The Palace of Pleasure Volume Iii Part 4

He that was wyse and well trayned vp dissembled what he thought, imagining that it was for some lyttle fantasie, whereunto Women wyllingly be subiecte. And therfore when he thought time to depart he toke leaue of the wydow, and as he was goyng down the staires of the great Chamber, he met one of the maides of Gineura, whom he prayed to commend him to hir mistresse. Gineura duryng al this time tooke no reste, deuising howe shee myghte cutte of cleane hir loue entertained in Dom Diego, after she knewe that hee carryed the hawke on his fyst: beyng the onely instrument of her frensie. And therefore thynkyng hir selfe both despysed and mocked of hir Knyght, and that he had done it in despyte of hir, she entred into so great rage and Choler as she was like to fall mad. She being then in this trouble of Mynde, behold hir Gentlewoman came vnto hir, and dyd the knyght's message. Who hearing but the symple name of hir supposed Ennimy, began to sighe so straungely, as a Man would haue thought hir soule presently would haue departed hir Body. Afterwards when she had vanquished hir raging fit whych stayed hir speach, she gan very tenderly to weepe, saying: "Ah traytor and vnfaithful Louer, is thys the recompence of the honest, and firme Amity whych I haue borne thee, so wyckedly to deceiue me vnder the colour of so faint and detestable a Fryends.h.i.+p? Ah rashe and arrant Theefe, is it I vppon whom thou oughtest to bend thy wycked Trumperies? Doste thou thinke that I am no better worth but that thou prodigally shouldest waste myne honor to bear the spoyles thereof to hir, that is in nothing comparable vnto me?

Wherein haue I deserued thys discurtesy, if not by louyng thee more than thy beauty and fained loue deserue? Diddest thou dare to aduenture vppon me, hauyng thy conscyence wounded wyth sutch an abhominable and deadly Treason? Durste thou to offer thy Mouth to kysse my Hand, by the mouth of another, to whome thou haddest before dedicated thy lying Lyppes in thine owne person?

I most humbly thancke Almighty G.o.d that it pleased him to let me see the Poison by thee prepared for the ruine of my lyfe and honor. Ha foole, hope not to take me in thy Trap, nor yet to deceyue me through thy sugred and deceitfull Words. For I sweare by the Almyghty G.o.d, that so long as I shall liue, I will accompte thee none other, but the most cruell and mortall Ennimy that I haue in this world." Then to accomplish the rest of hir carefull Minde she wrote a Letter to giue hir farewell to hir olde Friend Dom Diego. And for that purpose instructed hir Page with this Lesson, that when the knyght should come, he should be ready before hir lodging and say vnto him in the behalfe of hir, that before he pa.s.sed any further, hee shoulde reade the Letter, and not to fayle to doe the Contents: the Page which was malicious, and il affectioned to Dom Diego, knowyng the appointed day of hys comming, wayted for hym a quarter of a mile from the Castle, where he had not long taryed, but the innocent louer came, agaynst whome the page went, bearyng about him more hurtfull and noysome weapons than al the Theeues and robbers had in all the Countrey of Catheloigne. In this manner presenting his mystresse letters, he said vnto him: "My Lord, madame Gineura my mistresse hath sent me vnto you: and bicause she knoweth how feareful you be to dysplease hir, prayeth you not to fayle to reade this Letter before you pa.s.se anye further, and there wyth al to accomplysh the effecte thereof." The knyght abashed wyth that sodayne message, aunswered the Page: "G.o.d forbid my fryend," (quod he) "that I should disobey hir by anye meanes, vnto whom I haue gyuen a full authority and puissaunce over myne affectyons." So receyuing the letters, he kissed them thre or four times, and openyng them, found that he loked not for, and red that whych he thought not off. The contents were these.

_The letters of faire Ginuera, to the Knight Dom Diego._

There shall pa.s.se no day of my Lyfe, from makyng complaynts of the disloyall and periured Louer, who being more esteemed and better beloued than thou dydst deserue, hast made so small accompte of mee, whereof I wyll be reuenged vpon my selfe, for that I so lyghtly beleued thy wordes so full of crafte and guyle. I am in mynd that thou henceforth shalt flye to buzze and beat the Bushes, where thou suspectest to catch the pray: for heere thou art lyke to be deceiued. Goe varlet, (goe I say,) to deceyue hir whych holdeth thee in hir nets and snares, and whose Presentes (althoughe of small Value) moued thee more than the Honeste, Vertuous and Chaste Loue, that Vertue hir selfe began to knytte betweene vs. And sith a Carrion Kyte hath made the fly further off, than the Wynde of the Ayre was able to bear thee, G.o.d desende that Gineura should goe aboute to hynder thy follyes, and mutch lesse to suffer hir selfe to bee beguyled throughe thine Excuses. Nay rather G.o.d defend (except thou desirest to se me dy) that thou shouldest euer bee in place where I am, a.s.suryng thee of thys my mynde, neuer to be chaunged so long as my soule shall rest wythin my body: which giuing breath vnto my panting breast, shal neuer be other, but a mortall enimy to Dom Diego: and sutch one as euen to the Death wyl not fayle to prosecute the default of the most traiterous and vnfaythfull Knyght that euer was gyrte in girdle, or armed with Sword. And behold the last fauour that thou canst, or oughtest to hope of me, who lyueth not but onelye to martir and crucify thee, and neuer shal be{ }other but

The greatest Enimy, that euer thou haddest, or shalt haue, Gineura the fayre.

The myserable louer had no sooner red the Letter, but lifting vp his eyes to the heauens, he sayd: "Alas, my G.o.d thou knowest well if euer I haue offended, that I ought to be banyshed from the place, where my contentation is chyefly fixed, and from whence my heart{ }shall neuer departe, chaunce what myssehappe and Fortune so euer shall." Then tournyng himself towards the Page, hee sayd: "Sir Page my fryend, say vnto my Ladye, most humblye commending me vnto hir, that for this present time I wyll not see hir, but hereafter she shall heare some newes from me." The page well lessoned for the purpose, made hym aunswere, saying: "Sir, she hath wylled me to say thus mutch by mouth, that ye cannot do hir greater pleasure, than neuer to come in place where shee is: for so mutch as the Daughter of Dom Ferrando de la Serre hath so catched you in hir nettes, that loth she is your faithfull heart shoulde hange in ballance, and expect the vncertaine Loue of two Ladyes at once." Dom Diego hearing the truth of hys missehap, and the occasion of the same, made Lyghte of the matter for that tyme, till at length the Choler of his Mistresse were abated, that thereby shee might know vpon how bryttle Ground she hadde planted a suspition of hir most faythfull and louing Seruaunt, and so retiring to his House, altogither vexed and yll contented, he wente into hys Chaumber where with his Dagger he paunched the gorge of the poore birde, the cause of hys Ladies Anger, saying: "Ha vyle carraine kite, I sweare by the bloud of him, that thou shalt neuer be the cause agayne, to make hir fret for sutch a triflyng thing as thou art: I beleue that what so euer fury is hidden within the Body of this curssed Kite, to engender a Plague, the same now is seased on me, but I hope to doe my Mystresse vnderstande what Sacrifice I haue made of the thyng that was sent me, ready to do the lyke vppon mine owne flesh, where it shall please her to commaund." So taking Inke and Paper, he made aunswere to Gineura as foloweth.

