THE Queen of Navarre's Tales.  
Containing, Very pleasant Discourses of fortunate Lovers.  
Now newly translated out of French into English.   printer's device (McKerrow 289): "Device of an ox on a bridge, with the letter N, and Labore et Constantia" 
LABOUR ET CONSTANTIA  
LONDON, Printed by V S. for john Oxenbridge, and are to be sold at his shop in Paul's churchyard at the sign of the Parot 1597   

❧ To his assured good friend I. O. Stationer.  
SIr, you having many times been in hand with me about a book entitled, The Queen of Navarre's Tales; which (as you say) you have caused to be translated out of French, at your proper charges, on mind to Print it, and you have several times been in hand with me to write you a Preface. You know I never read the Book, and therefore I am not able to say what argument it holdeth, nor otherwise what it concerns, which were behoveful to be known to him that shall write a Preface: but the Title is enough to grace the Book, bearing the name of the Queen of Navarre's Tales; whereby any man may conjecture that the contents are some pithy Discourses, written for pleasure and recreation: and so great a Princess vouchsafing so to honour them with her own name, who can think but that the pleasure is contained within the limits both of wit & modesty? For the curious conceited fellows that live now in the world, though not possessed with any great store of malice nor wit, but are yet of such a fine jesting humour, that they will dry-bob any man that writes, of what subject soever. In stead of a Preface I will present them with a piece of an old tale, a fiction, and feigned, I know not by whom; but if the Author will not be found, let me father it myself, the fable is this.  
Nature having many years ago so wasted her treasures, in the perfiting of woman's beauties, that by her former prodigality, her perfections are so consumed and spent, that the women of this age are enforced to supply their defects by periwigs & painting, by bombasting, and bolstering, and such other artificial helps; the poor Lady (finding her own scarcity, not able to perform that excellency, as before she had done in the feminine sex) determined yet to make proof, and to try her cunning what she could do in the masculine. Undertaking the task, with this settled curiosity, she proportioned a man of such excellent perfection in all his limbs and lineaments, that Nature herself began to wonder at her own work: and as the curious Artificer, who thinks his labour to be but lost, that is still concealed and never brought to sight, so Nature bringing forth this superexcellent parsonage to be viewed, appointed him in such a place where the people of several Nations had their continual recourse: the first that passed by was a Spaniard, who taking a full survey of this new form man, crossing himself, both his forehead & breast; then throwing up his hands with admiration to the heavens, he said with a loud voice; O most glorious & excellent creature in countenance, more amiable and lovely than our lady of Loretta, in parsonage more comely than S. jago of Compostella: but how shall I extol thy praises? my comparisons are too weak; I will therefore leave thee and bless Nature, who hath blessed herself in featuring of thee. Nature that stood fast by, where she might both hear and see, and yet unseen herself, was well pleased with this first salutation, and the Spaniard thus departed. The next that came by was an Italian, and he (as the Spaniard before, but with a litle more circumspection) taking the view of this goodly creature, fell first into a fit of wondering; from that, into an ecstasy of praising, then to protesting, that for a thousand ducats he would not have his wife to have a sight of this temptation: and now he fell to swearing, that to prevent all perils, he would keep her still locked up in a chamber; and thus he went his way. With this Nature smiled to see the passionate demeanour of the jealous headed Italian. And let it suffice that I deliver (though not in this particular sort) how the people of sundry other Nations as they passed by, what praises and commendations they would all of them attribute to this handiwork of Nature, imputing it to be without fault, blemish, imperfection, or any manner of defect: till at the last there fortuned to come by an Englishman, I think some of the same traveling fellows whereof there are some, that running thorough the world to seek new fashions abroad, do lose all their wits that they carried with them from home; or perhaps it might be some worthy soldier, that if he hath but discharged a case of pifle-pots out of a Gentleman's chamber, seen an Ensign three times spread in the field, puts himself by and by into the arming doublet, the points with the great silver tags, tied in the pitch of the shoulder: then at every word he must be called Mas Captain: then if he have but learned thus much of the new Discipline, as to say, Double your Ranks on the right hand, now again as you were, double your Files on the left hand, close your Ranks, open your Files: why so, this is enough to make him able to cousin an hundred and fifty soldiers of their pay. Now for tabletalk you shall hear nothing out of their mouths, but of the scaling of forts, the assaulting of breaches, the taking of citidales, & by their words they will seem to undertake the winning of a greater town than Lysbourne, but with discharging two or three volies of oaths. To conclude, when they are angry, there is nothing in their mouths but the stab; and when they are pleased, their greatest friendship is not worth an ordinary of eighteen pence. I speak not to prejudice any gentleman that hath traveled for his own experience, whereof there be many worthy of commendations, nor to disgrace any soldier that is of desert, whereof there are none but are worthy of honour: but I speak of those counterfeit Companions, that under these titles and pretences do countenance themselves, taking authority to slander, jest, scoff, and find fault at any thing. One of these privileged people now passing along the street, his gesture so governed as if he carried a whole come mon wealth in his head, his eyes so fixed as if he were in the meditation of his mistress, his countenance so graced, as a man might see a dicker of fools in his face, his salutation to such as passed by was a nod with his head, and his hand clapped over his lips, which they do call the Bassiles manus, his speeches compendious and short, nothing but sentences: this finical fellow being now come to the place where Nature was yet abiding, rejoicing to hear herself so glorified for this excellency of her work, he began as the rest had done, to survey every part, every proportion and lineament, from the top to the toe, he went about him, and round about him, behind, and before, prying, and beholding with more curiosity than any of the rest had done before him, and when he had looked till he was weary, said never a word, but shaking a little his head was going away, till nature seeing this strange demeanour called him back, and in courteous sort demanded of him how he liked of the object, that he had so advisedly perused: to the which he answered; In faith it is not to be misliked, it is a very goodly presence, handsome, comely, God had done his part, and he saw nothing but the man was well enough. But I pray said Nature again, what is it that you mislike? I perceive by your speeches there is something amiss, and therefore tell me what it is that you do think might be amended. Gentlewoman (said he) seeing you press me so far, I will deal plainly with you; the fault that I find is this, It is pity that he is not an English man borne, but if he had been an English man borne, I could then have commended these perfections, which I will now forbear. And it is pity (said Nature) that thou art an Englishman borne; for if thou wert not an Englishman borne, I would so display thy imperfections, which in regard of that renowned Nation now I will omit. This poor pedant meeting with such a counterbuff, thought it not good to fall a scolding with a Gentlewoman, but caling her cursed quean, went his way scratching of his head. And here an end of an old tale.  
Now M. Oxenbridge I will direct my text again to your private self, how shall you and I escape the gentle frump from these same perilous conceited fellows, that will not omit to find a fault at any thing, nor will not forbear to break a jest upon any man? marry I'll tell you how we'll stop their mouths if we can, we will give them the fool aforehand: I do not mean to any friendly Reader, that will sooner wink at a fault, than find a fault, but to these apparel curs, that although they cannot bite, will yet stand aloof and bark. And this Misacmos in his Apology of Ajax saith is a figure, and he calls it Prolepsis or Prevention. Now if we by giving the fool aforehand, could prevent them that they should not snarl at us, 'ttwere a pretty trick. And why not? For now I remember me, I knew the practice of it long before I knew Misacmos, and learned it of a Gentlewoman that had borne a bastard before she was married, who for prevention sake would call whore first, & would raise slanderous reports of every other woman, how honest soever, because she would brand them all with her own mark. Call you this a Figure? No sir, it was wit, and I warrant you it proceeded from a very quick conceit: as how? Marry she would not venture upon a husband, till she had made trial how she was able to endure the bearing of a child: for Omnia probata wittrieth all things. Sir, I do commend her for her wit; but by your leave, if my wife were but half so wise, I would think that a Cart were fit for her than a Coach.  
Well, I thank you Misacmos, we have made a little bold with your Figure, and I hope without offence; and I see prevention is very good, but I like not of his prevention, that being a known cuckold himself, and to prevent ill language, would hang horns in the night at his neighbour's door: Like to a cunning fellow that I know, I will not say a Conie-catcher, but a scaulled squire named Will Cog, a trencher scraping cullion but this other day, who in less than a years cogging (being skilful in that faculty) hath got more, than now by his trade he'll get these seven years. This Cannibal (I say) in the night would hang up horns at his neighbours doors, that they might seem as shameful to the world, as he shameless: and now associating himself with one, a jolly fellow, who though he seem to the view of the world (by the carriage of his body) a well accomplished K: at arms, yet otherways, but a paltry shifting wenching companion, when a man hath made the best of him; who because he might not have the maidenhead of his neighbours wise the first night, but jacke Drummers entertainment, after he had shamefully demanded it, runs up and down (threatening highly) in his hose and doublet like a masterless man, with his collar turned down round about his neck, making way for the halter, as one that were going to be hanged, to mince them as small as flesh to the pot. Well, birds of a feather will hang together; these two, knaves I found them, & knaves I leave them, and that is all the reckoning I make of them. Well, let them winch that are rubbed on the gall, but if they kick, I will stand aloof and cry, guppe old jade are you coltish? And when I have a little laughed, I will lean myself to this old axiom, Qui moccat moccabitur; the which in our mother tongue may thus be interpreted, she is a sorry Lady that hath never a jointer. Thus M. Oxenbridge, if you shall accept of these lines thus hastily hatched, I hope the courteous Reader will not be offended, and for the malicious I care not. Thus with my commendations to yourself I end.  
