in his hand reading, and that then hee saw an old frier come to him, who as hee thought begged somealmes of him, whom hee saw did shoote off two pistolls to him, and therewith kild him, for hee then, and thereupon presently saw the gentleman fall to the ground, they againe demaund of him what afterwards became of this frier, who tells the judges, that a coach came up instantly to him and carried him away, but where hee knowes not. They aske of him why hee had not cryed out against the frier, when hee saw hee had kild this gentleman, to whom hee makes answer that he dared not doe it, for feare lest hee would then likewise have killed him with his pistolls. The judges further demaund of him, whether this were a white, a blacke or a gray frier, to whom hee answers that hee was neither of them, but that hee wore a minime, or sad russet gowne and hood. Thereupon they thought it fit, againe to demand of him how many horses this coach had, and of what collour they were, to whom hee affirmes that they were two blacke coach-horses, when the judges to conclude this their quaere and his examination, they demand of him what colloured cloake this coachman wore, who tells them hee wore a red cloake, and as he thought some white laces upon it, the which this pregnant poore little boy Bartholomeo had no sooner pronounced and spoken, but Sanctifiores page Hieronymo cries out and relates to the judges, to his Lady Bertranna, and her father Seignior de Tores, where and in what manner and acci∣dent he some two houres since found the Lady Vrsina, and her coachman Sebasti∣ano, whom hee seriously affirmed wore a red cloake with white laces, and that her two coach-horses which they saw straying below in the valley were coale blacke, right as Bartholomeo had described them; adding further that her coach was broken with a fal•…•…, as also her right arme and his left legge, and that out of respect and pittie to her, hee had carried both her, and him, home to her father Seignior Placedo's house, but hee affirmed hee saw no frier either in their sight or company, all which relation of his, was likewise there confirmed to the judges by the Baron of Sanctifiores owne coachman, who was also there present, the which evidence of theirs as soone as the Lady Bertranna over heard, shee with a world of sighes and teares, (as if shee were suddainely inspired and prompted from heaven) passionately cries out first to her father, and then to the judges, that God and her conscience told her, that doubtlesse Vrsina was this divlish frier, and her coachman Sebastiano the very same damnable fellow who had here thus cruelly murthered her Lord and husband, when throwing her selfe on her knees to their feet, shee very earnestly begs justice of them, against them for the same, who partly concurring in the opinion and beleese with them, they doe here most seriously and solemnly promise it her.

To which effect, these reverend judges, leaving her father, her selfe, and her page and coachman decently to convey her husbands dead body home to their house in Naples, they themselves make great hast thither before, and presently send their officers and sergeants to Seignior Placedo's house, there to apprehend the Lady Vrsina his daughter, and their coachman Sebastiano, whom they both opportunly finde issuing forth his gate in a fresh hackney coach speedily flying to Putzeole to her aunt Mellefunta for protection and Sanctuary, so these fierce and mercilesse sergeants doe presently divert and alter their course, yea they furiously and suddainely rush upon them, apprehend and constitute them close prisoners in the common goale of tha•…•… cittie, placing them in two severall chambers, to the end they should not prattle or tell tales each to other; where they shall finde

more leasure than time, both to remember what they have done, and likewise to know what hereafter they must doe.

Whiles thus all Naples generally resound and talke of this mournfull fact, and deplorable accident, and Seignior Placedo particularly grieves at these his daugh∣ters unexpected crosses and calamities, as also of those of his coachman Sebastia∣no, the which hee feares, hee can far sooner lament than remedy; our sorrowfull widdow Bertranna (with the assistance of her father De Tores) gives her husband the Baron of Sanctifiore a solemne and stately buriall in the Fueillantes Church of Naples, correspondant to his noble degree and qualitie. And then within two daies after, at her earnest and passionate solicitation to the judges; Vrsina and her coachman Sebastiano are severally convented before them, in their chiefe Forum, (or tribunall) of justice, and there strongly accused by her and charged to bee the authors and actors of this cruell murther, committed on the person of the Baron of Sanctifiore her husband, the which both of them doe stoutly deny with much vehemency and confidence, and when the little boy Bartholomeo, is face to face called into the court to give in evidence against them, hee there main∣taines to the judges what hee had formerly deposed to them in the fields, but saies hee thinks not, that this Lady was that frier, nor can hee truly say that this was the coachman who carried him, although when his cloake was shewed him hee could not deny but it was verie like it; but Bertranna having now secretly intimated and made knowen to the judges, all the passages that had formerly past betweene Vrsina and her husband Sanctifiore, as his getting of her with child, and then (contrarie to his promise) refusing to marry her, they doe therefore more than halfe beleeve, that it was her discontent which drew her to this choler, her choler to this revenge, and her revenge to this murthering of him, as also (that in favour of some gold) shee had likewise seduced and drawen her coachman Sebastiano to bee consenting and accessary herein with her: where∣upon the next day they will begin with him, and so they adjudge him to the racke, the torments whereof hee endures with a wonderfull fortitude and patience, so that (remembring his oath of secrecy to his Lady Vrsina) hee cannot thereby bee drawen to confesse any thing, but denies all, whereof shee having secret notice, doth not a little rejoyce and insult thereat, now the very next en∣sueing morning Vrsina her selfe, is likewise adjudged and exposed to the racke, the wrenches and torments whereof, as soone as shee sensibly feeles, God proves then so propitious and mercifull to her soule, that her dainty body, and tender limbes cannot possibly endure or suffer it, but then and there shee to her judges and tormentors, confesseth herselfe to bee the sole author and actor of pistolling to death the Baron of Sanctifiore, in the same manner and forme, as wee have already understood in all its circumstances, but in her heart and soule shee strongly affirmes to them that her coachman Sebastiano was not accessary with her herein, upon which apparent and palpable confession of hers, her judges (in honour to sacred justice, and for expiation of this her foule crime) doe pronounce sentence of death against her, that shee shall the next morning bee hanged at the place of common execution, notwithstanding all the power and teares of her father, and kinsfolkes to the contrary.

So she is returned to her prison where her father (not being permitted to see her that night) sends her two Nuns, and two friers to prepare and direct her soule for heaven, whom in a little time (through Gods great mercy, and their owne pious perswasions) they found to bee wounderfull humble, repentant, and sor∣rowfull. She privately sends word to her coachman Sebastiano, that shee is

thankfull to him for his respect and fidelity to her on the racke, and wills him to bee assured and confident, that shee being to die to morow, her speech at her death, shall no way prejudice, but strongly confirme the safety and preservation of his life. Thus grieving far more at the foulnes of her crime than at the infamy and severity of her punishment, shee spends most part of the night, and the first part of the morning in godly praiers and religious meditations, and ejaculations, when, although her sorrowfull old father Seignior Placedo (by his noble kinsman the Prince of Salerno) made offer to the Viceroy (the Duke of ossuna) the free gift of all his lands to save this his daughters life, yet the strong solicitation of the first; and the great proffer of the last proved vaine, and fruitlesse, for they found it wholly impossible to obtaine it.

So about ten of the clocke in the morning, our sorrowfull Vrsina, is (betweene two Nuns) brought to her execution; clad in a blacke wrought velvet gowne, a greene sattin petticoate, agreat laced ruffe, her head dressed up with tuffes and roses of greene ribbon, with some artificiall flowers, all covered over with a white ciffres vaile, and a paire of plaine white gloves on her hands: when ascend∣ing the ladder, shee, to the great confluence of people who came thither to see her take her last farwell of this life, and this world, (with a mournfull counte∣nance, and low voice) delivered them this sorrowfull and religious speech.

Good people, I want words to expresse the griefe of my heart, and the anxiety and sorrow of my soule, for imbruing my hands in the innocent blood and death of the Baron of Sanctifiore, although not to dissemble but to confesse the pure truth, hee betraied his promise to mee of marriage, and mee of my honour and chastity without it, whereof I beseech Almighty God, that all men (of what degree or qualitie soever) may hereafter bee warned by his example, and all Ladies and gentlewomen deterred and terrified by mine. I doe likewise here confesse to heaven and earth, to God and his Angells, and to you all who are here present, that I alone was both the author and actor of this foule murther, and that my coachman Sebastiano, is no way consenting or accessary with mee herein, and that albeit I once promised and proffered him a hundred double pistolls of Spanish gold to performe it, yet hee honestly and religiously refused both me and it, and strongly and pathetically disswaded me from it, whose good, and wholesome councell I now wish to God (from the depth and center of my soule) I had then followed, for then I had lived as happie, as now I die misera∣ble. And because it is now no time, but bootlesse for mee either to paliate the truth, or to flatter with God, or man, the worst of his crime he being my servant was the least courtesie hee owed to mee I being his mistris, which (after with mine owne hands I had committed that deplorable fact) was to bring mee home from the fields to my fathers house, and for assisting mee to cast the friers frocke, the false beard and haire, the almes box, breviary, and two pistolls, into the next deepe pit, or precipice thereunto adjoining, where (as yet) they still lie: for this my heinous offence, (the very remembrance whereof is now grievous and odious unto mee) I aske pardon first of God, then of mine owne deare father, and next of the Lady Bertranna, and if the words and prayers, of a poore dying gentlewoman have any power with the living, then I beseech you all in generall, and every one of you in particular, to pray unto God, that hee will now forgive my sinnes in his favour, and hereafter save my soule in his mercy, the which as soone as shee had said, and uttered some few short prayers to her selfe, shee (often making the signe of the crosse) takes leave of all the world when pulling downe her vaile (in comly sort) over her eies and face, and erecting her hands

towards heaven shee was turned over, now as some of her spectators rejoyced at the death of so cruell and bloody or female monster, so the greatest part of them (in favour of her birth youth and beautie) did with aworld of teares exceedingly lament and pittie her, but all of them doe highly detest and execrate the base ingratitude infidelity and treachery of this ignoble Baron of Sanctifiore towards her, which no doubt was the prime cause, and cheifest motive which drew her to these deplorable and bloody resolutions.

As for her honest coachman Sebastiano; although his owne torments on the racke, and now this solemne confession of his Lady Vrsina at her death had suffici∣ently proclaimed and vindicated his innocency in this murther of Sanctifiore; yet such was his widdow Bertrannas living affection to her dead husband and her deadly malice to living Sebastiano, for thinking him to bee guiltie, and accessary hereunto with his Lady Vrsina, that her power and malice so far prevailed with the integrity of the judges, for the further disquisition of this truth, as they now againe sentence him to the double torments of the racke, the which hee againe likewise▪ endureth with a most unparalleld patience and constancy, without con∣fessing any thing, the which his judges wondering to see, and admiring to understand, and having no substantiall proofes or reall and valable evidences against him, they now fully absolve and acquit him of this his suspected crime, when being moved in charity justice and conscience to yeeld him some reward, and satisfaction, for thus enfeebling his body, and impairing of his health by these his sharpe and bitter torments, they therefore adjudge the plaintiffe wid∣dow Bertranna to give him three hundred duckatons, whereof shee cannot possibly exempt or excuse her selfe.

And thus lived and died our unkind Baron Sanctifiore, and our cruell hearted young Lady Vrsina, and in this manner did the sacred justice of God requite the one and condignly revenge and punish the other. Now by reading this their histo∣ry, may God (of his best favour and mercy) teach us all, from our hearts to hate this Barons levitie, and from our soules to abhorre and detest this Ladies cruelty and impiety.

AMEN.

GODS REVENGE AGAINST THE CRYING AND Execrable Sinne of Murther.

HISTORY XXX.

De Mora treacherously kills Palura in a duell with two pistolls. His Lady Bellinda with the aid of her gentleman usher Ferallo, poysoneth her husband De Mo∣ra, and afterwards shee marrieth and then murthereth her said husband Ferallo in his bed, so shee is burnt alive for this her last murther, and her ashes throwen into the aire for the first.

IN the generall depravation of this age, it is no wonder, that many sinfull foules are so transported by Sathan and their owne outragious passions, to imbrue their guilty hands in the innocent blood of their christian brethren; and it were a great happines and felicity to most countries and kingdomes of Europe, if they were not sometimes infected with the contagion of this bloody and crying sinne, which with a presumptuous hand seemes to strike at the majestie of God himselfe in killing man his creature, but because wishes availe little, and for that examples are more powerfull and prevalent, and prove the best precepts to the living; therefore I here produce a lamentable one of so inhumane a condition, that by the knowledge and consideration thereof wee may know how to detest the like, and avoid the temptations in our selves.

