Читать книгу The Blazing World and Other Writings - Margaret Cavendish - Страница 5

A noble Gentleman that had been married many years, but his wife (being barren) did bear him no children; at last she died, and his friends did advise him to marry again, because his brother’s children were dead, and his wife was likely to have no more. So he took to wife a virtuous young lady; and after one year she conceived with child, and great joy there was of all sides: but in her child-bed she died, leaving only one daughter to her sorrowful husband, who in a short time (oppressed with melancholy) dyed, and left his daughter (who was not a year old) to the care and breeding of his brother, and withal left her a great estate, for he was very rich. After the ceremonies of the funeral, his brother carried the child home, which was nursed up very carefully by his wife; and being all that was likely to succeed in their family, the uncle grew extremely fond and tender of his niece, insomuch that she was all the comfort and delight of his life.

A great duke, which commanded that Province, would often come and eat a breakfast with this gentleman, as he rid a-hunting; and so often they met after this manner, that there grew a great friendship betwixt them: for this gentleman was well bred, knowing the world by his travels in his younger days; and though he had served in the wars, and fought many battles, yet was he not ignorant of courtly entertainments. Besides, he was of a very good conversation, for he had a voluble tongue, and a ready understanding; and in his retired life, was a great student, whereby he became an excellent scholar; so that the duke took great delight in his company. Besides, the duke had a desire to match the niece of this gentleman, his friend, to his younger son, having only two sons; and knowing this child had a great estate left by her father; and was likely to have her uncle’s estate joined thereto, he was earnest upon it: but her uncle was unwilling to marry her to a younger brother, although he was of a great family: but, with much persuasion, he agreed, and gave his consent, when she was old enough to marry; for she was then not seven years old. But the duke fell very sick; and when the physicians told him, he could not live, he sent for the gentleman and his niece, to take his last farewell; and when they came, the duke desired his friend, that he would agree to join his niece and his son in marriage.

He answered, that he was very willing, if she were of years to consent.

Said the duke, I desire we may do our parts; which is, to join them as fast as we can: for youth is wild, various, and inconstant; and when I am dead, I know not how my son may dispose of himself when he is left to his own choice: for he privately found his Son very unwilling, being a man grown, to marry a child.

The gentleman seeing him so desirous to marry, agreed to what he desired.

The duke called his son privately to him, and told him, his intentions were to see him bestowed in marriage, before he died.

His son desired him, not to marry him against his mind, to a child.

His father told him, she had a great estate, and it was like to be greater, by reason all the revenue was laid up to increase it: and besides, she was likely to be heir to her uncle, who loved her as his own child; and her riches may draw so many suitors when she is a woman, said he, that you may be refused.

He told his father, her riches could not make him happy, if he could not affect her.

Whereupon the duke grew so angry, that he said, his disobedience would disturb his death, leaving the world with an unsatisfied mind.

Whereupon he seemed to consent, to please his father. Then were they as firmly contracted, as the priest could make them, and two or three witnesses to avow it.

But after his father was dead, he (being discontented) went to the wars, and in short time was called from thence, by reason his elder brother died, and so the dukedom and all the estate came to him, being then the only heir. But he never came near the young lady, nor so much as sent to her; for he was at that time extremely in love with a great lady, who was young and handsome, being wife to a grandee which was very rich, but was very old; whose age made her more facile to young lovers, especially to this young duke, who was favored by nature, fortune, and breeding: for he was very handsome, and of a ready wit; active, valiant, full of generosity; affable, well-fashioned; and had he not been sullied with some debaucheries, he had been the completest man in that Age.

The old gentleman perceiving his neglect towards his niece, and hearing of his affection to that lady, strove by all the care and industry he could, to give her such breeding as might win his love: not that he was negligent before she was contracted to him; for from the time of four years old, she was taught all that her age was capable of; as, to sing, and to dance: for, he would have that artificial motion become as natural; and so to grow in perfections, as she grew in years. When she was seven years of age, he chose her such books to read, as might make her wise, not amorous; for he never suffered her to read in romances, nor such light books: but moral philosophy was the first of her studies, to lay a ground and foundation of virtue, and to teach her to moderate her passions, and to rule her affections. The next study was history, to learn her experience by the second hand; reading the good fortunes and misfortunes of former times; the errors that were committed, the advantages that were lost, the humors and dispositions of men, the laws and customs of nations; their rise, and their fallings; of their wars and agreements, and the like.

The next study to that, was the best of poets, to delight in their fancies, and in their wit; and this she did not only read, but repeat what she had read every evening before she went to bed. Besides, he taught her to understand what she read, by explaining that which was hard and obscure. Thus she was always busily employed; for she had little time allowed her for childish recreations.

Thus did he make her breeding his only business and employment: for he lived obscurely and privately, keeping but a little family, and having little or no acquaintance, but lived a kind of a monastical life.

But when the niece was about thirteen years of age, he heard the duke was married to the lady with which he was enamored: for being by the death of her husband left a rich widow, she claimed from him a promise that he made her whilst her husband was living, that when he died (being an old man, and not likely to live long) to marry her: which he was loath to do; for men that love the pleasures of the world, care not to be encumbered and obstructed with a wife; and so did not at all reflect neither upon his contract with the young lady; for after his father died, he resolved not to take her to wife; for she being so young, he thought the contract of no validity. But the widow seeming more coy than in her husband’s time, seeking thereby to draw him to marry her; and, being overcome by several ways of subtlety, he married her. Whereupon the uncle was mightily troubled, and very melancholy; which his niece perceived, and desired of him to know the cause; which he told her.

Is this the only reason, said she?

Yes, said he: and doth it not trouble you?

No, said she, unless I had been forsaken for some sinful crime I had committed against heaven, or had infringed the laws of honor, or had broken the rules of modesty, or some misdemeanor against him, or some defect in nature, then I should have lamented, but not for the loss of the man, but for the cause of the loss; for then all the world might have justly defamed me with a dishonorable reproach: but now I can look the world in the face with as confident a brow as innocence can arm. Besides, it is likely I might have been unhappy in a man that could not affect me. Wherefore, good uncle, be not melancholy, but think that fortune hath befriended me, or that destiny had decreed it so to be: if so, we are to thank the one, and it was impossible to avoid the other: and if the fates spin a long thread of your life, I shall never murmur for that loss, but give thanks to the gods for this blessing.

O, but child, said he, the duke was the greatest and richest match, since his brother died, in the kingdom: and I would not have thy virtue, beauty, youth, wealth, and breeding, stoop to a low fortune, when thou mayest be a match fit for the emperor of the whole world, in a few years, if you grow up, and go on as you have begun.

O uncle, said she, let not your natural affection make you a partial judge, to give the sentence of more desert in me, than I can own: if I have virtue, it is a reward sufficient in itself: if I have beauty, it is but one of nature’s fading favors; and those that loved me for it, may hate me when it is gone: and if I be rich, as you say I am like to be: who are happier than those that are mistresses of their own fortunes? Having bred me well, I shall be happy in what condition so ever I am in, being content; for that is the end and felicity of the mind.

But if thou hadst been in love with him (said her uncle), where had been your content then? For no education can keep out that passion.

I hope (said she) the gods will be more merciful, than to suffer in me such passions as I cannot rule. What manner of man he, said she? For I was too young to remember him.

His person (said he) is handsome enough.

That is his outside, said she; but, what is his inside? What is his nature and disposition?

Debauched, said he, and loves his luxuries.

Heavens have blessed me from him, said she.

Well, said her uncle, since I am crossed in thy marriage, I will strive to make thee a mirror of the time: wherefore I will carry thee to the metropolitan city for thy better education; for here thou art bred obscurely, and canst learn little, because thou hearest and seest little. You shall not appear to the world this two or three years, but go always veiled, for the sight of thy face will divulge thee; neither will we have acquaintance or commerce with any; but observe, hear, and see so much as we can, without being known.

Sir, said she, I shall be ruled by your direction; for I know my small bark will swim the better and safer for your steerage: wherefore I shall not fear to launch it into the deepest or most dangerous places of the world, which I suppose are the great and populous cities. So, making but small preparations, only what was for mere necessity, they took their journey speedily, carrying no other servants but those that knew and used to obey their master’s will. And when they came to the city, they took private lodging; where, after they had rested some few days, he carried her every day (once or twice a day) abroad, after her exercise of dancing and music was done. For, being careful she should not only keep what she had learned, but learn what she knew not; after her lessons at home, he carried her to lectures, according as he heard where any were read, either of natural philosophy, (for this she had studied least: but taking much delight therein, she had various speculations thereof) or of physics and chemistry, of music, and of divers others, on such days as they were read. Also, he carried her to places of judicature, to hear great causes decided; and to hear the several pleadings, or rather wranglings, of several lawyers; but never to court, masques, plays, nor balls: and she always went to the public places aforementioned, masqued, muffled, or scarfed: and her uncle would make means to get a private corner to sit in, where they might hear well; and when he came home, he would instruct her of all that was read, and tell her where they differed from the old authors; and then would give his opinion, and take hers, of their several doctrines. And thus they continued for two years.

