THE EIGHTH NOUELL.

Ifmen would haue afore consideration of theyr owne doings, before they do attempt the same, or els premeditate and study the scope and successe thereof, I do verely beleeue that a numbre would not cast themselues headlong into so many gulfs of miseryes and calamityes as they do, specially Noblemen, and Prynces, who oftentymes doe exceede in temerity and rashnesse, by lettynge the Raynes of theyr own Lustes, to farre to raunge at large, wherein they deepely Plunge thymselues to theyr great Preiudice and Dishonour, as teacheth thys goodly hystorie ensuinge, whych declareth that there was a Prynce called Massinissa, the Sonne of Gala kynge of Massæzali, (a people of Numidia): who warfaring with the Carthaginians in Spaine agaynst the Romaynes, hauinge first fought honourably agaynst kynge Syphax in Numidia, it chaunced that Gala hys Father dyed, vppon whose death hys Kyngdome was inuaded and occupied by other, wherefore sustayninge stoutly the surges of aduersity combatinge wyth hys Enemyes, sometymes getting part of hys Kyngdome, and sometymes losinge, and many tymes molestinge both Syphax and the Carthaginians, was in dyuers Conflicts lyke to be taken or slayne. Wyth these hys trauels, impacient of no payne and trouble, he became very Famous and Renoumed, that amonges the people of Affrica, he acquired the name and title of a valiant and puissant Souldier, and of a pollitique and prouident Captain: afterwards he was generally welbeloued of the Souldiers, bicause not like the king’s sonne or a prince, but as a priuate souldier and companion, his conuersation and vsuall trade of life was amongs them, calling euery man by his propre name, cherishing and esteeming them according to their desert, obseruing neuerthelesse a certaine comelinesse of a Superiour. This Massinissa by meanes of one Syllanus being in Spayne, priuely entred acquaintance and familiarity with that Scipio which afterwardes was surnamed Affricanus, and who inthose dayes with the authoritie of Proconsul in that prouince, victoriously subdued the Carthaginians: the same Massinissa entred league with the Romanes and inuiolably so long as he liued obserued amity with the Romane people, and lefte the same to his children and posteritie as an inheritance. When the Romanes began warres in Affrica, spedily with that power he was able to make, he repaired to his old friend Scipio: within a whyle after Syphax beyng ouerthrowen in battell and taken, Massinissa and Lælius were sent to surprise the chief city of that kingdom, which sometimes were king Syphax owne, called Cirta. In that city remayned Sophonisba, the wyfe of Syphax and daughter to Hasdrubal of Giscon, who had alyenated hir husband from the Romanes, being in league with them, and by hir persuasions went to aide and defend the Carthaginians. Sophonisba perceiuing that the ennimies were entred the City of Cirta: and that Massinissa was going towardes the palace, determined to meete him, to proue his gentlenesse and curtesie, whereupon in the middes of his Souldiers thronge, whych were already entred the Palace, she stoutly thrust, and bouldlye looked round aboute, to proue if she could espye by some signes and tokens the personage of Massinissa. She amongs that prease perceeiued one for whose apparel, armure and reuerence don vnto him, semed vnto hir that without doubt the same was the king: and therefore incontinently kneeled downe before him, and pitiously began to speake in this manner: “For so mutch (O puissante prince) as felicity and good fortune, but specially the fauour of the Gods immortall haue permitted, that thou shouldest recouer thine auncient kingdome descended vnto the by righte and lawfull inheritaunce, and therewithall hast taken and vanquished thine ennimy, and now hast me at thy wyll and pleasure to saue or spyll, I poore wretched myserable woman brought into bondage from Queenelyke state, whilom leading a delycate life in Princely Courte, accompanyed with a royall traine of beautifull dames, and nowe at thy mercifull disposition, doe humbly appeale to thy mercye and goodnesse, whose Princely maiesty and comfortable aspect, chereth vp my woefull heart to loke for grace, and therefore am bold thus to presume with most humble voice to implore and crie out, beseechyng thee to reach mehither thy victorious handes to kisse and salute.” This Lady was a passing fayre gentlewoman, of flourishing age and comely behauiour, none comparable vnto her within the whole region of Affrica: and so much the more as hyr pleasant grace by amiable gesture of complaint did increase, so much the heart of Massinissa was delyted, who being lusty and of youthly age (according to the nature of the Numides,) was easily intrapped and tangled in the nettes of Loue: whose glutting eyes were neuer ful, nor fiery hart was satisfied in beholding and wondring at hir most excellent beauty: not foreseeing therefore, or taking heede of the daungerous effect of beautie’s snares, his heart being so fiercely kindled with the swingyng flames of loue, who causing hir to rise, exorted hir to prosecute hir supplication: then she began to procede as foloweth: “If it may be lawfull for me thy prysoner and bondwoman (O my soueraign lord) to make request, I humbly do beseech thee, by thy royal maiesty, wherein no long time past my husband and I were magnificently placed in so kynglike guise as thou art now, and by that Numidicall name, common vnto thee and my husbande Syphax, and by the sauinge Gods and Patrons of this City, who with better fortune and more ioyfull successe do receyue thee into the same, that expelled Syphax out from thence: it may please thy sacred state, to haue pity on me. I require no hard and difficult thinge at thy handes, vse thine imperiall gouernement ouer me, sutch as law of armes and reason of Warre require: cause me if thou wilt, to pyne in cruel pryson, or do me to sutch death with torments, as thou list to vse, the sharp, fierce and cruel death that any wight can suffre, or Perillus Bull shall not be dreadfull vnto me, but more deare and acceptable than wonted life in pleasures led: for no death shal bee refused of mee, rather than to be rendred into the proud handes of the most cruell Romanes. Rather had I tast the trust of a natiue Numidie, borne with me in Affrike soyle, than the faith of straungers kinde: I know full well that thou dost knowe what curtesy a Carthaginian and daughter of Hasdrubal, shal surely looke for at the Romanes hands: whose mind is fearfull of nothing more than of theyr pride and glory intollerable: if thou (my lord) haddest sisters of thine own, or daughters of thy royal bloud brought forththink that they may chaunce (if fortune frown) to slide into the Pit of aduerse lucke, so well as I am nowe: of that forme Fortune’s wheele is made, whych we dayly see to be vnstable, turninge and dyuers, that now peace and now warre it promiseth, now euill it threatneth, now mirth, now sorrow it bringeth, now aduauncinge aloft, now tumbling downe the clymbers up. Let Syphax bee cleare and liuely Example to thee, whych coulde neuer finde any stedfast stay vnder the Moone’s Globe. He was the mightiest and the richest kinge that raigned in Affrica, and now is the most miserable and vnlucky wight that liueth on Land. The Gods graunt that I bee no Prophet or Diuiner of future euill, whose omnipotency I deuoutly beseech to suffer thee and thy posterity in Numidie land and most happyly to raygne. Vouchsafe then to deliuer me from the Romanes thraldome, which if thou bee not able safely to bryng to passe, cause death (the ease of al woe) to be inflicted vpon me.” In speaking those words, she tooke the kynge’s right hande and many times sweetly kissed the same. And then her teares turned to pleasant cheare, in sutch wise as not onely the mynde of the armed and victorious Prynce was mooued to mercy, but straungely wrapped in the amorous Nets of the Lady, whereby the victour was subdued by the vanquyshed, and the Lord surprysed of his Captiue, whom with tremblinge voyce thus he aunswered: “Make an end, O Sophonisba, of thy large complaynt, abandon thy conceyued feare, for I wil not onely ridde the from the Romayne handes, but also take thee to my lawfull wyfe (if thou therewyth shalt be content) whereby thou shalte not leade a prisoner’s life, but passe thy youthfull dayes and hoarye age (if gods doe graunt thy life so long) as Quene vnto a king, and wife vnto a Romane frend.” When he had sayd so with weeping teares, he kissed and imbraced hir. She by the countenaunce, Sygnes, Gestes, and interrupted Woordes, comprehendyng the Minde of the Numide king to be kindled with feruent loue: the more to inflame the same beemoned her self with such heauinesse, as the beastly heartes of the Hircane Tygres would haue bene made gentle and dispoiled of al fiercenesse, yf they had beheld her: and againe she fel downe at hys feete, kissinge the armed Sabbatons vppon the same, and bedewinge them with hir warme teares. After manysobbes and infinite sighes, comforted by him, she sayd: “Othe theglorie and honor of all the kynges that euer were, bee or shall bee hereafter: O the safest aide of Carthage mine vnhappy countrey without desert, and now the present and most terrible astonishment: if my hard fortune and distresse after so great ruine might haue bene relieued, what greater fauour, what thing in all my life, coulde chaunce more fortunate, vnto me, than to bee called wife of thee? O, I blessed aboue all other women to haue a man so noble and famous to husband. O mine aduenturous and most happy ruine. O my moste fortunate misery, that such a glorious and incomparable mariage was prepared for me: but bicause the Gods be so contrary vnto me, and the due ende of my life approcheth (my deare soueraygne lorde) to kindle againe in me, my hope half dead, or rather consumed and spent, bicause I see myself wrapped in a state, that in vayne against the pleasures of the Gods, I go about to molest thee: a greate gift (and to say truthe) a right great good turne, I make accompte to haue receiued of thee, if mine owne death I should procure by thee, that dyinge by thy means or with thy handes, (whych were more acceptable,) I shoulde escape the feare of the Romaynes thral and subiection, and this soule deliuered of the same, should streight passe into the Elysian fieldes. The final scope of this my humble plaint, is to ryd me from the hands of the Romanes, whose thraldom to suffer I had rather die. The other benefit which thou dost frankly offer to me pore wretch, I dare not desire, mutch lesse require the same, bicause the present state of my mishap dareth not presume so high. But for this thy pity and compassion ioined with louing regard and mind toward me, mightye loue with al the other Gods reward and blesse thy gotten kingdom in long raign, enlarging the same with more ample bounds to thine eternal renoum and praise: and I do not only render humble thanks for this thy kynd and louing enterteinment, but also yeld my self thine own, so long as lyfe gouerneth this caitif corps of mine.” These words wer pronounced with such effect, as Massinissa was not able for pity to hold his teares, which watred so his comely form, as the dew therof soaked into his tender heart, and not able a long time to speake, at last thus hee sayd: “Gyue ouer (O my quene)these cares and thoughts, dry vp thy cries and plaints, make an end of all these dolorous sutes, and reioyce, that frowarde Fortune hath changed hir mind: the Gods no doubt with better successe, wil perfourm the rest of thy liuing dais. Thou shalt henceforth remain my Quene and wife, for pledg whereof the sacred Godheads I cal to witnesse. But if perchaunce (which the thundring mighty God aboue forbid) that I shalbe forced to render thee the Romanes prisoner, be well assured, that on liue they shall not possesse the.” For credit and accomplishment of this promisse, and in signe of his assured faith, he reached his right hand to Sophonisba, and led hir into the inner lodging of the king’s Palace, wher afterward Massinissa with himself considering how he might perform hys promised faith, vexed and troubled with a thousand cogitations, seing in a maner his manifest ouerthrow and ruine at hand, prouoked with mad and temerarious loue, the very same day in open presence he toke hir to wife, solemnizing that mariage, which afterwardes bred vnto hym great vexation and trouble, meanynge by the same to haue dyscharged Sophonisba from the Romanes rule and order. But when Lælius was come and hearde tell thereof, hee fretted and chafed, and wyth threatnynge Wordes commaunded Massinissa to send his new maried wife (as the booty and pray of the Romanes) together wyth Syphax, to their captaine Scipio. Notwithstanding, vanquished with the supplications and teares of Massinissa, referring the matter wholy to the iudgement of Scipio, he dispatched Syphax with the other prisoners and bootie, to the Romane campe, and he himself remained with Massinissa for the recouerie of other places of the kingdome, minding not to returne before the whole prouince were brought vnder the Romane subiection. In the meane time Lælius gaue intelligence vnto Scipio, of the successe of Massinissa his mariage: who knowing the same to be so hastilye celebrated, was maruellouslye offended and troubled in Minde, mutche maruellynge that Massinissa woulde make sutch posthast before the comming of Lælius. Yea and vpon the very first day of his entrie into Cirta, that hee would consummate that vnaduised wedding: and the greater was Scipio his displeasure towards Massinissa, for that the loue which he had conceiued of that woman, was vnsemely and dishonest,wondering not a little that he could not find out some Lady within the region of Spain of semblable beauty and comlinesse, to please and content his honest and commendable intent: wherfore he iudged Massinissa his fact to be done out of time, to the preiudice and great decay of his honor and estimation. Howbeit like a wise and prudent personage he dissembled his conceiued gryefe, expecting occasion for remedye of the same. Now the time was come that Lælius and Massinissa were sent for to the Campe. But to declare the teares and lamentable talke, the great mone and sighes vttered betwene this new maried couple, time would want, and tediousnesse would ouercome the Reader. He had scarce lyen with his beloued two or thre Nyghts, but Lælius (to their great grief and sorow) claymed hir to bee hys prysoner. Wherfore verye sorowfull and pensiue hee departed, and retourned to the Campe. Scipio in honourable wyse accepted him, and openly before his Captaines and men of warre, gaue thanks to Lælius and him, for theyr prowesse and notable exploites. Afterwards sending for him vnto his Tent, he said vnto him: “I do suppose (my dere frend Massinissa) that the vertue and beneuolence which you saw in me did first of all prouoke you, to transfrete the straits, to visite me in Spaine, wherein the good will of my valiaunt frend Syllanus did not a little auaile, to sollicite and procure amity betwene vs. And the same afterwards inducing your constant minde, to retire into Affrica, committed both your selfe and all your goods into my hands and keeping. But I well pondering the quality of that vertue whych moued you thereunto, you beinge of Affrica, and I of Europa, you a Numidian borne, and I a Latine and Romane, of diuers customes and language different, thought that the temperance and abstinence from venerial pleasures which you haue sene to bee in me, and experience therof wel tried and proued, (for the which I render vnto the immortal Gods most humble thankes) would or ought to haue moued you to follow mine example, being vertues which aboue all other I doe most esteme and cherish. For he that well marketh the rare giftes and excellent benefits wherwith dame Nature hath arraied you, would thinke that ther should be no lacke of diligence and trauell to subdue and ouercome the carnall appetytes of temporal beauty:which had it bene applied to the rare giftes of nature planted in you, had made you a personage to the posterity very famous and renoumed. Consider wel my present time of youth, full of courage and youthly lust, which contrary to that naturall race I stay and prohibite. No delicate beauty, no voluptuous delectation, no feminine flattery, can intice my youth and state to the perils and daungers whereunto that heedelesse age is most prone and subiect. By which prohibition of amorous passions, temperatly raigned and gouerned, the tamer and subduer of those passions, closing his breast from lasciuious imaginations, and stopping his eares from the Syrenes, and Marmaydes, of that sexe and kinde, getteth greater glorye and fame, than wee haue gotten by our victory agaynst Syphax. Hanniball the greatest ennimy that euer we Romanes felt, the stoutest gentleman and captain without peere, through the delites and imbracements of women effeminated, is no more the manlike and notable emperor that hee was wont to be. The great exploits and enterprises which valyantly you haue done in Numidia, when I was farre from you, your care, readinesse, animosity, your strength and valor, your expedition and bold attemptes, with all the reste of your noble vertues worthy of immortal praise, I might and could perticulerly recite, but to commend and extol them my heart and minde shall neuer be satisfied, by renouacion wherof I should rather giue occasion of blushing, than my selfe could be contented to let them sleepe in silence. Syphax as you know is taken prisoner by the valyance of our men of warre, by reason whereof, him selfe, his wife, his kingdome, hys campe, landes, cities, and inhabitants, and briefly all that which was king Syphax, is the pray and spoile to the Romane people, and the king and his wife, albeit she was no Citizen of Carthage, and hir father, although no captayn of our ennimies, yet we muste send them to Rome, there to leaue them at the pleasure and disposition of the Romane Senate and people. Doe you not know that Sophonisba with her toyes and flatteries did alienat and withdraw king Syphax from our amitie and friendship, and made hym to enter force of armes against vs? Be you ignoraunt that she, full of rancor and malice aganyst the Romane people, endeuoured to set al Affrica against vs, and now by herfayre inticementes hath gayned and wonne you, not I say our ennemy, but an ennymy so farre as shee can, with her cruell Inchauntments? What Damage and hurt haue lyghted vppon dyuers Monarches and Prynces through sugred Lippes and Venemous Woordes, I wyll not spend tyme to recite. With that prouocations and coniured charmes shee hath already bewitched your good nature, I wyl not now imagine, but referre the same to the deepe consideration of youre wisdome. Wherefore Massinissa, as you haue bene a Conquerer ouer great nations and prouinces, be now a conquerer of your own mind and appetites, the victorie whereof deserueth greater prayse than the conquest of the whole world. Take heede I say, that you blot not your good qualities and conditions, with the spots of dishonor and pusillanimitye. Obscure not that fame which hitherto is aduaunced aboue the Regyon of the glytterynge Starres. Let not thys vyce of Femynine Flatterye spoyle the desertes of Noble Chyualrye, and vtterly deface those merytes with greater ignomynie than the cause of that offence is worthye of disprayse.” Massinissa hearynge these egree and sharpe rebukes, not onely blushed for Shame, but bytterly Weepinge, sayde: that hys poore prisoner and wyfe was at the commaundement of Scipio. Notwithstanding, so instantly as Teares coulde suffer hym to speak, he besoughte hym, that if it were possible, hee woulde gyue him leaue to obserue hys faythe foolishlye assured, bicause hee had made an othe to Sophonisba that with life shee shoulde not bee delyuered to the Handes of the Romanes. And after other talke betweene them, Massinissa retired to hys pauylyon, where alone wyth manifolde sighes, and most bytter teares and plaintes, vttered wyth sutch houlinges and outcryes, as they were hearde by those whych stoode neare hande, hee rested al the daye bewailynge hys presente state: the most part of the nyghte also hee spent with lyke heauynesse, and debating in hys mind vpon diuers thoughts and deuises, more confused and amazed than before, hee could by no meanes take rest: somtimes he thought to flee and passe the straights commonly called the Pillers of Hercules, from thence to saile to the Fortunate Islandes with his wife: then agayne hee thoughte with hir to escape to Carthage, and in ayde of that City to serue agaynst the Romanes, somtimes hee proposedby sworde, poyson, halter, or som such meanes to end his life and finish his dolorous days. Many times hee was at pointe by prepared knife and sworde to pierce his heart, and yet stayed the same, not for feare of death, but for preseruation of his fame and honor. Thus thys wretched and miserable louer burned and consumed in loue: tossing and tumbling him selfe vppon his bedde, not able to find comfort to ease his payne, thus began to say: “O Sophonisba, my deare beloued wyfe, O the life and comfort of my life, O the deynty repast of my ioy and quiet, what shall become of vs? Alas and out alas I crye, that I shall see no more thine incomparable beauty, thy surpassyng comely face, those golden lockes, those glistering eyes which a thousand times haue darkned and obscured the rayes and beames of the Sunne it self: Alas I say, that I can no longer be suffred to heare the pleasaunt harmonye of thy voice whose sweetenesse is able to force Iupiter himselfe to mitigate his rage when with lightning Thunderbolts and stormie claps in his greatest furie he meaneth to plague the earth. Ah that it is not lawfull any more for me to throw these vnhappy armes about thy tender neck, whose whitenesse of face entermingled with semely rudds, excelleth the Morning Roses, which by sweete nightly dewes doe sproute and budde. The Gods graunt that I doe not long remaine on liue without thy sweete haunt and company, which can no longer draw forth this breathing ghoste of myne, than can a Bodye lyue wythoute like Breathe in it. Graunt (O Myghty Iupiter) that one graue may close vs twaine to liue among the ghostes and shadowes that be already past this world for like right louing fitts, if intent of life be ment to mee without thy fellowship and delectable presence. And who (O good God) shal be more blisful amongs the Elysian fields, wandryng amids the spirites and ghostes of departed soules, than I, if there we two may iette and stalke amonge the shadowed friths and forests huge, besette with Mirtle trees, odoriferous and sweete? that there we may at large recount and sing the sweete and sower pangs of those our passed loues without anye stay or let at all: that there I say we may remembre things already done, reioycing for delights and sighing for the paines. There shall no harde hearted Scipio bee found, there shal no marble minded captain rest, which haue not hadregard of Loue’s toyes, ne yet haue pitied bitter payns, by hauing no experience what is the force of loue. He then with ouer cruell wordes shall not goe aboute to persuade me to forsake thee, or to deliuer thee into the Romanes handes, to incurre miserable and most cruell bondage: he shal there neuer checke me for the feruent loue I beare thee: we shal there abide without suspition of him or any other: they can not seperate vs, they be not able to deuide our sweetest companye. I would the Gods aboue had graunted me the benefite, that hee had neuer arriued into Affrica, but had still remayned in Sicilia, in Italy or Spayne. But what stand I vpon these termes, O I fole and beast? what meanes my drousie head to dreame sutch fansies? if he hadde not passed ouer into Affrica, and made war against kinge Syphax, how should I haue euer seene my faire Sophonisba, whose beauty farre surmounteth eche other wight, whose comelines is withoute peere, whose