NOVEL I.

AMong other the Ladies, in the famous City of Vicenza, which did ravish both the eyes and hearts of all Men, the beauty of Aleria (of the Noble House of the Counts of Malosi) did so far exceed that of the rest, that it left no room neither for detraction nor amendment. The fairest faces gave [Page 6] place to that aspect which would have been thought Divine, if by her Courtly Carriage she had not discovered some graceful Tracts of Humanity.

This Lady (who was Courted by those also that despaired of obtaining her) yield­ing obedience only to those affections which obliged her to prefer true merit, did consent to be Married to the Count of Sanca Croce; a Gentlemen both for Birth and Vertue inferiour to none. He had no Quality that was not amiable, nor any thing in him that was not admirable. The Wedding was celebrated with that splen­dor which was befitting their Noble Est­ate. Those who in the general Celebra­tion did bury their particular consolation, did not refrain from being present at this Solemnity, although in others rejoycing, they saw cause of mourning. Musick and dancing, which have power to ravish even those hearts that are most deeply affected with Melancholy, could not asswage the grief of their minds, who, together with the beauty of Aleria, did lose the hopes of their lives. Yet many, by their dextrous ingenuity, making a vertue of necessity, not being able to subdue their affection, did direct it to other Women. Others [Page 7] knowing their eyes to have been the instru­ments of letting in love to their hearts, re­solved to deprive them of such their com­placency, by withdrawing them from their beloved object. They fled away from that Climate, wherein the Sun did not shine but in favour of others. Some following the rules of him that taught the Remedy of Love, set themselves to spy faults in that Face which, being of heavenly beauty, could not be thought exempt from Clouds. Onely Arderico the Marquess of Castel No­vo, raising his hopes above the impossibi­lity of the Enterprise, found that the So­lemnity of this day had made his love more ardent; whilst others had thereby applied remedies to their passion. He, being as I believe, in an extasie of grief, was assisting to all the Offices of that day; imitating those foolish Flies, which so they may en­joy the light of a Candle, do not care if they burn themselves in its flame. He endur'd his torment with so much impa­tience, that the least effect of his distract­ing amazement was the forgetting of him­self. The Feast being over he found new fuel added to his fire. The absenting him­self did not extinguish, but foment his flames. Wretched Arderico felt his love [Page 8] grow the hotter, for being farther from the refreshing beauties of Aleria. She, on the contrary, did give such pure demon­strations of her zealous affection to her Husband, that all hope, except that of Ar­derico's, which was devoted to obstinacy, would have turn'd to despair. But he ne­vertheless, loving so much the more for his being less beloved, let slip no occasion of discovering to her his disease. His eyes were continually fixed upon her, he assault­ed her with sighs, and ask'd pity of her by his looks; in sum, he waiting on her in all places, and courting her at all Balls, there fell out no accident which he did not signalize, either, by some demonstration of obsequiousness, or testimony of his aff­ection. Yet Aleria, either not believing, or not caring to be belov'd, never lookt upon him but with an indifferent eye. And although the rules of good manners did oblige, her to yield to him in dancing, and to correspond with him in saluting; yet she did it without the least acknowledg­ment of his affection. Arderico having no other means to insinuate his love into the mind of Aleria, had recourse to his Pen; and with much ado, his tears inter­mixing with the Ink, and defacing his Writing, he formed this Letter.

Having sealed the Letter, he bethought him of the best way how to convey it safe into the hands of Aleria. Her Servants, though gained by the excesses of his Libe­rality, yet durst not attempt the affections of a Mistriss so chast, that she gave not the least motive for temptation. To make use of other persons he thought it both scan­dalous & dangerous; wherefore he resolv'd himself to be the Porter. He pitch'd upon a day when she was at Church, perhaps [Page 10] more adored than adoring. And coming as near to her as well he could, deceiving the suspicion and observation of many, whilst Aleria was intent upon her mental Devotions, he conveyed the Billet into her Prayer-Book, which by chance she had laid behind her. There was not any one that perceived it. Aleria her self, when she took up her Book again, was not at first aware of it. She no sooner saw it but she was surpriz'd with a blush, being more angry with her self for having given others an occasion to tempt her, than displeased for having been tempted. This prudent Lady knew very well that she could not be called chast, if she did not resist the allure­ments of Lovers. Whosoever is chast meer­ly for necessity, I think her unworthy of that Character. Aleria having overcome those confusions which left the marks of Vermilion in her Cheeks, and stifled that curiosity which is so natural unto Women, when she saw her time, tore the Letter in­to a thousand pieces, as if that had been guilty of the faults of him that wrote it. Arderico feeling his own heart rent in the tearing of that Paper, did despair of find­ing, for the future, any means to certifie his love unto her. He was really confound­ed [Page 11] at her proceedings, who being beloved, did not only not accept thereof, but gave out signs that she knew not of it. He, poor man, continued in his slavery, being so much the more unhappy, by how much the less prospect he had of the hopes of any reward. It happen'd that Aleria, in company of her Husband went into the Country for to enjoy that season of the Year which, bearing more fruits than any other, seemeth by its deliciousness greatly to excite the appetites of Men. Arderico, who was the Eliotrope of this Sun, follow­ed her, not without hopes that the retire­ments of the Country would afford him that which the divertisements of the City had deny'd him; and then he presum'd that he could more easily bribe the Country People, for that the minds of Men, the baser they are, the sooner they are corrupt­ed. He was scarce come thither, but he began to surround the house of Aleria, with pretence of spreading Nets for Birds and hunting of Wild Beasts, whilst his heart was indeed entangled in the snares of Love, and continually tormented with the sence of his Passion. One day, either acciden­tally or willingly, he enter'd her Palace, upon colour of looking for a Falcon that [Page 12] was fled from off his Fist. The Count of S. Croce, Aleria's Husband, receiv'd him with those demonstrations of kindness and ci­vility which are usual among Gentlemen; and having commanded his Servants that they should follow the Hawk, he carried Arderico in to see his Wife. I know not how to express this encounter, which may better be conceived by imagination. Let it suffice that Arderico did blush, look pale, and was affected both with heat and cold at one and the same time. He was, by courteous invitation, constrained to tast of some fruits, whilst that his eyes feeding on their beloved beauties, all other Meats were distastful unto him. At length hav­ing recovered his Falcon, after many obli­ging Complements passed, he departed a more passionate Lover than when he came thither. He never had seen Aleria look more favourably, nor had ever received so much courtesie from her as at that time. Aleria on the other side, being very well satisfied with the good Behaviour of Arde­rico, ask'd her Husband what the name of that Gentleman was whom he had so kind­ly entertained. The Count smiled at this demand, and afterwards replied, Do not you know Arderico the Marquess of Castel [Page 13] Novo? Is it possible that you only should be blind, and not see the Sun shine? Par­don me if it seem strange that you should not come to the knowledge of so Worthy a Man. I must needs think that your heart is perverted, or your soul degenerated when you have not had eyes to see the Worth of so conspicuous a Gentleman. All perfections which are desired in others, are fulfilled in him. By his unerring Pru­dence he causeth admiration, even in those that hate him. With a free and disinte­rested Courage he always take part with that which is just. By the modesty of his deportment he hath overcome all envy. In short, he is inferiour to none in Arms, no one superiour to him in Learning, and as to his Nobility he hath no equal. He hath all the advantages both of Mind and For­tune; neither is there any Lady so fair in Vicenza, that would not esteem her self ve­ry fortunate if she were honoured but with one look from this Noble Gentleman. And pray do not you contrariwise, neglect the knowledge of others excellencies, if you vvould not have me think you to be of a poor and mean spirit. Aleria excu­sed her self very coldly, repenting vvithin her self that she had so long slighted the [Page 14] service of a Man, who for his singular good qualities did deserve to be loved above all others. Shee, being fully satisfied with these Encomiums, grew so passionately in love with Arderico, that she turn'd wholly Rebel to the Laws of Honesty. That ho­nesty which could not be subdued by a continual obsequiousness; which resisted the persuasions of Servants, the flatteries of Lovers, the assaults of Sensuality, and the powers of Love, was prostituted to the candid Speech and betrayed by the tongue of him that ought to have guarded it. That heart that could not be overcome by the eyes, was vanquished by the ears. Be­ing therefore hurried by that vehemency which does usually agitate the soul of a Lover, (the Count her Husband being gone to Vicenza about earnest business) she wrote a Letter in manner following, to the Marquess Arderico.

She sent this Letter by a Maiden who was obliged to Fidelity by her excessive Liberality. This Maid presented it to Ar­derico, who, believing it to be a Dream, could not resolve what answer to give; at last, taking Pen and Paper, he wrote as followeth:

Having sent away the Letter he began to long for the night with such amorous dotages as are wont to tyrannize over Lo­vers. He let not one moment of the hour appointed slip, before he was at the Cham­ber of Aleria. Their complements and endearments are referred to the considera­tion of those who have been the subjects of the like entertainment. Aleria was already gotten into Bed, expecting to give vent in amorous embraces, to those passions which do torment the minds of Lovers. Arderico being abashed to see himself prevented, began to strip himself with all diligence. Whilst with an amo­rous impatience he was pulling off his Clothes, he askt Aleria the reason, why after so many slightings of the proofs of his affection, she had so suddenly conde­scended to his desires, at a time when he was assigning over all his pretensions unto [Page 17] desperation. My Love, answered Aleria, the extraordinary Character of your Me­rit, so lively represented to me by my Hus­band, hath so entirely subdued my Spirit, that I did not believe I could live without you; and here she repeated to him all that her Husband had said. Well then, said Arderico, had neither my love, nor my ser­vice any power to win your heart, if the Voice of the Count your Husband, sound­ing forth my praises, had not charmed your Soul? It is even so replied Aleria. God forbid, added Arderico, putting on his Clothes again, that I should injure him, who by such generous expressions of fa­vour towards me, doth Violate the Cha­stity of the most noble Woman. Pardon me Aleria, I cannot serve you to the pre­judice of his Honour who by his Encomi­ums so much advanceth the merit of my Quality. In saying so, he went hastily out of doors, by this action teaching men the true Worth of Gentility; Husbands that they ought not to speak too much in praise of other men to their Wives; and prescribing unto Women, more especialy to those that are Married, not to run the ha­zard of setling their affections on a Man who may be changed every moment.

NOVEL II.

