THere dwelled in the Cittie of Venice néere the Rialto, an Earle of great ex­cellence, both for the descent of his pa­rentage, and largenesse of his patrimo­nie, called Il Conte Ph [...]llippo Medico, a gentleman euery way, not onelie by birth: as being by the mothers side of the Aemilii, but e­uerie waie furnisht with ciuill vertues for peace, and martiall vallour for the warres as polliticke at home as resolute abroad: reuerenst of all, not for his gray heares for he was yoong, but for his many vertues wherein he ouerwent men of age. This Conte Phillippo hadde by the fauour of Fortune and his owne foresight, linked himselfe to a yoonge Gentlewoman in mariage called Phylomela Celii, at that time the woonder of Venice, not for h [...]r beauty, though Italie affoorded none so faire, nor for hir dowrie, though she were the only daughter of the Duke of Millain: but for the admyrable honors of hir mind, which were so many and matchlesse, that vertue séemed to haue plante [...] there the paradise of hir perfecti­ons: hir age exceeded not xvii. yet appeared there such a simmetry of more then womanly excellence in euery ac­tion of this Venetian paragon that Italie held hir life as an instance of all commend [...]ble qualities: she was mo­dest wi [...]hout [...]ullennesse, and silent not as a foole, but bi­cause she would not be counted a blab: chast, and yet not coy, for the poorest of all held hir courteous▪ though she was yoong, yet she desired neyther to gad nor to gase nor [Page] to haue hir be [...]tie made common to euery bad compa­nions eie▪ the vale she vsed for hir face was the couert of hir owne house: for she neuer woulde goe abroad but in the company of hir husband, and then with such bashful­nesse, that she seemed to hold hir selfe faultie in stepping beyond the shadow of hir owne mansion: thus was Phi­lomela famous for hir exquisite vertues, and Philippo fortunate for enioyeng so vertuous a paramour. But as there is no Antidot so pretious but being tempered with Antimonie is infectious: nor no hart so soueraign good, but art can make simply ill, so Phillippo was not so cō ­mendable for some good parts, as afterwards bad thoght of for some vnworthy qualities. For th [...]ugh hee had a wife euery way answerable to his owne wish, both fair to please his eie, and honest to content his humor, yet in séeking to quittance these vertues with loue, he so [...]uer­loued hir, that he pl [...]gued hir more with iélousy then re­compenst hir with affection, insomuch that with a deepe insight entring into the consideration of hir beawty and hir youth, he began to suspect that such as frequented his house for trafike (for the greatest menne in Venice vsed marchandise) w [...]re rather drawne thither by a desire to see his wife then for the speciall vse of any other his commodities. Féeding vpon this passion that gnaweth like enuy vpon hir owne flesh, he called to minde to which of his friends she shewed the most gratious lookes, vppon whom she glaunst the most smiling fauours, whose car­ [...]er she would be at the table, to whom she would drink, and who had most curteous intertainment at hir hands, these men he did both suspect and enuy, as those to whom he thought his wife for those granted sauours most affec­tionate. Yet when he called to mind hir chast vertues, and did ruminate the particularities of his loues toward himselfe, he supprest the suspitious flame of ielousy with the assured proofs of hir inuinsyble chastity, hammering these betwixt fear [...] and hope he built castles in the ayre [Page] and reacht beyonde the m [...]ne: one while swearing all women were false and inconstant, and then againe pro­testing if all were so, yet not all bicause Philomela was not so: In this gealous quandary hee vsed to himselfe this quaint discourse. If loue bee a blessing Philippo as yet proues in the ends most bitter, howe [...]est are they that neuer make trial of so sower a swéet, a child [...]nge with a bée wil fly from the hunnicombe, such as are byt­ten with vipers, will feare to sleepe on the grasse▪ but men toucht with the inconuenience of fancie, hunt with sighes to enrich themselues with that passion: what conquest haue such as win faire women? Euen the like vy­ctorie that Alexander had in subduing the Scythians re­conciled friendes, whoe the more they flattered him the more he mistrusted. Beauty is like the herbe Larix, coole in the water but hot in the stomach: pretious while it is a blossome, but preiudiciall grown to a frute: a iem not to be valued if set in vertue, but disgrast with a bad foile like a ring of gold in a swines snowt: yet what comfort is there in life if man had no solace: but man, women are swéet helpes and those kind creatures that god made to perfect vp mens excellence. Truth Philippo they [...] wonders of nature, if they wrong not nature: and admi­rable angels if they would not be drawn with augels to become deuils. Oh flatter not thy selfe in flattering them for where they find submission, there they proclaim con­tempt: and if thou makest them thy mate, they wil giue thee such a checkmate that happyly thou [...]halt liue by the losse all thy life after: what néeds this inuectiue humor against women, when thou hast such a wife as euerye way is absolute both for beauty and vertue? let such as haue béene stung with the scorpion be warnd, speak the [...] as thou findest, and then thou wilte say that women are creatures as excellent in minde, as they bee singular in complexion: as farre beyond men in inward vertues, as they excéed men in exterior beauties I grant al this, yet Philippo the iuice of y ^• Hel [...]bor [...]ns is poison, the gréener [Page] the Alisander leaues bee, the more bitter is the sappe, euery outward appearaunce is not an authenticall in­stance, women haue chast eies when they haue wanton thoughts, and modest lookes when they harbour lasciui­ous wishes: the Eagle when he soareth néerest to the sonne, then he hou [...]rs for his preie, the Salamander is most warme when hee lieth furthest from the fire, and then are women most harthollowe when they are most lip-holie, and by these premisses, Philippo, argue of thy wiues precisenesse, for though she séeme chast, yet maye she secretly delight in chaunge, and though hir counte­naunce be coy to all, yet hir conscience may be courteous to some one, when the sonne shines most garish it fore­shewes a shower, when the birds sing earlye, there is a storme before night, womens flatteries are no more to bée trusted than Astronomers Almanackes, that proclai­meth that for a most faire daye that prooues most clow­dye, and so of Philomela. As thus the Countie Phi­lippo was iarring with himself about this humor of iea­lousie, there came to him while hée sate (for all this while hée was in an Arbour in his Garden) a familiar friend of his called Signeor Giouanni Lutesio, so priuate vnto the Earle in all his secrete affaires, that hee concealed nothing from him which came within the compasse of his thoughts, this Signeor Giouanni séeing the Countie in a brown study, wakened him of his muse with a mer­rie gréeting, and [...]ad a [...]nnie for his thought▪ the Earle seeing his second selfe▪ [...]is onely repositorie of his priuate passions, entertayned him very curteously, and after some familiar spéeches v [...]ed betwixt them, Giouan be­gan to question what the cause was of that melancholie dumpe that he found him in: the Earle fetching a great sigh, taking Lutesio by the hand, setting him downe by him, began to rehearse from point to point what a ieali­ous suspition hee had of his wiues beautie, and that for all the shew of hir honestie, he somwhat doubted of hir [Page] chastitie. Giouanni who with a reuerent loue fauoured the Countesse, beganne somewhat sharpely to reprooue the Earle, that hée should admit of so foolishe a passion as iealousie, and misconster of hir whose vertuous life was so famous thro [...]gh al Venice: As suspicious heads want not sophistrie to supplie their mistrust, so Philip at that time was not barren of arguments to prooue the subtil­tie of women, their inconstancie, how they wer faced like Ianus, hauing one full of furrowes, the other of smiles, swearing hee should neuer bée merrie at his hart, till hée had made an assured proofe of hir chastitie, and with that he broke with Signeor Giouanni Lutesio, that he should be the man to make experience of hir honestie, although the Gentleman were very vnwilling to take such a tas [...] in hande, doubting least in dallieng with the flame, hée might burne his fingar, and so iniurie his friende, yet at the importunat intreatie of Philippo, he promised to vn­dertake the matter, and by all meanes possible to assault the inuincible Fort of hir chastitie, protesting that if hée sound hir pliant to listen to his passions, he would make it manifest to him without dissembling, Philippo [...]lad of this, to graunt Giouanni oportunitie to court his wife, would bee more often abroad, and that he mighte driue hir the sooner to listen vnto his sute, hée vsed not that wo [...]n [...]ed loue and familiaritye that hée was ac [...]usto­med to doe, but quitted all hir dutifull fauours with vn­couth and disdaynfull frownes, so that poore Philome­la who knew nothing of this compacted trecherie, began to woonder what had altered hir husbands woonted hu­mour, and like a good wife she began to examin hir own conscience, wherein she had giuen him any occasion of of­fense, féeling hir selfe guiltlesse (vnlesse his own conceit deceiued him) shee imagined that hir husbande affected some other Ladie more than hir selfe, which imagination she concealed with patience, and resolued not by reuea­ling it, to retriue him from his newe intertained fancie, [Page] but with obedience, lo [...]e, and silence, to recouer hir Phi­lippo to sauor none but his Philomela. While thus hir minde a little suspitious began to wauer, Lutefio began to lay his [...]aites to b [...]tray this sillie innocent. Nowe you must imagine hée was a yoong Gentleman of a good house, of no meane wealth, nor any way made infortu­nate by nature, for hee was counted the most fine and courtly Gentleman is al Venice. This Lutesio therfore séeking fit oportunitie to find Madame Philomela in a merrie vaine (for Time is called that Cappillata Mini­stra, that fauours Louers in their fortunes) watched so narrowly, that he found the Countesse sitting al alone in hir Garden, plaieng vpon a Lut [...] many pretie Round [...] ­laies, Borginets, Madrigals, and such pleasant Le [...]ons, al as it were amorous loue vowed in honour of Venus, singing to hir Lute many pretie and merie ditties, some of hir owne composing, and some written by some wit­ti [...] Gentlemen of Venice, thinking now time had smiled vpon him by putting hir in such an humorous [...]. At last he hea [...]d hir warble out this [...].

