The rogue: or The life of Guzman de Alfarache. VVritten in Spanish by Matheo Aleman, seruant to his Catholike Maiestie, and borne in Seuill

CHAPTER VIII.

Guzman de Alfarache, discourses of Deceit. He departs from Rome. Hee de∣sires to see Siena, where certaine theeues meet with his Trunkes, which he had sent away before, and robbe him of all that he had.

THat most famous Philosopher Seneca treating of Deceit, * 1.1 (whereof we haue said somewhat already in the third Chapter of this booke, though all that shall be spoken thereof, will be too little) in one of his Epistles saith; That there is a deceitfull kinde of promise, which is made to the Fowles of the ayre, the Beastes of the field, the Fishes in the waters, and men themselues vpon earth. Deceit comes vnto vs in that submissiue kinde of manner, in solowly, and so humble a fashion, that they that doe not know her, may be condemned of ingratitude and inciuilitie, if they doe not set wide-open the gates of their soule, and runne out to receiue her with open both armes and heart. And for that the arte thereof, which is now a dayes * 1.2 professed, the studies, the watchings, and the diligences, which are vsed therein, are all done with a double minde, and set themselues a-worke with a false intent; by how much the more the thing that is treated of, is in it's nature of that qualitie, that we may therein easily commit many errours, that may turne much to our preiudice, by so much the more secret subtilties,

crastie Counter-minings, cunning Stratagems, strong Artillerie, and war∣like munition, she fortifies her selfe, furnishing her selfe with all necessa∣rie prouision, when she meanes to come into the field. And therefore wee * 1.3 need not so much to wonder, that we are now and then, but that we are not alwayes deceiued. And the case standing so, I hold it a lesse euill, to be decei∣ued by others, then to be the Authors of so sacrilegious a sinne.

Amongst other things which King Don Alonso would (who was surna∣med the Wise) in-discreetly reforme in nature, this was one amongst the rest; that he did blame her, that she had not made a Window in mans brest; that we might see that, which he was plotting in his heart, and whether his man∣ner of proceeding were faire and sincere, or whether his words were feigned, or whether (like Ianus) he had two faces vnder one hood? And the cause of all this, is Necessitie; for if a man finde himselfe laden with obligations, and * 1.4 knowes not how to ease himselfe of them, he goes about to seeke all the helpes and meanes he can, to lighten him-selfe of this load, and to come off as hand∣somely as he can. Necessitie teacheth vs the way to all this, and makes the hardest and most vntrodden paths, to appeare euen, and easie to be hit. It will breake thorow the thickest Briers, and clamber vp the roughest and stee∣pest Rocks. It is in its owne nature (as is before mentioned in our first chap∣ter) full of daringnesse, and of Lying. And for this cause, euen your simplest * 1.5 and most innocent Birds haue their tricks and their subtilties. The Doue flies with a strong and swift wing, seeking food for her tender young ones, whilest another of her owne kinde, from the highest top of some one Oake or other, calsher, and inuites her, that she will intertaine her selfe there a∣while to ease and refresh her selfe, and only to the end, that the cunning Fow∣ler may come the more conueniently to make his shoot, and kill her. The poore harmelesse Nightingale, in a wilde and carelesse fashion, goes thorow the Woods sweetly thrilling forth her loue-sicke complaints, when lo, ano∣ther Bird of the same feather, that is clapt into a Cage, awaking new iealou∣sies, deceiues her with a false call, and brings her into the Net, by meanes whereof, shee becomes a perpetuall prisoner during her life.

Auianus the Philosopher tels vs in one of his Fables, that euen your Asses * 1.6 haue also a minde to deceiue, and he maketh mention of one, that had put on a Lyons skinne, to make all the rest of the beasts of the Forrest afraid; who being sought after by his Master, when he saw him in that kinde of cloathing, not being able therewith to hide his huge long eares, he presently knew this his Asse, and soundly basting his backe and sides with a good cudgell, and stripping him of his counterfeit skinne, he remained as very an Asse as hee was before.