THere came to Venice, for to re­create himself in time of Car­neval, Epidorus a young Flo­rentine, of a very mean Ex­traction, but who had, by the avarice of his Father, gotten to himself some sort of Reputation. This young Man, by the Death of his Progenitors, was possessed of so great an Estate, that it gave not only light to the obscurity of his Birth, but made him also ambitious of enjoying those pleasures which are oftentimes [Page 19] sought after by the greatest Personages. There was no Feast, Play, nor Publick Re­velling in Venice, unto which he would not go. One Evening at a Ball he found him­self love-stricken by an imaginary beau­ty. The stately Gate and rich Attire of a Masquerade did so bewitch his fancy, that he confessed himself her Lover before he could see her face. Neither did the ca­reer of his loving Dotages stop here: for, having warily followed her after she went from the Ball, he saw her go into the House of one of the chief Gentlemen of that City, who, among other temporal blessings, was happy in a very beautiful Wife. He imagining that this Masque­rade was Leena, for such was the fair La­dies name of that House, grew more and more in Love, and his Passion was con­firmed when he saw Leena the next day, wear part of those ornaments which he had observed on the Masquerade. Tak­ing therefore courage from the difficulty of the Enterprise, he resolved to try all means possible. Fortune was not averse in offering them unto him, whilst that very Evening the same Masquerade came again to the Ball. He, after having wait­ed some time on her, seeing no little cor­respondence [Page 20] in her eyes, the press of Peo­ple leaving no room for observation, ac­costed her after this fashion. Madam, i [...] my tongue were not afraid of committing a rash offence, it would venture to disclose the passion that I nourish in my breast, and would intercede for a love which is so much the greater, by how much the longer it is concealed. If you knew; said she, the per­son that is disguised under this Habit, you would heartily repent your having given so much liberty to your tongue. I do not rely, answered Epidorus, upon outward appearances, but upon the knowledge of your singular merit which is matched to an excellent beauty. You, says the Mas­querade, so you get the name of a lover do not care if you are reputed a Lyar. Tell me, how can you judge of the beauty of my face, which you have not seen other­wise than Masqued? One may very well, replied Epidorus, give judgment upon the brightness of the Sun, although it be shad­ed by a Cloud; and my wicked eyes have forcibly introduc'd the bright image of your beauty into my heart. Lady Leena, it is impossible to conceal your self from the affection of a Lover who hath the eyes of Argus. To say that I adore you is the [Page 21] greatest testimony that my mouth can ut­ [...]er, but the least sentiment that my heart [...]an express. It lyes in you to make me [...]appy. Great enterprises have great diffi­ [...]ulties attending them. But Love, that [...]an rob Jove himself of the power of his Thunder, can also make level even Moun­ [...]ains of impossibility. He would have gone on, if that the Masquerade, with [...]ome shew of anger, had not interrupted [...]is discourse saying, When you spoke to me as to a person unknown, I did bear with your ignorance; but now seeing that [...]ou know me, and yet, with a presumption [...]reater than becomes you, dare still to [...]empt me, I cannot but blame your inso­ [...]ence. If I did not fear the prejudice ari­ [...]ng to my honour from one so inferiour [...]o my Quality, Repentance should be the [...]east punishment of your rashness. But whilst she was speaking these words, her [...]ands and her eyes did betray her tongue, [...]nd did assure Epidorus, by all the favours [...]ossible, that those resentments were the [...]mpulses of honesty; and not the effects of [...]nger. And here the Ball broke up, where­ [...]pon it behoved Epidorus to retire accom­ [...]anied with all those inquietudes which do [...]ssault the youth and imprudence of a lover. [Page 22] He expected the next night, which was the last of the Carnevale, with those passio­nate desires which are wont to attend an enamoured Soul. The Stars had scarce made any shew of the light they had bor­rowed from the Sun, when he went to the usual Ball. A little after came the Mas­querade, very well known, although sh [...] had us'd a great deal of cunning to con­ceal her self from the curious eye of Epi­dorus. He taking her by the hand, endea­vour'd to give credit to his affection with these words. Fair Leena you may, by your new disguise very well impose upon the eyes of others, but not upon my hear [...] which, with its unusual palpitations and diffusions of heat to all the parts of my body, doth not only know you, but ador [...] you as a Goddess. I wish, that with your yesterday Garments, you may have also laid aside that haughtiness of Spirit that made you so averse to my Love. Know therefore that cruelty is an improper at­tribute for the divinity of your Beauty and that Beauty which is not communicabl [...] to others is directly opposite to the De­cree of Heaven. If the Heavens should enjoyn me to love you, answered the Mas­querade, why then perhaps neither the [Page 23] Laws of honesty, the hazard of my life, nor the inconstancy of Men, could bridle my affection. The beauty of your aspect, added Epidorus, is a token sent you from Heaven, that admonisheth you not to be too sparing of your favours, since that by enriching your form, it hath impoverish­ed all other the fairest ideas imaginable. Let us not fly so high as Hyperboles, re­ply'd the Masquerade. I, as I know my self not to be so fair; so I would gladly be so, that I might better please him that will love me. But your cunning and my simplicity hath made me discover the se­crets of my heart to a person, who per­haps laughing at my indiscretion, doth go about to deceive my easie nature. It is not just that my reputation should venture up­on such evident dangers. I have said too much. If my face were to be seen, the blush­es which grief and repentance have caused there, would give sufficient testimony of the same. The bloud which my heart hath sent up into my face, is the reproof of my soul, that threatens those severe punish­ments, the thoughts only whereof do af­fright me. In saying so, she retir'd among other the Masquerades, leaving Epidorus oppress'd by a number of thoughts, from [Page 24] which he would not quickly have disen­gaged himself, if Love, which commonly is not wanting to help the necessities of Lovers, had not succour'd him. Taking therefore his Masquerade again by the hand, he press'd her so hard, and promis'd her so much, that he obtained leave for a Conference with her the next night, (which was the first night in Lent) at a little Window that looked out into a By-street. With these pleasing hopes he pass'd away the remainder of that night, expecting the other with many railing ex­pressions against the Stars, for that they stay'd so long before they came to celebrate the Funeral of the day. Scarce had the light given place to darkness when he was at the appointed window. Although he thought to have anticipated the hour, yet he found himself prevented, his beloved having attended his coming, and accusing him of little love to her self, because he was not there before her. There passed ma­ny Complements between them, and their amorous conceits were without number. They discours'd of Constancy, Fidelity and Secresie, as if they never could have had enough of it, insomuch that the night, be­ing weary of hearing them, seemed to in­vite [Page 25] the day. And the day approaching they departed with promise to meet there as often as Epidorus should see a little white Cloth hanging out at the VVin­dow. This was done two or three times a Week, and gave so great content to E­pidorus, that, in comparison thereof, all other Entertainments were but annoyan­ces unto him. Yet not believing his hap­piness to be compleat if he did not com­municate it unto others, he yielded so much to indiscretion, as to impart the se­cret of his amours unto many of his Con­fidents. He bragg'd that he had won the heart of Leena, which had driven the pati­ence and affection of a Thousand Lovers to despair. He boasted to be the possessor of that beauty which had oblig'd even those men who were addicted to love none but themselves, unto adoration. These Stories came to the ears of one who being either incredulous or envious, resolved to watch the proceedings of Epidorus. He overheard him one Evening when he ap­pointed to enter that night into the poss­ession of his Love. And not being able to comply with the felicity of one who was in no point superiour to him, but in the gifts of Fortune; being excited by [Page 26] envy, which always conspires against the satisfaction of others, he let loose the ex­pressions of his Rage in a Letter which he sent unto the Husband of Leena, who open­ing it read what followeth:

[Page 27]This Letter rais'd an infinite number of thoughts, and all of them cruel in the mind of Cordelius. He thought upon no­thing but Bloud, Death and Slaughters. Yet the love he bore Leena prevailing with him, and prudently weighing what might be the effects of Malice, he resolved to be­lieve nothing but his own eyes. He pre­tended very urgent affairs to go in all haste into the Country, and departed not without the Tears of Leena, who lament­ed every moment of his absence. Cordeli­us kept himself hid all the rest of that day, and at night went to spy out the betray­ers of his Honour. In the mean time Leena being fallen into a most sweet sleep, was awaked, not without disturbance, by the calling of her Nurse. She inform'd her that Cordelius was just then upon entring into the embraces of Cinicia her Chamber­maid, and that she had told her of it, that she might be no hindrance to it. Leena was apt enough to believe this, knowing the Genius of her Husband and the little honesty of her Maid. So much the rather, for that she had not been without some jealousie before, and had made some com­plaint of it. She quickly put on her Cloathes, and not being willing that the [Page 28] Nurse should follow her, that so she might the more freely reprehend the incontinen­cy of Gordelius, she went towards her Maids Chamber. There she found her Hus­band, who, with his Sword ready drawn in his hand, was running upon her for to kill her. He did not do it, either to let her first see the death of her Paramour; or else because the Mercy of Heaven would not permit that her suspected innocence should have undeserved punishment. Leena, although she were full of anger, yet thought it more safe to use entreaties than re­proofs. Throwing her self at his feet, and intermixing her words with tears, she said, Sir, if the honest embraces of a Servant do please you better than those of a VVife, I know not how to oppose your satisfaction. I proffer my self to be the Procuress of your pleasures, if you will do me the honour to command me. But that in the loss of my honour I should see also the danger of my life, I cannot but lament the rigours of my Destiny that hath made me so unhappy. Is therefore the impu­dent dishonesty of a Serving-Maid more powerful with you than the chast delights of a VVife, whose desires are wholly sub­ject to your beck? O that Cordelius should [Page 29] so much forget himself, and that the Hea­vens should alter their influence for to tor­ment me! Here Cordelius interrupted her, saying, False VVoman, thy lies and tears would have persuaded me some­thing, if my eyes had not been witnesses of thy dishonesty. Prepare thy self to die, for it is not reason that she should live, who hath murdered my Reputation. But first tell me where you hide that Rascal that has had the impudence to violate my Bed. Leena not being able to endure these terms which toucht her to the very quick, replied, For to excuse your amorous thefts by specious pretences, you go about to accuse my Chastity. This is not consonant to your prudence and my affe­ction. I am yours, and only yours, Malice it self cannot find that I have prejudiced your honour, so much as in thought, much less in deed. I do appeal to your self, at such time as the inordinate desire of en­joying a Servant-maid, or the displeasure of being intercepted shall not have possess­ed your soul. Cordelius, being more high­ly incensed hereat, with great fury ask'd her, what servant? or what amours she spoke of? VVhereto Leena repeating to him all that the Nurse had told her, and [Page 30] he also hearing it confirm'd by her own mouth, ran presently to the Maids Cham­ber, and there found her lovingly in Bed with Epidorus. He was ready to have made him a sacrifice to his fury, had not he been diverted by the persuasions of his VVife. He was contented at last that Epidorus should Marry Cinicia, who came to be a servant more through the injuries of Fortune, than by the qualities of her Descent. Hereunto Epidorus readily con­sented, without reply, the fear of Death making him honest whether he would or no. After this Cordelius embraced Leena, and excused what he had done in sense of Honour, for that he had heard Epidorus make a Call with a little whistle, and then saw him brought into the House. Prudent Leena was well satisfied with these justifi­cations, rejoycing that she had escaped a danger which was so much the greater in that it was not foreseen, and which, at one and the same time, did threaten both her Life and Reputation.

This may serve to advertise Husbands not to run headlong into the suspicion of their VVives dishonesty; may teach VVives not to give too much liberty to their Mai­dens; and lastly, may be an example to [Page 31] all those that go about to debauch the VVives of other Men.

NOVEL III.

THere lived as a Student, in the famous Academy of Bologna, Lovanius Son to the Count of Roccabruna, a young Man who by his bodily perfection and affable de­meanour, did tyrannize over the affecti­ons of all those that had the fortune to [Page 32] know him. He went one day a walking towards the Walls of the City, when he was stopt in the way by some voices, who crying out Fire, Fire, did pitifully call for assistance. Among other Women that, being desperately affrighted at this acci­dent, did exceedingly weep and wail, there was a Gentlewoman, who though the Roses in her Complexion were turn'd into Lillies, yet was there left an appear­ance of a Garden full of Beauty. This Lady nevertheless, having a courage great­er than the danger, was not at all daunt­ed, though her being forsaken of all, and unable to remedy it her self, made her a little fearful. Lovanius seeing no body move, the Neighbours being fled from their Houses, and there being none but a company of poor Women, who, by their loud shreeking, did augment the terror and confusion, he resolv'd to go himself with his servants, and help to extinguish that fire which, having already gotten head, began with towring flames to soar aloft. Going therefore into the Palace where the fire was very furious, after hav­ing spoke to Deadora (for this was the Mistress of the House her name) that she should be of good chear, and put away [Page 33] all her fears, he went, with his servants and some others that came to help, to the top of the House. There he wrought so much with his hands, and commands, that the Fire in a little while, was lost in a cloud of Smoak. He was scarce come down from the Roof of the House when he was met by Gelasius the Husband of that Lady who, hearing of the danger, came running home. Here passed many words between them, and all of them ve­ry courteous, Gelasius was not wanting to offer unto him the Patronage of that house which he had made his own by preserv­ing it from being burnt. There came also Deadora to give him thanks in such obliging manner, that Lovanius felt those flames kindled in his heart which he had a little before extinguished. He had look'd upon her before with sentiments of pity whilst she, being oppressed by fear, could do nothing but weep and wail; the wa­ning colour of her face having not had force enough to set his soul on fire: but now that her Courage had restor'd her wonted beauty, and that the brightness of her eyes was not clouded with tears, his pity was changed into love. Thus Lovanius dedicated his affection wholly to [Page 34] this Beauty; which Deadora soon perceiv'd, and so much the sooner, because in his tak­ing leave, he inspir'd his very soul into her with a sigh. Nevertheless she pre­tended not to see it, either for to give greater credit unto her honesty, or for that she would not so soon entrust her self to the fidelity of any man. And although Lovanius continually waited on her both to Church and at Balls, yet he reap'd no other fruits of his labour than salutes and indifferent looks, which might rather be imputed unto common civility, than affecti­onate courtesie. The young Gentleman, not being able to resist the violent torments of his soul, he gave vent to his passion by writing these words:

Having folded up and sealed this Let­ter, he besought Fortune to give it a safe delivery. He thought in himself that the most resolute means were also the most ha­zardous. To make use of Women for this purpose, were to stain the reputation of the Lady, and to provoke her to anger, while he should gain her love. At length resolving, by a rash action, to overcome all the impediments that opposed his de­sire, upon a certain day that Deadora was sitting in the Church at Prayers, he neatly [Page 36] rolled up the Letter, and threw it into her bosom, so cleverly that no body perceived it. Deadora being surprized hereat, and seeing that to make a noise would but bring her into disgrace, she cunningly con­ceal'd the Letter, and return'd very much troubled in mind unto her House. As soon as she was alone her curiosity, and per­haps her love too, induced her to look up­on that Paper. She had not read it over, before she gave her self up for vanquished. Those expressions were too powerful for the weakness of a Womans heart (which is apt to receive any impression) to resist. Her amorous desires thus tyrannizing over her, she found no other repose than in­quietude. She summon'd all the faculties of her Soul to come to counsel with her, which after a debate did finally Vote for Lovanius. Whereupon, being compelled by that force which knoweth nothing of reason, and which works with greatest vi­olence where it finds most resistance, she return'd him this answer.