Your assured friend, A. B.   

❧ The Queen of Navarre's Tales.  

The first Novel.  
¶ Of a woman of Alancon that had two friends, one for pleasure, the other for profit, which caused one of them to be killed that first perceived her deceit, for the which she obtained a pardon both for herself and her husband that was fled, who after that to save a piece of money wherein he was condemned, sought counsel of a conjuror; but his enterprise being discovered, they were both punished.  
IN the Town of Alancon, in the time of Duke Charles that last deceased, there dwelled an Attorney that had married a gentlewoman of that country, more fair than honest; who by reason of her beauty, together with her lightness, was greatly sought unto by a religious man, whose name I will conceal, for the reverence of their state, who to attain to his desire, entertained her husband so well, and used him so friendly, that being blinded with simplicity, could not perceive the lewdness of his wife: but which is more, caused him to forget the affection that he always had to the service of his master and mistress, in such sort, that of a faithful servant, he became so contrary, that in fine he sought by Conjurations to bring the Duchess to her end. This priest lived long time, in that manner with this wicked woman, which obeyed him more for desire of money than for love, as also that her husband ceased not to incite her thereunto. But there was a young man in the said town of Alancon, son to the lieutenant general, whom she loved with so great affection, that for his love she was in a manner half beside her wits. Wherein ofttimes she holp herself by the priests means, by sending her husband forth, whereby he being busied, she might with better leisure visit the lieutenant's son. This manner of behaviour continued so long time, that for her profit she entained the priest, and for her pleasure received the other, unto whom she swore that all the entertainment she gave unto the priest was only by that means freely to use his company, and that whatsoever passed between them yet she said the priest had obtained nought of her but words, and that he might be well assured, that never any man but himself should reap other pleasure at her hands. Upon a day as her husband went to see the priest, she asked him leave to go into the country, saying that the air of the city was somewhat contagious for her: and being at her country house, she wrote unto the lieutenants son that he should not fail about ten of the clock at night to come unto her, which he failed not to do: but at the door he found the maid that used to let him in, who spoke unto him and said; Friend, you must now go walk some other way, for your place is taken up. He thinking her husband had been come, asked her the cause: wherewith the poor maid pitying his estate, and perceiving him to be so fair, and honest a young man, and one that loved so well, and so little beloved again, opened her mistress folly unto him, thinking that when he understood thereof, he would blame himself for loving so constantly. She told him that the priest was but newly come thither, and gone to bed to her mistress, whom at that time she looked not for, in that she had not appointed him to come before the next day; but he having busied her husband about his affairs, was secretly come that night to visit her. If any man ever despaired, assure yourselves it was the lieutenant's son, who for that time would scant believe it, But to try the truth, he stayed at a house hard by till he saw the priest come forth, not so well disguised but that he knew him better than he would. In which despair he went to Alencon, whicher, not long time after, his counterfeit friend returned, who thinking to abuse him, as she had often done, went to speak with him: but he said she was too holy (having touched consecrated things) to speak with him being so miserable a sinner as he was, whose repentance was so great that he hoped it could soon be pardoned. When she perceived her wanton life discovered, and that neither excuse, oath, nor promise never to do it again would aught prevail, she made complaint unto the Priest. And having consulted with him, went and told her husband, that she could no longer stay in Alencon, because the lieutenant's son whom she accounted for her friend▪ sought continually to dishonour her; whereupon she desired him to give her leave to stay at Argenton, thereby to cease suspicion: her husband that suffered himself to be ruled by her, yielded to her request. They were not long at Argenton, but this wicked woman sent word unto the lieutenant's son, that she thought him the wickedest man at that time living on earth, and that she had heard that he ceased not openly to speak evil of her and of the priest, for the which she swore she would be revenged. The young man that never had spoken thereof but to herself, and that feared the priest's displeasure, with two of his servants went straight unto Argenton, and found the woman in the jacobins Church at evening prayer, where he went and kneeled down hard by her, and said unto her: Gentlewoman, I am come hither to protest unto you by the living God, that I never spoke to any man of you to your dishonour, but only to yourself, and yet you have committed so heinous an offence in my behalf, as I have not used half so many injurious speeches in your behalf as you deserve, for if either man or woman will affirm that ever they heard it from my mouth, I am come hither before your face to prove them liars. She perceiving many people to be in the church, and that he was accompanied with two lusty servingmen, spoke as softly as she could saying unto him, she doubted not but he said the truth, & that she counted him too honest to speak evil of any woman in the world, specially of her, being one that loved him well, but she said her husband had some inkling thereof, wherefore she desired him that he would clear himself before him, whereby he might be thoroughly persuaded of her honesty, which he agreed unto; and thinking to bring her home, took her by the arm: but she told him it was not good for him to go with her, for if he should, her husband would conceive that she had caused him to come. And therewith taking one of his men by the cloak, she said unto him, let your man go with me, and when time serveth, I will send him to fetch you, mean time go you unto your lodging: he not fearing her conspiracy, went thither, and she being at home made his man that went with her to stay to supper, who demanded of her oftentimes when he should fetch his master: she answered he would come time enough. When midnight came, she sent one of her servants secretly to fetch him, who nothing doubting her pretended mischief, went boldly to saint Aignans' house, where the gentlewoman stayed his servant, whereby he had but one with him. And when he was at the door, her servant told him, that his mistress would feign speak with him before her husband, and that she stayed for him in a chamber, only with his own servant, saying he should do well to send his other home, which he presently did: and going up a pair of darke-staires, the Attorney that had set men to watch in a chamber hard by, hearing the noise of his feet, asked who went there? and it was told him it was a man that would secretly come into his house. With that one Thomas Guerin a common murderer, and by the Attorney hired for the purpose, struck so many blows with his sword at the poor young man, that what defence soever he made, he could not save his life, but was presently slain. His man that in the mean time was talking with the Gentlewoman, said unto her, I think I heard my master on the stairs, I will go see. But she made him stay and said; take you no care he will come soon enough. But not long after hearing his master say, alas, I am dead, Lord receive my soul, he said he would go help him: yet she still held him saying, doubt not, it is nothing but that my husband hath taught him how to leave his youthful tricks: let us go see; and looking down from the stairs head, asked her husband what the matter was, saying, what have you done? who replied, come down and see. Now have I revenged you of him that lought you so much shame, & saying so, with a poniard that he had, thrust ten or twelve blows into his belly being dead, that living he durst not assaise. After the murder done, and that the dead Gentleman's servants were both fled, to certify his father: the said Aignan knowing it could not be concealed, and that the Gentleman's servants could not be allowed as witnesses in law, and that not: any man in the house had seen it done, but only the murderers, an old maid, and a young wench of fifteen years old, thought secretly to take the old maid, but she found means to escape away, and fled into the jacobins church, being the surest witness to prove the murder. The wench for a time stayed within the house; but he found such means, that one of the murderers enticed her, and he falling in love with her led her to Paris, and there kept her in the common stews, by the which means she was not a lawful witness. And the better to hide the murder, he caused the dead body to be burnt, and the bones that were not consumed, to be put into a mortar and stamped to powder: sending in all haste unto the Court, to ask a pardon, giving it to understand, that he had oftentimes forbidden his house to a certain young man, whom he suspected in his wife's behalf, who notwithstanding was come thither by night, secretly to speak with her, and finding him at her chamber door, more filled with rage than reason, had slain him. But he could not so soon dispatch his letter to the chancellor, but the Duke and the Duchess by the father of the dead man were certified thereof, who to stay his pardon, wrote letters to the contrary. Whereupon the unhappy wretch perceiving he could by no means obtain it, fled with his wife, and divers of his kindred into England: but before his departure he said unto the murderer, (who at his request had done the deed) that he had received express letters from the King to take him, and cause him to be hanged: but in respect of the service he had done, he said he was content to save his life, and therewith gave him ten crowns to fly out of the realm. Which he presently did, and never was seen again. But the murder was so well proved and justified, not only by the servants of the dead man, but by the maid that saves herself in the jacobins church, as also by the bones found within the mortar, that in the absence of the said S. Aignan and his wife, the process was made and sued against them, whereby they were both condemned by default, and judged to be hanged, their goods confiscate to the prince, and 1500. crowns given to the father of the dead man, for the charge of the suit. Mean time the said S. Aignan being in England, and seeing that by course of law he was condemned in France, did so much by his service unto divers Noblemen, as also by the means of his wives kinsmen, that the King of England wrote unto the king to grant him pardon, and to restore him to his goods and credit again. But the king having understood the heinousness of the fact, sent the copy of the process unto the king of England, desiring him to look into it, and to consider whether such a fact deserved pardon; certifying him likewise, that the duke of Alancon only had that privilege within his realm, to grant pardons for all faults committed within his Duchy. All these excuses notwithstanding, the king of England did not content himself, but wrote so earnestly therein, that in fine at his request, the Attorney obtained his pardon, and thereby returned into France. But being at home, the better to accomplish his iniquities, he acquainted himself with a certain conjuror named Gallery, hoping by his means and devilish art, to be exempted from paying the said fifteen hundred crowns to the dead man's father. Which to effect, he and his wife went disguised unto Paris, where his wife perceiving her husband with the said Gallery to be so long time shut up into a chamber, and made not her acquainted with the cause, one morning she watched them, and saw. Gallery show her husband five Images of wood, whereof three had their hands hanging down, and two held up their hands, and speaking unto him said, we must make the like Images in wax, and they that have their arms hanging down, shall be the Images of such persons as we mean to consume to death, but those that hold them up, shall be for those of whom we mean to win the favour. Then the Attorney said, this shall be for the king, of whom I will be loved, and this for Monsieur Brinon Chancellor of Alancon. Gallery said, you must set the Images under the altar where mass is usually said, with certain words, which as then (said he) I will cause you to pronounce: and speaking of the images that held their arms down, the Attorney said, that one of them was for Master Giles de Mesuil the dead man's father, as knowing well, that as long as he lived, he would never leave the suit, & one of the images, made for women that had the arms hanging down shall be (said he) for my Lady the Duchess of Alencon the king's sister, because she loved her old servant Don Mesuil so well, and to the contrary, knew so much of the attorneys villainy, that if she died not he could not live: and the second image of a woman having the arms downward, he said was for his wife, as being cause of all his mischief, being well assured, she never would amend her life. When his wife that saw all this through the key hole of the door, and understood he placed her among the dead, thought it better to send him thither first: so that making as though she went to borrow money of her uncle, being master of Requests unto the duke, showed him what she had heard and seen her husband do. Her uncle like a trusty old servitor to the duke went unto the Chancellor of Alancon▪ advertising him thereof: and because the Duke and the Duchess of Alancon were not on that day at the Court, the Chancellor went and told it to the lady Regent the queen mother, and likewise to the Duchess, who presently sent for the provost of Paris called La-Barre, who made such haste, that he took the attorney and Gallery his conjuror, who without 〈◊〉 or any constrain confessed their fault. Whereupon their process being made, was carried to the King, to whom (some of the Court desirous to save their lives) said in their behalf, that by their enchantments, they sought but only to 〈◊〉 his favour, and not to destroy him▪ But the king having his sister's life as dear as his own; commanded that judgement should be given in as strict a manner as if they had practised his own death. Nevertheless the Duchess of Alencon his sister, besought him to save the Attunies life, and to change his death into some hard and grievous corporal pain; which was granted her, so that he and Gallery were sent to Marseills, there to row in the galleys of Saint Blanquart, where in they ended their days in great captivity; and thereby had means to confess and acknowledge the greatness of then sins: and the wicked woman in the absence of her husband continued in her wickedness more than ever she did before, 〈◊〉 ●ie● miserably▪   

The second Novel.  