As soone as Philomela had ended hir Ode, Signior Lutesio stept to hir and halfe mard hir melody with this vnlo [...]kt for motion: I am glad Madam to find you so ful of glee, womens minds set on mirth, shews their thoghts are at quiet, when Birdes sing early there hath bene a swéet deaw, so your morni [...]ges Antheme shewes your nightes content, the subiect of your song, and the censur [...] of my thoughtes argue vpon conclusion, for lykelye it is you haue founde kissing sweete that so highlye com­mend [Page] it, but as the old prouerbe is, such laugh as win, and such as en [...]s fauours may affoord hir incense, loue is pretious to such as possesse their loue, b [...]t there is no hell if loue bee not hell to such as dare not expresse their passions. Philomela seeing Lutesio tooke hir napping in singing so mery an Ode shewed in the blush of hir cheeks the vashfulnesse of hi [...] thoughts, yet knowing he was hir husbands familiar she cared the lesse, and smiling made him this pleasant answere. Signior Lutesio as I rel­lisht a wanton song at randon, so I little lookt your ears should haue béene troubled with my musicke, but since you are a hearer [...]f my hoarse dittie, take it as you finde it and conster of it as you please, I know mine own me­ning best. In that I commend kissing, it argues me the more kind and my husband the more louing in that I find lip loue so swéet, women may be wantons in their hus­bands, yet not immode [...]: & wiues are allowed to sport so their dallieng be n [...]ishonest: yet had I knowne you had beene so nie, I wou [...]de haue byn more silent, and at this word she blusht againe, discouering by hir lookes it greeued hir any man (though neuer so familiar) should heare hir so extraordinary pleasant: but to finde fishe in Signior Lutesios fingers because hee glaunst at disdain in loue she followed hir reply thus: yet since sir what is past cannot bee r [...]alde, I will ouer [...]ippe the conceit of mine own folly, [...]nd be so bold as to haue you vnder con­fession. What is the reason Lutesio you diuerslie des­cant of the fruition of loue, hath that diuine passion crept into your braines? Giouanni hearing hir harpe on that string strained it a pin higher thus. Deuine passion call you it Madam, nay rather a fury fetcht from hel, a mad­nesse [...]rued in the b [...]some of Tesiphon, an vnbrideled de­sire, a restlesse agony, a continuall anguish, thus doo I value loue, because my life is at an end by the wronges of loue: such as are poisoned with rugwort count it fatal yet suche as haue the plurisie drinke it in potions the [Page] Mercuriall Moti was very much commended of Vlisses though condemned of Cyres: mens poems followe their passions, and they conclude as they are contented: then Madam if all the worlde say loue is a Heauen, yet must I say desire is a hell: not that the bewte [...]us saint, whom mnie eye doth worship, and my hart doth honour, hath quitted my affection with disdaine: but that in not daring discouer my passions, I am put to a triple tormē ­ting penannce. At this he fetcht such a fained figh, that simple meaning Philomela imagined the Gentleman was full of sorrow, and therefore began to comfort him thus. Why Signior Lutesio haue you soared so high, that you doubt the scortching of your fethers? hath your de­sires taken flight so far aboue your degrée, that you feare a fall? is the Ladie whom you loue so great of byrth, that you dare not be your owne broaker? Loue Lutesio if ho­nest, is lawfull and may reape disdain, but not disgrace. Desire is the daughter of destinie, and the simpathie of affections is forepointed by the starres: Woemens eies are not tied to high personages, but to exquisite per­fections: and the greater oft times they be in degrées, the lower they proue in loues: be she then Lutesio, the state­liest, the richest, the fairest in all Italie, feare not to court her: for happily she may grant, and shee at the worst can but say no: When I entered into thy wonted humours, how honestly wanton thou hast béen amongst women of high accompt: when I thinke of thy wealth, of thy ver­tues, of thy parentage, of thy person: I flatter not Lute­sio, for in my opinion a frumpe amongst friends is pettie treason in effect, I cannot but wonder what she is that Lutesio dares not tell he loues, if without offence I may craue it, tell me her name, that I may censure of her qualities: Lutesio with a face full of discontent, made her this answere: Madame as I dare not discourse my loues, so I will not discouer her name: I regard her ho­nour as my life, and therfore onely suffice it, I am as far [Page] vnworthy of her as she is beyond my reach to compasse. Philomela who straight found the knot in the rush, be­gan to imagine that it was some married wife that Lu­tesio aimed at: and therfore charged him by the loue that he bare to Philippo Medico, that he would tell her whe­ther it was a wife or a mayd that hée thus earnestly af­fected. Lutesio briefly tolde her that she was not onely a wife, but maide to one whome shée almost as tenderly loued as he did the Earle her husband: A Ladie of ho­nour and vertue, yet a woman, and therefore hée hoped might be wonne if his heart woulde serue him to be a woer. Philomela [...]earing this, began to finde a knot in the rush, and to déeme that it was some familiar of hys that he was affected to: and therfore with a gentle frown, as if shee loued him, and yet mislikte of his fondnesse in fancie, taking him by the hand, she began thus to school [...] him.

Lutesio, nowe I sée the strongest Oake hath his say, and his wormes: that Rauens will bréed in the fairest Ash, and that the musked Angelica beares a deaw, that shining like pearle, being tasted is most preiuditiall: that the holiest men in shew are oft the hollo west men in sub­stance, and where there is the greatest florish of vertue, there in time appeareth the greatest blemish of vanitie. I speake this by all, but apply it to them who seeming euery way absolute, will proue euerie way dissolute. Hath not Venice held thée more famous for thy good partes than for thy parentage? and yet well borne, and valued the more for liuing well than wealthely: and yet thy patrimonie is not small. Oh Lutesio darken not these honours with dishon [...]stie, nor for the foolish and fa­ding passion of lust, reach not at an euerlasting pennanc [...] of infamie. As I mislike of thy choyce, so I can but won­der at thy change to [...]ée thée altered in maners, that wert earst so modest, who was est [...]med amongst Ladies for his ciuill conceites as Lutesio? thou wert wished for a­mongest [Page] the cha [...]test for thy choyce qualities, amonges [...] youth for thy wit, amongest age for thy honest behauior, desired of all because offensiue to none: and nowe if thou prosecute this [...]ad purpose, intend this base loue, to vio­late the honour of a Venetian Ladie, looke to be hated of all that are vertu [...]us because thou a [...]t growne so sodain­ly vicious, and to be banished out of the companie of all that are honest because thou séekest to make one disho­honest: then as thou louest thy fame leaue off this loue, and as thou valuest thine honour, so vale the appetite of thy dishonest thoughtes. Besides Lutesio enter into the consideration of the fault, and by that measure what will be the sequell of thy folly: thou attemptest to disho­nour a wife, nay the wife of thy friend: in doing this thou shalt loose a swéete companion, and purchase thy selfe a fatall enemie: thou shalt displease God and grow odious to men: hazard the hope of thy grace, and assur [...] thy selfe of the reward of sinne, adulterie: Lutesio is commended in none, condemned in all, and punnished in the end either with this worldes infamie or heauens anger: it is a desire without regard of honestie, and a gaine with greater reward of miserie: a pleasure bought with paine, a delight hatched with disquiet, a content possessed with feare, and a sinne finished with sorrowe. Barbarous nations punishe it with death: m [...]re A­theistes in Religion auoid it by instinct of nature, such as glory God with no honor, couet to glorifie themselues with honesty, and wilt thou that art a Christian than crucifie Christ anew, by making the harbour of thy soule the habitation of Satan? Oh Lutesio as thou blushest at my wordes, so bannish thy bad thoughts, and being crea­ted by God, seeke not to despise thy creator in abusing his creatures: A womans honestie is her honour, and her honour the chiefest essence of her life: then in seek­ing to blemishe her vertues with lust, thou [...]ymest at no lesse disgrace than her death: and yet Lutesio [Page] this is not all, for in winning her loue, thou loosest a friend: than which, there is nothing more pretious, as there is nothing more rare: as Corruptio vnius est ge­neratio alterius: so the losse of a friend is the purchase of an enemie and such a mortall foe as will apply all his wittes to thy wracks, intrude all his thoughtes to thy ruine, and passe away his daies, cares, and nights slum­bers, in dreaming of thy destruction. For if brute beasts will reuenge such brutish wrongs as adultery, then ima­gine no man to be so patient, that will ouerpasse so grosse an iniurie: assure thy selfe of this Lutesio, if her husband heare of your loues, he will aime at your liues: he will leaue no confection vntempered, no poyson vnsearcht, no mynerall vntried, no Aconiton vnbrused, no hearbe, trée, roote, stone, simple or secret vnsought, till reuenge hath satisfied the burning thirst of his hate: so shalt thou feare with whom to drincke, with whome to conuerse, when to walke, how to performe thy affaires, onely for doubt of her reuenging husband, and thy protested enemie. If such vnlawull lust, such vnkinde desires, such vnchast loue procure so great losse, and so many perils reuert it Lutesio as a passion most pernitious, as a shine most odi­ous, and a gaine most full of deadly sorrowes. Though this he much Lutesio, yet this is not all: for many loue that are neuer liked, and euerie one that woes is not a winner: Diuers desire with hope, and yet their wishes are to small effect: suppose the Ladie whome thou louest is honest: then is thy loue as vnlikely as Ixions was to Iuno: who aiming at the substaunce was made a foole with a shadow. I tell thée it is more easie to cut a Dia­mond with a glasse, to pearce steele with a fether, to tye an Elephant with a thréed of silke, than to alienate an honest womans loue from her husband, their heartes be harbours of one lou [...], closets of one contents, Cel [...]es, whereinto no amorous Idea but one can enter, as hard to be pearst with new fangled aff [...]ction as the Adamant [Page] to be made soft with fire. A Ladie Lutesio that regar­deth her honour wil die with Lucrece before she agrée to lust, she will eate coales with Portia before she prone vnchast, she will thinke euerie miserie swéet, euery mis­happe content, before she condiscend to the allurementes of any wanton leacher. Imagine then her wh [...] thou louest to be such a one: then will it qualifie thy hope, coole thy desires, and quench those vnbridled thoughtes that leades thée on to such follies: for if she be a wanton, what doest thou winne her that many hath worne, and more than thy selfe may vanquish? a light huswife and a lewd minion, that after she hath yéelded the flower of her loue Thesius will marrie with Menelaus, and then runne a­way with Paris: amorous to euerie one because shee is humorous to all: Then Lutesio séeing, if thou likest an honest Ladie, thy loue is past hope: and if thou [...] a want [...]n, thou shalt gain but what others haue left: leaue both and become as hitherto thou hast béen an honest gen­tleman in all mens opinions, so shalt thou li [...]e well thought of, and die honourably: and with that, smiling she asked him, if she had not plaied the preacher well. But Lutesio wondering at her vertues, made no answer he was so amased: but rested silent, which Philomela perceiuing, to waken him out of his dumpe, she tooke a­gaine her Lute in her hand, and began to sing this fol­lowing Oade.

Assoone as Philomela had ended her Oade, she smi­led on Lutesio and said, hoping then that this priuate conference shalbe a conclusion of your passions, and a finall resolution to reuerse your thoughts from this disordinat folly of loue: I will at this time cease to speake anie more, because I hope you will rest from your motion [...] and so taking him by the hand, shée led him into the par­ler, where amongst other company they past away y ^• day [Page] in pleasant [...]hat▪ till that Lutesio found conuenient opor­tuniti [...] to discouer to Philippo the resolution of his wife, who thought euerie minute a moneth till hee had heard what answer she had made to Lutesio. At last they went both together walking into a garden that adioyned to the house of Philippo: and there Lutesio who reuealed from point to point what he had motioned a farre off to Philomela, and how honourably and honestly she reply­ed, rehearsing what a cooling card of good counsaile shèe gaue him, able to haue quailed the hotest stomacke, or quenched the most eager flame that fancie could fire the mind of man withall: entring into a large and high com­mendation of the chastitie, wisedome, and generall vertues of Philomela, auerring that hee thought there was not a woman of more absolute qualities nor hono­rable disposition in al Italie, Philippo the more he drunk the more he thirsted, and the more he was perswaded to trust in her honesty, the more he was suspitious, and doubted of her vertue: for he replyed still in his ielous humour that womens wordes were no warrantes of their truth, that as the Onix is inwardly most cold, when it is outwardly most hot: so womens wordes are like the cries of Lapwings, farthest from their thoughts, as they are from their nests: they proclaime silence with their tongues, modestie with their eies, chastitie with their actions, when in their heartes they are plotting how to grant an amorous pleasure to their louers: Tush saies Philippo, womens tongues are tipt with deceite: they can sing with the Nightingale, though they haue a prick at their brests: they can lend him a cherrie lippe whome they heartily loathe, and fawne vpon her husbands neck when she giues her louer a wincke: Though my wife hath made a faire shewe of vertue, it is no authenticall proofe of hir honestie, either she mistrusted or misdoub­ted of your sorcerie, or els shee would seeme hard in the winning, that her chastitie might be holden the more [Page] charie for be she neuer so wanton she will séeme modest, and the most comman Curtesan will to a nouice seems the most coy matron: they haue their countenance at command, their words at will, their oathes at plesure, and all to shadow their scapes with the maskes of vertue Rodope seemed coy to Psanneticus, else had a courtesan neuer conquered a king. Hermia chaste to Aristotle, else had she not bewitcht a Philosopher, Platoes ouer­worne trull true to him, else had she not beene mistresse of his thoughts. I tell thée Lutesio they haue more wiles then the sunne hath beames to betray the simple m [...]ning of besotted louers. Therefore though she vttered a le­gend of good lessons beléeue hir not. Though the Hare take squat she is not lost at the first defaulte, applye thy wits, try hir by letters, write passionatly and héere her answer, and assure thy selfe if thou cunningly cast forth the lure she will soone be reclaimed to the [...]st. Thus im­portu [...]ate was Philippo vpon his friend Lutesio, that at the last he craued license to depart for a while, leauinge philippo meditating of his melancholie while hee went into his chamber, where taking pen and paper he wrote philomela this cunning letter.