This Letter, coming privately to the hands of Lovanius, fill'd him with so great joy that he was not able to contain him­self. He knew very well that those ex­pressions of Deadora were not feigned, see­ing that those repulses were indeed invi­tations, and the doubts therein mentioned were no other than assurances of love. Hence he inferred that the affection of that Lady was greater than he could have imagined, and therefore, without sending any more Letters, he brought his business about so well, that he got the opportunity of speaking to her at a little Window, where they agreed upon the end of their amorous pretensions. Gelasius, the Hus­band of Deadora, was so addicted to all Women that, like a Cameleon that puts on all colours that come near him, he changed his love and desires with all ob­jects. For to satisfie his greedy Lusts [Page 39] he made no distinction between Nobility and Beauty. He confess'd himself to be as soon caught by Silver Hairs as by Gol­den Locks. A Lady of Honour, and the most arrant Strumpet had a like power over him. That Beauty wherein the most critical malice could find no fault, had no greater triumph over his affection, than a face transformed by a thousand blemishes and imperfections. Deadora being acquaint­ed with the Genius of her Husband, thought of this means to enjoy her lover. She knew that Aleria her Chambermaid had been sollicited by promises, gifts, and many times with threatnings to comply with him in his Amorous Debauches. Ale­ria being assaulted with many unchast thoughts, would easily have consented, had not she been with-held by the fear of her Mistress who, with Argus's Eyes, did watch over the dissolute affections of Ge­lasius. Deadora therefore, willing to have the opportunity of being with her Lover, was content that Aleria in the mean while should entertain her Husband. Which succeeded happily oftentimes, the hot Sea­son of the Year also concurring in favour of their loves. Gelasius and Deadora lay in two Chambers apart, so that Lovanius [Page 40] being brought into a Ground-room, whilst that Gelasius enjoyed Aleria, he kept company with Deadora; and Aleria in one and the same time did serve to guard her Mistress, please her Master, and solace her self. But because amorous felicity is an Ephemera that is born and dies in one day, Fortune was resolv'd to precipitate them with as much ease as she had before exalt­ed them. Lovanius was brought into the house, by Aleria, one evening a little soon­er than ordinary. She, having received him with a thousand Caresses, expressing the ardor that she nourished in her breast, told him that Deadora, having not quite supped, could not come yet awhile, but that, in the mean time, she had commissi­on to entertain him. Lovanius thanked her very kindly, telling her, this was not the first obligation she had laid upon him. Aleria had not patience to hear him any more, but, taking him by the hand, said, Mr. Lovanius, there is no greater unhap­piness than to see another gather the fruit of ones own labour. I have done very much for to promote your love, and have gained nothing but fears and dangers. Is it possible, in gratitude at least, if not for love, that I may not merit the favour of [Page 41] your kindness? Certainly I do not envy the happiness of my Mistress in possessing your whole Heart; I only bewail the mi­sery of my Fortune which hath put me in a condition to be despised, even by those for whom I continually do services. Having thus spoken she kissed his Hand, which she held pressed between her own, with so much passion, that Lovanius, who at first laughed at her folly, being not a­ble to resist any longer, let himself be o­vercome by sensuality; so much the ra­ther, because the Features of Aleria were so excellent, that he rather would have been counted a fool, than a constant lover who should have let slip the occasion of enjoying her. Lovanius and Aleria were ingulfed in Amorous Pleasures, when Dea­dora, thinking long e're she was called, and perhaps not being without jealousie (since true Lovers pay this interest for their pleasure) having seen her Husband in bed, she came softly down into the ground Chamber. There having found her lover engaged in amorous action, being hur­ried by a precipitous rage, without remem­bring the dangers that were imminent to her Life and Honour, she began furiously to lay about her both with her hands and [Page 42] tongue. Traitors, said she, do you thus triumph over my disgrace? are these the rewards of my confidence and fidelity? I'll handle you in such manner, that by seeing you buried in my destruction, I will rejoice that my ruine shall not be in­fested either by your derision or lascivious­ness. These words were accompanied with so many blows and bites, that fetch­ed bloud in many places about Ale­ria. Lovanius, in this interim, throwing himself at her feet, entreated her with such sweet words as would have softned the hardest stones. Sometimes he put her in mind of the danger their lives were in. Sometimes he excused his own errour, pro­mising amendment. And other times he protested that his body had sinned with­out the consent of his soul. Deadora ne­vertheless, being deaf to these supplicati­ons and humiliations, continued her as­saults both in words and deeds; when Gelasius, with a look full of horrour and fierceness, came thither. He had waking long attended Aleria's coming, whereupon rising for to look after her, he came where he heard, though not distinctly, the com­plaints of Deadora, the crys of Aleria, and the prayers of Lovanius. Gelasius there­fore [Page 43] taking a Poniard in his Hand, ran in a rage whither the noise called him. He had no sooner seen Lovanius embracing his Wifes knees, but he concluded him to be the enemy of her Chastity, and the repu­tation of his House; wherefore, running furiously on him, he wounded him in such manner in the head, that not being able to support himself, he fell flat upon the ground, with the Agony of Death upon him, which also appeared more terrible unto him, because he saw that his sensua­lities had prepared a grave, not only for himself, but also for Deadora. Gelasius seeing Lovanius in a condition not to live long, much less to make any defence, turn­ing about to his Wife, with a tone so ter­rible that would have struck horrour into the stoutest heart, he said, Woman, thy offence is so heinous, that to let it go un­punished would be an effect rather of weakness than of compassion. Yet, the characters of my former affection being still imprinted in my mind, I will pardon thee, but on this condition, that seeing this Adulterer hath gotten thy heart, thou wilt, by the help of this weapon, tear it from his breast. Deadora taking the Dag­ger, with an undaunted courage, greater [Page 44] than is required in any Woman, said unto him, Sir, the errors of love do deserve some kind of pardon, because they pro­ceed rather from Fate, than out of choice. But I confess my self unworthy of it, be­cause I could not regulate my dissolute­ness. She spoke these words, and then, making as if she would have run the Dag­ger into Lovanius's body, she stabb'd her Husband to the heart, who scarce could say, Cursed Woman, dost thou thus, in one moment rob me of my Honour and my Life? but losing his Speech in a number of groans, in a manner threatning rather than yielding to death, he unhappily departed this life. Deadora, having performed this much more generous than just enterprize, she ran to suck in the last breath of Lova­nius who, striving against the pangs of Death, spoke thus unto her. My dear Deadora, I now dye contented, in that I dye not unrevenged. Pardon me, I pray you, and let the chastisement of an hu­mane errour terminate with him that hath committed it. For Gods sake let not your anger disturb my ashes. But Oh me! this is the last minute of my life. Give me, O my Dear, your last kisses for a consola­tion at this my departure. In ending these [Page 45] words he ended his days. Deadora, being oppressed with grief, stood immoveable as a Statue; and, after a Deluge of tears, she cryed out saying, Stay a little O thou Soul of my most dear Lovanius. 'Tis not just that thou shouldst go alone into the Shades. In saying so, she gave her self a Stab upon the Heart, and thereupon, in a moment, she pow'red forth her Soul with her Bloud. Aleria, who in the represen­tation of these Tragedies had suffer'd the torments of a thousand Deaths, flying from the sight and interrogation of all those whom the noise had drawn thither in great numbers, and hating at once both to see her self and the light, retired unto the uppermost part of the House. Thereby fit­ting a Cord, and therewith miserably ex­piring, she gave a worthy reward to her own immodesty.

From hence it may be gathered, that the joys of all illegitimate love do termi­nate in sorrows, and that unchast affecti­on can have no other than an unhappy end.

NOVELL IV.

IN the City of Alexandria, situate in the Province of Puglia, upon the Confines of Monferrat, there was a most Noble Gentlewoman whom I will at present distinguish by no other name than that of the Countess. This Lady was graced with such singular perfection of Beauty, that she could not be beheld by Men without ardent love, nor by Women without great envy. The content which Lovers had in looking upon the most ad­mirable [Page 47] features of her Face, did extort from them the loss of their liberty. In short, this glorious Sun did dazle the hearts no less than the eyes of the Specta­tors. He was rather deem'd a fool than wise, who could not be subject to such sweet Tyranny, and he was almost reput­ed a Sacrilegious Person who did not offer up his heart in Sacrifice to this idolized Beauty. This Treasury of all the riches of Nature was, by right of Matrimony, in the possession of the Count de Castelnovo, a Gentleman endued with all those fa­vours that either Fortune can dispence, or Vertue can obtain: but, as it was thought, little loved by the Countess, because he, for the most part, either sojourning at the Courts of Princes, or exercising Com­mands in Armies, was more conversant in Martial Affairs than those of Venus. This belief got so much ground in the hearts of many, as to give them hopes of subduing that Fortress which was guarded only by beauty that might easily be suborned with gifts, or vanquished by the power of services and addresses. But they saw them­selves greatly mistaken, for they found such resistance in the Vertue and Chastity of this Lady, that some of them were con­strained [Page 48] wholly to abandon the Enterprize, others to raise the Siege, and othersome to expect those opportunities which are the genuine products of time. Only the Mar­quess Oliverio, who was the most noble and richest among them, was not a jot moved on the retreat of the rest. He pro­secuted his assaults with so much the more Vigour, by how much the less hopes he had of Victory. The many denials, re­pulses and disdains he met with, were but so many winds that did rather en­flame than extinguish the fire in his heart. And though he could not hope to make any further progress in the conquest of this Ladies Chastity, yet he made use of all those means that might make him de­serve the character of a true lover, since he could not attain to that of being belov­ed. And so much the rather, for that having, by his liberality gotten the good will of all those that served her, the poor Gentlewoman had her ears continually filled with the praises of this Gentleman, since that all the Family were never wea­ry in setting forth sometimes his Valour, othertimes his Birth, now his Goodness, then his Riches, one while his handsom­ness, and other whiles the magnanimity [Page 49] of so great a Person. And although these so often repeated commendations did en­cline her to admire such rare qualities, yet they did not oblige her to any other love than what Vertue is wont to produce in a Noble Breast. But that which Oliverio, with all his Love-traps, could not do in a very long time, Fortune (as the poor Gentleman believed) did bring to pass in a moment. The Countess had a Brother a Young Man and rich, and let that suf­fice to denote him insolent. There was no Riot in the City wherein he was not either interessed or principal. The Night, which brings quiet and repose, even up­on the insatiable cruelty of Wild Beasts, did make him restless, whilst that, being accompanied by many like himself, he rambled up and down the City equally di­stributing his affronts to all; those only being exempt from his insolences who had the good luck not to meet him. But, pu­nishment oftentimes attending wicked actions, while he would, one night, for­cibly enter the House of an Honourable Lady, and was already breaking open the Windows and Doors, he, with four of his Companions, were taken by the Watch, having neither time, nor courage to make [Page 50] resistance, since the ill Language where­with they had menaced this Lady had raised almost all the Neighborhood. As soon as his being made a Prisoner was publickly known, complaints came in so fast against him, that he was in great dan­ger of losing his Life. The Countess, who loved him dearly, and could not en­dure to see him subjected to open cha­stisement, having no ready money, pawn­ed the greater part of her Jewels to Mer­chants for a Thousand Duckets. With this Money she prevail'd so much upon the Governour, that he, being dazled with the Splendor of her Gold, could not see Justice. So that the young man with his Companions made their escape by the con­sent of this Governour who, being afraid that his Avarice might be discovered, was willing that the Prisoner by flying should take off the strength of the evidence which would have prov'd the Judge also to be guilty. The Countess had not long en­joyed the liberty of her Brother, but that a Letter came from her Husband which drave her to the vey brink of Desperation. The Count commanded that, without the least delay she should come to him to Millan, in her richest attire, for to wait [Page 51] upon the Empress, who was expected eve­ry day to pass that way. The poor La­dy being oppressed by a multitude of thoughts, knew not what resolution to take that might not be either dishonoura­ble or dangerous. To go to Millan with­out those Ornaments which are befitting such occasions, would bring much preju­dice upon the reputation of her Grandeur. And to discover to her Husband the re­leasing of her Brother, she could not do it without incurring his displeasure, see­ing that many important differences had hapned between them. After many thoughts that came in her Head, she was forced to yield to necessity, and taking Pen, Ink and Paper, she writ as follow­eth:

Having Sealed the Letter, she gave it to a Lacquey, telling him it came from her Husband, and that he should carry it to the Marquess, she being unwilling to trust to the silence or infidelity of any Ser­vant. Oliverio had scarce run over the Letter, but he thought himself to be in a Dream. He could hardly give credit to his happiness which was so much the grea­ter, by how much the more it was unex­pected. He had so great consolation within himself, that he let drop some tears for joy. The first surprize, which putteth a Man beside himself, being over, he retunred an answer in these following terms:

He sent, without any delay, both the Letter and the Ducats to the Countess, who, redeeming her Jewels, went imme­diately to Milan, where she came in the very nick of time for to meet the Empress. [Page 54] Here she made so fair a show, that the Empress declared her self much honoured by those who sent so beautiful a person to meet her. The envy of the Ladies was converted into wonder; and it seemed as if Nature had robbed all other Women of their perfections, for to bestow them wholly upon her. Th' Empress, having presented her with a very fair Necklace, departed from Milan; and she presently returned to Alexandria, where Oliverio did attend her coming with those impa­tiences that, like Furies, do continually torment the souls of Lovers. The Mar­quess would not be seen at this Solemni­ty in Milan, either because he would not give occasion of suspicion to so many ob­serving eyes; or else that he might avoid the obligation of waiting upon the Em­press. The Countess was no sooner re­turned but he sent to congratulate her arrival, and to recommend himself unto her favour. She gave him to understand, the same evening, that a little after mid­night he must come to a Window that looked out into a little by-Street. Olive­rio went accordingly, and at the hour appointed, heard himself called by the Countess. I cannot express the passion [Page 55] of Oliverio upon this first encounter, he felt the extremities both of heat and cold at one and the same time. He did in such manner confound her praises with his thanks, that he could scarce make himself intelligible. The Countess answered all he said in words so affectionate and pru­dent that, at the same time, she let him know both her affection and discretion. The Conference ended in this conclusion, that the next night he should come in at the Garden-gate, but with express pro­vision that he should have no light. To which the Marquess obligingly answered, that there needed no light where the Sun shin'd. He being departed, spent the rest of that night in a thousand love-frenzies. He no sooner saw the Sun rise, but he wisht it set, and did exclaim oftentimes against the slowness of its course, because it did not run so fast as he desired. He also blamed the Night which, striving for Empire with the Day, did stay so long from exercising its Dominion in the Air. At length the wished for hour came, whereupon he went hastily unto the Gar­den, and finding the Door only shut to, he went directly to the Countesses Lodg­ings. She, who expected him, taking [Page 56] him by the hand and said, My friend, you must of necessity, sacrifice this night unto silence, if so be that you have any respect either for my Reputation or my Life. My Women do lye so near my Chamber that the least whisper would be overheard by them. And then my love is not so base as to be entrusted to any servile soul; and the rather, because great Enjoyments do not admit of speaking. She gave him no time to make any answer, but brought him into the Chamber, and there told him in his ear that he should undress and go to Bed, while she would go and see if her Maids were asleep. Oliverio was scarce lain down when there came into his Arms a Beauty, by so much the more perfect, by how much the less subject it was to the eyes. What they here did my Pen dares not publish, lest I should pro­fane the Secrets of Love. Let it suffice to say that he, being ravished with the sweet­ness of those embraces, did bless the time wherein he had endured so many labours, sorrows and torments, seeing all passed troubles did serve for no other end than to aggrandize his present content. But, lest the Light should discover their amo­rous Theft, Oliverio went away before day, [Page 57] and being enjoyned not to use any words, he took his leave with a multitude of kiss­es. And then, retiring unto his own House, he did, by sleep and repose, recruit himself of his late labours, which yet were so pleasing unto him, that he thought of nothing more than of repeating them. About Noon he rose up when one of his Servants brought him a Thousand Du­cats with a Letter, which he having o­pen'd, in great displeasure, read what follows:

[Page 58]This Letter did so perplex the mind of the Marquess that he, believing it to be a cheat, did read it over and over many times. He knew not what to imagine, since that the sweet kisses, and the most endearing embraces of the preceeding night ought not to have begotten such ge­neral and cold expressions. After a great confusion of troubled thoughts, he wrote thus in answer:

Having sent the Letter, and with great impatience expected the night, he went to the place appointed, where he found the Countess. After Salutation the Mar­quess fell upon expostulation for her hav­ing sent the Money, which he did with so lively a resentment, that if he shed no tears it was the effect of his grief which did not admit of evaporation both by the mouth, and by the eyes. And why, answer'd the Countess with a gentle smile, would you not have me restore to you your own? Be­cause, reply'd Oliverio, since I have receiv'd the honour of your favour, I have nothing that is not absolutely yours. Pray do not so much embitter our passed sweetnesses. And what sweetnesses were these, I pray, said the Countess? Is it possible, answer'd Oliverio, that the interposition of one only day should so much eclipse your memory, as to forget those sweet endearments that were both given and received? Is it [Page 60] possible that those sprightly kisses, which every moment brought our very Souls un­to the confines of our lips, should have instill'd the Water of Lethe into your heart? I shall rather put my self into Oblivion, than forget the pleasure I re­ceive by such sweet remembrances. The Countess interrupted him, saying, My Lord Marquess, I will undeceive you, it not being just that your Opinion should arraign my Honesty, which hitherto hath had no other stains than those which it may have receiv'd from your desire and belief. For to please you I put a trick upon you, thereby to answer, in some mea­sure, both my own obligation and your affection. Your amorous actions of the last night were with my Chambermaid Aleria, my Birth, and the Honour of my Husband, not permitting me more. She is here at hand for to testifie unto you the truth hereof. Oliverio did not stay to hear any further but, being devilish mad went home to his house, devising a thousand ways how to bring the Fame and Life of the Countess to destruction. Yet, con­sulting afterward with reason, he admir­ed the prudence of that Lady who, with­out any prejudice to her Honour, could [Page 61] fasten so fine a Jest upon her Lover, and changed his Sensuality into Friendship and Respect.