In the mean time, her beauty increased with her breeding, but was not made known to any, as yet; till being come to the age of sixteen years, her uncle did resolve to present her to the world: for he knew, youth was admired in itself; but when beauty and virtue was joined to it, it was the greater miracle. So he began to examine her, for he was jealous she might be caught with vain gallants; although he had observed her humor to be serious, and not apt to be caught with every toy; yet he knew youth to be so uncertain, that there was no trusting it to itself.

So he asked her, how she was taken with the riches and gallantry of the city; for she could not choose but see lords and ladies riding in their brave gilt coaches, and themselves dressed in rich apparel, and the young gallants riding on prancing horses upon embroidered foot-clothes, as she passed along the streets.

She answered, they pleased her eyes for a time; and that dressings were like bridal-houses, garnished and hung by some ingenious wit; and their beauties like fine flowers drawn by the pencil of nature; but being not gathered by acquaintance, said she, I know not whether they are virtuously sweet, or no; as I pass by, I please my eye, yet no other ways than as upon senseless objects: they entice me not to stay; and a short view satisfies the appetite of the senses, unless the rational and understanding part should be absent; but to me they seem but moving-statues.

Well, said he, I hear there is a masque to be at court; and I am resolved you shall go, if we can get in, to see it: for though I am old, and not fit to go, since my dancing-days are done; yet I must get into some corner, to see how you behave yourself.

Pray, said she, what is a masque?

He said, it is painted scenes, to represent the poets heavens and hells, their gods and devils, the clouds, sun, moon, and stars: besides, they represent cities, castles, seas, fishes, rocks, mountains, beasts, birds, and what pleaseth the poet, painter, and surveyor. Then there are actors, and speeches spoke, and music; and then lords or ladies come down in a scene, as from the clouds; and after that, they begin to dance, and everyone takes out one or other, according as they fancy. If a man takes out a woman, if she cannot, or will not dance, then she makes a curtsy to the king, or queen, or chief grandee, if there be any one; if not, to the upper end of the room; then turns to the man, and makes another to him: then he leaves, or leads her to them she will take out; and she doth the like to him, and then goeth to her place again. And the men do the same, if they will not dance; and if they do dance, they do just so when the dance is ended; and all the chief of the youths of the city (or all those that have youthful minds, and love sights and fine clothes) come to see it, or to show themselves. Then the room is made as light with candles, as if the sun shined; and their glittering bravery makes as glorious a show as his gilded beams.

Sir, said she, if there be such an assembly of nobles, beauty, and bravery, I shall appear so dull, that I shall be only fit to sit in the corner with you. Besides, I shall be so out of countenance, that I shall not know how to behave myself; for private breeding looks mean and ridiculous, I suppose, in public assemblies of that nature, where none but the glories of the kingdom meet.

Ashamed, said he, for what? You have stolen no body’s goods, nor good names; nor have you committed adultery; for on my conscience you guess not what adultery is: nor have you murdered any; nor have you betrayed any trust, or concealed a treason; and then why should you be ashamed?

Sir, said she, although I have committed none of those horrid sins; yet I may commit errors through my ignorance, and so I may be taken notice of only for my follies.

Come, come, said he, all the errors you may commit (although I hope you will commit none) will be laid upon your youth; but arm yourself with confidence, for go you shall, and I will have you have some fine clothes, and send for dressers to put you in the best fashion.

Sir, said she, I have observed how ladies are dressed when I pass the streets; and, if you please to give me leave, I will dress myself according to my judgment; and if you intend I shall go no more than once, let me not be extraordinary brave, lest liking me at first, and seeing me again they should condemn their former judgment, and I lose what was gained; so I shall be like those that make a good assault, and a bad retreat. But, sir, said she, if you are pleased I shall show myself to the most glorious, let me be ordered so, that I may gain more and more upon their good opinions.

Well, said her uncle, order yourself as you please, for I am unskilled in that matter: besides, thou needest no adornments; for nature hath adorned thee with a splendid beauty, another thing, is (said he), we must remove our lodgings, for these are too mean to be known in; wherefore, my steward shall go take a large house, and furnish it nobly; and I will make you a fine coach, and take more servants, and women to wait upon you; for, since you have a good estate, you shall live and take pleasure. But I will have no men-visitors but what are brought by myself: wherefore, entertain on masculine acquaintance, nor give them the least encouragement.

Sir, said she, my duty shall observe all your commands.

When her uncle was gone, lord (said she), what doth my uncle mean, to set me out to show? Sure he means to traffic for a husband; but heaven forbid those intentions, for I have no mind to marry. My uncle is wise, and kind, and studies for my good; wherefore I submit, and could now chide myself for these questioning thoughts. Now (said she) I am to consider how I shall be dressed; my uncle saith, I am handsome; I will now try whether others think so as well as he; for I fear my uncle is partial on my side: wherefore I will dress me all in black, and have no colors about me; for if I be gay, I may be taken notice of for my clothes, and so be deceived, thinking it was for my person; and I would gladly know the truth, whether I am handsome, or no; for I have no skill in faces: so that I must judge of myself by the approbation of others eyes, and not by my own. But if I be (said she) thought handsome, what then? Why then (answered she herself) I shall be cried up to be a beauty. And what then? Then I shall have all eyes stare upon me. And what am I the better, unless their eyes could infuse into my brain wit and understanding? Their eyes cannot enrich me with knowledge, nor give me the light of truth; for I cannot see with their eyes, nor hear with their ears, no more than the meat which they do eat, can nourish me; or rest when they do sleep. Besides, I neither desire to make, nor catch lovers; for I have an enmity against mankind, and hold them as my enemies; which if it be a sin, heaven forgive, that I should for one man’s neglect and perjury, condemn all that sex.

But I find I have a little emulation, which breeds a desire to appear more beautiful than the duke’s wife, who is reported to be very handsome: for I would not have the world say, he had an advantage by the change: thus I do not envy her, nor covet what she enjoys; for I wish her all happiness: yet I would not have her happiness raised by my misfortunes, for charity begins at home; and those that are unjust or cruel to themselves, will never be merciful and just to others. But, o my contemplations! Whither do you run? I fear, not in an even path: for, though emulation is not envy, yet the bias leans to that side.

But, said she, to this masque I must go; my uncle hath pressed me to the wars of vanity, where cupid is general, and leads up the train: but I doubt I shall hang down my head through shamefacedness, like a young soldier when he hears the bullets fly about his ears: but, o confidence, thou goddess of good behavior, assist me! Well, said she, I will practice against the day, and be in a ready posture. So, after two or three days, the masque was; and she being ready to go, her uncle comes to her, and sees her dressed all in black.

He said, why have you put yourself all in black?

Sir, said she, I mourn like a young widow, for I have lost my husband.

By my troth, said he, and it becomes thee: for, you appear like the sun when he breaks through a dark cloud. I would have you go veiled, says he; for I would have you appear to sight only when you come into the masquing-room; and after the masque is done, all the company will rise, as it were, together, and join into a crowd; then throw your hood over your face, and pass through them as soon as you can, and as obscure; for I will not have you known, until we are in a more courtly equipage. So away they went, only he and she, without any attendants; and when they came to enter through the door of the masquing-room, there was such a crowd, and such a noise, the officers beating the people back, the women squeaking, and the men cursing; the officers threatening, and the enterers praying, that so great a confusion made her afraid.

Lord, uncle, said she, what a horrid noise is here? Pray let us go back, and let us not put ourselves unto this unnecessary trouble.

O child, said he, camps and courts are never silent; besides, where great persons are, there should be a thundering-noise, to strike their inferiors with a kind of terror and amazement: for poets say, fear and wonder makes gods.

Certainly, said she, there must be a great felicity in the sight of this masque, or else they would never take so much pains, and endure so great affronts, to obtain it. But pray uncle, said she, stay while they are all passed in.

Why then, said he, we must stay until the masque is done; for there will be striving to get in, until such time as those within are coming out.

But when they came near the door, her uncle spoke to the officer; pray sir, said he, let this young lady in to see the masque.