_The Letters of Dom Diego, to Gineura the faire._

But who would euer thynck (my Lady deare) that a Lyght Opinion could so soone haue deuided your good iudgement, to condempn your Knight before you had heard what he was able to say, for himself? truely I thought no more to offend you, than the man which you neuer knew, although you haue bene deceiued by colored words, vttered by those that be enuious of my happe, and Enimies of your ioy, who haue filled your minde full of false report.

I swere vnto you (by G.o.d, my good Lady) that neuer thinge entred into my fantasie more, than a desire to serue you alone and to auoide the acquaintance of all other, to preserue for you a pure and entire heart. Whereof longe agone I made you an offer. In wytnesse whereof I humbly beseech you to beleue, that so soone as you see this Birde (the cause of your anger and occasion of my mishap) torne and pluckte in pieces, that my heart feeleth no lesse alteration or torment: for so long as I shall vnderstand your displeasure to endure against mee, a.s.sure your selfe my Life shall abide in no lesse paine than my ioye was great when I franckly possessed your presence. Be it sufficient (Madame) for you to know, that I neuer thought to offend you. Be contented I beseech you, with this sacrifice which I send you, if not that I doe the like vpon myne owne body, which without your good will and grace can no longer liue. For my lyfe depending vppon that only benefit, you ought not to be astonned if the same fayling his nourishment doth pearish, as frustrate of that foode, propre, and apt for his Appet.i.te: and by like meanes my sayd life shall reuiue, if it may please you to spread your beames ouer mine obscure and base personage, and to receiue thys satisfaction for a fault not committed. And so wayting a gentle aunswere from your great curtesie, I humbly kisse your white and delicate handes, with all humility, praying G.o.d sweete Lady, to let you see how mutch I suffer without desert, and what puissaunce you haue ouer him that is all your

Faythfull and euer servaunt most obedient, Dom Diego.

The letter closed, and sealed, he deliuered to one of his faythfull and secret Seruaunts, to beare (with the deade Hauke) vnto Gineura, charging him diligently to take heede to hir countenaunce, and aboue all, that faithfully he should beare away what she dyd say vnto him for aunswere. His man fayled not to speede himselfe with diligence: and being come before Gineura, he presented that which his maister had sent hir. She full of wrath and indignation, would not once vouchsafe to reade the letter, and mutch lesse to accept the present which was a witnesse of the contrary of that shee did beleue, and turninge vnto the messenger, she sayde: "My Frende, thou mayest goe get thee backe agayne, wyth the selfe same charge which thou hast brought, and say vnto thy mayster, that I haue nothing to doe with his Letters, his Excuses, or any other thing that commeth from his handes, as one hauing good experience of his sleyghts and deceipts. Tell him also, that I prayse G.o.d, in good time I haue taken heede to the little fayth and trust that is in him for a countergarde, lightly neuer hereafter to bee deceiued."

The seruyng man would fayne haue framed an Oration to purge his maister, but the fierce Gentlewoman brake of his talke, saying vnto hym, that she was wel resolued vpon hir intent, whych was that Dom Diego should neuer recouer place in hir minde: and that shee hated hym as mutch at that time as euer shee loued him before. Vppon whych aunswere the Messanger returned, so sorrowfull for the Misfortune of his Mayster (knowing hym to bee very innocent) as he knew full well into what despayre his Mayster would fall, when he vnderstode those pitifull and heavy newes: notwithstanding needes he must knowe them, and therefore when he was come before Dom Diego, he recyted vnto hym from poynt to poynt his amba.s.sage, and deliuered hym agayne his Letters. Whereof the infortunate Gentleman was so sore astonned, as he was like to haue fallen downe dead at that instant.

"Alas," (sayd he) "what yll lucke is this, that when I thought to enioye the benefite of my attempte, Fortune hath reuolted to bryng me to the extremity of the moste desparate man that ever lyued? Is it possible that my good seruice should bee the cause of my approached ouerthrow? Alas, what may true and faithfull louers henceforth hope for, if not the losse of theyr tyme, when after long deuoire and duetye, an Enuious fool shall come to depryue them of theyr ioy and gladnesse, and they feelyng the bytternesse of theyr abandoned farewell, one that loueth lesse shall beare away the sweete fruicte of sutch hope, and shall possesse withoute deserte the glory due to a good and faythfull suter. Ah fayre Gineura, that thou seest not the griefe whych I do feele, and the affection wherewith I serue thee, and how mutch I would suffer to gayne and recouer thy good grace and fauor. Ha vayne hope, which vntill now hast fylled me, with mirth and gladnesse, altogether spent and ouerwhelmed in the gaulle of thy bytter sauour, and in the tast of thy corrupted lycour: better it had ben for me at the begining to haue refused thee, than afterwards receiued, cherished, and sincerely beloued, to be banished for so light occasion, as I am ful sore ashamed to conceyue the same within remembrance: but fortune shal not haue hir wil ouer me: for so long as I shall liue I wyll contynue the seruaunt of Gineura, and my lyfe I wyll preserue, to lette her vnderstand the force of Loue: by continuaunce whereof, I wyll not sticke to sette my selfe on fyre with the liuely flames of my pa.s.sions, and then withdrawe the fyrebrandes of my ioy, by the rigour and frowardnesse that shall proceede from hir." When he had fynished his talke, he began to sigh and lament so strangely, as his man was about to go cal the lady his mother. In whom dyd appeare sutch signes, as if death had ben at hand, or els that he had ben attached wyth the Spirite of phrensie. But when hee sawe hym aboute to come agayne to himselfe, he sayed thus vnto him: "How now, syr, wyl you cast your selfe away for the foolyshe toy of an vndiscrete girle, yll mannered and taught, and who perchaunce doth al this to proue how constant you would be? No, no sir, you must turne ouer an other Leafe, and sith you bee determyned to loue hir, you must perseuere in your pursute. For at length it is impossible, but that this Diamont hardnesse, must needes bee mollified, if she be not a Diuell incarnate, more furious than the wildest beasts, whych haunt the deserts of Lybia." Dom Diego was comforted with that admonition, and purposed to persist in hys affection, and therefore sent many messages, giftes, letters, and excuses to hys angry mistresse Gineura. But she made yet lesse accompt of them than of the first, charging the messangers not to trouble themselues about those trifles, for shee had rather dye than see hym, or to receyue any thyng from him, whom she deadly hated. When newes hereof came to the knyght, he was altogether impacient, and seeing the small profite which he did gaine by pursuing his folysh opinion, and not able to bestow his loue elsewhere, he determined to die: and yet vnwilling to imbrue his hands with his owne bloud, he purposed to wander as a vacabond into some deserte, to perfourme the course of his vnhappye and sorrowfull dayes, hoping by that meanes to quench the heat of that amorous rage, either by length of tyme, or by death, the last refuge of the myserable. For which purpose then, he caused to be made two pylgrims wedes, the one for himselfe, and the other for his man, and prepared al their necessaries for his voiage. Then writing a Letter to his Gineura, he called one of his men, to whom he said: "I am going about certayne of myne affayres, whereof I will haue no man to knowe, and therefore when I am gone, thou shalt tell my Lady Mother what I say to thee, and that within twenty dayes (G.o.d willing) I meane to retourne: moreouer I require thee, that foure dayes after my departure, and not before, thou beare theese letters to mistresse Gineura, and if so be she refuse to receyue them, fayle not to deliuer them vnto hir mother. Take heede therefore if thou loue me, to do all that which I haue geuen thee in charge." Afterwards he called his seruaunt vnto hym, which had done the first message vnto Gineura, which was a wise, and gentle fellow, in whom the knight reposed great affiaunce, to him he declared all his enterprise, and th'ende whereunto his fierce determination did extend. The good Seruaunt whych loued his mayster, hearing his intent so vnreasonable, sayde vnto him: "Is it not enough for you sir, to yelde your selfe a pray to the most fierce, and cruell woman that lyueth, but thus to augment hir glory, by seeing hir selfe so victorious over you? Are you ignoraunt what the mallice of Women is, and how mutch they triumph in tormenting the poore blynded soules that become their Seruaunts, and what prayse they attribute vnto themselues, if by some misfortune they driue them to dispaire?