Here Ladies of Honour may be instruct­ed how to defend themselves in such hard cases without hazarding their Reputati­on; and Gentlemen may be warned not to attempt the Chastity of a prudent Lady, since they get nothing thereby but frauds and repulses. It not being blame­worthy to make use sometimes of eva­sions for to escape the tyranny of ne­cessity.

NOVEL V.

A Gentleman (who for that he is of High Birth, we will call him by the borrowed name of the Count de Villa Franca) for to avoid the heat of Summer, did re­tire, with his Wife, near to the Euganean Hills, to enjoy the Air of a little Mount whereupon, in spight of the Dog-days, there was a continual Spring. Here he passed away his time by spreading Nets for Birds, and setting traps for Beasts. He [Page 63] robbed his Body of rest, and his eyes of sleep, for to sacrifice them to the hopes he had of prey. He always got up before Sun-rising, and it seemed that this New Titon did nothing more than make love to Aurora. One morning among the rest, while he was in search of some young Nightingals before they were well fledg'd, he followed his Game to the very out­most Confines of his Vineyard which, being very great, had no fence either of Walls or Hedges. And looking narrow­ly after those little Birds-nests who, by cry­ing after the old one, did unwittingly be­tray themselves, he cast his eye upon a Letter that lay among a company of leaves, and did seem as if it were afraid of being discovered. He, taking it up and diligent­ly observing the Seal, was on a sudden agitated with divers thoughts. Scarce had he opened it but that, seeing the Cha­racter and Subscription to be his Wifes, he grew Horn-mad. After a little pause, which was accompanied by those tumul­tuary passions that do assault a Soul that is govern'd both by honour and by love; he cursorily read over the Letter, which contain'd these expressions:

These Characters did so deeply wound the Soul of the Count, that the least part [Page 65] of his fury was to threaten death. Doubt and uncertainty could get no place in his mind, who by the Subscription, by the Seal, and by the Hand-Writing was too much assured of his Wifes inconstancy. He made such imprecations against Hea­ven, the Earth, and Himself with senti­ments so vigorous as would have mov'd impiety it self unto compassion. At length, considering that dissimulation was the best means to facilitate his revenge, he return­ed hastily into his Lodgings, and there transcribing his Wifes Letter, and coun­terfeiting the hand, he Sealed it up and carried it back again to the place where he found it. Afterward, hiding himself at a convenient distance, as far as he could well see, he observed a Boy that came to take away that Letter; and a little after to bring thither another. He was desi­rous to see it, and found it, without Seal or Subscription, to speak these words:

The Count, being wholy possessed by rage and passion, and having his thoughts fixed on revenge, left the Letter in its place, and retired to his own House. And al­though the wanness of his face, and the wildness of his looks did discover the trouble of his mind; yet, covering his grief with a feigned smile, he said he must go away presently for the City, although the day before he had not appointed to go till after Dinner. Felicia did not at all con­tradict him, but did rather give him some little business in charge, which might de­tain him there the day following. These were all accidents that did aggravate his Suspicion, and did turn all his patience into fury. The Count went to the City [Page 67] attended by the greatest part of his Ser­vants, and afterwards came back with one only, of whose fidelity and courage he had had most experience. He arrived at the Village by Starlight; and, setting up his Horses privately in one of the Country­men's Stables, he went to watch over the transactions at his own house. He had not staid long before he heard the skreek­ing of a Door, and saw a Woman come out who, notwithstanding the Garments she had put on to disguise her, was known by him. He thought her undoubtedly to be his Wife, but he would not shew him­self until he first saw whither she was de­signed. He followed her, for to find out his dishonourer and by his death, to revive his own reputation. She went not far but that she was met and received, with open arms, by one who expected her. And although the darkness of the night did secure them from the curiosity of the eye; yet the kisses and caresses of love were so many and so endearing, that they would have discovered the amorous theft even to those to whom jealousie had not lent an hundred eyes and as many ears. Pati­ence and Prudence had no longer any power over the Counts fury. He thought [Page 68] it Stupidity and not Vertue to see others triumph in his dishonour, and that even in his own presence. Laying his hand therefore upon his Sword, with courage equal to his anger, he said aloud, Tray­tors can you so securely stain the honour of a Gentleman? The tone of this voice being very well known by the Woman, did so fearfully astonish her, that she had like to have fallen into a swoon. But her feet being winged with fear made her run speedily avvay, vvhich frustrated the blovv the Count was giving with his Sword for to take away her life. The Man, on the other side, being as well vers'd in Martial, as Venereal Affairs, he being also enraged to see the course of his pleasures interrupted (the variety of hu­man accidents perhaps not affording a greater provocation than this) betook himself to his Arms, with a courage not inferiour to the danger. And then he did so valiantly defend himself, and offend those that set upon him, that although they were two, yet they could not hope for Victory without great hazard. The Fray did not last long, because there came up six others in assistance to the lover; whereupon the Count (being forsaken by [Page 69] his Servant) was forced to retire. The danger of his life was so apparent that it would have been rashness, and not Valour to have fought against so much odds. It was easie for him to retreat, seeing those men had no other end than to defend themselves, and were not willing, by the slaughter of a Man they knew not, to run themselves into the hands of Justice. The Count went thence to his own house so perplexed in mind, that desperation was the least effect of his passion. He had an intention to have chastised his Wife who had made her escape from him, not with­out endangering his life, and without be­ing able to discover the Murtherer of his Honour. The night, which for a few hours did cast a Veil over his disgraces, was about to usher in the next day with so much the more shame, by hovv much he himself had partly been the author of it. To find out his Wife for to kill her was an hard matter, to find out her Lo­ver for to revenge himself was perilous, and to cover his dishonour was impossi­ble. These considerations made him turn many times back with thoughts of losing his life. He went searching about to no purpose, finding nothing but darkness, [Page 70] and receiving no other answer to his calls than that of Ecchoes. He said within him­self, Fortune, vvhy didst thou exalt me so much in giving me the Prerogatives of Riches and Nobility, thus for to precipi­tate me into the abyss of infamies which are the more grievous because they are in­supportable? Perhaps you had no other means to exercise your fury upon me, than to wound my reputation, to blemish the honour of my house, and for ever to disgrace my Posterity. Whither, vvhi­ther shall I go, to hide me from the scorn of those vvho vvill triumph over my shame? I will fly from the City, I vvill fly all Conversation: I will fly the Sun, and I vvish I could fly from my self, that I might be far from remem­bring that which, to my greater tor­ment, doth kill me in preserving me a­live. In saying so he came near to the Walls of his own House, when he saw some body that seem'd to watch there as a Spy; and certainly believing that there were the betrayers of his Honour, with a passionate and angry tone, he called out, Shall not the very Walls of my House be secured from the perfidiousness of those that have ravished my honour? After your violat­ing [Page 71] my Wife, will you also violate my Walls by prying into my Secrets? It will be a little Satisfaction to my great losses for to sacrifice thy life unto my dis­dain. With these words he ran upon that Man who, that he might not be kill­ed, was forced to defend himself. The outcrys of the Assailant, and the assailed, did awake and raise up the People of the House, who with Arms and Lights ran towards the noise. They came just in the nick, when the Count had his enemy under his feet, and was ready to take away his life. Seeing the light he stopp'd, for to see if he knew him, and found it was his Servant who, being fled from the first Quarrel, and yet fearful of his Masters safety, return'd, with two Wounds, unto the House. This sight encreased the affli­ctions of the Count who, standing like a Statue, knew not what to command, nor what to resolve upon. Whilst he was in this irresolution he observed, not with­out amazement, that his Wife, in a white Sarsenet Veil, was coming down the Stairs. He assuredly thought that she vvas return­ed vvith an intention to deceive him. Be­ing hurried therefore by that fury vvhich vvas enflamed vvith the sence of honour, [Page 72] (vvhile Felicia vvith great anxiety, did ask him hovv he did) he ran tovvard her vvith the Point of a Dagger ready to strike her to the heart. Whether it vvere the overhstily desire of revenge, or the Will of God that desires not the fall of the innocent, the blovv, passing only through her Garment, vvent under her Arm vvithout doing any further harm. The Count vvould have repeated his Blovvs, if the Maidens had not interpos­ed in defence of their Mistress. Felicia, prostrating her self on the ground, as vvell as her tears vvould give leave, said unto him. Sir, What fault hath made the innocency of her guilty vvho hath remorse of Conscience for nothing more than for idolizing you? In these fevv hours that you have been absent, I have sinned in nothing but in praying for your safety. Pray Sir, let not malignity nor suspicion give in testimony against my integrity, vvithout first hearing vvhat I have to say. Do not lose, Sir, by inconsiderate passion the love of her, vvho if she do not love you as much as you deserve, yet she loves you as much as she can tell hovv to love an amiable thing. The Count, as it vvere yielding to her persuasion, being unvvill­ing [Page 73] to admit of any farther impediment to his resolutions, raised her up and went with her into a Chamber, dismissing eve­ry one else. There, taking the Poniard again into his hand, he spoke to Felicia, ly­ing again prostrate at his Feet, in this man­ner, The colouring over of your perfidi­ousness with a Lye cannot move me. You are guilty, and guilty of my dishonour. Your accusers are your own hands, and the Witnesses are my own eyes. Your opposing the truth will be the encreasing of your torment. Honour is a Goddess that cannot be appeas'd without a Sacri­fice. Confess the violator of my Bed, and the Betrayer of your honesty, other­wise this Weapon shall, by main force, extort the confession from your mouth. My Lord, answered Felicia, if I were ac­cused of any thing but dishonesty, I should dare to speak in my defence, but in the matter of Honour I know not what to say. Grief checks my tongue, and tears do choak any words; Wherefore I can on­ly say that I desire my Men, Maids, and my Accusers themselves may be examin'd upon that point. In these I place my de­fence, seeing that, from the time that you departed yesterday, unto this very [Page 74] hour, being oppressed with grief of heart which presaged unto me your anger, I went neither out of my Chamber, nor out of my Bed. Felicia accompanied these words with so many tears, that if they could not perswade him, yet at least they did serve to mitigate his displeasure. He called in the Maid-Servants, and perceiv­ed that one of them was wanting. The Count hereupon grew more jealous, be­lieving that this was an Artifice of Felici­as, and therefore drawing out the Letter, he said unto her, if I should believe this appearance of innocence, how wilt thou excuse this Writing which convinceth thee of guiltiness? Do not these black Characters point to thee the blackness of thy heart? Where will your boldness find pretences that can excuse your dishone­sty? Felicia took the Letter and observ­ing it a little, cryed out, My Hand hath rebelled against my heart; as I cannot deny to have written it, so I cannot confess to have indicted it. O God my very eyes are deceived in believing that to be my act which is but only like mine. The Count's fury was hereat revived, when a Letter was presented him from a Cosen of his which, because it came by an express, did [Page 75] require a speedy answer. The Count, opening it, found it contained these words:

This Letter asswaged the fury of the Count, he being thereby assured of his Wifes honesty, and the vanity of his own suspicions, seeing the Letter was writ by her Cosen, and the likeness of Hands did arise from their having both learnt to write by one and the same Master. He [Page 76] was the more sensible of his errour when he was ascertain'd by all that Felicia had not been out of her Bed, and that the Maid-Servant was gone out to meet her Sweet-heart. And he was so much the more confirmed herein, because the love that passed between his Cosin and the Mar­quess was very well known in those parts. Perceiving therefore that the same Name, and the same Character were the causes of his mistake, embracing his Wife, he begg'd her excuse for having, for the sake of his Honour, treated her with terms unworthy of her Affection and Fidelity.

This may be an example to those that take the meer shadows of things for the very bodies themselves; and may warn Husbands not to precipitate themselves in­to those resolutions which carry with them the hazard of their Lives and good Names, seeing that Jealousie is able to de­ceive both the Eyes, and other the Senses.

It may also teach Wives to be vigilant over their Maidens, since their dishonesty doth often reflect upon the reputation of their Mistresses.

NOVELL VI.

