[...]en shortly after on a certaine night
[...]erceiving that his vvife vvas in good plight
[...]d broad avvake, began to sigh and mourne
[...]d privily vvithin himselfe to grone.
[...]hich thing his vvife perceiving did require
[...] him to know the cause, who did admire
[...]o see his heavinesse. Quoth she my deere,
[...]n griefe, let sorrow cease, be of good cheere,
[...]d all things take (my husband) in good part.
[...] as a wife, I love thee vvith my heart.
[...]en turned he himselfe unto his vvife,
Sighing so sore, as if shee hal'd for life,
Saying sweet loving wife, and tender heart,
I have a secret matter to impart
To thee, if that I wist thou couldst be mute,
Though some to thee should make continuall su
[...]
To know thereof, which stands upon my life,
Honour and goods; therefore my loving wife,
Shouldst thou reveale, what I doe thee injoyne
Be secret in, you undoe mee and mine.
Then answered his wife, seemiug to cry,
Saying, deare husband, I had rather dye,
Then open any secret you declare;
Therefore such speeches, husband, pray forbear
[...]
Alas! what woman think you mee to be?
That cannot keepe your secrets close, quoth sh
[...]
Have you not seene my honesty thro
[...]ghout,
And good carriage; wherefore then do you don
[...]
Of me? wh o knows your welfare in such measur
[...]
That I esteem't above all worldly treasure?
Well, my beloved spouse and bedfellow,
Said
Cato then, seeing you thus doe vow,
And that I heare you doe so friendly speake,
My hidden secrets to you I will breake,
Laying my heart wide open unto thee,
Whom I doe trust 'bove all assuredlie;
For I doe love thee, my deare wife so well,
That nothing can I keepe from thee, but tell
What ere it be, I either know or doe,
And much the more, because thou dost mee woo
[...]
Some two daies past, as I did homeward come▪
[...]here met with mee, th' emperours onely sonne,
[...]nd used me most vildely in his words,
[...]nd naughty deeds, as youth such vice affords,
[...]hich stirred me to such an angry rage,
[...]hat I could not forbeare, my fury swage,
[...]ing with waighty affaires troubled,
[...]nd overcome with drinke, I strucke him dead
[...] heat of blood, (not leaving mee to vex)
[...]hich doth me grieve, and much my soule perplex.
[...]urther, my furious mood to satisfie,
[...]nd deadly hate, that in my breast did lye,
[...]ript his body, and tooke out his heart,
[...]nd caus'd it to be drest, with best of art
[...]ost finely spiced, as a man would wish,
[...]nd sent it to his parents, as a dish
[...]f dainty curious meat, who were not nice,
[...]o eate thereof as much as them suffice,
[...]ot knowing it to be that which it was.
[...]hus I my anger did revenge, alas,
[...]hat shall I doe? for now I know right well,
[...]hat this most wicked deed, which hath befell
[...]e to commit, is a most shamefull act;
[...]nd I am very sorry for the fact.
[...]t too late it is, and above mans powe
[...]
[...]or to recall againe the day and houre
[...]hats past; wherefore seeing that it is done,
[...] secret keepe't, reveale it unto none:
[...]r I ne're shew'd it any in my life,
[...]or never will, but to thy selfe, deare wife,
[...] whom depends my only stay and trust,
That you will keepe my secrets firme and just,
And knowing you right-well, alwaies to be
A sober modest woman, as I see,
No wanton idle gossiper abroad
A thing in women much to bee abhor'd;
I am the more imboldned to impart
To you sweet love the secrets of my heart.
When as his wife the circumstance had heard
Of all the matter, no time was deferd
For to deplore with heavie heart and meed
The sinfull act of this most wicked deed.
Yet solemnly she vowd to have a care
That during life, she nere would it declare
To any one: thus having past that night
With heavinesse, untill the morning light,
And after a small time, till it befell
A Gentlewoman, that neere by did dwell
Within the City, her familiar friend
Who alwaies knew her mind to the full end
To whom she us'd continually expresse
All her whole secret counsell, more or lesse.
As they discoursed had of many things,
The wife of
Cato sighs, her hands she wrings.
Wherefore this Gentlewoman askt of her
What caus'd her griefe, her sadnesse and demur
And why she sighed many times, saying,
Good Mistris shew me, is it any thing?
Are you with griefe possessed, doe you find?
O
[...] heavinesse in stomacke, heart, or mind?
