UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 University of California Berkeley 
 
* 
 
 ,W 7 
 
PHILOMELA; 
 
 THE 
 
 LADY FITZWATER'S NIGHTINGALE. 
 
 BY 
 
 ROBERT GREENE, A.M. 
 
 SERO, SED SERIO. 
 
 A NEW EDITION. 
 
 REPRINTED FROM THE EDITION OF 1615. 
 
 OF 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 or 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 ^From t&c ^rtbate 
 
 OF 
 
 LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, AND BROWN. 
 
 PRINTED BY T. TAVISON, WHITEFRIARS. 
 
 1814. 
 
1 '.U 
 
 WHOEVER is anxious to be familiar with the popular literature of England 
 in the latter part of the reign of Queen Elizabeth, when the mind of the 
 immortal Shakspeare was gathering its materials for future display, will 
 eagerly embrace the opportunity to peruse any of the works of ROBERT 
 GREENE, all of which have for nearly a century been of such rare occur- 
 rence, that rich and fortunate collectors alone could indulge this liberal 
 curiosity. jj^nttftt 
 
 Of the life of Greene so much has been said of late, in the Censura 
 Literaria; in The British Bibliographer ; in Beloe's Anecdotes ; in the Preface 
 to the reprint of this Author's Groat's worth of Wit> which has lately issued 
 from the private press of Lee Priory, in Kent ; all of which will probably 
 appear, elegantly compressed, in the next volume of Chalmers's Biographical 
 Dictionary ) improved by the learned Editor's own judicious remarks, that it 
 is better to defer any new memoir of this eccentric writer, or any elaborate 
 critique on his genius or his compositions, till more specimens of his pen 
 shall be in the reader's hands. j,i; .V/S 
 
 r The present production is sufficient to rescue the calumniated author's 
 memory from a constant prostitution of his talents to immoral purposes. 
 He who wrote this tale was in no degree lost to the most lively sense of 
 right and wrong. The character of Philomela is so exquisite, is drawn 
 with so many attractions of generous and saint-like purity, that the fancy 
 which pourtrayed it must have been at times illumined by the most tender 
 and the most sublime conceptions : 
 
 " She sat, like Patience on a monument, 
 Smiling at grief." 
 
 If the language is sometimes quaint, and now and then (but surely not 
 often) degraded by vulgarisms, it is not unfrequently clear, proper, and even 
 elegant. 
 
TO 
 THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE 
 
 LADY BRIDGET RATLIFFE, LADY FITZWATERS 1 ; 
 
 Robert Greene zvisheth increase of honour and virtue. 
 
 J\>IGHT beautiful and bountiful lady, finding myself humbly devoted to 
 the right honourable the Lord Fitzwaters your husband, not only that 
 I am born his 12 , but also for the gracious acceptance of a small pamphlet, 
 written by another, and presented to him by me, I endeavoured any way, 
 and every way that I might, to discover my affectionate duty to him by 
 some scholar-like labours, that I began to toss over the first fruits of my 
 wits, wrapped up as scholars' treasures be, in loose papers, that I might 
 sift out something worthy his honour; but finding all worthless of his 
 Lordship, at last I lighted upon this fiction of Venetian Philomela, 
 which I had written long since, and kept charily, being penned at the 
 request of a Countess in this land, to approve women's chastity. As soon 
 as I had read it over, and reduced it into form, licking it a little, as the 
 bears do their whelps, to bring them to perfection, I have resolved to 
 make good my duty to his Lordship, in doing homage with my simple 
 labours to your Ladyship, knowing service done to the wife is gratified 
 in the husband; whereupon I presume to present the dedication of chaste 
 
 1 Bridget Lady Fitzwater was daughter of Sir Charles Morison of Cashiobury in Hert- 
 fordshire, wife of Robert Ratcliffe, Lord Fitzwalter, afterwards 5th Earl of Sussex, son of 
 Henry, 4th Earl, who died 10th April, 1593. By him she had four children, who all died 
 in his lifetime. She was his first wife. The Earl survived her, till 1629. 
 
 2 This seems as if Greene's family had been dependent on the noble family of Ratcliffe. 
 
 b 
 
X 
 
 Philomela to your Honour, and to christen it in your Ladyship's name, 
 calling it the " Lady Fitzwaters Nightingale;" as if I should insinuate 
 a comparison 'twixt you and him of equal and honourable virtues : 
 imitating herein Master ABRAHAM FRANCE, who titled the Lamentations 
 of Amintas, under the name of the Coun tess of Pembroke's Ivie-Church. 
 For herein your Ladyship had far more perfections than years, and 
 more inward excellence than external beauty, yet so beautiful, as few so 
 fair, though none more virtuous. I thought the legend of an honourable 
 and chaste lady would be grateful to your Honour, whose mind is wholly 
 delighted in chaste thoughts, keeping herein a perfect decorum to ap- 
 propriate the nature of the gift to the content of the person. For such 
 as offer incense to Venus, burn myrrh mixed with eringo; those that 
 glory Pallas, give her a shield; Dians present a bow ; witty poems are 
 Jit for wise heads; and examples of honour for such as triumph in 
 virtue : so that seeing there hath few led more chaste than an Italian 
 Philomela, I thought none only more Jit to patronize her honours than 
 your Ladyship, whose chastity is as far spread as you are either known 
 or spoken of. If then my well meaning may not be misconstrued, but 
 my presumption pardoned, and my labours favoured with your gracious 
 acceptation, I have what I aimed at, and what I expected: in the hope 
 of which courtesy, setting down my rest, I humbly take my leave. 
 
 Your Ladyship's, 
 
 in all dutiful service, 
 
 ROBERT GREENE. 
 
TO 
 
 HEALTH. 
 
 IF the contents of lines could at life discover the colour of the face, 
 you should, Gentlemen, see my ruddy cheeks manifest my open 
 follies : but seeing paper cannot blush, I will confess my fault, and 
 so humbly crave pardon. I promised, Gentlemen, both in my 
 MOURNING GARMENT and FAREWELL TO FOLLIES, never to busy 
 myself about any wanton pamphlets again, nor to have my brain 
 counted so addle, as to set out any matter that were amorous; but 
 yet am I come, contrary to vow and promise, once again to the 
 press with a labour of love, which I hatched long ago, though now 
 brought forth to light. If the printer had not been, I would have 
 had it thrust out as an orphan, without any name to father it : but 
 at his earnest entreaty I was content to subscribe, though I abide 
 your hard censures and angry frowns for a penance. Therefore 
 sith the work was writ afore my vow, and published upon duty to 
 so honourable and beautiful a Lady, I humbly sue for favour, and 
 crave that you will bear with this fault, and hold me every way 
 excused ; which courtesy if you grant me, I have more than I 
 deserve, and as much as my desire every way can wish, and so 
 farewell. 
 
 Yours, 
 
 ROBERT GREENE. 
 
THE 
 
 LADY FITZWATER'S NIGHTINGALE 
 
 *- 1. 
 
 THERE dwelt in the city of Venice, near the Rialto, an Earl of 
 great excellence, both for the descent of his parentage, and large* 
 ness of his patrimony, called IL CONTE PHILIPPO MEDICO, a 
 gentleman every way, not only by birth, as being by the mother's 
 side of the .ZEmilii, but every way furnished with civil virtues for 
 peace, and martial valour for the wars ; as politic at home, as reso- 
 lute abroad : reverenced of all, not for his grey hairs, for he wa& 
 young, but for his many virtues, wherein he overwent men of age. 
 This Count PHILIPPO had by the favour of Fortune, and his 
 own foresight, linked himself to a young gentlewoman in marriage, 
 called PHILOMELA CELII, at that time the wonder of Venice, not 
 for her beauty, though Italy afforded none so fair, nor for her 
 dowry, though she were the only daughter of the Duke of Milan ; 
 but for the admirable honours of her mind, which were so many, 
 and matchless^ that Virtue seemed to have planted there the 
 paradise of her perfection. Her age exceeded not seventeen ; yet 
 appeared there such a symmetry of more than womanly excellence 
 in every action of this Venetian paragon, that Italy held her life as 
 an instance of all commendable qualities : she was modest without 
 sullenness, and silent, not as a fool, but because she would not be 
 
 B 
 
I * ? 1 '. 
 
 .V I >''*" 
 
 . ' -> 
 
 ! cjDimtecl '.a blab : chaste, and yet not coy; for the poorest of all held 
 her courteous : though she was young, yet she desired neither to 
 gad nor to gaze, nor to have her beauty made common to every bad 
 companion's eye. The veil she used for her face, was the covert of 
 her own house ; for she never would go abroad but in the company 
 of her husband, and then with such bashfulness, that she seemed 
 to hold herself faulty in stepping beyond the shadow of her own 
 mansion. 
 
 Thus was PHILOMELA famous for her exquisite virtues, and 
 PHILIPPO fortunate for enjoying so virtuous a paramour 1 . But as 
 there is no antidote so precious, but being tempered with antimony, 
 is infectious ; nor no heart so sovereign good, but art can make 
 simply ill; so PHILIPPO was not so commendable for some good 
 parts, as afterwards bad thought of for some unworthy qualities. 
 For though he had a wife every way answerable to his own wish, 
 both fair to please his eye, and honest to content his humour, yet 
 in seeking to quittance these virtues with love, he so overloved her, 
 that he plagued her more with jealousy, than recompensed her with 
 affection; insomuch that with a deep insight, entering into the con- 
 sideration of her beauty, and her youth, he began to suspect, that 
 such as frequented his house for traffic (for the greatest men in 
 Venice used merchandise) were rather drawn thither by a desire to 
 see his wife, than for the special use of any other his commodities. 
 
 Feeding upon this passion, that gnaweth like Envy upon her 
 own flesh 2 , he called to mind, to which of his friends she shewed 
 
 1 Probably this story has its original in some Italian novel. The incidents are of a 
 kind which modern compositions of this class have worn thread-bare ; but the reader must 
 constantly bear in mind the date of ROBERT GREENE'S publications. 
 
 3 O beware of jealousy ! 
 
 It is the green-eyed monster, that doth make 
 
 The meat it feeds on. 
 
 Shakesp. Othello. 
 
3 
 
 the most gracious looks, upon whom she glanced the most smiling 
 favours, whose carver she would be at the table, to whom she would 
 drink, and who had most courteous entertainment at her hands. 
 These men he did most suspect and envy, as those to whom he 
 thought his wife for those granted favours most affectionate. Yet 
 when he called to mind her chaste virtues, and did ruminate the 
 particularities of his loves toward himself, he suppressed the suspi- 
 cious flame of jealousy, with the assured proofs of her invincible 
 chastity. Hammering these betwixt fear and hope, he built castles 
 in the air, and reached beyond the moon 1 : one while swearing all 
 women were false and inconstant ; and then again protesting, if all 
 women were so, yet not all, because PHILOMELA was not so. 
 
 In this jealous quandary he used to himself this quaint dis- 
 course : " If love be a blessing, PHILIPPO, as yet proves in the end 
 most bitter, how blessed are they that never make trial of so sour 2 a 
 sweet ! A child, stung with a bee, will fly from the honeycomb ; 
 such as are bitten with vipers 3 , will fear to sleep on the grass : but 
 men touched with the inconvenience of fancy, hunt with sighs to 
 enrich themselves with that passion. What conquest have such as 
 win fair women ? Even the like victory that Alexander had in sub- 
 duing the Scythians reconciled friends, who, the more they flattered 
 him, the more he mistrusted. Beauty is like the herb larix, cool 
 
 1 The spring of love resembleth 
 
 The uncertain glory of an April day ; 
 Which now shews all the beauty of the sun, 
 Ana by and by a cloud takes all away. 
 
 Two Gentlemen of Verona. 
 
 Sweet Love, changing his property, 
 Turns to the surest and most deadly hate. 
 
 Ibid. Rich. II. 
 
 The stung are jealous of the adder. 
 
 King Lear. 
 
in the water, but hot in the stomach : precious, while it is a blossom, 
 but prejudicial, grown to a fruit : a gem not to be valued, if set in 
 virtue 1 , but disgraced with a bad foil, like a ring of gold in a swine's 
 snout. 
 
 " Yet what comfort is there in life, if man had no solace but 
 man ? Women are sweet helps, and those kind creatures that God 
 made to perfect up men's excellence. Truth, PHILIPPO, they be 
 wonders of nature, if they wrong not nature ; and admirable angels, 
 if they would not be drawn with angels to become devils 2 . Oh, 
 flatter not thyself in flattering them ; for where they find submis- 
 sion, there they proclaim contempt : and if thou makest them thy 
 mate, they will give thee such a checkmate 3 , that happily thou shalt 
 live by the loss all thy life after ! What heeds this invective humour 
 against women, when thou hast such a wife, as every way is abso- 
 
 1 O how much more doth Beauty beauteous seem, 
 
 By that sweet ornament which Truth doth give. 
 
 The rose looks fair ; but fairer we it deem 
 
 For that sweet odour which doth in it live. 
 
 The canker blooms have full as deep a die 
 
 As the perfumed tincture of the roses ; 
 
 Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly, 
 
 When Summer's breath their masked buds discloses. 
 
 But for their virtues only in their shew, 
 
 They live unmov'd and unrespected fade ; 
 
 Die to themselves : sweet roses do not so ; 
 
 Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made. 
 
 And so when Virtue graces Beauty's youth, 
 
 When that shall fade, by verse distills its truth. 
 
 Shakespeare's Sonnets. 
 
 3 A woman is a dish fit for the gods, if the devil 
 Dress her not. 
 
 Troilus and Cressida. 
 
 3 This custom of playing on words too frequently occurs in Greene, and deforms his 
 style : but Greene only falls into it ; in common with almost all the writers of his day. 
 
lute, both for beauty and virtue 1 ? let such as have been stung with 
 the scorpion be warned : speak thou as thou findest, and then thou 
 wilt say, that women are creatures, as excellent in mind, as they be. 
 singular in complexion : as far beyond men in inward virtues, as 
 they exceed men in exterior beauties ! 
 
 " I grant all this : yet, PHILIPPO, the juice of the hellebore is 
 poison ; the greener the alisander leaves be, the more bitter is the 
 sap; every outward appearance is not an authentical instance: 
 women have chaste eyes, when they have wanton thoughts; and 
 modest looks, when they harbour lascivious wishes : the eagle, when 
 he soareth nearest to the sun, then he hovers for his prey : the 
 salamander is most warm, when he lieth furthest from the fire : and 
 then are women most heart-hollow, when they are most lip-holy I 
 And by these premises, PHILIPPO, argue of thy wife's preciseness; 
 for though she seem chaste, yet may she secretly delight in change; 
 and though her countenance be coy to all, yet her conscience may 
 be courteous to some one : when the sun shines most garish, it 
 foreshews a shower; when the birds sing early, there is a storm 
 before night ; women's flatteries are no more to be trusted than an 
 astronomer's almanack, that proclaimeth that for a most fair day, 
 that proves most cloudy; and so of PHILOMELA." 
 
 As thus as the Count PHILIPPO was jarring with himself about 
 this humour of jealousy, there came to him while he sat (for all this 
 while he was in an arbour in his garden) a familiar friend of his, 
 called Seignior GIOVANNI LUTESIO, so private unto the Earl in all 
 his secret affairs, that he concealed nothing from him which came 
 within the compass of his thoughts. This Seignior GIOVANNI 
 seeing the Count in a brown study, wakened him out of his muse 
 
 1 What dearer debt in all humanity 
 Than wife is to the husband ? 
 
 Troilus and Cressida. 
 
with a merry greeting, and bade a penny for his thought. The 
 Earl seeing his second self, his only repository of his private pas- 
 sions, entertained him very courteously, and, after some familiar 
 speeches used betwixt them, GIOVANNI began to question what 
 the cause was of that melancholy dump that he found him in. The 
 Earl fetching a great sigh, taking LUTESIO by the hand, setting him 
 down by him, began to rehearse from point to point what a jealous 
 suspicion he had of his wife's beauty, and that for all the shew of 
 her honesty, he somewhat doubted of her chastity. 
 
