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 Murder. (Book 3)

History XI.

De Salez killeth Vaumartin in a Duell; La Hay causeth Michaelle to poison La Frange; De Salez loves La Hay, and because his father Argentier will not consent that he marry her, stifleth him in his bed, and then takes her to his wife; she turns Strum∣pet, and cuts his throat; as he is dying, he accuseth her of this bloudy fact, and himselfe for murthering his father Argentier: so his dead body is hang'd to the gallowes, then burnt; La Hay confesseth this murther, and likewise that she caused Michaelle to poison La Frange: shee hath her right hand cut off, and is then burnt alive; Micha∣elle is broken on the wheele, and his dead body throwne into the River.

ALthough our perverse Nature, and rebellious thoughts may for a while make us esteeme Envie to be no Vice, and Murder a Vertue; yet if we wil erect the eyes of our Faith, and so looke from our selves to our soules, from Earth to Heaven, and from Satan to God, we shall then assuredly finde, that hating our Christian Brother, wee hate Christ who made us Brothers: and murdering him, that we maliciously and presumptuously attempt to recrucifie Christ, by whom we must, without whom we cannot be saved. But if we will turne Atheists, and be∣leeve there is a Heaven, but no God; or Devils, and say there is a God, but no Hea∣ven, then that uncharitable Tenent of Envie may be held lawfull, and this bloudy position of Murder, practised, because privileged, else not. Wherefore let us who are Christians resend this devillish doctrine, and doctrine of Devils, to Hell from whence it first came, and to the Devill himselfe who first broached and in∣vented it: sith we cannot professe it without making our selves Agents, nor per∣petrate it, without becomming his very limbs and members, in regard they will infallibly prove the wofull fore-runners of our misery, and the wretched He∣ralds of our perdition: as the bloudy Actors of this ensuing mournfull History will make good, and instance to us in themselves when the severe judgements and pu∣nishments of God befell them so suddenly, as it was too late for them either to re∣voke or bewaile the enormitie of these their foule and infernall crimes.

THolouse (as well for greatnesse as state, the third citie and Court of Parliament of France) is the place wherein we shall understand, there was lately commit∣ted and perpetrated, a tragicall History, which hath many mournfull and bloody dependances; the which to branch forth, and depaint in their naked colours, we must understand, that therein lived a Councellour of that famous Court (being a rich Gentleman well descended) tearmed Monsieur de Argentier, whose wife being deceased, left him father only to one hopefull sonne, of the age of two and twen∣ty yeeres, tearmed Monsieur de Salez, who being wholly addicted to the warres (from which martiall Profession it was impossible for his old father to divert and withdraw him) he procured him an Ensignes place under Monsieur de Roquelaure, whom he served in the Adriaticke Sea, under the Noble and Generous Venetians, who then stood rather jealous than fearefull of the power and greatnesse of Spaine; but the Chymera of that warre (after the terme of three or foure yeeres) being vanished and blowen away, and consequently betwixt those two mighty Estates, a new Peace contracted and concluded, (although the old had not beene actually broken and delacerated) home returnes Monsieur de Roquelaure, for Gascogny, and with him De Salez for Lang•…•…edoc and Tholouse, where he is received of his father with much content and joy, not that hee was contented to see his sonne professe these Militarie courses (which onely affords the smoake of Honour, and not the solidity of profit) but rather that hee exceedingly rejoyced to see him re∣turne therefrom; and from whence, if he cannot hope that his requests will sole∣ly divert him, yet hee is resolved and assured that his Commands both will and shall. To which end, (as any humour is soonest subject to be expelled and defa∣ced by its contrary) so the old Councellour, having as much Iudgement and Pro∣vidence in his head, as his sonne hath Vanity in his thoughts, and Rashnesse in his re∣solutions, doth both request, and command him to leave the warre for Peace, Armes for Love, the Campe for the Citie, and his Captaine for a Wife, and so no longer to march and fight under the Banners of Mars and Bellona, but under the Standarts of Venus and Hymeneus; to which effect, he profers him the choyce of many rich and faire young Gentlewomen of the Countrey to his wife; but es∣pecially (and with farre more earnestnesse than any other) to an exceeding rich match in the Citie, which was a young Gentlewoman tearmed La Frange, being the onely child of Monsieur de Clugny, one of the most famous and richest Presidents of that Court, young of yeeres, as being but sixteene, or seventeene, but withall de∣formed both in favour and body, for shee was of a browne and sowre complexi∣on, and not onely a Dwarfe in stature, but also exceedingly crooke-back'd, and yet beyond measure very amorous, and desirous of a Husband: onely the en∣dowments of her minde most richly recompenced, and made satisfaction for the defects of her body: for shee had an active and nimble wit, a sweet and sugred tongue, a rich Memorie, and a powerfull and happy Iudgement, and was indeed an excellent Dauncer, and Singer, and withall a most perfect and exquisite Musici∣an: But as yet De Salez warlike and generous resolution could not be so soone made flexible, to embrace the motion of a wife, and so he returnes his deniall in stead of his consent: but his wise old father Argentier, being therefore the more curious of his sonne De Salez his prosperity and welfare, because hee apparantly saw he no way regarded, but every way neglected it himselfe; (his sonnes exor∣bitant resolution notwithstanding) although hee knew that Madamoyselle La Frange had many noble Suitors, who sought her in mariage: yet relying upon his ancient acquaintance and familiaritie with the President de Clugny, as also that that daughter of his, and this his Son were of both parties their onely children. Hee

taking time at advantage, breakes with him about this match: whereunto De Clugny hearkens rather with delight than distast: for if there were any disparitie in the dignitie of their Offices, he well knowes, that Argentiers blood and wealth did at least equalize, if not exceed his; or if hee conceited any scruple in his thoughts, which impugned or imposed it, it was onely because De Salez was a Souldier, and not a Lawyer, and consequently delighted to use his Sword before his Pen, and to weare and preferre a Scarlet cloke before a Blacke. But then againe, these repugnant and averse reasons were as soone buried, as borne, and defaced, as conceived and ingraven in him; when hee considered that hee him∣selfe in his adolescency was of the same humor and inclination, and therefore that Experience had made him a President to himselfe, that Time was both the refor∣mer and refiner of manners, and that (in all well borne and well bred spirits) the Precepts of a father, and the sweet conversation and counsell of a wife, had pow∣er to metamorphose the conditions of a young husband; whereupon the old fathers often meet and consult hereon, and so being fully agreed on all conditi∣ons, they likewise appoint a solemne meeting for their children, but the effect and issue of this their enterview, will not corespond and answer their desires.

La Frange (as we have formerly said) being deformed and crook-backt, was no way agreeable but displeasing to De Salez, but he being a tall, and neat timbred Gentleman, of a faire and feminine complexion, she instantly most tenderly af∣fected, and dearely loved him. In a word, I must request the curiositie of the Reader briefly to be informed and advertised, that as shee beheld him with the eyes of Love and Desire, so did he her with those of contempt and disdaine, she buil∣ding castles of content in the aire of her thoughts and hopes, that Heaven would make him her husband; and hee rasing both her and her memory out of that of his contemplations, vowing that Earth should never make her his wife. Thus though the Parents have already shut up the Contract, yet their children shall never live to celebrate the Nuptials, for we shall see diversity of tragicall accidents which are providing, and almost ready to oppose and impugne it. Parents thinke to be the causes, but God will still bee the Authour of Marriages: for if his sacred and divine Majesty make them not first in Heaven, they shall never see them so∣lemnized nor consummated on Earth.

And heere, to make an orderly progression in this History, th•…•… Reader must likewise understand, that of all other of La Franges Suitors, none sought her with so much importunity and impatiency, as the Baron of Vaumartin, (whose chiefest house and lands lay betwixt Aigue-mortes and Narbone) a Nobleman of some thir∣ty yeeres old, who (like many others of his stampe and ranke) had spent the greatest part of his youth and meanes in Paris, in lasciviously debaushing and re∣velling with the Parisian Ladies and Dames: so that the vanitie of his pleasures and expences making his lands fly away peece-meale, and the devasting and fall of his trees and woods, making the rest of his Mannors shake, (an example and president for all other debaushed Gallants to observe and beware of) he leaves Paris with curses, and his bitter-sweet sinnes with repentance; and so (to re∣payre his errors, and to redeeme his lost time, & decayed estate) he comes home to Langue•…•…oc, where hearing in Tholouse of the President de Clugny's great wealth which he must solely leave to his onely childe and daughter La Frange, who was now marriageable, he resolves to set all his other businesse and designes apart, and so to lay siege and seeke her of her father and selfe in marriage. Now to take the better direction, and observation of this History, wee must likewise under∣stand that this Baron of Vaumartin was of a swart complexion, a dwarfe of stature,

and every way as crook-backt as La Frange, which the more slattered him in his hopes, and egged him on in his pursute, hoping indeed (though with as much Vani∣tie as Ignorance) that this their corporall resemblance would the sooner induce and draw her to affect him: but his Arithmetique, or rather his Iudgement will de∣ceive him: for it is conformitie of Humors and Inclinations, and not of faces and bodies, which breeds and inflames a sympathy in affections. But he is resolute in his research, and so better loving the fathers wealth, than the daughters Beautie, he well assisted and followed (with a traine and equipage worthy of his birth, and her merits) first seekes the daughter of her father, then her selfe of her selfe. As for the old President de Clugny, he hath heard of his debaushed pranks and ryots in Paris, and therefore vowes that his wealth gotten with wisedome, and purchased with providence, study, and care in his Age, shall never pay for the obscene plea∣sures and vitious prodigalities of his Youth: and so with many verball comple∣ments (resolving that he shall never triumph in the conquest of his daughter) he in generall tearmes puts him off. As for La Frange her selfe, the sweetnesse of De Sa∣lez complexion and personage is so deeply imprinted in her heart and thoughts, that it is impossible for Vaumartin to find any admittance or entrance; for shee speakes of none but de Salez, thinkes of none but of de Salez, nor wisheth her selfe with any but with de Salez. Againe, she wonders at Vaumartins simplicitie, in see∣king her for his wife: for if she hate deformitie in her selfe, how is it either likely or possible that she can love it in her husband? No, no; though de Salez will not love La Frange, yet La Frange must and will love de Salez, and none but him; and therefore sith de Salez his sweet feature is a pearle in her eye, needs must Vaumar∣tin be an eye-sore to her; yea, and if modesty will permit mee to speake or write an immodest truth, her heart doth so burne and flame in love to de Salez, that both day and night shee many times with sighes, sometimes with teares, wisheth her selfe either impaled in his armes, or he encloystred in hers. Now by this time Vaumartin hath full notice and advertisement of her affection devoted to none but to de Salez, as also his sleighting and disdaining her: Whereupon encouraged by this, and dishartened by that, he leaves no cost, care, or curiosity (either in gifts, dancing, musicke, or bankets) unattempted, to crowne his wants, rather than his desires and pleasures, with this though deformed, yet rich heire La Frange: so lea∣ving him to his vaine sute in courting her, speake wee a little of de Salez, that sith he will not affect La Frange, we may yet observe and discover which way hee in∣tends to shape the course of his affections and resolutions.

For albeit he had formerly addicted himselfe and resolutions to be a professed Souldier, yet Peace calling him home now to Pleasure, and that to effeminacy, a fatall and dangerous vice, which in the iniquity of these our times and depraved man∣ners not onely most insensibly creepes into common Souldiers and Comman∣ders, but also into all Armies, and into many Estates and Kingdomes, still to the dis∣paragement of their glory, and sometime to the price of their ruine, and perill of their subversion; he began to let his Colours hang dustie, and his Pike and Par•…•…zan r•…•…stie by the walls, and to frequent the company of Ladies, which the old Counsellor his father observes with joy, hoping that in the end he shall draw him to affect and marry La Frange: but these hopes of his will proove vaine, and this hi•…•… joy will soone bee exchanged into sorrow, and metamorphosed into af∣fliction and misery: for that his sonne is partly resolved to marry, tis true, but as true it is, that he is fully resolved never to love, much lesse to marry La Frange.

Now wee must understand, that in Tholouse there dwelt a Merchant of Silks, or as wee in England say, a Silk-man, termed Monsieur de Soulange, rather reputed

rich of others, than knowne so of himselfe; and yet being an old widower, to the end the sooner to get him a new wife, he puts a good face on his estate, and main∣taines himselfe, familie, and house, with great pompe and expences, having no son, but three faire daughters, all marriageable; & yet (out of ambition, and in emu∣lation of the Gentry) severally knowne and stiled by their titles, not by their names, as Mesdamoyselles de Marsy, La pre Verte, and La Hay, all famous for their beauties, and indeed for the purenesse and excellencie thereof justly reputed & held the prime Birds of the citie, and yet the youngest of them La Hay was the Phenix of all the three: for she was so sweetly faire, and fairly sweet of complexion, as she drew all eyes to doe homage to hers; so as it was almost impossible for any man to looke on her without loving her, or to gaze on her without desiring her: for her body was so strait and slender, and the roses of her cheekes so deliciously gracing the lilies, and the lilies the roses, that the greatest Gallant either of the Citie or Country, held himselfe not only happy, but honoured with the felicitie of her presence and company. But in one word, to give these three sisters their true characters, de Marsy and la Pre-verte were far more vertuous than La Hay, though La Hay were far fairer than they: for as Religion and Pietie was their chiefest de∣light and exercise, as more desirous to embelish their soules than their bodies; so wanton pleasure and vaine lasciviousnesse was hers, as rather delighting to please and adorne her body than her soule, they being more vertuous than faire, shee more faire than vertuous, different inclinations and resolutions; these as happy and blessed, as hers wretched and impious: their actions might have beene a Pre∣sident, yea a Pilot to have conducted her fame as well to the Temple of Honour, as to the harbour of immortall glory, & of glorious immortalitie: but she vowes she will prove a President to her selfe, and her pleasure shall be a Pilot to her will, although she misse the Temple of Honour, to find out that of beastly concupiscence; and the harbour of immortall glory, to suffer shipwrack vpon the shelves of inglo∣•…•…ious infamie, and the rocks of infamous perdition.

To this Monsieur de Soulanges house, the beauties of his three daughters, but especially that of La Hay, and withall her pleasing and tractable affabilitie, invites many young Gentlemen, and the eminentst Citizens, who there passe their time in courting and conversing, in dancing, singing, and the like, whereunto the Youth of France more than any other people of the world are most licentiously addicted; and as things are best discerned and distinguished by their contraries, so the ver∣tues of De Marsy and La Preverte were made more apparant by La Hayes vices; and her lust and whoredomes were more palpably notorious in their chastitie. O that so sweet a creature should be subject to so foule a sinne, and that Beautie the best gift (and as I may say the gold) of Nature, should be thus vilified and pollute•…•… with the beastly pleasures of carnall concupiscence and obscene sensualitie! For aye mee, I write it with as much griefe to my selfe, as shame to her, she was too prodigall of her favours; for she imparted them liberally unto some for love, but unto most for money, not caring to whom she prostituted her body, so they fil∣led her purse, thereby to support her pride, and maintaine the excesse and vanitie of her braverie; and yet she was so subtill and cautious therein, that although she were a professed Courtisan, she would neverthelesse publikely seeme a pure and unspotted Virgin; and the better to fortifie her fame, and to make the reputation of her Chastitie passe currant with the world, she would sweare all those to con∣ceale her favours, on whomsoever she imparted and bestowed them: but if this lascivious subtiltie of hers have power to bleare the eyes of the world, how can this her beastly sin of fornication be unseene of God, when the windowes, walls,

and beames of her chamber, yea her very bed whereon she hath acted her whore∣domes, shall one day give in evidence, and serve as witnesses against her; yea, and be petitioners on earth, that God will requite and reward them with vengeance and confusion from Heaven.

Now, among the rest of those deboshed Gentlemen, who devoted their lasci∣vious service, and sacrificed their fond affections to La Hays beautie, in comes our De Salez to inroule himselfe one; who, feasting and surfetting his eyes on the de∣licacies of her fresh and sweet complexion, leaves his owne fathers house, to fre∣quent hers; yea his desires are so lustfully inflamed with her beautie, as with his best art and policie he lies close siege to her chastitie, and with many gifts, re∣quests and oathes, seekes to endeere▪ her to his desires and pleasure: But see the subtiltie of this lascivious young Courtisan; for knowing De Salez deeply in love with her, and to be the only childe of his father, and he one of the richest Coun∣cellors of Tholouse, she conceives a plot in her head, to goe a fishing to make him her husband, and so beares her selfe wonderfull modest and coy, casting a cloake and veile of chastitie over her unchaste desires and actions, as if she were now a virgin, yea a Saint to him, though heretofore she had many times played the Strumpet with others: but her deniall doth rather inflame, than quench the fire of his lust, so as making many assaults to raze downe the defences of her refusall, that he may enter and take possession of her heart and favour, his best Art and Oratorie proves vaine; for she outwardly retires her affection, thereby the bet∣ter inwardly to advance and finish her purposes: so this repulse of hers makes him hang his head, and become pensive and melancholie; the true signes and symp∣tomes of a foolish and fantasticall lover, as in effect wee shall shortly see de Salez will prove himselfe: for the colder shee is in affection to him, the hotter is hee in lust with her, forgetting the warres, yea, his discretion, himselfe and all, to crowne his desires in enjoying her: the which she well observing, begins to triumph in her good fortune, as thinking him already fairly come to the hooke, and so hopes that if the line of his folly and her good fortune and wit hold, shee will soone make him her husband, and her selfe his wife: For having formerly met with many knaves in others, shee now begins to rest confident either to finde, or make a foole of him, thereby to serve as a veile to over-veile her whoredomes: He pleads hard to her for love; she replies, it is impossible to finde love in lust: He vowes he will die her servant, she sweares she will never live his strumpet: He protesteth that shee shall share of his estate, shee tells him plainly that shee had rather live a poore Wife, than die a rich Courtesan: He replies, that he adores her beautie; she answers, that she knowes no other, but that he only seekes to prophane and defile it. And here, with more facilitie to make him swallow either a Gull, a Gudgin, or both, she by stealth permits him to cull some kisses, as well from the cherries of her lips, as the roses of her cheekes: and in the Interim like an hypocriticall and dissembling queane, reads him many lectures on the purenesse of Chastitie, and the foulenesse of Lust, on the blessednesse of Marriage, and the wretched estate of Fornication: Prophane and impious gig∣let, whose speeches are perfumed with Vertue, and yet her actions stinke, and are polluted and infected with Vice: dissembling Syrene, who casts forth bit∣ter sweet inchanting tunes and charmes to please the sense, and yet purposely to poison the soule; pills of worme-wood candid in sugar, hony to the pa∣late, but gall to the stomack; A fatall rock whereon many inconsiderate and deboshed young Gentlemen have unfortunately suffered shipwrack, a wretch∣ed Gulph and Labyrinth, which containes all varietie of endlesse miseries

and calamities, whereunto whosoever enters with pleasure, is sure to retire with teares, curses, and repentance; A plague sent us from heaven in our age, for a just guerdon and recompense of the sinnes and folly of our youth. And into this intr•…•…cate Laborinth and bottomlesse Gulph of miserie and calamitie, is our rash and lustfull yong Gallant, cheerefully entring and steering his course, without either the Starre of hope, or compasse of felicitie and saftie, bearing out toppe and toppe Gallant, yea (as I may say) with all the sayles of his folly bearing; and with the Flagge Ensigne and Pendants of his obscaene and lacivious desires, playing and dalying in the Aire of La Hayes fatall and infectious beautie; which hath so solely surprised his judgement, captivated his thoughts, and eclipsed his descretion, as in her abscence and presence hee extolls aswell her Vertues as her beautie to the Skies: vowing that shee is so faire a Nymph, and so pure a Virgine, as she deserves rather to bee his wife, than his Strumpet, or rather not his strumpet but his wife: And so two moneths being past since hee first fre∣quented her, and sought to seduce and obtaine her to his lacivious desires; and seeing (desembling queane as shee is) that therein shee bore her selfe infinite∣ly chaste and modest, and that it was impossible for him to observe or remarke any other inclination or testimony, either in her word or carriage, his wits are so besotted and in tangled in the fetters of her beautie, that hee preferres her sweet feature and complexion, a thousand times before La Franges, deformed; and vowes that hee had rather die La Hayes slave, than ever live to bee La Franges husband: But this folly of his in the end shall cost him deare, and so leade him to another, farre more unnaturall, and as I may justly say, damnable: But wee must proceed orderly in this History, and doe therefore reserve that part till anon.

By this time the slie subtiltie, & seeming chast behaviour of La Hay, hath acted won∣ders in De Salez heart so as she now hopes confidently, and shortly to play her prise in surprising him, for he is extreamely amorous besotted, and as I may say, drunke with the love of her selfe and beautie: so on a Sunday, as shee returned from Vespres, he repaires •…•…o her fathers house to see her, whom he finds in her chamber alone, waiting and attending him: having porposely dighted her selfe in a rich new Gowne and Pet∣ticote, and trimmed and adorned her selfe in her gayest and most curious attier, there∣by with more ease and facilitie to draw him to her lure: So as her beautie being both seconded, and graced by her apparell, she so ravished his heart, and delighted his sences, as he cannot refraine from kissing her; but this hony of her lippes, will in the end prove poyson to his heart: And here againe he layes close siege to her chastitie, but still she gives him the repulse and refusall, as if she were a Diana, and no Venus: He vowes hee doth affect, and will ever honour her; And she, that if he honour her, will still affect him: In the way of Love, quoth hee, I am wholly yours; and quoth shee, in that Honour I will not bee mine owne but yours: I will quoth hee in all affection both live and die your servant; and replies she, In all chastity, I will live to die your handmaid: Hee affirmes, hee cannot bee more hers in heart, than hee is; nor I quoth shee, lesse yours in lust, than I am: It is quoth hee my Love which makes me report so much; and quoth shee it is my Feare which makes mee affirme no lesse: Why, quoth hee, should my love procure your Feare? My feare, quoth she, is wholly ingendred and derived from your lust, but not from your Love: I pray expresse your selfe, quoth hee; she replies, my blushes may, but my tongue dares not, Quoth hee, did your affection equalize mine, La Hay would ac∣cept of De Salez, and not refuse him, Nay quoth shee, did De Salez know how infinite mine exceeds his, hee would not refuse La Hay,

but accept of her: Why quoth he, de Salez desires none but La Hay, Nor quoth shee, La Hay any in the world but de Salez: Whereupon de Salez being provoked with his owne lust, and animated and encouraged by her sweet speeches, he very joy∣fully (yet falsly) flattering himselfe with the conquest of her favour and consent, •…•…huts the doore, & like amost lacivious and disolute Gentleman, takes her in his armes, & strives to convey her to the bed, resolving there to inrich himselfe with more then kisses, yea, to reap the fruit of his beastly pleasures and obsceane and brutish desires; but his hopes shall deceive him: For although La Hay be a Courtisan in heart, yet she will not be so in tongue, especially now, where to get her selfe a rich husband, it behooves her to play her prise in Chastity, as if she were as vertuous, as faire, and as chast as lovely; Where∣fore exclayming, and storming at this his lacivious attempt and enterprise, levelled at the defloration and shipwracke of her Honour, she with a violent power, and an enraged violence, unskrewes her selfe forth his armes, and with a world of hypocriticall sighes and teares, flies to his Ponyard, which he had throwne on the table, and vnsheathing it, vowes that she will be a second Lucretia, and that if she cannot kill him before he have defiled and defloured her, yet that she will assuredly murther her selfe after; be∣cause she is fully resolved, that her chastitie shal out live her, not she her chastitie; A reli∣gious and Honourable resolution of hers, if it had proceeded from a chast and sanctified heart, but alas, nothing lesse; for she speakes it out of subtiltie, not out of Vertue, out of Policie, no way out of Pietie: de Salez by this time having wholly lost his judgement in the sweet and •…•…o seat garden of her delicious complexion; vowes that he is now as deep∣ly in love with her chastity, as formerly with her beauty. When seeking to appease her Choler, and to pacifie her Indignation, as also to give truce to his owne thoughts, & con∣tent to his defires; he sweares he is so farre from intending her any dishonour, as he is resolved to doe her all the honour of the world: Yea so farre, as if she please, he is ready to accept her for his wife, protesting, that of all the maydens of the world, he is desirous to be husband to none but her selfe, and that the fault shall be hers, if he make not his words deeds. La Hay having her thoughts tickled with delight, to heare the pleasant melody of these his sugred speeches, doth thereat presently bury her sighes, and drie up her teares: when throwing a way the ponyard, and making him a most respectfull courtesie, and gratefull reverence, she with extended armes runnes to him, and hangs about his necke, vowing that she loves no man in the world but him selfe; and in consen∣ting to be her husband, she will till death yeeld, not only to be his faithfull wife in at∣tending his pleasures, but his observant handmaid, to receive and obey his commands: and so they interchangeably greet each other with thanks and kisses. But yet she know∣ing that his father Argintier was both rich and eminent, and her owne poore and of a farre inferiour ranke, she is so politicke and subtil in the managing of this her affection, as she is resolved to make sure worke, and to doe nothing by halfes: so as knowing that words are but wind, and what de Salez promiseth her now, he may either forget or deny to morrow, she intends to catch at opportunities forelocke, and so with a sweet and in∣genious insinuation, drawes him to give her a Diamond Ring in token of marriage, and she in exchange returnes him a smal gold bracelet, which she wore upon her arme next her heart. And yet againe considering, that his father would very difficultly (or never) be drawen to consent to this match, she can give no true content to her desires, nor satisfaction to her feare, before she have united and linked him to her, in a more strict∣er and firmer bond of assurance; when not onely feasting, but as it were surfetting him with varietie of kisses, she bethinks her selfe of a Policy, as worthy of her wit for attempting, as of his folly for performing: for directing him her speech (which shee accompanied with many amorous, yet dissembling smiles) shee told him she would futurely exced him in constancy, and now outbrave him in affection; when

taking pen and paper, she writes him a faire promise, and firme assurance of her selfe unto him (in the maner of a Contract) and to make it the more powerfull and authen∣ticall, subscribes her name and signe to it, and betwixt sighs and blushing, she delivers it him; no way doubting, but rather assuring her selfe, that he would requite her with the like curtesie and obligation, as indeed the event answereth her desires and wishes: For De Salez having now no power left him to see by his owne eyes, I meane, by those of his judgement, but only by these of his intemperate passion, and passionat affection, he is so far from discrying (much lesse from suspecting) her policy, as very simply and sottishly he attributes it to the fervency of her affection, the which he interprets and entertaines, I know not whether with more joy, or delectaion; and so vowing not to dye her debtor for Courtesie, he very rashly, and inconsideratly writes another to the same effect, and flyes so farre from wit or discretion, as to shew himselfe her superiour in affection, as well as in sex, he purposely cuts his finger, and so firmes his name there∣unto with his owne bloud, and then with a million of kisses delivers it her, vowing that her pleasure shall be his law in the accomplishing thereof: onely he prayes her for a time to be secret and silent herein, for that he feares he shall hardly draw his Father to consent hereunto, the which she very courteously graunts him: and so he triumph∣ing in her beauty, and she in his wealth, he in her youth, and she in his simplicity, they for that time part, not doubting but they shall shortly reape the fruits of their ma∣trimoniall desires and wishes; for till then, she sweares (though with an equivocating reservation to forsweare her selfe) she will live a most pure and unspotted Virgine, and that as the least of her affection and courtesie towards him, shall be smiles, so the most shall be kisses.

But this (affection or rather folly) of De Salez, in contracting himselfe to La Hay, is not so secretly borne, but as her former unchastitie was a generall argument of talke to the whole citie of Tholouse: so now this of her subtilty and good fortune, is that of its uniuersall pratling and admiration, occasioned and redoubled by the opposite consi∣derations of Argentiers knowne wealth, and de Soulanges supposed poverty? and a∣gaine of de Salez supposed chastity, and of de la Hayes notoriously knowne whore domes. And as Fame is still so tatling a goddesse, that events and accidents of this nature can hardly be concealed, and difficultie suppressed and smaothered: so by this time contrary to the expectations and hopes of our two young Lovers, the old Councellor Argentier hath notice of this unlooked-for newes, and of this unwished for familiaritie betwext his sonne, and that strumpet La Hay, when considering the great opposition betewixt de Clugny's Nobilitie and wealth and de Soulanges meane extraction and povertie; as also by a true and uncontroleable Antithises, comparing the foule and enormious vices of La Hay with the sweet and resplendant vertues of La Frange; he (as much disdayning that match, as desiring this for his sonne, very hastily sends for him into the Arbor, where purposely attending him, he with light∣ning in his lookes, and thunder in his speeches, layes before him the simplicity, and the sottishne sse of his resolution, in preferring La Hay before La Frange, a strumpet before a virgin, and a Pedlers brat, before a rich gentlemans onely daughter and heyre, shewes him the infamy of the first, and the glory of the last match; there his unavoydable misery, here his assured happinesse; in the first his utter ruine and ship∣wracke, and in the last, his infallible prosperity and felicity: and so intermixing threats with teares, with a passionate paternall affection, he endeavoreth to perswade him to leave La Hay, and to marry La Frange; or if not, hee vowes and sweres wholly to disinherit him, and from thence-forth never repute or esteeme him for his sonne.

But de Salez his foolish vanity, and vaine affection in himselfe towards his new contracted Love La Hay, is so great, and consequently his filiall obedience to his

father so small, as not withstanding this his wholesome advise and counsell, he is still resolute and constant to preferre La Hay before La Frange, the beauty of the one, before the deformity of the other, his owne content before his fathers, and Soulanges estate and byrth before the great wealth and noble extraction of De Clugny: but this rashnes, indiscretion, and ingratitude of his will cost him deare.

Now if Argentier have perfect intelligence and curious notice of his sonnes fami∣liarity with that faire yet lewd Courtezan La Hay, no lesse hath la Frange, who poore soule is so deeply enamored of de Salez, as the very first newes and conceyt, that ano∣ther should enjoy him, and not her selfe, for very grife and sorrow, shee seemes to drowne her selfe in the deluge of her teares. His father is chollerick thereat, she mournfull, he incensed, she afflicted, he inraged, & she perplexed and tormented, his passions and anger proceeds from suspition, that he shall so soone find a daughter in law in la Hay; her sighes and teares from feare, that she shall so soone loose her Love though not her Lover, his sonne de Salez. Againe, the argument of his choller, is la Hayes unchastitie and povertie, and the cause of her disconsolation, de Salez his wealth and vertues: likewise she sees that Argentier hath no reason to hope, that his sonne will marry her selfe, such is her deformitie, and againe, that he hath all the rea∣sons of the world, as well to doubt, as feare, that hee will wed la Hay, such is her beauty: But sith de Salez will beare no more respect to his father, nor affection to la Frange, leave we therefore his father Argentiers passions, and la Franges perplexities, to be appeased and qualified by Time, or rather by God, the Authour and giver of Time, who out of his all-seeing providence and sacred pleasure, onely knowes in Heaven, how best to dispose and manage the actions of earth; and so come wee to other un∣expected occurrents and events, which like so many enterjecting, and intervening poynts, are contained within the circumference of this History.

I have so long insisted on the affections of de Salez and la Hay, as but to the judici∣ous and temperate Reader it would seeme to appeare, that the Baron of Vaumartin, hath wholly forgotten to remember his to his Lady La Frange: But to put that doubt out of question, and this question out of doubt, we shall see him returne too too soone, to act a part not so religious and honourable, as bloody, upon the Thea∣tre of this History: For by this time both his creditors and his debts are growne so clamorous, and his reputation and lands so neere forfeited, for want of disingaging, as to secure the one, and provide for the other, hee knowes no other invention not meanes but to gaine La Frange to his wife: when as it were, provoked and precipi∣tated on by the necessity of this exigent, his thoughts leave heaven to fly to hell, and consequently fly from God to Sathan, to consult how either by the bye, or the maine hee may obtaine her; yea, though with the perill and hazard of his owne life, to cut off theirs, who seeke therein to prevent his desires and designes. In which hel∣lish ratiocynation, he as devoyd of Reason, as that is exempt either of Grace or Piety, thus reasoneth with himselfe: De Clugny hates me, for seeking to marry his daugh∣ter, and that time may remedy for me; but which is worst of all, she loves De Salez, and seekes and desires to marry him, and this I must remedy in time, if I ever expect to obtaine or enjoy her; and so resolves to make him away: but is as yet irresolute how to perpetrate, and in what manner to finish so execrable a businesse. But this is not onely the voice of his malice, but the sentence of his revenge, that De Salez must die: wretched Vaumartin, unworthy to beare the name of a man, much lesse of a Baron, but least of all of a Christian, in that because De Salez hates La Frange, and she loves him, that therefore thou wilt not love but hate him; or because she loves him, and not thy selfe, that therefore thou wilt kill him, that she may love thee. See, see, rash and inconsiderate Nobleman, how treache∣rously

the Devill hath hood wink'd, yea inveigled thy judgement, and besotted thy senses, to kill one that loves thee, to kill I say, a Gentleman who hath not offended thee, but is every way thy friend, no way thine enemy: or if thou thinke it wisdome, that covetousnesse must redeeme thy former prodigality, alas, alas, canst thou yet be so cruell to thinke it either lawfull or religious, that future murther should either oc∣casion or authorize it: But the Devill hath so farre prevailed with his impious resolu∣tions, that againe he resolves, De Salez must die: and yet thou thinkest poyson as un∣worthy of him, as he is worthy of thy sword; so had thy last resolution been answera∣ble to thy first, assure thy selfe thou hadst made thy selfe more happy, and not so mi∣serable: for as poysoning was the invention of the devill, and is practised by none but his agents; so this dishonourable point of honour to fight Duels, was never insti∣tuted by God, nor professed by those who really professe his Gospell: yea, it is not only truely to dishonour God, in seeking falsly to preserve our own Honour and reputation, but we assuredly stab at the Majesty of the Creator, in seeking to deface man his crea∣ture; and to use but a word, as it is repugnant both to Nature and Grace, so though it begin in the heat of passion and pleasure, it many times terminates in Repentance, but still in true Infamy and misery.

But Vaumartins faith being so strong with Sathan, and so weake with his Saviour, he will not take a law from Religion to give to his Envy, but rather takes one from his Envy to give to his Religion; and so very prophanely and rashly by his Lackey La Rose, sends De Salez this Challenge:

VAVMARTIN to DE SALEZ.

IF thou seeke the cause of my malice, thou mayest find it in the Lady La Franges affe∣ction to thee, and hatred to my selfe: wherefore hold it not strange, that I now command my pen to invite thee and thy sword to meet me to morrow on horse-backe without Seconds, 'twixt five and six in the morning, behinde the Iacobins garden. Love and Valour thou knowest, are never capable of much expostulation; as desirous rather to be tryed in action, than seene in words. Could that sweet Lady, (who will not be mine, because thou ar•…•… hers) have affected me more, or thee les•…•…e, wee might have proved as true friends, as now our re∣putations conjure us either to live or dye, Honourable Enemies.

VAVMARTIN.

De Salez having received and read this Challenge, doth not a little wonder at the Baron of Vaumartins strange passion and resolution, in sending it him, especially, sith he knowes that the motives and grounds of his malice were so unjust and frivolous: so, how to answer him, as yet he knowes not; for as his Generosity one way invites him to fight, so his discretion another way perswades him from it: But considering the poore esteeme he makes either of the Lady La Frange, or her affection, thinking it folly to fight without cause, and to hazard his life without reason, he calls for pen and paper, and as a wise, yet valiant Gentleman, by his owne Lackey, returnes the Baron of Vaumartin this answer:

DE SALEZ to VAVMARTIN.

I Have seene many Challenges, but none of the Nature of thine now sent me: for t•…•… write thee the truth, the grounds and foundations thereof are unjust, false, or both: for bring but the eies of thy Iudgement, and not of thy passion, to be Iudge and Vmpier be∣twixt us, and thou shalt both see and find, that I not onely disclaime the Lady La Franges

affection, but her selfe; sith I appertaine to another, and she shall never to me. I heere shew thee my love through this true Prospective of my heart; which if it will not satisfie thy malice, then know that my weake Valour is neither capable nor desirous of further expostu∣lation than that my Sword is as willing to bring thee deeds, as thy Pen was to send mee words: for either single, or with Second, either on foot or horsebacke, I will still be ready to give reason to those, who will not relish, nor receive any but their owne: and in this resolu∣tion of mine, I know I shall either live with Reputation, or dye with Honour.

DE SALEZ.

Vaumartin having received and perused this letter of refusall from De Salez, he out of the heat of his passion, and height of his folly, reputes it rather to cowardise, than discretion in him; and so his courage and revenge the more insulting and inflam'd thereat, hee bending his browes (as if Contempt and Envy sate wreath'd in the furrowes thereof) very speedily againe returnes him his Lackey, with this rash answer:

VAVMARTIN to DE SALEZ.

THy Answer gives me no satisfaction, sith I know that to deny thy affection to the La∣dy la Frange, is to deny the light of the Sunne in his brightest and hottest Meridian; neither are the grounds or foundations of my Challenge either unjust or false, as thou in thy false Prospective endeavourest to make me see or beleeve: for being ignorant who is thy Mistris, I know thou resolvest to make no Lady of the world thy wife but La Frange, so as I cannot rightly define whether thy proceeding with mee be more subtill or malicious, or to what end thou shouldest attempt the one, or practise the other towards me, unlesse out of a premeditated resolution and purpose, thereby to make thy glory the more apparent and con∣spicuous in my shame: Wherefore sith thy friendship is false to me, I must, nay I will see if thy valour will prove true to thy selfe, and whether the effects of thy Sword bee as great in substance, as the vanity of thy Pen depaints them, in shew, and ostentation: So my Chal∣lenge is still my Resolution, and the performance thereof must be thine, except thou resolve to live with as much Infamy, as the conclusion of thy Letter promiseth thou art ready to die with reputation and Honour.

VAVMARTIN.

De Salez having received and runne over this Letter, and seeing that Vaumartin was still wilfull and resolute to fight, thinks that he should degenerate from him∣selfe, his Blood, and Profession, if hee did not now accept and answer this his Chal∣lenge: wherefore calling for Vaumartins Lackey, hee rounds him thus in his eare, Tell thy Master, that if I live, I will not faile to breake fast with him timely in the mor∣ning, according to his expectation. Thus wee see these two inconsiderate Gentlemen a∣greed, their match concluded, and nothing but the night to hinder them from figh∣ting, as if their glory consisted in their shame, and as if Nature had never taught them how to preserve their lives, nor Grace, their soules.

So the Morne peeping forth through the windowes of Heaven, as soone as the Sunne with his glistering beames began to salute the woods and mountaines, our two resolute Champions bravely mounted with each his Chirurgion, are in the field at the assignd Rendevo•…•…s, and first comes Vaumartin, and then immediately De Salez, when their Chirurgions performing the dutie and office of Seconds, being some hundred paces distant, they give spurres to their Steeds, and so drawing their swords, swiftly part, like two flashes of lightning each towards other. At their first meeting, de Sa∣lez

gives Vaumartin the first hurt in the right shoulder, and he de Salez another in re∣quitall, in the right side of the necke: when being both good Cavaliers, (and well neere as equall in yeeres as courages) they turne short, and then fall to it againe with bravery and resolution, when againe Vaumartin runs de Salez through his left arme of a deepe and wide wound, and he onely sleightly cuts his shirt upon his ribbes, giving him onely a raze or scarre, but as yet both free from any danger of death, so they mu∣tually consent to breath: but their ambitions and courages of both sides, are so exas∣perated and inflamed, as although they are all bloody, yet this will not suffice: so they fall to it againe, and in this close de Salez his horse stumbles with him; whereat Vau∣martin, (though a dwarfe in stature, yet not in Valour and Pollicy) taking the ad∣vantage of this accident, gives him first a licke ore his pate, and then runnes him at the short ribbes: but de Salez rayning up his horse, prooved favourable to him; for by that meanes Vaumartins sword met and glanced on a rib, without doing him any farther hurt. De Salez seeing the redoubling of his wounds, beginnes to redouble his courage, and disdaining thus to be outbraved and beaten by a Pigmey, he lyes home at Vaumartin, and at their very next close, runnes him thorow the body, of a deepe and mortall wound, a little above his navell: whereat his sword presently falls out of his hand to the ground, and hee immediately likewise from his horse starke dead, without having the grace or happinesse, either to call on, or to name God. O what pit∣ty, what misery is it, that a Christian should die like a beast, having neither power to pray, nor felicity to repent. Thus we see the Challenger kill'd, and hee who would have murthered a stranger, murthered himselfe by a stranger: a Lesson to teach others to beware, by the Tragicall and mournfull end of this rash Nobleman. De Salez see∣ing Vaumartin dead, praiseth God for his victory; and so leaving his breathlesse corps to his sorrowfull Chirurgion, he gallops away to the next Village, where he causeth his wounds to be dressed, and from thence provides for his safety.

All Tholouse rings and resounds of this disasterous and Tragicall accident: De Clugny is glad, that De Salez hath escaped death, yet sorrowfull that Vaumartin is kill'd, in respect hee feares hee undertooke this quarrell for his daughter La Franges sake: who hearing that De Salez wounds are no way mortall, infinitely reioyceth, and triumpheth thereat, flattering her selfe (though with this false hope) that he affected her farre more dearer than he made shew of, or else that he would never have fought with Vaumartin for her sake, nor have kill'd him but for his owne. And thus, though humanitie made her grieve for Vaumartins death, yet that griefe of hers was as suddenly converted into joy, when she saw he received it by the hand of De Salez, whom shee respected and af•…•…cted more dearer than all the Gentlemen of the world. Now, as for his father Argentier, the life of his sonne likewise wiped off the remembrance of Vaumartins death, and yet it grieved him inwardly, that hee to whom he gave life, should give death to another: and farre the more, in that this un∣fortunate accident must now enforce him to beg pardon from that grave Court of Par∣liament, for this murther perpetrated by his son, sith he had formerly so often pleaded for justice against others, for the like crime and offence; But all these joyes of Argent•…•…r, De Clugny, and his daughter L•…•… Frange, are nothing to those of La Hay for the life and victory of her deare De Salez: leaping as it were for meere content and pleasure, that shee should shortly see, and enioy him for her husband, and that God hath both reser∣ved and preserved him to crowne her with the sweetnesse of this desired felicitie.

