The first Nouell.

FAire Ladies, it hath happened many times, that hee who striueth to scorne and floute other men, and especially in occasions deseruing to be respected, proueth to mocke himselfe with the selfe-same matter, yea, and to his no meane danger beside. As you shall perceiue by a Tale, which I intend to tell you, obeying therein the command of our Queene, and according to the subiect by her enioyned. In which discourse, you may first obserue, what great mischance happened to one of our Citizens; and yet afterward, how (beyond all hope) he happily escaped.

Not long since there liued in the City of Treuers, Or Arrigo. an Almaine or Ger­maine, named Arriguo, who being a poore man, serued as a Porter, or bur­den-bearer for money, when any man pleased to employ him. And yet, notwithstanding his poore and meane condition, he was generally repu­ted, to be of good and sanctified life. In which regard (whether it were true or no, I know not) it happened, that when he died (at least, as the men of Treuers themselues affirmed) in the very instant houre of his de­parting, all the Belles in the great Church of Treuers, (not being pulled by the helpe of any hand) beganne to ring: which being accounted for a miracle, euery one saide; that this Arriguo had been, and was a Saint. And presently all the people of the City ran to the house where the dead body lay, and carried it (as a sanctified body) into the great Church, where peo­ple, halt, lame, and blinde, or troubled with any other diseases, were brought about it, euen as if euery one should forth-with be holpen, onely by their touching the bodie.

It came to passe; that in so great a concourse of people, as resorted thi­ther from all parts; three of our Cittizens went to Treuers, one of them being named Stechio, the second Martellino, and the third Marquiso, all being men of such condition, as frequented Princes Courts, to giue them delight by pleasant & counterfeited qualities. None of these men hauing euer beene at Treuers before, seeing how the people crowded thorow the streetes, wondred greatly thereat: but when they knew the reason, why the throngs ranne on heapes in such sort together, they grew as desirous to see the Shrine, as any of the rest. Hauing ordered all affaires at their lodging, Marquiso saide; It is fit for vs to see this Saint, but I know not how we shall attaine thereto, because (as I haue heard) the place is guar­ded by Germane Souldiers, and other warlike men, commanded thither [Page] by the Gouernours of this City, least any outrage should be there com­mitted: And beside, the Church is so full of people, as wee shall neuer compasse to get neere. Martellino being also as forward in desire to see it, presently replied: All this difficulty cannot dismay me, but I will goe to the very body of the Saint it selfe. But how? quoth Marquiso. I will tell thee, answered Martellino. I purpose to goe in the disguise of an impotent lame person, supported on the one side by thy selfe, and on the other by Stechio, as if I were not able to walke of my selfe: And you two thus su­staining me, desiring to come neere the Saint to cure me; euery one will make way, and freely giue you leaue to goe on.

This deuise was very pleasing to Marquiso and Stechio, so that (without any further delaying) they all three left their lodging, and resorting into a secret corner aside, Martellino so writhed and mishaped his hands, fin­gers, and armes, his legges, mouth, eyes, and whole countenance, that it was a dreadfull sight to looke vpon him, and whosoeuer beheld him, would verily haue imagined, that hee was vtterly lame of his limbes, and greatly deformed in his body. Marquiso and Stechio, seeing all sorted so well as they could wish, tooke and led him towards the Church, making very pitious moane, and humbly desiring (for Gods sake) of euery one that they met, to grant them free passage, whereto they charitably condis­cended.

Thus leading him on, crying still; Beware there before, and giue way for Gods sake, they arriued at the body of Saint Arriguo, that (by his helpe) he might be healed. And while all eyes were diligently obseruing, what miracle would be wrought on Martellino, hee hauing sitten a small space vpon the Saints bodie, and being sufficiently skilfull in counterfeiting; be­ganne first to extend for the one of his fingers, next his hand, then his arme, and so (by degrees) the rest of his body. Which when the people saw, they made such a wonderfull noyse in praise of Saint Arriguo, euen as if it had thundered in the Chu [...]ch.

Now it chanced by ill fortune, that there stood a Florentine neere to the body, who knew Martellino very perfectly; but appearing so monstrou­sly mishapen, when he was brought into the Church, hee could take no knowledge of him. But when he saw him stand vp and walke, hee knew him then to be the man indeede; whereupon he saide: How commeth it to passe, that this fellow should be so miraculously cured, that neuer truly was any way impotent? Certaine men of the City hearing these words, entred into further questioning with him, demanding, how he knew that the man had no such imperfection? Well enough (answered the Floren­tine) I know him to be as direct in his limbes and body, as you; I, or any of vs all are: but indeede, he knowes better how to dissemble counterfet trickes, then any man else that euer I saw.

When they heard this, they discoursed no further with the Florentine, but pressed on mainely to the place where Martellino stood, crying out a­loude. Lay holde on this Traytor, a mocker of God, and his holy Saints, that had no lamenesse in his limbes; but to make a mocke of our Saint and [Page 30] vs, came hither in false and counterfet manner. So laying hands vppon him, they threw him against the ground, haling him by the haire on his head, and tearing the garments from his backe, spurning him vvith their feete, and beating him with their fists, that many were much ashamed to see it.

Poore Martellino was in a pittifull case, crying out for mercy, but no man would heare him; for, the more he cried, the more stil they did beat him, as meaning to leaue no life in him, which Stechio and Marquiso see­ing, considered with themselues, that they were likewise in a desperate case; and therfore, fearing to be as much misvsed, they cryed out among the rest; Kill the counterfet knaue, lay on loade, and spare him not; ne­uerthelesse, they tooke care how to get him out of the peoples handes, as doubting, least they would kill him indeede, by their extreame vio­lence.

Sodainly, Marquiso bethought him how to do it, and proceeded thus. All the Sergeants for Iustice standing at the Church doore, hee ran with all possible speede to the Potestates Lieutenant, and said vnto him. Good my Lord Iustice, helpe me in an hard case; yonder is a villaine that hath cut my purse, I desire he may bee brought before you, that I may haue my money againe. He hearing this, sent for a dozen of the Sergeants, who went to apprehend vnhappy Martellino, and recouer him from the peoples fury, leading him on with them to the Palace, no meane crowds thronging after him, when they heard that he was accused to bee a Cut­purse. Now durst they meddle no more with him, but assisted the Of­ficers; some of them charging him in like manner, that he had cut theyr purses also.

Vpon these clamours and complaints, the Potestates Lieutenant (be­ing a man of rude quality) tooke him sodainly aside, and examined him of the crimes wherewith he was charged. But Martellino, as making no account of these accusations, laughed, and returned scoffing answeres. Whereat the Iudge, waxing much displeased, deliuered him ouer to the Strappado, and stood by himselfe, to haue him confesse the crimes im­posed on him, and then to hang him afterward. Beeing let downe to the ground, the Iudge still demaunded of him, whether the accusations a­gainst him were true, or no? Affirming, that it nothing auayled him to deny it: whereupon hee thus spake to the Iudge. My Lord, I am heere ready before you, to confesse the truth; but I pray you, demaund of all them that accuse me, when and where I did cut their purses, & then I wil tell you that, which (as yet) I haue not done, otherwise I purpose to make you no more answers.

Well (quoth the Iudge) thou requirest but reason; & calling diuers of the accusers, one of them saide, that he lost his purse eight dayes be­fore; another saide six, another foure, and some saide the very same day. Which Martellino hearing, replyed. My Lord, they al lie in their throats, as I will plainly proue before you. I would to God I had neuer set foote within this City, as it is not many houres since my first entrance, and pre­sently [Page] after mine arriuall, I went (in an euill houre I may say for me) to see the Saints body, where I was thus beaten as you may beholde. That all this is true which I say vnto you, the Seigneuries Officer that keeps your Booke of presentations, will testifie for me, as also the Host where I am lodged. Wherefore good my Lord, if you finde all no otherwise, then as I haue said, I humbly entreate you, that vpon these bad mens reportes and false informations, I may not be thus tormented, and put in perill of my life.

While matters proceeded in this manner, Marquiso and Stechio, vn­derstanding how roughly the Potestates Lieutenant dealt with Martellino and that he had already giuen him the Strappado; were in heauy per­plexity, saying to themselues; we haue carried this businesse very badly, redeeming him out of the Frying-pan, and flinging him into the Fire. Whereupon, trudging about from place to place, & meeting at length with their Host, they told him truly how all had happened, whereat hee could not refraine from laughing. Afterward, he went with them to one Master Alexander Agolante, who dwelt in Treuers, and was in great cre­dite with the Cities cheefe Magistrate, to whom hee related the whole Discourse; all three earnestly entreating him, to commisserate the case of poore Martellino.

Master Alexander, after he had laughed heartily at this hotte peece of seruice, went with him to the Lord of Treuers; preuailing so vvell with him, that he sent to haue Martellino brought before him. The Messengers that went for him, found him standing in his shirt before the Iudge, very shrewdly shaken with the Strappado, trembling and quaking pittifully. For the Iudge would not heare any thing in his excuse; but hating him (perhaps) because hee was a Florentine: flatly determined to haue him hangde by the necke, and would not deliuer him to the Lorde, vntill in meere despight he was compeld to do it.

The Lord of Treuers, when Martellino came before him, and had ac­quainted him truly with euery particular: Master Alexander requested, that he might be dispatched thence for Florence, because he thought the halter to be about his necke, and that there was no other helpe but han­ging. The Lord, smiling (a long while) at the accident, & causing Mar­tellino to be handsomely apparrelled, deliuering them also his Passe, they escaped out of further danger, and tarried no where, till they came vnto Florence.

The second Nouell.

MVch merriment was among the Ladies, hearing this Tale of Mar­tellinos misfortunes, so familiarly reported by Madam Neiphila, and of the men, it was best respected by Philostratus, who sitting neerest vnto Neiphila, the Queene commanded his Tale to be the next, when present­ly he began to speake thus.

Gracious Ladies, I am to speake of vniuersall occasions, mingled with some misfortunes in part, and partly with matters leaning to loue: as ma­ny times may happen to such people, that trace the dangerous pathes of amorous desires, or haue not learned perfectly, to say S. Iulians pater no­ster, hauing good beds of their owne, yet (casually) meete with worser lodging.

In the time of Azzo, Marquesse of Ferrara, there was a Marchant na­med Rinaldo de Este, who being one day at Bologna, about some especiall businesse of his owne; his occasions there ended, and riding from thence towards Verona, he fell in company with other Horsemen, seeming to be Merchants like himselfe; but indeede were Theeues, men of most badde life and conuersation; yet he hauing no such mistrust of them, rode on, [Page] conferring with them very familiarly. They perceiuing him to be a Mer­chant, and likely to haue some store of money about him, concluded be­tweene themselues to rob him, so soone as they found apt place and op­portunity. But because he should conceiue no such suspition, they rode on like modest men, talking honestly & friendly with him, of good parts and disposition appearing in him, offering him all humble and gracious seruice, accounting themselues happy by his companie, as hee returned the same courtesie to them, because he was alone, and but one seruant with him.

Falling from one discourse to another, they began to talke of such prayers, as men (in iourney) vse to salute God withall; and one of the Theeues (they being three in number, spake thus to Rinaldo. Sir, let it be no offence to you, that I desire to know, what prayer you most vse when thus you trauell on the way? Whereto Rinaldo replyed in this manner. To tell you true Sir, I am a man grosse enough in such Diuine matters, as medling more with Marchandize, then I do with Bookes. Neuerthe­lesse, at all times when I am thus in iourney, in the morning before I de­part my Chamber, I say a Pater noster and an Aue Maria, for the souls of the father and mother of Saint Iulian, and after that, I pray God and S. Iulian to send me a good lodging at night. And let me tell you Sir, that very oftentimes heeretofore, I haue met with many great dangers vpon the way, from all which I still escaped, and euermore (when night drewe on) I came to an exceeding good Lodging. Which makes mee firmely beleeue, that Saint Iulian (in honour of whom I speake it) hath begd of God such great grace for me; and mee thinkes, that if any day I should faile of this prayer in the morning: I cannot trauaile securely, nor come to a good lodging. No doubt then Sir (quoth the other) but you haue saide that prayer this morning? I would be sory else, saide Rinaldo, such an especiall matter is not to be neglected.

He and the rest, who had already determined how to handle him be­fore they parted, saide within themselues: Looke thou hast said thy prai­er, for when we haue thy money, Saint Iulian and thou shift for thy lod­ging. Afterward, the same man thus againe conferd with him. As you Sir, so I haue ridden many iournies, and yet I neuer vsed any such praier, although I haue heard it very much commended, and my lodging hath prooued neuer the worser. Perhaps this verie night will therein resolue vs both, whether of vs two shall be the best lodged; you that haue sayde the prayer, or I that neuer vsde it at all. But I must not deny, that in sted thereof, I haue made vse of some verses; as Dirupisti, or the Iutemerata, or Deprofundis, which are (as my Grandmother hath often told mee) of very great vertue and efficacy.

Continuing thus in talke of diuers things, winning way, and beguiling the time, still waiting when their purpose should sort to effect: it fortu­ned, that the Theeues seeing they were come neere to a Towne, called Casteau Guillaume, by the foord of a Riuer, the houre somewhat late, the place solitarie, and thickely shaded with trees, they made their assault; [Page 32] and hauing robd him, left him there on foote, stript into his shirt, saying to him. Goe now and see, whether thy Saint Iulian will allow thee this night a good lodging, or no, for our owne we are sufficiently prouided; so passing the Riuer, away they rode. Rinaldoes seruant, seeing his Ma­ster so sharply assayled, like a wicked villaine, would not assist him in any sort: but giuing his horse the spurres, neuer left gallowping, vntill hee came to Chasteau Guillaume, where hee entred vpon the point of night, prouiding himselfe of a lodging, but not caring what became of his Master.

Rinaldo remaining there in his shirt, bare-foote and bare-legged, the weather extremely colde, and snowing incessantly, not knowing what to doe, darke night drawing on, and looking round about him, for some place where to abide that night, to the end he might not dye with colde: he found no helpe at all there for him, in regard that (no long while be­fore) the late warre had burnt and wasted all, and not so much as the least Cottage left. Compelled by the coldes violence, his teeth quaking, and all his body trembling, hee trotted on towards Chasteau Guillaume, not knowing, whether his man was gone thither or no, or to what place else: but perswaded himselfe, that if he could get entrance, there was no feare of finding succour. But before he came within halfe a mile of the Towne, the night grew extreamely darke, and arriuing there so late, hee found the gates fast lockt, and the Bridges drawne vp, so that no entrance might be admitted.

Grieuing greatly hereat, and being much discomforted, rufully he [...] went spying about the walls, for some place wherein to shrowd himselfe, at least, to keepe the snow from falling vpon him. By good hap, hee espied an house vpon the wall of the Towne, which had a terrace iutting out as a penthouse, vnder which he purposed to stand all the night, and then to get him gone in the morning. At length, hee found a doore in the wall, but very fast shut, and some small store of strawe lying by it, which he gathered together, and sitting downe thereon very pensiuely; made many sad complaints to Saint Iulian, saying: This was not accor­ding to the trust he reposed in her. But Saint Iulian, taking compassion vpon him, without any ouer-long tarying; prouided him of a good lodging, as you shall heare how.

In this towne of Chasteau Guillaume, liued a young Lady, who was a widdow, so beautifull and comely of her person, as sildome was seene a more louely creature. The Marquesse Azzo most dearely affected her, and (as his choysest Iewell of delight) gaue her that house to liue in, vn­der the terrace whereof poore Rinaldo made his shelter. It chaunced the day before, that the Marquesse was come thither, according to his fre­quent custome, to weare away that night in her company, she hauing se­cretly prepared a Bath for him, and a costly supper beside. All things be­ing ready, and nothing wanting but the Marquesse his presence: sudden­ly a Post brought him such Letters, which commanded him instantly to horsebacke, and word hee sent to the Lady, to spare him for that night, [Page] because vrgent occasions called him thence, and hee rode away im­mediately.

Much discontented was the Lady at this vnexpected accident, and not knowing now how to spend the time, resolued to vse the Bath which hee had made for the Marquesse, and (after supper) betake her selfe to rest, and so she entred into the Bath. Close to the doore where poore Rinaldo sate, stoode the Bath, by which meanes, shee being therein, heard all his quiuering moanes, and complaints, seeming to be such, as the Swanne singing before her death: whereupon, shee called her Chamber-maide, saying to her. Goe vp aboue, and looke ouer the terrace on the wall downe to this doore, and see who is there, and what hee doth. The Chamber-maide went vp aloft, and by a little glimmering in the ayre, she saw a man sitting in his shirt, bare on feete and legges, trembling in manner before rehearsed. Shee demaunding, of whence, and what hee was; Rinaldoes teeth so trembled in his head, as very hardly could hee forme any words, but (so well as he could) tolde her what hee was, and how hee came thither: most pittifully entreating her, that if shee could affoord him any helpe, not to suffer him starue there to death with colde.

The Chamber-maide, being much moued to compassion, returned to her Lady, and tolde her all; she likewise pittying his distresse, and re­membring shee had the key of that doore, whereby the Marquesse both entred and returned, when he intended not to be seene of any, said to her Maide. Goe, and open the doore softly for him; we haue a good supper, and none to helpe to eate it, and if he be a man likely, we can allow him one nights lodging too. The Chamber-maide, commending her Lady for this charitable kindnesse, opened the doore, and seeing hee appeared as halfe frozen, shee said vnto him. Make hast good man, get thee into this Bath▪ which yet is good and warme, for my Lady her selfe came but newly out of it. Whereto very gladly he condiscended, as not tarrying to be bidden twise; finding himselfe so singularly comforted with the heare thereof, euen as if hee had beene restored from death to life. Then the Lady sent him garments, which lately were her deceased husbands, and fitted him so aptly in all respects, as if purposely they had beene made for him.

Attending in further expectation, to know what else the Lady would commaund him; hee began to remember God and Saint Iulian, hartily thanking her, for deliuering him from so bad a night as was threatned to­wards him, and bringing him to so good entertainement. After all this, the Lady causing a faire fire to be made in the neerest Chamber beneath, went and sate by it her selfe, demaunding how the honest man fared. Madame, answered the Chamber-maide, now that he is in your deceased Lords garments, he appeareth to be a very goodly Gentleman, and (que­stionlesse) is of respectiue birth and breeding, well deseruing this graci­ous fauour which you haue afforded him. Goe then (quoth the Lady) and conduct him hither, to sit by this fire, and sup here with mee, for I feare he hath had but a sorrie supper. When Rinaldo was entred into the [Page 33] Chamber, and beheld her to be such a beautifull Lady, accounting his fortune to exceede all comparison, hee did her most humble reuerence, expressing so much thankefulnesse as possibly hee could, for this her ex­traordinary grace and fauour.

The Lady fixing a stedfast eye vpon him, well liking his gentle lan­guage and behauiour, perceiuing also, how fitly her deceased husbands apparell was formed to his person, and resembling him in all familiar re­spects, he appeared (in her iudgement) farre beyond the Chambermaides commendations of him; so praying him to sit downe by her before the fire, shee questioned with him, concerning this vnhappy nights accident befalne him, wherein he fully resolued her, and shee was the more per­swaded, by reason of his seruants comming into the Towne before night, assuring him, that he should be found for him early in the morning.

Supper being serued in to the Table, and hee seated according as the Lady commanded, shee began to obserue him very considerately; for he was a goodly man, compleate in all perfections of person, a delicate pleasing countenance, a quicke alluring eye, fixed and constant, not wan­tonly gadding, in the iouiall youthfulnesse of his time, and truest temper for amorous apprehension; all these were as battering ensignes against a Bulwarke of no strong resistance, and wrought strangely vpon her flexi­ble affections. And though hee fed heartily, as occasion constrained, yet her thoughts had entertained a new kinde of diet, digested onely by the eye; yet so cunningly concealed, that no motiue to immodesty could be discerned. Her mercy thus extended to him in misery, drew on (by Table discourse) his birth, education, parents, friends, and alies; his wealthy possessions by Merchandize, aud a sound stability in his estate, but aboue all (and best of all) the single and sole condition of a batch [...] ­ler; an apt and easie steele to strike fire, especially vpon such quicke ta­king tinder, and in a time fauoured by Fortune.

No imbarment remained, but remembrance of the Marquesse, and that being summond to her more aduised consideration, her youth and beauty stood vp as conscious accusers, for blemishing her honour and faire repute, with lewd and luxurious life; farre vnfit for a Lady of her de­gree, and well worthy of generall condemnation. What should I further say? vpon a short conference with her Chambermaide, repentance for sinne past, and solemne promise of a constant conuersion, thus shee deli­uered her minde to Rinaldo.

Sir, as you haue related your fortunes to me, by this your casuall hap­pening hither, if you can like the motion so well as shee that makes it, my deceased Lord and husband liuing so perfectly in your person; this house, and all mine, is yours; and of a widow I will become your wife, ex­cept (vnmanly) you denie me. Rinaldo hearing these words, and procee­ding from a Lady of such absolute perfections, presuming vpon so proud an offer, and condemning himselfe of folly if he should refuse it, thus re­plied. Madam, considering that I stand bound for euer hereafter, to con­fesse that you are the gracious preseruer of my life, and I no way able to [Page] returne requitall; if you please so to shadow mine insufficiency, and to accept me and my fairest fortunes to doe you seruice: let me die before a thought of deniall, or any way to yeeld you the least discontentment.

Here wanted but a Priest to ioyne their hands, as mutuall affection already had done their hearts, which being sealed with infinite kisses; the Chamber-maide called vp Friar Roger her Confessor, and wedding and bedding were both effected before the bright morning. In briefe, the Marquesse hauing heard of the marriage, did not mislike it, but confir­med it by great and honourable gifts; and hauing sent for his dishonest seruant, he dispatched him (after sound reprehension) to Ferrara, with Letters to Rinaldoes Father and friends, of all the accidents that had be­falne him. Moreouer, the very same morning, the three theeues, that had robbed, and so ill entreated Rinaldo, for another facte by them the same night committed; were taken, and brought to the Towne of Cha­steau Guillaume, where they were hanged for their offences, and Rinaldo with his wife rode to Ferrara.

The third Nouell.

THe fortunes of Rinaldo de Este, being heard by the Ladies and Gen­tlemen, they admired his happinesse, and commended his deuotion [Page 34] to Saint I [...]lian, who (in such extreame necessity) sent him so good suc­cour. Nor was the Lady to be blamed, for leauing base liberty, and con­uerting to the chaste embraces of the marriage bed, the dignity of wo­mens honour, and eternall disgrace liuing otherwise. While thus they descanted on the happy night betweene her and Rinaldo, Madam Pampi­nea sitting next to Philostratus, considering, that her discourse must fol­low in order, and thinking on what shee was to say; the Queene had no sooner sent out her command, but shee being no lesse faire then forward, beganne in this manner.

Ladies of great respect, the more we conferre on the accidents of For­tune, so much the more remaineth to consider on her mutabilities, where­in there is no need of wonder, if discreetly we obserue, that all such things as we fondly tearme to be our owne, are in her power, and so (conse­quently) change from one to another, without any stay or arrest (accor­ding to her concealed iudgement) or setled order (at least) that can bee knowne to vs. Now, although these things appeare thus daily to vs, euen apparantly in all occasions, and as hath beene discerned by some of our precedent discourses; yet notwithstanding, seeing it pleaseth the Queene, that our arguments should ayme at these ends, I will adde to the former tales another of my owne, perhaps not vnprofitable for the hearers, nor vnpleasing in obseruation.

Sometime heeretofore, there dwelt in our Citie, a Knight named Signior Thebaldo, who (according as some report) issued from the Fa­mily of Lamberti, but others deriue him of the Agolanti; guiding (per­haps) their opinion heerein, more from the traine of children, belong­ing to the saide Thebaldo (euermore equall to that of the Agolanti) then a­ny other matter else. But setting aside, from which of these two houses he came, I say, that in his time he was a very welthy Knight, & had three Sonnes; the first being named Lamberto, the second Thebaldo, & the third Agolanto, all goodly and gracefull youths: howbeit, the eldest had not compleated eighteene yeares, when Signior Thebaldo the father decea­sed, who left them all his goods and inheritances. And they, seeing them selues rich in read [...]e monies and reuennewes, without any other gouern­ment then their owne voluntary disposition, kept no restraint vpon their expences, but maintained many seruants, and store of vnvalewable hor­ses, beside Hawkes and Hounds, with open house for all commers; and not onely all delights else fit for Gentlemen, but what vanities beside best agreed with their wanton and youthfull appetites.

Not long had they run on this race, but the treasures lefte them by their Father, began greatly to diminish; and their reuennewes suffised not, to support such lauish expences as they had begun: but they fell to engaging and pawning their inheritances, selling one to day, and ano­ther to morrow, so that they saw themselues quickly come to nothing, and then pouerty opened their eyes, which prodigality had before closed vp. Heereupon, Lamberto (on a day) calling his Brethren to him, she­wed them what the honors of their Father had beene, to what height his [Page] wealth amounted, and now to what an ebbe of pouerty it was falne, one­ly thorow their inordinate expences. Wherefore hee counselled them, (as best he could) before further misery insulted ouer them; to make sale of the small remainder that was left, and then to betake themselues vnto some other abiding, where fairer Fortune might chance to shine vppon them.

This aduice preuailed with them; and so, without taking leaue of any body, or other solemnity then closest secrecy, they departed from Flo­rence, not tarrying in any place vntill they were arriued in England. Com­ming to the City of London, and taking there a small house vpon year­ly rent, liuing on so little charge as possible might be, they began to lend out money at vse: wherein Fortune was so fauourable to them, that (in few yeares) they had gathered a great summe of mony: by means where­of it came to passe, that one while one of them, and afterward another, returned backe againe to Florence: where, with those summes, a great part of their inheritances were redeemed, and many other bought be­side. Linking themselues in marriage, and yet continuing their vsances in England; they sent a Nephew of theirs thither, named Alessandro, a yong man, and of faire demeanor, to maintaine their stocke in employ­ment: while they three remained still at Florence, and growing forgetful of their former misery, fell againe into as vnreasonable expences as euer, neuer respecting their houshold charges, because they had good credite among the Merchants, and the monies still sent from Alessandro, suppor­ted their expences diuers yeares.

The dealings of Alessandro in England grew very great, for hee lent out much money to many Gentlemen, Lords, and Barons of the Land, vpon engagement of their Manours, Castles, and other reuennues: from whence he deriued immeasurable benefite. While the three Brethren held on in their lauish expences, borrowing moneys when they wanted vntill their supplyes came from England, whereon (indeede) was their onely dependance: it fortuned, that (contrary to the opinion of al men) warre happened betweene the King of England, and one of his sonnes, which occasioned much trouble in the whole Countrey, by taking part on either side, some with the Sonne, and other with the Father. In regard whereof, those Castles and places pawned to Alessandro, were sodainely seized from him, nothing then remaining that returned him any profit. But liuing in hope day by day, that peace would be concluded betweene the Father and the Sonne, he neuer doubted, but all things then should be restored to him, both the principall and interest, & therfore he would not depart out of the Country.

The three Brethren at Florence, bounding within no limites their dis­ordered spending; borrowed daily more and more. And after some few yeares, the Creditors seeing no effect of their hopes to com from them, all credit being lost with them, and no repayment of promised dues; they were imprisoned, their landes and all they had, not suffising to pay the moity of debts, but their bodies remained in prison for the rest, theyr [Page 35] Wiues and yong children being sent thence, some to one village, some to another, so that nothing now was to be expected, but pouerty & mi­sery of life for euer.

As for honest Alessandro, who had awaited long time for peace in Eng­land, perceyuing there was no likelyhood of it; and considering also, that (beside his tarrying there in vaine to recouer his dues) he was in dan­ger of his life; without any further deferring, hee set away for Italy. It came to passe, that as he issued foorth of Bruges, hee saw a yong Abbot also iourneying thence, being cloathed in white, accompanied with di­uers Monkes, and a great traine before, conducting the needefull carri­age. Two ancient Knights, Kinsmen to the King, followed after, with whom Alessandro acquainted himselfe, as hauing formerly known them, and was kindly accepted into their company. Alessandro riding along with them, courteously requested to know, what those Monks were that rode before, and such a traine attending on them? Whereto one of the Knights thus answered.

He that rideth before, is a yong Gentleman, and our Kinsman, who is newly elected Abbot of one of the best Abbeyes in England; & because he is more yong in yeares, then the decrees for such a dignity doe allow, we trauaile with him to Rome, to entreat our Holy Father, that his youth may be dispensed withall, and he confirmed in the sayd dignity; but hee is not to speake a word to any person. On rode this new Abbot, some­times before his traine, and other whiles after, as we see great Lords vse to do, when they ride vpon the High-wayes.

It chanced on a day, that Alessandro rode somewhat neere to the Ab­bot, who stedfastly beholding him, perceiued that he was a verie comely young man, so affable, louely, and gracious, that euen in this first en­counter, he hadde neuer seene any man before, that better pleased him. Calling him a little closer, he began to conferre familiarly with him, de­manding what he was, whence he came, and whether he trauelled. Ales­sandro imparted freely to him all his affaires, in euery thing satisfying his demands, and offering (although his power was small) to doe him all the seruice he could.

When the Abbot had heard his gentle answers, so wisely & discreet­ly deliuered, considering also (more particularly) his commendable ca­riage; he tooke him to be (at the least) a well-borne Gentleman, and far differing from his owne logger-headed traine. Wherfore, taking com­passion on his great misfortunes, he comforted him very kindly, wishing him to liue alwayes in good hope. For, if hee were vertuous and honest, he should surely attaine to the seate from whence Fortune had throwne him, or rather much higher. Entreating him also, that seeing he iourni­ed towards Tuscany, as he himselfe did the like; to continue stil (if he plea­sed) in his company. Alessandro most humbly thanked him for such gra­cious comfort; protesting, that he would be alwaies ready, to doe what­soeuer he commanded.

The Abbot riding on, with newer crochets in his braine, then hee had [Page] before the sight of Alessandro; it fortuned, that after diuers dayes of tra­uaile, they came to a small countrey Village, which affoorded little store of lodging, and yet the Abbot would needs lye there. Alessandro, be­ing well acquainted with the Host of the house, willed him, to prouide for the Abbot and his people, and then to lodge him where hee thought meetest. Now, before the Abbots comming thither, the Harbinger that marshalled all such matters, had prouided for his traine in the Vil­lage, some in one place, and others elsewhere, in the best maner that the Towne could yeelde. But when the Abbot had supt, a great part of the night being spent, and euery one else at his rest; Alessandro demaunded of the Host, what prouision he had made for him; and how hee should be lodged that night?

In good sadnesse Sir (quoth the Host) you see that my house is full of Guests, so that I and my people, must gladly sleepe on the tables & ben­ches: Neuerthelesse, next adioyning to my Lord Abbots Chamber, there are certaine Corn-lofts, whether I can closely bring you, and ma­king shift there with a slender Pallet-bed, it may serue for one night, in­sted of a better. But mine Host (quoth Alessandro) how can I passe tho­row my Lords Chamber, which is so little, as it would not allowe Lod­ging for any of his Monkes? If I had remembred so much (said the Host) before the Curtaines were drawne, I could haue lodgd his Monkes in those Corn-lofts, and then both you and I might haue slept where now they do. But feare you not, my Lords Curtaines are close drawne, hee sleepeth (no doubt) soundly, and I can conueigh you thither quietly e­nough, without the least disturbance to him, and a Pallet-bed shal be fit­ted there for you. Alessandro perceyuing, that all this might bee easilie done, and no disease offered to the Abbot, accepted it willingly, & went thither without any noyse at all.

My Lord Abbot, whose thoughtes were so busied about amorous desires, that no sleepe at all could enter his eyes; heard all this talke be­tweene the Host and Alessandro, and also where hee was appointed to lodge, wherefore he sayd to himselfe. Seeing Fortune hath fitted me with a propitious time, to compasse the happines of my hearts desire; I know no reason why I should refuse it. Perhaps, I shall neuer haue the like of­fer againe, or euer be enabled with such an opportunity. So, being ful­ly determined to prosecute his intention, and perswading himselfe also, that the silence of night had bestowed sleepe on all the rest; with a lowe and trembling voyce, he called Alessandro, aduising him to come and lye downe by him, which (after some few faint excuses) he did, and putting off his cloaths, lay downe by the Abbot, being not a little prowde of so gracious a fauour.

The Abbot, laying his arme ouer the others body, began to imbrace and hugge him; euen as amorous friends (prouoked by earnest affecti­on) vse to do. Whereat Alessandro very much maruayling, and being an Italian himselfe, fearing least this folly in the Abbot, would conuert to foule and dishonest action, shrunk modestly from him. Which the [Page 36] Abbot perceiuing, and doubting, least Alessandro would depart and leaue him, pleasantly smiling, and with bashfull behauiour, baring his stomack, he tooke Alessandroes hand, and laying it thereon, saide; Alessandro, let all bad thoughts of bestiall abuse be farre off from thee, and feele here, to re­solue thee from all such feare. Alessandro feeling the Abbots brest, found there two pretty little mountainets, round, plumpe, and smooth, appea­ring as if they had beene of polished Iuory; whereby he perceiued, that the Abbot was a woman: which, setting an edge on his youthfull desires, made him fall to embracing, and immediately he offered to kisse her; but shee somewhat rudely repulsing him, as halfe offended, saide.

Alessandro, forbeare such boldnesse, vpon thy liues perill, and before thou further presume to touch me, vnderstand what I shall tell thee. I am (as thou perceiuest) no man, but a woman; and departing a Virgin from my Fathers House, am trauelling towards the Popes holinesse, to the end that he should bestow me in mariage. But the other day, when first I be­held thee, whether it proceeded from thy happinesse in fortune, or the fatall houre of my owne infelicity for euer, I know not; I conceiued such an effectuall kinde of liking towards thee, as neuer did woman loue a man more truly, then I doe thee, hauing sworne within my soule to make thee my Husband before any other; and if thou wilt not accept mee as thy wife, set a locke vpon thy lippes concerning what thou hast heard, and depart hence to thine owne bed againe.

No doubt, but that these were strange newes to Alessandro, and see­med meerely as a miracle to him. What shee was, he knew not, but in regard of her traine and company, hee reputed her to be both noble and rich, as also shee was wonderfull faire and beautifull. His owne fortunes stood out of future expectation by his kinsmens ouerthrow, and his great losses in England; wherefore, vpon an opportunity so fairely offered, hee held it no wisedome to returne refusall, but accepted her gracious moti­on, and referred all to her disposing. Shee arising out of her bed, called him to a little Table standing by, where hung a faire Crucifix vpon the wall; before which, and calling him to witnesse, that suffered such bitter and cruell torments on his Crosse, putting a Ring vpon his finger, there she faithfully espoused him, refusing all the World, to be onely his: which being on either side confirmed solemnely, by an holy vow, and chaste kis­ses; shee commanded him backe to his Chamber, and shee returned to her bed againe, sufficiently satisfied with her Loues acceptation, and so they iournied on till they came to Rome.

When they had rested themselues there for some few dayes, the sup­posed Abbot, with the two Knights, and none else in company but Ales­sandro, went before the Pope, and hauing done him such reuerence as be­seemed, the Abbot began to speake in this manner.

Holy Father (as you know much better then any other) euery one that desireth to liue well and vertuously, ought to shunne (so farre as in them lieth) all occasions that may induce to the contrary. To the ende therefore, that I (who desire nothing more) then to liue within the com­passe [Page] of a vertuous conuersation, may perfect my hopes in this behalfe: I haue fled from my Fathers Court, and am come hither in this habite as you see, to craue therein your holy and fatherly furtherance. I am daugh­ter to the King of England, and haue sufficiently furnished my selfe with some of his treasures, that your holinesse may bestow me in marriage; because mine vnkind Father, neuer regarding my youth and beauty (infe­rior to few in my natiue Country) would marry me to the King of North­wales, an aged, impotent, and sickly man. Yet let me tell your sanctity, that his age and weakenesse hath not so much occasioned my flight, as feare of mine owne youth and frailety; when being married to him, in­stead of loyall and vnstained life, lewd and dishonest desires might make me to wander, by breaking the diuine Lawes of wedlocke, and abusing the royall blood of my Father.

As I trauailed hither with this vertuous intention, our Lord, who onely knoweth perfectly, what is best fitting for all his creatures; presen­ted mine eyes (no doubt in his meere mercy and goodnesse) with a man meete to be my husband, which (pointing to Alessandro) is this young Gentleman standing by me, whose honest, vertuous, and ciuill demea­nour, deserueth a Lady of farre greater worth, although (perhaps) no­bility in blood be denied him, and may make him seeme not so excellent, as one deriued from Royall discent. Holy and religious vowes haue past betweene vs both, and the Ring on his finger, is the firme pledge of my faith and constancie; neuer to accept any other man in marriage, but him onely, although my Father, or any else doe dislike it. Wherefore (holy Father) the principall cause of my comming hither, being already effectually concluded on, I desire to compleat the rest of my pilgrimage, by visiting the sanctified places in this City, whereof there are great plen­ty: And also, that sacred marriage, being contracted in the presence of God onely, betweene Alessandro and my selfe, may by you be publiquely confirmed, and in an open congregation. For, seeing God hath so ap­pointed it, and our soules haue so solemnely vowed it, that no disaster whatsoeuer can alter it: you being Gods vicar here on earth, I hope will not gaine-say, but confirme it with your fatherly benediction, that wee may liue in Gods feare, and dye in his fauour.

Perswade your selues (faire Ladies) that Alessandro was in no meane admiration, when hee heard, that his wife was daughter to the King of England; vnspeakeable ioy (questionlesse) wholly ouercame him: but the two Knights were not a little troubled and offended, at such a strange and vnexpected accident, yea, so violent were their passions, that had they beene any where else, then in the Popes presence, Alessandro had felt their fury, and (perhaps) the Princesse her selfe too. On the other side, the Pope was much amazed, at the habite she went disguised in, and likewise at the election of her husband; but, perceiuing there was no re­sistance to be made against it, hee yeelded the more willingly to satisfie her desire. And therefore, hauing first comforted the two Knights, and made peace betweene them, the Princesse and Alessandro; he gaue order [Page 37] for the rest that was to be done.

When the appointed day for the solemnity was come, hee caused the Princesse (cloathed in most rich and royall garments) to appeare before all the Cardinals, and many other great persons then in presence, who were come to this worthy Feast, which hee had caused purposely to be prepared, where she seemed so faire & goodly a Lady, that euery eye was highly delighted to behold her, commending her with no mean admira­tion. In like manner was Alessandro greatly honored by the two Knights, being most sumptuous in appearance, and not like a man that had lent money to vsury, but rather of very royall quality; the Pope himselfe ce­lebrating the marriage betweene them, which being finished, with the most magnificent pompe that could be deuised, hee gaue them his bene­diction, and licenced their departure thence.

Alessandro, his Princesse and her traine thus leauing Rome, they would needes visite Florence, where the newes of this accident was (long before) noysed, and they receiued by the Citizens in royall manner. There did shee deliuer the three brethren out of prison, hauing first payed all their debts, and reseated them againe (with their wiues) in their former inhe­ritances and possessions. Afterward, departing from Florence, and Ago­lanto, one of the Vncles trauailing with them to Paris; they were there also most honourably entertained by the King of France. From whence the two Knights went before for England, and preuailed so succesfully with the King; that hee receiued his daughter into grace and fauour, as also his Sonne in law her husband, to whom hee gaue the order of Knighthoode, and (for his greater dignitie) created him Earle of Cornewall.

And such was the noble spirit of Alessandro, that he pacified the trou­bles betweene the King and his sonne, whereon ensued great comfort to the Kingdome, winning the loue and fauour of all the people; and Ago­lanto (by the meanes of Alessandro) recouered all that was due to him and his brethren in England, returning richly home to Florence, Counte Alessandro (his kinsman) hauing first dubd him Knight. Long time hee liued in peace and tranquility, with the faire Princesse his wife, prouing to be so absolute in wisedome, and so famous a Souldier; that (as some report) by assistance of his Father in law, hee conquered the Realme of Ireland, and was crowned King thereof.

The fourth Nouell.

MAdame Lauretta, sitting next to Madame Pampinea, and seeing how triumphantly shee had finished her discourse; without attending any thing else, spake thus. Gracious Ladies, wee shall neuer behold (in mine opinion) a great act of Fortune, then to see a man so suddainly ex­alted, euen from the lowest death of pouerty, to a Royall estate of dig­nity; as the discourse of Madame Pampinea hath made good, by the hap­py aduancement of Alessandro. And because it appeareth necessary, that whosoeuer discourseth on the subiect proposed, should no way varie from the very same termes; I shall not shame to tell a tale, which, though it containe farre greater mishaps then the former, may sort to as happy an issue, albeit not so noble and magnificent. In which respect, it may (perhaps) merit the lesse attention; but howsoeuer that fault shall be found in you, I meane to discharge mine owne duty.

Opinion hath made it famous for long time, that the Sea-coast of Rhe­gium to Gaieta, is the onely delectable part of all Italy, wherein, somewhat neere to Salerno, is a shore looking vpon the Sea, which the inhabitants [Page 38] there dwelling, doe call the coast of Malfy, full of small Townes, Gar­dens, Springs and wealthy men, trading in as many kindes of Merchan­dizes, as any other people that I know. Among which Townes, there is one, named Rauello, wherein (as yet to this day there are rich people) there was (not long since) a very wealthy man, named Landolpho Ruffolo, who being not contented with his riches, but coueting to multiply them double and trebble, fell in danger, to loose both himselfe and wealth to­gether.

This man (as other Merchants are wont to doe) after hee had consi­dered on his affaires, bought him a very goodly Ship, [...]ading it with di­uers sorts of Merchandizes, all belonging to himselfe onely, and making his voyage to the Isle of Cyprus. Where he found, ouer and beside the Merchandizes he had brought thither, many Ships more there arriued, and all laden with the selfe same commodities, in regard whereof, it was needefull for him, not onely to make a good Mart of his goods; but also was further constrained (if hee meant to vent his commodities) to sell them away (almost) for nothing, endangering his vtter destruction and ouerthrow. Whereupon, grieuing exceedingly at so great a losse, not knowing what to doe, and seeing, that from very abundant wealth, hee was likely to fall into as low pouerty: hee resolued to dye, or to recom­pence his losses vpon others, because he would not returne home poore, hauing departed thence so rich.

Meeting with a Merchant, that bought his great Ship of him; with the money made thereof, and also of his other Merchandizes, hee pur­chased another, being a lighter vessell, apt and proper for the vse of a Pi­rate, arming and furnishing it in ample manner, for rouing and robbing vpon the Seas. Thus hee began to make other mens goods his owne, especially from the Turkes he tooke much wealth, Fortune being alwayes therein so fauourable to him, that hee could neuer compasse the like by trading. So that, within the space of one yeare, hee had robd and taken so many Gallies from the Turke; that he found himselfe well recouered, not onely of all his losses by Merchandize, but likewise his wealth was wholly redoubled. Finding his losses to be very liberally required, and hauing now sufficient, it were folly to hazard a second fall; wherefore, conferring with his owne thoughts, and finding that he had enough, and needed not to couer after more: he fully concluded, now to returne home to his owne house againe, and liue vpon his goods thus gotten.

Continuing still in feare, of the losses he had sustained by traffique, & minding, neuer more to imploy his mony that way, but to keep this light vessel, which had holpen him to all his wealth: he commanded his men to put forth their Oares, and shape their course for his owne dwelling. Being aloft in the higher Seas, darke night ouer-taking them, and a mighty winde suddainly comming vpon them: it not onely was contrary to their course, but held on with such impetuous violence; that the small vessell, being vnable to endure it, made to land-ward speedily, and in ex­pectation of a more friendly wind, entred a litle port of the Sea, directing [Page] vp into a small Island, and there safely sheltred it selfe. Into the same port which Landolpho had thus taken for his refuge, entred (soone after) two great Carrackes of Genewayes, lately come from Constantinople. When the men in them had espied the small Barke, and lockt vppe her passage from getting foorth; vnderstanding the Owners name, and that report had famed him to be very rich, they determined (as men euermore addi­cted naturally, to couet after money and spoile) to make it their owne as a prize at Sea.

Landing some store of their men, well armed with Crosse-bowes and other weapons, they tooke possession of such a place, where none durst issue forth of the small Barke, but endangered his life with their Darts & Arrowes. Entering aboord the Barke, and making it their owne by full possession, all the men they threw ouer-boord, without sparing any but Landolpho himselfe, whom they mounted into one of the Carrackes, lea­uing him nothing but a poore shirt of Maile on his backe, and hauing rifled the Barke of all her riches, sunke it into the bottome of the sea. The day following, the rough windes being calmed, the Carrackes set saile a­game, hauing a prosperous passage all the day long; but vppon the en­trance of darke night, the windes blew more tempestuously then before, and sweld the Sea in such rude stormes, that the two Carracks were sun­dered each from other, and by violence of the tempest it came to passe, that the Carracke wherein lay poore miserable Landolpho (beneath the Isle of Cephalonia) ran against a rocke, and euen as a glasse against a wall, so split the Carracke in peeces, the goods and merchandizes floating on the Sea, Chests, Coffers, Beds, and such like other things, as often hap­neth in such lamentable accidents.

Now, notwithstanding the nights obscurity, and impetuous violence of the billowes; such as could swimme, made shift to saue their liues by swimming. Others caught hold on such things, as by Fortunes fauour floated neerest to them, among whom, distressed Landolpho, desirous to saue his life, if possibly it might be, espied a Chest or Coffer before him, ordained (no doubt) to be the meanes of his safety from drowning. Now although the day before, he had wished for death infinite times, rather then to returne home in such wretched pouerty; yet, seeing how other men stroue for safety of their liues by any helpe, were it neuer so little, he tooke aduantage of this fauor offred him, and the rather in a necessitie so vrgent. Keeping fast vpon the Coffer so well as he could, and being dri­uen by the winds & waues, one while this way, and anon quite contrarie, he made shift for himselfe till day appeared; when looking euery way a­bout him, seeing nothing but clouds, the seas and the Coffer, which one while shrunke from vnder him, and another while supported him, accor­ding as the windes and billowes carried it: all that day and night thus he floated vp and downe, drinking more then willingly hee would, but al­most hunger-starued thorow want of foode. The next morning, either by the appointment of heauen, or power of the Windes, Landolpho who was (well-neere) become a Spundge, holding his armes strongly [Page 38] about the Chest, as wee haue some doe, who (dreading drowning) take hold on any the very smallest helpe; drew neere vnto the shore of the I­land Corfu, where (by good fortune) a poore woman was scowring di­shes with the salt water and sand, to make them (house-wife like) neate and cleane.

When shee saw the Chest drawing neere her, and not discerning the shape of any man, shee grew fearefull, and retyring from it, cried out a­loude. He had no power of speaking to her, neither did his sight doe him the smallest seruice; but euen as the waues and windes pleased, the Chest was driuen still neerer to the Land, and then the woman perceiued that it had the forme of a Cofer, and looking more aduisedly, beheld two armes extended ouer it, and afterward, shee espied the face of a man, not being able to iudge, whether he were aliue, or no. Moued by charitable and womanly compassion, shee stept in among the billowes, and getting fast holde on the haire of his head, drew both the Chest and him to the Land, and calling forth her Daughter to helpe her, with much adoe shee vnfolded his armes from the Chest, setting it vp on her Daughters head, and then betweene them, Landolpho was led into the Towne, and there conueyed into a warme Stoue, where quickly he recouered (by her pains) his strength benummed with extreame cold.

Good wines and comfortable broathes shee cherished him withall, that his sences being indifferently restored, hee knew the place where he was; but not in what manner he was brought thither, till the good wo­man shewed him the Cofer that had kept him floating vpon the waues, and (next vnder God) had saued his life. The Chest seemed of such slen­der weight, that nothing of any value could be expected in it, either to re­compence the womans great paines and kindnesse bestowne on him, or any matter of his owne benefit. Neuerthelesse, the woman being absent, he opened the Chest, and found innumerable precious stones therein, some costly and curiously set in gold, and others not fixed in any mettall. Hauing knowledge of their great worth and value (being a Merchant, and skild in such matters) he became much comforted, praysing God for this good successe, and such an admirable meanes of deliuerance from danger.

Then considering with himselfe, that (in a short time) hee had beene twice well buffeted and beaten by Fortune, and fearing, least a third mis­hap might follow in like manner; hee consulted with his thoughts, how he might safest order the businesse, and bring so rich a booty (without pe­rill) to his owne home. Wherefore, wrapping vp the Iewels in very vn­sightly cloutes, that no suspition at all should be conceiued of them, hee saide to the good woman, that the Chest would not doe him any further seruice; but if shee pleased to lende him a small sacke or bagge, shee might keepe the Cofer, for in her house it would diuers way stead her. The woman gladly did as he desired, and Landolpho returning her infinite thankes, for the louing kindnesse shee had affoorded him, throwing the sacke on his necke, passed by a Barke to Brundusiam, and from thence to [Page] Tranium, where Merchants in the City bestowed good garments on him, hee acquainting them with his disasterous fortunes, but not a word con­cerning his last good successe.

Being come home in safety to Rauello, hee fell on his knees, and than­ked God for all his mercies towards him. Then opening the sacke, and viewing the Iewels at more leysure then formerly he had done, he found them to be of so great estimation, that selling them but at ordinary and reasonable rates, he was three times richer, then when hee departed first from his house. And hauing vented them all, he sent a great sum of mo­ney to the good woman at Corfu, that had rescued him out of the Sea, and saued his life in a danger so dreadfull: The like hee did to Tranium, to the Merchants that had newly cloathed him; liuing richly vpon the remainder, and neuer aduenturing more to the Sea, but ended his dayes in wealth and honour.

The fift Nouell.

THe precious Stones and Iewels found by Landolpho, maketh mee to remember (said Madam Fiammetta, who was next to deliuer her dis­course) a Tale, containing no lesse perils, then that reported by Madam [Page 40] Lauretta: but somewhat different from it, because the one happened in sundry yeeres, and this other had no longer time, then the compasse of one poore night, as instantly I will relate vnto you.

As I haue heard reported by many, there sometime liued in Perouse or [...]erugia, a young man, named Andrea de Piero, whose profession was to trade about Horses, in the nature of a Horse-courser, or Horse-master, who hearing of a good Faire or Market (for his purpose) at Naples, did put fiue hundred Crownes of gold in his purse, and iourneyed thither in the company of other Horse-coursers, arriuing there on a Sunday in the euening. According to instructions giuen him by his Host, he went the next day into the Horse-ma [...]ket, where he saw very many Horses that he liked, cheapening their prices as he went vp and downe, but could fall to no agreement; yet to manifest that he came purposely to buy, and not as a cheapener onely, oftentimes (like a shalow brainde trader in the world) he shewed his purse of gold before all passengers, neuer respecting who, or what they were that obserued his follie.

It came to passe, that a young Sicillian wench (very beautifull, but at commaund of whosoeuer would, and for small hire) passing then by, and (without his perceiuing) seeing such store of gold in his purse; presently she said to her selfe: why should not all those crownes be mine, when the foole that owes them, can keepe them no closer? And so she went on. With this young wanton there was (at the same time) an olde woman (as commonly such stuffe is alwayes so attended) seeming to be a Sicilli­an also, who so soone as shee saw Andrea, knew him, and, leauing her youthfull commodity, ranne to him, and embraced him very kindly. Which when the younger Lasse perceiued, without proceeding any further, she stayed, to see what would ensue thereon. Andrea conferring with the olde Bawde, and knowing her (but not for any such creature) declared himselfe very affable to her; she making him promise, that shee would come and drinke with him at his lodging. So, breaking off further speeches for that time, shee returned to her young Cammerado; and An­drea went about buying his horses, still cheapning good store, but did not buy any all that morning.

The Punke that had taken notice of Adreaes purse, vpon the olde wo­mans comming backe to her (hauing formerly studied, how shee might get all the gold, or the greater part thereof) cunningly questioned with her, what the man was, whence hee came, and the occasion of his busi­nesse there? wherein she fully informed her particularly, and in as ample manner as himselfe could haue done: That shee had long time dwelt in Sicily with his Father, and afterward at Perouse; recounting also, at what time she came thence, and the cause which now had drawne him to Na­ples. The witty young housewife, being thorowly instructed, concer­ning the Parents and kindred of Andrea, their names, quality, and all other circumstances thereto leading; began to frame the foundation of her purpose thereupon, setting her resolution downe constantly, that the purse and gold was (already) more then halfe her owne.

[Page] Being come home to her owne house, away shee sent the olde Pan­dresse about other businesse, which might hold her time long enough of employment, and hinder her returning to Andrea according to promise, purposing, not to trust her in this serious piece of seruice. Calling a young crafty Girle to her, whom she had well tutoured in the like ambassages, when euening drew on, she sent her to Andreas lodging, where (by good fortune) she found him sitting alone at the dore, and demanding of him, if he knew an honest Gentleman lodging there, whose name was Signior Andrea de Piero; he made her answere, that himselfe was the man. Then taking him aside, shee said. Sir, there is a worthy Gentlewoman of this Citie, that would gladly speake with you, if you pleased to vouchsafe her so much fauour.

Andrea, hearing such a kinde of salutation, and from a Gentlewo­man, named of worth; began to grow proud in his owne imaginations, and to make no meane estimation of himselfe: As (vndoubtedly) that he was an hansome proper man, and of such cariage and perfections, as had attracted the amorous eye of this Gentlewoman, and induced her to like and loue him beyond all other, Naples not contayning a man of better merit. Whereupon he answered the Mayde, that he was ready to attend her Mistresse, desiring to know, when it should be, and where the Gentle­woman would speake with him? So soone as you please Sir, replied the Damosell, for she tarieth your comming in her owne house.

Instantly Andrea (without leauing any direction of his departure in his lodging, or when he intended to returne againe) said to the Girle: Goe before, and I will follow. This little Chamber-commodity, conducted him to her Mistresses dwelling, which was in a streete named Naupertuis, a title manifesting sufficiently the streetes honesty: but hee, hauing no such knowledge thereof, neither suspecting any harme at all, but that he went to a most honest house, and to a Gentlewoman of good respect; entred boldly, the Mayde going in before, and guiding him vp a faire payre of stayres, which he hauing more then halfe ascended, the cunning young Queane gaue a call to her Mistresse, saying; Signtor Andrea is come already, whereupon, she appeared at the stayres-head, as if she had stayed there purposely to entertaine him. She was young, very beauti­full, comely of person, and rich in adornements, which Andrea well ob­seruing, & seeing her descend two or three steps, with open armes to em­brace him, catching fast hold about his neck; he stood as a man confoun­ded with admiration, and she contained a cunning kinde of silence, euen as if she were vnable to vtter one word, seeming hindered by extremity of ioy at his presence, and to make him effectually admire her extraordi­nary kindnesse, hauing teares plenteously at commaund, intermixed with sighes and broken speeches, at last, thus she spake.

Signior Andrea, you are the most welcom friend to me in all the world; sealing this salutation with infinite sweet kisses and embraces: whereat (in wonderfull amazement) he being strangely transported, replied; Ma­dame, you honour me beyond all compasse of merit. Then, taking him [Page 41] by the hand, shee guided him thorow a goodly Hall, into her owne Chamber, which was delicately embalmed with Roses, Orenge-flowres, and all other pleasing smelles, and a costly bed in the middest, curtained round about, very artificiall Pictures beautifying the walles, with many other embellishments, such as those Countries are liberally stored with­all. He being meerely a nouice in these kinds of wanton carriages of the World, and free from any base or degenerate conceit; firmely perswa­ded himselfe, that (questionlesse) shee was a Lady of no meane esteeme, and he more then happy, to be thus respected and honoured by her. They both being seated on a curious Chest at the Beds feete, teares cunningly trickling downe her cheekes, and sighes intermedled with inward sob­bings, breathed forth in sad, but very seemely manner; thus shee be­ganne.

I am sure Andrea, that you greatly maruell at me, in gracing you with this solemne and kinde entertainment, and why I should so melt my selfe in sighes and teares, at a man that hath no knowledge of me, or (perhaps) sildome or neuer heard any speeches of me: but you shall instantly re­ceiue from mee matter to augment your greater maruell, meeting heere with your owne sister, beyond all hope or expectation in either of vs both. But seeing that Heauen hath beene so gracious to me, to let mee see one of my brethren before I die (though gladly I would haue seene them all) which is some addition of comfort to me, and that which (hap­pily) thou hast neuer heard before, in plaine and truest manner, I will re­ueale vnto thee.

Piero, my Father and thine, dwelt long time (as thou canst not chuse but to haue vnderstood) in Palermo, where, through the bounty, and o­ther gracious good parts remaining in him, he was much renowned; and (to this day) is no doubt remembred, by many of his louing friends and well-willers. Among them that most intimately affected Piero, my mo­ther (who was a Gentlewoman, and at that time a widow) did dearest of all other loue him; so that forgetting the feare of her Father, brethren, yea, and her owne honour, they became so priuately acquainted, that I was begotten, and am here now such as thou seest me. Afterward, oc­casions so befalling our Father, to abandon Palermo, and returne to Pe­rouse, he left my mother and me his little daughter, neuer after (for ought that I could learne) once remembring either her or me: so that (if he had not beene my Father) I could haue much condemned him, in regard of his ingratitude to my Mother, and loue which hee ought to haue shewne me as his childe, being borne of no Chamber-maide, neither of a City sinner; albeit I must needes say, that shee was blame-worthy, without any further knowledge of him (moued onely thereto by most loyal affection) to commit both her selfe, and all the wealth shee had, into his hands: but things ill done, and so long time since, are more easily controled, then amended.

Being left so young at Palermo, and growing (well neere) to the stature as now you see me; my mother, being wealthy, gaue mee in marriage to [Page] one of the Gergentes Family, a Gentleman, and of great reuenewes, who in his loue to me and my mother, went and dwelt at Palermo: where fal­ling into the Guelphes faction, and making one in the enterprize with Charles our King; it came to passe, that they were discouered to Frede­ricke King of Arragon, before their intent could be put in execution, whereupon, we were enforced to flie from Sicilie, euen when my hope stood fairely to haue beene the greatest Lady in all the Iland. Packing vp then such few things as wee could take with vs, few I may well call them, in regard of our wealthy possessions, both in Pallaces, Houses, and Lands, all which we were constrained to forgoe: we made our recourse to this City, where wee found King Charles so benigne and gracious to vs, that recompencing the greater part of our losses, he bestowed Lands and Houses on vs here, beside a continuall large pension to my husband your brother in Law, as hereafter himselfe shall better acquaint you with­all. Thus came I hither, and thus remaine here, where I am able to wel­come my brother Andrea, thankes more to Fortune, then any friendli­nesse in him: with which words she embraced and kissed him many times, sighing and weeping as shee did before.

Andrea hearing this fable so artificially deliuered, composed from point to point, with such likely protestations, without faltring or failing in any one words vtteranee; and remembring perfectly for truth, that his Father had formerly dwelt at Palermo; knowing also (by some sensible feeling in himselfe) the custome of young people, who are easily con­quered by affection in their youthfull heate; seeing beside the teares, trem­bling speeches, and earnest embracings of this cunning commodity: he tooke all to be faithfully true by her thus spoken, and vpon her silence, thus he replied. Lady, let it not seeme strange to you, that your words haue raised maruell in me, because (indeede) I had no knowledge of you, euen no more then as if I had neuer seene you, neuer also hauing heard my Father to speake either of you or your Mother (for some considerati­ons best knowne to himselfe) or if at any time he vsed such language, ei­ther my youth then, or defectiue memory since, hath vtterly lost it. But truly, it is no little ioy and comfort to me, to finde a sister here, where I had no such hope or expectation, and where also my selfe am a meere stranger. For to speake my mind freely of you, and the perfections grace­fully appearing in you, I know not any man, of how great repute or qua­lity soeuer, but you may well beseeme his acceptance, much rather then mine, that am but a meane Merchant. But faire sister, I desire to be re­solued in one thing, to wit, by what meanes you had vnderstanding of my being in this City? whereto readily shee returned him this answer.

Brother, a poore woman of this City, whom I employ sometimes in houshold occasions, came to me this morning, and (hauing seene you) tolde me, that shee dwelt a long while with our Father, both at Palermo, and Perouse. And because I held it much better beseeming my condition, to haue you visit me in mine owne dwelling, then I to come see you at a common Inne; I made the bolder to send for you hither. After which [Page 42] words, in very orderly manner, shee enquired of his chiefest kindred and friends, calling them readily by their proper names, according to her for­mer instructions. Whereto Andrea still made her answer, confirming thereby his beliefe of her the more strongly, and crediting whatsoeuer shee saide, farre better then before.

Their conference hauing long time continued, and the heate of the day being somewhat extraordinary, shee called for Greeke wine, and ban­quetting stuffe, drinking to Andrea; and he pledging her very contented­ly. After which, he would haue returned to his lodging, because it drew neere supper time; which by no meanes shee would permit, but seeming more then halfe displeased, shee saide. Now I plainely perceiue brother, how little account you make of me, considering, you are with your owne Sister, who (you say) you neuer saw before, and in her owne House, whe­ther you should alwayes resort when you come to this City; and would you now refuse her, to goe and sup at a common Inne. Beleeue me bro­ther, you shall sup with me, for although my Husband is now from home, to my no little discontentment: yet you shall find brother, that his wife can bid you welcome, and make you good cheere beside.

Now was Andrea so confounded with this extremity of courtesie, that he knew not what to say, but onely thus replied. I loue you as a Sister ought to be loued, and accept of your exceeding kindnesse: but if I re­turne not to my lodging, I shall wrong mine Host and his guests too much, because they will not sup vntill I come. For that (quoth shee) we haue a present remedy, one of my seruants shal goe and giue warning, whereby they shall not tarry your comming. Albeit, you might doe me a great kindnesse, to send for your friends to sup with vs here, where I assure ye they shall finde that your Sister (for your sake) will bid them welcome, and after supper, you may all walke together to your Inne. Andrea an­swered, that he had no such friends there, as should be so burthenous to her: but seeing shee vrged him so farre, he would stay to sup with her, and referred himselfe solely to her disposition.

Ceremonious shew was made, of sending a seruant to the Inne, for not expecting Andreas presence at Supper, though no such matter was performed; but, after diuers other discoursings, the table being couered, and variety of costly viands placed thereon, downe they sate to feeding, with plenty of curious Wines liberally walking about, so that it was darke night before they arose from the table. Andrea then offring to take his leaue, she would (by no meanes) suffer it, but tolde him that Naples was a Citie of such strict Lawes and Ordinances, as admitted no night­walkers, although they were Natiues, much lesse strangers, but punished them with great seuerity. And therefore, as she had formerly sent word to his Inne, that they should not expect his comming to supper, the like had she done concerning his bed, intending to giue her Brother Andrea one nights lodging, which as easily she could affoord him, as she hadde done a Supper. All which this new-caught Woodcocke verily credi­ting, and that he was in company of his owne Sister Fiordeliza (for so did [Page] she cunningly stile her selfe, and in which beleefe hee was meerely delu­ded) he accepted the more gladly her gentle offer, and concluded to stay there all that night.

After supper, their conference lasted very long, purposely dilated out in length, that a great part of the night might therein be wasted: when, leauing Andrea to his Chamber, and a Lad to attend, that he shold lacke nothing; she with her women went to their lodgings, and thus our bro­ther and supposed Sister were parted. The season then being somewhat hot and soultry, Andrea put off his hose and doublet, and beeing in his shirt alone, layed them vnderneath the beds boulster, as seeming carefull of his money. But finding a prouocation to the house of Office, he de­manded of the Lad, where hee might find it; who shewed him a little doore in a corner of the Chamber, appointing him to enter there. Safely enough he went in, but chanced to tread vpon a board, which was faste­ned at neither ende to the ioynts whereon it lay, being a pit-fall made of purpose, to entrap any such coxecombe, as would be trained to so base a place of lodging, so that both he and the board fell downe together into the draught; yet such being his good fortune, to receiue no harme in the fall (although it was of extraordinary height) onely the filth of the place, (it being ouer full) had fowly myred him.

Now for your better vnderstanding the quality of the place, and what ensued thereupon, it is not vnnecessary to describe it, according to a com­mon vse obserued in those parts. There was a narrow passage or entrie, as often we see reserued betweene two houses, for eithers benefit to such a needfull place; and boards loosely lay vpon the ioynts, which such as were acquainted withall, could easily auoide any perill, in passing to or from the stoole. But our so newly created brother, not dreaming to find a queane to his Sister, receiuing so foule a fall into the vaulte, and know­ing not how to helpe himselfe, being sorrowfull beyond measure; cryed out to the boy for light and aide, with intended not to giue him any. For the crafty wag, (a meete attendant for so honest a Mistresse) no sooner heard him to be fallen, but presently he ranne to enforme her thereof, and shee as speedily returned to the Chamber, where finding his cloathes vnder the beds head, shee needed no instruction for search in his pockets. But hauing found the gold, which Andrea indiscreetely carried alwayes a­bout him, as thinking it could no where else be so safe: This was all shee aymed at, and for which shee had ensnared him, faigning her selfe to be of Palermo, and Daughter to Piero of Perouse, so that not regarding him any longer, but making fast the house of Office doore, there shee left him in that miserable taking.

Poore Andrea perceiuing, that his calles could get no answer from the Lad; cryed out louder, but all to no purpose: when seeing into his owne simplicity, and vnderstanding his error, though somewhat too late, hee made such meanes constrainedly, that he got ouer a wall, which seuered that foule sinke from the Worlds eye; and being in the open streete, went to the doore of the House, which then he knew too well to his cost, ma­king [Page 43] loude exclaimes with rapping and knocking, but all as fruitlesse as before. Sorrowing exceedingly, and manifestly beholding his misfor­tune; Alas (quoth he) how soone haue I lost a Sister, and fiue hundred Crownes besides? with many other words, loude calles, and beatings v­pon the doore without intermission, the neighbours finding themselues diseased, and vnable to endure such ceaselesse vexation, rose from their beds, and called to him, desiring him to be gone and let them rest. A maide also of the same House, looking forth at the window, and seeming as newly raised from sleepe, called to him, saying; What noyse is that be­neath? Why Virgin (answered Andrea) know you not me? I am Andrea de Piero, Brother to your Mistresse Fiordeliza. Thou art a drunken knaue, replied the Maide, more full of drinke then wit, goe sleepe, goe sleepe, and come againe to morrow: for I know no Andrea de Piero, neither hath my Mistresse any such Brother, get thee gone good man, and suffer vs to sleepe I pray thee. How now (quoth Andrea) doest thou not vnderstand what I say? Thou knowest that I supt with thy Mistresse this night; but if our Sicilian kindred be so soone forgot, I pray thee giue me my cloathes which I left in my Chamber, and then very gladly will I get mee gone. Hereat the Maide laughing out aloude, saide; Surely the man is mad, or walketh the streetes in a dreame; and so clasping fast the window, away shee went and left him.

Now could Andrea assure himselfe, that his gold and cloathes were past recouery, which mouing him to the more impatience, his former intercessions became conuerted into fury, and what hee could not com­passe by faire entreats, he entended to winne by outrage and violence, so that taking vp a great stone in his hand, hee layed vpon the doore very powerfull strokes. The neighbours hearing this molestation still, admit­ting them not the least respite of rest, reputing him for a troublesome fel­low, and that he vsed those counterfet words, onely to disturbe the Mi­stresse of the House, and all that dwelled neere about her; looking againe out at their windowes, they altogether began to rate and reproue him, euen like so many bawling Curres, barking at a strange dog passing tho­row the streete. This is shamefull villany (quoth one) and not to be suf­fered, that honest women should be thus molested in their houses, with foolish idle words, and at such an vnseasonable time of the night. For Gods sake (good man) be gone, and let vs sleepe; if thou haue any thing to say to the Gentlewoman of the House, come to morrow in the day time, and no doubt but shee will make thee sufficient answer.

Andrea being somewhat pacified with these speeches, a shag-hairde swash-buckler, a grim-visagde Ruffian (as sildome bawdy houses are with­out such swaggering Champions) not seene or heard by Andrea, all the while of his being in the house rapping out two or three terrible oathes, opened a casement, and with a stearne dreadfull voyce, demaunded who durst keepe that noyse beneath? Andrea fearefully looking vp, and (by a little glimmering of the Moone) seeing such a rough fellow, with a blacke beard, strowting like the quilles of a Porcupine, and patches on his face, [Page] for hurts receiued in no honest quarels, yawning also and stretching, as angry to haue his sleepe disturbed: trembling and quaking, answered; I am the Gentlewomans brother of the house. The Ruffian interrupting him, and speaking more fiercely then before; sealing his words with hor­rible oathes, said. Sirra, Rascall, I know not of whence or what thou art, but if I come downe to thee, I will so bombast thy prating cox­combe, as thou was neuer better beaten in all thy life, like a drunken slaue and beast as thou art, that all this night wilt not let vs sleepe; and so hee clapt to the window againe.

The neighbours, well acquainted with this Ruffians rude conditions, speaking in gentle manner to Andrea, said. Shift for thy selfe (good man) in time, and tarrie not for his comming downe to thee; except thou art wearie of thy life, be gone therefore, and say thou hast a friendly war­ning. These words dismaying Andrea, but much more the stearne oathes and vgly sight of the Ruffian, incited also by the neighbours counsell, whom he imagined to aduise him in charitable manner: it caused him to depart thence, taking the way homeward to his Inne, in no meane affli­ction and torment of minde, for the monstrous abuse offered him, and losse of his money. Well he remembred the passages, whereby (the day before) the young Girle had guided him, but the loathsome smell about him, was so extreamely offensiue to himselfe: that, desiring to wash him at the Sea side, he strayed too farre wide on the contrary hand, wandring vp the streete called Ruga Gatellana.

Proceeding on still, euen to the highest part of the Citie, hee espied a Lanthorne and light, as also a man carrying it, and another man with him in company, both of them comming towards him. Now, because he suspected them two of the watch, or some persons that would appre­hend him: he slept aside to shunne them, and entred into an olde house hard by at hand. The other mens intention was to the very same place, and going in, without any knowledge of Andreaes being there, one of them layd downe diuers instruments of yron, which he had brought thi­ther on his backe, and had much talke with his fellow concerning those engines. At last one of them said, I smell the most abhominable stinke, that euer I felt in all my life. So, lifting vp his Lanthorne, he espied poore pittifull Andrea, closely couched behinde the wall. Which sight some­what affrighting him, he yet boldly demaunded, what and who hee was: whereto Andrea aunswered nothing, but lay still and held his peace. Neerer they drew towards him with their light, demaunding how hee came thither, and in that filthy manner.

Constraint hauing now no other euasion, but that (of necessity) all must out: hee related to them the whole aduenture, in the same sort as it had befalne him. They greatly pittying his misfortune, one of them said to the other. Questionlesse, this villanie was done in the house of Scara­bone Buttafuoco; And then turning to Andrea, proceeded thus. In good faith poore man, albeit thou hast lost thy money, yet art thou highly be­holding to Fortune, for falling (though in a foule place) yet in succesfull [Page 45] manner, and entring no more backe into the house. For, beleeue mee friend, if thou hadst not falne, but quietly gone to sleepe in the house; that sleepe had beene thy last in this world, and with thy money, thou hadst lost thy life likewise. But teares and lamentations are now help­lesse, because, as easily mayest thou plucke the Starres from the firma­ment, as get a gaine the least doyt of thy losse. And for that shag-haird Slaue in the house, he will be thy deaths-man, if he but vnderstand, that thou makest any enquiry after thy money. When he had thus admoni­shed him, he began also in this manner to comfort him. Honest fellow, we cannot but pitty thy present condition, wherfore, if thou wilt friendly associate vs, in a businesse which wee are instantly going to effect: thy losse hath not beene so great, but on our words wee will warrant thee, that thine immediate gaine shall farre exceede it. What will not a man (in desperate extremity) both well like and allow of, especially, when it carrieth apparance of present comfort? So fared it with Andrea, hee per­swaded himselfe, worse then had already happened, could not befall him; and therefore he would gladly aduenture with them.

The selfe same day preceding this disastrous night to Andrea, in the chiefe Church of the Citie, had beene buried the Archbishop of Naples, named Signior Philippo Minutulo, in his richest pontificall roabes and or­naments, and a Ruby on his finger, valued to be worth fiue hundred duc­kets of gold: this dead body they purposed to rob and rifle, acquainting Andrea with their whole intent, whose necessity (coupled with a coue­tous desire) made him more forward then well aduised, to ioyne with them in this sacriligious enterprise. On they went towards the great Church, Andreaes vnsauourie perfume much displeasing them, where­vpon the one said to his fellow. Can we deuise no ease for this foule and noysome inconuenience? the very smell of him will be a meanes to be­tray vs. There is a Well-pit hard by, answered the other, with a pulley and bucket descending downe into it, and there we may wash him from this filthinesse. To the Well-pit they came, where they found the rope and pulley hanging ready, but the bucket (for safety) was taken away: whereon they concluded, to fasten the rope about him, and so let him downe into the Well-pit, and when he had washed himselfe, hee should wagge the rope, and then they would draw him vp againe, which accor­dingly they forth-with performed.

Now it came to passe, that while hee was thus washing himselfe in the Well-pit, the watch of the Citie walking the round, and finding it to be a very hote and sweltring night; they grew dry and thirsty, and therefore went to the Well to drinke. The other two men, perceiuing the Watch so neere vpon them: left Andrea in the Pit to shift for himselfe, running away to shelter themselues. Their flight was not discouered by the Watch, but they comming to the Well-pit, Andrea remained still in the bottome, and hauing cleansed himselfe so well as hee could, sate wagging the rope, expecting when hee should be haled vp. This dumbe signe the Watch discerned not, but sitting downe by the Wells side, [Page] they layde downe their Billes and other weapons, tugging to draw vp the rope, thinking the Bucket was fastened thereto, and full of water. Andrea being haled vp to the Pits brim, left holding the rope any longer, catching fast hold with his hands for his better safety: and the Watch at the sight heereof being greatly affrighted, as thinking that they had dragd vp a Spirit; not daring to speake one word, ranne away with all the hast they could make.

Andrea hereat was not a little amazed, so that if he had not taken very good hold on the brim: he might haue falne to the bottome, and doubt­lesse there his life had perished. Being come forth of the Well, and tread­ing on Billes and Halbards, which he well knew that his companions had not brought thither with them; his meruaile so much the more encrea­sed, ignorance and feare still seizing on him, with silent bemoaning his many misfortunes, away thence he wandred, but hee wist not whither. As he went on, he met his two fellowes, who purposely returned to drag him out of the Well, and seeing their intent already performed, desired to know who had done it: wherein Andrea could not resolue them, re­hearsing what hee could, and what weapons hee found lying about the Well. Whereat they smiled, as knowing, that the Watch had haled him vp, for feare of whom they left him, and so declared to him the rea­son of their returne.

Leauing off all further talke, because now it was about midnight, they went to the great Church, where finding their entrance to be easie: they approached neere the Tombe, which was very great, being all of Mar­ble, and the couer-stone weighty, yet with crowes of yron and other helps, they raised it so high, that a man might without perill passe into it. Now began they to question one another, which of the three should enter into the Tombe. Not I, said the first; so said the second: No, nor I, answered Andrea. Which when the other two heard, they caught fast hold of him, saying. Wilt not thou goe into the Tombe? Be aduised what thou sayest, for, if thou wilt not goe in: we will so beat thee with one of these yron crowes, that thou shalt neuer goe out of this Church aliue.

Thus poore Andrea is still made a property, and Fortune (this fatall night) will haue no other foole but he, as delighting in his hourly disasters. Feare of their fury makes him obedient, into the graue he goes, and being within, thus consults with himselfe. These cunning companions suppose me to be simple, & make me enter the Tombe, hauing an absolute inten­tion to deceiue me. For, when I haue giuen them all the riches that I finde here, and am ready to come forth for mine equall portion: away will they runne for their owne safety, and leauing me here, not onely shall I loose my right among them, but must remaine to what danger may follow after. Hauing thus meditated, he resolued to make sure of his owne share first, and remembring the rich Ring, whereof they had tolde him: forth­with hee tooke it from the Archbishops finger, finding it indifferently fitte for his owne. Afterward, hee tooke the Crosse, Miter, rich gar­ments, Gloues and all, leauing him nothing but his shirt, giuing them [Page 45] all these seuerall parcels; protesting, that there was nothing else. Stil they pressed vpon him, affirming that there was a Ring beside, vrging him to search diligently for it; yet still he answered, that hee could not finde it, and for their longer tarying with him, seemed as if he serched very care­fully, but all appeared to no purpose.

The other two fellowes, as cunning in craft as the third could be, still willed him to search, and watching their aptest opportunity: tooke a­way the props that supported the Tombe-stone, and running thence with their got booty, left poore Andrea mewed vp in the graue. Which when he perceiued, and saw this misery to exceede all the rest, it is farre easier for you to guesse at his greefe, then I am any way able to expresse it. His head, shoulders, yea all his vtmost strength he employeth, to re­moue that ouer-heauy hinderer of his liberty: but all his labour beeing spent in vaine, sorrow threw him in a swoond vpon the Byshoppes dead body, where if both of them might at that instant haue bene obserued, the Arch-byshops dead body, and Andrea in greefe dying, very hardly had bene distinguished. But his senses regaining their former offices, among his silent complaints, consideration presented him with choyse of these two vnauoydable extremities. Dye staruing must he in the tombe, with putrifaction of the dead body; or if any man came to open the Graue, then must he be apprehended as a sacrilegious Theefe, and so be hanged, according to the lawes in that case prouided.

As he continued in these strange afflictions of minde, sodainely hee heard a noise in the Church of diuers men, who (as he imagined) came about the like businesse, as hee and his fellowes had vndertaken before; wherein he was not a iot deceiued, albeit his feare the more augmented. Hauing opened the Tombe, and supported the stone, they varied also a­mong themselues for entrance, and an indiffrent while contended about it. At length, a Priest being one in the company, boldly said. Why how now you white-liuer'd Rascals? What are you affraid of? Do you thinke he will eate you? Dead men cannot bite, and therefore I my selfe will go in. Hauing thus spoken, he prepared his entrance to the Tombe in such order, that he thrust in his feete before, for his easier descending downe into it.

Andrea sitting vpright in the Tombe, and desiring to make vse of this happy opportunity, caught the Priest fast by one of his legges, making shew as if he meant to dragge him downe. Which when the Priest felt, he cryed out aloud, getting out with all the hast he could make, and all his companions, being well neere frighted out of their wits, ranne away amaine, as if they had bene followed by a thousand diuels [...]. Andrea lit­tle dreaming on such fortunate successe, made meanes to get out of the graue, and afterward forth of the Church, at the very same place where he entred.

Now began day-light to appeare, when hee, hauing the rich Ring on his finger, wandred on hee knew not whether: till comming to the Sea­side, he found the way directing to his Inne, where all his company were [Page] with his Host, who had bene very carefull for him. Hauing related his manifold mischances, his Hoste friendly aduised him with speede to get him out of Naples. As instantly he did, returning home to Perouse, ha­uing aduentured his fiue hundred Crownes on a Ring, where-with hee purposed to haue bought Horses, according to the intent of his iourney thither.

The sixt Nouell.

THe Ladies and Gentlemen also, hauing smiled sufficiently at the se­uerall accidents which did befall the poore Traueller Andrea, repor­ted at large by Madame Fiametta, the Lady Aemillia, seeing her tale to be fully concluded, began (by commandement of the Queene) to speake in this manner.

The diuersitie of changes and alterations in Fortune as they are great, so must they needs be greeuous; and as often as we take occasion to talk of them, as often do they awake and quicken our vnderstandings, auou­ching, [Page 46] that it is no easie matter to depend vpon her flatteries. And I am of opinion, that to heare them recounted, ought not any way to offend vs, be it of men wretched or fortunate; because, as they instrust the one with good aduise, so they animate the other with comfort. And there­fore, although great occasions haue beene already related, yet I purpose to tell a Tale, no lesse true then lamentable; which albeit it sorted to a suc­cessefull ending, yet notwithstanding, such and so many were the bitter thwartings, as hardly can I beleeue, that euer any sorrow was more ioy­fully sweetened.

You must vnderstand then (most gracious Ladies) that after the death of Fredericke the second Emperour, one named Manfred, was crowned King of Sicilie, about whom liued in great account and authority, a Nea­politane Gentleman, called Henriet Capece, who had to Wife a beautifull Gentlewoman, and a Neapolitane also, named Madam Beritola Caracalla. This Henriet held the gouernment of the Kingdome of Sicilie, and vnder­standing, that King Charles the first, had wonne the battle at Beneuentum, and slaine King Maufred; the whole Kingdome reuolting also to his de­uotion, and little trust to be reposed in the Sicillians, or he willing to sub­iect himselfe to his Lords enemy; prouided for his secret flight from thence. But this being discouered to the Sicillians, he and many more, who had beene loyall seruants to King Manfred, were suddenly taken and imprisoned by King Charles, and the sole possession of the Iland confir­med to him.

Madam Beritola not knowing (in so sudden and strange an alteration of State affaires) what was become of her Husband, fearing also greatly before, those inconueniences which afterward followed; being ouer­come with many passionate considerations, hauing left and forsaken all her goods, going aboard a small Barke with a Sonne of hers, aged about some eight yeeres, named Geoffrey, and growne great with childe with a­nother; shee fled thence to Lipary, where shee was brought to bed of ano­ther Sonne, whom shee named (answerable both to his and her hard for­tune) The poore expelled.

Hauing prouided her selfe of a Nurse, they altogether went aboard a­gaine, setting sayle for Naples to visit her Parents; but it chanced quite contrary to her expectation, because by stormie windes and weather, the vessell being bound for Naples, was hurried to the Ile of Ponzo, where en­tring into a small Port of the Sea, they concluded to make their aboade, till a time more furtherous should fauour their voyage.

As the rest, so did Madam Boritola goe on shore in the Iland, where ha­uing found a separate and solitary place, fit for her silent and sad medita­tions, secretly by her selfe, shee sorrowed for the absence of her husband. Resorting daily to this her sad exercise, and continuing there her com­plaints, vnseene by any of the Marriners, or whosoeuer else: there arriued suddenly a Galley of Pyrates, who seazing on the small Barke, carried it and all the rest in it away with them. When Beritola had finished her wo­full complaints, as daily shee was accustomed to doe, shee returned backe [Page] to her children againe; but finding no person there remaining, whereat she wondered not a little: immediately (suspecting what had happened indeede) she lent her lookes on the Sea, and saw the Galley, which as yet had not gone farre, drawing the smaller vessell after her. Heereby plainly she perceyued, that now she had lost her children, as formerly shee had done her husband; being left there poore, forsaken, and miserable, not knowing when, where, or how to finde any of them againe, and calling for her husband and children, shee fell downe in a swound vppon the shore.

Now was not any body neere, with coole water or any other remedy, to helpe the recouery of her lost powers; wherefore her spirites might the more freely wander at their own pleasure: but after they were retur­ned backe againe, and had won their wonted offices in her body, drow­ned in teares, and wringing her hands, shee did nothing but call for her children and husband, straying all about, in hope to finde them, seeking in Caues, Dennes, and euery where else, that presented the verie least glimpse of comfort. But when she saw all her paines sort to no purpose, and darke night drawing swiftly on, hope and dismay raising infinit per­turbations, made her yet to be somewhat respectiue of her selfe, & there­fore departing from the sea-shore, he returned to the solitary place, where she vsed to sigh and mourne alone by her selfe.

The night being ouer-past with infinite feares and affrights, & bright day saluting the world againe, with the expence of nine hours and more, she fell to her former fruitlesse trauailes. Being somewhat sharply bitten with hunger, because the former day and night shee hadde not tasted any food: she made therefore a benefit of necessity, and fed on the green hea [...]bes so well as she could, notwithout many piercing afflictions, what should become of her in this extraordinary misery. As shee walked in these pensiue meditations, she saw a Goate enter into a Caue, and (with­in a while after) come forth againe, wandering along thorow the woods. Whereupon she stayed, and entred where she saw the beast issue forth, where she found two yong Kids, yeaned (as it seemed) the selfesame day, which sight was very pleasing to her, and nothing (in that distresse) could more content her.

As yet she had milke freshly running in both her brests, by reason of her so late deliuery in child-bed; wherefore shee lay downe vnto the two yong Kids, and taking them tenderly in her armes, suffered each of them to sucke a teate, whereof they made not any refusall, but tooke them as louingly as their dammes, and from that time forward, they made no di­stinguishing betweene their damme and her. Thus this vnfortunate La­dy, hauing found some company in this solitary desert, fed on hearbes & roots▪ drinking faire running water, and weeping silently to her selfe, so often as she remembred her husband, children, and former dayes past in much better maner. Here shee resolued now to liue and dye, being at last depriued both of the damme and yonger Kids also, by theyr wande­ring further into the neere adioyning Woods, according to their Natu­rall [Page 47] inclinations; whereby the poore distressed Lady became more sa­uage and wilde in her daily conditions, then otherwise shee would haue bene.

After many monthes were ouer-passed, at the very same place where she tooke landing; by chance, there arriued another small vessell of cer­taine Pisans, which remained there diuers dayes. In this Bark was a Gen­tleman, named Conrado de Marchesi Malespini, with his holy and vertuous wife, who were returned backe from a Pilgrimage, hauing visited all the sanctified places, that then were in the Kingdome of Apulia, & now were bound homeward to their owne abiding. This Gentleman, for the ex­pelling of melancholy perturbations, one especiall day amongst other, with his wife, seruants, and waiting hounds, wandered vp into the Iland, not far from the place of Madam Beritolaes desert dwelling. The hounds questing after game, at last happened on the two Kiddes where they were feeding, and (by this time) had attained to indifferent growth: and fin­ding themselues thus pursued by the hounds, fled to no other part of the wood, then to the Caue where Beritola remained, and seeming as if they sought to be rescued only by her, she sodainly caught vp a staffe, and for­ced the hounds thence to flight.

By this time, Conrado and his wife, who had followed closely after the hounds, was come thither, and seeing what had hapned, looking on the Lady, who was become blacke, swarthy, meager, and hairy, they wonde­red not a little at her, and she a great deale more at them. When (vpon her req [...]est) Conrado had checkt back his hounds, they preuailed so much by earnest intreaties, to know what she was, and the reason of her liuing there; that she intirely related her quality, vnfortunate accidents, and strange determination for liuing there. Which when the Gentleman had heard, who very well knew her husband, compassion forced teares from his eyes, and earnestly he laboured by kinde perswasions, to alter so cruel a deliberation; making an honourable offer, for conducting her home to his owne dwelling, where shee should remaine with him in noble re­spect, as if she were his owne sister, without parting from him, till For­tune should smile as fairely on her, as euer she had done before.

When these gentle offers could not preuaile with her, the Gentleman left his wife in her company, saying, that he would go fetch some foode for her; and because her garments were all rent and torne, hee woulde bring her other of his wiues, not doubting but to winne her thence with them. His wife abode there with Beritola, very much bemoaning her great disasters, and when both viands and garments were brought: by extremity of intercession, they caused her to put them on, and also to feede with them, albeit she protested, that shee would not part thence into any place, where any knowledge should be taken of her. In the end, they perswaded her, to go with them into Lunigiana, carrying also with her the two yong Goats and their damme, which were then in the Caue altogether, prettily playing before Beritola, to the great admiration of Conrado and his wife, as also the seruants attending on them.

[Page] When the windes and weather grew fauourable for them, Madam Beritola went aboard with Conrado and his wife, being followed by the two young Goates and his Damme; and because her name should bee knowne to none but Conrado, and his wife onely, shee would be stiled no otherwise, but the Goatherdesse. Merrily, yet gently blew the gale, which brought them to enter the Riuer of Macra, where going on shore, and into their owne Castell, Beritola kept company with the wife of Conrado, but in a mourning habite, and a wayting Gentlewoman of hers, honest, humble, and very dutifull, the Goates alwayes familiarly keeping them company.

Returne wee now to the Pyrates, which at Ponzo seized on the small Barke, wherein Madam Beritola was brought thither, and carried thence away, without any sight or knowledge of her. With such other spoiles as they had taken, they shaped their course for Geneway, and there (by consent of the Patrones of the Galley) made a diuision of their booties. It came to passe, that (among other things) the Nurse that attended on Beritola, and the two with her Children, fell to the share of one Messer Gasparino d'Oria, who sent them together to his owne House, there to be employed in seruice as seruants. The Nurse weeping beyond measure for the losse of her Lady, and bemoaning her owne miserable fortune, whereinto shee was now fallen with the two young Laddes; after long lamenting, which shee found vtterly fruitlesse and to none effect, though she was vsed as a seruant with them, and being but a very poore woman, yet was shee wise and discreetly aduised. Wherefore, comforting both her selfe, and them so well as she could, and considering the depth of their disaster; shee conceited thus, that if the Children should be knowne, it might redounde to their greater danger, and shee be no way aduantaged thereby.

Hereupon, hoping that Fortune (early or late) would alter her stearne malice, and that they might (if they liued) regaine once more their for­mer condition: shee would not disclose them to any one whatsoeuer, till shee should see the time aptly disposed for it. Being thus determined, to all such as questioned her concerning them, she answered that they were her owne Children,Or Gran­notto da Prochyta. naming the eldest not Geoffrey, but Iehannot de Pro­cida. As for the youngest, shee cared not greatly for changing his name, and therefore wisely enformed Geoffrey, vpon what reason shee had alte­red his name, and what danger be might fall into, if he should otherwise be discouered; being not satisfied with thus telling him once, but remem­bring him thereof very often, which the gentle youth (being so well in­structed by the wise and carefull Nurse) did very warily obserue.

The two young Laddes, very poorely garmented, but much worse hosed and shodde, continued thus in the house of Gasparino, where both they and the Nurse were long time imployed, about very base and drud­ging Offices, which yet they endured with admirable patience. But Ie­hannot, aged already about sixteene yeeres, hauing a loftier spirit, then belonged to a slauish seruant, despising the basenesse of his seruile condi­tion; [Page 48] departed from the drudgery of Messer Gasparino, and going aboard the Gallies, which were bound for Alexandria, fortuned into many pla­ces, yet none of them affoording him any aduancement. In the ende, a­bout three or foure houres after his departure from Gasparino, being now a braue young man, and of very goodly forme: he vnderstood, that his Fa­ther (whom he supposed to be dead) was as yet liuing; but in captiuity, and prisoner to King Charles. Wherefore, despairing of any successe­full fortune, hee wandred here and there, till he came to Lunigiana, and there (by strange accident) he became seruant to Messer Conrado Malespi­na, where the seruice proued well liking to them both.

Very sildome times hee had a sight of his Mother, because shee al­wayes kept company with Conradoes wife; and yet when they came with­in view of each other, shee knew not him, nor he her, so much yeeres had altered them both, from what they were wont to be, and when they saw each other last. Iehannot being thus in the seruice of Messer Conrado, it fortuned that a daughter of his, named Spina, being the Widdow of one Messer Nicolas Grignan, returned home to her Fathers House. Very beau­tifull and amiable shee was, young likewise, aged but little aboue sixteene; growing wonderously amorous of Iehannot, and he of her, in extraordi­nary and most feruent manner; which loue was not long without full ef­fect, continuing many mo [...]eths before any person could perceiue it: which making them to build on the more assurance, they began to carrie their meanes with lesse discretion, then is required in such nice cases, and which cannot be too prouidently managed.

Vpon a day, he and shee walking to a goodly wood, plentifully furni­shed with spreading Trees, hauing out-gone the rest of their company; they made choise of a pleasant place, very daintily shaded, and beautified with all sorts of floures. There they spent sometime in amorous discourse, beside some other sweete embraces, which though it seemed ouer-short to them, yet was it so vnaduisedly prolonged; that they were on a sudden surprized, first by the Mother, and next by Messer Conrado himselfe: who greeuing beyond measure, to be thus trecherously dealt withall, caused them to be apprehended by three of his seruants, and (without telling them any reason why) ledde bound to another Castle of his, and fretting with extremity of rage, concluded in his minde, that they should both shamefully be put to death.

The Mother to this regardlesse Daughter, hauing heard the angry words of her Husband, and how hee would be reuenged on the faultie; could not endure that he should be so seuere: wherefore, although shee was likewise much afflicted in minde, and reputed her Daughter worthy (for so great an offence) of all cruell punishment: [...]yet shee hasted to her displeased husband, who began to entreate, that he would not runne on in such a furious spleene, now in his aged yeares, to be the murtherer of his owne childe, and soile his hands in the blood of his seruant. Rather he might finde out some milde course for the satisfaction of his Anger, by committing them to close imprisonment, there to remaine & mourne [Page] for their follie committed. The vertuous and religious Lady alledged so many commendable examples, and vsed such plenty of moouing per­swasions; that she quite altred his minde, from putting them to death, and he commanded onely, that they should separately bee imprisoned, with little store of foode, and lodging of the vneasiest, vntill hee should otherwise determine of them, and so it was done. What their life now was in captiuity and continuall teares, with stricter abstinence then was needefull for them; all this I must commit to your consideration.

Iehannot and Spina remaining in this comfortlesse condition, and an whole yeere being now out-worne, yet Conrado keeping them thus still imprisoned: it came to passe, that Don Pedro King of Arragon, by the meanes of Messer Iohn de Procida, caused the Isle of Sicily to reuolt, and tooke it away from King Charles, whereat Conrado (he being of the Ghib­biline faction) not a little reioyced. Iehannot hauing intelligence therof, by some of them that had him in custody, breathing foorth a vehement sigh, spake in this manner. Alas poore miserable wretch as I am! that haue already gone begging through the world aboue fourteene yeares, in expectation of nothing else but this opportunity; and now it is come, must I be in prison, to the end, that I should neuer more hope for any fu­ture happinesse? And how can I get forth of this prison, except it be by death onely? How now, replied the Officer of the Guard? What doth this businesse of great Kings concerne thee? What affaires hast thou in Sicily?

Once more Iehannot sighed extreamly, and returned him this answer. Me thinkes my heart (quoth hee) doth cleaue in sunder, when I call to minde the charge which my Father had there, for although I was but a little boy when I fled thence: yet I can well remember, that I sawe him Gouernour there, at such time as King Manfred liued. The Guard, pur­suing on still his purpose, demanded of him, what, and who his Father was? My Father (replyed Iehannot) I may now securely speake of him, being out of the perill which neerely concerned me if I had beene disco­uered. He was the named (and so still if he be liuing) Henriet Capece, and my name is Geoffrey, not Iehannot; and I make no doubt, but if I vvere free from hence, and might be returned home to Sicily, I should (for his sake) be placed in some authority.

The honest man of the Guard, without seeking after any further infor­mation; so soone as he could compasse the leysure, reported all to Mes­ser Conrado, who hauing heard these newes (albeit he made no shew ther­of to the reuealer) went to Madam Beritola, graciously demaunding of her, if she had any sonne by her husband, who was called Geoffrey. The Lady replyed in teares, that if her eldest sonne were as yet liuing, hee was so named, and now aged about two and twenty yeares. Conrado hearing this, imagined this same to be the man, considering further withall, that if it fell out to proue so: he might haue the better meanes of mercie, and closely concealing his daughters shame, ioyfully ioyne them in marriage together.

[Page 49] Hereupon he secretly caused Iehannot to be brought before him, exami­ning him particularly of all his passed life, and finding (by most manifest arguments) that his name was truly Geoffrey, & he the eldest son of Henriet Capece, he spake to him alone in this manner. Iehannot, thou knowest how great the iniuries which thou hast done me, & my deare daughter, gently entreating thee (as became a good & honest seruant) that thou shouldest alwayes haue bin respectiue of mine honor, and all that do appertain vnto me. There are many noble gentlewomen, who sustaining the wrog which thou hast offred me, they would haue procured thy shameful death, which pitty & compassion wil not suffer in me. Wherfore seeing (as thou infor­mest me) that thou art honorably deriued both by father & mother; I will giue end to all thine anguishes, euen when thy self art so pleased, releasing thee from the misery & captiuity, wherein I haue so long time kept thee, and in one instant, reduce thine honor & mine into compleat perfection. As thou knowest, my Daughter Spina, whom thou hast embraced in kind­nesse as a friend (although farre vnfitting for thee or her) is a widow, and her mariage is both great and good; what her manners and conditions are, thou indifferently knowest, and art not ignorant of her Father and Mother: concerning thine owne estate, as now I purpose not to speake any thing. Therefore, when thou wilt, I am so determined, that whereas thou hast immodestly affected her, she shall become thy honest wife, and accepting thee as my Son, to remain with me so long as you both please.

Imprisonment had somewhat mishapen Iehannot in his outward forme, but not impaired a iot of that noble spirit, really deriued from his famous progenitors, much lesse the true loue he bare to his faire friend. And al­though most earnestly he desired that, which Conrado now so franckly of­fered him, and was in his power onely to bestow on him; yet could he not cloude any part of his greatnesse, but with a resolued iudgement, thus re­plied. My Lord, affectation of rule, desire of wealthy possessions, or any other matter whatsoeuer, could neuer make me a traytor to you or yours; but that I haue loued, do loue & for euer shal loue your beautious daugh­ter; if that be treason, I freely cōfesse it, & wil die a thousand deaths, before you or any else shal enforce me to denie it; for I hold her highly worthy of my loue. If I haue bin more vnmānerly with her, then became me, accor­ding to the opinion of vulgar iudgment, I haue committed but that error, which euermore is so attendant vpon youth; that to denie it, is to denie youth also. And if reuerend age would but remember, that once he was young, & measure others offences by his own; they would not be thought so great or greeuous, as you (& many more) account them to be, mine be­ing cōmitted as a friend, & not as an enemy: what you make offer of so wil­lingly to do, I haue alwayes desired, & if I had thought it would haue bin granted, long since I had most humbly requested it; and so much the more acceptable would it haue bin to me, by how much the further off it stood from my hopes. But if you be so forward as your words doe witnesse, then feede mee not with any further fruitlesse expectation: but rather send me backe to prison, and lay as many afflictions on mee as you please: for my endeared loue to your Daughter Spina, maketh mee to loue [Page] you the more for her sake; how hardly soeuer you entreate me, & bindeth me in the greater reuerence to you, as being the father of my fairest friend.

Messer Conrado hearing these words, stood as one confounded with ad­miration, reputing him to be a man of lofty spirit, and his affection most feruent to his Daughter, which was as a little to his liking. Wherefore, embracing him, and kissing his cheeke, without any longer dallying, hee sent in like manner for his Daughter. Her restraint in prison had made her lookes me ager, pale and wanne, and very weake was shee also of her person, farre differing from the woman shee was wont to be, before her affection to Iehannot; there in presence of her Father, and with free con­sent of either, they were contracted as man and wife, and the espousals a­greed on according to custome. Some few dayes after, (without any ones knowledge of that which was done) hauing furnished them with all things fit for the purpose, and time aptly seruing, that the Mothers should be partakers in this ioy, he called his wife, and Madam Beritola, to whom first he spake in this manner.

What will you say Madam, if I cause you to see your eldest Son, not long since married to one of my Daughters? whereunto Beritola thus re­plied. My Lord, I can say nothing else vnto you, but that I shall be much more obliged to you, then already I am, and so much the rather, because you will let me see the thing which is dearer to me then mine owne life; and rendring it vnto mee in such manner as you speake of, you will recall backe some part of my former lost hopes: and with these words the teares streamed aboundantly from her eyes. Then turning to his wife, he saide; And you deare Loue, if I shew you such a Sonne in Law, what will you thinke of it? Sir (quoth shee) what pleaseth you, must and shall satisfie me, be he Gentleman, or a beggar. Well said Madam, answered Messer Con­rado, I hope (within few dayes) to make you both ioyfull. So when the a­morous couple had recouered their former feature, and honourable gar­ments were prepared for them, priuately thus he said to Geoffrey; Beyond the ioy which already thou art inriched withall, how would it please thee to meet with thine owne Mother here? I cannot beleeue Sir, replied Geof­frey, that her greeuous misfortunes haue suffered her to liue so long: yet notwithstanding, if Heauen hath beene so merciful to her, my ioyes were incomparable, for by her gracious counsell, I might well hope to recouer no meane happinesse in Sicilie. Within a while after, both the Mothers were sent for, who were transported with vnspeakable ioyes, when they beheld the so lately maried couple; being also much amazed, when they could not guesse what inspiration had guided Conrado to this extraordi­nary benignity, ioyning Iehannot in mariage with Spina. Hereupon Ma­dam Beritola, remembring the speeches between her and Conrado, began to obserue him very aduisedly, and by a hidden vertue, which long had silently slept in her, and now with ioy of spirit awaked, calling to minde the lineatures of her Sonnes Infancy, without awaiting for any other demonstrations, shee folded him in her armes with earnest affection. Motherly ioy and pitty now contended so violently together, that shee was not able to vtter one word, the sensitiue vertues being [Page 50] so closely combined, that (euen as dead) shee fell downe in the armes of her Sonne. And he wondering greatly thereat, making a better recolle­ction of his thoughts, did well remember, that he had often before seene her in the Castell, without any other knowledge of her. Neuerthelesse, by meere instinct of Nature, whose power (in such actions) declares it selfe to be highly predominant; his very soule assured him, that shee was his Mother, and blaming his vnderstanding, that he had not before beene better aduised, he threw his armes about her, and wept exceedingly.

Afterward, by the louing paines of Conradoes wife, as also her daugh­ter Spina, Madam Beritola (being recouered from her passionate trance, and her vitall spirits executing their Offices againe;) fell once more to the embracing of her Sonne, kissing him infinite times, with teares and spee­ches of motherly kindnesse, he likewise expressing the same dutifull hu­manity to her. Which ceremonious courtesies being passed ouer and o­uer, to no little ioy in all the beholders, beside repetition of their seuerall misfortunes. Messer Conrado made all knowne to his friends, who were very glad of this new alliance made by him, which was honoured with many solemn & magnificent feastings. Which being all concluded, Geof­frey hauing found out fit place and opportunity, for conference with his new created Father, without any sinister opposition; began as followeth.

Honourable Father, you haue raised my contentment to the highest degree, and haue heaped also many gracious fauours on my noble Mo­ther; but now in the finall conclusion, that nothing may remaine vneffe­cted, which consisteth in your power to performe: I would humbly en­treate you, to honour my Mother with your company, at a Feast of my making, where I would gladly also haue my Brother present. Messer Ga­sparino d' Oria (as I haue once heretofore told you) questing as a common Pyrate on the Seas, tooke vs, and sent vs home to his house as slaues, where (as yet he detaineth him.) I would haue you likewise send one into Sicilie, who informing himselfe more amply in the state of the Country; may vnderstand what is become of Henriet my Father, and whether he be liuing or no. If he remaine aliue, to know in what condition he is; and be­ing secretly instructed in all things, then to returne backe againe to you.

This motion made by Geoffrey, was so pleasing to Conrado, that with­out any reference to further leysure, hee dispatched thence two discreete persons, the one to Geneway, and the other to Sicilie: he which went for Geneway, hauing met with Gasparino, earnestly entreated him, (on the be­halfe of Conrado) to send him the Poore expelled; and his Nurse recounting euery thing in order, which Conrado had tolde him, concerning Geoffrey and his Mother: when Gasparino had heard the whole discourse, he mar­uelled greatly thereat, and saide; True it is, that I will doe any thing for Messer Conrado, which may be to his loue and liking, prouided, that it lie in my power to performe; and (about some foureteene yeeres since) I brought such a Lad as you seeke for, with his Mother home to my house, whom I will gladly send vnto him. But you may tell him from me, that I aduise him from ouer-rash crediting the fables of Iehannot, that now [Page] tearmes himselfe by the name of Geoffrey, because hee is a more wicked boy, then he taketh him to be, and so did I find him.

Hauing thus spoken, and giuing kinde welcome to the Messenger, se­cretly he called the Nurse vnto him, whom he heedfully examined con­cerning this case. Shee hauing heard the rebellion in the Kingdome of Sicilie, and vnderstanding withall, that Henriet was yet liuing; ioyfully threw off all her former feare, relating euery thing to him orderly, and the reasons mouing her, to conceale the whole businesse in such manner as shee had done. Gasparino well perceiuing, that the report of the Nurse, and the message receiued from Conrado, varied not in any one circum­stance, beganne the better to credit her wordes. And being a man most ingenious, making further inquisition into the businesse, by all the possi­ble meanes he could deuise, and finding euery thing to yeeld vndoubted assurance; ashamed of the vile and base vsage, wherein hee had so long time kept the Ladde, and desiring (by his best meanes) to make him a­mends; he had a faire Daughter, aged about thirteene yeeres, and know­ing what manner of man he was, his father Henriet also yet liuing, he gaue her to him in marriage, with a very bountifull and honourable dowry.

The iouiall dayes of feasting being past, he went aboard a Galley, with the Poore expelled; his Daughter, the Ambassadour, and the Nurse, depar­ting thence to Lericy, where they were nobly welcommed by Messer Con­rado, and his Castle being not farre from thence, with an honourable traine they were conducted thither, and entertained with all possible kindnesse. Now concerning the comfort of the Mother, meeting so hap­pily with both her Sonnes, the ioy of the Brethren and Mother together, hauing also found the faithfull Nurse, Gasparino and his Daughter, in com­pany now with Conrado and his Wife, friends, familiars, and all generally in a Iubilee of reioycing: it exceedeth capacity in me to expresse it; and therefore I referre it to your more able imagination.

In the time of this mutuall contentment, to the ende that nothing might be wanting, to compleat and perfect this vniuersall ioy; our Lord, a most aboundant bestower where he beginneth, added long wished ty­dings, concerning the life and good estate of Henriet Capece. For, euen as they were feasting, and the concourse great of worthy guests, both of Lords and Ladies: the first seruice was scarcely set on the Tables, but the Ambassador which was sent to Sicilie, arriued there before them. Among many other important matters, he spake of Henriet, who being so long a time detained in prison by King Charles, when the commotion arose in the City against the King; the people (grudging at Henriets long impri­sonment) slew the Guards, and set him at liberty. Then as capitall enemy to King Charles, he was created Captaine generall, following the chase, and killing the French.

By meanes whereof, he grew great in the grace of King Pedro, who re­planted him in all the goods and honours which he had before, with very high and eminent authority. Hereunto the Ambassadour added, that he was entertained with extraordinary grace, and deliuery of publike ioy [Page 51] and exaltation, when his Wife and Sonne were knowne to be liuing, of whom no tydings had at any time beene heard, since the houre of his sur­prizall. Moreouer, that a swift winged Barke was now sent thither (vpon the happy hearing of this newes) well furnished with noble Gentlemen, to attend till their returning backe. We neede to make no doubt concer­ning the tydings brought by this Ambassadour, nor of the Gentlemens welcome, thus sent to Madam Beritola and Geoffrey; who before they would sit downe at the Table, saluted Messer Conrado and his kinde Lady (on the behalfe of Henriet) for all the great graces extended to her and her Sonne, with promise of any thing, lying in the power of Henriet, to rest continually at their command. The like they did to Signior Gasparino, (whose liberall fauours came vnlooked for) with certaine assurance, that when Henriet should vnderstand what hee had done for his other Sonne, the Poore expelled; there would be no defailance of riciprocall courte­sies.

As the longest ioyes haue no perpetuity of lasting, so all these gracefull ceremonies had their conclusion, with as many sighes and teares at par­ting, as ioyes abounded at their first encountring. Imagine then, that you see such aboard, as were to haue here no longer abiding, Madam Be­ritola and Geoffrey, with the rest, as the Poore expelled, the so late married Wiues, and the faithfull Nurse bearing them company. With prospe­rous windes they arriued in Sicilie, where the Wife, Sonnes, and Daugh­ters, were ioyfully met by Henriet at Palermo, and with such honourable pompe, as a case so important equally deserued. The Histories make fur­ther mention, that there they liued (a long while after) in much felicity, with thankfull hearts (no doubt) to Heauen, in acknowledgement of so many great mercies receiued.

The seauenth Nouell.

PEraduenture the Nouell related by Madam Aemilia, did not extend it selfe so farre in length, as it moued compassion in the Ladies mindes, hearing the hard fortunes of Beritola and her Children, which had incited them to weeping: but that it pleased the Queene (vpon the Tales con­clusion) to command Pamphilus, to follow (next in order) with his dis­course, and hee being thereto very obedient, beganne in this man­ner.

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It is a matter of no meane difficulty (vertuous Ladies) for vs to take in­tire knowledge of euery thing we doe, because (as oftentimes hath beene obserued) many men, imagining if they were rich, they should liue se­curely, and without any cares. And therefore, not onely haue their prayers and intercessions aimed at that end, but also their studies and dai­ly endeauours, without refusall of any paines or perils haue not meanely expressed their hourely solicitude. And although it hath happened ac­cordingly to them, and their couetous desires fully accomplished; yet at length they haue met with such kinde of people, who likewise thirsting after their wealthy possessions, haue bereft them of life, being their kinde and intimate friends, before they attained to such riches. Some other, be­ing of low and base condition, by aduenturing in many skirmishes and foughten battels, trampling in the bloud of their brethren and friends, haue beene mounted to the soueraigne dignity of Kingdomes, (beleeuing that therein consisted the truest happinesse) but bought with the dearest price of their liues. For, beside their infinite cares and feares, wherewith such greatnesse is continually attended, at their royall Tables, they haue drunke poyson in a golden pot. Many other in like manner (with most earnest appetite) haue coueted beauty and bodily strength, not foreseeing with any iudgement, that these wishes were not without perill; when be­ing endued with them, they either haue beene the occasion of their death, or such a lingering lamentable estate of life, as death were a thousand times more welcome to them.

But because I would not speake particularly of all our fraile and hu­mane affections, I dare assure ye, that there is not any one of these desires, to be elected among vs mortals, with entire foresight or prouidence, war­rantable [Page 52] against their ominous issue. Wherefore, if we would walke di­rectly, wee should dispose our willes and affections, to be ordered and guided onely by him, who best knoweth what is needfull for vs, and will bestow them at his good pleasure. Nor let me lay this blamefull impu­tation vpon men onely, for offending in many things through ouer lauish desires: because you your selues (gracious Ladies) sinne highly in one, as namely, in coueting to be beautifull. So that it is not sufficient for you, to enioy those beauties bestowne on you by Nature: but you pra­ctise to encrease them, by the rarities of Art. Wherefore, let it not of­fend you, that I tell you the hard fortune of a faire Sarrazines, to whom it happened (by strange aduentures) within the compasse of foure yeares, nine seuerall times to be maried, and onely for her beauty.

It is now a long time since, that there liued a Soldane in Babylon, na­med Beminidab, to whom (while he liued) many things happened, answe­rable to his owne desires. Among diuers other children both male and female, he had a daughter, called Alathiella, and shee (according to the common voyce of euery one that saw her) was the fayrest Lady then li­uing in all the world. And because the King of Cholcos had wonderfully assisted him, in a valiant foughten battaile, against a mighty Armie of Arabes, who on a suddaine had assailed him: hee demaunded his faire daughter in marriage, which likewise was badly granted to him. A good­ly and well armed Ship was prepared for her, with full furnishment of all necessary prouision, and accompanied with an honourable traine, both Lords and Ladies, as also most costly and sumptuous accoustrements; commending her to the mercy of heauen, in this manner was shee sent away.

The time being propitious for their parting thence, the Mariners hoi­sed their sayles, leauing the part of Alexandria, and sayling prosperously many dayes together. When they had past the Country of Sardignia, and (as they imagined) were well neere to their iourneyes end: suddain­ly arose boisterous and contrary windes, which were so impetuous be­yond all measure, and so tormented the Ship wherein the Lady was; that the Mariners, seeing no signe of comfort, gaue ouer all hope of escaping with life. Neuerthelesse, as men most expert in implacable dangers, they laboured to their vttermost power, and contended with infinite blustring tempests, for the space of two dayes and nights together, hoping the third day would proue more fauourable. But therein they saw themselues de­ceiued, for the violence continued still, encreasing in the night time more and more, being no way able to comprehend, either where they were, or what course they tooke, neither by mariuall iudgement, or any apprehension else whatsoeuer, the heauens were so clouded, and the nights darknesse so ext [...]eame.

Being (vnknowne to them) neere the Isle of Maiorica, they felt the Ship to split in the bottome, by meanes whereof, perceiuing now no hope of escaping (euery one caring for himselfe, and not any other) they threw forth a Squiffe on the troubled waues, reposing more confidence [Page] of safety that way, then abiding any longer in the broken Ship. Howbeit, such as were first descended downe, made stout resistance against all o­ther followers, with their drawne weapons: but safety of life so farre pre­uailed, that what with the tempests violence, and ouer-lading of the Squiffe, it sunke to the bottome, and all perished that were therein. The The Ship being thus split, and more then halfe full of water, tossed and tormented by the blustring windes, first one way, and then another: was at last driuen into a strand of the Isle Maiorica, no other persons remai­ning therein, but onely the Lady and her women, all of them (through the rude tempest, and their owne conceiued feare) lying still, as if they were more then halfe dead. And there, within a stones cast of the neigh­bouring shore, the Ship (by the rough surging billowes) was fixed fast in the sands, and so continued all the rest of the night, without any further molestation of the windes.

When day appeared, and the violent stormes were more mildly ap­peased, the Lady, who seemed well neere dead, lifted vp her head, and began (weake as she was) to call first one, and then another: but she cal­led in vaine, for such as she named were farre enough from her. Where­fore, hearing no answere, nor seeing any one, she wondered greatly, her feares encreasing then more and more. Raysing her selfe so well as shee could, she beheld the Ladies that were of her company, and some other of her women, lying still without any stirring: whereupon, first iogging one, and then another, and calling them seuerally by their names; shee found them bereft of vnderstanding, and euen as if they were dead, their hearts were so quailed, and their feare so ouer-ruling, which was no meane dismay to the poore Lady her selfe. Neuerthelesse, necessity now being her best counsailour, seeing her selfe thus all alone, and not knowing in what place she was, she vsed such meanes to them that were liuing, that (at the last) they came better to knowledge of themselues, And being vnable to guesse, what was become of the men and Mariners, seeing the Ship also driuen on the sands, and filled with water: she began (with them) to lament most grieuously, and now it was about the houre of mid-day, before they could descry any person on the shore, or any else to pitty them in so vrgent a necessity.

At length, noone being past, a Gentlewoman, named Baiazeth, atten­ded by diuers of his followers on horseback, and returning from a Coun­try house belonging to him, chanced to ride by on the sands. Vpon sight of the Ship lying in that case, he imagined truely what had happened, and commanded one of his men to enter aboord it, which (with some diffi­culty) hee did, to resolue his Lord what remayned therein. There hee found the faire young Lady, with such small store of company as was left her, fearefully hidden vnder the prow of the Ship. So soone as they saw him, they held vp their hands, wofully desiring mercy of him: but he per­ceiuing their lamentable condition, and that hee vnderstoode not what they said to them; their affliction grew the greater, labouring by signes and gestures, to giue them knowledge of their misfortune.

[Page 53] The seruaut, gathering what he could by their outward behauiour, de­clared to his Lord, what hee had seene in the Ship: who caused the wo­men to be brought on shore, and all the precious things remaining with them, conducting them with him to a place not farre off, where, with foode and warmth he gaue them comfort. By the rich garments which the Lady was cloathed withall, hee reputed her to be a Gentlewomen well deriued, as the great reuerence done to her by the rest, gaue him good reason to conceiue. And although her lookes were pale and wan, as also her person mightily altered, by the tempestuous violence of the Sea: yet notwithstanding, she appeared faire and louely in the eye of Ba­iazeth, whereupon forthwith he determined, that if she were not maried, he would enioy her as his owne in mariage, or if he could not winne her to be his wife, yet (at the least) shee should be his friend, because shee re­mained now in his power.

Baiazeth was a man of sterne lookes, rough and harsh both in speech and behauiour: yet causing the Lady to be honourably vsed diuers dayes together, she became thereby well comforted and recouered. And see­ing her beauty to exceede all comparison, he was afflicted beyond mea­sure, that he could not vnderstand her, nor she him, whereby hee could not know, of whence or what she was. His amorous flames encreasing more and more; by kinde, courteous, and affable actions, hee laboured to compasse what he aymed at. But all his endeauour proued to no pur­pose, for shee refused all familiar priuacie with him, which so much the more kindled the fury of his fire. This being well obserued by the Lady, hauing now remayned there a moneth & more, and collecting by the cu­stomes of the Countrey, that she was among Turkes, and in such a place, where although she were knowne, yet it would little aduantage her, be­side, that long protraction of time vvould prouoke Baiazeth, by faire meanes or force to obtaine his vvill: she propounded to her selfe (with magnanimity of spirit) to tread all misfortunes vnder her feete, com­maunding her vvomen (vvhereof she had but three now remaining aliue) that they should not disclose vvhat she vvas; except it vvere in some such place, where manifest signes might yeeld hope of regaining their liberty. Moreouer, shee admonished them, stoutly to defend their honour and chastity, affirming, that shee had absolutely resolued with her selfe, that neuer any other should enioy her, but her intended husband; vvherein her vvomen did much commend her, promising to preserue their reputa­tion, according as she had commanded.

Day by day vvere the torments of Baiazeth, vvonderfully augmented, yet still his kinde offers scornefully refused, and he as farre off from com­passing his desires, as vvhen hee first began to mooue the matter: where­fore, perceiuing that all faire courses serued to no effect, hee resolued to compasse his purpose by craft and subtilty, reseruing rigorous extremity for his finall conclusion. And hauing once obserued, that vvine was very pleasing to the Lady, she being neuer vsed to drinke any at all, because (by her Countries law) it was forbidden her, and no meane store hauing [Page] beene lately brought to Baiazeth in a Barke of Geneway: hee resolued to surprize her by meanes thereof, as a chiefe Minister of Venus, to heate the coolest blood. And seeming now in his outward behauiour, as if he had giuen ouer his amorous pursuite, and which she stroue by all her best endeauours to withstand: one night, after a very maiestick and solemne manner, he prepared a delicate and sumptuous supper, whereto the La­dy was inuited: and hee had giuen order, that hee who attended on her Cup, should serue her with many wines compounded and mingled to­gether, which hee accordingly performed, as being cunning enough in such occasions.

Alothiella, instructing no such trecherie intended against her, and liking the wines pleasing taste extraordinarily; dranke more then stoode with with her precedent modest resolution, and forgetting all her passed ad­uersities, became very frollick and merry: so that seeing some women daunce after the manner obserued therein Maiorica, she also fell to daun­cing, according to the Alexandrian custome. Which when Baiazeth be­held, he imagined the victory to be more then halfe wone, and his hearts desire very neere the obtaining: plying her still with wine vpon wine, and continuing this reuelling the most part of the night. At the length, the inuited guests being all gone, the Lady retired then to her chamber, at­tended on by none but Baiazeth himselfe, and as familiarly, as if hee had beene one of her women, shee no way contradicting his bold intrusion, so faire had wine ouer-gone her sences, and preuailed against all modest bashfulnesse. These wanton embracings, strange to her that had neuer tasted them before, yet pleasing beyond measure, by reason of his treche­rous aduantage: afterward drew on many more of the like carowsing meetings, without so much as a thought of her passed miseries, or those more honourable and chaste respects, that euer ought to attend on Ladies.

Now, Fortune enuying these their stolne pleasures, and that she, be­ing the purposed wife of a potent King, should thus become the wanton friend of a much meaner man, whose onely glory was her shame: altered the course of their too common pastimes, by preparing a farre greater infelicity for them. This Baiazeth had a Brother, aged about fiue and twenty yeares, of most compleate person, in the very beauty of his time, and fresh as the sweetest smelling Rose, he being named Amurath. After he had once seene this Lady (whose faire feature pleased him beyond all womens else) she seemed in his suddaine apprehension, both by her out­ward behauiour and ciuill apparancie, highly to deserue his very best opinion, for she was not meanely entred into his fauour. Now he found nothing to his hinderance, in obtayning the height of his hearts desire, but onely the strict custody and guard, wherein his brother Baiazeth kept her: which raised a cruell conceit in his minde, whereon followed (not long after) as cruell an effect.

It came to passe, that at the same time, in the Port of the Citie, called Caffa, there lay then a Ship laden with Merchandize, being bound thence [Page 54] for Sm [...]r [...], of which Ship two Geneway Merchants (being brethren) were the Patrones and owners, who had giuen direction for hoysing the sayles, to depart thence when the winde should serue. With these two Gene­wayes Amarath had couenanted, for himselfe to goe abord the Ship the night ensuing, and the Lady in his company. When night was come, hauing resolued with himselfe what was to be done: in a disguised habite hee went to the house of Baiazeth, who stood not any way doubtfull of him, and with certaine of his most faithfull confederates (whom he had sworne to the intended action) they hid themselues closely in the house. After some part of the night was ouer-past, hee knowing the seuerall lodgings both of Baiazeth and Alathiella: slew his brother soundly slee­ping, and seizing on the Lady, whom hee found awake and weeping, threatned to kill her also, if shee made any noyse. So, being well furni­shed, with the greater part of costly Iewels belonging to Baiazeth, vn­heard or vndescried by any body, they went presently to the Port, and there, without any further delay, Amurath and the Lady were receiued into the Ship, but his companions returned backe againe; when the Ma­riners, hauing their sayles ready set, and the winde aptly fitting for them, launched forth merrily into the maine.