EƲdosia being the Daughter of the Count of Vancastro, was so rich in the Endowments of Mind, Body and Fortune, that she scarce attained the Age of Thirteen, before she had rais'd up pretensions in ma­ny to aspire to the possession of her. And al­though the great Riches of her Father did move the Avarice of some Men to obtain her to Wife, yet the excellence of her Beauty did tyrannically preside over the [Page 78] affections of all: for she, being favoured by all the Graces, was thought not infe­riour to them in any thing, but their num­ber. Evander the Noblest, but withall the Eldest of all her Sutors, had the hap­piness to gain this Heavenly Beauty. The Fate of these Aurora's betrothing them most commonly unto Titons. This Match seemed strange in the eyes of the World, Evander being deemed more fit for his Grave, than for the Nuptial Bed. He was in the Fifty Third Year of his Age; wherefore by the Wrinckles of his Brows and the greyness of his Hairs, they thought the union of so fair a Spring with rugged Winter, that bore no fruit but what was harsh and sower, to be impracticable. Eu­dosia, being very young and knowing no better, did easily comply with the embra­ces of an old Man, esteeming the chiefest happiness of her Marriage to consist in the richness of her Cloths, the variety of Jewels, the abundance of Gold, the great number of Servants, and in the constant assistance of her Husband who, becoming jealous of her, did think her lost, as oft as she was out of his sight. This conti­nual attendance of Evander did oblige him to some employments that were greater [Page 79] than the strength of his age could bear; whereupon the Nuptials were scarce end­ed, when his Funerals did begin. The death of Evander was accompanied with such lively sentiments of grief in his Wife, that weeping, wailing and sighing were the least arguments of her sorrow. She would have been buried even alive with him, if the knowledge of her being with Child had not flatter'd her with the hopes of reviving him in bearing a Son. But her desire was frustrated by the Birth of a Daughter who, even in her Cradle, did oblige her beholders to form excellent conceits of her Beauty. Eudosia would not hearken, much less adhere to any more overtures of Marriage; she believing that no man living could make her so happy as Evander had done. She voluntarily confined her self to her House attending to the education of her Daughter, but in so strict a manner that she was near Thirteen Years old, and could not boast either to have seen, or have been seen by any Men except those that waited on her Mother. She went not abroad above two or three times a Year, and then so veiled and guard­ed, as if they feared the Air should ravish her. Her apartment scarce gave any ad­mittance [Page 80] to the bright Eye of Heaven, much less to the Eyes of any mortal Men; and then the continual Guardianship of her Mother did not permit her to use any other divertisement than some Childish Pastimes. Fortune, who commonly in­tercedes for Lovers, brought it so about that Eudosia and Dercella (for this was the Daughters name) were, by some great out-crys which did stir up their curiosity by being very violent, forcibly drawn to look out at the Window. They saw the life of their Neighbour Assirdus endange­red by many Swords encompassing him, whilst that he did defend himself with a Courage greater than his Years. The Youth and handsome Shape of Assirdus did quickly move Eudosia to pity: where­upon, by commanding her Servants to bring him into the House, she deliver'd him out of the hands of those Cut-throats who, having wounded him in the hand, and deeply in the Side, were very near to have murther'd him.

Assirdus, after some few Complements, accepted the invitation of going to Bed. Here, his Mother being called, he attended the recovery of his Health, the Chyrurgi­ons not permitting him to go out of that [Page 81] house, for fear that the Air and Motion might exasperate his Wounds. Dercella, although she never knew, nor so much as heard of the Name of Love, yet was so much surprized at the first sight of Assir­dus that she fell in love before she was a­ware of it. And not being able to with­stand the first shock, she sometimes listned to the discourses of the Physicians; some­times she inquired how he did of the Ser­vants, and at other times, though often reproved by her Mother, she came into his Chamber making many excuses for to see him. The night did more increase the troubles of her mind which, being a­gitated by confused thoughts, could take no rest. And if sometimes she shut her eyes, being weary with watching, yet was she presently forced to open them again, for to avoid those fantasms that did tor­ment her sleeping, more than waking. Dercella continued for the space of some days in these amorous frenzies, until such time as Assirdus, being pretty well recove­red, went away to his own House. He had several times observed some glances proceeding from the eyes of that Maiden which were rather witnesses of affection than of compassion: but, not being well [Page 82] vers'd in Love-Affairs, he condemned all those thoughts, as idle suspicions, that might have perswaded him to have been beloved. Yet being kindled by the sparks of that Beauty which might make all boldness excusable, he staying at home for the perfect confirmation of his Health, was continually looking out at a Window that answered to Dercellas apartment. Here he was easily discovered by her who, being hurried by a thousand impatient affecti­ons, did desire nothing more than to see him. Having found a way to open a Window directly opposite to that of her Lover, and which her jealous Mother had on purpose kept shut: She had the oppor­tunity of seeing him at her pleasure, but not of speaking to him, either because of her own modesty, or for fear of her Mo­thers jealousie. He likewise, being struck dumb by an excess of love, did, by the me­diation of his eyes, perform all the offices of his tongue. At last, overcoming all difficulties, he breathed out his passions by writing in this manner:

He easily conveyed this Letter into the hands of Dercella; for, watching the oc­casion of her looking out at Window, he gently darted it into her Bosom. This Virgin being as curious as loving, present­ly took leave to read it. While her soul was ravished with the delight of these Characters, she was not aware of her Mo­thers [Page 84] seeing of her, who did every minute make the actions of her daughter subject both to her observation and censure. The first thing Eudosia did was to tear the Letter out of her hand; loading her af­terwards with so many reproaches and menaces, that sighs and tears were the least burthen of Dercellas affliction. But the loss of that Paper, that seemed to prog­nosticate the loss of all her love and hopes, was that which most troubled her. Eu­dosia, leaving her drowned in tears, went into another Room for to read the Letter, and to find out how she came by it. And as soon as she saw it came from Assirdus, she felt a strange commotion in her mind. His Youth and Beauty made way for her desire to get him to her self. She began to repent of having spent so many years without enjoyment. She thought all o­ther pleasures, except those that proceed from Conjugal Love, to be but flashy. On the other side she feared the censure of the World in retarding a resolution for the space of thirteen Years. She was afraid of the rashness of her daughter; of the tender age of Assirdus, and did consi­der that to Marry a second time, after hav­ing so long mourned for her first Husband, [Page 85] would but expose her to the imputation of Fame for wilfully losing her liberty. But our affections being mostly governed by sence, she resolved to venture the loss of all rather than to lose the love of Assir­dus. Wherefore, taking a Pen in Hand, she wrote, in her daughters name, as fol­loweth:

[Page 86]This Letter being privately delivered into the hands of Assirdus, instead of re­joycing him, did stir up such a confusion in his thoughts that they robbed him of his quiet. Were it either the little experi­ence he had in Love-affairs, or his seeing the possession of that Beauty (which he so much the more prized, by how much the more difficulty he apprehended in ob­taining it) so freely offered unto him, he confessed himself a penitent for having gone so far. Whilst he was thus irreso­lute and doubtful, the Count of Bell'om­bra, a young Gentleman of High Birth, though of low Fortune, came to see him. At first sight he discover'd some passion in Assirdus, whereupon he very earnestly pressed him to tell the occasion. Assir­dus being as easie to discover his distur­bances, as to be disturbed, told this Count all the motives that troubled his mind, praying him, as a friend, to give him his best advice. The Count perceiving that this might be an occasion of advancing his own condition, being willing to take her to himself that Fortune offered to ano­ther, persuaded Assirdus not to venture upon the rash invitation of a Girl more worthy to be slighted than beloved, seeing [Page 87] that she did so easily prostitute het self to the pleasure of a Lover. That the intro­ducing of a presupposed Husband by Night was a manifest token of her having enter­tained others. That he, not well foresee­ing the danger, might run the hazard of being trepann'd if, by following his sen­sual appetite, he should accept of the in­vitation. To these he added so many other considerations, that being joyned to the aversion Assirdus had in himself, made him resolve wholly to quit the enterprize, and so much the rather because his Mo­ther would very hardly have given him leave to go abroad. A little after the Count, upon pretence of some business, taking his leave, went at night to the Garden-Gate of Eudosia who, believing him to be Assirdus, received him with o­pen Arms; he also being no less deceived in supposing her to be Dercella, after some short Complements in a very low voice, as fearful of being overheard, they retir'd, without any light, into a Ground-chamber where, upon a very rich Couch, they gave place to one anothers amorous embraces. In the mean time Dercella, believing her Mother to be immers'd in sleep, and not in pleasures, rose out of her hated, because [Page 88] restless Bed, and went to the Window just in the nick when Assirdus, being no less disquieted, came thither also. Dercella did send forth frequent sighs, both for the injuries received of her Mother, and because so unlucky a beginning made her wish to see the end of her love. Assirdus persuading himself that those sighs did a­rise from the default of his Correspon­dence, enforcing himself, said, Lady, I know not which to blame most either my bad fortune, or my little merit that make me unworthy to partake of the favours of Love. Dercella, believing that he did up­braid her not corresponding with him, re­plied, Love overcomes all difficulties, and if it acts unlike it self in me, I must blame my Fate that makes me love without hope. There is no love without hope, answer'd he, seeing the latter is the very substance of the former. And what (said he) would you have me hope, when all things conspire to make me despair? Why then, replied he, is not reciprocal love sufficient to give you true content? But who, added she, can give me assurance hereof? since the promises and words of Lovers are commonly accounted but Wind. I, an­swer'd Assirdus, by dedicating my self un­to [Page 89] your service. These, said Dercella, are words which are soon dissolv'd into the same air whereof they are formed. I would give you the proof of them, replied he, if I thought you would not condemn my rashness. And what would you do, said she? I would, with the help of a Plank, answered he, come over to your Chamber, there to conclude our Loves, and save my heart from the Rack of hopes and fears. Hereupon Dercella paused a little, as if she were afraid either to re­fuse, or receive this offer, and then said she I cannot so suddenly take any resolution, upon a proposal of so great a consequence. He, who by the power of Love had cast off all fear, and put on a courage which was augmented by seeing himself excessively beloved, replied, He that uses overmuch circumspection is not in love, which ad­mits of no long consultations, for that all delays, especially in amorous affairs, are dangerous. Here is no medium, either you must give your assent, or confess you do not love me. Dercella answered, although I cannot express the desire I have to be yours; yet I will never consent that you pass out of your Window into mine, that I may not at once see both my Reputation [Page 90] and your life endangered. Assirdus, look­ing upon these expressions to be rather consenting than dissenting, placing a Board on Dercellas Window, went over there­upon into her Chamber. Here after some slight reproofs and feigned repulses which served instead of so many invitations, Der­cella, being overcome by his importuni­ties, gave him leave to reap that plea­sure which is most grateful to Lovers.

In this interim Eudosia had given, in some part, satisfaction to the provocati­ons of sense when, fearing that her actions might be discovered, she left the Count asleep, and went softly to visit all the cor­ners of her House. At last she came to her Daughters Chamber just as the Lovers, by a murmuring prologue of kisses, were pre­paring to act a loving Comedy. It seem­ed strange that her Daughter, in so tender an age, should dare encounter the arms of a Lover. Yet, being perswaded that the errors of Love deserved compassion, and knowing her self to be guilty of the same fault, she resolved to dissemble that of o­thers, for not to discover her own. How­ever she had a mind to know her Daugh­ters Sweet-heart, to see if the worthiness of her choice did make any amends for [Page 91] the boldness of her attempt. Scarce did she cast her Eye upon Assirdus but, believ­ing him to be her own Lover, she gave her self wholly up to Fury like one possest with a Legion of Devils. She scratched her face, tore her hair, beat her breast, and did all things that might shew her rage, and express her grief. Lastly, with railing and reproachful language she uttered her passion saying.

‘Perfidious man! after having enjoyed the Mother art thou come also to betray the innocency of my Daughter? Why did Nature and Fortune make this wick­ed Traytor so amiable? Are these the promises you made me but even now? Does this Treachery confirm your Fide­lity? Oh Heavens! I shall believe you stand still, and that your influences are blind, if you do not dart your Thunder­bolts at this impious Villain.’

Dercella hearing these words of her Mo­ther, and thinking she was imposed upon by Assirdus, fell a weeping, and with such lively expressions of grief, as would have softned the hardest heart, she said,

‘Why, O Cruel Man, hast thou betray­ed a poor, simple and innocent Girl? Why hast thou deceived me by a piece of [Page 92] Treachery which is the more execrable, for having been hid under the Mask of Love? Where, where, O inhumane Wretch, hast thou learnt such unnatural Cruelty, that even savage Beasts are not guilty of. Pray Mother pardon that rashness which did not think, by its Sen­suality, of offending the Laws of Nature, nor the satisfaction of her that gave me my being.’

She would have gone in if Assirdus, who hitherto had been as immoveable as a Stock, had not interrupted her, saying, Dercella, Whosoever doubts of my Fidelity, may as well doubt of her own Sensibility. I do declare my self yours, and offer my self ready to confirm my declaration by a law­ful Marriage, which shall be no longer in effecting than you are in consenting. Eu­dosia was much more enraged at these words, whereupon, redoubling her out­crys, she furiously ran to satisfie her anger by the force of her hands. Dercella, love not permitting her to see Assirdus wrong­ed without defending him, interposed for to pacifie her Mother; but she, growing more and more outragious, was near upon some mischievous resolution, if the sud­den [Page 93] appearing of the Count had not staid her and struck her dumb. He had impa­tiently, for some time, waited the return of his beloved, but not seeing her come, he went out of the Chamber to seek her; not without fear that this her staying might portend some disaster. As soon as he heard the out-crys his fears were increased, so that he came hastily in where Eudosia, by scratching and biting, was giving vent to her furious passion.