Thus while La Frange and La Hay triumph and congratulate the returne of De Salez, so Argentier publikely, and D•…•… Clugny privately, imploy there chiefest power, friends, and authoritie, to procure his pardon first from the King, then from the Parli∣ament, whereof they are two famous members. Which •…•…t l•…•…st, (by the meanes and

favour of the Duke of Ventadour) they obtaine: So this murther of his, is remitted in Earth, but I f•…•…re me, will not be forgotten in Heaven: for though men be inconstant in their decrees, yet God will be firme and upright, aswell in the distribution, as execution of his judgements. Men as they are men may erre, but as they are Christians they should not; but God (either to please or displease them) neither can nor will.

De Salez no sooner hath escaped this danger, but forgetting his former follies, and his fathers advise and house, he againe, in a manner voluntarily imprisoneth himselfe with his mistris La Hay in hers; whereat as his father stormes, so De Clugny and La, Frange bit the lip: hoping that this good office in procuring him his pardon, would more strictly have united him to her selfe, and consequently sequestred him from La Hay; but nothing lesse, for he sings his old tune, and will rather run the hazard of his fathers displea•…•…ure, than leave La Hay to take La Frange: whereat his father Argentier reneweth his choller, and revives his indignation against him, as desiring nothing so much in this life, as to see him married to La Frange, but he shall never live to see it; for there are to many disasterous accidents preparing to crosse and pre∣vent it:

Whiles these things happen in Tholouse, there betides an unexpected and unwi∣shed businesse, which must call away Argentier to Paris: For the Lords of the Privie counsell of France, having received some informations and grievances against the body of the Court of Parliament of Tholouse; command them speedily to send up some Deputies to answer such matters as shall be objected against them: where∣upon, the gravitie and wisdome of that Court, in obedience to their superiours, elect two Presidents and four Counsellours to undertake that journey and businesse among whome De Clugny is chosen for one of the Presidents, and Argentier for one of the Counsellours: as inded their integritie and profound Wisedome and Experience had made them eminent in that Court. As for de Clugny at his importunate request (made to the Court) he was dispenced with, from that journey; by alleadging that his age and sickenesse made him altogether unfit to undertake it: but all the evasions and excuses, which Argentier could make, could not exempt him, but he must needs see Paris. But first, before his departure he had a long and serious conference with de Clugny, how to effect the so long desired match of his sonne and daughter, the fini∣shing whereof was referred till his returne from Paris, which sweet newes infinitely rejoyced and delighted the young Ladie La Frange, and the immediate night before he was to take Coach, hee calls his sonne de Salez to him, and with a perswasive and powerfull speech, requested him in his absence to love La Frange, which he in plaine termes protested and vowed to his father, he could not, then hee conjures him, never to marry La Hay, which likewise he would not grant; and to conclude, sith his father could not prevaile in the two former, he commanded him upon his blessing, that he would never marry any wife whatsoever without his consent, the which indeed de Salez could not denie, but faithfully promised his father; yea, and bound it with an oath, yet still hoping, that it was as possible for him to draw his father to consent he should marry La Hay, as it was as impossible for his father ever to perswade him to marry La Frange: and so that night the father takes leave of the sonne, and he the next morning of his father, wishing him a prosperous journey, and a speedy returne: who suspecting, and fearing, that in his absence, contrary to his requests and prayers, his Sonne would only abandone La Erange, to frequent La Hay; he being arived to the Cittie of Tours, thought himselfe bound in Nature, aswell for his owne content, as his sonnes tranquilitie and prosperitie; againe, to signifie him his mind in some few lines of advise and counsell, and to send it him by the ordinary Carrier of Tholouse which was then in that Cittie, bound thither from Paris: his letter spake thus.

〈◊〉〈◊〉 to DE SALEZ.

IT is out of a fatherly, and (as I may say) a religious care of thy good, that I now send thee these few ensuing lines, for thy Youth cannot see that which my Age knowes, how many miseries are subject, to wait and attend on Vice, and how many blessings on Ver∣tue; if La Frange be not faire, yet she is comely, not contemptible: but sith her defects of Nature are so richly recompensed with the Ornaments of Fortune, and the excellencies of Grace; why should thy affection preferre La Hay before her, who hath nothing but a pain∣ted face to overvaile the deformity of her other vices? If thou wil•…•… leave a Saint to marry a strumpet, then take La Hay, and forsake La Frange; but if thou wilt forsake a strum∣pet to take a Saint, then marry La Frange and leave La Hay, for looke what difference there is betweene their births, thou shalt finde ten times more betweene the chastity of the one, and the levity of the other: If thou espouse the first, thou shalt find Content and Ho∣nour; if the second shame and repentance: •…•…or I know not whether La Frange will bring thee more happinesse, or La Hay misery. This letter shall serve as a witnesse betwixt God, myselfe, and thee; that if thou performe me not thy promise and oath, I will deny thee my blessing, and deprieve thee of my lands.

ARGENTIER.

De Salez having received this his fathers letter in Tholouse, exceedingly grieves to see him disgrace his mistresse, by the scandalous name of a strumpet, which hee knowes she is not, and therefore will never beleeve it; yea, he vowes, that if it were any other in the world, who had offered him that intollerable affront, hee would revenge it, though with the price and perill of his life, La Hay perceives this discontent and alteration of mirth in him, but from what point of the Compasse this wind proceeds, she neither knowes, nor as yet can conceive: but withall, determi∣neth to make the discovery thereof her greatest Ambition, and not her least Care; which she now well knowes it behooves her to doe, sith she finds De Salez lesse free, and more reserved and pensive in her speeches than accustomed: But when in vaine she had hereunto used many smiles and fe•…•…ches, lo•…•… here falls out an unlook't for ac∣cident, which bewrayes her the very pith and quintescence of the Mistery: For on a time, when hee lay slumbering on the table, shee as accustomed, diving into his pockets for sweet meats, or rather for gold (of both which, he many times went well furnished) she finds his fathers (aforesaid) letter, which she knew by the direction; and so flying into another chamber, and bolting the doore after her, she there reads it both with griefe and choller; when stunge to the quicke, and bitten to the heart and gall, to see her reputation and Honour thus traduced and scandalized by the fa∣ther of her pretended husband; she with teares and interjected sighes and grones, flies backe to De Salez, and holding the letter in her hand, like a dissembling and impious strumpet as she was, there shewes it him, takes Heaven and Earth to beare witnesse of her innocency, and of the irreparable and extreame wrong his father hath offered her, in seeking to ecclips the Glory of her chastity, which she sweares she will beare pure and unspotted, not onely to his bed, but to her owne grave. But Alas, alas, these are the effects and passions of dissimulation, not of truth; of her prophanenesse, not of her piety, which time will make apparent to De Salez; though now her beau∣ty and teares be so predominate with his judgement and folly, as he cannot, because he will not see it: So being still as constant in his •…•…ottishnesse, as she in her hypocri∣sie; he gives her many sweet kisses, and with a Catalogue of sugred words, seekes to appease and comfort her, whom he hath farre more reason to excerate and curse. But

for her part, her heart is not so afflicted, for remembring her selfe, still her •…•…its are her owne, and so remembring the conclusion of the letter, and fearing that De Sal•…•…z his promise and oath to his father, might infringe and contradict his to her, she tels him, that her love is so fervent and infinite towards him, as shee can give no inter∣mission, nor truce to her teares, before he reveale her his oath and promise, which his fathers letter informed her he had formerly made him.

De Salez seeing himselfe put to so strict an exigent and push, doth both blush for shame, and againe looke pale for anger, when for a small time, irresolute how to beare himselfe in a matter of this different Nature, wherein hee must either violate his o∣bedience to his father, or infringe his fidelity and honour to his mistris; hee at last (consenting with folly, not with discretion, and with Vanity, nor with Iudgement) doth so adore her beauty, and commiserate her teares, as he sottishly reveales her his oath, given his father (Verbatim as we have formerly understood it) adding withall, that she hath far more reason to rejoyce, than grieve hereat; That a little time shall cancell his said late promise and oath to his father, and confirme his former to her: For sweet La Hay (quoth he) come what come will, two moneths shall never passe, ere I marry thee, when sealing his speaches with many kisses, our hypocriticall af∣flicted Gentlewoman is presently againe come to her selfe, and in all outward appea∣rance, her discontents are removed, her choller pacified, her teares exhaled, and her sighes evaporated and blowne away.

But all this is false, like her selfe, and treacherous like her beauty; For this letter of Argentier to his sonne, and his promise and oath to his father, hath acted such wonders in her heart, and imprinted such extravagancies in her thoughts, as she can∣not easily remove or supplant it, nor difficultly forget or deface it, whatsoever she speake or make shew of to the contrary, for thus she reasoneth with her selfe: That 〈◊〉〈◊〉 whoredomes are already revealed to Argentier, and for any thing she knowes, •…•…y likewise be discovered to his son, how closely soever she either act or conceale them. That La Franges descent, wealth, and vertues, will in the end overprise and weigh downe her meane extraction, poverty and beauty; and in the end, that the wisdome of the father, will infallibly triumph ore the folly of the sonne, except her pollicy interpose, and her vigilency prevent it; which to prevent and effect, she sees no other obstacle to her content, nor barre to her pre•…•…erment, but only La Frange: for, quoth she, if La Frange shine in the firmament of De Salez affection, La Hay must set; or if La Hay will shine, La Frange must set: againe, if she fall not, I cannot stand, and if she stand, I must needs fall; and as the skie is not capable of two suns, so both of us cannot shine in the Horison of his heart and thoughts at once: except thus, that La Hay may live to see La Frange his wife, and her selfe his strumpet, when burning with false zeale to De Salez, and true inveterate malice to La Frange, she forgetting God, swaps a bargaine with the devill, that La Frange must first goe to her grave, ere La Hay come to his bed, and soe resolves to sacrifice her as a Victime to her malice and jealousie, and to send her out of this world in an untimely and bloo∣dy Coffin, Hellish Aphoris•…•…es, Infernall Pos•…•…ions, odious to Earth, and execrable to Heaven.

For wretched and impious strumpet, wilt thou needs not onely gallop, but fly to hell, and so redouble thy crimes purposely to redouble thy torments; as first of whore∣dome, then of murther: Wretched, yea thrice wretched woman, how darest thou see earth, or thinke of heaven; when thy acted crimes are so odious, and thy pre∣tended ones so monstrous, as thou deservest to be shut foorth of the one, and spewed out of the other: For alas, consider what this poore Gentlewoman hath done to thee, that thou shouldest doe this to her; She beares the image of God, and wilt thou

therefore beare that of the devill to destroy her: Ah me, where is thy religion, thy conscience, thy soule; that thou wilt thus hellishly imbathe thy hands in her blood, and imbrue thy heart in her murther: If it be not that her vertues cry fie on thy Vi∣ces, thou hast no reason in Nature, and lesse in Grace, to attempt a deed so Tragicall, an act so inhumane and execrable: But rest assured, that if thou proceed and finish this infernall and bloody stratagem of thine, although thou chance goe unpunished of men; yet the Lord (in his due time) will find thee out, and both severely scourge and sharpely revenge and chastice thee.

The effects of malice, and revenge in men, are finite; in women infinite, theirs may have bounds and ends, but these none, or at least, seldome and difficultly: for having once conceived these two monsters in their fantasies and braines, they long till they are delivered and disburthened of them; and so to bring their abortive issue to perfection, they (for the most part) are sharpe and severe in their designes, and sudden and malicious in their executions, hating all delayes, so it be not to do evil: So this our bloody and vi•…•…ious Strumpet La Hay, is resolute to advance, and not to re∣tyre in this dyabolicall businesse of hers. Of all kind of violent deaths, she thinks none either so sure and secret as poyson; whether she consider the manner, or the matter: If the Devill himselfe had not invented this unparaleld cruelty, his agents and members had never knowne how to have administred and practised it. But ha∣ving resolved on the drug and ingredient, she now bethinks herselfe of some hellish Empericke or Factor of Hell, to apply and give it her, and her inveterate and impla∣cable hatred making her curious in the research and inquiry thereof: she is at last ad∣vertised, that there is an old Italian Empericke in Mompellier: tearmed S. Brnard•…•… Michaele, who is his Arts master in that infernall profession, when wholly concealing this mystery and businesse from De Salez, she by a second meanes, (with promise of store of gold) sends away for Michaele from Mompellier: who in hope thereof, packs up his drugs and trinkets, and within three dayes arrives at Tholouse; where she thinkes no where so fit and secret as the Church to consult and resolve on this bloody busines, the houre is eight the next morne, and the place the Cordeliers, (or Gray Fri∣•…•…s) Church, appointed and agreed on betwixt them, where they both meet. but she (the better to disguise her selfe, and to bleare the eyes of the world) wraps her selfe a∣bout in a great furred cloake, and muffles her selfe up with a large coyfe of velvet, and a rich taffata scarfe over it, as if she were some grave and reverend old Matron: so being brought to each others presence, they being both on their knees, he to his Booke, and she to her Beads, she proposeth him the poysoning of La Frange, daugh∣ter to the President de Clugny, for the which she promiseth to give him three hundred crownes of the Sunne to performe it; whereof he shall now have one in hand, and the other two when he hath dispatched her. Michaele like a limbe of the Devill, being deepely in love, and allured with this gold, undertakes it; when swearing secrecy, and withall to performe it within ten daies, she gives him the hundred crownes tyed up in her handkercher, and so for that time they part.

Good God, what prophane Christians, what monsters of Nature, and Devils in∣carnate by profession are these, thus to pollute and defile the Church ordain'd for prayer, with the price and sale of innocent blood, a most prodigious and hellish im∣piety, since there is no sinne so odious or execrable to God, as that which is mas∣ked with piety, and overvayled with the cloke of sanctity? And what a damna∣ble young strumpet, and old villaine are they, in so holy a place to treate and con∣clude so hellish a businesse? But beware, for the sword and arrow of Gods just re∣venge, and revenging Justice, threatens yee with no lesse, then utter confusion and destruction.

La Hay infinitely glad of this agreement, returns from the Church, and Micha∣ele as glad of her gold, (being informed of La Franges deformity, and to lose no time) trips away towards President de Clugny his house, taking that for a fit occa∣sion to assay to make his daughter become his Patient, and he her Empericke: who fleeringly insinuating, and skrewing himselfe into his knowledge and acquaintance, (in which profession the Empericks and Mountebanks of Italy, come no way short, but rather exceed all other Nations of the world) he proffers him his best service and skill, to redresse and reforme the body of the young Lady his daughter, adding with∣all (thereby to adde the more beleefe and credit to his speeches) that hee is so farre from dispairing or doubting, as hee is very confident thereof: and in the phraises and mysteries of his profession, gives him in outward appearance many inward and plausible reasons to induce him to beleeve it. The good old President who prefer∣ring the cure of his daughter before any other earthly respect; having heard of Mi∣cha•…•…les fame: begins to relish his reasons, and yet not ignorant that the Mounte∣bankes and Charletans of Italy, are Cousin Germans to the Alcumists of France, who promise to make gold of drosse, and yet only bring forth drosse for gold, hee holds it fit to take a consultation of the learnedst Physicians, and expert Chirurgions of the City, whereunto Michaele willingly consents, so they sit, being six in number, Michaele delivers them his reasons to redresse the deformity of this young Ladies body (the President her father being present) whose reasons are heard, and con∣troverted of all sides betwixt them, the conclusion is, foure are of opinion that this cure is repugnant to the grounds of Physicke, and the principles of Chirurgery, and therefore impossible to be effected: the other two are of a contrary judgement, and held it feasable, and that many times God blesseth the Art and labours of a man, not onely beyond expectation, but also beyond hope and reason: so De Clugny see∣ing that these two with Michaele were three against foure, hee in respect of the ten∣der care and affection he bore his daughter, resolves to imploy him, and gives him an hundred double Pistollets in hand to attempt it; with promise of as much more when he hath performed it; whereof this miscreant and hellish Empericke Michaele being exceedingly glad, he betakes himselfe to this businesse, visits the young Lady, who promiseth him to reduble her fathers summe, if he make her body straight: when to reduce his impious contemplation, into inf•…•…rnall action, he outwardly ap∣plieth playsters and seare-clothes to her body, and inwardly administreth her pills and potions; and (O griefe to write it) therein infuseth deadly poyson; which hee knowes at the end of ten dayes will assuredly make a divorce betweene her body and soule; and so send that to the death of this world, and this to the life of that to come: So this sweete and innocent Lady (wishing good to her selfe, and hurt to none in the wor•…•…d) first finds a giddinesse and swimming in her head; and within some six dayes after (in which time the poyson had dispersed it selfe throughout all the veines and pores of her body) many sharpe gripes, and bitter throwes and convulsions, whereat her father grieves, and she weepes; onely that gracelesse villaine her Em∣pericke, bids them be of good comfort, and that the more paine and griefe she suffe∣red, the better and speedier hope there was of her cure; but yet inwardly in his devillish heart, knowes that the poyson effectually operated and wrought with her as hee desired and expected, and that by these infallible signes and simptomes, his patient drew neere towards the period of her end. Whereupon hee repaires secretly to La Hay, and bids her provide the rest of his mony; for that La Frange could not possibly live two dayes to an end, whereat she triumphing and rejoy∣cing with much alacrity, againg promiseth it him: and indeed the hellish Art of this execrable Empericke doth not now deceive him, though in the end

the malice of the devill his Doctor will: For just as the tenth day was expired, this harmelesse sweet yong Lady dyes, to the incomparable and unspeakable grief of the good old President her father; for that she was the staffe of his age, and the chiefe and onely comfort of his life, who disconsolatly and mournfully seemed to drown himselfe in his teares hereat, cursing the houre that he first saw this accursed Empe∣ricke Michaele, who had robbed him of his only joy and delight, of his deare and sweet daughter La Frange. But this murdrous Michaele having learnt of the devill to feare no colours, meanes not to step a foot from Tholouse, and so sends privately for L•…•… Hay, of whom he craves the performance of her promise, for that (quoth he) he had per∣formed his. Why (quoth La Hay) is that crookbackt dwarfe La Frange dead? She is gone (quoth Michaele) to her eternall rest: when La Hay not able to retaine her selfe for excesse of joy, runs to him, gives him the other hundred crownes, together with many kisses, which take (quoth she) as a pledge of my continuall good will to∣wards thee, when again swearing secresie, they both take leave each of other and part.

The newes of La Franges death, ratl•…•…th and resoundeth over all Tholouse, her kinse∣folkes grive at it, her frinds lament it, and all who eyther know her, or her fame, be∣wayle it, onely De Salez, and execrable La Hay excepted, who knowing her to have beene the onely stop and hinderance of their mariage, they are so ravished with joy heereat, as they seeme to contest and envy each other, who shall first bring the newes hereof each to other: yea, the excesse of De Salez his joy is as boundlesse, as that of La Hayes delight, so that he seemes to flye to her to her fathers house, where she with out-spread armes receives and entertaines him; and there they mutually congratu∣late each other for this her death, he affirming and she beleeving, that La Frange being gone to heaven, it shall not bee long ere the Church make them man and wife on earth. In the meane time, he being wholly ignorant of her poysoning, and yet the olde President her father, and the rest of her friends suspecting it, they cause her body to be opened: and although they find no direct poyson, yet remarking a little kind of yellow tincture on her heart and liver, as also some show thereof through her frozen veines: They cause Michaele to be apprehended and imprisoned, and so procure a De∣cree from the Parliament to have him rack'd: At the newes whereof, La Hay is ex∣treamely tormented and perplexed, as well foreseeing and knowing, that her life lay at the mercy of his tongue: wherefore to fortifie his secrecie, and thereby to secure her owne feare and danger, she by a confident friend of his, sends him a hundred French crownes more, and promiseth him to give him a rich Diamond worth as much againe; who (as before) being extreamely covetous, and the Devill (resembling himselfe) still ha•…•…ping to him on that string which most delights him, his heart is so devillishly obdurated, and his fortitude so armed and prepared, as his pati∣ence and constancy not onely endures, but outbraves the crueltie of his torments; and so he is acquited of this his pretended crime: but he hath not as yet made his peace with God.

And now is De Salez resolved to make a Journey to Paris, to draw his fa∣thers consent that he may marry La Hay, but the wisedome of the father shall an∣ticipate the folly of the Sonne, for he having heard in Paris of La Franges death, and still fearing, that because of his frequent familiarity with that strumpet La Hay, he will in the end marry her. He in Paris buyes a Captaines place for him in the Regiment of the Kings Guard, and likewise dealt with a very rich Counsellour of that Court of Parliament, named Monsieur de Brianson, that his sonne may marry his eldest daughter: Madamoyselle de Plessis, a very sweet and faire yong Gentlewoman; and the old folkes

are already agreed on all conditions, onely it rests, that the young, sees and loves; To which end Argentier writes away with all speed to Tholouse for his sonne De Sal•…•…z to come up to him, who before he had received his fathers letter, (as wee have for∣merly understood) was ready to undertake that Journey: La Hay infinitly fearefull and jealous to lose her pray, with Crocodile teares in her eyes, and Hyena aspects in her lookes, informes De Salez, that she feareth that his father hath provided a wife for him in Paris, but he vowes and sweares to her, that neither his father, nor the whole world, shall make him marry any other than her selfe, and so after many embraces and kisses, he takes horse and leaves Tholouse.

Being arrived at Paris, his father very joyfully bids him welcome, and referres to conferre with him till the next morning; but such is De Salez rashnesse and folly, as hee hath no sooner supped in company of his father, but hee prayes to speake with him. When the servants voyding the chamber, he earnestly and hum∣bly beseeching him, sith that La Frange is dead, hee will now be pleased that hee may marry La Hay, whom, quoth he, I onely affect and love before all the maides of the world: His father exceedingly incensed hereat, vowes that he had rather see him fairely buried in his grave, and that of all the females of the world, he shall not marry La Hay: and so for that night they betake themselves to their beds, the father grieves with his sonnes folly, the sonne with his fathers aversenesse: The next morne Argentier calls for his sonne. When the doores shut, hee bids him shut his eyes to his foolish familiarity with La Hay: and now to open them to the preferment, he hath purchased him, and so relates him how hee hath procured him the honour of a Captaines place, in the Regiments of the Kings Guard, as also a very faire young Gentlewoman for his wife, tearmed Madamoyselle de Plessis, the eldest daughter of Monsieur de Brianson, one of the richest Counsellours of Paris: But De Salez having his eyes and thoughts wholly fixed on La Hay, with a discontented looke, returnes his father this perverse and disobedient re∣plie.

That he will not accept of the Captaines place, nor once see De Plessis, but that hee is constantly resolved, either to wed La Hay, or his grave, whereat his father is so extreamely incensed, as with much passion and choller, he commands him hence∣forth, not to dare so much as to name him La Hay, swearing by his Saviour, that if hee for his obstinacy and disobedience, hee will disinherite him, as indeed hee might, having himselfe purchased three parts of his lands and revenewes, through his care and industry in his profession, and so much discontent and cholle•…•…, leaves in his Coleagues of Tholouse, who are already wayting and attending his comming.

De Salez is all on fire at this his fathers bitter resolution against him, and stormes and fumes, not only beyond the bonds of reason, religion, and humanity; but also beyond himselfe. For sith La Hay is his sole delight and joy, and that his father hath vowed he shall never marry her, his affection to her, makes him resolve to dispatch his father, yea, his head conceives such murtherous thoughts, and his heart atracts, and assumes such degenerate and devillish blood against him, that like an execrable wretch, and a hellish sonne, disdayning to take Counsell from God, and therefore ta∣king it from the devill his bloody Tutor and Abettor, he vowes he will forthwith rid his hands of his father, and that he will therfore send him into another world, because he would give him no content in this.

Oh wretched monster of Nature, Limbe of the devill, nay a very devill thy selfe, thus to resolve to take his life from him that gave thee thine; Foule staine of man∣kind, bloody Paracydious miscreant, can no respect either of thy naturall and filliall

obedience to thy kind and deere father, or of his white haires, and venerable old age, restraine thee? or no consideration of thy consceince or thy soule, of heaven or hell deterre thee from this bloody inhumane, and damnable designe of thine, in laying violent hands on him? O me, where are thy thoughts, where thy senses; where thy heart, thy soule, to act so execrable and infernall a Tragidie, on him with whom thou hadst not been: on thy father, whom by the laws of Heaven and Earth, thou oughtest both to love, honour, reverence and obey.

But De Salez being resolute in this inhumane rage, and implacable malice and furie, watcheth how he may take time at advantage, to effect and finish this his bloo∣dy businesse, and one a night after supper, hearing his old father complaine that he found himselfe not well, and commanding his Clarke De Buissie, very earely in the next morning to carry his water to Doctor Salepin, a famous Physician, whose chamber was farre off, in the place Maubert, he himselfe lying in Grennelles street: De Salez thinks this a fit opportunity to dispatch his father, the which, O a thousand griefes and pitties to speake off, he accordingly performeth. For the morne appearing, his father having sent away his Clarke with his water, and betaking himselfe to sleepe till his returne. His watchfull and murtherous sonne, having purposely made him∣selfe ready; and through the key hole and cranies of his Chamber doore, espying his father sleeping, he intends that this shall be his last sleepe: When softly stealing into his Chamber, he (incouraged and animated by the divell) and approaching his bed, as exempt of feare or grace without any more delay or circumstance, stifles his father betwixt tow pillowes; when leaving him breathlesse in his bed, his face exposed to the ayre, and the doore shut, goes downe, gives the master of the house, the good morrow, and so trips away as fast as he can, to the signe of the swan with∣in Saint Honnoryes Gate; and from thence rides away to Saint Clow, (two leagues distant from Paris) to see Gondyes gardens, fountaines, and house wherein that exe∣crable and damnable Iacabine Frier, Iaques Clement murthered Henry the third king of France, but with an intent to returne to his fathers lodging immediatly after din∣ner, and to plead ignorance of the fact, and withall if occasion serve to stand upon his innocency, and justification, as indeed he did. Now his fathers Clarke De Buissye, returning in the morning from Doctor Salepin, entering his masters chamber, finds him starke dead; and almost cold in his bed: whereat he makes many bitter outcries. and grievous exclamations: the man of the house hereat ascends the chamber, in∣finitly laments, grieves at this sorrowfull accident and spectacle; Vowes to De •…•…uissye that hee saw none whosoever in his house, much lesse in his masters chamber, and that his sonne Mounsieur De Salez departed assoone as he himselfe: they search his body, and find it no way wounded, so they beleeve and resove that some angue hath carried him away; Yet they hold it rather wisedome than folly to ac∣quaint the Lievtenant Cryminall therewith; fearing lest hee might after suspect either violence or poyson: So hee comes, conferres with his sonne De Salez, with his Clarke De Buissye, and with the man of the house, hee visites the deadbody, findes onely his head somwhat swollen, which his Physicions affirme, may be his striving and strugling with death. When the Lievtenant out of his zeale and integrity to Justice: having informed himselfe of Doctor Salepin, of De Buissyes being with him, as also from Saint Clou of his sonne De Salez, being there timely in the morning, and withall, that his Trunkes were all safe, and nothing wanting; they banish all suspition, and without farther enquiry, of doubt, commend the dead corps to the grave: Whose funerall with exteriour shew of extreame griefe and sorrowe De Salez performes in Par•…•…, with all Decency and Decorum, answerable in all respects to his fathers

ranke and quality. But wee shall shortly see this maske of his devillish hypocri∣sie pul'd off, and this inhumane paraside of his, both shamefully, and sharpe∣ly revenged, by the just judgement and finger of God: The manner is thus.

This harmelesse and innocent old father Argentier, is no sooner laid in his un∣timely grave, but his bloody and execrable sonne De Salez, within eight dayes after leaves Paris, and returnes to Tholouse; where already this sorrowfull newes is dis∣persed and divulged, being for his vertues and integrity of life, generally bewayled of the whole City, onely gracelesse and impudent La Hay triumphs hereat, and her very heart and thoughts dance for joy hereof: she welcomes home her De Salez, with a world of sweet and sugred kisses; who as glad of her presence, returnes her them with a plentifull and prodigall interest; but his lustfull love to her is so fervent, and his folly in himselfe so perverse and obstinate; as he hath scarce the patience, much lesse the respect and modesty to weare blackes for his fathers six weekes, but casts them off; takes on gaudie, and scarlet apparell, and very solemnely marries La Hay: Whereby in respect of the inequality of their descents and meanes: but especially, of her whoorish conditions; hee makes himselfe the laughter and May-game of all Tholouse.

But good God, what a prodigious and hellish match is this, sith man and wife, and both are Murtherers; O execrable and miserable wretches, O bloody and impious miscreants, for sure if this marriage of yours prove happy, I may boldly and truely say, there will never any prove unfortunate and mise∣rable: For Alas, alas, what doe those impious and damnable crimes of theirs deserve and portend, but misery, ruine, and confusion of all sides? neither shall the curiositie of our enquiry carry us far, before we see it surprise and befall them.

For before they had been fully married three moneths, De Salez reaping his de∣sires, and feasting himselfe with the pleasures of her youth; he directly, contrary to his hops and expectation, is in forced to see and know, that which before he would have thought never to have knowne or seen: for thinking his wife to have been a modest and chast Diana, he now sees she is a deboshed Layis: •…•…ea, his misery is so great, as he needs no spectacle to see, that she dayly makes him a Knight of the forked or∣der; and almost every houre, despight of his care and jelousie, claps a cuckowes feather in his hat: which to prevent and remedie, hee first administreth requests and perswasions, and then comblaines to her father; But these are too weake rea∣sones and too gentle motives, to prevaile with so insatiable a strumpet; so as he is constrained to adde threats to his requests, and in the end blowes to his threats. But as it is impossible for the Leopard to change his skin, and the Aethiopian his hew, so de Salez sees it labour lost to thinke to reclayme his wife from her beastly sinne of adultery, wherein (notwithstanding all that possible he can doe) she takes such a delight and habite, as by this time she is growne so extreamely impudent, as when her husband is at home, she is abroad ranging; and he is no sooner abroad, but she is instantly at home revelling with her ruffians: Yea, she is growne to that hight of obscenity, as she contemns and sleights her husband; that whether he be abroad or at home, shee will play the whore before his face with open doores: which al∣though it bee too late for him to remedy, yet it bites him to the heart, and grieves him to the gall: and now it is that hee a thousand times thinkes of his fathers advise and councell in forsaking her; and as often wisheth hee had followed it. Now it is that his unnaturall murthering of his father, thunders foorth horror, terror, and repentance to his foule and guilty conscience; and now it is that hee wisheth from his heart and soule, that hee had beene blind when hee first saw

her, and fairely laid in his grave before he first lay with her in bed. But these his com∣plaints and griefs, bring him onely vexation and misery insteed of comfort; for now he utterly dispaires, and sees no hope of his wives reformation: Whereupon he re∣solves to divorce himselfe from her, and to that end takes counsell thereon: but it is not so secretly managed by him, but the strumpet his wife hath present notice and inckling thereof, whereupon seeing her husband exceeding rich, both in lands, coyne, plate, and other rich houshold-stuff, she vowes not to quite her great joynter share and interest hereof thus. But before he had inrolled his suite in the Spirituall Court, or any way vented his owne shame, and his wives infamy in publike, she like a true Courtisan, and debaushed strumpet as she was, vowes to prevent him that would prevent her, and to send him to his death, that would seeke to divorce her; and in respect of his jelousie and malice, that as shee had formerly poisoned La Frange for her husbands sake, so shee would now murther him for her owne.

But miserable and execrable wretch, Oh to what a monstroues heigh and huge summe will all these thy beastly sinnes, and bloody enormities arise and amount un∣to? But Lust, malice, and Revenge like three infernall furies, so possesse and preoc∣cupate her senses, as she will not retyre, till she hath sent her husband into another world in a bloody winding-sheet. To which end, watching the time when most of her servants were gone abroad to gather in the Vintage, she softly opening her hus∣bands chamber doore, steales in, and finding him soundly sleeping approcheth his bed, when drawing forth a rasor from her sleeve, which she had purposely provided, she with an implacable and damnable malice steps to him, and cuts his throat, speaking onely these words to her selfe: Loe heere the reward of thy Ielousie; when throwing the knife, and her outward Taffata Gowne into the house of office, she leaving him weltring in his blood, very secretly conveyes her selfe through the Gal∣lery to the Garden, where her wayting-Gentlewoman attends her, and so hyes away to the Church, thinking with a wretched impiety to cloake this her second murther, as her former, under the vaile of religion and piety: but her hopes, and the Devill that gave them her, will now deceive her.

De Salez, her husband striving and strugling for life against the pangs of death: feare and hast (contrary to her intent and minde) had so made his murtherous wifes hand shake and tremble, as she did not so fully cut his throat-boale, but he could yet both cry and groane, which he did very mournfully, and which indeed was soone over-heard by a man and a maid-servant of his, who only remained in the house, who hearing their masters voyce, and hastily running up, at these his pittifull and lamen∣table out cryes; steping to his assistance, they heare him (with his best power) utter these fearefull speeches, That Strumpet my wife hath kill'd me: O that shee-Devill my wife hath murthered mee. Whereat they cry out at the windowes to the neighbours for helpe, alledging that their master is murthered. The neighbours assemble, and heare him report so much: so they send away for his Confessor, and the Lieutenant Crimi∣nall, to both whom he againe confesseth, That it is the Strumpet his wife who hath mur∣thered him: And then raising himselfe up in his bed (with as much strength as his dying wound would permit him) he taking them both by the hands, with infinite signes and teares reveales to them, that he it was, who at the seducing of the Devill, had stifled his father Argentier to death in Paris, that he did it onely to marry this whoore his murtherous wife La Hay; that the killing of his father, yea the very re∣membrance thereof infinitely grieves his heart and soule, and for the which he infi∣nitely repenteth himselfe, and beseecheth the Lord of mercy, in mercy to forgive it him; and likewise prayed all that were present to pray unto God for him: and these were his last words, for now his fleeting and fading breath would permit him to say no more.

All that were present, are amazed at this lamentable confession of his, to see that hee should murther his father, and his execrable wife, well neere himselfe; so they all glorified God for the detection and discovery hereof: But the Lievtenant Crimi∣nell, and the Counsellors his Associates step to the window, and consult to have him hanged, whiles he is yet living, for the murthering of his father. But De Salez saves them that labour: for there and then he sinkes into his bed, and dyes away before them: so they instantly search the house and City for this wretched Murtheresse La Hay, whom impious and bloody strumpet they at last find in the Dominican Friers Church at a Sermon, from whence with much obloquy and indignity they dragge her to prison, where they charge her with the murther of her husband De Salez, which the Devill as yet will not permit her to confesse; but being adjudged by them to the Racke, she at the very first torment confesseth it.

Upon which severall murthers, the Criminell Iudges of the Tournells proceed to sentence: so first they adjudge the dead body of De Salez for so inhumanly murdring his father Argentier, to be halfe a day hang'd by the heeles to the common gallows, and then to bee burnt to ashes, which is accordingly executed: then they adjudge his wife La Hay, for murthering him, the next day to bee strangled, then burnt: so that night some Divines deale with her in prison about the state of her soule, whom they finde infinitely obdurated through the vanity of her youth, and the temptations of the Devill; but they worke effectually with her, and so at last (by the mercies of God) draw her to contrition and repentance, when willing her not to charge her soule with the concealing of any other crime; and shewing her the dangers thereof, she very freely, yet sorrowfully, confesseth; how she it was, that for three hundred crownes had caused the Empericke Michaele to poyson La Frange, for the which she told them she was now exceedinglie repentant and sorrowfull: Whereof the Di∣vines (sith it was not delivered them under the seale of Confession) advertising the Judges, they all wonder at Gods providence, to see how all these murthers are dis∣covered and burst forth, one in the necke of the other; so they alter her sentence and for these her double murthers, they condemne her to have her right hand cut off, and then to be burnt alive: and so they make curious inquiry and research to appre∣hend this old bloody varlet Michaele.

In the meane time, that very afternoone, this miserable and murtherous Curte∣san La Hay, though to the griefe of her sorrowfull father and sisters, yet to the joy of all Tholouse, is brought and fastned to her stake, where her hand being first strucke off, she with many sighes and teares delivereth these few words: That her crimes were so foule and odious, as she was ashamed to looke either God or man in the face: That she was very sorrowfull for causing La Frange to be poysoned, as also for murthering of her husband De Salez, whose wealth she onely affirmed she loved, but not him∣selfe, the which she wholly attributed to the lust and vanitie of her youth, to her neg∣lect of prayer and forsaking of God; which made the Deuill so strong with her, and she with the Deuill: and which was the sole cause and ground of this her miserable ruine and destruction; she with teares and prayers besought the Lord to be good un∣to her soule; and (lifting up her eyes and hands to Heaven) likewise beseech the whole assembly to pray heartily unto God for her: when recommending her soule into the hands of her Redeemer, the fire being alighted, her body was soone consu∣med to ashes, whose lamentable, yet just end and punishment, caused a number of spectators to weepe, as yet pitying her youth and beautie, as much as they detested the enormitie of her crimes.

And now for this devillish and murtherous Empericke Michaele, although as soone as he heard of La Hayes imprisonment, he (to save him selfe) left Tholouse, and fled to∣wards

Castres, disguised in a Friers habit, with his beard shaven: yet by the care of the Court of Parliament, or rather by the immediate finger and providence of God, he is found out, and brought backe to Tholouse, where for poysoning of La Frange, (the which he now without the Racke confesseth) he is adjudged to be broken on the Wheele, there to remaine till he be dead, and then his body to be throwne into the River of Garrone: the which the same day is accordingly executed and performed, to the infinite joy of all the spectators: but as hee lived an Atheist, so he desperately di∣ed a Devill, without any shew at all, either of contrition or repentance; onely hee vomited forth this wretched speech, That because the world had so much to say to him, he would say nothing to the world, but bade the Executioner dispatch him.

Now by the sight of this mournefull and bloody History, the Christian Reader may observe and see how Gods revenge doth still triumph against murther, and how he in his due time and providence doth assuredly still detect and punish it. It is a History which may serve to deterre and forwarne all yong Gentlemen, not to frequent the com∣panies of whores and strumpets; and all sonnes not to transgresse the will of their parents, much lesse not dare to lay violent hands on them. It is a glasse wherein yong Gentlewomen and Wives may at life see, what bitter fruits and sharpe ends ever attend upon Whoredome and Murther: it is a lively Example for all kinde of Empe∣ricks and Drugst•…•…rs whatsoever, to consider how severely God doth infallibly revenge and punish the poysoning of his Saints and children. In a word, it is a Lesson and Caveat for all people, and for all degrees of people, but especially of Chri∣stians, (who professe the Gospell of Christ) not only to detest these foule sins of Revenge and Murther in others, but to hate and abhor them in their selves: which that all may endeavour to practice and performe, grant good God, who indeed art the on∣ly giver of all goodnesse.

GODS REVENGE AGAINST THE CRYING AND Execrable Sinne of Murther.

HISTORY XII.

Albemare causeth Pedro and Leonardo to murther Baretano, and hee after marriah Clara, whom Baretano first sought to marry: Hee causeth his man Valereo to poyson Pedro in Prison, and by a letter which Leonardo sent him, Clara perceives that h•…•… husband Albemare had hired and caused Pedro and Leonardo to murther her first Baretano; which letter she reveales to the Iudge, so he is hanged, and likewise Valerio and Leonardo for these their blody crimes.

WIth what face can we presume to tread on the face of Earth, or dare lift up our eyes to that of Heaven, when our thoughts are so rebellious to conspire, and our hearts and resolutions so cruell to embrue our hands in the innocent blood of our harmelesse and Christian brethren? Thoughts they are, which in seeming to please our senses, poyson our hearts, (and doe therefore truely poyson our soules, because they so falsly please our senses,) Resolutions they are, which we cannot conceive or attempt with more in∣humanity, than finish with misery. Sith in thinking to send them to their untimely graves, wee assuredly send our selves to our owne miserable and infamous ends; whereof in this ensuing History, we shall find many wofull Presidents, and mourne∣full examples, in divers unfortunate and wretched persons, who were borne to happi∣nesse, not to infamy; to prosperity, not to misery. If they had so much Grace to se∣cure their lives, as Vanity, and Impiety to ruine them; It is a History purposely p•…•…∣duced and penned, for our detestation, not for our imitation: Sith it is a point of (true and happy) wisdome in all men to beware by other mens harmes; Read it then with a full intent to profit thy selfe thereby, and so thou mayest boldly, and safely rest assured, that the sight of their sinnes and punishments, will prove the reformation of thine owne.