 GIOVANNI, who with a reverend love favoured the Countess, 
 began somewhat sharply to reprove the Earl, that he should admit 
 of so foolish a passion as jealousy, and misconstrue of her whose 
 virtuous life was so famous through all Venice. As suspicious heads 
 want not sophistry to supply their mistrust 1 , so PHILIP at that time 
 was not barren of arguments, to prove the subtlety of women; their 
 inconstancy ; how they were faced like Janus, having one full of 
 furrows, the other of smiles, swearing, he should never be merry at 
 his heart, till he had made an assured proof of her chastity. And 
 with that he broke with Seignior GIOVANNI LUTESIO, that he should 
 be the man to make experience of her honesty, although the gentle- 
 man was very unwilling to take such a task in hand, doubting, lest 
 in dallying with the flame, he might burn his finger, and so injure 
 his friend. Yet, at the importunate entreaty of PHILIPPO, he pro- 
 mised to undertake the matter, and by all means possible to assault 
 the invincible fort of her chastity ; protesting, that if he found her 
 pliant to listen to his passions, he would make it manifest to him 
 without dissembling. 
 
 1 Suspicion is full of eyes. 
 
 Hen. IV. 
 
 Suspicion thinks the least signs probable. 
 
 Hen. FJ. 
 
PHILIPPO glad of this, to grant GIOVANNI opportunity to 
 court his wife, would be more often abroad; and that he might 
 drive her the sooner to listen unto his suit, he used not that wonted 
 love and familiarity that he was accustomed to do, but quitted all 
 her dutiful favours with uncouth and disdainful frowns, so that poor 
 PHILOMELA, who knew nothing of his compacted treachery, began 
 to wonder what had altered her husband's wonted humour ; and like 
 a good wife she began to examine her own conscience, wherein she 
 had given him any occasion of offence. Feeling herself guiltless 
 (unless his own conceit deceived him) she imagined that her husband 
 affected some other lady more than herself; which imagination she 
 concealed with patience, and resolved not, by revealing it, to re- 
 trieve him from his new entertained fancy, but with obedience, 
 love and silence 1 to recover her PHILIPPO to favour none but his 
 PHILOMELA. 
 
 While thus her mind a little suspicious began to waver, Lu- 
 TESIO began to lay his baits to betray this silly innocent. Now you 
 must imagine, he was a young Gentleman of a good house, of no 
 mean wealth, nor any way made unfortunate by nature, for he was 
 counted the most fine and courtly gentleman in all Venice. This 
 LUTESIO therefore seeking fit opportunity to find Madam PHILO- 
 MELA in a merry vein (for time is called that capillata ministra, 
 that favours lovers in their fortunes) watched so narrowly, that he 
 found the Countess sitting alone in her garden, playing upon a lute 
 many pretty roundelays, borginets, madrigals, and such pleasant 
 lessons, all as it were, amorous love, vowed in honour of Venus ; 
 singing to her lute many pretty and merry ditties, some of her own 
 composing, and some written by some witty gentlemen of Venice; 
 
 1 Cold, stubborn, selfish is that heart indeed, 
 Which not the gentle spirit of moving words 
 Prevails to change into a milder form. 
 
 Two Gentlemen of Verona. 
 
thinking now time had smiled upon him, by putting her in such an 
 humorous vein. At last he heard her warble out this pleasant ode* 
 
 PHILOMELA'S ODE THAT SHE SUNG IN HER ARBOUR. 
 
 Sitting by a river's side, 
 Where a silent stream did glide, 
 Muse I did of many things, 
 That the mind in quiet brings. 
 I 'gan think how some men deem 
 Gold their god ; and some esteem 
 Honour is the chief content, 
 That to man in life is lent. 
 And some others do contend, 
 Quiet none, like to a friend. 
 Others hold, there is no wealth 
 Compared to a perfect health. 
 Some man's mind in quiet stands, 
 When he is lord of many lands : 
 But I did sigh, and said all this 
 Was but a shade of perfect bliss i 
 And in my thoughts I did approve, 
 Nought so sweet as is true love. 
 Love 'twixt lovers passeth these, 
 When mouth kisseth and heart 'grees, 
 With folded arms and lips meeting, 
 Each soul another sweetly greeting. 
 For by the breath the soul fleeteth, 
 And soul with soul in kissing meeteth. 
 If Love be so sweet a thing, 
 
 t '^ J j, v * i * ' Jl 4 
 
 That such happy bliss doth bring, 
 Happy is Love's sugar'd thrall, 
 But unhappy maidens all, 
 Who esteem your virgin's blisses, 
 Sweeter than a wife's sweet kisses. 
 
9 
 
 No such quiet to the mind, 
 As true love with kisses kind. 
 But if a kiss prove unchaste, 
 . Then is true love quite disgrac'd. 
 
 Though love be sweet, learn this of me, 
 No love sweet but honesty. 
 
 As soon as PHILOMELA had ended her ode, Seignior LUTE si o 
 stepped to her, and half marred her melody with this unlocked for 
 motion : " I am glad, Madam, to find you so full of glee; women's 
 minds set on mirth shews their thoughts are at quiet : when birds 
 sing early, there hath been a sweet dew ; so your morning's anthem 
 shews your night's content; the subject of your song, and the 
 censure of my thoughts argue upon conclusion : for likely it is, you 
 have found kissing sweet, that so highly commend it; but as the 
 old proverb is, such Laugh as win ; and such as Venus favours may 
 afford her incense. Love is precious to such as possess their love ; 
 but there is no hell, if love be not hell, to such as dare not express 
 their passions 1 /' 
 
 PHILOMELA seeing LUTESIO took her napping in singing so 
 merry an ode, shewed in the blush of her cheeks, the bashfulness of 
 her thoughts ; yet knowing he was her husband's familiar, she cared 
 the less, and smiling, made him this pleasant answer : " Seignior 
 LUTESIO, as I relished a wanton song at random, so I little looked 
 your ears should have been troubled with my music; but since 
 
 1 Fire that is closest kept, burns most of all. 
 
 Two Gentlemen of Verona. 
 
 > 
 
 Fell Sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more, 
 Than when it bites, but lanceth not the sore. 
 
 Shakesp. Rich. II. 
 
 Silence in love denotes more woe, 
 Than words, tho' ne'er so witty. 
 
 ^.-, Raleigh. i*j v * 
 
 C 
 
IP 
 
 \ 
 
 you are a hearer of my hoarse ditty, take it as you find it, and 
 construe of it as you please, I know mine own meaning best. In 
 that I commend kissing, it argues me the more kind ; and my 
 husband the more loving, in that I find lip-love so sweet; women 
 may be wantons in their husbands, yet not immodest : and wives 
 are allowed to sport, so their dallying be not dishonest; yet had 
 I known you had been so nigh, I would have been more silent/' 
 And at this word she blushed again, discovering by her looks, it 
 grieved her, any man (though never so familiar) should hear her 
 so extraordinary pleasant : but to find fish in Seignior LUTESIO'S 
 fingers, because he glanced at disdain in love, she followed her 
 reply thus : " Yet since, Sir, what is past cannot be recalled, I will 
 overslip the conceit of mine own folly, and be so bold as to have 
 you under confession. What is the reason, LUTESIO, you diversely 
 descant of the fruition of love ? Hath that divine passion crept into 
 your brains ?" 
 
 GIOVANNI hearing her harp on that string, strained it a pin 
 higher thus. " Divine passion call you it, Madam? nay rather a fury 
 fetched from hell, a madness brewed in the bosom of Tesiphon, an 
 unbridled desire, a restless agony, a continual anguish. Thus do I 
 value love, because my life is at an end by the wrongs of love : such 
 as are poisoned with ragwort count it fatal ; yet such as have the 
 pleurisy drink it in potions : the mercurial Moti was very much 
 commended of Ulysses, though condemned of Cyrus : men's poems 
 follow their passions, and they conclude as they are contented : then. 
 Madam, if all the world say, love is a heaven, yet must I say, desire 
 is a hell : not that the beauteous Saint, whom mine eye doth wor- 
 ship, and my heart doth honour, hath quitted my affection with 
 disdain : but that in not daring discover my passions, I am put to a 
 triple tormenting penance." 
 
 At this he fetched such a feigned sigh, that simple meaning 
 PHILOMELA imagined the gentleman was full of sorrow, and there* 
 
11 
 
 fore began to comfort him thus. " Why, Seignior LUTESIO, have 
 you soared so high, that you doubt the scorching of your feathers ? 
 Have your desires taken flight so far above your degree, that you 
 fear a fall ? Is the lady whom you love so great of birth, that you 
 dare not be your own broker? Love, LUTESIO, if honest, is lawful, 
 and may reap disdain, but not disgrace. Desire is the daughter of 
 Destiny, and the sympathy of affections is forepointed by the stars. 
 Women's eyes are not tied to high personages, but to exquisite per- 
 fections : and the greater oft-times they be in degrees, the lower they 
 prove in loves. Be she then, LUTESIO, the stateliest, the richest, 
 the fairest in all Italy, fear not to court her : for happily she may 
 grant, and she at the worst can but say no. When I enter into thy 
 wonted humours, how honestly wanton thou hast been amongst 
 women of high account, when I think of thy wealth, of thy virtues, 
 of thy parentage, of thy person, I flatter not, LUTESIO; for in my 
 opinion a frump amongst friends is petty treason in effect ! I cannot 
 but wonder what she is that LUTESIO dares not tell he loves; if 
 without offence I may crave it, tell me her name, that I may censure 
 of her qualities/' 
 
 LUTESIO, with a face full of discontent, made her this answer: 
 " Madam, as I dare not discourse my loves, so I will not discover 
 her name ; I regard her honour as my life, and therefore only suffice 
 it, I am as far unworthy of her, as she is beyond my reach to 
 compass/' 
 
 PHILOMELA, who straight found the knot in the rush, began 
 to imagine that it was some married wife that LUTESIO aimed at : 
 and therefore charged him by the love that he bore to PHILIPPO 
 MEDICO, that he would tell her whether it was a wife or a maid that 
 he thus earnestly affected. LUTESIO briefly told her, that she was 
 not only a wife, but maid to one, whom she almost as tenderly 
 loved, as he did the Earl her husband : a lady of honour and virtue, 
 yet a woman, and therefore he hoped might be won, if his heart 
 
would serve him to be a wooer. PHILOMELA hearing this, began 
 to find a knot in the rush, and began to deem it was some familiar 
 of his that he was affected to : and therefore with a gentle frown, 
 as if she loved him, and yet misliked of his fondness in fancy, taking 
 him by the hand, she began thus to school him. 
 
 " LUTESIO, now I see, the strongest oak hath his sap, and his 
 worms : that ravens will breed in the fairest ash, and that the 
 musked angelica bears a dew, that shining like pearl, being tasted, is 
 most prejudicial : that the holiest men in shew are oft the hollowest 
 men in substance; and where there is the greatest flourish of virtue 1 , 
 there in time appeareth the greatest blemish of vanity. I speak this 
 by all, but apply it to them, who seeming every way absolute, will 
 prove every way dissolute. Hath not Venice held thee more famous 
 for thy good parts than for thy parentage ; and yet well born ? and 
 valued thee more for living well, than wealthily ; and yet thy patri- 
 mony is not small? Oh, LUTESIO, darken not these honours with 
 dishonesty ; nor for the foolish and fading passion of lust 2 , reach 
 not an everlasting penance of infamy ! 
 
 " As I mislike of thy choice, so I can but wonder at thy change - 9 
 to see thee altered in manners, that wert erst so modest. Who was 
 
 1 When devils will the blackest sins put on, 
 They do suggest, at first, with heavenly shows. 
 
 Othello. 
 
 Ah, that deceit should steal such gentle shapes, 
 And with a virtuous vizard hide deep vice. 
 
 Rich. III. 
 
 O cunning enemy, that to catch a saint, 
 With saints dost bait thy hook ! 
 
 Measure for Measure. 
 
 2 Lust's winter comes, ere summer half be done. 
 Love surfeits not : Lust like a glutton dies ; 
 Love is all truth ; Lust full of forged lies. 
 
 Venus and Adonis. ' '+ 
 
13 
 
 esteemed amongst ladies for his civil conceits as LUTESIO? Thou 
 wert wished for amongst the chastest for thy choice qualities^ 
 amongst youth for thy wit, amongst age for thy honest behaviour, 
 desired of all, because offensive to none : and now if thou prosecute 
 this bad purpose, intend this base love, to violate the honour of a 
 Venetian Lady, look to be hated of all that are virtuous, because 
 thou art grown so suddenly vicious, and to be banished out of the 
 company of all that are honest, because thou seekest to make one 
 dishonest. Then as thou lovest thy fame, leave off this love, and as 
 thou values t thine honour, so veil the appetite of thy dishonest 
 thoughts ! 
 
 " Besides, LUTESIO, enter into the consideration of the fault, 
 and by that measure what will be the sequel of thy folly ! Thou 
 attemptest to dishonour a wife, nay, the wife of thy friend : in doing 
 this, thou shalt lose a sweet companion, and purchase thyself a fatal 
 enemy ; thou shalt displease God, and grow odious to men ; hazard 
 the hope of thy grace, and assure thyself of the reward of sin. 
 Adultery, LUTESIO, is commended in none, condemned in all, and 
 punished in the end either with this world's infamy, or heaven's 
 anger : it is a desire without regard of honesty, and a gain with 
 greater reward of misery : a pleasure bought with pain, a delight 
 hatched with disquiet, a content possessed with fear, and a sin 
 finished with sorrow 1 . Barbarous nations punish it with death : 
 mere atheists in religion avoid it by instinct of nature : such as glory 
 God with no honour, covet to glorify themselves with honesty : and 
 wilt thou that art a Christian then, crucify Christ anew, by making 
 the harbour of thy soul the habitation of Satan ? 
 
 Having waste ground enough, 
 Shall we desire to raze the sanctuary, 
 And pitch our evils there ? 
 
 Measure for Measure. 
 
" 0, LUTESIO, as thou blushest at my words, so banish thy 
 bad thoughts, and being created by God, seek not to despise thy 
 Creator in abusing his creatures. A woman's honesty is her honour, 
 and her honour the chiefest essence of her life 1 . Then in seeking to 
 blemish her virtues with lust, thou aimest at no less disgrace than 
 her death: and yet, LUTESIO, this is not all; for in winning her 
 love, thou losest a friend 2 , than which there is nothing more pre- 
 cious, as there is nothing more rare : as Corruptio unius est generatio 
 alterius : so the loss of a friend is the purchase of an enemy, and 
 such a mortal foe as will apply all his wits to thy wreck, intrude all 
 his thoughts to thy ruin, and pass away his days, cares and nights' 
 slumbers, in dreaming of thy destruction. For if brute beasts will 
 revenge such brutish wrongs as adultery, then imagine no man to 
 be so patient, that will overpass so gross an injury 3 . 
 
 " Assure thyself of this, LUTESIO ! if her husband hear of your 
 loves, he will aim at your lives 4 ; he will leave no confection un- 
 tempered, no poison unsearched, no mineral untried, no aconite 
 unbruised, no herb, tree, root, stone, simple or secret unsought, till 
 revenge hath satisfied the burning thirst of his hate ! So shalt thou 
 fear with whom to drink, with whom to converse, where to walk, 
 how to perform thy affairs, only for doubt of her revenging husband* 
 and thy protested enemy. If such unlawful lust, such unkind 
 
 1 Dearer than life is spotless chastity. 
 
 Titus Andronicus. 
 
 2 Love's true respect will poison false desire. 
 
 Tarquin and Lucrece. 
 
 It is greater grief 
 To bear Love's wrong, than Hate's known injury. 
 
 Shakespeare's Sonnets. 
 
 4 Heat of vindictive rage hath a condition 
 That nothing can allay, nothing but blood. 
 
 King John. 
 
15 
 
 desires, such unchaste love procure so great loss, and so many 
 perils, revert it, LUTESIO, as a passion most pernicious, as a sin 
 most odious, and a gain full of most deadly sorrows. 
 
