A common woe though silly woman be to man,Yet double ioy againe she doth vnto him bring:The wedding night is one, as wedded folk tell can,The other when the knill for hir poore soule doth ring.If not for that he knew the happinesse of man consisted more in auoyding the acquaintaunce of that fury, than by imbracinge, and chearishing of the same, sith hir nature is altogether like vnto Æsop’s Serpent, which being deliuered from pearill and daunger of death by the shepeheard, for recompence thereof, infected his whole house with his venomous hissing, and rammish Breath. O howe happy is hee that can mayster his owne affections, and like a free man from that passion, can reioyce in liberty, fleeing the sweete euill which (as I well perceyue) is the cause of your despayre. But sir, your wisedome ought to vanquish those light conceipts, by setting so light of that your rebellious Gentlewoman, as shee is vnworthy to be fauoured by so great a Lord as you be, who deserueth a better personage than hir’s is, and a frendlier entertainment than a farewell so fondly giuen.” Dom Diego, although that he tooke pleasure to heare those discourses of his faythfull seruaunt, yet he shewed so sower a Countenaunce vnto him, as the other with theese fewe wordes helde his peace: “Sith then it is so syr, that you be resolued in your mishap, it may please you to accept mee to wayte vpon you, whither you are determined to goe: for I meane not to liue at mine ease, and suffer my mayster, in payne, and griefe. I will be partaker of that which Fortune shall prepare, vntill the heauens doe mitigate their rage vpon you, and your predestinate mishap.” Dom Diego, who desired no better company, imbraced him very louingly, thankinge him for the good will that hee bare him, and sayd: “This present Night about midnight, we wil take our Iourney, euen that way wheather our Lot and also Fortune shall Guide vs, attendinge eyther the ende of my Passion, or the whole ouerthrow of my selfe.” Their intent they did put in proofe: for at Midnight the Moone being cleerewhen all thinges were at rest, and the Crickets chirpinge through the Creauises of the Earth, they tooke their way vnseene of any. And so soone as Aurora began to garnish hir Mantle with colors of red and white, and the morning Starre of the Goddesse of stealing loue, appeared, Dom Diego began to sigh, saying: “Ah yee freshe and dewy Morninges, that my hap is farre from the quiet of others, who after they haue rested vpon the Cogitation of their Ease, and ioye, doe awake by the pleasaunte Tunes of the Byrdes, to perfourme by effect that which the Shadowe and Fantasie of their Minde, did present by dreaming in the Night, where I am constrayned to separate by great distaunce exceeding vehement continuation of my Torments, to followe wilde Beasts, wandring from thence where the greatest number of men doe quietly sleepe and take their rest. Ah Venus, whose Starre now conducteth me, and whose beames long agoe did glow and kindle my louing heart, how chaunceth it that I am not intreated according to the desert of my constant minde and meaning most sincere? Alas, I looke not to expect any thyng certayne from thee, sith thou hast thy course amongs the wandring starres. Must the Influence of one Starre that ruleth ouer mee, deface that which the Heauens would to bee accomplished, and that my cruel mistresse, deluding my languors and griefs, triumpheth ouer mine infirmity, and ouerwhelmeth me with care and sorow, that I liue pyning away, amongs the sauage beasts in the Wildernesse? For somutch as without the grace of my Lady, all company shalbe so tedious and lothsom vnto me, that the only thought of a true reconciliation with hir, that hath my heart, shal serue for the comfort and true remedy of all my troubles.” Whiles he had with these pangs forgotten himselfe, hee sawe that the day began to waxe cleere, the Sun already spreading his golden beames vpon the earth and therefore hastely he set himself forthwards, vsing Bywayes, and far from common vsed trades, so neere as he could, that hee might not by any meanes be knowne. Thus they rode forth till Noone: but seeing their horsse to be weary and faynt, they lighted at a village, farre from the high way: where they refreshed themselues, and bayted their horsse vntill it was late. In this sort by the space of three daies they trauersed the Countrey vntill they arriued to the footeof a mountayne, not frequented almost but by Wilde and sauage Beasts. The countrey round about was very fayre, pleasaunt, and fit for the solitarines of the Knight: for if shadow pleased him, hee might be delighted with the couert of an infinite number of fruictfull trees, wherewith only nature had furnished those hideous and Sauage Desertes. Next to the high and wel timbred Forrests, there were groues and bushes for exercise of hunting. A man could desire no kinde of Veneson, but it was to be had in that Wildernesse: there might be seene also a certain sharpe and rude situation of craggy, and vnfruictful rocks, which notwithstanding yelded some pleasure to the Eyes, to see theym tapissed with a pale moasie greene, which disposed into a frizeled guise, made the place pleasaunt and the rock soft, according to the fashion of a couerture. There was also a very fayre and wide Caue, which liked him well compassed round about with Firre trees, Pine apples, Cipres, and Trees distilling a certayne Rosen or Gumme, towards the bottom whereof, in the way downe to the valley, a man might haue viewed a passing company of Ewe trees, Poplers of all sortes, and Maple trees, the Leaues whereof fell into a Lake or Pond, which came by certayne smal gutters into a fresh and very cleare fountayne right agaynst that Caue. The knight viewing the auncienty and excellency of the place, deliberated by and by to plant there the siege of his abode, for performing of his penaunce and life. And therefore sayd unto his seruaunt: “My friend, I am aduised that this place shall be the Monastery, for the voluntary profession of our religion, and where we will accomplish the Voyage of our Deuotion. Thou seest both the beauty and solitarinesse, which do rather commaund vs here to rest, than any other place nere at hand.” The Seruaunt yelded to the pleasure of his mayster, and so lightinge from their horsse, they disfurnished them of their Saddles, and Bridles, gieuing to them the liberty of the fields, of whom afterwards they neuer heard more newes. The saddles they placed within the Caue and leauing their ordinary apparell, clothed themselues in Pilgrimes weedes, fortifying the mouth of the caue, that wilde beasts should not hurt them when they were a sleepe. There the seruaunt began to play the Vpholster, and to make 2 little beds of mosse,whose spindle and wheele were of wood, so well pollished and trimmed, as if he had bin a carpenter wel expert in that Science. They liued of nothing els, but of the fruicts of those wilde trees, sometimes of herbs, vntill they had deuised to make a crosbow of wood, wherewith they killed now and then a Hare, a Cony, a Kid, and many times some stronger beast remayned with them for gage: whose bloude they pressed out betwene two pieces of wood and rosted them against the Sunne, seruing the same in, as if it had bene a right good Dishe for their first course of their sober and vndelicate Table, whereat the pure water of the fountayne, next vnto their hollow and deepe house, serued in steade of the good Wynes, and delicious Drinks that abounded in the house of Dom Diego. Who liuing in this poore state, ceased night nor day to complayne of his hard fortune and curssed plight, going many times through the Desertes all alone, the better to muse and study thereupon, or (peraduenture) desirous that some hungry Beare should descend from the mountayne, to finishe his life and paynefull griefes. But the good Seruaunt knowing his Mayster’s sorow and mishap, would neuer go out of his sight but rather exhorted him to retourne home againe to his goods and possessions, and to forget that order of lyfe, vnworthy for sutch a personage as he was, and vncomely for him that ought to be indued with reason and iudgement. But the desperate Gentleman wilfull in his former deliberation, would not heare him speake of sutch retrayt. So that if it escaped the seruaunt to be earnest and sharpe agaynst the rudenesse and sottish cruelty of Gineura, it was a pastime to see Dom Diego mount in choller against him, saying: “Art thou so hardy to speak il of the gentlewoman, which is the most vertuous personage vnder the coape of heauen? Thou maist thancke the loue I beare thee, otherwise I would make thee feele how mutch the slaunder of hir toucheth mee at the heart, which hath right to punishe me thus for mine indiscretion, and that it is I that commit the wronge in complayning of hir seuerity.” “Now sir,” sayd the seruaunt, “I do indeede perceyue what maner of thing the contagion of loue is. For they which once doe feele the corruption of that Ayre, think nothing good or sauory, but the filthy smel of that pestiferous meat. WhereforeI humbly beseech you a little to set apart, and remoue from minde, that feare and presumptuous dame Gineura, and by forgetting hir beauty, to measure hir Desert and your griefe, you shall know then (being guided by reason’s lore) that you are the simplest and weakest man in the worlde, to torment your selfe in this wise, and that shee is the fondest Girle, wholly straught of wits, so to abuse a Noble man that meriteth the good grace and sweete embracement of one more fayre, wise and modest, than she sheweth hirselfe to be.” The knight hearing these words thought to abandon pacience, but yet replied vnto him: “I sweare vnto thee by God, that if euer thou haue any sutch talke agayne, eyther I will dye, or thou shalt depart out of my company, for I cannot abide by any meanes to suffer one to despise hir whom I do loue and honor, and shal so do during life.” The seruaunt loth to offend his mayster held his peace, heauy for all that in heart, to remember how the poore gentleman was resolued to finish there, (in a desert unknowen to his Freendes) all the remnaunt of his life. And who aswell for the euill order, and not accustome nourture, as for assiduall playnts and weepings, was become so pale and leane, as he better resembled a dry Chip, than a man, hauing feeling or lyfe. His eyes were sonke into his Head, his Beard vnkempt, his hayre staring, his skin ful of filth, altogether more like a wilde and Sauage creature (sutch one as is depainted in brutal forme) than faire Dom Diego, so mutch commended, and esteemed throughout the kingdome of Spayne. Now leaue we this Amorous Hermit to passionate and playne his misfortune, to see to what ende the Letters came that he wrote to his cruel Mistresse. The day prefixed for deliuery of his Letters, his seruaunt did his charge, and being come to the house of Gineura, founde hir in the hall with hir mother, where kissing his Mayster’s Letters, hee presented them with very great reuerence to the Gentlewoman. Who so soone as shee knew that they came from Dom Diego, all chaunged into raging colour, and foolishe choller, threwe theym incontinently vppon the grounde, sayinge: “Sufficeth it not thy Mayster, that already twice I haue done him to vnderstand, that I haue nothing to doe with his Letters nor Ambassades, and yet goeth he about by sutch assaultes to encreasemy displeasure and agony, by the only remembraunce of his folly?” The Mother seeing that vnciuile order, although shee vnderstoode the cause, and knowinge that there was some discorde betweene the two Louers, yet thought it to bee but light, sithe the Comike Poet sayeth:The Louers often falling out,And prety warling rage:Of pleasaunt loue it is no doubt,The sure renewing gage.She went vnto hir Daughter, and sayd vnto hir: “What great rage is this: let me see that Letter that I may reade it: for I haue no feare that Dom Diego can deceyue me with the sweetenes of his honny words. And truly Daughter you neede not fear to touch theym, for if there were any Poyson in theym, it proceeded from your beauty that hath bitten and stong the knight, whereof if he assay to make you a partaker, I see no cause why he ought to be thus rigorously reiected, deseruing by his honesty a better entertaynement at your hands.” In the meane time one of the seruing men toke vp the Letters, and gaue them to the Lady, who reading them, found written as followeth.The letters of Dom Diego, to mistresse Gineura.My dearest and most wel beloued Lady, sith that mine innocency can finde no resting place within your tender Corpse, what honest excuse or true reason so euer I do alledge, and sith your heart declareth itself to be Implacable, and not pleased with hym that neuer offended you, except it were for ouermutch loue, which for guerdon of the rare and incomparable amity, I perceyue my selfe to be hated deadly of you and in sutch wise contemned, as the only record of my name causeth in you an insupportable griefe and displeasure vnspeakeable. To auoide I say your indignation, and by my mishap to render vnto you some ease and contentment, I haue meant to dislodge my self so far from this Countrey, as neyther you nor any other, shal euer heare by fameor true report, the place of my abode, nor the graue wherein my bones shall rest. And although it be an inexplicable heart’s sorrow and torment, which by way of pen can not be declared, to be thus misprised of you, whom alone I do loue and shal, so long as mine afflicted soule shall hang vpon the feeble and brittle threede of life: yet for all that, this griefe falling vpon me, is not irkesome, as the punishment is grieuous, by imagining the passion of your minde when it is disquieted with disdayne and wrath agaynst me, who liueth not, but to wander vpon the thoughts of your perfections. And forsomutch as I doe feele for the debility that is in me, that I am not able any longer to beare the sowre shockes of my bitter torments and martyrdome that I presently doe suffer, yet before my life doe fayle, and death doe sease vpon my senses, I haue written vnto you this present letter for a testimoniall of your rigour, which is the marke that iustifieth my vnguiltynesse. And although I doe complayne of mine vnhappy fortune, yet I meane not to accuse you, onely contented that eche man doe know, that firme affection and eternall thraldome do deserue other recompence than a farewell so cruell. And I am wel assured, that when I am deade, you will pitty my torment, knowing then, although to late, that my loyalty was so sincere, as the report of those was false, that made you beleeue, that I was very far in loue with the Daughter of Dom Ferrande de la Serre. Alas, shall a Noble gentleman that hath bene well trayned vp, be forbidden to receiue the gifts that come from a vertuous Gentlewoman? Ought you to be so incapable and voyde of humanity, that the sacrifice which I haue made of the poore Birde, the cause of your disdayne, my repentaunce, my lawfull excuses, are not able to let you see the contrary of your persuasion? Ah, ah, I see that the dark and obscure vayle of uniust disdayne and immoderate anger, hath so blindfold your eyes, and inuegled your mynde, as you can not iudge the truth of my cause and the vnrightousnes of your quarell. I will render vnto you none other certificate of myne innocency, but my languishinge heart, which you clepe betweene your hands, feling sutch rude intertaynment there, of whom he loaked for reioyse of his trauayles. But forsomutch then as you do hate me, what resteth for me to do, but to procure destruction to my self?And sith your pleasure consisteth in mine ouerthrow, reason willeth that I obey you, and by deth to sacrifice my life in like maner as by life you were the only mistresse of my heart. One only thing cheereth vp my heart agayne, and maketh my death more myserable, which is, that in dying so innocent as I am, you shall remayne guilty, and the onely cause of my ruine. My Lyfe will depart like a Puffe, and Soule shall vanish like a sweete Sommer’s blast: whereby you shall be euer deemed for a cruell Woman and bloudy Murderer of your deuout and faythfull Seruaunt. I pray to God mine owne sweete Lady, to giue you sutch Contentation, Ioye, Pleasure, and Gladnesse, as you do cause through your Rigor, Discontentment, Griefe, and Displeasure to the poore languishing Creature, and who for euermore shall beeYour most obedient and affectedseruaunt Dom Diego.The good Lady hauing red the Letter, was so astonned, as hir words for a long space staied within hir mouth; hir heart panted, and spirite was full of confusion, hir minde was filled with sorrow to consider the anguishes of the poore vagabound, and foster Hermit. In the ende before the houshold dissembling hir passion which mooued hir sense, she tooke her Daughter a side, whom very sharply she rebuked, for that she was the cause of the losse of so notable and perfect a Knight as Dom Diego was. Then she red the Letter vnto hir, and as all hir eloquence was not able to moue that cruel damsell, more venemous than a Serpent agaynst the knight, who (as she thought) had not indured the one halfe of that which his inconstancy and lightnesse had wel deserued, whose obstinate minde the mother perceyuinge, sayde vnto hir: “I pray to God (deare daughter) that for your frowardnesse, you bee not blinded in your beauty, and for refusall of so great a benefit as is the alliaunce of Dom Diego, you be not abused with sutch a one as shall dimme the light of your renoume and glory, which hitherto you haue gayned amongs the sobrest and modest maydens.” Hauing sayd so, the wyse and sage widow, went to the seruaunt of Dom Diego, of whom she demaunded what day his mayster departed, which she knowing, and not ignorauntof the occasion, was more wroth than before: notwithstanding she dissembled what she thought, and sending backe his seruant, she required him to do hir hearty commendations to the Lady his mistresse, which he did. The good Lady was ioyfull of them not knowing the contents of her sonne’s letters, but looked rather that he had sent word vnto his lady of the iust hour of his returne. Howbeit when she saw that in the space of 20 dayes, nor yet within a moneth he came not, shee could not tell what to thinke, so dolorous was she for the absence of hir sonne. The time passinge without hearing any newes from him she began to torment hirselfe, and be so pensiue, as if she had heard certayne newes of his death. “Alas,” (quod she) “and wherefore haue the heauens giuen me the possession of sutch an exquisite fruict, to depriue mee thereof before I do partake the goodnesse, and swetenes therof, and before I do enioy the grifts proceding from so goodly a stock. Ah God, I fear that my immoderate loue is the occasion of the losse of my sonne, and the whole ruine of the mother, with the demolition and wast of al our goods. And I would that it had pleased God (my Son) the hunter’s game had neuer bene so deere, for thinking to catch that pray thou thy selfe wast taken and thou wandring for thy better disport, missing the right way, so strangely didst straggle, that hard it is to reduce thee into the right track agayne. At least wise if I knew the place, whereunto thou arte repaired to finde againe thy losse, I would trauell thither to beare the company, rather than to lyue heere voyde of a Husbande, betrayed by them whom I best trusted and bereft from the presence of the my Sonne, the Staffe and onely comfort of myne olde age, and the certayne hope of all our House and Family.” Now if the Mother vexed hir selfe, the Sonne was eased with no great reioyce, being now a free cittizen with the Beasts, and Foules of the Forrests, Dennes, and Caues, leauing not the Profundity of the Woods, the Craggednes of the Rocks, or beauty of the Valley, without some signe or token of his griefe. Sometime with a Puncheon wel sharpned, seruing him in steede of a Penknife, he graued the successe of his loue vpon an hard stone. Other times the softe Bark of some tender and new growen spray serued him in steede of Paper, or Parchment. For there hecarued in Cyphres properly combined with a Knot (not easily to be knowne) the name of his Lady, interlaced so properly with his owne, that the finest heads might bee deceyued, to Disciphre the righte interpretation. Vpon a day then, as he passed his time (accordinge to his custome) to muse vpon Myssehaps, and to frame his successe of loue in the Ayre, hee Ingraued these Verses vpon a Stone by a Fountayne side, adioyning to his rude and Sauage house.If any Forrest Pan, doth haunt here in this place,Or wandring Nymphe, hath hard my wofull playnt:The one may well beholde, and view what drop of grace,I haue deseru’de, and eke what griefes my heart do taynt,The other lend to me some broke, or showre of rayneTo moyst myne heart and eyes, the gutters of my brayne.Somewhat further of many times at the rising of the Sunne, he mounted the Top of an high and greene Mountayne to solace himselfe vpon the freshe and greene grasse, where four Pillers