¶ The pitiful and chaste death of the wife of one of the Multiers of the Queen or Navarre.  
THere dwelled in the town of Ambois a multier that served the Queen of Navarre▪ sister to Francis the French king, whose wife lay in childbed of a son within the City of Blois; whither the s●id● multier 〈◊〉 receive his quarters wages, leaving his wife at Ambois, lodging beyond the bridges: now he had a servant that of long time had so desperately loved his wife, that upon a certain day he could not choose but 〈◊〉 i● unto her: bu● she b●ing an honest woman, took it 〈…〉 that 〈…〉 reproved him, but threatened to cause her husband to beat him, whereby hemener after durst venture to speak unto her, or once show any countenance thereof, keeping it secret in his heart until such time his master was gone abroad, and his mistress in S. Florontines (a church belonging to the castle, and standing far from thence) at evening prayer. And he being at home without company, it came in his mind to seek that by force and violence, which by prayer and service he could never obtain, and to that end broke a plank out of the wall, between the chamber of his mistress, and that where he lay, which, because the side of the head, as well of his master and mistress, as of the servants on the other side stood close unto the wall, could not be perceived, whereby his wicked pretence could never be espied, till upon a time, she being in bed with a young wench of eleven or twelve years old, and in her first sleep, this villain in his shirt entered through the said hole into the chamber with his naked sword in his hand: but as soon as she felt him by her, she quickly sprang out of the bed, dissuading him by all means and exhortations, that possibly an honest woman could devise; but he that had nought but beastly love, and better understood in the Mules language, than her honest reasons, showed himself beastilier than those beasts with whom he had long continued: for perceiving that she ran so fast about a table that he could not have his will, as also that she was so strong, that she had twice loosed herself out of his hands, being in despair never to have his pleasure while she lived, gave her a great blow upon the reins, thinking, that if neither fear nor force could make her yield, yet pain would do it: but he found the contrary, for that even as a good soldier, perceiving his blood, is thereby more moved to revenge himself, and win his honour, so her chaste heart enforced her much more to run and fly out of the villains hands, always giving him the fairest words she could, thinking by such means to make him know his fault: but to the contrary he was so furious, that by no means he would be ruled by her good counsel, giving her divers other blows, which to avoid, she never ceased to run, as long as her legs would hold. But in the end, when with the loss of so much blood she felt her death approach, listing her eyes to heaven, and holding up her hands, she yielded thanks to God, whom she named her force, her virtue, her patience, and her chastity, beseeching him to accept that blood (which to obey his commandment) she then had shed in reverence of Christ jesus his son, whereby she steadfastly believed all her sins to be forgiven, and saying, Lord receive the soul that by thy mercy hath freely been redeemed, she fell with her face upon the ground; and being fallen, the wicked villain gave her divers blows; wherewith having lost her speech, and strength of body failing, the villain took by force that which she for want of strength could not defend. And having satisfied his filthy lust, fled so hastily, that never after (what means soever was wrought) he could be found. Mean time the young wench that lay with the Multiers wife, with fear crept under the bed: but perceiving the man to be gone, came out, and finding her mistress to be without either speech or feeling, she cried at the window to the neighbours round about for helps, whereat such as loved and liked her well came presently unto her, bringing Surgeons with them, and found she had received five and twenty deadly wounds upon her body, which, as much as in them lay they sought to heal; but all in vain: nevertheless, she languished without speech in that sort for the space of one whole hour, moved her hands, and eyes, whereby she showed not to have lost her memory; and being by a priest examined of her faith, she made thereof such evident signs, as that by word of mouth she could not have done better, showing that her trust was in the death of jesus Christ, whom she hoped shortly to behold within his heavenly seat: and so with a cheerful countenance, her eyes looking up to heaven, she yielded her chaste body unto the earth, and her soul unto the Lord: and being taken up, and her body wownd and set before the door, staying for company to bring her to her grave, her husband chanced to come home, where he espied his dead wife standing at the door before he knew thereof: and having inquired of the cause, had double reason to be grieved thereat, whereby he fell so sick, that hardly he escaped death. In this manner that martyr of chastity was buried in saint Florentines Church, whither all the honest wives within the town failed not to bear her company, accounting themselves most happy to be of such a town where so virtuous a woman was found: and therewith those that were not so wise, but lighter of behaviour, seeing the honour done unto that body, determined from that time forwards to change their wicked lives.   

The third Novel.  
¶ A King of Naples abusing a Gentleman's wife, in the end ware horns himself.  
