Two louers being together in the night, the Man died for ioy, the Maide for griefe: Whereof ensued the death of o­ther two.

IN the citie of Cessenna not long since, was dwelling a riche mar­chant named Affranio, who had two children, a Sonne and a Daughter. Néere vnto him was dwelling an other marchant na­med Gerardo, who had likewise a Sonne and a Daughter, and as betwene the fathers there had of long time bene great familiaritie, so did acquaintance growe and increase betwene their children, specially be­twene their Daughters: For Camilla the Daughter of Gerardo, (by meanes of her brothers absence, who was resident at Rome, where he had continued a long time as factor for his father,) hauing no bodie to kéepe her com­panie in his absence, resorted diuers times to Cornelia, who (her father being dead) was then only Mistres of the house, which her brother Hannibal (as sole inheritour of all his goodes) did hold and enioy after his decease: The [Page 2] continuall conuersation of these two gentlewomen as it ingendred betwene them such perfect amitie as could ne­uer be dissolued, so did it kindle a new fire in the hart of Hannibal, which by the contemplacion of Camillas bewtie, so increased from time to time, and in the end toke such déepe roote, that it could not possiblie be remoued: This straunge passion so tormented the mind of the poore gentleman (who had neuer before bene acquainted with the like) that neglecting all his necessarie affaires, he ap­plied his whole care and studie to please and pleasure his beloued Camilla, who vtterly ignorant of his griefe, she­wed him no better countenaunce then she did commonly to all other young gentlemen of her acquaintance, which Signor Hannibal perceiuing, and not satisfied therewith would faine haue made his meaning more apparant, cra­uing such comfort as the necessitie of his cause required, but the feare he had to offend, (and so to lose the fauour whereof he was assured, by her continuall presence) did still deteyne him, and would neuer suffer him to prose­cute his purpose: Thus hanging betwene hope and di­spaire, thone pricking him forward, the other pulling him backe, imagining now one thing, now an other thing, and neuer resoluing fully vpon any thing, he became at last so melancolike with musing & imagining on this matter, that losing his appetite to meate, and desire to sléepe, at the last he grew sicke, and by litle and litle wasted away as snow against the sunne.

Cornelia séeing her brother thus pained applied her selfe (like a naturall sister) to prouide him all things that she thought méete for the recouerie of his health, by Phi­sicke or otherwise, but his disease procéeding of no natural cause, could neither be discerned nor cured by any Phisitiā were his skill and experience neuer so great: only their o­pinion was for the most part, that it procéeded of some pas­sion of the mind, which Cornelia vnderstanding, who could by no meanes imagine vppon what occasion he [Page 3] should be so disquieted; to vnderstand the truth, she lay continually vpon him, vsing all the perswasions that pos­sibly she might, to make him reueale vnto her the cause of this his grieuous malladie, which at the last he did with much a do, telling her, that it was only for the loue he bare to her frend Camilla, which he had sought by all meanes possible to suppresse, but could not, being continuallie renewed by the dayly contemplacion of her celestiall bewtie.

Cornelia hearing these wordes, vttered by her sicke brother, with grieuous sighes and great aboundaunce of teares, knowing that it was then no time to reproue his folly, but rather to prouide a remedie for thextreame mis­chiefe whereunto he was so vnhappely fallen, comforted him with swéete wordes, exhorting him to plucke vp his spirites, and séeke some meanes to remedie his griefe: Whereunto he replied that he knew not how to ease him selfe, vnlesse it would please her to discouer his affection to her frend Camilla, and persuade her to take some pitie v­pon him.

Cornelia that loued her brother as her owne life, gaue him her promise that when opportunitie should serue, she would satisfie his desire, and make his estate so well kno­wen to her in whom his only hope of helpe consisted, that she had no doubt but that her tender hart would be mo­ued to take compassion vpon him, when she should per­ceaue that his intent was honest, and his affection in dede vnfamed.

Hannibal was somewhat comforted with these kind words, & considering the great amitie that was betwene Camilla and his sister Cornelia, thought her wordes might worke such effect with her, that he should easily ob­taine his desire.

Cornelia shortly after being with her frend Camilla talking of diuers matters (as women will do when they he together) at the last she spyed her time, to open her [Page 4] brothers case vnto her, tellinge her what straunge tor­mentes he endured for her sake, affirming that without her helpe he was like to languish without all hope of re­medy, praying her therefore most instantly to haue pitie vpon him.

Camilla though she liked not well of these words that Cornelia had vsed vnto her, yet séeing her to be greatly grieued for her brothers sickenes, she did y^e rather hold her excused, and would not greatly reproue her, but gaue her to vnderstand that she tooke small delite in such amorous suters, praying her from thenceforth to trouble her no more with the like, assuring her (if she did) that she should but lose her labour, and be farre enough from obtaining that she sought.

Cornelia though she were not satisfied with this aun­swer, yet (being so nipt) maidenly shamefastnes would not suffer her to procéede any further in the matter, nei­ther durst she shewe her brother what aunswere Camilla had made her, least it should driue him to greater extrea­mities then he was in before: but whether it were with watching, and the great paines that she tooke with him continually during the time of his sickenes, or by some griefe she conceaued in the vncourteous aunswer of her frend Camilla, or because she saw no meanes to remedy her brothers seacelesse torment, she fell shortly after into a grieuous feuer which constrained her to kéepe her bedde, whereof when Camilla had vnderstanding, she came in­continently to visite her, and being with her all alone, in a chamber next adioyning to the lodging where Hannibal lay, hauing but a wall betwene them, so that whatsoeuer was sayd in thone, might easely be hard in thother, Han­nibal hearing his Camillas voice, asked his sister Cor­nelia, who was with her, who aunswered him that there was no body but Camilla, Hannibal being likewise a­lone at that present, calling his wits together and taking more courage vnto him then he was accustomed to haue [Page 5] in this case, taking his lute in his hand he began to sing as followeth:

And then began on the other side of the wall, with wordes interrupted with sighes and great abundaunce of teares, to declare to Camilla his amorous and extreame passion, humbly beséechinge her to take pitie vpon him, and not to suffer him to finish his miserable life in the flower of his youth, through her cruelty and want of com­passion.

