Volume 2 — The Palace of Pleasure. (continued 5)

THE TWENTY-NINTH NOUELL.

Dom Diego a Gentleman of Spayne fell in loue with fayre Gineura, and she with him: their loue by meanes of one that enuied Dom Diego his happy choyse, was by default of light credit on hir part interrupted. He constant of mynde, fell into despayre, and abandoninge all his frends and liuing, repayred to the Pyrene Mountaynes, where he led a sauage lyfe for certayne moneths, and afterwardes knowne by one of hys freendes, was (by marueylous Circumstaunce) reconciled to hys froward mistresse, and maryed.

Mens mischaunces occurring on the brunts of dyuers Tragicall fortunes, albeit vpon their first taste of bitternesse, they sauor of a certayne kinde of lothsome relish, yet vnder the Rynde of that vnsauerouse Sap, doth lurke a sweeter honnye, than sweetenesse it selfe, for the fruit that the Posterity may gather, and learne by others hurts, how they may loathe, and shun the like. But bicause all thinges haue their seasons, and euery thynge is not conuenient for all Times, and Places, I purpose now to shew a notable example of a vayne and superstitious Louer, that abandoned his liuing and friendes, to become a Sauage Desert man. Which History resembleth in a maner a Tragical Comedy, comprehending the very same matter and Argument, wherewyth the greatest part of the sottishe sorte Arme themselues to couer and defend their Follies. It is red and seene to often by common custome, and therefore needelesse heere to display what rage doth gouerne, and headlong hale fonde and licentious youth (conducted by the pangue of loue, if the same be not moderated by reason, and cooled with sacred Lessons) euen from the cradle to more murture and riper age. For the Tiranny of Loue amonges all the deadly Foes that vexe and afflict our mindes, glorieth of his force, vaunting hymselfe able to chaunge the proper nature of things, be they neuer so sounde and perfect: who to make them like his lustes, transformeth himselfe into a substaunce qualified diuersly, the better to intrap sutch as be giuen to his vanities. But hauing auouched so many examples before, I am content for this present to tell the discourse of two persons, chaunced not long sithens in Catheloigne. Of a Gentleman that for his constancy declared two extremities in himselfe of loue and folly. And of a Gentlewoman so fickle and inconstant, as loue and they which wayted on him, be disordered, for the trustlesse grounde whereupon sutch foundation of seruice is layed, which yee shall easely conceiue by well viewing the difference of these twayne: whom I meane to summon to the lists, by the blast of this sounding trump. And thus the same beginneth. Not long after that the victorious and Noble Prynce, younge Ferdinandus, the Sonne of Alphonsus Kynge of Aragon was deade, Lewes the Twelfth, that tyme being Frenche king, vpon, the Marches of Catheloigne, betwene Barcelona, and the Mountaynes, there was a good Lady then a Wyddow, which had bene the Wyfe of an excellant and Noble knight of the Countrey, by whom she hadde left one only Daughter, which was so carefully brought vp by the mother as nothinge was to deare or hard to bee brought to passe for hir desire, thinking that a creature so Noble and perfect, could not be trayned vp to delicately. Now besides hir incomparable furniture of beauty, this Gentlewoman was adorned with Hayre so fayre, curle, and Yealow, as the new fined golde was not matchable to the shining locks of this tender Infant, who therefore was commonly called Gineura la Blonde. Halfe adaye’s iorney from the house of this Wyddow, lay the lands of another Lady a Wydow also, that was very rich, and so wel allied as any in all the Land. This Lady had a Sonne, whom she caused to be trayned vp so well in Armes and good letters, as in other honest Exercises proper and mete for a Gentleman and great Lorde, for which respect shee had sent him to Barcelona the chyefe Citty of all the Countrey of Catheloigne. Senior Dom Diego, (for so was the Sonne of that Wydow called) profited so well in all thynges, that when hee was 18 yeares of age, there was no Gentleman of his degree, that did excell him, ne yet was able to approche vnto his Perfections and commendable Behauiour. A thing that did so well content the good Lady his mother as she could not tell what countenaunce to keepe to couer hir ioy. A vice very common to fond and foolish mothers, who flatter themselues with a shadowed hope of the future goodnesse of their children, which many times doth more hurt to that wanton and wilfull age, than profit or aduauncement. The persuasion also of sutch towardnesse, full oft doth blinde the Spirites of Youth, as the Faults which follow the same bee farre more vile than before they were: whereby the first Table (made in his first coloures) of that imagined vertue, can take no force or perfection, and so by incurring sundry mishaps the Parent and Chylde commonly escape not without equall blame. To come agayne therefore to our discourse: It chaunced in that tyme that (the Catholike Kyng deceased) Phillippe of Austrich which Succeeded him as Heyre, passing through Fraunce came into Spayne to bee Inuested, and take Possession of all hys Seigniories, and Kyngdomes: which knowen to the Cittyzens of Barcelona, they determined to receiue hym with sutch Pompe, Magnificence, and Honor, as duely appertaineth to the greatnes and maiesty of so great a Prince, as is the sonne of the Romane Emperour. And amonges other thinges they prepared a Triumphe at the Tilt, where none was suffred to enter the lists, but yong Gentlemen, sutch as neuer yet had followed armes. Amongs whom Don Diego as the Noblest person was chosen chiefe of one part. The Archduke then come to Barcelona after the receyued honors and Ceremonies, accustomed for sutch entertaynment, to gratifie his Subiects, and to see the brauery of the yong Spanish Nobility in armes, would place himselfe vpon the scaffolde to iudge the courses and valiaunce of the runners. In that magnifique and Princely conflict, all mens eyes were bent vpon Dom Diego, who course by course made hys aduersaries to feele the force of his armes, his manhoode, and dexterity, on horsebacke, and caused them to muse vpon his toward valiance in time to come, whose noble Ghests then acquired the victory of the Campe on his side. Which mooued King Phillip to say, that in all his life he neuer saw triumph better handled, and that the same seemed rather a battell of strong and hardy men, than an exercise of yong Gentlemen neuer wonted to support the deedes of armes, and trauayle of warfare. For which cause calling Dom Diego before him he sayd: “God graunt (yong Gentleman) that your ende agree with your good beginnings and hardy shock of proofe done this day. In memory whereof I will this night that ye do your watch, for I meane to morrow (by God’s assistance) to dub you Knight.” The yong Gentleman blushing for shame, vpon his knees kissed the Prince’s hands, thanking him most humbly of the honor and fauor which it pleased his maiesty to do to him, vowing and promising to do so wel in time to come, as no man should be deceyued of their conceyued opinion, nor the king frustrate of his seruice, which was one of his most obedient Vassals and subiects. So the next day he was made knight, and receyued the coller of the order at the hands of king Phillip, who after the departure of his prince which tooke his iorney into Castille, retired to his owne landes and house more to see his mother, whom long time before he had not seene, than for desire of pleasure that be in fieldes, which notwithstanding he exercised so wel as in end he perceyued refiaunce in townes and Citties, to be an imprisonment in respect of that he felt in Countrey. As the Poets whilome fayned Loue to shoote his Arrowes amid the Woods, Forrests, fertile Fields, Sea coasts, Shores of great Ryuers, and Fountayne brinkes, and also vppon the tops of Huge, and hygh Mountaynes at the pursute of the sundry sorted Nymphes, and fieldish Dimigods, deeming the same to bee a meane of liberty to follow Loue’s tract without suspition, voyde of company and lothsome cries of Citties, where Iealousie, Enuy, false report, and ill Opinion of all things, haue pitched their