 " Though this be much, LUTESIO, yet this is not all : for many 
 love that are never liked, and every one that wooes is not a winner : 
 diverse desire with hope, and yet their wishes are to small effect. 
 Suppose the lady whom thou lovest is honest ; then is thy love as 
 unlikely as Ixion's was to Juno, who aiming at the substance, was 
 made a fool with a shadow. I tell thee, it is more easy to cut a 
 diamond with a glass, to pierce steel with a feather, to tie an 
 elephant with a thread of silk, than to alienate an honest woman's 
 love from her husband ; their hearts be harbours of one love 1 ; closets 
 of one contents ; cells, whereinto no amorous idea but one can 
 enter; as hard to be pierced with new-fangled affection, as the 
 adamant to be made soft with fire. 
 
 " A lady, LUTESIO, that regardeth her honour, will die with 
 Lucre tia, before she agree to lust; she will eat coals with Portia, 
 before she prove unchaste; she will think every misery sweet, every 
 mishap content, before she condescend to the allurements of any 
 wanton lecher. Imagine then her whom thou lovest to be such a 
 one ; then will it qualify thy hope, cool thy desires, and quench 
 those unbridled thoughts that lead thee on to such follies. For if 
 she be a wanton, what dost thou win? her that many hath worn, 
 and more than thyself may vanquish : a light housewife and a lewd 
 minion, that after she hath yielded the flower of her love, to Theseus, 
 
 1 Affection 
 
 Will, like the spring that turneth wood to stone, 
 
 Turn all things to its latent quality, 
 
 And leave no semblance foreign to itself. 
 
 Thus blemishes to graces finely change, 
 
 Dipt in its potent stream. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
will marry with Menelaus, and then run away with Paris : amorous 
 to every one, because she is humorous to all. 
 
 " Then, LUTESIO, seeing if thou likest an honest lady, thy love 
 is past hope, and if thou wooest a wanton, thou shalt gain but what 
 others have left ; leave both, and become as hitherto thou hast been, 
 an honest gentleman in all men's opinions ; so shalt thou live well 
 thought of, and die honourably :" and with that, smiling, she asked 
 him, if she had not played the preacher well. 
 
 But LUTESIO wondering at her virtues, made no answer, he 
 was so amazed, but rested silent; which PHILOMELA perceiving, 
 to waken him out of his dump, she took again her lute in her 
 hand, and began to sing this following ode. 
 
 PHILOMELA'S SECOND ODE. 
 
 IT was frosty winter season, 
 And fair Flora's wealth was geason t 
 Meads that erst with green were spread, 
 With choice flowers diap'red, 
 Had tawny vales : cold had scattered^ 
 What the springs and nature planted : 
 Leafless boughs there might you see, 
 All except fair Daphne's tree ; 
 On their twigs no birds perched, 
 Warmer coverts none they searched ; 
 And by nature's secret reason, 
 Fram'd their voices to the season : 
 With their feeble tunes bewraying, 
 How they griev'd the spring's decaying : 
 Frosty winter thus had gloomed 
 Each fair thing that summer bloomed ; 
 Fields were bare, and trees unclad, 
 Flowers withered, birds were had : 
 
17 
 
 When I saw a shepherd fold 
 Sheep in cote, to shun the cold ; 
 Himself sitting on the grass, 
 That with frost withered was ; 
 Sighing deeply, thus 'gan say, 
 " Love is folly when astray; 
 Like to love no passion such, 
 For his madness, if too much; 
 If too little, then despair; 
 If too high, he beats the air; 
 With bootless cries, if too low; 
 An eagle matcheth with a crow. 
 Thence grows jars, thus I find, 
 Love is folly, if unkind ; 
 Yet do men most desire 
 To be heated with this fire ; 
 Whose flame is so pleasing hot, 
 That they burn, yet feel it not : 
 Yet hath love another kind, 
 Worse than these unto the mind : 
 That is, when a wanton's eye 
 Leads desire clean awry, 
 And with the bee doth rejoice 
 Every minute to change choice, 
 Counting he were then in bliss, 
 If that each fair fall were his; 
 Highly thus in love disgraced, 
 When the lover is unchaste ; 
 And would taste of fruit forbidden, 
 "Cause the scape is easily hidden. 
 Though such love be sweet in brewing, 
 Bitter is the end ensuing ; 
 For the humour of love he shameth, 
 And himself with lust defameth ; 
 D 
 
18 
 
 For a minute's pleasure gaining, 
 Fame and honour ever staining." 
 Gazing thus so far awry, 
 Last the chip falls in his eye, 
 Then it burns that erst but heat him, 
 And his own rod 'gins to beat him ; 
 His choicest sweets turn to gall, 
 He finds lust his sin's thrall : 
 That wanton women in their eyes, 
 Men's deceivings do comprise. 
 That homage, done to fair faces, 
 Doth dishonour other graces. 
 If lawless love be such a sin, 
 Curst is he that lives therein; 
 For the gain of Venus' game, 
 Is the downfal unto shame. 
 Here he paused and did stay, 
 Sigh'd and rose, and went away. 
 
 As soon as PHILOMELA had ended her ode, she smiled on 
 LUTESIO and said : " Hoping then that this private conference shall 
 be a conclusion of your passions, and a final resolution to reverse 
 your thoughts from this disordinate folly of love, I will at this time 
 cease to speak any more, because I hope you will rest from your 
 motion:" and so taking him by the hand, she led him into the 
 parlour, where, amongst other company, they passed away the day 
 in pleasant chat, till that LUTESIO found convenient opportunity to 
 discover to PHILIPPO the resolution of his wife, who thought every 
 minute a month till he had heard what answer she had made to 
 LUTESIO. 
 
 At last they went both together, walking into a garden that 
 adjoined to the house of PHILIPPO: and there LUTESIO, who 
 revealed from point to point what he had mentioned afar off to 
 
 
19 
 
 PHILOMELA, and how honourably and honestly she replied, re- 
 hearsing what a cooling card of good counsel she gave him, able to 
 have quailed the hottest stomach, or quenched the most eager flame 
 that fancy could fire the mind of man withal ; entering into a large 
 and high commendation of the chastity, wisdom, and general 
 virtues of PHILOMELA, averring that he thought there was not a 
 woman of more absolute qualities, nor honourable disposition, in 
 all Italy. ;; 
 
 PHILIPPO, the more he drunk the more he thirsted, and the 
 more he was persuaded to trust in her honesty the more he was 
 suspicious, and doubted of her virtue : for he replied, still in his 
 jealous humour 1 , that ".women's words were no warrants of their 
 truth ; that as the onyx is inwardly most cold when it is outwardly 
 most hot, so women's words are like the cries of lapwings, farthest 
 from their thoughts, as they are from their nests : they proclaim 
 silence with their tongues, modesty with their eyes, chastity with 
 their actions, when in their hearts they are plotting how to grant 
 an amorous pleasure to their lovers/' 
 
 " Tush," says PHILIPPO, " women's tongues are tipt with 
 deceit ; they can sing with the nightingale, though they have a 
 prick at their breasts ; they can lend him a cherry lip whom they 
 heartily loathe, and fawn upon their husbands' necks when they 
 give their lovers a wink. Though my wife hath made a fair shew 
 of virtue, it is no authentical proof of her honesty 2 ; either she mis- 
 trusted or misdoubted of your sorcery, or else she would seem hard 
 
 1 Dangerous conceits are in their nature poisons, 
 Which at the first are scarce found to distaste, 
 But with a little act upon the blood, 
 Burn like the mines of sulphur. 
 
 Othello. 
 
 * A beauteous wall doth oft close in pollution. 
 
 Twelfth Night. 
 
in the winning, that her chastity might be holden the more chary ; 
 for, be she never so wanton, she will seem modest; and the most 
 common courtezan will, to a novice, seem the most coy matron : 
 they have their countenance at command, their words at will, their 
 oaths at pleasure, and all to shadow their scapes with the masks of 
 virtue. Rodope seemed coy to Psanneticus, else had a courtezan 
 never conquered a king ; Hermia chaste to Aristotle, else had she 
 not bewitched a philosopher; Plato's overworn trull true to him, 
 else had she not been mistress of his thoughts. I tell thee, LUTESIO, 
 they have more wiles than the sun hath beams, to betray the 
 simple meaning of besotted lovers. Therefore, though she uttered 
 a legend of good lessons, believe her not. Though the hare take 
 squat, she is not lost at the first default : apply thy wits, try her by 
 letters, write passionately, and hear her answer, and assure thyself, 
 if thou cunningly cast forth the lure, she will soon be reclaimed to 
 thy fist 1 ." 
 
 Thus importunate was PHILIPPO upon his friend LUTESIO, 
 that at the last he craved license to depart for a while, leaving 
 PHILIPPO meditating of his melancholy, while he went into his 
 chamber, where, taking pen and paper, he wrote PHILOMELA this 
 cunning letter. 
 
 WISHETH WHAT HE WANTS HIMSELF. 
 
 IT is no wonder, PHILOMELA, if men's minds be subject to 
 love, when their eyes are the instruments of desire; nor is any 
 blameworthy for aifecting, when as the sight of man is a sense that 
 viewing every thing must of force allow of something. I speak not, 
 sweet Lady; philosophically as a scholar, but passionately as a 
 
 An allusion to hawking. 
 
lover, whose eyes have been so lavish in overhigh looks, that either 
 they must have their longing, or else I die through their over- 
 liking : for as too sweet perfumes make the sense to surfeit, and the 
 most bright colours soonest blemish the sight, so I, in gazing on 
 the choice perfections of beauty, have dazzled mine eyes, and fired 
 my heart with desire, that none but the fruition of that blessed 
 object can save me from being Love's cursed abject. 
 
 Now, Madam, the rare idea that thus through the applause of 
 mine eye hath bewitched my heart, is the beauteous image of your 
 sweet self. Pardon me, if I presume, when the extremity of love 
 pricks me forward. Faults that grow by affection, ought to be 
 forgiven, because they come of constraint : then, Madam, read with 
 favour, and censure with mercy, for so long I dallied with the fly 
 about the candle, that I began to feel overmuch heat would breed 
 my harm ; I have played so long with the minnow at the bait, that 
 I am strucken with the hook ; I have viewed your beauty with such 
 delight, and considered of your virtues with such desire, that in 
 your gracious looks lies the only hope of my life. 
 
 Ah, PHILOMELA ! were not my love extreme, my passions 
 passing all measure, my affection too full of anguish, I would have 
 concealed my thoughts with silence, and have smothered my griefs 
 with patience ; but either I must live by revealing it, or die by re- 
 pressing it. I fear thou wilt here object, PHILIPPO is my friend, 
 and then I am of little faith to proffer him this wrong ; I confess 
 this is a truth, and were worthy of blame, were I not bewitched by 
 love, who neither admitteth exceptions of faith or friendship. If it 
 be a passion that controlleth the gods, no wonder at all if it conquer 
 and command men. If sons disobey their fathers to have their desires, 
 it is more tolerable to crack friendship for the conquest of love. 
 
 Why then did Nature frame beauty to be so excellent, if she 
 had tied the winning of it within exceptions ? If that a friend may 
 fault with his friend for a kingdom, no doubt faith may be broken 
 for love, that is a great deal more puissant than kings, and much 
 
more precious than diadems : chiefly, if that the party be chary to 
 have regard of his mistress' honour. What the eye sees not, PHILO- 
 MELA, never hurteth the heart; a secret love impeacheth not 
 chastity 1 . Juno never frowned when Jupiter made his scape in a 
 cloud. Private pleasures have never enjoined unto them any 
 penance, and she is always counted chaste enough, that is chary 
 enough : then, Madam, let him not die for love, whom, if you 
 please, you may bless with love ! 
 
 It may be, you will reply, that PHILIP^O is a Count, and a 
 great deal my superior, and the supreme of your heart, therefore not 
 to be wronged with an arrival. Consider, Madam, kings do brook 
 many unknown scapes ; love will play the wanton amongst the 
 greatest lords; women are not made such chaste nuns, but they 
 may let much water slip by the mill that the miller knoweth not 
 of; they may love their husbands with one of their eyes, and favour 
 a friend with the other. 
 
 Since then, Madam, I have been stung with the scorpion, and 
 cannot be helped or healed by none but by the scorpion ; that I am 
 wounded with Achilles' lance, and I must be healed with his trun- 
 cheon ; that I am entangled and snared in your beauty, and must 
 be set at liberty only by your love ; look upon my passions, and 
 pity them, let me not die for desiring your sweet self, but rather 
 grant me favour, and enjoy such a lover as will prize your honour 
 before his life, and at all times be yours in all dutiful service whilst 
 he lives, expecting such an answer as is agreeing to such divine 
 beauty, which cannot be cruel, or according unto my destiny, 
 which be it sinister, will be my death. Farewell. 
 
 Yours ever, 
 
 though never yours, 
 
 GIOVANNI LUTESIO. 
 
 1 This is the common language of the vicious and practised seducer. 
 
Having finished his letter thus amorously, he remembered him- 
 self; and although PHILIPPO stayed for him in the garden, yet he 
 stepped once again to his standish, and wrote under this following 
 sonnet. 
 
 Natura nihilfrustra. 
 
 On women Nature did bestow two eyes, 
 
 Like Herman's bright lamps, in matchless beauty shining, 
 
 Whose beams do soonest captivate the wise 
 
 And wary heads, made rare by Art's refining. 
 
 But why did Nature, in her choice combining, 
 
 Plant two fair eyes within a beauteous face, 
 
 That they might favour two with equal grace ? 
 
 Venus did sooth up Vulcan with one eye, 
 With th* other granted Mars his wished glee : 
 If she did so, whom Hymen did defy, , 
 Think love no sin, but grant an eye to me; 
 In vain else Nature gave two stars to thee : 
 If then two eyes may well two friends maintain, 
 Allow of two, and prove not Nature vain 1 . 
 
 Natura repugnare belluinum* 
 
 After he had ended this sonnet, he went and shewed them to 
 Seignior PHILIPPO, who liked well of his passionate humour, and 
 desired nothing more than to hear what answer his wife would 
 make to these amorous poems ; therefore, that he might grant 
 LUTESIO the fitter opportunity to deliver them, he took a skiff, 
 and went with -sundry other gentlemen, his familiars, to solace 
 himself upon the waters. 
 
 In the meanwhile LUTESIO, who was left alone by himself, 
 began to enter into the least disposition of a jealous man, that 
 
 1 This sonnet is absurdly conceited and far-fetched ; nor is its structure legitimate. 
 
would hazard the honour of his wife, to content his own suspicious 
 humour, and whet on a friend to a feigned fancy, which in time 
 might grow to an unfeigned affection : so that smiling to himself, 
 he began thus to murmur in his mind. " Is not he worthy to find 
 that 1 ' seeks, and deserveth he not many blows that craves to be 
 beaten? Sith PHILIPPO will buy the buck's head, is he not 
 worthy to have the horns ? and seeing he will needs have me court 
 his wife in jest, were it not well if he might have the cuckow in 
 earnest ? Knows he not, that frumps amongst friends grow at last 
 to open anger? that pretty sportings in love end oftentimes in 
 pretty bargains ? that it is ill jesting with edge tools, and of all 
 cattle worst caviling with fair women? for beauty is a bait that 
 will not be dallied with. But I love him too well, and I honour 
 the lady too much, to motion such a thought in earnest : though 
 he be foolish, I know her too honest to grant love to the greatest 
 monarch of the world/' 
 
 While he was thus musing with himself, PHILOMELA came into 
 the garden with two of her waiting women, who seeing LUTESIO in 
 a dump, thought he was devising of his new love : whereupon she 
 stepped to him, and began to ask him if he proceeded in his pur- 
 pose. " Ay, Madam," quoth he, " if I mean to persevere in life," 
 and with that the water stood in his eyes : whether it was that he 
 had an onion in his napkin to make him weep, or that he had 
 sucked that special quality from his mother, to let fall tears when 
 he list, I know not ; but she perceiving he watered his plants, began 
 somewhat to pity his passions, and asked him if yet he had made 
 the motion. " No, Madam," quoth LUTESIO, " but here I have 
 written her my mind, and please it you, you shall be my secretary, 
 both to read my letter, and see her name, for I know you will 
 conceal it." 
 