Of such force were these his prayers, that mollefying her tender hart, (which she felt sodainly enflamed with an vnaccustomed heate) she thoughte it greate crueltie not to [Page 6] haue compassion vpon him, and no lesse ingratitude to de­ny him that fauour which his entire affection and perfecte loialtie had wel deserued: wherefore in frendlye wise she spake vnto him after this manner: Senior Hanniball, I am contented to allow of your wordes, and cannot but like well of your courteous offer, not supposing you to be one of those that wyth leude practises doe seeke to deceiue such simple soules as I am, who when they haue satisfied their wicked desire, report it amongest their companions, to the great reproche and vtter spoyle of those that were so fonde to beleue them. But rather then any suche thinge shoulde happen to me, I desire to die the moste gréeuous death that may be deuised, knowing rightwel, that when a woman hath once lost her good name, she hath then no more to loose, the same being the onely riches that she can haue in this world. It is therefore very méete that we be somwhat circumspect in this matter, & if the loue you beare vnto me, be so perfect as you professe, and that your mea­ninge be none other then I imagine it, you may demaund me of my Father in marriage who I am well assured will not deny you your honest request. By this meanes you may easely obteyne your desire and keepe my good name vnspotted, which is the thing wherein I cheifly delight me.

Hannibal was well satisfied with these words, and greatly cōmending the vertuous care she had for the pre­seruation of her good name, promised so sone as he had recouered his health to do as she had directed him. After this Hannibal proued all meanes to procure his health, and being well recouered caused certayn of his frendes to moue his sute to Camillas Father, who knowing his ha­bility, and liking well of the offer, aunswered that he could be well contented to bestowe his daughter vpon him, but would not resolue vpon any thinge till his Sonne (whose name was Claudius) were retorned from Rome which he saide would be verie shortly.

Camilla knowing her Fathers answer imagined the [Page 7] matter to be fully concluded for she thought assuredly that her brother would not be agaynst it, wherefore betakinge her selfe wholy to her frend Hannibal, her affection to­wards him grew so great that it was nothing inferior vn­to his.

Whilst Claudius deferred his coming from Rome to Cesena, vpon some occasion of busines that detained him longer then he thought for, these two louers diuers tymes had conference together, thinking by that meanes som­what to aswage the amorouse flame, that continually bur­ned in theire brestes, but this caused it more and more to increase, and made them thinke euerie hower a yeare till Claudius retorned. But when they sawe he stayed so long after his tyme apoynted, they caused themselues to be secretly maried thinking to celebrat the mariage at Clau­dius retorne, who cominge home shortly after was aduer­tised by his Father of the aliaunce that Hannibal soughte to haue with him, which (vpon what occasion I know not) he greatly misliked and would in no wise geue his consent therunto: perswading his Father very earnestly for diuers causes that he thought reasonable, to breake of this match and in no wise to suffer it to go forward, wherin the old man folowinge his Sonnes aduise, did in all things as he desired him, and answered Hannibals frends accordingly when they came to know his resolution in the matter.

The two louers vnderstanding how contrary to their expectacion al things were fallen out, (as it is our humane nature to desire that which is most denyed vs) more desi­rous now then at any tyme before to be together, and frely to enioy each other, Camilla said to her beloued Han­nibal: what, are not we handfast? can we be put a sonder with a safe conscience? no verely, and therefore to make the matter more assured (as I may very well without of­fence to Godward) I will this night admit you to my bed: wherefore if about midnight you will repaire to my Fa­thers house, my maide that is alredie priuy to all that hath [Page 8] passed betwene vs, shall geue her attendaunce at the back gate to let you in, when you come, whereunto Hannibal verie glad of so good an offer, willingly consented, and when the hower was come, went with all speede to the place appoynted, and was priuely conducted by the maid to Camillas chamber who receiued him very courteously, and he imbrasing and kissing her with great affection, ra­uished with exceding ioy, through this his vnexpected plea­sure, his sences failing him, he pittifully dyed in the armes of his deare Camilla, who seing this straunge aduenture, twixte feare and grefe, was so grieuouslie tormented that being vnhable longe to endure it, at the last she fell doune deade vpon the corpes of her beloued Hannibal.

The pore maide that was present, behoulding this pi­tifull tragedie, and séeing no hope of recouerie in them, cried for helpe so loud as she could. Claudius that lay not farre of, being awakened with this sodaine clamour, came running into his sisters chamber with his weapons rea­die drawne in his hand, to see what was the cause thereof, and beholding there this pitifull spectacle, knowing it was the bodie of Hannibal that then lay by his sisters, not stay­inge to heare what the mayde would say to him, presently stabbed her in with his dagger, and so leauing her for dead retourned againe to his owne chamber.

In the morning this straunge accident being noysed throughout the whole towne, and at the last coming to the eares of the Gouernour, he caused the mayd to be exami­ned (that was not then fully dead.) and vnderstanding by her how all thinges had passed, caused Claudius to be ap­prehended, and within two days after (the maid dying) condemned him to be beheded, wherupon he was present­ly executed in the place, appoynted for the punishment of all offenders: The two louers likewise with great lamē ­tation were both buried in one tombe, very sumptiously prepared, in perpetuall remembraunce of their incompa­rable amitie.

A Prince being enamoured of a bewtifull gentlewo­man, perceiuing a fauowred seruant of his to be greatly tormented for the loue of the same gen­tlewoman, geueth him leaue to enioy her, and quencheth his owne heate by an other meane.

A Certaine Prince (whose name I nede not rehearse) soiorning for his pleasure in the towne of Blais, had amongest all his folowers one that he specially fauoured, who walking one day abroad for his pleasure, beheld by chaunce a very bewtifull gentlewoman, that was wyfe to a welthie merchant of the Toune, and findinge in her (as he thought) so many good giftes, as he neuer sawe in any in all his lyfe before, he became so greatly enamoured of her, that he could neuer be in quiet, but was continualy troubled in mind, practising by all meanes possible to find a remedie for his newe passion, and so behaued him selfe that the gentlewoman well perceyuing his purpose & be­ing vāquished with the like affection, did by her lookes and iestures geue him playnly to vnderstand, that she liked wel of his frendly offers, and would willingly satisfie his desire, if oportunitie did serue.