FRuitfull, and faire Lombardy is the Countrey, and the great, populous, and rich City of Millan (the Capitall of that Dutchie) the place where the Scene of this mournefull and Tragicall History is layen where perpetrated: The which to refetch from its first spring and Originall, thereby the more truely to informe our curiosity, and instruct our knowledge: We must then understand, that long since the Duke of Feria succeeded the Count De Fuentes, as Vice-roy of that potent and flourishing Dut∣chie, for King Philip the third of Spaine his master: There was native and resident in that City an ancient Nobleman, tearmed Seignior Leonardo Capello, who in his younger yeares had married a Spanish Lady, and brought her from Spaine to Millan; tearmed Dona Maria de Castiana: He exceeding rich and noble, and shee as noble and faire; he by his fathers side allied to Cardinall Charles Barromeo (since Sainted by Pope Paul V.) she by her mother to the present Duke of Albucurque, hee infinitly honoured for his extraction and wealth: shee no lesse beloved and respected for her beautie and vertues: and although there are but few marriages contracted between the Millaneses and Spaniards, and those very seldome prove successefull and prospe∣rous, in respect of the antipathy, which (for the most part) is hereditary betwixt the commands of the Spaniards, and the subjection of the Millaneses: yet it seemed that this of Capello and Castiana was first instituted in heaven, ere consummated on earth; for so sweetly did their yeeres, humours, and affections conjoyne and sympa∣thize, as although thy were two persons, yet I may truely affirme and say, they had but one heart, affection and desire, which was mutually to please, and reciprocal∣ly to affect and love each other. And as Marriages cannot bee reputed truly happy and fortunate, if they be not blessed and crowned with the blessings of children, (which indeed is not onely the sweetest life of humane content, but also the best and sweetest content of our humane life) so they had not beene long married, ere God honoured them and their nuptiall bed, with a beautifull and delicate and young daughter, tearmed Dona Clara, the onely childe of their loynes, and heire of their lands and vertues; being indeed the true picture of themselves, and the joyfull pledge and seale of their intire and involuable affections; who having overpast her infancy, and obtained the eighteenth yeare of her age; she was so exquisitely adorned with beauty, and so excellently endued and enriched with vertues; as distinctly for either or joyntly for both, she was, and was truely reputed, the Paragon of Nature, the pride of Beauty, the wonder of Millan, the glory of her Sex, and the Phenix of her Time. And because the purity and perfection of her beauty deserves to be seene through this dimme Perspective, and the dignity of her vertues knowne of the Reader in this my impollished relation. For the first, she was of stature indifferently tall, but ex∣ceeding streight and slender: her haire either of a deepe Chesnut colour, or rather of a light blacke, But to which most adhearing and inclyning fancy mought, but curiosity could difficultly distinguish; her complexion and tincture, rather of an amorous and lovely browne, than of a Roseat and Lilly die; but yet so sweetly pure, and purely sweet: (and withall rather fat than leane) that no earthly object could more delight and please the eye, or ravish the sense. And for her cies, those two relucent lamps and startes of love, they were so blacke and piercing, that they had a secret and imperious influence, to draw all other eyes to gaze and doe homage to hers; as if all were bound to love her, and shee so modest, as if purposely framed to love none but her selfe: Neither did her Front, Lippes, Necke or Paps any way detract, but every way to adde to the perfection of her other excellencies of Nature: For the first seemed to be the Prom•…•…ntory of the Graces, the second, the Residence of delight and pleasure; The third the Pyramides of State and Majesty; And the fourth

the Hills and Valley of love. But leave we the dainties of her body, now to speake of the rarities and excellencies of her mind, which I cannot rightly define, whether the curiositie and care of her parents in her education, or her owne ingenious and apt incli∣nation to Vertue and Honour, were more predominant in her: for in either, or rather in both, she was so exquisite and excellent, that in Languages, Singing, Musicke, Dancing, Wisdome, Temperance, and Modestie, she was so fully compleat and rare, that to give her her due, and no more, she could not be paraleld by any young Lady of Lombardy, or Italy, nor equalliz'd but by her selfe.

Thus if her noble extraction, and fathers wealth made her surmount others, and her delicious sweet beauty and vertues excell her selfe, no marvell if those Adamants, and these excellencies draw divers of the best Cavaliers and chiefest Gallants both of Milan and Lombardy, to effect and seeke her in marriage; and indeed although shee be sought by divers of them with much respect and honour, answerable in all regard to her ranke and quality; yet nether her parents, or selfe are so much importuned by any, as by Signior Giouani Albemare, a young noble Gentleman of the citie, who was adorned and fortified whith these humane priviledges, to be well descended, rich, and of some twenty five yeeres old; a match in the eye and censure of the world, yea, and in all outward appearance correspondent and equivalent; if his generous perse∣ctions and vertues had paralleld hers, or if the candure and sinceritie of her affection had not justly transported her thoughts and heart from him, because she had formerly fixed and setled them on another Gentleman, younger of yeeres than Albemare, but in all other respects, as well of Nature, as Fortune, every way his superiour, named Signior Alphonsus Baretano, a young Gentleman of one of the noblest families of Mil∣lan, of some eighteene yeeres old, whose father was lately deceased, and had left him sole heire to many rich lands and possessions; but (withall) exceedingly intangled in Law, and ingaged in many debts and morgages, where into the vanity and pro∣digality of his youth had deepely precipitated and ingulphed him: which conse∣quently reflecting and falling on his sonne, we shall see will prove a hinderance to his marriage, and an obstacle to his content and preferment. But to observe some or∣der and decorum in the conduction and delation of this History, wee must briefly be informed, that as of all the Beauties of Lombardy, Albemare onely chiefly affected and loved Clara; so of all the Cavaliers of the world, Clara affected and loved no o∣ther but Baretano; for as conformity of yeeres, manners, and inclinations, breed a sympathy in affections; so they in their tender youth often frequented one the others company, sometimes at the Dancing, and Musicke Masters, but many times at Weddings, Feastes, and noble assemblies: being well neere as equall in age as in complection and stature. Againe the vicinity of their residence added much to the combining and inflaming of their affections: for they were opposite in nothing but in their mansion houses, from whose galleries & windowes many times publike∣ly; but more often by stealth, their eyes could not refrain to tilt at each other, with the invisible launces of love & affection, which bred such a habit, and that habit so power∣full a second Nature that it was now becom impossible for them not to gaze each on other: so as if the innocency of their purilitie, made them delight in each others sight and company with desire; so now their more riper yeres inforce them to desire it with delectation: for when as yet they were so yong, as they knew not the instinct and influence of Nature (which cannot be taught by amore powerful or ingenious Tu•…•…ix then her selfe) yet they never met but kissed, nor kissed, but as if their heart and thou∣ghts checke their lippes for taking such short farewells each of other: But now when their yeeres had proclamed them both very capable to march under the Standard of Hymenaeus: This Venus and that Adonis, for so her fresh beauty, and his flourishing

youth (with as much right as fame in Milan,) generally intituled them: They felt some pleasure wanting, which as yet they couldnot finde; and therefore no mar∣vaile, if they desired to find that which they wanted: So as burning in affection each to other, Clara hearing spoken of a husband, infinitly wished that Baretano were hers; and when hee heard of a wife, hee ardently longed, and fervently desired that Clara were his. Neither can I rightly say, whether he were more affectionate in his constancy to her; or shee constant and resolute in her affection to him: so that as heretofore they hardly knew the way to kisse, now time (running on in her swift ca∣reere) had taught them to desire to marry: and that whereas formerly Baretano only tearmed Clara his sweet Maid, and she him her deare Friend: Now love had sugge∣sted and given them new desires, and therefore new Epithites: for sometimes as well in earnest as in jest, he could not refraine to tearme her his sweet wife, nor she him her deare husband; and herein there tongues were onely but the outward He∣ralds of their inward hearts, as their hearts were of their more secret and retired de∣sires. And as fervent love, and true discretion, very seldome concurre and meet; so although affection made them rich in inventing new inventions to meet and kisse: yet they were so poore, or rather so blind in discretion, as they could not beare their affections in secrisie and silence: but by this time they are bewrayed to their Parents, and divulged to their acquaintance: but if any grieve and storme at this unexpected newes, it is first Albemare, then Capello and Castiana, betwixt whom there was a secret promise, and verball contract, that hee and no other should marry their daughter.

Thus we see that Albemare and Baretano are become Competitors and Rivalls in their affections, for either of them affect Clara as the mistris of their thoughts, and both adore her as the Queene Regent of their desires. But as they simpathize in their hopes to purchase her to their wife: So they differ in the meanes and progresse of their resolutions, how to obtaine her. For whiles Baretano sues the daughter before her Parents, so doth Albemare the Parents before their daughter: but what effects and ends, these beginnings will produce, ye shall shortly see, and they themselves very soone both feele and find.

Capello and Castiana (as wee have formerly said) with much affliction and griefe, understanding of their daughters affection to Baretano, and reciprocally of his to her, they (with much impatience and passion) relate it to Albemare, whose affection to Clara hath made him so subtill towards them, as although his heart knowes this newes, yet he makes his tongue deny the knowledge thereof; when protesting of his intire and fervent affection to her: and that he must either wed her or his grave: they consult on their important businesse, how they may Dethronize Baretano, and in∣thronize Albemare in the chaire and choice of Clara's affection: As for Capello and Castiana, they so highly affect Albemares great and free estate, and so disdainefully hate the intricate incombrances of Baretano's, as they vow, there resolutions shall Sayle by thecompasse of his desires; and he in exchange, that his affections and de∣sires, shall still steere their course by that of their resolutions: So from the matter of their agreement, they proceed to the manner how to effect it; To which end her father and mother single their daughter apart, and in milde and faire tearmes de∣mand her, what hath past betwixt her and Baretano, and whether she be so simple and inconsiderate to take so poore a Gentleman for her husband, whose estate is so weake and small, as it cannot well maintaine himselfe, much lesse her; Clara already prepared and armed by her affection to receive these, or the like speeches from her Parents, ha∣ving twice or thrice metamorphosed the Lillies of her cheekes into Roses, very tem∣perately and modestly returnes them this discreet and respective answer.

That as she must needs affirme she is confident of Baretano's affection to her, so she must as truly denie, that asyet he had ever motioned her for marriage; which if he had, considering that his birth, meanes, and vertues were such as every way deserved not onely her equall but her superiour, she is enforced to reveale them, that she loves him so tenderly and deerely, as if her will and pleasure be not contradicted by theirs, it will be not onely her joy but her felicity, to accept and take him for her husband, before all others of the world.

But this modest answer of hers, they hold too peremptory for a child to give, and Parents to receive; as if it savoured more of irregular zeale to Baretano, than of due respect and obedience to themselves, yet the sooner to devert her from her owne desires and resolutions to make her flexible to theirs, they as yet hold it fit, rather to continue mild than imperious towards her, and so by depraving the deserts and debasing the merits of Baretano, to seeke to extoll and magnifie those of Albemare, as if the first were only a foyle, and the second a rich Diamond, worthy of her affe∣ction and wearing: and indeed so exquisite and excellent a Cavalier, they depaint him to her in the richest frame and pomp of all his praises, aswell of the endowments of mind, as of those of Fortune, that they leave no insinuating Oratory unessayed, nor perswasive attempt unattempted, to make her shake hands with Baretano, and consequently to extend her armes and heart to receive and retaine Albemare: But although she were yong in yeeres and experience; yet love in this fragrant and flourishing spring of her youth, had so refined her judgement, and indoctrinated and prompted her tongue, that her thoughts commanded and marshalled by her heart, and both by her desires and affection to Baretano, she confusedly intermixing, and interrupting her words with many far fetched broken sighes, againe returnes her Parents this reply.

If your age will not, yet my youth or rather my heart informes me, that Baretano as far exceeds Albemare in the priviledges of the mind and body, as Albemare doth him in those of Fortune, but that my resolutions and answers, may answer and correspond with my obedience, although I love Baretano, yet I will never hate, rather honour Albemare; but to make him my husband, or myselfe his wife, if Earth have, I hope Heaven hath not decreed it: And I humbly beseech yee, that this may •…•…est your Resolution, as I assuredly thinke it shall and will remaine mine.

Capello and Castiana (like discreet parents) seeing their daughter Clara wholly wedded (in a maner) to the singularitie of her owne will; they yet conceive it to bee farre more requisite to revert her reasons by fairre meanes, than refute and refell them by force, sith love and discretion hath still reference to that, and this relation still to choller, many times to repentance: whereupon minding her of the blessings which infallibly attend filiall obedience; and the miseries and curses which indi∣vidually wayt on contempt and disobedience, hoping that time will effect that which Importunitie cannot, they as then leave her to her thoughts, and she them to their care; careing for nothing so much, nay, I may wel say, for nothing else, than to see her affection divorced from Baretano, and contracted and wed∣ded to Albemare, who having curious correspondence and intelligence with them, he is ever and anon acertained, not onely what hath, but what doth passe betwixt them and their daughter; and withall, is advised by them, to delay no time, but to frequent and haunt her as her Ghost and shaddow 〈◊〉〈◊〉 yea, and no more to conceale his affection and suite from her, but to acquaint Millan therewith, sith it was no disparagement, but rather an equall honour for him to match with Clara, and Clara with him. Which con∣cluded betwixt Capello and Castiana, Albemare is so farre from rejecting this

advise and counsell, as hee embraceth it with much joy and delectation, and vowes (though with the perill of his life) to persevere and pursue her in marriage: To which end, authorized as well by his owne affection, as their authority, Clara is nei∣ther abroad nor at home, but he meets her, gives away all time from himselfe, to give himselfe to her: so as it seemes to the eye of the world, that Capello's house is now become his, and that his daughter Clara likewise shortly shall be: yea, he addes such curiosity to his care, and such care to his affection in courting her, as shee cannot bee either at Masse, or Vespres, but he is either with her, or neere her, and when in so∣lemne pompe or zeale shee visits the Domo (or Cathedrall Church) of that Citie, and in it the Shrine of the new Saint Charles, then hee waits and attends on her at the Porch staires, sometimes with his Coach, but many times (as the custome of Millan is) on his Foot-cloth, and prancing Barbarie horse, to conduct her home: yea, and not to faile in any Complement of an accomplished Lover, besides the har∣mony of his owne insinuation and solicitation, he greets her with rich presents, and salutes her with all variety of mellodious Musicke, and mellistuous voyces: but all this notwithstanding, although hee every way use his best art and industry, and her father and mother their best skill to make her flexible to his desires, and their pleasure; yet shee, as having her thoughts fully bent and fixed on her deare and sweet Baretano, lookes haggard and averse on Albemare, giving him such generall answers, and cold entertainment, as hee seeth hee hath farre more reason to de∣spaire than hope to obtaine her. Whereupon doubting of her affection, hee hath againe recourse to her parents love, who to confirme and seale it him, seeing faire meanes will not prevaile with their daughter, they resolve to vse force, and so to adde threats to their requests, and choller to their perswasions, to make her abandon Baretano, and embrace Albemare. But if the first prevaile not with her, the second cannot; for she now tels them plainly, that she neither can not will affect any man for her husband but Baretano; and yet she is so farre from any determinate resolution to marry him, as shee affirmes, that their will shall bee her law, and their pleasure her resolution.

Whiles thus Albemare in the way of marriage seekes our faire and sweet Clara publikely, no lesse doth Baretano privately; and although with lesse vanity and ostentation, yet hee hopes with farre more fortunacie and successe; as grounding his hopes upon these reasons: That in heart and soule Clara is onely his, as both in soule and heart he is hers: so hee entertaines her many times with his Letters, and yet not to shew himselfe a novice in discretion, or a coward in affection, hee ma∣kingher content his commands, as shee did his desires her felicity; hee in remote Churches and Chappels, (for whose number Millan exceeds Rome) hath both the happinesse and honour privately to meet her, where if they violate the sanctity of the place, in conferring and cherishing their affections, yet they sanctifie thir affections, in desiring that some Church or Chappell might invest and crowne them with the religions honour, and holy dignitie of marriage. For having jested of Love here∣tofore, now like true Lovers, they henceforth resolve to love, not in jest, but in earnest; and as of their two hearts they have already made one, so now they meane and intend to dispose of their bodies, thereby to make one of two: And this is their sole desire, and this, and onely this is their chiefe delight, and most pleasing'st de∣sires and wishes.

But as it is the nature of Love, for Lovers to desire to see none but them∣selves, and yet are seene of many: so this their familiarity and frequent meeting is againe reported to her father and mother, whereat they murmure with griefe, and grieve with discontent and affliction: and now not to substract, but to adde to

their vexation, it is resolved betweene our two yong amorous Turtle Doves, Bare∣tano, and his faire Clara, that he should publikely motion them for her in marriage; which he in wonderfull faire tearmes, and orderly Decorum, (as well by his friends as himselfe) performeth. When contrary to his wishes, but not his expectation, they give him so cold entertainment, and his suite such poore and sharpe acceptance, as they (in affection and zeale to Albemare) not onely deny him their daughter, but their house: an answer so incivill, and therfore so injust, as might give a testimony of some way of their care, yet no way of their discretion to themselves, or affection to their daughter. And here I must confesse, that I can difficultly define, whether this re∣solution and answer of Capello and Castiana, more delighted Albemare, disconten∣ted Baretano, or afflicted Clara: who although in the entrance of their Loves, their hopes seem'd to be nipt, and their desires crost by the frownes of their parents; yet they love each other so tenderly and dearly; as these discontents notwithstanding, they will not retire, but are resolute to advance in the progresse of this their chast and servent affections, and although their commands endevour to give a law to her obedience, in not permitting her to be frequented of Baretano; yet her obedience is so inforced to take a more stronger of her affection, as dispight her parents malice and jelosie towards them, when they are sweetly sleeping in their beds, then is their daughter Clara waking with Baretano, and he with her; oftentimes walking and tal∣king in the Arboures, and many times kissing and billing in the close galleries of the garden; which they cannot conceale or beare so closely, but her father and mother have exact notice and intelligence thereof by some of their trusty servants, whom they had purposely appointed as Sentinels to espie and discover their meetings. Whereupon (as much in hatred to Baretano as in affection to Albemare) knowing that if the cause be once removed, the effect is subject soone to follow and ensue; they very suddenly and privately send away their daughter from Millan to Modena by Coach, there to be mewed and pent up with the Lady Emelia her Aunt, and besides her waiting Gen∣tlewoman Adriana, none to accompany and conduct her but only Albemare, hoping that a small time, his presence and importunate solitations, would deface the memo∣rie of Baretano, to engrave his owne in the heart and thoughts of his sweet Clara. Who poore soule, seing her selfe exiled and banished from the society of her Bare∣tano's sight and company, wherein under heaven shee chiefly and onely delighted; she hereat, doth as it were drowne her selfe in the Ocean of her teares; storming as well at the cruelty of her parents, as at her owne affliction and misfortune; and no lesse doth her Baretano for the absence of his sweet Saint and deare Lady Clara: for as their affection, so their afflictions is equall; now mourning as much at each others absence, as formerly they rejoyced and triumphed in their presence. But although the jealousie of Capello and Castiana were very carefull to watch and observe Baretano in Millan; and the zeale and affection of Albemares safety to guard, and sweetly to attend on Clara and Modena: Yet as fire surpressed flames forth with more violence, and rivers stopped, overflow with more impetuosity; so despight of the ones vigilancie, and the others jealousie, though Baretano cannot be so happy and blessed to ride over to Modena, to see and salute his Clara: yet love, which is the refiner of inventions and wit, and the polisher of judgement, cannot yet deraine him from visiting her with his letters, the which in respect of the hard accesse and difficult passage to her, hee is enforced to send her by subtill meanes, and se∣cret messengers; and the better to overshadow the curiosity of his Arts, and the Art of his affection herein, hee among many others, makesuse of a Frier and a Hermite, for the conveyance of two letters to Modena; to his Lady: which (as fit agents for such amorous employments) they (with more cunning and fidelity, than

zeale, and Religion) safely delivered her, and likewise returned him her answers thereof. And because the servency of their affections and constancies, each to o∣ther, are more lively depainted and represented in these two, than in any other of their letters; therefore I thought my selfe in a manner bound, here to insert them, to the end to give the better spirit and Grace to their History, and the fuller satisfaction and content to the curiosity of the Reader: That which Baretano sent Clara upon her departure from Millan to Modena by the Frier, spake thus:

BARETANO to CLARA.

HOw justly may I tearme my selfe unfortunate, Sith I am enforced to bee miserable before I know what belongs to happinesse: For if ever I found any content, or Hea∣ven upon Earth, it was onely in thy sweet presence; which thy sudden abscence and un∣expected exile, hath now made, at least, my Purgatory, if not my Hell. Faire Clara judge of thy Baretano by thy selfe, what a matchlesse griefe it is to my heart, and a heart-killing terrour to my thoughts, to see thee made captive to my rivall, and that the Fates and thy Parents seeme to bee so propitious to his desires, and so inexorable and cruell to mine: That I must live alone in Millan without thee, and he alone in Modena with thee: which makes that, I know not, whether I more envy his joy, or lament and pitty mine owne sorrowes and afflictions. But if I have any sense or shadow of comfort in this my cala∣mity, it only consists in this, that as thou carriedst away my heart with thee; so thou wile vouchsafe to returne me thine in thy letter by a reciprocall requitall and exchange. For if thou neither bring me thy selfe, nor send me that; I may be sought in Millan, but found no where but in heaven: were I priviledged by thy consent, much more authorized by thy command; I would speedily rather flie than post to thee: for Faire and Deere Clara, as thou art my sole Ioy, and Soveraigne felicity, so whiles I breath this aire of life, thy will shall be my law, thy command my Compasse, and thy pleasure my resolution.

BARETANO.

Her answer returned by the Frier to Baretano at Millan, was to this effect.

CLARA to BARETANO.

IT is for none but our selves to judge how equall wee participate and share of misery, in be∣ing deprived of each others presence. Thou tearmest mine abscence either thy purgato∣ry, •…•…rthy hell, and my afflictions and torments for thine are so great, and withall so infinit, as I have all the equity and reason of the world to repute them not onely one, but both: Thou art mistaken in the point of my thraldome, for whiles Albemare vowes himselfe my captive, I disdaine to bee his, and both vow and triumph to bee onely Baretanos: I know not whether I have brought thy heart with me to Modena, but sure I am, I left mine with thee in Millan: If my Parents seeme now pleasing and propitious to him, I am yet so far from dispaire, as I confidently hope the Fates will not prove cruell or inexorable to thee, and in thee to myselfe: but rather that a little time will change their resolutions and decrees, Sith they cannot our affections and constancy. If Clara be thy sole joy and Soveraign felici∣ty, & no lesse it Baretano hers! and albeit, I could wish either thou here with my selfe in Mo∣dena, or I there with thee in Millan. Yet such is my aunt Emelias care, and Albemares jelous•…•… 〈◊◊〉〈◊◊〉, that wer•…•… thou in this City thou couldest difficultly see me, but impossibly

speake with me; wherefore refraine a whiles, and let thy Iourney hither to me be ended ere began; ye•…•… with this proviso and condition, that the cause thereof, thy affection to me, be be∣gan never to be ended: and thinke that my stay and exile here shall be as short, as either my best Art in my selfe can invent, or truest zeale to thee suggest. In which Interim let us so∣lace our selves, and visit each other by the Ambassadors of our hearts, I meane our letters: And this resolve my deare Baretano, that during our abscence whiles thou doest feast on my Idaea, I will not faile to surfeit on thine.

CLARA.

Baretano's other letter sent Clara to Modena by the Pilgrime, was couched and pen∣ned in these tearmes.

BARETANO to CLARA.

HAd not thy requests (in thy last letter) granted out a Prohibition against my desires and wishes, I had long since left Millan to have seene Modena, and in it thy selfe my sweet and deere Lady; but I speake it to my present comfort, and future consolation and joy, that it is excesse, not want of affection which infuseth this provident care and carefull providence to thy resolutions, to the end that thy returne make us as joyfull as thy depar∣ture sorrowfull, and consequently that the last prove as sweet unto our hearts and thoughts, as the first was bitter: And yet beleeve me deere Clara, that my affection is so intire and fervent to thee, because I know thine is reciprocally so to my selfe: that I deeme it not only ca∣pable to make difficult things easie, but which is more, impossibilities possible: For, for thy sake what would I not attempt? and to enjoy thy sight and presence what would I leave un∣performed? But if thou wilt not permit me to come to thee to Modena, nor yet speedily re∣solve to returne to mee to Millan: Sorrow will then prevent my Joy, and Dispaire my Hope; For if thou hasten not thy arrivall and our interview, sickenesse will be my death; wert thou as kinde as faire, or as affectionate as I am fervent in affection, thou wilt th•…•… rather suffer me to live with thee, than to die for thee: for in this rest confident, that if thou deny me that request, I cannot Nature this tribute, my affection this homage, or thy beauty this sacrifice.

BARETANO.

And Clara her answer hereunto returned to Millan to Baretano; by the foresaid Pilgrime was traced in these words;

CLARA to BARETANO.

THe last command of my Parents, and the first resolution of my aunt Emelia, and my sutor Albemare, have now reduced me to so strict a Sequestration (or rather capti∣vitie) as onely my thoughts, hardly my pen, hath the freedome and power to signifie thee so much. But as calmes ensue tempests, and sun-shine showres, so I beseech thee to brook it with as much patience, as I doe with griefe; and not onely hope, but resolve, that violence is never permanent, and all extreames subject to revolution and change. Wherefore my deare Ba∣retano, consider and thinke with thy selfe, that my stay from Millan, and thy prohibition from Modena, hath this two-fold excuse, that is in my will, but not as yet in my power to performe; and this will rather hinder, than any way advance the accomplishing of our desires; Sith a little time may effect that with my parents, which I feare importunity will never; neither can thy heart so much long for my sight, or wish for my presence, as my soule doth for thine: Sith to give thee but one word for all, thy selfe, and onely thy selfe, art both

the life of my joy, and the joy of my life. A thousand times a day I wish Modena were Mil∣lan, and againe, as often that Albemare were metamorphosed into Baretano. Therefore, I am so farre from preventing thy joy, as though at the price of my death, I am ready to sacrifice my life for the preservation of thine; as also for the banishing of thy dispaire: Write me not then of thy sickenesse, least thou as scone heare of my death, and I knew not what request to deny thee, sith I have already granted and given thee my selfe, which is all that either I can give, or thou desire; cherish thy selfe for my sake, and I will thy remem∣brance for mine.

CLARA.

By these loving Letters of these our Lovers, the Reader may observe and remark, what a firme league, and strict and constant friendship there was contracted and setled betwixt them, and what a hell their abscence was each to others thoughts and contemplations: In the meane time, whiles Baretano entertaines Clara with Let∣ters, Albemare doth with words, wherein he useth his best Rhetoricke and Orato∣ry, to draw her to his desires; and withall, to listen and espie out, if there passe any passages of Letters, or other correspondency betwixt them. Which although Clara her affection to Baretano vow, and her discretion to her selfe resolve to con∣ceale and obscure from Albemare, yet loe here falls out a sinister and unex∣pected accident, which will discover and bewray it; yea, and of all sides, and to all parties produce griefe, sorrow, choller, and repentance, which in effect (briefely) is thus:

Clara had reason in her former Letter sent by the Pilgrim, to tearme this her se∣questration in Modena a captivity, sith the bounds of her aunt Emelias two small Gardens, and the walles of her little Parke, were the limits wherein her liberty was confined, and her selfe as it were, immured: for farther she was not permit∣ted to goe, except to the Church with her aunt in her Coach, but still accompa∣nied by Albemare, who left no minutes nor occasions, as well to see her, as to bee seene of her. Now to give some truce (though not peace) to her discontents, and thereby somewhat to calme the impetuosity of those tempests, which love had stir∣red up in her heart and thoughts for the abscence of her Baretano, she never better accompanied then when alone, sometime past away, the irkesomenesse of her time in walking in the Gardens, but many times in the Parke close shut, followed only by her wayting Gentlewoman Adriana: for in respect of her aunts unkindnesse, and Albemares jelousie, she would neither accept of her familiaritie, nor of his company. Now to the neerest end of the Parke, not farre distant from the second Garden, was a curious walke, ranked about with many rowes of Sycamore trees, and at the farther end thereof a close ore-shadowed Bower; yea, so closely vailed, that the raies of the Sunne could neither peepe in, to scortch the purenesse of her beauty, or to contend with the piercing lustre and resplendancy of her eyes: and to this Bower, in a faire and cleare day, Clara (about three of the clocke after dinner) repaires, having in her hand to delude the time, the old amourous History of Hero and Leander, which was very lately illustrated, and newly reprinted in Millan and wherein indeed for the conformity of their loves with her owne, shee tooke a singular delight to reade: but that which gave sweeter musicke to her thoughts, and feli∣city to her heart, and mind, were her Baretano's two Letters, (which we have formerly seene) and which as then she had purposely brought with her to survey and peruse; yea, she reades them ore againe and againe; and to write the truth, more oftner than there are words, or I thinke sillables therein contained: but

when she descends to his name, she cannot refraine from kissing it; yea, and such is her tender love to Baretano, as she bedewes it with her teares; a thousand times she wished her selfe with him, or he with her, and bitterly blames the crueltie of her parents, for separating their bodies, sith she not onely hoped, but assured her selfe, that God had conjoyned, and united their hearts. But whiles she in the middest of these passionate extasies seemes to be rapt up into the heaven of joy, at the perusall of these Letters of Brretano; and then againe to be plunged into the hell of sorrow, at the consideration and remembrance of his absence, she heares a voyce, which she thinkes is not farre off from her, when looking foorth the Bower, and deeming it to be that of her wayting-Gentlewoman, whom she saw somewhat neere her gather∣ing of Strawberries, and wilde Lillies, she within a flight shot from her, perceives it to be her Lover, (but not her love,) Albemare, who knowing her there in the Bower, and for want of other talke, speaking to the Eccho, she guessed by his course, (where∣in she was not deceived) that he had an intent to salute and speake with her; which to prevent, because it wholly displeased her, to be cumbred with the company of so un∣welcomed a guest as himselfe; shehastily folds up her letters in her handkercher, and clapping them (at least as she thought) into the pocket of her gowne, takes her booke in her hand, and calling Adriana, trips away backe towards the garden, by the other side of the Parke, purposely to eschew and avoide him, as indeed she did.

Albemare grieves to see Clara's coynesse and cruelty toward him, although she were departed foorth the Parke from him, yet his affection is so fervent to her, as he will needs ascend the Bower, esteeming it not onely a kind of content, but ables∣sing to his thoughts; sith he cannot be where she is, yet to be where she hath beene: when thinking to mount the stayers of the bower, he unexpected at the foot thereof, finds the two letters whereof we have formerly spoken, which it seemes slipt foorth of Clara's handkerceh•…•…, as she was putting it into her pocket: Albemare taking up the letters, and seeing them directed to his sweet Clara, he betwixt the extreames of love and joy, kisseth them againe and againe for her sake: when sitting downe in the Bower, he betakes himselfe to reade and peruse them, verily expecting and hoping to gather and draw something from them which might tend to advance the processe of his affection towards her: But when he had read the first, he was so ex∣tream•…•…ly perplexed and afflicted, as he had hardly the patience to peruse the second, and yet at length hastily & passionately running it over, and seeing by all the circum∣stances thereof, that it was in vaine for him any longer to hope for Clara, sith she was Baretano's, and Baretano hers, he like one Lunaticke, stampes with his foot, throwes away his hat, teares his haire for very griefe and choller, now thinking to teare the letters, and then to offer violence to himselfe: But when the fumes and flames of this his folly were over blowne, and that he had againe recalled his wits to take place in theproper seat of his judgement and discretion; then taking up his •…•…at, and pulling it downe his eares, he leaves the Bower and Parke, and so going into the house, shewes them the Lady Emelia her aunt, who prayes him not to dis∣paire, but that Baretano's letters notwithstanding, hee himselfe shall shortly marry her Niece Clara; onely she prayes him for the two letters, because she affirmes, shee will to morrow send them to Millan to her father and mother. Wherein he saith, hee will take advise of his pillow; when fasting out his supper, he betakes himselfe to his bed, to see whether he can sleepe away those his passions and vexations. And by this time Clara going to locke up these two aforesaid letters in her trunke, shee finds her handkercher, but misseth her letters; whereat blushing for shame, and then againe looking pale for sorrow, griefe and anger,

she speedily sends away Adriana to the Bower, to looke them; who returnes with∣out them, and then she knowes for certaine that Albemare hath found them: whereupon for meere griefe and anger, feigning herselfe sick, she withdrawes her selfe to her chamber, and there presently betakes her selfe to her bed.

I may well say that Clara and Albemare betake themselves to their beds; but I am sure not to their rest: For griefe and love so violently acte their severall parts in their hearts and thoughts, as sigh they doe, but sleepe they cannot: Yea their passionsand sorrowes are as different as their desires; for as Albemare now grives that he hath found these letters, so doth Clara that she hath lost them; and as he vowes not to restore her them, so shee neither dares, and yet disdayneth to demand them of him: Yea againe, which is more, as their sorrowes are different, so are their pretended consolations; at least if I may properly and truely rearme them consolations: For as Clara, although she have lost her Baretano's letters, doth yet rejoyce that she still retaines the writer and Authour thereof ingraven and caracte∣red in her heart: so doth Albemare, that now fully knowing Baretano to be his rivall, and who by all probability is like to beare his mistris from him, he hath (as he injustly conceives, a just reason to be revenged, and a true occasion to fight with him: but as Clara's comfort and consolation herein proceeds from true affection, so doth the vanitie and impiety of this resolution of Albemares from hellish malice, and devillish indignation: yea, although the night doth or should bring counsell, yet as Clara pa∣sseth it over onely with sighes, so doth Albemare with fumes of reveng against Bare∣tano, vowing that he will in the morne towards Millan, and there trie his fortune, ei∣ther to kill him, or to bee killed of him, in a Duell; to which end he is no sooner ready, but he acquaints the Lady Emelia with his intended journey, but not with his reso∣lution to fight with Baretano, and the same he doth to the Empresse of his thoughts, and Queene of his desires) Clara, demaunding her if she please to command him any service for Millan; who both blushing and paling hereat, her affection to Baretano, having now made her expert in the subtilties of love, she well knowes what wind drives Albemare to Millan: and therefore guided by discretion, and not by passion, she returnes him this answer: That having neither reason nor desire to command him, she onely prayes him to remember her humble duty to her Father and mother, and so wisheth his journey prosperous: which answer of hers (being indeed no other than Albemare expected) he yet advanceth to kisse her at parting; which her civility though not her affection granted him; not so much as once dreaming or suspecting that he conceived the least thought or intent to fight with her sweet Baretano, and so he takes horse, having onely one servant with him.

Albemare being arrived at Saint Remie, a small Towne within fifteene miles of Millan, he resolves to dine there, which he doth; and to avoid the heate of the day, then betakes himselfe to sleepe an houre or two; being awaked, he commands his man to make ready his horse, and seeing the host of the house in his chamber, inqui∣res of him if there were any Gentelmenin the house riding for Millan, who as soone turnes him this unlooke for and unexspected answer; that there was a brave Gen∣tleman in the house named Signior Baretano, who was to ride thither some two houers hence. Albemare no sooner heares the name of Baretano, but his very heart blood flasheth up in his face, when demanding him again what manner of gētleman was, he told him he was a tall slender young Gentleman, with never a haire on his face, and out of this window quoth he, you may now see him walking in the garden; when Albemare looking forth, sees indeed that it was his very rival Baretano; when en∣quiring further of the Host what followers he had with him, he told him that then he had none, but sometimes when he came thither, either to take the ayre, or breath his

horse, he was attendedby two or three, and so the Hoast leaves him, not once suspe∣cting of any difference between them. Albemare seeing his enemy (because his rivall) brought to him, whom he formerly resolved to seeke and find out, assumes a base and a bloody resolution to set upon him in the high way disguised, and there to ve•…•… his owne life, to deprive him of his: which to effect he will have no eye witnesses of this his ignoble and trecherous businesse; and therefore purposely sends away his man to Millan before him, and so slipping into the towne, provides himselfe of a maske or visard; then takes his horse, and rather like a theefe than a Gentleman, lurkes behind a Grove (some three miles from Saint Remy) attending Baratano's com∣ming, who poore harmelesse yong Gentleman, harbouring and breathing no other thoughts and wishes than charitie to all the world, and pure and fervent affection to his fare and deare Clara, likewise takes his horse, and drawes home ward toward Millan, when being arrived to the place where Albemare secretly lay in ambush for him, he furiously and suddenly rusheth foorth, and with his Rapier drawen in his hand; runnes Baretano into his right arme, who feeling the wound almost as soone as he saw his enemy who gave it him, he is at first as it were amazed hereat; when thinking him by his maske to be a Bandetti, who were then very busie in Lombardy, but especially in that Dutchie of Millan, he told him that all the coyne he had, which was some ten double Pistolsin gold, and two Duckats in silver, were at his service, but to fight in his defence he would not: Not quoth he, that he was any way a Coward, but that he affirmed he was latly affianced and ingaged to a yong Lady: so that he perfecty knew that her affection was so deare and tender towards him, as either the losse or preservation of his life would be that of hers: Albemare galled and touch't to the quicke with this his heart killing answere to him, is wholly inflamed with choller against him, when rushing towards him, he delivers him these words: Villaine it is not thy gold but thy life which I seeke, and then strayning himselfe to runne Baretano thorow, loe the string of his Maske breakes, where Boretano apparently sees it is his Rivall Albemare: whereat such is his tender affection to his sweete and fayre Clara, that he who before turned craven, and would not fight for his owne sake, is now cheerefully resolved not onely to fight, but if occasion require, to dye for hers: and so returning the villaine to Albemares throat, he instantly drawes, and joynes with him: and if Albermare be resolute in fighting, no lesse valiant and couragious is Baretano; for the remembrance of his Clara's sweet Idea, and fresh delicious beauty, infuseth such life to his valour, and such generositie, and animositie to his courage, as he deales his blowes roundly, and his thrusts freely, making Albemare know, that his Rapier is of an excelent temper, and yet his heart of a better: And Albemare see∣ing hee must buy his victory dearer than hee expected, and disdaining to be out∣braved and beaten by a boy, pluckes up his best spirits and courage to him, and so likewise behaves himselfe manfully and valiantly: in such sort, that within lesse than a quarter of an houre, Baretano hath given him five wounds, and he Baretano three, when the Count of Martingue passing that way in his Coach towards Millan, and seeing two Gentlemen so busily fighting, he cryes out to his Coach-man, to gallop away with all celeritie, and so parts them; when seeing them full of blood, sweat, and dust, having his Chyrurgion still in his traine with him, he out of an honourable courtesie and charitie, intreats and accompanies them to the next house, where he causeth their wounds to be drest and bound up; when by their apparell seeing them to be Millaneses, is desirous to know their quartell, and profers his best assist∣ance to reconcile and make them friends: but their hearts are so great, and their malice so implacable, as they both thanke the Count for his noble courtesie, but be∣seech him to pardon them, in obs•…•…ring their names and quarrell; and yet he is so

noble and generous, as he will not so leave them, but seeing them shrewdly woun∣ded (though not he thinks mortally) he for their greater ease and saftie, causeth two of his Gentlemen to mount their horses, and takes them both up into his Coach with him, and so brings them within the Gates of Millan, where after they had severally rendred him many thankes for his Courtesie and Honour, he commends them both to their good Fortunes, and so leaves them.

Baretano and Albemare being thus arrived at Millan, they conceale their fighting, and so keepe their chambers, till they have secured their wounds; when Albemare visits Capello and his Lady Castiana, and reports to them the health and duty of their daughter, as also her aversnesse towards him, and withall shewes her Bareta∣no's two Letters to her, whereby it is apparant, that she is so wholly his, as he him∣selfe is sure never to obtaine or enjoy her. Her father and mother at the first seeme to hang their heads at this newes, and the perusall of the Letters; but at last bid him not dispaire, but be couragious, for he and onely he shall be their sonne in law. But Al∣bemare considering that for the tearme of at least six moneths, he Camelion-like had onely had beene fed with the ayre of these their vaine promises, and that he perfect∣ly knew that Clara onely intended to marry Baretano, and none but him, his love to her was so tender and fervent, as he cannot conceive the shadow of any hope how to obtaine her for his wife in this world, before he have sent Baretano to another; when being constant in his resolution thereof to himselfe, because hee was resolute in his constancy and affection to Clara: no reason, no Religion, not his Conscience, not his Soule, can divert him from this bloody designe, from this murtherous and there∣fore damnable project: Feeding therefore on Malice, and boyling with Revenge towards Baretano, he not as a Gentleman, but rather degenerating from the vertue and honoure of that honourable degree and qualitie, bethinkes himselfe eitherby pistoll or poyson, how he may treacherously dispatch him: whereon ruminating and pondering (as malice and revenge may perchance slumber, but difficultly sleep) the Devill who is never absent in such hellish stratagems and occasions, gives him meanes, (though by a contrary course) how to dispatch him: For on a day descen∣ding the staires of the Domo, hee sees Pedro, and Leonardo, (two Souldiers, or rather Braves of the Castle of Pavia) passe by him, with whom he had beene formerly ac∣quainted, but so poorely apparelled, as weighing their bloody humours by their ne∣cessity, hee (in favour of money) thinkes them very fit Agents and Instruments, to murther and make away Baretano, to which end, to play the Practique part as well as the Theorique, and so to reduce this his bloudy contemplation into action, he sends his man Valerio after them, and prayes them to repaire to him in the Cloysters of Bor∣romeos Palace, for that he hath a businesse to impart them of great importance for their profits. Valerio overtakes them, delivers them his masters pleasure; who net∣led with this word Profit, they repaire to the Rendeuous, and meet Albemare; when having refreshed their acquaintance, & he sworn them to secrecy, as he was a wretch∣ed and perfidious Gentleman, acquaints them with his desire, some ten daies hence to have them murther Seignior Baretano in the strect by night, and to give it out, that it was done by some Spaniards of the Viceroyes Guard, and that he will give them an hundred Duckatons in hand, and leave them as much more with his man Valerio, which they shall receive of him, when they have dispatcht him; and for his owne part, some foure or five dayes hence hee will away for Modena, to cast the better varnish and colour that he was innocent thereof, and had no finger at all in the businesse.