BEcause Gentlewomen (said Saffredant) I have often wished myself to be companion in the fortune of him, whereof I mean to speak, I will show you that in the city of Naples in the time of king Alphonsus, whose lascivious life was his Sceptre, there was a Gentleman so honest, fair and courteous, that by reason of his perfections an old Gentleman gave him his daughter in marriage, that for beauty and good grace was nothing inferior to him, who loved well together, until Shrovetide after, that the King in masking went from house to house to sport himself, wherein each man enforced themselves, to honour him as they could: and when he came to the Gentleman's house, he was received and entertained much better than elsewhere, as well with banquets, as with music, and the fairest wife (in his mind) that ever he had seen, who after the banquet was done, she and her husband sang a song with so good grace, that it increased her beauty: wherewith the king perceiving two perfections in one body, took not so much delight in their pleasant voices, as in devising how to break th'accord: but the difficulty he found, was, the great and perfect love he saw to be in them, which made him hear that: passion in his mind as covertly as he could: but to ●ase himself, he caused certain banquets to be made, for all the Ladies and Gentlewomen within the City of Naples, where the Gentleman and his wife were not forgotten. And because a man is easily induced to believe whatsoever he seethe, it seemed the Gentlewoman's eyes promised him some good fortune, if the husband's presence were no hindrance thereunto: and to prove it, he sent her husband for 15. days or three weeks on message unto Rome: who was no sooner gone, but his wife that never had been so long without his company, made exceeding sorrow: but being in his absence often visited by the king, as time and leisure served, both with fair speeches, presents, and with gifts, she was not only comforted, but well content her husband should stay longer: and before the three weeks ended, wherein he should return, she waxed so amorous of the king, that she was as much grieved at his coming again, as she had been sorrowful for his going. And not to lose the presence of the king, they agreed, that when her husband went into the country, she would make it known to him, who thereby might assuredly come to her, and so secretly, that the man whom she feared more than her own conscience, should not he burt: in hope whereof this Gentlewoman was joyful, so that at her husband's return she seemed very glad, who although he heard that in his absence, the king had often visited his wife, yet he suspected no ill, but in process of time, that ●●re so hardly to be covered, began by little and little to show, in such manner, that the husband in th'end doubted some deceit, keeping so good watch, that he was thereof assured: but by reason of the fear he had of him, that did him injury, he made no show thereof, determining to dissemble, as desiring rather to live in secret grief than once to hazard his life for a women that had no love in her. Nevertheless, in that despite he thought to yield the like unto the king, if possibly he might: and knowing that oftentimes despite: maketh women do more than love, specially such as have great hearts, and honourable minds, he being in the queen's presence was so bold to say unto her, that it pitied him to see her not so well beloved of the King as she deserved. Whereunto the Queen that knew the love the king bore to his wife, answered him, and said, I cannot both have honour and pleasure at one time, I know I have the honour, but another reapeth the pleasure, and she that hath my pleasure yet hath she not my honour. He that perceived full well why she uttered that speech, answered her and said: Madam, your honour proceeds from birth, as being so nobly born, that any degree cannot augment your glory, but your highness beauty, grace, and honesty, hath deserved so much pleasure, that she which taketh that from you that is your due, doth herself more wrong than you, for that for a certain glory, which turneth to shame, she looseth as much pleasure as you or any Gentlewoman in this land can have. An● 〈◊〉 much Madam I will tell you, that if the king would lay his ●●owne aside, I think he should have small advantage at my hands to please a woman, being well assured hereof, that to conte●● so honest a person as yourself, it would be better for him that 〈◊〉 were of my complexion. The queen laughing answered him & said, although the king my husband be of more de●icate complexion than yourself; yet it is the love he be●●●th m●● contenteth me so well, that I prefer the sa●● before all other things. The Gentleman replied and said: 〈◊〉, if it were so, you would not pity me, for hereof am I assured, that the honest love which resteth in your heart would 〈…〉 you more conten●ment, if it found the like within the king; but God hath well provided otherwise, to them that you not finding that in him which you desire, you should not use him for your God on earth. I assure you, said the Queen, the love I bear him is so great, that in no woman● heart but mine the like is to be found. Pardon me Mada●▪ (said the Gentleman) you have not yet well tried the love of all men's hearts: for this I dare well say, there is one that loveth you, whose love is so importable, that yours in his respect is not to be compared; and for that he seethe the kings love much quenched towards you, his doth so much in crease, that if you like thereof, you shallbe satisfied for all your losses past. The Queen therewith began as well by outward gesture, as by words, to find his speech proceeded from his heart: and calling to mind, that of long time her sought to do her service, with such affection, that he wholly seemed melancholy, which she esteemed because of his bad wife, but as then the steadfastly believed it was for the love of her, as also the virtue of love, which maketh itself felt not being done, assured her of that which no man else could tell: And beholding the Gentleman to be of greater beauty than the king, perceiving him also clean cast off by his wife, as she was of the king, being urged with despite and jealousy of her husband, and moved with the love of the Gentleman, with tears ready to drop out of her eyes, sighing she spoke and said, O God must revenge of wrong work that in me, which love could never do: Which the Gentleman hearing, answered her and said: Madam the revenge is easy to him, that in place of killing his enemy giveth life to a perfect friend: me thinketh it is time that truth should take from you the foolish love you bear to him that loveth you not again; and that the just and reasonable love should drive that fear out of your mind, which never can remain within a virtuous heart. Now Madam, let us lay aside the greatness of your state, and consider ourselves to be the man and wife in this world, most mocked and betrayed of those we dearly loved: let us revenge ourselves (good Madam) not so much to give them their desert, as to satisfy the love which on my behalf can no longer be forborue, unless it cost me my life: and this I think if your heart be not hardened more than a Diamond, it is impossible you should not feel some spark of fire which increaseth so much more, as I seek to cover it, if pity of me, which for your love still die, cannot move you to love me, at least, the love of your own self should constrain you thereunto, who being so perfect, deserve the hearts of all the honest Gentlemen in the world: being despised and forsaken of him, for whom you have disdained all the rest.  
The queen hearing these words was therewith in such a trance, that fearing once by countenance to show her troubled mind, and leaning on the Gentleman's arm, went into a Garden adjoining to her chamber, where she walked long before that she could utter any word, but the gentleman perceiving her to be half won, being at the Allies end where no man could discover what they did, showed her by effect the love he had so long concealed from her, & finding themselves to be of one consent they took revenge in that, whereof the passion seemed intolerable, and there▪ they did agree, that as often as he went into the Country, and the King into the Town, he would not fail to come unto the Castle to see the Queen, and in that manner deceiving the deceivers, they should be four participants of that pleasure which two alone thought only to enjoy: this agreement made, the gentleman returned home, and the Queen into her Chamber, with such contented minds, that all their former grief was clean consumed, and the fear that each of them might have of the King's repair unto the gentlewoman, was wholly turned to desire, which caused the gentleman oftener to go (than he had used) to his country house, being but half a mile from thence. Which the King no sooner knew, but he went to see the gentlewoman: and the gentleman when night came went likewise to the Queen, as lieutenant to the King so secretly, as it never could be spied: which life continued long, notwithstanding the King, being no common person, could not so well dissemble his love, but that the world perceived it full well, whereby all honest men took pity of the gentleman's estate in that some bad companions refrained not to mock and scorn him, which he perceived well, where with he was so well content, that he esteemed his horns as much as the king esteemed his crown. Who on a time being with the Gentleman, could not refrain (seeing a heart's head nailed up in the Gentleman's house) to smile before him, saying that such a head became the house full well. But the gentleman in courage not inferior to the King, wrote over the head, saying, I bear these horns as every one may see, but some do bear them that believe it not. And when the king came thither again, and found the same writing there, he asked the gentleman the meaning thereof, who made him answer: if the kings secret be hidden from the heart, it is no reason why the hearts should be declared to the king: but comtent yourself (my Lord) said he, that all those which bear horns go not bare head, for that they are thought, that they uncover no man, and he beareth them lightest, that thinketh he hath none. The king knew well by th●se words that somewhat was discovered, yet never suspected the love between the queen & him: for that the more the queen contented herself with the king's behaviour, so much the more she seemed discontent, whereby long time they lived in that sort, on all parts, until by age they were constrained to leave.   

The fourth Novel.  
¶ The rash enterprise of a Gentleman towards a Princess of Flaunders, with the shame and discredit he reaped thereby.  
THere dwelled in the country of Flaunders a Lady of such state as better there could not be; a widow of two husbands, by whom she had no children, whereby during her widowhood she continued in her brother's house, of whom she was well beloved, he being a great Lord and husband to a king's daughter. This young prince was much given unto his pleasure, loving hunting pastimes, and company of Ladies, as youth requireth, having a wife so troublesome and melancholy, that her husband's pleasures were no delight to her at all: wherefore the said Lord still desired his sister's presence, being a pleasant Gentlewoman, and the best companion that might be found, yet very wise and of great honesty. There was in this great lords house a Gentleman, whose port, beauty, and good behaviour surpassed all the rest of his companions. This gentleman perceiving his masters sister to be a Gentlewoman addicted unto mirth, and always pleasant, thought to assay, if moving her with the choice of an honest friend would not offend her: which he did, but found contrary answer to her outward show: and though her answer was such as became an honest woman, and so great a Princess, yet perceiving him to be so fair, and courteous withal, she easily forgave his bold attempt, showing by outward countenance not to be displeased with him, in speaking unto her; telling him nevertheless, that her desire was not that he should move her any more therein: which he promised to observe, thereby not to lose the honour and contentment he received in dark speaking to her. Nevertheless in time his affection so much increased, that he clean forgot his former promise, not that he sought to hazard it by words (as having overmuch, and sore against his will tried her wise denial) but thinking if he could find her in some place convenient, that she being a widow, young, lusty, and of good complexion, would possibly take pity of them both. Which to effect, he said unto his master, that not far from his house, he should find good store of game, and that if it pleased him to go thither to hunt three or four stags, in the month of May, he should not find so pleasant sport elsewhere. Which the Lord, as well for the love he bore unto the Gentleman, as for the pleasure he usually took in hunting, agreed unto: going unto his house, which he found, not only fair, but excellently furnished, as any Gentlemans within that country, where he lodged the lord and his lady in one chamber, and in an other chamber right over against that he placed her whom he loved better than himself. The chamber being so well hanged with arras, both round about and over head, and so well matted, that it was impossible once to perceive a trap door, under her bed that went down into the chamber where his mother lay, being an old Gentlewoman, and somewhat lame, who by reason of her cough, fearing to disease the Princess that lay in the chamber over her, changed chambers with her son: and every night after supper this old Gentlewoman brought comfits into the Prince's chamber, whereat the Gentleman was assistant, who being well-beloved, and secret with her brother, was not excluded from her when she ●●de her ready, or when she went to bed, where still he found occasion to augment his love, in such manner, that one night after he had kept the Princess waking so long time, that she being sleepy, caused him to retire, he went into his chamber: and having put on his bravest and best perfumed shirt he had, with a night coif suitable thereto, it seemed unto him (in looking on himself) that not any Lady in the world