You may well imagine, that the Lady was extraordinarily afflicted with griefe for her first misfortune, and now this second chancing so sud­dainly, must needes offend her in greater manner: but Amurath did so kindly comfort her, with milde, modest, and manly perswasions; that all remembrance of Baiazeth was quickly forgotten, and shee became con­uerted to louely demeanour, euen when Fortune prepared a fresh misery for her, as not satisfied with those whereof shee had tasted already. The Lady being enriched with vnequalled beauty (as wee haue often related before) her behauiour also in such exquisite and commendable kinde ex­pressed: the two brethren, owners of the Ship, became so deepely ena­moured of her, that forgetting all their more serious affaires, they studied by all possible meanes, to be pleasing and gracious in her eye, yet with such a carefull cariage, that Amurath should neither see or suspect it.

When the brethren had imparted their loues extremity each to the other, and plainely perceiued, that though they were equally in their fiery torments, yet their desires were vtterly contrary: they began seue­rally to consider, that gaine gotten by Merchandize, admitted an equall and honest diuision, but this purchase was of a different quality, pleading the title of a sole possession, without any partner or intruder. Fearefull and iealous were they both, least either should ayme at the others inten­tion, yet willing enough to shake hands, in ridding Amurath out of the way, who onely was the hinderer of their hopes. Whereupon they con­cluded together, that on a day, when the Ship sayled on very swiftly, and Amurath was sitting vpon the deck, studiously obseruing, how the bil­lowes combatted each with other, and not suspecting any such treason in them towards him: stealing softly behinde him, suddainly they threw him into the Sea, the Ship fleeting on aboue halfe a leagues distance, [Page] before any perceiued his fall into the Sea.

When the Lady heard thereof, and saw no likely meanes of recoue­ring him againe, she fell to her wonted teares and lamentations: but the two Louers came quickly to comfort her, vsing kinde words and pithie perswasions (albeit she vnderstood them not, or at the most very little) to appease the violence of her passions; and, to speake vprightly, shee did not so much bemoane the losse of Amurath, as the multiplying of her owne misfortunes, still one succeeding in the necke of another. After diuers long and well deliuered Orations, as also very faire and courteous behauiour, they had indifferently pacified her complaynings: they began to discourse and commune with themselues, which of them had most right and title to Alathiella, and (consequently) ought to enioy her. Now that Amurath was gone, each pleaded his priuiledge to be as good as the others, both in the Ship, goods, and all aduantages else whatsoeuer hap­pening: which the elder brother absolutely denied, alleadging first his propriety of birth, a reason sufficient, whereby his younger ought to giue him place; likewise his right and interest both in ship and goods, to be more then the others, as being heire to his Father, and therefore in iu­stice to be highest preferred. Last of all, that his strength onely threw A­murath into the Sea, and therefore gaue him the full possession of his prize, no right at all remaining to his brother.

From temperate and calme speeches, they fell to frownes and ruder language, which heated their blood in such violent manner, that forget­ting brotherly affection, and all respect of Parents or friends, they drew forth their Poniards, stabbing each other so often and desperately, that before any in the shippe had the power or meanes to part them, both of them being very dangerously wounded, the younger brother fell downe dead▪ the elder being in little better case, by receiuing so many perilous hurts, remained (neuerthelesse) liuing. This vnhappy accident displea­sed the Lady very highly, seeing her selfe thus left alone, without the help or counsell of any body, and fearing greatly, least the anger of the two Brethrens Parents and Friends, should now be laide to her charge, and thereon follow seueriry of punishment. But the earnest entreaties of the wounded suruiuer, and their arriuall at Smirna soone after, deliuered him from the danger of death, gaue some ease to her sorrow, and there with him shee went on shore.

Remaining there with him in a common Inne, while he continued in the Chirurgians cure, the fame of her singular and much admired beauty was soone spread abroade throughout all the City; and amongst the rest, to the hearing of the Prince of Ionia, who lately before (on very vrgent occasions) was come to Smirna. This rare rumour, made him desirous to see her, and after he had seene her, shee seemed farre fairer in his eye, then common report had noysed her to be, and suddenly grew so enamo­red of her, that shee was the onely Idea of his best desires. Afterward, vn­derstanding in what manner shee was brought thither, he deuised how to make her his owne; practising all possible meanes to accomplish it: which [Page 55] when the wounded brothers Parents heard of, they not onely made ten­der of their willingnesse therein, but also immediately sent her to him: a matter most highly pleasing to the Prince, and likewise to the Lady her selfe; because shee thought now to be freed from no meane perill, which (otherwise) the wounded Merchants friends might haue inflicted on her.

The Prince perceiuing, that beside her matchlesse beauty, shee had the true character of royall behauiour; greeued the more, that he could not be further informed of what Countrey shee was. His opinion being so stedfastly grounded, that (lesse then Noble) shee could not be, was a mo­tiue to set a keener edge on his affection towards her, yet not to enioy her as in honourable and louing complement onely, but as his espoused Lady and Wife. Which appearing to her by apparant demonstrations, though entercourse of speech wanted to confirme it; remembrance of her so many sad disasters, and being now in a most noble and respected condition, her comfort enlarged it selfe with a setled hope, her feares grew free from any more molestations, and her beauties became the onely theame and argument of priuate and publike conference in all Natolia, that (welneere) there was no other discourse, in any Assembly what­soeuer.

Hereupon the Duke of Athens, being young, goodly, and valiant of person, as also a neere Kinsman to the Prince, had a desire to see her; and vnder colour of visiting his noble Kinsman, (as oftentimes before he had done) attended with an honourable traine, to Smirna he came, being there most royally welcommed, and bounteously feasted. Within some few dayes of his there being, conference passed betweene them, concerning the rare beauty of the Lady; the Duke questioning the Prince, whether shee was of such wonder, as fame had acquainted the World withall? Whereto the Prince replied; Much more (noble Kinsman) then can be spoken of, as your owne eyes shall witnesse, without crediting any words of mine. The Duke solliciting the Duke thereto very earnestly, they both went together to see her; and shee hauing before heard of their com­ming, adorned her selfe the more maiestically, entertaining them with ce­remonious demeanor (after her Countries custome) which gaue most gracious and vnspeakable acceptation.

At the Princes affable motion, shee sate downe betweene them, their delight being beyond expression, to behold her, but abridged of much more felicity, because they vnderstood not any part of her language: so that they could haue no other conference, but by lookes and outward signes onely; and the more they beheld her, the more they maruelled at her rare perfections, especially the Duke, who hardly credited that shee was a mortall creature. Thus not perceiuing, what deepe carowses of a­morous poyson, his eyes dranke downe by the meere sight of her, yet thinking thereby onely to be satisfied; he lost both himselfe and his best sences, growing in loue (beyond all measure) with her. When the Prince and he were parted from her, and hee was at his owne priuate amorous [Page] meditations in his Chamber; he reputed the Prince far happier then any man else whatsoeuer, by the enioying of such a peerelesse beauty.

After many intricate and distracted cogitations, which molested his braines incessantly, regarding more his loues wanton heate, then reason, kindred, and honourable hospitality; he resolutely determined (whatsoe­uer ensued thereupon) to bereaue the Prince of his faire felicity, that none but himselfe might possesse such a treasure, which he esteemed to be the height of all happinesse. His courage being conformable to his bad intent, with all hast it must be put in execution; so that equity, iustice, and honesty, being quite abandoned, nothing but subtill stratagems were now his meditations. On a day, according to a fore compacted treachery, which he had ordered with a Gentleman of the Princes Chamber, who was named Churiacy; he prepared his horses to be in readinesse, and dis­patched all his affaires else for a sudden departure. The night following, he was secretly conueyed by the said Churiacy, and a friend of his with him (being both armed) into the Princes Chamber, where he (while the Lady was soundly sleeping) stood at a gazing window towards the Sea, naked in his shirt, to take the coole ayre, because the season was excee­ding hot. Hauing formerly enstructed his friend what was to be done, ve­rie softly they stept to the Prince, and running their weapons quite tho­row his body, immediately they threw him forth of the window.

Here you are to obserue, that the Pallace was seated on the Sea shore, and very high, and the window whereat the Prince then stood looking foorth, was directly ouer diuers houses, which the long continuance of time, and incessant beating on by the surges of the Sea, had so defaced and ruined them, as sildome they were visited by any person; whereof the Duke hauing knowledge before, was the easier perswaded, that the falling of the Princes body in so vaste a place, could neither be heard, or descried by any. The Duke and his companion hauing thus executed what they came for, proceeded yet in their cunning a little further; casting a strang­ling coard about the necke of Churiacy, seeming as if they hugged and embraced him: but drew it with so maine strength, that he neuer spake one word after, and so threw him downe after the Prince.

This done, and plainely perceiuing that they were not heard or seene, either by the Lady, or any other: the Duke tooke a light in his hand, go­ing on to the bed, where the Lady lay most sweetely sleeping; whom the more he beheld, the more he admired and commended: but if in her gar­ments shee appeared so pleasing, what did shee now in a bed of such state and Maiesty? Being no way daunted by his so late committed sinne, but swimming rather in surfet of ioy, his hands all bloody, and his soule much more vglie; he laide him downe on the bed by her, bestowing infinite kis­ses and embraces on her, she supposing him to be the Prince all this while, no [...] opening her eyes to be otherwise resolued. But this was not the de­light he aimed at, neither did he thinke it safe for him, to delay time with any longer tarying there: wherefore hauing his agents at hand fit and conuenient for the purpose, they surprized her in such sort, that she could [Page 56] not make any noise or outcry, and carrying her thorough the same false posterne, whereat themselues had entred, laying her in a Princely litter; away they went with all possible speede, not tarrying in any place, vntill they were arriued neere Athens. But thither hee would not bring her, because himselfe was a married man, but rather to a goodly Castle of his owne, not distant farre off from the City; where he caused her to be kept very secretly (to her no little greefe and sorrow) yet attended on and serued in most honourable manner.

The Gentlemen vsually attending on the Prince, hauing waited all the next morning till noone, in expectation of his rising, and hearing no stirring in the Chamber: did thrust at the doore, which was but onely closed together, & finding no body there, they presently imagined, that he was priuately gone to some other place, where (with the Lady, whom he so deerely affected) hee might remaine some few dayes for his more contentment, and so they rested verily perswaded. Within some fewe dayes following, while no other doubt came in question, the Princes Foole, entering by chance among the ruined houses, where lay the dead bodies of the Prince and Churicy: tooke hold of the corde about Churia­cyes necke, and so went along dragging it after him. The bodye being knowne to many, with no meane meruaile, how hee should bee murthe­red in so vile manner: by giftes and faire perswasions they wonne him, to bring them to the place where hee found it. And there (to the no little greefe of all the Cittie) they found the Princes body also, which they caused to bee interred with all the most maiesticke pomp that might bee.

Vpon further inquisition, who should commit so horrid a deed, per­ceyuing likewise, that the Duke of Athens was not to be found, but was closely gone: they iudged (according to the truth) that he had his hand in this bloody businesse, and had carried away the Lady with him. Im­mediately, they elected the Princes brother to bee their Lord and Soue­raigne, inciting him to reuenge so horrid a wrong, and promising to as­sist him with their vtmost power. The new chosen Prince being assured afterward, by other more apparant and remarkeable proofes, that his people informed him with nothing but truth: sodainly, and according as they had concluded, with the helpe of neighbors, kindred, and frends, col­lected from diuers places; he mustred a goodly and powerful army, mar­ching on towards Athens, to make war against the Duke.

No sooner heard he of this warlike preparation made against him, but he likewise leuied forces for his owne defence, and to his succour came many great States: among whom, the Emperor of Constantinople sent his Sonne Constantine, attended on by his Nephew Emanuell, with troopes of faire and towardly horse, who were most honourably welcommed and entertained by the Duke, but much more by the Dutchesse, be­cause she was their sister in law.

Military prouision thus proceeding on daily more and more, the Dut­ches making choise of a fit and conuenient houre, took these two Princes [Page] with her to a with-drawing Chamber; and there in flouds of teares flow­ing from her eyes, wringing her hands, and sighing incessantly, shee re­counted the whole History, occasion of the warre, and how dishonoura­bly the Duke had dealt with her about this strange woman, whom he pur­posed to keepe in despight of her, as thinking that she knew nothing ther­of, and complaining very earnestly vnto them, entreated that for the Dukes honour, and her comfort, they would giue their best assistance in this case.

The two young Lords knew all this matter, before shee thus reported it to them; and therefore, without staying to listen her any longer, but comforting her so wel as they could, with promise of their best employed paines: being informed by her, in what place the Lady was so closely kept, they tooke their leaue, and parted from her. Often they had heard the La­dy much commended, and her incomparable beauty highly extolled, yea, euen by the Duke himselfe; which made them the more desirous to see her: wherefore earnestly they solicited him, to let them haue a sight of her, and he (forgetting what happened to the Prince, by shewing her so vnad­uisedly to him) made them promise to grant their request Causing a mag­nificent dinner to be prepared, & in a goodly garden, at the Castle where the Lady was kept: on the morrow morning, attended on by a smal train, away they rode to dine with her.

Constantine being seated at the Table, he began (as one confounded with admiration) to obserue her iudiciously, affirming secretly to his soule that he had neuer seene so compleat a woman before; and allowing it for iustice, that the Duke, or any other whosoeuer, if (to enioy so rare a beau­ty) they had committed treason, or any mischiefe else beside, yet in reason they ought to be held excused. Nor did he bestow so many lookes vpon her, but his prayses infinitely surpassed them, as thinking that he could not sufficiently commend her, following the Duke step by step in affection: for being now growne amorous of her, and remembrance of the intended warre vtterly abandoned; no other thoughts could come neerer him, but how to bereaue the Duke of her, yet concealing his loue, and not impar­ting it to any one.

While his fancies were thus amorously set on fire, the time came, that they must make head against the Prince, who already was marching with­in the Dukes Dominions: wherfore the Duke Constantine, and all the rest, according to a counsell held among them, went to defend certaine of the frontiers, to the end that the Prince might passe no further. Remaining there diuers dayes together, Constantine, who could thinke on nothing else, but the beautiful Lady, considered with himselfe, that while the Duke was not so far off from her, it was an easie matter to compasse his intent: hereupon, the better to colour his present returne to Athens, he seemed to be surprized with a sudden extreame sicknesse, in regard whereof (by the Dukes free lisence, and leauing all his power to his Cousen Emanuel) forthwith he iourneyed backe to Athens. After some conference bad with his sister, concerning her dishonorable wrongs endured at his hands only [Page 57] by the Lady: he solemnly protested, that if shee were so pleased, he would aide her powerfully in the matter, by taking her from the place where she was, and neuer more afterward, to be seene in that Countrey any more.

The Dutchesse being faithfully perswaded, that he would doe this one­ly for her sake, and not in any affection he bare to the Lady, made answer that it highly pleased her; alwayes prouided, that it might be performed in such sort, as the Duke her Husband should neuer vnderstand, that euer shee gaue any consent thereto, which Constantine sware vnto her by ma­ny deep oathes, whereby she referred all to his owne disposition. Constan­stine hereupon secretly prepared in readinesse a subtill Barke, sending it (in an euening) neere to the garden where the Lady resorted; hauing first informed the people which were in it, fully in the businesse that was to be done. Afterward, accompanied with some other of his attendants, hee went to the Palace to the Lady, where he was gladly entertained, not on­ly by such as waited on her, but also by the Lady her selfe.

Leading her along by the arme towards the Garden, attended on by two of her seruants, and two of his owne, seeming as if he was sent from the Duke, to conferre with her: they walked alone to a Port opening on the Sea, which standing ready open, vpon a signe giuen by him to one of his complices, the Barke was brought close to the shore, and the Lady being suddenly seized on, was immediately conueyed into it; and he re­turning backe to her people, with his sword drawne in his hand, saide: Let no man stir [...]e, or speake a word, except he be willing to loose his life: for I intend not to rob the Duke of his faire friend, but to expel the shame and dishonour which he hath offered to my Sister, no one being so hardy as to returne him any answer. Aboard went Constantine with his consorts, and sitting neer to the Lady, who wrung her hands, and wept bitterly; he commanded the Marriners to launch forth, flying away on the wings of the wind, till about the breake of day following, they arriued at Melasso. There they tooke landing, and reposed on shore for some few dayes, Con­stantine labouring to comfort the Lady, euen as if shee had been his owne Sister, shee hauing good cause to curse her infortunate beauty.

Going aboard the Barke againe, within few dayes they came to Seta­lia, and there fearing the reprehension of his Father, and least the Ladie should be taken from him; it pleased Constantine to make his stay, as in a place of no meane security. And (as before) after much kinde behaui­our vsed towards the Lady, without any meanes in her selfe to redresse the least of all these great extremities: shee became more milde and affa­ble, for discontentment did not a iot quaile her.

While occurrences passed on in this manner, it fortuned, that Osbech the King of Turky (who was in continuall war with the Emperour) came by accident to Laiazzo: and hearing there how lasciuiously Constantine spent his time in Setalia, with a Lady which he had stolne, being but weake and slenderly guarded; in the night with certaine well prouided ships, his men & he entred the Towne, & surprized many people in their beds, be­fore they knew of their enemies cōming, killing such as stood vpon their [Page] defence against them, (among whom was Constantine) and burning the whole Towne, brought their booty and prisoners aboard their ships, wherewith they returned backe to Laiazzo. Being thus come to Laiazzo, Osbech, who was a braue and gallant young man, vpon a reuiew of the pillage; found the faire Lady, whom hee knew to be the beloued of Con­stantine, because shee was found lying on his bed. Without any further delay, he made choyse of her to be his Wife; causing his nuptials to be honourably sollemnized, and many moneths hee liued there in great ioy with her.

But before occasions grew to this effect, the Emperour made a con­federacy with Bassano, King of Cappadocia, that hee should descend with his forces, one way vpon Osbech, and hee would assault him with his power on the other. But he could not so conueniently bring this to passe, because the Emperour would not yeeld to Bassano, in any vnreasonable matter he demanded. Neuerthelesse, when he vnderstood what had hap­pened to his Son (for whom his griefe was beyond all measure) he gran­ted the King of Cappadociaes request, solliciting him withall instancy, to be the more speedy in assailing Osbech. It was not long, before hee heard of this coniuration made against him; and therefore speedily mustered vp all his forces, ere he would be encompassed by two such potent Kings, and marched on to meete the King of Cappadocia, leauing his Lady and Wife, (for her safety) at Laiazzo, in the custodie of a true and loyall seruant of his.

Within a short while after, he drew neere the Campe belonging to the King of Cappadocia, where boldly he gaue him battell; chancing therein to be slaine, his Army broken and discomfited, by meanes whereof the King of Cappadocia remaining Conquerour, marched on towards Laiazzo, euery one yeelding him obeysance all the way as he went. In the meane space, the seruant to Osbech, who was named Antiochus, and with whom the faire Lady was left in guard; although hee was aged, yet seeing shee was so extraordinarily beautifull, he fell in loue with her, forgetting the sollemne vowes he had made to his Master. One happinesse hee had in this case to helpe him, namely, that he vnderstood and could speake her language, a matter of no meane comfort to her; who constrainedly had liued diuers yeeres together, in the state of a deafe or dumbe woman, be­cause euery where else they vnderstood her not, nor shee them, but by shewes and signes.

This benefit of familiar conference, beganne to embolden his hopes, eleuate his courage, and make him seeme more youthfull in his owne o­pinion, then any ability of body could speake vnto him, or promise him in the possession of her, who was so farre beyond him, and so vnequall to be enioyed by him; yet to aduance his hopes a great deale higher, newes came, that Osbech was vanquished and slaine, and that Bassano made eue­rie where hauocke of all: whereon they concluded together, not to tarrie there any longer, but storing themselues with the goods of Osbech, secret­ly they departed thence to Rhodes. Being seated there in some indifferent [Page 58] abiding, it came to passe, that Antiochus fell into a deadly sicknesse, to whom came a Cyprian Merchant, one much esteemed by him, as being an intimate friend and kinde acquaintance, and in whom hee reposed no small confidence. Feeling his sicknesse to encrease more and more vpon him dayly, hee determined, not onely to leaue such wealth as hee had to this Merchant, but the faire Lady likewise; and calling them both to his beds side, he brake his minde vnto them in this manner.

Deare Loue, and my most worthily respected friend, I perceiue plain­ly and infallibly, that I am drawing neere vnto my end, which much dis­contenteth me; because my hope was, to haue liued longer in this world, for the enioying of your kinde and most esteemed company. Yet one thing maketh my death very pleasing and welcome to me, namely, that lying thus in my bed of latest comfort in this life: I shall expire and finish my course, in the armes of those two persons, whom I most affected in all this world, as you my euer dearest friend, and you faire Lady, whom (since the very first sight of you) I loued and honoured in my soule. Irk­some and very grieuous it is to me, that (if I dye) I shall leaue you here a stranger, without the counsaile and helpe of any body: and yet much more offensiue would it become, if I had not such a friend as you here present, who I am faithfully perswaded, will haue the like care and respect of her (euen for my sake) as of my selfe, if time had allotted my longer tarying here. And therefore (worthy friend) most earnestly I desire you, that if I dye, all mine affaires and she may remaine to your trusty care, as being (by my selfe) absolutely commended to your prouidence, and so to dispose both of the one and other, as may best agree with the comfort of my soule. As for you (choise beauty) I humbly entreate, that after my death you would not forget mee, to the end, I may make my vaunt in another world, that I was affected here, by the onely fairest Lady that euer Nature framed. If of these two things you will giue me assurance; I shall depart from you with no meane comfort.

The friendly Merchant, and likewise the Lady, hearing these words, wept both bitterly, and after hee had giuen ouer speaking: kindly they comforted him, with promise and solemne vowes, that if hee dyed, all should be performed which he had requested. Within a short while af­ter, he departed out of this life, and they gaue him very honourable bu­riall, according to that Country custome. Which being done, the Mer­chant dispatching all his affaires at Rhodes, was desirous to returne home to Cyprus, in a Carrack of the Catelans then there being: mouing the Lady in the matter, to vnderstand how shee stood enclined, because vr­gent occasions called him thence to Cyprus. The Lady made answere, that she was willing to passe thither with him, hoping for the loue hee bare to deceased Antiochus, that he would respect her as his Sister. The Merchant was willing to giue her any contentment, but yet resolued her, that vnder the title of being his Sister, it would be no warrant of security to them both; wherefore hee rather aduised her, to stile him as her hus­band, and hee would terme her his wife, and so hee should be sure to de­fend [Page] her from all iniuries whatsoeuer.

Being abord the Carrack, they had a Cabine and small bed conueni­ently allowed them, where they slept together, that they might the better be reputed as man and wife; for, to passe otherwise, would haue beene very dangerous to them both. And questionlesse, their faithfull promise made at Rhodes to Antiochus, sicknesse on the Sea, and mutuall respect they had of each others credit, was a constant restraint to all wanton de­sires, and a motiue rather to incite chastity, then otherwise, and so (I hope) you are perswaded of them. But howsoeuer, the windes blewe merily, the Carrack sayled lustily, and (by this time) they are arriued at Baffa, where the Cyprian Merchant dwelt, and where shee continued a long while with him, no one knowing otherwise, but that shee was his wife indeede.

Now it fortuned, that there arriued also at the same Baffa (about some especiall occasions of his) a Gentleman, whose name was Antigonus, well stept into yeares, and better stored with wisedome then wealth: because by medling in many matters, while hee followed the seruice of the King of Cyprus, Fortune had beene very aduerse to him. This ancient Gentle­man, passing (on a day) by the house where the Lady lay, and the Mer­chant being gone about his businesse into Armenia: hee chanced to see the Lady at a window of the house, and because shee was very beautifull, he obserued her the more aduisedly, recollecting his sences together, that (doubtlesse he had seene her before, but in what place hee could not re­member. The Lady her selfe likewise, who had so long time beene For­tunes tennis ball, and the terme of her many miseries drawing now neere ending: began to conceiue (vpon the very first sight of Antigonus) that she had formerly seene him in Alexandria, seruing her Father in place of great degree. Hereupon, a suddaine hope perswaded her, that by the aduice and furtherance of this Gentleman, she should recouer her won­ted Royall condition: and opportunity now aptly fitting her, by the ab­sence of her pretended Merchant, husband, she sent for him, requesting to haue a few words with him.

When he was come into the house, she bashfully demanded of him, if he was not named Antigonus of Famagosta, because shee knew one (like him) so called? Hee answered, that he was so named, saying moreouer: Madame, me thinkes that I should know you, but I cannot remember where I haue seene you, wherefore I would entreate (if it might stand with your good liking) that my memory might be quickned with better knowledge of you. The Lady perceiuing him to be the man indeede, weeping incessantly, she threw her armes about his necke, and soone af­ter asked Antigonus (who stood as one confounded with meruaile) if hee had neuer seene her in Alexandria? Vpon these words, Antigonus knew her immediately to be Alathiella, daughter to the great Soldane, who was sup­posed (long since) to be drowned in the Sea: and offering to doe her such reuerence as became him, she would not permit him, but desired, that he would be assistant to her, and willed him also to sit downe a while by her.

[Page 59] A goodly Chaire being brought him, in very humble manner he de­manded of her, what had become of her in so long a time: because it was verily beleeued throughout all Egypt, that shee was drowned in the Sea. I would it had bin so, answered the Lady, rather then to leade such a life as I haue done; and I thinke my Father himselfe would wish it so, if euer he should come to the knowledge thereof. With these words the teares rained downe her faire cheekes: wherefore Antigonus thus spake vnto her. Madame, discomfort not your selfe before you haue occasion, but (if you be so pleased) relate your passed accidents to mee, and what the course of your life hath bene: perhaps, I shall giue you such friendly aduice as may stand you in sted, and no way be iniurious to you.

Fetching a sigh, euen as if her heart would haue split in sunder, thus she replyed. Ah Antigonus, me thinkes when I looke on thee, I seeme to behold my royall Father, and therefore mooued with the like religi­ous zeale and charitable loue, as (in duty) I owe vnto him: I will make knowne to thee, what I rather ought to conceale, and hide from any per­son liuing. I know thee to bee honourable, discreete, and truely wise, though I am a fraile, simple, and weake woman, therefore I dare disco­uer to thee, rather then any other that I know, by what straunge and vn­expected misfortunes, I haue liued so long obscurely in the world. And if in thy great and graue iudgement (after the hearing of my many mise­ries) thou canst any way restore me to my former estate, I pray thee do it: but if thou perceiue it impossible to bee done, as earnestly likewise I en­treate thee, neuer to reueale to any liuing person, that either thou hast seene me, or heard any speech of me. After these words, the teares still streaming from her faire eyes, shee recounted the whole passage of her rare mishaps, euen from her shipwracke in the Sea of Maiorica, vntil that very instant houre; speaking them in such harsh manner as they hapned, and not sparing any iot of them.

Antigonus being mooued to much compassion, declared how hee pi­tied her by his teares, and hauing bene silent an indifferent while, as con­sidering in this case) what was best to be done, thus he began. Madam, seeing you haue past through such a multitude of misfortunes, yet vndis­couered, what and who you are: I will render you as blamelesse to your Father, and estate you as fairely in his loue, as at the hour when you par­ted from him, and afterward make you wife to the King of Cholcos. She demanding of him, by what meanes possibly this could be accomplished: breefely he made it knowne to her, how, and in what manner hee would performe it.

To cut off futther tedious circumstances, forthwith he returned to Fa­magosta, and going before the King of the country, thus he spake to him. Sir, you may (if so you will be pleased) in an instant, do me an exceeding honor, who haue bene impouerished by your seruice, and also a deed of great renowne to your selfe, without any much matter of expence and cost. The King demanding how? Antigonus thus answered. The fayre daughter of the Soldane, so generally reported to be drowned, is arriued [Page] at Baffa, and to preserue her honour from blemishing, hath suffered ma­ny crosses and calamities: being at this instant in very poore estate, yet desirous to re-visite her father. If you please to send her home vnder my conduct, it will be great honour to you, and no meane benefite to mee; which kindnesse will for euer be thankfully remembred by the Soldan.

The King in royall magnificence, replied sodainly, that he was highly pleased with these good tydings; & hauing sent honourably for her from Baffa, with great pompe she was conducted to Famagosta, and there most graciously welcommed both by the King and Queene, with solemne tri­umphes, bankets, and reuelling, performed in most Maiesticke manner. Being questioned by the King and Queene, concerning so large a time of strange misfortunes: according as Antigonus had formerly enstructed her, so did she shape the forme of her answers, and satisfied (with honor) all their demands. So, within few dayes after, vpon her earnest & instant request; with an honourable traine of Lords and Ladies, shee was sent thence, and conducted all the way by Antigonus, vntill she came vnto the Soldans Court.

After some few dayes of her reposing there, the Soldan was desirous to vnderstand, how she could possibly liue so long, in any Kingdome or Prouince whatsoeuer, and yet no knowledge to bee taken of her? The Lady, who perfectly retained by heart, and had all her lessons at her fin­gers ends, by the warie instructions which Antigonus had giuen her, an­swered her father in this manner. Sir, about the twentith day after my departure from you, a verie terrible and dreadfull tempest ouer-tooke vs, so that in dead time of the night, our ship being split in sunder vpon the sands, neere to a place called Varna; what became of all the men that were aboord, I neither know, or euer heard of. Onely I remember, then when death appeared, and I being recouered from death to life, certaine pezants of the countrey, comming to get what they could finde in the ship so wrackt, I was first (with two of my women) brought and set safely on the shore.

No sooner were we there, but certaine rude shagge-haird villaines set vpon vs, carrying away from me both my women, then haling me along by the haire of my head, neither teares or intercessions could draw any pitty from them. As thus they dragd me into a spacious Woodd, foure horsemen on a sodaine came riding by, who seeing how dishonourably the villaines vsed me, rescued me from them, and forced them to flight. But the foure horsemen, seeming (in my iudgement) to bee persons of power and authority, letting them go, came to mee, vrging sundry que­stions to me, which neither I vnderstood, or they mine answers. After many deliberations held among themselues, setting me vpon one of their horses, they brought me to a Monastery of religious women, according to the custome of their law: and there, whatsoeuer they did or sayde, I know not, but I was most benignely welcommed thither, and honoured of them extraordinarily, where (with them in deuotion) I dedicated my selfe to the Goddesse of chastity, who is highly reuerenced and regarded [Page 60] among the women of that Countrey, and to her religious seruice, they are wholly addicted.

After I had continued some time among them, and learned a little of their language; they asked me, of whence, and what I was. Reason gaue me so much vnderstanding, to be fearfull of telling them the trueth, for feare of expulsion from among them, as an enemy to their Law and Re­ligion: wherefore I answered (according as necessity vrged) that I was daughter to a Gentleman of Cyprus, who sent me to bee married in Can­die; but our fortunes (meaning such as had the charge of mee) fell out quite contrary to our expectation, by losses, Shipwracke, and other mis­chances; adding many matters more beside, onely in regard of feare, & yeelding obediently to obserue their customes.

At length, she that was in cheefest preheminence among these Wo­men (whom they termed by the name of their Lady Abbesse) demaun­ded of me, whither I was willing to abide in that condition of life, or to returne home againe into Cyprus. I answerd, that I desired nothing more. But she, being very carefull of mine honour, would neuer repose confi­dence in any that came for Cyprus; till two honest Gentlemen of France, who hapned thither about two moneths since, accompanied with their wiues, one of them being a neere kinswoman to the Lady Abbesse. And she well knowing, that they trauelled in pilgrimage to Ierusalem, to visit the holy Sepulcher, where (as they beleeue) that he whom they held for their God was buried, after the Iewes had put him to death: recom­mended me to their louing trust, with especial charge, for deliuering me to my Father in Cyprus. What honourable loue and respect I found in the company of those Gentlemen and their wiues, during our voyage backe to Cyprus: the history would be ouer-tedious in reporting, neither is it much materiall to our purpose, because your demand is to another end.

Sayling on prosperously in our Ship, it was not long, before wee arri­ued at Baffa, where being landed, and not knowing any person, neither what I should say to the Gentlemen, who onely were carefull for deli­uering me to my Father, according as they were charged by the reuerend Abbesse: it was the will of heauen doubtlesse (in pitty and compassion of my passed disasters) that I was no sooner come on shore at Baffa: but I should there haply meete with Antigonus, whome I called vnto in our countrey Language, because I would not be vnderstood by the Gentle­men nor their wiues, requesting him to acknowledge me as his Daugh­ter. Quickly he apprehended mine intention, accomplishing what I re­quested, and (according to his poore power) most bounteously feasted the Gentlemen and their wiues, conducting me to the K. of Cyprus, who receiued me royally, and sent me home to you with so much honour, as I am no way able to relate. What else remaineth to be said, Antigonus who hath oft heard the whole story of my fortunes, at better leisure wil report.

Antigonus then turning to the Soldan, said: My Lord, as shee hath of­ten told me, and by relation both of the Gentlemen and their wiues, she [Page] hath deliuered nothing but trueth. Onely shee hath forgotten some­what worth the speaking, as thinking it not fit for her to vtter, because (indeede) it is not so conuenient for her. Namely, how much the Gen­tlemen and their wiues (with whom she came) commended the rare ho­nesty and integrity of life, as also the vnspotted vertue, wherein she liued, among those chaste Religious women, as they constantly (both with teares and solemne protestations) auouched to me, when kindly they re­signed their charge to mee. Of all which matters, and many more be­side, if I should make discourse to your Excellencie; this whole day, the night ensuing, and the next dayes full extendure, are not sufficient to ac­quaint you withall. Let it suffice then, that I haue said so much, as (both by the reports, and mine owne vnderstanding) may giue you faithfull assurance, to make your Royall vaunt; of hauing the fayrest, most vertuous, and honest Lady to your Daughter, of any King or Prince whatsoeuer.

The Soldane was ioyfull beyond all measure, welcomming both him and the rest in most stately manner, oftentimes entreating the Gods very heartily, that he might liue to requite them with equall recompence, who had so graciously honoured his daughter: but (aboue all the rest) the King of Cyprus, who sent her home so maiestically. And hauing bestowne great gifts on Antigonus, within a few dayes after, hee gaue him leaue to returne to Cyprus: with thankfull fauours to the King as well by Letters, as also by Ambassadours expresly sent, both from himselfe and his daughter.

When as this businesse was fully finished, the Soldane, desiring to ac­complish what formerly was intended and begun, namely, that shee might be wife to the King of Cholcos: he gaue him intelligence of all that had happened, writing moreouer to him, that (if he were so pleased) hee would yet send her in Royall manner to him. The King of Cholcos was exceeding ioyfull of these glad tydings, and dispatching a worthy trayne to fetch her, she was conuayed thither very pompously, and she who had beene embraced by so many, was receiued by him as an honest virgine, liuing long time after with him in much ioy and felicity. And therefore, it hath beene said as a common Prouerbe: The mouth well kist comes not short of good fortune, but is still renewed like the Moone.

The eight Nouell.

THe Ladies sighed very often, hearing the variety of wofull miseries happening to Alathiella: but who knoweth, what occasion moued them to those sighes? Perhaps there were some among them, who ra­ther sighed they could not be so often married as she was, rather then for any other compassion they had of her disasters. But leauing that to their owne construction, they smiled merrily at the last speeches of Pamphilus, and the Queene perceiuing the Nouell to be ended: shee fixed her eye vpon Madame Eliza, as signifying thereby, that she was next to succeede in order, which shee ioyfully embracing, spake as followeth. The field is very large and spacious, wherein all this day we haue walked, and there is not any one here, so wearied with running the former races, but nimbly would aduenture on as many more, so copious are the alterations of For­tune, in sad repetition of her wonderfull changes: and among the infinity of her various courses, I must make addition of another, which I trust will no way discontent you.

[Page] When the Romaine Empire was translated from the French to the Germains, mighty dissentions grew between both the nations, insomuch that it drew a dismall and a lingring warre. In which respect, as well for the safety of his owne Kingdome, as to annoy and disturbe his enemies; the King of France and one of his sonnes, hauing congregated the forces of their owne dominions, as also of their friends and confederates, they resolued manfully to encounter their enemies. But before they would aduenture on any rash proceeding; they held it as the chiefest part of pollicie and Royall prouidence, not to leaue the State without a chiefe or Gouernour. And hauing had good experience of Gualtier, Counte D'Angiers, to be a wise, worthy, and most trusty Lord, singularly expert in militarie discipline, and faithfull in all affaires of the Kingdome (yet fitter for ease and pleasure, then laborious toyle and trauaile:) hee was elected Lieutenant Gouernour in their sted, ouer the whole Kingdome of France, and then they went on in their enterprize.

Now began the Counte to execute the office committed to his trust, by orderly proceeding, and with great discretion, yet not entring into any businesse, without consent of the Queene and her faire daughter in law: who although they were left vnder his care and custodie, yet (not­withstanding) he honoured them as his superiours, and as the dignity of their quality required. Heere you are to obserue, concerning Counte Gualtier himselfe, that he was a most compleat person, aged little aboue forty yeares; as affable and singularly conditioned, as any Noble man possibly could be, nor did those times afford a Gentleman, that equalled him in all respects. It fortuned, that the King and his sonne being busie in the afore-named warre, the wife and Lady of Counte Gualtier died in the meane while, leauing him onely a sonne and a daughter, very young and of tender yeares, which made his owne home the lesse welcome to him, hauing lost his deare Loue and second selfe.

Hereupon, hee resorted to the Court of the said Ladies the more fre­quently, often conferring with them, about the waighty affaires of the Kingdome: in which time of so serious interparlance, the Kings Sonnes wife, threw many affectionate regards vpon him, conuaying such con­spiring passions to her heart (in regard of his person and vertues) that her loue exceeded all capacity of gouernement. Her desires out stepping all compasse of modesty, or the dignity of her Princely condition; throwes off all regard of ciuill and sober thoughts, and guides her into a Laby­rinth of wanton imaginations. For, she regards not now the eminencie of his high authority, his grauity of yeares, and those parts that are the true conducts to honour: but lookes vpon her owne loose and lasciuious appetite, her young, gallant, and ouer-ready yeelding nature, compa­ring them with his want of a wife, and likely hope (thereby) of her sooner preuailing; supposing, that nothing could be her hinderance, but onely bashfull shame-facednesse, which she rather chose vtterly to forsake and set aside, then to faile of her hote enflamed affection, and therefore, shee would needes be the discouerer of her owne disgrace.

[Page 62] Vpon a day, being alone by her selfe, and the time seeming suteable to her intention: shee sent for the Counte, vnder colour of some other important conference with him. The Counte D'Angiers, whose thoughts were quite contrary to hers: immediately went to her, where they both sitting downe together on a beds side in her Chamber, according as for­merly shee had plotted her purpose; twice hee demaunded of her, vpon what occasion she had thus sent for him. She sitting a long while silent, as if she had no answere to make him: pressed by the violence of her amo­rous passions, a vermillion tincture leaping vp into her face, yet shame enforcing teares from her eyes, with words broken and halfe confused, at last she began to deliuer her minde in this manner.

Honourable Lord, and my dearely respected friend, being so wise a man as you are, it is no difficult matter for you to know, what a fraile condition is imposed both on men and women; yet (for diuers occasi­ons) much more vpon the one, then the other. Wherefore desertfully, in the censure of a iust and vpright Iudge, a fault of diuers conditions (in respect of the person) ought not to be censured with one and the same punishment. Beside, who will not say, that a man or woman of poore and meane estate, hauing no other helpe for maintainance, but laborious trauaile of their bodies should worthily receiue more sharpe reprehensi­on, in yeelding to amorous desires, or such passions as are incited by loue; then a wealthy Lady whose liuing relieth not on her paines or cares, neither wanteth any thing that she can wish to haue: I dare presume, that you your selfe will allow this to be equall and iust. In which respect, I am of the minde, that the fore-named allegations, ought to serue as a suffi­cient excuse, yea, and to the aduantage of her who is so possessed, if the passions of loue should ouer-reach her: alwayes prouided, that shee can pleade (in her owne defence) the choise of a wise and vertuous friend, an­swerable to her owne condition and quality, and no way to be taxed with a seruile or vile election.

These two especiall obseruations, allowable in my iudgement, and li­uing now in me, seazing on my youthfull blood and yeares: haue found no mean inducement to loue, in regard of my husbands far distance from me, medling in the rude vnciuill actions of warre, when he should rather be at home in more sweet imployment. You see Sir, that these Orators aduance themselues here in your presence, to acquaint you with the ex­tremity of my ouer-commanding agony: and if the same power hath do­minion in you, which your discretion (questionlesse) cannot be voide of; then let me entreate such aduise from you, as may rather helpe, then hin­der my hopes. Beleeue it then for trueth Sir, that the long absence of my husband from me, the solitary condition wherein I am left, ill agree­ing with the hot blood running in my veines, & the temper of my earnest desires: haue so preuailed against my strongest resistances, that not onely so weake a woman as I am, but any man of much more potent might (liuing in ease and idlenesse as I doe) cannot withstand such continuall as­saults, hauing no other helpe then flesh and blood.

[Page] Nor am I so ignorant, but publique knowledge of such an error in me, would be reputed a shrewd taxation of honesty: whereas (on the other side) secret carriage, and heedfull managing such amorous affaires, may passe for currant without any reproach. And let me tell you Noble Counte, that I repute Loue highly fauourable to mee, by guiding my iudgement with such moderation, to make election of a wise, worthy, and honourable friend, fit to enioy the grace of a farre greater Lady then I am, and the first letter of his name, is the Count D'Angiers. For if er­ror haue not misled mine eye, as in Loue no Lady can be easily decei­ued: for person, perfections, and all parts most to be commended in a man, the whole Realme of France containeth not your equall. Obserue beside, how forward Fortune sheweth her selfe to vs both in this case, you to be destitute of a wife, as I am of an husband; for I count him as dead to me, when he denies me the duties belonging to a wife. Where­fore, in regard of the vnfaigned affection I beare you, and compassion, which you ought to haue of Royall Princesse, euen almost sicke to death for your sake: I earnestly entreate you, not to denie me your louing so­ciety, but pittying my youth and fiery afflictions (neuer to be quenched but by your kindnesse) I may enioy my hearts desire.

As shee vttered these words, the teares streamed aboundantly downe her faire cheekes, preuenting her of any further speech: so that deie­cting her head into her bosome, ouercome with the predominance of her passions; shee fell vpon the Countes knee, whereas else shee had falne vpon the ground. When hee, like a loyall and most honourable man, sharply reprehended her fonde and idle loue, and when shee would haue embraced him about the necke; hee repulsed her rough­ly from him, protesting vpon his honourable reputation, that rather then hee would so wrong his Lord and Maister, he would endure a thou­sand deathes.

The Lady seeing her desire disappointed, and her fond expectation vtterly frustrated: grewe instantly forgetfull of her intemperate loue, and falling into extremity of rage, conuerted her former gentle spee­ches, into this harsh and ruder language. Villaine (quoth shee) shall the longing comforts of my life, be abridged by thy base and scorne­full deniall? Shall my destruction bee wrought by thy currish vnkind­nesse, and all my hoped ioyes be defeated in a moment? Know slaue, that I did not so earnestly desire thy sweet embracements before, but now as deadly I hate and despise them, which either thy death or banish­ment shall dearely pay for. No sooner had shee thus spoken, but tea­ring her haire, and renting her garments in pieces, shee ranne about like a distracted woman, crying out aloude: Helpe, helpe, the Count D'Angiers will forcibly dishonour mee, the lustfull Count will violence mine honour.

D'Angiers seeing this, and fearing more the malice of the ouer-cre­dulous Court, then either his owne conscience, or any dishonourable act by him committed, beleeuing likewise, that her slanderous accusati­on [Page 63] would bee credited, aboue his true and spotlesse innocency: closely he conueyed himselfe out of the Court, making what hast hee could, home to his owne house, which being too weake for warranting his safe­ty vpon such pursuite as would be vsed against him, without any further aduice or counsell, he seated his two children on horsebacke, himselfe al­so being but meanly mounted, thus away thence hee went to Calice.

Vpon the clamour and noise of the Lady, the Courtiers quickly floc­ked thither; and, as lies soone winne beleefe in hasty opinions, vpon any silly or shallow surmise: so did her accusation passe for currant, and the Counts aduancement being enuied by many, made his honest carriage (in this case) the more suspected. In hast and madding fury, they ran to the Counts houses, to arrest his person, and carry him to prison: but when they could not finde him, they raced his goodly buildings downe to the ground, and vsed all shamefull violence to them. Now, as il newes sildome wants a speedy Messenger; so, in lesse space then you will ima­gine, the King and Dolphin heard thereof in the Camp, and were there­with so highly offended, that the Count had a sodaine and seuere con­demnation, all his progeny being sentenced with perpetuall exile, and promises of great and bountifull rewards, to such as could bring his bo­dy aliue or dead.

Thus the innocent Count, by his ouer-hasty and sodaine flight, made himselfe guilty of this foule imputation: and arriuing at Callice with his children, their poore and homely habites, hid them from being knowne, and thence they crossed ouer into England, staying no where vntill hee came to London. Before he would enter into the City, he gaue diuers good aduertisements to his children, but especially two precepts aboue all the rest. First, with patient soules to support the poore condition, whereto Fortune (without any offence in him or them) had thus deiec­ted them. Next, that they should haue most heedfull care, at no time to disclose from whence they came, or whose children they were, because it extended to the perill of their liues. His Sonne, being named Lewes, and now about nine yeares old, his daughter called Violenta, and aged seauen yeares, did both obserue their fathers direction, as afterward it did sufficiently appeare. And because they might liue in the safer securi­tie, hee thought it for the best to change their names, calling his sonne Perotto, and his daughter Gianetta, for thus they might best escape vn­knowne.

Being entred into the Citty, and in the poore estate of beggers, they craued euery bodies mercy and almes. It came to passe, that standing one morning at the Cathedral Church-doore, a great Lady of England, being then wife to the Lord high Marshall, cōming forth of the Church, espied the Count and his children there begging. Of him she demanded what Countrey-man he was? and whether those children were his owne, or no? The Count replyed, that he was borne in Picardy, and for an vn­happy fact committed by his eldest sonne (a stripling of more hopefull expectation, then proued) hee was enforced, with those his two other [Page] children to forsake his country. The Lady being by nature very pittiful, looking aduisedly on the yong Girle, beganne to grow in good liking of her; because (indeede) she was amiable, gentle, and beautifull, whereup­on shee saide. Honest man, thy daughter hath a pleasing countenance, and (perhaps) her inward disposition may prooue answerable to hir out­ward goods parts: if therefore thou canst bee content to leaue her with me, I will giue her entertainment, and vpon her dutifull carriage and be­hauiour, if she liue to such yeares as may require it, I wil haue her honest­ly bestowne in marriage. This motion was verie pleasing to the Count, who readily declared his willing consent thereto, and with the teares trickling downe his cheekes, in thankfull manner he deliuered his prettie daughter to the Lady.

Shee being thus happily bestowne, hee minded to tarry no longer in London; but, in his wonted begging manner, trauailing thorough the Country with his sonne Perotto, at length hee came into Wales: but not without much weary paine and trauell, being neuer vsed before, to iour­ney so far on foote. There dwelt another Lord, in office of Marshalship to the King of England, whose power extended ouer those partes; a man of very great authority, keeping a most noble and bountifull house, which they termed the President of Wales his Court; whereto the Count and his son oftentimes resorted, as finding there good releefe and comfort. On a day, one of the Presidents sons, accompanied with diuers other Gen­tlemens children, were performing certaine youthfull sports & pastimes, as running, leaping, and such like, wherein Perotto presumed to make one among them, excelling all the rest in such commendable manner, as none of them ca [...]e any thing nere him. Diuers times the President had taken notice thereof, and was so vvell pleased with the Lads behauiour, that he enquired, of whence he was? Answer vvas made, that hee vvas a poore mans son, that euery day came for an almes to his gate.

The President being desirous to make the boy his, the Count (whose dayly prayers were to the same purpose) frankly gaue his son to the No­bleman: albeit naturall and fatherly affection, vrged some vnwillingnesse to part so with him; yet necessity and discretion, found it to bee for the benefit of them both. Being thus eased of care for his son and daughter, and they (though in different places) yet vnder good and woorthie go­uernment: the Count would continue no longer in England: but, as best he could procure the meanes, passed ouer into Ireland, and being arriued at a place called Stanford, became seruant to an Earle of that Country, a Gentleman professing Armes, on whom he attended as a seruing man, & liued a long while in that estate very painfully.

His daughter Violenta, clouded vnder the borrowed name of Gianetta, dwelling with the Lady at London, grew so in yeares, beauty, comlinesse of person, and was so gracefull in the fauour of her Lord and Lady, yea, of euery one in the house beside, that it was wonderfull to behold. Such as but obserued her vsuall carriage, and what modesty shined clearely in her eyes, reputed her vvell vvorthy of honourable preferment; in which [Page 64] regard, the Lady that had receiued her of her Father, not knowing of whence, or what shee was; but as himselfe had made report, intended to match her in honourable mariage, according as her vertues worthily de­serued. But God, the iust rewarder of all good endeauours, knowing her to be noble by birth, and (causelesse) to suffer for the sinnes of another; disposed otherwise of her, and that so worthy a Virgin might be no mate for a man of ill conditions, no doubt ordained what was to be done, ac­cording to his owne good pleasure.

The noble Lady, with whom poore Gianetta dwelt, had but one one­ly Sonne by her Husband, and he most deerely affected of them both, as well in regard hee was to be their heire, as also for his vertues and com­mendable qualities, wherein he excelled many young Gentlemen. En­dued he was with heroycal valour, compleate in all perfections of person, and his mind euery way answerable to his outward behauiour, exceeding Gianetta about sixe yeeres in age. Hee perceiuing her to be a faire and comely Maiden, grew to affect her so entirely, that all things else he held contemptible, and nothing pleasing in his eye but shee. Now, in regard her parentage was reputed poore, hee kept his loue conceal [...]d from his Parents, not daring to desire her in marriage: for both hee was to loose their fauour, by disclosing the vehemency of his afflictions, which proued a greater torment to him, then if it had beene openly knowne.

It came to passe, that loue ouer-awed him in such sort, as he fell into a violent sicknesse, and store of Physicions were sent for, to saue him from death, if possibly it might be. Their iudgements obseruing the course of his sicknesse, yet not reaching to the cause of the disease, made a doubt­full question of his recouery; which was so displeasing to his parents, that their griefe and sorrow grew beyond measure. Many earnest entreaties they moued to him, to know the occasion of his sicknesse, whereto he re­turned no other answer, but heart-breaking sighes, and incessant teares, which drew him more and more into weakenesse of body.

It chanced on a day, a Physicion was brought vnto him, being young in yeeres, but well experienced in his practise, and as hee made triall of his pulse, Gianetta (who by his Mothers command, attended on him very diligently) vpon some especial occasion entred into the Chamber, which when the young Gentleman perceiued, and that shee neither spake word, nor so much as looked towards him, his heart grew great in amorous de­sire, and his pulse did beate beyond the compasse of ordinary custome; whereof the Physicion made good obseruation, to note how long that fit would continue. No sooner was Gianetta gone forth of the Chamber, but the pulse immediately gaue ouer beating, which perswaded the Phy­sicion, that some part of the disease had now discouered it selfe appa­rantly.

Within a while after, pretending to haue some speech with Gianetta, and holding the Gentleman still by the arme, the Physicion caused her to be sent for, and immediately shee came. Vpon her very entrance into the Chamber, the pulse began to beate againe extreamely, and when shee de­parted, [Page] it presently ceased. Now was he thorowly perswaded, that hee had found the true effect of his sicknesse; when taking the Father and mo­ther aside, thus he spake to them. If you be desirous of your Sons health, it consisteth not either in Physicion or physicke, but in the mercy of your faire Maide Gianetta; for manifest signes haue made it knowne to me, and he loueth the Damosell very dearely: yet (for ought I can perceiue, the Maide doth not know it) now if you haue respect of his life, you know (in this case) what is to be done. The Nobleman and his Wife hearing this, became somewhat satisfied, because there remained a remedy to preserue his life: but yet it was no meane griefe to them, if it should so succeede, as they feared, namely, the marriage betweene their Sonne and Gia­netta.

The Physicion being gone, and they repairing to their sicke Sonne, the Mother began with him in this manner. Sonne, I was alwayes per­swaded, that thou wouldest not conceale any secret from me, or the least part of thy desires; especially, when without enioying them, thou must re­maine in the danger of death. Full well art thou assured, or in reason oughtest to be, that there is not any thing for thy contentment, be it of what quality soeuer, but it should haue beene prouided for thee, and in as ample manner as for mine owne selfe. But though thou hast wandred so farre from duty, and hazarded both thy life and ours, it commeth so to passe, that Heauen hath been more mercifull to thee, then thou wouldest be to thy selfe or vs. And to preuent thy dying of this disease, a dreame this night hath acquainted me with the principall occasion of thy sicke­nesse, to wit, extraordinary affection to a young Maiden, in some such place as thou hast seene her. I tell thee Sonne, it is a matter of no dis­grace to loue, and why shouldst thou shame to manifest as much, it being so apt and conuenient for thy youth? For if I were perswaded, that thou couldst not loue, I should make the lesse esteeme of thee. Therefore deare Sonne, be not dismayed, but freely discouer thine affections. Expel those disastrous drouping thoughts, that haue indangered thy life by this long lingering sicknesse. And let thy soule be faithfully assured, that thou canst not require any thing to be done, remaining within the compasse of my power, but I will performe it; for I loue thee as dearely as mine owne life. Set therefore aside this nice conceit of shame and feare, reuealing the truth boldly to me, if I may stead thee in thy loue; resoluing thy selfe vn­faignedly, that if my care stretch not to compasse thy content, account me for the most cruell Mother liuing, and vtterly vnworthy of such a Sonne.

The young Gentleman hauing heard these protestations made by his Mother, was not a little ashamed of his owne follie; but recollecting his better thoughts together, and knowing in his soule, that no one could better further his hopes, then shee; forgetting all his former feare, he re­turned her this answere; Madam, and my dearely affected Mother, nothing hath more occasioned my loues so strict concealement, but an especiall errour, which I finde by daily proofe in many, who being growne to yeeres of graue discretion, doe neuer remember, [Page 65] that they themselues haue bin yong. But because heerein I find you to be both discreet and wise, I will not onely affirme, what you haue seen in me to be true, but also will confesse, to whom it is: vpon condition, that the effect of your promise may follow it, according to the power remaining in you, whereby you onely may secure my life.

His Mother, desirous to bee resolued, whether his confession would agree with the Physitians words, or no, and reseruing another intention to her selfe: bad him feare nothing, but freely discouer his whole desire, and forthwith she doubted not to effect it. Then Madame (quoth hee) the matchlesse beauty, and commendable qualities of your maid Gianet­ta, to whom (as yet) I haue made no motion, to commisserate this my languishing extremity, nor acquainted any liuing creature with my loue: the concealing of these afflictions to my selfe, hath brought mee to this desperate condition: and if some meane bee not wrought, according to your constant promise, for the full enioying of my longing desires, assure your selfe (most noble Mother) that the date of my life is very short.

The Lady well knowing, that the time now rather required kindest comfort, then any seuere or sharpe reprehension; smiling on him, saide. Alas deere sonne, wast thou sicke for this? Be of good cheare, and when thy strength is better restored, then referre the matter to me. The young Gentleman, being put in good hope by his mothers promise, began (in short time) to shew apparant signes of well-forwarded amendment: to the Mothers great ioy and comfort, disposing her selfe daily to prooue, how in honor she might keepe promise with her Son.

Within a short while after, calling Gianetta priuately to her, in gentle manner, and by the way of pleasant discourse, she demanded of her, whi­ther she was prouided of a Louer, or no. Gianetta, being neuer acquain­ted with any such questions, a scarlet Dye couering all her modest coun­tenance, thus replied. Madam, I haue no neede of any Louer, and very vnseemly were it, for so poore a Damosell as I am, to haue so much as a thought of Louers: being banished from my friends and kinsfolke, and remaining in seruice as I do.

If you haue none (answered the Lady) wee will bestowe one on you, which shall content your minde, and bring you to a more pleasing kinde of life; because it is farre vnfit, that so faire a Maid as you are, should re­maine destitute of a louer. Madam, sayde Gianetta, considering with my selfe, that since you receiued me of my poore Father, you haue vsed me rather like your daughter, then a seruant; it becommeth mee to doe as pleaseth you. Notwithstanding, I trust (in the regard of mine own good and honour) neuer to vse any complaint in such a case: but if you please to bestow a husband on me, I purpose to loue and honour him onely, & not any other. For, of all the inheritance left me by my progenitors, no­thing remaineth to me but honourable honesty, and that shall bee my le­gacie so long as I liue.

These words were of a quite contrary complexion, to those which the Lady expected from her, and for effecting the promise made vnto hir [Page] Sonne: howbeit (like a wise and noble Lady) much shee inwardly com­mended the maids answers, and saide vnto her. But tell me Gianetta, what if my Lord the King (who is a gallant youthfull Prince, and you so bright a beauty as you are) should take pleasure in your loue, would ye denie him? Sodainly the Maide returned this answer: Madam, the King (per­haps) might enforce me; but with my free consent, hee shall neuer haue any thing of me that is not honest. Nor did the Lady mislike her Maides courage and resolution, but breaking off all her further conference, in­tended shortly to put her proiect in proofe, saying to her son, that when he was fully recouered, he should haue priuate accesse to Gianetta, whom shee doubted not but would be tractable enough to him; for she held it no meane blemish to her honour, to mooue the Maide any more in the matter, but let him compasse it as he could.

Farre from the yong Gentlemans humour was this answer of his Mo­ther, because he aimed not at any dishonourable end: true, faithfull, & honest loue was the sole scope of his intention, foule and loathsome lust he vtterly defied; whereupon, he fell into sickenesse againe, rather more violently then before. Which the Lady perceiuing, reuealed her whole intent to Gianetta, and finding her constancie beyond common compa­rison, acquainted her Lord with all she had done, and both consented (though much against their mindes) to let him enioy her in honourable marriage: accounting it better, for preseruation of their onely sons life, to match him farre inferiour to his degree, then (by denying his desire) to let him pine away, and die for her loue.

After great consultation with kindred and friendes, the match was a­greed vpon, to the no little ioy of Gianetta, who deuoutly returned infi­nite thankes to heauen, for so mercifully respecting her deiected poore estate, after the bitter passage of so many miseries, and neuer tearming her selfe any otherwise, but the daughter of a poore Piccard. Soone was the yong Gentleman recouered and married, no man aliue so well con­tented as he, and setting downe an absolute determination, to lead a lo­uing life with his Gianetta.

Let vs now conuert our lookes to Wales, to Perotto; being lefte there with the other Lord Marshall, who was the President of that Countrey. On he grew in yeares, choisely respected by his Lord, because hee vvas most comely of person, and addicted to all valiant attempts: so that in Tourneyes, Iustes, and other actions of Armes, his like was not to bee found in all the Island, being named onely Perotto the valiant Piccard, and so was he famed farre and neere. As God had not forgotten his Sister, so in mercy he became as mindefull of him; for, a contagious mortalitie hapning in the Country, the greater part of the people perished thereby, the rest flying thence into other partes of the Land, whereby the whole Prouince became dispeopled and desolate.

In the time of this plague and dreadful visitation, the Lord President, his Lady, Sonnes, Daughters, Brothers, Nephewes, and Kindred dyed, none remaining aliue, but one onely Daughter marriageable a few of [Page 66] the houshold seruants, beside Perotto, whom (after the sicknesse was more mildly asswaged) with counsaile and consent of the Country peo­ple, the young Lady accepted to be her husband, because hee was a man so worthy and valiant, and of all the inheritance left by her deceased Fa­ther, she made him Lord and sole commaunder. Within no long while after, the King of England, vnderstanding that his President of Wales was dead, and fame liberally relating, the vertues, valour, and good parts of Perotto the Piccard: hee created him to be his President there, and to supply the place of his deceased Lord. These faire fortunes, within the compasse of so short a time, fell to the two innocent children of the Count D'Angiers, after they were left by him as lost and forlorne.

Eighteene yeares were now fully ouer-past, since the Count D'An­giers fled from Paris, hauing suffered (in miserable so [...]t) many hard and lamentable aduersities, and seeing himselfe now to be growne aged hee was desirous to leaue Ireland, and to know (if hee might) what was be­come of both his children. Hereupon, perceiuing his wonted forme to be so altered, that such as formerly had conuersed most with him, could now not take any knowledge of him, & feeling his body (through long labour and exercise endured in seruice) more lusty, then in his idle youthfull yeares, especially when he left the Court of France, hee purpo­sed to proceede in his determination. Being very poore and simple in apparell, hee departed from the Irish Eare his Maister, with whom hee had continued long in seruice, to no aduantage or aduancement, and crossing ouer into England, trauailed to the place in Wales, where he left Perotto: and where hee found him to be Lord Marshall and President of the Country, lusty and in good health, a man of goodly feature, and most honourably respected and reuerenced of the people.

Well may you imagine, that this was no small comfort to the poore aged Countes heart, yet would he not make himselfe knowne to him, or any other about him? but referred his ioy to a further enlarging or di­minishing, by sight of the other limme of his life, his dearely affected daughter Gianetta, denying rest to his body in any place, vntill such time as he came to London. Making there secret enquiry, concerning the La­dy with whom he had left his daughter: hee vnderstoode, that a young Gentlewoman, named Gianetta, was married to that Ladies onely Son; which made a second addition of ioy to his soule, accounting all his passed aduersities of no value, both his children being liuing, and in so high honour.

Hauing found her dwelling, and (like a kinde Father) being earnestly desirous to see her; he dayly resorted neere to the house, where Sir Roger Mandauill (for so was Gianettaes husband named) chauncing to see him, being moued to compassion, because he was both poore and aged: com­maunded one of his men, to take him into the house, and to giue him some foode for Gods sake, which (accordingly) the seruant performed. Gianetta had diuers children by her husband, the eldest of them being but eight yeares olde, yet all of them so faire and comely as could be. As the [Page] olde Count sate eating his meate in the Hall, the children came all a­bout him, embracing, hugging, and making much of him, euen as if Na­ture had truly instructed them, that this was their aged, though poore Graundfather, and hee as louingly receiuing these kinde relations from them, wisely and silently kept all to himselfe, with sighes, teares, and ioyes entermixed together. So that the children would not part from him, though their Tutour and Maister called them often, which being tolde to their Mother, shee came foorth of the neere adioyning Parlour, and threatned to beate them, if they would not doe what their Maister com­manded them.

Then the children began to cry, saying, that they would tarie still by the good olde man, because he loued them better then their Maister did; whereat both the Lady and the Count began to smile. The Count, like a poore beggar, and not as father to so great a Lady, arose, and did her humble reuerence, because shee was now a Noble woman, conceiuing wonderfull ioy in his soule, to see her so faire and goodly a creature: yet could she take no knowledge of him, age, want and misery had so migh­tily altred him, his head all white, his beard without any comely forme, his garments so poore, and his face so wrinkled, leane and meager, that hee seemed rather some Carter, then a Count. And Gianetta percei­uing, that when her children were fetcht away, they returned againe to the olde man, and would not leaue him; desired their Maister to let them alone.

While thus the children continued making much of the good olde man, Lord Andrew Mandeuile, Father to Sir Roger, came into the Hall, as being so willed to doe by the Childrens Schoolemaister. He being a ha­stie minded man, and one that euer despised Gianetta before, but much more since her mariage to his sonne, angerly said. Let them alone with a mischiefe, and so befall them, their best company ought to be with beggers, for so are they bred and borne by the Mothers side: and there­fore it is no meruaile, if like will to like, a beggers brats to keepe compa­ny with beggers. The Count hearing these contemptible words, was not a little greeued thereat, and although his courage was greater, then his poore condition would permit him to expresse; yet, clouding all in­iuries with noble patience, hanging downe his head, and shedding ma­ny a salt teare, endured this reproach, as hee had done many, both before and after.

But honourable Sir Roger, perceiuing what delight his children tooke in the poore mans company; albeit he was offended at his Fathers harsh words, by holding his wife in such base respect; yet fauoured the poore Count so much the more, and seeing him weepe, did greatly compassio­nate his case, saying to the poore man, that if hee would accept of his ser­uice, he willingly would entertaine him. Whereto the Count replied, that very gladly he would embrace his kinde offer: but hee was capable of no other seruice, saue onely to be an horse-keeper, wherein he had im­ployed the most part of his time. Heereupon, more for pleasure and [Page 67] pitty, then any necessity of his seruice, he was appointed to the keeping of one Horse, which was onely for his Daughters saddle, and daily after he had done his diligence about the Horse, he did nothing else but play with the children. While Fortune pleased thus to dally with the poore Count D'Angiers, & his children, it came to passe, that the King of France (after diuers leagues of truces passed between him & the Germaines) died, and next after him, his Son the dolphin was crowned King, and it was his wife that wrongfully caused the Counts banishment. After expiration of the last league with the Germains, the warres began to grow much more fierce and sharpe, and the King of England, (vpon request made to him by his new brother of France) sent him very honourable supplies of his people, vnder the conduct of Perotto, his lately elected President of Wales, and Sir Roger Mandeuile, Son to his other Lord high Marshall; with whom al­so the poore Count went, and continued a long while in the Campe as a common Souldier, where yet like a valiant Gentleman (as indeed he was no lesse) both in aduice and actions; he accomplished many more nota­ble matters, then was expected to come from him.

It so fell out, that in the continuance of this warre, the Queen of France fell into a grieuous sicknes, and perceiuing her selfe to be at the point of death, shee became very penitently sorrowfull for all her sinnes, earnestly desiring that shee might be confessed by the Archbishop of Roane, who was reputed to be an holy and vertuous man. In the repetition of her o­ther offences, she reuealed what great wrong she had done to the Count D'Angiers, resting not so satisfied, with disclosing the whole matter to him alone; but also confessed the same before many other worthy persons, and of great honour, entreating them to worke so with the King, that (if the Count were yet liuing, or any of his Children) they might be restored to their former honour againe.

It was not long after, but the Queene left this life, and was most roy­ally enterred, when her confession being disclosed to the King, after much sorrow for so iniuriously wronging a man of so great valour and honour: Proclamation was made throughout the Camp, and in many other parts of France beside, that whosoeuer could produce the Count D'Angiers, or any of his Children, should richly be rewarded for each one of them; in regard he was innocent of the foule imputation, by the Queenes owne confession, and for his wrongfull exile so long, he should be exalted to his former honour with farre greater fauours, which the King franckely would bestow vpon him. When the Count (who walked vp and downe in the habite of a common seruitor) heard this Proclamation, forth-with he went to his Master Sir Roger Mandeuile, requesting his speedy repaire to Lord Perotto, that being both assembled together, he would acquaint them with a serious matter, concerning the late Proclamation published by the King. Being by themselues alone in the Tent, the Count spake in this māner to Perotto. Sir, S. Roger Mādeuile here, your equal competitor in this military seruice, is the husband to your naturall sister, hauings yet neuer receiued any dowry with her, but her inherent vnblemishable vertue & honor. Now because she may not stil remain destitute of a competent [Page] Dowry: I desire that Sir Roger, and none other, may enioy the royall re­ward promised by the King. You Lord Perotto, whose true name is Le­wes, manifest your selfe to be nobly borne, and sonne to the wrongfull banished Count D'Angiers: auouch moreouer, that Violenta, shadowed vnder the borrowed name of Gianetta, is your owne Sister; and deliuer me vp as your Father, the long exiled Count D'Angiers. Perotto hearing this, beheld him more aduisedly, and began to know him: then, the tears flowing abundantly from his eyes, he fell at his feete, and often embra­cing him, saide: My deere and noble Father! a thousand times more deerely welcome to your Sonne Lewes.

Sir Roger Mandeuile, hearing first what the Count had said, and seeing what Perotto afterward performed; became surprized with such extraor­dinary ioy and admiration, that he knew not how to carry himselfe in this case. Neuerthelesse, giuing credite to his words, and being somewhat ashamed, that he had not vsed the Count in more respectiue manner, & remembring beside, the vnkinde language of his furious Father to him: he kneeled downe, humbly crauing pardon, both for his fathers rudenes and his owne, which was courteously granted by the Count, embracing him louingly in his armes.

When they had a while discoursed their seuerall fortunes, sometime in teares, and then againe in ioy, Perotto and Sir Roger, would haue the Count to be garmented in better manner, but in no wise he would suffer it; for it was his onely desire, that Sir Roger should be assured of the pro­mised reward, by presenting him in the Kings presence, and in the home­ly habit which he did then weare, to touch him with the more sensible shame, for his rash beleefe, and iniurious proceeding. Then Sir Roger Mandeuile, guiding the Count by the hand, and Perotto following after, came before the King, offering to present the Count and his children, if the reward promised in the Proclamation might be performed. The king immediately commanded, that a reward of inestimable valew should be produced; desiring Sir Roger vppon the sight thereof, to make good his offer, for forthwith presenting the Count and his children. Which hee made no longer delay of, but turning himselfe about, deliuered the aged Count, by the title of his seruant, and presenting Perotto next, said. Sir, heere I deliuer you the Father and his Son, his daughter who is my wife, cannot so conueniently be heere now, but shortly, by the permission of heauen, your Maiesty shall haue a sight of her.

When the King heard this, stedfastly he looked on the Count; and, notwithstanding his wonderfull alteration, both from his wonted feature and forme: yet, after he had very seriously viewed him, he knew him per­fectly; and the teares trickling downe his cheekes, partly with remorse­full shame, and ioy also for his so happy recouery, he tooke vp the Count from kneeling, kissing, and embracing him very kindely, welcomming Perotto in the selfesame manner. Immediately also he gaue commaund, that the Count should be restored to his honors, apparrell, seruants, hor­ses, and furniture, answerable to his high estate and calling, which was as [Page 68] speedily performed. Moreouer, the King greatly honoured Sir Roger Mandeuile, desiring to be made acquainted with all their passed fortunes.

When Sir Roger had receiued the royall reward, for thus surrendring the Count and his Sonne, the Count calling him to him, saide. Take that Princely remuneration of my soueraigne Lord the King, and commen­ding me to your vnkinde Father, tell him that your Children are no beg­gars brats, neither basely borne by their Mothers side. Sir Roger retur­ning home with his bountifull reward, soone after brought his Wife and Mother to Paris, and so did Perotto his Wife, where in great ioy and tri­umph, they continued a long while with the noble Count; who had all his goods and honours restored to him, in far [...]e greater measure then euer they were before: his Sonnes in Law returning home with their Wiues into England, left the Count with the King at Paris, where he spent the rest of his dayes in great honour and felicity.

The ninth Nouell.

MAdam Eliza hauing ended her compassionate discourse, which in­deede had moued all the rest to sighing; the Queene, who was faire, comely of stature, and carrying a very maiesticall countenance, smiling more familiarly then the other, spake to them thus. It is very necessary, that the promise made to Dioneus, should carefully be kept, and because now there remaineth none, to report any more Nouels, but onely he and my selfe: I must first deliuer mine, and he (who takes it for an honour) to be the last in relating his name, last let him be for his owne deliuerance. Then pausing a little while, thus shee began againe. Many times among vulgar people, it hath passed as a common Prouerbe: That the deceiuer is often trampled on, by such as he hath deceiued. And this cannot shew it selfe (by any reason) to be true, except such accidents as awaite on trea­chery, doe really make a iust discouery thereof. And therefore according to the course of this day obserued, I am the woman, that must make good what I haue saide for the approbation of that Prouerbe: no way (I hope) distastfull to you in the hearing, but aduantageable to preserue you from any such beguiling.

There was a faire and good Inne in Paris, much frequented by many

[Page]

great Italian Merchants, according to such variety of occasions and busi­nesse, as vrged their often resorting thither. One night among many o­ther, hauing had a merry Supper together, they began to discourse on di­uers matters, and falling from one relation to another; they communed in very friendly manner, concerning their wiues, lefte at home in their houses. Quoth the first, I cannot well imagine what my wife is now do­ing, but I am able to say for my selfe, that if a pretty female should fall in­to my company: I could easily forget my loue to my wife, and make vse of such an aduantage offered.

A second replyed; And trust me, I should do no lesse, because I am perswaded, that if my wife be willing to wander, the law is in her owne hand, and I am farre enough from home: dumbe walles blab no tales, & offences vnknowne are sildome or neuer called in question. A thirde man vnapt in censure, with his former fellowes of the Iury; and it plain­ly appeared, that al the rest were of the same opinion, condemning their wiues ouer-rashly, and alledging, that when husbands strayed so far from home, their wiues had wit enough to make vse of their time.

Onely one man among them all, named Bernardo Lomellino, & dwel­ling in Geneway, maintained the contrary; boldly auouching, that by the especiall fauour of Fortune, he had a wife so perfectly compleat in al gra­ces and vertues, as any Lady in the world possibly could be, and that Ita­ly scarsely contained her equall. For, she was goodly of person, and yet very young, quicke, quaint, milde, and courteous, and not any thing ap­pertaining to the office of a wife, either for domesticke affayres, or any other imployment whatsoeuer, but in woman-hoode shee went beyond all other. No Lord, Knight, Esquire, or Gentleman, could bee better [Page 69] serued at his table, then himselfe dayly was, with more wisedome, mo­desty and discretion. After all this, hee praised her for riding, hawking, hunting, fishing, fowling, reading, writing, enditing, and most absolute keeping his Bookes of accounts, that neither himselfe, or any other Mer­chant could therein excell her. After infinite other commendations, he came to the former point of their argument, concerning the easie falling of women into wantonnesse, maintaining (with a solemne oath) that no woman possibly could be more chaste and honest then she: in which re­spect, he was verily perswaded, that if he stayed from her ten yeares space, yea (all his life time) out of his house; yet neuer would shee falsifie her faith to him, or be lewdly allured by any other man.

Among these Merchants thus communing together, there was a young proper man, named Ambroginolo of Placentia, who began to laugh at the last praises, which Bernardo had vsed of his wife, and seeming to make a mockerie thereat, demaunded, if the Emperour had giuen him this priuiledge, aboue all other married men? Bernardo being somewhat offended, answered: No Emperour bath done it, but the especiall bles­sing of heauen, exceeding all the Emperours on the earth in grace, and thereby haue receiued this fauour; whereto Ambroginolo presently thus replied. Bernardo, without all question to the contrary, I beleeue that what thou hast said, is true, but, for ought I can perceiue, thou hast slen­der iudgement in the nature of things: because, if thou didst obserue them well, thou couldst not be of so grosse vnderstanding; for, by com­prehending matters in their true kinde and nature, thou wouldst speake of them more correctly then thou doest. And to the end, thou mayest not imagine, that wee who haue spoken of our wiues, doe thinke any otherwise of them, then as well and honestly as thou canst of thine, nor that any thing else did vrge these speeches of them, or falling into this kinde of discourse, but onely by a naturall instinct and admonition; I will proceede familiarly a little further with thee, vpon the matter already propounded.

I haue euermore vnderstood, that man was the most noble creature, formed by God to liue in this world, and woman in the next degree to him: but man, as generally is beleeued, and as is discerned by apparant effects, is the most perfect of both. Hauing then the most perfection in him, without all doubt, he must be so much the more firme and constant. So in like manner, it hath beene, and is vniuersally graunted, that wo­man is more various and mutable, and the reason thereof may be appro­ued, by many naturall circumstances, which were needlesse now to make any mention of. If a man then be possessed of the greater stability, and yet cannot containe himselfe from condiscending, I say not to one that entreates him, but to desire any other that may please him, and beside, to couet the enioying of his owne pleasing contentment (a thing not chancing to him once in a moneth, but infinite times in a dayes space.) What can you then conceiue of a fraile woman, subiect (by nature) to entreaties, flatteries, gifts, perswasions, and a thousand other enticing [Page] meanes, which a man (that is affected to her) can vse? Doest thou think then that shee hath any power to containe? Assuredly, though thou shouldst rest so resolued, yet cannot I be of the same opinion. For I am sure thou beleeuest, and must needes confesse it, that thy wife is a wo­man, made [...] of flesh and blood, as other women are: if it be so, shee cannot be without the same desires, and the weakenesse or strength as other women haue, to resist such naturall appetites as her owne are. In regard whereof, it is meerely impossible (although shee be most honest) but she must needs do that which other women do; for there is nothing else possible, either to be denied or affirmed to the contrary, as thou most vnaduisedly hast done.

Bernardo answered in this manner. I am a Merchant▪ and no Philo­sopher, and like a Merchant I meane to answere thee. I am not to learne, that these accidents by thee related, may happen to fooles, who are void of vnderstanding or shame: but such as are wise, and endued with ver­tue, haue alwayes such a precious esteeme of their honour, that they will containe those principles of constancie, which men are meerely carelesse of, and I iustifie my wife to be one of them. Beleeue me Bernardo (repli­ed Ambroginolo) if so often as thy wiues minde is addicted to wanton fol­ly, a badge of scorne should arise on thy forehead, to render testimonie of her female frailty; I beleeue the number of them would be more, then willingly you would wish them to be. And among all married men, in euery degree, the notes are so secret of their wiues imperfections, that the sharpest sight is not able to discerne them; and the wiser sort of men are willing not to know them; because shame and losse of honour is ne­uer imposed, but in cases euident and apparant.

Perswade thy selfe then Bernardo, that, what women may accomplish in secret, they will rarely faile to doe: or if they abstaine, it is through feare and folly. Wherefore, hold it for a certaine rule, that that woman is onely chaste, that neuer was solicited personally, or if she endured any such sute, either shee answered yea, or no. And albeit I know this to be true, by many infallible and naturall reasons, yet could I not speake so ex­actly as I doe; if I had not tried experimentally, the humours and affecti­ons of diuers women. Yea, and let me tell thee more Bernardo, were I in priuate company with thy wife, howsoeuer pure and precise thou pre­sumest her to be: I should account it a matter of no impossibility, to finde in her the selfe same frailty.

Bernardoes blood began now to boile, and patience being a little put downe by choller, thus hee replied. A combat of words requires ouer­long continuance, for I maintaine the matter, which thou deniest, and all this sorts to nothing in the end. But seeing thou presumest, that all women are so apt and tractable, and thy selfe so confident of thine owne power: I willingly yeeld (for the better assurance of my wifes constant loyalty) to haue my head smitten off, if thou canst winne her to any such dishonest act, by any meanes whatsoeuer thou canst vse vnto her; which if thou canst not doe, thou shalt onely loose a thousand duckets of gold. [Page 70] Now began Ambroginolo to be heated with these words, answering thus. Bernardo, if I had won the wager, I know not what I should doe with thy head; but if thou be willing to stand vpon the proofe, pawne downe fiue thousand Duckets of gold, (a matter of much lesse value then thy head) against a thousand Duckets of mine, granting me a lawfull limitted time, which I require to be no more then the space of three moneths, after the day of my departiug hence. I will stand bound to goe for Geneway, and there winne such kinde consent of thy Wife, as shall be to mine owne consent. In witnesse whereof, I will bring backe with me such priuate and especiall tokens, as thou thy selfe shalt confesse that I haue not failed. Prouided, that thou doe first promise vpon thy faith, to absent thy selfe thence during my limitted time, and be no hinderance to me by thy Let­ters, concerning the attempt by me vndertaken.

Bernardo saide, be it a bargaine, I am the man that will make good my fiue thousand Duckets; and albeit the other Merchants then present, earnestly laboured to breake the wager, knowing great harme must needs ensue thereon: yet both the parties were so hot and fiery, as all the other men spake to no effect, but writings were made, sealed, and deliuered vn­der either of their hands, Bernardo remaining at Paris, and Ambroginolo departing for Geneway. There he remained some few dayes, to learne the streetes name where Bernardo dwelt, as also the conditions and qualities of his Wife, which scarcely pleased him when he heard them; because they were farre beyond her Husbands relation, and shee reputed to be the onely wonder of women; whereby he plainely perceiued, that he had vndertaken a very idle enterprise, yet would he not giue it ouer so, but proceeded therein a little further.

He wrought such meanes, that he came acquainted with a poore wo­man, who often frequented Bernardoes house, and was greatly in fauour with his wife; vpon whose pouerty he so preuailed, by earnest perswasi­ons, but much more by large gifts of money, that he won her to further him in this manner following. A faire and artificiall Chest he caused to be purposely made, wherein himselfe might be aptly contained, and so conueyed into the House of Bernardoes Wife, vnder colour of a formall excuse; that the poore woman should be absent from the City two or three dayes, and shee must keepe it safe till he returne. The Gentlewo­man suspecting no guile, but that the Chest was the receptacle of all the womans wealth; would trust it in no other roome, then her owne Bed­chamber, which was the place where Ambroginolo most desired to bee.

Being thus conueyed into the Chamber, the night going on apace, and the Gentlewoman fast asleepe in her bed, a lighted Taper stood bur­ning on the Table by her, as in her Husbands absence shee euer vsed to haue: Ambroginolo softly opened the Chest, according as cunningly hee had contriued it; and stepping forth in his sockes made of cloath, obser­ued the scituation of the Chamber, the paintings, pictures, and beautifull hangings, with all things else that were remarkable, which perfectly he [Page] committed to his memory. Going neere to the bed, he saw her lie there sweetly sleeping, and her young Daughter in like manner by her, shee see­ming then as compleate and pleasing a creature, as when shee was atti­red in her best brauery. No especiall note or marke could hee descrie, whereof he might make credible report, but onely a small wart vpon her left pappe, with some few haires growing thereon, appearing to be as yel­low as gold.

Sufficient had he seene, and durst presume no further; but taking one of her Rings, which lay vpon the Table, a purse of hers, hanging by on the wall, a light wearing Robe of silke, and her girdle, all which he put into the Chest; and being in himselfe, closed it fast as it was before, so con­tinuing there in the Chamber two seuerall nights, the Gentlewoman neither mistrusting or missing any thing. The third day being come, the poore woman, according as formerly was concluded, came to haue home her Chest againe, and brought it safely into her owne house; where Ambroginolo comming forth of it, satisfied the poore woman to her own liking, returning (with all the forenamed things) so fast as conueniently he could to Paris.

Being arriued there long before his limitted time, he called the Mer­chants together, who were present at the passed words and wager; auou­ching before Bernardo, that he had won his fiue thousand Duckets, and performed the taske he vndertooke. To make good his protestation, first he described the forme of the Chamber, the curious pictures hanging a­bout it, in what manner the bed stood, and euery circumstance else be­side. Next he shewed the seuerall things, which he brought away thence with him, affirming that he had receiued them of her selfe. Bernardo con­fessed, that his description of the Chamber was true, and acknowledged moreouer, that these other things did belong to his Wife: But (quoth he) this may be gotten, by corrupting some seruant of mine, both for intelligence of the Chamber, as also of the Ring, Purse, and what else is beside; all which suffice not to win the wager, without some other more apparant and pregnant token. In troth, answered Ambroginolo, me thinks these should serue for sufficient proofes; but seeing thou art so desirous to know more: I plainely tell thee, that faire Geneura thy Wife, hath a small round wart vpon her left pappe, and some few little golden haires grow­ing thereon.

When Bernardo heard these words, they were as so many stabs to his heart, yea, beyond all compasse of patient sufferance, and by the changing of his colour, it was noted manifestly, (being vnable to vtter one word) that Ambroginolo had spoken nothing but the truth. Within a while af­ter, he saide; Gentlemen, that which Ambroginolo hath saide, is very true, wherefore let him come when he will, and he shall be paide; which accor­dingly he performed on the very next day, euen to the vtmost penny, de­parting then from Paris towards Geneway, with a most malicious inten­tion to his Wife: Being come neere to the City, he would not enter it, but rode to a Countrey house of his, standing about tenne miles distant [Page 71] thence. Being there arriued, he called a seruant, in whom hee reposed especiall trust, sending him to Geneway with two Horses, writing to his Wife, that he was returned, and shee should come thither to see him. But secretly he charged his seruant, that so soone as he had brought her to a conuenient place, he should there kill her, without any pitty or compas­sion, and then returne to him againe.

When the seruant was come to Geneway, and had deliuered his Let­ter and message, Geneura gaue him most ioyfull welcome, and on the morrow morning mounting on Horse-backe with the seruant, rode mer­rily towards the Countrey house; diuers things shee discoursed on by the way, til they descended into a deepe solitary valey, very thickly beset with high and huge spreading Trees, which the seruant supposed to be a meete place, for the execution of his Masters command. Suddenly drawing forth his Sword, and holding Geneura fast by the arme, he saide; Mistresse, quickly commend your soule to God, for you must die, before you passe any further. Geneura seeing the naked Sword, and hearing the words so peremptorily deliuered, fearefully answered; Alas deare friend, mercy for Gods sake; and before thou kill me, tell me wherein I haue offended thee, and why thou must kill me? Alas good Mistresse replied the serua [...]t, you haue not any way offended me, but in what occasion you haue dis­pleased your Husband, it is vtterly vnknowne to me: for he hath strictly commanded me, without respect of pitty or compassion, to kill you by the way as I bring you, and if I doe it not, he hath sworne to hang me by the necke. You know good Mistresse, how much I stand obliged to him, and how impossible it is for me, to contradict any thing that he comman­deth. God is my witnesse, that I am truly compassionate of you, and yet (by no meanes) may I let you liue.

Geneura kneeling before him weeping, wringing her hands, thus re­plied. Wilt thou turne Monster, and be a murtherer of her that neuer wronged thee, to please another man, and on a bare command? God, who truly knoweth all things, is my faithfull witnesse, that I neuer committed any offence, whereby to deserue the dislike of my Husband, much lesse so harsh a recompence as this is. But flying from mine owne iustificati­on, and appealing to thy manly mercy, thou mayest (wert thou but so well pleased) in a moment satisfie both thy Master and me, in such man­ner as I will make plaine and apparant to thee. Take thou my garments, spare me onely thy doublet, and such a Bonnet as is fitting for a man, so returne with my habite to thy Master, assuring him, that the deede is done. And here I sweare to thee, by that life which I enioy but by thy mercy, I will so strangely disguise my selfe, and wander so farre off from these Countries, as neither he or thou, nor any person belonging to these parts, shall euer heare any tydings of me.

The seruant, who had no great good will to kill her, very easily grew pittifull, tooke off her vpper garments, and gaue her a poore ragged dou­blet, a sillie Chapperone, and such small store of money as he had, desi­ring her to forsake that Countrey, and so left her to walke on foote out [Page] of the vally. When he came to his Maister, and had deliuered him her garments, he assured him, that he had not onely accomplished his com­maund, but also was most secure from any discouery: because he had no sooner done the deede, but foure or fiue very rauenous Wolfes, came presently running to the dead body, and gaue it buriall in their bellies. Bernardo soone after returning to Geneway, was much blamed for such vnkinde cruelty to his wife; but his constant auouching of her treason to him (according then to the Countries custome) did cleare him from all pursuite of law.

Poore Geneura, was left thus alone and disconsolate, and night stealing fast vpon her, shee went to a silly village neere adioyning▪ where (by the meanes of a good olde woman) she got such prouision as the place affor­ded, making the doublet fit to her body, and conuerting her petticote to a paire of breeches, according to the Mariners fashion: then cutting her haire, and queintly disguised like to a Sayler, shee went to the Sea coast. By good fortune, she met there with a Gentleman of Cathalogna, whose name was Signior Enchararcho, who came on land from his Ship, which lay hulling there about Albagia, to refresh himselfe at a pleasant Spring. Enchararcho taking her to be a man, as shee appeared no other­wise by her habite; vpon some conference passing betweene them, shee was entertained into his seruice, and being brought aboord the Ship, she went vnder the name of Sicurano da Finale. There shee had better apparell bestowne on her by the Gentleman, and her seruice proued so pleasing and acceptable to him, that hee liked her care and diligence be­yond all comparison.

It came to passe within a short while after, that this Gentleman of Cathalogna sayled (with some charge of his) into Alexandria, carying thi­ther c [...]rtaine peregrine Faulcons, which hee presented to the Soldane: who oftentimes welcommed this Gentleman to his table, where hee ob­serued the behauiour of Sicurano, attending on his Maisters tre [...]cher, and therewith was so highly pleased; that he requested to haue him from the Gentleman, who (for his more aduancement) willingly parted with his so lately entertained seruant▪ Sicurano was so ready and discreete in his dayly seruices; that he grew in as great grace with the Soldane, as be­fore he had done with Enchararcho.

At a certaine season in the yeare, as customarie order (there obserued) had formerly beene, in the Citie of Acres, which was vnder the Soldanes subiection: there yearely met a great assembly of Merchants, as Christi­ans, Moores, Iewes, Sarrazines, and many other Nations beside, as at a common Mart or Fayre. And to the end, that the Merchants (for the better sale of their goods) might be there in the safer assurance; the Sol­dane vsed to send thither some of his ordinarie Officers, and a strong guard of Souldiers beside, to defend them from all iniuries and molesta­tion, because he reaped thereby no meane benefit. And who should be now sent about this businesse, but his new elected fauourite Sicurano; be­cause she was skilfull and perfect in the languages.

[Page 72] Sicurano being come to Acres, as Lord and Captaine of the Guard for the Merchants, and for the safety of their Merchandizes▪ she dischar­ged her office most commendably, walking with her traine through eue­ry part of the Fayre, where shee obserued a worthy company of Mer­chants, Sicilians, Pisanes, Genewayes, Venetians, and other Italians, whom the more willingly shee noted, in remembrance of her natiue Countrey. At one especiall time, among other, chancing into a Shop or Boothe belonging to the Venetians; she espied (hanging vp with other costly wares) a Purse and a Girdle, which suddainly shee remembred to be sometime her owne, whereat she was not a little abashed in her mind. But, without making any such outward shew, courteously she requested to know, whose they were, and whether they should be sold, or no.

Ambroginolo of Placentia, was likewise come thither, and great store of Merchandizes hee had brought with him, in a Carrack appertaining to the Venetians, and hee, hearing the Captaine of the Guard demaund, whose they were; stepped foorth before him, and smiling, answered: That they w [...]re his, but not to be solde, yet if hee liked them gladly, hee would bestowe them on him. Sicurano seeing him smile, suspected, least himselfe had (by some vnfitting behauiour) beene the occasion thereof: and therefore, with a more setled countenance, hee said. Perhaps thou smilest, because I that am a man, professing Armes, should question af­ter such womanish toyes. Ambroginolo replied. My Lord, pardon me, Ismile not at you, or your demaund; but at the manner how I came by these things.

Sicurano, vpon this answere, was ten times more desirous then before, and said. If Fortune fauoured thee in friendly manner, by the obtaining of these things: if it may be spoken, tell me how thou hadst them. My Lord (answered Ambroginolo) these things (with many more beside) were giuen me by a Gentlewoman of Geneway, named Madame Geneura, the wife to one Bernardo Lomellino, in recompence of one nights lodging with her, and she desired me to keepe them for her sake. Now, the maine reason of my smiling, was the remembrance of her husbands folly, in wa­ging fiue thousand Duckets of golde, against one thousand of mine, that I should not obtaine my will of his wife, which I did, and thereby wone the wager. But hee, who better deserued to be punished for his folly, then shee, who was but sicke of all womens disease: returning from Pa­ris to Geneway, caused her to be slaine, as afterward it was reported by himselfe.

When Sicurano heard this horrible lye, immediatly shee conceiued, that this was the occasion of her husbands hatred to her, and all the hard haps which she had since suffered: whereupon, shee reputed it for more then a mortall sinne, if such a villaine should passe without due punish­ment. Sicurano seemed to like well this report, and grew into such fami­liarity with Ambroginolo, that (by her perswasions) when the Fayre was ended, she tooke him higher with her into Alexandria, and all his Wares along with him, furnishing him with a fit and conuenient Shop, where he [Page] made great benefit of his Merchandizes, trusting all his monies in the Captaines custody, because it was the safest course for him, and so he con­tinued there with no meane contentment.

Much did shee pitty her Husbands perplexity, deuising by what good and warrantable meanes, she might make knowne her innocency to him; wherein her place and authority did greatly sted her, and shee wrought with diuers gallant Merchants of Geneway, that then remained in Alexan­dria, and by vertue of the Soldans friendly Letters, beside to bring him thi­ther vpon an especiall occasion. Come he did, albeit in poore and meane order, which soone was better altered by her appointment, and he very honourably (though in priuate) entertained by diuers of her worthy friends, till time did fauour what shee further intended.

In the expectation of Bernardoes arriuall, shee had so preuailed with Ambroginolo, that the same tale which he formerly tolde to her, he deliue­red againe in presence of the Soldane, who seemed to be well pleased with it: But after shee had once seene her Husband, shee thought vpon her more serious businesse; prouiding her selfe of an apt opportunity, when shee entreated such fauour of the Soldane, that both the men might be brought before him, where if Ambroginolo would not confesse (without constraint) that which he had made his vaunt of concerning Bernardoes Wife, he might be compelled thereto perforce.

Sicuranoes word was a Law with the Soldane, so that Ambroginolo and Bernardo being brought face to face, the Soldane, with a sterne and angry countenance, in the presence of a most Princely Assembly; commanded Ambroginolo to declare the truth, yea, vpon peril of his life, by what means he won the wager, of the fiue thousand golden Duckets he receiued of Bernardo. Ambroginolo seeing Sicurano there present, vpon whose fauour he wholly relied, yet perceiuing her lookes likewise to be as dreadfull as the Soldanes, and hearing her threaten him with most greeuous torments, except he reuealed the truth indeede: you may easily guesse (faire com­pany) in what condition he stood at that instant.

Frownes and fury he beheld on either side, and Bernardo standing be­fore him, with a world of famous witnesses, to heare his lie confounded by his owne confession, and his tongue to denie what it had before so constantly auouched. Yet dreaming on no other paine or penalty, but re­storing backe the fiue thousand Duckets of gold, and the other things by him purloyned, truly he reuealed the whole forme of his falshood. Then Sicurano according as the Soldane had formerly commanded him, tur­ning to Bernardo, saide. And thou, vpon the suggestion of this foule lie, what didst thou to thy Wife? Being (quoth Bernardo) ouercome with rage, for the losse of my money, and the dishonour I supposed to receiue by my Wife; I caused a seruant of mine to kill her, and as he credibly a­uouched, her body was deuoured by rauenous Wolues in a moment after.

These things being thus spoken and heard, in the presence of the Sol­dane, and no reason (as yet) made knowne, why the case was so seriously [Page 73] vrged, and to what end it would succeede: Sicurano spake in this manner to the Soldane. My gracious Lord, you may plainely perceiue, in what degree that poore Gentlewoman might make her vaunt, being so well prouided, both of a louing friend, and a husband. Such was the friends loue, that in an instant, and by a wicked lye, hee robbed her both of her renowne and honour, and bereft her also of her husband. And her hus­band, rather crediting anothers falshood, then the inuincible trueth, whereof he had faithfull knowledge, by long and very honourable expe­rience; caused her to be slaine, and made foode for deuouring Wolues. Beside all this, such was the good will and affection, borne to that wo­man both by friend and husband, that the longest continuer of them in her company, makes them alike in knowledge of her. But because your great wisedome knoweth perfectly, what each of them haue worthily de­serued: if you please (in your euer knowne gracious benignity) to per­mit the punishment of the deceiuer, and pardon the party so deceiued; I will procure such meanes, that she shall appeare here in your presence, and theirs.

The Soldane, being desirous to giue Sicurano all manner of satisfacti­on, hauing followed the course so industriously: bad him to produce the woman, and hee was well contented. Whereat Bernardo stoode much amazed, because he verily beleeued that she was dead. And Ambroginolo foreseeing already a preparation for punishment, feared, that the repay­ment of the money would not now serue his turne: not knowing also what he should further hope or suspect, if the woman her selfe did per­sonally appeare, which hee imagined would be a miracle. Sicurano ha­uing thus obtayned the Soldanes permission, in teares, humbling her selfe at his feete, in a moment shee lost her manly voyce and demeanour, as knowing, that she was now no longer to vse them, but must truely wit­nesse what she was indeede, and therefore thus spake.

Great Soldane, I am the miserable and vnfortunate Geneura, that, for the space of sixe whole yeares, haue wandered through the world, in the habite of a man, falsly and most maliciously slaundered, by this villai­nous traytour Ambroginolo, and by this vnkinde cruell husband, betrayed to his seruant to be slaine, and left to be deuoured by sauage beasts. Af­terward, desiring such garments as better fitted for her, and shewing her brests; she made it apparant, before the Soldane and his assistants, that she was the very same woman indeede. Then turning her selfe to Am­broginolo, with more then manly courage, she demaunded of him, when, and where it was, that he lay with her, as (villainously) he was not asha­med to make his vaunt. But hee, hauing alreadie acknowledged the contrarie, being stricken dumbe with shamefull disgrace, was not able to vtter one word.

The Soldane, who had alwayes reputed Sicurano to be a man, hauing heard and seene so admirable an accident: was so amazed in his minde, that many times he was very doubtfull, whether this was a dreame, or an absolute relation of trueth. But, after hee had more seriously considered [Page] thereon, and found it to be reall and infallible: with extraordinary gra­cious praises, he commended the life, constancie, conditions and vertues of Geneura, whom (till that time) he had alwayes called Sicurano. So com­mitting her to the company of honourable Ladies, to be changed from her manly habite: he pardoned Bernardo her husband (according to her request formerly made) although hee had more iustly deserued death; which likewise himselfe confessed, and falling at the feete of Geneura, de­sired her (in teares) to forgiue his rash transgression, which most louingly she did, kissing and embracing him a thousand times.

Then the Soldane strictly commaunded, that on some high and emi­nent place of the Citie, Ambroginolo should be bound and impaled on a Stake, hauing his naked body anointed all ouer with honey, and neuer to be taken off, vntill (of it selfe) it fell in pieces, which, according to the sentence, was presently performed. Next, he gaue expresse charge, that all his mony and goods should be giuen to Geneura, which valued aboue ten thousand double Duckets. Forth-with with a solemne feast was pre­pared, wherein, much honour was done to Bernardo, being the husband of Geneura: and to her, as to a most worthy woman, and matchlesse wife, he gaue in costly Iewels, as also vessels of gold and siluer plate, so much as amounted to aboue ten thousand double Duckets more.

When the feasting was finished, he caused a Ship to be furnished for them, graunting them licence to depart for Geneway when they pleased: whither they returned most rich and ioyfully, being welcommed home with great honour, especially Madame Geneura, whom euery one suppo­sed to be dead, and alwayes after, so long as shee liued, shee was most fa­mous for her manifold vertues. But as for Ambroginolo, the very same day that he was impaled on the Stake, annointed with honey, and fixed in the place appointed, to his no meane torment: he not onely died, but likewise was deuoured to the bare bones, by Flyes, Waspes and Hornets, whereof the Countrey notoriously aboundeth. And his bones, in full forme and fashion, remained strangely blacke for a long while after, knit together by the sinewes; as a witnesse to many thousands of people, which afterward beheld his carkasse of his wickednesse against so good and vertuous a woman, that had not so much as a thought of any euill towards him. And thus was the Prouerbe truly verified, that shame suc­ceedeth after vgly sinne, and the deceiuer is trampled and trod, by such as himselfe hath deceiued.

The tenth Nouell.

EVery one in this honest and gracious assembly, most highly commen­ded the Nouell recounted by the Queene: but especially Dioneus, who remained, to finish that dayes pleasure with his owne discourse; and after many praises of the former tale were past, thus he began. Faire La­dies, part of the Queenes Nouell, hath made an alteration of my minde, from that which I intended to proceede next withall, and therefore I will report another. I cannot forget the vnmanly indiscretion of Bernardo, but much more the base arrogancie of Ambroginolo, how iustly deserued shame fell vpon him; as well it may happen to all other, that are so vile in their owne opinions, as he apparantly approued himselfe to be. For, as men wander abroade in the world, according to their occasions in di­uersity of Countries, and obseruation of the peoples behauiour: so are their humours as variously transported. And if they finde women wan­tonly disposed abroade, the like iudgement they giue of their wiues at home; as if they had neuer knowne their birth and breeding, or made [Page] proofe of their loyall carriage towards them. Wherefore, the Tale that I purpose to relate, will likewise condemne all the like kinde of men; but more especially such, as suppose themselues to be endued with more strength, then Nature euer meant to bestow vpon them, foolishly belee­uing, that they can couer and satisfie their owne defects, by fabulous de­monstrations; and thinking to fashion other of their owne complexions, that are meerely strangers to such grosse follies.

Let me tell you then, that there liued in Pisa (about some hundred yeeres before Tuscanie & Liguria came to embrace the Christian Faith) a Iudge better stored with wisdome and ingenuity, then corporall abilities of the body, [...]e being named Signior Ricciardo di Cinzica. He being more then halfe perswaded, that he could content a woman with such satisfaction as he daily bestowed on his studies, being a widdower, and extraordinarily wealthy; laboured (with no meane paines and endeauour) to enioy a faire and youthfull wife in marriage: both which qualities he should much ra­ther haue auoyded, if he could haue ministred as good counsell to him, as he did to others, resorting to him for aduice.

Vpon this his amorous and diligent inquisition, it came so to passe, that a worthy Gentleman, called Bertolomea, one of the very fairest and choysest young Maides in Pisa, whose youth did hardly agree with his age; but mucke was the motiue of this mariage, and no expectation of mutuall contentment. The Iudge being maried, and the Bride brought solemnly home to his house, we need make no question of braue cheare & banqueting, wel furnished by their friends on either side: other matters were now hammering in the Iudges head, for though he could please all his Clyents with counsell; yet now such a sute was commenced against himself, and in Beauties Court of continual requests, that the Iudge failing in plea for his owne defence, was often non-suited by lacke of answer; yet he wanted neither good wines, drugges, and all restauratiues, to comfort the heart, and encrease good blood; but all auayled not in this case.

But well fare a good courage, where performance faileth, he could libe­rally commend his passed iouiall dayes, and make a promise of as faire fe­licities yet to come; because his youth would renew it selfe, like to the Eagle, and his vigour in as full force as before. But beside all these idle al­legations, he would needs instruct his wife in an Almanack or Calender, which (long before) he had bought at Rauenna, and wherein he plainely shewed her, that there was not any one day in the yeere, but it was dedi­cated to some Saint or other. In reuerence of whom, and for their sakes, he approued by diuers arguments & reasons, that a man & his wife ought to abstaine from bedding together. Hereto he added, that those Saints dayes had their fasts & feasts, beside the foure seasons of the yeere, the vi­gils of the Apostles, and a thousand other holy dayes, with Fridayes, Sa­turdayes, & Sundayes, in honor of our Lords rest, and all the sacred time of Lent; as also certaine obseruations of the Moone, & infinite other ex­ceptions beside; thinking perhaps, that it was as conuenient for men to refraine from their wiues conuersation, as he did often times from sitting in the Court. These were his daily documents to his young wife, where­with [Page 81] with (poore soule) she became so tired, as nothing could be more irksome to her; and very careful she was, lest any other shold teach her what belō ­ged to working daies, because he wold haue herknow none but holidaies.

Afterwa [...]d it came to passe, that the season waxing extremely hot, Sig­nior Ricciardo would goe recreate himselfe at his house in the Countrey, neere vnto the black Mountaine, where for his faire wiues more content­ment, he continued diuers dayes together. And for her further recreati­on, he gaue order, to haue a day of fishing, he going aboard a small Pin­nace among the Fishers, and shee was in another, consorted with diuers other Gentlewomen, in whose company shee shewed her selfe very well pleased. Delight made them launch further into the Sea, then either the Iudge was willing they should haue done, or agreed with respect of their owne safety. For suddenly a Galliot came vpon them, wherein was one Pagamino, a Pyrate very famous in those dayes, who espying the two Pin­naces, made out presently to them, and seized on that wherein the wo­men were. When he beheld there so faire a young woman, he coueted after no other purchase; but mounting her into his Galliot, in the sight of Signior Ricciardo, who (by this time) was fearefully landed, he caried her a­way with him. When Signior Iudge had seene this theft (he being so iea­lous of his wife, as scarcely he would let the ayre breathe on her) it were a needlesse demand, to know whether he was offended, or no. He made complaint at Pisa, and in many other places beside, what iniury he had sustained by those Pryrates, in carying his wife thus away from him: but all was in vaine, he neither (as yet) knew the man, nor whether he had conuey­ed her from him. Pagamino perceiuing what a beautifull woman she was, made the more precious esteeme of his purchase, and being himselfe a ba­chelar, intended to keepe her as his owne; comforting her with kind and pleasing speeches, not vsing any harsh or vnciuill demeanor to her, be­cause shee wept and lamented grieuously. But when night came, her hus­bands Calendar falling from her girdle, and all the fasts & feasts quite out of her remembrance; she receiued such curteous consolations from Paga­mino, that before they could arriue at Monaco, the Iudge & his Law cases, were almost out of her memory, such was his affable behauiour to her, and she began to conuerse with him in more friendly manner, and he entrea­ting her as honourably, as if shee had beene his espoused wife.

Within a short while after, report had acquainted Ricciardo the Iudge, where, & how his wife was kept from him; whereupon he determined, not to send any one, but rather to go himselfe in person, & to redeem her from the Pyrate, with what sums of mony he should demand. By Sea he passed to Monaco, where he saw his wife, and shee him, as (soone after) shee made known to Pagamino. On the morrow following, Signior Ricciardo meeting with Pagamino, made means to be acquainted with him, & within lesse thē an houres space, they grew into familiar & priuate conference: Pagamino yet pretending not to know him, but expected what issue this talke would sort to. When time serued, the Iudge discoursed the occasion of his com­ming thither, desiring him to demand what ransome he pleased, & that he might haue his wife home with him; whereto Pagamino thus answered.

[Page] My Lord Iudge, you are welcome hither, and to answer you breefely very true it is, that I haue a yong Gentlewoman in my house, whome I neither know to be your wife, or any other mans else whatsoeuer: for I am ignorant both of you and her, albeit she hath remained a while here with me. If you bee her husband, as you seeme to auouch, I will bring her to you, for you appeare to be a worthy Gentleman, and (questionles) she cannot chuse but know you perfectly. If she do confirme that which you haue said, and be willing to depart hence with you: I shall rest well satisfied, and will haue no other recompence for her ransome (in regard of your graue and reuerent yeares) but what your selfe shall please to giue me. But if it fall out otherwise, and proue not to be as you haue affirmed: you shall offer me great wrong, in seeking to get her from me; because I am a young man, and can as well maintaine so faire a wife, as you, or any man else that I know. Beleeue it certainly, replied the Iudge, that she is my wife, and if you please to bring me where she is, you shall soone per­ceiue it: for, she will presently cast her armes about my neck, and I durst aduenture the vtter losse of her, if shee denie to doe it in your presence. Come on then, said Pagamino, and let vs delay the time no longer.

When they were entred into Pagaminoes house, and sate downe in the Hall, he caused her to be called, and shee, being readily prepared for the purpose, came forth of her Chamber before them both, where friendly they sate conuersing together; neuer vttering any one word to Signior Ricciardo, or knowing him from any other stranger, that Pagamino might bring in to the house with him. Which when my Lord the Iudge be­held, (who expected to finde a farre more gracious welcome) he stoode as a man amazed, saying to himselfe. Perhaps the extraordinary griefe and mellancholly, suffered by me since the time of her losse; hath so altred my wonted complexion, that shee is not able to take knowledge of me. Wherefore, going neerer to her, hee said. Faire Loue, dearely haue I bought your going on fishing, because neuer man felt the like afflictions, as I haue done since the day when I lost you: but by this your vnciuill si­lence, you seeme as if you did not know me. Why dearest Loue, seest thou not that I am thy husband Ricciardo, who am come to pay what ransome this Gentleman shall demaund, euen in the house where now we are: so to conuay thee home againe, vpon his kinde promise of thy deliuerance, after the payment of thy ransome?

Bertolomea turning towards him, and seeming as if shee smiled to her selfe, thus answered. Sir, speake you to me? Aduise your selfe well, least you mistake me for some other, because, concerning my selfe, I doe not remember, that euer I did see you till now. How now quoth Ricciardo? consider better what you say, looke more circumspectly on me, and then you will remember, that I am your louing husband, and my name is Ricci­ardo di Cinzica. You must pardon me Sir, replied Bertolomea, I know it not so fitting for a modest woman (though you (perhaps) are so perswa­ded) to stand gazing in the faces of men: and let mee looke vpon you ne­uer so often, certaine I am, that (till this instant) I haue not seene you.

My Lord Iudge cōceiued in his mind, that thus she denied all knowledg [Page 82] of him, as standing in feare of Pagamino, and would not confesse him in his presence. Wherefore hee entreated of Pagamino, to affoord him so much fauour, that he might speake alone with her in her Chamber. Paga­mino answered, that he was well contented therewith, prouided, that he should not kisse her against her will. Then he requested Bartolomea, to goe with him alone into her Chamber, there to heare what he could say, and to answere him as shee found occasion. When they were come into the Chamber, and none there present but he and shee, Signior Ricciardo be­gan in this manner. Heart of my heart, life of my life, the sweetest hope that I haue in this world; wilt thou not know thine owne Ricciardo, who loueth thee more then he doth himselfe? Why art thou so strange? Am I so disfigured, that thou knowest me not? Behold me with a more pleasing eye, I pray thee.

Bertolomea smiled to her selfe, and without suffering him to proceed any further in speech, returned him this answere. I would haue you to vnder­stand Sir, that my memory is not so obliuious, but I know you to be Sig­nior Ricciardo di Cinzica, and my husband, by name or title; but during the time that I was with you, it very ill appeared that you had any knowledge of me. For if you had been so wise and considerate, as (in your own iudge­ment) the world reputed you to be, you could not be voide of so much apprehension, but did apparantly perceiue, that I was young, fresh, and cheerefully disposed; and so (by consequent) meet to know matters requi­site for such young women, beside allowance of food & garments, though bashfulnesse & modesty forbid to vtter it. But if studying the Lawes were more welcome to you then a wife, you ought not to haue maried, & you loose the worthy reputation of a Iudge, when you fall from that venera­ble profession, and make your selfe a common proclaimer of feasts and fa­sting dayes, lenten seasons, vigils, & solemnities due to Saints, which pro­hibite the houshold conuersation of husbands and wiues.

Here am I now with a worthy Gentleman, that entertained mee with very honourable respect, and here I liue in this chamber, not so much as hearing of any feasts or fasting daies; for, neither Fridaies, Saturdaies, vi­gils of Saints, or any lingering Lents, enter at this doore: but here is ho­nest and ciuill conuersation, better agreeing with a youthfull disposition, then those harsh documents wherewith you tutord me. Wherefore my purpose is to continue here with him, as being a place sutable to my mind & youth, referring feasts, vigils, & fasting dayes, to a more mature & stay­ed time of age, when the body is better able to endure them, & the mind may be prepared for such ghostly meditations: depart therefore at your owne pleasure, and make much of your Calender, without enioying any company of mine, for you heare my resolued determination.

The Iudge hearing these words, was ouercome with exceeding griefe, & when she was silent, thus he began. Alas deare Loue, what an answer is this? Hast thou no regard of thine owne honor, thy Parents, & friends? Canst thou rather affect to abide here, for the pleasures of this man, and so sin capitally, then to liue at Pisa in the state of my wife? Consider deare heart, when this man shall waxe weary of thee, to thy shame & his owne [Page] disgrace, he will reiect thee. I must and shall loue thee for euer, and when I dye, I leaue thee Lady and commandresse of all that is mine. Can an inordinate appetite, cause thee to be carelesse of thine honour, and of him that loues thee as his owne life? Alas, my fairest hope, say no more so, but returne home with me, and now that I am acquainted with thy in­clination; I will endeauour heereafter to giue thee better contentment. Wherefore (deare heart) doe not denie me, but change thy minde, and goe with me, for I neuer saw merry day since I lost thee.

Sir (quoth she) I desire no body to haue care of mine honor, beside my selfe, because it cannot be here abused. And as for my parents, what re­spect had they of me, when they made me your wife: If then they could be so carelesse of mee, what reason haue I to regard them now? And whereas you taxe me, that I cannot liue here without capitall sin; farre is the thought thereof from me, for, here I am regarded as the wife of Pa­gamino, but at Pisa, you reputed me not worthy your society: because, by the point of the Moone, and the quadratures of Geomatrie; the Planets held coniunction betweene you and me, whereas here I am subiect to no such constellations. You say beside, that hereafter you will striue to giue me better contentment then you haue done; surely, in mine opinion it is no way possible, because our complexions are so farre different, as Ice is from fire, or gold from drosse. As for your allegation, of this Gentle­mans reiecting me, when his humour is satisfied; should if it proue to be so (as it is the least part of my feare) what fortune soeuer shall betide me, neuer will I make any meanes to you, what miseries or misaduentures may happen to me; but the world will affoord me one resting place or o­ther, and more to my contentment, then if I were with you. Therefore I tell you once againe, to liue secured from all offence to holy Saints, and not to iniury their feasts, fasts, vigills, and other ceremonious seasons: here is my demourance, and from hence I purpose not to part.

Our Iudge was now in a wofull perplexity, and confessing his folly, in marying a wife so yong, and far vnfit for his age and abilitie: being halfe desperate, sad and displeased, he came forth of the Chamber, vsing diuers speeches to Pagamino, whereof he made little or no account at all, and in the end, without any other successe, left his wife there, & returned home to Pisa. There, further afflictions fell vpon him, because the people began to scorne him, demanding dayly of him, what was become of his gallant young wife, making homes, with ridiculous pointings at him: whereby his sences became distracted, so that he ran rauing about the streetes, and af­terward died in very miserable manner. Which newes came no sooner to the eare of Pagamino, but, in the honourable affection hee bare to Ber­tolomea, he maried her, with great solemnity; banishing all Fasts, Vigils, and Lents from his house, and liuing with her in much felicity. Where­fore (faire Ladies) I am of opinion, that Bernardo of Geneway, in his dispu­tation with Ambroginolo, might haue shewne himselfe a great deale wiser, and spared his rash proceeding with his wife.

This tale was so merrily entertained among the whole company, that each one smiling vpon another, with one consent commended Dioneus, [Page 77] maintaining that he spake nothing but the truth, & condemning Bernardo for his cruelty. Vpon a generall silence commanded, the Queene percei­uing that the time was now very farre spent, and euery one had deliuered their seuerall Nouels, which likewise gaue a period to her Royalty: shee gaue the Crowne to Madam Neiphila, pleasantly speaking to her in this order. Heereafter, the gouernment of these few people is committed to your trust and care, for with the day concludeth my dominion. Madam Neiphila, blushing at the honor done vnto her, her cheekes appeared of a vermillion tincture, her eyes glittering with gracefull desires, and sparke­ling like the morning Starre. And after the modest murmure of the Assi­stants was ceased, and her courage in chearfull manner setled, seating her selfe higher then she did before, thus she spake.

Seeing it is so, that you haue elected me your Queene, to varie some­what from the course obserued by them that went before me, whose go­uernment you haue all so much commended: by approbation of your counsell, I am desirous to speake my mind, concerning what I wold haue to be next followed. It is not vnknown to you all, that to morrow shal be Friday, and Saturday the next day following, which are daies somewhat molestuous to the most part of men, for preparation of their weekly food & sustenance. Moreouer, Friday ought to be reuerendly respected, in re­membrance of him, who died to giue vs life, and endured his bitter passi­on, as on that day; which makes me to hold it fit and expedient, that wee should mind more weighty matters, and rather attend our prayers & de­uotions, then the repetition of tales or Nouels. Now concerning Satur­day, it hath bin a custom obserued among women, to bath & wash them­selues from such immundicities as the former weekes to ile hath imposed on thē. Beside, it is a day of fasting, in honor of the ensuing Sabath, wher­on no labor may be done, but the obseruation of holy exercises.

By that which hath bin saide, you may easily conceiue, that the course which we haue hitherto continued, cannot bee prosecuted, in one and the same manner: wherfore, I would aduice and do hold it an action wel performed by vs, to cease for these few dayes, from recounting any other Nouels. And because we haue remained here foure daies already, except we would allow the enlarging of our company, with some other friends that may resort vnto vs: I think it necessary to remoue from hence, & take our pleasure in another place, which is already by me determined. When we shalbe there assembled, and haue slept on the discourses formerly de­liuered, let our next argument be stil the mutabilities of Fortune, but es­pecially to concerne such persons, as by their wit and ingenuity, industri­ously haue attained to some matter earnestly desired, or else recouered a­gaine, after the losse. Heereon let vs seuerally study and premeditate, that the hearers may receiue benefit thereby, with the comfortable mainte­nance of our harmlesse recreations; the priuiledge of Dioneus alwayes re­serued to himselfe.

Euery one cōmended the Queens deliberation, concluding that it shold be accordingly prosecuted: and therupon, the master of the houshold was [Page] called, to giue him order for that euenings Table seruice, and what else concerned the time of the Queenes Royalty, wherein he was sufficiently instructed: which being done, the company arose, licensing euery one to doe what they listed. The Ladies and Gentlemen walked to the Garden, and hauing sported themselues there a while; when the houre of supper came, they sate downe, and fared very daintily. Being risen from the Ta­ble, according to the Queenes command, Madam Aemilia led the dance, and the ditty following, was sung by Madam Pampinea, being answered by all the rest, as a Chorus.

After this Song was ended, they sung diuers other beside, and hauing great variety of instruments, they parted to them as many pleasing dan­ces. [Page 78] But the Queene considering that the meete houre for rest was come, with their lighted Torches before them they all repaired to their Cham­bers; sparing the other dayes next succeeding, for those reasons by the Queene alleaged, and spending the Sunday in solemne deuotion.

The first Nouell.

MOst woorthy Ladies, there wantes no store of men and women, that are so simple, as to credit for a certainty, that so soon as a yong virgin hath the veile pnt on hir head (after it is once shorn and filletted) & the blacke Cowle giuen to couer her withall: shee is no longer a woman, nor more sensible of feminine affections, then as if in turning Nun, shee became conuerted to a stone. And if (per­chance) they heard some matters, contrary to their former setled perswasion; then they growe so furiously offended, as if one had committed a most foul and enor­mous sinne, directly against the course of nature. And the torrent of this opinion hurries them on so vio­lently, that they will not admit the least leisure to consider, how (in such a full scope of liberty, they haue power to do what they list, yea beyonde all meanes of sufficient satisfying; neuer ramembring withall, how potent the priuiledge of idlenesse is, especially when it is backt by solitude.

In like manner, there are other people now, who do verily belieue, that the Spade and Pickaxe, grosse feeding and labour, do quench all sensuall and fleshly concupiscences, yea, in such as till and husband the grounds, by making them dull, blockish, and (almost) meere senslesse of vnderstan­ding. But I will approue (according as the Queene hath commanded me, and within the compasse of her direction) and make it apparant to you al, by a short and pleasant Tale; how greatly they are abused by error, that build vpon so weake a foundation.

Not far from Alexandria, there was (and yet is) a great & goodly Mo­nastery, belonging to the Lord of those parts, who is termed the Admiral. And therein, vnder the care and trust of one woman, diuers virgins were kept as recluses or Nunnes, vowed to chastity of life; out of whose num­ber, the Soldan of Babylon (vnder whom they liued in subiection) at euery three yeares end, had vsually three of these virgins sent him. At the time wherof I am now to speak, there remained in the Monastery, no more but eight religious Sisters only, beside the Gouernesse or Lady Abbesse, and an honest poore man, who was a Gardiner, and kept the garden in com­mendable order.

[Page 80] His wages being small, and he not well contented therewith, would serue there no longer: but making his accounts euen, with the Factotum or Bayliffe belonging to the house, returned thence to the village of Lam­porechio, being a nature of the place. Among many other that gaue him welcom home, was a yong Hebrew pezant of the country, sturdy, strong, and yet comely of person, being named Masset. But because he was born not farre off from Lamporechio, and had there bin brought vp all his yon­ger dayes, his name of Masset (according to their vulgar speech) was tur­ned to Massetto, and therefore he was vsually called and knowne, by the name of Massetto of Lamporechio.