Was it without cause that the Sage in times past did so greatly hate that s.e.xe, and Kinde, as the common Ruine, and ouerthrow of men? What mooued the Greeke Poet to sing theese verses against all sorts of Women?

A common woe though silly woman be to man, Yet double ioy againe she doth vnto him bring: The wedding night is one, as wedded folk tell can, The other when the knill for hir poore soule doth ring.

If not for that he knew the happinesse of man consisted more in auoyding the acquaintaunce of that fury, than by imbracinge, and chearis.h.i.+ng of the same, sith hir nature is altogether like vnto aesop's Serpent, which being deliuered from pearill and daunger of death by the shepeheard, for recompence thereof, infected his whole house with his venomous hissing, and rammish Breath.

O howe happy is hee that can mayster his owne affections, and like a free man from that pa.s.sion, can reioyce in liberty, fleeing the sweete euill which (as I well perceyue) is the cause of your despayre. But sir, your wisedome ought to vanquish those light conceipts, by setting so light of that your rebellious Gentlewoman, as shee is vnworthy to be fauoured by so great a Lord as you be, who deserueth a better personage than hir's is, and a frendlier entertainment than a farewell so fondly giuen."

Dom Diego, although that he tooke pleasure to heare those discourses of his faythfull seruaunt, yet he shewed so sower a Countenaunce vnto him, as the other with theese fewe wordes helde his peace: "Sith then it is so syr, that you be resolued in your mishap, it may please you to accept mee to wayte vpon you, whither you are determined to goe: for I meane not to liue at mine ease, and suffer my mayster, in payne, and griefe.

I will be partaker of that which Fortune shall prepare, vntill the heauens doe mitigate their rage vpon you, and your predestinate mishap." Dom Diego, who desired no better company, imbraced him very louingly, thankinge him for the good will that hee bare him, and sayd: "This present Night about midnight, we wil take our Iourney, euen that way wheather our Lot and also Fortune shall Guide vs, attendinge eyther the ende of my Pa.s.sion, or the whole ouerthrow of my selfe." Their intent they did put in proofe: for at Midnight the Moone being cleere when all thinges were at rest, and the Crickets chirpinge through the Creauises of the Earth, they tooke their way vnseene of any. And so soone as Aurora began to garnish hir Mantle with colors of red and white, and the morning Starre of the G.o.ddesse of stealing loue, appeared, Dom Diego began to sigh, saying: "Ah yee freshe and dewy Morninges, that my hap is farre from the quiet of others, who after they haue rested vpon the Cogitation of their Ease, and ioye, doe awake by the pleasaunte Tunes of the Byrdes, to perfourme by effect that which the Shadowe and Fantasie of their Minde, did present by dreaming in the Night, where I am constrayned to separate by great distaunce exceeding vehement continuation of my Torments, to followe wilde Beasts, wandring from thence where the greatest number of men doe quietly sleepe and take their rest. Ah Venus, whose Starre now conducteth me, and whose beames long agoe did glow and kindle my louing heart, how chaunceth it that I am not intreated according to the desert of my constant minde and meaning most sincere?

