English

A MONG their falles, by wanton fate untwist,
Let my lewde hap remembred be I pray,
To salve whose harme too late coms had I wist;
Bloud cries for blud, he craves none other pay:
For conscience sake, behould then now I wray,
With trickling teares my deadly cheakes that warme,
The true report both of my hap and harme.

Good ladies, first, to you this tale I tell,
To you as chiefe this drirye plaint I preach:
Your hie estate, your vices cannot quell,
But as you live your same or shame doth streach,

The Storie at large.

The Argument for the discourse of

The inconstancie of Cressid is so readie in every mans mouth, as it is a needelesse labour to blase at full her abuse towardes yong Troilus, her frowning on Syr Diomede, her wanton lures and love: neverthelesse, her companie scorned, of thousandes sometimes sought, her beggerie after braverie, her lothsome leprosie after lively beautie, her wretched age after wanton youth, and her perpetuall infamie after violent death, are worthy notes (for others heede) to be remembred.

The Countesse of Zeland continueth in her
complaint.
Now, gallants, judge, if it with honour stands
For any lord a lady thus to rate,
Or blase with scorne their pleasure at her hands?
If i ne grees with glory of their state,
Helpe to excuse Biancas deadly hate,
Who now beginnes such bloudy newes to blase,
As endlesse shame her insamie will raise.

Or give her leave to use what cloake she may,
For once report wil much inlarge her misse:
In womens moodes there is no meane, they say,

An Invective written by Roberto Sanseverino,
Earle of Giazzo, against Bianca Maria,
Countesse of Celant
Who ever sawe a thorne sweete grapes to yeeld,
Or sower slowes uppon a vine to growe?
Who ever heard a coward first in feeld?
The foreward wight soonste feard with sight of woe?
Who ever knew, in time of any minde,
Good fall to bad, or kitt to flee from kinde?

If proose ne peares, who may Bianca blame,
Whose father rose to wealth by silthie fraude,

The disordered life of Bianca Maria, Countesse of
Celaunt, in forme of her complainte, supposed
at the houre of her beheading for
procuring the murder of Ardissino
Valperga, Earle of Massino .

The following verses are found on page 45 of the Diary. They are without title and without comment save the date attached.
Faith, love, hope,
Reach the goal
Through quiet modesty.
What God hates, avoid
To bow down, to suffer, to endure,
Bring us happiness.

What God commands to believe
This no one shall take from me
In spite of all the lack of faith.
What God's word bids us love
That I will daily practice
Throughout my pilgrim's time.

When my time has passed,
Then I find my hopes;

Now follows also his epitaph composed by himself.

God
Who made us
Out of dust
And again
To dust returns us
He will show
His wisdom's might
When we've awaked
In His likeness

This was written on the third day of September, 1795, by Sander Mack. His age is eighty-three years, eight months and four days.
Now have all the hours
Of my four and eighty years
Passed by and disappeared
As smoke is driven away
O Lord of all times,
Thou God of eternity,
Help me, through Christ's sorrows,
To eternal blessedness.