 PHILOMELA, desirous to see what lady it was LUTESIO was in 
 love withal, as Natura mulierum novitatis avida, took it very kindly 
 
25 
 
 at LUTESIO' s hands that he would participate his secrets unto her, 
 and promised not only to be silent, but to yield her opinion of the 
 hope of his success ; so she took the letter and promised the next 
 morning to give it him again, and so they fell into other chat, 
 talking of sundry matters, as their present occasions did minister, 
 till at last PHILOMELA, with child to see the contents of the letter, 
 took her leave and went into her closet, where unripping the seals, 
 she found lines far unfitting to her expectation. 
 
 As soon as she saw LUTESIO'S love was meant to her, she 
 rent the paper in a thousand pieces, and exclaimed against him 
 in most bitter terms, vowing her Lord should be revenged upon 
 him for this intended villainy, or else he should refuse her for his 
 wife. Thus alone while she breathed out most hard invectives 
 against him, yet at last, that she might aggravate her husband's 
 displeasure the more against him, she gathered up the pieces, and 
 laying them together, read them over, where, perceiving his pas- 
 sions, and thinking them to grow from a mind full of fancy 1 , having 
 somewhat cooled her choler, she resolved not to tell her husband, 
 lest if he should kill LUTESIO she might be thought the occasion of 
 the murder, and so bring her unblemished honour in question ; and 
 therefore she took paper and ink, and wrote him this sharp reply. 
 
 PHILOMELA TO THE MOST FALSE LUTESIO, 
 
 WISHETH WHAT HE WANTS HIMSELF. 
 
 IF thou wonderest what I wish thee, LUTESIO, enter into thine 
 own want, and thou shalt find, I desire thou mightst have more 
 honour and less dishonesty; else a short life and a long repentance. 
 
 1 This contest between the indignation of virtue and the intoxication of flattery is 
 naturally drawn. 
 
 E 
 
26 
 
 I see now that hemlock, wheresoever it be planted, will be pestilent; 
 that the serpent with the brightest scales shroudeth the most fatal 
 venom ; that the ruby, whatsoever foil it hath, will shew red ; that 
 when nature hatcheth vicious, nurture will never make virtuous. 
 
 Thou art like, LUTESIO, unto the hyssop, growing in America, 
 that is liked of strangers for the smell, and hated of the inhabitants 
 for the operation, being as prejudicial in the one, as delightsome in 
 the other : so thou in voice art holden honest, and therefore liked, 
 but being once looked into, and found lascivious, thou wilt grow 
 into as great contempt with thy familiars as now thou art honoured 
 amongst strangers. Hadst thou none answerable to thine appetite 
 but PHILOMELA ? nor none to wrong but PHILIPPO ? Canst thou 
 wish me so much harm, or owe him so little friendship ; I honouring 
 thee so kindly, and he loving thee so dearly ? How canst thou love 
 the wife that betray est the husband ? or how shall I deem thou wilt 
 prove constant in love that art false in thy faith, and to such a 
 friend, who, next myself, counteth thee second in his secrets ? Base 
 man, that harbours so bad a thought, ransack thy thoughts and rip 
 up the end of thy attempt! and then, if that shame hath not 
 utterly abandoned thee, thou wilt for fear of shame leave off thy 
 lust, and grow into more grace 1 . 
 
 Tell me, LUTESIO, (and if thou speakest not what thou knowest 
 I defy thee,) wherein hast thou seen me so light, or have my ges- 
 tures been so lewd, that thou shouldest gather hope to gain thy 
 love ? Hath Venice suspected me for a wanton ? Hath Italy deemed 
 me dissolute ? Have I granted unto thee, or to any other, extraor- 
 dinary favours ? Have I been froward to my Lord, or by any wanton 
 
 1 Bear not along 
 
 The clogging burden of a guilty soul. 
 
 Rich. II. 
 
27 
 
 tricks shewed the wrack of my chastity ? If any of these blemishes 
 have disgraced me, speak it, and I will call for grace and amend 
 them, but never a whit the more befriend thee: for whereas I 
 honourably thought of LUTESIO, unless I find thy humour changed, 
 I will aim at thy dishonour, and proclaim thee an enemy to ladies, 
 ^cause thou art a friend to lust. 
 
 Ah, LUTESIO ! I would sooner have deemed the seas should 
 have become dry, the earth barren, and the sun without light, than 
 thou wouldest have sought to violate the honesty of PHILOMELA, 
 or blemish the honour of PHILIPPO. PHILIPPO'S wealth is at thy 
 will, his sword at thy command, his heart placed in thy bosom; he 
 reserve th of all that he hath for thee, save only me to himself; and 
 canst thou be so unkind to rob him of his only love, that owes thee 
 so much love ? Judge the best, and I hope that I imagine truth, 
 thou doest it but to try me. If it be so, I brook it with the more 
 patience, yet discontent thou shouldst trouble mine eyes with a 
 wanton line ; but if thy passionate humour be in earnest, it con- 
 tents me not to deny thee, but to defy thee; I proclaim myself 
 enemy to thy life, as thou art envious of mine and my husband's 
 honour. 
 
 I will incense PHILIPPO to revenge with his sword what I 
 cannot requite with words ; and never live in quiet till I see thee 
 die, infamous traitor as thou art. Unless thy grace be such, to 
 cease from thy treachery, come no more in my husband's house, 
 lest thou look for a dagger in thy bosom ; feed not at my table, 
 lest thou quaff with Alexander thy fatal draught ! To be brief, love 
 not PHILOMELA, if thou mean to live, but look up to heaven ; 
 become penitent for thy fond and foolish passions ; let me see re- 
 pentance in thy eyes, and remorse in thy actions ; be as thou hast 
 been, a friend to PHILIPPO, and a favourer of mine honour; and 
 though thou hast deserved but meanly, yet thou shalt be welcome 
 heartily, and whatsoever is past, upon thy penitence, I will pardon, 
 
28 
 
 and for this time conceal it from the knowledge of the Count; 
 otherwise, set down thy rest, we will not both live together in Italy. 
 Farewell. 
 
 Never thine, 
 
 though she were not PHILIPPO'S, 
 
 PHILOMELA MEDIA. 
 
 Having ended her letter, she resolved to answer his sonnet, as 
 well to shew her wit, as to choke his wantonness, and therefore she 
 writ this poem. 
 
 Quot corda, tot amores. 
 
 Nature foreseeing how men would devise 
 More wiles than Proteus, women to entice, 
 Granted them two, and those bright shining eyes, 
 To pierce into man's faults if they were wise. 
 For they with shew of virtue mask their vice, 
 Therefore to women's eyes belongs these gifts, 
 The one must love, the other see men's shifts. 
 
 Both these await upon one simple heart, 
 And what they choose, it hides up without change. 
 The emerald will not with his portrait part, 
 Nor will a woman's thoughts delight to range. 
 They hold it bad to have so base exchange. 
 One heart, one friend, though that two eyes do choose him, 
 No more but one, and heart will never lose him. 
 Cor unum, amor unus. 
 
 As soon as she had sealed up her letter, she brooked no delay, 
 but sent it straight by one of her waiting women to LUTESIO, whom 
 she found sitting alone in his chamber reading upon a book. Inter- 
 rupting his study, she delivered him the letter, and the message of 
 
29 
 
 her lady. LUTESIO kind, gave the gentlewoman a kiss; for he 
 thought she valued a lip favour more than a piece of gold, and with 
 great courtesy gave her leave to depart. She was scarce out of the 
 chamber, but he opened the letter, and found what he expected, 
 the resolution of a chaste Countess, too worthy of so jealous a 
 husband. 
 
 Praising in himself the honourable mind of PHILOMELA, he 
 went abroad to find out PHILIPPO, whom at last he met, near unto 
 the arsenal. Walking together to LUTESIO'S house, there he shewed 
 PHILIPPO his wife's letter, and did comment upon every line, com- 
 mending greatly her chastity, and deeply condemning his suspicion. 
 " Tush," says PHILIPPO, " all this wind shakes no corn. Helena 
 writ as sharply to Paris, yet she ran away with him. Try her once 
 again, LUTESIO, and for my life thou shalt find calmer words and 
 sweeter lines." LUTESIO, with his eyes full of choler, made him 
 this answer. " PHILIPPO, if thou beest so sottish, with Cephalus 
 to betray thy wife's honour, perhaps with him prove the first that 
 repent thy treachery. When the wild boar is not chafed, thou 
 mayest chasten him with a wand, but being once indammaged with 
 the dogs, he is dismal. 
 
 " Women that are chaste while they are trusted, prove wantons 
 being suspected causeless. Jealousy is a spur to revenge. Beware 
 PHILOMELA hear not of this practice, lest she make thee eat with 
 the blind man many a fly. Canst thou not, PHILIPPO, content 
 thyself that thy Lady is honest, but thou must plot the means to 
 make her a harlot 1 ? If thou likest hunters' fees so Avell, seek another 
 woodman, for I will not play an apple-squire to feed thy humours. 
 If Venice knew as much as I am privy to, they would hold thee 
 
 1 How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds 
 Makes ill deeds done. 
 
 King John. 
 
worthy of that thou hast not, and her a fool if she gave thee not 
 what thou seekest for. I am sorry I have wronged her virtues by 
 so bad a motion; but henceforth, PHILIPPO, hope never to get me 
 in the like vein : and more, if thou leavest not from being so vain, 
 I will abandon thy company, and renounce thy friendship for ever." 
 
 PHILIPPO hearing his friend LUTESIO so short, desired him to 
 be content, patient, and silent, and he would raze out the suspi- 
 cious conceit that haunted him, and for ever after grace his good 
 wife with more love and honour; and, with that, PHILIPPO and he 
 walked to the Rial to : but LUTESIO would not for that night go to. 
 the house of PHILIPPO, lest his presence might be offensive to 
 PHILOMELA, and so drive him into some dumpish choler. 
 
 PHILIPPO coming home, was welcome to his Lady, and being 
 somewhat late, they sat down lovingly to supper. The first course 
 was no sooner come in, but PHILIPPO said, he marvelled that all 
 that day he had not seen LUTESIO : this he spake with his eyes on 
 PHILOMELA'S face, to see what countenance she would hold at his 
 name ; she, little suspecting her husband had been privy to her new 
 found lover, blushed and kept herself silent. PHILIPPO took no 
 knowledge of any thing, but passed it over smoothly, and used his 
 former wonted lamiliarity to his wife. The next day going abroad, 
 LUTESIO came to his house, and went not in as his custom was, 
 boldly, but walking in the hall, asked one of the EarFs gentlemen, 
 if the Countess was stirring : he, marvelling at LUTESIO'S strange- 
 ness, smiled and said, " Sir, what needs this question ? my Lady is 
 alone at her book; go up, Sir, and help her in her muses/' " I pray 
 you/' quoth LUTESIO, " go to the Countess, and tell her I am here, 
 and would, if her leisure served her, gladly have a word with her/' 
 The gentleman, though he wondered at these uncouth words of 
 LUTESIO, yet he went up and told his Lady the message, who 
 presently leaving her book and company, all to avoid out of the 
 chamber, sent for him up ; who no sooner came into her presence, 
 
31 
 
 but she saluted him with such a frown, that he stood as mortified as 
 if he had been struck with the eye of a basilisk. PHILOMELA see- 
 ing him in this passionate agony, began with him thus. 
 
 " I cannot tell, LUTESIO, how to salute thee either with looks 
 or speeches, seeing thou art not as thou seemedst once, my well- 
 wisher, and my husband's friend. The lapidaries value the stones 
 no longer than they hold their virtues ; nor I prize a gentleman no 
 longer than he regards his honour. For, as a diamond with a cloud 
 is cast into the goldsmith's dust, so a gentleman without credit is 
 carelessly holden for refuse. I read thy letter, and I answered it : 
 but tell me, how shall I take it ? As thou repliest, so will I enter- 
 tain : if to try me, thou shalt find the more favour ; if to betray me, 
 hope for nothing but revenge/' LUTESIO, hearing PHILOMELA so 
 honourably peremptory, with blushing cheeks made her this answer. 
 
 " Madam, as my face bewrays my folly, and my ruddy hue my 
 rechless show, so let my words be holden for witnesses of my truth, 
 and think whatsoever I say is sooth : by the faith of a gentleman, 
 then, assure yourself, mine eye hath ever loved you, but never 
 unlawfully ; and what humble duty I have shown you, hath been to 
 honour you, not to dishonest you. This letter was but to make 
 trial how you liked PIIILIPPO, to whom I owe such faith, that it 
 would grieve me he should have a wife false. I know not, Madam, 
 what humour drew me on to it. I am sure, neither your wanton 
 looks, nor light demeanours, but a kind of passion destined to breed 
 mine own prejudice, if your favour exceed not my deserts. If, there- 
 fore, your Ladyship shall forget and forgive this folly, and conceal 
 it from the JEarl, who perhaps may take it meant in earnest, enjoin 
 me any penance, Madam, and I will perform it with patience/' 
 
 PHILOMELA hearing LUTESIO thus penitent, began to clear 
 up her countenance, and said to him thus : " It is folly to rub the 
 scar when the wound is almost whole, or to renew quarrels when 
 the matter is put in compromise; therefore, omitting all, LUTESIO, 
 
32 
 
 I pardon thee, and promise neither to remember thy folly myself, 
 nor yet to reveal it to my husband, but thou shalt be every way as 
 heartily welcome to me as thou wert wont ; only this shall be thy 
 penance, to swear upon this bible, never hereafter to motion me of 
 any dishonesty. To this LUTESIO willingly granted, and took his 
 oath ; so were they reconciled, and the Countess called for a cup of 
 wine, and drunk to him : and after, to pass away the afternoon, 
 they fell to chess. After a mate or two, the -Countess was called 
 aside by one MARGARETA STROMIA, a Venetian lady, that came 
 to visit her, and LUTESIO went down to walk in the garden by 
 chance. As he was striking through the parlour he met the Earl, 
 whom he took by the arm, and led him into one of the privy 
 walks, and there recounted unto him what reconcilement was grown 
 between him and the Countess his wife, which highly pleased the 
 Earl, so that without any more cross humours they passed a long 
 time in all contented pleasures; till Fortune, whose envy is to subvert 
 content, and whose delight is to turn comic mirth into tragic 
 sorrows, entered into the theatre of PHILOMELA'S life, and began 
 to act a baleful scene, in this manner. 
 
 PHILIPPO, who had not quite extinguished suspicion, but 
 covered up in the cinders of melancholy the glowing sparks of 
 jealousy 1 , began afresh to kindle the flame, and to conceit a new 
 insight into his wife's actions ; and whereas generally he mistrusted 
 her before, and only thought her a wanton, as she was a woman, 
 now he suspected that there was too much familiarity between her 
 and LUTESIO, and flatly, that between them both he wore the 
 horns : yet accuse her he durst not, because her parentage was 
 great, her friends many, and her honesty most of all. Neither had 
 he any probable articles to object against her, and therefore was 
 silent, but ever murmuring with himself to this effect. 
 
 1 Burke has made use of a similar image applied to a much greater occasion. 
 
" PHILIPPO, thou wert too fond to plot LUTESIO a.means of his 
 love, granting him opportunity to woo, which is the sweetest friend 
 to love. Men cannot dally with fire, nor sport with affection ; for 
 he that is a suitor in jest, may be a speeder in earnest. Have not 
 such a thought in thy mind, PHILIPPO, for as LUTESIO is thy 
 friend, so is he faithful; and as PHILOMELA is thy wife, so she is 
 honest ; and yet both may join issue, and prove dissemblous. 
 Lovers have Argus* eyes, to be wary in their doings, and angels' 
 tongues, to talk of holiness, when their hearts are most lascivious. 
 Though my wife returned a taunting letter to him openly, yet she 
 might send him sweet lines secretly; her satiable answer was but a 
 cloak for the rain ; for, ever since they have been more familiar and 
 less asunder; nor she is never merry if LUTESIO begin not the 
 rnirth : if LUTESIO be not at table, her stomach is queasy: as when 
 the halcyons hatch, the sea is calm, and the phoenix never spreads 
 her wings but when the sunbeams shine on her nest; so PHILOMELA 
 is never frolic but when she is matched in the company of LUTESIO. 
 This courtesy grows of some private kindness, which if I can find 
 out by just proof and circumstance, let me alone to revenge to the 
 uttermost." 
 
