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

GODS REVENGE AGAINST THE CRYING AND Execrable Sinne of Murther. (Book 4)

HISTORY XVI.

Idiaques causeth his sonne Don Ivan to marry Marsillia, and then commits Adultery and Incest with her; She makes her Father in Law Idiaques to poyson his owne old wife Ho∣noria; and likewise makes her owne brother De Perez to kill her Chamber-maid Ma∣thurina; Don Ivan afterwards kils De Perez in a Duell; Marsillia hath her braines dasht out by a horse, and her body is afterwards condemned to be burnt; Idiaques is be∣headed, his body likewise consumed to ashes, and throwne into the ayre.

LEt Malice be never so secretly contrived, and the shed∣ding of Innocent bloud never so wretchedly perpetra∣ted, yet as our Conscience is to us a thousand witnes∣ses, so God is to us a thousand Consciences, first to bring it to light, and then their Authours to deserved punishments for the same, when they least dreame or thinke thereof. For as there is no peace to the wicked, so they shall finde no peace or tranquility here on Earth, either with God, or his creatures, because if they would conceale it, yet the very Fowles of the ayre, yea, the stones and timbers of their chambers will detect it; For the Earth or Ayre will give them no breath nor being, but they shall hang betweene both, because by these their foule and deplorable facts, they have made them∣selves unworthy of either. A powerfull example, and a pitifull precedent whereof we shall behold in this ensuing History, where some wretched miscreants, and gracelesse creatures, making themselves guilty of those bloudy crimes (by the im∣mediate Revenge and Justice of God) received exemplary and condigne punish∣ments for the same: May we reade it to Gods glory, to the comfort of our hearts, and the instruction of our soules.

IN the City of Santarem which (by tract of time, and corruption of speech) some tearme Saint Aren, and which (after Lisbon) is one of the richest and best peopled of Portugall; there dwelt a Gentleman of some fifty five yeares old, no∣bly descended, and of a great estate and meanes, named Don Sebastian Idiaques, whose wife and Lady being aged, of well neere fifty yeares, was termed Dona Honoria, and well she deserved that honourable name, for all sorts of Vertues and honours made her youth famous, and her age glorious to all Portugall and Spaine. They had lived together in the bonds of Matrimony almost thirty yeares, with much Honour, content, and felicity, and for the fruits of their affection and ma∣riage, they had two sonnes and foure daughters; but God in his pleasure and Pro∣vidence (for some reserved reasons best knowne to his All Divine Majesty) tooke from Earth to Heaven all their daughters, and one of their sonnes, so as now they have left them but one sonne, named Don Ivan, a gallant young Gentleman, of some twenty five yeares old, of disposition brave and generous, who after his first youthfull education under his father, had his chiefe breeding under the Duke of Braganza, to whom he was first a Page, and then a chiefe Gentleman retaining to him, whom (in regard of the death of his brother and sisters) his father called home unto him, to be his comfort and consolation, and the prop and stay of his age, as also of the Lady his mother, who had formerly acted a great part in griefe, and a mournfull one in sorrow for the death of her children; and indeed Don Ivan, this sonne of theirs, for all regards of Courtship, was held to be a compleat Gallant, and one of the prime Cavalliers of Portugall.

As for Idiaques the father, though in all the course and progresse of his life, and in all the life and conduction of his actions, he bewrayed many morall and gene∣rous vertues, yet as one discordant string marres the harmony of the best tuned Instrument, and the concent of the sweetest melody and musicke; and as one foule Vice is naturally subject, and fatally incident to ecclipse and drowne many rich and faire vertues, so (in this his old age, when time had honoured him with white haires) he deboshed himselfe so much, and so sottishly sacrificed his irre∣gular affections to heart-killing concupiscence, and his exorbitant desires to soule∣destroying adultery, that hee very often made himselfe a false and inconstant husband to his wife, and a true, yea, too true a friend to Curtisans and Strumpets. His vertuous Lady Honoria extreamly grieves hereat, that now in his later years he should thus lasciviously forget himselfe, both towards her, and towards God. She useth all sweet perswasions, prayers and teares, to diswade and divert him from it, but seeing that all proves vaine, and that he rather prooves worse then better thereat, her discretion makes her brooke it with as much patience as she can, and therefore she seemes not to see, or know that whereof (to her griefe and discon∣tent) she cannot be ignorant; But here comes an accident which will breed both of them, and their Sonne Don Ivan misery of all sides.

Some six leagues from Santarem was a wonderfull faire young Gentlewoman being a widdow, aged but of Twenty two yeares, named Dona Marsillia well de∣sended, but by her late deceased Husband left but small meanes, yet she beares out her port bravely, and maintaines her selfe highly and gallantly; and indeed shee is the prime young Lady for beauty in all those parts; Now the base Ambassa∣dors, and Emysaries of Idiaques his beastly and obscaene lust (the true Vipers and Cankers of Common weales) give him notice of her, and of her singular beauty, as well foreseeing and knowing that it would bee sweet and pleasing newes unto him. He visits and courts her, but as young as she is she puts him off with peremp∣tory

refusals, and in vertuous and modest tearmes checks his age for this his lasci∣vious suit and motion to her: But he is as constant in his affection to her, as she is disdainfull to him; for his heart is so insnared and intangled in the fetters of her fresh and delicate beautie, that although shee refuse him, yet he will not forsake her; but after many pursuits and visits, she at last well perceiving that he loved her tenderly and dearly, and that hee still most importunately frequented her house and company, she as a subtill and cunning young Gentlewoman, tels him plainly and privately, that she will acquaint him with a secret of her heart, and a request of her minde and affection, which if hee will cause to be performed, shee then vowes she will for ever be at his disposing and command; Idiaques thinking that she will crave some summe of money of him, or some yearely pension or annui∣ty; he constantly promiseth to grant and performe her request; so she (taking time at advantage) and first swearing him to secrecie, then (with many smiles and blushes) shee tels him, that if ever he thinke to enjoy her love and her selfe, hee must use the meanes to marry his sonne Don Ivan to her, which being ef∣fected, shee with much pretended shew of piety and affection, religiously sweares to him, that shee will never have the power or will to deny him any thing, but that his requests shall bee to her as so many commands, and (but onely for himselfe) if his sonne Don Ivan bee her Husband, shee with many im∣precations and asseverations sweares, that shee will sacrifice her best bloud and life, rather than distaine his bed, or offer him the least shadow of any scan∣dall or dishonour whatsoever. Idiaques wondreth with admiration, and admires with wonder at this her strange proposition, the which hee findes so knotty and intricate, as measuring Grace by Nature, his Judgement by his Lust and Concupiscence, and his Soule by his Affections, hee knowes not what to say or doe herein; so hee answereth her with more love than wisdome, and for that time leaves her in generall tearme. Hee goes homes, walkes pensively in his Garden, and there consults Pro and Con on this businesse; faine hee would pre∣serve his sonnes honour, and keepe the honour of his bed immaculate, but then the sweet Roses and Lillies of Marsillia's youth and beauty act wonders in his heart, and beares downe all other reasons and considerations before it: Hee visits her againe and againe, but hee findes her inviolably constant in her for∣mer resolution. All the favour and courtesie which he can gaine from her, are a few extorted kisses, which so inflame and set on fire his aged heart and affe∣ctions, as at last like a gracelesse father, hee faithfully promiseth her to use his best art and power to procure his sonne to marrie her. To which end hee takes him aside, and in the softest and sweetest tearmes hee can devise, paints out Marsillia's praises and Vertues to him in the purest and rarest colours, ad∣ding withall, that although shee bee not exceeding rich, yet that her perso∣nage is so exquisite, and her perfections so excellent, as that shee every way meriteth to bee wife to a Prince. Don Ivan (by what fatall fortune I know not) relisheth this motion of his father, to seeke the Lady Marsillia for his wife, with much delight and joy, and farre the more and the sooner, in re∣gard hee (in divers companies) hath formerly heard the fame of her beauty extolled, and the glory of her Vertues advanced to the Skie, so hee takes time of his father to consider hereof, and rides over sometimes with him to Saint Estiene to visit her; Hee findes her wonderfull faire and beautifull, and wonderfull coy; of a very sweet and Majesticall carriage, and of a delicate and curious speech, fit baits to ensnare the heart, and to betray the judgement of a more solide understanding than that of Don Ivan. Shee acts her part as wisely

as he doth amarously and passionately; For the more she makes shew to retire and conceale her affection from him, the more he is provoked to advance and dis∣cover his to her; but he cannot be so much enamoured of her beauty, as shee is with the great Estate of Lands and Demaines whereunto God and his father have made him heire.

Whiles thus the father privately, and the sonne publikely are seeking to make Marsillia his wife, the old Lady Honoria the mother, by many strong reasons seeks to divert him from her. Shee hath perfect notice of her husbands long and often frequenting of Marsillia's house and company, and therefore fearing the vanity of his age, and doubting the frailty of her youth and chastity, her jelousie and judgement at last findes out and concludes, that his familiarity with her is farre greater than honour can warrant, or honesty allow of; Upon which founda∣tion shee in her discontented lookes and silence, bewrayes unto her sonne Don Ivan, her constant and resolute aversnesse from him to marry her, the which she peremptorily and religiously forbids him upon her blessing, adding withall, that if he marry her, there will infallibly more miseries and calamities attend their nuptials, than as yet it is possible for him either to know or conceive; the which shee prayes him to read in her lookes and silence, to remember it when he sees her not, and to take it as the truest advise, and securest Counsell of a deere Mother to her onely Sonne. Don Ivan ruminates on these speeches and advise of his Mother, as if there were some deepe abstruse mysterie or ambiguous Ora∣cle contained and hidden therein, the which because he hath equall reason as well to feare that this match of his with Marsillia may prove fatall, as to hope and be∣leeve that it may prove fortunate, he makes a stand thereat, as vowing to proceed therein with advisement, and not with temeritie and precipitation; and so for∣beares for a month or two to visit her: But the more the Sonne flyes off in his af∣fection from Marsillia, the more doth shee doe the like from his father in requi∣tall, whereat he grieves with discontent, and shee seemes to bite her lippe with sorrow. Idiaques chargeth his son to tell him from whence this his sudden strange∣nesse and unkindnesse towards Marsillia proceedeth; the which hee answereth with a modest excuse, as favouring more of discretion than disobedience, but yet wholly concealeth his Mothets counsell and advise to him from his Father, the which notwithstanding hee vehemently suspecteth it proceeds from her and her Jealousie. Marsillia is enraged to see her selfe deprived of Don Ivan, whom in her ambitious thoughts, hopes, and wishes shee had already made her Husband; and howsoever Idiaques his Father seekes to conceale and palliate this businesse to∣wards her, yet shee beleeves it is his fault, and not his Sonnes. Shee layes it to his charge, and knitting her browes, shee conjureth him to tell her from whence his Sons unkindnesse to her proceeds: He tels her, he is confident, that it is his old Mother who hath diverted him from her, whereat shee is exceedingly enraged; When seeing this old Letcher so open and plaine with her, shee foothing him up with many kisses, tels him that this old Beldam his wife must first be in heaven, be∣fore he can hope to enjoy her, or she his Son here on Earth; when (being allured and provoked by the treacherous suggestions and bloody temptations of the Devill) she proffers him to visit her, and so to poyson her, which hee opposeth and contradicteth; and contrary to all reason & sense, and repugnant to all Huma∣nity and Christianity, yea, to Nature and Grace, (as a Husband fitter for the Di∣vell, than for this good old Lady his Wife) hee undertakes and promiseth her speedily to performe it himselfe; yea, the Divell is now so strong with him, and he with the Divell, that because hee loves Marsillia, therefore hee must hate his

owne deare wife, and vertuous Lady Honoria, and because he hates her, therefore he must poyson her; A lewd part of a man, a fouler one of a Christian, but a most hel∣lish and bloody one of a Husband to his owne wife, who ought to be neere and deere unto him, as being his owne flesh and blood, Yea the other halfe of himselfe. Hee cannot content himselfe to seeke to abuse and betray his Sonne, but hee must also murther the mother, So wanting the feare of God before his eyes, and repleate with as much impiety and Cruelty, as hee was devoyd of all Grace, he is resolute in this his hellish rage and malice against her, and so to please his young Strumpet, hee will send this good old Lady his wife to Heaven in a bloody Coffin, so without thinking of Heaven or Hell, or of God, or his soule, hee procures strong poyson, and acting the part of a fury of Hell, and a member of the Devill, he as a wretched and execrable Husband, administreth it to her in preserved Barbaries, which he saw her usually to love and eat, whereof within three daies after she dies, to the ex∣treame griefe and sorrow of her Sonne Don Ivan, who bitterly wept, for this his mo∣thers hasty and unexpected death, but the manner thereof he knowes not, and indeed doth no way in the world either doubt or suspect thereof.

His Father Idiaques makes a counterfeit shew of sorrow and mourning to the world, for the death of his wife, but God in his due time wil unmaske this his wretch∣ed hypocrisie, and detect and revenge this his execrable and deplorable murther. Now as soone as Marsillia is advertised of the Lady Honoria's death, she not able to containe her Ioyes, doth infinitely triumph therear, and within lesse than two mo∣neths after her buriall, Idiaques and Marsillia worke so politiquely with Don Ivan, as hee marries Marsillia although his mothers advise to him in the garden, doe still runne in his mind and thoughts, and now hee brings home his lustfull Spouse and Wife to his lewd and lascivious Fathers house at Sentarem, where (I write with horrour and shame) hee most beastly and inhumanly very often commits Adultery and Incest with her, and they act it so close that for the first yeare or two, his Sonne Don Ivan, hath no newes or inkling thereof, and now Marsillia governeth and rules all, yea her incontinency with her Father Idiaques makes her so audacious and impu∣dent, as shee commands not onely his house, but himselfe, and domineeres most proudly and imperiously over all his Servants. Her waiting maid Mathurina ob∣serves and takes exact and curious notice, of her young Ladies lustfull, and unlaw∣full familiarity, with her Father in Law Idiaques, the which her mistris understan∣ding, shee extreamely beats her for the same; and twice whippes her starke naked in her Chamber, and dragges her about by her haire, although this poore young Gentlewoman, with a world of teares and prayers, beggs her to desist and give over.

God hath many wayes and meanes to set forth his glory, in detecting of Crimes, and punishing of offenders, yea he is now pleased to make vse of this young maidens discontent and choller against her insensed Lady and Mistris, for we shall see her pay deare for this cruelty and tyranny of hers towards her, for Mathurina, being a Gen∣tlewoman by birth, she takes those blowes and severe vsage of her Lady in so ill part, and lodgeth it so deepely in her heart and memory, as she vowes her revenge shall requite part of that her cruelty and tyranny towards her; Whereupon (with more haste then discretion, and with more malice then fidelity) she in her hot blood, goes to Don Ivan her young master, tels him of this foule businesse betwixt his young wife and old Father, to the disgrace and shame of nature; and makes him see and know his owne dishonour, in their brutish and beastly adultery and incest. Don Ivan extreamely grieves hereat, yea hee is both amazed and astonished at the report of this unnaturall crime as well of his young wife as aged Father. Hee cannot re∣fraine

from choller and teares hereat, to see himselfe thus infinitely abused by her beauty, and betrayed by his lust; and if it be a beastly, yea a prophane part, for one man, and friend to offer it to another, how much more for a father to offer it to his owne, yea to his onely Sonne. Hee expected more goodnesse from her youth and grace from age, but as his wife hath hereby infringed her vow, and oath of wedlocke, so hath his wretched father exceeded and broken those rules and precepts of Na∣ture; yea, he is so netled with the report, and inflamed with the considetation and memorie hereof, that he abhorres her infidelity, and in his heart and soule detesteth his inhumanitie; so as the knowledge hereof doth so justly incense him against her, and exasperate himselfe against him; that resolving to right his owne honour, as much as they have blemished and ruined it, and there in their owne, he scornes to be an eye-Witnesse, much lesse an accessary of this his shame and their infamy: So he here enters into a discreet and generous consultation with himselfe, how to beare himselfe in this strange and dishonourable accident; when perceiving and finding that both his wife and father, had by this their beastly Adultery and Incest, made themselves for ever unworthy of his sight and companie; he here for ever disdaining henceforth to see her, or speake with him, very suddenly (upon a second conference, and examination of Mathurina, who stood firmely and vertuously to her former de∣position and accusation against them) takes horse and rides away from Santarem to Lisbone, where providing himselfe of monies and other necessaries, hee takes poast for Spaine, and there builds up his residence and stay at the Court at Madrid, where wee will for a while leave him, to speak of other accidents which fall out in the course of this History.

Idiaques seeing the sudden departure of his Sonne, and Marsillia of her Husband, Don Ivan, and being both assured that he had some secret notice and intelligence of their lascivious dalliances and affection, he exceedingly grieves, and shee extremely stormes thereat, because they know that this foule scandall will wholly reflect and fall upon them; and now by this his sudden and discontented departure from them, will be made notorious and apparent to all the world. But how to remedy it they know not; because he hath neither signified him where he is gone, nor when he will returne; the which the more bewrayeth his small respect, and discovereth his im∣placable displeasure towards them. But as there is no malice and revenge to that of a Woman, so Marsillia assuring herselfe that it was her Maid Mathurina who (to the prejudice and scandall of her Honour) had unlocked this mysterie to her Husband Don Ivan, shee enters into so furious a rage, and so outragious a fury against her, as shee provides her selfe of rods, and intends the next morne e're shee bee stirring out of her bed, to wreake her fierce anger and indignation upon her: But this sharpe and severe resolution of hers, is not so closely carried by her, but Mathurina hath perfect notice thereof, and to prevent this intended correction and crueltie of her incensed Lady and Mistris, shee the night before takes horse, and so rides home to the Towne of St. Saviours to her father; and there, from point to point relateth him all which had past betwixt her Lady and her selfe, and betwixt her Husband, her selfe, and her father in Law; and that now disdaining any more to serve her, as her body, so her tongue is at liberty; for she is not, and she will not be sparing to publish her Mistris, and her father in law's shamefull familiarity and adultery together. But this indiscretion, and licentious folly of her tongue will cost her farre dearer than shee thinkes of, or expecteth.

For her late Lady and Mistris, Marsillia, being now perfectly certified of Mathu∣rina's infidelitie and treachery towards her in the point of her dishonour and shame, shee (to salve up her reputation, and to provide for her fame (will not wholly relye

upon her owne judgement and discretion herein; but resolves to acquaint Don Alonso De Perez, her owne onely brother herewith, and to crave his ayd and assistance, as also his advice, betwixt whom and her selfe there was so strict a league and simpa∣thy of affection, that (if reports be true) I write it to their shame, and mine owne sorrow, it exceeded the bounds of Nature and Honour, and of Modesty and Cha∣stity; onely the presumption hereof is great and pregnant, for if there had not beene some extraordinary tyes and obligations betwixt them, it is rather to be be∣leeved than doubted, that for her sake and service, he would never have so freely ex∣posed himselfe to such eminent feares and dangers, as we shall immediately see him doe; and although (of honour and disposition) he were brave and generous, yet I be∣leeve he would not have undertaken it. For the Reader must understand that to this brother of hers, Don Perez, Marsillia speedily acquaints the infidelity and treachery of her Maid Mathurina's tongue against her Fame and Honour, which had so un∣fortunately occasioned her Husbands, Don Ivans, discontented departure from her. Shee protesteth most seriously and deepely to him of her and her father in Law Idi∣aques innocency in this pretended crime and scandall: Tels him that Mathurina is the onely author and reporter thereof, and therefore till that base and lewd tongue of hers be eternally stopped and silenced, shee shall never enjoy any true content to her heart, or peace to her thoughts and mind either in this world, or this life: When his affection to her makes him to yeeld such confidence to her speeches, vowes, and complaints, that hee holds them to bee as true as Scripture; yea, and the undoubted Oracles of Truth and Innocency; when to please and satisfie her, hee bids her be of good cheare and comfort, and that he will speedily take such order that Mathurina's •…•…candalous tongue shall not long ecclipse her fame, or any further blemish the lustre of her reputation: When this base and bloody Gentleman, De Perez, to make good this his promise to his execrable Sister, he secretly rides over to St. Saviours, and there by night wayting neere her fathers doore, when Mathurina would chance to issue forth; he in a darke night espying her (without any more ceremony or further expostulation) runnes her thorow the bodie two severall times, whereof poore harm∣lesse innocent soule shee fals downe dead to his feet without once speaking or crying. So De Perez seeing her dispatched, he presently takes horse (which his man there led by him) and poasts away ro Santarem, being neither seene nor discovered. And thus this bloody villain most deplorably embrued his guilty hands in the innocent blood of this vertuous young Gentlewoman, who never offended him in thought, word, or deed in all her life; and albeit that her father Signeor Pedro de Castello makes curious enquiry and research for the Murtherer of his Daughter, yet De Perez (mounted at advantage) hath recovered Santarem in safety. But God will in due time finde him out to his shame and confusion; yea, and than when his security and courage little dreames thereof.

As soone as he comes to Santarem, hee acquaints his sister Marsillia of his dis∣patching of Mathurina, who is infinitely glad thereof, and extremely thanke full to him for the same, and now her malice and revenge lookes wholly on her Husband Don Ivan, for offering her this unkind and scandalous indignity of his departure, and for tacitely taxing and condemning her of incontinency with his father Idiaques, which her adulterous heart, and incestuous soule and conscience doth inwardly con∣fesse and acknowledge, though the perfidiousnesse and hypocrisie of her false tongue doe publikely deny it; yea, with her best art and policy, and with her sweetest smiles and kisses, shee hath by this time so exasperated this her bloody brother against him, that (out of his vanity and folly) hee prophanely vowes unto God, and seriously protests and sweares unto her. That if he knew where he were, hee (for the vindica∣tion

of her honour and innocencie, would ride to him and fight with him, ex∣cept he would resolve to give him & her some valuable reparation, and honoura∣ble satisfaction to the contrary, which he seales and confirmes to her with many amarous smiles, and lascivious kisses. But as we are commonly never nearer dan∣ger than when we thinke our selves farthest from it: So God being as secret in his decrees, as sacred in his resolutions, we shall shortly see De Perez to verifie and confirme it in himselfe; for as in the heat of this his sottish affection to his sister, he is ready to fight with her Husband Don Ivan, if he knew where he was; loe the newes of his residence in Madrid, when he least thinkes thereof, is accidentallie brought him by a Seruant of his owne whom hee purposely sends to Santarem with these two ensuing letters, The one sent and directed from him to his Father the other to his wife Marsillia That to his Father spake thus.

DON IVAN to IDIAQVES.

WAs there no other woman of the whole world for you to abuse but my wife, and was your faith so weake with God, or you so strong with the Devill, that you must there∣fore make her your Strumpet, because shee was my wife? If Nature would not informe you that I am your Son, yet you are my Father, and it should have taught you to have beene more naturall to •…•…se, more honourable to the world, more respectfull to your selfe, and more religious to God, and not to have made your selfe guilty of these foule crimes of Adultery and Incest with her, the least whereof is so odious to God, and so detestable to men, that I want tearmes, not teares to expresse it. For hereby as you have made my shame infinite, so likewise you have made your owne infamie eternall, the consideration whereof gives me so much griefe, and the remembrance sorrow, that holding you for ever unworthy of my sight, and she of my company, I have therefore left Portugall for Spaine, and forsaken Santarem, to live and die here in Madrid. And when hereafter God shall be so mercifull to your soule, to let you see that the Winter of your age makes you fitter for your grave than for my bed, and for your winding-sheet, than for my wife, you will then h•…•…ld this resolu∣tion and proceeding of mine towards you as honourable, as this your crime to me is unna∣turall, the which if you henceforth redeeme not with an Ocean of bitter teares, and a world of repentant and religious Prayers to God, I rather feare than doubt, that his Divine Majestywill make you as miserable, as you have made me unfortunate.

DON IVAN.

His Letter to his Wife spake this language.

DON IVAN to MARSILLIA.

WHat Devill possessed thy heart with lust, and thy soule with impiety, to make thee violate thy vow which thou gavest me in marriage, by committing those dam•…•…able sinnes of Adultery and Incest with my naturall father: And if the consideration that I was thy Husband could not in Grace deterre thee from it, yet (me thinks) the remem∣brance that hee was my father should in Nature have made thee both to abhorre and de∣test it. And although my tender affection to thee, and filiall obedience to him, made mee expect more goodnesse from thy youth, and Grace from his age, yet God is a just Iudge, and your hearts are true witnesses of these your unnaturall crimes and foule ingratitude towards me, which hath cast so great a blemish and scandall on mine honour, and dashed my joyes with so many untimely afflictions, and immerited sorrowes, that I have abando∣ned Portugall and Santarem for thy sake, and betake•…•… myselfe to live and die in Madrid

in Spaine for mine; where I will strive to make my selfe as contented as discontent can make mee, and so leave this thy enormous crime, and the punishment thereof to God, in whom thou mayest bee happy, but without whom thou wilt assuredly be miserable. And thinke to what just calamities and miseries thine inordinate lusts, and lascivious desires and delights have already deservedly reduced and exposed thee. Sith henceforth I will no more esteeme thee my Wife, or myselfe thy Husband, and that God will assuredly look•…•… on thee with an eye of indignation, and the world, of contempt.

DON IVAN.

Idiaques having read and perused that Letter of his sonne, and Marsillia this of her Husband Don Ivan, they are therewith so touched in heart with shame, and stung in conscience with sorrow for their foule crimes of Adultery and Incest, that they blush each at other, and both of them most bitterly curse the name and memory of Mathurina, who was the first authour of this report to him, and which so suddenly incensed him, and occasioned his departure. So to beare up their re∣putations to the world, and their fames to him, they resolve (without either as∣king leave or pardon of God) to justifie their innocencie hereof to him, and so to pursue and solicite his returne. To which effect they write and returne him (by his owne servant) their two severall Letters in answer of his, whereof that of Idiaques his father carried this message.

IDIAQVES to DON IVAN.

THou doest wrong thy selfe and the truth, God and thy Conscience, and thy wife and me, in so basely taxing us of those foule sinnes of I•…•…eest and Adultery, whereof we are as truly innocent, as thou falsely and malitiously deemest us guilty. For I have not abu∣sed her nor made her my Strumpet, although not God, but the Devill (in the slanderous tongue of Mathurina) hath made thee to beleeve so. For Nature hath taught mee more Grace and goodnesse, not so little impiety, for that I know they are sinnes more •…•…dious to God, and detestable to the world, than either thy sorrowes can expresse, or thy anger depaint me. Neither have I made thy shame infinite, or canst thou make my infamy visible, much lesse eternall, although herein thou shew me thy indignation, together with thy disobedience, by leaving Portugall for Spaine, and Santarem for Madrid, whereof because thou wilt not make thy duty, I will content my selfe to make thy discretion Iudge betwixt us, If thou have not done me more wrong, than either thy selfe, and the truth right herein, and offered a scandall likewise to thy Wives honour, who made thy company her chiefest joy, as now shee doth thy absence her sharpest miserie and affliction. How then can I goe to my grave with content, when thou for sakest her bed with malice, and my house with disdaine. My inno∣cencie in thy accusation hath no way irritated or offended God, and, if therefore with teares and Prayers thou wilt resolve to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 God, thy Wife, and me forgivenesse for this thy foule crime, and monstr•…•… ingratitude towards us, then mine armes shall bee as open as •…•…ver they have beene to receive, and my house to welcome thee, and therein thou shalt make thy selfe as truly happy, as thou falsly and uncharitably thinkest that God will make mee miserable.

IDIAQVES.

The answer of his wife Marsillia to him was couched in these tearmes.

MARSILLIA to DON IVAN.

IT 〈◊〉〈◊〉 neither Lust nor the Devill which can make me infringe or violate my Vow given thee in marriage, although thou art as far from the truth as from God to beleeve it. But how shall I hope that thy tongue will excuse me of these thy pretended foule crimes of Adultery and Incest, when to my astonishment and griefe I see thou likewise condemnest thy old fa∣ther to be guilty thereof with me? And if this be any way affection to me, or obedience to him, let all other Husbands judge, and all Sons define and determine. But to returne thee truth for thy falshood; His age expected and deserved more grace, and my youth and Ver∣tues more affection and goodnesse from thee, than to have beleeved those false calumnies and impostures upon the bare report and malitious relation of my hand-maid Mathurina, which are now dead with her, and are as false as thy rashnesse and her revenge makes thee beleeve them true; for it is neither I nor thy father who have any way blemished thi•…•… honour, or vanquished thy joyes, but rather thy selfe, and thy too too unkinde and hasty departure from Santarem to Madrid, which (to the prejudice of the truth, and of my content and honour) hath occasioned it. For my heart and foule will testifie both with me and for mee, that my affection and constancy is both as s•…•…lesse, firme, and true to thee, as thy jealousie is false towards my selfe, and therefore as thou leavest my pretended crime, so will I thy reall ingratitude both to time and to God, and if yet thou wilt be so wilfully cruell to live from me, and consequently not to esteeme me thy wife, yet as it is my zeale and duty to begge and pray thee to returne to me, so I will make it my Integrity and Consci∣ence still to hold and love thee for my Husband, and so preserving my heart for thee, as I doe my soule for God, I hope with assurance and confidence that I shall have no cause to feare either his indignation, or the world, contempt, in regard I have neither merited the one, nor deserved the other.

MARSILLIA.

Upon the writing and contents of these two Letters of Idiaques to his sonne, and of Marsillia to her Husband Don Ivan, the Reader may please to observe and remember with how much policie, and with how little Piety they seeke to over-vaile and deny these their Adulteries and Incest towards him, thereby to make their actions and themselves appeare as innocent, as they are guilty both to him and to God. But God being the Authour of Truth, and the Father of Light, and whose Sacred Throne and Tribunall is environed with more glori∣ous Sunnes than we see glistering Starres in the Firmament; He will one day un∣maske this their hypocrisie, and bring their foule sins of Adultery and Incest, both to light and punishment. Now as Marsillia is exorbitantly lascivious in her affe∣ction to her brother De Perez, and he reciprocally so to her, so with a world of false sighs & tears she shewes him her Letter, and •…•…er fathers in law Idiaques, which they had sent to her Husband Don Ivan to Madrid, and with •…•…y female oaths and asseverations protesteth to him of both their innocencie herein, which her brother beleeves ye•…•…, her f•…•…ed sorrowes and false teares had so farre trenched and gained upon his cruelty, that in contemplation and commiseration of her wrongs, hee was then so vaine and impious, as once hee thought to haue car∣ried these two Letters himselfe into Spaine, and there to have fought with Don Ivan for the reparation of his sisters honour. But at last leaving passion to consult with reason, and temerity againe to bee vanquished and swayed by judgement, first that these Letters of theirs should see Spaine, and then to attend his brother in Law Don Ivan his answer to them, and as he shall there∣in

finde him either perverse or flexible to his wives desires, and his fathers expectations, hee will then accordingly beare himselfe and his resolutions to∣wards him, and hereon both himselfe and his sister Marsillia doe joyfully de∣termine and conclude. So Don 〈◊〉〈◊〉 owne servant returnes these two afore∣said Letters from Santarem to Madrid to his Master, who breaking up the seales, and perusing them, he doth not a little wonder at his wives impudency, and his fathers impiety, in so strongly denying these their foule crimes to him: But hee is not a little astonished, and withall afflicted and grieved, when he fals upon that point and branch of his wives Letter, which reports the death of her maid Ma∣thurina, for in his heart and conscience he now verily thinks and beleeves, that his wife in her inveterate malice and revenge to her, hath caused her to be mur∣thered, and sent her to Heaven in a bloudy winding sheet. But alas, if it bee so, how to revoke or remedy it he cannot. Once therefore hee was minded to have neglected these their Letters, and so to have answered them with perpetuall ob∣livion, and a disdainfull silence: But then againe considering with himselfe that this might rather increase than extenuate their hopes of his returne, he betakes himselfe to his Study, where taking pen and paper, he, neglecting his father, tra∣ceth his wife this Letter in answer of hers, and againe sends it her into Portugall by his owne servant, which assureth them of his resolution not to returne.

DON IVAN to MARSILLIA.

THe receit of thy second Letter hath not diminished but confirmed and augmented my confidence of my fathers shame, and thy infamy, in your foule sinnes of Adultery and Incest, perpetrated against me, and which is worse, against God, so that I am fully re∣solved for ever to forsake his house, and thy company, and to live and die here in Madrid, as griefe and disconsolation will permit me; For I prize the (unjust) Apologie of thy (pre∣tended) Innocencie at so low a rate, and value it at so base an esteeme, as I disdaine it for thy sake, and thy selfe for thine owne. I do as much grieve, as I both doubt and feare, thou rejoy∣cest at thy maid Mathurina's death, and as I am ignorant of the manner, so if my father and thy selfe have beene the cause thereof, you have then all the reasons of the world to be∣leeve, that God (who is as just in his resolutions, as sacred in his decrees) will in the end re∣venge it to his glory, and punish it to your confusion.

DON IVAN.

This Letter of his doth inflame his wife with malice and indignation, for now her father and she see these their lustfull and lascivious crimes seated and confir∣med in his beleefe, and his stay in Spaine fixed in his anger, and eternized in his resolution: When as close as they beare it, yet knowing full well that the world will take notice of it, and ere long make it their publike scandall and infamie. He is so devoid of Grace, and shee of goodnesse, that to prevent it, hee wisheth his sonne in Heaven with his mother, and shee her old father in law in grave with her young maid Mathurina. But these vaine hopes of theirs may deceive them, which as yet they two are not so wise to thinke of, nor so cautious or religious to consider, but rather more resembling bruit beasts than Christians, they still conti∣nue their obscene and incestuous pleasures, the which I take small delight or plea∣sure to mention in regard of modesty, or to repeat in respect of Nature and Ho∣nour. Here Marsillia againe repaires to her brother De Perez, as to her Oracle and Champion; she shewes him both these two last Letters of her husband to his fa∣ther and herselfe, and conjureth his best advice and speediest assistance for the recovering of her honour, in that of her husbands affection and company, or else that she were freed from him, and he out of this life and this world, that so her

scandall and wrongs might die with him, and for ever bee raked up in the dust of his grave, and buried with him in eternall oblivion and silence. Don Perez (in heart and minde) is so much his sisters, as he is no more himselfe, when making his affection doe homage to her beauty, and his judgement and resolution to pay tribute to his affection, he prayes her to referre this charge and businesse to the care of his discharge; when giving her many kisses, and willing her to read his heart in his eyes, he gives her the good night; and the next morning being im∣patient of all delayes, he takes one Seignior Gaspar Lopez, a noble Gentleman, and a valiant intimate friend of his with him, and relating him his intent to fight with his brother Don Ivan, and the cause thereof: They undertake this journey of Spaine, and so arrive at Madrid, where Lopez prayes Perez to make him his Se∣cond in that Duell; De Perez thanks him for this his affection, but tels him hee will hazard himselfe but not his friend; so writing a Challenge to Don Ivan, hee seales it up, and requesteth Lopez to deliver it to him, and the same night to re∣turne him his answer. Lopez accordingly findes out Don Ivan in his owne cham∣ber, and gives it to him in faire and discreet tearmes, who wondring it came from his brother in law De Perez, but farre more to understand that he was now in Ma∣drid, he no way dreaming of a Challenge, but rather thinking that his wife his si∣ster had sent him thither to him to worke her reconciliation, and consequently his returne to her to Santarem, he hastily breakes up the seales thereof, findes it charged with this language.