could find in her heart to refuse his love: wherefore persuading with himself a happy success, he went to bed, wherein he lay not long, by reason of the great desire & hope he had to obtain a far more honourable success▪ and having sent his servants forth, he rose to shut the door, listening if he could hear any stirring in the prince's chamber; and being well assured that every man was at rest, meant to bring his long desired travail to effect, by little and little letting down the trap, which being so well trimmed and lined with cloth, made not any noise: which being done, by the same way went into the ●●inces chamber, and to her bed (who as then began to sleep) not once remembering the promise made unto her, neither yet respecting her high parentage, where without reverence or once ask leave he lay down by her, who sooner felt herself between his arms, than once perceived his coming. But she being strong, unloosed herself, and ask what he was, began in such sort to strike, bite, and scratch, that for the fear he had she should cry out he was constrained to cover her mouth, which nevertheless he could not do, so that when she perceived he spared not all means to force her to his will, she spared not again to keep him from it, calling her waiting gentlewoman as loud as possible she could, that slept within her chamber, & an old & virtuous lady as any could be found who in her smock came straight unto her mistress. But when the gentleman perceived himself discovered, he was in so great fear to be known unto the lady, that in as great haste as he could he got down by the trap, and so with as much desire and hope as before he had to be received, with much more fear and deep despair he was glad to go away; and taking his glass in hand, having a candle upon the table, he beheld his face by her all bloody, scratched, and bitten, whereby the blood ran down upon his shirt, in such manner, that it appeared more bloody than wrought with gold. Wherewith he said: O beauty, thou now hast won thy just reward, for by thy vain promise, I have enterprised a thing impossible, which in am of increasing my desire, may be a strong redoubling of my grief: being well assured, that if she once do perceive that contrary to my promise I have enterprised this folly, I shall not only lose my honesty, but the daily frequentation with her, that more than others. I usually have hade that which my glory, beauty, & good grace hath well deserved, I ought not once to cover; but to obtain her love, I should not so have ventured, to force her chaste and princely body, but rather by true service, & humble patience attend the time when love might be victorious, because that without it all the virtues, & forces of man can nought avail. In which sort he passed the night in tears, sighs & griefs unpossible to rehearse: & in the morning perceiving his face all mangled, he feigned to be sick, and not able to endure the light till all the company was gone. The Lady that had won the victory, knowing, that not any man in her brother's house, durst once attempt so bad an enterprise, but only he that had so boldly opened his love unto her, persuaded herself assuredly it was her host: and having with her Gentlewoman sought round about the chamber, to see if they could find him: in a great rage she said, Assure yourself this is not doont but only by the master of the house; but in the morning I will so deal with my Lord my brother, that with his head he shall witness my chastity. Which his fury the gentlewoman perceiving, said: Madam, I much rejoice at the great care you have unto your honour, which to augment, you would not spare the life of him, that by the force of love hath hazarded himself, but oftentimes there are such as seek to increase it, to the contrary do diminish it: wherefore Madam I beseech you not to disclose the truth. And when the Princess had told her how it happened, the Gentlewoman said unto her: Your Ladyship assureth me that he obtained nought of you but blows and scratches. Of that I assure you said she, and in such manner, that if he found not a good surgeon, I think the marks will easily appear. Madam, seeing it is so, said the Gentlewoman, me thinketh you have more occasion to praise God, than to think on your revenge: for you may well suppose that, seeing he had so good courage to enterprise such a thing, than the despite he hath received in failing thereof, you cannot give him any death, that would not be much easier unto him. If you desire to be revenged on him, let love and shame work which know how to torment him better than yourself, and do it for your honour; beware Madam I say to fall into the like; for that in lie● to obtain the greatest pleasure that he could devise, he hath received the most extreme displeasure that any gentleman can have. And you madam, thinking to increase your honour, may thereby diminish it: and by making complaint thereof, make that known, that never was known before: for by him you may be well assured it never shallbe revealed: and say my Lord your brother should do that justice you require, and thereby the poor gentleman lose his life; yet the common voice would be, that he had his pleasure of you; and again men would not stick to say, It is impossible for a gentleman to enterprise such a thing, unless the Lady have given him great occasion. You are both young and fair, living merrily in companies: there is not any man in the Court but seethe well what favour you show to him whom you suspect, which will make all men judge, that if he hath enterprised such a thing, it was not done without some fault committed on your behalf. And your Honour, which hitherto hath made you hold your head aloft, shall by that means be brought in question wheresoever it shall be known. The Princess hearing the good reasons alleged by her gentlewoman, knew well she said the truth, and that with good reason she should be blamed, considering the private and good countenance she had always shown unto the gentleman, asked her what she were best to do, who answered her, and said: madame, seeing it pleaseth you to hear council, perceiving from what affection it proceedeth, me thinks you should be merry at your heart to see, that the fairest and honestest gentleman that ever I knew, could neither by love nor force, make you dishonest yourself. Wherein madame, you ought to thank God, acknowledging it not to be done of yourself, for that many women, leading far more stricter lives than you, have been overcome and vanquished by men less worthy to be loved than he: and you ought now more than ever to abstain from hearing any discourses of love, because many there are, which having annoyed the first occasion, yet in the second could not resist. Remember good madame, that love is blind, and blindeth men in such sort, that where men think the way to be most sure, there commonly their feet do soon slip. And me thinketh madam that you ought neither unto him nor any other make it known, and though he would remember you thereof, yet make you as though you knew it not, thereby to avoid all dangers that ensue, the one of vain glory, in respect of the victory you have had, the other in calling things to mind that are so pleasant to the flesh, that most chaste persons have much to do to keep themselves from some sparks thereof, although they shun them as much as in them lieth. And further (Madam) to the end he shall not think that he hath hazarded a thing which might content or please you: I am of this opinion, that by little and little you shall withdraw the good countenance you have used towards him, to the end he may perceive how much you dislike of that his folly, and how great your goodness is, in contenting yourself with the victory that God hath given you, without requiring further revenge of him. And I beseech God madam (said she) give you the grace to continue the honesty he hath put into your heart; and knowing that all goodness cometh from him, you may love and serve him better than ever you did before. The princess therewith determined to follow her Gentlewoman's counsel, and thereupon slept with as quiet and glad a mind, as the gentleman to the contrary waked in great despair. The next day the Lord would ride away, and ask for his host, who was certified he was so sick that he could not endure to see the light, or speak to any man; whereat the prince was much abashed, and would have seen him, but knowing he took his rest, would not disease him, & so without bidding him farewell, departed from his house, taking both his wife and his sister with him: who understanding the gentleman's excuse, that would not see the prince, nor yet his company before they went, was well assured it was he that so had troubled her, not daring to show the marks she had set upon his face: and although his master sent often for him, yet would he not return unto the Court, before he had perfectly healed all his wounds, except that only which love and despite had made within his heart. But when he went unto the prince, and that he found himself before his victorious enemy, he could not choose but blush; and he that of all others had been most adventurous, was so astonished, that ofttimes in her presence he was abashed, whereby she assured herself their suspicion to be true, and by little and little estranged herself from him, not so covertly, but he perceived it well, yet durst not be seen therein, fearing to have worse, and kept his love within his heart, with the patience of withdrawing it, which he had well deserved.   

The fift Novel.  
¶ Of a Waterman's wife that escaped from two Friars that would have forced her, and wrought in such manner, that their fact was discovered.  
AT the port of Cullen hard by Nyort, there was a woman that both night and day did continually bear men over the water, where it happened two friars to pass over in her beat, and no other company with them: and for because that it is one of the longest passages in France, to the end they might keep her from weariness, they moved her with love, wherein she answered them as she ought to do. But they not being weary of the way, neither yet by reason of the coldness of the water, any thing acold, nor at the woman's denial once seemed abashed, each of them determined to force her, and if she cried out, to cast her into the river: but she being as wise and subtle as they malicious fools, spoke unto them, and said: I am not altogether so uncourteous, as outwardly I show; but first I would desire you to grant me two requests, which done, you shall well perceive that I have better will to obey you than you desire. With that the friars swore unto her by their good S. Francis, that whatsoever she asked of them she should be sure to obtain, so they might have their desires. First then said she, I will have you swear and promise me of your faiths, never to make it known to any man but yourselves, which they willingly yielded unto: and then she said that they should take their pleasures one after an other, for that said she I should be much ashamed that any man should look upon me while I did it, wherefore said she, cast lots between you who shall first begin. They saw her requests so reasonable, the younger friar consented that the elder should be first, and approaching near an Island she said unto the younger, Pray you here in this Island till I have carried your fellow into an other Island, and if at his return he do like well of me, we will leave him here, and go to an other place with you. Wherewith the younger Friar leapt into the Island, staying the return of his companion, whom the woman brought into another, & being at the shore, making as though she tied the boat, said unto him: Friend, look what place we were left to go into, wherewith the good father stepped into the Island, to find convenient place, and he was no sooner on land, but she giving a thrust with her foot against a tree, made her boat to give back into the river, leaving the two holy fathers in the Isles, to whom she cried as loud as ever she could, and said: Stay there my masters till God send his holy Angel to comfort you, for of me, as this day, you get not any thing that may content you. The two poor friars perceiving her deceit, kneeled down upon the shore, desiring her not to discredit them, promising her, if that she would carry them to the haven, they would not trouble her: but she rowing on, said unto them: I might well be counted a fool, having escaped your hands, to put myself into your dangers again. Which done, returning to the village, she called her husband & the officers, desiring them to help to take two great devouring wolves, from whom (by God's help) she had escaped. They being well accompanied, went thither, for that neither great nor little within the village, but was desirous to be partaker of that sport. The two poor friars perceiving so great a company coming to them, hide themselves in the Isles (like Adam from the presence of God) shame setting their sins before their eyes, and fear of punishment made them so tremble, that in a manner they were half dead. But that kept them not from being taken and led to prison, not without great shouting & crying of the people: some saying, these good fathers preach chastity unto us, yet would defile our wives: and her husband said, they dare not handle money, and yet will handle our women's thighs, which are more dangerous. Others said, they are sepulchres all beautified without, and inwardly filled with dead and rotten diseases. And others cried, and said, that by their fruits men might perceive what trees they were. So that you must believe that all the passages which are found to be in the holy Scriptures against hypocrites, were alleged against those poor prisoners, that by the guardians means were succoured and delivered: who in great haste came thither to fetch them, assuring the officers, that he would use greater justice against than, than the secular judge could do. And to satisfy the party, he protested they would say as many prayers for her as she would desire: whereupon the judge granted him his request, and delivered him the prisoners, that were so well schooled by the guardian (being an honest man) that never after they passed over the river without making the sign of the holy cross, and commending themselves to God.   

