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While this sheet was correcting, the following notice of a person, abused by Dr. Harvey, met the Editor's eye among Bishop Kennett's MSS. in the British Museum.

“ Dr. ANDREW PERNE, who died 1589, was Dean of Ely, and Master of Peterhouse, in Cambridge, and was often entertained, and that with all kindness, by Archbishop Whitgift, at Lambeth; and there he died on 26th April, 1589; and was from thence, by the Archbishop's order, decently buried in Lambeth Church, and lieth under a gravestone, which now, I think, is gone; but was in these words :

D. O. M.
Andreæ Perne, S. T. D. Cathedralis Ecclesiæ Eliensis Decano Collegii D. Patri in
Academiâ Cantabrigiæ Magistro, munificâ bene reverendi virtute insigni, Literarum Mecæ-
nati optimo, hoc monumentum Pietatis et Amoris ergo Richardus Perne, Nepos posuit.
Obiit 26 die Aprilis, Anno 1589.

Scientia inflat:
Charitas ædificat.

Some character of this Doctor was given not long after his death, by an author of those times, in answer to a Book written by Gabriel Harvey of Saffron Walden, who had written abusively of him in respect of his compliance in Queen Mary's reign, wherein is hinted the esteem the Archbishop had for him.

Dr. Perne is casked up in lead, and cannot arise to plead for himself; therefore I will commit this to ink and paper in his behalf. Few men lived better, though, like David and Peter, he had his fall: yet the University had not a more careful Father this hundred years : and if for no other regard but that a chief Father of our Cominonwealth loved him, in whose house he died, he might have spared and forborne him. His hospitality was great as hath been kept before or ever since, upon the place he had (being Master of Peterhouse, and Dean of Ely); and for his wit and learning, they that mislike want the like wit and learning, else they would have more judgment to discern it.”—Kennett's MSS.

*** Almost all the other names mentioned in these Letters occur so frequently in the literature of the Elizabethan period, which has been lately so copiously elucidated, that it has been deemed superfluous to load this publication with notes regarding them.



THERE dwelt in the city of Venice, near the Rialto, an Earl of great excellence, both for the descent of his parentage, and largeness of his patrimony, called Il Conte PHILIPPO Medico, a gentleman every way, not only by birth, as being by the mother's side of the Æmilii, but every way furnished with civil virtues for peace, and martial valour for the wars; as politic at home, as resolute abroad : reverenced of all, not for his grey hairs, for he was young, but for his many virtues, wherein he overwent men of age..

This Count PHILIPPO had by the favour of Fortune, and his own foresight, linked himself to a young gentlewoman in marriage, called PHILOMELA CELII, at that time the wonder of Venice, not for her beauty, though Italy afforded none so fair, nor for her dowry, though she were the only daughter of the Duke of Milan; but for the admirable honours of her mind, which were so many, and matchless, that Virtue seemed to have planted there the paradise of her perfection. Her age exceeded not seventeen; yet appeared there such a symmetry of more than womanly excellence in every action of this Venetian paragon, that Italy held her life as an instance of all commendable qualities: she was modest without sullenness, and silent, not as a fool, but because she would not be


counted a blab: chaste, and yet not coy; for the poorest of all held her courteous: though she was young, yet she desired neither to gad nor to gaze, nor to have her beauty made common to every bad companion's eye. The veil she used for her face, was the covert of her own house ; for she never would go abroad but in the company of her husband, and then with such bashfulness, that she seemed to hold herself faulty in stepping beyond the shadow of her own mansion.