Alas, I looke not to expect any thyng certayne from thee, sith thou hast thy course amongs the wandring starres. Must the Influence of one Starre that ruleth ouer mee, deface that which the Heauens would to bee accomplished, and that my cruel mistresse, deluding my languors and griefs, triumpheth ouer mine infirmity, and ouerwhelmeth me with care and sorow, that I liue pyning away, amongs the sauage beasts in the Wildernesse? For somutch as without the grace of my Lady, all company shalbe so tedious and lothsom vnto me, that the only thought of a true reconciliation with hir, that hath my heart, shal serue for the comfort and true remedy of all my troubles." Whiles he had with these pangs forgotten himselfe, hee sawe that the day began to waxe cleere, the Sun already spreading his golden beames vpon the earth and therefore hastely he set himself forthwards, vsing Bywayes, and far from common vsed trades, so neere as he could, that hee might not by any meanes be knowne. Thus they rode forth till Noone: but seeing their horsse to be weary and faynt, they lighted at a village, farre from the high way: where they refreshed themselues, and bayted their horsse vntill it was late. In this sort by the s.p.a.ce of three daies they trauersed the Countrey vntill they arriued to the foote of a mountayne, not frequented almost but by Wilde and sauage Beasts. The countrey round about was very fayre, pleasaunt, and fit for the solitarines of the Knight: for if shadow pleased him, hee might be delighted with the couert of an infinite number of fruictfull trees, wherewith only nature had furnished those hideous and Sauage Desertes. Next to the high and wel timbred Forrests, there were groues and bushes for exercise of hunting. A man could desire no kinde of Veneson, but it was to be had in that Wildernesse: there might be seene also a certain sharpe and rude situation of craggy, and vnfruictful rocks, which notwithstanding yelded some pleasure to the Eyes, to see theym tap.i.s.sed with a pale moasie greene, which disposed into a frizeled guise, made the place pleasaunt and the rock soft, according to the fas.h.i.+on of a couerture. There was also a very fayre and wide Caue, which liked him well compa.s.sed round about with Firre trees, Pine apples, Cipres, and Trees distilling a certayne Rosen or Gumme, towards the bottom whereof, in the way downe to the valley, a man might haue viewed a pa.s.sing company of Ewe trees, Poplers of all sortes, and Maple trees, the Leaues whereof fell into a Lake or Pond, which came by certayne smal gutters into a fresh and very cleare fountayne right agaynst that Caue. The knight viewing the auncienty and excellency of the place, deliberated by and by to plant there the siege of his abode, for performing of his penaunce and life. And therefore sayd unto his seruaunt: "My friend, I am aduised that this place shall be the Monastery, for the voluntary profession of our religion, and where we will accomplish the Voyage of our Deuotion. Thou seest both the beauty and solitarinesse, which do rather commaund vs here to rest, than any other place nere at hand." The Seruaunt yelded to the pleasure of his mayster, and so lightinge from their horsse, they disfurnished them of their Saddles, and Bridles, gieuing to them the liberty of the fields, of whom afterwards they neuer heard more newes. The saddles they placed within the Caue and leauing their ordinary apparell, clothed themselues in Pilgrimes weedes, fortifying the mouth of the caue, that wilde beasts should not hurt them when they were a sleepe. There the seruaunt began to play the Vpholster, and to make 2 little beds of mosse, whose spindle and wheele were of wood, so well pollished and trimmed, as if he had bin a carpenter wel expert in that Science. They liued of nothing els, but of the fruicts of those wilde trees, sometimes of herbs, vntill they had deuised to make a crosbow of wood, wherewith they killed now and then a Hare, a Cony, a Kid, and many times some stronger beast remayned with them for gage: whose bloude they pressed out betwene two pieces of wood and rosted them against the Sunne, seruing the same in, as if it had bene a right good Dishe for their first course of their sober and vndelicate Table, whereat the pure water of the fountayne, next vnto their hollow and deepe house, serued in steade of the good Wynes, and delicious Drinks that abounded in the house of Dom Diego. Who liuing in this poore state, ceased night nor day to complayne of his hard fortune and curssed plight, going many times through the Desertes all alone, the better to muse and study thereupon, or (peraduenture) desirous that some hungry Beare should descend from the mountayne, to finishe his life and paynefull griefes. But the good Seruaunt knowing his Mayster's sorow and mishap, would neuer go out of his sight but rather exhorted him to retourne home againe to his goods and possessions, and to forget that order of lyfe, vnworthy for sutch a personage as he was, and vncomely for him that ought to be indued with reason and iudgement. But the desperate Gentleman wilfull in his former deliberation, would not heare him speake of sutch retrayt. So that if it escaped the seruaunt to be earnest and sharpe agaynst the rudenesse and sottish cruelty of Gineura, it was a pastime to see Dom Diego mount in choller against him, saying: "Art thou so hardy to speak il of the gentlewoman, which is the most vertuous personage vnder the coape of heauen? Thou maist thancke the loue I beare thee, otherwise I would make thee feele how mutch the slaunder of hir toucheth mee at the heart, which hath right to punishe me thus for mine indiscretion, and that it is I that commit the wronge in complayning of hir seuerity." "Now sir," sayd the seruaunt, "I do indeede perceyue what maner of thing the contagion of loue is. For they which once doe feele the corruption of that Ayre, think nothing good or sauory, but the filthy smel of that pestiferous meat. Wherefore I humbly beseech you a little to set apart, and remoue from minde, that feare and presumptuous dame Gineura, and by forgetting hir beauty, to measure hir Desert and your griefe, you shall know then (being guided by reason's lore) that you are the simplest and weakest man in the worlde, to torment your selfe in this wise, and that shee is the fondest Girle, wholly straught of wits, so to abuse a n.o.ble man that meriteth the good grace and sweete embracement of one more fayre, wise and modest, than she sheweth hirselfe to be." The knight hearing these words thought to abandon pacience, but yet replied vnto him: "I sweare vnto thee by G.o.d, that if euer thou haue any sutch talke agayne, eyther I will dye, or thou shalt depart out of my company, for I cannot abide by any meanes to suffer one to despise hir whom I do loue and honor, and shal so do during life." The seruaunt loth to offend his mayster held his peace, heauy for all that in heart, to remember how the poore gentleman was resolued to finish there, (in a desert unknowen to his Freendes) all the remnaunt of his life. And who aswell for the euill order, and not accustome nourture, as for a.s.siduall playnts and weepings, was become so pale and leane, as he better resembled a dry Chip, than a man, hauing feeling or lyfe. His eyes were sonke into his Head, his Beard vnkempt, his hayre staring, his skin ful of filth, altogether more like a wilde and Sauage creature (sutch one as is depainted in brutal forme) than faire Dom Diego, so mutch commended, and esteemed throughout the kingdome of Spayne. Now leaue we this Amorous Hermit to pa.s.sionate and playne his misfortune, to see to what ende the Letters came that he wrote to his cruel Mistresse. The day prefixed for deliuery of his Letters, his seruaunt did his charge, and being come to the house of Gineura, founde hir in the hall with hir mother, where kissing his Mayster's Letters, hee presented them with very great reuerence to the Gentlewoman.

Who so soone as shee knew that they came from Dom Diego, all chaunged into raging colour, and foolishe choller, threwe theym incontinently vppon the grounde, sayinge: "Sufficeth it not thy Mayster, that already twice I haue done him to vnderstand, that I haue nothing to doe with his Letters nor Amba.s.sades, and yet goeth he about by sutch a.s.saultes to encrease my displeasure and agony, by the only remembraunce of his folly?" The Mother seeing that vnciuile order, although shee vnderstoode the cause, and knowinge that there was some discorde betweene the two Louers, yet thought it to bee but light, sithe the Comike Poet sayeth:

The Louers often falling out, And prety warling rage: Of pleasaunt loue it is no doubt, The sure renewing gage.

She went vnto hir Daughter, and sayd vnto hir: "What great rage is this: let me see that Letter that I may reade it: for I haue no feare that Dom Diego can deceyue me with the sweetenes of his honny words. And truly Daughter you neede not fear to touch theym, for if there were any Poyson in theym, it proceeded from your beauty that hath bitten and stong the knight, whereof if he a.s.say to make you a partaker, I see no cause why he ought to be thus rigorously reiected, deseruing by his honesty a better entertaynement at your hands." In the meane time one of the seruing men toke vp the Letters, and gaue them to the Lady, who reading them, found written as followeth.

_The letters of Dom Diego, to mistresse Gineura._

My dearest and most wel beloued Lady, sith that mine innocency can finde no resting place within your tender Corpse, what honest excuse or true reason so euer I do alledge, and sith your heart declareth itself to be Implacable, and not pleased with hym that neuer offended you, except it were for ouermutch loue, which for guerdon of the rare and incomparable amity, I perceyue my selfe to be hated deadly of you and in sutch wise contemned, as the only record of my name causeth in you an insupportable griefe and displeasure vnspeakeable. To auoide I say your indignation, and by my mishap to render vnto you some ease and contentment, I haue meant to dislodge my self so far from this Countrey, as neyther you nor any other, shal euer heare by fame or true report, the place of my abode, nor the graue wherein my bones shall rest. And although it be an inexplicable heart's sorrow and torment, which by way of pen can not be declared, to be thus misprised of you, whom alone I do loue and shal, so long as mine afflicted soule shall hang vpon the feeble and brittle threede of life: yet for all that, this griefe falling vpon me, is not irkesome, as the punishment is grieuous, by imagining the pa.s.sion of your minde when it is disquieted with disdayne and wrath agaynst me, who liueth not, but to wander vpon the thoughts of your perfections. And forsomutch as I doe feele for the debility that is in me, that I am not able any longer to beare the sowre shockes of my bitter torments and martyrdome that I presently doe suffer, yet before my life doe fayle, and death doe sease vpon my senses, I haue written vnto you this present letter for a testimoniall of your rigour, which is the marke that iustifieth my vnguiltynesse. And although I doe complayne of mine vnhappy fortune, yet I meane not to accuse you, onely contented that eche man doe know, that firme affection and eternall thraldome do deserue other recompence than a farewell so cruell. And I am wel a.s.sured, that when I am deade, you will pitty my torment, knowing then, although to late, that my loyalty was so sincere, as the report of those was false, that made you beleeue, that I was very far in loue with the Daughter of Dom Ferrande de la Serre. Alas, shall a n.o.ble gentleman that hath bene well trayned vp, be forbidden to receiue the gifts that come from a vertuous Gentlewoman? Ought you to be so incapable and voyde of humanity, that the sacrifice which I haue made of the poore Birde, the cause of your disdayne, my repentaunce, my lawfull excuses, are not able to let you see the contrary of your persuasion? Ah, ah, I see that the dark and obscure vayle of uniust disdayne and immoderate anger, hath so blindfold your eyes, and inuegled your mynde, as you can not iudge the truth of my cause and the vnrightousnes of your quarell. I will render vnto you none other certificate of myne innocency, but my languis.h.i.+nge heart, which you clepe betweene your hands, feling sutch rude intertaynment there, of whom he loaked for reioyse of his trauayles. But forsomutch then as you do hate me, what resteth for me to do, but to procure destruction to my self? And sith your pleasure consisteth in mine ouerthrow, reason willeth that I obey you, and by deth to sacrifice my life in like maner as by life you were the only mistresse of my heart. One only thing cheereth vp my heart agayne, and maketh my death more myserable, which is, that in dying so innocent as I am, you shall remayne guilty, and the onely cause of my ruine. My Lyfe will depart like a Puffe, and Soule shall vanish like a sweete Sommer's blast: whereby you shall be euer deemed for a cruell Woman and bloudy Murderer of your deuout and faythfull Seruaunt. I pray to G.o.d mine owne sweete Lady, to giue you sutch Contentation, Ioye, Pleasure, and Gladnesse, as you do cause through your Rigor, Discontentment, Griefe, and Displeasure to the poore languis.h.i.+ng Creature, and who for euermore shall bee