DE PE•…•…EZ to DON IVAN.

I Have seene thy inveterate malice to thy Wife my sister, in thy false and scandalous Letters to her, and Portugall hath read it in thy sudden and chollericke departure from her into Spaine, wherefore considering what she is to thee, and I to her, I hold my selfe bound (both in Honour and Bloud) to make her wrongs and quarrels mine. To which end I have left Santa∣rem to finde thee out here in Madrid, purposely to pray thee to meet me to morrow betwixt six and seven in the morning, at the farthest West end of the Prado, with thy Rapier, a confident Gentleman of thy friends, and thy Chirurgeon, without a Second, where thou shalt finde me to attend thy comming, and relying upon the equity of my cause, and the ingratitude and infamy of thine, I make no doubt but to teach Don Ivan what it is for him (without ground or truth) to cast a base aspersion and wrongfull blemish upon the lustre of his Wife, and my Si∣ster, the Lady Marsillia's honour, whose descent and extraction is as good as thine, and her education and Vertues farre more sublime and excellent. Thy generosity obligeth thee to the honourable performance hereof, and mine honour reciprocally to performe this Obligation.

DE PEREZ

Don Ivan having received and perused this Challenge of his brother in law De Perez, and finding his furious resolution to exceed his judgement, hee knowing himselfe innocent, his cause good, and his courage and valour every way to bee superiour to the others, highly disdaining to bee out-braved by any Nobleman or Gentleman breathing, in the point of Honour and generosity, hee with a cheerefull countenance returnes Lopez to his brother D•…•… Perez with this accepting answer.

DON IVAN to DE PEREZ.

Mr hatred to Marsillia, and departure from her was justly occasioned through her treachery and infidelity to mee, and therefore my Letters to her to that effect are as true as she is false in denying it; notwithstanding sith she is thy sister and my wife, I as much approve of thy affection to her, as I condemne thy temerity to me, and thy indiscre∣tion to thy selfe, in making her quarrell thine, and by forsaking Santarem, to fight with me here in Madrid. And because thou shalt see and finde that I have as much courage as inno∣cency, I therefore accept of thy Challenge, and am so farre from learning anypoint of valour of De Perez, as to his shame and my glory, I hope to teach him, that I have no way cast a false aspersion or blemish on the lustre of her reputation, but she on herselfe, and consequent∣ly that I will neither affect her, nor feare thee. For God lending me life, I will to morrow breake fast with thee at thine owne time and place appointed, where my honour and genero∣sity invites me to come, and thine to meet me.

DON IVAN.

These two inconsiderate Gentlemen having thus embarqued themselves in the strong resolution of this weake quarrell and rash Duell, which earthly honour cannot as justly approve and allow of, as divine Religion and Christian Piety and charity disavow and execrate. Their malice and revenge each to other is so violent and impetuous, that without any thought either of God or their Soules, or of Heaven or Hell, they passe over the night, if not in watchfulnesse, yet in broken and distracted slumbers, yea the morne no sooner peeped from Heaven through their windowes to their chambers, but they leape from their beds to the Prado, where De Perez with his friend Lopez come first on horse-backe, and im∣mediately after them Don Ivan in his Coach, with a young Gentleman his friend, tearmed Don Richardo De Valdona: So these two Duelists disdaining to be tainted with the least spice of dishonour, or shadow of cowardise, they at first sight of each other, throw off their doublets, and in their silke stockings and pumps, with their Rapiers drawne, they without any further complement or expostulation approach each other; But here before they beginne to reduce malitious contem∣plation into bloudy action, I hold it fit to informe my Reader with a circum∣stance that now past betweene them, wherein doubtlesse the Providence of God was most conspicuous and apparant; For as by the Law and custome both of Spaine and Portugall, all Rapiers should bee of one length, yet De Perez curiously casting his vigilant eye upon that of Don Ivan, either his feare, or his judgement, or both, informe him that that Rapier is longer than his, whereat Don Ivan grieves farre more than De Perez can possible either rejoyce or wonder, for he is so farre from any way blemishing his honour with this, or with any other point or shadow of dishonour, as now he gives his Rapier to measure, and to write the truth, his is found one inch longer than that of De Perez, when biting his lip for anger, he (resembling himselfe) proffers to fight with that either of Lopez or Valdo∣na, which was sufficient reason for one Gentleman of Honour to give, and for ano∣ther to take; but when he sees that this proffer of his will neither secure De Perez feare, nor confirme his content, then as a Noble and generous Gallant, he freely exchangeth Rapiers with him, gives De Perez the longer, and contents himselfe to fight with the shorter, whereat De Perez rests satisfied, and well he may, sith this action and his receit thereof, doth as much testifie Don Ivans glory, as his owne dishonour and shame, and now they againe approach each other to fight.

At their first comming up Don Ivan runnes a firme thrust to De Perez breast, but hee (bearing it up with his Rapier) runnes Don Ivan in the cheeke towards his right eare, which drawes much bloud from him, and he in exchange runnes De Perez thorow his shirt sleeve without hurting him: At their second meeting they againe close without hurting each other, and so part faire without offering any other violence: At their third assault De Perez runnes Don Ivan thorow the brawne of his left arme, who in exchange requites him with a deepe wound in his right side, from whence issued much bloud, and now they breathe to recover wind, and to the judgements of Lopez and Valdona, (as also of their Chirurgions) they hitherto are equall in valour, and almost in fortune; so although these spectators doe of both sides earnestly entreat them to desist and give over, yet they cannot, they will not be so easily or so soone reconciled each to other; So after a little pau∣sing and breathing, they (with courage and resolution) fall to it afresh, and at this their fourth encounter Don Perez gives Don Ivan a deepe wound in his left shoul∣der, and he requites him with another in exchange, in the necke; and although by this time their severall wounds hath engrained their white shirts with great effu∣sion of their scarlet bloud, yet they are so brave, so generous, or rather so inhu∣mane and malitious, that they will not yet give over, as if they meant and resol∣ved rather to make death feare them, than they any way to feare death; But their fifth close will proue more fatall; for now after they had judiciously traver∣sed their ground, thereby to deceive each other of the disadvantage of the Sunne, whiles De Perez directs a full thrust to Don Ivans breast, hee bravely and skilfully warding it, in requitall thereof, runnes him cleane thorow the body, a little be∣low his right pap, when closing nimbly with him, and pursuing the point of his good fortune, hee whips up his heeles, and so nailes him to the ground, when he had the strength to begge his life of Don Ivan, and God knowes he much grie∣ved that it was not then in his power to give it him, for this his last wound be∣ing desperately mortall, hee presently died thereof, having neither the remem∣brance to call on God, much lesse to begge mercy of him for his sinfull soule; but as hee lived abominably and prophanely, so he died miserably and wretchedly: And although I confesse it was too great an honour for him to receive his death from so brave a noble Gentlemans hands as Don Ivan, yet it is a most singular pro∣vidence, and remarkable punishment of God, that hee died by the hands of his owne lascivious sisters Husband, and which is yet more, by his owne sword, as if God had formerly decreed, and purposely ordained, that the selfe fame sword should give him his death, wherewith so lately and so cruelly hee had bereaved that harmlesse innocent young Gentlewoman Mathurina of her life, although in regard of this his foule and lamentable murther, hee (with lesse honour and more infamy) every way deserved to have died rather by a halter than a sword; But Gods Providence is as unsearchable as sacred.

Don Ivan having rendred thanks to God for this his victory, he out of his noble courtesie and humanity, lends Lopez his Coach to transport the dead body of his brother in Law De Perez into the City, and taking his horse in exchange, he by a private way gets home to his lodging. But this their Duell is not so secretly carried, but within three houres after all Madrid rattles thereof; who knowing the Com∣batants to be both of them noble Gentlemen of Portugall, it gives cause of gene∣rall talke, and argument of universall envie and admiration in all Spaniards, espe∣cially in the nobler sort of Souldiers and Courtiers. When the very day after that Don Ivan had caused this his brother to be decently buried, Lopez repaires to his chamber to him, and in a faire & friendly manner enquires of him if he please to

returne any Letter of this his friends death, and of his owne victorie to Santa∣rem to Don Idiaques his father, or the Lady Marsillia his wife, and that his best ser∣vice herein shall attend and wait on his commands: Don Ivan thanks Lopez for this his courtesie, but tels him that for some reserved reasons he will send no Let∣ter to either of them, but otherwise wisheth him a prosperous returne to Portu∣gall; so Don Ivan remaines in Madrid, and Lopez returnes for Santarem, and there from point to point relates them the issue of that Combat, as the victory of his sonne Don Ivan, and the death and buriall of De Perez, adding withall, that he was so reserved and strange, that he would write to neither of them hereof. At the relation and knowledge of this mournfull newes, Idiaques cannot refraine from much sorrow, nor Marsillia from bursting forth into bitter teares and lamen∣tations thereat; for seeing her deare and onely brother thus slaine by the hand of her owne unkinde Husband; by losing him shee knowes she hath lost her right arme, and he being dead shee knowes not to whom to have recourse either for counsell, assistance, or consolation. And yet as much as hee sorrowes and she grieves at this diasterous accident, they notwithstanding are yet so farre from thinking it a blow from Heaven, or from looking either up to God, or downe to their owne sinfull hearts, consciences, and soules for the same, that without ma∣king any good use, or drawing any divine or profitable morall thereof, they still continue their beastly pleasures and damnable Adultery and Incest together, as if there were no God to see, nor no deserved torments or miserie reserved to punish it. But they and we shall immediately see the contrary.

To the griefe of our hearts, and compunction of our soules, wee have in this History seene wretched Idiaques (by the instigation of the devill) to poyson his wife the Lady Honoria; and likewise his daughter in Law Marsillia to have cau∣sed her brother De Perez to have cruelly murthered her waiting-maid in the street; as also by the Providence of God Don Ivan to have slaine the said De Perez in the field, and our curiosity and expectation shall not goe far, before we shall see the just Revenge and punishments of God condignly to surprise wretched Idi∣aques, and gracelesse Marsillia for the same; for his Divine Justice contending with his Sacred Mercy, it hath at last prevailed against these their •…•…le and blou∣dy crimes; so now when they are in the middest, yea, in the height & jollity of all these their soule delights & security, like an unlooked for storme and tempest, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 will suddenly befall them. Life hath but one way to bring us into this world, but death hath infinite to take us from it, and what is this bu•…•… true argument & rea∣son of Gods glory and our miserie, of his power, and of our frailty and weaknesse, and therefore because wee are as repleat of sinne as he is of sanctity, and as sub∣ject to imperfections, as all perfections are both properly co-incident and subject to him: It will be an act of morall wisdome, and of religious piety in us, rather to glorifie than examine his sacred Providence, and rather to admire than pry into his divine Decrees and resolutions. And because his correction and punishment of all sinnes, especially of this crying and scarlet sinne of Murther, is as Just as se∣cret, and as inscrutable as Just; therefore to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 towards the period of this de∣plorable History, God is first pleased to exercise and beginne his Judgements on miserable Marsillia, and then to finish it in wretched Idiaques. But his divine Ma∣jestie is likewise pleased and resolved both to impose and make as great a diffe∣rence in their punishments, as he found a parity and conformity in their crimes.

It is Marsillia's pleasure (or to say more truly, the providence and pleasure of God) that she rides from Santarem to Coimbra to visit a sicke Gentlewoman her Cousin German, who dwelt there, being only accompanied with her ma•…•… 〈◊〉〈◊〉

on horse-backe, and her foot boy Piscator to attend her, and as shee comes within a small halfe league of that towne, having sent away her man Andrea before, and her foot boy Piscator being a very little distance behinde her, there suddenly sta•…•…s up a Hare betweene (or close to) her horse legges, which so amazed her horse, (which was as hot and proud as the Gentlewoman his Mistresse whom he bore) as comming off with all foure, he throwes her to the ground, and kicking her with his hinde feet at her fall, hee strikes her in the fore-head, and so dasheth out her brains; God so ordaining, that she had not the power to speake a word, much lesse the grace or happinesse to repent her of her horrible sinnes, A dultery, Incest, and Murther. And thus was the lamentable and fearfull end which God gave to this gracelesse young Lady, the which I cannot as yet passe over, without annexing and remembring one remarkable point and circumstance therein, in which the Justice and Mercy of God to both sexes, and all ages and degrees of people, doth miraculously resplend and shine forth; for that very horse which threw and kil∣led her was the verie same which shee formerly lent to her Brother De Perez, and whereon he rid to Saint Sauiours when he (by her instigation) killed her waiting maid Mathurina. Good God, how just, and wonderfull are thy decrees, Deere Lord, how immense and sacred is thy Iustice.

But this is but the forerunner, and as it were but the enterance into a further progression of this History. For as her foote boy Piscator, extreamely wept and bitterly cryed, at the sight of this mournefull and tragicall death of his Lady and Mistris, God had so decreed and provided, that the next that passed by, and who were sorrowfull spectators thereof, were two Corigadors (or Officers of Iustice) of the Citie of Coimbra riding that way in their Coach to take the aire. Who•…•… compassion of the deplorable death of this faire unknowen young Gentlewoman, they descend their Coach, and having enquired and understood of her sorrowfull Foote boy what shee was, they then with much respect and humanity cause 〈◊〉〈◊〉 dead Corps to be decently layd into their Coach, which they shut, and so moun∣ting their Servants Horses they returne againe to Coimbra. From whence they send her Man Andrea, in all possible post hast to Santarem to acquaint his Master and her Father in law Don Idiaques with this lamentable death of his daughter in Law Marsillia, and to pray him to repayre speedily thither to them to take order for her Buriall. Andrea is no sooner departed for his Master, but these two Cori∣gadors consult on the fatality of this accident, and very profitably consider for themselves, that the horse who killed her, and all her apparell and jewels, by the custome and royalty of their City were devolved and forfeited to their jurisdicti∣on; to which effect they cause her rings, chaines, and bracelets to be taken from her, and then her pockets likewise to bee carefully searcht for gold and jewels; so as murther cannot belong concealed or underected; wee may therefore here behold the wonderfull Providence, and singular Justice of God, for in one of her pockets they finde, folded up in a rich cut-worke handkerchiefe, the last Letter which her Husband Don Ivan had written and sent her from Madrid; at the sight of this Letter one of these Corigadors is desirous to have it read publikely, but the other (being more humane and respective to the concealing of Ladies se∣crets, which many times prove that of their honours) hee contradicts it, till at last God enligh•…•…ing their judgements, and prompting and inspiring their hearts, that the perusall of this Letter might (peradventure) import and report some∣thing which might te•…•…d to his service, and conduce to his glory; they fall then on a 〈◊〉〈◊〉 •…•…wixt both their 〈◊〉〈◊〉, and so withdrawing themselves to a pri∣•…•… chamber, they there secretly o•…•…-reade this Letter, where in with admira∣tion

and amazement they understand of the obscene Adultery and Incest of Don Idiaques with this his daughter in law Marsillia, which was the cause of her Husband Don Ivan his absence from her in Spaine: But at length when they pro∣ceed farther therein, and so fall upon these words of Don Ivan to her in this his Letter; I doe as much grieve as I both doubt and feare thou rejoycest at thy hand maid Ma∣thurina's death, and as I am ignorant of the manner, so if my father and thy selfe have beene the cause thereof, you have then all the reasons of the world to beleeve, that God will in the end punish it to your confusion; then (led by the spirit of God) they both con∣curre in one opinion, that this their Adultery, and this Murther of Math•…•…rina did not only firmly reflect, but equally take hold both on Idiaques and Marsillia, and therefore that this her late deplorable and disasterous end, was only a blow from God, and the very true fore-runner, and undoubted Harbinger of his owne to come: When resolving to seize and imprison Idiaques as soone as he should arrive thither to Coimbria; They hushing up this Letter and businesse in their owne bo∣somes, doe then hold it fit to send for Marsillia's foot-man Piscator to come to them, which he speedily doth. They carefully enquire of him if his dead Lady had not sometimes a waiting Gentlewoman named Mathurina, hee answered them yes, and that she was lately murthered in the streets of Saint Saviours, and that her murtherers were as yet unknowne: They demand of him againe whose daughter she was; hee informes them that her father is a Gentleman who dwels in Saint Saviours, and that his name is Seignior Pedro de Castello, which being as much as they sought for; putting their seruants to watch ouer this foot-man, that he might not escape to give the least inkling of their demands to his old Master Idiaques, they presently send away poast to Saint Saviours for Castello, and (in ho∣nour to Justice) these two Corigadors as Christian Magistrates, having put all things in order for the vindication of the truth of these deplorable matters, that very night Idiaques arrives at Coimbra, and descends from his Coach to the house of one of these Corigadors, where the dead body of his daughter Marsillia lay; at whose mournfull fight, as soone as his passionate griefe and sorrow had caused him to shed and sacrifice many rivolets of teares, when hee least dreames or thinks therof, these two Corigadors cause him to be seized on, and instantlycom∣mit him close prisoner, without acquainting him with the cause hereof; where all that night his guilty heart and conscience (as so many Fiends and Furies) assu∣ring him that it was for poysoning of his owne Lady Honoria; there horror and terrour, griefe and despaire, and sorrow, and anguish, doe act their severall parts upon the Theatre of his soule.

The next morne Castello (Mathurina's father) likewise arrives to Coimbra, to whom the Corigadors communicate this Letter of Don Ivan to his wife, which he sent her from Spaine, wherein they tell him the murther of his daughter Mathu∣rina seemes probably and strongly to reflect upon Idiaques, and his daughter in law Marsillia; when they farther acquainting him with her tragicall death, as also with his imprisonment; Castello (with a world of teares and cries) exclaimes that undoubtedly they were the authours, if not the actors of his daughters lamenta∣ble murther, and so very passionately and sorrowfully craves justice of them on Idiaques for the same, which they are as willing to grant and performe, as hee to desire: So after dinner in the publike Tribunall of Justice, they send for Idiaques legally and juridically there to appeare before them; where this sorrowfull fa∣ther (with much passion, and more teares) doth strongly accuse him for the mur∣ther committed and perpetrated on his daughter Mathurina; the which Idiaques with many high and stout answers denieth; he alleageth many oylie words, and

sugred and silken phrases, to justifie and Apologize his innocencie: Which these Corigadors (led by the finger of God) hold rather to be far more ayrie than solide, and farre more plausible than reall or true; so they (still remembring his sonne Don Ivans Letter to his wife Marsillia) doe (without regard to his quality or age) adjudge him to the Racke. The which Idiaques (fearing infinitely more the mur∣ther of his owne Lady Honoria, than that of Mathurina) endures the tortures and torments thereof, with a fortitude and resolution farre beyond his strength and age, and with an admirable constancie stands firmly to the deniall of this fact and accusation; so seeing the Racke taken away, and himselfe from the Racke, he is therefore very confident and joyfull, that his danger is likewise o're past and o're blowne: But these vaine hopes of his will yet both deceive, and in the end betray him, for as yet his conscience hath not made peace with God. For the griefes & sorrowes of this mournfull father for this lamentable murther of his daughter, have now made him both industrious in his solicitation, and religious in this his prosecution against Idiaques towards these Corigadors, to whom againe he becomes an earnest, and yet an humble Petitioner, that they will give him eight dayes time more to fortifie his accusation, and that all that time he may still remaine prisoner without Baile or Surety; which they finding reasonable, and consonant to all equity and law, they freely grant him. When Castello having God for his Councellor, and whom in a small time Idiaques shall finde for his Judge, cal∣ling to minde some words of his deceased daughter touching the suspition of poy∣soning her old Lady by her Husband, to make way for this match with Don Ivan, hee doth no more accuse him for murthering of his daughter Mathurina; but some two dayes after he frames and presents a new Inditement and accusation to his Judges against him, for poysoning his old wife the Lady Honoria. Which these Judges admiring and wondering at, they then partly; nay almost confidently be∣leeve, that there is some great crime, and foule fact in this businesse against Idi∣aques, which God will in fine detect and bring to light, by the solicitation and in∣dustry of this honest poore Gentleman Castello. So they admit againe of his se∣cond Inditement against him, and by vertue hereof convent him before them at their Tribunall of Justice.

Idiaques understanding hereof, his guilty conscience now denounceth such thundering peales of feare and amazement to his appalled heart and trembling soule, as they will give no peace either to himselfe or them; and the Devill who had ever heretofore promised him his best aid and assistance, now flies from him, and leaves him to stand or fall to himselfe: And here it is that his courage begins to faile him, and that his feare and shame is almost resolved and ready to proclaime himselfe guilty of this his last and worst accusation, the poysoning of his owne wife the Lady Honoria: But againe the hope of life is yet so sweet to him, as the feare of death is displeasing and bitter, and therefore (with a wretched resolution, and a miserable confidence) he againe artificially endevoureth to bleare the eyes of these his Judges, with his chiefest Eloquence, and sweetest Oratory; who having given him his ful carreer to speake in his owne defence and justification, when they perfectly knew he yet spake not one valuable word or reason, either to defend or justifie himselfe; Then one of these cleere-sighted Corigadors (in the behalfe of both of them) returnes him this grave reply and pious exhortation.

That as they have not the will to accuse him, so they have not the meanes or power to excuse him, for being (at least) accessary to both, or either of these murthers, of his Lady Honoria, or Mathurina; that the sudden death of the first, and the violent and untimely one of the last, the voluntary absence of his sonne

Don Ivan in Spaine, with his killing of De Perez there, and now the fearefull and la∣mentable end of his daughter in law, Marsillia (whose body is yet unbursed, and her blood scarce cold) left a dangerous reflexion, and a pernitious suspition on his life and actions at least of Adulterie and Incest if not of Murther (whereof his Sonne Don Ivans Letter which hee writ to his wife Marsillia which they have there to shew, isa most strong and pregnant witnesse) and that the least of these crimes are capable to ruine a greater personage than himselfe. That he could cast no mist of delusion before Gods eyes, though he artificially endevoured and laboured to cast a vaile before theirs. That the shedding of innocent blood was a crying Sinne, which despight of sorcery and of Hell would (in Gods due time) draw downe vengeance to Earth from Heauen on their Authors. That if he were guiltie of his accusation, he had no better plea than confession, nor safer remedie than repentance. That contrition is the true marke, of a true Servant of God, and though we fall to Nature and sinne as being men yet wee should rise againe to grace and righteousnesse as being Christians. That to deny our Crimes, is to augment them and consequently their punishments, both in Earth, and in Hell, and that he was not a Christian, but an Infidell, who would attempt to save his life with the losse of his soule, with many o∣ther religious exhortations concurring and looking that way.

But all this, notwithstanding, Idiaques his Faith and Conscience, was yet so strong with Sathan, and therefore so weake with God, that he left no excuse; policy or evasion uninvented to bleare the eyes of these Corigadors, and so to make his in∣nocency to passe current with them▪ But his eloquence and asseverations cannot pre∣vaile with the solidity of their Iudgements, for God will not suffer them to bee led away with words nor seduced or deluded with shadowes: But from the circumfe∣rence of circumstances, they now flie to the centre of truth, and to the Authour and giver, yea to the life and soule thereof, God. So they againe adjudge him to the rack for his second accusation of Murther, as they formerly had done to him for his first. At the pronouncing of which sentence, If wee may judge of his heart by his face, hee seemed to be much afflicted, appaled and daunted, which his Iudges perceiving before they expose him to his torments, they in Honour to his Age and qualitie, but farre more to Truth and Iustice (whom they know to be two Daughters of Heaven) they now hold it a point of Charity and Piety to send him two Diuines to his prison to worke upon his Conscience and Soule, which they doe: And God in the depth of his goodnesse, and the richnesse of his mercy, was so mercifully propitious and indulgent to him, that hee added such efficacy to their perswasions and power to their exhortations, as at the very sight of the racke, hee with teares in his eyes, then and there confessed unto them, That hee was innocent of Mathurinaes murther, but guiltie of poisoning his owne wife, the Ladie Honoria, for the which he said he most heartily and sorrowfully repented himselfe. Whereupon his Iudges (and the rest present) admiring with wonder and praising God with admiration for the detection of this his foule bloody and lamentable crime, they pronounce sentence against him. That for expiation thereof, hee at eight of the clocke the next morning shall have his head cut off at the place of common execution in that Towne. When Idiaques, who (yet adhered so much to Sat•…•…an) that hee could never be de∣vested of his mortall sinnes before he were first deprived of his sinfull life, doth yet still flatter himselfe with some further hope of life, and so hee appeales from the judgement and sentence of this Court of Coimbra to that of Santarem, as being na∣tive and resident thereof; as also because he committed his murther there for which they (not his competent Iudges) adjudged him to death: Whereat although the

Corigadors of Coimbra for the preservation of the priviledges of their Court and Towne, doe obstinately expose and vehemently contest it, yet at last well knowing, and being conscious with themselves, that smaller Townes and Courts in Portugall are bound and subject to depend of the greater; They therefore making a vertue of necessitie, and contenting themselves to give way to that which they cannot reme∣die, doe ordaine that Idiaques should bee conveighed and tryed at Santarem.

But yet before they suffer him to depart their Towne, they in honour to Iustice, in wisedome to themselves, and in reputation to their Towne and Court, doe seri∣ously and religiously charge him in the name and feare of God to declare truly to them, whether his unburyed Daughter in Law Marsillia were not likewise accessa∣ry with him in poysoning his Wife, the Lady Honoria, which at first he strongly de∣nies to them. But then they send away for the two Divines who had formerly dealt with him and his Conscience in Prison, who exhort him to carrie a white and candyd soule to Heaven, and threaten him with the torments of Hell fire if hee doe not. When with sighes and teares, he confesseth that to them, and that it was hee himselfe who administred that poyson to his wife, but that his daughter in Law Marsillia bought it for him. So these Iudges (upon the validity of this free and so∣lemne confession) in detestation of this her lamentable crime, doe reverently resolve to second, and glorifie God in his Iudgements towards her, and therefore they pre∣sently condemne her dead body to bee burnt that afternoone in their market street, the common place of execution, which accordingly is then and there performed in presence of a great concourse of people, who infinitly rejoyce that God so miracu∣lously destroyed the life, and their Iudges the body of so execrable a female Mon∣ster.

By this time we must allow, and imagine that our old Lecher, and new murthere Idiaques (by vertue of his appeale) is brought to his owne City of Santarem, and I thinke either with a ridiculous hope or a prophane and impious resolution to see whether God will punish him there with death, or the Divell preserve and save him from it. Hee hath many friends in this Court, who are both great and powerfull, and therefore builds all his hopes of life, on this reeling quicksand, this snow, this nothing, that his great estate of money and lands will undoubtedly act wonders with them for his pardon. But still he hopes, because still the divell deceives him; He is arrived here at Santarem, where this faire Citie which might heretofore have proved his delight and glory, is now reserved for his shame and appointed and destined for his confusion; They cannot brook the sight, much lesse the cohabitation and company of such monsters of nature, and divels incarnat of men, who glory in making themselves guilty of these soule sinnes, and crying crimes, Adultery, Inces•…•…, Murther. So that Idiaques (who hath made himselfe a principall of this number, and a monster of Art in these sinnes) thinking here in Santarem to find more mercy and pity during his life, shall find lesse of both of them after his death. For the criminall Iudges of this Court who reverence and honour Iustice because Iustice doth daily and reciprocally performe the like to them, doe confirme the sentence of Coimbra; that the next morne he shall lose his head, but in detestation and execration of these his foule and bloody crimes, they adde this clause and condition thereto, that both his head and body shall be afterwards burnt, and his ashes throwne into the ayre, which gives maatter of talke and admiration, not onely to Santarem but to all Portu∣gall. And thus most pensively and disconsolately is Idiaques reconveyed to his pri∣son where Church-men are sent him by the Iudges of that court, to direct his soule in her slight and transsiguration from earth to Heaven whom they finde (or at least •…•…hey make) very humble, mournefull, and repentant. According to which sentence

he is the next morning brought to the place of execution, which for the greater example and terrour to others, and of ignominy to himselfe, was before his owne house, wherein he had acted and perpetrated all his enormous crimes. Where the scaffold is no sooner erected, but there flocke an infinite number of people from all parts of the City, to be spectators of this last scene of his Tragedy. He came to the scaffold (betweene two Friers) in a sute of blacke Taffeta, a gowne of blacke wrought tuffe Taffeta, and a great white set ruffe, which yet could not be whiter than his broad beard: At his ascent on the scaffold, his grave aspect and presence engendred as much sorrow & pity, as his beastly crimes did detestation in the hearts and tongues of the people, to whom (after hee had a short time kneeled downe and prayed) he made a short speech to this effect.

That although the poysoning of his owne wife, and his adultery with his sons wife, were crimes so odious and execrable, as had made him unworthy any lon∣ger either to tread on earth, or to look up unto Heaven, yet although he deserved no favour of his Judges for his bodie, he humbly repented and begged some of God for his soule, and for the more effectuall obtaining thereof, hee zealously prayed all those who were present to joyne their prayers to his. Hee confessed that it was Marsillia's beauty which first (at the instigation of the devill drew him to that adultery with her, and this poysoning of his owne wife Honoria, whereof from his heart and soule, he now affirmed hee implored remission of God, of the Law, of his sonne Don Ivan, and of all the world, and prayed them all to be more godly and lesse sinfull by his example, and so kneeling downe, and praying a little whiles to himselfe, he rose up, and putting of his gowne, ruffe, and doublet, which hee gave to the Executioner, hee binding his head and eyes with his handkerchiefe, bade him doe his office, which he presently performed, and with one blow of the sword, made a perpetuall double divorce betwixt his head and his shoulders, his body and his soule; when presently according to his sentence, both his head and his body were then and there burnt and consumed to fire, and his ashes throwne into the ayre.

And this was the deplorable life and death of De Perez, Idiaques, and Marsillia, of whom the spectators (according to their severall humours and affections) spake diversly, all condemning the bloudy cruelty of De Perez towards innocent Mathurina, and of Idiaques towards his vertuous wife Honoria. Againe, some pi∣tied, and others execrated Marsillia's youth, beauty, and lust; but both sexes, and all degrees of people (as so many lines terminating in one Center) magnified the providence and Justice of God, in so miraculously and condignly cutting off these monsters of nature, and bloudy butchers of mankinde.

And if the curiosity of the Reader will yet farther enquire, what afterwards became of Don Ivan; The reports of him are different, for as first I heard that his discontent and griefe was so great, yea, so extreame for the death of his Pa∣rents and wife, that he cloistered himselfe up a Capuchin Fryer in their Monastery at Madrid: So contrariwise I have since credibly beene enformed, that he shortly after these disasters left Spaine, and still lives in Santarem in Portugall in great honour, welfare, and prosperity; But which of these his resolutions are most inclining and adherent to the truth, it passeth be∣yond my knowledge, and therefore shall come too short of my affirmation.

GODS REVENGE AGAINST THE CRYING AND Execrable Sinne of Murther.

HISTORY XVII.

Harcourt steales away Masserina, his brother Vimoryes wife and keepes her in Adulterie; She hireth Tivoly (an Italian Mountebanke) to poyson La Precoverte, who was Har∣courts wife; Harcourt kils his brother Vimory, and then marries his widdow Masse∣rina; Tivoly is hanged for a robbery, and at his execution accuseth Masserina for hiring him to poyson La Precoverte, for the which shee is likewise hanged; Noel (who was Harcourts man) on his death-bed suspecteth and accuseth his said Master for killing of his brother Vimory, whereof Harcourt being found guilty, he is broken alive on a wheele for the same.

MAn being the Workemanship, and figurative Image of God, what an odious sinne, yea what an execrable crime is it therefore for one (out of the heate of his malice or fumes of his revenge) to poyson, or murther another, sith Nature doth stronglie impugne, and Grace (with a high hand) infinitely contradict it. Therefore were not our hearts and understandings either wholly deprived of Common sence or our soules of the gratious assistance and favour of God, wee would not thus so furiously and prophanely make our selves guilty of these infernall sins, but rather (with our best endevours) would seeke to avoid them as Hell, and (with our most pious resolutions) to hate and detest them as the Divell himselfe who is the prime Authour and Actor thereof, But some such monsters of Nature, and Disciples of Sathan there are here on Earth. A fearefull and lamentable Example whereof this ensuing History will shew us. The which may all good Christians read to Gods glory, and remember to the instruction of their Soules.

THere is a parish tearmed Saint Symplician a mile from the Citie of Sens in the Dutchy of Burgundy (which is honoured with the title and See of an Archbi∣shop) where (within these few yeares) there dwelt and died an aged Gentleman, (more Noble by birth, than rich in Estate and Demaynes) termed Monseiur De Vi∣mory, who left onely two sonnes behinde him, the eldest named Mon•…•…eiur D•…•…

Harcourt, and the second Monseiur De Hautemont, who were two very proper young Gentlemen, excellently well bred and qualified, as well in Arts as Armes, or in any other vertue or perfection which was requisite, both to shew and ap∣prove themselves to bee the sonnes of their father. And (to content my Reader with their characters) Harcourt was tall, but not well favoured, but of a milde and singular good disposition; Hautemont was of a middle stature, neatly tim∣bred, of a sweet and amiable countenance, but by nature hasty and head-strong; Harcourt had a light Aubrnn beard, which (like a Countrey Gentleman) he wore negligently after the Ovall cut; Hautemont had a coale blacke beard, which (Courtier-like) he wore in forme of an invaled Pyramides; Harcourt was thirty two yeares of age, very chaste and honest; Hautemont was twenty five, but ma∣ny times given to women, and ready to bee deboshed and drawne away by any; though but of an indifferent quality and complexion. To Harcourt (the eldest son) their father gave his chiefest Mannor house, with eight hundred Crownes of yearely Revenew, and all his Goods and Chattels. To Hautemont (his second son) he gave his second Mannor house, worth foure hundred Crownes yearely, and fifteene hundred Crownes in his purse, by his Testament: Estates, which though it came short of their bloud, yet it exceeded that of most of the Gentlemen their neighbours, and is held in France at least the double, if not the triple of as much here with us in England. So having neither the happinesse, or the care to be ac∣companied with any sister or other brothers, they interchangeably sweare a strict league of brotherly love and deare affection each to other, which by their Vertues and Honours they sweare shall never receive end, but with the end of their lives: They many times consult together for the conduction and improving of their Estates, which they promise to manage with more frugality than lustre, and with more solide discretion than vaine ostentation or superfluity, and not to live in Paris, or to follow the Court, but to build up their residence in the Countrey. To which end they cut off many unprofitable mouths, both of servants, horses, and hounds, which their father kept. They likewise vow each to other to bee wonderfull charie and carefull in their mariages, as well fore-seeing and knowing it to be the greatest part of their earthly felicity or misery. So here we may see and observe many faire promises, rich designes and resolutions, and many sweet covenants voluntarily drawne up betweene these two brothers, which if they make good and performe, no doubt but the end thereof will bee successefull and prosperous unto them, or if otherwise, the contrary.

But before I wade farther in the streame and current of this History, I must first declare, that by the death of Vimory the father, and by the custome of France, we must now wholly abandon and take away the title of Hautemont from the second brother, futurely to give him that of Harcourt the eldest, and that from Harcourt the eldest, to give him that of Vimory their father, for (by the right and vertue of the premised reasons) these are now become their proper names and ap∣pellations, which the Reader is prayed to observe and remember.

