No More Learning

_Boni. _
Suche fellowes thynke they deserue prayse for the
thynge, and yet for all that they can not abyde
the name dewe to the thinge whiche they deserue.
_Bea. _ There is scarslye any name amonges vs more
intollerable or worse can be abydden then to be
called a lyar or a lyeng fellowe. _Boni. _ I haue
knowen some or this whiche haue kylled men for
suche a spytefull worde as that is. _Bea. _ Yea yea
but wolde god suche hasty fellowes dyd as well
abhorre the thinge and hate lienge as well as to
be called lyers, was it neuer thy chaunce to be
dysceyued of any man whiche borowinge mony of the
appoyntynge the a certayne daye to repaye the sayd
money and so performyd not his appoyntment nor
kept his day? ||_Boni. _ Yeas many tymes (god
knoweth) and yet hath he sworne many a greuous
othe and that not one tyme but many tymes. _Bea. _
Peraduenture he wolde haue ben so honest as to
haue payed it and yf he had had wherwith. _Boni. _
Naye that is not so for he was able inoughe, but
as he thought it better neuer to paye his dettes.
_Bea. _ And what call you this in englyshe, is it
not playne lyenge? _Boni. _ Yes as playne as
Dunstable way, there can not be a lowder lye then
this is. _Bea. _ Durste you be so bolde to pulle
one of these good detters of yours by the sleue and
saye thus to hym, why hast thou dysceyued me so
many tymes and broken promyse with me, or to talke
to hym in playne englyshe, why doest thou make me
so many lyes? _Boni. _ Why no syr by my trouthe
durst I not, excepte I were mynded before to chaûge
halfe a dosen drye blowes with hym. _Bea. _ Dothe
not masons Brekelayers, Carpenters, Smy||thes,
Goldsmithes, Taylours, disceyue and disapoynt vs
after the lyke maner daylye promysynge to do youre
worke suche a daye and suche a daye without any
fayle, or further delaye, and yet for all that
they parforme not theyr promesse althoughe it
stande the neuer somoche vpon hande, or that thou
shuldest take neuer so moche profyte by it. _Boni. _
This is a wonderous and strange vnshamefast
knauerye of all that euer I hard of. But and ye
speake of breakers of promyse then ye maye reken
amongest them lawyers and atturneys at the lawe,
which wyl not stycke to promyse or beare you in
hande that they wyll be diligent and ernest in the
furtheraûce and spedie expedicion of your sute.
_Bea. _ Reken quod he, naye ye maye reken fyve
hundreth mennes names besyde these of sundrye
faculties and occupacions whiche wyll promyse more
by an ynch of a candle then they wyll performe by
a whole pounde. _Boni. _ Why ||and ye call this
lyenge all the worlde is full of suche lyenge.
_Bea. _ Ye se also lykewyse that no man can abyde to
be called thefe, and yet all men do not abhorre
the thynge so greatly. _Boni. _ I wolde gladly haue
you to declare your mynde in this more playnlye &
at large. _Bea. _ What difference is there betwene
hym whiche stealeth thy money forthe of thy cofer,
and hym whiche forsweareth and falsely denyeth
that whiche thou cõmytted to his custodie to be
reserued and safely kept for thy vse only, or to
suche tyme as thou arte mynded to call for it
agayne. _Boni. _ There is as they say neyther
barrell better hearing, but that in my iudgement
he is the falser knaue of the twayne whiche robbes
a man that puttes his confidence and trust in hym.
_Bea. _ yea but howe fewe men are there nowe adayes
lyuynge whiche are contente to restore agayne that
whiche they were put in truste to kepe, or yf they
deluer it agayne it is ||so dymynysshed,
gelded, nypped, and pynched, that it is not
delyuered whollye, but some thinge cleues in theyr
fyngers, that the prouerbe may haue place where
the horse walloweth there lyeth some heares.
_Boni. _ I thynke but a fewe that dothe otherwyse.
_Bea. _ And yet for all that there is none of al
these that cã abyde it ones to be called thefe,
and yet forsothe they hate not the thing so
greatly. _Boni. _ That is as trewe as the gospell.
_Bea. _ Consyder me nowe and marke I beseche the
howe the goodes of orphanes, pupylls, wardes, and
fatherlesse chyldren be cõmunely ordered and vsed,
how wylles and testamentes be executed and
performed, how legacyes and bequethes be communelye
payde, Naye howe moche cleueth and hangeth fast in
the fyngers of the executors or with them that
mynyster and intermedle with the goodes of the
testatours. _Boni. _ Many tymes they retayne and
kepe in theyr handes all togy||ther. _Bea. _ Yea
they loue to playe the thefe well inoughe, but they
loue nothynge worse then to here of it. _Boni. _
That is very trewe. _Bea. _ Howe lytle dyffers he
from a thefe whiche boroweth money of one and other
and so runneth in dette, with this intent and
purpose that yf he maye escape so or fynde suche a
crafty colour or a subtyle shyft, he intendeth
neuer to paye that he oweth. _Boni. _ Paraduenture
he maye be called warer or more craftier thê a
thefe is in dede but no poynt better, for it is
hard chosyng of a better where there is neuer a
good of them bothe. _Bea. _ yea but althoughe there
be in euery place a great nombre of such