were erected, (eyther naturally done by dame Nature, or wrought by the industry of man,) which bore a stone in forme four square, well hewed, made and trimmed in maner of an Aulter, vpon which Aulter he dedicated these verses to the Posterity.Vpon this holy squared stone, which Aulter men doe call,To some one of the Gods aboue that consecrated is,This dolefull verse I do ingraue, in token of my thrall,And deadly griefes that do my silly heart oppresse,And vex with endelesse paynes, which neuer quiet is,This wofull verse (I say) as surest gage of my distresse,I fixe on Aulter stone for euer to remayne,To shew the heart of truest wight, that euer liued in payne.And vpon the brims of that Table, he carued these Wordes:This Mason worke erected here, shall not so long abide,As shall the common name of two, that now vncoupled bee,Who after froward fortune past, knit eche in one degree,Shall render for right earnest loue, reward on either side.And before his Lodging in that wilde and stony Forrest vpon the Barke of a lofty Beeche Tree, feeling in himselfe an unaccustomed lustinesse, thus he wrote:Th’encreasing beauty of thy shape, extending far thy name,By like increase I hope to see, so stretched forth my fame.His man seeing him to begin to be merily disposed, one day said vnto him: “And wherefore sir serueth the Lute, which I brought amongs our Males, if you do not assay thereby to recreate youre selfe, and sing thereupon the prayses of hir whom you loue so wel: yea and if I may so say, by worshipping hir, you do commit idolatry in your minde. Is it not your pleasure that I fetche the same vnto you, that by immitation of Orpheus, you may mooue the Trees, Rocks, and wylde Beastes to bewayle your misfortune, and witnesse the penaunce that you doe for hir sake, without cause of so haynous punishment:” “I see well,” (quod the knight) “that thou wouldest I should be mery, but mirth is so far from me, as I am estraunged from hir that holdeth me in this misery. Notwithstanding I will performe thy request, and will awake that instrument in this desert place, wherewith sometime I witnessed the greatest part of my passions.” Then the knight receyuing the Lute sounded thereupon this song ensuing.The waues and troubled scum, that mooues the Seas alofte,Which runs and roares against the rocks, and threatneth daungers oftResembleth lo the fits of loue,That dayly do my fansie moue.My heart it is the ship, that driues on salt Sea fome,And reason sayles with senselesse wit, and neuer loketh home,For loue is guide, and leades the daunce,That brings good hap, or breedes mischaunce.The furious flames of loue, that neuer ceaseth sure,Are loe the busie sailes and oares, that would my rest procure,And as in Skies, great windes do blo,My swift desires runnes, fleeting so.As sweete Zephyrus breath, in spring time feedes the floures,My mistresse voice would ioye my wits, by hir most heauenly powers,And would exchaunge my state I say,As Sommer chaungeth Winter’s day.She is the Artique starre, the gratious Goddesse to,She hath the might to make and marre, to helpe or els vndo,Both death and life she hath at call,My warre, my peace, my ruine and all.She makes me liue in woe, and guides my sighs and lookes,She holds my fredome by a lace, as fish is held with hookes,Thus by despayre in this conceite,I swallow vp both hooke and baite.And in the deserts loe I liue, among the sauage kinde,And spend my time in wofull sighs, rays’d vp by care of minde,All hopelesse to in paynes I pyne,And ioyes for euer doe resigne.I dread but Charon’s boat if she no mercy giue,In darknesse then my soule shall dwell, in Pluto’s raygne to liue,But I beleue she hath no care,On him that caught is in hir snare.If she release my woe, a thousand thankes therefore,I shall hir giue, and make the world to honor hir the more,The Gods in Skies will prayse the same,And recorde beare of hir good name.O happy is that life, that after torment straunge,And earthly sorows on this mould, for better life shal chaungeAnd liue amongs the Gods on high,Where loue and Louers neuer die.O lyfe that here I leade, I freely giue thee now,Vnto the fayre where ere she rests, and loke thou shew hir howI linger forth my yeares and dayes,To win of hir a crowne of prayse.And thou my pleasaunt Lute, cease not my songs to sound,And shew the torments of my minde, that I through loue haue found,And alwayes tell my Mistresse still,Hir worthy vertues rules my will.The Foster Louer.The Foster louer singing this song, sighing sundry tymes betwene, the tricling teares ranne downe his Face: which thereby was so disfigured, as scarse could any man haue knowne him, that al the dayes of their lyfe had frequented his company. Sutch was the state of this myserable yong gentleman, who dronke with hys owne Wyne, balanced himselfe downe to despayre rather than to the hope of that which he durst not looke for. Howbeit like as the mischiefs of men be not alwayes durable, and that all thinges haue their proper season, euen so Fortune repentinge hir euill intreaty which wrongfully shee had caused this poore penetenciary of Gineura to endure, prepared a meanes to readuaunce him aloft vppon hir Wheele, euen when he thought least of it. And certes, herein appeared the mercy of God, who causeth things difficult and almost impossible, to be so easy, as those that ordinarily be brought to passe. How may this example show how they which be plunged in the bottome of defiaunce, deeming their life vtterly forlorne, be soone exalted euen to the top of all glory, and felicity? Hath not our age seene a man whych was by aucthority of his Enimy iudged to dye, ready to bee caried forth to the Scaffolde miraculously deliuered from that daunger, and (wherein the works of God are to be marueyled) the same man to be called to the dignity of a Prynce, and preferred aboue all the rest of the people? Now Dom Diego attending his fieldish Philosophy in the solitary valeys of the riche Mountayne Pyrene, was rescowed with an helpe vnlooked for as you shall heare. You haue hard how hee had a Neyghbour and singuler Frend a Noble Gentleman named Dom Roderico. Thys Gentleman amongs all his faithfull Companions did most lament the harde fortune of Dom Diego. It came to passe that 22 moneths after that the poore Wilde penitent personwas gonne on Pilgrimage, Dom Roderico tooke his Iourney into Gascoyne for diuers his vrgent Affayres, which after hee had dispatched, were it that hee was gon out of his way, or thatGod(as it is most likely) did driue him thither, he approched towarde that Coaste of the Pyrene Mountaynes, where that tyme his good Frende Dom Diego did Inhabite, who dayly grew so Weake and Feeble, as if God had not sent him sodayne succour hee had gotten that hee most desired, which was death that should haue bene the ende of his trauayles and Afflictions. The trayne of Dom Roderico being then a bowe shot of from the sauage Caben of Dom Diego, espyed the tractes of mens Feete newly troden, and beganne to maruayle what hee should bee that dwelled there, considering the Solitude, and Infertility of the Place, and also that the same was farre of from Towne or House. And as they deuised hereupon, they saw a man going into a Caue, which was Dom Diego, comming from making his complayntes vppon the Rock spoken of before. From which hauinge turned his face toward that parte of the worlde where he thought the lodging was of that Saynct, whereunto he addressed his deuotions, Dom Diego hearinge the Noyse of the horsse, was retired because hee woulde not bee seene. The knight which rode that way, seeing that, and knowing how far he was oute of the way, commaunded one of his men to Gallop towardes the Rocke, to learne what people they were that dwelled within, and to demaund how they might coaste to the high way that led to Barcelona. The Seruaunt approching neare the Caue, perceiued the same so well Empaled and Fortified with Beasts skins before, fearing also that they were Theeues and Robbers that dwelled there, durst not approche, and lesse enquire the way, and therefore returned towards his mayster, to whom hee tolde what hee saw. The knight of another maner of Metall and hardinesse than that Rascall and coward seruaunt, like a stout, Couragious, and valiaunt Man, poasted to the Caue, and demaundinge who was within, he saw a man come forth so disfigured, horrible to looke vppon, pale with staring hayre vpright, as pitifull it was to behold him, which was the seruant of the foster Hermit. Of him Roderico demaunded what he was, and which was the way toBarcelone. “Syr,” aunswered that disguised person: “I know nothow to aunswere your demaund, and mutch lesse I know the country where we now presently be. But sir, (sayde he sighing) true it is that we be two poore companions whom Fortune hath sent hither, by what il aduenture I know not, to do penaunce for our Trespasses, and Offences.” Roderico hearing him say so, began to call to his remembraunce his Freende Dom Diego, although he neuer before that tyme suspected the place of his abode. He lighted then from his horsse, desirous to see the singularities of the Rocke, and the magnificence of the Cauish lodging, where hee entred and sawe him whom he sought for, and yet for all that did not know him: He commoned with him a long tyme of the pleasure of the solitary life in respect of theym that liued intangled with the combersome Follies of this World. “Forsomutch” (quod he) as the spirite distracted and withdrawen from Worldly troubles is eleuate to the contemplation of heauenly thinges, and sooner attendeth to the knowledge and reuerence of his God, than those that bee conuersaunt amongs men, and to conclude, the complaynts, the delights, ambitions, couetousnesse, vanities, and superfluities that abounde in the confused Maze of Worldely troupe, doe cause a misknowledge of our selues, a forgetfulnesse of our Creator, and many times a negligence of piety and purenesse of Religion. Whiles the vnknowne Hermit, and the knight Roderico talked of these thinges, the Seruauntes of Roderico visiting all the Corners of the deepe, and Stony Cell of those Penitents, by Fortune espied two Saddles, one of theym rychely wroughte and Armed wyth Plates of Steele, that had bene made for some goodly Ienet. And vppon the Plate well Wroughte, Grauen and Enameled, the Golde for all the Rust cankering the Plate, did yet appear. For whych Purpose one of theym sayde to the seruaunt of Dom Diego: “Good Father hitherto I see neyther Mule, nor Horsse, for whom these Saddles can serue, I pray thee to sell them vnto vs, for they will doe vs more pleasure, than presently they do you.” “Maisters (quod the Hermit,) if they like you, they be at your commaundement.” In the meane time Roderico hauing ended his talke with the other Hermit, without knowing of any thinge that he desired, sayd vnto his men: “Now sirs to horse, and leaue wee theese poore people to rest in peace, and let vs goe seeke for theright way which we so well as they haue lost.” “Syr,” (quod one of his men,) “there be two Saddles, and one of them is so exceeding fayre, so well garnished and wrought as euer you saw.” The knight feeling in himselfe an vnaccustomed motion, caused them to be brought before him, and as he viewed and marked the riche Harnesse, and Trappings of the same, he stayeth to looke vppon the Hinder parte minionly wrought, and in the middest of the engrauing he red this deuise in the Spanish Tongue.Que brantare la fe, es causa muy fea.That is,To violate or breake fayth, is a thing detestable.That only inscription made him to pause a while. For it was the Poesie that Dom Diego bore ordinarily in his armes, which moued him to think that without doubt one of those Pilgrimes was the very same man to whom that Saddle did appertayne. And therefore he bent himselfe very attentiuely afterwardes to behold first the one, and then the other of those desert Citizens. But they were so altered, as hee was not able to know them agayne. Dom Diego seeing his Freende so neare him, and the desire that he had to knowe hym, chafed very mutch in hys mynde, and the more his Rage began to waxe, when hee saw Roderico approch neare vnto hym more aduisedly to looke vpon hym, for hee had not his own Affections so mutch at commaundement, but hys Bloude mooued hys Entrailes, and mounting into the most knowen place, caused outwardly the alteration which hee endured, to appeare. Roderico seeing hym to chaunge colour, was assured of that which before hee durst not suspect: and that which made him the sooner beleeue that he was not deceived, was a lyttle tuft of haire, so yelow as Gold, which Dom Diego had vpon his Necke, whereof Dom Roderico takyng heede, gaue ouer all suspition, and was well assured of that he doubted. And therefore displaying himselfe with hys armes opened vpon the necke of his friend, and imbracing him very louingly, his face bedewed with tears, sayd vnto him: “Alas, my Lord Dom Diego, what euill lucke from Heauen hath departed you from the good company of them which dye for sorrow, to see themselues berieued of the Beauty, lyght and ornament of their felowship? What are they that haue giuenyou occasion thus to Eclipse the bryghtnesse of your name, when it oughte most clearely to shyne, both for theyr present pleasure, and for the honour of your age? Is it from me sir, that you oughte thus to hide yourselfe? Do you think me so to be blynd, that I know not ryght well, that you are Dom Diego, that is so renoumed for vertue and prowesse? I would not haue tarried here so longe, but to carry away a power to reioyce two persons, you being the one, by withdrawing your selfe from this heauy and vnseemely Wyldernesse, and my selfe the other, to enioy your Company, and by bearyng newes to your fryends, who sith your departure, do bewaile and lament the same.” Dom Diego seeing that he was not able to conceyle the truth of that which was euidently seene, and the louing imbracements of his best Friende, began to feele a certayne tendernesse of heart lyke vnto that whych the Mother conceyueth, when she recouereth hir Sonne that is long absent, or the chaste wyfe, the presence of hir deare Husband, when she clepeth him betwene hir armes, and frankely culleth and cherisheth hym at hir pleasure. For whych cause not able to refrain any longer for ioy and sorrow together, weping and sighing began to imbrace him wyth so good and hearty affection, as with good wyl the other had sought and longed to knowe where he was. And being come againe to himself, he sayd to his faithfull and most louinge friend: “Oh God, how vneasy and difficult be thy iudgments to comprehend? I had thought to liue here miserably, vnknowen to al the world, and behold, I am here discouered, when I thought least of it. I am indeede” (quod he to Roderico) “that wretched and vnfortunate Dom Diego, euen that thy very great and louing fryend, who weary of his lyfe, afflycted wyth his vnhap, and tormented by fortune, is retyred into these desertes to accomplysh the ouerplus of the rest of his il luck. Now sith that I haue satisfied you herein, I beseech you that being content wyth my sighte, yee wyll get you hence and leaue me heere to performe that lyttle remnant whych I haue to lyue, without telling to any person that I am aliue, or yet to manifeste the place of my abode.” “What is that you say sir,” (sayd Roderico) “are you so farre straught from your ryght wits, to haue a minde to continue this brutal Lyfe, to depryue al yourfriends from the ioy whych they receiue by inioying your company? Think I pray you that God hath caused vs to be born noble men, and hauing power and authority not to lyue in Corners, or be buryed amid the slauery of the popular sort, or remain idle within great palaces or secrete Corners, but rather to illustrat and giue lyght with the example of our vertue to those that shal apply themselues to our dexterity of good behauior, and do lyue as depending vpon our edicts and commaundments: I appeale to your faith, what good shall succede to your subiects, who haue both heard and also knowne the benefit bestowed vppon them by God, for that hee gaue them a Lord so modest and vertuous, and before they haue experimented the effect of his goodnesse and Vertue, depriued of him, that is adorned and garnished with sutch perfections? What comfort, contentation and ioy shall the Lady your mother receiue, by feelyng your losse to be so sodaine, after your good and delycate bryngyng up, instructed with sutch great diligence and vtterly berieued of the fruict of that education? It is you sir, that may commaund obedience to Parents, succor to the afflicted, and do iustice to them that craue it: Alas, they be your poore subiectes that make complaints, euen of you, for denying them your due presence. It is you of whom my good madame doth complayne, as of him that hath broken and violated his faith, for not comming home at the promised day.” Now as he was about to continue his oration, Dom Diego vnwilling to heare him, brake of his talk saying: “Ah sir, and my great Friend: It is an easy matter for you to iudge of mine affayres, and to blame myne absence, not knowing peraduenture the cause thereof. But I esteeme you a man of so good iudgement, and so great a fryend of thinges that be honeste, and a Gentleman of great fidelity, as by vnderstanding my hard luck, when you be aduertised of the cause of my withdrawing into this solitarie place, you wyll rightly confesse, and playnely see that the wisest and most constant haue committed more vaine follies than those don by mee, forced with like spirite that now moueth and tormenteth me.” Hauing sayd, he tooke aside Roderico, where he dyd tell vnto hym the whole discourse both of his Loue, and also of the rigor of hys Lady, not without weepyng, in sutch abundaunceand with sutch frequent sighes and sobs interruptyng so hys speach, as Roderico was constrained to keepe him company, by remembryng the obstinacie of hir that was the Mistresse of his heart, and thinkynge that already he had seene the effect of lyke missehap to fal vpon his owne head, or neare vnto the lyke, or greater distresse than that which he sawe his deare and perfect Fryend to endure. Notwythstanding he assayed to remoue him from that desperate minde and opinion of continuance in the desert. But the froward penitente swore vnto him, that so long as he liued (without place recouered in the good graces of his Gineura,) he would not returne home to his house, but rather change his being, to seke more sauage abode, and lesse frequented than that was. “For” (quod hee) “to what purpose shall my retourne serue where continuinge mine affection, I shall fele lyke cruelty that I dyd in time past, which wil bee more painful and heauy for me to beare than voluntary exile and banyshment, or bring me to that end wherein presently I am.” “Contente your self I beseech you, and suffer me to be but once vnhappy, and do not perswade mee to proue a second affliction, worsse than the first.” Roderico hearing his reasons so liuely and wel applied would not reply, onely content that he would make him promyse to tarry there two monthes, and in that time attempt to reioyse himselfe so wel as he could. And for hys owne part, he swore vnto him, that he would bee a meanes to reconcile Gineura, and brynge them to talke together. Moreouer, he gaue him assurance by othe, that hee shoulde not bee discouered by hym, nor by any in his Company. Wherewith the knyght somewhat recomforted, thanked him very affectuously. And so leauyng wyth him a fielde bed, two seruaunts, and Money for his Necessities, Roderico tooke hys leaue, tellyng hym that shortely he would visite him againe, to his great contentation, as euer he was left and forsaken with gryefe and sorrow, himselfe makyng great mone for the vnseemely state and myserable plyght of Dom Diego. And God knoweth whether by the way, he detested the cruelty of pitilesse Gineura, blasphemyng a million of times the whole sexe of Womankynd, peraduenture not without iust cause. For there lieth hydden (I know not what) in the brests of Women, which at times like theWane and increase of the Moone, doth chaunge and alter, whereof a man can not tell on what foote to stand to conceiue the reasons of the same: whych fickle fragility of theirs (I dare not say mobility) is sutch, as the subtillest wench of them al best skilled in Turner’s Art, can not (I say deface) or so mutch as hide or colour that naturall imperfection. Roderico arriued at his house, frequented many times the lodging of Gineura, to espy hir fashions, and to see if any other had conquered that place, that was so well assayled and besieged by Dom Diego. And this wyse and sage knyght vsed the matter so well, that he fell in acquaintance wyth one of the Gentlewoman’s Pages, in whom she had so great trust, as she conceyled from him very few of hir greatest secretes, not well obseruing the preceipte of the wyse man, who councelleth vs not to tell the secretes of the mynde to those, whose iudgement is but weake, and tongue very lauish and frank of speach. The Knyght