 In this jealous passion he passed away many days and many 
 months, till one day LUTESIO being alone in the chamber with 
 PHILOMELA, the Earl coming in, and hearing they were together, 
 went charily up the stairs, and peeping in at the lock-hole, saw 
 them two standing at a bay-window, hand in hand, talking very 
 familiarly : which sight struck such a supicious fury into his head, 
 that he was half frantic ; yet did he smother what he thought in 
 silence, and going down into the garden, left them two still together. 
 Being there alone by himself, he cast a thousand suspicious doubts 
 in his head of LUTESIO and his wife's dishonesty, intending to 
 watch more narrowly, to take them in a trap, while they, poor souls, 
 little mistrusted his jealousy. 
 
34 
 
 He had not staid in the garden long, ere LUTESIO (ind the 
 Countess went down together to walk, where they found the Earl 
 in his dumps ; but they two wakened him from his drowsy melan- 
 choly, with the pleasant devices of Seignior LUTESIO; PHILIPPO 
 making at all no shew of his suspicion, but entertained his friend 
 with all accustomed familiarity; so that they passed away that day 
 with all contented pleasures, till night, the infortunate breeder of 
 PHILOMELA'S misfortunes, grew on, when she and the Earl went to 
 bed together : for, as she lay talking, she started, being new 
 quickened with child, and feeling the imperfect infant stir. PHI- 
 LIPPO asking the cause, she, ready to weep for joy, said, " Good 
 news, my Lord, you shall have a young son/' At this his heart 
 waxed cold, and he questioned of her if she were with child : she, 
 taking his hand, laying it on her side, said : " Feel, my Lord, you 
 may perceive it move/' With that it leapt against his hand. When 
 she creeping into his bosom, began amorously to kiss him, and com- 
 mend him ; that, though for the space of four years that they had 
 been married she had had no child, yet at last he had played the 
 man's part, and gotten her a boy. 
 
 This touched PHILIPPO at the quick, and doubled the flame of 
 his jealousy, that as a man half lunatic, he leapt out of the bed, and 
 drawing his rapier, began thus to menace poor PHILOMELA. " In- 
 cestuous strumpet, more wanton than Lamia, more lascivious than 
 Lais, and more shameless than Pasiphae, whose life as it hath 
 been shadowed with painted holiness, so it hath been full of pesti^ 
 lent villainies; thou hast sucked subtlety from thy mother; thou 
 hast learned with Circe to enchant, with Calypso to charm, with 
 the Syrens to sing, and all these to breed my destruction ; yet, at 
 last thy concealed vices are burst open into manifest abuses. Now 
 is thy lust grown to light, thy whoredoms to be acted in the theatres 
 of Venice, thy palpable dissolutions to be proclaimed in the pro- 
 vinces of Italy. Time is the mother of Truth, and now hath laid 
 
55 
 
 open thy life to the world : thou art, with Venus, taken in a net by 
 Vulcan; and though thou hast long gone to the water, yet at last 
 thou art come broken home. I mistrusted this of long, and have 
 found it out at last : I mean the loves between thee and that traitor 
 LUTESIO, which although I smothered with silence, yet I hid up for 
 revenge. I have seen with grief, and passed over with sorrow, 
 many odd pranks, thinking still time would have altered thy 
 thoughts ; but now thou hast sported thy belly full, and gotten a 
 bastard, and wouldest fob me off to be the father ; no, though I be 
 blind, I will not swallow such a fly. For the time of thy quicken- 
 ing and his fresh acquaintance, jumps in an even date ; this four 
 years I have been thy husband and could not raise up thy belly, and 
 LUTESIO no sooner grew familiar with thee, but he got thee with 
 child ; and were it not, base strumpet, that I reserve thee to further 
 infamy, I would presently butcher thee and the brat both with one 
 stab 1 ." 
 
 And with that he flung out of the chamber, leaving poor 
 PHILOMELA in a great maze, to hear this unlooked-for discourse; 
 insomuch, that after she had lain a while in a trance, coming to 
 herself, she burst forth into abundance of tears, and passed away 
 the night in bitter complaints; whilst PHILIPPO, mad with the 
 frantic humour of jealousy, sat in his study, hammering how he 
 might bring both LUTESIO and her to confusion. One while he 
 resolved to provide galleys ready for his passage, and then to 
 murder both his wife and LUTESIO, and so to fly away into some 
 foreign country ; then he determined to accuse them before the 
 Duke, his near kinsman, and have them openly punished with the 
 extremity of the law; but he wanted witnesses to confirm his 
 jealous allegations. 
 
 1 The broad and coarse language used in this conversation is not a little repulsive to 
 the superior refinement of the present age. 
 
Being thus in a quandary, at last he called up two Genoese, 
 his servants, slaves that neither regarded God, religion, nor con- 
 science, and them he suborned with sweet persuasions and large 
 promises to swear that he and they did take LUTESIO and PHILO- 
 MELA in an adulterous action ; and although the base villains had 
 at all no sparks of honesty in their minds, yet the honour of their 
 Lady, her courtesy to all, her known virtues, and special good quali- 
 ties, did so prevail, that they were passing unwilling to blemish her 
 good name with their perjuries ; yet at last the Count cloyed them 
 so with the hope of gold, that they gave free consent to confirm by 
 oath whatsoever he should plot down to them. 
 
 Whereupon, the next morning, the Earl gat him early to the 
 Duke of Venice, who was his cousin german, and made solemn 
 complaint of the dishonour offered him by his wife and Seignior 
 LUTESIO ; craving justice, that he might have such a manifest 
 injury redressed with the rigour of the law. 
 
 The Duke, whose name was LORENZO MEDICI, grieved that his 
 kinsman was vexed with such a cross, and sorrowed that PHILO- 
 MELA, that was so famous in Italy for her beauty and virtue, should 
 dishonour herself and her husband by yielding her love to lascivious 
 LUTESIO, swearing a present dispatch of revenge ; and thereupon 
 granted out warrants to bring them both presently before him. 
 
 PHILIPPO glad of this, went his way to the house of LUTESIO 
 well armed, and every way appointed, as if he had gone to sack the 
 strongest hold in all Italy, carrying with him a crew of his friends 
 and familiars, furnished at all points to apprehend the guiltless 
 gentleman. As soon as they came to his house, they found one of 
 his servants sitting at the door, who, seeing the Earl, saluted him 
 reverendly, and marvelled what the reason should be he was 
 accompanied with such a multitude. 
 
 PHILIPPO demanded of him where his master was. " Walking, 
 may it please your honour, (quoth he) in his garden." " Then/' 
 
37 
 
 says the Earl, " if he be no more busy, I will be so bold as to go 
 speak with him ; and therefore follow me," saith he to the crew ; 
 who pressing in after the Earl, encountered LUTESIO, coming from 
 his garden to go into his chamber. As soon as he spied PIIILIPPO, 
 with a merry look, as if his heart had commanded his eyes to bid 
 him welcome, he saluted the Earl most graciously, but highly was 
 astonished to see such a troop at his heels. 
 
 PHILIPPO, contrary, (as LUTESIO offered to embrace him with 
 his best hand) took him fast by the bosom, and pulling forth his 
 poniard, said, " Traitor, were it not I regard mine honour, and 
 were loth to be blemished with the blood of so base a companion, 
 I would rip out that false heart that hath violated the faith once 
 united betwixt us : but the extremity of the law shall revenge thy 
 villainy, and therefore officers take him into your custody, and 
 carry him presently to the Duke, whither I will bring straight the 
 strumpet, his paramour, that they may receive condign punishment 
 for their heinous and detestable treacheries." 
 
 Poor LUTESIO, who little looked for such a greeting of the 
 Earl, wondered whence this bitter speech should grow, so deeply 
 amazed, that he stood as a man in a trance, till at the last, gathering 
 his wits together, he began humbly and fearfully to have replied, 
 when the Earl commanded the officers to carry him away, and 
 would not hear him utter any one word. 
 
 He speeding him home to his own house, to fetch his sorrowful 
 and faultless wife, to hear the baleful verdict of her appeached 
 innocency. Coming up into her bedchamber, he found her sitting 
 by her bedside, on her knees, in most hearty and devout prayer, 
 that it would please God to clear her husband from his jealousy, 
 and protect her from any open reproach or slander, uttering her 
 orisons with such heart-breaking sighs and abundance of tears, that 
 the base catchpoles that came in with him took pity, and did com- 
 passionate the extremity of her passions. But PHILIPPO, as if lie 
 
38 
 
 had participated his nature with the bloodthirsty cannibal, or eaten 
 of the seathin root, that maketh a man to be as cruel in heart as it 
 is hard in the rind, stepped to her, and casting her backward, bade 
 her " arise, strumpet," and hastily make her ready, for the Duke 
 stayed for her coming, and had sent his officers to fetch her. 
 
 Perplexed PHILOMELA, casting up her eye, and seeing such a 
 crew of rakehells ready to attend upon him, was so surcharged 
 with grief that she fell down in a passion. PHILIPPO let her lie, 
 but the ministers stepped unto her and received her again. As soon 
 as she was come to herself, she desired PHILIPPO, that for all the 
 love of their youth, he would grant her but only this one favour, 
 that she might not be carried before the Duke with that common 
 attendance, but that she and he might go together without any 
 further open discredit; and then, if she could not prove herself 
 innocent, let her without favour abide the penalty of the law. 
 Although she craved this boon with abundance of tears, yet PHI-T 
 LIPPO would have no remorse, but compelled her to attire herself, 
 and then conveyed her with this crew to the Duke's palace, where 
 there was gathered together all the consigladiors and chief magis- 
 trates of the city. Her passing through the streets drew a great 
 wonder to the Venetians what the cause of her trouble should be, 
 so that infinite number of citizens followed her, and as many other 
 people as could thrust into the common hall, to hear what should 
 be objected against PHILOMELA. 
 
 At last, when the judges were set, and LUTESIO and PHILO- 
 MELA brought to the bar, the Duke commanded PHILIPPO to 
 discourse what articles he had to object against his wife and 
 LUTESIO. 
 
 PHILIPPO, with his eyes full of jealousy, and heart armed with 
 revenge, looking on them both, fetching a deep sigh, began thus. 
 " It is not unknown to the Venetians, (right famous Duke, and 
 honourable magistrates of this so worthy a city,) how, ever since I 
 
married this PHILOMELA, I have yielded her such love with re- 
 verence, such affection with care, such devoted favours with affected 
 duties, that I did rather honour her as a saint than regard her as a 
 wife ; so that the Venetians counted me rather to doat on her ex- 
 tremely, than to love her ordinarily. Neither can I deny, mighty 
 LORENZO, but PHILOMELA returned all these my favours with 
 gentle loves and obedient amours, being as dutiful a wife as I was 
 a loving husband, until this traitor LUTESIO, this ingrateful mon- 
 ster, that living hath drunk of the river Lethe, which maketh men 
 forgetful of what is past, so he, oblivious of all honour I did him, 
 was the first actor in this tragic overthrow of the fame of the house 
 of PHILIPPO. 
 
 " I appeal to the Venetians, even from the magistrate to the 
 meanest man, what honourable parts of friendship I have shewn to 
 LUTESIO; how he was my second self, except PHILOMELA; his 
 bosom was the cell wherein I hid up my secrets, his mouth was the 
 oracle whereby I directed my actions. As I could not be without 
 his presence, so I never would do any thing without his counsel ; 
 committing thus myself, my soul, my goods, mine honour, nay, my 
 wife, to his honour, only reserving her from him. Of all that I have 
 private to myself, the traitor, (oh, listen to a tale of ruth, Venetians!) 
 neither regarding God nor respecting his friend, neither moved with 
 fear nor touched with faith, forgetting all friendship, became amor- 
 ously to woo my wife, and at last dishonestly won her ; and now of 
 long time lasciviously hath used her, which I suspected as little, as 
 I trusted and affected them both deeply. 
 
 " How long they have continued in their adulterous loves 
 I know not; but as time hatcheth truth, and revealeth the very 
 entrails of hidden secrets, so yesterday, oh, the baleful day of my 
 dishonour! LUTESIO and my wife being suspected of too much 
 familiarity by my servants, though never mistrusted by me, were 
 watched by these Genoese, who seeing them in the chamber toge- 
 
40 
 
 ther, shameless as they were, having little regard of any privy priers 
 into their actions, fell to these amorous sports so openly, that 
 through a chink of the door these were eye-witnesses of their 
 adultery. 
 
 " I being then in the garden, coming up, and finding these two 
 peeping in at the door, stole secretly up, and with these poor slaves 
 was a beholder of mine own dishonour. My shame was so great, 
 and my sorrow so extreme, to see my wife so inconstant, and my 
 friend so false, that I stepped back again into the garden, calling 
 away these varlets, and leaving them still agents of these unkind 
 villainies. When I came into the garden, such was the love to PHI- 
 LOMELA, and so great the friendship I bore to LUTESIO, that, trust 
 me, Venetians, had myself only been a witness of their follies, I 
 would have smothered the fault with silence; but knowing that 
 such base rascals would at one time or other be blabs, and so 
 blemish mine honour, and so accuse me for a wittol to my own 
 wife, I resolved to have them punished by law, that have so per- 
 versely requited my love : therefore have I here produced them in 
 open court, that my dishonours may end in their revenge, calling 
 for justice with extremity against two persons of such treacherous 
 ingratitude/' 
 
 And here PHILIPPO ceased, driving all the hearers into a great 
 maze, that the Duke sat astonished, the consigladiori musing, and 
 the common people murmuring at the discourse of Seignior PHI- 
 LIPPO, and bending their envious eyes against the two innocents, 
 for wronging so honourable a Count. 
 
 To be brief, LUTESIO and PHILOMELA were examined, and no 
 doubt they told sundry tales to clear themselves ; but all in vain, 
 for the oath of the two slaves found them guilty : whereupon a quest 
 of choice citizens went upon them, and both, as guilty, condemned 
 to death. 
 
 When the fatal sentence should have been pronounced against 
 
41 
 
 \ 
 
 them, PIIILIPPO, with a counterfeit countenance, full of sorrow, 
 kneeling down, desired that they might not die, because it would 
 grieve him to be blemished with the blood of his wife whom he 
 had loved, or of his friend whom he had honoured. At whose 
 humble entreaty judgment was given, that PHILIPPO and PHILO- 
 MELA should be divorced, and he at free liberty to marry whom he 
 list ; and LUTESIO for ever to be banished, not only out of Venice, 
 but of all the dukedom and territories of the same. 
 
 As soon as sentence was given, LUTESIO fetched a great sigh, 
 and laying his hand on his bosom, said : " This breast, PHILIPPO, 
 did never harbour any disloyal thought against thee, nor once ima- 
 gine or contrive any dishonour against thy wife. Whatsoever thou 
 hast wrongfully averred, or the Duke hardly conceived, for witness 
 I appeal to none but God, who knoweth me guiltless, and to thine 
 own conscience, whose worm for this wrong will ever be restless. 
 My banishment I brook with patience, in that I know time will 
 discover any truth in my absence : smoke cannot be hidden, nor 
 the wrong of innocents scape without revenge. I only grieve for 
 PHILOMELA, whose chastity is no less than her virtues are many 1 , 
 and her honours as far from lust as thou and thy perjured slaves 
 from truth. It boots not use many words, only this I will say, men 
 of Venice have lost a friend which he will miss, and a wife that he 
 will sorrow for/' And so he went out of the council-house home 
 to his own lodging, having the term of twenty-one days appointed 
 for his departure. 
 
 PHILOMELA, poor soul, knowing what was in record could 
 not be reversed, that her credit was cracked, her honour utterly 
 
 blemished, and her name brought in contempt, for all this, 
 
 . v i ' 
 
 1 Come not in way of accusation 
 To taint that honour every good tongue blesses. 
 
 Hen. VIII. 
 
 G 
 
abashed not outwardly, whatsoever she conceited inwardly, but 
 seemed in her far more full of favour and beauty than ever she was 
 before ; and her looks so modest and grave, that Chastity seemed 
 to sit in her eyes, and to proclaim the wrong was offered unto her 
 by these perjured persons. With this assured and constant coun- 
 tenance, first looking on the Duke, on the consigladiori, on the 
 common people, and then on her husband, she used these words. 
 
