Chapter XIV: Part 14

After she had an indifferent while considered with her selfe, her resolution became so undauntable; that she would adventure to practise such meanes, whereby to compasse those two apparant impossibilities, and so to enjoy the love of her husband. Having absolutely concluded what was to be done, she assembled all the cheefest men of the country, revealing unto them (in mournfull manner) what an attempt she had made already, in hope of recovering her husbands favour, and what a rude answer was thereon returned. In the end, she told them, that it did not sute with her unworthinesse, to make the Count live as an exile from his owne inheritance, upon no other inducement, but only in regard of her: wherefore, she had determined betweene heaven and her soule, to spend the remainder of her dayes in Pilgrimages and prayers, for preservation of the Counts soule and her owne; earnestly desiring them, to undertake the charge and government of the Countrey, and signifying unto the Count, how she had forsaken his house, and purposed to wander so far thence, that never would she visite _Roussillion_ any more. In the deliverie of these words, the Lords and gentlemen wept and sighed extraordinarily, using many earnest imprecations to alter this resolve in her, but all was in vaine.

Having taken her sad and sorrowfull farewell of them all, accompanied onely with her Maide, and one of her Kinsmen, away she went, attired in a Pilgrims habite, yet well furnished with money and precious Jewelse, to avoide all wants which might befall her in travaile; not acquainting any one whether she went. In no place stayed she, untill she was arrived at Florence, where happening into a poore Widdowes house, like a poore Pilgrim, she seemed well contented therewith. And desiring to heare some tydings of the Count, the next day she saw him passe by the house on horse-backe, with his company. Now, albeit shee knew him well enough, yet she demanded of the good old Widdow, what Gentleman he was? She made answer, that he was a stranger there, yet a Nobleman, called Count _Bertrand_ of _Roussillion_, a verie courteous Knight, beloved and much respected in the City. Moreover, that he was farre in love with a neighbour of hers, a yong Gentlewoman, but verie poore and meane in substance, yet of honest life, vertuous, and never taxed with any evill report: onely her povertie was the maine imbarment of her marriage, dwelling in house with her mother, who was a wise, honest, and worthy Lady.

The Countesse having wel observed her words, and considered thereon from point to point; debated soberly with her owne thoughts, in such a doubtfull case what was best to be done. When she had understood which was the house, the ancient Ladies name, and likewise her daughters, to whom her husband was now so affectionately devoted; she made choise of a fit and convenient time, when (in her Pilgrims habit), secretly she went to the house. There she found the mother and daughter in poore condition, and with as poore a family: whom after she had ceremoniously saluted, she told the old Lady, that shee requested but a little conference with her. The Ladie arose, and giving her courteous entertainment, they went together into a withdrawing chamber, where being both set downe, the Countesse began in this manner.

Madame, in my poore opinion, you are not free from the frownes of Fortune, no more then I my selfe am: but if you were so well pleased, there is no one that can comfort both our calamities in such manner, as you are able to do. And beleeve me answered the Lady, there is nothing in the world that can bee so welcome to mee, as honest comfort. The Countesse proceeding on in her former speeches said: I have now need (good Madame) both of your trust and fidelity, whereon if I should rely, and you faile me, it will be your owne undooing as well as mine. Speake then boldly, replied the olde Ladie, and remaine constantly assured, that you shall no way be deceived by me. Heereupon, the Countesse declared the whole course of her love, from the verie originall to the instant, revealing also what she was, and the occasion of her comming thither, relating every thing so perfectly, that the Ladie verily beleeved her, by some reports which she had formerly heard, and which mooved her the more to compassion. Now, when all circumstances were at full discovered, thus spake the Countesse.

Among my other miseries and misfortunes, which hath halfe broken my heart in the meere repetition, beside the sad and afflicting sufferance; two things there are, which if I cannot compasse to have, all hope is quite frustrate for ever, of gaining the grace of my Lord and Husband. Yet those two things may I obtaine by your helpe, if all be true which I have heard, and you can therein best resolve mee. Since my comming to this City, it hath credibly bene told me, that the Count my husband, is deeply in love with your daughter. If the Count (quoth the Ladie) love my daughter, and have a wife of his owne, he must thinke, and so shall surely finde it, that his greatnesse is no priviledge for him, whereby to worke dishonour upon her poverty. But indeed, some apparances there are, and such a matter as you speake of, may be so presumed; yet so farre from a very thought of entertaining in her or me; as whatsoever I am able to do, to yeeld you any comfort and content, you shall find me therein both willing and ready: for I prize my daughters spotles poverty as at high a rate, as he can do the pride of his honour.

Madam, quoth the Countesse, most heartily I thanke you. But before I presume any further on your kindnesse, let me first tell you, what faithfully I intend to do for you, if I can bring my purpose to effect. I see that your daughter is beautifull, and of sufficient yeares for mariage; and is debarred thereof (as I have heard) onely by lack of a competent dowry. Wherefore Madame, in recompence of the favour I expect from you, I will enrich her with so much ready money as you shall thinke sufficient to match her in the degree of honour. Poverty made the poore Lady, very well to like of such a bountifull offer, and having a noble heart she said: Great Countesse say, wherein am I able to do you any service, as can deserve such a gracious offer? If the action bee honest, without blame or scandall to my poore, yet undejected reputation, gladly I will do it; and it being accomplished, let the requitall rest in your owne noble nature.