IN the famous kingdome of Portugall, and within a very little league of Stre∣mos, one of the sweetest and fairest cities thereof, there (within these few yeares) dwelt a noble gentleman of some fifty six yeares old, named Don Alonso De Mora, Issued and discended from one of the best and famous houses of that kingdome, as being Nephew to that great and wise Don Christopher de Mora,

of whom the histories of Spaine and Portugall make so often, and so honourable mention, and although hee were by his ancestors and parents, left very rich in lands and possessions; yet his ambition and generosity caried him to serve his king Phillip third of Spaine, in his warres of Africa and Flanders, wherein hee spent the greatest part of his time, and of himselfe, wonne many renowned laurells, and martiall trophees of honour, and as an excellent cavalier left behinde him many approved markes and testimonies of his true valour, and magnanimity. But (as all men are naturally constant in unconstancy; and subject and co-incident to mutations, and that the world still delights to please us with changes, and to feed our fancies and affections with different enterprises and resolutions) so our De Mora at last, calls home his thoughts and himselfe from warre to peace, and resolves to spend the remainder of his age in as much ease & pleasure as formerly hee had done the heate and strength of his youth, in tumults and combustions; hee now sees that there is no life nor pleasure comparable to that of the country, for here the sweetnesse of the imbalmed aire, the delicacy of the perfumed and enamelled fields, the unparalleld pastime of hauking and hunting, and the free and uninterrupted accesse which wee have to arts in our study, and to God in re∣ligious praiers and meditations, makes it to bee, no lesse than either an earthly paradise, or a heaven upon earth. For the campe (despite of commanders) abounds with all kinds of insolencies and impieties, the cittie, (despite of ma∣gistrates with all sorts of vice, deceit, covetousnes and pride, and the court (de∣spite of good kings and Princes) too often with variety of hippocrisie, perfidious∣nes, and vanity. To his owne great mannor house neere Stremos, therefore is our De Mora retired, with a resolution for ever, there to erect and build up his residence, making it his greatest delight to have his hounds and graihounds at his heeles, and to see his hauke on his fist. Now the Alarums of warre no longer take up his thoughts and time; neither doe the drums and trumpets, or the ratling peales of thunder of muskets and cannons, distract his day pleasures, or cut his nights sweet sleepes and slumbers in peeces. Hee is not addicted to women, but hates them as much as they love men, hee spurnes at love, and (in a disdainfull contempt thereof) tearms venus a whore, and her sonne cupid a boy, and which is worse a bastard, in a word, hee professeth himselfe to be as great, and as mortall an enemy to beauty, as beauty is many times to chastity, and never thinks himselfe happie, but either when hee is out of womens company or they not in his. Hee is so far from any affecting marriage, as hee pittieth it in others, and foreuer abjures and detests it in himselfe. Hee compares single life to roses and lilies, and wedlocke to briars and thistles, and therefore in the highest and sublimest degree, scornes to have any wife or mistris in his house to over master him.

But it is not for men to presume to point out their owne destinies and fortunes, sith wee are but the slaves of time, as time is the servant of God; and therefore (in this regard) our actions are subject to heaven not to earth, & to Gods appoint∣ment rather than our purposes; or to presupose or think the contrary; is a presump∣tion every way unworthy of a man, but far more of a christian, sith nature is subject to grace, and our earthly passions and resolutions must still stoope to a sacred power, and ever submit and prostrate themselves to a divine providence, and supernaturall predominancy, it is therefore follie not wisdome, and simplicitie; not discretion in De Mora generally to proclaime hate to women, for that hee is the sonne of a woman; or to maligne and disdaine marriage in regard hee is the fruit and off-spring of marriage for thus to violate and pull downe the temples

and alters of love, is obstinatlie to oppose nature, and prophanely to subvert the institution of God himselfe in paradice; but hee shall not continue long in the clouds of this errour.

In a cleere and sweete morning (as soone as Aurora lept from the watry bed of Thetis, and purposely retired her selfe to give way to approaching Phoebus, (who in his fiery chariot, with his glistering beams began to salute & guild the tops of the highest woods & mountaines) De Mora attended by halfe a dozen of his do∣mesticke servants goes into the fields to hauke and hunt, where having kild one hare, and set up another, all his servants left him alone, and with the hounds pursue the hare, who tripping through the launes and thickets, the hills and valleies, at last leads them such a dance, that in lesse than an houre his servants and his doggs were a little league out of his sight, whereat being exceedingly offended and angrie, and far the more for that hee was left all alone, hee not knowing how to passe or delude away the tediousnes of the time, sate himselfe downe on the side of a faire hill, at the foot of a pleasant grove of beech and chesnut trees, whose curled tops sheltred him from the scorching raies of the sunne, and there takes delight to behold how many frequent windings, and turning meanders, the neighbouring chrystall river made in that pleasant valley, as also to see how sweetly the troops of snow-white feathered swans, proudly ruffled their plumes, and disported themselves therein, in their majesticall and stately bravery, & how many malitious Fowlers, both in boates and on the banks of that sweet river were curiously watching with their fierie peeces to murther these innocent watry guests who frequented there, and also how the patient Anglers (with their treacherous hookes and baits) betraied many harmelesse fishes to their undeserved deaths. When De Mora (impatient of his solitarines) listning with his eare, if hee might either heare the loud crie and voices of his hounds, or else the shrill rebounding ecchoes of his servants hunting hornes, hee looking up towards the skie, beheld a heron softlie soaring, and proudly hoover∣ing over his head, as if she came purposely to bid defiance to De Mora, and his goshauke which hee held on his fist, and consequently to dare, and challenge it to an airie combat; whereat De Mora being exceeding glad, and disdaining that his hauke and himselfe, should be thus outbraved by so ill shaped and unman∣nerly a sea fowle; hee speedily riseth up, and (betwixt choler and pleasure) lets flie his hauke at her; but the heron stretcheth her pinnions, and packs on her feathered sailes so nimbly and proudly, that sometimes soaring aloft in the aire, sometimes descending, and still looking backe with scorne on the goshauke, as if shee puposely tooke delight and sport, to see what infinite toile and paine this malitious and ravenous hauke tooke to surprise and devour her, so the swifter the heron flew from the hauke, the swifter the hauke redoubled her flight, and tugged away after her, when it being impossible for De Mora to reclaime his hauke, either with his hola's or lure, at last both hauke and heron flew quite out of his sight, and which is worse hee was so unfortunate, as never after hee could see either of them againe.

De Mora being first highly displeased and offended for the absence of his ser∣vants and hounds, hee is now doubly inraged with griefe and choler for the losse of his goshauke, and therefore curseth the heron for thus seducing and betraying her away from him; when wearying himselfe to run from hill to vale to have newes of her, and in the end seeing both his labour and his hauke lost, hee be∣takes himselfe to the aforesaid grove, and (with much discontent and choler) first casting his hat and lure to the ground, hee then likewise casts himselfe

thereon to repose him; still attending and expecting his hunters.

Hee hath not remained there above halfe an houre, but close by him passeth an aged country gentleman, indifferently well apparalled, with a very beautifull young gentlewoman following him, clad in a crimson taffeta•…•… peticoate & wast∣coate trimmed with silver lace, with a large cut worke plaine band, her flaxen haire adorned with many knots of white & crimson ribbon, covered with a black ciffres vaile, having a roling amarous eye, (the true index of desire and lust) her snow white panting breasts open, but only a little hidden and overvailed with curious tiffney, whose white puritie her pure white paps (enterveined with azure) infinitely outbraved and excelled. She had her waiting maid attending on her, and hee a serving-man bearing his cloake and rapier after him, who that morning were come some three leagues from his owne house to take the fresh aire in that pleasant and delitious grove, without the hedge whereof hee had left his coach, this countrie gentleman I say, passing by De Mora, and well and per∣fectly knowing him, hee according to his dutie and the others merrits, respect∣fully saluted him by his name, and the young gentlewoman who followed him likewise gives him a very lowe and gracefull courtesie. De Mora, surprised with the suddainesse of their arrivall, and the sweetnes of these their salutations, riseth up, and having first saluted him, and kissed her, hee praies his name, who tells him that hee is a gentleman that dwelt some three leagues off, tearmed Emanuell de Cursoro: De Mora demaunds of him if this young gentlewoman bee his kinswoman or his daughter, who tells him shee is his daughter; when De Mora againe inquires of him, if she bee married or no, and what age and name shee is of, Cursoro replies that shee is unmaried of some twentie yeares of age, and her name Bellinda. De Mora againe tells him, that hee is verie happie in having so sweet and faire a young gentlewoman to his daughter, whereat the father smileth for joy, and the daughter blusheth for bashfullnes and modestie. De mora againe questioneth Cursoro, if any busines brought him thither that morning, who tells him hee had no busines, but only came thither with his daughter to take the aire, and that hee had left his coach without the hedge, so they walke together some turnes in this pleasant grove, and from thenceforth De Mora could not possibly refraine, from gadding and gazing his inamoured eyes on the roses and lilies of Bellindas sweet and delicate beautie, when De Mora acquaints Cursors with his misfortunes, how that morning hee came forth a hunting, that hee had lost his men, his hounds, and his hauke, and that this three houres hee was there left alone and had no newes of them, they together make many walkes, turnes, and returnes, when De Mora led by the lustre of Bellindas lovely atractive, and rolling eye, hee ever and anon proffereth to lead and conduct her by the arme, the which Cursoro modestly, and respectfully excuseth, as holding it too great an honour for De Mora to give, and his daughter to receive: here Cursoro proferreth De Mora to lend him his coach to carry him home to his house, but De Mora freely and thankfully refuseth it, and in counterexchange of this courtesie proferreth Cursoro and his daughter to accompany and conduct them to their coach, the which undeserved kindnes, Cursoro modestly refuseth of him. Thus (in point of honour, and courtesie) they along time stand striving and complementing, till at last De Mora heareing the crie of his hounds, his importunitie vanquisheth Cursoro's modestie, and so will, or nill, hee conducts him to his coach, and like∣wise leads his daughter Bellinda by the arme and hand, and by the way doth at least usurpe, & steale many amorous kisses from the cheries of her sweet lips, and damaske roses of her pure and delicate cheekes, wherat shee is more admired

then pleased. As they are thus going towards Cursoro's coach, De Mora's hounds and servants arive all sweating and blowing, who (in redemption and requitall of their long stay) doe present their Lord and master with a brace of hares, and a wild white fawne which they had kild, whereof hee being exceeding glad, hee very joyfully bestowes the hares on Cursoro, and the white fawne on his faire daughter Bellinda, who from thenceforth, hee swears shall bee his mistris, and his love; Cursoro, is too modest, and his daughter too bashfull to accept hereof, so they along time refuse these his presents with many dilatory and complemen∣tall excuses. But at last De Mora finds out a means and medium to reconcile this difference, according to his owne will and desire; for hee peremptorily swears to Cursoro, and his daughter Bellinda, that they shall receive these poore presents from him, and that in requitall hereof, hee will to morrow come over to his house, and eat his part of them to dinner with them; upon which condition and tearms, Cursoro thankfully receives the hares, and likewise causeth his daughter to doe the same by the fawne, the which (with a verie low and observant courtesie) she doth: so he conducts them on to their coach, and by the way wrings her by her lilie white hand, plaies with the loose •…•…esses of her sweet haire, her blushing cheeks, dimpled chinne, downie paps, and Alabaster necke, when taking a friendly leave of Cursoro, and a solemne conge of his faire daughter Bellinda, which hee againe seales and confirmes with many new kisses, they take coach and away; and De Mora with his servants and hounds returnes home to his house.