Yea truely very great, said
Cato's wife,
But I dare not reveale it, for my life;
I'd rather die, and lay my head full low,
Then any one alive should of it know.
Mistris, said she, distracted were all those,
That would such hidden secrets ere disclose▪
If you shew't me, i'd rather that my teeth
Were pulled ont, or those my eyes that seeth,
And that my toung were torne out with reproach,
Then I to any one such things should broach.
May I you trust, the wife of
Cato saith?
Yea said the Gentlewoman by my faith.
Well then your faithfull promise to me give,
I promise you, said tother, while I live,
By heaven & earth. And when she thus had sworn,
No oathes were left, or promises forborne.
Then she began at length with dreadfull feare,
And dolorous heavie heart, for to declare
How that her husband, with anger being fild,
In furious rage the Emperours sonne had kild.
And caus'd his heart with spices to be drest
In decent comely sort, as he thought best,
And to th' Emperour and Empresse it sent
That they have eaten it with great content.
When as all this the Gentlewoman heard,
Of this mischance, she was abasht and scar'd.
Being so vile and an ungodly deed.
Saying, its strange to heare such darnell seed
Should spring in so discreet a worthy man,
Whose life hath beene upright and just: who can
Believe he now with sin should be compact,
And overseene, to doe so bad a fact.
Yet nere the lesse, since it was come to passe
(Said she) I unto you my promise passe
Assuredly all things in secret keepe▪
Till death close up my eyes in endlesse sleepe.
And at her parting, bound with solemne oathes
To be her secret friend, no part thereof disclose.
But when she was a going towards home,
Weighing this new tydings, and what might come▪
Fearing the danger great that might ensue
To her and her husband, if she were true,
And keepe in secret what to her was showne,
That afterwards might be reveald and knowne.
Also considering the favour great
She might obtaine, and friendships oft intreat
At the Emperours hands in shewing the report
Shee with all speed returned to the Court,
And at her comming there she did not misse
To have accesse unto the Empresse.
And then she kneeled downe upon her knee,
Doing her duty to her Majesty:
In humble wise, with teares she then began
To say, most gracious Lady, if you can
I would beseech you give me leave to speake
A word or two with you in secret cake
Of a great weighty matter, I did heare
Of certainty reported to my eare.
The Empresse hearing this, with willing heart
Caused her Ladies all to goe apart
From forth her sight, that she in secret may
Know what the Genelewoman had to say.
When thus they were, all but themselves alone
The Gentlewoman with a heavy mo
[...]e
Began to say: my soveraigne, the care
And ardent faithfull love that I doe beare
Unto your Ladiship, makes me repeate
What else I would not, though you should intreat.
Besides the many comforts I inherit
And daily doe expect above my merit
Moves me to come, and open unto you
A secret hidden thing, wherein I vow
No creature living should it ever know,
Except your selfe, to whom my life I ow?
For unto me it were a filthy shame,
And an impeachment unto my good name,
It to disclose, wert not unto your grace
Which touch you neere, your progeny and race.
Therefore Ile shew you, what I have been told,
Excuse me Madam, if I be too bold.
It is well knowne to all the world abroad,
That you, and your most gracious loving Lord
Loves
Cato more than any other man,
As well appeares by your free giving han.
For you have given him many sundry gift,
And him advanc'd, as you him thought befit
To the chiefe office, government and doome
Of all the whole City of famous
Rome.
And more, for the great zeale you to him have
And for his further honour, to him gave
Your sonne to governe, and him up to bring
In sage humanity, and good learning.
But he such service hath you done in lieu
That in his beastly rage your sonne hath slew
And tooke his heart out of his body sweet,
Trimmd it with spices, a thing unmeet
Thereof to you a present made with meate
And to your Lord, the which you both have eat.
The Empresse at this newes being amaz'd,
And musing in her selfe, to heare this blaz'd,
Said to the gentlewoman, what a fable
Or story doe you shew me, in a rable?
Then answered she, that which I've said to you
Most gracious Lady, is most certaine true.
For truely in great secret it was showne
Me, by the mouth of his owne wife: unknowne
To him. Which when the Empresse understood
Believing it for truth, she waxed wood,
And cryed out aloud, with voyce so shrill
That with the Eccho did the Palace fill.
Making such sorrowfull complaints and groanes,
That it to pity would have mov'd the stones,
Her to have heard or seene. When the report
Came to the Emperour, and in what sort
The Empresse such lamentation made,
He wondred much (his colour gan to fade)
What it should be, and came to know the cause
Of this her heavinesse, making no pause.