then familiar with this Page, dandled him so with faire words, as by lyttle and lytle he wrong the Wormes out of his Nose, and vnderstode that when Gineura began once to take Pepper in snuffe against Dom Diego, she fell in loue wyth a Gentleman of Biskaye, very poore, but Beautyfull, young and lustye, whych was the Stewarde of the house: and the Page added further that hee was not then there, but woulde returne wythin three Dayes, as he had sent Woorde to hys mystresse, and that two other Gentlemen woulde accompany him to cary away Gineura into Biskaye, for that was their last conclusion: “And I hope” (quod he) “that she will take me with hir, bicause I am made priuy to their whole intent.” Roderico hearing the treason of this flight and departure of the vnfaithful daughter, was at the first brunt astonned, but desirous that the Page should not marke his altered Countenaunce, said vnto him: “In very deede meete it is, that the Gentlewoman should make hir owne choice of husband, sith hir mother so little careth to prouide for hir. And albeit that the Gentleman be not so riche and Noble as hir estate deserueth, hir affection in that behalfe ought to suffise and the honesty of his person: for the rest Gineura hath (thanks be to God) wherewith to intertaine the state of them both.” These wordes he spake, farre from the thought of his hearte. For being alone by himself, thus he said:“O blessed God, how blinde is that loue, which is vnruled, and out of order: and what dispayre to recline to them, which (voide of reason) doe feede so foolishly of vayne thoughts and fond desires, in sutch wise as two commodities, presented vnto them, by what ill lucke I know not, they forsake the beste, and make choise of the worst. Ah Gineura, the fairest Lady in all this Countrey, and the moste vnfaithfull Woman of oure time, where be thine eyes and iudgement? Whither is thy mynde straied and wandred, to acquite thyselfe from a great Lord, faire, rich, noble, and vertuous, to be giuen to one that is poore, whose parents be vnknowne, his prowesse obscure, and birth of no aparant reputation. Behold, what maketh me beleue, that loue (so wel as Fortune) is not onely blynd, but also dazeleth the sight of them that hee imbraceth and captiuateth vnder his power and bondage. But I make a vowe (false woman) that it shal neuer come to passe and that this Biskaye gentleman shall neuer enioy the spoyles whych iustely bee due vnto the Trauaile and faithfull seruice of the valyaunt and vertuous knyght Dom Diego. It shal be hee, or else I wil dye for it, whych shall haue the recompense of his troubles, and shall feele the caulme of that tempest, whych presently holdeth hym at Anker, amyd the most daungerous rockes that euer were.” By this meanes Roderico knew the way how to keepe promise wyth his friende, which liued in expectation of the same. The two dayes past, whereof the Page had spoken, the beloued of Gineura, fayled not to come, and with him two Gallants of Biskaye, valiaunt Gentlemen, and well exercysed in Armes. That Nighte Roderico wente to see the olde Wydowe Lady, the Mother of the Mayden, and fyndyng oportunity to speak to the Page, hee said vnto hym: “I see my Friend, accordingly as thou diddest tell mee, that ye are vppon departing, the steward of the house beeing now retourned. I pray the tel mee, if thou haue neade of mee, or of any thyng that I am able doe for thee, assuring thee that thou shalt obtaine and haue what so euer thou requirest. And therewithall I haue thought good to tel thee, and giue the warning (for thine owne sake specially) that thou keepe all thynges close and secrete, that no slaunder or dishonour do followe, to blot and deface the Same and prayse of thy Mistresse. And for my selfe I had rather dye,than once to open my mouth, to discouer the least intent of this enterpryse. But tell mee, I praye thee, when do ye depart?” “Sir” (quod the Page) “as my Mistresse saieth, to morow about ten or eleuen of the Clocke in the Euening, when the Lady hir Mother shall bee in the sound of hir first sleepe.” The knight hearyng that, and desirous of no better time, tooke hys leaue of the Page, and went home, where he caused to bee sente for tenne or twelue Gentlemen, his Neighbours and Tenaunts, whom he made priuy of his secretes, and partakers of that he went about, to deliuer out of Captiuity and miserie the chiefest of all his Friends. The Nighte of those two Louers departure being come, Dom Roderico, which knewe the way where they should passe, bestowed him selfe and his Company in Ambush, in a little Groue, almost three Miles of the Lodging of this fugitiue Gentlewoman: where they hadde not long tarried but they hearde the tramplinge of Horsse, and a certaine whispring noise of People riding before them. Nowe the Nighte was somwhat cleare, which was the cause, that the Knighte amonges the thronge, knew the Gentlewoman, besides whome rode the Miserable Wretche that hadde stolne hir awaye. Whome so soone as Roderico perceyued full of despyte, moued wyth extreme passion, welding his launce into his rest, brake in the nearest way vpon the infortunate louer, with sutch vehemency, as neither coate of Maile or Placard was able to saue his lyfe, or warraunt him to keepe company wyth that troupe which banded vnder loue’s Enseigne, was miserably slayne, by the guide of a blynd, naked, and thieuish litle boy. And when he saw he had done that he came for, he sayd to the rest of the Company: “My Friends, thys man was carelesse to make inuasion vpon other mens ground.” These poore Biskayes surprysed vpon the sodayne, and seeyng the ambushment to multiply, put spurres to theyr horsse to the best aduantage they could for expedition, leauing their Conduct or guid gaping for breath and geuing a signe that he was dead. Whiles the other were making themselues ready to runne away, two of Roderico his men, couered with Skarfes, armed, and vnknowne, came to sease vppon sorrowfull Gineura, who beholdyng her fryende deade, began to weepe and crye so straungely, as it was maruell that hir breath faylednot. “Ah trayterous Theeues,” (said she) “and bloudy Murderers, why do ye not addresse your selues to execute cruelty vppon the rest, sith you haue done to death hym, that is of greater value than you all? Ah my deare Fryend, what crooked and grieuous Fortune haue I, to see thee grouelyng dead on ground and I abyding in life, to be the pray of murderous Theeues and thou so cowardly beryued of lyfe.” Roderico wyth his face couered, drew neare vnto her, and sayde: “I beseech you Gentlewoman, to forget these straunge fashions of complaynt, sith by them ye bee not able to reuiue the dead, ne yet make your ende of gryefes.” The maiden knowing the voyce of hym, that had slayne hir fryende, began to cry out more fiercely than before. For whych cause one of the gentlemen in company with Roderico, hauing a blacke counterfait beard with two lunets, in manner of spectacles, very large and great, that couered the moste part of his Face, approched neare the bashful maiden, and with bigge voice and terrible talk, holding his dagger vpon hir white and delicate breast, said vnto hir: “I sweare by the Almighty God, if I heare thee speake one word more, I wil sacrifice thee vnto the ghost of that varlet, for whome thou makest thy mone, who deserued to end his daies vpon a gallow tree rather than by the hands of a gentleman. Holde thy peace therefore thou foolysh girle, for greater honour and more ample Benefite is meant to thee, than thou hast deserued. Ingratitude onely hath so ouerwhelmed thy good Nature, as thou art not able to iudge who be thy friends.” The gentlewoman fearing death, whych as she thought was present, held hir peace, downe alonges whose Eyes a ryuer of Teares dyd run, and the passion of whose heart appeared by assiduall sighes, and neuer ceassing sobbes, whych in end so quallifyed hir cheare, that the exteriour sadnesse was wholy inclosed wythin the mynd and thought of the afflicted Gentlewoman. Then Roderico caused the body of the dead to be buryed in a lyttle Countrey Chappell, not farre out of theyr way. Thus they trauayled two dayes before Gineura knew any of them, that had taken hir away from hir louer: who permytted none to speake vnto hir nor she to any of hir company, beyng but a waiting maid, and the page that hadde dyscouered al the secretes to Dom Roderico. A notable examplesurely for stolne and secrete mariages, whereby the honour of the contracted partes, is most commonly blemyshed, and the Commaundement ofGodviolated, whose word enioyneth obedience to Parents in all ryghtfull causes, who if for any lyght offence, they haue power to take from vs the inheritance whych otherwyse naturall law would giue vs, what ought they of duety to doe, where rebellyous Chyldren abusing theyr goodnesse, do consume without feare of Liberty, the thynge that is in theyr free wyll and gouernement. In like maner diuers vndiscrete and folysh mothers are to be accused, which suffer their daughters of tender and chyldysh age to be enamored of theyr seruants, not remembryng how weake the flesh is, how prone and ready men be to do euyl, and how the seducyng spirite wayting stil vpon us, is procliue and prone to surpryse and catch vs wythin his Snares, to the intent he may reioyce in the ruine of soules washed and redeemed wyth the bloud of the Son of God. This troupe drawing neare to the caue of Dom Diego, Roderico sent one of his men to aduertise him of their comming, who in the absence of his fryende, fylled and susteined with hope, shortely to see the onely Lady of hys hearte, accompanyed wyth a merry and ioyfull Trayne, so soone as hee had somewhat chaunged his wilde maner of Lyfe, he also by lyttle and lyttle gayned a good part of hys lusty and fresh coloure, and almost had recouered that beauty, which he had when he firste became a Citizen of those desertes. Now hauiug vnderstanded the message sent vnto him by Roderico, God knoweth if with that pleasaunt tydings he felt a motion of Bloud, sutch as made all his members to leape and daunce, whych rendred hys Mynde astonned, for the onely memorye of the thynge that poysed hys mynd vp and downe, not able to be wayed in equall Balaunce whereof rather he ought to haue made reioyse than complayne, being assured to see hir, of whome he demaunded onely grace and pardon, but for recouery of hir, he durst not repose any certayne Iudgement. In the Ende hoystyng vp hys head lyke one rysen from a long and sound sleepe, hee sayd: “Praise be to God, who yet before I dye, hath done me great pleasure, to suffer me to haue a syght of hir, that by causing my Matirdome, continueth hir stubburne manner of Lyfe, whych shall procure in like sort mynevtter ruine and decay. Vpon the approch of whom I shall goe more ioyfull, charged with incomparable loue, to vysit the ghosts beneath, in the presence of that cruel swete, that now tormenteth me with the ticklysh tentation, and who sometimes hath made me tast a kind of Hony sugred with bytter Gal, more daungerous than the suck of Poyson and vnder the vermyllion rudde of a new sprouted Rosediuiuelyblowen forth, hath hydden secrete Thornes the pryckes whereof hath me so lyuely touched, as my Wound cannot well bee cured, by any Baulme that may be thereunto applyed, without enioying of that myne owne missehappe, moste happy or wythout that remedy, whych almost I feele restyng in death, that so long and oftentymes I haue desired as the true remedy of all my paynes and gryefe.” In the meane whyle Dom Roderico, whych tyll that tyme was not knowen vnto Gineura, drew neare vnto hir by the way as he rode, and talked wyth hir in this sorte: “I doubt not (Gentlewoman) but that you think your self not wel contented to se me in this place, in sutch company and for occasion so vnseemely for my degre, and state, and moreouer knowying what iniury I seeme to do vnto you, that euer was, and am so affectionate and friendly to the whole stocke of your race and Lynage, and am not ignoraunte that vppon the firste brunte you may iudge my cause vniust to carry you away from the handes of your fryend, to bring you into these desertes, wylde, and solitary places. But if ye considred the force of that true amity, which by vertue sheweth the common Bondes of hearts and myndes of Men, and shall measure to what end this acte is done, without to mutch staying vpon the lyght apprehension of Choler, for a beginnynge somewhat troublesom, I am assured then (that if you be not wholly depryued of reason) you shall perceiue that I am not altogether worthy blame nor your selfe vtterly voyde of fault. And bycause we draw neare vnto the place, whether (by the help of God) I meane to conduct you, I beseech you to consider, that the true Seruaunt whych by all seruice and duety studieth to execute the commaundementes of him that hath puissance ouer him, doth not deserue to bee beaten or driuen away from the house of his maister, but to be fauored and cherished, and ought to receyue equal recompense forhis seruice. I speake not this for my selfe, my deuotion beinge vowed elsewhere, but for that honest affection which I beare to all vertuous and chaste persons. The effect whereof I will not deny to tell you in tyme and place, where I shall use sutch modesty towards you, as is meete for a maiden of your age and state. For the greatnesse of Noble Men and puisant, doth most appeare and shew forth it self, when they vse Mildenesse and Gentlenesse vnto those, to whom by reason of their Authority they mighte execute cruelty and malice. Now to the end that I do not make you doubtfull long, al that which I haue done and yet meane to doe, is for none other purpose but to ease the grieuous paines of that moste faithful louer that loueth at thys Daye vnder the Circle of the Moone. It is for the good Knighte Dom Diego, that loueth you so dearely and still worshippeth your Noble fame, who bicause he wil not shew himself disobedient, liueth miserably amonge bruite beasts, amid the craggy rocks and mountaines, and in the deepe solitudes of comfortlesse dales and valleis. It is to him I say that I do bryng you, protesting vnto you by othe (Gentlewoman) that the misery wherein I saw him, little more thanVI.Wekes past, toucheth me so neare the heart, as if the Sacrifice of my lyfe sufficed alone, (and without letting you to feele this painfull voyage) for the solace of his martirdome I would spare it no more, than I do mine owne endeuor and honor, besides the hazarding of the losse of your good grace and fauour. And albeit I wel perceiue, that I do grieue you, by causing you to enter this painfull iourney, yet I besech you that the whole displeasure of this fact may bee imputed vnto my charge, and that it would please you louingly to deale with him, who for your sake vseth so great violence against himself.” Gineura as a woman half in despayre for the death of hir friend, behaued hir selfe like a mad woman void of wit and sense, and the simple remembraunce of Dom Diego his name so astonned her, (which name she hated far more than the pangs of death) that she staied a long time, hir mouth not able to shape one word to speake. In the ende vanquished with impacience, burning with choler, and trembling for sorrow, loked vpon Dom Roderico with an Eye no lesse furious, than a Tigresse caught within the Net, and seeth before hir face hir youngFawnes murdered, wringing hir hands and beating hir delicate brest, she vsed these or sutch like woordes: “Ah bloudy traitor and no more Knight, is it of thee that I oughte to looke for so detestable a villany and treason? How darest thou be so hardy to entreat me for an other, that hast in myne owne presence killed him, whose death I will pursue vpon thee, so longe as I haue life within this body? Is it to thee false theefe and murderer, that I ought to render accompte of that which I meant to doe? Who hath appointed thee to be arbitrator, or who gaue thee commission to capitulate the Articles of my mariage? Is it by force then, that thou wouldest I should loue that vnfaithfull Knighte, for whom thou hast committed and done this acte, that so longe as thou liuest shal blot and blemish thy renoume, and shal be so wel fixed in my mind, and the wounds shal cleaue so neare my heart, vntill at my pleasure I be reuenged of this wrong? No, no, I assure thee no force done vnto mee, shall neuer make mee otherwyse dysposed, than a mortall Enimy both to thee which art a Theefe and rauisher of an other man’s wife, and also to thy desperate frend Dom Diego, which is the cause of this my losse: and now not satisfied with the former wrong done vnto me, thou goest about to deceiue me vnder the Colour of good and pure Friendship. But sith wicked Fortune hath made me thy Prysoner, doe with me what thou wylt, and yet before I suffer and endure that that Traytor Dom Diego doe enioy my Virginity, I will offer vp my lyfe to the shadowes and Ghostes of my faythful fryend and husband, whome thou hast so trayterously murdred. And therefore (if honestlye I may or ought entreate mine Enimy) I pray thee that by doynge thy duety, thou suffer vs in peace, and gyue lycence to mee, thys Page, and my two pore Maydens to depart whether we lyst.” “God forbid” (quod Roderico) “that I should doe a Trespasse so shamefull, as to depryue my dearest fryend of his ioy and contentation, and by falsifiing my faith be an occasion of hys death, and of your losse, by leauing you without company, wandring amids this wildernesse.” And thus he continued his former discourse and talk, to reclaime thys cruell Damosell to haue pity vpon hir poore penytent, but he gained as mutch thereby, as if he had gone aboute to number the Sands alongs the Sea Coastes ofthe maine Ocean. Thus deuising from one talke to an other, they arryued neare the Caue, which was the stately house of Dom Diego: where Gineura lyghted, and saw the pore amorous Knight, humbly falling downe at hir feete, all forworne, pale, and disfigured, who weeping with warme teares, said vnto hir: “Alas, my deare Lady, the alone and onely mistresse of my heart, do you not thinke that my penaunce is long inoughe for the sinne which ignorauntly I haue committed, if euer I haue don any fault at al? Behold [I beseech you (good ladie deare) what ioy] I haue conceiued in your absence, what pleasures haue nursed mine hope, and what consolation hath entertained my life: which truely had it not bene for the continual remembraunce of your diuine Beauty, I had of long time abreuiated the pains which do renew in me so many times the pangs of death: as oftentimes I think vpon the vnkindnes shewed vnto me by making so litle accompt of my fidelity: whych can nor shal receiue the same in good part, wer it so perfect as any assuraunce were able to make it.” Gineura swelling with sorrow and full of feminine rage, blushing with fury, hir eyes sparcklinge forth hir chollerick conceypts, vouchsafed not so mutch as to giue him one word for aunswere, and bicause she would not looke vppon him, she turned hir face on the other side. The poore and afflicted Louer, seeing the great cruelty of his felonous Mystresse, still kneeling vpon his knees, redoubling his armes, fetching Sighes with a voyce that seemed to bee drawne by force from the bottome of his heart, proceeded in these wordes: “Syth the sincerity of my fayth, and my long seruice madame Gineura, cannot persuade you that I haue beene most Obedient, Faythfull, and very Loyall seruaunt towards you, as euer any that hath serued Lady or Gentlewoman, and that without your fauour and grace it is vnpossible for mee any longer to liue, yet I doe very humbly beseech you, for that all other comfort is denied me, if there bee any gentlenesse and curtesie in you, that I may receyue this onely grace at your hands for the last that euer I hope to craue: which is, that you being thus greeuously offended with me, would do iustice vpon that vnfortunate man, that vpon his Knees doth instantly craue the same. Graunt (cruell mistresse) this my request, doe vengeaunceat your pleasure vpon him, which willingly yeldeth himselfe to death with the effusion of his poore innocent bloud to satisfy you, and verily farre more expedient it is for him thus to die, by appeasing your wrath, than to rest or liue to your discontentment or anoiaunce. Alas, shal I be so vnfortunate, that both life and death should bee denied me by one person of the world, whom I hoped to content and please by any sort or meanes what so euer restinge in mine humble obedience? Alas gentlewoman rid mee from this Torment, and dispatch your selfe from the griefe you haue to see this vnhappy Knight, who would say and esteeme himselfe most happy (his life being lothsome vnto you) if he may content you, by death done by your owne handes, sith other fauour he cannot expect or hope for.” The Mayden hardned in hir Opinion, stoode still immoueable mutch like vnto a Rocke in the midst of the Sea, disquieted with a tempest of billowes, and fomy Waues in sutch wise as one word could not be procured from hir mouth. Which vnlucky Dom Diego perceyuing, attached with