Of all creatures liuing, there is scarce any one, but will, for the effecting * 1.7 of his purpose, vse some deceit against him, who is carelesse thereof, and thinkes not on it; As is expressed in that Impresse, of a Snake that lay asleepe, * 1.8 and a Spider, that came secretly downe for to nip him by the head, and strike his poyson into him, and so worke his death; whose Motto speakes thus: No ay prudençia, que resista al engan̄o. No wisdome can withstand deceit. It is folly for any man to thinke, that a wise man can fore-see, and preuent those deceits, which like so many Traps and Gins, are laid in his way. I was not so circumspect, as I should haue beene, I suspected no trecherie, I receiued good * 1.9 deeds, I heard good words, I saw a man in an honest and fashionable habit, who sought to giue me good counsell, and seemed to fauour me, who had put his life in danger, to saue mine, who visited me (as I thought) without any hope of interest, or particular profit to himselfe, not being able to fasten vp∣on him (so vnwilling did he euer seeme to receiue any courtesie from me) so much as a Cup of cold water. He told me, that he was my Country-man, an Andaluzian, borne in the Citie of Seuill, a principall Gentleman of the

house of the Sayauedras, and one of the noblest, the ancientest, and best qua∣lified * 1.10 of all that Familie; and who, from one of such a qualitie, would haue suspected such deceit? But all were lyes that he told me; for he was of Ua∣lençia, whose name, for some iust causes I conceale; but he spake the Language of Castile excellent well, and had the true tone thereof, that it was not possi∣ble to discerne him to be other. Hee was a handsome well-fauoured young man, well spoken, of a faire behauiour, and a fine Companion in his conuer∣sation; Who would haue once suspected, that he should haue prou'd such a Conny-catching Rascall, and that with such ceremonious and feigned friend∣ship, he should thus deceiue me? But all this cuning carriage of his, was but like a Peacocks dressing, making this so faire a show, that therby he might the better deceiue me, & that he might haue the freer accesse into my Lords house, and into my Chamber, to filch from thence whatsoeuer he could handsomely finger. I had no mistrust of him in the world, but rather held him so honest a man, that I durst haue pawn'd my life for his truth.

He came the other day to visit me, and finding that I had altred my habit, * 1.11 and put my selfe into another kinde of fashion of cloathes, differing from my wonted weare, he startled and stood afterwards as one amazed, not knowing what he might thinke of it, or what might be the cause of this change. At last he askt me the reason of this sudden alteration? I told him, that I had taken his counsell, and that I was resolued to goe to Siena, where I should meet with Pompeyo, a great and intire friend of mine, and from thence to passe for Florence, and so afterwards to visit all Italy.

When he heard me say so, he began to take fresh breath, and seemed to be very glad thereof, much commending this my resolution, and altring with∣all his owne determination: for if his designe vntill then, were only to seeke out some fit occasion to steale thence an odde sute of cloathes, some trifling Iewels, or some odde pieces of Gold, not worth the talking of; hauing now heard this newes of my sudden departure, no lesse would now content him, then my whole store. Hee was very diligent in obseruing how I did make vp my Trunkes, putting his helping hand thereunto. He marked where I had laid a set of Gold Buttons, a Chaine, and other Iewels that I had; and aboue three hundred Spanish Pistolets that I carryed along with me. For my Lord Embassadours house, being I did not now vse to play, but to hoord vp what Igot, yeelded me, in the space of some foure yeeres that I seru'd him, good store of money, what in gifts; what for good lucks sake, Gamesters bestowd vpon me, when they had a good hand; what by Cardes, which I was euer ready to furnish them withall, and what with other Presents, that now and then came vnlook't for vnto me.

When I had lockt, and maled vp my Trunkes, I laid the Keyes vpon my Beds-head, whereon Sayauedra had set his heart; for then did he desire no∣thing more, then to meet with some fit occasion, how he might come to the fingring of them, and finde meanes to falsifie them. And it fell out iust, a 1.12 as hee would haue it. For, as hee and I were talking of my iourney, and telling him that I purposed to send away my Trunkes before, and that I would stay some sixe or seuen dayes in Rome, to take leaue of my friends, by which time they would be at Siena, where I should finde them ready for mee, when I came thither; in that very instant there came one of my Lords fer∣uants vnto mee, and told me, that there were some beneath did inquire for me, and did much desire to speake with me. And because my Chamber was out of order, vnswept, and not fit, by reason it was so foule, to receiue any visit, I went downe to see who they were.