A yeare and halfe is not fully expired and past away since their father past from Earth to Heaven, but the eldest brother Monseiur De Vimory being extreamly ambi∣tious and covetous of wealth, and understanding that a rich Counsellour of the Court of Parliament of Dijon, named Monseiur De Basigni was dead, and had left a very rich widow, (of some forty yeares of age) named Madamoyselle Masserina, he earnestly seekes her in marriage. Shee is of short stature, corpulent and fat, of a coale-blacke haire, and if fame towards her bee a true and not a tatling goddesse, she hath, and still is, a lover of Ve•…•…s, and a Votaresse who often sacri∣ficeth

to Cupids lascivious Altars and Shrines. Harcourt is very averse and bitter against this match for his brother. They have many serious consultations hereon: Hee alleageth him the inequality of her age and birth in comparison of his, her corpulency, the ill getting of her Husbands goods, who was held a corrupt Lawyer, and (as the voyce of the world went) who gained his wealth by the teares and curses of many of his ruined and decayed Clients; and when he saw that nothing would prevaile to disswade his brother from her, he rounds him in his eare, that it was spoken and bruted in Diion, that she was not as chaste as rich, nor so continent as covetous; Vimory is all enraged hereat, and chargeth Harcourt his brother to name the reporters of this foule scandall vomited forth (quoth he) against the vertues and honour of chaste Masserina; Harcourt replies, that hee speakes it wholly upon fame, no way upon knowledge, much lesse upon beleefe; so Vimory being wilfully deafe to his brothers advice and requests, (and prefer∣ring Masserina's wealth to her honesty) hee marries her. But shee is so wise for her selfe, as first (both by promise and contract) shee ties him to this condition; that he shall receive all her rents, which are some twelve hundred Crownes per Annum, she to put her ready money to Use into whose hands she pleaseth, and he also to have the one halfe of the interest money, but the principall still to remaine in her owne right, propriety, and possession, and as well in her life as death, to be wholly at her owne disposing.

Not long after Harcourt being at a great wedding (of a Gentleman his Cousin Germaine) at the City of Troyes (in Champagne) he there at the balles (or publike dancing) espies a most sweet and beautifull young Gentlewoman, whom he pre∣sently fancieth and affects for his wife: He enquires what shee is, and findes her to be named Madamoyselle La Precoverte, daughter to an aged Gentleman of that City, tearmed Monseiur de la Vaquery. Harcourt courts the daughter, seeks the fa∣ther, finds the first willing, and the second desirous; but at last he plainly and ho∣nestly informes Harcourt, that his daughters chiefest wealth, are her vertues and beautie; that he hath not much land, and lesse mony; that hee hath two great suits of Law for store of Lands depending in the Parliament of Diion, which promise him store of money, and that he will futurely impart a great part thereof to him, if he will marrie his daughter, the which (for the present) he tels him, he is content to make good & confirme to him both by bond & contract. Harcourt loves his faire young Mistresse La Precoverte so tenderly and dearly, as he is ready to espouse her on those tearmes, but he will first acquaint his brother Vimory therewith, and take his advice therein. Vimory informes his brother Harcourt, that he knowes Monseiur De Vaquery, of Troyes, to be a very poore Gentleman, that most of his lands are morgaged out, and in great danger never to be redeemed; that his law suits are as uncertaine, as the following thereof chargeable. Harcourt extols the beauty of La Precoverte to him to the skie; Vimory replies, that beauty fades and withers with a small time, and that those who preferre it to wealth, are many times enforced to feed on repentance in stead of content and joy, and to looke poverty in the face in stead of prosperity. But Harcourt having deeply setled his affection on La Precoverte, he rejecteth this true and whole s•…•…ne counsell of his brother, and so marries her: When forgetting his former promise to his brother, hee in a small time turnes a great Prodigall, abandoneth himselfe to all filthy vices, and beastly course of life, and as a most deboshed and gracelesse Husband (within one yeare) hee for no cause quarrelleth very often with this his faire and deare wife, then whom neither Champagne nor Burgundie had a more beautifull or vertuous young Gentlewoman; shee was of stature tall and slender, of a bright flaxen haire, a

gratious eye, a modest countenance, a pure Lillie-rose at complexion, of a milde nature, and sweet disposition, respectfully courteous to all the world, and excee∣dingly devout and religious towards God, as perpetually making it, her practise, delight, and glory, to consume a great part both of her time and of her selfe in prayer, and in the service of God.

And although she were formerly sought for in mariage by many as good Gen∣tlemen as Harcourt, yet she could fancie none, nor affect any man for her husband but himselfe. Never wife was more carefull or more desirous to please a husband than she, and as (for one whole yeare) it was her former content and joy to see him to be a provident, kinde, and loving Husband to her, so now it is her match∣lesse griefe and calamity, to see his good nature perverted, his resolutions trans∣ported, and his affections drowned in deboshed and vitious company. She leaves no sweet advice, nor courteous requests and perswasions unattempted to re∣claime him from these his foule vices of drunkennesse, swearing, dicing, evill company, and whoredome; for of no lesse sinnes in quality, nor fewer in num∣ber, she (with extreame griefe and sorrow) sees him to be guilty: But all this will not prevaile, no nor her infinite teares and sighs which many times she spends and sheds to him both at boord and bed, yea, and sometimes on her knees, but still (with a wretched violence, and sinfull impetuosity) he goes on in his vitious courses, and ungodly life and conversation; neither caring for his health, or his estate and meanes, but wilfully neglects the first, and prodigally wastes and con∣sumes the second, whereat she wonderfully grieveth and lamenteth. She often requesteth Vimory his brother, and La Vaquery her father to perswade and divert him from these his ungodly Courses and enormous vices, which threatens no lesse than the vtter ruine, and inevitable shipwracke of all their fortunes: but they likewise cannot preuaile, although his Brother Vimory (with whom they live and sojourne) every houre and time he sees him, doe strongly deale and labour with him to that effect: For now he giving no limits to his vices and prodigalities, he sels away his lands peece-meale, whereat his brother Vimory stormeth and rageth against him, and his vertuous sweet wife most pitifully weepeth and lamenteth. But as a base Gentleman, and a most unkinde and ungrateful Husband, he laughs at her teares, smileth at hersighes, and contemneth & scorneth both them and her selfe. And it nowfalling out, that La Vaquery her father losing both of his Law suits at Diion, where they (by the votes & sentence of that Court of Parliament) are ad∣judged against him, wherby he was utterly ruined both in his hopes and estate for ever; Harcourt hereat soslights & neglects his wife, as he tearmes her beggers brat, threatneth to send her home to Troyes to her Father, and setting all at randome, cares not what becomes either of himselfe or her, who poore sweet Gentlewo∣man is so extreamely afflicted, and as it were weighed downe with all these cala∣mities and miseries (especially with the vices and discourtesies of her husband) as in her heart she daylywisheth, and in her soule hourely prayeth unto God, that she were out of this life, and in Heaven, infinitly lamenting and a thousand times a day repenting that ever it was her hard fortune to see her Husband, and her woe∣full chance to marry him. But how to remedie or redresse these her miseries shee knowes not.

For now doe her Husbands vices and prodigalities make him daily grow poo∣rer and poorer, in so much (as in lesse than three yeeres) hee is become the shame of himselfe, the contempt of his enemies, the pittie of his friends and Kinsfolkes, and the extreame griefe of his sweet and deare wife, so that hee hath well neer•…•… spent all, and almost left nothing to maintaine himselfe, much lesse to maintaine

her, whose griefes are so great, and sorrowes so infinite, as her roseat cheekes now looke thinne and pale, her sweet eyes are become obscure and dim, yea, and in so pitifull and lamentable a manner, that she fals exceedingly sicke, and her dis∣content and disconsolation is almost so remedilesse, as she would, but cannot be comforted, for that her Husband whom she thought would have proved the ar∣gument of her joy and prosperity, is now become the cause of her endlesse griefe, and the object of her matchlesse calamity and misery. Thus leaving her sorrowes, sighs and teares, to bee diminished through time, or dissipated and defaced by God, The order of our History invites and conjures me now againe to speake of this her base and deboshed Husband, who hath many beastly and bloudy parts to act herein.

Whose lewd life and prodigalities enforcing him now to behold poverty, be∣cause heretofore he disdained to looke on frugality and providence: Seeing his wealth wasted, his lands either sold or morgaged, himselfe forsaken of his brother and friends, his reputation lost, his debts great, his creditors many, and who now began to grow extreame clamorous and scandalous to him: Hee knowes not which way to looke, or how or where to turne himselfe, to finde out some inven∣tion and meanes to repaire the decayes and ruines of these his miserable for∣tunes, and so to beare up and screw himselfe againe into the eye and repute of the world. When his necessity gaining upon his heart and nature, and Satan up∣on his Conscience and Soule, he knowing his brothers wife Masserina to be rich •…•…nd wanton, hee will become so unfaithfull to his owne wife, so ingratefull and treacherous to his owne brother, and so dishonourable and ignoble to himselfe, as to attempt to gaine her affection from him, and to draw her to his owne lewd and lascivious desires, whereon his irregular hopes did more than partly grow confident, because he flatters himselfe with this true, yet foolish beleefe, that as he was seven yeares the younger, so hee was twice seven times a properer man than his brother. When taking time at advantage, as his brother and her husband Vimory were rid to Diion, he finding her in a wonderfull pleasant humour, and ex∣ceedingly disposed to be merry, when (God knowes) his owne sweet and sorrow∣full wife, was (according to her frequent custome) disconsolately at her prayers and booke in her owne chamber, and her doore shut to her, then, then I say, hee taking his said sister in law Masserina to a window in a private Parlor, hee there (for himselfe, or the devill for him) breaks his minde to her, and is so farre from shame, as he glories to make her acquainted with his deepe affection, & lascivious suit to her: Neither doth he faile of his hopes, or they of his voluptuous desires, for he findes this his sister in law so dishonestly prepared, and so lustfully resol∣ved and disposed to grant him his desires, that sealing her affection to him with many smiles, as he did his to her with more kisses, she is so impudent, so grace∣lesse, as at this his very first motion, she vowes to him she hath not the power to deny him any thing, and therefore most cheerfully and willingly gives him her heart and her selfe, and hee doth the like to her, which they mutually ratifie and confirme betweene them with many private kisses, and amarous daliances, as also with many secret protestations, and solemne oaths: But because Satan is, therefore God will not be present at this their vitious contract, and lascivious combination.

Thus Harcourt and his sister in law Masserina, having no regard to their honours or reputations, to their hearts or consciences, to their soules or to God, he pol∣lutes his brothers bed in possessing his wives body, and makes it both his delight and practise to defile and conta•…•…ate his glory, in that of her shame, and of his

owne infamy. And now his pockets and purse are againe fill'd and cramm'd with coine, for he gives her kisses for her gold, and she returnes him gold for his kisses. Hereupon he puts himselfe againe into new and rich apparell, but yet is so base, unkinde, and ingratefull to his owne sweet and vertuous wife, that hee will give her neither gold nor new apparrell, but permits her to goe in her old. But to adde more miseries to her misery, and more new griefes and calamities to her old (be∣cause shee is equally an eye sore both to himselfe and to her) hee will no longer permit her to live with him, that he may the more often and the more freely and securely familiarize with his old sister, or rather now with his new love Masserina: So (without any regard to her birth, or respect to her youth and vertues, or with∣out considering that God had made her his wife, and therefore the other halfe of himselfe) he sends her home to her father at Troyes, giving her but a poore lit∣tle •…•…agge, and a ragged foot-boy, onely with so much money as could hardly car∣ry her thither, giving her neither money nor apparell, nor any thing else which was beseeming or fit for her, although through the blacke and obscure clouds of his vices and ingratitude, the bright and relucent Sun-beames of her excel∣lent perfections and vertues in her selfe, and of her constant affection to him, will for ever most radiantly resplend and shine to all the world, especially to those who had the honour to know her living, or who shall now or hereafter reade her History after her death. And never were those her sweet perfections and vertues either more conspicuous and glorious in her, than now at her enfor∣ced exile, and sorrowfull banishment and departure from her Husband: For al∣though he were cruelly unkinde, or unkindely cruell to her, yet knowing and considering him to be her Husband, shee therefore holds it her duty and consci∣ence still to attend and wait on him as his wife, and not, either so soone or so sud∣denly to separate her selfe from him. When her eyes see, her judgement knowes, her heart doubts, and her soule feares, that then more than ever his vices wanted her prayers, and his sins her vertues & presence, to seeke to rectifie and reforme them. But although she descended so low from her selfe to him in her affection and humility, as with bitter sighs and teares to cast her selfe on her knees to begge and request him, that (as by the lawes of mariage and nature, and of con∣science and grace) she was obliged and bound, so that she might enjoy the content and happinesse to live and die with him, being infinitely contented, and extream∣ly desirous, as she then affirmed, (and againe and againe repeated and confirmed to him) to participate and beare her part and share, as well in his poverty as pro∣sperity, yet hee (as an ignoble Gentleman, and a base and vitious Husband) ha∣ving wholly taken away his heart and affection from this his sweet and vertuous wife La Precoverte, and fully and absolutely given it to his lascivious sister in law Masserina, hee (I say) is so hard hearted, ingratefull and treacherous to∣wards her, as (without any respect to her teares, or regard to her prayers) hee will no way permit her to live with him in St. Symplician or Sens, at his brothers, nor yet vouchsafe to bee pleased to goe and live with her to Troyes, at her fathers: But here we may observe his malice in his disdaine, and his disdaine in his ma∣lice towards this deare and sweet young Gentlewoman his wife, (of whom God knowes, and the world sees, he is no way worthy) for he will grant her neither of these her two most reasonable & loving requests, but indeed (rather as a devill than a man, and a tyrant than a Husband) he with thundring looks and speeches, commands her away his sight & presence, without once giving her so much as one poore kisse, as he was bound in affection, or (which is yet lesse) a poore farewell at their parting, as hee was obliged both in conscience and christianity. So this

sweet disconsolate Gentlewoman (in a manner breaking her breast with her signes and drowning her checks with her teares) only with her poore little nag and rag∣ged footboy, is by her flinty hearted Husband turned out of his Brother Vimories house at Saint Simplician, and so in this slender manner, and base equipage enfor∣ced softly, discontendedly, and sorrowfully to ride home to the poore Gentleman her Father at Troyes, yea and such was the malice, and pollicy of Harcourt, her cru∣ell Husband, that this sodaine departure of hers was purposely acted when his Bro∣ther Vimorye, and his wife Masserina were at another mannour house of his some eight leagues off, to the end, that they might not see, or take leaue of her nor she of them; so allowing our sweet and sorrowfull La Precoverte by this time at Troyes with her aforesaid Father; I will for a time there leave her, to the exercise of her patience, to the pietie of her prayers, and to the pleasure and providence of God.

Now doth our disloyall and treacherous Harcourt, at his pleasure frolique it out in Saint Simplician with his lacivious Sister in Law, and Strumpet Mafferina, yea they are now growne so impudent, so carelesse, so gracelesse, in these their obscaene Dalliances, that if Vimorye the Husband and Master doe not, yet his Seruants can∣not choose but take deepe notice and exact and perfect Knowledge thereof; Onely •…•…e obserues a late alteration in his Brothers fortunes, that he is become farre braver in his apparell then accustomed, and hath more store of Crownes in his pocket at his command then heretofore, both to play and spend at his pleasure. Onely from whence this his golden Myne should proceed hee knowes not; except having here∣tofore made some progression, and experiments in the Chymicall Science (or miste∣ry of Alchymy) he had now found the Elixar of the Philosophers Stone, but his cu∣•…•…sity in this Quaere proceeds no further, much lesse his Iudgement, but least of all his Suspition or Ielousie.

But the gracelesse Vanity and Ambition of Harcourt will yet flye a pitch and degree higher in the ayre of Ingratitude and treachery towards his Brother Vimo∣rye, For a little gold cannot redeeme his Lands, nor make vp the mony and great •…•…eaches of his former prodigalities, neither will a few kisses and embraces of that •…•…ustfull Dame his Sister Masserina appease his unchaste appetite, or satisfie his in∣satiable lust, and lascivious desires. Wherefore at one time and cast, to set nature and honour at stake, and so commanding his heart and thoughts to trample on both of them, without any respect or regard to either, he contrives and assumes this viti∣ous and treacherous resolution, that having already taken the actuall possession of her body, hee should then likewise doe so of her gold, yea of all her whole Estate, and so flye away with her, whose Estate (through his long dishonest familiarity with her) hee now knowes to bee great, yea farre greater then his Brother Vimorye her husband either ever knew or dreamt of; Wherefore with much superficiall a∣ffection, and artificiall flattery and insinuation, he no sooner breakes this motion to her, but her lustfull heart corresponding with his, and her lascivious desires likewise ay•…•…ing and intending that way, she freely gives him her consent thereunto, and to that end shee very secretly drawes in all her monies and gold, together with all her plate, Rings, and Iewels most carefully, and privatly packes it up, and so they flye away together; In a morning when her Husband and his Brother was with his servants gone forth a hawking and hunting for all that day, he without ever making his wife, or she her husband once acquainted therewith. Vimorye is amazed, and La Precoverte extreamely perplexed and afflicted at the strangenesse of their (undrea•…•…t of) base clandestine departure; And although (in regard of his affection to his wife) •…•…e were once resolved, to send and make after them for their stay and apprehension,

yet at last, to avoid the vniversall scandall of the world (which thereby insteed of stopping one tongue, would assuredly let loose many,) hee leaves the successe of this treacherous Accident to Time, and the due reward and true punishment the reof to God. Now the first place of safety and shelter which Harcourt and Masserina flye unto, is the strong citty of Geneva (which depends not of France, or Savoye, but of God, and it selfe) where they take two chambers, and live together, having no servant at all to attend or follow them, but only Noell, who for many •…•…eares before had beene, and still was his man. But to live here in Geneva with the more priva∣cy and assurance (because they observe it to be a Citty, exceeding politiquely, ver∣tuously and religiously governed) they finde out this excuse for their stay, that hee is heire to some lands (which by the death of an vnkle of his) is devolved and fallen to him in the estate, and dutchy of Millan (betwixt Pavia and Alexandria) whether hee goes to sell it away, in regard (as he falsly alleageth) that both this Gentlewo∣man (whom hee resolves to leave there, and presently upon his returne to marry) and himselfe are Protestants, and for a moneth or six weakes, this false glosse, and true imposture passeth current with those of Geneva, whom all that time they freely permit and suffer to enjoy the lawes and previledges of Hospitality in their city, and the sooner, (and with far lesse suspition & doubt) because they observe, that they very often frequent their Sermons, and Churches, although in their hearts and devo∣tions, God knowes, they both are directly Roman Catholiques. But at the end of this small time, understanding that the two Syndicks and the rest of the Magistrates of that City beganne to pry more narrowly into their stay, and more neetely in•…•… their actions; Then they thinking to mocke with God and their soules, and so to make Religion onely to be a cloake to overvaile their villany, he then and there re∣solves to marry her before he goe to Millan, (which indeed affords sweet musicke •…•…o the heart, and melody to the thoughts and minde of this lascivious dame Masseri•…•… the which shee esteemed to be the chiefest felicity she could desire upon earth) ex∣cusing the alteration of this his resolution upon her sickenesse and indispositi•…•… (which also was as false and counterfeit, as the pretence of their protestant Religion was feigned and hipocriticall) and to that end he acquaints the Ministers and the Ancients of the Church therewith; But they being as regular in their actions as hee was exorbitant, and as pious in their intentions as he was prophane in his, question him to shew some authenticall certificat from that Protestant Church or Churches in Poictou (where they aver they formerly dwelt) that they were both of them Pro∣testants by religion, and that their marriage was honourable and no way clande∣stine; affirming to him, that it was against the rules of their religion, the Constitu∣tions of their Church, and the lawes of their City, to doe otherwise, either to them, or to any strangers whatsoever; Which Harcourt well perceiving, He now comes too short in his arithmeticke, and having none to shew them in that nature, hee sweats under the saddle; and so slackes his importunacy therein, and puts it off with a spe∣cious excused dilatory delay; When acquainting his Masserina therewith, they both are equally afflicted and grieved, thus to see their hopes nipt, and their expe∣ctations and desires of marriage frustrated, and blasted in the very bud and blos∣somes; and now they see that their abode and stay in Geneva, neither can; nor must belong. But here betides them another unlooked for accident which will speedily transport them thence;

It is the pleasure and mercy of God, that Noell (Harcourts man) is not a little grieved in heart, and afflicted in mind, to see his master guilty of this foule and trea∣cherous crime, in stealing away Masserina his Brothers wife, and entertaining and using her as his owne. Hee knowes how infinitely this their adultery is displeasing

to God, and odious to men, and how opposite and repugnant it is to Grace and Nature. Wherefore holding it a trouble to his minde, a vexation to his heart, and a scruple to his conscience any longer to attend and follow them, because he is assured, that the divine Justice and vengeance of God, will never permit them to goe long either undetected or unpunished, He calling to his remembrance the sweet vertues and chastity of his Mistris La Precoverte, and (by opposition and Antitheses) comparing them to the foule vices and whoredomes of Masserina, hee out of his duty to the first, and detestation to the second, though a bad Ser∣vant to his Master, yet was a good Christian to God, gives his Mistres La Pre∣coverte very secretintelligence, of his masters lascivious residing and living here in Geneva with Masserina, whereof he sends her word, he is a very sorrowfull and unwilling eye witnesse, and so leaves the reformation thereof, first to God, and then to her selfe. Our vertuous sweet Gentlewoman La Precoverte, is wonderfully afflicted and grieved, at this foule crime of adultery betwixt her Husband, and his Sister Masserina, whereat her chaste heart towards him, and her pure and reli∣gious soule towards God, makes her send many teares to earth, sighes to heaven. Once she thought to acquaint her brother Vimory herewith, but then fearing that his just choller might peradventure exasperate him against her Husband, she a∣gaine as soone forsakes that opinion and intent, as holding it more discretion and safety to be silent herein towards him. And yet consulting her griefes and afflictions with God (whose sacred advise and assistance how to beare her selfe in this action and accident, shee religiously implores) she at last deemes it a part both of her affection, duty, and conscience, to use her best zeale and endevours to reclaime them from this their abhominable, and beastly course of life. And in regard her poverty, weaknesse, and sicknesse will not (according to her desires and wishes) permit her to ride over to them in person to Gen•…•…va, shee therefore commits and imposeth that charge to her pen, to write both to her Husband Harcourt, as also to his lews Sister, or rather his lascivious Strumpet Masserina, to see if her letters (by the permission and providence of God) may prevaile with their hearts and soules to reforme and draw them home, the which she purpose∣ly, and expresly sends by a confident messenger, and with the greatest secresie she possibly can devise.

Her Letter to her Husband intimated this?

LA PRECOVERTE to HARCOVRT.

YOur flight and Adultery with that graceles Strumpet Masserine, is so displeasin•…•… to God, as I cannot but wonder that his divine Iusticewil permit Geneva, or any other place of the world to containe you without punishing you for i•…•…; yea when in this foule crime of yours, I consider her by my selfe, and you by your Brother Vimorye, I finde that his griefe proves myshame, and myshame his griefe, and that you and her are the true causes of both. I have examined my thoughts and actions, my heart and soule, and cannot conceive that I have any way deserved this your ingratitude towards me, and therefore faile not to certifie me why and wherefore you have undertaken this vitious and lewd course of life, which in the end will assuredly produce thy misery, as now already it doth your infamy, except your contrition to God, doe speedily redeeme it. And in regard that you are my Husband, and that I both hoape and beleeve it to be the first fault in this kinde and nature, I therefore hold you more worthy of my pitty than of my hatred, and of my prayers then of my curses. So if you will abandon your deboshed Sister, and come home and live with me who am thy chaste and sorrowful wife, my armes and heart shall bee as open as ever they were, both to receive and forgive you, yea, I will wholly forget what is past, and prepare my selfe to welcome you home, with a thousand Smiles and Kisses, if you will resolve and remember henceforth to love mee as much, as for∣merly

(without cause or reason) you have neglected and hated me.

LA PRECOVERTE.

Her Letter to Masserina, bewrayd these passions.

LA PRECOVERTE to MASSERINA.

NOe longer Sister, but lewd strumpet, was it not enough for thee to abuse thine owne Husband, but that thou must likewise bereave me of mine, who is his owne and onely Brother, as if a single sinne and ingratitude, could not content thy lascivious lust, or satis∣f•…•…e thy inordinate desires: but that thy impiety to God, and prophanenesse and obscenity to thy selfe, should make thee guilty of so foule a crime as Adultery, and which is worse, of such a foule and base Adultery as comes very neere to the worst kinde of Incest; wherof thy thoughts and heart can informe thee, and thy conscience and soule assure thee, it will hereafter make thee as truely m•…•…serable, as now thou fasly thinkest thy selfe happy. Wherefore triumph not, to have made my griefe thy glory, and my affliction thy felicity, for God (who is as just, as powerfull) will requite my wronges in thy Person, and when thou least dreamest thereof, his Divine punishments will sharpely scourge and revenge thy lascivious pleasures, except thou deject and prostrate thy selfe at the fee•…•… of his sacred mercy with true contritio•…•…, and at the Altar of his saving Grace with unfeined repentance for the same, by restoring my Husband to me, and thy selfe to thine, and by making thy peacewith God, whom so highly and hainously thou hast therein offended, which if thou doe, thou mayest then reestablish thy fortunes, an•…•… •…•…edeeme thy reputation, or els for ever assuredly ruine both them and thy selfe. So if I seethee to imb•…•…ace this chaste, and to follow this vertuous and religious course, I will againe assume the name of a Sister and leave that of a Strumpet towards thee, yea, I will wholly forget these thy (almost unpardonable) wrongs and disgraces which thou offerest mee, and for ever bury them in perpetuall silence, and eternall oblivion.

LA PRECOVERTE.

Her Messenger arriving at Geneva, he first findes out Noell, and then secretly delivers these two Letters to Harcourt and Masserina, who much musing and more wondring thereat, withdrawing themselves into their Inner Chamber, they there breake up the seales and peruse them; Whereat their hearts galled, and their Consciences so netled and stung as they cannot refraine from blushing for meere shame, and then againe, from not looking pale with meere anger thereat. Thus looking stedfastly each on other, their owne guiltinesse doth for the time present somewhat afflict and perplex them. Harcourt wondereth at his wifes boldnesse in wri•…•…ing to him; and Masserina is not a little dismaid and daunted to see that her husband hath not written unto her. Harcourt is discontented with his wifes peremptory Letter, Masserina is apprehensive and fearefull of her hus∣bands silence, when againe changing their conceits and thoughts which incon∣stantly alter, and extravagantly range, without any intrinsicall peace, or tran∣quility. Harcourt thinking of his Brother Vimoryes silence, attributes it to contempt and hatred, and Masserina contemplating and ruminating on her sister La Precovertes choller, reputes it to extreame griefe, sorrow and Indig∣nation; But at last consulting together hereon, they both of them concurre and fall upon this resolution; that to colour out their lascivious life, they by their answers to her, must overvaile it with much seeming chastity, and pretended sanctity and piety. And the better to prevent any danger which may proceed from Vimories silence, or revenge, they must remove from Geneva and speedily resolve to forsake and leave it; When feare giving life to their despaire, and de∣spaire adding wings to their feare, they call for pen and paper, and each returne La Pecoverte their severall answers by her owne messenger, who had strickt charge and command from her to see them, but not to dare once to speake

or exchange a word with either of them, the which (according to his duty) hee very honestly and punctually performed, onely to shew her gratefulnesse to ho∣nest Noell, she gave precise order to him to render him many hearty thanks from her for his true respect and fidelity towards her, which shee would never forget nor leave unrecompenced, and yet all this while neither Harcourt nor Masserina were any way suspitious that it was their man Noell which gave La Precoverte in∣telligence of their residence in Geneva.

Harcourts Letter to his wife was in these tearmes.

HARCOVRT to LA PRECOVERTE.

DOe not rashly and unjustly torment thy selfe with jealousie at my absence, for thou shalt finde as much joy thereof at my returne, as now thou beleevest and fearest the contrary. I have vowed to accompany my sister in law Masserina to our Lady of Loreto, which is the best Saint of the best Countrey of the world, Italy, (where we are now setting forwards from this towne of Geneva;) to which holy Lady and blessed Saint, her Orai∣sons for her Husband, and mine for thee, are and shall be as repleat of pure affection and pietie, as thou imaginest they are of iniquity and prophanesse. True it is, I committed an errour in not acquainting thee with my departure, which I perceive thou esteemest a crime; but when shortly I shall be so happy to enjoy thy sweet company and presence, then my just reasons will justly enforce thee both to know and acknowledge, that that pretended crime of mine is lesse than an errour, and this errour lesse than nothing. And if thou wilt yet be farther inquisitive why, or from whence our journey was first derived, I pray let these generall tearmes content thy feare, and satisfie thy jealousie, that it was her devotion and conscience to God, not my desire or affection to her which gave life and birth to it; therefore I hold it rather an unmerited cruelty, than a condign penance, either for my heart to be tied to aske forgivenesse of thee, or my soule of God for this thy pretended crime of mine, where∣of I am as innocent as thy feare and jealousie deemes me guilty. Therfore I allow of thy pie∣ly, I accept of thy prayers, yea, and I rejoyce in thy affection to entertaine, and thy resolu∣tion to welcome me home with thy smiles and kisses when I come, the which shall be, if not so shortly as thou expectest or I desire, yet as soone as reputation and good speed shal permit.

HARCOVRT.

Masserina's Letter to her sister in law carried these lines.

MASSERINA to LA PRECOVERTE.

MY departure and absence hath neither wronged mine owne Husband nor abused thine, for it is my pure zeale to God, and not any lascivious lust in my selfe which drew me to this devotion to see Loretto, and him (through his goodnesse) to the resolution honou∣rably to accompany me thither, and therefore my heart defies that foule sinne of Adultery, and my soule detests that odious one of Incest, whereof I am farre more innocent than thou thinkest me guiltie. I am sorry for thy griefe, and I grieve for thy affliction, and am so farre from tri∣umphing in the one, or glorying in the other, as I have given that to my thoughts with passi∣on, and this to my minde with compassion, although I confesse I have small reason to place it so neere me, in regard thy jealousie is the sole authour, and my fidelity and chastity no way the cause thereof; wherefore I am so farre from fearing, as I love Gods justice, because as in other sinnes I have offended his Divine Majestie, so I am sure that in this I have noway in∣curred or merited his indignation, and doe most freely referre my fortunes and reputation to his sacred pleasure, but not to thy secret discontent, and ill grounded choller, from which

(by the plea of a just proviso) I have all the reasons of the world to appeale, as also from that foule scandall and infamous Epithite of a Strumpet, which I thought thee too vertuous once to conceive, much lesse to name, but least of all for one sister in law (without cause or reason) to give to another: But thou art La Precoverte, therefore I forget this ingratefull crime of thine, and I am Masserina, therefore I freely and absolutely forgive it, and to doe thee as much right as thou hast done me wrong, I will silence it in eternall obscurity and oblivion.

MASSERINA.

And is it not worthy of our observation, or rather of our detestation, to see how impiously these prophane wretches deny this their Adultery towards God, and also to La Precoverte, whom they have so hainously offended therewith, and which to Heaven and Earth, to God and his Angels, and to their owne hearts and con∣sciences are neverthelesse as apparant as the Sunne in his brightest Meridian, yea, had they not wilfully fled from God, and presumptuously abandoned themselves to Satan, to contrive such irreligious excuses, and to frame such ungodly Apo∣logies, for these their foule crimes and offences, and so to make Hypocrisie the veile of their Adultery, and the cloake to cover it from the light and sight of the world: And is it not a resolution worthy of a halter in this world, and of Hell fire in that to come, to attempt mariage, when the wife of the one, and the Hus∣band of the other, are in perfect strength, and full of life and health, (especially Masserina's Husband Vimory) as but right now to theit shame, not to their glory, they understand by La Precovertes Letters to them. To the Magistrates of Geneva they are firme Protestants, and as they pretended, so they then (as they constant∣ly affirmed) intended to live and die. To La Precoverte in their Letters they are sound Roman Catholikes, and in the sublimity and singularity of their zeale tra∣velling towards the Lady of Loreto in devotion. O wretched Christians, or indeed rather O miserable wretches, thus with your hypocrisie to think to deceive God, when therein you onely deceive your owne selves and soules. For can there be a greater misery found by us on earth, or sent us by the devill from hell, to make Religion (which of it selfe is a precious and soveraigne Antidote) to become a fa∣tall drugge, and a pernitious ingredient to poyson, not to preserve our soules, and so only to delight our earthly humours and affections, and to please our carnall desires and concupiscences? Of all sorts of men (after the Atheist and the murthe∣rer) the Hypocrite is the veriest devill upon earth, and hee is so much the more wretched and execrable, in that he guilds over his speeches, life and actions with the seeming shew of piety and devotion, when God and his ulcerated conscience know, that he is nothing lesse. To be lukewarme in religion, is to bee prophane, not religious: And as wine mixt with water is neither wine nor water, so he that is of two religions is of neither. For God who is still jealous of his owne honour, and of our salvation, will not onely have our soules, but our hearts to serve him, and not only our hearts, but also our tongues to glorifie him, that is to say, all our actions, and all our affections, not a peece of our heart, but he will have our whole heart, and not an angle or corner of our soule, but our whole soule: For in mat∣ters of his divine worship and service, (which consists in that of our faith, and of his glory) he will not admit of any Rivall or Competitor, nor bee served in any other manner, than as he hath taught us by his sacred Word and Commande∣ments, and instructed us by his holy Prophets, and blessed Apostles.

But againe to Harcourt and Masserina, whose lascivious hearts and lewd consci∣ences not permitting them to rest in assurance, or reside in security any where, the very day after they had dispatched the messenger with their Letters to La Preco∣verte,

(holding Geneva no place for them, nor they for Geneva) they trusse up baggage, and so with much secrecie leave it, and direct their course to the great and famous Citie of Lyons, (some two and twenty leagues thence) and which is the frontier Towne of France, and there they thinke to shrowd them∣selves among that great affluence and confluence of people which inhabite and aboord there from divers parts, and they make choice to live in this frontier Ci∣tie, because it is neere to Savoy, where if any danger should chance to betide or befall them, they might speedily and safely retire themselves there, and so lay hold on the law and priviledge of Nations, which is inviolable throughout all the world. At their arrivall at Lyons they take their chambers and residence neere the Arsenall, though for the two first nights they lie in Flanders-street. They have not beene in Lyons fifteene dayes, but there befell them an accident very worthy both of our observation, and of their remembrance, which was thus; A Gentle∣man of the City of Tholouse named Monseiur De Blaise, having some five dayes be∣fore treacherously killed his elder brother Monseiur De Barry, in the high way as they travelled together upon a quarrell which fell out betweene them, for ha∣ving deboshed and clandestine stollen away his said elder brother De Barry's wife from him, and conveyed and transported her away with them: There was a privie search then made in Lyons, when that same night Harcourt and Masserina were upon suspition apprehended for them, and laid in sure keeping. But the next morning before the Seneschall and Procureur Fiscall, they justified their innocen∣cie, by many who knew De Blaise, and so were cleared; but yet it gave them both a hot Camisado and fearfull Alarum, and left an ominous impression in their hearts and minds, whereof (for the conformity of the circumstances of this action with their owne) had they had the grace to have made good use, they had not (hereafter) made themselves so famously infamous, nor consequently this their History so prodigiously deplorable.