Your most obedient and affected seruaunt Dom Diego.

The good Lady hauing red the Letter, was so astonned, as hir words for a long s.p.a.ce staied within hir mouth; hir heart panted, and spirite was full of confusion, hir minde was filled with sorrow to consider the anguishes of the poore vagabound, and foster Hermit. In the ende before the houshold dissembling hir pa.s.sion which mooued hir sense, she tooke her Daughter a side, whom very sharply she rebuked, for that she was the cause of the losse of so notable and perfect a Knight as Dom Diego was. Then she red the Letter vnto hir, and as all hir eloquence was not able to moue that cruel damsell, more venemous than a Serpent agaynst the knight, who (as she thought) had not indured the one halfe of that which his inconstancy and lightnesse had wel deserued, whose obstinate minde the mother perceyuinge, sayde vnto hir: "I pray to G.o.d (deare daughter) that for your frowardnesse, you bee not blinded in your beauty, and for refusall of so great a benefit as is the alliaunce of Dom Diego, you be not abused with sutch a one as shall dimme the light of your renoume and glory, which hitherto you haue gayned amongs the sobrest and modest maydens." Hauing sayd so, the wyse and sage widow, went to the seruaunt of Dom Diego, of whom she demaunded what day his mayster departed, which she knowing, and not ignoraunt of the occasion, was more wroth than before: notwithstanding she dissembled what she thought, and sending backe his seruant, she required him to do hir hearty commendations to the Lady his mistresse, which he did. The good Lady was ioyfull of them not knowing the contents of her sonne's letters, but looked rather that he had sent word vnto his lady of the iust hour of his returne. Howbeit when she saw that in the s.p.a.ce of 20 dayes, nor yet within a moneth he came not, shee could not tell what to thinke, so dolorous was she for the absence of hir sonne. The time pa.s.singe without hearing any newes from him she began to torment hirselfe, and be so pensiue, as if she had heard certayne newes of his death. "Alas," (quod she) "and wherefore haue the heauens giuen me the possession of sutch an exquisite fruict, to depriue mee thereof before I do partake the goodnesse, and swetenes therof, and before I do enioy the grifts proceding from so goodly a stock. Ah G.o.d, I fear that my immoderate loue is the occasion of the losse of my sonne, and the whole ruine of the mother, with the demolition and wast of al our goods. And I would that it had pleased G.o.d (my Son) the hunter's game had neuer bene so deere, for thinking to catch that pray thou thy selfe wast taken and thou wandring for thy better disport, missing the right way, so strangely didst straggle, that hard it is to reduce thee into the right track agayne. At least wise if I knew the place, whereunto thou arte repaired to finde againe thy losse, I would trauell thither to beare the company, rather than to lyue heere voyde of a Husbande, betrayed by them whom I best trusted and bereft from the presence of the my Sonne, the Staffe and onely comfort of myne olde age, and the certayne hope of all our House and Family." Now if the Mother vexed hir selfe, the Sonne was eased with no great reioyce, being now a free cittizen with the Beasts, and Foules of the Forrests, Dennes, and Caues, leauing not the Profundity of the Woods, the Craggednes of the Rocks, or beauty of the Valley, without some signe or token of his griefe.

Sometime with a Puncheon wel sharpned, seruing him in steede of a Penknife, he graued the successe of his loue vpon an hard stone. Other times the softe Bark of some tender and new growen spray serued him in steede of Paper, or Parchment. For there he carued in Cyphres properly combined with a Knot (not easily to be knowne) the name of his Lady, interlaced so properly with his owne, that the finest heads might bee deceyued, to Disciphre the righte interpretation. Vpon a day then, as he pa.s.sed his time (accordinge to his custome) to muse vpon Myssehaps, and to frame his successe of loue in the Ayre, hee Ingraued these Verses vpon a Stone by a Fountayne side, adioyning to his rude and Sauage house.

If any Forrest Pan, doth haunt here in this place, Or wandring Nymphe, hath hard my wofull playnt: The one may well beholde, and view what drop of grace, I haue deseru'de, and eke what griefes my heart do taynt, The other lend to me some broke, or showre of rayne To moyst myne heart and eyes, the gutters of my brayne.

Somewhat further of many times at the rising of the Sunne, he mounted the Top of an high and greene Mountayne to solace himselfe vpon the freshe and greene gra.s.se, where four Pillers were erected, (eyther naturally done by dame Nature, or wrought by the industry of man,) which bore a stone in forme four square, well hewed, made and trimmed in maner of an Aulter, vpon which Aulter he dedicated these verses to the Posterity.

Vpon this holy squared stone, which Aulter men doe call, To some one of the G.o.ds aboue that consecrated is, This dolefull verse I do ingraue, in token of my thrall, And deadly griefes that do my silly heart oppresse, And vex with endelesse paynes, which neuer quiet is, This wofull verse (I say) as surest gage of my distresse, I fixe on Aulter stone for euer to remayne, To shew the heart of truest wight, that euer liued in payne.

And vpon the brims of that Table, he carued these Wordes:

This Mason worke erected here, shall not so long abide, As shall the common name of two, that now vncoupled bee, Who after froward fortune past, knit eche in one degree, Shall render for right earnest loue, reward on either side.

And before his Lodging in that wilde and stony Forrest vpon the Barke of a lofty Beeche Tree, feeling in himselfe an unaccustomed l.u.s.tinesse, thus he wrote:

Th'encreasing beauty of thy shape, extending far thy name, By like increase I hope to see, so stretched forth my fame.

His man seeing him to begin to be merily disposed, one day said vnto him: "And wherefore sir serueth the Lute, which I brought amongs our Males, if you do not a.s.say thereby to recreate youre selfe, and sing thereupon the prayses of hir whom you loue so wel: yea and if I may so say, by wors.h.i.+pping hir, you do commit idolatry in your minde. Is it not your pleasure that I fetche the same vnto you, that by immitation of Orpheus, you may mooue the Trees, Rocks, and wylde Beastes to bewayle your misfortune, and witnesse the penaunce that you doe for hir sake, without cause of so haynous punishment:" "I see well," (quod the knight) "that thou wouldest I should be mery, but mirth is so far from me, as I am estraunged from hir that holdeth me in this misery.

