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92

[A merchāts daughter loude her brothers boy]

The Argument to the seuenth Hystorie.

A merchāts daughter loude her brothers boy
That kept the shop, of linage basely borne,
Which grome became the damsels only ioy,
Whereat the brothers tooke no little scorne:
That he who was a youth of no account,
Presumde vnto their sisters bed to mount.
So deepely sanke disdaine within their brest,
As nought saue death their malice might assuage
Those stately merchants mought not be at rest,
Till time they had dispatcht the sillie page:
Wherefore they all, with one consent agreed,
To murther him, & so they did in deede.
Whose absence long did grieue the tēder maide
That wept the dayes, & spent the night in teares,
Not knowing where he was, nor why he stayde:
It so fell out in fine, the ghost appeares
Amyd her dreame, of him that so was slaine,
And bid her stint her teares, that were in vaine.
He wried his wounds, he shewde the shameful blows
He told the traytors treason, & the traine
That wroght his bane, & whēce their malice rose
And where his mangled carkasse they had laines
Which proces tolde, he vanisht out of sight,
The wench awoke, a heauie wofull wight.
To trie the truth of what her vision spake,
She got a mate of trust, and on she hide
[92]

Vnto the place, a perfect view to take:
VVhere after search, the body she espide,
The body of her friend so lately dead,
VVhose limmes she buried, bearing thence the head.
VVhich head she plasht within a Basell pot,
VVell couered all with harden soyle aloft,
Her daily vse was to lament his lot,
That so was slayne: she wept and sorrowed oft:
So long, vntill her brothers stole away
The Basell pot, wherein her louer lay.
This second griefe compared to the furst,
That she (poore wench) had suffred for hir friend,
Increast her cares, and made her hart to burst,
VVhose life did whole vpon the pot depend:
The merchants, when they sawe their sister ded.
For feare of lawe, in poste their countrey fled.
93

Of yore within Messyna dwelt
Three brothers, marchant men,
Left wealthie by their fathers death,
Who died by fortune then.
This marchant had beside his sonnes,
A daughter, very young,
Elizabeth by name, in whom
With beautie, nurture sprong.
Which nymph, as nature furnisht had
With seemely shape to view:
So in her tender breast, a troupe
Of honest maners grew.
Which gifts of course are wont to cause
Good liking, and good will
But yet for all these vertues rare,
This virgins lucke was ill,
Or els her brothers cruell were:
For she was ripe to wed.
And yet without a married mate,
Her lustie prime shee led,
It fortunde so, at selfe same time
This damsels brother had
A yonker, that did keepe the shop,
A very handsome lad.
Lorenzo was the prentise name,
To whom they gaue the charge
Of shop and warehouse, all was his,
To buie and sell at large.
[93]

This ympe being verie neate and trim
Of person, and of wit,
And passing pleasure in deuise,
A man for follie fit:
By gesture and demeanure, set
This damsels heart on fire,
Who but Lorenzo with the wench?
He was her chiefe desire.
When thus the virgin livde in loue,
This prentise did perceiue,
By noting her from day to day,
He then began to leaue
His forraine haunt at game abroade,
And only bent his breast
To loue of her, of whom he saw
Himselfe so sure possest.
Thus lyking grew from lesse to more,
The faggot equall was
That burnt within these louers breasts,
And brought the match to passe.
For why there were not many dayes,
Before the wench and he
Gaue full assurance of good will,
It might none other be.
Ech felt the fruite of former gripes,
Ech louer found such sweete
In Venus ioyes, as sundrie times
At pointed place they meete,
94

And sport as the maner is
Of wanton Cupids crue,
That more respect the present toyes,
Than troubles that ensue.
And thus in play they spent the time,
But loue giues such a flame,
As few, or none, haue reason howe
To quench, or hide the same.
For why the light bewraies it selfe
Unto the lookers flight.
So farde it by these louers two,
For on a certaine night
As shee (good wench) was hasting to
Lorenzo, where he lay:
Her eldest brother chaunst to see
And tract her on the way,
And knew for certaine that she wene
Unto the prentise bed:
But like a wittie man be held
His peace, and nothing sed.
Although it was a death to him
So foule a fact to knowe,
Yet reason, and good nature do
Perswade this marchant so.
As after sundrie doubtfull thoughts
That wandred in his hed,
He was content to hold his tong,
And so he went to bed.
[94]