Duringe these hopes the Prince his maister made a solemne feast, whereunto were asembled all the Ladies & gentlewomen of any reputation in the Cittie, amongest whome this gentlewoman before spoken of, was one, who for her bewty, neatenes in apparel and comely behauiour, did as far surmount the rest, as the prettie pigion doth the fowle black rauen, or the fairest spring, the filthiest pudle: to be short there was no comparison betwene them, so greatly did they differ in all thinges: which the youthful, Prince perceyuing, and wondringe greately at such excel­lent bewtie, as she on the other side did at his royaltie, and the rare perfections that she perceyued to be in him, loue by and by atached both theire hartes, and inflamed them with such affection each towards other, that they instant­ly [Page 10] desired a spedie end of their amorous procedings, and so finely they handled the matter, that before they parted, it was concluded betwene them, that the next night (her hu­sband being from home) they would mete at her house, and satisfie each other, with full assurance of theire vnfai­ned amitie.

The loue of this gentlewoman beinge thus remoued from the Seruant to the Maister, the last stode so greatly in her grace that the first was in a maner quite forgotten, her swete lookes, cōuerted to rigorous regards, she now set him at nought, whome before she highly estemed, which sodaine alteration, so tormented the mind of this pore gen­tleman, and draue him into such extreame passions, that being quite altred from that he was wont to be, he semed rather a deade image, then a liuinge creature. In these ex­tremities he withdrue himselfe into his chamber, and ta­king his lute in hand, songe thereunto as foloweth:

The Prince his maister séeing him so sodainly, and straungely altered, laboured by all meanes possible to vn­derstand the cause thereof, which the gentleman would not in any wise confesse, but sought to excuse the matter as he could, and make his case a great deale better then it was. The Prince therefore seeing all his wordes spent to small purpose, in seeking to perswade him to manifest his griefe, & perceiuing that the hower approched, wherein he appoynted to mete with this gentlewoman, whose loue he had so lightly purchased, being loth to prosecute his pur­pose without the companie and councell of his fauoured seruaunt, whom he had in all thinges found faithfull vnto him, he secretely called him, vnto him, and said. Though I haue dyuers tymes demaunded the cause of thy griefe (which I imagine to procéede of loue) and can not be re­solued in it, yet for the mutuall amitie that ought to be betwene vs, I will not conceale any secret of mine from thee: Knowe then for certaine, that I haue of late bene in­trapped with the loue of a gentlewoman of this towne, so [Page 12] faire and full of all perfections, as I thinke in all Europe there liueth not her like, whose happy company (if fortune be not too contrary vnto me) I hope to enioy this night at my pleasure, wherefore hauinge now reuealed this secret vnto thee, as to him in whom I haue most special affiance, I pray thee vouchsafe to accōpany me to the place where she remaineth that is my onely solace, and I assure thee, if thou wilt let me vnderstād what it is that thus troubleth thy mynd (which I hartely beseche thee) thou shalt fynd me as redie to satisfie thy desire in any thinge, and as carefull to redeme thee from these dolors that now depriue thee of thy natural rest.

The gentleman knowing the perfecte goodwill and vnfained affection that his Lorde and maister bare vnto him, perceyuing also by this his profred courtesie how desi­rous he was of his well doinge, shewed him from pointe to pointe the cause of all his grefe proceding of loue, and the ingratitude of her whom he honored & estéemed aboue all other creatures, being the selfe same gentlewoman that his Lord had chosen for his chefest frend, which when he perceyued whether he had cause to contemne him or no, I leaue it to the iudgment of those that be louers, whose na­ture is, to loth them that seke to be pertakers of their loues or to take from them any part of theire fauour whom they so greatly fancie? Notwithstanding this wyse and worthy prince, preferring the loue of his frend before his own fond affections, toke a cleane contrary course, for considering the miserable case whereunto loue had brought this pore gen­tleman, he resolued with him self rather to respect his health then his owne priuat pleasure, and resting vpon this deter­mination he said to the gentleman as foloweth.

My frend thoughe I haue nothing in the world so dere and delightfull vnto me, but I could willingly imparte the same with thée, though thou mayst dispose of my goods as of thine owne, & c [...]mmaund my person to do thée pleasure, yet loue that can alow of no parteners, will not permit vs [Page 13] to be both pertakers of the gentlewoman whome we both desire, thou art greatly pained for her sake and I prefer the pleasure I might enioy with her before all my worldly treasure. These are two great extremeties, for as the one can wel be endured, so may not the other be wel forborne: Thy case craueth comfort, and my contentment, if thou want thy will thou art in daunger to perish, if I bridle my affe­ctions it will brede me sorow, notwithstanding so great is the loue I beare vnto thée, that I do rather chose to depriue my self of this fauour, then to se thée languish for lacke of that which is in my power to graunt thee: Comforte thy selfe therfore cast of this carefulnes, and despaire no more but count thy self assured of that thou sekest, she shall be thyne that best deseruest her, thou shalt enioy her wholy to thy self, I geue her frely vnto thée, and geue ouer all the in­trest that I had or may haue in her hereafter.

The pore gentleman hearing these kinde words and perceyuing his owne error, betwixt hope to obtayne his desire, and [...]eare to offend his good Lord, whome he honou­red with al reuerence due to so worthy a person, not know­ing how to answere or what to imagine, he stode as still as a stone, staringe in the princes face, sheding great aboun­daunce of teares, and as one bereft of all his senses vnable to vtter one only worde a greate while together: At the last coming to him self agayne, with all humilitie he craued pardon for the offence which he had vnwittingly commit­ted against hys maiesty, protesting that he would rather choose to die a thousand deathes if it were possible then wil­lingly séeke to impeach the least part of his pleasure.

The Prince remayning firme in his liberal purpose, after he had studied a while by what meanes he might best beguile the gentlewoman, and bring his frend reliefe, ha­uing found a fitte deuise for that purpose, he commaunded the gentleman to attend vpon him, and vpon paine of hys displeasure to do whatsoeuer he should appoint him, and so incontinently they passed together towards the gentlewo­mans [Page 14] lodging, where they were finely receaued at their comming, by a prety maid, that she had made priuey to her meaning, who like a good seruaunt, carefull of her Mistres commaundements, conueyed the Prince very priuely into her chamber, where she attended his comming, whose frendly welcome & amorous enticements, had ben enough to moue the chastest mind in the world, to take delight in her, and forgetting al frends and frendship, to betake him selfe wholy vnto her. But this good Prince, whose minde was fully bent to séeke the safetie of his frend, when he and the gentlewoman were laid together in the bedde, and the candle put out, faining as though he rise to [...]ase him selfe, went to the gentleman his seruaunt, whom he had left in an other lodging not farre of, & sending him thether to sup­ply his rome, satisfied him self with the maid, that was a prettie [...] gerle▪ whom with his good perswasions, and liberall promises, he easely obteyned to be at his commaun­dement in all thinges, wherwith he did well content him selfe for the time.