Notwithstanding I will performe thy request, and will awake that instrument in this desert place, wherewith sometime I witnessed the greatest part of my pa.s.sions." Then the knight receyuing the Lute sounded thereupon this song ensuing.

The waues and troubled sc.u.m, that mooues the Seas alofte, Which runs and roares against the rocks, and threatneth daungers oft Resembleth lo the fits of loue, That dayly do my fansie moue.

My heart it is the s.h.i.+p, that driues on salt Sea fome, And reason sayles with senselesse wit, and neuer loketh home, For loue is guide, and leades the daunce, That brings good hap, or breedes mischaunce.

The furious flames of loue, that neuer ceaseth sure, Are loe the busie sailes and oares, that would my rest procure, And as in Skies, great windes do blo, My swift desires runnes, fleeting so.

As sweete Zephyrus breath, in spring time feedes the floures, My mistresse voice would ioye my wits, by hir most heauenly powers, And would exchaunge my state I say, As Sommer chaungeth Winter's day.

She is the Artique starre, the gratious G.o.ddesse to, She hath the might to make and marre, to helpe or els vndo, Both death and life she hath at call, My warre, my peace, my ruine and all.

She makes me liue in woe, and guides my sighs and lookes, She holds my fredome by a lace, as fish is held with hookes, Thus by despayre in this conceite, I swallow vp both hooke and baite.

And in the deserts loe I liue, among the sauage kinde, And spend my time in wofull sighs, rays'd vp by care of minde, All hopelesse to in paynes I pyne, And ioyes for euer doe resigne.

I dread but Charon's boat if she no mercy giue, In darknesse then my soule shall dwell, in Pluto's raygne to liue, But I beleue she hath no care, On him that caught is in hir snare.

If she release my woe, a thousand thankes therefore, I shall hir giue, and make the world to honor hir the more, The G.o.ds in Skies will prayse the same, And recorde beare of hir good name.

O happy is that life, that after torment straunge, And earthly sorows on this mould, for better life shal chaunge And liue amongs the G.o.ds on high, Where loue and Louers neuer die.

O lyfe that here I leade, I freely giue thee now, Vnto the fayre where ere she rests, and loke thou shew hir how I linger forth my yeares and dayes, To win of hir a crowne of prayse.

And thou my pleasaunt Lute, cease not my songs to sound, And shew the torments of my minde, that I through loue haue found, And alwayes tell my Mistresse still, Hir worthy vertues rules my will.

The Foster Louer.

The Foster louer singing this song, sighing sundry tymes betwene, the tricling teares ranne downe his Face: which thereby was so disfigured, as sca.r.s.e could any man haue knowne him, that al the dayes of their lyfe had frequented his company. Sutch was the state of this myserable yong gentleman, who dronke with hys owne Wyne, balanced himselfe downe to despayre rather than to the hope of that which he durst not looke for. Howbeit like as the mischiefs of men be not alwayes durable, and that all thinges haue their proper season, euen so Fortune repentinge hir euill intreaty which wrongfully shee had caused this poore penetenciary of Gineura to endure, prepared a meanes to readuaunce him aloft vppon hir Wheele, euen when he thought least of it. And certes, herein appeared the mercy of G.o.d, who causeth things difficult and almost impossible, to be so easy, as those that ordinarily be brought to pa.s.se. How may this example show how they which be plunged in the bottome of defiaunce, deeming their life vtterly forlorne, be soone exalted euen to the top of all glory, and felicity? Hath not our age seene a man whych was by aucthority of his Enimy iudged to dye, ready to bee caried forth to the Scaffolde miraculously deliuered from that daunger, and (wherein the works of G.o.d are to be marueyled) the same man to be called to the dignity of a Prynce, and preferred aboue all the rest of the people? Now Dom Diego attending his fieldish Philosophy in the solitary valeys of the riche Mountayne Pyrene, was rescowed with an helpe vnlooked for as you shall heare. You haue hard how hee had a Neyghbour and singuler Frend a n.o.ble Gentleman named Dom Roderico. Thys Gentleman amongs all his faithfull Companions did most lament the harde fortune of Dom Diego. It came to pa.s.se that 22 moneths after that the poore Wilde penitent person was gonne on Pilgrimage, Dom Roderico tooke his Iourney into Gascoyne for diuers his vrgent Affayres, which after hee had dispatched, were it that hee was gon out of his way, or that G.o.d (as it is most likely) did driue him thither, he approched towarde that Coaste of the Pyrene Mountaynes, where that tyme his good Frende Dom Diego did Inhabite, who dayly grew so Weake and Feeble, as if G.o.d had not sent him sodayne succour hee had gotten that hee most desired, which was death that should haue bene the ende of his trauayles and Afflictions. The trayne of Dom Roderico being then a bowe shot of from the sauage Caben of Dom Diego, espyed the tractes of mens Feete newly troden, and beganne to maruayle what hee should bee that dwelled there, considering the Solitude, and Infertility of the Place, and also that the same was farre of from Towne or House. And as they deuised hereupon, they saw a man going into a Caue, which was Dom Diego, comming from making his complayntes vppon the Rock spoken of before. From which hauinge turned his face toward that parte of the worlde where he thought the lodging was of that Saynct, whereunto he addressed his deuotions, Dom Diego hearinge the Noyse of the horsse, was retired because hee woulde not bee seene. The knight which rode that way, seeing that, and knowing how far he was oute of the way, commaunded one of his men to Gallop towardes the Rocke, to learne what people they were that dwelled within, and to demaund how they might coaste to the high way that led to Barcelona. The Seruaunt approching neare the Caue, perceiued the same so well Empaled and Fortified with Beasts skins before, fearing also that they were Theeues and Robbers that dwelled there, durst not approche, and lesse enquire the way, and therefore returned towards his mayster, to whom hee tolde what hee saw. The knight of another maner of Metall and hardinesse than that Rascall and coward seruaunt, like a stout, Couragious, and valiaunt Man, poasted to the Caue, and demaundinge who was within, he saw a man come forth so disfigured, horrible to looke vppon, pale with staring hayre vpright, as pitifull it was to behold him, which was the seruant of the foster Hermit. Of him Roderico demaunded what he was, and which was the way to Barcelone. "Syr," aunswered that disguised person: "I know not how to aunswere your demaund, and mutch lesse I know the country where we now presently be. But sir, (sayde he sighing) true it is that we be two poore companions whom Fortune hath sent hither, by what il aduenture I know not, to do penaunce for our Trespa.s.ses, and Offences." Roderico hearing him say so, began to call to his remembraunce his Freende Dom Diego, although he neuer before that tyme suspected the place of his abode. He lighted then from his horsse, desirous to see the singularities of the Rocke, and the magnificence of the Cauish lodging, where hee entred and sawe him whom he sought for, and yet for all that did not know him: He commoned with him a long tyme of the pleasure of the solitary life in respect of theym that liued intangled with the combersome Follies of this World. "For somutch" (quod he) as the spirite distracted and withdrawen from Worldly troubles is eleuate to the contemplation of heauenly thinges, and sooner attendeth to the knowledge and reuerence of his G.o.d, than those that bee conuersaunt amongs men, and to conclude, the complaynts, the delights, ambitions, couetousnesse, vanities, and superfluities that abounde in the confused Maze of Worldely troupe, doe cause a misknowledge of our selues, a forgetfulnesse of our Creator, and many times a negligence of piety and purenesse of Religion. Whiles the vnknowne Hermit, and the knight Roderico talked of these thinges, the Seruauntes of Roderico visiting all the Corners of the deepe, and Stony Cell of those Penitents, by Fortune espied two Saddles, one of theym rychely wroughte and Armed wyth Plates of Steele, that had bene made for some goodly Ienet. And vppon the Plate well Wroughte, Grauen and Enameled, the Golde for all the Rust cankering the Plate, did yet appear. For whych Purpose one of theym sayde to the seruaunt of Dom Diego: "Good Father hitherto I see neyther Mule, nor Horsse, for whom these Saddles can serue, I pray thee to sell them vnto vs, for they will doe vs more pleasure, than presently they do you." "Maisters (quod the Hermit,) if they like you, they be at your commaundement." In the meane time Roderico hauing ended his talke with the other Hermit, without knowing of any thinge that he desired, sayd vnto his men: "Now sirs to horse, and leaue wee theese poore people to rest in peace, and let vs goe seeke for the right way which we so well as they haue lost." "Syr," (quod one of his men,) "there be two Saddles, and one of them is so exceeding fayre, so well garnished and wrought as euer you saw." The knight feeling in himselfe an vnaccustomed motion, caused them to be brought before him, and as he viewed and marked the riche Harnesse, and Trappings of the same, he stayeth to looke vppon the Hinder parte minionly wrought, and in the middest of the engrauing he red this deuise in the Spanish Tongue.