the feare of present death, and faylinge his Naturall force fell downe to the Grounde, and faintyng saied: “Ah, what a recompence doe I receiue for this so faythfull Loue?” Roderico bebolding that rufull sight, whilest the others went about to relieue Dom Diego, repaired to Gineura, and full of heauinesse mingled with fury, said vnto hir: “By God (false fiendish woman) if so be that I doe chaunge my mind, I will make thee feele the smarte, no lesse than thou shewest thy selfe dishonourable to them that doe thee honour: Art thou so carelesse of so greate a Lord as this is, that humbleth himselfe so lowe to sutch a strumpet as thou art: who without regarde either to hys renoume, or the honour of his House, is content to bee abandoned from his noble state, to become a fugitiue and straunger? What cruelty is this for thee to mispryse the greatest humility that man can Imagin? What greater amends canst thou wysh to haue, yea though the offence which thou presupposest had ben true? Now (if thou be wyse) chaunge thy Opinion, except thou wouldest haue mee doe into so many pieces, thy cruel corpse and vnfaithful heart, as once this poore Knight did in parts the vnhappy hauke, which through thy folly did breede vnto him this distresse, and to thy self thename of the most cruell and disloyall Woman that euer lyued. But what greater benefite can happen vnto thee, than to see thys Gentleman vtterly to forget the fault, to conceiue no sinister suspition of thy running away, crauing pardon at thy Hands, and is contented to sacrifice him self vnto thine Anger, to appease and mytigate thy rage? Now to speake no more hereof, but to proceede in that which I began to say, I offer vnto thee then both death and Loue, choose whether thou lyst. For I sweare againe by hym that seeth and heareth all thinges, that if thou play the foole, that thou shalt feele and proue me to be the cruellest Ennimy that euer thou hadst: and sutch a one as shall not feare to imbrue his hands wyth the bloud of hir that is the death of the greatest friend I haue, and truest knight that euer bare armes.” Gineura hearing that resolute aunswere, shewed hir selfe to be nothing afrayde nor declared any token of feare, but rather seemed to haue encouraged Roderico, in braue and mannish sort, farre diuers from the simplicity of a young and tender Mayden, as a Man would say, sutch a one as had neuer felt the assaultes and troubles of adverse fortune. Wherefore frouncyng her Browes, and grating hir Teeth wyth closed fists, and Countenaunce very bold, she made him answere: “Ah thou Knight, whych once gauest assault to commit a villany and Treason thinkest thou now without remorse of conscyence to continue thy mischyefe: I speak it to thee Villayne, whych hauing shed the Bloud of an honester Man than thou art, fearest not now to make me a Companion of hys Death. Which thyng spare not hardily to accomplysh, to the intent that I liuinge, may not be sutch a one as thou falsly iudgest me to be: for neuer Man hitherto vaunted, and never shall, that hath had the spoyle of my dearest Iewell: from the Fruict whereof, like an arrant Thiefe, thou hast depryued my loyall Spouse. Now doe what you lyste: for I am farre better content to suffer death, be it as cruel as thou art mischieuous, and borne for the disquieting and vexation of honest Maidens then yelde vnto thy furies: notwithstanding I humbly beseech Almyghty God, to gyue thee so mutch pleasure, contentation and ioy in thy loue, as thou hast done to me, by hastening the death of my deare Husband. OGod, if thou be a iustGod, sutch a one, as from whom we thypoore Creatures do beleue al iustice to proceede, thou I say which art the Rampire and refuge of al iustice, poure downe thy vengeance and plague vpon these pestiferous Thieues and murderers, which prepared a worldely plague vpon me thine innocent damsel. Ah wycked Roderico, think not that death can be so fearful vnto me, but that with good heart, I am able to accept the same, trusting verily that one day it shal be the cause of thy ruine, and the ouerthrowe of him for whom thou takest al these paines.” Dom Roderico maruelously rapte in sense imagined the Woman to be fully bente against hym, who then had puissance (as he thought,) ouer hir own heart: and thinking, that he sawe hir moued with like rage against him, as she was against Dom Diego, stode stil so perplexed and voyde of ryghte minde, as he was constrained to sitte downe, so feeble he felt him self for the onely remembraunce of hir euyll demeanor. And whilest this Pageant was a doing, the handmayd of Gineura, and hir page, inforced to persuade their mystresse to haue compassion vpon the Knight that had suffred so mutch for hir sake, and that she would consent to the honest requests and good counsell of Roderico. But she which was stubbornely bent in hir fonde persuasions, made them aunsere: “What fooles? are you so mutch bewitched, eyther with the fayned teares of this disloyall Knight, whych colorably thus doth torment himselfe, or els are yee inchaunted with the venomous honny and tirannicall brauery of the Theefe which murdered my husbande, and your mayster? Ah vnhappy caytife mayden, is it my chaunce to endure the assault of sutch Fortune, when I thought to liue at my best ease, and thus cruelly to tomble into the handes of him, whom I hate so mutch as he fayneth loue vnto me? And moreouer my vnlucky fate is not herewith content, but redoubleth my sorrowe, euen by those that be of my trayne, who ought rather to incourage mee to dy, than consent to so vnreasonable requests. Ah loue, loue, how euill be they recompenced which faythfully doe Homage vnto thee? And why should not I forget all Affection, neuer hereafter to haue mynde on man to proue beginning of a pleasure, which tasted and felt bringeth more displeasure than euer ioy engendreth delight. Alas, I neuer knewe what was the fruicte of that which so straungely did attach me,and thou O trayterous and theeuishe Loue, haste ordayned a banket serued with sutch bitter dishes, as forced I am perforce to taste of their egre sweetes: Auaunt sweete folly, auaunt, I doe henceforth for euer let thee slip, to imbrace the death, wherein I hope to find my greatest rest, for in thee I finde noughte else but heapes of strayninge Passions. Auoyde from me all mishap, flee from me ye furious ghostes and Fayries most vnkinde, whose gaudes and toyes dame loue hath wrought to keepe occupied my louing minde, and suffer me to take ende in thee, that I may liue in an other life without thee, being now charged with cup of griefe, which I shall quaffe in venomous drincke soaked in the Sops of bitternesse. Sharpen thou thy selfe, (O death vnkinde) prepare thy Darte, to strike the Corpse of hir, that she may voyde the Quarelles shotte agaynst hir by hir Aduersary. Ah poore hearte, strip thy selfe from hope, and qualifie thy desires. Cease henceforth to wishe thy Lyfe, seeing, and feelinge the appoyncted sight of loue and Life, combattyng within my minde, els where to seeke my peace in an other world, with him to ioy, whych for my sake was sacrificed to the treason of varlets handes, who for the perfite hoorde of his desires, noughte else dyd seeke but to soile his bloudy fists with the purest bloude of my loyall friend. And I this floud of Teares do shead to saciate his felonous moode that is the iust shortening of my dolefull Dayes.” When she had thus complayned, she began horribly to torment hir selfe that the cruellest of the company were moued with compassion, to see hir thus strangely straught of hir wits: neuertheles they did not discontinue by duety to solicite hir to haue regard to that which poore fayntyng Dom Diego dyd endure: who so soone as wyth freshe Fountayn water hee was reuiued, seeing still the heauinesse of his Lady, and hir increased disdaine and choler againste hym vanished in diuers soundings: which moued Roderico from studye deepe, wherein he was, to ryse, whereunto the rage of Gineura had cast him downe, bicause forgetting all imaginarie affection of his Lady, and proposing his duety before his eyes, whych ech Gentleman oweth to Gentle Damsels [and womenkind], styll beholding with honorable aspect the gryefe of the martyred wyldernesse Knyght, sighing yet in former gryefes, he sayd vnto Gineura, “Alas, is it possyble,that in the heart of so young and delicate a maiden, there may bee harboured so straunge fury and vnreasonable rage? O God, the effect of the cruelty resting in this Woman, painting it selfe in the imaginatiue force of my mind, hath made me feare the like myssehappe to come to the cruell state of this disaduenturous gentleman? Notwithstanding (O thou cruell beast) thinke not that thys thy fury shall stay me from doing thee to death, to rid thee from follye and disdayne, and this vnfortunate louer from despayre and trouble, verily beleuing, that in tyme it shalbe knowne what profit the World shall gayne by purgyng the same of sutch an infected plague as is an vnkynd and arrogante hearte: and it shall feele what vtility ryseth by thyne ouerthrowe. And I doe hope besydes in tyme to come, that Men shall prayse this deede of myne, who for preseruynge the Honoure of one House, hath chosen rather to doe to death two offenders, than to leaue one of them aliue, to obscure the glory and brightnesse of the other. And therefore” (sayd he, tourning his face to those of his traine,) “cut the throte of this stubborne and froward beast, and doe the like to them that be come with hir, shewe no more fauor vnto them all, than that curssed strumpet doth mercy to the life of that miserable Gentleman, who lieth a dying there for loue of hir.” The Mayden hearing the cruel sentence of hir death, cryed out so loud as she coulde, thinking reskue woulde haue come, but the poore Wench was deceiued: for the desert knew none other, but those that were abiding in that troupe. The Page and the woman seruaunt exclamed vpon Roderico for mercy, but he made as though he heard them not, and rather made signe to his men to do what he commaunded. When Gineura sawe that their deathe was purposed in deede, confirmed in opinion rather to dy, than to obey, she said vnto the executioners: “My friends, I beseech you let not these innocentes abide the penaunce of that which they neuer committed. And you, Dom Roderico, be reuenged on me, by whome the fault, (if a woman’s faith to hir husband may be termed a faulte) is don. And let these infortunate depart, that bee God knoweth guiltles of any cryme. And thou my friend, which liuest amonges the shadowes of faythfull louers, if thou haue any feelinge, as in deede thou prouest being in another world,behold the purenesse of mine heart and fidelity of my loue: who to keep the same inuiolable, do offer my self voluntarily to the death, which this cruell tyrant prepareth for me. And thou hangman the executioner of my ioyes, and murderer of the immortall pleasures of my loue (sayd she to Roderico) glut thy vnsaciable desire of bloud, make dronke thy mind with murder, and boast of thy litle triumph, which for all thy threates or persuasible words, thou canst not get from the heart of a simple maiden, ne cary away the victory for all the battred breach made into the rampare of hir honour.” When she had so said, a Man would haue thought that the memory of death had cooled hir heate, but the same serued hir as an assured solace of hir paynes. Dom Diego being come to himself and seing the discourse of that tragedy, being now addressed to the last act and end of that life and stage of faire and golden locked Gineura, making a vertue of necessity, recouered a lyttle corage to saue, (if it were possible) the life of hir, that had put hys owne in hazard miserably to end. Hauing stayed them that held the maiden, he repayred to Dom Roderico, to whom he spake in this wise: “I see wel my good Lord and great Friende, that the good will you beare me, causeth you to vse this honest order for my behalf, whereof I doubt if I should lyue a whole hundred yeares, I shall not be able to satisfy the least of the bondes wherein I am bound, the same surpassing all mine ability and power. Yet for al that (deare friend) sith you see the fault of this missehap to arise of my predestinate ill lucke, and that man cannot auoyde things once ordained, I beseech you do me yet this good pleasure (for all the benefits that euer I haue receiued) to send back again this gentlewoman with hir trayne, to the place from whence you toke hir, wyth like assurance and conduct, as if shee were your sister. For I am pleased with your endeuor, and contented with my misfortune, assuring you sir besides, that the trouble which she endureth, doth far more gryeue my heart than al the paine which for hir sake I suffer. That hir sorrow then may decrease and mine may renue againe, that she may lyue in peace, and I in Warre for hir cruel beauty sake, I wyll wayt vppon Clotho, the Spynner of the threden life of man vntil she breake the twysted lace that holdeth the fatall course ofmy dolefull yeares. And you Gentlewoman lyue in rest, as your poore suppliant, wretched Dom Diego, shalbe citizen of wyld places, and vaunt you hardely that yee were the best beloued maiden that euer liued.” Maruellous truly be the forces of loue, when they discouer their perfection, for by their meanes thinges otherwise impossible be reduced to sutch facility, as a man would iudge that they had neuer bene so hard to obtaine, and so painefull to pursue: As appeared by this damsel, in whome the wrath of fortune, the pynche of iealosie, the intollerable rage of hir fryendes losse, had ingendred a contempte of Dom Diego, an extreame desire to be reuenged on Dom Roderico, and a tediousnesse of longer Lyfe. And now putting of the vaile of blynde appetite, for the esclarishing of hir vnderstandyng Eyes, and breakyng the Adamant Rocke planted in the middes of hir breast, she beheld in open sight the stedfastnesse, pacience and perseueration of hir great fryend. For that supplycation of the Knight had greater force in Gineura, than all hys former seruyces. And full wel she shewed the same, when throwyng hir selfe vppon the Necke of the desperate Gentleman, and imbracyng hym very louyngly she sayd vnto him: “Ah sir, that your felicity is the begynnyng of my great ioy of Mynd, whych sauoreth now of sweetnes in the very same, in whom I imagyned to be the welsprynge of bytternesse. The diminutyon of one gryefe is, and shall bee the increase of a bonde, sutch as for euer I wyll call my selfe the moste humble slaue of your honor, lowly beseechyng you neuerthelesse to pardon my follyes, wherewyth full fondely I haue abused youre pacience. Consider a whyle sir, I beseech you, the Nature and secrecye of loue. For those that be blinded in that passion, thynke them selues to be perfecte Seers, and yet be the first that commit most filthy faultes. I doe not denie any committed wrong and trespasse, and doe not refuse therefore the honest and gentle Correction that you shall appointe mee, for expiation of myne offence.” “Ah my Noble Lady,” (aunswered the knight, all rapt wyth pleasure, and halfeway out of his wyts for ioy) “I humbly beseech you inflyct vppon my poore wretched body no further panges of Death, by remembryng the glory of my thought, sith the recitall bryngeth with it a tast of the trauailes which youhaue suffred for my ioy and contentation.” “It is therefore,” (quod she) “that I think my self happy: for by that meanes I haue knowne the perfect qualyties that be in you, and haue proued two extremities of vertue. One consisting in your constancy and loyalty wherby you may vaunt yourself aboue hym that sacrificed his Lyfe vpon the bloudy body of his Ladye who for dying so, finished his Trauailes. Where you haue chosen a life worse than death, no lesse paynefull a hundred times a Day, than very death it self. The other in the clemency wherwyth you calme and appease the rage of your greatest aduersaries. As my self which before hated you to death, vanquished by your courtesie do confesse that I am double bound vnto you, both for my lyfe and honor: and hearty thankes do I render to the Lord Roderico for the violence he dyd vnto me, by which meanes I was induced to acknowledge my wrong, and the right whych you had to complayne of my beastly resistance.” “Al is wel,” sayd Roderico, “sith without peril of honor we may returne home to our houses: I intend therefore (sayd he) to send word before to the Ladies your mothers of your returne, for I know how so wel to couer and excuse this our enterpryse and secrete iorneis, as by God’s assistance no blame or displeasure shall ensue thereof. And like as (said he smiling) I haue builded the fortresse whych shot into your campe, and made you flie, euen so I hope (Gentlewoman) that I shalbe the occasion of your victorye, when you combat in close campe, with your sweete cruel Ennimy.” Thus they passed the iorney in pleasaunt talk, recompensing the 2 Louers with al honest and vertuous intertainment for their griefs and troubles past. In the meane while they sent one of their Seruaunts to the two widow Ladies, which were in greate care for their Children, to aduertise them that Gineura was gone to visit Dom Diego, then being in one of the castles of Roderico, where they were determined if it were their good pleasure, to consumate their mariage, hauing giuen faith and affiance one to the other. The mother of Gineura could not heare tel of more pleasant newes: for she had vnderstanded of the foolysh flyght and escape of hir daughter, with the steward of hir house, wherof she was very sorrowful, and for grief was like to die, but assured and recomforted with those newesshe failed not to mete the mother of Dom Diego, at the appointed place whether the 2 louers were arriued two daies before. Ther the mariage of that fair couple (so long desired) was solempnised with sutch magnificence as was requisite for the state of those two noble houses. Thus the torment indured, made the ioye to sauour of some other taste than they do feele, which without paine in the exercise of loue’s pursute, attaine the top of theyr desires: and truly their pleasure was altogether like to him that nourished in superfluous delicacy of meates cannot aptly so wel iudge of pleasure as he which sometimes lacketh the abundance. And verily loue wythout bitternesse, is almost a cause without effects, for he that shall take away gryefs and troubled fansies from Louers, depryueth them of the prayse of their stedfastnesse, and maketh vayne the glory of their perseuerence: Forhee is vnworthy to beare away the price and Garland of triumph in the Conflict, that behaueth himselfe like a coward, and doth not obserue the lawes of armes and manlike dueties incident to a combat. This History then is a Mirrour for Loyall Louers and Chaste Suters, and maketh them detest the vnshamefastnesse of those, which vpon the first view do followe with might and mayne, the Gentlewoman or Lady that gieueth them good Face, or Countenaunce whereof any gentle heart, or mynde, noursed in the Schoolehouse of vertuous education, will not bee squeymishe to those that shall by chaste salutation or other incountry, doe their curteous reuerence. This History also yeldeth contempt of them, which in their affection forget themselues abasing the Generosity of their Courages to be reputed of fooles the true champions of loue, whose like are they that desire such regarde. For the perfection of a true Louer consisteth in passions, in sorrows, griefes, martirdomes, or cares, and mutch lesse arriueth he to his desire, by sighes, exclamations, Weapings, and childishe playnts: For so mutch as vertue ought to be the bande of that indissoluble amity, which maketh the vnion of the two seuered bodies of that Woman man, which Plato describeth, and causeth man to trauell for hys whole accomplishment in the true pursute of chaste loue. In which labour truly, fondly walked Dom Diego, thinking to finde the same by his dispayre amiddest the sharpe solitary Deserts of those PyreneMountaynes. And truely the duety of his perfect friende, did more liuely disclose the same (what fault so euer he did) than all his Countenaunces, eloquent letters or amorous Messages. In like manner a man doth not know what a treasure a true Friende is, vntill hee hath proued his excellency, specially where necessity maketh him to taste the swetenes of sutch delicate meate. For a frend being a seconde himselfe, agreeth by a certayne naturall Sympathie and attonement to th’affections of him whom he loueth both to particpate his ioyes and pleasures, and to sorrowe his aduersity, where Fortune shall vse by some misaduentures, to shewe hir accustomed mobility.
A common woe though silly woman be to man,Yet double ioy againe she doth vnto him bring:The wedding night is one, as wedded folk tell can,The other when the knill for hir poore soule doth ring.
A common woe though silly woman be to man,
Yet double ioy againe she doth vnto him bring:
The wedding night is one, as wedded folk tell can,
The other when the knill for hir poore soule doth ring.