There is no room, said he; there are more young ladies already, than the viceroy and all his courtiers can tell what to do with.

This is a dogged fellow, said her uncle: whereupon he told her, she must put up her scarf, and speak herself; for every one domineers in their office, though it doth not last two hours; and are proud of their authority, though it be but to crack a loose: wherefore you must speak.

Pray sir, said she to the door-keeper, if it be no injury to your authority, you will be so civil as to let us pass by.

By my troth, said he, thou hast such a pleasing-face, none can deny thee: but now I look upon you better, you shall not go in.

Why sir, said she?

Why, said he, you will make the painter and the poet lose their design; for one expects to enter in at the ears of the assembly, the other at their eyes; and your beauty will blind the one, and stop the other. Besides, said he, all the ladies will curse me.

Heaven forbid, said she, I should be the cause of curses; and to prevent that, I will return back again.

Nay, lady, said he, I have not the power to let you go back; wherefore pray pass.

Sir, said she, I must have this gentleman along with me.

Even who you please, said he, I can deny you nothing: angels must be obeyed.

When they came into the masquing-room, the house was full: now (said her uncle) I leave you to shift for yourself; and he went and crowded himself into a corner at the lower end.

When the company was called to sit down, that the masque might be represented, everyone was placed by their friends, or else they placed themselves. But she, being unaccustomed to those meetings, knew not how to dispose of herself; and observing there was much jostling and thrusting one another to get places, she considered she had not strength to scramble amongst them, and therefore she stood still. When they were all set, it was as if a curtain was drawn from before her, and she appeared like a glorious light; whereat all were struck with such a maze, that they forgot a great while the civility in offering her a place. At last, all the men (which at such times sit opposite to the women, to view them the better) rose up, striving everyone to serve her. But the viceroy bid them all sit down again, and called for a chair for her. But few looked on the masque, for looking on her; especially the viceroy and duke, whose eyes were riveted to her face.

When the masquers were come down to dance, (who were all women, the chief of them being the daughter of the viceroy, who was a widower, and she was his only child) they took out such men as their fancy pleased, and then they sat down; after which, one of the chief of the men chose out a lady, and so began to dance in single couples; the duke being the chief that did dance, chose out this beauty, not knowing who she was, nor she him: but when she danced, it was so becoming! For, she had naturally a majestical presence, although her behavior was easy and free; and a severe countenance, yet modest and pleasing; and great skill in the art, keeping her measures just to the notes of music; moving smoothly, evenly, easily; that it made her astonish all the company.

The viceroy sent to enquire who she was, and what she was, and from whence she came, and where she lived; but the enquirer could learn nothing. But as soon as the masque was done, she was sought about for, and enquired after; but she was gone, not to be heard of; whereupon many did think she was a vision, or some angel, which appeared, and then vanished away: for, she had done as her uncle had commanded her, which was, to convey herself as soon away as she could, covering herself close: so home they went, and her uncle was very much pleased to see the sparks of her beauty had set their tinder-hearts on fire. But as she went home, she enquired of her uncle of the company:

Pray sir, said she, was the duke or duchess there?

I cannot tell, said he; for my eyes were wholly taken up in observing your behavior, that I never considered or took notice who was there.

Who was he that first took me out to dance, said she?

I cannot tell that neither, said he; for I only took the length of your measures; and what through a fear you should be out, and dance wrong, and with joy to see you dance well, I never considered whether the man you danced with, moved or no, nor what he was: but now I am so confident of you, that the next assembly I will look about, and inform you as much as I can: so home they went but her beauty had left such stings behind it, especially in the breast of the viceroy and the duke, that they could not rest. Neither was she free; for she had received a wound, but knew not of it; her sleeps were unsound, for they indeed were slumbers rather than sleeps; her dreams were many and various: but her lovers, that could neither slumber nor sleep, began to search, and to make an enquiry; but none could bring tidings where she dwelt, nor who she was. The viceroy cast about to attain the sight of her once again. So he made a great ball, and provided a great banquet, to draw an assembly of all young ladies to his court; which her uncle understanding, told his niece she must prepare to show herself once again; for I will (said he) the next day after this ball, remove to our new house.

Sir, said she, I must have another new gown.

As many as thou wilt, said he, and as rich; I will also buy you jewels.

No sir, said she, pray spare that cost; for they are only to be worn at such times of assemblies, which I shall not visit often, for fear I tire the courtly spectators, which delight in new faces, as they do in new scenes.

So her uncle left her to order herself; who dressed herself this time all in white satin, embroidered all over with silver.

When her uncle saw her so dressed; now by my troth, thou lookest like a heaven stuck with stars; but thy beauty takes off the gloss of thy bravery: now, said he, you shall not go veiled; for thy beauty shall make thy way: besides, we will not go too soon, nor while they are in disorder; but when they are all placed, you will be the more remarkable.

The cavaliers (especially the duke, and the viceroy) began to be melancholy, for fear she should not come: their eyes were always placed at the doors, like sentinels, to watch her entrance; and when she came to the court, all the crowds of people, as in a fright, started back, as if they were surprised with some divine object; making a lane, in which she passed through; and the keepers of the doors were struck mute, there was no resistance, all was open and free to enter. But when she came in, into the presence of the lords and ladies, all the men rose up, and bowed themselves to her, as if they had given her divine worship; only the duke, who trembled so much (occasioned by the passion of love) that he could not stir; but the viceroy went to her.

Lady, said he, will you give me leave to place you?

Your highness, said she, will do me too much honor.

So he called for a chair, and placed her next himself; and when she was set; she produced the same effects as a burning-glass; for the beams of all eyes were drawn together as to one point, placed in her face; and by reflection she sent a burning heat, and fired every heart. But he could not keep her; for as soon as they began to dance, she was taken out, not by the duke, for he had not recovered as yet love’s shaking-sit. The young gallants chose her but too often to dance; for every one took it for a disgrace not to have the honor to dance with her; insomuch that few of the other ladies danced at all, as being creatures not worthy to be regarded whilst she was there.

The viceroy, fearing they should tire her (for she durst not deny them, by reason it would be thought an affront, and rude, or want of breeding) called sooner for the banquet than otherwise he would have done. Besides, he perceived the rest of the ladies began to be angry, expressing it by their frowns: and knowing nothing will so soon pacify that bitter humor in ladies, as sweet-meats, he had them brought in. But when the banquet came in, he presented her the first with some of those sweet-meats, still filling her ears with complements, or rather chosen words, for no complement could pass on her beauty, it was so beyond all expressions.

At last he asked her where her lodging was, and whether she would give him leave to wait upon her?

She answered him, it would be a great grace and favor to receive a visit from him; but, said she, I am not at my own disposing: wherefore I can neither give, nor receive, without leave.

Pray, said he, may I know who is this happy person you so humbly obey?

She said, it is my uncle, with whom I live.

Where doth he live, said he?

Truly, said she, I cannot tell the name of the street.

Is he not here, lady, said he?

Yes, said she, and pointed to him. And though he was loath, yet he was forced to leave her so long, as to speak with her uncle: but the whilst he was from her, all the young gallants, which were gathered round about her, presented her with sweet-meats, as offerings to a goddess; and she, making them curtsies, returned them thanks for that she was not able to receive, as being too great a burthen; for she was offered more sweet-meats than one of the viceroy’s guard could carry.

But all the while the duke stood as a statue, his eyes were fixed only upon her; nor had he power to speak; and she perceiving where he was (for her eyes had secretly hunted him out), did as often look upon him, as her modesty would give her leave; and desired much to know who he was, but was ashamed to ask.

At last the duke, being a little encouraged by her eye, came to her.

Lady, said he, I am afraid to speak, lest I should seem rude by my harsh discourse: for there is not in the alphabet, words gentle nor smooth enough for your soft ears, but what your tongue doth polish; yet I hope you will do as the rest of the gods and goddesses, descend to mortals, since they cannot reach to you.

Sir, said she, but that I know it is the courtly-custom for men to express their civilities to our sex in the highest words, otherwise I should take it as an affront, and scorn to be called by those names I understand not, and to be likened to that which cannot be comprehended.

The duke said, you cannot be comprehended; nor do your lovers know what destiny you have decreed them.

The viceroy came back with her uncle, who desired to have his niece home, the banquet being ended.

But when the duke saw her uncle, he then apprehending who she was, was so struck, that what with guilt of conscience, and with repenting sorrow, he was ready to fall down dead.

Her uncle, seeing him talking to her, spoke thus to the duke:

Sir, said he, you may spare your words, for you cannot justify your unworthy deeds.