_Que brantare la fe, es causa muy fea._

That is, To violate or breake fayth, is a thing detestable.

That only inscription made him to pause a while. For it was the Poesie that Dom Diego bore ordinarily in his armes, which moued him to think that without doubt one of those Pilgrimes was the very same man to whom that Saddle did appertayne. And therefore he bent himselfe very attentiuely afterwardes to behold first the one, and then the other of those desert Citizens. But they were so altered, as hee was not able to know them agayne. Dom Diego seeing his Freende so neare him, and the desire that he had to knowe hym, chafed very mutch in hys mynde, and the more his Rage began to waxe, when hee saw Roderico approch neare vnto hym more aduisedly to looke vpon hym, for hee had not his own Affections so mutch at commaundement, but hys Bloude mooued hys Entrailes, and mounting into the most knowen place, caused outwardly the alteration which hee endured, to appeare. Roderico seeing hym to chaunge colour, was a.s.sured of that which before hee durst not suspect: and that which made him the sooner beleeue that he was not deceived, was a lyttle tuft of haire, so yelow as Gold, which Dom Diego had vpon his Necke, whereof Dom Roderico takyng heede, gaue ouer all suspition, and was well a.s.sured of that he doubted. And therefore displaying himselfe with hys armes opened vpon the necke of his friend, and imbracing him very louingly, his face bedewed with tears, sayd vnto him: "Alas, my Lord Dom Diego, what euill lucke from Heauen hath departed you from the good company of them which dye for sorrow, to see themselues berieued of the Beauty, lyght and ornament of their felows.h.i.+p? What are they that haue giuen you occasion thus to Eclipse the bryghtnesse of your name, when it oughte most clearely to shyne, both for theyr present pleasure, and for the honour of your age? Is it from me sir, that you oughte thus to hide yourselfe? Do you think me so to be blynd, that I know not ryght well, that you are Dom Diego, that is so renoumed for vertue and prowesse? I would not haue tarried here so longe, but to carry away a power to reioyce two persons, you being the one, by withdrawing your selfe from this heauy and vnseemely Wyldernesse, and my selfe the other, to enioy your Company, and by bearyng newes to your fryends, who sith your departure, do bewaile and lament the same." Dom Diego seeing that he was not able to conceyle the truth of that which was euidently seene, and the louing imbracements of his best Friende, began to feele a certayne tendernesse of heart lyke vnto that whych the Mother conceyueth, when she recouereth hir Sonne that is long absent, or the chaste wyfe, the presence of hir deare Husband, when she clepeth him betwene hir armes, and frankely culleth and cherisheth hym at hir pleasure. For whych cause not able to refrain any longer for ioy and sorrow together, weping and sighing began to imbrace him wyth so good and hearty affection, as with good wyl the other had sought and longed to knowe where he was. And being come againe to himself, he sayd to his faithfull and most louinge friend: "Oh G.o.d, how vneasy and difficult be thy iudgments to comprehend? I had thought to liue here miserably, vnknowen to al the world, and behold, I am here discouered, when I thought least of it. I am indeede" (quod he to Roderico) "that wretched and vnfortunate Dom Diego, euen that thy very great and louing fryend, who weary of his lyfe, afflycted wyth his vnhap, and tormented by fortune, is retyred into these desertes to accomplysh the ouerplus of the rest of his il luck. Now sith that I haue satisfied you herein, I beseech you that being content wyth my sighte, yee wyll get you hence and leaue me heere to performe that lyttle remnant whych I haue to lyue, without telling to any person that I am aliue, or yet to manifeste the place of my abode." "What is that you say sir," (sayd Roderico) "are you so farre straught from your ryght wits, to haue a minde to continue this brutal Lyfe, to depryue al your friends from the ioy whych they receiue by inioying your company? Think I pray you that G.o.d hath caused vs to be born n.o.ble men, and hauing power and authority not to lyue in Corners, or be buryed amid the slauery of the popular sort, or remain idle within great palaces or secrete Corners, but rather to ill.u.s.trat and giue lyght with the example of our vertue to those that shal apply themselues to our dexterity of good behauior, and do lyue as depending vpon our edicts and commaundments: I appeale to your faith, what good shall succede to your subiects, who haue both heard and also knowne the benefit bestowed vppon them by G.o.d, for that hee gaue them a Lord so modest and vertuous, and before they haue experimented the effect of his goodnesse and Vertue, depriued of him, that is adorned and garnished with sutch perfections? What comfort, contentation and ioy shall the Lady your mother receiue, by feelyng your losse to be so sodaine, after your good and delycate bryngyng up, instructed with sutch great diligence and vtterly berieued of the fruict of that education? It is you sir, that may commaund obedience to Parents, succor to the afflicted, and do iustice to them that craue it: Alas, they be your poore subiectes that make complaints, euen of you, for denying them your due presence. It is you of whom my good madame doth complayne, as of him that hath broken and violated his faith, for not comming home at the promised day." Now as he was about to continue his oration, Dom Diego vnwilling to heare him, brake of his talk saying: "Ah sir, and my great Friend: It is an easy matter for you to iudge of mine affayres, and to blame myne absence, not knowing peraduenture the cause thereof. But I esteeme you a man of so good iudgement, and so great a fryend of thinges that be honeste, and a Gentleman of great fidelity, as by vnderstanding my hard luck, when you be aduertised of the cause of my withdrawing into this solitarie place, you wyll rightly confesse, and playnely see that the wisest and most constant haue committed more vaine follies than those don by mee, forced with like spirite that now moueth and tormenteth me." Hauing sayd, he tooke aside Roderico, where he dyd tell vnto hym the whole discourse both of his Loue, and also of the rigor of hys Lady, not without weepyng, in sutch abundaunce and with sutch frequent sighes and sobs interruptyng so hys speach, as Roderico was constrained to keepe him company, by remembryng the obstinacie of hir that was the Mistresse of his heart, and thinkynge that already he had seene the effect of lyke missehap to fal vpon his owne head, or neare vnto the lyke, or greater distresse than that which he sawe his deare and perfect Fryend to endure. Notwythstanding he a.s.sayed to remoue him from that desperate minde and opinion of continuance in the desert. But the froward penitente swore vnto him, that so long as he liued (without place recouered in the good graces of his Gineura,) he would not returne home to his house, but rather change his being, to seke more sauage abode, and lesse frequented than that was. "For" (quod hee) "to what purpose shall my retourne serue where continuinge mine affection, I shall fele lyke cruelty that I dyd in time past, which wil bee more painful and heauy for me to beare than voluntary exile and banyshment, or bring me to that end wherein presently I am." "Contente your self I beseech you, and suffer me to be but once vnhappy, and do not perswade mee to proue a second affliction, worsse than the first."