Thus in a little time wee see an extraordinary alteration, yea a wonderfull change and metamorphosis in De Mora, but whether more strange or suddaine I know not, for in the morning hee went forth a free man, and now before night comes home a slave, and a captive. Heretofore hee spurned at love, and dis∣dained beauty, and now the verie first sight of our faire Bellinda sets fire to his blood, and flames to his heart: so that his old blood is passionatly and amorously inflamed with this new beautie; formerly hee (in derision) tearmed Cupid, alittle boy, now hee holds him to bee a great God; then hee called Venus a whore, but now hee recants that Athiesme, and repents himselfe of that blasphemy vo∣mited forth against her diety; and tearmes her a Celestiall and facred Goddesse: yea now in his heart and thoughts hee erects altars to the first, and consecrates all his vowes to the second. The small and streight wast of his honoured Bellinda, together with her sparkling eyes, and sweet cheekes and blushes, doe amaze his mind, act wonders in his heart, and cast his thoughts into a confusion of many amorous raptures and extasies, yea the consideration of her sweet youth, and the remembrance of her fresh and delicate beauty, doe (in his conceit) seeme to make his age young, and to give the lye to those infinite number of white haires, which time hath snowed on his head, and showred on his beard. Hee a thousand times repen's himselfe of his former errour and crime in living so long single, and is now assured and confident, that there is no earthly pleasure or heavenly de∣light, comparable to the heart-ravishing kisses and embraces of his sweet Bellin∣da: hee is readie to lay downe all his lands, and life at the feet of her commands and service, and esteemes both of them too poore, for the purchasing of so inesti∣mable a jewell; whom (in his determinations and resolutions) hee hath alreadie adopted the Q•…•…eene of his heart, and confirmed and crowned the Soveraigne Empresse of his soule, and the sacred Goddesse of his desires and affections. Hee thinks not of the great disparity and Antithesis betwixt his de•…•…ling age, and her fragrant and flourishing youth; nor what an •…•…e quall difference, and

disproportion there is betwixt his fiftie six, and her twentie yeares. Hee will not consider what a poore simpathie and a palpable antipathy there is betweene such a Ianuarie and such a May, but disdaines to enter into consideration with himselfe, that hee is every way fitter for his grave than for her bed, and for death than marriage; yea hee flatters himselfe so far in his affection to her, as heehopes hee shall bee the joyfull father of many prettie children by her, so that hee is so deeply enamoured with the sweet youth of our Bellinda, and his heart so fast chained and intangled in the tresses of her haire, and the lures of her alluring beautie, that hee upon his first sight of her incessantly thinkes of her by day, dreams of her by night, and neither thinks nor dreams of any thing but of her, and of his love to her: so now he advanceth & raiseth the standards of Venus and Cupid, as high as ever he formerly dejected them, and delights in nothing more, yea Imay truly say in nothing els, but in feasting his eyes and surfeting his heart upon the heavenly Idoea of her Angelicall •…•…ace and feature, hee thinkes so much of love, as if he were now wholly composed of love, and therefore pur∣posely made to love Bellinda, and none but Bellinda. His hauks, and hounds are now as far out of his mind, as he is out of himselfe; and no other delight or re∣creation whatsoever can take up any place in his heart or thoughts, because love had already tane up all. Hee revokes to mind, how Macare•…•… was transformed into a bird for speaking against Venus, and that it is not his cause alone to bee so deeply plunged & tormented in love, but that the greatest Captaines Philoso∣phers, and Kings of the world, (and as poets assirme the Gods themselves) have beene subjected, and vanquished with this passion, and so constrained to make it their chiefest delight and glory to ador•…•…e the temples and altars of Cupid, with the oblations of their sighes, and the sacrifices of their teares.

Thus our De Mora being (at the first sight) wholly inflamed with love towards his faire, and beautifull intended mistris Bellinda, hee to seeme far younger than hee is, hee is so vaine in his affection, as (contrary to his custome) hee shaves his beard, dights himselfe in an ash-collour sattin suit and cloake, with a white Beaver hat, a hat-band of Diamonds, a rich plaine cut worke band, and a paire of greene silke stockings with garters & roses laced with silver, sutable thereunto, and so to performe his promise to Cursoro, takes coach the next morning, and rides over to him, but not so much to tast of his good cheere, as to feast his enamoured eyes on the dilicious rarities and dainties of his daughter Bellinda's beautie; where he finds his entertainment and good cheere, at least to equalize, if not to exceed his birth, rancke, and expectation: but this is not the end, and object of his visit, not the summe and period of his desires; dinner being ended, hee acquaints Cursoro with his affection to his daughter Bellinda, and his suit to seeke and obtaine her for his wife. Cursoro wonders that so great a Lord should des•…•…nd so low from himselfe to seeke so meane a young Gentlewoman as his daughter in marriage. But finding De Mora to bee in earnest, and not in jeast, and understanding that his age was deeply & passionatly enamoured of her youth and beautie, hee therefore thankes him for that undeserved honour of his, pro∣miseth him his best assistance towards his daughter, and gives him no dispaire, but all hope and assurance that hee shall shortly obtaine and injoy her to his wife. De Mora having thus wonne the affection and consent of the father, hee now seeks that of the daughter, hee takes her apart in his parlour, where, of an old man hee plaies the young oratour and lover, and in sweet tearms and sugred ph•…•…ses and speeches seeke to gaine her to his wife; but Bellinda more consider∣ing De Mora his age, than the greatnes of his nobilitie or estate, shee bites the

lip, and hangs the head at this •…•…s motion, yea, and see•…•…s to be a•…•… 〈◊〉〈◊〉 as hee was forward in this his research and pursuit. H•…•…r father lai•…•…s his commands on her to embrace this match and no other hee conjures her now to confirme, and not to cast away her good fortunes in marrying this great▪ Nobleman, and vowes that hee will for ever renounce her for his da•…•…ghter, if shee disobey him herein; so hee conducts her into the arbour of his garden, and there freely and cou•…•…e∣ously againe gives De Mora the opportunitie and benefit to speake with her, and the desired happines to kisse her; but Bellinda is as much perplexed in mind, as they are obstinate in their motion •…•…owards her; when (composing▪ her counte∣nance rather to sorrow than joy and to mourning than mir•…•…h) she makes a modest excuse to her father, gives no absolute or pe•…•… p•…•…ie deniall to De Mora, but fairly and discreetly •…•…aves of both of them a moneths time of respi•…•…e to resolve on th•…•…s great busines, which shee saies, so much imports her happines or her mi∣sery, her content o•…•…her affliction, which answer and request of hers, both her father and De Mora finding so full of discretion and reason, they severally grant and jointly consent to give her; but in all this interim, such was De Mora's deare and tender affection to Bellinda, that hee visits her many times in person▪ and verie often with his rich gifts and presents, as holding it no irregular way, but a pertinent and prevalent course, first to make a breach in a young Ladies mind and affection, and then to enter and take possession, both of her body, and of her selfe.

But before I proceed further in the narration and progresse of this history, I must here unlocke and reveale a secret mystery to the reader of no small conse∣quence and importance, for he must understand, that our Bellinda is not so chaste as faire, nor so honest, as her education, youth & beautie presuppose and promise her to bee; for her mother being dead, and her father giving her too much liber∣tie, and too little vertuous counsell and exhortation, shee for two whole yeares hath beene in love with a poore, yet with a verie proper and resolute young Gentleman of some twentie five yeares of age, being a neighbour of her fathers, named Don Fernando Palura, who being deeply enamoured of her, had laine so close, so constant and so strong a siege to her chastitie, as (not to conceale the truth) first unknowne to her father, then to De Mora, and next to all the world, hee had unparadised her of her maiden-head, and under colour and hope of marriage had verie often tane his lustfull use and pleasure of her body; but his means being verie small, and her belly not growing great, shee was not yet fully resolved, but therefore still delaied to marrie him; true it is, that her father Cursoro was formerly acquainted with Palura's affection and desire to marry his daughter, but as heretofore his poverty made him reject him for his sonne in law, so now the consideration of De Mora's great wealth and nobilitie makes him fully to disdaine him, and commands his daughter likewise to doe the same. But shee not considering the premises, and loving Palura's youth, as much as shee hated De Mora's age, shee was neverthelesse so inconstant by nature, and so proud and ambitious by sex, as she could find in her heart and resolution, rather to bee a rich Lady, than a poore Gentlewoman, and so to leave Palura to espouse and marrie De Mora: but first her crime & her conscience makes her send for Palura, and seriously to consider and debate hereon with him, which they doe; so Palura perceiving by Bellindas lookes, and observing by her s•…•…eeches that De Mora's wealth was far more powerfull with her than his poverty; and that shee not∣withstanding still aimed to keepe him for her husband, and himselfe for her friend, hee at last tells her, that hee will consent and content himselfe that shee

shall marry Don Alonso De Mora, conditionally, that shee will first •…•…aithfully pro∣mise him to grant and performe him three requests, and art•…•…les. So shee bids him propose them to her, the which hee doth to this effect: 〈◊〉〈◊〉, that hee shall still have the use and pleasure of her b•…•…dy, as here •…•…ofore, and a•…•… o•…•…en as hee pleaseth: secondly, that from time to time she shall be •…•…ow some competency of De Moras wealth on him, to support his weake estate and poverty: and thirdly, that if De Mora die before him, that within three moneths after his death shee shall then marry him.

Which three unjust demands▪ and ungod•…•…y conditions of •…•…alura's, his sweet heart Bellinda (betwixt sighes and smiles) immediatly grants him, yea shee feales them with many oathes, and confirmes them with a world of kisses, and to adde the more p•…•…tie, (I may truly say the more prophanesse) to this their contract and attonement, they fall to the ground on their knees, and invoking God and his Angels for witnesses hereof, they with their hands and kisses, againe ratifie and confirme it: but poore sinfull soules, how doth Sathan abuse you, and your in∣temperate and lascivious lusts betray you? for God will not be mocked, and his holy Angels cannot be deluded by these your blasphemies and impie•…•…ies, for you shall in the end see with griefe, and feele with repentance, that this vicious league, and obscoene contract of yours; will produce you nothing but shame, mise∣ry, and confusion of all sides.

By this time is Bellinda's moneth expired, which shee gave her father and De Mora for her resolution of marriage; and now doe they both of them repaire to her to understand and receive it, when her pride and ambition, having far more prepared and disposed her tongue, than her affection, shee (as if shee were a pure Virgin, yea a Diana for chastitie) making a low reverence to her father, and a great respectfull courtesie to De Mora, delivers her resolution to them in these tearmes: that in humble obedience to her father, and true affection and zeale to Don A∣lonso De Mora, God hath now so disposed her heart and mind, that shee is re∣solved to wait on his commands, and to bee his hand-maid and wife, whensoever hee shall please to make himselfe her Lord and husband. This answer of Bellinda is so pleasing to her father, and so sweet and de•…•…icious to De Mora, that in accep∣tance of her love, and requitall of her consent, hee gives her many kisses, and then claps a great chaine of pearle, enterlaced with sparkes of Diamonds, about her necke, and an exceeding rich Diamond ring on her finger, and so most so∣lemnly contracts himselfe to her, and within eight daies after in great pompe, state & braverie marries her, whereat his kinsfolkes and friends, and all the nobi∣litie and gentrie of these parts doe very much admire and wonder, some con∣demning his folly in marrying so poore and so young a gentlewoman, others praising and applauding her good fortune in matching with so rich and so great a Nobleman.