Camp, and raysed their Tents. And contrariwise franckly and wythout dissimulation in the fieldes, the Freende discouering his passion to his Mistresse, they enioy the pleasure of hunting, the naturall musicke of Byrds and sometimes in pleasaunt Herbers compassed with the murmur of some running Brookes, they communicate their Thoughts, beautifie the accorde and vnity of Louers, and make the place famous for the first witnesse of their amorous acquaintaunce. In like manner thrice, and foure times blest be they there, who leeuing the vnquiet toyle that ordinarily doth chaunce to them that abyde in Citties, doe render duety of their studies to the Muses wherevnto they be most Addicted. Now Dom Diego at his owne house loued and cherished of his mother, reuerenced and obeyed of hys Subiects after he had imployed some time at his study, had none other ordinary pleasure but in rousing the Deere, hunting the wylde Bore, run the Hare, sometimes to fly at the Hearon, or fearful Partrich alongs the fields, Forests, Ponds, and steepe Mountaynes. It came to passe one day, as he Hunted the wylde Mountayne Goate, which he had dislodged vpon the Hill top, he espied an olde Hart that his Dogges had found, who so ioyfull as was possible of that good lucke, followed the course of that swift, and fearefull beast. But (sutch was his Fortune) the Dogges lost the foote of that pray, and he his men: for being horssed of purpose, vpon a fayre Iennet, could not be followed, and in ende loosinge the sight of the Deere, was so farre seuered from company, as he was vtterly ignoraunt which way to take. And that which grieued him moste was his Horse out of Breath scarce able to goe a false Gallop. For which cause he put his horne to his mouth, and blew so loude as he could: but his men were so farre of, as they could not here him. The young Gentleman being in this distresse, could not tell what to doe, but to returne backe, wherein he was more deceyued than before, for thinkinge to take the way home to hys Castle, wandred still further of from the same. And trotting thus a long tyme, he spied a Castle Situated vppon a little Hill, whereby he knew himselfe far from his owne house. Neuerthelesse hearing a certayne noyse of Hunters, thinking they had bene his People, resorted to the same, who in deede were the Seruaunts of the Mother of Gineura with the golden Locks, which in company of their Mistresse had hunted the Hare. Dom Diego, when he drue neere to the cry of the Hounds, saw right well that hee was deceyued. At what tyme Night approched, and the Shadowes darkening the Earth, by reason of the Sunnes departure, began to Cloth the Heauens with a Browne and misty Mantell. When the Mother of Gineura saw the knight which Rode a soft pace, for that his Horsse was tired, and could trauayle no longer, and knowing by his outward apperance that he was some great Lord, and ridden out of his way, sent one of hir men to knowe what he was, who returned agayne with sutch aunswere as shee desired. The Lady ioyfull to entertayne a Gentleman so excellent and famous, one of hir next neighbors, went forwarde to bid hym welcome, which she did with so great curtesy as the Knight sayd vnto hir: “Madame, I thinke that fortune hath done me this fauour, by setting me out of the way, to proue your curtesie and gentle entertaynment, and to receyue this ioy by visiting your house, whereof I trust in time to come to be so perfect a frend, as my predecessors heretofore haue hene.” “Sir,” sayd the Lady, “if happinesse may be attributed to them, that most doe gayne, I thincke my selfe better fauored than you, for that it is my chaunce to lodge and entertayne him, that is the worthiest person and best beloued in all Catheloigne.” The Gentleman blushing at that prayse, sayd nothing els, but that affection forced men so to speake of his vertues, notwithstandinge sutch as hee was, he vowed from thenceforth his seruice to hir and all hir Houshold. Gineura desirous not to bee slacke in curtesie, sayd that he should not so do, except she were partaker of some part of that, which the knight so liberally had offered to the whole Family of hir Mother. The Gentleman which till that time tooke no heede to the deuine Beauty of the Gentlewoman, beholding hir at his pleasure, was so astoonned, as hee could not tell what to aunswere, his eyes were so fixed vpon hir, spendinge his lookes in contemplation of that freshe hew, stayned with a red Vermilion, vppon the Alabaster and fayre colour of hir cleare and beautifull face. And for the imbelishing of that naturall perfection, the attire vppon hir head was so couenable and proper, as it seemed the same day shee had Looked for the comming of him, that afterwardes indured so mutch for hir sake. For hir head was Adorned with a Garlande of Floures, interlaced wyth hir Golden, and Enamiled hayre, which gorgeously couered some part of hir Shoulders, disparcled, and hanging down some tyme ouer hir passing fayre Foreheade, somewhyles vpon hir ruddy Cheekes, as the Sweete, and Pleasaunt windy Breath dyd mooue them to, and fro: Yee should haue seene hir wauering and crisped tresses disposed with so good grace, and comelynesse, as a man would haue thought that Loue and the three Graces coulde not tell els where to harbor themselues, but in that riche and delectable place of pleasure, in gorgeous wise laced and imbraudred. Vpon hir Eares did hang two Sumptuous and Riche orientall Pearles, which to the artificiall order of hir hayre added a certen splendent brightnes. And he that had beholden the shining and large Forehead of that Nimph which Gallantly was beset with a Diamonde of inestimable price and value, chased with a tresse of Golde made in form of little Starres, would haue thought that he had seene a Rancke of the twinckeling Planettes, fixed in the Firmament in the hottest time of Sommer, when that fayre season discouereth the order of his glittering Cloudes. In lyke maner the sparkeling eyes of the fayre Gentlewoman, adorned with a stately vaulte with two Archers, equally by euen spaces distinct, and deuided, stayned with the Ebene Indian tree, did so well set forth their Brightnesse, as the eyes of them that stayed their lookes at Noone daye’s directly vpon the Sunne, could no more be dazeled and offended, than those were that did contemplate those two flaminge Starres, which were in force able throughly to pierce euen the Bottome of the inward partes. The Nose well fourmed, iustly placed in the Amiable valley of the Vysage, by equall conformity Distinguished the two Cheekes, stayned wyth a pure Carnation, resemblinge two lyttle Apples that were arryued to the due time of their maturity and ripenesse. And then hir Coralline mouth, through which breathing, issued out a breath more soote and sauorous than Ambre, Muske, or other Aromaticall Parfume, that euer the sweete Soyle of Arabie brought forth. She sometime vnclosing the doore of hir Lips, discouered two rancke of Pearles, so finely blanched, as the purest Orient would blushe, if it were compared with the Beauty of thys incomparable whitenesse. But hee that will take vppon hym to speake of all hir inspeakable Beauty, may make his vaunte that he hath seene all the greatest perfections that euer dame Nature wrought. Now to come a little lower, on this freshe Diana appeared a Neck, that surmounted the Blaunch colour of Mylke, were it neuer so excellent white, and hir Stomacke somewhat mounting by the two Pomels, and firme Teates of hir Breasts separated in equal distaunce, was couered wyth a vayle, so lose, and fine, as those two little prety Mountaynes might easily be Discried, to moue, and remooue, according to the affection that rose in the centre of that modest, and sober Pucelle’s mynde: who ouer, and besides all thys, had sutch a pleasaunt Countenaunce, and ioyefull cheere, as hir Beauty more than wonderfull, rendred hir not so woorthy to be serued, and loued, as hir natural goodnesse, and disposed curtesie appearing in hir Face, and hir excellent entertaynement and comely Grace to all indifferently. This was not to imitate the maner of the most parte of our fayre Ladies, and Gentlewomen, who (mooued wyth what Opinion I know not) be so disdaynefull, as almost theyr name causeth discontentment, and