Harcourt and Masserina whiles they stay here in Lyons (as guilt is still accompa∣nied with feare) doe seldome goe forth their lodgings, and when they doe, they (for their better safety) disguise themselves in different apparell, and for her part shee goes still close masked, and muffled up in her Taffeta coyffe. Yea both of them make it their practise to frequent the fields often, but the Churches and streets seldome, as if their foule crime of Adultery had made them unwor∣thy the communion of Gods Saints, and consequently all good company too worthy for them. He exceedingly feares his brother Vimory's silence and revenge, and she highly envieth and disdaineth her sister in law La Precovertes jelousie, and still that disgracefull word of Strumpet (which she upbraided her with, and obtru∣ded to her in her Letter) strikes & sincks deeply in her heart and remembrance, in such sort, that it so possesseth her thoughts with malice, and takes up her minde with choller & fierce indignation, as she vowes to her selfe not thus to let it passe in silence, or to vanish and die away in oblivion, quite contrary to that which her late Letter to her sister La Precoverte promised and spake. And here it is that the devill first begins to take possession of her heart, and by degrees to seize upon her soule, and to make her wholly to forsake God. For knowing La Precoverte to be wife to her brother in law and lover Harcourt, (whom she affects a thousand times dearer than her owne Husband, yea, than her owne life) shee is there∣fore so great a beame to hereye, so sharpe a thorne to her heart, and so bitter a corrasive to her content, as shee not onely assumes bad thoughts, but bad bloud against her: For vowing that none shall share with her in his affecti∣on, shee forgetting her Conscience and Soule, Heaven and God, is speedily

resolved to cause her to be poysoned, her inraged malice being capable of no o∣ther excuse or reason but this, that it is impossible she can reape any perfect feli∣city or content in earth, till she have dispatch't and sent her to Heaven. To which end she insinuates her selfe into the acquaintance of two Apothecaries of that City, and deales with them severally and secretly to effect this hellish businesse, for the which she promised either of them a hundred crownes of the summe in hand, and as much more when they have effected it, and fifty more to defray the charge of their journey, But the devill hath made her so crafty and subtile, as she still retaines from them, the name Masserina and the place Troyes where the par∣ty dwelt; There are good, and bad men of all countryes, faculties, and professi∣ons, these two Apothecaries are as honest as she is wretched, and as religious and charitable as shee is prophane and bloody, so the one denies her request with dis∣daine and choller, and the other with charity and compassion, alleaging her many pious considerations and reasons to divert and disswade her from this foule and bloody act, the execution whereof, though tacitely, yet infallibly threatneth (saies hee) no lesse than the utter subversion of her fortunes, and the ruine and confusion of her life in this world, if not likewise of her soule in that to come; So shee being hereat a little galled and stung in Conscience, to see that this great City of Lyons affoords poyson but no poysoners, to act and finish this her bloody project; The devill hath yet notwithstanding, made her so curious in her ma∣lice, and so industrious, and resolute in her revenge, as enquiring whether there were any Italian Empericke or Mountebancke in that City, (whom she thought might bee made fit and flexible to her bloody desires and intents) she is adverti∣sed, that there departed one hence some eight daies since, who is gone to reside this spring of the yeare at the Bathes at Pougges, a mile from the city of Nevers, his name being Signior Baptista Tivoly (whom I conjecture may derive his sur∣name from that pleasant small towne of Tivoly, some twenty small miles from Rome, wherein there are many Cardinalls, country Pallaces, or houses of plea∣sure) being very skilfull in Mineralls, and in attracting the spirits and quintes∣sence of divers other vegitives; Of a vaine glorious, and ambitious humour and disposition, and yet of a very poore estate and meanes, and such a one, as indeed Masserina holdes every way a fit agent and instrument for her turne and purpose.

She is glad of this advertisement, and will neither give nor receive any truce from her heart, or her heart from her revenge before she have seene and spoken with Tivoly. The which to effect shee to Harcourt pretends a sodaine ach in her right arme, and so upon good advise tells him that she is very desirous to goe to the Bathes of Pougges by Nevers, there to stay some fifteene or twenty dayes at farthest; Harcourt (no way once dreaming, of her inveterate malice, and farre lesse of her revengefull and bloody intents towards the safety and life of his wife La Precoverte) approves of her resolution and journey, but intreats her to be won∣derfull carefull of her selfe, her health and safety, and proffereth to accompany her himselfe: she with many kisses, deerely thankes him for his care of her and af∣fection to her herein; answereth him that his stay in Lyons will make her jour∣ney the more safe & short, so she accepts of the man for the master, and only takes Noell along with her, who respects her so well, as he cares not for her sight, much lesse for her company: She arrives at Nevers, and (impatient of all delay) the next morning findes out Tivoly at Pougges, being a very tall man, of a cole blacke beard, and of a wanne and sullen countenance, shee by his Phisiognomie judgeth that her hopes will not be deceived of him; The second day she breakes with him about

het hellish businesse and findes him tractable to her devillish intents: They pro∣ceed to this lamentable bargaine, and shee is to give him one hundred Crownes in hand, and a faithfull promise of a hundred and fiftie more when he hath effected it as also fiftie Crownes for the Charge of his journey, the which she limits at fifteene dayes, so having settled this her businesse, she now names the party to Tivoly whom she will have him to poyson, La Precoverte, to be the woman who resides and dwels with her Father Monseiur La Vaquery, a poore Gentleman in the Citie of Troyes in Champagne, and shee a young Gentlewoman of some twentie yeares of age, of a flax∣en haire, and very sickly. When giving him a small Saphir Ring from her Finger, she therewith sweares him both to the performance, and to the secrecie of this mur∣ther, the which, armed by the Divell hee doth. When being exceeding glad of this his bloody imployment, which brings him store of gold, the which hee esteemes the Elixar of his heart, and the felicitie and glory of his life, and which indeed, was the maine businesse that brought him on this side the Alpes, from Italy to France. Thus without any feare of God or thought of Heaven or Hell, these murthe∣rous and damnable miscreants have concluded and shut up this their bloody bargaine.

Our poore sweet La Precoverte, having received her Husbands Letter from Gene∣•…•…, and considering the contents thereof, as also that of her Sister in Law Masserina, she knowes not what to thinke either of their Letters or of themselves: she sees her letter to promise much zeale and devotion to God, and his much affection to her, and yet remembring his former unkindenesse, I may say crueltie, towards her; as also the manner of their base and clandestine departure, then she thinks the first to be false, and the second feigned, and rherfore conceives she hath far more reasons to dispaire than to hope either of their Innocencie, or their returne; But this is her re∣solution, Harcourt is her Husband, therefore shee will still love him dearely; She is his wife, and therefore shee will for ever pray for him, and his prosperitie re∣ligiouslie. Thus hoping and many times (with many heavie sighes and bitter teares) wishing and desiring his happy returne, and vertuous reformation, she in his absence lives pensively and sorrowfully with her Father, rather as a widdow than a wife, and such is her miserable Estate; and poore and sorrowsull fortune, that she well knowes not, whether she may more grieve or reioyce that God hitherto hath given her no Childe: For ah me, she is so invironed with afflictions, so incompassed with cala∣mities; so assaulted with sicknesse, and so weighed downe with sadnesse and discon∣solation, as shee reputes her life worse than death, and either wisheth her Husband athome with her, or her selfe in Heaven with God.

But Alas, alas, deere sweet young Gentlewoman; little doest thou thinke or dreame (now thou desirest death) what a hellish plot there is contrived and inten∣ded against thy life by these two bloody Factors and Agents of the Devill, Tivoly, and thy Sister Masserina: O Masserina Masserina, the disgrace of thy name, the in∣famy of thy family, the shame of thy time, and the scandal of thy sexe. O how I want words not teares, to condemne thy cruell rage, and to execrate thy infernall malice and fury, thus to resolve to imbrue thy guilty hands in the innocent blood of thy chast and vertuous Sister in Law La Precoverte; for was it not sinne and lust enough for thee to have heretofore bereaved her of the love and presence of her Husband, but that thou wilt now be so wretched and inhumane, as likewise to rob her of her life. O griefe, O shame, O pittie, that thou shouldest once dare to thinke thereof, much lesse to attempt it, I meane so lamentable a crime, and so bloody a fact, which assure thy selfe as there is a God in Heaven will never goe long unpunished in Earth.

But I must proceed in this our sad and mournefull History, and rherefore with an unwilling and trembling resolution, I am enforced to declare that this limbe of the Divell Tivoly, rides away to Troyes, where he speedily and secretly makes pro∣fession of his Empery. When understanding that Monseiur de la Vaquery is constant∣ly in the Citie he (with an Italian impudence and policy) soone skrewes and insinu∣ates himselfe into his Company. And as it is the vanitie of our times, and the weakenesse and imbecility of our Iudgements, (in any profession whatsoever) still to preferre and respect strangers, before our owne Countreymen, so Monseiur de la Va∣query, hearing this Italian to devoure Latine at his pleasure, and rather to vomit than utter forth whole Catalogues of phisicall phrases which hee had stollen, not learnt from Aristotle, Galen, and Parecellsus, His ignorance beleeves him to be very learned, and therefore hee holdes him a most fit Phisitian, to cure his Daughter La Precoverte of her consumption, whereinto (as before) she was deeply and dangerou∣slie fallen, by the unparalleld griefes and sorrowes which she conceived, for her hus∣bands former unkindnesse to her, but more especially, for his present absence and flight with his lascivious Sister Masserina. So (in a most unhappie hower) Her Father La Vaquery mentioneth it to Tivoly; Which (being the only occasion and opportunitie hee gaped for) he freely promiseth him his best art and skill for her re∣covery, and the next day goes home to his house with him, & visiteth his daughter; He findes her to be weake, leane, and pale, the which serves the better for his turne, to coulour out this his bloody purpose to her. When (if there had been any humani∣ty in his thoughts, any Grace in his heart, or any sparke of religion or pietie in his Soule) the very sight of this sweet, this harmelesse, this beautifull young Gentlewo∣man would have moved him to compassion, and not with hellish crueltie to resolve to poyson her. But his sinnefull heart, his seared Conscience, and his ulcerated and virulent soule had (in favour of gold) made this compact with the Divell, and ther∣fore hee will advance, and not retire in this his infernall resolution. Hee feeles her pulse, casts her estate in an Vrinall, receives thirty Crownes of her Father for her cure, and so bidding her to be of good comfort, he administreth her two pills, three mornings following, whereof (harmelesse sweet Gentlewoman) within three dayes after, shee sodainly dyes in her bed by night; Tivoly affirming to her sorrowfull Fa∣ther and Friends, that before hee came to her, the violency, and inveteracy of her consumption, had turned all her blood into water, and exhausted and extenuated all the radicall humours of her life, which opinion of this base and bloody Italian Mountebanke past current with the simplicitie of his beliefe and their Iudgements: So he burieth his daughter and with her his chiefest earthly delight and ioy: With∣in three daies after that this sorrowful and lamentable tragedy was acted, This mon∣ster, this Divell incarnate Tivoly, leaves Troyes, and poasts away to Nevers, where he ravisheth Masserina's heart, with the joyfull newes and assurance of La Precover∣tes death and buriall, of whom he receives his other hundred and fifty Crownes, the which according to her promise shee failes not presently to pay him downe. And heere againe they solemnely sweare secrecie each to other of this their bloody fact.

Wretched Masserina feasting her heart with joy, and surfeiting her thoughts with content to see the rivall and competitor in her loves, La Precoverte thus dispatched and sent for heaven, Shee now thinking to domineere alone in her Harcourts heart and affection esteemes her selfe a degree neerer to him in marriage, that so of his Sister shee may become his Wife. For this is the felicity and content whereat her heart aymeth, and the delectation and ioy wherein her desires and wishes terminate. But her Husband Vimories life doth dash these ioyes of hers in peeces, as soone as she

conceives them, and strangles them if not in their birth, yet in their cradle. She finds Nevers to bee a pleasant Citie and Pougges a delightfull little place to live in and when the Spring is past and the great confluence of people retired and gone home, to bee a place of farre more safety for them than Lyons. Yea, and shee affects and loves it farre the better, because here it was she first heard and understood of La Pre∣covertes death, which as yet for a time she closely conceales to her selfe; Wherefore shee sends Noell (her man) to Lyons to his Master, and by her letter prayes him spee∣dily to come and live with her at Nevers, which shee affirmes to him is a pleasant City, and that there she attends his arrivall and company with much affection and impatiencie.

Harcourt, to please his Sweet-heart-Sister Masserina, leaves Lyons and comes to her at Nevers, where with thankes and kisses, she ioyfully wellcomes him, telling him that these bathes of Pougges, have perfectly freed her of her ache; but in her heart and mind, shee well knowes, it is the death of La Precoverte, and not those bathes, which hath both cured her doubts and secured her feares. They have not lived in Nevers and Pougges above three weekes since his arrivall, untill they there (but by what meanes I know not) understand of La Precovertes death, whereat hee seemes nothing sorrowfull, but she extreamly glad and ioyfull. And by this time, which is at least a whole yeare since their flight and departure from Saint Simplici∣an and Sens, they in their Travells and other gifts and expenses, have consumed •…•…nd expended a prettie Summe of their money. In all which time, wee must under∣stand that Vimory hates his wife and Brother so exceedingly, as hee (in contempt of their crymes and detestation of their trecherous ingratitude) scornes either to looke or send after them; but the only revenge which he useth towards him in his absence he pretends a great Summe of money to bee due to him from him, and in compen∣sation thereof, seizeth upon the remainder of his lands, and by Order of Iustice ga∣thereth up, and collects his rents from his Tenants, to his owne use and behoofe. Which extreamely grieves Harcourt, and afflicts Masserina, who (by this time) see∣ing in what obscurity and considering in what continuall feare and eminent danger they live in, As their lascivious affections, so their irregular desires, and irreligious re∣solutions, looke one and the same way, which is to send her Husband, and his Bro∣ther Vimory to Heaven, after his wife La Precoverte, yea so resolute are they in this their bloody intentions and desires, as they wish and pray for it with zeale, and desire it with passion & impatiency. And now their malice is growen so resolute, and their resolution so gracelesse in the contemplation and conceiving of this bloody 〈◊〉〈◊〉, as they bewray it each to other. Masserina vowes to him that she can reape no true con∣tent either in her life or conscience, before, of his sister he make her his wife; Nor I replies Harcourt before my brother Vimorie be in Heaven, and I marry thee & be thy husband here in earth. When (as a bloody Courtisan and Strumpet) she gives him many thanks and kisses for this his affection to her, and malice to his Brother Vimory for her sake; when (working upon the advantage of time, occasion and opportunity) Shee tells him, that in her opinion, the shortest and surest way is to dispatch him by poison▪ Harcourt dislikes her judgement and plot, as holding it no way safe in ta∣king away his brothers life, to entrust and hazard his owne at the co•…•…rtesie of a stran∣ger (at which speech of his, shee blusheth and palleth as being conscious and memo∣rative of what she had lately caused to be perpetrated by Tivoly) Therfore he thinks to acquaint and imploy his owne man Noell in this bloudy businesse, and pro•…•… him two hundred Crownes, and fortie more of yeerely pension during his life, if hee will pistoll his Brother Vimory to death as he i•…•… walking in the fields. But Noell is too honest a man, and too good a Chri•…•… to stabbe at the majesty of God, i•…•… •…•…∣ling

man his creature and Image, and so absolutely denies his Master, and although he be a poore man, yet he rejects his offer, as resolving never to purchase wealth, or preferment at so deere a rate, as the price of innocent blood; whereat his Master bites his lip for discontent and anger. So he conjures him to perpetuall secrecie and silence of this proposition and businesse, which Noell promiseth but sweares not. Hereupon Harcourt to approach neerer to Sens, He and Masserina leave Nevers, and very secretly by litle Iournies (and the greatest part by night) come to Mascon, and there his heart strikes a bargaine with the Divell, and the Divell with his soule and resolutions, to ride over himselfe to Sens, and there with his owne hands to pistoll his Brother Vimory to death in the fields, or if his Bullets misse him, then to finish and perpetrate it with his owne Sword. O wretched Gentleman, O execrable Brother, thus to make thy Hope and Charitie prove bankrupt to thy Soule, and thy Faith unto God.

But nothing wil prevaile with Harcourt, to diswade him from this bloody busines; Whereunto the damnable treacherie and malice of Masserina impetuouslie preci∣pitates and hastens him onwards, although it be against her owne Husband. So he leaves Mascon, and in a disguised beard, and poore sute of apparell, comes to Saint Symplician purposely leaving Sens, a litle on his left hand. Where waiting for his Brother Vimory, at the end of a pleasant wood of his, a litle halfe mile from his house where he knew he was accustomed to walk alone by himselfe solitarily; He persona∣ting and acting the part of a poore begging Souldier, and counterfeiting his tongue aswel as his beard and apparel, with his hat in his hand (espying his Brother) he goes towards him with an humble resolution, and requesteth an Almes of him. Which Vimory seeing and hearing; hee in meere charitie and compassion of him, because he saw him to be though a poore, yet a proper man, & which is more a Souldier, drawes forth his purse and whiles he lookes therein for some small peece of silver; Harcourt (as a Disciple of the Devill) very softly drawes out his litle pistoll out of his left sleeve (which he covered with his hat) and having charged it with two bullets, hee lets flie at him, and so shoo•…•… him in the truncke of his body, a little under the heart, of which two wounds he presently fell dead to the ground, being as unfortu∣nate in his death, as his brother was miserable & diabolicall in giving it him, for he only fetched two groanes, but had neither the power or happinesse to speake one word. And the Divell (in the catastrophie of this mournefull Tragedie) was so strong with Harcourt, as his malice towards his Brother Vimory, exceeded not onely ma∣lice but rage and fury it selfe, for fearing he was not yet dead, he twice ran him tho∣row the body with his sword. When leaving his breathlesse body all goring in his hot reeking blood, he with all possible celeritie takes his horse (which he had tied (out of sight) to a tree not farre off) and so with all possible speed gallops away to his now intended wife Masserina at Mascon, who triumphs with ioy at his rela∣tion of this good newes, the which to her, yea to them both, is equally pleasing and delectable. But God will not permit that these wretched joyes and triumphes of theirs shall l•…•…st long.

This cruell murther of Monseiur Vimory is some two houres after knowne at his house and Parish of Saint, Symplician, as also in the City of Sens, and so dispersed 〈◊〉〈◊〉 all Burgundy, and the murtherers narrowly sought after, but in vaine; Harcourt and Masserina meet with these reports at Mascon, but yet they hold it discretion and safetie, a small time longer, to conceale themselves secretly in that Towne, and so to suffer the heate of this newes to passe over, and bee blowne away. But at the end of two moneths, Har•…•…t (setting a milke white face upon his bloody fact) ar∣rives at Sons and from thence to his ma•…•…or house of Saint Symplician, which now

by the death of his Brother Vimorye, who died without issue, wholly devolved and fell to him. Who having formerly plaid the Devill in murthering his said Brother, he now as infernally plaies the Hypocrite in mourning for his death making so wonderfull an outward shew and demonstration of sorrow for the same, as he and all his servants being dighted in blackes. A moneth after hee sends for his good Sister in Law Masserina, who comes home to him, and they seeme so absolutely strange each to other, as if they had never seene one ano∣ther during all the long time of their absence, and shee likewise seemes to drowne her selfe in her teares, and is likewise all in blackes for the death of her Husband; But God in his due time will pull off this their false maske, and de∣tect and revenge both their horrible Sinnes of Adulterie and Murther. Now as close as they conceale this their dishonourable fleight and departure, yet it discovered and found out, and held so odious, so foule, to all the Gentlemen and Ladies their neighbours (who yet know nothing of their murthers) as they disdaine to welcome them home, or (which is lesse) to see them, which they both are inforced with griefe to observe, as holding it to be the reflection of their owne disgrace and scandall, the which henceforth to prevent: they with∣in two moneths after, sends for their Ghostly fathers, as also for two Iesu∣ites, and the Vicar of their parish, and acquaint them with their desires and re∣solutions to marry: But these Ecclesiastiques affirme it to be directly opposite to the Rules and Canons of the holy Catholique Roman Church, for one Bro∣ther to marry the widdow of another, as also against the written law of God; and therefore they utterly seeke both to perswade and diswade them from it, as being wholly unlawfull, and ungodly, and so refuse to Consent thereto, much lesse to performe it without a dispensation from the Pope, or his Nuntio now resident at Paris. They cause the Nuntio to be dealt with about it, but hee peremptorily refuseth it; But in favour of money, and strong friends, within three monethes they procure it from Rome, and so they are speedily marry∣ed, now thinking, and withall, beleeving and triumphing, that this their nup∣tiall knot, hath power to deface and redeeme all their former Adulteries, and now wholly wiped off their disgrace and scandall with the world. And there∣fore in their owne vaine and impious conceits, are secure, and abound in wealth delight, and pleasure; But as yet they have not made their peace with God.

Come we therefore first to the detection and discovery of these their blou∣dy crimes of murther, and then to the condigne punishments which they re∣ceived for the same: Whereof the manner briefly is thus. It is many times the pleasure and providence of God, to punish one sinne in and by another, yea and sometimes one sinne for another, the which wee shall now see appa∣rant in this bloudy and hellish Itallian Mountebancke Tivoly, who repayring to the great Faire of Sens, and there beginning to professe his Emperie to a rich Goldsmithes wife of that City named Monseiur de Boys, hee the third day stole a small casket of Jewels and Rings from him out of a cupboarde, (the locke whereof he cunningly pickt, and shut againe) vallued at foure thou∣sand Crownes, and the same night fled upon that robbery towards Mascon, thinking there to put himselfe on the River of Soan, and so to slip downe to Lyons, and from thence over the Alps into Italy. De Boys makes a spee∣dy, and curious research for his thiefe, whom as yet he could not finde, or dis∣cover; When hearing of this Mountebancke Tivolie his sodaine departure and flight, he takes him to bee his thiefe, pursues him in person and within foure

leagues of Mascon apprehends him, (having to that end brought two Pro∣vosts (or Sheriffes) men with him in their Coats, with their pistolls at saddle bow, to assist him) De Boys findes many of the Iewels and Rings about Tivoly, and divers others wanting, the which he could never recover: So being brought backe to Sens, hee was first imprisoned, and then examined by the Senshall and the Procurer Fiscall: When having neither cause, nor colour to de∣ny this robbery of his, hee therefore freely confessed it, the devill still assu∣ring, or rather betraying his hopes, confidence, and Iudgement; That it is very possible, and he thinkes very probable and feaseable to corrupt his Iudges with some of the Iewels which hee had closly conceald and hid about him; But, he shall speedily see the contrary.

For they seeing this Itallian Empericke (by his owne confession) guilty of this great and remarkeable robbery, they condemne him to bee h•…•…nged the very next day for the same. So having a Cordelier (or Gray) Fryer, sent him that night to pryson to prepare his soule for Heaven; Hee the next morning (according to his sentence of condemnation) is brought to his execution: Where on the Ladder, he (to free his Conscience and soule) doth constantly and sorrowfully Confesse, that hee had formerly poysoned Madamoyselle La Precoverte, daughter to Monseiur de La Vaquery of Troyes, and that he was hired to doe it by the Lady Masserina of whom at Pougges he received two hundred and fifty Crownes and a small Saphir Ring to performe it, as also fifty Crownes more, which she gave him for his charges from Nivers to Troyes, and so hee dies in the constant confession of this his foule and lamentable murder, and is hanged for his Robbery: and his bo∣dy afterwards burnt for destroying and poysoning of this young Gentle∣woman La Precoverte, whom many Gentlemen and Ladies there present well knew, and exceedingly bewayled, for the goodnesse of her sweet na∣ture and pure beauty, as also for the excellencie of her honourable perfe∣ctions and religious vertues; And although the Spectators of this wretch Tivoly his death expected some speech from him, at the taking of his last fare∣well of this world, yet (besides his former confession hee spake nothing, but mumbled out some few words to himselfe, which were not understood; And thus he lived wretchedly as he dyed miserably, giving no testimony of his con∣trition or sorrow to the World, or of any sparke of griefe, or repentance, to∣wards God.

Now before his body was fully consumed to ashes. This our Wretched and bloudy Gentlewoman Masserina, together with her old Lover but new Husband Harcourt, are (by order of the Judges of Sens) apprehended and taken prisoners in their owne house of Saint Simplician, as they were wal∣king and Kissing together, without any thought of danger, muchlesse of death. They hereat looke each on other with griefe and astonishment, espe∣cially Masserina, who understanding (by some of those that apprehend them.) That it was the Italian Mountebanke Tivoly, who at his execution accused her, but not her Husband Harcourt for having and causing him to poyson her Sister La Precoverte, shee then sees her selfe to bee a dead woman, and no hope left her in the world of her life, But every way a firme assurance and confidence of her death; yet seeing Tivoly dead, she resolves to stand upon her Iustification. Shee is all in teares at this her lamentable disaster, curseth the name and memory of Tivoly for ruining her, with himselfe, and now, when it is too late shee blames herselfe of indiscretion, for neglecting,

and not dealing effectually with Tivoly in prison, to conceale this her fact and name. As for her Husband Harcourt, hee (knowing himselfe absolutely In∣nocent of this murther, hee grieves not for the death of his first wife La Pre∣coverte, but now extreamely mourneth and lamenteth to thinke of this, of his second wife Masserina for, live, hee feares she cannot. He bids her yet bee of good comfort, and whispereth her secretly in her eare that hee will give all his estate and meanes to save her life, or else that he will dye with her, shee thankes him with a world of sighes and teares, and rounds him as privately in his eare with many deepe oathes and asseverations, that her tongue shall never dare to speake any one word or sillable to her Iudges, which shall tend to the prejudice of his reputation, safety or life, and so they are by their appre∣henders separated; and then severally conveyed to the prison of Sens: Masserina is first arraigned by the Iudges, where (according to her former resolution) she (not with teares, but with high words and speeches) stands upon her In∣nocency and Iustification, they informe her how strongly Tivoly at his death declared shee had given him two hundred and fifty crownes, a Saphir Ring, and fifty crownes more to pay his charges at Pugges and how he at her instiga∣tion, and in favour of this her gold poysoned La Precoverte at her father Mon∣seiur La Vaqueris house at Troyes, She termes Tivoly witch and devill, yea worse then a thousand devils thus to accuse her fasly of this murther of her sister Pre∣coverte, whereof she vowes to God and the world, to Earth and Heaven, that she is as Innocent as that damned Italian was guilty thereof; but the Iudges (notwithstanding all these her great fumes and crackes) doe presently con∣demne her to the racke, the which as soone as shee saw and considered the sharpe nature of those exquisite torments, then God was so mercifull to her soule by his grace, though shee was not so heretofore to her body by the per∣petration of her foule sinnes, that shee would not permit her tender dainty limbes to be exposed to the misery of those cruell tortures, but then and there confesseth her selfe to bee the author of poysoning La Precoverte her sister, as Tivoly was the actor thereof, when being here by her Iudges farther de∣manded whether her last Husband Harcourt were not likewise accessary with her in poysoning of his first wife La Precoverte, shee with much assu∣rance and constancy cleeres him hereof, and is so kinde and loving to him, as shee speakes not a word to them, of his pistolling to death of her first Husband his Brother Vimorey: So for this her foule and bloudy fact of hers she is condemned to bee hanged the next morning, and for that night againe returned to prison, where shee and her sorrowfull husband, make great suit to the Iudges that they may for a short time see and speake one with the other, but it will not be graunted them: When Harcourt being as confident of his owne life, as hee was of his wifes death, makes secret proffer (by some friends of his) to the Iudges of all his lands and demaynes to save his wife, but they (resembling themselves) doe so much feare God, and re∣verence and honour the sacred Name of Iustice as they are deafe to his re∣quests.

The next morning (according to her sentence) she is brought to the place of her execution, but (at her earnest and importunate request) so early, that very few people were present at her death, where being ascended the Ladder, she there againe cursed the name, and execrated the memory of that wretched Villaine Tivoly, and wished much prosperity and happinesse to her Husband Harcourt, when turning her eye about, and seeing a Cosen Germaine of his

there present named Monseiur de Pierpont, shee cals him to her, and is so vaine at this last period (as it were) of her life, as she takes off her glove and brace∣let from her right hand and arme, and prayes him to deliver it to his Cosin and her Husband Harcourt, and to assure him from her that shee dyed, his most loving and constant wife, which Monseiur Pierponte faithfully promised her to performe, then a Subordinate officer of justice being there to see her dye, tells her that hee was now commanded by the Iudges his Superiours, to tell her, that shee being now to leave earth, and so ready to ascend into heaven, they prayed her in the name and feare of God to declare to all those who were present, if her Husband Harcourt, yea or no, had any hand, or were knowing or accessary, with her in the poysoning of his first wife La Pre∣coverte, and that shee should doe piously and christianly to discover the truth thereof, which would undoubtedly tend to Gods glory, and the salvation of her owne soule: When she solemnely vowed to him and to all the people, that her Husband Harcourt never knew, nor in thought, word, or deed, was any way accessary knowing or consenting with her or Tivoly in poysoning of his wife, and this which shee now spake was the pure truth as she hoped for Hea∣ven; And now after a few teares, shee most vainely and idely fell praysing and commending of him, especially how tenderly and deerely hee loved her; with other ridiculous and impertinent speeches tending that way, which I hold (every way) unworthy of my mention and repetition (but had not the grace, either to looke up to heaven, or to God with repentance, or the goodnesse to looke downe into her owne heart, conscience or soule, with contrition and sorrow for all those her foule Adulteries and Murthers.; Nei∣ther to pray to God for her selfe, or to request those who were present to pray to God for her; And so shee was turned over, all wondring and grie∣ving at her bloody crime, and therefore some few lamenting or sorrowing for this her infamous death: But shee there speakes not a word, or the shadow of a word, either of her Husband Harcourts pistolling to death of his Brother her first husband Vimory, or of her knowledge thereof or consent thereunto.

Now though Harcourt seemed outwardly very sorrowfull for this shame∣full death of his wife Masserina, yet hee is inwardly exceeding Ioyfull, that her silence at her death, of murthering his Brother Vimory, hath preserved his life with his reputation, and his reputation with his life; Whereupon being the same day freed and acquitted by the Iudges of Sens; both of his pretended cryme, as also of his imprisonment; Hee composing his coun∣tenance equally betwixt joy and sorrow, returnes to his house of Saint Sympli∣cian where now thinking himselfe absolutely discharged and cleered of all these his former Adulteries, as also of his late cruell murthering of his Brother; Hee within two (or at most within three moneths after his wife Masserinaes Execution casts of his mourning apparell, (which he wore for her death) and neither thinking of his soule or his conscience, or of heaven or hell, he •…•…antes and froliques it out in brave apparell, and because hee is now fortu∣nately arrived to bee chiefe Lord and master of a great Estate both in Lands and money, therefore hee thinkes it not his pride, but his glory, and not his vanity but his generosity to dight and put himselfe now into farre richer apparell then ever formerly hee had done, whereof all the Gentlemen his neighbours yea all the Citty of Sens, (with no little wonder) tooke especiall notice therof; Yea hee is so farre from once dreaming or thinking either of

his murthering of his Brother Vimorye, or of the deplorable and untimely ends of his two wives, as with much vanity, and with farre more haste then discretion or consideration, he now speedilyresolves to take and marry a third. But his hopes will deceive them, because God in his sacred Iustice and Iudge∣ments will deceive his hopes.

For, when he thinkes himselfe secure and safe, not onely from the danger, but likewise from the suspition of any fatall or disasterous accident which can possibly befall him; then, the triumphant power of Gods revenge will both suddenly and soundly surprise him. His honest man Noell, (with an observant eye, and a Conscionable, and sorrowfull heart) hath heard of La Precovertes poysoning, and of Vimories pistolling to death, and hath likewise seene the hanging both of Tivoly, and of his last Mistris Masserina. In all which severall accidents, as one way hee wondereth at the malice of Sathan: So another way hee cannot but infinitely admire and applaud the just judge∣ments of the Lords: Hee likewise knowes what his Master Harcourt is to him and hee to his master, and in the time of his service and attendance under him, what different and severall passages of businesse and secrets have past betweene them: Hee hath remarked farre more vices then vertues in his Master, whereat hee much grieveth, but hee was infinitely more enforced then desirous either to see or know them, and this againe doth exceedingly rejoyce him: Hee well knowes that fidelity is the glory of a servant, and yet it is a continuall sensible griefe to his heart, and vexation to his soule, to see that his Master serves God no better: Hee doth not desire to know things (which concerne his said Master) whereof hee is ignorant, but doth wish and pray to God that he were ignorant of many things which hee knowes, and of more which he feares; and being very often perplexed in his minde with the reluctation of these different causes, and their as different effects. Hee cannot but in the end satisfie himselfe with this resolution: That as Har∣court is his Earthly Master, so God is his Heavenly Master; But here betides an unexpected and unwished Accident to this Noell, which will speedily try of what temper and mettall both himselfe, his heart, his conscience and his soule is made, and what infinite disparity there is betwixt Earth and Heaven.

By the pleasure and visitation of God: Hee is suddenly taken extreame sicke of a pestilent Feaver, but not in his Master Harcourts house, but in his owne Fathers house, who dweltsome foure leagues thence at a parish cal∣led Saint Lazare, and his Phisition yeelding him a dead man, hee as a religi∣ous Roman Catholicke, takes the extreame Vnction, and then prepares him∣selfe to dye: But hee is so morall, and so good a Christian, as (the premi∣ses considered) he resolves to carry his conscience pure, and his Soule white and unspotted to Heaven. Hee prayes his Father therefore, that hee will speedily ride to Sens (in whose Iurisdiction Saint Lazare was) and to pray two of the three Iudges to come over to him, for that hee hath a great Se∣cret to reveale them now on his death bed, which conduceth to the glory of God, the service of the King, and the good of his owne soule. His Father accordingly rides to Sens, and brings two of those Iudges speedily with him to his Sonnes bed side, to whom (in presence of three or foure more of his Fathers neighbours) •…•…hee very sicke in body but perfectly sound in minde, tells him, that his Master Harcourt would (heretofore) have had him pi∣stoll his Brother Vimorye to death, and proferred him two hundred Crownes

in mony, and forty Crownes Annuity during his life to performe it, but hee refused it, and knowing the said Mounseiur De Vimorye to bee since mur∣thered by a pistoll, hee therefore verily beleeves, that it is either his said Master, or some other for him; which is guilty of that lamentable murther, the true detection whereof he saies he leaves to God and to them, and within halfe an houre after, (yea before they were departed his Fathers house) this Noell dies.