Hauing finished his letter thus amorousli [...], he remembred himselfe, and although philippo [...] stayde for him in the garden, yet he [...]tept once againe to his standishe and wrote vnder this fgllowing so [...]net:

After he had ended this Sonnet he went and shewed them to Signyor Philippo, who liked well of his passio­nate humour, and desired nothinge more then to heare what answere his wife woulde make to these amarous poems: therefore that he might grant Lutesio the fitter oportunitie to deliuer them, he tooke a skiffe and wente with sundrye other Gentlemen his familiars to sollace [Page] himselfe vpon the waters. In the meane while Lutesio who was left alone by himselfe, began to enter into the least disposition of a gelous man that woulde hazard the honour of his wife to content his owne suspitious hu­mour: and whet on a friend to a fayned fancie which in time might grow to an vnfayned affection: so that smy­ling to himselfe he began thus to murmure in his minde. Is not he worthy to finde that seekes: and deserueth he not many blowes that craues to be beaten? Sith Philip­po will buy the Buckes head, is he not worthy to haue the hornes: and séeing he will needes haue me court his wife in iest, were it not well if he might haue the Cuc­kow in earnest. Knowes he not that frumps amongest friends grow at last to open anger: that pretty sportings in loue, end oftentimes in pretty bargaines: that it is il gesting with edge tooles: and of all cattell worst cauil­ling with fayre women: for beawty is a baite that will not be dallied with. But I loue him to well, and I ho­nour the lady to much to motion suche a thought in ear­nest: Though he be foolishe, I knowe hir too honeste to grant loue to the greatest Monarch of the world. While thus he was musing with himselfe, Philomela came in­to the Garden with two of her waiting women, whoe seeing Lutesio in a dumpe, thought hee was deuising of his new loue: wherevpon she stept to him, and began to aske him if hee proceeded in his purpose: I madame quoth he, if I meane to perseuer in life, and with that the water flood in his eyes, whether it was that he had an onion in his napkin to make him wéepe, or that hee had suckt that speciall qualitie from his mother to let fal teares when he list I know not: but she perceiuing hee watred his plants, began somewhat to pytty his passy­ons, and asked him if yet hee had made the motion: No Madam quoth Lutesio, but héere I haue written hir my mind, and please it you you shall be my secretary, both to read my letter and sée hir name, for I knowe you wil [Page] conceale it, Philomela desirous to sée what Ladie it was Lutesio was in loue withall, as Natura Mulierum No­uitatis auida, tooke it verye kindly at Lutesios handes that he would participat his secrets vnto hir, and promi­sed not only to be silent, but to yéeld hir opinion of the hope of his successe, so she tooke the letter and promised the next morning to giue it him again, and so they fell in­to other chat talking of sundrie matters, as their present occasions did minister, till at last Philomela with childe to sée the contents of the Letter, tooke her leaue and went into hir Closet, where vnripping the seales, shée found lines far vnfitting to hir expectation. As soone as she saw Lutesios loue was meant to hir, she rent the pa­per in a thousand péeces, and exclaymed against him in most bitter tearmes, vowing hir Lord should be reuen­ged vpon him for this intended villanie, or else he should refuse hir for his wife, thus alone while she breathed out most hard inuectiues against him, yet at last that shée might aggrauate hir husbands displeasure the more a­gainst him, shée gathered vp the péeces, and laieng them together read them ouer, where perceiuing his passions, and thinking them to growe from a minde ful of fancie, hauing somewhat cooled her choler, shee resolued not to tell hir husband, least if hée should kill Lutesio she might be thought the occasion of the murther, and so bring hir vnblemisht honour in question, and therefore shée tooke paper and inke, and wrote him this sharpe replie.

Hauing ended her letter, she resolued to answere hi [...] son­net as well to shew her wit, as to choake his wantonnesse, and therefore she writ this poeme.

Assoone as she had sealed vp her letter she brookt no de­lay, but sent it straight by one of her waiting women to Lu­tesio, whom she found sitting alone in his chamber reading vpon a booke: Interrupting his studie, she deliuered him the letter, and the message of her Ladie. Lutesio kinde, gaue the gentlewoman a kisse: for he thought she valued a lip fauour more then a péece of gold, and with great courtesie gaue hir [Page] [...]eaue to depart: she was scarse out of the chamber but he o­pened the letter, and found what he expected, the resolution of a chast Countesse, too worthie of so ielous a husband, pray­sing in him selfe the honourable mind of Philomela: he went abroad to finde out Philippo, whome at last he met néere vnto y ^• Arsonale walking together to Lutesios house, there he shewed Philippo his wifes letter, and did comment vp­on euery line, commending greatly her chastitie, and déeplie condempning his suspition: Tush saies Phi [...]ippo all this winde shakes no corne, Hellena writ as sharply to Paris, yet she ran away with him. Try her once againe Lutesio, and for my life thou shalt finde calmer wordes, and sweeter lines: Lutesio with his eyes full of choller made him this answere. Philippo if thou béest so sottish with Cephalus to betray thy wiues honour perhaps with him, proue the first that repent, thy trecherie: When the wild boare is not cha­fed, thou mayst chasten him with a wand, but being once en­damaged with the dogges he is dismoll. Women that are chast while they are trusted, pro [...]e wantons being suspected causelesse: Ielousie is a spurre to reuenge. Beware Philo­mela heare not of this practise least she make thée eate with the blinde man manie a flie: Canst thou not Philippo con­tent thy self that thy Lady is honest, but thou must plot the meanes to make her a harlot? If thou likest hunters fees so well, seeke another wood man, for I will not play an apple­squire to feede thy humours. If Venice knew as much as I am priuie to, they would hold thée worthie of that thou hast not, and her a foole if she gaue thee not what thou séekest for: I am sorie I haue wronged her vertues by so bad a mo­tion: but henceforth Philippo hope neuer to get mee in the like vaine: and more if thou leauest not from being so vain, I will abandon thy companie, and renounce thy friendship for euer. Philippo hearing his friend Lutesio so short, desired him to be content, patient and silent, and he would race out the suspitious conceipt that haunted him, and for euer after grace his good wife with more loue and honour: and with [Page] that Philippo and hee walked to the Rialto: but Lutesio would not for that night go to the house of Philippo, least his presence might be offensiue to Philomela, and so driue hym into some dumpish choller. Philippo comming home was welcome to his Ladie, and being somewhat late, they sate downe louingly to supper. The first course was no sooner come in, but Phillippo said hee maruelled that all that day he had not seene Lutesio, this he spake with his eies on Phi­lomelas face, to sée what countenance she would h [...]ld at hys name, shee little suspecting her husband had béene priuie to her new [...]ound louer, blusht and kept her selfe silent. Phi­lippo tooke no knowledge of any thing but past it ouer smoothly, and vsed his former woonted familiaritie to hys wife. The next day going abroad, Lutesio came to his house and went not in as his custome was boldly, but walking in the hall asked one of the Earls Gentlemen if the Countesse were stirring: he maruelling at Lutesios strangenesse, smi­led and said, sir what needes this question? my Ladie is a­lone at her booke, go vp sir and helpe her in her Muses. I pray you quoth Lutesio go to the Countesse, and tell her I am héere, and would if her leisure serued her gladly haue a word with her: the Gentleman though hee wondered at these vnc [...]th wordes of Lutesio, yet hee went vp and tolde his Ladie the message, who presently leauing her booke and companie, all to auoyd out of the chamber, sent for him vp: who no sooner came into her presence, but she saluted hym with such a frowne, that he stood as mortified as if hee had béene strocken with the eye of a Baselisk. Philomela seeing him in this passionate agonie, began with him thus.

I cannot tell Lutesio, howe to salute thee eyther with lookes or speeches, seeing thou art not as thou séemedst once my welwisher and my husbandes friend. The Lapidaries value the stones no longer than they hold their vertues: nor I prise a Gentleman no longer than he regardes his honor. For as a Diamont with a clowd is cast into the Gold­smithes dust: so a Gentleman without credite, is carelesly [Page] holden for refuse. I red thy letter, and I aunswered it: but tell me, how shall I take it? as thou repliest so will I enter­taine: if to trie me, thou shalt finde the more fauour: If to betray me, hope for nothing but reuenge: Lutesio hearing Philomela so honourably peremptorie, with blushing chéeks made him this answere.

Madam as my face bewrayes my folly, and my ruddie hue my rechlesse showe, so let my wordes be holden for witnesses of my trueth, and thinke whatsoeuer I say is s [...]th, by the faith of a Gentleman then assure your selfe mine eye hath euer loued you, but neuer vnlawfully: and what humble dutie I haue showne you, hath béene to honour you, not to dishonest you. This letter was but to make triall howe you liked Philippo, to whome I owe such faith that it would greeue me he should haue a wife false: I knowe not Madam what humour drewe mee on to it. I am sure neither your wanton lookes nor light demeanours, but a kinde of passion destined to breed mine owne preiudice, if your fauour exceede not my desertes: If therefore your La­diship shall forget and forgiue this folly, and conceale it from the Earle, who perhaps may take it meant in earnest, enioyne me any penance Madam, and I will performe it with patience. Philomela hearing Lutesio thus penitent, began to cleere vp hir countenance, and said to him thus: it is folly to rub the skarre when the wound is almost whole, or to renewe quarrelles when the matter is put in compri­mise: therefore omitting all Lutesio I pardon thee, and pro­mise neither to remember thy folly my selfe, nor yet to re­ueale it to my husband, but thou shalt be euery way as har­tely welcome to me as thou wert woont: onely this shall be thy penance, to sweare vppon this bible neuer héereafter to motion me of anie dishonestie. To this Letusio willing­ly granted and tooke his oath: so were they reconciled, and the Countesse called for a cup of wine, and drunke to him: and after to passe away the after-noone they fell to chesse: after a mate or two, the Countesse was called aside, [Page] by one Margareta Stromia a Venetiā Lady, that came to visit her, and Lutecio went down to walke in the garden by chaunce, as he was striking through the Parlour, hee met the Duke whome he tooke by the arme: and let him into one of the priuie walks, & there recounted vnto him what reconcilement was growen betweene him and the Countesse his wife, which highly pleased the duke, so that without any more crosse humors they past a long time in all contented pleasures. Til Fortune whose enuye is to subuert content, and whose delight is to turne comicke mirth, into tragick sorrowes: enter into the Theater of Philomelas lyfe, and beganne to act a balefull seane in this manner.

