The letters of Dom Diego, to mistresse Gineura.
My dearest and most wel beloued Lady, sith that mine innocency can finde no resting place within your tender Corpse, what honest excuse or true reason so euer I do alledge, and sith your heart declareth itself to be Implacable, and not pleased with hym that neuer offended you, except it were for ouermutch loue, which for guerdon of the rare and incomparable amity, I perceyue my selfe to be hated deadly of you and in sutch wise contemned, as the only record of my name causeth in you an insupportable griefe and displeasure vnspeakeable. To auoide I say your indignation, and by my mishap to render vnto you some ease and contentment, I haue meant to dislodge my self so far from this Countrey, as neyther you nor any other, shal euer heare by fame or true report, the place of my abode, nor the graue wherein my bones shall rest. And although it be an inexplicable heart’s sorrow and torment, which by way of pen can not be declared, to be thus misprised of you, whom alone I do loue and shal, so long as mine afflicted soule shall hang vpon the feeble and brittle threede of life: yet for all that, this griefe falling vpon me, is not irkesome, as the punishment is grieuous, by imagining the passion of your minde when it is disquieted with disdayne and wrath agaynst me, who liueth not, but to wander vpon the thoughts of your perfections. And forsomutch as I doe feele for the debility that is in me, that I am not able any longer to beare the sowre shockes of my bitter torments and martyrdome that I presently doe suffer, yet before my life doe fayle, and death doe sease vpon my senses, I haue written vnto you this present letter for a testimoniall of your rigour, which is the marke that iustifieth my vnguiltynesse. And although I doe complayne of mine vnhappy fortune, yet I meane not to accuse you, onely contented that eche man doe know, that firme affection and eternall thraldome do deserue other recompence than a farewell so cruell. And I am wel assured, that when I am deade, you will pitty my torment, knowing then, although to late, that my loyalty was so sincere, as the report of those was false, that made you beleeue, that I was very far in loue with the Daughter of Dom Ferrande de la Serre. Alas, shall a Noble gentleman that hath bene well trayned vp, be forbidden to receiue the gifts that come from a vertuous Gentlewoman? Ought you to be so incapable and voyde of humanity, that the sacrifice which I haue made of the poore Birde, the cause of your disdayne, my repentaunce, my lawfull excuses, are not able to let you see the contrary of your persuasion? Ah, ah, I see that the dark and obscure vayle of uniust disdayne and immoderate anger, hath so blindfold your eyes, and inuegled your mynde, as you can not iudge the truth of my cause and the vnrightousnes of your quarell. I will render vnto you none other certificate of myne innocency, but my languishinge heart, which you clepe betweene your hands, feling sutch rude intertaynment there, of whom he loaked for reioyse of his trauayles. But forsomutch then as you do hate me, what resteth for me to do, but to procure destruction to my self? And sith your pleasure consisteth in mine ouerthrow, reason willeth that I obey you, and by deth to sacrifice my life in like maner as by life you were the only mistresse of my heart. One only thing cheereth vp my heart agayne, and maketh my death more myserable, which is, that in dying so innocent as I am, you shall remayne guilty, and the onely cause of my ruine. My Lyfe will depart like a Puffe, and Soule shall vanish like a sweete Sommer’s blast: whereby you shall be euer deemed for a cruell Woman and bloudy Murderer of your deuout and faythfull Seruaunt. I pray to God mine owne sweete Lady, to giue you sutch Contentation, Ioye, Pleasure, and Gladnesse, as you do cause through your Rigor, Discontentment, Griefe, and Displeasure to the poore languishing Creature, and who for euermore shall bee
Your most obedient and affected
seruaunt Dom Diego.
The good Lady hauing red the Letter, was so astonned, as hir words for a long space staied within hir mouth; hir heart panted, and spirite was full of confusion, hir minde was filled with sorrow to consider the anguishes of the poore vagabound, and foster Hermit. In the ende before the houshold dissembling hir passion which mooued hir sense, she tooke her Daughter a side, whom very sharply she rebuked, for that she was the cause of the losse of so notable and perfect a Knight as Dom Diego was. Then she red the Letter vnto hir, and as all hir eloquence was not able to moue that cruel damsell, more venemous than a Serpent agaynst the knight, who (as she thought) had not indured the one halfe of that which his inconstancy and lightnesse had wel deserued, whose obstinate minde the mother perceyuinge, sayde vnto hir: “I pray to God (deare daughter) that for your frowardnesse, you bee not blinded in your beauty, and for refusall of so great a benefit as is the alliaunce of Dom Diego, you be not abused with sutch a one as shall dimme the light of your renoume and glory, which hitherto you haue gayned amongs the sobrest and modest maydens.” Hauing sayd so, the wyse and sage widow, went to the seruaunt of Dom Diego, of whom she demaunded what day his mayster departed, which she knowing, and not ignoraunt of the occasion, was more wroth than before: notwithstanding she dissembled what she thought, and sending backe his seruant, she required him to do hir hearty commendations to the Lady his mistresse, which he did. The good Lady was ioyfull of them not knowing the contents of her sonne’s letters, but looked rather that he had sent word vnto his lady of the iust hour of his returne. Howbeit when she saw that in the space of 20 dayes, nor yet within a moneth he came not, shee could not tell what to thinke, so dolorous was she for the absence of hir sonne. The time passinge without hearing any newes from him she began to torment hirselfe, and be so pensiue, as if she had heard certayne newes of his death. “Alas,” (quod she) “and wherefore haue the heauens giuen me the possession of sutch an exquisite fruict, to depriue mee thereof before I do partake the goodnesse, and swetenes therof, and before I do enioy the grifts proceding from so goodly a stock. Ah God, I fear that my immoderate loue is the occasion of the losse of my sonne, and the whole ruine of the mother, with the demolition and wast of al our goods. And I would that it had pleased God (my Son) the hunter’s game had neuer bene so deere, for thinking to catch that pray thou thy selfe wast taken and thou wandring for thy better disport, missing the right way, so strangely didst straggle, that hard it is to reduce thee into the right track agayne. At least wise if I knew the place, whereunto thou arte repaired to finde againe thy losse, I would trauell thither to beare the company, rather than to lyue heere voyde of a Husbande, betrayed by them whom I best trusted and bereft from the presence of the my Sonne, the Staffe and onely comfort of myne olde age, and the certayne hope of all our House and Family.” Now if the Mother vexed hir selfe, the Sonne was eased with no great reioyce, being now a free cittizen with the Beasts, and Foules of the Forrests, Dennes, and Caues, leauing not the Profundity of the Woods, the Craggednes of the Rocks, or beauty of the Valley, without some signe or token of his griefe. Sometime with a Puncheon wel sharpned, seruing him in steede of a Penknife, he graued the successe of his loue vpon an hard stone. Other times the softe Bark of some tender and new growen spray serued him in steede of Paper, or Parchment. For there he carued in Cyphres properly combined with a Knot (not easily to be knowne) the name of his Lady, interlaced so properly with his owne, that the finest heads might bee deceyued, to Disciphre the righte interpretation. Vpon a day then, as he passed his time (accordinge to his custome) to muse vpon Myssehaps, and to frame his successe of loue in the Ayre, hee Ingraued these Verses vpon a Stone by a Fountayne side, adioyning to his rude and Sauage house.
If any Forrest Pan, doth haunt here in this place,
Or wandring Nymphe, hath hard my wofull playnt:
The one may well beholde, and view what drop of grace,
I haue deseru’de, and eke what griefes my heart do taynt,
The other lend to me some broke, or showre of rayne