by composition wyth the French within. But that charge being atchieued, the general Sauello marched from thence to Cremona with hys Campe, whyther Bologna durst not folow, but repayred to the Marquize of Britone, in whych tyme the Aragon brethren so wroughte as hys goods were confiscate at Naples, and he dryuen to hys shiftes to vse the Golden Duckates which the Duchesse gaue him to relieue himselfe at Millan, whose Death althoughe it were aduertised by many, yet hee could not be persuaded to beleue the same, for that diuers which went about to betray him, and feared he shoulde flie from Millan, kept his beake vnder the water, (as the Prouerb is,) and assured him both of the Lyfe and welfare of his Spouse, and that shortly his Brethren in law would be reconciled because many Noble men fauored hym well, and desired his returne home to hys countrey. Fed and filled with that vaine hope, he remayned more than a yeare at Millan, frequentyng good company, who was well entertayned of the rychest marchaunts and best Gentlemen of the Cytye: and aboue all other, he had famyliar accesse to the house of the Ladye Hippolita Bentiuoglia, where vppon a Daye after Dynner, takyng hys lute in hand, whereon he could exceedyngly well play, he began to sing a sonnet, whych he had composed vppon the discourse of hys mysfortune, the tenor whereof insueth. _The Song of Antonio Bologna, the husband of the Duchesse of Malfi._ If loue, the death, or tract of tyme, haue measured my distresse, Or if my beatinge sorrowes may my languor well expresse: Then loue come soone to visit me, which most my heart desires, And so my dolor findes some ease, through flames of fansies fires. The time runnes out his rollinge course, for to prolong myne ease, To th’ end I shall enioy my loue, and heart himselfe appease, A cruell darte brings happy death, my soule then rest shall find: And sleepinge body vnder Toumbe, shall dreame time out of mynde, And yet the Loue, the Time, nor Death, lookes not how I decreace: Nor geueth eare to any thinge, of this my wofull peace. Full farre I am from my good hap, or halfe the ioye I craue, Whereby I chaung my state wyth teares, and draw full neere my graue. The courteous Gods that giues me lyfe, now mooues the Planets all: For to arrest my groning ghost, and hence my sprite to call. Yet from them still I am separd, by thinges vnequall heere, Not ment the Gods may be vniust, that breedes my chaunging cheere. For they prouide by their foresight, that none shall doe me harme: But she whose blasing beauty bright, hath brought me in a charme. My mistresse hath the powre alone, to rid me from this woe: Whose thrall I am, for whom I die, to whom my sprite shall goe. Away my soule, goe from the griefs, that thee oppresseth still, And let thy dolor witnesse beare, how mutch I want my will. For since that loue and death himselfe, delights in guiltlesse bloud,