They were all amazed at this appear­ance, and the Count was much astonished at the sight of Assirdus; whereupon Eu­dosia began to ask him how he got into the House. To which the Count answered, by the invitation of Dercella. Thou ly­est, said she; and except Assirdus, there's no man can brag of having my love. The lye, replied he, from a Girl, makes no matter; and the rather, because this Writ­ing doth declare you guilty. In saying so, he drew forth a Letter, and being a­bout to read it, he was interrupted by Assirdus, who spake unto him, O unfaith­ful friend, this Letter belongs to me. It is true, added the Count, but you refusing to come hither, I supplied your place, and have enjoyed her with a promise of Mar­riage. [Page 94] Then, answered Assirdus, shall Dercella have two Husbands? I also having enjoyed her by the same promise. Eudo­sia now perceiving that, whilst she went about to deceive others, she her self was deceived and, being unwilling that the publication of this accident should be an occasion of Town-talk, spoke thus to the Count and to Assirdus. Sirs, if you will, as becomes Gentlemen, keep to your words of Marriage, I will see that you shall have the same persons that you have enjoyed. For my part, said the Count, I do think my self honoured in confirming what I promised. Assirdus said the same; yet were they both very much concerned, knowing that Dercella could be Wife but to one of them. The wonder ceased when Eudosia discovered that she was the Au­thor of this Letter, and had submitted to the Count, supposing him to be Assirdus. The Count, who had no greater end than to enrich himself: and therefore made no distinction between the Mother and the Daughter, shew'd himself well contented. And hereupon the Weddings were cele­brated with extraordinary Mirth and Jollity: Giving to understand, that who so keep themselves within the bounds of [Page 95] honesty, may always expect a good end to be the consequent of their just desires.

NOVEL VII.

ARsinda, who in the City of Lisbon was Mistress of all those Prerogatives that do make an accomplisht Woman, having [...]een two years marry'd, was left to bewail [...]he fatal cutting of that Knot which she [Page 96] wished might never have been loosned. But although she did, with admirable expres­sions of sorrow, honour the exequies of her Husband, yet it was not long before she repented the sacrificing of so many tears to those unhappy ashes, and perswad­ed her self that they were but vain kind of demonstrations which, being derided of all those that observed them, did hurt to the living, and no good to the dead. Hearkning therefore to the incitements of sense, and the proposals of her Relations who invited her to marry again, she tyed her heart, no less than her word to Da­letes the Count of Rocca Battuta. And although Women do many times err in their choice, yet she was esteemed the more prudent and vertuous for chusing a Gentleman that was so excellently well qualified.

The Nuptials were concluded on by the authority of those that had most pow­er over them, and Arsinda, making use of that liberty which is usual with Wid­dows, did one day privately introduce the Count into her Garden, there to ex­press that content which she now began inwardly to enjoy. At this meeting there was no demonstration either of love [Page 97] or respect wanting. The Count did de­clare how much he was honoured in be­ing preferred before others: and Arsinda extolled his merit which had constrained her to make him sole owner of her heart. While they were thus contending with these affectionate declarations, there came in a Page who delivered a Letter into the hands of Arsinda. She, not so much as looking upon the Seal, with a loving con­fidence, gave it to the Count. He, receiv­ing it very courteously, opened it, and saw that, without any subscription, it said thus,

The Count made an end of reading this Letter with many signs of impatience, which brought such a confusion of dis­dainful thoughts into Arsindas mind that she became speechless. The bloud flush­ed into her face, not to shew any guilti­ness, but that it might not suffocate her heart which, by a greater palpitation than ordinary, did shew the resentments due to the rashness of that Paper. The Count, taking this silence for a confession of her fault, with an odious, because feigned smile that began and ended in the same minute, said unto her, Madam, Your pro­mise of Marriage to me was needless, since (for ought I understand) Gallants are more pleasing to you than Husbands. These words making Arsinda to reflect more up­on her own innocency, than upon the Counts jealousie, she did not suffer him to [Page 99] say any more but, with a no less free, than scornful behaviour, after many sharp re­proofs, she even told him he himself was the Author of that Letter. And, with­out taking leave, she retired into her Cham­ber, leaving the mind of the Count cru­elly tormented between Love and Jea­lousie. The Count therefore supposing that the expressions of Arsinda were the more feigned, for being so vehement, and not being able to induce in himself a be­lief of her innocency, he let himself fall in­to the hands of desperation; his anger being arrived at that pitch that he could no longer endure her either as a Mistress, or an enemy. Without mentioning there­fore to any body the madness of his reso­lution, he took Horse and departed from the City, hating all those things which might reduce to his memory the infideli­ty of her, whom he was forc'd to adore, though he thought her inconstant. Be­ing carried on more swiftly by the rage of despair, than by the Speed of his Horse, the night approaching, he was constrained to take shelter in an Inn. Here, with no less hatred to himself, than to the conver­sation of others, neglecting to bespeak any Supper, he shut himself into a Cham­ber [Page 100] alone, with an intent there to give vent to, rather than allay the fierceness of his passion. Being alone he abandoned himself up to sorrow, to th'end that, by by the Streams of his eyes, he might, in some measure disburthen the overflowing oppression of his heart. At length, be­ing weary of Solemnizing, with a Deluge of tears, the Funeral of his hopes, he thought of raising himself from misery, by humbling himself before that Idol, whose displeasure brought more terrour to his soul than any other sort of chastise­ment. So, taking Pen in hand he wrote as follows:

Recommending this Letter to the Host both for its delivery, and for an answer, he returned to his former affliction, think­ing what effects his Writing might pro­duce. Whilst, by tormenting thoughts, he felt the Tyranny both of hope and fear, he heard a mournful noise made by some sorrowful person. Being a little comfort­ed by these doleful tones, and applying o­thers unhappiness as a Plaister to his own Wounds, he drew near to a Partition of Boards that divided the Room. There he heard one speak some words indistinct­ly, which did blame Love and Fortune as the authors of his oppression. It now seemed that his passion was alleviated by the mixture of another's misfortune, when [Page 102] a little after there came into the Chamber, whence these sorrowful complaints did proceed, a Man crying out, Victory, my Lord Marquess Odorico, Victory. By my ingenuity Rocca Battuta is wholly batter'd down, and you to morrow shall take poss­ession of Arsinda, these Nuptials staying for nothing but your arrival in the City. The Marquess who, by exceeding pati­ence, had repelled his grief, could not re­sist the assaults of these joyful tydings. He cryed out like a Mad-man in conceits ex­pressive of his great content. Why then (said he) shall Arsinda be mine? Is it possi­ble that I shall be the Primum Mobile of that amorous Heaven which sent forth nothing but lightnings to set fire on my faithful affection? O Fortune! I will offer Sacrifices to thy honour. O God of Love I thank thee. And if heretofore I have rashly offended the sovereignty of thy power, I do now repent me of it, since that Arsinda is to be mine. The Count being out of all patience, and not consider­ing that these accidents might carry him to some precipice, with a loud voice he made himself to be heard in these terms. Traitors, your Treachery is discover'd and, if Heaven doth not favour injustice, or if [Page 103] my Sword hath not lost its edge, shall be punished. In uttering these words he ran furiously into the Hall with his Sword naked in his hand, while the Marquess with equal fury came to meet him. Here they began a duel with all the rage that hatred and jealousie could infuse into them. The Count, with a few blows, would have worsted the Marquess, if two Souldiers of his had not interposed in his defence. The Fight being so unequal, the Count was necessitated to take his life as a gift from them, although his generous mind scorn'd to ask it, and his passionate heart abhorred to receive it. Being deeply wounded in two places he was, by the Inn-keeper, recommended to the Chyrur­geons; whilst he, disdaining to live with­out his beloved, and hating to see her in the possession of his enemy, thought there was no more proper remedy for his grief, than despair. The anguish of his wounds was much exasperated by the answer of Arsinda which, coming from a Lady that generously insisted upon her honour, did bring nothing but the expressions of an alienated affection, and implacable aversi­on. Her Letter spake in this manner:

This Letter, being indiscreetly given into the hands of the Count at a time when, being very ill of his late hurts and a Feaver that attended them, but much more languishing under the oppression of his mind, it caused such a desperate alteration in him, that his attendants thought him to be upon the point of Death. He did often aggravate his mala­dy by lamentable exclamations which no man could hear without commisera­tion.

[Page 105]Whilst he was strugling with the ago­nies of death being given over both by Chyrurgions and Physicians, the Mar­quess was enjoying the Visits and Con­gratulations of his Friends and Acquain­tance. With these he boasted of his pow­erful ingenuity in fraudulently and cun­ningly subduing a Womans heart, which commonly (he said) was termed the ve­ry seat of Artifice and Deceit. Hereupon he was requested to trace the success of his amours from the beginning. To this he most readily assented in saying thus,

‘Sirs, I do willingly repeat the transa­ctions of my love, because the remem­brance of them seems sweet unto me. I did, a good while since, set my whole affection upon Arsinda, but very unsuc­cessfully, because Women do not so much correspond with their Lovers, as with the capricious humor of their own Ge­nius. They love not him that deserveth best, but him that complieth best with their imperfections; so that it is e'en become a Proverbial Saying, That the choice of Women ordinarily falls upon the worst. In short I was rejected, and Rocca Battuta was the man pitcht upon for a Husband, with that resentment [Page 106] which may better be imagined than de­scribed. Seeing the merits of my Birth and Love excluded, I had recourse unto Stratagems that are no less necessary in Love, than in Arms. Thus I got the Victory; for Rocca Battuta, being cheat­ed by my counterfeit Letter, quitted the Field, and left me alone to triumph.’

These words were overheard by a Mai­den to whom Arsinda confided all her se­crets, who by chance came then to the Marquess his house for to complement him from her Mistress. The Damsel would not stay to hearken any more, knowing very well that Arsinda had condescended to this Marriage more in obedience to the impulses of anger, than in compliance to the inclinations of her heart. She there­fore speedily ran away to Arsinda, to whom she imparted what she had heard from the Marquess Odorico's own mouth. Here I am at a stand, for to express the commo­tions of Arsinda's mind. She grew pale, dumb, wept, and did all things incident to a soul overwhelmed with passion and grief. She had condemn'd her self to marry the Marquess, only to revenge the injuries of the Count, and for fear that [Page 107] what had passed betwixt him and her might hinder her Fortunes; for she al­ways had a great aversion to the Marquess for that he was not only ill-favoured, but also ill-natur'd. And now, that she knew him to be treacherous, her hatred was grown to that height, that she could not endure to hear his Name, much less to see him. Preferring therefore satisfaction be­fore all other interest, she took Pen and Ink and wrote thus:

Having sent this Letter to the Mar­quess, she began to revolve in her mind the satisfactions due to the Count, when one of her Maids presented her a Letter, saying that it was brought by a Page to the Count, who, being upon his depar­ture out of this World, could neither make an end of it, nor seal it. She took it with great eagerness, and saw that the Contents were as follow:

Arsinda had scarce run over the Letter but, letting it fall from her hands, she also, not being able to resist the violence of a grief that so sensibly struck to her heart, fell into a Swoon. Being brought to life again by some remedies that her Maidens applied, she thus began to bemoan her self:

‘O God! is it possible that I should not sink under the weight of insuppor­table sorrow? How can my soul, tor­mented by such fierce passions, do other­wise than abandon me? Those torments are but slight that do not kill. And yet my grief, which is upon the very brink of desperation, is not able to take away my life. Couldst thou my beloved Da­letes, poisoned by my unjust disdain, dye? and cannot I, at the doleful news of thy death, and the craft of a Traitor, leave off to live? There is not a more precious [Page 110] thing in the World than a faithful man, and I have lost him before I knew him. But to what purpose do I aggravate my sorrows, by usurping those tears that are most justly due to his Hearse. Yes, yes, I am resolved at least to pay my last office to the greatness of his Merits, and my obligations; and they that see the dolo­rous e [...]fects of it shall not condemn me. Away with all delay. Let's go to ho­nour him dying, whom we despised living.’

Therefore calling for her Coach, she went, with all the speed imaginable, along with him that brought the Letter, unto the Inn where the Count was lodged: as if she were resolved to join her self to him in the Grave, since that Fortune had denied her a more desirable union. As soon as she was alighted from her Coach, she was presently conducted (without asking any question) into the Counts Chamber. He lay there ready to give up the Ghost, deprived of his Senses, and raving with his tongue. Now he accused Arsinda as unfaithful and ungrateful; then he condemned himself, asking her par­don, as if she had been present. No soon­er had Arsinda heard him speak but, whe­ther [Page 111] surprised more by wonder or by hor­ror I know not, she swooned away, nei­ther her Maiden nor the Counts servant being able to support her. The Count on the other side, believing Arsinda to be a false appearance, or else the effect of his intense desire and fervent imagination, made no end of weeping and wailing.

But afterwards, being assured that it was Arsinda no more angry, nor yet wedd­ed to the Marquess, his heart was tran­sported with so much unexpected joy that, without coming any more to him­self, he breathed out his last. This hap­ned in the Arms of Arsinda, whose Desti­ny had recalled her to life, to reserve her for a more miserable death. I want words to express her passion. The tearing of her hair, scratching of her face, and beating of her breast were the weakest proofs she gave of her sorrow. She often­times sought for a Knife to kill her self, but was prevented by those that stood by her. In this interim came into the Cham­ber the Marquess Odorico who, having notice of her departure, had followed her with an intention to carry her away by force and ravish her. Scarce did Arsinda set her eye upon him, but she cryed out, [Page 112] Behold, O wicked man, the triumph of thy perfidiousness. Odorico, taking her in his Arms, did endeavour forcibly to remove her from those unhappy objects that did so much disquiet her. But Ar­sinda, being imboldned by a desperate re­solution, snatched away a Weapon that hung by the Marquess his side, did give him so hearty and fatal a stab, that she at once eased him both of his love and life. At the same time, taking also revenge on her self, with a deep wound she opened her own breast, making a large passage for that soul to escape thence which was not able to resist the violence of passion.

To such unhappy ends do they come who do not bridle their immoderate affe­ctions, nor hearken to reason, but, being led away by sensuality, do wholly give them­selves up to its complacency.

NOVEL VIII.