But she so pensive was within her heart,
That of long time, her minde could not impart.
Yet at the last with weeping bitter teares
She did recount, and unto him declares
All that the gentlewoman had her shew'd
Concerning her deere sonne, with eyes bedew'd.
The Emperour, hearing these tidings tart,
And crediting he'd eate his owne sonnes heart.
He was outragiously inflam'd and vext,
With anger above measure, and perplext.
And did command without delay to make
Or further respit, they should
Cato take,
And seale up all his houses, goods and lands,
And instantly him hang in hempen bands
Higher than ever any was before
(To others for example) at his doore,
And that thereof to make no lingring stay,
But see him put to death without delay.
And executed with all speed and end
As at their perils they would it defend.
This being thus commanded with great charge
By th'Emperour himselfe, in words at large,
There certaine trusty men appointed were
For the same purpose, that with heedfull care
Went out forthwith and did him apprehend,
And seaz'd of all the goods God did him send.
Whereat
Cato amazed stood a pause,
And did require of them, to know the cause
If they could tell it him. They answered soone
'Twas by the Emperours command and doome
For that he'd slaine his sonne, without desart
And caused him to eate his owne childs heart.
Then
Cato said, my Lords and masters you
All which men say is not of certaine true.
Therefore I counsell you that you would put
Me into prison strong, and there me shut
Untill next day, and say, that for this night
It is too late, and of no equall right,
To put me unto death, and that I may
To morrow be cald forth without delay
Before the people all, there to be heard,
The matters layd against me, and declar'd.
So forward goe in justice, and proceed
Upon my life, as you doe finde the deed.
And forasmuch as all men did him love,
They did consent wherein he did them move.
And leaving him in prison for a space,
Returned to the Emperour his grace,
Declaring to his Majesty and state,
Him put to death that night it was too late.
Saying to him, that it much better were
The accomplishment of justice to forbeare,
Untill the morne, who notwithstanding his
Great anger, rage, fury, and heavinesse
That he had for the death of his deere sonne,
Did as the Lords advis'd him to be done.
Now whiles that they great company along
Were leading
Cato unto prison strong,
He cald his trusty servant, as he went
To him, by whom the Emperours sonne was sent
Unto a noble Lord of that Countrey
A friend of his, meane while his wife to try
Concerning matters, which he would discusse
Commanding him, saying in secret thus:
Goe with all speed unto my faithfull friend,
Where thou didst leave th'Emperors son, God send
Him life, whom the Emperour thinketh dead,
And make thou haste, least I die in his stead.
And will him that to morrow before noone
He faile not to come to me, so soone,
And bring with him the Emperours sonne amaine
Unto his place, who thinks I have him slaine.
For which I now in prison am, you see
Expecting death shortly to summon me,
And without doubt in time he doth not come
I shall as thou perceivest, receive my doome,
Now it thou lov'st me, doe thy diligence
Not sparing horse, nor gripple for expence.
Upon which words, his servant made no stay
But taking leave, with speed rode fast away.
So that about mid-night, he came right well
Unto the place where the said Lord did dwell,
Who was to
Cato a familiar friend,
A Lord, whose worthy fame all did commend.
Therefore he had him sent, the Emperours sonne
So secretly as possible might be done
In his tuition him to have in store
While he this thing would prove, as ye heard before.
When
Cato's servant to the place came late,
He hastily then knocked at the gate,
Whereas the Lord his habitation had,
And called out aloud with voyce most glad.
Having at last approacht that Palace good,
And they within having now understood
From whence he came, they opened speedily
The gates, & brought him where the Lord did lie,
And th'Emperours son, whom
Cato did conduct,
Given him in charge to teach and to instruct.
Then did the Lord demand, who did him send,
And how his master did, his chiefest friend;
And what the occasion was (for to relate)
That he came in such speedy haste so late.
When he had done his masters due respect,
And no whit of his service did neglect;
Then he declar'd unto the Lord at last,
How that his Master was in prison fast:
And that command was given that hee should die
To morrow morne, through rumor of a lie,
And false report, which on him is begun
To th'Emperour, that he hath slaine his sonne,
And caus'd him eate the heart of his owne child:
Thus they his fancy led, and him beguild.