Massetto, falling in talke with the honest poore man, whose name was Lurco, demanded of him what seruices hee had done in the Monasterie, hauing continued there so long a time? Quoth Lurco I laboured in the Garden, which is very faire and great; then I went to the Forest to fetch home wood, and cleft it for their Chamber fuell, drawing vppe all their water beside, with many other toilesom seruices else: but the allowance of my wages was so little, as it would not pay for the shooes I wore. And that which was worst of all, they being all yong women, I thinke the de­uill dwels among them, for a man cannot doe any thing to please them. When I haue bene busie at my worke in the Garden, one would come & say, Put this heere, put that there; and others would take the dibble out of my hand, telling me, that I did not performe any thing well, making me so weary of their continuall trifling, as I haue lefte all businesse, gaue ouer the Garden, and what for one mollestation, as also many other; I intended to tarry no longer there, but came away, as thou seest. And yet the Factotum desired me at my departing, that if I knew any one, who would vndertake the aforesaid labours, I should send him thither, as (in­deed) I promised to do: but let mee fall sicke and dye, before I helpe to send them any.

When Massetto had heard the words of Lurco, hee was so desirous to dwell among the Nunnes, that nothing else now hammered in his head: for he meant more subtilly, then poore Lurco did, and made no doubt, to please them sufficiently. Then considering with himselfe, how best he might bring his intent to effect; which appeared not easily to be done, he could question no further therein with Lurco, but onely demanded o­ther matters of him, and among them said. Introth thou didst well Lur­co, to come away from so tedious a dwelling; had he not need to be more then a man that is to liue with such women? It were better for him to dwell among so many diuels, because they vnderstand not the tenth part that womens wily wits can diue into.

After their conference was ended, Massetto began to beat his braines, how he might compasse to dwell among them, & knowing that he could well enough performe all the labours, whereof Lurco had made mention: he cared not for any losse he should sustaine thereby: but onely stoode in doubt of his entertainment, because he was too yong and sprightly. Ha­uing pondered on many imaginations, he saide to himselfe. The place is [Page] farre enough distant hence, and none there can take knowledge of mee; if I haue wit sufficient, cleanely to make them beleeue that I am dumbe, then (questionlesse) I shall be receiued. And resoluing to prosecute this determination, he tooke a Spade on his shoulder, and without reuealing to any body, whether he went, in the disguise of a poore laboring coun­tryman, he trauelled to the Monastery.

When he was there arriued, he found the great gate open, and ente­ring in boldly, it was his good hap to espy the Fac-totum in the court, ac­cording as Lurco had giuen description of him. Making signes before him, as if he were both dumbe and deafe; he manifested, that he craued an Almes for Gods sake, making shewes beside, that if need required, he could cleaue wood, or do any reasonable kinde of seruice. The Fac-to­tum gladly gaue him food, and afterward shewed him diuers knotty logs of wood, which the weake strength of Lurco had left vnclouen; but this fellow being more actiue and lusty, quickly rent them all to pieces. Now it so fell out, that the Fac-totum must needs go to the Forrest, and tooke Massetto along with him thither: where causing him to fell diuers Trees, by signes he bad him to lade the two Asses therewith, which commonly carried home all the wood, and so driue them to the Monasterie before him, which Massetto knew well enough how to do, and performed it ve­ry effectually.

Many other seruile offices were there to bee done, which caused the Fac-totum, to make vse of his paines diuers other dayes beside: in which time, the Lady Abbesse chancing to see him, demanded of the Fac-totum what he was? Madam (quoth hee) a poore labouring man, who is both deafe and dumbe: hither he came to craue an almes the other day, which in charity I could do no lesse but giue him; for which hee hath done ma­ny honest seruices about the house. It seemes beside, that hee hath some pretty skill in Gardening, so that if I can perswade him to continue here, I make no question of his able seruices: for the old silly man is gone, and we haue neede of such a stout fellow, to do the businesse belonging vnto the Monastery, and one fitter for the turne, comes sildome hither. More­ouer, in regard of his double imperfections, the Sisters can sustaine no impeachment by him. Whereto the Abbesse answered, saying; By the faith of my body, you speake but the truth: vnderstand then, if hee haue any knowledge in Gardening, and whether hee will dwell heere, or no: which compasse so kindly as you can. Let him haue a new paire of shoes, fill his belly daily full of meate, flatter, and make much of him, for wee shall finde him worke enough to do. All which, the Fac-totum promised to fulfill sufficiently.

Massetto, who was not farre off from them all this while, but seemed se­riously busied, about sweeping and making cleane the Court, hearde all these speeches; and being not a little ioyfull of them, saide to himselfe. If once I come to worke in your Garden, let the proofe yeelde praise of my skill and knowledge. When the Fac-totum perceiued, that he knew per­fectly how to vndergo his businesse, and had questioned him by signes, [Page 81] concerning his willingnesse to serue there still, and receiued the like an­swer also, of his dutifull readinesse thereto; he gaue him order, to worke in the Garden, because the season did now require it; and to leaue all o­ther affayres for the Monastery, attending now onely the Gardens pre­paration.

As Massetto was thus about his Garden emploiment, the Nunnes be­gan to resort thither, and thinking the man to bee dumbe and deafe in­deede, were the more lauish of their language, mocking and flowting him very immodestly, as being perswaded, that he heard them not. And the Lady Abbesse, thinking he might as well be an Eunuch, as depriued both of hearing and speaking, stood the lesse in feare of the Sisters wal [...]s, but referred them to their owne care and prouidence. On a day, Masset­to hauing laboured somewhat extraordinarily, lay downe to rest himselfe awhile vnder the trees, and two delicate yong Nunnes, walking there to take the aire, drew neere to the place where he dissembled sleeping; and both of them obseruing his comelinesse of person, began to pity the po­uerty of his condition, but much more the misery of his great defectes. Then one of them, who had a little liuelier spirit then the other, thinking Massetto to be fast asleepe, began in this manner.

Sister (quoth she) if I were faithfully assured of thy secrecie,Example, at least excu­ses formed to that in­tent, preuai­leth much with such kind of re­ligious wo­men. I would tell thee a thing which I haue often thought on, and it may (perhaps) re­dound to thy profit. Sister, replyed the other Nun, speake your minde boldly, and beleeue it (on my Maiden-head) that I will neuer reueale it to any creature liuing. Encoraged by this solemne answer, the first Nun thus prosecuted her former purpose, saying. I know not Sister, whether it hath entred into thine vnderstanding or no, how strictly we are here kept and attended, neuer any man daring to aduenture among vs, except our good and honest Fac-totum, who is very aged; and this dumbe fellow, maimed, and made imperfect by nature, and therefore not woorthy the title of a man. Ah Sister, it hath of tentimes bin told me, by Gentle-wo­men comming hither to visite vs, that all other sweetes in the world, are meere mockeries, to the incomparable pleasures of man and woman, of which we are barred by our vnkind parents, binding vs to perpetuall cha­stity, which they were neuer able to obserue themselues.

A Sister of this house once told me, that before her turne came to be sent to the Soldane, she fell in frailty, with a man that was both lame and blinde, and discouering the same to her Ghostly Father in confession; he absolued her of that sinne; affirming, that she had not transgressed with a man, because he wanted his rationall and vnderstanding parts. Behold Sister, heere lyes a creature, almost formed in the selfe-same mold, dumb and deafe, which are two the most rational and vnderstanding parts that do belong to any man, and therefore no Man, wanting them. If folly & frailty should be committed with him (as many times since hee came hi­ther it hath run in my minde) hee is by Nature, sworne to such secrecie, that he cannot (if he would) be a blabbe thereof. Beside, the Lavves and constitutions of our Religion doth teach vs, that a sinne so assuredly con­cealed, [Page] is more then halfe absolued.

Aue Maria Sister (said the other Nunne) what kinde of words are these you vtter? Doe not you know, that wee haue promised our virginity to God? Oh Sister (answered the other) how many things are promised to him euery day, and not one of a thousand kept or performed? If wee haue made him such a promise, and some of our weaker witted Sisters do performe it for vs, no doubt but he will accept it in part of payment. Yea but Sister, replied the second Nunne againe, there is another danger ly­ing in our way: If wee proue to be with childe, how shall we doe then? Sister (quoth our couragious Wench) thou art afraid of a harme, before it happen, if it come so to passe, let vs consider on it then: thou art but a Nouice in matters of such moment, and wee are prouided of a thousand meanes, whereby to preuent conception. Or, if they should faile, wee are so surely fitted, that the world shall neuer know it: let it suffice, our liues must not be (by any) so much as suspected, our Monasterie questio­ned, or our Religion rashly scandalized. Thus shee schooled her youn­ger Sister in wit, albeit as forward as she in will, and longed as desirously, to know what kinde a creature a man was.

After some other questions, how this intention of theirs might be safely brought to full effect: the sprightly Nunne, that had wit at will, thus answered. You see Sister (quoth she) it is now the houre of midday, when all the rest of our Sisterhood are quiet in their Chambers, because we are then allowed to sleepe, for our earlier rising to morning Mattins. Here are none in the Garden now but our selues, and, while I awake him, be you the watch, and afterward follow me in my fortune, for I will va­liantly leade you the way. Massetto imitating a dogges sleepe, hea [...]d all this conspiracie intended against him, and longed as earnestly, till shee came to awake him. Which being done, he seeming very simply sottish, and she chearing him with flattering behauiour: into the close Arbour they went, which the Sunnes bright eye could not pierce into, and there I leaue it to the Nunnes owne approbation, whether Massetto was a man rationall, or no. Ill deedes require longer time to contriue, then act, and both the Nunnes, hauing beene with Massetto at this new forme of con­fession, were enioyned (by him) an easie and silent penance, as brought them the oftner to shrift, and made him to prooue a perfect Con­fessour.

Desires obtained, but not fully satisfied, doe commonly vrge more frequent accesse, then wisdome thinkes expedient, or can continue with­out discouerie. Our two Iouiall Nunnes, not a little proud of their pri­uate stolne pleasures, so long resorted to the close Arbour; till an other Sister, who had often obserued their haunt thither, by meanes of a little hole in her window; that shee began to suspect them with Massetto, and imparted the same to two other Sisters, all three concluding, to accuse them before the Lady Abbesse. But vpon a further conference had with the offenders, they changed opinion, tooke the same oath as the fore-woman had done, and because they would be free from any taxation at [Page 82] all: they reuealed their aduentures to the other three ignorants, and so fell all eight into one formall confederacie, but by good and warie ob­seruation, least the Abbesse her selfe should descry them; finding poore Massetto such plenty of Garden-worke, as made him very doubtfull in pleasing them all.

It came to passe in the end, that the Lady Abbesse, who all this while imagined no such matter, walking all alone in the Garden on a day, found Massetto sleeping vnder an Almond tree, hauing then very little businesse to doe, because he had wrought hard all the night before. Shee obser­ued him to be an hansome man, young, lusty, well limbde, and proportio­ned, hauing a mercifull commisseration of his dumbnesse and deafenesse, being perswaded also in like manner, that if he were an Eunuch too, he deserued a thousand times the more to be pittied. The season was excee­ding hot, and he lay downe so carelesly to sleepe, that something was no­ted, wherein shee intended to be better resolued, almost falling sicke of the other Nunnes disease. Hauing awaked him, she commanded him (by signes) that he should follow her to her chamber, where he was kep [...] close so long, that the Nunnes grew offended, because the Gardener came not to his dayly labour.

Well may you imagine that Massetto was no misse-proud man now, to be thus aduanced from the Garden to the Chamber, and by no worse woman, then the Lady Abbesse her selfe, what signes, shewes, or what lan­guage he speaks there, I am not able to expresse; onely it appeard that his behauiour pleased her so well, as it procured his daily repairing thither; and acquainted her with such familiar conuersation, as shee would haue condemned in the Nuns her daughters, but that they were wise enough to keepe it from her. Now began Massetto to consider with himselfe, that he had vndertaken a taske belonging to great Hercules, in giuing content ment to so many, and by continuing dumbe in this manner, it would re­dound to his no meane detriment. Whereupon, as hee was one night sitting by the Abbesse, the string that restrained his tongue from speech, brake on a sodaine, and thus he spake.

Madam, I haue often heard it said, that one Cocke may doe seruice to ten seuerall Hennes, but ten men can (very hardly) euen with all their best endeauour, giue full satisfaction euery way to one woman; and yet I am tied to content mine, which is farre beyond the compasse of my power to doe. Already haue I performed so much Garden and Chamber-worke, that I confesse my selfe starke tired, and can trauaile no further; and there­fore let me entreate you to lysence my departure hence, or finde some meanes for my better ease. The Abbesse hearing him speake, who had so long serued there dumbe; being stricken into admiration, and accounting it almost a miracle, saide. How commeth this to passe? I verily beleeued thee to be dumbe. Madam (quoth Massetto) so I was indeed, but not by Nature; onely I had a long lingering sicknesse, which bereft me of speech, and which I haue not onely recouered againe this night, but shall euer re­maine thankfull to you for it.

[Page] The Abbesse verily credited his answer, demanding what he meant, in saying, that he did seruice to nine? Madam, quoth he, this were a dange­rous question, and not easily answered before all the eight Sisters. Vpon this reply, the Abbesse plainely perceiued, that not onely shee had fallen into folly, but all the Nunnes likewise cried guilty too: wherefore being a woman of sound discretion, she would not grant that Massetto should depart, but to keepe him still about the Nunnes businesse, because the Monastery should not be scandalized by him. And the Fac-totum being dead a little before, his strange recouery of speech reuealed, and some things else more neerely concerning them: by generall consent, & vvith the good liking of Massetto, he was created the Fac-totum of the Mona­sterie.

All the neighbouring people dwelling thereabout, who knew Masetto to be dumbe, by fetching home wood daily from the Forrest, and diuers employments in other places; were made to beleeue that by the Nunnes deuoute prayers and discipline, as also the merits of the Saint, in whose honour the Monastery was built and erected, Massetto had his long re­strained speech restored, and was now become their sole Fac-totum, ha­uing power now to employ others in drudgeries, and ease himselfe of all such labours. And albeit he make the Nunnes to be fruitfull, by encrea­sing some store of yonger Sisters; yet all matters were so close & clean­ly carried, as it was neuer talkt of, till after the death of the Ladie Ab­besse, when Massetto beganne to grow in good yeares, and desired, to re­turne home to his Natiue abiding, which (within a while after) was gran­ted him.

Thus Massetto, being rich and old, returned home like a wealthy Fa­ther, taking no care for the nursing of his children, but bequeathed them to the place where they were bred and born, hauing (by his wit and inge­nious apprehension) made such a benefit of his youthfull years, that now he merrily tooke ease in his age.

The second Nouell.

WHen the Nouell of Philostratus was concluded, which made some of the Ladies blush, and the rest to smile: it pleased the Queene, that Madam Pampinea should follow next, to second the other gone be­fore; when she, smiling on the whole assembly, began thus. There are [Page 77] some men so shallow of capacity, that they will (neuerthelesse) make shew of knowing and vnderstanding such things, as neither they are able to doe, nor appertaine to them: whereby they will sometimes reprehend other mens errours, and such faults as they haue vnwillingly committed, thinking thereby to hide their owne shame, when they make it much more apparant and manifest. For proofe whereof, faire company, in a contrary kinde I will shew you the subtill cunning of one, who (perhaps) might be reputed of lesse reckoning then Massetto; and yet hee went be­yond a King, that thought himselfe to be a much wiser man.

Agilalffo, King of Lombardie, according as his Predecessours had done before him, made the principall seate of his Kingdome, in the Citie of Pauia, hauing em­braced in mariage, Tendelinga, the late left widdow of Vetario, who likewise had beene King of the Lombards; a most beautifull, wise and vertuous Lady, but made vnfortunate by a mischance. The occurrences and estate of the whole Realme, being in an ho­nourable, quiet and well setled condition, by the discreete care and prouidence of the King; a Querrie appertaining to the Queenes Stable of Horse, being a man but of meane and lowe quality, though comely of person, and of equall stature to the King; be­came immeasurably amorous of the Queene. And because his base and seruile condition, had endued him with so much vnderstanding, as to know infallibly, that his affection was mounted, beyond the compasse of conueniencie: wisely hee concealed it to himselfe, not acquainting any one therewith, or daring so much, as to discouer it either by lookes, or any other affectionate behauiour.

And although hee liued vtterly hopelesse, of euer attaining to his hearts desires; yet notwithstanding, hee proudly gloried, that his loue had soared so high a pitch, as to be enamoured of a Queene. And dayly, as the fury of his flame encreased; so his cariage was farre aboue his fel­lowes and companions, in the performing of all such seruiceable duties, as any way he imagined might content the Queene. Whereon ensued, that whensoeuer shee roade abroad to take the ayre, shee vsed oftner to mount on the Horse, which this Querrie brought when shee made her choise, then any of the other that were led by his fellowes. And this did he esteeme as no meane happinesse to him, to order the stirrope for her mounting, and therefore gaue dayly his due attendance: so that, to touch [Page] the Stirrop, but (much more) to put her foote into it, or touch any part of her garments, he thought it the onely heauen on earth.

But, as we see it oftentimes come to passe, that by how much the lo­wer hope declineth, so much the higher loue ascendeth; euen so fel it out with this poore Querry; for, most irkesome was it to him, to endure the heauy waight of his continuall oppressions, not hauing any hope at all of the very least mitigation. And being vtterly vnable to relinquish his loue diuers times he resolued on some desperate conclusion, which might yet giue the world an euident testimony, that he dyed for the loue he bare to the Queene. And vpon this determination, hee grounded the successe of his future fortune, to dye in compassing some part of his desire, with­out either speaking to the Queene, or sending any missiue of his loue; for to speake or write, were meerely in vaine, and drew on a worser conse­quence then death, which he could bestow on himselfe more easily, and when he listed.

No other course now beleagers his braines, but onely for secret accesse to the Queenes bed, and how he might get entrance into her Chamber, vnder colour of the King, who (as he knew very well) slept manie nights together from the Queene. Wherefore, to see in what manner, & what the vsuall habit was of the King, when he came to keepe companie vvith his Queene: he hid himselfe diuers nights in a Gallery, which was be­tweene both their lodging Chambers. At length, he saw the King come forth of his Chamber, himselfe all alone, with a faire night-mantle wrapt about him, carrying a lighted Taper in the one hand, and a small white Wand in the other, so went he on to the Queenes lodging; and knocking at the doore once or twice with the wand, and not vsing any word, the doore opened, the light was left without, and he entered the Chamber, where he stayed not long, before his returning backe againe, which like­wise very diligently he obserued.

So familiar was he in the Wardrobe, by often fetching and returning the King and Queenes furnitures; that the fellowe to the same Mantle, which the King wore when he went to the Queene, very secretly he con­ueighed away thence with him, being prouided of a Light, and the verie like Wand. Now bestowes he costly bathings on his body, that the least sent of the Stable might not be felt about him; and finding a time sutable to his desire, when he knew the King to be at rest in his owne Lodging, and all else sleeping in their beds; closely he steals into the Gallery, where alighting his Taper, with Tinder purposely brought thither, the Mantle folded about him, and the Wand in his hand, valiantly he aduentures vp­on his liues perill. Twice hee knockt softly at the doore, which a way­ting woman immediately opened, and receyuing the Light, went forth into the Gallery, while the supposed King, was conuersing vvith the Queene.

Alas good Queene, heere is sinne committed, without any guiltie thought in thee, as (within a while after) it plainely appeared. For, the Querry hauing compassed what he most couered, and fearing to forfeite [Page 84] his life by delay, when his amorous desire was indifferently satisfied: re­turned backe as he came, the sleepy waiting woman not so much as loo­king on him, but rather glad, that she might get her to rest againe. Scarce­ly was the Querrie stept into his bed, vnheard or discerned by any of his fellowes, diuers of them lodging both in that and the next Chamber: but it pleased the King to visite the Queene, according to his wonted man­ner, to the no little meruaile of the drowsie wayting woman, who was ne­uer twice troubled in a night before. The King being in bed, whereas al­wayes till then, his resort to the Queene, was altogether in sadnesse and melancholly, both comming and departing without speaking one word: now his Maiestie was become more pleasantly disposed, whereat the Queene began not a little to meruaile. Now trust mee Sir, quoth shee, this hath been a long wished, and now most welcome alteration, vouch-safing twice in a night to visite me, and both within the compasse of one houre; for it cannot be much more, since your being here, and now com­ming againe.

The King hearing these words, sodainly presumed, that by some coun­terfeit person or other, the Queene had been this night beguiled: where­fore (very aduisedly) hee considered, that in regard the party was vn­knowne to her, and all the women about her; to make no outward ap­pearance of knowing it, but rather concealed it to himselfe. Farre from the indiscretion of some hare-braind men, who presently would haue an­swered and sworne; I came not hither this night, till now. Whereupon many dangers might ensue, to the dishonor and preiudice of the Queene; beside, hir error being discouered to hir, might afterward be an occasion, to vrge a wandring in her appetite, and to couet after change againe. But by this silence, no shame redounded to him or her, whereas prating, must needes be the publisher of open infamie: yet was hee much vexed in his minde, which neither by lookes or words hee would discouer, but plea­santly said to the Queene. Why Madame, although I was once heere before to night, I hope you mislike not my second seeing you, nor if I should please to come againe. No truely Sir, quoth she, I onely desire you to haue care of your health. Well, said the King, I will follow your counsaile, and now returne to mine owne lodging againe, committing my Queene to her good rest.

His blood boyling with rage and distemper, by such a monstrous in­iurie offered him; he wrapt his night-mantle about him, and leauing his Chamber, imagining, that whatsoeuer he was, needes he must be one of his owne house: he tooke a light in his hand, and conuayed it into a little Lanthorne, purposing to be resolued in his suspition. No guests or stran­gers were now in his Court, but onely such as belonged to his houshold, who lodged altogether about the Escurie and Stables, being there ap­pointed to diuers beds. Now, this was his conceite, that whosoeuer had beene so lately familiar with the Queene, his heart and pulse could (as yet) be hardly at rest, but rather would be troubled with apparant agita­tion, as discouering the guilt of so great an offender. Many Chambers [Page] had hee passed thorow, where all were soundly sleeping, and yet he felt both their brests and pulses.

At last he came to the lodging of the man indeede, that had so impu­dently vsurped his place, who could not as yet sleepe, for ioy of his atchie­ued aduenture. When he espied the King come in, knowing well the oc­casion of his search, he began to waxe very doubtfull, so that his heart and pulse beating extremely, he felt a further addition of feare, as being confi­dently perswaded, that there was now no other way but death, especially if the King discouered his agony. And although many considerations were in his braine, yet because he saw that the King was vnarmed, his best refuge was, to make shew of sleepe, in expectation what the King inten­ded to doe. Among them all he had sought, yet could not find any like­lihood, wherby to gather a grounded probability; vntill he came to this Querry, whose heart and pulses laboured so sternely, that he said to him­selfe; yea mary, this is the man that did the deede.

Neuerthelesse, purposing to make no apparance of his further inten­tion, he did nothing else to him, but drawing foorth a paire of sheares, which purposely he brought thither with him, he clipped away a part of his lockes, which (in those times) they vsed to weare very long, to the end that he might the better know him the next morning, and so returned backe to his lodging againe. The Querry, who partly saw, but felt what was done to him; perceiued plainely (being a subtill ingenious fellow) for what intent he was thus marked. Wherefore, without any longer dally­ing, vp he rose, and taking a paire of sheares, wherewith they vsed to trim their Horses; softly he went from bed to bed, where they all lay yet sound­ly sleeping, and clipt away each mans locke from his right eare, in the selfe same manner as the King had done his, and being not perceiued by any one of them, quietly he laide him downe againe.

In the morning, when the King was risen, he gaue command that be­fore the Pallace gates were opened, all his whole Family should come before him, as instantly his will was fulfilled. Standing all vncouered in his presence, he began to consider with himselfe, which of them was the man that he had marked. And seeing the most part of them to haue their lockes cut, all after one and the selfe same manner; maruailing greatly, he saide to himselfe. The man whom I seeke for, though he be but of meane and base condition, yet it plainely appeareth, that he is of no deiect or common vnderstanding. And seeing, that without further clamour and noyse, he could not find out the party he looked for; he concluded, not to win eternall shame, by compassing a poore reuenge: but rather (by way of admonition) to let the offender know in a word, that he was both noted and obserued. So turning to them all, he saide; He that hath done it, let him be silent, and doe so no more, and now depart about your busi­nesse.

Some other turbulent spirited man, no imprisonments, tortures, exa­minations, and interrogatories, could haue serued his turne; by which course of proceeding, he makes the shame to be publikely knowne, which [Page 85] reason requireth to keepe concealed. But admit that condigne venge­ance were taken, it diminisheth not one title of the shame, neither quali­fieth the peoples bad affections, who will lash out as liberally in scandall, and vpon the very least babling rumor. Such therefore as heard the Kings words, few though they were, yet truly wise; maruelled much at them, and by long examinations among themselues, questioned, but came far short of his meaning; the man onely excepted, whom indeede they concerned, and by whom they were neuer discouered, so long as the King liued, nei­ther did he dare at any time after, to hazard his life in the like action, vn­der the frownes or fauour of Fortune.

The third Nouell.

WHen Madam Pampinea sate silent, and the Querries boldnesse e­qualled with his crafty cunning, and great wisedome in the King had passed among them with generall applause; the Queene, her selfe to Madam Philomena, appointed her to follow next in order, and to hold rancke with her discourse, as the rest had done before her: whereupon Philomena graciously began in this manner.

It is my purpose, to acquaint you with a notable mockery, which was performed (not in iest, but earnest) by a faire Gentlewo­man, to a graue and deuoute reli­gious Friar, which will yeelde so much the more pleasure and re­creation, to euery secular vnder­stander, if but diligently he or shee doe obserue; how commonly those religious persons (at least the most part of them) like noto­rious fooles, are the inuenters of new courses and customes, as thin­king themselues more wise and skilful in all things then any other; yet proue to be of no worth or va­lidity, addicting the very best of all their deuises, to expresse their owne vilenesse of minde, and fatten themselues in their sties, like to pam­pered [Page] Swine. And assure your selues worthy Ladies, that I doe not tell this Tale onely to follow the order enioyned me; but also to informe you that such Saint-like holy Sirs, of whom we are too opinatiue and credu­lous, may be, yea, and are (diuers times) cunningly met withall, in their craftinesse, not onely by men, but likewise some of our owne sexe, as I shall make it apparant to you.

In our owne City (more full of craft and deceit, then loue or faithfull dealing) there liued not many yeeres since a Gentlewoman, of good spi­rit, highly minded, endued with beauty and all commendable qualities, as any other woman (by nature) could be. Her name, or any others, con­cerned in this Nouell, I meane not to make manifest, albeit I know them, because some are yet liuing, and thereby may be scandalized; and there­fore it shall suffice to passe them ouer with a smile. This Gentlewoman, seeing her selfe to be descended of very great parentage, and (by chance) married to an Artezen, a Clothier or Drapier, that liued by the making and selling of Cloth: shee could not (because he was a Trades-man) take downe the height of her minde; conceiuing, that no man of meane con­dition (how rich soeuer) was worthy to enioy a Gentlewoman in marri­age. Obseruing moreouer, that with all his wealth and treasure, he vn­derstood nothing better, then to open skeines of yarne, fill shuttles, lay webbes in Loomes, or dispute with his Spinsters, about their busi­nesse.

Being thus ouer-swayed with her proud opinion, shee would no longer be embraced, or regarded by him in any manner, and onely because she could not refuse him; but would find some other for her better satisfacti­on, who might seeme more worthy of her respect, then the Drapier her Husband did. Hereupon shee fell so deepe in loue, with a very honest man of our City also, and of indifferent yeeres; as what day shee saw him not, shee could take no rest the night ensuing. The man himselfe knew nothing hereof, and therefore was the more neglect and carelesse, and she being curious, nice, yet wisely considerate; durst not let him vnderstand it, neither by any womans close conueyed message, nor yet by Letters, as fearing the perils which happen in such cases. But her eye obseruing his daily walkes and resorts, gaue her notice of his often conuersing with a religious Friar, who albeit he was a fat and corpulent man, yet notwith­standing, because he seemed to leade a sanctimonious life, and was repor­ted to be a most honest man; she perswaded her selfe, that he might be the best meanes, betweene her and her friend.

Hauing considered with her selfe, what course was best to be obserued in this case; vpon a day, apt and conuenient, shee went to the Conuent, where he kept, and hauing caused him to be called, shee told him, that if his leysure so serued, very gladly shee would be confessed, and onely had made her choyce of him. The holy man seeing her, and reputing her to be a Gentlewoman, as indeede shee was no lesse; willingly heard her, and when shee had confessed what shee could, shee had yet another matter to acquaint him withall, and thereupon thus she began.

[Page 85] Holy Father, it is no more then conuenient, that I should haue re­course to you, to be assisted by your help and councell, in a matter which I will impart vnto you. I know, that you are not ignorant of my parents and husband, of whom I am affected as dearely as his life, for proofe whereof, there is not any thing that I can desire, but immediatly I haue it of him, he being a most rich man, and may very sufficiently affoord it. In regard whereof, I loue him equally as my selfe, and, setting aside my best endeauours for him; I must tell you one thing, quite contrary to his liking and honor, wherein no woman can more worthily deserue death, then my selfe. Vnderstand then, good Father, that there is a man, whose name I know not, but hee seemeth to be honest, and of good worth; moreouer (if I am not deceiued) hee resorteth oftentimes to you, being faire and comely of person, going alwayes in blacke garments of good price and value. This man, imagining (perhaps) no such minde in me, as truely there is; hath often attempted mee, and neuer can I be at my doore, or window, but hee is alwayes present in my sight, which is not a little displeasing to me; he watcheth my walkes, and much I meruaile, that he is not now here.

Let me tell you holy Sir, that such behauiours, doe many times lay bad imputations vpon very honest women, yet without any offence in them. It hath often run in my minde, to let him haue knowledge thereof by my brethren: but afterward I considered, that men (many times) deliuer messages in such sort, as draw on very vngentle answeres, whereon grow words, and words beget actions. In which respect, because no harme or scandall should ensue, I thought it best to be silent; determining, to ac­quaint you rather therewith, then any other, as well because you seeme to be his friend, as also in regard of your office, which priuiledgeth you, to correct such abuses, not onely in friends, but also in strangers. Enowe other women there are, (more is the pitty) who (perhaps) are better dis­posed to such suites, then I am, and can both like and allowe of such cour­ting, otherwise then I can doe; as being willing to embrace such offers, and (happily) loath to yeeld deniall. Wherefore, most humbly I entreat you, good Father (euen for our blessed Ladies sake) that you would giue him a friendly reprehension, and aduise him, to vse such vnmanly meanes no more hereafter. With which words, shee hung downe her head in her bosome, cunningly dissembling, as if shee wept, wiping her eyes with her Handkerchife, when not a teare fell from them, but indeed were dry enough.

The holy Religious man, so soone as he heard her description of the man, presently knew whom shee meant, and highly commending the Gentlewoman, for her good and vertuous seeming disposition, belee­ued faithfully all that shee had said: promising her, to order the matter so well and discreetly, as shee should not be any more offended. And knowing her to be a woman of great wealth (after all their vsuall man­ner, when they cast forth their fishing nets for gaine:) liberally he com­mended Almes-deedes, and dayly workes of charity, recounting to her [Page] (beside) his owne perticular necessities. Then, giuing him two pieces of gold, she said. I pray you (good Father) to be mindfull of me, and if he chance to make any deniall: tell him boldly, that I spake it my selfe to you, and by the way of a sad complaint her confession being ended, and penance easie enough enioyned her, shee promised to make her parents bountifull benefactours to the Conuent, and put more money into his hand, desiring him in his Masses, to remember the soules of her deceased friends, and so returned home to her house.

Within a short while after her departure, the Gentleman, of whom she had made this counterfeit complaint, came thither, as was his vsuall manner, and hauing done his duty to the holy Father; they sate downe together priuately, falling out of one discourse into another. At the length, the Frier (in very louing and friendly sort) mildly reproued him, for such amorous glaunces, and other pursuites, which (as he thought) hee dayly vsed to the Gentlewoman, according to her owne speeches. The Gentleman meruailed greatly thereat, as one that had neuer seene her, and very sildome passed by the way where she dwelt, which made him the bolder in his answeres; wherein the Confessour interrupting him, said. Neuer make such admiration at the matter, neither waste more words in these stout denials, because they cannot serue thy turne: I tell thee plainely, I heard it not from any neighbours, but euen of her owne selfe, in a very sorrowfull and sad complaint. And though (per­haps) hereafter, thou canst very hardly refraine such follies; yet let mee tell thee so much of her (and vnder the seale of absolute assurance) that she is the onely woman of the world, who (in my true iudgement) doth hate and abhorre all such base behauiour. Wherefore, in regard of thine owne honor, as also not to vexe & preiudice so vertuous a Gentlewoman: I pray thee refrain such idlenes henceforward, & suffer hir to liue in peace.

The Gentleman, being a little wiser then his ghostly Father, perceiued immediatly (without any further meditating on the matter) the notable polli [...]ie of the woman: whereupon, making somewhat bashfull appea­rance of any error already committed; hee said, hee would afterward be better aduised. So, departing from the Frier, he went on directly, to passe by the house where the Gentlewoman dwelt, and she stood alwayes ready on her watch, at a little window, to obserue, when hee should walke that way: And seeing him comming, she shewed her selfe so ioyfull, and gra­cious to him, as he easily vnderstood, whereto the substance of the holy Fathers chiding tended. And, from that time forward, hee vsed dayly, though in couert manner (to the no little liking of the Gentlewoman and himselfe) to make his passage through that streete, vnder colour of some important occasions there, concerning him.

Soone after, it being plainely discerned on either side, that the one was as well contented with these walkes, as the other could be: shee de­sired to enflame him a little further, by a more liberall illustration of her affection towards him, when time and place affoorded conuenient op­portunity. To the holy Father againe shee went, (for shee had been too [Page 87] long from shrift) and kneeling downe at his feete, intended to begin her confession in teares; which the Friar perceiuing, sorrowfully demanded of her, what new accident had happened? Holy Father (quoth shee) no nouell accident, but onely your wicked and vngracious friend, by whom (since I was here with you, yea, no longer agoe then yesterday) I haue beene so wronged, as I verily beleeue that hee was borne to be my mor­tall enemie, and to make me doe something to my vtter disgrace for euer; and whereby I shall not dare to be seene any more of you, my deare Father. How is this? answered the Friar, hath he not refrained from afflicting you so abusiuely?

Pausing a while, and breathing foorth many a dissembled sigh, thus shee replyed. No truly, holy Father, there is no likelyhood of his ab­staining; for since I made my complaint to you, he belike taking it in euill part, to be contraried in his wanton humours, hath (meerely in de­spight) walked seauen times in a day by my doore, whereas formerly, he neuer vsed it aboue once or twice. And well were it (good Father) if he could be contented with those walkes, and gazing glaunces which hee dartes at me: but growne he is so bolde and shamelesse, that euen yesterday, (as I tolde you) he sent a woman to me, one of his Pando­raes) as it appeared, and as if I had wanted either Purses or Girdles, he sent me (by her) a Purse and a Girdle. Whereat I grew so grieuously of­fended, as had it not beene for my due respect and feare of God, and next the sacred reuerence I beare to you my ghostly Father; doubtlesse, I had done some wicked deede. Neuerthelesse, happily I withstood it, and will neither say or doe any thing in this case, till first I haue made it knowne to you.

Then I called to minde, that hauing redeliuered the Purse and Girdle to his shee messenger, (which brought them) with lookes sufficient to declare my discontentment: I called her backe againe, fearing least shee would keepe them to her selfe, and make him beleeue, that I had receiued them (as I haue heard such kind of women vse to doe sometimes) and in anger I snatcht them from her, and haue brought them hither to you, to the end that you may giue him them againe; and tell him, I haue no neede of any such things, thankes be to Heauen and my husband, as no woman can be better stored then I am. Wherefore good Father, purposely am I now come to you, and I beseech you accept my iust excuse, that if he wil not abstaine from thus molesting me, I will disclose it to my Husband, Fa­ther, and Brethren, whatsoeuer shall ensue thereon: for I had rather he should receiue the iniury (if needs it must come) then I to be causelesly blamed for him; wherein good Father tell me, if I doe not well. With many counterfet sobbes, sighes, and teares, these wordes were deliue­red; and drawing foorth from vnder her gowne, a very faire and rich purse, as also a Girdle of great worth, shee threw them into the Friers lap.

He verily beleeuing all this false report, beeing troubled in his minde thereat beyond measure, tooke the Gentlewoman by the hand, saying: Daughter, if thou be offended at these impudent follies, assuredly I can­not [Page] blame thee, nor will any wise man reprooue thee for it; and I com­mend thee for following my counsell. But let me alone for schooling of my Gentleman: ill hath he kept his promise made to mee; wherefore, in regard of his former offence, as also this other so lately committed, I hope to set him in such a heate, as shall make him leaue off from further iniury­ing thee. And in Gods name, suffer not thy selfe to be conquered by cho­ler, in disclosing this to thy kindred or husband, because too much harme may ensue thereon. But feare not any wrong to thy selfe; for, both before God and men, I am a true witnesse of thine honesty and vertue.

Now began she to appeare somewhat better comforted; & forbearing to play on this string any longer, as wel knowing the couetousnes of him and his equals she said. Holy Father, some few nights past, me thought in my sleepe, that diuers spirits of my kindred appeared to me in a vision, who (me thought) were in very great paines, and desired nothing els but Almes; especially my God-mother, who seemed to bee afflicted with such extreme pouerty, that it was most pittifull to behold. And I am half perswaded, that her torments are the greater, seeing mee troubled with such an enemy to goodnesse. Wherefore (good Father) to deliuer her soule and the others, out of those fearfull flames; among your infinit o­ther deuout prayers, I would haue you to say the fortie Masses of S. Gre­gory, as a meanes for their happy deliuerance, and so she put ten ducates into his hand. Which the holy man accepted thankfully, and with good words, as also many singular examples, confirmed her bountifull deuoti­on: and when he had giuen her his benediction, home she departed.

After that the Gentlewoman was gone, hee sent for his friend, whom she so much seemed to be troubled withall; and when he was come, hee beholding his Holy Father to looke discontentedly: thought, that now he should heare some newes from his Mistresse, and therefore expected what he would say. The Frier, falling into the course of his former repre­hensions, but yet in more rough and impatient manner, sharpely checkt him for his immodest behauiour towards the Gentlewoman, in sending her the Purse and Girdle. The Gentleman, who as yet could not guesse whereto his speeches tended; somewhat coldly and temperately, denied the sending of such tokens to her, to the end that he would not be vtterly discredited with the good man, if so bee the Gentlewoman had shewne him any such things. But then the Frier, waxing much more angry, stern­ly said. Bad man as thou art, how canst thou deny a manifest trueth? See sir, these are none of your amorous tokens? No, I am sure you doe not know them, nor euer saw them till now.

The Gentleman, seeming as if he were much ashamed, saide. Truely Father I do know them, and confesse that I haue done ill, and very great­ly offended: but now I will sweare vnto you, seeing I vnderstande how firmely she is affected, that you shall neuer heare any more complaints of me. Such were his vowes and protestations, as in the end the ghostly Fa­ther gaue him both the Purse and Girdle: then after he had preached, & seuerely coniured him, neuer more to vexe her with any gifts at all, and [Page 88] he binding himselfe thereto by a solemne promise, he gaue him license to depart. Now grew the Gentleman very iocond, being so surely certifyed of his Mistresses loue, and by tokens of such worthy esteeme; wherefore no sooner was hee gone from the Frier, but hee went into such a secret place, where he could let her behold at her Window, what precious to­kens he had receyued from her, whereof she was extraordinarily ioyfull, because her deuices grew still better and b [...]ter; nothing now wanting, but her husbands absence, vpon some iourney from the City, for the full effecting of her desire.

Within a few dayes after, such an occasion hapned, as her husband of necessity must iourney to Geneway; and no sooner was hee mounted on horsebacke, taking leaue of her and all his friends: but she, being sure hee was gone, went in all hast to her Ghostly Father; and, after a few faigned outward shewes, thus she spake. I must now plainly tell you, holy father, that I can no longer endure this wicked friend of yours; but because I promised you the other day, that I would not do any thing, before I had your counsell therein, I am now come to tell you, the iust reason of my anger, and full purpose to auoid all further mollestation.

Your friend I cannot terme him, but (questionles) a very diuel of hell. This morning, before the breake of day, hauing heard (but how, I know not) that my husband was ridden to Geneway: got ouer the wall into my Garden, and climbing vp a tree which standeth close before my chamber window, when I was fast asleepe, opened the Casement, and would haue entred in at the window. But, by great good fortune, I awaked and made shew of an open out-cry: but that he entreated mee, both for Gods sake and yours, to pardon him this error, and neuer after he would presume any more to offend me. When he saw, that (for your sake) I was silent, he closed fast the window againe, departed as he came, and since I neuer saw him, or heard any tidings of him. Now iudge you, holy Father, whether these be honest courses, or no, and to be endured by any ciuil Gentlewo­man; neither would I so patiently haue suffered this, but onely in my du­tifull reuerence to you.

The Ghostly Father hearing this, became the sorrowfullest man in the world, not knowing how to make her any answer, but only demanded of her diuers times, whether she knew him so perfectly, that she did nor mi­stake him for some other? Quoth she, I would I did not know him from any other. Alas deere daughter (replied the Frier) what can more be sayd in this case, but that it was ouer-much boldnesse, and very il done; & thou shewedst thy selfe a worthy wise woman, in sending him away so merci­fully, as thou didst. Once more I would entreat thee (deare and vertuous daughter) seeing grace hath hitherto kept thee from dishonor, and twice already thou hast credited my counsell, let me now aduise thee this last time. Spare speech, or complaining to any other of thy friends, and leaue it to me, to try if I can ouercome this vnchained diuel, whom I tooke to be a much more holy man. If I can recall him from this sensuall appetite, I shall account my labour well employed; but if I cannot do it, hence­forward [Page] (with my blessed benediction) I giue thee leaue to do, euen what thy heart will best tutor thee to. You see Sir (said shee) what manner of man he is, yet would I not haue you troubled or disobeyed, only I desire to liue without disturbance, which work (I beseech you) as best you may: for I promise you, good Father, neuer to solicite you more vppon this occasion: And so, in a pretended rage, shee returned backe from the ghostly Father.

Scarsely was she gone forth of the Church, but in commeth the man that had (supposedly) so much transgressed; and the Fryer taking him a­side, gaue him the most iniurious words that could be vsed to a man, cal­ling him disloyall, periured, and a traitor. Hee who had formerly twice perceiued, how high the holy mans anger mounted, did nothing but ex­pect what he wold say; and, like a man extreamly perplexed, stroue how to get it from him, saying; Holy Father, how come you to be so heinou­sly offended? What haue I done to incense you so strangely? Heare mee dishonest wretch answered the Frier, listen what I shall say vnto thee. Thou answerest me, as if it were a yeare or two past, since so foule abuses were by thee committed, & they almost quite out of thy remembrance. But tell me wicked man, where wast thou this morning, before breake of the day? Wheresoeuer I was, replyed the Gentleman, mee thinkes the tidings come very quickly to you. It is true, said the Frier, they are spee­dily come to me indeed, and vpon vrgent necessity.

After a little curbing in of his wrath, somewhat in a milder strain, thus he proceeded. Because the Gentlewomans husband is iourneyed to Ge­neway, proues this a ladder to your hope, that to embrace her in your armes, you must climbe ouer the Garden wall, like a treacherous robber in the night season, mount vp a tree before her Chamber window, open the Casement, as hoping to compasse that by importunity, which her spotlesse chastity will neuer permit. There is nothing in the world, that possibly she can hate more then you, and yet you will loue her whether she will or no. Many demonstrations her selfe hath made to you, how retrograde you are to any good conceit of her, & my louing admonish­ments might haue had better successe in you, then as yet they shewe by outward apparance. But one thing I must tell you, her silent sufferance of your iniuries all this while, hath not bin in any respect of you, but at my earnest entreaties, and for my sake. But now shee will be patient no lon­ger, and I haue giuen her free license, if euer heereafter you offer to at­tempt her any more, to make her complaint before her Brethren, which wil redound to your no meane danger.

The Gentleman, hauing wisely collected his Loue-lesson out of the Holy Fathers angry words, pacified the good old man so wel as he could with very solemne promises and protestations, that he should heare (no more) any misbehauiour of his. And being gone from him, followed the instructions giuen in her complaint, by climbing ouer the Garden Wall, ascending the Tree, and entering at the Casement, standing ready open to welcome him. Thus the Friers simplicity, wrought on by her [Page 89] most ingenuous subtiltie, made way to obtaine both their longing de­sires.

The fourth Nouell.

AFter that Philomena had fini­shed her Tale, she sate still; and Dioneus with faire and plea­sing Language) commended the Gentlewomans quaint cunning, but smiled at the Confessors wit­lesse simplicity. Then the Queen, turning with chearefull looks to­wards Pamphilus, commaunded him to continue on their delight; who gladly yeelded, and thus be­gan. Madame, many men there are, who while they striue to climbe from a good estate, to a seeming better; doe become in much worse condition then they were before. As happened to a neighbour of ours, and no long time since, as the accident will better acquaint you withall.

According as I haue heard it reported, neere to Saint Brancazio, there dwelt an honest man, and some-what rich, who was called Puccio di Ri­nieri, and who addicted all his paines and endeuours to Alchimy: where­fore, he kept no other family, but onely a widdowed daughter, and a ser­uant; and because he had no other Art or exercise, hee vsed often to fre­quent the market place. And in regard he was but a weake witted man, and a gourmand or grosse feeder; his language was the more harsh and rude, like to our common Porters or loutish men, and his carriage also absurd, boore-like, and clownish. His daughter, being named Monna I­sabetta, aged not aboue eight and twenty, or thirty yeers; was a fresh in­different faire, plumpe, round woman, cherry cheekt, like a Queene-Ap­ple; and, to please her Father, fed not so sparingly, as otherwise she wold haue done, but when she communed or iested with any body, she would talke of nothing, but onely concerning the great vertue in Alchimy, ex­tolling it aboue all other Arts.

Much about this season of the yeare, there returned a young Scholler [Page] from Paris, named Felice, faire of complexion, comely of person, ingeni­ously witted, and skilfully learned, who (soone after) grew into familia­rity with Puccio: now because he could resolue him in many doubts, de­pending on his profession of Alchimy, (himselfe hauing onely practise, but no great learning) he vsed many questions to him, shewed him very especiall matters of secrecy, entertaining him often to dinners and sup­pers, whensoeuer he pleased to come and conuerse with him; and his daughter likewise, perceiuing with what fauour her Father respected him, became the more familiar with him, allowing him good regard and reue­rence.

The young man continuing his resort to the House of Puccio, and ob­seruing the widow to be faire, fresh, and prettily formall; he began to con­sider with himselfe, what those things might be, wherein shee was most wanting; and (if he could) to saue anothers labour, supply them by his best endeauours. Thus not alwayes carrying his eyes before him, but vsing many backe and circumspect regards, he proceeded so farre in his wylie apprehensions, that (by a few sparkes close kept together) he kindled part of the same fire in her, which began to flame apparantly in him. And he very wittily obseruing the same, as occasion first smiled on him, and al­lowed him fauourable opportunity, so did hee impart his intention to her.

Now albeit he found her plyant enough, to gaine physick for her owne griefe, as soone as his; yet the meanes and manner were (as yet) quite out of all apprehension. For shee in no other part of the World, would trust her selfe in the young mans company, but onely in her Fathers house; and that was a place out of all possibility, because Puccio (by a long continued custome) vsed to watch well neere all the night, as commonly he did, each night after other, neuer stirring foorth of the roomes, which much abated the edge of the young mans appetite. After infinite intricate reuoluings, wheeling about his busied braine, he thought it not altogether an Hercu­lian taske, to enioy his happinesse in the house, and without any suspition, albeit Puccio kept still within doores, and watched as hee was wont to doe.

Vpon a day as he sate in familiar conference with Puccio, he began to speake vnto him in this manner; I haue many times noted, kinde friend Puccio, that all thy desire and endeauour is, by what meanes thou mayest become very rich, wherein (me thinkes) thou takest too wide a course, when there is a much neere and shorter way, which Mighell, Scotus, and other his associates, very diligently obserued and followed, yet were neuer willing to instruct other men therein; whereby the misterie might be drowned in obliuion, and prosecuted by none but onely great Lords, that are able to vndergoe it. But because thou art mine especiall friend, and I haue receiued from thee infinite kind fauours; whereas I neuer intended, that any man (by me) should be acquainted with so rare a secret; if thou wilt imitate the course as I shall shew thee, I purpose to teach it thee in full perfection. Puccio being very earnestly desirous to vnderstand the [Page 90] speediest way to so singular a mysterie, first began to entreat him (with no meane instance) to acquaint him with the rules of so rich a Science; and afterward sware vnto him, neuer to disclose it to any person, except hee gaue his consent thereto; affirming beside, that it was a rarity, not easie to be comprehended by very apprehensiue iudgements. Well (quoth Felice) seeing thou hast made me such a sound and solemne promise, I will make it knowne vnto thee.

Know then friend Puccio, the Philosophers do hold, that such as couet to become rich indeed, must vnderstand how to make the Stone: as I will tell thee how, but marke the manner very heedfully. I do not say, that af­ter the Stone is obtained, thou shalt be euen as rich as now thou art; but thou shalt plainly perceiue, that the very grosest substances, which hither­to thou hast seene, all of them shalbe made pure golde, and such as after­ward thou makest, shall be more certaine, then to go or come with Aqua fortis, as now they do. Most expedient is it therefore, that when a man will go diligently about this businesse, and purposeth to prosecute such a singular labour, which will and must continue for the space of 40. nights, must giue very carefull attendance, wholly abstaining from sleepe, slum­bering, or so much as nodding all that while.

Moreouer, in some apt and conuenient place of thy house, there must be a forge or furnace erected, framed in decent and formall fashion, and neere it a large table placed, ordered in such sort, as standing vpright on thy feete, and leaning the reines of thy backe against it; thou must stande stedfastly in that maner euery night, without the least motion or stirring, vntill the breake of day appeareth, and thine eyes still vppon the Furnace fixed, to keepe euer in memory, the true order which I haue prescribed. So soone as the morning is seene, thou mayst (if thou wilt) walke, or rest a little vpon thy bed, and afterward go about thy businesse, if thou haue any. Then go to dinner, attending readily till the euenings approch, pre­paring such things as I will readily set thee downe in writing, vvithout which there is not any thing to bee done; and then returne to the same taske againe, not varying a iot from the course directed. Before the time be fully expired, thou shalt perceiue many apparant signes, that the stone is still in absolute forwardnesse, but it will bee vtterly lost if thou fayle in the least of all the obseruances. And when the experience hath crowned thy labour, thou art sure to haue the Philosophers stone, and thereby shalt be able to enrich all, and worke wonders beside.

Puccio instantly replied. Now trust me Sir, there is a great difficultie in this labour, neither doth it require any extraordinary length of time: but it may very easily be followed and performed, and (by your friendly fauour, in helping to direct the Furnace and Table, according as you i­magine most conuenient) on Sunday at night next, I will begin my task. The Scholler being gone, he went to his daughter, and tolde her all the matter, and what he had determined to do: which shee immediately vn­derstood sufficiently, and what would ensue on his nightly watching in that manner, returning him answer, that whatsoeuer he liked and allow­ed [Page] of, it became not her any way to mislike. Thus they continued in this kinde concordance, till Sunday night came. When Puccio was to begin his experience, and Felice to set forward vpon his aduenture. Concluded it was, that euery night the Scholler must come to Supper, partly to bee a witnesse of his constant performance, but more especially for his owne aduantage.

The place which Puccio had chosen, for his hopefull attaining to the Philosophers Stone, was close to the Chamber where his daughter lay, hauing no other separation or diuision, but an old ruinous tottring wall. So that, when the Scholler was playing his prize, Puccio heard an vn­wonted noise in the house, which he had neuer obserued before, neither knew the wall to haue any such motion: wherefore, not daring to stirre from his standing, least all should be marrd in the very beginning, he cal­led to his daughter, demanding, what busie labour she was about? The widdow, being much addicted to frumping, according as questions were demanded of her, and (perhaps) forgetting who spake to her, pleasant­ly replied: Whoop Sir, where are we now? Are the Spirits of Alchimy walking in the house, that we cannot lye quietly in our beds?

Puccio meruailing at this answer, knowing she neuer gaue him the like before; demanded againe, what she did? The subtle wench, remembring that she had not answered as became her, said: Pardon mee Father, my wits were not mine owne, when you demanded such a sodaine question; and I haue heard you say an hundred times, that when folke go supperles to bed, either they walke in their sleepe, or being awake, talke very idely, as (no doubt) you haue discernde by me. Nay daughter (quoth he) it may be, that I was in a waking dreame, and thought I heard the olde wall tot­ter: but I see I was deceiued, for now it is quiet and still enough. Talke no more good Father, saide she, least you stirre from your place, and hin­der your labour: take no care for mee, I am able enough to haue care of my selfe.

To preuent any more of these mighty disturbances, they went to lodge in another part of the house, where they continued out the time of Puc­cioes paines, with equall contentment to them both, which made her di­uers times say to Felice: You teach my father the cheefe grounds of Al­chimy, while we helpe to waste away his treasure. Thus the Scholler be­ing but poore, yet well forwarded in Learning, made vse of Puccioes fol­ly, and found benefit thereby, to keepe him out of wants, which is the bane and ouerthrow of numberlesse good wits. And Puccio dying, be­fore the date of his limitted time, because hee failed of the Philosophers Stone, Isabetta ioyned in marriage with Felice, to make him amends for enstructing her father, by which meanes he came to be her husband.

The fifth Nouell.

PAmphilus hauing ended the Nouell of Puccio the Alchi­mist, the Queene fixing her eye on Madam Eliza, gaue order, that shee should succeede with hers next. When shee asking somewhat more austerely, then any of the rest, not in any spleen, but as it was her vsuall manner, thus began. The World contai­neth some particular people▪ who doe beleeue (because them­selues know something) that o­thers are ignorant in all things; who for the most part, while they intend to make a scorne of other men, vpon the proofe, doe find [...] themselues to carry away the scorne. And therefore I account it no meane follie in them▪ who (vpon no occasion) will tempt the power of another mans wit or experience. But because all men and women (per­haps) are not of mine opinion; I meane that you shall perceiue it more apparantly, by an accident happening to a Knight of Pistoia, as you shall heare by me related.

In the Towne of Pistoia, bordering vpon Florence, there liued not long since, a Knight named Signior Francesco, descended of the linage or fa­mily of the Vergellisi, a man very rich, wise, and in many things proui­dent, but gripple, couetous, and too close handed, without respect to his vvorth and reputation. He being called to the Office of Podesta in the City of Millaine, furnished himselfe with all things (in honourable man­ner) beseeming such a charge; only, a comely horse (for his owne saddle) excepted, vvhich he knew not by any meanes how to compasse, so loath he vvas to lay out money, albeit his credit much depended thereon.

At the same time, there liued in Pistoya likewise, a young man, named Ricciardo, deriued of meane birth, but very wealthy, quicke witted, and of commendable person, alwayes going so neate, fine, and formall in his ap­parrell, that he was generally tearmed the Magnifico, who had long time affected, yea, and closely courted, (though without any aduantage or successe) the Lady and Wife of Signior Francesco, who was very beauti­full, [Page] vertuous, and chaste. It so chanced, that this Magnifico had the very choysest and goodliest ambling Gelding in all Tuscanie, which he loued dearely, for his faire forme, and other good parts. Vpon a flying rumor throughout Pistoria, that he daily made loue to the fore-said Lady; some busie body, put it into the head of Signior Francesco, that if he pleased to request the Gelding, the Magnifico would frankly giue it him, in regard of the loue he bare to his Wife.

The base minded Knight, coueting to haue the Horse, and yet not to part with any money, sent for the Magnifico, desiring to buy his faire Gelding of him, because he hoped to haue him of free gift. The Magni­fico hearing his request, was not a little ioyfull hereof, and thus answe­red; Sir, if you would giue me all the wealth which you possesse in this World, I will not sell you my Horse, rather I will bestow him on you as a Gentlemanly gift; but yet vpon this condition, that before you haue him deliuered, I may with your lisence, and in your presence speake a few words to your vertuous Ladie, and so farre off in distance from you, as I may not be heard by any, but onely her selfe. Signior Francesco, whol­ly conducted by his base auaricious desire, and meaning to make a scorne at the Magnifico, made answere; that he was well contented, to let him speake with her when he would, and leauing him in the great Hall of the house, he went to his Wiues Chamber, and told her, how easily he might enioy the House; commanding her forth-with, to come and heare what he could say to her, onely shee should abstaine, and not returne him any answer. The Lady with a modest blush, much condemned this folly in him, that his couetousnesse should serue as a cloake, to couer any vnfit­ting speeches, which her chaste eares could neuer endure to heare: ne­uerthelesse, being to obey her Husbands will, shee promised to doe it, and followed him downe into the House, to heare what the Magnifico would say. Againe, he there confirmed the bargaine made with her Hus­band, and sitting downe by her in a corner of the Hall, farre enough off from any ones hearing, taking her curteously by the hand, thus he spake.

Worthy Lady, it appeareth to me for a certainty, that you are so tru­ly wise, as you haue (no doubt) a long while since perceiued, what vnfai­ned affection your beauty (farre excelling all other womens that I know) hath compelled me to beare you. Setting aside those commendable qua­lities, and singular vertues, gloriously shining in you, and powerfull e­nough to make a conquest of the very stoutest courage: I held it vtterly needlesse, to let you vnderstand by words, how faithfull the loue is I beare you, were it not much more feruent and constant, then euer any other man can expresse to a woman. In which condition it shall still continue, without the least blemish or impaire, so long as I enioy life or motion; yea, and I dare assure you, that if in the future World, affection may con­taine the same powerfull dominion, as it doth in this; I am the man, borne to loue you perpetually. Whereby you may rest confidently perswaded, that you enioy not any thing, how poore or precious soeuer it be, which you can so solemnely account to be your owne, and in the truest title of right, as you may my selfe, in all that I haue, or for euer shall be mine.

[Page 92] To confirme your opinion in this case, by any argument of greater po­wer, let me tell you, that I should repute it as my fairest and most graci­ous fortune, if you would command me some such seruice, as consisteth in mine ability to performe, and in your courteous fauour to accept, yea, if it were to trauaile thorow the whole world, right willing am I, and obe­dient. In which regard, faire Madame, if I be so much yours, as you heare I am, I may boldly aduenture (and not without good reason) to acquaint your chaste eares with my earnest desires, for on you onely de­pendeth my happinesse, life and absolute comfort, and as your most hum­ble seruant, I beseech you (my dearest good, and sole hope of my soule) that rigour may dwell no longer in your gentle brest, but Lady-like pitty and compassion: whereby I shal say, that as your diuine beauty enflamed mine affections, euen so it extended such a mercifull qualification, as ex­ceeded all my hope, but not the halfe part of your pitty.

Admit (miracle of Ladies) that I should die in this distresse: Alas, my death would be but your dishonour; I cannot be termed mine owne murtherer, when the Dart came from your eye that did it, and must re­maine a witnesse of your rigour. You cannot then chuse but call to minde, and say within your owne soule: Alas! what a sinne haue I com­mitted, in being so vnmercifull to my Magnifico. Repentance then serues to no purpose, but you must answere for such vnkinde cruelty. Where­fore, to preuent so blacke a scandall to your bright beauty, beside the ceaselesse acclamations, which will dogge your walkes in the day time, and breake your quiet sleepes in the night season, with fearefull sights and gastly apparitions, houering and haunting about your bed; let all these [...] you to milde mercy, and spill not life, when you may saue it.

So the Magnifico ceasing, with teares streaming from his eyes, and si [...]hes breaking from his heart, he sate still in exspectation of the Ladies answere, who made neither long or short of the matter, neither Tilts nor Tourneying, nor many lost mornings and euenings, nor infinite other such like offices, which the Magnifico (for her sake) from time to time had spent in vaine, without the least shew of acceptation, or any hope at all to winne her loue: Moued now in this very houre, by these solemne protestations, or rather most preuailing asseuerations; she began to finde that in her, which (before) she neuer felt, namely Loue. And although (to keepe her promise made to her husband) shee spake not a word: yet her heart heauing, her soule throbbing, sighes intermixing, and com­plexion altering, could not hide her intended answere to the Magnifico, if promise had beene no hinderance to her will. All this while the Mag­nifico sate as mute as she, and seeing she would not giue him any answere at all; he could not chuse but wonder thereat, yet at length perceiued, that it was thus cunningly contriued by her husband. Notwithstanding, obseruing well her countenance, that it was in a quite contrary temper, another kinde of fire sparkling in her eye, other humours flowing, her pulses strongly beating, her stomack rising, and sighes swelling; all these were arguments of a change, and motiues to aduance his hope. Taking [Page] courage by this tickling perswasion, and instructing his minde with a new kinde of counsell: he would needes answere himselfe on her behalfe, and as if she had vttered the words, he spake in this manner.

Magnifico, and my friend, surely it is a long time since, when I first noted thine affection towards me, to be very great and most perfect: but now I am much more certaine thereof, by thine owne honest and gentle speeches, which content me as they ought to doe. Neuerthelesse, if here­tofore I haue seemed cruell and vnkinde to thee, I would not haue thee thinke, that my heart was any way guilty of my outward seuerity; but did euermore loue thee, and held thee dearer then any man liuing. But yet it became me to doe so, as well in feare of others, as for the renowne of mine owne reputation. But now the time is at hand, to let thee know more clearely, whether I doe affect thee or no: as a iust guerdon of thy constant loue, which long thou hast, and still doest beare to me. Where­fore comfort thy selfe, and dwell vpon this vndoubted hope, because Sig­nior Francesco my husband, is to be absent hence for many dayes, being chosen Podesta at Millaine, as thou canst not chuse but heare, for it is common through the Country.

I know (for my sake) thou hast giuen him thy goodly ambling Gel­ding, and so soone as hee is gone, I promise thee vpon my word, and by the faithfull loue I beare thee: that I will haue further conference with thee, and let thee vnderstand somewhat more of my minde. And be­cause this is neither fitting time nor place, to discourse on matters of such serious moment; obserue heereafter, as a signall, when thou seest my crimson skarfe hanging in the window of my Chamber, which is vpon the Garden side; that euening (so soone as it is night) come to the Gar­den gate, with wary respect, that no eye doe discouer thee, and there thou shalt finde me walking, and ready to acquaint thee with other matters, ac­cording as I shall finde occasion.

When the Magnifico, in the person of the Lady, had spoken thus, then hee returned her this answere. Most vertuous Lady, my spirits are so transported with extraordinary ioy, for this your gracious and welcome answere; that my sences so fayle mee, and all my faculties quite forsake me, as I cannot giue you such thankes as I would. And if I could speake equally to my desire, yet the season sutes not therewith, neither were it conuenient that I should be so troublesome to you. Let me therefore humbly beseech you, that the desire I haue to accomplish your will (which words auaile not to expresse) may remaine in your kinde consi­deration. And, as you haue commaunded me, so will I not faile to per­forme it accordingly, and in more thankfull manner, then as yet I am able to let you know. Now there resteth nothing else to doe, but, vnder the protection of your gracious pardon, I to giue ouer speech, and you to attend your worthy husband.

Notwithstanding all that hee had spoken, yet shee replied not one word, wherefore the Magnifico arose, and returned to the Knight, who went to meete him, saying in a loude laughter. How now man? haue I [Page 93] not kept my promise with thee? No Sir, answered the Magnifico, for you promised I should speake with your wife, and you haue made mee talke to a marble Statue. This answere was greatly pleasing to the Knight, who, although hee had an vndoubted opinion of his wife; yet this did much more strengthen his beliefe, and hee said. Now thou confessest thy Gelding to bee mine? I doe, replied the Magnifico, but if I had thought, that no better successe would haue ensued on the bargaine; without your motion for the horse, I would haue giuen him you: and I am sorie that I did not, because now you haue bought my horse, and yet I haue not sold him. The Knight laughed heartily at this answere, and be­ing thus prouided of so faire a beast, he rode on his iourney to Millaine, and there entred into his authory of Podesta.

The Lady remained now in liberty at home, considering on the Mag­nificoes words, and likewise the Gelding, which (for her sake) was giuen to her husband. Oftentimes shee saw him passe to and fro before her win­dowe, still looking when the Flagge of defiance should be hanged forth, that hee might fight valiantly vnder her Colours. The Story saith, that among many of her much better meditations, she was heard to talke thus idely to her selfe. What doe I meane? Wherefore is my youth? The olde miserable man is gone to Millaine, and God knoweth when hee comes backe againe, euer, or neuer. Is dignity preferred before wed­lockes holy duty, and pleasures abroade, more then comforts at home? Ill can age pay youths arrerages, when time is spent, and no hope sparde. Actions omitted, are often times repented, but done in due season, they are sildome sorrowed for. Vpon these vn-Lady-like priuate consultati­ons, whether the window shewed the signall or no; it is no matter be­longing to my charge: I say, husbands are vnwise, to graunt such ill ad­uantages, and wiues much worse, if they take hold of them, onely iudge you the best, and so the Tale is ended.

The sixth Nouell.

NO more remained to be spoken by Madame Eliza, but the cunning of the Magnifico, being much commended by all the company: the Queene commanded Madame Fiammetta, to succeede next in order with one of her Nouels, who (smilingly) made answere that she would, and began thus. Gracious Ladies, me thinkes wee haue spoken enough al­ready, concerning our owne Citie, which as it aboundeth copiously in all commodities, so is it an example also to euery conuenient purpose. And [Page] as Madam Eliza hath done, by recounting occasions happening in ano­ther World, so must we now leape a little further off, euen so farre as Na­ples, to see how one of those Saint-like Dames, that nicely seemes to shun Loues allurings, was guided by the good spirit to a friend of hers, and ta­sted of the fruite, before shee knew the flowers. A sufficient warning for you, to apprehend before hand, what may follow after; and to let you see beside, that when an errour is committed, how to be discreete in keeping it from publike knowledge.

In the City of Naples, it being of great antiquity, and (perhaps) as pleasantly scituated, as any other City in all Italie, there dwelt sometime a young Gen­tleman, of noble parentage, and well knowne to be wealthy, na­med Ricciardo Minutolo, who, al­though hee had a Gentlewoman (of excellent beauty, and worthy the very kindest affecting) to his wife; yet his gadding eye gazed else-where, and he became ena­moured of another, which (in generall opinion) surpassed all the Neapolitane women else, in feature, fauour, and the choysest perfections, shee being named Madam Catulla, wife to as gallant a young Gentleman, called Philippello Fighinolfi, who most dearely he lo­ued beyond all other, for her vertue and admired chastity.

Ricciardo louing this Madam Catulla, and vsing all such meanes, where­by the grace and liking of a Lady might be obtained; found it yet a mat­ter beyond possibility, to compasse the height of his desire: so that many desperate and dangerous resolutions beleagred his braine, seeming so in­tricate, and vnlikely to affoord any hopefull issue, as he wished for no­thing more then death. And death (as yet) being deafe to all his earnest imprecations, delayed him on in lingering afflictions, and continuing still in such an extreame condition, he was aduised by some of his best friends, vtterly to abstaine from this fond pursuite, because his hopes were meerely in vaine, and Madam Catulla prized nothing more precious to her in the World, then vnstayned loyaltie to her Husband; and yet shee liued in such extreme iealousie of him, as fearing least some bird flying in the Ayre, should snatch him from her.

Ricciardo not vnacquainted with this her iealous humour, as well by credible hearing thereof, as also by daily obseruation; began to consider with himselfe, that it were best for him, to dissemble amorous affection in some other place, and (hence-forward) to set aside all hope, of euer en­ioying [Page 94] the loue of Madam Catulla, because he was now become the ser­uant to another Gentlewoman, pretending (in her honour) to performe many worthy actions of Armes, Iousts, Tournaments, and all such like noble exercises, as he was wont to doe for Madam Catulla. So that almost all the people of Naples, but especially Madam Catulla, became verily per­swaded, that his former fruitlesse loue to her was quite changed, and the new elected Lady had all the glory of his best endeauours, perseuering so long in this opinion, as now it passed absolutely for currant. Thus seemed he now as a meere stranger to her, whose house before he familiarly fre­quented; yet (as a neighbour) gaue her the dayes salutations, according as he chanced to see her, or meete her.

It came to passe, that it being now the delightfull Summer season, when all Gentlemen and Gentlewomen vsed to meete together (accor­ding to a custome long obserued in that Countrey) sporting along on the Sea Coast, dining and supping there very often. Ricciardo Minutolo hap­pened to heare, that Madam Catulla (with a company of her friends) in­tended also to be present there among them, at which time, consorted with a seemely traine of his confederates, he resorted thither, and was gra­ciously welcommed by Madam Catulla, where he pretended no willing long time of tarrying; but that Catulla and the other Ladies were faine to entreate him, discoursing of his loue to his new elected Mistresse: which Minutolo graced with so solemne a countenance, as it ministred much more matter of conference, all coueting to know what shee was.

So farre they walked, and held on this kinde of discoursing, as euery Lady and Gentlewoman, waxing weary of too long a continued argu­ment, began to separate her selfe with such an associate as shee best liked, and as in such walking women are wont to doe; so that Madam Catulla hauing few females left with her, stayed behind with Minutolo, who sud­denly shot foorth a word, concerning her husband Philippello, & of his lo­uing another woman beside her selfe. She that was ouermuch iealous be­fore, became so suddenly set on fire, to know what shee was of whom Mi­nutolo spake; as shee sate silent a long while, till being able to containe no longer, shee entreated Ricciardo, euen for the Ladies sake, whose loue he had so deuoutly embraced, to resolue her certainely, in this strange alte­ration of her Husband; whereunto thus he answered.

Madam, you haue so straitly coniured me, by vrging the remembrance of her; for whose sake I am not able to denie any thing you can demand, as I am ready therein to pleasure you. But first you must promise me, that neither you, or any other person for you, shall at any time disclose it to your Husband, vntill you haue seene by effect, that which I haue tolde you proueth to be true: and when you please, I will instruct you how your selfe shall see it. The Lady was not a little ioyfull, to be thus satisfied in her Husbands follie, and constantly crediting his words to be true, shee sware a solemne oath, that no one aliue should euer know it. So stepping a little further aside, because no listening eare should heare him, thus he beganne.

[Page] Lady, if I did loue you now so effectually, as heretofore I haue done, I should be very circumspect, in vttering any thing which I imagined might distaste you. I know not whether your Husband Philippello, were at any time offended; because I affected you, or beleeued, that I receiued any kindnesse from you: but whether it were so or no, I could neuer dis­cerne it by any outward apparance. But now awaiting for the opportu­nity of time, which he conceiued should affoord me the least suspition; he seekes to compasse that, which (I doubt) he feares I would haue done to him, in plaine termes Madam, to haue his pleasure of my wife. And as by some carriages I haue obserued, within few dayes past, he hath solicited and pursued his purpose very secretly, by many Ambassages, and other meanes, as (indeede) I haue learned from her selfe, and alwayes shee hath returned in such answers, as shee receiued by my direction.

And no longer agoe Madam, then this very morning, before my com­ming hither, I found a woman messenger in my House, in very close con­ference with my Wife, when growing doubtfull of that which was true indeede, I called my Wife, enquiring, what the woman would haue with her, and shee tolde me it was another pursuite of Philippello Fighinolfi, who (quoth shee) vpon such answers as you haue caused me to send him from time to time, perhaps doth gather some hope of preuailing in the ende, which maketh him still to importune me as he doth. And now he aduen­tureth so farre, as to vnderstand my finall intention, hauing thus ordered his complot, that when I please, I must meete him secretly in an house of this City, where he hath prepared a Bath ready for me, and hopeth to en­ioy the ende of his desire, as very earnestly he hath solicited me thereto. But if you had not commanded me, to hold him in suspence with so ma­ny friuolous answers; I would (long ere this) haue sent him such a message, as should haue beene little to his liking.

With patience (Madam) I endured all before, but now (me thinkes) he proceedeth too farre, which is not any way to be suffered; and there­fore I intended to let you know it, whereby you may perceiue, how well you are rewarded, for the faithfull and loyall loue you beare him, and for which I was euen at the doore of death. Now, because you may be the su­rer of my speeches, not to be any lies or fables, and that you may (if you be so pleased) approue the trueth by your owne experience: I caused my Wife to send him word, that shee would meete him to morrow, at the Bathing-house appointed, about the houre of noone-day, when people repose themselues, in regard of the heates violence; with which answere the woman returned very iocondly. Let me now tell you Lady, I hope you haue better opinion of my wit, then any meaning in me, to send my wife thither; I rather did it to this ende, that hauing acquainted you with his treacherous intent, you should supply my wiues place, by sauing both his reputation and your owne, and frustrating his vnkind purpose to me. Moreouer, vpon the view of his owne delusion, wrought by my wife in meere loue to you, he shall see his foule shame, and your most noble care, to keepe the rites of marriage betweene you still vnstained.

[Page 95] Madame Catulla, hauing heard this long and vnpleasing report; with­out any consideration, either what he was that tolde the tale, or what a treason he intended against her: immediately (as iealous persons vse to doe) she gaue faith to his forgerie, and began to discourse many things to him, which imagination had often misguided her in, against her honest minded husband, and enflamed with rage, suddenly replied; that shee would doe according as he had aduised her, as being a matter of no diffi­culty. But if he came, she would so shame and dishonour him, as no wo­man whatsoeuer should better schoole him. Ricciardo highly pleased herewith, & being perswaded, that his purpose would take the full effect: confirmed the Lady in her determination with many words more; yet putting her in memory, to keepe her faithfull promise made, without reuealing the matter to any liuing person, as shee had sworne vpon her faith.

On the morrow morning, Ricciardo went to an auncient woman of his acquaintance, who was the Mistresse of a Bathing-house, and there where he had appointed Madame Catulla, that the Bath should be prepared for her, giuing her to vnderstand the whole businesse, and desiring her to be fauourable therein to him. The woman, who had beene much behold­ing to him in other matters, promised very willingly to fulfill his request, concluding with him, both what should be done and said. She had in her house a very darke Chamber, without any window to affoord it the least light, which Chamber shee had made ready, according to Ricciardoes di­rection, with a rich Bed therein, so soft and delicate as possible could be, wherein he entred so soone as he had dined, to attend the arriuall of Ma­dame Catulla. On the same day, as she had heard the speeches of Ricciar­do, and gaue more credit to them then became her; shee returned home to her house in wonderfull impatience. And Philippello her husband came home discontentedly too, whose head being busied about some worldly affaires, perhaps he looked not so pleasantly, neither vsed her so kindly, as he was wont to doe. Which Catulla perceiuing, shee was ten times more suspicious then before, saying to her selfe. Now apparant trueth doth disclose it selfe, my husbands head is troubled now with nothing else, but Ricciardoes wife, with whom (to morrow) he purposeth his meeting; wherein he shall be disappointed, if I liue; taking no rest at all the whole night, for thinking how to handle her husband.

What shall I say more? On the morrow, at the houre of mid-day, accompanied onely with her Chamber-mayde, and without any other alteration in opinion; shee went to the house where the Bath was pro­mised, and meeting there with the olde woman, demaunded of her, if Philippello were come thither as yet or no? The woman, being well in­structed by Ricciardo, answered: Are you shee that should meete him heere. Yes, replied Catulla. Goe in then to him (quoth the woman) for he is not farre off before you.

Madame Catulla, who went to seeke that which she would not finde, being brought vailed into the darke Chamber where Ricciardo was, en­tred [Page] into the Bath, hoping to finde none other there but her husband, and the custome of the Countrey, neuer disallowed such meetings of men with their wiues, but held them to be good and commendable. In a counterfeit voyce he bad her welcome, and she, not seeming to be any other then she was indeed, entertained his embracings in as louing man­ner; yet not daring to speake, least he should know her, but suffered him to proceede in his owne errour.

Let passe the wanton follies passing betweene them, and come to Madame Catulla, who finding it a fit and conuenient time, to vent forth the tempest of her spleene, began in this manner. Alas! how mighty are the misfortunes of women, and how ill requited is the loyall loue, of many wiues to their husbands? I, a poore miserable Lady, who, for the space of eight yeares now fully compleated, haue loued thee more dearely then mine owne life, finde now (to my hearts endlesse griefe) how thou wastest and consumest thy desires, to delight them with a strange woman, like a most vile and wicked man as thou art. With whom doest thou now imagine thy selfe to be? Thou art with her, whom thou hast long time deluded by false blandishments, feigning to affect her, when thou doatest in thy desires else-where. I am thine owne Catulla, and not the wife of Ricciardo, trayterous and vnfaithfull man, as thou art. I am sure thou knowest my voyce, and I thinke it a thou­sand yeares, vntill wee may see each other in the light, to doe thee such dishonour as thou iustly deseruest, dogged, disdainefull, and villainous wretch. By conceiuing to haue another woman in the wanton embra­ces, thou hast declared more iouiall disposition, and demonstrations of farre greater kindnesse, then domesticke familiarity. At home thou lookest sower, sullen or surly, often froward, and sildome well pleased. But the best is, whereas thou intendest this husbandrie for another mans ground, thou hast (against thy will) bestowed it on thine owne, and the water hath runne a contrary course, quite from the current where thou meantst it.

What answere canst thou make, deuill, and no man? What, haue my words smitten thee dumbe? Thou mayest (with shame enough) hold thy peace, for with the face of a man, and loue of an husband to his wife, thou art not able to make any answere.

Ricciardo durst not speake one word, but still expressed his affable be­hauiour towards her, bestowing infinite embraces and kisses on her: which so much the more augmented her rage and anger, continuing on her chiding thus. If by these flatteries and idle follies, thou hopest to comfort or pacifie me, thou runnest quite by as from thy reckoning: for I shall neuer imagine my selfe halfe satisfied, vntill in the presence of my parents, friends, and neighbours, I haue reuealed thy base behaui­our. Tell mee, treacherous man, am not I as faire, as the wife of Ric­ciardo? Am I not as good a Gentlewoman borne, as shee is? What canst thou more respect in her, then is in mee? Villaine, monster, why doest thou not answere mee? I will send to Ricciardo, who loueth mee [Page 96] beyond all other women in Naples, and yet could neuer vaunt, that I gaue him so much as a friendly looke: he shall know, what a dishonour thou hadst intended towards him; which both he and his friends will reuenge soundly vpon thee.

The exclamations of the Lady were so tedious and irksome, that Ricci­ardo perceiuing, if she continued longer in these complaints, worse would ensue thereon, then could be easily remedied: resolued to make himselfe knowne to her, to reclaime her out of this violent extasie, and holding her somewhat strictly, to preuent her escaping from him, he said. Madam, afflict your selfe no further, for, what I could not obtaine by simply lo­uing you, subtilty hath better taught me, and I am your Ricciardo, which she hearing, and perfectly knowing him by his voyce; shee would haue leapt out of the Bath, but shee could not, and to auoyde her crying out, he layde his hand on her mouth, saying. Lady, what is done, cannot now be vndone, albeit you cried out all your life time. If you exclaime, or make this knowne openly by any meanes; two vnauoydable dangers must needes ensue thereon. The one (which you ought more carefully to respect) is the wounding of your good renowne and honour, because, when you shall say, that by treacherie I drew you hither: I will boldly maintaine the contrary, auouching, that hauing corrupted you with gold, and not giuing you so much as couetously you desired; you grew offended, and thereon made the out-cry, and you are not to learne, that the world is more easily induced to beleeue the worst, then any good­nesse, be it neuer so manifest. Next vnto this, mortall hatred must arise betweene your husband and me, and (perhaps) I shall as soone kill him, as he mee; whereby you can hardly liue in any true contentment after. Wherefore, ioy of my life, doe not in one moment, both shame your selfe, and cause such perill betweene your husband and me: for you are not the first, neither can be the last, that shall be deceiued. I haue not be­guiled you, to take any honour from you, but onely declared, the faith­full affection I beare you, and so shall doe for euer, as being your boun­den and most obedient seruant; and as it is a long time agoe, since I de­dicated my selfe and all mine to your seruice, so hence-forth must I re­maine for euer. You are wise enough (I know) in all other things; then shew your selfe not to be silly or simple in this.

Ricciardo vttered these words, teares streaming aboundantly downe his cheekes, and Madame Catulla (all the while) likewise showred forth her sorrowes equally to his, now, although she was exceedingly troubled in minde, and saw what her owne iealous folly had now brought her to, a shame beyond all other whatsoeuer: in the midst of her tormenting passions, she considered on the words of Ricciardo, found good reason in them, in regard of the vnauoydable euils, whereupon shee thus spake. Ricciardo, I know not how to beare the horrible iniurie, and notorious treason vsed by thee against me, grace and goodnesse hauing so forsaken me, to let me fall in so foule a manner. Nor becommeth it me, to make any noyse or out-cry heere, whereto simplicity, or rather deuillish iea­lousie, [Page] did conduct me. But certaine I am of one thing, that I shall neuer see any one ioyfull day, till (by one meanes or other I be reuenged on thee. Thou hast glutted thy desire with my disgrace, let me therefore goe from thee, neuer more to looke vpon my wronged husband, or let any honest woman euer see my face.

Ricciardo perceiuing the extremity of her perplexed minde, vsed all manly and milde perswasions, which possibly he could deuise to doe, to turne the torrent of this high tide, to a calmer course; as by outward shew shee made apparance of, vntill (in frightfull feares shunning euery one shee met withall, as arguments of her guiltinesse) shee recouered her owne house, where remorse so tortured her distressed soule, that shee fell into so fierce a melancholy, as neuer left her till shee died. Vpon the re­port whereof, Ricciardo becomming likewise a widdower, and grieuing extraordinarily for his haynous transgression, penitently betooke him­selfe to liue in a wildernesse, where (not long after) he ended his dayes.

The seauenth Nouell.

SO ceased Fiametta her dis­course, being generally com­mended, when the Queene, to preuent the losse of time, com­manded Aemillia to follow next, who thus began. It liketh me best (gracious Ladies) to returne home againe to our owne City, which it pleased the former two discoursers to part from: And there I will shew you, how a Ci­tizen of ours, recouered the kind­nesse of his Loue, after he had lost it.

Sometime there dwelt in Flo­rence a young gentleman, named Thebaldo Elisci, descended of a noble House, who became ear­nestly enamored of a Widdow, called Hermelina, the daughter to Aldo­brandino Palermini: well deseruing, for his vertues and commendable [Page 97] qualities, to enioy of her whatsoeuer he could desire. Secretly they were espoused together, but Fortune, the enemy to Louers felicities, opposed her malice against them, in depriuing Thebaldo of those deare delights, which sometime he held in free possession, and making him as a stranger to her gracious fauours. Now grew shee contemptibly to despise him, not onely denying to heare any message sent from him, but scorning also to vouchsafe so much as a sight of him, causing in him extreme griefe and melancholy, yet concealing all her vnkindnesse so wisely to himselfe, as no one could vnderstand the reason of his sadnesse.

After he had laboured by all hopefull courses, to obtaine that fauour of her, which he had formerly lost, without any offence in him, as his in­nocent soule truly witnessed with him, and saw that all his further endea­uours were fruitlesse and in vaine; he concluded to retreate himselfe from the World, and not to be any longer irkesome in her eye, that was the onely occasion of his vnhappinesse. Hereupon, storing himselfe with such summes of money, as suddenly he could collect together, secretly he departed from Florence, without speaking any word to his friends or kin­dred; except one kind companion of his, whom he acquainted with most of his secrets, and so trauelled to Ancona, where he termed himselfe by the name of Sandolescio. Repairing to a wealthy Merchant there, he placed himselfe as his seruant, and went in a Ship of his with him to Cyprus; his actions and behauiour proued so pleasing to the Merchant, as not onely he allowed him very sufficient wages, but also grew into such association with him; as he gaue the most of his affaires into his hands, which he gui­ded with such honest and discreete care, that he himselfe (in few yeeres compasse) proued to be a rich Merchant, and of famous report.

While matters went on in this successefull manner, although he could not chuse, but still he remembred his cruell Mistresse, and was very des­perately transported for her loue, as coueting (aboue all things e [...]se) to see her once more; yet was he of such powerfull constancy, as 7. whole yeers together, he vanquished all those fierce conflicts. But on a day it chanced he heard a song sung in Cyprus, which he himselfe had formerly made, in honour of the loue he bare to his Mistresse, and what delight he concei­ued, by being daily in her presence; whereby he gathered, that it was im­possible for him to forget her, and proceeded on so desirously, as he could not liue, except he had a sight of her once more, and therefore determi­ned on his returne to Florence. Hauing set all his affaires in due order, ac­companied with a seruant of his onely, he passed to Ancona, where when he was arriued, he sent his Merchandises to Florence, in name of the Mer­chant of Ancona, who was his especiall friend and partner; trauayling him­selfe alone with his seruant, in the habite of a Pilgrime, as if he had beene newly returned from Ierusalem.

Being come to Florence, he went to an Inne kept by two bretheren, neere neighbours to the dwelling of his Mistresse, and the first thing he did, was passing by her doore, to get a sight of her if he were so happie. But he found the windowes, doores, and all parts of the house fast shut [Page] vp, whereby he suspected her to be dead, or else to be changed from her dwelling: wherefore (much perplexed in minde) he went on to the two brothers Inne, finding foure persons standing at the gate, attired in mour­ning, whereat he maruelled not a little; knowing himselfe to be so trans­figured, both in body and habite, farre from the manner of common vse at his parting thence, as it was a difficult matter to know him: he stept boldly to a Shooe-makers shop neere adioyning, and demanded the rea­son of their wearning mourning. The Shoo-maker made answer thus; Sir, those men are clad in mourning, because a brothers of theirs, being na­med Thebaldo (who hath beene absent hence a long while) about some fif­teene dayes since was slaine. And they hauing heard, by proofe made in the Court of Instice, that one Aldobrandino Palermini (who is kept close prisoner) was the murtherer of him, as he came in a disguised habite to his daughter, of whom he was most affectionately enamoured; cannot chuse, but let the World know by their outward habites, the inward affliction of their hearts, for a deede so dishonourably committed.

Thebaldo wondered greatly hereat, imagining, that some man belike re­sembling him in shape, might be slaine in this manner, and by Aldobr an­dino, for whose misfortune he grieued maruellously. As concerning his Mistresse, he vnderstood that shee was liuing, and in good health; and night drawing on apace, he went to his lodging, with infinite molestati­ons in his minde, where after supper, he was lodged in a Corne-loft with his man. Now by reason of many disturbing imaginations, which inces­santly wheeled about his braine, his bed also being none of the best, and his supper (perhaps) somewhat of the coursest; a great part of the night was spent, yet could he not close his eyes together. But lying still broade awake, about the dead time of night, he heard the treading of diuers per­sons ouer his head, who discended downe a paire of stayres by his Cham­ber, into the lower parts of the house, carrying a light with them, which he discerned by the chinkes and crannies in the wall. Stepping softly out of his bed, to see what the meaning hereof might be, he espied a faire young woman, who carried the light in her hand, and three men in her company, descending downe the stayres together, one of them speaking thus to the young woman. Now we may boldly warrant our safety, be­cause we haue heard it assuredly, that the death of Thebaldo Elisei, hath beene sufficiently approued by the Brethren, against Aldobrandino Paler­mini, and he hath confessed the fact; whereupon the sentence is already set downe in writing. But yet it behoueth vs notwithstanding, to con­ceale it very secretly, because if euer hereafter it should be knowne, that we are they who murthered him, we shall be in the same danger, as now Aldobrandino is.

When Thebaldo had heard these words, hee began to consider with himselfe, how many and great the dangers are, wherewith mens minds may daily be molested. First, he thought on his owne brethren in their sorrow, and buried a stranger in steed of him, accusing afterward (by false opinion, and vpon the testimony of as false witnesses) a man most inno­cent, [Page 98] making him ready for the stroke of death. Next, he made a strict ob­seruation in his soule, concerning the blinded seuerity of Law, and the Ministers thereto belonging, who pretending a diligent and carefull in­quisition for trueth, doe oftentimes (by their tortures and torments) heare lies auouched (onely for [...]ase of paine) in the place of a true confession, yet thinking themselues (by doing so) to be the Ministers of God and Iu­stice, whereas indeede they are the Diuels executioners of his wicked­nesse. Lastly, conuerting his thoughts to Aldobrandino, the imagined mur­therer of a man yet liuing, infinite cares beleagured his soule, in deuising what might best be done for his deliuerance.

So soone as he was risen in the morning, leauing his seruant behinde him in his lodging, he went (when he thought it fit time) all alone toward the house of his Mistresse, where finding by good fortune the gate o­pen, he entred into a small Parlour beneath, and where he saw his Mi­stresse sitting on the ground, wringing her hands, and wofully weeping, which (in meere compassion) moued him to weepe likewise; and going somewhat neere her, he saide. Madam, torment your selfe no more, for your peace is not farre off from you. The Gentlewoman hearing him say so, lifted vp her head, and in teares spake thus. Good man, thou see­mest to me to be a Pilgrim stranger; what doest thou know, either con­cerning my peace, or mine affliction? Madam (replied the Pilgrime) I am of Constantinople, and (doubtlesse) am conducted hither by the hand of Heauen, to conuert your teares into reioycing, and to deliuer your Fa­ther from death. How is this? answered shee: If thou be of Constantino­ple, and art but now arriued here; doest thou know who we are, either I, or my Father?

The Pilgrime discoursed to her, euen from one end to the other, the history of her Husbands sad disasters, telling her, how many yeeres since shee was espoused to him, and many other important matters, which wel shee knew, and was greatly amazed thereat, thinking him verily to be a Prophet, and kneeling at his feete, entreated him very earnestly, that if hee were come to deliuer her Father Aldobrandino from death, to doe it speedily, because the time was very short. The Pilgrime appearing to be a man of great holinesse, saide. Rise vp Madam, refraine from weeping, and obserue attentiuely what I shall say; yet with this caution, that you neuer reueale it to any person whatsoeuer. This tribulation whereinto you are falne, (as by reuelation I am faithfully informed) is for a grieuous sinne by you heretofore committed, whereof diuine mercy is willing to purge you, and to make a perfect amends by a sensible feeling of this af­fliction; as seeking your sound and absolute recouery, least you fall into farre greater danger then before. Good man (quoth shee) I am burthe­ned with many sinnes, and doe not know for which any amends should be made by me, any one sooner then another: wherefore if you haue in­telligence thereof, for charities sake tell it me, and I will doe so much as lieth in me, to make a full satisfaction for it. Madam, answered the Pil­grime; I know well enough what it is, and will demand it no more of you, [Page] to winne any further knowledge thereof, then I haue already: but be­cause in reuealing it your selfe, it may touch you with the more true compunction of soule; let vs goe to the point indeede, and tell me, doe you remember, that at any time you were married to an Husband, or no?

At the hearing of these words, shee breathed foorth a very vehement sigh, and was stricken with admiration at this question, beleeuing that not any one had knowledge thereof. Howbeit, since the day of the supposed Thebaldoes buriall, such a rumour ran abroade, by meanes of some spee­ches, rashly dispersed by a friend of Thebaldoes, who (indeede) knew it; whereupon shee returned him this answere. It appeareth to me (good man) that diuine ordinatiuation hath reuealed vnto you all the secrets of men; and therefore I am determined, not to conceale any of mine from you. True it is, that in my younger yeeres, being left a widow, I entirely affected an vnfortunate young Gentleman, who (in secret) was my Hus­band, and whose death is imposed on my Father. The death of him I haue the more bemoaned, because (in reason) it did neerely concerne me, by shewing my selfe so sauage and rigorous to him before his depar­ture: neuerthelesse, let me assure you Sir, that neither his parting, long ab­sence from me, or his vntimely death, neuer had the power to bereaue my heart of his remembrance.

Madame, saide the Pilgrime, the vnfortunate young Gentleman that is slaine, did neuer loue you; but sure I am, that Thebaldo Elisei loued you dearely. But tell me, what was the occasion whereby you concei­ued such hatred against him? Did he at any time offend you? No tru­lie Sir, quoth shee; but the reason of my anger towards him, was by the wordes and threatnings of a religious Father, to whom once I re­uealed (vnder confession) how faithfully I affected him, and what pri­uate familiarity had passed betweene vs. When instantly he vsed such dreadfull threatnings to me, and which (euen yet) doe afflict my soule, that if I did not abstaine, and vtterly refuse him, the Diuell would fetch me quicke to Hell, and cast me into the bottome of his quenchlesse and euerlasting fire.

These menaces were so preuailing with me, as I refused all further con­uersation with Thebaldo, in which regard, I would receiue neither letters or messages from him. Howbeit, I am perswaded, that if he had conti­nued here still, and not departed hence in such desperate manner as he did, seeing him melt and consume daily away, euen as Snowe by power of the Sunne-beames: my austere deliberation had beene long agoe quite altered, because not at any time (since then) life hath not allowed me one merry day, neither did I, or euer can loue any man like vnto him.

At these wordes the Pilgrime sighed, and then proceeded on againe thus. Surely Madam, this one onely sin, may iustly torment you, because I know for a certainty, that Thebaldo neuer offered you any iniury, since the day he first became enamoured of you; and what grace or fauour [Page 99] you affoorded him, was your owne voluntary gift, and (as he tooke it) no more then in modesty might well become you; for he louing you first, you had beene most cruell and vnkinde, if you should not haue requited him with the like affection. If then he continued so iust and loyall to you, as (of mine owne knowledge) I am able to say he did; what should moue you to repulse him so rudely? Such matters ought well to be considered on before hand; for if you did imagine, that you should repeate it as an action ill done, yet you could not doe it, because as he became yours, so were you likewise onely his; and he being yours, you might dispose of him at your pleasure, as being truely obliged to none but you. How could you then with-draw your selfe from him, being onely his, and not commit most manifest theft, a farre vnfitting thing for you to doe, except you had gone with his consent?

Now Madam, let me further giue you to vnderstand, that I am a reli­gious person, and a pilgrime, and therefore am well acquainted with all the courses of their dealing; if therefore I speake somewhat more amply of them, and for your good, it cannot be so vnseeming for me to doe it, as it would appeare vgly in another. In which respect, I will speake the more freely to you, to the ende, that you may take better knowledge of them, then (as it seemeth) hitherto you haue done. In former passed times such as professed Religion, were learned and most holy persons; but our religious professours now adayes, and such as coue [...] to be so esteemed; haue no matter at all of Religion in them, but onely the outward shew & habite. Which yet is no true badge of Religion neither, because it was or­dained by religious institutions, that their garments should be made of narrow, plaine, and coursest spun cloth, to make a publike manifestation to the world, that (in meere deuotion, and religious disposition) by wrap­ping their bodies in such base clothing, they condemned and despised all temporall occasions. But now adayes they make them large, deepe, gli­stering, and of the finest cloth or stuffes to be gotten, reducing those ha­bites to so proude and pontificall a forme, that they walke Peacock-like rustling, and strouting with them in the Churches; yea, and in open pub­like places, as if they were ordinary secular persons, to haue their pride more notoriously obserued. And as the Angler bestoweth his best cun­ning, with one line and baite to catch many fishes at one strike; euen so do these counterfeted habite-mongers, by their dissembling and crafty dea­ling, beguile many credulous widowes, simple women, yea, and men of weake capacity, to credit whatsoeuer they doe or say, and herein they doe most of all excercise themselues.

And to the end, that my speeches may not sauour of any vntruth against them; these men which I speake of, haue not any habite at all of religious men, but onely the colour of their garments, and whereas they in times past, desired nothing more then the saluation of mens soules; these fresher witted fellowes, couet after women & wealth, and employ all their paines by their whispering confessions, and figures of painted feareful examples, to affright and terrifie vnsetled and weake consciences, by horrible and [Page] blasphemous speeches; yet adding a perswasion withall, that their sinnes may be purged by Almes-deedes and Masses. To the end, that such as credit them in these their dayly courses, being guided more by appa­rance of deuotion, then any true compunction of heart, to escape seuere penances by them enioyned: may some of them bring bread, others wine, others coyne, all of them matter of commoditie and benefit, and simply say, these gifts are for the soules of their good friends deceased.

I make not any doubt, but Almes-deedes and prayers, are very migh­ty, and preuailing meanes, to appease heauens anger for some sinnes committed; but if such as bestow them, did either see or know, to whom they giue them: they would more warily keepe them, or else cast them before Swine, in regard they are altogether so vnworthy of them. But come we now to the case of your ghostly father, crying out in your eare, that secret mariage was a most greeuous sinne: Is not the breach thereof farre greater. Familiar conuersation betweene man and woman, is a con­cession meerely naturall: but to rob, kill, or banish any one, proceedeth from the mindes malignity. That you did rob Thebaldo, your selfe hath already sufficiently witnessed, by taking that from him, which with free consent in mariage you gaue him. Next I must say, that by all the power remaining in you, you kild him, because you would not permit him to re­maine with you, declaring your selfe in the very height of cruelty, that hee might destroy his life by his owne hands. In which case the Law re­quireth, that whosoeuer is the occasion of an ill act committed, hee or she is as deepe in the fault, as the party that did it. Now concerning his banishment, and wandring seauen yeares in exile thorow the world; you cannot denie, but that you were the onely occasion thereof. In all which three seuerall actions, farre more capitally haue you offended; then by contracting of mariage in such clandestine manner.

But let vs see, whether Thebaldo deserued all these seuerall castigati­ons, or not. In trueth he did not, your selfe haue confessed (beside that which I know) that hee loued you more dearely then himselfe, and no­thing could be more honoured, magnified and exalted, then dayly you were by him, aboue all other women whatsoeuer. When hee came in any place, where honestly, and without suspition hee might speake to you: all his honour, and all his liberty, lay wholly committed into your power. Was he not a noble young Gentleman? Was hee (among all those parts that most adorne a man, and appertaine to the very choycest respect) inferiour to any one of best merit in your Citie? I know that you cannot make deniall to any of these demands. How could you then by the perswasion of a beast, a foole, a villaine, yea, a vagabond, enuying both his happinesse and yours, enter into so cruell a minde against him? I know not what error misguideth women, in scorning and despising their husbands: but if they entred into a better consideration, vnder­standing truly what they are, and what nobility of nature God hath en­dued man withall, farre aboue all other creatures; it would bee their highest title of glory, when they are are so preciously esteemed of them, [Page 100] so dearely affected by them, and so gladly embraced in all their best abi­lities.

This is so great a sinne, as the diuine Iustice (which in an equal ballance bringeth all operations to their full effect) did purpose not to leaue vnpu­nished; but, as you enforced against all reason, to take away Thebaldo from your selfe: euen so your Father Aldobrandino, without any occasion giuen by Thebaldo, is in perill of his life, and you a partaker of his tribula­tion. Out of which if you desire to be deliuered, it is very conuenient that you promise one thing which I shall tell you, and may much better be by you performed. Namely, that if Thebaldo doe at any time returne from his long banishment, you shall restore him to your loue, grace, and good acceptation; accounting him in the selfe same degree of fauour and pri­uate entertainement, as he was at the first, before you wicked ghostly fa­ther so hellishly incensed you against him.

When the Pilgrime had finished his speeches, the Gentlewoman, who had listened to them very attentiuely (because all the all caged reasons ap­peared to be plainely true) became verily perswaded, that all these afflic­tions had falne on her and her Father, for the ingratefull offence by her committed, and therefore thus replied. Worthy man, and the friend to goodnesse, I know vndoubtedly, that the words which you haue spoken are true, and also I vnderstand by your demonstration, what manner of people some of those religious persons are, whom heretofore I haue re­puted to be Saints, but find them now to be far otherwise. And to speake truly, I perceiue the fault to be great and grieuous, wherein I haue offen­ded against Thebaldo, and would (if I could) willingly make amends, euen in such manner as you haue aduised. But how is it possible to be done? Thebaldo being dead, can be no more recalled to this life; and therefore, I know not what promise I should make, in a matter which is not to be per­formed. Whereto, the Pilgrime without any longer pausing, thus answered.

Madam, by such reuelations as haue beene shewne to me, I know for a certainety, that Thebaldo is not dead, but liuing, in health, and in good estate; if he had the fruition of your grace and fauour. Take heede what you say Sir (quoth the Gentlewoman) for I saw him lie slaine before my doore, his body hauing receiued many wounds, which I folded in mine armes, and washed his face with my brinish teares; whereby (perhaps) the scandall arose, that flew abroade to my disgrace. Beleeue me Madam, (replied the Pilgrime) say what you will, I dare assure you that Thebaldo is liuing, and if you dare make promise, concerning what hath beene for­merly requested, and keepe it inuiolably; I make no doubt, but you your selfe shall shortly see him. I promise it (quoth shee) and binde my selfe thereto by a sacred oath, to keepe it faithfully: for neuer could any thing happen, to yeeld me the like contentment, as to see my Father free from danger, and Thebaldo liuing.

At this instant Thebaldo thought it to be a very apt and conuenient time to disclose himselfe, and to comfort the Lady, with an assured signall of [Page] hope, for the deliuerance of her Father, wherefore he saide. Lady, to the ende that I may comfort you infallibly, in this dangerous perill of your Fathers life; I am to make knowne an especiall secret to you, which you are to keepe carefully (as you tender your owne life) from euer being re­uealed to the world. They were then in a place of sufficient priuacy, and alone by themselues, because shee reposed great confidence in the Pil­grimes sanctity of life, as thinking him none other, then as he seemed to be. Thebaldo tooke out of his Purse a Ring, which shee gaue him, the last night of their conuersing together, and he had kept with no meane care, and shewing it to her, he saide. Doe you know this Ring Madam? So soone as shee saw it, immediately shee knew it, and answered. Yes Sir, I know the Ring, and confesse that heretofore I gaue it vnto The­baldo.

Hereupon the Pilgrime stood vp, and suddenly putting off his poore linnen Frocke, as also the Hood from his head; vsing then his Florentine tongue, he saide. Then tell me Madam, doe you not know me? When shee had aduisedly beheld him, and knew him indeede to the Thebaldo; she was stricken into a wonderfull astonishment, being as fearefull of him, as shee was of the dead body, which shee saw lying in the streete. And I dare assure you, that shee durst not goe neere him, to respect him, as Thebaldo so lately come from Cyprus: but (in terror) fled away from him; as if The­baldo had beene newly risen out of his graue, and came thither purposely to affright her; wherefore he saide. Be not afraide Madam, I am your Thebaldo, in health, aliue, and neuer as yet died, neither haue I receiued any wounds to kill mee, as you and my brethren haue formerly ima­gined.

Some better assurance getting possession of her soule, as knowing him perfectly by his voyce, and looking more stedfastly on his face, which constantly auouched him to be Thebaldo; the teares trickling amaine downe her faire cheekes, shee ran to embrace him, casting her armes a­bout his necke, and kissing him a thousand times, saying; Theboldo, my true and faithful! Husband, nothing in the World can be so welcome to me. Thebaldo hauing most kindly kissed and embraced her, said; Sweete wife, time will not now allow vs those ceremonious curtesies, which (indeede) so long a separation doe iustly challenge; but I must about a more weigh­tie businesse, to haue your Father safe and soundly deliuered, which I hope to doe before to morrow at night, when you shall heare tydings to your better contentment. And questionlesse, if I speede no worse then my good hope perswadeth me, I wil see you againe to night, and acquaint you at better leysure, in such things as I cannot doe now at this pre­sent.

So putting on his Pilgrimes habite againe, kissing her once more, and comforting her with future good successe, he departed from her, going to the prison where Aldobrandino lay, whom he found more pensiue, as being in hourely expectation of death, then any hope he had to be freed from it. Being brought neerer to him by the prisoners fauour, as seeming [Page 101] to be a man, come onely to comfort him; sitting downe by him, thus he began. Aldobrandino, I am a friend of thine, whom Heauen hath sent to doe thee good, in meere pitty and compassion of thine innocency. And therefore, if thou wil [...] grant me one small request, which I am earnestly to craue at thy hands; thou shalt heare (without any failing) before to morrow at night, the sentence of thy free absolution, whereas now thou expectest nothing but death; whereunto Aldobrandino thus answered. Friendly man, seeing thou art so carefull of my safety (although I know thee not, neither doe remember that euer I saw thee till now) thou must needs (as it appeareth no lesse) be some especiall kind friend of mine. And to tell thee the trueth, I neuer committed the sinfull deede, for which I am condemned to death. Most true it is, I haue other heynous and grie­uous sinnes, which (vndoubtedly) haue throwne this heauy iudgement vpon me, and therefore I am the more willing to vndergoe. Neuerthe­lesse, let me thus farre assure thee, that I would gladly, not onely promise something, which might to the glory of God, if he were pleased in this case to take mercy on me; but also would as willingly performe and ac­complish it. Wherefore, demand whatsoeuer thou pleasest of me, for vnfainedly (if I escape with life) I will truly keepe promise with thee.

Sir, replied the Pilgrime, I desire nor demand any thing of you, but that you wold pardon the foure brethren of Thebaldo, who haue brought you to this hard extremity, as thinking you to be guilty of their brothers death, and that you would also accept them as your brethren and friends, vpon their crauing pardon for what they haue done. Sir, answered Al­dobrandino, no man knoweth how sweete reuenge is, nor with what heate it is to be desired, but onely the man who hath been wronged. Notwith­standing, not to hinder my hope, which onely aymeth at Heauen; I free­lie forgiue them, and henceforth pardon them for euer; intending more­ouer, that if mercy giue me life, and cleere me from this bloody imputa­tion, to loue and respect them so long as I shall liue. This answer was most pleasing to the Pilgrime, and without any further multiplication of speeches, he entreated him to be of good comfort, for he feared not but before the time prefixed, he should heare certaine tydings of his deliue­rance.

At his departing from him, he went directly to the Signoria, and pre­uailed so farre, that he spake priuately with a Knight, who was then one of the States chiefest Lords, to whom he saide. Sir, a man ought to be­stow his best paines and diligence, that the truth of things should be ap­parantly knowne; especially, such men as hold the place and office as you doe: to the ende, that those persons which haue committed no foule of­fence, should not be punished, but onely the guilty and haynous trans­gressors. And because it will be no meane honor to you, to lay the blame where it worthily deserueth; I am come hither purposely, to informe you in a case of most weighty importance. It is not vnknowne to you, with what rigour the State hath proceeded against Aldobrandino Palermini, and you thinke verily he is the man that hath slaine Thebaldo Elisei, where­vpon [Page] your law hath condemned him to dye. I dare assure you Sir, that a very vniust course hath beene taken in this case, because Aldobrandino is falsly accused, as you your selfe will confesse before midnight, when they are deliuered into your power, that were the murderers of the man.

The honest Knight, who was very sorrowfull for Aldobrandino, gladly gaue attention to the Pilgrime, and hauing conferred on many mat­ters, appertaining to the fact committed: the two brethren, who were Thebaldoes Hostesse, and their Chamber-mayd, vpon good aduise giuen, were apprehended in their first sleepe, without any resistance made in their defence. But when the tortures were sent for, to vnderstand truely how the case went; they would not endure any paine at all, but each aside by himselfe, and then altogether, confessed openly, that they did the deede, yet not knowing him to bee Thebaldo Elisei. And when it was de­manded of them, vpon what occasion they did so foule an act. They an­swered, that they were so hatefull against the mans life, because he would luxuriously haue abused one of their wiues, when they both were absent from their owne home.

When the Pilgrime had heard this their voluntary confession, hee tooke his leaue of the Knight, returning secretly to the house of Madame Hermelina, and there, because all her people were in their beds, she care­full awaited his returne, to heare some glad tydings of her father, and to make a further reconciliation betweene her and Thebaldo, when, sitting downe by her, hee said. Deare Loue, be of good cheare, for (vpon my word) to morrow you shall haue your father home safe, well, and deliue­red from all further danger: and to confirme her the more confidently in his words, hee declared at large the whole cariage of the businesse. Hermelina being wondrously ioyfull, for two such suddaine and succesfull accidents to enioy her husband aliue and in health, and also to haue her father freed from so great a danger; kissed and embraced him most affec­tionately, welcomming him louingly into her bed, whereto so long time he had beene a stranger.

No sooner did bright day appeare, but Thebaldo arose, hauing ac­quainted her with such matters as were to be done, and once more ear­nestly desiring her, to conceale (as yet) these occurrences to her selfe. So, in his Pilgrimes habite, he departed from her house, to awaite con­uenient opportunity, for attending on the businesse belonging to Aldo­brandino. At the vsuall houre appointed, the Lords were all set in the Signioria, and had receiued full information, concerning the offence im­puted to Aldobrandino: setting him at liberty by publique consent, and sentencing the other malefactors with death, who (within a fewe dayes after) were beheaded in the place where the murther was committed. Thus Aldobrandino being released, to his exceeding comfort, and no small ioy of his daughters, kindred and friends, all knowing perfectly, that this had happened by the Pilgrimes meanes: they conducted him home to Aldobrandinoes house, where they desired him to continue so long as himselfe pleased, vsing him with most honourable and gracious [Page 102] respect; but especially Hermelina, who knew (better then the rest) on whom shee bestowed her liberall fauours, yet concealing all closely to her selfe.

After two or three dayes were ouer-past, in these complementall en­tercoursings of kindnesse, Thebaldo began to consider, that it was high time for reconciliation, to be solemnely past betweene his brethren and Aldobrandino. For, they were not a little amazed at his strange deliue­rance, and went likewise continually armed, as standing in feare of Aldo­brandino and his friends; which made him the more earnest, for accom­plishment of the promise formerly made vnto him. Aldobrandino lo­uingly replied, that he was ready to make good his word. Whereupon, the Pilgrime prouided a goodly Banquet, whereat he purposed to haue present, Aldobrandino, his daughter, kindred, and their wiues. But first, himselfe would goe in person, to inuite them in peace to his Banquet, to performe this desired pacification, and conferred with his brethren, vsing many pregnant and forcible arguments to them, such as are requisite in the like discordant cases. In the end, his reasons were so wise, and pre­uailing with them, that they willingly condiscended, and thought it no disparagement to them, for the recouerie of Aldobrandinoes kindnesse againe, to craue pardon for their great error committed.

On the morrow following, about the houre of dinner time, the foure brethren of Thebaldo, attired in their mourning garments, with their wiues and friends, came first to the house of Aldobrandino, who pur­posely attended for them, and hauing layd downe their weapons on the ground: in the presence of all such, as Aldobrandino had inuited as his witnesses, they offered themselues to his mercy, and humbly required pardon of him, for the matter wherein they had offended him. Aldo­brandino, shedding teares, most louingly embraced them, and (to bee briefe) pardon whatsoeuer iniuries he had receiued. After this, the sisters and wiues, all clad in mourning, courteously submitted themselues, and were graciously welcommed by Madame Hermelina, as also diuers other Gentlewomen there present with her. Being all seated at the Tables, which were furnished with such rarities as could be wished for; all things else deserued their due commendation, but onely sad silence, occasioned by the fresh remembrance of sorrow, appearing in the habites of Thebal­does friends and kindred, which the Pilgrime himselfe plainely perceiued, to be the onely disgrace to him and his feast. Wherefore, as before hee had resolued, when time serued to purge away this melancholly; hee arose from the Table, when some (as yet) had scarce begun to eate, and thus spake.

Gracious company, there is no defect in this Banquet, and more de­barres it of the honour it might else haue, but onely the presence of The­baldo, who hauing beene continually in your company, it seemes you are not willing to take knowledge of him, and therefore I meane my selfe to shew him. So, vncasing himselfe out of his Pilgrimes clothes, and stand­ing in his Hose and Doublet: to their no little admiration, they all knew [Page] him, yet doubted (a good while) whether it were he or no. Which hee perceiuing, hee repeated his bretherens and absent kindreds names, and what occurrences had happened betweene them from time to time, be­side the relation of his owne passed fortunes, inciting teares in the eyes of his brethren, and all else there present, euery one hugging and embracing him, yea, many beside, who were no kin at all to him, Hemelina onely ex­cepted, which when Aldobrandino saw, he said vnto her. How now Her­melina? Why doest thou not welcome home Thebaldo, so kindely as all here else haue done?

She making a modest courtesie to her Father, and answering so loude as euery one might heare her, said. There is not any in this assembly, that more willingly would giue him all expression of a ioyfull welcom home, and thankfull gratitude for such especiall fauours receiued, then in my heart I could afford to do: but only in regard of those infamous speeches, noysed out against me, on the day when wee wept for him, who was sup­posed to be Thebaldo, which slander was to my great discredit. Goe on boldly, replied Aldobrandino, doest thou thinke that I regard any such praters? In the procuring of my deliuerance, hee hath approued them to be manifest liers, albeit I my selfe did neuer credit them. Goe then I com­mand thee, and let me see thee both kisse and embrace him. She who de­desired nothing more, shewed her selfe not slothfull in obeying her Fa­ther, to do but her duty to her husband. Wherefore, being risen; as all the rest had done, but yet in farre more effectual manner, she declared her vnfeigned loue to Thebaldo. These bountifull fauours of Aldobrandino, were ioyfully accepted by Thebaldoes brethren, as also euery one else there present in company; so that all former rancour and hatred, which had caused heauy variances betweene them, was now conuerted to mutuall kindnesse, and solemne friendship on euery side.

When the feasting dayes were finished, the garments of sad mourning were quite layde aside, and those, becomming so generall a ioy, put on, to make their hearts and habites suteable. Now, concerning the man slaine, and supposed to be Thebaldo, hee was one, that in all parts of body, and truenesse of complexion so neerely resembled him, as Thebaldoes owne brethren could not distinguish the one from the other: but hee was of Lunigiana, named Fatinolo, and not Thebaldo, whom the two brethren Inne-keepers maliced, about some idle suspition conceiued, and hauing slaine him, lay de his body at the doore of Aldobrandino, where, by the rea­son of Thebaldoes absence, it was generally reputed to be he, and Aldo­brandino charged to doe the deede, by vehement perswasion of the bre­thren, knowing what loue had passed betweene him and his daughter Hermelina. But happy was the Pilgrimes returne, first to heare those words in the Inne, the meanes to bring the murther to light; and then the discreete cariage of the Pilgrime, vntill hee plainely approued him­selfe, to be truly Thebaldo.

The eight Nouell.

WHen the long discourse of Madame Aemilia was ended, not displeasing to any, in regard of the length, but rather held too short, because no ex­ceptions could be taken against it, comparing the raritie of the accidents, and changes toge­ther: the Queene turned to Ma­dame Lauretto, giuing her such a manifest signe, as she knew, that it was her turne to follow next, and therefore shee tooke occasi­on to begin thus. Faire Ladies, I intend to tell you a Tale of trueth, which (perhaps) in your opinions, will seeme to sound like a lye: and yet I heard by the very last relation, that a dead man was wept and mournd for, in sted of another being then aliue. In which respect. I am now to let you know, how a liuing man was buried for dead, and being raised againe, yet not as liuing, himselfe, and diuers more beside, did beleeue that he came forth of his graue, and adored him as a Saint, who was the occasion thereof, and who (as a bad man) deser­ued iustly to be condemned.

In Tuscanie there was sometime an Abby, seated, as now we see com­monly they are, in a place not much frequented with people, and thereof a Monke was Abbot, very holy and curious in all things else, saue onely a wanton appetite to women: which yet hee kept so cleanly to himselfe, that though some did suspect it, yet it was knowne to very few. It came to passe, that a rich Country Franklin, named Ferando, dwelt as a neere neighbour to the said Abby, hee being a man materiall, of simple and grosse vnderstanding, yet he fell into great familiarity with the Abbot; who made vse of this friendly conuersation to no other end, but for diuers times of recreation, when he delighted to smile at his silly and sottish be­hauiour.

[Page] Vpon this his priuate frequentation with the Abbot, at last he obser­ued, that Ferando had a very beautifull woman to his wife, with whom he grew so deepely in loue, as hee had no other meditations either by day or night, but how to become acceptable in her fauour. Neuerthelesse, he con­cealed his amorous passions priuately to himselfe, and could plainely per­ceiue, that although Ferando (in all things else) was meerely a simple fel­low, and more like an Idiot, then of any sensible apprehension: yet was he wise enough in louing his wife, keeping her carefully out of all com­pany, as one (indeede) very iealous, least any should kisse her, but onely himselfe, which droue the Abbot into despaire, for euer attaining the is­sue of his desire. Yet being subtill, crafty, and cautelous, he wrought so on the flexible nature of Ferando, that hee brought his wife with him di­uers dayes to the Monasterie; where they walked in the goodly Garden, discoursing on the beatitudes of eternall life, as also the most holy deedes of men and women, long since departed out of this life, in meruailous ci­uill and modest manner. Yet all these were but traines to a further in­tention, for the Abbot must needes bee her ghostly Father, and shee come to be confessed by him; which the foole Ferando tooke as an espe­ciall fauour, and therefore he gaue his consent the sooner.

At the appointed time, when the woman came to confession to the Abbot, and was on her knees before him, to his no small contentment, before she would say any thing else, thus she began: Sacred Father, if God had not giuen me such an husband as I haue, or else had bestowed on me none at all; I might haue beene so happy, by the meanes of your holy do­ctrine, very easily to haue entred into the way, wherof you spake the other day, which leadeth to eternall life. But when I consider with my selfe, what manner of man Ferando is, and thinke vpon his folly withall; I may well terme my selfe to be a widdow, although I am a maried wife, because while he liueth, I cannot haue any other husband. And yet (as sottish as you see him) he is (without any occasion giuen him) so extreamely iea­lous of me; as I am not able to liue with him, but onely in continuall tri­bulation & hearts griefe. In which respect, before I enter into confession, I most humbly beseech you, that you would vouchsafe (in this distresse) to assist me with your fatherly aduise and counsell, because, if thereby I cannot attaine to a more pleasing kinde of happinesse; neither confession, or any thing else, is able to doe me any good at all.

These words were not a little welcome to my Lord Abbot, because (thereby) he halfe assured himselfe, that Fortune had laid open the path to his hoped pleasures, whereupon he said. Deare daughter, I make no question to the contrary, but it must needes be an exceeding infelicity, to so faire and goodly a young woman as you are, to be plagued with so sot­tish an husband, brain-sick, and without the vse of common vnderstand­ing; but yet subiect to a more bellish affliction then all these, namely iea­lousie, and therfore you being in this wofull manner tormented, your tri­bulations are not only so much the more credited, but also as amply grie­ued for, & pittied. In which heauy and irksom perturbations, I see not any [Page 104] meanes of remedy, but onely one, being a kinde of physicke (beyond all other) to cure him of his foolish iealousie; which medicine is very fami­liar to me, because I know best how to compound it, alwayes prouided, that you can be of so strong a capacity, as to be secret in what I shall say vnto you.

Good Father (answered the Woman) neuer make you any doubt thereof, for I would rather endure death it selfe, then disclose any thing which you enioyne me to keepe secret: wherefore, I beseech you Sir to tell me, how, and by what meanes it may be done. If (quoth the Abbot) you desire to haue him perfectly cured, of a disease so dangerous and of­fensiue, of necessity he must be sent into Purgatory. How may that be done, saide the woman, he being aliue? He must needs die, answered the Abbot, for his more speedy passage thither; and when he hath endured so much punishment, as may expiate the quality of his iealousie, we haue certaine deuoute and zealous prayers, whereby to bring him backe againe to life, in as able manner as euer he was. Why then, replyed the woman, I must remaine in the state of a Widdow? Very true, saide the Abbot, for a certaine time, in all which space, you may not (by any meanes) mar­rie againe, because the heauens will therewith be highly offended: but Ferando being returned to life againe, you must repossesse him as your Husband, but neuer to be iealous any more. Alas Sir (quoth the woman) so that he may be cured of his wicked iealousie, and I no longer liue in such an hellish imprisonment, doe as you please.

Now was the Abbot (well neere) on the highest step of his hope, ma­king her constant promise, to accomplish it: But (quoth he) what shall be my recompence when I haue done it? Father, saide shee, whatsoeuer you please to aske, if it remaine within the compasse of my power: but you being such a vertuous and sanctified man, and I a woman of so meane worth or merit; what sufficient recompence can I be able to make you? Whereunto the Abbot thus replyed. Faire woman, you are able to doe as much for me, as I am for you, because as I doe dispose my selfe, to per­forme a matter for your comfort and consolation, euen so ought you to be as mindfull of me, in any action concerning my life and welfare. In any such matter Sir (quoth shee) depending on your benefit so strictly, you may safely presume to command me. You must then (saide the Ab­bot) grant me your loue, and the kinde embracing of your person; be­cause so violent are mine affections, as I pine and consume away daily, till I enioy the fruition of my desires, and none can help me therein but you.