The sixth Novel.  
¶ The subtlety of a woman, that found means to let her friend escape, when her husband (having but one eye) thought to surprise him.  
THere was an old servant of the chamber to Charles last duke of Alonson, that had lost one of his eyes, and was married to a woman much younger than himself, he being by his master and mistress as well beloved as any man of his estate could be, whereby he had not means to visit his wife so oft as willingly he would, which was the cause that she forgot both honour and conscience, and fell in love with a young Gentleman, which in fine was so well known, that at length her husband was advertised: which he would not believe, by reason of the great and outward signs of love his wife did show unto him. Nevertheless, one day thinking to find it out, and if he could, to be revenged on him that did him wrong, he feigned to go into the country not far from thence, where he said, he must stay at the least two or three days. He being gone, his wife sent for her man, but he had not been with her above half an hour, when her husband came again, and in great haste knocked at the door, which the perceiving, told her friend, whereat he was so much abashed, that he wished himself in his mother's belly, and cursed both her, and love, that had brought him to that danger: she bade him take no thought, saying she would find means to let him go without shame or harm, willing him with all speed to make him ready. Mean time the husband knocked still at the door, and called his wife as loud as ever he could, but she counterfeiting as if she knew him not, said unto her servant, why do you not rise, and make them leave their noise, that knock and call so hastily at the door: is this a time of night to come and knock at honest men's doors? if my husband were here, he would make you leave. The husband hearing his wife speak, called her as loud as he could, and said, Wife, open the door: will you let me stand here till it be day? And when she saw her friend was ready to go out, opening the door, she said unto her husband: Oh husband, how glad am I that you are come; for I had a strange dream, wherewith I was so well pleased, as possible might be, because I dreamt that you had recovered the sight of your other eye, and with that embracing and kissing him, she took him by the head, and with one of her hands stopping his good eye, asked him, do you not see better than you were wont to do? and while he could not see at all, she let her friend go out. Whereof her husband doubted, and said: By God wife, I will never watch you again, for that in thinking to deceive you, I have found the finest subtlety that ever was invented. God amend you, for it is not in the power of any man living, to prevent the malice of a woman, unless he kill her. But seeing the good entertainment you have had at any hands, could not procure you to amend, it may be, my absence will force you thereunto. Which said, he went his way, and left his wife in great discomfort, who by means of his kinsmen, friends excuses, and tears, was of him received again.   

The seventh Novel.  
¶ A merchant of Paris deceived the mother of his love, to cover their fault.  
IN the city of Paris there was a merchant that loved a maid that dwelled hard by him, or to say the truth, better loved of her, than she of him: for that the show he made to love her, was but to cover a more honourable & haughty love then hers. But she that was content to be deceived, loved him so well, that she had wholly forgotten the manner that women ought to use, in refusing men. This crafty companion, after he had long time taken pains to go to her, in the end made her so fond, that she ran after him: which her mother, being an honest woman, perceiving, wholly forbade her the company of that merchant, which if she observed not, she said she would place her in a religious house. But the daughter that loved the merchant more than she feared her mother, made more of him then ever she did: and one day being in a chamber alone, the merchant went in, who finding place convenient, spoke as secretly unto her as possibly he might, but a certain maid seeing him going in, went and told her mother, who in great choler ran thither: and when her daughter heard her come, she wept unto the merchant, and said, Alas my love, now the love I bear unto you, shallbe dearly bought, here comes my mother who will surely know that which she always feared. The merchant that therewith was not abashed, left her presently, and went to meet her mother, and opening his arms, embraced her as hard as ever he could, and with the same fury wherewith he used the daughter, he threw the poor old woman upon a bed, who found that manner of entertainment to be so strange, that she knew not what to do, but only to say, what will you have? what are you mad? but for all that he left not off to handle her in such sort as if she had been the fairest maid in all the world: and had it not been that she cried so loud, that both her men and maids came in to help, she had past the same way which she so much feared for her daughter. Wherefore by main strength they took the poor old woman out of the merchants arms, without once knowing, nor yet could ever know, the cause wherefore he used her so. Mean time her daughter got into another house, wherein there was a wedding, which time the merchant and she did often call to mind, and laughed thereat, but to the old wives cost, that never could perceive it.   

The eight Novel.  
¶ A certain man having lain with his wife, thinking she had been his maid, sent his companion thither, that made him cuckold, his wife not knowing thereof.  
IN the county of Aller, there was a man called Bornet, that had married an honest woman, whose credit and reputation he loved, as all the husbands that are here in place (as I think) do, and although he desired his wife should be faithful unto him, yet he would not that the law (in that case) should be equal to them both: for that he became amorous of his maid, in which exchange he feared nothing, but that diversity of meats would not please him. He had a neighbour, of one condition, named Sandras', both a Drum maker and a Tailor, between whom there was so great familiarity, that their wives only excepted, their goods were in a manner common: whereupon he showed his friend the enterprise he meant to make upon his maid, who not only liked it well, but to his power holp to bring it to pass, hoping to have some share therein. The maid that would not consent thereto, perceiving herself so hardly followed, showed to her mistress, desiring her to give her leave to go unto her friends, saying she could not live in that sort. The mistress that loved her husband well, whom she did suspect, being very glad to have occasion thereby justly to charge him, said unto her maid, content yourself, and hold my husband with fair words, and in the end appoint him to lie with you, but fail not at any hand to tell me certainly the night when the same shall be, and take heed that no man knows it. The maid did as her mistress had commanded, which pleased her master so well, that he went to tell his friend, who desired him, that seeing he had been a partner in making the match, he might likewise have some part of that he left. The promise made, and the time come, the master went to bed (as he thought) with his maid, but she that had as then renounced the authority of commanding, for the pleasure to be a servant, had laid herself in the maids bed, and received her husband therein, not as a wife, but rather seemed a bashful maid, and in such manner, that her husband could never perceive it. I cannot tell you which of them was best pleased, whether he in thinking to deceive his wife, or she to deceive her husband: but when he had been with her, not so long as pleased him, but as he found himself able to bear it out, being not altogether so stout a warrior, as otherwise he had been, he rose and went out of the house, where finding his companion stronger and younger than himself, told him that he had found the best gown that ever he saw. You know said his companion, what you promised me. Go then quickly, said the master, lest she should rise, or that my wife should call her for some business. His companion went thither, and found the same maid there which the husband had mistaken, who thinking him to be her husband, refused not whatsoever he would ask: I mean by ask, taking, for he durst not speak. And there he stayed longer than the husband did before: whereat the woman wondered, for she was not wont to have such kind of nights: nevertheless, she was content, comforting herself with the speeches which in the morning she meant to use unto him, and with the mockery. About break of day the man rose up, and in departing from her, being disposed to play, by chance he took a ring from off her finger, which ring her husband gave her when they married: (a thing which the women of that country do keep in great solemnity, and honour much that woman which keepeth her ring until she dies: and to the contrary, if she chance to lose it, she is discredited, as having given her faith unto another man besides her husband) she was content that he should take it, thinking that it would serve for a certain token of his late deceit. When the companion returned again, he asked him, what he had done, and how he liked the match: he told him he was of his opinion, and that if he had not feared day, he had not come as yet, wherewith as softly as they could they went to bed. In the morning, as he made him ready, the husband perceived the ring which his companion ware upon his finger, in all points like to that which he had given his wife when they were married; wherewith he asked his companion of whom he had it: but when he understood he had snatched it from the maid, he was abashed, and began to lean his head against the wall, and said: Good God, have I made myself cuckold, my wife not knowing it? his companion to comfort him, spoke & said, It may be, your wife when she went to bed, gave your maid the ring to keep. With that the husband went into the house, where he found his wife, fairer, finer, and merrier then usually she had been, as she that much rejoiced to have saved the conscience of her maid, and tried her husband even to the full, with no more loss than watching for a night. The husband perceiving her to seem so pleasant, said within himself: If she knew my fortune, she would not look so merrily upon me: and speaking unto her of divers things, he took her by the hand, and perceiving she had not the ring, which she never put off her finger, he became so much abashed, that with a trembling voice, he asked her and said, What have you done with your ring? but she that was full glad that he began to move that which she her self desired to utter, said unto him: O the most wicked man that ever lived on the earth, from whom think you, you took the ring? you thought you took it from my maid, for whose sake you have spent double so much more of your goodness, than ever you did for me: for the first time that you came to me, I esteemed you so amorous of her, that more you could not be, but after you went out, and then came in again, you seemed to be a devil, and not a man; O unhappy wretch; think with yourself what blindness hath bewitched you, so much to use my company whereof you have received the pleasure, and yet esteemed it not. It is not then the beauty or person of your maid that made you find such pleasure at this time; but it is sin and filthy lust that burneth in your heart, and makes your head so mad, that you had taken a goat at that time for a wench. Now husband, it is time to mend your life, and content yourself with me, knowing me to be your own, and an honest woman, and think what you have done, supposing me to be your chamber maid: that I have done was only to withdraw from you sin, to the end that in our age, we both may live in love, with quiet consciences. For if you mean to live as you have done, I had rather separate myself, then daily to behold the destruction of your soul, your body, and your goods before my face. But if you will confess your fault, and purpose now to live in godly sort, obeying him, I will forget all former faults, as I beseech the Lord to pardon my ingratitude, in not loving him as I ought. If ever man was abashed, and in despair, surely it was this man, perceiving his wife so fair, so chaste and honest, to have been left by him, for one that loved him not, and which is worse, to have been so accursed, to have made her do amiss, not knowing it, and made another partaker of that pleasure that only was for him, whereby he made himself to wear the horns, to his perpetual shame. But perceiving his wife so moved, touching the love he bore unto the maid, was well advised not to disclose the wicked touch he had played with her, but ask her forgiveness, with promise to forego his wicked life, he gave her the ring again, which he had taken from the other man, whom he besought not to disclose the fact. But divers things are spoken secretly that after come to light: for not long time after the truth thereof was known, and he was called cuckold, without disgrace to her.   