If not for that he knew the happinesse of man consisted more in auoyding the acquaintaunce of that fury, than by imbracinge, and chearishing of the same, sith hir nature is altogether like vnto Æsop’s Serpent, which being deliuered from pearill and daunger of death by the shepeheard, for recompence thereof, infected his whole house with his venomous hissing, and rammish Breath. O howe happy is hee that can mayster his owne affections, and like a free man from that passion, can reioyce in liberty, fleeing the sweete euill which (as I well perceyue) is the cause of your despayre. But sir, your wisedome ought to vanquish those light conceipts, by setting so light of that your rebellious Gentlewoman, as shee is vnworthy to be fauoured by so great a Lord as you be, who deserueth a better personage than hir’s is, and a frendlier entertainment than a farewell so fondly giuen.” Dom Diego, although that he tooke pleasure to heare those discourses of his faythfull seruaunt, yet he shewed so sower a Countenaunce vnto him, as the other with theese fewe wordes helde his peace: “Sith then it is so syr, that you be resolued in your mishap, it may please you to accept mee to wayte vpon you, whither you are determined to goe: for I meane not to liue at mine ease, and suffer my mayster, in payne, and griefe. I will be partaker of that which Fortune shall prepare, vntill the heauens doe mitigate their rage vpon you, and your predestinate mishap.” Dom Diego, who desired no better company, imbraced him very louingly, thankinge him for the good will that hee bare him, and sayd: “This present Night about midnight, we wil take our Iourney, euen that way wheather our Lot and also Fortune shall Guide vs, attendinge eyther the ende of my Passion, or the whole ouerthrow of my selfe.” Their intent they did put in proofe: for at Midnight the Moone being cleerewhen all thinges were at rest, and the Crickets chirpinge through the Creauises of the Earth, they tooke their way vnseene of any. And so soone as Aurora began to garnish hir Mantle with colors of red and white, and the morning Starre of the Goddesse of stealing loue, appeared, Dom Diego began to sigh, saying: “Ah yee freshe and dewy Morninges, that my hap is farre from the quiet of others, who after they haue rested vpon the Cogitation of their Ease, and ioye, doe awake by the pleasaunte Tunes of the Byrdes, to perfourme by effect that which the Shadowe and Fantasie of their Minde, did present by dreaming in the Night, where I am constrayned to separate by great distaunce exceeding vehement continuation of my Torments, to followe wilde Beasts, wandring from thence where the greatest number of men doe quietly sleepe and take their rest. Ah Venus, whose Starre now conducteth me, and whose beames long agoe did glow and kindle my louing heart, how chaunceth it that I am not intreated according to the desert of my constant minde and meaning most sincere? Alas, I looke not to expect any thyng certayne from thee, sith thou hast thy course amongs the wandring starres. Must the Influence of one Starre that ruleth ouer mee, deface that which the Heauens would to bee accomplished, and that my cruel mistresse, deluding my languors and griefs, triumpheth ouer mine infirmity, and ouerwhelmeth me with care and sorow, that I liue pyning away, amongs the sauage beasts in the Wildernesse? For somutch as without the grace of my Lady, all company shalbe so tedious and lothsom vnto me, that the only thought of a true reconciliation with hir, that hath my heart, shal serue for the comfort and true remedy of all my troubles.” Whiles he had with these pangs forgotten himselfe, hee sawe that the day began to waxe cleere, the Sun already spreading his golden beames vpon the earth and therefore hastely he set himself forthwards, vsing Bywayes, and far from common vsed trades, so neere as he could, that hee might not by any meanes be knowne. Thus they rode forth till Noone: but seeing their horsse to be weary and faynt, they lighted at a village, farre from the high way: where they refreshed themselues, and bayted their horsse vntill it was late. In this sort by the space of three daies they trauersed the Countrey vntill they arriued to the footeof a mountayne, not frequented almost but by Wilde and sauage Beasts. The countrey round about was very fayre, pleasaunt, and fit for the solitarines of the Knight: for if shadow pleased him, hee might be delighted with the couert of an infinite number of fruictfull trees, wherewith only nature had furnished those hideous and Sauage Desertes. Next to the high and wel timbred Forrests, there were groues and bushes for exercise of hunting. A man could desire no kinde of Veneson, but it was to be had in that Wildernesse: there might be seene also a certain sharpe and rude situation of craggy, and vnfruictful rocks, which notwithstanding yelded some pleasure to the Eyes, to see theym tapissed with a pale moasie greene, which disposed into a frizeled guise, made the place pleasaunt and the rock soft, according to the fashion of a couerture. There was also a very fayre and wide Caue, which liked him well compassed round about with Firre trees, Pine apples, Cipres, and Trees distilling a certayne Rosen or Gumme, towards the bottom whereof, in the way downe to the valley, a man might haue viewed a passing company of Ewe trees, Poplers of all sortes, and Maple trees, the Leaues whereof fell into a Lake or Pond, which came by certayne smal gutters into a fresh and very cleare fountayne right agaynst that Caue. The knight viewing the auncienty and excellency of the place, deliberated by and by to plant there the siege of his abode, for performing of his penaunce and life. And therefore sayd unto his seruaunt: “My friend, I am aduised that this place shall be the Monastery, for the voluntary profession of our religion, and where we will accomplish the Voyage of our Deuotion. Thou seest both the beauty and solitarinesse, which do rather commaund vs here to rest, than any other place nere at hand.” The Seruaunt yelded to the pleasure of his mayster, and so lightinge from their horsse, they disfurnished them of their Saddles, and Bridles, gieuing to them the liberty of the fields, of whom afterwards they neuer heard more newes. The saddles they placed within the Caue and leauing their ordinary apparell, clothed themselues in Pilgrimes weedes, fortifying the mouth of the caue, that wilde beasts should not hurt them when they were a sleepe. There the seruaunt began to play the Vpholster, and to make 2 little beds of mosse,whose spindle and wheele were of wood, so well pollished and trimmed, as if he had bin a carpenter wel expert in that Science. They liued of nothing els, but of the fruicts of those wilde trees, sometimes of herbs, vntill they had deuised to make a crosbow of wood, wherewith they killed now and then a Hare, a Cony, a Kid, and many times some stronger beast remayned with them for gage: whose bloude they pressed out betwene two pieces of wood and rosted them against the Sunne, seruing the same in, as if it had bene a right good Dishe for their first course of their sober and vndelicate Table, whereat the pure water of the fountayne, next vnto their hollow and deepe house, serued in steade of the good Wynes, and delicious Drinks that abounded in the house of Dom Diego. Who liuing in this poore state, ceased night nor day to complayne of his hard fortune and curssed plight, going many times through the Desertes all alone, the better to muse and study thereupon, or (peraduenture) desirous that some hungry Beare should descend from the mountayne, to finishe his life and paynefull griefes. But the good Seruaunt knowing his Mayster’s sorow and mishap, would neuer go out of his sight but rather exhorted him to retourne home againe to his goods and possessions, and to forget that order of lyfe, vnworthy for sutch a personage as he was, and vncomely for him that ought to be indued with reason and iudgement. But the desperate Gentleman wilfull in his former deliberation, would not heare him speake of sutch retrayt. So that if it escaped the seruaunt to be earnest and sharpe agaynst the rudenesse and sottish cruelty of Gineura, it was a pastime to see Dom Diego mount in choller against him, saying: “Art thou so hardy to speak il of the gentlewoman, which is the most vertuous personage vnder the coape of heauen? Thou maist thancke the loue I beare thee, otherwise I would make thee feele how mutch the slaunder of hir toucheth mee at the heart, which hath right to punishe me thus for mine indiscretion, and that it is I that commit the wronge in complayning of hir seuerity.” “Now sir,” sayd the seruaunt, “I do indeede perceyue what maner of thing the contagion of loue is. For they which once doe feele the corruption of that Ayre, think nothing good or sauory, but the filthy smel of that pestiferous meat. WhereforeI humbly beseech you a little to set apart, and remoue from minde, that feare and presumptuous dame Gineura, and by forgetting hir beauty, to measure hir Desert and your griefe, you shall know then (being guided by reason’s lore) that you are the simplest and weakest man in the worlde, to torment your selfe in this wise, and that shee is the fondest Girle, wholly straught of wits, so to abuse a Noble man that meriteth the good grace and sweete embracement of one more fayre, wise and modest, than she sheweth hirselfe to be.” The knight hearing these words thought to abandon pacience, but yet replied vnto him: “I sweare vnto thee by God, that if euer thou haue any sutch talke agayne, eyther I will dye, or thou shalt depart out of my company, for I cannot abide by any meanes to suffer one to despise hir whom I do loue and honor, and shal so do during life.” The seruaunt loth to offend his mayster held his peace, heauy for all that in heart, to remember how the poore gentleman was resolued to finish there, (in a desert unknowen to his Freendes) all the remnaunt of his life. And who aswell for the euill order, and not accustome nourture, as for assiduall playnts and weepings, was become so pale and leane, as he better resembled a dry Chip, than a man, hauing feeling or lyfe. His eyes were sonke into his Head, his Beard vnkempt, his hayre staring, his skin ful of filth, altogether more like a wilde and Sauage creature (sutch one as is depainted in brutal forme) than faire Dom Diego, so mutch commended, and esteemed throughout the kingdome of Spayne. Now leaue we this Amorous Hermit to passionate and playne his misfortune, to see to what ende the Letters came that he wrote to his cruel Mistresse. The day prefixed for deliuery of his Letters, his seruaunt did his charge, and being come to the house of Gineura, founde hir in the hall with hir mother, where kissing his Mayster’s Letters, hee presented them with very great reuerence to the Gentlewoman. Who so soone as shee knew that they came from Dom Diego, all chaunged into raging colour, and foolishe choller, threwe theym incontinently vppon the grounde, sayinge: “Sufficeth it not thy Mayster, that already twice I haue done him to vnderstand, that I haue nothing to doe with his Letters nor Ambassades, and yet goeth he about by sutch assaultes to encreasemy displeasure and agony, by the only remembraunce of his folly?” The Mother seeing that vnciuile order, although shee vnderstoode the cause, and knowinge that there was some discorde betweene the two Louers, yet thought it to bee but light, sithe the Comike Poet sayeth:
The Louers often falling out,And prety warling rage:Of pleasaunt loue it is no doubt,The sure renewing gage.
The Louers often falling out,
And prety warling rage:
Of pleasaunt loue it is no doubt,
The sure renewing gage.
She went vnto hir Daughter, and sayd vnto hir: “What great rage is this: let me see that Letter that I may reade it: for I haue no feare that Dom Diego can deceyue me with the sweetenes of his honny words. And truly Daughter you neede not fear to touch theym, for if there were any Poyson in theym, it proceeded from your beauty that hath bitten and stong the knight, whereof if he assay to make you a partaker, I see no cause why he ought to be thus rigorously reiected, deseruing by his honesty a better entertaynement at your hands.” In the meane time one of the seruing men toke vp the Letters, and gaue them to the Lady, who reading them, found written as followeth.
My dearest and most wel beloued Lady, sith that mine innocency can finde no resting place within your tender Corpse, what honest excuse or true reason so euer I do alledge, and sith your heart declareth itself to be Implacable, and not pleased with hym that neuer offended you, except it were for ouermutch loue, which for guerdon of the rare and incomparable amity, I perceyue my selfe to be hated deadly of you and in sutch wise contemned, as the only record of my name causeth in you an insupportable griefe and displeasure vnspeakeable. To auoide I say your indignation, and by my mishap to render vnto you some ease and contentment, I haue meant to dislodge my self so far from this Countrey, as neyther you nor any other, shal euer heare by fameor true report, the place of my abode, nor the graue wherein my bones shall rest. And although it be an inexplicable heart’s sorrow and torment, which by way of pen can not be declared, to be thus misprised of you, whom alone I do loue and shal, so long as mine afflicted soule shall hang vpon the feeble and brittle threede of life: yet for all that, this griefe falling vpon me, is not irkesome, as the punishment is grieuous, by imagining the passion of your minde when it is disquieted with disdayne and wrath agaynst me, who liueth not, but to wander vpon the thoughts of your perfections. And forsomutch as I doe feele for the debility that is in me, that I am not able any longer to beare the sowre shockes of my bitter torments and martyrdome that I presently doe suffer, yet before my life doe fayle, and death doe sease vpon my senses, I haue written vnto you this present letter for a testimoniall of your rigour, which is the marke that iustifieth my vnguiltynesse. And although I doe complayne of mine vnhappy fortune, yet I meane not to accuse you, onely contented that eche man doe know, that firme affection and eternall thraldome do deserue other recompence than a farewell so cruell. And I am wel assured, that when I am deade, you will pitty my torment, knowing then, although to late, that my loyalty was so sincere, as the report of those was false, that made you beleeue, that I was very far in loue with the Daughter of Dom Ferrande de la Serre. Alas, shall a Noble gentleman that hath bene well trayned vp, be forbidden to receiue the gifts that come from a vertuous Gentlewoman? Ought you to be so incapable and voyde of humanity, that the sacrifice which I haue made of the poore Birde, the cause of your disdayne, my repentaunce, my lawfull excuses, are not able to let you see the contrary of your persuasion? Ah, ah, I see that the dark and obscure vayle of uniust disdayne and immoderate anger, hath so blindfold your eyes, and inuegled your mynde, as you can not iudge the truth of my cause and the vnrightousnes of your quarell. I will render vnto you none other certificate of myne innocency, but my languishinge heart, which you clepe betweene your hands, feling sutch rude intertaynment there, of whom he loaked for reioyse of his trauayles. But forsomutch then as you do hate me, what resteth for me to do, but to procure destruction to my self?And sith your pleasure consisteth in mine ouerthrow, reason willeth that I obey you, and by deth to sacrifice my life in like maner as by life you were the only mistresse of my heart. One only thing cheereth vp my heart agayne, and maketh my death more myserable, which is, that in dying so innocent as I am, you shall remayne guilty, and the onely cause of my ruine. My Lyfe will depart like a Puffe, and Soule shall vanish like a sweete Sommer’s blast: whereby you shall be euer deemed for a cruell Woman and bloudy Murderer of your deuout and faythfull Seruaunt. I pray to God mine owne sweete Lady, to giue you sutch Contentation, Ioye, Pleasure, and Gladnesse, as you do cause through your Rigor, Discontentment, Griefe, and Displeasure to the poore languishing Creature, and who for euermore shall bee
Your most obedient and affected
seruaunt Dom Diego.
The good Lady hauing red the Letter, was so astonned, as hir words for a long space staied within hir mouth; hir heart panted, and spirite was full of confusion, hir minde was filled with sorrow to consider the anguishes of the poore vagabound, and foster Hermit. In the ende before the houshold dissembling hir passion which mooued hir sense, she tooke her Daughter a side, whom very sharply she rebuked, for that she was the cause of the losse of so notable and perfect a Knight as Dom Diego was. Then she red the Letter vnto hir, and as all hir eloquence was not able to moue that cruel damsell, more venemous than a Serpent agaynst the knight, who (as she thought) had not indured the one halfe of that which his inconstancy and lightnesse had wel deserued, whose obstinate minde the mother perceyuinge, sayde vnto hir: “I pray to God (deare daughter) that for your frowardnesse, you bee not blinded in your beauty, and for refusall of so great a benefit as is the alliaunce of Dom Diego, you be not abused with sutch a one as shall dimme the light of your renoume and glory, which hitherto you haue gayned amongs the sobrest and modest maydens.” Hauing sayd so, the wyse and sage widow, went to the seruaunt of Dom Diego, of whom she demaunded what day his mayster departed, which she knowing, and not ignorauntof the occasion, was more wroth than before: notwithstanding she dissembled what she thought, and sending backe his seruant, she required him to do hir hearty commendations to the Lady his mistresse, which he did. The good Lady was ioyfull of them not knowing the contents of her sonne’s letters, but looked rather that he had sent word vnto his lady of the iust hour of his returne. Howbeit when she saw that in the space of 20 dayes, nor yet within a moneth he came not, shee could not tell what to thinke, so dolorous was she for the absence of hir sonne. The time passinge without hearing any newes from him she began to torment hirselfe, and be so pensiue, as if she had heard certayne newes of his death. “Alas,” (quod she) “and wherefore haue the heauens giuen me the possession of sutch an exquisite fruict, to depriue mee thereof before I do partake the goodnesse, and swetenes therof, and before I do enioy the grifts proceding from so goodly a stock. Ah God, I fear that my immoderate loue is the occasion of the losse of my sonne, and the whole ruine of the mother, with the demolition and wast of al our goods. And I would that it had pleased God (my Son) the hunter’s game had neuer bene so deere, for thinking to catch that pray thou thy selfe wast taken and thou wandring for thy better disport, missing the right way, so strangely didst straggle, that hard it is to reduce thee into the right track agayne. At least wise if I knew the place, whereunto thou arte repaired to finde againe thy losse, I would trauell thither to beare the company, rather than to lyue heere voyde of a Husbande, betrayed by them whom I best trusted and bereft from the presence of the my Sonne, the Staffe and onely comfort of myne olde age, and the certayne hope of all our House and Family.” Now if the Mother vexed hir selfe, the Sonne was eased with no great reioyce, being now a free cittizen with the Beasts, and Foules of the Forrests, Dennes, and Caues, leauing not the Profundity of the Woods, the Craggednes of the Rocks, or beauty of the Valley, without some signe or token of his griefe. Sometime with a Puncheon wel sharpned, seruing him in steede of a Penknife, he graued the successe of his loue vpon an hard stone. Other times the softe Bark of some tender and new growen spray serued him in steede of Paper, or Parchment. For there hecarued in Cyphres properly combined with a Knot (not easily to be knowne) the name of his Lady, interlaced so properly with his owne, that the finest heads might bee deceyued, to Disciphre the righte interpretation. Vpon a day then, as he passed his time (accordinge to his custome) to muse vpon Myssehaps, and to frame his successe of loue in the Ayre, hee Ingraued these Verses vpon a Stone by a Fountayne side, adioyning to his rude and Sauage house.
If any Forrest Pan, doth haunt here in this place,Or wandring Nymphe, hath hard my wofull playnt:The one may well beholde, and view what drop of grace,I haue deseru’de, and eke what griefes my heart do taynt,The other lend to me some broke, or showre of rayneTo moyst myne heart and eyes, the gutters of my brayne.
If any Forrest Pan, doth haunt here in this place,
Or wandring Nymphe, hath hard my wofull playnt:
The one may well beholde, and view what drop of grace,
I haue deseru’de, and eke what griefes my heart do taynt,
The other lend to me some broke, or showre of rayne
To moyst myne heart and eyes, the gutters of my brayne.
Somewhat further of many times at the rising of the Sunne, he mounted the Top of an high and greene Mountayne to solace himselfe vpon the freshe and greene grasse, where four Pillers were erected, (eyther naturally done by dame Nature, or wrought by the industry of man,) which bore a stone in forme four square, well hewed, made and trimmed in maner of an Aulter, vpon which Aulter he dedicated these verses to the Posterity.
Vpon this holy squared stone, which Aulter men doe call,To some one of the Gods aboue that consecrated is,This dolefull verse I do ingraue, in token of my thrall,And deadly griefes that do my silly heart oppresse,And vex with endelesse paynes, which neuer quiet is,This wofull verse (I say) as surest gage of my distresse,I fixe on Aulter stone for euer to remayne,To shew the heart of truest wight, that euer liued in payne.
Vpon this holy squared stone, which Aulter men doe call,
To some one of the Gods aboue that consecrated is,
This dolefull verse I do ingraue, in token of my thrall,
And deadly griefes that do my silly heart oppresse,
And vex with endelesse paynes, which neuer quiet is,
This wofull verse (I say) as surest gage of my distresse,
I fixe on Aulter stone for euer to remayne,
To shew the heart of truest wight, that euer liued in payne.
And vpon the brims of that Table, he carued these Wordes:
This Mason worke erected here, shall not so long abide,As shall the common name of two, that now vncoupled bee,Who after froward fortune past, knit eche in one degree,Shall render for right earnest loue, reward on either side.
This Mason worke erected here, shall not so long abide,
As shall the common name of two, that now vncoupled bee,
Who after froward fortune past, knit eche in one degree,
Shall render for right earnest loue, reward on either side.
And before his Lodging in that wilde and stony Forrest vpon the Barke of a lofty Beeche Tree, feeling in himselfe an unaccustomed lustinesse, thus he wrote:
Th’encreasing beauty of thy shape, extending far thy name,By like increase I hope to see, so stretched forth my fame.