Here wee see the marriage of De Mora, and Bellinda, but wee shall not goe far before wee see what sharpe and bitter sweet fruits it produceth: for here truth gives a law to my will, and so commands mee to relate and discover, that hee is too old for her youth, and shee too young for his age, yea her I must crave excuse of modestie to affirme, that shee is so immodest, as shee finds him not to bee so bold and brave a cavallier as shee expected, in regard his best perfor∣mance to her consists o•…•…ly in desire. Thus being in bed together, whiles hee turnes to his rest, so doth shee to her repentance, but shee knowes how to repaire and remedy this her misfortune; for whiles her husband De Mora only kisseth her, shee in her heart and mind, kisseth and embraceth her young and sweet Palura,

who many times comes over in shew to visit her husband 〈◊〉〈◊〉 eff•…•…ct to 〈◊〉〈◊〉, and as formerly, so now hee •…•…sciviously 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and 〈…〉〈…〉 (in a word) very often performes and acts that 〈…〉〈…〉 husband cannot. Now within lesse than two moneths 〈…〉〈…〉 seeing that hee is not capable to deserve, much •…•…sse to 〈…〉〈…〉 dainties of his wives youth and beautie) and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 •…•…ving al•…•… that by 〈◊◊〉〈◊◊〉 begins to disrespect and sleight him, and yet that shee 〈…〉〈…〉 pleasant to all gentlemen who a•…•…oord and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 his house, 〈…〉〈…〉 on her, now hee growes jealous of her, and so far forget•…•… 〈…〉〈…〉 selfe, that he curseth all those who (in right of the lawes of 〈…〉〈…〉 honour) come to kisse her, but more especially Palura, 〈…〉〈…〉 his house; and so frequently conversing with his young Lady, 〈…〉〈…〉 on makes him jealous, and his jealousie confident, that (with too 〈…〉〈…〉 and dishonestie) he usurps upon his free hold, & dishonoureth him in •…•…∣ing his bed, and defiling his wife; the which to discover, 〈…〉〈…〉 her of her libertie; so that she sees (and grieves to see) her selfe to be 〈◊◊〉〈◊◊〉 as much her husbands prisoner, as his wife, yea hee sets 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ey•…•… 〈◊〉〈◊〉, as so many, Sentinells to watch her and her actions, and for himselfe, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 jealousie gives him more eyes than ever Argus had, to espie out what familiaritie 〈◊〉〈◊〉 be∣tweene her and her sweet heart Palura. Bellinda takes this discourtesie and hard measure of her husband in verie ill part at his hands, yea she bites the lip thereat, and though out wardly shee seeme to grieve and sorrow, yet inwardly shee vowes to requite and revenge it; he is so jealous of her, and so fearefull that she plaies false play with him, that as soone as ever Palura comes to his house, hee carries his eye and eare everie where to see if hee can espie and hearken out, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and his wives love-trickes together; yea hee is so eurious in this quest, and so vigilant and turbulent on this his research and disquisition, as if hee delighted to •…•…ow that, whereof it were his happines to be ignorant, or as if hee had an •…•…ing desire to make his glory prove his shame, and his content his affliction and •…•…∣serie. But as mild and sweet perswasion is ever more capable and powerfull to prevaile with women than constraint, so our fai•…•…e Bellinda is so distasted with the lunacy, and with the phrensie and madnes of this her husbands jealousie, that shee no sooner sees her Palura arive in her sight and presence, but (despite •…•…f •…•…s suspition and feare) shee is •…•…o 〈◊〉〈◊〉 in her lust, and so lascivious in 〈◊〉〈◊〉 aff•…•…ction towards him, that she t•…•…es pleasure to seeke pleasure, and extremely delighteth to seeke and •…•…d delight with him, which (according to her former lew•…•… 〈◊〉〈◊〉, and ungodly contract) shee often doth. Now this foolish young couple (being the obliged scho•…•…ers of •…•…pid, and the devoted votaries of Venus) thinke to bee as wise, as they are lascivious in these their amorous pleasures, for knowing that discretion makes lovers happie; and that secrecie is the true touch-•…•…e, yea the verie life and sou•…•…e of love, they therefore esteeme and keepe the secrets thereof as if they were sacred, and thinke that no mortall eyes but their owne can 〈◊〉〈◊〉 know it: but yet notwithstanding all this, De Mora's jealous feares in the detecti∣on, are still as great, as their care in the prevention thereof, for the very next night after Palura departure from his house, hee purposely absenteth an•…•…eth his wife from his bed, and the next morning, calling her into the garde•…•… after him, and causing the doore to bee •…•…ut, he then and there, (with ligh•…•…g i•…•… his lookes and t•…•…nder in his speeches) chargeth her of adulterie with 〈◊〉〈◊〉 〈◊〉〈◊〉 this young strumpet his wife Bellinda, at the verie first hearing of this 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and unexpected newes, dissembles so artificially with her husband, and so pro•…•…

with God, as seeming to dissolve and melt into teares, shee purgeth her selfe hereof, with many strong vowes, & cleereth Palura with many deepe assevera∣tions. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 this fanaticke Tyrant, and franticke monster jealousie, (which for the most part, wee can seldome or never kill, before it kill us) had wrought such strange impressions in the braines, & ingraven such extravagant chimoera's in the heart and •…•…eleefe of old De Mora, that (notwithstanding his wives oathes and teares to the contrary) hee yet still vowes to himselfe, and her, that shee is guiltie of adulterie with Palura, and therefore chargeth her that henceforth shee dare not see him, or receive him into her house or companie. Bellinda hereat (to give her •…•…and some content in her owne discontent) makes a great shew of sorrow, and an extreme apparition and exteriour apparance of griefe: she sends for her father Cursoro, acquaints him with the unjust wrong and indignitie which her Lord 〈◊〉〈◊〉 husband hath offered her, and praies him to interpose his authoritie and judgement with him for their reconciliation; who seeing himselfe solicited and sought to by his owne blood, & by his daughters hypocrisie, beleeves her to be as innocent as her husband De Mora thinkes her guilty of this foule crime of adultery with Palura; and so undertakes to solicit and deale with his sonne in law De Mora to that effect, which hee doth, but with no desired successe, so that finding it to bee a knottie and difficult busines, and upon the whole no lesse than a Herculean labour, because of De Mora's wilfull obstinacie, and perverse cre du∣lity: hee therefore praies for both of them, and thus leaves them and their diffe∣rence to time and to God: and upon these unfortunate tearmes doth old De Mora, his young wife Bellinda, and their marriage now stand.

In the meane time Bellinda, (who suffers doubly both in her pleasure and her reputation) is not yet so devoid of sense, or exempt of judgement, but shee will speedily provide for the one and secure the other. To which effect (seeming sor∣rowfully obedient to her husband,) she thinkes it not fit that her Palura should for a season approach her house or her selfe; wherefore by a confident messenger shee sends him this letter.

BELLINDA to PALVRA.

MY husband hath discovered our affections, and is confident that I love thee far better than himselfe, wherein as hee is nothing deceived, so I conjure thee by the preservation of thy fidelitie, and my honour, to forbeare my house and sight for some two moneths, in which interim I will use my chiefest art, and the utmost of my possible power to calme the stormes and tempests that jealousie hath raised in him. So, bee thou but as patient as I will bee constant, and I hope a little time shall end our languishing, and againe worke our contents and desires; for though thou art absent from mee, yet I am still present with thee, and albeit my husband De Mora have my body, yet Palura, and none but Palura hath my heart, as knoweth God, to whose best favour and mercy, I affectionately and zealously recommend thee.

BELLINDA.

Palura receives this letter, and although hee fetch many deepe fig•…•…es at the reading thereof, yet hee gives it many sweet kisses for her sweet sake who writ and sent it him, hee knowes not whether hee hath more reason to condemne De Mora's jealousie, or to commend his Lady Bellinda's affection and constancie to himselfe, and because hee resolves to preferre her content and honour equally with his owne life, therefore he•…•… will dispence with his lustfull, and lascivious

pleasures for a time, purposely to give her beauty and merrits their due forever, so in requit all of her affectionate letter, he (by her owne messenger) returnes her this kind and courteous answer.

PALVRA to BELLINDA.

I Am as sorrowfull that thy husband De Mora hath discovered our affections, as tru∣ly joyfull that thou lovest mee far better than himselfe, wherefore to prevent his jea∣lousie & equally to preserve my fidelity with thy honour, and thy honour with my life, know sweet and deare Bellinda that thy requests are my commands, and thy will shall eternally be my law, in which regard I will refraine thy house all thy long prefixed time, and so forbeare to see thee, but never to love thee, because thy sweet & devine beauty, is so deeply ingraven in my thoughts & imprinted in my soule, th•…•…t the farther I transport my body from thee, the neerer my affection brings my heart to thee. I will adde my chief∣est wishes to thy best art, and my best prayers to thy chiefest power, that a little time may worke our content and desires: but because there is no torment nor death to languishing, nor no languishing to that of love, therefore I shall thinke every moment a moneth, and every houre a yeare before wee againe kisse and imbrace: conceale this letter of mine from all the world with as much care and secresie, as I send it thee with fervent zeale, and tender affection.

PALVRA.

The perusall of this letter and the affection of Palura demonstrated in this his resolution, makes Bellinda as glad, as the jealousie of her Lord and husband De Mora sorrowfull; and now seeing his rage so reasonlesse, and his malice and obstinacie so implacable towards her, she abandoneth her sighes and teares, resolves to make triall of a contrary experiment, & so under a femall face assum∣ing a masculine courage and resolution, shee sleights him and his jealousie, as much as hee doth her and her levity, and beares her selfe more highly and impe∣riously towards him than ever shee did heretofore, but this animosity of Bellinda produceth not that good effect which hee expects from her husband De Mora, for hee attributing this pride of hers to proceed from some bad counsell given her by minion Palura, it doth the more inflame his jealousie, and exasperate and set fire to his indignation, both towards her and him.

Whiles Bellinda stands upon these tearms with her husband De Mora, his braines (as so many wheeles and spheares) are incessantly rolling and wheeling about the Orbe of jealousie, to find out the marrow and mystery of this lascivious league betweene his wife and Palura, in the agitation and conduction whereof, hee is as secret, as shee simple and inconsiderate, his policie is to find ou•…•… any letter or letters of Palura to her, and her closet and casket are the only places as hee supposeth for her to hide and conceale them in. So on a munday morning, as his Lady Bellinda is gon to the parish Church to heare masse, hee purposely staies at home to effect this his secret intent and purpose, and then very privately enters her chamber, and his jealousie makes him so industrious of lock-smithes hookes, and instruments to open any locke. So hee first resolves to try and open that of her closet, which when he was on the very point to doe, casting aside his eye, hee sees the tawny Damaske gowne which his wife wore the day before, wherefore hee flies to it to search and rifle the pockets thereof for her keyes. Now Bellinda's hast and devotion to the Church was so great, as both shee and her waiting Gentlewoman, had forgotten the keyes of her closet and cabinet,

and left them in one of the pockets of her said gowne, where her husband De Mora finds them, whereat being exceeding joyfull, hee claps up his hooks and instruments, and (with equall jealousie and haste) opens first her closet then her cabinet, wherein leaving nothing unsearched, hee at last finds the very same letter of Palura to his wife Bellinda, which wee have fo•…•…merly seene and under∣stood, the which (as the richest relique of her heart and the most pretious jewell of her content and affection, shee had secretly enshrined and treasured up in a small crimson sattin purse embroydered with gold. Hee reads it over againe and againe, but for that which said, I shall thinke every moment a moneth, and every houre a yeare before wee againe kisse and embrace, this line, I say, his extreme jealousie makes him to read over at least as often as it hath sillables, for this letter and this branch of this letter confirmes his jealousie, and now makes him fully assured and confident, that his wife and Palura have defiled his honour, and his bed, by committing adultery together; when vowing a sharp and speedy revenge hereof, hee (with a panting heart, and trembling hand) laies the velvet purse againe in the cabynet, then lockes it, as also her closet and cham∣ber doore, having first left the keyes againe in the pocket of his Ladies gowne, and so comes downe into the Hall among his servants, as if hee were happie to know that, which it is his misery, because hee cannot be ignorant thereof.

By this time his wife the Lady Bellinda is returned from Church; hee dines with her, and yet hee cannot dissemble his discontent and malice against her so artificially, but that shee observes some distemper in his lookes, and extrava∣gancie in his speeches; but such is her pride, as shee is no way either curious o•…•… carefull thereof, nor as much as once surmiseth of what hee had now performed and acted. Dinner being ended, as soone as she betakes her selfe to walke in the allies, and arbours of her delicate garden, her husband De Mora, and his jealous and bloody resolutions are walking a contrary way; he is so netled with jealousie, and stung to the heart with malice and revenge; as he ascends to his armoury, takes downe an excellent sword and belt, a case of pocket pistols, each whereof hee chargeth with two bullets, cals for Emmanuell de Ferallo his Ladies Gentle∣man-usher, who was a very proper young man both of his person and hands, bids him to cause two of his best great sadle horses speedily to be made ready, & wils him to accompany him to the towne of Arraiallos. Ferallo performes this order of his Lord, and then tels him that hee will goe into the garden, and acquaint his Lady and mistris with his absence, and to receive her commands before his de∣parture, but his Lord commands him to the contrary, and neither to see or speake with her; so they take horse, and away. Now within halfe an houre after, the Lady Bellinda▪ returnes from the garden, and understanding of their departure, who (in regard of the suddaynesse and unexpectation thereof) knowes not what to say or thinke thereof, or whither, or about what busines they are gon; but shee neither once dreames nor conceives so much as a thought, that her husband De Mora had found her sweet-heart Palura's letter, much lesse that hee had any ma∣litious or disparate attempt, so suddainly to put in execution against him for her regard and cause, as to ride to Arraiallos to him, to fight with him.