Whereat she turned as pale as death, her spirits being gathered to guard the heart, being in distress, as overwhelmed with passion. But the bustle of the crowd helped to obscure her change, as well as it did smother her uncle’s words, which pierced none but the duke’s ears, and hers.

The viceroy taking her by the hand, led her to the coach, and all the gallants attended; whereat the ladies, that were left behind in the room, were so angry, that they shoot forth words like bullets, with the fire of anger, wounding every man with reproach; and at the viceroy they sent out whole volleys, which battered his reputation. But as for the young lady, they did appoint a place of purpose to dissect her, reading satirical lectures upon every part, with the hard terms of dispraises. So all being dispersed, the viceroy longed for that seasonable hour to visit her.

But the duke wished there were neither time nor life: I cannot hope (said he) for mercy, my fault is too great; nor can I live or die in quiet, without it; and the miseries and torments of despairing-lovers, will be my punishment.

The old gentleman was so pleased to see his niece admired, that as he went home, he did nothing but sing after a humming way; and was so frolic, as if he were returned to twenty years of age: and after he came home, he began to examine his niece:

How do you like the duke, said he? For that was he that was speaking to you when I came.

She answered, that she saw nothing to be disliked in his person.

And how (said he) do you like the viceroy?

As well (said she) as I can like a thing that time hath worn out of fashion.

So, said he, I perceive you despise age: but let me tell you, that what beauty and favor time takes from the body, he gives double proportions of knowledge and understanding to the mind. You use to preach to me, the outside is not to be regarded; and I hope you will not preach that doctrine to others that you will not follow yourself.

Sir, said she, I shall be ruled by your doctrine, and not by my own.

Then, said he, I take my text out of virtue, which is divided into four parts, prudence, fortitude, temperance, and justice. Prudence is to foresee the worst, and provide the best we can for our selves, by shunning the dangerous ways, and choosing the best. And my application is, that you must shun the dangerous ways of beauty, and choose riches and honor, as the best for yourself.

Fortitude is to arm ourselves against misfortunes, and to strengthen our forts with patience, and to fight with industry. My application of this part is, you must barricade your ears, and not suffer, by listening, the enticing persuasions of rhetoric to enter: for if it once get into the brain, it will easily make a passage to the heart, or blow up the tower of reason, with the fire of foolish love.

Temperance is to moderate the appetites, and qualify the unruly passions. My third application is, you must marry a discreet and sober man, a wise and understanding man, a rich and honorable man, a grave and aged man; and not be led by your appetites, to marry a vain fantastical man, a proud conceited man, a wild debauched man, a foolish prodigal, a poor shark, or a young inconstant man.

Fourthly and lastly, is justice, which is to be divided according to right and truth, to reward and punish according to desert, to deal with others as we would be dealt unto. And my last application is, that you should take such counsel, and follow such advice from your friends, as you would honestly give to a faithful friend, as the best for him, without any ends to yourself; and so goodnight, for you cannot choose but be very sleepy.

When he was gone, lord! Said she, this doctrine, although it was full of morality, yet in this melancholy humor I am in, it sounds like a funeral-sermon to me: I am sure it is a preamble to some design he hath; pray god it be not to marry me to the viceroy: of all the men I ever saw, I could not affect him; I should more willingly wed death than him; he is an antipathy to my nature. Good Jupiter, said she, deliver me from him. So she went to bed, not to sleep, for she could take little rest; for her thoughts worked as fast as a feverish pulse.

But the viceroy came the next day, and treated with her uncle, desiring her for his wife.

Her uncle told him, it would be a great fortune for his niece, but he could not force her affection: but, said he, you shall have all the assistance that the power and authority of an uncle, and the persuasions as a friend, can give, to get her consent to marry you.

Pray, said the viceroy, let me see her, and discourse with her.

He desired to excuse him, if he suffered him not to visit her: for, said he, young women that are disposed by their friends, must wed without wooing. But he was very loath to go without a sight of her: yet pacifying himself with the hopes of having her to his wife, he presented his service to her, and took his leave.

Then her uncle sate in counsel with his thoughts, how he should work her affection, and draw her consent to marry this viceroy; for he found she had no stomach towards him. At last he thought it best to let her alone for a week, or such a time, that the smooth faces of the young gallants that she saw at the masque and ball, might be worn out of her mind. In the mean time she grew melancholy, her countenance was sad, her spirits seemed dejected, her color faded; for she could eat no meat, nor take any rest; neither could she study nor practice her exercises, dancing and music was laid by; and she could do nothing, but walked from one end of the room to the other; where her eyes fixed upon the ground, she would sigh and weep, and knew not for what; but at last spoke thus to herself: surely an evil fate hangs over me; for I am so dull, as if I were a piece of earth, without sense; yet I am not sick, I do not find my body distempered: then surely it is in my mind; and what should disturb that? My uncle loves me, and is as fond of me as ever he was: I live in plenty; I have as much pleasure and delight as my mind can desire. O but the viceroy affrights it! There is the cause: and yet methinks that cannot be, because I do verily believe my uncle will not force me to marry against my affections: besides, the remembrance of him seldom comes into my mind; for my mind is so full of thoughts of the duke, that there is no other room left for any other: my fancy orders, places, and dresses him a thousand several ways. And thus have I thousand several figures of him in my head; heaven grant I be not in love; I dare not ask any one that hath been in love, what humors that passion hath. But why should I be in love with him? I have seen as handsome men as he, that I would not take the pains to look on twice: and yet when I call him better to mind, he is the handsomest I ever saw. But what is a handsome body, unless he hath a noble soul? He is perjured and inconstant; alas, it was the fault of his father to force him to swear against his affections whilst she was reasoning thus to her self, in came her uncle, who told her, he had provided her a good husband.

Sir, said she, are you weary of me? Or, am I become a burthen, you so desire to part with me, in giving me to a husband?

Nay, said he, I will never part; for I will end the few remainder of my days with thee.

She said, you give your power, authority, and commands, with my obedience, away: for, if my husband and your commands are contrary, I can obey but one, which must be my husband.

Good reason, said he; and for thy sake I will be commanded too: but, in the mean time, I hope you will be ruled by me; and here is a great match propounded to me for you, the like I could not have hoped for, which is the viceroy; he is rich.

Yet, said she, he may be a fool.

O he is wise and discreet, said he.

I have heard, said she, he is ill-natured and froward.

Her uncle answered, he is in great power and authority.

He may be (said she) never the honester for that.

He is (said he) in great favor with the king.

Sir, said she, princes and monarchs do not always favor the most deserving; nor do they always advance men for merit; but most commonly otherwise, the unworthiest are advanced highest: besides, bribery, partiality, and flattery, rule princes and states.

Her uncle said, let me advise you not to use rhetoric against yourself, and overthrow a good fortune, in refusing such a husband as shall advance your place above that false duke’s duchess; and his estate, with yours joined to it, will be greater than his; with which you shall be served nobly, attended with numbers of servants, live plentifully, adorned richly, have all the delights and pleasures your soul can desire; and he, being in years, will dote on you: besides, he having had experience of vain debaucheries, is become staid and sage.

Sir, said she, his age will be the means to bar me of all these braveries, pleasures, and delights, you propound; for he, being old, and I young, will become so jealous, that I shall be in restraint, like a prisoner; nay, he will be jealous of the light, and of my own thoughts, and will enclose me in darkness, and disturb the peace of my mind, with his discontents: for jealousy, I have heard, is never at quiet with it self, nor to those that live near it.

Come, come, said he, you talk you know not what: I perceive you would marry some young, fantastical, prodigal fellow, who will give you only diseases, and spend your estate, and his own too, amongst his whores, bawds, and sycophants: whilst you sit mourning at home, he will be reveling abroad; and then disturb your rest, coming home at unseasonable times: and if you must suffer, you had better suffer by those that love, than those that care not for you: for, jealousy is only an overflow of love. Wherefore be ruled, and let not all my pains, care, and cost, and the comfort of my labor, be lost through your disobedience.

Sir, said she, I am bound in gratitude and duty to obey your will, were it to sacrifice my life, or the tranquility of my mind, on the altar of your commands.