In the Interim, Sayauedra had opportunitie to take the print of all my keyes in certaine pieces of some Waxe Candles ends that lay about the * 1.13 Chamber, if hee had not purposely brought some along with him in his

pocket. Those that sought for mee, were certaine Muleters, or Carriers, which came for my luggage; they came vp, I deliuered it vnto them, and they carried it away.

This businesse dispatcht, my friend and I continued talking together: and because hee did not offer to goe away, I thought hee did it out of courtesie, and the friendship that was betweene vs, and that it was out of his loue to keepe mee company, for that little while that I was to stay. Whereas indeed he onely stayd in Towne, till these counterfetted keyes were fashioned by the Smithes hand, and to make me to breake my sleepes, as by and by I shall tell you.

Hee continued his Visits with mee for three or foure dayes together: and when hee thought hee had made all cock-sure, and that the Bird could not now escape his hand; hee came one euening vnto my Cham∣ber, where hee had not sate long, but that his face changed colour, and be∣ganne to put on that feigned hiew, which hee was willing to giue it, hang∣ing his head in his bosome, making show as if hee had beene taken with a great paine in his head, an extreme Ach in his shoulders, a strange kinde of sowrenesse or bitternesse of his mouth and palate, and aboue all, with a wonderfull heauinesse in his eyes, that hee was scarce able to hold them vp. Hee seemed to bee as it were in a Lethargie, or the like drowzie dis∣ease; complaining, that hee was scarce able to stand vpon his legges, desi∣ring mee that I would giue him leaue to goe home to his lodging. I vvas very sorry, and held it as a great vnhappinesse, that my Chamber was not fitted for to lodge him, and to giue him that friendly intertainment, as my heart desired: Intreating him, (when I saw hee would needs bee gone) that hee would acquaint mee with his lodging, that I might come and vi∣sit him, and send him some physicall curiosities, fit for sicke folkes, to rel∣lish his taste, and comfort his stomake, or that I might serue him in any thing else, wherein I might bee vse-full vnto him. Hee told mee, that hee lodged in the house of a certaine Gentle-woman, that liu'd very secret and priuate; but in case this his sicknesse should not suddenly leaue him, or that he should chance to grow worse and worse, that then hee would aduise mee thereof, that I might come and visit him. And so taking his leaue of mee, * 1.14 that very day hee tooke Post, and rode towards Siena, where hee found his Companions, that went along with the Muleters, that they might see where, and to whom these Trunkes were consigned.

When hee was come to Siena, the people seeing a Gentleman come in that good equipage by Post, tooke him to bee some principall Spantard. Hee alighted at the chiefest Inne that was in all the Citie, where presently his Companions came about him, who had there attended his comming, and giuing it out that they were his seruants, they waited diligently vpon him.

That very day, as soone as hee was arriued, he sent one of them to Po•…•…∣peyo, to giue him to vnderstand, that hee was newly come to Towne. And when my friend had receiued this message, and knew that I was in the Towne, hee was so ouer-ioyed, that going to put on his Cloake, it vvas a good while, ere hee could finde the vvay to vnfold it, and to set it right vpon his shoulders. And hee himselfe afterwards told mee, that hee first threw it one way, and then another; one while with the wrong side out∣ward, another with the cape doubled in, and out of order, and in the end, when he could not hit the right, through his too much ioy, hee carelessely flung it onely vpon one shoulder, and in this vnmannerly kinde of man∣ner, he came from home in all haste, stumbling and tripping in the streets, and some-times ready to fall vpon his nose, through his too much haste, and the longing desire that he had to see me.