Th’encreasing beauty of thy shape, extending far thy name,
By like increase I hope to see, so stretched forth my fame.
His man seeing him to begin to be merily disposed, one day said vnto him: “And wherefore sir serueth the Lute, which I brought amongs our Males, if you do not assay thereby to recreate youre selfe, and sing thereupon the prayses of hir whom you loue so wel: yea and if I may so say, by worshipping hir, you do commit idolatry in your minde. Is it not your pleasure that I fetche the same vnto you, that by immitation of Orpheus, you may mooue the Trees, Rocks, and wylde Beastes to bewayle your misfortune, and witnesse the penaunce that you doe for hir sake, without cause of so haynous punishment:” “I see well,” (quod the knight) “that thou wouldest I should be mery, but mirth is so far from me, as I am estraunged from hir that holdeth me in this misery. Notwithstanding I will performe thy request, and will awake that instrument in this desert place, wherewith sometime I witnessed the greatest part of my passions.” Then the knight receyuing the Lute sounded thereupon this song ensuing.
The waues and troubled scum, that mooues the Seas alofte,Which runs and roares against the rocks, and threatneth daungers oftResembleth lo the fits of loue,That dayly do my fansie moue.My heart it is the ship, that driues on salt Sea fome,And reason sayles with senselesse wit, and neuer loketh home,For loue is guide, and leades the daunce,That brings good hap, or breedes mischaunce.The furious flames of loue, that neuer ceaseth sure,Are loe the busie sailes and oares, that would my rest procure,And as in Skies, great windes do blo,My swift desires runnes, fleeting so.As sweete Zephyrus breath, in spring time feedes the floures,My mistresse voice would ioye my wits, by hir most heauenly powers,And would exchaunge my state I say,As Sommer chaungeth Winter’s day.She is the Artique starre, the gratious Goddesse to,She hath the might to make and marre, to helpe or els vndo,Both death and life she hath at call,My warre, my peace, my ruine and all.She makes me liue in woe, and guides my sighs and lookes,She holds my fredome by a lace, as fish is held with hookes,Thus by despayre in this conceite,I swallow vp both hooke and baite.And in the deserts loe I liue, among the sauage kinde,And spend my time in wofull sighs, rays’d vp by care of minde,All hopelesse to in paynes I pyne,And ioyes for euer doe resigne.I dread but Charon’s boat if she no mercy giue,In darknesse then my soule shall dwell, in Pluto’s raygne to liue,But I beleue she hath no care,On him that caught is in hir snare.If she release my woe, a thousand thankes therefore,I shall hir giue, and make the world to honor hir the more,The Gods in Skies will prayse the same,And recorde beare of hir good name.O happy is that life, that after torment straunge,And earthly sorows on this mould, for better life shal chaungeAnd liue amongs the Gods on high,Where loue and Louers neuer die.O lyfe that here I leade, I freely giue thee now,Vnto the fayre where ere she rests, and loke thou shew hir howI linger forth my yeares and dayes,To win of hir a crowne of prayse.And thou my pleasaunt Lute, cease not my songs to sound,And shew the torments of my minde, that I through loue haue found,And alwayes tell my Mistresse still,Hir worthy vertues rules my will.
The waues and troubled scum, that mooues the Seas alofte,
Which runs and roares against the rocks, and threatneth daungers oft
Resembleth lo the fits of loue,
That dayly do my fansie moue.
My heart it is the ship, that driues on salt Sea fome,
And reason sayles with senselesse wit, and neuer loketh home,
For loue is guide, and leades the daunce,
That brings good hap, or breedes mischaunce.
The furious flames of loue, that neuer ceaseth sure,
Are loe the busie sailes and oares, that would my rest procure,
And as in Skies, great windes do blo,
My swift desires runnes, fleeting so.
As sweete Zephyrus breath, in spring time feedes the floures,
My mistresse voice would ioye my wits, by hir most heauenly powers,
And would exchaunge my state I say,
As Sommer chaungeth Winter’s day.
She is the Artique starre, the gratious Goddesse to,
She hath the might to make and marre, to helpe or els vndo,
Both death and life she hath at call,
My warre, my peace, my ruine and all.
She makes me liue in woe, and guides my sighs and lookes,
She holds my fredome by a lace, as fish is held with hookes,
Thus by despayre in this conceite,
I swallow vp both hooke and baite.
And in the deserts loe I liue, among the sauage kinde,
And spend my time in wofull sighs, rays’d vp by care of minde,
All hopelesse to in paynes I pyne,
And ioyes for euer doe resigne.
I dread but Charon’s boat if she no mercy giue,
In darknesse then my soule shall dwell, in Pluto’s raygne to liue,
But I beleue she hath no care,
On him that caught is in hir snare.
If she release my woe, a thousand thankes therefore,
I shall hir giue, and make the world to honor hir the more,
The Gods in Skies will prayse the same,
And recorde beare of hir good name.
O happy is that life, that after torment straunge,
And earthly sorows on this mould, for better life shal chaunge
And liue amongs the Gods on high,
Where loue and Louers neuer die.
O lyfe that here I leade, I freely giue thee now,
Vnto the fayre where ere she rests, and loke thou shew hir how
I linger forth my yeares and dayes,
To win of hir a crowne of prayse.
And thou my pleasaunt Lute, cease not my songs to sound,
And shew the torments of my minde, that I through loue haue found,
And alwayes tell my Mistresse still,
Hir worthy vertues rules my will.
The Foster Louer.
The Foster louer singing this song, sighing sundry tymes betwene, the tricling teares ranne downe his Face: which thereby was so disfigured, as scarse could any man haue knowne him, that al the dayes of their lyfe had frequented his company. Sutch was the state of this myserable yong gentleman, who dronke with hys owne Wyne, balanced himselfe downe to despayre rather than to the hope of that which he durst not looke for. Howbeit like as the mischiefs of men be not alwayes durable, and that all thinges haue their proper season, euen so Fortune repentinge hir euill intreaty which wrongfully shee had caused this poore penetenciary of Gineura to endure, prepared a meanes to readuaunce him aloft vppon hir Wheele, euen when he thought least of it. And certes, herein appeared the mercy of God, who causeth things difficult and almost impossible, to be so easy, as those that ordinarily be brought to passe. How may this example show how they which be plunged in the bottome of defiaunce, deeming their life vtterly forlorne, be soone exalted euen to the top of all glory, and felicity? Hath not our age seene a man whych was by aucthority of his Enimy iudged to dye, ready to bee caried forth to the Scaffolde miraculously deliuered from that daunger, and (wherein the works of God are to be marueyled) the same man to be called to the dignity of a Prynce, and preferred aboue all the rest of the people? Now Dom Diego attending his fieldish Philosophy in the solitary valeys of the riche Mountayne Pyrene, was rescowed with an helpe vnlooked for as you shall heare. You haue hard how hee had a Neyghbour and singuler Frend a Noble Gentleman named Dom Roderico. Thys Gentleman amongs all his faithfull Companions did most lament the harde fortune of Dom Diego. It came to passe that 22 moneths after that the poore Wilde penitent personwas gonne on Pilgrimage, Dom Roderico tooke his Iourney into Gascoyne for diuers his vrgent Affayres, which after hee had dispatched, were it that hee was gon out of his way, or thatGod(as it is most likely) did driue him thither, he approched towarde that Coaste of the Pyrene Mountaynes, where that tyme his good Frende Dom Diego did Inhabite, who dayly grew so Weake and Feeble, as if God had not sent him sodayne succour hee had gotten that hee most desired, which was death that should haue bene the ende of his trauayles and Afflictions. The trayne of Dom Roderico being then a bowe shot of from the sauage Caben of Dom Diego, espyed the tractes of mens Feete newly troden, and beganne to maruayle what hee should bee that dwelled there, considering the Solitude, and Infertility of the Place, and also that the same was farre of from Towne or House. And as they deuised hereupon, they saw a man going into a Caue, which was Dom Diego, comming from making his complayntes vppon the Rock spoken of before. From which hauinge turned his face toward that parte of the worlde where he thought the lodging was of that Saynct, whereunto he addressed his deuotions, Dom Diego hearinge the Noyse of the horsse, was retired because hee woulde not bee seene. The knight which rode that way, seeing that, and knowing how far he was oute of the way, commaunded one of his men to Gallop towardes the Rocke, to learne what people they were that dwelled within, and to demaund how they might coaste to the high way that led to Barcelona. The Seruaunt approching neare the Caue, perceiued the same so well Empaled and Fortified with Beasts skins before, fearing also that they were Theeues and Robbers that dwelled there, durst not approche, and lesse enquire the way, and therefore returned towards his mayster, to whom hee tolde what hee saw. The knight of another maner of Metall and hardinesse than that Rascall and coward seruaunt, like a stout, Couragious, and valiaunt Man, poasted to the Caue, and demaundinge who was within, he saw a man come forth so disfigured, horrible to looke vppon, pale with staring hayre vpright, as pitifull it was to behold him, which was the seruant of the foster Hermit. Of him Roderico demaunded what he was, and which was the way toBarcelone. “Syr,” aunswered that disguised person: “I know nothow to aunswere your demaund, and mutch lesse I know the country where we now presently be. But sir, (sayde he sighing) true it is that we be two poore companions whom Fortune hath sent hither, by what il aduenture I know not, to do penaunce for our Trespasses, and Offences.” Roderico hearing him say so, began to call to his remembraunce his Freende Dom Diego, although he neuer before that tyme suspected the place of his abode. He lighted then from his horsse, desirous to see the singularities of the Rocke, and the magnificence of the Cauish lodging, where hee entred and sawe him whom he sought for, and yet for all that did not know him: He commoned with him a long tyme of the pleasure of the solitary life in respect of theym that liued intangled with the combersome Follies of this World. “Forsomutch” (quod he) as the spirite distracted and withdrawen from Worldly troubles is eleuate to the contemplation of heauenly thinges, and sooner attendeth to the knowledge and reuerence of his God, than those that bee conuersaunt amongs men, and to conclude, the complaynts, the delights, ambitions, couetousnesse, vanities, and superfluities that abounde in the confused Maze of Worldely troupe, doe cause a misknowledge of our selues, a forgetfulnesse of our Creator, and many times a negligence of piety and purenesse of Religion. Whiles the vnknowne Hermit, and the knight Roderico talked of these thinges, the Seruauntes of Roderico visiting all the Corners of the deepe, and Stony Cell of those Penitents, by Fortune espied two Saddles, one of theym rychely wroughte and Armed wyth Plates of Steele, that had bene made for some goodly Ienet. And vppon the Plate well Wroughte, Grauen and Enameled, the Golde for all the Rust cankering the Plate, did yet appear. For whych Purpose one of theym sayde to the seruaunt of Dom Diego: “Good Father hitherto I see neyther Mule, nor Horsse, for whom these Saddles can serue, I pray thee to sell them vnto vs, for they will doe vs more pleasure, than presently they do you.” “Maisters (quod the Hermit,) if they like you, they be at your commaundement.” In the meane time Roderico hauing ended his talke with the other Hermit, without knowing of any thinge that he desired, sayd vnto his men: “Now sirs to horse, and leaue wee theese poore people to rest in peace, and let vs goe seeke for theright way which we so well as they haue lost.” “Syr,” (quod one of his men,) “there be two Saddles, and one of them is so exceeding fayre, so well garnished and wrought as euer you saw.” The knight feeling in himselfe an vnaccustomed motion, caused them to be brought before him, and as he viewed and marked the riche Harnesse, and Trappings of the same, he stayeth to looke vppon the Hinder parte minionly wrought, and in the middest of the engrauing he red this deuise in the Spanish Tongue.
Que brantare la fe, es causa muy fea.
That is,To violate or breake fayth, is a thing detestable.
That only inscription made him to pause a while. For it was the Poesie that Dom Diego bore ordinarily in his armes, which moued him to think that without doubt one of those Pilgrimes was the very same man to whom that Saddle did appertayne. And therefore he bent himselfe very attentiuely afterwardes to behold first the one, and then the other of those desert Citizens. But they were so altered, as hee was not able to know them agayne. Dom Diego seeing his Freende so neare him, and the desire that he had to knowe hym, chafed very mutch in hys mynde, and the more his Rage began to waxe, when hee saw Roderico approch neare vnto hym more aduisedly to looke vpon hym, for hee had not his own Affections so mutch at commaundement, but hys Bloude mooued hys Entrailes, and mounting into the most knowen place, caused outwardly the alteration which hee endured, to appeare. Roderico seeing hym to chaunge colour, was assured of that which before hee durst not suspect: and that which made him the sooner beleeue that he was not deceived, was a lyttle tuft of haire, so yelow as Gold, which Dom Diego had vpon his Necke, whereof Dom Roderico takyng heede, gaue ouer all suspition, and was well assured of that he doubted. And therefore displaying himselfe with hys armes opened vpon the necke of his friend, and imbracing him very louingly, his face bedewed with tears, sayd vnto him: “Alas, my Lord Dom Diego, what euill lucke from Heauen hath departed you from the good company of them which dye for sorrow, to see themselues berieued of the Beauty, lyght and ornament of their felowship? What are they that haue giuenyou occasion thus to Eclipse the bryghtnesse of your name, when it oughte most clearely to shyne, both for theyr present pleasure, and for the honour of your age? Is it from me sir, that you oughte thus to hide yourselfe? Do you think me so to be blynd, that I know not ryght well, that you are Dom Diego, that is so renoumed for vertue and prowesse? I would not haue tarried here so longe, but to carry away a power to reioyce two persons, you being the one, by withdrawing your selfe from this heauy and vnseemely Wyldernesse, and my selfe the other, to enioy your Company, and by bearyng newes to your fryends, who sith your departure, do bewaile and lament the same.” Dom Diego seeing that he was not able to conceyle the truth of that which was euidently seene, and the louing imbracements of his best Friende, began to feele a certayne tendernesse of heart lyke vnto that whych the Mother conceyueth, when she recouereth hir Sonne that is long absent, or the chaste wyfe, the presence of hir deare Husband, when she clepeth him betwene hir armes, and frankely culleth and cherisheth hym at hir pleasure. For whych cause not able to refrain any longer for ioy and sorrow together, weping and sighing began to imbrace him wyth so good and hearty affection, as with good wyl the other had sought and longed to knowe where he was. And being come againe to himself, he sayd to his faithfull and most louinge friend: “Oh God, how vneasy and difficult be thy iudgments to comprehend? I had thought to liue here miserably, vnknowen to al the world, and behold, I am here discouered, when I thought least of it. I am indeede” (quod he to Roderico) “that wretched and vnfortunate Dom Diego, euen that thy very great and louing fryend, who weary of his lyfe, afflycted wyth his vnhap, and tormented by fortune, is retyred into these desertes to accomplysh the ouerplus of the rest of his il luck. Now sith that I haue satisfied you herein, I beseech you that being content wyth my sighte, yee wyll get you hence and leaue me heere to performe that lyttle remnant whych I haue to lyue, without telling to any person that I am aliue, or yet to manifeste the place of my abode.” “What is that you say sir,” (sayd Roderico) “are you so farre straught from your ryght wits, to haue a minde to continue this brutal Lyfe, to depryue al yourfriends from the ioy whych they receiue by inioying your company? Think I pray you that God hath caused vs to be born noble men, and hauing power and authority not to lyue in Corners, or be buryed amid the slauery of the popular sort, or remain idle within great palaces or secrete Corners, but rather to illustrat and giue lyght with the example of our vertue to those that shal apply themselues to our dexterity of good behauior, and do lyue as depending vpon our edicts and commaundments: I appeale to your faith, what good shall succede to your subiects, who haue both heard and also knowne the benefit bestowed vppon them by God, for that hee gaue them a Lord so modest and vertuous, and before they haue experimented the effect of his goodnesse and Vertue, depriued of him, that is adorned and garnished with sutch perfections? What comfort, contentation and ioy shall the Lady your mother receiue, by feelyng your losse to be so sodaine, after your good and delycate bryngyng up, instructed with sutch great diligence and vtterly berieued of the fruict of that education? It is you sir, that may commaund obedience to Parents, succor to the afflicted, and do iustice to them that craue it: Alas, they be your poore subiectes that make complaints, euen of you, for denying them your due presence. It is you of whom my good madame doth complayne, as of him that hath broken and violated his faith, for not comming home at the promised day.” Now as he was about to continue his oration, Dom Diego vnwilling to heare him, brake of his talk saying: “Ah sir, and my great Friend: It is an easy matter for you to iudge of mine affayres, and to blame myne absence, not knowing peraduenture the cause thereof. But I esteeme you a man of so good iudgement, and so great a fryend of thinges that be honeste, and a Gentleman of great fidelity, as by vnderstanding my hard luck, when you be aduertised of the cause of my withdrawing into this solitarie place, you wyll rightly confesse, and playnely see that the wisest and most constant haue committed more vaine follies than those don by mee, forced with like spirite that now moueth and tormenteth me.” Hauing sayd, he tooke aside Roderico, where he dyd tell vnto hym the whole discourse both of his Loue, and also of the rigor of hys Lady, not without weepyng, in sutch abundaunceand with sutch frequent sighes and sobs interruptyng so hys speach, as Roderico was constrained to keepe him company, by remembryng the obstinacie of hir that was the Mistresse of his heart, and thinkynge that already he had seene the effect of lyke missehap to fal vpon his owne head, or neare vnto the lyke, or greater distresse than that which he sawe his deare and perfect Fryend to endure. Notwythstanding he assayed to remoue him from that desperate minde and opinion of continuance in the desert. But the froward penitente swore vnto him, that so long as he liued (without place recouered in the good graces of his Gineura,) he would not returne home to his house, but rather change his being, to seke more sauage abode, and lesse frequented than that was. “For” (quod hee) “to what purpose shall my retourne serue where continuinge mine affection, I shall fele lyke cruelty that I dyd in time past, which wil bee more painful and heauy for me to beare than voluntary exile and banyshment, or bring me to that end wherein presently I am.” “Contente your self I beseech you, and suffer me to be but once vnhappy, and do not perswade mee to proue a second affliction, worsse than the first.” Roderico hearing his reasons so liuely and wel applied would not reply, onely content that he would make him promyse to tarry there two monthes, and in that time attempt to reioyse himselfe so wel as he could. And for hys owne part, he swore vnto him, that he would bee a meanes to reconcile Gineura, and brynge them to talke together. Moreouer, he gaue him assurance by othe, that hee shoulde not bee discouered by hym, nor by any in his Company. Wherewith the knyght somewhat recomforted, thanked him very affectuously. And so leauyng wyth him a fielde bed, two seruaunts, and Money for his Necessities, Roderico tooke hys leaue, tellyng hym that shortely he would visite him againe, to his great contentation, as euer he was left and forsaken with gryefe and sorrow, himselfe makyng great mone for the vnseemely state and myserable plyght of Dom Diego. And God knoweth whether by the way, he detested the cruelty of pitilesse Gineura, blasphemyng a million of times the whole sexe of Womankynd, peraduenture not without iust cause. For there lieth hydden (I know not what) in the brests of Women, which at times like theWane and increase of the Moone, doth chaunge and alter, whereof