Roderico hearing his reasons so liuely and wel applied would not reply, onely content that he would make him promyse to tarry there two monthes, and in that time attempt to reioyse himselfe so wel as he could. And for hys owne part, he swore vnto him, that he would bee a meanes to reconcile Gineura, and brynge them to talke together. Moreouer, he gaue him a.s.surance by othe, that hee shoulde not bee discouered by hym, nor by any in his Company. Wherewith the knyght somewhat recomforted, thanked him very affectuously. And so leauyng wyth him a fielde bed, two seruaunts, and Money for his Necessities, Roderico tooke hys leaue, tellyng hym that shortely he would visite him againe, to his great contentation, as euer he was left and forsaken with gryefe and sorrow, himselfe makyng great mone for the vnseemely state and myserable plyght of Dom Diego. And G.o.d knoweth whether by the way, he detested the cruelty of pitilesse Gineura, blasphemyng a million of times the whole s.e.xe of Womankynd, peraduenture not without iust cause. For there lieth hydden (I know not what) in the brests of Women, which at times like the Wane and increase of the Moone, doth chaunge and alter, whereof a man can not tell on what foote to stand to conceiue the reasons of the same: whych fickle fragility of theirs (I dare not say mobility) is sutch, as the subtillest wench of them al best skilled in Turner's Art, can not (I say deface) or so mutch as hide or colour that naturall imperfection. Roderico arriued at his house, frequented many times the lodging of Gineura, to espy hir fas.h.i.+ons, and to see if any other had conquered that place, that was so well a.s.sayled and besieged by Dom Diego. And this wyse and sage knyght vsed the matter so well, that he fell in acquaintance wyth one of the Gentlewoman's Pages, in whom she had so great trust, as she conceyled from him very few of hir greatest secretes, not well obseruing the preceipte of the wyse man, who councelleth vs not to tell the secretes of the mynde to those, whose iudgement is but weake, and tongue very lauish and frank of speach. The Knyght then familiar with this Page, dandled him so with faire words, as by lyttle and lytle he wrong the Wormes out of his Nose, and vnderstode that when Gineura began once to take Pepper in snuffe against Dom Diego, she fell in loue wyth a Gentleman of Biskaye, very poore, but Beautyfull, young and l.u.s.tye, whych was the Stewarde of the house: and the Page added further that hee was not then there, but woulde returne wythin three Dayes, as he had sent Woorde to hys mystresse, and that two other Gentlemen woulde accompany him to cary away Gineura into Biskaye, for that was their last conclusion: "And I hope" (quod he) "that she will take me with hir, bicause I am made priuy to their whole intent." Roderico hearing the treason of this flight and departure of the vnfaithful daughter, was at the first brunt astonned, but desirous that the Page should not marke his altered Countenaunce, said vnto him: "In very deede meete it is, that the Gentlewoman should make hir owne choice of husband, sith hir mother so little careth to prouide for hir. And albeit that the Gentleman be not so riche and n.o.ble as hir estate deserueth, hir affection in that behalfe ought to suffise and the honesty of his person: for the rest Gineura hath (thanks be to G.o.d) wherewith to intertaine the state of them both." These wordes he spake, farre from the thought of his hearte. For being alone by himself, thus he said: "O blessed G.o.d, how blinde is that loue, which is vnruled, and out of order: and what dispayre to recline to them, which (voide of reason) doe feede so foolishly of vayne thoughts and fond desires, in sutch wise as two commodities, presented vnto them, by what ill lucke I know not, they forsake the beste, and make choise of the worst. Ah Gineura, the fairest Lady in all this Countrey, and the moste vnfaithfull Woman of oure time, where be thine eyes and iudgement? Whither is thy mynde straied and wandred, to acquite thyselfe from a great Lord, faire, rich, n.o.ble, and vertuous, to be giuen to one that is poore, whose parents be vnknowne, his prowesse obscure, and birth of no aparant reputation. Behold, what maketh me beleue, that loue (so wel as Fortune) is not onely blynd, but also dazeleth the sight of them that hee imbraceth and captiuateth vnder his power and bondage. But I make a vowe (false woman) that it shal neuer come to pa.s.se and that this Biskaye gentleman shall neuer enioy the spoyles whych iustely bee due vnto the Trauaile and faithfull seruice of the valyaunt and vertuous knyght Dom Diego. It shal be hee, or else I wil dye for it, whych shall haue the recompense of his troubles, and shall feele the caulme of that tempest, whych presently holdeth hym at Anker, amyd the most daungerous rockes that euer were." By this meanes Roderico knew the way how to keepe promise wyth his friende, which liued in expectation of the same. The two dayes past, whereof the Page had spoken, the beloued of Gineura, fayled not to come, and with him two Gallants of Biskaye, valiaunt Gentlemen, and well exercysed in Armes. That Nighte Roderico wente to see the olde Wydowe Lady, the Mother of the Mayden, and fyndyng oportunity to speak to the Page, hee said vnto hym: "I see my Friend, accordingly as thou diddest tell mee, that ye are vppon departing, the steward of the house beeing now retourned. I pray the tel mee, if thou haue neade of mee, or of any thyng that I am able doe for thee, a.s.suring thee that thou shalt obtaine and haue what so euer thou requirest. And therewithall I haue thought good to tel thee, and giue the warning (for thine owne sake specially) that thou keepe all thynges close and secrete, that no slaunder or dishonour do followe, to blot and deface the Same and prayse of thy Mistresse. And for my selfe I had rather dye, than once to open my mouth, to discouer the least intent of this enterpryse. But tell mee, I praye thee, when do ye depart?" "Sir" (quod the Page) "as my Mistresse saieth, to morow about ten or eleuen of the Clocke in the Euening, when the Lady hir Mother shall bee in the sound of hir first sleepe." The knight hearyng that, and desirous of no better time, tooke hys leaue of the Page, and went home, where he caused to bee sente for tenne or twelue Gentlemen, his Neighbours and Tenaunts, whom he made priuy of his secretes, and partakers of that he went about, to deliuer out of Captiuity and miserie the chiefest of all his Friends.