The gentleman that was now in tharmes of his Lady, whom he loued so dearely, when he had wel satisfied his de­sire, and aswaged his heate, with her swete imbracement, he asked her pleasantly whether she thought that the great­nes of a Prince, was able to shew more perfect affection, then the good hart and loyall seruice of a meane gentle­man.

The gentlewoman hearing his voyce which she knew very well, perceyuing therby that it was not the Prince whom she had pleasured, but the gentleman that she thought to displease and depriue of that fauoure, which his entire affetion had wel deserued, vnderstanding very well to what end his wordes did tend, sighing a litle she said.

If my wisdome had bene as greate as my bewtie, I had not depriued my self of libertie, to make me a slaue to one that set so light by me, neither had mine expectacion bene thus deceaued, nor my selfe so beguiled: But seeing [Page 15] it is so fallen out, and that the liberalitie of a Prince hath bene so great, to preferre the loue of his seruaunt, before his owne priuate affections, it is great reason that [...] shoulde hold me contented, and shew my selfe as liberall [...] you (whose loyaltie hath well deserued it) as he hath done that gaue me this good example, wherfore I do here wholy betake my selfe vnto you, accepting you for my only frend so long as li [...]e, and your good liking shall last, with assured promise, neuer more to a [...]er my choyce, or allow of any o­ther in that respect, but alwaies and in all thing, to be most humble at your commaundement.

These and such like wordes she vsed vnto him, and afterwards falling into more pleasaunt talke, they passed the time till morning came, and then the gentleman with a gracious Conge, takinge leaue of his Mistresse, depar­ted with the Prince his maister, being both well satisfied, who diuerse times after, when occasion serued, receaued the like contentemente. But nowe least I ingender in your hartes some extreame enuie, by speaking ouermuch of this their excéeding pleasure, I thinke it best to hold my peace, and so auoyde the inconuenience, which otherwise might insue.

A lamentable discourse of the loue betwene Barisor, and Flora, with the piteous end of them both.

Not without great reason do the Poets faine foolish loue to be naked, for vndoubtedly he is naked of all good vertues. They do likewise make him blind, to shew that for want of good fore­sight, he suffereth him selfe to fal into all maner of vices: I may then very well conclude with them, and say that his subiectes are so naked, so blind, and voyde of naturall sense, that being in a maner dispoiled of all good vertues, they suffer them selues, to be led into such filthy pudles, frō whence they are not able to get out againe▪ till their hard fortune do make them feele the smart of their wilfull folly, as plainly appeareth by the story ensuing.

[Page 16] The most renowmed king of Hungarie, the last that raigned in those partes, before the Turke had wasted the countrie, and brought it vnder his subiection, did in his life time, hold an open Court and had in his traine, a great number of gentlemen and Ladies, so well accomplished in all perfections, as there was no Prince in Christendome comparable vnto him, where loue had so liuely displayed himselfe, that it was harde to finde in any other Courte whatsoeuer, more affectionate seruauntes to their Ladies, then was one gentlemā of his house named Barisor, who though he were but basely borne, and little fauoured with the giftes of fortune, notwithstanding nature farre more gracious vnto him, made him in all vertue and beautie so perfect, that without comparison hee was accounted the most accomplished gentleman in the Courte, and had such aduauntage aboue all other, that aswell in all manner of Gentlemanlike exercises, as also in martiall exploites, hee alwayes shewed himselfe farre to surmount the rest which made him to be so welbeloued and estéemed of euery one, especially of the Ladies of the court, that by meanes of the good countenance they gaue him generally, he tooke great pleasure oftentimes to beare them company, shewing him selfe so courteous and seruiceable vnto them, that therby he drew vnto him the hartes of most of them.

In this honourable troupe, there was a Lady named Flora, of an auncyent house, and very rich in possessions, who séeing this gentleman so much estéemed and praised of euery one saue only of her, could no longer forbeare to shew him the like freendly and fauourable countenaunce. He on the other side beholding the delicate complection and naturall beautie of this worthy Gentlewoman, was in such sorte surprysed, that he did in a maner lose all his sen­ses. Loue incontinently (during these amorous regards) vsing his accustomed force, at one instant tyed the heartes of these twaine so straightly together, and brought them to that passe, that it was easie to iudge by their outward coun­tenaunce [Page 17] how they were inwardly tormented, which though it seemed very straunge vnto them at the first, spe­cially to the young Lady, yet when it had once taken roote in her heart, it was so surely setled, as it did accompany her to her graue: Thus to discouer their secrete thoughts ha­uing yet none other meanes but onely the amorous glaun­ces of their gasing eyes, they could not sufficiently discouer the force of this new fire, wherewith they were so greately inflamed, which so much tormented the minde of the poore Gentleman, that being on a day al alone in his chamber, and almost out of his wittes through extreame sorrow, he caste him selfe downe vpon his bed thinking to recouer some rest, but Loue, and the continuall remembrance of this new passion, so often renued his griefe, that in the end he was enforced for the ease of his mind, to sing to his Wife these verses following.

Another to the like effect.

His song ended, sighing bitterly he sayd: O vnhappie and miserable wretch that I am, well worthy am I to lose [Page 18] both life and liberty, to become a slaue and the most vnhappy gentleman on earth, that haue setled mine affection in so high a place, that not so much as mine eyes, much les my thoughts shal euer be able to attaine vnto it, which makes me worthy of a thousand deathes, if it were possible to en­dure so many: what may I then expect, but euen my vtter ruine both of body and soule, seeing my selfe without all hope of remedie at the very beginning of my loue, conside­ring the difference of our degrees: Her great wealth, and my want: Her plentie, and my pouertie.