When
Catoes servant, giving them to understand
How men had shew'd the Emperour, out of hand,
That
Cato had his sonne inhumane slaine,
And therefore did imprisonment sustaine,
That on the morrow twas determined
For that offence to be a man but dead:
The Lord and th'Emperours son, at this did muse,
And wondred much to heare this heavie news
Of their good friend, incontinent they rose
With all the speed they could, you may suppose.
And cal'd together all their servants ny,
Araying all themselves most speedily.
Especially th'Emperours sonne most kinde,
Who was in sorrow great, and griefe of mind
For his said master, whom he loved well:
It was not needful as the stories tell
To hasten him for to dispatch, that he
Might with his kind and loving master be.
At the time and place appointed sure
His master should the stroke of death endure,
If fortune did not better him betide,
So they with posting speed, did thither ride.
Here will we reft to speake of th'Emperours son,
Who taken hath his journey new begun
towards his master deare, whom he did love
Intirely, next unto God above.
And come againe to
Cato where he lie
Inhoved, looking each houre for to die.
If that his faithfull servant voyd of crime,
Came not with the Emperours son in time.
And for so much he was belov'd of all
The people throughout
Rome both great and small
As a wise man, of understanding great,
Most just in all his waies, and carriage neate.
No briber to purloyne, free from that fact,
Extortioner, not cruell to exact.
There was a friend of his much love profest,
A mighty governour at his request
Kept backe and stayd as much as in him ly,
All the executioners of the City,
Who did consent for to absent themselves
Most willingly, for they alasse poore elves,
Were griev'd to doe, that which should ill befall,
Cato, who was beloved of them all.
Yet as Commandement was given indeed
From th'Emperour himselfe, they did proceed,
And
Cato carried unto the place
Of execution, an easie pace:
With a great mighty troope and company,
That followed him expecting he should die.
And many people mourned that was there,
And more have mourned would, but that for feare,
That he had done this evill wicked deed
Wherewith he was accus'd, as some believ'd.
For there was many wondring at it said,
Amongst themselves, that they were halfe afraid
It was too true: but there were other-some
Admired he should thus be overcome,
With Satans tempting and alluring baite,
Who for the soules of men doe lie in wait.
Being so vertuous a man and wise,
Could not for truth believe, nor once surmise
That he had done this wicked sinfull crime,
As for to kill th'Emperours sonne in's prime,
And caus'd him for to eate his owne sonnes heart,
Not fearing God, nor who should take his part.
Nor yet regarding losse of goods and lands,
Th'Emperours frownes, the terror of his hands.
And thus was there great talke both farre & nie,
Amongst the Commons all of the City.
Some did believe it true, and some could not,
Yet nerethelesse he led was to the plot
Of execution, where men justice should fulfill
On him, according to th'Emperours will.
And when he came to the said place of death,
The gallowes ready him to hang beneath,
He made his prayers, and orations
With good and godly exhortations.
And all was finished there nothing lackt
But a hangman to performe the act.
They called fast, for one, but none would heare,
For all themselves absented that was there,
And hid themselves, for the friend of
Cato's sake,
What calling ere there was, none would answere make.
Whiles thus this businesse was plotted wel
In the meane time a wonder great befell:
For he whom
Cato from the gallowes sav'd
And pardon for his life did get uncrav'd
By the authority of his office,
Came out and did present himselfe, iwis,
Before the faces of them great and small,
And said on high, with open mouth to all
The people that was there, my Lords the fact
That this man here hath done is a vile act.
And not to be excus'd nor borne withall,
God in his justice for it vengeance call.
And therefore for the love, which I doe beare
Unto my Country, and the honest care,
I have to punish with a heavie hand
Such evill doers, as this wicked man,
I am my selfe here ready without blame
Hang-man to be since none will doe the same.
When as the multitude of people heard
Him thus to speak, their judgemens no whit spard
To censure him for offering so free
His needlesse service, as a courtesie
And looking well how he himselfe behav'd
They said, is this not he whom
Cato sav'd
From hanging, which to him was justly due?
And divers that did know him, said, 'twas true,
It is the same villaine and very slave
VVhom
Cato freed, and his life did save.
Then began the people speake, a great crue,
VVith one voyce openly, it is most true.
A very ideot, and unwise is he
That saves a thiefe, and letteth him goe free.
For the proverbe is no lésse true than old,
As by our forefathers hath oft beene told,
The thiefe that sav'd is, will most ready be
To hang him who him sav'd, as we all see.