breedeth in them great imperfection. And who by thinking to appeare more braue, and fine, by to mutch squeymishe dealing, doe offuscate and darken with folly their exterior Beauty, blotting, and defacing that which beauty maketh amiable, and worthy of honor. I leaue you now to consider wheather Dom Deigo had occasion to Forgo his Speach, and to bee bereft of Sense, being liuely assayled with one so well armed as Gineura was with hir Graces and Honesty: who no lesse abashed with the Port, Countenaunce, sweete talk, and stately Behauiour of the knight, which she vewed to be in him by stealing lookes, felt a motion (not wonted or accustomed) in hir tender heart, that made hir to chaunge color, and by like occasion speachlesse: an ordinary custome in them that be surprised with the malady of loue to lose the vse of speach where the same is most needefull to gieue the intier charge in the heart, which not able to support and beare the burden of so many passions, departeth some portion to the eyes, as to the faythful messengers of the mynde’s secret conceipts, which tormented beyond measure, and burninge with affection, causeth sometimes the Humor to gushe out in that parte that discouered the first assault, and bred the cause of that Feuer, which frighted the hearts of those two yong persons, not knowing well what the same might be. When they were come to the Castle, and dismounted from their Horsses, many Welcomes and Gratulations were made to the knight, which yelded more wood to the fire, and liuely touched the yong Gentleman, who was so outraged with loue, as almost he had no minde of himselfe, and rapt by litle, and little, was so intoxicated with an Amorous passion, as all other thoughtes were lothsome, and Ioye displeasaunt in respect of the fauourable Martirdome which hee suffered by thinking of his fayre and gentle Gineura. Thus the knight which in the morning disposed him selfe to pursue the Hart, was in heart so attached, as at euening he was become a Seruaunt, yea and sutch a Slaue, as that voluntary seruitude wholly dispossessed him from his former Freedome. These be the fruictes also of Folly, inuegling the lookes of men, that launch themselues with eyes shut into the Gulfe of despayre which in ende doth cause the ruin and ouerthrow of him, that yeldeth thereunto. Loue proceedeth neuer but of opinion: so likewise the ill order of those that bee afflicted with that Passion, ryseth not elswhere, but by the fond persuasion which they conceiyue, to bee Blamed, Despised, and deceyued of the thing beloued: where if they measured that passion according to his valor, they would make no more accoumpt of that which doth torment them, than they do of their health, honor, and life, which loue for their great seruice and labor deludeth them, and recompenseth another with that for which the foolish Louer imployeth thys trauel, which at length doth haste despaire, and ende more than desperate, when an other enioy that, for which hee hath so longe time beate the Bushes. During the time that supper was preparyng, the Lady sente hir men to seeke the huntesmen of Dom Diego, to gyue them knowledge where he was become, and thereof to certify his mother, who when she heard tell that her sonne was lodged there, was very glad beyng a ryght good fryend and very familiar Neighbor with the Lady, the hostesse of Dom Diego. The Gentleman at supper after he had tasted the feruent heate that broyled in his Minde, coulde eate little meate, beinge satisfied with the feeding diete of his Amorous eyes, which without any maner of Iealousie, distributed their nourishment to the heart, who sat very soberly, priuily throwing his secretly Prickes, with louely, and wanton lookes, vppon the heart of the fayre Lady, which for hir part spared not to render vsury of rolling regardes, whereof he was so sparing, as almost he durst not lift vp his eyes for dazeling of them. After Supper, the knight bidding the mother and Daughter good night, went to Bed, where in steede of sleepe, he fell to sighinge and imageninge a thousande diuers deuises, fantasiyng like number of follies, sutch as they doe whose Braynes be fraught loue. “Alas,” (sayde hee) “what meaneth it, that alwayes I haue lyued in so great liberty, and nowe doe feele my self attached with sutch bondage as I cannot expresse whose effects neuerthelesse be fastned in me? Haue I hunted to be taken? Came I from my house in liberty, to be shut vp in Pryson, and do not know wheather I shall be receyued, or being receyued haue intertaynment, according to desert? Ah Gineura, I would to God, that thy Beauty did pricke mee no worsse, than the tree whereof thou takest thy name, is sharp in touching, and bitter to them that taste it. Truely I esteeme my comming hither happy (for all the Passion that I indure) sith the purchase of a griefe so lucky doth qualify the ioy, that made me to wander thus ouer frankly. Ah Fayre amonges the Fayrest, truely the fearefull Beast which with the bloudy Hare Houndes was torne in pieces, is not more Martired, than my heart deuided in Opinions vppon thyne Affection. And what doe I know if thou louest an other more worthy to bee Fauoured of thee than thy poore Dom Diego. But it is impossible that any can approche the sincerity that I feele in my heart, determining rather to indure death, than to serue other but fayre and golden Gineura: therefore my loyalty receyuing no comparison, cannot bee matched in man sufficient (for respect of the same) to be called seruaunt of thine excellency. Now come what shal, by meanes of this, I am assured that so long as Dom Diego liueth, his heart shal receyue none other impression or desire, but that which inciteth him to loue, serue, and honor the fairest creature at thys day within the compasse of Spayne.” Resolued hereupon, sweating, laboring, and trauelling upon the framing of his loue, he founde nothing more expedient than to tel hir his passion, and let hir vnderstand the good wil that he had to do hir seruice, and to pray hir to accept hym for sutch, as from that time forth would execute nothing but under the title of hir good name. On th’otherside Gineura could not close hir eyes, and knew not the cause almost that so impeched hir of sleepe, wherefore now tossing on th’one side, and then turning to the other, in hir rich and goodly Bed, fantasied no fewer deuises than passionated Dom Diego did. In th’end she concluded, that if the knight shewed hir any euident signe, or opened by word of mouth any Speach of loue and seruice, she would not refuse to do the like to him. Thus passed the night in thoughts, sighes, and wishes betwene these 2 apprentises of the thing, whereof they that be learners, shal soone attayne the experience, and they that follow the occupation throughly, in short time be their crafts maisters. The next day the knight would depart so soone as he was vp: but the good widow, imbracing the personage and good order of the knight in hir heart, more than any other that she had seene of long time, intreated him so earnestly to tarry as he which loued better to obey hir request then to depart, although fayned the contrary, in the end appeared to be vanquished vpon the great importunity of the Lady. Al that morning the Mother and the Daughter passed the time with Dom Deigo in great talke of common matters. But he was then more astonned and inamored than the night before, in sutch wise as many times he aunswered so vnaptly to their demaunds, as it was easily perceiued that his minde was mutch disquieted with some thing, that only did possesse the force and vehemence of the same: notwithstanding the Lady imputed that to the shamefastnesse of the Gentleman, and to his simplicity, which had not greatly frequented the company of Ladies. When dinner time was come, they were serued with sutch great fare and sundry delicates accordingly as with hir hart she wyshed to intertain the young Lord, to the intent from that time forth, he might more willinglye make repaire to hir house. After dinner he rendred thanks to his hostesse for his good cheare and intertainment that he had receiued, assuring hir, that all the dayes of his Life he would imploy himselfe to recompence hir curtesy, and with all duety and indeuor to acknowledge that fauor. And