a man can not tell on what foote to stand to conceiue the reasons of the same: whych fickle fragility of theirs (I dare not say mobility) is sutch, as the subtillest wench of them al best skilled in Turner’s Art, can not (I say deface) or so mutch as hide or colour that naturall imperfection. Roderico arriued at his house, frequented many times the lodging of Gineura, to espy hir fashions, and to see if any other had conquered that place, that was so well assayled and besieged by Dom Diego. And this wyse and sage knyght vsed the matter so well, that he fell in acquaintance wyth one of the Gentlewoman’s Pages, in whom she had so great trust, as she conceyled from him very few of hir greatest secretes, not well obseruing the preceipte of the wyse man, who councelleth vs not to tell the secretes of the mynde to those, whose iudgement is but weake, and tongue very lauish and frank of speach. The Knyght then familiar with this Page, dandled him so with faire words, as by lyttle and lytle he wrong the Wormes out of his Nose, and vnderstode that when Gineura began once to take Pepper in snuffe against Dom Diego, she fell in loue wyth a Gentleman of Biskaye, very poore, but Beautyfull, young and lustye, whych was the Stewarde of the house: and the Page added further that hee was not then there, but woulde returne wythin three Dayes, as he had sent Woorde to hys mystresse, and that two other Gentlemen woulde accompany him to cary away Gineura into Biskaye, for that was their last conclusion: “And I hope” (quod he) “that she will take me with hir, bicause I am made priuy to their whole intent.” Roderico hearing the treason of this flight and departure of the vnfaithful daughter, was at the first brunt astonned, but desirous that the Page should not marke his altered Countenaunce, said vnto him: “In very deede meete it is, that the Gentlewoman should make hir owne choice of husband, sith hir mother so little careth to prouide for hir. And albeit that the Gentleman be not so riche and Noble as hir estate deserueth, hir affection in that behalfe ought to suffise and the honesty of his person: for the rest Gineura hath (thanks be to God) wherewith to intertaine the state of them both.” These wordes he spake, farre from the thought of his hearte. For being alone by himself, thus he said:“O blessed God, how blinde is that loue, which is vnruled, and out of order: and what dispayre to recline to them, which (voide of reason) doe feede so foolishly of vayne thoughts and fond desires, in sutch wise as two commodities, presented vnto them, by what ill lucke I know not, they forsake the beste, and make choise of the worst. Ah Gineura, the fairest Lady in all this Countrey, and the moste vnfaithfull Woman of oure time, where be thine eyes and iudgement? Whither is thy mynde straied and wandred, to acquite thyselfe from a great Lord, faire, rich, noble, and vertuous, to be giuen to one that is poore, whose parents be vnknowne, his prowesse obscure, and birth of no aparant reputation. Behold, what maketh me beleue, that loue (so wel as Fortune) is not onely blynd, but also dazeleth the sight of them that hee imbraceth and captiuateth vnder his power and bondage. But I make a vowe (false woman) that it shal neuer come to passe and that this Biskaye gentleman shall neuer enioy the spoyles whych iustely bee due vnto the Trauaile and faithfull seruice of the valyaunt and vertuous knyght Dom Diego. It shal be hee, or else I wil dye for it, whych shall haue the recompense of his troubles, and shall feele the caulme of that tempest, whych presently holdeth hym at Anker, amyd the most daungerous rockes that euer were.” By this meanes Roderico knew the way how to keepe promise wyth his friende, which liued in expectation of the same. The two dayes past, whereof the Page had spoken, the beloued of Gineura, fayled not to come, and with him two Gallants of Biskaye, valiaunt Gentlemen, and well exercysed in Armes. That Nighte Roderico wente to see the olde Wydowe Lady, the Mother of the Mayden, and fyndyng oportunity to speak to the Page, hee said vnto hym: “I see my Friend, accordingly as thou diddest tell mee, that ye are vppon departing, the steward of the house beeing now retourned. I pray the tel mee, if thou haue neade of mee, or of any thyng that I am able doe for thee, assuring thee that thou shalt obtaine and haue what so euer thou requirest. And therewithall I haue thought good to tel thee, and giue the warning (for thine owne sake specially) that thou keepe all thynges close and secrete, that no slaunder or dishonour do followe, to blot and deface the Same and prayse of thy Mistresse. And for my selfe I had rather dye,than once to open my mouth, to discouer the least intent of this enterpryse. But tell mee, I praye thee, when do ye depart?” “Sir” (quod the Page) “as my Mistresse saieth, to morow about ten or eleuen of the Clocke in the Euening, when the Lady hir Mother shall bee in the sound of hir first sleepe.” The knight hearyng that, and desirous of no better time, tooke hys leaue of the Page, and went home, where he caused to bee sente for tenne or twelue Gentlemen, his Neighbours and Tenaunts, whom he made priuy of his secretes, and partakers of that he went about, to deliuer out of Captiuity and miserie the chiefest of all his Friends. The Nighte of those two Louers departure being come, Dom Roderico, which knewe the way where they should passe, bestowed him selfe and his Company in Ambush, in a little Groue, almost three Miles of the Lodging of this fugitiue Gentlewoman: where they hadde not long tarried but they hearde the tramplinge of Horsse, and a certaine whispring noise of People riding before them. Nowe the Nighte was somwhat cleare, which was the cause, that the Knighte amonges the thronge, knew the Gentlewoman, besides whome rode the Miserable Wretche that hadde stolne hir awaye. Whome so soone as Roderico perceyued full of despyte, moued wyth extreme passion, welding his launce into his rest, brake in the nearest way vpon the infortunate louer, with sutch vehemency, as neither coate of Maile or Placard was able to saue his lyfe, or warraunt him to keepe company wyth that troupe which banded vnder loue’s Enseigne, was miserably slayne, by the guide of a blynd, naked, and thieuish litle boy. And when he saw he had done that he came for, he sayd to the rest of the Company: “My Friends, thys man was carelesse to make inuasion vpon other mens ground.” These poore Biskayes surprysed vpon the sodayne, and seeyng the ambushment to multiply, put spurres to theyr horsse to the best aduantage they could for expedition, leauing their Conduct or guid gaping for breath and geuing a signe that he was dead. Whiles the other were making themselues ready to runne away, two of Roderico his men, couered with Skarfes, armed, and vnknowne, came to sease vppon sorrowfull Gineura, who beholdyng her fryende deade, began to weepe and crye so straungely, as it was maruell that hir breath faylednot. “Ah trayterous Theeues,” (said she) “and bloudy Murderers, why do ye not addresse your selues to execute cruelty vppon the rest, sith you haue done to death hym, that is of greater value than you all? Ah my deare Fryend, what crooked and grieuous Fortune haue I, to see thee grouelyng dead on ground and I abyding in life, to be the pray of murderous Theeues and thou so cowardly beryued of lyfe.” Roderico wyth his face couered, drew neare vnto her, and sayde: “I beseech you Gentlewoman, to forget these straunge fashions of complaynt, sith by them ye bee not able to reuiue the dead, ne yet make your ende of gryefes.” The maiden knowing the voyce of hym, that had slayne hir fryende, began to cry out more fiercely than before. For whych cause one of the gentlemen in company with Roderico, hauing a blacke counterfait beard with two lunets, in manner of spectacles, very large and great, that couered the moste part of his Face, approched neare the bashful maiden, and with bigge voice and terrible talk, holding his dagger vpon hir white and delicate breast, said vnto hir: “I sweare by the Almighty God, if I heare thee speake one word more, I wil sacrifice thee vnto the ghost of that varlet, for whome thou makest thy mone, who deserued to end his daies vpon a gallow tree rather than by the hands of a gentleman. Holde thy peace therefore thou foolysh girle, for greater honour and more ample Benefite is meant to thee, than thou hast deserued. Ingratitude onely hath so ouerwhelmed thy good Nature, as thou art not able to iudge who be thy friends.” The gentlewoman fearing death, whych as she thought was present, held hir peace, downe alonges whose Eyes a ryuer of Teares dyd run, and the passion of whose heart appeared by assiduall sighes, and neuer ceassing sobbes, whych in end so quallifyed hir cheare, that the exteriour sadnesse was wholy inclosed wythin the mynd and thought of the afflicted Gentlewoman. Then Roderico caused the body of the dead to be buryed in a lyttle Countrey Chappell, not farre out of theyr way. Thus they trauayled two dayes before Gineura knew any of them, that had taken hir away from hir louer: who permytted none to speake vnto hir nor she to any of hir company, beyng but a waiting maid, and the page that hadde dyscouered al the secretes to Dom Roderico. A notable examplesurely for stolne and secrete mariages, whereby the honour of the contracted partes, is most commonly blemyshed, and the Commaundement ofGodviolated, whose word enioyneth obedience to Parents in all ryghtfull causes, who if for any lyght offence, they haue power to take from vs the inheritance whych otherwyse naturall law would giue vs, what ought they of duety to doe, where rebellyous Chyldren abusing theyr goodnesse, do consume without feare of Liberty, the thynge that is in theyr free wyll and gouernement. In like maner diuers vndiscrete and folysh mothers are to be accused, which suffer their daughters of tender and chyldysh age to be enamored of theyr seruants, not remembryng how weake the flesh is, how prone and ready men be to do euyl, and how the seducyng spirite wayting stil vpon us, is procliue and prone to surpryse and catch vs wythin his Snares, to the intent he may reioyce in the ruine of soules washed and redeemed wyth the bloud of the Son of God. This troupe drawing neare to the caue of Dom Diego, Roderico sent one of his men to aduertise him of their comming, who in the absence of his fryende, fylled and susteined with hope, shortely to see the onely Lady of hys hearte, accompanyed wyth a merry and ioyfull Trayne, so soone as hee had somewhat chaunged his wilde maner of Lyfe, he also by lyttle and lyttle gayned a good part of hys lusty and fresh coloure, and almost had recouered that beauty, which he had when he firste became a Citizen of those desertes. Now hauiug vnderstanded the message sent vnto him by Roderico, God knoweth if with that pleasaunt tydings he felt a motion of Bloud, sutch as made all his members to leape and daunce, whych rendred hys Mynde astonned, for the onely memorye of the thynge that poysed hys mynd vp and downe, not able to be wayed in equall Balaunce whereof rather he ought to haue made reioyse than complayne, being assured to see hir, of whome he demaunded onely grace and pardon, but for recouery of hir, he durst not repose any certayne Iudgement. In the Ende hoystyng vp hys head lyke one rysen from a long and sound sleepe, hee sayd: “Praise be to God, who yet before I dye, hath done me great pleasure, to suffer me to haue a syght of hir, that by causing my Matirdome, continueth hir stubburne manner of Lyfe, whych shall procure in like sort mynevtter ruine and decay. Vpon the approch of whom I shall goe more ioyfull, charged with incomparable loue, to vysit the ghosts beneath, in the presence of that cruel swete, that now tormenteth me with the ticklysh tentation, and who sometimes hath made me tast a kind of Hony sugred with bytter Gal, more daungerous than the suck of Poyson and vnder the vermyllion rudde of a new sprouted Rosediuiuelyblowen forth, hath hydden secrete Thornes the pryckes whereof hath me so lyuely touched, as my Wound cannot well bee cured, by any Baulme that may be thereunto applyed, without enioying of that myne owne missehappe, moste happy or wythout that remedy, whych almost I feele restyng in death, that so long and oftentymes I haue desired as the true remedy of all my paynes and gryefe.” In the meane whyle Dom Roderico, whych tyll that tyme was not knowen vnto Gineura, drew neare vnto hir by the way as he rode, and talked wyth hir in this sorte: “I doubt not (Gentlewoman) but that you think your self not wel contented to se me in this place, in sutch company and for occasion so vnseemely for my degre, and state, and moreouer knowying what iniury I seeme to do vnto you, that euer was, and am so affectionate and friendly to the whole stocke of your race and Lynage, and am not ignoraunte that vppon the firste brunte you may iudge my cause vniust to carry you away from the handes of your fryend, to bring you into these desertes, wylde, and solitary places. But if ye considred the force of that true amity, which by vertue sheweth the common Bondes of hearts and myndes of Men, and shall measure to what end this acte is done, without to mutch staying vpon the lyght apprehension of Choler, for a beginnynge somewhat troublesom, I am assured then (that if you be not wholly depryued of reason) you shall perceiue that I am not altogether worthy blame nor your selfe vtterly voyde of fault. And bycause we draw neare vnto the place, whether (by the help of God) I meane to conduct you, I beseech you to consider, that the true Seruaunt whych by all seruice and duety studieth to execute the commaundementes of him that hath puissance ouer him, doth not deserue to bee beaten or driuen away from the house of his maister, but to be fauored and cherished, and ought to receyue equal recompense forhis seruice. I speake not this for my selfe, my deuotion beinge vowed elsewhere, but for that honest affection which I beare to all vertuous and chaste persons. The effect whereof I will not deny to tell you in tyme and place, where I shall use sutch modesty towards you, as is meete for a maiden of your age and state. For the greatnesse of Noble Men and puisant, doth most appeare and shew forth it self, when they vse Mildenesse and Gentlenesse vnto those, to whom by reason of their Authority they mighte execute cruelty and malice. Now to the end that I do not make you doubtfull long, al that which I haue done and yet meane to doe, is for none other purpose but to ease the grieuous paines of that moste faithful louer that loueth at thys Daye vnder the Circle of the Moone. It is for the good Knighte Dom Diego, that loueth you so dearely and still worshippeth your Noble fame, who bicause he wil not shew himself disobedient, liueth miserably amonge bruite beasts, amid the craggy rocks and mountaines, and in the deepe solitudes of comfortlesse dales and valleis. It is to him I say that I do bryng you, protesting vnto you by othe (Gentlewoman) that the misery wherein I saw him, little more thanVI.Wekes past, toucheth me so neare the heart, as if the Sacrifice of my lyfe sufficed alone, (and without letting you to feele this painfull voyage) for the solace of his martirdome I would spare it no more, than I do mine owne endeuor and honor, besides the hazarding of the losse of your good grace and fauour. And albeit I wel perceiue, that I do grieue you, by causing you to enter this painfull iourney, yet I besech you that the whole displeasure of this fact may bee imputed vnto my charge, and that it would please you louingly to deale with him, who for your sake vseth so great violence against himself.” Gineura as a woman half in despayre for the death of hir friend, behaued hir selfe like a mad woman void of wit and sense, and the simple remembraunce of Dom Diego his name so astonned her, (which name she hated far more than the pangs of death) that she staied a long time, hir mouth not able to shape one word to speake. In the ende vanquished with impacience, burning with choler, and trembling for sorrow, loked vpon Dom Roderico with an Eye no lesse furious, than a Tigresse caught within the Net, and seeth before hir face hir youngFawnes murdered, wringing hir hands and beating hir delicate brest, she vsed these or sutch like woordes: “Ah bloudy traitor and no more Knight, is it of thee that I oughte to looke for so detestable a villany and treason? How darest thou be so hardy to entreat me for an other, that hast in myne owne presence killed him, whose death I will pursue vpon thee, so longe as I haue life within this body? Is it to thee false theefe and murderer, that I ought to render accompte of that which I meant to doe? Who hath appointed thee to be arbitrator, or who gaue thee commission to capitulate the Articles of my mariage? Is it by force then, that thou wouldest I should loue that vnfaithfull Knighte, for whom thou hast committed and done this acte, that so longe as thou liuest shal blot and blemish thy renoume, and shal be so wel fixed in my mind, and the wounds shal cleaue so neare my heart, vntill at my pleasure I be reuenged of this wrong? No, no, I assure thee no force done vnto mee, shall neuer make mee otherwyse dysposed, than a mortall Enimy both to thee which art a Theefe and rauisher of an other man’s wife, and also to thy desperate frend Dom Diego, which is the cause of this my losse: and now not satisfied with the former wrong done vnto me, thou goest about to deceiue me vnder the Colour of good and pure Friendship. But sith wicked Fortune hath made me thy Prysoner, doe with me what thou wylt, and yet before I suffer and endure that that Traytor Dom Diego doe enioy my Virginity, I will offer vp my lyfe to the shadowes and Ghostes of my faythful fryend and husband, whome thou hast so trayterously murdred. And therefore (if honestlye I may or ought entreate mine Enimy) I pray thee that by doynge thy duety, thou suffer vs in peace, and gyue lycence to mee, thys Page, and my two pore Maydens to depart whether we lyst.” “God forbid” (quod Roderico) “that I should doe a Trespasse so shamefull, as to depryue my dearest fryend of his ioy and contentation, and by falsifiing my faith be an occasion of hys death, and of your losse, by leauing you without company, wandring amids this wildernesse.” And thus he continued his former discourse and talk, to reclaime thys cruell Damosell to haue pity vpon hir poore penytent, but he gained as mutch thereby, as if he had gone aboute to number the Sands alongs the Sea Coastes ofthe maine Ocean. Thus deuising from one talke to an other, they arryued neare the Caue, which was the stately house of Dom Diego: where Gineura lyghted, and saw the pore amorous Knight, humbly falling downe at hir feete, all forworne, pale, and disfigured, who weeping with warme teares, said vnto hir: “Alas, my deare Lady, the alone and onely mistresse of my heart, do you not thinke that my penaunce is long inoughe for the sinne which ignorauntly I haue committed, if euer I haue don any fault at al? Behold [I beseech you (good ladie deare) what ioy] I haue conceiued in your absence, what pleasures haue nursed mine hope, and what consolation hath entertained my life: which truely had it not bene for the continual remembraunce of your diuine Beauty, I had of long time abreuiated the pains which do renew in me so many times the pangs of death: as oftentimes I think vpon the vnkindnes shewed vnto me by making so litle accompt of my fidelity: whych can nor shal receiue the same in good part, wer it so perfect as any assuraunce were able to make it.” Gineura swelling with sorrow and full of feminine rage, blushing with fury, hir eyes sparcklinge forth hir chollerick conceypts, vouchsafed not so mutch as to giue him one word for aunswere, and bicause she would not looke vppon him, she turned hir face on the other side. The poore and afflicted Louer, seeing the great cruelty of his felonous Mystresse, still kneeling vpon his knees, redoubling his armes, fetching Sighes with a voyce that seemed to bee drawne by force from the bottome of his heart, proceeded in these wordes: “Syth the sincerity of my fayth, and my long seruice madame Gineura, cannot persuade you that I haue beene most Obedient, Faythfull, and very Loyall seruaunt towards you, as euer any that hath serued Lady or Gentlewoman, and that without your fauour and grace it is vnpossible for mee any longer to liue, yet I doe very humbly beseech you, for that all other comfort is denied me, if there bee any gentlenesse and curtesie in you, that I may receyue this onely grace at your hands for the last that euer I hope to craue: which is, that you being thus greeuously offended with me, would do iustice vpon that vnfortunate man, that vpon his Knees doth instantly craue the same. Graunt (cruell mistresse) this my request, doe vengeaunceat your pleasure vpon him, which willingly yeldeth himselfe to death with the effusion of his poore innocent bloud to satisfy you, and verily farre more expedient it is for him thus to die, by appeasing your wrath, than to rest or liue to your discontentment or anoiaunce. Alas, shal I be so vnfortunate, that both life and death should bee denied me by one person of the world, whom I hoped to content and please