In these words, which were mingled with an infinit number of passions, he could finde no reason at all for him to recouer any rest. The poore Lady on the other side, that fryed in the same fire, withdrew her selfe into her chamber, and framing her countenance (as she could very well) by fayning her selfe sicke she found the meanes to [...]e alone, to the ende she might the better bewaile her case, without being perceiued of any, wherefore prouoked by the heate of her new loue, which tooke from her all May­denly modestie, she sayd to her selfe.

Alas, is it meete this cruell tirant should so hardly in­treate me, to make me wil, that I may not, when I may not as I would? Ah, ah Barisor, well may I count my selfe vnhappy, that euer I saw thee, seeing that sight, hath ingendred this loue, which at the beginning seemeth so harde and grieuous vnto me, and will (I feare me) in the end be a cause of greater euill, and peraduenture the vtter ruine of vs both. My only desire is to enioy thee, that art my only comfort: But alas, I see no way how to bring it to passe, without greatly offending my parents and mine owne honor, and therfore should death be more delightfull vnto me, then stil to indure this extreame torment, that my miserable life maketh me so long to endure.

These poore passionate louers, so long maintained their inward affection by outward lookes and secrete fa­uoures, that the poore Gentleman vnhable to indure his [Page 19] consuming griefes, presuming vpon the courtesie of his mistres, whom by al euident tokēs, he perceiued to burne in the same fire that he did, séeing her one day all alone at a window very sad and pensiue, pricked forward by an a­morous desire, he found the meanes to enter into her chā ­ber vnseene of any, saue only of a trustie maide that atten­ded vpon her, and fayning to bring her newes from some frend of hers (as one that was cōuersant among the best) he did most humbly and gratiously salute her, and then be­gan with a trembling voice to vtter these wordes.

Madame, though I know the greatnes of your beau­tie and the place ye holde, to be such as should moue any man of my degrée to be wel aduised what he wil say, before he presume to speake vnto you, least by his vnaduised pro­ceeding, he doe abridge some part of that honour, which is rightly due vnto you, wherof I alwayes had, and euer wil haue as great care and regard as any the most affectionate seruant that may possibly present himselfe before the eyes of so worthy a Lady: Notwithstanding, confessing the cruel torment that grieuouslie afflicteth euery parte of me, for feare least I should obtaine no place in her honorable seruice, whom I desire to obay and please in all thinges, which would not haue suffered my life to continue till this time, had it not been conserued by the hope I had to be so imployed to the death: dispayring of al succour, I haue now taken this presumption vpon me, humbly beseeching your accustomed bountie to accept this excuse of your pore slaue that desireth no longer to liue, then his life shalbe ac­ceptable vnto you, and bearing with my indiscretion, to impute the fault to your excellent beautie, that hath entan­gled me, and so restrayned my libertie, that finding my self so wonderfully surprised, I am (said he, the teares standing in his eyes) wholy tyed to your answere, whereby I attend the last and finall sentence of my life or death.

The young Lady litle acquainted with such amorous discourses (as it is the nature of such tender youth to be [Page 20] somewhat shamefast) at first cast down her eyes to the groūd: but anone after (ouercome with these sweet words. and vnable to resist the feruency of this strange passion) at this first incounter (putting all shame vnder foote) she loked vp againe, beholding him with a sweete, and louely countenance, for whom she dyed a thousand times a day, and then casting forth a deep sigh, aunswered him with a trembling voice, after this maner.

Senior Barisor, I must needes confesse, that at the first encounter, my forces fayled me, & the honor I ought to my reputation being greatly attainted by the like mi­shap, (wherof vnawares I my selfe am the cause) at eue­ry word I would speake, my hart panted, and was grée­uously perplexed, my mind likewise, and al the other parts of my body, were so weakened, that I had in a maner, no vse of them at al, which now enforceth me (hauing hether­to forgotten my selfe) to let thée vnderstand, that the very first time, I was surprysed with thy honest behauiour, I felt in my selfe such extreame anguish, that me thought it pulled my hart out of the accustomed place, to ioyne, and vnite it with thine: and since that time, thy vertues, and the knowledge I had of thy feruent affection (the force and assurance whereof is now discouered) hath been so liuely imprinted in my mind, that through dispaire, and extreme passion, I thought a thousand times, that my soule would haue departed from my bodie, supposing all my life long, to keepe secrete this amorous flame, which, whilest I had sought too much to suppresse, increasing more and more, would in the end haue quite consumed me. But since vp­on so iust occasion, I see my good, present without dissi­mulation, vnable to denie that which ye know as well as my selfe, I humbly beséech you, seeing I haue so much for­gotten my selfe, as to put my honoure into your handes, to be circumspecte in your dealing, and forecast the daunge­rous mishaps, and inconueniences that may ensue, if our loue come to light, considering the greatnes of my house, [Page 21] and how many noble personages there are, that wil séeke to hinder the fauour that I desire to beare vnto you, which I shal not be able so wel to dissemble, but that at one time or other it will be perceiued.

Loue now, that had déepely wounded these two Lo­uers at the heart, desirous to make them know his full power and puisance, when he had quite berefte their liber­tie, so planted his ensigne in their entrailes, that from the poore Lady Flora he tooke all habilitie to resist, and gaue to Senior Barisor a rash desire to enterprice that, which af­ter coste him his life, for geuinge bridle to his vnruly affe­ctions, with a long and gracious kis, confirmed his vnfay­ned amitie, and rauished with exceeding ioy, through the continuall pleasure, he conceiued in her many courtesies, finding him selfe alone at libertie, he made request of that, which most contented his libidinous desire, & so long con­tynued his haunt, that at last, the bruit of suspicion, did not only offend the eares, of all the gentlemen of the court, but also of her Parents, who determined to vse some rigorous correction, & to remoue her far from him, by whose meanes she had gotten this il report, and lost her good name: which when she perceyued, she determined rather to make her selfe vnhappy for euer, then to liue without the company of her faithfull, and wel affected seruant.