When the woman heard these words, as one confounded with much amazement, this shee replied. Alas, holy Father! what a strange motion haue you made to me? I beleeued very faithfully, that you were no lesse then a Saint, and is it conuenient, that when silly women come to aske counsell of such sanctified men, they should returne them such vnfitting answeres? Be not amazed good woman, saide the Abbot, at the motion which I haue made vnto you, because holinesse is not thereby impaired a iot in me; for it is the inhabitant of the soule, the other is an imperfection [Page] attending on the body: but be it whatsoeuer, your beauty hath so power­fully preuailed on me, that entire loue hath compelled me to let you know it. And more may you boast of your beauty, then any that euer I beheld before, considering, it is so pleasing to a sanctified man, that it can draw him from diuine contemplations, to regard a matter of so humble an equalitie.

Let me tell you moreouer, woorthy Woman, that you see me reue­renced here as Lord Abbot, yet am I but as other men are, and in re­gard I am neither aged, nor mishapen, me thinkes the motion I haue made, should be the lesse offensiue to you, and therefore the sooner granted. For, all the while as Ferando remaineth in Purgatory, doe you but imagine him to be present with you, and your perswasion will the more absolutely be confirmed. No man can, or shall be priuy to our close meetings, for I carrie the same holy opinion among all men, as you your selfe conceiued of me, and none dare be so saucie, as to call in question whatsoeuer I doe or say, because my wordes are Ora­cles, and mine actions more then halfe miracles; doe you not then re­fuse so gracious an offer. Enow there are, who would gladly enioy that, which is francke and freely presented to you, and which (if you be a wise Woman) is meerely impossible for you to refuse. Richly am I possessed of Gold and Iewels, which shall be all yours, if you please in fauour to be mine; wherein I will not be gaine-saide, except your selfe doe denie me.

The Woman hauing her eyes fixed on the ground, knew not wel how shee should denie him; and yet in plaine words, to say shee consented, shee held it to be ouer-base and immodest, and ill agreeing with her for­mer reputation: when the Abbot had well noted this attention in her, and how silent shee stood without returning any answer; he accounted the conquest to be more then halfe his owne: so that continuing on his formall perswasions, hee neuer ceased, but allured her still to beleeue whatsoeuer he saide. And shee much ashamed of his importunity, but more of her owne flexible yeelding weakenesse, made answer, that shee would willingly accomplish his request; which yet shee did not absolute­lie grant, vntill Ferando were first sent into Purgatory. And till then (quoth the Abbot) I will not vrge any more, because I purpose his speedy sending thither: but yet, so farre lend me your assistance, that either to morrow, or else the next day, he may hither once more to conuerse with me. So putting a faire gold Ring on her finger, they parted till their next meeting.

Not a little ioyfull was the Woman of so rich a gift, hoping to en­ioy a great many more of them, and returning home to her neighbours, acquainted them with wonderfull matters, all concerning the sancti­monious life of the Abbot, a meere miracle of men, and worthy to be truely termed a Saint. Within two dayes after, Ferando went to the Abbye againe, and so soone as the Abbot espyed him, hee pre­sently prepared for his sending of him into Purgatorie. He neuer was [Page 105] without a certaine kinde of drugge, which being beaten into powder, would worke so powerfully vpon the braine, and all the other vitall sen­ces, as to entrance them with a deadly sleepe, and depriue them of all motion, either in the pulses, or any other part else, euen as if the body were dead indeede; in which operation it would so hold and continue, according to the quantity giuen and drunke, as it pleased the Abbot to or­der the matter. This powder or drugge, was sent him by a great Prince of the East, and therewith he wrought wonders vpon his Nouices, sen­ding them into Purgatory when he pleased, and by such punishments as he inflicted on them there, made them (like credulous asses) beleeue what­soeuer himselfe listed.

So much of this powder had the Abbot prouided, as should suffice for three dayes entrauncing, and hauing compounded it with a very pleasant Wine, calling Ferando into his Chamber, there gaue it him to drinke, and afterward walked with him about the Cloyster, in very friendly con­ference together, the silly sot neuer dreaming on the treachery intended against him. Many Monkes beside were recreating themselues in the Cloyster, most of them delighting to behold the follies of Ferando, on whom the potion beganne so to worke, that he slept in walking, nodding and reeling as hee went, till at the last hee fell downe, as if he had beene dead.

The Abbot pretending great admiration at this accident, called his Monkes about him, all labouring by rubbing his temples, throwing cold water and vinegar in his face, to reuiue him againe; alleaging that some fume or vapour in the stomacke, had thus ouer-awed his vnderstanding faculties, and quite depriued him of life indeede. At length, when by tasting the pulse, and all their best employed paines, they saw that their labour was spent in vaine; the Abbot vsed such perswasions to the Monkes, that they all beleeued him to be dead: whereupon they sent for his Wife and friends, who crediting as much as the rest did, were very sad and sorrowfull for him.

The Abbot (cloathed as he was) laide him in a hollow vault vnder a Tombe, such as there are vsed in stead of Graues; his Wife returning home againe to her House, with a young Sonne which shee had by her Husband, protesting to keepe still within her House, and neuer more to be seene in any company, but onely to attend her young Sonne, and be very carefull of such wealth as her Husband had left vnto her.

From the City of Bologna, that very instant day, a well staide and gouerned Monke there arriued, who was a neere kinsman to the Ab­bot, and one whom he might securely trust. In the dead time of the night, the Abbot and this Monke arose, and taking Ferando out of the vault, carried him into a darge dungeon or prison, which he termed by the name of Purgatory, and where hee vsed to discipline his Monkes, when they had committed any notorious offence, deseruing to be punished in Purgatory. There they tooke off his vsuall wearing [Page] garments, and cloathed him in the habite of a Monke, euen as if he had beene one of the house; and laying him on a bundle of straw, so left him vntill his sences should be restored againe. On the day following, late in the euening, the Abbot, accompanied with his trusty Monke, (by way of visitation) went to see and comfort the supposed widow; finding her at­tired in blacke, very sad and pensiue, which by his wonted perswasions, indifferently he appeased; challenging the benefit of her promise. Shee being thus alone, not hindered by her Husbands iealousie, and espying another goodly gold Ring on his finger, how frailety and folly ouer-ruled her, I know not, shee was a weake woman, he a diuellish deluding man; and the strongest holdes by ouer-long battery and besieging, must needes yeeld at the last, as I feare shee did: for very often afterward, the Abbot vsed in this manner to visit her, and the simple ignorant Countrey peo­ple, carrying no such ill opinion of the holy Abbot, and hauing seene Fe­rando lying for dead in the vault, and also in the habite of a Monke; were verily perswaded, that when they saw the Abbot passe by to and fro, but most commonly in the night season, it was the ghost of Ferando, who walked in this manner after his death, as a iust pennance for his iea­lousie.

When Ferandoes sences were recouered againe, and he found him­selfe to be in such a darkesome place; not knowing where he was, he be­ganne to crie and make a noyse. When presently the Monke of Bologna (according as the Abbot had tutured him) stept into the dungeon, car­rying a little waxe candle in the one hand, and a smarting whip in the o­ther, going to Ferando, he stript off his cloathes, and began to lash him very soundly. Ferando roaring and crying, could say nothing else, but, where am I? The Monke (with a dreadfull voyce) replyed: Thou art in Purgatory. How? saide Ferando; what? Am I dead? Thou art dead (quoth the Monke) and began to lash him lustily againe. Poore Ferando, crying out for his Wife and little Sonne, demanded a number of idle questions, whereto the Monke still fitted him with as fantasticke answers. Within a while after, he set both foode and wine before him, which when Ferando sawe, he saide; How is this? Doe dead men eate and drinke? Yes, replyed the Monke, and this foode which here thou seest, thy Wife brought hi­ther to their Church this morning, to haue Masses deuoutly sung for thy soule; and as to other, so must it be set before thee, for such is the com­mand of the Patrone of this place.

Ferando hauing lyen entranced three dayes and three nights, felt his stomacke well prepared to eate, and feeding very heartily, still saide; O my good Wife, O my louing Wife, long mayest thou liue for this extraor­dinary kindnesse. I promise thee (sweete heart) while I was aliue, I can­not remember, that euer any foode and wine was halfe so pleasing to me. O my deare Wife; O my hony Wife. Canst thou (quoth the Monke) prayse and commend her now, vsing her so villainously in thy life time? Then did he whip him more fiercely then before, when Ferando holding vp his hands, as crauing for mercy, demanded wherefore he was so se­uerely [Page 106] punished? I am so commanded (quoth the Monke) by supreme power, and twice euery day must thou be thus disciplinde. Vpon what occasion? replyed Ferando. Because (quoth the Monke) thou wast most notoriously iealous of thy Wife, shee being the very kindest woman to thee, as all the Countrey containeth not her equall. It is too true, answe­red Ferando, I was ouer-much iealous of her indeede: but had I knowne, that iealousie was such a hatefull sinne against Heauen, I neuer would haue offended therein.

Now (quoth the Monke) thou canst confesse thine owne wilfull follie, but this should haue beene thought on before, and whilest thou wast li­uing in the World. But if the Fates vouchsafe to fauour thee so much, as hereafter to send thee to the World once more; remember thy punish­ment here in Purgatory, and sinne no more in that foule sinne of iealousie. I pray you Sir tell me, replyed Ferando, after men are dead, and put into Purgatory, is there any hope of their euer visiting the World any more? Yes, saide the Monke, if the fury of the Fates be once appeased. O that I knew (quoth Ferando) by what meanes they would be appeased, and let me visite the World once againe: I would be the best Husband that euer liued, and neuer more be iealous, neuer wrong so good a Wife, nor euer vse one vnkind word against her. In the meane while, and till their an­ger may be qualified; when next my Wife doth send me [...]oode, I pray you worke so much, that some Candles may be sent me also, because I liue here in vncomfortable darknesse; and what should I doe with foode, if I haue no light. Shee sends Lights enow, answered the Monke, but they are burnt out on the Altar in Masse-time, and thou canst haue none other here, but such as I must bring my selfe; neither are they allowed, but one­ly for the time of thy feeding and correcting.

Ferando breathing foorth a vehement sigh, desired to know what he was, being thus appointed to punish him in Purgatory? I am (quoth the Monke) a dead man, as thou art, borne in Sardignia, where I serued a very iealous Master; and because I soothed him in his iealousie, I had this pen­nance imposed on me, to serue thee here in Purgatory with meate and drinke, and (twice euery day) to discipline thy body, vntill the Fates haue otherwise determined both for thee and me. Why? saide Ferando, are a­ny other persons here, beside you and I? Many thousands, replyed the Monke, whom thou canst neither heare nor see, no more then they are a­ble to doe the like by vs. But how farre, saide Ferando, is Purgatory di­stant from our natiue Countries? About some fifty thousand leagues, answered the Monke; but yet passable in a moment, whensoeuer the of­fended Fates are pleased: and many Masses are daily saide for thy soule, at the earnest entreaty of thy Wife, in hope of thy conuersion; and be­comming a new man, hating to be iealous any more hereafter.

In these and such like speeches, as thus they beguiled the time, so did they obserue it for a dayly course, sometime discipling, other whiles eating and drinking, for the space of ten whole moneths together: in the which time, the Abbot sildome failed to visite Ferandoes wife, without [Page] the least suspition in any of the neighbours, by reason of their setled opi­nion, concerning the nightly walking of Ferandoes ghost. But, as all plea­sures cannot bee exempted from some following paine or other, so it came to passe, that Ferandoes wife proued to be conceiued with childe, and the time was drawing on for her deliuerance. Now began the Ab­bot to consider, that Ferandoes folly was sufficiently chastised, and hee had beene long enough in Purgatory: wherefore, the better to counte­nance all passed inconueniences, it was now thought high time, that Fe­rando should be sent to the world againe, and set free from the paines of Purgatory, as hauing payed for his iealousie dearely, to teach him better wisedome hereafter.

Late in the dead time of the night, the Abbot himselfe entred into the darke dungeon, and in an hollow counterfeited voyce, called to Ferando, saying. Comfort thy selfe Ferando, for the Fates are now pleased, that thou shalt bee released out of Purgatory, and sent to liue in the world againe. Thou didst leaue thy wife newly conceiued with childe, and this very morning she is deliuered of a goodly Sonne, whom thou shalt cause to be named Bennet: because, by the incessant prayers of the holy Ab­bot, thine owne louing wife, and for sweet Saint Bennets sake, this grace and fauour is afforded thee. Ferando hearing this, was exceeding ioy­full, and returned this answere: For euer honoured be the Fates, the holy Lord Abbot, blessed Saint Bennet, and my most dearely beloued wife, whom I will faithfully loue for euer, and neuer more offend her by any iealousie in me.

When the next foode was sent to Ferando, so much of the powder was mingled with the wine, as would serue onely for foure houres en­trauncing, in which time, they clothed him in his owne wearing apparell againe, the Abbot himselfe in person, and his honest trusty Monke of Bologna, conueying and laying him in the same vault vnder the Tombe, where at the first they gaue him buriall. The next morning following, about the breake of day, Ferando recouered his sences, and thorow di­uers chinkes and crannies of the Tombe, descried day-light, which hee had not seene in tenne moneths space before. Perceiuing then plainely, that he was aliue, he cried out aloude, saying: Open, open, and let mee forth of Purgatory, for I haue beene heere long enough in conscience. Thrusting vp his head against the couer of the Tombe, which was not of any great strength, neither well closed together; hee put it quite off the Tombe, and so got forth vpon his feete: at which instant time, the Monks hauing ended their morning Mattins, and hearing the noyse, ran in hast thither, and knowing the voyce of Ferando, saw that he was come forth of the Monument,

Some of them were ancient Signiors of the house, and yet but meere Nouices (as all the rest were) in these cunning and politique stratagems of the Lord Abbot, when hee intended to punish any one in Purgatory, and therefore, being affrighted, and amazed at this rare accident; they fled away from him running to the Abbot, who making a shew to them, [Page 107] as if he were but new come forth of his Oratory, in a kinde of pacifying speeches, saide; Peace my deare Sonnes, bee not affraide, but fetch the Crosse and Holy-water hither; then follow me, and I will shew you, what miracle the Fates haue pleased to shew in our Conuent, therefore be si­lent, and make no more noise; all which was performed according to his command.

Ferando looking leane and pale (as one, that in so long time hadde not seene the light of heauen, and endured such strict discipline twice euerie day: stood in a gastly amazement by the Tombes side, as not daring to aduenture any further, or knowing perfectly, whether he was (as yet) tru­ly aliue, or no. But when he saw the Monkes and Abbot comming, with their lighted Torches, and singing in a solemne manner of Procession, he humbled himselfe at the Abbots feere, saying. Holy Father, by your zea­lous prayers (as hath bin miraculously reuealed to me) and the prayers of blessed S. Bennet; as also of my honest, deare, and louing Wife, I haue bin deliuered from the paines of Purgatory, and brought againe to liue in this world; for which vnspeakable grace and fauor, most humbly I thank the well-pleased Fates, S. Bennet, your Father-hood, and my kinde Wife, and will remember all your loues to me for euer. Blessed be the Fates, an­swered the Abbot, for working so great a wonder heere in our Monaste­ry. Go then my good Son, seeing the Fates haue bin so gracious to thee; Go (I say) home to thine owne house, and comfort thy kind wife, who e­uer since thy departure out of this life, hath liued in continual mourning, loue, cherish, and make much of her, neuer afflicting her henceforth with causlesse iealousie. No I warrant you good Father, replyed Ferando; I haue bin well whipt in Purgatory for such folly, and therefore I might be called a starke foole, if I should that way offend any more, either my lo­uing wife, or any other.

The Abbot causing Miserere to be deuoutly sung, sprinkling Ferando well with Holy-water, and placing a lighted Taper in his hand, sent him home so to his owne dwelling Village: where when the Neighbours be­held him, as people halfe frighted out of their wits, they fledde away from him, so scared and terrified, as if they had seene some dreadfull sight, or gastly apparition; his wife being as fearfull of him, as any of the rest. He called to them kindly by their seuerall names, telling them, that hee was newly risen out of his graue, and was a man as he had bin before. Then they began to touch and feele him, growing into more certaine assurance of him, perceiuing him to be a liuing man indeede: whereupon, they de­manded many questions of him; and he, as if he were become farre wiser then before, tolde them tydings, from their long deceased Kindred and Friends, as if he had met with them all in Purgatory, reporting a thousand lyes and fables to them, which (neuerthelesse) they beleeued.

Then he told them what the miraculous voice had said vnto him, con­cerning the birth of another young Sonne, whom (according as he was commanded) he caused to be named Bennet Ferando. Thus his returne to life againe, and the daily wonders reported by him, caused no meane ad­miration [Page] in the people, with much commendation of the Abbots Holy­nesse, and Ferandoes happy curing of his iealousie.

The Ninth Nouell.

NOw there remained no more (to preserue the priuiledge granted to Dioneus vninfringed) but the Queene onely, to declare her Nouell. Wherefore, when the discourse of Madam Lauretta was ended, without attending a­ny motion to bee made for her next succeeding, with a gracious and pleasing disposition, thus she began to speake. Who shall tell any Tale heereafter, to carry any hope or expectation of a King, hauing heard the rare and wittie discourse of Madame Lauretta? Beleeue me, it was verie aduan­tageable to vs all, that she was not this dayes first beginner, because few or none would haue had any courage to follow after her; & therefore the rest yet remaining, are the more to be feared and suspected. Neuer­thelesse, to auoid the breach of order, and to claime no priuiledge by my place, of not performing what I ought to do: proue as it may, a Tale you must haue, and thus I proceed.

There liued sometime in the kingdom of France, a Gentleman named Isnarde, being the Count of Roussillion, who because hee was continually weake, crazie and sickly, kept a Physitian daily in his house, who was cal­led Master Gerard of Narbona. Count Isnarde had one onely Sonne, ve­ry young in yeares, yet of towardly hope, faire, comely, and of pleasing person, named Bertrand; with whom, many other children of his age, had their education: and among them, a daughter of the fore-named Physi­tian, [Page 108] called Iuliet; who, euen in these tender yeares, fixed her affection vpon yong Bertrand, with such an earnest and intimate resolution, as was most admirable in so yong a maiden, and more then many times is noted in yeares of greater discretion. Old Count Isnard dying, yong Bertrand fell as a Ward to the King, and being sent to Paris, remained there vnder his royall custodie and protection, to the no little discomfort of yong Iu­liet, who became greeuously afflicted in minde, because shee had lost the company of Bertrand.

Within some few yeeres after, the Physitian her Father also dyed, and then her desires grew wholly addicted, to visite Paris her selfe in person, onely because she would see the yong Count, awaiting but time & op­portunitie, to fit her stolne iourney thither. But her kindred and friends, to whose care and trust she was committed, in regard of her rich dowrie, and being left as a fatherlesse Orphane: were so circumspect of her walks and daily behauiour, as she could not compasse any meanes of [...]scaping. Her yeeres made her now almost fit for marriage, which so much more encreased her loue to the Count, making refusall of many woorthie hus­bands, and laboured by the motions of her friends and kindred, yet all de­nyed, they not knowing any reason for her refusalles. By this time the Count was become a gallant goodly Gentleman, and able to make ele­ction of a wife, wherby her affections were the more violently enfl [...]med, as fearing least some other should be preferred before her, & so her hopes be vtterly disappointed.

It was noysed abroad by common report, that the King of France was in a very dangerous condition, by reason of a strange swelling on his sto­macke, which failing of apt and conuenient curing, became a Fistula, af­flicting him daily with extraordinary paine and anguish, no Chirurgeon or Physitian being found, that could minister any hope of healing, but ra­ther encreased the greefe, and droue it to more vehement extreamitie, compelling the King, as dispairing vtterly of all helpe, to giue ouer any further counsell or aduice. Heereof faire Iuliet was wondrously ioyful, as hoping that this accident would proue the meanes, not only of hir iour­ney to Paris, but if the disease were no more then shee imagined; shee could easily cure it, and thereby compasse Count Bertrand to be her hus­band. Heereupon, quickning vp her wits, with remembrance of those rules of Art, which (by long practise and experience) she had lear­ned of her skilfull Father, shee compounded certaine hearbes together, such as she knew fitting for that kinde of infirmity, and hauing reduced hit compound into a powder, away she rode forthwith to Paris.

Being there arriued, all other serious matters set aside, first shee must needs haue a sight of Count Bertrand, as being the onely Saint that cau­sed her pilgrimage. Next she made meanes for her accesse to the King, humbly entreating his Maiesty, to vouchsafe her the sight of his Fistula. When the King saw her, her modest lookes did plainly deliuer, that she was a faire, comely, and discreete young Gentlewoman; wherefore, hee would no longer hide it, but layed it open to her view. When shee had [Page] seene and felt it, presently she put the King in comfort; affirming, that she knew her selfe able to cure his Fistula, saying: Sir, if your Highnesse will referre the matter to me, without any perill of life, or any the least paine to your person, I hope (by the helpe of heauen) to make you whole and sound within eight dayes space. The King hearing her words, beganne merrily to smile at her, saying: How is it possible for thee, being a yong Maiden, to do that which the best Physitians in Europe, are not able to performe? I commend thy kindnesse, and will not remaine vnthankefull for thy forward willingnesse: but I am fully determined, to vse no more counsell, or to make any further triall of Physicke or Chirurgery. Wher­to faire Iuliet thus replied: Great King, let not my skill and experience be despised, because I am young, and a Maiden; for my profession is not Physicke, neither do I vndertake the ministering thereof, as depending on mine owne knowledge; but by the gracious assistance of heauen, & some rules of skilfull obseruation, which I learned of reuerend Gerard of Nar­bona, who was my worthy Father, and a Physitian of no meane fame, all the while he liued.

At the hearing of these words, the King began somewhat to admire at her gracious carriage, and saide within himselfe. What know I, whether this virgin is sent to me by the direction of heauen, or no? Why should I disdaine to make proofe of her skill? Her promise is, to cure mee in a small times compasse, and without any paine or affliction to me: she shall not come so farre, to returne againe with the losse of her labour, I am re­solued to try her cunning, and thereon saide. Faire Virgin, if you cause me to breake my setled determination, and faile of curing mee, what can you expect to follow thereon? Whatsoeuer great King (quoth she) shall please you. Let me bee strongly guarded, yet not hindred, when I am to prosecute the businesse: and then if I doe not perfectly heale you vvithin eight daies, let a good fire be made, and therein consume my bodie vnto ashes. But if I accomplish the cure, and set your Highnesse free from all further greeuance, what recompence then shal remaine to me?

Much did the King commend the confident perswasion which she had of her owne power, and presently replyed. Faire beauty (quoth he) in re­gard that thou art a Maide and vnmarried, if thou keepe promise, and I finde my selfe to be fully cured: I wil match thee with some such Gentle­man in marriage, as shal be of honourable and worthy reputation, with a sufficient dowry beside. My gracious Soueraigne saide she, willing am I, and most heartily thankful withall, that your Highnesse shal bestow me in marriage: but I desire then, to haue such a husband, as I shal desire or demand by your gracious fauour, without presuming to craue any of your Sonnes, Kindred, or Alliance, or appertaining vnto your Royall blood. Whereto the King gladly granted. Young Iuliet began to mini­ster her Physicke, and within fewer dayes then her limited time, the King was sound and perfectly cured; which when he perceyued, hee sayd vnto her. Trust me vertuous Mayde, most woorthily hast thou wonne a Hus­band, name him, and thou shalt haue him. Royall King (quoth she) then [Page 109] haue I won the Count Bertrand of Roussillion, whom I haue most entire­ly loued from mine Infancy, and cannot (in my soule) affect any other. Very loath was the King to grant her the young Count, but in regard of his solemne passed promise, and his royal word engaged, which he would not by any meanes breake; he commanded, that the Count should be sent for, and spake thus to him.

Noble Count, it is not vnknowne to vs, that you are a Gentleman of great honour, and it is our royall pleasure, to discharge your wardship, that you may repaire home to your owne House, there to settle your af­faires in such order, as you may be the readier to enioy a Wife, which we intend to bestow vpon you. The Count returned his Highnesse most humble thankes, desiring to know of whence, and what shee was? It is this Gentlewoman, answered the King, who (by the helpe of Heauen) hath beene the meanes to saue my life. Well did the Count know her, as hauing very often before seene her; and although shee was very faire and amiable, yet in regard of her meane birth, which he held as a dispa­ragement to his Nobility in bloud; he made a scorne of her, and spake thus to the King. Would your Highnesse giue me a Quacksaluer to my Wife, one that deales in drugges and Physicarie? I hope I am able to bestow my selfe much better then so. Why? quoth the King, wouldst thou haue vs breake our faith; which for the recouery of our health, wee haue giuen to this vertuous virgin, and shee will haue no other reward, but onely Count Bertrand to be her husband? Sir, replied the Count, you may dispossesse me of all that is mine, because I am your Ward and Subiect, and any where else you may bestow me: but pardon me to tell you, that this marriage cannot be made with any liking or allowance of mine, neither will I euer giue consent thereto.

Sir, saide the King, it is our will that it shall be so, vertuous she is, faire and wise; she loueth thee most affectionately, and with her mayest thou leade a more Noble life, then with the greatest Lady in our Kingdome. Silent, and discontented stoode the Count, but the King commaunded preparation for the marriage; and when the appointed time was come, the Count (albeit against his will) receiued his wife at the Kings hand; she louing him deerely as her owne life. When all was done, the Count requested of the King, that what else remained for further solemnizati­on of the marriage, it might be performed in his owne Countrey, reser­uing to himselfe what else he intended. Being mounted on horseback, and humbly taking their leaue of the King, the Count would not ride home to his owne dwelling, but into Tuscany, where he heard of a warre betweene the Florentines and the Senesi, purposing to take part with the Florentines, to whom he was willingly and honourably welcommed, be­ing created Captain of a worthy Company, and continuing there a long while in seruice.

The poore forsaken new married Countesse, could scarsely be pleased with such dishonourable vnkindnes, yet gouerning her impatience with no meane discretion, and hoping by her vertuous carriage, to compasse [Page] the meanes of his recall: home she rode to Roussillion, where all the peo­ple receiued her very louingly. Now, by reason of the Counts so long absence, all things were there farre out of order; mutinies, quarrels, and ciuill dissentions, hauing procured many dissolute irruptions, to the ex­pence of much blood in many places. But shee, like a iolly stirring La­dy, very wise and prouident in such disturbances, reduced all occasions to such ciuility againe, that the people admired her rare behauiour, and condemned the Count for his vnkindnesse towards her.

After that the whole countrey of Roussillion (by the policy and wise­dome of this worthy Lady was fully re-established) in their ancient liber­ties; she made choise of two discreet knights, whom she sent to the Count her husband, to let him vnderstand, that if in displeasure to her, hee was thus become a stranger to his owne countrey: vpon the return of his an­swer, to giue him contentment, shee would depart thence, and by no meanes disturbe him. Roughly and churlishly he replied; Let her doe as she list, for I haue no determination to dwel with her, or neere where she is. Tell her from me, when she shall haue this Ring, which you be­hold heere on my finger, and a sonne in her armes begotten by me; then will I come liue with her, and be her loue. The Ring he made most pre­cious and deere account of, and neuer tooke it off from his finger, in re­gard of an especial vertue and property, which he well knew to be remai­ning in it. And these two Knights, hearing the impossibility of these two strict conditions, with no other fauour else to be deriued from him; sor­rowfully returned backe to their Ladie, and acquainted her with this vn­kinde answer, as also his vnalterable determination, which wel you may conceiue, must needs be verie vnwelcome to her.

After she had an indifferent while considered with her selfe, her reso­lution became so vndauntable; that she would aduenture to practise such meanes, whereby to compasse those two apparant impossibilities, and so to enioy the loue of her husband. Hauing absolutely concluded what was to be done, she assembled all the cheefest men of the country, reuea­ling vnto them (in mournfull manner) what an attempt she had made al­ready, in hope of recouering her husbands fauour, and what a rude an­swer was thereon returned. In the end, she told them, that it did not sute with her vnworthinesse, to make the Count liue as an exile from his owne inheritance, vpon no other inducement, but only in regard of her: wherefore, she had determined betweene heauen and her soule, to spend the remainder of her dayes in Pilgrimages and prayers, for preseruation of the Counts soule and her owne; earnestly desiring them, to vndertake the charge and gouernment of the Countrey, and signifying vnto the Count, how she had forsaken his house, and purposed to wander so far thence, that neuer would she visite Roussillion any more. In the deliuerie of these words, the Lords and gentlemen wept and sighed extraordina­rily, vsing many earnest imprecations to alter this resolue in her, but all was in vaine.

Hauing taken her sad and sorrowfull farewell of them all, accompani­ed [Page 110] onely with her Maide, and one of her Kinsmen, away she went, atti­red in a Pilgrims habite, yet well furnished with money and precious Ie­wels, to auoide all wants which might befall her in trauaile; not acquain­ting any one whether she went. In no place stayed she, vntill she was ar­riued at Florence, where happening into a poore Widdowes house, like a poore Pilgrim, she seemed well contented therewith. And desiring to heare some tydings of the Count, the next day she saw him passe by the house on horse-backe, with his company. Now, albeit shee knew him well enough, yet she demanded of the good old Widdow, what Gen­tleman he was? She made answer, that be was a stranger there, yet a No­bleman, called Count Bertrand of Roussillion, a verie courteous Knight, beloued and much respected in the City. Moreouer, that he was farre in loue with a neighbour of hers, a yong Gentlewoman, but verie poore and meane in substance, yet of honest life, vertuous, and neuer taxed with any euill report: onely her pouertie was the maine imbarment of her marriage, dwelling in house with her mother, who was a wise, ho­nest, and worthy Lady.

The Countesse hauing wel obserued her words, and considered ther­on from point to point; debated soberly with her owne thoughts, in such a doubtfull case what was best to be done. When she had vnderstood which was the house, the ancient Ladies name, and likewise her daugh­ters, to whom her husband was now so affectionately deuoted; she made choise of a fit and conuenient time, when (in her Pilgrims habit) secret­ly she went to the house. There she found the mother and daughter in poore condition, and with as poore a family: whom after she had cere­moniously saluted, she told the old Lady, that shee requested but a little conference with her. The Ladie arose, and giuing her courteous enter­tainment, they went together into a withdrawing chamber, where being both set downe, the Countesse began in this manner.

Madame, in my poore opinion, you are not free from the frownes of Fortune, no more then I my selfe am: but if you were so well pleased, there is no one that can comfort both our calamities in such manner, as you are able to do. And beleeue me answered the Lady, there is nothing in the world that can bee so welcome to mee, as honest comfort. The Countesse proceeding on in her former speeches said: I haue now need (good Madame) both of your trust and fidelity, whereon if I should rely, and you faile me, it will be your owne vndooing as well as mine. Speake then boldly, replied the olde Ladie, and remaine constantly assured, that you shall no way be deceiued by me. Heereupon, the Countesse decla­red the whole course of her loue, from the verie originall to the instant, reuealing also what she was, and the occasion of her comming thither, relating euery thing so perfectly, that the Ladie verily beleeued her, by some reports which she had formerly heard, and which mooued her the more to compassion. Now, when all circumstances were at full discoue­red, thus spake the Countesse.

Among my other miseries and misfortunes, which hath halfe broken [Page] my heart in the meere repetition, beside the sad and afflicting sufferance; two things there are, which if I cannot compasse to haue, all hope is quite frustrate for euer, of gaining the grace of my Lord and Husband. Yet those two things may I obtaine by your helpe, if all be true which I haue heard, and you can therein best resolue mee. Since my comming to this City, it hath credibly bene told me, that the Count my husband, is deeply in loue with your daughter. If the Count (quoth the Ladie) loue my daughter, and haue a wife of his owne, he must thinke, and so shall surely finde it, that his greatnesse is no priuiledge for him, whereby to worke dishonour vpon her pouerty. But indeed, some apparances there are, and such a matter as you speake of, may be so presumed; yet so farre from a very thought of entertaining in her or me; as whatsoeuer I am able to do, to yeeld you any comfort and content, you shall find me therein both willing and ready: for I prize my daughters spotles pouer­ty as at high a rate, as he can do the pride of his honor.

Madam, quoth the Countesse, most heartily I thanke you. But be­fore I presume any further on your kindnesse, let me first tell you, what faithfully I intend to do for you, if I can bring my purpose to effect I see that your daughter is beautifull, and of sufficient yeares for mariage; and is debarred thereof (as I haue heard) onely by lack of a competent dow­ry. Wherefore Madame, in recompence of the fauour I expect from you, I will enrich her with so much ready money as you shall thinke suffi­cient to match her in the degree of honor. Pouerty made the poore La­dy, very well to like of such a bountifull offer, and hauing a noble heart she said: Great Countesse say, wherein am I able to do you any seruice, as can deserue such a gracious offer? If the action bee honest, without blame or scandall to my poore, yet vndetected reputation, gladly I will do it; and it being accomplished, let the requitall rest in your owne no­ble nature.

Obserue me then Madam, replyed the Countesse. It is most conueni­ent for my purpose, that by some trusty and faithfull messenger, you should aduertise the Count my husband, that your daughter is, and shall be at his command: but because she may remain absolutely assured, that his loue is constant to her, and aboue all other: shee must entreate him, to send her (as a testimony thereof) the Ring which he weareth vpon his little finger, albeit she hath heard, that he loueth it dearly. If he send the Ring, you shal giue it me, & afterward send him word, that your daugh­ter is readie to accomplish his pleasure; but, for the more safety and se­crecie, he must repaire hither to your house, where I being in bed insted of your daughter, faire Fortune may so fauour mee, that (vnknowne to him) I may conceiue with childe. Vppon which good successe, when time shall serue, hauing the Ring on my finger, and a child in my armes begotten by him, his loue and liking may bee recouered, and (by your meanes) I continue with my Husband, as euerie vertuous Wife ought to doe.

The good old Ladie imagined, that this was a matter somewhat diffi­cult, [Page 111] and might lay a blamefull imputation on her daughter: Neuer­thelesse, considering, what an honest office it was in her, to bee the meanes, whereby so worthy a Countesse should recouer an vnkinde hus­band, led altogether by lust, and not a iot of cordiall loue; she knew the intent to be honest, the Countesse vertuous, and her promise religious, and therefore vndertooke to effect it. Within few dayes after, verie in­geniously, and according to the instructed order, the Ring was obtay­ned, albeit much against the Counts will; and the Countesse, in sted of the Ladies vertuous daughter, was embraced by him in bed: the houre prouing so auspicious, and Iuno being Lady of the ascendent, conioy­ned with the witty Mercury, she conceiued of two goodly Sonnes, and her deliuerance agreed correspondently with the iust time.

Thus the old Lady, not at this time only, but at many other meetings beside; gaue the Countesse free possession of her husbands pleasures, yet alwayes in such darke and concealed secrecie, as it was neuer suspected, nor knowne by any but themselues, the Count lying with his owne wife, and disappointed of her whom he more deerely loued. Alwayes at his vprising in the mornings (which vsually was before the breake of day, for for preuenting the least scruple of suspition) many familiar conferences passed betweene them, with the gifts of diuers faire and costly Iewels; all which the Countesse carefully kept, and perceiuing assuredly, that shee was conceiued with childe, she would no longer bee troublesome to the good old Lady; but calling her aside, spake thus to her. Madam, I must needs giue thankes to heauen and you, because my desires are amply ac­complished, and both time and your deserts doe iustly challenge, that I should accordingly quite you before my departure. It remaineth nowe in your owne power, to make what demand you please of me, which yet I will not giue you by way of reward, because that would seeme to bee base and mercenary: but onely whatsoeuer you shall receiue of me, is in honourable recompence of faire & vertuous deseruings, such as any ho­nest and well-minded Lady in the like distresse, may with good credit al­low, and yet no preiudice to her reputation.

Although pouerty might well haue tutored the Ladies tongue, to de­mand a liberall recompence for her paines; yet she requested but an 100 pounds, as a friendly helpe towards her daughters marriage, and that with a bashfull blushing was vttered too; yet the Countesse gaue hir fiue hundred pounds, beside so many rich and costly Iewels, as amounted to a farre greater summe. So she returned to her wonted lodging, at the a­ged widdowes house, where first she was entertained at her comming to Florence; and the good old Lady, to auoide the Counts repairing to her house any more, departed thence sodainly with her daughter, to diuers friends of hers that dwelt in the Country, whereat the Count was much discontented; albeit afterward, he did neuer heare any more tidings of hir or her daughter, who was worthily married, to her Mothers great com­fort.

Not long after, Count Bertrand was re-called home by his people: [Page] and he hauing heard of his wiues absence, went to Roussillion so much the more willingly. And the Countesse knowing her husbands departure from Florence, as also his safe arriuall at his owne dwelling, remained still in Florence, vntill the time of her deliuerance, which was of two goodly Sonnes, liuely resembling the lookes of their Father, and all the perfect lineaments of his body. Perswade your selues, she was not a little care­full of their nursing; and when she saw the time answerable to her deter­mination, she tooke her iourney (vnknowne to any) and arriued with them at Montpellier, where shee rested her selfe for diuers dayes, after so long and wearisome a iourney.

Vpon the day of all Saints, the Count kept a solemne Festiuall, for the assembly of his Lords, Knights, Ladies, and Gentlewomen: vppon which Iouiall day of generall reioycing, the Countesse attired in her wonted Pilgrimes weed, repaired thither, entering into the great Hall, where the Tables were readily couered for dinner. Preassing thorough the throng of people, with her two children in her armes, she presumed vnto the place where the Count sate, & falling on her knees before him, the teares trickling abundantly downe her checkes, thus she spake. Wor­thy Lord, I am thy poor, despised, and vnfortunate wife; who, that thou mightst returne home, and not bee an exile from thine owne abiding, haue thus long gone begging through the world. Yet now at length, I hope thou wilt be so honourably-minded, as to performe thine own too strict imposed conditions, made to the two Knights which I sent vnto thee, and which (by thy command) I was enioyned to do. Behold here in mine armes, not onely one Sonne by thee begotten, but two Twins, and thy Ring beside. High time is it now, if men of honor respect their promises, that after so long and redious trauell, I should at last bee wel­commed as thy true wife.

The Counte hearing this, stoode as confounded with admiration; for full well he knew the Ring: and both the children were so perfectly like him, as he was confirmed to be their Father by▪ generall iudgement. Vpon his vrging by what possible meanes this could be broght to passe: the Countesse in presence of the whole assembly, and vnto her eternall commendation, related the whole history, euen in such manner as you haue formerly heard it. Moreouer, she reported the priuate speeches in bed, vttered betweene himselfe and her, being witnessed more apparant­ly, by the costly Iewels there openly shewn. All which infallible proofes, proclaiming his shame, and her most noble carriage to her husband; hee confessed, that she had told nothing but the truth in euery point which she had reported.

Commending her admirable constancy, excellency of wit, & spright­ly courage, in making such a bold aduenture; hee kissed the two sweete boyes, and to keepe his promise, whereto he was earnestly importuned, by all his best esteemed friends there present, especially the honourable Ladies, who would haue no deniall, but by forgetting his former harsh and vnciuill carriage towardes her, to accept her for euer as his lawfull [Page 112] wife: folding her in his armes, and sweetly kissing her diuers times toge­ther, he bad her welcome to him, as his vertuous, loyall, & most louing wife, and so (for euer after) he would acknowledge her. Well knew he that she had store of better beseeming garments in the house, and there­fore requested the Ladies to walke with her to her Chamber, to vncase her of those pilgrimes weeds, and cloath her in her owne more sumptu­ous garments, euen those which she wore on her wedding day, because that was not the day of his contentment, but onely this: for now he con­fessed her to be his wife indeede, and now he would giue the King thanks for her, and now was Count Bertrand truly married to the faire Iuliet of Narbona.

The tenth Nouell.

DIoneus hauing diligently li­stened to the Queens singu­lar discourse, so soone as she had concluded, and none now remai­ning but himselfe, to giue a full period vnto that dayes pleasure: without longer trifling the time, or expecting any command from the Queene, thus he began. Gra­cious Ladies, I know that you do [...]ow expect from me, some such queint Tale, as shall be suteable to my merry disposition, rather sauouring of wantonnesse, then any discreet and sober wisedom, and such a purpose indeed, I once had entertained. But hauing well obserued all your seuerall relati­ons, grounded on graue & wor­thy examples, especially the last, so notably deliuered by the Queene: I cannot but commend faire Iuliet of Narbona, in perfourming two such strange impossibilities, and conquering the vnkindnesse of so cruel a hus­band. If my Tale come short of the precedent excellency, or giue not such content, as you (perhaps) expect; accept my good will, and let me stand engaged for a better heereafter.

[Page] The Annales of Denmarke do make mention, that the King of the said country, who was first set downe as Prince, contrary to the ancient cu­stom and lawes obserued among the Danes, namely Hunguinus; had a son called Siwalde, who succeeded him in the estates and kingdome, belon­ging to his famous predecessors. That age, and the Court of that Roy­all Prince, was verie highly renowned, by the honour of faire Serictha, Daughter to the sayde Siwalde; who beside her generall repute, of be­ing a myracle of Nature, in perfection of beautie, and most compleate in all that the heart of man could desire to note, in a body full of grace, gentlenesse, and whatsoeuer else, to attract the eyes of euerie one to be­holde her: was also so chaste, modest, and bashfull, as it was meerely impossible, to preuaile so farre with her, that any man should come to speake with her. For, in those dayes, marriages were pursued and sought by valour, and by the onely opinion, which stoute Warriours conceiued, of the vertuous qualities of a Ladie. Notwithstanding, ne­uer could any man make his vaunt, that she had giuen him so much as a looke, or euer any one attained to the fauour, to whisper a word in her eare. Because both the custome and will of Parents then (very respec­tiuely kept in those Northerne parts of the world) of hearing such speak, as desired their daughters in marriage; grew from offering them some worthy seruices; and thereby compassed meanes, to yeeld their conten­tation, by some gracious and kinde answers.

But she, who was farre off from the desire of any such follies, refer­ring her selfe wholly to the wil and disposition of the King her Lord and Father; was so contrary, to giue any liuing man an answer, that her eye neuer looked on any one speaking to her, appearing as sparing in vouch­safing a glance, as her heart was free from a thought of affection. For, she had no other imagination, but that Maides, both in their choise & will, ought to haue any other disposition, but such as should bee pleasing to their parents, either to graunt, or denie, according as they were guided by their graue iudgement. In like manner, so well had shee brideled her sensuall appetites, with the curbe of Reason, Wisedome, and Prouidence, setting such a seuere and constant restraint, on the twink­ling or motions of her eyes, in absolute obedience to her Father; as ne­uer was she seene to turne her head aside, to lend one looke on any man of her age.

A worthy sight it was, to behold Knights errant, passing, repassing to Denmarke, and backe againe, labouring to conquer those setled eyes, to win the least signe of grace and fauour, from her whom they so dutiously pursued, to steale but a silly glimpse or glance, and would haue thought it a kind of honorable theft. But this immouable rock of beauty, although she knew the disseignes of them which thus frequented the Court of the King her Father, and could not pretend ignorance of their endeuour, ayming onely at obtaining her in marriage: yet did she not lend a [...]y look of her eye, yeelding the least signall of the hearts motion, in affecting a­ny thing whatsoeuer, but what it pleased her Father she should do.

[Page 113] Serictha liuing in this strange and vnvsuall manner, it mooued manie Princes and great Lords, to come and court her, contending both by signes and words, to change her from this seuere constancie, and make knowne (if possible it might be) whether a woman would or could be so resolute, as to vse no respect at all towards them, coming from so manie strange countries, to honor her in the Courts of the King her father. But in these dayes of ours, if such a number of gallant spirits should come, to aske but one looke of some of our beauties; I am halfe affraide, that they should finde the eyes of many of our dainty darlings, not so sparing of their glances, as those of Serictha were. Considering, that our Courtiers of these times, are this way emulous one of another, and women are so forward in offering themselues, that they performe the office of suters, as fearing lest they should not be solicited, yea, though it bee in honest manner.

The King, who knew well enough, that a daughter was a treasure of some danger to keepe, and growing doubtfull withall least (in the end) this so obstinate seuerity would be shaken, if once it came to passe, that his daughter should feele the piercing apprehensions of loue, & whereof (as yet) she neuer had any experience; he determined to vse some reme­dy for this great concourse of louers, and strange kinde of carriage in the Princesse his daughter. For, hee apparently perceiued, that such excel­ling beauty as was in Serictha, with those good and commendable cu­stomes, and other ornaments of his daughters mind, could neuer attaine to such an height of perfection; but yet there would be found some men, so wittily accute and ingenious, as to conuert and humor a maid, accor­ding to their will, and make a mockery of them, who were (before) of most high esteeme, Beside, among so great a troope of Lords, as daily made tender of their amorous seruice, some one or other would proue so happy, as (at the last) she should be his Mistresse. And therefore for­bearing what otherwhise he had intended, as a finall conclusion of all such follies: calling his daughter alone to himsel [...]e in his Chamber, and standing cleere from all other attention, hee vsed to her this, or the like Language.

I know not faire daughter, what reason may moue you to shew your selfe so disdainfull towards so many Noble and worthy men, as come to visite you, and honour my Court with their presence, offering me their loue and loyall seruice, vnder this onely pretence (as I perceiue) of ob­taining you, and compassing the happinesse (as it appeareth in plaine strife among them) one day to winne the prize, you being the maine is­sue of all their hope. If it be bashfull modesty, which (indeede) ought to attend on all virgins of your yeares, and so veyles your eyes, as (with ho­nour) you cannot looke on any thing, but what is your owne, or may not iustly vouchsafe to see: I commēd your maidenly continencie, which yet neuerthelesse, I would not haue to bee so seuere, as (at length) your youth falling into mislike thereof, it may be the occasion of some great misfortune, either to you, or me, or else to vs both together: conside­ring [Page] what rapes are ordinarily committed in these quarters, and of La­dies equall euery way to your selfe; which happening, would presently be the cause of my death.

If it be in regard of some vow which you haue consecrated to virgini­ty, and to some one of our Gods: I seeke not therein to hinder your dis­seignes, neither will bereaue the celestiall powers, of whatsoeuer apper­taineth to them. Albeit I could wish, that it should bee kept in a place more straited, and separate from the resort of men; to the end, that so bright a beauty as yours is, should cause no discords among amorous su­ters, neither my Court proue a Campe destinied vnto the conclusion of such quarrels, or you be the occasion of ruining so many, whose seruice would beseeme a much more needfull place, then to dye heere by fond and foolish opinion of enioying a vaine pleasure, yet remaining in the power of another bodie to grant. If therefore I shall perceiue, that these behauiours in you do proceede from pride, or contempt of them, who endeuour to do you both honor and seruice, and in sted of granting them a gracious looke, in arrogancie you keepe from them, making them ene­mies to your folly and my sufferance: I sweare to you by our greatest God, that I will take such due order, as shall make you feele the hand of an offended Father, and teach you (hencefoorth) to bee much more af­fable.

Wherefore deere daughter, you shall do me a singular pleasure, free­ly to acquaint me with your minde, and the reasons of your so stricte se­uerity: promising you, vpon the word and faith of a King, nay more, of a louing and kinde Father, that if I finde the cause to bee iust and reaso­nable, I will desist so farre from hindering your intent, as you shal rather perceiue my fatherly furtherance, and rest truly resolued of my help and fauour. Wherefore faire daughter, neither blush or dismay, or feare to let me vnderstand your will; for euidently I see, that meere virgin shame hath made a rapture of your soule, beeing nothing else but those true splendors of vertue deriued from your Auncestors, and shining in you most gloriously, gracing you with a much richer embellishing, thē those beauties bestowed on you by Nature. Speake therefore boldly to your Father, because there is no law to prohibit your speech to him: for when he commandeth, he ought to bee obeyed: promising vppon mine oath once againe, that if your reasons are such as they ought to be, I will not faile to accommodate your fancy.

The wise and vertuous Princesse, hearing the King to alledge such gra­cious reasons, and to lay so kinde a command on her; making him most lowe and humble reuerence, in signe of dutifull accepting such fauour, thus she answered. Royall Lord and Father, seeing that in your Prince­ly Court, I haue gathered whatsoeuer may be termed vertuous in me, & you being the principall instructer of my life, from whom I haue learned those lessons, how maides (of my age) ought to gouerne and maintaine themselues: you shall apparantly perceiue, that neither gazing lookes, which I ought not to yeelde without your consent, nor pride or arro­gancie, [Page 114] neuer taughr me by you, or the Queene my most honourable Lady and Mother, are any occasion of my cariage towards them, which come to make ostentation of their folly in your Court, as if a meere look of Serictha, were sufficient to yeeld assurance effectually of their desires victory.

Nothing (my most Royall Lord and Father) induceth mee to this kinde of behauiour, but onely due respect of your honour & mine owne: and to the end it may not be thought, that I belye my selfe, in not eying the affectionate offers of amorous pursuers, or haue any other priuate re­serued meaning, then what may best please King Siwalde my Father: let it suffice Sir, that it remaineth in your power onely, to make an apt ele­ction and choice for me; for I neither ought, nor will allowe the accep­tance of any suters kindnesse, so much as by a looke (much lesse then by words) vntill your Highnesse shall nominate the man, to be a meete hus­band for Serictha. It is onely you then (my Lord) that beares the true life-blood of our Ancestors. It is the vntainted life of the Queene my Mother, that sets a chaste and strict restraint on mine eyes, from estran­ging my heart, to the idle amorous enticements of young giddy-headed Gentlemen, and haue sealed vp my soule with an absolute determinati­on, rather to make choise of death, then any way to alter this my war­rantable seuerity.

You being a wise King, and the worthie Father of Serictha, it is in you to mediate, counsell, and effect, what best shall beseeme the des­seignes of your daughter: because it is the vertue of children, yea, and their eternall glory and renowne, to illustrate the liues and memories of their parents. It consisteth in you, either to grant honest license to such Lords as desire me, or to oppose them with such discreete conditions, as both your selfe may sit free from any further afflicting, and they rest de­feated of dangerous dissentions, according as you foresee what may en­sue. Which yet (neuerthelesse) I hold as a matter impossible, if their dis­cord should be grounded on the sole apprehension of their soules: and the onely preuention therof, is, not to yeeld any signe, glance of the eie, or so much as a word more to one man then another: for, such is the set­led disposition of your daughters soule, and which shee humbly entrea­teth, may so be still suffered.

Many meanes there are, whereby to winne the grace of the greatest King, by employing their paines in worthy occasions, answerable vnto their yeeres and vertue, if any such sparkes of honour doe shine in their soules; rather then by gaining heere any matter of so meane moment, by endeauouring to shake the simplicity of a bashfull maide: Let them cleare the Kings high-wayes of Theeues, who make the passages diffi­cult: or let them expell Pirates from off the Seas, which make our Da­nish coasts euery way inaccessible. These are such Noble meanes to me­rit, as may throw deserued recompence vppon them, and much more worthily, then making Idols of Ladies lookes, or gazing for babies in their wanton eyes. So may you bestowe on them what is your owne, [Page] granting Serictha to behold none, but him who you shall please to giue her: for otherwise, you know her absolute resolue, neuer to looke any liuing man in the face, but onely you my gracious Lord and Father.

The King hearing this wise and modest answer of his daughter, could not choose but commend her in his heart; and smiling at the counsell which she gaue him, returned her this answer. Vnderstand me wel, faire daughter; neither am I minded to breake your determination wholly, nor yet to gouerne my selfe according to your fancie. I stand indifferent­ly contented, that vntill I haue otherwise purposed, you shall continue the nature of your ancient custome: yet conditionally, that when I com­mand an alteration of your carriage, you faile not therin to declare your obedience. What else remaineth beside, for so silly a thing as a Woman is, and for the priuate pleasing of so many great Princes and Lords, I will not endanger any of their liues; because their parents and friends (being sensible of such losses) may seeke reuenge, perhaps to their owne ruine, and some following scourge to my indiscretion. For I consider (daugh­ter) that I haue neighbours who scarsely loue me, and of whom (in time) I may right my selfe, hauing receiued (by their meanes) great wrongs & iniuries. Also I make no doubt, but to manage your loue-sute with dis­cretion, and set such a pleasing proceednig betweene them, as neyther shall beget any hatred in them towards me, nor yet offend them in their affections pursuite, till fortune may smile so fauourably vpon some one man, to reach the height of both your wished desires.

Siwalde was thus determinately resolued, to let his daughter liue at her owne discretion, without any alteration of her continued seueritie, perceiuing day by day, that many came still to request her in mariage; & he could not giue her to them all, nor make his choise of any one, least all the rest should become his enemies, and fall in quarrell one with ano­ther. Onely this therefore was his ordination, that among such a num­ber of amorous suters, he onely should weare the Lawrell wreath of vi­ctory, who could obtaine such fauour of Serictha, as but to looke him in the face. This condition seemed to bee of no meane difficulty, yea, and so impossible, that many gaue ouer their amorous enterprize: whereof Serictha was wondrouslie ioyfull, seeing her selfe eased of such tedious importunitie, dulling her eares with their proffered seruices, and fop­pish allegations of fantasticke seruitude: such as ydle-headed Louers do vse to protest before their Mistresses, wherein they may beleeue them, if they list.

Among all them that were thus forward in their heate of affection, there was a young Danish Lord, named Ocharus, the sonne of a Pirate, called Hebonius, the same man, who hauing stolne the Sister vnto King Hunguinus, and Sister to Siwalde, & affiancing himselfe to her, was slaine by King Haldune, and by thus killing him, enioyed both the Lady, and the kingdome of the Gothes also, as her inheritance. This Ocharus, rely­ing much on his comelinesse of person, wealth, power, and valour, but (aboue all the rest) on his excellent and eloquent speaking; bestowed his [Page 115] best endeauour to obtaine Serictha, notwithstanding the contemptible carriage of the rest towards him; whereupon preuailing for his accesse to the Princesse, and admitted to speake, as all the other did, he reasoned with her in this manner.

Whence may it proceede, Madam, that you being the fairest and wisest Princesse liuing at this day in all the Northerne parts, should make so smal account of your selfe, as to denie that, which with honour you m [...]y yeeld to them, as seeke to doe you most humble seruice; and forgetting the rank you hold, doe refuse to deigne them recompence in any manner whatsoe­uer, seeking onely to enioy you in honourable marriage? Perhaps you are of opinion, that the gods should become slaues to you [...] beauty, in which respect, men are vtterly vnworthy to craue any such acquaintance of you. If it be so, I confesse my selfe conquered: But if the gods seeke no such as­sociation with women, and since they forsooke the World, they left this legacy to vs men; I thinke you couet after none, but such as are extracted of their blood, or may make vaunt of their neere kindred and alliance to them. I know that many haue wished, and doe desire you: I know also, that as many haue requested you of the King your Father, but the choyce remaineth in your power, and you being ordained the Iudge, to distin­guish the merit of all your Sutors; me thinkes you doe wrong to the office of a Iudge; in not regarding the parties which are in suite, to sentence the dese [...]t of the best and brauest, and so to delay them with no more linge­ring.

I cannot thinke Madam, that you are so farre out of your selfe, and so chill cold in your affection, but desire of occasions, equall to your vertue and singular beauty, doe sometime touch you feelingly, and make you to wish for such a man, answerable to the greatnesse of your excellency. And if it should be otherwise (as I imagine it to be impossible) yet you ought to breake such an obstinate designe, onely to satisfie the King your Father, who can desire nothing more, then to haue a Sonne in Law, to re­uenge him on the Tyrant of Swetia; who, as you well know, was some­time the murtherer of your Grand-father Hunguinus, and also of his Fa­ther. If you please to vouchsafe me so much grace and fauour, as to make me the man, whom your heart hath chosen to be your Husband; I sweare vnto you by the honour of a Souldier, that I will vndergoe such seruice, as the King shall be reuenged, you royally satisfied, and my selfe aduan­ced to no meane happinesse, by being the onely fortunate man of the World. Gentle Princesse, the most beautifull daughter to a King, open that indurate heart, and so soften it, that the sweete impressions of loue may be engrauen therein; see there the loyall pursuite of your Ocharus, who, to saue his life, cannot so much as winne one looke from his diuine Mistresse.

This nicenesse is almost meerely barbarous, that I, wishing to aduen­ture my life prodigally in your seruice, you are so cruell, as not to deigne recompence to this duty of mine, with the least signe of kindnesse that can be imagined. Faire Serictha, if you desire the death of your friendly ser­uant [Page] Ocharus, there are many other meanes whereby to performe it, with­out consuming him in so small a fire, and suffering him there to languish without any answere. If you will not looke vpon me; if my face be so vn­worthy, that one beame of your bright Sunnes may not shine vpon it: If a word of your mouth be too precious for me; make a signe with your hand, either of my happinesse or disaster. If your hand be enuious of mine ease, let one of your women be shee, to pronounce the sentence of life o [...] death; because, if my life be hatefull to you, this hand of mine may satis­fie your will, and sacrifice it to the rigour of your disdaine. But if (as I am rather perswaded) the ruine of your seruants, be against your more mer­cifull wishes; deale so that I may perceiue it, and expresse what compassi­on you haue of your Ocharus, who coueteth nothing more, then your dai­ly hearts ease and contentment, with a priuiledge of honour aboue other Ladies. All this discourse was heard by Serictha, but so little was shee moued therewith, as shee was farre enough off from returning him any answer, neither did any of the Gentlewomen attending on her, euer heare her vse the very least word to any of her amorous sollicitors, nor did shee know any one of them, but by speech onely, which droue them all into an vtter despaire, perceiuing no possible meanes whereby to conquer her.

The Histories of the Northe [...]ne [...] de [...]are, that in those times, the rapes of women were not much [...], and such as pursued any Lady or Gentlewoman with loue [...] perswaded, that they neuer made sufficient proofe of the [...] [...] passions, if they vnder­tooke not all cunning stratagems, with aduenture of their liues to all pe­rils whatsoeuer, for the rape or stealth of them, whom they purposed to enioy in marriage. As we reade in the Gothes History of Gramo, Sonne to the King of Denmarke, who being impa [...]ently amourous of the daughter to the King of the Gothes, and winning the loue of the Lady, stole her a­way, before her Parents or friends had any notice thereof; by meanes of which rape, there followed a most bloody warre betweene the Gothes and the Danes. In recompence of which iniury, Sibdagerus, King of Norway, being chosen chiefe Commander of the Swetians & Gothes, entred power­fully into Denmarke, where first he violated the Sister to King Gramo, and led away her Daughter, whom in the like manner he made his Spouse, as the Dane had done the Daughter of Sigtruge, Prince of the Gothes.

I induce these briefe narrations, onely to shew, that while Ocharus made honest and affable meanes, to win respect from Serictha, and vsed all ho­nourable seruices to her, as the Daughter of so great a Prince worthily de­serued: some there were, not halfe so conscientious as he, especially one of the amourous sutors, who being weary of the strange carriages of Se­rictha, dissembling to prosecute his purpose no further; preuailed so farre, that he corrupted one of her Gouernesses, for secretly training her to such a place, where the rauisher should lie in ambush to carry her away, so to enioy her by pollicy, seeing all other meanes failed for to compasse his desire.

[Page 116] Behold to what a kind of foolish rage, which giddy headed dullards doe terme a naturall passion, they are led, who, being guided more by sen­suality, then reason or discretion, follow the braine-sicke motions of their rash apprehensions. He which pursueth, and protesteth to loue a Lady for her gentillity and vertue; knoweth not how to measure what loue is, neither seeth or conceiueth, how farre the permission of his owne endea­uour extendeth. Moreouer, you may obserue, that neuer any age was so grosse, or men so simple, but euen almost from the beginning, auarice did hood-winke the hearts of men, and that (with gold) the very strongest Fortification in the World hath beene broken, yea, and the best bard gates laide wide open. Serictha, who shunned the sight of all men, and ne­uer distrusted them which kept about her; shee who neuer knew (except some naturall sparke gaue light to her vnderstanding) what belonged to the embracements of men, must now (without dreaming thereon) fall as foode to the insatiable appetite of a wretch, who compassed this surprisall of her, to glory in his owne lewdnesse, and make a mocke of the Princesses setled constancy.

Shee, good Lady, following the councell of her trayterous guide, went abroade on walking, but weakely accompanied, as one that admitted no men to attend her, which shee might haue repented very dearely, if Hea­uen had not succoured her innocency, by the helpe of him, who wished her as well as the rauisher, though their desires were quite contrary; the one to enioy her by violence, but the other affecting rather to die, then doe the least act which might displease her. No sooner was Serictha ar [...]i­ued at the destined place, where her false Gouernesse was to deliuer her; but behold a second Paris came, and seized on her, hurrying her in haste away, before any helpe could possibly rescue her; the place being farre off from any dwelling.

Now the rauisher durst not conuey her to his owne abiding, to enioy the benefit of his purchase; but haled her into a small thicket of trees, where, although shee knew the euident perill, whereinto her seuere conti­nency had now throwne her: yet notwithstanding, shee would not lift vp her eyes, to see what he was that had thus stolne her, so firmely shee dwelt vpon grounded deliberation, and such was the vigor of her chaste resolue. And albeit shee knew a wickednesse (worse then death) preparing for her, who had no other glory then in her vertue, and desire to liue contented­ly; yet was shee no more astouned thereat, then if hee had led her to the Palace of the King her Father: perswading herselfe, that violence done to the body, is no preiudice to honour, when the mind is free and cleere from consent.

As thus this robber of beauty was preparing to massacre the modesty of the faire Princesse, shee resisted him with all her power, yea, and defen­ded her selfe so worthily, that he could not get one looke of her eye, one kisse of her cheeke, nor any aduantage whatsoeuer, crying out shrilly, and strugling against him strongly: her outcryes were heard by one, who lit­tle imagined that shee was so neere, whom he loued more dearely then his [Page] owne life, namely, Ocharus; who was walking accidentally alone in this wood, deuising by what meanes hee might winne grace from his sterne Mistresse. No sooner tooke he knowledge of her, and saw her (in the armes of another) to be rauished; but he cryed out to the thiefe, saying, Hand off villaine, let not such a slaue as thou, prophane with an vnreue­rend touch the sacred honour of so chaste a Princesse, who deserueth to be more royally respected, then thus rudely hurried: Hand off I say, or else I sweare by her diuine perfections, whom I esteeme aboue all crea­tures in this World, to make thee die more miserably, then euer any man as yet did.

Whosoeuer had seene a Lyon or an Ounce rouse himselfe, chafing when any one aduentureth to rob him of his prey; and these with fierce eyes, mounted creasts, writhed tayles, and sharpened pawes, make against him that durst so mollest him. In the like manner did the rauisher shew himselfe, and one while snarling, another while bristling the darted dis­dainefull lookes at Ocharus, and spake to him in this manner. Vile and base Sea-thiefe, as thou art, welcome to thy deserued wages, and iust re­payment for thy proud presuming. It glads my heart not a little, to meete thee here, where thou shalt soone perceiue what good will I beare thee, and whether thou be worthy or no to enioy the honour of this Lady, now in mine owne absolute possession. It will also encrease her more ample perswasion of my worth, and pleade my merit more effectually in her fa­uour; when shee shall see what a powerfull arme I haue, to punish this proud insolence of a Pirate.

This harsh language was so distastfull to Ocharus, that like a Bull, made angry by the teeth of some Mastiue Dogge, or pricked by the point of a weapon, he ran vpon his enemy, and was so roughly welcommed by him, as it could not easily be iudged which of them had the better aduantage. But in the end Fortune fauoured most the honest man, and Ocharus ha­uing ouerthrowne the robber, hee smote the head of him quite from his shoulders, which he presented to her, whom he had deliuered out of so great a perill, and thus he spake. You may now behold Madam, whether Ocharus be a true louer of Sericthaes vertues, or no, and your knowledge fully resolued, at what end his affection aimeth; as also, how farre his ho­nest desert extendeth, for you both to loue him, and to recompence the loyall respect he hath vsed towards you. Neuer looke on the villaines face, who stroue to shame the King your Fathers Court, by violation of thee­uery, the chasest Princesse on the Earth; but regard Ocharus, who is readie to sacrifice himselfe, if you take as much pleasure in his ruine, as (he thin­keth) hee hath giuen you contentment, by deliuering you from this Traytor.

Doth it not appeare vnto you Madam, that I haue as yet done enough, whereby to be thought a worthy Husband, for the royall Daughter of Denmarke? Haue I not satisfied the Kings owne Ordinance, by deliuering his Daughter, as already I haue done? Will Serictha be so constant in her cruelty, as not to turne her eye towards him, who exposed his life, to no [Page 117] meane perill and daunger, onely in the defence of her Chastity? Then I plainely perceiue, that the wages of my deuoire, is ranked amongest those precedent seruices, which I haue performed for so hurtfull a beau­tie. Yet gentle Princesse, let me tell you, my carriage hath bin of more importance, then all the others can be, and my merit no way to be com­pared with theirs; at least, if you pleased to make account of him, who is an vnfeigned louer of your modesty, and deuoutly honoureth your ver­tuous behauiour. And yet Madame, shall I haue none other answere from you, but your perpetuall silence? Can you continue so obstinate in your opinion, in making your selfe still as strange to your Ocharus, as to the rest, who haue no other affection, but onely to the bare outside of beauty? Why then, Royall Ladie, seeing (at this instant time) all my la­bour is but lost, and your heart seemeth much more hardned, in acknowledging any of my honest seruices: at least yet let me bee so happy, as to conduct you backe to the Palace, and restore you to that sacred safetie, which will be my soules best comfort to behold.

No outward signe of kinde acceptation, did any way expresse it selfe in her, but rather as fearing, lest the commodiousnesse of the place shold incite this young Lord, to forget all honest respect, and imitate the o­ther in like basenesse. But he, who rather wished a thousand deathes, then any way to displease his Mistresse, as if hee were halfe doubtfull of her suspition, made offer of guiding her backe to the place, from whence shee had before bene stolne, where she found her company still staying, as not daring to stirre thence, to let the King know his daughters ill for­tune; but when they saw her returne, and in the company of so worthie a Knight, they grew resolued, that no violence had bene done vnto her.

The Princesse, sharpely rebuking her women, for leauing her so base­ly as they had done, gaue charge to one of them (because she would not seeme altogether negligent & discourteous) that she being gon thence, she should not faile to thanke Ocharus, for the honest and faithfull ser­uice he had done vnto her, which she would continually remember, and recompence as it lay in her power. Neuerthelesse, shee aduised him withall, not to hope of any more aduantage thereby, then reason should require. For, if it were the will of the Gods, that she should be his wife, neither she or any other could let or hinder it: but if her destiny reserued her for another, all his seruices would auaile to no purpose, but rather to make her the more rigorous towards him.

This gracious answer, thus giuen him by her Gentlewoman, althogh it gaue some small contentment to the poore languishing louer: yet hee saw no assured signe whereon to settle his resolue, but his hopes vanished away in smoake, as fast as opinion bred them in his braine. And glad­ly he would haue giuen ouer all further amorous solicitings, but by some priuate perswasions of her message sent him, which in time might so ad­uance his seruices done for her sake, as would deriue far greater fauours from her. Whereupon, he omitted no time or place, but as occasion gaue him any gracious permission, still plied her memorie, with his man­ly [Page] rescuing her from the rauisher, sufficient to pleade his merite to her Father, and that (in equity) she ought to bee his wife, by right both of Honour and Armes; no man being able to deserue her, as he had done.

So long he pursued her in this maner, that his speeches seemed hate­full to her, and deuising how to be free from his daily importunities, at length, in the habite of a poore Chamber-maide, she secretly departed out of the Court, wandering into the solitary parts of the country; where she entered into seruice, and had the charge of keeping Sheepe. It may seeme strange, that a Kings onely daughter should stray in such sort, and despising Courtly life, betake her selfe to paines and seruility: but such was her resolution, and women delighting altogether in extremes, spare no attempts to compasse their owne wils. All the Court was in an vp­rore for the Ladies losse, the Father in no meane affliction, the Louers well-nere beside their wits, and euery one else most greeuously tormen­ted, that a Lady of such worth should so sodainly be gone, and all pursuit made after her, gaine no knowledge of her.

In this high tide of sorrow and disaster, what shall we say of the gen­tle Lord Ocharus? What iudgement can sound the depth of his wofull extreamity? Fearing least some other theefe had now made a second stealth of his diuine Goddesse; he must needs follow her againe, seeking quite throughout the world, neuer more rerurning backe to the Court, nor to the place of his owne abiding, vntill hee heard tidings of his Mi­stresse, or ended his dayes in the search of her. No Village, Town, Cot­tage, Caste, or any place else of note or name, did hee leaue vnsought, but diligently he searched for Serictha; striuing to get knowledge, vnder what habit she liued thus concealed, but all his labour was to no effect: which made him leaue the places so much frequented, and visite the so­litary desert shades, entering into all Caues and rusticke habitations, whereon hee could fasten his eye, to seeke for the lost Treasure of his soule.

On a day, as hee wandred along in a spacious valley, seated betweene two pleasant hilles, taking delight to heare the gentle murmure of the ri­uers, running by the sides of two neighbouring rockes, planted with all kinde of trees, and very thickely spred with mosse: hee espied a flocke of Sheepe feeding on the grasse, and not farre off from them sate a Maide spinning on her Distaffe; who hauing got a sight of him, presently coue­red her face with a veile. Loue, who sate as Sentinell both in the heart and eye of the gentle Norwegian Lord, as quickly discouered the subtil­ty of the faire Shephearddesse, enstructing the soule of Ocharus, that thus she hid her face, as coueting not to be knowne: whereupon he ga­thered, that doubtlesse this was shee, for whom he hadde sought with such tedious trauaile, and therefore going directly vnto her, thus hee spake.

Gentle Princesse; wherefore do you thus hide your selfe from mee? Why do you haunt these retreats and desolate abodes, hauing power to commaund ouer infinite men, that cannot liue but by your presence? [Page 118] What hath moued you Madame, to flye from company, to dwel among desert Rockes, and serue as a slaue, to such as are no way worthy of your seruice? Why do you forsake a potent King, whose onely daughter and hope you are; leauing your countrey and royall traine of Ladies, and so farre abasing your selfe, to liue in the deiected state of a seruant, and to some rusticke clowne or peazant? What reason haue you, to despise so many worthy Lords, that dearely loue and honor you, but (aboue them all) your poore slaue Ocharus, who hath no spare of his owne life, for the safety of yours, and also for the defence of your honor? Royal maid, I am the same man that deliuered you from the villaine, who would haue violated your faire chastity; and since then, haue not spared any payne or trauell in your search: for whose losse, King Siwalde is in extreme an­guish, the Danes in mourning habites, and Ocharus euen at the doore of death, being no way able to endure your absence.

Are you of the minde, worthy Madame, that I haue not hitherto de­serued so much as one good looke or glance of your eye, in recompence of so many good & loyall seruices? If Alas! I am neither rauisher, nor de­mander of any vniust requests, or else inciuill in my motions: I may me­rit one regard of my Mistresse. I require onely so silly a fauour, that her eyes may pay me the wages for all which I haue hitherto done in her ser­uice. What would you do Madam, if I were an importunate solicitor, and requested farre greater matters of you, in iust recompence of my la­bours? I do not desire, that you should embrace me. I am not so bold, as to request a kisse of Sericthaes, more then immortall lips. Nor doe I couet, that she should any otherwise entreate mee, then with such seue­rity as beseemeth so great a Princesse. I aske no more, but onely to ele­uate your chaste eyes, and grace me with one little looke, as being the man, who for his vertue and loyall affection, hath deserued more then that fauour, yea, a much greater and excellent recompence. Can you then be so cruell, as to denie me so small a thing, without regarde of the maine debt, wherein you stand engaged to your Ocharus?

The Princesse perceiuing that it auailed nothing to conceale hir selfe, being by him so apparantly discouered; began now to speake (which she had neuer done before, either to him, or any other of her amorous su­ters) answering him in this manner. Lord Orharus, it might suffice you, that your importunity made me forsake my Fathers Court, and causeth me to liue in this abased condition, which I purpose to prosecute all my life time; or so long (at the least) as you, and such as you are, pursue me so fondly as you haue presumed to do. For I am resolued, neuer to fauour you any otherwise, then hitherto I haue done; desiring you ther­fore, that Serictha wanting an Interpreter to tell you her wil, you would now receiue it from her owne mouth, determining sooner to dye, then alter a iot of her intended purpose.

Ocharus hearing this vnwelcome answer, was euen vpon the point to haue slaine himselfe: but yet, not to lose the name of a valiant man, or to be thought of an effeminate or cowardly spirite, that a Woman should [Page] force him to an acte, so farre vnfitting for a man of his ranke; hee tooke his leaue of her, solemnly promising, not to forget her further pursuite, but at all times to obey her so long as he liued, although her commaund was very hard for him to endure. So hee departed thence, not vnto the Court, she being not there, that had the power to enioyne his presence: but home to his owne house, where he was no sooner arriued, but he be­gan to waxe wearie of his former folly; accusing himselfe of great indis­cretion, for spending so much time in vaine, and in her seruice, who vt­terly despised him, and all his endeuours which he vndertooke. He be­gan to accuse her of great ingratitude, laying ouer-much respect vppon her vertue, to haue no feeling at all of his loyall sufferings; but meerely made a mockery of his martyrdome. Heereupon, he concluded to giue ouer all further affection, to languish no longer for her sake, that hated him and all his actions.

While he continued in these melancholly passions, the Princesse, who all this while had persisted in such strict seuerity, as astonished the cou­rages of her stoutest seruants; considering (more deliberately) on the sincere affection of Ocharus, and that vertue onely made him the friend to her modesty, and not wanton or lasciuious appetite; she felt a willing readinesse in her soule, to gratifie him in some worthy manner, and to recompence some part of his trauailes. Which to effect, she resolued to follow him (in some counterfeite habite) euen to the place of his own abiding, to try, if easily he could take knowledge of her, whom so lately he saw in the garments of a Shephearddesse. Being thus minded, shee went to her Mistresse whom she serued, and who had likewise seen Lord Ocharus (of whom she had perfect knowledge) when hee conferred with the Shephearddesse, and enquiring the cause, why hee resorted in that manner to her; Serictha returned her this answer.

Mistresse, I make no doubt, but you will be somewhat amazed, and (perhaps) can hardly credit when you heare, that she who now serueth you in the poore degree of Shephearddesse, is the onely daughter to Si­walde King of the Danes: for whose loue, so many great Lords haue con­tinually laboured; and that I onely attracted hither Ocharus, the Noble Sonne of valiant Hebonius, to wander in these solitary deserts, to finde out her that fled from him, and helde him in as high disdaine, as I did all the rest of his fellow riuals. But if my words may not heerein sufficiently assure you, I would aduise you, to send where Ocharus dwelleth, & there make further enquiry of him, to the end that you may not imagine me a lyar. If my speeches do otherwise preuaile with you, and you remain as­sured, that I am she, whom your Noble neighbour so deerely affecteth, albeit I neuer made any account at all of him: then I do earnestly intreat you, so much to stand my friend, as to prouide some conuenient means for me, whereby I may passe vnknowne to the Castle of Ocharus, to re­uenge my selfe on his ciuill honesty, & smile at him hereafter, if he proue not so cleerely sighted, as to know her being neere him, whom he vaun­teth to loue aboue all women else.

[Page 119] The good Countrey-woman hearing these wordes, and perceyuing that she had the Princesse in her house, of whose speeches she made not any doubt, in regard of her stout countenance, grauity, and faire demea­nor, began to rellish something in her minde, farre differing from mat­ter of common vnderstanding, and therfore roundly replied in this kind of language.

Madam (for seruant I may no longer call you) I make no question to the contrary, but that you are deriued of high birth; hauing obserued your behauiour, and womanly carriage. And so much the more I re­maine assured thereof, hauing seene such great honor done vnto you, by the Noble Lord, and worthy Warriour Ocharus: wherefore, it lieth not in my power, to impeach your desseignes, much lesse to talke of your longer seruice, because you are the Princesse Serictha, whom I am to performe all humble dutie vnto, as being one of your meanest subiects. And although you were not shee, yet would I not presume any way to offend you, in regarde of the true and vertuous loue, which that good Knight Ocharus seemeth to beare you. If my company bee needefull for you, I beseech you to accept it: if not, take whatsoeuer is mine, which may any way sted you; for, to make you passe vnknowne, I can and will prouide sufficiently, euen to your own contentment, and in such strange manner, as Ocharus (were he neuer so cleerely sighted) shalbe deceiued, you being attired in those fashion garments, which heere in these parts are vsually worne.

Serictha being wonderously ioyfull at her answer, suffred hir to paint, or rather soile her faire face, with the iuice of diuers hearbes and rootes, and cloathed her in such an habite as those women vse to weare that liue in the mountaines of Norway, vpon the sea-coast fronting Great-Britain. Being thus disguised, confidently she went, tobeguile the eie of her dea­rest friend, and so to returne backe againe from him, hauing affoorded him such a secret fauour, in requitall of his honourable seruices; deliue­ring her out of so great a danger, and comming to visite her in so solita­rie a life. Nor would she haue the womans company any further, then till she came within the sight of Ocharus his Castle; where when she was arriued (he being then absent) the mother vnto the Noble Gentleman, gaue her courteous welcom; and, notwithstanding her grosse & home­ly outward appearance, yet she collected by her countenance, that there was a matter of much more worth in her, then to bee a woman of base breeding.

When Ocharus was returned home, he receiued aduertisement by his mother, concerning the arriuall of this stranger, when as sodainely his soule halfe perswaded him, of some kinde courtesie to proceede from his sweet rebell, pretending now some feigned excuse, in recompence of all his trauailes, and passed honest offices. Obseruing all her actions and gestures, her wonted rigour neuer bending one iot, or gaue way to her eye to looke vpon any man; he grew the better assured, that she was the daughter to King Siwalde. Yet feigning to take no knowledge thereof, [Page] he bethought himselfe of a queint policy, whereby to make triall, whe­ther secret kindnesse had conducted this Lady thither, or no, to conclude his torments, and giue a final end to his greeuous afflictions.

Vpon a watch-word giuen to his Mother, he pretended, and so cau­sed it to be noised through the house, that he was to marry a very hono­rable Lady; which the constant and chaste maide verily beleeued; and therefore gaue the more diligent attendance (as a new-come seruant) to see all things in due decency, as no one could expresse her selfe more ready, because she esteemed him aboue all other men. Yet such was the obstinate opinion she conceiued of her owne precisenesse, as she would rather suffer all the flames of loue, then expresse the least shew of desire to any man liuing. Neuerthelesse, she was inwardly offended, that any other should haue the honour, to make her vaunt of enioying Ocharus; whom (indeed) she coueted, and thought him only worthy in her heart, to be Son in law to the King of Denmarke.

Now, as the Mother was very seriously busied in preparing the Ca­stle, for receiuing the pretended Bride; shee employed her new Mayde (Serictha I meane) as busily as any of the rest. In the meanewhile, Ocha­rus was laid vpon a bed, well noting all her carriage and behauiour, shee hauing a lighted Candle in her hand, without any Candlesticke to hold it in. As all the seruants (both men and maids) were running hastily frō place to place, to cary such occasions as they were commanded, the can­dle was consumed so neere to Sericthaes fingers, that it burned hir hand. She, not to faile a iote in her height of mind, and to declare that her co­rage was inuincible; was so farre off from casting away the small snuffe which offended her, that she rather graspt it the more strongly, euen to the enflaming of her owne flesh, which gaue light to the rest about their businesse. A matter (almost) as maruellous, as the acte of the noble Ro­mane, who gaue his hand to be burned, in presence of the Tuscane King, that had besiedged Rome. Thus this Lady would needs make it apparant­ly knowne, by this generous acte of hers, that her heart could not be en­flamed or conquered, by all the fires of concupiscence, in suffering so stoutly and couragiously, the burning of this materiall fire.

Ocharus, who (as we haue already saide) obserued euery thing that Serictha did; perceiuing that she spake not one worde, albeit her hand burned in such fierce maner, was much astonished at her sprightly mind. And as he was about to aduise her, to hurle away the fire so much offen­ding her; Cu [...]iositie (meerely naturall vnto Women) made the La­die lift vppe her eyes, to see (by stealth) whether her friend had no­ted her inuincible constancy, or no. Heereby Ocharus won the honour of his long expected victory; and leaping from off the bed, hee ranne to embrace her, not with any such feare as he had formerly vsed, in not da­ring so much as to touch her: but boldly now clasping his armes about her, he said. At this instant Madam, the King your Fathers decree is ful­ly accomplished, for I am the first man that euer you lookt in the face, & you are onely mine, without making any longer resistance. You are the Princely Lady and wife, by me so constantly loued and desired, whom I [Page 120] haue followed with such painefull trauels, exposing my life to infinite pe­rils in your seruice: you haue seene and lookt on him, who neuer craued any thing of you, but onely this fauour, whereof you cannot bereaue me againe, because the Gods themselues, at such time as I least expected it, haue bestowne it on me, as my deserued recompence, and worthy re­ward.

In the deliuery of these words, he kissed and embraced her a thousand times, shee not vsing any great resistance against him, but onely as some­what offended with her selfe, either for being so rash in looking on him, or else for delaying his due merit so long; or rather, because with her good will shee had falne into the transgression. Shee declared no violent or con­tending motion, as loath to continue so long in his a [...]mes; but rather, eui­dent signes of hearty contentment, yet in very bashfull and modest man­ner, willing enough to accept his louing kindnesse, yet not wandring from her wonted chaste carriage. He being fauourably excused, for the outward expression of his amourous behauiour to her, and certified withall, that since the time of freeing her from the wretch, who sought the violating of her chastity, shee had entirely respected him, (albeit, to shun suspition of lightnesse, and to win more assurance, of what shee credited sufficiently already, shee continued her stiffe opinion against him) yet alwayes this re­solution was set downe in her soule, neuer (with her will) to haue any o­ther Husband but Ocharus, who (aboue all other) had best deserued her, by his generosity, vertue, manly courage, and valiancy; whereof he might the better assure himselfe, because (of her owne vo [...]untary disposition) shee followed to find him out, not for any other occasion, but to reuenge her selfe (by this honest Office) for all that he had done or vndertaken, to winne the grace and loue of the King of Denmarkes Daughter, to whom he presented such dutifull seruice.

Ocharus, who would not loose this happinesse, to be made King of all the Northerne Ilands, with more then a thankfull heart, accepted all her gracious excuses. And being desirous to waste no longer time in vaine, lest Fortune should raise some new stragatem against him, to dispossesse him of so faire a felicity; left off his counterfet intended marriage, and ef­fected this in good earnest, and was wedded to his most esteemed Se­rictha. Not long had these louers liued in the lawfull and sacred rites of marriage, but King Siwalde was aduertised, that his Daughter had giuen her consent to Ocharus, and receiued him as her noble Husband. The par­ty was not a iot displeasing to him, hee thought him to be a worthy Son in Law, and the condition did sufficiently excuse the match; onely herein lay the errour and offence, that the marriage was sollemnized without his knowledge and consent, he being not called thereto, or so much as acquainting him therewith, which made him condemne Ocharus of o­uerbold arrogancy, he being such a great and powerfull King, to be so lightly respected by his Subiect, and especially in the marriage of his Daughter.

But Serictha, who was now metamorphosed from a maide to a wife, [Page] and had lyen a few nights by the side of a Soldiour, was become much more valiant and aduenturous then she was before. She took the matter in hand, went to her Father, who welcommed her most louingly, and so pleasing were her speeches, carried with such wit and womanly discreti­on, that nothing wanted to approue what she had done. Matters which he had neuer knowne, or so much as heard of, were now openly reuea­led, how Ocharus had deliuered her from the rauisher, what worthie re­spect he then vsed towards her, and what honour he extended to her in the deserts, where she tended her flocke as a Shephearddesse, with manie other honourable actions beside: that the Kings anger became mildely qualified, and so farre he entred into affection, that he would not do a­ny thing thence-forward, without the counsell and aduise of his Sonne in Law, whom so highly he esteemed, and liked so respectiuely of him, and his race; that his Queene dying, hee married with the Sister to Ocharus, going hand in hand with the gentle and modest Princesse Serictha.

This Nouell of Dioneus, was commended by all the company, and so much the rather, because it was free from all folly and obscoennesse. And the Queene perceiuing, that as the Tale was ended, so her dignitie must now be expired: she tooke the Crowne of Laurell from off her head, & graciously placed it on the head of Philostratus, saying; The worthy Dis­course of Dioncus, being out of his wonted wanton element, causeth mee (at the resignation of mine Authority) to make choise of him as our next Commander, who is best able to order and enstruct vs all; and so I yeeld both my place and honour to Philostratus, I hope with the good liking of all our assistants: as plainly appeareth by their instant carriage towards him, with all their heartiest loue and sufferages.

Whereupon Philostratus, beginning to consider on the charge com­mitted to his care, called the Maister of the houshold, to knowe in what estate all matters were, because where any defect appeared, euerie thing might be the sooner remedied, for the better satisfaction of the compa­ny, during the time of his authority. Then returning backe to the assem­bly, thus he began. Louely Ladies, I would haue you to knowe, that since the time of ability in me, to distinguish betweene good and euill, I haue alwayes bene subiect (perhaps by the meanes of some beautie heere among vs) to the proud and imperious dominion of loue, with expressi­on of all duty, humility, and most intimate desire to please: yet all hath prooued to no purpose, but still I haue bin reiected for some other, wher­by my condition hath falne from ill to worse, and so still it is likely, euen to the houre of my death. In which respect, it best pleaseth me, that our conferences to morrow, shal extend to no other argument, but only such casesas are most conformable to my calamity, namely of such, whose loue hath had vnhappy ending, because I await no other issue of mine; nor wil­lingly would I be called by any other name, but onely, the miserable and vnfortunate Louer.

Hauing thus spoken, he arose againe; granting leaue to the rest, to re­create themselues till supper time. The Garden was very faire and spaci­ous, [Page 121] affoording large limits for their seuerall walkes; the Sun being alrea­dy so low descended, that it could not be offensiue to any one, the Con­nies, Kids, and young Hindes skipping euery where about them, to their no meane pleasure and contentment. Dioneus & Fiammetta, sate singi [...]g together, of Messire Guiglielmo and the Lady of Vertue. Philomena and Pamphilus playing at the Chesse, all sporting themselues as best they pleased. But the houre of Supper being come, and the Tables couered about the faire fountaine, they sate downe and supt in most louing man­ner. Then Philostratus, not to swerue from the course which had beene obserued by the Queenes before him, so soone as the Tables were taken away, gaue command, that Madam Lauretta should beginne the dance, and likewise to sing a Song. My gracious Lord (quoth shee) I can skill of no other Songs, but onely a peece of mine owne, which I haue alrea­dy learned by heart, & may well beseeme this faire assembly: if you please to allow of that, I am ready to performe it with all obedience. Lady, re­plyed the King, you your selfe being so faire and louely, so needs must be whatsoeuer commeth from you, therefore let vs heare such as you haue. Madam Lauretta, giuing enstruction to the Chorus, prepared, and began in this manner.

So did Madam Lauretta finish her Song, which beeing well obserued of them all, was vnderstood by some in diuers kinds: some alluding it one way, & others according to their own apprehensions, but all consenting, that both it was an excellent Ditty, well deuised, and most sweetly sung. Afterward, lighted Torches being brought, because the Stars had alrea­dy richly spangled all the heauens, and the fit houre of rest approaching: the King commanded them all to their Chambers, where wee meane to leaue them vntill the next morning.

The first Nouell.

OVR King (most Noble and vertuous Ladies) hath this day giuen vs a subiect, very rough and stearne to discourse on, and so much the rather, if we con­sider, that we are come hither to be merry & plea­sant, where sad Tragicall reports are no way sute­able, especially, by reuiuing the teares of others, to bedew our owne checkes withall. Nor can any such argument be spoken of, without mouing compassion both in the reporters, and hearers. But (perhaps) it was his high­nesse pleasure, to moderate the delights which we haue already had. Or whatsoeuer else hath prouoked him thereto, seeing it is not lawfull for mee, to alter or contradict his appointment; I will recount an accident very pittifull, or rather most vnfortunate, and well worthy to bee graced with our teares.

Tancrede, Prince of Salerne (which City, before the Consulles of Rome held dominion in that part of Italy, stoode free, and thence (perchance) [Page] tooke the moderne title of a Principality) was a very humane Lord, and of ingenious nature; if, in his elder yeares, he had not soiled his hands in the blood of Louers, especially one of them, being both neere and deere vnto him. So it fortuned, that during the whole life time of this Prince, he had but one onely daughter (albeit it had bene much better, if he had had none at all) whom he so choisely loued and esteemed, as neuer was any childe more deerely affected of a Father: and so farre extended his ouer-curious respect of her, as he would sildome admit her to be foorth of his sight; neither would he suffer her to marry, although she had out­stept (by diuers yeares) the age meete for marriage. Neuerthelesse, at length, he matched her with the Sonne to the Duke of Capua, who liued no long while with her; but left her in a widdowed estate, and then shee returned home to her father againe.

This Lady, had all the most absolute perfections, both of fauour and feature, as could be wished in any woman, yong, queintly disposed, and of admirable vnderstanding, more (perhappes) then was requisite in so weake a bodie. Continuing thus in Court with the King her Father, who loued her beyond all his future hopes; like a Lady of great and glorious magnificence, she liued in all delights & pleasure. She well perceiuing, that her Father thus exceeding in his affection to her, had no mind at all of re-marrying her, and holding it most immodest in her, to solicite him with any such suite: concluded in her mindes priuate consultations, to make choise of some one especiall friend or fauorite (if Fortune would proue so furtherous to her) whom she might acquaint secretly, with her sober, honest, and familiar purposes. Her Fathers Court beeing much frequented, with plentifull accesse of braue Gentlemen, and others of in­feriour quality, as commonly the Courts of Kings & Princes are, whose carriage and demeanor she very heedfully obserued. There was a yong Gentleman among all the rest, a seruant to her Father, and named Guis­cardo, a man not deriued from any great descent by bloode, yet much more Noble by vertue and commendable behauiour, then appeared in any of the other, none pleased her opinion, like as he did; so that by of­ten noting his parts and perfections, her affection being but a glowing sparke at the first, grewe like a Bauin to take flame, yet kept so closely as possibly she could; as Ladies are warie enough in their loue.

The yong Gentleman, though poore, being neither blocke nor dul­lard, perceiued what he made no outward shew of, and vnderstood him­selfe so sufficiently, that holding it no meane happinesse to bee affected by her, he thought it very base and cowardly in him, if he should not ex­presse the like to her againe. So louing mutually (yet secretly) in this ma­ner, and shee coueting nothing more, then to haue priuate conference with him, yet not daring to trust any one with so important a matter; at length she deuised a new cunning stratageme, to compasse her longing desire, and acquaint him with her priuate purpose, which proued to bee in this manner. Shee wrote a Letter, concerning what was the next day to be done, for their secret meeting together; and conueying it within [Page 126] the ioynt of an hollow Cane, in iesting maner threw it to Guiscardo, say­ing; Let your man make vse of this, insted of a paire of bellowes, when he meaneth to make fire in your chamber. Guiscardo taking vp the Cane, and considering with himselfe, that neither was it giuen, or the wordes thus spoken, but doubtlesse on some important occasion: went vnto his lodging with the Cane, where viewing it respectiuely, he found it to be cleft, and opening it with his knife, found there the written Letter enclo­sed.

After he had reade it, and well considered on the seruice therein con­cerned; he was the most ioyfull man of the world, and began to contriue his aptest meanes, for meeting with his gracious Mistresse, and accor­ding as she had giuen him direction. In a corner of the Kings Palace, it being seated on a rising hill, a caue had long beene made in the body of the same hill, which receiued no light into it, but by a small spiracle or vent-loope, made our ingeniously on the hils side. And because it hadde not in long time bene frequented, by the accesse of any body, that vent­light was ouer-growne with briars and bushes, which almost engirt it round about. No one could descend into this caue or vault, but only by a secret paire of staires, answering to a lower Chamber of the Palace, and very neere to the Princesses lodging, as beeing altogether at her com­mand, by meanes of a strong barred and defensible doore, whereby to mount or descend at her pleasure. And both the caue it selfe, as also the degrees conducting downe into it, were now so quite worne out of me­mory (in regard it had not bene visited by any one in long time before) as no man remembred that there was any such thing.

But Loue, from whose bright discerning eies, nothing can be so close­ly concealed, but at the length it commeth to light: had made this amo­rous Lady mindefull thereof, and because she would not bee discouered in her intention, many dayes together, her soule became perplexed; by what meanes that strong doore might best be opened, before shee could compasse to performe it. But after that she had found out the way, and gone downe her selfe alone into the caue; obseruing the loope-light, & had made it commodious for her purpose, shee gaue knowledge thereof to Guiscardo, to haue him deuise an apt course for his descent, acquainting him truly with the height, and how farre it was distant from the ground within. After he had found the souspirall in the hils side, and giuen it a larger entrance for his safer passage; he prouided a Ladder of cords, with steppes sufficient for his descending and ascending, as also a wearing sute made of leather, to keepe his skinne vnscratched of the thornes, and to a­uoide all suspition of his resorting thither. In this manner went he to the saide loope-hole the night following, and hauing fastened the one end of his corded ladder, to the strong stumpe of a tree being closely by it; by meanes of the saide ladder, he descended downe into the caue, and there attended the comming of his Lady.

She, on the morrow morning, pretending to her waiting woman, that she was scarsly well, and therefore would not be diseased the most part of [Page] that day; commanded them to leaue her alone in her Chamber, and not to returne vntill she called for them, locking the doore her selfe for bet­ter security. Then opened she the doore of the caue, and going downe the staires, found there her amorous friend Guiscardo, whom she saluting with a chaste and modest kisse; caused him to ascend vp the stayres with her into her chamber. This long desired, and now obtained meeting, caused the two deerely affecting Louers, in kinde discourse of amorous argument (without inciuill or rude demeanor) to spend there the most part of that day, to their hearts ioy and mutuall contentment. And ha­uing concluded on their often meeting there, in this cunning & concea­led sort; Guiscardo went downe into the caue againe, the Princesse ma­king the doore fast after him, and then went forth among her Women. So in the night season, Guiscardo ascended vppe againe by his Ladder of cords, and couering the loope-hole with brambles and bushes, returned (vnseene of any) to his owne lodging: the caue being afterward guilty of their often meeting there in this manner.

But Fortune, who hath alwayes bin a fatall enemy to louers stolne fe­licities, became enuious of their thus secret meeting, and ouerthrew (in an instant) all their poore happinesse, by an accident most spightfull and malicious. The King had vsed diuers dayes before, after dinner time, to resort all alone to his daughters Chamber, there conuersing with her in most louing manner. One vnhappy day amongst the rest, when the Prin­cesse, being named Ghismonda, was sporting in her priuat Garden among her Ladies, the King (at his wonted time) went to his daughters Cham­ber, being neither heard or seene by any. Nor would he haue his daugh­ter called from her pleasure, but finding the windowes fast shut, and the Curtaines close drawne about the bed; he sate downe in a chaire behind it, and leaning his head vpon the bed, his body being couered with the curtaine, as if he hid himselfe purposely; hee mused on so many matters, vntill at last he sell fast asleepe.

It hath bin obserued as an ancient Adage, that when disasters are or­dained to any one, commonly they proue to be ineuitable, as poore Ghis­monda could witnesse too well. For, while the King thus slept, shee ha­uing (vnluckily) appointed another meeting with Guiscardo, left hir Gen­tlewomen in the Garden, and stealing softly into her Chamber, hauing made all fast and sure, for being descried by any person: opened the doore to Guiscardo, who stood there ready on the staire-head, awaiting his en­trance; and they sitting downe on the bed side (according as they were wont to do) began their vsuall kinde conference againe, with sighes and louing kisses mingled among them. It chanced that the King awaked, & both hearing and seeing this familiarity of Guiscardo with his Daughter, he became extreamly confounded with greefe therat. Once he intended, to cry out for helpe, to haue them both there apprehended; but he helde it a part of greater wisedome, to sit silent still, and (if hee could) to keepe himselfe so closely concealed: to the end, that he might the more secret­ly, and with far lesse disgrace to himselfe, performe what hee had rashly [Page 127] intended to do.

The poore discouered Louers, hauing ended their amorous interpar­lance, without suspition of the Kings being so neer in person, or any els, to betray their ouer-confident trust; Guiscardo descended againe into the Caue, and she leauing the Chamber, returned to her women in the Gar­den; all which Tancrede too well obserued, and in a rapture of fury, de­parted (vnseene) into his owne lodging. The same night, about the houre of mens first sleepe, and according as he had giuen order; Guiscardo was apprehended, euen as he was comming forth of the loope-hole, & in his homely leather habite. Very closely was he brought before the King, whose heart was swolne so great with greefe, as hardly was hee able to speake▪ notwithstanding, at the last he began thus. Guiscardo, the loue & respect I haue vsed towards thee, hath not deserued the shameful wrong which thou hast requited me withall, and as I haue seene with mine owne eyes this day. Whereto Guiscardo could answer nothing else, but onely this: Alas my Lord! Loue is able to do much more, then either you, or I. Whereupon, Tancrede commanded, that he should bee secretly well guarded, in a neere adioyning Chamber, and on the next day, Ghismonda hauing (as yet) heard nothing heereof, the Kings braine being infinitely busied and troubled, after dinner, and as he often had vsed to do: he went to his daughters chamber, where calling for her, and shutting the doores closely to them, the teares trickling downe his aged white beard, thus he spake to her.

Ghismonda, I was once grounded in a setled perswasion, that I truely knew thy vertue, and honest integrity of life; and this beleefe could ne­uer haue bene altred in mee, by any sinister reports whatsoeuer, had not mine eyes seene, and mine eares heard the contrary. Nor did I so much as conceiue a thought either of thine affection, or priuate conuersing with any man, but onely he that was to be thy husband. But now, I my selfe being able to auouch thy folly, imagine what an heart-breake this will be to me, so long as life remaineth in this poore, weak, and aged bo­dy. Yet, if needs thou must haue yeelded to this wanton weakenesse, I would thou hadst made choise of a man, answerable to thy birth & No­bility: whereas on the contrary, among so many worthy spirits as resort to my Court, thou likest best to conuerse with that silly yong man Guis­cardo, one of very meane and base descent, and by mee (euen for Gods sake) from his very youngest yeares, brought vppe to this instant in my Court; wherein thou hast giuen me much affliction of minde, and so o­uerthrowne my senses, as I cannot wel imagine how I should deale with thee. For him, whom I haue this night caused to be surprized, euen as he came forth of your close contriued conueyance, and detaine as my priso­ner, I haue resolued how to proceed with him: but concerning thy selfe▪ mine oppressions are so many and violent, as I know not what to say of thee. One way, thou hast meerly murthered the vnfeigned affection I bare thee, as neuer any father could expresse more to his child: and then againe, thou hast kindled a most iust indignation in me, by thine immo­dest [Page] and wilfull folly, and whereas Nature pleadeth pardon for the one, yet iustice standeth vp against the other, and vrgeth cruell seuerity against thee: neuerthelesse, before I will determine vpon any resolution, I come purposely first to heare thee speake, and what thou canst say for thy selfe, in a bad case, so desperate and dangerous.

Hauing thus spoken, he hung downe the head in his bosome, weeping as abundantly, as if it had beene a childe seuerely disciplinde. On the o­ther side, Ghismonda hearing the speeches of her Father, and perceiuing withall, that not onely her secret loue was discouered, but also Guiscardo was in close prison, the matter which most of all did torment her; shee fell into a very strange kinde of extasie, scorning teares, and entreating tearmes, such as feminine frailety are alwayes aptest vnto: but rather, with height of courage, controling feare or seruile basenesse, and declaring in­uincible fortitude in her very lookes, shee concluded with her selfe, rather then to vrge any humble perswasions, shee would lay her life downe at the stake. For plainely shee perceiued, that Guiscardo already was a dead man in Law, and death was likewise as welcome to her, rather then the depriuation of her Loue; and therefore, not like a weeping woman, or as checkt by the offence committed, but carelesse of any harme happening to her: stoutly and couragiously, not a teare appearing in her eye, or her soule any way to be perturbed, thus shee spake to her Father.

Tancrede, to denie what I haue done, or to entreate any fauour from you, is now no part of my disposition: for as the one can little auaile me, so shall not the other any way aduantage me. Moreouer, I couet not, that you should extend any clemency or kindnesse to me, but by my vo­luntary confession of the truth; doe intend (first of all) to defend mine ho­nour, with reasons sound, good, and substantiall, and then vertuously pur­sue to full effect, the greatnesse of my minde and constant resolution. True it is, that I haue loued, and still doe, honourable Guiscardo, purpo­sing the like so long as I shall liue, which will be but a small while: but if it bee possible to continue the same affection after death, it is for euer vowed to him onely. Nor did mine owne womanish weaknesse so much thereto induce me, as the matchlesse vertues shining cleerely in Guiscar­do, and the little respect you had of marrying me againe. Why royall Fa­ther, you cannot be ignorant, that you being composed of flesh and blood, haue begotten a Daughter of the selfe same composition, and not made of stone or yron. Moreouer, you ought to remember (although now you are farre stept in yeeres) what the Lawes of youth are, and with what difficulty they are to be contradicted. Considering withall, that al­beit (during the vigour of your best time) you euermore were exercised in Armes; yet you should likewise vnderstand, that negligence and idle delights, haue mighty power, not onely in yong people, but also in them of greatest yeeres.

I being then made of flesh and blood, and so deriued from your selfe; hauing had also so little benefit of life, that I am yet in the spring, and blooming time of my blood: by either of these reasons, I must needs be [Page 146] subiect to naturall desires, wherein such knowledge as I haue once alrea­dy had, in the estate of my marriage, perhaps might moue a further in­telligence of the like delights, according to the better ability of strength, which exceeding all capacity of resistance, induced a second motiue to affection, answerable to my time and youthful desires, and so (like a yong woman) I became amorous againe; yet did I striue, euen with all my vt­most might, and best vertuous faculties abiding in me, no way to disgrace either you or my selfe, as (in equall censure) yet I haue not done. But Na­ture is aboue all humane power, and Loue, commanded by Nature, hath preuailed for Loue, ioyning with Fortune: in meere pitty and commise­ration of my extreme wrong. I found them both most benigne and gra­cious, teaching me a way secret enough, whereby I might reach the height of my desires, howsoeuer you became instructed, or (perhaps) found it out by accident; so it was, and I denie it not.

Nor did I make election of Guiscardo by chance, or rashly, as many women doe, but by deliberate counsell in my soule, and most mature ad­uise; I chose him aboue all other, and hauing his honest harmelesse con­uersation, mutually we enioyed our hearts contentment. Now it appea­reth, that I hauing not offended but by loue; in imitation of vulgar opi­nion, rather then truth: you seeke to reproue me bitterly, alleaging no other maine argument for your anger, but onely my not choosing a gen­tleman, or one more worthy. Wherein it is most euident, that you doe not so much checke my fault, as the ordination of Fortune; who many times aduanceth men of meanest esteeme, and abaseth them of greater merit. But leauing this discourse, let vs looke into the orignall of things, wherein wee are first to obserue, that from one masse or lumpe of flesh, both we, and all other receiued our flesh, and one Creator hath created all things; yea, all creatures, equally in their forces and faculties, and e­quall likewise in their vertue: which vertue was the first that made distin­ction of our birth and equality, in regard, that such as had the most libe­rall portion thereof, and performed actions thereto answerable, were thereby termed noble; all the rest remaining vnnoble: now although con­trary vse did afterward hide and conceale this Law, yet was it not there­fore banished from Nature or good manners. In which respect, whosoe­uer did execute all his actions by vertue, declared himselfe openly to be noble; and he that tearmed him otherwise, it was an errour in the miscal­ler, and not in the person so wrongfully called; as the very same priuiledge is yet in full force among vs at this day.

Cast an heedfull eye then (good Father) vpon all your Gentlemen, and aduisedly examine their vertues, conditions and manner of behauiour. On the other side, obserue those parts remaining in Guiscardo: and then, if you will iudge truly, and without affection, you will confesse him to be most noble, and that all your Gentlemen (in respect of him) are but base Groomes and villaines. His vertues and excelling perfections, I neuer credited from the report or iudgement of any person; but onely by your speeches, and mine owne eyes as true wirnesses. Who did euer more [Page] commend Guiscardo, extolling all those singularities in him, most requi­site to be in an honest vertuous man; then you your selfe haue done? Nor neede you to be sorry, or ashamed of your good opinion concerning him; for, if mine eyes haue not deceiued my iudgement, you neuer gaue him the least part of praise, but I haue knowne much more in him, then euer your words were able to expresse: wherefore, if I haue beene any way deceiued, truly the deceit proceeded onely from you. How will you then maintaine, that I haue throwne my liking on a man of base con­dition? In troth (Sir) you cannot. Perhaps you will alleadge, that he is meane and poore; I confesse it, and surely it is to your shame, that you haue not bestowne place of more preferment, on a man so honest and well deseruing, and hauing beene so long a time your seruant. Neuerthe­lesse, pouerty impaireth not any part of noble Nature, but wealth hur­ries it into horrible confusions. Many Kings and great Princes haue heretofore beene poore, when diuers of them that haue delued into the Earth, and kept Flockes in the Feld, haue beene aduanced to riches, and exceeded the other in wealth.

Now, as concerning your last doubt, which most of all afflicteth you, namely, how you shall deale with me; boldly rid your braine of any such disturbance, for if you haue resolued now in your extremity of yeeres, to doe that which your younger dayes euermore despised, I meane, to be­come cruell; vse your vtmost cruelty against me, for I will neuer entreate you to the contrary, because I am the sole occasion of this offence, if it doe deserue the name of an offence. And this I dare assure you, that if you deale not with me, as you haue done already, or intend to Guiscardo, mine owne hands shall act as much: and therefore giue ouer your teares to women, and if you purpose to be cruel, let him and me in death drinke both of one cup, at least, if you imagine that we haue deserued it.

The King knew well enough the high spirit of his Daughter, but yet (neuerthelesse) he did not beleeue, that her words would proue actions, or shee doe as shee saide. And therefore parting from her, and without intent of vsing any cruelty to her; concluded, by quenching the heate of another, to coole the fiery rage of her distemper, commanding two of his followers (who had the custody of Guiscardo) that without any rumour or noyse at all, they should strangle him the night ensuing, and taking the heart forth of his body, to bring it to him, which they performed accor­ding to their charge. On the next day, the King called for a goodly stan­ding Cup of Gold, wherein he put the heart of Guiscardo, sending it by one of his most familiar seruants to his Daughter, with command also to vse these words to her. Thy Father hath sent thee this present, to com­fort thee with that thing which most of all thou affectest, euen as thou hast comforted him with that which he most hated.

Ghismonda, nothing altered from her cruell deliberation, after her Fa­ther was departed from her, caused certaine poysonous rootes & hearbs to be brought her, which shee (by distillation) made a water of, to drinke suddenly, whensoeuer any crosse accident should come from her Father; whereupon, when the messenger from her Father had deliuered her the present, and vttered the words as he was commanded: shee tooke the [Page 147] Cup, and looking into it with a setled countenance, by sight of the heart, and effect of the message, shee knew certainly, that it was the heart of Guiscardo; then looking stearnely on the seruant, thus she spake vnto him. My honest friend, it is no more then right and iustice, that so worthy a heart as this is, should haue any worser graue then gold, wherein my Fa­ther hath dealt most wisely. So, lifting the heart vp to her mouth, and sweetly kissing it, shee proceeded thus. In all things, euen till this in­stant, (being the vtmost period of my life) I haue euermore found my Fa­thers loue most effectuall to me; but now it appeareth farre greater, then at any time heretofore: and therefore from my mouth, thou must deliuer him the latest thankes that euer I shall giue him, for sending me such an honourable present.

These words being ended, holding the Cup fast in her hand, and loo­king seriously vpon the heart, shee began againe in this manner. Thou sweete entertainer of all my dearest delights, accursed be his cruelty, that causeth me thus to see thee with my corporall eyes, it being sufficient e­nough for me, alwayes to behold thee with the sight of my soule. Thou hast runne thy race, and as Fortune ordained, so are thy dayes finished: for as all flesh hath an ending; so hast thou concluded, albeit too soone, and before thy due time. The trauailes and miseries of this World, haue now no more to meddle with thee, and thy very heauiest enemy, hath be­stowed such a graue on thee, as thy greatnesse in vertue worthily deser­ueth; now nothing else is wanting, wherewith to beautifie thy Funerall, but onely her sighes & teares, that was so deare vnto thee in thy life time. And because thou mightest the more freely enioy them, see how my mercilesse Father (on his owne meere motion) hath sent thee to me; and truly I will bestow them frankly on thee, though once I had resolued, to die with drie eyes, and not shedding one teare, dreadlesse of their vtmost malice towards me.

And when I haue giuen thee the due oblation of my teares, my soule, which sometime thou hast kept most carefully, shall come to make a sweete coniunction with thine: for in what company else can I trauaile more contentedly, and to those vnfrequented silent shades, but onely in thine? As yet I am sure it is present here, in this Cup sent me by my Fa­ther, as hauing a prouident respect to the place, for possession of our e­quall and mutuall pleasures; because thy soule affecting mine so truely, cannot walke alone, without his deare companion.

Hauing thus finished her complaint, euen as if her head had been con­uerted into a well-spring of water, so did teares abundantly flow from her faire eyes, kissing the heart of Guiscardo infinite times. All which while, her women standing by her, neither knew what heart it was, nor to what effect her speeches tended: but being moued to compassionate teares, they often demanded (albeit in vaine) the occasion of her sad complai­ning, comforting her to their vtmost power. When shee was not able to weepe any longer, wiping her eyes, and lifting vp her head, without any signe of the least dismay, thus shee spake to the heart. Deare heart, all [Page] my duty is performed to thee, and nothing now remaineth vneffected; but onely breathing my last, to let my ghost accompany thine.

Then calling for the glasse of water, which shee had readily prepared the day before, and powring it vpon the heart lying in the Cup, couragi­ously aduancing it to her mouth, shee dranke it vp euery drop; which be­ing done, shee lay downe vpon her bed, holding her Louers heart fast in her hand, and laying it so neere to her owne as she could. Now although her women knew not what water it was, yet when they had seene her to quaffe it off in that manner, they sent word to the King, who much suspe­cting what had happened, went in all haste to his Daughters chamber, entring at the very instant, when shee was laide vpon her bed; beholding her in such passionate pangs, with teares streaming downe his reuerend beard, he vsed many kinde words to comfort her, when boldly thus shee spake vnto him. Father (quoth she) well may you spare these teares, be­cause they are vnfitting for you, and not any way desired by me; who but your selfe, hath seene any man to mourne for his owne wilfull offence. Neuerthelesse, if but the least iot of that loue doe yet abide in you, where­of you haue made such liberall profession to me; let me obtaine this my very last request, to wit, that seeing I might not priuately enioy the bene­fit of Guiscardoes loue, and while he liued; let yet (in death) one publike graue containe both our bodies, that death may affoord vs, what you so cruelly in life denied vs.

Extremity of griefe and sorrow, with-held his tongue from returning any answer, and shee perceiuing her end approaching, held the heart still closed to her owne bare brest, saying; Here Fortune, receiue two true hearts latest oblation, for, in this manner are we comming to thee. So closing her eyes, all sense forsooke her, life leauing her body breathlesse. Thus ended the haplesse loue of Guiscardo, and Ghismonda, for whose sad disaster, when the King had mourned sufficiently, and repented fruitles­ly; he caused both their bodies to be honourably embalmed, and buried in a most royall Monument; not without generall sorrow of the subiects of Salerne.

The second Nouell.

[Page 148] THE Nouell recounted by Madam Fiammetta, caused teares many times in the eyes of all the company; but it being finished, the King shewing a stearne countenance, saide; I should much haue commended the kindnesse of fortune, if in the whole course of my life, I had tasted the least moity of that delight, which Guiscardo receiued by conuersing with faire Ghismonda. Nor neede any of you to wonder thereat, or how it can be otherwise, because hourely I feele a thousand dying torments, without enioying any hope of ease or pleasure: but referring my fortunes to their owne poore condition, it is my will, that Madam Pampinea proceed next in the argument of successelesse loue, according as Madam Fiammetta hath already begun, to let fall more dew-drops on the fire of mine afflicti­ons. Madam Pampinea perceiuing what a taske was imposed on her, knew well (by her owne disposition) the inclination of the company, whereof shee was more respectiue, then of the Kings command: wherefore, chu­sing rather to recreate their spirits, then to satisfie the Kings melancholy humour; shee determined to relate a Tale of mirthfull matter, and yet to keepe within compasse of the purposed Argument.

It hath been continually vsed as a common Prouerbe; that a bad man, taken and reputed to be honest and good, may commit many euils, yet neither credited, or suspected: which prouerbe giueth mee very ample matter to speake of, and yet not varying from our intention, concerning the hypocrisie of some religious persons, who hauing their garments long and large, their faces made artificially pale, their language meeke and humble, to get mens goods from them; yet fower, harsh, and stearne enough, in checking and controuling other mens errours, as also in vr­ging others to giue, and themselues to take, without any other hope or [Page] meanes of saluation. Nor doe they endeauour like other men, to worke out their soules health with feare and trembling; but, euen as if they were sole owners, Lords, and possessors of Paradice, will appoint to euery dy­ing person, places (there) of greater or lesser excellency, according as they thinke good, or as the legacies left by them are in quantity, where­by they not onely deceiue themselues, but all such as giue credit to their subtile perswasions. And were it lawfull for me, to make knowne no more then is meerely necessary; I could quickly disclose to simple credu­lous people, what craft lieth concealed vnder their holy habites: and I would wish, that their lies and deluding should speed with them, as they did with a Franciscane Friar, none of the younger Nouices, but one of them of greatest reputation, and belonging to one of the best Monaste­ries in Venice. Which I am the rather desirous to report, to recreate your spirits, after your teares for the death of faire Ghismonda.

Sometime (Honourable Ladies) there liued in the City of Imola, a man of most lewd and wicked life; named, Bertho de la massa, whose shamelesse deedes were so well knowne to all the Citizens, and won such respect among them; as all his lies could not compasse any beleefe, no, not when he deliuered a matter of sound truth. Wherefore, perceiuing that his lewdnesse allowed him no longer dwelling there; like a desperate aduenturer▪ he transported himselfe thence to Venice, the receptacle of all foule sinne and abhomination, intending there to exercise his wonted bad behauiour, and liue as wickedly as euer he had done before. It came to passe, that some remorse of conscience tooke hold of him, for the for­mer passages of his dissolute life, and he pretended to be surprized with very great deuotion, becomming much more Catholike then any other man, taking on him the profession of a Franciscane Cordelier, and calling himselfe Fryar Albert of Imola.

In this habite and outward appearance, hee seemed to leade an au­stere and sanctimonious life, highly commending penance & abstinence, neuer eating flesh, or drinking wine, but when hee was prouided of both in a close corner. And before any person could take notice thereof, hee became (of a theefe) Ruffian, forswearer and murtherer, as formerly he had beene a great Preacher; yet not abandoning the forenamed vices, when secretly he could put any of them in execution. Moreouer, being made Priest, when he was celebrating Masse at the Altar, if he saw him­selfe to be obserued by any; he would most mournefully reade the passi­on of our Sauiour, as one whose teares cost him little, whensoeuer hee pleased to vse them: so that, in a short while, by his preaching and teares, he fed the humours of the Venetians so pleasingly; that they made him ex­ecutour (well neere) of all their Testaments, yea, many chose him as depo­sitary or Guardion of their monies; because he was both Confessour and Councellor, almost to all the men and women.

By this well seeming out-side of sanctity, the Wolfe became a Shep­heard, and his renown for holinesse was so famous in those parts, as Saint Frances himselfe had hardly any more. It fortuned, that a young Gen­tlewoman, [Page 149] being somewhat foolish, wanton and proud minded, named Madam Lisetta de Caquirino, wife to a wealthy Merchant, who went with certaine Gallies into Flanders, and there lay as Lieger long time, in com­pany of other Gentlewomen, went to be confessed by this ghostly Fa­ther; kneeling at his feete, although her heart was high enough, like a proud minded woman, (for Venetians are presumptuous, vaine-glorious, and witted much like to their skittish Gondoloes) she made a very short rehearsall of her sinnes. At length Fryar Albert demanded of her, whe­ther shee had any amorous friend or louer? Her patience being excee­dingly prouoked, stearne anger appeared in her lookes, which caused her to returne him this answer. How now Sir Domine? what? haue you no eyes in your head? Can you not distinguish between mine, and these o­ther common beauties? I could haue Louers enow, if I were so pleased; but those perfections remaining in me, are not to be affected by this man, or that. How many beauties haue you beheld, any way answerable to mine, and are more fit for Gods, then mortals.

Many other idle speeches shee vttered, in proud opinion of her beau­ty, whereby Friar Albert presently perceiued, that this Gentlewoman had but a hollow braine, and was fit game for folly to flye at; which made him instantly enamoured of her, and that beyond all capacity of resisting, which yet he referred to a further, and more commodious time. Neuer­thelesse, to shew himselfe an holy and religious man now, he began to reprehend her, and told her plainely, that she was vain-glorious, and o­uercome with infinite follies. Hereupon, she called him a logger headed beast, and he knew not the difference between an ordinary complexion, and beauty of the highest merit. In which respect, Friar Albert, being loth to offend her any further; after confession was fully ended, let her passe away among the other Gentlewomen, she giuing him diuers disdainfull lookes.

Within some few dayes after, taking one of his trusty brethren in his company, he went to the House of Madam Lisetta, where requiring to haue some conference alone with her selfe; shee tooke him into a priuate Parlor, and being there, not to be seene by any body, he fell on his knees before her, speaking in this manner. Madam, for charities sake, and in regard of your own most gracious nature, I beseech you to pardon those harsh speeches, which I vsed to you the other day, when you were with me at confession: because, the very night ensuing thereon, I was chastised in such such cruell manner, as I was neuer able to stirre forth of my bed, vntill this very instant morning; whereto the weake witted Gentlewoman thus replyed. And who I pray you (quoth she) did chastise you so seuere­ly? I will tell you Madam, said Friar Albert, but it is a matter of admira­ble secrecie.

Being alone by my selfe the same night in my Dorter, and in very se­rious deuotion, according to my vsuall manner: suddenly I saw a bright splendour about me, and I could no sooner arise to discerne what it might be, and whence it came, but I espied a very goodly young Lad standing [Page] by me, holding a golden Bow in his hand, and a rich Quiuer of Arrowes hanging at his back. Catching fast hold on my Hood, against the ground he threw me rudely, trampling on me with his feete, and beating me with so many cruell blowes, that I thought my body to be broken in peeces. Then I desired to know, why he was so rigorous to me in his correction? Because (quoth he) thou didst so saucily presume this day, to reproue the celestiall beauty of Madam Lisetta, who (next to my Mother Venus) I loue most dearely. Whereupon I perceiued, he was the great comman­ding God Cupid, and therefore I craued most humbly pardon of him. I will pardon thee (quoth he) but vpon this condition, that thou goe to her so soone as conueniently thou canst, and (by lowly humility) preuaile to obtaine her free pardon: which if she will not vouchsafe to grant thee, then shall I in stearne anger returne againe, and lay so many torturing af­flictions on thee, that all thy whole life time shall be most hateful to thee. And what the displeased God saide else beside, I dare not disclose, ex­cept you please first to pardon me.

Mistresse shallow braine, being swolne big with this wind, like an emp­ty bladder; conceiued no small pride in hearing these words, constantly crediting them to be true, and therefore thus answered. Did I not tel you Father Albert, that my beauty was celestiall? But I sweare by my beauty, notwithstanding your idle passed arrogancy, I am heartily sorry for your so seuere correction; which that it may no more be inflicted on you, I doe freely pardon you; yet with this prouiso, that you tell me, what the God else saide vnto you; whereto Fryar Albert thus replyed. Madam, seeing you haue so graciously vouchsafed to pardon me, I will thankfully tell you all: but you must be very carefull and respectiue, that whatsoeuer I shall reueale vnto you, must so closely be concealed, as no liuing crea­ture in the World may know it; for you are the onely happy Lady now liuing, and that happinesse relieth on your silence and secrecie: with so­lemne vowes and protestations shee sealed vp her many promises, and then the Fryar thus proceeded.

Madam, the further charge imposed on me by God Cupid, was to tell you, that himselfe is so extremely enamoured of your beauty, and you are become so gracious in his affection; as, many nights he hath come to see you in your Chamber, sitting on your pillow, while you slept sweetly, and desiring very often to awake you, but onely fearing to affright you. Wherefore, now he sends you word by me, that one night he intendeth to come visite you, and to spend some time in conuersing with you. But in regard he is a God, and meerely a spirit in forme, whereby neither you or any else haue capacity of beholding him, much lesse to touch or feele him: he saith, that (for your sake) he will come in the shape of a man, gi­uing me charge also to know of you, when you shall please to haue him come, and in whose similitude you would haue him to come, whereof he will not faile; in which respect, you may iustly thinke your selfe to be the onely happy woman liuing, and farre beyond all other in your good fortune.