Observe me then Madam, replyed the Countesse. It is most convenient for my purpose, that by some trusty and faithfull messenger, you should advertise the Count my husband, that your daughter is, and shall be at his command: but because she may remain absolutely assured, that his love is constant to her, and above all other: shee must entreate him, to send her (as a testimony thereof) the Ring which he weareth upon his little finger, albeit she hath heard, that he loveth it dearly. If he send the Ring, you shal give it me, & afterward send him word, that your daughter is readie to accomplish his pleasure; but, for the more safety and secrecie, he must repaire hither to your house, where I being in bed insted of your daughter, faire Fortune may so favour mee, that (unknowne to him) I may conceive with childe. Uppon which good successe, when time shall serve, having the Ring on my finger, and a child in my armes begotten by him, his love and liking may bee recovered, and (by your meanes) I continue with my Husband, as everie vertuous Wife ought to doe.

The good old Ladie imagined, that this was a matter somewhat difficult, and might lay a blamefull imputation on her daughter: Neverthelesse, considering, what an honest office it was in her, to bee the meanes, whereby so worthy a Countesse should recover an unkinde husband, led altogether by lust, and not a jot of cordiall love; she knew the intent to be honest, the Countesse vertuous, and her promise religious, and therefore undertooke to effect it. Within few dayes after, verie ingeniously, and according to the instructed order, the Ring was obtained, albeit much against the Counts will; and the Countesse, in sted of the Ladies vertuous daughter, was embraced by him in bed: the houre proving so auspicious, and _Juno_ being Lady of the ascendent, conjoyned with the witty _Mercury_, she conceived of two goodly Sonnes, and her deliverance agreed correspondently with the just time.

Thus the old Lady, not at this time only, but at many other meetings beside; gave the Countesse free possession of her husbands pleasures, yet alwayes in such darke and concealed secrecie, as it was never suspected, nor knowne by any but themselves, the Count lying with his owne wife, and disappointed of her whom he more deerely loved. Alwayes at his uprising in the mornings (which usually was before the breake of day, for preventing the least scruple of suspition) many familiar conferences passed betweene them, with the gifts of divers faire and costly Jewelse; all which the Countesse carefully kept, and perceiving assuredly, that shee was conceived with childe, she would no longer bee troublesome to the good old Lady; but calling her aside, spake thus to her. Madam, I must needs give thankes to heaven and you, because my desires are amply accomplished, and both time and your deserts doe justly challenge, that I should accordingly quite you before my departure. It remaineth nowe in your owne power, to make what demand you please of me, which yet I will not give you by way of reward, because that would seeme to bee base and mercenary: but onely whatsoever you shall receive of me, is in honourable recompence of faire & vertuous deservings, such as any honest and well-minded Lady in the like distresse, may with good credit allow, and yet no prejudice to her reputation.

Although poverty might well have tutored the Ladies tongue, to demand a liberall recompence for her paines; yet she requested but an 100 pounds, as a friendly helpe towards her daughters marriage, and that with a bashfull blushing was uttered too; yet the Countesse gave hir five hundred pounds, beside so many rich and costly Jewelse, as amounted to a farre greater summe. So she returned to her wonted lodging, at the aged widdowes house, where first she was entertained at her comming to _Florence_; and the good old Lady, to avoide the Counts repairing to her house any more, departed thence sodainly with her daughter, to divers friends of hers that dwelt in the Country, whereat the Count was much discontented; albeit afterward, he did never heare any more tidings of hir or her daughter, who was worthily married, to her Mothers great comfort.

Not long after, Count _Bertrand_ was re-called home by his people: and he having heard of his wives absence, went to _Roussillion_ so much the more willingly. And the Countesse knowing her husbands departure from _Florence_, as also his safe arrivall at his owne dwelling, remained still in _Florence_, untill the time of her deliverance, which was of two goodly Sonnes, lively resembling the lookes of their Father, and all the perfect lineaments of his body. Perswade your selves, she was not a little carefull of their nursing; and when she saw the time answerable to her determination, she tooke her journey (unknowne to any) and arrived with them at _Montpellier_, where shee rested her selfe for divers dayes, after so long and wearisome a journey.

Upon the day of all Saints, the Count kept a solemne Festivall, for the assembly of his Lords, Knights, Ladies, and Gentlewomen: uppon which Joviall day of generall rejoycing, the Countesse attired in her wonted Pilgrimes weed, repaired thither, entering into the great Hall, where the Tables were readily covered for dinner. Preassing thorough the throng of people, with her two children in her armes, she presumed unto the place where the Count sate, & falling on her knees before him, the teares trickling abundantly downe her cheekes, thus she spake. Worthy Lord, I am thy poor, despised, and unfortunate wife; who, that thou mightst returne home, and not bee an exile from thine owne abiding, have thus long gone begging through the world. Yet now at length, I hope thou wilt be so honourably-minded, as to performe thine own too strict imposed conditions, made to the two Knights which I sent unto thee, and which (by thy command) I was enjoyned to do. Behold here in mine armes, not onely one Sonne by thee begotten, but two Twins, and thy Ring beside. High time is it now, if men of honour respect their promises, that after so long and tedious travell, I should at last bee welcommed as thy true wife.