Philippo, who had not quite extinguished suspition, but couerd vp in the scindars of melancholy, the glowing sparks of Ielousie beganne a fresh to kindle the flame, & to conceit a newe insight into his wiues actions, & wher­as generally he mistrusted her before, and onely thought her a wanton as she was a woman. Nowe he suspec­ted that there was too much familiaritie betwéene her & Lutecio, and flatly that betwéene them both he wore the hornes: yet accuse her he durst not, because her paren­tage was great, her fréends many, and her honestye most of all. Neither had he anye probable articles to obiect a­gainst her, and therfore was silent, but euer murmuring with himselfe to this effect.

Philippo thou wert too fond, to plot Lutesio a means of his loue, graunting him oportunitye to woe, which is the swéetest frend to loue, men can not dally with [...], nor sport with affection: for he that is a suter in Ieast, maye be a spéeder in earnest: haue not suche a thought in thy minde Philippo, for as Lutesio is thy frend, so is he faith­full: and as Philomela is thy wife, so she is honest: and yet both may ioyne issue and proue dissemblous, louers haue Argus eyes to be warye in their doings, and Angels tongues, to talk [...] of holynes, when their hartes are most [Page] lasciuious: though my wife returned a taunting letter to him openly, yet she might send him sweete lines secret­lye, her satiable answere, was but a cloak for the rayne: for euer since they haue bene more familiare and lesse a­sunder, nor she is neuer merrye if Lutesio beginne not the mirth, if Lutesio be not at table, her stomacke is queasy, as when the Halcirines hatch, the sea is calme, and the Phenix neuer spreads her winges, but when the sun bea­mes shines on her nest. So Philomela is neuer frolicke but when she is matcht in the companye of Lutesio, this curtesie growes of some priuate kindnes, which if I can finde out by iust proofe and circumstance, let me alone to reuenge to the vttermost.

In this iellouse passion▪ he passed away manye dayes and many moneths, till one day Lutesio beeing alone in the chamber which Philomela, the Erale comming in and hearing they were together, went charily vp the staires, & peeping in at the locke hole, saw them two standing at a bay windowe, hand in hand, talking verye familiarlye: which fight strooke suche a suspitious furye into his head, that he was halfe frantick, yet did he smother what hee thought in silence, and going downe into the garden, left thē two still togeather: being there alone by him selfe, he cast a thousand suspitious doubtes in his head, of Lutesio and his wyues dishonesty, intending to watch more nar­rowly to take them in a trap, while they poore soules litle mistrusted his ielousie.

He had not stayed in the garden long, [...]re Lutesio and the Countesse went downe togeather to walke, where they found the earle in his dumps, but they two wakned him from his drowsy melancholy, with the pleasaunt de­uices of Signior Lutesio. Philippo making at all no shew of his suspition, but entertained his freend with all ac­customed familiarity, so that they past awaye that days with all contented pleasures, till night the infortunate breeder of Philomelas misfortunes grew on: when she and [Page] the Earle went to bed togeather, for as she laye talking, she started, being new quickned with childe, & feeling the vnperfect infant stirre. Philippo asking the cause, the rea­dy to weepe for Ioy, said: good newes my Lorde, you shall haue a young sonne: at this his hart waxed coulde, and he questioned her if shee were with childe, shee taking his hand laying it on her side, said: feele my Lord, you maye perceiue it mooue, with that it leapt against his hande. When she creeping into his bosome, began amorouslye to kisse him and commend him: that though for the space of [...]ower yeeres that they had béene married she had had no childe, yet at last hee had plaied the mans parte, and got­ten her a boy. This toucht Philippo at the quicke, and doubled the flame of his Ielousie, that as a man halfe lu­naticke helept out of the bed, and drawing his rapier, be­gan thus to mannace poore Philomela. Inc [...]uous strū ­pet, more wanton then Lamia, more lasc [...]uious thē Laius, and more shamelesse then Pasophane, whose lyfe as it hath beene shadowed with painted holynes, so it hath been full of pestilent villanies, th [...] haste suckt subtiltie from thy mother, thou hast learned with Circes to inchāt, with Calipso to charm, with the Sirens to sing, and al these to to breede my destruction: yet at last thy concealed vyces are burst open into manife [...]t abuses. Now is thy lust growen to light, thy whordomes to be acted in the Thea­ters of Uenice, thy palpable dissolutions to be proclaimd in the prouinces of Italye, time is the mother of trueth, and nowe hath laide open thy life to the worlde: thou art with Venus taken in a net by Vulcan, and though thou hast long gone to the water, yet at last thou art come broken home. I mistrusted this of long▪ and haue founde it out at last, I mean the loues betweene the [...] and that trai­tour Lutesio, which although I smothered with silence, yet I hid vppe for reuenge: I haue seene with gréefe, and past ouer with sorrow manye od pranckes, thinking still t [...]e wold haue altered thy thoughts, but now thou hast [Page] sported thy belly full, and gotten a bastard▪ & wouldst [...]o [...] me off to be y ^• father, no though I be blind I wil not swal­low such a Flie. For the time of thy quickning, & his fresh acquaintance iumps in an euen date, this fowre yeere I haue beene thy husband, and could not raise vppe thy bel­ly, and Lutesio no soner grew familiar with thee, but hee got thee with childe, and were it not base strumpet, that I reserue thee to further infamy, I would presentlye but­cher thee and the brat, both with one stab, and with that he floung out of the chamber, leauing poore Philomela in a great mase, to heere this vnlookt for discourse: in so much that after she had lyen a while in a traunce, comming to her selfe, she burst foorth into aboundaunce of teares, and passed away the night in bitter complaints, whilest Phi­lippo mad with the frantick humour of Ielousie, sate in his study hamring how he might bring both Lutesio, and her to confusion, one while he resolued to prouide Gallies ready for his passage, & thē to murther both his wife & Lu­tesio, and so to flee away into some foraine countrey, then he determined to accuse them before the Duke his néere kinsman, and haue them openly punished with the extre­mitie of the law, but he wanted witnesses to confirme his Ielouse allegations: being thus in a quandary, at last he called vp two genowaies his seruants, slaues that ney­ther regarded God, religion, nor conscience, and them hée suborned with swéet perswasions and large promises, to sweare that he and they did take Lutesio and Philomela, in an adulterous action, although the base villaines, had at all no sparkes of honesty in their mindes, yet the honor of their lady, her courtes [...]e, to al her knowen vertues, and speciall good qualities did so preuaile, that they were pas­sing vnwilling to blemishe her good name with their per­iuries, yet at last the County cloyde thē so with the hope of golde, that they gaue free consent to confirme by oath, what so euer he should plot down to them. Whereupon the next morning the Earle gat him early to the Duke of [Page] Uenice who was hi [...] cousin germaine, and made solemne complaint of the dishonor offered him by his wife and sig­nior Lutesio: crauing iustice, that he might haue suche a manifest iniurie redressed with the rigour of the Lawe. The Duke whose name was Lorenso Medici, greeued that his kinsman was vexed with such a crosse, and sor­rowed that Philomela, that was so famous in Italye for her beutye and vertue, should dishonour her selfe and her husband by yelding her loue to lasciuious Lutesio, swea­ring a present dispatch of reuenge, and thereupon graun­ted out warrantes to bring them both presentlye before him.

Philippo glad of this, went his waye to the house of Lutesio, wel armd, and euery way appointed, as if he had gone to sacke the strongest houlde in all Italye, carrying with him a crue of his freends & familiars, furnished at al points to apprehend the guiltles gentleman: assoone as they came to his house, they found one of his seruants fit­ting at the dore: Who seeing the Earle, saluted him reue­rētly, & merueiled what the reason should be, hee was ac­compaied with such a multitude. Philippo demaunded of him where his master was, walking may it please your honour, (quoth he) in his garden. Then sayes the earle if he be no more busie, I will be so bould as to goe speak [...] with him, and therefore followe me saith hee to the crue, who preasing in after the Earle, encountered Lutesio, cō ­ming from his gardine to go into his chamber, assone as he spied Philippo, with a merrye looke, as if his harte had commanded his eyes, to bid him welcome, he saluted the Earle most gratiously, but highlye was astonished, to see such a troope at his heeles.

Philippo (contrarie as Lutesio offered to imbrace him with his best hand) tooke him fast by the bosome, and pul­ling forth his poineard, said: Traitour, were it not I re­gard mine honor, and were loath to be blemisht with the bloud of so base a companion, I would rip out that false [Page] hart that hath violated the faith once vnited betwixt vs, but the extremitie of the lawe shall reuenge thy villanie: and therefore Officers, take him into your custodie, and carie him presentlie to the Duke, whether I will bring straight the strumpet his Paramour, that they maye re­ceiue condigne punishment for their hainous and detesta­ble treacherie.

Poore Lutesio, who little lookt for such a gréeting of the Earle, woondred whence this bitter spéech should growe, so deeply amazed, that he stood as a man in a trance, til at last gathering his wits together, hee began humblie and fearefullie to haue replied, when the Earle commaunded the officers to carrie him awaie, and would not heare him vtter anie word. He speeding him home to his own house to fetch his sorrowful and faultles wife to heare the bale­full verdict of hir appeached innocency: comming vp into her bed chamber, hee [...]ound her sitting by her bed side, on her knees in most hartie and deuout praier, that it would please God to cleer her husband from his iealosie, and pro­tect her from anie open reproach or slaunder, vttering her Orisons with such heart breaking sighs, and aboundance of teares, that the base catchpoles that came in with him tooke pittie, and did compassionate the extremitie of her passions: But Philippo, as if he had participated his na­ture with the bloudthirstie Caniball, or eaten of the sea­thin root, that maketh a man to be as cruell in heart as it is hard in the rynde, stept to her & casting her backward, bad her arise strumpet, and hastely make her ready, for the Duke staied for her comming, and had sent his offi­cers to fetch her.

Perplexed Philomela, casting vp her eie, and séeing such a crue of rake-hels, ready to attend vpon him, was so surchardged with griefe, that she fell downe in a passion: Philippo let her lie, but the Ministers stept vnto her and receiued her againe assoone as shee was come to her selfe, she desired Philippo, that for all the loue of their youth he [Page] would grant her but onely this one fauour, that she might not be carried before the Duke with that common atten­dance, but that she and he might goe together without a­nie further open discredit, and then if she could not prooue her selfe innocent, let her without fauour abide the penal­tie of the Lawe: although shee craued this [...]oone with a­bundance of teares, yet Philippo would haue no remorse but compelled her to attire herselfe, and then conuayed her with this crue to the Dukes palace, where there was gathered together all the Consigladiors and chiefe Ma­gistrates of the Cittie, her passing through the stréetes, draue a great wonder to the Uenetians, what the cause of hir trouble should be: so that infinite number of Citi­zens followed her, and as manie as could, thrust into the common Hall to heare what should bee obiected against Philomela.