makeshyftes and slypper marchauntes yet the
starkest knaue of thê all can not abyde to be
called thefe. _Boni. _ God onely knoweth euery mãnes
hart and mynd, and therfore they are called of vs
men that are runne in dette or fer behynde the
hande, but not theues for that soun||deth vnswetely
and lyke a playne song note. _Bea. _ What skyllys it
howe they be called amõge men yf they be theues
afore god. And where you say that god onely knoweth
euery mannes hart and mynde, euen so euery man
knoweth his owne mynde, whether in his wordes &
doynges he entende fraude, couyn, dysceyte, and
thefte or no. But what say ye by hym whiche when he
oweth more then he is worthe, wyll not stycke to
lashe prodygallye and set the cocke vpon the hoope,
and yet yf he haue any money at all lefte to spende
that a waye vnthryftely, and when he hathe played
the parte of a knauyshe spendall in one cytie
deludinge and disceyuyng his creditours, ronnes
out of this countre and getteth hym to some other
good towne, and there sekynge for straûgers and
newe acquayntaûce whom he may lykewyse begyle, yea
and playeth many suche lyke partes and shameful
shiftes. I praye the tell me dothe not suche a
||greke declare euydentlye by his crafty
dealynge and false demeanour, what mynde is he of?
_Boni. _ yes suerly as euydentlye as can be
possible. But yet suche felowes are wonte to
colour and cloke theyr doynges vnder a craftie
pretence. _Bea. _ With what I beseche the? _Boni. _
They saye to owe moche and to dyuers persones is
communely vsed of great men, yea and of kynges
also as well as of them, and therfore they that
intende to be of that disposycyon wyll beare out
to the harde hedge the porte of a gentylman and
soo they wyll be taken and estemed for gentilmen
of the commune people. _Bea. _ A gentylman and why
or to what entent and purpose a gentylman? _Boni. _
It is a straunge thynge to be spoken howe moche
they thynke it is mete for a gentylman or a
horseman to take vpon hym. _Bea. _ By what equytie,
authoritie, or lawes. _Boni. _ By none other but by
the selfe same lawes that the Admiralles of the
||sees chalenge a proprietie in all suche thynges
as are cast vpon the shoore by wracke, althoughe
the ryghte owner come forthe and chalenge his owne
goodes. And also by the same lawes that some other
men saye all is theyrs what soeuer is founde
aboute a thefe or a robber whê he is takê. _Boni. _
Such lawes as these are the arrantest theues that
are myght make them selues. _Bea. _ yea and ye may
be sure they wold gladly with al theyr harts î
their bodies make suche lawes yf they coulde
mayntayne them or were of power to se them
executed, and they myght haue some thynge to laye
for theyr excuse if they could proclayme opyn warre
before they fell to robbynge. _Boni. _ But who gaue
that pryuylege rather to a horseman then to a
foteman, or more to a gentylman thê to a good
yeman. _Bea. _ The fauoure that is shewed to men of
warre, for by suche shyftes and thus they practyse
before to be good men of warre that they ||maye be
more redy & hansome to spoyle theyr enemyes when
they shall encounter with thê. _Boni. _ I thynke
Pyrhus dyd so exercyse and breake his yonge
souldyers to the warres. _Bea. _ No not Pyrrhus but
the Lacedemonians dyd. _Boni. _ Mary syr hange vp
suche practysers or soldyers and theyr practisyng
to. But howe come they by the name of horsemen or
gentylmen that they vsurpe suche a great
prerogatyue? _Bea. _ Some of them are gentylmê borne
and it cometh to them by auncestrie, some bye it
by the meanes of maystrys money, and other some
gette it by certayne shyftes. _Boni. _ But maye
euery man that wyl and lyst come by it by shyftes?
_Bea. _ Yea why not, euery man maye be a gentylman
nowe adayes very well and yf theyr condicions and
maners be accordynge. _Boni. _ What maners or
condicions must suche one haue I beseche the?
_Bea. _ Yf he be occupyed aboute no goodnesse, yf he
can ruffle it ||and swashe in his satens and his
silkes and go gorgiously apparelled, yf he can
ratle in his rynges vpon the fyngers endes, yf he
can playe the ruffyan and the horemonger and kepe
a gaye hoore gallantlye, yf he be neuer well at
ease but when he is playenge at the dyse, yf he be
able to matche as moche an vnthryfte as hym selfe
with a newe payre of cardes, yf he spende his tyme
lyke an epycure vpon bankettinge, sumptuous fare,
and all kynde of pleasures, yf he talke of no
rascalles nor beggars, but bragge, bost, face,
brace, and crake of castelles, towers, and
skyrmysshes, and yf all his talke be of the warres
and blody battels, and playe the parte of
crackinge Thraso throughly, such gaye grekes,
lusty brutes and ionkers may take vpon them to be
at defyaunce withe whome they wyll and lyst,
thoughe the gentylman haue neuer a fote of lande
to lyue vpon. _Boni. _ Call ye them horsmen. Mary
syr suche horsemen are wel ||worthy to ryde vpõ
the gallowes, these are gentylmen of the Iebet of
all that euer I haue harde of. _Bea. _ But yet there
be not afewe suche in that parte of Germany called
Nassen or Hessen.