The youth and beauty of his young wife and Lady Bellinda, arming him with jealousie, and this jealousie with irreconcilable malice and revenge against Palu∣ra, hee cruelly resolving to make his body and life pay deare for it, rides away towards his house neere Arraiallos, and staying some halfe aquarter of a league from it in a faire greene meddow, sends him man Ferallo to him, and praies him speedily to take his horse, and come speake with him there, about a busines which

much imports his good. Ferallo (knowing least of this quarrell, whereof his Lord and master De Mora thought most) finds out Don Palura at his house, and in faire and respectfull tearms delivereth him his message, which Palura understan∣ding, his guilty conscience makes him exceedingly to doubt & wonder of De Mo∣ra's intention & resolution herein; but his lustfull heart & affections, looking more on the young Lady Bellinda the wife; than on the old Lord De Mora her husband, hee speedily (without any servant of his) takes horse and rides away with Fe∣rallo to him in the meddow, where De Mora (on horse-backe) impatiently at∣tended his comming. Salutations being here ended betweene them, (which Palura observes in De Mora to bee more short than ceremonious, and more ab∣rupt than respectfull) De Mora cals his man Ferallo to him, and privately com∣mands him to ride a meddow or two off, and not to dare offer either to stirre or draw, whatsoever hee see passe betwixt him and Palura, the which his man Fe∣rallo obeies, but with much wonder and admiration what this busines might meane or produce betweene them. Here De Mora very passionately and chole∣rickly, chargeth Palura for abusing & dishonouring of him, by committing adul, terie with his wife Bellinda, the which Palura retorts to him as a foule scandall, and false aspersion, and (as an honourable Gentleman) in his speeches and answers to De Mora, makes his owne innocencie, and his wife the Lady Bellin∣da's chastity very apparent and probable: but these feigned excuses and false oathes and speeches of Palura doe no way satisfie, but •…•…ather the more incense the jealousie, and inflame the malice and revenge of De Mora against him, whereupon hee shewes him his owne letter, and with much bitternesse and vehemency demands him if that his owne hand writing doe not palpably con∣vince him of adultery with his Lady. Palura is amazed at the sight of this his letter, so that blushing for shame, hee cannot here yet refraine from looking pale with griefe & anger thereat, neverthelesse he will not be so ingratefull to the beauty and affection of Bellinda to think that shee hath betrayed him, by deli∣vering up this his letter to her husband, but rather (giving a good interpretation and construction to the purity of her intents and affections towards him) hee be∣leeves with confidence, that hee had sinisterly and surreptiously betrayed her thereof, whereupon to fortifie her reputation, & to vindicate and cleere his owne innocencie, hee (with high words and loud crackes) protesteth this letter to bee false, suborned, none of his, and that it was written by some witch or devill, and sent by some treacherous enemy of his, purposely to affront him, and to disgrace his vertuous chaste and innocent Lady Bellinda; but these feigned paliating ex∣cuses of his, cannot passe currant with the jealousie and revenge of De Mora, who now (to reduce contemplation into action) tels Palura that nothing but his death can expiate and satisfie this his crime, and therefore (on horse-backe as hee was) drawes his sword, and bids Palura doe the like. The which Palura hearing and seeing, he equaly for the preservation of Bellinda's honour, & his owne life (as a brave and generous Gentleman) likewise drawes, as highly disdaining to have his youth and courage outbraved by this old cavallier: but here before they begin to fight, Palura with many strong reasons, and patheticall perswasions, againe and againe praies De Mora to desist from the combat, and to rest satisfied with the truth of his Lady Bellinda's honour, and his owne innocency in this their sup∣posed and pretended crime of adultery: but hee speakes to the wind, for De Mora returnes him blowes for words.

The event, and fortune of this their combat on horse-backe is, that in two se∣verall meetings and incounters, Palura hath received no wound, but given De

Mora two, the one in his necke, and the other in his left arme, whereof he bleeds so exceedingly as he begins to dispaire of the victory, and with his pistols to provide for his owne safetie and life; they by a mutuall consent divide them∣selves a little distance off to breath. When Palura reining his horse a little to straite, and his horse being hot and furious; and by meere strength and force turning round, De Mora with his watchfull and vigilant eye taking the advantage of this favourable •…•…ident, (when Palura never once dreams or thinks of pistols) speedily puls his two pistols forth his pocket, & most basely and treache∣rously, with the first shoots him thorow the head, and with the second into the reines of his backe, of which mortall wounds hee presently fell off from his horse dead to the ground, having neither the power to repent his sinnes, nor the grace or happines to pray unto God for the salvation of his owne soule, and thus was the untimely end, and lamentable death of this valliant young cavallier Palura.

De Mora seeing Palura dead, & having more reason outwardly to rejoyce in this his victory, than inwardly in the cause & manner thereof, he waves his handcher∣chiefe to his man Ferallo to come to him (who was an eye witnesse and spectator and Co-mate) which he presently doth to whom hee speakes thus, first acquaint Palura's servants in his house, that I have slaine their master in a duell, then ride home and tell my wife the Lady Bellinda, that I have sent her Ruffian and adulter∣er Palura to heaven, and within six daies after come a way to mee to Lisbone, whether I am now poas•…•…ng, when throwing him some gold for his journey hee takes leave of him and away, and at the very next Towne dresseth his wounds which prove hopefull and not dangerous.

Now doth Ferallo (according to his Lords commission, and order) informe Palura's servants of his death, and of his said Lord and masters victory, but (for his honour and reputations sake) conceales that he basely and treacherously kild him with his pistols: they are extremely sorrowfull for this his misfortunate end: so whiles they fetch home his breathlesse body and prepare for his decent buri∣all; Ferallo returnes home and truly & punctually relates to his Lady Bellinda the issue of this combat; as also of his Lord De Mora's speeches which hee comman∣ded him to tell her, who poore Lady is all in teares for the death of her lover Pa∣lura, and well shee might in regard she loved him a thousand times dearer than her owne life, so upon the receit of this sorrowfull newes, shee shuts her selfe up in her chamber, and for many daies together, her griefe and lamentations for his death are so infinite, as shee will admit of no company, counsell, or consolation whatsoever, shee considereth how deeply the misfortune of this disaster will scandalously reflect on her honour, and fall on her reputation, and therefore vowes to requite Palura's death severly, and to revenge it sharply on the life of her husband De Mora who was his murtherer, at least when shee shall be so hap∣pie, or rather so miserable to see him returne to her from Lisbone. She exceed∣ingly wondereth at his secret malice, and suddaine indignation and resolution towards Palura, but more at the cause thereof, and from what point of the com∣passe, or part of hell this furious wind should proceed, when at last having no∣thing els capable to comfort her, or to give truce to her teares, but the sight of Palura's aforesaid letter sent to her, the which in tender affection to him, shee for his sake had so often perused and kissed; shee therfore passionately and pensively flies to her closet, and with affection and sorrow to her cabinet to feast her eyes with the sight, and to delight and comfort her heart with the perusall thereof when (contrary to her expectation) shee finds the letter taken away, her other papers displaced, and her jewels reversed in her cabinet, and then shee knowes

for certaine, that it is her husband De Mora, who had thus rifled her cabinet, and who had bereaved and robbed her of this sweet letter, which (next to Palura's sight and presence) was the chiefest joy of her heart, and the sweetest felicity and content of her mind, the which considering, she therefore absolutely beleeves, that the detection and perusall of this letter, was the sole cause of her Lord and husbands jealousie, as that was of her sweet Palura's death, wherein indeed shee is nothing deceived, for some six weekes after, hee feturnes home to her from Lisbone, where (in favour of his Noble birth and discent, of his many great friends, and of a huge some of money) hee (in absence of the Viceroy) had ob∣tained his pardon, from the chamber of that cittie, and the very first salutations that hee gave his Lady Bellinda, (the which, I know not whether hee delivered to her with more contempt, or choler) was thus.

Minion (quoth hee) how many prayers and oraysons hast thou said for the soule of thy Ruffion, and adulterer Palura, when she being exceedingly galled to the heart with these his scandalous speeches, she yet to justifie her owne honour and innocency, dissembles her griefe for Palura's death, as much as her jealous husband triumphes and insults thereat, and so frames him this short reply, that Palara was not her adulterer, but a Gentleman of honour, and therefore shee be∣sought God to forgive him his owne heynous sinne and execrable crime for so fouly & basely murthering of him. De Mora nettled with this his Ladies apologie and justification, which hee knew to bee as false as her and Palura's crime of adultery was true, hee produceth this letter to her, then reads it her, and in a great rage and fury immediately teres and burnes it before her face; now al∣though the sight and knowledge of this letter, as also her husbands burning thereof doe exceedingly vex and perplex our Lady Bellinda, yet shee was here∣with no way daunted but againe very boldly tels him; that she cannot prevent any Gentleman to write and send her a letter, and although in the conclusion of this his letter to her had simply and sinisterly mentioned kisses and embraces, yet shee peremptorily vowed and swore to him, that the first had not exceeded the bounds of civility, nor the last violated the lawes and rules of honour, so wise and politicke was she in her answers, & so false and hyppocriticall in her justifi∣cation towards her husband.

The which he well observing, and understanding, as also with what a pleasing grace shee spake it, his owne lustfull age, yet still doting on the freshnes of the youth and beauty of this his young wife, seeing that Palura (who was the cause and object of his jealousie) was now removed and dead, he therefore for the pre∣servation of his owne honour and reputation in that of his Ladies, doth content himselfe so fat as to bury the greatest part of his discontent and jealousie against her, in the dust of oblivion, or in that of Palura's grave, and to that end, he afords her his table still, and his bed sometimes, as if that obligation of courtesie, would reclaime her lascivious thoughts, and againe call home her wanton desires to chastity and honour, neverthelesse the better to effect and compasse it, hee much restraines her of her former liberty, and debars her the company and sight of all Gentlemen whatsoever that come to his house. A peevish custome, which the husbands of Spaine, Portugall, and Italy tirannically use towards their La∣dies, whereas contrariwise the Ladies and Gentlewomen of England and France, are far more happie, because more chaste and honourable towards their husbands in using, and not abusing this their liberty and freedome.

Bellinda with a watchfull eye, and a wanton heart observes these passages and comportments of her husband De Mora towards her, and in observing laughes at

them; but because her lascivious mind incessantly tels her, that there is no hell to that of a discontented bed, therefore hating his age as much as hee loves her youth, her Paluro being dead, she forth with resolves to make choice of another lover, and at what rate soever not to trifle away her time, and her youth idly, but to passe it a way in the amorous delights of carnall voluptuousnes and sensuality. To which effect missing of other Gentlemen (and therefore enforced to make a vertue of necessitie) she forgetting her selfe & her honour makes choice of Ferallo her owne Gentleman-usher, a man every way as proper as shee is faire, and as well timbred as shee is beautifull, and neere of her owne yeares, which as yet had not exceeded one and twenty: to Ferallo therefore shee freely imparts her affections and favours, who as freely receives and as joyfully and amorously en∣tertaines both her & them, so that, to write the best of truth and modesty, I must here affirme, that as hee was formerly his Ladies usher, now hee makes himselfe his Lords follower; & (unknowen to him) very often ties her shooc-strings and takes up her maske and gloves for her, and many times when the old Nobleman is a sleepe, then this ignoble couple of unchaste lovers are waking to their ob∣scoene pleasures, and secretly sacrificing up their lascivious desires to wanton Cupid the sonne, and to lustfull Venus the mother, but they shall find worme∣wood intermixed in this honey, and gall in this sugar.