grace inspeakable, whose maners rare and incomparable, and whose other qualities generally disparcled throughoute dame Nature’s mould by speach of man can not bee described? If Scipio had not transfraited the seas to arriue in Affrike soile, how should I, (O onely hope and last refuge of my desires) haue knowen thee, neither should I haue bene thy feere, ne yet my wife thou shouldest haue ben, but great had ben thy gaine and losse not much, neuer shouldest thou haue felt the present painfull state, wherein thou art, thy life (whereof most worthy no doubt thou art) shoulde not haue lien in ballance poize, or rested in doubtfull plight, which now in choyse of enimies thrall thou maist prolong, or else in Romanes handes a praye or spoile by captiue state. But I beseech the gods to preuent the choyce to be a Romane prysoner. And who can thinke that Scipio euer ment to graunt me the life of one, and goeth about to spoile me of the same? Did not he giue me the pardon of one, when he sent me to besiege the City of Cirta, where I found fayre Sophonisba which is my Life? A straunge kinde of pardon, by giuing me a pardon to dispossesse me of the same. Who euer hard tel of such a pardon? So much as if he said to me, thus: ‘Massinissa, go take the paine to cause the city yeld, and ransack it by force, and I wil pardon thee thy lyfe. And not wyth the onely benefit, but with Cræsus goods I wil inrich thee, and make thee owner ofthe happy soyle of Arrabia, and when I haue so done and rased the walles by myne indeuor, wherein myne onely lyfe and ioy did rest, at my retourne for guerdone of that Noble fact, in steede of lyfe hee choppeth of my head, and for fayre promyse of golden mountes, hee strips me naked, and makes mee a Romane slaue: accordynge to whych case and state he deales wyth me. For what auailes my Lyfe, if in gryefe and sorrowes gulffe I drown the pleasures of the same? Doth not he berieue my life and bredes my death by diuiding me from my fayre Sophonisba? Ah Caitife wretch, what lucke haue I, that neither storme nor whirle Wynde could sende him home to Italian shore, or set him packing to Sicile land? what ment cruell Scipio, when so sone as Syphax was taken, he did not streight way dispatch him to Rome, to present the glorious sight of the Numidian king to the Romane people? If Scipio had not beene here, thou Sophonisba frankly hadst bene mine: for at Lælias hands I could haue found some grace: but surely if Scipio did once see Sophonisba, and reclined his eyes to viewe hir perelesse beauty, I doubt not but he would be moued to haue compassion vpon hir and me, and would iudge hir worthy not onelye to be queene of Numidia but of all the prouince besides. But what, do I make this good accompt? The common prouerbe sayth, that he which counteth before his hoste, must recken twice: and so perhaps may be my lot: for what know I if Scipio did wel view hir, whether himselfe would be inamored of hir or not, and so utterly depriue me of that Iewel? He is a man no doubt as others be, and it is impossible me think, but that the hardnesse of his heart must bow to the view of such a noble beauty. But (beast as I am) what mean these wordes? what follies doe I vaunt by singing to the deafe, and teachyng of the blynd? O wretch, wretch, nay more than myserable Wretch. Marke the words of Scipio, he demaundeth Sophonisba, as a thing belonging vnto him, for which cause he sayeth that she is the pray and part of the Romane spoile: but what shall I do? shal I gyue hir vnto hym? He wyll haue hir, hee constraynes me, he exhortes mee, hee prayes mee, but I know full well wherevnto those intreaties tend, and vnder the Grasse what lurking Serpent lieth. Shal I then put into his hands mine own Sophonisba? But before I sodoe, the armipotent God aboue, with his flashing fires and flamming brands shall thunder me downe into the depthe of Hell. The gapyng ground receiue my corps, before I yeld to that request, the trampling steedes of sauage kinde do teare my members in thousand gobbets, the desert beastes consume my flesh, the rauening gripes and carrain kites pick out my tongue and eyes, before I glutte his rauenous mind with that demaund to break the fayth which by holy othe I haue promised to performe. O curssed caitif, but what shall I doe then? it behoueth to obey, and in despite of my teeth to do that which the Romane Emperour commaundeth. Alas, by thinking vpon that straight and needefull lot, I die a thousand deaths: wherfore of euils to chose the least of twaine, and to preserve my plighted faith, O swete Sophonisba, thou must die, and by meanes of thy beloued feere, shalt voyd the yoke of Romanes thral, for so it pleaseth vnmindeful Ioua to appoynt. The wretched Heauens by cruel fate haue throwen their lot, that I of mine owne mischiefe shal be the minister. And so (O life most deere) I shall performe the effecte to kepe the fayth whych last of all before thy face I did confirme.” By this speach and maner of talke, the good Prince bewayled his case, excogitating by what meanes he myght doe to death the thing which aboue al the world he loued best: at length it came vnto his minde to sende hir a draught of poysoned drink, which deuise he had no sooner founde, but he was driuen into a new kinde of fury, and kindled with disdayne, his braynes were on fire with extreme madnesse, and as though Sophonisba had bene before him, hee talked and raued in Bedlemwyfe: somtimes with taunts he checked hir to hir teeth, sometimes lamented hir vnfortunate state, sometymes with pawes displayed, he seemed to rampe into hir face, and then agayne into amorous toies his passions droue him forth. When I doe thinke what kinde of a man Massinissa was, who in deede was a crowned and most noble king, and who with sutch prudence gouerned his new conquered and recouered kingdoms, and so constantly perseuered in amity of the Romane people, I pray to God to graunt my frendes and myselfe also, not to enter into so intricat and louesome Labyrinth, wherein this Noble Prince was tangled, and wyth more temperaunce to gouerneour beloued things. Butretourning gayne to this afflicted gentleman Massinissa. He sent vnto his beloued wyfe and Queene a pot of poyson to rid hir of hir life: but yet staying his messenger, he cried out these words:“God forbid that I should commit this infamous murder vpon hir whom I most deerely loue, I would rather conuey hir into the extreme partes of the vnknowen sandy Coaste of Libia, where the countrey is full of venomous beasts and crawling poysoned Serpents, in which we shalbe safe and sure from the danger of cruell and inexorable Scipio, by which meanes he shall neuer see the rare and diuine beauty, which the serpents once beholding, will mitigate and asswage their bitter poyson, and for whose sake they will not annoy ne yet hurt me hir louing husband and companion: wherefore let vs make hast to flee thither, to auoide the bondage and death prepared for vs: and if so be we be not able to cary with vs gold and siluer, yet shal we not want there some reliefe to maintayn our liues: for better it is to feede on bread and water, then to liue in perpetual thraldome. And liuing with thee (sweete wyfe) what pouerty and beggery am not I able to sustayne? The stormes of exile and penury, I haue already suffred: for beinge driuen out of my kingdome many times, I haue repayred to obscure dens and caues, where I haue hidden my selfe, and liued in the Wildernesse among the sauage Beasts. But what meane I thus to say of my selfe, whom no misaduenture can affray or myslyke? But thou deare wyfe whych hast ben trayned vp and nourished amongs the delicacies and bankets of the Court, accompanied wyth traynes of many fayre and noble ladies, lining lyke a Queene in al kinde of pleasures and delights: what shall I doe wyth thee? I know thy heart will not suffer thee to follow me, and yet if the same would serue thee, from whence shall I procure present shippinge? Vpon the Sea the Roman fleete beares swinge, vpon the land Scipio wyth hys Army occupieth euery Coast, and is generall Lord of the field. What then shall I most miserable and vnfortunate caitife do? for whilest I am thus makinge my bitter playnts, the night is past away, day light approcheth, and the bright shining mornyng begynneth to cleare the earth. And behold yonder commeth the General’s messanger for Sophonisba, whom I must eyther deliuer into his hands orelse commit her to present slaughter, beinge assured that she had rather make choise to dy, than fall into the Laps of the cruell Romans.” Whereupon he determined to send hir the poyson, and for very sorrow fell downe vpon the ground like a man halfe deade. Afterwards being come agayne to him selfe, he cursed the Earth, the Ayre, the Fyre, Heauen, Hell, and all the Gods of the same, and exclaming in lamentable wyse he called vnto him one of his most faithfull seruants, who according to the custome of those dayes, alwaies kept poyson in store, and sayde vnto him: “Receyue thys Cuppe of Golde, and deliuer the same with the poyson, to Queene Sophonisba now abiding within the City of Cirta, and tel hir that I with greatest good will would fayne haue kept the mariage knot, and the firste fayth whych I plighted vnto hir, but the Lorde of the Fielde, in whose power I am, hath vtterly forbidden the same. I haue assayed all possible meanes to preserue hir my Wyfe and Queene at liberty, but he which commaundeth me, hath pronounced such hard and cruell sentence, as I am forced to offend my self, and to be the minister of mine own mischief. Thys poyson I send hir with so dolefull Message, as my poore hearte (God knoweth) doth only fele the smart, being the most sorowfull present that euer was offred to any fayre Lady. This is the way alone to saue hir from the Romanes handes. Pray hir to consider the worthines of hir father, the dygnity of hir countrey, and the royal maiesty of theII.kings hir husbands, and to do as hir mynd and wil shall fansie best. Get the hence with all possible spede, and lose no tyme to do thys Message: for thou shalt cary the bane and present death of the fairest Ladye that euer Nature framed wythin hir fayrest mould.” The seruaunt with this commaundment did departe, and Massinissa lyke a Chylde beaten with the rodde, wept and cried. The messenger being come to the Queene, and giuing hir the cup with the poyson, declared his cruell ambassage. The Queene took the poysoned Cuppe, and sayd vnto the messenger: “Geeue the king thy mayster myne humble thankes, and say vnto hym, that I receyue and Drynke thys Poyson wyth a wyll so good, as if hee had commaunded me to enter in Tryumph wyth Laurel Garlande ouer myne ennymyes: for a better gifte a husbande can not gyue to wyfe,than accomplyshment of assured fayth the funeralles whereof shall bee done wyth present obsequie.” And sayinge nothynge else vnto the messenger, shee tooke the Cuppe, and mynglynge well together the poyson wythin, shee vnfearfully quafft it vp: and when she had dronke it shee delyuered the messenger hys Cuppe agayne, and layed hir selfe vpon hir bed, commaunding hir gentlewomen in comely wyse to couer hir wyth Clothes, and withoute lamentation or Sygne of feminine minde, shee stoutly waighted for approching death. The Gentlewomen which wayted vpon hir, bewayled the rufull state of their Maystresse, whose plaints and scriches were heard throughout the palace, whereof the brute and rumor was great. But the good Queene vanquished with the strong force of the poyson, continued not long before she died. The messanger returned these heauie newes vnto Massinissa, who so sorowfully complained the losse of his beloued wife, in such wise as many tymes hee was lyke to kyll hymselfe, that hys Soule might haue accompanied the ghost of hir, whych was beloued of hym aboue all the dearest things of the Worlde. The valyant and wyse capitayne Scipio vnderstanding the newes hereof, to the intente Massinissa shoulde not commit any cruelty agaynst hymselfe, or perpetrate other vncomely deede, called hym beefore him, and comforted hym wyth the sweetest wordes he could deuise, and frendly reproued him. The next day in the presence of al the army hee highly commended him, and rewarded him wyth the kyngdome of Numidia, geuing hym many rych Iewels and treasures, and brought hym in great Estimation amonges the Romaynes: whych the Senate and people of Rome very well approued and confirmed with most ample Priuileges, attributinge vnto hym the title of kynge of Numidia, and freende of the Romaynes. Sutch was the ende of the vnhappy loue of kynge Massinissa, and of the fayre and lucklesse Queene Sophonisba.THE EIGHTH NOUELL.The cruelty of a Kynge of Macedone who forced a gentlewoman called Theoxena, to persuade hir children to kill and poison themselves: after which fact, she and hir husband Poris ended their lyfe by drowninge.Bvtnow we haue beegon to treate of the stoutnesse of certayne noble Queenes, I wyll not let also to recite the Hystory of a lyke vnfearfull dame of Thessalian land, called Theoxena, of right noble Race, the Daughter of Herodicus Prynce of that Countrey in the tyme that Phillip the Sonne of Demetrius was kynge of Macedone, tolde also by Titus Liuius, as two of the former be. Thys Lady Theoxena, first was a notable example of piety and vertue and afterwardes of rigorous cruelty: for the sayd kyng Philip, hauinge through his wickednesse first murdred Herodicus, and by succession of time cruelly done to death also the husbands of Theoxena and of Archo hir naturall sister, vnto eyther of them being Wydowes remayninge a Sonne: afterwardes Archo being maryed agayne to one of the principall of their Countrey named Poris, of him she had many children. But when she was dead, the sayd Lady Theoxena hir sister, who was of heart more constant and stout than the other, still refused the second mariage, although sued vnto by many great Lordes and Princes: at length pityinge her nephewes state, for fere they should fall into the handes of some cruell Stepdame, or that theyr father would not bryng them vp with sutch diligence, as tyll that tyme they were, was contented to bee espoused agayne to Poris, (no lawe that time knowen to defend the same) to the intente she might trayne vp hir sister’s children as her owne. That done she began (as if they were hir owne) to intreate and vse them louingly, with great care and industrie: wherby it manifestly appeared that she was not maried againe to Poris for hir owne commodity and pleasure, but rather for the wealth and gouernement of those hir sister’s children. Afterwards Philip king of Macedone, an vnquiet Prince, determininge to make newe warres vpon the Romanes (then throughoutthe worlde famous and renouned for theyr good fortune) exiled not onely the chiefe and noble men, but almost al the auncient inhabitants of the Cities along the sea coaste of Thessalia, and theyr whole and entier families into Pæonia afterwards called Emathia, a Countrey farre distant from the sea, giuing their voided Cities for the Thracians to inhabite, as most propre and faithful for the Romains warres, which he intended to make: and hearinge also the cursses and maledictions pronounced against him by the banished people, and vniuersally by al other, thought he was in no good surety, if he caused not likewyse all the sonnes of them, whom a litle before he had slayne, to be put to Death. Wherefore he commaunded them to be taken and holden vnder good gard in prison, not to do them al to be slain at once, but at times now one and then an other, as occasion serued. Theoxena vnderstanding the edicte of this wicked and cruell king, and wel remembring the death of hir husband, and of him that was husband to hir sister, knew wel that hir sonne and nephew incontinently should be demaunded, and greatly fearinge the king’s wrath, and the rigour of his guard, if once they fell into theyr hands, to defend them from shame and cruelty, sodainly applied hir minde vnto a straunge deuice: for shee durst to saye vnto hir husband their father’s face, that soner she would kil them with hir owne handes, if otherwise she coulde not warraunt them, then suffer them to bee at the will and power of kinge Philip. By reason wherof Poris abhorring so execrable cruelty, to comfort his wife and to saue hys Chyldren, promysed hyr secretelye to transporte them from thence, and caryed them himselfe to certayne of hys faythfull Fryendes at Athens, whych done wythoute longe delaye, hee made as thoughe hee woulde goe from Thessalonica to Aenias, to bee at the Solemnytye of certayne Sacrifices, which yearelye at an appoynted tyme was done wyth greate ceremonies to the honour of Ænêas the founder of that Citty, where spendinge the time amonges other in solemne bankets, thethrirdewatch of the night when euery man was a sleepe, as though he would haue returned home to his countrey with his wyfe and children, priuely embarked himselfe and them, in a ship hired of purpose to passe into Euboea, and not to retourne to Thessalonica. But his intent was cleane altered and chaunged, for his ship was no sooner vnder saile, but at that instant a contrary winde and tempestrose, that brought him back againe, in despite of their labour, and all the endeuour they were able to doe. And when daye lighte appeared, the king’s garrison descried that shippe, and manned out a boate, to bring in the same, which secretly they thoughte was about to escape away, giuing them straight charge, that by no meanes they should returne without hir. When the boate drew neare the shippe, Poris bent him self to encourage the mariners to hoyse vp saile againe, and to make way with their oares into the Sea, if it were possible, to auoide the imminent and present daunger, to saue the life of him selfe, his wife and children: then hee lyfted hys handes vp vnto the heauens to implore the helpe and succor of the Gods, which the stoute Gentlewoman Theoxena perceiuing, and manifestly seeing the Daunger wherein they were, callinge to hir minde hir former determinate vengeance which she ment to do, and beholding Poris in his prayers, she prosecuted hir intente, preparing a poysoned drink in a cuppe, and made readye naked swordes: al which bringing forth before the Childrens face, she spake these words: “Death alone must bee the reuenge of your siely liues, wherunto there be two wayes, poison or the sworde. Euery of you choose which ye list to haue: or of whether of them your heart shall make the frankest choice. The king’s cruelty and pride you must auoid. Wherfore deare children be of good chere, raise vp your noble courage: ye the elder aged boyes, shew now your selues like men, and take the sword into your handes to pierce your tender hearts: but if the bloudy smart of that most dreadfull death shal feare and fright your greene and vnripe age, then take the venomed cup, and gulpe by sundry draghtes this poisoned drinke. Be franke and lusty in this your destened Death, sith the violence of Fortune, by Sea, doeth let the lengthning of your life. I craue this requeste of choyse, and let not the same rebound with fearfull refuse of thys my craued hest. Your mother afterwardes shal pass that strayght, whereof she prayeth hir babes to bee the poastes: ye the vaunt currours, and shee, with your louing sire, shall end and finishe Philip’s rage bent agaynst vs.” When shee had spoken these woordes and sawe the enimies at hand, this couragious dame, the deuiser of the death, egged and prouoked these yong trembling children (not yet wel resolued what to do) with her encharmed woords in sutch wyse, as in the ende, some dranke the poyson, andother strake them selues into the body and by hir commaundement were throwen ouer boord, not altogether dead, and so she set them at liberty by death whom tenderly she had brought vp. Then she imbracing hir husband the companion of hir death, both did voluntarily throw themselues also into the sea: And when the kinge’s espials were come aborde the ship, they found the same abandoned of theyr praye. The cruelty of which fact did so moue the common people to detestatyon and hatred of the kinge, as a generall cursse was pronounced against him and his children, which heard of the Gods aboue was afterwardes terribly reuenged vpon his stocke and posterity. Thys was the end of good Poris and his stout wyfe Theoxena, who rather then she would fall into the lapse of the king’s furie, as hir father Herodicus, and hir other husbande did, chose violently to dye with hir own hands, and to cause hir husband’s children and hir owne, to berieue them selues of Lyfe, whych although agaynst the louinge order of naturall course, and therefore that kinde of violence to bee abhorred, as horrible in it self, yet a declaration of a stout mind, if otherwise she had ben able to reuenge the same. And what coward heart is that, that dare not vpon such extremity, when it seeth the mercilesse ennimy at hand, with shining blade ready bent, to stryke the blowe, that withoute remedye must ridde the same of breath, specially when it beholdeth the tremblyng babe, naturally begotten by hys owne kinde and nature, before the face imploryng father’s rescue, what dastarde heart dare not to offer himselfe, by singular fight (thoughe one to twentye) either by desperate hardinesse to auoyd the same, or other anoyance, aduenture what he can? which in Christians is admitted as a comely fight, rather than wyth that Pagane Dame to do the death it selfe. But now returne wee to describe a fact that passeth al other forced deedes. For Theoxena was compelled in a maner thus to do of meere constraint to eschue the greater torments of a tyrant’s rage and thought it better by chosen death to chaunge hir lyfe, than by violent hands of bloudy Butchers to be haled to the slaughter. But thys Hidrusian dame was weary of hir owne life, not for that she feared losse of lyfe, but desperate to think of Fortune’s fickle staye: whych if fortune’s darlings would regarde in time, they would foresee theyr slippery holde.THE NYNTH NOUELL.A straunge and maruellous vse, which in old time was obserued in Hidrvsa, where it was lawfull, with the licence of a magistrate ordayned for that purpose, for euery man, and woman that list, to kill them selues.Bandelloamonges the company of hys Nouels, telleth this history: and in his own person speaketh these words. If I should begin to tell those things which I saw in the tyme that I sayled alongs the Leuant seas, very tedious it would be for you to heare, and I in reporting could not tell which way to ende, bicause I saw and heard thynges ryght worthy to bee remembred. Notwythstandinge, for satisfaction of dyuers that be my frendes, I will not sticke to reherse some of them. But first of all one straunge custome, whych in the Romayes tyme was vsed in one of the Ilandes of the sea Ægeum, called Hidrusa, in these dayes by the trauaylers called Cea or Zea, and is one of the Ilandes named Ciclades, whilome full of Populous and goodly Cities, as the ruins therof at this day do declare. There was in olde time in that Iland a yery straunge lawe and ordynaunce, which many hundred yeares was verye well and perfectly kept and observed. The Law was, that euery person inhabitant within the sayd Isle, of what sexe and condition so euer, being throughe age, infirmity, or other accidents, weary of their lyfe, might choose what kind of death that liked them best: howbeit it was prouyded that the partye, before the dooing of the same, should manifest the cause that moued him therevnto, before the Magistrate elected by the people for that speciall purpose, which they constituted because they sawe that diuers persons had voluntarily killed themselues vpon trifling occasions and matters of little importance: according to whiche lawe very many Men and Women, hardily with so merry chere went to theyr Death, as if they had gone to some bankette or mariage. It chaunced that Pompeius Magnus the dreadfull Romane, betwene whom and Iulius Cæsar were fought the greatest battailes for superiority