F I N I S

Trãslated by Edmonde Becke
And prynted at Cantorbury
in saynt Paules parishe
by Johñ Mychell.
[+]

A modest meane
_to Mariage, plea_sauntly_
set foorth by that
_famous Clarke Erasmus Roterodamus,
and translated
into Englishe
by N. L. _

_Anno_. 1568.

¶ _Imprinted at Lon_don
by Henrie Denham,
_dwelling in Pater noster
Rowe, at the signe
of the Starre_.




¶ To the right worship_full Maister Francis Rogers_ Esquire, one of
the Gentlemen pen_sioners vnto the Queenes Maiestie, Nicholas Leigh
wisheth long & quiet lyfe, with much increase of virtue and worship_.


_When I remember (gentle Maister Rogers) the auncient acquaintance and
friendship, and the daylie and accustomed metings, recourse and
familiaritie that (amōg the rest) did happen and passe betwene vs in
times past, in those our yong and tender yeares, and in those famous
places of studie, vnto the which we were by oure friendes appointed
and then sent for learning sake. And when moreouer, I doe remember,
waye, and cōsider therin on the one side, that state and condition of
life, in the which I was then, with that, which for my part on the
other side, I doe now find and haue long since felt and tasted of, I
cannot but recken and thinke that time most happily passed which I
bestowed in the trauaile and study of good letters. For besides the
inestimable fruit, & the incomparable pleasure & delectation, that the
Muses doe bring vnto the studious, beside the sweete rest of minde,
voyde of all worldly cares and troubles, the faire & pleasaunt walkes,
which we there (with a number of vertuous, and well disposed, and a
sort of learned, ciuill, friendly and faithfull companions) enioyed,
togither with the wholesome and cleane diet, not infected with
outragious or any surfetings (a vice else where to much vsed) what
honest and godly exercises had we then there to the furtherance and
increase of vertue, & to the abandoning of vice? insomuch that in a
maner it hath fared with me euer since my departing thẽce, as with one
that being expelled and exuled from a second Paradise, replenished and
adorned with all kinde of flagrant & of most wholesome and sweete
flowers and delights, is presently fallen as it were into a darke & an
yrkesome thicket of bushes and brambles of the cares and troubles of
this worlde, daylie readie, not onely to molest and perturbe the quiet
studious minde, but also so complete with an infinite number of
displeasures, dammages, and daungers on euerye side that (verye much
according to the auncient and wonted prouerbe) I may now iustly say_
vix fugiet Scyllam, qui vult vitare Charybdim. _Wherefore that mans
saying seemed not altogither voyde of reason, that sayde, that if
there were anye choyse to be had as touching the estate of man, the
better parte and the first thereof was not to be borne at al, the next
vnto that was to die verie shortly. And yet by the way neuerthelesse,
as he that hath bene once in any suche kinde of Paradise or place of
pleasure, as is aforesaide, hath alwayes nowe and then some motions
and occasions, to cast his sorrowfull eye with a mournfull minde
towardes the same: euen so I of late beholding and lamenting that
chaunged place and state of life, and in the meane season pervsing
some pieces of mine olde exercises which I had then and did there
(whereof I was alwayes bolde partly to make you priuie, as one among
all others whose discreete iudgement and towardnesse in learning
togither with the great curtesie and singuler humanitie and
friendship, and the passing readie and great pleasantnesse of wit,
ioyned therewith was then certes not a little had in admiration and
embraced euery where) happily I founde certaine loose papers of two
Dialogues of the famous and excellent Clarke_ Erasmus _of_ Roterodame,
_by me translated into englishe (partly for the pleasantnesse of the