Being come to the Inne, where Sayauedra had put on my person, hee tooke it very vnkindely, complaining much, that I should make him such a stranger, and deale so vnfriendly with him, as not to alight at his house, which I might command as freely as mine owne. Which Sayaue∣dra hauing excused as vvell as hee could; they afterwards fell into dis∣course, talking of his iourney, and some other things of Rome, vntill it was night.

At which time Pompeyo, for the present, taking his leaue of him, that hee might leaue him to his rest: Sayauedra gaue (in his presence) the key of one of his Trunkes, to one of his seruants, saying vnto him vvithall; Doe you heare, Sirrha? Goe you along with S•…•…n̄or Pompeyo, and take mee out such a sute, which you shall finde in such a part, for I will put on that to morrow.

They went away together, and his seruant punctually performed that, vvhich his Master had commanded him; vn-cording, in the presence of Pompeyo, the very selfe-same Trunke, where-vnto hee was directed, and taking forth the fore-said sute of cloathes, hee lockes mee the Trunke, and putting vp the key in his pocket, hee comes his way. That night Pom∣peyo sent him a very good supper, a neat collation of Comfits, and sweet meates, and admirable rich Wines: Wherewith when Sayauedra and his fellowes had supt, and had eate and drunke their fill, they got them to bed, where they so soundly slept, that they did not wake till the next day.

That morning Pompeyo came some-what early to visit him; but his seruants intreated him to hold their Master excused; for he had not taken any rest all that night, and was now newly falne asleepe. Hee told them, he was very sorry hee had so ill a night of it; hee would not therefore now trouble him, but would goe his way and come againe anon. But they would by no meanes giue way to that, telling him, that their Master would bee very angry with them, when hee should know that hee had beene there, and that none of them had either so much wit, or manners to tell him of it. Where-vpon, they went presently vp into his Chamber, and signified vnto him, that Sen̄or Pompeyo was come to see him. Hee was very glad of it, and commanding one of them to set ready a Chaire for him, sent down another to intteat him to come vp.

Pompeyo, as soone as hee came in, asked him how hee did, and vvhat was the cause of his last nights indisposition? He told him, that for vvant of vse, hee was so weary with riding Post, that hee found himsslfe some-what distempered, his body being ouer-heated, and that hee had a purpose to be let bloud.

Pompeyo was very earnest with him, that hee would change his lodging, and take his house for his Inne. Sayauedra excused himselfe, telling him, that his seruants were vnruly, and giuen to disorder, and that hee was resol∣ued to put them away, and to take new within these eight or nine dayes, and that then he would promise him to receiue this courtesie at his hands, which he had so kindly offered vnto him: Intreating him in the meane while, that he would doe him the kindnesse, as to send his Trunkes by one of his owne seruants, because hee had no great trust in any of his owne; and fea∣ring, that giuing them the Keyes to fetch such things as hee needed, they might put some tricke vpon him.

Pompeyo liked well of it, and thought that hee did therein very wisely and discreetly, onely hee seemed not to bee so well pleased, that he should treat of taking Physicke in an Inne. But resting contented with the pro∣mise that hee had made him, hee performed what hee desired, and vvas no sooner come to his lodging, but hee laded certaine Porters with his Trunkes, and sending one of his seruants along with them, hee saw them

safely deliuered to Sayauedra. Hee sent him that day a very dainty dinner; and those two friends hauing taken leaue of each other for that night, that they might goe to bed in a good houre, Sayauedra and his Companions conuayed secretly into another house that which they had brought thither, and taking Post, departed presently for Florence; whither, when they were * 1.15 come, they diuided the spoile amongst them.

These copartners with Sayauedra, were their crafts-Masters, subtill fel∣lowes, and stout Rogues; and the principall plotter and contriuer of all these pilfring proiects, was a Bolonian borne, hee was a great Scholler, and a very learned Doctor in this kinde of Art; his name was Alexandro Bentiuoglio, the sonne of a Doctor in that Vniuersitie, who was a rich man, and a great proiector, but of no extraordinarie Discourse, but one that did build Castles in the ayre, and frame in his imagination mighty matters, and things of great intertainment.

