The lady, hearing this sorrowfull preamble, and apprehending the Marquesse resolution, to her griefe, (although every word might have beene as arrowes in her sides) yet admitting of the temptation, and disputing with herselfe to what end the vertues of patience, modesty, forbearance, fortitude, and magnanimity were ordained, if they had not subjects to worke upon, and objects to looke after, thus replyed. My lord, you are my soveraigne, and all earthly pleasures and contentments of my life come from you, as the fountaine of my happinesse, and therefore please your selfe, and (beleeve it) it is my pleasure you are pleased; as for the child, it is the gift of God, and yours. Now he that gives may take away, and as wee receive blessings from heaven, so must we not dote on them on earth, lest by setting our minds too much upon them, wee cannot set off our hearts when they are taken from us; only one thing I desire, that you remember I am a mother; and if I burst not out into passion for her losse, it is for your sake I am no more perplexed, and so you shall ever find mee a wife befitting your desires. When the Marquesse saw her constancy, and was in a manner pleased with her modest answere, hee replied not at all at that time; for his heart was full, and what betweene joy and feare he departed: joy that so great vertue had the increase of goodnesse, feare that he had presumed too farre on such a trial. But resolved in his businesse, hee went to put it to the adventure. [Illustration] CHAP. V. The Marquesse sent a varlet for his daughter; but privately disposed of her with his sister, the Dutchesse of Bologna de Grace, who brought her up in all things befitting the childe of so great a person. Not long after this sad conference between the Marquesse and his lady, hee called a faithfull servant unto him; such a one as the poet talks of, _propter fidem et taciturnitatem dilectum_, to whom hee imparts this secrecy, and with severall instructions, what hee truly meant to do with the child, sent him to his wife with an unsavory message, which yet hee delivered in this manner. I had not now come to you, most noble lady, though that power commanded me which hath my life in subjection, if I had not more relied upon your wisdome and vertue, than feared death it selfe. Therefore I crave pardon if I am displeasing in my message, and seeme cruell (as it were) in tearing your flesh from your sides, by bereaving you of this your daughter; for hee hath appointed it that must not bee gainsaid, and I am a messenger that cannot bee denied. But yet with what unwillingnes (God knowes my soule) in regard that you are so respected amongst us, that wee think of nothing but what may delight you, and talk not a word but of your merit and worthinesse.