matter, as it seemed vnto me then, partly also for the proofe and
triall of my selfe what I coulde doe in translating, and lastly as the
matter semed swete and pleasaunt, so not altogither voide of godlye
and wholesome exhortations and lessons, for all sortes no lesse
necessarie than profitable). Which when I had with earnest view
pervsed, and hauing in minde diuers times to gratifie your goodnesse
with some friendly token of remembraunce, forthwith I thought (renuing
my wõted exercises) to dedicate these two Dialogues vnto you. Whose
knowledge and learning I know, and gentlenesse therwithal to be such,
that I am in an assured hope that (vntill I may giue better) ye will
vouchsafe in the meane season thankefully to accept these my
recreations, and these few lines at my handes as a pledge and a poore
present of the continuall remembrance, and the vnfeyned good will I
beare towards you, & your vertuous demerites. Wherin notwithstanding,
albeit peraduenture the exercise of study and learning, and especially
the matter it selfe therein contained maye seeme to bee of very small
importance or pleasure, & rather otherwise different or something
disagreeable vnto your vocation on euerie side, and also vnto all such
for the most part as in the roome and place of armes, are called
towardes the seruice of the Princes Maiestie, and of their Countrie_
(Rara enim inter Arma & literas vel togas est amicitia vel societas)
_Yet I knowing the great reuerence and the singular regard and
estimation that you do beare, and alwayes haue borne towardes the
learned and towardes good letters, for the pleasant and fruitefull
knowledge that you your selfe haue most happily and with great
dexteritie both reaped and tasted among them in times past, I doubt
not but that (waying the worthinesse of the Author of them, and
accepting the faithfull indeuours of me the rude translator of them)
you will be content to permit the same to passe vnder your wing, and
so much (I know) the rather for that they both doe tende to vertues
purpose. The one of them being betweene a Woer and his Feere, wherein
albeit the naturall ouerthwartnesse of the womanishe minde, doth now
and then burst out as out of the frayler and weaker vessell, yet is
therein a godlye kinde of woeing without any scurilitie, very
pleasantly, liuely, and plainly declared and set forth, to the good
behauiour and honest inducement and furtherance of such as are yet to
take that matter or enterprise in hand, farre from prouoking any vice,
as the maner and guise of a number of lasciuious Louers and fayned
woers nowe a dayes is, whose craftie and counterfet dealings, fonde
iestures and motions, and vncomely and vaine communications and ydle
talks is better to be passed ouer with silence than paper to be
stained therewith, or any time to bee spent therein. The other is
betweene a yong man and a light Woman, who in times past had bene
further acquainted then honestie required, and hee hauing bene absent
from hir for a certaine space, at last repaired to hir house, who
after hir accustomed maner and wont, beganne to entise and allure him
to their former follies, who perceyuing hir purpose therein,
discreetly and properly perswaded hir by diuers and sundrie godly and
vertuous reasons to leaue and forsake that kinde of life, as of all
other most detestable, and in the ende making hir thereby to loath hir
frayle and accustomed follies, bringeth hir vnto an honest and chaste
conuersation. Thus the effect of the whole matter you haue in few
words. Accept therfore (I praye you) this my simple doing in good
part, weying my good will in the friendly Ballance of your accustomed
gentlenesse, which I trust shall somewhat counterpaise the
vnworthinesse of this my so grosse and rude a translation of so worthy
a writer. _