I leaue to descant of his dreames:
But sure I scarce beleeue
He slept at ease, who sawe a sight
That so his heart did greeue.
When morning came, & stars did start,
The man that saw the deed
The night before, rose vp, and gate
Him to the rest with speede
And tolde his brothers what had hapt:
And after long deuise,
And counsell had vpon the case:
Because their sisters vice
Should purchase them no open shame,
Nor yet their linage blot:
They purposde so to deale in things
As though they wist it not:
Untill such time as fortune serude,
Without mistrust or blame,
To rid away the partie that
Had doone them all the shame:
Meane while they bore a merie face,
And shew of friendly heart,
To outward sight, vnto the man
That plaide so vile a part.
The better to reuenge the wrong.
For that an open foe
Is easie to be voyded, when
His lookes his rancour shew.
95

Which made them laugh in wonted wrie,
With him that had defilde
Their sister, till such time as they
The leacher had begilde:
Which hapned in a little space.
For being in this glee,
The brothers did deuise to take
Their horse, and ride to see
The countrie for a day or twaine:
And as the Prouerbe goes,
The moe the merrier is the feast.
And thereupon it rose,
They prayed Lorenzos companie
For sport, and solace sake.
Who though would gladlie stay at home,
His wonted myrth to make
With her that was his only ioy:
Yet graunted his consent
To goe abroade, suspecting no
Such mischiefe as they meant:
These merchants, and the prentise thus
Their prauncing Ienates tooke,
And brauely out of towne they rode
In all the hast to looke
A place wherein to doe the deede,
I meane Lorenzos death.
They had not iourneied farre, before
They came vnto a Heath
[95]

Besides the way a desert where
No trauell was in vre.
And being brothers there alone,
They thought themselues as sure
As needed, to dispatch a man,
That no such force did feare.
The short is thus, they made no wordes,
But slue Lorenzo there.
Mine author writes not of his wounds,
But reason giues it so,
That in reuenge of his abuse
Ech brother had a blow:
Whose body thus bereft of life,
They buried in such sort,
As no man saw the fact, nor none
Could euer make report.
The Prentise slaine, the carkasse laide
In graue, the marchant men
Unto Messyna whence they came,
Returned backe agen.
And to dissemble this their deede,
They bruted all abrode,
That lately in affayres of theirs
The youth Lorenzo rode,
And trauaild touching marchants gain:
Which made the tale the more
Of credite, for because he vsde
To doe the like before.
96

Elizabeth, at last, that saw
The lingring of the man,
And that he staid beyond his time,
To languish sore began.
And as the custome is of loue,
To deeme ech houre a day,
Ech day a yeere, ech yeere an age,
When louers are away:
So shee that thought his absence long,
And livde in bitter paine,
Did question with her brothers, of
His comming home againe.
Demaunding when the time was set,
And when the day would be,
That shee Lorenzo safe returnd,
From forreine coast should see.
To whom her brother thus replide,
With countenance curst and grim,
What doest thou meane to question thus?
Hast thou to doe with him
For whom thou doest demaund so oft?
Good faith, vnlesse thou leaue
These termes in time, thou shalt from vs
An answere fit receaue
And well agreeing to thy deedes.
Which bitter gyrde did nip
This silie maide, as she eftsoone
Began to byte her lip.
[96]

And woxe the wofulst wench aliue,
Nor after durst to make
The like demaund againe, for him
That suffered for her sake:
But spent the day in dolefull plaints,
And sobde in secrete wise,
The bitter torment of her breast
Brast out and bathde her eyes,
With sundrie showres of trickling teares
Distilling by her face,
She often cald him by his name,
And wild him home a pace.
Lamenting much his long delay,
Whom shee did loue so well.
Whilst thus the maiden stoode on termes,
Upon a night it fell,
That after manie hartie sighes,
And sundrie cryes,
For lacke of Lorenzo, slumber came
And shut her aking eyes.
Who was no sooner falne a sleepe,
But dreames began to grow
Within her raging retchlesse braine:
Then seemd to open shew,
Her murthred friend to stand in place,
With vsage pale and wan,
And cheekes with buffets blown out.
The garments of the man
97

Were all to rent, his robes were ragd:
And, as the wench did gesse,
Lorenzo in her dreame bespake
Her thus. Thy deepe distresse
(O faithfull friend) I well perceiue,
I see my long delay
Doth cause thy cryes: for my returne
In grief thou pynste away:
My absence is the cause of care,
Thou doest accuse thy friend
Of longring, and thy heauy playnts
I see, can haue no end.
Wherefore (I say,) dry vp thy teares,
That flowe like floudes of rayne:
Lament no more, I cannot come,
Though I would nere so fayne.
For why, the day thou sawste me last,
Was ender of my life:
Thy brothers, whilst I rode with them,
Slewe me with sodaine knife.
And therewithall he shewde the place
Where dead his body lay:
And willd her weepe for him no more,
And vanisht so away.
The wench awooke, and credite gaue
Unto this dreame of hers,
Which made her to bemoyst her face
And bosome all with teares:
[97]