And after good deliberation, seeing her selfe great­ly vrged to forsake the Court, through the fury and feare she had of her displeased friendes, she agreed with her best beloued (to the ende they might fréely enioy their Loue, some where els) to forsake the Courte, and her Coun­trey, with all conuenient speede: wherefore, the better to bring their desire to passe, they caused them selues to be marryed as secretly as they might, and setting all their affayres in good order, when they were furnished of money, and all thinges that eache of them seuerally ac­cording to their habilitie, were able to procure, for feare to be discouered, they stole away in the night, and traueled [Page 22] by vnknowen wayes that were not commonly trad [...], til they came to the sea side, where they tooke [...], with purpose to passe towards Italie, thinking there to spende the rest of their life happely, and as their heart desir [...]d: but cruel fortune, inconstant and enuious of the good that be fore she had graunted them, turning their sweet into sow­er, and their pleasure into great displeasure, so extreamely handled them, that their miserable mishap may be a good example to all other, to beware of the like, when they find themselues disposed to take so dangerous a wise.

These two fugitiue Louers being imbarked, as aforesayd, before they were fully ten miles, from the hauen there rose so great a tempest in the sea, that the sky beeing couered with many dark cloudes, and the water troubled with the vehemencie of the wind, that it seemed al things were quite confounded and brought into a confused Caos so that the boldest in the barke, and he that had best skill was faine to geue ouer his taske, and committe all to the mercy of the tyme, which was so daungerous, that the ship ouermatched by the vehemency of the windes, was broken all to péeces, against a harde rocke, and all that were in it drouned and lost, saue onely Barisor and Flo­ra: For Barisor (strengthned by the vehemencye of hys loue) holding his Flora in his armes, all be blobred with wéeping when he saw the eminent daunger which might no way be auoyded, he cast her vpon his backe, and with an inuincible courage leapt into the Sea, and puttinge himselfe, to the power and conducte of the tempestuous waues, brake the billowes with his body, as a Dolphin with his broade finnes. The Lady acknowledginge the great diligence of her poore louer, sayd vnto him: Alas my deare frend, I greatly feare, that by seeking my safety we shall both be drouned: nay sweete Lady (sayd Bari­sor) thy company is such a comfort vnto me, and my de­sire to preserue thee so great, that it maketh me more swift then the winde, and stronger then the waues that [Page 23] striue against me. The sorowful Flora bending her selfe to kis her bearer (the best recompence that then she coulde make him for all his paynes) it gaue the poore gentleman so great courage, that with the help of the time, and the sea which waxed calme againe, he gate to land, in a desert I­land, inhabited by none but wild beastes. So soone as they were arryued in this place, they loking back on a sodaine, perceiued a huge Lyon hard at their héeles, wherfore thin­king that he would haue deuoured them, and so with their life to haue ended all their miseries, they prepared them­selues with patience, to abide their vnhappy destinie, & like frends to die together. But the cruel beast (whether it were that he had before satisfied himselfe some where els, or that the heauens had so appointed it) contrary to al expectation, departed from them, without offering them any iniury, or vsing any violonce towards them.

When they had escaped this daunger, for feare to fall into the like again, they wandred vp and down thrée whol dayes together, to seek some place of securitie, but in al that time they saw no earthly creature, nor found any harbor, but only the wild desert, and the maine sea, that enuironed it round about, wherefore being extreamely pinched with hunger, and faint with running, they were constrayned to rest their féeble bodies, voyd of al natural strength, hard by the sea side, where being couched together in this misera­ble plight, each imbracing other, almost dead for want of foode, and not able to doe any thing but wéepe and sighe, Barisor sayd to his beloued Flora: Alas my deere hart, thy swéete and delicate youth, vnable to endure the extreame anguish of this deadly famine, must needes pearish, with­out any hope of recouery. Ah my deere friend, sayd she, I feele myselfe greatly eased by enioying thy frendly com­panie. Then pausing a while, and fetching a feeble sighe, she said againe: Alas poore soule, I see thou mayst no lon­ger endure this dolor, all the forces of thy pining harte doe faile thee: Not in loue (replyed Barisor) though in this [Page 24] earthly bodies, our soules (so vnited, that nothing hath power to part them) shal ascend to the heauens together, and so long as any gaspe of breath remayneth, satisfie thē selues with these two kisses, now colde, for wante of na­tures giftes. Thus lamentably complaining, and strait­ly embracing, at the last they gaue vp the ghost, & shortly after were found by certain strange marchants that came on shore, to furnish themselues of fresh victual, being dry­uen vpon this Iland by tempest, who when they saw the dead bodies of these desolate louers, newly deceased, but past al recouerie, perceiued by al outward apparance, that they died for want of foode, wherfore lamenting their case (which seemed verie strange vnto them) they buried them after the best maner they might, and then departing from them, they departed on their purposed voyage, where they made report of this strange accident, and likewise in all other places where they hapned to come, and amongst the rest, in Hungary, so that in the end, it came to the eares of those that were acquainted with the late escape of Barisor and Florinda, who knowing by all euident tokens, that these pitifull newes concerned them, some were glad, be­cause they might now with more assurance, enioy the large reuenues that belonged to Flora, others reprooued their folly, but all in generall lamented their losse, specially such as were louers, to whose minde this strange example was no small terror.

Behold here, Gentlemen, the force of foolish Loue, which inflameth the hearts of the greatest, oftentimes be­reaueth them offense, and maketh them careles of al du­ties, who, the greater, & more noble that they be, the more care they ought to haue, not to remitte any thing, how small so euer it be, that may be any blemish to their repu­tation: For it is most certaine, that whosoeuer once forsa­keth God, and suffreth himself to be led away with euery foolish passion, that prouoketh him, he must nedes fal into such dangerous wayes, as will leade him at last to vtter perdition, which he shal neuer be able to auoyde.

Constance louing Martuccio Gomitto: whē she heard that he was dead, desperately put her selfe all a­lone in a barke, which being transported by the winde to Suse in Barbary. From thence she went to Thun [...]s, where finding her frend Martuccio aliue, and in great auctoritie she bewrayed her selfe vnto him, who marrying her shortly after returned with her very rich to Lippare: Wherein is plainly set forth the force of loue, and the sted­fast affection of those that loue faithfully: with a perfect example of the ficklenes of fortune, who neuer abideth custome, but euery day altreth her estate, aduaunsing one, and ouerwhelming an o­ther, and somtime greatly abasing them whome she mindeth to bring to a better state.