This man had two sonnes, in condition quite opposite, and contrarie one to the other. The elder was called Uicencio, an ignorant yong fellow, a silly Asse, the laughter of the people, with whom your Noblemen and Gentlemen made sport; he would bolt you out the famousest fooleries that could bee deuised: One while, hee vvould boast his Nobilitie, another while his Valour; sometimes hee would take vpon him to be a great Mu∣sician, and then falling off from that, hee would bragge of his Horseman∣ship, and his Poetry; and aboue all, hee would professe himselfe to bee the onely Enamorado, and perfectest Loue-proficient in all the Country. So that of him, it might bee said, Dexalas a 1.16 penen. Suffer such to dye in their folly.

The other was this Alexander, a notable Thiefe, nimble finger'd, and of a strong and able body. Who, though hee were well borne, yet was he ill bred, and for want of good education, became an excellent Vagabond, and a notorious Rogue, by keeping of euill company. This mans Compa∣nions, were other such like ruffianly fellowes as himselfe. For like will to like; and all sorts of things haue recourse to their proper center.

Now, because hee was their Ring-leader, and the onely principall man amongst them, and that did all in all, hee made Sayauedra content himselfe * 1.17 with a little, giuing him some, but the worser sort of my cloathes. And thin∣king that he could not remaine there in safety, he got him into the Popes ter∣ritories, where his father was Alcalde. So that he posted to Bologna, carry∣ing away with him the Buttons, the Iewels, and the Pistolets, retiring him∣selfe home to his fathers house. And the rest of his fellowes, that shared with him, fled to Trent, as they afterwards told mee in Bologna, and there they dispersed themselues.

When Pompeyo returned to visit mee, not finding my Statua there, nor any of his fellowes, hee askt mine Host of the house what was become of them? He told him, that the night before, they went away from thence with their Trunkes, but whether they knew not. Hee tooke this for an ill signe; and suspecting what this might chance to proue in the end, vsed great and extraordinarie diligences in the search of them; and hauing notice that they rode Post by the way of Florence, hee sent Hue and Cry after them, with a warrant to apprehend them. But leauing them to this their bu∣sinesse: let mee returne now vnto my selfe, and God grant, that in the meane while, they may haue the good lucke to meet with these Theeues, and recouer my lost goods.

Those few dayes that I afterwards stay'd in Rome, I was iocund and merry, and did not so much as once dreame of any such roguerie intended a∣gainst me. And out of a great desire that I had, to know how my sicke friend did, whether he had recouered his health, or were in worse case, then when

he left me; I staid foure dayes waiting for him, but seeing he came not at me, nor sent vnto me, I continued foure dayes longer in Towne, making in∣quirie after him amongst some of his Country-men, giuing them al the markes and signes, whereby they might know, or at least ghesse at the man, but this was to aske for a 1.18 Entunes in Portugall, or to looke to heare a Magnifi∣cat * 1.19 at Mattens, or to seeke after the man in the Moone, for there was no such kinde of thing to be heard of. All the diligences that I could vse, were to no purpose. I did verily beleeue that he was very sicke, if not dead. I likewise thought with my selfe, that since he had concealed his lodging from me, that the reason thereof was, because he had not a conuenient Chamber to receiue the visits of his friends. I did as much as lay in me to looke him out: but when I saw it was all lost labour, and that I could not possibly heare any newes of him, I left a large recommendation of my loue vnto him in my Lords house, and so taking leaue of my Lord Embassadour, I resolued the next day following to begin my iourney.

My Lord grieued much for my departure, clapt both his hands vpon my * 1.20 shoulders, and taking a chaine of Gold from off his necke, which he did vsu∣ally weare, and putting it on mine, he told me, while he was doing me this honour; Guzman, I bestow this vpon thee, that thou maist, as oft as thou look'st vpon it, haue me in thy remembrance, as one that wishes thee all good. He gaue me also, besides that which I had of mine owne, good store of Crownes, which would serue conueniently to defray my charges for some reasonable while very well, and plentifully, that I needed not to want any thing that was needfull and fitting for me.