The Counte hearing this, stoode as confounded with admiration; for full well he knew the Ring: and both the children were so perfectly like him, as he was confirmed to be their Father by generall judgement. Upon his urging by what possible meanes this could be broght to passe: the Countesse in presence of the whole assembly, and unto her eternall commendation, related the whole history, even in such manner as you have formerly heard it. Moreover, she reported the private speeches in bed, uttered betweene himselfe and her, being witnessed more apparantly, by the costly Jewelse there openly shewn. All which infallible proofes, proclaiming his shame, and her most noble carriage to her husband; hee confessed, that she had told nothing but the truth in every point which she had reported.

Commending her admirable constancy, excellency of wit, & sprightly courage, in making such a bold adventure; hee kissed the two sweete boyes, and to keepe his promise, whereto he was earnestly importuned, by all his best esteemed friends there present, especially the honourable Ladies, who would have no deniall, but by forgetting his former harsh and uncivill carriage towardes her, to accept her for ever as his lawfull wife: folding her in his armes, and sweetly kissing her divers times together, he bad her welcome to him, as his vertuous, loyall, & most loving wife, and so (for ever after) he would acknowledge her. Well knew he that she had store of better beseeming garments in the house, and therefore requested the Ladies to walke with her to her Chamber, to uncase her of those pilgrimes weeds, and cloath her in her owne more sumptuous garments, even those which she wore on her wedding day, because that was not the day of his contentment, but onely this: for now he confessed her to be his wife indeede, and now he would give the King thanks for her, and now was Count _Bertrand_ truly married to the faire _Juliet_ of _Narbona_.

_The wonderfull and chaste resolved continency of faire Serictha, daughter to Siwalde King of Denmark, who being sought and sued unto by many worthy persons, that did affect her dearly, would not looke any man in the face, untill such time as she was married._

The tenth Novell.

_A very singular and worthy president, for all yong Ladies and Gentlewomen: not rashly to bestow themselves in mariage, without the knowledge and consent of their Parents and Friends._

_Dioneus_ having diligently listened to the Queens singular discourse, so soone as she had concluded, and none now remaining but himselfe, to give a full period unto that dayes pleasure: without longer trifling the time, or expecting any command from the Queene, thus he began. Gracious Ladies, I know that you do now expect from me, some such queint Tale, as shall be suteable to my merry disposition; rather savouring of wantonnesse, then any discreet and sober wisedom; and such a purpose indeed, I once had entertained. But having well observed all your severall relations, grounded on grave & worthy examples, especially the last, so notably delivered by the Queene: I cannot but commend faire _Juliet_ of _Narbona_, in perfourming two such strange impossibilities, and conquering the unkindnesse of so cruel a husband. If my Tale come short of the precedent excellency, or give not such content as you (perhaps) expect; accept my good will, and let me stand engaged for a better heereafter.

The Annales of _Denmarke_ do make mention, that the King of the said country, who was first set downe as Prince, contrary to the ancient custom and lawes observed among the _Danes_, namely _Hunguinus_; had a son called _Siwalde_, who succeeded him in the estates and kingdome, belonging to his famous predecessors. That age, and the Court of that Royall Prince, was verie highly renowned, by the honour of faire _Serictha_, Daughter to the sayde _Siwalde_; who beside her generall repute, of being a myracle of Nature, in perfection of beautie, and most compleate in all that the heart of man could desire to note, in a body full of grace, gentlenesse, and whatsoever elsee, to attract the eyes of everie one to beholde her: was also so chaste, modest, and bashfull, as it was meerely impossible, to prevaile so farre with her, that any man should come to speake with her. For, in those dayes, marriages were pursued and sought by valour, and by the onely opinion, which stoute Warriours conceived, of the vertuous qualities of a Ladie. Notwithstanding, never could any man make his vaunt, that she had given him so much as a looke, or ever any one attained to the favour, to whisper a word in her eare. Because both the custome and will of Parents then (very respectively kept in those Northerne parts of the world) of hearing such speak, as desired their daughters in marriage; grew from offering them some worthy services; and thereby compassed meanes, to yeeld their contentation, by some gracious and kinde answers.

But she, who was farre off from the desire of any such follies, referring her selfe wholly to the will and disposition of the King her Lord and Father; was so contrary, to give any living man an answer, that her eye never looked on any one speaking to her, appearing as sparing in vouchsafing a glance, as her heart was free from a thought of affection. For, she had no other imagination, but that Maides, both in their choise & will, ought to have any other disposition, but such as should bee pleasing to their parents, either to graunt, or denie, according as they were guided by their grave judgement. In like manner, so well had shee brideled her sensuall appetites, with the curbe of Reason, Wisedome, and Providence; setting such a severe and constant restraint, on the twinkling or motions of her eyes, in absolute obedience to her Father; as never was she seene to turne her head aside, to lend one looke on any man of her age.

A worthy sight it was, to behold Knights errant, passing, repassing to _Denmarke_, and backe againe, labouring to conquer those setled eyes, to win the least signe of grace and favour, from her whom they so dutiously pursued, to steale but a silly glimpse or glance, and would have thought it a kind of honourable theft. But this immovable rock of beauty, although she knew the disseignes of them which thus frequented the Court of the King her Father, and could not pretend ignorance of their endeavour, ayming onely at obtaining her in mariage: yet did she not lend any look of her eye, yeelding the least signall of the hearts motion, in affecting any thing whatsoever, but what it pleased her Father she should do.