NOt farre from Cicilia, there lieth a litle Iland named Lippare, the inhabitants wherof are chiefly maintai­ned by marchaundise & nauigation: In this Iland a virgin of verie good parentage, named Constance, was borne, and brought vp, who for her beawtie and vertuous beha­uiour was well beloued, and greatly desired of many in mariage, but specially of one Martuccio Gomitto, a comely and courteous young man, not very welthy, but well skilled in y^e arte he professed, to whom this virgin did likewise beare so good affection, that she neuer thought her selfe well without his company, wherof when Martuccio was assured, purposing to make her his wife, he demaun­ded her fathers good will, which he denied him, saying he would bestow his daughter vpon one that should be well able to maintaine her, to the end she might be a comfort to him in his old age.

Martuccio greatly grieued to sée him selfe reiected, and in a maner despised for his pouertie, prepared a litle vessell and furnishing it with all things fit for his purpose hauing also drawne diuers of his frends and kinsfolke to [Page 26] take parte with him, he made a vow neuer to returne a­gayne to Lippare till he were rich: wherefore departinge from them, he began to practise p [...]racy on the borders of Barbarie: pilling and spoyling all that he found too weake to resist him, wherein fortune was very fauorable vnto him, if he could haue taken the time whilest it serued. But he and his companions not contented that they were in short time become very rich, in séeking to get more, they were all taken by certaine Saracins, who shutting them vp vnder their hatches caried them to Thunes, where they were committed to prison and long after kept in great mi­serie, whereupon newes was brought to Lippare for cer­taine, by many credible persons, that all they that were in the litle barke with Martuccio were drouned. Which Constance hearing (who was grieued without measure at his sodaine departure) she greatly lamented amongst the rest, and determining to liue no longer, because her hart would not serue to make away her selfe by any violent meanes, she sought to find some new necessity to hasten her desired ende: For which purpose going one euening forth of her fathers dores towardes the sea side, she found by chaunce a fisherbote in the hauen somwhat distant from the other shippes, which (by meanes that the owners were newly arriued) was furnished with mast, saile, and oaers, which Constance perceauing presently entred into it, and (hauing a litle skill in nauigation, as most of the women of that Iland haue) she lanched into the déepe, and casting ouerbord the oaers and rudder and all things else where­with the bote might be guided, hoised her saile and com­mitted all to the mercy of the winde, thinking it would either ouerwhelme the bote (being vnbalaced, and with­out a pilote) or else driue it vpon some rocke, and so breake it all to peeces, and so being vnable to auoide the daunger when she would, must of necessity be drowned: In this mind weping bitterly, she wrapped her clothes about her head and layd her downe vnder the hatches: But it fell out [Page 27] cōtrarie to her expectacion, for the gentle Northwest wind did blow so full and freshly, that by the next night after she went a bord the barke, it brought her within a hundred myles of Thunes, into a hauen neare to a towne named Suse: The young virgin felt not whether she were on land or in the sea, for whatsoeuer happened, she neuer lifted vp her head, nor neuer thought to lift it vp againe.

By good happe, as the barke stroke vpon the shore, there was a poore sea [...]aring woman hard by, laying forth her fisher mens nets to drie in the sunne, who marueiling greatly to see it runne on ground with full saile, and thin­king that the fishermen were a sléepe within, she went a bord the barke, and finding no body there, but this poore desolate virgin that was thē fast a sleepe (wondring great­ly at so straunge a case) and perceauing by her garmentes that she was a Christian, she called her diuers times so loude as she could, and when she had waked her, she asked her in Latin, howe it was possible for her to come thither, all alone in that litle bote.

The virgin hearing her owne country language, doub­ting that some contrary blast had brought her back againe to Lippare, started vp sodainlye and looked rounde aboute her: But not knowing the countrie, and yet séeing her selfe on land, she asked the poore woman where she was: who aunswering her, sayd: My daughter thou art now neare to Suse in Barbarie: The poore virgin hearing this storie that the had so well escaped the daunger of the seas, and fearing to fal into the hands of these barbarous people that would abuse her, not knowing what was best to do, she sate her downe on the botes side and wept bitterly.

The good old woman séeing what sorrowe she made, greatly pitied her case & comforting her all that she might, and intreated her to go with her into a litle house she had vpon the shore which at last, after long and earnest per­swasion she was contented to do, and being there the old woman so [...]nely flattred her that in the end she told her by [Page 28] what meanes she was ariued there: The good old woman knowing by this meanes that she had fasted long and must therefore néedes be a hungred, set before her such simple fare as she had, and intreated her so much that she got her to eate a litle. Constance being now somewhat refreshed asked the old woman what she was, who aunswered that she was of the Trappany, and that her name was Chere­prise, and serued certaine Christian fishermen dwelling in that countrie.

The young virgin (though she were greatly gréeued) yet hearing Chereprise named, her mind gaue her strait­wayes that she had heard the name before, not knowing any cause that should moue her thereunto, and began now to hope, she knewe not what, and did no more desire to dye as she was wont to do, desiring the old woman with­out enquiring any further of her estate, to haue compas­sion on her youth, and geue her councell howe she might keepe her selfe from receauing any iniurie, which the good old woman promised her to do: Wherefore leauing her a­lone in the house, she went with all spéede to take vp her nets, & then returning backe againe, when she had foulded and layd them vp handsomely together, she led Constance with her to Suse, where being arriued, she sayd vnto her.

My daughter I will bring thée to the house of a good Saracin Ladie, for whom oftentimes I do such busines as she shall please to appoint me, she is an old gentlewoman very wise and charitable, I will recomend thée vnto her so well as I can, and I am sure she will receaue thée willing­lie, and vse thée as if thou were her owne childe: And for thy part, when thou art with her, conform thy selfe to serue her well and faithfully, that thou maist winne her fauour, and continue it vntill such time as it shall please the Lord to send thée better fortune.

This sayd, she brought Constance to the Ladies pre­sence, who when she knew what she was, and vnderstoode what had happened vnto her (for Chereprise had informed [Page 29] her therof at large) she earnestly beheld her and pitying her case, the teares tickled downe her chéekes, then receauing her into her seruice, she kissed her, and led her by the hand into her house, where she remained after that amongest o­ther women (without the company of any man) that were continually imployed aboute diuerse kindes of curious workes, that they wrought with the needle, which Con­stance learning in short time beganne to worke amongst them, and by her good behauiour and great diligence, won the fauour not only of her Mistres, but also of other that were conuersant with her, who quickely taught her to vnderstand and speake their language.