that euer were, sailing by the Sea Ægeum, arriued at Hidrusa, and theregoynge a land vnderstoode of the inhabitantes the maner of that law and how the same day a woman of great worship had obteined licence of the Magistrate to poyson hir selfe. Pompeius hearing tell hereof, was driuen into great admiration, and thought it very straunge, that a woman which al the dayes of hir life had liued in great honour and estimation, shoulde vpon light cause or occasion poyson her selfe sith it was naturally giuen to ech breathyng wyght to prolong theyr liuing dayes with the longest threede that Atropos could draw out of dame Nature’s webbe. Whervpon he commaunded the said matrone to be brought before hym, whose Death for hir vertue was generallye lamented by the whole Countrye. When the gentlewoman was before hym, and had vnderstanding that she was fully resolued and determined to dye, hee began by greate persuasions to exhort hir, that she should not wilfully cast hir selfe away, vpon consideration that she was of lusty yeares, riche and welbeloued of the whole countrey: and how greate pitye it were but shee shoulde renue hir Mynde and gyue hir selfe still to lyue and remayne, till Natural course dyd ende and finysh hir life: howbeit his graue and earnest persuasion could not diuert hir from hir intended purpose. But Pompeius loth to haue hir dye, ceassed not styll to prosecute hys former talke with newe reasons and stronger arguments. All which shee paciently heard with fixed countenaunce, til at lengthe with cleare voyce and smiling cheere she answered him in this maner: “You be greatly deceyued (my lord Pompeius) if you do beleeue that I wythout very great prouidence and mature aduise goe about to ende my dayes: for I do know and am fully persuaded, that eche creature naturally craueth the prolongation and lengthninge of lyfe, and so mutch abhoreth to die, as the desirous to lyue detesteth the poyson whych I haue prepared for consumation of my lyfe. Whereupon as I haue diuers times thought, considered and discoursed with my selfe, and amongs many considerations oftentimes debated in my minde, there came into the same the instability and fickle change of Fortune, whose whirling wheele neuer ceasseth, ne yet remayneth stedfast. It is dayly seene how she doth exalte and aduaunce some man from the lowest and bottomlesse Pit, euen to the top of high Heauens, endowinge him with so mutch Substaunce as he candesire. An other that was most happy, honoured in this world lyke a God, vnto whom no goods and welfare were wantinge, who might wel haue bene called in his lyfe, a three times happy and blessed wyght, sodaynly from his honour and state depriued and made a very poore man and begger. Some man also, that is both riche and lusty, accompanied with a fayre wyfe and goodly Children, lyuinge in great mirth and ioylity, this wicked Lady Fortune, the deuourer of all our contentations, depriueth from the inestimable treasure of health, causeth the fayre Wyfe to loue an other better than hir husbande, and with hir venomous Tooth biteth the children, that in short space myserable death catcheth them al within his dreadfull Clouches whereby he is defrauded of those children, whom after his death he purposed to leaue for hys Heyres. But what meane I to consume tyme and words in declaration of Fortune’s vnsteady stay, which is more cleare than the beams of the Sunne, of whom dayly a Thousande thousande examples be manifest: all histories be full of theym. The mighty countrey of Græcia doth render ample witnesse wherein so many excellent men were bred and brought vp: who desirous with their finger to touch the highest heauen, were in a moment throwen downe: and so many famous Cities, which gouerned numbers of people, now at this present day we see to be thrall and obedient to thy City of Rome. Of these hurtfull and perillous mutations (O noble Pompeius) thy Romane City may be a most cleare glasse and Spectacle, and a multitude of thy noble Citizens in tyme past and present, may geeue plentifull witnesse. But to come to the cause of this my death, I say, that fyndyng myself to haue liued these many yeares (by what chaunce I can not tell) in very great prosperity, in al which tyme I neuer did suffer any one myssehappe, but styll from good to better, haue passed my time vntil thys daye: nowe fearyng the frownynge of Ladye Fortune’s face, and that she will repente hir long continued fauour, I feare, I say, least the same Fortune should chaung hir stile, and begynne in the middest of my pleasaunt life to sprinckle hir poysoned bitternesse, and make mee the Receptacle and Quiuer of hir sharpe and noysome arrowes. Wherefore I am nowe determined by good aduyse, to rid my selfe from the captivity of hir force, from all hir misfortunes,and from the noysom and grieuous infirmities, which miserably be incident to vs mortall Creatures: and beleeue me (Pompeius) that many in theyr aged dayes haue left their life with little honour, who had they bene gone in their youth, had dyed Famous for euer. Wherefore (my lord Pompeius) that I may not be tedious vnto thee, or hinder thyne affayres by long discourse, I besech thee to geeue me leaue to follow my deliberate disposition, that frankely and freely I may be vnburdened of all daunger: for the longer the life doth grow, to the greater annoysaunce and daunger it is subiect.” When she had so sayd, to the great admiration and compassion of all those which were present, with tremblinge handes and fearefull cheare, she quaffed a great Cup of poysoned drynke, the which she brought with hir for that purpose, and within a while after dyed. This was the straunge vse, and order obserued in Hidrusa. Which good counsel of the Dame had the noble and valiaunt captayne followed, no doubt he would haue bin contented to haue bin brought to order: and then he had not lost that bloudy battel atchieued agaynst hym by Iulius Cæsar at Pharsalia in Ægypt. Then hee had not sustayned so many ouerthrowes as he did, then had hee not ben forsaken of his frendes, and in the ende endured a death so miserable. And for so mutch as for the most part hitherto we haue intreated of many Tragicall and bloudy chaunces, respyring now from those, let vs a little touch some medicinable remedies for loue, some lessons for gouernment and obedience, some treaties of amorous Dames, and hauty Gestes of Prynces, Queenes and other persons, to variate the chaungeable diet, wherewyth dyuers bee affected, rellishinge their Stomackes wyth some more pleasaunt Digestions than they haue tasted.THE TENTH NOUELL.The dishonest Loue of Favstina the Empresse, and with what remedy the same loue was remoued and taken away.Trueand most holy is the sentence, that the Lady, Gentlewoman, or other wyght of Female kinde, of what degree or condition soeuer she be, be she fayre, fowle, or ylfauoured, cannot be endued with a more precious Pearle or Iewell, than is the neate and pure vertue of honesty: which is of sutch valour, that it alone without other vertue, is able to render her that glistereth in her attire, most famous and excellent. Be she more beautiful than Helena, be she mightier than the Amazon, better learned than Sappho, rycher than Flora, more louinge than Queene Dido, or more noble than the best Empresse and Queene of the worlde, or be she full of any other vertue, if she want the name of chast, shee is not worthy so mutch as to beare the title of honour, nor to be entertayned in honest company. Yee shall peruse hereafter an history of a Countesse of Celant, that was a passing fayre Dame, singularly adorned with Nature’s gifts. She was fayre, pleasaunt, amiable, comely, and perchaunce not altogether barrayne of good erudition and learninge: she could play vpon the instruments, sing, daunce, make and compose witty, and amorous Sonets, and the more her company was frequented, the more amiable and gracious the same was esteemed. But bicause she was unshamfast and lesse chaste, she was voyde of honest regarde. Sutch as bee dishonest, do not onely hurt themselues, but gieue cause to the common people to mutter and grudge at their parentes education, at their husbands gouernment and institution of their Children, causing them most commonly to leade a discontented and heauy lyfe. Thinke you that Augustus Cæsar (albeit he was a victorious Emperour, and led a triumphant raygne) liued a contented life when he saw the two Iuliæ, one of them his daughter, the other his Niece, to vse them selues like common strumpets, constrained through their shameful acts to pin, and close vp himselfe, shunning the conuersation of men, and once in minde to cut his Daughter’s Vaynesto let out hir Lusty bloud? Was not he wont (the teares trickling downe his Princely Face) to say, that better it was neuer to haue children and to be deade without them, than to haue a fruteful wife and children so disordred? He termed his Daughter to be a Carrion lumpe of fleshe, full of stenche and filthinesse. But if I list to speake of women of this age, from noble to vnnoble, from an Emperor’s Daughter to a Ploughman’s modder, whose liues do frame after Iulia hir lore, my pen to the stumpes would weare, and my hande be wearied with writing. And so likewise it would of numbres no doubt in these dayes that folow the trace of Lucrece line, that huswifely and chastly contriue the day and nightes in pure and Godly exercise. But of the naughty sorte to speake, (leauing to voyde offence, sutch as do flourish in our time) I will not conceale the Empresse Messalina, that was Wyfe to the emperour Claudius, not only vnworthy of Empresse degree, but of the title of Woman: who being abused by many, at length arriued to sutch abhominable lust, as not contented with dayly adulterous life, would resort to the common stewes, where the ruffians and publike harlots haunted, for little hire, and there for vilest price with eche slaue did humble herselfe: and at night not satisfied, but weared, returned home to hir Palace, not ashamed to disclose hir selfe to any that list to looke vpon hir: and for victory of that beastly game, contended with her lyke. But not to say so mutch of hir as I finde in Plinie his naturall history, in Suetonius, and Cornelius Tacitus, I leaue hir to hir selfe, bycause I haue made promise to remember the dishonest loue for example sake, which I read of Faustina, whose beauty of al Writers is vouched to be most excellent, if excellency of good life had thereunto ben coupled. She was the daughter and wyfe of two holy and vertuous Emperours, the one called Antonius Pius, the other Marcus Antonius. This M. Antonius in all vertuous workes was perfect and Godly, and singulerly loued his wife Faustina, and although she was infamous to the world, and a Fable to the people, yet he cared not for the same, sutch was the passing loue hee bare vnto hir. Leaue we to speake of hir beastly behauiour amongs the noble sort, without regard vnto hir most noble husbande, and come wee to treate of a certaine sauage kind of lust she had to one of theGladiatores, whych were a certaine sort of Gamsters in Rome, which we terme to be Maisters of defence. She was so far in loue with this Gladiator, as she could not eat, drink, or slepe, ne take any rest. This Faustina was so vnshamefast, as not regarding hir state, being as I sayde before the daughter and wife of two most worthy Emperors, dysdayned not to submitte her Body to the Basenesse of one of the vilest sort, a Rascal Fencer, and many times would goe to Caieta, a Citie and hauen of Campania, to ioyne hir selfe with the galye slaues there. Hir husbande which loued her dearely, comfortying his feble louing wyfe so well as he coulde, caused the best Physicians he could finde, to come vnto hir for recouery of hir health. But all the deuysed physike of the world was not able to cure her, she was so louesicke. In the end knowing by long experience the fauour and loue hir husband bare vnto hir, and knowing that nothing could withdraw his continued minde, she tolde him, that al the torment and payne shee sustained, was for the loue of a gladiator, towards whom hir loue was so miserably bent, that except she had his company, death was the next medicine for hir disease. The good husband whych beyond measure loued his wife, comforted hir with so louing wordes as he could, and bad hir to bee of good cheare, promisinge hee would prouide remedy. Afterwards consulting with a wise man a Chaldee born, opened vnto him the effect of his wiue’s disease, and how she was louesicke with sutch a person one of the Gamsters of the City, promising great rewardes if he could by his secretes serche out redresse to saue hir life. The Chaldee could tel him none other remedy, but that he must cause the Gladiator to be slaine, and with the bloud of him to anoint the body of the Empresse, not telling vnto hir what the ointment was: which don, that he must goe to naked bed to hir, and do the act of matrimony. Some Historiographers do write, that the Chaldee gaue him counsell, that Faustina should drinke the bloud of the Gladiator, but the most part, that hir body was bathed in the same. But how so euer it was, it would haue cooled the hottest Gentlewoman’s stomack in the world, to be anoynted with like Salue. To conclud the Gladiator was slayne and the medicine made and applied to the Pacient, and the Emperour lay with the Empresse,and begat hir with childe. And immediatly she forgot the Gladiator, neuer after that tyme remembring him. If this medicine were applied to our carnall louinge dames (which God defend) they would not onely follow Faustina in forgetfulnes, but also would mislike hir Phisike: and not greatly regard the counsell of sutch doctours. By meanes of this medicine and copulation was the Emperour Commodus borne, who rather resembled the Gladiator than his Father: in whose breast rested a storehouse of mischyefe and vyce, as Herodian and other Wryters plentifully do wryte.THE ELEUENTH NOUELL.Chera hid a treasure: Elisa going about to hang her selfe, and tying the halter about a beame found that treasure, and in place thereof left the halter. Philene the daughter of Chera going for that treasure, and busily searching for the same, found the halter, wherewithal for dispayre she would haue hanged hir selfe, but forbidden by Elisa, who by chaunce espied hir, she was restored to part of hir losse, leading afterwards a happy and prosperous lyfe.Fortune, the Lady Regent and Gouernesse of man’s lyfe, so altreth and chaungeth the state thereof, as many times we see the noble borne from that great mighty port, wherein they be, debased so farre, as either infamously their lyfe is spent in the hungry lap of Dame Penury, or else contriued in the vgly lothsom house of Wantonnesse, the stepdame of all honesty and vertue. Sometimes we marke the vnnoble ladde that was nooseled in the homely countrey caban, or rude ciuile shoppe, attaine to that whych the onely honorable and gentle do aspire: and he agayne that is ambicious in climbing vp the turning wheele, throwen down beneth the brink of aduerse luck, whelmed in the ditch and pit of black despaire. We note also sometimes that the carelesse wyght of Fortune’s giftes, hath (vnlooked for) his mouth and throte crammed full of promotion and worlde’s delights. Such is the maner of hir fickle stay: whereof this History ensuing, gyueth some intelligence, by remembring the destenied luck of 2 pore sory girles that were left destitute of desired things, both like to fal into despaire, and yet both holpen with that they most desired: which in this sort beginneth. In the time that Scipio Affricanus had besieged the City of Carthage, Chera that was a widow (dwellinge there) seeinge the daunger at hand wherein the Citty stoode, and doubtynge the losse and ouerthrowe of the same, and that the honor of the dames and womankinde, coulde vneths be safe and harmelesse, determined not to abide the vttermost: and hauinge a good quantity of Gold and precious stones, she bestowed the same in a casquet, and hid it vpon one of the beames of hir house,purposinge when the stir and daunger was past, to retourne to hir house agayne for those hir hidden things. Which done, in the habite of a poore woman with her onely daughter in hir hand that was about 5 or 6 yeares of age, she went out of Carthage, and passed ouer the Seas into Scicilia, where falling sicke, after she had bene there three or foure yeares, at length died. But before shee departed, shee called her Daughter before hir, then about Ten yeares olde, and told hir the place where she had layed hir Casket. And by reason of the victory gotten by Scipio, the city was maruellously chaunged, and amongs other things, the house of Chera was giuen to a Romane Souldiour that was so enriched with Nobilyty of Mynd, as hee was poore of Fortune’s Goods. Whych Chera vnderstandyng, was sorowfull, and doubted of hir thynges secretlye bestowed vppon the beame. Wherevpon she sayd vnto hir daughter, that for so much as their house was in the possession of an other, she ought to be wise and circumspect in the recouerye of hir hidden goods: and that hir death was the more greuous vnto hir, because she must leaue hir (so yong a maiden) vnprouided of frendes for hir good gouernement. But yet she incouraged hir againe and sayd: that sith necessity approched, she must in childyshe age, put on a graue and auncient minde, and beware howe shee bewrayed that casket to any person, for that of purpose shee reserued the knowledge thereof, to hir self, that it might serue for hir preferment, and procure hir a husband worthy of hir selfe. And the maiden demaundinge the value of the same, shee told hir that it was worthCC.Talentes, and gaue hir in writing the particulars inclosed within the Caskette, and that the lyke bill shee should find within the same, written wyth hir owne Hande. And so the good woman within a while after dyed, leauyng behynde hir the yong mayden hir daughter, that maruellously lamented the death of hir mother, accordingly as nature taught hir, and ech other reasonable wyght depriued from their dearest friends. The maiden for hir yeres was very wise, and would disclose to none what her mother had sayd, keeping the writing very carefully. Not long after Philene (whych was the maiden’s name) fell in loue with a Gentleman of Scicilia of greate reputation and authority, who al bee it he saw hir to be very faire and comely,yet cared not for hir loue in respect of Maryage, for that hee knewe hir to bee poore, and withoute dowrie mete for a Gentleman, iestyng and mocking to see hir fixe hir minde on him, for desyre to haue him to hir husbande, that was a personage so noble and rich: which refusall pierced the hearte of the tender maiden, bicause she saw hir selfe forsaken for nothynge else, but for want of goods: whych made hir to think and consider, howe shee myght recouer the riches that hir mother had layed vp in Carthage. It chaunced as she was in this meditation, the daughter of him to whome the House of Chera was giuen, called Elisa, was likewise enamoured of a noble yong gentleman in Carthage, who bicause Elisa was the daughter of a Souldiour, and not very rich, in like manner laughed and iested at hir loue, no lesse than the other did at Philene. Notwithstanding Elisa attempted al meanes possible to induce the yong man to loue hir, but hir practise and attemptes tended to none effect. And last of all, desirous to haue a resolute answere, and thereby vnderstode, that he would rather dye than take hir to Wyfe, she fell into despayre and curssed fortune, and hir fate, that she was not borne riche enough to match wyth hir chosen Gentleman, and that she being poore, must fall in loue wyth sutch a personage: whereupon she miserably tormented hir selfe, still bewaylinge hir vnhappy lucke, that shee could not win him to be hir husband, for whych only intent and purpose she loued him. And this amorous passion incredibly growing in hir, the rootes whereof be planted in the restlesse humor of melancholy, and wanting all hope and comforte to stay that Ranke and Rammishe weede, it so increased in her, as shee franticke in raging loue gaue hir selfe ouer to the spoyle of herself: and to rid her from the griefe, she determined to kill hir selfe, imagining whych way she might do the same. At length she was resolued, with hir father’s sword to peerce hir body: but hir heart not seruing hir thereunto, deuised by the halter to end her lyfe, saying thus to herselfe: “Thys death yet shal do me good, that the cruel man may know that for his sake I haue done this fact: and if his heart be not made of Iron or steele, he can not chose but sorrowe and lament, that a poore mayde whych loued him better than hir owne lyfe, hath made sutch wretchedende onely for his cruelty.” Elisa concludinge vpon this intent, prepared a Halter: and being alone in her house, in the chamber where the Casket lay vpon the beame, placed a stoole vnder the same, and began to tye the halter about the beame: in doinge whereof, she espied the casket, and reached the same vnto hir, who feeling it to be heauy and weighty, immediatly did open it, and founde the Byll within, which Chera had written with hir owne hand, agreable to that which she had deliuered to hir daughter, wherein were particularly remembred the Iewels and other riches fast closed within the casket. Who disclosing the bagges wherein the gold and Iewels were bound vp, and seeing the great value of the same, wondred thereat, and ioyfull for that fortune, hid the rope which she had prepared for hir death, in the place where she found the casket, and with great gladnesse and mirth went vnto hir father, and shewed him what she had found, whereat the father reioyced no lesse, then his daughter Elisa did, bicause he sawe himselfe thereby to be discharged of his former poore life, and like to proue a man of inestimable wealth and substance: and saw likewise that the poore wench his daughter, by the addicion of those riches, was like to attayne the party whom shee loued. When he had taken forth those bagges and well surueyed the value, to the intent no man might suspect the sodayne mutation of his state, tooke his daughter with him, and went to Rome, where after he had remayned certayne monethes, hee returned to Carthage, and began very galantly to apparell himselfe, and to keepe a bountifull and liberall house. His table and port was very delicate and Sumptuous, and hys Stable stored wyth many fayre Horsse, in all poynctes sheewinge himselfe very Noble and rich: by which sodayne chaunge of state, the whole Citty beleeued that he had brought that wealth from Rome. And bicause it is the common opinion of the vulgar sort, that where there is no riches, there is no nobility, and that they alone make men noble and gentle (a foolyshe Opinion in deede proceedinge from heads that be rash and light) the people markynge that porte and charge kept by the Souldiour, conceyued that he was of some noble house. And throughout the whole Citty great and solemne honour was done vnto him: whereupon the young Gentleman, with whomElisa was in loue, began to bee ashamed of himselfe, that he had disdayned the mayden. Whych mayden seeing hir Father’s house to be in sutch reputation, made sute to her father, that he would procure the Gentleman to bee hir husband. But hir father wylled hir in any wyse to keepe secret hir desire, and not to seeme her selfe to bee in loue, and wysely tolde hir, that more meete it was that she should bee solicited by him, than shee to make sute or request for mariage: alleaginge that the lesse desirous the gentleman had bene of hir, the more deare and better beloued shee shoulde be to hym. And many tymes when hys Daughter was demaunded to Wyfe, he made aunswere that matrimony was a state of no litle importance, as enduring the whole course of Lyfe, and therefore ought well to bee considered and wayed, before any conclusion were made. But for all these demaundes and aunswers, and all these stops and stayes, the mayden was