The ninth Novel.  
¶ The pitiful death of an amorous Gentleman, by having over late received comfort, from the Gentlewoman whom he loved.  
Between Daulphinois and Prouance there was a Gentleman much richer in virtue, beauty, and honesty, than of worldly goods, that extremely loved a Gentlewoman, whose name I will not now rehearse, for her kindred sake, that are proceeded of great and rich houses; but assure yourselves the thing is most true: and because he was not of the like house, he durst not discover his affection, for that the extreme love he bore unto her was so great and so perfect, that he had rather die than to desire any thing that might have been to her dishonour, and perceiving himself to be of so mean parentage in respect of hers, was wholly out of hope to marry her. Wherefore his love was grounded upon no other point, than only to love her with all his power, as perfectly as he could: which he so long continued, that in the end she had some inkling thereof; and perceiving the love he bore unto her, so full of virtue and good speeches, she esteemed herself most happy to be beloved of one that was so virtuous, and gave him thereupon so good countenances, that he which sought no other thing, was there with well pleased. But malice the enemy of all quietness, could not endure this honest and happy life, for that certain men said unto the mother of the gentlewoman, that they were much abashed what that gentleman made so much within her house, and that it was thought her daughter's beauty was the only cause, with whom he was often seen to speak. The mother which nothing doubted of the gentleman's honest behaviour, whereof she assured herself, as much as of any of her own children, was very sorry to hear that it was taken in evil part, insomuch that in the end (fearing some slander by malicious heads might thereby arise) desired him for a time not to frequent her house, as usually he had done: a thing which he found very hard to be visgested, knowing that the honest speeches he had used to her daughter deserved no such cause of absence. Nevertheless, to the end he might cease evil speeches, he forbore for so long time, and at last returned thither again, as he had done before, whose absence had not diminished his goodwill. But being in the house, he understood they meant to marry the Gentlewoman with a gentleman, who in his opinion was not so rich, that he should do him such wrong, to have his love, no more thou he himself. And thereupon began to take heart, and to employ his friends to speak for him; thinking that if the choice were put unto the gentlewoman, she would prefer him before the other: nevertheless, the mother of the gentlewoman and her friends, because the other was richer, chose him; where at the gentleman was so much displeased, that knowing his friend lost as much contentment as himself, by little and little without other sickness, began to consume, and in short space was changed, and that in such sort, that it seemed he covered the beauty of his face, with the mask of death, whereunto from hour to hour he still approached: yet could he not refrain, but sometimes went to speak with her whom he so dearly loved. But in the end when strength failed him, be was constrained to keep his bed, whereof he would not once advertise her whom he loved, fearing to procure her cause of grief, and so suffering himself to fall into despair, he lost both his eating, drinking and his natural rest, in somuch that it was impossible to know him by reason of his leanenes and strange countenance. By chance a friend of his advertised the mother, of his love who being very charitable, and on the otherside loved the Gentleman so well, as that if all the friends had been of her and her daughter's opinion, they had preferred his honest behaviour before all the riches of the other Gentleman: but the father's kindred would not consent thereto. She with her daughter went to visit him, whom she found rather dead then living, and knowing his death to approach, had confessed himself, and received the holy sacrament, thinking presently to die and never to see any man again: but being as it were within two fingers breadth near to death, seeing her that was his life and resurrection, felt himself so strong that he cast himself upon a bed saying unto the lady, what occasion hath brought you hither Madam to come and visit him that hath his foot already in the grave, and of whose death you are the cause? what (said the Lady) may it be possible that he whom we love so well, should receive his death by our means? I pray you show us for what cause you use this speech? Madam said he, although as much as in me lay, I have dissembled the love I bear unto the Gentlewoman your daughter, so it is that my friends speaking of her marriage & mine together, have spoken more than willingly I would, considering the mischief that is fallen upon me, to lose the hope, not for my particular pleasure, but because I know full well she shall not be so well used, nor so well beloved as she should have been with me. The good I perceive she looseth of the best and most affectionate servant and friend that she hath in this world, procureth me more grief, than the loss of this my life, which for her only I would preserve, but seeing it can serve her to no end, in losing it, it is to me great profit. The mother and the daughter hearing his discourse, sought by all means to comfort him. The mother saying unto him, be of good courage and I promise you of my faith, that if God send you your health, my daughter shall never have other husband then yourself, and here she is in presence, whom I command to give her faith unto you, The daughter weeping, laboured to do that which her mother promised she should: but he knowing that when he should be whole, he should not have his love, and that the good speech she uttered unto him, was only but to prove if that she could revive him. Once again he said unto her, that if those words had been spoken unto him three months before, he had been the healthfullest and the happiest Gentleman in France, but the relief came now so late, that it could not be believed, nor yet hoped, and when he saw they enforced themselves to make him to believe it, he said unto them: Well seeing I perceive you promise me that good which never will come to pass, although you desire it should; for the weakness wherein I am, I crave of you, a thing much less than that, which hitherto I never was so bold for to require: with that, both of them swore to grant it bidding him freely speak. I beseech you then said he, that you will give her into my arms, whom you do promise me shall be my wife, and command her to embrace and kiss me. The daughter that never had used any such entertainment, thought to deny it him: but her mother commanded her expressly, perceiving there was no more lively feeling in him, then in a dead man. Therewith the daughter by her mother's commandment went to the sick man's bed, and said unto him, my good friend, I pray you comfort yourself. The poor languishing Gentleman as well as he could in his extreme weakness, stretched forth his arms, nothing but shin and bones, and with all the strength of his body embraced the cause of that his death, and kissing her with his pale and cold lips, held her as long as possible he could, and then said unto her, the love I have borne unto you hath been so great and honest, that never (marriage set apart) did I desire other favour at your hands, than I have now: for want whereof, and therewith I will most gladly yield my spirit unto God, who is perfect love and charity, and knoweth the greatness of my love, and my honest desire beseeching him (having my whole delight between mine arms) to receive my spirit in his hands & saying so, took her again into his arms so vehemently, that the weak heart being not able to sustain that force, was wholly forsaken of all his lively spirits, for that the joy made it so to rejoice, that the soul abandoning her place, departed from the body, and although the poor body continued without life, and by that means could no more hold her grief, nevertheless the love, which the Gentlewoman had always hidden showed itself so much at that time, that the mother and her servants had much ado to separate their bodies. But by force pulled the living almost dead from the dead whom they caused honourably to be buried: but the greatest triumph used at his obsequy was, the tears, sorrows and cries of the poor Gentlewoman, which showed so much the more after his death, as she dissembled them during his life, in a manner satisfying the wrong that she had done unto him, and since that time, (as I have heard) what husband soever she had given her, she was never merry at her heart.   

The tenth Novel.  
¶ The incontinency of a Duke, together with his impudency to attain his desire, with the just punishment of his evil intent.  