In the mean time, the duke was so discontented and melancholy, that he excluded himself from all company, suffering neither his duchess, nor any friend, to visit him, nor come near him; only one old servant to wait upon him: all former delights, pleasures, and recreations, were hateful to him, even in the remembrance, as if his soul and body had taken a surfeit thereof. At last, he resolved she should know what torment he suffered for her sake; and since he could not see, nor speak to her, he would send her a letter. He called for pen, ink, and paper, and wrote after this manner:

Madam,

The wrath of the gods is not only pacified, and they do not only pardon the greatest sins that can be committed against them, taking to mercy the contrite heart; but give blessings for repentant tears; and I hope you will not be more severe than they: let not your justice be too rigid, lest you become cruel. I confess, the sins committed against you, were great, and deserve great punishment: but if all your mercies did fly from me, yet if you did but know the torments I suffer, you could not choose but pity me; and my sorrows are of that weight, that they will press away my life, unless your favors take off the heavy burthen. But borne so ever, pray let your charity give me a line or two of your own writing, though they strangle me with death; then will my soul lye quiet in the grave, because I dyed by your hand; and when I am dead, let not the worst of my actions live in your memory, but cast them into oblivion, where I wish they may for ever remain. The gods protect you.

Sealing this letter, he gave it to his man to carry with all the secrecy he could; bidding him to enquire which of her women was most in her favor, and to pray her to deliver it to her mistress when she was all alone, and to tell the maid, he would be in the street to wait her command.

The man found such access as he could wish; and the letter was delivered to the lady; which when she had read, and found from whom it came, her passions were so mixed, that she knew not whether to enjoy or grieve; she enjoyed to live in his thoughts, yet grieved to live without him; having no hopes to make him lawfully hers, nor so much as to see or speak to him, her uncle was so averse against him; and the greatest grief was, to think she must be forced to become another’s, when she had rather be his, though once forsaken by him, than to be beloved by another with constancy. Then musing with herself for some time, considering whether it was fit to answer his letter or no; if my uncle should come to know (said she) I write to him without his leave (which leave I am sure he will never give), I shall utterly lose his affection; and I had rather lose my life, than lose his love: but if I do not write, I shall seem as if I were of a malicious nature, which will beget an evil construction of my disposition in that mind, in whose good opinion I desire to live. If I believe, as charity and love persuades me, that he speaks truth, I shall endanger his life; and I would be loath to murder him with nice scruples, when I am neither forbid by honor nor modesty, religion nor laws, to save him. Well, I will adventure, and ask my uncle pardon when I have done. My uncle is not of a tiger’s nature, he is gentle, and a pardon may be gotten: but life, when once it is gone, will return no more. Then taking pen, ink, and paper, writ to him after this manner:

Sir,

I am obedient, as being once tied to you, until you did cut me off, and throw me away as a worthless piece, only fit to be trodden under the feet of disgrace; and certainly had perished with shame, and been left destitute, had not my uncle owned me. And though you are pleased to cast some thoughts back upon me, yet it is difficult for me to believe, that you that did once scorn me, should humbly come to sue to me: and I fear you do this for sport, angling with the bait of deceit, to catch my innocent youth. But I am not the first of my sex, nor I fear shall not be the last, that has been, and will be deceived by men, who glory in their treacherous victories; and if you beset me with stratagems, kill me outright, and lead me not a prisoner, to set out your triumph. If you have wars with your conscience, or fancy, or both, interrupting the peace of your mind, as your letter expresses; I should willingly return to your side, and be your advocate: but the fates have destined it otherwise. And yet what unhappy fortune so ever befalls me, I wish yours may be good. Heavens keep you.

Here, said she, give the man that brought me the letter, this.

The man returning to his lord so soon, made him believe he had not delivered her his letter.

Well, said the duke, you have not delivered my letter?

Yes, but I have, said he, and brought you an answer.

Why, said the duke, it is impossible, you staid so short a time!

Then, said he, I have wrought a miracle, or you did lengthen my journey in your conceits with the foul ways of difficulties.

I hope, said the duke, thou art so blessed, as to make as prosperous a journey, as a quick dispatch. Leave me a while, said he, till I call you. But when he went to open the letter, time brings not more weakness, said he, than fear doth to me; for my hands shake as if I had the palsy; and my eyes are so dim, that spectacles will hardly enlarge my sight. But when he had read the letter, joy gave him a new life. Here, said he, she plainly tells me, she would be mine: she saith, she would return to my side, if the fates had not destined against it; by which she means, her uncle is against me. Well if I can but once get access, I shall be happy for ever. So after he had blessed himself in reading the letter many times over, I will (said he) strengthen myself to be able to go abroad, for as yet I am but weak; and calling to his man, he bid him get him something to eat.

Did your grace, said the man, talk of eating?

Yes, answered the duke, for I am hungry.

By my troth, said the man, I had thought your hands, mouth, appetite, and stomach, had made a bargain; the one, that it never would desire meat nor drink: the other, that it would digest none: the third, that it would receive none: and the fourth, that it would offer none: for on my conscience you have not eat the quantity of the pestle of a lark this week; and you are become so weak, that if a boy should wrestle with you, he would have the better.

You are deceived, said the duke; I am so strong, and my spirits so active, that I would beat two or three such old fellows as thou art; and to prove it, I will beat thee with one hand.

No pray, said he, I will believe your grace, and leave your active grace for a time to fetch you some food.

When his man came in with the meat, he found the duke a dancing.

I believe, said he, you carry your body very light, having no heavy burdens of meat in your stomach.

I am so airy, said the duke, as I will caper over thy head.

By my troth, said he, then I shall let fall your meat out of my hands, for fear of your heels.

Whist the duke was at his meat, he talked to his man: why hast thou lived an old bachelor, and never married?

O sir, said he, wives are too chargeable.

Why, said the duke, are you so poor?

No, sir, answered he, women are so vain; and do not only spend their husbands estates, but make his estate a bawd to procure love servants; so as his wealth serves only to buy him a pair of horns.

Prithee let me persuade thee to marry, and I will direct thee to whom thou shalt go a wooing.

Troth sir, I would venture, if there had been any example to encourage me.

Why, what do you think of my marriage? Do not I live happily?

Yes, said he, when your duchess and you are asunder; but when you meet, it is like Jupiter and Juno; you make such a thundering noise, as it frights your mortal servants, thinking you will dissolve our world (your family); consuming your hospitality by the fire of your wrath; roiling up the clouds of smoky vapor from boiled-beef, as a sheet of parchment. When you were a bachelor, we lived in the golden age; but now it is the iron age, and doomsday draws near.

I hope, saith the duke, thou art a prophet; but when doomsday is past, you shall live in paradise.

In my conscience, sir, said he, fortune hath mismatched you; for surely nature did never intend to join you as man and wife, you are of such different humors.

Well, said the duke, for all your railing against women, you shall go a wooing, if not for yourself, yet for me.

Sir, said he, I shall refuse no office that your grace shall employ me in.

Go your ways, said the duke, to that lady’s maid you gave the letter to, and present her with a hundred pounds, and tell her, if she can help me to the speech of her lady, you will bring her a hundred pounds more; and if you find her nice, and that she says, she dares not; offer her five hundred pounds, or more; and so much, until you have out-bribed her cautious fears.

Sir, said the man, if you send her many of these presents, I will woo for myself, as well as for your grace: wherefore, by your grace’s leave, I will spruce up myself before I go, and trim my beard, and wash my face; and who knows but I may speed? For I perceive it is a fortunate year for old men to win young maids affections; for they say, the viceroy is to be married to the sweetest young beautifullest lady in the world; and he is very old, and (in my opinion) not so handsome as I am.

With that, the duke turned pale.

Nay, said the man, your grace hath no cause to be troubled, for ’tis a lady you have refused: wherefore he hath but your leavings.

With that the duke up with his hand, and gave him a box on the ear; thou liest, said he, he must not marry her.

Nay, said the man, that is as your grace can order the business: but your grace is a just performer of your word; for you have tried your strength, and have beaten me with one hand.

The duke walked about the room; and after he had pacified himself, at last spoke to his man: well (said he), if you be prosperous, and can win the maid to direct me the way to speak to her lady, I will cure the blow with crowns.

Sir, said he, I will turn you my other cheek, to box that, if you please.

Go away, said the duke, and return as soon as you can.

Sir, said he, I will return as soon as my business is done, or else I shall lose both pains and gains: good fortune be my guide, said he, and then I am sure of the world’s favor: for they that are prosperous, shall never want friends. Although he were a coward, a knave, or a fool; the world shall call, nay, think him, valiant, honest, and wife.

Sir, said he to the duke, pray flatter fortune, and offer some prayers and praises to her deity in my behalf, though it be but for your own sake; for he that hath not a feeling interest in the business, can never pray with a strong devotion for a good success; but their prayers will be so sickly and weak, that they can never travel up far, but fall back, as it were, in a swoon, without sense.