Pedro and Leonardo seeing that Albemare proffered them gold, which they so much wanted and desired; like two limbes of the Devills, and as a couple of hellish Blood∣hounds,

not only promise, but sweare to him punctually, in all respects to performe his desires, and so they touch their first hundred Duckatons, which being the pledg and price of innocent blood, it will assuredly cost them deare, and draw downe vengeance, ruine and confusion on their heads from heaven, when they least thinke or dreame thereof. Albemare having setled this his bloody and mournefull businesse with Pedro and Leonardo, he is againe solicited by Capello, and Castiana, to returne to their daughter in Modena: whereunto hee willingly consehteth; when ar∣med with their Letters to her, wherein they charge her on their commands and bles∣sing, to dispose her selfe to affect and many him, he within fome daies departeth: But having secretly revealed his fight with Baretano to some of Capello his chiefest and most confident servants, they yet love and honour their young Lady Clara so well in her absence, as they send her the true relation and intelligence thereof, which is at Modena a little before Albemare, the which being unknowne to him, he is no sooner arrived there, but hee salutes first the Aunt Emelia, than her Neece and his Mistris Clara: to whom having delivered her Parents Letters, she stepping aside to the window, reades them; and so returning to him againe, gives him this sharpe and bitter welcome: My father and mother command mee to love thee; but how can I, sith upon the highway, thou basely and treacherously attemptedst to kill my deare Bareta∣no, whom I love a thousand times dearer than the whole world? when with teares in her eyes, and choller in her lookes, she very suddenly and passionatly •…•…ings from him, whereat Emelia wondreth, and hee both stormes and grieves; and so they betake themselves to their chambers, where Albemare throwing himselfe on his bed, saith thus to himselfe▪ Vnkind and cruell Clara, if thou take my fighting with Bareta∣no thus tenderly, how wilt thou brooke the newes of his death? On the other side, Clara grieves as much at her Baretano's wounds, as shee rejoyceth at his safety and recovery; yea, so tender is her affection to him, as she a thousand times wishes, that the blood he lost, had streamed from her owne heart. Againe, knowing his wounds free from danger, she cannot but smile, and delight to see his deare and true affecti∣on to her, in remembring that he would not fight for his owne sake, and yet was rea∣dy, yea and valiantly hazarded to loose his life for hers; and in these amourous con∣ceites and contemplations shee pensively drives away the time, admiring and won∣dring that all this while she heares not from her Baretano: But alas, alas! she shall heare too too soone of him, though indeed never more from him: for these execra∣ble wretches, Pedro and Leonardo, some foure daies after Albemares departure to Modena, they according to their promise and oath given him, like two most bloody and butcherly villaines, cruelly assault and murther this harmelesse and innocent yong Gentleman Baretano, in the streetes of Millan be night, with no lesse than seven se∣verall wounds, whereof foure were cleane thorow his body; and so gives it out (as it was formerly concluded) that he was murthered by some Spaniards of the Vice-royes Guard: when the same night, they repaire to Valerio, acquaint him therewith, re∣ceive their other hundred Duckatons, and so provide for their safety in the city but that bloody mony, and this cruell murther, will in the end cost them dearer, than ei∣ther they imagine, or dreame of.

Whiles Millan ratleth with the newes of Baretano's bloody and untimely end, as his owne friends infinitly lament and grieve, so Capello and his wife Castiana cannot refraine from rejoying the reat, as now assuring themselves that Albemare shall short∣ly be their sonne in law: and for Valerio, he with all possible speed writes away there∣of to Modena, to his Master, who entertaines this newes with infinite joy, and de∣lectation, and presently acquaints the Lady Emelia there with; whereat shee rejoy∣ceth, and he triumphes but they 〈◊〉〈◊〉 resolve as yet to conc•…•…le it from Clara, because

they know she will even dissolve and melt into teares thereat. But foure daies after are not fully expired, but her father and mother advertise their daughter Clara, their sister Emelia, and Albemare thereof, by a Gentleman, a servant of theirs, whom they purposely send to Modena, to bring backe Clara, and Albemare to Millan. But it is for none but Lovers, to conceive or judge, with what extreame excesse of griefe and immoderate sorrow our poore Clara understands this heart-piercing newes of her Baretano's mournefull and sorrowfull death: for she is no sooner advertised thereof, but she throws off her attyre, teares her haire, and twice following falls to the ground, in a swound, so as Emelia, Albemare, Adriana, and her fathers Gentleman can hardly referch and keepe life in her: but being come againe to her senses, and selfe; and faint∣ly opening her cloudy eyes to the beames of the Sunne, who enamoured of her beauty (as well in pitty as love) came to comfort and revive her: shee wringing her hands, then crossing her armes, and lastly, looking up towards Heaven, betwixt sighing and speaking, breaths forth these mournefull, passionate, and affe∣ctionate speeches:

O my Baretano, my sweet and deare Barenano, and shall thy wretched Clara live thou being dead? when the violence of her affection and sorrow making her forget her selfe, and her God, she secretly unsheathes her knife, and then and there would have stabbed her selfe to death, had not Albemare and her Aunt Emelia speedily stept to her assistance, and prevented her, by wresting it from her; when conducting her to the Garden; to take the aire, she praies Albemare to leave her, and in his ab∣scence often againe repeating the name of her deare Baretano, shee a thousand times wisheth that her life had ransomed his, vowing that although she were a woman, yet if she knew his murtherers, shee would flie to their eyes, and teare out their hearts, in meere revenge of this inhumane and cruell death: when her sorrowes are so in∣finite, and her griefe so unsupportable, as she cannot long remaine in one place, but withdrawes herselfe from the garden to her chamber, whither her Aunt Emelia care∣fully accompanies her, lies with her that night to comfort her, who poore afflicted young Lady, neither can nor will be comforted: so as the next morning, had not her Aunt powerfully prevented and stopped her, she had then undoubtedly entred the Nunnery of her owne name, Saint Clara, and in that retyred and obscure life there ended her daies in Modena; resolving in true affection and zeale to her dead Bareta∣no, never thenceforth either to see her parents, or Millan: but being diverted and comforted by some Divines, and many Ladies of that Citty, she brooking her sor∣rowes as patiently as she may, (with much solicitation) after ten dayes, permits herself to be conveyed home to Millan, where although she were very cheerefully received, and joyfully entertained of her father and mother, yet shee likewise went neere to have their mewed her selfe up a spirituall sister in the Nunnery of the Annunciation; but that againe she was prevented; whereat grieving, she yet takes on mourning attire, and vowes to weare it a whole yeare for his sake: when to make her selfe (as she was) both a true Lover, and a true mourner to the memory of her dead Bareta∣no, shee oftentimes steals into Saint Euphemias Church, where he was buried, and there bedewes his tombe with teares, living so pensively, and disconsolately, that al∣though shee live in the world, yet it seemes shee neither is, nor long will be of the world.

But as women are but women, and as a Time is a soveraigne remedy for all disea∣ses and sorrowes; so about some ten moneths after, the incessant importunity of her father and mother, and the continuall tender respect and observant courtesie of Albe∣mare towards her, make her somewhat neglect and forget the memory of Baretano, and now to looke on him with a more pleasing and favourable eye than before.

But here (againe) a consideration makes her afection die towards Albemare, almost as soone as it begins to live: For why (quoth she) should she affect or love him, who at Saint Remy gave her Baretano three severall wounds? But then Love againe steps in, and thus pleads with her for Albemare: That hee received five wounds, and gave Baretano but three, which made him lose farre more bloud than Baretano: and yet that this attempt of his was onely occasioned through his affection to her, and onely for her sake, as loving her dearer than his owne life; which againe gave her thoughts such satisfaction, as weighed downe and vanquished, as well by the power and prayers of her parents, as also by the endlesse sighs, letters, and presents of Albemare: the yeare is no sooner expired, and her mourning weeds and attire done away, but to their owne hearts content, and the unspeakable joy of their parents, they in Millan (with great pompe and bravery) are very solemn∣ly married. But this marriage of theirs shall not prove so prosperous as they ex∣pect and hope: For God in his all-seeing Providence, hath decreed to disturbe the tranquility and serenity thereof, and to make them feele the sharpe and bitter showres of affliction and misery, which briefly doth thus surprise and befall them.

Albemare and Clara have hardly beene married together a yeare and quarter, but his hot love begins to wax cold and frozen to her; yea, albeit she affected him truly and tenderly, yet hee continually neglecting her, and no longer delighting in the sweetnesse of her youth, and the freshnesse of her beauty, his lustfull eyes and thoughts carry his lascivious selfe abroad among Curtezans, when they should be fixed on her, and resident at home with his chaste and faire Lady: so as his infidelity proving her griefe and torments, and his vanity and ingratitude her unspeakable affliction and vexation; she with infinite sighs and teares repents her matching him, and a thousand times wisheth shee had beene so happy and blessed to have died Baretano's Martyr, and not so unfortunate and accursed to live to see her selfe Albemares wife: and yet were there any hope of his reformation, she could then prefixbounds to her calamities and sorrowes: But seeing that his vices grew with his age, and that every day he became more vicious and unkinde to her than other, her hopes are now wholly turned into despaire, her mirth into mourning; yea, her inward discontents so apparantly bewray themselves, in her outward sorrowfull complexion and countenance, that the Roses of her cheekes are metamorphosed into Lillies, and her heart so wholly taken up with anguish, and surprised with sorrow, as shee wisheth that her bed were her grave, and her selfe in Heaven with God; because shee could finde no comfort here on Earth with her husband: But beyond her expectation, God is providing to redresse her griefe, and to remedy her afflictions by a very strange and unlooked for accident.

The Providence and Iustice of God doth now againe refetch bloudy Pedro, to act another part upon the Stage and Theater of this History: For having spent that money lewdly, which he before got damnably of Albemare, his wants are so great, and his necessity so urgent, as having played the murtherer before, hee makes no conscience nor scruple now to play the theefe, and so by night breaks into a Jew∣ellers shops, named Seignior Fiamata, dwelling in the great place before the Domo, and there carries away from him a small Trunke or Casket, wherein were some uncut Saphyrs & Emralds, with some Venice Chrystall pendants for Ladies to weare in their eares, and other rich commodities: but Fiamata lying over his shop, and hearing it, and locking his doore to him for feare of having his throat cut, gives the out-cry and alarum forth the window, which ringing in the streets, makes some of the neighbours, and also the watch approach and assemble; where fin∣ding Pedro running with a Casket under his arme, he is presently hemb'd in, ap∣prehended

and imprisoned, and the Casket tooke from him, and againe resto∣red to Fiamata; when knowing that he shall die for this robbery, as a just punish∣ment and judgement of God, now sent him for formerly murthering of Baretano, he having no other hope to escape death, but by the meanes of Albemare, he sends early the next morning for his man Valerio, to come to the prison to him, whom he bids to tell his Master Albemare from him, that being sure to be condemned for this robbery of his, if he procure him not his pardon, he will not charge his soule any longer with the murther of Baretano, but will on the ladder reveale, how it was he who hired himselfe & Leonardo to performe it; Valerio reporting this to his Master, it affrights his thoughts, and terrifies his conscience and courage, to see himselfe reduced to this misery, that no lesse than his life must now stand to the mercy of this wretched Varlet Pedro's tongue. But knowing it impossible to ob∣taine a pardon for him, and therfore high time to provide for his owne safety, by stopping of Pedro's mouth; he resolves to heave Ossa upon Pelon, or to adde mur∣ther to murther, and now to poyson him in prison, whom he had formerly cau∣sed to murther Baretano in the street, to the end he might tell no tales on the lad∣der, thinking it no ingratitude or sinne, but rather a just reward and recompence for his former bloudy service; so to feed Pedro with false hopes, thereby to charme his tongue to silence, and to lull his malice asleepe, he speedily returnes Valerio to prison to him, who bids him feare nothing, for that his master had vow∣ed to get him his pardon, as he shall more effectually heare from him that night; whereat Pedro rejoyceth and triumpheth, telling Valerio that his Master Albemare is the most generous and bravest Cavalier of Lombardy. But to nip his joyes in their untimely blossomes, and to disturbe the harmony of his false content, that very day as soone as hee hath dined, he is tryed and arraigned before his Judges; and being apparantly convicted and found guilty of this robbery, hee is by them ad∣judged to be hanged the next morne, at a Gibbet purposely to be erected before Fi∣amata's house, where he committed his delict and crime: which just sentence not only makes his joy strike saile to sorrow, but also his pride and hopes let fall their Peacocks plumes to humility and feare: But his onely trust and comfort, yea, his last hopes and refuge is in Albemare, who hearing him to be condemned to be exe∣cuted the next morning; he is enforced to play his bloudy prize that night, and so in the evening sends Valerio to prison to him, with a Capon, and two Fiascoes (or bottles) of Wine, for him to make merry, informing him that he hath obtained his pardon, and that it is written, and wants nothing but the Viceroyes signe to it, which he shall have to morrow at breake of day. But the wine of the one of the bottles was intermixed with strong and deadly poyson, which was so cun∣ningly tempered, as it carried no distastefull, but a pleasing relish to the pallate; Valerio like an execrable villaine, proving as true a servant to his Master, as a rebel∣lious and false one to his God, he punctially performes this fearefull and mourn∣full businesse; and having made Pedro twice drunke, first with his good newes, and then with his poysoned wine, he takes leave of him that night, and commit∣ting him to his rest, promiseth to be with him very early in the morning with his pardon. When this miserable and beastly prophane wretch, never thinking of his danger, or death; of God or his soule; of Heaven or Hell, betakes himselfe to his bed, where the poyson spreading ore his vitals parts, soone bereave him of his breath, sending his soule from this life and world to another.

Now the next morning very early as the Gaoler came to his chamber, to bid him prepare to his execution, hee finds him dead and cold in his bed; and thus was the miserable end of this bloudy and inhumane murtherer (and theefe) Pedro:

who yet for example sake was one whole day hanged by the heeles in his shirt, at his appointed place of execution, because his Judges deemed that he had cruelly poysoned and made away himselfe. And now doth Albemare againe rejoyce and triumph to see he hath avoided that dangerous shelfe and rocke whereon hee was very likely to have suffered shipwracke, yea, and now hee thinks himselfe so absolutely safe and secure, as he holds it impossible, that either his murthering of Baretano, or his poysoning of Pedro can any way reflect on him, or henceforth produce him any further stormes or tempests: but his hopes and joyes will de∣ceive him, for God, who is the infallible revenger of innocent bloud, will not so leave him, but ere long, when he least thinks or dreames thereof, not onely in his providence detect these his foule crimes, but in his justice severely punish them, and the Readers curiosity shall not goe farre to see it; for as to a guilty consci∣ence, it is the pleasure of the Lord, that one misery befall him in the necke and nicke of the other, so Albemare is no sooner freed of Pedro in Millan, but behold he is afresh intangled and assaulted with Leonardo (his other hired murtherer) in Pavia, who having there prodigally rioted away his hundred Duckatons, and al∣so runne himselfe farre in debt; his Creditors joyne together, and so clap him prisoner, where having no other hope for his freedome and liberty, but to relie on Albemare, he writes him a Letter to Millan, wherein hee acquaints him with his poverty and misery, and prayes him (for the obtaining of his liberty) either to lend or give him fifty Duckatons: Albemare receives this Letter, but forgetting his former service; as also thinking it onely a fetch of Leonardo, to fetch him over for so many Duckatons, as God would have it, hee very inconsiderately burnes this his Letter, and answereth it with silence: but hee shall repent it when it will be too late, and out of his power to remedy this his ingratitude and indiscretion.

Leonardo having at least fifteene dayes expected an answer from Albemare, and receiving none, he is extreamly incensed and inraged to see himselfe thus sleighted and forgotten of him, when exasperated by his misery, and animated by his ex∣treame poverty and indigence, in that hee is now inforced to sell away his appa∣rell, and so to uncloth his backe, thereby to feed his belly, he intends no more to request and pray him, but now resolves to touch him to the quicke, the which he doth in these few lines which he sends him to Millan by a messenger of purpose.

LEONARDO to ALBEMARE.

IF my first letter prevailed not with thee for the loane or gift of fifty Ducatons, to free mee from this my miserable imprisonment, I make no doubt but this my second will, for being a souldier, I give thee to understand, that I hold it farre more generous to hange than starve; sith as a halter is onely the beginning of my friends sorrowes; so it will likewise be the end of my owne miseries: yea, if thou speedily furnish and accomplish not my request, although it cost me my life, I will no longer conceale how thou diddest hire Pedro and my selfe for two hundred Duckatons to give Signior Baretano his death, which at thy request wee perfor∣med: Thinke then how neere my secrecie concernes thy life, sith when I suffer death, I know thou hast but a short and poore time left thee to survive mee: Therefore thanke thy selfe if thy ingratitude turne my affection into contempt, and that into revenge and malice.

LEONARDO.

Now although Leonardo meane not as hee write, yet this his messenger com∣ming to Millan, and not finding Albemare at his house, he knowes not (and is re∣solute) what to doe, either to stay his comming in, or to deliver his Letter to some of his servants: But waiting at his doore till late in the evening, and hea∣ring no newes of him, he gives it to Valerio, and (without telling him from whom, or whence it came) prayes him safely to deliver it to his Master, and that hee will repaire thither the next morning for an answer. Valerio claps the Letter in∣to his pocket, awayting his Masters comming: but hee is so bad a husband to himselfe, and so disloyall, and unkinde a one to his chaste and faire wife, as hee was out all night with his Curtizans, which good and vertuous Lady, even pierceth her heart with griefe and sorrow. Now Valerio seeing his Master ab∣sent, his comming uncertaine, and himselfe inforced to goe forth about his affaires, he placeth the Letter upon a Cupboard neare his Masters study, that it might bee apparant to his eye when he came in, and so departs.

But here the mercy and providence of God invites the Christian Reader, to admire and wonder at the strange discovery and detection of this Letter: for as Albemare (more for sport than charity) kept a man-foole of some forty yeares old in his house, who indeed was so naturally peevish, as not Millan, hardly Italy could match him for simplicity. It so chanced, that this harmlesse foole gate into the roome after Valerio, and saw him put up this Letter on the Cupboard: Now, as Children and Fooles may in some sort bee tearmed Cousin Germaine to Apes, so as soone as Valerio was departed, this foole (no doubt led wholly by the direction and finger of God, rather than by his owne proper ignorance and simplicity) gets into the chamber, and taking a stoole to ascend the Cup∣board, hee brings away the Letter, which both in the Hall and yard he tosses and dandles in his hand, as if this new found play gave delight and content to his extra∣vagant and simple thoughts: when, behold our sweet and vertuous Clara comming from Saint Ambrose Church, where shee had beene to here Vespres, and seeing a faire Letter fast sealed in the fooles hand, shee enquires of him from whence hee had it? who singing and hopping, and still playing with the Letter, shee could get no other answer from him, but That it was his Letter, and that God had sent it him, that God had sent it him: which speeches of his hee often redoubled. When Clara weighing his words, and considering out of whose mouth they came, her heart instantly beganne to grow, and her colour to rise, as if God and her soule prompted her, that shee had some interest in that Letter: whereupon snatching it from the foole, whom shee left crying in the Hall for the losse there∣of: she seeing it directed to her Husband, goes to the Parlor, attended by Adriana, and there sitting downe in a chaire, and breaking up the seales thereof, shee be∣gins to reade it; but when shee drawes towards the conclusion thereof, and finds that it was her husband Albemare's who had caused her deare Lover and Friend Baretano to bee murthered: then not able to containe her selfe for sorrow, shee throwes her selfe on the floore, and weepes and sighs so mournfully, as the most obduratest and flintiest heart could not chuse but relent into pitie to see her: for sometimes shee lookt up to heaven, and then againe dejecting her eyes to earth, now wringing her hands, and then crossing her armes, in such disconsolate and afflicted manner, as Adriana could not likewise refraine from teares to behold her: when after a deepe and profound silence, she bandying and evaporating ma∣ny volleyes of farre fetched sighs into the ayre, shee commanding Adriana forth, the doore shut, with the two extremities of passion and sorrow, shee alone ut∣ters these mournfull speeches to her selfe.

And shall Clara live to understand, that her Baretano was murthered for her sake, and by her unfortunate husband Albemare? and shall she any more lie in bed with him, who so inhumanely hath layen him in his untimely and bloudy grave? And Clara, Clara, wilt thou prove so ungratefull to his memory, and to the tender affection he bore thee, as not to lament, not to seeke to revenge this his diastrous and cruell end? when againe, her teares interrupting her words, and her sighs her teares; she entring into a further consultation with her thoughts and consci∣ence, her heart and her soule at last cotinues her speech in this manner: O, but unfortunate and wretched Clara, what speakest thou of revenge? for consider with thy selfe, yea forget not to consider, Baretano was but thy friend, Albemare is thy husband; the first loved thee in hope to marry thee, but thou art married to the second, and therefore thou must love him; and although his ingratitude and infidelity towards thee, make him unworthy of thy affection; yet yee two are but one flesh, and therefore consider, that malice is a bad advocate, and re∣venge a worse Judge: But here againe remembring what a foule and odious crime murther was in the sight of the Lord, that the discovery thereof infinitely tended to his glory and honour, and that the poore Foole was doubtlesse inspired from heaven, to affirme that God sent the Letter: she knowes that her bonds of consci∣ence to her Saviour, must exceed and give a law to those of her duty towards her husband; and therefore preferring Heaven before Earth, and God before her Husband, shee immediately cals for her Coach, and goes directly to Baretano's Vnkle, Seignior Giovan de Montefiore, and with sighs and teares shewes him the let∣ter, who formerly, though in vaine, had most curiously & exactly hunted to disco∣ver the murtherers of his Nephew. Montefiore first reads the letter with tears, then with joy; and then turning towards •…•…he Lady Clara, he commends her zeale and Christian fortitude towards God, in shewing her how much the discovery of this murther tended to his glory, and so presently sends away for the President Crimi∣nell; who immediately repairing thither, he acquaints him therewith, shewes him the Letter, and prayes him to examine the Lady Clara thereon; which with much modesty and equity he doth, and then returne, with her to her house, and there likewise examineth the Foole where he had the Letter: who out of his in∣civilitie and simplicity, takes the President by the hand, and bringing him to the Cupboard, tels him, Here God sent the Letter, and here I found him: when Valerio being present, and imagining by his Ladies heavie and sorrowfull countenance, that this Letter had perhaps brought her into some affliction and danger, he loo∣king on the direction of the Letter, as also on the Seale, he reveales both to the President and his Lady, that hee received that Letter from one whom hee knew not, and that hee left it purposely on the Cupboard for his Master, against his comming. The President being fully satisfied herein, admires at Gods provi∣dence, revealed in the simplicity of this poore harmlesse Foole, in bringing this Letter, which brought the murther of Baret•…•… to light, (when knowing th•…•… God doth many times raise up the foolish and weake, to confound the wise and migh∣ty things of the world) hee presently gr•…•… out a Commission to apprehend •…•…l∣bemare who being then found in bed with M•…•…ina, one of the most famous. Beauties, and reputed Curtezans of Millan: Hee, both astonished and amazed by the just judgements of God, is drawne from his beastly pleasures and adulte∣ries, to prison: where being charged to have hired Pedro and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to have 〈◊〉〈◊〉 thered Baretano, he stoutly denies it. But Leonardo's Letter being read him▪ 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the•…•… adjudged to the Racke, his Soule and Conscience ringing him •…•…ny 〈◊◊〉〈◊◊〉 of terrour, •…•…ee there at large 〈◊〉〈◊〉 it: when for this 〈◊〉〈◊〉

and bloudy fact of his, he the same afternoone is condemned to be hanged the next morning, at the common place of Execution, which administreth matter of talke, and admiration throwout all Millan; when Serjeants are likewise sent away to Pavia, to bring Leonardo to Millan, who not so much as once dreamt or thought that ever this his letter would have produced him this danger and misery.

And now Albemare advertised of the manner how this letter of Leonardo was brought to light, (without looking up to Heaven from whence this vengeance justly befell him for his sinnes) hee curseth the cruelty of his wife, the simplicity of the foole, but most bitterly exclaimeth against the remisnesse and carelesnesse of his servant Valerio, in not retaining and keeping that letter, which is the onely cause of his death: yea, he is so farre transported with choller against him, as al∣though he have but a few houres to live, yet hee vowes he will assuredly cry quit∣tance with him ere he die.

Now the charity of his Judges send him Divines that night in prison, to pre∣pare and cleare his conscience, and to confirme and fortifie his soule against the morne, in his last conflict with the world, and her flight and transmigration to heaven; who powerfully and religiously admonishing him, that if he have com∣mitted any other notorious offence or crime, hee should now doe well to reveale it: He likewise there and then confesseth, how hee had caused his man Valerio to poyson Pedro with wine in prison, the verynight before he was executed: where∣upon this bloudy and execrable wretch (according to his hellish deserts) is like∣wise apprehended and imprisoned.

And now Gods mercy and justice brings this unfortunate (because irreligious) Gentleman Albemare, to receive condigne punishment for those his two horrible murthers, which he had caused to bee committed on the persons of Baretano and Pedro, who ascending the ladder in presence of a world of spectators, who flocked from all parts of the City to see him take his last farewell of the world: The sight and remembrance of his foule crimes, having now made him not onely sorrow∣full, but repentant, he briefly delivered these few words.

He confessed that hee had hired Pedro and Leonardo to kill Baretano in the street, and seduced his servant Valerio to poyson Pedro in prison; whereof with much griefe and contrition he heartily repented himselfe, and besought the Lord to for∣give it him: he likewise besought Leonardo and Valerio to forgive him, in respect he knew he was the cause of their deaths; because he was sure they should not long survive him. He likewise forgave his foole, as being assured, that it was not hee in the Letter, but God in him that had revealed the Letter for his just punishment and confusion. And lastly, he with many teares forgave his wife and Lady Clara, whom hee affirmed from his heart, was by farre too vertuous for so dissolute and vilde a husband as himselfe. He blamed himselfe for neglecting to love her, and cursed his Queans and Curtizans, as being the chiefe cause of all his miseries, when requesting all that were present to pray for his soule, he was turned off.

But his Judges seeing that hee had added murther to murther, they held it Ju∣stice to adde punishment to his punishment; and so he is no sooner cut downe, but they cause his body to be burnt, and his ashes to be throwne into the aire, which is accordingly performed.

Now because the Lord in his Justice will punish as well the Agents, as the Au∣thors of murther: whiles Albemare is acting the last Scene and Catastrophe of his Tra∣gedy. His wretched hireling Leonardo, and his execrable servant Valerio are likewise a•…•…ed, found guilty, and condemned to bee hang'd for their severall murthers o•…•… 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and •…•…ro; and so the very same afternoone they are brought to their

Executioners, where Leonardo his former life and profession having made him know better how to sinne than repent; he out of a souldier-like bravery, (or ra∣ther vanity) thinks rather to terrifie death, than that death should terrifie him; he begging pardon for his sinnes in generall of God and the world, and then bid∣ding the hang-man doe his office, he takes his last adiew of the world.

When immediately Valerio ascends the ladder, who having repentance in his heart, and griefe and sorrow in his looks; as neare as could be observed and ga∣thered, spake these words:

That being poore both in friends and means, the only hope of preferment under his master, made him at his request to poyson Pedro in prison; That many times since he hath heartily grieved for it, and now from his very soule repents himselfe of it, and beseeching the Lord to forgive it him, That hee was as guilty of this murther, as innocent of Baretano's; yea, or of the knowledge thereof, before his Ma∣ster was imprisoned for the same, and that as this was his first Capitall crime, so sith he must nowdie, he rejoyced it was his last, and so praying all servants to beware by his miserable example, not to be seduced to commit murther, either by their ma∣sters or the devill; and beseeching all that were present to pray for his soule, he re∣signing and commending it into the hands of his Redeemer, was likewise tur∣ned off.

And these were the miserable (yet deserved ends) of these bloudy murtherers; and thus did Gods justice and revenge triumph over their crimes, and themselves, by heaping and raigning downe confusion on their heads from heaven, when the devill (falsely) made them beleeve they sate secure; yea, when they least dreamt thereof on earth: Oh that the sight and remembrance of their punishments may restraine and deterre us from conspiring and committing the like crimes! so shall we live fortunate, and die happy; whereas they died miserably, because they li∣ved impiously and prophanely.

And here fully to conclude and shut up this Historie, and therein as I thinke to give some satisfaction to the curiosity of the Reader, who may perchance desire to know what became after of the faire and vertuous Clara. Why her sorrowes were so infinite, and her quality and Nature so sorrowfull, as being wearie of the world, and as it were weighed downe with the incessant vanities, crosses and afflictions thereof: she (notwithstanding the power and perswasions of her parents) assumes her former resolution, to retire & sequester her selfe from conversing with the world, and so enters into the Nunnery of the Annuntiation (so famous in Millan) where for ought I know, or can since understand to the contrary, she yet lives a pensive and solitary sister.

GODS REVENGE AGAINST THE CRYING AND Execrable Sinne of Murther.

HISTORY XIII.

La Vasselay poysoneth her waiting maid Gratiana, because she is jealous that her husband De Merson is dishonest with her; whereupon he lives from her: In revenge whereof shee cau∣seth his man La Villete to murther him in a Wood, and then marries him in requitall. The said La Villete a yeare after riding thorow the same Wood, his horse fals with him, and almost kils him, when he confesseth the murther of his master De Merson, and accu∣seth his wife La Vasselay to be the cause thereof: So for these their bloudy crimes, he is han∣ged, and she burnt alive.

HOw falsly, nay, how impiously doe wee tearme our selves Christians, when under that glorious and sanctified Title, wee seeke to prophane and deface the glory of Christ, in cruelly murthering our brethren his members; effects, not of Zeale, but of Rage; not of Pietie, but of Mad∣nesse, invented by the Devill, and perpetrated by none but by his Agents, lamentable effects; yea, I say, bloudy and infernall crimes, which still ruine those who con∣trive, and confound those who finish them: For let us but looke from Earth to Heaven, from Satan to God, from Nature to Grace, and from our Hearts to our Soules, and wee shall assuredly finde it very difficult for vs to define, whether Charitie be a sweeter Vertue, or Malice a fouler Vice; whether that be more secure, or this pernicious, fatall, & dangerous; whether that be a more ap∣parant testimony of Gods saving Grace towards us, or this of our owne inevitable perdition and reprobation. And as it is an odious sinne, and displeasing sacrifice in the sight of God, for a stranger to kill another: O then how much more execrable and diabolicall must it be, for a Gentlewoman to poyson her Waiting-maid, and for a servant to pistoll his master to death, at the instigation of the same Gentlewoman

his wife: for murthers, no lesse ingratefull and cruell, doth this subsequent History report and relate: wherein we shall see, that God in the Triumphs of his revenging Iustice, and out of his sacred & secret providence, hath in all points made their pu∣nishments as sharpe and severe, as their crimes were bloudy and deplorable: May we then reade it to Gods glory, and our owne consolation, which we shall assured∣ly performe, if we hate the like crimes in others, and detest them in our selves.

IN the faire and pleasant City of Mans, (being the chiefe and Capitall of the Province of Maine in France, in the very latter yeares that the Marshall of Boys-Daulphin was Governour thereof, under the present King Lewes XIII. his ma∣ster) there dwelt a Gentlewoman, (aged of threescore and three yeares) termed La Vasselay, being well descended, and left very rich, (as well in lands as moveables) by her late deceased husband Monsier Froyset, who was slaine in the behalfe of the Queene Mother, in the defence of Pont de Sey, assaulted and taken by the King her sonne. Now although this old widdow La Vasselay (in respect of her Age) was farre more fit to seeke God in the Church, than a new Husband in her bed; yet shee is weary of a single life, although it be not fully six moneths since shee hath buried her second husband; (for the Reader must understand, she had formerly buried her first at least five and twenty yeares before, and is now againe resolved to take a third) and albeit she knew that the civility of the widdowes in France was such, that they seldome marrie, but almost never within the tearme of a whole yeare; yet her conceit and fancie thinks it not onely lawfull, but fit to breake this too austere custome; and therefore she peremptorily resolves to live a wife, and not to die a widdow. But this resolution of hers, were shee either in the Sum∣mer or the Autumne of her yeares, had beene as excusable and praise-worthy, as now it savoured of undecencie and inconstancie, sith she was in the Winter there∣of: For Age despight of her Youth, and youthfull desires, had throwne snow on her head, and new dyed the colour of her haire from blacke to white; yea, shee was so farre from retaining any signes or reliques of an indifferent beauty, as the furrowes of her face could not justly shew any ruines or demolitions thereof; and yet (forsooth) she will marry againe. Now her Birth and wealth, rather than her Vertues and personage, invite many old Widdowers, and some rich Gentlemen and Counsellours of the famous Presidiall Court of that City to seeke her in marriage; and indeed both for lands and money, none her inferiours, but all at least her equals, and some her betters: But in vaine, for the vanity of her thought suggest her, that either shee is too young for them, or they too old for her, and therfore she will have none of them: yea, her lust seemes so youthfully to give a law to her age, and the lye to her yeares, as she casts off her mourning attire, decks her selfe up in gay apparell, powders her haire, paints her face, with a resolution (for∣sooth) to have no old Dotard, but a young Gallant to her husband, as if therein she wholly placed, not onely her content, but her felicity: But wee many times see such irregular desires, and such incontinent designes, met with unexpected misery, and unthought of repentance.

Now during the time that the vaine carriage and deportment of this old Gen∣tlewoman and widdow La Vasselay, made her selfe the laughter and by-word of all Mans; home comes a young Gentleman of this Countrey of Maine, termed Mon∣sier De Merson, from his travell in Italy, whose father dwelt betwixt La Vall, and Gravelle, tearmed Monsier De Manfrelle, being a Gentleman well descended, and rich, and to whom De Merson was second sonne, who in a yeares absence in Italy, being purposely sent thither by his father, to enrich his experience and

capacity, (which is the true essence and glory of a traveller, thereby to bee the more capable to serve his Prince and Countrey, as also to be a comfort to his age, and a second prop to his house and linage) he had made such poore and unprofi∣table use of his travels, as forgetting the obtaining of the language, and all gene∣rous exercises, perfections, and qualities, (so requisite and gracefull in Gentle∣men) he delighted in nothing so much, nay, in nothing else, but to passe his time with Curtisans and strumpets, especially in Venice, Rome, and Naples, where for their sakes, and his lascivious pleasures, hee built up the greatest part of his Resi∣dence; where he so prodigally spent and exceeded his fathers exhibition, as he re∣turnes into France, not loaden with Vertues and Experience, but with Vices and Debts; being otherwise ignorant in all things which he should know, and know∣ing nothing but that wherein he should be ignorant. Onely to the end he might thereby set the better counterfeit tincture on himselfe, and false lustre on his En∣dowments and Proficiencie, he superficially brought away, or rather borrowed some Italian Phrases and complements, which hee thought would not onely passe cur∣rant with the Gentlemen and Ladies of France, but also draw them into admi∣ration, as well of himselfe as them: When immediately upon his arrivall, that he might the better see and make himselfe seene of the world, hee flaunts it out in brave apparell, both in L'avall, Angiers, and Mans; Yea, there is scarce any great feast or marriage in all those parts, but if he be not invited, yet hee purposely in∣vites himselfe thereat, thereby to make himselfe the more conspicuous and ap∣parant to the eyes of the world, especially of the Ladies and Gentlewomen, in whose acquaintance and favour he not onely endevours to initiate, but strives to ingraft himselfe: But his old father Manfrelle judiciously observing the vaine be∣haviour, and light deportment and carriage of this his son, he exceedingly grieves thereat, because he had well hoped, that his travels would have returned him as capable and discreet, as now he finds him ignorant, and which is worse, debosh'd; sith he well knew that either of these two vices was enough sufficient and power∣full, not onely to ruine his reputation, but his fortunes.

Againe, to adde more sorrowes to his griefe, and more discontent to his sor∣rowes, for the vanity and levity of this his sonne, every weeke, nay, almost every day, brings him in new bills of his debts; a third falling in upon the necke of first and second, and a fourth on the third; which being greater than his estate, or at least his pleasure would permit him to pay, hee takes his sonne De Merson aside, and very sharply checks him for his old and new prodigalities; vowes that hee will neither sell nor morgage his lands to discharge his foolish debts; and therefore hee bids him looke to satisfie them, for that hee is resolved not to see, much lesse to speake with any of his Creditors, how great or small soever the summes bee he owes them. This cooling card of Manfrelles makes his sonne De Merson, not onely bite his lips for sorrow, but hang his head for anger and vexati∣on, yea, his folly doth so eclipse and overvaile his judgement herein, as in stead of making good use hereof, hee takes a contrary resolution, and so resolves to embrace and follow the worst: for whereas hee should have made his pride and prodigality strike saile, and now rather seeke to reintegrate himselfe into his fathers favours, than any way futurely attempt to incense or exasperate him against him, he onely taking counsell of his Youth, Passions, and Choller, (which as false and treacherous guides, most commonly lead us to misery and repen∣tance:) againe precipitates and ingulphs himselfe afresh in new debts, both with his Vsurer, Mercer, and Taylor: and no longer able to digest his fathers checks and frownes, hee very inconsiderately and ra•…•…ly packs up his baggage, leaves his

house, rides to Mans, and there resolves to passe his time that Winter: partly ho∣ping that his father will discharge his debts in his absence, but more especially to become acquainted with the beauties of that City, thereby to obtaine some rich young heire, or old widdow for his wife, whose estate and wealth might support his pride, and maintaine his excessive prodigality and voluptuousnesse: and in∣deed although the two former of these his hopes deceive him; yet he shall short∣ly finde and see, that the third and last will not.

Living thus in Mans, the bravery of his apparell and equipage, the freenesse of his expences, his comely talke, personage, blacke beard, and sanguine com∣plexion, makes him as soone acquainted and affected, as knowne of many La∣dies and Gentlewomen, and farre the more, because they know his father De Manfrelle, to bee a very ancient and rich Gentleman of that Countrey of Maine, and although hee is not his heire, yet in regard hee is his second sonne, as also a Traveller, he was the more honoured and respected of all those he frequented: so that the very fame and name of Monsier de Merson beganne to bee already di∣vulged and knowne in the City; yea, and because hee was a great Balladine, or Dancer, there was no solemne assembly, either publike or private, but still De Merson made one; and there was not a reputed beauty, or supposed courteous Lady in Mans, or thereabouts, but such was his vanity, as hee soone wrought and insinuated himselfe into her acquaintance and familiarity, the which he made not onely his delight, but his glory. And although that in a small time, the wiser sort of the Gentlemen and Ladies of the Citie found his wit and experience to come infinitely short of his brave apparell; yet the more illiterate & ignorant of them, (who esteeme all men by their lustre, not by their brave worth) as prefer∣ring gay apparell, and the comelinesse of the body, before the exquisite endow∣ments and perfections of the mind; they hold him in so high a repute & esteeme, as they thinke him to be the most absolute Gallant, not onely of Mans, but of all the Country of Maine; so easie it is to captivate the conceits and judgements of those who onely build their judgements in their conceits, and not their con∣ceits in judgement.

And of this ranke and number was our old widow La Vasselay, who having ma∣ny times heard of De Mersons fame, and comely personage, and seene him once at a Sermon, and twice at two severall Nuptiall feasts, where his skill and agility proved him to be one of the prime dancers, she is so farre in love with him, as in her thoughts and heart, she wisheth she had given halfe her estate, & dowrie, con∣ditionally that she were his wife, and he her husband; yea, she is so ravished with the comelinesse of his feature, and the sweetnesse of his complexion and counte∣nance, as all the world is not halfe so deare to her as De Merson, nor any man whatsoever by many thousand degrees, so delicious to her eye, and pleasing to her heart and soule, as himselfe. And although she be in the frozen Zone of her age, yet her intemperate lust makes her desires so youthfully intemperate, as forget∣ting reason and modestle, (that the best vertue of our soule, and this the chiefest ornament of our body) she a thousand times wisheth, that either De Merson were impalled in her armes, or she incloystred in his.

But doting (yea I may well neere truly say) dying old Gentlewoman, is this a time for thee to thinke of a young husband, when one of thy old feet is as it were in thy grave 〈◊〉〈◊〉 being in thy 〈◊〉〈◊〉 yeare of threescore and three, art thou yet so fraughted with levity, and exempt of continency, as thou wilt needs seeke to marrie one of five and twenty? Foolish La Vasselay, if it be not now time, yea high time for thee to sacrifice thy desires to continencie, when will it be, if ever

be? Didst thou resolve to wed a husband neere of thine owne age, and so to end the remainder of thy dayes with him in chaste and holy wedlocke, that resolution of thine were as excusable, as this in desiring so young a one, is worthy, not onely of blame, but of reprehension, and I may say of pitie. Consider, consider with thy selfe, what a preposterous attempt and enterprise is this of thine, that when thou shouldest finish thy dayes in devotion and prayer, thou then delightest to begin them in concupiscence and lust. O La Vasselay, mocke at those rebellious and trea∣cherous pleasures of the flesh, which seeme to mocke at thee, yea, to betray thee: and if there be yet any sparke of thy youth, which lies burning under the embers of thy age, why if thy chaste thoughts cannot, yet let modesty, or at least piety extinguish them. God hath already given thee two husbands, is it not now therfore time, yea, more than time, for thee to prepare to give thy selfe to God? Hitherto the chastity of thy youth hath made thee happy, and wilt thou now permit that the lust of thine age make thee unfortunate, or peradventure miserable? and that the purity and candeur of that be distained and polluted by the foulnesse and ob∣scenity of this? Alas, alas, incontinent & inconsiderate Gentlewoman, of a grave Ma∣tron, become not a youthfull Gigglet; or if thou wilt not suffer the eyes of thy bo∣dy, at least permit those of thy soule to look from thy painted cheeks, to thy snow∣white haire, who can informe and tell thee, that thou art far fitter for Heaven than earth, sith those pleasures are transitory, and these eternall, for God than a husband, sith he onely can make thee blessed, whereas (in reward of thy lascivious lust) this peradventure may be reserved to make thee both unfortunate and wretched.