[Page 150] Mistris want-wit presently answered, shee was well contented, that God Cupid should loue her, and she would returne the like loue againe to him; protesting withall, that wheresoeuer shee should see his maiesticall picture, she would set a hallowed burning Taper before it. Moreouer, at all times he should be most welcome to her, whensoeuer hee would vouchsafe to visite her; for, he should alwayes finde her alone in her pri­uate Chamber: on this condition, that his olde Loue Psyches, and all o­ther beauties else whatsoeuer, must be set aside, and none but her selfe on­ly to be his best Mistresse, referring his personall forme of appearance, to what shape himselfe best pleased to assume, so that it might not be fright­full, or offensiue to her.

Madam (quoth Friar Albert) most wisely haue you answered, & leaue the matter to me; for I will take order sufficiently, and to your content­ment. But you may do me a great grace, and without any preiudice to your selfe, in granting me one poore request; namely, to vouchsafe the Gods appearance to you, in my bodily shape and person, and in the per­fect forme of a man as now you behold me, so may you safely giue him entertainment, without any taxation of the world, or ill apprehension of the most curious inquisition. Beside, a greater happinesse can neuer be­fall me: for, while he assumeth the soule out of my body, and walketh on the earth in my humane figure: I shall be wandering in the ioyes of Lo­uers Paradise, feeling the fruition of their felicities; which are such, as no mortality can be capeable of, no, not so much as in imagination.

The wise Gentlewoman replied, that she was well contented, in re­gard of the seuere punishment inflicted on him by God Cupid, for the re­proachfull speeches he had giuen her; to allow him so poore a kinde of consolation, as he had requested her to grant him. Whereuppon Fryar Albert saide: Be ready then Madam to giue him welcome to morrow in the euening, at the entering into your house, for comming in an humane body, he cannot but enter at your doore, whereas, if (in powerfull man­ner) he made vse of his wings, he then would flye in at your window, and then you could not be able to see him.

Vpon this conclusion, Albert departed, leauing Lisetta in no meane pride of imagination, that God Cupid should bee enamored of her beau­ty; and therefore she thought each houre a yeare, till she might see him in the mortall shape of Friar Albert. And now was his braine wonder­fully busied, to visite her in more then common or humane manner; and therefore he made him a sute (close to his body) of white Taffata, all pou­dred ouer with Starres, and spangles of Gold, a Bow and Quiuer of Ar­rowes, with wings also fastened to his backe behinde him, and all cun­ningly couered with his Friars habit, which must be the sole meanes for his safe passage.

Hauing obtained licence of his Superiour, and being accompanyed with an holy Brother of the Conuent, yet ignorant of the businesse by him intended; he went to the house of a friend of his, which was his vsu­all receptacle, whensoeuer he went about such deeds of darknes. There [Page] did he put on his dissembled habit of God Cupid, with his winges, Bowe, and Quiuer, in formall fashion; and then (clouded ouer with his Monkes Cowle) leaues his companion to awaite his returning backe, while he vi­sited foolish Lisetta, according to her expectation, readily attending for the Gods arriuall.

Albert being come to the house, knocked at the doore, and the Maid admitting him entrance, according as her Mistresse had appointed, shee conducted him to her Mistresses Chamber, where laying aside his Friars habite, and she seeing him shine with such glorious splendour, adding action also to his assumed dissimulation, with maiesticke motion of his body, wings, and bow, as if he had bene God Cupid, indeede conuerted into a body much bigger of stature, then Painters commonly do describe him, her wisedome was so ouercome with feare and admiration, that she fell on her knees before him, expressing all humble reuerence vnto him. And he spreading his wings ouer her, as with wiers and strings hee had made them pliant; shewed how graciously he accepted her humiliation; folding her in his armes, and sweetly kissing her many times together, with repetition of his entire loue and affection towards her. So delicate­ly was he perfumed with odorifferous sauours, and so compleate of per­son in his spangled garments, that she could do nothing else, but wonder at his rare behauiour, reputing her felicity beyond all Womens in the world, and vtterly impossible to bee equalled, such was the pride of her presuming. For he told her diuers tales and fables, of his awefull power among the other Gods, and stolne pleasures of his vpon the earth; yet gracing her praises aboue all his other Loues, and vowes made now, to affect none but her onely, as his often visitations should more constant­ly assure her, that shee verily credited all his protestations, and thought his kisses and embraces, [...]arre to exceed any mortall comparison.

After they had spent so much time in amorous discoursing, as might best fit with this their first meeting, and stand cleare from suspition on ei­ther side: our Albert-Cupid, or Cupid-Albert, which of thē you best please to terme him, closing his spangled winges together againe behinde his backe, fastening also on his Bow and Quiuer of Arrowes, ouer-clouds all with his religious Monkes Cowle, and then with a parting kisse or two, returned to the place where he had left his fellow and companion, per­haps imployed in as deuout an exercise, as he had bin in his absence from him; whence both repayring home to the Monastery, all this nightes wandering was allowed as tollerable, by them who made no spare of do­ing the like.

On the morrow following, Madam Lisetta immediately after dinner, being attended by her Chamber-maid, went to see Friar Albert, finding him in his wonted forme and fashion, and telling him what had hapned betweene her and God Cupid, with all the other lies and tales which hee had told her. Truly Madam (answered Albert) what your successe vvith him hath beene, I am no way able to comprehend; but this I can assure you, that so soone as I had acquainted him with your answer, I felt a so­daine [Page 151] rapture made of my soule, and visibly (to my apprehension) saw it carried by Elues and Fairies, into the floury fields about Elisium, vvhere Louers departed out of this life, vvalk among the beds of Lillies and Ro­ses, such as are not in this world to be seene, neither to be imagined by a­ny humane capacity. So super-abounding was the pleasure of this ioy and solace, that, how long I continued there, or by what meanes I vvas transported hither againe this morning, it is beyond all ability in mee to expresse, or how I assumed my body againe after that great God hadde made vse thereof to your seruice. Well Friar Albert (quoth shee) you may see what an happinesse hath befalne you, by so grosse an opinion of my perfections, and what a felicity you enioy, and still are like to do, by my pardoning your error, and granting the Gods accesse to me in your shape: which as I enuy not, so I wish you heereafter to be wiser, in taking vpon you to iudge of beautie. Much other idle folly proceeded from hir, which still he soothed to her contentment, and (as occasion serued) ma­ny meetings they had in the former manner.

It fortuned within a few dayes after, that Madam Lisetta being in com­pany with one of her Gossips, and their conference (as commonly it fal­leth out to be) concerning other women of the City; their beautie, be­hauiour, amorous suters and seruants, and generall opinion conceiued of their worth and merit; wherein Lisetta was ouer-much conceyted of her selfe, not admitting any other to be her equall. Among other spee­ches, sauouring of an vnseasoned braine: Gossip (quoth she) if you knew what account is made of my beauty, and who holdes it in no meane esti­mation, you would then freely confesse, that I deserue to bee preferred before any other. As women are ambitious in their owne opinions, so commonly are they couetous of one anothers secrets, especially in mat­ter of emulation, whereupon the Gossip thus replyed. Beleeue me Ma­dam, I make no doubt but your speeches may bee true, in regard of your admired beauty, and many other perfections beside: yet let me tell you, priuiledges, how great and singular soeuer they be, without they are kno­wen to others, beside such as do particularly enioy them; they carrie no more account, then things of ordinary estimation. Wheras on the con­trary, when any Lady or Gentlewoman hath some eminent and peculiar fauour, which few or none other can reach vnto, and it is made famous by generall notion: then do all women else admire and honor her, as the glory of their kinde, and a miracle of Nature.

I perceiue Gossip said Lisetta wherat you ayme, & such is my loue to you, as you should not lose your longing in this case, were I but constantly se­cured of your secrecy, which as hitherto I haue bene no way able to tax, so would I be loth now to be more suspitious of then needs. But yet this matter is of such maine moment, that if you will protest as you are truely vertuous, neuer to reueale it to any liuing body, I will disclose to you al­most a miracle. The vertuous oath being past, with many other solemne protestations beside, Lisetta then proceeded in this manner.

I know Gossip, that it is a matter of common & ordinary custome, for [Page] Ladies and Gentlewomen to be graced with fauourites, men of fraile & mortall conditions, whose natures are as subiect to inconstancy, as their very best endeuours dedicated to folly, as I could name no mean number of our Ladies heere in Venice. But when Soueraigne deities shal feele the impression of our humane desires, and behold subiects of such preuailing efficacy, as to subdue their greatest power, yea, and make them enamored of mortall creatures: you may well imagine Gossip, such a beauty is supe­riour to any other. And such is the happy fortune of your friend Lisetta, of whose perfections, great Cupid the awefull commanding God of Loue himselfe, conceiued such an extraordinary liking: as he hath abandoned his seate of supreme Maiesty, and appeared to me in the shape of a mor­tall man, with liuely expression of his amorous passions, and what extre­mities of anguish he hath endured, onely for my loue. May this be possi­ble? replyed the Gossip. Can the Gods be toucht with the apprehensi­on of our fraile passions? True it is Gossip, answered Lisetta, and so cer­tainly true, that his sacred kisses, sweet embraces, and most pleasing spee­ches, with proffer of his continuall deuotion towards me, hath giuen me good cause to confirme what I say, and to thinke my felicity farre beyond all other womens, being honoured with his often nightly visitations.

The Gossip inwardly smiling at her idle speeches, which (neuertheles) she auouched with very vehement asseuerations: fell instantly sicke of womens naturall disease, thinking euery minute a tedious month, till she were in company with some other Gossips, to breake the obligation of her vertuous promise, and that others (as well as her selfe) might laugh at the folly of this shallow-witted woman. The next day following, it was her hap to be at a wedding, among a great number of other women, whō quickly she acquainted with this so strange a wonder; as they did the like to their husbands: and passing so from hand to hand, in lesse space then two daies, all Venice was fully possessed with it.

Among the rest, the brethren to this foolish woman, heard this admi­rable newes concerning their Sister; and they discreetly concealing it to themselues, closely concluded, to watch the walks of this pretended god: and if he soared not too lofty a flight, they would clip his wings, to come the better acquainted with him. It fortuned, that the Friar hearing his Cupidicall visitations ouer-publikely discouered, purposed to check and reproue Lisetta for her indiscretion. And being habited according to his former manner, his Friarly Cowle couering al his former brauery, he left his companion where he vsed to stay, and closely walked along vnto the house. No sooner was he entred, but the Brethren being ambushed neer to the doore, went in after him, and ascending the staires, by such time as he had vncased himselfe, and appeared like God Cupid, with his spangled wings displayed: they rushed into the Chamber, and he hauing no other refuge, opened a large Casement, standing directly ouer the great gulfe or Riuer, and presently leapt into the water; which being deepe, and hee skilfull in swimming, he had no other harme by his fall, albeit the sodain affright did much perplex him.

[Page 152] Recouering the further side of the Riuer, he espied a light, & the doore of an house open, wherein dwelt a poore man, whom he earnestly intrea­ted, to saue both his life and reputation, telling him many lies and tales by what meanes he was thus disguised, and throwne by night-walking Vil­laines into the water. The poore man, being moued to compassionate his distressed estate, laid him in his owne bed, ministring such other com­forts to him, as the time and his pouerty did permit; and day drawing on, he went about his businesse, aduising him to take his rest, and it should not be long till he returned. So, locking the doore, and leauing the coun­terfe [...] God in bed, away goes the poore man to his daily labor. The Bre­thren to Lisetta, perceiuing God Cupid to bee fled and gone, and shee in melancholly sadnesse sitting by them: they tooke vp the Reliques he had left behind him, I meane the Friars hood and Cowle, which shewing to their sister, and sharply reprouing her vnwomanly behauiour: they lefte her in no meane discomfort, returning home to their owne houses, with their conquered spoiles of the forlorne Friar.

During the time of these occurrences, broad day speeding on, & the poore man returning homeward by the Rialto, to visit his guest so lefte in bed: he beheld diuers crouds of people, and a generall rumor noysed a­mong them, that God Cupid had beene that night with Madame Lisetta, where being ouer-closely pursued by her Brethren, for fear of being sur­prized, he leapt out of her window into the gulfe, and no one could tell what was become of him. Heereupon, the poore man beganne to ima­gine that the guest entertained by him in the night time, must needs bee the same supposed God Cupid, as by his wings and other embellishments appeared: wherefore being come home, and sitting downe on the beds side by him, after some few speeches passing between them, he knew him to be Friar Albert, who promised to giue him fifty ducates, if hee would not betray him to Lisettaes brethren.

Vpon the acceptation of this offer, the money being sent for, and pai­ed downe; there wanted nothing now, but some apt and conuenient meanes, whereby Albert might safely be conueyed into the Monasterie, which being wholly referred to the poore mans care and trust, thus hee spake. Sir, I see no likely-hoode of your cleare escaping home, except in this manner as I aduise you. We obserue this day as a merry Festiuall, & it is lawfull for any one, to disguise a man in the skin of a Beare, or in the shape of a sauage man, or any other forme of better deuice. Which be­ing so done, he is brought vpon S. Marks market place, where being hun­ted a while with dogs, vpon the huntings conclusion, the Feast is ended; and then each man leades his monster whether him pleaseth. If you can accept any of these shapes, before you bee seene heere in my poore abi­ding, then can I safely (afterward) bring you where you would bee. O­therwise, I see no possible meanes, how you may escape hence vnknown; for it is without all question to the contrary, that the Gentlewomans bre­thren, knowing your concealment in some one place or other, wil set such spies and watches for you throughout the City, as you must needs be ta­ken by them.

[Page] Now, although it seemed a most seuere imposition, for Albert to passe in any of these disguises: yet his exceeding feare of Lisettaes brethren and friends, made him gladly yeelde, and to vndergo what shape the poore man pleased, which thus he ordered. Annointing his naked body with Hony, he then couered it ouer with downy small Feathers, and fastning a chaine about his necke, and a strange vgly vizard on his face; hee gaue him a great staffe in the one hand, and two huge Mastiue dogs chained together in the other, which he had borrowed in the Butchery. After­ward, he sent a man to the Rialto, who there proclaimed by the sound of Trumpet: That all such as desired to see God Cupid, which the last night had descended downe from the skies, and fell (by ill hap) into the Veneti­an gulfe, let them repaire to the publike Market place of S. Marke, and there he would appeare in his owne likenesse.

This being done, soone after he left his house, and leading him thus disguised along by his chaine, hee was followed by great crowds of peo­ple, euery one questioning of whence, and what he was. In which man­ner, he brought him to the Market place, where an infinite number of people were gathered together, as well of the followers, as of them that before heard the proclamation. There he made choise of a pillar, which stood in a place somewhat highly exalted, wherto he chained his sauage man, making shew, as if he meant to awaite there, till the hunting shold begin: in which time, the Flies, Waspes, and Hornets, did so terribly sting his naked body, being annointed with Hony, that he endured ther­by vnspeakable anguish. When the poore man saw, that there needed no more concourse of people; pretending, as if he purposed to let loose his Saluage man; he tooke the maske or vizard from Alberts face, and then he spake aloud in this manner.

Gentlemen and others, seeing the wilde Boare commeth not to our hunting, because I imagine that he cannot easily be found: I meane (to the end you may not lose your labour in comming hither) to shew you the great God of Loue called Cupid, whom Poets feigned long since to be a little boy, but now growne to manly stature. You see in what ma­ner he hath left his high dwelling, onely for the comfort of our Venetian beauties: but belike, the night-fogs ouer-flagging his wings, he fell into our gulfe, and comes ow to present his seruice to you. No sooner had he taken off his vizard, but euery one knew him to be Friar Albert; and sodainly arose such shoutes and out-cries, with most bitter words brea­thed forth against him, hurling also stones, durt and filth in his face, that his best acquaintance then could take no knowledge of him, and not any one pittying his abusing.

So long continued the offended people in their fury, that newes ther­of was carried to the Conuent, and six of his Religious brethren came, who casting an habite about him, and releasing him from his chain, they led him to the Monastery, not without much mollestation and trouble of the people; where imprisoning him in their house, seueritie of some inflicted punishment, or rather conceite for his open shame, shortned [Page 153] his dayes, and so he dyed. Thus you see faire Ladies, when licentious life must be clouded with a cloake of sanctity, and euill actions dayly committed, yet escaping vncredited: there will come a time at length, for iust discouering of all, that the good may shine in their true luster of glory, and the bad sinke in their owne deserued shame.

The third Nouell.

WHen the King perceiued, that Madame Pampinea had ended her discourse; he sat sadly a prety while, without vttering one word, but afterward spake thus. Little goodnesse appeared in the beginning of this Nouell, because it ministred occasion of mirth; yet the ending pro­ued better, and I could wish, that worse inflictions had falne on the ve­nerious Friar. Then turning towards Madam Lauretta, he said; Lady, do you tell vs a better tale, if possible it may be. She smiling, thus answered the King: Sir, you are ouer-cruelly bent against poore Louers, in desi­siring, [Page] that their amourous processions should haue harsh and sinister concludings. Neuerthelesse, in obedience to your seuere command, a­mong three persons amourously perplexed, I will relate an vnhappy en­ding; whereas all may be saide to speede as vnfortunately, being equally alike, in enioying the issue of their desires, and thus I purpose for to pro­ceede.

Euery vice (choise Ladies) as very well you know, redoundeth to the great disgrace and preiudice, of him or her by whom it is practised, and oftentimes to others. Now, among those common hurtfull enemies, the sinne or vice which most carrieth vs with full carrere, and draweth vs into vnauoidable perils and dangers; in mine opinion, seemeth to be that of choller or anger, which is nothing else, but a sudden and inconsiderate mouing, prouoked by some receiued iniury, which hauing excluded all respect of reason, and dimde (with darke vapours) the bright discerning sight of the vnderstanding, enflameth the minde with most violent furie. And albeit this inconuenience happeneth most to men, and more to some few, then others; yet notwithstanding, it hath been noted, that wo­men haue felt the selfe same infirmity, and in more extreme manner, be­cause it much sooner is kindled in them, and burneth with the brighter flame, in regard they haue the lesser consideration, and therefore not to be wondred at. For if we will aduisedly obserue, we shall plainely per­ceiue, that fire (euen of his owne nature) taketh hold on such things as are light and tender, much sooner then it can on hard and weighty sub­stances; and some of vs women (let men take no offence at my words) are farre more soft and delicate then they be, and therefore more fraile. In which regard, seeing we are naturally enclined hereto, and considering also, how much our affability and gentlenesse, doe shew themselues plea­sing and full of content, to those men with whom we are to liue; and likewise, how anger and fury are compacted of extraordinary perils: I purpose (because we may be the more valiant in our courage, to outstand the fierce assaults of wrath and rage) to shew you by mine ensuing Nouel, how the loues of three young Gentlemen, and of as many Gentlewo­men, came to fatall and vnfortunate successe, by the tempestuous anger of one among them, according as I haue formerly related vnto you.

Marseilles (as you are not now to learne) is in Prouence, seated on the Sea, and is also a very ancient and most noble City, which hath beene (heretofore) inhabited with farre richer and more wealthy Merchants, then at this instant time it is. Among whom there was one, named Nar­naldo Ciuada, a man but of meane condition, yet cleare in faith and repu­tation, and in lands, goods, and ready monies, immeasurably rich. Many children he had by his Wife, among whom were three Daughters, which exceeded his Sonnes in yeeres. Two of them being twinnes, and borne of one body, were counted to be fifteene yeares old; the third was foure­teene, and nothing hindered marriage in their Parents owne expecta­tion, but the returne home of Narnaldo, who was then abroade in Spaine with his Merchandises. The eldest of these Sisters was named Ninetta, [Page 154] the second Magdalena, and the third Bertella. A Gentleman (albeit but poore in fortunes) and called Restagnone, was so extraordinarily enamou­red of Ninetta, as no man possibly could be more, and shee likewise as earnest in affection towards him; yet both carrying their loues procee­ding with such secresie, as long time they enioyed their hearts sweete contentment, yet vndiscouered by any eye.

It came to passe, that two other young Gallants, the one named Folco, and the other Hugnetto, (who had attained to incredible wealth, by the decease of their Father) were also as farre in loue, the one with Magdalena, and the other with Bertella. When Restagnone had intelligence thereof, by the meanes of his faire friend Ninetta; he purposed to releeue his po­uerty, by friendly furthering both their loue, and his owne: and growing into familiarity with them, one while he would walke abroade with Fol­co, and then againe with Hugnetto, but oftner with them both together, to visite their Mistresses, and continue worthy friendship. On a day, when hee saw the time sutable to his intent, and that hee had inuited the two Gentlemen home to his House, hee fell into this like conference with them.

Kind friends (quoth he) the honest familiarity which hath past be­tweene vs, may render you some certaine assurance, of the constant loue I beare to you both, being as willing to worke any meanes that may tend to your good, as I desire to compasse mine owne. And because the truth of mine affection cannot conceale it selfe to you, I meane to acquaint you with an intention, wherewith my braine hath a long while trauelled, and now may soone be deliuered of, if it may passe with your liking and approbation. Let me then tell you, that except your speeches sauour of vntruth, and your actions carry a double vnderstanding, in common be­hauiour both by night and day, you appeare to pine and consume away, in the cordiall loue you beare to two of the Sisters, as I suffer the same af­flictions for the third, with reciprocall requitall of their dearest affection to vs. Now, to qualifie the heate of our tormenting flames, if you will condescend to such a course as I shall aduise you, the remedy will yeeld them equall ease to ours, and we may safely enioy the benefit of content­ment. As wealth aboundeth with you both, so doth want most extreme­ly tyrannize ouer me: but if one banke might be made of both your rich substances, I embraced therein as a third partaker, and some quarter of the World dissigned out by vs, where to liue at hearts ease vpon your possessions; I durst engage my credite, that all the Sisters, (not meanly stored with their Fathers treasure) shall beare vs company to what place soeuer we please. There each man freely enioying his owne dearest loue, we may liue like three brerhren, without any hinderance to our mutuall contentment; it remaineth now in you Gentlemen, to accept this com­fortable offer, or to refuse it.

The two Brothers, whose passions exceeded their best meanes for sup­port, perceiuing some hope how to enioy their loues; desired no long time of deliberation, or greatly disputed with their thoughts what was [Page] best to be done: but readily replyed, that let happen any danger whatsoe­uer, they would ioyne with him in this determination, aud he should par­take with them in their wealthiest fortunes. After Restagnone had heard their answer, within some few dayes following, he went to conferre with Ninetta, which was no easie matter for him to compasse. Neuerthelesse, opportunity proued so fauourable to him, that meeting with her at a pri­uate place appointed, he discoursed at large, what had passed betweene him and the other two young Gentlemen, maintaining the same with many good reasons, to haue her like and allow of the enterprize. Which although (for a while) he could very hardly doe; yet, in regard shee had more desire then power, without suspition to be daily in his company, she franckly thus answered. My hearts chosen friend, I cannot any way mis­like your aduise, and will take such order with my Sisters, that they shall agree to our resolution: let it therefore be your charge, that you and the rest make euery thing ready, to depart from hence so soone, as with best conuenient meanes we may be enabled.

Restagnone being returned to Folco and Hugnetto, who thought euery houre a yeere, to heare what would succeed vpon the promise past be­tweene them; he told them in plaine termes, that their Ladies were as free in consent as they, and nothing wanted now, but furnishment for their sudden departing Hauing concluded, that Candye should be their har­bour for entertainment, they made sale of some few inheritances, which lay the readiest for their purpose, as also the goods in their Houses, and then, vnder colour of venting Merchandises abroade; they bought a nim­ble Pinnace, fortified with good strength and preparation, and waited but for a conuenient wind. On the other side, Ninetta, who was suffici­ently acquainted with the forwardnesse of her Sisters desires and her owne; had so substantially preuailed with them, that a good voyage now was the sole expectation. Whereupon, the same night when they should set away, they opened a strong barred Chest of their Fathers, whence they tooke great store of gold and costly Iewels, wherewith escaping se­cretly out of the House; they came to the place where their Louers at­tended for them, and going all aboard the Pinnace, the windes were so furtherous to them; that without touching any where, the night following they arriued at Geneway.

There being out of peril or pursuite, they all knit the knot of holy wed­locke, and then freely enioyed their long wished desires, from whence setting sayle againe, and being well furnished with all things wanting; passing on from Port to Port, at the end of eight dayes they landed in Candie, not meeting with any impeachment by the way. Determining there to spend their dayes, first they prouided themselues of faire and goodly Lands in the Countrey, and then of beautifull dwelling Houses in the City, with all due furnishments belonging to them, and Families well beseeming such worthy Gentlemen, and all delights else for their daily recreations, inuiting their Neighbours, and they them againe in lo­uing manner; so that no Louers could wish to liue in more ample con­tentment.

[Page 155] Passing on their time in this height of felicity, and not crossed by any sinister accidents, it came to passe (as often wee may obserue in the like occasions, that although delights doe most especially please vs, yet they breed surfet, when they swell too ouer-great in abundance) that Restag­none, who most deerely affected his faire Ninetta, and had her now in his free possession, without any perill of loosing her: grew now also to bee wearie of her, and consequently, to faile in those familiar performances, which formerly had passed betweene them. For, being one day inuited to a Banket, hee saw there a beautifull Gentle-woman of that Countrey, whose perfections pleasing him beyond all comparison: hee labored (by painfull pursuite) to win his purpose; and meeting with her in diuers pri­uate places, grew prodigall in his expences vpon her. This could not be so closely carried, but beeing seene and obserued by Ninetta, she became possessed with such extreame ielousie, that hee could not doe any thing whatsoeuer, but immediately he had knowledge of it: which fire, grow­ing to a flame in her, her patience became extreamely prouoked, vrging rough and rude speeches from her to him, and daily tormenting him be­yond power of sufferance.

As the enioying of any thing in too much plenty, makes it appeare irkesome and loathing to vs, and the deniall of our desires, do more and more whet on the appetite: euen so did the angry spleene of Ninetta pro­ceede on in violence, against this newe commenced loue of Restagnone. For in succession of time, whether hee enioyed the embracements of his new Mistresse, or no: yet Ninetta (by sinister reports, but much more through her owne iealous imaginations) held it for infallible, and to be most certaine. Heereupon, she fell into an extreame melancholly, which melancholly begat implacable fu [...]y, and (consequently) such contemp­tible disdaine: as conuerted her former kindly loue to Restagnone, into most cruell and bloudie hatred; yea, and so strangely was reason or re­spect confounded in her, as no reuenge else but speedy death, might satisfie the wrongs shee imagined to receiue by Restagnone and his Mini­on.

Vpon enquiry, by what meanes shee might best compasse her bloody intention, she grew acquainted with a Graecian woman, and wonderful­ly expert in the compounding of poysons, whom shee so perswaded, by gifts and bounteous promises, that at the length shee preuailed with her. A deadly water was distilled by her, which (without any other coun­sell to the contrary) on a day when Restagnone had his blood some-what ouer-heated, and little dreamed on any such Treason conspired against him by his Wife, she caused him to drinke a great draught thereof, vn­der pretence, that it was a most soueraigne and cordiall water: but such was the powerfull operation thereof, that the very next morning, Re­stagnone was found to be dead in his bed. When his death was vnder­stood by Folco, Hugnetto and their Wiues, and not knowing how hee came to bee thus empoysoned (because their sister seemed to bemoane his sodaine death, with as apparant shewes of mourning as they could [Page] possibly expresse) they buried him very honourably, and so all suspition ceased.

But as Fortune is infinite in her fagaries, neuer acting disaster so close­ly, but as cunningly discouereth it againe: so it came to passe, that within a few dayes following, the Graecian woman, that had deliuered the poy­son to Ninetta, for such another deede of damnation, was apprehended euen in the action. And being put vpon the tortures, among many other horrid villanies by her committed, she confessed the empoysoning of Re­stagnone, and euery particle thereto appertaining. Wherupon, the Duke of Candie, without any noyse or publication, setting a strong guard (in the night time) about the house of Folco, where Ninetta then was lodged; there sodainly they seized on her, & vpon examination, in maintainance of her desperate reuenge; voluntarily confessed the fact, and what else concerned the occasion of his death, by the wrongs which hee had offe­red her.

Folco and Hugnetto vnderstanding secretly, both from the Duke, & o­ther intimate friends, what was the reason of Ninettaes apprehension, which was not a little displeasing to them, laboured by all their best pains and endeauour, to worke such meanes with the Duke, that her life might not perish by fire, although she had most iustly deserued it; but all their attempts prooued to no effect, because the Duke had concluded to exe­cute iustice.

Heere you are to obserue, that Magdalena (beeing a very beautifull Woman, yong, and in the choisest flower of her time:) had often before bin solicited by the Duke, to entertaine his loue and kindnesse, where­to by no meanes she would listen or giue consent. And being now most earnestly importuned by her, for the safety of her Sisters life, shee tooke hold on this her daily suite to him, and in priuate told her, that if she was so desirous of Ninettaes life: it lay in her power to obtaine it, by granting him the fruition of her loue. She apparantly perceiuing, that Ninetta was not likely to liue, but by the prostitution of her chaste honour, which she preferred before the losse of her owne life, or her Sisters; concluded, to let her dye, rather then run into any such disgrace. But hauing an excel­lent ingenious wit, quicke, and apprehensiue in perillous occasions, shee intended now to make a trial of ouer-reaching the lasciuious Duke in his wanton purpose, and yet to be assured of her Sisters life, without any ble­mish to her reputation.

Soliciting him still as she was wont to doe, this promise passed from her to him, that when Ninetta was deliuered out of prison, and in safety at home in her house: hee should resort thither in some queint disguise, and enioy his long expected desire; but vntill then she would not yeeld. So violent was the Duke in the prosecution of his purpose, that vnder co­lour of altering the manner of Ninettaes death, not suffering her to bee consumed by fire, but to be drowned, according to a custome obserued there long time, and at the importunity of her Sister Magdalena, in the still silence of the night, Ninetta was conueyed into a sacke, and sent in [Page 156] that manner to the House of Folco, the Duke following soone after, to challenge her promise.

Magdalena, hauing acquainted her Husband with her vertuous inten­tion, for preseruing her Sisters life, and disappointing the Duke in his wicked desire; was as contrary to her true meaning in this case, as Ni­netta had formerly beene aduerse to Restagnone, onely being ouer-ruled likewise by iealousie, and perswaded in his rash opinion, that the Duke had already dishonoured Magdalena, otherwise, he would not haue deli­uered Ninetta out of prison. Mad fury gaue further fire to this vnmanly perswasion, and nothing will now quench this violent shame, but the life of poore Magdalena, suddenly sacrificed in the rescue of her Sisters, such a diuell is anger, when the vnderstandings bright eye is thereby abused. No credit might be giuen to her womanly protestations, nor any thing seeme to alter his bloody purpose; but, hauing slaine Magdalena with his Poniard, (notwithstanding her teares and humble entreaties) hee ran in haste to Ninettaes Chamber, shee not dreaming on any such desperate accident, and to her he vsed these dissembling speeches.

Sister (quoth he) my wife hath aduised, that I should speedily conuey you hence, as fearing the renewing of the Dukes fury, and your falling a­gaine into the hands of Iustice: I haue a Barke readily prepared for you, and your life being secured, it is all that she and I doe most desire. Ninetta being fearefull, and no way distrusting what he had saide; in thankfull al­lowance of her Sisters care, and curteous tender of his so ready seruice; departed thence presently with him, not taking any farewell of her other Sister and her Husband. To the Sea-shore they came, very weakely pro­uided of monies to defray their charges, and getting aboard the Barke, directed their course themselues knew not whether.

The amourous Duke in his disguise, hauing long daunced attendance at Folcoes doore, and no admittance of his entrance; angerly returned backe to his Court, protesting seuere reuenge on Magdalena, if she gaue him not the better satisfaction, to cleare her from thus basely abusing him. On the morrow morning, when Magdalena was found murthered in her Chamber, and tidings thereof carried to the Duke; present search was made for the bloody offendor, but Folco being fled and gone with Ninetta; some there were, who bearing deadly hatred to Hugnetto, incen­sed the Duke against him and his wife, as supposing them to be guilty of Magdalenaes death. He being thereto very easily perswaded, in regard of his immoderate loue to the slaine Gentlewoman; went himselfe in per­son (attended on by his Guard) to Hugnettoes House, where both he and his wife were seized as prisoners.

These newes were very strange to them, and their imprisonment as vnwelcome; and although they were truly innocent, either in knowledge of the horrid fact, or the departure of Folco with Ninetta: yet being vna­ble to endure the tortures extremity, they made themselues culpable by confession, and that they had hand with Folco in the murder of Magda­lena. Vpon this their forced confession, and sentence of death pronoun­ced [Page] on them by the Duke himselfe; before the day appointed for their publike execution, by great summes of money, which they had closely hid in their House, to serue when any vrgent extremitie should happen to them; they corrupted their keepers, and before any intelligence could be had of their flight, they escaped by Sea to Rhodes, where they liued af­terward in great distresse and misery. The iust vengeance of Heauen fol­lowed after Folco and Ninetta, he for murthering his honest wife, and she for poysoning her offending Husband: for being beaten a long while on the Seas, by tempestuous stormes and weather, and not admitted landing in any Port or creeke; they were driuen backe on the Coast of Candie a­gaine, where being apprehended, and brought to the City before the Duke, they confessed their seuerall notorious offences, and ended their loathed liues in one fire together.

Thus the idle and loose loue of Restagnone, with the franticke rage and iealousie of Ninetta and Folco, ouerturned all their long continued hap­pinesse, and threw a disastrous ending on them all.

The fourth Nouell.

MAdam Lauretta hauing concluded her Nouel, and the company com­plaining on Louers misfortunes, some blaming the angry and iea­lous [Page 157] fury of Ninetta, and euery one deliuering their seuerall opinions; the King, as awaking out of a passionate perplexity, exalted his lookes, giuing a signe to Madam Elisa, that shee should follow next in order, whereto she obeying, began in this manner. I haue heard (Gracious La­dies, quoth she) of many people, who are verily perswaded, that Loues arrowes, neuer wound any body, but onely by the eyes lookes and gazes, mocking and scorning such as maintaine that men may fall in loue by hea­ring onely. Wherein (beleeue me) they are greatly deceiued, as will appeare by a Nouell which I must now relate vnto you, and wherein you shall plainely perceiue, that not onely fame or report is as preuailing as sight; but also hath conducted diuers, to a wretched and miserable ending of their liues.

Gulielmo the second, King of Sicilie, according as the Sicilian Chroni­cles record, had two children, the one a sonne, named Don Rogero, and the other a daughter, called Madam Constance. The saide Rogero died be­fore his Father, leauing a sonne behind him, named Gerbino, who, with much care and cost, was brought vp by his Grand-father, prouing to be a very goodly Prince, and wondrously esteemed for his great valour and humanity. His fame could not containe it selfe, within the bounds or li­mits of Sicilie onely, but being published very prodigally, in many parts of the world beside, flourished with no meane commendations through­out all Barbarie, which in those dayes was tributary to the King of Sicilie. Among other persons, deseruing most to be respected, the renowned vertues, and affability of this gallant Prince Gerbino, was vnderstood by the beautious Daughter to the King of Thunis, who by such as had seene her, was reputed to be one of the rarest creatures, the best conditioned, and of the truest noble spirit, that euer Nature framed in her very choy­cest pride of art.

Of famous, vertuous, and worthy men, it was continually her chee­fest delight to heare, and the admired actions of valiant Gerbino, reported to her by many singular discoursers, such as could best describe him, with language answerable to his due deseruings, won such honourable enter­tainment in her vnderstanding soule, that they were most affectionately pleasing to her, and in capitulating (ouer and ouer againe) his manifold and heroycall perfections; meere speech made her extreamely amorous of him, nor willingly would she lend an eare to any other discourse, but that which tended to his honour and aduancement.

On the other side, the fame of her incomparable beauty, with additi­on of her other infinite singularities beside; as the World had giuen [...]are to in numberlesse places, so Sicilie came at length acquainted therewith, in such flowing manner, as was truly answerable to her merit. Nor see­med this as a bare babling rumour, in the Princely hearing of royall Ger­bino; but was embraced with such a reall apprehension, and the entire probation of a true vnderstanding: that he was no lesse enflamed with noble affection towards her, then she expressed the like in vertuous opi­nion of him. Wherefore, awaiting such conuenient opportunity, when [Page] he might entreate license of his Grandfather, for his owne going to Thu­nis, vnder colour of some honourable occasion, for the earnest desire hee had to see her: he gaue charge to some to his especiall friends (whose af­faires required their presence in those parts) to let the Princesse vnder­stand, in such secret manner as best they could deuise, what noble affecti­on he bare vnto her, deuoting himselfe onely to her seruice.

One of his chosen friends thus put in trust, being a Ieweller, a man of singular discretion, and often resorting to Ladies for sight of his Iewelles, winning like admittance to the Princesse: related at large vnto her, the honourable affection of Gerbino, with full tender of his person to her ser­uice, and that she onely was to dispose of him. Both the message and the messenger, were most graciously welcome to her, and flaming in the self-same affection towards him; as a testimony thereof, one of the very choi­sest Iewels which she bought of him, shee sent by him to the Prince Ger­bino, it being receiued by him with such ioy and contentment, as nothing in the world could be more pleasing to him. So that afterward, by the tru­sty carriage of this Ieweller, many Letters and Loue-tokens passed be­tweene them, each being as highly pleased with this poore, yet happy kinde of entercourse, as if they had seene & conuersed with one another.

Matters proceeding on in this manner, and continuing longer then their loue-sicke passions easily could permit, yet neither being able to find out any other meanes of helpe; it fortuned, that the King of Thunis pro­mised his daughter in marriage to the King of Granada, whereat she grew exceeding sorrowfull, perceyuing, that not onely she should be sent fur­ther off, by a large distance of way from her friend, but also bee depriued vtterly, of all hope euer to enioy him. And if she could haue deuised any meanes, either by secret flight from her Father, or any way els to further her intention, she would haue aduentured it for the Princes sake. Gerbino in like maner hearing of this purposed mariage, liued in a hel of torments, consulting oftentimes with his soule, how he might bee possessed of her by power, when she should be sent by Sea to her husband, or priuate stea­ling her away from her Fathers Court before: with these and infinite o­ther thoughts, was he incessantly afflicted, both day and night.

By some vnhappy accident or other, the King of Thunis heard of this their secret loue, as also of Gerbinoes purposed policy to surprize her, and how likely he was to effect it, in regard of his manly valour, and store of stout friends to assist him. Hereupon, when the time was come, that hee would conuey his daughter thence to her marriage, and fearing to be pre­uented by Gerbino: he sent to the King of Sicily, to let him vnderstand his determination, crauing safe conduct from him, without impeachment of Gerbino, or any one else, vntill such time as his intent was accomplished. King Gulielmo being aged, and neuer acquainted with the affectionat pro­ceedings of Gerbino, nor any doubtfull reason to vrge this securitie from him, in a case conuenient to be granted: yeelded the sooner thereto right willingly, and as a signale of his honourable meaning, he sent him his roy­all Gloue, with a full confirmation for his safe conduct.

[Page 159] No sooner were these Princely assurances receiued, but a goodly ship was prepared in the Port of Carthagena, well furnished with all thinges thereto belonging, for the sending his daughter to the King of Granada, writing for nothing else but best fauouring windes. The yong Princesse, who vnderstood and saw all this great preparation; secretly sent a seruant of hers to Palermo, giuing him especiall charge, on her behalfe, to salute the Prince Gerbino, and to tell him withall, that (within few dayes) shee must be transported to Granada. And now opportunity gaue fayre and free meane, to let the world know, whether hee were a man of that mag­nanimous spirit, or no, as generall opinion had formerly conceyued of him, and whether he affected her so firmely, as by many close messages he had assured her. He who had the charge of this embassie, effectually performed it, and then returned backe to Thunis.

The Prince Gerbino, hauing heard this message from his diuine Mi­stresse, and knowing also, that the King his Grandfather, had past his safe conduct to the King of Thunis, for peaceable passage thorough his Seas: was at his wits end, in this vrgent necessitie, what might best bee done. Notwithstanding, moued by the setled constancie of his plighted Loue, and the speeches deliuered to him by the messenger from the Princesse: to shew himselfe a man endued with courage, he departed thence vnto Messina, where he made readie two speedie gallies, and fitting them with men of valiant disposition, set away to Sardignia, as making full account, that the Ship which carried the Princesse, must come along that Coast. Nor was his expectation therein deceiued: for, within few dayes after, the Ship (not ouer-swiftly winded) came sailing neere to the place where they attended for her arriuall; whereof Gerbino had no sooner gotten a sight, but to animate the resolutes which were in his company, thus he spake.

Gentlemen, if you be those men of valour, as heeretofore you haue beene reputed, I am perswaded, that there are some among you, who either formerly haue, or now instantly do feele, the all-commanding po­wer of Loue, without which (as I thinke) there is not any mortall man, that can haue any goodnesse or vertue dwelling in him. Wherefore, if euer you haue bene amorously affected, or presently haue any apprehen­sion thereof, you shall the more easily iudge of what I now aime at. True it is, that I do loue, and loue hath guided me to be comforted, and man­fully assisted by you, because in yonder Ship, which you see commeth on so gently vnder saile (euen as if she offered her selfe to be our prize) not onely is the Iewell which I most esteeme, but also mighty and vnvalewa­ble treasure, to be wonne without any difficult labour, or hazard of a dan­gerous fight, you being men of such vndauntable courage. In the honour of which victory, I couet not any part or parcell, but onely a Ladie, for whose sake I haue vndertaken these Armes, and freely giue you all the rest contained in the shippe. Let vs set on them, Gentlemen, and my dearest friends; couragiously let vs assaile the ship, you see how the wind fauors vs, and (questionlesse) in so good an action, Fortune will not faile vs.

[Page] Gerbino needed not to haue spoken so much, in perswading them to seize so rich a booty; because the men of Messina were naturally addicted to spoile and rapine: and before the Prince began his Oration, they had concluded to make the ship their purchase. Wherefore, giuing a lowde shout, according to their Countrey manner, and commaunding their Trumpets to sound chearefully, they rowed on amain with their Oares, and (in meere despight) set vpon the ship. But before the Gallies could come neere her, they that had the charge and managing of her, percey­uing with what speede they made towards them, and no likely meanes of escaping from them, resoluedly they stood vppon their best defence, for now it was no time to be slothfull.

The Prince being come neere to the Ship, commanded that the Pa­trones should come to him, except they would aduenture the fight. When the Sarazines were thereof aduertised, and vnderstood also what he demanded, they returned answer: That their motion and proceeding in this manner, was both against Law and plighted faith, which was pro­mised by the King of Sicily, for their safe passage thorow his Sea, by no meanes to be mollested or assailed. In testimony whereof, they shewed his Gloue, auouching moreouer, that neyther by force (or otherwise) they would yeelde, or deliuer him any thing which they had aboorde their Ship.

Gerbino espying his gracious Mistresse on the Ships decke, and she ap­pearing to be farre more beautifull, then Fame had made relation of her: being much more enflamed now, then formerly he had bin, replyed thus when they shewed the Gloue. Wee haue (quoth he) no Faulcon heere now, to be humbled at the sight of your Gloue: and therefore, if you wil not deliuer the Lady, prepare your selues for fight, for we must haue her whether you will or no. Hereupon, they began to let flie (on both sides) their Darts and arrowes, with stones sent in violent sort from their slings, thus continuing the fight a long while, to very great harme on either side. At the length, Gerbino perceyuing, that small benefite would redound to him, if he did not vndertake some other kinde of course: he tooke a smal Pinnace, which purposely he brought with him from Sardignia, and set­ting it on a flaming fire, conueyd it (by the Gallies help) close to the ship. The Sarazines much amazed thereat, and euidently perceiuing, that ey­ther they must yeeld or dy; brought their Kings daughter vpon the prow of the ship, most greeuously weeping and wringing her hands. Then cal­ling Gerbino, to let him behold their resolution, there they slew hir before his face; and afterward, throwing her body into the Sea, said: Take her, there we giue her to thee, according to our bounden duty, and as thy per­iury hath iustly deserued.

This sight was not a little greeuous to the Prince Gerbino, who mad­ded now with this their monstrous cruelty, and not caring what became of his owne life, hauing lost her for whom hee onely desired to liue: not dreading their Darts, Arrowes, slinged stones, or what violence els they could vse against him; he leapt aboord their ship, in despight of all that [Page 159] durst resist him, behauing himself there like a hunger-starued Lyon, when he enters among a heard of beastes, tearing their carkasses in pieces both with his teeth and pawes. Such was the extreme fury of the poor Prince, not sparing the like of any one, that durst appeare in his presence; so that what with the bloody slaughter, and violence of the fires encreasing in the Ship; the Mariners got such wealth as possibly they could saue, and suffering the Sea to swallow the rest, Gerbino returned vnto his Gallies a­gaine, nothing proud of this so ill-gotten victory.

Afterward, hauing recouered the Princesses dead body out of the Sea, and enbalmed it with sighes and teares: hee returned backe into Sicilie, where he caused it to be most honourably buried, in a little Island, named Vstica, face to face confronting Trapanum. The King of Thunis hearing these disastrous Newes, sent his Ambassadors (habited in sad mourning) to the aged King of Sicily, complaining of his faith broken with him, and how the accident had falne out. Age being sodainly incited to anger, and the King extreamly offended at this iniury, seeing no way whereby to de­ny him iustice, it being vrged so instantly by the Ambassadours: caused Gerbino to be apprehended, and hee himselfe (in regard that none of his Lords and Barons would therein assist him, but laboured to diuert them by their earnest importunity) pronounced the sentence of death on the Prince, and commanded to haue him beheaded in his presence; affecting rather, to dye without an heire, then to be thought a King void of iustice. So these two vnfortunate Louers, neuer enioying the very least bene­fite of their long wished desires: ended both their liues in violent man­ner.

The fift Nouell.

THE Nouell of Madame Eliza being finished, and some-what com­mended by the King, in regard of the Tragicall conclusion; Philome­na was enioyned to proceede next with her discourse. She beeing ouer­come with much compassion, for the hard Fortunes of Noble Gerbino, and his beautifull Princesse, after an extreme and vehement sighe, thus she spake. My tale (worthy Ladies) extendeth not to persons of so high birth or quality, as they were of whom Madame Eliza gaue you relation: [Page] yet (peraduenture) it may prooue to be no lesse pittifull. And now I re­member my selfe, Messina so lately spoken of, is the place where this acci­dent also happened.

In Messina there dwelt three yong men, Brethren, and Merchants by their common profession, who becoming very rich by the death of theyr Father, liued in very good fame and repute. Their Father was of San Gemignano, and they had a Sister named Isabella, young, beautifull, and well conditioued; who, vpon some occasion, as yet remained vnmaried. A proper youth, being a Gentleman borne in Pisa, and named Lorenzo, as a trusty factor or seruant, had the managing of the Brethrens businesse and affaires. This Lorenzo being of comely personage, affable, and ex­cellent in his behauiour, grew so gracious in the eyes of Isabella, that shee affoorded him many very respectiue lookes, yea, kindnesses of no com­mon quality. Which Lorenzo taking notice of, and obseruing by degrees from time to time, gaue ouer all other beauties in the Citie, which might allure any affection from him, and only fixed his heart on her, so that their loue grew to a mutuall embracing, both equally respecting one another, and entertaining kindnesses, as occasion gaue leaue.

Long time continued this amorous league of loue, yet not so cunning­ly concealed, but at the length, the secret meeting of Lorenzo and Isabel­la, to ease their poore soules of Loues oppressions, was discouered by the eldest of the Brethren, vnknowne to them who were thus betrayed. He being a man of great discretion, althogh this sight was highly displeasing to him: yet notwithstanding, he kept it to himselfe till the next morning, labouring his braine what might best be done in so vrgent a case. When day was come, he resorted to his other brethren, and told them what he [Page 160] had seene in the time past, betweene their sister and Lorenzo.

Many deliberations passed on in this case; but after all, thus they con­cluded together, to let it proceede on with patient supportance, that no scandall might ensue to them, or their Sister, no euill acte being (as yet) committed. And seeming, as if they knew not of their loue, had a wary eye still vpon her secret walkes, awaiting for some conuenient time, when without their owne preiudice, or Isabellaes knowledge, they might safely breake off this their stolne loue, which was altogither against their liking. So, shewing no worse countenance to Lorenzo, then formerly they had done, but imploying and conuersing with him in kinde manner; it fortu­ned, that riding (all three) to recreate themselues out of the Cittie, they tooke Lorenzo in their company, and when they were come to a solitarie place, such as best suited with their vile purpose: they ran sodainly vpon Lorenzo, slew him, & afterward enterred hid body, where hardly it could be discouered by any one. Then they returned backe to Messina, & gaue it forth (as a credible report) that they had sent him abroad about their affaires, as formerly they were wont to do: which euery one verily belee­ued, because they knew no reason why they should conceite any other­wise.

Isabella, liuing in expectation of his returne, and perceiuing his stay to her was so offensiuely long: made many demands to her Brethren, in­to what parts they had sent him, that his tarrying was so quite from all wonted course. Such was her importunate speeches to them, that they taking it very discontentedly, one of them returned her this frowning an­swer. What is your meaning Sister, by so many questionings after Lo­renzo? What vrgent affaires haue you with him, that makes you so im­patient vpon his absence? If heereafter you make any more demands for him, we shall shape you such a reply, as will bee but little to your liking. At these harsh words, Isabella fell into abundance of teares, where-among she mingled many sighes and groanes, such as were able to ouerthrow a far stronger constitution: so that, being full of feare and dismay, yet no way distrusting her brethrens cruell deede; shee durst not question any more after him.

In the silence of darke night, as she lay afflicted in her bed, oftentimes would she call for Lorenzo, entreating his speedy returning to her: And then againe, as if he had bene present with her, she checkt and reproued him for his so long absence. One night amongst the rest, she being gro­wen almost hopelesse, of euer seeing him againe, hauing a long while wept and greeuously lamented; her senses and faculties vtterly spent and tired, that she could not vtter any more complaints, she fell into a trance or sleepe; and dreamed, that the ghost of Lorenzo appeared vnto her, in torne and vnbefitting garments, his lookes pale, meager, and staring: and (as she thought) thus spake to her. My deare loue Isabella, thou doest no­thing but torment thy selfe, with calling on me, accusing me for ouerlong tarrying from thee: I am come therfore to let thee know, that thou canst not enioy my company any more, because the very same day when last [Page] thou sawest me, thy brethren most bloodily murthered me. And acquain­ting her with the place where they had buried his mangled body: hee strictly charged her, not to call him at any time afterward, and so vanish­ed away.

The yong Damosell awaking, and giuing some credite to her Vision, sighed and wept exceedingly; and after she was risen in the morning, not daring to say any thing to her brethren, she resolutely determined, to go see the place formerly appointed her, onely to make triall, if that which she seemed to see in her sleepe, should carry any likely-hood of truth. Ha­uing obtained fauour of her brethren, to ride a dayes iourney from the City, in company of her trusty Nurse, who long time had attended on her in the house, and knew the secret passages of her loue: they rode di­rectly to the designed place, which being couered with some store of dri­ed leaues, and more deeply sunke then any other part of the ground ther­about, they digged not farre, but they found the body of murthered Lo­renzo, as yet very little corrupted or impaired, and then perceiued the truth of her vision.

Wisedome and gouernment so much preuailed with her, as to instruct her soule, that her teares spent there, were meerely fruitlesse and in vaine, neither did the time require any long tarrying there. Gladly would shee haue carried the whole body with her, secretly to bestow honourable en­terment on it, but it exceeded the compasse of her ability. Wherefore, in regard she could not haue all, yet she would be possessed of a part, & ha­uing brought a keene razor with her, by helpe of the Nurse, shee diuided the head from the body, and wrapped it vp in a Napkin, which the nurse conueyed into her lap, and then laide the body in the ground again. Thus being vndiscouered by any, they departed thence, and arriued at home in conuenient time, where being alone by themselues in the Chamber: she washed the head ouer and ouer with her teares, and bestowed infinite kis­ses thereon.

Not long after, the Nurse hauing brought her a large earthen potte, such as wee vse to set Basile, Marierom, Flowers, or other sweet hearbes in, and shrouding the head in a silken Scarfe, put it into the pot, couering it with earth, and planting diuers rootes of excellent Basile therin, which she neuer watered, but either with her teares, Rose water, or water distil­led from the Flowers of Oranges. This pot she vsed continually to sitte by, either in her chamber, or any where else: for she caried it alwaies with her, sighing and breathing foorth sad complaints thereto, euen as if they had beene vttered to her Lorenzo, and day by day this was her continuall exercise, to the no meane admiration of her brethren, and many other friends that beheld her.

So long she held on in this mourning manner, that, what by the conti­nuall watering of the Basile, and putrifaction of the head, so buried in the pot of earth; it grew very flourishing, and most odorifferous to such as scented it, so that as no other Basile could possibly yeeld so sweet a sauor. The neighbours noting this behauiour in her, obseruing the long conti­nuance [Page 161] thereof, how much her bright beauty was defaced, and the eyes sunke into her head by incessant weeping, made many kinde and friendly motions, to vnderstād the reason of her so violent oppressions; but could not by any meanes preuaile with her, or win any discouery by her Nurse, so faithfull was she in secrecie to her. Her brethren also waxed wearie of this carriage in her; and hauing very often reproued her for it, without a­ny other alteration in her: at length, they closely stole away the potte of Basile from her, for which she made infinite wofull lamentations, earnest­ly entreating to haue it restored againe, auouching that shee could not liue without it.

Perceiuing that she could not haue the pot againe, she fell into an ex­treame sicknesse, occasioned onely by her ceaselesse weeping: and neuer vrged she to haue any thing, but the restoring of her Basile pot. Her bre­thren grew greatly amazed thereat, because shee neuer called for ought else beside; and thereupon were very desirous to ransacke the pot to the very bottome. Hauing emptied out all the earth, they found the Scarfe of silke, wherein the head of Lorenzo was wrapped; which was (as yet) not so much consumed, but by the lockes of haire, they knew it to be Lo­renzoes head, whereat they became confounded with amazement.

Fearing least their offence might come to open publication, they bu­ried it very secretly; and, before any could take notice thereof, they de­parted from Messina, and went to dwell in Naples. Isabella crying & cal­ling still for her pot of Basile, being vnable to giue ouer mourning, dyed within a few dayes after. Thus haue you heard the hard fare of poore Lo­renzo and his Isabella. Within no long while after, when this accident came to be publikely knowne, an excellent ditty was composed thereof, beginning thus:

The sixth Nouell.

THE Nouell which Madam Philomena had so graciously related, was highly pleasing vnto the other Ladies; because they had oftentimes [Page] heard the Song, without knowing who made it, or vppon what occasion it was composed. But when the King saw that the Tale was ended: hee commanded Pamphilus, that hee should follow in his due course: where­upon he spake thus.

The dreame already recounted in the last Nouell, doth minister mat­ter to me, to make report of another Tale, wherein mention is made of two seuerall dreames; which diuined as well what was to ensue, as the o­ther did what had hapned before. And no sooner were they finished in the relation, by both the parties which had formerly dreampt them, but the effects of both as sodainly followed.

Worthy Ladies, I am sure it is not vnknowne to you, that it is, & hath bene a generall passion, to all men and women liuing, to see diuers and sundry things while they are sleeping. And although (to the sleeper) they seeme most certaine, so that when he awaketh, hee iudgeth the trueth of some, the likelyhood of others, and some beyond all possibility of truth: yet notwithstanding, many dreames haue bene obserued to happen, and very strangely haue come to passe. And this hath bene a grounded rea­son for some men, to giue as great credit to such things as they see slee­ping, as they do to others vsually waking. So that, according vnto their dreames, and as they make construction of them, that are sadly distasted, or merrily pleased, euen as (by them) they either feare or hope. On the contrary, there are some, who wil not credit any dreame whatsoeuer, vn­till they be falne into the very same danger which formerly they saw, and most euidently in their sleepe.

I meane not to commend either the one or other, because they do not alwayes fall out to be true; neither are they at all times lyars. Now, that [Page 162] they proue not all to be true, we can best testifie to our selues. And that they are not alwayes lyars, hath already sufficiently bene manifested, by the discourse of Madame Philomena, and as you shall perceiue by mine owne, which next commeth in order to salute you. Wherefore, I am of this opinion, that in matters of good life, and performing honest actions; no dreame is to be feared presaging the contrary, neither are good works any way to be hindred by them. Likewise, in matters of bad and wicked quality, although our dreames may appeare fauourable to vs, and our vi­sions flatter vs with prosperous successe: yet let vs giue no credence vnto the best, nor addict our minds to them of contrary Nature. And now we will proceed to our Nouell.

In the Citie of Brescia, there liued somtime a Gentleman, named Mes­ser Negro da Ponte Cararo, who (among many other children) had a daugh­ter called Andreana, yong and beautifull, but as yet vnmarried. It fortu­ned, that shee fell in loue with a neighbour, named Gabriello, a comely yong Gentleman, of affable complexion, and graciously conditioned. Which loue was (with like kindnesse) welcommed and entertained by him, and by the furtherance of her Chamber-maide, it was so cunningly carried, that in the Garden belonging to Andreanaes Father, she had ma­ny meetings with her Gabriello. And solemne vowes being mutually pas­sed betweene them, that nothing but death could alter their affection: by such ceremonious words as are vsed in marriage, they maried themselues secretly together, and continued their stolne chaste pleasures, with equall contentment to them both.

It came to passe, that Andreana sleeping in her bed, dreamed, that she met with Gabriello in the Garden, where they both embracing louingly together, she seemed to see a thing blacke and terrible, which sodainely issued forth of his body, but the shape therof she could not comprehend. It rudely seized vpon Gabriello, & in despight of her vtmost strength (with incredible force) snatched him out of her armes, and sinking with him into the earth, they neuer after did see one another; whereuppon, ouer­come with extremity of greefe and sorrow, presently shee awaked, being then not a little ioyfull, that she found no such matter as shee feared, yet continued very doubtfull of her dreame. In regard whereof, Gabriello be­ing desirous to visite her the night following: she laboured very diligent­ly to hinder his comming to her; yet knowing his loyall affection toward her, and fearing least he should grow suspitious of some other matter: she welcommed him into the Garden, where gathering both white and Da­maske Roses (according to the nature of the season) at length, they sate downe by a goodly Fountaine, which stoode in the midst of the Gar­den

After some small familiar discourse passing betweene them, Gabriello demanded of her vpon what occasion shee denied his comming thither the night before, and by such a sodaine vnexpected admonition? Andrea­na told him, that it was in regard of a troublesome dreame, wherwith hir soule was perplexed the precedent night, and doubt what might ensue [Page] thereon. Gabriello hearing this, began to smile, affirming to her, that it was an especiall note of folly, to giue any credit to idle dreames: because (oftentimes) they are caused by excesse of feeding, and continually are obserued to be meere lies. For (quoth hee) if I had any superstitious be­leefe of dreames, I should not then haue come hither nowe: yet not so much as being dismayed by your dreame, but for another of mine owne, which I am the more willing to acquaint you withall.

Me thought, I was in a goodly delightfull Forrest, in the Noble ex­ercise of sportfull hunting, and became there possessed of a yong Hinde, the verie loueliest and most pleasing beast that was euer seene. It seemed to be as white as snow, and grew (in a short while) so familiar with mee, that by no meanes it would forsake me. I could not but accept this rare kindnesse in the beast, and fearing least (by some ill hap) I might loose it, I put a coller of Gold about the necke thereof, and fastned it into a chain of Gold also, which then I held strictly in my hand. The Hind afterward couched downe by mee, laying his head mildely in my lap; and on a sud­den, a blacke Grey-hound bitch came rushing on vs (but whence, or how I could not imagine) seeming halfe hunger-starued, and very vgly to look vpon. At me she made her full carriere, without any power in me of re­sistance: and putting her mouth into the lefte side of my bosome, griped it so mainly with her teeth, that (me thought) I felt my heart quite bit­ten through, and she tugged on still, to take it wholly away from me; by which imagined paine and anguish I felt, instantly I awaked: Laying then my hand vpon my side, to know whether any such harme had befaln me, or no, and finding none at all, I smiled at mine owne folly, in making such a friuolous and idle search. What can be said then in these or the like ca­ses? Diuers times I haue had as ill seeming dreames, yea, and much more to be feared: yet neuer any thing hurtfull to me) followed thereon; and therefore I haue alwaies made the lesse account of them.

The yong Maiden, who was still dismayed by her owne dreame, be­came much more afflicted in her minde, when shee had heard this other reported by Gabriello: but yet to giue him no occasion of distast, she bare it out in the best manner she could deuise to doe. And albeit they spent the time in much pleasing discourse, maintained with infinite sweete kis­ses on either side: yet was she still suspitious, but knew not whereof; fix­ing her eies oftentimes vpon his face, and throwing strange lookes to all parts of the Garden, to catch hold on any such blacke vgly sight, whereof he had formerly made description to her. As thus she continued in these afflicting feares, it fortuned, that Gabriello sodainly breathing forth a very vehement sighe, and throwing his armes fast about her, said: O helpe me deare Loue, or else I dye; and, in speaking the words, fell downe vppon the ground. Which the yong Damosell perceiuing, and drawing him in­to her lappe, weeping saide: Alas sweete Friend, What paine dost thou feele?

Gabriello answered not one word, but being in an exceeding sweate, without any ability of drawing breath, very soone after gaue vp the ghost. [Page 163] How greeuous this strange accident was to poore Andreana, who loued him as deerely as her owne life: you that haue felt loues tormenting affli­ctions, can more easily conceiue, then I relate. Wringing her hands, & weeping incessantly, calling him, rubbing his temples, and vsing all like­ly meanes to reduce life: she found all her labour to be spent in vain, be­cause he was starke dead indeed, and euery part of his body as cold as ice: whereupon, she was in such wofull extremity, that she knew not what to do or say. All about the Garden she went weeping, in infinite feares and distraction of soule, calling for her Chamber-maid, the only secret friend to their stolne meetings, and told her the occasion of this sudden sorow. After they had sighed and mourned awhile, ouer the dead body of Gabri­ello, Andreana in this manner spake to her maid.

Seeing Fortune hath thus bereft me of my Loue, mine owne life must needs be hatefull to me: but before I offer any violence to my selfe, let vs deuise some conuenient meanes, as may both preserue mine honor from any touch or scandall, and conceale the secret loue passing betweene vs: but yet in such honest sort, that this body (whose blessed soule hath too soone forsaken it) may be honourably enterred. Whereto her Mayde thus answered: Mistresse, neuer talke of doing any violence to your self, because by such a blacke and dismall deed, as you haue lost his kind com­pany here in this life, so shall you neuer more see him in the other world: for immediately you sinke downe to hell, which foule place cannot bee a receptacle for his faire soule, that was endued with so many singular ver­tues. Wherefore, I holde it farre better for you, to comfort your selfe by all good meanes, and with the power of feruent prayer, to fight against all desperate intruding passions, as a truly vertuous minde ought to doe. Now, as concerning his enterrement, the meanes is readily prepared for you heere in this Garden, where neuer he hath bene seene by any, or his resorting hither knowne, but onely to our selues. If you will not consent to haue it so, let you and I conuey his bodye hence, and leaue it in such apt place, where it may be found to morrow morning: and being then carried to his owne house, his friends and kindred will giue it honest bu­riall.

Andreana, although her soule was extraordinarily sorrowfull, & teares flowed abundantly from her eyes; yet she listned attentiuely to hir maids counsell; allowing her first aduice against desperation, to be truly good; but to the rest thus she replied. God forbid (quoth she) that I shold suf­fer so deare a louing friend, as he hath alwayes shewed himselfe to mee; nay, which is much more, my husband; by sacred and solemn vowes pas­sed betweene vs, to be put into the ground basely, and like a dog, or else to be left in the open streete. He hath had the sacrifice of my virgin teares, and if I can preuaile, he shall haue some of his kindred, as I haue instant­ly deuised, what (in this hard case) is best to be done. Forthwith she sent the maid to her Chamber, for diuers elles of white Damaske lying in her Chest, which when she had brought, they spread it abroad on the grasse, euen in the manner of a winding sheete, and therein wrapped the bodie [Page] of Gabriello, with a faire wrought pillow lying vnder his head, hauing first (with their teares) closed his mouth and eyes, and placed a Chaplet of Flowers on his head, couering the whole shrowd ouer in the same man­ner; which being done, thus she spake to her maide.

The doore of his owne house is not farre hence, and thither (between vs two) he may be easily carried, euen in this maner as we haue adorned him; where leauing him in his owne Porch, we may returne back before it be day; and although it will be a sad sight to his friends; yet, because he dyed in mine armes, and we being so well discharged of the bodie, it will be a little comfort to me. When she had ended these words, which were not vttered without infinite teares, the Maid entreated her to make hast, because the night passed swiftly on. At last, she remembred the Ring on her finger, wherewith Gabriello had solemnly espoused her, and opening the shroud againe, she put it on his finger, saying, My deare and louing husband, if thy soule can see my teares, or any vnderstanding to remaine in thy body, being thus vntimely taken from me: receiue the latest guifte thou gauest me, as a pledge of our solemne and spotlesse marriage. So, making vp the shroud againe as it should be, and conueighing it closely out of the Garden, they went on along with it, towardes his dwelling house.

As thus they passed along, it fortuned, that they were met and taken by the Guard or Watch belonging to the Potestate, who had bin so late abroad, about very earnest and important businesse. Andreana, desiring more the dead mans company, then theirs whom she had thus met with­all, boldly spake thus to them. I know who and what you are, and can tel my selfe, that to offer flight will nothing auaile me: wherefore, I am rea­dy to go along with you before the Seigneurie, and there wil tel the truth concerning this accident. But let not any man among you, be so bold as to lay hand on me, or to touch me, because I yeeld so obediently to you: neither to take any thing from this body, except he intend that I shal ac­cuse him. In which respect, not any one daring to displease her, shee went with the dead bodye to the Seigneurie, there to answere all Obie­ctions.

When notice heereof was giuen to the Potestate, he arose; and shee being brought foorth into the Hall before him, he questioned with her, how and by what meanes this accident happened. Beside, he sent for di­uers Physitians, to be informed by them, whether the Gentleman were poysoned, or otherwise murthered: but al of them affirmed the contrary, auouching rather, that some impostumation had engendred neere his heart, which sodainly breaking, occasioned his as sodaine death. The Po­testate hearing this, and perceiuing that Andreana was little or nothing at all faulty in the matter: her beauty and good carriage, kindled a villa­nous and lustfull desire in him towards her, prouoking him to the immo­dest motion, that vpon granting his request, he would release her. But when he saw, that all his perswasions were to no purpose, hee sought to compasse his will by violence; which, like a vertuous and valiant Virago, [Page 164] shee worthily withstood, defending her honour Nobly, and reproouing him with many iniurious speeches, such as a lustfull Letcher iustlie de­serued.

On the morrow morning, these newes being brought to her Father, Messer Negro da Ponte Cararo; greeuing thereat exceedingly, and accom­panied with many of his friends, he went to the Palace. Being there ar­riued, and informed of the matter by the Potestate: hee demaunded (in teares) of his daughter, how, and by what meanes shee was brought thi­ther? The Potestate would needs accuse her first, of outrage and wrong offered to him by her, rather then to tarry her accusing of him: yet, com­mending the yong Maiden, and her constancie, proceeded to say, that onely to proue her, he had made such a motion to her, but finding her so firmly vertuous, his loue and liking was now so addicted to her, that if hir Father were so pleased, to forget the remembrance of her former secret husband, he willingly would accept her in marriage.

While thus they continued talking, Andreana comming before her Father, the teares trickling mainly downe her cheekes, and falling at his feete, she began in this manner. Deare Father, I shall not neede to make an historicall relation, either of my youthfull boldnesse or misfortunes, because you haue both seene and knowne them: rather most humblie, I craue your pardon, for another errour by me committed, in that, both without your leaue and liking, I accepted the man as my troth-plighted husband, whom (aboue all other in the world) I most intirely affected. If my offence heerein do challenge the forfeite of my life, then (good Fa­ther) I free you from any such pardon: because my onely desire is to die your daughter, and in your gracious fauour; with which words, in signe of her humility, she kissed his feete. Messer Negro da Ponte, being a man well stept into yeares, and of a milde and gentle nature, obseruing what his daughter had saide: could not refraine from teares, and in his weep­ing, louingly tooke her from the ground, speaking thus to her.

Daughter, I could haue wished, that thou hadst taken such an husbād, as (in my iudgement) had bene best fitting for thee, and yet if thou didst make election of one, answerable to thine owne good opinion & liking: I haue no iust reason to be therewith offended. My greatest cause of com­plaint, is, thy too seuere concealing it from me, and the slender trust thou didst repose in me, because thou hast lost him, before I knew him. Ne­uerthelesse, seeing these occasions are thus come to passe, and accidents alreadie ended, cannot by any meanes be re-called: it is my will, that as I would gladly haue contented thee, by making him my Sonne in Law, if he had liued; so I will expresse the like loue to him now he is dead. And so turning himself to his kindred and friends, louingly requested of them, that they would grace Gabriello with most honorable obsequies.

By this time, the kindred and friends to the dead man (vppon noise of his death bruited abroad) were likewise come to the Pallace, yea, most of the men and women dwelling in the Citty, the bodie of Gabriello beeing laide in the midst of the Court, vpon the white Damaske shrowde giuen [Page] by Andreana, with infinite Roses and other sweet Flowers lying thereon: and such was the peoples loue to him, that neuer was any mans death, more to be bemoaned and lamented. Being deliuered out of the Court, it was carried to buriall, not like a Burgesse or ordinary Citizen, but with such pompe as beseemed a Lord Baron, and on the shoulders of very no­ble Gentlemen, with very especiall honor and reuerence.

Within some few dayes after, the Potestate pursuing his former moti­on of marriage, and the Father mouing it to his daughter; she wold not by any meanes listen thereto. And he being desirous to giue her content­ment, deliuered her and her Chamber-maid into a Religious Abbey, ve­ry famous for deuotion and sanctity, where afterwardes they ended their liues.

The seauenth Nouell.

PAmphilus hauing ended his Tale, the King declaring an outward shew of compassion, in regard of Andreanaes disastrous Fortune: fixed his eye on Madam Emillia, and gaue her such an apparant signe, as expressed [Page 165] his pleasure, for her next succeeding in discourse; which being sufficient for her vnderstanding, thus she began. Faire assembly, the Nouel so late­ly deliuered by Pamphilus, maketh me willing to report another to you, varying from it, in any kinde of resemblance; onely this excepted: that as Andreana lost her louer in a Garden, euen so did shee of whome I am now to speake. And being brought before the seate of Iustice, according as Andreana was, freed her selfe from the power of the Law; yet neither by force, or her owne vertue, but by her sodaine and inopinate death. And although the nature of Loue is such (according as wee haue often­times heeretofore maintained) to make his abiding in the houses of the Noblest persons; yet men and women of poore and farre inferiour quali­ty, do not alwayes sit out of his reach, though enclosed in their meanest Cottages; declaring himselfe sometimes as powerfull a commaunder in those humble places, as he doth in the richest and most imperious Pala­ces. As will plainly appeare vnto you, either in all, or a great part of my Nouell, whereto our Citie pleadeth some title; though, by the diuersity of our discourses, talking of so many seuerall accidents; we haue wandred into many other parts of the world, to make all answerable to our owne liking.

It is not any long time since, when there liued in our City of Florence, a young and beautifull Damosell, yet according to the nature of hir con­dition; because she was the Daughter of a poore Father, and called by the name of Simonida. Now, albeit shee was not supplied by any better meanes, then to maintaine her selfe by her owne painfull trauell, & earne her bread before shee could eate it, by carding and spinning to such as employed her; yet was she not of so base or deiected a spirit, but had both courage and sufficient vertue, to vnderstand the secret solicitings of loue, and to distinguish the parts of well deseruing both by priuate behauiour and outward ceremony. As naturall instinct was her first tutor thereto, so wanted she not a second maine and vrging motion, a chip hewed out of the like Timber, one no better in birth then her selfe, a proper young springall, named Pasquino, whose generous behauiour, and gracefull ac­tions (in bringing her daily wooll to spin, by reason his master was a Clo­thier) preuailed vpon her liking and affection.

Nor was he negligent in the obseruation of her amorous regards, but the Tinder tooke, and his soule flamed with the selfe-same fire; making him as desirous of her louing acceptance, as possibly she could bee of his: so that the commanding power of loue, could not easily be distinguished in which of them it had the greater predominance. For, euerie day as he brought her fresh supply of woolles, and found her seriously busied at hir wheele: her soule would vent forth many deepe sighes, and those sighes fetch floods of teares from her eyes, thorough the singular good opinion she had conceyued of him, and earnest desire to enioy him. Pasquino on the other side, as leysure gaue him leaue for the least conuersing with her: his disease was euery way answerable to her, for teares stood in his eyes, sighes flew abroad, to ease the poore hearts afflicting oppressions, which [Page] though he was vnable to conceale; yet would hee seeme to clowd them cleanly, by entreating her that his masters worke might be nearly perfor­med, and with such speed as time would permit her, intermixing infinite praises of her artificiall spinning; and affirming withall, that the Quilles of Yearne receiued from her, were the choisest beauty of the whole peece; so that when other worke-women played, Simonida was sure to want no employment.

Heereupon, the one soliciting, and the other taking delight in beeing solicited; it came to passe, that often accesse bred the bolder courage, & ouer-much bashfulnesse became abandoned, yet no immodestie passing betweene them: but affection grew the better setled in them both▪ by in­terchangeable vowes of constant perseuerance, so that death onely, but no disaster else had power to diuide them. Their mutuall delight conti­nuing on in this manner, with more forcible encreasing of their Loues e­quall flame it fortuned, that Pasquino sitting by Simonida, tolde her of a goodly Garden, whereto hee was desirous to bring her, to the end, that they might the more safely conuerse together, without the suspition of enuious eyes. Simonida gaue answer of her well-liking the motion, and acquainting her Father therewith, he gaue her leaue, on the Sunday fol­lowing after dinner, to go ferch the pardon of S. Gallo, and afterwards to visit the Garden.

A modest yong maiden named Lagina, following the same profession, and being an intimate familiar friend, Simonida tooke along in her com­pany, and came to the Garden appointed by Pasquino; where shee found him readily expecting her comming, and another friend also with him, called Puccino (albeit more vsually tearmed Strambo) a secret well-willer to Lagina, whose loue became the more furthered by this friendly mee­ting. Each Louer delighting in his hearts chosen Mistresse, caused them to walke alone by themselues, as the spaciousnesse of the Garden gaue them ample liberty: Puccino with his Lagina in one part, & Pasquino with his Simonida in another. The walke which they had made choise of, was by a long and goodly bed of Sage, turning and returning by the same bed as their conference ministred occasion, and as they pleased to recreate themselues, affecting rather to continue still there, then in any part of the Garden.

One while they would sit downe by the Sage bed, and afterward rise to walke againe, as ease or wearinesse seemed to inuite them. At length, Pasquino chanced to crop a leafe of the Sage, wherewith he both rubbed his teeth and gummes, and champing it betweene them also, saying; that there was no better thing in the world to cleanse the teeth withall, after feeding. Not long had he thus champed the Sage in his teeth, returning to his former kinde of discoursing, but his countenance began to change very pale, his sight failed, and speech forsooke him; so that (in briefe) he fell downe dead. Which when Simonida beheld, wringing her hands, she cryed out for helpe to Strambo and Lagina, who immediately came run­ning to her. They finding Pasquino not onely to be dead, but his bodie [Page 166] swolne, and strangely ouer-spred with foule black spots, both on his face, handes, and all parts else beside: Strambo cried out, saying; Ah wicked maide, what hast thou poisoned him?

These words and their shrill out-cries also, were heard by Neighbours dwelling neere to the Garden, who comming in sodainly vppon them, and seeing Pasquino lying dead, and hugely swoln, Strambo likewise com­plaining, and accusing Simonida to haue poysoned him; shee making no answer, but standing in a gastly amazement, all her senses meerely con­founded, at such a strange and vncouth accident, in loosing him whome she so dearely loued: knew not how to excuse her selfe, and therfore eue­ry one verily beleeued, that Strambo had not vniustly accused her. Poore woful maide, thus was shee instantly apprehended, and drowned in her teares, they led her along to the Potestates Palace, where her accusation was iustified by Strambo, Lagina, and two men more; the one named At­ticciato, and the other Malageuole, fellowes and companions with Pasqui­no, who came into the Garden also vpon the out-cry.

The Iudge, without any delay at all, gaue eare to the busines, and exa­mined the case very strictly: but could by no meanes comprehend, that a­ny malice should appeare in her towards him, nor that she was guiltie of the mans death. Wherefore, in the pre [...]ence of Simonida, hee desired to see the dead body, and the place where he fell downe dead, because there he intended to haue her relate, how she saw the accident to happen, that her owne speeches might the sooner condemne her, whereas the case yet remained doubtfull, and farre beyond his comprehension. So, without any further publication, and to auoid the following of the turbulent mul­titude: they departed from the bench of Iustice, and came to the place, where Pasquinoes body lay swolne like a Tunne. Demanding there que­stions, concerning his behauiour, when they walked there in conference together, and, not a little admiring the manner of his death, while hee stood aduisedly considering thereon.

She going to the bed of Sage, reporting the whole precedent history, euen from the original to the ending: the better to make the case vnder­stood, without the least colour of ill carriage towardes Pasquino; accor­ding as she had seene him do, euen so did she plucke another leafe of the Sage, rubbing her teeth therewith, and champing it as he formerly did. Strambo, and the other intimate friends of Pasquino, hauing noted in what manner she vsed the Sage, and this appearing as her vtmost refuge, either to acquit or condemne her: in presence of the Iudge they smiled thereat, mocking and deriding whatsoeuer shee saide, or did, and desiring (the more earnestly) the sentence of death against her, that her body might be consumed with fire, as a iust punishment for her abhominable transgres­sion.

Poore Simonida, sighing and sorrowing for her deere loues losse, and (perhappes) not meanly terrified, with the strict infliction of torment so seuerely vrged and followed by Strambo and the rest: standing dumb still, without answering so much as one word; by tasting of the same Sage, [Page] fell downe dead by the bed, euen by the like accident as Pasquino former­ly did, to the admirable astonishment of all there present.

Oh poore infortunate Louers, whose Starres were so inauspicious to you, as to finish both your mortall liues, and feruent loue, in lesse limita­tion then a dayes space. How to censure of your deaths, and happines to ensue thereon, by an accident so straunge and ineuitable: it is not within the compasse of my power, but to hope the best, and so I leaue you. But yet concerning Simonida her selfe, in the common opinion of vs that re­maine liuing: her true vertue and innocency (though Fortune was other wise most cruell to her) would not suffer her to sinke vnder the testimony of Strambo, Lagina, Atticciato and Malageuole, being but carders of wool, or perhaps of meaner condition; a happier course was ordained for her, to passe clearly from their infamous imputation, and follow her Pasqui­no, in the verie same manner of death, and with such a speedie expedi­tion.

The Iudge standing amazed, and all there present in his companie, were silent for a long while together: but, vppon better re-collection of his spirits, thus he spake. This inconuenience which thus hath hapned, and confounded our senses with no common admiration; in mine opi­nion concerneth the bed of Sage, auouching it either to bee venomous, or dangerously infected, which (neuerthelesse) is seldom found in Sage. But to the end, that it may not be offensiue to any more heereafter, I will haue it wholly digd vp by the rootes, and then to bee burnt in the open Market place.

Hereupon, the Gardiner was presently sent for, and before the Iudge would depart thence, he saw the bed of Sage digged vp by the roots, and found the true occasion, whereby these two poore Louers lost their liues, For, iust in the middest of the bed, and at the maine roote, which dire­cted all the Sage in growth; lay an huge mighty Toad, euen weltring (as it were) in a hole full of poyson; by meanes whereof, in coniecture of the Iudge, and all the rest, the whole bed of Sage became envenomed, occa­sioning euery leafe thereof to be deadly in taste. None being so hardie, as to approach neere the Toade, they made a pile of wood directly ouer it, and setting it on a flaming fire, threw all the Sage therinto, and so they were consumed together. So ended all further suite in Lawe, concer­ning the deaths of Pasquino and Simonida: whose bodies being carried to the Church of Saint Paul, by their sad and sorrowfull accusers, Strambo, Lagina, Atticciato and Malageuole, were buried together in one goodlie Monument, for a future memory of their hard Fortune.

The eight Nouell.

MAdam Emillia had no sooner concluded her Nouell, but Madame Neiphila (by the Kings command) began to speake in this manner. It seemeth to mee (Gracious Ladies) that there are some such people to be found, who imagine themselues to know more, then all other else in the world beside, and yet indeede doe know nothing at all: presuming (thorough this arrogant opinion of theirs) to imploy and oppose their senselesse vnderstanding, against infallible grounded reason, yea, and to attempt courses, not only contrary to the counsell and iudgment of men, but also to crosse the nature of diuine ordination. Out of which saucy & ambitious presumption, many mighty harmes haue already had begin­ning, and more are like to ensue vppon such boldnesse, because it is the ground of all euils.

Now, in regard that among all other naturall things, no one is lesse subiect to take counsell, or can bee wrought to contrariety, then Loue, [Page] whose nature is such, as rather to run vpon his owne rash consumption, then to be ruled by admonitions of the very wisest: my memory hath in­spired it self, with matter incident to this purpose, effectually to approue, what I haue already said. For I am now to speake of a woman, who would appeare to haue more wit, then either she had indeed, or appertained to her by any title▪ The matter also, wherein she would needs shew hir stu­dious iudgement and capacity, was of much more consequence then she could deserue to meddle withall. Yet such was the issue of her fond pre­suming; that (in one instant) she expelled both loue, and the soule of her owne sonne out of his body, where (doubtlesse) it was planted by diuine fauour and appointment.

In our owne City (according to true & ancient testimony) there dwelt sometime a very worthy and wealthy Merchant, named Leonardo Sighie­ro, who by his wife had one onely Sonne, called Ieronimo and within a short while after his birth, Leonardo being very sicke, and hauing setled al his affaires in good order; departed out of this wretched life to a better. The Tutors and Gouernours of the Childe, thought it fittest to let him liue with his Mother, where he had his whole education, though schoo­led among many other worthy neighbours children, according as in most Cities they vse to do. Yong Ieronimo growing on in yeares, and frequen­ting dayly the company of his Schoole-fellowes and others: hee would often sport (as the rest did) with the neighbors, and much prety pastime they found together.

In the harmlesse recreations of youth, grauer iudgements haue often obserued, that some especiall matter receiued then such original, as grea­ter effect hath followed thereon. And many times, parents and kindred haue bene the occasion (although perhaps beyond their expectation) of very strange and extraordinary accidents, by names of familiarity passing betweene Boyes and Girles, as King and Queene, sweet heart and sweet heart, friend and friend, husband and wife, and diuers other such like kind tearmes, proouing afterwards to be true indeede. It fell out so with our yong Ieronimo; for, among a number of pretty Damosels, daughters to men of especiall respect, and others of farre inferiour qualitie: a Taylors daughter, excelling the rest in fauour and feature (albeit her Father was but poore) Ieronimo most delighted to sport withall; and no other titles passed betweene them, euen in the hearing of their parents and friendes, but wife and husband: such was the beginning of their young affection, presaging (no doubt) effectually to follow.

Nor grew this familiarity (as yet) any way distasted, till by their dayly conuersing together, and enterchange of infinite pretty speeches: Ieroni­mo felt a strange alteration in his soule, with such enforcing and power­full afflictions; as he was neuer well but in her company, nor she enioy­ed any rest if Ieronimo were absent. At the length, this being noted by his Mother, she beganne to rebuke him, yea, many times gaue him both threatnings and blowes, which prouing to no purpose, nor hindering his accesse to her; she complained to his Tutors, and like one that in regard [Page 168] of her riches, thought to plant an Orange vpon a blacke thorne, spake as followeth.

This Sonne of mine Ieronimo, being as yet but fourteene years of age, is so deeply enamored of a yong Girle, named Siluestra, daughter vnto a poore Tailor, our neere dwelling neighbour: that if we do not send him out of her company, one day (perhaps) he may make her his wife, and yet without any knowledge of ours, which questionlesse would be my death. Otherwise, he may pine and consume himselfe away, if he see vs procure her marriage to some other. Wherefore, I hold it good, that to auoid so great an inconuenience, we shold send Ieronimo some far distance hence, to remaine where some of our Factors are employed: because, when he shall be out of her sight, and their often meetings vtterly disappointed; his affection to her will the sooner ceasse, by frustrating his hope for euer enioying her, and so we shall haue the better meanes, to match him with one of greater quality. The Tutors did like well of her aduice, not doub­ting but it would take answerable effect: and therefore, calling Ieronimo into a priuate Parlor, one of them began in this manner.

Ieronimo, you are now growne to an indifferent stature, and (almost) a­ble to take gouernment of your selfe. It cannot then seeme any way in­conuenient, to acquaint you with your deceased Fathers affaires, and by what good courses he came to such wealth. You are his onely sonne and heire, to whom hee hath bequeathed his rich possessions (your Mothers moity euermore remembred) and trauaile would now seeme fitting for you, as well to experience in Traffick and Merchandize, as also to let you see the worlds occurrences. Your Mother therfore (and we) haue thought it expedient, that you should iourney from hence to Paris, there to con­tinue for some such fitting time, as may grant you full and free opportu­nity, to suruey what stocke of wealth is there employed for you, and to make you vnderstand, how your Factors are furtherous to your affayres. Beside, this is the way to make you a man of more solid apprehension, & perfect instruction in ciuill courses of life; rather then by continuing here to see none but Lords, Barons, and Gentlemen, whereof wee haue too great a number. When you are sufficiently qualified there, and haue learned what belongeth to a worthy Marchant, such as was Leonardo Sig­hiero your famous Father; you may returne home againe at your owne pleasure.

The youth gaue them attentiue hearing, and (in few words) returned them answer: That he would not giue way to any such trauaile, because hee knew how to dispose of himselfe in Florence, as well as in any other place he should be sent too. Which when his Tutors heard, they repro­ued him with many seuere speeches: and seeing they could win no other answer from him, they made returne thereof to his Mother. Shee stor­ming extreamly thereat, yet not so much for denying the iourney to Pa­ris, as in regard of his violent affection to the Maide; gaue him very bit­ter and harsh language. All which auailing nothing, she began to speake in a more milde and gentle straine, entreating him with flattering and af­fable [Page] words, to be gouerned in this case by his Tutors good aduise. And so farre (in the end) she preuailed with him, that he yeelded to liue at Pa­ris for the space of a yeare; but further time he would not graunt, and so all was ended.

Ieronimo being gone to remain at Paris, his loue daily increasing more and more, by reason of his absence from Siluestra, vnder faire and friend­ly promises, of this moneth and the next moneth sending for him home; there they detained him two whole yeares together. Whereuppon, his loue was growne to such an extremity, that he neither would, or could a­bide any longer there, but home hee returned, before hee was expected. His loue Siluestra, by the cunning compacting of his Mother and Tutors, he found married to a Tent-makers Sonne; whereat hee vexed and gree­ued beyond all measure. Neuerthelesse, seeing the case was now no way to bee holpen; hee stroue to beare it with so much patience, as so great a wrong, and his hearts tormenting greefe, would giue him leaue to doe.

Hauing found out the place where she dwelt, hee began (as it is the custome of yong Louers) to vse diuers daily walkes by her door: as thin­king in his minde, that her remembrance of him was constantly continu­ed, as his was most intirely fixed on her. But the case was verie strangely altred, because she was now growne no more mindfull of him, then if she had neuer seene him before. Or if she did any way remember him, it ap­peared to be so little, that manifest signes declared the contrary. Which Ieronimo very quickely perceiued, albeit not without many melanchollie perturbations. Notwithstanding, he laboured by all possible meanes, to recouer her former kindnesse againe: but finding all his paines friuouslie employed; he resolued to dye, and yet to compasse some speech with her before.

By meanes of a neere dwelling neighbour (that was his verie deare & intimate friend) he came acquainted with euery part of the house, & pre­uailed so far, that one euening; when she and her husband supt at a neigh­bours house; he compassed accesse into the same bed chamber, where Sil­uestra vsed most to lodge. Finding the Curtaines ready drawne, he hid himselfe behinde them on the further side of the bed, and so tarried there vntlll Siluestra and her husband were returned home, and laide downe in bedde to take their rest. The husbands sences were soone ouercome with sleepe, by reason of his painefull toyling all the day, and bodies that are exercised with much labour, are the more desirous to haue ease. She stay­ing vp last, to put out the light, and hearing her husband sleepe so sound­ly, that his snoring gaue good euidence thereof: layed her selfe down the more respectiuely, as being very loath any way to disease him, but sweet­ly to let him enioy his rest.

Siluestra lay on the same side of the bed, where Ieronimo had hid him­selfe behinde the Curtaines; who stepping softly to her in the darke, and laying his hand gently on her brest, saide: Deare Loue, forbeare a little while to sleepe, for heere is thy loyall friend Ieronimo. The yong woman [Page 169] starting with amazement, would haue cried out, but that hee entreated her to the contrary; protesting, that he came for no ill intent to her, but onely to take his latest leaue of her. Alas Ieronimo (quoth she) those idle dayes are past and gone, when it was no way vnseemly for our youth, to entertaine equality of those desires, which then well agreed with our young blood. Since when, you haue liued in forraine Countries, which appeared to me to alter your former disposition: for, in the space of two whole yeares, either you grew forgetfull of me (as change of ayre, may change affection) or (at the best) made such account of mee, as I neuer heard the least salutation from you. Now you know me to be a married wife, in regard whereof, my thoughts haue embraced that chaste and ho­nourable resolution, not to minde any man but my husband; and there­fore, as you are come hither without my loue or license, so in like manner I do desire you to be gone. Let this priuiledge of my Husbandes sound sleeping, be no colour to your longer continuing heere, or encourage you to finde any further fauour at mine hand: for if mine husband shold awake, beside the danger that thereon may follow to you, I cannot but loose the sweet happinesse of peacefull life, which hitherto we haue both mutually embraced.

The yong man, hearing these wordes, and remembring what louing kindnesse he had formerly found, what secret loue Letters hee had sent from Paris, with other priuate intelligences and tokens, which neuer came to her receite and knowledge, so cunningly his Mother and Tutors had carried the matter: immediately he felt his heart strings to break; and lying downe vpon the beds side by her, vttered these his very last words. Siluestra farewell, thou hast kilde the kindest heart that euer loued a wo­man: and speaking no more, gaue vp the ghost. She hearing these words deliuered with an entire sighe, and deepe-fetcht groane: did not imagine the strange consequence following thereon; yet was mooued to much compassion, in regard of her former affection to him. Silent shee lay an indifferent while, as being vnable to returne him any answer; and looking when he would be gone, according as before she had earnestly entreated him. But when she perceyued him to lye so still, as neither word or mo­tion came from him, she saide: Kinde Ieronimo, why doest thou not de­part and get thee gone? So putting forth her hand, it hapned to light vp­on his face, which she felt to be as cold as yce: whereat maruelling not a little, as also at his continued silence: shee iogged him, and felt his hands in like manner, which were stiffely extended forth, and all his body cold, as not hauing any life remaining in him, which greatly amazing her, and confounding her with sorow beyond all measure, shee was in such per­plexity, that she could not deuise what to do or say.

In the end, she resolued to try how her husband would take it, that so strange an accident should thus happen in his house, and putting the case as if it did not concerne them, but any other of the neighbours; awaking him first, demaunded of him what was best to bee done, if a man should steale into a neighbours house, vnknowne to him, or any of his family; & [Page] in his bed chamber to be found dead. He presently replyed (as not thin­king the case concerned himselfe) that, the onely helpe in such an vnex­pected extremity, was, to take the dead body, and conuey it to his owne house, if he had any; whereby no scandall or reproach would followe to them, in whose house he had so vnfortunately dyed. Heereupon, shee immediately arose, and lighting a candle, shewed him the dead bodie of Ieronimo, with protestation of euery particular, both of her innocencie, either of knowledge of his comming thither, or any other blame that could concerne her. Which hee both instantly knowing and beleeuing, made no more ceremonie, but putting on his Garments, tooke the dead bodie vpon his shoulders, and carried it to the Mothers doore, where he left it, and afterward returned to his owne house againe.

When day light was come, and the dead body found lying in the Porch, it moued very much greefe and amazement, considering, he had bin seene the day before, in perfect health to outward appearance. Nor neede we to vrge any question of his Mothers sorrow vpon this straunge accident, who, causing his body to bee carefully searched, without any blow, bruise, wound, or hurt vppon it, the Physitians could not giue any other opinion, but that some inward conceyte of greefe had caused his death, as it did indeed, and no way otherwise. To the cheefe Church was the dead body carried, to be generally seene of all the people, his mother and friends weeping heauily by it, as many more did the like beside, be­cause he was beloued of euery one. In which time of vniuersall mour­ning, the honest man (in whose house he dyed) spake thus to his wife: dis­guise thy selfe in some decent manner, and go to the Church, where (as I heare) they haue laide the body of Ieronimo. Crowde in amongest the Women, as I will doe the like amongst the men, to heare what opinion passeth of his death, and whether wee shall bee scandalized thereby, or no.

Siluestra, who was now become full of pitty too late, quickely condis­cended, as desiring to see him dead, whom sometime she dearly affected in life. And being come to the Church, it is a matter to bee admired, if aduisedly we consider on the powerfull working of loue; for the heart of this woman, which the prosperous fortune of Ieronimo could not pierce, now in his wofull death did split in sunder; and the ancient sparks of loue so long concealed in the embers, brake foorth into a furious flame; and being violently surprized with extraordinary compassion, no sooner did she come neere to the dead body, where many stoode weeping round a­bout it; but strangely shrieking out aloud, she fell downe vpon it: & euen as extremity of greefe finished his life, so did it hers in the same manner. For she moued neither hand nor foot, because her vitall powers had quite forsaken her. The women labouring to comfort her by al the best means they could deuise; did not take any knowledge of her, by reason of her disguised garments: but finding her dead indeede, and knowing her also to be Siluestra, being ouercome with vnspeakable compassion, & danted with no meane admiration, they stood strangely gazing each vpon other.

[Page 170] Wonderfull crowds of people were then in the Church; and this ac­cident being now noysed among the men, at length it came to her Hus­bands vnderstanding, whose greefe was so great, as it exceeded all capa­citie of expression. Afterward, he declared what had hapned in his house the precedent night, according as his wife had truly related to him, with all the speeches, which past between Siluestra and Ieronimo; by which dis­course, they generally conceiued, the certaine occasion of both their so­daine deaths, which moued them to great compassion. Then taking the yong womans body, and ordering it as a coarse ought to bee: they layed it on the same Biere by the yong man, and when they had sufficiently sor­rowed for their disastrous fortune, they gaue them honourable buriall both in one graue. So, this poore couple, whome loue (in life) could not ioyne together, death did vnite in an inseparable coniunction.

The ninth Nouell.

WHen the Nouell of Madam Neiphila was ended, which occasio­ned much compassion in the whole assembly; the King who wold not infringe the priuiledge graunted to Dioneus, no more remaining to speake but they two, began thus. I call to minde (gentle Ladies) a No­uell, which (seeing we are so farre entred into the lamentable accidents of [Page] successelesse loue, will vrge you vnto as much commisseration, as that so lately reported to you. And so much the rather, because the persons of whom we are to speake, were of respectiue quality; which approueth the accident to bee more cruell, then those whereof wee haue formerly dis­coursed.

According as the people of Prouence do report, there dwelt sometime in that iurisdiction, two noble Knights, each well possessed of Castles & followers; the one beeing named Messer Guiglielmo de Rossiglione, and the other Messer Guiglielmo Guardastagno. Now, in regard that they wer both valiant Gentlemen, and singularly expert in actions of Armes; they loued together the more mutually, and held it as a kinde of custom, to be seene in all Tiltes and Tournaments, or any other exercises of Armes, going commonly alike in their wearing garments. And although their Castles stood about fiue miles distant each from other, yet were they dayly con­uersant together, as very louing and intimate friends. The one of them, I meane Messer Guiglielmo de Rossiglione, had to wife a very gallant beauti­full Lady, of whom Messer Guardastagno (forgetting the lawes of respect and loyall friendshippe) became ouer-fondly enamoured, expressing the same by such outward meanes, that the Lady her selfe tooke knowledge thereof, and not with any dislike, as it seemed, but rather louingly enter­tained; yet she grew not so forgetfull of her honour and estimation, as the other did of faith to his friend.

With such indiscretion was this idle loue carried, that whether it sor­ted to effect, or no, I know not: but the husband receiued some such ma­ner of behauiour, as hee could not easily digest, nor thought it fitting to endure. Whereuppon, the league of friendly amity so long continued, began to faile in very strange fashion, and became conuerted into deadly hatred: which yet hee very cunningly concealed, bearing an outwarde shew of constant friendshippe still, but (in his heart) hee had vowed the death of Guardastagno. Nothing wanted, but by what meanes it might best be effected, which fell out to bee in this manner. A publicke lust or Tourney, was proclaimed by sound of Trumpet throughout all France, wherewith immediately, Messer Guiglielmo Rossiglione acquainted Messer Guardastagno, entreating him that they might further conferre theron to­gether, and for that purpose to come and visit him, if he intended to haue any hand in the businesse. Guardastagno being exceeding gladde of this accident, which gaue him liberty to see his Mistresse; sent answer backe by the messenger, that on the morrow at night, he would come and sup with Rossiglione; who vpon this reply, proiected to himselfe in what ma­ner to kill him.

On the morrow, after dinner, arming himselfe, and two more of his seruants with him, such as he had solemnly sworne to secrecy, hee moun­ted on horseback, and rode on about a mile from his owne Castle, where he lay closely ambushed in a Wood, through which Guardastagno must needs passe. After he had stayed there some two houres space and more, he espyed him come riding with two of his attendants, all of them being [Page 171] vnarmed, as no way distrusting any such intended treason. So soone as he was come to the place, where he had resolued to do the deed; hee ru­shed forth of the ambush, and hauing a sharpe Lance readily charged in his rest, ran mainly at him, saying: False villaine, thou art dead. Guarda­stagno, hauing nothing wherewith to defend himselfe, nor his seruants a­ble to giue him any succour; being pierced quite through the body with the Lance, downe hee fell dead to the ground, and his men (fearing the like misfortune to befall them) gallopped mainely backe againe to their Lords Castle, not knowing them who had thus murthered their Master, by reason of their armed disguises, which in those martiall times were v­sually worne.

Messer Guiglielmo Rossiglione, alighting from his horse, and hauing a keene knife ready drawne in his hand; opened therewith the brest of dead Guardastagno, and taking foorth his heart with his owne hands, wrapped it in the Banderole belonging to his Lance, commanding one of his men to the charge thereof, and neuer to disclose the deed. So, mounting on horse-backe againe, and darke night drawing on apace, he returned home to his Castle. The Lady, who had heard before of Guardastagnoes intent, to suppe there that night, and (perhaps) being earnestly desirous to see him; meruailing at his so long tarrying, saide to her husband. Beleeue me Sir (quoth she) me thinkes it is somewhat strange, that Messer Guigli­elmo Guardastagno delayes his comming so long, he neuer vsed to do so til now. I receiued tidings from him wife (said he) that he cannot be heere till to morrow. Whereat the Lady appearing to bee displeased, concea­led it to her selfe, and vsed no more words.

Rossiglione leauing his Lady, went into the Kitchin, where calling for the Cooke, he deliuered him the heart, saying: Take this heart of a wilde Boare, which it was my good happe to kill this day, and dresse it in the daintiest manner thou canst deuise to doe; which being so done, when I am set at the Table, send it to me in a siluer dish, with sauce beseeming so dainty a morsell. The Cooke tooke the heart, beleeuing it to be no o­therwise, then as his Lord had saide: and vsing his vtmost skill in dressing it, did diuide it into artificiall small slices, and made it most pleasing to be tasted. When supper time was come, Rossiglione sate downe at the table with his Lady: but hee had little or no appetite at all to eate, the wicked deed which he had done so perplexed his soule, and made him to sit very strangely musing. At length, the Cook brought in the dainty dish, which he himselfe setting before his wife, began to finde fault with his own lack of stomack, yet prouoked her with many faire speeches, to tast the Cooks cunning in so rare a dish.

The Lady hauing a good appetite indeede, when she had first tasted it, fed afterward so heartily thereon, that shee left very little, or none at all remaining. When he perceyued that all was eaten, he said vnto her: Tel me Madam, how you do like this delicate kinde of meat? In good faith Sir (quoth she) in all my life I was neuer better pleased. Now trust mee Madam, answered the Knight, I doe verily beleeue you, nor do I greatly [Page] wonder thereat, if you like that dead, which you loued so dearly being a­liue. When she heard these words, a long while she sate silent, but after­ward saide. I pray you tell mee Sir, what meate was this which you haue made me to eate? Muse no longer (said he) for therein I will quickly re­solue thee. Thou hast eaten the heart of Messer Guiglielmo Guardastagno, whose loue was so deare and precious to thee, thou false, perfidious, and disloyall Lady: I pluckt it out of his vile body with mine owne hands, and made my Cooke to dresse it for thy diet.

Poor Lady, how strangely was her soule afflicted, hearing these harsh and vnpleasing speeches? Teares flowed aboundantly from her faire eies, and like tempestuous windes embowelled in the earth, so did vehement sighes breake mainly from her heart, and after a tedious time of silence, she spake in this manner. My Lord and husband, you haue done a most disloyall and damnable deede, misguided by your owne wicked iealous opinion, and not by any iust cause giuen you, to murther so worthie and Noble a Gentleman. I protest vnto you vppon my soule, which I wish to bee confounded in eternall perdition, if euer I were vnchaste to your bedde, or allowed him any other fauour, but what might well become so honourable a friend. And seeing my bodie hath bene made the recepta­cle for so precious a kinde of foode, as the heart of so valiant and courte­ous a Knight, such as was the Noble Guardastagno; neuer shall any other foode heereafter, haue entertainment there, or my selfe liue the Wife to so bloody a husband.

So starting vppe from the Table, and stepping vnto a great gazing Windowe, the Casement whereof standing wide open behinde her: violently shee leaped out thereat, which beeing an huge heighth in di­stance from the ground, the fall did not onely kill her, but also shiuered her bodie into many peeces. Which Rossiglione perceyuing, hee stoode like a bodie without a soule, confounded with the killing of so deare a friend, losse of a chaste and honourable wife, and all through his owne o­unr-credulous conceit.

Vppon further conference with his priuate thoughtes, and remorse­full acknowledgement of his heinous offence, which repentance (too late) gaue him eyes now to see, though rashnesse before would not per­mit him to consider; these two extreamities inlarged his dulled vnder­standing. First, he grew fearfull of the friends and followers to murdered Guardastagno, as also the whole Countrey of Prouence, in regarde of the peoples generall loue vnto him; which being two maine and important motiues, both to the detestation of so horrid an acte, and immediate se­uere reuenge to succeed thereon: hee made such prouision as best hee could, and as so sodaine a warning would giue leaue, hee fled away se­cretly in the night season.

These vnpleasing newes were soone spread abroad the next mor­ning, not only of the vnfortunate accidents, but also of Rossiglions flight; in regard wherof, the dead bodyes being found, and brought together, as well by the people belonging to Guardastagno, as them that attended [Page 172] on the Lady: they were layed in the Chappell of Rossigliones Castell; where, after so much lamentation for so great a misfortune to befal them, they were honourably enterred in one faire Tombe, with excellent Ver­ses engrauen thereon, expressing both their noble degree, and by what vnhappy meanes, they chanced to haue buriall there.

The tenth Nouell.

AFTER that the King had concluded his Nouell, there remained none now but Dioneus to tell the last: which himselfe confessing, and the King commaunding him to proceede, he beganne in this manner. So many miseries of vnfortunate Loue, as all of you haue alreadie related, hath not onely swolne your eyes with weeping, but [Page] also made sicke our hearts with sighing: yea (Gracious Ladies) I my selfe finde my spirits not meanly afflicted thereby. Wherefore the whole day hath bene very irkesome to me, and I am not a little glad, that it is so neere ending. Now, for the better shutting it vp altogether, I would be very loath to make an addition, of any more such sad and mournfull mat­ter, good for nothing but onely to feede melancholly humor, and from which (I hope) my faire Starres will defend me. Tragical discourse, thou art no fit companion for me, I will therefore report a Nouell which may minister a more iouiall kinde of argument, vnto those tales that must bee told to morrow, and with the expiration of our present Kings reigne, to rid vs of all heart-greeuing heereafter.

Know then (most gracious assembly) that it is not many yeares since, when there liued in Salerne, a verie famous Physitian, named Signieur Mazzeo della Montagna, who being already well entred into years, would (neuerthelesse) marrie with a beautifull young Mayden of the Cittie, bestowing rich garments, gaudie attyres, Ringes, and Iewelles on her, such as few Women else could any way equall, because hee loued her most deerely. Yet being an aged man, and neuer remembering, how vaine and idle a thing it is, for age to make such an vnfitting Election, iniurious to both; and therefore endangering that domesticke agree­ment, which ought to bee the sole and maine comfort of Marriage: it maketh mee therefore to misdoubt, that as in our former Tale of Signi­our Ricciardo de Cinzica, some dayes of the Calender did heere seeme as distastefull, as those that occasioned the other Womans discontent­ment. In such vnequall choyses, Parents commonly are more blame­woorthie, then any imputation, to bee layde on the young Women, who gladdely would enioy such as in heart they haue elected: but that their Parents, looking thorough the glasses of greedie lucre, doe ouer­throw both their owne hopes, and the faire fortunes of their children to­gether.

Yet to speake vprightly of this young married Wife, she declared her selfe to be of a wise and chearefull spirit, not discoraged with her inequa­litie of marriage: but bearing all with a contented browe, for feare of vr­ging the very least mislike in her Husband. And hee, on the other side, when occasions did not call him to visite his pacients, or to be present at the Colledge among his fellow-Doctours, would alwayes bee chearing and comforting his Wife, as one that could hardly affoord to bee out of her company. There is one especiall fatall misfortune, which commonly awaiteth on olde mens marriages; when freezing December will match with flouring May, and greene desires appeare in age, beyond all possibi­lity of performance. Nor are there wanting good store of wanton Gal­lants, who hating to see Beauty in this manner betrayed, and to the em­braces of a loathed bed, will make their folly seene in publike appearance, and by their dayly proffers of amorous seruices (seeming compassionate of the womans disaster) are vsually the cause of iealous suspitions, & very heinous houshold discontentments.

[Page 173] Among diuers other, that faine would bee nibling at this bayte of beautie, there was one, named Ruggiero de Ieroly, of honourable paren­tage, but yet of such a deboshed and disordered life, as neither Kindred or Friends, were willing to take any knowledge of him, but vtterly gaue him ouer to his dissolute courses: so that, thoroughout all Salerne, his conditions caused his generall contempt, and hee accounted no better, but euen as a theeuing and lewde companion. The Doctours Wife, had a Chamber-maide attending on her; who, notwithstanding all the vgly deformities in Ruggiero, regarding more his person then his imper­fections (because hee was a compleate and well-featured youth) besto­wed her affection most entirely on him, and oftentimes did supplie his wants, with her owne best meanes.

Ruggiero hauing this benefite of the Maides kinde loue to him, made it an hopefull mounting Ladder, whereby to deriue some good liking from the Mistresse, presuming rather on his outward comely parts, then anie other honest quality that might commend him. The Mistresse knowing what choyse her Maide had made, and vnable by any perswasions to re­mooue her, tooke knowledge of Ruggieroes priuat resorting to hir house, and in meere loue to her Maide (who had very many especiall deseruings in her) oftentimes she would (in kinde manner) rebuke him, and aduise him to a more setled course of life; which counsell, that it might take the better effect; she graced with liberall gifts: one while with Gold, others with Siluer, and often with garments, for his comelier accesse thether: which bounty, he (like a lewde mistaker) interpreted as assurances of her affection to him, and that he was more graceful in her eye, then any man else could be.

In the continuance of these proceedings, it came to passe, that master Doctor Mazzeo (being not onely a most expert Physitian, but likewise as skilfull in Chirurgerie beside) hadde a Pacient in cure, who by great misfortune, had one of his legges broken all in pieces; which some wea­ker iudgement hauing formerly dealt withall, the bones and sinewes were become so fowly putrified, as he tolde the parties friends, that the legge must bee quite cut off, or else the Pacient must needes dye: yet he inten­ded so to order the matter, that the perrill should proceede no fur­ther, to preiudice any other part of the bodie. The case beeing thus resolued on with the Pacient and his Friends, the day and time was ap­pointed when the deede should be done: and the Doctor conceyuing, that except the Patient were sleepily entranced, hee could not by anie meanes endure the paine, but must needes hinder what he meant to do: by distillation hee made such an artificiall Water, as (after the Pacient hath receyued it) it will procure a kinde of dead sleepe, and endure so long a space, as necessity requireth the vse thereof, in full performance of the worke.

After he had made this sleepy water, he put it into a glasse, wherewith it was filled (almost) vp to the brimme; and till the time came when hee should vse it, hee set it in his owne Chamber-Windowe, neuer ac­quainting [Page] any one, to what purpose he had prouided the water, nor what was his reason of setting it there; when it drew towards the euening, and he was returned home from his pacients, a Messenger brought him Let­ters from Malfy, concerning a great conflict hapning there between two Noble Families, wherein diuers were very dangerously wounded on ei­ther side, and without his speedy repairing thither, it would proue to the losse of many liues. Heereupon, the cure of the mans leg must needs bee prolonged, vntill he was returned backe againe, in regard that manie of the wounded persons were his worthy friends, and liberall bountie was there to be expected, which made him presently go aboord a smal Barke, and forthwith set away towards Malfy.

This absence of Master Doctor Mazzeo, gaue opportunity to aduen­turous Ruggiero, to visite his house (he being gone) in hope to get more Crownes, and courtesie from the Mistresse, vnder formall colour of courting the Maide. And being closely admitted into the house, when diuers Neighbours were in conference with her Mistresse, and helde her with such pleasing Discourse, as required longer time then was expected: the Maide, had no other roome to conceale Ruggiero in, but onely the bed chamber of her Master, where she lockt him in; because none of the houshold people should descry him, and stayed attending on her Mistris, till all the Guests tooke their leaue, and were gone. Ruggiero thus remay­ning alone in the Chamber, for the space of three long houres and more, was visited neither by Maide nor Mistris, but awaited when he should bee set at liberty.

Now, whether feeding on salt meats before his coming thither, or cu­stomary vse of drinking, which maketh men vnable any long while to ab­stain, as being neuer satisfied with excesse; which of these two extreams they were, I know not: but drink needs hee must. And, hauing no other meanes for quenching his thirst, espied the glasse of water standing in the Window, and thinking it to be some soueraigne kinde of water, reserued by the Doctor for his owne drinking, to make him lusty in his old years, he tooke the glasse; and finding the Water pleasing to his pallate, dranke it off euery drop; then sitting downe on a Coffer by the beds side, soone after hee fell into a sound sleepe, according to the powerfull working of the water.

No sooner were all the Neighbours gone, and the Maide at libertie from her Mistresse, but vnlocking the doore, into the chamber she went; and finding Ruggiero sitting fast asleepe, she began to hunch and punche him, entreating him (softly) to awake: but all was to no purpose, for hee neither mooued, or answered one word, whereat her patience being som what prouoked, she punched him more rudely, and angerly said: Awake for shame thou drowsie dullard, and if thou be so desirous of sleeping, get thee home to thine owne lodging, because thou art not allowed to sleep heere. Ruggiero being thus rudely punched, fell from off the Coffer flat on the ground, appearing no other in all respects, then as if hee were a dead body. Whereat the Maide being fearfully amazed, plucking him [Page 174] by the nose and yong beard, and what else she could deuise to do, yet all her labour prouing still in vaine: she was almost beside her wits, stamping and rauing all about the roome, as if sence and reason had forsaken her; so violent was her extreame distraction.

Vpon the hearing of this noise, her Mistris came sodainely into the Chamber, where being affrighted at so strange an accident, and suspec­ting that Ruggiero was dead indeed: she pinched him strongly, and burnt his fingers with a candle, yet all was as fruitlesse as before. Then sitting downe, she began to consider aduisedly with her selfe, how much her ho­nour and reputation would be endangered heereby, both with her Hus­band, and in vulgar opinion when this should come to publique notice. For (quoth she to her Maide) it is not thy fond loue to this vnruly fellow that can sway the censure of the monster multitude, in beleeuing his ac­cesse hither onely to thee: but my good name, and honest repute, as yet vntoucht with the very least taxation, will be rackt on the tenter of infa­mous iudgement, and (though neuer so cleare) branded with generall condemnation. It is wisedome therefore, that we should make no noise but (in silence) consider with our selues, how to cleare the house of this dead body, by some such helpfull and witty deuice, as when it shall bee found in the morning, his being heere may passe without suspition, and the worlds rash opinion no way touch vs.

Weeping and lamenting is now laid aside, and all hope in them of his liues restoring: onely to rid his body out of the house, that now requires their care and cunning, whereupon the Maide thus beganne. Mistresse (quoth she) this euening, although it was very late, at our next Neigh­bours doore (who you know is a Ioyner by his trade) I saw a great Chest stand; and, as it seemeth, for a publike sale, because two or three nightes together, it hath not bene thence remooued: and if the owner haue not lockt it, all inuention else cannot furnish vs with the like help. For there­in will we lay his body, whereon I will bestow two or three wounds with my Knife, and leauing him so, our house can be no more suspected con­cerning his being heere, then any other in the streete beside; nay rather farre lesse, in regard of your husbands credit and authority. Moreouer, heereof I am certaine, that he being of such bad and disordered qualities: it will the more likely be imagined, that he was slaine by some of his own loose companions, being with them about some pilfering busines, and af­terward hid his body in the chest, it standing so fitly for the purpose, and darke night also fauouring the deed.

The Maids counsell past vnder the seale of allowance, only her Mistris thought it not conuenient, that (hauing affected him so deerely) shee should mangle his body with any wounds; but rather to let it be gathered by more likely-hood, that villaines had strangled him, and then conueied his body into the Chest. Away she sends the Maide, to see whether the Chest stood there still, or no; as indeede it did, and vnlockt, wherof they were not a little ioyfull. By the helpe of her Mistresse, the Maide tooke Ruggiero vpon her shoulders, and bringing him to the doore, with dilli­dilegent [Page] respect that no one could discouer them; in the Chest they laide him, and so there left him, closing downe the lidde according as they found it.

In the same street, and not farre from the Ioyner, dwelt two yong men who were Lombards, liuing vppon the interest of their moneyes, coue­ting to get much, and spend little. They hauing obserued where the chest stood, and wanting a necessary mooueable to houshold, yet loath to lay out mony for buying it: complotted together this very night, to steale it thence, and carry it home to their house, as accordingly they did; finding it somewhat heauy, and therefore imagining, that matter of woorth was contained therein. In the chamber where their wiues lay, they left it; and so without any further search till the next morning, they laid them down to rest likewise.

Ruggiero, who had now slept a long while, the drinke being digested, & the vertue thereof fully consummated; began to awake before day. And although his naturall sleep was broken, and his sences had recouerd their former power, yet notwithstanding, there remained such an astonish­ment in his braine, as not onely did afflict him all the day following, but also diuers dayes and nights afterward. Hauing his eies wide open, & yet not discerning any thing, he stretched forth his armes euery where about him, and finding himselfe to be enclosed in the chest, he grew more broad awake, and said to himselfe. What is this? Where am I? Do I wake or sleepe? Full well I remember, that not long since I was in my sweet-hearts Chamber, and now (me thinkes) I am mewed vp in a chest. What shold I thinke heereof? Is master Doctor returned home, or hathsome other inconuenience hapned, whereby finding me asleepe, she was enforced to hide me thus? Surely it is so, and otherwise it cannot bee: wherefore, it is best for mee to lye still, and listen when I can heare any talking in the Chamber.

Continuing thus a longer while then otherwise hee would haue done, because his lying in the bare Chest was somwhat vneasie and painfull to him; turning diuers times on the one side, and then as often again on the other, coueting still for ease, yet could not find any: at length, he thrust his backe so strongly against the Chests side, that (it standing on an vn-euen ground) it began to totter, and after fell downe. In which fall, it made so loud a noise, as the women (lying in the beds standing by) awaked, and were so ouercome with feare, that they had not the power to speake one word. Ruggiero also being affrighted with the Chests fall, and perceiuing how by that meanes it was become open: he thought it better, least some other sinister fortune should befall him, to be at open liberty, then inclo­sed vp so strictly. And because he knew not where he was, as also hoping to meet with his Mistresse; he went all about groping in the dark, to finde either some staires or doore, whereby to get forth.

When the Women (being then awake) heard his trampling, as al­so his iustling against the doores and Windowes; they demaunded, Who was there? Ruggiero, not knowing their voyces, made them no [Page 169] answer, wherefore they called to their husbands, who lay verie soundly sleeping by them, by reason of their so late walking abroad, and therefore heard not this noise in the house. This made the Women much more ti­morous, and therefore rising out of their beddes, they opened the Case­ments towards the streete, crying out aloude, Theeues, Theeues. The neighbours arose vpon this outcry, running vp and downe from place to place, from engirting the house, and others entering into it: by means of which troublesome noise, the two Lombards awaked, and seizing there vppon poore Ruggiero, (who was well-neere affrighted out of his wittes, at so strange an accident, and his owne ignorance, how he happened thi­ther, and how to escape from them) he stood gazing on them without a­ny answer.

By this time, the Sergeants and other Officers of the City, ordinarily attending on the Magistrate, beeing raised by the tumult of this vproare, were come into the house, and had poore Ruggiero committed vnto their charge: who bringing him before the Gouernor, was forthwith called in question, and known to be of a most wicked life, a shame to al his friends and kindred. He could say little for himselfe, neuer denying his taking in the house, and therefore desiring to finish all his fortunes together, despe­rately confessed, that he came with a fellonious intent to rob them, and the Gouernor gaue him sentence to be hanged.

Soone were the newes spread throughout Salerne; that Ruggiero was apprehended, about robbing the house of the two vsuring Lombardes: which when Mistresse Doctor and her Chamber-maide heard, they were confounded with most straunge admiration, and scarsely credited what they themselues had done the night before, but rather imagined all mat­ters past, to be no more then meerely a dreame, concerning Ruggieroes dying in the house, and their putting him into the Chest, so that by no likely or possible meanes, hee could bee the man in this perillous extrea­mitie.

In a short while after, Master Doctor Mazzco was returned from Mal­fy, to proceede in his cure of the poore mans legge; and calling for his glasse of Water, which he left standing in his owne Chamber window, it was found quite empty, and not a drop in it: whereat hee raged so ex­treamly, as neuer had the like impatience beene noted in him. His wife, and her Maide, who had another kinde of businesse in their braine, about a dead man so strangely come to life againe, knewe not well what to say; but at the last, his Wife thus replyed somewhat angerly. Sir (quoth she) what a coyle is heere about a paltry glasse of Water, which perhaps hath bene spilt, yet neyther of vs faulty therein? Is there no more such water to be had in the world? Alas deere Wife (saide hee) you might repute it to be a common kinde of Water, but indeede it was not so; for I did pur­posely compound it, onely to procure a dead-seeming sleepe: And so related the whole matter at large, of the Pacients legge, and his Waters losse.

When she had heard these words of her husband, presently she con­ceiued, [Page] that the water was drunke off by Ruggiero, which had so sleepily entranced his sences, as they verily thought him to bee dead, wherefore she saide. Beleeue me Sir, you neuer acquainted vs with any such mat­ter, which would haue procured more carefull respect of it: but seeing it is gon, your skill extendeth to make more, for now there is no other remedy. While thus Master Doctor and his Wife were conferring to­gether, the Maide went speedily into the Citie, to vnderstand truly, whi­ther the condemned man was Ruggiero, and what would now become of him. Beeing returned home againe, and alone with her Mistresse in the Chamber, thus she spake. Now trust me Mistresse, not one in the Citie speaketh well of Ruggiero, who is the man condemned to dye; and, for ought I can perceiue, he hath neither Kinsman nor Friend that wil doe a­ny thing for him; but he is left with the Prouost, and must be executed to morrow morning. Moreouer Mistresse, by such instructions as I haue receiued, I can well-neere informe you, by what meanes hee came to the two Lombards house, if all be true that I haue heard.