hauing taken his leaue of the mother, he went to the Damosell, to hir I say, that had so sore wounded his hearte who already was so deeply grauen in his mind, as the marke remained there for euer, taking leaue of hir, kissed hir handes, and thinking verily to expresse that whereuppon hee imagined all the Nyghte, his Tongue and Wits were so tyed and rapt, as the Gentlewoman perfectly perceiued this alteration, whereat she was no whit discontented and therefore all blushyng, sayde vnto him: “I pray to God sir, to ease and comfort your gryefe, as you leaue vs desirous and glad, long to enioy your company.” “Truely Gentlewoman,” (aunswered the Knyght) “I think my selfe more than happy, to heare that wysh proceede from sutch a one as you be, and specially for the desire whych you say you haue of my presence, whych shall be euer readye to doe that whych it shall please you to commaunde.” The Gentlewoman bashfull for that offer, thanked hym verye heartilye praying him wyth sweete and smilinge Countenance, not to forget the waye to come to visite them, beyng wel assured, that hir mother would be very glad thereof. “And for mine owne part,” (quod she) “I shall thinke my self happy to be partaker of the pleasure and great amity that is betwene our two houses.” After great reuerence and leaue taken between them, Dom Diego returned home, where he tolde his mother of the good interteynment made him, and of the great honesty of the Lady hys hostesse: “Wherfore madam,” (quod he to hys Mother) “I am desyrous (if it be your pleasure) to let them know how much their bountifull hospitality hath tied me to them, and what desire I haue to recompence the same. I am therefore wyllyng to bydde them hyther, and to make them so good cheare, as wyth all theyr Hearte they made me when I was wyth them.” The Lady whych was the assured fryende of the Mother of Gineura, lyked well the aduyse of hir sonne, and tolde him that they should bee welcome, for the aunciente amity of long time betwene them, who was wont many times to visit one an other. Dom Diego vpon his mother’s words, sent to intreat the Lady and fayr Gineura, that it woulde please them to do him the honour to come into his house: to which request she so willingly yelded, as he was desirous to bid them. At the appointed day Dom Diego sought al meanes possible honourably to receyue them: In meates whereof there was no want, in Instruments of all sortes, Mummeries, Morescoes, and a thousand other pastymes, whereby he declared his good bringing vp, the gentlenesse of his Spyryte, and the desire that he had to appeare sutch one as he was, before hir, which had already the full possession of his liberty. And bicause he would not faile to accomplyshe the perfection of his intent, hee inuyted all the Gentlemen and Gentlewomen that were his neighbours. I will not here describe the moste part of the prouision for that feast, nor the diuersity of Meates, or the delycate kyndes of Wines. It shall suffise mee to tell that after dynner they daunced, where the knight tooke his mistresse by the hand who was so glad to see hir selfe so aduanced, as he was content to be so neare hir, that was the sweete torment and vnspeakable passion of his mynd, whych hee began to discouer vnto hir in this wyse: “Mistresse Gineura I have ben alwayes of this Minde, that Musike hath a certeine secrete hydden vertue (which wel can not be expressed) to reuiue the thoughts and cogitations of man, be he neuer so mornfull and pensiue, forcing him to vtter some outward reioyse: I speake it by my self, for that I liue in extreme anguish and payne, that al the ioy of the World seemeth vnto mee displeasaunt, care, and disquyetnesse: and neuerthelesse my passion, agreeing with the plaintife voice of the Instrument, doth reioyce and conceiue comforte, as well to heare insensible thinges conformable to my desires as also to see my self so neere vnto hir, that hath the salue to ease my payne, to discharge my disease, and to depryue my Mynd from all gryefs. In like maner reason it is, that she hir selfe do remedy my disease, of whom I receiued the prycke, and which is the first foundation of all mine euil.” “I can not tell” (sayd the Gentlewoman) “what disease it is you speak of, for I shoulde bee very vnkinde to gieue him occasion of griefe, that doth make vs this great cheere.” “Ah Lady myne,” (sayd the knight, fetching a sigh from the bottome of his heart,) “the intertaynement that I receyue by the continuall contemplation of your diuine Beauties, and the vnspeakeable brightnesse of those two Beames, which twinkle in your Face, bee they that happily doe vex me, and make me drink this Cup of bitternesse, wherein notwithstanding I finde sutch sweetenesse as al the Heauenly Drincke called Ambrosia, fayned by the Poets, is but Gall in respect of that which I taste in mynde, feeling my deuotion so bent to do you seruice, as onely Death shall vnty the knot wherewith voluntarily I Knyt my selfe to be your Seruaunt for euer, and if it so please vou, your Faythfull, and Loyall Freende, and Husbande.” The yonge Damosell not wonted for to heare sutch Songs, did chaunge hir coloure at least three or foure times, and neuerthelesse fayned a little angre of that which did content hir most: and yet not so sharpe, but that the Gentleman perceyued well enough, that shee was touched at the quicke, and also that he was accepted into hir good Grace and Fauoure. And therefore hee continued styll hys talke, all that time after dinner, vntill the Mayden made hym thys aunswere: “Sir, I will nowe confesse that griefe may couer alteration of affections proceeding of Loue. For although I had determined to dissemble that which I thinke, yet there is a thinge in my Mynde (which I can not name) that gouerneth mee so farre from my proper Deuises, and Conceyptes, as I am constrayned to doe that which this second Inspiration leadeth mee vnto, and forceth my Mynde to receyue an Impression: but what will be the ende thereof, as yet I knowe not. Notwythstandinge, reposinge mee in youre Vertue, and Honesty, and acknowledgynge youre merite, I thincke my selfe happy to haue sutch one for my Freende, that is so Fayre and comely a knight, and for sutch I doe accept you vntill you haue obtayned of the Lady, my Mother, the second poynct, which may accomplish that which is moste desyred of them, that for vertue’s sake do loue. And but for that you shall bee none otherwyse fauoured of me, than hytherto you haue ben.” “Tyll now haue I attended for thys ryght happye day of Ioy and Blysse (sayd the Knyght) in token whereof, I doe kysse your whyte and delycate Hands, and for acknowledging the fauour that presently I do receiue, I make my vaunt to be the seruaunt of hir that is the fayrest, and most curteous Gentlewoman, on thys side the Mountaynes.” As hee had fynished those words they came to couer for Supper, where they were serued so honourably, as yf they had ben in the Court of the Monarch of Spayne. After Supper they went to walke abroade alongs the Riuer side, besette wyth Wyllow Trees, where both the Beauty of the time, the runnyng Ryuer, the Charme of the Natural musicke of birds, and the pleasaunt Murmure of the tremblyng Leaues, at the whistelyng of the swete Westerne Wynd, moued them agayne to renew theyr Pastyme after Dynner. For some dyd gyue themselues to talke, and to deuyse of delectable matter: some framed Nosegayes, Garlandes, and other prety posyes for theyr Fryendes; other some did leape, runne, and throwe the Barre. In the end a great Lord, neighbor to Dom Diego, whose name was Dom Roderico, knowyng by his Fryend’s Countenaunce to what saynt hee was vowed, and perceyuing for whose loue the feaste was celebrate, tooke by the hand a Gentlewoman that sate nexte to fayre Gineura, and prayed hir to daunce after a Song, whereunto shee beeynge pleasaunt and wyse, made no great refusall. Dom Diego fayled not to ioyne wyth hys mystresse, after whome folowed the rest of that noble trayne, euery of them as they thought best. Now the Gentlewoman, that was ledde into daunce, song thys song so apt for the purpose, as if shee had entred the heart of the Ennimy and Mystresse of Dom Diego, or of purpose had made the same in the Name of hir, whom the matter touched aboue the rest.