Hereupon, these Iudges wondring at the providence of God, in the evi∣dence of this dying man for the discovery of this lamentable murther. They speedily send away their officers who apprehend Harcourt in his owne house of Saint Simplitian, carowsing and froliking it in his best wine in Company of three or foure of his deboshed consorts and Companions, and so they bring him to Sens: Where lying in prison that night, the next morning the Iudges of that City cause him to bee arraigned before them; and Charge him with pistolling of his Brother Mounseiur De Vimorie to death, which (fortified and armed by the Devill) hee strongly and stoutly denies, they reade his man Noells dying Evidence against him, to prove it: So they adjudge him to the fiery torment of the Scarpines, for the vindication of this truth, the which hee endureth with a wonderfull fortitude and con∣stancy, and still denies it: When their hearts being prompted from Heaven, and their soules from God: That hee was yet the undoubted murtherer of his Brother, they the second time adjudged him to the racke, where∣on permitting himselfe to bee fastened, and the tormenters giving a good touch at him, God is more mercifull to his soule, then his Tortures are to his body, and so with teares in his eies, hee confesseth that it was hee which pistolled his Brother Vimorye to death, and which afterwards ranne him twice thorow the body with his Rapier: Whereupon for this bloody and unnaturall fact of his: His Iudges (without any regard to his extraction or quality) condemne him the next afternoone betweene foure and five of the clocke, to bee broken a live on the wheele at the publike place of ex∣ecution: Some few Gentlemen his kinsfolke solicite his reprivall, because as yet they dispaire of his pardon, but their labours proves vaine, and they purchase no reputation in seeking it, for now all Sens and the adjacent Country cry fie on him, and on his foule and enormous Crymes of Adultery and Fratricide.

So the next day, (at the houre and place appointed) hee is brought to his execution, where a mighty concourse of people both of Sens and the adjacent Country flocke to see, this monster of nature take his last farwell of this world: Being mounted on the Scaffold, in a Tawny Sattin sute with a gold edge: Hee confesseth himselfe guilty of murthering his Bro∣ther Vimorye, and yet hee grieves farre more for the death of his last wife Masserina then hee doth for that of his first, La Precoverte: Hee demands forgivenesse of God, and the world for this his foule crime of Fratricide and praies all who are there present to pray to Almighty God for the sal∣vation of his soule, and that they become more charitable and religious, and lesse bloudy and prophane by his example: So commending his soule unto God, his body to the Earth from whence it came, and marking him∣selfe three or foure times with the signe of the Crosse, hee willingly su∣ffers the Executioner to fasten his Legges and Armes upon the wheele, the

wheele, the which as soone, as he breakes with his iron barre; untill hee have seized upon death, and death on him.

And thus was the wretched lives, and miserable, and yet deserved deaths of these our cruell, and inhumane, gracelesse Murtherers, and in this manner did the Triumphs of Gods Revenge justly surprize them to their shame, and cut them off to their Confusion: May we read this History to Gods glory, and as of∣ten meditate thereon to our owne particular reformation and instruction.

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

Romeo (the Laquey of Borlary) kils Radegonda, the Chamber maid of the Lady Felisanna in the Street, and is hanged for the same: Borlari afterwards hireth Castruchio an Apothecary to poyson her Husband Seignior Planeze, for the which Castruchio is hanged, and his body throwne into the River and Borlari beheaded and burnt.

IT is a thousand griefes, and pities, to see Christians who are honoured with that glorious title and ap∣pellation, should so willfully and wretchedly lose it, by imbrewing their guilty hands in the inno∣cent bloud of their Christian Brethren, and there∣by to bereave our selves of that rich ornament, and inestimable Iewell, which God (in his Sonne Christ Iesus) hath lent us for the planting of our Faith; and given us for the extirpation of our prophanesse, and the rooting out of our Impiety. But this is the subtle malice, and malitious subtilty of Sathan, (the professed enemy, and Arch-Traytor of our soules) as also of his infernall Agents and Factors, who thereby prove and make themselves to bee the firebrands and incendiaries of their owne felicity and safety. And because the examples of the wicked, doe strike apprehension and feare to the godly, and that the punishment and death of murtherers, doth fortifie the Charity, and foment and confirme the Innocency of the living. Therefore (for that Reason, and to this end) I have purposly given this next History a place in my Booke, wherein wee shall see Choller, Malice, and Revenge, to act many deplorable and bloudy parts; Let us reade it with a zealous feare and a Christian fortitude, and so wee shall assu∣redly hate this foule and crying Sinne i•…•… •…•…thers, and religiously, and constantly avoid it in our selves.

THe foundation of this History; is layd in the faire and famous City of Verona, (anciently a great Colony of the Romans, since a free estate of it selfe, but now dependant and subject to the Estate and Seignory of Venice) wherein their lately dwelt, an old Gentleman being a widdower, and one of the chiefest and noblest families of that City, named Seignior Fabri∣tius Miniata, who was rich in lands, but exceeding wealthy in money, (whereof he had put a great and remarkeable Sum in the bank of Venice) he had one only Childe, a daughter of some eighteene yeares of age, named Dona Felisanna, who was wonderfull faire, and a most lovely sweet Creature, tall and slender of stature, of yellow golden haire, and sanguine damaske Rose Complexion; Now as her beautie was every way answerable to her birth and extraction, no lesse were her singular vertues and sweet perfections to her beautie, and as wealth, beautie, and vertue concurring and meeting together, are three pow∣erful lures and attractiue Adamants to draw the desires and affections of many Noble gentlemen to seeke her in mariage. So two of her chiefe Suitors and who cheifly flattered their hopes to enioy this sweet and pretious Jewell of nature, and who stood in best possibility to beare away her affection and her selfe, was Seignior Thomas Planeze a brave young gentleman of the neighbour citie of Mantova of a sweet presence, and proper comely feature of some twentie five yeares old, not verie rich, yet indued with competent meanes to maintaine himselfe like himselfe, but infinitly well bred and adorned and ho∣nored with all those generous parts and endowments which are requisit to make the gallants of our times compleat, and the other Seignior Inan de Borlari, a verie rich Gentleman, of the same citie of Verona, a proper man of counte∣nance, but of personage some what crooke backed and much Camber leggd and drawing towards fortie yeares of age, but of education, conditions, and qualities so ignorant and inciuill as hee seemed to bee rather a Citizen then a Gentleman, or indeed more a clowne then a citizen, and yet otherwise of mettall and courage enough: And that we may the more apparantly see and perfectly know upon what tearmes they both stand, aswell in the opinion of the Father as the affection of the Daughter; Miniata is infinitly desirous of Borlari for his Sonne in law but not of Planeze, and Felisanna is excedingly affect∣ed to take Planeze for her Husband, but not Borlari; which they both perceiving, whiles Borlari intends to seeke the affection and cosent of the Father before that of the Daughter; Planeze shapes a contrary course, resolues to seeke and pre∣fer that of the daughter before the Father; the regard of Borlari his wealth and of Planezes poverty with covetous Miniata like a furious stream or impe∣tuous Torrent beares downe all other regardes and considerations before it. But the consideration and respect of Borlari his deformed personage, and then that of Planezes sweet feature and deportment with amorous Felisanna, as a delicious charme and heart-ravishing extasy, sweepes away all other regards and respects whatsoever. The Father bids Borlari to be couragious and cheer∣full, and then hee shall not faile to have his daughter for his wife; But the daughter wills Planeze to be descreet and constant, and then she will not faile to take him for her Husband; Miniata to shew his love to Borlari, forbids Planeze his his house, and the company of his daughter; Felisanna to reveale her deere and fervent affection to Planeze, assureth •…•…m he shall often enjoy both her sight and company, but confidently if not peremptorily, prohibits Borlari to ap∣proach her presence. Thus whiles Borlari often frequenteth and converseth

with the Father publikely, no lesse, or indeed farre oftner doth Planeze privat∣ly, and whiles the first hath more cause to despaire, than reason to hope of her affection and consent to be his wife: the second hath all the reasons and causes of the world, not onely to hope but to assure himselfe thereof; But the pati∣ence of a little time, will shortly resolve our curiositie, whereunto these diffe∣rent affections will tend, and what the event and issue will bee of these their opposite intentions and resolutions.

But because the ambition and wisdome of Borlari will make it conspicuous and apparant to his Mistris. That there is as much difference betwixt him, and Planeze, as there is betweene her selfe, and her Chamber-Maid Radegonda. Hee therefore seeing that he cannot hitherto gaine her by the perswasion of her Father, now hopes and attempts it by this her maids solicitation; as hol∣ding her to be a fit instrument for the compassing of his desires, and a proper Agent for the perfecting and crowning of his wishes, because his best genius and intelligence informe him, that shee hath a great power and beares a great stroake and sway with her Mistres: But we shall shortly see, and he too soone finde the contrary, and that these his ill grounded hopes and undervalewing attempt of his, will both deceive his ambition and betray his wisdome and judgement. Now to gaine this her chambermaide Radegonda to his will, that thereby with the more facility and cheerefullnesse, shee may obtaine him her Mistris, her favour and affection: Hee bribes her with silver and Gold, and many other gifts, if not too costly for his giving, yet I am sure too rich for her receiving, and in requitall thereof she with her tongue promiseth him her best power and assistance towards her Mistris, but in her heart intendes the con∣trary which is directed to betray him; He sends likewise by her to his love, and her Mistris divers curious rich presents and two Letters and prays her to take time at advantage, and so to deliver them to her from him, the which likewise shee faithfully promiseth, but yet intends nothing lesse, so she holds it rather a vertue than a vice, to keep these presents for her selfe, and to give the letters to his Corrivall Planeze, to whom (by solemne oath) she had formerly ingaged her best art and power, and her chiefest assistance. Which policy, or rather which fallacy of hers, is not so secretly borne betwixt Planeze and herselfe, but Borlari (by some sinister accidental meanes) hath perfect notice therof, which he takes so unkindely at Radegondaes hands, as (consulting more with passion then rea∣son) his heart is so inflamed with Choller, and his resolution with revenge against her, that (impatient of all delaies) he sends for her one afternoone to meet him at the Amphitheatre, and from thence goes with her to the next street to a friends house of his, where ascending a chamber and bolting the doore withinside to him, he (with choller and threats) chargeth her with this her ingratefull infidelity and treachery towards him: when drawing all the truth from her, by making herselfe a witnesse against her selfe, aswell of the delivery of his letters to Planeze, as also of keeping her presents for her selfe, and that her Mistris and he are solemnely contracted each to other: He there in meere reuenge to her, and in malice and disdaine to her Mistris, puls off her head attire, and very basely and violently cuts away all her haire, and throwes it into the fire, notwithstanding that Radegonda first fell on her knees, and with infinite teares and pra•…•…s besought him to the contrary: But as he hath made it an act of his reve•…•… to Radegonda and of his disdaine to her lady, his unkinde mistris Felisanna, so hee now likewise resolves to make it one of his justifications to the world. Poore Radegonda is all in teares and choller at

this her disgracefull accident received of Borlari, and no lesse but rather farre more is her younge Lady and Mistris Felisanna, the griefe of the, one engen∣dring the choller of the other, yea this ignoble and malicious fact of his doth so deepely sticke in her heart and minde, and so extreamely exasperateth her, against him, as shee makes her lover Planeze acquainted therewith, who (not∣withstanding her fathers prohibition) was then descended his Coach and as∣sended the Parlor to visit her. Planeze wondreth and grieves at this incivill and base indignity of Borlari towards Radegonda, which hee every way sees, can no way but reflect on the other part of himselfe Felisanna, and so consequently on himselfe: When (being in her presence) the passions of his affection, and the fumes of his revenge so farre ecclipse and transport his Judgement, as hee freely profereth her his sword, and selfe, to right Radegondaes wrong on the person and life of Borlari, the which courtesie and noble affection and respect of his, Felisanna takes most lovingly and kindely of him, but yet loves him so tenderly and deerely, that by no meanes she will permit him to ingage, much∣lesse to hazard himselfe in this triviall quarrell, which being (as she affirmed) more feminine then masculine, did therefore more properly belong to her owne deciding and requitall, the which (in that regard) she prayed him whol∣ly to leave and referre to herselfe.

Borlari (by some of Miniataes domestique servants, whom in favour of mo∣ney he hath made to be his friendly Spies and intelligencers) heares hereof, and especially takes notice of Planezes forwardnesse to fight with him for the quar∣rell of a poore chamber-maid, so seeing that hee could hope for nothing but for dispaire in his affection from Felisanna, hee takes this so ill from Planeze, (who although hee bee his rivall and competitor, yet being in a manner but a stranger to him) that he cannot, he will not be outbraved by this Mantovesse in any point of courage or valour, and therefore to prevent his insulting and da∣ring Generosity, and to give him a touch and taste of his owne: Hee the next morning by his laquey Romea sends him this challenge.

BORLARY to PLANEZE.

IN Regard thou couldest not content thy selfe to bereave me of the Lady Felisanna, whose sweat beauty and vertues are by farre more deere and pretious to me then my life, but that (with much ostentation and malice thou likewise, makest it thy Tro∣phees and Glory, to offer her the sacrifice of my death, onely for the triviall respect of her Chambermaids haire; Therefore because thou makest so small an esteeme of my life; My reputation invites, and mine honour conjures mee to see what care thou wilt have for the defence and preservation of thine owne. Towhich end, I pray thee to meet mee to morrow (betwixt five and sixe of the clocke in the afternoone) with thy single rapier without seconds, in the first meadow without the Vinsensa gate of this City, where I will attend thy arrivall, with much zeale and impatiency, Thou art Noble enongh to bee so generous, and I generous enough to trie if thou wilt appeare, and approve thy selfe so Noble.

BORLARY.

The Lady Felisanna well knowing Romeo to be Borlari his laquey, and seeing him deliver a letter to her lover Planeze, which s•…•…areth to be some challeng, she thereat (adorning and beautifying her lilly cheekes with a Roseat blush) prayes him to tell her what Borlari his letter contained; When (his owne ho∣honour

getting the supremacy of his affection towards her) he tels her, that Borlari therein onely requested him, to meet him the next day in the Domo (which is the Cathedrall Church of that City dedicated to Saint Athanasius) the which he is now going to grant him in his answer. But Felisanna, still jea∣lous and fearefull) prayes him to shew her those two letters which hee plea∣santly puts off with some kisses, and yet her bloud and heart so freezeth within her with feare, as she useth the best power of her Art, and the chiefest Art of her affection, to conjure him not to fall out, muchlesse to fight with Borlary at there meeting in the Church. Planeze tells her hee is too religious to bee so prophane, to distaine and pollute that sacred place with the effusion of Chri∣stian bloud, because it is the temple of prayer, the house of God, and therefore every way fitter for a peacefull attonement and reconciliation, then for a contentious quarrell, now (as the malice of men are finite, but of wo∣men infinite) Felisanna seeing her Planeze going to write his letter revenge and choller being then extravagantly predominant in her lookes and resolu∣tions, shee hastily steps downe into a chamber next to the garden, where she sends for Borlaries laquey Romea, and causeth three of her groomes (whom she had purposely placed there by force and violence to cut off his right eare; which they presently doe, notwithstanding that he used a thousand intreaties and prayers to her to divert her from this her unworthy and malitious fact, and then hastily departing from him, shee spake this to him: Tell thy Master Bor∣lari, that I have caused thine eare to be cut off, to requite the affront and dis∣grace which he offered me in cutting off my chambermaid Radegondaes haire.

Planeze, having secretly to himselfe reade Borlari his challenge: Hee thinkes so honourably of himselfe, and so disgracefully of him, as he not a little won∣dereth to see, that he hath the courage to write to him, muchlesse the resoluti∣on to fight with him; When grieving that hee cannot now have the felicity and honour to make tryall of his valour to himselfe, and affection to his mi∣stris upon a more generous spirit, and nobler personage then Borlari, hee ac∣cepts his challenge, and in this answer promiseth him to meet him and per∣forme it, the which hee honourably conceales from Felisannaes feare and jea∣lousie, and so sealing up his letter, hee goes downe to deliver it to Borlary his Laquey, and resolves to dispeede and hasten his returne, but contrary to his expectation he findes this laquey Romeo bitterly storming and weeping; and so demanding the cause thereof, hee then and there by a Gentleman his servant is first informed of the Laqueys disgrace, and of the manner thereof as we have understood; Planeze is wonderfully grieved at this disasterous accident, but love prescribes so powerfull a law to his discretion, as he is inforced to beare up with the time and so to dissemble it, and when in the language of a victory and a triumph Felisanna acquaints him therewith; hee holds it discretion, ra∣ther to winke at it, and dissemble it with silence, then to remember it with choller or reprehension towards her; So hee to acquit his ignorance, reputati∣on and honour herein towards Borlari, cals his laquey againe, and vowes and protesteth to him, as hee is a Gentleman that hee is free from being any way knowing or accessary to this his disgrace and disaster, and bids him to assure his Master from him that hee is every way Innocent hereof, the which hee would have signified to him in writing, but that his letter was sealed before he knew it, and so giving him some crownes to wash downe his anger and sor∣row, he then takes leave of him.

Romeo sayes little but thinkes the more, and as hee disdaineth to bewray a∣ny

appearance of griefe hereat, so he cannot cloake that of his choller, nor o∣vervaile or smother that of revenge, in their fatall effects, which time will too soone produce.

Romeo in great haste and more choller, arrives to his master Borlaries presence, gives him Planezes letter, who very speedily and hastily breaking up the seales thereof findes therein these lines.

PLANEZE to BORLARY.

I Acknowledge it to bee rather thy misfortune then my merits that induceth the faire and vertuous Lady Felisanna to give her affection to mee, and not to thy selfe, the which as a rich treasure and pretious Iewell I doe not onely esteeme equall to my life, but a thousand degrees aboue it, and therefore it was with much affection and zeale to her, and with no ostentation or malice to thy selfe, that I tendred her my best service, to right her of the ignoble wrong which thou didst offer to her Chamber-maide Radegonde. In which regard, because thou purposely givest a sinister construction to my intent therein, and art so ambitiously resolute to hazard thy honour and life in hope of the losse of mine, I doe therefore freely and cheerefullie accept of thy challenge, and my impatience and zeale shall anticipate thine before I perform it, wherein if my Rapier give not the lie to my bloud, my misfortune to my Rapier, thou shalt finde me enough noble and generous to attempt this duell for thy sake, and to finish those of greater danger for the Lady Felisannas sake, who I freely professe is the Empresse of my affections, and till death shalbee the Queene Regent of my desires and wishes.

PLANEZES.

Borlari hath no sooner perused and ore read this letter of Planeze, but fin∣ding his challenge accepted, he is exceeding glad and Ioyfull thereof, as if his glory consisted in his shame, and his safety in his danger: Then his laquey Ro∣meo acquaints him with his disgrace acted, saieth he, wholly by Dona Felisanna and no way as hee vowes and thinkes, by the consent or knowledge of Pla∣neze, and so relates all that he and shee charged him to report unto him: The which Borlari hearing and understanding, hee extreamely stormes to see his owne affront and disgrace, offered and brought home unto him in that of his Laquey: When having other affaires and businesse in his head, he contents himselfe for that time to give him some gold, thereby the sooner to make him forget the losse of his eare, which his lockes better then his lookes could now overvaile and cover.

These two inconsiderate Gentlemen, (being infinitely more ambitious to preserve their honours then their lives, and more carefull of their reputations towards the foolish people of the world, then of their soules towards God, are now fitting of their Rapiers and Chirurgions, to dispatch this their rash enter∣prise and irreligious businesse, and it is not the least part of Planezes discretion and care to play the Mercury and now to blinde the Argus eyes of Felisannaes feare and vigilancy, and how to see a beginning and end to this duell, with his generosity and fame, that he bee no way disturbed or prevented by her in the performance thereof: The prefixed houre being come, Borlari (with his Chirurgeon) as Challenger, comes first into the field, I meane into the mea∣dow, the designed place and theatre where they intend to act this their bloudy Tragedy, and hee hath not stayed halfe a quarter of an houre, but Planeze the Challenged arrives there likewise with his Chirurgion: When there malice

is so furious, and their courages so inflamed each against other, as passing over their saluting ceremonies without a ceremony, they putting themselves into their shirts, doe both of them draw, and so approach each other. At their first comming up, Planeze runnes Borlari through the left thigh, and Borlari him in the right shoulder, and the sight of their scarlet bloud upon their white shirts doth rather revive than quench their courages: At their second meeting Borlari runnes Planeze into the right arme of a large and deep wound, and Pla∣neze dies not in debt for it, but requites it with a dangerous one in the small of his belly, which went neere to prove mortall, for it fetcht much bloud from him, made him to beginne to faint and stagger, so being both of them well neere out of breath, they make a stand to breath and take the benefit of the aire, but their hearts and animosity are so great as they will not as yet desist or leave off but now begin a fresh to redouble their blowes and courages, and here they traverse their ground to gaine the advantage of the Sunne: with far more advisement and discretion then before. Now at this their third comming up, Borlari presents Planeze a furious thrust, but he very actively and nimbly wards it off him, and in exchange runnes Borlari into the necke, a little wide of his throat bole: whereat Planeze instantly closing with him, he fairely attempted to whip up his heeles, but that Borlari his strength prevented Planezes agility: when each having the other by the coller of their doublets with one hand, and their rapiers in the other, as they are striving and strugling together, God (more out of his gratious goodnesse and mercy, then of their desires and wi∣shes) is pleased that neither of them shall for this time dye. For the Earle of Lucerni riding poast (with three gentlemen in his company) from Venice to∣wards Turin, chanced to espie and see them in the meddow, almost all covered over with sweat, bloud, and dust, when he and they leaping from their Horses, hee very honourably and charitably runnes to them and parts them; offe∣ring them his best power and a pretty parcell of his time, to end and shut up their differences in a friendly attonement and reconciliation, but so inveterate and strong (by this time) is their malice each to other, as he found it no way feaseable but impossible to effect it: So this brave and honourable Earle con∣tents himselfe, to reconduct and see them safe into the City, where privately leaving them to their future fortunes, hee againe takes horse and away. Our two Duellists having first thanked him for his noble Courtesie towards them, but otherwise they are exceedingly grieved to see the victory puld out of their hands, for the vanity and impiety of either of them flattered and boun∣ded their hopes with no lesse ambition and felicity, then each their owne life and either of them the death of his adversary. But as they are gratefull to the Earle of Lucerni for this his honourable courtesie towards them; yet they are so irreligious as they looke not up to Heaven, nor once have the Grace to thinke of God, much lesse to thanke his divine Majesty, for now so merciful∣ly and so gratiously withdrawing them as it were from out the very Iawes of death; but still they retaine their malice and cherish and foment their revenge each to other, especially Borlary to Planeze, for it is a Continuall private griefe and a secret Corrasive to his content and minde, to see that hee is inforced to weare the willow Garland, and that Planeze must beare away his faire and beautifull Mistres Felisanna from him: But we will for a little time, leave them to their thoughts and their thoughts to God, and so againe speake of Romeo, the Laquey of Borlari, who as a wretched and most execrable villane comes now to act a bloody and wofull part in this History.

For we must here understand, that this lewd Laquey Romeo, is so extream∣ly incensed with Choller and inraged with malice against the Lady Felisanna for the losse of his eare, as (being seduced and encouraged by the Devill) hee was once of the minde to have murthered her in the street, the very first time he had met or seene her: but then againe respecting his master Borlari, whom he knew affected her tenderly and deerely, hee forsooke that opinion of his, and resolved to wreake his wrath and indignation upon her-three ser∣vants who were the Actors of cutting off his eare, as he was the Author therof: But then againe remembring that he knew them not, nor any of them for that they were all purposely masked and disguised, He then swaps a bargaine with the devill, and the devill with him, that the storme of this his malice and re∣venge should assuredly fall on Radegonda her Chambermaid, from whom it ori∣ginally proceeded, and from this resolution hee is so execrably prophane and bloudy, as he vowes that neither Heaven or Earth God or man shall divert him.

But as Envy cannot prove so pernitious an enemy to others as to her selfe, so Revenge will in the end assuredly make us as miserable as first it fasly promised to make us happy.

Romeo continueth still resolute in his rage, and implacable in his revenge to∣wards Radegonda (and yet poore innocent harmelesse soule, shee was not so much as guilty of a badde thought, muchlesse of a bad action or office towards him; and therefore least deserving this his revenge;) when waiting many Nights for her, as shee issued forth in the street in her Ladies errands, hee at last in a darke night found her, and there slew her with his rapier, giving her foure severall wounds, whereof he mought have spared the three last, because the verie first was mortall, and thereuppon betooke himselfe to his heeles and fled through the streets, where the people flocked together at the report and knowledge of this lamentable Murther, but God is so exasperated at this foule and lamentable fact of his, as (in his Starre-chamber of Heaven) he hath or∣dained and decreed that Romeo shall instantly receive condigne punishment for the same as not deserving to survive it, for running through the streets to provide for his safety and life: He at last tooke the river of Addice, neere the old castle, where thinking to swimme over to the other side, or to hide him∣selfe in some of the mill-boates, hee was discovered by the sentinells (for the watch was already set) and the newes of this murther was by this time resoun∣ding and ecchoing in all parts of the City. The Souldiours of the Castle sus∣pected him to bee the murtherer, they send a boat after him and apprehend him: so by the criminall Iudges he is committed to prison for that night, and being the next morning accused by Seignior Miniata by way of torture, and by the Lady Felisanna his daughter by legall order for the murthering of her Chambermaid Radegonda, he without any thought of feare, or shew of sorrow or repentance, freely confesseth it, for the which he is presently condemned to bee hanged, and the same day after dinner hee was accordingly dispatched and executed, notwistanding that his master Borlari, used his best friends and power, yea and proffered two hundred zechines to save him. Thus wee see there was but one poore night betweene Romeoes taking away of Radegondaes life, and losing of his owne, and betweene her murthering and his hanging; At his execution hee spake not a word either of the losse of his eare by the Lady Felisanna, or of that of Radegondaes haire by his master Borlari, whereat both of them exceedingly rejoyce and no lesse doth Planeze: But for the other spee∣ches which this bloudy footman delivered on the ladder at this execution they

were either so ungodly, or so impertinent, as the relation thereof no way deserves my pen, or my Readers knowledge.

And here to leave the dead Servant Romeo, returne wee againe to speake of his living Master Borlari: who after he had spent much time and labour, and as I may say ran his invention and wit out of breath, to seeke to prevent that Planeze mought not marry the fayre Felisanna, hath notwithstanding, to his matchlesse griefe, and unseparable sorrow sees that it is al bootlesse and in vaine for by this time she through the importunity of her teares and prayers hath obtained her father Miniataes consent, to take and enjoy Seignior Planeze, for her Husband: when to both their hearts delight and content, they are so∣lemnely married in Verona, and in that height of pompe and bravery as is re∣quisite to their noble ranke and quality: When Planeze the more to please his new wife leaves Mantova, and wholly builds up his residence in Verona with her and in her father Miniataes house, who never hated him so much heretofore, as now he deepely affects and loves him, and to say and write the truth, hee well deserved that affection of the father, and this love of the daughter: sith the lustre and vertue of his actions made it apparant to all Verona, yea to all I∣taly, that hee proved a most kinde and loving Husband to the one, and a most obedient, and respective sonne in law to the other.

Now although Felisanna bee thus marryed to Planeze, yet the affection of Borlari to her, is still so far from fading or withring thereat, as it re•…•…iveth and flourisheth at the sight of her pure and delicate beauty: for those golden tresses of her haire, those splendant raies of her sparkling eyes, and thosedelicious lilies and Roses of her cheekes doe act such wonders in his heart, and his heart in his resolutions: that his lust ecclipsing his judgement, and outbraving his dis∣discretion he cannot, he will not refraine, to trie if he can yet procure and get her to be his friend though not his wife; and so futurely to obtaine that cur∣tesie from her by the eye, which formerly he knew it impossible for him to get by the maine. To which end his affection or rather his folly, giving no truce to his thoughts, nor peace to his minde, because both the one and the other were still ranging and ruminating on Felisannaes sweet Idea, and delitious feature, Hee enters into a consideration and consultation with himselfe, whether hee should bewray his amorous flame to her by himselfe or by some other, or either by his penne or his tongue, when after hee had proposed and exchanged many poore reasons and triviall Motives Pro and Con, hee at last resolves on the last, which is to doe it by letters, when hying himselfe to his closet, he traceth her these lines, which by a confident friend of his he forth with sends her.

BORLARY to FELISANNA.

I Will crave no other witnesse but thy selfe, of my fervent love and constant affection to thee; for none can better testifie, how I alwaies made it my chiefest Care and Am∣bition to make the dignity of my zeale answerable to that of thy beauty; and that this mought be as truely Immortall, as that is devinely rare and rarely excellent, which to confirme. I have sealed it with some bloud, but with more teares, so that although thou hast given thy affection from mee to Planeze, yet my heart and soule tells me it is impossible to give mine to any but to the Lady Felisanna. And because thou canst not bee my wife, therefore I pray be pleased to resolve to live my friend, as in requitall I doe dye thy Servant. I confesse I am not worthy of thy affection, much lesse to enjoy the

sweet fruit thereof, thy sweet selfe, yet because I cannot be more thine then I am, therefore I pray thee make thy selfe as much mine as thou mayest be. Thy heart shall not be a truer Secretary to our affections then my tongue, and for the times and places of our meetings, I wholly referre it to thy will and pleasure, which mine shall ever carefully attend, and religiously obey, I send the my whole heart inclosed in this Letter, and if thou vouchsafe to returne me a peice of thine in exchange, Heaven may, but Earth cannnot crosse our affection.

BORLARY.

The Lady Flisanna receives this letter with much wonder, and ore reades it with more Contempt and Choller, for if she disdained Borlari and his affecti∣on when she was a maid, much more doth shee now when God and her Hus∣band have made her a wife: Once shee was of opinion to have throwne this his Letter into the fire, and have answered it with disdaine and silence; But then againe considering the vainity of his thoughts, and the obscaenity of his desire•…•… •…•…hee conceived he mought (peradventure) repute her silence to a de∣gree of consent: and therefore though not in affection to him, yet in discre∣tion and love to her honour, she resolves to returne him an answer, when knitting her browes with anger, dipping her pen in gall and vinegar, and set∣ting a sharp edge of contempt and Choller on her resolutions, she hastily frame her Letter, and gives it to his owne Messenger to deliver it to Borlari, whose heart steering his course betwixt hope and feare till hee receive it: he first kis∣sing it, and then hastily breaking up the seales thereof, findes that it speakes this language.

FELISANNA to BORLARY.

IF thou want any witnesses of thy folly, not of thy affection, thy obstinate and vaine per∣severance herein, of one makes me capable to serve for many. And if thou hadst beene as truely carefull and ambitious of thine owne honour, as thou fals•…•… pretendest to be of my poore beauty thou wouldest not so often have sacrificed thy shame to my glory, nor so sottishly have cast away thy bloud or teares on my contempt: How thou intendest to dispose of thy self, I neither desire to know, nor care to understand. But as I have given my soule to God, so God hath given my heart to my husband Planeze, from whom neither the malice of Sathan or power of hell shall withdraw it, and therefore as I am Felisanna I detest thy lustfull sute, and as Planezes wife, I de•…•…ie both it and thy selfe; And thus to bee thy friend thou shalt finde mee thy friend, but for such servants as thy selfe I leave them to their owne proper Infamy and Repentance. I make God the Secretary of my •…•…ctions, and my husband of my affections, therefore it shall please me well when I understand that thy tongue wil recant thy folly, I repent thy indiscretion towards me, in seeking to erect the Trophees of thy lascivious lust, upon the ruines of my pure and candid honour: And I as∣sure thee, that if hereafter thou inspire, and fortifie not thy heart with more religious, and lesse sinfull desires and affections, that Earth can and Heaven will make thee as truely mi∣serable, as now thou falsly thinkest thy selfe fortunate.

FELISANNA.

Borlari at the reading of this Letter of Felisanna, is so galled with griefeand netled with sorrow, to see his refusall sent him in her disdaine, as he knows not to what passion to betake himselfe for ease, or to what Saint for comfort, for the consideration of her coynesse and cruelty, makes his dispaire to gaine

so much on his hopes, that once he was minded absolutely to forsake her, and to court her affection no more, but then againe his lustfull heart and desires, remembring the freshnesse of her beauty and the sweetnesse of her youth, hee held himselfe a coward, every way unworthy to enjoy so faire a Lady, and so sweet an Angell, if hee retyred upon her first denyall, especially because as those Citties and Castles, so those Ladies and Gentlewomen who entertaine a pearle, are already halfe wonne. In which consideration because it many times proves an errour in Nature; but still in judgement, to flatter our selves most, with that which we most hope for and desire, He therefore once more resolves to hazard another letter to her, as having some reasons to beleive, that his second may perchance obtaine that from her which his first could not, for that he knowes that most ladies and gentlewomen pride themselves with this felicity to be often sought and importunately sued unto by their lovers, wher∣fore resolving once more to try his fortune, and her courtesie, hee by his for∣mer messenger greets her with these lines.

BORLARY to FELISANNA.

THy sweet and excellent beautie hath enkindled so fervent a flame in my heart, that thy late disrespect and contempt of me in thy Letter, is not sufficiently pre∣valent to make mee, or so soone or so sleightly forsake thee. For although thou terme my loue folly, and my affection obstinacy, yet untill thou cease to bee faire, finde it •…•…t strange, if it be impossible for me to cease to be affectionate: Neither doe I sacrifice my shame to thy Glory, or cast away my teares on thy contempt, sith I performe it more out of duty then complement, and rather out of true zeale then false hypocrisie. And as the stron∣gest Cities and Castles by the rule of war, so the fairest beauties, by that of love, deserve to be honoured with more then one assault and siege; and that Cavilleir cannot justly, be ter∣med, either a Gentleman, a Souldier, or a Lover, who will resolve to be put off with the first repulse, especially from so sweet, and so beautifull an Enemy as thy selfe: Neither can it any way breed infamy or repentance in me to be servant to so deare, and slave to so faire a Mistris, because the excellency of thy beauty is every way capable both to confound sence, and to subvert and overthrow Reason. Bee then but as courteous as thou art faire, and as kinde as I am constant, and thou shalt finde that I onely desire to erect the Trophees of mine Honour and Glory upon those of thy content, to sacrifice my best life at the shrine and al∣tar of thy beautie, and to devote and prostrate my best zeale and service to the feet of thy Commands, which if thou please to grant me: Earth will not make me miserable but Hea∣ven fortunate.

BORLARY.