You know the loyner before whose doore the Chest stoode, wherein we did put Ruggiero; there is now a contention betweene him and ano­ther man, to whom (it seemeth) the Chest doth belong; in regard wher­of, they are readie to quarrell extremly each with other. For the one ow­ing the Chest, and trusting the Ioyner to sell it for him, would haue him to pay him for the Chest. The Ioyner denieth any sale thereof, auouch­ing, that the last night it was stolne from his doore. Which the other man contrarying, maintaineth that he solde the Chest to the two Lom­bard vsurers, as himself is able to affirme, because he found it in the house, when he (being present at the apprehension of Ruggiero) sawe it there in the same house. Heereupon, the Ioyner gaue him the lye, because he ne­uer sold it to any man; but if it were there, they had robd him of it, as hee would make it manifest to their faces. Then falling into calmer speeches they went together to the Lombardes house, euen as I returned home. Wherefore Mistresse, as you may easily perceiue, Ruggiero was (question­lesse) carried thither in the chest, and so there found; but how he reuiued againe, I cannot comprehend.

The Mistresse vnderstanding now apparantly, the full effect of the whole businesse, and in what manner it had bene carried, reuealed to the maide her husbands speeches, concerning the glasse of sleepie Water, which was the onely engine of all this trouble, clearly acquitting Ruggiero of the robbery, howsoeuer (in desperate fury, and to make an end of a life so contemptible) he had wrongfully accused himselfe. And notwith­standing this his hard fortune, which hath made him much more infa­mous then before, in all the dissolute behauiour of his life: yet it coulde not quaile her affection towards him; but being loath he should dye for some other mans offence, and hoping his future reformation; she fell on her knees before her mistresse, and (drowned in her teares) most earnest­ly entreated her, to aduise her with some such happy course, as might bee the safety of poore Ruggieroes life. Mistresse Doctor, affecting her maide [Page 176] dearely, and plainly perceiuing, that no disastrous fortune whatsoeuer, could alter her loue to condemned Ruggiero; hoping the best heereafter, as the Maide her selfe did, and willing to saue life rather then suffer it to be lost without iust cause, she directed her in such discreet maner, as you will better conceyue by the successe.

According as she was instructed by hir Mistris, shee fell at the feete of Master Doctor, desiring him to pardon a great error, whereby shee had ouer-much offended him. As how? said Master Doctor. In this manner (quoth the Maid) and thus proceeded. You are not ignorant Sir, what a le [...]d liuer Ruggiero de Ieroly is, and notwithstanding all his imperfections, how dearely I loue him, as hee protesteth the like to me, and thus hath our loue continued a yeare, and more. You beeing gone to Malfy, and your abse [...] granting me apt opportunity, for conference with so kinde a friend; I made the bolder, and gaue him entrance into your house, yea euen into mine owne Chamber, yet free from any abuse, neyther did hee (bad though he be) offer any. Thirsty he was before his coming thether, either by salt meats, or distempered diet, and I being vnable to fetch him wine or water, by reason my Mistresse sate in the Hall, seriouslie talking with her Sisters; remembred, that I saw a viall of Water standing in your Chamber Windowe, which hee drinking quite off, I set it emptie in the place againe. I haue heard your discontentment for the said Water, and confesse my fault to you therein: but who liueth so iustly, without offen­ding at one time or other? And I am heartily sory for my transgression; yet not so much for the water, as the hard fortune that hath followd ther­on; because thereby Ruggiero is in danger to lose his life, and all my hopes are vtterly lost. Let me entreat you therefore (gentle Master) first to par­don me, and then to grant me permission, to succour my poore condem­ned friend, by all the best meanes I can deuise.

When the Doctor had heard all her discourse, angry though he were, yet thus he answered with a smile. Much better had it bin, if thy follies punishment had falne on thy selfe, that it might haue paide thee with de­serued repentance, vpon thy Mistresses finding thee sleeping. But go and get his deliuerance if thou canst, with this caution, that if euer heereafter he be seene in my house, the peril thereof shall light on thy selfe. Recey­uing this answer, for her first entrance into the attempt, and as her Mi­stris had aduised her, in all hast shee went to the prison, where shee pre­uailed so well with the Iaylor, that hee granted her priuate conference with Ruggiero. She hauing instructed him what he should say to the Pro­uost, if he had any purpose to escape with life; went thither before him to the Prouost, who admitting her into his presence, and knowing that shee was Master Doctors maid, a man especially respected of all the Citie, he was the more willing to heare her message, he imagining that shee was sent by her Master.

Sir (quoth shee) you haue apprehended Ruggiero de Ieroly, as a theefe, and iudgement of death is (as I heare) pronounced against him: but hee is wrongfully accused, and is clearly innocent of such a heinous detection. [Page] So entering into the History, she declared euery circumstance, from the originall to the end: relating truly, that being her Louer, shee brought him into her Masters house, where he dranke the compounded sleepy wa­ter, and reputed for dead, she laide him in the Chest. Afterward, she re­hearsed the speeches betweene the Ioyner, and him that laide claime to the Chest, giuing him to vnderstand thereby, how Ruggiero was taken in the Lombards house.

The Prouost presently gathering, that the truth in this case was easy to be knowne; sent first for Master Doctor Mazzeo, to know, whether hee compounded any such water, or no: which he affirmed to bee true, and vpon what occasion he prepared it. Then the Ioyner, the owner of the Chest, and the two Lombards, being seuerally questioned withall: it ap­peared euidently, that the Lombards did steale the chest in [...] night sea­son, and carried it home to their owne house. In the end, Ruggiero being brought from the prison, and demanded, where hee was lodged the night before, made answer, that he knew not where. Only he well remembred, that bearing affection to the Chamber-maide of Master Doctor Mazzea della Montagna, she brought him into a Chamber, where a violl of water stoode in the Window, and he being extreamly thirsty, dranke it off all. But what became of him afterward (till being awake, hee found himselfe enclosed in a Chest, and in the house of the two Lombards) he could not say any thing.

When the Prouost had heard all their answers, which he caused them to repeate ouer diuers times, in regard they were very pleasing to him: he cleared Ruggiero from the crime imposed on him, and condemned the Lombards in three hundred Ducates, to bee giuen to Ruggiero in way of an amends, and to enable his marriage with the Doctors Mayde, whose constancie was much commended, and wrought such a miracle on peni­tent Ruggiero; that, after his marriage, which was graced with great and honourable pompe, he regained the intimate loue of all his kindred, and liued in most Noble condition, euen as if he had neuer beene the disorde­red man.

If the former Nouels had made all the Ladies sad and sighe, this last of Dioneus as much delighted them, as restoring them to their former io­cond humor, and banishing Tragicall discourse for euer. The King per­ceyuing that the Sun was neere setting, and his gouernment as neere en­ding, with many kinde and courteous speeches, excused himselfe to the Ladies, for being the motiue of such an argument, as expressed the infe­licity of poore Louers. And hauing finished his excuse, vp he arose, ta­king the Crowne of Lawrell from off his owne head, the Ladies awaiting on whose head he pleased next to set it, which proued to be the gracious Lady Fiammetta, and thus hee spake. Heere I place this Crowne on her head, that knoweth better then any other, how to comfort this fayre as­sembly to morrow, for the sorow which they haue this day endured.

Madame Fiammetta, whose lockes of haire were curled, long, and like golden wiers, hanging somwhat downe ouer her white & delicate shoul­ders [Page 177] her visage round, wherein the Damaske Rose and Lilly contende [...] for priority, the eyes in her head, resembling those of the Faulcon me, senger, and a dainty mouth; her lippes looking like two little Rubyes with a commendable smile thus she replyed.

Philostratus, gladly I do accept your gift; and to the end that ye may the better remember your selfe, concerning what you haue done hither­to: I will and commaund, that generall preparation bee made against to morrow, for faire and happy fortunes hapning to Louers, after former cruell and vnkinde accidents. Which proposition was very pleasing to them all.

Then calling for the Master of the Housholde, and taking order with him, what was most needfull to be done; shee gaue leaue vnto the whole company (who were all risen) to go recreate themselues vntil supper time. Some of them walked about the Garden, the beauty whereof banished the least thought of wearinesse. Others walked by the Riuer to the Mill, which was not farre off, and the rest fel to exercises, fitting their own fan­cies, vntill they heard the summons for Supper. Hard by the goodly Fountaine (according to their wonted manner) they supped altogether, and were serued to their no mean contentment: but being risen from the Table, they fell to their delight of singing and dancing. While Philome­na led the dance, the Queene spake in this manner.

Philostratus, I intend not to varie from those courses heeretofore ob­serued by my predecessors, but euen as they haue already done, so it is my authority, to command a Song. And because I am well assured, that you are not vnfurnished of Songs answerable to the quality of the passed No­uels: my desire is, in regard we would not be troubled heereafter, with any more discourses of vnfortunate Loue, that you shall sing a Song a­greeing with your owne disposition. Philostratus made answer, that he was readie to accomplish her command, and without all further ceremo­ny, thus he began.

[Page 178] The words contained in this Song, did manifestly declare, what tor­turing afflictions poore Philostratus felt, and more (perhaps) had beene perceiued by the lookes of the Lady whom he spake of, being then pre­sent in the dance; if the sodaine ensuing darknesse had not hid the crim­son blush, which mounted vp into her face. But the Song being ended, & diuers other beside, lasting till the houre of rest drew on; by command of the Queene, they all repaired to their Chambers.

The first Nouell.

ACcording to the ancient Annales of the Cypriots, there sometime li­ued in Cyprus, a Noble Gentleman, who was commonly called Ari­stippus, and exceeded all other of the Countrey in the goods of Fortune. [Page 179] Diuers children he had, but (amongst the rest) a Sonne, in whose birth he was more infortunate then any of the rest; and continually greeued, in re­gard, that hauing all the compleate perfections of beauty, good forme, and manly parts, surpassing all other youths of his age or stature, yet hee wanted the reall ornament of the soule, reason and iudgement; being (in­deed a meere Ideot or Foole, and no better hope to be expected of him. His true name, according as he receyued it by Baptisme, was Galesus, but because neyther by the laborious paines of his Tutors, indulgence, and faire endeuour of his parents, or ingenuity of any other, he could bee brought to ciuility of life, vnderstanding of Letters, or common cariage of a reasonable creature: by his grosse and deformed kinde of speech, his qualities also sauouring rather of brutish breeding, then any way deriued from manly education; as an epithite of scorne and derision, generally, they gaue him the name of Chynon, which in their natiue Countrey lan­guage, and diuers other beside, signifieth a very Sot or Foole, and so was he termed by euery one.

This lost kinde of life in him, was no meane burthen of greefe vnto his Noble Father, and all hope being already spent, of any future happy reco­uery, he gaue command (because he would not alwayes haue such a sor­row in his sight) that he should liue at a Farme of his owne in a Country Village, among his Peazants and Plough-Swaines. Which was not any way distastefull to Chynon, but well agreed with his owne naturall disposi­tion; for their rurall qualities, and grosse behauiour pleased him beyond the Cities ciuility. Chynon liuing thus at his Fathers Countrey Village, exercising nothing else but rurall demeanour, such as then delighted him aboue all other: it chanced vpon a day about the houre of noone, as hee was walking ouer the fields, with a long Staffe on his necke, which com­monly he vsed to carry; he entred into a small thicket, reputed the good­liest in all those quarters, and by reason it was then the month of May, the Trees had their leaues fairely shot forth.

When he had walked thorow the thicket, it came to passe, that (euen as if good Fortune guided him) he came into a faire Meadow, on euerie side engirt with Trees, and in one corner thereof stoode a goodly Foun­taine, whose current was both coole and cleare. Harde by it, vppon the greene grasse, he espied a very beautifull yong Damosell, seeming to bee fast asleepe, attired in such fine loose garments, as hidde verie little of her white body: onely from the girdle downward, shee ware a kirtle made close vnto her, of interwouen delicate silke, and at her feete lay two other Damosels sleeping, and a seruant in the same manner. No sooner hadde Chynon fixed his eie vpon her, but he stood leaning vppon his staffe, and viewed her very aduisedly, without speaking a word, and in no mean ad­miration, as if he had neuer seene the forme of a woman before. He began then to feele in his harsh rurall vnderstanding (whereinto neuer till now, either by painfull instruction, or all other good meanes vsed to him, any honest ciuility had power of impression) a strange kinde of humour to a­wake, which informed his grosse and dull spirite, that this Damosell was [Page] the very fairest, which euer any liuing man beheld.

Then he began to distinguish her parts, commending the tresses of hir haire, which he imagined to be of gold; her forehead, nose, mouth, neck, armes, but (aboue all) her brests, appearing (as yet) but onely to shewe thēselues, like two little mountainets. So that, of a fielden clownish lout, he would needs now become a iudge of beauty, coueting earnestly in his soule, to see her eyes, which were veiled ouer with sound sleepe, that kept them fast enclosed together, and onely to looke on them, hee wished a thousand times, that she would awake. For, in his iudgement, she excel­led all the women that euer he had seene, and doubted, whether she were some Goddesse or no; so strangely was he metamorphosed from folly, to a sensible apprehension, more then common. And so far did this sodaine knowledge in him extend; that he could conceiue of diuine and celestiall things, and that they were more to be admired & reuerenced, then those of humane or terrene consideration; wherefore the more gladly he con­tented himselfe, to tarry til she awaked of her owne accord. And althogh the time of stay seemed tedious to him, yet notwithstanding, he was ouer­come with such extraordinary contentment, as hee had no power to de­part thence, but stood as if he had bin glued fast to the ground.

After some indifferent respite of time, it chanced that the young Da­mosel (who was named Iphigenia) awaked before any of the other with her, and lifting vp her head, with her eyes wide open, shee saw Chynon standing before her, leaning stil on his staffe; whereat meruailing not a little, she saide vnto him: Chynon, whither wanderest thou, or what dost thou seeke for in this wood? Chynon, who not onely by his countenance, but likewise his folly, Nobility of birth, and wealthy possessions of his fa­ther, was generally knowne throughout the Countrey, made no answere at all to the demand of Iphigenia: but so soone as he beheld her eies open, he began to obserue them with a constant regard, as being perswaded in his soule, that from them flowed such an vnvtterable singularity, as he had neuer felt til then. Which the yong Gentlewoman well noting, she be­gan to wax fearfull, least these stedfast lookes of his, should incite his ru­sticity to some attempt, which might redound to her dishonour: where­fore awaking her women and seruant, and they all being risen, she saide. Farewell Chynon, I leaue thee to thine owne good Fortune; whereto hee presently replyed, saying: I will go with you. Now, although the Gen­tlewoman refused his company, as dreading some acte of inciuility from him: yet could she not deuise any way to be rid of him, til he had brought her to her owne dwelling, where taking leaue mannerly of her, hee went directly home to his Fathers house, saying; Nothing should compel him to liue any longer in the muddy Countrey. And albeit his Father was much offended heereat, and all the rest of his kindred and frends: (yet not knowing how to helpe it) they suffered him to continue there still, expe­cting the cause of this his so sodaine alteration, from the course of life, which contented him so highly before.

Chynon being now wounded to the heart (where neuer any ciuil instru­ction [Page 180] could before get entrance) with loues piercing dart, by the bright beauty of Iphigenia, mooued much admiration (falling from one change to another) in his Father, Kindred, and all else that knew him. For first, he requested of his Father, that he might be habited and respected like to his other Brethren, whereto right gladly he condiscended. And frequen­ting the company of ciuill youths, obseruing also the cariage of Gentle­men, especially such as were amorously enclined: he grew to a beginning in short time (to the wonder of euery one) not onely to vnderstande the first instruction of letters, but also became most skilfull, euen amongest them that were best exercised in Philosophie. And afterward, loue to I­phigenia being the sole occasion of this happy alteration, not only did his harsh and clownish voyce conuert it selfe more mildely, but also hee be­came a singular Musitian, & could perfectly play on any Instrument. Be­side, he tooke delight in the riding and managing of great horses, and fin­ding himselfe of a strong and able body, he exercised all kinds of Milita­ry Disciplines, as wel by sea, as on the land. And, to be breefe, because I would not seeme tedious in the repetition of al his vertues, scarsly had he attained to the fourth yeare, after he was thus falne in loue, but hee be­came generally knowne, to bee the most ciuil, wise, and worthy Gentle­man, aswell for all vertues enriching the minde, as any whatsoeuer to beautifie the body, that very hardly he could be equalled throughout the whole kingdome of Cyprus.

What shall we say then (vertuous Ladies) concerning this Chynon? Surely nothing else, but that those high and diuine vertues, infused into his gentle soule, were by enuious Fortune bound and shut vppe in some small angle of his intellect, which being shaken and set at liberty by loue, (as hauing a farre more potent power then Fortune, in quickning and re­uiuing the dull drowsie spirits; declared his mighty and soueraigne Au­thority, in setting free so many faire and precious vertues vniustly detay­ned, to let the worlds eye behold them truly, by manifest testimony, frō whence he can deliuer those spirits subiected to his power, & guide them (afterward) to the highest degrees of honor. And although Chynon by af­fecting Iphigenia, failed in some particular things; yet notwithstanding, his Father Aristippus duely considering, that loue had made him a man, whereas (before) he was no better then a beast: not only endured all pa­tiently, but also aduised him therein, to take such courses as best liked himselfe. Neuerthelesse, Chynon (who refused to be called Galesus, which was his naturall name indeede) remembring that Iphigenia tearmed him Chynon, and coueting (vnder that title) to accomplish the issue of his ho­nest amorous desire: made many motions to Ciphaeus the Father of Iphi­genia, that he would be pleased to let him enioy her in marriage. But Ci­phaeus told him, that he had already passed his promise for her, to a Gen­tleman of Rhodes, named Pasimondo, which promise he religiously inten­ded to performe.

The time being come, which was concluded on for Iphigeniaes marri­age, in regard that the affianced husband had sent for her: Chynon thus [Page] communed with his owne thoughts. Now is the time (quoth he) to let my diuine Mistresse see, how truly and honourably I doe affect her, be­cause (by her) I am become a man. But if I could bee possessed of her, I should growe more glorious, then the common condition of a mortall man, and haue her I will, or loose my life in the aduenture. Beeing thus resolued, he preuailed with diuers young Gentlemen his friends, making them of his faction, and secretly prepared a Shippe, furnished with all things for a Nauall fight, setting sodainly forth to sea, and hulling abroad in those parts by which the vessell should passe, that must conuey Iphige­nia to Rhodes to her husband. After many honors done to them, who wer to transport her thence vnto Rhodes, being imbarked, they set saile vppon their Bon viaggio.

Chynon, who slept not in a businesse so earnestly importing him, set on them (the day following) with his Ship, and standing aloft on the decke, cried out to them that had the charge of Iphigenia, saying. Strike your sayles, or else determine to be sunke in the Sea. The enemies to Chynon, being nothing danted with his words, prepared to stand vpon their own defence; which made Chynon, after the former speeches deliuered, and no answer returned, to commaund the grapling Irons to bee cast forth, which tooke such fast hold on the Rhodians shippe, that (whether they would or no) both the vessels ioyned close together. And hee shewing himselfe fierce like a Lyon, not tarrying to be seconded by any, stepped a­boord the Rhodians ship, as if he made no respect at all of them, and ha­uing his sword ready drawne in his hand (incited by the vertue of vnfaig­ned loue) sayed about him on all sides very manfully. Which when the men of Rhodes perceyued, casting downe their weapons, and all of them (as it were) with one voice, yeelded themselues his prisoners: whereupon he said.

Honest Friends, neither desire of booty, or hatred to you, did occasi­on my departure from Cyprus, thus to assaile you with drawne weapons: but that which heereto hath most mooued me, is a matter highly impor­ting to me, and very easie for you to graunt, and so enioy your present peace. I desire to haue faire Iphigenia from you, whom I loue aboue all o­ther Ladies liuing, because I could not obtain herof her Father, to make her my lawfull wife in marriage. Loue is the ground of my instant Con­quest, and I must vse you as my mortall enemies, if you stand vppon any further tearmes with me, and do not deliuer her as mine owne: for your Pasimondo, must not enioy what is my right, first by vertue of my loue, & now by conquest: Deliuer her therefore, and depart hence at your plea­sure.

The men of Rhodes, being rather constrained thereto, then of any free disposition in themselues; with teares in their eyes, deliuered Iphigenia to Chynon; wo beholding her in like manner to weepe, thus spake vnto her. Noble Lady, do not any way discomfort your selfe, for I am your Chy­non, who haue more right and true title to you, and much better doe de­serue to enioy you, by my long continued affection to you, then Pasimon­do [Page 181] can any way pleade; because you belong to him but only by promise. So, bringing her aboord his owne ship, where the Gentlemen his com­panions gaue her kinde welcome, without touching any thing else belon­ging to the Rhodians, he gaue them free liberty to depart.

Chynon being more ioyfull, by the obtaining of his hearts desire, then any other conquest else in the world could make him, after hee had spent some time in comforting Iphigenia, who as yet sate sadly sighing; he con­sulted with his companions, who ioyned with him in opinion, that their safest course was, by no meanes to returne to Cyprus; and therefore all (with one consent) resolued to set saile for Candye, where euery one made account, but especially Chynon, in regard of ancient and newe combined Kindred, as also very intimate friends, to finde very worthy entertaine­ment, and so to continue there safely with Iphigenia. But Fortune, who was so fauourable to Chynon, in granting him so pleasing a Conquest, to shew her inconstancy, as sodainly changed the inestimable ioy of our io­cond Louer, into as heauy sorow and disaster. For, foure houres were not fully compleated, since his departure from the Rhodians, but darke night came vpon them, and he sitting conuersing with his fayre Mistris, in the sweetest solace of his soule; the winds began to blow roughly, the Seas swelled angerly, & a tempest arose impetuously, that no man could see what his duty was to do, in such a great vnexpected distresse, nor how to warrant themselues from perishing.

If this accident were displeasing to poore Chynon, I thinke the question were in vaine demanded: for now it seemed to him, that the Godds had granted his cheefe desire, to the end hee should dye with the greater an­guish, in losing both his loue and life together. His friends likewise, felte the selfe same affliction, but especially Iphigenia, who wept and greeued beyond all measure, to see the ship beaten with such stormy billowes, as threatned her sinking euery minute. Impatiently she cursed the loue of Chynon, greatly blaming his desperate boldnesse, and maintaining, that so violent a tempest could neuer happen, but onely by the Gods displeasure, who would not permit him to haue a wife against their will; and therfore thus punished his proud presumption, not only in his vnauoidable death, but also that her life must perish for company.

She continuing in these wofull lamentations, and the Mariners labou­ring all in vaine, because the violence of the tempest encreased more and more, so that euery moment they expected wracking: they were carried (contrary to their owne knowledge) very neere vnto the Isle of Rhodes, which they being no way able to auoid, and vtterly ignorant of the coast; for safety of their liues, they labored to land there if possibly they might. Wherein Fortune was somewhat furtherous to them, driuing them into a small gulfe of the Sea, whereinto (but a little while before) the Rhodi­ans, from whom Chynon had taken Iphigenia, were newly entred with their ship. Nor had they any knowledge each of other, till the breake of day (which made the heauens to looke more clearly) gaue them discouerie, of being within a flight shoote together. Chynon looking forth, and espy­ing [Page] the same ship which he had left the day before, hee grew exceeding sorowfull, as fearing that which after followed, and therefore hee willed the Mariners, to get away from her by all their best endeauour, & let for­tune afterward dispose of them as she pleased; for into a worse place they could not come, no [...] fall into the like danger.

The Mariners employed their very vtmost paines, and all prooued but losse of time: for the winde was so stern, and the waues so turbulent, that still they droue them the contrary way: so that striuing to get foorth of the gulfe, whether they would or no, they were driuen on land, and in­stantly knowne to the Rhodians, whereof they were not a little ioyful. The men of Rhodes being landed, ran presently to a neere neighbouring Vil­lage, where dwelt diuers worthy Gentlemen, to whom they reported the arriuall of Chynon, what fortune befell them at Sea, and that Iphigenia might now be recouered againe, with chastisement to Chynon for his bold insolence. They being very ioyfull of these good newes, tooke so many men as they could of the same Village, and ran immediately to the Sea side, where Chynon being newly Landed and his people, intending flight into a neere adioyning Forrest, for defence of himselfe and Iphigenia, they were all taken, led thence to the Village, and afterwards to the chiefe Ci­ty of Rhodes.

No sooner were they arriued, but Pasimondo, the intended Husband for Iphigenia (who had already heard the tydings) went and complayned to the Senate, who appointed a Gentleman of Rhodes, named Lysimachus, and being that yeare soueraigne Magistrate ouer the Rhodians, to go well prouided for the apprehension of Chynon and all his company, commit­ting them to prison, which accordingly was done. In this manner, the poore vnfortunate louer Chynon, lost his faire Iphigenia, hauing won her in so short a while before, and scarsely requited with so much as a kisse. But as for Iphigenia, she was royally welcommed by many Lords and La­dies of Rhodes, who so kindely comforted her, that she soone forgotte all her greefe and trouble on the Sea, remaining in company of those La­dies and Gentlewomen, vntill the day determined for her mariage.

At the earnest entreary of diuers Rhodian Gentlemen, who were in the Ship with Iphigenia, and had their liues courteously saued by Chynon: both he and his friends had their liues likewise spared, although Pasimon­do laboured importunately, to haue them all put to death; onely they were condemned to perpetuall imprisonment, which (you must thinke) was most greeuous to them, as being now hopelesse of any deliuerance. But in the meane time, while Pasimondo was ordering his nuptiall prepa­ration, Fortune seeming to repent the wrongs shee had done to Chynon, prepared a new accident, whereby to comfort him in this deep distresse, and in such manner as I will relate vnto you.

Pasimondo had a Brother, yonger then he in yeares, but not a iot infe­riour to him in vertue, whose name was Hormisda, and long time the case had bene in question, for his taking to wife a faire yong Gentlewoman of Rhodes, called Cassandra; whom Lysimachus the Gouernour loued verie [Page 182] dearly, and hindred her marriage with Hormisda, by diuers strange acci­dents. Now Pasimondo perceiuing, that his owne Nuptials required much cost and solemnity, hee thought it very conuenient, that one day might serue for both the Weddinges, which else would lanch into more lauish expences, and therefore concluded, that his brother Hormisda should marry Cassandra, at the same time as he wedded Iphigenia. Heereuppon, he consulted with the Gentlewomans parents, who liking the motion as well as he, the determination was set downe, and one day to effect the duties of both.

When this came to the hearing of Lysimachus, it was very greatly dis­pleasing to him, because now he saw himselfe vtterly depriued of al hope to attaine the issue of his desire, if Hormisda receyued Cassandra in marri­age. Yet being a very wise and worthy man, hee dissembled his distaste, and began to consider on some apt meanes, whereby to disappoint the marriage once more, which he found impossible to bee done, except it were by way of rape or stealth. And that did not appear to him any dif­ficult matter, in regard of his Office and Authority: onely it wold seeme dishonest in him, by giuing such an vnfitting example. Neuerthelesse, af­ter long deliberation, honor gaue way to loue, and resolutely he conclu­ded to steale her away, whatsoeuer became of it.

Nothing wanted now, but a conuenient company to assist him, & the order how to haue it done. Then he remembred Chynon and his friends, whom he detained as his prisoners, and perswaded himself, that he could not haue a more faithfull friend in such a busines, then Chynon was. Here­upon, the night following, he sent for him into his Chamber, and being alone by themselues, thus he began. Chynon (quoth hee) as the Gods are very bountifull, in bestowing their blessings on men, so doe they therein most wisely make proofe of their vertues, and such as they finde firme and constant, in all occurrences which may happen, them they make worthy (as valiant spirits) of the very best and highest merites. Now, they being willing to haue more certain experience of thy vertues, then those which heeretofore thou hast shewne, within the bounds and limits of thy fathers possessions, which I know to be superabounding: perhaps do intend to present thee other occasions, of more important weight and conse­quence.

For first of all (as I haue heard) by the piercing solicitudes of loue, of a senselesse creature, they made thee to become a man endued with reason. Afterward, by aduerse fortune, and now againe by wearisome imprison­ment, it seemeth that they are desirous to make triall, whether thy manly courage be changed, or no, from that which heretofore it was, when thou enioyedst a matchlesse beautie, and lost her againe in so short a while. Wherefore, if thy vertue be such as it hath bin, the Gods can neuer giue thee any blessing more worthy of acceptance, then she whō they are now minded to bestow on thee: in which respect, to the end that thou mayst re-assume thy wonted heroicke spirit, and become more couragious then euer heeretofore, I will acquaint thee withall more at large.

[Page] Vnderstand then Noble Chynon, that Pasimondo, the onely glad man of thy misfortune, and diligent sutor after thy death, maketh all hast hee can possibly deu [...]se to do, to celebrate his marriage with thy faire mistris: because he would pleade possession of the prey, which Fortune (when she smiled) did first bestow, and (afterward frowning) took from thee again. Now, that it must needs be very irkesome to thee (at least if thy loue bee such, as I am perswaded it is) I partly can collect from my selfe, being in­tended to be wronged by his brother Hormisda, euen in the selfsame ma­ner, and on his marriage day, by taking faire Cassandra from me, the one­ly Iewell of my loue and life. For the preuention of two such notorious iniuries, I see that Fortune hath left vs no other meanes, but only the ver­tue of our courages, and the helpe of our right hands, by preparing our selues to Armes, opening a way to thee, by a second rape or stealth; and to me the first, for absolute possession of our diuine Mistresses. Where­fore, if thou art desirous to recouer thy losse, I wil not onely pronounce liberty to thee (which I thinke thou dost little care for without her) but dare also assure thee to enioy Iphigenia, so thou wilt assist mee in mine en­terprize, and follow me in my fortune, if the Gods do let them fall into our power.

You may well imagine, that Chynons dismayed soule was not a little cheared at these speeches; and therefore, without crauing any long respit of time for answer, thus he replyed. Lord Lysimachus, in such a busines as this is, you cannot haue a faster friend then my self at least, if such good hap may betide me, as you haue more then halfe promised: & therefore do no more but command what you would haue to be effected by mee, and make no doubt of my courage in the execution: whereon Lysima­chus made this answer. Know then Chynon (quoth hee) that three dayes hence; these marriages are to bee celebrated in the houses of Pasimondo and Hormisda, vpon which day, thou, thy friends, and my self (with some others, in whom I repose especiall trust) by the friendly fauour of night, will enter into their houses, while they are in the middest of theyr Iouiall feasting; and (seizing on the two Brides) beare them thence to a Shippe, which I will haue lye in secret, waiting for our comming, and kil all such as shall presume to impeach vs. This direction gaue great contentment to Chynon, who remained stil in prison, without reuealing a word to his owne friends, vntil the limited time was come.

Vpon the Wedding day, performed with great and magnificent Tri­umph, there was not a corner in the Brethrens houses, but it sung ioy in the highest key. Lysimachus, after he had ordered all things as they ought to be, and the houre for dispatch approached neere; he made a diuision in three parts, of Chynon, his followers, and his owne friendes, being all well armed vnder their outward habites. Hauing first vsed some encou­raging speeches, for more resolute prosecution of the enterprize, he sent one troope secretly to the Port, that they might not be hindred of going aboord the ship, when the vrgent necessity should require it. Passing with the other two traines of Pasimondo, he left the one at the doore, that [Page 183] such as were in the house might not shut them vp fast, and so impeach their passage forth. Then with Chynon, and the third band of Confede­rates, he ascended the staires vp into the Hall, where he found the Brides with store of Ladies and Gentlewomen, all sitting in comely order at Supper. Rushing in roughly among the attendants, downe they threw the Tables, and each of them laying hold of his Mistris, deliuered them into the hands of their followers, commanding that they should be car­ried aboord the ship, for auoiding of further inconueniences.

This hurrie and amazement beeing in the house, the Brides weeping, the Ladies lamenting, and all the seruants confusedly wondering; Chynon and Lysimachus (with their Friends) hauing their weapons drawn in their hands, made all opposers to giue them way, and so gayned the stair head for their owne descending. There stoode Pasimondo, with an huge long Staffe in his hand, to hinder their passage downe the stayres; but Chy­non saluted him so soundly on the head, that it being cleft in twaine, hee fell dead before his feete. His Brother Hormisda came to his rescue, and sped in the selfe-same manner as he had done; so did diuers other beside, whom the companions to Lysimachus and Chynon, either slew out-right, or wounded.

So they left the house, filled with bloode, teares, and out-cries, go­ing on together, without any hinderance, and so brought both the Brides aboord the shippe, which they rowed away instantly with theyr Oares. For, now the shore was full of armed people, who came in rescue of the stolne Ladies: but all in vaine, because they were lanched into the main, and sayled on merrily towardes Candye. Where beeing arriued, they were worthily entertained by honourable Friendes and Kinsmen, who pacified all vnkindnesses betweene them and their Mistresses: And, ha­uing accepted them in lawfull marriage, there they liued in no meane ioy and contentment: albeit there was a long and troublesom difference (about these rapes) betweene Rhodes and Cyprus.

But yet in the end, by the meanes of Noble Friends and Kindred on either side, labouring to haue such discontentment appeased, endange­ring warre betweene the Kingdomes: after a limited time of banishment, Chynon returned ioyfully with his Iphigenia home to Cyprus, and Lysima­chus with his beloued Cassandra vnto Rhodes, each liuing in their seuerall Countries, with much felicity.

The second Nouell.

WHen the Queene perceyued, that the Nouell recited by Pamphilus was concluded, which she graced with especial commendations: shee commaunded Madame Aemillia, to take her turne as next in order; whereupon, thus she began. Me thinkes it is a matter of equity, that eue­ry one should take delight in those things, whereby the recompence may be noted, answerable to their owne affection. And because I rather de­sire to walke along by the paths of pleasure, then dwell on any ceremoni­ous or scrupulons affectation, I shall the more gladly obey our Queen to day, then yesterday I did our melancholly King.

Vnderstand then (Noble Ladies) that neere to Sicily, there is a small Island, commonly called Liparis, wherein (not long since) liued a yong Damosell, named Constance, born of very sufficient parentage in the same Island. There dwelt also a young man, called Martuccio Gomito, of come­ly feature, well conditioned, and not vnexpert in many vertuous quali­ties; affecting Constance in hearty manner: and she so answerable to him [Page 184] in the same kinde, that to be in his company, was her onely felicity. Mar­tuccio coueting to enioy her in marriage, made his intent knowne to her Father: who vpbraiding him with pouerty, tolde him plainly that hee should not haue her. Martuccio greeuing to see himselfe thus despised, because he was poore: made such good meanes, that he was prouided of a small Barke; and calling such friends (as he thought fit) to his associati­on, made a solemne vow, that hee would neuer returne backe to Liparis, vntill he was rich, and in better condition.

In the nature and course of a Rouer or Pirate, so put he thence to sea, coasting all about Barbarie, robbing and spoyling such as hee met with; who were of no greater strength then himselfe: wherein Fortune was so fauourable to him, that he became wealthy in a very short while. But as felicities are not alwayes permanent, so hee and his followers, not con­tenting themselues with sufficient riches: by greedy seeking to get more, happened to be taken by certaine ships of the Sarazins, and so were rob­bed themselues of all that they had gotten, yet they resisted them stoutly a long while together, though it proued to the losse of many liues among them. When the Sarazens had sunke his shippe in the Sea, they tooke him with them to Thunis, where he was imprisoned, and liued in extrea­mest misery.

Newes came to Liparis, not onely by one, but many more beside, that all those which departed thence in the smal Barke with Martuccio, were drowned in the Sea, and not a man escaped. When Constance heard these vnwelcome tydings (who was exceeding full of greefe, for his so despe­rate departure) she wept and lamented extraordinarily, desiring now ra­ther to dye, then liue any longer. Yet shee had not the heart, to lay any violent hand on her selfe, but rather to end her dayes by some new kinde of necessity. And departing priuately from her Fathers house, shee went to the port or hauen, where (by chance) she found a small Fisher-boate, lying distant from the other vessels, the owners whereof being all gone on shore, and it well furnished with Masts, Sailes, and Oares, she entred into it; and putting forth the Oares, beeing some-what skilfull in sayling, (as generally all the Women of that Island are) shee so well guyded the Sailes, Rudder, and Oares, that she was quickly farre off from the Land, and soly remained at the mercy of the windes. For thus she had resolued with her selfe, that the Boat being vncharged, and without a guide) wold either be ouer-whelmed by the windes, or split in peeces against some Rocke; by which meanes she could not escape although shee would, but (as it was her desire) must needs be drowned.

In this determination, wrapping a mantle about her head, and lying downe weeping in the boats bottome, she hourely expected her finall ex­piration: but it fell out otherwise, and contrary to her desperate intenti­on, because the winde turning to the North, and blowing very gently, without disturbing the Seas a iot, they conducted the small Boat in such sort, that after the night of her entering into it, and the morowes sailing vntill the euening, it came within an hundred leagues of Thunis, and to a [Page] strond neere a Towne called Susa. The young Damosell knew not whe­ther she were on the sea or land; as one, who not by any accident hap­ning, lifted vp her head to look about her, neither intended euer to doe. Now it came to passe, that as the boate was driuen to the shore, a poore woman stood at the Sea side, washing certaine Fishermens Nets; and see­ing the boate comming towards her vnder saile, without any person ap­pearing in it, she wondred thereat not a little. It being close at the shore, and she thinking the Fishermen to be asleepe therein: stept boldly, and looked into the boate, where she saw not any body, but onely the poore distressed Damosell, whose sorowes hauing broght her now into a sound sleepe, the woman gaue many cals before she could awake her, which at the length she did, and looked very strangely about her.

The poore woman perceyuing by her habite that she was a Christian, demanded of her (in speaking Latine) how it was possible for her, beeing all alone in the boate, to arriue there in this manner? When Constance heard her speake the Latine tongue, she began to doubt, least some con­trary wi [...]de had turned her backe to Liparis againe, and starting vp so­dainly, to looke with better aduice about her, shee saw her selfe at Land: and not knowing the Countrey, demanded of the poore woman where she was? Daughter (quoth she) you are heere hard by Susa in Barbarie. Which Constance hearing, and plainly perceyuing, that death had deni­ed to end her miseries, fearing least she should receiue some dishonour, in such a barbarous vnkinde Country, and not knowing what shold now become of her, she sate downe by the boates side, wringing her hands, & weeping bitterly.

The good Woman did greatly compassionate her case, and preuailed so well by gentle speeches, that shee conducted her into her owne poore habitation; where at length she vnderstoode, by what meanes shee hap­ned thither so strangely. And perceyuing her to be fasting, shee set such homely bread as she had before her, a few small Fishes, and a Crewse of Water, praying her for to accept of that poore entertainement, which meere necessity compelled her to do, and shewed her selfe very thankefull for it.

Constance hearing that she spake the Latine language so well; desired to know what she was. Whereto the olde woman thus answered: Gen­tlewoman (quoth she) I am of Trapanum, named Carapresa, and am a ser­uant in this Countrey to certaine Christian Fishermen. The yong Mai­den (albeit she was very full of sorow) hearing her name to be Carapresa, conceiued it as a good augury to her selfe, & that she had heard the name before, although shee knew not what occasion should moue her thus to do. Now began her hopes to quicken againe, and yet shee could not tell vpon what ground; nor was she so desirous of death as before, but made more precious estimation of her life, and without any further declarati­on of her selfe or countrey, she entreated the good woman (euen for cha­rities sake) to take pitty on her youth, and help her with such good aduice, to preuent all iniuries which might happen to her, in such a solitary wofull condition.

[Page 185] Carapresa hauing heard her request, like a good woman as shee was, left Constance in her poore Cottage, and went hastily to leaue her nets in safety: which being done, she returned backe againe, and couering Con­stance with her Mantle, led her on to Susa with her, where being arriued, the good woman began in this manner. Constance, I will bring thee to the house of a very worthy Sarazin Lady, to whome I haue done manie honest seruices, according as she pleased to command me. She is an an­cient woman, full of charity, and to her I will commend thee as best I may, for I am well assured, that shee will gladly entertaine thee, and vse thee as if thou wert her owne daughter. Now, let it be thy part, during thy time of remaining with her, to employ thy vtmost diligence in plea­sing her, by deseruing and gaining her grace, till heauen shall blesse thee with better fortune: And as she promised, so she performed.

The Sarazine Lady, being well stept into yeares, vpon the commen­dable speeches deliuered by Carapresa, did the more seriously fasten her eye on Constance, and compassion prouoking her to teares, she tooke her by the hand, and (in louing manner) kissed her fore-head. So she led her further into her house, where dwelt diuers other women (but not one man) all exercising themselues in seuerall labours, as working in all sorts of silke, with Imbroideries of Gold and Siluer, and sundry other excellent Arts beside, which in short time were verie familiar to Constance, and so pleasing grew her behauiour to the old Lady, and all the rest beside; that they loued and delighted in her wonderfully, and (by little and little) she attained to the speaking of their language, although it were verie harsh and difficult.

Constance continuing thus in the old Ladies seruice at Susa, & thought to be dead or lost in her owne Fathers house; it fortuned, that one reig­ning then as King of Thunis, who named himselfe Mariabdela: there was a young Lord of great birth, and very powerfull, who liued as then in Granada, and pleaded that the Kingdome of Thunis belonged to him. In which respect, he mustred together a mighty Army, and came to assault the King, as hoping to expell him. These newes comming to the eare of Martuccio Gomito, who spake the Barbarian Language perfectly; and hea­ring it reported, that the King of Thunis made no meane preparation for his owne defence: he conferred with one of his keepers, who had the cu­stody of him, and the rest taken with him, saying: If (quoth hee) I could haue meanes to speake with the King, and he were pleased to allow of my counsell, I can enstruct him in such a course, as shall assure him to win the honor of the field. The Guard reported these speeches to his master, who presently acquainted the King therewith, and Martuccio being sent for; he was commanded to speake his minde: Whereupon he began in this manner.

My gracious Lord, during the time that I haue frequented your coun­trey, I haue heedfully obserued, that the Militarie Discipline vsed in your fights and battailes, dependeth more vpon your Archers, then any other men imployed in your warre. And therefore, if it could bee so ordered, [Page] that this kinde of Artillery might fayle in your enemies Campe, & yours be sufficiently furnished therewith, you neede make no doubt of winning the battaile: whereto the King thus replyed. Doubtlesse, if such an acte were possible to be done, it would giue great hope of successefull preuai­ling. Sir, said Martuccio, if you please it may bee done, and I can quickly resolue you how. Let the strings of your Archers Bowes bee made more soft and gentle, then those which heretofore they haue formerly vsed; and next, let the nockes of the Arrowes be so prouided, as not to receiue any other, then those pliant gentle strings. But this must be done so secretly, that your enemies may haue no knowledge therof, least they should pro­uide themselues in the [...]ame manner. Now the reason (Gracious Lord) why thus I counsell you, is to this end. When the Archers on the Ene­mies side haue shot their Arrowes at your men, and yours in the like ma­ner at them: it followeth, that (vpon meere constraint) they must gather vp your Arrowes, to shoote them backe againe at you, for so long while as the battell endureth, as no doubt but your men wil do the like to them. But your enemies will finde themselues much deceiued, because they can make no vse of your peoples Arrowes, in regard that the nockes are too narrow to receiue their boysterous strings. Which will fall out contrary with your followers, for the pliant strings belonging to your Bowes, are as apt for their enemies great nockt Arrowes, as their owne, and so they shall haue free vse of both, reseruing them in plentifull store, when your aduersaries must stand vnfurnished of any, but them that they cannot any way vse.

This counsell pleased the King very highly, and hee being a Prince of great vnderstanding, gaue order to haue it accordingly followed, and thereby valiantly vanquished his enemies. Heereupon, Martuccio came to be great in his grace, as also consequently rich, and seated in no meane place of authority. Now, as worthy and commendable actions are soone spread abroad, in honor of the man by whome they hapned: euen so the fame of this rare got victory, was quickly noysed throughout the Coun­trey, and came to the hearing of poore Constance, that Martuccio Gomito (whom she supposed so long since to be dead) was liuing, and in honou­rable condition. The loue which formerly he bare vnto him, being not altogether extinct in her heart; of a small sparke, brake foorth into a so­daine flame, and so encreased day by day, that her hope (being before al­most quite dead) reuiued againe in chearfull manner.

Hauing imparted all her fortunes to the good olde Lady with whome she dwelt; she told her beside, that she had an earnest desire to see Thu­nis, to satisfie her eyes as well as her eares, concerning the rumor blazed abroad. The good olde Lady commended her desire, and (euen as if she had bene her mother) tooke her with her aboord a Barke, and so sayled thence to Thunis, where both she and Constance found honourable wel­come, in the house of a kinsman to the Sarazin Lady. Carapresa also went along with them thither, and her they sent abroad into the Citie, to vn­derstand the newes of Martuccio Gomito. After they knew for a certaintie [Page 186] that hee was liuing) and in great authority about the King, according as the former report went of him. Then the good old Lady, being desirous to let Martuccio know, that his faire friend Constance was come thither to see him; went her selfe to the place of his abiding, and spake vnto him in this manner. Noble Martuccio, there is a seruant of thine in my house, which came from Liparis, and requireth to haue a little priuate confe­rence with thee: but because I durst not trust any other with the message, my selfe (at her entreaty) am come to acquaint thee therewith. Martuccio gaue her kinde and hearty thankes, and then went along with her to the house.

No sooner did Constance behold him, but shee was ready to dye with conceite of ioy, and being vnable to containe her passion: sodainely she threw her armes about his necke, and in meere compassion of her many misfortunes, as also the instant solace of her soule (not being able to vtter one word) the teares trickled abundantly downe her cheekes. Martuccio also seeing his faire friend, was ouercome with exceeding admiration, & stood awhile, as not knowing what to say; till venting forth a vehement sighe, thus he spake. My deerest loue Constance! art thou yet liuing? It is a tedious long while since I heard thou wast lost, and neuer any tydinges knowne of thee in thine owne Fathers house. With which wordes, the teares standing in his eyes, most louingly he embraced her. Constance re­coun [...]ed to him all her fortunes, and what kindnesse she hadde receyued from the Sarazine Lady, since her first houre of comming to her. And after much other discourse passing betweene them, Martuccio departed from her, and returning to the King his master, tolde him all the historie of his fortunes, and those beside of his Loue Constance, beeing purposely minded (with his gracious liking) to marry her according to the Christi­an Law.

The King was much amazed at so many strange accidents, and send­ing for Constance to come before him; from her own mouth he heard the whole relation of her continued affection to Martuccio, whereuppon hee saide. Now trust me faire Damosell, thou hast dearly deserued him to be thy husband. Then sending for very costly Iewels, and rich presents, the one halfe of them he gaue to her, and the other to Martuccio, graunting them license withall, to marry according to their owne mindes.

Martuccio did many honors, and gaue great giftes to the aged Sara­zine Lady, with whom Constance had liued so kindly respected: which al­though she had no neede of, neither euer expected any such rewarding; yet (conquered by their vrgent importunity, especially Constance, who could not be thankfull enough to her) she was enforced to receiue them, and taking her leaue of them weeping, sayled backe againe to Susa.

Within a short while after, the King licensing their departure thence, they entred into a small Barke, and Carapresa with them, sailing on with prosperous gales of winde, vntill they arriued at Liparis, where they were entertained with generall reioycing. And because their marriage was not sufficiently performed at Thunis, in regard of diuers Christian cere­monies [Page] there wanting, their Nuptials were againe most honourably so­lemnized, and they liued (many yeares after) in health and much happi­nesse.

The third Nouell.

THere was not any one in the whole company, but much commen­ded the Nouell reported by Madam Emillia, and when the Queene perceiued it was ended, she turned towards Madam Eliza, commanding her to continue on their delightfull exercise: whereto shee declaring her willing obedience, began to speak thus. Courteous Ladies, I remember one vnfortunate night, which happened to two Louers, that were not in­dued with the greatest discretion. But because they had very many faire and happy dayes afterwardes, I am the more willing for to let you heare it.

In the Citie of Rome, which (in times past) was called the Ladie and Mistresse of the world, though now scarsely so good as the waiting maid: there dwelt sometime a yong Gentleman, named Pedro Boccamazzo, des­cended from one of the most honorable families in Rome, who was much [Page 187] enamoured of a beautifull Gentlewoman, called Angelina, daughter to one named Gigliuozzo Saullo, whose fortunes were none of the fairest, yet he greatly esteemed among the Romaines. The entercourse of loue be­tween these twaine, had so equally enstructed their hearts and souls, that it could hardly be iudged which of them was the more feruent in affecti­on. But he, not being imputed to such oppressing passions, and therefore the lesse able to support them, except he were sure to compasse his desire plainly made the motion, that he might enioy her in honorable mariage. Which his parents and friends hearing, they went to conferre with him, blaming him with ouer-much basenesse, so farre to disgrace himselfe and his stocke. Beside, they aduised the Father to the Maid, neither to cre­dit what Pedro saide in this case, or to liue in hope of any such match, be­cause they all did wholly despise it.

Pedro perceiuing, that the way was shut vp, wherby (and none other) he was to mount the Ladder of his hopes; began to waxe weary of longer liuing: and if he could haue won her fathers consent, he would haue ma­ried her in the despight of all his friends. Neuerthelesse, he had a conceit hammering in his head, which if the maid would bee as forward as him­selfe, should bring the matter to full effect. Letters and secret intelligen­ces passing still betweene, at length he vnderstood her ready resolution, to aduenture with him thorough all fortunes whatsoeuer, concluding on their sodaine and secret flight from Rome. For which Pedro did so well prouide, that very early in a morning, and well mounted on horsebacke, they tooke the way leading vnto Alagna, where Pedro had some honest friends, in whom he reposed especiall trust. Riding on thus thorow the countrey, hauing no leysure to accomplish their marriage, because they stoode in feare of pursuite: they were ridden aboue foure leagues from Rome, still shortning the way with their amorous discoursing.

It fortuned, that Pedro hauing no certaine knowledge of the way, but following a trackt guiding too farre on the left hand; rode quite out of course, and came at last within sight of a small Castle, out of which (be­fore they were aware) yssued twelue Villaines, whom Angelina sooner e­spyed, then Pedro could do, which made her cry [...] to him, saying: Help deere Loue to saue vs, or else we shall be assayled. Pedro then turning his horse so expeditiously as he could, and giuing him the spurres as neede re­quired; mainly be gallopped into a neere adioyning Forrest, more min­ding the following of Angelina, then any direction of his way, or thē that endeauoured to be his hinderance. So that by often winding & turning about, as the passage appeared troublesom to him, when he thought him selfe free and furthest from them, he was round engirt, and seized on by them. When they had made him to dismount from his horse, questio­ning him of whence and what he was, and he resoluing them therin, they fell into a secret consultation, saying thus among themselues. This man is a friend to our deadly enemies, how can wee then otherwise dispose of him, but bereaue him of all he hath, and in despight of the Orsini (men in nature hatefull to vs) hang him vp heere on one of these Trees?

[Page] All of them agreeing in this dismall resolution, they commanded Pe­dro to put off his garments, which he yeelding to do (albeit vnwillingly) it so fell out, that fiue and twenty other theeues, came sodainly rushing in vpon them, crying, Kill, kill, and spare not a man.

They which before had surprized Pedro, desiring nowe to shifte for their owne safetie; left him standing quaking in his shirt, and so ranne away mainely to defend themselues. Which the new crewe perceyuing, and that their number farre exceeded the other: they fol­lowed to robbe them of what they had gotten, accounting it as a pre­sent purchase for them. Which when Pedro perceyued, and saw none tarrying to prey vppon him; hee put on his cloathes againe, and moun­ting on his owne Horsse, gallopped that way, which Angelina before had taken: yet could hee not descry any tracke or path, or so much as the footing of a horse; but thought himselfe in sufficient securitie, beeing rid of them that first seized on him, and also of the rest, which followed in the pursuite of them.

For the losse of his beloued Angelina, he was the most wofull man in the world, wandering one while this way, and then againe another, calling for her all about the Forrest, without any answere returning to him. And not daring to ride backe againe, on he trauailed stil, not kno­wing where to make his arriuall. And hauing formerly heard of sauage rauenous beasts, which commonly liue in such vnfrequented Forrests: he not onely was in feare of loosing his owne life, but also despayred much for his Angelina, least some Lyon or Woolfe, had torne her body in pee­ces.

Thus rode on poore vnfortunate Pedro, vntill the breake of day ap­peared, not finding any meanes to get forth of the Forrest, still crying and calling for his fayre friend, riding many times backeward, when as hee thought hee rode forward, vntill hee became so weake and faint, what with extreame feare, lowd calling, and continuing so long a while with­out any sustenance, that the whole day beeing thus spent in vaine, and darke night sodainly come vppon him, hee was not able to hold out any longer.

Now was hee in farre worse case then before, not knowing where, or how to dispose of himselfe, or what might best bee done in so great a ne­cessity. From his Horse hee alighted, and tying him by the bridle vnto a great tree, vppe he climbed into the same Tree, fearing to bee deuoured (in the night time) by some wilde beast, choosing rather to let his Horsse perish, then himselfe. Within a while after, the Moone beganne to rise, and the skies appeared bright and clcare: yet durst hee not nod, or take a nap, lest he should fall out of the tree; but sate still greeuing, sighing, and mourning, despairing of euer seeing his Angelina any more, for he could not be comforted by the smallest hopefull perswasion, that any good for­tune might befall her in such a desolate Forrest, where nothing but dis­mall feares was to be expected, and no likelihood that she should escape with life.

[Page 188] Now, concerning poore affrighted Angelina, who (as you heard be­fore) knew not any place of refuge to flye vnto: but euen as it pleased hir horse to carry her: she entred so farre into the Forest, that she could not deuise where to seeke her owne safety. And therefore, euen as it fared with her friend Pedro, in the same manner did it fall out with her, wan­dering the whole night, and all the day following, one while taking one hopefull tracke, and then another, calling, weeping, wringing hir hands, and greeuously complaining of her hard fortune. At the length, percey­uing that Pedro came not to her at all, she found a little path (which shee lighted on by great good fortune) euen when dark night was apace draw­ing, and followed it so long, til it brought her within the sight of a small poore Cottage, whereto she rode on so fast as she could; and found ther­in a very old man, hauing a wife rather more aged then he, who seeing hir to be without company, the old man spake thus vnto her.

Faire daughter (quoth he) whether wander you at such an vnseasona­ble houre, and all alone in a place so desolate? The Damosell weeping, replied; that shee had lost her company in the forest, and enquired how neere shee was to Alagna. Daughter (answered the old man) this is not the way to Alagna, for it is a boue sixe leagues hence. Then shee desired to knowe, how farre off shee was from such houses, where she might haue any reasonable lodging? There are none so neere, said the old man, that day light will giue you leaue to reach. May it please you then good Fa­ther (replied Angelina) seeing I cannot trauaile any whether else; For Gods sake, to let me remaine heere with you this night. Daughter answe­red the good old man, wee can gladly giue you entertainement here, for this night, in such poore manner as you see: but let mee tell you withall, that vp and downe these wooddes (as well by night as day) walke com­panies of all conditions, and rather enimies then friends, who doe vs ma­ny greeuious displeasures and harmes. Now if by msifortune, you beeing heere, any such people should come, and seeing you so loouely faire, as indeed you are, offer you any shame or iniurie: Alas you see it lies not in our power to lend you any helpe or succour. I thought it good (there­fore) to acquaint you heerewith; because if any such mischance do hap­pen, you should not afterward complaine of vs.

The yong Maiden, seeing the time to be so farre spent, albeit the olde mans words did much dismay her, yet she thus replyed. If it be the wil of heauen, both you and I shall be defended from any misfortune: but if a­ny such mischance do happen, I account the matter lesse deseruing grief, if I fall into the mercy of men, then to be deuoured by wild beasts in this Forrest. So, being dismounted from her horse, and entred into the home­ly house; she supt poorely with the olde man and his wife, with such mean cates as their prouision affoorded: and after supper, lay downe in hir gar­ments on the same poore pallet, where the aged couple tooke their rest, and was very well contented therewith, albeit she could not refraine from sighing and weeping, to bee thus diuided from her deare Pedro, of whose life and welfare she greatly despaired.

[Page] When it was almost day, she heard a great noise of people trauailing by, whereupon sodainly she arose, and ranne into a Garden plot, which was on the backside of the poore Cottage, espying in one of the corners a great stacke of Hay, wherein she hid her selfe, to the end, that trauelling strangers might not readily finde her there in the house. Scarsely was she fully hidden, but a great company of Theeues and Villaines, finding the doore open, rushed into the Cottage, where looking round about them for some booty, they saw the Damosels horse stand ready sadled, which made them demand to whom it belonged. The good olde man, not see­ing the Maiden present there, but immagining that shee had made some shift for her selfe, answered thus. Gentlemen, there is no body here but my wife and my selfe: as for this Horse, which seemeth to bee escaped from the Owner; hee came hither yesternight, and we gaue him house­roome heere, rather then to be deuoured by Wolues abroad. Then said the principall of the Theeuish crew: This horse shall be ours, in regard he hath no other master, and let the owner come claime him of vs.

When they had searched euery corner of the poore Cottage, & found no such prey as they looked for, some of them went into the backe side, where they had left their Iauelins and Targets, wherewith they vsed com­monly to trauaile. It fortuned, that one of them, being more subtily sus­pitious then the rest, thrust his Iaueline into the stacke of Hay, in the ve­ry same place where the Damosell lay hidden, missing very little of killing her; for it entred so farre, that the iron head pierced quite thorough her Garments, and touched her left bare brest: whereupon, shee was ready to cry out, as fearing that she was wounded: but considering the place where she was, she lay still, and spake not a word. This disordred com­pany, after they had fed on some young Kids, and other flesh which they brought with them thither, they went thence about their theeuing exer­cise, taking the Damosels horse along with them.

After they were gone a good distance off, the good old man beganne thus to question his Wife. What is become (quoth hee) of our young Gentlewoman, which came so late to vs yesternight? I haue not seen hir to day since our arising. The old woman made answer, that she knew not where she was, and sought all about to finde her. Angelinaes feares being well ouer-blowne, and hearing none of the former noise, which made her the better hope of their departure, came forth of the Hay-stack; wher­of the good old man was not a little ioyfull, and because she had so well escaped from them: so seeing it was now broad day-light, he sayde vnto her. Now that the morning is so fairely begun, if you can be so well con­tented, we will bring you to a Castle, which stands about two miles and an halfe hence, where you will be sure to remaine in safety. But you must needs trauaile thither on foote, because the night-walkers that happened hither, haue taken away your horse with them.

Angelina making little or no account of such a losse, entreated them for charities sake, to conduct her to that Castle, which accordingly they did, [...]nd arriued there betweene seuen and eight of the clocke. The Castle be­longed [Page 189] to one of the Orsini, being called, Liello di Campo di Fiore, and by great good fortune, his wife was then there, she being a very vertuous and religious Lady. No sooner did shee looke vpon Angelina, but shee knew her immediately, and entertaining her very willingly, requested, to know the reason of her thus arriuing there: which shee at large related, and mo­ued the Lady (who likewise knew Pedro perfectly well) to much compas­sion, because he was a kinsman and deare friend to her Husband; and vn­derstanding how the Theeues had surprized him, shee feared, that he was slaine among them, whereupon shee spake thus to Angelina. Seeing you know not what is become of my kinsman Pedro, you shall remaine here with me, vntill such time, as (if we heare no other tidings of him) you may with safety be sent backe to Rome.

Pedro all this while sitting in the Tree, so ful of griefe, as no man could be more; about the houre of midnight (by the bright splendour of the Moone) espied about some twenty Wolues, who, so soone as they got a sight of the Horse, ran and engirt him round about. The Horse when he perceiued them so neere him, drew his head so strongly back-ward, that breaking the reines of his bridle, he laboured to escape away from them. But being beset on euery side, and vtterly vnable to helpe himselfe, he con­tended with his teeth & feete in his owne defence, till they haled him vio­lently to the ground, and tearing his body in peeces, left not a [...]ot of him but the bare bones, and afterward ran ranging thorow the Forrest. At this sight poore Pedro was mightily dismayed, fearing to speed no better then his Horse had done, and therefore could not deuise what was best to be done; for he saw no likelihood now, of getting out of the Forrest with life. But day-light drawing on apace, and he almost dead with cold, hauing stood quaking so long in the Tree; at length by continuall looking euery where about him, to discerne the least glimpse of any comfort; he espied a great fire, which seemed to be about halfe a mile off from him.

By this time it was broade day, when he descended downe out of the Tree, (yet not without much feare) and tooke his way towards the fire, where being arriued, he found a company of Shepheards banquetting a­bout it, whom he curteously saluting, they tooke pity on his distresse, and welcommed him kindly. After he had tasted of such cheare as they had, and was indifferently refreshed by the good fire; hee discoursed his hard disasters to them, as also how he happened thither, desiring to know, if any Village or Castle were neere thereabout, where he might in better manner releeue himselfe. The Shepheards told him, that about a mile and an halfe from thence, was the Castle of Signior Liello di Campo di Fiore, and that his Lady was now residing there; which was no meane comfort to poore Pedro, requesting that one of them would accompany him thither, as two of them did in louing manner, to ridde him of all further feares.

When he was arriued at the Castle, and found there diuers of his fa­miliar acquaintance; he laboured to procure some meanes, that the Da­mosell might be sought for in the Forrest. Then the Lady calling for her, and bringing her to him; he ran and caught her in his armes, being ready [Page] to swoune with conceit of ioy, for neuer could any man be more comfor­ted, then he was at the sight of his Angelina, and questionlesse, her ioy was not a iot inferior to his, such a simpathy of firme loue was sealed between them. The Lady of the Castle, after shee had giuen them very gracious entertainement, and vnderstood the scope of their bold aduenture; shee reproued them both somewhat sharpely, for presuming so farre without the consent of their Parents. But perceiuing (notwithstanding all her re­monstrances) that they continued still constant in their resolution, with­out any inequality on either side; shee saide to her selfe. Why should this matter be any way offensiue to me? They loue each other loyally; they are not inferiour to one another in birth, but in fortune; they are equally loued and allied to my Husband, and their desire is both honest and honourable. Moreouer, what know I, if it be the will of Heauen to haue it so? Theeues intended to hang him, in malice to his name and kin­red, from which hard fate he hath happily escaped. Her life was endan­gered by a sharpe pointed Iaueline, and yet her fairer starres would not suffer her so to perish: beside, they both haue escaped the fury of rauenous wild beasts, and all these are apparant signes, that future comforts should recompence former passed misfortunes; farre be it therefore from me, to hinder the appointment of the Heauens.

Then turning her selfe to them, thus shee proceeded. If your desire be to ioyne in honourable marriage, I am well contented therewith, and your nuptials shall here be sollemnized at my Husbands charges. After­ward both he and I will endeauour, to make peace between you and your discontented Parents. Pedro was not a little ioyfull at her kind offer, and Angelina much m [...]re then he; so they were maried together in the Castle, and worthily feasted by the Lady, as Forrest entertainment could permit, and there they enioyed the first fruits of their loue. Within a short while after, the Lady and they (well mounted on Horse-backe▪ and attended with an honourable traine) returned to Rome; where her Lord Liello and shee preuailed so wel with Pedroes angry Parents: that all variance ended in loue and peace, and afterward they liued louingly together, till old age made them as honourable, as their true and mutuall affection formerly had done.

The fourth Nouell.

MAdam Eliza hauing ended her Tale, and heard what commendati­ons the whole company gaue thereof; the Queene commanded Phi­lostratus, [Page 196] to tell a Nouell agreeing with his owne minde, who smiling thereat, thus replyed. Faire Ladies, I haue beene so often checkt & snapt, for my yester dayes matter and argument of discoursing, which was both tedious and offensiue to you; that if I intended to make you any amends, I should now vndertake to tell such a Tale, as might put you into a mirth­full humour. Which I am determined to doe, in relating a briefe and pleasant Nouell, not any way offensiue (as I trust) but exemplary for some good notes of obseruation.

Not long since, there liued in Romania, a Knight, a very honest Gen­tleman, and well qualified, whose name was Messer Lizio da Valbonna, to whom it fortuned, that (at his entrance into age) by his Lady and wife, called Iaquemina, he had a Daughter, the very choycest and goodliest gen­tlewoman in all those places. Now because such a happy blessing (in their olde yeeres) was not a little comfortable to them; they thought them­selues the more bound in duty, to be circumspect of her education, by keeping her out of ouer-frequent companies, but onely such as agreed best with their grauity, & might giue the least ill example to their Daugh­ter, who was named Catharina; as making no doubt, but by this their pro­uident and wary respect, to match her in mariage answerable to their li­king. There was also a young Gentleman, in the very flourishing estate of his youthfull time, descended from the Family of the Manardy da Bret­tinoro, named Messer Ricciardo, who oftentimes frequented the House of Messer Lizio, and was a continuall welcome guest to his Table, Messer Lizio and his wife making the like account of him, euen as if he had beene their owne Sonne.

This young Gallant, perceiuing the Maiden to be very beautifull, of [Page] singular behauiour, and of such yeeres as was fit for mariage, became exceedingly enamoured of her, yet concealed his affection so closely as he could; which was not so couertly caried, but that she perceiued it, and grew in as good liking of him. Many times he had an earnest desire to haue conference with her, which yet still he deferred, as fearing to dis­please her; till at the length he lighted on an apt opportunity, and boldly spake to her in this manner. Faire Catharina, I hope thou wilt not let me die for thy loue? Signior Ricciardo (replyed shee suddenly againe) I hope you will extend the like mercy to me, as you desire that I should shew to you. This answere was so pleasing to Messer Ricciardo, that presently he saide. Alas deare Loue, I haue dedicated all my fairest fortunes onely to thy seruice, so that it remaineth soly in thy power, to dispose of me as best shall please thee, and to appoint such times of priuate conuersation, as may yeeld more comfort to my poore afflicted soule.

Catharina standing musing a while, at last returned him this answere. Signior Ricciardo, quoth shee, you see what a restraint is set on my liberty, how short I am kept from cōuersing with any one, that I hold this our en­terparlance now almost miraculous. But if you could deuise any conue­nient meanes, to admit vs more familiar freedome, without any preiudice to mine honour, or the least distaste of my Parents; doe but enstruct it, and I will aduenture it. Ricciardo hauing considered on many wayes and meanes, thought one to be the fittest of all; and therefore thus replyed. Catharina (quoth he) the onely place for our more priuate talking toge­ther, I conceiue to be the Gallery ouer your Fathers Garden. If you can winne your Mother to let you lodge there, I will make meanes to climbe ouer the wall, and at the goodly gazing window, we may discourse so long as we please. Now trust me deare Loue (answered Catharina) no place can be more conuenient for our purpose, there shall we heare the sweete Birds sing, especially the Nightingale, which I haue heard singing there all the night long; I will breake the matter to my Mother, and how I speede, you shall heare further from me. So, with diuers parting kisses, they brake off conference, till their next meeting.

On the day following, which was towards the ending of the moneth of May, Catharina began to complaine to her Mother, that the season was ouer-hot and tedious, to be still lodged in her Mothers Chamber, because it was an hinderance to her sleeping; and wanting rest, it would be an empairing of her health. Why Daughter (quoth the Mother) the weather (as yet) is not so hot, but (in my minde) you may very well endure it. Alas Mother, said shee, aged people, as you and my Father are, doe not feele the heates of youthfull bloud, by reason of your farre colder complexion, which is not to be measured by younger yeeres. I know that well Daugh­ter, replyed the Mother; but is it in my power, to make the weather warme or coole, as thou perhaps wouldst haue it? Seasons are to be suffe­red, according to their seuerall qualities; and though the last night might seeme hot, this next ensuing may be cooler, and then thy rest will be the better. No Mother, quoth Catharina, that cannot be; for as Summer pro­ceedeth [Page 191] on, so the heate encreaseth, and no expectation can be of tem­perate weather, vntill it groweth to Winter againe. Why Daughter, saide the Mother, what wouldest thou haue me to doe? Mother (quoth shee) if it might stand with my Fathers good liking and yours, I would be spared from in the Garden Gallery, which is a great deale more coole, and temperate. There shall I heare the sweete Nightingale sing, as euery night shee vseth to doe, and many other pretty Birds beside, which I can­not doe, lodging in your Chamber.

The Mother louing her Daughter dearely, as being some-what ouer­fond of her, and very willing to giue her contentment; promised to im­part her minde to her Father, not doubting but to compasse what shee re­quested. When shee had moued the matter to Messer Lizio, whose age made him somewhat froward and teasty; angerly he said to his wife. Why how now woman? Cannot our Daughter sleepe, except shee heare the Nightingale sing? Let there be a bed made for her in the Ouen, and there let the Crickets make her melody. When Catharina heard this answere from her Father, and saw her desire to be disappointed; not onely could shee take any rest the night following, but also complained more of the heate then before, not suffering her Mother to take any rest, which made her goe angerly to her Husband in the morning, saying. Why Husband, haue we but one onely Daughter, whom you pretend to loue right deare­ly, and yet can you be so carelesse of her, as to denie her a request, which is no more then reason? What matter is it to you or me, to let her lodge in the Garden Gallery? Is her young bloud to be compared with ours? Can our weake and crazie bodies, feele the frolicke temper of hers? Alas, shee is hardy (as yet) out of her childish yeeres, and Children haue many desires farre differing from ours: the singing of Birds is rare musicke to them, and chiefly the Nightingale; whose sweete notes will prouoke them to rest, when neither art or physicke can doe it.

Is it euen so Wife? answered Messer Lizio. Must your will and mine be gouerned by our Daughter? Well be it so then, let her bed be made in the Garden Gallerie, but I will haue the keeping of the key, both to locke her in at night, and set her at libertie euery morning. Woman, woman, young wenches are wily, many wanton crochets are busie in their braines, and to vs that are aged, they sing like Lapwings, telling vs one thing, and intending another; talking of Nightingales, when their mindes run on Cocke-Sparrowes. Seeing Wife, shee must needes haue her minde, let yet your care and mine extend so farre, to keepe her chastity vncorrup­ted, and our credulity from being abused. Catharina hauing thus preuai­led with her Mother, her bed made in the Garden Gallery, and sectet in­telligence giuen to Ricciardo, for preparing his meanes of accesse to her window; old prouident Lizio lockes the doore to bed-ward, and giues her liberty to come forth in the morning, for his owne lodging was neere to the same Gallery.

In the dead and silent time of night, when all (but Louers) take their rest; Ricciardo hauing prouided a Ladder of Ropes, with grapling hookes [Page] to take hold aboue and below, according as he had occasion to vse it. By helpe thereof, first he mounted ouer the Garden wall, and then climbde vp to the Gallery window, before which (as is euery whe [...]e in Italie) was a little round eng [...]ting Tarras, onely for a man to stand vpon, for making cleane the window, or otherwise repairing it. Many nights (in this man­ner) enioyed they their meetings, entermixing their amorous conference with infinite kisses and kinde embraces, as the window gaue leaue, he sit­ting in the Tarras, and departing alwayes before breake of day, for feare of being discouered by any.

But, as excesse of delight is the Nurse to negligence, and begetteth such an ouer-presuming boldnesse, as afterward proueth to be sauced with re­pentance: so came it to passe with our ouer-fond Louers, in being taken [...]ardy through their owne folly. After they had many times met in this manner, the nights (according to the season) growing shorter and shorter, which their stolne delight made them lesse respectiue of, then was requi­site in an aduenture so dangerous: it fortuned, that their amorous plea­sure had so farre transported them, and dulled their sences in such sort, by these then continued nightly watchings; that they both fell fast asleepe, he hauing his hand closed in hers, and shee one arme folded about his bo­dy, and thus they slept till broade day light. Old Messer Lizio, who con­tinually was the morning Cocke to the whole House, going foorth into his Garden, saw how his Daughter and Ricciardo were seated at the win­dow. In he went againe, and going to his wiues Chamber, saide to her. Rise quickly wise, and you shall see, what made our Daughter so desirous to lodge in the Garden Gallery. I perceiue that shee loued to heare the Nightingale, for shee hath caught one, and holds him fast in her hand. Is it possible, saide the Mother, that our Daughter should catch a liue Nigh­tingale in the darke? You shall see that your selfe, answered Messer Lizio, if you will make haste, and goe with me.

Shee, putting on her garments in great haste, followed her Husband, and being come to the Gallery doore, he opened it very softly, and going to the window, shewed her how they both sate fast asleepe, and in such manner as hath been before declared: whereupon, shee perceiuing how Ricciardo and Catharina had both deceiued her, would haue made an out­cry, but that Messer Lizio spake thus to her. Wife, as you loue me, speake not a word, neither make any noyse: for, seeing shee hath loued Ricciardo without our knowledge, and they haue had their priuate meetings in this manner, yet free from any blamefull imputation; he shall enioy her, and shee him. Ricciardo is a Gentleman, well deriued, and of rich possessions, it can be no disparagement to vs, that Catharina match with him in ma­riage, which he neither shall, or dare denie to doe, in regard of our Lawes seuerity; for climbing vp to my window with his Ladder of Ropes, wher­by his life is forfeited to the Law, except our Daughter please to spare it, as it remaineth in her power to doe, by accepting him as her husband, or yeelding his life vp to the Law, which surely shee will not suffer, their loue agreeing together in such mutuall manner, and he aduenturing so dange­rously for her.

[Page 192] Madam Iaquemina, perceiuing that her husband spake very reasona­bly, and was no more offended at the matter; stept aside with him be­hinde the drawne Curtaines, vntill they should awake of themselues. At the last, Ricciardo awaked, and seeing it was so farre in the day, thought himselfe halfe dead, and calling to Catharina, saide. Alas deare Loue! what shall we doe? we haue slept too long, and shall be taken here. At which words, Messer Lizio stept forth from behind the Curtaines, saying-Nay, Signior Ricciardo, seeing you haue found such an vnbefitting way hi­ther, we will prouide you a better for your backe returning. When Ric­ciardo saw the Father and Mother both there present, he could not deuise what to doe or say, his sences became so strangely confounded; yet know­ing how hainously hee had offended, if the strictnesse of Law should be challenged against him, falling on his knees, he saide. Alas Messer Lizio, I humbly craue your mercy, confessing my selfe well worthy of death, that knowing the sharpe rigour of the Law, I would presume so audaciously to breake it. But pardon me worthy Sir, my loyall and vnfeined loue to your Daughter Catharina, hath beene the onely cause of my transgres­sing.

Ricciardo (replyed Messer Lizio) the loue I beare thee, and the honest confidence I doe repose in thee, step vp (in some measure) to pleade thine excuse, especially in the regard of my Daughter, whom I blame thee not for louing, but for this vnlawfull way of presuming to her. Neuerthelesse, perceiuing how the case now standeth, and considering withall, that youth and affection were the ground of thine offence: to free thee from death, and my selfe from dishonour, before thou departest hence, thou shalt espouse my Daughter Catharina, to make her thy lawfull wife in mariage, and wipe off all scandall to my House and me. All this while was poore Catharina on her knees likewise to her Mother, who (notwithstanding this her bold aduenture) made earnest suite to her Husband to remit all, be­cause Ricciardo right gladly condiscended, as it being the maine issue of his hope and desire; to accept his Catharina in mariage, whereto shee was as willing as he. Messer Lizio presently called for the Confessour of his House, and borrowing one of his Wiues Rings, before they went out of the Gallery; Ricciardo and Catharina were espoused together, to their no little ioy and contentment.

Now had they more leasure for further conference, with the Parents and kindred to Ricciardo, who being no way discontented with this sudden match, but applauding it in the highest degree; they were publikely ma­ried againe in the Cathedrall Church, and very honourable triumphes performed at the nuptials, liuing long after in happy prosperity.

The fifth Nouell.

ALl the Ladies laughing heartily, at the Nouell of the Nightingale, so pleasingly deliuered by Philostratus, when they saw the same to be fully ended, the Queene thus spake. Now trust me Philostratus, though yester-day you did much oppresse mee with melancholy, yet you haue made me such an amends to day, as wee haue little reason to complaine any more of you. So conuerting her speech to Madam Neiphila, shee commanded her to succeede with her discourse, which willingly she yeel­ded to, beginning in this manner. Seeing it pleased Philostratus, to pro­duce his Nouell out of Romania: I meane to walke with him in the same iurisdiction, concerning what I am to say.

There dwelt sometime in the City of Fano, two Lombards, the one being named Guidotto of Cremona, and the other Iacomino of Pauia, men of sufficient entrance into yeeres, hauing followed the warres (as Soul­diers) all their youthful time. Guidotto feeling sicknesse to ouer-master him, and hauing no sonne, kinsman, or friend, in whom he might repose more trust, then hee did in Iacomino: hauing long conference with him about his worldly affaires, and setled his whole estate in good order; he left a Daughter to his charge, about ten yeeres of age, with all such goods as he enioyed, and then departed out of this life. It came to passe, that the City of Forenza, long time being molested with tedious warres, and sub­iected to very seruile condition; beganne now to recouer her former [Page 193] strength, with free permission (for all such as pleased) to returne and pos­sesse their former dwellings. Whereupon, Iacomino (hauing sometime beene an inhabitant there) was desirous to liue in Faenza againe, conuay­ing thither all his goods, and taking with him also the young girle, which Guidotto had left him, whom hee loued, and respected as his owne childe.

As shee grew in stature, so shee did in beauty and vertuous qualities, as none was more commended throughout the whole City, for faire, ci­uill, and honest demeanour, which incited many amorously to affect her. But (aboue all the rest) two very honest young men, of good fame and re­pute, who were so equally in loue addicted to her, that being iealous of each others fortune, in preuenting of their seuerall hopefull expectation; a deadly hatred grew suddenly betweene them, the one being named, Giouanni de Seuerino, and the other Menghino da Minghole. Either of these two young men, before the Maide was fifteene yeeres old, laboured to be possessed of her in marriage, but her Guardian would giue no consent thereto: wherefore, perceiuing their honest intended meaning to be fru­strated, they now began to busie their braines, how to forestall one ano­ther by craft and circumuention.

Iacomino had a Maide-seruant belonging to his House, somewhat aged, and a Man-seruant beside, named Griuello, of mirthfull disposition, and very friendly, with whom Giouanni grew in great familiarity; and when he found time fit for the purpose, he discouered his loue to him, requesting his furtherance and assistance, in compassing the height of his desire, with bountifull promises of rich rewarding; whereto Griuello returned this an­swere. I know not how to sted you in this case, but when my Master shall sup foorth at some Neighbours House, to admit your entrance where she is: because, if I offer to speake to her, shee neuer will stay to heare me. Wherefore, if my seruice this way may doe you any good, I promise to performe it; doe you beside, as you shall find it most conuenient for you. So the bargaine was agreed on betweene them, and nothing else now re­mained, but to what issue it should sort in the end.

Menghino, on the other side, hauing entred into the Chamber-maides acquaintance, sped so well with her, that shee deliuered so many mes­sages from him, as had (already) halfe won the liking of the Virgin; passing further promises to him beside, of bringing him to haue conference with her, whensoeuer her Master should be absent from home. Thus Menghino being fauoured (on the one side) by the olde Chamber-maide, and Gio­uanni (on the other) by trusty Griuello; their amorous warre was now on foote, and diligently followed by both their sollicitors. Within a short while after, by the procurement of Griuello, Iacomino was inuited by a neighbour to supper, in company of diuers his very familiar friends, wher­of intelligence being giuen to Giouanni; a conclusion passed betweene them, that (vpon a certaine signale giuen) he should come, and finde the doore standing ready open, to giue him all accesse vnto the affected Mayden.

[Page] The appointed night being come, and neither of these hot Louers knowing the others intent, but their suspition being alike, and encreasing still more and more; they made choyce of certaine friends and associates, well armed and prouided, for eithers safer entrance when neede should re­quire. Menghino stayed with his troope, in a neere neighbouring house to the Mayden, attending when the signall would be giuen: but Giouanni and his con [...]orts, were ambushed somewhat further off from the House, and both saw when Iacomino went foorth to supper. Now Grinello and the Chamber-maide began to vary, which should send the other out of the way, till they had effected their seuerall intention; whereupon Grinello said to her. What maketh thee to walke thus about the House, and why doest thou not get thee to bed? And thou (quoth the Maide) why doest thou not goe to attend on our Master, and tarry for his returning home? I am sure thou hast supt long agoe, and I know no businesse here in the House for thee to doe. Thus (by no meanes) the one could send away the other, but either remained as the others hinderance.

But Grinello remembring himselfe, that the houre of his appointment with Giouanni was come, he saide to himselfe. What care I whether our olde Maide be present, or no? If shee disclose any thing that I doe, I can be reuenged on her when I list. So, hauing made the signall, he went to open the doore, euen when Giouanni (and two of his confederates) rushed into the House, and finding the faire young Maiden sitting in the Hall, laide hands on her, to beare her away. The Damosell began to resist them, crying out for helpe so loude as shee could, as the olde Chamber-maide did the like: which Menghino hearing, he ranne thither presently with his friends, and seeing the young Damosell brought well-neere out of the House; they drew their Swords, crying out: Traytors, you are but dead men, here is no violence to be offered, neither is this a booty for such base groomes. So they layed about them lustily, and would not permit them to passe any further. On the other side, vpon this mutinous noyse and out-cry, the Neighbours came foorth of their Houses, with lights, staues, and clubbes, greatly reprouing them for this out-rage, yet assisting Men­ghino: by meanes whereof, after a long time of contention, Menghino re­couered the Mayden from Giouanni, and placed her peaceably in Iacomi­noes House.

No sooner was this hurly-burly somewhat calmed, but the Serieants to the Captaine of the City, came thither, and apprehended diuers of the mutiners: among whom were Menghino, Giouanni, and Grinello, commit­ting them immediately to prison. But after euery thing was pacified, and Iacomino returned home to his House from supper; he was not a little of­fended at so grosse an iniury. When he was fully informed, how the mat­ter happened, and apparantly perceiued, that no blame at all could be im­posed on the Mayden: he grew the better contented, resoluing with him­selfe (because no more such inconueniences should happen) to haue her married so soone as possibly he could.

When morning was come, the kindred and friends on either side, vn­derstanding [Page 194] the truth of the errour committed, and knowing beside, what punishment would be inflicted on the prisoners, if Iacomino pressed the matter no further, then as with reason and equity well he might; they re­paired to him, and (in gentle speeches) entreated him, not to regard a wrong offered by vnruly and youthfull people, meerely drawne into the action by perswasion of friends; submitting both themselues, and the of­fendors, to such satisfaction as he pleased to appoint them. Iacomino, who had seene and obserued many things in his time, and was a man of sound vnderstanding, returned them this answere.

Gentlemen, if I were in mine owne Countrey, as now I am in yours; I would as forwardly confesse my selfe your friend, as here I must needes fall short of any such seruice, but euen as you shall please to command me. But plainely, and without all further ceremonious complement, I must agree to whatsoeuer you can request; as thinking you to be more in­iured by me, then any great wrong that I haue sustained. Concerning the young Damosell remaining in my House, shee is not (as many haue ima­gined) either of Cremona, or Pauia, but borne a Faentine, here in this Ci­rie: albeit neither my selfe, shee, or he of whom I had her, did euer know it, or yet could learne whose Daughter shee was. Wherefore, the suite you make to me, should rather (in duty) be mine to you: for shee is a na­tiue of your owne, doe right to her, and then you can doe no wrong vnto mee.

When the Gentlemen vnderstood, that the Mayden was borne in Fa­enza, they maruelled thereat, and after they had thanked Iacomino for his curteous answer; they desired him to let them know, by what meanes the Damosell came into his custody, and how he knew her to be borne in Fa­enza: when he, perceiuing them attentiue to heare him, began in this manner.

Vnderstand worthy Gentlemen, that Guidotto of Cremona, was my companion and deare friend, who growing neere to his death, tolde me, that when this City was surprized by the Emperour Frederigo, and all things committed to sacke and spoile; he and certaine of his confederates entred into a House, which they found to be well furnished with goods, but vtterly forsaken of the dwellers, onely this poore Mayden excepted, being then aged but two yeeres, or thereabout. As hee mounted vp the steps, with intent to depart from the House; she called him Father, which word moued him so compassionately: that he went backe againe, brought her away with him, and all things of worth which were in the House, go­ing thence afterward to Fano, and there deceasing, he left her and all his goods to my charge; conditionally, that I should see her maried when due time required, and bestow on her the wealth which he had left her. Now, very true it is, although her yeeres are conuenient for mariage, yet I could neuer find any one to bestow her on, at least that I thought fitting for her: howbeit, I will listen thereto much more respectiuely, before any other such accident shall happen.

It came to passe, that in the reporting of this discourse, there was then [Page] a Gentleman in the company, named Guillemino da Medicina, who at the surprizal of the City, was present with Guidotto of Cremona, and knew well the House which he had ransacked, the owner whereof was also present with him, wherefore taking him aside, he saide to him. Bernardino, hearest thou what Iacomino hath related? yes very wel, replyed Bernardino, and re­member withall, that in that dismall bloody combustion, I lost a little Daughter, about the age as Iacomino spake he. Questionlesse then, replied Guillemino, shee must needes be the same young Mayden, for I was there at the same time, and in the House, whence Guidotto did bring both the girle and goods, and I doe perfectly remember, that it was thy House. I pray thee call to minde, if euer thou sawest any scarre or marke about her, which may reuiue thy former knowledge of her, for my minde per­swades me, that the Maide is thy Daughter.

Bernardino musing a while with himselfe, remembred, that vnder her left care, shee had a scarre, in the forme of a little crosse, which happened by the byting of a Wolfe, and but a small while before the spoyle was made. Wherefore, without deferring it to any further time, he stept to Ia­comino (who as yet staied there) and entreated him to fetch the Mayden from his house, because shee might be knowne to some in the company: whereto right willingly he condiscended, and there presented the Maide before them. So soone as Bernardino beheld her, he began to be much in­wardly moued, for the perfect character of her Mothers countenance, was really figured in her sweete face; onely that her beauty was somewhat more excelling. Yet not herewith satisfied, he desired Iacomino to be so pleased, as to lift vp a little the lockes of haire, depending ouer her left eare▪ Iacomino did it presently, albeit with a modest blushing in the maide, and Bernardino looking aduisedly on it, knew it to be the selfe same crosse; which confirmed her constantly to be his Daughter.

Ouercome with excesse of ioy, which made the teares to trickle downe his cheekes, he proffered to embrace and kisse the Maide: but she refusing his kindnesse, because (as yet) shee knew no reason for it, he turned him­selfe to Iacomino, saying. My deare brother and friend, this Maide is my Daughter, and my House was the same which Guidotto spoyled, in the ge­nerall hauocke of our City, and thence he carried this child of mine, for­gotten (in the fury) by my Wife her Mother. But happy was the houre of his becomming her Father, and carrying her away with him; for else she had perished in the fire, because the House was instantly burnt downe to the ground. The Mayden hearing his words, obseruing him also to be a man of yeeres and grauity: shee beleeued what he saide, and humbly submitted her selfe to his kisses & embraces, euen as instructed thereto by instinct of nature. Bernardino instantly sent for his wife, her owne mother, his daughters, sonnes, and kindred, who being acquainted with this admi­rable accident, gaue her most gracious and kind welcome, he receiuing her from Iacomino as his childe, and the legacies which Guidotto had left her.

When the Captaine of the City (being a very wise and worthy Gen­tleman) heard these tydings, and knowing that Giouanni, then his prisoner, [Page 195] was the Son to Bernardino, and naturall Brother to the newly recouered Maide: he bethought himselfe, how best he might qualifie the fault com­mitted by him. And entring into the Hall among them, handled the mat­ter so discreetly, that a louing league of peace was confirmed betweene Giouanni and Menghino, to whom (with free and full consent on all sides) the faire Maide, named Agatha, was giuen in marriage, with a more ho­nourable enlargement of her dowry, and Grinello, with the rest, deliuered out of prison, which for their tumultuous riot they had iustly deserued. Menghino and Agatha had their wedding worthily sollemnized, with all due honours belonging thereto; and long time after they liued in Faenza, highly beloued, and graciously esteemed.

The sixth Nouell.

THe Nouell of Madam Neiphila being ended, which proued very pleasing to the Ladies: the Queene commanded Madam Pampinea, that shee should prepare to take her turne next, whereto willingly obey­ing, thus shee began. Many and mighty (Gracious Ladies) are the pre­uailing powers of loue, conducting amorous soules into infinite trauels, with inconueniences no way auoidable, and not easily to be foreseene, or preuented. As partly already hath beene obserued, by diuers of our for­mer [Page] Nouels related, and some (no doubt) to ensue hereafter; for one of them (comming now to my memory) I shall acquaint you withall, in so good tearmes as I can.

Ischia is an Iland very neere to Naples, wherein (not long since) liued a faire and louely Gentlewoman, named Restituta, Daughter to a Gentle­man of the same Isle, whose name was Marino Bolgaro. A proper youth called Guion, dwelling also in a neere neighbouring Isle, called Procida, did loue her as dearely as his owne life, and she was as intimately affected towards him. Now because the sight of her was his onely comfort, as oc­casion gaue him leaue; he resorted to Ischia very often in the day time, and as often also in the night season, when any Barque passed from Procida to Ischia; if to see nothing else, yet to behold the walles that enclosed his Mi­stresse thus.

While this loue continued in equall feruency, it chanced vpon a faire Summers day, that Restituta walked alone vpon the Sea-shoare, going from Rocke to Rocke, hauing a naked knife in her hand, wherewith shee opened such Oysters as shee found among the stones, seeking for small pearles enclosed in their shelles. Her walke was very solitary and shady, with a faire Spring or well adioyning to it, and thither (at that very instant time) certaine Sicilian young Gentlemen, which came from Naples, had made their retreate. They perceiuing the Gentlewoman to be very beau­tifull (shee as yet not hauing any sight of them) and in such a silent place alone by her selfe: concluded together, to make a purchase of her, and carry her thence away with them; as indeed they did, notwithstanding all her out-cryes and exclaimes, bearing her perforce aboard their Barque.

Setting sayle thence, they arriued in Calabria, and then there grew a great contention betweene them, to which of them this booty of beauty should belong; because each of them pleaded a title to her. But when they could not grow to any agreement, but doubted greater disaster would en­sue thereon, by breaking their former league of friendship: by an equall conformity in consent, they resolued, to bestow her as a rich present, on Frederigo King of Sicilie, who was then young & iouiall, and could not be pleased with a better gift; wherefore, they were no sooner landed at Paler­mo, but they did according as they had determined. The King did com­mend her beauty extraordinarily, and liked her farre beyond all his other Loues: but, being at that time empaired in his health, and his body much distempered by ill dyet; he gaue command, that vntill he should be in more able disposition, shee must be kept in a goodly house of his owne, erected in a beautifull Garden, called the Cube, where shee was attended in most pompeous manner.

Now grew the noyse and rumor great in Ischia, about this rape or stea­ling away of Restituta; but the chiefest greeuance of all, was, that it could not be knowne how, by whom, or by what meanes. But Guion di Procida, whom this iniury concerned much more then any other; stood not in ex­pectation of better tydings from Ischia, but hearing what course the Barke had taken, made ready another, to follow after with all possible speede. [Page 196] Flying thus on the winged minds through the Seas, euen from Minerua, vnto the Scalea in Calabria, searching for his lost Loue in euery angle: at length it was tolde him at the Scale [...] that shee was carried away by cer­taine Sicillian Marriners, to Palermo, whither Guion set sayle immedi­ately.

After some diligent search made there, he vnderstood, that she was de­liuered to the King, and he had giuen strict command, for keeping her in his place of pleasure; called the Cube: which newes were not a little gree­uous to him, for now he was almost quite out of hope, not onely of euer enioying her, but also of seeing her. Neuerthelesse, Loue would not let him vtterly despaire, whereupon he sent away his Barque, and perceiuing himselfe to be vnk owne of any; he continued for some time in Palermo, walking many times by that goodly place of pleasure. It chanced on a day, that keeping his walke as he vsed to doe, Fortune was so fauourable to him, as to let him haue a sight of her at her window; from whence also she had a full view of him, to their exceeding comfort and contentment. And Guion obseruing, that the Cube was seated in a place of small resort; approached so neere as possibly he durst, to haue some conference with Restituta.

As Loue sets a keene edge on the dullest spirit, and (by a small aduan­tage) makes a man the more aduenturous: so this little time of vnseene talke, inspired him with courage, and her with witty aduice, by what meanes his accesse might be much neerer to her, and their communicati­on concealed from any discouery, the scituation of the place, and benefit of time duly considered. Night must be the cloud to their amorous con­clusion, and therefore, so much thereof being spent, as was thought con­uenient, he returned thither againe, prouided of such grappling-yrons, as is required when men will clamber, made fast vnto his hands and knees; by their helpe he attained to the top of the wall, whence discending downe into the Garden, there he found the maine yard of a ship, whereof before shee had giuen him instruction, and rearing it vp against her cham­ber window, made that his meanes for ascending thereto, shee hauing left it open for his easier entrance.

You cannot denie (faire Ladies) but here was a very hopefull begin­ning, and likely to haue as happy an ending, were it not true Loues fatall misery, euen in the very height of promised assurance, to be thwarted by vnkind preuention, and in such manner as I will tell you. This night, in­tended for our Louers meeting, proued disastrous and dreadfull to them both: for the King, who at the first sight of Restituta, was highly pleased with her excelling beauty; gaue order to his Eunuches and other women, that a costly bathe should be prepared for her, and therein to let her weare away that night, because the next day he intended to visit her. Restituta being royally conducted from her Chamber to the Bathe, attended on with Torch-light, as if shee had been a Queene: none remained there be­hind, but such women as waited on her, and the Guards without, which watched the Chamber.

[Page] No sooner was poore Guian aloft at the window, calling softly to his Mistresse, as if she had beene there; but he was ouer-heard by the women in the darke, and immediately apprehended by the Guard, who forthwith brought him before the Lord Marshall, where being examined, and he a­uouching, that Restituta was his elected wife, and for her he had presumed in that manner; closely was he kept in prison till the next morning. When he came into the Kings presence, and there boldly iustified the goodnesse of his cause: Restituta likewise was sent for, who no sooner saw her deare Loue Guian, but shee ran and caught him fast about the necke, kissing him in teares, and greeuing not a little at his hard fortune. Hereat the King grew exceedingly enraged, loathing and hating her now, much more then formerly he did affect her, and hauing himselfe seene, by what strange meanes he did climbe ouer the wall, and then mounted to her Chamber window; he was extreamely impatient, and could not otherwise be per­swaded, but that their meetings thus had beene very many.

Forthwith he sentenced them both with death, commanding, that they should be conueyed thence to Palermo, and there (being stript starke naked) be bound to a stake backe to backe, and so to stand the full space of nine houres, to see if any could take knowledge, of whence, or what they were; then afterward, to be consumed with fire. The sentence of death, did not so much daunt or dismay the poore Louers, as the vnciuill and vnsightly manner, which (in feare of the Kings wrathfull displeasure) no man durst presume to contradict. Wherefore, as he had commanded, so were they carried thence to Palermo, and bound naked to a stake in the open Market place, and (before their eyes) the fire and wood brought, which was to consume them, according to the houre as the King had appointed. You need not make any question, what an huge concourse of people were soone assembled together, to behold such a sad and wofull spectacle, euen the whole City of Palermo, both men and women. The men were stricken with admiration, beholding the vnequalled beauty of faire Restituta, & the selfe same passion possessed the women, seeing Guian to be such a goodly and compleat young man: but the poore infortunate Louers themselues, they stood with their lookes deiected to the ground, being much pittied of all, but no way to be holpen or rescued by any, a­waiting when the happy houre would come, to finish both their shame and liues together.

During the time of this tragicall expectation, the fame of this publike execution being noysed abroade, calling all people farre and neere to be­hold it; it came to the eare of Don Rogiero de Oria, a man of much admired valour, and then the Lord high Admirall of Sicily, who came himselfe in person, to the place appointed for their death. First he obserued the May­den, confessing her (in his soule) to be a beauty beyond all compare. Then looking on the young man, thus he saide within himselfe: If the inward endowments of the mind, doe paralell the outward perfections of body; the World cannot yeeld a more compleate man. Now, as good natures are quickly incited to compassion (especially in cases almost commanding [Page 197] it) and compassion knocking at the doore of the soule, doth quicken the memory with many passed recordations: so this noble Admirall, aduised­ly beholding poore condemned Guion, conceiued, that he had somewhat seene him before this instant, and vpon this perswasion (euen as if diuine vertue had tutured his tongue) he saide: Is not thy name Guion di Pro­cida?

Marke now, how quickly misery can receiue comfort, vpon so poore and silly a question; for Guion began to eleuate his deiected countenance, and looking on the Admirall, returned him this answere. Sir, heretofore I haue been the man which you spake of; but now, both that name and man must die with me. What misfortune (quoth the Admirall) hath thus vn­kindly crost thee? Loue (answered Guion) and the Kings displeasure. Then the Admirall would needs know the whole history at large, which briefly was related to him, and hauing heard how all had happened; as he was turning his Horse to ride away thence, Guion called to him, saying. Good my Lord, entreate one fauour for me, if possible it may be. What is that? replyed the Admirall. You see Sir (quoth Guion) that I am very shortly to breathe my last; all the grace which I doe most humbly entreate, is, that as I am here with this chaste Virgin, (whom I honour and loue beyond my life) and miserably bound backe to backe: our faces may be turned each to other, to the end, that when the fire shall finish my life, by looking on her, my soule may take her flight in full felicity. The Admirall smy­ling, saide; I will doe for thee what I can, and (perhaps) thou mayest so long looke on her, as thou wilt be weary, and desire to looke off her.

At his departure, he commanded them that had the charge of this exe­cution, to proceede no further, vntill they heard more from the King, to whom hee gallopped immediately, and although hee beheld him to be very angerly moued; yet he spared not to speake in this manner. Sir, wher­in haue those poore young couple offended you, that are so shamefully to be burnt at Palermo? The King told him: whereto the Admirall (pursu­ing still his purpose) thus replyed. Beleeue me Sir, if true loue be an of­fence, then theirs may be termed to be one; and albeit it did deserue death, yet farre be it from thee to inflict it on them: for as faults doe iustly re­quire punishment, so doe good turnes as equally merit grace and requi­tall. Knowest thou what and who they are, whom thou hast so dishonou­rably condemned to the fire? Not I, quoth the King. Why then I will tell thee, answered the Admirall, that thou mayest take the better knowledge of them, and forbeare hereafter, to be so ouer-violently transported with anger.

The young Gentleman, is the Sonne to Landolfo di Procida, the onely Brother to Lord Iohn di Procida, by whose meanes thou becamest Lord and King of this Countrey. The faire young Damosell, is the Daughter to Marino Bolgaro, whose power extendeth so farre, as to preserue thy pre­rogatiue in Ischia, which (but for him) had long since beene out-rooted there. Beside, these two maine motiues, to challenge iustly grace and fa­uour from thee; they are in the floure and pride of their youth, hauing [Page] long continued in loyall loue together, and compelled by feruency of en­deared affection, not any wil to displease thy Maiesty: they haue offended (if it may be termed an offence to loue, and in such louely young people as they are.) Canst thou then find in thine heart to let them die, whom thou rather oughtest to honour, and recompence with no meane re­wards?

When the King had heard this, and beleeued for a certainty, that the Admirall told him nothing but truth: he appointed not onely, that they should proceede no further, but also was exceeding sorrowfull for what he had done, sending presently to haue them released from the Stake, and honourably to be brought before him. Being thus enstructed in their se­uerall qualities, and standing in duty obliged, to recompence the wrong which he had done, with respectiue honours: he caused them to be cloa­thed in royall garments, and knowing them to be knit in vnity of soule; the like he did by marrying them sollemnly together, and bestowing ma­ny rich gifts and presents on them, sent them honourably attented home to Ischia; where they were with much ioy and comfort receiued, and li­ued long after in great felicity.

The seuenth Nouell.

GReatly were the Ladies minds perplexed, when they heard, that the two poore Louers were in danger to be burned: but hearing after­ward of their happy deliuerance, for which they were as ioyfull againe; vpon the concluding of the Nouell, the Queene looked on Madam Lau­retta, enioyning her to tell the next Tale, which willingly she vndertooke to doe, and thus began.

Faire Ladies, at such time as the good King William reigned in Sicily, there liued within the same Dominions a young Gentleman, named Sig­nior Amarigo, Abbot of Trapani, who (among his other worldly blessings, commonly termed the goods of Fortune) was not vnfurnished of chil­dren; and therefore hauing neede of seruants, he made his prouision of them as best he might. At that time, certaine Gallies of Geneway Pyrates comming from the Easterne parts, which coasting along Armenia, had taken diuers children; he bought some of them, thinking that they were Turkes. They all resembling clownish Peazants, yet there was one a­mong them, who seemed to be of more tractable and gentle nature, yea, and of a more affable countenance then any of the rest, being named, [Page 198] Theodoro: who growing on in yeeres, (albeit he liued in the condition of a seruant) was educated among Amarigoes Children, and as enstructed ra­ther by nature, then accident, his conditions were very much commen­ded, as also the feature of his body, which proued so highly pleasing to his Master Amarigo, that he made him a free man, and imagining him to be a Turke, caused him to be baptized, and named Pedro, creating him su­perintendent of all his affaires, and reposing his chiefest trust in him.

As the other Children of Signior Amarigo grew in yeeres and stature, so did a Daughter of his, named Violenta, a very goodly and beautifull Damosell, somewhat ouer-long kept from marriage by her Fathers coue­tousnesse, and casting an eye of good liking on poore Pedro. Now, albeit shee loued him very dearely, and all his behauiour was most pleasing to her, yet maiden modesty forbad her to reueale it, till Loue (too long con­cealed) must needes disclose it selfe. Which Pedro at the length tooke notice of, and grew so forward towards her in equality of affection, as the very sight of her was his onely happinesse. Yet very fearefull he was, least it should be noted, either by any of the House, or the Maiden her selfe: who yet well obserued it, and to her no meane contentment, as it appea­red no lesse (on the other side) to honest Pedro.

While thus they loued together meerely in dumbe shewes, not daring to speake to each other, (though nothing more desired) to find some ease in this their oppressing passions: Fortune, euen as if shee pittied their so long languishing, enstructed them how to find out a way, whereby they might both better releeue themselues. Signior Amarigo, about some two or three miles distance from Trapani, had a Countrey-House or Farme, whereto his Wife, with her Daughter and some other women, vsed often­times [Page] to make their resort, as it were in sportfull recreation; Pedro al­wayes being diligent to man them thither. One time among the rest, it came to passe, as often it falleth out in the Summer season, that the faire Skie became suddenly ouer-clouded, euen as they were returning home towards Trapani, threatning a storme of raine to ouertake them, except they made the speedier haste.

Pedro, who was young, and likewise Violenta, went farre more lightly then her Mother and her company, as much perhaps prouoked by loue, as feare of the sudden raine falling, and paced on so fast before them, that they were wholly out of sight. After many flashes of lightning, and a few dreadfull clappes of thunder, there fell such a tempestuous shower of hayle, as compelled the Mother and her traine to shelter themselues in a poore Countrey-mans Cottage. Pedro and Violenta hauing no other re­fuge, ranne likewise into a poore Sheepe-coate, so ouer ruined, as it was in danger to fall on their heads; for no body dwelt in it, neither stood any other house neere it, and it was scarcely any shelter for them, howbeit, necessity enforceth to make shift with the meanest. The storme encreasing more & more, and they coueting to auoide it so well as they could, sighes and drie hemmes were often inter-uented, as dumbly (before) they were wont to doe, when willingly they could affoord another kind of spea­king.

At last Pedro tooke heart, and saide: I would this shower would neuer cease, that I might be alwayes where I am. The like could I wish, answe­red Violenta, so we were in a better place of safety. These wishes drew on other gentle language, with modest kisses and embraces, the onely ease to poore Louers soules; so that the raine ceased not, till they had taken order for their oftner conuersing, and absolute plighting of their faithes toge­ther. By this time the storme was fairely ouer blowne, and they atten­ding on the way, till the Mother and the rest were come, with whom they returned to Trapani, where by wise and prouident meanes, they often con­ferred in priuate together, and enioyed the benefit of their amorous de­sires, yet free from any ill surmise or suspition.

But, as Louers felicities are sildome permanent, without one encoun­tring crosse or other: so these stolne pleasures of Pedro and Violenta, met with as sowre a sauce in the farewell. For, shee proued to be conceiued with childe, then which could befall them no heauier affliction, and Pedro fearing to loose his life therefore, determined immediate flight, and re­uealed his purpose to Violenta. Which when she heard, she told him plain­ly, that if he fled, forth-with shee would kill her selfe. Alas deare Loue (quoth Pedro) with what reason can you wish my tarrying here? This conception of yours, doth discouer our offence, which a Fathers pity may easily pardon in you: but I being his seruant and vassall, shall be punished both for your sinne and mine, because he will haue no mercy on me. Con­tent thy selfe Pedro, replyed Violenta, I will take such order for mine owne offence, by the discreete counsell of my louing Mother, that no blame shall any way be laide on thee, or so much as a surmise, except thou wilt [Page 199] fondly betray thy selfe. If you can doe so, answered Pedro, and constantly maintaine your promise; I will not depart, but see that you proue to be so good as your word.

Violenta, who had concealed her amisse so long as shee could, and saw no other remedy, but now at last it must needes be discouered; went pri­uately to her Mother, and (in teares) reuealed her infirmity, humbly cra­uing her pardon, and furtherance in hiding it from her Father. The Mo­ther being extraordinarily displeased, chiding her with many sharpe and angry speeches, would needes know with whom shee had thus offended. The Daughter (to keepe Pedro from any detection) forged a Tale of her owne braine, farre from any truth indeede, which her Mother verily be­leeuing, and willing to preserue her Daughter from shame, as also the fierce anger of her Husband, he being a man of very implacable nature: conueyed her to the Countrey-Farme, whither Signior Amarigo sildome or neuer resorted, intending (vnder the shadow of sicknesse) to let her lie in there, without the least suspition of any in Trapani.

Sinne and shame can neuer be so closely carried, or clouded with the greatest cunning; but truth hath a loop-light whereby to discouer it, euen when it supposeth it selfe in the surest safety. For, on the very day of her deliuerance, at such time as the Mother, and some few friends (sworne to secrecy) were about the businesse: Signior Amarigo, hauing beene in com­pany of other Gentlemen, to flye his Hawke at the Riuer, vpon a sudden, (but very vnfortunately, albeit he was alone by himselfe) stept into his Farme house, euen to the next roome where the women were, and heard the new-borne Babe to cry, whereat maruelling not a little, he called for his Wife, to know what young childe cryed in his House. The Mother, amazed at his so strange comming thither, which neuer before he had vsed to doe, and pittying the wofull distresse of her Daughter, which now could be no longer couered, reuealed what happened to Violenta. But he, being nothing so rash in beliefe, as his Wife was, made answere, that it was impossible for his Daughter to be conceiued with childe, because he neuer obserued the least signe of loue in her to any man whatsoeuer, and therefore he would be satisfied in the truth, as shee expected any fauour from him, for else there was no other way but death.

The Mother laboured by all meanes shee could deuise, to pacifie her Husbands fury, which proued all in vaine; for being thus impatiently in­censed, he drew foorth his Sword, and stepping with it drawne into the Chamber (where she had been deliuered of a goodly Sonne) he said vnto her. Either tell me who is the Father of this Bastard, or thou and it shall perish both together. Poore Violenta, lesse respecting her owne life, then she did the childes; forgot her sollemne promise made to Pedro, and disco­uered all. Which when Amarigo had heard, he grew so desperately en­raged, that hardly he could forbeare from killing her. But after he had spoken what his fury enstructed him, hee mounted on Horse-backe a­gaine, ryding backe to Trapani, where he disclosed the iniury which Pe­dro had done him, to a noble Gentleman, named Signior Conrado, who [Page] was Captaine for the King ouer the City.

Before poore Pedro could haue any intelligence, or so much as suspe­cted any treachery against him; he was suddenly apprehended, and being called in question, stood not on any deniall, but confessed truly what he had done: whereupon, within some few dayes after, he was condemned by the Captaine, to be whipt to the place of execution, and afterward to be hanged by the necke. Signior Amarigo, because he would cut off (at one and the same time) not onely the liues of the two poore Louers, but their childes also; as a franticke man, violently carried from all sense of compas­sion, euen when Pedro was led and whipt to his death: he mingled strong poyson in a Cup of wine, deliuering it to a trusty seruant of his owne, and a naked Rapier withall, speaking to him in this manner. Goe carry these two presents to my late Daughter Violenta, and tell her from me, that in this instant houre, two seuerall kinds of death are offered vnto her, and one of them she must make choyce of, either to drinke the poyson, and so die, or to run her body on this Rapiers point, which if she denie to doe, she shall be haled to the publike market place, and presently be burned in the sight of her lewd companion, according as shee hath worthily deser­ued. When thou hast deliuered her this message, take her bastard brat, so lately since borne, and dash his braines out against the walles, and af­terward throw him to my Dogges to feede on.

When the Father had giuen this cruell sentence, both against his own Daughter, and her young Sonne, the seruant, readier to doe euill, then any good, went to the place where his Daughter was kept. Poore condemned Pedro, (as you haue heard) was ledde whipt to the lybbet, and passing (as it pleased the Captaines Officers to guide him) by a faire Inne: at the same time were lodged there three chiefe persons of Armenia, whom the King of the Countrey had sent to Rome, as Ambassadours to the Popes Holi­nesse, to negociate about an important businesse neerely concerning the King and State. Reposing there for some few dayes, as being much wea­ried with their iourney, and highly honoured by the Gentlemen of Tra­pani, especially Signior Amarigo; these Ambassadours standing in their Chamber window, heard the wofull lamentations of Pedro in his passage by.

Pedro was naked from the middle vpward, and his hands bound fast be­hind him, but being well obserued by one of the Ambassadours, a man a­ged, and of great authority, named Phineo: he espied a great red spot vp­pon his breast, not painted, or procured by his punishment, but naturally imprinted in the flesh, which women (in these parts) terme the Rose. Vp­pon the sight hereof, he suddenly remembred a Sonne of his owne, which was stolne from him about fifteene yeeres before, by Pyrates on the Sea­coast of Laiazzo, neuer hearing any tydings of him afterward. Vpon fur­ther consideration, and compairing his Sonnes age with the likelyhood of this poore wretched mans; thus he conferred with his owne thoughts. If my Sonne (quoth he) be liuing, his age is equall to this mans time, and by the redde blemish on his brest, it plainely speakes him for to be my Sonne.

[Page 200] Moreouer, thus he conceiued, that if it were he, he could not but re­member his owne name, his Fathers, and the Armenian Language; where­fore, when hee was iust opposite before the window, hee called aloud to him, saying: Theodoro. Pedro hearing the voyce, presently lifted vp his head, and Phineo speaking Armenian, saide: Of whence art thou, and what is thy Fathers name? The Sergeants (in reuerence to the Lord Ambassa­dour) stayed a while, till Pedro had returned his answer, who saide. I am an Armenian borne, Sonne to one Phineo, and was brought hither I can­not tell by whom. Phineo hearing this, knew then assuredly, that this was the same Sonne which he had lost; wherefore, the teares standing in his eyes with conceite of ioy: downe he descended from the window, and the other Ambassadours with him, running in among the Sergeants to em­brace his Sonne, and casting his owne rich Cloake about his whipt body, entreating them to forbeare and proceed no further, till they heard what command he should returne withall vnto them; which very willingly they promised to doe.

Already, by the generall rumour dispersed abroade, Phineo had vnder­stood the occasion, why Pedro was thus punished, and sentenced to be hanged; wherefore, accompanied with his fellow Ambassadours, and all their attending traine, he went to Signior Conrado, and spake thus to him. My Lord, he whom you haue sent to death as a slaue, is a free Gentleman borne, and my Sonne, able to make her amends whom he hath dishono­red, by taking her in mariage as his lawfull Wife. Let me therefore en­treate you, to make stay of the execution, vntill it may be knowne, whether she will accept him as her Husband, or no; least (if she be so pleased) you offend directly against your owne Law. When Signior Conrado heard, that Pedro was Sonne to the Lord Ambassadour, he wondered thereat not a little, and being somewhat ashamed of his fortunes errour, confes­sed, that the claime of Phineo was conformable to Law, and ought not to be denied him; going presently to the Councell Chamber, sending for Signior Amarigo immediately thither, and acquainting him fully with the case.

Amarigo, who beleeued that his Daughter and her Child were already dead, was the wofullest man in the World, for his so rash proceeding, knowing very well, that if shee were not dead, the scandall would easily be wipt away with credit. Wherefore he sent in all poast haste, to the place where his Daughter lay, that if his command were not already exe­cuted, by no meanes to haue it done at all. He who went on this speedy errand, found there Signior Amarigoes seruant standing before Violenta, with the Cup of poyson in his one hand, and the drawne Rapier in the other, reproaching herewith very foule and iniurious speeches, because shee had delayed the time so long, and would not accept the one or other, striuing (by violence) to make her take the one. But hearing his Masters command to the contrary, he left her, and returned backe to him, certify­ing him how the case stood.

Most highly pleased was Amarigo with these glad newes, and going to [Page] the Ambassadour Phineo, in teares excused himselfe (so well as he could) for his seuerity, and crauing pardon; assured him, that if Theodoro would accept his Daughter in mariage, willingly he would bestow her on him. Phineo allowed his excuses to be tollerable, and saide beside; If my Sonne will not mary your Daughter, then let the sentence of death be executed on him. Amarigo and Phineo being thus accorded, they went to poore Theodoro, fearefully looking euery minute when he should die, yet ioyfull that he had found his Father, who presently moued the question to him. Theodoro hearing that Violenta should be his Wife, if he would so accept her: was ouercome with such exceeding ioy, as if he had leapt out of hell into Paradise; confessing, that no greater felicity could befall him, if Violen­ta her selfe were so well pleased as he.

The like motion was made to her, to vnderstand her disposition in this case, who hearing what good hap had befalne Theodoro, and now in like manner must happen to her: whereas not long before, when two such vio­lent deathes were prepared for her, and one of them she must needes em­brace, shee accounted her misery beyond all other womens, but shee now thought her selfe aboue all in happinesse, if she might be wife to her belo­ued Theodoro, submitting her selfe wholy to her Fathers disposing. The mariage being agreed on betweene them, it was celebrated with great pompe and sollemnity, a generall Feast being made for all the Citizens, and the young maried couple nourished vp their sweete Son, which grew to be a very comely childe.

After that the Embassie was dispatched at Rome, and Phineo (with the rest) was returned thither againe; Violenta did reuerence him as her owne naturall Father, and he was not a little proud of so louely a Daughter, be­ginning a fresh feasting againe, and continuing the same a whole moneth together. Within some short while after, a Galley being fairely furnished for the purpose, Phineo, his Sonne, Daughter, and their young Son went aboard, sayling away thence to Laiazzo, where afterward they liued long in much tranquility.

The eighth Nouell.

[Page 201] SO soone as Madam Lauretta held her peace, Madam Philomena (by the Queenes command) began, and saide. Louely Ladies, as pitty is most highly commended in our Sexe, euen so is cruelty in vs as seuerely reuen­ged (oftentimes) by diuine ordination. Which that you may the better know, and learne likewise to shun, as a deadly euill; I purpose to make ap­parant by a Nouell, no lesse full of compassion, then delectable.

Rauenna being a very ancient City in Romania, there dwelt sometime a great number of worthy Gentlemen, among whom I am to speake of one more especially, named Anastasio, descended from the Family of the Ho­nesti, who by the death of his Father, and an Vnkle of his, was left extraor­dinarily abounding in riches; and growing to yeeres fitting for mariage, (as young Gallants are easily apt enough to doe) he became enamoured of a very beautifull Gentlewoman, who was Daughter to Signior Paulo Trauersario, one of the most ancient and noble Families in all the Coun­trey. Nor made he any doubt, but by his meanes and industrious ende­uour, to deriue affection from her againe; for hee carried himselfe like a braue minded Gentleman, liberall in his expences, honest and affable in all his actions, which commonly are the true notes of a good nature, and highly to be commended in any man. But, howsoeuer Fortune became his enemy, these laudable parts of manhood did not any way friend him, but rather appeared hurtfull to him: so cruell, vnkind, and almost meerely sauage did she shew her selfe to him; perhaps in pride of her singular beau­ty, or presuming on her nobility by birth, both which are on her blemi­shes, then ornaments in a woman, especially when they be abused.

The harsh and vnciuill vsage in her, grew very distastefull to Anastasio, and so vnsufferable, that after a long time of fruitlesse seruice, requited still [Page] with nothing but coy disdain; desperate resolutions entred into his brain, and often he was minded to kill himselfe. But better thoughts supplan­ting those furious passions, he abstained from any such violent act; & go­uerned by more manly consideration, determined, that as she hated him, he would require her with the like, if he could: wherein he became alto­gether deceiued, because as his hopes grew to a dayly decaying, yet his loue enlarged it selfe more and more.

Thus Anastasio perseuering still in his bootelesse affection, and his ex­pences not limited within any compasse; it appeared in the iudgement of his Kindred and Friends, that he was falne into a mighty consumption, both of his body and meanes. In which respect, many times they adui­sed him to leaue the City of Rauenna, and liue in some other place for such a while; as might set a more moderate stint vpon his spendings, and bri­dle the indiscreete course of his loue, the onely fuell which fed this furi­ous fire.

Anastasio held out thus a long time, without lending an eare to such friendly counsell: but in the end, he was so neerely followed by them, as being no longer able to deny them, he promised to accomplish their re­quest. Whereupon, making such extraordinary preparation, as if he wer to set thence for France or Spaine, or else into some further distant coun­trey: he mounted on horsebacke, and accompanied with some few of his familiar friends, departed from Rauenna, and rode to a country dwelling house of his owne, about three or foure miles distant from the Cittie, which was called Chiasso, and there (vpon a very goodly greene) erecting diuers Tents and Pauillions, such as great persons make vse of in the time of a Progresse: he said to his friends, which came with him thither, that there hee determined to make his abiding, they all returning backe vnto Rauenna, and might come to visite him againe so often as they pleased.

Now, it came to passe, that about the beginning of May, it being then a very milde and serrene season, and he leading there a much more mag­nificent life, then euer he had done before, inuiting diuers to dine with him this day, and as many to morrow, and not to leaue him till after sup­per: vpon the sodaine, falling into remembrance of his cruell Mistris, hee commanded all his seruants to forbeare his company, and suffer him to walke alone by himselfe awhile, because he had occasion of priuate medi­tations, wherein he would not (by any meanes) be troubled. It was then about the ninth houre of the day, and he walking on solitary all alone, ha­uing gone some halfe miles distance from his Tents, entred into a Groue of Pine-trees, neuer minding dinner time, or any thing else, but only the vnkind requitall of his loue.

Sodainly he heard the voice of a woman, seeming to make most mourn­full complaints, which breaking of his silent considerations, made him to lift vp his head, to know the reason of this noise. When he saw himselfe so farre entred into the Groue, before he could imagine where he was; hee looked amazedly round about him, and out of a little thicket of bushes & briars, round engirt with spreading trees, hee espyed a young Damosell [Page 202] come running towards him, naked from the middle vpward, her haire di­sheuelled on her shoulders, and her faire skinne rent and torne with the briars and brambles, so that the blood ran trickling downe mainly; shee weeping, wringing her hands, and crying out for mercy so lowde as shee could. Two fierce Blood-hounds also followed swiftly after, and where their teeth tooke hold, did most cruelly bite her. Last of all (mounted on a lusty blacke Courser) came gallopping a Knight, with a very sterne and angry countenance, holding a drawne short Sword in his hand, giuing her very vile and dreadfull speeches, and threatning euerie minute to kill her.

This strange and vncouth sight, bred in him no meane admiration, as also kinde compassion to the vnfortunate woman; out of which compas­sion, sprung an earnest desire, to deliuer her (if he could) from a death so full of anguish and horror: but seeing himselfe to be without Armes, hee ran and pluckt vp the plant of a Tree, which handling as if it had beene a staffe, he opposed himselfe against the Dogges and the Knight, who see­ing him comming, cryed out in this manner to him. Anastasio, put not thy selfe in any opposition, but referre to my Hounds and me, to punish this wicked woman as she hath iustly deserued. And in speaking these words, the Hounds tooke fast hold on her body, so staying her, vntill the Knight was come neerer to her, and alighted from his horse: when Ana­stasio (after some other angry speeches) spake thus vnto him. I cannot tell what or who thou art, albeit thou takest such knowledge of me: yet I must say, that it is meere cowardize in a Knight, being armed as thou art, to of­fer to kill a naked woman, and make thy dogges thus to seize on her, as if she were a sauage beast; therefore beleeue me, I will defend her so farre as I am able.