At last, when the Iudges were set, and Lutesio and Philomela brought to the barre: the Duke commaunded Philipo to discourse what article she had to obiect against his wife and Lutesio. Phillippo with his eies full of Iea­lousie, and heart armed with reuenge, looking on them both, fetching a deepe sigh, began thus. It is not vnknow­en to the Uenetians (right famous Duke and honorable Magistrates of this so worthie a Cittie) how euer since I married this Philomela, I haue yéelded her such loue with reuerence, such affection with care, such deuoted fa­uours with affected duties, y ^• I did rather honour her as a saint, then regarde her as a wife: so that the Uenetians counted mee rather to dote on her extreamly, then to loue her ordinarilie neither can I denie mightie Lorenzo, but Philomela returned all these my fauours with gentle loues, and obedient amours, beeing as duetifull a wif [...] as I was a louing husband, vntill this Traitour Lutesio, this ingrateful monster, that liuing hath drunke of the ri­uer Lethe, which maketh men forgetfull of what is past: so he, obliuious of all honour I did him, was the first actor [Page] in this tragick ouerthrow of the fame of the house of Phi­lippo. I apeale to the Uenetians, euē from the magistrat to the meanest man, what honorable partes of frendship, I haue showen to Lutesio, howe he was my second selfe, except Philomela, his bosome was the Cell, wherin I hid vp my secrets, his mouth was the Oracle whereby I de­rected my actions, as I could not be without his presence, s [...]e I neuer would do anye thing without his counsaile: cōmitting thus my selfe, my soule, my goods, mine honor, nay my wife, to his honour, only reseruing her from him: of all y ^• I haue priuate to my selfe, the traitour (oh listen to a tale of rueth Uenetians) neither regarding God, nor respecting his freend, n [...]ither moued with feare nor tou­ched with faith forgetting all frendship, became amorou­slye to woe my wife, and at last dishonestly wan her: and now of long time lasciuiously hath vsed her, which I sus­pected as litle as I trusted, and affected them both deepe­ly. How long they haue continued in their adulterous loues I know not: but as time hatcheth trueth, and re­uealeth the very entralles of hidden secrets, so yesterday oh the balefull day of my dishonour: Lu [...]esio and my wife being suspected of too much familiarity by my seruantes, though neuer mistrusted by me [...]: were watched by these Genowaies, who seeing them in the chamber togeather, shameles as they were, hauing littl [...] regard of any priuy priers into their actions, fell to these amorous sportes, so openly that through a chincke of the dore these were eye witnesses of there adulterye. I beeing then in the gar­den, comming vp and finding these two péeping in at the dore, stole secretly vp, and with these poore slaues, was a behoulder of mine owne dishonour: My shame was so great, and my sorrow so extreame: to sée my wife so incō ­stant, and my frend so false, that I stepped back againe in­to the garden, calling a way these varletes: and leauing them still agents of these vnkind villanies▪ when I came into the garden, such was the loue to Philomela, and so [...] [Page] great the friendship I boare to Lutesio, that trust me Ue­netians, had my selfe only béene a witnes of their follies, I would haue smothered the fault w ^t silence. But know­ing that such base rascales would at one time or other be blabbes, and so blemish mine honor, and so accuse me for a wittolde to my owne wife, I resolued to haue them puni­shed by law▪ that hath so peruersly requited my loue: therfore haue I here produced thē in opē court, that my disho­nors may end in their reuenge, calling for iustice with ex­tremity, against two persons of such trecherous ingrati­tude. And héer Philippo ceased driuing al the hearers into a great mase, that the Duke sate astonished, the Cons [...] ­gladiori musing, and the common people murmuring at the discourse of Signior Philippo, and bending their enuious eyes against the two innocents, for wronging so honorable a County. To be bréefe, Lutesio and Philo­mela were examined, & no doubt, they [...]ould sundry tales to cléere themselues, but in vaine, for the oath of the two slaues found them guiltie, whreupon a quest of choice Ci­tizens went vpon thē, and boath as guilty condemned to death. When the fatall sentence should haue b [...]ne pro­nounced against them, Philippo with a counterfait coun­tenance full of sorrowe, kneeling down, desired that they might not die, because it would gréeue him to be blemisht with the bloode of his wife whome he had loued, or of his frend whome he had honored▪ at whose humble intreatye Iudgement was giuen that Philippo & Philomela should be deuorced: and he at free liberty to marry whom he lift, and Lutesio for euer to be banished, not onely out of Ue­nice but of al the Dukedome, and territories of the same. Assoone as sen [...]ence was giuē, Lutesio fetcht a great sigh, and laying his hand on his bosome said: This breast Phi­lippo, did neuer harbour any disloyal thoght against thee, nor once Imagine or contriue anye dishonour against thy wife. Whatsoeuer thou hast wronglye auerred, or the Duke hardlye conceiued: for witnesse I appeale to none [Page] but God, who knoweth me guiltlesse, and to thine owne conscience: whose worme for this wronge, will euer bee restlesse. My banishment I brooke with patience, in that I know time wil discouer any truth in my absence: smoak cannot be hidden, nor the wrong of Innocents scape with out reuenge. I onely greeue for Philomela, whose chas­tety is no lesse then her vertues are many, & her honours as farre from lust, as thou and thy periured slaues from trueth: it boo [...]es not vse many words, only this I wil say, men of Uenice hath lost a freend which he will misse, and a wife that hee will sorrow for. And so he went out of the counsell house, home to his owne lodging, hauing the tearme of twentie one daies appointed for his departure. Philomela poore soule, knowing what was in recorde, could not be reuerst: that her credit was crackt, her honor vtterly blemisht, and her name brought in contempt: for all this abashed not outwardly, what soeuer she conceited inwardly [...], but seemed in her farre more full of fauour and beautye then euer she was before: and her lookes so modest and graue, that Chastetye seemed to [...]it in her eyes, and to proclaime the wrong was offered vnto her by these periurde persones. With this assured and constant countenaunce, first looking on the Duke, on the Consiliadori, on the common people, and then on her hus­band, she vsed these words.

O Philippo Medici, once the louer of Philomela thogh now the wracke of her honours, and the blemish of her highe fortunes. Howe canst thou looke to heauen and not tremble? howe canst thou behould me, and not blush? how canst thou thinke there is a God without fear, or a hell without horrour? canst thou blinde the deuine Maistiesty? as thou hast led these Magistrats into a false opinion of thine owne dishonour, and my dishonestly Mille testes consciētia, if these slaues the ministers of thy iealous enuye should grow domme, and all the world silent, yet will thine owne conscience dayly crye out in thine eares, [Page] that thou hast wrongd Philomela. I am the daughter of a Duke, as thou art the sonne of an Earle: my vertues in Uenice, haue béen as great as thine honors: my fortunes and my fréends, more then thine: al these will search into this cause, and if they finde out mine innocencie, thinke Philippo worthie of great pennaunce. But in vaine, I vse charmes to a deafe Adder, therfore Philippo, I leaue thée to the choice of a new loue, and the fortune of a faire wife, who if she proue as honestly amorous towards thee as Philomela, then wrong her not with suspition, as thou hast don me with ielousie: least she proue too liberall, and pay my debts.

Yet Philippo, haste thou lost more in loosing Lutesio, then in forsaking me, for thou mayest haue manye honest wiues, but neuer so faithfull a frend: therefore though I be deuorced, be thou and he reconciled, least at last the horror of thy conscience, drawe thee into dispaire, and paine thée with too late repentance. So Philippo euer wishing thée well, I wil euer intreat that neither God maye laye the wrong of myne innocency to thy charge, nor my frēds triumphe in thy infortunate reuenge, and so farewell.

With this shee stept foorthe of the Hall, leauing Philippo greatly tormented in his conscience, and the Duke and all the rest wondring at her patience, saying: it was pittie she was drawen on to wantonnesse by Lu­tesio.

The rumours of this spread through al Uenice, of the lasciuious life of Philomela, some said all was not gould that glistered: that the fairest faces, haue oft times the falsest harts: & the smoothest looks, the most treacherous thoughts: that as the Agate bee it neuer so white with­out, yet it is full of black strokes within, & that the most shining sun, bréedeth the most sharpe showres: so women the more chastety they professe openly, the les chary they are in secrete of their honesty: others said, it might bee a compacted matter, by the Earle to be rid of his wife: [Page] [...]me said, that the matter might be mistaken, and made worse then it was. Thus dyuersly they did descant, while poore Philomela beeing gotten to a gentlemans house, a fréend of hers, sate sorrowfullye resoluing how she might best salue this blemish: one while she thought to go hom [...] to the Duke her father, and incense him to reuenge, that againe she misliked, for by open Iarres, and ciuile discen­tion, were she neuer so innocent, yet her name should by such open brawl [...]s, grow more infamous: an other while she thought to perswade Lutecio against him, and that he might procure the slaues by torture to bewraye the sub­ornation of periurie, and so bring her husband within the compas of open trecherye.

Thus the secrete loue she b [...]re still to Philippo would not suffice, for she had rather beare guiltlesse shame then bring her husband to perpetuall infamie. Thus did shee plot in her minde sundrie wayes of reuenge: but at last this was her resolution, sith her honor so famous through Italy, was now so highly staind: she would neither stay [...] in Italye, nor yet returne to her father: but go into some straunge countrie, and there die vnknown, that being ab­sent from the rumour of her bad reporte, she might liue, though poorely, yet quyet: vpon this determination she set downe her rest, and gathered all her cloathes & Iew­els togeather: for the Earle sent her all whatsoeuer hee had of hers, and she returned him by the messenger a ring with a Diamond, whererein was written these words, Olim meminisse dolebit. The Earle tooke it, and put it on his singer, which after bred his further mise [...]ie.