Thus was PHILOMELA famous for her exquisite virtues, and Philippo fortunate for enjoying so virtuous a paramour'. But as there is no antidote so precious, but being tempered with antimony, is infectious; nor no heart so sovereign good, but art can make simply ill; so Philippo was not so commendable for some good parts, as afterwards bad thought of for some unworthy qualities, For though he had a wife every way answerable to his own wish, both fair to please his eye, and honest to content his humour, yet in seeking to quittance these virtues with love, he so overloved her, that he plagued her more with jealousy, than recompensed her with affection; insomuch that with a deep insight, entering into the consideration of her beauty, and her youth, he began to suspect, that such as frequented his house for traffic (for the greatest men in Venice used merchandise) were rather drawn thither by a desire to see his wife, than for the special use of any

other his commodities. Feeding upon this passion, that gnaweth like Envy upon her own Aesh', he called to mind, to which of his friends she shewed


Probably this story has its original in some Italian novel. The incidents are of a kind which modern compositions of this class have worn thread-bare; but the reader must constantly bear in mind the date of Robert Greene's publications.

O beware of jealousy!
It is the green-eyed monster, that doth make
The meat it feeds on.

Shakesp. Othello.


the most gracious looks, upon whom she glanced the most smiling favours, whose carver she would be at the table, to whom she would drink, and who had most courteous entertainment at her hands. These men he did most suspect and envy, as those to whom he thought his wife for those granted favours most affectionate. Yet when he called to mind her chaste virtues, and did ruminate the particularities of his loves toward himself, he suppressed the suspicious flame of jealousy, with the assured proofs of her invincible chastity. Hammering these betwixt fear and hope, he built castles in the air, and reached beyond the moon': one while swearing all women were false and inconstant; and then again protesting, if all women were so, yet not all, because PuiLOMELA was not so.

In this jealous quandary he used to himself this quaint discourse: “ If love be a blessing, PHILIPPO, as yet proves in the end most bitter, how blessed are they that never make trial of so sour' a sweet! A child, stung with a bee, will fly from the honeycomb; such as are bitten with vipers', will fear to sleep on the grass : but men touched with the inconvenience of fancy, hunt with sighs to enrich themselves with that passion. What conquest have such as win fair women? Even the like victory that Alexander had in subduing the Scythians reconciled friends, who, the more they flattered him, the more he mistrusted. Beauty is like the herb larix, cool


The spring of love resembleth
The uncertain glory of an April day;
Which now shews all the beauty of the sun,
And by and by a cloud takes all away.

Two Gentlemen of Verona.
Sweet Love, changing his property,
Turns to the surest and most deadly hate.


Ibid. Rich. II.

3 The stung are jealous of the adder.

King Lear.

in the water, but hot in the stomach : precious, while it is a blossom, but prejudicial, grown to a fruit: a gem not to be valued, if set in virtue', but disgraced with a bad foil, like a ring of gold in a swine's snout.

“ Yet what comfort is there in life, if man had no solace but man? Women are sweet helps, and those kind creatures that God made to perfect up men's excellence. Truth, PHILIPPO, they be wonders of nature, if they wrong not nature; and admirable angels, if they would not be drawn with angels to become devils?. Oh, Alatter not thyself in flattering them; for where they find submission, there they proclaim contempt: and if thou makest them thy mate, they will give thee such a checkmate', that happily thou shalt live by the loss all thy life after! What needs this invective humour against women, when thou hast such a wife, as every way is abso

1 O how much more doth Beauty beauteous seem,
By that sweet ornament which Truth doth give.
The rose looks fair; but fairer we it deem
For that sweet odour which doth in it live.
The canker blooms have full as deep a die
As the perfumed tincture of the roses ;
Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly,
When Summer's breath their masked buds discloses.
But for their virtues only in their shew,
They live unmov'd and unrespected fade;
Die to themselves : sweet roses do not so;
Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made.
And so when Virtue graces Beauty's youth,
When that shall fade, by verse distills its truth.

Shakespeare's Sonnets.

? A woman is a dish fit for the gods, if the devil
Dress her not.

Troilus and Cressida,

3 This custom of playing on words too frequently occurs in Greene, and deforms his style: but Greene only falls into it, in common with almost all the writers of his day.

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