Vale.

Yours vnfeynedly Nicholas
Leigh.




To the Reader.


I have (Gentle Reader) set foorth to thy viewe, two Dialogues of the
Reuerende & renowmed Clarke _Erasmus Roterodamus_: whose learning,
vertue, and authoritie is of sufficient force to defend his doyngs.
But bicause I haue chaunged his eloquent stile, into our English
phrase: and thereby altered his liuerie, and embased the perfite grace
of his Muse, I am compelled to craue pardon of this my doings,
consider I beseeche thee (learned Reader) that if it had still rested
in that Noble language wherein hee left it, although thy knowledge had
yelded thee greater felicitie than this my trauaile can, yet
thousandes, which by this mine indeuour may draw out some sweete sap
of these his pleasant and fruitfull doings, might (thorow ignorance)
haue wanted thys peece of delyght. Therfore the offence (if any be) is
made to _Erasmus_ a má of that pacience in his lyfe, as I assure my
self that this my bold dealing with him, can not a whit disquiet his
ghost. Harme to thee at all it can not bee, for that I haue not
digressed from mine Author. Pleasant and profitable I hope it will be
to many of my country folks whose increase in vertue I greatlye
desire. Then suffer mee I pray thee to rest with thy quiet and
thankfull iudgement: whereby thou shalt vrge me to attempt farther
enterprise (perchance to thy delight. ) Thus assuring my selfe of thy
lawfull fauour, I rest voyde of care of the vnlearneds reproche, if
they beyonde their skill shall couet to chat. And wishing to thee thy
full delight in learning & to them increase of knoweledge, I bid you
both farewel.


_FINIS. _




Pamphilus, the Louer, _Maria, the woman_ beloued.


Good morrowe cruell, good morrow ruthlesse, good morrow (I say) thou
stony harted woman.

=Maria. = I wishe you the same againe _Pamphilus_ as often, and as
muche as you please. And by what name you lyke best to be saluted. But
in the meane while it séemeth you haue forgotten my name, my name is
_Maria_.

=Pamphilus. = It might more rightlye haue béene _Martia_.

=Maria. = And why so I beséech you? what haue I to doe with _Mars_?