The Lady Felisanna having received and oreread this second Letter of Bor∣lari, as one way shee laughes to see the constancy of his folly, and indiscretion, so another way shee stormes, and yet grieves to see her selfe to be both the object and the cause thereof: When returning to the party who brought it her, shee thinks, to vent part of her choller on him, taxeth his audacity and rashnesse herein, and strictly conjures him to bring her no more of Borlari his Letters: yea, shee is so farre transported with passion and choller against Bor∣lari for sending them to her, as now shee resolves to answer this w•…•… silence, and hence forth to burne all other which are sent or brought to her from him, because if his folly make him culpable of sending, shee will not futurely make herselfe guilty of receiving any more. But here againe, her thoughts are taken

up with feare, and her heart surprised with resolution and doubt, whether (yea or no) shee should shewe these his two letters to her Husband: For her af∣fection is soe tender, soe faithfull, soe constant to him; because shee likewise knowes that his is reciprocally so to her, that she will rather displease her selfe, then any way discontent him, or administer him the least cause whatsoever, to runne the hazard of his displeasure or indignation, for as by concealing them from his knowledge, she knowes this businesse will be for ever husht up in si∣lence, and perpetually buried in oblivion; So contrariwise if either through Borlarie his malice to her, or indiscretion to himselfe, it should any way come to her Husbands eare, then she thinkes she should give him a just cause of excep∣tion and offence against her; Wherein if the subtilty of the Devill should once put his foot, or the malice of any of his members, their tongues or fingers, then his jealousie might call her Honour and Fidelity in question, and make him suspect and feare her to bee dishonest, though heretofore (in heart and soule) he confidently knowes and beleeves the contrarie, she farther knowes that there is nothing so easie as to entertaine jealousie, nor so difficult as to expell it, and therefore that it is not enough for us to prevent a scandall, but likewise to remove the originall cause thereof, faine she would conceale these foolish letters of Borlari from her husband, but yet she doubts it, and willing she is to accquaint him there with and yet she feares it: And although her cha∣stity, and innocency perswade her to performe the last, yet her discretion and judgement encourage and prompt her to execute the second: And here our Beautifull and Vertuous young Wife is perplexed as a traveller, who meetes with two different waies and knowes not which is the best for him to take; and her heart and thoughts here in this accident) is as a ship at sea at one time surprised and met with two contrary windes and tides; for preferring her ho∣nour to her life, and her affection to her husband, and his to her before any o∣ther earthly respect or felicity whatsoever; she in the intricacy and ambiguity of these doubts, wisheth that Borlari had slept when he writ and sent her those Letters, or she when she received and read them. But at last consulting with Reason and Religion, with her Soule and God, then her chastity gives a com∣manding law to her feare, and her innocency to her doubt, so first hoping and then praying that nothing herein might breed bad bloud in her husband, or disturbe the tranquility and sincerity of her marriage; shee watching a fit opportunity shewes her husband the first letter of Borlari to her with her an∣swer thereof, and then his second letter, the which she informes him shee an∣swered with silence and contempt, adding withall: That had she a thousand lives as she hath but one, she would cheerefully sacrifice and lose them all, be∣fore she would be guilty of the least thought to distaine the honour of his bed, or to breake her sacred vow of Love and Chastity, which in presence of God and his Church, she religiously made and gave him in marriage.

Planeze at the hearing of these speeches and the reading of these Letters, doth at one instant both blush and pale, for as hee lookes pale with Envy to∣wards Borlari, to see how secretly and subtilly he endevoureth to ruine his ho∣nour in that of his wifes; so he blusheth for love towards her, to see how sweet∣ly and chastly she had demeaned her selfe in her answer to him, as also what a wise and loving part it was in her so punctually and fully to acquaint him ther∣with; when in requitall hereof hee gives her many prayses and kisses, extols her chastity and vertues to the sky, and condemnes Borlarie his lustfull vices to Hell, and although (for the present) shee finde some incongruity in his

speeches, and observe some per•…•…bation in his lookes, yet he makes his af∣fection so apparant to her, and dissembleth his hatred and choller towards Bor∣lari so secretly and artificially: That his wife Felisanna wholly reposing her∣selfe upon her owne integrity, and her husbands discretion, shee (sweet inno∣cent Lady) little dreames or thinkes of any disaster which will ensue hereof, muchlesse what dismall effects threaten to proceed from this incon∣siderate act of hers, in acquainting her Husband with those Letters. But shee will have time enough to see it to her griefe and know it to her sor∣row, yea shee will finde occasions enough to repent, but never any meanes how to remedy it except it be too late, and which then will meerely prove phisicke after death.

Planeze (as wee have formerly understood) is extreamely incensed against Borlary thus to attempt to bereave him of his sweetest Joy, which is his wifes affection, and shee of her most pretious Iewell her chastity: And although (both in reason and religion) he had farre more cause to rejoyce then to grieve at this accident, in regard hee was both assured and confident that his wifes chastity triumphed ore Borlaries lust, and her glory was apparant in his shame, for as objects so actions being best distinguished by their contraries, therefore through the obscure clouds of Borlari his obscaene concupiscence, that of Feli∣s•…•…as Angelicall chastity, as a bright relucent Sunne, shined forth most radi∣•…•…tly and sweetly with farre more vigour and glory, yet Planeze being a man composed of corrupt flesh and bloud, and therefore subject to passions, and those passions to errours and imperfections, So he takes a course and resoluti∣on herein contrary to all Iudgement and to all reason, yea diametrically oppo∣site to the rules of Nature and precepts of Grace. For although his heart bee upright in the opinion of his wifes chastity and honour, yet as the deerest and purest affections cannot be exempted of some shadow or spice of feare, so al∣though his heart looked directly on Borlari with malice, hee cannot possibly •…•…aine nor retaine his thoughts, from glancing squint-eyed on his wife with •…•…lousie. And although he knowes it to be a most ignoble ingratitude, and ir∣religious impiety in him thus to call her honour in question on (in the best •…•…ce) to revoke it to doubt, by making any puplike shew of suspition or 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to her, or by seeking any private revenge on Borlari, yet because her beauty and vertue is a thousand times deerer to him then his life; and the pu∣•…•…ty and integrity of her affection to him as deere as his soule: Hee therefore thinkes she shall not prophane his good opinion of her, no•…•… offer her merits 〈◊〉〈◊〉 his owne reputation any wrong, if he resolve to right both her, and him∣selfe on Borlari when consulting not with reason or charity, but with their op∣posites malice and revenge, hee will not bee at peace with his heart, nor at •…•…ce with his thoughts before he have fought with Borlari, albeit (indeed) his •…•…lict and offence towards him, more deserved his scorne then his Care, and was every way farre more worthy of his oblivion then of his remembrance. To which end (by a Chirurgion which he had made choice of) he sends him this challenge.

PLANEZE to BORLARY.

THy crime is so foule, and so apparent to mee, in seeking by thy two lascivious Let∣ters to distaine my honour in that of my wifes chastity, as nothing but thy life is capable to expiate it, or 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to desace and forget it; wherefore if thou have 〈◊〉〈◊〉

much courage 〈◊〉〈◊〉 thou wantest grace, bring thy self•…•…, thy •…•…upier, and thy Chirurgion with thee, to morrow at six a clocke in the morning, in the City Ditch, without the utter Gate, which lookes towards Brescia, and there my selfe and my Chirurgion (who is the bearer hereof, will silently and honourably wait for thee. And if thy obscene heart retaine yet any sparke of generosity, or thy vitious braine of judgement, thou wilt resolve to performe this my request, and to excuse my resolution herein, sith it is wholly derived from thy lasci∣viousnesse, and receives its life and birth from thy treachery.

PLANEZE.

Borlary receiving and perusing this Challenge of Planeze, he is much grie∣ved and sorrowfull, to see that Felisanna had so little discretion for her felfe, and so much hatred against him, to shew her husband these his Letters, and except she meant to make her selfe the present authour, and the cause of her future affliction and misery, he knowes not else what she intends hereby. But for Planeze his spleene and resolution against him, Borla•…•…y knowes it to be both just and well grounded in the best sense, and in the worst to be yet a requitall of that Challenge and Duell which he formerly sent and presented him: Onely he doth a little admire (if not wonder) that he should now againe make triall of his valour and courage, whereof he so lately had experience, and tasted. And although he had farre more reason to rest assured than doubtfull, that this second Duell of theirs would not prove so fortunate as their first, but would rather terminate in one, if not in both of their lives. He yet loves Fe∣lisanna so dearly, albeit she hate him extreamly, that he will by no meanes re∣fuse to fight with her husband once againe for her sake, yea and to kill him for his owne, if possible he can, the devill making him strong in the vanitie of this beleefe and confidence; that if it prove now his good fortune to kill Plan•…•…, that he can then requite and limit his victory with the reward of no lesse hap∣pinesse and felicity, by his death to obtaine his widdow for his owne wife. But this is to write upon the water, and to build Castles of vaine hopes in the ayre, which the least breath of Gods mouth, or wind of his nostrils will ea∣sily reverse and blow away. For this is to consult and resolve with Satan and not with God; and therefore no marvell if he see his lascivious desires to come too short of his ridiculous hopes, and both his hopes and desires herein to end in as much true misery, as they beganne in false hope of felicity and joy.

So Borlari having made a turne or two in his Garden to resolve upon this businesse which so much imported both his honour and life: Hee at last with joy in his lookes, and courage in his countenance turnes to Planeze his Chirur∣g•…•…on, whom after he used respectfully and courteously, hee secretly rounds him thus in his eare; Tell Seignior Planeze from me, that I will not faile to meet him to morrow morning according to his request and expectation, and so he dismisseth him, who as soone returnes this answer of Borlari to Planeze, whom he now findes staying for him in the Church of the Augustine Fryers, but God knowes with no intent or devotion to pray, or to invoke his Divine and Sacred Majestie to divert him from this his intended bloudy enterprize, but rather to reconduct home the Lady Felisanna his wife, who harmlesse sweet Gentlewoman was there in that Church, upon the Altar of her heart, proffering up the most religious prayers, and zealous Orisons of her soule un∣to God, without once surmising or thinking what a mournfull and dangerous part her husband was resolved to act the next morning, to the prejudice of her content, if not to the utter dissolution and ruine of her Matrimoniall joy

and felicity. But her husband Planeze beares this businesse, and these his in∣tentions so secretly from his wife, as it was impossible for her to have any suspition, much lesse knowledge of this his next dayes intended Duell.

The night which brings rest to others, hath not power to give it to our two inflamed Duelists. For the consideration of their honours and their lives, of their quarrell, and the cause thereof, doth equally possesse their braines, and pre-occupate and prevent their eyes of their sleeping faculties. So preferring their danger to their safety, their resolution to their rest, and the field to their beds, they (under other pretexts) are not long from it, I meane from the City ditch, the prefixed place of their rendezvous: Which Planeze first entreth, and there makes halfe a dozen of turnes, before hee have any newes of his Contendant or Adversary Borlary, whereof he doth not a little muse, yet he no way despaires of his comming, because (by late experience) he knowes him to be couragious and valiant. But to put Planezes musing out of doubt, and his doubt out of question, in comes Borlari all unbraced and untrussed, and a farre off espying Planeze in the Ditch before him: He (ashamed of this ad∣vantage he had because of long stay) with his hat in his hand prayes him to ex∣cuse this errour of his, affirmi•…•…g it to be the fault of his Watch, but not of his heart, which he alleaged should ever goe true with his honour and reputation; When Planeze returning his Complement, by approving of his Apologie, (without any further expostulation) they draw, and here fall from words to blowes.

At their first meeting Borlary give Planeze a wound in the right arme, and Planeze requites him with another in his right side, which if his Rapier had not met with a rib, it had the undoubtedly ended the quarrell with his life. But al∣though it make him lose much bloud, yet he hath strength & courage enough not to die in his debt for it, onely he desireth Planeze that they may breathe a little, the which he generously granteth. At their second comming up, Planeze presents a thrust to Borlari, but he wards it, and runnes Planeze into his left thigh, of a deepe wound, and yet they will not give over, although their Chi∣•…•…geons doe earnestly pray them to desist, as having now already here suffici∣ently testified their courage and valour. At their third meeting and joyning, Planeze gives Borlary a licke o're the fore-head, which makes his bloud streame •…•…wne his face and eyes, and Borlary fully incensed and prepared to requite it, •…•…ves a faire thrust to Planezes brest, but he very dexterously and fortunately wards it, beating downe the point of Borlary his sword into the ground, and then with much agility leaps to him, and whips up his heeles, who falling up∣on his owne Rapier, breaks it in two peeces, at which unlooked for disaster, Borlary seeing his naked brest exposed to Planezes bloudy Rapier, and conse∣quently his life to lie at his mercy, (without once striving or endevouring to grapple with his enemie) he (more desirous to live with shame, than to die with honour) descends so farre from true and noble generosity, as hee begs his life of Planeze; when (although many hot and jealous spirits would gladly have taken hold of this advantage, and wreaked the utmost of their gall and spleene upon the misfortune of this accident) yet Planeze is so truly noble and generous, as disdaining to fight with an unarmed man, and so to eclipse or ble∣mish the lustre of his reputation in killing him who begged his life of him, and when it lay at his pleasure to give or take it, as he throwes away his Ra∣pier, making him promise and sweare hee will never henceforth attempt against the honour of his wife, Planeze very freely and cheerfully gives him

his life: And to shew himselfe the more generous in this his courtesie, hee lends him his hand to raise him up on his feet; for which infinite kindnesse Borlary yeelds him many thanks: When muffling up their faces with their cloaks, they part very good friends, and so get themselves into two of the nearest houses of the Suburbs, very secretly and silently to dresse their wounds, and at night they returne to their houses: Where our deare and faire Felisanna understanding the manner and cause of this combate betwixt her husband and Borlary, it is impossible for me to define whether she wept and sighed more for the losse of her husbands bloud, or rejoyced and praised God for the saving and sparing of his life.

Yet this Combat of theirs is not so secretly acted, but in lesse than two dayes all Verona hath newes, and prattles thereof. When measuring the first Duell of Planeze and Borlari by the second, and the second by the first. They extoll Bor∣lary his courage to fight with Planeze, but infinitely applaud the noble courtesie and generosity of Planeze, in giving Borlari his life when it lay in his power and pleasure to have taken it from him. And as most commended the Lady Felisanna for disdaining to make shipwracke of her honour on the Cylla and Charibdis of Borlaries lust, and for not sacrificing her chastity to his lascivious affections and desires; So, in generall all Gentlemen and Ladies condemne her of indiscretion in shewing his Letters to her husband, and in acquainting him with his suits and desires, it having beene sufficient for her secretly to have given him the repulse and deniall, and herselfe the glory. Againe, there want not divers, especially the younger sort of the Nobility and Gentry of Verona, who tax Borlari of Cowardize, in shamefully begging his life of Pla∣neze, when either his good fortune in struggling, or his peece of sword in his defence, might peradventure have preserved it. Thus every one speakes ac∣cording to his owne fancies and affections.

Borlary having lost so much bloud for the affection which he bore to Felisan∣na, and recived and reaped nothing from her but disdaine and hatred, hee is not a little grieved and vexed hereat. But when he understands that hee hath now made himselfe the laughture of all Verona, in this his cowardly begging his life of Planeze, and that his reputation doth therefore universally suffer in this action, he is then as it were pierced to the heart with sorrow, and to the soule with shame. He knowes it were far better for him to be borne a Clowne, than to be held and esteemed a Coward; and that having once purchased that base title, he shall difficultly ever lose. Yea, wheresoever he goes hee heares and sees that his Superiours, his Equals, and his Inferiours, not onely prattle at his shame, but point at his infamy herein, so that he is (in a manner) a shame to all Gentlemen, and therefore almost a shame to himselfe. But see here the vanitie and impiety of this inconsiderate Gentleman, and if it be not worthy the Readers curiosities, yet it will deserve his compassion and pity, to see what use, or rather what abuse he makes of this his imaginary dishonour: For neither with reason, which is the soule of his heart, nor with Religion which is the life of his soule, doth he once looke up to Heaven to thanke God for so mercifully protecting, and so miraculously preserving of his life in these two Duels, when he as it were stood on the brinke, and in the very jawes ofdeath and when betwixt his life and his death there was nothing but the point of Planezes Rapier, and of his pleasure. No, no, Borlary is too much a man, to be so much a Christian, and too much the member of Satan, to bee so much the childe of God: For having formerly given up his heart to the

turpitude of lascivious desires and lust; now as a limbe and agent of the devill he will wholly abandon it to infernall rage and hellish revenge, sor knowing Planeze to be both the author and object of his dishonour, and the instrument and cause of his disgrace, hee therefore retaines this diabolicall and bloody A∣phorisme in his heart, that as long as he lives it will live with him, and when he dies will die with him, and therefore to refetch his honour out of his infa∣my, his heart wholly sacrificing to malice, and his thoughts and resolutions to revenge) he most ingratefully and desperately resolves to murther Planeze, or at least to cause him to be murthered. Lo here the wofull estate, and wret∣ched resolution of this execrable Gentleman Borlari, and what a monstrous ingratitude and prodigious cruelty is this in him to conspire his death, of whom (in a manner) he but rightly now received his life, he little knowes, or (which is worse) hee will not know, that revenge still proves as pernitious as pleasing to their authors, and that murther endeth in as much true misery as it beginnes in false content and Ioy; for it is a better Oblation, and an odi∣ous sacrifice to the Lord, who is the God of peace, and the father of all vnity and charity.

But the devill is so familiar a guest, and so frequent a counsellor to Borlari that he wretchedly vowes and execrably sweares that Planeze shall no longer live but dye. Once he was of opinion either to pistoll or poniard him in the street by night, but then againe seeing the eminencie of that danger in the misfortune of his Laquey Romeo, he rejects it as ruinous, and resolves on poy∣son which hee thinkes is the shortest, and safest way for him to send him for Heaven, and thinkes none so fit for his purpose to give and administer it to him as Planezes owne Apothecary Castruchio, being the more confident in this his choice, because he knowes him to be a wonderfull poore man, and withall extreamely vitious and debaushed, as neither fearing nor caring for God, but more an Atheist than a Christian, and more a devill then a catholike, and ther∣fore beleeves that a little mony will act wonders in his heart and resolution; Neither doth he faile in his judgement, or deceive himselfe in the hopes of his choyse, for he no sooner proffereth him three hundred Dukatons, to poy∣son Planeze (one halfe in hand, and the other when it is performed) but he ac∣cepts thereof, ingageth himselfe (by hand and oath) speedily to dispatch and finish it, and so like two Factors or furies of Hell, both of them sweare secresie each to other herein.

Borlary longing and Castruchio desiring to finish this Tragedy on Planeze that hee might likewise touch the last one hundred and fifty Dukatons. The Spring approching wherein Planeze everyyeare for the preservation of his health) was accustomed to take phisicke of Castruchio, hee no sooner sent for him to that effect, but first purging, then bleeding him, he then artificially per∣swades him to take a vomit the next morning, whereunto Planeze easily con∣sents, so he administreth it to him and therein infusing poyson, he within six daies after dies thereof, when Castruchio demanding his other one hundred and fifty dukatons, Borlari speedily paies it him with much content, joy, and dele∣ctation: But let the first know and the second remember, that it is the price of •…•…nocent bloud.

The order of our History leades us now (as it were by the hand) to our sor∣•…•…owfull young widow Felisanna who poore soule (not dreaming any way in •…•…he world either of poyson or of Borlari) is ready to weepe her selfe to death, •…•…hat shee must survive and cannot dye with her deere and sweet husband Pla∣neze,

and that as one bedde, so one grave might containe them, yea her griefe is so great and her sorrowes so infinite for the losse of this her other part of her selfe, that neither her father, kinsfolkes, or friends can possibly comfort her, for still she fees him before her eies as if hee were not buried in his grave, but in her heart, or that it was wholly impossible for him to dye as long as she lived: Which excesse of sorrowes, sighes, and teares of hers, so withered the roses and lillies of her beauty and so ecclipsed the lustre of her sparkling eyes, that to the eyes and judgements of all those who saw or knew her, she become so pale and leane, as she was no longer Felissanna, but only the poore sicke A∣natomy of Felisanna.

We have seene this wretched Gentleman Borlari, and this execrable Apo∣thecary Castruchio commit this horrible murther upon the person of noble and Generous Planeze, and wee shall not goe farre before wee shall see the sacred Iustice, and just punishments of God to surprise and oretake them for the same, For God is now resolved to triumph ore those bloudy miscreants, and although they have so closely acted and perpetrated this their lamentable murther as their are no earthly eyes to detect nor witnesse to give in evi∣dence against them for the same: yet our good and gratious God, who who is the true searcher of our hearts and reines, will to his glory and their confusion bring this to light, by an accident worthy of our deepest conside∣ration, and of our most serious and religious observation: The manner wher∣of is thus.

This wretched Apothecary Castruchio, having received his other hun∣dred dukatons of Borlari (as we have formerly understood) for minishing this bloody businesse, and being (as wee know) of a most vitious and debaushed life, hee had already in his riots and prodigalities spent and consumed all his estate: And now this three hundred Dukatons which received of Borlari for performing this bloudy businesse, makes him by many degrees farre worse then he was before, for (as by Gods sacred and secret providence) it was impo∣ssible to prosper with him, so his prophane vices and sinnes and his beastly pleasures and prodigalities made it consume and melt away as snow against the Sunne, in such sort that it seemed to him that he was a thiefe to himselfe and that one of his hands and pockets hourely cozened and betrayed the o∣ther; And although for a time he bore this his vitious course of life very close and secret from the eye and knowledge of the world, whereby his credit farre exceeded his estate, soafter the committing of this foule murther, both his Estate, credit, and all went to wracke and spoyle, for hee left nothing either unspent or unpawned, and which is yet worse he fell into many arrerages and debts which at last grew so clamorous (especially when his prodigall and and beastly life of whoring, drunkennesse, and dicing, came to be divulged and spred to the world; that by three of his greatest creditors he is arrested and clapt into prison, and his shoppe seized on by them, which they finde as emp∣ty of drugges, as his masters heart was of pitty and his soule of piety: And as it is the nature and (or rather the misery) of prisons that where one man vertu∣ously improves his life and actions their, a hundred doe vitiously ruine them∣selves, so Castruchio being one of this last number, he there wasteth and consu∣meth all that he hath, or which he can possibly procure, and in a few weeke reduceth himselfe to soe extreame poverty and beggery, that he is clapt into the common goale among the poorest sort of prisoners who live by the alm•…•… and charity of well disposed people, his clothes being all tottered and torn•…•…

having no bed to lye on nor hardly bread to suffice nature, or to maintaine life being abandoned of all his friends and acquaintance, who will rather see him starve and dye then relieve him: And yet in all these extremities, and at the very lowest ebbe of these his wants and miseries, hee will yet neither looke downe into his Conscience, heart, and soule with sorrow, nor up to heaven or to God with repentance for all his foule sinnes and vices, especially not for this his cruell and lamentable poysoning of Planeze, which are the true reasons and the efficient causes of these his miserable calamities and afflictions, yea his wants and miseries are so great and infinite here in prison, that none who∣soever will come thither to see him, muchlesse to pitty him, and least of all to releive him. Only Dorilla (a filthy old baud of his) more out of importuna∣cy to her, then of her courtesie or charity to him, although she disdaine to goe herselfe into prison to see Castruchio, yet shee is contented sometimes to send him her sonne Bernardo, a boy of some sixteene yeares of age to goe his er∣rands, so his necessity making his invention pregnant and cleere sighted, after hee had tyred all his friends and acquaintance with notes and Let∣ters, which returne still empty fisted, his memory at the last falles and pitcheth on Borlari, who (for the bloody reason formerly mentioned) hee thinkes the onely fit man of the world to redresse his wants, and to releave his weather beaten fortunes, and to him hee often sends Ber∣nardo with many pittifull requests and intreaties for money, but to write him he dares not.

Borlari considering that he hath farre more cause and reason to love Castru∣chio then to hate him for that (by vertue of the premises) hee sees his owne life to lye at the mercy of his tongue, although hee rather wish him in Heaven then in prison, yet being extreamely covetous, and yet holding himselfe both inconscience and discretion bound to releive him; hee therefore sends him some small summes of money, but no way enough to buy him cloathes, or to maintaine his former prodigalities, but rather hardly sufficient to maintaine life in him, much lesse to cherish or pamper him. And so often doth Castru∣chio send the boy Bernardo to Borlari for money, that at last being weary thereof, and resolute to depart with no more money, (God here makes his co∣vetousnesse partly the meanes to chaulke out a way to his owne confusion) and is resolved neither to speake nor to see Bernardo, and to that effect gives order to his servants: When little Bernardo seeing that he weares out his time, and his shooes in vaine to hunt after Borlari, whom he knowes will not be spoken with by him, he tels Castruchio that he provide himselfe of another messenger towards Borlari for he will goe no more to him, because he sees it is wholly im∣possible for him to speak with him: and at this discourtesie of Borlari, Castruchio doth now bite his lip with discontent and hung his head for anger, and from henceforth he begins to assume badbloud, and to conceive dangerous thoug•…•… against him, but as yet the consideration of his owne safety or danger makes him patient and silent; But God will not have him to continue so long, for almost presently we shall see his patience burst forth into violence and im∣petuosity, and his silence breake out into extreame choller and indignation against him.

His old Baud Dorilla, (as an expert Hag of her sinnefull profession) as often as she heares or knowes that Castruchio had any mony from Borlari so often she would come to the prison to him, and speedily carouse and consume it with him, but when by her sonne Bernardo she sees his purse shut, that fountaine

exhausted, and that her boy could no more see Borlari but a wod den face, I meane his doore shut, then she (resembling her selfe) againe forsakes Castru∣chio, and will neither see him nor come neere his prison, so that at last he not seeing Bernardo nor once hearing from Borlari in three weekes or well neere a moneth together and being ready to perish, starve and dye under the heavy burthen and pressure of his wants, hee earnestly sends for Dorilla to come to him, and causeth her to be informed, that if she will come to him and de∣liver a letter to a friend of his, he will speedily send him some store of mony, and then shee shall have a share and part thereof, so when no other respect or consideration will, then this of mony againe brings this old filthy Beldam Doril∣la to the prison to Castruchio, who having provided her a bottle of wine, and five Gazettaes to drinke by the way (thereby the more carefully to effect his businesse hee exceedingly incensed with choller and revenge against Borlari for this ingratitude towards him) writes him this angry Letter and deepely chargeth Dorilla with speed, care, and secresie to deliver it into Borlari his owne hands and to no other, which Letter of his spake this language.

CASTRVCHIO to BORLARY.

THou knowest that for three hundred Dukatons which thou gavest me, I poysoned Seignior Planeze in a Vomit, and wilt thou now be so hard and cruell hearted against me to suffer me to dye in prison for want of so small a summe as twenty Dukatons. I am made of the same flesh and bloud as thou art, and although my fortunes be so low plunged yet my heart is so high seated and elevated, that I give thee to under∣stand I will rather consent to bee hanged then starved: Wherefore because my Tragedy will infallibly prove thine, if thou meane to prevent the one, and to secure thy selfe from the other, faile not speedily to send me the said twenty Dukatons by this bearer Dorilla, whom I have entrusted with my letter fast sealed (and so maist thou with thine (but for the secret therein (which thou wotest of) she is wholly ignorant of it: In performing me this courtesie thou shalt not onely tye my tongue and pen but my heart and soule to silence, or else not: Amiddest thy wealth remember my poverty, which if thou forget, God hath reserved mee to make thee know that thou doest not use, but abuse it, and therein thy selfe.

CASTRVCHIO.

Dorilla receiving this Letter from Castruchio, she puts it into her purse and promiseth him her best care and fidelity for the delivery thereof to Seignior Borlari although she confesseth that she neither knew him nor his house: But see here the providence and mercy of God which cleerely resplends and shines in the deportment and action of this beastly old bawd, for she meeting with some of her gamesters and gossips in the street (though contrary to the cu∣stome of Italy) away they goe to a taverne, where they all swill their head and braines with wine especially Dorilla: So the day being farre spent, her bu∣sinesse for Castruchio is ended ere begun; for shee forgetting her selfe cannot remember his letter, but as fast as her reeling legges will permit her, away shee speedes towards her owne house, which was some halfe a mile off in the Citty. But when she was in the streets and had a little taken the aire, then she cals Castruchios letter to minde, and her promise to him to deliver it, but to whom (through her cups) she hath quite forgotten; for she cannot once hi•…•…

on the name Borlari. But at last remembring the letter to be in her purse and she by this time in the midst of the Citty, she takes it out in her hand, & seeing a faire yet sorrowfull young Lady to stand at the street doore of her house all in mourning attire and no body neere her, after she had done her duty to her, she reacheth her the letter and humbly requesteth her to tell her the Gentlemans name to whom it was directed, when (God out of the profundity of his power and immensity of his pleasure having so ordained and ordered it, that this faire young Lady was our sweet Felisanna (who for the death of her deere husband Planeze had dighted her selfe al in mourning attire and apparel thereby the bet∣ter to make it correspond with her heart: who reading the superscription ther∣of and finding it directed to Seignior Borlari (by some motion or inspiration from heaven) her heart could not refrain from sending all the bloudof her body into her face, when demanding of this woman from whom this letter came: Do∣rilla (as drunke in her fidelity and innocency as shee was guilty of her drun∣kennesse) tels her that the letter came from an Apothecary who lay in prison named Castruchio: At the very repetition of which name, our Felisanna againe blusheth and then palleth, as if God had some newes to reveale her by this Letter, because shee remembreth that this Castruchio as we have formerly un∣derstood, was the very same Apothecary who gave her husband Planeze phy∣sicke a little before his death; Whereupon she praying Dorilla to come with her into her house because she purposly and politikely affirmed she could not read written hand herselfe but would pray her father to doe it, she leaves her in the utter hall and herselfe goes into the next roome, where breaking up the seales of this letter, she at the very first sight and knowledge that her hus∣band was poysoned and by whom, and that God had now miraculously revea∣led it to her through the ignorance and drunkennesse of this old woman, she for meere griefe and sorrow is ready to fall to the ground in a swoone had not her father and some of his servants who over hearing her passionate outcries) come speedily to her assistance: which yet could not awake Dorilla, who had no sooner sate her selfe downe in a chaire in the hall but being top heavy with wine she presently fell a sleepe. Miniata rousing up his fainting and sorrowfull daughter, brought her againe to herselfe; and seeing her in a bitter agonie and passion of sorrow, demands of her the cause thereof: when the brinish teares trickling downe her virmilion cheekes, she crossing her armes and fixing her eyes towards heaven, had the will but not the power to speake a word to him but reacheth him the Letter to read, Miniata perusing it, is as much astonished with griefe as his daughter is afflicted with sorrow at this poysoning of her Husband and his sonne in Law Planeze: so enquiring of her who brought her this letter, she after many sighes and pauses tels him, that it was the mercy and providence of the Lord who sent it her by a drunken woman who was forth in the Hall: They both goe to her and finding her fast sleeping and snoring, Miniata puls her by the sleeve and wakes her, and then demands of her, be∣fore his daughter and servants where and from whom she had this letter: who as drunke as this Baud is, she is constant in her first speech and confession to Fe∣lisanna that she had it from Castruchio an Apothecary who lay in prison, but she had forgotten to whom she was to deliver it, and then prayes them both to de∣liver and give her backe her letter againe. But Miniata seeing and knowing that it was the immediate finger of God which thus strangely had revealed this murther of his sonne in Law Planeze, he calls in two Gentlewomen his next neighbours to comfort his daughter Felisanna, and so leaving Dorilla to the

guard of two of his servants, he (with two other Gentlemen his neighbours) takes his Coach, and having Castruchio's Letter in his hand, he drives away to the State-house, where he findes out the Podestate and Prefect of the Citie, and shewing them the Letter which revealed the poysoning and poysoners of Planeze his sonne in Law, they (in honour to justice, and out of their respect to the sorrowfull Lady his daughter) take their Coaches, and returne with Miniata home to his house: Where they first examine Felisanna, and then Do∣rilla, who is constant in her first deposition. Whereat these grave and honoura∣ble Personages, wondring and admiring that a Gentleman of Barlari his ranke and quality, should make himselfe the guilty and bloudy Authour of so foule a Murther, they likwise admiring and blessing Gods providence in the dete∣ction thereof) doe presently send away their Isbieres (or Serjeants) to appre∣hend Borlari, and so they goe to their Forum (or seat of Iustice) and speedily send away for Castruchio to be brought from the prison before them: Who at the very first newes of their accusation of him, and the producing of his Let∣ter to Borlari, he curseth the person and name of this old Bawd Dorilla, who is the prime Authour of his overthrow and death, and then confesseth himselfe to be the Actor, and Seignior Borlari to be the Authour, cause, and Instigator of this his poysoning of Planeze; but never puts his hand on his conscience and soule, that the strange detection of this lamentable murther came directly from Heaven, and from God.

The Serjeants (by order from the Podestate and Prefect) finde Borlari in his owne house, ruffling in a new rich suit of apparrell, of blacke Sattin, trim∣med with gold buttons, which he that day put on, and the next was determi∣ned to ride to the City of Bergamo, to seeke in marriage a very rich young wid∣dow, whose Husband lately died, drowning himselfe (as it were) in pleasure and security, without so much as once thinking of his poysoning of Planeze, or how he was revealed to be the Authour thereof by Castruchio his Letter, sent unto him by Dorilla; He is amazed and astonished at this his apprehensi∣on, now beating his brest, and then repenting (when it was too late) that ever he embrewed his hands in the innocent bloud of Planeze. So both him∣selfe and Castruchio are brought to the State house, where the Podestate and Prefect first examine them a part, and then confront them each with other. Where finding that neither of them deny, but both of them to confesse them∣selves guilty of this foule murther, they pronounce sentence of death against them, and condemne Borlary to have his head cut off, and then his body to be burnt; and Castruchio to be hanged, and his body to be throwne into the Ri∣ver of Addice, whereon he was first taken, the which the next morning was accordingly executed. All Verona is as it were but one tongue to talke and prattle of this foule and lamentable murther, and especially of Gods miracu∣lous detection thereof by this drunken Bawd Dorilla, who having heretofore often brought Castruchio to whores willingly, now at last she brings him to the gallowes against her will. The morning they are brought to their execution, where there flocke and resort a world of spectators from all parts of the City. And although the charity of their Judges send them Priests and Fryers to di∣rect their soules for heaven, yet this miserable wretch Castruchio, seeming no way repentant or sorrowfull for this his foule fact, uttered a short prayer to himselfe, and so caused the top-man to turne him over, which he did, and within two houres after his body was throwne into the River. But for Borlary he came to the scaffold better resolved and prepared; for with griefe in his

lookes, and teares in his eyes, hee there delivered this short and religious speech:

That he grieved in heart, and was sorrowfull in soule, for this lamentable murther of his committed on the person of Planeze, as also for seducing of Castruchio to effect it by poyson, for whose death he affirmed he was likewise exceedingly afflicted and sorrowfull: That it was the temptations of the flesh and the devill, who first drew him lustfully to affect the faire, chaste, and ver∣tuous Lady Felisanna, and consequently to murther her husband, in full hope afterwards to obtaine her for his Wife, or for his Curtesan: That he was infi∣nitely sorrowfull for all these his enormous crimes, for the which he religi∣ously asked forgivenesse, first of God, and then of the Lady Felisanna, and likewise prayed all those who were there present, to pray unto God for his soule; that he was more carefull of his reputation towards men, than of his salvation towards God, and that his neglect of prayer, and of the participation of the blessed Sacrament of the Eucharist, was the originall cause of this his misery. So againe commending himselfe to the prayers, and recommending his sinfull, yet sorrowfull soule into the hands of his Redeemer, the sword of the Executioner at one blow made a perpetuall divorce betweene his soule and his body, which pious and Christian speech of his was as great a consola∣tion to the vertuous, as his death, as that of Castruchio was a terrour to the vitious spectators and Auditors: So to confirme the sentence, the dead body of Borlary is presently burnt.

And thus was the bloudy lives and deserved deaths of these three irreligi∣ous and unfortunate persons; Of Romeo the Laquey: Of Borlary the Gentle∣man; and of Castruchio the Apothecary. And in this manner did the justice of the Lord of Hosts (in due time) justly triumph o're their execrable crimes, in their sharp punishments, and shamefull ends. Pray we that we may reade this their History with feare, and as religious and godly Christians remember these their lamentable Murthers with horror and detestation.

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

Beaumarays and his brother Montagne kill Cahmpigny and Marin (his Second) in a Duell; Blancheville (the widdow of Champigny) in revenge thereof, hireth Le Valley (servant to Beaumarays) to murther his said Master with a Pistoll, which he doth; for the which Le Valley is broken on the wheele, and Blancheville hanged for the same.