 " O, PHILIPPO MEDICI ! once the lover of PHILOMELA, though 
 now the wrack of her honours, and the blemish of her high fortunes, 
 how canst thou look to heaven and not tremble ? How canst thou 
 behold me and not blush ? How canst thou think there is a God, 
 without fear ? or a hell, without horror ? Canst thou blind the divine 
 Majesty as thou hast led these magistrates into a false opinion of 
 thine own dishonour and my dishonesty? Mille testes conscientia. 
 If these slaves, the ministers of thy jealous envy, should grow dumb, 
 and all the world silent, yet will thine own conscience daily cry out 
 in thine ears 1 that thou hast wronged PHILOMELA. I am the 
 daughter of a Duke, as thou art the son of an Earl; my virtues in 
 Venice have been as great as thine honours ; my fortunes and my 
 friends more than thine : all these will search into this cause, and if 
 they find out mine innocency, think PHILIPPO worthy of great 
 penance. 
 
 " But in vain, I use charms to a deaf adder ; therefore, I leave 
 thee to the choice of a new love, and the fortune of a fair wife, who, 
 if she prove as honestly amorous towards thee as PHILOMELA, then 
 wrong her not with suspicion, as thou hast done me with jealousy, 
 lest she prove too liberal and pay my debts. 
 
 1 The worm of conscience still gnaws the soul. 
 
 Rich. III. 
 
 Conscience is a thousand swords. 
 
 Ibid. 
 
43 
 
 " Yet, PHILIPPO, hast thou lost more in losing LUTESIO than 
 in forsaking me, for thou mayest have many honest wives, but 
 never so faithful a friend ; therefore, though I be divorced, be thou 
 and he reconciled, lest at last the horror of thy conscience draw 
 thee into despair, and pain thee with too late repentance. 
 
 " So, PHILIPPO, ever wishing thee well, I will ever entreat, 
 that neither God may lay the wrong of mine innocency to thy 
 charge, nor my friends triumph in thy unfortunate revenge ; and so 
 farewell." 
 
 With this, she stepped forth of the hall, leaving PHILIPPO 
 greatly tormented in his conscience, and the Duke and all the rest 
 wondering at her patience ; saying, " it was pity she was drawn on 
 to wantonness by LUTESIO." 
 
 The rumours of this spread through all Venice, of the lascivious 
 life of PHILOMELA. Some said, all was not gold that glistered; 
 that the fairest faces have oft-times the falsest hearts ; and the 
 smoothest looks the most treacherous thoughts ; that as the agate, 
 be it never so white without, yet it is full of black strokes within; 
 and that the most shining sun breedeth the most sharp showers 1 ; 
 so women, the more chastity they profess openly, the less chary 
 
 1 All hoods make not monks. 
 
 Hen. Fill. 
 
 The hood makes not a monk : a man may be honest in nothing but his clothes. 
 
 Winter's Tale. 
 All that glistens is not gold t 
 Gilded tombs do worms enfold. 
 
 Merchant of Venice. 
 
 Trust not appearances and outward shews : 
 For some have acted like the elder Brutus, 
 Covering discretion with a coat of folly ; 
 As gardeners do with ordure hide those roots, 
 Which shall first spring, and be most delicate. 
 
 Hen. F. 
 
44 
 
 they are in secret of their honesty. Others said, it might be a com- 
 pacted matter by the Earl to be rid of his wife. Some said, that 
 the matter might be mistaken, and made worse than it was. 
 
 Thus diversly they did descant, while poor PHILOMELA, being 
 gotten to a gentleman's house, a friend of hers, sate sorrowfully, 
 resolving how she might best salve this blemish. One while she 
 thought to go home to the Duke her father, and incense him to 
 revenge : that again she misliked, for by open jars and civil dissen- 
 sion, were she never so innocent, yet her name should by such open 
 brawls grow more infamous. Another while, she thought to per- 
 suade LUTESIO against him, and that he might procure the slaves 
 by torture to bewray the subornation of perjury, and so to bring 
 her husband within the compass of open treachery. 
 
 Thus the secret love she bare still to PHILIPPO would not 
 suffice; for she had rather bear guiltless shame, than bring her 
 husband to perpetual infamy. 
 
 Thus did she plot in her mind sundry ways of revenge ; but at 
 last, this was her resolution : sith her honour, so famous through 
 Italy, was now so highly stained, she would neither stay in Italy 
 nor yet return to her father, but go into some strange country, and 
 there die unknown ; that being absent from the rumour of her bad 
 report, she might live, though poorly, yet quiet. 
 
 Upon this determination she set down her rest, and gathered 
 all her clothes and jewels together ; for the Earl sent her all, what- 
 soever he had of hers, and she returned him by the messenger a 
 ring with a diamond, wherein was written these words, Glim memi- 
 nisse dolebit. The Earl took it, and put it on his finger, which after 
 bred his further misery. 
 
 But leaving him a contented man, though with a troubled 
 conscience, for the satisfying of his jealous revenge. 
 
 Again to PHILOMELA, who having packed up all her jewels 
 and treasures, listened for a ship, and heard of one that made to 
 
Palermo in Sicily. As the poor Countess was careless of herself, 
 as a woman half in despair, so she little regarded to what port of 
 Christendom the bark made, and therefore hired passage in that 
 ship so secretly, that none but her own self and a page did know 
 when or whither she meant to make her voyage ; so that on a sud- 
 den, having certain intelligence at what hour the ship would warp 
 out of the haven, she slipped away, and her page with her, and 
 getting aboard under sail, committed herself to God, the mercy of 
 the seas, and to the husband of many hard misfortunes. 
 
 The ship had not gone a league upon the seas, but PHILOMELA 
 began to be sick ; whereupon the master of the ship coming in to 
 comfort her, found her in his eye one of the fairest creatures that 
 ever he saw ; and though her colour were something pale through 
 her present sickness 1 , yet he could compare it to no worse shew 
 than the glister of the moon in a silent night and a clear sky, so 
 that the poor shipper's conscience began to be pricked, and love 
 began to shake him by the sleeve, that he sate down by her, and 
 after his blunt fashion gave her such sweet comfort as such a swain 
 could afford. 
 
 PHILOMELA thanked him, and told him, it was nothing but a 
 passion that the roughness of the seas had wrought in her, who 
 heretofore was unacquainted with any other waters than the river 
 Po, and such small creeks as watered Italy. 
 
 Hereupon the master departed, but with a flea in his ear, and 
 love in his eye; for he had almost forgot his compass, he was so 
 far out of compass with thinking how to compass 2 PHILOMELA. 
 In this amorous humour he began to visit often the cabin wherein 
 
 1 Shakespeare somewhere has an expression, that 
 
 " Sorrow eats the bud of Beauty." 
 The image drawn from " the moon in a silent night and clear sky," is very poetical. 
 
 2 This miserable play upon words shews the literary infection of the age. 
 
46 
 
 PHILOMELA lay, which was a means rather to increase his fury 
 than to qualify the fire of love that began to heat him : for, as he 
 that playeth with a bee may sooner feel her sting than taste of 
 her honey 1 , so he that acquainteth himself with love may more 
 easily repent him than content him ; and sooner in thrall himself in 
 a labyrinth* than get an hour of quiet liberty. 
 
 So it fell out with TEBALDO, for so was the master of the ship 
 called: for he, by conversing privately and familiarly with PHILO- 
 MELA, became so far in love, that he held no happiness like the 
 obtaining of this love ; he noted the excellency of her beauty, the 
 exquisiteness of her qualities, and measured every part with such 
 precise judgment, that the small heat of desire grew to a glowing 
 fire of affection 2 . But for all this he durst not reveal his mind unto 
 her, lest happily by his motion she should be moved unto dis- 
 pleasure. But as by time small sparks grow into great flames, so 
 at last he waxed so passionate, that there was no way with him but 
 death or despair, if he did not manifest his thoughts unto her: 
 resolving thus damnably with himself, that howsoever love or for- 
 tune dealt with him, he would have his mind satisfied ; for if she 
 granted, then he would keep her in Palermo, as his paramour; if 
 she denied, seeing he had her within the compass of his bark, he 
 would have his purpose by force, and so become lord of his content 
 by conquest. 
 
 Thus resolute, he went towards the cabin of PHILOMELA, to 
 bewray his affection unto her, when, drawing near the door, he 
 heard her playing most cunningly upon a lute certain lessons of 
 
 Beware, and lick not 
 The sweet, that is your poison. 
 
 Coriolanus. 
 
 2 A little spark will prove a raging fire, 
 If wind and fuel be brought to feed it with. 
 
 lien. VL 
 
47 - 
 
 curious descant. Staying awhile, lest he might interrupt so sweet 
 music ; at last she left off, and fell from her lute to this lamentable 
 Complaint. 
 
 "Oh, poor woman, worthy so termed, being brought to thy 
 woe by a man ; now dost thou see, that as such as are stung by the 
 tarantula are best cured by music ; so such minds as are vexed 
 by sorrow, find no better relief than a sweet relish of comforting 
 melody 1 . 
 
 " Ah, ABSTEMIA, for so she now called her name, the more to 
 disguise herself; if music should be answerable to thy martyrdom, 
 or the excellency of descant conformable to the intent of the dis- 
 tressor, then must Apollo be fetched from heaven, Orpheus from 
 his grave, Amphion from his rest, the Syrens from their rocks, to 
 qualify thy musings with their musics ; for though they excel in 
 degrees of sounds, thou exceedest in diversities of sorrows, being far 
 more miserable than musical ; and yet they, the rarest of all others. 
 Once, ABSTEMIA, thou wast counted the fairest in all Italy, and 
 now thou art holden the falsest; thy virtues were thought many, 
 now thy dishonours are counted numberless ; thou wert the glory 
 of thy parents, the hope of thy friends, the fame of thy country, 
 the wonder of thy time for modesty, the paragon of Italy for honour- 
 able grace, and the pattern whereby women did measure their 
 perfections : for she that Was holden less modest, was counted a 
 wanton ; and she that would seem more virtuous, was esteemed 
 too precise ; but now thou art valued worthless of all thy former 
 honours, by the stain of one undeserved blemish. 
 
 " Ah, had I been false to my husband, perhaps I had been 
 more fortunate, though not in mine own conscience, yet to the 
 eyes of the world less suspected, and so not detected ; but inno- 
 
 1 No charm like music to a weary spirit. 
 
 Hen. IV. 
 
48 
 
 cency to God is the sweetest incense, and a conscience without 
 guilt is a sacrifice of the purest savour 1 . What, though I be blamed? 
 if my life be lent me, my honour will be recovered ; for, as God 
 will not suffer a murder to escape without punishment 2 , so he will 
 not let the wrong of the innocent go to his grave without revenge. 
 Though thou be banished, ABSTEMIA, yet comfort thyself; account 
 each country thine own, and every honest man thy neighbour ; let 
 thy life be mean, so shalt thou not be looked into, for envy creepeth 
 not so low as cottages ; reeds bend with the wind, when cedars fall 
 with a blast : poor men rely lightly of fortune, because they are too 
 weak for fortune, when higher states feel her force, because they 
 nursle in her bosom 3 : acquaint not thyself with many, lest thou fall 
 into the hands of flatterers 4 , for the popular sorts 5 have more eyes 
 
 1 A still and quiet conscience is a peace, 
 Above all earthly dignities. 
 
 Hen. Fill. 
 
 Innocent blood, 
 
 E'en like the blood of sacrificing Abel, 
 Cries from the tongueless caverns of the earth, 
 For justice and rough chastisement. 
 
 King John. 
 
 3 The poor doth fear no poison which attends 
 
 In place of greater state. 
 
 Cymbeline. 
 
 Full oft 'tis seen 
 Our mean secures us ; and our mere defects 
 
 Prove our commodities. 
 
 King Lear. 
 
 4 What we oft do best 
 By sick interpreters is not allowed ; 
 
 What worst, is oft cried up for our best action. 
 
 Hen. Fill: 
 
 5 An habitation giddy and unsure, 
 
 Hath he that buildeth on the vulgar heart. 
 
 Hen. IF. 
 
49 
 
 i 
 
 and longer tongues than the rich : seem courteous to all, but con- 
 verse with few ; and let thy virtues be much spoken, though thy- 
 self live never so private. Hold honesty more dear than thy life ; 
 and be thou never so poor, yet be chaste; and choose rather to 
 starve in the streets, than live daintily at a lecher's table. If, as 
 thou art beautiful, ABSTEMIA, any fall in love with thy favours, 
 and what he cannot win by suits will seek to get by force, and so 
 ravish thee of thy richest glory, choose rather to be without breath, 
 than live with such a blemish 1 . Thou art friendless in Sicilia, and 
 though thou complainest, thou shalt not be heard : might over- 
 comes right, and the weakest are still thrust to the wall. 
 
 " To prevent, therefore, constraint in love in the greatest 
 prince, I have provided (quoth she) a poison in the seal of my ring, 
 as deadly as it is little, resolving as stoutly as Hannibal did, who 
 held the like in the pommel of his sword, and chose rather to die 
 free, than fall into the hands of Scipio. So, before any lecher shall 
 force me to satisfy his passion, I will end my life with this fatal 
 poison. So, ABSTEMIA, shalt thou die more honourably, which is 
 more dear than to live disgraced ; enough is a feast ; poor wench, 
 what needs these solemn preachings ? Leave these secret dumps, 
 and fall to thy lute, for thou shalt have time enough to think of 
 sorrow." And with that she tuned her strings, and in a merry vein 
 played three or four pleasant lessons, and at last sung to herself 
 this conceited ditty. 
 
 AN ODE. 
 
 What is love once disgraced ? 
 But a wanton thought ill placed, 
 
 1 Dearer than life is spotless chastity. 
 
 Titus Andronicus, 
 II 
 
50 
 
 Which doth blemish whom it paineth, 
 
 And dishonours whom it deigneth, 
 
 Seen in higher powers most, 
 
 Though some fools do fondly boast, 
 
 That who so is high of kin, 
 
 Sanctifies his lover's sin. 
 
 Jove could not hide lo's scape, 
 
 Nor conceal Calisto's rape. 
 
 Both did fault, and both were framed, 
 
 Light of loves, whom lust had shamed. 
 
 Let not women trust to men ; 
 
 They can flatter now and then, 
 
 And tell them many wanton tales, 
 
 Which do breed their after bales. 
 
 Sin in kings is sin we see, 
 
 And greater sin, 'cause great of 'gree. 
 
 Majus peccatum, this I read, 
 
 If he be high that doth the deed. 
 
 Mars, for all his deity, 
 
 Could not Venus dignify; 
 
 But Vulcan trap'd her, and her blame 
 
 Was punish'd with an open shame. 
 
 All the gods laugh'd them to scorn, 
 
 For dubbing Vulcan with the horn. 
 
 Whereon may a woman boast, 
 
 If her chastity be lost. 
 
 Shame await'h upon her face, 
 
 Blushing cheeks and foul disgrace; 
 
 Report will blab, this is she 
 
 That with her lust wins infamy. 
 
 If lusting love be so disgraced, 
 
 Die before you live unchaste : 
 
 For better die with honest fame, 
 
 Than lead a wanton life with shame. 
 
51 
 
 As soon as PHILOMELA had ended her ditty, she laid down her 
 lute, and fell to her book. But TEBALDO having heard all her 
 secret meditation, was driven into such a maze with the conceit of 
 her incomparable excellency, that he stood as much astonished to 
 hear her chaste speeches, as Acteon to see Diana's naked beauties. 
 Entering with a piercing insight into her virtues, and perceiving she 
 was some greater personage than he at the first took her for, his 
 love was so quailed with the rareness of her qualities, that he rather 
 endeavoured to honour her as a saint, than to love her as a para- 
 mour : desire now began to change to reverence, and affection to 
 an honest devotion, that he shamed he once thought any way lust 
 towards so virtuous a creature. 
 
 Thus metamorphosed, he stepped into her cabin, and found 
 her reading, to whom he did shew more than accustomed reverence, 
 which PHILOMELA returned with equal courtesy. 
 