But leauing him a contented man, though with a tro­bled conscience: for the satisfying of his ielious reuenge: Againe to Philomela, who hauing packt vp al her iewels and treasures: listned for a shippe, and heard of one that made to Palermo in Sicilia. As the poore Countesse was careles of her selfe, as a woman halfe in dispair, so she lit­tle regarded to what port of Christēdom the bark made, [Page] and therefore hired passage in y ^• ship so secretly, that non [...] but her own selfe and a page did know, when or whether shee ment to make her voyage: so that on a sodaine, ha­uing certaine intelligence at what houre the ship would warpe out of the Hauen, shee slipt awaie, and her Page with her, and getting aboorde vnder saile, commit her selfe to God, the mercie of the Seas, and to the husband of manie hardfortunes. The Shippe had not gone a Leage vpon the Seas, but Philomela began to be sicke: wherevpon the Maister of the Shippe comming in to comforte her, found her in his eie one of the fairest crea­tures that euer he saw, and though her colour were som­thing pale through her present sicknes, yet he could com­pare it to no worse shewe then the glister of the Moone in a silent night and a cléere skie, so that the poore Ship­pers conscience began to bee prickt, and loue beganne to shake him by the sléeue, that he sat downe by her, and af­ter his blunt fashion, gaue her such swéet comfort as such a swaine could affoord: Philomela thanked him and tould him it was nothing but a passion that the roughnesse of the Seas had wrought in her, who heretofore was vnac­quainted with any other waters then the riuer Po, and such small creekes as watered Italie. He [...]revppon the Maister departed, but with a Flea in his eare, and loue in his eie: for he had almost forgot his Compasse, he was so farre out of [...]ompasse with thinking howe to compasse Philomela: in this amorous humour, hee began to visite often, the Cabin wherein Philomela laie, which was a meanes rather to encrease his furie, then to qualifie the [...]re of loue that began to heat him: For as hee that play­eth with a Bee may sooner feele her sting then taste of her honie: so hee that acquainteth himselfe with loue, maie more easilie repent him then content him, and sooner in­thrall himselfe in a Laborinth, then get an houre of qui­et libertie. So it fell out with Tebaldo, for so was the Maister of the ship called: for he by conuersing priuatelie [Page] and familiarlie with Philomela, became so farre in loue, that he held no happinesse like the obtaining of this loue: he noted the excellencie of her beautie, the exquisitnes of her qualities, and measured euerie part with such precise iudgement, that the smal heat of desire, grew to a glow­ing fire of affection. But for all this, hee durst not reueale his mind vnto her, least happily by his motion, she should be mooued vnto displeasure: But as by time, smal sparks grow into great flames: so at last he waxed so passionate, that there was no way with him but death or dispair, if he didnot manifest his thoughts vnto her: resoluing thus damnably with himselfe, that howsoeuer loue or fortune dealt with him, he would haue his mind satisfied: for if she granted, then he would kéepe her in Palermo as his Pa­ramor: if she denied, seeing he had her within the compas of his barke, he would haue his purpose by force, and so becom Lord of his content by conquest. Thus resolute he went towards the cabin of Philomela to bewray his af­fection vnto her, when drawing néere the doore, he heard her playing most cunningly vpon a lute, certaine lessons of curious descant, slaying a while, least he might inter­rupt so swéet musick: at last she left of, & fel from her lute to this lamentable complaint. Oh poore woman, woor­thy so tearmed, being brought to thy woe by a man, now dost thou sée, that as such as are stung by the Tarentula, are best cur [...]d by Musicke: so such minds as are vexed by sorrow finde no better reliefe then a swéete relish of com­forting melodie. Ah Abstemia, for so she now called her name, the more to disguise herselfe, if musicke should bee answerable to thy martirdome, or the excellencie of des­cant comformable to the intent of the distressor: Then must Apollo bee fetcht from heauen, Orpheus from his graue, Amphiō from his rest, the Syrens from their roks to qualifie thy musings with their musicks: For though they excell in degrees of sounds, thou exceedest in diuersi­ties of sorrowes, being far more miserable then musical: [Page] and yet they, the rarest of all others: once Abstemia thou w [...]t counted the fairest in Italy, and now thou art hol­den the falsest: thy vertues were thought many, now thy dishonors are counted nomberles: thou wert the glory of thy parents, the hope of thy friends, the fame of thy coun­try, the wonder of thy time of modestie, the peragon of I­taly for honorable grace, & the patern wherby womē did measure their perfections: for shee that was holden lesse modest, was counted a wanton: and she that would seem more vertuous, was esteemed too precise: But now thou art valued worth lesse of all thy former honours, by the stain of one vndeserued blemish. Ah, had I bin false to my husband, perhaps I had bene more fortunate, thogh not in mine owne conscience, yet to the eies of the world lesse suspected, and so not detected: but innocency to God is the swe [...]test incence, & a cōscience without guilt, is a sacrifice of the purest sa [...]or. What though I be blamed? if my life be lent me, my honor wil be recouered, for as God wil not suffer a murther to escape without punishment: so he wil not let the wrong of the innocent goe to his graue with­out reuenge? Though thou bee bannished Abstemia, yet comfort thy selfe, account each countrey thine owne, and euerye honest man thy neighbour: let thy life bee meane, so shalt thou not bee lookt into: for enuye crée­peth not so lowe as Cotages▪ réeds bend with the wind, when Cedars fall with a blast: poore men relie lightly of fortune, because they are to weake for fortune, when higher states feele her force, because they nos [...]e in her bo­some: acquaint not thy selfe with many, least thou fal in­to the hands of flaterers, for the popular sorts haue more eies, and longer tongues then the rich: seeme curteous to al, but conuerse with fewe: and let thy vertues bee much spoken though thy selfe liue neuer so priuate. Hold hone­sty more déer then thy life, & be thou neuer so pore, yet be chast & choose rather to starue in the str [...]ets, thē liue dain­tily at a lechers table: if as thou art beutiful Abstemia, [Page] anie fall in loue with thy fauours, and what hee cannot winne by suites, will seeke to get by force, and so ra [...]ishe thee of thy ri [...]hest glorie: choose rather to bee without breath, then liue with such a blemish. Thou art fraud­lesse in Sicilia, and though thou complainest, thou shalt not be heard: might ouercomes right, and the weakest are still thrust to the wall. To preuent therefore con­straint in loue in the greatest Prince: I haue prouided (quoth she) a poyson in the seale of my ring, as deadly as it is litle, resoluing as stoutly as Haniball did, who held the like in the pomell of his sworde: and choose rather to die free, then fall into the hands of Scipio. So, before any lea [...]her shall force to sa [...]isfie his passion, I wil end my life with this fatal poison. So Abstenia shalt thou die more honorablie, which is more deere then to liue disgraced: e­nough is a feast, poore wench, what needs these solemne preachings? Leaue these secret dumps and fall to thy Lute, for thou shalt haue time enough to thinke of sor­row: and with that she tuned her strings, and in a merrie vaine plai [...]d three or foure pleasaunt lessons, and at last sung to her selfe this conceit [...]d di [...]ie.

[Page]Ass [...]ne as Philomela had ended her ditti [...], she laid down her Lute, and fell to her booke: but Tebaldo hauing heard all her secret meditatiō, was driuen in such a mase, with the conceipt of her incomparable exc [...]llencie, that he stoode as much astonished to heare her chaste sp [...]ches, as Acteon to s [...]e Dianas naked beauties: entring with a per­cing insight into her vertues, & perceiuing shee was some greater personage then hee at the first tooke her for, his loue was so qualed with the rarenes of her qualities, that he rather indeuoured to honor her as a saint, then to loue her as a paramour: desire now began to chaunge to reuerence, and affection to an honest deuotion: that hee shamed be once thought any way lust towardes so vertu­ous a creature: thus Metamorphosed, he stept into her cabin, and found her reading, to whome he did shewe more then accustomed reuerence: which Philomela returned with equall curtesie. At last he tould her, how hee had heard her lamentable discourse of her misfortune and the honorable resolution of her honestye, which did so tye him to be deuoted tow [...]ds her, that if when shee came into Palermo, his poore house might serue her for a lodging, it and all therein, with him selfe and his wife, should bee at her commaund. Philomela thanked him hartely for his kinde and courteous pr [...]ffer, and promised to her abili­tie, not to be vngratefull.

Well, leauing her vnder saile towardes Palermo, to S. Ganami Lutesio, who harboring a hateful i [...]ent of re­uenge in his minde against the County Philippo, thoght to pay him home pat in his lappe, and therefore ma­king as spéedy a dispatch as might be, of his affaires: hee takes his iourney frō Uenice toward [...] the Duke of Mil­laines court, the father of Philomela, to whome he had re­coūted what had hapned to his daughter, what had chanced to him, and how great dishonour was offered to him by her husband. The Duke although these newes tou­ched him at the quick, yet dissembled the matter, and be­ganne [Page] in great choller to vpbraid Lutesio, that no doubt the earle did it vpon iust cause, or els neither would hee haue wronged a wife whome so tenderly hee loued, ney­ther reiected a freend whome he so déerly honored, nor yet the duke & senate of Uenice would haue yéelded so per­emptory & hard a sentence, as either banishment to him, or deuorce to her.

To this Lutesio made replye, that the Earle to proue his surmised articles true, had suborned two slaues, that were Genouaies to periure themselues. He shewed the Duke the letter that past betweene him and his daugh­ter, and the reason why he wrote them: But al this could not satisfie the Dukes opinion, but he charged his gentle­men to lay hands on Lutesio, and to carye him to prison, vntill he had further triall of the matter, swearing if hee found him to haue played false with his daughter, neither should his banishment excuse him, nor her deuorce: for he would haue both their liues, for offering dishonour to the house of Millaine.

Upon this censure of the Duke, Lutesio was caried to prison, and the Duke left mightelye perpelexed: who be­gan to cast in his minde manye doubtes of this straunge chance, vowing in his hart, a fatal reuenge vpon Philipo for blemishing his daughters honour with such open infa­mie. When thus the Duke was in a heauye suspition, one of the Genouaies, whose conscience tormented him, ran away from Uenice, and came to Millaine: where cō ­ming to the Dukes pallace, he desired to speake with his Grace, from the County Philippo, being brought straight vnto him: assone as he came into his presence, he kn [...]led downe, trembling, and besought him of mercy. The duke astonished at the straunge terror of the man, demaunded of him what he was, and from whence he came. The slaue tould him that he was borne at Geneua, and hadd [...] b [...]ne seruaunt to that infortunate Earle, the Countye Philippo Medici, and one of those periured traitours that [Page] had borne false witnes against his daughter Philomela. At this the Duke started out of his seat, and taking th [...] fellow courteously vp, bade him not to feare nor doubte, for if he spake nothing but the trueth, he should not only be fréely pardoned, but highly rewarded.

Upon this the poore slaue discourst from point to point▪ First the singular chastitie of his lady and Mistresse, and then the deepe Ielousie of Philippo, who first as hee had learned, caused his déere fr [...]end Signior Greuani Lutesio, to trye her, who finding her wise, vertuous, and constant, fell out with the Earle, that he would wrong his wyfe with such causeles suspition: after he rehearsed how the County grew Ielouse, that Philomela fauored Lutesio, and because he had no proofe to confirme his mistrust, but his owne douting head, he suborned him, and a fellowe of his to sweare, that they saw Lutesio and the Countes euen in the very act of Adultery, which in them was per­iurie, and in him letcherye: for both the Gentleman, and their Ladye was innocent, and with that falling down [...] on his knées, and melting into teares, hee craued pardon of his lyfe.

The Duke whose eies were full of fire, as sparking reuenge and hate, had him bee of good chéere, and pulling his purse out of his pocket, and gaue it him for an earnest penny of further freendship, and charged his Gentlemen to giue the Geneuaye good entertainment. And w ^t that sent for Signior Lutesio out of prison, & sorrowfull that he had wrongd him so much, tould him how one of the Geno­nais was come y ^• gaue false witnes against his daughter, & had reuealed all: which ioyed Lutecio at the very hart, so that humbly & with watrie cheeks, he desired the duke to reuenge his daughters wrongs, but as litle booted his intreatye, as spurres to a swift horse. For the Duke ga­thering a mightie armie, made as much speed as might b [...] towards Uenice, intending to quit the wrong proffered to Philomela by suspitious Philippo, who then liued in [Page] all de [...]red content, in y ^• his Ielious humor was satisfied: was determining where to make a new choise for fauor, when time chere this change of fortune, that newes was brought into Uenice, that not onelye the Millaine Duke was come downe, to waste and spoile the citties belong­ing vnto the Signorie of Uenice, but also ment to gather all the forces of his frendes in Christendome, to reuenge the abuse offered to his daughter Philomela.