indowed with an honest dowry, and in the end her louer and she were maried, with so great pleasure and satisfaction of them both, as they deemed themselues happy. In the meane time while these things were done at Carthage, Philene in Scicilia toke thought how she might recouer her goods geuen to her by her mother, desirous by their meanes also to sort hir earnest and ardent loue to happy successe. And debatinge with her selfe (as we haue sayd before) howe she might obtayne them, because the house was in possession of an other, thought it to bee agaynst reason and order, that although she had lost hir house, yet hir goods ought to be restored vnto hir, which were hir onely mayntenance and reputation, and the fittest instrument that should conduct her loue to happy ende. And hearinge tell that the Father of Elisa the possessor of hir mother’s house liued at Carthage in great royalty and magnificence, thought that if by some sleight and pollicie she founde not meanes to enter the house without suspicion, hir attempt would be in vayne: determined therefore to goe to Carthage, and to seeke seruice in that house, counterfaytinge the kynde and habite of a Page. For she considered, that if she went thither in order and apparell of a mayden, she should incur the perill of her virginity, and fall into the lapse of diuers other daungers, purposed then to go thyther in maner of a Page and lacky. Andwhen she had in that sort furnished hirselfe, she passed the Seas, and arriued at Carthage. And seekinge seruice about the City at length chaunced to be retayned in a house that was next neyghbour to the Souldier, and bicause this wench was gentle and of a good disposition, was wel beloued of her maister, who being the frend of Elisa, hir Father many times sent vnto him diuers presents and gifts by Philene, wherevppon she began to be acquainted and familiar with the seruantes of the house, and by her oft repayre thyther viewed and marked euery corner, and vpon a time entred the chamber wherein hir Mother Cheraoldehir, that shee had bestowed hir goods, and lookinge vpont the Beames espied by certayne Signes and tokens, one of them to be the same where the Casket lay: and therewithal wel satisfied and contented, verily supposed that the casket still remayned there, and without further businesse for that time, expected some other season for recouery of the same. In the ende, the good behauiour and diligence of Philene, was so liked of Elisa, as hir father and she made sute to hir maister to giue hir leaue to serue them, who bycause they were his friends, preferred Philene vnto them, and became a page of that house. And one day secretly repayrynge into the chamber, where the treasure lay mounted vppon a stoole, and sought the beame for the casket: where she found no casket, but in place where that lay, the halter, wherwithal Elisa woulde haue strangled hir self. And searching all the parts of the Chamber and the beames, and finding nothing else but the halter, she was surprised with sutch incredible sorrowe, as she seemed like a stock, without spiryte, voice or life. Afterwardes, being come againe to hir selfe, shee began pitifully to lament and complayn in this maner: “Ah wretched Philene, vnder what vnluckie signe and planet was thou begotten and borne? wyth what offence were the heauens wroth, when they forced thee to pierce thy mother’s wombe? Could I poore creature when I was framed within the moulde of nature, and fed of my mother’s substance within hir wombe, and afterwards in due time brought forth to light, commit such crime, as to prouoke the celestiall impressions to conspire agaynst my Natiuity, to brynge mine increased age into such wretched state and plighte wherein it is nowwrapped? No, no, my faulte was nothing, it was parent’s offence, if any were at all: for many times we see the innocent babe afflicted for the father’s guilt. The Gods do punish the posterity, for som sacrilege or notorious crime committed by progenitors: theyr manner is not to suffer heynous faultes vnreuenged: their iustice cannot abide such mischief vncorrected for example sake: so fareth it by me. First my father died, after wardes my Mother a widow was driuen to abandon natiue soyle, and seeke reliefe in forrain land: and leauing that wherwith we were possessed in enimies keping, were forced a simple life to leade among straungers. And my mother, yelding forth hir ghost, made me beleue that shee had hidden great treasures here: and I vnhappy wench thinking to obteine the pray, haue wandred in counterfeit kind, and fetcheed many a bitter sigh, vntil I came into this place: and the thing I hoped for, which myght haue bene the meanes and ende of all my care, is turned to nothyng: a casket transformed into a halter: gold and Iewels into a piece of rope? Is this the mariage dowry (Philene) thou art like to haue to match with him whom thou so derely louest? Is this the knot that shall conioyne you both in yoke of man and wife? Ah wretch and miserable caitife, the goods thy mother layd vp for thee, for maintenance of thy rest, and safegarde of thine honour, and for the reputation of thy noble house, wherof thou camst, is now berieued from thee: they that kepe this stately house, and beare their lofty port amid the best, haue despoiled thee pore wench of that after which thou didst vainly trauayle. But what remedye now? sith thy wicked lot doth thus fall out, sith thy cruel fate is loth thou shouldest atteine the thing on whych thy mind is bente, and sith thy painfull lyfe can take no ende, make spede to rid thy selfe from misery by that meanes which he hath prepared for thee that hath found thy goods: who seeing his good aduenture to be thy bane, his happy pray to bee thy spoyle, hath left in lieu of treasure, a halter, that therwith thou mightest dispatch thy selfe from all thy griefes, and in their vnhappye companye to cease thy life, that the lothsom, lengthning of the same might not increase thy further plaints, sorowes, anguish and affliction. And in the place where infortunate Philene toke hir beginning, ther the Miserable wretche must finishe that,which without hir desired gaine no longer can be maynteined. Peraduenture it may come to passe as when thy soule is losed from this mortall charge, it shall stalke by hym, by whom it liueth, and by him also whom she thought to ioy in greatest contentation that euer mortall woman did.” And thus plaininge and sighing hir il fortune, when she had ended those words she tyed the halter about the beame, where sometimes hir Treasure lay, which beyng done shee put the same about hir necke, sayinge: “O crooked Lady Fortune, that hast thus vnfrendly dealt with thine humble clyent: Ah dispayre, thou vgly wretch and companion of the distressed that is vnwillinge to leaue my haunte vntyll thou playe the Hangman. Ah Dyuell incarnate that goest aboute to hale and plucke the innocent into thy hellish caue. Out vppon the thou deformed hellish dogge, that waitest at the fiery gate to lette them in, which faine would passe an other porte.” And as shee was powrying forth these spitefull wordes, redy to remove the stoole to fetch hir swynge, the Gods which would not giue consent, that the innocent wench should enter that vile and opprobrious death, moued the heart of Elisa, to passe by the place where she was in workynge on her selfe that desperate end: who hearing those moneful plaints vttred after such terrible manner, opened the Chamber doore, and saw that myserable sight: and ignorant of the occasion, moued with pity, ranne and stayed hir from the fact, saying thus vnto hir: “Ah Philene,” (whych was the name that she had giuen to hir selfe) “what folie hath bewitched thy mind? What phrensie hath incharmed thy braine? What harde aduenture hath moued thee in this miserable wise, to ende thy life?” “Ah” (sayd Philene) “suffer me Elisa, to finish my tormentes: giue me liberty to vnburden myselfe from the bande of cares that do assaile me on euery side: lette these Helhoundes that stande heare rounde about mee, haue theyr praye for which they gape. Thou moued by compassion, arte come hither to stay mee from the Halter: but in doyng so, thou doest mee greater wrong, than doeth despayre whych eggeth me therunto. Suffer I say, that mine afflictions may take some end, sith cruel fortune willeth it to be so, or rather vnhappy fate: for sowre death is sweeter in my conceit, than bitter life contriued in sharper sauce than gall or wormwood.”Elisa hearing her speake these wordes, sayd: “For so much as thy myshap is such, as onely death is the nearest remedy to depriue thy payne, what wicked chaunce hath induced thee, in this house to finish those thy miseries? What hath prouoked the to sutch augury to this our most happy and ioyfull family?” “Forced is the partye” (sayd Philene) “so to doe when destenye hath so appointed.” “What desteny is that?” demaunded Elisa. “Tell mee I beseech thee, perchaunce thou mayst preuent the same by other remedy than that whereabout thou goest.” “No,” (answered Philene) “that is impossible, but to satisfie thy request which so instantly thou crauest of me, I wil tel thee the summe of al my miserie.” In saying so the teares gushed forth hir eyes, and hir voice brake oute into complaints, and thus began to say: “Ah Elisa, why should I seke to prolong my wretched life in this vale of wretchednesse, wherein I haue ben so miserably afflicted? my mother pitieng mine estate and seeynge me voide of frends, and a fatherlesse child vpon hir death bed, disclosed vnto me a treasure which she had hidden vpon this beam whervnto this halter (the best remedy of my misery) is tied: and I making serch for the same, in place of that treasure found this halter, ordeined as I suppose (by what misfortune I knowe not) for my death: and where I thought among the happy to be the most happy, I see my selfe amongs al vnlucky women to be the most vnfortunate.” Elisa hearing hir say so, greatly maruelled and sayd: “Why then I perceiue thou art a woman and not a man.” “Yea, truly,” answered the vnhappy mayden: “A singuler example of extreme misery to all sortes of women.” “And why so?” demaunded Elisa. “Bicause” (answered Philene) “that the pestilent planet vnder which I was borne, will haue it to be so.” And then she told hir al that which had chaunced from the time of hir mother’s departure out of Carthage, and how she went into Scicilia and recounted vnto hir the loue that she bare to a Scicilian Gentleman, and howe that he disdayning hir for hir pouerty, refused to be hir husband: whervpon to atchieue hir desire as loth to forgoe him, was come in maner of a page to Carthage, to recouer the riches which hir Mother had hidden there, to the intente she might obtaine (if not by other meanes) with somrich dowrie, the yong Gentleman to husband whom she so dearely loued. And then reenforcing hir complaint, she said: That sith Fortune had despoiled hir of that which might haue accomplished hir desire, resting no cause why she should any longer liue, the halter was prepared for hir to end her daies, and to rid hir life from troubles. And therefore she praied hir to be contented, that she might make that end which hir misaduenture and wicked fortune had predestinate. I doubt not but there be many, which vnderstanding that the treasure did belong to Philene, if they had found the like as Elisa did, would not onely not haue forbidden hir the Death, but also by speedy meanes haue hastened the same, for so mutch as by that occasion the hidden treasure should haue ben out of strife and contention: so greate is the force of couetousnesse in the minde of man. But good Elisa knew ful wel the mutability of Fortune in humaine thinges, for so mutch as she by seeking death, had fonde the thinge which not onely deliuered hir from the same, but made hir the best contented woman of the worlde. And Philene seekinge hir contentation, in place thereof, and by like occasion, found the thinge that would haue ben the instrument of hir death, and moued with very great compassion of the mayden, desired to haue better aduertisement howe that treasure could belong to her. Then Philene shewing forth hir mother’s writing, which particularly remembred the parcels within the casket, and Elisa seeinge the same to be agreeable to the hand wherewith the other was written that was founde in the casket, was assured that all the gold and Iewels which she had found, did belong vnto Philene, and sayd vnto hirselfe: “The Gods defend that I should prepare the halter for the death of this innocent Wench, whose substaunce hath yelded vnto mee my hart’s desire.” And comforting the mayden, in the ende she sayd: “Be contented Philene, and giue ouer this thy desperate determination, for both thy lyfe shalbe prolonged, and thy discontented minde appeased, hoping thou shalt receyue the comforte thou desirest.” And with those words she losed the halter from hir neck, and takinge hir by the hand, brought hir to the place where hir Father and husband were, and did them to vnderstand the force and terms whereunto the fier of loue and desperation had brought that amorous mayden:tellinge them that all the treasure and Iewels which she had found (where she left the halter, and wherewith Philene was minded to hang hir selfe) did by good right and reason belonge to hir: then she did let them se the counterpayne of that bill which was in the casket, in all points agreeable thereunto, declaringe moreouer that verye lyke and reasonable yt were, like curtesie should bee vsed vnto her, as by whom they hadde receyued so greate honoure and delyghte. Her husband which was a Carthagian borne, very churlishe and couetous, albeit by conferring the writings together, he knewe the matter to be true, and that Philene ought to be the possessor thereof, yet by no meanes would agree vnto hys wyue’s request, but fell into a rage, callinge hir Foole and Ideot, and sayinge that hee had rather that shee had bene a Thousande tymes hanged, than he would giue hir one peny: and although she had saued hir life, yet she ought to be banished the Citty, for so mutch as the same and all the propertie thereof was brought into the Romane’s handes, and amongs the same hir mother’s house, and al hir goods in possession of the victors, and euery part, at their disposition and pleasure. And moreouer, for so mutch as hir mother and shee had departed Carthage, and would not abide the hazarde and extremity of their country as other Citizens did, and hauing concealed and hidden those riches which ought to haue ben brought forth for the common defence of their countrey, and gone out of the Citty as though she had ben a poore simple Woman, poorely therefore she ought to lyue in Scicilia, whyther she was fled. Wherefore he was of opinion, that she in this maner beinge departed when the Citty had greatest neede of hir helpe, was disfranchised of all the rightes and customes of the countrey, and that like as a straunger can recouer nothinge in that Citty, except he haue the priuiledge and Freedome of the same, euen so Philene (for the considerations before recited) ought to be compted for a straunger, and not to participate any thinge within the City, accordingly as the lawes forbid. When he had so sayd, he was like by force to expell the sorrowfull mayden out of the house. These wordes greatly grieued Philene, who doubted least his father in law would haue ioyned with him, and agree vnto hys alleaged reasons, whych seemed tobe of great importaunce and effect: and therefore thought newly to returne to the Halter for remedy of hir griefes; but it otherwise chaunced, for the Father of Elisa, which was a Romane borne, and affected with a Romane minde, and therefore of a Gentle and well disposed nature, knew ful wel, that although the house was giuen vnto him by the consent of Scipio, and other the Captaynes, yet he knew that their pleasure was not to bestowe on him the treasure hidden in the same, and therefore ought to be restored to the true owner, or else confiscate and properly due to the Romane Eschequer, or common treasure house of the same: and albeit that it was true that hir Mother went out of Carthage, in the time of the Siege, and therefore had forfayted the same, yet he determined to shewe some curtesie vnto the younge mayden, and to be thankfull to fortune, for the benefite which by hir meanes he had receyued, thinkinge that she would be displeased with him, if he with vngratefull minde or dishonourable intent should receyue hir giftes. For in those dayes the Romans highly reuerenced Lady Fortune, and in hir honour had Erected Temples, and Dedicated Aultars, and in prosperous tyme and happy aduentures, they consecrated vowes, and sacrifices vnto hir, thinkinge (although supersticiously) that like as from God there proceeded none euil, euen so from him all goodnesse was deriued: that all felicity and other good happes, whych chaunced vppon the Romane Common wealth, proceeded from Fortune, as the Fountayne and most Principall Occasion, and that they which would not confesse hir force, and be thanckful vnto hir Godheade, incurred in the ende hir Displeasure and Daungers very great and haynous. This Romane then hauing this opinion, beinge (as I sayd before) of a gentle Disposition woulde at one instant both render thankes to Fortune, and vse curtesie vnto that mayden, by whose riches and goods from lowe degree he was aduanced to honourable state. Wherefore turning his Face vnto hir, with louing countenaunce he spake these wordes: “Right gentle damosel, albeit by the reasons alleged by my sonne in law, none of the treasure hidden by thy mother, and founde by my Daughter in thys house, of right doth appertayne to thee, yet I will that thou shalte vnderstande my curtesie, and that thou see how the Romanesdoe more esteeme the nobility of their minde, than all the riches of the world. Therefore that thou mayst enioy thy loue, I referre vnto thee and to thy disposition all the goods and Iewels that were in the Casket, and contayned in thy writinge. Beholde therefore (causing the casket to be brought vnto him) all the Iewels and other parcels that were in the same when they were founde, take so mutch thereof as thou wilt, and if so bee thou desire the whole, willingly I render the same vnto thee, sithens by means of those riches, and the industry of my trafique, I haue gayned so mutch, as hauinge gyuen a conuenient dowry vnto my daughter, I honorably liue without it.” Philene seeing the curtesie of this valiaunt gentleman, gaue him infinite thanks, and then sayd vnto him: “Sir, I for my part dare aske nothinge, well knowinge that if you geue me nothinge, there is no cause why I shoulde complayne of you, but of my hard and wicked fortune, whych hath offered and giuen that to you, which ought to haue bin mine. Wherefore, sith your curtesie is sutch, as you refer the whole to mee, I purpose to take nothing, but will that the whole shall bee in your disposition, and giue mee what you list, and that so gieuen of your liberality, I shal more thankfully receiue, than if debt or duty did constrayne it: and if it shall please you to giue me nothing, my heart shal bee so well appeased, for that your curtesie, as rather woulde I chose to liue in the poore estate wherein I am, than be rych with your displeasure.” Howbeit, the Romayne intreated Philene to take thereof what shee thought good: and Philene craued no more than it pleased hym to gyue. Eyther of them standinge vpon these termes Elisa, brake the strife, who knowinge the force of loue, and the griefes incident to his clients, by hir own harmes, moued to haue compassion vpon the afflicted, turned towardes hir father, and sayd vnto him: “Right louinge father, the contencion betweene Philene and you, is risen of a matter which came by me. The treasure for which you striue, and committed to the will of Philene, was found by me, whereof if it please you both, I wyll take sutch order, as both you shalbe satisfied.” “I am contented,” sayd hir father: “And I likewise,” aunswered Philene. Then sayd Eliza: “You father hitherto haue had but one Daughter, whicham I, vnto whom like a chylde and louinge daughter I haue bene obedient, and shalbe all the dayes of my lyfe: and I agayne haue receiued from you sutch fatherly education, as your ability and state required. This treasure I found and gaue to you for ease and comfort of vs both: to me it yelded the only delectation of my heart in choyse of husband: to you honour and estimation within thys Citty. Wherefore, sith the principal came from me, and the right resteth in this careful maiden, my desire is, that where before you had but one daughter, you will adopt this mayden for another, and thinke that you have twaine, and that you will intreate Philene in like sort as if shee were my sister: and where this Inheritance and reuenue wherewith now you be possessed, and this casket also ought to be onely myne after your decease, for that you haue no sonnes, nor other Issue, my desire is that you geue vnto her the halfe, and that you accept hir for your daughter, as I doe meane to take hir for my sister: and accordingely to vse hir duringe lyfe.” With these wordes Elisa imbraced Philene, and louingly dyd kisse hir, sayinge vnto hir: “For my sister I entertayn thee Philene.” And then shee tooke hir by the hand and gaue hir vnto hir father with these wordes: “Beholde father, your new daughter, whom I beseech you so hartily to loue as you do Elisa your naturall chylde.” The father praysed the curtesie of Elisa, and receiued Philene for his daughter and was contented wyth the Arbitrament of his Daughter. But Elisa perceyuing hir husband to be somewhat offended therewyth, specially for that the same should be deuided into two partes, which was like to haue bene hys wholly before, persuaded hym by gentle meanes to be content wyth that agreement: and although at the first he could not well brooke the liberality of his wyfe, yet at length viewinge the good behauiour and gentle disposition of Philene, and the contented minde of his father in law, together with the noble nature of his wyfe, and hir wise aduertisement of Fortune’s fickle assurance, yelded, and acknowledged Philene for hys kinswoman. And so Philene put in possession of the halfe of those goods, whereof she was altogether out of hope, was well satisfied, and had the Romane for hir father, Elisa for hir sister, and hir husband for hir kinsman. That valyantRoman was so careful ouer Philene, as if she had ben his owne daughter, and so indeuored, as he brought to passe that she obteined hir beloued Scicilian to husbande: who also sent for hym to Carthage, where he continued with his wife in the Romane’s house, and loved them both so dearely as though he had ben father to the one, and father in lawe to the other. In this maner these two poore wenches attained their two husbands, for hauing of whom, theyr onely care was for Ryches, and for lacke thereof were dryuen to despayre: and in the ende both (though diuersly, and the one more fortunat than the other) recouered riches, and with the same theyr husbandes, to their heartes singular ioye and contentation. Which lucke I wyshe to all other poore Girles (but not hangyng rype, or louynge in despayre) that bend their mindes on Mariage, and seeke to people by that estate, their countrey common wealth. But leauinge for a time these Tragicall Nouels and heauy chaunces, wee purpose to remember some morall matters right worthy of remembraunce: Letters they bee from a godly Pagane clerk, the famous Philosopher Plutarch, Schoolemaister to an Emperour of no lesse vertue, than hys mayster’s Schoole and mynde was fraught with diuine Precepts. Wherefore proceede (good Reader) to continue the paynes vpon the readinge of these, so well as thou hast vouchsafed to employ thy time before. They shal no lesse delite thee, if vertue brooke thee, they shal no lesse content thee if duty please thee, than any delightsome thing, whereupon (at any tyme) thou hast employed thy vacaunte tyme.