Anastasio, answered the Knight, I am of the same City as thou art, and do well remember, that thou wast a little Ladde, when I (who was then named Guido Anastasio, and thine Vnckle) became as intirely in loue with this woman, as now thou art of Paulo Trauersarioes daughter. But through her coy disdaine and cruelty, such was my heauy fate, that desperately I slew my selfe with this short sword which thou beholdest in mine hand: for which rash sinfull deede, I was and am condemned to eternall punish­ment. This wicked woman, reioycing immeasurably in mine vnhappie death, remained no long time aliue after me, and for her mercilesse sinne of cruelty, and taking pleasure in my oppressing torments; dying vnre­pentant, and in pride of her scorne, she had the like sentence of condem­nation pronounced on her, and sent to the same place where I was tor­mented.

There the three impartiall Iudges, imposed this further infliction on vs both; namely, that shee should flye in this manner before mee, and I (who loued her so deerely while I liued) must pursue her as my deadly e­nemy, not like a woman that had any taste of loue in her. And so often as I can ouertake her, I am to kill her with this sword, the same Weapon wherewith I slew my selfe. Then am I enioyned, therewith to open her [Page] accursed body, and teare out her hard and frozen heart, with her other in­wards, as now thou seest me doe, which I giue vnto my hounds to feede on. Afterward, such is the appointment of the supreame powers, that she re-assumeth life againe, euen as if she had not bene dead at all, and fal­ling to the same kinde of flight, I with my houndes am still to follow her, without any respite or intermission. Euery Friday, and iust at this houre, our course is this way, where shee suffereth the iust punishment inflicted on her. Nor do we rest any of the other dayes, but are appointed vnto o­ther places, where she cruelly executed her malice against me, being now (of her dear affectionate frend) ordained to be her endlesse enemy, and to pursue her in this manner) for so many yeeres, as she exercised monthes of cruelty towards me. Hinder me not then, in being the executioner of diuine iustice; for all thy interposition is but in vaine, in seeking to crosse the appointment of supreame powers.

Anastasio hauing attentiuely heard all this discourse, his haire stoode vpright like Porcupines quils, and his soule was so shaken with the terror, that he stept back to suffer the Knight ro doe what he was enioyned, loo­king yet with milde commisseration on the poore woman. Who knee­ling most humbly before the Knight, & sternly seised on by the two blood hounds, he opened her brest with his weapon, drawing foorth her heart and bowels, which instantly he threw to the dogges, and they deuoured them very greedily. Soone after, the Damosell (as if none of this punish­ment had bene inflicted on her) started vp sodainly, running amaine to­wards the Sea shore, and the Hounds swiftly following her, as the Knight did the like, after he had taken his sword, and was mounted on horseback; so that Anastasio had soon lost all sight of them, and could not gesse what was become of them.

After he had heard and obserued all these things, he stoode awhile as confounded with feare and pitty, like a simple silly man, hoodwinkt with his owne passions, not knowing the subtle enemies cunning illusions, in offering false suggestions to the sight, to worke his owne ends thereby, & encrease the number of his deceiued seruants. Forthwith hee perswaded himself, that he might make good vse of this womans tormenting, so iust­ly imposed on the Knight to prosecute, if thus it should continue still eue­ry Friday. Wherefore, setting a good note or marke vpon the place, hee returned backe to his owne people, and at such time as hee thought con­uenient, sent for diuers of his kindred and friends from Rauenna, who be­ing present with him, thus hee spake to them.

Deare Kinsmen and Friends, ye haue a long while importuned mee, to discontinue my ouer-doating loue to her, whom you all think, and I find to be my mortall enemy: as also, to giue ouer my lauish expences, where­in I confesse my selfe too prodigall; both which requests of yours, I will condiscend to, prouided, that you wil performe one gracious fauour for mee; Namely, that on Friday next, Signior Paulo Trauersario, his wife, daughter, with all other women linked in linage to them, and such beside onely as you shall please to appoynt, will vouchsafe to accept a dinner [Page 203] heere with mee; as for the reason thereto moouing mee, you shall then more at large be acquainted withall. This appeared no difficult matter for them to accomplish: wherefore, being returned to Rauenna, and as they found the time answerable to their purpose, they inuited such as A­nastasio had appointed thē. And although they found it somwhat [...]n hard matter, to gain her company whom he so deerely affected; yet notwith­standing, the other women won her along with them.

A most magnificent dinner had Anastasio prouided, and the tables wer couered vnder the Pine-trees, where hee saw the cruell Lady so pursued and slaine: directing the guests so in their seating, that the yong Gentle­woman his vnkinde Mistresse, sate with her face opposite vnto the place, where the dismall spectacle was to be seene. About the closing vp of din­ner, they beganne to heare the noise of the poore prosecuted Woman, which droue them all to much admiration; desiring to know what it was, and no one resoluing them, they arose from the tables, and looking di­rectly as the noise came to them, they espied the wofull Woman, the Dogges eagerly pursuing her; and the armed Knight on horse back [...] ­lopping fiercely after them with his drawn weapon, and came very nere vnto the company, who cryed out with lowd exclaimes against the dogs and the Knight, stepping forth in assistance of the iniuried woman.

The Knight spake vnto them, as formerly hee had done to Anastasio, (which made them draw backe, possessed with feare and admiration) a­cting the same cruelty as hee did the Friday before, not differing in the least degree. Most of the Gentlewomen there present, being neere ally­ed to the vnfortunate Woman, and likewise to the Knight, remembring well both his loue and death, did shed teares as plentifully, as if it had b [...]n to the very persons themselues, in visiall performance of the action in­deede. Which tragicall Scene being passed ouer, and the Woman and Knight gone out of their sight: all that had seene this straunge accident, fell into diuersity of confused opinions, yet not daring to disclose them, as doubting some further danger to ensue thereon.

But beyond al the rest, none could compare in feare and astonishment with the cruell yong Maide affected by Anastasio, who both saw and ob­serued all with a more inward apprehension, knowing very well, that the morall of this dismall spectacle, carried a much neerer application to her then any other in all the company. For now she could call to mind, how vnkinde and cruell she had shewn her selfe to Anastasio, euen as the other Gentlewoman formerly did to her Louer, still flying from him in great contempt and scorne: for which, shee thought the Blood-hounds also pursued her at the heeles already, and a sword of due vengeance to man­gle her body. This feare grew so powerfull in her, that, to preuent the like heauy doome from falling on her; she studied (by all her best & com­mendable meanes, and therein bestowed all the night season) how to change her hatred into kinde loue, which at the length shee fully obtay­ned, and then purposed to prosecute in this manner.

Secretly she sent a faithfull Chamber-maide of her owne, to greete [Page] Anastasio on her behalfe; humbly entreating him to come see her: be­cause now she was absolutely determined, to giue him satisfaction in all which (with honour) he could request of her. Whereto Anastasio answe­red, that he accepted her message thankfully, and desired no other fauor at her hand, but that which stood with her owne offer, namely, to be his Wife in honourable marriage. The Maide knowing sufficiently, that hee could not be more desirous of the match, then her Mistresse shewed her selfe to be, made answere in her name, that this motion would bee most welcome to her.

Heereupon, the Gentlewoman her selfe, became the solicitour to her Father and Mother, telling them plainly, that she was willing to bee the Wife of Anastasio: which newes did so highly content them, that vppon the Sunday next following, the mariage was very worthily sollemnized, and they liued and loued together very kindly. Thus the diuine bounty, out of the malignant enemies secret machinations, can cause good effects to arise and succeede. For, from this conceite of fearfull imagination in her, not onely happened this long desired conuersion, of a Maide so ob­stinately scornfull and proud: but likewise al the women of Rauenna (be­ing admonished by her example) grew afterward more kinde and tracta­ble to mens honest motions, then euer they shewed themselues before. And let me make some vse hereof (faire Ladies) to you, not to stand o­uer-nicely conceited of your beauty and good parts, when men (grow­ing enamored of you by them) solicite you with their best and humblest seruices. Remember then this disdainfull Gentlewoman, but more espe­cially her, who being the death of so kinde a Louer, was therefore con­demned to perpetuall punishment, and hee made the minister thereof, whom she had cast off with coy disdaine, from which I wish your minds to be as free, as mine is ready to do you any acceptable seruice.

The ninth Nouell.

MAdame Philomena hauing finished her discourse, the Queene percei­uing, that her turne was the next, in regard of the priuiledge gran­ted to Dioneus; with a smiling countenance thus she spake. Now or neuer am I to maintaine the order which was instituted when we begann [...] this [Page 204] commendable exercise, whereto I yeeld with all humble obedience. And (worthy Ladies) I am to acquaint you with a Nouell, in some sort an­swerable to the precedent, not onely to let you know, how powerfully your kindnesses do preuaile, in such as haue a free and gentle soule: but also to aduise you, in being bountifull, where vertue doth [...]stly chal [...]nge it. And euermore, let your fauours shine on worthy deseruers, without the direction of chaunce or Fortune, who neuer bestoweth any gift by discretion; but rashly without consideration, euen to the first she blind­ly meets withall.

You are to vnderstand then, that Coppo di Borghese Domenichi, who was of our owne City, and perhaps (as yet) his name remaineth in great and reuerend authority, now in these dayes of ours, as well deseruing eternal memory; yet more for his vertues and commendable qualities, then any boast of Nobility from his predecessors. This man, being well entred in­to yeares, and drawing towards the finishing of his dayes; it was his on­ly delight and felicity, in conuersation among his neighbours, to talke of matters concerning antiquity, and some other things within compasse of his owne knowledge: which he would deliuer in such singular order, (hauing an absolute memory) and with the best Language, as verie few or none could do the like. Among the multiplicity of his queint discour­ses, I remember he told vs, that sometime there liued in Florence a yong Gentleman, named Frederigo, Sonne to Signior Philippo Alberigho, who was held and reputed, both for Armes, and all other actions beseeming a Gentleman, hardly to haue his equall through all Tuscany.

This Frederigo (as it is no rare matter in yong Gentlemen) became en­amored of a Gentlewoman, named Madam Giana, who was esteemed (in [Page] her time) to be the fairest and most gracious Lady in all Florence. In which respect, and to reach the height of his desire, he made many sumptuous Feasts and Banquets, Ioustes, Tiltes, Tournaments, and all other noble actions of Armes, beside, sending her infinite rich and costly presents, making spare of nothing, but las [...]ing all out in lauish expence. Notwith­standing, shee being no lesse honest then faire, made no reckoning of whatsoeuer he did for her sake, or the least respect of his owne person. So that Frederigo, spending thus daily more, then his meanes and ability could maintaine, and no supplies any way redounding to him, or his facul­ties (as very easily they might) diminished in such sort, that he became so poore; as he had nothing left him, but a small poore Farme to liue vpon, the silly reuenewes whereof were so meane, as scarcely allowed him meat and drinke; yet had he a Faire Hawke or Faulcon, hardly any where to be fellowed, so expeditious and sure she was of flight. His low ebbe and po­uerty, no way quailing his loue to the Lady, but rather setting a keener edge thereon; he saw the City life could no longer containe him, where most he coueted to abide: and therefore, betooke himselfe to his poore Countrey Farme, to let his Faulcon get him his dinner and supper, pati­ently supporting his penurious estate, without suite or meanes making to one, for helpe or reliefe in any such necessity.

While thus he continued in this extremity, it came to passe, that the Husband to Madam Giana fell sicke, and his debility of body being such, as little, or no hope of life remained: he made his last will and testament, ordaining thereby, that his Sonne (already growne to indifferent stature) should be heire to all his Lands and riches, wherein hee abounded very greatly. Next vnto him, if he chanced to die without a lawfull heire, hee subsistuted his Wife, whom most dearely he affected, and so departed out of this life. Madam Giana being thus left a widow; as commonly it is the custome of our City Dames, during the Summer season, shee went to a House of her owne in the Countrey, which was somewhat neere to poore Frederigoes Farme, and where he liued in such an honest kind of contented pouerty.

Hereupon, the young Gentleman her Sonne, taking great delight in Hounds and Hawkes; grew into familiarity with poore Frederigo, and ha­uing seene many faire flights of his Faulcon, they pleased him so extraor­dinarily, that he earnestly desired to enioy her as his owne; yet durst not moue the motion for her, because he saw how choycely Frederigo estee­med her. Within a short while after, the young Gentleman, became very sicke, whereat his Mother greeued exceedingly, (as hauing no more but he, and therefore loued him the more entirely) neuer parting from him either night or day, comforting him so kindly as shee could, and deman­ding, if he had a desire to any thing, willing him to reueale it, and assuring him withall, that (if it were within the compasse of possibility) he should haue it. The youth hearing how many times shee had made him these offers, and with such vehement protestations of performance, at last thus spake.

[Page 205] Mother (quoth he) if you can doe so much for me, as that I may haue Frederigoes Faulcon, I am perswaded, that my sicknesse soone will cease. The Lady hearing this, sate some short while musing to her selfe, and be­gan to consider, what shee might best doe to compasse her Sonnes desire: for well shee knew, how long a time Frederigo had most louingly kept it, not suffering it euer to be out of his sight. Moreouer, shee remembred, how earnest in affection he had beene to her, neuer thinking himselfe hap­py, but onely when he was in her company; wherefore, shee entred into this priuate consultation with her owne thoughts. Shall I send, or goe my selfe in person, to request the Faulcon of him, it being the best that euer flew? It is his onely Iewell of delight, and that taken from him, no longer can he wish to liue in this World. How farre then voide of vn­derstanding shall I shew my selfe, to rob a Gentleman of his sole felicity, hauing no other ioy or comfort left him? These and the like considerati­ons, wheeled about her troubled braine, onely in tender care and loue to her Sonne, perswading her selfe assuredly, that the Faulcon were her own, if shee would but request it: yet not knowing whereon it were best to re­solue, shee returned no answer to her Sonne, but sate still in her silent me­ditations. At the length, loue to the youth, so preuailed with her, that she concluded on his contentation, and (come of it what could) shee would not send for it; but goe her selfe in person to request it, and then re­turne home againe with it, whereupon thus she spake. Sonne, comfort thy selfe, and let languishing thoughts no longer offend thee: for here I promise thee, that the first thing I doe to morrow morning, shall be my iourney for the Faulcon, and assure thy selfe, that I will bring it with me. Whereat the youth was so ioyed, that he imagined, his sicknesse began in­stantly a little to leaue him, and promised him a speedy recouery.

Somewhat early the next morning, the Lady, in care of her sicke Sons health, was vp and ready betimes, and taking another Gentlewoman with her; onely as a mornings recreation, shee walked to Frederigoes poore Countrey Farme, knowing that it would not a little glad him to see her. At the time of her arriuall there, he was (by chance) in a silly Garden, on the backe-side of his House, because (as yet) it was no conuenient time for flight: but when he heard, that Madam Giana was come thither, and desired to haue some conference with him; as one almost confounded with admiration, in all haste he ran to her, and saluted her with most hum­ble reuerence. Shee in all modest and gracious manner, requited him with the like salutations, thus speaking to him. Signior Frederigo, your owne best wishes befriend you, I am now come hither, to recompence some part of your passed trauailes, which heretofore you pretended to suffer for my sake, when your loue was more to me, then did well become you to offer, or my selfe to accept. And such is the nature of my recom­pence, that I make my selfe your guest, and meane this day to dine with you, as also this Gentlewoman, making no doubt of our welcome: where­to, with lowly reuerence, thus he replyed.

Madam, I doe not remember, that euer I sustained any losse or hinde­rance [Page] by you, but rather so much good, as if I was woorth any thing, it proceeded from your great deseruings, and by the seruice in which I did stand engaged to you. But my present happinesse can no way bee equal­led, deriued from your super-abounding gracious fauour, and more then common course of kindnesse, vouchsafing (of your owne liberal nature) to come and visit so poore a seruant. Oh that I had as much to spend a­gaine, as heeretofore riotously I haue run thorow: what a welcom wold your poore Host bestow vpon you, for gracing this homely house with your diuine presence? With these wordes, hee conducted her into his house, and then into his simple Garden, where hauing no conuenient company for her, he saide. Madam, the pouerty of this place is such, that it affoordeth none fit for your conuersation: this poore woman, wife to an honest Husbandman will attend on you, while I (with some speede) shall make ready dinner.

Poore Frederigo, although his necessity was extreame, and his greefe great, remembring his former inordinate expences, a moity whereof would now haue stood him in some sted; yet hee had a heart as free and forward as euer, not a iotte deiected in his minde, though vtterly ouer­throwne by Fortune. Alas! how was his good soule afflicted, that he had nothing wherewith to honor his Lady? Vp and downe he runnes, one while this way, then againe another, exclaiming on his disastrous Fate, like a man enraged, or bereft of senses: for he had not one peny of mony neither pawne or pledge, wherewith to procure any. The time hasted on, and he would gladly (though in meane measure) expresse his honou­rable respect of the Lady. To begge of any, his nature denied it, and to borrow he could not, because his neighbours were all as needie as him­selfe.

At last, looking round about, and seeing his Faulcon standing on her pearch, which he felt to be very plumpe and fat, being voide of all other helpes in his neede, and thinking her to be a Fowle meete for so Noble a Lady to feede on: without any further demurring or delay, he pluckt off her necke, and caused the poore woman presently to pull her Feathers: which being done, he put her on the spit, and in short time she was dain­tily roasted. Himselfe couered the table, set bread and salt on, and laid the Napkins, whereof he had but a few left him. Going then with chearfull lookes into the Garden, telling the Lady that dinner was ready, and no­thing now wanted, but her presence. Shee, and the Gentlewoman went in, and being seated at the table, not knowing what they fed on, the Fal­con was all their foode; and Frederigo not a little ioyfull, that his credite was so well saued. When they were risen from the table, and had spent some small time in familiar conference: the Lady thought it fitte, to ac­quaint him with the reason of her comming thither, and therefore (in ve­ry kinde manner) thus began.

Frederigo, if you do yet remember your former carriage towards me, as also my many modest and chaste denials, which (perhaps) you thoght to sauour of a harsh, cruell, and vn-womanly nature: I make no doubt, [Page 206] but you will wonder at my present presumption, when you vnderstande the occasion, which expressely mooued me to come hither. But if you were possessed of children, or euer had any, wherby you might compre­hend what loue (in nature) is due vnto them: then I durst assure my self, that you would partly hold mee excused.

Now, in regard that you neuer had any, and I myselfe (for my patt) haue bnt onely one, I stand not exempted from those Lawes, which are in common to other mothers. And being compelled to obey the po­wer of those Lawes; contrary to mine owne will, and those duties which reason ought to maintaine: I am to request such a gift of you, which I am certaine, that you do make most precious account of, as in manly equity you can do no lesse. For, Fortune hath bin so extreamly aduerse to you, that she hath robbed you of all other pleasures, allowing you no comfort or delight, but onely that poore one, which is your faire Faulcone. Of which Bird, my Sonne is become so straungeiy desirous, as, if I doe not bring it to him at my comming home; I feare so much the extreamity of his sicknesse, as nothing can ensue thereon, but his losse of life. Where­fore I beseech you, not in regard of the loue you haue born me, for ther­by you stand no way obliged: but in your owne true gentle nature (the which hath alwayes declared it selfe ready in you, to do more kinde offi­ces generally, then any other Gentleman that I know) you will be plea­sed to giue her me, or at the least, let me buy her of you. Which if you do, I shall freely then confesse, that onely by your meanes, my Sonnes life is saued, and wee both shall for euer remaine engaged to you.

When Frederigo had heard the Ladies request, which was now quite out of his power to graunt, because it had bene her seruice at dinner: he stoodlike a man meerely dulled in his sences, the teares trickling amaine downe his checkes: and he not able to vtter one word. Which shee per­ceiuing, began to coniecture immediately, that these teares and passions proceeded rather from greefe of minde, as being loather to part with his Faulcon, then any other kinde of matter: which made her readie to say, that she would not haue it. Neuerthelesse shee did not speake, but rather tarried to attend his answer. Which, after some small respite and pawse, he returned in this manner.

Madame, since the houre, when first mine affection became soly de­uoted to your seruice; Fortune hath bene crosse and contrary to mee, in many occasions, as iustly, and in good reason I may complain of her. Yet all seemed light and easie to be indured, in comparison of her present ma­licious contradiction, to my vtter ouerthrow, and perpetuall mollestati­on. Considering, that you are come hither to my poore house, which (while I was rich and able) you would not so much as vouchsafe to look on. And now you haue requested a small matter of mee, wherein shee hath also most crookedly thwarted me, because she hath disabled mee, in bestowing so meane a gift, as your selfe will confesse, when it shall be re­lated to you in very few words.

So soone as I heard, that it was your gracious pleasure to dine with [Page] me, hauing regard to your excellency, and what (by merit) is iustly due vnto you: I thought it a part of my bounden dutie, to entertaine you with such exquisite viands, as my poore power could any way compas, and farre beyond respect or welcome, to other common and ordinarie persons. Whereupon, remembring my Faulcon, which nowe you aske for; and her goodnesse, excelling all other of her kinde; I supposed, that she would make a dainty dish for your dyet, and hauing drest hir, so well as I could deuise to do: you haue fed hartily on her, and I am proud that I haue so well bestowne her. But perceiuing now, that you would haue her for your sicke Sonne; it is no meane affliction to mee, that I am disa­bled of yeelding you contentment, which all my life time I haue desired to doe.

To approue his words, the feathers, feete, and beake were brought in, which when she saw, she greatly blamed him for killing so rare a Falcon, to content the appetite of any woman whatsoeuer. Yet she commended his height of spirit, which pouerty had no power to abase. Lastly, her hopes being fr [...]strate for enioying the Faulcon, and fearing besides the health of her Sonne: shethanked Frederigo for his honorable kindnesse, returning home againe sad and melancholly. Shortly after, her sonne ei­ther greeuing that he could not haue the Faulcone, or by extreamity of his disease, chanced to dye, leauing his mother a most wofull Lady.

After so much time was expired, as conueniently might agree with so­row and mourning; her Brethren made many motions to her, to ioyne her selfe in marriage againe, because she was extraordinarily rich, and as yet but yong in yeares. Now, although she was well contented neuer to be married any more; yet being continually importuned by them, and remembring the honorable honesty of Frederigo, his last poore, yet mag­nificent dinner, in killing his Faulcone for her sake, shee saide to her Bre­thren. This kinde of widdowed estate doth like me so well, as willingly I would neuer leaue it: but seeing you are so earnest for my second marri­age, let me plainly tell you, that I will neuer accept of any other husbād, but onely Frederigo di Alberino.

Her brethren in scornfull manner reprooued her, telling her, that hee was a begger, and had nothing left to keepe him in the world. I knowe it well (quoth she) and am heartily sory for it. But giue me a man that hath neede of wealth, rather then wealth that hath neede of a man. The Bre­thren hearing how shee stoode addicted, and knowing Frederigo to bee a worthy Gentleman, though pouerty had disgraced him in the Worlde: consented thereto, so she bestowed her selfe and her riches on him. He on the other side, hauing so noble a Lady to his Wife, and the same whome he had so long and deerely loued: submitted all his fairest Fortunes vnto her, became a better husband (for the world) then before, and they liued and loued together in equall ioy and happinesse.

The tenth Nouell.

THe Queenes Nouell being ended, and all the company applauding the happy fortune of Frederigo, as also the noble nature of Madam Giana: Dioneus, who neuer expected any command, prepairing to deliuer his discourse, began in this manner. I know not, whether I should terme it a vice accidental, and ensuing through the badnesse of complexions vp­pon vs mortals; or else an errour in Nature, to ioy and smile rather at lewd accidents, then at deeds that iustly deserue commendation, especially, when they doe not any way concerne our selues. Now, in regard that all the paines I haue hitherto taken, and am also to vndergoe at this present, aymeth at no other end, but onely to purge your mindes of melancholly, and entertaine the time with mirthful matter: pardon me I pray you (faire Ladies) if my Tale trip in some part, and sauour a little of immodesty; yet [Page] in hearing it, you may obserue the same course, as you doe in pleasing and delightfull Gardens, plucke a sweete Rose, and yet preserue your fin­gers from pricking. Which very easily you may doe, wincking at the im­perfections of a foolish man, and smiling at the amorous subtilties of his Wife, compassionating the misfortune of others, where vrgent necessity doth require it.

There dwelt (not long since) in Perugia, a wealthy man, named Pedro di Vinciolo, who perhaps) more to deceiue some other, and restraine an euill opinion, which the Perugians had conceiued of him, in matter no way be­seeming a man, then any beauty or good feature remaining in the woman entred into the estate of marriage. And Fortune was so conforme to him in his election, that the woman whom he had made his wife, had a young, lusty, and well enabled body, a red hairde wench, hot and fiery spirited, standing more in neede of three Husbands, then he, who could not any way well content one Wife, because his minde ran more on his money, then those offices and duties belonging to wed-lock, which time acquain­ting his Wife withall, contrary to her owne expectation, and those de­lights which the estate of marriage afforded, knowing her selfe also to be of a sprightly disposition, and not to be easily tamed by houshold cares and attendances: shee waxed weary of her Husbands vnkind courses, vp­braided him daily with harsh speeches, making his owne home meerely as a hell to him.

When shee saw that this domesticke disquietnesse returned her no be­nefit, but rather tended to her owne consumption, then any amendment in her miserable Husband; shee began thus to conferre with her priuate thoughts. This Husband of mine liueth with me, as if he were no Hus­band, or This Wife; the marriage bed, which should be a comfort to vs both, seemeth hatefull to him, and as little pleasing to me, because his minde is on his money, his head busied with worldly cogitations, and early and late in his counting-house, admitting no familiar conuersation with me. Why should not I be as respectlesse of him, as he declares him­selfe to be of me? I tooke him for an Husband, brought him a good and sufficient dowry, thinking him to be a man, and affected a woman as a man ought to doe, else he had neuer beene any Husband of mine. If he be a Woman hater, why did he make choyce of me to be his Wife? If I had not intended to be of the World, I could haue coopt my selfe vp in a Cloyster, and shorne my selfe a Nunne, but that I was not borne to such seuerity of life. My youth shall be blasted with age, before I can truly vn­derstand what youth is, and I shall be branded with the disgracefull word barrennesse, knowing my selfe meete and able to be a Mother, were my Husband but worthy the name of a Father, or expected issue and poste­rity, to leaue our memoriall to after times in our race, as all our predeces­sours formerly haue done, and for which mariage was chiefly instituted. Castles long besieged, doe yeeld at the last, and women wronged by their owne Husbands, can hardly warrant their owne frailty, especially liuing among so many temptations, which flesh and bloud are not alwayes able [Page 208] to resist. Well, I meane to be aduised in this case, before I will hazard my honest reputation, either to suspition or scandall, then which, no wo­man can haue two heauier enemies, and very few there are that can escape them.

Hauing thus a long while consulted with her selfe, and (perhaps) oftner then twice or thrice; shee became secretly acquainted with an aged wo­man, generally reputed to be more then halfe a Saint, walking alwayes ve­ry demurely in the streetes, counting (ouer and ouer) her Pater nosters, and all the Cities holy pardons hanging at her girdle, neuer talking of any thing, but the liues of the holy Fathers, or the wounds of Saint Frances, all the World admiring her sanctity of life, euen as if shee were diuinely inspired: this she Saint must be our distressed womans Councellour, and hauing found out a conuenient season, at large she imparted all her mind to her, in some such manner as formerly you haue heard, whereto shee returned this answere.

Now trust me Daughter, thy case is to be pittied, and so much the ra­ther, because thou art in the floure and spring time of thy youth, when not a minute of time is to be left: for there is no greater an errour in this life, then the losse of time, because it cannot be recouered againe; and when the fiends themselues affright vs, yet if we keepe our embers still co­uered with warme ashes on the hearth, they haue not any power to hurt vs. If any one can truly speake thereof, then I am able to deliuer true [...]e­stimony; for I know, but not without much perturbation of minde, and piercing afflictions in the spirit; how much time I lost without any profit. And yet I lost not all, for I would not haue thee thinke me to be so foolish, that I did altogether neglect such an especiall benefit; which when I call to minde, and consider now in what condition I am, thou must imagine, it is no smal hearts griefe to me, that age should make me vtterly despised, and no fire afforded to light my tinder.

With men it is not so, they are borne apt for a thousand occasions, as well for the present purpose we talke of, as infinite other beside; yea, and many of them are more esteemed being aged, then when they were yong. But women serue onely for mens contentation, and to bring children, and therefore are they generally beloued, which if they faile of, either it is by vnfortunate marriage, or some imperfection depending on nature, not through want of good will in themselues. We haue nothing in this world but what is giuen vs, in which regard, we are to make vse of our time, and employ it the better while we haue it. For, when we grow to be old, our Husbands, yea, our very dearest and nearest friends, will scarcely looke on vs. We are then fit for nothing, but to sit by the fire in the Kitchin, telling tales to the Cat, or counting the pots and pannes on the shelues. Nay, which is worse, rimes and songs is made of vs, euen in meere con­tempt of our age, and commendation of such as are young, the daintiest morsels are fittest for them, and we referred to feed on the scrappes from their trenchers, or such reuersion as they can spare vs. I tell thee Daugh­ter, thou couldst not make choyce of a meerer woman in all the City, to [Page] whom thou mightest safely open thy minde, and knowes better to aduise thee then I doe. But remember withall, that I am poore, and it is your part not to suffer pouerty to be vnsupplyed. I will make thee partaker of all these blessed pardons, at euery Altar I will say a Pater noster, and an Aue Maria, that thou maist prosper in thy hearts desires, and be defended from foule sinne and shame, and so shee ended her Motherly counsell.

Within a while after, it came to passe, that her Husband was iniuited foorth to Supper, with one named Herculano, a kind friend of his, but his Wife refused to goe, because shee had appointed a friend to supper with her, to whom the old woman was employed as her messenger, and was well recompenced for her labour. This friend was a gallant proper youth, as any all Perugia yeelded, and scarcely was he seated at the Table, but her Husband was returned backe, and called to be let in at the doore. Which when shee perceiued, shee was almost halfe dead with feare, and coueting to hide the young man, that her Husband should not haue any sight of him, shee had no other meanes, but in an enrry, hard by the Parlour where they purposed to haue supt, stood a Coope or Hen pen, wherein she vsed to keepe her Pullen, vnder which he crept, and then shee couered it with an old empty sacke, and after ran to let her Husband come in. When he was entred into the House; as halfe offended at his so sudden returne, an­gerly he saide: It seemes Sir you are a shauer at your meate, that you haue made so short a supper. In troth Wife (quoth he) I haue not supt at all, no, not so much as eaten one bit. How hapned that? said the woman. Ma­ry wife (quoth he) I will tell you, and then thus he began.

As Herculano, his wife, and I were sitting downe at the Table, very neere vnto vs we heard one sneeze, whereof at the first we made no reckoning, vntill we heard it againe the second time, yea, a third, fourth, and fifth, and many more after, whereat we were not a little amazed. Now Wife I must tell you, before we entred the roome where we were to sup, Herculanoes wife kept the doore fast shut against vs, and would not let vs enter in an indifferent while; which made him then somewhat offended, but now much more, when he had heard one to sneeze so often. Demanding of her a reason for it, and who it was that thus sneezed in his House: he started from the Table, and stepping to a little doore neere the staires head, neces­sarily there made, to set such things in, as otherwise would be troublesome to the roome, (as in all Houses we commonly see the like) he perceiued, that the party was hidden there, which wee had heard so often to sneeze before.

No sooner had he opened the doore, but such a smell of brimston came foorth (whereof we felt not the least sauour before) as made vs likewise to cough and sneeze, being no way able to refraine it. She seeing her Hus­band to be much moued, excused the matter thus, that (but a little while before) shee had whited certaine linnen with the smoake of brimstone, as it is an vsuall thing to doe, and then set the pan into that spare place, be­cause it should not be offensiue to vs. By this time, Herculano had espied him that sneezed, who being almost stifled with the smell, and closenesse [Page 209] of the small roome wherein he lay, had not any power to helpe himselfe, but still continued coughing and sneezing, euen as if his heart would haue split in twaine. Foorth he pluckt him by the heeles, and perceiuing how matters had past, he saide to her. I thanke you Wife, now I see the rea­son, why you kept vs so long from comming into this roome, let me die, if I beare this wrong at your hands. When his Wife heard these words, and saw the discouery of her shame; without returning either excuse or answere, foorth of doores she ran, but whither, we know not. Herculano drew his Dagger, and would haue slaine him that still lay sneezing: but I disswaded him from it, as well in respect of his, as also mine owne danger, when the Law should censure on the deede. And after the young man was indifferently recouered; by the perswasion of some Neighbours com­ming in: he was closely conueyed out of the house, and all the noyse quietly pacified. Onely (by this meanes, and the flight of Herculanoes wife) we were disappointed of our Supper; and now you know the reason of my so soone returning.

When she had heard this whole discourse, then she perceiued, that o­ther Women were subiect to the like infirmity, and as wise for themselues, as shee could be, though these and the like sinister accidents might some­times crosse them, and gladly she wished, that Herculanoes Wifes excuse, might now serue to acquite her: but because in blaming others errors, our owne may sometime chance to escape discouery, and cleare vs, albeit we are as guilty; in a sharpe reprehending manner, thus she began. See Hus­band, here is hansome behauiour, of an holy faire seeming, and Saint like woman, to whom I durst haue confest my sinnes, I conceiued such a reli­gious perswasion of her liues integrity, free from the least scruple of taxa­tion. A woman, so farre stept into yeeres, as shee is, to giue such an euill example to other younger women, is it not a sinne beyond all sufferance? Accursed be the houre, when she was borne into this World, and her selfe likewise, to be so lewdly and incontinently giuen; an vniuersall shame and slaunder, to all the good women of our City.

Shall I terme her a woman, or rather some sauage monster in a wo­mans shape? Hath shee not made an open prostitution of her honesty broken her plighted faith to her Husband, and all the womanly reputati­on shee had in this World? Her Husband, being an honourable Citizen, entreating her alwayes, as few men else in the City doe their wiues; what an heart-breake must this needes be to him, good man? Neither I, nor a­ny honest man else, ought to haue any pity on her; but (with our owne hands) teare her in peeces, or dragge her along to a good fire in the mar­ket place, wherein she and her minion should be consumed together, and their base ashes dispersed abroade in the winde, least the pure Aire should be infected with them.

Then, remembring her owne case, and her poore affrighted friend, who lay in such distresse vnder the Hen-coope; shee began to aduise her Hus­band, that he would be pleased to goe to bed, because the night passed on apace. But Pedro, hauing a better will to eate, then to sleepe, desired her [Page] to let him haue some meate, else hee must goe to bed with an empty bel­lie; whereto shee answered. Why Husband (quoth shee) doe I make a­ny large prouision, when I am debard of your company? I would I were the wife of Herculano, seeing you cannot content your selfe from one nights feeding, considering, it is now ouer-late to make any thing ready.

It fortuned, that certaine Husbandmen, which had the charge of Pe­droes Farme house in the Countrey, and there followed his affaires of Husbandry, were returned home this instant night, hauing their Asses la­den with such prouision, as was to be vsed in his City-house. When the Asses were vnladen, and set vp in a small Stable, without watering; one of them being (belike) more thirsty then the rest, brake loose, and wande­ring all about smelling to seeke water, happened into the entry, where the young man lay hidden vnder the Hen-pen. Now, he being constrai­ned (like a Carpe) to lie flat on his belly, because the Coope was ouer­weighty for him to carry, and one of his hands more extended forth, then was requisite for him in so vrgent a shift: it was his hap (or ill fortune ra­ther) that the Asse set his foote on the young mans fingers, treading so hard, and the paine being very irkesome to him, as he was enforced to cry out aloude, which Pedro hearing, he wondered thereat not a little.

Knowing that this cry was in his house, he tooke the candle in his hand, and going foorth of the Parlour, heard the cry to be louder and louder; because the Asse remoued not his foote, but rather trod the more firmely on his hand. Comming to the Coope, driuing thence the Asse, and ta­king off the old sacke, he e [...]pyed the young man, who, beside the painfull anguish he felt of his fingers, arose vp trembling, as fearing some out­rage beside to be offered him by Pedro, who knew the youth perfectly, and demanded of him, how he came thither. No answer did he make to that question, but humbly entreated (for charities sake) that he would not do [...] him any harme. Feare not (quoth Pedro) I will not offer thee any vio­lence: onely tel me how thou camest hither, and for what occasion; wher­in the youth fully resolued him.

Pedro being no lesse ioyfull for thus finding him, then his wife was sor­rowfull, tooke him by the hand, and brought him into the Parlour, where shee sate trembling and quaking, as not knowing what to say in this di­stresse. Seating himselfe directly before her, and holding the youth still fast by the hand, thus he began. Oh Wife! what bitter speeches did you vse (euen now) against the wife of Herculano, maintaining that shee had shamed all other women, and iustly deserued to be burned? Why did you not say as much of your selfe? Or, if you had not the heart to speake it, how could you be so cruell against her, knowing your offence as great as hers? Questionlesse, nothing else vrged you thereto, but that all wo­men are of one and the same condition, couering their owne grosse faults by farre inferiour infirmities in others. You are a peruerse generation, meerely false in your fairest shewes.

When she saw that he offered her no other violence, but gaue her such [Page 210] vaunting and reproachfull speeches, holding still the young man before her face, meerely to vexe and despight her: shee began to take heart, and thus replied. Doest thou compare me with the wife of Herculano, who is an olde, discembling hypocrite? yet she can haue of him whatsoeuer she de­sireth, and he vseth her as a woman ought to be, which fauour I could ne­uer yet find at thy hands. Put the case, that thou keepest me in good gar­ments, allowing me to goe neatly hosed and shod; yet well thou knowest, there are other meete matters belonging to a woman, and euery way as necessarily required, both for the preseruation of Houshold quietnesse, and those other rites betweene a Husband and Wife. Let me be worser garmented, courser dieted, yea, debarred of all pleasure and delights; so I might once be worthy the name of a Mother, and leaue some remem­brance of woman-hood behind me. I tell thee plainly Pedro, I am a wo­man as others are, and subiect to the same desires, as (by nature) attendeth on flesh and bloud: look how thou failest in kindnesse towards me, thinke it not amisse, if I doe the like to thee, and endeauour thou to win the wor­thy tile of a Father, because I was made to be a Mother.

When Pedro perceiued, that his Wife had spoken nothing but reason, in regard of his ouer-much neglect towards her, and not vsing such hou­shold kindnesse, as ought to be between Man and Wife, he returned her this answer. Well Wife (quoth he) I confesse my fault, and hereafter will labour to amend it; conditionally, that this youth, nor any other, may no more visite my House in mine absence. Get me therefore something to eate, for doubtlesse, this young man and thy selfe fell short of your sup­per, by reason of my so soone returning home. In troth Husband, saide shee, we did not eate one bit of any thing, and I will be a true and loyall Wife to thee, so thou wilt be the like to me. No more words then wife, replyed Pedro, all is forgotten and forgiuen, let vs to supper, and we are all friends. She seeing his anger was so well appeased, louingly kissed him, and laying the cloth, set on the supper, which shee had prouided for her selfe & the youth, and so they supt together merily, not one vnkind word passing betweene them. After supper, the youth was sent away in friendly manner, and Pedro was alwayes afterward more louing to his Wife, then formerly he had been, and no complaint passed on either side, but mutuall ioy and houshold contentment, such as ought to be betweene man and wife.

Dioneus hauing ended his Tale, for which the Ladies returned him no thankes, but rather angerly frowned on him: the Queene, knowing that her gouernment was now concluded, arose, and taking off her Crowne of Lawrell, placed it graciously on the head of Madam Eliza, saying. Now Madam, it is your turne to command. Eliza hauing receiued the honour, did (in all respects) as others formerly had done, and after she had enstru­cted the Master of the Houshold, concerning his charge during the time of her regiment, for contentation of all the company; thus she spake.

We haue long since heard, that with witty words, ready answers, and sudden iests or taunts, many haue checkt & reproued great folly in others, [Page] and to their owne no meane commendation. Now, because it is a plea­sing kind of argument, ministring occasion of mirth and wit: my desire is, that all our discourse to morrow shall tend thereto. I meane of such per­sons, either Men or Women, who with some sudden witty answer, haue encountred a scorner in his owne intention, and layed the blame where it iustly belonged. Euery one commended the Queenes appointment, be­cause it sauoured of good wit and iudgement; and the Queene being ri­sen, they were all discharged till supper time, falling to such seuerall exerci­ses as themselues best fancyed.

When supper was ended, and the instruments layed before them; by the Queenes consent, Madam Aemillia vndertooke the daunce, and the Song was appointed to Dioneus, who began many, but none that proued to any liking, they were so palpably obscene and idle, sauouring altoge­ther of his owne wanton disposition. At the length, the Queene looking stearnely on him, and commanding him to sing a good one, or none at all; thus he began.

After that Dioneus (by proceeding no further) declared the finishing of his Song; many more were sung beside, and that of Dioneus highly com­mended. Some part of the night being spent in other delightfull exer­cises, and a fitting houre for rest drawing on: they betooke themselues to their Chambers, where we will leaue them till to morrow morning.

The First Nouell.

GRacious Ladies, like as in our faire, cleere, and serene seasons, the Statres are bright ornaments to the heauens, and the flowry fields (so long as the spring time lasteth) weare their goodliest Li­ueries, the Trees likewise bragging in their best adornings: Euen so at friendly meetings, short, sweet, and sententious words, are the beauty & ornament of any discourse, sauouring of wit and sound iudgement, worthily deseruing to be commended. And so much the rather, because in few and witty words, aptly suting with the time and occasion, more is deliuered then was expected, or sooner answered, then rashly apprehended: which, as they become men verie highly, yet do they shew more singular in women.

True it is, what the occasion may be, I know not, either by the bad­nesse [Page 3] of our wittes, or the especiall enmitie betweene our complexions and the celestiall bodies: there are scarsely any, or very few Women to be found among vs, that well knowes how to deliuer a word, when it should and ought to be spoken; or, if a question bee mooued, vnder­stands to suite it with an apt answere, such as conueniently is required, which is no meane disgrace to vs women. But in regard, that Madame Pampinea hath already spoken sufficiently of this matter, I meane not to presse it any further: but at this time it shall satisfie mee, to let you know, how wittily a Ladie made due obseruation of opportunitie, in answering of a Knight, whose talke seemed tedious and offensive to her.

No doubt there are some among you, who either do know, or (at the least) haue heard, that it is no long time since, when there dwelt a Gentlewoman in our Citie, of excellent grace and good discourse, with all other rich endowments of Nature remaining in her, as pitty it were to conceale her name: and therefore let me tell ye, that shee was called Madame Oretta, the Wife to Signior Geri Spina. She being vpon some occasion (as now we are) in the Countrey, and passing from place to place (by way of neighbourly inuitations) to visite her louing Friends and Acquaintance, accompanied with diuers Knights and Gentlewo­men, who on the day before had diued and supt at her house, as now (belike) the selfe-same courtesie was intended to her: walking along with her company vpon the way; and the place for her welcome beeing fur­ther off then she expected▪ a Knight chanced to ouertake this faire troop, who well knowing Madam Oretta, vsing a kinde and courteous salutati­on, spake thus vnto her.

Madam, this foot trauell may bee offensiue to you, and were you so well pleased as my selfe, I would ease your iourney behinde mee on my Gelding, euen so farre as you shall command me: and beside, wil shor­ten your wearinesse with a Tale worth the hearing. Courteous Sir (re­plyed the Lady) I embrace your kinde offer with such acceptation, that I pray you to performe it; for therein you shall doe me an especiall fa­uour. The Knight, whose Sword (perhappes) was as vnsuteable to his side, as his wit out of fashion for any readie discourse, hauing the Lady mounted behinde him: rode on with a gentle pace, and (accor­ding to his promise) began to tell a Tale, which indeede (of it selfe) de­serued attention, because it was a knowne and commendable History, but yet deliuered so abruptly, with idle repetitions of some particulars three or foure seuerall times, mistaking one thing for another, and wandering erroneously from the essentiall subiect, seeming neere an end, and then beginning againe: that a poore Tale could not possibly be more mangled, or worse tortured in telling, then this was; for the persons therein concerned, we [...]e so abusiuely nicke-named, their acti­ons and speeches so monstrously mishapen, that nothing could appeare to be more vgly.

Madame Oretta, being a Lady of vnequalled ingenuitie, admirable [Page] in iudgement, and most delicate in her speech, was afflicted in foule, be­yond all measure; ouercome with many colde sweates, and passionate heart-aking qualmes, to see a Foole thus in a Pinne-fold, and vnable to get out, albeit the doore stood wide open to him, whereby shee became so sicke; that, conuerting her distaste to a kinde of pleasing acceptation, merrily thus she spake. Beleeue me Sir, your horse trots so hard, & tra­uels so vneasily; that I entreate you to let me walke on foot againe.

The Knight, being (perchance) a better vnderstander, then a Dis­courser; perceiued by this witty taunt, that his Bowle had run a contra­rie bias, and he as farre out of Tune, as he was from the Towne. So, lingering the time, vntill her company was neerer arriued: hee lefte her with them, and rode on as his Wisedome could best direct him.

The Second Nouell.

THE words of Madame Oretta, were much commended by the men and women; and the discourse being ended, the Queene gaue command to Madam Pampinea, that shee should follow next in order, which made her to begin in this manner.

[Page 4] Worthy Ladies, it exceedeth the power of my capacitie, to censure in the case whereof I am to speake, by saying, who sinned most, either Nature, in seating a Noble soule in a vile body, or Fortune, in bestow­ing on a body (beautified with a noble soule) a base or wretched con­dition of life. As we may obserue by Cistio, a Citizen of our owne, and many more beside; for, this Cistio beeing endued with a singular good spirit▪ Fortune hath made him no better then a Baker. And beleeue me Ladies, I could (in this case) lay as much blame on Nature, as on For­tune; if I did not know Nature to be most absolutely wise, & that For­tune hath a thousand eyes, albeit fooles haue figured her to bee blinde. But, vpon more mature and deliberate consideration, I finde, that they both (being truly wise and iudicious) haue dealt iustly, in imitation of our best aduised mortals, who being vncertaine of such inconueniences, as may happen vnto them, do bury (for their own benefit) the very best and choisest things of esteeme, in the most vile and abiect places of their houses, as being subiect to least suspition, and where they may be sure to haue them at all times, for supply of any necessitie whatsoeuer, because so base a conueyance hath better kept them, then the very best chamber in the house could haue done. Euen so these two great commanders of the world, do many times hide their most precious Iewels of worth, vn­der the clouds of Arts or professions of worst estimation, to the end; that fetching them thence when neede requires, their splendor may appeare to be the more glorious. Nor was any such matter noted in our homely Baker Cistio, by the best obseruation of Messer Geri Spina, who was spo­ken of in the late repeated Nouell, as being the husband to Madame O­retta; whereby this accident came to my remembrance, and which (in a short Tale) I will relate vnto you.

Let me then tell ye, that Pope Boniface (with whom the fore-named Messer Geri Spina was in great regard) hauing sent diuers Gentlemen of his Court to Florence as Ambassadors, about very serious and impor­tant businesse: they were lodged in the house of Messer Geri Spina, and he employed (with them) in the saide Popes negotiation. It chanced, that as being the most conuenient way for passage, euery morning they walked on foot by the Church of Saint Marie d'Vghi, where Cistio the Baker dwelt, and exercised the trade belonging to him. Now although Fortune had humbled him to so meane a condition, yet shee added a blessing of wealth to that contemptible quality, and (as smiling on him continually) no disasters at any time befell him, but still he flourished in riches, liued like a [...]olly Citizen, with all things fitting for honest enter­tainment about him, and plenty of the best Wines (both White and Claret) as Florence or any part thereabout yeelded.

Our frolicke Baker perceiuing, that Messer Geri Spina and the other Ambassadors, vsed euery morning to passe by his doore, and afterward to returne backe the same way: seeing the season to be somewhat hot & soultry, he tooke it as an action of kindnesse and courtesie, to make them an offer of tasting his white wine. But hauing respect to his own meane [Page] degree, and the condition of Messer Geri: hee thought it farre vnfitting for him, to be so forward in such presumption; but rather entred into consideration of some such meanes, whereby Messer Geri might bee the inuiter of himselfe to taste his Wine. And hauing put on him a trusse or thin doublet, of very white and fine Linnen cloath, as also breeches, and an apron of the same; and a white cap vpon his head, so that he see­med rather to be a Miller, then a Baker: at such times as Messer Geri and the Ambassadors should daily passe by, hee set before his doore a new Bucket of faire water, and another small vessell of Bologna earth (as new and sightly as the other) full of his best and choisest white Wine, with two small Glasses, looking like siluer, they were so cleare. Downe he sate, with all this prouision before him, and emptying his stomacke twice or thrice, of some clotted flegmes which seemed to offend it: euen as the Gentlemen were passing by, he dranke one or two roufes of his Wine so heartily, and with such a pleasing appetite, as might haue mo­ued a longing (almost) in a dead man.

Messer Geri well noting his behauiour, and obseruing the verie same course in him two mornings together; on the third day (as he was drin­king) he said vnto him. Well done Cistio, what, is it good, or no? Cistio starting vp, forwith replyed: Yes Sir, the wine is good indeed, but how can I make you to beleeue me, except you taste of it? Messer Geri, ey­ther in regard of the times quality, or by reason of his paines taken, per­haps more then ordinary, or else, because hee saw Cistio had drunke so sprightly, was very desirous to taste of the Wine, and turning vnto the Ambassadors, in merriment he saide. My Lords, me thinks it were not much amisse, if we tooke a taste of this honest mans Wine, perhaps it is so good, that we shall not neede to repent our labour.

Heereupon, he went with them to Cistio, who had caused an hand­some seate to be fetched forth of his house, whereon he requested them to sit downe, and hauing commanded his men to wash cleane the Glas­ses, he saide. Fellowes, now get you gone, and leaue me to the perfor­mance of this seruice; for I am no worse a skinker, then a Baker, and tar­ry you neuer so long, you shall not drinke a drop. Hauing thus spoken, himselfe washed foure or fiue small glasses, faire and new, and causing a Viall of his best wine to be brought him: hee diligently filled it out to Messer Geri and the Ambassadours, to whom it seemed the very best Wine, that they had drunke of in a long while before. And hauing gi­uen Cistio most hearty thankes for his kindnesse, and the Wine his due commendation: many dayes afterwardes (so long as they continued there) they found the like courteous entertainment, and with the good liking of honest Cistio.

But when the affayres were fully concluded, for which they wer thus sent to Florence, and their parting preparation in due readinesse: Messer Geri made a very sumptuous Feast for them, inuiting thereto the most part of the honourablest Citizens, and Cistio to be one amongst them; who (by no meanes) would bee seene in an assembly of such State and [Page 5] pompe, albeit he was thereto (by the saide Messer Geri) most earnestly entreated.

In regard of which deniall, Messer Geri commaunded one of his ser­uants, to take a small Bottle, and request Cistio to fill it with his good Wine; then afterward, to serue it in such sparing manner to the Table, that each Gentleman might be allowed halfe a glasse-full at their down-sitting. The Seruing-man, who had heard great report of the Wine, and was halfe offended, because he could neuer taste thereof: tooke a great Flaggon Bottle, containing foure or fiue Gallons at the least, and comming there-with vnto Cistio, saide vnto him. Cistio, because my Master cannot haue your companie among his friends, he prayes you to Il this Bottle with your best Wine. Cistio looking vppon the huge Flaggon, replyed thus. Honest Fellow, Messer Geri neuer sent thee with such a Message to me: which although the Seruingman very stout­ly maintained, yet getting no other answer, he returned backe therwith to his Master.

Messer Geri returned the Seruant backe againe vnto Cistio, saying: Goe, and assure Cistio, that I sent thee to him, and if hee make thee a­ny more such answeres, then demaund of him, to what place else I should send thee? Being come againe to Cistio, hee auouched that his Maister had sent him, but Cistio affirming, that hee did not: the Ser­uant asked, to what place else hee should send him? Marrie (quoth Cistio) vnto the Riuer of Arno, which runneth by Florence, there thou mayest be sure to fill thy Flaggon. When the Seruant had reported this answer to Messer Geri, the eyes of his vnderstanding beganne to o­pen, and calling to see what Bottle hee had carried with him: no soo­ner looked he on the huge Flag­gon, but seuerely reprouing the sawcinesse of his Seruant, hee sayde. Now trust mee, Cistio told thee nothing but trueth, for neither did I send thee with any such dishonest message, nor had the reason to yeeld or grant it.

Then he sent him with a bot­tle of more reasonable compe­tencie, which so soone as Cistio saw: Yea mary my friend, quoth he, now I am sure that thy Ma­ster sent thee to me, and he shall haue his desire with all my h [...]rt. So, commaunding the Bottle to be filled, he sent it away by the Seruant, and presently follow­ing after him, when he came vnto Messer Geri, he spake vnto him after this maner. Sir, I would not haue you to imagine, that the huge flaggon [Page] (which first came) did any iotte dismay mee; but rather I conceyued, that the small Viall whereof you tasted euery morning, yet filled ma­ny mannerly Glasses together, was fallen quite out of your remem­brance; it plainer tearmes, it beeing no Wine for Groomes or Pea­zants, as your selfe affirmed yesterday. And because I meane to bee a Skinker no longer, by keeping Wine to please any other pallate but mine owne: I haue sent you halfe my store, and heereafter thinke of mee as you shall please. Messer Geri tooke both his guifte and speeches in most thankefull manner, accepting him alwayes after, as his intimate Friend, because he had so graced him before the Ambas­sadours.

The Third Nouell.

WHen Madame Pampinea had ended her Discourse, and (by the whole company) the answere and bounty of Ci­stio, had past with deserued commendation: is pleased the Queene, that Madame Lauretta should next succeed: whereupon verie chearefully thus she beganne.

Faire assembly, Madame Pampinea (not long time since) gaue be­ginning, and Madam Philomena hath also seconded the same argument, [Page 6] concerning the slender vertue remaining in our sexe, and likewise the beautie of wittie words, deliuered on apt occasion, and in conuenient meetings. Now, because it is needlesse to proceede any further, then what hath beene already spoken: let mee onely tell you (ouer and be­side) and commit it to memorie, that the nature of meetings and spee­ches are such, as they ought to nippe or touch the hearer, like vnto the Sheepes nibling on the tender grasse, and not as the sullen Dogge by­teth. For, if their biting be answereable to the Dogges, they deserue not to be termed witty iests or quips, but foule and offensiue language: as plainly appeareth by the words of Madame Oretta, and the mery, yet sensible answer of Cistio.

True it is, that if it be spoken by way of answer, and the answerer bi­teth doggedly, because himselfe was bitten in the same manner before: he is the lesse to bee blamed, because hee maketh payment but with coine of the same stampe. In which respect, an especiall care is to bee had, how, when, with whom, and where we iest or gibe, whereof very many prooue too vnmindfull, as appeared (not long since) by a Pre­late of ours, who met with a byting, no lesse sharpe and bitter, then had first come from himselfe before, as verie briefely I intend to tell you how.

Messer Antonio d'Orso, being Byshoppe of Florence, a vertuous, wise, and reuerend Prelate; it fortuned that a Gentleman of Catalogna, named Messer Diego de la Ratta, and Lord Marshall to King Robert of Naples, came thither to visite him. Hee being a man of very comely perso­nage, and a great obseruer of the choysest beauties in Court: among all the other Florentine Dames, one proued to bee most pleasing in his eye, who was a verie faire Woman indeede, and Neece to the Brother of the saide Messer Antonio.

The Husband of this Gentlewoman (albeit descended of a worthie Family) was, neuerthelesse, immeasurably couetous, and a verie vile harsh natured man. Which the Lord Marshall vnderstanding, made such a madde composition with him, as to giue him fiue hundred Du­cates of Gold, on condition, that hee would let him lye one night with his wife, not thinking him so base minded as to giue consent. Which in a greedy auaritious humour he did, and the bargaine being absolutely a­greeed on; the Lord Marshall prepared to fit him with a payment, such as it should be. He caused so many peeces of siluer to be cunningly guil­ded, as then went for currant mony in Florence, and called Popolines, & after he had lyen with the Lady (contrary to her will and knowledge, her husband had so closely carried the businesse) the money was duely paid to the cornuted Coxcombe. Afterwards, this impudent shame chanced to be generally knowne, nothing remaining to the wilful Wit­toll, but losse of his expected gaine, and scorne in euery place where he went. The Bishop likewise (beeing a discreete and sober man) would seeme to take no knowledge thereof; but bare out all scoffes with a well setled countenance.

[Page] Within a short while after, the Bishop and the Lord Marshal (alwaies conuersing together) it came to passe, that vpon Saint Iohns day, they riding thorow the City, side by side, and viewing the braue beauties, which of them might best deserue to win the prize: the Byshop espied a yong married Lady (which our late greeuous pestilence bereaued vs of) she being named Madame Nonna de Pulci, and Cousine to Messer Ale­xio Rinucci, a Gentleman well knowne vnto vs all. A very goodly beau­tifull yong woman she was, of delicate language, and singular spirite, dwelling close by S. Peters gate. This Lady did the Bishop shew to the Marshall, and when they were come to her, laying his hand vppon her shoulder, he said. Madam Nonna, What thinke you of this Gallant? Dare you aduenture another wager with him?

Such was the apprehension of this witty Lady, that these words see­med to taxe her honour, or else to contaminate the hearers vnderstan­ding, whereof there were great plenty about her, whose iudgement might be as vile, as the speeches were scandalous. Wherefore, neuer seeking for any further purgation of her cleare conscience, but onely to retort taunt for taunt, presently thus she replied. My Lord, if I should make such a vile aduenture, I would looke to bee payde with better money.

These words being heard both by the Bishop and Marshall, they felt themselues touched to the quicke, the one, as the Factor or Broker, for so dishonest a businesse, to the Brother of the Bishop; and the other, as receiuing (in his owne person) the shame belonging to his Brother. So, not so much as looking each on other, or speaking one word together all the rest of that day, they rode away with blushing cheekes. Where­by we may collect, that the yong Lady, being so iniuriously prouoked, did no more then well became her, to bite their basenesse neerely, that so abused her openly.

The Fourth Nouell.

MAdam Lauretta sitting silent, and the answer of Lady Non­na hauing past with generall applause: the Queene com­manded Madame Neiphila to follow next in order; who in­stantly thus began. Although a ready wit (faire Ladies) doth many times affoord worthy and commendable spee­ches, according to the accidents happening to the speaker: yet notwith­standing, Fortune (being a ready helper diuers wayes to the timorous) doth often tippe the tongue with such a present reply, as the partie to [Page 7] speake, had not so much leysure as to thinke on, not yet to inuent; as I purpose to let you perceiue, by a prety short Nouell.

Messer Currado Gianfiliazzi (as most of you haue both seene and kno­wen) liuing alwayes in our Citie, in the estate of a Noble Citizen, bee­ing a man bountifull, magnificent, and within the degree of Knight­hoode: continually kept both Hawkes and Hounds, taking no meane delight in such pleasures as they yeelded, neglecting (for them) farre more serious imployments, wherewith our present subiect presumeth not to meddle. Vpon a day, hauing kilde with his Faulcon a Crane, neere to a Village called Peretola, and finding her to be both young and fat, he sent it to his Cooke, a Venetian borne, and named Chichibio, with command to haue it prepared for his supper. Chichibio, who resembled no other, then (as he was indeede) a plaine, simple, honest mery fellow, hauing drest the Crane as it ought to bee, put it on the spit, and laide it to the fire.

When it was well neere fully roasted, and gaue forth a very delicate pleasing sauour; it fortuned that a young Woman dwelling not far off, named Brunetta, and of whom Chichibio was somewhat enamored, en­tred into the Kitchin, and feeling the excellent smell of the Crane, to please her beyond all sauours, that euer she had felt before: she entrea­ted Chichibio verie earnestly, that hee would bestow a legge thereof o [...] her. Whereto Chichibio (like a pleasant companion, and euermore de­lighting in singing) sung her this answer.

Many other speeches past betweene them in a short while, but in the end, Chichibio, because hee would not haue his Mistresse Brunetta angrie with him; cut away one of the Cranes legges from the spit, and gaue it to her to eate. Afterward, when the Fowle was serued vp to the Ta­ble before Messer Carrado, who had inuited certain strangers his friends to sup with him, wondering not a little, he called for Chichibio his Cook; demanding what was become of the Cranes other legge? Whereto the Venetian (being a lyar by Nature) sodainely answered: Sir, Cranes haue no more but one legge each Bird. Messer Currado, growing verie angry, replyed. Wilt thou tell me, that a Crane hath no more but one legge? Did I neuer see a Crane before this? Chichibio pe [...]sisting reso­lutely in his deniall, saide. Beleeue me Sir, I haue told you nothing but the truth, and when you please, I wil make good my wordes, by such Fowles as are liuing.

Messer Currado, in kinde loue to the strangers that hee had inuited to supper, gaue ouer any further contestation; onely he said. Seeing thou assurest me, to let me see thy affirmation for truth, by other of the same Fowles liuing (a thing which as yet I neuer saw, or heard of) I am con­tent to make proofe thereof to morrow morning, till then I shall rest sa­tisfied: but, vpon my word, if I finde it otherwise, expect such a sound payment, as thy knauery iustly deserueth, to make thee remember it all thy life time. The contention ceassing for the night season, Messer Cur­rado, who though he had slept well, remained still discontented in his minde: arose in the morning by breake of day, and puffing & blowing angerly, called for his horses, commanding Chichibio to mount on one of them; so riding on towards the Riuer, where (earely euery morning) he had s [...]ene plenty of Cranes, he sayde to his man; We shall see anon Sirra, whether thou or I lyed yesternight.

Chichibio perceiuing, that his Masters anger was not (as yet) asswaged, and now it stood him vpon, to make good his lye; not knowing how he should do it, rode after his Master, fearfully trembling all the way. Glad­ly he would haue made an escape, but hee could not by any possible meanes, and on euery side he looked about him, now before, and after behinde, to espy any Cranes standing on both their legges, which would haue bin an ominous sight to him. But being come neere to the Riuer, he chanced to see (before any of the rest) vpon the banke thereof, about a dozen Cranes in number, each of them standing but vpon one legge, as they vse to do when they are sleeping. Whereupon, shewing them quickly to Messer Currado, he said. Now Sir your selfe may see, whe­ther I told you true yesternight, or no: I am sure a Crane hath but one thigh, and one leg, as all here present are apparant witnesses, and I haue bin as good as my promise.

[Page 8] Messer Currado looking on the Cranes, and well vnderstanding the knauery of his man, replyed: Stay but a little while sirra, & I will shew thee, that a Crane hath two thighes, and two legges. Then riding som­what neerer to them, he cryed out aloud, Shough, shough, which cau­sed them to set downe their other legs, and all fled away, after they had made a few paces against the winde for their mounting. So going vnto Chichibio, he said: How now you lying Knaue, hath a Crane two legs, or no? Chichibio being well-neere at his wits end, not knowing now what answer hee should make; but euen as it came sodainly into his minde, said: Sir, I perceiue you are in the right, and if you would haue done as much yesternight, and had cryed Shough, as here you did: que­stionlesse, the Crane would then haue set down the other legge, as these heere did: but if (as they) she had fled away too, by that meanes you might haue lost your Supper.

This sodaine and vnexpected witty answere, comming from such a logger-headed Lout, and so seasonably for his owne safety: was so plea­sing to Messer Currado, that he fell into a hearty laughter, and forget­ting all anger, saide. Chichibio, thou hast quit thy selfe well, and to my contentment: albeit I aduise thee, to teach mee no more such trickes heereafter. Thus Chichibio, by his sodaine and merry answer, escaped a sound beating, which (otherwise) his master had inflicted on him.

The Fift Nouell.

SO soone as Madame Nei­phila sate silent (the Ladies hauing greatly commen­ded the pleasant answer of Chi­chibio) Pamphilus, by command from the Queene, spake in this manner. Woorthy Ladies, it commeth to passe oftentimes, that like as Fortune is obserued diuers wayes, to hide vnder vile and contemptible Arts, the most great and vnvalewable treasures of vertue (as, not long since, was well discoursed vnto vs by Ma­dame Pampinea:) so in like man­ner hath appeared; that Nature hath infused very singular spirits [Page] into most mishapen and deformed bodies of men. As hath beene no­ted in two of our owne Citizens, of whom I purpose to speake in fewe words. The one of them was named Messer Forese de Rabatta, a man of little and low person, but yet deformed in body, with a flat face, like a Terrier or Beagle, as if no comparison (almost) could bee made more vgly. But notwithstanding all this deformity, he was so singularly ex­perienced in the Lawes, that all men held him beyond any equall, or ra­ther reputed him as a Treasury of ciuill knowledge.

The other man, being named Giotto, had a spirit of so great excellen­cy, as there was not any particular thing in Nature, the Mother and Worke-mistresse of all, by continuall motion of the heauens; but hee by his pen and pensell could perfectly portrait; shaping them all so tru­ly alike and resemblable, that they were taken for the reall matters in­deede; and, whether they were present or no, there was hardly any pos­sibility of their distinguishing. So that many times it happened, that by the variable deuises he made, the visible sence of men became deceiued, in crediting those things to he naturall, which were but meerly painted. By which meanes, hee reduced that singular Art to light, which long time before had lyen buried, vnder the grosse error of some; who, in the mysterie of painting, delighted more to content the ignorant, then to please the iudicious vnderstanding of the wise, he iustly deseruing there­by, to be tearmed one of the Florentines most glorious lights. And so much the rather, because he performed all his actions, in the true and lowly spirit of humility: for while he liued, and was a Master in his Art, aboue all other Painters: yet he refused any such title, which shined the more maiestically in him, as appeared by such, who knew much lesse then he, or his Schollers either: yet his knowledge was extreamly coue­ted among them.

Now, notwithstanding all this admirable excellency in him: he was not (thereby) a iot the handsommer man (either in person or counte­nance) then was our fore-named Lawyer Messer Forese, and therefore my Nouell concerneth them both. Vnderstand then (faire Assemblie) that the possessions and inheritanees of Messer Forese and Giotto, lay in Mugello; wherefore, when Holy-dayes were celebrated by Order of Court, and in the Sommer time, vpon the admittance of so apt a vaca­tion; Forese rode thither vpon a very vnsightly Iade, such as a man can can sildome meet with worse. The like did Giotto the Painter, as ill fit­ted euery way as the other; and hauing dispatched their busines there, they both returned backe towards Florence, neither of them being able to boast, which was the best mounted.

Riding on a faire and softly pace, because their Horses could goe no faster: and they being well entred into yeeres, it fortuned (as oftentimes the like befalleth in Sommer) that a sodaine showre of raine ouer-tooke them; for auoyding whereof, they made all possible haste to a poore Countrey-mans Cottage, familiarly knowne to them both. Hauing continued there an indifferent while, and the raine vnlikely to cease: to [Page 9] preuent all further protraction of time, and to arriue at Florence in due season; they borrowed twoold cloakes of the poore man, of ouer-worn and ragged Country gray, as also two hoodes of the like Complexion, because the poore man had no better) which did more mis [...]ape them, then their owne vgly deformity, and made them notoriously flouted and scorned, by all that met or ouertooke them.

After they had ridden some distance of ground, much moyled and bemyred with their shuffling Iades, flinging the dirt euery way about them, that well they might be termed two filthy companions: the raine gaue ouer, and the euening looking somwhat cleare, they began to con­fer familiarly together. Messer Forese, riding a lofty French trot, euerie step being ready to hoise him out of his saddle, hearing Giottos discreete answers to euery ydle question he made (for indeede he was a very ele­gant speaker) began to peruse and surueigh him, euen from the foote to the head, as we vse to say. And perceiuing him to be so greatly defor­med, as no man could be worse, in his opinion: without any considera­tion of his owne mishaping as bad, or rather more vnsightly then hee; in a scoffing laughing humour, hee saide Giotto, doest thou imagine▪ that a stranger, who had neuer seene thee before, and should now hap­pen into our companie, would beleeue thee to bee the best Painter in the world, as indeede thou art? Presently Giotto (without any further meditation) returned him this answere. Signior Forese, I think he might then beleeue it, when (beholding you) hee could imagine that you had learned your A. B. C. Which when Forese heard, he knew his owne er­ror, and saw his payment returned in such Coine, as he sold his Wares for.

The Sixth Nouell.

THE Ladies smiled very heartily, at the ready answer of Giotto; vntill the Queene charged Madam Fiammetta, that shee should next succeed in order: whereupon, thus she began. The verie greatest infelicity that can happen to a man, and most insupportable of all other, is Ignorance; a word (I say) which hath bin so general, as vnder it is comprehended all imperfections whatsoeuer. Yet notwithstanding, whosoeuer can cull (graine by graine) the defects incident to humane race; will and must confesse, that wee are not all borne to knowledge: but onely such, whom the heauens illuminating by their bright radiance [Page] (wherein consisteth the sourse and well-spring of all science) by little & little, do bestow the influence of their bounty, on such and so manie as they please, who are to expresse themselues the more thankfull for such a blessing. And although this grace doth lessen the misfortune of ma­ny, which were ouer-mighty to bee in all; yet some there are, who by sawcie presuming on themselues, doe bewray their ignorance by theyr owne speeches; setting such behauiour on each matter, and soothing e­uery thing with such grauity, euen as if they would make comparison: or (to speake more properly) durst encounter in the Listes with great Salomon or Socrates. But let vs leaue them, and come to the matter of our purposed Nouell.

In a certaine Village of Piccardie, there liued a Priest or Vicar, who beeing meerely an ignorant blocke, had yet such a peremptorie presu­ming spirite: as, though it was sufficiently discerned, yet hee begui­led many thereby, vntill at last he deceyued himselfe, and with due cha­stisement to his folly.

A plaine Husbandman dwelling in the same Village, possessed of much Land and Liuing, but verie grosse and dull in vnderstanding; by the entreaty of diuers his Friends and Well-willers, some-thing more intelligable then himselfe: became incited, or rather prouoked, to send a Sonne of his to the Vniuersity of Paris, to study there as was fitting for a Scholler. To the end (quoth they) that hauing but this Son onely, and Fortunes blessings abounding in store for him: hee might likewise haue the riches of the minde, which are those true treasures indeede, that Ari­stippus giueth vs aduice to be furnished withall.

His Friends perswasions hauing preuailed, and hee continued at [Page 10] for the space of three yeares: what with the documents he had attayned to, before his going thither, and by meanes of a happie memory in the time of his being there, wherewith no young man was more singularly endued (in so short a while) he attained and performed the greater part of his Studies.

Now, as oftentimes it commeth to passe, the loue of a Father (sur­mounting all other affections in man) made the olde Farmer desirous to see his Sonne: which caused his sending for him with all conuenient speede, and obedience vrged his as forward willingnesse thereto. The good olde man, not a little ioyfull to see him in so good condition and health, and encreased so much in stature since his parting thence: fami­liarly told him, that he earnestly desired to know, if his minde and body had attained to a competent and equall growth, which within three or foure dayes he would put in practise.

No other helpe had he silly simple man, but Master Vicar must bee the questioner and poser of his son: wherein the Priest was very vnwil­ling to meddle, for feare of discouering his owne ignorance, which pas­sed vnder better opinion then he deserued. But the Farmer beeing im­importunate, and the Vicar many wayes beholding to him, durst not re­turne deniall, but vndertooke it very formally, as if he had bene an able man indeede.

But see how Fooles are borne to be fortunate, and where they least hope, there they find the best successe; the simplicitie of the Father, must be the meanes for abusing his Schollerly Son, and a skreene to stand be­tweene the Priest and his ignorance. Earnest is the olde man to know, what and how farre his Sonne had profited at Schoole, and by what note he might best take vnderstanding of his answeres: which iumping fit with the Vicars vanity, and a warrantable cloake to couer his kna­uery; he appoints him but one word onely, namely Nescio, wherewith if he answered to any of his demands, it was an euident token, that hee vnderstood nothing. As thus they were walking and conferring in the Church, the Farmer very carefull to remember the word Nescio: it came to passe vpon a sodaine, that the young man entred into them, to the great contentment of his Father, who prayed Master Vicar, to make ap­probation of his Sonne, whether he were learned, or no, and how hee had benefited at the Vniuersity?

After the time of the daies salutations had past betweene them, the Vicar being subtle and crafty, as they walked along by one of the tombs in the Church; pointing with his finger to the Tombe, the Priest vttered these words to the Scholler.

The yong Scholler (by reason it was erected since his departure, and finding no inscription whereby to informe him) answered, as well hee might, Nescio. Immediately the Father, keeping the word perfect­ly in his memorie, grewe verie angerly passionate; and, desiring to [Page] heare no more demaunds: gaue him three or foure boxes on the cares▪ with many harsh and iniurious speeches, tearming him an Asse and Vil­laine, and that he had not learned any thing. His Sonne was pacien [...], and returned no answer, but plainly perceiued, that this was a tricke in­tended against him, by the malicious treachery of the Priest, on whom (in time) he might be reuenged.

Within a short while after, the Suffragane of those parts (vnder whom the Priest was but a Deputy, holding the benefice of him, with no great charge to his conscience) being abroad in his visitation, sent word to the Vicar, that he intended to preach there on the next Sunday, and hee to prepare in a readinesse, Bonum & Commodum, because hee would haue nothing else to his dinner. Heereat Master Vicar was greatly amazed, because he had neuer heard such words before, neither could hee finde them in all his Breuiarie. Hereupon, he went to the yong scholler, whom he had so lately before abused, and crying him mercy, with many impu­dent and shallow excuses, desired him to reueale the meaning of those words, and what he should vnderstand by Bonum & Commodum.

The Scholler (with a sober and modest countenance) made answere; That he had bin ouer-much abused, which (neuerthelesse) he tooke not so impaciently, but hee had already both forgot and forgiuen it, with promise of comfort in this his extraordinary distraction, and greefe of minde. When he had perused the Suffraganes Letter, well obseruing the blushlesse ignorance of the Priest: seeming (by outward appearance) to take it strangely, he cryed out alowd, saying; In the name of Vertue, what may be this mans meaning? How? (quoth the Priest) What ma­ner of demand do you make? Alas, replyed the Scholler, you haue but one poore Asse, which I know you loue deerely, and yet you must stew his genitories very daintily, for your Patron will haue no other meat to his dinner. The genitories of mine Asse, answered the Priest? Passion of me, who then shall carrie my Corne to the Mill? There is no re­medie, sayde the Scholler, for he hath so set it downe for an absolute re­solution.

After that the Priest had considered thereon a while by himselfe, re­membring the yearely reuennewes, which clearely hee put vp into his purse, to be ten times of farre greater worth then his Asse: he concluded to haue him gelded, what danger soeuer should ensue thereon, prepa­ring them in readinesse against his comming. So soone as the Suffragan was there arriued, heauily hee complained to him for his Asse: which kinde of Language he not vnderstanding, knew not what he meant, nor how he should answer. But beeing (by the Scholler) acquainted with the whole History, he laughed heartily at the Priests ignorant folly, wi­shing that all such bold Bayards (from time to time) might be so serued. Likewise, that all ignorant Priests, Vicars, and other Grashoppers of Townes or Villages, who sometimes haue onely seene Partes [...]ationis quod sunt, not to stand ouer-much on their owne sufficiency, grounded soly vpon their Grammar; but to beware whom they iest withall, with­out [Page 11] out medling with Schollers, who take not iniuries as dullards doe, least they proue infamous by then disputations.

The Seuenth Nouell.

AFter that Madame Fiammetta had giuen ouer speaking, and all the Auditory had sufficiently applauded the Schollers honest reuenge, the Queene enioyned Philostratus, to proceede on next with his Nouell, which caused him to begin thus. Be­leeue me Ladies, it is an excellent & most commendable thing, to speak well, and to all purposes: but I hold it a matter of much greater worth, to know how to do it, and when necessity doth most require it. Which a Gentlewoman (of whom I am now to speake) was so well enstructed in, as not onely it yeelded the hearers mirthfull contentment, but like­wise deliuered her from the danger of death, as (in few words) you shal heare related.

In the Citie of Pirato, there was an Edict or Statute, no lesse blame­worthy (to speake vprightly) then most seuere and cruell, which (with­out [Page] making any distinction) gaue strict command; That euerie Woman should be burned with fire, whose husband found her in the acte of A­dultery, with any secret or familiar friend, as one deseruing to bee thus abandoned, like such as prostituted their bodies to publike sale or hire. During the continuance of this sharpe Edict, it fortuned that a Gentle­woman, who was named Phillippa, was found in her Chamber one night, in the armes of a yong Gentleman of the same City, named La­zarino de Guazzagliotori, and by her owne husband, called Rinaldo de Pugliese, shee louing the young Gallant, as her owne life, because hee was most compleate in all perfections, and euery way as deerely addi­cted to her.

This sight was so irkesome to Rinaldo, that, being ouercom with ex­treame rage, hee could hardly containe from running on them, with a violent intent to kill them both: but feare of his owne life caused his forbearance, meaning to be reuenged by some better way. Such was the heate of his spleene and fury, as, setting aside all respect of his owne shame: he would needs prosecute the rigour of the deadly Edict, which he held lawfull for him to do, although it extended to the death of his Wife. Heereupon, hauing witnesses sufficient, to approoue the guilti­nesse of her offence: a day being appointed (without desiring any o­ther counsell) he went in person to accuse her, and required iustice a­gainst her.

The Gentlewoman, who was of an high and vndauntable spirite, as all such are, who haue fixed their affection resoluedly, and loue vppon a grounded deliberation: concluded, quite against the counsell and opi­nion of her Parents, Kindred, and Friends; to appeare in the Court, as desiring rather to dye, by confessing the trueth with a manly courage, then by denying it, and her loue vnto so worthy a person as he was, in whose arms she chanced to be taken; to liue basely in exile with shame, as an eternall scandall to her race. So, before the Potestate, shee made her apparance, worthily accompanied both with men and women, all aduising her to deny the acte: but she, not minding them or their per­swasions, looking on the Iudge with a constant countenance, and a voyce of setled resolue, craued to know of him, what hee demaunded of her?

The Potestate well noting her braue carriage, her singular beautie and praise-worthy parts, her words apparantly witnessing the heighth of her minde: beganne to take compassion on her, and doubted, least shee would confesse some such matter, as should enforce him to pro­nounce the sentence of death against her. But she boldly scorning all delayes, or any further protraction of time; demanded again, what was her accusation? Madame, answered the Potestate, I am sory to tel you, what needs I must, your husband (whom you see present heere) is the cōplainant against you, auouching, that he tooke you in the act of adul­tery with another man: and therefore he requireth, that, according to the rigour of the Statute heere in force with vs, I should pronounce [Page 12] sentence against you, and (consequently) the infliction of death. Which I cannot do, if you confesse not the fact, and therefore be well aduised, how you answer me, and tell me the truth, if it be as your Husband ac­cuseth you, or no.

The Lady, without any dismay or dread at all, pleasantly thus repli­ed. My Lord, true it is, that Rinaldo is my Husband, and that he found me, on the night named, betweene the Armes of Lazarino, where ma­ny times heeretofore he hath embraced mee, according to the mutuall loue re-plighted together, which I deny not, nor euer will. But you know well enough, and I am certaine of it, that the Lawes enacted in a­ny Countrey, ought to be common, and made with consent of them whom they concerne, which in this Edict of yours is quite contrarie. For it is rigorous against none, but poore women onely, who are able to yeeld much better content and satisfaction generally, then remaineth in the power of men to do. And moreouer, when this Law was made, there was not any woman that gaue consent to it, neither were they cal­led to like or allow thereof: in which respect, it may deseruedly be ter­med, an vniust Law. And if you will, in preiudice of my bodie, and of your owne soule, be the executioner of so vnlawfull an Edict, it consi­steth in your power to do as you please.

But before you proceede to pronounce any sentence, may it please you to fauour me with one small request, namely, that you would de­mand of my Husband, if at all times, and whensoeuer he tooke delight in my company, I euer made any curiosity, or came to him vnwilling­ly. Whereto Rinaldo, without tarrying for the Potestate to mooue the question, sodainly answered; that (vndoubtedly) his wife at all times, and oftner then he could request it, was neuer sparing of her kindnesse, or put him off with any deniall. Then the Lady, continuing on her former speeches, thus replyed. Let me then demand of you my Lord, being our Potestate and Iudge, if it be so, by my Husbands owne free confession, that he hath alwaies had his pleasure of me, without the least refusall in me, or contradiction; what should I doe with the ouer-plus remaining in mine owne power, and whereof he had no need? Would you haue mee cast it away to the Dogges? Was it not more fitting for me, to pleasure therwith a worthy Gentleman, who was euen at deaths doore for my loue, then (my husbands surfetting, and hauing no neede of me) to let him lye languishing, and dye?

Neuer was heard such an examination before, and to come from a woman of such worth, the most part of the honourable Pratosians (both Lords and Ladies) being there present, who hearing her vrge such a ne­cessary question, cryed out all aloud together with one voice (after they had laughed their fill) that the Lady had saide well, and no more then she might. So that, before they departed thence, by comfortable ad­uice proceeding from the Potestate: the Edict (being reputed ouercru­ell) was modified, and interpreted to concerne them onely, who offe­red iniurie to their Husbands for money. By which meanes, Rinaldo [Page] standing as one confounded, for such a foolish and vnaduised enterprize, departed from the Auditorie: and the Ladie, not a little ioyfull to bee thus freed and deliuered from the fire, returned home with victorie to her owne house.

The Eighth Nouell.

ALL the while as Philostratus was re-counting his Nouell; it seemed, that the Ladies (who heard it) found themselues much mooued thereat, as by the wanton blood monting vp into their cheekes, it plainly appeared. But in the end, looking on each other with strange behauiour, they could not forbeare smiling: which the Queene interrupting by a command of attention, turning to Madame Aemillia, willed her to follow next. When she, puffing and blowing, as if she had bene newly awaked from sleepe, began in this manner.

Faire Beauties; My thoughts hauing wandred a great distance hence, and further then I can easily collect them together againe; in obedience yet to our Queene, I shall report a much shorter Nouell, then otherwise (perhappes) I should haue done, if my minde had beene a little neerer home. I shall tell you the grosse fault of a foolish Damosell, well corre­cted [Page 13] by a witty reprehension of her Vnckle; if shee had bin endued but with so much sence, as to haue vnderstood it.

An honest man, named Fresco da Celatico, had a good fulsom wench to his Neece, who for her folly and squemishnes, was generally called Ce­sta, or nice Francesca. And although she had stature sufficient, yet none of the handsomest, & a good hard fauourd countenance, nothing nere such Angelical beauties as we haue seen: yet she was endued with such height of minde, and so proud an opinion of her selfe, that it appeared as a cu­stome bred in hir, or rather a gift bestowed on hir by nature (thogh none of the best) to blame and despise both men and women, yea whosoeuer she lookt on; without any consideration of her self, she being as vnsight­ly, ill shaped, and vgly faced, as a worse was very hardly to be found.

Nothing could be done at any time, to yeilde her liking or content: moreouer, she was so waspish, nice, & squemish, that when she cam into the royall Court of France, it was hatefull & contemptible to hir. When­soeuer she went through the streets, euery thing stunke and was noisome to her; so that she neuer did any thing but stop her nose; as if all men or women she met withall; and whatsoeuer else she lookt on, were stinking and offensiue. But let vs leaue all further relation of her ill conditions, being euery way (indeed) so bad, and hardly becomming any sensible body, that we cannot condemne them so much as we should.

It chanced vpon a day, that shee comming home to the house where her Vnckle dwelt, declared her wonted scuruy and scornfull behauiour; swelling, puffing, and pouting extreamly, in which humor she sat downe by her Vnckle, who desiring to know what had displeased her, said. Why how now Francesca? what may the meaning of this bee? This being a so­lemne festiuall day, what is the reason of your so soone returning home? She coily biting the lip, and brideling her head, as if she had bene some mans best Gelding, sprucely thus replyed.

Indeede you say true Vnckle, I am come home verie earely, because, since the day of my birth, I neuer saw a City so pestered with vnhand­some people, both men and women, and worse this high Holyday then euer I did obserue before. I walked thorow some store of streetes, and I could not see one proper man: and as for the women, they are the most mishapen and vgly creatures, that, if God had made me such an one, I should be sory that euer I was borne. And being no longer able to en­dure such vnpleasing sights; you wil not thinke (Vnckle) in what an an­ger I am come home. Fresco, to whome these stinking qualities of his Neece seemed so vnsufferable, that hee could not (with patience) en­dure them any longer, thus short and quickely answered. Francesca, if all people of our Citie (both men and women) be so odious in thy eyes, and offensiue to thy nose, as thou hast often reported to me: bee aduised then by my counsell. Stay stil at home, and look vpon none but thy selfe onely, and then thou shalt be sure that they cannot displease thee. But shee, being as empty of wit as a pith-lesse Cane, and yet thought her iudgement to exceed Salomons, could not vnderstand the lest part of hir [Page] Vnkles meaning, but stood as senselesse as a sheepe. Onely she replyed, that she would resort to some other parts of the country, which if shee found as weakly furnished of handsome people, as heere shee did, shee would conceiue better of her selfe, then euer she had done before.

The Ninth Nouell.

WHen the Queene perceiued, that Madame Aemillia was dischar­ged of her Nouell, and none remained now to speake next, but onely her selfe, his priuiledge alwayes remembred, to whom it belonged to be the last, she began in this manner.

Faire Company, you haue this day disappointed me of two Nouells at the least, whereof I had intended to make vse. Neuerthelesse, you shall not imagine mee so vnfurnished, but that I haue left one in store; the conclusion whereof, may minister such instruction, as will not bee reputed for ydle and impertinent: but rather of such materiall conse­quence, as better hath not this day past among vs.

Vnderstand then (most faire Ladies) that in former times long since past, our Cittie had many excellent and commendable customes in it; whereof (in these vnhappy dayes of ours) we cannot say that poore one remaineth, such hath beene the too much encrease of Wealth and Couetousnesse, the onely supplanters of all good qualities whatsoeuer. [Page 14] Among which lawdable and friendly obseruations, there was one well deseruing note, namely, that in diuers places of Florence, men of the best houses in euery quarter, had a sociable and neighbourly assemblie to­gether, creating their company to consist of a certaine number, such as were able to supply their expences; as this day one, and to morrow an­other: and thus in a kinde of friendly course, each daily furnished the Table, for the rest of the company. Oftentimes, they did honour to di­uers Gentlemen and strangers, vpon their arriuall in our Citty, by inui­ting them into their assembly, and many of our worthiest Citizens be­side; so that it grew to a customary vse, and one especially day in the yeare appointed, in memory of this so louing a meeting, when they would ride (triumphally as it were) on horsebacke thorow the Cittie, sometimes performing Tilts, Tourneyes, and other Martiall exercises, but they were reserued for Feastiuall dayes.

Among which company, there was one called, Signior Betto Brune­leschi, who was earnestly desirous, to procure Signior Guido Caualcante de Caualcanti, to make one in this their friendly society. And not with­out great reason: for, ouer and beside his being one of the best Logitians as those times could not yeeld a better: He was also a most absolute na­turall Philosopher (which wortby qualities were little esteemed among these honest meeters) a very friendly Gentleman, singularly well spo­ken, and whatsoeuer else was commendable in any man, was no way wanting in him, being wealthy withall, and able to returne equall ho­nors, where he found them to be duly deserued, as no man therin could go beyond him. But Signior Betto, notwithstanding his long continued importunitie, could not draw him into their assembly, which made him and the rest of his company conceiue, that the solitude of Guid [...], retiring himselfe alwaies from familiar conuersing with men: prouoked him to many curious speculations: and because he retained some part of the Epicurean Opinion, their vulgare iudgement passed on him, that his speculations tended to no other end, but onely to finde out that which was neuer done.

It chanced vpon a day, that Signior Guido departing from the Church of Saint Michaell d'Horta, and passing along by the Adamari, so farre as to Saint Iohns Church, which euermore was his customarie Walke: ma­ny goodly Marble Tombes were then about the saide Church, as now adayes are at Saint Reparata, and diuers more beside. He entring among the Collumbes of Porphiry, and the other Sepulchers being there, be­cause the doore of the Church was shut: Signior Betto & his companie, came riding from S. Reparata, & espying Signior Guido among the graues and tombes, said. Come, let vs go make some iests to anger him. So put­ting the spurs to their horses, they rode apace towards him: and being vpon him before he perceiued them, one of them said. Guido thou refu­sest to be one of our society, & seekest for that which neuer was: when thou hast found it, tell vs, what wilt thou do with it?

Guido seeing himselfe round engirt with them, sodainly thus reply­ed: [Page] Gentlemen, you may vse mee in your owne house as you please. And setting his hand on one of the Tombes (which was some-what great) he tooke his rising, and leapt quite ouer it on the further side, as being of an agile and sprightly body, and being thus freed from them, he went away to his owne lodging. They stoode all like men amazed, strangely looking one vpon another, and began afterward to murmure among themselues: That Guido was a man without any vnderstanding, and the answer which he had made vnto them, was to no purpose, nei­ther sauoured of any discretion, but meerely came from an empty brain because they had no more to do in the place where now they were, then any of the other Citizens, and Signior Guido (himselfe) as little as any of them; whereto Signior Betto thus replyed.

Alas Gentlemen, it is you your selues that are void of vnderstanding: for, if you had but obserued the answer which he made vnto vs: hee did honestly, and (in verie few words) not onely notably expresse his owne wisedome, but also deseruedly reprehend vs. Because, if wee obserue things as we ought to doe, Graues and Tombes are the houses of the dead, ordained and prepared to be their latest dwellings. He tolde vs moreouer, that although we haue heere (in this life) other habitations and abidings; yet these (or the like) must at last be our houses. To let vs know, and all other foolish, indiscreete, and vnlearned men, that we are worse then dead men, in comparison of him, and other men equall to him in skill and learning. And therefore, while wee are heere among these Graues and Monuments, it may well be said, that we are not farre from our owne houses, or how soone we shall be possessors of them, in regard of the frailty attending on vs.

Then euery one could presently say, that Signior Guido had spoken nothing but the truth, and were much ashamed of their owne folly, and shallow estimation which they had made of Guido, desiring neuer more after to meddle with him so grossely, and thanking Signior Betto, for so well reforming their ignorance, by his much better apprehension.

The Tenth Nouell.

WHen all of them had deliuered their Nouels, Dioneus kno­wing, that it remained in him to relate the last for this day: without attending for any solemne command (af­ter he had imposed silence on them, that could not suffi­ciently commend the witty reprehension of Guido, thus he began. Wise and worthy Ladies, although by the priuiledge you haue granted, it is lawfull for me to speake any thing best pleasing to my self: yet notwithstanding, it is not any part of my meaning, to varrie from the matter and method, whereof you haue spoken to very good pur­pose. And therefore, following your footsteppes, I entend to tell you, how craftily, and with a Rampiar sodainly raised in his owne defence: a Religious Frier of Saint Anthonies Order, shunned a shame, which two wily companions had prepared for him. Nor let it offend you, if I run into more large discourse, then this day hath bene vsed by any, for the apter comple [...]ting of my Nouell: because, if you well obserue it, the Sun is as yet in the middest of heauen, and therefore you may the better forbeare me.

Certoldo, as (perhaps) you know, or haue heard, is a Village in the [Page] Vale of Elsa, and vnder the authority and commaund of our Florence, which although it be but small: yet (in former times) it hath bin inhabi­ted with Gentlemen, and people of especiall respect. A religious Friar of S. Anthonies Order, named Friar Onyon, had long time vsed to resort thither, to receiue the beneuolent almes, which those charitably affected people in simplicity gaue him, & chiefly at diuers daies of the year, whē their bounty and deuotion would extend themselues more largely then at other seasons. And so much the rather, because they thought him to be a good Pastor of holy life in outward appearance, & carried a name of much greater matter, then remained in the man indeed; beside, that part of the country yeilded far more plentifull abundance of Onyons, then all other in Tuscany elsewhere, a kinde of foode greatly affected by those Friars, as men alwaies of hungry & good appetite. This Friar O­nyon was a man of litle stature, red haire, a chearfull countenance, and the world afforded not a more crafty companion, then he. Moreouer, albeit he had very little knowledge or learning, yet he was so prompt, ready & voluble of speech, vttering often he knew not what himselfe: that such as were not wel acquainted with his qualities, supposed him to be a singular Rhetoritian, excelling Cicero or Quintilian themselues; & he was a gossip, friend, or deerely affected, by euery one dwelling in those parts. According to his wonted custome, one time he went thither in the month of August, and on a Sunday morning, when all the dwel­lers thereabout, were present to heare Masse, and in the chiefest Church aboue all the rest: when the Friar saw time conuenient for his purpose, he aduanced himselfe, and began to speake in this manner.

Gentlemen and Gentlewomen, you know you haue kept a commen­dable custom, in sending yeerly to the poore brethren of our Lord Ba­ron S. Anthony, both of your Corne and other prouision, some more, some lesse, all according to their power, means, and deuotion, to the end that blessed S. Anthony should be the more carefull of your oxen, sheep, asses, swine, pigs, and other cattle. Moreouer, you haue vsed to pay (espe­cially such as haue their names registred in our Fraternity) those duties which annually you send vnto vs. For the collection whereof, I am sent by my Superior, namely our L. Abbot, & therfore (with Gods blessing) you may come after noone hither, when you shal heare the Bels of the Church ring: then wil I make a predication to you; you shall kisse the Crosse, and beside, because I know you al to be most deuout seruants to our Lord Baron S. Anthony, in especiall grace and fauor, I wil shew you a most holy and goodly Relique, which I my selfe (long since) brought from the holy Land beyond the seas. If you desire to know what it is, let me tell you, that it is one of the Feathers of the same Phoenix, which was in the Arke with the Patriarch Noah. And hauing thus spoken, he became silent, returning backe to heare Masse. While hee deliuered these and the like speeches, among the other people then in the church, there were two shrewde and crafty Companions; the one, named Iohn de Bragoniero, and the other, Biagio Pizzino. These subtile Fel­lowes, [Page 14] after they had heard the report of Fry [...] Onyons Relique: althogh they were his intimate friends, and came thither in his company; yet they concluded betweene themselues, to shew him a tricke of Legierdu­maine, and to steale the Feather from him. When they had intelligence of Friar Onyons di [...]ing that day at the Castle, with a worthy Friend of his: no sooner was he set at the Table, but away went they in all haste, to the Inne where the Fryar frequented, with this determination, that Biagio should hold conference with the Friars boy, while his fellow ran­sackt the Wallet, to finde the Feather, and carry it away with him, for a future obseruation, what the Friar would say vnto the people, when he found the losse of the Feather, and could not performe his promi [...]e to them.

The Fryars Boy, whom some called Guccio Balena, some Guccio Im­brata, and others Guccio Porco, was such a knauish Lad, and had so ma­ny bad qualities, as Lippo Topo the cunning Painter, or the most curious Poeticall wit, had not any ability to describe them. Friar Onyon himself did often obserue his behauiour, and would make this report among his Friends. My Boy (quoth he) hath nine rare qualities in him, and such they are, as if Salomon, Aristotle, or Seneca had onely but one of them: it were sufficient to torment and trouble all their vertue, all their senses, & all their sanctity. Consider then, what manner of man he is like to be, hauing nine such rarities, yet voide of all vertue, wit, or goodnes. And when it was demaunded of Friar Onyon, what these nine rare conditi­ons were: hee hauing them all readie by heart, and in rime, thus an­swered.

Now, ouer and beside all these admirable qualities, hee hath manie more such singularities, which (in fauour towards him) I am faine to con­ceale. But that which I smile most at in him, is, that he would haue a Wife in euery place where he commeth, yea, and a good house to boot too: for, in regard his beard beginneth to shew it selfe, rising thicke in haire, blacke and amiable, he is verily perswaded, that all Women will fall in loue with him; and if they refuse to follow him, he will in all hast run after them. But truly, he is a notable seruant to mee, for I cannot speake with any one, and in neuer so great secrecy, but he will be sure to heare his part; and when any question is demanded of me, he standes in such awe and feare of my displeasure: that he will bee sure to make the first answer, yea or no, according as he thinketh it most conuenient.

[Page] Now, to proceede where we left, Friar Onyon hauing left this seruice­able youth at his lodging, to see that no bodie should meddle with his commodities, especially his Wallet, because of the sacred things there­in contained: Guccio Imbrata, who as earnestly affected to be in the Kit­chin, as Birds to hop from branch to branch, especially, when anie of the Chamber-maides were there, espyed one of the Hostesses Female attendants, a grosse fat Trugge, low of stature, ill faced, and worse for­med, with a paire of brests like two bumbards, smelling loathsomely of grease and sweate; downe shee descended into the Kitchin, like a Kite vpon a peece of Carion. This Boy, or Knaue, chuse whither you will style him, hauing carelesly left Fryar Onyons Chamber doore open, and all the holy things so much to be neglected, although it was then the moneth of August, when heate is in the highest predominance, yet hee would needs sit downe by the sire, and began to conferre with this ami­able creature, who was called by the name of Nuta.

Being set close by her, he told her, that he was a Gentleman by Attur­niship, and that he had more millions of Crownes, then all his life time would serue him to spend; beside those which he payed away dayly, as hauing no conuenient imployment for them. Moreouer, he knew how to speake, and do such things, as were beyond wonder or admiration. And, neuer remembring his olde tatterd Friars Cowle, which was so snottie and greazie, that good store of kitchin stuffe might haue beene boiled out of it; as also a foule slouenly Trusse or halfe doublet, all bau­died with bowsing, fat greazie lubbetly sweating, and other drudgeries in the Conuent Kitchin, where he was an Officer in the meanest credite. So that to describe this sweet youth in his liuely colours, both for natu­rall perfections of body, and artificiall composure of his Garments; ne­uer came the fowlest silks out of Tartaria or India, more vgly or vnsight­ly to bee lookt vpon. And for a further addition to his neate knauery, his breeches were so rent betweene his legges, his shooes and stockings had bin at such a mercilesse massacre: that the gallantest Commandador of Castile (though he had neuer so lately bin releast out of slauery) could haue wisht for better garments, then he; or make larger promises, then he did to his Nuta. Protesting to entitle her as his onely, to free her from the Inne and Chamber thraldomes, if she would liue with him, be his Loue, partaker of his present possessions, and so to succeed in his fu­ture Fortunes. All which brauadoes, though they were belcht foorth with admirable insinuations: yet they conuerted into smoke, as all such braggadochio behauiours do, and he was as wise at the ending, as when he began.

Our former named two craftie Companions, seeing Guccio Porco so seriously employed about Nuta, was there-with not a little contented, because their intended labour was now more then halfe ended. And perceiuing no contradiction to crosse their proceeding, into Friar Ony­ons chamber entred they, finding it ready open for their purpose: where the first thing that came into their hand in search, was the wallet. When [Page 19] they had opened it, they found a small Cabinet, wrapped in a great ma­ny foldings of rich Taffata; and hauing vnfolded it, a fine formall Key was hanging thereat: wherwith hauing vnlockt the Cabinet, they found a faire Feather of a Parrots taile, which they supposed to bee the verie same, that he meant to shew the people of Certaldo. And truly (in those dayes) it was no hard matter to make them beleeue any thing, because the idle vanities of Aegypt and those remoter parts, had not (as yet) bin seene in Tuscany, as since then they haue bin in great abundance, to the vtter ruine (almost) of Italy.

And although they might then be knowne to very few, yet the inha­bitants of the Country generally, vnderstoode little or nothing at all of them. For there, the pure simplicitie of their ancient predecessours still continuing; they had not seene any Parrots, or so much as heard any speech of them. Wherefore the two crafty consorts, not a little ioyfull of finding the Feather, tooke it thence with them, and beecause they would not leaue the Cabinet empty, espying Char-coales lying in a cor­ner of the Chamber, they filled it with them, wrapping it vp againe in the Taffata, and in as demure manner as they found it. So, away came they with the Feather, neither seene or suspected by any one, intending now to heare what Friar Onyon would say, vppon the losse of his preci­ous Relique, and finding the Coales there placed insted thereof.

The simple men and women of the country, who had bin at morning Masse in the Church, and heard what a wonderful Feather they should see in the after noone; returned in all hast to their houses, where one tel­ling this newes to another, and gossip with gossip consulting theron; they made the shorter dinner, and afterward flocked in maine troopes to the Castle, contending who shold first get entrance, such was their deuotion to see the holy feather. Friar Onyon hauing dined, and reposed a litle after his wine, he arose from the table to the window, where beholding what multitudes came to see the feather, he assured himselfe of good store of mony. Hereupon, he sent to his Boy Guccio Imbrata, that vppon the Bels ringing, he should come and bring the wallet to him. Which (with much ado) he did, so soone as his quarrell was ended in the kitchin, with the a­miable Chamber-maid Nuta, away then he went with his holy commo­dities: where he was no sooner arriued, but because his belly was readie to burst with drinking water, he sent him to the Church to ring the bels, which not onely would warme the cold water in his belly, but likewise make him run as gaunt as a Grey-hound.

When all the people were assembled in the Church together, Friar Onyon (neuer distrusting any iniurie offered him, or that his close com­modities had bin medled withal) began his predication, vttering a thou­sand lies to fit his purpose. And when he came to shew the feather of the Phoenix (hauing first in great deuotion finisht the confession) he caused two goodly torches to be lighted, & ducking downe his head three seue­rall times, before hee would so much as touch the Taffata, he opened it with much reuerence. So soone as the Cabinet came to be seen, off went [Page] his Hood, lowly he bowed downe his body, and vttering especial prai­ses of the Phoenix, and sacred properties of the wonderfull Relique, the Couer of the Cabinet being lifte [...] vppe, he saw the same to bee full of Coales. He could not suspect his Villaine boy to do this deede, for he knew him not to be endued with so much wit, onely hee curst him for keeping it no better, and curst himselfe also, for reposing trust in such a careles knaue, knowing him to be slothfull, disobedient, negligent, and void of all honest vnderstanding or grace. Sodainly (without blushing) lest his losse should be discerned, he lifted his lookes and hands to hea­uen, speaking out so loude, as euery one might easily heare him, thus: O thou omnipotent prouidence, for euer let thy power be praised. Then making fast the Cabinet againe, and turning himselfe to the people, with lookes expressing admiration, he proceeded in this manner.

Lords, Ladies, and you the rest of my worthy Auditors: You are to vnderstand, that I (being then very young) was sent by my Superiour, into those parts, where the Sun appeareth at his first rising. And I had receiued charge by expresse command, that I should seeke for (so much as consisted in my power to do) the especiall vertues and priuiledges be­longing to Porcellane, which although the boyling thereof bee worth but little, yet it is very profitable to any but vs. In regard whereof, be­ing vpon my iourney, and departing from Venice, passing along the Bor­go de Grecia, I proceeded thence (on horseback) through the Realme of Garbo, so to Baldacca, till I came to Parione; from whence, not without great extremity of thirst, I arriued in Sardignia.

But why do I trouble you with the repetition of so many countries? I coasted on still, after I had past Saint Georges Arme, into Truffia, and then into Buffia, which are Countries much inhabited, and with great people. From thence I went into the Land of Lying, where I found store of the Brethren of our Religion, and many other beside, who shunned all paine and labour, onely for the loue of God, and cared as litlte, for the paines and trauailes which others tooke, except some benefit arised thereby to them; nor spend they any money in this Country, but such as is without stampe. Thence I went into the Land of Abruzza, where the men and women goe in Galoches ouer the Mountaines, and make them garments of their Swines guts. Not farre from thence, I found people, that carried bread in their staues, and wine in Satchels, when parting from them, I arriued among the Mountaines of Bacchus, where all the waters run downe with a deepe fall, and in short time, I went on so far, that I found my selfe to be in India Pastinaca; where I swear to you by the holy habit which I weare on my body, that I saw Serpents flye, things incredible, and such as were neuer seene before.

But because I would be loth to lye, so soone as I departed thence, I met with Maso de Saggio, who was a great Merchant there, and whom I found cracking Nuts, and felling Cockles by retale. Neuerthelesse, al this while I could not finde what I sought for, and therefore I was to passe from hence by water, if I intended to trauaile thither, and so in re­turning [Page 18] back, I came into the Holy Land, where coole fresh bread is sold for foure pence, and the hot is giuen away for nothing. There I found the venerable Father (blame me not I beseech you) the most woorthie Patriarch of Ierusalem, who for the reuerence due to the habite I weare, and loue to our Lord Baron Saint Anthony, would haue me to see al the holy Reliques, which he had there vnder his charge: wherof there were so many, as if I should recount them all to you, I neuer could come to a conclusion. But yet, not to leaue you discomforted, I will relate some few of them to you.

First of all, he shewed me the finger of the holy Ghost, so whole and perfect, as euer it was. Next, the nose of the Cherubin, which appeared to Saint Frances; with the payring of the naile of a Seraphin; and one of the ribbes of Verbum caro, fastened to one of the Windowes, coue­red with the holy garments of the Catholique Faith. Then he tooke me into a darke Chappel, where he shewed me diuers beames of the Starre that appeared to the three Kings in the East. Also a Violl of Saint Mi­chaels sweate, when he combatted with the diuell: And the iaw-bone of dead Lazarus, with many other precious things beside. And because I was liberall to him, giuing him two of the Plaines of Monte Morello, in the Vulgare Edition, and some of the Chapters del Caprezio, which he had long laboured in search of; he bestowed on me some of his Re­liques.

First, he gaue me one of the eye-teeth of Santa Crux; and a litle Vi­oll, filled with some part of the sound of those Belles, which hung in the sumptuous Temple of Salomon. Next, he gaue mee the Feather of the Phoenix, which was with Noah in the Arke, as before I told you. And one of the Woodden Pattens, which the good Saint Gerrard de Magna­villa vsed to weare in his trauailes, and which I gaue (not long since) to Gerrardo di Bousy at Florence, where it is respected with much deuoti­on. Moreouer, he gaue me a few of those Coales, wherwith the Phoe­nix of Noah was roasted; all which things I brought away thence with me. Now, most true it is, that my Superiour would neuer suffer mee to shew them any where, vntill he was faithfully cer [...]ified, whether they were the same precious Reliques, or no. But perceyuing by sundrie Myracles which they haue wrought, and Letters of sufficient credence receyued from the reuerend Patriarch, that all is true, he hath graunted me permission to shew them, and because I wold not trust any one with matters of such moment, I my selfe brought them hither with me.

Now I must tell you, that the Feather of the same Phoenix, I conuey­ed into a small Cabinet or Casket, because it should not be bent or bro­ken. And the Coales where with the said Phoenix was roasted, I put into another Casket, in all respects so like to the former, that many times I haue takē one for another. As now at this instant it hath bin my fortune: for, imagining that I brought the Casket with the feather, I mistooke my self, & brought the other with the coales. Wherein doubtles I haue not offended, because I am certaine, that we of our Order do not any thing, [Page] but it is ordred by diuine direction, and our blessed Patron the Lorde Baron Saint Anthony. And so much the rather, because about a senight hence, the Feast of Saint Anthony is to bee solemnized, against the pre­paration whereof, and to kindle your zeale with the greater feruencie: he put the Casket with the Coales into my hand, meaning, to let you see the Feather, at some more fitting season. And therefore my blessed Sonnes and Daughters, put off your Bonnets, and come hither with de­uotion to looke vpon them. But first let me tell you, whosoeuer is mar­ked by any of these Coales, with the signe of the Crosse: he or she shal liue all this yeare happily, and no fire whatsoeuer shall come neere to touch or hurt them. So, singing a solemne Antheme in the praise of S. Anthony, he vnveyled the Casket, and shewed the Coales openly.

The simple multitude, hauing (with great admiration and reuerence) a long while beheld them, they thronged in crouds to Fryar Onyon, gi­uing him farre greater offerings, then before they had, and enteating him to marke them each after other. Whereupon, he taking the coales in his hand, began to marke their garments of white, and the veyles on the Womens heads, with Crosses of no meane extendure: affirming to them, that the more the Coales wasted with making those great cros­ses, the more they still encreased in the Casket, as often before hee had made triall.

In this manner, hauing crossed all the Certaldanes (to his great bene­fit) and their abuse: he smiled at his sodaine and dexterious deuise, in mockery of them, who thought to haue made a scorne of him, by dis­possessing him of the Feather. For Bragoniero and Pizzino, being pre­sent at his Learned predication, and hauing heard what a cunning shift he found, to come off cleanly, without the least detection, and all deli­uered with such admirable protestations: they were faine to forsake the Church, least they should haue burst with laughing.

But when all the people were parted and gone, they met Friar Ony­on at his Inne, where closely they discouered to him, what they had done, deliuering him his Feather againe: which the yeare following, did yeeld him as much money, as now the Coales had done.

[Page 19] THis Nouell affoorded equall pleasing to the whole companie, Friar Onyons Sermon being much commended, but especially his long Pilgrimage, and the Reliques he had both seene, and brought home with him. Afterward, the Queene perceiuing, that her reigne had now the full expiration, graciously she arose, and taking the Crowne from off her owne head, placed on the head of Dioneus, saying. It is high time Dioneus, that you should taste part of the charge & paine, which poore women haue felt and vndergone in their soueraigntie and gouernment: wherefore, be you our King, and rule vs with such awe­full authority, that the ending of your dominion may yeelde vs all con­tentment. Dioneus being thus inuested with the Crowne, returned this answer.

I make no doubt (bright Beauties) but you many times haue seene as good, or a better King among the Chesse-men, then I am. But yet of a certainty, if you would be obedient to me, as you ought in dutie vnto a true King: I should grant you a liberall freedome of that, wherein you take the most delight, and without which, our choisest desires can neuer be compleate. Neuerthelesse, I meane, that my gouernment shal be ac­cording to mine owne minde. So, causing the Master of the Houshold to be called for, as all the rest were wont to do for conference with him: he gaue him direction, for al things fitting the time of his Regiment, and then turning to the Ladies, thus he proceeded.

Honest Ladies, we haue alreadie discoursed of variable deuises, and so many seuerall manners of humane industry, concerning the busines wherewith Licisca came to acquaint vs: that her very words, haue mini­stred me matter, sufficient for our morrowes conference, or else I stand in doubt, that I could not haue deuised a more conuenient Theame for vs to talke on. She (as you haue all heard) saide, that shee had not anie neighbour, who came a true Virgin to her Husband, and added more­ouer, that she knew some others, who had beguiled their Husbandes, in very cunning and crafty manner. But setting aside the first part, con­cerning the proofe of children, I conceiue the second to bee more apte for our intended argument. In which respect, my will is (seeing Licisca hath giuen vs so good an occasion) that our discoursing to morow, may onely concerne such slye cunning and deceits, as women haue heereto­fore vsed, for satisfying their owne appetites, and beguiling their Hus­bands, without their knowledge, or suspition, and cleanly escaping with them, or no.

This argument seemed not very pleasing to the Ladies, and therefore they vrged an alteration thereof, to some matter better suting with the day, and their discoursing: whereto thus he answered. Ladies, I know as well as your selues, why you would haue this instant argument alte­red: but, to change me from it you haue no power, considering the sea­son is such, as shielding all (both men and women) from medling with any dishonest action; it is lawfull for vs to speake of what wee please. [Page] And know you not, that through the sad occasion of the time, which now ouer-ruleth vs, the Iudges haue forsaken their venerable benches, the Lawes (both diuine and humane) ceasing, granting ample license to euery one, to do what best agreeth with the conseruation of life? There­fore, if your honesties doe straine themselues a little, both in thinking and speaking, not for prosecution of any immodest deede, but onely for familiar and blamelesse entercourse: I cannot deuise a more conuenient ground, at least that carrieth apparant reason, for reproofe of perils, to ensue by any of you. Moreouer, your company, which hath bin most honest, since the first day of our meeting, to this instant: appeareth not any iot to be disgraced, by any thing either said or done, neither shal be (I hope) in the meanest degree.

And what is he, knowing your choise and vertuous dispositions, so powerfull in their owne preuailing, that wanton words cannot misguide your wayes, no nor the terror of death it selfe, that dare insinuate a di­stempred thought? But admit, that some slight or shallow iudgements, hearing you (perhaps sometimes) talk of such amorous follies, should therefore suspitiously imagine you to be faulty, or else you would bee more sparing of speech? Their wit and censure are both alike, sauouring rather of their owne vile nature, who would brand others with their basebred imperfections. Yet ther is another consideration beside, of som great iniury offered to mine honor, and whereof I know not how you can acquit yourselues.

I that haue bin obedient to you all, and borne the heauy load of your businesse, hauing now (with full consent) created mee your King, you would wrest the law out of my hands, and dispose of my authoritie as you please. Forbeare (gentle Ladies) all friuolous suspitions, more fit for them that are full of bad thoughts, then you, who haue true Vertue shining in your eyes; and therefore, let euery one freely speake their minde, according as their humors best pleaseth them.

When the Ladies heard this, they made answer, that all should bee answerable to his minde. Whereupon, the King gaue them all leaue to dispose of themselues till supper time. And because the Sun was yet ve­ry high, in regard all the re-counted Nouels had bin so short: Dioneus went to play at the Tables with another of the yong Gentlemen, & Ma­dame Eliza, hauing withdrawne the Ladies aside, thus spake vnto them. During the time of our being heere, I haue often bene desirous to let you see a place somwhat neere at hand, and which I suppose you haue neuer seene, it being called The Valley of Ladies. Till now, I could not finde a­ny conuenient time to bring you thither, the Sunne continuing still a­loft, which fitteth you with the apter leysure, and the sight (I am sure) can no way discontent you.

The Ladies replyed, that they were all ready to walk with her thither: and calling one of their women to attend on them, they set on, without speaking a word to any of the men. And within the distance of halfe a mile, they arriued at the Valley of Ladies, wherinto they entred by a strait [Page 20] passage at the one side, from whence there issued forth a cleare running Riuer. And they found the saide Valley to bee so goodly and pleasant, especially in that season, which was the hottest of all the yeare; as all the world was no where able to yeeld the like. And, as one of the said La­dies (since then) related to mee, there was a plaine in the Valley fo di­rectly round, as if it had beene formed by a compasse, yet rather it re­sembled the Workmanship of Nature, then to be made by the hand of man: containing in circuite somewhat more then the quarter of a mile, enuironed with sixe small hils, of no great height, and on each of them stood a little Palace, shaped in the fashion of Castles.

The ground-plots descending from those hils or mountaines, grew lesse and lesse by variable degrees, as wee obserue at entering into our Theaters, from the highest part to the lowest, succinctly to narrow the circle by order. Now, concerning these ground-plottes or little Mea­dowes, those which the Sun Southward looked on, were full of Vines, Oliue-trees, Almond-trees, Cherry-trees, and Figge-trees, with di­uers other Trees beside, so plentifully bearing fruites, as you could not discerne a hands bredth of losse. The other Mountaines, whereon the Northerne windes blow, were curiously couered with small Thickets or Woods of Oakes, Ashes, and other Trees so greene and straite, as it was impossible to behold fairer. The goodly plaine it selfe, not ha­uing any other entrance, but where the Ladies came in, was planted with Trees of Firre, Cipresse, Laurell, and Pines; so singularly grow­ing in formall order, as if some artificiall or cunning hand had planted them, the Sun hardly piercing through their branches, from the top to the bottome, euen at his highest, or any part of his course.

All the whole field was richly spred with grasse, and such variety of delicate Flowers, as Nature yeilded out of her plenteous Store-house. But that which gaue no lesse delight then any of the rest, was a smal run­ning Brooke, descending from one of the Vallies, that diuided two of the little hils, nd fell through a Veine of the intire Rocke it selfe, that the fall and murmure thereof was most delightfull to heare, seeming all the way in the descent, like Quicke-siluer, weauing it selfe into artifi­ciall workes, and arriuing in the plaine beneath, it was there receyued into a small Channell, swiftly running through the midst of the plaine, to a place where it stayed, and shaped it selfe into a Lake or Pond, such as our Citizens haue in their Orchards or Gardens, when they please to make vse of such a commodity.

This Pond was no deeper, then to reach the breast of a man, and ha­uing no mud or soyle in it, the bottome thereof shewed like small bea­ten grauell, with prety pibble stones intermixed, which some that had nothing else to do, would sit downe and count them as they lay, as very easily they might. And not onely was the bottome thus apparantly seene, but also such plenty of Fishes swimming euery way, as the mind was neuer to be wearied in looking on them. Nor was this water boun­ded in with any bankes, but onely the sides of the plain Medow, which [Page] made it appeare the more sightly, as it arose in swelling plenty. And al­wayes as it super-abounded in his course, least it should [...]uerflow disor­derly: it fell into another Channell, which conueying it along the low­er Valley, ran forth to water other needfull places.

When the Ladies were arriued in this goodly valley, and vpon adui­sed viewing it, had sufficiently commended it: in regard the heat of the day was great, the place tempting, and the Pond free from sight of any, they resolued there to bathe themselues. Wherefore they sent the wai­ting Gentlewoman to haue a diligent eye on the way where they ente­red, least any one should chance to steale vpon them. All seuen of them being stript naked, into the water they went, which hid their delicate white bodies, like as a cleare Glasse concealeth a Damask Rose within it. So they being in the Pond, and the water nothing troubled by their be­ing there, they found much prety pastime together, running after the Fishes, to catch them with their hands, but they were ouer-quicke and cunning for them. After they had delighted themselues there to their owne contentment, and were cloathed with their garments, as before: thinking it fit time for their returning backe againe, least their ouerlong stay might giue offence, they departed thence in an easie pace, dooing nothing else all the way as they went, but extolling the Valley of Ladies beyond all comparison.

At the Palace they arriued in a due houre, finding the three Gentle­men at play, as they left them, to whom Madame Pampinea pleasantly thus spake. Now trust me Gallants, this day wee haue very cunningly beguiled you. How now? answered Dioneus, begin you first to act, be­fore you speake? Yes truly Sir, replyed Madame Pampinea: Relating to him at large, from whence they came, vvhat they had done there, the beautie of the place, and the distance thence. The King (vpon hir excellent report) being very desirous to see it; sodainely commaunded Supper to be serued in, which vvas no sooner ended, but they and their three seruants (leauing the Ladies) walked on to the Valley, which when they had considered, no one of them hauing euer bin there before; they thought it to be the Paradise of the World.

They bathed themselues there likewise, as the Ladies formerlie had done, and being re-uested, returned backe to their Lodgings, because darke night drew on apace: but they found the Ladies dauncing, to a Song which Madame Fiammetta sung. When the dance was ended, they entertained the time with no other discourse, but onely concer­ning the Valley of Ladies, vvhereof they all spake liberally in commen­dations. Whereupon, the King called the Master of the Houshold, gi­uing him command, that (on the morrow) dinner should be readie be­times, and bedding to be thence carried, if any desired rest at mid-time of the day.

All this being done, variety of pleasing Wines were brought, Ban­quetting stuffe, and other dainties; after which they fell to Dauncing. And Pamphilus, hauing receyued command, to begin an especial dance, [Page 21] the King turned himselfe vnto Madame Eliza, speaking thus. Faire La­dy, you haue done me so much honour this day, as to deliuer mee the Crowne: in regard wherof, be you this night the Mistresse of the song: and let it be such as best may please your selfe. Whereunto Madam Eliza, with a modest blush arising in her face, replyed; That his will should be fulfilled, and then (with a delicate voyce) she beganne in this manner.

After that Madame Eliza had made an end of her Song, which shee sealed vp with an heart-breaking sigh: they all sate amazedly wande­ring at her moanes, not one among them being able to coniecture, what should be the reason of her singing in this manner. But the King being in a good and pleasing temper, calling Tindaro, commaunded him to bring his Bagge-pipe, by the sound whereof they danced diuers daun­ces: And a great part of the night being spent in this manner, they all gaue ouer, and departed to their Chambers.

The First Nouell.

MY Gracious Lord (quoth Madame Aemillia) it had bene a matter highly pleasing to mee, that any other (rather then my selfe) should haue be­gun to speake of this argument, which it hath pleased you to apoint. But seeing it is your High­nesse pleasure, that I must make a passage of assu­rance for all the rest; I will not be irregular, be­cause obedience is our cheefe Article. I shall therefore (Gracious Ladies) striue, to speake something, which may bee aduantageable to you heereafter, in regard, that if other women bee as fearfull as we, especially of Spirits, of which all our sexe haue generally bin timorous (although, vpon my credite, I know not what they are, nor euer could meete with any, to tell me what they be) you may, by the diligent obseruation of my Nouell: learne a wholsome and holy pray­er, very auaileable, and of precious power, to coniure and driue them a­way, whensoeuer they shall presume to assault you in any place.