For three moneths together our Bellinda the mistris, and Ferallo the man, drowne themselves in the impietie of these their carnall delights and pleasu•…•…es, as if they made it their •…•…elicity and glory to continue the practise and profession thereof, but at the end and expiration of this time as close as they beare this their adulterous familiarity from De Mora, it comes to his knowledge by an unex∣pected accident and meanes, for the reader must understand, that Ferallo was heretofore dishonestly familiar, with his Lady Bellinda's waiting Gentlewoman named Herodia, whom (under pretext and colour of marriage) hee had many times used, at his lascivious pleasure, so that Herodia seeing that Ferallo's affecti∣ons were now wholly transported from her selfe to her Lady Bellinda, and that hee sleighted and disdained her, to embrace and adore the other, she is so inraged with jealousie at the knowledge and consideration thereof, as she cals a counsell in her heart and thoughts, what to doe herein, how to prevent it, and againe how to reclaime, & regaine Ferallo and his affection, from her Lady to her selfe, and shee is so inflamed with jealousie towards them, as shee can reape no peace by day of her mind, nor rest by night of her heart before shee have effected it; to which end, having ranne over a whole world of remedies and expedients, shee at last resolves on this, to acquaint her Lord and master De Mora with this un∣chaste and obscoene familiarity, betweene his Lady Bellinda and her lover Feral∣lo, and her rage is so outragious as with infinite malice and celerity she performes it. At which unexpected and unwell-comed newes, our old Lord De Mora hath now his heart a new set on fire with jealousie and malice both towards his Lady, and her usher Ferallo, so that he as soone beleeves as understands this their adultery without ever making a stand either to consider the truth, or to examine the circumstances thereof, whereupon to make short worke, and to provide a speedy remedy for this unfortunate disaster, and disease; hee without speaking word of it, either to his Lady Bellinda, or to Ferallo, suddainely casheereth him from his house and service, and in such disgracefull manner, as hee will not so much as permit him to know the reason hereof, or to see, or take leave of his Lady and mistris, and from thence forth De Mora lookes on her with infinite contempt and jealousie. For it galles him to the heart, first to remember her dishonour, and

dishonesty with Palura, & now far more to know that she is doubly guilty there∣of with her owne domesticke servant and Gentleman-usher Ferallo; wherefore he againe restraines her of her liberty, and his jealousie so far exceeds the bounds of judgement, and the limmits of reason, as hee will difficultly permit her to see any man, or any man to see her, but as rivers stopped doe still degorge with more violence, and overflow with more imperuositie, so Bellinda takes this new jealousie of her old husband, and this suddaine exile and banishment of Ferollo her lover and Gentleman-usher in extreme ill part, and (after shee hath wept and sighed her fill thereat, shee then beleeves the prime and originall cause therof, to proceed from the malice and jealousie of her waiting Gentlewoman Herodia: wherefore being infinitly despighted and incensed against her; shee (in her deare love and affection to Ferallo) to requite her husbands courtesie, very discourte∣ously turnes her away, and for ever banisheth her, her house and service, and to write the truth, Ferallo likewise inhatred & malice to Herodia, will from thence forth neither see nor speake with her more. But to verifie the English proverb, that love will creepe where it cannot goe, although De Mora banisheth Ferallo from his house; and restraineth his Lady Bellinda of her liberty in his house, yet sometimes by day & many times by night, they (by the assistance of some secret agents or Ambassadours of love) doe in the arbours of the gardens, and in some other out romes of the house very amorously meet, and most lasciviously kisse and embrace together. They hold many private conferences on their unlawfull affections, and many secret consultations upon their unjust discontents: so at last both of them joining in one wicked heart and mind, and (as matters are still best distinguished by their contraries) finding each others company sweet, and their sequestration and seperation bitter, they so much forget their selves and their soules, and so much fly from heaven and God, to follow Sathan and hell, as both of them beleeve and resolve, they can have no true or perfect content on earth be∣fore De Mora be first sent to heaven; now, upon this bloody designe they agree, and upon this hellish plot they fully resolve, only the gordian knot which must combine and linke fast this foule busines is, that De Mora being dead, Bellinda must shortly after marry her Gentleman-usher Ferallo, whereunto with as much joy as vanity shee cheerfully consenteth, when they are so prophane as they seale this their ungodly contract with many oathes, and ratifie and confirme it with a world of kisses, and then of all violent deaths, they resolve on that drugge of the devill, poyson, so without either the feare or grace of God, they of Christians me∣tamorphose and make themselves devils, and Ferallo buying the poyson, Bellinda very secretly and subtilly in diet drink and broath admmistereth it unto her Lord and husband De Mora, which being of a languishing vertue and oppera∣tion, hee within lesse then foure moneths dies thereof; when with much cost and a wonderfull exteriour shew of griefe and sorrow, shee gives him a stately funerall, every answerable to the lustre of his name, and the quality of his digni∣ty and hono•…•…r, but God in his due time will pull off the maske of this her mon∣strous hippocrie, and infernall prophanesse.

Our jealous old Lord de Mora being thus laied and raked up in the dust of his untimely grave, his joyfull sorrowfull widdow the Lady Bellinda, according to her promise, to the griefe of her father Cursoro, to the wonder of Stremos, and the admitation of all Portugall marries with this her Gentleman-usher Ferallo; but such lustfull and bloody marriages, most commonly meet with miserable ends.

For six moneths together, Ferallo day and night keeps good corespondancy in the performance of his affections to his old Lady and mistris, and now his

new wife Bellinda, and although they are unequall in birth and ranke, yet mar∣riage having now made them equall, they mutually kisse and imbrace with as much content as desire; but at the end of this small parcell of time; satiety of his uxorious delights and pleasures makes him neglectfull, and which is worse con∣temptible thereof, (a base ingratitude, but to often subject to men of his inferiour ranke and quality, and which the indiscretion of Ladies of honour, very often paies deare for, as buying it many times with infamy but still which repentance) so that for ten nights, and sometimes for fifteene together hee never kissed or imbraced her; which unkind ungratitude of his, and respectlesse unvaluation of her youth and beauty, as also of her ranke & meanes makes the Lady Bellinda his wife to be as hot in choler towards him, as he is cold in affection & love towards her. But to ascend to the head-spring of this his discourtesie towards her, and so to fetch and derive it from its owne proper originall, wee must know that Ferallo was so vitious, inconstant, and base, as now hee is deeply in love with a new waiting Gentlewoman of his Ladies named Christalina, a sweet young maiden, of some eighteene yeares of age, tall of stature and slender of body, and whose beauty was every way as cleere and pure as her name, and yet whose maiden∣head (with a few rich presents and many poore flattering oaths and false promi∣ses) hee had secretly purchased and gotten from her; yea his affection was so fer∣vent to her, that part of the day could not content his lustfull desires, but hee for∣gets himselfe so far, as before his Ladies nose, and almost in her sight, hee must lye with her whole nights, and which is worse, almost every night without so much as once thinking of his owne wife the Lady Bellinda, or either loving what shee cared for, or caring for what shee loved.

But Bellinda esteemes her selfe too good a Gentlewoman, and too great a Lady to be thus outbraved and disgraced, by a Taylors sonne, (for so was Ferallo) and therefore consequently her heart is too well lodged, and too high fixed and seat∣ed in the degree of her high discent thus to receive & suffer an affront, by a man of so low a beginning & so ignoble a quality and extraction as he was, and whom she had raised from nothing, and conferred and honoured him with her affection, and bed, and of her servant made him her husband; when for the space of six moneths together having continually used the best of her art, and the chiefest of her power, her sweetest perswasions, and her most sugred prayers and solicitations to make him abandon her maid Christalina, and so againe to reclaime him and his affection from her to her selfe; but seeing all her care vaine, and her prayers and intreaties towards him to prove frivoulous, shee at last (consulting with Sa∣than, and not with God) begins to assume bad thoughts and revengefull malice against him, for this hi•…•… foule disloyalty, and base ingratitude and infidelity towards her: but first before shee attempts it, her turbulent and restlesse jealou∣sie, makes her resolve to trie another conclusion, which is to put off this her waiting Gentlewoman Christalina from her service and attendance, in hope that Ferallo her husband would then thereby likewise put off himselfe and his affection from her, but this project and resolution of hers reapes no succesfull issue according to her desires, but receives end, as soone as beginning. For hee is still so deeply enamoured and so constantly affected to Christalina, as hee will neither permit nor suffer it, but in despite of his Lady Bellinda, and of all her sighes, teares, and prayers to the contrary, hee kisseth her in her sight, and (custome now making him licenciously bold and impudent) hee in this his sot∣tish familiarity with her, sets her at table with himselfe and his wife; and in her presence, and before her face, tearms her his deare, his love, & his sweet-heart: a

disgrace of so unkind a nature, and discourteous a quality, as she highly disdaines long to suffer or digest it at his hands. So that seeing no hope of amendment, and therefore dispairing of any reformation thereof in him, shee resumes her former bad and bloody thoughts against him, and so peremptorily and definitively re∣solves to murther him. Her jealousie makes her thus malicious, her malice thus revengefull, and her revenge thus bloody hearted and handed towards him. She cannot be content to pace, but shee will ride poast to her confusion by heapeing crime upon crime, and murther to murther; shee hath formerly poysoned her first husband De Mora, and now shee resolves to poinyeard to death Ferallo her second, as if one of these two blood sinnes and crimes were not enough capable, to make her as truly miserable, as she falsly thinkes her selfe happie, in the per∣formance and execution thereof. But these are the bitter fruits of jealousie and the sharp effects of choler, malice, and revenge which most commonly streame and proceed from it,

Whiles thus her quondam Gentleman-usher, & now her unkind and disloyall husband Ferallo (without feare or care) is wallowing in his beastly pleasures and sensuality with his strumpet Christalina, this his ungodly wife, and revengefull Lady Bellinda (with as much secresie as treachery) is in requitall thereof prepare∣ing of him a bloody banquet; yea so hastie is shee in her rage, and so outragious in this her revenge towards him, as shee will no longer bee abused or defrauded by him, but thinks every houre an age, before she have dispatched him for hea∣ven. She will no more bee controuled and over mastred by him who was for∣merly her servant, and who first reputed it his greatest happines to kisse her hand, before shee vouchsafed him the honour to kisse her lips, or which is more, the fe∣licity to imbrace her in her bed. She now sees with griefe, that hee hath betray∣ed her in betraying, and conveying his affection from her to her maid Christalina, and therefore although shee hath cast away her favours on him, yet of the two, shee vowes rather to cast away him than her selfe. No grace, no religion, not her conscience, not her soule, nor the consideration of heaven or hell can disswade or keepe her from this her bloody purpose, or divert her from the perpetration of this inhumane and cruell murther: but the very first night that he leaves her maid Christalina, and lies with her selfe, she (being purposely provided of a very sharp and keene razor, which she put in one of her gloves, and clapt it under her pil∣low) at breake of day as hee lay in bed soundly sleeping and snoring by her, she as a devill incarnate cuts his throat, and leaves him struggling in the bed, and weltering in his blood, without once having the power to think, to speake of God.

Thus wee have seene the bloody malice, and infernall fury and revenge of this execrable young Lady Bellinda, in so lamentable and cruelly murthering her first and old husband De Mora, and now her young one Ferallo, and because the prepetration of these her inhumane crimes and facts are so odious to God, that their knowledge hath already pierced the clouds, and their sight ascended to the sacred presence and tribunall of God, therefore his all-seeing, and all-po∣tent glorious Majestie, being as impartiall in his judgements, as divine in his decrees, hath already sharpned his sword of justice, and made ready his arrowes of revenge, speedily to inflict and give her condigne punishment for the fame, yea and far sooner than either shee thinks or dreames thereof.

She having thus dispatched this bloody busines, and seeing her husband Ferallo lie breathlesse in the bed by her, shee riseth up, and the better to colour out, and overvaile this her inhumane and monstrous villany, shee takes this her dead

husbands knife out of his pocket, and goring it all in his blood, shee leaves it on his pillow by him, thereby (with as much hippocrisie as treachery) to insinuate a beleefe and confidence in the opinion of all men, that hee had there murthered himselfe, and that infallibly hee was the author and actor of this his owne deplo∣rable death, which having performed, she takes on a fine cleane holland smocke, and puts off her cambricke one that she wore, which as a fatall marke of her cruel∣tie, and a prodigious banner of her inhumanity, was all stained and engrained over with her husbands blood, and wrapping it up very close together, shee therein likewise envellops and enwraps her bloody razor, and also a two pound brasse weight, thereby the better to make it sinke, for shee resolves that very morning to throw it into a pond; so secret is shee in contriving, and so poli∣ticke in the concealing of this her cruell fact. The morne advancing to six of the clock, which was dark, cloudy and obscure, as if (by the secret appointment, and sacred providence of God) that the sunne (with his glistering beames) abhorred to behold so pittifull & lamentable a spectacle. Bellinda hath no sooner apparelled her selfe, but triumphing in this her false victory and bloody conquest, and giving the murthered body of her husband a farwell, composed of many curses and execrations, shee softly issueth forth, clapping her bloody smock and razor in her pocket, the which (to make sure worke) she had tied fast with one of her blew silke garters, then lockes the chamber doore, and very secretly and surely conveyes and throwes in the key within side, & then descends to the gar∣den, where calling Hellena (another of her waiting Gentlewomen to her) shee bids her fetch her prayer booke, and thus away she goes towards their parish-Church of Saint Iulians on foot, which by computation was some halfe a small league distant off their house, and forbids any man servant to waite or attend on her thither. She is not a furlong off, but the more closely to finish her designe, shee there purposely sends away her maid Hellena to the parish-Church before her with this invented and colourable errand to seeke out her owne Priest father Sebastian, and to prepare him then to say masse to her, the which Hellena doth. Now the midway betweene her house and the Church is a great deepe pond, by the which shee is to passe; but a little before shee drawes neere it, a poore old maimed Souldiour, being cashiered from the Garison of the castle of Castcayes (named Roderigo) travelling towards his home, and seeing this Lady all alone, and observing the sweetnes of her beauty, and the richnesse of her apparell, and attire, his poverty inforceth and incourageth him to request and begge an almes of her, the which with much humility hee doth. But the Lady Bellinda's heart and thoughts, were so much surprised and taken up with cruelty, as shee knew not what belonged to charitie, and therefore having other busines and wind∣mils in her head, shee is so offended with Roderigo's begging importunity, as flatly refusing to give him any almes, shee forgets her selfe so far, as in steed thereof, shee gives him many harsh words and at last sends him away with some unkind and foule speeches; the which poore Roderigo, tooke so ill at her hands, that (in the fumes of a Souldiour) hee once thought to have requited it either on her person, or her apparell; but then againe (by her port and bravery) deeming her to bee some great neighbouring Lady, who that morning had purposely left her followers to take the sweetnes of the aire, and therefore fearing his danger more than hee loved his profit, hee abandoneth that cholericke and insolent re∣solution of his, when taking his leave of her, hee some two buts lengths from her betakes him to sit downe at the foot of a great Pine apple tree, where he might see her, but not shee him; and there looking after her with an eye of discontent