LEt all Religious Christians examine their hearts and soules, with what face we can tread on Earth, or looke up to Heaven, when we stab at the Majestie of God, in killing and murthering man, his image, a bloudy crime, so repugnant to nature, as reason abhorres it, a scarlet and crying sinne so opposite to grace, as God and his Angels detest it. And yet if ever Europe were stained or submerged with it, now it is, for as a swift current, or rather as a fu∣rious torrent it now flowes, and overflowes in most Kingdomes, Countries, and Cities thereof, in so much as (in dispight of divine and humane Lawes) it is now (almost) generally growne to a wretched custome, and that almost to a second nature. A fatall example whereof this ensuing History will report and relate us. Wherein Gods Iustice hath so sharp∣ly and severely punished the perpetrators thereof, that if we either acknow∣ledge God for our Father, or our selves for his children and servants, it will teach us to be lesse revengfull, and more charitable by their unfortunate ends, and deplorable judgement.

I Will now relate a sad and bloudy History which betided in the faire Citie of Chartres, (the Capitall of the fertile Countrey of Beausse) so famous for her sumptuous Cathedrall Church, dedicated to the blessed Virgin Mary,

as also for that Henry the fourth, (that great King, and unparalleld Captaine of France) during the combustions of the league, was (despight of the league) crowned therein. In which faire and pleasant City, as there still dwell some Noblemen, and many Gentlemen, in respect of the sweet aire, and goodly Champaigne Countrey thereabouts, (second for that to no other in France.) So of late yeares there resided two rich and brave young Gentlemen, well de∣scended, being both of them heires to their two deceased fathers. The one of them named Monsieur De Champigny, and the other Monsieur De Beaumarays, and their Demaines and Lands lay within seven leagues of this City, in the way towards Vendosme. Now the better to see them in their true and naturall Cha∣racters: They were both of them tall and slender, and of faire and sanguine complexions, and very neere of an age: For Champigny was twenty six yeares old, and Beaumarays twenty foure, and yet the last had a beard, and the first none, and of the two Champigny was by farre the richer, but Beaumarays the Nobler descended. Now to lay this History upon its proper seat, and naturall foundation, we must understand that there was a very rich Counsellour of the Presidiall Court of Chartres, named Monsieur De Rosaire, whose wife being dead, left him no other childe, but one faire young daughter, of the age of some eighteene yeares, named Madamoyselle De Blancheville, very tall and slender of stature, and of a wanne and pale complexion, and a Coale-blacke haire and eyes browes, and of deportment and gesture infinitely proud, coy, and im∣perious, to whom at one time both these our two Gentlemen, Champigny and Beaumarys were importunate Sutors, and passionate Rivals to marry her, in so much as the one of them could difficultly be absent from the fathers house, and daughters company, but the other was present, which engendred some malice, but more emulation betweene them. But in the end, (after a whole yeares research and more) as the Willow was destined and reserved for Beau∣marays, so was the Laurell for Champigny; for to his joy, Blanchevilles desire, and her fathers content, he marries her. Whereat Beaumarays knowing his birth to be more Noble, and his breeding farre more generous than that of Champigny, (though not in outward shew, yet in inward sense) was extreamly discontented and sorrowfull, but to remedy it he could not.

In such and the like refusing accidents, discretion is ever farre better than passion, and contempt than care. But Beaumarays cannot or at least will not be of this temper. He forsakes reason to flie to choller, and so loseth his reall and so∣lid judgement, in the Labyrinth of her imaginary beauty. For being at Sup∣per in company of some five or six Gentlemen, where mention was made of Blancheville, hee transported with malice and revenge towards her, forgate himselfe so farre, as (between iest and earnest) to let fall these indiscreet and rash words, That she was more disdainfull than chaste: a speech which hee shall have time enough both to remember and repent. The honour of Ladies and Gentlewomen ought still to be deare and precious to all Gentlemen of Ho∣nour, because their losse thereof can seldome be repaired, but never so well or so fully recovered, but that there still remaines some staine or blemish thereof. This undeserved scandall of Beaumarays to his quondam Mistresse Blancheville, fals not to the ground, for the iniquity of our times, and the depravation of our manners are such, as there are few companies without a Foole or a Tray∣tor to their friends, and some are accompanied with with both. Monsieur Ma∣rin a Gentleman of Chartres (more vaine than honest) will make himselfe one of this last number, for he being ambitiously desirous to skrew himselfe into

the favour and familiarity of Blancheville, (whom from her infancie he affected and loved) reports and tels her this speech of Beaumarays, whereat she is ex∣ceedingly incensed and exasperated: But for that time (as a true woman) she dissembles her malice and revenge towards him, and so rakes up the memory thereof in the embers of silence; but yet with this condition and reservati∣on, that hereafter she will take time to make it flame forth (towards him) with more violence and impetuosity.

In the meane time there fals out an unexpected and untimely difference betweene her husband and Beaumarays, whereat she is so farre from grieving, as she rejoyceth: Beaumarays quarrelleth with him for his priority and prece∣dency of seats in the Church, (as being both of one Parish) as also for that he takes the holy bread first, and goes before him in all Processions, as preten∣ding it due to him by his right of extraction and propriety. Champigny is of too high a graine to yeeld that to him which he never yeelded, and is there∣fore resolute to justifie his equality of birth, and consequently not to wrong his ancestors in himselfe. When seing Beaumarays passionately bent to main∣taine and preserve that which he had undertaken, he flies to Justice, and so presently puts him in suit of Law for the same, in the Presidiall Court of that Citie. Blancheville (whose pride in her selfe exceeded her birth, and whose malice and revenge towards Beaumarays at the least surmounted her discretion and reason) brings no water to quench, but oyle to inflame this quarrell be∣twixt him and her husband, when seeing them already entred into a deepe processe of Law; she disdaining to see her selfe thus abused, and her husband thus wronged by him, can reape no truce of her thoughts, nor they any peace of her choler, before she have written him these lines:

BLANCHEVILLE to BEAVMARAYS.

WAs it not enough for thee to have heretofore wronged mine honour in thy false and scandalous speeches to Monsieur Marin and others, but thou must now attempt to disgrace my Husband in the Church, and because these crimes of thine are so •…•…just and odious, as they deserve acknowledgement and satisfaction from a farre better Gentleman than thy selfe, therefore I speedily expect the performance thereof from thee, either by thy Letter or presence, which if thou deny us, we will make thee know what it is to abuse thy selfe and us in points of these high natures, whereof the first cannot, the second will not admit of any other excuse or expiation. But to write thee now the truth of my minde; as thou hast heretofore vented me the malice of thy heart, I have not as yet ac∣quainted my Husband herewith, or with this my Letter. Consider therefore seriously with thy selfe what thou hast to doe herein, for the vindication of my honour, and thine owne discretion, and as soone as I receive thy answer and resolution, I will not saile speedily to returne thee mine.

BLANCHEVILLE.

Having written this her Letter, she is irresolute with her selfe by whom to send it him, but at last shee sends it by her Chamber-maid Martha, to whom only she entrusteth this great secret, and chargeth her to deliver it to Beanma∣rays his owne hands, and to crave his answer thereof. Martha being a wi•…•…ty fa•…•…re maid, of some two and twenty yeares of age, goes to Beaumarays house, and speaks with a young man of his, named Le Valley, who tels her, that his Master is now busie with two Gentlemen in his study, and that she shall immediately

speake with him as soone as they depart. In the interim his eyes cannot re∣fraine from amorously gazing and ranging upon the excellencie of her blu∣shing beauty, and upon her sweet vermillion cheeks, great rolling eyes, and flaxen haire, wherewith his heart at the very first encounter is surprized and ravished. Here Le Valley kisseth and re-kisseth Martha, and entertaines her with much prattle, and many pleasant love speeches, yea, then and there loves her so dearly, as hee vowes she shall remaine his Mistresse, and hee her servant till death. So some halfe an houre after the two Gentlemen take leave of his Ma∣ster, and then Le Valley brings Martha to him, who orderly delivers him her Mistresses Letter and message, so he wondring at the last, receives the first, leaves her in the Hall with his man Le Valley, and so steps to his study, and with much admiration, and more laughture, peruseth this Letter. Here he ac∣cuseth his owne indiscretion in speaking against Blanchevilles chastity, and ex∣ceedingly condemneth Marins treachery in revealing it to her. Once he was of opinion to have returned her his answer by Letter, but at last s•…•…orning her and that resolution, he then contrariwise resolves to answer her with silence, and so steps forth to Martha, and with a disdainfull frowning looke, bids her tell her Mistresse from him, that her malitious, proud, and foolish Le•…•…ter shall have no other answer from him but contempt & silence. Martha yet holds it her duty to pray him for his answer in writing to her Mistresse, but Beaumarays his first resolution is his last, so she departeth from him infinitely discontented. But the Master is not so unkinde to Martha, as his man Le Valley is courteous; For he being deeply enamoured of her beauty, brings her the one halfe of her way home, and goes into a Mercers shop, buyes her a faire paire of gloves, and as the pledge of his future affection, bestowes them on her, the which (with∣out farther excuse or ceremony) she thankfully accepts, and promiseth him to weare them for his sake. Martha returning home to her Lady and Mistresse, she delivers her Beaumarays his answer verbatimas he told it her, but no Let∣ter. Blancheville seeing herselfe thus wronged and sleighted of him, in that he disdaineth to give her any satisfaction, and which is worse, that he peremp∣torily refuseth, and scornes to answer her Letter: She is so strangely transpor∣ted with malice and choler towards him for the same, as shee vowes to cry quittance, and to be revenged of him; but as yet she knowes not in what man∣ner to performe and perpetrate it: Onely she againe resolves not as yet to ac∣quaint her Husband therewith, but to attend and watch for some future desi∣red opportunity.

Two yeares are almost past away, wherein Beaumarays and Champigny (to their great cost and charge) doe vehemently contest in Law about their Church quarrell fo•…•… precedency, but they doe it farre more out of malice to∣wards themselves, than any way out of pietie towards God. And as most of the great Iudiciall Courts of France are too too frequently oppressed with Law suits of this nature, so I may affirme with as much truth as pity, that this is a fatall rocke whereon many hot contentious French spirits doe most in∣considerately suffer shipwracke. At the end of which time (as the losse of one party proves still the gaine of the other) the Presidiall Court of Char•…•…res pro∣nounceth sentence in favour of Beaumarays, adjudging him the precedencie in the Church, and condemning Champigny in five hundred Crownes charge and dammage to Beaumarays This thundering sentence so prejudiciall and contra∣ry to Champigny his proud wives hopes and expectation, dri•…•…es him into ex∣treame choller, and her out of all patience towards Beaumarays. Hee bites his

lip with griefe, and his wife in enflamed with rage at the report and know∣ledge hereof, and although he were once minded to appeale from this sentence of the Presidiall Court of Chartres, to the Court of Parliament at Paris, yet being powerfully diverted by his best friends, he as soone abandoneth as embraceth that resolution. He cannot see Beaumarays but with envie, nor his wife heare speake of him but with infinite malice and detestation. She is all bent on re∣venge towards him, and with her speeches and actions both day and night precipitates her husband onwards to it. And now her old grudge and malice against him beginnes a fresh to revive and flourish, and now she thinks it a ve∣ry fit time and opportunity to acquaint her husband with Beaumarys his base and scandalous speeches against her honour, the which with much passion, and many teares she effects, and also shewes him the Coppy of her Letter which she sent him by her maid Martha, whereunto she informes him, he disdainfully returned her no answer but contempt and silence. Champigny is so deeply in∣censed hereat against Beaumarays, as his wife needs not many words or circum∣stances to induce and perswade him to revenge it on him: when presently he being as incapable of delay, as of better advise and counsell, he finds out Marin, who (more in love to Blancheville, than in hatred to Beaumarays) confirmes as much to him as he would have him affirme. Now as Blancheville thinks that her Husband Champigny will question Beaumarays by the Law of Iustice, for this his crime towards her: He (as a valiant and generous Gentleman) flies a higher pitch, and assumes a contrary resolution, to doe it by that of his sword. When having prayed, & procured Marin to be his Second, and they both agree∣ing to fight on horse backe, he (consulting with nature, not with grace) the very next morning by Serou his foot man, sends Beaumarays this Challenge.

CHAMPINY to BEAVMARAYS.

AS thy knowledge is Iudge, so Monsieur Marin is witnesse, what base and ignoble speeches thou hast falsly vomited forth against the honour and chastity of my wife. And because crimes of this nature are still odious to men, and execrable to God, and no way to be tolerated by a friend, much lesse to be digested and suffered by a Husband: There∣fore thanke thy selfe, if (for reparation hereof) thy folly now call on thy valour, to in∣vite thee and thy Second, to meet me and mine, with your swords on horse backe, on Tues∣day next, betweene six and seven in the morning, without the North hedge of the very first Vineyard beyond the River, where you shall finde we will attend you, and comparing the equitie of my cause, to the injustice and infidelity of thine, it makes me fully confident that the issue of this Duell will prove glorious for me, and shamefull and ruinous for thy selfe.

CHAMPIGNY.

Serou (according to his charge and duty) finds out Beaumarays in his owne house, and very secretly gives him his Masters Letter; who much musing thereat, steps to the window, and there privately reads it to himselfe: When blushing and smiling to see the bold folly of Champigny, the foolish malice of his wife Blancheville, and the base treachery of Marin towards him, hee is so couragious and generous, as he disdaines to be out-braved by any man what∣soever in the point of honour, (which he esteemes farre dearer and precious than his life) especially by Champigny, whom he holds to be as much his inferiour

in valour as bloud. He therefore trips to his study, and writes Champigny this Letter the which he returnes by his footman in answer of his.

BEAVMARAYS to CHAMPIGNY.

AS I will not make my selfe Iudge, so I desire not to be witnesse either of thy wifes chastity or unchastity. It is sufficient for me to leave her to herselfe, and herselfe to thee. Marin shall have time enough to repent his treacherie towards me, and thou to exchange thy jealousie into Iudgement. But because I see thy choller now exceeds all the bounds of reason, for that thou art so inconsiderately and rashly audatious, to seeke and preserve thy wifes honour with the los•…•…e and ruine of mine, know therefore that to cherish and maintaine it equally with my life, I cheerefully accept thy challenge, and doe hereby give thee to understand that I with my second, will at the time and place appointed meet thee and thine on horsebacke, where wee doubt not but to acquit our selves, as our selves, and to make thee and thine acknowledge that our swords are composed of agood temper, and our hearts of a better, and consequently that you may perchance meet with your superiours aswell in valour as in bloud and extraction.

BEAVMARAYS.

He hath no sooner ended this his letter but he presently beginnes to thinke of his second, when calling to minde his owne younger brother Le Montagne (a young Gentleman of some twenty yeares of age) is brave and valiant, and that he hath already fought two Duels, and in both of them came off with his honour, he sends for him to his closet and there shewes him Champigny his chal∣lenge and his answer thereu•…•…to, and demands of him if he have any stomacke to second him at this feast, his brother Montagne highly applauds his generous resolution for accepting this challenge, thankes him for the honour and favour he now doth him in making him his second, vowes that if he had many lives as he hath but one, hee is ready to sacrifice them all at his feet and service, and couragiously tels him hee should have taken it for a sensible affront, dis∣grace and injury, if hee had made choice of any other then himselfe: So they both prepare their horses, swords and courages against the approching time, and no lesse doth Champigny and Marin.

Beaumarays and his brother Montagne conceale this businesse from all the world; and Champigny beares it so close and secret, as he makes not his ambiti∣ous and malitious wife acquainted therewith, but in favour of his love to her beauty and reputation to himselfe, smothers it up in silence. Tuesday mor∣ning being come, our foure impatient champions are in the fields at their Rendez-vous: first arrive Champigny and Marin, and presently after them Beaumarays and his brother Montagne, all of them being bravely mounted upon neighing and trampling coursers: At their entrance Marin comes with a soft trot towards Beaumarays thinking to apologize himselfe to him: But Beaumarays is so brave and generous as he is deafe to his speeches, and will not heare him, but tels him that it is swords not tongues which must now decide their diffe∣rence, and prove him innocent or guilty: So Marin missing of his aime, he re∣turnes againe upon the same trot to Champigny, and now according to the order and nature of Duels it is ordered between those foure desperate Gentlemen, that their principals shall search the seconds, and the seconds the principals, to see whether their doublets were any more then sword proofe, but they migh•…•… well have saved themselves that labour, for they are all of them too noble and

valiant any way to taint their reputations and honours with the least shadow or tincture of cowardize, so they cast of their doublets, devide themselves, and then draw, and the first which must and will try their fortunes, are Cham∣pigny and Beaumarays, who being some fourescore paces off, they give the Spurres and reines to their horses, and part as swift as the winde, or rather so furiously and suddenly as two claps of thunder or flashes of lightning: At their first encounter Beaumarays runnes Champigny through his shirt band into the right side of his necke, and Champigny him into his left shoulder, whereat reci∣procally inflamed as Lyons, they make short turnes with their horses and so fall to it amaine with their swords, when againe Beaumarays gives Champigny two other wounds, and he returnes him one in counterexchange, whereof nei∣ther of them being mortall they againe devide themselves to breath, which having done and both of them as yet unsatisfied, they part the second time, at which cloze Champigny misseth Beaumarays and hurts his horse in the necke, but BBeaumarays gives Champigny a licke with his sword ore his forehead which bled exceedingly, but yet they are too couragious to desist, as scorning rather then caring for the number of their wounds. They to it againe the third time, which proves as fortunate for Beaumarays as fatall for Champigny, for as his horse stumbleth on his fore-feet Beaumarays in his bending runnes him thorow the body a little above his left pappe, where his sword meeting and cutting the strings of his heart, hee presently in a fainting and faltering language spake these his last words Beaumarays I forgive thee my death, and God be mercifull unto my Soule, And with the same fell starke dead from his horse to the ground: When Beaumarays as a noble Gentleman leapt presently from his horse to his assistance and so did his owne second Marin, but their charity and care to him was in vaine, for already life had forsaken his body, and consequently his soule was fled to his place: So he lies there gored in his bloud, and whiles Marin was covering of his breathlesse body with his cloake; Beaumarays sheathes up his sword, and with hands and eyes elevated to heaven rendreth thanks to God for this his victory.

No soonerhath Montagne congratulated with his brother Beaumarays for this his good fortune, but with a heart and courage worthy of himselfe, hee calles out to his Rivall Marin and bids him prepare to fight: When his bro∣ther Beaumarays notwithstanding his losse of much bloud, doth in finitely de∣sire to spare his Br•…•…ther Montagne from fighting with Marin, and so to per∣forme it himselfe. But Montagne is too couragious and generous either to un∣derstand this motion, or to relish this language from his brother, and so in hot words and high tearmes, he peremptorily tels him: That he came to fight with Marin, and fight hee would: whereupon his brother Beaumarays gives him his prayers, commits him to his good fortune and so with his cloake muffled a∣bout him; sits downe a Spectator to their combat: When Montagne re∣mounting his steed, hee calles out againe to Marin and bids him prepare to fight.

Marin no way appalled or daunted with the unfortunate disaster of his prin∣cipall but rather the more exasperated and incouraged thereat, he as a valiant Gentleman vowes to sell and requite his death deerly on the life of his adversa∣ry Montagne: to which end they devide themselves and draw, and so part each towards other I know not whether with more swiftnesse or courage: At their first encounter Narin runnes Montagne into the small of the belly of a sleight wound, and in exchange he cuts Marin a great slash on his left cheeke which

hangs downe and bleeds exceedingly: When presently closing againe; Mon∣tagne runs Marin into the right thigh & he him in requital into the right arme, and then they devide themselves to take breath, and all these their wounds being as yet incapable to appease or satisfie their courages, they presently de∣termine againe to fall to it with bravery and resolution: When behold the Marquis of Bellary (the Titular King of Ivetot) with two Lords his Sonnes, and their traine passeth that way from Chartres to goe to Paris and seeing two Gentlemen on Horsebacke in their shirts with their swords drawne, hee judg∣eth it a Duell, when hee and his two sonnes gallop into the little meddow joyning to the Vineyard to prevent and part them, but they came too late; for Montagne and Marin seeing them swiftly galloping towards them, they (to prevent them) with more haste then good speed, set spurres to their horses the sooner, and at this there second meeting Montagne warding Marins sword and putting it by, dot•…•… at the very same Instant runne him thorow the body a little below his navell, of which mortall wound, hee fell pre∣sently from his horse dead to the ground, uttering onely these words: O Montaigne, thou hast slaine mee: Thou hast slaine mee, God receive my Soule: and then and their without speaking a word more immediately dyed.

No sooner hath Montagne wiped & sheathed up his sword, but his joyful bro∣ther Beaumarays gallops up to him and cheerefully congratulates with him for the same: When instantly the Marquis of Bellay and the two Lords his Sons, arrive to them though a litt•…•…e too late: They are astonished to see two pro∣per Gentlemen lye their slaine in the field and reeking in their hot bloud: when turning to Be•…•…umarays and his brother Montagne whom they knew, they congratulate with them for their victories, and the Marquis as briefely as his time and their wounds will permit, enquire of them the cause of there quarrel and the manner and particulars of their combat, whereof being fully informed and satisfied by them, hee sends the dead bodies of Champigny and Marin to Chartres in his Coach: And understanding by Beaumarays and his brother Montagne that for the preservation of their safeties and lives they were resol∣ved to leave Chartres and Beausse, and so thwarting ore Normandy by Euereux and Lesieux to embarke themselves for Caen and thence to passe the Seas into England till their friends in their absence had procured their grace and pardons from the King, as also that they were destitute both of Chirurgions to dresse their wounds and of a guide to conduct them thither; Hee very nobly gave them his owne Chirurgion and guide, and promising them likewise to labour with the King to the utmost of his power for their peace, he passeth on his Iourney and commits them to the best fortune: A singular, yea an honourable courtesie of this brave old Marquis of Bellay whose deserts and fame I should much wrong, if I gave not the relation and memory of his name a place in this History.

Whiles thus the Marquis of Bellay is travelling towards Paris, and Beauma∣rays and his brother Montagne posting for Caen, come we briefely to Chartres which now resounds and ratles with the report and issue of this combate, where Gentlemen Cittizens and all (according to their passions and affections speake differently thereof; some condemne the vanity of Beaumarais, others the folly and treachery of Marin, but all doe highly extoll the courage and ge∣nerosity of Champigny and Montagne. But leave we them to their censures, and come we againe to speake of Blancheville who takes the newes of this untimely death of her husband so tenderly and sorrowfully that shee is ready to drowne

herselfe in her teares, It is not onely a griefe to her heart to see, but a terrour to her conscience to know, that her husband Champigny and her friend Marin, have both of them lost their lives for her sake, and when againe shee falls on the consideration and remembrance, that the first dyed by the hand and sword of Beaumarays, her mortall enemy, and the second by that of his Bro∣ther Montagne, then she is againe ready to burst her heart and brest with sigh∣ing thereat. She is so uncapable of Counsell, as she will heate of no consolati∣on, nor speake of any thing but of her malice and revenge toward Beauma∣rays, and to write the truth, this implacable wrath and revenge of hers to him, takes up all her thoughts and speeches, her contemplations and actions, and both her time and her selfe. To which end shee converts most of her Corne and Wine into money, goes to Paris, casts herselfe at the Kings feet, and to the feet of that great and illustrious Court of Parliament for Iustice, a∣gainst Beaumarays the murtherer of her husband, the which againe and againe shee aloud resounds and ecchoes forth to their eares, yea her rage is so great and her malice so outragious towards him, that notwithstanding his body is absent, yet she spends five hundred Crownes in law to have him according to the law and custome of France to bee hanged up in effigie: But although her sute be just, yet (by reason of his great friends in Court) shee sees herselfe so unfortunate that shee cannot obtaine it. Whereupon after twelve monethes vaine stay in Paris and a profuse expence of money, shee (with much griefe and sorrow) secretly vowes to herselfe, that if ever hee returne againe to Chartres, or which is more, into France, that shee herselfe will bee both his Iudge and Executioner, by revenging her Husbands death in his, and from this hellish resolution of hers she deepely sweares, that neither Earth nor Hea∣ven shall divert her.

Now to follow the naturall streame and tyde of this History: Wee must againe bring Beaumarays and his brother Montagne on the stage thereof: For the Reader must understand, that their wounds being dressed and se∣cured having bestowed both of their horses on the Chyrurgeon and guide, the two servants of the aforesaid Marquis of Bellay, and likewise written him a thankfull Letter for his honourable courtesie extended to them, and therewith likewise prayed him to solicite the King for their Grace and pardon in their absence, they privately (without any followers) embarque them∣selves upon an English vessell at Caen and so with a prosperous gale arrive at Rie, and from thence take Horse for London, where they settle up their aboad and residence, from whence Beaumarais sends to Chartres for two of his foot∣men, and his Brother Montagne for one of his, which come over to London to them some six weekes after, and brings their masters word, how earnestly and violently their adversaries follow the rigour and severity of the Law a∣gainst them in Paris, but especially against Beaumarays, they receive these advertisements from their servants and friends, rather with griefe then con∣tempt, and therefore to prevent their malice, and their owne disgrace and danger, they often write from London to Paris to the Marquesse of Bellay, and likewise to the Bishop of Chartres (their deere friend and kinsman) to hasten their pardons from the King: So that Noble Lord, and this reverend Prelate, pitying their danger and absence, as much as they wish their safety and returne, take time at advantage, and the King in a well disposed humour, and so doe most effectually and powerfully acquaint his Majesty; how these two absent Gentlemen and brothers Beaumarays and Montagne

were without just cause or reason provoked to this unfortunate combate by their adversaries; that they were the Challenged, not the Challengers; that heretofore they had never committed any act unworthy either of their ho∣nour, or of themselves: That for their vertues and generosity they were be∣loved of all their Countrey and acquaintance: That they had formerly recei∣ved many wounds in his Majesties warres; and that their valour and courage was such, that in these times, which threatned more troubles than promised peace, they would undoubtedly prove happy and necessary members for his service, with many other prevailing motives and reasons conducing that way; which at last so weigh downe the heart and minde of the King, that he freely conceded and gave them their pardons under his great Seale, the which to make the more authenticall, they caused them to be enregistred and confir∣med by the Court of Parliament of Paris, and thereupon both the Marquesse and Bishop joyntly and speedily writ to them thereof from Paris. And after some five moneths of their stay in London, they send them over these their Pardons, which are delivered to them by the Earle of Tillieres, then ordinary Ambassadour there for this present French King, Lewis xiij. the which they receive with infinite honour, content, and joy.

This good newes of theirs makes them now like the aire of France better than that of England. So they speedily packe up their baggage, leave London, and with all celerity poast away Dover, Callais, and Paris. Where being arri∣ved, the first thing they doe, they finde out the Marquis of Bellay, and the Bi∣shop of Chartres, to whom they owe their peace, as they doe their lives to the King: To whom they expresse a thousand demonstrations of thankfulnesse for this their honour and favour shewed them. They likewise burne with de∣sire to testifie so much to the King, when the Marquis, seconded by the Bi∣shop, present them to his Majestie, who falling to his feet, hee gives them his Royall hand to kisse. They can better expresse their thankfulnesse in deeds than words to him, and in language of their swords, than in that of their tongues: Onely they tell his Majestie, that having received their lives of his meere clemencie and Royall favour, they most humbly therefore implore him to gr•…•…t them the favour and honour, that they may spend and end them in his service. He allowes of their zeale and humility, and to redouble his fa∣vour, he gives them againe his hand to kisse, adding farther to them, that it is rather likely than impossible, that he shall shortly have occasion to use their swords and service, and so dismisseth them.

These our two brothers remaine a moneth in Paris, wherein almost daily they tender their thankfull respects and service to the Marquis and Bishop, at the end wherof leaving their duties, and receiving their commands, they take horse and returne home for Chartres, (from which by reason of their disaster they have beene so long absent) where all their kinsfolks and friends welcome them home with infinite delight and joy, yea, almost all Chartres and the Gen∣tlemen thereabouts, exceedingly rejoyce of their fortunate and safe returnes. Onely the Parents of Marin doe envie Montagne deeply, and Blancheville, the sorrowfull and incensed widdow of Champigny, hate Beaumarays deadly. As for Montagne he makes such good meanes and friends, that in lesse than two mo∣neths he obtaines a perfect reconciliation of the first; but although Beauma∣rays have made many faire overtures and proffers of attonement by his friends to the second, yet in six moneths he sees it is wholly impossible for him to pro∣cure it of her, and which is worse, she is still so outragious and revengefull to∣wards

him, that he thinks he never shall; for shee disdaines to see him, and scornes to heare of him; and still her malice and indignation against him, makes her constant in her former hellish and bloudy resolution, that by one meanes or other she will ere long murther him, as he hath her Husband: A fearfull and most execrable resolution, every way unworthy the heart of a Gen∣tlewoman, and farre more the soule of a Christian.

In the former part of this History we have understood the affection of Le Valley (Beaumarays his man) to Martha, Blanchevilles Chambermaid. In the middle thereof we have remarked and seene the implacable intended malice and revenge of Blancheville towards Beaumarays: And wee shall nor goe farre before the end hereof will enforme us what mournfull fruits, and deplorable effects, these different accidents and persons will procure us.

As there is no love to that of a man, so I am of opinion, that there is no malice comparable to that of a woman, and if the truth deceive not my judge∣ment herein, I beleeve wee shall shortly see the Antitheses of this position made good and verified in the persons of Le Valley, and Blancheville. For whiles Le Valley is lovingly thinking and inventing all possible meanes how hee may marrie Martha; so is Blancheville malitiously pondering and ruminating with her selfe how or by what meanes or agents she may murther Beaumarays. Thus we see that the heart of the first is as full of kindnesse and courtesie, as the mind and resolutions of the second is of cruelty and bloud. Now the Reader for his better information, will I hope remember, that in all this time of two yeares and upwards, since Le Valley first saw and spake with his sweet heart Martha, in his Masters house, that there hath past many love tokens betweene them, but as yet he could never draw her consent to marry him; for still shee tels him that she loves her Mistresse so dearly, that she will not depart from her service, nor wed any man, without her free consent, and therefore that they have farre more reason to doubt than to hope of this match betweene them, considering the lamentable accident & disaster which hath past between their Masters. Le Valley seeing he must first winne the Mistresse, before he can wed the maid, with his sweet hearts advise, resolves to seeke Blanchevilles consent therereto, the which hee doth in faire and orderly tearmes. Blancheville who had formerly heard an inkling how dearly Le Valley affected her maid Martha in the way of mariage, now by this his motion thereof to herselfe, she is ful∣ly confirmed thereof. When observing more passion than judgement, as well in his affection to her maid, as in his speeches to her selfe, she presently (being industrious in her malice, and vigilant in her revenge towards Beaumarays) forgets God and all goodnesse, abandoneth all Christianity and humanity, and so the devill brings her a plot, or else her owne heart and head fetcht it from hell: She thinks that this poore servant Le Valley, is a fit agent and instrument for her, either to poyson or pistoll his Master Beaumarays to death, and that his love to her maid Martha, and his consideration of her fresh youth and beauty, is a sufficient bait, and powerfull lure to make him undertake and performe it, and hereon she settles up her bloudy resolution. To which end Blancheville having already sufficiently woven this treachery in her heart, and closely and finely spunne it in her braines, shee politickly gives Le Valley more hope than despaire, that he shall shortly marrie her maid Martha; onely shee tels him shee must first conferre with her, to see how shee stands affected to him, and that if hee repaire to her againe at the end of the weeke, shee will then as∣suredly give him such an answer, as she doubts not but will content and please

him, or else the fault shall be his: But to conclude her speech, shee chargeth him not to speake or utter a word hereof to his Master Beaumarays, all which Le Valley faithfully promiseth her to performe. He goes from the Mistresse to the maid, and reports what she hath told and spoken, so these young folkes flatter themselves, that they very shortly shall be man and wife. Blancheville (whose heart and minde runnes wholly upon a bloudy revenge towards Beaumarays) no sooner understands that Le Valley is gone forth her doores, but she sends for her maid Martha into her chamber, where (no way acquainting her with her bloudy intent and policie) she chargeth her to sweare that she will never mar∣rie Le Valley without her free consent, and that in the end she shall not repent the following of her advise and counsell herein, which Martha solemnly doth, whereof this malitious and vindictive Dame is exceedingly glad and satisfied. The end of the weeke being come, away comes Le Valley to his sweet heart Martha, to know if she be shortly resolved to marry him, who having beene perfectly taught her lesson, tels him plainly, that shee will be his wife, condi∣tionally that he can gaine her Mistresse Blanchevelles consent thereunto, but ne∣ver without it. Whereof he being exceedingly joyfull, hee giving her many kisses, intreats her to bring him to her Mistresse, and that he hopes to receive pleasing newes from her, to both their contents. Blancheville (with much longing impatiencie (attends his comming, and receives and welcomes him into her Closet with a cheerfull countenance, where bolting the doore, this hellish Erinnis (not heavenly Vrania) passionately tels him, that it shall be im∣possible for him ever to enjoy or marrie her maid Martha, except he first sweare to her to performe a secret businesse for her, which infinitely concernes her content and service. Le Valley desires to know of her what it is, but shee first sweares him to secrecie herein, both from Martha, and from all the world, the which he freely sweares: When Blancheville (with hypocriticall, yea, with diobolicall teares in her eyes) being instructed and prompted by the devill, representeth unto him, how fouly his Master Beaumarays had first wronged her chastity and honour, then abused her husband in the Church, and after∣wards killed him in the field, and therefore that hee should not onely marry her maid Martha, but that she would likewise give him three hundred Crowns of marriage money with her, if for her sake, and at her request) he would kill his said Master, either by poyson, Ponyard, or Pistoll, of which summe shee told him he should have the one halfe in hand, and the other when hee had performed it, the which if he refused to doe, shee swore by her part of Hea∣ven, that he should never marrie her, nor come neare her.

Le Valley is amazed and astonished at this bloudy proposition and request of hers, the which she might well perceive by the distraction of his looks, and the perturbation of his countenance. He tels her, that although he loves Martha farre dearer than his life, yet hee cannot finde in his heart to kill the poorest Christian in the world, much lesse so good and so deare a Master as Beaumarays was to him. Blancheville (being now as subtill in her malice, as she was maliti∣ous in her revenge towards Beaumarays) shewes Le Valley the three hundred Crownes in faire gold) which was farre more than ever before he had seene, Tels him what a deare friend she will ever remaine to him and his wife, and (in a word) leaves no lure unpractised, nor charme unattempted, to draw him to the enterprize of this deplorable, and to the execution of this hellish fact. But finding him as frozen as she was fiery therein, she bids him to take a weeks t•…•…e to consider thereof, then to bring her his last resolution, and with∣all

to remember his oath of secrecie herein from all the world, both which points he constantly promiseth her to performe. As he descends the stairs from her, his sweet heart Martha comes presently to him to know the minde and re∣solution of her Mistresse, whom he thinks good then to satisfie with this pleasing answer, that hee hopes a small time will worke and compasse both their desires. So after a few kisses and embraces, they for that time take leave each of other. He is no sooner returned home, but his heart is as pensive and sorrowfull, as his minde and braine is perplexed and troubled for the cause thereof. He consults with himselfe, and his resolutions are as different as his desires. He cannot as yet finde in his heart to kill his Master, and yet hee can resolve rather to die than to lose Martha his Mistresse. True it is, that the sight of the Lady Blanchevilles gold doth act wonders in his hearts, but farre more the sight & remembrance of Marthas sweet youth & delitious beauty: So the first tempts him exceedingly, the second extreamly, and the devill in both of them infinitely; yet notwithstanding his faith and soule are so strong with God, that hitherto hee cannot consent or bee drawne to imbrue his hands in the innocent bloud of his Master. But here befals an unexpected accident, which violently precipitates and throwes him headlong on the contrary resolution.