Full bitterly shee did bewayle
The murther of her loue.
When morning came, & Phebus beames
The darknesse did remoue,
Not daring to disclose the thing
Unto her brothers, shee
Did mynde to goe vnto the place,
Of purpose there to see
Where that her dreame wer true, or no,
Which troubled her the night.
And being that this Damsell was
At libertie, and might
For pleasure wander out, and home,
In company of one
A woman frend, that wonted was
To walke with her alone,
And priuy was of all her deedes:
As rathe as she might rise,
With mother nurse she gate her out,
And to the heath shee hyes:
Where by coniecture lay the coarse
Of him that murthred was.
As sone as they ariued there,
She scrapt away the grasse,
And sweepte the parched leaue aside:
And where at first she founde
The hardest soyle, and stoniest bancke,
Began to delue the grounde:
98

Shee had not digged any depthe,
But lighted by and by,
Upon her louers wofull corse,
Unwasted that did lye
And vncorrupted in the graue:
Whereby the mayden knew
That all the vision which she sawe
The night before was true.
Whereat shee waylde and wept a good,
But knowing that the place
Was farre vnfit for sighes and teares,
Which could not right the case:
Shee would haue gladly borne away
The carkasse, to haue layde
It in a decent tombe at home,
Saue that shee wanted ayde.
Wherefore she drew me out a knife,
Wherewith away she swapte
Her louers head, and vp the same
In linnencloth shee lapte:
And couered vp the corse agayne,
And gaue the head to beare,
Unto the nurse, her trustie frend,
That was of purpose theare:
Shee tuckt it in her apron close,
(As women vse to doe)
And so vnseene, from thence vnto
Messina home they goe.
[98]

Where being come, and entred to
Her chamber with the head:
Shee shut the doore, and on the same
So long her teares did shed:
Untill with bryne shee all besprent
It, as it lay in place:
And now and then among her cryes,
Shee all bekist the face.
Which done, shee tooke an earthen pot,
Wherein she vsde to sette
Her Basill, or her Parsely seede,
The best that shee mought gette.
Whereto in foldes of silken lawne
She put Lorenzos skull,
And after that, with garden soyle,
She pourde the pitcher full:
And strewde her finest Basill seede
About alofte the same,
From whence like Orenge water, smell,
Or Damaske roses came.
And daily after that, she sate
Imbrasing of the Canne,
And culling of it in her armes,
As though it were the man,
Whom she entirely loude before:
And after kissing, then
She would to teares, and sighing sobbes,
From sighes, to teares agen.
99

Continuing so, vntill such time
As shee had watred all
The Basill, with the dreary droppes,
That from her face did fall:
So that at length by tract of time,
Or grossenesse of the ground,
By reason of the rotting head,
The Basill did abound,
And gaue a passing pleasant smell.
The wench did neuer leaue
This folly, till the neighbours chanste
Her practise to perceiue.
Who, (when her brothers muzed that
Her bewtie did decay,
And that into her hollow browes
The eyes were suncke away.)
He spake then thus, we stand assurde,
It is her daily gise,
To goe into the garden, where
The Basil pot it lyes:
And there to weepe in wofull wise,
A wretched wench to see:
The brothers when they heard the tale,
And hauing willd that shee
Should leaue that fonde and foolish trade,
But saw it booted not,
Did make no more adoe, but hid
Away the Basill potte
[99]

Which, when she hapt to come againe,
And not to finde it there,
Full earnestly began to craue
The same with many a teare:
And being harde thereof, begon
To wexe diseasde, and all
Her sicknesse time, for nothing but
The Basill potte did call,
Her brothers not a little muzde
To heare her strange request,
In crauing of the potte, and ther-
Upon did thinke it best
To see the same, and make a search:
Who hauing powred out
The earth that was within the potte,
Eftsoone espyde a cloute,
And in the cloth, the head inwrapte,
So freshe and fayre to vewe,
As it to be Lorenzos head,
By curled heare they knewe:
Which set them in a sodaine dumpe,
And made them greatly dread,
The murther would be brought to light
By reason of the head:
And hereupon they hid the skull,
And layde it in a graue,
And from Messina went by stealth
Them selues from death to saue:
100