and indignation, hee bewailes his wants and hard fortune, and also condemneth the obduratenesse of this unknowen Ladies uncharitable heart towards him, and inquiring afterwards of a mike-maid which passed by what shee was, he is in∣formed that shee is the Lady Bellinda, widdow to the dead Lord Alonso de Mora, and now wife to Don Emanuell de Ferallo, who hereat doth not a little both grieve and wonder, that so rich and great a Lady was guilty of so much unchari∣tablnes. By this time shee being arived to the pond, looking about her, and be∣leeving that no mortall eye had seene her, she therein throwes her bloody smocke and razor (which as formerly I have said shee had tyed fast together with one of her blew silke gatters) and the ponderosity of the brasse weight made it instantly to sinke to the bottome, whereof shee being infinitly joyfull, away shee trip•…•… to the parish Church, and there heares Masse, and mumbles out many Ave Ma∣ries, and Pater nosters to her selfe; but the whole world ingenerall, and the reade•…•… in particular may imagin with what a foule conscience, and a prophane and ul∣cerated soule, shee then and there performes this her devotion.

Now although this our wretched Lady Bellinda have murthered this her se∣cond husband Ferallo, with wonderfull secresie, and buried these bloody eviden∣ces thereof in the pond, with such admirable care and privacy, that shee thinkes it wholly impossible for all the earth to reveale it; loe if earth cannot, yet now heaven will. So heare before I proceed further, let mee in the name and feare of God, request the Christian reader here to admire and wonder with mee, at the mercy and goodnes, and at the providence and pleasure of God in his miraculous detection, and condigne revenge and punishment thereof; for hee must know and understand, that it seemes God had purposely brought, placed and seated this poore old, weary maimed Souldiour Roderigo at the foot of this Pine tree, to to be a happie instrument of his praise, and a true Sentinell, and discoverer both for his sacred justice and divine honour: for here although Bellinda carried away her heart and charity from him, yet (as if guided by some heavenly power, and celestiall influence) Roderigo could not possibly carry away his eye from her, but as closely as shee threw this bloody cloth into the pond, hee espies it, and which is more, very plainely and palpably discernes the whitnes and rednes thereof; when considering and thinking with himselfe that this gallant proud Lady Bel∣linda might bee as unchaste and lascivious as shee was faire, and as vitious as she was young; God (with his immediate finger) imprinted in his thoughts and in∣graved in his heart and mind, that either her selfe, or some one of her waiting Gentlewomen had had some bastard, and that shee had murthered it, and now throwen it into the pond, and was so strongly possessed of this conceit and beleife, that neither day, or night, nor nothing under heaven could possibly beate him from it, but for a whiles hee resolves to conceale this conceit to himselfe, as re∣ferring the truth thereof to time, and the issue to God.

And here the order of our history calles us againe from Roderigo to Bellinda, who as soone as Masse is done, (with her waiting Gentlewoman He•…•…) returnes home to her house, & by that time they arive there it is nine of the clocke, where (putting a pleasant face upon her false heart; and a sweet countenance upon her soyled and sinfull soule) shee presently inquires for her husband Don Ferallo, her servants make answer that they have not seene him to day, and that they think hee is still in bed, whereat shee musing and wondering, in regard hee was not accustomed to sleepe at so high an houre, shee therefore sends some of her ser∣vants to his chamber to see if hee be stirring, but finding his chamber doore look∣ed, and calling aloud to him they can get no answer from him, the which they

returne and report to their Lady Bellinda, who seeming exceedingly to doubt and grieve thereat, shee (far more perplexed in countenance than heart) ascends with them againe to her husbands chamber, where they all call and knock aloud at the doore to him, and shee far louder than them all, but in vaine, for still they heare no newes either of him or from him, whereat shee begins (outwardly) to tremble with apprehension and feare, and so commands them to force open the doore of his chamber, which they instantly doe, where they see their Lord, and shee her husband Ferallo to lie breathlesse in his bed, all begored and reeking in his hot and warme blood, with his throat cut, whereat his servants for true griefe, and his Lady Bellinda for false sorrow, make a lamentable crie, and a pitti∣full out-cry in his chamber which is over heard in all the house, but especially the Lady Bellinda her selfe, who so artificially dissembleth her joy, and so passionate∣ly makes demonstration of extreme griefe and affliction, for this deplorable death of her Lord and husband, both to her servants and to God, that shee is all in teares, and cannot because shee will not bee comforted thereat: they find the chamber doore locked, the key within side, and his owne bloody knife on his pillow and therefore they easily resolve and conclude that this their Lord and master Ferallo hath willfully made himselfe away, and is undoubtedly the author of his owne death; which opinion and resolution of the servants, their Lady and mistris Bellinda (secretly to her selfe) relisheth with much applause, and appro∣bation, and to make her afflictions and sorrowes the more apparant to them, and in them consequently to the world, shee doth not refraine from excessive weep∣ing and sighing. They leave the dead corps untouched in the bed, to acquaint the criminall Corigidores of Stremos with this pittifull accident, who come, and be∣ing amazed at this bloody disaster and accident of Ferallo, they veiwing the infi∣nitie of his Ladies teares, and the sorrowfull complaints and exclamations of his servants, as also considering their severall depositions and examinations, and see∣ing they found his chamber doore fast locked, the key within side, and his owne bloody knife by him on his pillow, they all concurre with them in opinion about the manner and quality of his death, and doe absolutely beleeve and affirme, that hee hath desperately made himselfe a way, which opinion of theirs is present∣ly received, voyced, and rumored in Stremos, and in all the adjacent parishes and country: and yet many curious wits (in regard of Bellinda's youthfull affecti∣ons, and wanton disposition) speake very differently hereof. And now doth this our sorrowfull young widdow, (the better to support her fame and reputation to the world) bury this her second husband Ferallo with all requisite, ceremony, and decency.

But as the justice, and judgements of God (conducted by his divine pleasure, and inscrutable providence) doth many times goe on slowly, but still soundly and surely, so wee must here againe produce and bring forth our lame old Souldi∣our Roderigo to act another part on the stage and Theatre of this history. Hee is still the same man, and still retaines his same former opinion, that undoubtedly it was some dead child, or bastard which hee saw the Lady Bellinda to throw into the pond, and his heart incessantly prompted by his suspition, doth still confi∣dently suggest and assure him, that that bloody cloth of hers contained some se∣cret, & invelloped some shamefull mistery towards her, which hee thinks all the water of the pond could not deface or wash away: so that he now understanding of her husband Ferallo's disasterous bloody end, doth no way diminish but rather every way augment this his suspition and jealousie hereof. Wee must further understand, that Roderigo (the better to refresh his body, to replenish his purse,

and to repaire his apparell, staies so•…•…e three weekes in Stremos, and although hee bee a Souldiour and have his sword by his side, yet being out of action and pay, hee is not ashamed to begge the almes and courtesies of the Gentlemen, Ladies and Gentlewomen both in & ne ereabout that cittie. Among the rest un∣derstanding of the Lady Bellinda's great wealth and dignity, hee therefore hopes, that her new sorrowes and mourning for the untimely death of her husband, will now mak•…•… her as compassionate to his poverty in her house, as lately shee was discourteous and uncharitable to him in the fields: whereupon hee repaires thi∣ther to her, but for three daies together, hee is not so happie to speake with her, or to see her, but being still prest by his poverty, and againe emboldned by the consideration of what hee saw her cast into the pond, hee the fourth day finds her walking in the next meadow adjoining to her house, attended by two of her men-servants, and two waiting Gentlewomen all clad in mourning apparell: when (with a boldnesse worthy of a poore distressed Souldiour) hee advanceth to the Lady Bellinda, where (interrupting her private walkes, and distracting her secret thoughts and meditations) hee with much observance againe begges some charity of her, whereat shee being offended, because her heart and mind nei∣ther thought, nor cared for an old Souldiour, but were wholly fixed on some de∣sired new Gallant young husband, shee verie cholerikly disdaines him and his re∣quest, and with much passion and indignation (to use her owne words) command∣eth her servants to see this bold beggerly Souldiour depart and packe away, both from her and her house. Roderigo hearing these her harsh and discourteous speeches, and seeing her servants unkind usage and enforcements towards him, hee with much discontent and choler leaves her house, but (in requitall thereof) vowes that his revenge shall not so soone leave her: for this her second affront to him puts him all in choler and fire towards her, so that hee vowes to God, and swears to himselfe to use the best of his power, and to worke the chiefest of his wits to perpetrate her disgrace. When secretly & effectually informing himselfe from others, that Don Gaspar de Mora, who was nephew, and generall heire to her first Lord and husband Don Alonso de Mora, was at great variance and bitter contention in suit of law with his aunt Bellinda about some lands, and much rich moveables and Utensils which shee unjustly detained from him, and therefore that hee would bee exceeding glad to entertaine any invention or proposition whatsoever, which might heave her out of the quiet enjoying and possession thereof, and thereby procure her utter disgrace and ruine. Hee repaires to him, and secretly (yet constantly) acqaints him; that some three weekes since, and the verie morning, that Don Ferallo was found murthered in his bed, hee saw the La∣dy Bellinda his wife to throw a white and bloody linnen cloth into the pond, which was some halfe quarter of a league from her house: wherein God and his conscience told him, shee had wrapt and drowned some bastard infant either of hers, or of one of her waiting Gentlewomans, adding withall that hee could not possibly have any peace of his thoughts before hee had imparted it to him, to the end, that hee might reveale it to the criminall judges (or Corigidores) of Stre∣mos to hunt out and examine the truth thereof.

Don Gaspar de Mora doth as much rejoice as wonder at this unexpected newes, and because his inveterate malice to his aunt (in law) Bellinda perswads him ra∣ther to beleeve than doubt it, therefore (as malice is still naturally swift and prone to revenge) being confident of the truth hereof, hee leaves all other busines, rides over to Stremos and acquaints the Corigidores herewith, and tak∣ing Roderigo likewise along with him, hee also failes, not very resolutely to

affirme, and most constantly to confirme it to them; which these wise and grave judges understanding, they in honour to Gods service and glory, and in true obe∣dience to his sacred justice (without any delay or procrastination) take Don Gasper de Mora, the old Souldiour Roderigo, and some three or foure expert Swimmers along with them, and with hast and secresie speed away to the pond; wherein after those Swimmers had beene a quarter of an houre, and curiously busked and dived in most places thereof to find out this cloath, at l•…•… (by the mercy and providence of God) one of them diving far better than the rest, sees and finds it, and swimming with his left hand, brings it a shore in his right hand to the Corigidores, who much admiring and rejoycing thereat, cause it present∣ly to bee opened, where (contrary to all their expectations,) they find no dead child, but (as wee have formerly understood) a cambricke smocke, as yet all spotted and stained with blood, and tyed fast with a blew silke garter, and in it a very sharp and bloody razor, with a brasse weight tyed in all this purposely to sinke it in the pond. The Corigidores, Gaspar De Mora, and all the rest, are amazed and astonished at the sight of these bloody evidences: when Roderigo againe constantly swearing to them, that hee saw the Lady Bellinda (with her owne hands) throw this little linnen fardell into that pond, the verie same morning that her husband Don Ferallo was found murthered in his bed; and the malitious curiosity of Gaspar De Mora here finding the very two first and last let∣ters of her name in the cambricke smocke; the Corigidores then concurre in one opinion (as so many lines which terminate in one Centre) that yet infalibly it was shee and no other, who had so cruelly murthered her husband Ferallo in his bed. Whereupon taking this bloody smocke, razor, and garter with them, they with much zeale and speed poast away to the Lady Bellinda's house, to appre∣hend her for this her foule and lamentable murther, where cruell hearted and lascivious Lady, shee is so far from the consideration of grace, or the thought and apprehension of any feare, as shee feares none, and which is worst of all, not the power and justice of God himselfe; for shee is so immodest in her heart, so lustfull in her conversation, as (notwithstanding her blacke mourning attire and apparell) that her first husband was but lately dead, and now her second not as yet cold in his grave, yet (with great variety of musicke) shee is here now in her house singing, dancing and revelling with divers young Cavalliers, and Gallants both of the cittie & country, as if she had no other care, thought or busines, but how to make choyce of a third husband, who might amorously please her lustfull eye and heart, and of no lesse than a paire of Paramours and favorites who should lasciviously content her wanton desires and affections.