Ifmen would haue afore consideration of theyr owne doings, before they do attempt the same, or els premeditate and study the scope and successe thereof, I do verely beleeue that a numbre would not cast themselues headlong into so many gulfs of miseryes and calamityes as they do, specially Noblemen, and Prynces, who oftentymes doe exceede in temerity and rashnesse, by lettynge the Raynes of theyr own Lustes, to farre to raunge at large, wherein they deepely Plunge thymselues to theyr great Preiudice and Dishonour, as teacheth thys goodly hystorie ensuinge, whych declareth that there was a Prynce called Massinissa, the Sonne of Gala kynge of Massæzali, (a people of Numidia): who warfaring with the Carthaginians in Spaine agaynst the Romaynes, hauinge first fought honourably agaynst kynge Syphax in Numidia, it chaunced that Gala hys Father dyed, vppon whose death hys Kyngdome was inuaded and occupied by other, wherefore sustayninge stoutly the surges of aduersity combatinge wyth hys Enemyes, sometymes getting part of hys Kyngdome, and sometymes losinge, and many tymes molestinge both Syphax and the Carthaginians, was in dyuers Conflicts lyke to be taken or slayne. Wyth these hys trauels, impacient of no payne and trouble, he became very Famous and Renoumed, that amonges the people of Affrica, he acquired the name and title of a valiant and puissant Souldier, and of a pollitique and prouident Captain: afterwards he was generally welbeloued of the Souldiers, bicause not like the king’s sonne or a prince, but as a priuate souldier and companion, his conuersation and vsuall trade of life was amongs them, calling euery man by his propre name, cherishing and esteeming them according to their desert, obseruing neuerthelesse a certaine comelinesse of a Superiour. This Massinissa by meanes of one Syllanus being in Spayne, priuely entred acquaintance and familiarity with that Scipio which afterwardes was surnamed Affricanus, and who inthose dayes with the authoritie of Proconsul in that prouince, victoriously subdued the Carthaginians: the same Massinissa entred league with the Romanes and inuiolably so long as he liued obserued amity with the Romane people, and lefte the same to his children and posteritie as an inheritance. When the Romanes began warres in Affrica, spedily with that power he was able to make, he repaired to his old friend Scipio: within a whyle after Syphax beyng ouerthrowen in battell and taken, Massinissa and Lælius were sent to surprise the chief city of that kingdom, which sometimes were king Syphax owne, called Cirta. In that city remayned Sophonisba, the wyfe of Syphax and daughter to Hasdrubal of Giscon, who had alyenated hir husband from the Romanes, being in league with them, and by hir persuasions went to aide and defend the Carthaginians. Sophonisba perceiuing that the ennimies were entred the City of Cirta: and that Massinissa was going towardes the palace, determined to meete him, to proue his gentlenesse and curtesie, whereupon in the middes of his Souldiers thronge, whych were already entred the Palace, she stoutly thrust, and bouldlye looked round aboute, to proue if she could espye by some signes and tokens the personage of Massinissa. She amongs that prease perceeiued one for whose apparel, armure and reuerence don vnto him, semed vnto hir that without doubt the same was the king: and therefore incontinently kneeled downe before him, and pitiously began to speake in this manner: “For so mutch (O puissante prince) as felicity and good fortune, but specially the fauour of the Gods immortall haue permitted, that thou shouldest recouer thine auncient kingdome descended vnto the by righte and lawfull inheritaunce, and therewithall hast taken and vanquished thine ennimy, and now hast me at thy wyll and pleasure to saue or spyll, I poore wretched myserable woman brought into bondage from Queenelyke state, whilom leading a delycate life in Princely Courte, accompanyed with a royall traine of beautifull dames, and nowe at thy mercifull disposition, doe humbly appeale to thy mercye and goodnesse, whose Princely maiesty and comfortable aspect, chereth vp my woefull heart to loke for grace, and therefore am bold thus to presume with most humble voice to implore and crie out, beseechyng thee to reach mehither thy victorious handes to kisse and salute.” This Lady was a passing fayre gentlewoman, of flourishing age and comely behauiour, none comparable vnto her within the whole region of Affrica: and so much the more as hyr pleasant grace by amiable gesture of complaint did increase, so much the heart of Massinissa was delyted, who being lusty and of youthly age (according to the nature of the Numides,) was easily intrapped and tangled in the nettes of Loue: whose glutting eyes were neuer ful, nor fiery hart was satisfied in beholding and wondring at hir most excellent beauty: not foreseeing therefore, or taking heede of the daungerous effect of beautie’s snares, his heart being so fiercely kindled with the swingyng flames of loue, who causing hir to rise, exorted hir to prosecute hir supplication: then she began to procede as foloweth: “If it may be lawfull for me thy prysoner and bondwoman (O my soueraign lord) to make request, I humbly do beseech thee, by thy royal maiesty, wherein no long time past my husband and I were magnificently placed in so kynglike guise as thou art now, and by that Numidicall name, common vnto thee and my husbande Syphax, and by the sauinge Gods and Patrons of this City, who with better fortune and more ioyfull successe do receyue thee into the same, that expelled Syphax out from thence: it may please thy sacred state, to haue pity on me. I require no hard and difficult thinge at thy handes, vse thine imperiall gouernement ouer me, sutch as law of armes and reason of Warre require: cause me if thou wilt, to pyne in cruel pryson, or do me to sutch death with torments, as thou list to vse, the sharp, fierce and cruel death that any wight can suffre, or Perillus Bull shall not be dreadfull vnto me, but more deare and acceptable than wonted life in pleasures led: for no death shal bee refused of mee, rather than to be rendred into the proud handes of the most cruell Romanes. Rather had I tast the trust of a natiue Numidie, borne with me in Affrike soyle, than the faith of straungers kinde: I know full well that thou dost knowe what curtesy a Carthaginian and daughter of Hasdrubal, shal surely looke for at the Romanes hands: whose mind is fearfull of nothing more than of theyr pride and glory intollerable: if thou (my lord) haddest sisters of thine own, or daughters of thy royal bloud brought forththink that they may chaunce (if fortune frown) to slide into the Pit of aduerse lucke, so well as I am nowe: of that forme Fortune’s wheele is made, whych we dayly see to be vnstable, turninge and dyuers, that now peace and now warre it promiseth, now euill it threatneth, now mirth, now sorrow it bringeth, now aduauncinge aloft, now tumbling downe the clymbers up. Let Syphax bee cleare and liuely Example to thee, whych coulde neuer finde any stedfast stay vnder the Moone’s Globe. He was the mightiest and the richest kinge that raigned in Affrica, and now is the most miserable and vnlucky wight that liueth on Land. The Gods graunt that I bee no Prophet or Diuiner of future euill, whose omnipotency I deuoutly beseech to suffer thee and thy posterity in Numidie land and most happyly to raygne. Vouchsafe then to deliuer me from the Romanes thraldome, which if thou bee not able safely to bryng to passe, cause death (the ease of al woe) to be inflicted vpon me.” In speaking those words, she tooke the kynge’s right hande and many times sweetly kissed the same. And then her teares turned to pleasant cheare, in sutch wise as not onely the mynde of the armed and victorious Prynce was mooued to mercy, but straungely wrapped in the amorous Nets of the Lady, whereby the victour was subdued by the vanquyshed, and the Lord surprysed of his Captiue, whom with tremblinge voyce thus he aunswered: “Make an end, O Sophonisba, of thy large complaynt, abandon thy conceyued feare, for I wil not onely ridde the from the Romayne handes, but also take thee to my lawfull wyfe (if thou therewyth shalt be content) whereby thou shalte not leade a prisoner’s life, but passe thy youthfull dayes and hoarye age (if gods doe graunt thy life so long) as Quene vnto a king, and wife vnto a Romane frend.” When he had sayd so with weeping teares, he kissed and imbraced hir. She by the countenaunce, Sygnes, Gestes, and interrupted Woordes, comprehendyng the Minde of the Numide king to be kindled with feruent loue: the more to inflame the same beemoned her self with such heauinesse, as the beastly heartes of the Hircane Tygres would haue bene made gentle and dispoiled of al fiercenesse, yf they had beheld her: and againe she fel downe at hys feete, kissinge the armed Sabbatons vppon the same, and bedewinge them with hir warme teares. After manysobbes and infinite sighes, comforted by him, she sayd: “Othe theglorie and honor of all the kynges that euer were, bee or shall bee hereafter: O the safest aide of Carthage mine vnhappy countrey without desert, and now the present and most terrible astonishment: if my hard fortune and distresse after so great ruine might haue bene relieued, what greater fauour, what thing in all my life, coulde chaunce more fortunate, vnto me, than to bee called wife of thee? O, I blessed aboue all other women to haue a man so noble and famous to husband. O mine aduenturous and most happy ruine. O my moste fortunate misery, that such a glorious and incomparable mariage was prepared for me: but bicause the Gods be so contrary vnto me, and the due ende of my life approcheth (my deare soueraygne lorde) to kindle againe in me, my hope half dead, or rather consumed and spent, bicause I see myself wrapped in a state, that in vayne against the pleasures of the Gods, I go about to molest thee: a greate gift (and to say truthe) a right great good turne, I make accompte to haue receiued of thee, if mine owne death I should procure by thee, that dyinge by thy means or with thy handes, (whych were more acceptable,) I shoulde escape the feare of the Romaynes thral and subiection, and this soule deliuered of the same, should streight passe into the Elysian fieldes. The final scope of this my humble plaint, is to ryd me from the hands of the Romanes, whose thraldom to suffer I had rather die. The other benefit which thou dost frankly offer to me pore wretch, I dare not desire, mutch lesse require the same, bicause the present state of my mishap dareth not presume so high. But for this thy pity and compassion ioined with louing regard and mind toward me, mightye loue with al the other Gods reward and blesse thy gotten kingdom in long raign, enlarging the same with more ample bounds to thine eternal renoum and praise: and I do not only render humble thanks for this thy kynd and louing enterteinment, but also yeld my self thine own, so long as lyfe gouerneth this caitif corps of mine.” These words wer pronounced with such effect, as Massinissa was not able for pity to hold his teares, which watred so his comely form, as the dew therof soaked into his tender heart, and not able a long time to speake, at last thus hee sayd: “Gyue ouer (O my quene)these cares and thoughts, dry vp thy cries and plaints, make an end of all these dolorous sutes, and reioyce, that frowarde Fortune hath changed hir mind: the Gods no doubt with better successe, wil perfourm the rest of thy liuing dais. Thou shalt henceforth remain my Quene and wife, for pledg whereof the sacred Godheads I cal to witnesse. But if perchaunce (which the thundring mighty God aboue forbid) that I shalbe forced to render thee the Romanes prisoner, be well assured, that on liue they shall not possesse the.” For credit and accomplishment of this promisse, and in signe of his assured faith, he reached his right hand to Sophonisba, and led hir into the inner lodging of the king’s Palace, wher afterward Massinissa with himself considering how he might perform hys promised faith, vexed and troubled with a thousand cogitations, seing in a maner his manifest ouerthrow and ruine at hand, prouoked with mad and temerarious loue, the very same day in open presence he toke hir to wife, solemnizing that mariage, which afterwardes bred vnto hym great vexation and trouble, meanynge by the same to haue dyscharged Sophonisba from the Romanes rule and order. But when Lælius was come and hearde tell thereof, hee fretted and chafed, and wyth threatnynge Wordes commaunded Massinissa to send his new maried wife (as the booty and pray of the Romanes) together wyth Syphax, to their captaine Scipio. Notwithstanding, vanquished with the supplications and teares of Massinissa, referring the matter wholy to the iudgement of Scipio, he dispatched Syphax with the other prisoners and bootie, to the Romane campe, and he himself remained with Massinissa for the recouerie of other places of the kingdome, minding not to returne before the whole prouince were brought vnder the Romane subiection. In the meane time Lælius gaue intelligence vnto Scipio, of the successe of Massinissa his mariage: who knowing the same to be so hastilye celebrated, was maruellouslye offended and troubled in Minde, mutche maruellynge that Massinissa woulde make sutch posthast before the comming of Lælius. Yea and vpon the very first day of his entrie into Cirta, that hee would consummate that vnaduised wedding: and the greater was Scipio his displeasure towards Massinissa, for that the loue which he had conceiued of that woman, was vnsemely and dishonest,wondering not a little that he could not find out some Lady within the region of Spain of semblable beauty and comlinesse, to please and content his honest and commendable intent: wherfore he iudged Massinissa his fact to be done out of time, to the preiudice and great decay of his honor and estimation. Howbeit like a wise and prudent personage he dissembled his conceiued gryefe, expecting occasion for remedye of the same. Now the time was come that Lælius and Massinissa were sent for to the Campe. But to declare the teares and lamentable talke, the great mone and sighes vttered betwene this new maried couple, time would want, and tediousnesse would ouercome the Reader. He had scarce lyen with his beloued two or thre Nyghts, but Lælius (to their great grief and sorow) claymed hir to bee hys prysoner. Wherfore verye sorowfull and pensiue hee departed, and retourned to the Campe. Scipio in honourable wyse accepted him, and openly before his Captaines and men of warre, gaue thanks to Lælius and him, for theyr prowesse and notable exploites. Afterwards sending for him vnto his Tent, he said vnto him: “I do suppose (my dere frend Massinissa) that the vertue and beneuolence which you saw in me did first of all prouoke you, to transfrete the straits, to visite me in Spaine, wherein the good will of my valiaunt frend Syllanus did not a little auaile, to sollicite and procure amity betwene vs. And the same afterwards inducing your constant minde, to retire into Affrica, committed both your selfe and all your goods into my hands and keeping. But I well pondering the quality of that vertue whych moued you thereunto, you beinge of Affrica, and I of Europa, you a Numidian borne, and I a Latine and Romane, of diuers customes and language different, thought that the temperance and abstinence from venerial pleasures which you haue sene to bee in me, and experience therof wel tried and proued, (for the which I render vnto the immortal Gods most humble thankes) would or ought to haue moued you to follow mine example, being vertues which aboue all other I doe most esteme and cherish. For he that well marketh the rare giftes and excellent benefits wherwith dame Nature hath arraied you, would thinke that ther should be no lacke of diligence and trauell to subdue and ouercome the carnall appetytes of temporal beauty:which had it bene applied to the rare giftes of nature planted in you, had made you a personage to the posterity very famous and renoumed. Consider wel my present time of youth, full of courage and youthly lust, which contrary to that naturall race I stay and prohibite. No delicate beauty, no voluptuous delectation, no feminine flattery, can intice my youth and state to the perils and daungers whereunto that heedelesse age is most prone and subiect. By which prohibition of amorous passions, temperatly raigned and gouerned, the tamer and subduer of those passions, closing his breast from lasciuious imaginations, and stopping his eares from the Syrenes, and Marmaydes, of that sexe and kinde, getteth greater glorye and fame, than wee haue gotten by our victory agaynst Syphax. Hanniball the greatest ennimy that euer we Romanes felt, the stoutest gentleman and captain without peere, through the delites and imbracements of women effeminated, is no more the manlike and notable emperor that hee was wont to be. The great exploits and enterprises which valyantly you haue done in Numidia, when I was farre from you, your care, readinesse, animosity, your strength and valor, your expedition and bold attemptes, with all the reste of your noble vertues worthy of immortal praise, I might and could perticulerly recite, but to commend and extol them my heart and minde shall neuer be satisfied, by renouacion wherof I should rather giue occasion of blushing, than my selfe could be contented to let them sleepe in silence. Syphax as you know is taken prisoner by the valyance of our men of warre, by reason whereof, him selfe, his wife, his kingdome, hys campe, landes, cities, and inhabitants, and briefly all that which was king Syphax, is the pray and spoile to the Romane people, and the king and his wife, albeit she was no Citizen of Carthage, and hir father, although no captayn of our ennimies, yet we muste send them to Rome, there to leaue them at the pleasure and disposition of the Romane Senate and people. Doe you not know that Sophonisba with her toyes and flatteries did alienat and withdraw king Syphax from our amitie and friendship, and made hym to enter force of armes against vs? Be you ignoraunt that she, full of rancor and malice aganyst the Romane people, endeuoured to set al Affrica against vs, and now by herfayre inticementes hath gayned and wonne you, not I say our ennemy, but an ennymy so farre as shee can, with her cruell Inchauntments? What Damage and hurt haue lyghted vppon dyuers Monarches and Prynces through sugred Lippes and Venemous Woordes, I wyll not spend tyme to recite. With that prouocations and coniured charmes shee hath already bewitched your good nature, I wyl not now imagine, but referre the same to the deepe consideration of youre wisdome. Wherefore Massinissa, as you haue bene a Conquerer ouer great nations and prouinces, be now a conquerer of your own mind and appetites, the victorie whereof deserueth greater prayse than the conquest of the whole world. Take heede I say, that you blot not your good qualities and conditions, with the spots of dishonor and pusillanimitye. Obscure not that fame which hitherto is aduaunced aboue the Regyon of the glytterynge Starres. Let not thys vyce of Femynine Flatterye spoyle the desertes of Noble Chyualrye, and vtterly deface those merytes with greater ignomynie than the cause of that offence is worthye of disprayse.” Massinissa hearynge these egree and sharpe rebukes, not onely blushed for Shame, but bytterly Weepinge, sayde: that hys poore prisoner and wyfe was at the commaundement of Scipio. Notwithstanding, so instantly as Teares coulde suffer hym to speak, he besoughte hym, that if it were possible, hee woulde gyue him leaue to obserue hys faythe foolishlye assured, bicause hee had made an othe to Sophonisba that with life shee shoulde not bee delyuered to the Handes of the Romanes. And after other talke betweene them, Massinissa retired to hys pauylyon, where alone wyth manifolde sighes, and most bytter teares and plaintes, vttered wyth sutch houlinges and outcryes, as they were hearde by those whych stoode neare hande, hee rested al the daye bewailynge hys presente state: the most part of the nyghte also hee spent with lyke heauynesse, and debating in hys mind vpon diuers thoughts and deuises, more confused and amazed than before, hee could by no meanes take rest: somtimes he thought to flee and passe the straights commonly called the Pillers of Hercules, from thence to saile to the Fortunate Islandes with his wife: then agayne hee thoughte with hir to escape to Carthage, and in ayde of that City to serue agaynst the Romanes, somtimes hee proposedby sworde, poyson, halter, or som such meanes to end his life and finish his dolorous days. Many times hee was at pointe by prepared knife and sworde to pierce his heart, and yet stayed the same, not for feare of death, but for preseruation of his fame and honor. Thus thys wretched and miserable louer burned and consumed in loue: tossing and tumbling him selfe vppon his bedde, not able to find comfort to ease his payne, thus began to say: “O Sophonisba, my deare beloued wyfe, O the life and comfort of my life, O the deynty repast of my ioy and quiet, what shall become of vs? Alas and out alas I crye, that I shall see no more thine incomparable beauty, thy surpassyng comely face, those golden lockes, those glistering eyes which a thousand times haue darkned and obscured the rayes and beames of the Sunne it self: Alas I say, that I can no longer be suffred to heare the pleasaunt harmonye of thy voice whose sweetenesse is able to force Iupiter himselfe to mitigate his rage when with lightning Thunderbolts and stormie claps in his greatest furie he meaneth to plague the earth. Ah that it is not lawfull any more for me to throw these vnhappy armes about thy tender neck, whose whitenesse of face entermingled with semely rudds, excelleth the Morning Roses, which by sweete nightly dewes doe sproute and budde. The Gods graunt that I doe not long remaine on liue without thy sweete haunt and company, which can no longer draw forth this breathing ghoste of myne, than can a Bodye lyue wythoute like Breathe in it. Graunt (O Myghty Iupiter) that one graue may close vs twaine to liue among the ghostes and shadowes that be already past this world for like right louing fitts, if intent of life be ment to mee without thy fellowship and delectable presence. And who (O good God) shal be more blisful amongs the Elysian fields, wandryng amids the spirites and ghostes of departed soules, than I, if there we two may iette and stalke amonge the shadowed friths and forests huge, besette with Mirtle trees, odoriferous and sweete? that there we may at large recount and sing the sweete and sower pangs of those our passed loues without anye stay or let at all: that there I say we may remembre things already done, reioycing for delights and sighing for the paines. There shall no harde hearted Scipio bee found, there shal no marble minded captain rest, which haue not hadregard of Loue’s toyes, ne yet haue pitied bitter payns, by