Thys Song delighted the Myndes of many in that company, and principally Dom Deigo, and Gineura, who felt themselues tickled without laughing: And the mayden reioysed to heare hir selfe so greatly praysed in so noble a company, and specially in the presence of hir friende who had no lesse pleasure by hearing the praises of his beloued, than if he had bin made Lord of all Aragon. She for all hir dissembled Countenaunce could not hide the alteration of hir Mynde, without sending forth a sodayne chaunge of colour, that forced a fayre and goodly taynt in hir Face. Dom Diego seeing that mutation, was so ioyful as was possible, for thereby he knew and Iudged himselfe assured of the good grace of hys Mistresse, and therefore wringing hir finely by the hands, sayd vnto her very soberly Smiling: “What greater pleasure my louinge Wench can there happen vnto your Seruaunt, than to see the accomplishment of this Propheticall Song? I assure you that in all my life I neuer heard musicke, that delighted me so mutch as this, and thereby doe vnderstand the good will of the Gentlewoman, which so curteously hath discouered yours towards me, and the faythfull seruice whereof you shall see me from henceforth so liberall, as neyther goods nor life shalbe spared for your sake.” Ginuera who loued him with all hir heart, thanked him very humbly, and prayed him to beleeue that the Song was truely soonge, and that without any fayle, she that soonge, had thereby manyfested all the secrets of hir mynde. The daunce ended, they sat theym downe rounde about a cleare Fountayne, which by silent discourse, issued from an high and moysty rock, enuironned with an infinite number of Maple trees, Poplars, and Ashes. To which place a Page brought a Lute to Dom Diego, whereupon hee could play very well, and made it more pleasauntly to sound for that hee accorded hys Fayninge Voyce to the Instrument, Singing this song that followeth.