Cato this wretched villaine seeing, said,
Thou wicked fellow, art not thou afraid
That God will powre his vengeance vpon thee
For being so ungratefull unto me,
As to forget the time is past, but thus
In worldly affaires it goes with us.
As they were reasoning thus of the cause,
Behold the people made a suddaine pause.
For they had seene a huge great company
Of mounted horsmen, that were comming ny,
And many other following with speed
After them, on many a gallant Steed,
Making a mighty noise, and calling fast
Vnto the people all, with signes in hast,
Saying: put not to death that worthy man,
My good and loving master out of han.
But all the while, they wist not what was said,
Yet hoped they his death should be delayd,
Or that some pardon comming was to free
Him from deaths stroke, of cruell destiny.
Of which in heart, they were exceeding glad,
And causd them stay with
Cato till they had
Intelligence, as they came riding on
They well perceiv'd it was th'Emperous sonne,
Who came in haste, as fast as he could ride
VVith spurs clapt close unto his horses side
Calling and crying still, I pray forbeare
To put to death my loving master deare,
Let none lay hands on him, life to deprive
In any case, for I am here alive.
At which, all the whole multitude did muse
Rejoycing much, to heare this joyfull nuse.
The Prince approching spies his Tutor deare
Bound and prepar'd for execution neere,
Then leaps from off his horse, and with quick pace
Goes to his master, whom he doth imbrace
VVith such affection, and such hearty will
That mixt with kisses brinish teares distill.
And bands unbinding said, who could devise
Gainst you good master, & deare friend these lies?
And false reports, wherby your troubles wrough
And greatest danger to your selfe is brought.
Oh could the Emperour my father deere
Lightly believe, those slanderous tales he heare?
Gainst you even most entirely belov'd
Whose faithfulnesse to him hath been approv'd.
Th'amazd spectators, while they heare and see,
This gentle carriage, more amazed be.
That their great Emperors son in teares shold vent
The joy and great good will, in heart he ment
Unto his Tutor, this they judge to be
A sure presage of future clemency,
For which their praises unto Heaven aspire,
And at these accidents they much admire.
Nay more, this noble Prince the Emprours sonne,
Makes
Cato ride while he on foot doth run.
And running holds the raines, as if that he
Some laquy, and not
Caesars sonne should be.
Thus
Cato late condemn'd, now rides in state,
Through
Romes faire streets, unto the Palace gate.
I need not tell the joy and great delight
The people tooke at this so pleasing sight.
For young and old, the lame, and halt, and blind
Did trudge along, there's none would stay behind.
The newes before unto the Court doth passe,
To the Emperours presence, and the Emperesse,
Who now forgetting state, in haste doe run
To see grave
Cato, and their deerest sonne.
But sudden joy hereat doth overpoise
Their naturall forces, and their sences
[...]ies.
They speechlesse stand, and are amazed quite
And strucke with wonder at so strange a sight.
The Emperour reviving now might see
His sonnes observance and the peoples glee,
At
Cato's fortune, how he was misled
By's passion rashly to command his head:
For which he now repenting, and asham'd,
Confest his rashnesse, and his foll blam'd,
And such salutes to him he doth addresse
As might his love and favour best expresse.
Then came the Emperours sonne, and mildly said,
Oh! father deere, how could you be so swaid?
Rashly, without advisement to command
(Against all law, or justice in our Land.)
My faithfull master to be put to death,
Ceasing his goods, that he could none bequeath,
Before you did rightwell perceive and prove
The matter clearely, as did you behove
By witnesses sufficient, that those crimes
Unto him laid were true, least after-times
Your furious hastinesse, did justly blame,
As well they might, with a perpetuall shame.
And cheefely for because, you know right well
The like now living, not on earth doth dwell.
Had you him put to death, in angry spleene,
Marke I you pray what pitty it had beene,
And what great losse of him we should have had,
Whose very presence makes our hearts full glad.
Both you and yours, with all
Romes City strong
Would have him mist, and that justly ere long.
Nay what relentlesse heart, would not have cryd
That such a man, unjustly should have dyed?
Being innocent, as we see at large
And faultlesse of the act layd to his charge.
Truely I thinke, I nere in all my daies
Should have forgotten it, but that alwaies
I borne it should have done within my mind
Unto my griefe (as love no lesse doth bind)
And shortning of my life, for that I know
Through his great paines, that to me he did show,
I neither vertue have, not yet learning
But from him flow'd, as from a fountaine spring.