=Pamphilus=: For as that God counteth it but a pastime to murther and
kill men, euen so doe you. Herein yet more cruell then _Mars_, for you
murther him that hartily loueth you.

=Maria. = Good wordes I praye you, where is that heape of deade bodies
whom I have murthered? where is the bloud of them which by me are
slaine?

=Pamphilus. = One lifelesse bodye thou séest present wyth thine eyes,
if (pardie) thou seest me.

=Ma. = What saye you man? doe you both talke and walke, and yet dead? I
pray to God I neuer méete with ghostes more to be feared.

=Pam. = Thus thou makest but a laughing matter of it. Nathelesse thou
hast reft me wofull creature my life, and more cruelly doest murther
me, than if thou should stab me into the body with a weapon, for now
am I miserably torne and vexed with long torments.

=Maria. = Yea good Lord? tell mee how manye women with childe haue lost
their fruite by meeting with you?

=Pam. = Yet this pale wanne colour sheweth mée to bée more bloudlesse
than any shadowe.

=Ma. = But this palenesse (thanked be God) is died with some Violet
colour, you are euen so pale as a Chery waxing ripe, or a Grape when
he commeth to his purple skin.

=Pam. = Thus with disdaine ynough you mocke a man in state rather to be
pittied.

=Ma. = Why in case you beléeue not mee, take the Glasse, & beléeue your
owne eyes.

=Pam. = I woulde wishe no better Glasse, neyther (I suppose) is there
anye, more cléere, than that in which I presentlye behold my selfe
euen now.

=Ma. = What Glasse speake you off.

=Pam. = Marie euen your owne eyes.

=Ma. = Duertharter: how thou talkest alwayes lyke thy selfe, but howe
proue you your selfe to bee deade: Doe ghostes & shadowes use to eat
meat:

=Pam. = They doe, but find no sauour therin, no more doe I.

=Ma. = And what, what doe they eate I praye?

=Pam. = Mallowes, Léekes and Lupines.

=Ma. = But you (I hope) let not to eate Capons and Partriches.

=Pam. = I graunt, howbeit I féele no more pleasure in eating them, than
if I should crashe vpon Mallowes, or Béetes, without Pepper, wine and
vinegar.

=Ma.
= Alack for you good man, and yet you are in méetely good lyking,
& do ghostes speake also.

=Pam. = Euen as I doe with a Verye pewling and faint voice.

=Ma. = But not long since, when I hearde you checking with mine other
suter, your voice was not very fóeble pardie. Moreouer I beséech you
tell me this, doe ghostes vse to walke; are they clad in garments; doe
they eftsoones sléepe.

=Pam. = Yea more than all that, they practise the acte of kinde, but
after their owne maner.

=Ma. = Now by the faith of my bodye you are a pleasaunt trifler.

=Pam. = But what will you saye, if I proue this by substantiall and
strong reasons (I meane) my selfe to be dead, and you to be a
murtherer.

=Ma. = God shylde that (friend _Pamphile_) but let me heare your
Sophistrie.

=Pam. = First you wil graunt me this: (I suppose) that death is naught
else but a seperation of the soule from the body.

=Ma. = I graunt.

=Pamphilus. = But graunt it so y^e you reuoke and call it not back
againe, afterwarde.

=Ma. = No more I wyll.

=Pam. = Secondly, you wil not denie but he which reaueth the soule,
wherein consisteth life, is a murtherer.

=Ma. = I consent.

=Pam. = You will I am sure graunt me this lykewyse, which most graue
and credible Authors haue affirmed, & by the consent and iudgement of
all ages hath bene holden truth and allowed, (I meane) that the soule
of a man is not where he liueth, but where he loueth.

=Ma. = You must vtter that after a more grosse, and plaine sorte, for
in good faith I perceyue not your meaning.

=Pam. = And I am the more sorie, and euill at ease, bicause you doe
not perceiue and féele this to be true, as well as I doe.