Thys Song made the company to muse, who commended the trim inuention of the Knight, and aboue all Gineura praysed him more than before, and could not so well refrayne hir lookes from him, and he with counterchaunge rendring alike agayne, but that the two wydowes their Mothers tooke great heede thereof, reioysing greatly to see the same, desirous in time to couple them togeather. For at that present they deferred the same, in consideration they were both very young. Notwithstanding it had bene better that the same Coniunction had ben made, before Fortune had turned the Wheele of hir vnstablenes. And truely delay and prolongation of time sometimes bryngeth sutch and so great missehappe that one hundred times men cursse their fortune, and little aduyse in foresight of their infortunate chaunces that commonly do come to passe. As it chaunced to those Wydowes, one of them thinking to loose hir son by the vaine behauior of the other’s daughter, who wythout the help of God, or care vnto his wil, disparaged hir honor, and prepared a poyson so daungerous for his Mother’s age, as the foode thereof hastened the way to the good Ladye’s Graue. Now whiles this loue in thys manner increased and that the desire of these two Louers, flamed forth ordinarily in fire and flames more violent, Dom Diego all chaunged and transformed into a new man, receiued no delyght, but in the sight of his Gineura. And she thought that there could be no greater Felicity or more to be wyshed for, than to haue a Fryend so perfect, and so well accomplyshed wyth all thyngs requisite for the ornament and full furniture of a Gentleman. This was the occasion that the young Knyght let no Weeke to passe without visiting his mystresse twice or thryce at the least, and she did vnto hym the greatest curtesy and best Entertaynment, that vertue could suffer a Mayden to doe, whych was the diligent Treasurer and careful tutor of hir honor. And this she dyd by consent of hir Mother. In lyk maner, honestie doth not permyt chaste Maydens to vse long talk or immoderate speach, with the fyrst that be suters vnto them, and mutch lesse seemely it is for them to be ouer squeimysh Nice, wyth that man whych seeketh (by way of marryage) to wynne power and tytle of the Body, beyng in very deede, or ought to be the moiety of theyr soule. Sutch was the desyres of these two Louers, which notwithstanding was impeeched by meanes, as hereafter you shal heare. For duryng the rebounding ioy of those faire couple of Loyall Louers, it chaunced that the Daughter of a Nobleman of the Countrey, named Ferrando de la Serre, whych was fayre, very Comely, Wise, and of good behauiour, by keepynge daily Company with Gineura, fell extreamely in loue with Dom Diego, and assayed by all meanes to do him to vnderstand what the puissance was of hir Loue which willingly shee meant to bestowe vpon him, if it woold please hym to honor hir so mutch, as to loue hir with like sincerity. But the knight which was no more his own Man, beyng possessed of another, had with hys Lybertye lost his Wyts and Mynd to marke the affectyon of this Gentlewoman, of whom he made no accompt. The Maiden neuerthelesse ceased not to loue him, and to proue all possible wayes to make him hir owne. And knowing how mutch Dom Diego loued Hawking, she bought a hauke the best in all the countrey, and sent the same to Dom Diego, who wyth all his heart receiued the same, and affectuously gaue hir thanks for that desired gyft, praying the messanger to recommend him to the good grace of his mistresse, and to assure hir self of his faythfull seruice, and that for hir sake he would kepe the Hauke so tenderly as the Balles of his eyes. Thys Hauke was the cause of the ill fortune that afterwards chaunced to this poore Louer. For going many times to see Gienura with the hauke on his fist and bearing with him the tokens of the goodnesse of his Hauke, it escaped his mouth to say, that the same was one of the things that in all the World he loued best. Truely this Word was taken at the first bound contrary to his meaning, wherewith the matter so fell out, as afterwards by despayre he was like to lose his Lyfe. Certaine dayes after, as in the absence of the knight, talk rose of his vertue and honest conditions, one praysing his prowesse and valyance, another his great Beauty and Curtesy, another passing further, extolling the sincere affectyon and constancy which appeared in him touching matters of Loue, one enuious person named Gracian spake his mind of hym in this wyse: “I will not deny but that Dom Diego is one of the most excellent most honest and brauest knyghtes of Catheloigne, but in matters of Loue he seemeth to me so walteryng and inconstant, as in euery place where he commeth, by and by he falleth in loue, and maketh as though he were sicke and would dy for the same.” Gineura maruelling at those words said vnto him: “I pray you my frend to vse better talk of the Lord Dom Diego. For I do thynk the Loue whych the Knight doth beare to a Gentlewoman of thys countrey, is so firme and assured, as none other can remoue the same out of the siege of hys mind?” “Lo howe you be deceiued Gentlewoman” (quod Gracian) “for vnder coloure of dissymulate seruice, he and sutch as he is doe abuse the simplicity of young Gentlewomen. And to proue my sayinge true, I am assured that he is extremely enamored wyth the Daughter of Dom Ferrando de la Serre, of whom he receyued an Hauke, that he loueth aboue all other things.” Gineura remembrying the words which certayn dayes before Dom Diego spake touching his hauke, began to suspect and beleue that which Gracian alleaged, and not able to support the choler, whych cold Iealosy bred in hir stomack, went into hir Chaumber full of so greate gryefe and heauynesse as she was many tymes lyke to kyll hir selfe. In the end, hopyng to be reuenged of the wrong whych shee beleued to receyue of Dom Diego, determyned to endure hir fortune paciently. In the meane tyme she conceyued in hir Mynd a despyte and hatred so great and extreame agaynst the poore Gentleman that thought lyttle hereof, as the former loue was nothing in respecte of the reuenge by death which she then desired vpon hym. Who the next day after his wonted maner came to see hir, hauing (to hys great damage) the hauke on his fiste, which was the onely cause of all her Iealosie. Nowe as the knyght was in talke with the Mother, seeynge that his beloued came not at al (accordyng to hir custome) to salute him and bid him welcome, inquired how she dyd. One that loued hym more than the rest, sayd vnto him: “Syr, so soone as she knewe of your comming, immedyately she wythdrew hir self into hir Chaumber.” 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 Fryendship? 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 God 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 God, 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 passed 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 passe anye further, and there wyth al to accomplysh the effecte thereof.” The knyght abashed wyth that sodayne message, aunswered the Page: “God 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 passe 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, God 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 God defend (except thou desirest to se me dy) that thou shouldest euer bee in place where I am, assuryng 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 God 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 God, 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, assure 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 Appetite: 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 God 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 God, 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 ambassage, 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 passions, 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 (God 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 Sexe, and Kinde, as the common Ruine, and ouerthrow of men? What mooued the Greeke Poet to sing theese verses against all sorts of Women?