hauing no experience what is the force of loue. He then with ouer cruell wordes shall not goe aboute to persuade me to forsake thee, or to deliuer thee into the Romanes handes, to incurre miserable and most cruell bondage: he shal there neuer checke me for the feruent loue I beare thee: we shal there abide without suspition of him or any other: they can not seperate vs, they be not able to deuide our sweetest companye. I would the Gods aboue had graunted me the benefite, that hee had neuer arriued into Affrica, but had still remayned in Sicilia, in Italy or Spayne. But what stand I vpon these termes, O I fole and beast? what meanes my drousie head to dreame sutch fansies? if he hadde not passed ouer into Affrica, and made war against kinge Syphax, how should I haue euer seene my faire Sophonisba, whose beauty farre surmounteth eche other wight, whose comelines is withoute peere, whose grace inspeakable, whose maners rare and incomparable, and whose other qualities generally disparcled throughoute dame Nature’s mould by speach of man can not bee described? If Scipio had not transfraited the seas to arriue in Affrike soile, how should I, (O onely hope and last refuge of my desires) haue knowen thee, neither should I haue bene thy feere, ne yet my wife thou shouldest haue ben, but great had ben thy gaine and losse not much, neuer shouldest thou haue felt the present painfull state, wherein thou art, thy life (whereof most worthy no doubt thou art) shoulde not haue lien in ballance poize, or rested in doubtfull plight, which now in choyse of enimies thrall thou maist prolong, or else in Romanes handes a praye or spoile by captiue state. But I beseech the gods to preuent the choyce to be a Romane prysoner. And who can thinke that Scipio euer ment to graunt me the life of one, and goeth about to spoile me of the same? Did not he giue me the pardon of one, when he sent me to besiege the City of Cirta, where I found fayre Sophonisba which is my Life? A straunge kinde of pardon, by giuing me a pardon to dispossesse me of the same. Who euer hard tel of such a pardon? So much as if he said to me, thus: ‘Massinissa, go take the paine to cause the city yeld, and ransack it by force, and I wil pardon thee thy lyfe. And not wyth the onely benefit, but with Cræsus goods I wil inrich thee, and make thee owner ofthe happy soyle of Arrabia, and when I haue so done and rased the walles by myne indeuor, wherein myne onely lyfe and ioy did rest, at my retourne for guerdone of that Noble fact, in steede of lyfe hee choppeth of my head, and for fayre promyse of golden mountes, hee strips me naked, and makes mee a Romane slaue: accordynge to whych case and state he deales wyth me. For what auailes my Lyfe, if in gryefe and sorrowes gulffe I drown the pleasures of the same? Doth not he berieue my life and bredes my death by diuiding me from my fayre Sophonisba? Ah Caitife wretch, what lucke haue I, that neither storme nor whirle Wynde could sende him home to Italian shore, or set him packing to Sicile land? what ment cruell Scipio, when so sone as Syphax was taken, he did not streight way dispatch him to Rome, to present the glorious sight of the Numidian king to the Romane people? If Scipio had not beene here, thou Sophonisba frankly hadst bene mine: for at Lælias hands I could haue found some grace: but surely if Scipio did once see Sophonisba, and reclined his eyes to viewe hir perelesse beauty, I doubt not but he would be moued to haue compassion vpon hir and me, and would iudge hir worthy not onelye to be queene of Numidia but of all the prouince besides. But what, do I make this good accompt? The common prouerbe sayth, that he which counteth before his hoste, must recken twice: and so perhaps may be my lot: for what know I if Scipio did wel view hir, whether himselfe would be inamored of hir or not, and so utterly depriue me of that Iewel? He is a man no doubt as others be, and it is impossible me think, but that the hardnesse of his heart must bow to the view of such a noble beauty. But (beast as I am) what mean these wordes? what follies doe I vaunt by singing to the deafe, and teachyng of the blynd? O wretch, wretch, nay more than myserable Wretch. Marke the words of Scipio, he demaundeth Sophonisba, as a thing belonging vnto him, for which cause he sayeth that she is the pray and part of the Romane spoile: but what shall I do? shal I gyue hir vnto hym? He wyll haue hir, hee constraynes me, he exhortes mee, hee prayes mee, but I know full well wherevnto those intreaties tend, and vnder the Grasse what lurking Serpent lieth. Shal I then put into his hands mine own Sophonisba? But before I sodoe, the armipotent God aboue, with his flashing fires and flamming brands shall thunder me downe into the depthe of Hell. The gapyng ground receiue my corps, before I yeld to that request, the trampling steedes of sauage kinde do teare my members in thousand gobbets, the desert beastes consume my flesh, the rauening gripes and carrain kites pick out my tongue and eyes, before I glutte his rauenous mind with that demaund to break the fayth which by holy othe I haue promised to performe. O curssed caitif, but what shall I doe then? it behoueth to obey, and in despite of my teeth to do that which the Romane Emperour commaundeth. Alas, by thinking vpon that straight and needefull lot, I die a thousand deaths: wherfore of euils to chose the least of twaine, and to preserve my plighted faith, O swete Sophonisba, thou must die, and by meanes of thy beloued feere, shalt voyd the yoke of Romanes thral, for so it pleaseth vnmindeful Ioua to appoynt. The wretched Heauens by cruel fate haue throwen their lot, that I of mine owne mischiefe shal be the minister. And so (O life most deere) I shall performe the effecte to kepe the fayth whych last of all before thy face I did confirme.” By this speach and maner of talke, the good Prince bewayled his case, excogitating by what meanes he myght doe to death the thing which aboue al the world he loued best: at length it came vnto his minde to sende hir a draught of poysoned drink, which deuise he had no sooner founde, but he was driuen into a new kinde of fury, and kindled with disdayne, his braynes were on fire with extreme madnesse, and as though Sophonisba had bene before him, hee talked and raued in Bedlemwyfe: somtimes with taunts he checked hir to hir teeth, sometimes lamented hir vnfortunate state, sometymes with pawes displayed, he seemed to rampe into hir face, and then agayne into amorous toies his passions droue him forth. When I doe thinke what kinde of a man Massinissa was, who in deede was a crowned and most noble king, and who with sutch prudence gouerned his new conquered and recouered kingdoms, and so constantly perseuered in amity of the Romane people, I pray to God to graunt my frendes and myselfe also, not to enter into so intricat and louesome Labyrinth, wherein this Noble Prince was tangled, and wyth more temperaunce to gouerneour beloued things. Butretourning gayne to this afflicted gentleman Massinissa. He sent vnto his beloued wyfe and Queene a pot of poyson to rid hir of hir life: but yet staying his messenger, he cried out these words:“God forbid that I should commit this infamous murder vpon hir whom I most deerely loue, I would rather conuey hir into the extreme partes of the vnknowen sandy Coaste of Libia, where the countrey is full of venomous beasts and crawling poysoned Serpents, in which we shalbe safe and sure from the danger of cruell and inexorable Scipio, by which meanes he shall neuer see the rare and diuine beauty, which the serpents once beholding, will mitigate and asswage their bitter poyson, and for whose sake they will not annoy ne yet hurt me hir louing husband and companion: wherefore let vs make hast to flee thither, to auoide the bondage and death prepared for vs: and if so be we be not able to cary with vs gold and siluer, yet shal we not want there some reliefe to maintayn our liues: for better it is to feede on bread and water, then to liue in perpetual thraldome. And liuing with thee (sweete wyfe) what pouerty and beggery am not I able to sustayne? The stormes of exile and penury, I haue already suffred: for beinge driuen out of my kingdome many times, I haue repayred to obscure dens and caues, where I haue hidden my selfe, and liued in the Wildernesse among the sauage Beasts. But what meane I thus to say of my selfe, whom no misaduenture can affray or myslyke? But thou deare wyfe whych hast ben trayned vp and nourished amongs the delicacies and bankets of the Court, accompanied wyth traynes of many fayre and noble ladies, lining lyke a Queene in al kinde of pleasures and delights: what shall I doe wyth thee? I know thy heart will not suffer thee to follow me, and yet if the same would serue thee, from whence shall I procure present shippinge? Vpon the Sea the Roman fleete beares swinge, vpon the land Scipio wyth hys Army occupieth euery Coast, and is generall Lord of the field. What then shall I most miserable and vnfortunate caitife do? for whilest I am thus makinge my bitter playnts, the night is past away, day light approcheth, and the bright shining mornyng begynneth to cleare the earth. And behold yonder commeth the General’s messanger for Sophonisba, whom I must eyther deliuer into his hands orelse commit her to present slaughter, beinge assured that she had rather make choise to dy, than fall into the Laps of the cruell Romans.” Whereupon he determined to send hir the poyson, and for very sorrow fell downe vpon the ground like a man halfe deade. Afterwards being come agayne to him selfe, he cursed the Earth, the Ayre, the Fyre, Heauen, Hell, and all the Gods of the same, and exclaming in lamentable wyse he called vnto him one of his most faithfull seruants, who according to the custome of those dayes, alwaies kept poyson in store, and sayde vnto him: “Receyue thys Cuppe of Golde, and deliuer the same with the poyson, to Queene Sophonisba now abiding within the City of Cirta, and tel hir that I with greatest good will would fayne haue kept the mariage knot, and the firste fayth whych I plighted vnto hir, but the Lorde of the Fielde, in whose power I am, hath vtterly forbidden the same. I haue assayed all possible meanes to preserue hir my Wyfe and Queene at liberty, but he which commaundeth me, hath pronounced such hard and cruell sentence, as I am forced to offend my self, and to be the minister of mine own mischief. Thys poyson I send hir with so dolefull Message, as my poore hearte (God knoweth) doth only fele the smart, being the most sorowfull present that euer was offred to any fayre Lady. This is the way alone to saue hir from the Romanes handes. Pray hir to consider the worthines of hir father, the dygnity of hir countrey, and the royal maiesty of theII.kings hir husbands, and to do as hir mynd and wil shall fansie best. Get the hence with all possible spede, and lose no tyme to do thys Message: for thou shalt cary the bane and present death of the fairest Ladye that euer Nature framed wythin hir fayrest mould.” The seruaunt with this commaundment did departe, and Massinissa lyke a Chylde beaten with the rodde, wept and cried. The messenger being come to the Queene, and giuing hir the cup with the poyson, declared his cruell ambassage. The Queene took the poysoned Cuppe, and sayd vnto the messenger: “Geeue the king thy mayster myne humble thankes, and say vnto hym, that I receyue and Drynke thys Poyson wyth a wyll so good, as if hee had commaunded me to enter in Tryumph wyth Laurel Garlande ouer myne ennymyes: for a better gifte a husbande can not gyue to wyfe,than accomplyshment of assured fayth the funeralles whereof shall bee done wyth present obsequie.” And sayinge nothynge else vnto the messenger, shee tooke the Cuppe, and mynglynge well together the poyson wythin, shee vnfearfully quafft it vp: and when she had dronke it shee delyuered the messenger hys Cuppe agayne, and layed hir selfe vpon hir bed, commaunding hir gentlewomen in comely wyse to couer hir wyth Clothes, and withoute lamentation or Sygne of feminine minde, shee stoutly waighted for approching death. The Gentlewomen which wayted vpon hir, bewayled the rufull state of their Maystresse, whose plaints and scriches were heard throughout the palace, whereof the brute and rumor was great. But the good Queene vanquished with the strong force of the poyson, continued not long before she died. The messanger returned these heauie newes vnto Massinissa, who so sorowfully complained the losse of his beloued wife, in such wise as many tymes hee was lyke to kyll hymselfe, that hys Soule might haue accompanied the ghost of hir, whych was beloued of hym aboue all the dearest things of the Worlde. The valyant and wyse capitayne Scipio vnderstanding the newes hereof, to the intente Massinissa shoulde not commit any cruelty agaynst hymselfe, or perpetrate other vncomely deede, called hym beefore him, and comforted hym wyth the sweetest wordes he could deuise, and frendly reproued him. The next day in the presence of al the army hee highly commended him, and rewarded him wyth the kyngdome of Numidia, geuing hym many rych Iewels and treasures, and brought hym in great Estimation amonges the Romaynes: whych the Senate and people of Rome very well approued and confirmed with most ample Priuileges, attributinge vnto hym the title of kynge of Numidia, and freende of the Romaynes. Sutch was the ende of the vnhappy loue of kynge Massinissa, and of the fayre and lucklesse Queene Sophonisba.

The cruelty of a Kynge of Macedone who forced a gentlewoman called Theoxena, to persuade hir children to kill and poison themselves: after which fact, she and hir husband Poris ended their lyfe by drowninge.

Bvtnow we haue beegon to treate of the stoutnesse of certayne noble Queenes, I wyll not let also to recite the Hystory of a lyke vnfearfull dame of Thessalian land, called Theoxena, of right noble Race, the Daughter of Herodicus Prynce of that Countrey in the tyme that Phillip the Sonne of Demetrius was kynge of Macedone, tolde also by Titus Liuius, as two of the former be. Thys Lady Theoxena, first was a notable example of piety and vertue and afterwardes of rigorous cruelty: for the sayd kyng Philip, hauinge through his wickednesse first murdred Herodicus, and by succession of time cruelly done to death also the husbands of Theoxena and of Archo hir naturall sister, vnto eyther of them being Wydowes remayninge a Sonne: afterwardes Archo being maryed agayne to one of the principall of their Countrey named Poris, of him she had many children. But when she was dead, the sayd Lady Theoxena hir sister, who was of heart more constant and stout than the other, still refused the second mariage, although sued vnto by many great Lordes and Princes: at length pityinge her nephewes state, for fere they should fall into the handes of some cruell Stepdame, or that theyr father would not bryng them vp with sutch diligence, as tyll that tyme they were, was contented to bee espoused agayne to Poris, (no lawe that time knowen to defend the same) to the intente she might trayne vp hir sister’s children as her owne. That done she began (as if they were hir owne) to intreate and vse them louingly, with great care and industrie: wherby it manifestly appeared that she was not maried againe to Poris for hir owne commodity and pleasure, but rather for the wealth and gouernement of those hir sister’s children. Afterwards Philip king of Macedone, an vnquiet Prince, determininge to make newe warres vpon the Romanes (then throughoutthe worlde famous and renouned for theyr good fortune) exiled not onely the chiefe and noble men, but almost al the auncient inhabitants of the Cities along the sea coaste of Thessalia, and theyr whole and entier families into Pæonia afterwards called Emathia, a Countrey farre distant from the sea, giuing their voided Cities for the Thracians to inhabite, as most propre and faithful for the Romains warres, which he intended to make: and hearinge also the cursses and maledictions pronounced against him by the banished people, and vniuersally by al other, thought he was in no good surety, if he caused not likewyse all the sonnes of them, whom a litle before he had slayne, to be put to Death. Wherefore he commaunded them to be taken and holden vnder good gard in prison, not to do them al to be slain at once, but at times now one and then an other, as occasion serued. Theoxena vnderstanding the edicte of this wicked and cruell king, and wel remembring the death of hir husband, and of him that was husband to hir sister, knew wel that hir sonne and nephew incontinently should be demaunded, and greatly fearinge the king’s wrath, and the rigour of his guard, if once they fell into theyr hands, to defend them from shame and cruelty, sodainly applied hir minde vnto a straunge deuice: for shee durst to saye vnto hir husband their father’s face, that soner she would kil them with hir owne handes, if otherwise she coulde not warraunt them, then suffer them to bee at the will and power of kinge Philip. By reason wherof Poris abhorring so execrable cruelty, to comfort his wife and to saue hys Chyldren, promysed hyr secretelye to transporte them from thence, and caryed them himselfe to certayne of hys faythfull Fryendes at Athens, whych done wythoute longe delaye, hee made as thoughe hee woulde goe from Thessalonica to Aenias, to bee at the Solemnytye of certayne Sacrifices, which yearelye at an appoynted tyme was done wyth greate ceremonies to the honour of Ænêas the founder of that Citty, where spendinge the time amonges other in solemne bankets, thethrirdewatch of the night when euery man was a sleepe, as though he would haue returned home to his countrey with his wyfe and children, priuely embarked himselfe and them, in a ship hired of purpose to passe into Euboea, and not to retourne to Thessalonica. But his intent was cleane altered and chaunged, for his ship was no sooner vnder saile, but at that instant a contrary winde and tempestrose, that brought him back againe, in despite of their labour, and all the endeuour they were able to doe. And when daye lighte appeared, the king’s garrison descried that shippe, and manned out a boate, to bring in the same, which secretly they thoughte was about to escape away, giuing them straight charge, that by no meanes they should returne without hir. When the boate drew neare the shippe, Poris bent him self to encourage the mariners to hoyse vp saile againe, and to make way with their oares into the Sea, if it were possible, to auoide the imminent and present daunger, to saue the life of him selfe, his wife and children: then hee lyfted hys handes vp vnto the heauens to implore the helpe and succor of the Gods, which the stoute Gentlewoman Theoxena perceiuing, and manifestly seeing the Daunger wherein they were, callinge to hir minde hir former determinate vengeance which she ment to do, and beholding Poris in his prayers, she prosecuted hir intente, preparing a poysoned drink in a cuppe, and made readye naked swordes: al which bringing forth before the Childrens face, she spake these words: “Death alone must bee the reuenge of your siely liues, wherunto there be two wayes, poison or the sworde. Euery of you choose which ye list to haue: or of whether of them your heart shall make the frankest choice. The king’s cruelty and pride you must auoid. Wherfore deare children be of good chere, raise vp your noble courage: ye the elder aged boyes, shew now your selues like men, and take the sword into your handes to pierce your tender hearts: but if the bloudy smart of that most dreadfull death shal feare and fright your greene and vnripe age, then take the venomed cup, and gulpe by sundry draghtes this poisoned drinke. Be franke and lusty in this your destened Death, sith the violence of Fortune, by Sea, doeth let the lengthning of your life. I craue this requeste of choyse, and let not the same rebound with fearfull refuse of thys my craued hest. Your mother afterwardes shal pass that strayght, whereof she prayeth hir babes to bee the poastes: ye the vaunt currours, and shee, with your louing sire, shall end and finishe Philip’s rage bent agaynst vs.” When shee had spoken these woordes and sawe the enimies at hand, this couragious dame, the deuiser of the death, egged and prouoked these yong trembling children (not yet wel resolued what to do) with her encharmed woords in sutch wyse, as in the ende, some dranke the poyson, andother strake them selues into the body and by hir commaundement were throwen ouer boord, not altogether dead, and so she set them at liberty by death whom tenderly she had brought vp. Then she imbracing hir husband the companion of hir death, both did voluntarily throw themselues also into the sea: And when the kinge’s espials were come aborde the ship, they found the same abandoned of theyr praye. The cruelty of which fact did so moue the common people to detestatyon and hatred of the kinge, as a generall cursse was pronounced against him and his children, which heard of the Gods aboue was afterwardes terribly reuenged vpon his stocke and posterity. Thys was the end of good Poris and his stout wyfe Theoxena, who rather then she would fall into the lapse of the king’s furie, as hir father Herodicus, and hir other husbande did, chose violently to dye with hir own hands, and to cause hir husband’s children and hir owne, to berieue them selues of Lyfe, whych although agaynst the louinge order of naturall course, and therefore that kinde of violence to bee abhorred, as horrible in it self, yet a declaration of a stout mind, if otherwise she had ben able to reuenge the same. And what coward heart is that, that dare not vpon such extremity, when it seeth the mercilesse ennimy at hand, with shining blade ready bent, to stryke the blowe, that withoute remedye must ridde the same of breath, specially when it beholdeth the tremblyng babe, naturally begotten by hys owne kinde and nature, before the face imploryng father’s rescue, what dastarde heart dare not to offer himselfe, by singular fight (thoughe one to twentye) either by desperate hardinesse to auoyd the same, or other anoyance, aduenture what he can? which in Christians is admitted as a comely fight, rather than wyth that Pagane Dame to do the death it selfe. But now returne wee to describe a fact that passeth al other forced deedes. For Theoxena was compelled in a maner thus to do of meere constraint to eschue the greater torments of a tyrant’s rage and thought it better by chosen death to chaunge hir lyfe, than by violent hands of bloudy Butchers to be haled to the slaughter. But thys Hidrusian dame was weary of hir owne life, not for that she feared losse of lyfe, but desperate to think of Fortune’s fickle staye: whych if fortune’s darlings would regarde in time, they would foresee theyr slippery holde.

A straunge and maruellous vse, which in old time was obserued in Hidrvsa, where it was lawfull, with the licence of a magistrate ordayned for that purpose, for euery man, and woman that list, to kill them selues.