GIacintha was born at Baeza a City in Andalusia, having Riches and Nobility well matched to her singular Beauty. She was not out of the Cradle when her Mother was laid in the Grave, [Page 114] who left a great Estate to be divided be­twixt her and her only Brother named Ar­delius. Scarce had she attained the age of Fifteen (when many pretenders began to sue either for her Riches, Beauties, or both) when one night in a Dream, she really lamented the imaginary loss of her life. She fancied that she saw, walking in a very pleasant Grove, a Man of a more hansom Garb and Stature than ever she had seen before. His face was partly mufled up in his Cloak which, being fine­ly embroidered, did make him look more brave and gallant. Giacintha feeling her self toucht with curiosity, had a mind to see if his face did correspond with the other parts of his body, which at first sight, did seem to make a most admira­ble composure. With a bashful boldness she therefore pulled away that part of his Cloak which he had thrown over his face; but on the contrary it seemed that this Man, as a chastisement of her rashness, did, with a Dagger, strike her so sensibly through the heart, that the pain thereof making her cry out aloud, waked all her servants, who presently ran to her succor, and to free her from those frightful dreams. Giacintha was no sooner deli­vered [Page 115] from this representation of danger, but she was possest with a real affliction of mind, wherein the idea of this person had made such a deep impression, that no time could possibly obliterate it. She de­sired to encounter with a Man that had those noble and amiable Features, and did let her self be so far transported by the strength of imagination, that she was in love before she knew with whom. Her flames were increased because, not know­ing the cause of them, she could not make the effect to cease. These perplexing thoughts did so much disturb her repose that, despairing to obtain the love of a Chimera, she was near upon losing both her health and life. And, in bewailing her self from time to time, she spake thus,

‘Where is it possible to find a more miserable and unhappy wretch than my self? I love a Dream, and am ready to run mad after a meer fantasme. I adore a shadow, and therefore do excuse the folly of Pigmaleon; and do pity thy dotages O Xerxes: Thou lovedst a Plane-Tree, and the other fell in love with a Statue; yet these were bodily substances that might be both seen and felt. If they had no return of love, yet had they poss­ession [Page 116] of the things beloved. These monstrous loves gave some satisfaction to the senses of seeing and touching. But my ravings are founded upon an impossibility, and have nothing in them more than vain fancy. Shame and con­fusion will be the product of my loves which will either not be believed by the World, or else will be stiled mad and foolish. Certainly there is no greater unhappiness than to adore what cannot be seen, and what depends meerly upon nocturnal illusions. The original of my love springs only from fond imagination, neither hath it any other being than a phantome; wherefore I lament and tor­ment my self, and I know not for what, nor for whom; I fear that which is not, and I hope for that which is impossible.’

With these passionate exhalations Gi­acintha did continually perplex her self, when one day, standing in a Balcony, she saw a Cavalier, in a travelling Habit, going into the next Palace, adjoyning to hers. She, being intense upon her thoughts, could not easily be diverted by any kind of curiosity; yet letting her eye fall upon the brave Equipage, gallant Train, and good­ly Presence of that Gentleman, she knew [Page 117] him to be the same that had wounded her in a dream, and that with absolute ty­ranny did rule over all the faculties of her soul. This was Don Pietro di Ponzes a Young Man who, although he had not compleated the fourth lustre of his Age, yet had with reputation worthily exercis­ed all Military Offices, and was returned home to enjoy the honour of them at Court, and to see his Father who, being very old, was afraid of dying before he could embrace him. He neither knew, nor was he known by Giacintha (though his Sister Isabella was her great Acquain­tance) for when Don Pietro went for Flan­ders she was but a little Girl. The God of Love brought it so about that this young couple did sacrifice their whole affections unto the Shrine of his Divinity. Giacintha was with Isabella to congratu­late the safe return of her Brother, who was present at this Complement, which made it not difficult for her, by glancing words and eyes, to declare the passion of her heart. In brief there passed not ma­ny days but, by the mediation of Isabella, these two Lovers were contracted with a mutual promise of Matrimony. But For­tune for the most part envying the happi­ness [Page 118] of Lovers order'd the matter so that a Cosen of Don Piedro's, called Leonora, who was more than hansom, and extream­ly rich, fell grievously in love with him. Don Piedro perceived it but, his heart be­ing otherwise engaged, made as if he saw it not, and that with so much cauti­on that Leonora was ready to despair. At last, seeing her self despised, or at least­wise not well accepted of, she took to her Bed, leaving the Physicians little hopes of her recovery, the wounds of her heart proving to be incurable. The Mother of Leonora having the experience of many years, did easily know that her Daughters sickness proceeded from love. She there­fore by the help of one of her Maidens, pe­netrating into the certainty and original of it, applied her whole endeavours to find out the remedy. She sends for Don Piedro and, in words bedewed with tears and sighs, she offers him her Daughter, telling him punctually the occasion of her indisposition. She urged her entreaties by letting him know that he could not meet with a more rich or a more honou­rable Match. The Laws of good breed­ing compelled. Don Piedro to make a cour­teous answer. And, hoping that the [Page 119] time requisite for treating and getting the consent of her friends, might administer some cure to this Malady, he remitted the conclusion to the sole will of his Father, to whom, as his duty was, he entirely referred himself. After this he went in to see his Cosen, which filled her full of hopes that do easily take place in the breasts of young Virgins. Leonora in the mean time, taking courage from the words (tho they were not binding) and continued visits from Don Piedro, in a ve­ry short time recovered her former health. Giacintha on the other side, wanting many of his Visits, did most miserably afflict her self, and frequently inculpate the Loyalty of Don Pietro. He, not being able to endure her resentments, thought of weakning her jealousie by discovering the whole truth unto her. Hereupon Giacintha being in a great rage, with a furious tone said unto him. ‘Never speak to me, nor presume to see me more, if you do not make your Kinswoman know that you are my Spouse, and can­not be hers. Neither my Heart, nor my Honour will suffer any Rival.’ In saying so she made a motion to be gone, but was stopt by Don Piedro who, with [Page 120] horrible imprecations asserted his own con­stancy, and promised, the next day to un­deceive his Cosen. Giacintha being will­ing to lay a further obligation upon Don Piedro for the performance of his promi­ses, made her self sure to him by an Oath. Don Piedro in these delightsome amours having lost all that circumspection that before made him cautious, went to see his Cosen who, having wholly chased away her disease, was only attending the per­fect consummation of her recovery. He was received in the most affectionate man­ner that a loving soul could put in pra­ctice. But the appearing of some trou­ble in his looks gave occasion to Leonora to ask him the cause of it. After a little slight denial Don Piedro said, It is not justice Madam, that I should betray your good affection, and falsify my own pro­mises. My behaviour hath hitherto been rather feigned, than candid. I had a mind to recover you, but I cannot satisfie you. Bear with my Fortune that hath obliged me to another. I have pass'd my word, and am contracted to Giacintha, nor can I disengage my self without losing my life. 'Tis enough answered Leonora, yet had you better have letten me dye than [Page 121] to revive in me the tyranny of passion. Patience, the heart that cannot bend may break. Having said this, she went out of the Chamber and retired into a Closet, where she let loose the reins of her anger which thus dictated unto her;

She sealed the Letter without subscrib­ing it, and sent it by a Footman belong­ing to the Father of Giacintha. This done she returned into her Closet for to write another, while Don Pietro, being doubt­ful what resolutions an incensed Woman might take, made haste away. Afterwards Leonora went out of the Closet to her Mother, begging her Blessing for that she was afraid she should never see her more. [Page 122] Her Mother chid her, saying. O Daughter, do not use these hateful expressions to me, un­less you intend to shorten my days. Leonora with tears in her eyes left her Mother. She had not gone far but, sending forth a deep sigh, she fell down dead. All the House ran to her succour and, believing her to be only in a Swoon, they applied all things proper to bring her to her self again. All their endeavours were in vain, and the Doctor being come knew her to be dead indeed. In stripping off her Cloths there fell from her Bosom a Letter which, being directed to her Mother, spake thus:

[Page 123]This unhappy accident occasioned great disturbance in the minds of her Mother and Kindred, and some there were, un­acquainted with her Love-affair, that did so far err in their judgment, as to impute this her sudden death unto her great riches. Giacintha knowing her self to be unwillingly guilty of this Woman-slaugh­ter, had a mind to have some affectionate discourse about it with Don Pietro. Where­upon she sends privately to tell him, that she desired to see him that very night. Don Pietro went accordingly and was, as at other times, conducted into a low Chamber, by a servant, who afterwards stood as Sentinel at the Door. Giaccin­tha was scarce come into the room, when Don Garzia, who by the Letter that did tax his honour was made very vigilant, was at the apartment of his Daughter. But not finding her there, he went on to that of his Son, where they both armed them­selves for to revenge the affront done unto their Reputation. They could not do this so silently but that some of the Servants gave notice thereof to the Lo­vers, who thereby had the opportunity of getting away before they were assault­ed. Don Pietro carried Giacintha to an [Page 124] Aunt of hers in a Monastery; and he, by retiring, secured himself from the Perse­cution which he feared, of Justice. Don Garzia, being wounded in the most sen­sible part of his Soul, did fully resolve to revenge, this disgrace by himself. He was so far from preferring his complaints to the Judges, that he seemed not to re­serve the least sense of this injury. He answered those that spoke to him of it in such a manner that did rather favour of stolidity than of revenge.

Nevertheless Don Pietro was not want­ing in his due circumspection, hoping at length by Marrying Giacintha, by exer­cising acts of modesty, and by the inter­position of time to appease the impla­cable rage of Don Garzia. In the mean time, to shelter himself from Justice, he took Sanctuary in a little Grove be­longing to a Nunnery, where he staid the longer, because in the night time, by means of the Gardner, he had the oppor­tunity of discoursing with Giacintha through an iron-barred Window. Don Garzia, having intimation hereof, got admittance one Night, by the mediation of Gold, and with Sword in Hand, to­gether with his Son, set upon Don Pie­dro. [Page 125] He, fearing to violate the privi­lege of the Monastery, and unwilling to hazard the lives of his intended Fa­ther and Brother-in-law, betook himself to flight. He was hotly pursued by Ar­delius; wherefore to stop his fury, and save himself, Don Piedro facing about, was forced to run him into the side. Arde­lius thereupon suddenly fell down, his Soul, together with his Bloud, expiring in the same moment, Don Garzia could not come up time enough either to suc­cour his Son, or apprehend his enemy. The daylight, discovering this sad acci­dent, raised up great murmurings, in so much as Don Piedro, having privately ta­ken leave of Giacintha, for to secure himself, departed for Flanders, which is the Asylum of all wicked and unfortu­nate men. Don Garzia, not being able, at present, to sacrifice the bloud of Don Piedro to his revenge, went about to al­leviate his sorrow by tormenting the soul of Giacintha. He therefore, being very lavish of his Gold, to bring this to effect, contrived it so that all the Letters of Don Piedro were brought to his hands. There was a Month past wherein Giacin­tha was tortured with the impatience of [Page 126] hearing from Don Piedro, when one day, being at the Window with her Husband's Father, she took some comfort in shew­ing her a Letter which came from Bar­cellona, whither Don Piedro went design­ing thence for Naples, and so for Flan­ders. She having hastily unfolded the Letter found what followeth:

This Captain was an intimate friend of Don Pietro's who went with him in­to Flanders. But the Letter was forg'd by Don Garzia, not only to triumph in the grief of Giacintha, but also to divert her correspondence with Don Piedro; and it succeeded as he would have it. For Don Piedro, coming unto Naples, and find­ing no Letters neither from Giacintha, nor his Father, according as they had agreed, without staying long, embarqued for Flanders. There, for diversion of his troubled thoughts, he betook himself to Gaming and Courting of Women, in such manner, that for Six Years time he neither regarded his Spouse, nor his Country. In this interim the unfortu­nate Giacintha being drowned in tears, and believing that the advice of Don Pie­dro's Death was true, made her tender affection submit to hard necessity, by [Page 128] listing her self a Nun in the same Mo­nastery where she had taken refuge. Here, truly humbling her self, she led a life more Divine than Humane. Don Piedro, on the other hand, being sur­feited with the love of many, fixed his whole delight upon one only Woman who, being either more fair or more cunning than the rest, had made her self absolute Mistress of his Heart. While thus Don Piedro thought of bringing his amorous hopes to perfection, he saw them all blasted in the wilful resolution of his beloved who sent him this Let­ter;

This Paper did raise up the spirits of Don Piedro to such a pitch that he was, for some little time, beside himself. At length, coming to himself again, and be­lieving that he could not better heal this latter Wound of Love, than by opening the former, he returned back to Barza.

Before he saw his own House he went to the Nunnery to see Giacintha. Under pretence of bringing her some Letters from Flanders, he made her be called and, giving her to understand that he was Don Piedro, he caused such a sudden change in her that she was ready to have fainted away. Giacintha, recovering this oppression of Spirit, oc­casioned by such surprizing joy, did presently revive her former affection, which became the more ardent for be­ing supprest by the tye of Religion. [Page 130] Yet this pair of Lovers thought it not difficult to obtain a Dispensation; since that the Bond of Matrimony did pre­eede that of Devotion, and Giacintha was no more at her own disposal, for that she had taken upon her a Religi­ous Habit, supposing her self to be freed from the obligation of Marriage by the pretended death of Don Piedro. They were contriving to bring about their amorous desires to a successful end, when Don Garzia, being informed of Don Peedro's return, and of the enter­tainments he had with his Daughter, thought he had offended the Courage of his Mind by so long forbearance. And, aspiring to wash off the Stains of his Reputation by a bloudy revenge; being full of rancour, he ran to the Grates of the Monastery. There he found his Daughter having her hands between those of Don Piedro, and hold­ing a very strict conference with him. His defiance, threatning, laying hand on his Sword, and mortally wounding of Don Piedro was all done in a trice. Don Garzia would in like manner have ex­ercised his fury upon Giacintha if he had not been prevented by Don Piedro who, [Page 131] strugling with approaching death, did so much reinforce himself as that, either to save his Beloved, or revenge himself, he struck Don Garzia with a Dagger to the heart. Don Garzia fell down dead; and at the same time Don Piedro also un­happily left this life. Giacintha, at so dolorous a Spectacle, stood like a Stock. Tears, which do usually, in some mea­sure, asswage grief, in her did augment it. Words, which by their expression do commonly make sorrow more sup­portable, in her, by the greatness of the mischief, were stifled before they could be uttered. Her eyes therefore not be­ing able to behold so dismal a Trage­dy, and her heart not being strong e­nough to resist such cruel tortures, which rob'd her in the same moment, both of her Father and Husband, seeing her losses to be desperate and irrecovera­ble, being overcome by deadly grief, she fell down to the ground, and unfortu­nately gave up the Ghost.