But the vanity of this old Gentlewomans thoughts and desires, doe so violently fix and terminate, on the youth & beauty of young, and (as she immodestly tearms him) faire De Merson, as the only consideration of her delight and pleasure, weighes downe all other respects; so that neither reason nor modesty, advice nor perswa∣sion, can prevaile with her resolution, to divert her affection from him; but love him she doth, and (which is repugnant, as well to the instinct of Nature, as to the influence of modesty, and rules of civility) seeke him for her husband shee will: yea, she is already become so sottish in her affection, and so lasciviously fer∣vent in her desires towards him, that her heart thinks of him by day, her soule by night; that admires him as the very life of her felicity, and thus adores him as the onely content and glory of her life: shee will not see the greatnesse of her owne estate and wealth, nor consider the smallnesse of his meanes and hopes, in that he is not an heire, but a second brother; she will not enquire after his debts and vices, to know what those may be, what these are; she will not thinke what a preposterous disparity there is betwixt the fire of his youth, and the ice of her age; nor what a world of discontents and afflictions are incident to proceed there∣of: shee will not consider, that in endowing him with all her wealth, that shee thereby impoverisheth many, as well of her owne kindred, as of those of her two former husbands, to whom in the right of Nature it more justly and properly be∣longs; and to conclude and shut up this point, she will not imagine or dreame, to how many laughters and scandals of the world she exposeth her selfe, who will not onely call her discretion, but her modesty in question, for matching with so young a Gentleman as De Merson, to whom for age, she may not only well be mother, but (which is more) grandmother: But contrariwise, this foolish old Gentlewoman having sent her wits a wooll-gathering on his sweet and comely personage; his youth and her affection, like two impetuous torrents, and furious inundations, beare downe all other respects and considerations before them: yea, they so sub∣merge her reason, and quite drown her discretion, as she hath no eies unshut to see

the one, nor eares unstopped to heare the other, so that if she desire any thing in the world, it is (as formerly is observed) that shee live to see De Merson her hus∣band, and her selfe his wife: which to effect and accomplish, she knowes no bet∣ter nor fitter Agent to employ herein, than one Mounseir de Pruneau, an ancient Councellor, of the Presidiall Court of that City, who was the onely Councellor both to her last husband and her selfe, and of whose discretion, integrity and fidelity, she had all the reasons of the world to rest confident and assured.

Now although the Wisdome and Experience of De Pruneau suggested him what an extreame inequality there was betwixt De Mersons youth, and La Vasselayes age, which he could not more pertinently parallel and compare, than to Winter and Summer, the Spring and the Harvest: and therefore how many afflictions and miseries were subject to attend and wait on such preposterous marriages, whereof he had formerly seene divers lamentable examples, and wofull instances, as well of men as women, who had suffered shipwracke upon that Sylla, and this Charibdis, he like an honest man, and indeed a truer friend to her than she was to her selfe, produceth some of the former alleaged reasons to her consideration, thereby to divert the streame of her ill grounded affection from De Merson, and (in generall tearmes) to convey and conduct it to some elder personage, whose yeares (and therefore their dispositions and affections) might the better agree and sym∣pathize. But when he sees that her love to De Merson was so firmly and immovea∣bly setled, as that it not only appeared to him to be her griefe, but her torment to be any way crossed or contradicted therin: then he changeth his language, and be∣cause she will not hearken to his advice, he therefore gives way to her resolution, promising her his utmost power, and best endevours speedily to effect & compasse her desires, when taking leave each of other, at last La Vasselay remembring she had forgotten something, cals him againe, and prayes him that if De Merson be inqui∣sitive to know her direct age, that he substract away at least ten yeares thereof: so that whereas she is sixty three, to affirme that she is very little above fifty: where∣unto she her selfe blushing, De Pruneau not able likewise to refraine from smiling, promiseth her to be very mindfull thereof. To which end, he (with the first con∣veniencie) finds out De Merson, acquaints him how much he is obliged to Mada∣moyselle La Vasselay, for her affection to him, layes before him the Nobility of her descent and bloud, the greatnesse of her Estate and meanes, as also the excellency of her vertues; that fifty yeares is the most of her age, and that she is not by farre so old, as pleasing and lovely; that she affects him above all the men in the world, yea, and desires no man of the world for her husband but himselfe; and that when he pleaseth, she desires the honour of his company to her house, with many other intimations and insinuations conducing that way.

De Merson having formerly understood of La Vasselayes rich Estate and Dowrie, as also of the truth of her age, he likes the first well, and although he distaste, yet he will dissemble the second: he thanks De Pruneau for his paines, and La Vasselay for her love toward him; promiseth to requite the first, and if her wealth and vertues correspond with his relation to deserve the second; alleaging further, that al∣though there be a great inequality in their age, yet sith he is no heire but a second brother, that it is rather likely than impossible for it to be a match betwixt them; and in the meane time to requite part of her affection, hee promiseth to Sup with her the night following at her house, where hee onely desires his company and assistance, that they may the more effectually and secretly consult of this bu∣sinesse, which he hopes will so much import, as well her good and his content, as her content and his good; and so for that time they part.

De Pruneau having received this pleasing and discreet answer from De Merson, hee returnes with the relation, and repetition thereof to La Vasselay, vowes that his ex∣teriour feature is no way answerable, but comes farre short of his interiour Vertues and discretion; and that by all which, hee either can collect from his speeches, or gather from his deportment and behaviour, hee is in his conceit the most accompli∣shed Gentleman, not only of Maine, but of France; and so bids her prepare her Sup∣per, and her selfe to entertaine him the next night. Which answer of De Mersons, and relation of De Pruneau, is so pleasing to her heart and thoughts, as her age seemes to be already ravished with joy at the conceit of his Youth: when thinking every mi∣nute a moneth, and every houre a yeare, before shee bee made happy, and her house blessed with his presence, shee leaves no cost unspared, or unspent, to make his Entertainement answerable to his welcome: whereof whiles shee is not one∣ly carefull, but curious in providing, let us cursorily speake a word or two how De Merson entertaines and digesteth this unexpected motion and affection of La Vasselay.

He laughes in his sleeue to see her youthfull affections so flourishing in this A∣tumne, nay, in this Winter of her age, as to desire and seeke so young a Gentleman as himselfe for her husband, but hee understands she is exceeding rich, and therefore resolves that this vertue is capable to overvalue and ransome that defect and error of hers. He sees that his father will not pay his debts, and that hee of himselfe cannot; that they growing more clamorous, will shortly become scandalous: which will not onely directly prevent, but infallibly ruine his fortunes. He considereth how displea∣sing her age will bee to his youth, as also that there is no hell comparable to that of a discontented bed, and then againe, his debosht and lustfull thoughts, suggest him this remedy: That Mans hath beauties enough for him to recreate himselfe, and to passe his time with; and that although she have him sometimes in her bed, yet hee may have younger lasses and Ladies in his armes, both when, and where he pleaseth: He considereth that rich widowes are not so soone found, as sought, not so soone ob∣tained as found; and that if he refuse La Vasselay this day, hee may not onely repent it to morrow, but perchance all the daies of his life; and although his will may, his power shall not bee able to repaire or redresse this error of his, all his life after: Hee is not ignorant that Gentlewomen of her age and wealth, are subject to be as soone lost as won in a humour: and therefore then lost, because not then won. Againe that the elder she is, the sooner she will die, and he then is at liberty to marry as young a Vir∣gin as hee pleaseth, and that her wealth would then prove a true proppe; and sweet comfort to his age. And to conclude and finish this consultation of his, she is without children to molest and trouble him, and therefore to be desired, shee is vertuous, dis∣creet, and of an excellent fame and reputation, and therefore deserves to be accepted and not refused.

Vpon the grounds of which reasons and considerations, hee makes good his pro∣mise to De Pruneau, and comes the next night both to visite, and suppe with La Vasselay; who having purposely deckt her selfe up in her youthfull and gayest ap∣parell; receives him, withall demonstrations of affection and joy. At his first arri∣vall he affords her two or three kisses, whereat she infinitely both rejoyceth and tri∣umpheth: and in a word, hee findes that his welcome not only exceeds his deserts, but his expectation; and beleeve me it was worth the observation, to see how super∣ficially his youth looked on her age, and how artificially and •…•…stfully her age ga•…•…ed on his youth. Now, by this time supper is served in, wherein her affection was a∣gaine discovered him in the curiosity and bounty thereof. Where De Pruneau to give life to their mirth, tels them both, that hee hopes this their first meeting and

enterview will produce effects answerable to both their contents and desires; Where∣at De Merson cannot refraine from blushing, nor La Vasselay from smiling: They are all very pleasant and jocond at table, and she to give the better edge and relish to his affection, strives to seeme farre yonger then indeed she is, and then he knowes her to be; yea, she doth so cunningly entermixe and dispierce youthfull speeches amidst her aged gravity, as if she were not old, or at least, newly made yong. Now whiles she feasted her eyes on his fresh countenance and faire complexion, he sends his a∣bread to looke on her plate, rich hangings, and houshold-stuffe, wherewith he saw her house was richly and plentifully furnished: Supper ended, and the cloath taken away, they are no sooner fallen from their Viands, but they fall to their talke. De Merson kindly and familiarly taking his new old Mistris in his Armes, as if hee had already given her a place in his heart and affections; which makes her beyond her self, both merry and joyfull. I will not trouble the Reader with the repetition of what speeches and complements here past betwixt them; because in this, and my future Histories I will follow the same Methode of brevity which I have proposed and observed in my former. Let then his inquisitive curiositie vnderstand, that they parted very lovingly and affectionately this first time: and De Merson although hee were a deboshed Gentleman, yet he is not so simple to omit, but rather so well ad∣vised to prie into the true depth, and naked truth of her estate; and the rather, for that he hath knowne many Gentlemen who have beene fetch'd over, and gul•…•…d in this nature, and in marryinge one widow have match't themselves to two theeves, and credulously thinking her rich, have in the end found her a very begger: Whereupon he takes three dayes respite to resolve, and so with some kisses and many thanks for her affection, and her kind entertainment and great cheere, he for that night takes his leave of her, whose fayre carriage and discreet resolution in temporizing, La Vasselay applauds, and De Pruneau approves: So De Merson having spent the first and second day insurveying the writings of her Dowry, the Leases of her lands and houses, and the Bonds and Bils of debts due to her, withall her ready Money, Plate, and other moveables: he finds her estate to answer his expectation and her report, and that she is really worth in land, six thousand Francks yerely, and her moveables worth at least eighteene thousand more, he the third day publiquely contracts himselfe to her; and having advertised his father thereof, who likes the wealth better than the widdow, within eight dayes after privately marries her, which administreth cause of speech and wonder in and about Mans: some blaming her of indiscretion and levity, to match so yong a Gentleman, others taxing him of folly to marry so old a widdow; some extolling and applauding his judgement, in enriching himselfe with so greate an Estate: which would not onely deface his debts, secure his youth and age from the stormes of want, and the tempests of necessity, but also in the one and the other maintaine him richly, prosperously, and gallantly. And others againe beleeving and presaging, that this their great inequality and disparity of yeares, would either of the one side or other, or both, produce many discontents, and af∣flictions, instead of hoped-for joyes and prosperities. Thus every one speakes diffe∣rently of this preposterous match, according as their passions and fancies dictate them: but which of all these opinions and judgements speakes truest, we shall not goe farre to understand and know.

We have seene the consummation of this marriage, Youth wedded to Age; May to December, and yong De Merson to old La Vasselay; in which contract and nuptials, either of them are so vaine, and both so irreligious, as caring wholly for the plea∣sures of their bodies, they have not therein so much as once thought of their soules, or of heaven: Yea, God is not so much as once nominated or remembered

of them. All the ends of marriages are onely two; Gods glory, and the propagation of children; and because they cannot hope for the second, must they therefore needs be so impious, as to forget the first. Aye me, if his youth had attained no more Grace, could her age retaine no more goodnesse; or how can they flatter themselves with any hope, that this marriage of theirs can possible prosper, when only her ayme and end therein is lust, and his wealth. If a building can subsist and flourish, which hath a rotten and reeling foundation, then this match of theirs may prosper, otherwise cannot: for what more rotten than the beastly pleasures of her lustfull, and yet de∣cayed age, and what more reeling and fickle, than the constant inconstancy of his lacivious youth, which make my thoughts justly feare, and my heart truly presage and apprehend: that repentance, not pleasure; affliction, not joy; misery, not pros∣perity, is at the heeles to attend and follow these their Nuptials: As marke we the sequell and it will briefly informe us how.

De Merson hath not been married two whole moneths to La Vassellay, but he begins to repent himselfe that ever he matched her, for he now sees, though before he would not, that it is imposible for youth to fedge and sympathise with her age, he sees that she hath a discrepit, sickely and decayed body, and that she is never free of the Cough and Rheume, as also of an Issue in her left arme, which is not only displea∣sing, but loathsome to him. Yea, when she hath taken off her ruffe and head attier, and dighted her selfe in her night habilements, then he vowes he is afraid of her Lambe-skin furred cap and wast-coate; and takes her withered face for a Vizard, or a Commet, which yeelds no delight but terror to his eyes: swearing that he serves onely for a bed-pan to heat her frozen body, which of it selfe is farre colder than a Marble Statue: Yea, he is so farre out of love with her, because, to write the truth, he never truely loved her, that her sight is a plague to him, her presence by day a Purgatory, and her company by neight a very Hell.

But deboshed and dissolute Gentleman, these vitious and impious conceits of thine, come immediatly from Hell and Sathan, and are no way infused in thy thoughts by Heaven, much lesse inspired in thy heart by God: Consider, consider with thy selfe; that if La Vasselay be old, yet she is now thy wife, and that whatsoever De Pra∣neau or her selfe informed thee of fiftie yeers, yet thou knowest she could not be lesse than sixtie three, and more she is not. In which regard marriage (the holy In∣stitution of Heaven) having now made you of two, one; if thou wilt not love her age, at least thou shouldest reverence it; or if thou canst not affect her, thou shouldest not hate her. Hath she imperfections, what woman in the world lives without them? or is shee Pestered with diseases, who can be either exempted from them, or pre∣vent them? Thou hast vowed in the Temple of the Lord, and in the presence of him and his people, not onely to love, but to honour her: and is thy inconstancy and impi∣ety already such, as forgetting that promise and vowe of thine, thou dost now not onely dishonour, but despise and contemne her; and that thou onely madest that vow purposely to breake it: O De Merson, if thou art not capable of Counsel, yet do but beleeve the truth, and thou wilt find, that if thou wilt not love her, because she is too old to be thy wife; yet thou shouldest respect and regard her, because she is old enough to be thy Grandmother: for as it is incivility not to reverence Age; so it is impietie to disdaine and maligne it: and if in any man towards a meere stran∣ger, how much more a husband to his owne wife? And because it is easier to espy our wives imperfections, than to finde out, or reforme our owne; if thy wife La Vasselay bee guiltie of any fault towards thee, it is because shee loves thee too well, and affects thee too dearely.

We have scene De Mersons distaste of his wife, La Vasselay: Let us now see how

she likes, or rather why she so soone dislikes him: for he beares himselfe so strangely, and withall, so unkindly towards her, as her desires of his youth comes farre short both of her expectation and hopes: for if he lye with her one night, hee wanteth six from her; is still abroad, and seldome or never at home with her; yea, hee is of such a gadding humour, and ranging disposition, as his thoughts and delights are trans∣ported elsewhere, not at home; with other young Dames of Mans, not with herselfe: and the vanity of his pleasures doe so farre surprize and captivate him, that hee is already become so vitious, as he makes day his night, and night his day, living ra∣ther like a volutupous Epicure, than a temperate or Civill Christian: Neither, quoth she, is it Iealousie, but truth which makes her prie so narrowly into so lewd and laci∣vious actions, wherein the further she wades, the more cause she finds both of griefe and vexation, which makes her wish, that shee had beene blind when she first saw him; and either he or her selfe in Heaven, when they so unfortunately marryed each other here upon Earth.

How now fond and foolish olde Gentlewoman, are thy joyes so soone converted in∣to sorrowes, and thy triumphs into teares? why, thou hast just cause to thanke none but thy selfe, for these thy crosses and afflictions; sith thy lustfull and lacivious de∣sires were not onely the author, but the procurer of them: for hadst thou beene more modest, and lesse wanton, thou mightest have apparantly seene, and provident∣ly fore-seene, that De Mersons youth was too young for thy age, because thy age was too old for his youth; so that hadst thou beene then but halfe so stayed and wise, as now thou art sorrowfull: thou needest not now grieve for that which thou canst not redresse, nor repent for that which is out of thy power to remedy. But rash and inconsiderate woman, how comes this to passe, that thou art ready to entertaine je∣lousie, when death stands ready to entertaine thee? Could all the course of thy for∣mer youth be so happy, not to be acquainted with this vice, and doth now thy fro∣zen age thinke it a vertue to admit and imbrace it? Ay me, I grieve to see thy folly, and lament to understand thy madnesse in this kinde: for what is Ielousie, but the rage of our thoughts, and braines, the disturber of our peace and tranquility, the e∣nemy of our peace and happinesse, the traitour of our judgement and undestanding, the plague of our life, the poyson of our hearts, and the very bane and Canker of our soules? Ielousie, why, it is the daughter of frenzie, and the mother of madnesse; it is a vice purposely sent from hell, to make those wretched on earth, who may live fortu∣nate and happy, and yet will not; yea, it is a vice which I know not whether it bee more easie to admit, or difficult to expell, being admitted. But La Vasselay, expell it thou must, at least, if thou thinke to live fortunate, and not to die miserable. Wert thou as young as aged, thy Ielousie might have some colour and excuse in meeting with the censures of the world; whereas now not deserving the one, it cannot re∣ceive the other. And as those women are both wise and happy, who winke at the youthfull escapes of their husbands: so thy Ielousie makes thee both meritorious, and guilty of thy afflictions, because thou wilt be so foolish to espy, and so malicious to remember these of thine. Is De Merson given and addicted to other women? why pardon him, because hee is a young man: and as hee is thy husband, and thou his wife, beleeve that hee is every way more worthy of thy praiers, than of thine envie.

Thus wee see upon what fatall and ominus tearmes these late married couple now stand; De Mersons youth scorning and spurning at his wife La Vasselaye's age, and wholly addicting himselfe to others; and her age growing infinitly jealous of his youth: so that for any thing I see or know to the contrary, these diffe∣rent vices have already taken such deepe and dangerous roote in them, as they

threaten not onely the shipwracke of their content, but of their fortunes, if not of their lives.

Now for us to find out the particular object of La Vasselayes jealousie, as her foo∣lish curiosity hath already the generall cause: we must know, that she hath a very proper young Gentlewoman who atends her, of some eighteene yeares of age, tear∣med Gratiana, of a middle stature, somewhat inclining to fatnesse, having a fresh sanguine complexion, and bright flaxen haire, she being indeed every way excee∣ding lovely and faire; and with this Gratiana, she feares her Husband is more famili∣ar than either modesty or chastity can permit; and yet she hath onely two poore rea∣sons for this, her credulity and jealousie, and God knowes they are poore and weake ones indeed: The first is, that she thinkes her owne withered face serves onely but as a foyle, to make Gratiana's fresh beauty seeme the more precious and amiable in his eyes. The second is, that shee once saw him kisse her in her presence in the gar∣den, when she brought him a handkercher, which his Page had forgotten to give him. Ridiculous grounds, and triviall reasons, for her to build her feare, or erect her jealousie on, or to invent and raise so foule a scandall and calumny: and yet not to suppresse, but to report the whole truth, De Merson was laciviously in love with Gra∣tiana, had often tempted her deflouration, but could never obtaine her consent there∣unto: for shee was as chaste as faire, and impregnable, either to bee seduced by his gifts and presents, or to bee vanquished and wonne by his treacherous promises, pro∣testations, and oathes: for she told him plainely and peremptorily, when she saw him begin to grow importunate, and impudent in this his folly, That although she were but a poore Gentlemans daughter, yet she thanked God, that her parents had so vertu∣ously train'd her up in the Schoole of Honour, that she would rather dye, than live to be a strumpet to any Gentleman or Prince of the world: which chaste answer, and generous resolution of hers, did then so quench the flames of his lacivious and inor∣dinate affection to her, as thenceforth he exchanged his lust into love towards her, and vowed, that he would both respect and honour her as his sister. Now although they both kept the passage of this businesse secret from his wife her Mistris, yet not∣withstanding, as it is the nature of Iealousie, not to hearken to any reason, nor ap∣prove of any beliefe but of her owne: therefore shee is confident, that he lyes with Gratiana more oftner than with her selfe; which shee vowes shee cannot digest, and will no longer tolerate. To which end, (with a most malicious, and strange kind of treachery) shee makes faire weather with Gratiana; and (thinking to coole her hot courage, and to allay the heat of her luxurious blood) looking one day stedfastly in her face, she tels her that she hath need to be let blood, to prevent a Fever: where∣unto, although chaste and innocent Gratiana was never formerly let blood, she not∣withstanding willingly consents thereunto; which to effect, La Vasselay (like a base mistris and a treacherous stepdame) sends for an Apothecary, named Rennee, gives him a watch-word in his eare, to draw at least sixteene ounces of blood from Gratia∣na, for that she was strongly entred into a burning Fever: But he being as honest as shee was treacherous and cruell, told her, that the drawing of so great a quantity of blood from her, might not only impaire her health, but indanger her life. But she replies, it was so ordered by a Doctor: whereupon he opens her right arme veyne; and as he had neere drawen so much from this poore harmelesse young Gentlewoman, shee faints twice in a chaire betwixt their armes, and all the cold water they threw in her face, could very hardly refetch her, and keepe life in her: this old hard-harted hag still notwithstanding crying out, that it was not blood enough: having no other rea∣son for this her treachery and cruelty, but that indeed she thought it not enough, or sufficient to quench the unquenchable thirst and flame of her jealousie: of which

this is the first effect towards this innocent young Gentlewoman, but wee shall not goe farre to see a second.

Gratiana is so farre from dreaming of her mistris jealousie towards her master, and herselfe; or from once thinking of this her treacherous letting her blood, as shee thankes her, for her affection and care of her health: and now the very next day af∣ter De Merson dyning at home with his old wife, (which he had not done in many dayes before) and seeing Gratiana looke so white and pale, demaunds her if she bee not well, and then questioneth his wife what ayles her Gentlewoman to looke so ill, which she seemes to put off with a feigned excuse: but withall (as if this care of her husband towards Gratiana, were a true confirmation of their dishonesty, and her jea∣lousie) she retaynes the memory thereof deepely in her heart and thoughts: yea, it is so frequent, and fixed in her Imaginations, as she cannot, she will not any longer suffer or indure this affection of her husband to Gratiana; nor that Gratiana's youth shall wrong La Vasselay's age in the rites and duties of marriage. Wherefore casting sad aspects on him, and malignant lookes on her, she to please and give satisfaction to her jealousie (which cannot bee pleased or satisfied with any thing but revenge) re∣solves to make her know what it is, for a waiting maid to offend and wrong her mi∣stris in this kinde: when not to deminish, but rather to augment and redouble her for∣mer cruelty towards her. Her husband riding one day abroad in company of divers other Gentlemen of the City, to hunt Wolves which abound in those vast and spaci∣ous woods of Maine: shee under pretence of some other businesse; calls Gratiana a∣lone into her inner chamber, when bolting the doore after her, she with meager and pale envy in her lookes, and implacable fury and choller in her speeches, chargeth her of dishonesty with her husband; calling her whore, strumpet, and baggage: affir∣ming that the time and houre is now come for her to be revenged of her. Poore Gra∣tiana both amazed and affrighted at this sudden and furious (both unexpected and undefiled alarum of her Mistris, seing her honour, and (as she thinkes and feares) her life called in question; she after a world of sighes and teares, tearmes her accusers devils and witches, vowes by her part in heaven, and upon the perill of her owne soule, that she is innocent of that crime whereof she accused her, and that nei∣ther indeed or thought, she was ever dishonest, or unchast with any man of the world, much lesse with her Master: But this will not satisfie incensed La Vasselay, neither are these speeches or teares of Gratiana of power to passe current with her jealousie; but reputing them false and counterfeit, shee cals in her chamber-maid, and cooke∣maid, when shee had purposely led there, and bids them unstrip Gratiana naked to her wast, and to bind her hand and foot to the bed post, which with much repyning and pitty, they are at last inforced to do. When commanding them forth the chamber and bolting the doore after them, she not like a woman, but rather as a fury of hell, flies to poore innocent Gratiana, and with a great burchen rod, doth not onely raze but scarifie her armes, backe and shoulders: when harmelesse soule, she (though in vaine) having no other defensive weapons but her tongue, and her innocency, cries aloud to heaven and earth for succour. But this old hag as full of malice as jealousie, hath no compassion of her cries, nor pitty of her sighes: yea, neither the sight of her teares, or blood, (which trickling downe her cheekes and shoulders, doth both be∣dew, and ingraine her smocke) are of power to appease her fury and envy, untill ha∣ving spent three rods, and tyred and wearied both her armes, shee in the heat of her choller, and the height of her revenge; delivers her these bitter and scoffing words. Minion, this, this is the way, yea the onely way to coole the heate of thy courage, and to quench the fire of thy lust; When calling in her two maids, she commands them to unbinde Gratiana, and to helpe on her clothes. When triumphing in her cruelty,

she furiously departs and leaves them; who cannot refraine from teares, to see how severely and cruelly their Mistris hath handled this her poore Gentlewoman.

Gratiana the better to remedy these her insupportable and cruell wrongs, holds it discretion to desemble them, and so providing herselfe secretly of a horse and man, she the next night steales away; rides to La Ferte, and from thence to her father at Nogent le Retrou, where he was superintendant of the Prince of Condes house and Ca∣stle in that Towne; and where the Princesse Dowager his mother built vp the greatest part of her sorrowfull residence, whence, whiles he was detained prisoner in the Ca∣stle of Boys de Vincennes neere Paris: La Vasselay grieves at this her sudden, and unex∣cted departure, the which she feares her husband De Merson, and her father Moun∣sieur De Bremay will take in ill part; wherein shee is no way deceived, for the one grieves, and the other stormes thereat: yea, when De Merson (through flattery and threats) had drawne from the Chamber-maid and Cooke-maid, the truth of his wives cruell whipping of Gratiana, as also the cause thereof, her jealousie: He justly incensed and inraged, flies to this his sottish and cruell wife, tells her, that jealousie comes from the devill, whose part he affirmes she hath acted, in acting this upon in∣nocent Gratiana, then whom there lives not a chaster maid in the world, That al∣though she were poore, yet, that she was aswell descended as her selfe. In which re∣gard, if she did not speedily right and redeeme her wrongs, and seeke meanes to pa∣cifie and recall her, that he would forth-with leave her, yea, and utterly forsake her. which cooling card of his to his wife, makes her looke on her former erronious cruelty towards Gratiana, rather with outward griefe, than inward repentance. But seeing that her jealousie must now stoope and strike saile, to her husbands Choller, and that to enjoy his company, she must not be exempted and deprived of hers: she contrary to her desires and will, (which still retaines the fumes and flames of jealousie as that doth of revenge) is inforced to make a vertue of necessity, and so to beare up with the time, feigning her selfe repentant and sorrowful for what she had formerly done to Gratiana: she to reclaime her, buyes her so much wrought black Taffety for a Gowne, and so much Crimson Damaske for a Petticoate, and with a bracelet of Pearle which she accustomed to weare upon her right arme; she sends it to Nogent to her by La Vi∣lette, a Gentleman of her husbands, and accompanieth it with a letter to her father, Mounsieur de Bremay, which contained these words.

LA VASSELAY to DE BREMAY.

HAving vindicated Truth from Error, and metamorphosed Iealousie into Iudge∣ment, I find that I have wronged thy daughter Gratiana, where at I grieve, with con∣trition, and sorrow with repentance, sith my husbands vowes and oathes have fully cleared her Honour and Chastity, which my foolish incredulity and feare, rashly attempted, both to ecclips and disparage: In which regard, praying her to forgive, and thy selfe to forget that wrong; I earnestly desire her speedy returne by this bearer, and yee both shall see, that I neuer formerly hated her so much, as henceforth I will both loue and honour her: I have now sent her some small tokens of my affection; and ere long she shall find greater effects and testimonies thereof; for knowing her to be as chast as faire; In this De Bremay I request thee to rest confident, that as she is now thy daughter by Nature, so she shall be henceforth mine by adoption.

LA VASSELAY.

De Bremay having received this letter, and his daughter Gratiana these kind to∣kens from her Mistris La Vasselay: his choller, and her griefe and sorrow is soone de∣faced and blowne away: so hee well satisfied, and she content and pleased, he sends

her backe from Nogent to Mans by La Villette, by whom he writes this ensuing letter to his Mistris La Vasselay in answer of hers.

DE BREMAY to LA VASSELAY.

THy Letter hath given me so much content and satisfaction, as thy undeserved cruelty to my daughter Gratiana did griefe and indignation. And had shee beene guilty of that crime, whereof thy feare made thee jealous, I would for ever have renounced her for my daughter, and deprived her of my sight: for as her Vertues are her best wealth, and her Honour her chiefest revenew: so if shee had failed in these or faltered in this, I should then have joyned with thee to hate her, as I doe now to love her: But her Teares and Oathes have cleared her innocencie, and in hers, thy husbands. In which regard, relying vpon her owne merits, and thy professed kindnesse; shee forgetting, and I forgiving things past, I now returne her thee by thy servant La Villette; hoping that if thou wilt not affect her as thy adopted Daughter, yet that thou wilt tender her as thy obedient and observant handmaid.

DE BREMAY.

Gratiana's hopes, and her fathers credulity of La Vasselaye's future affection to∣wards her, as also her giftes and promises; so farre prevaile with them, as she is now returned to her, from Nogent to Mans; But I feare she had done farre better to have still remained with her father; for she might consider, and he know, what little safe∣ty, and apparant danger, there is to rely upon the favour of an incensed jealousie: La Vasselay (in all outward shew) receives and welcomes Gratiana with many expressi∣ons of love, and demonstrations of joy, thereby to please her husband; who indeed likes so well of her returne, as he likes his wife the better for procuring it. And now to the eye of the world, and according to humane conceit and sense, all three parties ate reconciled and satisfied, as if La Vasselay's jealousie had never heretofore offen∣ded her husband, nor her cruelty wronged Gratiana: or as if hee had never knowne the one, nor she felt the other. But wee shall not goe farre to see this calme ore∣taken with a tempest, and this Sunne-shine surprised with a dismall and disasterous showre.

For three moneths were not fully expired, since Gratiana's returne to Mans, but La Vasselayes old jealousie of her, and her husband De Merson, which seemed to be suppressed and extinguished, doth now flash and flame forth anew with more vio∣lence and impetuosity; yea, he cannot looke on Gratiana, much lesse to speake to her, but presently this old jealous Beldame in her heart and thoughts, proclaimes them guilty of Adultery: whereat she indiscreetly suffers her selfe to be so farre transported with Indignation and Envy, as she vowes she will no longer tolerate or digest it. And now it is, that like a fury of hell she first assumes damnable and execrable resolutions, not onely against the Innocency, but against the life of innocent and harmelesse Gra∣tiana; who poore soule is the neerer her danger, in respect shee holds her selfe far∣thest from it: yea, this jealous old Hagg, this Fury, nay, this she-Devill La Vasselay, hath not only consulted, but determined and concluded with her bloody thoughts, that she will speedily send Gratiana into another world; because her youth shall no longer abuse and wrong her age in this. When forgetting herselfe, her soule, and her God, thereby purposely to please her senses, her Ielousie, and her Tutor the Devill, shee vowes, that no respect of reason nor Religion, no consideration of Heaven or Hell, shall bee capable to divert her from dispatching her: yea, and as if shee not onely rejoyced, but glorified in this her pernitious and bloody designe, shee thinkes

every houre a yeare before she hath performed it: To which end, providing her selfe of strong poyson; and watching, and catching at the very first opportunity, as soone as ever Gratiana found her selfe not wel, she under a colour of much affection and care to her, makes her some white broath, wherein infusing and intermixing the aforesaid poyson, she (gracelesly and cruelly) gives it her, the which within six daies fainting and languishing, makes a perpetuall divorce and separation betwixt her soule and her body, leaving this to descend to earth, and that to ascend to heaven, to draw downe vengeance to this hellish and execrable La Vasselay, for so inhumanly and cruelly murthering this her harmelesse and innocent waiting Gentlewoman Gratiana.

De Merson understanding of Gratiana's death, almost as soone as of her sickenesse, he very sorrowfully bites the lip thereat: for considering this accident in its true na∣ture, his thoughts suggest him, and his heart and soule prompts him, that his wife La Vasselay had undoubtedly occasioned her death, and so metamorphosed her jea∣lousie into murther; yea, and notwithstanding the faire and sorrowfull shew which she puts thereon to the contrary, yet the premises considered, he is very confident in this his beleife and feare: when grieving at the cruelty of this disaster, and abhor∣ring the author of so monstrous and bloody a fact; the very sight of this his old wretched wife is odious, and the remembrance of this her cruell crime, detestable and execrable unto him. Againe, when he considereth Gratiana's beauty and chastity, and that she was sent to her untimely grave for his sake, this doth not only redouble his sorrowes, but infinitely augment and increase his afflictions: so that beginning to feare his wives envy, as much as he hated her jealousie, in that it was not onely possible, but likely, that it might also futurely extend, and reflect on him, as well as it already had on harmelesse and innocent Gratiana, he assumes a resolution to leave and forsake her, the which we shall shortly see him put in execution; when the bet∣ter to curbe and vex her, hee secretly packes up all her Bills, Bonds, Leafes, and Conveyances, as also, all her Money, Plate, Iewels, and richest Housholdstuffe; and so giving out a prohibition to all the Tenants, not to dare to pay her any rent, he allowing her only a bare maintenance, very suddenly (when she least expected or dreamt thereof) takes horse, and rides home to his fathers, where he resolves, to make the greatest part of his residence; and all the reares and prayers of his wife, are not of power to reclaime or retaine him.

La Vasselay seeing the unkindnesse of her Husband De Merson, in making her a widdow, almost as soone as a wife; as also his ingratitude, in depriving her of the use and fruition of her owne estate and meanes, and leaving her so poore an allow∣ance, as could scarce warrant her a competent maintenance, shee is almost ready to die for meere griefe and sorrow thereof, but how to remedy it, she knowes not: And now she repents her folly and indiscretion, in matching her aged selfe to so young a man as De Merson: now shee doth not only accuse, but condemne her owne jealou∣sie, which drew herto this foule fact of murthering her harmelesse, and as shee now beleeves, her innocent Wayting-maid Gratiana; for which, this ingratefull depar∣ture, and hard usage of her husband, is but the least, and as she tearmes it, but the fore-runner of greater punishments, which God hath ordained and reserved for her: yea, it is not onely a griefe to her thoughts, but a vexation to her heart and soule, to see her selfe made the mockingstocke and laughter of all Mans, and Maine, who ra∣ther excuse her husbands youth, then any way pitty or commiserate herage; and to see that the friends of her prosperity turne their backes and faces to her, in her affli∣ction and poverty: and if she have any hope yet left, to assist and comfort her in these her calamities, it is by endeavouring to reconcile and reclaime her husband to her by

Letters: when taking pen and paper, she within a moneth of his departure, sends him these few lines:

LA VASSELAY to DE MERSON.

SInce at thy request I both recanted my Iealousie to thy selfe, and repented my cruelty to my maid Gratiana, what have I committed or done, that should deserve this thy ingratefull, and as I may truely say, Heart killing departure? for having made a most ex∣act Scruteny in my thoughts and soule, either of them informe me, and both assure me, that the freenesse and fervency of my affection, towards thee, deserved not so cruell, but a farre more courteous requitall. If my Age be any way displeasing to thy youth, yet de∣prive me not of the felicity of thy sight and presence, wherein I not only delight, but glory. And although I can be content that thou surfet with my wealth, yet make me not so misera∣ble, as to starve both in and for thy presence. If any have given thee any sinister or false im∣pressions, either of my selfe or actions; why if thy affection to mee will not deface them, at least let thy pitty: Yea, returne my sweet and deare Husband, and what errors or faults soever thou saiest I have committed, I will not onely redeeme them with kisses, but with teares.

LA VASSELAY.

De Merson hauing received this his wives Letter, it workes such poore effects in his affection, as he doth rather rejoyce then commiserate her estate and sorrowes; yea, he so sleights her and her remembrance, as once he hadthought to have answe∣red her Letter with silence; but at last he (some eight daies after) returnes her this answer:

DE MERSON to LA VASSELAY.

VVHat hope can I have of thy Affection, when I see thou art inviolably constant to thy Iealousie; and if the Scruteny of thy thoughts and soule be as true as thou pretendest, yet I feare that this Iealousie of thine, is not the greatest, but the least of thy crimes. Thou writest to me, that I give a cruell requitall to thy affection, but pray God, thou have not given a more sharpe and inhumane one to Gratiana's service and Cha∣stity: Neither is it thy Age, but thy Imperfections and Vices, which are both displea∣sing and o dious to my youth: for I could brooke that with as much patience, as I can digest these with impossibilities. If thou want meanes, I will grant thee more; but for my pre∣sence, I have many reasons to deny thee. I know none but thy selfe, which hath given me any impressions of thy actions; and if those were false, they would prove thy true happinesse, as now they doe thy misery, which, my affection doth pitty, though cannot redresse. It is but in vaine for thee, either to expect or hope for my returne; and sith thy faults and errors are best knowne to thy selfe, let thy repentance redeeme them towards God: for neither thy kisses nor teares, can or shall to me.

DE MERSON.

This Letter of De Merson to his wife La Vasselay, is so farre from comforting, as it doth most extreamely afflict her: And although his discontents be such, as she sees it almost impossible to reconcile and reclaime him: yet being exceedingly perplexed

and grieved with this her solitary and discontented life, she yet hopes that a second Letter may obtaine that of him, which her first could not: when six moneths time being now slipt away since his departure, shee faigning herselfe sicke, writes unto him againe to this effect.

LA VASSELAY to DE MERSON.

THy absence hath so deprived my joyes, and engendred my sorrowes, that Sicknesse threatens my life to bee neere her period: So among a world of discontents, let mee yet beare this one Content to my grave, that I may once more see thee, whom so tenderly I both desire, and long to see: and if I cannot bee so happy as to live, at the least make mee so fortunate, as to dye in thine Armes: which I know not whether it be a greater Charity fo•…•… thee to grant, or a Cruelty to deny mee this request of mine: For my Deare De Mer∣son, if thou wilt not bee pleased to be my Husband, yet bee not offended to remember that I am thy Wife; and withall, that as I desire thy returne, so that I have not deserved thy departure: But if thou wilt still be inexorable to my requests, these Lines of mine, which I write thee rather with Teares then Inke, shall beare witnesse betwixt thy selfe and me, of my Kindnesse, of thy Cruelty, and how my Life sought thy Affection, though my Death could neither finde, nor obtaine it.

LA VASSELAY.

De Merson reades this Letter with laughter; yea, hee is so insensible of her Lines, Requests, and Teares, as if another had sent him newes of her Death, as shee her selfe did of her Sickenesse, it had beene farre more pleasing, and better welcome to him. But thinking how to gall her to the quicke, to the end he might henceforth save her the labour to write him any more Letters, and himselfe to receive and peruse them, hee returnes her this sharpe and bitter answer:

DE MERSON to LA VASSELAY.

IT is thy Errour, not my Absence, which hath exchanged thy Ioyes into Sorrowes; and if thy life draw neare her period, they cannot bee farre from theirs. My sight is a poore content for thee to beare to thy grave, sith as a Christian, thou shouldest delight to see none but thy Saviour, nor bee Ambitious to live in any armes but his: and if thou hold not this to be Charity, I know others cannot repute it Cruelty. That I am thy Husband I graunt, and that thou art my Wife, I not deny: But yet I feare thy heart knowes, though thy Pen affirmes the contrary, that I have farre more reason for my departure, then thou to desire my returne. And if thou wilt yet know more, if the Inke wherewith thou writest thy Let∣ter be Teares, pray God thou diddest not bedeawe Gratiana's Winding-sheete and Coffin, both with her Teares, and Blood: for haddest thou not beene cruell, yea, inhumane to her, I would never have beene unkinde to thee: And to conclude, live as happy, as I feare her death will make thee dye miserable.

DE MERSON.

The receit and perusall of this Letter doth not only grieve but afflict and tor∣ment La Vasselay: for the very remembrance of De Merson his suspition and appre∣hension, that she had a hand in the death of Gratiana, doth as it were pierce her heart,

as well with feare as sorrow: for as her poverty lay before at his mercy, so now shee knowes doth her life; and that sith hee will not love her, hee may chance so maligne und hate her, as to reveale it. Whereupon to secure her feare, and to warrant the safety of her life, she soone exchangeth her love into hatred, and her affection and jealousie, into envy towards him; yea, her inraged and incensed thoughts, engender and imprint such bloody designes of revenge in her heart, as abandoning the feare and grace of God, she impiously concludes a match with the Devill, to dispatch and murther him; and from which bloody and damnable designe, no regard of God, or her Soule, nor respect of Heaven or Hell, can or shall divert her: when overpassing a small parcell of time, wherein shee ruminated and pondered, how shee should send him from this life to another: at last her malicious curiosity makes her thoughts fall on La Villette, being his Gentleman; who still followed him, as holding him a fit Agent to attempt, and instrument to finish this bloody businesse, which so much im∣ported her content and safety; grounding her reasons upon the greatnesse of his heart and mind, and the weakenesse of his purse and meanes; as if poverty were a sufficient cause and priviledge to commit so treacherous and bloody a fact: When knowing him to bee then in Mans, receiving up his Masters Rents, she sends for him; to whom (the doore bolted) she tells him she is to request his secrecy in a businesse which infinitely tends to his good. He promiseth it her: but she will have him sweare thereunto, which he doth: when with sighes and teares making a bitter invective, and recapitulation of her Husband, his master undeserved indignity and cruelty to∣wards her; she then and there makes a proposition to him, to murther him for her; and that shee will give him a thousand crownes to effect it. La Ville•…•…te s•…•…eing the greatnesse of the danger, in that of the crime, seemes not only discontented, but a∣mazed hereat: for although he love gold well, yet he will not purchase it at so deare a rate, and base and damnable a price, as that of his masters blood: when seeing she could not prevaile, she againe puts him in minde of his oath to secrecy; which he againe vowes never to infringe or violate: and withall, like a good servant, seekes to disswade and divert her from such bloody thoughts and attempts. Had La Villette remained in the purity and candeur of this his Religious and Christian Resolution, not to imbrue or distaine his hands in the innocent blood of his Master, it would have made him as happy, as wee shall shortly see him miserable in attempting and execu∣ting the contrary: for as a propension and resolution to Vertue, breeds not only Honour, but safety; so the contrary effects thereof, produce not onely shame, but misery. To foresee sinne, is a pious wisdome; but to prevent and eschew it, is alwayes a most wise and blessed piety.