Bandelloamonges the company of hys Nouels, telleth this history: and in his own person speaketh these words. If I should begin to tell those things which I saw in the tyme that I sayled alongs the Leuant seas, very tedious it would be for you to heare, and I in reporting could not tell which way to ende, bicause I saw and heard thynges ryght worthy to bee remembred. Notwythstandinge, for satisfaction of dyuers that be my frendes, I will not sticke to reherse some of them. But first of all one straunge custome, whych in the Romayes tyme was vsed in one of the Ilandes of the sea Ægeum, called Hidrusa, in these dayes by the trauaylers called Cea or Zea, and is one of the Ilandes named Ciclades, whilome full of Populous and goodly Cities, as the ruins therof at this day do declare. There was in olde time in that Iland a yery straunge lawe and ordynaunce, which many hundred yeares was verye well and perfectly kept and observed. The Law was, that euery person inhabitant within the sayd Isle, of what sexe and condition so euer, being throughe age, infirmity, or other accidents, weary of their lyfe, might choose what kind of death that liked them best: howbeit it was prouyded that the partye, before the dooing of the same, should manifest the cause that moued him therevnto, before the Magistrate elected by the people for that speciall purpose, which they constituted because they sawe that diuers persons had voluntarily killed themselues vpon trifling occasions and matters of little importance: according to whiche lawe very many Men and Women, hardily with so merry chere went to theyr Death, as if they had gone to some bankette or mariage. It chaunced that Pompeius Magnus the dreadfull Romane, betwene whom and Iulius Cæsar were fought the greatest battailes for superiority that euer were, sailing by the Sea Ægeum, arriued at Hidrusa, and theregoynge a land vnderstoode of the inhabitantes the maner of that law and how the same day a woman of great worship had obteined licence of the Magistrate to poyson hir selfe. Pompeius hearing tell hereof, was driuen into great admiration, and thought it very straunge, that a woman which al the dayes of hir life had liued in great honour and estimation, shoulde vpon light cause or occasion poyson her selfe sith it was naturally giuen to ech breathyng wyght to prolong theyr liuing dayes with the longest threede that Atropos could draw out of dame Nature’s webbe. Whervpon he commaunded the said matrone to be brought before hym, whose Death for hir vertue was generallye lamented by the whole Countrye. When the gentlewoman was before hym, and had vnderstanding that she was fully resolued and determined to dye, hee began by greate persuasions to exhort hir, that she should not wilfully cast hir selfe away, vpon consideration that she was of lusty yeares, riche and welbeloued of the whole countrey: and how greate pitye it were but shee shoulde renue hir Mynde and gyue hir selfe still to lyue and remayne, till Natural course dyd ende and finysh hir life: howbeit his graue and earnest persuasion could not diuert hir from hir intended purpose. But Pompeius loth to haue hir dye, ceassed not styll to prosecute hys former talke with newe reasons and stronger arguments. All which shee paciently heard with fixed countenaunce, til at lengthe with cleare voyce and smiling cheere she answered him in this maner: “You be greatly deceyued (my lord Pompeius) if you do beleeue that I wythout very great prouidence and mature aduise goe about to ende my dayes: for I do know and am fully persuaded, that eche creature naturally craueth the prolongation and lengthninge of lyfe, and so mutch abhoreth to die, as the desirous to lyue detesteth the poyson whych I haue prepared for consumation of my lyfe. Whereupon as I haue diuers times thought, considered and discoursed with my selfe, and amongs many considerations oftentimes debated in my minde, there came into the same the instability and fickle change of Fortune, whose whirling wheele neuer ceasseth, ne yet remayneth stedfast. It is dayly seene how she doth exalte and aduaunce some man from the lowest and bottomlesse Pit, euen to the top of high Heauens, endowinge him with so mutch Substaunce as he candesire. An other that was most happy, honoured in this world lyke a God, vnto whom no goods and welfare were wantinge, who might wel haue bene called in his lyfe, a three times happy and blessed wyght, sodaynly from his honour and state depriued and made a very poore man and begger. Some man also, that is both riche and lusty, accompanied with a fayre wyfe and goodly Children, lyuinge in great mirth and ioylity, this wicked Lady Fortune, the deuourer of all our contentations, depriueth from the inestimable treasure of health, causeth the fayre Wyfe to loue an other better than hir husbande, and with hir venomous Tooth biteth the children, that in short space myserable death catcheth them al within his dreadfull Clouches whereby he is defrauded of those children, whom after his death he purposed to leaue for hys Heyres. But what meane I to consume tyme and words in declaration of Fortune’s vnsteady stay, which is more cleare than the beams of the Sunne, of whom dayly a Thousande thousande examples be manifest: all histories be full of theym. The mighty countrey of Græcia doth render ample witnesse wherein so many excellent men were bred and brought vp: who desirous with their finger to touch the highest heauen, were in a moment throwen downe: and so many famous Cities, which gouerned numbers of people, now at this present day we see to be thrall and obedient to thy City of Rome. Of these hurtfull and perillous mutations (O noble Pompeius) thy Romane City may be a most cleare glasse and Spectacle, and a multitude of thy noble Citizens in tyme past and present, may geeue plentifull witnesse. But to come to the cause of this my death, I say, that fyndyng myself to haue liued these many yeares (by what chaunce I can not tell) in very great prosperity, in al which tyme I neuer did suffer any one myssehappe, but styll from good to better, haue passed my time vntil thys daye: nowe fearyng the frownynge of Ladye Fortune’s face, and that she will repente hir long continued fauour, I feare, I say, least the same Fortune should chaung hir stile, and begynne in the middest of my pleasaunt life to sprinckle hir poysoned bitternesse, and make mee the Receptacle and Quiuer of hir sharpe and noysome arrowes. Wherefore I am nowe determined by good aduyse, to rid my selfe from the captivity of hir force, from all hir misfortunes,and from the noysom and grieuous infirmities, which miserably be incident to vs mortall Creatures: and beleeue me (Pompeius) that many in theyr aged dayes haue left their life with little honour, who had they bene gone in their youth, had dyed Famous for euer. Wherefore (my lord Pompeius) that I may not be tedious vnto thee, or hinder thyne affayres by long discourse, I besech thee to geeue me leaue to follow my deliberate disposition, that frankely and freely I may be vnburdened of all daunger: for the longer the life doth grow, to the greater annoysaunce and daunger it is subiect.” When she had so sayd, to the great admiration and compassion of all those which were present, with tremblinge handes and fearefull cheare, she quaffed a great Cup of poysoned drynke, the which she brought with hir for that purpose, and within a while after dyed. This was the straunge vse, and order obserued in Hidrusa. Which good counsel of the Dame had the noble and valiaunt captayne followed, no doubt he would haue bin contented to haue bin brought to order: and then he had not lost that bloudy battel atchieued agaynst hym by Iulius Cæsar at Pharsalia in Ægypt. Then hee had not sustayned so many ouerthrowes as he did, then had hee not ben forsaken of his frendes, and in the ende endured a death so miserable. And for so mutch as for the most part hitherto we haue intreated of many Tragicall and bloudy chaunces, respyring now from those, let vs a little touch some medicinable remedies for loue, some lessons for gouernment and obedience, some treaties of amorous Dames, and hauty Gestes of Prynces, Queenes and other persons, to variate the chaungeable diet, wherewyth dyuers bee affected, rellishinge their Stomackes wyth some more pleasaunt Digestions than they haue tasted.

The dishonest Loue of Favstina the Empresse, and with what remedy the same loue was remoued and taken away.

Trueand most holy is the sentence, that the Lady, Gentlewoman, or other wyght of Female kinde, of what degree or condition soeuer she be, be she fayre, fowle, or ylfauoured, cannot be endued with a more precious Pearle or Iewell, than is the neate and pure vertue of honesty: which is of sutch valour, that it alone without other vertue, is able to render her that glistereth in her attire, most famous and excellent. Be she more beautiful than Helena, be she mightier than the Amazon, better learned than Sappho, rycher than Flora, more louinge than Queene Dido, or more noble than the best Empresse and Queene of the worlde, or be she full of any other vertue, if she want the name of chast, shee is not worthy so mutch as to beare the title of honour, nor to be entertayned in honest company. Yee shall peruse hereafter an history of a Countesse of Celant, that was a passing fayre Dame, singularly adorned with Nature’s gifts. She was fayre, pleasaunt, amiable, comely, and perchaunce not altogether barrayne of good erudition and learninge: she could play vpon the instruments, sing, daunce, make and compose witty, and amorous Sonets, and the more her company was frequented, the more amiable and gracious the same was esteemed. But bicause she was unshamfast and lesse chaste, she was voyde of honest regarde. Sutch as bee dishonest, do not onely hurt themselues, but gieue cause to the common people to mutter and grudge at their parentes education, at their husbands gouernment and institution of their Children, causing them most commonly to leade a discontented and heauy lyfe. Thinke you that Augustus Cæsar (albeit he was a victorious Emperour, and led a triumphant raygne) liued a contented life when he saw the two Iuliæ, one of them his daughter, the other his Niece, to vse them selues like common strumpets, constrained through their shameful acts to pin, and close vp himselfe, shunning the conuersation of men, and once in minde to cut his Daughter’s Vaynesto let out hir Lusty bloud? Was not he wont (the teares trickling downe his Princely Face) to say, that better it was neuer to haue children and to be deade without them, than to haue a fruteful wife and children so disordred? He termed his Daughter to be a Carrion lumpe of fleshe, full of stenche and filthinesse. But if I list to speake of women of this age, from noble to vnnoble, from an Emperor’s Daughter to a Ploughman’s modder, whose liues do frame after Iulia hir lore, my pen to the stumpes would weare, and my hande be wearied with writing. And so likewise it would of numbres no doubt in these dayes that folow the trace of Lucrece line, that huswifely and chastly contriue the day and nightes in pure and Godly exercise. But of the naughty sorte to speake, (leauing to voyde offence, sutch as do flourish in our time) I will not conceale the Empresse Messalina, that was Wyfe to the emperour Claudius, not only vnworthy of Empresse degree, but of the title of Woman: who being abused by many, at length arriued to sutch abhominable lust, as not contented with dayly adulterous life, would resort to the common stewes, where the ruffians and publike harlots haunted, for little hire, and there for vilest price with eche slaue did humble herselfe: and at night not satisfied, but weared, returned home to hir Palace, not ashamed to disclose hir selfe to any that list to looke vpon hir: and for victory of that beastly game, contended with her lyke. But not to say so mutch of hir as I finde in Plinie his naturall history, in Suetonius, and Cornelius Tacitus, I leaue hir to hir selfe, bycause I haue made promise to remember the dishonest loue for example sake, which I read of Faustina, whose beauty of al Writers is vouched to be most excellent, if excellency of good life had thereunto ben coupled. She was the daughter and wyfe of two holy and vertuous Emperours, the one called Antonius Pius, the other Marcus Antonius. This M. Antonius in all vertuous workes was perfect and Godly, and singulerly loued his wife Faustina, and although she was infamous to the world, and a Fable to the people, yet he cared not for the same, sutch was the passing loue hee bare vnto hir. Leaue we to speake of hir beastly behauiour amongs the noble sort, without regard vnto hir most noble husbande, and come wee to treate of a certaine sauage kind of lust she had to one of theGladiatores, whych were a certaine sort of Gamsters in Rome, which we terme to be Maisters of defence. She was so far in loue with this Gladiator, as she could not eat, drink, or slepe, ne take any rest. This Faustina was so vnshamefast, as not regarding hir state, being as I sayde before the daughter and wife of two most worthy Emperors, dysdayned not to submitte her Body to the Basenesse of one of the vilest sort, a Rascal Fencer, and many times would goe to Caieta, a Citie and hauen of Campania, to ioyne hir selfe with the galye slaues there. Hir husbande which loued her dearely, comfortying his feble louing wyfe so well as he coulde, caused the best Physicians he could finde, to come vnto hir for recouery of hir health. But all the deuysed physike of the world was not able to cure her, she was so louesicke. In the end knowing by long experience the fauour and loue hir husband bare vnto hir, and knowing that nothing could withdraw his continued minde, she tolde him, that al the torment and payne shee sustained, was for the loue of a gladiator, towards whom hir loue was so miserably bent, that except she had his company, death was the next medicine for hir disease. The good husband whych beyond measure loued his wife, comforted hir with so louing wordes as he could, and bad hir to bee of good cheare, promisinge hee would prouide remedy. Afterwards consulting with a wise man a Chaldee born, opened vnto him the effect of his wiue’s disease, and how she was louesicke with sutch a person one of the Gamsters of the City, promising great rewardes if he could by his secretes serche out redresse to saue hir life. The Chaldee could tel him none other remedy, but that he must cause the Gladiator to be slaine, and with the bloud of him to anoint the body of the Empresse, not telling vnto hir what the ointment was: which don, that he must goe to naked bed to hir, and do the act of matrimony. Some Historiographers do write, that the Chaldee gaue him counsell, that Faustina should drinke the bloud of the Gladiator, but the most part, that hir body was bathed in the same. But how so euer it was, it would haue cooled the hottest Gentlewoman’s stomack in the world, to be anoynted with like Salue. To conclud the Gladiator was slayne and the medicine made and applied to the Pacient, and the Emperour lay with the Empresse,and begat hir with childe. And immediatly she forgot the Gladiator, neuer after that tyme remembring him. If this medicine were applied to our carnall louinge dames (which God defend) they would not onely follow Faustina in forgetfulnes, but also would mislike hir Phisike: and not greatly regard the counsell of sutch doctours. By meanes of this medicine and copulation was the Emperour Commodus borne, who rather resembled the Gladiator than his Father: in whose breast rested a storehouse of mischyefe and vyce, as Herodian and other Wryters plentifully do wryte.

Chera hid a treasure: Elisa going about to hang her selfe, and tying the halter about a beame found that treasure, and in place thereof left the halter. Philene the daughter of Chera going for that treasure, and busily searching for the same, found the halter, wherewithal for dispayre she would haue hanged hir selfe, but forbidden by Elisa, who by chaunce espied hir, she was restored to part of hir losse, leading afterwards a happy and prosperous lyfe.

Fortune, the Lady Regent and Gouernesse of man’s lyfe, so altreth and chaungeth the state thereof, as many times we see the noble borne from that great mighty port, wherein they be, debased so farre, as either infamously their lyfe is spent in the hungry lap of Dame Penury, or else contriued in the vgly lothsom house of Wantonnesse, the stepdame of all honesty and vertue. Sometimes we marke the vnnoble ladde that was nooseled in the homely countrey caban, or rude ciuile shoppe, attaine to that whych the onely honorable and gentle do aspire: and he agayne that is ambicious in climbing vp the turning wheele, throwen down beneth the brink of aduerse luck, whelmed in the ditch and pit of black despaire. We note also sometimes that the carelesse wyght of Fortune’s giftes, hath (vnlooked for) his mouth and throte crammed full of promotion and worlde’s delights. Such is the maner of hir fickle stay: whereof this History ensuing, gyueth some intelligence, by remembring the destenied luck of 2 pore sory girles that were left destitute of desired things, both like to fal into despaire, and yet both holpen with that they most desired: which in this sort beginneth. In the time that Scipio Affricanus had besieged the City of Carthage, Chera that was a widow (dwellinge there) seeinge the daunger at hand wherein the Citty stoode, and doubtynge the losse and ouerthrowe of the same, and that the honor of the dames and womankinde, coulde vneths be safe and harmelesse, determined not to abide the vttermost: and hauinge a good quantity of Gold and precious stones, she bestowed the same in a casquet, and hid it vpon one of the beames of hir house,purposinge when the stir and daunger was past, to retourne to hir house agayne for those hir hidden things. Which done, in the habite of a poore woman with her onely daughter in hir hand that was about 5 or 6 yeares of age, she went out of Carthage, and passed ouer the Seas into Scicilia, where falling sicke, after she had bene there three or foure yeares, at length died. But before shee departed, shee called her Daughter before hir, then about Ten yeares olde, and told hir the place where she had layed hir Casket. And by reason of the victory gotten by Scipio, the city was maruellously chaunged, and amongs other things, the house of Chera was giuen to a Romane Souldiour that was so enriched with Nobilyty of Mynd, as hee was poore of Fortune’s Goods. Whych Chera vnderstandyng, was sorowfull, and doubted of hir thynges secretlye bestowed vppon the beame. Wherevpon she sayd vnto hir daughter, that for so much as their house was in the possession of an other, she ought to be wise and circumspect in the recouerye of hir hidden goods: and that hir death was the more greuous vnto hir, because she must leaue hir (so yong a maiden) vnprouided of frendes for hir good gouernement. But yet she incouraged hir againe and sayd: that sith necessity approched, she must in childyshe age, put on a graue and auncient minde, and beware howe shee bewrayed that casket to any person, for that of purpose shee reserued the knowledge thereof, to hir self, that it might serue for hir preferment, and procure hir a husband worthy of hir selfe. And the maiden demaundinge the value of the same, shee told hir that it was worthCC.Talentes, and gaue hir in writing the particulars inclosed within the Caskette, and that the lyke bill shee should find within the same, written wyth hir owne Hande. And so the good woman within a while after dyed, leauyng behynde hir the yong mayden hir daughter, that maruellously lamented the death of hir mother, accordingly as nature taught hir, and ech other reasonable wyght depriued from their dearest friends. The maiden for hir yeres was very wise, and would disclose to none what her mother had sayd, keeping the writing very carefully. Not long after Philene (whych was the maiden’s name) fell in loue with a Gentleman of Scicilia of greate reputation and authority, who al bee it he saw hir to be very faire and comely,yet cared not for hir loue in respect of Maryage, for that hee knewe hir to bee poore, and withoute dowrie mete for a Gentleman, iestyng and mocking to see hir fixe hir minde on him, for desyre to haue him to hir husbande, that was a personage so noble and rich: which refusall pierced the hearte of the tender maiden, bicause she saw hir selfe forsaken for nothynge else, but for want of goods: whych made hir to think and consider, howe shee myght recouer the riches that hir mother had layed vp in Carthage. It chaunced as she was in this meditation, the daughter of him to whome the House of Chera was giuen, called Elisa, was likewise enamoured of a noble yong gentleman in Carthage, who bicause Elisa was the daughter of a Souldiour, and not very rich, in like manner laughed and iested at hir loue, no lesse than the other did at Philene. Notwithstanding Elisa attempted al meanes possible to induce the yong man to loue hir, but hir practise and attemptes tended to none effect. And last of all, desirous to haue a resolute answere, and thereby vnderstode, that he would rather dye than take hir to Wyfe, she fell into despayre and curssed fortune, and hir fate, that she was not borne riche enough to match wyth hir chosen Gentleman, and that she being poore, must fall in loue wyth sutch a personage: whereupon she miserably tormented hir selfe, still bewaylinge hir vnhappy lucke, that shee could not win him to be hir husband, for whych only intent and purpose she loued him. And this amorous passion incredibly growing in hir, the rootes whereof be planted in the restlesse humor of melancholy, and wanting all hope and comforte to stay that Ranke and Rammishe weede, it so increased in her, as shee franticke in raging loue gaue hir selfe ouer to the spoyle of herself: and to rid her from the griefe, she determined to kill hir selfe, imagining whych way she might do the same. At length she was resolued, with hir father’s sword to peerce hir body: but hir heart not seruing hir thereunto, deuised by the halter to end her lyfe, saying thus to herselfe: “Thys death yet shal do me good, that the cruel man may know that for his sake I haue done this fact: and if his heart be not made of Iron or steele, he can not chose but sorrowe and lament, that a poore mayde whych loued him better than hir owne lyfe, hath made sutch wretchedende onely for his cruelty.” Elisa concludinge vpon this intent, prepared a Halter: and being alone in her house, in the chamber where the Casket lay vpon the beame, placed a stoole vnder the same, and began to tye the halter about the beame: in doinge whereof, she espied the casket, and reached the same vnto hir, who feeling it to be heauy and weighty, immediatly did open it, and founde the Byll within, which Chera had written with hir owne hand, agreable to that which she had deliuered to hir daughter, wherein were particularly remembred the Iewels and other riches fast closed within the casket. Who disclosing the bagges wherein the gold and Iewels were bound vp, and seeing the great value of the same, wondred thereat, and ioyfull for that fortune, hid the rope which she had prepared for hir death, in the place where she found the casket, and with great gladnesse and mirth went vnto hir father, and shewed him what she had found, whereat the father reioyced no lesse, then his daughter Elisa did, bicause he sawe himselfe thereby to be discharged of his former poore life, and like to proue a man of inestimable wealth and substance: and saw likewise that the poore wench his daughter, by the addicion of those riches, was like to attayne the party whom shee loued. When he had taken forth those bagges and well surueyed the value, to the intent no man might suspect the sodayne mutation of his state, tooke his daughter with him, and went to Rome, where after he had remayned certayne monethes, hee returned to Carthage, and began very galantly to apparell himselfe, and to keepe a bountifull and liberall house. His table and port was very delicate and Sumptuous, and hys Stable stored wyth many fayre Horsse, in all poynctes sheewinge himselfe very Noble and rich: by which sodayne chaunge of state, the whole Citty beleeued that he had brought that wealth from Rome. And bicause it is the common opinion of the vulgar sort, that where there is no riches, there is no nobility, and that they alone make men noble and gentle (a foolyshe Opinion in deede proceedinge from heads that be rash and light) the people markynge that porte and charge kept by the Souldiour, conceyued that he was of some noble house. And throughout the whole Citty great and solemne honour was done vnto him: whereupon the young Gentleman, with whomElisa was in loue, began to bee ashamed of himselfe, that he had