The Emperour him answer made, my sonne
Most deare, of us it was most leudly done,
And we thereby great slaunder should have had
And hinderance, which would have made us sad.
B'ingill reported of, for so great speed
In such a hastie unadvised deed.
And we with all the force and wealth we have
Could not the matter hide, our credit save:
Yet notwithstanding the great love that we
Had towards you, and ardent jelousie
So blinded had our eyes, thinking thy face,
We nere againe should see, for to imbrace
Thy handsome comely person in our sight
Whom we did looke to be our whole delight,
In time to come, that we had quite forgot
All right and reason, justice, and what not?
As
Caesar and his sonne thus reasoning were,
Cato began to speake, that all might heare
Saying, I will you shew, how that all this
Hath come to passe, give eare now thus it is.
First unto you it is well knowne that I
A discreet father had, till destiny
By cruell death me of him did deprive
Who spareth none, what ere they be alive.
He well beloved was, of all degrees,
Great rule did beare amongst the noble Peeres
Within this City, and much sway did beare
Reproving vice, the wicked did him feare.
Divers good lectures to me he did preach,
Besides the knowledge of the tongues me teach.
And amongst all, and last of all, he gave
Three precepts unto me, for to observe.
And specially them keepe, his will obey
Feeling for to approach his dying day
Lying sore sicke in bed, he cald me neere
To him (as a most loving father deere)
Taking great care of me, his onely sonne,
How I should live, when that his glasse were run,
In this uncertaine world no time yet past
Me taught as long as life and breath would last)
And wisdome as I lookt in favour be
Contentedly to live, most prosperously
For to give eare unto those words that he
Dying should speake in secret unto me,
And circumspectly marke, and to select
Those sentences in writing me had left.
And unto them to have a due respect
And guid my doings as they did direct.
But above all, chiefely he wished me
To keepe in memory three precepts, he
VVould leave, and alwaies have them in my sight
For to direct me in my pathes aright.
Observing them, as workmen doe their square
Thereby to rule my life, as is my care.
But being young, I following my minde
VVith seeking honour (overcome) inclind
Wholy forgot my fathers precepts all
Untill I had great troubles me befall.
About urgent affaires, of me sought
VVhich to my heart a thousand terrors brought.
For then I cald to memory that I
Had broken two of them, most wretchedly.
I thereupon determined to prove
The third, which I have done, as me behove
To my great trouble, griefe, and jeopardy
To have both lost my goods and life thereby.
The first of the commands or precepts he
Lying upon his death bed, left to me,
VVas that I, having a living competent
(As he left me) should therewith be content,
And merry be (giving God thankes therefore)
VVith that I had, never desiring more.
And having enough, nere to put my selfe
In danger of others, for this worldly pelfe.
Especially in any office high
Under my soveraigne Lord and Princes eie,
For feare lest I ambition, of wealth
Should be ore covetous, and get by stealth,
Many bad enemies and evill foes
Which would disdaine my honour, and all those
Bring on me false reports, and speeches bad:
I might in danger be, lose all I had,
For oftentimes man taketh no regard
Unto the truth, which should have rich reward;
But over hasty are, in giving eare
To false reports, without all heed or care,
As here this day experience doth afford
You to behold it in our soveraigne Lord,
Which like had falne on me, so sore and rife,
That I should not have born't, but with losse of life.
If I my fathers precepts had obey'd,
And by his counsell had beene rul'd and swaid,
I had not to this danger come, and shame,
For to be led, with scandall to my name;
Unto the gallowes, or execution place,
A traytor like unto my great disgrace.
The second was, that I should nere prolong
The life of him, who hath committed wrong,
Nor such offenders free condemn'd to dye,
Whose hands are stain'd with blood or thievery:
For what evill he after did commit
I should be accessary unto it.
Also he nere would doe me any good,
But all the harme, wherein he's not withstood;
And that command I also broken have,
Whom my deare father, dying, to me gave,
Which I did feare some evill would me bring
in that I did forget so great a thing,
Which proved true, for the same man whom I
Did from the gallowes save, condemn'd to die,
This day (for fault of a hangman at neede)
Came of himselfe, to hang me with all speede:
And that was the reward from him that I
Should have had given me for my clemencie
And pitie towards him, that I did shew
In time of need, when friends there are but few.
Thus had be beene my death and overthrow,
Had fortune me not favour'd as you know.