 At last, he told her, how he had heard her lamentable discourse 
 of her misfortune, and the honourable resolution of her honesty ; 
 which did so tie him to be devoted towards her, that if, when she 
 came into Palermo, his poor house might serve her for a lodging, it 
 and all therein, with himself and his wife, should be at her command. 
 
 PHILOMELA thanked him heartily for his kind and courteous 
 proffer, and promised to her ability not to be ungrateful. 
 
 Well) leaving her under sail towards Palermo, to Seignior 
 GIOVANNI LUTESIO, who, harbouring a hateful intent of revenge 
 in his mind against the Count PHILIPPO, thought to pay him home 
 pat in his lap ; and therefore making as speedy a dispatch as might 
 be of his affairs, he takes his journey from Venice towards the Duke 
 of Milan's court, the father of PHILOMELA, to whom he had re- 
 counted what had happened to his daughter, what had chanced to 
 him, and how great dishonour was offered to him by her husband.^ 
 
 The Duke, although these news touched him at the quick, yet 
 
52. . 
 
 dissembled the matter, and began in great choler to upbraid LU- 
 TE sio, that no doubt the Earl did it upon just cause, or else neither 
 would he have wronged a wife whom so tenderly he loved, neither 
 rejected a friend whom he so dearly honoured ; nor yet the Duke 
 and Senate of Venice would have yielded so peremptory and hard 
 a sentence, as either banishment to him, or divorce to her. 
 
 To this LUTESIO made reply, that the Earl, to prove his sur- 
 mised articles true, had suborned slaves, that were Genoese, to 
 perjure themselves. 
 
 He shewed the Duke the letters that passed between him and 
 his daughter, and the reason why he wrote them. But all this 
 could not satisfy the Duke's opinion ; but he charged his gentle- 
 men to lay hands on LUTESIO, and to carry him to prison until he 
 had further trial of the matter, swearing, if he found him to have 
 played false with his daughter, neither should his banishment ex- 
 cuse him, nor her divorce ; for he would have both their lives, for 
 offering dishonour to the house of Milan. 
 
 Upon this censure of the Duke, LUTESIO was carried to prison, 
 and the Duke left mightily perplexed; who began to cast in his 
 mind many doubts of this strange chance, vowing in his heart a 
 fatal revenge upon PHILIPPO, for blemishing his daughter's honour 
 with such open infamy. 
 
 When thus the Duke was in a heavy suspicion, one of the 
 Genoese, whose conscience tormented him, ran away from Venice, 
 and came to Milan ; where coming to the Duke's palace, he desired 
 to speak with his Grace from the Count PHILIPPO. Being brought 
 straight unto him, as soon as he came into his presence, he kneeled 
 down, trembling, and besought him for mercy. 
 
 The Duke, astonished at the strange terror of the man, de- 
 manded of him what he was, and from whence he came. 
 
 The slave told him that he was born at Genoa, and had been 
 
53 
 
 servant to that infortunate Earl, the Count PHILIPPO MEDICI, and 
 one of those perjured traitors that had borne false witness against 
 his daughter PHILOMELA. 
 
 At this the Duke started out of his seat ; and taking the fellow 
 courteously up, bade him not fear nor doubt, for if he spake nothing 
 but the truth, he should not only be freely pardoned, but highly 
 rewarded. 
 
 Upon this the poor slave discoursed from point to point. First, 
 the singular chastity of his lady and mistress ; and then the deep 
 jealousy of PHILIPPO, who first, as he had learned, caused his dear 
 friend, Seignior GIOVANNI LUTESIO, to try her, who finding her 
 wise, virtuous, and constant, fell out with the Earl, that he would 
 wrong his wife with such causeless suspicion. 
 
 After, he rehearsed how the Count grew jealous that PHILO- 
 MELA favoured LUTESIO; and because he had no proof to confirm 
 his mistrust but his own doubting head, he suborned him and a 
 fellow of his to swear that they saw LUTESIO and the Countess even 
 in the very act of adultery, which in them was perjury, and in him 
 lechery, for both the gentleman and their lady was innocent ; and 
 with that, falling down on his knees, and melting into tears, he 
 craved pardon of his life. 
 
 The Duke, whose eyes were full of fire, as sparkling revenge 
 and hate, bade him be of good cheer, and pulling his purse out of 
 his pocket, gave it to him for an earnest penny of further friendship, 
 and charged his gentlemen to give the Genoese good entertainment. 
 And with that sent for Seignior LUTESIO out of prison, and sorrow- 
 ful that he had wronged him so much, told him how one of the 
 Genoese was come, that gave false witness against his daughter, 
 and had revealed all; which joyed LUTESIO at the very heart; so 
 that humbly and with watery cheeks, he desired the Duke to 
 revenge his daughter's wrongs ; but as little booted his intreaty, as 
 spurs to a swift horse. 
 
54 
 
 For, the Duke gathering a mighty army, made as much speed 
 as might be towards Venice, intending to quit the wrong proffered 
 to PHILOMELA by suspicious PHILIPPO, who then lived in all 
 desired content, in that his jealous humour was satisfied : was de- 
 termining where to make a new choice for favour : when there came 
 this change of fortune, that news was brought into Venice, that not 
 only the Milan Duke was come down to waste and spoil the cities 
 belonging unto the Seigniory of Venice, but also meant to gather 
 all the forces of his friends in Christendom, to revenge the abuse 
 offered to his daughter PHILOMELA. 
 
 This news being come unto the ears of PHILIPPO, made him 
 forget his wooing, and begin to wonder, how he should shift off the 
 misfortune ready to light upon him, if any thing were proved of his 
 suborning treachery. He now began to enter into consideration 
 with himself, that if LUTESIO were gotten to Milan, he would not 
 only lay the plot of all mischief against him, but also discover his 
 treason, and incense the Duke to revenge; and upon this, he 
 thought, grew the occasion of his men in arms. Then did he fear 
 lest the Genoese that was run away from him should come to the 
 Duke's court, and there confirm, by authentical proof, what LU- 
 TESIO upon his honour did affirm. 
 
 Thus diversely perplexed, he remained in great dumps, while 
 the Duke and consigladiori of Venice, gathering into their senate- 
 house, began to consult what reason the Milanians had to invade 
 their territories. And, therefore, to be fully satisfied in the cause, 
 they sent ambassadors to inquire the reason why he rose in arms 
 against them? whether it were for the sentence offered against 
 PHILOMELA, or no? and if it were, that he should herein rest 
 satisfied, that as she was exiled by law, so she was justly con- 
 demned for lechery. 
 
 The ambassadors having their charge, came to the Duke, lying 
 then not far off from Bergamo, and did their message unto him, 
 
55 
 
 T^ 
 
 which he answered thus : " that he was not come as an enemy 
 against them, but as a private foe to PHILIPPO, and therefore 
 required to approve his daughter's innocency, not by arms, but 
 by witnesses in the senate-house of Venice; and if she were found 
 guiltless, to have condign punishment enjoined and executed 
 against PHILIPPO. 
 
 This, if they did deny, he was come with his own blade, and 
 his soldiers, to plague the Venetians for the partial judgments of 
 their magistrates ; and if they meant to have him come into Venice, 
 he craved for his assurance sufficient hostages." 
 
 The ambassadors returned with this answer to the Duke and 
 the consigladiori, who held his request passing reasonable, and 
 thought it would be dishonour to them and their estate, if they 
 should stand in denial of so equal a demand ; and, therefore, the 
 Duke not only sent him his only son, but six young sons more, all 
 the sons of men of honour, for hostage. 
 
 Upon whose arrival, the Duke of Milan, only accompanied with 
 LUTESIO, the Genoese, and ten other noblemen, went to the city, 
 and was magnificently entertained by the Duke and the citizens ; 
 where, feasting that day, the next morning they resolved to meet 
 in the senate-house, to hear what could be alleged against 
 PHILIPPO, whom they cited peremptorily to appear, to answer to 
 such objections as should be laid against him. 
 
 The guilty Earl now began to feel remorse of conscience, and 
 to doubt of the issue of his treachery ; and, therefore, getting into 
 his closet, he called the Genoese to him, and there began to per- 
 suade him, that although both Seignior LUTESIO and his fellow did 
 bewray the subornation of perjury, yet he should deny it unto the 
 death, and for his reward he bade him take half his treasure and 
 his freedom. 
 
 The Genoese made solemn protestation that he would perform 
 
56 
 
 no less than he commanded him; and, thereupon, as an assumpsit, 
 took the signet of the Earl for performance of all covenants. 
 
 Thus armed, as he thought, in that he rested safely in the 
 secrecy of his slave, the next day he appeared in the senate- 
 house, whither the Dukes of Milan and of Venice came, with all 
 the consigladiori and chief citizens of the town, to hear how the 
 matter should be debated. 
 
 At last the Duke of Milan arose amongst them all, and began 
 thus to discourse. " I come not, Venetians, to enlarge my terri- 
 tories with the sword, though I have burthened your borders with 
 the weight of armed men : I rise not in arms to seek martial 
 
 o 
 
 honours, but civil justice; not to claim other men's right, but mine 
 own due, which is revenge upon false PHILIPPO for his treachery 
 against my innocent daughter PHILOMELA. Innocent I term her, 
 though injury hath wronged her ; and yet I accuse not your Duke 
 or consigladiori of injustice, because their censure past according 
 to the false evidence propounded by perjured PHILIPPO; but I 
 claim justice without partiality against him, which if it be granted, 
 I shall highly praise your Senate, and be ever profest your friend ; 
 if it be denied, I am come in arms to defend my daughter's inno- 
 cency, and with my blood to paint revenge upon the gates of 
 Venice. 
 
 " If I speak sharply, blame me not, sith mine honour is 
 touched with such a blemish ; the discredit of the daughter is a 
 spot in the parent's brow, and therefore if I seek to excuse her, 
 accuse not me ; I do but what honour commands, and nature binds 
 me to. 
 
 " For proof that I come not to sanctify sin in my daughter, or 
 shadow her scapes with my countenance, I have brought here not 
 only LUTESIO, but one of their slaves, which was by PHILIPPO in- 
 duced to give false evidence, to affirm as much as I aver; there- 
 
57 
 
 fore I only crave they may be examined with equity, "and I be 
 satisfied only in justice/' 
 
 Thus, with his face full of wrath, he sat down silent; when the 
 consigladiori, amazed at this brief and sharp speech of the Milanese, 
 began to examine the Genoese, who confessed all the treachery. 
 They hearing this, demanded of PHILIPPO, how he could answer 
 the confession of his slave : he, smiling, made this scornful reply. 
 
 " I hope, worthy Duke, and honourable Senate of Venice, you 
 will not be dashed out of countenance with the sight of weapons, 
 nor be driven from justice by the noise of armour ; that though I be 
 an Earl, and am not able to equal the Duke of Milan in multitudes, 
 yet I shall have as high favours as he with equity : in hope whereof, 
 I answer, that I think there is none so simple here, but sees how 
 LUTESIO, constrained through envy, and the Duke compelled 
 by nature, have suborned this poor slave, either by gold or 
 promises, to recant what before by solemn oath he here protested : 
 he, to recover his former credit and liberty in his country; 
 this, to salve the blemish of Jiis daughter's honour. But as such 
 slaves' minds are to be wrought, like wax, with every fair word, so, 
 I assure myself, little belief shall be given to such a base and servile 
 person, that cometh to depose. against his own conscience : this was 
 partner with him in his evidence (pointing to the other Genoese), 
 and this can affirm what I testify, and therefore I appeal to your 
 equities : for by the verdict of this slave will I be tried/' 
 
 At this the Duke of Venice called the Genoese forth, and bade 
 him speak his mind. 
 
 Then JLuTESio, rising up, charged him, that as he was a 
 Christian, and hoped to be saved by his merits, he should impar- 
 tially pronounce what he knew. 
 
 At this, the Genoese feeling a horror, a second hell in his con- 
 science, trembling as a man amazed, and touched with the sting of 
 God V judgments in .his heart, stood awhile mute; but at last 
 
 i 
 
gathering his spirits together, and getting the liberty of his speech, 
 falling down upon his knees, with his e} 7 es full of tears, he confessed 
 and discoursed the whole circumstance of the Earl's villany, intend- 
 ed against PHILOMELA ; whereat there was a great shout in the 
 senate-house, and clapping of hands amongst the common people, 
 they all for joy crying, "PHILOMELA! Innocent PHILOMELA!" 
 
 At this the senators sat silent, and the Duke of Milan vexed ; 
 and the Count PHILIPPO now feeling a dreadful remorse in his 
 conscience, uttered these words with great resolution. 
 
 " Now do I prove that true by experience, which erst I held 
 only for a bare proverb, that truth is the daughter of time ; and 
 there is nothing so secret, but the date of many days will reveal it: 
 that as oil, though it be moist, quencheth not fire, so time, though 
 never so long, is no sure- covert for sin ; but as a spark raked up in 
 cinders will at last begin to glow and manifest a flame, so treachery, 
 hidden in silence, will burst forth and cry for revenge. 
 
 " Whatsoever villany the heart doth work, in process of time 
 the worm of conscience will bewray. Oh, senators ! this may be 
 applied to myself, whose jealous head compassed this treason to 
 PHILOMELA, and this treachery to LUTESIO; the one a most honest 
 wife, the other a most faithful friend. 
 
 " It booteth little by circumstance to discover the sorrow I 
 conceive, or little need I shew my wife's innocency, when these base 
 slaves, whom I suborned to perjure themselves, have proclaimed 
 her chastity and my dishonour; suffice it then that I repent, 
 though too late, and would make amends, but I have sinned 
 beyond satisfaction, for there is no sufficient recompense for unjust 
 slander. 
 
 " Therefore, in penalty of my perjury towards PHILOMELA, I 
 crave myself justice against myself, that you would enjoin a 
 penance, but no less than the extremity of death." 
 
 At these words of PHILIPPO the people murmured, and the 
 
Senate sat awhile consulting with themselves what were best to do ; 
 at last they referred it to the Duke of Milan to give sentence and 
 censure against PHILIPPO, seeing the wrong was his daughter's, 
 and the dishonour his ; who, being a man of a mild nature, and full 
 of royal honouf in his thoughts, rising up, with a countenance 
 discovering a kind of satisfaction by the submiss repentance of 
 PHILIPPO, pronounced that the Earl should abide that penalty was 
 enjoined to his daughter, which was, that he should be banished ; 
 that both the Genoese should have their liberty, and a thousand 
 ducats a piece; and that LUTESIO should have his judgment re* 
 versed, and be restored to his former freedom. 
 
 At this censure of the Duke they all gave a general app ] ause, 
 and PHILIPPO there, with tears in his eyes, took leave, protesting 
 to spend his exile contentedly in seeking.out of PHILOMELA, and 
 when he had found her, then in her presence to sacrifice his blood 
 as a satisfaction for his lechery. 
 
 LUTESIO likewise swore to make a quest for her, and so did 
 the Genoese, and the Duke her father was as forward ; and the 
 Senate broke up, and the Duke of Milan forthwith departed home 
 to his own country, where we will leave him going homeward, and 
 PHILIPPO, LUTESIO, and the Genoese, seeking for PHILOMELA. 
 
 Once again to the innocent Lady, who being arrived in 
 Palermo, was not only courteously entertained of the master of the 
 ship, but also of his wife ; who, noting her modesty, virtue, silence, 
 and other good properties and rare qualities, was so far in love 
 with her, that she would not by any means let her depart out of 
 her house, but with a sympathy of sweet affections, did love like 
 two sisters, insomuch, that PHILOMELA was brought to bed, and 
 had a young son, called INFORTUNATUS, because he was born in 
 the extremity of his mother's misery : the master of the ship and his 
 wife being pledges of his Christendom. 
 
 .Living thus obscure, and yet famous in Palermo for her virtues, 
 
she found that of all music the mean was the .merriest ; that quiet 
 rested in low thoughts, and the safest content in the poorest cot- 
 tages ; that the highest trees abide the sharpest storms, and the 
 greatest personages the sorest frowns of fortune : therefore, with 
 patience she brooked her homely course of life, and had more quiet 
 sleeps now in the shipmaster's house in Palermo, than she had in 
 her palace in Venice, only her discontent was when she thought on 
 PHILIPPO, that he had proved so unkind; and on LUTESIO, that 
 for her sake he was so deeply injured : yet, as well as she might, she 
 salved these sores, and covered her hard fortunes with the shadow 
 of her innocency. 
 