disdayned the mayden. Whych mayden seeing hir Father’s house to be in sutch reputation, made sute to her father, that he would procure the Gentleman to bee hir husband. But hir father wylled hir in any wyse to keepe secret hir desire, and not to seeme her selfe to bee in loue, and wysely tolde hir, that more meete it was that she should bee solicited by him, than shee to make sute or request for mariage: alleaginge that the lesse desirous the gentleman had bene of hir, the more deare and better beloued shee shoulde be to hym. And many tymes when hys Daughter was demaunded to Wyfe, he made aunswere that matrimony was a state of no litle importance, as enduring the whole course of Lyfe, and therefore ought well to bee considered and wayed, before any conclusion were made. But for all these demaundes and aunswers, and all these stops and stayes, the mayden was indowed with an honest dowry, and in the end her louer and she were maried, with so great pleasure and satisfaction of them both, as they deemed themselues happy. In the meane time while these things were done at Carthage, Philene in Scicilia toke thought how she might recouer her goods geuen to her by her mother, desirous by their meanes also to sort hir earnest and ardent loue to happy successe. And debatinge with her selfe (as we haue sayd before) howe she might obtayne them, because the house was in possession of an other, thought it to bee agaynst reason and order, that although she had lost hir house, yet hir goods ought to be restored vnto hir, which were hir onely mayntenance and reputation, and the fittest instrument that should conduct her loue to happy ende. And hearinge tell that the Father of Elisa the possessor of hir mother’s house liued at Carthage in great royalty and magnificence, thought that if by some sleight and pollicie she founde not meanes to enter the house without suspicion, hir attempt would be in vayne: determined therefore to goe to Carthage, and to seeke seruice in that house, counterfaytinge the kynde and habite of a Page. For she considered, that if she went thither in order and apparell of a mayden, she should incur the perill of her virginity, and fall into the lapse of diuers other daungers, purposed then to go thyther in maner of a Page and lacky. Andwhen she had in that sort furnished hirselfe, she passed the Seas, and arriued at Carthage. And seekinge seruice about the City at length chaunced to be retayned in a house that was next neyghbour to the Souldier, and bicause this wench was gentle and of a good disposition, was wel beloued of her maister, who being the frend of Elisa, hir Father many times sent vnto him diuers presents and gifts by Philene, wherevppon she began to be acquainted and familiar with the seruantes of the house, and by her oft repayre thyther viewed and marked euery corner, and vpon a time entred the chamber wherein hir Mother Cheraoldehir, that shee had bestowed hir goods, and lookinge vpont the Beames espied by certayne Signes and tokens, one of them to be the same where the Casket lay: and therewithal wel satisfied and contented, verily supposed that the casket still remayned there, and without further businesse for that time, expected some other season for recouery of the same. In the ende, the good behauiour and diligence of Philene, was so liked of Elisa, as hir father and she made sute to hir maister to giue hir leaue to serue them, who bycause they were his friends, preferred Philene vnto them, and became a page of that house. And one day secretly repayrynge into the chamber, where the treasure lay mounted vppon a stoole, and sought the beame for the casket: where she found no casket, but in place where that lay, the halter, wherwithal Elisa woulde haue strangled hir self. And searching all the parts of the Chamber and the beames, and finding nothing else but the halter, she was surprised with sutch incredible sorrowe, as she seemed like a stock, without spiryte, voice or life. Afterwardes, being come againe to hir selfe, shee began pitifully to lament and complayn in this maner: “Ah wretched Philene, vnder what vnluckie signe and planet was thou begotten and borne? wyth what offence were the heauens wroth, when they forced thee to pierce thy mother’s wombe? Could I poore creature when I was framed within the moulde of nature, and fed of my mother’s substance within hir wombe, and afterwards in due time brought forth to light, commit such crime, as to prouoke the celestiall impressions to conspire agaynst my Natiuity, to brynge mine increased age into such wretched state and plighte wherein it is nowwrapped? No, no, my faulte was nothing, it was parent’s offence, if any were at all: for many times we see the innocent babe afflicted for the father’s guilt. The Gods do punish the posterity, for som sacrilege or notorious crime committed by progenitors: theyr manner is not to suffer heynous faultes vnreuenged: their iustice cannot abide such mischief vncorrected for example sake: so fareth it by me. First my father died, after wardes my Mother a widow was driuen to abandon natiue soyle, and seeke reliefe in forrain land: and leauing that wherwith we were possessed in enimies keping, were forced a simple life to leade among straungers. And my mother, yelding forth hir ghost, made me beleue that shee had hidden great treasures here: and I vnhappy wench thinking to obteine the pray, haue wandred in counterfeit kind, and fetcheed many a bitter sigh, vntil I came into this place: and the thing I hoped for, which myght haue bene the meanes and ende of all my care, is turned to nothyng: a casket transformed into a halter: gold and Iewels into a piece of rope? Is this the mariage dowry (Philene) thou art like to haue to match with him whom thou so derely louest? Is this the knot that shall conioyne you both in yoke of man and wife? Ah wretch and miserable caitife, the goods thy mother layd vp for thee, for maintenance of thy rest, and safegarde of thine honour, and for the reputation of thy noble house, wherof thou camst, is now berieued from thee: they that kepe this stately house, and beare their lofty port amid the best, haue despoiled thee pore wench of that after which thou didst vainly trauayle. But what remedye now? sith thy wicked lot doth thus fall out, sith thy cruel fate is loth thou shouldest atteine the thing on whych thy mind is bente, and sith thy painfull lyfe can take no ende, make spede to rid thy selfe from misery by that meanes which he hath prepared for thee that hath found thy goods: who seeing his good aduenture to be thy bane, his happy pray to bee thy spoyle, hath left in lieu of treasure, a halter, that therwith thou mightest dispatch thy selfe from all thy griefes, and in their vnhappye companye to cease thy life, that the lothsom, lengthning of the same might not increase thy further plaints, sorowes, anguish and affliction. And in the place where infortunate Philene toke hir beginning, ther the Miserable wretche must finishe that,which without hir desired gaine no longer can be maynteined. Peraduenture it may come to passe as when thy soule is losed from this mortall charge, it shall stalke by hym, by whom it liueth, and by him also whom she thought to ioy in greatest contentation that euer mortall woman did.” And thus plaininge and sighing hir il fortune, when she had ended those words she tyed the halter about the beame, where sometimes hir Treasure lay, which beyng done shee put the same about hir necke, sayinge: “O crooked Lady Fortune, that hast thus vnfrendly dealt with thine humble clyent: Ah dispayre, thou vgly wretch and companion of the distressed that is vnwillinge to leaue my haunte vntyll thou playe the Hangman. Ah Dyuell incarnate that goest aboute to hale and plucke the innocent into thy hellish caue. Out vppon the thou deformed hellish dogge, that waitest at the fiery gate to lette them in, which faine would passe an other porte.” And as shee was powrying forth these spitefull wordes, redy to remove the stoole to fetch hir swynge, the Gods which would not giue consent, that the innocent wench should enter that vile and opprobrious death, moued the heart of Elisa, to passe by the place where she was in workynge on her selfe that desperate end: who hearing those moneful plaints vttred after such terrible manner, opened the Chamber doore, and saw that myserable sight: and ignorant of the occasion, moued with pity, ranne and stayed hir from the fact, saying thus vnto hir: “Ah Philene,” (whych was the name that she had giuen to hir selfe) “what folie hath bewitched thy mind? What phrensie hath incharmed thy braine? What harde aduenture hath moued thee in this miserable wise, to ende thy life?” “Ah” (sayd Philene) “suffer me Elisa, to finish my tormentes: giue me liberty to vnburden myselfe from the bande of cares that do assaile me on euery side: lette these Helhoundes that stande heare rounde about mee, haue theyr praye for which they gape. Thou moued by compassion, arte come hither to stay mee from the Halter: but in doyng so, thou doest mee greater wrong, than doeth despayre whych eggeth me therunto. Suffer I say, that mine afflictions may take some end, sith cruel fortune willeth it to be so, or rather vnhappy fate: for sowre death is sweeter in my conceit, than bitter life contriued in sharper sauce than gall or wormwood.”Elisa hearing her speake these wordes, sayd: “For so much as thy myshap is such, as onely death is the nearest remedy to depriue thy payne, what wicked chaunce hath induced thee, in this house to finish those thy miseries? What hath prouoked the to sutch augury to this our most happy and ioyfull family?” “Forced is the partye” (sayd Philene) “so to doe when destenye hath so appointed.” “What desteny is that?” demaunded Elisa. “Tell mee I beseech thee, perchaunce thou mayst preuent the same by other remedy than that whereabout thou goest.” “No,” (answered Philene) “that is impossible, but to satisfie thy request which so instantly thou crauest of me, I wil tel thee the summe of al my miserie.” In saying so the teares gushed forth hir eyes, and hir voice brake oute into complaints, and thus began to say: “Ah Elisa, why should I seke to prolong my wretched life in this vale of wretchednesse, wherein I haue ben so miserably afflicted? my mother pitieng mine estate and seeynge me voide of frends, and a fatherlesse child vpon hir death bed, disclosed vnto me a treasure which she had hidden vpon this beam whervnto this halter (the best remedy of my misery) is tied: and I making serch for the same, in place of that treasure found this halter, ordeined as I suppose (by what misfortune I knowe not) for my death: and where I thought among the happy to be the most happy, I see my selfe amongs al vnlucky women to be the most vnfortunate.” Elisa hearing hir say so, greatly maruelled and sayd: “Why then I perceiue thou art a woman and not a man.” “Yea, truly,” answered the vnhappy mayden: “A singuler example of extreme misery to all sortes of women.” “And why so?” demaunded Elisa. “Bicause” (answered Philene) “that the pestilent planet vnder which I was borne, will haue it to be so.” And then she told hir al that which had chaunced from the time of hir mother’s departure out of Carthage, and how she went into Scicilia and recounted vnto hir the loue that she bare to a Scicilian Gentleman, and howe that he disdayning hir for hir pouerty, refused to be hir husband: whervpon to atchieue hir desire as loth to forgoe him, was come in maner of a page to Carthage, to recouer the riches which hir Mother had hidden there, to the intente she might obtaine (if not by other meanes) with somrich dowrie, the yong Gentleman to husband whom she so dearely loued. And then reenforcing hir complaint, she said: That sith Fortune had despoiled hir of that which might haue accomplished hir desire, resting no cause why she should any longer liue, the halter was prepared for hir to end her daies, and to rid hir life from troubles. And therefore she praied hir to be contented, that she might make that end which hir misaduenture and wicked fortune had predestinate. I doubt not but there be many, which vnderstanding that the treasure did belong to Philene, if they had found the like as Elisa did, would not onely not haue forbidden hir the Death, but also by speedy meanes haue hastened the same, for so mutch as by that occasion the hidden treasure should haue ben out of strife and contention: so greate is the force of couetousnesse in the minde of man. But good Elisa knew ful wel the mutability of Fortune in humaine thinges, for so mutch as she by seeking death, had fonde the thinge which not onely deliuered hir from the same, but made hir the best contented woman of the worlde. And Philene seekinge hir contentation, in place thereof, and by like occasion, found the thinge that would haue ben the instrument of hir death, and moued with very great compassion of the mayden, desired to haue better aduertisement howe that treasure could belong to her. Then Philene shewing forth hir mother’s writing, which particularly remembred the parcels within the casket, and Elisa seeinge the same to be agreeable to the hand wherewith the other was written that was founde in the casket, was assured that all the gold and Iewels which she had found, did belong vnto Philene, and sayd vnto hirselfe: “The Gods defend that I should prepare the halter for the death of this innocent Wench, whose substaunce hath yelded vnto mee my hart’s desire.” And comforting the mayden, in the ende she sayd: “Be contented Philene, and giue ouer this thy desperate determination, for both thy lyfe shalbe prolonged, and thy discontented minde appeased, hoping thou shalt receyue the comforte thou desirest.” And with those words she losed the halter from hir neck, and takinge hir by the hand, brought hir to the place where hir Father and husband were, and did them to vnderstand the force and terms whereunto the fier of loue and desperation had brought that amorous mayden:tellinge them that all the treasure and Iewels which she had found (where she left the halter, and wherewith Philene was minded to hang hir selfe) did by good right and reason belonge to hir: then she did let them se the counterpayne of that bill which was in the casket, in all points agreeable thereunto, declaringe moreouer that verye lyke and reasonable yt were, like curtesie should bee vsed vnto her, as by whom they hadde receyued so greate honoure and delyghte. Her husband which was a Carthagian borne, very churlishe and couetous, albeit by conferring the writings together, he knewe the matter to be true, and that Philene ought to be the possessor thereof, yet by no meanes would agree vnto hys wyue’s request, but fell into a rage, callinge hir Foole and Ideot, and sayinge that hee had rather that shee had bene a Thousande tymes hanged, than he would giue hir one peny: and although she had saued hir life, yet she ought to be banished the Citty, for so mutch as the same and all the propertie thereof was brought into the Romane’s handes, and amongs the same hir mother’s house, and al hir goods in possession of the victors, and euery part, at their disposition and pleasure. And moreouer, for so mutch as hir mother and shee had departed Carthage, and would not abide the hazarde and extremity of their country as other Citizens did, and hauing concealed and hidden those riches which ought to haue ben brought forth for the common defence of their countrey, and gone out of the Citty as though she had ben a poore simple Woman, poorely therefore she ought to lyue in Scicilia, whyther she was fled. Wherefore he was of opinion, that she in this maner beinge departed when the Citty had greatest neede of hir helpe, was disfranchised of all the rightes and customes of the countrey, and that like as a straunger can recouer nothinge in that Citty, except he haue the priuiledge and Freedome of the same, euen so Philene (for the considerations before recited) ought to be compted for a straunger, and not to participate any thinge within the City, accordingly as the lawes forbid. When he had so sayd, he was like by force to expell the sorrowfull mayden out of the house. These wordes greatly grieued Philene, who doubted least his father in law would haue ioyned with him, and agree vnto hys alleaged reasons, whych seemed tobe of great importaunce and effect: and therefore thought newly to returne to the Halter for remedy of hir griefes; but it otherwise chaunced, for the Father of Elisa, which was a Romane borne, and affected with a Romane minde, and therefore of a Gentle and well disposed nature, knew ful wel, that although the house was giuen vnto him by the consent of Scipio, and other the Captaynes, yet he knew that their pleasure was not to bestowe on him the treasure hidden in the same, and therefore ought to be restored to the true owner, or else confiscate and properly due to the Romane Eschequer, or common treasure house of the same: and albeit that it was true that hir Mother went out of Carthage, in the time of the Siege, and therefore had forfayted the same, yet he determined to shewe some curtesie vnto the younge mayden, and to be thankfull to fortune, for the benefite which by hir meanes he had receyued, thinkinge that she would be displeased with him, if he with vngratefull minde or dishonourable intent should receyue hir giftes. For in those dayes the Romans highly reuerenced Lady Fortune, and in hir honour had Erected Temples, and Dedicated Aultars, and in prosperous tyme and happy aduentures, they consecrated vowes, and sacrifices vnto hir, thinkinge (although supersticiously) that like as from God there proceeded none euil, euen so from him all goodnesse was deriued: that all felicity and other good happes, whych chaunced vppon the Romane Common wealth, proceeded from Fortune, as the Fountayne and most Principall Occasion, and that they which would not confesse hir force, and be thanckful vnto hir Godheade, incurred in the ende hir Displeasure and Daungers very great and haynous. This Romane then hauing this opinion, beinge (as I sayd before) of a gentle Disposition woulde at one instant both render thankes to Fortune, and vse curtesie vnto that mayden, by whose riches and goods from lowe degree he was aduanced to honourable state. Wherefore turning his Face vnto hir, with louing countenaunce he spake these wordes: “Right gentle damosel, albeit by the reasons alleged by my sonne in law, none of the treasure hidden by thy mother, and founde by my Daughter in thys house, of right doth appertayne to thee, yet I will that thou shalte vnderstande my curtesie, and that thou see how the Romanesdoe more esteeme the nobility of their minde, than all the riches of the world. Therefore that thou mayst enioy thy loue, I referre vnto thee and to thy disposition all the goods and Iewels that were in the Casket, and contayned in thy writinge. Beholde therefore (causing the casket to be brought vnto him) all the Iewels and other parcels that were in the same when they were founde, take so mutch thereof as thou wilt, and if so bee thou desire the whole, willingly I render the same vnto thee, sithens by means of those riches, and the industry of my trafique, I haue gayned so mutch, as hauinge gyuen a conuenient dowry vnto my daughter, I honorably liue without it.” Philene seeing the curtesie of this valiaunt gentleman, gaue him infinite thanks, and then sayd vnto him: “Sir, I for my part dare aske nothinge, well knowinge that if you geue me nothinge, there is no cause why I shoulde complayne of you, but of my hard and wicked fortune, whych hath offered and giuen that to you, which ought to haue bin mine. Wherefore, sith your curtesie is sutch, as you refer the whole to mee, I purpose to take nothing, but will that the whole shall bee in your disposition, and giue mee what you list, and that so gieuen of your liberality, I shal more thankfully receiue, than if debt or duty did constrayne it: and if it shall please you to giue me nothing, my heart shal bee so well appeased, for that your curtesie, as rather woulde I chose to liue in the poore estate wherein I am, than be rych with your displeasure.” Howbeit, the Romayne intreated Philene to take thereof what shee thought good: and Philene craued no more than it pleased hym to gyue. Eyther of them standinge vpon these termes Elisa, brake the strife, who knowinge the force of loue, and the griefes incident to his clients, by hir own harmes, moued to haue compassion vpon the afflicted, turned towardes hir father, and sayd vnto him: “Right louinge father, the contencion betweene Philene and you, is risen of a matter which came by me. The treasure for which you striue, and committed to the will of Philene, was found by me, whereof if it please you both, I wyll take sutch order, as both you shalbe satisfied.” “I am contented,” sayd hir father: “And I likewise,” aunswered Philene. Then sayd Eliza: “You father hitherto haue had but one Daughter, whicham I, vnto whom like a chylde and louinge daughter I haue bene obedient, and shalbe all the dayes of my lyfe: and I agayne haue receiued from you sutch fatherly education, as your ability and state required. This treasure I found and gaue to you for ease and comfort of vs both: to me it yelded the only delectation of my heart in choyse of husband: to you honour and estimation within thys Citty. Wherefore, sith the principal came from me, and the right resteth in this careful maiden, my desire is, that where before you had but one daughter, you will adopt this mayden for another, and thinke that you have twaine, and that you will intreate Philene in like sort as if shee were my sister: and where this Inheritance and reuenue wherewith now you be possessed, and this casket also ought to be onely myne after your decease, for that you haue no sonnes, nor other Issue, my desire is that you geue vnto her the halfe, and that you accept hir for your daughter, as I doe meane to take hir for my sister: and accordingely to vse hir duringe lyfe.” With these wordes Elisa imbraced Philene, and louingly dyd kisse hir, sayinge vnto hir: “For my sister I entertayn thee Philene.” And then shee tooke hir by the hand and gaue hir vnto hir father with these wordes: “Beholde father, your new daughter, whom I beseech you so hartily to loue as you do Elisa your naturall chylde.” The father praysed the curtesie of Elisa, and receiued Philene for his daughter and was contented wyth the Arbitrament of his Daughter. But Elisa perceyuing hir husband to be somewhat offended therewyth, specially for that the same should be deuided into two partes, which was like to haue bene hys wholly before, persuaded hym by gentle meanes to be content wyth that agreement: and although at the first he could not well brooke the liberality of his wyfe, yet at length viewinge the good behauiour and gentle disposition of Philene, and the contented minde of his father in law, together with the noble nature of his wyfe, and hir wise aduertisement of Fortune’s fickle assurance, yelded, and acknowledged Philene for hys kinswoman. And so Philene put in possession of the halfe of those goods, whereof she was altogether out of hope, was well satisfied, and had the Romane for hir father, Elisa for hir sister, and hir husband for hir kinsman. That valyantRoman was so careful ouer Philene, as if she had ben his owne daughter, and so indeuored, as he brought to passe that she obteined hir beloued Scicilian to husbande: who also sent for hym to Carthage, where he continued with his wife in the Romane’s house, and loved them both so dearely as though he had ben father to the one, and father in lawe to the other. In this maner these two poore wenches attained their two husbands, for hauing of whom, theyr onely care was for Ryches, and for lacke thereof were dryuen to despayre: and in the ende both (though diuersly, and the one more fortunat than the other) recouered riches, and with the same theyr husbandes, to their heartes singular ioye and contentation. Which lucke I wyshe to all other poore Girles (but not hangyng rype, or louynge in despayre) that bend their mindes on Mariage, and seeke to people by that estate, their countrey common wealth. But leauinge for a time these Tragicall Nouels and heauy chaunces, wee purpose to remember some morall matters right worthy of remembraunce: Letters they bee from a godly Pagane clerk, the famous Philosopher Plutarch, Schoolemaister to an Emperour of no lesse vertue, than hys mayster’s Schoole and mynde was fraught with diuine Precepts. Wherefore proceede (good Reader) to continue the paynes vpon the readinge of these, so well as thou hast vouchsafed to employ thy time before. They shal no lesse delite thee, if vertue brooke thee, they shal no lesse content thee if duty please thee, than any delightsome thing, whereupon (at any tyme) thou hast employed thy vacaunte tyme.

Back to IndexNext