If not for that he knew the happinesse of man consisted more in auoyding the acquaintaunce of that fury, than by imbracinge, and chearishing of the same, sith hir nature is altogether like vnto Æsop’s Serpent, which being deliuered from pearill and daunger of death by the shepeheard, for recompence thereof, infected his whole house with his venomous hissing, and rammish Breath. O howe happy is hee that can mayster his owne affections, and like a free man from that passion, can reioyce in liberty, fleeing the sweete euill which (as I well perceyue) is the cause of your despayre. But sir, your wisedome ought to vanquish those light conceipts, by setting so light of that your rebellious Gentlewoman, as shee is vnworthy to be fauoured by so great a Lord as you be, who deserueth a better personage than hir’s is, and a frendlier entertainment than a farewell so fondly giuen.” Dom Diego, although that he tooke pleasure to heare those discourses of his faythfull seruaunt, yet he shewed so sower a Countenaunce vnto him, as the other with theese fewe wordes helde his peace: “Sith then it is so syr, that you be resolued in your mishap, it may please you to accept mee to wayte vpon you, whither you are determined to goe: for I meane not to liue at mine ease, and suffer my mayster, in payne, and griefe. I will be partaker of that which Fortune shall prepare, vntill the heauens doe mitigate their rage vpon you, and your predestinate mishap.” Dom Diego, who desired no better company, imbraced him very louingly, thankinge him for the good will that hee bare him, and sayd: “This present Night about midnight, we wil take our Iourney, euen that way wheather our Lot and also Fortune shall Guide vs, attendinge eyther the ende of my Passion, or the whole ouerthrow of my selfe.” Their intent they did put in proofe: for at Midnight the Moone being 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 Goddesse of stealing loue, appeared, Dom Diego began to sigh, saying: “Ah yee freshe and dewy Morninges, that my hap is farre from the quiet of others, who after they haue rested vpon the Cogitation of their Ease, and ioye, doe awake by the pleasaunte Tunes of the Byrdes, to perfourme by effect that which the Shadowe and Fantasie of their Minde, did present by dreaming in the Night, where I am constrayned to separate by great distaunce exceeding vehement continuation of my Torments, to followe wilde Beasts, wandring from thence where the greatest number of men doe quietly sleepe and take their rest. Ah Venus, whose Starre now conducteth me, and whose beames long agoe did glow and kindle my louing heart, how chaunceth it that I am not intreated according to the desert of my constant minde and meaning most sincere? Alas, I looke not to expect any thyng certayne from thee, sith thou hast thy course amongs the wandring starres. Must the Influence of one Starre that ruleth ouer mee, deface that which the Heauens would to bee accomplished, and that my cruel mistresse, deluding my languors and griefs, triumpheth ouer mine infirmity, and ouerwhelmeth me with care and sorow, that I liue pyning away, amongs the sauage beasts in the Wildernesse? For somutch as without the grace of my Lady, all company shalbe so tedious and lothsom vnto me, that the only thought of a true reconciliation with hir, that hath my heart, shal serue for the comfort and true remedy of all my troubles.” Whiles he had with these pangs forgotten himselfe, hee sawe that the day began to waxe cleere, the Sun already spreading his golden beames vpon the earth and therefore hastely he set himself forthwards, vsing Bywayes, and far from common vsed trades, so neere as he could, that hee might not by any meanes be knowne. Thus they rode forth till Noone: but seeing their horsse to be weary and faynt, they lighted at a village, farre from the high way: where they refreshed themselues, and bayted their horsse vntill it was late. In this sort by the space of three daies they trauersed the Countrey vntill they arriued to the 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 tapissed with a pale moasie greene, which disposed into a frizeled guise, made the place pleasaunt and the rock soft, according to the fashion of a couerture. There was also a very fayre and wide Caue, which liked him well compassed round about with Firre trees, Pine apples, Cipres, and Trees distilling a certayne Rosen or Gumme, towards the bottom whereof, in the way downe to the valley, a man might haue viewed a passing company of Ewe trees, Poplers of all sortes, and Maple trees, the Leaues whereof fell into a Lake or Pond, which came by certayne smal gutters into a fresh and very cleare fountayne right agaynst that Caue. The knight viewing the auncienty and excellency of the place, deliberated by and by to plant there the siege of his abode, for performing of his penaunce and life. And therefore sayd unto his seruaunt: “My friend, I am aduised that this place shall be the Monastery, for the voluntary profession of our religion, and where we will accomplish the Voyage of our Deuotion. Thou seest both the beauty and solitarinesse, which do rather commaund vs here to rest, than any other place nere at hand.” The Seruaunt yelded to the pleasure of his mayster, and so lightinge from their horsse, they disfurnished them of their Saddles, and Bridles, gieuing to them the liberty of the fields, of whom afterwards they neuer heard more newes. The saddles they placed within the Caue and leauing their ordinary apparell, clothed themselues in Pilgrimes weedes, fortifying the mouth of the caue, that wilde beasts should not hurt them when they were a sleepe. There the seruaunt began to play the Vpholster, and to make 2 little beds of mosse, whose spindle and wheele were of wood, so well pollished and trimmed, as if he had bin a carpenter wel expert in that Science. They liued of nothing els, but of the fruicts of those wilde trees, sometimes of herbs, vntill they had deuised to make a crosbow of wood, wherewith they killed now and then a Hare, a Cony, a Kid, and many times some stronger beast remayned with them for gage: whose bloude they pressed out betwene two pieces of wood and rosted them against the Sunne, seruing the same in, as if it had bene a right good Dishe for their first course of their sober and vndelicate Table, whereat the pure water of the fountayne, next vnto their hollow and deepe house, serued in steade of the good Wynes, and delicious Drinks that abounded in the house of Dom Diego. Who liuing in this poore state, ceased night nor day to complayne of his hard fortune and curssed plight, going many times through the Desertes all alone, the better to muse and study thereupon, or (peraduenture) desirous that some hungry Beare should descend from the mountayne, to finishe his life and paynefull griefes. But the good Seruaunt knowing his Mayster’s sorow and mishap, would neuer go out of his sight but rather exhorted him to retourne home againe to his goods and possessions, and to forget that order of lyfe, vnworthy for sutch a personage as he was, and vncomely for him that ought to be indued with reason and iudgement. But the desperate Gentleman wilfull in his former deliberation, would not heare him speake of sutch retrayt. So that if it escaped the seruaunt to be earnest and sharpe agaynst the rudenesse and sottish cruelty of Gineura, it was a pastime to see Dom Diego mount in choller against him, saying: “Art thou so hardy to speak il of the gentlewoman, which is the most vertuous personage vnder the coape of heauen? Thou maist thancke the loue I beare thee, otherwise I would make thee feele how mutch the slaunder of hir toucheth mee at the heart, which hath right to punishe me thus for mine indiscretion, and that it is I that commit the wronge in complayning of hir seuerity.” “Now sir,” sayd the seruaunt, “I do indeede perceyue what maner of thing the contagion of loue is. For they which once doe feele the corruption of that Ayre, think nothing good or sauory, but the filthy smel of that pestiferous meat. 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 Noble man that meriteth the good grace and sweete embracement of one more fayre, wise and modest, than she sheweth hirselfe to be.” The knight hearing these words thought to abandon pacience, but yet replied vnto him: “I sweare vnto thee by God, that if euer thou haue any sutch talke agayne, eyther I will dye, or thou shalt depart out of my company, for I cannot abide by any meanes to suffer one to despise hir whom I do loue and honor, and shal so do during life.” The seruaunt loth to offend his mayster held his peace, heauy for all that in heart, to remember how the poore gentleman was resolued to finish there, (in a desert unknowen to his Freendes) all the remnaunt of his life. And who aswell for the euill order, and not accustome nourture, as for assiduall playnts and weepings, was become so pale and leane, as he better resembled a dry Chip, than a man, hauing feeling or lyfe. His eyes were sonke into his Head, his Beard vnkempt, his hayre staring, his skin ful of filth, altogether more like a wilde and Sauage creature (sutch one as is depainted in brutal forme) than faire Dom Diego, so mutch commended, and esteemed throughout the kingdome of Spayne. Now leaue we this Amorous Hermit to passionate and playne his misfortune, to see to what ende the Letters came that he wrote to his cruel Mistresse. The day prefixed for deliuery of his Letters, his seruaunt did his charge, and being come to the house of Gineura, founde hir in the hall with hir mother, where kissing his Mayster’s Letters, hee presented them with very great reuerence to the Gentlewoman. Who so soone as shee knew that they came from Dom Diego, all chaunged into raging colour, and foolishe choller, threwe theym incontinently vppon the grounde, sayinge: “Sufficeth it not thy Mayster, that already twice I haue done him to vnderstand, that I haue nothing to doe with his Letters nor Ambassades, and yet goeth he about by sutch assaultes to 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:

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

The letters of Dom Diego, to mistresse Gineura.

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

Your most obedient and affected

seruaunt Dom Diego.

The good Lady hauing red the Letter, was so astonned, as hir words for a long space staied within hir mouth; hir heart panted, and spirite was full of confusion, hir minde was filled with sorrow to consider the anguishes of the poore vagabound, and foster Hermit. In the ende before the houshold dissembling hir passion which mooued hir sense, she tooke her Daughter a side, whom very sharply she rebuked, for that she was the cause of the losse of so notable and perfect a Knight as Dom Diego was. Then she red the Letter vnto hir, and as all hir eloquence was not able to moue that cruel damsell, more venemous than a Serpent agaynst the knight, who (as she thought) had not indured the one halfe of that which his inconstancy and lightnesse had wel deserued, whose obstinate minde the mother perceyuinge, sayde vnto hir: “I pray to God (deare daughter) that for your frowardnesse, you bee not blinded in your beauty, and for refusall of so great a benefit as is the alliaunce of Dom Diego, you be not abused with sutch a one as shall dimme the light of your renoume and glory, which hitherto you haue gayned amongs the sobrest and modest maydens.” Hauing sayd so, the wyse and sage widow, went to the seruaunt of Dom Diego, of whom she demaunded what day his mayster departed, which she knowing, and not 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 space of 20 dayes, nor yet within a moneth he came not, shee could not tell what to thinke, so dolorous was she for the absence of hir sonne. The time passinge without hearing any newes from him she began to torment hirselfe, and be so pensiue, as if she had heard certayne newes of his death. “Alas,” (quod she) “and wherefore haue the heauens giuen me the possession of sutch an exquisite fruict, to depriue mee thereof before I do partake the goodnesse, and swetenes therof, and before I do enioy the grifts proceding from so goodly a stock. Ah God, I fear that my immoderate loue is the occasion of the losse of my sonne, and the whole ruine of the mother, with the demolition and wast of al our goods. And I would that it had pleased God (my Son) the hunter’s game had neuer bene so deere, for thinking to catch that pray thou thy selfe wast taken and thou wandring for thy better disport, missing the right way, so strangely didst straggle, that hard it is to reduce thee into the right track agayne. At least wise if I knew the place, whereunto thou arte repaired to finde againe thy losse, I would trauell thither to beare the company, rather than to lyue heere voyde of a Husbande, betrayed by them whom I best trusted and bereft from the presence of the my Sonne, the Staffe and onely comfort of myne olde age, and the certayne hope of all our House and Family.” Now if the Mother vexed hir selfe, the Sonne was eased with no great reioyce, being now a free cittizen with the Beasts, and Foules of the Forrests, Dennes, and Caues, leauing not the Profundity of the Woods, the Craggednes of the Rocks, or beauty of the Valley, without some signe or token of his griefe. Sometime with a Puncheon wel sharpned, seruing him in steede of a Penknife, he graued the successe of his loue vpon an hard stone. Other times the softe Bark of some tender and new growen spray serued him in steede of Paper, or Parchment. For there 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 passed his time (accordinge to his custome) to muse vpon Myssehaps, and to frame his successe of loue in the Ayre, hee Ingraued these Verses vpon a Stone by a Fountayne side, adioyning to his rude and Sauage house.

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

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

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

His man seeing him to begin to be merily disposed, one day said vnto him: “And wherefore sir serueth the Lute, which I brought amongs our Males, if you do not assay thereby to recreate youre selfe, and sing thereupon the prayses of hir whom you loue so wel: yea and if I may so say, by worshipping hir, you do commit idolatry in your minde. Is it not your pleasure that I fetche the same vnto you, that by immitation of Orpheus, you may mooue the Trees, Rocks, and wylde Beastes to bewayle your misfortune, and witnesse the penaunce that you doe for hir sake, without cause of so haynous punishment:” “I see well,” (quod the knight) “that thou wouldest I should be mery, but mirth is so far from me, as I am estraunged from hir that holdeth me in this misery. Notwithstanding I will performe thy request, and will awake that instrument in this desert place, wherewith sometime I witnessed the greatest part of my passions.” Then the knight receyuing the Lute sounded thereupon this song ensuing.

The Foster Louer.

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