[Page] There dwelt sometime in Florence, and in the street of Saint Branca­zio, a woollen Weauer, named Iohn of Lorrayne; a man more happy in his Art, then wise in any thing else beside: because, sauouring some­what of the Gregorie, and (in very deede) little lesse then an Ideot; Hee was many times made Captain of the Woollen-Weauers, in the quar­ters belonging to Santa Maria Nouella, and his house was the Schoole or receptacle, for all their meetings and assemblies. He had diuers other petty Offices beside, by the dignity and authority whereof, hee suppo­sed himselfe much exalted or eleuated, aboue the common pitch of o­ther men. And this humour became the more tractable to him, because he addicted himselfe oftentimes (as being a man of an easie inclination) to be a benefactor to the holy Fathers of Santa Maria Nouella, giuing (beside his other charitable Almes) to some one a paire of Breeches, to another a Hood, and to another a whole habit. In reward whereof, they taught him (by heart) many wholsome prayers, as the Pater noster in the vulgar tongue; the Song of Saint Alexis; the Lamentations of Saint Bernard, the Hymne of Madame Matilda, and many other such like matters, which he kept charily, and repeated vsually, as tending to the saluation of his soule.

This man, had a very faire and louely wife, named Monna Tessa, the daughter of Manuccio della Cuculia, wise and well aduised; who know­ing the simplicity of her Husband, and affecting Frederigo di Neri Pego­lotti, who was a comely yong Gentleman, fresh, and in the floure of his time, euen as she was, therefore they agreed the better together. By meanes of her Chamber-maid, Frederigo and shee met often together, at a Countrie Farme of Iohn of Lorraynes, which hee had neere to Flo­rence, and where she vsed to lodge all the Summer time, called Came­rata, whether Iohn resorted somtimes to Supper, and lodge for a night, returning home againe to his City house the next morning; yet often he would stay there longer with his owne companions.

Frederigo, who was no meane man in his Mistresses fauor, and there­fore these priuate meetings the more welcome to him; receiued a sum­mons or assignation from her, to be there on such a night, when hir hus­band had no intent of comming thither. There they supped merrily together, and (no doubt) did other things, nothing appertaining to our purpose, she both acquainting, and well instructing him, in a dozen (at the least) of her Husbands deuout prayers. Nor did shee make any ac­count, or Frederigo either, that this should be the last time of their mee­ting, because (indeede) it was not the first: and therfore they set down an order and conclusion together (because the Chambermaide must be no longer the messenger) in such manner as you shall heare.

Frederigo was to obserue especially, that alwayes when hee went or came from his owne house, which stood much higher then Iohn of Lor­raynes did, to looke vpon a Vine, closely adioyning to her house, where stood the scull of an Asses head, aduanced vpon an high pole; & when the face thereof looked towards Florence, he might safely come, it be­ing [Page 24] an assured signe, that Iohn kept at home. And if he found the doore fast shut, he should softly knocke three seuerall times, and thereon bee admitted entrance. But if the face stood towards Fiesola; then he might not come, for it was the signe of Iohns being there, and then there might be no medling at all.

Hauing thus agreed vpon this conclusion, and had many merry mee­tings together: one night aboue the rest, where Frederigo was appoin­ted to suppe with Monna Tessa, who had made ready two fat Capons, drest in most dainty and delicate manner: it fell out so vnfortunately, that Iohn (whose Kue was not to come that night came thither very late, yet before Frederigo, wherewith she being not a little offended, gaue Iohn a slight supper, of Lard, Bacon, and such like coarse prouision, because the other was kept for a better guest. In the meane time, and while Iohn was at supper, the Maide (by her Mistresses direction) had conueighed the two Capons, with boyled Egges, Bread and a Bottle of Wine (all folded vp in a faire cleane table cloth) into her Garden, that had a pas­sage to it, without entering into the house, and where shee had diuers times supt with Frederigo. She further willed the Maide, to set all those things vnder a Peach tree, which adioyned to the fields side: but, so an­gry she was at her husbands vnexpected comming, that shee for got to bid her tarrie there, till Frederigoes comming, and to tell him of Iohns being there: as also, to take what he found prepared readie for his Sup­per.

Iohn and she being gone to bed together, and the Maide likewise, it was not long after, before Frederigo came, and knocking once softly at the doore, which was very neere to their lodging Chamber, Iohn heard the noise, and so did his wife. But to the end, that Iohn might not haue the least scruple of suspition, she seemed to be fast asleepe; and Frederigo pausing a while, according to the order directed, knockt againe the se­cond time. Iohn wondering thereat very much, iogd his wife a litle, and saide to her: Tessa, hearest thou nothing? Me thinkes one knocketh at our doore. Monna Tessa, who was better acquainted with the knocke, then plaine honest meaning Iohn was, dissembling as if shee awaked our of a drowsie dreame, saide: Alas Husband, dost thou know what this is? In the name of our blessed Ladie, be not affraid, this is but the Spirit which haunts our Countrey houses, whereof I haue often told thee, and it hath many times much dismayed me, liuing heere alone without thy comfort. Nay, such hath bin my feare, that in diuers nights past, so soone as I heard the knockes: I was feigne to hide my selfe in the bedde ouer-head and eares (as we vsually say) neuer daring to be so bold, as to looke out, vntill it was broad open day. Arise good wife (quoth Iohn) and if it be such a Spirit of the Countrey, as thou talkest of, neuer be af­fraid; for before we went to bed, I said the Telucis, the Intemerata, with many other good prayers beside. Moreouer, I made the signe of the signe of the Crosse at euery corner of our bed, in the name of the Father, Son, and holy Ghost, so that no doubt at all needs to be made, of any [Page] power it can haue to hurt or touch vs.

Monna Tessa, because (perhaps) Frederigo might receiue some other suspition, and so enter into distaste of her by anger or offence: determi­ned to arise indeede, and to let him couertly vnderstand, that Iohn was there, and therefore saide to her husband. Beleeue me Iohn, thy coun­sell is good, and euery one of thy words hath wisedome in it: but I hold it best for our owne safety, thou being heere; that wee should coniure him quite away, to the end he may neuer more haunt our hovse, Con­iure him Wife? Quoth Iohn, By what meanes? and how? Bee patient good man (quoth Tessa) and I will enstruct thee. I haue learned an ex­cellent kinde of coniuration; for, the last weeke, when I went to procure the pardons at Fiesola, one of the holy recluse Nuns, who (indeede Iohn) is my indeered Sister and Friend, and the most sanctimonius in life of them all; perceiuing me to be troubled and terrified by Spirits; taught me a wholsome and holy prayer, and protested withall, that shee had often made experiment thereof, before she became a Recluse, & found it (alwayes) a present helpe to her. Yet neuer durst I aduenture to essay it, liuing heere by my selfe all alone: but honest Iohn, seeing thou art heere with me, we will go both together, and coniure this Spirit. Iohn replyed, that he was very willing; and being both vp, they went fayre and softly to the doore, where Frederigo stoode still without, and was growne somewhat suspitious of his long attendance.

When they were come to the doore, Monna Tessa said to Iohn: Thou must cough and spet, at such time as I shall bid thee. Well (quoth Iohn) I will not faile you. Immediately she beganne her prayer in this man­ner.

No sooner had she ended her deuoute coniuring prayer, but she saide to her husband: Now Iohn, cough and spet: which Iohn accordingly [Page 25] did. And Frederigo, being all this while without, hearing her witty con­iuration of a Spirit, which he himselfe was supposed to be being ridde of his former iealous suspition: in the middst of all his melancholy, could very hardly refraine from laughing, the iest appeared so pleasing to him: But when Iohn cought and spet, softly he said to himselfe: When next thou spetst, spet out all thy teeth.

The woman hauing three seuerall times coniured the Spirite, in such manner as you haue already heard; returned to bed againe with her hus­band: and Frederigo, who came as perswaded to sup with her, being sup­perlesse all this while; directed by the words of Monna Tessa in hir prai­er, went into the Garden. At the foot of the Peach-tree, there he found the linnen cloth, with the two hot Capons, Bread, Egges, and a Bottle of Wine in it, all which he carried away with him, and went to Supper at better leysure. Oftentimes afterward, vpon other meetings of Frede­rigo and she together, they laughed heartily at her enchantment, and the honest beleefe of silly Iohn.

I cannot deny, but that some do affirme, that the Woman had tur­ned the face of the Asses head towards Fiesola, and a Country Trauailer passing by the Vine, hauing a long piked staffe on his necke: the staffe, (by chance) touched the head, and made it turne diuers times-about, & in the end faced Florence, which being the cal for Frederigoes comming, by this meanes he was disappointed. In like maner some say, that Mon­na Tessaes prayer for coniuring the Spirit, was in this order.

So that Frederigo departed thence, both with the losse of his lahour & supper. But a neighbour of mine, who is a woman of good yeares, told me, that both the one and other were true, as she her selfe heard, when she was a little Girle. And concerning the latter accident, it was not to Iohn of Lorrayne, but to another, named Iohn de Nello, that dwelt at S. Peters Gate, and of the same profession as Iohn of Lorrayne was. Where­fore (faire Ladies) it remaineth in your owne choice, to entertain which of the two prayers you please, or both together if you will: for they are of extraordinary vertue in such strange occurrences, as you haue heere­tofore heard, and (vpon doubt) may proue by experience. It shall not therefore be amisse for you, to learne them both by hart, for (peraduen­ture) they may stand you in good sted, if euer you chance to haue the like occasion.

The Second Nouell.

NOT without much laughter and good liking, was the Tale of Madame Aemillia listened vnto, and both the prayers com­mended to be sound and soueraigne: but it being ended, the King commaunded Philostratus, that hee should follow next in order, whereupon thus he began.

Deare Ladies, the deceites vsed by men towards your sexe, but espe­cially Husbands, haue bene so great and many, as when it hath some­time happened, or yet may, that husbands are required in the self-same kinde: you need not finde fault at any such accident, either by know­ledge thereof afterward, or hearing the same reported by any one; but rather you should referre it to generall publication, to the end, that im­modest men may know, and finde it for trueth, that if they haue appre­hension and capacity; women are therein not a iote inferiour to them. [Page 26] Which cannot but redound to your great benefite, because, when any one knoweth, that another is a cunning and subtile as himselfe; he will not be so rashly aduenturous in deceite. And who maketh any doubt, that if those sleights and trickes, whereof this dayes argument may giue vs occasion to speake, should afterwardes be put in execution by men: would it not minister iust reason, of punishing themselues for be­guiling you, knowing, that (if you please) you haue the like abilitie in your owne power? Mine intent therefore is to tell you, what a woman (though but of meane quality) did to her husband, vpon a sodaine, and in a moment (as it were) for her owne safety.

Not long since, there liued in Naples, an honest meane man, who did take to Wife, a fayre and lustie young Woman, being named Peronel­la. He professing the Trade of a Mason, and shee Carding and Spin­ning, maintained themselues in a reasonable condition, abating and abounding as their Fortunes serued. It came to passe, that a certayne young man, well obseruing the beauty and good parts of Peronella, be­came much addicted in affection towardes her: and by his often and secret sollicitations, which he found not to be vnkindely entertayned; his successe proued answerable to his hope, no vnindifferencie appea­ring in their purposes, but where her estate seemed weakest, his supplies made an addition of more strength.

Now, for their securer meeting, to stand cleare from all matter of scandal or detection, they concluded in this order between themselues. Lazaro, for so was Peronellaes Husband named, being an earely riser e­uery morning, either to seeke for worke, or to effect it being vnderta­ken: this amorous friend being therewith acquainted, and standing in some such conuenient place, where hee could see Lazaroes departure from his house, and yet himselfe no way discerned; poore Lazaro was no sooner gone, but presently he enters the house, which stood in a ve­rie solitarie street, called the Auorio. Many mornings had they thus met together, to their no meane delight and contentation, till one especiall morning among the rest, when Lazaro was gone forth to worke, and Striguario (so was the amorous young man named) visiting Peronella in the house: vpon a very vrgent occasion, Lazaro returned backe againe, quite contrary to his former wont, keeping foorth all day, and neuer comming home till night.

Finding his doore to be fast lockt, and he hauing knockt softlie once or twice, he spake in this manner to himselfe. Fortune I thanke thee, for albeit thou hast made mee poore, yet thou hast bestowed a better blessing on me, in matching me with so good, honest, & louing a Wife. Behold, though I went early out of my house, her selfe hath risen in the cold to shut the doore, to preuent the entrance of theeues, or any other that might offend vs. Peronella hauing heard what her husband sayde, and knowing the manner of his knocke, said fearfully to Striguario. Alas deare friend, what shall wee doe? I am little lesse then a dead Woman: For, Lazaro my Husband is come backe again, and I know not what to [Page] do or say. He neuer returned in this order before now, doubtlesse, hee saw when you entred the doore; and for the safety of your honour and mine: creepe vnder this brewing Fat, till I haue opened the doore, to know the reason of his so soone returning.

Striguario made no delaying of the matter, but got himselfe closelie vnder the Fat, and Peronella opening the doore for her husbands ente­tance, with a frowning countenance, spake thus vnto him. What mea­neth this so early returning home againe this morning? It seemeth, thou intendest to do nothing to day, having brought backe thy tooles in thy hands. If such be thine intent, how shall we liue? Where shal we haue bread to fill our bellies? Dooest thou thinke, that I will suffer thee to pawne my gowne, and other poore garments, as heeretofore thou hast done? I that card and spinne both night and day, till I haue worne the flesh from my fingers; yet all will hardly finde oyle to maintaine our Lampe. Husband, husband, there is not one neighbour dwelling by vs, but makes a mockerie of me, and tels me plainly, that I may be asha­med to drudge and moyle as I do; wondering not a little, how I a [...]ble to endure it; and thou returnest home with thy hands in thy hose, as if thou hadst no worke at all to do this day.

Hauing thus spoken, she fell to weeping, and then thus began again. Poore wretched woman as I am, in an vnfortunate houre was I borne, and in a much worse, when I was made thy Wife. I could haue had a proper, handsome yong man; one, that would haue maintained mee braue and gallantly: but, beast as I was, to forgoe my good, and cast my selfe away on such a beggar as thou art, and whom none wold haue had, but such an Asse as I. Other women liue at hearts ease, and in iolli­ty, haue their amorous friends and louing Paramours, yea, one, two, three at once, making their husbands looke like a Moone cressent, wher­on they shine Sun-like, with amiable lookes, because they know not how to helpe it: when I (poore foole) liue heere at home a miserable life, not daring once to dreame of such follies, an innocent soule, heartlesse and harmelesse.

Many times, sitting and sighing to my selfe: Lord, thinke I, of what mettall am I made? Why should not I haue a Friend in a corner, aswell as others haue? I am flesh and blood, as they are, not made of brasse or iron, and therefore subiect to womens frailty. I would thou shouldest know it husband, and I tell it thee in good earnest; That if I would doe ill, I could quickely finde a friend at a neede. Gallants there are good store, who (of my knowledge) loue me dearely, and haue made me ve­ry large and liberall promises, of Golde, Siluer, Iewels, and gay Gar­ments, if I would extend them the least fauour. But my heart will not suffer me, I neuer was the daughter of such a mother, as had so much as a thought of such matters: no, I thanke our blessed Ladie, and S. Fris­wid for it: and yet thou returnest home againe, when thou shouldst be at Worke.

Lazaro, who stoode all this while like a well-beleeuing Logger-head, [Page 27] demurely thus answered. Alas good Wife! I pray you bee not so an­gry, I neuer had so much as an ill thought of you, but know wel enough what you are, and haue made good proofe thereof this morning. Vn­derstand therefore patiently (sweet Wife) that I went forth to my work as dayly I vse to do, little dreaming (as I thinke you doe not) that it had bene Holy-day. Wife, this is the Feast day of Saint Galeone; whereon we may in no wise worke, and this is the reason of my so soone retur­ning. Neuerthelesse (deare Wife) I was not carelesse of our Houshold prouision: For, though we worke not, yet we must haue foode, which I haue prouided for more then a moneth. Wife, I remembred the brew­ing Fat, whereof wee haue little or no vse at all, but rather it is a trouble to the house, then otherwise. I met with an honest Friend, who stayeth without at the doore, to him I haue sold the Fat for ten Gigliatoes, and he tarrieth to take it away with him.

How Husband? replied Peronella, Why now I am worse offended then before. Thou that art a man, walkest euery where, and shouldst be experi [...]nced in worldly affaires: wouldst thou bee so simple, as to sell such a brewing Fat for ten Gigliatoes? Why, I that am a poore ignorant woman, a house-Doue, sildome going out of my doore: haue sold it al­ready for twelue Gigliatoes, to a very honest man, who (euen a little be­fore thy comming home) came to me, we agreed on the bargaine, and he is now vnderneath the Fat, to see whether it be sound or no. When cre­dulous Lazaro heard this, he was better contented then euer, and went to him that taried at the doore, saying. Good man, you may goe your way; for, whereas you offered me but ten Gigliatoes for the Fat, my lo­uing wife hath sold it for twelue, and I must maintaine what shee hath done: so the man departed, and the variance ended.

Peronella then saide to her husband. Seeing thou art come home so luckily, helpe me to lift vp the Fat, that the man may come foorth, and then you two end the bargaine together. Striguario▪ who thogh he was mewed vp vnder the tubbe, had his eares open enough; and hearing the witty excuse of Peronella, tooke himselfe free from future feare: and be­ing come from vnder the Fat, pretending also, as if he had herd nothing, nor saw Lazaro, looking round about him, said. Where is this good wo­man? Lazaro stepping forth boldly like a man, replyed: Heere am I, what wold you haue Sir? Thou? quoth Striguario, what art thou? I ask for the good wife, with whom I made my match for the Fat. Honest Gentleman (answered Lazaro) I am that honest Womans Husband, for lacke of a better, and I will maintaine whatsoeuer my Wife hath done.

I crie you mercie Sir, replyed Striguario, I bargained with your Wife for this brewing Fat, which I finde to be whole and sound: only it is vn­cleane within, hard crusted with some dry soile vpon it, which I know not well how to get off, if you will be the meanes of making it cleane, I haue the money heere ready for it. For that Sir (quoth Peronella) take you no care, although no match at all had beene made, what serues my [Page] Husband for, but to make it cleane? Yes forsooth Sir, answered sily La­zaro, you shall haue it neate and cleane before you pay the mony.

So, stripping himselfe into his shirt, lighting a Candle, and taking tooles fit for the purpose; the Fat was whelmed ouer him, and he being within it, wrought vntill he sweated, with scraping and scrubbing. So that these poore Louers, what they could not accomplish as they wold, necessity enforced them to performe as they might. And Peronella, loo­king in at the vent-hole, where the Liquor runneth forth for the mesh­ing; seemed to instruct her husband in the businesse, as espying those parts where the Fat was fowlest, saying: There, there Lazaro, tickle it there, the Gentleman payes well for it, and is worthy to haue it: but see thou do thy selfe no harme good Husband. I warrant thee Wife, an­swered Lazaro, hurt not your selfe with leaning your stomacke on the Fat, and leaue the cleansing of it to me. To be breefe, the Brewing Fat was neatly cleansed, Peronella and Striguario both well pleased, the mo­ney paide, and honest meaning Lazaro not discontented.

The Third Nouell.

[Page 28] PHilostratus told not this Tale so couertly, concerning Lazaros simplicity, and Peronellaes witty policy; but the Ladies found a knot in the rush, and laughed not a little, at his queint man­ner of discoursing it. But vpon the conclusion, the King looking vpon Madam Eliza, willed her to succeede next, which as willingly she gran­ted, and thus began. Pleasant Ladies, the charme or coniuration wher­with Madam Aemillia laid her night-walking Spirit, maketh me remem­ber a Nouell of another enchantment; which although it carrieth not commendation equall to the other, yet I intend to report it, because it suteth with our present purpose, and I cannot sodainly be furnisht with another, answerable thereto in nature.

You are to vnderstand then, that there liued in Stena, a proper yong man, of good birth and well friended, being named Reynard. Earnestly he affected his neere dwelling neighbour, a beautifull Gentlewoman, and wife to a man of good esteeme: of whom hee grew halfe perswa­ded, that if he could (without suspition) compasse priuate conference with her, he should reach the height of his amorous desires. Yet seeing no likely meanes wherewith to further his hope, and shee being great with childe, he resolued to become a Godfather to the childe, at such time as it should be brought to Christening. And being inwardly ac­quainted with her Husband, who was named Credulano; such familiar entercourses passed betweene them, both of Reynards kinde offer, and Credulanoes as courteous acceptance, that hee was set downe for a Gos­sippe.

Reynard being thus embraced for Madam Agnesiaes Gossip, and this prouing the onely colourable meanes, for his safer permission of speech with her, to let her now vnderstand by word of mouth, what long be­fore she collected by his lookes and behauiour: it fell out no way bene­ficiall to him, albeit Agnesia seemed not nice or scrupulous in hearing, yet she had a more precious care of her honor. It came to passe, within a while after (whether by seeing his labour vainly spent, or some other vrgent occasion mouing him thereto, I know not) Reynard would needs enter into Religion, and whatsoeuer strictnesse or austeritie hee found to be in that kinde of life, yet he determined to perseuere therein, whe­ther it were for his good or ill. And although within a short space, af­ter he was thus become a Religious Monke, hee seemed to forget the former loue which he bare to his gossip Agnesia, and diuers other enor­mous vanities beside: yet let me tell you, successe of time tutord him in them againe; and, without any respect to his poore holy habite, but rather in contempt thereof (as it were) he tooke an especiall delight, in wearing garments of much richer esteeme, yet fauoured by the same Monasticall profession, appearing (in all respects) like a Court-Minion or Fauourite, of a sprightly and Poeticall disposition, for composing Verses, Sonnets, and Canzons, singing them to sundry excellent instru­ments, and yet not greatly curious of his company, so they were some [Page] of the best, and Madame Agnesia one, his former Gossip.

But why doe I trouble my selfe, in talking thus of our so lately con­uerted Friar, holy Father Reynard, when they of longer standing, and reputed meerely for Saints in life, are rather much more vile then hee? Such is the wretched condition of this world, that they shame not (fat, foggie, and nastie Abbey-lubbers) to shew how full fedde they liue in their Cloysters, with cherry cheekes, and smooth shining lookes, gay and gaudy garments, far from the least expression of humility, not wal­king in the streets like Doues: but high-crested like Cockes, with well cramd gorges. Nay, which is worse, if you did but see their Chambers furnished with Gally-pots of Electuaries, precious Vnguents, Apothe­cary Boxes, filled with various Confections, Conserues, excellent Per­fumes, and other goodly Glasses of artificiall Oyles and Waters: beside Rundlers and small Barrels full of Greeke Wine, Muscatella, Lachrime Christi, and other such like most precious Wines, so that (to such as see them) they seeme not to bee Chambers of Religious men; but rather Apothecaries Shoppes, or appertaining to Druggists, Grocers, or Per­fumers.

It is no disgrace to them to be Gowty; because when other men know it not, they alledge, that strict fasting, feeding on grosse meates (though neuer so li [...]le,) continuall studying, and such like restraints from the bo­dies freer exercise, maketh them subiect to many infirmities. And yet, when any one of them chanceth to fall sicke, the Physitian must minister no such counsell to them, as Chastity, Abstinence from voluptuous meats, Discipline of the body, or any of those matters appertaining to a modest religious life. For, concerning the plaine, vulgar, and Plebeian people, these holy Fathers are perswaded, that they know nothing real­ly belonging to a sanctimonious life; as long watching, praying, disci­pline and fasting, which (in themselues) are not able, to make men look leane, wretched, and pale. Because Saint Dominicke, Saint Fraunces, and diuers other holy Saints beside, obserued the selfesame religious or­ders and constitutions, as now their carefull successors do. Moreouer, in example of those fore-named Saints, who went wel cloathed, though they had not three Garments for one, nor made of the finest Woollen excellent cloath: but rather of the very coarsest of all other, and of the common ordinary colour, to expell cold onely, but not to appear braue or gallant, deceyuing thereby infinite simple credulous soules, whose purses (neuerthelesse) are their best pay-masters.

But leaue we this, and returne wee backe to vertuous Fryar Reynard, who falling againe to his former appetites; became an often visitant of his Gossip Agnesia, and now hee had learned such a blushlesse kinde of boldnesse; that he durst be more instant with her (concerning his priuie sute) then euer formerly he had bin, yea, euen to solicite the enioying of his immodest desires. The good Gentlewoman, seeing her selfe so im­portunately pursued, and Fryar Reynard appearing now (perhappes) of sweeter and more delicare complexion, then at his entrance into Religi­on: [Page 29] at a set time of his secret communing with her; she answered him in as apt tearmes, as they vse to do, who are not greatly squeamish, in gran­ting matters demanded of them.

Why how now Friar Reynard? quoth shee, Doe God-fathers vse to moue such questions? Whereto the Friar thus replyed. Madam, when I haue laide off this holy habite (which is a matter very easie for mee to do) I shall seeme in your eye, in all respects made like another man, quite from the course of any Religious life. Agnesia, biting the lip with a pre­ty smile, said; O my faire Starres! You will neuer bee so vnfriendly to me. What? You being my Gossip, would you haue me consent vnto such a sinne? Our blessed Lady shield mee, for my ghostly Father hath often told me, that it is vtterly vnpardonable: but if it were, I feare too much confiding on mine owne strength. Gossip, Gossip, answered the Friar, you speake like a Foole, and feare (in this case) is wholly friuo­lous, especially, when the motions mooued by such an one as my selfe, who (vpon repentance) can grant you pardon and indulgence present­ly. But I pray you let mee aske you one question, Who is the neerest Kinsman to your Son; either I, that stood at the Font for his Baptisme, or your Husband that begot him? The Lady made answere, that it was her Husband. You say very true Gossip, replyed the Friar, and yet notwithstanding, doth not your Husband (both at boord and bed) en­ioy the sweet benefit of your company? Yes, said the Lady, why shold he not? Then Lady (quoth Reynard) I, who am not so neere a Kinsman to your Sonne, as your Husband is, why may ye not afford mee the like fauour, as you do him? Agnesia, who was no Logitian, and therefore could not stand on any curious answer, especially being so cuningly mo­ued; beleeued, or rather made shew of beleeuing, that the Godfather said nothing but truth, and thus answered. What woman is she (Gossip) that knoweth how to answer your strange speeches? And, how it came to passe, I know not, but such an agreement passed betweene them, that, for once onely (so it might not infrindge the league of Gossip-ship, but that title to countenance their further intent) such a fauour should be affoor­ded, so it might stand cleare from suspition.

An especiall time being appointed, when this amorous Combate should be fought in loues field, Friar Reynard came to his Gossips house, where none being present to hinder his purpose, but onely the Nursse which attended on the child, who was an indifferent faire & proper wo­man: his holy brother that came thither in his company (because Friars were not allowed to walke alone) was sent aside with her into the Pige­on loft, to enstruct her in a new kinde of Pater noster, lately deuised in their holy Conuent. In the meane while, as Friar Reynard and Agnesia were entring into hir chamber, she leading her little son by the hand, and making fast the doore for their better safety: the Fri [...]r laide by his holie habit, Cowle, Hood, Booke, and Beads, to bee (in all respects) as other men were. No sooner were they thus entred the Chamber, but her hus­band Credulano, being come into the house, and vnseen of any, staid not [Page] till he was at the Chamber doore, where hee knockt, and called for his Wife.

She hearing his voice: Alas Gossip (quoth she) what shall I do? My Husband knocketh at the doore, and now he will perceiue the occasion of our so familiar acquaintance. Reynard being stript into his Trusse and straite Strouses, began to tremble and quake exceedingly. I heare your Husbands tongue Gossip, said he, and seeing no harme as yet hath bin done, if I had but my garments on againe; wee would haue one excuse or other to serue the turne, but till then you may not open the doore. As womens wits are sildome gadding abroad, when any necessitie con­cerneth them at home: euen so Agnesia, being sodainly prouided of an inuention, both how to speake and carry her selfe in this extreamitie, saide to the Friar. Get on your garments quickely, and when you are cloathed, take your little God-son in your armes, and listning wel what I shall say, shape your answeres according to my words, and then refer the matter to me. Credulano had scarsely ended his knocking, but Agne­sia stepping to the doore said: Husband, I come to you. So she opened the doore, and (going forth to him) with a chearefull countenance thus spake. Beleeue me Husband, you could not haue come in a more hap­py time, for our yong Son was sodainly extreamly sicke, and (as good Fortune would haue it) our louing Gossip Reynard chanced to come in; and questionlesse, but by his good prayers and other religious paynes, we had vtterly lost our childe, for he had no life left in him.

Credulano, being as credulous as his name imported, seemed ready to swoune with sodaine conceit: Alas good wife (quoth he) how hapned this? Sit downe sweet Husband said she, and I wil tell you al. Our child was sodainly taken with a swouning, wherein I being vnskilful, did ve­rily suppose him to be dead, not knowing what to doe, or say. By good hap, our Gossip Reynard came in, and taking the childe vp in his armes, said to me. Gossip, this is nothing else but Wormes in the bellie of the childe, which ascending to the heart, must needs kill the child, without all question to the contrary. But be of good comfort Gossip, and feare not, for I can charme them in such sort, that they shall all die, and be­fore I depart hence, you shall see your Son as healthfull as euer. And because the maner of this charm is of such nature, that it required pray­er and exorcising in two places at once: Nurse went vp with his Holye Brother into our Pigeon loft, to exercise their deuotion there, while we did the like heere. For none but the mother of the childe must bee pre­sent at such a mystery, nor any enter to hinder the operation of the charme; which was the reason of making fast the Chamber doore. You shall see Husband anon the Childe, which is indifferently recouered in his armes, and if Nurse and his holy Brother were returned from theyr meditations; he saith, that the charme would then be fully effected: for the child beginneth to looke chearefull and merry.

So deerely did Credulano loue the childe, that hee verily beleeued, what his Wife had saide, neuer misdoubting any other treachery: and, [Page 30] lifting vp his eyes, with a vehement sigh, said. Wife, may not I goe in and take the child into my armes? Oh no, not yet good husband (quoth she) in any case, least you should ouerthrow all that is done. Stay but a little while, I will go in againe, and if all bee well, then will I call you. In went Agnesia againe, making the doore fast after her, the Fryar ha­uing heard all the passed speeches, by this time he was fitted with his ha­bite, and taking the childe in his armes, he said to Agnesia. Gossip me­thought I heard your Husbands voice, is hee at your Chamber doore? Yes Gossip Reynard (quoth Credulano without, while Agnesia opened the doore, and admitted him entrance) indeede it is I. Come in Sir, I pray you, replyed the Friar, and heere receiue your childe of mee, who was in great danger, of your euer seeing him any more aliue. But you must take order, to make an Image of waxe, agreeing with the stature of the childe, to be placed on the Altar before the Image of S. Frances, by whose merires the childe is thus restored to health.

The childe, beholding his Father, made signes of comming to him, reioycing merrily, as yong infants vse to do; and Credulano clasping him in his armes, wept with conceite of ioy, kissing him infinitely, and hear­tily thanking his Gossip Reynard, for the recouery of his God-son. The Friars brotherly Companion, who had giuen sufficient enstructions to the Nurse, and a small purse full of Sisters white thred, which a Nunne (after shrift) had bestowed on him, vpon the husbands admittance into the Chamber (which they easily heard) came in also to them, and see­ing all in very good tearmes, they holpe to make a ioyfull conclusion, the Brother saying to Friar Reynard: Brother, I haue finished all those foure Iaculatory prayers, which you commanded me.

Brother, answered Reynard, you haue a better breath then I, and your successe hath prooued happier then mine, for before the arriuall of my Gossip Credulano, I could accomplish but two Iaculatory prayers one­ly. But it appeareth, that we haue both preuailed in our deuout desires, because the childe is perfectly cured. Credulano calling for Wine and good cheare, feasted both the Friars very iocondly, and then conduct­ing them forth of his house, without any further intermission, caused the childs Image of waxe to be made, and sent it to be placed on the Al­tar of Saint Frances, among many other the like oblations.

The Fourth Nouell.

SO soone as the King perceyued, that the Nouell reported by Madame Eliza was finished: hee turned himselfe to Madame Lauretta, and told her it was his pleasure, that she should now begin the next, whereto she yeelded in this manner. O Loue: What, and how many are thy preuailing forces? How straunge are thy fore­sights? And how admirable thine attempts? Where is, or euer was the Philosopher or Artist, that could enstruct the wiles, escapes, preuenti­ons, and demonstrations, which sodainly thou teachest such, as are thy apt and vnderstanding Schollers indeede? Certaine it is, that the docu­ments and eruditions of all other whatsoeuer, are weak, or of no worth, in respect of thine: as hath notably appeared, by the remonstrances al­ready past, and whereto (worthy Ladies) I wil adde another of a simple woman, who taught her husband such a lesson, as shee neuer learned of any, but Loue himselfe.

[Page 31] There dwelt sometime in Arezzo (which is a faire Village of Tuscany) a rich man, named Tofano, who enioyed in marriage a young beautifull woman, called Oneta: of whom (without any occasion giuen, or reason knowne to himselfe) he became exceeding iealous. Which his wife per­ceyuing, she grew much offended thereat, and tooke it in great scorne, that she should be seruile to so vile and slauish a condition. Oftentimes, she demanded of him, from whence this iealousie in him receiued origi­nall, he hauing neuer seene or heard of any; he could make her no other answer, but what his owne bad humour suggested, and droue him eue­ry day (almost) to deaths doore, by feare of that which no way needed. But, whether as a iust scourge for this his grosse folly, or a secret decree, ordained to him by Fortune and the Fates, I am not able to distinguish: It came so to passe, that a young Gallant made meanes to enioy her fa­uour, and she was so discreetly wise in iudging of his worthinesse; that affection passed so farre mutually betweene them, as nothing wanted, but effects to answere words, suited with time and place conuenient, for which order was taken as best they might, yet to stand free from all sus­pition.

Among many other euill conditions, very frequent and familiar in her husband Tofano; he tooke a great delight in drinking, which not on­ly he held to be a commendable quality, but was alwaies so often solici­ted thereto: that Cheta her selfe began to like and allow it in him, feed­ing his humor so effectually, with quaffing and carowsing, that (at any time when she listed) she could make him bowsie beyonde all measure: and leauing him sleeping in this drunkennesse, would alwayes get her selfe to bed. By helpe heereof, she compassed the first familiarity with her friend, yea, diuers times after, as occasion serued: and so confident­ly did she builde on her husbands drunkennesse, that not onely shee ad­uentured to bring her friend home into her owne house; but also would as often go to his, which was some-what neere at hand, and abide with him there, the most part of the night season.

While Cheta thus continued on these amorous courses, it fortuned, that her slye suspitious husband, beganne to perceiue, that though shee drunke very much with him, yea, vntill he was quite spent and gone: yet she remained fresh and sober still, and therby imagined strange matters, that he being fast asleepe, his wife then tooke aduantage of his drowsi­nesse, and might—and so forth. Beeing desirous to make experi­ence of this his distrust, hee returned home at night (not hauing drunke any thing all the whole day) dissembling both by his words and behaui­our, as if he were-notoriously drunke indeede. Which his Wife con­stantly beleeuing, saide to her selfe: That hee had now more neede of sleepe, then drinke; getting him immediately into his warme bed; and then going downe the staires againe, softly went out of doores vnto her Friends house, as formerly she had vsed to do, and there shee remained vntill midnight.

Tofano perceiuing that his Wife came not to bed, and imagining to [Page] haue heard his doore both open and shut: arose out of his bed, and cal­ling his Wife Cheta diuers times, without any answere returned: hee went downe the staires, and finding the doore but closed too, made it fast and sure on the inside, and then got him vp to the window, to watch the returning home of his wife, from whence shee came, and then to make her conditions apparantly knowne. So long there he stayed, till at the last she returned indeede, and finding the doore so surely shut, shee was exceeding sorrowful, essaying how she might get it open by strēgth: which when Tofano had long suffered her in vaine to approoue, thus hee spake to her. Cheta, Cheta, all thy labour is meerely lost, because heere is no entrance allowed for thee; therefore return to the place from whence thou camest, that all thy friends may iudge of thy behauiour, and know what a night-walker thou art become.

The woman hearing this vnpleasing language, began to vse all hum­ble entreaties, desiring him (for charities sake) to open the doore and ad­mit her entrance, because she had not bin in any such place, as his ielous suspition might suggest to him: but onely to visit a weak & sickly neigh­bour, the nights being long, she not (as yet) capeable of sleepe, nor wil­ling to sit alone in the house. But all her perswasions serued to no pur­pose, he was so setled in his owne opinion, that all the Town should now see her nightly gading, which before was not so much as suspected. Che­ta seeing, that faire meanes would not preuaile, shee entred into roughe speeches and threatnings, saying: If thou wilt not open the doore and let me come in, I will so shame thee, as neuer base man was. As how I pray thee? answered Tofano, what canst thou do to me?

The woman, whom loue had inspired with sprightly counsell, inge­niously enstructing her what to do in this distresse, stearnly thus reply­ed. Before I will suffer any such shame as thou intendest towards mee, I will drowne my selfe heere in this Well before our doore, where being found dead, and thy villanous iealousie so apparantly knowne, beside thy more then beastly drunkennesse: all the neighbours will constantly beleeue, that thou didst first strangle me in the house, and afterwardes threw me into this Well. So either thou must flie vpon the supposed of­fence, or lose all thy goodes by banishment, or (which is much more fit­ting for thee) haue thy head smitten off, as a wilfullmurtherer of thy wife; for all will iudge it to be no otherwise. All which wordes, mooued not Tofano a iot from his obstinat determination: but he still persisting ther­in, thus she spake. I neither can nor will longer endure this base Villanie of thine: to the mercy of heauen I commit my soul, and stand there my wheele, a witnesse against so hard-hearted a murtherer.

No sooner had she thus spoke, but the night being so extreamly dark, as they could not discerne one another; Cheta went to the Well, where finding a verie great stone, which lay loose vpon the brim of the Well, euen as if it had beene layde there on purpose, shee cried out aloud, say­ing. Forgiue me faire heauens, and so threw the stone downe into the Well. The night being very still & silent, the fal of the great stone made [Page 32] such a dreadfull noise in the Well; that he hearing it at the Windowe, thought verily she had drowned her selfe indeede. Whereupon, run­ning downe hastily, and taking a Bucket fastened to a strong Cord: he left the doore wide open, intending speedily to helpe her. But she stan­ding close at the doores entrance; before he could get to the Wels fide; she was within the house, softly made the doore fast on the inside, and then went vp to the Window, where Tofano before had stood talking to her.

While he was thus dragging with his Bucket in the Well, crying and calling Cheta; take hold good Cheta, and saue thy life: she stood laugh­ing in the Window, saying. Water should bee put into Wine before a man drinkes it, and not when he hath drunke too much already. To­fano hearing his Wife thus to flout him out of his Window, went back to the doore, and finding it made fast against him: he willed hir to grant him entrance. But she, forgetting all gentle Language, which former­ly she had vsed to him: in meere mockery and derision (yet intermixed with some sighes and teares, which women are saide to haue at com­mand) out aloud (because the Neighbours should heare her) thus she replyed.

Beastly drunken Knaue as thou art, this night thou shalt not come within these doores, I am no longer able to endure thy base behauour, it is more then high time, that thy course of life should bee publiquely known, and at what drunken houres thou returnest home to thy house. Tofano, being a man of very impatient Nature, was as bitter vnto her in words on the other side, which the Neighbours about them (both men and Women) hearing; looked forth of their Windowes, and demaun­ding a reason for this their disquietnesse, Cheta (seeming as if she wept) sayde.

Alas my good Neighbours, you see at what vnfitting houres, this bad man comes home to his house, after hee hath lyen in a Tauerne all day drunke, sleeping and snorting like a Swine. You are my honest wit­nesses, how long I haue suffered this beastlinesse in him, yet neyther your good counsell, nor my too often louing admonitions, can worke that good which wee haue expected. Wherefore, to try if shame can procure any amendment, I haue shut him out of doores, vntil his drun­ken fit be ouer-past, and so he shall stand to coole his feet.

Tofano (but in very vnciuill maner) told her being abroad that night, and how she had vsed him: But the Neighbours seeing her to be with­in the house, and beleeuing her, rather then him, in regard of his too well knowne ill qualities; very sharpely reproued him, gaue him grosse speeches, pittying that any honest Woman should be so continually a­bused. Now my good Neighbours (quoth she) you see what manner of man he is. What would you thinke of me, if I should walk the streets thus in the night time, or be so late out of mine owne house, as this day­ly Drunkard is? I was affraid least you would haue giuen credit to his dissembling speeches, when he told you, that I was at the Welles side, [Page] and threw something into the Well: but that I know your better opini­on of me, and how sildome I am to be seene out of doores, although he would induce your sharper iudgement of me, and lay that shame vpon me, wherein he hath sinned himselfe.

The Neighbours, both men and Women, were all very seuerely in­censed against Tofano, condemning him for his great fault that night committed, and auouching his wife to be vertuous and honest. With­in a little while, the noise passing from Neighbour to Neighbour, at the length it came to the eares of her Kindred, who forthwith resorted thi­ther, and hearing how sharpely the Neighbours reprehended Tofano: they tooke him, soundly bastanadoed him, and hardly left any bone of him vnbruised. Afterward, they went into the house, tooke all such things thence as belonged to hir, taking hir also with them to their dwel­ling, and threatning Tofano with further infliction of punishment, both for his drunkennesse, and causlesse iealousie.

Tofano perceyuing how curstly they had handled him, and what croo­ked meanes might further be vsed against him, in regard her Kindred & Friends were very mightie: thought it much better, patiently to suffer the wrong alreadie done him then by obstinate contending, to proceed further, and fare worse. He became a suter to her Kindred, that al might be forgotten and forgiuen, in recompence whereof; he would not one­ly refraine from drunkennesse, but also, neuer more be ielous of his wife. This being faithfully promised, and Cheta reconciled to her Husband, all strife was ended, she enioyed her friends fauour, as occasion serued, but yet with such discretion, as it was not noted. Thus the Coxcombe foole, was faine to purchase his peace, after a notorious wrong sustained, and further iniuries to bee offered.

The Fift Nouell.

MAdam Lauretta hauing ended her Nouell, and euery one com­mended the Woman, for fitting Tofano in his kinde; and, as his iealousie and drunkennesse iustly deserued: the King (to preuent all losse of time) turned to Madame Fiammetta, commaunding her to follow next: whereuppon, very graciously, shee beganne in this manner.

Noble Ladies, the precedent Nouell deliuered by Madame Lauret­ta, maketh me willing to speake of another iealous man; as being halfe perswaded, that whatsoeuer is done to them by their Wiues, and espe­cially vpon no occasion giuen, they doe no more then well becommeth them. And if those graue heads, which were the first instituters of lawes, had diligently obserued all things; I am of the minde, that they would haue ordained no other penalty for Women, then they appointed a­gainst such, as (in their owne defence) do offend any other. For iealous [Page] husbands, are meere insidiators of their Wiues liues, and most diligent pursuers of their deaths, being lockt vp in their houses all the Weeke long, imployed in nothing but domesticke drudging affayres: which makes them desirous of high Festiuall dayes, to receiue some litle com­fort abroad, by an honest recreation or pastime, as Husbandmen in the fields, Artizans in our Citie, or Gouernours in our iudiciall Courtes; yea, or as our Lord himselfe, who rested the seauenth day from all his trauailes. In like manner, it is so willed and ordained by the Lawes, as well diuine as humane, which haue regard to the glory of God, and for the common good of euery one; making distinction betweene those dayes appointed for labour, and the other determined for rest. Where­to iealous persons (in no case) will giue consent, but all those dayes (which for other women are pleasing and delightfull) vnto such, ouer whom they command, are most irksome, sadde and sorrowful, because then they are lockt vp, and very strictly restrained. And if question wer vrged, how many good women do liue and consume away in this tor­turing hel of affliction: I can make no other answere, but such as feele it, are best able to discouer it. Wherefore to conclude the proheme to my present purpose, let none be ouer rash in condemning women: for what they do to their husbands, being iealous without occasion; but rather commend their wit and prouidence.

Somtime (faire Ladies) there liued in Arimino, a Merchant, very rich in wealth and worldly possessions, who hauing a beautifull Gentlewo­man to his wife, he became extreamly ielous of her. And he had no o­ther reason for this foolish conceit; but, like as he loued hir dearly, and found her to be very absolutely faire: euen so he imagined, that althogh she deuised by her best meanes to giue him content; yet others would grow enamored of her, because she appeared so amiable to al. In which respect, time might tutor her to affect some other beside himselfe: the onely common argument of euery bad minded man, being weake and shallow in his owne vnderstanding. This ielous humor increasing in him more and more, he kept her in such narrow restraint: that many persons condemned to death, haue enioyed larger libertie in their imprison­ment. For, she might not bee present at Feasts, Weddings, nor goe to Church, or so much as to be seen at her doore: Nay, she durst not stand in her Window, nor looke out of her house, for any occasion whatsoe­uer. By means whereof, life seemed most tedious and offensiue to her, and she supported it the more impatiently, because shee knew her selfe not any way faulty.

Seeing her husband still persist in this shamefull course towards her; she studied, how she might best comfort her selfe in this desolate case: by deuising some one meane or other (if any at all were to bee founde) wherby he might be requited in his kind, and wear that badge of shame whereof he was now but onely affraid. And because she could not gain so small a permission, as to be seene at any window, where (happily) she might haue obserued some one passing by in the street, discerning a litle [Page 34] parcell of her loue: she remembred at length, that, in the next house to her Husbands (they both ioyning close together) there dwelt a comely yong proper Gentleman, whose perfections carried correspondencie with her desires. She also considered with her selfe, that if there were a­ny partition wall; such a chinke or cranny might easily be made there­in, by which (at one time or other) she should gaine a sight of the young Gentleman, and finde an houre so fitting, as to conferre with him, and bestow her louely fauour on him, if he pleased to accept it. If successe (in this case) proued answerable to her hope, then thus she resolued to out­run the rest of her wearisome dayes, except the frensie of iealousie did fi­nish her husbands loathed life before.

Walking from one roome to another, thorough euery part of the house; and no wall escaping without diligent surueying; on a day, when her Husband was absent from home, she espyed in a corner very secret, an indifferent cleft in the Wall, which though it yeelded no full view on the other side, yet she plainly perceiued it to be an handsome Chamber, and grew more then halfe perswaded, that either it might be the Cham­ber of Philippo (for so was the neighbouring yong Gentleman named) or else a passage guiding thereto. A Chambermaid of hers, who compassi­oned her case very much; made such obseruance, by her Mistresses di­rection, that she found it to be Philippoes bed Chamber, and where al­wayes he vsed to lodge alone. By often visiting this rift or chinke in the Wall, especially when the Gentleman was there; and by throwing in little stones, flowers, and such like things, which fell still in his way as he walked: so farre she preuailed, that he stepping to the chinke, to know from whence they came; shee called softly to him, who knowing her voyce, there they had such priuate conference together, as was not any way displeasing to either. So that the chinke being made a little larger; yet so, as it could not be easily discerned: their mouthes might meete with kisses together, and their hands folded each in other; but nothing else to be performed, for continuall feare of her ielous husband.

Now the Feast of Christmasse drawing neere, the Gentlewoman said to her Husband; that, if it stood with his liking: she would do such du­ty as fitted with so solemne a time, by going earely in a morning vnto Church, there to be confessed, and receiue her Sauiour, as other Christi­ans did. How now? replied the iealous Asse, what sinnes haue you com­mitted, that should neede confession? How Husband? quoth she, what do you thinke me to be a Saint? Who knoweth not, I pray you, that I am as subiect to sinne, as any other Woman liuing in the world? But my sins are not to be reuealed to you, because you are no Priest. These words enflamed his iealousie more violently then before, and needes must he know what sinnes she had committed, & hauing resolued what to do in this case, made her answer: That hee was contented with her motion, alwaies prouided, that she went to no other Church, then vnto their owne Chappel, betimes in a morning; and their own Chaplaine to confesse her, or some other Priest by him appointed, but not any other: [Page] and then she to returne home presently againe. She being a woman of acute apprehension, presently collected his whole intention: but see­ming to take no knowledge thereof, replyed, that she would not swerue from his direction.

When the appointed day was come, she arose very earely, and being prepared answerable to her owne liking, to the Chappell shee went as her Husband had appointed, where her iealous Husband (being much earlier risen then she) attended for her comming: hauing so ordred the matter with his Chaplaine, that he was cloathed in his Cowle, with a large Hood hanging ouer his eyes, that she should not know him, and so he went and sate downe in the Confessors place. Shee being entred into the Chappell, and calling for the Priest to heare her confession, he made her answer: that he could not intehd it, but would bring her to another holy Brother, who was at better leysure then hee. So to her Husband he brought her, that seemed (in all respects) like the Confes­sor himselfe: saue onely his Hood was not so closely veyled, but shee knew his beard, and said to her selfe. What a mad world is this, when iealousie can metamorphose an ordinary man into a Priest? But, let me alone with him, I meane to fit him with that which he lookes for.

So, appearing to haue no knowledge at all of him, downe she fell at his feete, and he had conueyed a few Cherry stones into his mouth, to trouble his speech from her knowledge; for, in all things els, he thoght himselfe to be sufficiently fitted for her. In the course of her confession, she declared, that she was married to a most wicked iealous Husband, and with whom she lead a very hatefull life. Neuerthelesse (quoth she) I am indifferently euen with him, for I am beloued of an Holie Fryar, that euery night commeth and lyeth with me. When the iealous Hus­band heard this, it stabbed him like a dagger to the heart, and, but for this greedy couetous desire to know more; he would faine haue broke off confession, and got him gone. But, perceiuing that it was his wisest course, he questioned further with his wife, saying: Why good Wo­man, doth not your husband lodge with you? Yes Sir, quoth she. How is it possible then (replyed the Husband) that the Friar can lodge there with you too?

She, dissembling a farre fetcht sigh, thus answered. Reuerend Sir, I know not what skilfull Art the Fryar vseth, but this I am sure, euery doore in our house will flye open to him, so soone as he doth but touch it. Moreouer, he told me, that when he commeth vnto my Chamber doore, he speaketh certaine words to himselfe, which immediately ca­steth my Husband into a dead sleepe, and, vnderstanding him to bee thus sleepily entranced: he openeth the doore, entreth in, lieth downe by me, and this euery night he faileth not to do. The iealous Coxcomb angerly scratching his head, and wishing his wife halfe hangd, said: Mi­stresse, this is very badly done, for you should keepe your selfe from all men, but your husband onely. That shall I neuer doe, answered shee, because (indeed) I loue him dearely. Why then (quoth our supposed [Page 35] Confessor) I cannot giue you any absolution. I am the more sory Sir, said she, I came not hither to tell you any leasings, for if I could, yet I would not, because it is not good to fable with such Saint-like men as you are. You do therein (quoth hee) the better, and surely I am very sory for you, because in this dangerous condition, it will bee the vtter losse of your soule: neuerthelesse, both for your husbands sake and your owne, I will take some paines, and vse such especiall prayers in your name, which may (perchance) greatly auayle you. And I purpose now and then, to send you a Nouice or young Clearke of mine, whom you may safely acquaint with your minde, and signifie to me, by him, whe­ther they haue done you good, or no: and if they proue helpefull, then will we further proceed therein. Alas Sir, said she, neuer trouble your selfe, in sending any body to our house; because, if my Husband should know it, he is so extreamly iealous, as all the world cannot otherwise perswade him, but that he commeth thither for no honest intent, and so I shall liue worse then now I do. Fear not that, good woman, quoth he, but beleeue it certainly, that I will haue such a care in this case, as your Huband shall neuer speake thereof to you. If you can doe so Sir, sayde she, proceed I pray you, and I am well contented.

Confession being thus ended, and she receiuing such pennance as hee appointed, she arose on her feete, and went to heare Masse; while our iealous Woodcocke (testily puffing and blowing) put off his Religious habite, returning home presently to his house, beating his braines al the the way as he went, what meanes he might best deuie, for the taking of his wife and the Friar together, whereby to haue them both seuerely punished. His wife being come home from the Chappell, discerned by her Husbands lookes, that he was like to keepe but a sory Christmasse: yet he vsed his vtmost industry, to conceale what he had done, & which she knew as well as himself. And he hauing fully resolued, to watch his own street doore the next night ensuing in person, in expectation of the Friars comming, saide to his Wife. I haue occasion both to suppe and lodge out of my house this night, wherefore see you the streete doore to be surely made fast on the inside, and the doore at the middest of the staires, as also your own Chamber doore, and then (in Gods name) get you to bed. Whereto she answered, that all should be done as hee had appointed.

Afterward, when she saw conuenient time, she went to the chink in the Wall, and making such a signe as shee was woont to doe: Phillippo came thither, to whom she declared all her mornings affayres, & what directions her husband had giuen her. Furthermore she saide, certaine I am, that he will not depart from the house, but sit and watch the doore without, to take one that comes not heere. If therefore, you can climbe ouer the house top, and get in at our gutter Window, you and I may conferre more familiarly together. The young Gentleman being no dullard, had his lesson quickly taught him; and when night was come, Geloso (for so must wee tearme the Cocke-braind husband) armes him­selfe [Page] at all points, with a browne Bill in his hand, and so he sits to watch his owne doore. His Wife had made fast all the doores, especially that on the midst of the stayres, because he should not (by any means) come to her Chamber; and so, when the houre serued, the Gentleman aduen­tured ouer the house top, found the gutter Window, and the way con­ducting him to her Chamber, where I leaue them to their further amo­rous conference.

Geloso, more then halfe mad with anger, first, because hee had lost his supper: next, hauing sitten almost all the night (which was extreamely cold and windie) his Armor much mollesting him, and yet he could see no Friar come: when day drew neere, and hee ashamed to watch there any longer; conueighed himselfe to some more conuenient place, where putting off his Armes, and seeming to come from the place of his Lod­ging; about the ninth houre, he found his doore open, ent [...]ed in, & went vp the stayres, going to dinner with his Wife. Within a while after, ac­cording as Geloso had ordred the businesse, a youth came thither, see­ming to be the Nouice sent from the Confessor, and he being admitted to speake with her, demanded, whether shee were troubled or mollested that night passed, as formerly she had bin, and whether the partie came or no? The Woman, who knew well enough the Messenger (notwith­standing all his formall disguise) made answer: That the party expect­ed, came not: but if hee had come, it was to no purpose; because her minde was now otherwise altred, albeit she changed not a iote from her amorous conclusion.

What should I now further say vnto you? Geloso continued his watch many nights afterward, as hoping to surprize the Friar at his entrance, and his wife kept still her contented quarter, according as opportunitie serued. In the conclusion, Geloso beeing no longer able to endure his bootlesse watching, nor some (more then ordinary) pleasing counte­nance in his wife: one day demaunded of her (with a very stearne and frowning brow) what secret sinnes shee had reuealed to the ghostly Fa­ther, vpon the day of her shrift? The Woman replyed, that she would not tell him, neyther was it a matter reasonable, or lawfull for her to doe. Wicked Woman, answered Geloso: I knowe them all well e­nough, euen in despight of thee, and euery word that thou spakest vnto him. But Huswife, now I must further know, what the Fryar is, with whom you are so farte in loue, and (by meanes o [...] his enchantments) ly­eth with you euery night; tell me what and who he is, or else I meane to cut your throate.

The Woman immediately made answer, it was not true, that she was in loue with any Fryar. How? quoth Geloso, didst not thou confesse so much to the Ghostly Father, the other day when thou wast at shrift? No Sir, sayde she, but if I did, I am sure he would not disclose it to you, ex­cept hee suffered you to bee there present, which is an Article beyonde his dutie. But if it were so, then I confesse freely, that I did say so vn­to him. Make an end then quickely Wife (quoth Geloso) and tell mee [Page 36] who the Friar is. The Woman fell into a hearty laughter, saying. It li­keth me singularly well, when a wise man will suffer himselfe to be ledde by a simple Woman, euen as a Sheepe is to the slaughter, and by the hornes. If once thou wast wise, that wisedome became vtterly lost, when thou felst into that diuellish frensie of iealousie, without knowing anie reason for it: for, by this beastlike and no manly humor, thou hast eclip­sed no meane part of my glory, and womanly reputation.

Doest thou imagine Husband, that if I were so blinded in the eyes of my head, as thou art in them which should informe thine vnderstand­ing; I could haue found out the Priest, that would needs bee my Con­fessor? I knew thee Husband to be the man, and therefore I prepared my wit accordingly, to fit thee with the foolish imagination which thou soughtest for, and (indeed) gaue it thee. For, if thou hadst beene wise, as thou makest the world to beleeue by outward apparance, thou woul­dest neuer haue expressed such a basenesse of minde, to borrow the cou­lour of a sanctified cloake, thereby to vndermine the secre [...]s of thine honest meaning Wife. Wherefore, to feede thee in thy fond suspiti­on, I was the more free in my Confession, and tolde thee truely, with whom, and how heinously I had transgressed. Did I not tell thee, that I loued a Fryar? And art not thou he whom I loue, being a Fryar, and my ghostly Father, though (to thine owne shame) thou madst thy selfe so? I said moreouer, that there is not any doore in our house, that can keepe it selfe shut against him, but (when he pleaseth) he comes and lies with me. Now tell me Husband, What doore in our house hath (at any time) bin shut against thee, but they are freely thine owne, & grant thee entrance? Thou art the same Friar that confest me, and lieth euery night with me, and so often as thou sentst thy yong Nouice or Clearke to me, as often did I truly returne thee word, when the same Fryar lay with me. But (by iealousie) thou hast so lost thine vnderstanding, that thou wilt hardly beleeue all this.

Alas good man, like an armed Watchman, thou satst at thine owne doore all a cold Winters night, perswading mee poore silly credulous woman) that, vpon vrgent occasions, thou must needs suppe and lodge from home. Remember thy selfe therefore better heereafter, become a true vnderstanding man, as thou shouldst bee, and make not thy selfe a mocking stocke to them, who knoweth thy iealous qualities, as well as I do, and be not so watchfull ouer me, as thou art. For I sweare by my true honesty, that if I were but as willing, as thou art suspitious: I could deceiue thee, if thou hadst an hundred eyes, as Nature affords thee but two, and haue my pleasures freely, yet thou be not a iot the wiser, or my credit any way impaired.

Our wonderfull wise Geloso, who (very aduisedly considred) that he had wholly heard his wiues secre confession, and dreamed now on no other doubt beside, but (perceiuing by her speeches) how hee was be­come a scorne to al men: without returning other answer, confirmed his wife to bee both wise and honest, and now when he hadde iust occasi­on [Page] on to be iealous indeede, hee vtterly forsware it, and counted them all Coxcombes that would be so misguided. Wherefore, she hauing thus wisely wonne the way to her owne desires, and he reduced into a more humane temper: I hope there was no more neede, of clambring ouer houses in the night time like Cats, nor walking in at gutter Windowes; but all abuses were honestly reformed.

The Sixth Nouell.

WOndrously pleasing to all the company, was the reported No­uell of Madame Fiammetta, euery one applauding the Wo­mans wisedome, and that she had done no more, then as the iealous foole her husband iustly deserued. But shee hauing ended, the King gaue order vnto Madame Pampinea, that now it was her turne to speake, whereupon, thus she began. There are no meane store of people who say (though very false and foolishly,) that Loue maketh many to be out of their wits, and that such as fall in Loue, do vtterly loose their [Page 37] vnderstanding. To mee this appeareth a very ydle opinion, as already hath beene approued by the related discourses, and shall also bee made manifest by another of mine owne.

In our City of Florence, famous for some good, though as many bad qualities, there dwelt (not long since) a Gentlewoman, endued with choice beauty and admirable perfections, being wife to Signior Beltra­mo, a very valiant Knight, and a man of great possessions. As often­times it commeth to passe, that a man cannot alwayes feede on one kind of bread, but his appetite will be longing after change: so fared it with this Lady, named Isabella, she being not satisfied with the delights of her Husband; grew enamoured of a young Gentleman, called Lionello, compleate of person and commendable qualities, albeit not of the fairest fortunes, yet his affection euery way sutable to hers. And full well you know (faire Ladies) that where the mindes irreciprocally accorded, no dilligence wanteth for the desires execution: so this amorous couple, made many solemne protestations, vntill they should bee friended by opportunity.

It fortuned in the time of their hopefull expectation a Knight, named Signior Lambertuccio, fell likewise in loue with Isabella: but because he was somewhat vnsightly of person, and vtterly vnpleasing in the eye, she grew regardlesse of his frequent solicitings, and would not accept ei­ther tokens, or letters. Which when hee saw, (being very rich and of great power) hee sought to compasse his intent by a contrary course, threatning her with scandall and disgrace to her reputation, and with his associates to bandie against her best friends. She knowing what man­ner of man he was, and how able to abuse any with infamous imputati­ons, wisely returned him hopefull promises, though neuer meaning to performe any, but onely (Lady-like) to flatter and foole him there­with.

Some few miles distant from Florence, Beltramo had a Castle of plea­sure, and there his Lady Isabella vsed to liue all Summer, as all other doe the like, being so possessed. On a day, Beltramo being ridden from home, and she hauing sent for Lionello, to take the aduantage of her Hus­bands absence; accordingly he went, not doubting but to winne what he had long expected. Signior Lambertuccio on the other side, meeting Beltramo riding from his Castle, and Isabella now fit to enioy his com­pany: gallops thither with all possible speede▪ because hee would bee no longer delayed. Scarcely was Lionello entred the Castle, and receiuing directions by the waiting woman, to her Ladies Chamber: but Lam­bertuccio gallopped in at the Gate, which the woman perceiuing, ranne presently and acquainted her Lady with the comming of Lam­bertuccio.

Now was shee the onely sorrowfull woman of the world; for no­thing was now to bee feared, but stormes and tempests, because Lambertuccio, spake no other then Lightning and Thunder, and Lionello, (being no lesse affraide then shee) by her perswasion [Page] crept behind the bed, where he hid himselfe very contentedly. By this time Lambertuccio was dismounted from his Courser, which he fastened (by the bridle) to a ring in the wall, and then the waiting woman came to him, to guide him to her Lady and Mistresse: who stood ready at the staires head, graced him with a very acceptable welcome, yet mar­uelling much at his so sodaine comming. Lady (quoth he) I met your Husband vpon the way, which granting mine accesse to see you; I come to claime your long delayed promise, the time being now so fauou­rable for it.

Before he had vttered halfe these words, Beltramo, hauing forgot an especiall euidence in his Study, which was the onely occasion of his iourney, came gallopping backe againe into the Castell Court, and see­ing such a goodly Gelding stand fastened there, could not redily ima­gine who was the owne thereof. The waiting woman, vpon the sight of her Masters entring into the Court, came to her Lady, saying: My Master Beltramo is returned backe, newly alighted, and (questionlesse) comming vp the staires. Now was our Lady Isabella, ten times worse affrighted then before, (hauing two seuerall amourous suters in her house, both hoping, neither speeding, yet her credite lying at the stake for either) by this vnexpected returne of her Husband. Moreouer, there was no possible meanes, for the concealing of Signior Lambertuc­cio, because his Gelding stood in the open Court, and therefore made a shrewde presumption against her, vpon the least doubtfull question vrged.

Neuerthelesse, as womens wits are alwayes best vpon sudden con­straints, looking forth of her window, and espying her Husband prepa­ring to come vp: she threw her selfe on her day Couch, speaking thus (earnestly) to Lambertuccio. Sir, if euer you loued mee, and would haue me faithfully to beleeue it, by the instant safety both of your owne ho­nour, and my life, doe but as I aduise you. Forth draw your Sword, and, with a steanre countenance, threatning death and destruction: run downe the staires, and when you are beneath, say. I sweare by my best fortunes, although I misse of thee now heere, yet I will be sure to finde thee some where else. And if my Husband offer to stay you, or mooue any question to you: make no other answere, but what you formerly spake in fury. Beside, so soone as you are mounted on horse­backe, haue no further conference with him, vpon any occasion whatsoeuer; to preuent all suspition in him, of our future intend­ments.

Lambertuccio sware many terrible oathes, to obserue her directions in euery part, and hauing drawne forth his Sword, grasping it naked in his hand, and setting worse lookes one the businesse, then euer nature gaue him, because he had spent so much labour in vaine; he failed not in a iot of the Ladies iniunction. Beltramo hauing commanded his horse to safe custody, and meeting Lambertuccio discending downe the staires, so so armed, swearing, and most extreamely storming, wondring extraordi­narily [Page 38] as his threatning words, made offer to imbrace him, and vnder­stand the reason of his distemper. Lambertuccio repulsing him rudely, and setting foote in the stirrup, mounted on his Gelding, and spake no­thing else but this. I sweare by the fairest of all my fortunes, although I misse of thee heere: yet I will be sure to find thee some where else, and so he gallopped mainely away.

When Beltramo was come vp into his wines Chamber, hee found her cast downe vpon her Couch, weeping, full of feare, and greatly discom­forted; wherefore he said vnto her, What is hee that Signior Lamber­tuccio is so extreamely offended withall, and threatneth in such implaca­ble manner? The Lady arising from her Couch, and going neere to the Beds, because Lionello might the better heare her; returned her Hus­band this answere. Husband (quoth she) neuer was I so dreadfully af­frighted till now; for, a young Gentleman, of whence, or what he is, I know not, came running into our Castle for rescue, being pursued by Signior Lamber­tuccio, with a weapon ready drawne in his hand. Ascending vp our stayres, by what fortune, I know not, he found my Chamber doore standing open, fin­ding me also working on my Sampler, and in wonderfull feare and trem­bling.

Good Madame (quoth hee) for Gods sake helpe to saue my life, or else I shall be slaine heere in your Chamber. Hearing his pittious cry, and com­passionating his desperate case; I arose from my worke, and in my demaund­ing of whence, and what he was, that durst presume so boldly into my bed­chamber: presently came vp Signior Lambertuccio also, in the same vnci­uill sorte, as before I tolde you, swaggering and swearing; where is this trai­terous villaine? Heereupon, I stept (somewhat stoutly to my Chamber doore, and as hee offered to enter, with a womans courage I resisted him, which made him so much enraged against mee, that when hee saw mee to debarre his entrance; after many terrible and vile oathes and vowes, hee ranne downe the stayres againe, in such like manner as you chaunced to meete him.

Now trust mee deare wife (said Beltramo) you behaued your selfe very well and worthily: for, it would haue beene a most notorious scan­dall to vs, if a man should bee slaine in your bed-chamber: and Signior Lambertuccio carryed himselfe most dishonestly, to pursue any man so outragiously, hauing taken my Castle as his Sanctuary. But alas wife, what is become of the poore affrighted Gentleman? Introth Sir (quoth she) I know not, but (somewhere or other) heereabout hee is hidden. Where art thou honest friend? said plaine meaning Beltramo; Come forth and feare not, for thine enemy is gone.

Lionello, who had heard all the fore-passed discourse, which shee had deliuered to her Husband Beitramo, came creeping forth amazedly (as one now very fearefully affrighted indeede) from vnder the fur­ther side of the bedde, and Beltramo saide to him, What a quarrell was this, between thee and furious Lambertuccio? Not any at all Sir, replyed [Page] Lionello, to my knowledge, which verily perswadeth me; that either he is not well in his wits, or else he mistaketh me for some other; because, so soone as he saw me on the way, somewhat neere to this your Castle, he drew forth his Sword, and swearing an horrible oath, said. Traitor thou art a dead man. Vpon these rough words, I stayed not to questi­on the occasion of mine offending him: but fled from him so fast as pos­sibly I could; but confesse my selfe (indeede) ouer-bold, by presuming into your Ladies bed chamber, which yet (equalled with her mercie) hath bin the onely meanes at this time, of sauing my life.

She hath done like a good Lady, answered Beltramo, and I do verie much commend her for it. But, recollect thy dismayed spirite toge­ther, for I will see thee safely secured hence, afterward, looke to thy selfe so well as thou canst. Dinner being immediately made ready, and they hauing merrily feasted together: he bestowed a good Gelding on Lionello, and rode along with him to Florence, where he left him quiet­ly in his owne lodging. The selfe-same Euening (according as Isabella had giuen enstruction) Lionello conferred with Lambertuccio: and such an agreement passed betweene them, that though some rough speeches were noised abroad, to set the better colour on the businesse; yet al mat­ters were so cleanly carried, that Beltramo neuer knew this queint de­ceitfull policy of his Wife.

The Seuenth Nouell.

THis so sodaine dexterity of wit in Isabella, related in verie mo­dest manner by Madame Pampinea, was not onely admired by all the company; but likewise passed with as generall ap­probation. But yet Madam Philomena (whom the King had comman­ded next to succeede) peremptorily sayde. Worthy Ladies, if I am not deceiued; I intend to tell you another Tale presently; as much to be commended as the last.

You are to vnderstand then, that it is no long while since, when there dwelt in Paris a Florentine Gentleman, who falling into decay of his e­state, by ouer-bountifull expences; vndertooke the degree of a Mer­chant, and thriued so well by his trading, that he grew to great wealth, hauing one onely sonne by his wife, named Lodouico. This Sonne, par­taking somewhat in his Fathers former height of minde, and no way in­clineable to deale in Merchandize, had no meaning to be a Shop-man, [Page] and therefore accompanied the Gentlemen of France, in sundry serui­ces for the King; among whom, by his singular good carriage and qua­lites, he happened to be not meanly esteemed. While thus he conti­nued in the Court, it chanced, that certaine Knights, returning from Ierusalem, hauing there visited the holy Sepulcher, and comming into company where Lodouico was: much familiar discourse passed amongst them, concerning the faire women of France, England, and other parts of the world where they had bin, and what delicate beauties they had seene.

One in the company constantly auouched, that of all the Women by them so generally obserued, there was not any comparable to the Wife of Egano de Galluzzi, dwelling in Bologna, and her name Madam Beatrix, reputed to be the onely faire woman of the world. Many of the rest maintained as much, hauing bin at Bologna, and likewise seene her. Lo­douico hearing the woman to be so highly commended, and neuer (as yet) feeling any thought of amorous inclination; became sodainely toucht with an earnest desire of seeing her, and his minde could enter­taine no other matter, but onely of trauailing thither to see her, yea, and to continue there, if occasion so serued. The reason for his iourney vr­ged to his Father, was to visit Ierusalem, and the holy Sepulcher, which with much difficulty, at length he obtained his leaue.

Being on his iourney towards Bologna, by the name of Anichino, and not of Lodouico, and being there arriued; vpon the day following, and hauing vnderstood the place of her abiding: it was his good happe, to see the Lady at her Window; she appearing in his eye farre more faire, then all reports had made her to be. Heereupon, his affection became so enflamed to her, as he vowed, neuer to depart from Bologna, vntill he had obtained her loue. And deuising by what meanes he might effect his hopes, he grew perswaded (setting all other attempts aside) that if he could be entertained into her Husbands seruice, and vndergo some bu­sinesse in the house, time might tutor him to obtaine his desire. Hauing giuen his attendants sufficient allowance, to spare his company, and take no knowledge of him, selling his Horses also, and other notices which might discouer him: he grew into acquaintance with the Hoste of the house where he lay, reuealing an earnest desire in himselfe, to serue som Lord or worthy Gentleman, if any were willing to giue him entertain­ment.

Now beleeue me Sir (answered the Hoste) you seeme worthy to haue a good seruice indeede, and I know a Noble Gentleman of this Cittie, who is na­med Egano: he will (without all question) accept your offer, for hee keepeth many men of verie good deseruing, and you shall haue my furtherance therein so much as may be. As he promised, so he performed, and taking Ani­chino with him vnto Egano: so farre he preuailed by his friendly prote­stations, and good opinion of the young Gentleman; that Anichino was (without more ado) accepted into Eganoes seruice, then which, no­thing could be more pleasing to him. Now had he the benefit of dayly [Page 40] beholding his hearts Mistresse, and so acceptable proued his seruice to Egano, that he grew very farre in loue with him: not vndertaking any affayres whatsoeuer, without the aduice and direction of Anichino, so that he reposed his most especiall trust in him, as a man altogether go­uerned by him.

It fortuned vpon a day, that Egano being ridden to flye his Hawke at the Riuer, and Anichino remaining behinde at home, Madame Beatrix, who (as yet) had taken no notice of Anichinoes loue to her (albeit her selfe, obseruing his faire carriage and commendable qualities, was highly pleased to haue so seeming a seruant) called him to play at the Chesse with her: and Anichino, coueting nothing more then to content her, ca [...]ried himselfe so dexteriously in the game, that he permitted hir still to win, which was no little ioy to her. When all the Gentle-wo­men, and other friends there present, as spectators to behold their play, had taken their farewell, and were departed, leauing them all alone, yet gaming still: Anichino breathing forth an intire sigh, Madame Beatrix looking merrily on him, said. Tell me Anichino, art not thou angrie, to see me win? It should appeare so by that solemne sigh. No truly Ma­dame, answered Anichino, a matter of farre greater moment, then losse of infinite games at the Chesse, was the occasion why I sighed. I pray thee (replyed the Lady) by the loue thou bearest me, as being my Ser­uant (if any loue at all remain in thee towards me) giue me a reason for that harty sigh.

When he heard himselfe so seuerely coninred, by the loue he bare to her, and loued none else in the world beside: he gaue a farre more hart­sicke sigh, then before. Then his Lady and Mistresse entreated him se­riously, to let her know the cause of those two deepe sighes: whereto Anichino thus replyed. Madam, if I should tell you, I stand greatly in feare of offending you: and when I haue told you, I doubt your discouery thereof to some other. Beleeue me Anichino (quoth she) therein thou neither canst, or shalt offend me. Moreouer, assure thy selfe, that I will neuer disclose it to any other, except I may do it with thy consent. Madame (saide hee) seeing you haue protested such a solemne promise to mee, I will reueale no meane secret vnto you.

So, with teares standing in his eyes, he told her what he was; where he heard the first report of her singular perfections, and instantly becam enamored of her, as the maine motiue of his entring into her seruice. Then, most humbly he entreated her, that if it might agree with her good liking, she would be pleased to commisserate his case, and grace him with her priuate fauours. Or, if shee might not be so mercifull to him; that yet she would vouchsafe, to let him liue in the lowly condi­tion as he did, and thinke it a thankefull duty in him, onely to loue her. O singular sweetnesse, naturally liuing in faire feminine blood! How iustly art thou worthy of praise in the like occasions? Thou couldst ne­uer be wonne by sighes and teares; but hearty imprecations haue al­wayes preuailed with thee, making thee apt and easie to amorous de­sires. [Page] If I had praises answerable to thy great and glorious deseruings, my voice should neuer faint, nor my pen waxe weary, in the due and obsequious performance of them.

Madam Beatrix, well obseruing Anichino when he spake, and giuing credit to his so solemne protestations; they were so powerfull in preuai­ling with her, that her senses (in the same manner) were enchanted; and sighes flew as violently from her, as before he had vented them: which stormy tempest being a little ouer-blowne, thus she spake. Anichino, my hearts deere affected Friend, liue in hope, for I tell thee truly, neuer could gifts, promises, nor any Courtings vsed to me by Lords, Knights, Gentle­men, or other (although I haue bin solicited by many) winne the lest grace or fauour at my hand, no, nor moue me to any affection. But thou, in a mi­nute of time (compared with their long and tedious suing) hast expressed such a soueraigne potency in thy sweet words, that thou hast mad [...] me more thine, then mine owne: and beleeue it vnfeinedly, I hold thee to be worthy of my loue. Wherefore, with this kisse I freely giue it thee, and make thee a further promise, that before this night shall be fully past, thou shalt in bet­ter manner perceiue it. Aduenture into my Chamber about the houre of midnight, I will leaue the doore open: thou knowest on which side of the bed I vse to rest, come thither and feare not: if I sleep, the least gentle touch of thy hand will wake me, and then thou shalt see how much I loue thee. So, with a kinde kisse or two, the bargaine was concluded, she licensing his departure for that time, and he staying in hope of his hearts happinesse, till when, he thought euery houre a yeare.

In the meane while; Egano returned home from Hawking, and so soone as he had supt (being very weary) he went to bed, and his Ladie likewise with him, leauing her Chamber doore open, according as she had promised. At the houre appointed, Anichino came, finding the doore but easily put too, which (being entred) softly he closed againe, in the same manner as he found it. Going to the beds side where the Lady lay, and gently touching her brest with his hand, he found her to be awake, and perceiuing he was come according vnto promise, shee caught his hand fast with hers, and held him very strongly. Then, tur­ning (as she could) towards Egano, she made such meanes, as hee awa­ked, whereupon she spake vnto him as followeth.

Sir, yester night I would haue had a fewe speeches with you: but, in re­gard of your wearinesse and early going to bed, I could not haue any oppor­tunity. Now, this time and place being most conuenient, I desire to bee re­solued by you: Among all the men retained into your seruice; which of them you do thinke to be the best, most loyall, and worthiest to enioy your loue? E­gano answered thus: Wife, why should you moue such a question to me? Do not you know, that I neuer had any seruant heeretofore, or euer shall haue heereafter, in whom I reposed the like trust as I haue done, and do in Ani­chino? But to what end is this motion of yours? I will tell your Sir (quoth she) and then be Iudge your self, whether I haue reason to moue this questi­on, or no. Mine opinion euery way equalled yours, concerning Anichino, & [Page 41] that he was more iust and faithfull to you, then any could be amongest all the rest: But Husband, like as where the water runneth stillest, the Foord is deepest, euen so, his smooth lookes haue beguiled both you and me. For, no longer agoe, then this verie day, no sooner were you ridden foorth on Hauking, but he (belike purposely) tarrying at home, watching such a ley­sure as best fitted his intent: was not ashamed to solicite mee, both to abuse your bed, and mine owne spotlesse honor.

Moreouer, he prosecuted his impious purpose with such alluring perswa­sions: that being a weake woman, and not willing to endure ouer many A­morous proofes (onely to acquaint you with his most sawcie immodestie, and to reuenge your selfe vppon him as best you may; your selfe beeing best able to pronounce him guiltie) I made him promise, to meete him in our Garden, presently after midde-night, and to finde mee sitting vnder the Pine-Tree; nener meaning (as I am vertuous) to be there. But, that you may know the deceite and falshoode of your Seruant, I would hane you to put on my Night-gowne, my head Attire, and Chinne-cloath, and sitting but a short vvhile there vnderneath the Pine-Tree: such is his insatiate desire, as he will not faile to come, and then you may proceede, as you finde occasion.

When Egano heard these Words, sodainely hee started out of Bed, saying. Doe I foster such a Snake in mine owne bosome? Gramer­cie Wife for this politicke promise of thine, and beleeue mee, I meane to follow it effectually. So, on he put his Ladies Night-gown, her for­mall head Attire and Chin-cloth, going presently downe into the Gar­den, to expect Anichinoes comming to the Pine-Tree. But before the matter grew to this issue, let me demand of you faire Ladies, in what a lamentable condition (as you may imagine) was poore Anichino; to bee so strongly detained by her, heare all his amorous suite discouered, and likely to draw very heauy afflictions on him? Vndoubredly, he looked for immediate apprehension by Egano, imprisonment and publike pu­nishment for his so malapert presumption: and had it proued so, she had much renowned her selfe, and dealt with him but as he had iustlie de­serued.

But frailtie in our feminine sex is too much preualent, and makes vs wander from vertuous courses, when we are wel onward in the way to them. Madam Beatrix, whatsoeuer passed betweene her and Anichino, I know not, but, either to continue this new begunne league for further time, or, to be reuenged on her husbands simplicity, in ouer-rashlie gi­uing credit to so smooth a ly; this was her aduise to him. Anichino, quoth she, Take a good Cudgell in thy hand, then go into the Garden so farre as the Pine; and there, as if formerly thou hadst solicited mee vnto this se­cret meeting, only but by way of approuing my honestie: in my name, reuile thy master so bitterly as thou canst, bestowing manie sound blowes on him with thy cudgel; yet vrge the shame stil (as it were) to mee, and neuer leaue him, til thou hast beaten him out of the garden, to teach him keepe his bed another time. Such an apt Scholler as Anichino was in this kind, needs no [Page] tuturing, but a word is enough to a ready Wit. To the Garden goes he, with a good willow cudgell in his hand, and comming neere to the Pine-tree, there he found Egano disguised like to his Lady, who arising from the place where he sate, went with chearefull gesture to welcome him; but Anichino (in rough and stearne manner) thus spake vnto him. Wicked, shamelesse, and most immodest Woman, Art thou come, according to thine vnchaste and lasciuious promise? Couldest thou so easily credite, (though I tempted thee, to trie the vertue of thy continencie) I would offer such a damnable wrong to my worthy Master, that so deerely loues me, and reposeth his especiall confidence in me? Thou art much deceiued in me, and shalt finde, that I hate to be false to him.

So lifting vp the Cudgell, he gaue him therewith halfe a score good bastinadoes, laying them on soundly, both on his armes and shoulders: and Egano feeling the smart of them, durst not speake one Worde, but fled away from him so fast as hee could, Anichino still following, and multiplying many other iniurious speeches against him, with the Epi­thites of Strumpet, lustfull and insatiate Woman. Go thou lewde beast (quoth he) most vnworthy the title of a Lady, or to be Wife vnto so good a natured man, as my Mayster is, to whom I will reueale thy most vngraci­ous inciuility to Morrow, that he may punish thee a little better then I haue done.

Egano being thus well beaten for his Garden walke, got within the doore, and so went vp to his Chamber againe: his Lady there deman­ding of him, whether Anichino came according to his promise, or no? Come? quoth Egano, Yes Wife, he came, but deerely to my cost: for hee ve­rily taking me for thee, hath beaten me most extreamly, calling me an hun­dred Whores and Strumpets, reputing thee to bee the wickedst Woman li­uing. In good sadnesse Beatrix, I wondred not a little at him, that he would giue thee any such vile speeches, with intent to wrong mee in mine honour. Questioulesse, because hee saw thee to be iouiall spirited, gracious and affa­ble towardes all men; therefore hee intended to make triall of thine honest carriage. Well Sir (sayde shee) twas happy that hee tempted mee with words, and let you taste the proofe of them by deeds: and let him thinke, that I brooke those words as distastably, as you do or can, his ill deeds. But seeing he is so iust, faithfull, and loyall to you, you may lone him the better, and respect him as you finde occasion.

Whereto Egano thus replyed. Now trust me wife, thou hast said ve­ry well: And drawing hence the argument of his setled perswasion; that he had the chastest Woman liuing to his wife, and so iust a Seruant, as could not be fellowed: there neuer was any further discouerie of this Garden-night accident. Perhaps, Madame Beatrix and Anichino might subtilly smile thereat in secret, in regard that they knew more then a­ny other else beside did. But, as for honest meaning Egano, hee ne­uer had so much as the verie least mistrust of ill dealing, either in his Lady, or Anichino; whom hee loued and esteemed farre more respec­tiuely vppon this proofe of his honestie towards him, then hee would [Page 42] or could possibly haue done, without a triall so playne and preg­nant.

The Eight Nouell.

IT seemed to the whole assembly, that Madam Beatrix, dealte somewhat strangely, in the manner of beguiling her husband; and affirmed also, that Anichino had great cause of fear, when she held him so strongly by her beds side, and related all his amorous temptation. But when the King perceyued, that Madame Philomena sate silent, he turned to Madam Neiphila, willing her to supply the next place; who modestly smiling, thus began.

[Page] Faire Ladies, it were an heauy burthen imposed on me, and a matter much surmounting my capacity, if I should vainely imagine, to content you with so pleasing a Nouell, as those haue already done, by you so singularly reported: neuerthelesse, I must discharge my dutie, and take my fortune as it fals, albeit I hope to finde you mercifull.

You are to know then, that sometime there liued in our Citie, a very welthy Merchant, named Arriguccio Berlinghieri, who (as many Mer­chants haue done) fondly imagined, to make himselfe a Gentleman by marriage. Which that he might the more assuredly do, he took to wife a Gentlewoman, one much aboue his degree or element, she being na­med Simonida. Now, in regard that he delighted (as it is the vsuall life of a Merchant) to be often abroad, and little at home, whereby shee had small benefit of his company; shee grew very forward in affection with a young Gentleman, called Signior Roberto, who had solicited hir by many amorous means, and (at length) preuailed to win her fauor. Which fauour being once obtained; affection gaddes so farre beyond al discretion, and makes Louers so heedelesse of their priuate conuersati­ons: that either they are taken tardy in their folly, or else subiected to scandalous suspition.

It came to passe, that Arriguccio, either by rumour, or some other more sensible apprehension, had receiued such intelligence concerning his Wife Simonida, as he grew into extraordinarie iealousie of her, re­fraining trauaile abroad, as formerly he was wont to doe, and ceassing from his verie ordinary affayres, addicting all his care and endeauour, onely to be watchfull of his Wife; so that he neuer durst sleepe, vntill she were by him in the bed, which was no meane mollestation to her, being thus curbd from her familiar meetings with Roberto. Neuerthe­lesse, hauing a long while consulted with her wittes, to find some apte meanes for conuersing with him, being thereto also very earnestlie still solicited by him; you shall heare what course she vndertooke.

Her Chamber being on the streete side, and somewhat iuttying ouer it, she obserued the disposition of her Husband, that euery night it was long before he fell asleepe: but beeing once falne into it, no noyse whatsoeuer, could easily wake him. This his solemne and sound slee­ping, emboldned her so farre, as to meete with Roberto at the streete doore, which (while her Husband slept) softly she would open to him, and there in priuate conuerse with him.

But, because shee would know the certaine houre of his comming, without the least suspition of any: she hung a thred forth of her Cham­ber Window, descending downe, within the compasse of Robertoes reach in the street, and the other end thereof, guided from the Win­dow to the bed, being conueyed vnder the cloathes, and shee being in bed, she fastned it about her left great Toe, wherewith Roberto was suf­ficiently acquainted, and thus enstructed withall; that at his comming, he should plucke the thred, & if her husband was in his dead sleep, she would let go the thred, and come downe to him: but if he slept not, she [Page 43] would hold it strongly, and then his tarrying would proue but in vaine, there could be no meeting that night.

This deuise was highly pleasing both to Roberto and Simonida, be­ing the intelligencer of their often meeting, and many times also adui­sing the contrary. But in the end, as the quaintest cunning may faile at one time or other; so it fortuned one night, that Simonida being in a sound sleepe, and Arriguccio waking, because his drowsie houre was not as yet come: as he extended forth his legge in the bed, he found the thred, which feeling in his hand, and perceiuing it was tyed to his wiues great toe; it prooued apt tinder to kindle further Iealousie, and now hee suspected some treachery indeede, and so much the rather because the thred guided (vnder the cloathes) from the bed to the window, and there hanging downe into the streete, as a warning to some further busi­nesse.

Now was Arriguccio so furiously enflamed, that hee must needes bee further resolued in this apparant doubt: and because therein hee would not be deceiued, softly he cut the thred from his wiues toe, and made it fast about his owne; to trye what successe would ensue thereon. It was not long before Roberto came, and according as hee vsed to doe, hee pluckt the thred, which Arriguccio felt, but because hee had not tyed it fast, and Roberto pulling it ouer-hardly, it fell downe from the window into his hand, which he vnderstood as his lesson, to attend her comming, and so hee did. Arriguccio stealing softly out of bed from his wife, and taking his Sword vnder his arme, went downe to the doore, to see who it was, with full intent of further reuenge. Now, albeit he was a Mer­chant, yet he wanted not courage, and boldnesse of spirit, and opening the doore without any noyse, onely as his wife was wont to doe: Rober­to, there waiting his entrance, perceiued by the doores vnfashionable o­pening, that it was not Simonida, but her Husband, whereupon he be­tooke himselfe to flight, and Arriguccio fiercely followed him. At the length, Roberto perceiuing that flight auayled him not, because his ene­my still pursued him: being armed also with a Sword, as Arriguccio was; he returned backe vpon him, the one offering to offend, as the o­ther stood vpon his defence, and so in the darke they fought toge­ther.

Simonida awaking, euen when her Husband went foorth of the Chamber, and finding the thred to be cut from her toe; coniectured immediately, that her subtle cunning was discouered, and supposing her Husband in pursuite of Roberto, presently she arose; and, conside­ring what was likely to ensue thereon, called her Chamber-maide (who was not ignorant in the businesse) and by perswasions preuailed so with her, that she lay downe in her place in the bed, vpon solemne protestati­ons and liberall promises, not to make her selfe knowne, but to suffer all patiently, either blowes, or other ill vsage of her Husband, which shee would recompence in such bountifull sort, as she should haue no occa­sion to complaine. So, putting out the watch-light, which euery night [Page] burned in the Chamber, she departed thence, and sate downe in a close corner of the house, to see what would be the end of all this stirre, after her Husbands comming home.

The fight (as you haue formerly heard) continuing betweene Roberto and Arriguccio, the neighbours hearing of the clashing of their Swords in the streets; arose out of their beds, and reproued them in very harsh manner. In which respect Arriguccio, fearing to be knowne, and igno­rant also what his aduersary was (no harme being as yet done on either side) permitted him to depart; and extreamely full of anger, returned backe againe to his house. Being come vp into his bed-chamber, Thus he began; Where is this lewde and wicked woman? what? hast thou put out the light, because I should not finde thee? that shall not auayle thee, for I can well enough finde a drab in the darke. So, groping on to the beds side, and thinking hee had taken hold on his wife, he grasped the Chamber-maide, so beating her with his fists, and spurning her with his feet, that al her face was bloody & bruised. Next, with his knife he cut off a great deal of her haire, giuing her the most villanous speeches as could be deuised: swearing, that he would make her a shame to all the world.

You need make no doubt, but the poore maide wept exceedingly, as she had good occasion to doe: and albeit many times she desired mercy, and that hee would not bee so cruell to her: yet notwithstanding, her voyce was so broken with crying, and his impacience so extreame, that rage hindered all power of distinguishing, or knowing his wiues tongue from a strangers. Hauing thus madly beaten her, and cut the lockes off from her head, thus he spake to her. Wicked woman, and no wife of mine, be sure I haue not done with thee yet; for, although I meane not now to beate thee any longer: I will goe to thy brethren, and they shall vnderstand thy dishonest behauiour. Then will I bring them home with me, and they percei­uing how much thou hast abused both their honour and thine owne; let them deale with thee as they finde occasion, for thou art no more a compani­on for me. No sooner had he vttered these angry words, but hee went forth of the Chamber, bolting it fast on the outward side, as meaning to keepe her safely inclosed, & out of the house he went alone by himselfe.

Simonida, who had heard all this tempestuous conflict, perceiuing that her Husband had lockt the streete doore after him, and was gone whether he pleased: vnbolted the Chamber doore, lighted a waxe can­dle, and went in to see her poore maide, whom she found to be most pit­tifully misused. She comforted her as well as she could, brought her into her owne lodging Chamber, where washing her face and hurts in very soueraigne waters, and rewarding her liberally with Arriguccioes owne Gold; she held her selfe to bee sufficiently satisfyed. So, leauing the maide in her lodging, and returning againe to her owne Chamber: she made vp the bed in such former manner, as if no body had lodged therein that night. Then hanging vp her Lampefresh fild with oyle, and clearly lighted, she deckt her selfe in so decent sort, as if she had bin in no bed all that night.

[Page 44] Then taking sowing worke in her hand, either shirts or bands of her Husbands; hanging the Lampe by her, and sitting downe at the stayres head, she fell to worke in very serious manner, as if shee had vndertaken some imposed taske.

On the other side, Arriguccio had trauelled so farre from his house, till he came at last to the dwelling of Simonidaes brethren: where hee knockt so soundly, that he was quickely heard, and (almost is speedily) let in. Simonidaes brethren, and her mother also, hearing of Arrigucci­oes comming thither so late. Rose from their beds, and each of them hauing a Waxe Candle lighted came presently to him, to vnderstand the cause of this his so vnseasonable visitation. Arriguccio, beginning at the originall of the matter, the thred found tyed about his wiues great toe, the fight and houshold conflict after following: related euery cir­cumstance to them. And for the better proofe of his words, he shewed them the thred it selfe, the lockes supposed of his wiues haire, and ad­ding withall; that they might now dispose of Simonida as themselues pleased, because she should remaine no longer in his house.

The brethren to Simonida were exceedingly offended at this relation, in regard they beleeued it for truth, and in this fury, commanded Tor­ches to be lighted, preparing to part thence with Arriguccio home to his house, for the more sharpe rehrehension of their Sister. Which when their mother saw, she followed them weeping, first entreating one, and then the other, not to be ouer rash in crediting such a slander, but rather to consider the truth thereof aduisedly: because the Husband might be angry with his Wife vpon some other occasion, and hauing outraged her, made this the meanes in excuse of himselfe. Moreuer she said, that she could not chuse but wonder greatly, how this matter should thus come to passe; because she had good knowledge of her daugher, during the whole course of her education, faultlesse and blamelesse in euery deg [...]ee; with many other good words of her beside, as proceeding from naturall affection of a mother.

Being come to the house of Arriguccio, entring in, and ascending vp the stayres: they heard Simonida sweetly singing at her working; but pausing, vpon hearing their rude trampling, shee demaunded, who was there. One of the angry brethren presently answered: Lewde woman as thou art, thou shalt know soone enough who is heere: Our blessed Lady be with vs (quoth Simonida) and sweet Saint Frances helpe to defend me, who dare vse such vnseemely speeches? Starting vp and meeting them on the staire head: Kinde brethren, (said she) is it you? What, and my louing mother too? For sweet Saint Charities sake, what may be the reason of your comming hither in this manner. Shee being set downe againe to her worke, so neatly apparrlled, without any signe of outrage offered her, her face vnblemished, her haire comely ordered, and differing wholly from the former speeches of her Husband: the Brethren maruelled thereat not a little; and asswaging somewhat the impetuous torrent of their rage, began to demaund in coole blood, (as it were) from what [Page] ground her Husbands complaints proceeded, and threatning her roughly, if she would not confesse the truth intirely to them.

Ane Maria (quoth Simonida, crossing her selfe) Alas deare Brethren, I know not what you say, or meane, nor wherein my Husband should bee of­fended, or make any complaint at all of me. Arriguccio hearing this, loo­ked on her like a man that had lost his Senses: for well he remembred, how many cruell blowes he had giuen her on the face, beside scratches of his nailes, and spurnes of his feet, as also the cutting of her haire, the the least shew of all which misusage, was not now to be seene. Her bre­thren likewise briefly told her, the whole effect of her Husbands spee­ches, shewing her the thred, and in what cruell manner he sware hee did beate her. Simonida, turning then to her Husband, and seeming as con­founded with amazement, said. How is this Husband? what doe I heare? would you haue me supposed (to your owne shame and disgrace) to be a bad woman, and your selfe a cruell curst man, when (on either side) there is no such matter? When were you this night heere in the house With mee? Or when should you beate mee, and I not feele nor know it. Beleeue me (sweete heart) all these are meerely miracles to me.

Now was Arriguccio ten times more mad in his minde, then before, saying. Diuell, and no woman, did wee not this night goe both together to bed? Did not I cut this thred from thy great toe, tyed it to mine, and found the craftie compact betweene thee and thy Minnion? Did not I follow and fight with him in the streets? Came I not backe againe, and beate thee as a Strumpet should be? And are not these the locks of haire, which I my selfe did cut from thy head?

Alas Sir (quoth she) where haue you been? doe you know what you say? you did not lodge in this house this night, neither did I see you all the whole day and night, till now.

But leauing this, and come to the matter now in question, because I haue no other testimony then mine owne words. You say, that you did beate me, and cut those lockes of haire from my head. Alas Sir, why should you slander your selfe? In all your life time you did neuer strike me. And to appoue the truth of my speeches, doe you your selfe, and all else heere present, looke on me aduisedly, if any signe of blow or bea­ting is to be seene on me. Nor were it an easie matter for you to doe either to smite, or so much as lay your hand (in anger) on me, it would cost dearer then you thinke for. And whereas you say, that you did cut those lockes of haire from my head; it is more then either I know, or felt, nor are they in colour like to mine: but, because my Mother and bre­thren shall be my witnesses therein, and whether you did it without my knowledge; you shall all see, if they be cut, or no. So, taking off her head attyre, she displayed her hayre ouer her shoulders, which had suf­fered no violence, neither seemed to bee so much as vnciuilly or rudely handled.

When the mother and brethren saw this, they began to murmure a­gainst Arriguccio, saying. What thinke you of this Sir? you tell vs of [Page 45] strange matters which you haue done, and all prouing falfe, we wonder how you can make good the rest. Arriguccio looked wilde, and confusedly, striuing still to maintaine his accusation: but seeing euery thing to bee flatly against him, he durst not attempt to speake one word. Simonida tooke aduantage of this distraction in him, and turning to her brethren, saide. I see now the marke whereat he aymeth, to make me doe what I neuer meante: Namely, that I should acquaint you with his vile qualities, and what a wretched life I leade with him, which seeing hee will needes haue me to reueale; beare with me if I doe it vpon compulsion.

Mother and Brethren, I am verily perswaded, that those accidents which be disclosed to you, hath doubtlesse (in the same manner) happened to him, and you shall heare how. Very true it is, that this seeming honest man, to whom (in a lucklesse houre) you married me, stileth himselfe by the name of a Merchant, coueting to be so accounted and credited, as holy in outward appearance, as a Religious Monke, and as demure in lookes, as the modestest Maide: like a notorious common drunkard, is a Tauerne hunter, where making his luxurius matches, one while with one Whore, then againe with another; hee causeth mee euery night to sit tarrying for him, euen in the same sort as you found me: sometimes till midnight, and otherwhiles till broad day light in the morning.

And questionlesse, being in his wounted drunken humour, hee hath lyen with one of his sweet Consorts, about whose toe he found the thred, and fin­ding her as false to him, as he hath alwayes been to me: Did not onely beat her, but also cut the haire from her head. And hauing not yet▪ recouered his sences, is verily perswaded, and cannot be altered from it; but that hee performed all this villany to me. And if you doe but aduisedly obserue his countenance, he appeareth yet to be more then halfe drunke.

But whatsoeuer he hath said concerning me, I make no account at all thereof, because he spake it in his drunkennesse, and as freely as I forgiue him, euen so (good Mother and kinde Brethren,) let mee entreate you to do the like.

When the Mother had heard these words, and confidently beleeued her Daughter: she began to torment her selfe with anger, saying. By the faith of my body Daughter, this vnkindnesse is not be endured, but rather let the dogge be hanged, that his qualities may be knowne, he being vtterly vnworthy, to haue so good a woman to his wife, as thou art. What could he haue done more, if he had taken thee in the open streete, and in company of some wanton Gallants? In an vnfortunate houre wast thou married to him, base iealous Coxecombe as he is, and it is quite against sense, or reason, that thou shouldest be subiect to his fooleries. What was hee, but a Merchant of Eale-skinnes or Orenges; bred in some paltry countrey village; taken from Hogge-rubbing; clothed in Sheepes-Sattin, with Clownish Startops, Lea­ther stockings, and Caddies garters: His whole habite not worth three shillings: And ye he must haue afaire Gentle Woman to his Wife, of honest fame, riches and reputation; when, comparing his pedegree with hers, hee is farre vnfit to wipe her shooes.

[Page] Oh my deare sonnes, I would you had followed my counsell, and permit­ted her to math in the honourable family of Count Guido, which was much mooued, and seriously pursued. But you would needs bestow her on this goodly Iewell; who, although shee is one of the choysest beauties in Florence, chaste, honest and truely vertuous: Is not ashamed at mid­night, to proclaime her for a common whore, as if we had no better know­ledge of her. But by the blessed mother of Saint Iohn, if you would be ru­led by mine aduise; our law should make him dearely smart for it.

Alas my sonnes, did I not tell you at home in our owne house, that his words were no way likely to proue true? Haue not your eyes obserued his vnmannerly behauiour to your Sister? If I were as you are, hearing what he hath said, and noting his drunken carriage beside; I should neuer giue o­uer, as long as he had any life left in him. And were I a man, as I am a woman; none other then my selfe should reuenge her wrongs, making him a publike spectacle to all drabbing drunkards.

When the brethren had heard and obserued all these occurrences; in most bitter manner they railed on Arriguccio, bestowing some good bastinadoes on him beside, concluding thus with him in the end. Quoth one of them, Wee will pardon this shamefull abusing of our Sister, because thou art a notoriom drunkard: but looke to it (on perill of thy life) that we haue no more such newes hereafter; for, beleeue it vnfainedly, if any such impudent rumours happen to our eares, or so much as a flying fame thereof; thou shalt surely be paide for both faults together.

So home againe went they, and Arriguccio stood like one that had neither life or motion, not knowing (whether what he had done) was true, or no, or if he dreamed all this while, and so (without vttering any word) he left his Wife, and went quietly to bed. Thus by her wisdome, she did not onely preuent an imminent perill: but also made a free and open passage, to further contentment with her amourous friend, yet dreadlesse of any distaste or suspition in her Husband.

The Ninth Nouell.

THe Nouell deliuered, by Madame Neiphila, seemed so pleasing to all the Ladies; as they could not refraine from hearty laugh­ter, beside much liberality of speech. Albeit the King did often­times vrge silence, and commanded Pamphilus to follow next. So, when attention was admitted, Pamphilus began in this order. I am of opini­on, faire Ladies, that there is not any matter, how vneasie or doubtfull soeuer it may seeme to be; but the man or woman that affecteth fer­uently, dare boldly attempt, and effectually accomplish. And this per­swasion of mine, although it hath beene sufficiently approued, by ma­ny of our passed Nouels: Yet notwithstanding, I shall make it much apparent to you, by a present discourse of mine owne. Wherein I haue occasion to speake of a Lady, to whom Fortune was more fauou­rable, then either reason or iudgement, could giue direction. In which regard, I would not aduise any of you, to entertaine so high an [Page] imagination of minde, as to tracke her footsteps of whom I am now to speake: because Fortune containeth not alwayes one and the same dis­position, neither can all mens eyes be blinded after one manner. And so proceed we to our Tale.

In Argos, a most ancient Citie of Achaya, much more renowned by her precedent Kings, then wealth, or any other great matter of worth: there liued as Lieutenant or Gouernour thereof, a Noble Lord, named Nicostratus, on whom (albeit hee was well stept into yeares) Fortune bestowed in a marriage a great Lady, no lesse bold of spirit, then choisely beautifull. Nicostratus, abounding in treasure and wealthy possessi­ons, kept a goodly traine of Seruants, Horses, Houndes, Hawkes, and what else not, as hauing an extraordinary felicity in all kinds of game, as singular exercises to maintaine his health.

Among his other Seruants and Followers, there was a yong Gentle­man, gracefull of person, excellent in speech, and euery way as actiue as no man could be more: his name Pyrrhus, highly affected of Nico­stratus, and more intimately trusted then all the rest. Such seemed the perfections of this Pyrrhus, that Lydia (for so was the Lady named) be­gan to affect him very earnestly, and in such sort, as day or night shee could take no rest, but deuised all meanes to compasse her harts desire. Now, whether he obserued this inclination of her towards him, or else would take no notice thereof, it could not be discerned by any outward apprehension: which moued the more impatiency in her, & droue her hopes to dispairing passions. Wherein to finde some comfort and ease, she called an ancient Gentlewoman of her Chamber, in whom shee re­posed especiall confidence, and thus she spake to her.

Lesca, The good turnes and fauours thou hast receiued from me, should make thee faithfull and obedient to me: and therefore set a locke vppon thy lippes, for reuealing to any one whatsoeuer, such matters as now I shall im­part to thee; except it be to him that I command thee. Thou perceiuest Les­ca, how youthfull I am, apt to all sprightly recreations, rich, and abounding in all that a woman can wish to haue, in regard of Fortunes common & or­dinary fauours: yet I haue one especiall cause of complaint: namely, the ine­quality of my Mariage, my Husband being ouer-ancient for me; in which regard, my youth finds it selfe too highly wronged, being defeated of those duties and delights, which Women (farre inferiour to me) are continuallie cloyed withall, and I am vtterly depriued of. I am subiect to the same de­sires they are, and deserue to taste the benefit of them, in as ample manner, as they do or can.

Hitherto I haue liued with the losse of time, which yet (in some measure) may be releeued and recompenced: For, though Fortune were mine enemy in Mariage, by such a disproportion of our conditions: yet she may befriend in another nature, and kindely redeeme the iniury done me. Wherefore Les­ca, to be as compleate in this case, as I am in all the rest beside; I haue resol­ued vpon a priuate Friend, and one more worthy then any other, Namely, my Seruant Pyrrhus, whose youth carieth some correspondency with mine; [Page 47] and so constantly haue I setled my loue to him, as I am not well, but when I thinke on him, or see him: and (indeede) shall dye, except the sooner I may enioy him. And therefore, if my life and well fare be respected by thee, let him vnderstand the integrity of mine affection, by such good means as thou findest it most expedient to be done: entreating him from me, that I may haue some conference with him, when he shall thereto be solicited by me.

The Chamber-Gentlewoman Lesca, willingly vndertooke the La­dies Embassie; and so soone as opportunity did fauor her: hauing with­drawne Pyrrhus into an apt and commodious place, shee deliuered the Message to him, in the best manner she could deuise. Which Pyrrhus hearing, did not a little wonder thereat, neuer hauing noted any such matter; and therefore sodainly conceyued, that the Lady did this onely to try him; whereupon, somewhat roundly and roughly, hee returned this answere. Lesca, I am not so simple, as to credite any such Message to be sent from my Lady, and therefore be better aduised of thy words. But ad­mit that it should come from her, yet I cannot be perswaded, that her soule consented to such harsh Language, far differing from a forme so full of beu­ty. And yet admit againe, that her hart and tongue herein were relatiues: My Lord and Master hath so farre honoured mee, and so much beyond the least part of merite in mee: as I will rather dye, then any way offer to dis­grace him: And therefore I charge thee, neuer more to moue mee in this matter.

Lesca, not a iot danted at his stearne words, presently she saide. Pyr­rhus, Both in this and all other Messages my Lady shall command me, I wil speake to thee whensoeuer shee pleaseth, receiue what discontent thou canst thereby; or make presumption of what doubts thou maist deuise. But as I found thee a senselesse fellow, dull, and not shaped to any vnderstanding, so I leaue thee: And in that anger parted from him, carrying backe the same answer to her Lady. She no sooner heard it, but instantly shee wished her selfe to be dead; and within some few dayes after, she conferred a­gaine with her Chamber-woman, saying. Lesca, thou knowest well e­nough, that the Oxe falleth not at the first blow of the Axe, neither is the victory won, vpon a silly and shallow aduenture: Wherefore, I thinke it conuenient, that once more thou shouldst make another tryall of him, who (in preiudice to me) standeth so strictly on his loyalty, and choosing such an houre as seemeth most commodious, soundly possesse him with my tormenting passions. Bestirre thy Wittes, and tippe thy tongue with a Womans eloquence, to effect what I so earnestly desire: because, by languishing in this loue-sicke affliction, it well bee the dan­ger of my death, and some seuere detriment to him, to be the occasion of so great a losse.

Lesca, comforted her Lady, so much as lay in her power to doe, and hauing sought for Pyrrhus, whom she found at good leysure; and, in a pleasing humor, thus she beganne. Pyrrhus, some few dayes since I tolde thee, in what extreame Agonies thy Lady and mine was, onely in regarde of her loue to thee: and now again [...] I come once more, to giue thee further [Page] assurance thereof: Wherefore, beleeue it vnfeignedly, that if thy obstina­cie continne still, in like manner as the other day it did, expect very short­ly to heare the tydings of her death.

It is my part therefore, to entreat thee, to comfort her long languishing desires: but if thou persist in thy harsh opinion, in stead of reputing thee a wise and fortunate yong man, I shall confesse thee to bee an ignoraunt Asse. What a glorie is it to thee, to be affected of so faire and worthy a Lady; be­yond all men else what soeuer? Next to this, tell me, how highly maist thou confesse thy selfe beholding to Fortune, if thou but duly consider, how shee hath elected thee as sole soueraigne of her hopes, which is a crowne of ho­nour to thy youth and a sufficieut refuge against all wants and necessities? Where is any to thy knowledge like thy selfe, that can make such aduantage of his time, as thou maist do, if thou wert wise? Where canst thou find any one to go beyond thee in Armes, Horses, sumptuous garments, and Gold, as will be heaped on thee, if Lydia may be the Lady of thy loue? Open then thine vnderstanding to my words, returne into thine owne soule, and bee wise for thy selfe.

Remember (Pyrrhus) that Fortune presents her selfe but once before a­ny one, with cheerefull lookes, and her lappe wide open of richest fauours, where if choice be not quickely made, before she folde it vp, and turn her backe; let no complaint afterward be made of her, if the Fellow that had so faire an offer, prooue to be miserable, wretched, and a Begger, only tho­row his owne negligence. Beside, what else hath formerly bin saide, there is now no such neede of loyaltie in seruants to their Ladies, as shonld be a­mong deare Friends and Kindred: but seruants ought rathee (as best they may) be such to their Masters, as they are to them. Doest thou imagine, that if thou hadst a faire Wife, Mother, Daughter, or Sister, pleasing in the eye of our Nicostratus; he would stand on such nice tearmes of duty or Loyaltie, as now thou doest to his Ladie? Thou went a verie foole to rest so perswaded. Assure thy selfe, that if entreaties and faire meanes might not preuaile, force, and compulsion (whatsoeuer ensued thereon) woulde winne the masterie, Let vs then vse them, and the commodities vnto them belonging, as they would vs and ours. Vse the benefit of thy Fortune, & beware of abusing her fauonr. She yet smiles on thee; but take heede least she turne her backe, it will then be ouer-late to repent thy folly. And if my Ladie die through thy disdaine, be assured, that thou canst not escape with life, beside open shame and disgrace for euer.

Pyrrhus, who had often considered on Lescaes first message, conclu­ded with himselfe; that if any more she moued the same matter: hee would returne her another kinde of answere, wholly yeelding to con­tent his Lady; prouided, that he might remaine assured, concerning the intyre truth of the motion, and that it was not vrged onely to trie him, wherefore, thus he replyed. Lesca, do not imagine mee so ignorant, as not to know the certaintie of all thy former allegations, confessing them as freely as thou doest, or canst. But yet let mee tell thee withall, that I knowe [Page 48] my Lord to be wise and iudicious, and hauing committed all his affaire [...] my care and trust: neuer blame mee to misdoubt, least my Ladie (by his counsell and aduice) make thee the messenger of this motion; therby to call my Fidelitie in question.

To cleare which doubt; and for my further assurance of her well [...] toward me; if she wil vndertake the performance of three such things as I must needes require in this case: I am afterward her owne, in any ser­uice she can command me. The first of them, is; that in the presence of my Lord and Master, she kill his faire Faulcon, which so dearly hee affecteth. The second, to send me a locke or tuft of his beard, being puld away vvith her owne hand. The third and last, with the same hand also, to pluck out one of his best and soundest feth, and send it mee as her loues true token. When I finde all these three effectually performed, I am wholly hers, & not before.

These three strict impositions, seemed to Lesca, and her Ladie like­wise, almost beyond the compasse of all possibility. Neuertheles Loue, being a powerfull Oratour in perswading, as also aduenturous euen on the most difficult dangers; gaue her courage to vndertake them all: sen­ding Lesca backe againe to him, with full assurance, of these more then Herculean labours. Moreouer, her selfe did intend to adde a fourth taske, in regard of his strong opinion concerning the great Wisedome of his Lord and Maister. After she had effected all the other three, she would not permit him to kisse her, but before his Lords face: which yet should be accomplished in such sort, as Nicostratus himselfe should not beleeue it, although apparantly he saw it. Well, (quoth Pyrrhus) when all these wonders are performed, assure my Ladie, that I am truelie hers.

Within a short while after, Nicostratus made a solemne Feastiual (ac­cording as yearely he vsed to doe) in honour of his birth day, inuiting many Lords and Ladies thereto. On which reioycing day, so soone as dinner was ended, and the Tables withdrawne: Lydia came into the great Hall. where the Feast was solemnly kept; very rich and costly ap­parrelled; and there, in presence of Pyrrhus, and the whole assemblie, going to the Perch whereon the Faulcone sate, wherein her Husband tooke no little delight, and hauing vntyed her, as if shee meant to beare her on her Fist: tooke her by the Iesses, and beating her against the wal, killed her. Nicostratus beholding this, called out aloud vnto her, say­ing. Alas Madame! What haue you done? She making him no answere, but turning to the Lords and Ladies, which had dined there, spake in this mander.

Ill should I take reuenge on a King, that had offended me, if I had not so much heart, as to wreake my spleene on a paltry Hawke. Vnderstand then, worthy Lords and Ladies, that this Faulcone hath long time robbed me of those delights, which men (in meere equitie) ought to haue with their wiues: because continually, so soone as breake of day hath appeared, my Husband, starting out of bed, makes himselfe readie, presently to Horsse, [Page] and with this Faulcon on his Fist, rides abroad to his recreation in the Fields. And I, in such forsaken sort as you see, am left all alone in my bed, discontented and despised: often vowing to my selfe, to bee thus reuenged as now I am, being with-held from it by no other occasion, but onely want of a fit and apt time, to do it in the presence of such persons, as might bee iust Iudges of my wrongs, and as I conceiue you all to be.

The Lords and Ladies hearing these words, and beleeuing this deed of hers to be done no otherwise, but out of her entire affection to Nico­stratus, according as her speeches sounded: compassionately turning to­wards him (who was exceedingly displeased) and all smiling, said. Now in good sadnesse Sir; Madame Lydia hath done well, in acting her iust re­uenge vpon the Hawke, that bereft her of her Husbands kinde companie; then which nothing is more precious to a louing wife, and a hell it is to liue without it. And Lydia, being sodainly withdrawne into her chamber; with much other friendly and familiar talke, they conuerted the anger of Nicostratus into mirth and smiling.

Pyrrhus. who had diligently obserued the whole cariage of this bu­sinesse, saide to himselfe. My Ladie hath begun well, and proceeding on with no worse successe, will (no doubt) bring her loue to an happy conclusi­on. As for the Lady her selfe, she hauing thus kild the Hawke, it was no long while after, but being in the Chamber with her husband, and they conuersing familiarly together: she began to iest with him, & hee in the like manner with her, tickling and toying each the other, till at the length she played with his beard, and now she found occasion apt­ly seruing, to effect the second taske imposed by Pyrrhus. So, taking fast hold on a small tuft of his beard, she gaue a sodaine snatch, and pluc­ked it away quite from his chin. Whereat Nicostratus beeing angerly moued, she (to appease his distaste) pleasantly thus spake. How now my Lord? Why do you looke so frowningly? What? Are you angry, for a few loose haires of your beard? How then should I take it, when you plucke mee by the haire of my head, and yet I am not a iot discontented, because I know you do it but in iesting manner? These friendly speeches cut off all fur­ther contention, and she kepte charily the tuft of her Husbands beard, which (the verie selfe-same day) shee sent to Pyrrhus her hearts chosen friend.

But now concerning the third matter to be aduentured, it droue her to a much more serious consideration, then those two which shee had already so well and exactly performed. Notwithstanding, like a Ladie of vnconquerable spirit, and (in whom) Loue enlarged his power more and more: she sodainly conceited, what course was best to bee kept in this case, forming her attempt in this manner. Vpon Nicostratus way­ted two young Gentlemen, as Pages of his Chamber, whose Fathers had giuen them to his seruice, to learne the manners of honourable Courtship, and those qualities necessarily required in Gentlemen. One of them, when Nicostratus sate downe to dinner or supper, stood in Of­fice of his Caruer, deliuering him all the meats whereon he fed. The [Page 49] other (as Taster) attended on his Cup, and he dranke no other drinke, but what hee brought him, and they both were highly pleasing vnto him.

On a day, Lydia called these two youths aside; and, among some o­ther speeches, which serued but as an induction to her intended policy; she perswaded them, that their mouths yeelded an vnsauoury & il-plea­sing smell, whereof their Lord seemed to take dislike. Wherefore she aduised them, that at such times as they attended on him in their seue­rall places: they should (so much as possibly they could) withdraw their heads aside from him, because their breath might not be noyous vnto him. But withall, to haue an especiall care, of not disclosing to any one, what she had told them; because (out of meere loue) she had acquainted them therewith: which very constantly they beleeued, and followed the same direction as she had aduised, being loath to displease, where seruice bound them to obey. Choosing a time fitting for her pur­pose, when Nicostratus was in priuate conference with her, thus she be­gan. Sir, you obserue not the behauiour of your two Pages, when they wait on you at the Table? Yes but I do wife (quoth he) how squemishly they turn their heads aside from me, and it hath often bin in my minde, to vnder­stand a reason why they do so.

Seating her selfe by him, as if shee had some weighty matter to tell him; she proceeded in this manner. Alas my Lord, you shall not need to question them, because I can sufficiently resolue you therein: which (ne­uerthelesse) I haue long concealed, because I would not be offensiue to you. But in regard, it is now manifestly apparant, that others haue tasted, what (I immagined) none but my selfe did, I will no longer hide it from you. Assuredly Sir, there is a most strange and vnwonted ill-sauour, continu­ally issuing from your mouth, smelling most noysomely, and I wonder what should be tbe occasion. In former times, I neuer felt any such foule breath­ing to come from you: and you, who do daily conuerse with so many worthy persons, should seeke meanes to be rid of so great an annoyance. You say verie true wife (answered Nicostratus) and I protest to you on my Credite, I feele no such ill smell, neither know what should cause it, except I haue som corrupted tooth in my mouth. Perhaps Sir (quoth she) it may be so and yet you feele not the sauour which others do, yea, very offensiuely.

So, walking with her to a Window, he opened wide his mouth, the which nicely shee surueyed on either side, and, turning her head from him, as seeming vnable to endure the sauour: starting, and shrieking out alowd, she said. Santa Maria! What a sight is this? Alas my good Lord, How could you abide this, and for so long a while? Heere is a tooth on this side, which (so farre as I can pereeiue) is not onely hollow and corrupted: but also wholly putrified and rotten, and if it continue still in your head, be­leeue it for a truth, that it will infect and spoile all the rest neere it. I would therefore counsell you, to let it be pluckt out, before it breede your further, danger. I like your counsell well Lydia, replyed Nicostratus, and present­ly intend to follow it; Let therefore my Barber be sent for, and, vvithout [Page] any longer delay, he shall plucke it forth instantly.

How Sir? (quoth she,) your Barber? Vppon mine Honour, there shall come no Barber heere. Why [...]ir, it is such a rotten Tooth, and standeth so fairely for my hand: that, without helpe or aduice of any Barber, let mee alone for plucking it forth, without putting you to any paine at all. More­ouer, let me tell you Sir, those Tooth-drawers are so rude and cruell, in per­forming such Offices, as my heart cannot endure, that you should come within compasse of their currish courtesie, neither shall you Sir, if you will be ruled by me. If I should faile in the manner of their facilitie, yet loue & duty hath enstructed me, to forbeare your least paining, which no vnman­nerly Barber will do.

Hauing thus spoken, and he well contented with her kinde offer, the instruments were brought, which are vsed in such occasions, all being commanded forth of the Chamber, but onely Lesca, who euermore kept still in her company. So, locking fast the doore, and Nicostratus being seated, as she thought fittest for her purpose, she put the Tanacles into his mouth, catching fast hold on one of his soundest teeth: which, notwithstanding his loud crying, Lesca held him so strongly, that forth she pluckt it, and hid it, hauing another tooth readie made hot & bloo­dy, very much corrupted and rotten, which she helde in the Tanacles, and shewed to him, who was well-neere halfe dead with anguish. See Sir (quoth she) was this Tooth to be suffered in your head, and to yeeld so foule a smell as it did? He verily beleeuing what she said, albeit hee had endured extreame paine, and still complained on her harsh and violent pulling it out: reioyced yet, that he was now ridde of it, and she com­forting him on the one side, and the anguish asswaging him on the o­ther, he departed forth of the Chamber.

In the mean while, by Lesca she sent the sound tooth to Pyrrhus, who (wondering not a little at her so many strange attempts, which hee vr­ged so much the rather, as thinking their performance impossible, and in meere loyall duty to his Lord) seeing them all three to be notably ef­fected; he made no further doubt of her intire loue towardes him, but sent her assurance likewise, of his readinesse and seruiceable diligence, whensoeuer she would command him.

Now, after the passage of all these aduentures, hardly to bee vnderta­ken by any other Woman: yet she held them insufficient for his securi­ty, in the grounded perswasion of her loue to him, except shee perfor­med another of her owne, and according as shee had boldly promised. Houres do now seeme dayes, and dayes multiplicitie of yeeres, till the kisse may be giuen, and receyued in the presence of Nicostratus, yet hee himselfe to auouch the contrary.

Madam Lydia (vpon a pretended sicknesse) keepeth her chamber, and as women can hardly be exceeded in dissimulation: so, shee wanted no wit, to seeme exquisitely cunning, in all the outwarde apparances of sicknesse. One day after dinner, shee being visited by Nicostratus, and none attending on him but Pyrrhus onely: she earnestly entreated, that [Page 50] as a mitigation, to some inward afflictions which she felt, they would helpe to guide her into the Garden.