The third and last he left me in his life,
It was, that I should prove, whether my wife
Would secret keepe small matters as befit,
Before greater to her I did commit;
And namely, such, as life, and lands my owne
Should stand in danger to be lost if knowne:
For where there many are, that faithfull be,
And discreet matrons, full of modestie,
That will not onely secret keepe all things,
But also good and wholsome counsell brings,
In matters of great weight: so likewise there
Are some, can nothing secret keepe they heare.
I chanc'd by fortune, lying in my bed,
troubled with many businesses in my head,
So that I could not take my wonted rest,
For the continuall cares, that did molest
My tired senses, touching my office,
At last I saw, that I had done amisse,
And how that now it came into my minde,
Those precepts three my father me assignde
For to observe, I two of them have broke,
As you well know, to my dishonour spoke;
For I have charg'd my selfe (the more's the pity)
With the great office of this famous city,
And also have set free at liberty
One from the gallowes that deserv'd to die,
I then determined now in my life
To doe the third, which was to prove my wife,
If she could keep my secrets firme and just
In what I did commit unto her trust.
And so upon a night, with loving charmes
When I perceiv'd her waking, in my armes
I tooke her, and began to sigh and mourne
And inwardly within my selfe to grone,
She thereupon salutes me with a kisse,
Demands to know my griefe and heavinesse;
Then out of policie, in secret wise
With as much outward shew, I could devise
Of hearty sorrow, and as one dismai'd
(As she me thought) I trembling to her said
How that I had in furious anger slaine
Th'emperors sonne, for which I doe sustaine
A thousand feares in my afflicted soule,
And none that heares it, will my griefe condole:
For I have slaine him in my raging lust
And divellish ire, whom I had in trust
To teach in learning, vices to expell
Who vexing me, this mischiefe thus befell,
Yea furthermore, I caus'd his heart be drest
With costly spices, as in most request,
And in the finest manner did it send
Unto his parents, as I did intend.
At a rich banquet, for a present neate,
And they thereat their owne sons heart had eate.
My wife this hearing, was exceeding sad
And much lamented, as if that she had
Bin the sole actor of this bloody deede
Such showring teares from womens eyes proceed:
But I her willed, as she would my life,
And as she was my faithfull and true wife,
That she in secret would it keepe, and ne're
To any creature living it declare.
Saying this wicked deed, I did bemone,
Grieving my soule, but remedy was none,
How she in secret kept it, you have seene
or rather how unconstant she hath beene
As the whole world can witnesse at this day,
That it almost my life had cost I say
As well it did appeare you all did see
Of which I make no wonder, for there be
Some women will no secret keepe untold
That which is shew'd them, but will it unfold;
For naturally they're given to prate and talke
So that at randome oft their tongues doe walke,
Yet there be many sober women eke,
That will not onely secrets needfull keepe,
But also good and wholsome counsell give
Unto their husbands, all the daies they live
As in good stories read may wee
And partly by experience see.
Then
Cato turn'd himselfe in humble wise
Unto the Emperour with fixed eyes;
Saying, oh noble and renowned prince
My deare & soveraigne Lord, you see from hence,
And all your Nobles how it chanc'd to me
(Which thing of me cannot forgotten be)
And that by reason I did not obey
My fathers admonitions to this day.
Nor gave no credit to those words that he
Upon his death▪bed dying left to me
For my direction, therefore it had bin
My dutie to perform'd his will therein.
For I did ill his precepts to forgit
Who was indued with wisdome and such wit.
When he these words had said in the presence
Of the Empeorour, with due obedience
Before the Lords and commons of the Citie
Which made them note his inward griefe with pity,
Then also he unto the Emprour said,
My soveraigne Lord, by whom I have bin swaid
To beare great office, I doe here resigne
And yeeld into your hands that which is mine
Discharging here my selfe, thereof as free
Againe, as er'e you gave it unto mee.
For from henceforth, if God me so doth blisse,
I never will on mee take any office.
For which the Emperour, and many more
Were truely sorry, and did much deplore
This thing, for none in the whole city were
So worthy for to rule and office beare.
Yet neverthelesse, unto his dying day,
He a great counsellor was tooke away,
The Emperour great kindnesse him did show
And worthy gifts upon him did bestow.
And love him better after than before,
As his expressions shew'd a great deale more;
And so remain'd in favour all his daies,
Unto Romes joy, and his eternall praise.