But these wanton vanities, and vaine and lascivious hopes of the Lady Bellin∣da will now deceive her: for now the Lords appointed due time is come, wherein for these her two horrible murthers committed on the persons of her two hus∣bands, his divine & sacred Majestie is resolved to powre downe his punishments, and to thunder forth his judgements upon her, to her utter shame and confusi∣on. The Corigidores resolutely enter her house, & then and there cause the Ser∣geants to apprehend her prisoner, whereat being suddainly amazed, and infinite∣ly terrified, shee weepes, sighes, and cries extremely. But those Cavalliers, (I meane those her supposed lovers, and pretended favorites) who were there sing∣ing and dancing with her, neither can or dare either affist, or rescue her. Now the plumes of her pride and jollity are suddainly dejected and fallen to the ground, yea her musicke is turned to mourning, her singing to sighes, and her dancing triumph•…•… to teares. The enormity of her crime cause these officers of

justice, to see her conveyed to prison, without any respect of her beauty, or regard of her sex and quality, where shee hath more leisure given her to repent, than meanes how to remedy these her misfortunes.

The next morning shee is sent for before her judges, who roundly charge her for cruelly murthering her husband Don Ferallo in his bed, the which with ma∣ny teares and oathes shee stoutly denies, then they shew her those bloody evi∣dences, •…•…er cambricke smocke, the razor, her blew garter, and the brasse weight, and also produce and confront Roderigo with her; who as before hee had affirmed, now hee swears, hee saw her throw this bloody linnen fardell into the pond, the verie morning that her husband Don Ferallo was found murthered in his bed: and although at the sight and knowledge hereof, shee is at first wonder∣fully appalled and daunted therewith, yet her courage is so stout, as shee againe denies it with many prophane and fearefull asseverations, and delighteth to heare her selfe make a tedious justification, and a frivolous apologie to her judges for her innocency. But those grave and prudent Magistrates of justice, who (in zeale to Gods glory) have eyes not in vaine in their heads, will give no beleife ei∣ther to the sweetnes of the Lady Bellinda's youth, or to the sugar of her speeches and protestations, but for the vindication of this crime, and of this truth, they ad∣judge her the very next morning to the racke, where (such is her female fortitude) as shee permits & suffers her selfe to bee fastned thereunto, with infinite constan∣cy and patience, as disdaining that the torments thereof, should extort any truth from her tongue to the prejudice of her reputation, and to the shipwracke of her safety and life, but herein she reckons too short of God, and beyond her selfe; for shee considereth not that these torments are truly sent her from God, and this her courage falsly lent and given her from Sathan; for at the very first wrench of the racke, and touch of the cord, finding it impossible that her tender body and dainty limbs, can endure the cruelty of those tortures, God puts this grace into her heart, that with many sighes and teares, shee prayes her judges and tormen∣tors to desist, and so publikely confesseth, that it was shee, and only shee who had murthered her husband Ferallo, and cut his throat in his bed with that very same razor.

Upon which confession of hers; her judges (glorifiing God for the detection of this cruell murther) they (for expiation thereof) doe forthwith adjudge and sentence this wretched and bloody Lady Bellinda, to bee the next morning burnt alive without the walles of Stremos, at the foot of the castle which is the destined place of death for the like crimes and offendors, so she being by them then againe returned to prison, that night (in Christian charity) they send her some Priests and Nunnes, to direct and prepare her soule to heaved, for this her bloody and unnaturall crime was so odious to men, and so execrable to God, that shee could hope for no pardon of her life from her judges, although her sorrowfull old father Cursoro, with a world of teares threw himselfe to their feet, and offered them all his lands and meanes to his very shirt to obtaine it for her.

All Stremos and the country there abouts resound and talke of this cruell mur∣thering of Ferallo, as also of his Lady Bellinda's condigne condemnation to death for the same, and the next morning at eight of the clocke, they all repaire un∣der the castle wall to see this execrable and unfortunate Lady there in flames of fire, to act the last scoene and catastrophy of her life; she is conducted thither by a Saint Claires Nun on her right hand, and a Saint Francis Frier on her left, who jointly charge her upon perill of damnation, to disburthen her conscience and soule before shee dye, of any other capitall crime whereof shee know•…•…s 〈◊〉〈◊〉 sel•…•…

guilty, the which shee solemnly and religiously promiseth them; about nine of the clocke shee is brought to the stake, where she sees her selfe empalled and sur∣rounded first with many fagots, and then with a very great concourse and con∣fluence of people: here shee is so irreligious in her vanity, that shee had cast of her blackes and mourning, and purposely dighted her selfe in a rich yellow sat∣tin gowne, wrought with flowers of silver, a large set ruffe about her necke, and her head covered over with a pure white tiffney vaile laced and wro•…•…ht with rich cut-worke, as if shee cared more for her body than her soule, as if her pride and bravery would carry her sooner to heaven, than her prayers and repentance: or as if the prodigall cost and lustre thereof, were able to diminish either her crime, or her punishment in the eyes and opinions of her spectators. But con∣trariwise, the very first sight of her sweet youth, and pure and fresh beauty, and then the consideration of her foule crime, for murthering her owne husband, doe operate and worke differently upon all their affections and passions, some pittying her for the first, but all more justly condemning her for the second. When as soone as their clamorous sobs and speeches were past, and blowen over, and that both the Frier and Nun had tane their last leave of her, then (after she had shed many teares on earth, and sent and evaporated many sighes to heaven) shee wringing her hands (whereon shee had a paire of snow white gloves) and casting up her eyes towards God, at last with a faltring, and fainting voice spake thus.

It is my crime and your charity good people, which hath conducted you hither to see mee a miserable Gentlewoman here to dye miserably. And because it is now no longer time for me, to dissemble either with God or the world, there∣fore to save my soule in heaven, though my body perish here in earth, I (with much griefe, and infinite sorrow) doe truly and freely confesse both to God and you, that I am not only guilty of one murther, but of two: for as I now lately cut my second husband Ferallo's throat, so I was so vild & wretched heretofore, as to poyson my first Lord and husband De Mora. At which report and confession of this execrable Lady Bellinda (in regard of the greatnes of her Lord De Mora's descent & Nobility) all this huge concourse of people (who are sensibly touched with griefe and sorrow) make a wonderfull noise and out-cry thereat, and now in regard of this soule and double crime of hers, they looke on her with far more contempt, and far lesse pittie than before. But shee being as patient as they are clamorous hereat, and seeing their cries, now againe cried downe, and wel•…•…nigh drowned and hushed up in silence, recollecting her thoughts, and againe com∣posiing her countenance, shee againe very sorrowfully continueth her speech to them thus. I well know, and indeed I heartily grieve to remember, that these two foule and cruell murthers of mine, make mee unworthy either to tread on the face of earth, or to looke up to that of heaven, and yet in the middest of these my miseries I have this consolation left mee, that in favour of my true confession, and religious repentance thereof to God, that God can bee as indulgent and merci∣full to mee, as I have beene impious and sinfull to him; the which that I may obtaine, I beseech you all who are here present, to joyne your prayers with mee, and to God for mee, and this is the last charity which I will begge and implore of you. Now because example is powerfull, & no example so strong and prevalent, as the words of the dying to the living, therefore (to Gods glory, and mine owne shame) give mee leave to tell you that two things especially brought and in∣duced mee to commit these foule •…•…ers, as they have now justly brought mee •…•…er to suffer death for committing them, first my neglect of prayer, and

omission to serve and feare God duly as I ought to have done. Secondly, the affecting and following of my lascivious and lustfull pleasures, which I ought not▪ to have done. The neglect of the first proved the bane of my soule, and the per∣formance and practice of the last, the contagion and poyson of my life, and both these two sins conjoined and lincked together, enforce mee now here to dye, with as much misery and infamie, as without them I m•…•…ght have lived (and pe•…•…chance lived long•…•… in earthly happines and prosperity. O therefore good people, beware by my woefull example, let my crime bee your integrity, my fall your rising, and my shipwracke your safety. As I beare not hypocrisie in my tongue, so I will not beare malice in my heart. Therefore from my heart I forgive Roderigo for tell∣ing Gaspar de Mora hee saw mee cast some bloody linnen in the pond. I also for∣give Gaspar de Mora for informing the Corig•…•…dores thereof, and they for so justly condemning mee to death. I also pray my father & parents to forgive mee these my foule crimes, and both to pardon & forget the dishonour and scandall which the infamy of my death may reflect and draw on them. And now I recommend you all to Gods best favour and mercy, and my soule to receive salvation in his blessed kingdome of glory.

The Lady Bellinda having finished this her speech, the hearing and conside∣ration thereof engendred much pittie and compassion in the hearts, and caused a world of teares in the eyes of the beholders; and now shee prepares her selfe for death. Here she takes off her rings from her fingers, & her pearle bracelets from her armes, and (as a token of her love) gives them to her waiting Gentlewoman Hellena, who is present and not far from her, most bitterly sobbing and weeping because shee can weepe no more for the death of this her deare Lady and mistris, who now repeates many private prayers & Ave Maries to her selfe, when taking a solemne, and sorrowfull farwell of all the world, shee puls downe her vaile over her snow-white cheekes, and then often crossing her selfe with the signe of the crosse, and saying her last in manus •…•…ua, the executioner (with a flaming torch) sets fire to the straw and fagots, whereof shee presently dies, and in lesse than an houre after, her body is there consumed & burnt to ashes, at which all that great concourse of people and spectators, (in favour to her youth and beauty) as much affecting the piety of her death, as they hate and detest the cause thereof, I meane the infamy and crueltie of her life, doe with far more sorrow than joy give a great shout and out-cry. When the judges of that cittie now upon knowledge of this Ladies first horrible crime of poysoning her first Lord and husband Don Alons•…•… De Mora, they in detestation thereof, being not able to adde, either worser infa∣my, or more exquisite, and exemplary torments to her living body, they therefore partly to bee revenged on her dead ashes, doe cause them curiously to bee gathered up, and so in the same place (by the common hang-man) before all the people, to bee scattered and throwen in the aire, where at they rejoyce, and praise God, to see the world so fairly rid, of so foule and bloody a female monster.

And thus was the untimely, (and yet deserved) end of this lascivious and cruell hearted Lady Bellinda; and in this sharp manner did the Lord of heaven and earth triumph in his just revenge and punishments against her, for these her two foule and inhumane crimes of murthering her two husbands. May God (of his best and divinest mercy) make this her history and example, to serve as a chrystall mirrour for all men, and especially for all women, (of what condition and qualitie so ever.

And now Christian reader, having (by Gods most gratious assistance and pro∣vidence) here finished this entire, and last volume of my six bookes of tragicall histories, if thou find that thou reape any profit, or thy soule any spirituall bene∣fite by the reading and perusall thereof, then (in the name and feare of God) I beseech thee to joyne thy prayers and piety with mine, that as in Christian religion and duty wee are bound, so for the same, wee may jointly ascribe unto God, all possible power, might, Majesty, thanksgiving, dominion, and Glory both now and for ever.

Amen, Amen.

FINIS.