This newes being come vnto the eares of Philiypo, made him forget his woing▪ and begin to wonder how he should shift of the misfortune ready to light vpon him, if any thing were proued of his suborning treacherye: hee now beganne to enter into con [...]ioeration with him selfe that if Lutesio wer gotten to Millaine, he would not only lay the plot of all mischiefe against him, but also discouer his treason, & incense the Duke to reuenge, and vpon this he thought grew the occasion of his men in armes: then did he feare least the Genouaie that was run away from him, should com to the Dukes court, & there confirme by autenticall proofe, what Lutecio vpon his honor did af­firme: thus diuersly perplexed, he remained in great dūps, while the Duke and Consiliadiorie of Uenice gathering into their senate house began to consult what reason the Millonians had to inuade their territories. And therfore to be fully satisfied in the cause, they sent Embassadours to inquire the reason why he rose in armes against thē? whether it were for the sentence offered against Philo­mela or no? and if it were, that he should herein rest satis­fied. That as she was exiled by law, so she was iustly condemned for letcherie:

The Ambassadours hauing their charge, came to the Duke, lying then not farre of from Bergamo, and did their message vnto him, which he reanswered thus: that hee was not come as an enemy against them, but as a priuate foe to Philippo, and therefore required to ap­prooue his daughters innocencie: not by armes, but by [Page] witnesses in the Senate house of Uenice▪ and if she were found guilt [...]es, to haue condigne punishment enioynde and executed against Philippo: This if they did denie, he was com [...] with his owne blade, and his Souldiers to plague the Uenetians for the partiall iudgementes of their Magistrates: and if they ment to haue him come into Uenice, he craued for his assurance sufficient hosta­ges. The Ambassadors returned with this aunswere to the Duke and the Consiliadorie, who held hi [...] request passing reasonable, and thought it would be dishonor to them and their estate, if they should stand in deniall of so equall a demaund: and therfore the Duke, not onely sent him his onely Sonne, but sixe young sonnes more, al the Sonnes of men of honour for hostage. Upon whose ari­ual, the Duke of Millaine onely accompanied with Lu­tesio, the Genouaies, and ten other noble men went to the Cittie, and was magnificently intertained by the Duke and the Cittizens: where feasting that day, the next morning they resolued to mé [...]t in the Senate house, to hear what could be alleadged against Philippo, whom they cited peremptorilie to appeare, to aunswere to such obiections as shuld be laid against him. The guiltie Earl now began to feele remorse of conscience, and to doubt of the issue of his treacherie: and therefore getting into his closet, he called the Genouaie to him, and there began to perswade him, that although both Signior Lutesio and his fellowe did bewray the subornation of periurie, yet he should denie it vnto the death, and for his reward he had him take halfe his treasure and his fréedome. The Genouay made solemn protestation that he would per­fourme no lesse then he commanded him: and therevpon as an assumsit, tooke the signet of the Earle, for perfor­mance of all couenants. Thus armed as he thought, in that he rested safly in the secrecy of his slaue: the next day he appeared in the Senate house, whether the Dukes of Millaine and of Uenice came with all the Consiliadorie [Page] and chiefe Citizens of the town, to heare how this mat­ter should be debated. At last the Duke of Milaine arose amongst them al and began thus to discourse: I come not Uenetians to enlarge my territories with the sworde, though I haue burdened your borders with the waight of armed men: I ri [...]e not in armes to séeke martiall ho­nours, but ciuill iustice: not to claime other mens right, but mine owne due, which is reuenge vpon false Philipo for his [...]cherie against my innocent daughter Philo­mela: Innocent I tearme her, though iniury hath wron­ged her, and yet I accuse not your Duke or Consiliado­rie of iniustice, because their censure past according to the false euidence propounded by periurd Philippo: But I claime iustice without partialitie against him, which if it [...] granted, I shall highly praise your Senate, and bee e­uer profest your friend: If it be denied, I am come in armes to defend my daughters innocencie, and with my bloud to paint reuenge vpon the gates of Uenice. If I speake sharply, blame me not, [...] mine honour is toucht with such a blemishe: the discredite of the daughter is a spot in the parentes browe, and therefore if I s [...]ke to ex­cuse her, accuse not me: I do but what honor commands, and nature binds mee to. For proofe that I come not to sanctif [...]e sinne in my daughter, or shadow her scapes with my co [...]ntenance, I haue brought héere not onely Lutesio but one of their slaues which was by Philippo induced to giue false euidence to affirme as much as I auerre: therefore I onely craue they may bee examined with e­quitie, and I be satisfied onely in iustice. Thus with his face full of wrath, he sate downe silent: when the Consi­liadorie amazed at this briefe and sharpe spéeche of the Millanois, began to examine the Genouaie, who confest all the treacherie: they hearing this, demanded of Phil­lippo how he could answere the confession of his Slaue: he smilingly made this scornefull replie. I hope worthie Duke, and honorable Senate of Uenice, you will not be [Page] dasht out of countenance with the sight of weapo [...]s, nor be driuen from iustice by the noyse of armour, that thogh I be an Earl, and am not able to equall the Duke of Mi­laine in multitudes, yet I shall haue as high fauours as he with equitie: in hope whereof I answer, that I think there is none so simple héere, but sees howe Lutesio con­strained through e [...]uie, and the Duke compelled by na­ture, haue suborned this poore slaue, either by gold or pro­mises to receiue what before by solemne oath hee heere protested. He to recouer his former credite, and liberty in his countrey this to salue the blemishe of his daughters honour: but as such slaues minds are to be wrought like waxe with euerie faire worde: so I assure my selfe, little beliefe shall bee giuen to suche a base and seruile person, that commeth to depose against his own conscience: this was partner with him in his euidence (pointing to the other Genouaie, and this can affirne what I test [...], and therefore I appeale to your equities: for by the ver­dict of this slaue will I be tride.

At this the Duke of Ue [...]ice called the Genouai [...] foorth, and had him speake his minde. When Lutesio ri­sing vp charged him, that as he was a Christian, and ho­ped to be saued by his merites, he should impartially [...] pronounce what he knew. At this the Genouaie féeling a horrour, a second hell in his conscience, trembling as a man amazed, and toucht with the sting of Gods iudge­ment in his heart, stood awhile mute, but at last gathe­ring his spirites together, and getting the libertie of his speech, falling downe vpon his knées, with his eies ful of teares, he confest and discourst the whole circumstaunc [...] of the Earles villanie intended against Philomela: wher­at there was a great shout in the Senat house, and clap­ping of hands amongest the common people: they all for ioy crying Philomela, innocent Philomela. At this the Senatours sate silent, and the Duke of Milaine [...] vext, and the County Philippo now féeling a dreadful ren [...] [...] [Page] in his conscience vttered these wordes with great resolu­tion. Now doo I prooue that true by experience, which earst I held onelye for a bare prouerbe, that trueth is the daughter of tyme, and there is nothing so secrete, but the date of many dayes wil reueal it: that as oyle thogh it be moist, quencheth not fire▪ so time though neuer so long, is no sure couert for sin: but as a sparke rakte vp in cinders, will at last beginne to glowe and manifest a flame: so treachery hidden in silence, will burst foorth and crye for reuenge. Whatsoeuer villanie the heart doth worke, in processe of time the worme of conscience wil bewray: oh Senators, this may be applyed to my selfe, whose ielouse head compassed this treason to Philomela, and this tret­cherie to Lutesio, the one a most honest wife, the other [...] moste faithfull fr [...]nd.

It booteth little by circumstaunce to discouer the sorrow I conceaue, or little neede I showe my wiues In­nocencye, when these base slaues whome I suborned to periure themselues, haue proclaimed her chastity, and my dishonor: suffice it thē, y ^• I repent though too late, & would make amends, but I haue sinned beyond satisfaction, for there is no sufficient recompence for vniuste slaunder. Therefore in penalty of my periurie towards Philomela I craue my selfe iustice against my selfe, that you would enioyne a pennaunce, but no lesse then the extremitie of death.

At these wordes of Philippo, the people murmured, and the Senate sate a while consulting with themselues, what wer best to doo, at last they referred it to the Duke of Millaine, to giue sentence and censure against Philip­po, séeing the wrōg was his daughters, and the dishonor his, who béeing a man of a milde nature, and full of royal honor in his thoughts, rysing vp with a countenance dis­couering a kinde of satisfaction, by the submisse rep [...]ntāce of Philippo, pronounst that the Earle should abyde that penaltie was enioyned to his daughter, which was, that [Page] he should bee banished, that both the Genouayes should [...] haue their libertye, and a thousand Duccats a peece: and that Lutesio should haue his iudgment reuerst, and be re­stored to his former fréedome.

At this censure of the Duke, they all gaue a generall applause, and Philippo there with teares in his eyes, took leaue, protesting to spend his exile contentedly in séeking out of Philomela, and when he had found her, then in her presence to sacrifice his bloode as a satisfaction for his Le­cherie. Lutesio likewise swore to make a queast for her, and so did the Genouayes, and the Duke her father was as forward, and the Senate broke vpp, and the Duke of Millaine forthwith daparted home to his own countrey: where leauing him going homeward, and Philippo, Lu­tesio, and the Genouais séeking for Philomela:

Once againe to the innocent Lady, who béeing arry­ued in Palermo, was not onely courteously intertained of the M. of the Shippe, but also of his wife: who noting her modesty, vertue, silence, and other good properties, & rare qualities, was so far in loue with her, that she would not by any meanes let her departe out of her house, but with a simpathie of sweete affectiones, did loue like two sisters▪ in somuch that Philomela was brought ot bedde, and had a yong Sonne, called Infortunatus, because he was borne in the extremitie of his mothers miserie: The M. of the shippe and his wife being pledges of his Christ­endome: liuing thus obscure, and yet famous in Palermo for her vertues, she found that of all musicke the meane was the merriest, that quiet rested in lowe thoughts, and the safest tontent in the poorest cottages: that the highest trées abide the sharpest stormes, and the greatest perso­nages the sorest frownes of Fortune: therefore with pa­tience she brookt her homely course of lyfe, and had more quiet sleepes now in the ship-masters house in Palermo, then she had in her pallace in Uennice, onelye her dis­content was when she thought on Philippo, that he had [Page] proued so vnkinde: and on Lutesio, that for her sake hee was so déeply iniuried, yet aswel as she might, she salued these sores, and couered her hard fortunes with the sha­dow of her innocencye. While thus she liued honorablie in Palermo, not for her excellent behauiour and good qualitie: It fortuned that the Duke of Milaine and Lu­tesio both disguised like two palmers, had passed throgh many places to séeke Philomela, and to reduce her from banishment, and at last aryued in Palermo, intending to soiourne there for a while, and then ot passe vp to Sama­gossa, and so through all Sicilia, to haue intelligence of the destressed Countesse. While thus they stayed inqui­ring diligently of her, and not hearing anye newes, sith she was seldome séene abroad, and beside that her name changed and called Abstemia.

It chaunced that either by Fortune or destanie, there arryued at the same time in Palermo, the County Philip­po Medici, who hauing trauailed through diuers coun­treyes, to finde out his innocent Countesse, wearied at last not so much with trauaile, as with the gnawing worme of a guiltye conscience that still tormented him: he beganne more and more to enter into dispaire, and to thinke his lyfe loathsome vnto him, wishing daylye for death, so it might not come through the guilt of his own hand, & yet resoluing rather to bée the murtherer of him selfe, then thus to linger out his daies in dispaire. In this perplexed passion, hee gat him into a thicke groue, there the better to communicat in his melancholie, vowing if hee hearde not of Philomela in that cittie, to make that groue the monumēt of his graue: thus desirous of death, or of the recouery of his wife: It fortuned that Arnoldo Frozzo, sonne and heire to the Duke of Palermo, being in loue with a young gentlewoman, whose lodging was distaunt some three leagues from the Citie, pricked for­ward by the extremitie of affection, thought to go visite her, although he was not onely forbidden by his father, [Page] but watched, least priuilye he might steale vnto her: yet as loue can finde starting hoales, he deuised this pollicie: hee carried a slaue that remained in his Fathers hous [...] abroad to the groue with him, where Philippo lay lurk­ing, and there chaunging apparell with him, he got him to his desired Mistres, and bad the slaue returne couert­ly into the Cittie, and meet him the next day at the same place: parting thus, as he was going homewarde, hee was met by a young Sicilian gentleman, named Petro Salino: who bearing a mortal grudge to the Dukes son, in that he affected the Gentlewoman whome hee so ten­derly loued: seeing him alone, and thinking him to bee Arnoldo Strozzo by his apparell, and déeming hee came now from his beloued Mistres, set vpon him, and slewe him: and with his rapeir so mangled his face, that by no meanes he could be discerned, and thereupon fled.