By this it appears, that Women, in pleasing the inordinate appetites of their Senses, and in disobeying the Will and Commands of their Parents, do often­times [Page 132] prepare a funeral for their own, and others happiness: and that Men, by stand­ing on the Punctilio's of Honour, and by exercising the desires of revenge, do ru­ine the greatness of their Families, and leave behind them an unhappy and de­plored memory to Posterity.

NOVEL IX.

DOn Diego di Saranda, a Gent­leman of excellent Merit and Vertue, coming to Genoua, and taking a private Lodg­ing where he might least be known, be­gan to evaporate his passionate Invectives [Page 134] in this manner. He that builds his hopes upon the hearts and promises of a Wo­man may boast of a foundation more unstable than the Waves. Woman, he that had the wit to call thee Woe man did describe but a little part of thy nature. For the precipices of thy inconstancy, the in­satiety of thy affections, and the Hellish torments that thou makest thy Lovers to endure, cannot be comprehended in the single word Woe. He that called thee Heaven, had regard perhaps to thy Thun­ders and malign influences. And who so idolizes thee with the name of Deity, does it more in contemplation of the pride of thy Sex, and the folly of men, than of any desert of thine. The Astrologers had great reason to make the House of Wo­men common with that of domestick enemies, and to place the House of Death near to that of a Wife: for you betray with your smiles, entrap by your tears, and kill with your wantonness.

Enough, no more, Signor Don Diego, for God's sake, replied a Lady, interrupt­ing him, that was very well known unto him, whom we, out of respect to her Quality, will call by the borrowed name of Isabella. It misbecomes all men, con­tinued [Page 135] she, to reproach the Female Sex, which, though naturally it be more weak, yet is it more noble than that of yours. He that rails at Woman-kind, either doth not know their Merit, or is unworthy to be acquainted with it. Gentlemen, like you, ought to draw their Swords against those that scandalize Women, and not to arm their tongues with injurious words against the reputation of those who have contributed to their Being.

Madam, answered Don Diego, my grief tyrannizing over my tongue, hath made me utter some odd conceits which though they are the product of anger, yet are they not the offspring of falshood: But I neither can, nor will dispute this mat­ter with you, because neither my mode­sty, nor the respect I owe you will per­mit it. But if you had had that experi­ence of a man, that I have met with in a Woman, sure I am you would wish for a tongue of Thunder and Lightning that might strike dead and reduce all Mankind into Ashes; and would exclaim against Dame Nature for necessitating you to obey so odious a subject.

Tell me, I pray you (said Isabella again) the injury that hath thus excited [Page 136] your hatred against Women. Certainly it ought to be very great seeing it ex­torts from you revenge even against those also that have not in the least offended you.

In answer to this Don Diego says, I will give you a brief relation of my do­lorous adventures, because I am sure there­by to obtain both compassion to my ma­lady, and excuse for my hatred against Women. It is now almost five years since I first dedicated my affection unto a certain beautiful and noble Lady. This Lady seeming to accept of my love, made me so proud that I scornfully despised all other amours; and you, Madam, can be my witness herein, seeing I continually refused the favour of your love, declar­ing that my ambition was rather to lan­guish for the love of one, than to enjoy the correspondence of a thousand others. Seeing that my most humble service was not unpleasing to her, after a long and faithful attendance I sued for the reward unto which Lovers do con­stantly aspire. There followed many de­lays masked under the pretences of Ho­nour and Caution, when no longer ago than yesterday, I received a challenge to [Page 137] meet my sweet Mistress, at night in Ve­nus field. I am not able to tell you my unspeakable consolation. I as earnestly desired the setting of the Sun, as Batts and Owls do desire darkness. I came to the appointed place and gave the sign prescribed me; but was answered by no­thing but mocks and scoffs, upbraiding my credulity in believing that a Lady of her esteem should prostrate her Honour to a Lover; and yet, with these eyes, I beheld her Gallant triumphing in my scorn, and, with his arms about her Neck, deriding my Love and Constancy. Don Diego did aggravate these passages with so much passion, that Isabella, taking pi­ty of him, broke off his Story saying. And now Signor Don Diego, why do you blame the Female Sex if, by the ill plac­ing of your affections, you have met with derision instead of reward? You should lay the blame on her that offend­ed you, and not include in a particular injury a general revenge against those that are innocent. Without doubt you are wholly in the fault who, by neglect­ing the advantages offered you, have indiscreetly fled from her that loved you, and blindly pursued her that hat­ed [Page 138] you. This Don Diego is a Judgment from Heaven. Acknowledge it, and re­pent, for it is always good to change Counsels, when you may reap profit thereby. I am the same that ever I was, and as I have long set a great value upon your merit; so I will endea­vour all I can to recompence it.

If I did believe, answered Don Di­ego, that my blind constancy did not make me unworthy of your favour, I would muster up all my Spirits, and sa­crifice the whole strength of my heart un­to your Beauty; and by my past ardors you may guess how fervent my future love will he.

'Tis enough, Don Diego, reply'd Isa­bella. I am yours, and you shall always find me so. Your past aversion hath but refin'd my affection. If this Night you will put on the Habit of a Gardner, and come to my House, I will make you to know that Women are not at all blame­worthy; and that the defect is in Men who love without distinction, as being guided more by Passion than Discre­tion.

Having thus spoken, she left Don Di­ego, I know not whether more joyful [Page 139] of his new Adventure, or fearful of some new misfortune. For, calling to mind his late slighting of this Lady, he thought it impossible she should preserve so much kindness for him as that, instead of revenge, she should bestow upon him those favours, which are the the re­ward of long and faithful services, and a loving correspondence. But his sensu­al appetite prevailing above all other con­siderations, he went, as soon as 'twas Night, to the House of Isabella. She received him most affectionately, and af­terwards conducted him, unseen, into a Ground-room which, by a back pair of Stairs, did lead into her own Chamber. Here she pray'd him to dispence with staying a little, till her Maidens (who were naturally prying into these kind of secrets) being retired, might give a better opportunity for their amorous Thefts. After this Isabella, thinking it long e'er she were with Don Diego, feigned her self not very well, where­upon she dismissed her Servants, and allowed some time for their going to sleep. In the mean time Don Diego, thinking every moment that did delay his satisfaction to be very tedious, did [Page 140] believe that he was betrayed. He saw the Room, where he was, besieged by enrag­ing flames; and it seemed to him that the Fire did upbraid his incontinency and, by the purity of its ardor, threaten to extinguish the impurity of his desires And the rather, for that there came in to his mind the past ill opinions he had of Women, and he perswaded himself that this was a trick put upon him by Isabella, which indeed was but a meer accident. The Servants had carelesly left fire in the next Room which, having lain hid a Day and a Night, broke out with so much fury that the poor lover was near being sacrificed. He would have cried out, but he durst not for fear (being found in that place) of being kill'd either as a Thief or an A­dulterer. He tryed to get out but could not, Isabella having secured him by fast locking of the Door. His fear was in­creased by the confused noise of those in the House who cryed out Fire, Fire, and hearing them already ask for the Key of his Chamber, he knew not what excuse to make to those that should find him there. But his danger did not ad­mit of long consultation, since he al­ready [Page 141] began to feel the difference be­tween the elementary and imaginary [...]lames. In these streights he heard a little Door opening into the Room which he had not till then observed. And now he gave himself for lost; be­ [...]ng he could not on the sudden be­think himself of any pretence that might serve to cover his guiltiness. He was [...]n some measure refreshed by the com­ [...]ng of Isabella who, taking him by the [...]and, hastily drew him (trembling) out [...]y the same private way that he went [...]n, saying to him, Don Diego you are very unfortunate in your amours, seeing that the House is on fire. I do not [...]ow wonder at other Women for hav­ing refused you. Get you among the Crowd of those that run to the fire, [...]hat so you may go away unespied; and we will order our business better for the future. This succeeded happily [...]o Don Diego; for he, making as if he were drawn thither by the noise, hav­ing put off the Gardners Coat, did manfully assist in putting out the fire, which without his help would certainly [...]ave dilated its Violences much farther. After this he received publick Thanks [Page 142] from Isabella who, in very affectionate and respectful terms, did express he [...] own Gratitude, and her Husbands ob­ligation unto him. Don Diego departe [...] more enamoured than before, his inor­dinate affection gaining strength by this accidental opposition; so that he continued to give fresh testimonies o [...] his respects towards Isabella who, being desirous to bring her amorous practice to perfection, sent him the following Letter:

Don Diego, upon the receipt of this Letter, thought himself in Heaven; where­fore his reading and kissing it over and over, and the putting of it up in his Bosom were the least demonstrations of his joyful affection. After this, taking Pen and Paper, he sent this an­swer:

At length the Night came that was so often called upon by him, where­upon, in the Disguise, and at the hour appointed he went to the House of Isa­bella. He was near opening the Door when he saw himself assaulted by four Men who, with Cudgels in their hands, began to bang him soundly. These were some debauched Youths who, having been affronted (as they pretended) by Austin, did there lye in wait to beat him, and taking Don Diego, by his Clothes, to be Austin, they did sorely rib-baste him. Don Diego, not being us'd to take blows, drew out a Pistol, and, discharg­ing it, lightly wounded one of them in the side. He would have returned his salute with a kind of short Gun which, if it had taken fire, would certainly have cooled Don Diego's hot desire. The rest [Page 145] of the aggressors did likewise discharge their Pistols at Don Diego but, by great chance, none of them did hit him. Yet he had fallen a Sacrifice to their anger (for they had all thrown away their Sticks and drawn their Swords) if Isa­bella, crying aloud out at a Window, had not hastned all the men in her House to succour him that was assaulted; whereupon these young Men, fearing to be known and not being willing to venture any further, ran all away, and gave Don Diego the opportunity of re­tiring, who, being unwilling that the pleasures of his Sense should any lon­ger triumph in the dangers of his life, wrote to Isabella as followeth:

Upon the receit of this Letter Isa­bella saw that her hopes were turning into despair. She knew that Carnal Appetites grew more violent for being [Page 147] interrupted, wherefore she believed that the excuses of Don Diego proceeded ra­ther from want of love, than for fear. At length she returned him this following medley of Love, Jealousie, Anger and Reproof, Viz.

In reading of this Letter Don Diego felt in himself a great conturbation of Spirit. The Beautys of Isabella which, by gentle reproofs, did sue for his Love, did make the greatest danger seem con­temptible unto him; but the acciden­tal encounters of Fire and Sword did confirm in him his reflections on Rea­son and Prudence. At last, Sence got [Page 149] the upper hand, and made him resolve that, postponing all other considerati­ons, he would for the sake of Isabella, and to please his own inclinations, ex­pose himself to the most imminent pe­rils. And though his mind misgave him, promising him no good effect in this Affair; yet he was resolute in per­forming it, and went and shut himself unseen, into Isabellas Closet. Here he stay'd a long time, expecting her with extraordinary impatience, and did often reprove or approve his design, accord­ing to the various dictates of Sense and Reason. After a great while Isabella came and, with a multitude of sweet Kisses, ravished the heart of Don Diego, in such sort that, being intoxicated with these delicious endearments, he clear for­got all his past misfortunes. Isabella for to attain the desired end of all Lo­vers, began to undress, desiring Don Di­ego to do the like. He, in obeying her, pray'd her to shut the Chamber-door, that none of her Maidens, who are wont to watch over their Mistresses actions, might perceive them. Let me alone for that, said Isabella, you are a very cau­tious [Page 150] and fearful Lover. I, that hazard my Life, my Estate, and my good Name, do think of nothing but of serving you, and you, by needless cir­cumspections, do imbitter the sweetness of our affections. I see how pure your Love is, that hath a mixture of so much fear. Don Diego blusht at these words and, without reply, stripping all off, he went into Bed.

At the same time Isabella had like­wise put off her Cloaths, but instead of running into the Embraces of Don Diego, who lay with open arms impa­tiently expecting her, she went to a little Side-Table, for to set up and ac­commodate a Mouse-Trapp. And were it either for making too much haste, or some­thing else that happened amiss, she let the wyer that held up the trap fall several times from her hand. Don Diego's Patience being worn out in attendance, and fearing that some Servant might come at the clattering of that noise, said, Madam, what are you doing? Why do you spend so much precious time in vain? Are those amorous desires cooled that were so ardent in you a little while ago?

[Page 151]To which Isabella answered, My Dear, who so is not a true Enemy, cannot be a true Friend. I must re­venge me of a certain Mouse that has done me a thousand injuries; and more especially the last Night did gnaw me a Peach which for its goodliness, and for the Persons sake that gave it was much valued by me.

Why then, replied Don Diego, will you let a Lover languish while you take revenge of a poor Mouse? Pray lay aside revenging, and let us fall to lov­ing. And then again he renewed his instances, that she would leave the Trap, and come to Bed.

But Isabella being obstinate, and mak­ing as if she did not hear him, he be­came highly incensed. Whereupon his passed fears being awakened, and be­ing also afraid that the Noise might call some of her Servants thither, he said,

Whereunto Isabella answering no­thing, he, hastily putting on some, and making a bundle of the rest of his Clothes, departed the Chamber, and so went out of the House, looking after­wards upon Isabella with a very in­different Eye. She therefore either de­spising this his resolution, or recanting the too much indulgence of her own inclination, cared no more for him.

[Page 153]Such is the mutability of humane affe­ctions. Whereupon we may conclude that the minds of Women are many times in­constant, and sometimes overcome by di­shonesty and revenge: and that no wise men ought ever to adventure their Lives in the vain pursuit of unlawful pleasures, or sensual enjoyments.