by any sort or meanes what so euer restinge in mine humble obedience? Alas gentlewoman rid mee from this Torment, and dispatch your selfe from the griefe you haue to see this vnhappy Knight, who would say and esteeme himselfe most happy (his life being lothsome vnto you) if he may content you, by death done by your owne handes, sith other fauour he cannot expect or hope for.” The Mayden hardned in hir Opinion, stoode still immoueable mutch like vnto a Rocke in the midst of the Sea, disquieted with a tempest of billowes, and fomy Waues in sutch wise as one word could not be procured from hir mouth. Which vnlucky Dom Diego perceyuing, attached with the feare of present death, and faylinge his Naturall force fell downe to the Grounde, and faintyng saied: “Ah, what a recompence doe I receiue for this so faythfull Loue?” Roderico bebolding that rufull sight, whilest the others went about to relieue Dom Diego, repaired to Gineura, and full of heauinesse mingled with fury, said vnto hir: “By God (false fiendish woman) if so be that I doe chaunge my mind, I will make thee feele the smarte, no lesse than thou shewest thy selfe dishonourable to them that doe thee honour: Art thou so carelesse of so greate a Lord as this is, that humbleth himselfe so lowe to sutch a strumpet as thou art: who without regarde either to hys renoume, or the honour of his House, is content to bee abandoned from his noble state, to become a fugitiue and straunger? What cruelty is this for thee to mispryse the greatest humility that man can Imagin? What greater amends canst thou wysh to haue, yea though the offence which thou presupposest had ben true? Now (if thou be wyse) chaunge thy Opinion, except thou wouldest haue mee doe into so many pieces, thy cruel corpse and vnfaithful heart, as once this poore Knight did in parts the vnhappy hauke, which through thy folly did breede vnto him this distresse, and to thy self thename of the most cruell and disloyall Woman that euer lyued. But what greater benefite can happen vnto thee, than to see thys Gentleman vtterly to forget the fault, to conceiue no sinister suspition of thy running away, crauing pardon at thy Hands, and is contented to sacrifice him self vnto thine Anger, to appease and mytigate thy rage? Now to speake no more hereof, but to proceede in that which I began to say, I offer vnto thee then both death and Loue, choose whether thou lyst. For I sweare againe by hym that seeth and heareth all thinges, that if thou play the foole, that thou shalt feele and proue me to be the cruellest Ennimy that euer thou hadst: and sutch a one as shall not feare to imbrue his hands wyth the bloud of hir that is the death of the greatest friend I haue, and truest knight that euer bare armes.” Gineura hearing that resolute aunswere, shewed hir selfe to be nothing afrayde nor declared any token of feare, but rather seemed to haue encouraged Roderico, in braue and mannish sort, farre diuers from the simplicity of a young and tender Mayden, as a Man would say, sutch a one as had neuer felt the assaultes and troubles of adverse fortune. Wherefore frouncyng her Browes, and grating hir Teeth wyth closed fists, and Countenaunce very bold, she made him answere: “Ah thou Knight, whych once gauest assault to commit a villany and Treason thinkest thou now without remorse of conscyence to continue thy mischyefe: I speak it to thee Villayne, whych hauing shed the Bloud of an honester Man than thou art, fearest not now to make me a Companion of hys Death. Which thyng spare not hardily to accomplysh, to the intent that I liuinge, may not be sutch a one as thou falsly iudgest me to be: for neuer Man hitherto vaunted, and never shall, that hath had the spoyle of my dearest Iewell: from the Fruict whereof, like an arrant Thiefe, thou hast depryued my loyall Spouse. Now doe what you lyste: for I am farre better content to suffer death, be it as cruel as thou art mischieuous, and borne for the disquieting and vexation of honest Maidens then yelde vnto thy furies: notwithstanding I humbly beseech Almyghty God, to gyue thee so mutch pleasure, contentation and ioy in thy loue, as thou hast done to me, by hastening the death of my deare Husband. OGod, if thou be a iustGod, sutch a one, as from whom we thypoore Creatures do beleue al iustice to proceede, thou I say which art the Rampire and refuge of al iustice, poure downe thy vengeance and plague vpon these pestiferous Thieues and murderers, which prepared a worldely plague vpon me thine innocent damsel. Ah wycked Roderico, think not that death can be so fearful vnto me, but that with good heart, I am able to accept the same, trusting verily that one day it shal be the cause of thy ruine, and the ouerthrowe of him for whom thou takest al these paines.” Dom Roderico maruelously rapte in sense imagined the Woman to be fully bente against hym, who then had puissance (as he thought,) ouer hir own heart: and thinking, that he sawe hir moued with like rage against him, as she was against Dom Diego, stode stil so perplexed and voyde of ryghte minde, as he was constrained to sitte downe, so feeble he felt him self for the onely remembraunce of hir euyll demeanor. And whilest this Pageant was a doing, the handmayd of Gineura, and hir page, inforced to persuade their mystresse to haue compassion vpon the Knight that had suffred so mutch for hir sake, and that she would consent to the honest requests and good counsell of Roderico. But she which was stubbornely bent in hir fonde persuasions, made them aunsere: “What fooles? are you so mutch bewitched, eyther with the fayned teares of this disloyall Knight, whych colorably thus doth torment himselfe, or els are yee inchaunted with the venomous honny and tirannicall brauery of the Theefe which murdered my husbande, and your mayster? Ah vnhappy caytife mayden, is it my chaunce to endure the assault of sutch Fortune, when I thought to liue at my best ease, and thus cruelly to tomble into the handes of him, whom I hate so mutch as he fayneth loue vnto me? And moreouer my vnlucky fate is not herewith content, but redoubleth my sorrowe, euen by those that be of my trayne, who ought rather to incourage mee to dy, than consent to so vnreasonable requests. Ah loue, loue, how euill be they recompenced which faythfully doe Homage vnto thee? And why should not I forget all Affection, neuer hereafter to haue mynde on man to proue beginning of a pleasure, which tasted and felt bringeth more displeasure than euer ioy engendreth delight. Alas, I neuer knewe what was the fruicte of that which so straungely did attach me,and thou O trayterous and theeuishe Loue, haste ordayned a banket serued with sutch bitter dishes, as forced I am perforce to taste of their egre sweetes: Auaunt sweete folly, auaunt, I doe henceforth for euer let thee slip, to imbrace the death, wherein I hope to find my greatest rest, for in thee I finde noughte else but heapes of strayninge Passions. Auoyde from me all mishap, flee from me ye furious ghostes and Fayries most vnkinde, whose gaudes and toyes dame loue hath wrought to keepe occupied my louing minde, and suffer me to take ende in thee, that I may liue in an other life without thee, being now charged with cup of griefe, which I shall quaffe in venomous drincke soaked in the Sops of bitternesse. Sharpen thou thy selfe, (O death vnkinde) prepare thy Darte, to strike the Corpse of hir, that she may voyde the Quarelles shotte agaynst hir by hir Aduersary. Ah poore hearte, strip thy selfe from hope, and qualifie thy desires. Cease henceforth to wishe thy Lyfe, seeing, and feelinge the appoyncted sight of loue and Life, combattyng within my minde, els where to seeke my peace in an other world, with him to ioy, whych for my sake was sacrificed to the treason of varlets handes, who for the perfite hoorde of his desires, noughte else dyd seeke but to soile his bloudy fists with the purest bloude of my loyall friend. And I this floud of Teares do shead to saciate his felonous moode that is the iust shortening of my dolefull Dayes.” When she had thus complayned, she began horribly to torment hir selfe that the cruellest of the company were moued with compassion, to see hir thus strangely straught of hir wits: neuertheles they did not discontinue by duety to solicite hir to haue regard to that which poore fayntyng Dom Diego dyd endure: who so soone as wyth freshe Fountayn water hee was reuiued, seeing still the heauinesse of his Lady, and hir increased disdaine and choler againste hym vanished in diuers soundings: which moued Roderico from studye deepe, wherein he was, to ryse, whereunto the rage of Gineura had cast him downe, bicause forgetting all imaginarie affection of his Lady, and proposing his duety before his eyes, whych ech Gentleman oweth to Gentle Damsels [and womenkind], styll beholding with honorable aspect the gryefe of the martyred wyldernesse Knyght, sighing yet in former gryefes, he sayd vnto Gineura, “Alas, is it possyble,that in the heart of so young and delicate a maiden, there may bee harboured so straunge fury and vnreasonable rage? O God, the effect of the cruelty resting in this Woman, painting it selfe in the imaginatiue force of my mind, hath made me feare the like myssehappe to come to the cruell state of this disaduenturous gentleman? Notwithstanding (O thou cruell beast) thinke not that thys thy fury shall stay me from doing thee to death, to rid thee from follye and disdayne, and this vnfortunate louer from despayre and trouble, verily beleuing, that in tyme it shalbe knowne what profit the World shall gayne by purgyng the same of sutch an infected plague as is an vnkynd and arrogante hearte: and it shall feele what vtility ryseth by thyne ouerthrowe. And I doe hope besydes in tyme to come, that Men shall prayse this deede of myne, who for preseruynge the Honoure of one House, hath chosen rather to doe to death two offenders, than to leaue one of them aliue, to obscure the glory and brightnesse of the other. And therefore” (sayd he, tourning his face to those of his traine,) “cut the throte of this stubborne and froward beast, and doe the like to them that be come with hir, shewe no more fauor vnto them all, than that curssed strumpet doth mercy to the life of that miserable Gentleman, who lieth a dying there for loue of hir.” The Mayden hearing the cruel sentence of hir death, cryed out so loud as she coulde, thinking reskue woulde haue come, but the poore Wench was deceiued: for the desert knew none other, but those that were abiding in that troupe. The Page and the woman seruaunt exclamed vpon Roderico for mercy, but he made as though he heard them not, and rather made signe to his men to do what he commaunded. When Gineura sawe that their deathe was purposed in deede, confirmed in opinion rather to dy, than to obey, she said vnto the executioners: “My friends, I beseech you let not these innocentes abide the penaunce of that which they neuer committed. And you, Dom Roderico, be reuenged on me, by whome the fault, (if a woman’s faith to hir husband may be termed a faulte) is don. And let these infortunate depart, that bee God knoweth guiltles of any cryme. And thou my friend, which liuest amonges the shadowes of faythfull louers, if thou haue any feelinge, as in deede thou prouest being in another world,behold the purenesse of mine heart and fidelity of my loue: who to keep the same inuiolable, do offer my self voluntarily to the death, which this cruell tyrant prepareth for me. And thou hangman the executioner of my ioyes, and murderer of the immortall pleasures of my loue (sayd she to Roderico) glut thy vnsaciable desire of bloud, make dronke thy mind with murder, and boast of thy litle triumph, which for all thy threates or persuasible words, thou canst not get from the heart of a simple maiden, ne cary away the victory for all the battred breach made into the rampare of hir honour.” When she had so said, a Man would haue thought that the memory of death had cooled hir heate, but the same serued hir as an assured solace of hir paynes. Dom Diego being come to himself and seing the discourse of that tragedy, being now addressed to the last act and end of that life and stage of faire and golden locked Gineura, making a vertue of necessity, recouered a lyttle corage to saue, (if it were possible) the life of hir, that had put hys owne in hazard miserably to end. Hauing stayed them that held the maiden, he repayred to Dom Roderico, to whom he spake in this wise: “I see wel my good Lord and great Friende, that the good will you beare me, causeth you to vse this honest order for my behalf, whereof I doubt if I should lyue a whole hundred yeares, I shall not be able to satisfy the least of the bondes wherein I am bound, the same surpassing all mine ability and power. Yet for al that (deare friend) sith you see the fault of this missehap to arise of my predestinate ill lucke, and that man cannot auoyde things once ordained, I beseech you do me yet this good pleasure (for all the benefits that euer I haue receiued) to send back again this gentlewoman with hir trayne, to the place from whence you toke hir, wyth like assurance and conduct, as if shee were your sister. For I am pleased with your endeuor, and contented with my misfortune, assuring you sir besides, that the trouble which she endureth, doth far more gryeue my heart than al the paine which for hir sake I suffer. That hir sorrow then may decrease and mine may renue againe, that she may lyue in peace, and I in Warre for hir cruel beauty sake, I wyll wayt vppon Clotho, the Spynner of the threden life of man vntil she breake the twysted lace that holdeth the fatall course ofmy dolefull yeares. And you Gentlewoman lyue in rest, as your poore suppliant, wretched Dom Diego, shalbe citizen of wyld places, and vaunt you hardely that yee were the best beloued maiden that euer liued.” Maruellous truly be the forces of loue, when they discouer their perfection, for by their meanes thinges otherwise impossible be reduced to sutch facility, as a man would iudge that they had neuer bene so hard to obtaine, and so painefull to pursue: As appeared by this damsel, in whome the wrath of fortune, the pynche of iealosie, the intollerable rage of hir fryendes losse, had ingendred a contempte of Dom Diego, an extreame desire to be reuenged on Dom Roderico, and a tediousnesse of longer Lyfe. And now putting of the vaile of blynde appetite, for the esclarishing of hir vnderstandyng Eyes, and breakyng the Adamant Rocke planted in the middes of hir breast, she beheld in open sight the stedfastnesse, pacience and perseueration of hir great fryend. For that supplycation of the Knight had greater force in Gineura, than all hys former seruyces. And full wel she shewed the same, when throwyng hir selfe vppon the Necke of the desperate Gentleman, and imbracyng hym very louyngly she sayd vnto him: “Ah sir, that your felicity is the begynnyng of my great ioy of Mynd, whych sauoreth now of sweetnes in the very same, in whom I imagyned to be the welsprynge of bytternesse. The diminutyon of one gryefe is, and shall bee the increase of a bonde, sutch as for euer I wyll call my selfe the moste humble slaue of your honor, lowly beseechyng you neuerthelesse to pardon my follyes, wherewyth full fondely I haue abused youre pacience. Consider a whyle sir, I beseech you, the Nature and secrecye of loue. For those that be blinded in that passion, thynke them selues to be perfecte Seers, and yet be the first that commit most filthy faultes. I doe not denie any committed wrong and trespasse, and doe not refuse therefore the honest and gentle Correction that you shall appointe mee, for expiation of myne offence.” “Ah my Noble Lady,” (aunswered the knight, all rapt wyth pleasure, and halfeway out of his wyts for ioy) “I humbly beseech you inflyct vppon my poore wretched body no further panges of Death, by remembryng the glory of my thought, sith the recitall bryngeth with it a tast of the trauailes which youhaue suffred for my ioy and contentation.” “It is therefore,” (quod she) “that I think my self happy: for by that meanes I haue knowne the perfect qualyties that be in you, and haue proued two extremities of vertue. One consisting in your constancy and loyalty wherby you may vaunt yourself aboue hym that sacrificed his Lyfe vpon the bloudy body of his Ladye who for dying so, finished his Trauailes. Where you haue chosen a life worse than death, no lesse paynefull a hundred times a Day, than very death it self. The other in the clemency wherwyth you calme and appease the rage of your greatest aduersaries. As my self which before hated you to death, vanquished by your courtesie do confesse that I am double bound vnto you, both for my lyfe and honor: and hearty thankes do I render to the Lord Roderico for the violence he dyd vnto me, by which meanes I was induced to acknowledge my wrong, and the right whych you had to complayne of my beastly resistance.” “Al is wel,” sayd Roderico, “sith without peril of honor we may returne home to our houses: I intend therefore (sayd he) to send word before to the Ladies your mothers of your returne, for I know how so wel to couer and excuse this our enterpryse and secrete iorneis, as by God’s assistance no blame or displeasure shall ensue thereof. And like as (said he smiling) I haue builded the fortresse whych shot into your campe, and made you flie, euen so I hope (Gentlewoman) that I shalbe the occasion of your victorye, when you combat in close campe, with your sweete cruel Ennimy.” Thus they passed the iorney in pleasaunt talk, recompensing the 2 Louers with al honest and vertuous intertainment for their griefs and troubles past. In the meane while they sent one of their Seruaunts to the two widow Ladies, which were in greate care for their Children, to aduertise them that Gineura was gone to visit Dom Diego, then being in one of the castles of Roderico, where they were determined if it were their good pleasure, to consumate their mariage, hauing giuen faith and affiance one to the other. The mother of Gineura could not heare tel of more pleasant newes: for she had vnderstanded of the foolysh flyght and escape of hir daughter, with the steward of hir house, wherof she was very sorrowful, and for grief was like to die, but assured and recomforted with those newesshe failed not to mete the mother of Dom Diego, at the appointed place whether the 2 louers were arriued two daies before. Ther the mariage of that fair couple (so long desired) was solempnised with sutch magnificence as was requisite for the state of those two noble houses. Thus the torment indured, made the ioye to sauour of some other taste than they do feele, which without paine in the exercise of loue’s pursute, attaine the top of theyr desires: and truly their pleasure was altogether like to him that nourished in superfluous delicacy of meates cannot aptly so wel iudge of pleasure as he which sometimes lacketh the abundance. And verily loue wythout bitternesse, is almost a cause without effects, for he that shall take away gryefs and troubled fansies from Louers, depryueth them of the prayse of their stedfastnesse, and maketh vayne the glory of their perseuerence: Forhee is vnworthy to beare away the price and Garland of triumph in the Conflict, that behaueth himselfe like a coward, and doth not obserue the lawes of armes and manlike dueties incident to a combat. This History then is a Mirrour for Loyall Louers and Chaste Suters, and maketh them detest the vnshamefastnesse of those, which vpon the first view do followe with might and mayne, the Gentlewoman or Lady that gieueth them good Face, or Countenaunce whereof any gentle heart, or mynde, noursed in the Schoolehouse of vertuous education, will not bee squeymishe to those that shall by chaste salutation or other incountry, doe their curteous reuerence. This History also yeldeth contempt of them, which in their affection forget themselues abasing the Generosity of their Courages to be reputed of fooles the true champions of loue, whose like are they that desire such regarde. For the perfection of a true Louer consisteth in passions, in sorrows, griefes, martirdomes, or cares, and mutch lesse arriueth he to his desire, by sighes, exclamations, Weapings, and childishe playnts: For so mutch as vertue ought to be the bande of that indissoluble amity, which maketh the vnion of the two seuered bodies of that Woman man, which Plato describeth, and causeth man to trauell for hys whole accomplishment in the true pursute of chaste loue. In which labour truly, fondly walked Dom Diego, thinking to finde the same by his dispayre amiddest the sharpe solitary Deserts of those PyreneMountaynes. And truely the duety of his perfect friende, did more liuely disclose the same (what fault so euer he did) than all his Countenaunces, eloquent letters or amorous Messages. In like manner a man doth not know what a treasure a true Friende is, vntill hee hath proued his excellency, specially where necessity maketh him to taste the swetenes of sutch delicate meate. For a frend being a seconde himselfe, agreeth by a certayne naturall Sympathie and attonement to th’affections of him whom he loueth both to particpate his ioyes and pleasures, and to sorrowe his aduersity, where Fortune shall vse by some misaduentures, to shewe hir accustomed mobility.