And whereas Time should rather decrease then increase, and rather root out, then plant Malice in our thoughts, and Envy in our Resolutions; yet directly contra∣ry, that of La Vasselay to her husband De Merson, doth not dye, but live, will not fade but flourish: for a moneth or two more being run out, and expired, and La Villette againe in Mans, her malice unto her husband is soinveterate and implacable, as shee againe sends for him to her house, where (in great secresie and intended affection) she tels him, that if he will murther his master, she within six moneths will marry him in requitall, and not onely live his faithfull wife, but dye his obedient and constant handmaid. Now although her first proffer of a thousand crownes could not procure of La Villette, these her sugred speeches, which she intermixeth with kisses, and the consideration of so many thousands, which her estate not onely promiseth, but assu∣reth, doth; so as forgetting his former vertue, to remember his future vice, hee (like a damnable villaine) sweares to her to effect it: which wretched Ver∣ball contract; they enterchangeably seale with oathes and kisses, which (if

they had had any feare of God, or care of their salvations) they should have detested with horror, and abhorred with detestation: neither will his malice (or the Devill the Author thereof) give him leave to protract or deferre it: for having resolved to murther him as hee rides abroad; his master on a time being invited to a generall hunting, by the Baron of Saint Susanna (sonne and heire to Mounsieur de Varennes) at his said Towne of Susanna, as hee came riding homewards towards his Fathers house of Manfrelle, he in the midst of a great wood, neere unto the small village of Saint Georges, riding behind his master, dischargeth his Pistoll, loaden with a brace of bullets thorow his reynes, which makes him instantly fall off dead from his horse to the ground. When this hellish servant La Villette, seeing his master devoyd of breath, and groveling and weltring in his blood, hee having acted the part of a sinfull Devill in committing this cruell murther, now resolves to assume, and represent that of a subtill Hypocrite in concealing it: when determining to report that they were both assaulted, and his master slaine by theeves; he to make all his actions conduce and looke that way, chargeth his Pistoll againe with another brace of bullets, and shoots thorow his owne hat, gives himselfe a cut ore his left hand, and then breakes his Rapier, takes his owne Pistoll, and his Masters Rapier, and throwes it into a Pond close adjoyning; takes likewise his masters purse and watch forth his pocket, and hides it secretly: and then the more cunningly and knavishly to bleare and de∣ceive the eies of the world thereby to make this his hypocrisie passe the currenter, he having purposely provided himselfe of two small cords; with the one he binds both his owne feet, and with the other (by a pretty sleight) slips therein his armes behind his backe, and then setting himselfe against a tree, he very pittifully weepes, groanes, and cryes out upon the theeves and murtherers of his Master De Merson: when three Gentlemen of Brittaine, travelling that way toward Paris, repaire to his assistance, whom they finde out by his cryes: to whom he relates that five theeves had assaulted his master and himselfe, that he fought in the defence as long as his sword held; that his master was kild with a Pistoll, then robd, and himselfe shot thorow, and woun∣ded, and bound as they saw. When these three Brittish Gentlemen, grieving at this mournefull accident, and bloody spectacle, they instantly cut the cords wherewith hee was bound, and so having conveyed the dead corps to the next Cottage, they runne up and downe the wood to find out these theeves and murtherers, but in vaine: so La Villette having thanked these Gentlemen for their affection and charity toward his dead master, and living selfe: He with a wonderfull exteriour shew of sorrow, takes care for the speedy and decent transporting home of his breathlesse Ma∣ster to Manfrelle: where his mournefull Father receives, and buries him with infinite griefe, lamentation, and teares.

In the meane time, this murtherous La Villette gives private intelligence thereof to the bloody La Vasselay, who although she inwardly receives this newes with ex∣treame content and joy, to see her selfe freed of so unkind and ingratefull a husband; yet publikely to the eye of the world (thereby the better to delude and deceive the world) she contrarywise takes on blackes, seeming to be exceedingly mournefull, pensive, and sorrowfull thereat: but God will shortly discover the falshood of these her teares,; and in the triumphes of his revenge; pull off the maske of this her dis∣sembling and treacherous Hypocrisie: For as Mans, Lavall, Angiers, and all the adjacent Townes and Countryes, grieve at this lamentable murther of De Merson: so they as much admire and wonder to see his old widow La Vasselay so shortly mar∣ryed and espoused to his Gentleman La Villette, whose Nuptials are celebrated and consummared far within the tearm of six moneths after. For the curious wits of these Citties and Countryes, considering what a preposterous course and resolution thi•…•…

was for her to marry her husbands man, and withall, so soone; as also that there was none other present but himselfe, when his Master De Merson was murthered, it is umbragious; and leaves a spice of feare, and sting of suspition in their heads; that there was more in the wind then was yet knowne, and therefore knowing no more, they deferre the detection thereof, to the providence and pleasure of God, who best, yea, who only knowes in Heaven, how to conduct and mannage the actions here be∣low on Earth: and now indeed the very time is come, that the Lord will no longer permit these their cruell and bloody murthers to bee concealed, but will bring them foorth to receiue condigne punishment; and for want of other evidence, and wit∣nesses, they themselves, shall be witnesses against themselves. And although La Va•…•…elay's poysoning of Gratiana, and La Villette pistolling of his master De Merson, were cunningly contrived, and secretly perpetrated; yet we shall see the last of these bloody murthers occasion the discovery and detection of the first, and both of them most severely and sharpely punished for these their bloody crimes and horrible of∣fences. The manner is thus.

These two execrable wretches, La Villette, and La Vasselay have not lived marri∣ed above some seaven or eight monthes, but he being deepely in Law with Moun∣sieur De Manfrelle, his Predecessors father, for the detention of some lands and wri∣tings, hee takes an occasion to ride home to his house of Manfrelle to him, to conferre of the differences, and by the way falls into the company of some Merchants of La∣vall, and Vittry, who were returning from the faire of Chartres: when riding together for the space of almost a whole dayes journey; the secret providence, and sacred plea∣sure of God had so ordained, that La Vi•…•…ettes horse who bore him quietly and safely before, on a Sunday, first goes back-wards in despight of his spur or swich, and then •…•…anding an end on his two hind legges, falls quite backe with him, and almost breakes the bulke and trunke of his body: when having hardly the power to speake, his breath fayling him, and hec seeing no way but death for him, and the hideous image thereof apparantly before his eyes, the Spirit of God doth so operate with his sinnefell soule, as hee there confesseth how his wicked wife La Vasselay had caused him to murther his master De Merson, whom he shot to death with his Pistoll; that shee first seduced him with a thousand Crownes to performe it, which he refused; but then her consent to marry him, made him not onely attempt, but finish that bloody businesse, whereof now from his very heart and soule he repented himselfe, and beseeched the Lord to forgive it him.

But here before the Readers curiosity carry him further, let me in the name and feare of God, both request and conjure him, to stand amazed, and wonder with me, at his sacred providence, and inscrutable wisdome and judgement, which most mi∣raculously concurres and shines in this accident, and especially in three essentiall and most apparant circumstances thereof: For it was on the very same horse, the same day twelve moneth, and in the very same wood, and place, where this execrable wretch La Villette formerly murthered his master De Merson: Famous, and notori∣ous circumstances, which deserve to be observed, and remarked of all the children of God; yea, and to be imprinted and ingraven in their hearts and memories, thereby to deter vs from the like crimes of murther.

Now these honest Merchants of Lavall, and Vittry (as much in charity to La Vil∣lettes life, as in execration of that confessed murther of his Master De Merson) convey him to an Inne in S•…•…int Gorges, when expecting every minute, that he would dye in their hands, they send away post to advertise the Presidiall Court of Mans hereof, (within whose Iurisdiction Saint Gorges was) who speedily command La Villette to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 •…•…ght thither to them alive or dead: But God reserved him from that natural, to 〈◊〉〈◊〉

more infamous death, and made him live till he came thither; where againe he con∣fesseth this his foule murther of his master De Merson, and likewise accuseth La Vas∣selay to bee the sole instigator thereof, as we have formerly heard and understood. Whereupon he is no sooner examined, but this bloody old Hagge is likewise impri∣soned: who with many asseverations and teares, denies, and retorts this foule crime from her selfe to him. But her Iudges are too wise to beleeve the weakenesse and invalidity of this her foolish justification: So whiles they are consulting on her; De Bre•…•… having notice of all these accidents, but especially, of La Vasselay's impri∣sonment; he (still apprehending and fearing, that she undoubtedly was the death of his daughter Gratio•…•…a) takes Poste from Nogent to Mans, where hee accuseth her thereof to the Cryminell Iudges, of the Presidiall Court: who upon these her double accusation, adjudge her to the Racke, when at the very first torment thereof, shee at last (preferring the life of her soule, before that of her body) confesseth her selfe to be the Actor of her first crime of Murther, and the Author of the second: when, and whereupon the Iudges (resembling themselves) in detestation, and for expiation of these her foule crimes, condemne him to be hangd, and she to be burnt alive; which the next day, at the common place of execution (neere the Halles in Mans, is accor∣dingly executed, in the presence, and to the content of a world of people of that Ci∣ty, who as much abhorre the enormity of these their bloody crimes, as they rejoyce •…•…nd glorifie God, for this their (not so severe, as deserved) punishments.

As for La Villette he (like an impious Christian) said little else, but that which he had formerly spoken and delivered in the wood, at the receiving of his fall: onely hee said, That he had well hoped, that his great wealth which hee had with La Vasselay, would have sheltred and preserved him from this infamous death for murthering her Husband, and his master, De Merson.

But as for this bloody Beldam, and wretched old Fury, La Vasselay, she was con∣tent to grieve at Gratiana's death, though not to lament or pity that of her Husband De Mersons: yea, and although she seemed to blame her jealousie towards her; yet her age was so wretchedly instructed in piety, as she could not find in her heart either to make an Apologie, or any way to seeme repentant for her inhumane cruelty towards him: For as she demanded pardon of De Bremay for poysoning his daughter∣so she spake not a word tending that way, to Manfrelle, for causing his sonne 〈◊〉〈◊〉 pistoll'd; only in particular tearmes, she re quested God to forgive the vanity of her youth; and in generall ones, the world to forget the offences and crimes of her age: And so conjuring all old Widdowes and Wives, to beware by her mournful and exe∣crable example; her flames and prayers made expiation for the offence of her body, and her soule mounted and fled to Heaven, to crave remission and pardon of God, who was the only Creator of the one, and Redeemer of the other.

And such were the deplorable, yet deserved ends of this bloody, and wretched couple, La Vasselay and La Villette, for so cruelly murthering harmelesse Gratiana, and innocent De Merson: And thus did Gods all-seeing, and sacred Justice, justly triumph ore these their crying and execrable crimes. O that their examples may engender and propagate our reformation; and that the reading of this their lamentable History, may teach us, not only how to meditate thereon, but also how to amend thereby.

GODS REVENGE AGAINST THE CRYING AND Execrable Sinne of Murther.

HISTORY XIV.

Fidelia and Caelestina cause Carpi and Monteleone, with their two Laquayes, Lo∣renzo and Anselmo, to murther their Father Captaine Benevente, which they per∣forme. Monteleone, and his Laquay Anfelmo are drowned, Fidelia hangs her selfe, Lorenzo is hanged for a robbery, and on the gallowes confesseth the murthering of Bene∣vente, Carpi hath his right hand then his head cut off; Caelestina is beheade•…•… and her body burnt.

OUr best parts being our Vertues, and our chiefe and Sove∣raigne Vertue, the purity and sanctity of our selves; how can we neglect those, or not regard this, except we resolve to see our selves miserable in this life, and our soules wret∣ched in that to come: and as charity is the cyment of our o∣ther vertues, so envie (her opposite) is the subversion of this our charity; from whence flowes rage, revenge, and many times murther, (her frequent (and almost) her inseperable companions:) but of all degrees of malice and envie, can there be any so inhumane and diabolicall, •…•…s for two gracelesse daughters to plot the death of their owne father; and to seduce and obtaine their two lovers to act and per∣forme it: whereof in this insuing History, we shall see a most barbarous and bloody president, as also their condigne punish•…•…nts afflicted on them for the same. In the reading whereof, O that we may have the grace by the sight of these their 〈◊〉〈◊〉 crimes and punishments, to reforme and prevent our owne; that wee may looke on their cruelty with charity, on their rage with rea•…•…on, on their errors with compassion, on their desperation, with pitty, and on their 〈◊〉〈◊〉 wi•…•…h p•…•…; that the me∣ditation and contemplation thereof, may terrifie ou•…•… 〈◊〉〈◊〉; qu•…•…ch both the fire of our lust, and the flames of our revenge; so shall our faiths be fortified, our passions

reformed, our affections purified, and our actions eternally both blessed and sancti∣fied: to which end, I have written and divulged it. So Christian Reader, if thou make this thy end in perusing it, thou wilt then not faile to receive comfort thereby: and therefore faile not to give God the Glory.

MAny yeeres since the Duke of Ossuna (under the command of Spaine) was made Viceroy of the Noble Kingdome of Naples, the which hee governed with much reputation and honour, although his fortunes or actions (how justly or unjustly I know not) have since suffered and received an Eclipse. In the City of Otranto, with∣in the Province of Apulia, there dwelt an ancient rich and valiant Gentleman, (nobly descended) tearmed Captaine Benevente, who by his deceased Lady Sophia Elia•…•…ora, (Niece to the Duke of Piombin•…•…,) had left him two daughters and a sonne, he tearmed Seignior Richardo Alcasero, they two, the Ladies Fidelia and Caelestina, names indeed, which they will no way deserve; but from whom they will solely dis∣sent and derogate, through their hellish vices, and inhumane dispositions to blood and murther: wee may grace our names, but our names cannot grace us. Alcasero lives not at home with his father, but for the most part at Naples, as a chiefe Gentle∣man retayning to the Viceroy: where he profiteth so well in riding and tilting (a no∣ble vertue and exercise, (beyond all other Italians) naturall and hereditary to the Neopolitans,) that he purchased the name of a bold and brave Cavalier, but for Fi∣delia and Caelestina, the clockes of their youth having stroke twenty, and eighteene, the Captaine their father, (thinking it dangerous to have Ladies of their yeeres and descent farre from him) keepes them at home, that his care might provide them good husbands, and his eye prevent them from matching with others. It is as great a blessing in children to have loving Parents, as for them to have obedient children; and had their obedience answered his affection, and their duty his providence: wee had not seene the Theatre of this their History so be sprinckled, and gored with such great effusion of blood.

This Captaine Benevente their father, (for his blood, wealth, and generosity) was beloved and honoured of all the Nobility of Apulia, and for his many services, both by sea and land, was held in so great esteeme in Otranto, that his house was an Academie, where all the Gallants both of City and Country resorted to backe great Horses, to run at the Ring, and to practise other such Courtly and Martiall Exercises, whereunto this old Captaine, as well in his age, as youth, was exceedingly addicted: so as the beauty of his two daughters, Fidelia, and Caelestina could not be long, either unseene, or unadmired,: for they grew so perfectly faire, of so sweet complexions, and proper statures, that they were justly reputed and held to be the Paragons of Beau∣tie, not only of Apulia, but of Italy: so as beauty being the Gold and Diamonds of Nature; this of theirs (so sweet in its influence, and so excellent and delicious in that sweetnesse) drew all mens eyes to love them, many mens hearts to adore them: so had they beene as rich in Vertue, as in Beauty, they had lived more fortunate, and neither their friends nor enemies should have lived to have seene them die so mise∣rably; for now that proves their ruine, which might have beene their glory. They are both of them sought in marriage, by many Barons and Caviliers, as well at home as abroad, but the Captaine their father will not give care, nor hearken to any, nor once permit that such motion be moved him: They are so immodest, as they grieve hereat, and are so extreamly sorrowfull, to see that a few yeares past away, makes their Beauties rather fade than flourish: where Vertue graceth not Beauty, as well as Beauty, Vertue, it is often 〈◊〉〈◊〉 presage and fore-runner of a fortune as fatall, as miserable.

But as their thoughts were too impatient and immodest, to give way to such in∣continent and irrigular conceits; so on the other side, the Captaine their father, was too severe, and withall too unkind, I may say, cruell, to hinder them from Marriage, sith their beauty and age had long since made them both meritorious and capable of it: It was in them immodesty; in him, unkindenesse, to propose such ends, to their desires and resolutions: for as hee hath authority to exact obedience from them, so have they likewise reason to expect fatherly affection, and care from him. But hee is more affected and addicted to his wealth and covetousnesse, then inclined to regard his daughters content; and therefore is fully resolved, not as yet to marry them, which is a resolution better left then imbraced, and infringed then kept of him; sith it may bring foorth effects contrary both to his hopes and desires. It is commonly dangerous for Parents, to content themselves with their childrens discontents: for where Nature is crossed, it many times degenerates, and prooves unnaturall, as the Cataracts of Ni∣lu•…•… make it submerge and wash Egypt with her inundation: But Fidelia and Caelesti∣na, will make triall of one invention and conclusion more before they will give way to their distaste, or strike saile to their choller or revenge. They see their father is re∣solute, and severe in nipping their hopes, and crossing their desires of marriage; and yet they hope, that although they cannot prevaile with him, that their brother Alca∣sero may: to which end, the sooner to obtaine and crowne their desires with content, they consult together, and so by a confident friend of theirs, send him this Letter to Naples.

FIDELIA and CAELESTINA to 〈◊〉〈◊〉.

DIspayring of our Fathers resolution to marry vs, we have no other refuge or recourse, but to thy selfe, and thy affection, in requesting thee powerfully to solicite him herein that hee may not preferre his gold before our content, and consequently his hopes before our despaire: neither could our hearts or thoughts perswade vs, •…•…ither to imploy or acquaint any other but thy selfe with these our desires, which Modesty would have suppressed, but that Truth contradicted and opposed it: for his severity and cruelty is such towards us, that although wee are sought in marriage by divers Cavaliers our Superiours, yet he will 〈◊〉〈◊〉 permit us to be seene, much lesse to bee wedded of any. Ioyne then thy power to our wishes and prayers, and thy affection to the procuring of our contents; and we then doubt •…•…ot, but to be as happy in a Brother, as otherwise we feare, we shall see our selves unfortu∣nate, yea, miserable in a Father: and as thou canst not forget our descent and Blood; so we zealously pray and beseech thee to remember, if not our Beauty, our Touth.

• ...FIDELIA.
• ...CAELESTINA.

Their Brother receives this their Letter: he is too brave, generous, and courteous, to be unkind to any, especially to young Ladies, & most especially to his si•…•…ers, whose content he makes and reputes his owne. He comes to Otranto, deales effectually with the Captaine his father herein, who gives them this answer▪ That he hath provided the Baron of Carpi for Fidelia, and the Knight Bartholomeo Monte-leon•…•… for Caelestina▪ and that within fifteene dayes they are to come to Otranto to see them: which newes doth exceedingly rejoyce first himselfe, then his sisters: but their joy shall not last long, but be buried as soone as borne. Within the prefixed time these two Noble men come, but they are hatefull, and not pleasing to Fidelia and Caelestina; for the Ba∣ron of Carpi is crook-backt, and squint-eyed, and Monte-leone is •…•…ame of one leg. These

Ladies valew their beauty at too high a rate, to bestow it on such deformed husbands; and although Venus accepteth of Vulcan, yet they will have none of these; because they deeme no hell to that of a discontented bed: heretofore they wished for Sutors, and now they wish they were well ridde of these; and so sacrificing to their owne contents, they set up this resolution in their hearts and soules, that they will rather dye maidens, then live to see themselves wives to such husbands. Their father re∣ceives Carpi and Monte-leone curteously, and entertaines them nobly, according to their ranke and merits: he tells his daughters plainely, that they shall marry these, and none others. Thus the Barke of these their resolutions, are surprisd and beaten with two cantrary winds: he will bee obeyed of his daughters, and they will be com∣manded of their father in all things, but not in this of their Marriage.

It is never good for parents, to force the affections of their children in their marri∣ages, sith it is a businesse which not only lives, but dies with them; but withall, their owne wills must neither be their law, nor their guide: for their Parents have, (or at least should have) more experience and judgement then they, to see who are, and who are not fit matches for them: But where authority opposeth affection, or affe∣ction, reason, there such marriages are still ushered on with discontent, and wayted and attended on with misery. Likewise, there is a great respect and consideration to be observed by Parents, in the inclinations and natures of their children: for some will be perswaded, or reproved with a word, whereas others will become more head∣strong and rebellious with menaces and threats. Had this Captaine attempted and practised the first, and not the second towards these two Ladies his daughters, per∣adventure they had never leapt from reason to rage, from obedience to contempt, nor from hope to despaire; yea, I dare presume to averre with truth and safety, that wee should have seene them all as happy, as I now feare wee shall see them miserable.

But to proceed with their History, they are pressed by the Captaine their father, and importuned by the two noble men their Sutors, to finish and confirme these contracts. But Fidelia and Caelestina with a true semblance of distaste, and yet a false shew of curtesie, give the deniall to their father in particular tearmes, and to them in generall: He stormes at their disobedience, and they impute this excuse of theirs, to modesty, rather than unkindnesse: They flatter themselves with this hope, that sith they are faire, they must be courteous, and cannot be cruell: or if the contra∣ry, that the Captaine their father will so manage his daughters affections, as all things shall sort to their desires and expectations; but they shall come too short of their hopes: for they are neither reserved for the Ladies, nor the Ladies for them: but whiles thus they are busie in advancing the processe of their affections, Fidelia and Caelestina attempt a contrary enterprise: for they with teares and prayers, request their brother Alcasero, importunately to solicite their Father in their behalfe: that he will not enforce them to marry those whom they cannot affect, much lesse o∣bey: which like a noble and deare brother hee performes with much zeale and per∣swasion: but he cannot prevaile with him, nor bring them any other answer, then that they must and shall marry them, and onely them.

Had this resolution of their father beene more courteous and lesse rigorous to∣wards his daughters, this History of theirs had not deserved so much pitty, and com∣passion, nor would have drawen so many sighes from the hearers, or teares from the Readers: for now seeing their father cruelly resolved to offer violence to their affections, they begin to hate him, because he will not better love them. And here (O here) they enter into devillish machinations, and hellish conspiracies against him: for as hee plots their discontents, so doe they his destruction. Fidelia and Caele∣stina

see their blood, and cause one, and therefore so they pretend shall be their for∣tunes: they would reveale their intents and designes each to other; but the fact is so foule and unnaturall, as for a whiles they cannot but they need no other O∣ratory then their owne sullen and discontented lookes, for either of them may read a whole Lecture of griefe and choller in each others eyes, till at length tyred with the importunity of their father, and the impatiency of Carpi, and Monteleone: Fide∣lia as the more audacious of the two, first breakes it to her sister Caelestina, in this manner. That shee had rather die, then bee compelled to marry one whom shee cannot affect: that the Baron of Carpi is not for her, nor shee for him; and that sith her father is resolute in this match, (although shee bee his daughter) shee had rather see him laid in his grave, then her selfe in Carpies bedde. There needs not many reasons, to perswade that which we desire, For Caelestina tells her sister plaine∣ly, that shee (in all points) joynes and concurres in opinion with her, adding withall, that the sooner their father is dispatched, the better; because shee knowes they shall never receive any content on Earth, till he be in Heaven: and so they conclude he shall dye.

But alas, what hellish and devillish daughters are these, to seeke the death of their father, of whom they have received their lives? who ever read of a Parracide more inhumanely cruell, or impiously bloody? so if ever murther went unrevenged, this will not; for wee shall see the Authors and Actors thereof most severely puni∣shed for the same. Men and women may be secret in their sinnes, but God will be just in his decrees, and sacred in his judgements: what a religious resolution had it beene in them, to have retyred, and not advanced in this their damnable attempt; but they are too prophane, to have so much pitty, and too outragious to hearken to this religious reason: yea, they are too impious to hearken to Grace, and too revengefull and Bloody minded, to give eare either to Reason, Dutie, or Religion. So now like two incensed and implacable furies, they consult how and in what manner they may free themselves of their father: Fidelia proposeth divers degrees and severall sorts of murthers; but Caelestina likes none of them; in some she finds too much danger, in others too little assurance; and therefore as young as she is, she invents, a plot as strange as subtil, and as malicious & diabolicall as strange: she informes her, that to be rid of her father, there cannot be a securer course then to engage the Baron of Car∣pi, and the Knight of Monteleone to murther him: Fidelia wonders hereat, saying, it will be impossible for them to be drawn to performe it, sith they both know and see, that the Captaine their father loves them so well, as will or nill, they must be their husbands. But Caelestina's revengefull plot is further fetcht, and more cunningly spunne: for she hath not begun it, to leave it raw and unfinished; but is so confident in her devillish industry, as shee affirmes she will perfect and make it good. Fidelia demands how. Caelestina answereth, That they both must make a feigned and flatte∣ring shew, to change their distaste, and now to affect Carpi, and Monteleone, whom before they could not: that having in this manner drawne them to their lure, when they attempt to urge marriage, they shall both agree to enforme them, that it is im∣possible for them to obtaine it, whiles the Captaine their father lives, sith albeit in outward appearance hee make a faire shew to make them their husbands; yet that he meanes and intends nothing lesse; for that he hath given them expresse charge and command (at any hand) not to love or affect them; which is the maine and sole cause, that hath so long withheld them from making sooner demonstrations of their affections towards them: and this (quoth shee) will occasion and provoke them to attempt it; adding, that by this meanes, they may give two strokes with one stone, and so not onely be rid of our father, but likewise of Carpi and Montele∣one,

who peradventure may bee apprehended, and executed for the fact; and for our safegard and security, wee will powerfully conjure and sweare them to secresie.

There is no web finer then that of the Spider, nor treachery subtiller than that of a woman, especially if she contemne Charity for Revenge, her Soule for her Body, God for Sathan, and consequently Heaven for Hell: how else could this young Lady lodge so revengefull a heart in so sweet a Body, or shroud such bloody conceits and inventions under so faire and so beautifull complexion.

But the Panther, though his skinne bee faire, yet his breath is infectious: and we many times see, that the foulest Snake lurkes under the greenest and beautifullest leaves. Fidelia gives an attentive eare to this her sisters bloody Stratagem and de∣signe: shee findes it sure, and the probabilities thereof apparant and easie, and there∣fore approves of it. So these two beautifull, yet bloody sisters vow, without delay, to set it on foot, and in practise. It is the Nature of Revenge, to looke forwards, sel∣dome backewards: but did wee measure the beginning by the end, as well as the end by the beginning, our affections would savour of farre more Religion, and of farre lesse impiety, and we should then rejoyce in that which we must now repent, but cannot remedy. They take time at advantage, and pertinently acquaint Carpi, and Monteleone with it. The passions of affection proove often more powerfull then those of Reason, they suffer themselves to be vanquished and led away by the pure beauty and sweet Oratory of these two discontented and treacherous Ladies, without considering what poyson lurkes under their speeches, and danger under their tongues: They commit a grosse and maine error, in relying more on the daughters youth, then the fathers gravity; on their verball, then his reall affection; and so they ingage themselves to the daughters, in a veryshort time to free them of the Captaine their father. It was a base vice in Gentlemen of their ranke, to violate the Lawes of Hospitality, in so high a degree, as to kill him, who loved them so dearely, and enter∣tained them so curteously; and it is strange, that both their humours were so strange∣ly vitious, as to concurre and sympathize in the attempt of this execrable murther: But what cannot vice performe, or Ladies procure of their Lovers, at least if they love Beauty better then Vertue, and Pleasure, then Piety.

Captaine Benevente is many times accustomed after dinner to ride to his Vine∣yard, and now and then to Alpiata, a neighbour village, where hee is familiarly (if not too familiarly) acquainted with a Tennants wife of his, whom he loved in her youth, and cannot forsake in her middle age: perseverance in vice never makes a good end: a single sinne is distastefull; but the redoubling thereof, is both hatefull and odious to God. Carpi and Monteleone take their two Lacquaies, Lorenzo and An∣selmo with rhem, assoone as they know the Captaine to be abroad, onely accompani∣ed with his confident Gentleman Fiamento; and disguising themselves, they watch him at the corner of the wood; where of necessity he must passe. The event answe∣reth their bloody expectations and desires: they see Benevente and Fiamento ap∣proaching, riding a soft trot; when like so many Fiends and Devils, they all foure rush forth the thickets, and (without any other forme) with their Swords and Pi∣stols, (after some resistance) kill them dead to the ground: but this is not the end of their hellish malice and envie; neither is the unsatiable thirst of their revenge yet quenched: for they take these two murthered bodies (who are a fresh reeking and weltring in their blood) and carry them to a neighbour hill, and so throw them down into a deep quarry full of thicke bushes & brambles, wheras they thought no mortall eye should ever have seene them more, and then and there they consult upon their

flight. Carpi resolves to take poast for Naples, and there for a time to shroud him∣selfe among the multitude of the Nobility and Coaches, which grace and adorne that Citie: And Monte-leone resolves to hye towards Brundusium, with intent, that i•…•… these murthers were revealed, and himselfe detected and accused, he would there embarque himselfe either for Venice or Malta: but hee hath not as yet made his peace and reckoning with God.

Leave wee Carpi and his Laquay poasting for Naples, and let vs see what acci∣dent will speedily befall Monte-leone. It is impossible for murther to goe long unpunished; Monte-leone and his Laquay Anselmo shall ere they ride farre, see this position verified in themselves: He is provided of two faire Gennets, one for himselfe, the other for his Laquay, and having taken his leave of Carpi, away he goes for Brundusium; but hee hath not ridden past twelve miles before his owne horse fell downe dead under him, which doth something afflict and amaze him; but this is but the least part of his misery, and but the very beginning of his mis∣fortune; hee is enforced to make a vertue of necessity, so he rides his Laquayes horse, and he followes him on foot. It is impossible for a guilty conscience to be secured from feare: he rides narrow lanes, and by-wayes, but at last neare the Village Blanquettelle he meets with a swift Ford, which is passable for horse, but not for foot: Here Monte-leone is constrained to take up his Laquay Anselmo be∣hinde him, which he doth; but being in the midst thereof, the horse stumbles, and fals with both of them under him; which is done so suddenly, that Monte∣l•…•…e had no time to cast off his Laquay, and so they are both drowned; and have neither the Grace nor power to breathe, or speake a word more.

Gods judgements are secret and inscrutable: had they had time to repent, they had onely lost their lives, whereas now it is rather to bee feared; than wi∣shed, they likewise runne the hazard of their soules. But as it is a vertue to thinke and censure charitably of the dead, so it must needs bee a vice to doe the con∣trary. Heretofore they thirsted for bloud, and (loe) now they have their fill of water. All Elements are the servants of God, but these two of fire and water, are the most terrible, the most impetuous. Wee have but one way to come in∣to the world, but divers to goe out of it: This is a testimony of our weaknesse, and of Gods power.

By this time Captaine Benevente, and his man Fiamento are found wanting, and no newes to be heard of them: his house rings and resounds with sorrow, all his servants and friends mourne and lament for his absence, and his two accursed daughters, they seeme to be all in teares hereat: but we shall shortly see this their hypocrisie and dissimulation both detected and revenged. They lay all the Coun∣trey to purchase newes of their father, and speedily by poast advertise their bro∣ther Alcasero hereof at Naples, who amazed hereat, comes away with all possible speed and expedition: His two sisters and himselfe wonderfully mourne and la∣ment for the absence of their father; and now seing five dayes past and no newes of him, they beginne to suspect and feare, that he is made away and murthered; •…•…nd because Fiamento was alone with him, they suspect him of the fact, which •…•…hey are the sooner induced to beleeve, in regard he is fled, and not to be found: •…•…ut they shall soone see the contrary, and that as hee was a faithfull servant to •…•…eir father his master, during his life, so hee was a true companion to him in •…•…is death. And although Alcasero his sonne use all possible zeale and industry to •…•…de out his father, yet sith Earth cannot, now Heaven will reveale the newes •…•…d sight of him. For as some neighbouring Gentlemen (his kinsfolkes and •…•…iends) are hunting of a Stagge neare Alpiata; they pursue him on horseback some

five or six houres, and at last being tired, hee runnes for refuge and shelter, tho∣row the bushes and bryers, into the same old Quarry, where the dead bodies of Captaine Benevente, and his man Fiamento were throwne. The Gentlemen Hunters descend from their horses, and with their Swords drawne, enter pur∣posely to kill the Stagge, which they performe; when casting aside their eyes, they see two dead mens bodies, one neere the other, whose legges, hands, and faces, the Crowes had pitifully mangled and defaced. They are amazed at this mournfull and unlooked for spectacle, when approaching to discerne them, they by their clothes finde, and know them to bee Captaine Benevente, and his Gentle∣man Fiamento. They are astonished and amazed hereat; and so one of them rides backe poast to Otranto, to acquaint Alcasero his sonne hereof; who melting into teares, returnes with him neare to Alpiata, where, to his unspeakable griefe, hee sees the dead bodies both of his father and Fiamento, which before all the Hun∣ters hee caused to bee searched, and findes that his father (with a Pistoll bullet) was shot thorow the head in two places, and run thorow the body with a Rapier in three; and that Fiamento had five deepe wounds with a Rapier, and once shot thorow the head. Alcasero, and the whole company grieve and lament at this sorrowfull newes; they know well that Fiamento did not set upon the Captaine his father, and that neither of them had Pistols: and though they might imagine it done by theeves, yet they were quickly cleared of that jealousie and suspition, because they finde rich Rings on his Masters fingers, and store of gold in his poc∣kets: So they referring the discovery of this bloudy and damnable murther to Time, and to God, the Author and giver of Time, Alcasero causeth the dead bo∣dies, first of his father, then of Fiamento to be laid in a Coach, which hee had pur∣posely caused to bee brought thither; and so accompanied with all the Gentle∣men, returnes with it to Otranto, where all the whole City lament and bewaile his tragicall disaster: and because these dead corps of theirs have received wrong in being so long above ground, Alcasero that night gives them their due burials, interring Fiamento decently, and his father honourably, according as the necessity and strictnesse of the time would permit him.

It is now Alcasero's curiosity and care to seeke out the murtherers of his Fa∣ther; and for his sisters, they are so irreligious and wretched, as they thinke to mocke God, and delude the world with their immoderate, yet counterfeit mour∣ning; but it proceeds not from their hearts, much lesse from their soules. The morrow after their Fathers buriall, they are all three informed, that Monte-leone and his Laquay Anselmo are drown'd as they past the River Blanquettelle, whereat he wonders, and his two sisters rejoyce and triumph, especially Caelestina, who now sees herselfe freed, not onely of the Captaine her father whom shee hated, but also of the Knight Monte-leone her Sutor, whom she could not love: Shee is so impious and gracelesse, as shee doth rejoyce, but will neither repent nor pity at these accidents; yea, shee so sleightly and trivially passeth over the remem∣brance of her fathers untimely and bloudy death, as if murther were no sinne, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 that God had ordained no punishment for it: Shee weares her mourning attire and weeds, more for shew than sorrow: for her father was no sooner laid in hi•…•… grave, but she builds many Castles of pleasure in the aire of her extravagant an•…•… ambitious thoughts, vowing that ere long she will have a Gallant of her own chu∣sing to her husband: but she may come too short of her hopes, and perchance fin•…•… a halter for her necke, before a wedding Ring for her finger. As for her brothe•…•… Alcasero, his thoughts are roaving and roaming another way: for he finds it strang•…•… that the Baron of Carpi comes not to condole with him for his father, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉

continue his sute and affection to his sister Fidelia, whereat hee both admires and wonders, and not onely takes it in ill part, but also beginnes to suspect, and to cast many doubts and jealousies thereon; and what the issue thereof will bee, or what effects it will produce, wee shall shortly see. But a moneth or two being blowne away, Carpi hearing no suspition or talke of him, and thinking all things in a readinesse for him to be assured and contracted to his Lady and Mistris Fide∣lia; hee takes a new Laquay, and apparelling him in a contrary Livery, sends him secretly to Otranto with this Letter to her:

CARPI to FIDELIA.

THere are some reasons that stay me for not comming to Otranto, to condole with thee for the death of thy Father, which what they are, none can better imagine th•…•…n thy selfe: when thy sorrowes are overblowne, I will come to thee, in hope to be as joyfull in thy presence, as thy absence makes me miserable. I have given thee so true and so reall a proofe of my affection, as thou shouldest offer mepalpable injustice, and to thy selfe extreme injurie to doubt thereof. For what greater testimony canst thou futurely expect, than to beleeve I will ever preferre thy love before mine owne life: if thy constancy answer mine, Heaven may, but Earth cannot crosse our desires. I pray signifie me how thy brother stands affected to our affe∣ctions; thy answers shall have many kisses, and I will ever both honour and blesse that hand that writ it.

CARPI.

The Laquay comes to Otranto, and findes out Fidelia, to whom (with much care and secrecie) hee delivers his Masters Letter, and commends, and requesteth an answer. Fidelia receives the one, and promiseth the other: but shee is perplexed and troubled in minde. Here her thoughts make a stand, and consult whether shee shall open this Letter or no. Her Conscience hath heretofore yeelded to the death of her Father; and now Religion beginnes to worke upon the life of her Conscience, which indeed is that of her Soule. Had shee persevered in this course of pietie, her repentance might have pleaded for her disobedience, and her contrition redeemed her crime; but shee forsakes the Helme that might have steered her to the Port of happinesse and safety; and so fills the sayles of her resolutions with the wind of despaire, which threaten no lesse than to split the Barke of her life on the rockes of her destruction and death. Shee now beginnes to hate company which before shee loved, and to love solitarinesse, which before shee hated; yea, the living picture of her dead Father doth so haunt her thoughts, and frequent her imaginations, that wheresoever shee is, it is present with her. Remorse, as a Vulture gnawes at her heart and consci∣ence; yea, though nothing doe feare her, yet shee feares all things. Shee sees no man running behinde her, but she thinks he purposely followes her to dragge her to prison: shee is afraid of her owne shadow, and thinks, that not onely every tower, but every house will fall upon her: she will not come into any Boat, nor passe any River, Brooke, or Well, for feare of drowning. This despaire of hers causeth her to be cold in her Religion, and frozen in her Prayers, which should be both the preservative and Antidote of the soule: her speeches for the most part are confused and distracted, and her looks; sullen, fearefull, and ghastly (the proper signes & symptomes of despaire.) Carpi's Laquay having stayed two daies in Otran∣to for his answer, holds it his duty to importune Fidelia to be dispatched, the which that night she promiseth him; and now in a sad & melancholly humour she breaks

off Carpi's Letter, and peruseth it; which not onely renewes, but revives the re∣membrance of her fathers death; whereat she enters into so strange, and so im∣placable a passion, as she once had thought to haue throwne his Letter into the fire, and her selfe after. Now shee is resolued to write backe to Carpi, and then presently shee changeth her resolution, and vowes she will answer him with s•…•…∣lence. But the Devill is as subtill as malicious; and so shee cals for Pen and Inke, and out of the dregs of discontent, and the gall of despaire, writes and returnes him this answer:

FIDELIA to CARPI.

MY Fathers death hath altered my disposition; for I am now wholly addicted to mour∣ning, and not to marriage. I pray trouble not thy selfe to leaue Naples, to c•…•…me to condole with me in Otranto: for the best comfort that I can receive, is that it is impossible for me to receive any: I never doubted of thy affection, nor will give thee any just cause to suspect, much lesse to feare mine. If this will not suffice, rest assured I have resolved, that either my grave, or thy selfe shall bee my Husband. How my brother stands affected to thee, is a thing difficult for me to understand or know, sith I am only his Sister, not his Secretary; but in all outward appearance, I thinke he neither loves thee for my sake, nor my selfe for thine. Live thou as happy, as I feare I shall die miserable.

FIDELIA.