Whilest Constance was remayning at Suse, her losse being greatly lamented in her fathers house, it hapned that in the time of Mariubdile Kinge of Thunes, there was a young Lord of a great linage & very puisant remaining in Grenado, who challenged the realme of Thunes to be his and for that cause leauying a huge army, he came to make warre vpon the King, thinking to driue him out of the country.

These thinges comming to the eares of Martuccio Gomitto, who could very well speake the Barbary lan­guage, when he vnderstoode that the King sought to make himselfe as strong as he could to withstand the malice of his enemy, he sayd to one of his kéepers: If I might be permitted to speake with the King, I could geue him such councell as might easely gaine him the victory: The keper told his Maister what Martuccio had said, who went in­continently to make report thereof to the King, who com­maunded Martuccio to be brought before him, and being come, asked him what his councell was: Martuccio with all reuerence aunswered him in this maner.

Worthy Prince since the time that I haue frequen­ted your country, I haue alwayes had good regard to the order of your fight, and perceaue (vnlesse I be deceaued) that your greatest strength cōsisteth in archers, wherefore [Page 30] in any conceite if it might be so brought to passe, that your enemies shoulde want arrowes, and your people haue plentie, it must nedes be that they shall be vanquished and you haue the victory: In deede sayd the King if this coulde be done, we néede not to doubt of the conquest. Surely Syr (said Martuccio) if you please it may easely be done and in this maner. First you must cause the stringes of your archers bowes to be made a good deale lesse thē those that are commonly vsed, which done you must likewise cause the notches of their arrowes to be made fit for those strings, but this most be done secretly and with such expe­dicion, that your enemies haue no vnderstanding of it, least by knowing your pollicy, they seeke meanes to preuent it. And this I say because you know it is the custome when the arrowes on either side be all spent, then to store them selues with those that they receaue from their enemy, and to returne them backe againe so long as the fight endureth: Now by this deuice that I haue told you, you may haue great aduauntage of your enemy. For when you haue both discharged all your arrowes one against an other, their ar­rowes being bigge notched, shall serue your small stringes very well, but your small notched arrowes shall not be a­ble to serue their great stringes, so shall you haue great plenty to assaile them a fresh, and they none at all to resist you, by this meanes ye may deale with them, as you list, and they shall no way be able to escape your handes.

The king that was a very wise Prince, perceauing howe profitable this councell might be vnto him, caused it with all diligence to be put in execution, and finding it to fall out to his commoditie, and the confusion of his ene­mies, he greatly commended Martuccio, and to shew him selfe thankefull for so great a benefite, rewarded him very bountifully, and aduaunced him to great authoritie.

The report of this ranne through out the whole coun­trie, so that at last it came to Constance [...]ares, that Mar­tuccio Gomitto (whom she supposed to be dead long [Page 31] since) was yet aliue: wherefore the loue that she bare vn­to him, which by this time was almost quite extinct, began now to kindle a fresh with a new flame, which increasing more and more, did quite remoue from her all desire to dye, and opening her case to the good Lady that she serued, told her that she greatly desired to go to Thunes, to satisfie her eyes with that which her eares had heard, to thend she might be more assured of his safety, whose welfare she wi­shed as her owne. The good Lady greatly commended her, prouided a barke, and with all spéede went with her to Thunes, where at their comming they were honorablie re­ceaued by a kinsman of hers that was dwelling there: where when they were setled, she sent Chereprise (that wente thither with her) to harken after Martuccio: who vndestoode that he was aliue, and in greate authoritye, whereof making report to the Lady, she reioyced greatly at this good newes, and desired to be the first that should bring tidinges to Martuccio of the welfare of his frend Constance, and of her being in the country, went one day to the place where he lodged, and desiring to speake with him, was permitted to come vnto him, to whom she sayd. Senior Martuccio there is a seruant of yours that came from Lippare, arriued at my house, whose desire is to haue some conference with you, and because I would not trust any other (as she requested me) I am come my selfe to do the message vnto you: Martuccio thanked her and went with her to her lodging, where she left Constance, who séeing that her deare frend Martuccio was rauished with excéeding ioy, and not able to bridle her affection leaped so­dainly about his necke, & imbraced him with open armes, but the remembraunce of the passed paines, and the plea­sure she conceaued in her present fortune, did so bereaue her sense, that she could not vtter one word, nor reframe from shedding teares in great aboundance.

Martuccio beholding her whom he so dearely loued, the case séemed so straunge, and so greatly amazed him, [Page 32] that he stoode in doubt a great while, whether he saw her in deede, or else dreamed that he saw her, but when he came to himselfe againe, and knew for certaine that it was she he said vnto her. Alas my deare art thou yet aliue, it is long since that I hard report that thou was lost, neither could it be knowen whether thou wētest, or what was become of thée. This said, weping bitterly he imbraced and kissed her a thousand times together. Then did Constance tell him of all her aduentures, and how courteously the good Lady had delt with her from time to time, after which and diuers other talke that they had together, he departed from thence, and going to the King his Maister aduertised him of all that had happened to him and his frend Constance, crauing leaue of him to marry her according to his coun­trie maner: The King greatly marueling at the matter, sent for Constance, who confirming all that Martuccio had reported, he said vnto her: Now truly faire vigin thou art worthy to haue him to thy husbande, for whom thou hast taken such paines and passed so many perils: where­fore bestowing many large gifts vpon them, he gaue them leaue to do whatsoeuer they thought good: Then Martuc­cio very liberally rewarding the Lady for the great bene­uolence that she had vsed towardes Constance in her ad­uersity, with the Kings licence, tooke leaue of all his frends in that country, & with Constance and Chereprise tooke shippe, and returned very rich to Lippare, where they were so chearefully receaued of all their frendes (who neuer thought to haue seene them againe) that it is not possible to declare the excéeding ioy that this seconde méeting did bring to euery one of them: To conclude Martuccio and Constance (to their great comfort and contentment) be­inge solemnelye married, euer after duringe the tearme of their life enioyed their loue together, as they ought with­out any impediment or let, to their deserued pleasure.