iem to their soules that thinke to
wooe women with riddles. I had some cunning plot you must suppose, to
bring this about Her husband had abused her, and it was verie necessarie
she shoulde be reuenged. Seldome doe they proue patient martyrs who are
punisht vniustly. One way or other they wil cry quittance whatsoeuer it
cost them. No other apte meanes had this poore shee captiued _Cicely_,
to worke her hoddy peake husbande a proportionable plague to his
ielousie, but to giue his head his ful loding of infamie. She thought
she would make him complaine for some thing, that now was so hard bound
with an hereticall opinion. Howe I dealt with her, gesse gentle reader,
_Sub audi_ that I was in prison, and she was my Jailor.

Meanes there was made after a moneths or two durance by M. _Iohn
Russell_, a gentleman of king Henrie the eights chamber, who then lay
lieger at _Venice_ for England, that our cause should be fauorably
heard. At that time was Monsieur _Petro Aretino_ searcher and chiefe
Inquisiter for the colledge of curtizans. Diuerse and sundrie wayes was
this _Aretine_ beholding to the king of England, especially for by this
foresaid M. _Russell_ a little before he had sent him a pension of foure
hundreth crownes yerely during his life. Very forcibly was hee dealt
withall, to straine the vtmost of his credit for our deliuerie. Nothing
at his handes wee sought, but that the curtizan might be more narrowly
sifted and examined. Such and so extraordinarie was his care and
industrie heerein, that within few dayes after mistres _Tabitha_ and
her pandor cride _Peccaui confiteor_, and we were presently discharched,
they for example sake executed. Most honorably after our enlargement
of the state were we vsed, and had sufficient recompence for all our
troubles and wrongs.

Before I goe anie further, let me speake a word or two of this
_Aretine_. It was one of the wittiest knaues that euer God made. If out
of so base a thing as inke there may be extracted a spirite, he writ
with nought but the spirite of inke, and his stile was the spiritualtie
of artes, and nothing else, where as all others of his age were but
the lay temporaltie of inkhorne tearmes. For in deede they were meere
temporizers, & no better. His penne was sharpe pointed like ponyard. No
leafe he wrote on, but was like a burning glasse to sette on fire all
his readers. With more then musket shot did he charge his quill, where
he meant to inueigh. No one houre but h