In the mean time the viceroy and the uncle had drawn up articles, and had concluded of the match, without the young lady’s consent: but the uncle told her afterwards, she must prepare herself to be the viceroy’s bride: and, said he, if you consent not, never come near me more, for I will disclaim all the interest of an uncle, and become your enemy.

His words were like so many daggers, that were struck to her heart; for her grief was too great for tears. But her maid, who had ventured her lady’s anger for gold, had conveyed the duke into such a place, as to go into her chamber when he pleased. He seeing her stand, as it were, without life or sense, but as a statue carved in a stone, went to her; which object brought her out of a muse, but struck her with such a maze, as she fixed her eyes upon him as on some wonder; and standing both silent for a time, at last she spoke:

Sir, said she, this is not civilly done, to come without my leave, or my uncle’s knowledge; nor honorably done, to come (like a thief in the night) to surprise me.

Madam (said he), love, that is in danger to lose what he most adores, will never consider persons, time, place, nor difficulty, but runs to strengthen and secure his side, fights and assaults all that doth oppose him: and I hear you are to be married to the viceroy; but if you do marry him, I will strive to make you a widow the first hour, cutting your vows asunder; and your husband, instead of his bride, shall embrace death; and his grave shall become his wedding-bed, or I will lie there myself, shrouded in my winding-sheet, from the hated-sight of seeing or knowing you to be another’s. But if knowledge lives in the grave, think not yourself secure when I am dead; for if ghosts (as some imagine) can rise from the earth, mine shall visit you, and fright you from delights; and never leave you, until you become a subject in death’s kingdom. But if you are cruel, and take delight to have your bridal-health drunk in blood, marry him, where perchance we may be both dead drunk with that warm red liquor.

Sir, answered she, it is an unheard-of malice to me, or an impudent and vain-glorious pride in you, neither to own me yourself, nor let another; but would have me wander, that the world may take notice, and say, this is your forsaken maid; and I live to be scorned, and become friendless: for my uncle will never own me; which will prove as a proclamation to proclaim me a traitor to gratitude and natural affection, by committing the treason of disobedience.

The duke said, you cannot want an owner whilst I live; for I had, nor have, more power to resign the interest I have in you, than kings to resign their crowns that come by succession; for the right lies in the crown, not in the man: and though I have played the tyrant, and deserved to be uncrowned; yet none ought to take it off my head, but death: nor have I power to throw it from myself; death only must make way for a successor.

Then said she, I must dye, that your duchess may have right, and a free possession.

Nay, said he, you, must claim your own just interest, and place yourself where you should be.

What is that, said she? Go to law for you?

Yes, said he.

If I be cast, said she, it will be a double shame.

You cannot plead, and be condemned, said he, if justice hears your cause: and though most of the actions of my life have been irregular, yet they were not so much corrupted or misruled by nature, as for want of good education, and through the ignorance of my youth: but time hath made me see my errors. And though your beauty is very excellent, and is able to enamor the dullest sense; yet it is not that alone disturbs the peace of my mind, but the being conscious of my fault; which unless you pardon and restore me to your favor, I shall never be at rest.

I wish there were no greater obstacle (said she) than my pardon, to your rest: for I should absolve you soon; and sleep should not be more gentle, and soft on your eyes, than peace to your mind, if I could give it; but my uncle’s dislike may prove as fearful dreams to disturb it: though indeed, if his anger were like dreams, it would vanish away; but I doubt it is of too thick a body for a vision.

The duke said, we will both kneel to your uncle, and plead at the bar of either ear: I will confess my fault at one ear, whilst you ask pardon for me at the other: and though his heart were steel, your words will dissolve it into compassion, whilst my tears mix the ingredients.

My uncle, said she, hath agreed with the viceroy; and his word hath sealed the bond, which he will never break.

The duke said, I will make the viceroy to break the bargain himself, and then your uncle is set free: besides, you are mine, and not your uncle’s; unless you will prove my enemy to deny me; and I will plead for my right.

Heaven direct you for the best, said she; it is late, good-night.

You will give me leave, said he, to kiss your hand?

I cannot deny my hand, said she, to him that hath my heart.

The next day the duke went to the viceroy, and desired to have a private hearing, about a business that concerned him: and when he had him alone, he shut the door, and drew his sword; which when the viceroy saw, he began to call for help.

Call not, nor make a noise; if you do, hell take me, said the duke, I’ll run you through.

What mean you, said the viceroy, to give me such a dreadful visit?

I come, said the duke, to ask you a question, to forbid you an act, and to have you grant me my demand.

The viceroy said, the question must be resolvable, the act just, the demand possible.

They are so, said the duke: my question is, whether you resolve to be married to the lady Delicia.

Yes, answered he.

The act forbidden is, you must not marry her.

Why, said the viceroy?

Because (said he) she is my wife; and I have been married to her almost nine years.

Why, said he, you cannot have two wives?

No, said he, I will have but one, and that shall be she.

And what is your demand?

My demand is, that you will never marry her.

How, says the viceroy? Put the case you should die, you will then give me leave to marry her?

No, said the duke; I love her too well, to leave a possibility of her marrying you.

I will sooner die, than set my hand to this, said the viceroy.

If you do not, you shall die a violent death, by heaven, answered he; and more than that, you shall set your hand never to complain against me to the king: will you do it? Or will you not? For I am desperate said the duke.

The viceroy said, you strike the king in striking me.

No disputing, says he; set your hand presently, or I will kill you.

Do you say, you are desperate? Yes, answered he.

Then I must do a desperate act, to set my hand to a bond I mean to break.

Use your own discretion, to that.

Come, said he, I will set my hand before I read it; for whatsoever it is, it must be done. After he set his hand, he read.

Here I do vow to heaven, never to woo the lady Delicia, nor to take her to wife: whereunto I set my hand.

To this paper too, said the duke.

Here I do vow to heaven, never to take revenge, nor to complain of the duke to the king my master: whereunto I set my hand.

The duke said, I take my leave; rest you in peace, sir.

And the devil torment you, said the viceroy! O fortune! I could curse thee, with thy companions, the fates; not only in cutting off my happiness, in the enjoying of so rare a beauty; but in stopping the passages to a sweet revenge. And though I were sure there were both gods and devils, yet I would break my vow; for the one are pacified by prayers and praises, and the other terrified with threats. But o! The disgrace from our fellow-creatures (mankind), sets closer to the life, than the skin to the flesh: for, if the skin be flayed off, a new one will grow again, making the body appear younger than before: but if a man be flayed once of his reputation, he shall never regain it; and his life will be always bare and raw, and malice and envy will torment it, with the stings of ill tongues; which to avoid, I must close with this duke in a seeming-friendship, and not defy him as an open enemy, lest he should divulge my base acts done by my cowardly fear: but they are fools that would not venture their reputations, to save their life, rather than to dye an honorable death, as they call it; which is, to dye to gain a good opinion; and what shall it avail them? A few praises; it will be said, he was a valiant man: and what doth the valiant get? Is he ever the better? No, he is tumbled into the grave, and his body rots, and turns to dust; all the clear distinguishing senses, the bright flaming appetites, are quenched out: but if they were not, there is no fuel in the grave to feed their fire; for death is cold, and the grave barren: besides, there is no remembrance in the grave, all is forgotten; they cannot rejoice at their past gallant actions, or remember their glorious triumphs; but the only happiness is, that as there is no pleasure in the grave, so there is no pain: but, to give up life before nature requires it, is to pay a subsidy before we are taxed; or to yield up our liberties before we are prisoners: and who are wise that shall do so? No, let fools run head-long to death, I will live as long as I can; and not only live, but live easily, freely, and as pleasantly as I can. Wherefore, to avoid this man’s mischiefs (which lies to entrap my life), I will agree with him; and I had rather lose the pleasures of one woman, than all other pleasures, with my life: but from a secret mischief he shall not escape, if I can prevail: for I perceive this duke, since he can have but one wife, intends to set up a seraglio of young wenches; and, by my troth, he begins with a fair one; and whilst he courts his mistress, I mean to woo his wife; for he hath not sworn me from that: so that my revenge shall be, to make him a cuckold.

So the viceroy went to the duchess; and after he had made his complemental addresses, they began to talk more seriously.

Madam, said he, how do you like the rare beauty, which your husband doth admire so much, that he is jealous of all that look on her, and would extinguish the sight of all men’s eyes, but his own; and challenges all that make love to her; and threatens ruin and murder to those that pretend to marry her?