 While thus she lived honourably in Palermo, noted for her ex- 
 cellent behaviour and good quality, it fortuned that the Duke of 
 Milan and LUTESIO, both disguised like two palmers, had passed 
 through many places to seek PHILOMELA, and to reduce her from 
 banishment, and at last arrived in Palermo, intending to sojourn 
 there for a while, and then to pass up to Samagossa, and so through 
 all Sicily, to have intelligence of the distressed Countess. 
 
 While thus they stayed, inquiring diligently of her, and not 
 hearing any news, sith she was seldom seen abroad, and beside that 
 her name changed, and called ABSTEMIA, it chanced that, either 
 by fortune or destiny, there arrived at the same time in Palermo 
 the Count PHILIPPO MEDICI, who having travelled through divers 
 countries to find out his innocent Countess, wearied at last, not so 
 much with travel as with the gnawing worm of a guilty conscience 
 that still tormented him, he began more and more to enter into 
 despair, and to think his life loathsome unto him, wishing daily for 
 death, so it might not come through the guilt of his own hand, 
 and yet resolving rather to be the murderer of himself than thus to 
 linger out his days in despair. 
 
 In this perplexed passion he gat himself into a thick grove, 
 there the better to communicate in his melancholy, vowing, if he 
 
heard not of PHILOMELA in that city, to make that grove the 
 monument of his grave. 
 
 Thus desirous of death, or of the recovery of his wife, it for- 
 tuned that ARNOLDO STROZZO, son and heir to the Duke of Palermo, 
 being in love with a young gentlewoman, whose lodging was distant 
 some three leagues from the city, pricked forward by the extremity 
 of affection, thought to go visit her, although he was not only for- 
 bidden by his father, but watched, lest privily he might steal unto 
 her ; yet as love can find starting holes, he devised this policy : he 
 carried a slave that remained in his father's house abroad to the 
 grove with him, where PHILIPPO lay lurking, and there changing 
 apparel with him, he got him to his desired mistress, and bade the 
 slave return covertly into the city, and meet him the next day at 
 the same place. Parting thus, as he was going homeward he was 
 met by a young Sicilian gentleman, named PETRO S A LI NO, who 
 bearing a mortal grudge to the Duke's son, in that he affected the 
 gentlewoman whom he so tenderly loved, seeing him alone, and 
 thinking him to be ARNOLDO STROZZO by his apparel, and deeming 
 he came now from his beloved mistress, set upon him and slew him, 
 and with his rapier so mangled his face that by no means he could 
 be discerned, and thereupon fled. 
 
 ARNOLDO'S page missing his master, seeking abroad for him in 
 the fields, for that he desired oft-times to be solitary, lit upon 
 the dead body of the slave, and judging it to be his master, because 
 he was in his apparel, cried out, and ran home and carried news 
 thereof to the Duke, his father ; who, as a man distraught of his 
 wits, commanded straight search to be made to find out the actor 
 of the tragedy, causing the dead corpse to be conveyed with much 
 grief and many tears. 
 
 All the courtiers, gentlemen, and others, sought abroad to seek 
 out the author of this murder; and not far off where the slave was 
 
62 
 
 slain found PHILIPPO walking up and down untrussed, his hat lying 
 by him, and his rapier in his hand. 
 
 The courtiers seeing a man thus suspicious, made inquiry what 
 he was. " Why/' quoth the Count, " I am the man you look for." 
 " Art thou, then/' said the cousin of ARNOLDO, " that bloody traitor 
 that hast slain the Duke's son ?" 
 
 The Count, glad he had so sweet an occasion to be rid of his 
 life, resolute and briefly said : " I, marry am I ; and I will kill his 
 father too, if ever I reach him." 
 
 With that they laid hold upon him, and carried him to prison ; 
 and as he went by the way they examined him what he was, but 
 by no means he would reveal unto them, only he said he was an 
 Italian, purposely come from Venice to act it. 
 
 News straight was carried to the Duke that the murderer was 
 taken, who was highly glad thereof, and resolved the next day, with 
 the States of the country, to sit in judgment, 
 
 As fame and report cannot be silent, so it was straight noised 
 abroad through Palermo that the Duke's son was slain by a Vene- 
 tian, and how he was taken, and should the next day be arraigned 
 and executed. 
 
 PHILOMELA, hearing that he was a Venetian that had clone the 
 deed, desirous to see him, took the master of the ship's wife with 
 her and went to the prison, and there, by favour of the jailor, saw 
 him through a window. As soon as PHILOMELA had a view of him, 
 she saw it Avas PHILIPPO MEDICI, her husband, disguised, and 
 having in his face the very signs of despair. 
 
 This sight of her husband drove her into a maze; yet to conceal 
 the matter to herself, she said she knew not the man. 
 
 As thus she was standing talking with the jailor, there came a 
 Venetian that was resident in Palermo, and desired that he might 
 see the gentleman that had done the murder. But the jailor would 
 
6:5 
 
 not suffer him; but inquired what countryman he was? He an- 
 swered, "A Venetian;" " and that is the reason," quoth he, " that I 
 am desirous to have a sight of him." 
 
 PHILOMELA hearing that he was a Venetian, asked him what 
 news from Venice. 
 
 The sailor, for so he was, discoursed unto her what late had 
 chanced ; and amongst the rest, he discovered the fortunes of PHI- 
 LOMELA, and how she was wrongfully accused by her husband the 
 Earl; how her father came to Venice, and having her accusers, two 
 slaves, examined, they confessed the Earl suborned them to the 
 perjury, whereupon PHILIPPO was banished ; and now, as a man in 
 despair, sought about to find out his wife. 
 
 PHILOMELA hearing these news, thanking him, took her leave of 
 the sailor and went home, where getting alone into her chamber, she 
 began thus to meditate with herself. 
 
 " Now, PHILOMELA, thou mayest see heavens are just and God 
 impartial; that though he defers, he doeth not acquit; that though 
 he suffer the innocent to be wronged, yet at last he persecuteth the 
 malicious with revenge; that time hatcheth truth, and that true 
 honour may be blemished with envy, but never utterly defaced with 
 extremity : now is thy life laid open in Venice, and thy fame re- 
 vived in spite of fortune ; now mayest thou triumph in the fall of 
 thy jealous husband, and write thy chastity in the characters of his 
 blood, so shall he die disgraced, and thou return to Venice as a 
 wonder : now shall thy eyes see his end, that hath sought to ruinate 
 thee, and thou live content and satisfied in the just revenge of a 
 perjured husband. 
 
 " Oh, PHILOMELA ! that word husband is a high term, easily 
 pronounced in the mouth, but never to be banished from the heart. 
 Knowest thou not, that the love of a wife must not end but by 
 death ? that the term of marriage is dated in the grave ? that wives 
 should so long love and obey as they live and draw breath? that 
 
they should prefer their husband's honour before their own life, and 
 choose rather to die than to see him wronged ? Why else did Alceste 
 die for Admetus ? Why did Portia eat coals for the love of Brutus, 
 if it were not that wives ought to end their lives with their loves ? 
 
 " Truth, PHILOMELA ; but PHILIPPO is a traitor: he hath em- 
 blemished thy fame, sought to ruin thine honour, aimed at thy life, 
 condemned thee both to divorce and banishment, and lastly, hath 
 stained the high honours of thy father's house. 
 
 " And what of all this, PHILOMELA? Hath not every man his 
 fault? Is there any offence so great that may not be forgiven? 
 PHILIPPO did not work thee this wrong because he loved some 
 other, but because he overloved thee ; 'twas jealousy, not lascivious- 
 ness, that forced him to that folly : and suspicion is incident only 
 to such as are kind-hearted lovers. 
 
 " Hath not God revenged thy injury, and thy father punished 
 him with the like penalty that thyself doest suffer ; and wilt thou 
 now glory in his misery? No, (PHILOMELA) shew thyself virtuous, 
 as e'er thou hast been honourable, and heap coals on his head by 
 shewing him favour in extremity. If he hath slain the Duke's son, 
 it is through despair ; and if he had not come hither to seek thee, 
 "he had not fallen into this misfortune. 
 
 " The palm-tree, the more it is pressed down, the more sprout- 
 ; eth up; the camomile, the more it is trodden, the sweeter smell it 
 yieldeth ; even so ought a good wife to be kind to her husband 
 midst his greatest discourtesies, and rather to venture her life than 
 suffer. him incur any prejudice, and so will I do by PHILIPPO; for 
 rather than he shall die in the sight of PHILOMELA, I will justify 
 him with mine own death : so shall my end be honourable as my 
 life hath been wonderful." 
 
 With this she ceased, and went to her rest, till the next day 
 morning, that the Dukes and the States gathered together to sit in 
 judgment; whither cameLuTEsio and the Duke of Milan disguised, 
 
to see what he was, that being a Venetian, committed the murder; 
 and there also was PHILOMELA and the sailor's wife. 
 
 At last the Count PHILIPPO was brought forth, whom, when the 
 Duke of Milan saw, jogging LUTESIO with his hand, he whispered 
 and said, " See, LUTESIO, where man favours, yet God doth in 
 extremity revenge; now shall we see the fall of our enemy, yet not 
 touched with his blood :" whispering thus amongst themselves. 
 
 At last the Duke of Palermo began to examine him if he were 
 he that slew his son ; he answered, that he was the man, and would 
 with his blood answer it. " What moved you," says the Duke, " to 
 do the murder ?" " An old grudge," quoth he, " that hath been be- 
 tween him and me ever since he was in Venice; and for that cause 
 revenge was so restless in my mind that I am come from thence 
 purposely to act this tragedy, and am not sorry that I have con- 
 tented my thoughts with his blood/' 
 
 At this his manifest confession, the Duke, full of wrath, arose 
 and said, it was bootless further to impannel any jury, and there- 
 fore upon his words he would pronounce sentence against him. 
 Then PHILOMELA calling to the Duke, and desiring she might be 
 heard, began thus to plead. 
 
 " O, mighty Duke ! stay the censure, lest thy verdict wrong the 
 innocent, and thou condemn an Earl through his own despairing 
 evidence. I see, and with trembling I feel, that a guilty conscience 
 is a thousand witnesses : that as it is impossible to cover the light 
 of the sun with a curtain, so the remorse of murder cannot be con- 
 cealed in the closet of the most secret conspirator. 
 
 " For,- standing by, and hearing thee ready to pronounce sen- 
 tence against the innocent, I, even I, that committed the deed, 
 though to the exigent of mine own death, could not but burst forth 
 into these exclamations to save the sackless. Know, therefore, that 
 he which standeth here before the judgment-seat is an Earl, though 
 banished ; his name is Count PHILIPPO MEDICI, my husband, and 
 
 K 
 
66 
 
 once famous in Italy, though here he be blemished by fortune/' At 
 this all the company looked upon her. 
 
 PHILIPPO, as a man amazed, stood staring on her face, the 
 tears trickling down his cheeks, to see the kindness of his wife, 
 whom so deeply he had injured ; and the Duke of Milan her father, 
 with LUTESIO, were in as great a wonder. 
 
 .Last, she prosecuted her purpose thus : "It were too long, 
 worthy Sicilians, to rehearse the wrongs this PHILIPPO hath used 
 against me, distressed Countess, through his extreme jealousy; only 
 let this briefly suffice, he suborned his slaves to swear I was seen in 
 the act of adultery ; they were believed, I divorced and banished, 
 and here ever since I have lived in contented patience. But since 
 my exile, time that is the revealer of truth, hath made the slaves 
 bewray the effect of the matter, so that this present Earl is found, 
 guilty, my honour saved, he banished, and now extremely distressed. 
 
 " Consider then, Sicilians, if this Count, my husband, hath 
 offered me such wrong, what reason had I to plead for his life, were 
 it not the guilt of mine own conscience forceth me to save the inno- 
 cent, who, in a despairing humour, weary of his life, confesseth him- 
 self author of that murder which these hands did execute. 
 
 " I am the woman, the infortunate Countess, Sicilians, who, 
 suborned by a Sicilian gentleman, whom by no tortures I will name, 
 first practised by witchcraft ARNOLDO'S death; but seeing that 
 would not prevail, I sought to meet him alone, which I did yester- 
 day by the grove, and there offering him an humble supplication, 
 and he stooping to take it courteously, I stabbed him, and after 
 mangled him in that sort you found him. 
 
 " This is truth, this is my conscience, and this I am by God 
 enforced to confess. Then, worthy Duke, save the innocent Earl, 
 and pronounce sentence against me the offender. 
 
 " I speak not this in that I love the Count, but that I am 
 forced unto it by the remorse of mine own conscience/' 
 
Here she ended, and all they stood amazed; and PHILIPPO 
 began again to reply against her, that she did it to save him : but in 
 vain were his words, for she used such probable reasons against 
 herself, that the Duke was ready to pronounce sentence against her, 
 and the Duke her father at the point to bewray himself, had it not 
 been that ARNOLDO STROZZO, the Duke's son, coming home, and 
 meeting certain plain countrymen, heard this news, how the Duke 
 was sitting in judgment against one that had murdered his son ; 
 which news, as it drove him into a wonder, so it made him haste 
 speedily to the place, to know the effect of the matter : and he 
 came thither just at the beginning of PHILOMELA'S oration. 
 
 Seeing, therefore, two pleading thus for death, he himself being 
 alive, and his father ready to condemn the innocent, he commanded 
 the company to give way, came and shewed himself, and said, 
 " May it please your grace, I am here, whom these confess they 
 have slain/' 
 
 At this the Duke started up, and all the standers by were in 
 a maze. At last, to drive them out of their dumps, he told them 
 that he thought, that the man that was murdered, and taken for 
 him, was a slave, with whom the day before he had changed 
 apparel. 
 
 The Duke, for joy to see his son, was a great while mute : at 
 last he began to examine the matter, why these two did plead 
 themselves guilty? PHILIPPO answered, for despair, as weary of 
 his life. PHILOMELA said, for the safety of her husband, choosing 
 rather to die than he any ways should suffer prejudice, 
 
 The Sicilians at this, looking PHILOMELA in the face, shouted 
 at her wondrous virtues, and PHILIPPO, in a swoon between grief 
 and joy, was carried away half dead to his lodging, where he had 
 not lain two hours, but in an extasy he ended his life. The Duke 
 of Milan discovered himself, who by the Duke of Palermo was 
 highly entertained. 
 
68 
 
 But PHILOMELA hearing of the death of her husband, fell into 
 extreme passions ; and although ARNOLDO STROZZO desired her in 
 marriage, yet she returned home to Venice, and there lived the 
 desolate widow of PHILTPPO MEDICI all her life; which constant 
 chastity made her so famous, that in her life she was honoured as 
 the paragon of virtue, and after her death solemnly, and with 
 wonderful honour, intombed in Saint Mark's church, and her fame 
 holden canonized until this day in Venice. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 From t]\e Private Press of 
 
 LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, AND BROWN- 
 Printed by T. DAVJSON, Whitefriare, London. 
 
WORKS 
 
 PRINTED AT THE PRIVATE PRESS OF LEE PRIORY, 
 NEAR CANTERBURY. 
 
 1. The Sylvan Wanderer. Part I. 8vo. 100 copies. 
 
 2. Greene's Groatsworth of Wit, 4to. 61 copies. 
 
 3. Excerpta Tudoriana. No. I. 8vo. 100 copies. 
 
 4. Raleigh's Poems, 4to. 100 copies. 
 
 5. Life of Margaret Cavendish, Duchess of Newcastle, written 
 
 by herself, 8vo. 100 copies. 
 
 IN THE PRESS AT LEE PRIORY. 
 
 6. N. Bretons Longing, 4to. 
 
 7. Davisons Rhapsody, 8vo. 
 
 8. Lord Brook's Life of Sir Philip Sydney , 8vo. 
 
 9. Select Poems, by Sir Egerton Brydges, 4to. 
 
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