Entending, being fled the towne
If they might passe vnspide,
From thence, in poste, vpon the spurre,
To Naples straight to ride.
And thus I leaue the merchant men
Their iourney forth to take,
Who after sped, I wote nere howe:
But thus an ende I make:
The silly wench, amid her griefe
Did neuer leaue to crye,
To haue the Basill pot againe.
But when shee did espie,
That all her calling was in vayne,
Her teares did neuer blin
To issue from her cristall eyes,
Till timy the harte within
For very anguish, brast in twaine.
Then Clotho came to rid
The mourning Damsell of distresse,
And brake her vitall thrid.
Loe here the lotte of wicked loue,
Behold the wretched end
Of wilfull wightes, that wholy doe
On Cupides lawes depend.
Vn puoco dolce multo amaro appaga.
[100]

Lenuoy.

If all the earth were paper made to write.
And all the Sea conuerted into incke,
It would not serue to shew Cupidos might:
No head can halfe his bloudy Conquests thinke:
Unto his yoke he forceth euery wight,
No one away dares for his lift to shrinke.
Who most contends, the widest wound receaues,
For Cupid then by force his freedome reaues.
The sage who sayde, that (loue exceeded all)
Pronounst the troth, and spake as we do fynde:
He wist full well, that euery wight was thrall
Unto the God that feadreth is and blinde:
No Poet him, but Prophet may we call,
For that of loue so derely he definde:
For Cupid with a looke doth wound moe hearts,
Then thousand speares, or thousand deadly dartes.
Which Cæsar sawe, who sundrye Realmes subdude.
Whereby his fame did reach the stately startes,
For when that he fayre Cleopatra vewde,
He fell to loue, for all his ciuill warres:
In aged brest his youthfyll wounds renewde,
Where Cupids scourge had left him sundry scarres.
That learned Marcus, so renownde for wit,
For Faustine fayre was rid with louing bit.
Eake Annybal of Carthage manly wight,
That past the Alpes to come to Italy,
Whose puissance put the Romane hoast to flight:
For all his force and prudent pollicy,
Did stoupe to loue, surprisde with deape delight,
Of one, a wench bred vp vnciuilly:
And many moe, as fierce as he in feilde,
Cupido forst with tender bowe to yeelde.
101

And not alone this Archer masters man,
But by this power, doth pierce the golden skies,
And there subdues the greatest now and than:
Such subtill driftes the Godhead doth deuise.
As when that Ioue lovde Leda like a Swan,
And prickt his plumes to please his Ladies eyes:
Another time became a milke white Bull,
And all to steale away a countrie Trull.
Who hath not hearde how Phebus Daphne lovde?
How mightie Mars was bound in Vulcans chaine?
And eke how Ioue his greatest cunning provde,
When he became a golden showre of rayne.
Endymion he was passingly belovde
Of Phebe, who with him had often laine:
On Latinus hyll, the gastly God of hell,
Pluto him selfe, did like Proserpine well.
May Neptune boast or vaunt aboue the rest?
Dyd he not loue as other Gods haue done?
Hath Cupid neuer rasde his rockie breast?
Could he for all his waues dame Venus shunne?
No, he hath been, by pangs of loue opprest,
The water nymphs his godhead oft haue wonne,
No storme could stint, nor frosen flood remoue,
Nor water wast his flames of burning loue.
To banish him no wile, or wit auailes,
No heart so hard, but melts as doth the waxe,
To cure his wound all learned Phisicke failes,
It burnes the breast, as fire consumes the flaxe:
The fort of force must yeeld when loue assailes:
Ech rebels mind with lingring siege he sacks.
No towre so high no castle halfe so strong,
But loue at last will lay it quite along.
[101]

And looke who once is tangled in his net,
And beares his badge fast fixed in his brest,
By no deuise or gile away may get,
But foorth he must, and march among the rest.
By nature so the law of loue is set,
As none hath will or power from him to wrest,
No griefe so great, no toyle or trouble such,
That faithfull louers thinke to be too much.
No counsell giuen by friend, no feare of foe,
No rulers rod, no dread of threatning law,
No wracke of wealth, nor mischief that may grow,
Can cause the wight that loues, to stand in awe:
As flattly doth this former story show:
Where you a wench so deepe in fansie saw
As naught saue death might bring her woes to end,
When she had lost her faitfull louing friend.
Wherefore this wrong was great they did this maide:
The brothers were a litle not too blame,
That would the weneh from fixed fansie staid:
And thought by force to quench her kindled flame.
Loues heate is such, it skornes to be delaide.
With greater ease you may a Tiger tame,
Than win a wight whose liking once is set,
Either to forgoe a friend, or to forget.
Amor vince ogni cosa.
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