She answered, if he be so enamored, I shall not wonder now that my beauty is thought dead, my embraces cold, my discourse dull, my company troublesome to him, since his delight is abroad. But, said she, I am well served; I was weary of my old husband, and wished him dead, that I might marry a young one: I abhorred his old age, that was wise and experienced; despised his gray hairs, that should have been reverenced with respect. O what happiness I rejected, that I might have enjoyed! For he admired my beauty, praised my wit, gave me my will, observed my humor, sought me pleasures, took care of my health, desired my love, proud of my favors; my mirth was his music, my smiles were his heaven, my frowns were his hell: when as this man thinks me a chain that enslaves him; a shipwreck, wherein all his happiness is drowned; a famine to his hopes, a plague to his desires, a hell to his designs, and a devil to damn his fruitions.

Nay certainly, said he, that woman is the happiest that marries an ancient man; for he adores her virtue, more than her beauty; and his love continues, though her beauty be gone; he sets a price of worth upon the honor and reputation of his wife; uses her civilly, and gives her respect, as gallant men ought to do to a tender sex; which makes others to do the like: when a young man thinks it a gallantry, and a manly action, to use his wife rudely, and worse than his lackey; to command imperiously, to neglect despisingly, making her the drudge in his family, flinging words of disgrace upon her; making her, with scorn, the mirth and pastime, in his idle and foolish discourse amongst his vain and base companions; when an ancient man makes his wife the queen of his family, his mistress in his courtship, his goddess in his discourse; giving her praise, applauding her actions, magnifying her nature; her safety is the god of his courage; her honor the world to his ambition; her pleasure his only industry; her maintenance the mark for his prudence; her delights are the compass by which he sails; her love his voyage; her advice his oracle: and doing this, he doth honor to himself, by setting a considerable value upon what is his own: when youth regards not the temper of her disposition, slights her noble nature, grows weary of her person, condemns her counsels, and is afraid his neighbor should think his wife wiser than himself; which is the mark of a fool, and a disease most men have (being married young). But a man in years is solid in his counsels, sober in his actions, graceful in his behavior, wise in his discourse, temperate in his life, and appears (as nature hath made him) masculine. Whereas a young man is rash in his counsels, desperate in his actions, wild in his behavior, vain in his discourses, debauched in his life; and appears not like his sex, but effeminate.

A fair forehead, and a smooth skin; a rosy cheek, and a ruby lip; wanton eyes, and a flattering tongue, are unmanly; appearing like women or boys, let them be never so valiant; and as if they would sooner suffer the whip, than handle the sword.

In an ancient man, every wrinkle is a trench made by time, wherein lies experience to secure the life from errors; and their eyes are like active soldiers, who bow and sink down by the over-heavy burdens of their spoils, which are several objects that the sight carries into the brain, and delivers to the understanding, as trophies, to hang up in the magazine of the memory. His white hairs are the flag of peace, that time hangs out on the walls of wisdom, that advice and counsel may come to and fro safely. Nay, the very infirmities of age, seem manly; his feeble legs look as if they had been over-tired with long marches, in seeking out his foes; and his palsy-hands, or head, the one seems as if they had been often used in beating of their enemies; and the other in watching, as if they knew not what rest meant.

Sir, said the duchess, you commend aged husbands, and dispraise young ones, with such rhetoric, as I wish the one, and hate the other; and in pursuit of my hate, I will cross my husband’s amours as much as I can.

In the mean time, the duke was gone to the old gentleman, the young lady’s uncle; who when he saw him enter, he started, as if he had seen an evil he desired to shun.

Sir, said he, what unlucky occasion brought you into my house?

First, repentance (answered the duke), and then love; and lastly, my respect, which I owe as a duty. My repentance begs a forgiveness: my love offers you my advice and good counsel: my respect forewarns you of dangers and troubles, that may come by the marriage of your niece to the viceroy.

Why, what danger (said he) can come in marrying my niece to a wise, honorable, rich, and powerful man, and a man that loves and admires her, that honors and respects me?

But, said the duke, put the case he be a covetous, jealous, froward, ill-natured, and base cowardly man, shall she be happy with him?

But he is not so, said he.

But, answered the duke, if I can prove him so, will you marry her to him?

Pray, said he, spare your proofs of him, since you cannot prove yourself an honest man.

Sir, said the duke, love makes me endure a reproach patiently, when it concerns the beloved: but though it endures a reproach, it cannot endure a rival.

Why, said the old gentleman, I hope you do not challenge an interest in my niece.

Yes, said the duke, but I do; and will maintain that interest with the power of my life, and never will quit it, till death; and if my ghost could fight for her, it should.

Heaven bless my niece, said the old gentleman! What is your design against her? Is it not enough to fling a disgrace of neglect on her, but you must ruin all her good fortunes? Is your malice so inveterate against my family, that you strive to pull it up by the roots, to cast it into the ditch of oblivion, or to fling it on the dunghill of scorn?

The duke said, my design is, to make her happy, if I can; and will oppose all those that hinder her felicity, disturbing the content and peace of her mind: for, she cannot love this man; besides, he disclaims her, and vows never to marry her.

Sir, said the gentleman, I desire you to depart from my house, for you are a plague to me, and bring an evil infection.

Sir, said the duke, I will not go out of your house, nor depart from you, until you have granted my request.

Why, said the gentleman, you will not threaten me.

No, said the duke, I do petition you.

The gentleman said, if you have any quarrel to me, I shall answer it with my sword in my hand: for, though I have lost some strength with my years, yet I have not lost my courage; and when my limbs can fight no longer, the heat of my spirits shall consume you: besides, an honorable death I far prefer before a baffled life.

Sir, said he, I come not to move your anger, but your pity; the sorrows I am in (for the injuries I have done you) being extreme great; and if you will be pleased to take me into your favor, and assist me, by giving my wife (your niece) leave to claim the laws of marriage and right to me, all my life shall be studious to return gratitude, duty, and service, to you.

Yes, answered he, to divulge her disgrace, declaring your neglect in an open court, and to make myself a knave to break my promise.

Sir, said the duke, your disgrace by me, is not so much as you apprehend: but it will be a great disgrace, when it is known the viceroy refuses her, as I can show you his hand to it; and if he deserts your niece, you are absolved of your promise made to him; and to let you know this is a truth, here is his hand.

The whilst the old gentleman was reading the papers, the viceroy comes in.

O sir, said he, you are timely come! Is this your hand, says he?

Yes, answered the viceroy.

And do you think it is honorably done, said the gentleman?

Why, said the viceroy, would you have me marry another man’s wife?

Well, said the old gentleman, when your viceroy-ship is out (as it is almost), I will give you my answer; till then, fare you well.

But the duke went to the young lady, and told her the progress he had had with her uncle, and his anger to the viceroy.

After the old gentleman’s passion was abated towards the duke, by his humble submission, and the passion enflamed towards the viceroy, he hearkened to the law suit, being most persuaded by his niece’s affection, which he perceived was unalterably placed upon the duke. And at last, advising all three together, they thought it sit (since the parties must plead their own cause) to conceal their agreements, and to cover it by the duke’s seeming dissent, lest he should be convicted as a breaker of the known laws, and so be liable to punishment, either by the hazard of his life, or the price of a great fine.

Being thus agreed of all sides, the law-suit was declared; which was a business of discourse to all the kingdom; and the place of judicature, a meeting for all curious, inquisitive, and idle people.

When the day of hearing was come, there was a bar set out, where the duke and the two ladies stood; and after all the judges were set, the young lady thus spoke:

Grave fathers, and most equal judges,

I come here to plead for right, undecked with eloquence; but truth needs no rhetoric; so that my cause will justify itself: but if my cause were foul, it were not penciled words could make it seem so fair, as to delude your understanding eyes.

Besides, your justice is so wise, as to fortify her forts with fortitude, to fill her magazine with temperance, to victual it with patience, to set sentinels of prudence, that falsehood might not surprise it, nor bribery corrupt it, nor fear starve it, nor pity undermine it, nor partiality blow it up; so that all right causes, here, are safe, and secured from their enemies, injury and wrong. Wherefore, most reverend fathers, if you will but hear my cause, you cannot but grant my suit.

Whereupon the judges bid her declare her cause.

I was married to this prince, ’tis true; I was but young in years when I did knit that wedlock-knot; and though a child, yet since my vows were holy, which I made by virtue and religion, I am bound to seal that sacred bond with constancy, now I am come to years of knowing good from evil.