_Serictha_ living in this strange and unusuall manner, it mooved manie Princes and great Lords, to come and court her, contending both by signes and words, to change her from this severe constancie, and make knowne (if possible it might be) whether a woman would or could be so resolute, as to use no respect at all towards them, coming from so manie strange countries, to honour her in the Courts of the King her father. But in these dayes of ours, if such a number of gallant spirits should come, to aske but one looke of some of our beauties; I am halfe affraide, that they should finde the eyes of many of our dainty darlings, not so sparing of their glances, as those of _Serictha_ were. Considering, that our Courtiers of these times, are this way emulous one of another, and women are so forward in offering themselves, that they performe the office of suters, as fearing lest they should not be solicited, yea, though it bee in honest manner.

The King, who knew well enough, that a daughter was a treasure of some danger to keepe, and growing doubtfull withall least (in the end) this so obstinate severity would be shaken, if once it came to passe, that his daughter should feele the piercing apprehensions of love, & whereof (as yet) she never had any experience; he determined to use some remedy for this great concourse of lovers, and strange kinde of carriage in the Princesse his daughter. For, hee apparantly perceived, that such excelling beauty as was in _Serictha_, with those good and commendable customes, and other ornaments of his daughters mind, could never attaine to such an height of perfection; but yet there would be found some men, so wittily accute and ingenious, as to convert and humour a maid, according to their will, and make a mockery of them, who were (before) of most high esteeme. Beside, among so great a troope of Lords, as daily made tender of their amorous service, some one or other would prove so happy, as (at the last) she should be his Mistresse. And therefore forbearing what otherwhise he had intended, as a finall conclusion of all such follies: calling his daughter alone to himselfe in his Chamber, and standing cleere from all other attention, hee used to her this, or the like Language.

I know not faire daughter, what reason may move you to shew your selfe so disdainfull towards so many Noble and worthy men, as come to visite you, and honour my Court with their presence, offering me their love and loyall service, under this onely pretence (as I perceive) of obtaining you, and compassing the happinesse (as it appeareth in plaine strife among them) one day to winne the prize, you being the maine issue of all their hope. If it be bashfull modesty, which (indeede) ought to attend on all virgins of your yeares, and so veyles your eyes, as (with honour) you cannot looke on any thing, but what is your owne, or may not justly vouchsafe to see; I commend your maidenly continencie, which yet neverthelesse, I would not have to bee so severe; as (at length) your youth falling into mislike thereof, it maybe the occasion of some great misfortune, either to you, or me, or elsee to us both together: considering what rapes are ordinarily committed in these quarters, and of Ladies equall every way to your selfe; which happening, would presently be the cause of my death.

If it be in regard of some vow which you have consecrated to virginity, and to some one of our Gods: I seeke not therein to hinder your disseignes, neither will bereave the celestiall powers, of whatsoever appertaineth to them. Albeit I could wish, that it should bee kept in a place more straited, and separate from the resort of men; to the end, that so bright a beauty as yours is, should cause no discords among amorous suters, neither my Court prove a Campe destinied unto the conclusion of such quarrelse, or you be the occasion of ruining so many, whose service would beseeme a much more needfull place, then to dye heere by fond and foolish opinion of enjoying a vaine pleasure, yet remaining in the power of another bodie to grant. If therefore I shall perceive, that these behaviours in you do proceede from pride, or contempt of them, who endeavour to do you both honour and service, and in sted of granting them a gracious looke, in arrogancie you keepe from them, making them enemies to your folly and my sufferance: I sweare to you by our greatest God, that I will take such due order, as shall make you feele the hand of an offended Father, and teach you (hencefoorth) to bee much more affable.

Wherefore deere daughter, you shall do me a singular pleasure, freely to acquaint me with your minde, and the reasons of your so stricte severity: promising you, upon the word and faith of a King, nay more, of a loving and kinde Father, that if I finde the cause to bee just and reasonable, I will desist so farre from hindering your intent, as you shal rather perceive my fatherly furtherance, and rest truly resolved of my help and favour. Wherefore faire daughter, neither blush or dismay, or feare to let me understand your will; for evidently I see, that meere virgin shame hath made a rapture of your soule, beeing nothing elsee but those true splendours of vertue derived from your Auncestors, and shining in you most gloriously, gracing you with a much richer embellishing, then those beauties bestowed on you by Nature. Speake therefore boldly to your Father, because there is no law to prohibit your speech to him: for when he commandeth, he ought to bee obeyed: promising uppon mine oath once againe, that if your reasons are such as they ought to be, I will not faile to accommodate your fancy.

The wise and vertuous Princesse, hearing the King to alledge such gracious reasons, and to lay so kinde a command on her; making him most lowe and humble reverence, in signe of dutifull accepting such favour, thus she answered. Royall Lord and Father, seeing that in your Princely Court, I have gathered whatsoever may be termed vertuous in me, & you being the principall instructer of my life, from whom I have learned those lessons, how maides (of my age) ought to governe and maintaine themselves: you shall apparently perceive, that neither gazing lookes, which I ought not to yeelde without your consent, nor pride or arrogancie, never taught me by you, or the Queene my most honourable Lady and Mother, are any occasion of my cariage towards them, which come to make ostentation of their folly in your Court, as if a meere look of _Serictha_, were sufficient to yeeld assurance effectually of their desires victory.