When hee had thus furnisht me, hee laid his Command vpon mee, that * 1.21 where-soeuer I should hap to be, I should from time to time giue him an ac∣count of my health, and how things did succeed with me, assuring me, that none should reioyce more in my well-doing, then himselfe; hoping, when I had made an end of my trauell, to see me againe in his house, whither I should alwayes be most welcome.

These his words and kinde vsage of me, fauoured of so much loue, and the aduice and counsell which he gaue me at this my farewell, was so sweet and so sound, and deliuered with that tendernesse, exhorting me to good and ver∣tuous courses, that I could no longer hold from bathing my eyes with teares. I kist his hand, kneeling on the ground; he bestowd his blessing vpon mee, and with it a good high-way Nag. This done, downe I went, got vp, bid my fellowes farewell, and rode my way, making vse of this Nagge in all my tra∣uell, which did neuer faile me.

My Lord and his seruants were ready to melt for the sorrow they had con∣ceiued of my departure. He, because he lou'd me, and saw he must now lose me, and would doubtlesse finde a want of me for such seruices as I could best doe him, and himselfe tooke most content in: And they, because, albeit my actions were ill for my selfe, and turned much to mine owne hurt, yet were they neuer preiudiciall to my fellowes: and when occasion serued (if they had beene put to the triall) I dare sweare they would haue hazarded their liues in defence of my person, rather then they would haue seene mee take any wrong. I was alwayes their good friend, neuer did them ill offices, told no tales of them, neuer nourisht any quarrels amongst them, neuer crost their pretensions with my Lord, or hindred them in those their suites, where∣in they were interessed, but did further them all that I could; so that I was generally well beloued of them all. For by doing them these reall courtesies, and in that free and friendly fashion, I could not but gaine the greater loue thereby, if not profit. For they were reckned of by my Lord but as seruants; but I was vnto him, as if I had beene his sonne: So that I receiued from them the commendation of a good brother, and from my Master, of a faithfull

seruant. Insomuch, that neither my seruise dis-merited with my Lord, nor their friendship failed me at my need.

And if that publike fame which was spred abroad of me, touching that which so vnfortunately befell me in Fabia's house, had not beene diuulged a∣broad by that Aspine-leau'd tongue of Nicoleta, who to as many gossips, and friends as she had in Rome, babbled forth the iest, which was put vpon mee by her Mistresse in the backe Court of her house, I had neuer forsaken that commoditie, which I found in my Lords house, nor his Lordship haue lost so good a seruant, who had so well and faithfully seru'd him. See what mis∣chiefe a wicked womans tongue can worke; who, without doing her selfe * 1.22 any good (playing the tattling huswife) discredited her Masters house, and dis∣ordred ours.

Let no man trust a woman with a secret, no (if it were possible) not the wife of his owne bosome. For vpon euery light offence, that she may be re∣uenged of thee, to plucke out one of thy eyes, she will be content to lose both her owne; making of a little bracke a great hole, and working thee much trouble vpon small occasion.

I went out of Rome like a Prince, well intreated, and better prouided, hauing store of Crownes to spend abroad, till the durt I had taken should be∣come drie, and be rubb'd out. For when such vnluckie chances as these doe light vpon vs, there is no such remedy for them, as Time and Trauell to weare them out. Mingo neuer went abroad with more contentment, then I did now; I was gallant, rich, out of the gun-shot of ill tongues; with a full resolution, neuer to returne the same man I went forth, but like a new Phoenix, receiuing fresh life from these my old ashes.

I was now on my way towards my friend Pompeyo, who lookt for me euery houre, hauing prouided for me a neat lodging, with a handsome bed, and Ta∣ble, and all other furniture fitting thereunto. I came at last to Siena, and in∣quiring after him, they directed me to his house; thither I came: I found him within, he receiued me. I cannot say whether more cheerefully, or more heauily, sometimes shewing a ioyfull, sometimes a troubled countenance; not knowing either what to doe, or what to say, concerning the forepassed ill successe of my Trunkes. Hee was inwardly very sad, as well for the value of that I had lost, as also for the tricke that was put vpon him, and the ill ac∣count that he should make me of those my goods, which I had consigned vn∣to him. Hee said neuer a word to me touching my Trunkes, and would faine haue kept it from me; but it was not possible. For I had purposed with my selfe, to shew all my brauerie the next day, and like the Peacocke, proudly to iot it vp and downe the streets of Siena, and for that purpose, requested him to helpe me to my Trunkes, that I might change my cloathes.