=Ma. = Make me to feele it then.

=Pam. = As well mightest thou bid me, make an Adamant féele it.

=Ma. = Now truely I am a yong wench, not a stone.

=Pam. = Truth, but more harde yet than the Adamant stone.

=Ma. = But procéede with your argument.

=Pam. = Those which are rapt in the spirite, or fallen into a traunce
(as they call it) neyther heare, nor sée, nor smell, nor féele any
thing, no though you would kil them.

=Ma. = Surely I haue hard say so.

=Pa. = And what think you to be the cause of this insensibilitie.

=Ma. = I would learne that of you which are a Philosopher.

=Pam. = Bicause (pardie) the soule or minde is in heauen, where it hath
that which it vehemently loueth, & is not present with the body.

=Ma. = And what is next? what conclude you vpon this?

=Pam. = Askest thou what O cruell? euen this necessarily followeth, my
selfe to be deade, and thy selfe to bée a murtherer.

=Ma. = Why, where is your soule become and God wil?

=Pam. = There it is, where it loueth.

=Ma. = And who hath reft it from you? why sigh you man? speake and
feare not, you shall not be hindered by me.

=Pam. = A certaine cruell and pittilesse mayde, whome neuerthelesse I
cannot finde in my hart to hate, being by hir spoyled of my life.

=Ma. = Ah, a louing hart, ah gentle nature. But why do you not againe
take from hir, hir soule, and serue hir as they saye, with the same
sause.

=Pam. = The happiest in the worlde, were I, if I could make that
exchaunge (I meane) that hir minde might come dwell in my brest, in
sorte as mine hath wholye dwelled in hir body.

=Ma. = But wil you giue me leaue now eftsones a while to play the
Sophister his part with you?

=Pam. = Nay the Sophistresse parte.

=Ma. = Is it possible that one and the same bodie both haue the soule
and be without the soule.

=Pam. = Not both togither or at one time.

=Ma. = When the soule is awaye, then the body (you say) is deade.

=Pam. = Truth.

=Ma. = And it lyueth not but when y^e soule is present withall?

=Pam. = Be it so verily.

=Ma. = How commeth this to passe then, that y^e soule being there where
it loueth, the body yet wherout it is departed, neuerthelesse lyueth?
for if it lyueth in one place, when it loueth in an other, by what
reasō is it called _Exanime Corpus_, as you would say, a lifelesse
body, since it hath life and sense in it.

=Pam. = By saint Marie you playe the Sophistres meetelye well, howbeit
you cannot snarle me in such chicken bandes. That soule which after a
sort gouerneth the bodye of a liuing creature being in suche case is
improperly called the soule, for in very dede it is a certaine small
portion of the soule, which remaineth behind, euen as the sauor of
Roses tarieth still in the hande of him, which bare them, when y^e
very Roses themselues be done away.

=Ma. = I sée well inough it is hard to take a foxe in a pitch, but
answere me to this also. Is not he a doer which murthereth.

=Pam. = What else.

=Ma. = And is not y^e partie a sufferer, who is murthered?

=Pam. = Yes.

=Ma. = How commeth it to passe then, that since he which loueth is the
doer and shée which is beloued is but the sufferer, she should be
infamed for a murtherer, which is beloued. When as in verie déede, he
that loueth rather murthereth himself?

=Pam. = Nay, it is contrarie, for he that loueth suffreth, she that is
beloued doth.

=Ma. = That shall you neuer proue true with the consent of our chiefe
_Areopagites_ of Grammer.

=Pam. = But this will I proue true by the consent of the whole
Parliament of Logitians.

=Ma. = But aunswere me to this againe, loue you with your wil, or
against your wyll?

=Pam. = With my will.

=Maria. = Ergo, sithence it is in frée choise to loue, or not to loue,
whoso loueth, is a murtherer of himselfe, and wrongfullye accuseth the
poore wench beloued.