Arnaldos page missing his M. seeking abroad for him in the fieldes, for that he desired oft times to be solitarie, light vpon the dead body of the slaue, and iudgeing it to be his M. because he was in his apparell, cried out, & ran home and carried newes therof to the Duke his Father: who as a man distraught of his wits, cōmanded straight search to be made, to finde out the actor of the Tragedye, causing the dead corps to be conueyed with muche gréefe and many teares.

All the Courtiers, gentlemen and others, sought a­broad to séeke out the author of this murther: and not far of where the slaue was slain, found Philippo walking vp & downe vntrust, his hat lying by him, and his rapier in his hand: the courtiers séeing a mā thus suspitious, made inquirie what he was: why quoth the Countie, I am the man you looke for: Art thou then said the Cousin of Ar­naldo, that bloudy traitour, that haste slaine the Dukes sonne? The Countie glad he had so swéete an occasion to be rid of his lyfe, resolute, and bréefely said, I Marry am I, and I will kill his father too, if euer I reache him: [Page] with that they laide hould vppon him and carried him to prison, and as he went by the way, they examinde what hee was, but that by no meanes hee would reueale vnto them: onely he said he was an Italian, purposelye come from Uenice to act it. Newes straight was carried to the Duke, that the murtherer was taken, who was highly glad thereof, and resolued the next daye with the states of the countrey, to [...]it in iudgement▪ as fame and reporte cannot be silent, so it was straight noysed abroad through Palermo, that the Dukes sonne was slaine by a Uenetian, and how he was taken, and should the next day be arraigned and executed.

Philomela hearing that hee was a Uenetian that had doone the déede: desirous to sée him, tooke the Maister of the ships wife with her, and went to the prison, and there by fauour of the Gayler, sawe him through a windowe, assone as Philomela had a viewe of him, she sawe it was Philippo Medici her husband disguised, & hauing in his face the very signes of dispair. This sight of her husband droue her into a maze, yet to conceale the matter to her felf [...], she said she knewe not the man. As thus she was standing talking with the Gayler, there came a Uenetiā that was resident in Palermo, and desired that he might see the Gentleman that had done the murther, but the Gayler would not suffer him, but inquired what country man he was? he answered a Uenetian, and that is the reason quoth hee, that I am desirous to haue a sight of him. Philomela hearing that he was a Uenetian, asked him what newes from Uenice: The Sayler, for so hee was, discoursed vnto her what late had chaunced, and amongst the rest, he discouered the [...]ortunes of Philomela and how she was wrongfully accused by her husband the Earle, how her Father came to Uenice, and hauing her accusers two slaues examined, they confest the Earle suborned them to the periurie: wherupon Philippo was banished, and now as a man in dispaire, sought about to [Page] finde out his wife.

Philomela hearing these newes, thanking him, tooke her leaue of the Sailer and went home, where getting alone into her chamber, she began thus to meditate with her selfe: now Philomela thou maist see heauens are iust, and God impartiall, that though he defers, he doeth not acquit: that thogh he suffer the innocent to be wronged, yet at last hee persecuteth the malicious with reuenge: that time hatcheth trueth, and that true honor maye be blemisht with enuye, but neuer vtterly defaced with ex­tremitie: now is thy lyfe laid open in Uenice, and thy fame reuiued in spight of Fortune: now maiest thou tri­umphe in the fall of thy Ieliouse husband, and write thy chastitie in the characters of his bloode, so shall he die dis­graced, and thou returne to Uenice as a wonder: Now, shal thine eie see his end, that hath sought to ruinate thee, and thou liue content and satisfied in the iust reuenge of a periured husband.

Oh Philomela, that worde husband is a high tearme easily pronounced in the mouth, but [...]euer to be banished from the hart, knowest thou not that the loue of a wife must not end, but by death: that the tearme of marriage is dated in the graue, that wyues should so long loue and obey, as they liue and drawe breath: that they should preferre their husbands honor before their owne life, and choose rather to die, then sée him wronged. Why else did Alcest die for Admetus? Why did Portia eate coales for the loue of Brutus, if it were not that wiues ought to end their liues with their loues?

Truth ( Philomela) but Philippo is a traytour, hée hath imblemisht thy fame, sought to ruine thine honour, aimde at thy life, condemnd thée both to diuorce and ba­nishment, and lastly hath stainde the high honors of thy Fathers house.

And what of all this Philomela? hath not euerie man his fault? Is there any offence so great, that may not bee [Page] forgiuen? Philippo did not woorke thée this wrong be­cause he loued some other, but because he ouerloued thee: t'was Ielousie, not lasciutousnes that forst him to that follie: and suspition is incident onely to such as are kind hearted louers. Hath not God reuengde thy iniurie, and thy Father punisht him with the like penaltie that thy selfe doest suffer? and wilt thou now glorie in his miserie? No ( Philomela) shew thy selfe vertuous, as ere thou hast béene honorable, and heape coales on his head, by shew­ing him fauour in extremitie. If he hath slain the Dukes sonne, it is through despaire: and if hee had not come hi­ther to séeke thée, hee had not fallen into this misfortune. The Palme trée the moreit is prest downe, the more it sprowteth vp: the Camomill the more it is troden, the swéeter smell it yéeldeth: euen so ought a good wife to be kind to her husband midst his greatest discourtesies, and rather to venture her life, then suffer him incur any pre­iudice, and so will I doe by Philippo: for rather then hée shall die, in the sight of Philomela I wil iustifie him with mine owne death, so shall my ende bee honorable, as my life hath béene wonderfull.

With this shee ceased and went to her rest, till the next day morning, that the Dukes, and the states gathered togither to sit in iudgement: whether came Lutesio, and the Duke of Millaine disguised, to see what he was, that being a Uenetian committed the murther, & there also was Philomela, and the saylers wife. At last the County Philippo was brought foorth, whome when the Duke of Millaine sawe, iogging Lutesio with his hand, he whispered and said, see Lutesio, where man fauours, yet God doth in extremitie reuenge: now shal we see the fall of our enemie, yet not touched with his bloode▪ whis­pering thus amongest themselues:

At last the Duke of Palermo began to examine him, if he were he that slew his sonne, he answered that hee was the man, & would with his blood answer it: what [Page] moued you saies the Duke, to do the murther? an oulde grudge quoth he, that hath béene betweene him and me euer since he was in Uenice, and for that cause reuenge was so restles in my minde, that I came from thence, purposly to act the tragedy, and am not sory that I haue contented my thoughts with his bloode: at this his ma­nifest confession, the Duke full of wrath arose and said, it was booteles further to impannell any Iurye, & there­fore vpō his words he would pronoūce sentence against him. Then Philomela calling to the Duke, and desiring she might be heard, began thus to plead.

O mighty Duke staye the censure, least thy verdict wrong the innocent, & thou condemne and earle through his owne disparing euidence: I see, and with trembling I feele, that a guiltye conscience is a thousand wit­nesses. That as it is vnpossible to couer the light of the Sunne with a Curtaine: so the remorse of murther ca [...] not be concealed in the closet of the most secrete conspi­rator.

For standing by, and hearing thée ready to pronoūce sentence against the Innocent, I euen I that commit­ted the déede, though to the exigent of mine owne death: could not but burst foorth into these exclamations to saue the sacklesse: Knowe therefore that he which stan­deth héere before the Iudgement seate, is an Earle, though banished: his name is Countie Philippo Medi­ci, my husband, and once famous in Italie, though héere he be blemisht by Fortune: At this, all the companye lookt vpon her. Philippo as a man amazed, stood staring on her face, the teares trickling downe his chéeks to see the kindenes of his wife, whome so deepely he had iniu­red: and the Duke of Millaine her Father with Lutesio were in as great a wonder. Last she prosecuted her pur­pose thus: It were too long worthye Scicilians to re­hearse the wronges this Philippo hath vsed against me distressed Countesse, through his extreame iealousie, [Page] onely l [...]t this bréefely [...], hee subor [...]ed his [...] to sweare I was séene in the act of Adultery: they were be­léeued, I deuorced and banished: and héere euer since, I haue liued in contented patience. But since my exile, time that is the reuealer of truth, hath made the slaues bewraye the effect of the matter, so that this present Earle is found guiltye, mine honour saued, he banished, and now extreamly distressed.

Consider the Sicilians, if this County my husband hath offred me such wrong, what reason I had to plead for his lyfe? were it not the guilt of mine owne consci­ [...]nce, forceth to saue the innocent: who in a dispairing humor wearie of his lyfe, confesseth himselfe author of that murther which these handes did execute. I am the womā the infortunate Countesse (Sicilians) who sub­orned by a Sicilian gentleman, whome by no tortures I will name: first practised by witchcraft Arnaldos death: but séeing that would not preuaile, I sought to méet him alone, which I did yesterday by the groue, and there offring him a humble supplication, and he stouping to take it courteously: I stabd him, and after mangled him in that sort you found him.

This is trueth, this is my conscience, and this I am by God informed to confesse. Then worthie Duke saue the innocent Earle, and pronounce sentence against me theoffender. I speake not this in that I loue the Coun­tie, but that I am forst vnto it, by the remorse of mine owne conscience.

Héere she ended, and all they stoode amased: and Phi­lippo beganne againe to reply against her, that she did it to saue him: but in vaine were his wordes, for she al­ledged such probable reasons against her selfe, that the Duke was ready to pronounce sentence against her, and the Duke her father at the point to bewray himself, had it not béene that Arnaldo Strozzo the Dukes so com­ming [Page] home, and méeting certaine plaine countrimen heard this newes how the Duke was sitting in Iudge­ment against one that had murthered his sonne, which newes as it droue him into a wonder, so it made him ha [...]te speedily to the place, to know the effect of the mat­ter: and he came thither iust at the beginning of Philo­melas oration.

Seeing therefore two pleading thus for death, hée himselfe being alyue, and his father ready to condemne the innocent: he commaunded the companye to giue way, came and shewed himselfe, and said: maye it please your grace I am héere, whome these confesse they haue slaine.

At this the Duke start vppe, and all the [...]anders by were in a mase. At last to dryue them out of their dūps, he toulde them that hee thought that the man that was murthered, and taken for him, was a slaue with whome the day before he had changed apparell.

The Duke for ioye to sée his son, was a great while mute: At last hee beganne to examine the matter, why these two did plead themselues guilty? Philippo answe­red for dispaire, as weary of his lyfe. Philomela said, for the safetie of her husband, choosing rather to die, thē he any wayes should suffer preiudice.

The Sicilians at this, looking Philomela in the face, shouted at her woundrous vertues, and Philippo in a sound betwéene gréefe and ioy, was carried awaye halfe dead to his lodging: where he had not lyen two houres, but in an extasie he ended his lyfe. The Duke of Mil­laine discouered himselfe, who by the Duke of Palermo was highlye intertained.

But Philomela hearing of the death of her husband, [...]ell into extreame passiones, and although Arnaldo Strozzo desired her in marriadge: yet shee returned home to Uenice, and there liued the desolate widdow [Page] of Philippo Medici al her lyfe: which constant chastety made her so famous, that in her lyfe shee was honored as the Paragon of vertue, and after her death solemnely, and with wonderfull honor intombed in S. Markes Church, and her fame holden ca­nonized vntil this day in Ue­nice.