Nothing (my most Royall Lord and Father) induceth mee to this kinde of behaviour, but onely due respect of your honour & mine owne: and to the end it may not be thought, that I belye my selfe, in not eying the affectionate offers of amorous pursuers, or have any other private reserved meaning, then what may best please King _Siwalde_ my Father: let it suffice Sir, that it remaineth in your power onely, to make an apt election and choice for me; for I neither ought, nor will allowe the acceptance of any suters kindnesse, so much as by a looke (much lesse then by words) untill your Highnesse shall nominate the man, to be a meete husband for _Serictha_. It is onely you then (my Lord) that beares the true life-blood of our Ancestors. It is the untainted life of the Queene my Mother, that sets a chaste and strict restraint on mine eyes, from estranging my heart, to the idle amorous enticements of young giddy-headed Gentlemen, and have sealed up my soule with an absolute determination, rather to make choise of death, then any way to alter this my warrantable severity.

You being a wise King, and the worthie Father of _Serictha_, it is in you to mediate, counsell, and effect, what best shall beseeme the desseignes of your daughter: because it is the vertue of children, yea, and their eternall glory and renowne, to illustrate the lives and memories of their parents. It consisteth in you, either to grant honest license to such Lords as desire me, or to oppose them with such discreete conditions, as both your selfe may sit free from any further afflicting, and they rest defeated of dangerous dissentions, according as you foresee what may ensue. Which yet (neverthelesse) I hold as a matter impossible, if their discord should be grounded on the sole apprehension of their soules: and the onely prevention thereof, is, not to yeeld any signe, glance of the eie, or so much as a word more to one man then another: for, such is the setled disposition of your daughters soule, and which shee humbly entreateth, may so be still suffered.

Many meanes there are, whereby to winne the grace of the greatest King, by employing their paines in worthy occasions, answerable unto their yeeres and vertue, if any such sparkes of honour doe shine in their soules; rather then by gaining heere any matter of so meane moment, by endeavouring to shake the simplicity of a bashfull maide: Let them cleare the Kings high-wayes of Theeves, who make the passages difficult: or let them expell Pirates from off the Seas, which make our _Danish_ coasts every way inaccessible. These are such Noble meanes to merit, as may throw deserved recompence uppon them, and much more worthily, then making Idols of Ladies lookes, or gazing for babies in their wanton eyes. So may you bestowe on them what is your owne, granting _Serictha_ to behold none, but him who you shall please to give her: for otherwise, you know her absolute resolve, never to looke any living man in the face, but onely you my gracious Lord and Father.

The King hearing this wise and modest answer of his daughter, could not choose but commend her in his heart; and smiling at the counsell which she gave him, returned her this answer. Understand me wel, faire daughter; neither am I minded to breake your determination wholly, nor yet to governe my selfe according to your fancie. I stand indifferently contented, that untill I have otherwise purposed, you shall continue the nature of your ancient custome: yet conditionally, that when I command an alteration of your carriage, you faile not therein to declare your obedience. What elsee remaineth beside, for so silly a thing as a Woman is, and for the private pleasing of so many great Princes and Lords, I will not endanger any of their lives; because their parents and friends (being sensible of such losses) may seeke revenge, perhaps to their owne ruine, and some following scourge to my indiscretion. For I consider (daughter) that I have neighbours who scarsely love me, and of whom (in time) I may right my selfe, having received (by their meanes) great wrongs & injuries. Also I make no doubt, but to manage your love-sute with discretion, and set such a pleasing proceeding betweene them, as neyther shall beget any hatred in them towards me, nor yet offend them in their affections pursuite, till fortune may smile so favourably upon some one man, to reach the height of both our wished desires.

_Siwalde_ was thus determinately resolved, to let his daughter live at her owne discretion, without any alteration of her continued severitie, perceiving day by day, that many came still to request her in mariage; & he could not give her to them all, nor make his choise of any one, least all the rest should become his enemies, and fall in quarrell one with another. Onely this therefore was his ordination, that among such a number of amorous suters, he onely should weare the Lawrell wreath of victory, who could obtaine such favour of _Serictha_, as but to looke him in the face. This condition seemed to bee of no meane difficulty, yea, and so impossible, that many gave over their amorous enterprize: whereof _Serictha_ was wondrouslie joyfull, seeing her selfe eased of such tedious importunitie, dulling her eares with their proffered services, and foppish allegations of fantasticke servitude: such as ydle-headed Lovers do use to protest before their Mistresses, wherein they may beleeve them, if they list.

Among all them that were thus forward in their heate of affection, there was a young _Danish_ Lord, named _Ocharus_, the sonne of a Pirate, called _Hebonius_, the same man, who having stolne the Sister unto King _Hunguinus_, and Sister to _Siwalde_, & affiancing himselfe to her, was slaine by King _Haldune_, and by thus killing him, enjoyed both the Lady, and the kingdome of the _Gothes_ also, as her inheritance. This _Ocharus_, relying much on his comelinesse of person, wealth, power, and valour, but (above all the rest) on his excellent and eloquent speaking; bestowed his best endeavour to obtaine _Serictha_, notwithstanding the contemptible carriage of the rest towards him; whereupon prevailing for his accesse to the Princesse, and admitted to speake, as all the other did, he reasoned with her in this manner.