Hereupon he was inforced to open all the whole businesse vnto me, putting me in good hope, that there were such diligences vsed, and that good course already taken, that he did not doubt but that I should haue all againe, and lose nothing of that which they had thus cunningly stolne from me. I was strooke with this blow to the very heart; and was thereupon so sad, as thou thy selfe wouldst haue beene, hadst thou beene in my case, being thus stripped of all that thou hadst in a strange Countrie, farre from thy friends, and forced to seeke new, hauing but little store of money in thy Purse, and no more but * 1.23 one sute of cloathes to thy backe, and two Shirts in thy Port-manteau. God deliuer vs from the hands of theeues and robbers, and from the frauds and deceits of wicked men. It was now too late to looke after them; the harme was already done, but no remedy to be had. Que for çoso lo aueys a 1.24 de be∣uer, y no lo aueys de verter. Whether I would or no, I was constrained to drinke of this cup; there was no auoyding of it.

Well, when I saw how the world went, and that there was no helpe for it;

I pluckt vp my spirits, set a good face on the matter, and drew strength out of weaknesse. For, if I should in publike haue expressed my griefe, and made open shew thereof, I might, in priuate mens opinions, beene held base∣minded, and a man of no metall; and might thereby haue hazarded Pom∣peyos friendship. Nor, had I kept neuer such stirre, neuer such a coyle and a∣doe about it, should I thereby haue repayred my losses, or done my selfe any good by it.

And therefore sound was that counsell; that we should incounter aduersi∣ties * 1.25 with a cheerefull countenance. For thereby our enemies are ouercome, and our friends recouer breath.

Notes

• * 1.1

  Seneca's say∣ing, touching de∣ceit.
• * 1.2

  The nature of de∣ceit.
• * 1.3

  It is better to bee deceiued, then to deceiue.
• * 1.4

  Necessitie makes men bold.
• * 1.5

  Birds and Beasts secke to deceiue.
• * 1.6

  The tale of an Asse, that sought to deceiue.
• * 1.7

  All vse deceit.
• * 1.8

  An Impresse of the Snake, and the Spider.
• * 1.9

  The qualities of a cunning theefe.
• * 1.10

  Sayauedra, a notable theefe.
• * 1.11

  Sayauedra vi∣sits Guzman, only that he might rob him of that he had.
• a 1.12

  The Spanish phrase is, A que quieres boca, That is, Darle todo lo que quiere, y quan∣to pidierè. Couarr▪ Verbe Boca.
• * 1.13

  Sayauedras croft inccozening Guzman.
• * 1.14

  Sayauedra rides Post to Syena, and fine∣ly robs Guz∣man of his T•…•…kes.
• * 1.15

  Sayauedra and his compani∣ons Post away to Florence, where they diuide the Spo•…•…e.
• a 1.16

  Dexalas penen, is some phrase tending to that purpose, as I turne it; or some catch of a Song. I would be glad to bee better informed.
• * 1.17

  Ill company hurtfull.
• a 1.18

  Preguntar por Entunes en Portugal. Where there is no such thing to bee found. Guzma•…•… is sor∣rie that hee can∣not see Sayaue∣dra before his departure.
• * 1.19

  Pr•…•…erb.
• * 1.20

  The Embassa∣dours kinde vsage of Guzman at his departure.
• * 1.21

  How a seruant should behaue himselfe, to bee belou'd of his fellowes.
• * 1.22

  Much mischiefe in an euill wo∣mans tongue.
• * 1.23

  Proucrb.
• a 1.24

  D•…•…rsela 〈◊〉〈◊〉 beuer. 1. dor dis gusto, y dar vn mal trago. Nadie diga, desta agua no beuer•…•…. Couarru Verbe Beuer.
• * 1.25

  Aduersities stout∣ly to be withstood.