What a fearefull Letter is this, either for Fidelia to send, or Carpi to receive: but her distempered and distracted spirits can afford no other; and therefore shee dispatcheth away the Laquay with this. And now (as if her thoughts transported her to hell) shee cannot bee alone, for the Deuill is still with her: hee appeares to her in the shape of an Angell of Light, and profers her mountaines of Wealth, and Worlds of Honour, if shee will fall downe and adore him. To rebell against God is a sinne; but to perseuere in our rebellion, is not onely a contempt, but a treason in the highest degree against God. The best of Gods people are com∣monly tempted; but those are, and prove the worst, who are overcome with temptation. Fortitude is a principall and soueraigne vertue in Christians; and if wee vanquish the Deuill, it is good for vs that he assaulted us, sith those Victories (as well spirituall as temporall) are ever most glorious and honourable, which are at∣chieved with greatest danger. Had Fidelia followed the current of this counsell, and the streame of this advise, shee had never beene so weake with God, nor so unfaithfull to her selfe, as to destroy her selfe: but forsaking God, and contem∣ning prayer, which is the true way to the truest felicity, what can shee hope for but despaire, or expect but destruction? Her brother Alcasero, and many of her kinsfolks, neighbours, and friends (with their best zeale, and possible power) en∣devour to perswade and comfort her; they exhort her to read religious bookes, and continually to pray: Shee hearkneth to both these counsels, but neither can, or will not follow either: Her sleepes are but broken slumbers, and her slum∣bers but distracted dreames; and ever and anon it seemes (to the eyes of her minde and body) that the Captaine her father doth both speake to her and follow her. In a word, she is weary both of this world, and of her life; yea, despaire, or rather the Devill hath reduced her to this extreme misery, and miserable extremi∣ty, that she is ready to kisse that hand that would kill her, or that Death which would giue her death: Shee never sees a knife in the hands of another, but shee wi∣sheth it in her owne heart: her Conscience doth so terribly accuse her, and •…•…r

thoughts give in such bloudy evidence against her conscience and selfe, for oc∣casioning her fathers murther, that she resolves she must die, and therefore dis∣daines to live, And now comes her sister Celestina to her, to perswade and con∣ferre with her, but she will prove but a miserable comforter. Fidelia sees her with hatred and detestation, and when shee begins to speake, very peremptorily and mournfully cuts off her speeches thus; Ah sister, would we had slipt when wee plotted our fathers death, for in seeking his ruine, we shall assuredly finde out our 〈◊〉〈◊〉: Provide you for your safety, for I am past hope of mine; and so get you out of my sight. I know not whether the beginning of this her speech savoured more of Heaven, then the end thereof doth of Hell: for sure If we passe hope we come too short of salvation; and if we forsake that, this infallibly will forsake us.

This poore, or rather this miserable Gentlewoman, having alwayes her murthe∣red father before her eyes, (which incessantly haunts her as a ghost, and yet shee enforced to follow it as her shaddow) is powerfully allured and provoked by the instigation of the Devill, in what manner, or at what rate soever, to dispatch her selfe, being so wretchedly instructed in faith and piety, and shee addes and beleeves, that the end of her life will prove not onely the end of her afflictions, but the beginning of her joyes. But O poore Fidelia, with a thousand pities and teares, I both pitie and grieve to see thee beleeve so infernall an Advocate: for what joyes either will he, or can he give thee? Why, nothing but bondage for liberty, torments for pleasures, and tortures for delights: or if thou wilt have me shew thee whereat his flattering oratory, or sugred insinuation tendeth, it is onely to have thee destroy thy body in earth, that (as a triumph and Trophee to the enlargement of his obscure kingdome) he may dragge thy body and soule to hell fire. But Fidelia is as constant in her sinne, as impious in her resolution; and so (all delayes set apart) shee seekes the meanes to destroy her selfe: shee procures poyson, and takes it, but the effect and operation thereof answers not her desires. I know not whether shee be more impatient to live, than willing to die. We ne∣ver want invention, seldome meanes to doe evill: a little pen-knife of hers, shall in her conceit performe that which poyson could not: shee seeks it, and now re∣members it is with her paire of knives in the pocket of her best gowne: she flies to her Ward-robe, and so to her pocket, but finds not her knives, onely she finds her Naples silke girdle in stead thereof. The Devils instruments are never farre to seeke; she thinks it as good to strangle her throat, as to cut it: And here comes her mournfull and deplorable Tragedy, she returnes swiftly to her chamber, bolts the doore, and so (which I grieve and tremble to relate) fastens it to the reaster of her bed, and there hangs her selfe; and as it is faithfully reported, at that very instant, and for the space of an houre, it thundred and lightned so cruelly, as if Heaven and Earth were drawing to an end, that not onely the chamber where she hung, but the whole house shaked thereat. The thunder being past, and the skies cleared, dinner is served on the Table, and Alcasero and Caelestina ready to sit, they call for their sister Fidelia, but she is not to be found. One goes to her cham∣ber, and returnes, that her key is without side, and the doore bolted within, and yet shee answers not. They both flie from the Table to her chamber, and call and knocke, but no answer. Alcasero commands his men to breake open the doore, which they doe, and there sees his sister Fidelia hanging to the bed-steed starke dead. They cry out as affrighted and amazed at this mournfull and piti∣full spectacle, and with all speed take her downe; but she is breathlesse, though not cold; and they see all her face and body, which were wont to be as white as snow, now to be coale blacke, and to stinke infinitely. These are the wofull effects,

and lamentable fruits both of Despaire and Murther; O, may Christians of all ranks, and of hoth sexes, take heed by Fidelia's mournfull & miserable example, and with∣all remember that murther will still be revenged and punished, especially that which is perpetrated by Children towards their Parents; a sinne odious both to God and man, sith it not onely opposeth Nature, but Grace; Earth, but heaven.

No sooner (with griefe and mourning) hath Alcasero buried this his naturall, yet unnaturall •…•…ster Fidelia, but as his other sister Caelestina weeps for her death, so she againe, rejoyceth that her sister hath no way revealed the great businesse, which so much concernes her, I meane the murther of the Captaine her father. But Time will detect and revenge both it and her. And that wee may not seeme extravagant in the narration and unfolding of this Historie, flie wee from Otranto to Naples, and leave we the fatall and wofull Tragedy of Fidelia; to speake a little of the Baron of Carpi her Lover, who hath yet a great part to act upon the Theatre of this History.

He hath no sooner received Fidelia's Letter by his Lacquay, but he much won∣ders and grieves at the contents thereof: he sees her cold in her affection towards him, and hot in despaire to her selfe, and thinks, that as it is in her power to re∣joyce him with her affection, so it may be in his to comfort her with his presence: but her request and his Conscience informe him, that it is yet too soone to leave Naples to see Otranto; and yet that hee may not faile in the complement and duty of a Lover, he resolves to visit her by Letter, though not in person, and so writes her these few lines.

CARPI to FIDELIA.

WEre thy request not my Law, I would see Fidelia to comfort her, and comfort my selfe to see her: But sith I must be so unfortu•…•…, as in one Letter to receive two different sorrowes, my refusall, and thy despaire: what remedie (or Antidote) can I more aptly administer, than Patience to the first, and Prayer to the second. If thou weigh matters aright, I have more occasion of sorrow than thy selfe, and yet I am so farre from despairing, as I hope Time will give thee consolation, and me Content. Endeavour to love thy selfe, and not to hate me; so shalt thou draw felicity out of affliction, and I secu∣rity out of danger. I hope thy brother will not follow thy fathers steps, his affection to thee, shall be mine to himselfe: Let thy second Letter give me halfe so much joy, as thy first did griefe, and I shall then triumph at my good fortune, as much as I now lament and pity thine, and in that mine owne:

CARPI.

He sends this Letter of his to Otranto, by his Lacquay Fiesco, who carried his first; but he must goe into another world if hee meane to deliver it to Fidelia: He comes to Otranto, and repaires to Captaine Benevent•…•… house: whereas hee is walking in the second Court. Alcasero being very sollitary and pensive at a win∣dow, leaning his head on his hand, and deeply and seriously thinking what two fatall disasters were befallen his house, as the losse of his father and sister, hee by chance espies this Lacquay Fiesco; at whose sight his heart beats, and his bloud very suddenly flasheth up in his face: hee exceedingly wonders hereat, and at∣tributing every extraordinary motion in himselfe, a step or degree to the disco∣very of his fathers murther, whereon his thoughts were alwayes fixed, and could never be withdrawne: hee sends a Gentleman of his named Plantinus, to enquire

whose Lacquay it was, and what was his businesse. Plantinus descends and exa∣mineth him, but he is close, and will reveale nothing. Hee entreats him to enter and taste the Wine, the which he doth; when ingaging, and leaving him in the Celler, he trips up to his Master, and acquaints him with his answer, adding with∣all, that some fifteene dayes since hee saw him here before. Alcasero commands this Lacquay to be brought before him, he examines him, but he will not disco∣ver himselfe; he threatens him with the whip, and imprisonment, but he cannot prevaile. It is a vertue in a servant to conceale his masters secrets. Alcasero is angry at his silence and fidelitie, yet commends him: he bethinks himselfe of another course and subtilty, as well knowing that faire words may obtaine that which threats cannot; he prayes him to dine with his servants, and enjoyneth Plantinu•…•… to bring him to him in the Garden after dinner, the which he doth: Alcasero takes him apart, and tels him, that some fifteene dayes past he saw him here: Fiesco an∣swereth him with silence. Alcasero finds much perturbation in his heart, and di∣straction in his looks and speech; he thinks this boy can reveale something which he ought to know, and therefore thinks to surprise him with a silver hooke; he profers him twenty Duckets, and layes it downe before him, to discover himselfe and his businesse.

Gold is, but ought not to be a powerfull bait to indiscretion and poverty. It is a small point of small wisdome in Noblemen to commit secrets of importance to those who have too much folly, and too little judgement to conceale them. The sight of this gold doth not onely dazle Fiesco's eyes, but eclipse his fidelity; so he holds it no sinne towards God, nor treachery towards his master to reveale it; but takes it, and informes him, that hee is the Baron of Carpi his Lacquay, who sent him from Naples thither, with a letter from him to the Lady Fidelia his sister. Alcasero growes pale hereat, and is very curious and hasty to see the Letter: Fiesco delivers it him, who steps aside, and reads it: whreon hee plucks his hat downe his fore-head, and so making three or foure paces, reads it ore againe. He is per∣plexed to know as much as he sees, and grieved, not to see and finde as much as he desireth to know: hee now confirmes his former suspition of Carpi, and be∣leeves that he is a chiefe Actor or Agent in his fathers Tragedy. But hee knowes it wisdome to use silence in the discovery of a crime of this nature; and there∣fore cals Fiesco to him, bids him stay that night, and to speake with him in the morning before he depart.

Alcasero withdrawes himselfe from the Garden to his Closet, and there againe peruseth this Letter of Carpi's: he finds it full of suspition and ambiguities, and perceives it hath a relation to former letters; yea, there is a mystery in this Letter, the which he must unlocke and finde out ere hee bee satisfied: for although Carpi be squint-eyed, yet he feares he hath looked too right on his father. Hee flies to Fidelia's Closet, Trunke, and Casket, and findes a former Letter of Carpi's to her, and the copie of one of hers to him; and the perusall of these two Letters are so farre from diminishing his suspition, as it doth augment and increase it; for now hee verily beleeves that Carpi and his sister Fidelia have joyntly had a great hand in his fathers murther. But all this while hee doth not once so much as suspect or imagine that his other sister Caelestina hath played any part in this Tragedy: but Time is the daughter of Truth, as Truth is that of Heaven. In the morne he cals for Fiesco, to whom he gave this farewell: Tell the Baron of Carpi thy Master, that my sister Fidelia is in another world, and not in this, and that shortly I resolve to see him at Naples, and that in the interim I will reserve his Letter. Fiesco departs, but knowes, hee hath so highly betrayed and wronged his Master, as

he dares not see him, and so shewes him a faire paire of heeles. Such Laquayes farre better deserve a halter than a Livery. Carpi wonders at his Laquayes long stay: In which meane time Alcasero comes to Naples, where hee is yet irresolute, whether to accuse Carpi by the order and course of Law, or to fight with him: but he resolves to doe both; and that if the Law will not right him for the murther of his father, his sword shall. He goes to the Criminell Iudges, and with much pas∣sion and sorrow accuseth the Baron of Carpi for murthering of the Captaine Be∣nevente his father; and for proofe hereof produceth his two Letters to his sister Fidelia, and the copie of one of hers to him. Whereupon the Judges grant power to apprehend Carpi, so hee is taken and constituted prisoner; and now hee hath leasure to thinke on the basenesse and foulenesse of his fact. But he is so farre from dejecting himselfe to sorrow, or addicting himselfe to repentance, as hee puts a brazen face on his lookes and speeches, and so peremptorily intends and resolves to deny all. Had he had more grace, or lesse impiety, he would have made bet∣ter use of this his imprisonment, and have shewen himselfe at least humble, if not sorrowfull, for his offence and crime. But hee holds it wisdome in greatest dangers to shew most courage and resolution, and so makes himselfe fit to grap∣ple and encounter with all accidents and occurrences whatsoever.

Men may palliate their sinnes, but God will finde them out, and display them in their naked colours. Alcasero is an importunate solicitor to the Judges to draw and hasten on Carpi his arraignment: But they (resembling themselves) proceed therein modestly and gravely: they consult, and consider the three Letters: they finde conjecturall sentences enow to accuse, but no solide proofe to condemne him: they hold, that their opinions ought not to bee swayed with the wind of every presumption, and that it is not fit so trivially to set the life of a man at six and seven. Besides, as they approve of Alcasero his affection to his father, so they dislike of his impetuosity and vehemencie towards Carpi. They all resolve to lay the Sword of Iustice in the ballance of Equitie, and then ordaine that Carpi shall bee rackt, to see whether they can draw more light from his tongue, than from his pen. But he endures these his tortures and torments with wonderfull constancie; and still denies all. Had his cause beene more religious and humane, and not so bloudy, this fortitude and courage of his had beene as praise-worthy, as now it is odious and execrable. The Court by sentence (pronounced in open Senate) acquit and cleare Carpi of this murther; whereat Alcasero exceedingly re∣pines and murmures.

It is not enough that Carpi hath now escaped this danger; for Alcasero remaines still constant in his conceit, that he is the murtherer of his father, and therefore vowes and resolves to fight with him: He lets passe some six weeks time, till he be sound of his limbs, and then resolves to send him a challenge. Had Carpi beene innocent, it had beene more honourable and requisite, that hee had challenged Alcasero, than Alcasero him: but his cause being unjust, and his conscience feare∣full, he dares not runne the hazard, to be desirous or ambitious to fight with Al∣casero: the which if hee had attempted, Alcasero will anticipate and prevent him; who making Plantinus his second, hee out of the ashes of his sorrow, and the fire of his revenge, sends him to Carpi with this Billet of Defiance.

ALCACERO to DE CARPI.

ALthough the Law have cleared thee for the murther of my Father, yet my Conscience cannot, and my Rapier will not. I should be a monster of Nature, not to seeke revenge

for his death, of whom I have received my life. Could I give peace to my thoughts, or un∣thinke the cause of my disaster, I would not seeke to bereave thee of thylife, with the hazard of mine owne. But finding this not onely difficult, but impossible, pardon me if I request thee to meet me single, at eight of the clocke after supper, at the West end of the Common Vine∣yard, where I will attend thee with a couple of Rapiers, the choice whereof shall be thine, and the refusall mine: or if thou wilt make use of a second, he shall not depart without meeting one to exchange a thrust or two with him.

ALCASERO.

Whiles the Baron of Carpi is triumphing to see how hee hath bleared the eyes of his Judges, and so freed himselfe from the feares and danger of death, be∣hold, Plantinus finds him out, and delivers him Alcasero his Challenge. Hee takes it, and with a variable countenance reads it, whereat hee finds a reluctation and combate, not onely in his thoughts, but his Conscience; whether hee should ac∣cept or refuse it. His Honour bids him doe the first; but his Conscience wills him to performe the second: it were better to be borne a Clowne than a Coward. Be∣sides if he should refuse to fight with Alcasero, he upon the matter makes himselfe guilty of the Captaine his fathers death. He knowes he hath an unjust cause in hand, but he preferres his Honour before his Li•…•…e, when setting a good face upon his re∣solution, he adresseth himselfe to Plantinus thus:

Sir, I presume you know this businesse: for I take you to bee Alcasero's Second. He hath (replyed Plantinus) done me the honour to make choice of mee, in stead of a more worthy. Well (quoth the Baron of Carpi) tell thy master from mee, That although I have not deserved his malice, yet that I accept his challenge, and will performe it, onely I must fight single, because I am at present unprovided of a Second. Plantinus (as full of Valour as Fidelity) prayes him, that hee may not see his hopes and desires frustrated, but that hee may enjoy part of the feast. But Carpi gives him this answer, which he bids him take for his last resolution: That hee will hazard himselfe, but not his friend. So Plantinus returnes with joy to his master, and discontent to himselfe: when nothing proving of power, to quench the fire of these two Gentlemens courage and revenge, they meet at the time and place appointed. Carpi fights with passion and vehemencie; Alcasero with judgement and discretion. Carpi lookes red and fiery with choller, and Al∣casero pale and ghastly, not for feare of his cause, but for the remembrance of his sorrowes: and to conclude and shut up this combate in the issue thereof, Iustice is not now pleased to shew the effects of her power and influence; nor God that of his Justice, onely it is reserved for another time, and for a more shamefull manner: so Carpi hath the best of the day, for he is onely hurt in his right hand, and scarred over both his lips, as if the providence and pleasure of God had ordai∣ned, that that hand which committed the murther, and that mouth which de∣nied it, should bee purposely punished and no part else. As for Alcasero, hee had five severall wounds, whereof one being thorow the body, made Carpi beleeve it was mortall, and the rather, for that hee fell therewith speechlesse to the ground: so leaving him groveling and weltring in his bloud, hee departs, resting very confident, that hee was at his very last gaspe of life, and point of death. But Carpi his Chirurgeon (being more humane and charitable than his master) leapes over the next hedge, and comes to his assistance: Hee leanes him against a banke, binds up his wounds, and wraps him in his cloake, and so runnes to a Litter, which he saw neere him, and prayes the Lady that was in it, that shee would vouchsafe to take in Don Alcasero, who was there extreamly and dangerously

wounded: and this did Carpi his Chirurgion performe, in the absence of Alcasero's owne Chirurgion; who out of some distaste or forgetfulnesse, came not at the houre and place assigned, according to his promise. It was the Lady Marguerita Esperia, who out of her noble and charitable zeale to wounded Alcasero, present∣ly descended her Litter, commanding her servants to lay him in softly, and to convey him to his lodging, and shee her selfe is pleased to stay in the fields till her servants returne it her. It was a courtesie, and a charity worthy of so Honourable a Lady as her selfe: and in regard whereof, I hold it fit, to give her remembrance and name a place in this History. All Naples, yea, the whole Kingdome rings of this combate; the Baron of Carpi and Alcasero are (joyntly) highly commended and ex∣tolled for the same; the last for his affection and zeale to his dead father; the first, for giving Alcasero his life, when it was in his power and pleasure to have ta∣ken it from him. But God will not permit Alcasero to die of these wounds, but will rather have him live to see Carpi die before him, though in a farre more ig∣noble and shamefull manner.

As soone as Alcasero's wounds are cured, and hee prettie well recovered, hee leaves Naples, and returnes to Otranto, where his sister Caelestina did as much shake and tremble at the imprisonment of the Baron of Carpi, as shee now rejoyces at his liberty; especially, sith shee is assured, that hee hath no way accused her, nor used her name for the death and murther of her father, which indeed makes her farre more pleasant and merry than before, and within six moneths after marries with Seignior Alonso Loudovici, whom shee ever from her youth had loved and af∣fected, and with whom shee lives in great pleasure, state, and pompe; and no lesse doth her brother Alcasero, who for the courtesie which Dona Marguerita Esperia shewed him when he was so dangerously wounded, in requitall thereof doth now marrie the faire Beatina, her onely daughter, with whom hee lives in the highest content and felicity, as any Gentleman of Italy, or of the whole world can either desire or wish.

But this Sunne-shine of Carpi's prosperity, and Caelestina's happinesse and glory shall not last long: for there is a storme breaking forth, which threatneth no lesse than the utter ruine, as well of their fortunes as lives. Where men cannot, God will both detect and punish murthers; yea, by such secret meanes and in∣struments, as we least suspect or imagine. They are infallible Maximes, that we are never lesse secured, than when wee thinke our selves secure; nor neerer dan∣ger, than when we esteeme our selves farthest from it. And if any be so incredu∣lous, or as I may say, so irreligious, as not to beleeve it, haue they but a little pa∣tience, and they shall instantly see it verified and made good in the Baron of Car∣pi, and the Lady Caelestina, who thinking themselves now safe and free from all adverse fortunes, and fatall accidents whatsoever, and enjoying all those contents and pleasures, which their hearts could either desire or wish to enjoy, or which the world could prostitute or present them; they in a moment shall be bereaved of their delights and glory, and enforced to end their dayes on a base scaffold, with much shame, infamie, and misery. The manner is thus:

God many times beyond our hopes and expectations, doth square out the rule of his Justice, according to that of his will: all men are to bee accountable to him for their actions, but he to none for his decrees and resolutions: it is in him to order, in us to obey; yea, many times hee reprives us, but yet with no intent to pardon us. Curiosity in matters of Faith and Religion, proves not onely folly but impiety: for as we are men, we must looke up to God, but as we are Christians, we must not looke beyond him. Hee oftentimes makes great offenders accuse

themselves for want of others to accuse them; and when hee pleaseth, hee will punish one sinne by another, the which wee shall now see verified in Lorenzo▪ the Baron of Carpi his Laquay; that wretched and bloudy Lorenzo, who as wee have formerly heard, assisted this his Master to murther Captaine Benevente and Fia∣mento, neere Alpiata; who ever since being countenanced and authorized by his Masters favour, in respect of this his foule fact, wherein his bloudy and murthe∣rous hand was deeply and joyntly embrewed with him; he from that time be∣comes so debaush'd and dissolute in his service, as he spends all that possible he can procure or get, yea, and runnes likewise extreamly in debt, not onely with all his friends, but also with all those whom he knowes will trust him: so as his wants being extremely vrgent, and enforced to see himselfe reduced to a miserable in∣digence and poverty. He being one day sent by the Baron his Master to the Senate house with a Letter to his Councellor, hee there in the throng and crowd of peo∣ple cut a purse from a Gentlewomans side, wherein was some five and twenty Ducketons in Gold, was taken with the manner, and apprehended, and impri∣soned for the fact, and the next morne his Processe was made, hee found guilty, and condemned to bee hanged: So hee is dealt withall by a couple of Fryers in prison, who prepare his soule for Heaven: Hee sees the foulnesse of his former life, and repents it. The Baron of Carpi his Master, no sooner understands this newes, but he shakes and trembles, fearing lest this his Laquay should reveale the murther of the Captaine and his man: whereupon he resolveth to flie; but con∣sidering againe, that if his Laquay accuse him not, his very flight will proclaime and make him guilty: hee stayes, and as hee thinkes, resolves of a better course. Hee goes to the prison, and deales with his Laquay to bee secret in the businesse hee wots of; protesting and promising him, that in consideration thereof, hee will enrich his mother and brothers. Lorenzo tels him, that he need not feare; for as hee hath lived, so hee will die his faithfull servant: But wee shall see him have more grace, than to keepe so gracelesse a promise. Carpi flattering himselfe with the fidelity and affection of his Laquay, resolves to stay in the City: but hee shall shortly repent his confidence. Hee was formerly betrayed by Fiesco, which mee thinks should have made him more cautious and wise, and not so sim∣ple to entrust and repose his life on the incertaine mercy of Lorenzo's tongue: but Gods Revenge drawes neare him, and consequently he neare his end; for he neither can nor shall avoid the judgement of Heaven.

Lorenzo on the gallowes, will not charge his soule with this foule and execrable sinne of murther: but Grace now operating with his soule, as much as formerly Satan did with his heart, hee confesseth, that hee, and the Baron of Carpi his Master, together with the Knight Monte-leone, and his Laquay Anselmo, murthe∣red the Captaine Benevente, and his man Fiamento, and threw them into the Quar∣rie, the which hee takes to his death is true: and so using some Christian-like speeches of repentance and sorrow, he is hanged.

Lorenzo is no sooner turned over, but the Criminall Iudges advertised of his speeches delivered at his death, they command the Baron of Carpi his lodging to be beleagred, where he is found in his study, and so apprehended, and com∣mitted prisoner, where feare makes him looke pale; so as the Peacocks plumes both of his pride and courage strike saile. He is againe put to the Racke, and now the second time hee reveales his foule and bloudy murther, and in every point acknowledgeth Lorenzoes accusation of him to be true: So he is condemned, first to have his right hand cut off, and then his head, notwithstanding that many great friends of his sue to the Viceroy for his pardon. The night before he was to

die the next morne, one of his Judges was sent to him to prison, to perswade him to discover all his complices in that murther, besides Monte-leone and his Laquay Anselmo; yea, there are likewise some Divines present, who with many religious exhortations perswade him to it: So Grace prevailes with Nature, and Righteous∣nesse with Impiety and sinne in him; that he is now no longer himselfe, for con∣trition and repentance hath reformed him; hee will rather disrespect Caelestina, than displease God: whereupon he affirmes, that she and her deceased sister Fi∣delia, drew him and Monte-leone to murther their father, and his man Fiamento, and that if it had not beene for their allurements and requests, they had never attemp∣ted either the beginning or end of so bloudy a businesse: and thus making him∣selfe ready for Heaven, and grieving at nothing on Earth, but at the remembrance of his foule fact, he in the sight of many thousand people, doth now lose his head.

This Tragedy is no sooner acted and finished in Naples, but the Judges of this City send away poast to those of Otranto, to seize on the Lady Caelestina, (who in the absence of her husband for the most part lived there:) A Lady whom I could pitie for her youth and beauty, did not the foulenesse of her fact so foulely dis∣parage and blemish it. She is at that instant at a Noblemans house, at the solemni∣tie of his daughters marriage, where she is apprehended, imprisoned, and accu∣sed to bee the authour and plotter of the Captaine her fathers death; neither can her teares or prayers exempt her from this affliction and misery. She was once of opinion to deny it, but understanding that the Baron of Carpi and his Laquay Lo∣renzo were already executed for the same in Naples, shee with a world of teares freely confesseth it, and confirmes as much as Carpi affirmed: whereupon in expi∣ation of this her inhumane Paracide, she is condemned to have her head cut off, her body burnt, and her ashes throwne into the ayre; for a milder death, and a lesse punishment the Lord will not (out of his Justice) inflict vpon her, for this her horrible crime, and barbarous cruelty committed on the person of her owne fa∣ther, or at least seducing and occasioning it to be committed on him; and it is not in her husbands possible power to exempt or free her hereof. Being sent backe that night to prison, she passeth it over (or in very truth the greatest part thereof) in prayer, still grieving for her sinnes, and mourning for this her bloudy offence and crime; and the next morne being brought to her execution, when she ascended the scaffold, she was very humble, sorrowfull, and repentant, and with many showres of teares requested her brother Alcasero and all her kinsfolkes to forgive her, for occasioning and consenting to her fathers death, and generally all the world to pray for her; when her sighs and teares so sorrowfully interrupted and silenced her tongue, as she recommending her soule into the hands of her Rede•…•…mer, whom she had so heynously offended, shee with great humility and contrition, kneeling on her knees, and lifting up her eyes and hands towards heaven, the Executioner with his sword made a double divorce betwixt her head and her body, her body and her soule; and then the fire (as if incensed at so fiery a spirit) consumed her to ashes, and her ashes were throwne into the ayre, to teach her, and all the world by her example, that so inhumane and bloudy a daughter, deserved not either to tread on the face of this Earth, or to breathe this ayre of life.

She was lamented of all who either knew or saw her, not that she should die, but that she should first deserve, then suffer so shamefull and wretched a death: and yet shee was farre happier than her sister Fidelia, for shee despaired, and this confidently hoped for remission and salvation. Thus albeit this wretched and execrable young Gentlewoman lived impiously, yet she died Christianly: wherefore let vs thinke on that with detestation, and on this with charity. And here wee see

how severely the murther of Captaine Benevente was by Gods just revenge pu∣nished, not onely in his two daughters who plotted it, but also in the two No∣blemen and their two Laquayes who acted it. Such attempts and crimes, deserve such ends and punishments, and infallibly finde them. The onely way therefore for Christians to avoid the one, and contemne the other, is with sanctified hearts, and unpolluted hands, still to pray to God for his Grace, continually to affect prayer, and incessantly to practise piety in our thoughts, and godlinesse in our resolutions and actions, the which if wee be carefull and conscionable to performe, God will then shrowd us under the wings of his favour, and so preserve and protect us with his mercy and providence, as we shall have no cause to feare either Hell or Satan.

GODS REVENGE AGAINST THE CRYING AND Execrable Sinne of Murther.

HISTORY XV.

Maurice like a bloudy villaine, and damnable sonne, throwes his Mother Christina into a Well and drownes her: the same hand and arme of his wherewith he did it rots away from his body; aad being discrased of his wits in Prison, he there confesseth his foule and inhu∣mane murther, for the which he is hanged.

IF we did not wilfully make ourselves miserable, God is so indulgent and mercifull to us, as hee would make us more happy; but when with high and presumptuous hands wee violate the Lawes of Nature and Grace, of Earth and Heaven, in murthering through Envie those, whom through Duty and affection wee are bound to obey, honour, cherish, and preserve: then it is no mar∣vell, because we first forsooke God, that he after aban∣doneth us to our selves, and sins, and to the fruits there∣of, Calamity, Misery, Infamy, and Perdition; and that we may see humane cru∣elty to be justly met with and punished by Gods upright and divine Justice, Loe here in this ensuing History we shall see a wretched sonne kill his harmlesse and deare mother. A very fearefull and lamentable Parracide, a most cruell and execra∣ble fact, for the which we shall see him rewarded with condigne punishment, and with a sharpe and infamous death, although not halfe so deplorable as deserved. It is a bitter and bloudy History, the relation and remembrance whereof, in the most barbarous and flinty hearts is capable, not only to ingender compassion, but compunction; yea, not onely contrition but teares, at least if we have any place left in us for Pitty, or roome for Piety; the which if we have, doubtlesse the end of our reading will not onely blesse, but crowne the beginning, and the beginning the end thereof.

VPon the North-east side of the Lake Leman, vulgarly knowne and called the Lake of Geneva, (because it payes its full tribute, and makes its chiefest Rendezvous before that City, whereof it invironeth at least one third part.) There stands a pretty small and strong towne, distant a little dayes journey from it, termed Morges, which properly belongs to the jurisdiction of Berne, one of the chiefest Cantons of that warlike people and Country of Swisserland, where∣in of very late yeares, and recent memory, there dwelt a rich and honest Bur∣ger, or Burgemaster (for of Gentry those parts and people are not, because they will not bee capable) named Martin Halsenorfe, who by his wife Christina Snuyt∣saren, had one only childe a sonne, named Maurice Halsenorfe, now of some four∣teene yeare old; whose father although hee were by profession a souldier, and enrolled a Lieutenant to one of those Auxiliary Bands of that Countrey which are in pay to the French King; yet neverthelesse his chiefest ambition and care was, to make this sonne of his a scholler, because the Ignorance and illitera∣ture of his owne age, made him to repent it in himselfe, and therefore to pro∣vide a remedy thereof in his sonnes youth, sith hee now knew and saw, that a man without learning, was either as a body without a soule, or a soule with∣out knowledge and reason, which are her chiefest vertues, and most sacred Or∣naments and Excellencies: So hee brings him up to their owne Grammar Schoole in Morges, where in some three or foure yeares his affection and care to study, makes him so good a Proficient, as hee becomes not onely skilfull, but perfect therein, and almost as capable to teach his Schoole-master, as hee was to instruct him: yea, and to adde the better Grace to the Grace of that Art, hee was of so milde and so modest a carriage, and the blossomes of his youth were so sweet∣ly watred with the Heavenly dew of Vertue and Piety, as if his manners and him∣selfe were wholly composed thereof; so that for Learning and Goodnesse hee was, and was justly reputed, not onely the Mirrour, but the Phoenix of all the youth of Morges; and as he esteemed himselfe happy in his Parents, so they reciprocally hold themselves, not onely happy, but blessed in this their sonne; but because the inherent corruption of our Nature, and the perversenesse and multiplicity of our sinnes are such, as they cannot promise us any true joy, much lesse assured and permanent felicity: so the Sunne-shine of this their Temporary content, equally divided in thirds betwixt the Father, Mother, and Sonne, will shortly receive a great Eclipse, and a fatall disaster, which will bee to them so much the more bit∣ter and mournfull, sith both the cause and effects thereof were of each of them unthought of, of them all unexpected.

For God in his sa•…•…red decree and providence, seeing Martin Halsenorfe the fa∣ther, his strength arrived at his full Meridian and height, and his dayes to their full number and period: He, as he sate at dinner jocund and merry with his wife and sonne, is suddenly taken with a deadly swoone, which presently deprives his bo∣dy of this life, and sends his soule to enjoy the sweet felicity and sacred joy and immortality of the life to come: A Document which may teach us not to relie upon the rotten privileges and strength of youth, but so to prepare our lives, that death at all places, and in all times, maystill finde us armed and ready to encounter it. A Document which may teach us with the erected eyes, as well of our faith as body, so to looke from Earth to Heaven, that our soules be not onely ready, but willing to forsake this stinking Tabernacle and prison of our mortality, to flie and be ad∣mitted into Heaven, that Heavenly Ierusalem, and Celestiall City, where they may enjoy the blessed Communion of the Saints, and the greatest blessings of all joyes,

and the most soueraigne joy of all blessings, then to see our Creator and Saviour, God the Father, and Christ Iesus his Sonne face to face, wherein indeed all the joyes and blessings of our soules are comprised and included.

The death of Halsenorfe the father, is not onely the Argument, but the cause of his widdow Christin•…•…'s griefe, of his sonne Maurice his sorrow, of her teares and groanes, of his sighs and afflictions; yea, and not to derrogate from the Truth, I may step a degree farther and say, that this his death is a fatall herauld, and mournfull har•…•…inger, which p•…•…rtends and prepares both of them many disa∣sterous calamities, and wofull miseries, the which in a manner are almost ready to surprise and befall them.

This sorrowfull widdow being thus deprived of her deare Husband, who was both her comfort and her joy, her stay and her Protector, her Head and her glo∣ry; although hee left her a good Estate, sufficient enough to warrant her against the feare of poverty, and to secure herselfe against the apprehension of worldly Indigence; and wherewithall to maintaine both her and her sonne, with some∣what more than an indifferent competency: yet she saw her friends forsake her, and her Husbands familiar acquaintance abandon her▪ as if their friendship died with him, and that their remembrance of him was wholly raked up, and buried in the dust of his grave. A most ingratefull disease and iniquity of our time, rather to be pitied than cured, and reproved than reformed, so fading & inconstant are the unfriendly friendships of the world, who for the most part are grounded on pro∣fit, not on Honour, on avarice, not on Vertue, on their owne gold, not on the want of their Christian neighbours and brethren: But enough of this, and againe to our History.

Now if Christina (for onely by that name I will henceforth intitle her) have any comfort or consolation left her, to sweeten the bitternesse of her Husbands death, it is onely to see him survive and live in her sonne Maurice, in whose ver∣tues and yeares, her hopes likewise beginne againe to bud forth and flourish; when remembring what an earnest care and desire her husband had to see him a Scholler, as she inherits his goods, so shee will assume and inherit that resolution of his: and although she love her sonnes sight, and affect his presence tenderly and dearely, yet shee can give no peace to her thoughts, nor take any truce of her resolutions, till shee send him from Morges to the Vniversity of Losanna, some three leagues distant thence, there to perfect his studies and learning, the seeds whereof already so hopefully blossomed forth, and fructified in him. To which end, her deepest affection and care having hearkned out one Deodatus Varesius, a Bachelor of Divinity of that Vniversity, whom fame (though indeed most falsly) had enformed her to be an expert Scholler, and an excellent Christian, shee agrees with him; when allowing her sonne an honest exhibition, and furnishing him with Bookes, a Gowne, and all other necessaries, shee sends him away to Losan∣na, charging him at his departure to bee carefull of his Learning, carriage, and actions, and aboue all, to make piety and godlinesse in his life and conversation, the Regent of all his studies; when with teares of naturall affection, they take leave each of other.

Maurice being arrived at Losanna, findes out his Tutor Varesius, who receives and welcomes this his Pupill courteously and kindly: but, alas, the hopes of Christina the mother, are extreamly deceived in the vertues of Varesis; because his Vices will instantly deceive both the merites and expectation of her Sonne, or rather change nature and qualities in him, and thereby shortly make him as vitious in Losanna, as formerly hee was vertuous in Morg•…•…: for I write with

griefe and pity, that to define the truth aright, it was difficult to say, whether he were more learned or deboshed, a more perfect Scholler, or prophane Christian: for albeit the dignity of his Bachelorship of Theologie, did hide many of his dis∣solute pranks, and obscene imperfections, yet his exorbitant deportment and in∣dustry could not so closely overvaile and obscure them, but his intemperate affe∣ction to drinking, and beastly inclination to drunkennesse, began now to become obvious and apparant to the eyes and Heads of his Colledge, yea, to the whole Vni∣versity: A most pernitious and swinish Vice, indeed too too much incident and sub∣•…•…ect to these people the Swissers; but if it had beene immured and confined within these Rocks and Mountaines of Germany, it had proved not onely a happinesse, but a blessing to the other Westerne parts of the Christian world, where it spreads its infection like an uncontrolable and incurable Gangrene, yea, like a most conta∣gious and fatall pestilence: so as in Varesius there was nothing more incongru∣ous and different, than his doctrine and his life, his profession and conversation, his Theorie and his Practice, his knowledge and his will. But if the head-springs and •…•…onntaines be corrupted with this vice and drunkennesse, no marvell if the Rivers and Streames of Common-weales bee infected and poysoned therewith; yea, if it be not debarred, but have admittance and residence in the Schooles and Classes of Vniversities, from which Nurses and Gardens of the Muses, both the Church and State fetch their chiefest Ornaments and Members; how can wee expect to see it rooted out from the more illiterate Commons, whose grosse ignorance makes them farre more capable to learne Vice, than Vertue; or rather Vice, and not Ver∣tue; sith there is no shorter nor truer art to learne it, than of their Art Masters, be∣cause the example and president of ill doings in our Teachers and Superiours, doth not onely plant, but ingraffe and root it, not onely priviledge, but as it were authorize it in us, still with a fatall impetvosity, with a dangerous violence, and pernitious event and issue: for if remedies be not to bee found in learned Phisiti∣•…•…ns, it is then in vaine to seeke them in the rude and unlearned people; and if the Pr•…•…ceptor himselfe bee not sanctified, it is rather to be feared than doubted, that his Disciple will not. This (yea this) is a most mournfull and fatall rocke, where∣on divers vertuous and religious parents have even wept themselves to death, to see their children suffer shipwracke: yea this beastly and brutish sinne of Drun∣kennesse, is still the Devils Vsher and Pander to all other sinnes; and therefore how cautious and carefull ought the Heads of Schooles and Vniversities bee, to ex∣pell and root it out from themselves, and to hate and detest it in others, sith in the remisse winking thereat, I may (with as much truth as safety) affirme, that toleration is confirmation; and connivency, cruelty; as we shall not goe farre to see it made good, and verified in this ensuing mournfull History; the which in exacting Inke from my Pen, doth likewise command bloud from my heart, and teares from mine eyes, to anatomize and unfold it.

Difficultly hath Maurice beene three moneths in Losanna with Varesius, but his vertues are eclipsed and drowned in vice; yea, he not onely thinks, but holds it a vertue to make himselfe culpable and guilty of this his Tutors Vice of Drun∣kennesse, wherein within lesse than three moneths hee proves so expert, or indeed so execrable a Scholler in his beastly Art, as both day and night, hee makes it not onely his practise, but his delight, and not onely his delight, but his glory. Hee who before was so temperate in his drinke and conversation in Morges, as for the most part hee wholly dranke water, not wine; now hee is so vitiously me∣tamorphosed in Losanna, as contrariwise, hee onely drinkes wine, no water; yea, and which is lamentable to remember, and deplorable to observe in this

young •…•…choller, hee drinks (or to write truer, devoures it) so excessively, as his Cups are become his Bookes; his Carrowsing, his Learning; the Taverne, his Studie; and Drunkennesse the onely Art he professeth: which filthy and in•…•…∣ous disease, spreding from the Praeceptor to the Pupill, from old Varesius to yo•…•…g Maurice, hath so surprised the one, and seizd on the other, as it threatens the dis∣paragement of the first his reputation, and the shipwracke of the seconds for∣tunes, and it may be of his life.

Now Varesius, who will not bee ashamed to pity this beastly Vice in himselfe, doth yet pity it with shame to behold it in his Scholler Maurice, and yet hath nei∣ther the Grace to reforme it in himselfe, nor the will or power to reprove it in him; but in stead of stopping and preventing it, doth in all things give way to the current and torrent of this swinish sinne, which inevitably drawes after it these threefold diseases and miseries: The poyson of our bodies, the con∣sumption of our purses, and the Moath and Canker of our reputations; or if you will, these three not farre different from the three former: The bane of our wits, the enemie of our health and life, and the consumer of our Estates and friends: And within the compasse of one whole yeare, to all those diseases and miseries doth the drunkennesse of our deboshed young Scholler Maurice sub∣ject and reduce him; so as it being the nature of sinne (not checked and vanqui∣shed with repentance) rather to grow than wither, to flourish than fade or de∣cay with our age: the longer Maurice lived in Losanna, the deeper root this beastly vice of drunkennesse tooke in him, and he the dearer affection to it, so as that competent exhibition which his mother yearely allowed him, became incompatible with this his excessive prodigality and intemperancie: Yea, his extreame superfluity in this kinde, was without intermission so frequent, as three quarters of his yeares pension could not discharge one of his expences and debts, so strong a habit (converted now to a second Nature) had this bewitching beast∣ly sinne of drunkennesse exacted and gotten of him, as if this were his felicity, and that hee onely triumphed to become a slave to this his slavish appetite, and swinish profession, which to support and maintaine, he not onely feeds, but surfets his mother wirh variety of subtill and insinuating Letters, thereby to draw divers summes of moneyes from her, as indeed he doth; some under pretext of his necessitie to buy new bookes, which hee affirmed hee wanted; others under pretence of his weaknesse and sicknesse, and such like colourable excuses: which unthrifty prodigality of his, doth as fast empty her purse and store, as her in∣dustrious frugality can possibly fill them; whereof having all the reasons of the world to become sensible, shee at last making her judgement consult with her af∣fection, begins now to feare, that her sonne was become lesse vertuous, and more deboshed than shee hoped of, and that these his letters and petitions for mo∣ney, were but onely tricks to deceive the hopes, and betray the confidence shee reposed in his vertuous carriage, and godly inclination; whereof being in fine enformed and certified, from such Students and Burgers of Losanna, whom shee had set as Sentinels, to have Argus, yea, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 eyes over his actions and deport∣ments, shee at last with few thanks to his Tutor Varesius, many complaints and exclamations to her sonne, and inexpressable griefe and sorrow to her selfe, cal•…•… and commands him home from Losanna to Morges, where with much bitternesse and secrecy, shee taxes and rates him for his drunkennesse and prodigality, in that he had vainly spent in one yeare, more than either his father or her selfe could collect or gather up in many.