Whence may it proceede, Madam, that you being the fairest and wisest Princesse living at this day in all the Northerne parts, should make so small account of your selfe, as to denie that, which with honour you may yeeld to them, as seeke to doe you most humble service; and forgetting the rank you hold, doe refuse to deigne them recompence in any manner whatsoever, seeking onely to enjoy you in honourable marriage? Perhaps you are of opinion, that the gods should become slaves to your beauty, in which respect, men are utterly unworthy to crave any such acquaintance of you. If it be so, I confesse my selfe conquered: But if the gods seeke no such association with women, and since they forsooke the World, they left this legacy to us men; I thinke you covet after none, but such as are extracted of their blood, or may make vaunt of their neere kindred and alliance to them. I know that many have wished, and doe desire you: I know also, that as many have requested you of the King your Father, but the choyce remaineth in your power, and you being ordained the Judge, to distinguish the merit of all your Sutors; me thinkes you doe wrong to the office of a Judge; in not regarding the parties which are in suite, to sentence the desert of the best and bravest, and so to delay them with no more lingering.

I cannot thinke Madam, that you are so farre out of your selfe, and so chill cold in your affection, but desire of occasions, equall to your vertue and singular beauty, doe sometime touch you feelingly, and make you to wish for such a man, answerable to the greatnesse of your excellency. And if it should be otherwise (as I imagine it to be impossible) yet you ought to breake such an obstinate designe, onely to satisfie the King your Father, who can desire nothing more, then to have a Sonne in Law, to revenge him on the Tyrant of _Swetia_; who, as you well know, was sometime the murtherer of your Grand-father _Hunguinus_, and also of his Father. If you please to vouchsafe me so much grace and favour, as to make me the man, whom your heart hath chosen to be your Husband; I sweare unto you by the honour of a Souldier, that I will undergoe such service, as the King shall be revenged, you royally satisfied, and my selfe advanced to no meane happinesse, by being the onely fortunate man of the World. Gentle Princesse, the most beautifull daughter to a King, open that indurate heart, and so soften it, that the sweete impressions of love may be engraven therein; see there the loyall pursuite of your _Ocharus_, who, to save his life, cannot so much as winne one looke from his divine Mistresse.

This nicenesse is almost meerely barbarous, that I, wishing to adventure my life prodigally in your service, you are so cruell, as not to deigne recompence to this duty of mine, with the least signe of kindnesse that can be imagined. Faire _Serictha_, if you desire the death of your friendly servant _Ocharus_, there are many other meanes whereby to performe it, without consuming him in so small a fire, and suffering him there to languish without any answere. If you will not looke upon me; if my face be so unworthy, that one beame of your bright Sunnes may not shine upon it: If a word of your mouth be too precious for me; make a signe with your hand, either of my happinesse or disaster. If your hand be envious of mine ease, let one of your women be shee, to pronounce the sentence of life or death; because, if my life be hatefull to you, this hand of mine may satisfie your will, and sacrifice it to the rigour of your disdaine. But if (as I am rather perswaded) the ruine of your servants be against your more mercifull wishes; deale so that I may perceive it, and expresse what compassion you have of your _Ocharus_, who coveteth nothing more, then your daily hearts ease and contentment, with a priviledge of honour above other Ladies. All this discourse was heard by _Serictha_, but so little was shee moved therewith, as shee was farre enough off from returning him any answer, neither did any of the Gentlewomen attending on her, ever heare her use the very least word to any of her amorous sollicitors, nor did shee know any one of them, but by speech onely, which drove them all into an utter despaire, perceiving no possible meanes whereby to conquer her.

The Histories of the Northerne Countries doe declare, that in those times, the rapes of women were not much respected; and such as pursued any Lady or Gentlewoman with love, were verily perswaded, that they never made sufficient proofe of their amourous passions, if they undertooke not all cunning stratagems, with adventure of their lives to all perils whatsoever, for the rape or stealth of them, whom they purposed to enjoy in marriage. As we reade in the _Gothes_ History of _Gramo_, Sonne to the King of _Denmarke_, who being impatiently amourous of the daughter to the King of the _Gothes_, and winning the love of the Lady, stole her away, before her Parents or friends had any notice thereof; by meanes of which rape, there followed a most bloody warre betweene the _Gothes_ and the _Danes_. In recompence of which injury, _Sibdagerus_, King of _Norway_, being chosen chiefe Commander of the _Swetians_ & _Gothes_, entred powerfully into _Denmarke_, where first he violated the Sister to King _Gramo_, and led away her Daughter, whom in the like manner he made his Spouse, as the _Dane_ had done the Daughter of _Sigtruge_, Prince of the _Gothes_.

I induce these briefe narrations, onely to shew, that while _Ocharus_ made honest and affable meanes, to win respect from _Serictha_, and used all honourable services to her, as the Daughter of so great a Prince worthily deserved: some there were, not halfe so conscientious as he, especially one of the amourous sutors, who being weary of the strange carriages of _Serictha_, dissembling to prosecute his purpose no further; prevailed so farre, that he corrupted one of her Governesses, for secretly training her to such a place, where the ravisher should lie in ambush to carry her away, so to enjoy her by pollicy, seeing all other meanes failed for to compasse his desire.