=Pam. = Why? I say not that the wench murthereth bicause she is
beloued, but bicause she loueth not againe the party which loueth hir:
for (truth it is) she is guilty of murther, which might saue a mans
life and will not.

=Ma. = I put case a yong man cast his loue vpon one, which he ought not
to loue, or maye not lawfully obtaine, as an other man hys wyfe, or a
Virgine, which hath professed continuall chastitie, shall she loue him
againe, so to preserue and saue hir louer?

=Pam. = But this yong man loueth that, which to loue is both lawfull
and godly, and standeth both with reason and equity, and yet
neuerthelesse is cast away. That in case you set light by the crime of
homicide, I will aguilt you also of sorcerie and enchaunting me.

=Ma. = Marrie gods forbod man, what will you make of me a _Circes_
ympe, a witch?

=Pa. = Yea and somewhat more cruell yet, than euer was _Circes_. For I
had rather be a groueling Hog or beare, then as I am, without life or
soule.

=Ma. = And with what kinde of sorcerie I praye ye doe I destroy men.

=Pam. = By euill aspect.

=Ma. = Will you then that I hurt you no more with loking vpon you?

=Pam. = Not so for Gods sake, but rather looke more vpon me.

=Ma. = If mine eyes be witches, how hapneth it then that other also do
not consume awaye, whome I looke vpon as ofte as you, therfore I feare
me much, y^e bewitching is in your owne eyes, not in mine.

=Pam. = Why thinke you it not inough to flea _Pamphilus_, except you
triumph ouer him being dead.

=Maria. = Oh queint handsome, nise dead body: when shall your funerals
be prouided for.

=Pam. = Sooner than you thinke ywisse, except you remedie in time.

=Ma. = I remedie good Lord? am I able to doe such a cure?

=Pam. = Yea surely: all were I deade, it lyeth in you to rayse me vp
againe to life, and that with a light thing.

=Maria. = As you say, peraduenture I might doe it, if some bodye woulde
helpe me to the herbe _Panaces_, wherevnto they ascribe so great a
vertue.

=Pam. = There needeth none herbes to doe it, only vouchsafe to loue
againe, what is more easie to be perfourmed? nay rather what is more
due and iust? otherwise you shall neuer acquite your selfe of
manspilling.

=Maria. = And before what iudgement seate shall I be arrayned, before
the seuere =Areopagetes= and God will?

=Pam. = Not so, but before the tribunall seate of _Venus_.

=Maria. = Best of al, for they say she is a patient and pitiful
Goddesse.

=Pam. = Say you so, there is not one amongst them all, whose wrath is
more to be feared.

=Ma. = Why, hath she a thunderbolte?

=Pam. = No.

=Maria. = Hath she a thréeforked mase like _Neptune_?

=Pam. = Not so.

=Ma. = Hath she a speare as _Pallas_?

=Pam. = Neyther: but shée is a Goddesse of the Sea.

=Maria. = I come not within hir kingdome.

=Pam. = But she hath a boye.

=Maria. = I feare no boyes.

=Pam. = He is readie to reuenge, and will paye home when he striketh.

=Ma. = And what shall he doe to me?

=Pam. = What shall he doe: the gods fore let him. I will prognosticate
none euill vnto one, whome I beare good will.

=Ma. = Yet tell me I pray you, I will take no conceit of it.

=Pam. = Then will I tell you if you shall disdaine this louer, who
doubtlesse is not vnworthie your loue, verily I beleue, that same boy
(peraduenture at the cōmaundement of his mother) wyll thirle into your
heart a launce embrued with to bad a poyson, wherby you shal set your
affection miserably vppon some hoblout, who shall not loue you any
whit againe.

=Ma. = Marrie that were a plague in déede, of all other most to be
detested. Certes I had rather to die, than to be entangled in the loue
of one which is deformed, & could not finde in his hart to loue me
likewise againe.

=Pam. = But it is not long time, since there was a right notable
example of this euil, which I now speak off, shewed in a certaine yong
damzel.