But see the lewd subtilty, and wretched deceit fulnesse of this dissolute sonne towards this his deare and tender mother: for then and there seasoning his speeches with vertue, and his behaviour with obedience •…•…nd •…•…iety▪ he modestly seemes not onely to tax her credulity, conceived against the candeur and inte∣grity of his actions, but also with a kinde of •…•…acite choller, to maligne and tra∣•…•…ce those who unjustly and falsly had cast so foule an aspersion on his vertues and innocency; and the better to make those his speeches, and this his Apologi•…•… and Iustification passe current with his mother, his discretion now prescribes so faire a Law to his •…•…ty, and his reason to his intemper•…•…te & irregular desires, as to the eye of the world, and to her more curious and observant •…•…udgement, he seemes to be the very picture and statue of Vertue, although God and his soule soule and conscience well knowes, that hee is the true, essentiall, and reall 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of Vice▪ and the better to cloake and overvaile this his dissimulation from the eyes of God and his mother, although he continue to take his Cups by night, yet in Morg•…•… and especially in his mothers house and sight, hee casts them off by day; and the better and more firmly to reintegrate himselfe into her approbation and •…•…aw o•…•…▪ he mornings and evenings is seene at his prayers, and spends the greatest part of his time in hearing and frequenting of Sermons, the which affords such sweet con∣tent to her conceits and thoughts, as shee repents herselfe of her unkindnesse to∣wards him, and not onely acquits him of his drunkennesse, prodigality, and dis∣solutenesse, but also accuseth his accusers, whom she now as much condemnes for Envy and Malice towards her Sonne, as she highly (and as she thinks justly) applaud•…•… him for his religious piety towards God.

But sith Hypocrisie is worse than Prophanenesse, as making us rather Devil•…•… than Saints; or indeed not Saints but Devils; and that no sacrifice is so odious, nor object so hatefull to God, as hee who denies and dissembleth it in his lookes, and yet professeth and practiseth it in his heart and soule: so wee shall see to ou•…•… griefe, and this wretched Hypocrit•…•… finde to his misery, that thinking to deceive God, he shall in the end deceive himselfe; and in attempting to betray his mother through his false Vertue, his true Vice will at last betray him, and make him as mi∣serable, as he flattereth himselfe it will make him fortunate.

Now the better to root and confirme this opinion of his temperancy in his mo∣thers conceits and minde, and so the more secretly to overvaile his excessive af∣fection and addiction to Drunkennesse, hee under the pretence of some necessary and profitable occasions, gets leave of her, sometimes to ride over to Berne, So∣•…•…ure, Fribourge, Apensall, and other capitall townes of the Cantons, where hee fals afresh to his cups, and there continually both day and night swils his braines, and stuffes up his belly with wine, as if hee tooke no other delight or glory, but to drowne his wit and learning with his money, and his health with both; and yet againe when hee returnes to Morges, hee makes such faire weather with his mo∣ther, and casts so temperate a cloake and colour on his speeches and actions, as if it were impossible for him to drinke more than would suffice Nature, or to desire more than would meerely quench his thirst. And thus by his hypocriticall po∣licy, having againe wrought himselfe into his mothers good opinion and fa∣vour, as also some store of money out of her purse and coffers; he with a fained shew of Humility and discretion, takes leave of her, and to perfect his studies and learning, returnes againe to Losanna, where he is no sooner arrived, but upon his new returne, hee findes out his old carrowsing companions, who like so many pestilent Vipers, and contagious Moaths and Caterpillers, are vitiously, and there∣fore fatally resolved, not only to eat out the bottome of his p•…•…se, but also the

heart of his happinesse, and as I may justly terme it, to devoure the very foule of his felicity: and with these tippling brats of Bacchus, doth our lewd and debosh∣ed Scholler, Maurice, continually drinke drunke, not onely forgetting his lear∣ning but himselfe; and which is worse, his God, having neither the power to re∣member to repent, or grace to pray, nor to remember any thing but his cups; so beastly is hee inclined, so swinishly and viciously is hee affected and addicted; and what doth this either prognosticate, presage, or promise to produce in him, but inevitable affliction, misery, and ruine of all sides?

As the shortest errours are best, so those Vices which have longest perseverance and predominance in us, prove still the most pernicious and dangerous: It is no∣thing to crush a Serpent in the egge, but if we permit it to grow to a Serpent, it may then crush us: a plant may be removed with ease, but an old tree difficultly: To fall from sinne to repentance, is as great a happinesse, as it is a misery to fall from repentance to sinne; and indeed to use but one word for the affirmati∣on and confirmation of this truth, there can no greater misery befall us, than to thinke our selves happy, when (through our sinnes) we are miserable.

Here in Losanna Maurice esteemes this his beastly sinne of drunkennesse to bee a Vertue not a Vice in him; yea, in paying for all shots and reckonings in Tavernes, hee sottishly and foolishly thinkes it the shortest and truest way to bee beloved and honoured (though indeed to bee contemned) of all; and therefore with∣out feare or wit, yea, without the l•…•…st sparke of Grace, or shadow of considera∣tion, his stomacke (like the Devils spunge) and his insatiable throat (like a bot∣tomlesse gulfe) so devoures his wine, and his wine his money, as that which should bee the Argument of his glory, hee makes the cause of his shame; and his money which should fortifie his reputation, hee converts and turnes to ruine it. But as poverty (in a just revenge of our Vanity) rejoyceth to looke on us, because we first disdained, either to looke on, or regard it; so he having spent the fragrant Summer of his folly and prodigality, in wasting the moneyes his mo∣ther gave him, in wine; now the deprivation thereof makes him feele the fro∣sty Winter of that want, which hee can better remember than remedy, rather repent than redresse. The Fellowes and Students of his Colledge looke on him and his drunkennesse, some with the eyes of pity, others with those of joy, ac∣cording as their friendship or malice, their Charity or Envy either conduct their passions, or transport and steere their resolutions and inclinations. As for his Tutor Varesius, how can hee possible seeke or reclaime this his Pupill from Vic•…•… to vertue, when hee is so wretchedly dissolute, as by the publike vote and voyce of the Vniversity, hee himselfe is already wholly and solely relapsed from Vertue to Vice.

In which respect this vitious young Student Maurice, having neither Vertue nor Tutor, money nor credit, discretion nor friend to secure him from the shelves of Indigence, or the rockes of Poverty and Misery, whereon hee is rashly and wil∣fully rushing; hee like a true deboshed Scholler, or indeed as a Master of Art in the Art of deboshednesse, first sels away his bookes, then his gowne and cloaths, and next his bed, being desirous to want any thing but wine; and confidently (though vainly and foolishly) assured, that if he have wine enough, that then he wants nothing. A miserable consideration and condition, a wretched estate and resolution, onely tending and conducing to direfull miserie, and to deplora∣ble poverty and desolation.

But to replenish his purse, to repaire his credit and apparell, and to continue his cups and drunkennesse, hee hath no other hope•…•… or re•…•…ge, than againe to cast

himselfe on the affection and courtesie of his mother whom hee re-visits with severall Letters, which are onely so many humble insinuating petitions, againe to draw and wrest moneyes from her. But hee is deceived in his hopes and ex∣pectation, or at least they distinctly and severally, and his mother joyntly with them conspire to deceive him. For I write it with griefe, because (by an un∣controulable relation of the truth) shee dictates it to my penne with teares; that as well by all those of Morges, who came from Losanna, as by all those of Losan∣na who came to Morges, she is most certainly and sorrowfully advertised of her sonnes deboshed and dissolute life, of his neglect of Learning, and too fre∣quent affecting and following of drunkennesse, of the sale of his clothes, bed, and bookes; of the irreparable losse, both of his time, moneyes, and reputati∣on; and withall, how the dregges and fumes of wine hath metamorphosed his countenance, and not graced, but filthily disgraced it with many fierie Rubies, and flaming Carbunkles; as also how it hath stuffed and bombasted vp his belly and body, as if the dropsie and hee contended who should first seize each on other; and therefore shee being (with a mournfull unwillingnesse) enforced, not onely to take notice, but sorrowfully to rest assured and confident of these diasterous premises, the infallible predictions and Symptomes of her Sonnes utter ruine and subversion: Shee peremptorily and absolutely refuseth his requests, answereth his Letters with many sharpe complaints, and bitter exclamati∣ons against his foule sinne of Drunkennesse▪ which threatens no lesse than the ruine both of his Reputation, Friends, Learning, Fortune, and Life, if not of his Soule.

Maurice, seeing himselfe wholly abandoned of his Mother, he knowes not how to live, nor yet how to provide the meanes to maintaine life, which not onely surpriseth his thoughts, but amazeth and appaleth his cogitations with feare; yea, hee takes this discourtesie of hers so neare at heart, and withall is so ex∣treamly impatient to see himselfe forsaken of her, whom hee knowes the Lawes of Nature hath commanded to affect and cherish: as forgetting himselfe to bee her Sonne, and shee his Mother; yea forgetting himselfe to bee a man, and which is more, a Christian; his wants and Vices so farre transport him beyond the bounds of Reason and Religion, of Nature and Grace, as hee impiously and execra∣bly degenerates from them all, and secretly vowes to his heart and soule, or to say truer to the Devill: (who in•…•…hanteth the one, and infecteth and intoxicateth the other) that hee will speedily send her into another world in a bloudy Coffin, if shee will no releeve his wants and maintaine him as her Sonne in this. So alas here it is, that hee first gives way to the Devill to take possession of his thoughts and heart, and here it is, that hee first assumes bad bloud, and suggests bloudy designes, against the safety and life of his deare and innocent Mother. When like a miserable wretch, and a wretched and impious villaine, his thoughts and studies (like so many lines running to their centre) are now in continuall acti∣on and motion▪ how to finish and bring this deplorable Tragicall businesse to an end: yea the better to •…•…eed this his 〈◊〉〈◊〉 bloudy appetite, and to quench the quenchlesse thirst of his Matracidious revenge, hee forgets all other pro∣jects and affaires; to follow and hasten on this; which (to give one word for all) takes up both his study and his time in Losanna, casting away his bookes which would seeme to divert him from it, as if hee courted Pluto not Apollo; Proserpina not Pallas; Erynnis not Vrania; the Furies not the Muses: and as afflicti∣ons seldome come alone, but many times (as the waves of the sea) fall one in the necke of another; so to make him rather advance than retire, in the execution of

this his unnaturall and damnable attempt, his excessive and frequent drunken∣nesse makes him so notoriously apparant to the Heads of the University in gene∣rall, and of his owne Colledge in particular, that they give him his Conge, and (without lending any eare to his Apologie or Justification) expell him thence. So that being now destitute of all friends and meanes, he is enforced to see himselfe reduced to this point of misery, that hee must either begge or starve, which to prevent (because he as much disdaines the first, as hee is resolved to provide a re∣medy for the second) he leaves Losanna (where his vices and debts have made the stones too hot for him) and on foot goes home to his Mother to Morges, hoping that his presence may prevaile more with her than his absence; and his tongue make that easie, which his pen (in his Letters) found not onely difficult but impossible.

Being arrived at Morges, his loving and indulgent Mother receives him with teares, not of joy, but of griefe, for his drunkennesse hath so deformed his face and body, as at the first sight shee difficultly knew him to bee her sonne; and al∣though he take paines to conceale that beastly vice of his, and so to plaister and varnish it over with a fained shew of repentance and reformation; yet she sees to her affliction, and observes to her misery, that he loves his Cups better than his life, and that as soone as she once turnes her backe from him, he fals close to them, and so tipleth and carouseth from Morning to Night. Three dayes are scarce past before he makes two requests to her, the one for new clothes, the other for mo∣ney; when to the end that her wisdome might shine in her affection, as well as her affection in her wisdome, she cheerefully grants him the first, but perempto∣rily denies him the second, because shee well knowes it would bee so much cast away on him, sith he would instantly cast it away on Wine; and to write the truth, the grant of his apparell doth not so much content him, as the refusall of •…•…er money doth both afflict and inflame him: He is all in choller hereat, and the fumes of revenge doth so implacably take up & seize upon his thoughts, and they on it, as now without the feare of God, or care of his soule, hee like a damnable villaine, and an execrable Sonne, swaps a bargaine with the Devill, to destroy and make away his mother: Hellish resolutions, and infernall conceits, which will not onely strangle those who embrace, but confound those who follow them: his impietie made him formerly assume this bloudy fact, and now his neces∣sity & want of mony (in that he cannot as it were drowne himselfe in the excesse of drunkennesse) enforceth him to a resolution to finish it. His faith is so weak to∣wards God, and so strong with the Deuill, as hee will not retire with Grace, but advance with impiety, to see as well the end, as the beginning of this bloudy bu∣sinesse: He consults hereon with his delight, not with his reason; with his will, not with his Conscience; with his heart, not with his soule. Hee sees hee hath no money, and knowes, or at least beleeves, that his mother hath enough, and therefore concludes, that if shee were once dead, it were impossible that his life should want any. So these two wretched Councellors, Covetousnesse and Drunken∣nesse, (or rather Covetousnesse to maintaine his Drunkennesse) like two infernall fiends and furies, haule him on head-long to perpetrate this bloudy and mourn∣full murther of his deare and tender Mother, the end whereof, will bring him as much true misery and infamy, as the beginning doth flatter and promise him false content and happinesse; his youth hath no regard to her age, and lesse to her Life, neither will he vouchsafe to remember, that he first received his of her: yea, all the bloud which flowes in his heart, and streames in his veines and body, cannot any way have the power to prompt him, that it is derived and descended

from hers. And if Morges will not divert him, Losanna should; if his yeares can∣not instruct him, yet his bookes might; and if Nature prevailed not with his heart, yet mee thinkes Grace should with his Conscience, to represent him the foulenesse of this attempt, and the unnaturall cruelty thereof, in resolving to embrew his diabolicall hands in her innocent bloud; or if the influence of these earthly considerations could not allay the heat of his malice, or quench the fire of his revenge towards her, yet me thinks looking from prophanenesse to piety, from Earth to Heaven; from the time present to the future; from the corrupti∣on of his Body, to the immortality of his Soule; from Sin to Righteousnesse, from Revenge to Religion, and consequently from Satan to God, he should hate this bloudy designe and project of his as much as now he loves it, and seeke the pre∣servation of his Mother, with as much obedience and affection, as now he con∣trives and pursues her untimely end with impiety and detestation. But his Vices will still triumph over his Vertues; and therefore it is rather to bee feared than doubted, that they will in the end make him too miserable, ever to see himselfe so happy.

Miserable Maurice therefore, (as the shame of his time, the disgrace of his sex, and a prodigious monster of Nature) having hellishly resolved on the matter, now with a devillish fortitude and hellish assurance passeth on to the manner of her Tragedy. Hee will not give eare to God, who seekes to divert him from it, but will hearken to the devill, who useth his best Oratory to perswade and entice him to it. But as the devill is malicious in his subtilty, so should we be both wise and cautious in our credulity; for if we beleeve him, he will betray us; but if we beleeve God, we shall then betray him: he is impatient of delayes, yea, his ma∣lice is so bloudy, and his revenge so cruell, as hee thinkes every houre a yeare, till he hath sent her from Earth to Heaven. He proposeth unto himselfe divers wayes to murther her, and the devill who is never absent, but present in such hellish oc∣casions, makes him as well industrious as undictive and implacable in the contri∣ving and finishing thereof. Now he thinks to cut her throat as she is in bed: Then to poyson her at table, either in her meat or drinke. Then againe hee is of opi∣nion to hire some to kill her as shee is walking in her vineyards; or else to cause two Watermen to drowne her, as shee is taking the ayre in a Boat on the Lake, which twice or thrice weekly she is accustomed to doe; but yet still he is irreso∣lute, either which, or which not to resolve on, till at last after a weekes dilatory protaction, having with a fatall and infernall ratiotination banded and rebanded these seuerall bloudy projects in his braines and contemplations, hee rejecteth them all, as more fuller of difficulty and apparant danger, than of warrantable safety, when considering there was a deepe Well in the outer yard, adjoyning to the Garden, he holds it fittest for his purpose to drowne her therein, whereon the devill and he strikes hands, and set up their rest and period.

Whiles thus this gracious mother Christina endevours with her best care and Prayers to divert her gracelesse sonne Maurice from this his intemperate and beastly sinne of Drunkennesse, hee (as if hee were no part of her, but rather a limbe of the Devill) with a monstrous and inhumane ingratitude, sets his inven∣tions and braines on the tenter-hookes, to espie out the occasion and time to dispatch her. When burning with a flaming desire, to quench the insatiable thirst of his revenge in her bloud, he (taking time and opportunity at advantage) see∣ing all his mothers people abroad to gather in the Vintage, the Well open, and she with a Prayer booke in her hand, walking in the Garden next adjoyning, the Devill infuseth such courage to his heart, his heart such cruelty and inhumanity

to his resolutions, that all things seemed then to conspire to see an end to this his so long desired and affected businesse of murthering and dispatching his mother, he taking on him the part of a madman, whom it seemed sorrow had suddenly afflicted, and griefe distracted, he with his hat in his hand, hastily and furiously rusheth into the Garden to his mother, and cryes out to her, that there is one of the neighbours children fallen into the well, which hee espied from his chamber window: where∣unto (harmelesse good woman) she adding beliefe to his false and perfidious spee∣ches; and being (beyond her selfe) afflicted and amazed with this sodaine and sor∣rowfull newes, she throwes away her Booke, and hand in hand with him, (her sighes interrupting her words, and her teares her sighes) shee (as if pitty added wings to her feet) trips away to the well, both to see this mournefull spectacle, and chiefly to know, if it any way lay in her possible care to assist, or power to preserve the said childe from death: when bringing her to the well, he better like a fury, then a man, and rather resembling a meere Devill, then a sonne, fastneth his left hand on the well-post; and as shee lookes into the profundity thereof, hee with his right hand tips and throwes her in; and so without any more doing, claps downe the cover thereof; when rejoycing in his heart that he had sent her to death, because he sees and knowes it now, not in the power of the whole world to save her life. He (the better to overvaile this his impious villany, and to obscure this his barbarous and bloody fact) ascends her chamber, breakes open her cupbords, trunckes, and chests, takes away most of her money, and silver plate, which hee privately hides away for his owne be∣hoofe and use, and so scattereth a few pieces of money, and some of her clothes and apparell in the floore, thereby subtilly to insinuate and intimate to the world, that it were theeves who had robbed and drowned his mother; when stealing a horse out of the stable, he with much secrecy gets him out of the backe doore, which he leaves open, and from thence rides away to his mothers people in the Vineyards; to whom hee relates hee hath beene all that morne abroad to take the aire, and is now come to passe the remainder of the day with them, and to be merry: to which end (in his mothers name) hee sends for wine from the skirts of the towne; and so (as well men as maids) they carouse and frollike it till towards night, and then they all returne home, where they find both doores open, his mother their Mistris wan∣ting; and no creature whatsoever in the house, whereat they much admire and won∣der. So the servants and himselfe seeke and call her in the Orchards and Gardens, but in vaine, for they find no newes of her; when the maids one way, and he and the men∣servants another way, seeke her as well in the roomes and chambers, as in the streets and neighbours houses, where she is accustomed to frequent, but to no purpose; for they can neither see nor heare of her; till at length the maidens rushing into her bed∣chamber, they find her Cupboard, Chests, and Trunks broken open, and some of her money and apparell strewed here and there on the floore; whereat amazed, they lamentably cry out at the windowes, that theeves have beene there and robbed their Mistris her Chests and Trunkes: which Maurice and the men-servants of the house over-hearing, they ascend, and admire at the sight thereof; neither doth his outward feares, or their inward apprehensions, stop or stay at the meere losse of the goods, but they joyntly apprehend, and feare the absence of his mother, and their Mistris Christina, and are already become jealous and umbragious of her safety, and very fearefull, that the theeves have offered her some violence and cruelty. Whereupon late at night, hearing no newes of her, her sonne (because chiefly in∣terrested in this disastrous accident) goes and acquaints the Bayliffe of Morges, and the rest of the Criminall Officers therewith, who on all sides inquire for her, and make a secret and curious search in the towne, to finde out the theeves; and

in the meane time (together with Maurice and the servants) leave not a roome nor place of the house unsought for her: but their diligence proves vaine, for they can purchase no newes of her, much lesse of the theeves. They remaine in the house all night, and they all with sorrowfull and watchfull eyes, every minute of an houre, ex∣pect her, or newes of her. Eight of the clocke the next day strikes, but as yet she is not so much as seene or heard of: So they againe, in presence of the Bayliffe, revisite and search all places and corners both in the House, Gardens, Orchyards, and Yards; but still to no effect or purpose: when behold the sacred and secret providence of God, in revealing her to be drowned in the well, not onely beyond the expecta∣tion, but also beyond the beliefe of all that were present: for as they are in the mid∣dest of their doubts and feares, yea in the very depth of their research and perquisi∣tion, loe, one of the servant Maids, named Hester, who was neerest in the favour, and dearest in the affection of her Mistris, having that very instant mornng taken a nappe of an houres sleepe, or thereabouts in a chaire, starts suddenly out of her sleepe and rest, trips to them, and saies, she then and there dreamt, that her Mi∣stris Christina, was cast into the well and drowned; the which shee affirmed with many words, and more sighes, out-cries, and teares; which piercing into the eares and thoughts of the Bayliffe and Servants, and into the very heart and Conscience of this our execrable Maurice, they looke pale with griefe and amazement, and he straineth the highest key of his Art and pollicy to keepe his cheekes from blushing for shame thereat, and the better to hood winke their eyes and judgements, from the least sparke or shaddow of this his guiltinesse herein; he with many showres of hypo∣criticall teares, prayes the Bayliffe that upon Hesters dreame and report, the Well may be searched, adding withall, that it was more probable then impossible; that those theeves who robbed his Mothers house, might likewise bee so devillishly ma∣licious to murther her and throw her into the Well: which the Bayliffe seri∣ously considering, as first the maides dreame, then the Sonnes request and teares, hee instantly in presence of all those of the house, as also of many of the next neighbours whom hee had purposely assembled: Caused the Well to bee searched and sounded, where the hooke taking hold of her cloathes, they in∣stantly bring up the dead body of his Mother and their Mistris C•…•…ristina: the skull of whose head, was lamentably broken, and her braines pittifully dashed out with her fall. All are amazed, her servants greeve, and her hellish Sonne Maurice weepes and cryes more then all the rest at this mournefull spectacle. The Bayliffe carefully and punctually againe examines Hester, if God in her dreame revealed her not, the manner how, and the persons who had thus throwne her Mistris into the Wel; She answereth negatively according to the truth, that she had already delivered as much as shee knew of that mournefull businesse. When Maurice to shew his for∣wardnesse and zeale, for the detection and finding out of his Mothers murtherers, he pretends that he suspects Hester to be accessary, and to have a hand herein. But the Bayliffe & common Councell of Morges, having neither passion nor partiality to dazle and inveagle the eyes of their judgement, finding no reason or ground of probability to accuse her, or which might tend or co•…•…duce that way; They free herwithout farther questioning her, and so (as it hath beene formerly remembred) they all concur∣ring in opinion that the theeves who robbed her, had undoubtedly throwne her into the Well: They give leave to Maurice to bury his breathlesse mother, which hee doth with the greatest pompe and decency, requisite as well to her ranke and quality, as to his affection and duty; and the better to fanne off the least dust or smoake of suspition, which might any way fall upon the lustre of his Innocency, hee at

her Funerall (to the eye of the world) sheds many rivolets of teares. But alas what is this to this his foule and execrable sinne of murthering his mother; for al∣though it bleere the eyes, and inveigle the judgements of the Bayliffe and his associates, the Criminall Judges of Morges, yet God the Great and Soveraig•…•…e Judge of Heaven and Earth, will not bee thus deluded, cannot be thus deceived herein. No, no, for albeit he be mercifull, yet his Divine Majesty is too Just to let crimes of this hellish nature goe either undetected or unpunished.

We have seene this execrable sonne so bloudy hearted and handed, as with a devillish rage, and inhumane and infernall fury, to drowne his owne deare and tender Mother; and with as much cruelty as ingratitude, to throw her from the world into a Well, who with many bitter gripes and torments (to the hazard and perill of her life) threw him from her wombe into the world: and the providence and Justice of God will not lead the curiosity of the Reader farre, before we see this miserable miscreant overtaken with the impetuous stormes of Gods revenge, and the fiery gusts and tempests of his just indignation for the same, notwith∣standing that his subtill malice, and malicious subtilty, have so cunningly contri∣ved, and so secretly acted and compacted it with the devill, that no earthly person, or sublunary eye, can any way accuse, much lesse convict him thereof; as marke the sequell, and it will briefly and truly informe thee how.

As soone as he hath buried his Mother, his blacke mourning apparell doth in his heart and actions worke such poore and weake effects of repentance and sor∣row for her untimely death, as where divers others lament and grieve, he con∣trariwise rejoyceth and triumpheth thereat, and by her decease being now be∣come Lord and Master of all, he like a gracelesse villaine fals againe to his old car∣rowsing companions, and veine of drunkennesse, wherein hee takes such singular delight and glory, as he makes it not onely his pastime and exercise by day, but his practise and recreation by night: And as God hath infinite meanes and wayes to scourge and revenge the enormity of our delicts and crimes, so we shall shortly see for our instruction, and observe for our reformation, that this ungodly and beastly vice of drunkennesse of his, which is his most secret bosome and darling sinne, will in the end prove a ravenous Vulture to devoure, and a fatall Serpent to eat out the bowels, first of his wealth and prosperity, and then of his life; for it not onely takes up his time, but his studie, in so much as I may as truly averre to my griefe, as affirme to his shame, that hee levelleth at nothing more, than to make it his felicity, which swinish excesse and intemperancy, (as a punishment inseparably incident & infallibly hereditary to that sin) doth within three months make him sell away all his Lands, yea, and the greatest part of his plate and hous∣sholdstuffe; so his drunkennesse first, but then chiefly Gods Justice and revenge pursuing his foule and inhumane crime of drowning his Mother, makes him of being left rich by her, within a very short time become very extreame poore and miserable; so as he runnes deeply into debts, yea, his debts are by this time become so exceedingly urgent and clamorous, as contrary to his hopes and feares, when hee least dreames thereof; hee is imprisoned by his Mercer and Draper, for the blacks of his Mothers Funerall, to both whom he is indebted the summe of three hundred crownes, which is farre more than either his purse can dis∣charge, or his credit and Estate now satisfie. When abandoned of all his friends, his meanes spent and consumed, and nothing left him to exercise his patience in Prison, but Despaire; nor to comfort him, but the •…•…rrours of his bloudy and guilty Conscience; Hee is 〈◊〉〈◊〉 into a stinking Vault or 〈◊〉〈◊〉, where (in horrour and detestation of his bloudy cri•…•…) the glori•…•… 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of

Heaven, the Sun, disdaines to send his radiant and glittering beames to comfort him; so as he who was before accustomed to fa•…•…e deliciously, and as it were to swill and drowne himselfe in the best and most curious Wines, now hee must content himselfe only with course bread and water; and yet his misery is so extreame, and that extremity of his so miserable, as hee hath hardly enough to maintaine and sustainelife: But we shall see that this first affliction of his, will instantly bee fol∣lowed and overtaken by a second.

〈◊〉〈◊〉 being arrived, he petitioneth his Gaoler (for that day) to have the liberty of the yard, and the freedome of the ayre, which is granted him, when at night descending the staires, againe to be pent up in his obscure Dungeon, his foot slips, and hee receives a fearfull fall, whereof the bone of his right arme is broken in two peeces, and having no Chirurgion to looke to it, it p•…•…trifies and rots, so as for the preserving of his life, hee within fifteene dayes is enforced to have it cut off a little below the shoulder; and this was the very same hand and arme which threw his mother into the Well. A singular act of Gods revenging Ju∣stice, and Just Revenge shewen herein. O that it may be deeply imprinted in out hearts, and engraven in our soules, that the Reader hereof, of what sex or qua∣lity soever, may as it were stand amazed at the cosideration of Maurice his impi∣ous sinne towards God, and of Gods due and true revenge and requitall thereof in his just judgement and affliction towards him.

But this is not enough for Maurice to suffer, nor for God to inflict on him for this his bloudy and inhumane crime, in murthering his Mother; nor to say the truth, it is but the Prologne to the deplorable, yet deserved punishment, which is immediately ready to surprise and befall him. For to the end, that the truth may informe our curiosity, and our curiosity us, of the Catastrophe of this Tragedy, we must understand, that it was the pleasure and providence of God, that the breaking and cutting away of Maurice his arme, proved the breake-necke of his patience, and the cutting away of his content and judgement. The devill caused him most inhumanely to drowne his Mother, the which he might have refused to perpetrate, but would not; and now God in expiation thereof sends him Rage for Reason, Despaire for Comfort, and Madnesse for Sobriety, the which hee would flie and eschew, but cannot. He hath committed this execrable crime be∣yond the rules and Lawes of Nature; and therefore God hath ordained, that hee should feele many degrees of punishments, and this is not onely the Law, but the rule of Grace. Of all degrees of afflictions, madnesse is the most to be pitied, and the worst to be cured, sith it makes a man goe farre beyond reason, and therefore to come farre too short of himselfe: it is held by some to be a sicknesse of the Li∣ver, of others, an over-fuming of the bloud, and of others a debility of the braine: But in this ou•…•… execrable wre•…•…ched Maurice, it was the infectious 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of his soule, which God sent purposely into his braines, to bee revenged of his heart, for so inhumanly drowning his Mother: For although his divine Majesty hath infinite more wayes to punish murther, than man hath to commit it▪ ye•…•…hat he might make the detection of this of wretched Maurice as strange as the com∣plotting and finishing thereof was c•…•…delly inhumane, and inhumanely cruell, he purposely sends it him; for although since his imprisonment, hunger had so taken downe his stomacke, and q•…•…elled his courage, as his former volubility of speech was now reduced to a kinde of sorrowfull and pensive s•…•…lence; yet as soone as his 〈◊◊〉〈◊◊〉 senses were 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and captivated with this prodigious Lu•…•…acy, and 〈◊◊〉〈◊◊〉, then 〈◊〉〈◊〉 fits were so violent, and that violence so implacable, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 h•…•… 〈8 words〉〈8 words〉, and his words so

many uncouth and unheard of ravings; so that whosoever either heard or saw him, he might justly conceive and affirme, that he had thunder in his tongue, and lightning in his eyes: For his crime made this his affliction and phrens•…•…e of his so miserable, so impetuous, as he spake non-sense perfectly, and looked rather like a Furie than a Man; yea, his foule conscience and polluted soule•…•…ng him so m•…•…∣ny P•…•…nicke feares and terrors of despaire, as he was afraid of all things, and angry with himselfe, because hee could bee no more afraid of himselfe; So as that Dungeon which could imprison his body, was not capable to contain•…•… his thoughts, much lesse to immure his feares; and in this miserable plight and per∣plexity he remained for the space of ten dayes and nights, without any intermis∣sion or hope of remedy, which infinitely disturbed his fellow prisoners, and chiefly his Gaoler, whose eares had never beene accustomed to heare such discordant tunes, much lesse to be taken up with such distastefull and fearfull melody.

He acquaints the common Co•…•…ell of the towne hereof, and importunately •…•…o∣licites them, that they will remove his distracted prisoner Maurice to some more fitter and more convenient place. Who remembring what Maurice had beene, and now considering and seeing what he is, they whoheretofore would not be so charitable to releeve his poverty, are yet now so religiously compassionate, as they pity his madnesse, so they command him from a Dungeon to a Chamber, from his pallat of straw to a featherbed, from his bread and water, to wholesome meats and broths; but all this will not suffice; and to shew themselves not onely good men, but good Christians, they to restore him to his wits and senses, make yet a further progression in charity. They cause him to bee conferred with by many good Divines, who are not onely eloquent, but powerfull to perswade him to pray often, and to practise other Christian duties and offices; but his cries are •…•…o outragious, and his ravings so extravagant, as hee is as uncapable to relish their reasons, as they are to understand his rage: When the very immediate finger and Providence of God, makes them yet so sensible of his unparrellel'd misery, as they are resolved to remove him from his Prison to an Hospitall, thereby to take the benefit of the ayre in the Gardens, Walks, and Fields, hoping that they might prevaile with him, to recall his wits, and re-establish his senses in their proper seats of Vnderstanding, and stations of Iudgement. When here, (oh here) I conjure thee Christian Reader, to stand am•…•…zed and wonder with me, at the sacred and secret Justice of the Lord, expressed and demonstrated in this accident: For as his under Gaoler (by the Magistrates command) takes him by the hand, with an 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to conduct him forth from the Prison to an Hospitall, his bloudy crime (like so many Bloud-hounds) pursuing his guilty Conscience and Soule; his thoughts so enform'd his knowledge, and his knowledge so confirme his beleefe▪ that the drowning of his Mother is detected, and th•…•… they now draw him from his Pri∣son to the place of execution to suffer death for the same. Which apprehensio•…•… and feare, God putting into his conceits and heart, in despite of his madnesse, he wanting an accuser, lo•…•… here he himselfe both accuseth 〈◊〉〈◊〉 condemneth himsel•…•… for the same. For the very Image of that conceit 〈◊〉〈◊〉 his 〈◊〉〈◊〉▪ •…•…s his fea•…•… did his phrensie and madnesse; hee in th•…•… 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of those fi•…•…s, a•…•… the height of that Agony and Anxietie, dri•…•… out 〈◊◊◊〉〈◊◊◊〉▪ 〈◊◊◊〉〈◊◊◊〉 my M•…•…∣ther in the Well, I have drowned 〈…〉〈…〉 he suffer you to hang me; I speake it on Earth, and by my part of Heaven, what 〈◊◊◊〉〈◊◊◊〉 is true. Which words 〈◊〉〈◊〉 sooner es•…•…aped his 〈◊〉〈◊〉, •…•…ut he •…•…nstantly •…•…nes againe to his out-cries of phre•…•… and madnesse▪ 〈◊◊〉〈◊◊〉 •…•…d the rest 〈◊〉〈◊〉 •…•…ed at these fearefull 〈◊〉〈◊〉, and 〈◊◊◊◊〉〈◊◊◊◊〉▪ which 〈◊〉〈◊〉

that they attribute to madnesse, yet they lead him to the Hospitall, he still raving and crying as hee passeth the streets: But oh! Let us here farther, admire with wonder, and wonder with admiration, at the providence and mercy of God here againe miraculously made apparent and manifested in this execrable wretch Mau∣rice, for he who outragiously cryed in his prison, and licentiously raved in the street, is no sooner entred into the Hospitall, but the pleasure of God had so or∣dained it, as his Madnesse fully fals from him, and he absolutely recovereth againe his wits and senses, in such firme and setled manner, as if he had never formerly beene touched or afflicted therewith.

His Gaolers make report to the Magistrates, first of his confession of drowning his Mother, and then of his sudden and miraculous recovering of his perfect memory, judgement and senses, as soone as hee set foot within the Hospitall: Whereupon they as much astonished at the one, as wondring at the other, doe in∣stantly repaire thither to him, and there arraigne and accuse him, for that inhu∣mane and bloudy fact of his, whereof his owne Evidence and Confession hath now made him guilty. But they take him for another, or at least, hee will not be the same man: He denies this horrible and bloudy crime of his, with many oaths and asseverations, which they maintaine and affirme he hath confessed, sayes, that they either heard a dreame, or saw a Vision, whereof hee neither dreamt not thought of, and that hee was ready to lose all the bloud and life of his body, to finde out, and to be revenged of the murtherers of his mother.

But the Magistrates are deafe to his Apologie, and considering the violence of his madnesse by its sudden abandoning him, as also his free and uninforced con∣fession of drowning his Mother; they conceive that Gods providence and Justice doth strongly operate in the detection of this foule and inhumane murther; and therfore contemning his requests and oaths, (in the vindication of his innocency) they cause him to bee refetched from the Hospitall to the Prison, and there ad∣judge him to the Racke, when although his heart and soule bee terrified and af∣frighted with his apprehension and accusation: Yet the devill is so strong with him, as he cannot yet finde in his heart to relent, much lesse to repent this foule and inhumane crime of his; but considering that he acted it so secretly, as all the world could not produce a witnesse against himselfe, except himselfe, hee vowes he will bee so impious and prophane in his fortitude and courage, as to disdaine these his torments, and to looke on them and his Tormentor, with an eye rather of contempt than feare: But God will be as propitious and indulgent to him, as he is rebellious and refractory to God; for here we shall see both his Conscience and resolutions taught another rule, and prescribed a contrary Law; yea, here we shall behold and observe in him, that now Righteousnesse shall triumph over Si•…•…e, Grace over Nature, his Soule over his Body, Heaven over Hell, and GOD over Satan; for at the very first sight of the Racke, the sight and remembrance of his bloudy crime makes him shake and tremble extremely, when his soule being illu∣minated by the resplendant Sun beames of Gods mercy, and the foggie mists of Hell and Satan expelled and banished thence, he fals to the ground on his knees, first beats his brest, and then erecting his eyes and hands towards Heaven, he (with a whole deluge of teares) againe confesseth, that hee had drowned his mother in the Well, from and for the which he humbly craveth remission, both from Earth and Heaven.

And although there bee no doubt but God will forgive his Soule for this his soule murther, yet the Magistrates of Morges, who have Gravity in their lookes, Religion in their hearts and speeche•…•…, and Justice in their actions, will not pardon

his body; so in detestation of this his fearefull crime, and inhumane parracide, they in the morning condemne him, that very after-noone to be hanged. At the pronouncing of which sentence, as he hath reason to approve the equity of their Iustice in condemning him to die, so he cannot refraine from grieving at the strictnesse of the time, which they allot him fot his preparation to death. But as soone as wee forsake the devill, we make our peace with God.

All Morges and Losanna rings of this mournefull and Tragicall newes, and in detesta∣tion of this mournefull, inhumane and bloody crime of our execrable Maurice, they flocke from all parts and streets to the place of execution, to see him expiate it by his dearh, and so to take his last farewell of his life.

The Divines, who are given him for fortifying and assisting his soule, in this her flight and transmigration from Earth to Heaven, have religiously prevailed with him, so as they make him see the foulenesse of his crime, in the sharpenesse of his contrition and repentance for the same; yea, hee is become so humble and withall so sorrowfull, for this his bloody and degenerate offence, as I know not whether hee thinke thereof with more griefe, or remember it wirh detestation and repentance. At his ascending the Ladder, most of his Spectators cannot refraine from weeping, and the very sight of their teares prooves the Argument of his; as his remembrance of murthering his Mother, was the cause.

Hee tells them hee grieves at his very soule, for the foulenesse of his fact, in giving his Mother her death, of whom he had received his life. He affirmes, that Drunkennesse was not onely the roote, but the cause of this his beggery and misery, of his crime and punish∣ment and of his deboshed life and deserved death, from which with a world of sighes and teares hee seekes and endevours to divert all those who affect and practise that beastly Vice. He declares, that his Mother was too vertuous so soone to goe out of the world, and himselfe too vitious (and wirhall too cruell) any longer to live in it; that the sinnes of his life had deserved this his shamefull death; and although he could not prevent the last, yet, that he heartily and sorrowfully repented the first. Hee prayed God to be mercifull to his soule, and then besought the world to pray unto God for that mercy; when speaking a few words to himselfe, and sealing them with many teares, and farre fetched sighes; he lastly bids the world farewell, when enviting the Executioner to doe his Office he is tur∣ned over.

And such was the vitious life, and deserved death of this Execrable Sonne and bloo∣dy Villaine Maurice: wherein I must confesse, that although his end were shamefull and sharpe; yet, it was by farre too too milde for the foulenesse of his crime, in so cruelly murthering his deere Mother Christina, whom the Lawes both of Nature and Grace com∣manded him to preserve and cherish: Yea, let all Sonnes and Daughters of all ages and ranckes whatsoever looke on this bloody and disasterous example of his, with feare; and feare to commit the like by the sight of his punishment. It is a History worthy, both of our meditation and detestation, whether we cast our eyes on his drunkennesse, or fix our thoughts and hearts, on his murther: Those who love and feare God, are happy in their lives, and fortunate in their deaths; but those who will neither feare nor love him, very seldome proove fortunate in the one, never happy in the other; and to the rest of our sins, if wee once consent and give way to adde that scarlet, and crying one of Murther; that blood which we untimely send to Earth, will in Gods due time draw downe vengeance on our Heads from Heaven; Charity is the marke of a Christian, and the shedding of In∣nocent blood, either that of an Infidell, an Atheist; or a Devill. O therefore let us affect and strive to hate it in others, and so wee shall the better know how to detest and abhorre it in our selves, which that we may all know to our comforts, and remember to our consola•…•…i∣tions, direct us O Lord our God, and so we shall bee directed.

FINIS.