Behold to what a kind of foolish rage, which giddy headed dullards doe terme a naturall passion, they are led, who, being guided more by sensuality, then reason or discretion, follow the braine-sicke motions of their rash apprehensions. He which pursueth, and protesteth to love a Lady for her gentillity and vertue; knoweth not how to measure what love is, neither seeth or conceiveth, how farre the permission of his owne endeavour extendeth. Moreover, you may observe, that never any age was so grosse, or men so simple, but even almost from the beginning, avarice did hood-winke the hearts of men, and that (with gold) the very strongest Fortification in the World hath beene broken, yea, and the best bard gates laide wide open. _Serictha_, who shunned the light of all men, and never distrusted them which kept about her; shee who never knew (except some naturall sparke gave light to her understanding) what belonged to the embracements of men, must now (without dreaming thereon) fall as foode to the insatiable appetite of a wretch, who compassed this surprisall of her, to glory in his owne lewdnesse, and make a mocke of the Princesses setled constancy.

Shee, good Lady, following the councell of her trayterous guide, went abroade on walking, but weakely accompanied, as one that admitted no men to attend her, which shee might have repented very dearely, if Heaven had not succoured her innocency, by the helpe of him, who wished her as well as the ravisher, though their desires were quite contrary; the one to enjoy her by violence, but the other affecting rather to die, then doe the least act which might displease her. No sooner was _Serictha_ arrived at the destined place, where her false Governesse was to deliver her; but behold a second _Paris_ came, and seized on her, hurrying her in haste away, before any helpe could possibly rescue her; the place being farre off from any dwelling.

Now the ravisher durst not convey her to his owne abiding, to enjoy the benefit of his purchase; but haled her into a small thicket of trees, where, although shee knew the evident perill, whereinto her severe continency had now throwne her: yet notwithstanding, shee would not lift up her eyes, to see what he was that had thus stolne her, so firmely shee dwelt upon grounded deliberation, and such was the vigor of her chaste resolve. And albeit shee knew a wickednesse (worse then death) preparing for her, who had no other glory then in her vertue, and desire to live contentedly; yet was shee no more astouned thereat, then if hee had led her to the Palace of the King her Father: perswading herselfe, that violence done to the body, is no prejudice to honour, when the mind is free and cleere from consent.

As thus this robber of beauty was preparing to massacre the modesty of the faire Princesse, shee resisted him with all her power, yea, and defended her selfe so worthily, that he could not get one looke of her eye, one kisse of her cheeke, nor any advantage whatsoever, crying out shrilly, and strugling against him strongly: her outcryes were heard by one, who little imagined that shee was so neere, whom he loved more dearely then his owne life, namely, _Ocharus_; who was walking accidentally alone in this wood, devising by what meanes hee might winne grace from his sterne Mistresse. No sooner tooke he knowledge of her, and saw her (in the armes of another) to be ravished; but he cryed out to the thiefe, saying; Hand off villaine, let not such a slave as thou, prophane with an unreverend touch the sacred honour of so chaste a Princesse, who deserveth to be more royally respected, then thus rudely hurried: Hand off I say, or elsee I sweare by her divine perfections, whom I esteeme above all creatures in this World, to make thee die more miserably, then ever any man as yet did.

Whosoever had seene a Lyon or an Ounce rouse himselfe, chafing when any one adventureth to rob him of his prey; and then with fierce eyes, mounted creasts, writhed tayles, and sharpened pawes, make against him that durst to molest him. In the like manner did the ravisher shew himselfe, and one while snarling, another while bristling the darted disdainefull lookes at _Ocharus_, and spake to him in this manner. Vile and base Sea-thiefe, as thou art, welcome to thy deserved wages, and just repayment for thy proud presuming. It glads my heart not a little, to meete thee here, where thou shalt soone perceive what good will I beare thee, and whether thou be worthy or no to enjoy the honour of this Lady, now in mine owne absolute possession. It will also encrease her more ample perswasion of my worth, and pleade my merit more effectually in her favour; when shee shall see what a powerfull arme I have, to punish this proud insolence of a Pirate.

This harsh language was so distastfull to _Ocharus_, that like a Bull, made angry by the teeth of some Mastive Dogge, or pricked by the point of a weapon, he ran upon his enemy, and was so roughly welcommed by him, as it could not easilly be judged which of them had the better advantage. But in the end Fortune favoured most the honest man, and _Ocharus_ having overthrowne the robber, hee smote the head of him quite from his shoulders, which he presented to her, whom he had delivered out of so great a peril, and thus he spake. You may now behold Madam, whether _Ocharus_ be a true lover of _Sericthaes_ vertues, or no, and your knowledge fully resolved, at what end his affection aimeth; as also, how farre his honest desert extendeth, for you both to love him, and to recompence the loyall respect he hath used towards you. Never looke on the villaines face, who strove to shame the King your Fathers Court, by violation of theevery, the chastest Princesse on the Earth; but regard _Ocharus_, who is readie to sacrifice himselfe, if you take as much pleasure in his ruine, as (he thinketh) hee hath given you contentment, by delivering you from this Traytor.