His Master Beanmarays (not for want of any respect or love to Blancheville, but because hee perfectly knew shee extreamly hared him) having formerly charged his man Le Valley that he should not frequent her house, nor no more dare to seeke her maid Martha in mariage, the which he confidently promised him he would: He now understands that contrary thereunto, his man Le Valley the very day before was there, and continued still an earnest sutor to her; so he hereupon cals him to him, and gives him five or six sound boxes on the eare, for his disobeying him, and vowes that if he ever any more returne thi∣ther, and seeke Martha in marriage, he would utterly cashier him, and wholly discharge him from his service. Le Valley not accustomed to receive blowes of his Master, was so extreamly incensed hereat, as disdaining the blowes for his Master, and his Master for the blowes sake, they engender such bad bloud in him, as he presently strikes a bargaine, first with his choller, then with the De∣vill, that he would now adhere to the request of Blancheville, and so speedily returne his Master a sharp requitall and bloudy revenge for the same; and in∣deed from that time forwards he never looked on him but with an eye of ha∣tred and detestation. So without farther delay, the same night as soone as his Master was gone to bed, hee trips away to Blanchevilles house, informes her at large what had past betwixt his master and himselfe, and therefore assures her that he is fully and constantly resolved to murther him within three or foure dayes, if she would performe her promise to him, to give him the three hun∣dred Crownes, and that also within a moneth after h•…•…e shall marrie Martha, whereat Blancheville being beyond measure joyfull, she faithfully and solemnly sweares him the performance thereof when (as a pledge of the rest) she pre∣sently payes him downe the first hundred and fifty in gold, the which Le Valley joyfully purseth up. But the receit thereof shall cost him deare.

From the intended matter of the murther of Beaumarays, these two agents of Satan and Hell, Blancheville and Le Valley, proceed to the manner thereof, she proposeth that infernall drugge poyson, but he rejecteth it, as dangerous to be bought, and difficult to be applied. And because she dislikes to have him pon∣•…•…arded, therefore they both conclude and agree, that he shall pistoll him to

death, and this is their difinitive, cruell, and hellish resolution. Le Valley ha∣ving thus dispatcht his businesse with Blancheville, and taken leave with kisses of his sweet Martha, (who poore soule is as innocent, as they two are wholly and solely guilty of this deplorable conspiration) he puts a cheerfull counte∣nance on his revengfull heart, so returnes home, and the very next day gets his Masters pocket pistoll, which he loads with a brace of bulletts, and watch∣eth every day and houre for a desired opportunity to send him to heaven. So the third day after Monsieur Montagne going abroad a hawking with his bro∣thers Hawks and Spannels, and taking almost all his men servants with him, and leaving Le Valley to wait and attend on his Master, then and there this fa∣tall occasion answered his prodigious expectation. For that very Fore-noone, his Master Beaumarays comming from the house of office, hee cals up Le Valley to him in his chamber to trusse his points, which wretched Villaine he is busie in performing, but alas, in most barbarous and bloudy manner: For as that good and Noble Gentleman thought of nothing lesse than of his danger or death, then this monster of nature fingering his hinde points with his left hand, very softly drew his Pistoll out his pocket with his right, and then and there (with an infernall courage and audacity) shot him into the reynes of his backe, nearly opposite to his heart, whereof he presently fell downe dead to the ground, without having either the power or happinesse to utter on prayer or word whatsoever, but onely two or three small fainting, or indeed dying groanes.

This bloudy and execrable wretch Le Valley, seeing his Master dead, he tri∣umphs in his good fortune, to see what a brave Butcher he had proved him∣selfe in so speedily and neatly dispatching him. When to put the better varnish on his villany, and so to make it appeare to the world, that his Master was his owne murtherer, hee taketh the pistoll and placeth it in his dead right hand, layes the key of the Chamber upon the Table, and the doore having a strong Spring-locke, puls and shuts it fast after him. When againe, to make his inno∣cencie the more cleare and conspicuous to the world, he speedily and secretly taking a horse out of the stable, a Hawke on his fist, and a Spanniell at his heels, and so very joyfully and cheerfully gallops away to the fields, where (after some houre at least, or houre and halfe at most) hee finds out Monsieur Mon∣tagne, and tels him his Master dispatcht him to him with a fresh Hawke, which was his best and chiefest Gashawke. They Hawke all day together, and Le Valley (as accustomed) is very officious and diligent to Monsieur Montagne, who to∣wards night returnes home to Chartres, having (betweene them all) taken eight Partridges and one Phesant. Hee arrives at his brothers house, where missing him, he gives the Phesant and foure of the Partridges to the Cooke to dresse for their Supper; when afterwards againe missing his brother Beau∣marays, and enquiring for him, the meniall servants of the out-houses tell him they saw him not to day. Supper being preparing, and the Table co∣vered, he sends up Le Valley to looke him in his chamber, who returnes him this answer, that his Master is not there, but the doore is shut: Montagne mar∣velleth at his brothers long (and unaccustomed) absence, and so doe all his Servants. They finde his Cloake, Rapier and Belt, hanging up at a pinne in the Hall, and therefore deeming him not farre, but at some neighbours house, he sends Le Valley one way, and the rest of the servants to other places to finde him out; but whiles they seeke after him, Le Valle (favoured by the night) trips away speedily to the Lady Blanchevilles house, and there most briefly and

secretly acquaints her how bravely hee hath dispatched his Master that fore∣noone, shee cannot Containe herselfe for Ioy of this sweet newes, nor expresse it to him in lesse then a Kisse, he saies he will tell her the rest to morrow night and then come and receive the remainder of her promise to him, the which she againe and againe sweares to him shee will performe it with a surplusage and advantage, so hee kisseth his sweet heart Martha, and againe dispeeds himselfe home: Where he and the rest of the servants who were sent into the streetes returne Montagne no newes of their master his brother: Supper being more then fully ready, his long missing of him doth at last bring him much doubt, and some suspition and feare of his wellfare. It runnes still in his mind that he may be yet a sleepe in his Chamber; wherfore he ascends thither with Le Valley and others of his Servants, who call a loud and bounce amaine at the doore, but they heare no answer nor speech of him, the which doth the more augment his doubt and redouble his feare of his Brother: At last he commands them to force and breake open the doore, but it being exceeding thick and strong, they cannot, Montagnes tender care of his brother doth by this time infinitely en∣crease his feare of him, which at last so powerfully surpriseth him, that he pre∣sently commands a Ladder to be erected to his brothers chamber window to∣wards the garden, and sends up one of his Laqueyes with a torch to looke into the chamber, the laquey forceth open the casement, and then thrusts in his torch first, and his head after, which he speedily withdrawing very passionately cryeth out: That his master hath murthered himselfe with his pistoll, and lies there dead all gored in his bloud. Montagne at this lamentable newes teares his haires weepes and cryes out a maine for sorrow thereof and so doe all his Ser∣vants: Among whom Le Valley is obserued to be one of the most, who weepes, and cries mightly thereat. Montagne being almost as dead with griefe and sor∣row hereat, as his Brother Beaumarays was with his wound, He bids the La∣quey to teare downe the casement and to enter and unlocke the doore, which he doth: So he with Le Valley and the rest of the servants ascend and enter the chamber, where to their unexpressable griefe and sorrow) they see this mourn∣full and murthered personage, with the discharged pistoll fast in his hand, and the key of the chamberdoore on the table, as hath beene already expressed. Once Montagne thought that his brother might be robbed and killd by theeves, but seeing all his trunkes fast locked, and then opening his study dore, and finding all his gold, silver, and Iewels there in good order, he abandons that sus∣pition and Iealousie and then both he and they all beleive, that he hath abso∣lutely murthered himselfe. The report of this tragicall and sorrowfull accident sounds loud in the streets of Chartres: Montagne sends for the Kings Attourny, and the Fiscall to see, and for Chirurgions to visit his dead brothers body, they all concurre and agree in opinion with Montagne and his servants, and so gene∣rally affirme and conclude: That Beaumarays hath (with his little pistoll) shot himselfe into the backe with a brace of bullets, whereof hee dyed, which is sweet musick and melody to Le Valley, but his wormewood and gall comes after. And now Montagne withall requisite order, state, and decency, solemnizeth his brothers funerals, and not onely all Chartres, but all Beausse, and all Gentlmen who knew him, yea the bishop of Chartres, the Marquis of Bellay, and the King himselfe much lamented and bewayled the unfortunate losse of this noble, and valiant Gentleman.

The griefe and sorrow of Montagne for his Brothers untimely death, is the joy and felicity of Le Valley and Blancheville, for as he triumphes, so for her part

she is so extreamly delighted and ravished with this sweet newes, as at their next meeting (which is the very next night) she gives him his hundred & fifty crownes, and because he hath dispatched his master Beaumarays so speedily and secretly, she therefore takes a Diamond ring off her finger (worth one hundred crownes) and likewise gives it him: When to make good her oath and pro∣mise to him, (as also to make his pretented joy compleate) the very same day moneth after, marryeth him to her maid Martha. But marriages that are foun∣ded and cymented with innocent bloud, never have prosperous ends. Now is Blancheville proud in her revenge for the death of her mortall enemy Beauma∣rays, and now likewise is Le Valley (in his conceit and minde) rapt up into the third Heaven of joy, in injoying his faire and sweet wife Martha, and neither of them hath the conscience to thinke of, or the grace to repent this foule and bloudy fact of theirs: Which (when they least dreame thereof) wee shall see God in his sacred mercy in Iustice, will speedily detect, revenge, and pu∣nish, as the sequell thereof will declare and informe us.

As the matter and manner of the detection of this lamentable murther of Beaumarays proceeded primarily from God, so it did secondly from his sorrow∣full brother Montagne, who wanting all other witnesses & evidence (and whol∣ly guided by sacred power, and swaid by divine influence) was led to it by foure remarkeable circumstances and considerations, every way worthy of our Knowledge and retention. The first was his finding and perusing of Blanche∣villes Letter to his brother Beaumarays (which formerly we have seene) where∣in he observed a wonderfull deale of inveterate malice towards him from her; The second was Le Valleyes suddaine marrying of her chambermaid Martha, by the which he conceived that that suspition strongly reflected on her, and this on him: The third was from the sight of the Diamond Ring which Le Valley wore on his finger (being the same which wee have formerly seene Blanche∣ville to give him) for Montagne beleeving that hee had stolen it from his dead brother his master, he challenged him for it by order of law, when Le Valley to cleere himselfe of this predended theft, was inforced to informe both him and the Iudges, that it was given him in marriage with his wife by the Lady Blan∣cheville her Mistris, the which confession of his, indeed added much suspition and jealousie of them both to the heart and mind of Montagne, as beleeving that it must be some extraordinary tye and service which should make Le Valley capable to deserve so great a bounty and reward of her. But the fourth and last consideration was farre more powerfull and pervalent with him than all the three former to ground his suspition against Le Valley for thus murthering of his brother, and wherein the Reader may deservedly admire and wonder at the celestiall providence and justice of God, which most miraculously and di∣vinely appeares herein, for the same day two monethes after the murther of Beaumarays, and the same day moneth that Le Valley marryed his wife Martha, It pleased the Lord (in his secret pleasure and justice) to send him a Gan∣greene in his right hand, which beginning to extend and spread, his Chyrur∣geons to save his life, advised his said hand to bee speedily cut off, which was accordingly performed.

This sodainely cutting of Le Valleyes right hand by advise of his Chyrurgeons brings terrour to him, feare to Blancheville, and astonishment and admiration to Montagne, who (led by the immediate spirit and finger of God) doth now confidently beleive, that it was that hand of his which pistolled his brother to death, and that it might be rather probable than impossible, that Blancheville

mought be the Author, and hee the actor of this cruell Murther. Wherefore grounding this his strong suspition upon the piety and innocency of his bro∣thers life and disposition, as also on his owne fowre former premised serious considerations and circumstances, hee neither can nor will take any contrary Law or peace of his thoughts. But goes to the Seneshall, and Kings attourny of that Citty, and accuseth Le Valley to be the murtherer of his brother Beauma∣rais. The wise and prudent judges, advertised the presidiall court thereof likewise: So they presently cause him to bee apprehended and imprisoned for the same: They charge him with this cruell murther committed on the per∣son of his master, but he stoutly denyes it with many fearefull oathes and im∣precations: But his crime being greater then his Apologie, they adjudge him to the racke, where in the middest of his tortures, God so deales with his heart and prevailes with his soule, that he confesseth, it was he who murthered his master Beaumarais with a pistoll charged with a brace of bullets, and that hee was hired to performe it by the Lady Blancheville, who gave him three hun∣dred crownes in gold, and a Diamond ring to effect and finish it. At the rela∣tion and confession whereof Montagne and the Iudges, exceedingly admire and wonder, and being by them againe demanded if his wife Martha were not •…•…ewise accessary with them in this murther, hee freely and constantly told them that shee was not, and that he would take it to his death, that she was e∣•…•…ry way as Innocent, as himselfe and Blancheville her mistris were guilty thereof.

The Iudges of this Court speedily send sergeants away to apprehend Blan∣•…•…ville, who is so farre from the apprehension or feare of any danger, as shee dreames not thereof: They finde her in her owne house playing on her lute, •…•…d singing in company of many Gentlemen, and Gentlewoman her friends: The Serjeants seize on her, and tels her accusation and crime, whereat she is amazed and weepes exceedingly, and no lesse doe those who are with her: She is brought before her Iudges, who strongly accuse her for being the Author of this cruell murther of Beaumarais, and acquaint her with Le Valleyes full and free confession thereof as we have formerly understood: When here sometime with teares, and then againe with passion and choller, she tels the Iudges, that Le Valley is a devill and a villaine, thus to accuse her falsely: That she never gave him a ring or three hundred crownes to doe it, and takes God to witnesse that shee is wholly innocent of that murther. But this poore and passionate Apologie of hers, will not passe current with her Lyncee-eyed Iudges, who cause her to be confronted with Le Valley, who stands firme to his former accusation against her, and yet her faith is so weake with God, and so strong with sathan as with many cryes and curses, she againe and againe cryes out and protesteth of her Innocency: They produce her her ring, and part of gold, but she boldly denies and stoutly forsweares both; So they presently ad∣judge her to the racke, whereto with much constancy she permits herselfe to be fastened: But at the very first touch and wrench thereof, her dainety delicate limbs not able to brooke those exquisite torments, God was pleased to be so gratious & mercifull to her soule, as she presently (with many teares) cries out that shee was the guilty Author of this horrible murther, and so in all points and circumstances concurres and agrees with Le Valleis deposition and accusa∣tion against her; Here her Iudges againe demand of her if her maid Martha were never accessary or consenting with her and Le Valley in this their bloudy •…•…ct, but shee vowes to them, that upon perill of her soule, she was absolutely

innocent thereof, so hereupon this our inhumane Lady Blancheville is againe loosed from her racke, and brought away to the Tribunall of Iustice, and so likewise is Le Valley, where Montagne and the Kings attourney presently crave judgement of the presidents against these two murtherers, who after a long and a religious speech which they made, both to them and to all who were present upon this bloudy fact and crime of theirs: They conclude and ad∣judge Le Valley the very next day to be broken on the wheele alive, and Blanche∣ville then likewise to be hanged, which gave matter of Vniversall speech and admiration to all Chartres and Beausse.

We have seene the perpetration and detection of this inhumane and lamen table murther, committed by these two unfortunate wretches Le Valley and Blancheville: And now (by the mercy and Iustice of God) we are come to see the triumphes of his revenge to fight against them in their condigne punish∣ments for the same. They by their Iudges are that afternoone returned againe to their prisons, and the same night are there effectually dealt with by Divines, who (out of Christian charity) direct and prepare their soules for Hea∣ven. So the next morning about ten of the clocke they are brought to the common place of execution in Chartres, where a world of people attend to be spectators of these their unfortunate ends and deplorable tragedies: And first Le Valley ascends the scaffold, who is sad and pensive, and saies little els 〈◊〉〈◊〉 effect but this, that it was partly Blanchevilles gold, but chiefely his love to her maid, his wife Martha, who first drew him to murther his deere master Beau∣marays, whereof hee affirmed he was now heartely repentant and sorrowfull, and besought the Lord to pardon him; He here tooke it to his death that his said wife Martha was every way innocent of this murther, and therefore be∣seeched Monsieiur Mantagne, to bee good and charitable to her after his death, whom he likewise prayed to forgive him, when uttering a few Ave Maries to himselfe, and often marking himselfe with the signe of the crosse: He was by his Executioner presently broken on the wheele, whereof he immediatly dyed.

Le Valley was no sooner dispatched, but up comes our Female monster Blancheville on the Ladder, whose youth & beauty drew pitty from the hearts, and teares from the eyes of most of her spectators: in her countenance shee was very sad and mournefull, and yet I am enforced to confesse this truth of her, that (in this last Scene and act of her life) her pride and Vanity so farre usurped on her judgement, her piety, and her soule, that she came here to take her last leave of the world, apparelled in a rich blacke razed sattin gowne, a crimson damaske pettie coate, la•…•…d with white sattin guards, a rich cutworke falling band, her haire all strewed with sweet powder, decked with white rib∣ban knots and roses, and a snow white paire of gloves on her handes, so she there craves leave of the people to speake a few words before she dyes, which with a well composed countenance, and behaviour, shee doth in these tearmes.

She said that her deere and tender affection to her husband Champigny occa∣sioned her deadly hatred and malice to Beaumarays, and that as soone as she had slayne him in the field, she in revenge thereof instantly resolved and vowed to send him to heaven after him: she affirmed that she was now sorrowfull from her heart and soule, that she had caused Le Valley to kill this his master, also that shee was so unfortunate and miserable, as now to see him dye for her sake and service, in requitall whereof shee gave all her apparell, and some of her

plate and Iewels to her old maid, now his new wife Martha, whom she affirmed in presence of God and his angels, was no way guilty or consenting to this la∣mentable murther, which she beseeched the Lord to pardon and forgive her, she likewise besought Montagne and Martha to forgive her and entreated all who were present to pray to God for her Souleshe conjured al Ladies and Gen∣tlewoman who were sorrowful eyewitnesses of her untimely death, to beware by her unfortunate example, and so to hate malice and revenge in themselves as much as shee loved it: When againe praying all her spectators to pray to God for her, shee after a few pater-nosters, and Auc-maries was turned over.

And thus was this lamentable, and yet deserved deaths of these two bloudy wretches Le Valley and Blancheville, and in this sharpe manner, did God justly revenge and punish this their horrible crime of murther: Whose untimely and unfortunate deathes, left much griefe to their living parents and friends, and generally to all who either saw or knew them. May wee reade this their History, first to the honour of God, and then to our owne Instru∣ction and reformation: That the sight and remembrance of these their punishments may deterre us from the impiety and inhumanity of perpe∣trating the like bloudy crimes,

Amen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As for the Letters which passe from Genova to Sevona, and that are also re∣turned from Savona to Genova, betweene these our two lovers Lorenzo and Fermia, deeming them impertinent to this their History, I have therefore purposely excluded, and for order and brevities sake omitted them: The which entertained their time, and tooke up their affections and patience so long, that three yeares are now past and blowne over, since they first saw

each other, and since Lorenzo first motioned Moron for his consent to marry his daughter, during all which long tract of time, which to those our two young lovers seemed at least so many ages. The Reader is prayed to under∣stand and take notice, that Lorenzo hath made five or six journeyes from Ge∣nova to Savona to see his Fermia, and hath importunately requested her father Moron for his consent, and that at least as many times shee likewise hath im∣ployed all her Parents and friends towards him, yea, and hath beene more of∣ten on her bended knees to him to begge it, but all these their requests and so∣tions towards him prove vaine.

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

Whiles thus our young maried couple celebrate their nuptials in Genova

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

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

FERMIA to MORON.

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

FERMIA.

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

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

The next morning very early hee returnes thither againe to see and speake with him, but the first prove the last answer of his servants, whereat Lorenzo (all nelted with choller and anger) takes horse and rides away for Genova.

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

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

Our sweet Fermia the daughter is extreamly perplexed, afflicted, and grieved at this her fathers bitter unkindnesse and cruelty towards her, the which she seales with many sighs, and confirmes with infinite Rivolets of teares, which trickle downe her beautifull cheeks as so many pearled drops of dew on blu∣shing and fragrant damaske Roses: When againe imploying her aforesaid Aunt Alcyna, and likewise entreating father Bernardin De Monte, her fathers owne ghostly father, to perswade him in her behalfe, which they doe. But at last seeing the requests of the one bootlesse, and the spirituall exhortations of

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

Hee who formerly prayed often with his wife and family in his house and was a devout and religious frequenter of his Church, now he is so dangerously fled from God and so desperately following of the devill as hee scornes the Church, and will neither pray himselfe at home with his wife, nor (which is worse) permit or suffer her to doe it at home with her family: He hath forgotten her deere affection and constancy to him, and how shee hath incurred her fathers indignation for making him her husband and herselfe his wife: He hath forgotten his former oathes and promises of his tender affecti∣and constant love to her, and how that in life and death hee would live and dye more hers then his owne: Hee hath forgotten how for his sake, and for the fervent love shee bore him, that she forsooke divers rich young men of Savona who were every way his Superiours in Birth, Wealth, and profession: Or els if he did remember it, hee would not thus sleight her by day, or lye from her by night in lewd and lascivious company, spending both his time, his meanes, and himselfe: upon panders, bauds, and strumpets, from which ungodly life and sinfull conversation, neither her prayers, intreaties, requests, perswasions, sighes or teares can possibly reclaime him; but he lets all things runne at ran∣dome and confusion without order, care, or consideration, so that within the

compasse of one yeare and a halfe, his trade is neglected, his credit crackt, his reputation lost, his estate spent, and nothing left either to maintaine himselfe or releive her, but griefe, sorrow, dispaire and misery. Shee sets all his best friends, and most vertuous acquaintance to convert him from this his abhomi∣nable life, yea she holds it more shame, then sinne to acquaint his confessor therewith, who taking a fit time, deales roundly with him for his reformation, and failes not to paint out his sinnes and vices, as also their deserved punish∣ments in their foulest and most hideous colours: But still her husband Lorenzo is so strongly linked to the devill, and so firmely wedded to his beastly vices and enormities that all the world cannot divert, or disswade him from them, and still he is so farre from abandoning and forsaking them, as he adds new to his old: for the devill hath now taught him to delight in cursing and swearing, for in his speeches and actions he useth many feareful oathes and desperate ex∣ecrations: He beginnes to revile her, and to give her foule language, tear ming her Beggar, and her father villaine, and that hee is bound to curse them both, because (saith he) they have beggerd him: When God and his sinnefull soule and conscience well knowes that there is nothing more untrue or false: For if his piety toward God, or his care and providence of himselfe and his family had equallized hers, he had than made himselfe as happy as nowhe is miserable; and she as joyfull, as now we see her disconsolate and sorrowfull; and then no doubt but time and God would have drawne her father Moron to have bestow∣ed some portion on him with his wife, whereas now the knowledge of his im∣pious life and lascivious prodigalities doth justly occasion him to the contra∣ry. Againe here befalls another accident which brings our sorrowfull Fermia new griefe, vexation and teares, for shee sees herselfe great, yea quicke with childe by her Husband Lorenzo so as that which shee once hoped would have beene the argument of her joy, now proves the cause of her affliction and sor∣row, for his vices hath scarce left her wherewith to maintaine herselfe, and therefore it grieves her to thinke and consider, how hereafter she shall be able to mainetain her childe, when God in his appointed time shall send it her, for he hath so consumed his estate, and spent, sold, and pawned all their best hous∣hold stuffe and apparell, that almost they have nothing left to give themselves maintenance, hardly bread: But yet still how lewd and irregular soever Loren∣zo be, his vertuous and sorrowfull wife Fermia serves God duely and truely, and spends a great part of her time in prayer, still beseeching the Lord to give her patience, and to forgive her husband all his foule sinnes, towards him, and cruell ingratitude towards herselfe: When in the middest of this her poverty and misery, once she thought to have left her husband in Genova, and to have cast herselfe at her fathers feet in Savona, that he would pardon, receive and en∣tertaine her: But then againe considering his flinty heart and cruelty towards her, and that he would rather contemne then pitty her youth and misery, but especially calling to minde her duty to her husband, and her Oath given him in marriage, in presence of God and his Church for better for worse, for richer for poorer: Then I say the consideration and remembrance thereof, is so strong a tye to her conscience and so strict an obligation to her soule, that she thinkes his vices and poverty hath now more need of her assistance, prayers and company then of her absence, so as a vertuous wife and a religious chri∣stian, she will not consent to forsake and leave him, but resolves to stay and live with him, to see what the Lord is pleased to impose on her, and (for his sinnes and hers) what afflictions and miseries hee hath ordained and decreed

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for them: And yet being desirous to draw hope and comfort any way, because she findes griefe and dispaire from all parts, she resolves to acquaint her father with her calamities, as also (earnestly and humbly) to pray him to releive them, the which she doth in this her sorrowfull letter to him, which she sends him safely to Savona.

FERMIA to MORON.

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

FERMIA.

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

MORON to FERMIA.

IF thy Husband prove not to thy liking, thou hast just reason to thanke thy selfe, and to condemne thine owne temerity and disobedience in choosing him, and if his affection bee so soone forgotten or frozen to thee, it is a just punishment of God, because thine was so first to me, whereof as that is the effect, so doubtlesse this is the prime, and originall cause thereof, and as his vices and prodigality hath spent all his estate, so I have not so lit∣tle judgement, (though thou so small understanding) to thinke that mine shall redeeme it, which (upon the whole) were then to immytate and second him in his folly, and conse∣quently to make my selfe guilty in consuming it. And because thou fleddest with him without my knowledge from Savona to Genoua; and didst there marry him without my consent, therefore it is neither thy Griefe nor Misery, or thy shame and repentance,

which shall induce me either to respect or pitty thee as my daughter, or which is lesse, to re∣leive and entertaine thee as my handmaid, you both are young enough to worke and labour for your living, as thy mother and my selfe did for ours, and therefore know that thy youth deserves no compassion from my age, and if this will not satisfie thee, then the best ad∣vise and counsell which I can or will give thee is, that thou continually direct thy pray∣ers to God, for thy releife and consolation: And herein thou wilt then serve thy selfe, please mee, and glorifie him: And as thou regardest my Commands, or desirest my blessing, let me neither see thee, or hereafter heare any more of thy vaine and foolish Letters.

MORON.

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

her childe being in its cradle, he gone forth from her in choller, she fals downe on her knees to prayer, the which so soone as shee had ended, and her childe awaking and crying, she takes it up in her armes, and mournfully sitting downe on the floore by her bed side, she (weeping as fast as her poore infant babe sucked) having bolted her chamber doore, was over-heard by one of her neighbours, (twixt whom and her selfe there was but a wainscot enterclose and partition) to pronounce these (or the like) sorrowfull speeches to her selfe.

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

shalt want, yea, I will cheerfully worke, and (if occasion serve) begge my selfe to death to get sustenance and necessaries for the preservation of thy life. For live thou my sweet babe as happy as thy poore mother is miserable and unfortunate: And if I die before thee, (as I hope I shall not live long) say thou hadst a mother who loved thee a thousand times dearer than her own life, and who was rich in care and affection, though poore in estate and means to main∣taine thee. And if I leave thee nothing behinde me, (because I have now no∣thing left me either to give or leave thee) yet I will give thee my blessing, and leave thee heire to these my most religious prayers; That God in his divinest favour and mercy will not power downe his wrath and punishments on thee, but thou mayest live to be as happy in thy vertues, as I feare thy father will be miserable in his vices; and as true a servant and instrument of Gods glory, as (with griefe and teares) I see he is of his owne disgrace and dishonour.

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

FERMIA to MORON.

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

FERMIA.

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

MORON to FERMIA.

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

MORON.

Our poore and desolate Fermia having received and over-read her fathers letter, although she be wonderfull sorrowfull at the perseverance of his cruelty towards her selfe, yet she is infinitely glad and joyfull at his compassion and kindnesse towards her young son, who apparelling the very best that possibly she could, which God knowes is ragged, meane, and poore) she (with a thousand sighs, teares, prayers, blessings, and kisses) gives him to her fathers messenger, and to whose affection and education, as also to Gods gracious protection and preservation, shee religiously recommends him; when (to her exceeding griefe and sensible affliction) she sees it out of her possible power once to per∣swade

her husband Lorenzo either to kisse or see him at his departure, as if it were no part of his affection to blesse it, or of his duty to pray to God to blesse it, much lesse to kisse it at parting. A most unkinde and unnaturall part of a fa∣ther to his sweet and pretty young sonne. Which strange and discourteous in∣gratitude of his, it is not impossible for us to see God as strangely both to re∣quite and revenge.

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

Five yeares our disconsolate Fermia lives in this rich misery, and miserable poverty with her husband, and yet all the whole world cannot perswade her father Moron to take her home to him and maintaine her. She hath no conso∣lation left her but prayers, nor remedy but enforced patience; so shee armes her selfe with the last, and adorneth her selfe with the first. She was conten∣ted to begge for the maintenance of her little sonne Thomaso, but now being eased of that burthen, she will give it over, so she works hard to get her hard and poore living, which yet she cannot get so fast as her husband spends it pro∣digally and lasciviously. Her care and vertues make her the pitie, as his lewd∣nesse and vices make him the scorne and contempt of all their neighbours. So whiles she sits at home close at her needle in poore apparell, he idlely wanders and gads abroad untill he have brought his apparell to ragges, and himselfe almost to nakednesse. And here it is that her wretched husband Lorenzo now first beginnes to hearken to the devill, yea, to prove a very devill him∣selfe towards this his deare and vertuous wife; for he enters into a consulta∣tion with himselfe, that if he were once rid of his wife Fermia, he might mar∣ry some other with a good portion to maintaine him, and so againe set up his trade of baking which now had forsaken him, because he had vitiously and un∣thriftily forsaken it. When his faith being as weake with God, as his infamous life and vices were odious to the world, he assumes a bloudy and damnable re∣solution to murther her, and hereunto the Devill is still at his elbow to pro∣voke and egge him onward, and continually blowes the coales to this his ma∣lice and indignation against her: So neither his minde or heart, his conscience or soule can divert him from this fearfull enterprize, and lamentable and bloudy businesse: The which to performe and perpetrate, he on a great holi∣day (which was the purification of the blessed Virgin Mary) takes her with him into a Vineyard some halfe a mile from the City of Genova, under colour to recreate themselves, and to take the aire, which God knowes she poore soule takes for a great, because an unaccustomed favour and courtesie at his hands, where she most lovingly and willingly goes with him, and there feigning him∣selfe

fast a sleep, and she (innocent harmlesse young woman) then & thereslept soundly, and every way being as devoid of feare as he was of grace, he with a barbarous and diabolicall cruelty, (seeing the coast cleare) softly riseth up and cuts her throat, without giving her the power, time or happinesse to ut∣ter one word before her death: Where leaving her weltring and goring in her bloud, he speedily and politikely enters Genova by a contrary gate, thereby to avoid all suspition of this his bloudy and damnable fact.

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

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

Old Moron traines up this his Grand-child Thomaso very vertuously and in∣dustriously, and at the age of fourteene yeares bids him chuse and embrace any trade he best liketh: When Thomaso exceedingly delighting in limming, graving, and imagery, he becomes a Goldsmith, and in foure or five yeares af∣ter is become a singular, expert, and skilfull workman in his trade: His Grand∣father loves him dearly and tenderly, and intends to make him his heire; but Thomaso (led as I thinke by the immediate hand and providence of God, or out of his owne naturall disposition and inclination) being of a gadding hu∣mour to travell abroad, and see other Cities and Countreyes, and having a particular itching desire to see Rome, (which he understood is one of the very

prime and chiefe places of the world for rich and curious Goldsmiths.) Hee finding a french ship of Marseilles (which by contrary winds stopt in the Road of Savona bound up for Civita Vechia, very secretly packes up his trunke and trinkets and so goes along in that ship: Now as soone as his Grandfather Mo∣ron understands hereof, he very much grieves at this his rash and sodaine de∣parture: So Thomaso arrives at Civita Vechia, goes up to Hostia by sea, and thence on the River Tiber to Rome, where hee becomes a singular ingenious Gold-Smith, and thrives so well, as after a few yeares) he there keepes shop for him∣selfe and constantly builds up his residence.

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

Charles now Cardinall of Medicis going up to Rome to receive his hat of this present Pope Vrban VIII. and Cosmos the great duke of Florence his Brother, (in honour to him and their illustrious bloud and family whereof they are now chiefe (resolving to make his entry and aboade in that Citty of Rome to be stately and magnificent: Hee causeth his house and traine in all points to be composed of double officers and Servants to whom he gives rich and costly li∣veryes, and among others, our Lorenzo is found out, elected and pricked downe to be one of his Bakers for his owne trencher in that Iourney, where in Rome he flaunts it out most gallantly and bravely in rich apparell, and is still most deboshed and prodigall in his expenses before any other of the Cardinals me∣niall Seruants, without ever any more thinking or dreaming of the murthe∣ring of his wife Fermia but rather absolutely beleives, that as he, so God had wholly buryed the remembrance of that bloudy fact of his in perpetuall si∣lence and oblivion: But the devill will deceive his hopes: For now that La∣mentable murther of his, cryes aloud to Heaven and to God for vengeance: Wherein we shall behold and see, that it is the providence and pleasure of God many times to punish one sinne in and by another, yea and sometimes one sin for another as reserving it in the secret will and inscrutable providence, to pu∣nish Capitall offenders, whereof murtherers are infallibly the greatest, both

when, where, and how he pleaseth, for earthly and sinfull eyes, have neither the power to pry into his heavenly decrees, nor our minde and capacity to dive into his divine actions and resolutions, because many times hee ac∣celerateth or delayeth their punishments, as they shall stand most fit and requisite for his Iustice and their crimes.

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

the basenesse of this his robbery, and the foulenesse and bloudinesse of mur∣dering his wife Fermia.

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

The common sort of the Spectators and people of Rome, seemed to taxe the Cardinall of Florence his Master for not saving this his Bakers life: but the wiser and more religious sort, applauded his generosity and piety for not attempting it from the Pope: But all doe admire and wonder at Gods sacred providence and divine Iustice in making the Sonne the cause and instrument of his fathers hanging for murthering of his mother, the which indeed gave cause of speech and matter of wonder to Rome, Genova, Savona, and Florence, yea to all Italy: And thus was the wicked life and deserved death

of this bloudy Villaine Lorenzo, and in this manner did the Iustice of the Lord triumph ore his crime in his punishment. And as for his Sonne Thomaso (the Goldsmith) after this infamous and scandalous death of his Father, hee could no longer content himselfe to live in Rome, but returned to Savona to his Grandfather Moron, who received him with many de∣monstrations of Ioy, and affection, and after his death made him sole heire to all his wealth and Estate.

To God be all the Glory.

FINIS.