I am not only bound, most pious judges, to keep my vow, in being chastely his as long as he shall live but to require him by the law, as a right of inheritance belonging to me, and only me, so long as I shall live, without a sharer or co-partner: so that this lady, who lays a claim, and challenges him as being hers, can have no right to him, and therefore no law can plead for her: for, should you cast aside your canon law (most pious judges), and judge it by the common-law, my suit must needs be granted, if justice deals rightly, and gives to truth her own: for, should an heir, young, before he comes to years, run on the lenders score; though the lender had no law to plead against nonage; yet if his nature be so just to seal the bonds he made in non-age, when he comes to full years, he makes his former act good, and fixes the law to a just grant, giving no room for cozenage to play a part, nor falsehood to appear. The like is my cause, most grave fathers; for my friends chose me a husband, made a bond of matrimony, sealed it with the ceremony of the church; only they wanted my years of consent, which I give now freely and heartily.

The judges asked, what says the duke? Then the duke thus spoke:

I confess, I was contracted to this lady by all the sacred and most binding ceremonies of the church, but not with a free consent of mind: for, being forced by the duty to my father, who did not only command, but threatened me with his curse, he being then upon his death-bed, and I being afraid of a dying-father’s curses, yielded to those actions which my affections and free-will renounced: and after my father was dead, placing my affections upon another lady, married her, thinking myself not liable to the former contract, by reason the lady was but six years of age, whose non-age I thought was a warantable cancel from the engagement.

Most upright judges,

My non-age is not a sufficient reason to set him free, he being then of full age; nor can his fear of offending his parents, or his loving-duty towards them, be a casting-plea against me: his duty will not discharge his perjury; nor his fear could be no warrant to do a wrong: and if a fool by promise binds his life to inconveniences, the laws that wise men have made, must force him to keep it. And if a knave, by private and self ends, doth make a promise, just laws must make him keep it.

If a coward makes a promise through distracted fear, laws (that carry more terrors, than the broken promise, profit) will make him keep it.

A wise, just, generous spirit, will make no promise but what he can, and durst, and will perform.

But say, a promise should pass through an ignorant zeal, and seeming good; yet a right honorable and noble mind will stick so fast to its engagements, that nothing shall hew them asunder: for, a promise must neither be broken upon suspicion, nor false construction, nor upon enticing persuasions, nor threatening ruins; but it must be maintained with life, and kept by death, unless the promise carry more malignity in the keeping, than the breaking of it.

I say not this to condemn the duke, though I cannot applaud his second action concerning marriage: I know he is too noble to cancel that bond his conscience sealed before high heaven, where angels stood as witnesses: nor can he make another contract, until he is free from me: so that his vows to his lady were rather complemental, and love’s feignings, than really true, or so authentic as to last. He built affections on a wrong foundation, or rather castles in the air, as lovers use to do, which vanish soon away: for, where right is not, truth cannot be. Wherefore, she can claim no lawful marriage, unless he were a free-man, not bound before; and he cannot be free, unless he hath my consent, which I will never give.

Then the other lady spoke.

Noble judges,

This crafty, flattering, dissembling child, lays a claim to my husband, who no way deserves him, she being of a low birth, and of too mean a breeding to be his wife: neither hath she any right to him in the law, she being too young to make a free choice, and to give a free consent. Besides, he doth disavow the act, by confessing the disagreeing thereto in his mind; and if she was to give a lawful consent, and his consent was seeming, not real, as being forced, it could not be a firm contract. Wherefore, I beseech you, cast her suit from the bar, since it is of no validity.

Just judges, answered she:

What though he secretly disliked of that act be made? Yet human justice sentences not the thoughts, but acts: wherefore those words that plead his thoughts, ought to be waved as useless, and from the barr of justice cast aside.

And now, most upright judges, I must entreat your favor and your leave to answer this lady, whose passions have flung disgraces on me; which I, without the breach of incivility, may throw them off with scorn, if you allow me so to do.

The judges said, we shall not countenance any disgrace, unless we knew it were a punishment for crimes: wherefore speak freely.

Well then, to answer this lady, who says, that I am meanly born: ’tis true, I came not from nobility, but I can draw a line of pedigree five hundred years in length, from the root of merit, from whence gentility doth spring. This honor cannot be degraded by the displeasure of princes; it holds not in fee-simple from the crown, for time is the patron of gentility, and the older it groweth, the more beautiful it appears; and having such a father and mother, as merit and time, gentry is a fit and equal match for any, were they the rulers of the whole world.

And whereas she says, most patient judges, I am a false dissembling child.

I answer, as to my childhood, it is true, I am young, and inexperienced; a child in understanding, as in years: but to be young, I hope, is no crime; but if it be, ’twas made by nature, not by me. And for dissembling, I have not had time enough to practice much deceit my youth will witness for me. It is an art, not an in-bred nature, and must be studied with pains, and watched with observation, before any can be masters thereof. And I hope this assembly is so just, as not to impute my innocent simplicity to a subtle, crafty, or a deceiving glass, to show the mind’s false face, making that fair, which in itself is foul.

And whereas she says, I have been meanly bred, ’tis true, honored judges, I have been humbly bred, taught to obey superiors, and to reverence old age; to receive reproofs with thanks, to listen to wise instructions, to learn honest principles, to housewife time, making use of every minute; to be thrifty of my words, to be careful of my actions, to be modest in my behavior, to be chaste in my thoughts, to be pious in my devotions, to be charitable to the distressed, to be courteous to inferiors, and to be civil to strangers: for the truth is, I was not bred with splendid vanities, nor learnt the pomp and pride of courts; I am ignorant of their factions, envies, and back-bitings; I know not the sound of their stuttering tongues; I am unacquainted with their smiling faces; I have not wit to perceive their false hearts; my judgment is too young, and too weak, to fathom their deep and dangerous designs.

Neither have I lived so long in populous cities, as to share of their luxuriousness: I never have frequented their private nor public meetings; nor turned the day into night by disorders: I can play at none of their games; nor can I tread their measures. But I was bred a private country-life, where the crowing of the cocks served as weights of the town; and the bleating of the sheep, and lowing of the cows, are the minstrels we dance after; and the singing of the birds are the harmonious notes by which we set our innocent thoughts, playing upon the heart-strings of content, where nature there presents us a masque with various scenes of the several seasons of the year.

But, neither low birth, nor mean breeding, nor bad qualities; nay, were I as wicked as I am young, yet it will not take away the truth of my cause, nor the justness of my plea: wherefore I desire you to give my suit a patient trial, and not to cast me from the bar, as she desires; for I hope you will not cast out my suit by unjust partiality; nor mistake the right measure, and so cut the truth of my cause too short: but I beseech you to give it length by your serious considerations, and make it fit by your just favor: for, though truth itself goeth naked, yet her servants must be clothed with right, and dressed by propriety, or they will die with the cold of usurpation, and then be flung into the ditch of sorrow, there to be eaten up with the ravens of scorn, having no burial of respect, nor tomb of tranquility, nor pyramids of felicity, which your justice may raise as high as heaven, when your injustice may cast them as low as hell. Thus you become, to truth, gods or devils.

Madam, said the judges to the young lady, the justice of your cause judges itself: for, the severest judge, or strictest rules in law, can admit of no debate.

And truly, madam, it is happy for us that sit upon the bench, that your cause is so clear and good; otherwise your beauty and your wit might have proved bribes to our vote: but yet there will be a fine on the duke, for the breach of the laws.

With that the duke spoke:

Most careful, learned, and just judges, and fathers of the common-wealth:

I confess my fault, and yield myself a prisoner to justice, which may either use punishment or mercy: but, had I known the laws of custom, religion, or honor, then (as well as I do now) I had not run so fast, nor plunged myself so deep in the foul ways of error: but wild youth, surrounded with ease, and fed with plenty; born up with freedom, and led by self will, sought pleasure more than virtue; and experience hath learned me stricter rules, and nobler principles; insomuch as the reflection of my former actions, clouds all my future happiness, wounds my conscience, and torments my life. But I shall submit to what your wise judgments shall think fit.

My lord, answered the judges, your grace being a great peer of the realm, we are not to condemn you to any fine, it must be the king: only we judge the lady to be your lawful wife, and forbid you the company of the other.

The duke said, I shall willingly submit.

With that the young lady spoke: heaven (said she) send you just rewards for your upright actions: but I desire this assembly to excuse the faults of the duke in this, since he was forced, by tyrant love, to run in uncouth ways; and do not wound him with sharp censures:

For, where is he, or she, though never so cold,

But sometimes love doth take, and fast in fetters hold?

The viceroy being by, said to the other lady, madam, since the law hath given away your husband, I will supply his place, if you think me so worthy, with whom perchance you may be more happy than you were with him.

I accept of your love, said she, and make no question but fortune hath favored me in the change.

With that the court rose, and much rejoicings there were of all sides.