Doth it not appeare unto you Madam, that I have as yet done enough, whereby to be thought a worthy Husband, for the royall Daughter of _Denmarke_? Have I not satisfied the Kings owne Ordinance, by delivering his Daughter, as already I have done? Will _Serictha_ be so constant in her cruelty, as not to turne her eye towards him, who exposed his life, to no meane perill and daunger, onely in the defence of her Chastity? Then I plainely perceive, that the wages of my devoire, is ranked amongest those precedent services, which I have performed for so hurtfull a beautie. Yet gentle Princesse, let me tell you, my carriage hath bin of more importance, then all the others can be, and my merit no way to be compared with theirs; at least, if you pleased to make account of him, who is an unfeigned lover of your modesty, and devoutly honoureth your vertuous behaviour. And yet Madame, shall I have none other answere from you, but your perpetuall silence? Can you continue so obstinate in your opinion, in making your selfe still as strange to your _Ocharus_, as to the rest, who have no other affection, but onely to the bare outside of beauty? Why then, Royall Ladie, seeing (at this instant time) all my labour is but lost, and your heart seemeth much more hardned, in acknowledging any of my honest services: at least yet let me bee so happy, as to conduct you backe to the Palace, and restore you to that sacred safetie, which will be my soules best comfort to behold.

No outward signe of kinde acceptation, did any way expresse itselfe in her, but rather as fearing, lest the commodiousnesse of the place shold incite this young Lord, to forget all honest respect, and imitate the other in like basenesse. But he, who rather wished a thousand deathes, then any way to displease his Mistresse, as if hee were halfe doubtfull of her suspition, made offer of guiding her backe to the place, from whence shee had before bene stolne, where she found her company still staying, as not daring to stirre thence, to let the King know his daughters ill fortune; but when they saw her returne, and in the company of so worthie a Knight, they grew resolved, that no violence had bene done unto her.

The Princesse, sharpely rebuking her women, for leaving her so basely as they had done, gave charge to one of them (because she would not seeme altogether negligent & discourteous) that she being gone thence, she should not faile to thanke _Ocharus_, for the honest and faithfull service he had done unto her, which she would continually remember, and recompence as it lay in her power. Neverthelesse, shee advised him withall, not to hope of any more advantage thereby, then reason should require. For, if it were the will of the Gods, that she should be his wife, neither she or any other could let or hinder it: but if her destiny reserved her for another, all his services would availe to no purpose, but rather to make her the more rigorous towards him.

This gracious answer, thus given him by her Gentlewoman, although it gave some small contentment to the poore languishing lover: yet hee saw no assured signe whereon to settle his resolve, but his hopes vanished away in smoake, as fast as opinion bred them in his braine. And gladly he would have given over all further amorous solicitings, but by some private perswasions of her message sent him, which in time might so advance his services done for her sake, as would derive far greater favours from her. Whereupon, he omitted no time or place, but as occasion gave him any gracious permission, still plied her memorie, with his manly rescuing her from the ravisher, sufficient to pleade his merite to her Father, and that (in equity) she ought to bee his wife, by right both of Honour and Armes; no man being able to deserve her, as he had done.

So long he pursued her in this manner, that his speeches seemed hatefull to her, and devising how to be free from his daily importunities, at length, in the habite of a poore Chamber-maide, she secretly departed out of the Court, wandering into the solitary parts of the country; where she entered into service, and had the charge of keeping Sheepe. It may seeme strange, that a Kings onely daughter should stray in such sort, and despising Courtly life, betake herselfe to paines and servility: but such was her resolution, and women delighting altogether in extremes, spare no attempts to compasse their owne wils. All the Court was in an uprore for the Ladies losse, the Father in no meane affliction, the Lovers well-nere beside their wits, and every one elsee most greevously tormented, that a Lady of such worth should so sodainly be gone, and all pursuit made after her, gaine no knowledge of her.

In this high tide of sorrow and disaster, what shall we say of the gentle Lord _Ocharus_? What judgement can sound the depth of his wofull extreamity? Fearing least some other theefe had now made a second stealth of his divine Goddesse; he must needs follow her againe, seeking quite throughout the world, never more returning backe to the Court, nor to the place of his owne abiding, untill hee heard tidings of his Mistresse, or ended his dayes in the search of her. No Village, Town, Cottage, Castle, or any place elsee of note or name, did hee leave unsought, but diligently he searched for _Serictha_; striving to get knowledge, under what habit she lived thus concealed, but all his labour was to no effect: which made him leave the places so much frequented, and visite the solitary desert shades, entering into all Caves and rusticke habitations, whereon hee could fasten his eye, to seeke for the lost Treasure of his soule.

On a day, as hee wandred along in a spacious valley, seated betweene two pleasant hilles, taking delight to heare the gentle murmure of the rivers, running by the sides of two neighbouring rockes, planted with all kinde of trees, and very thickely spred with mosse: hee espied a flocke of Sheepe feeding on the grasse, and not farre off from them sate a Maide spinning on her Distaffe; who having got a sight of him, presently covered her face with a veile. Love, who sate as Sentinell both in the heart and eye of the gentle _Norwegian_ Lord, as quickly discovered the subtilty of the faire Shephearddesse, enstructing the soule of _Ocharus_, that thus she hid her face, as coveting not to be knowne: whereupon he gathered, that doubtlesse this was shee, for whom he hadde sought with such tedious travaile, and therefore going directly unto her, thus hee spake.