LOng since there was a Duke of Florence, that had married the lady Margaret bastard daughter to the emperor Charles the fift: and because as yet she was so young, that he might not lie with her, staying till she came to years, he used her very kindly, for that to spare her he was amorous of certain Ladies in the city, which by night he went to visit, while his wife slept. Among others he loved a very fair, wise, and honest Gentlewoman, sister to a Gentleman, of whom the Duke made great account, and to whom he gave so great authority in his house, that his word was as much feared and obeyed as if he had been the Duke himself: and there was no secret in his heart, that he made not known to him, in such sort that he might well be termed a second Duke. The Duke perceiving his sister to be so honest, that by no means he could declare his love unto her; after he had sought all means he could, he went to the Gentleman, whom he loved so well, and said unto him: If there were any thing in this world (my good friend said he) that I would refuse to do for you, I should fear to show you my desire, and much more to entreat you to be assistant unto me. But I bear such love unto you, as that if I had either wife, mother, or daughter, that might be a means to save your life, I would rather employ them therein, than let you die for want of them. And I esteem the love you bear to me, to be no less, and in such sort, that if I myself which am your master, do bear you such affection, you can not at the least bear less to me. Wherefore I mean to utter a secret unto you, the secrecy whereof brings me in such a case as you now see, whereof I never hope redress, but only by death, or by the service which in this respect you now may do unto me. The Gentleman hearing his masters reasons, and perceiving his face, unfeignedly wet with tears, took such pity on him; that he said unto him: My Lord, all the good and honour I have proceeds from you, you may speak to me, as to your friend, being well assured, that the thing which is in my power, is already in your hands. With that the Duke began to declare unto him the love he bore unto his sister, which was so great and strong, as that if by his means he could not obtain the same, he was not able to live long, as knowing well that in regard of her, neither prayers nor presents would aught prevail, wherefore he desired him, that if he loved his life, as much as he his, he would find means to win him that favour, which without him he never hoped for. The brother that loved his sister, and the honour of his house, more than the Duke's pleasure, sought by certain reasons to dissuade him, beseeching him to employ him in any other thing rather than that, which might be so great a despite unto him, as to purchase the dishonour of his own blood, saying that his heart and honour could not agree to do him service therein. The Duke inflamed with an insupportable rage, put his finger in his mouth, biting his nail, and answered him in great fury, Well seeing I find no friendship in you, I know what I must do. The gentleman knowing the cruelty of his master, was in great fear, and said unto him: My lord, seeing it is your pleasure, I will speak unto her, and tell you what she saith. The Duke answered, going from him, if you love my life, I will likewise love yours. The Gentleman understood well what that word meant, and was a day or two before he saw the Duke again, thinking what he had to do: on the one side he set before his eyes the duty he ought unto his master, with the riches and honours that by his means he had received, on the other side, the honour of his house, the honesty and chastity of his sister, whom he knew would never consent to so dishonest an action, if by subtlety she were not deceived, or by force compelled thereunto: a thing which he would find very strange, seeing that thereby both he and his should be defamed. Wherefore he determined, that he had rather die, then commit so wicked a fact against his sister, being one of the honestest women in all Italy, and that he would rather deliver his country of such a tyrant, then by force to bring so great a shame upon his own house: for that he was assured, that without the Duke's death, his life, nor yet his friends could be in safety: wherefore without speaking to his sister, he determined by one means to save his own life, and revenge her shame, at the end of two days he went unto the Duke, and said unto him, that he had so well practised with his sister (not without great pain) that in the end she consented to his will, upon condition he should keep the thing so secret, that none but her brother should know thereof. The Duke that desired those news, believed him, and embracing the messenger, promised him whatsoever he would desire, desiring him to bring the same to pass with as much speed as might be: whereupon they did appoint the day. If the Duke was glad, you need not doubt: and when he knew the night (he so much desired) to approach, wherein he hoped to obtain the victory of her, whom he esteemed invincible, he withdrew himself with the Gentleman only, not forgetting to put on his coif and perfumed shirt, the best that could be found. And when all were gone to rest, he went with the Gentleman unto his house, where he entered into a very pleasant chamber: there the Gentleman pulled off his night gown, and laid him in his bed, saying unto him, I will go fetch her, that will not enter into this chamber without blushing, but I hope before morning, she will be assured of you: with that he left the Duke, and went into his chamber, where he found but one of his men, to whom he said: Darest thou be so hardy to follow me unto a place, where I will revenge myself of the greatest enemy I have in all the world. His man ignorant what he would do, said: Sir, that I will, were it the Duke himself. With that the Gentleman led him so suddenly that he had no other weapon than a poinard at his back. When the Duke heard him come again, thinking he brought her with him whom he loved so well, he opened the curtains to see and receive her, he had so long attended, but in stead of seeing her by whom he hoped the preservation of his life, he beheld his own headlong falling into death, being a naked sword which the gentleman had drawn, wherewith he struck the Duke being in his shirt, who being destitute of arms, but not of heart, set himself upright within the bed and took the Gentleman by the middle, saying unto him, Is this the promise you keep? and seeing he had no other weapon but his teeth and nails, he bitten the Gentleman by the thumb, & by strength of arms defended himself so well, that both of them fell upon the bed: the Gentleman being not well assured, called his servant, who finding the Duke and his Master so hardly elasped together, that he knew not which to choose, drew them both by the feet into the middle of th● chamber, and with his poniard assayed to eut the Duke's throat, who defended himself until the loss of his blood made him so weak that he could do no more. Then the Gentleman and his servant laid him in his bed, where with the stabs of a dagger they made an end of killing him, and drawing their curtain they went their ways, and shut the dead body within the chamber, and when he found himself victorious of his enemy, by whose death he hoped to set the common wealth at liberty, though his cruelty should yet be imperfect, if he do not as much to five or six of those that were the Duke's nearest kinsmen. And to bring the same to pass, he said unto his servant that he would go and fetch them one after the other, to deal with them as he had done with the Duke: but his servant being neither strong nor bold, said unto him, me thinketh sir, you have done enough at this time, and that you shall do better in thinking how to save your own life, then seek to take it from others, for if we stay so long to kill each of them, as we do about the Duke▪ the day will sooner discover our enterprise, than we shall bring it to an end, although we found out enemies without defence, the Gentleman, whose wicked conscience made him fearful believed his servant, & taking him with him, went unto the Bishop that had charge of opening the gates of the City, and to command the posts and said unto him, I have this night received news that a brother of mine is at the point of death, so that I have desired licence of the Duke to go unto him, who hath granted it me, wherefore I pray you command the posts to give me two good horses, and will the porter to open me the gates. The Bishop that esteemed his request no less than the commandment of the Duke his master, gave him presently a billet, by virtue whereof the gate was opened unto him, and the horses delivered according to his desire, and instead of going to see his brother, he went to Venice, where he caused the bitings he had received by the Duke to be healed, and from thence went into Turquie. In the morning the Duke's servants seeing him so long before he came, suspected he was gone to see some Gentlewoman, but perceiving him to stay, began on all sides to seek him out. The poor Duchess that began to love him well, knowing he could not be found, was in great fear: but when the Gentleman he loved so well, could no more be found than he, they went to seek him at his house, & finding blood at his chamber door, entered into the chamber, but no man could tell them news, and following the tears of the blood, the Duke's poor servants came to the chamber wherein he was, which they found locked, but they soon broke down the door: and perceiving the place all full of blood, they drew the curtin and there found the poor body within the bed, sleeping his long sleep. You may well think what sorrow his poor servants made, that bore the body to his palace, whither the Bishop came, who told them how the Gentleman was departed by night in great haste under pretence to go and see his brother: wherefore it was evidently found that it was he that had done the murder. And it was proved that his poor sister, had never heard thereof, who although she was abash at that had happened, yet she loved her brother the more, that had delivered her from so cruel a Prince, enemy of her chastity, not having for the safeguard thereof, feared to hazard his own life: and continued more and more her honest and virtuous life, in such sort, that although she was but poor, because their house and goods was all confiscate, yet she and her sister found as rich husbands as any were in Italy, and ever since have lived in great reputation.   

The eleventh Novel.  
¶ The subtlety of an amorous gentleman, that under the favour and countenance of a good friend, obtained of a Gentlewoman of Milan the fruits of his forepast labours.  
IN the duchy of Milan at such time as the great master of Chaumont was governor: there was a Gentleman named the Lord of Bonivet, who after for his virtues, was Admiral of France. He being at Milan well-beloved of the great Master and of all others, for the virtues that were in him, used much to banquets where the Ladies and Gentlemen did resort, of whom he was better esteemed then ever any French man before him had been, as well for his beauty, good grace, and pleasant speech, as for the report given of him, to be one of the valiantest and stoutest warriors that ever was in his time. Upon a day being in a mask in shrove week, he led one of the bravest and fairest Gentlewomen in all the City to dance with him, and when the hautboys paused, he failed not to solicit her with love, which he knew better than others how to do. But she that was not behind in answering him, would suddenly cast her fan before her face and stay him, assuring him that she loved not, nor ever would love any but only her husband, wishing him not to hope for any other at her hands. This answer made not the Gentleman to forbear, but earnestly pursued her, until lent: but for a resolution he found her firm and constant in determination, neither to love him nor any other, which he could not believe, considering the hard countenance of her husband and her great beauty: wherefore seeing she so much dissembled, he determined likewise to use deceit. And from that time forwards left off his suit, and inquired so well of her life, that he found she loved a very wise and honest Gentleman of Italy: the said Lord of Boniuet by little and little acquainted himself with the said Gentleman, in such crafty and subtle manner that he never could perceive, but he loved him so well, that after his Lady, he was the man that in the world he most loved. The Lord of Boniuet to find the secret of his heart, feigned to show him his, and that he loved a Gentlewoman whom he never thought upon, desiring him to keep his secret, and besought him that their hearts and minds might be all one. The poor Gentleman to show him the like favour told him at large of his love he bore unto the Gentlewoman, whereof Bonivet sought to be revenged, and once a day they met in some place or other to show their good fortunes that day past, which the one told in good truth, the other dissembling. And the gentleman confessed that he had loved that gentlewoman for the space of three years together, without ever obtaining any other things at her hands, than only fair speeches, with assurance to be beloved of her. The said Boniuet counseled him the best way he could, to find the means to bring his purpose to pass; whereby he found himself so well eased, that in few days after she granted him his desire: and there rested nothing but to find the means to execute the same, which by the lord Bonivet's means was soon found out.  
One day before supper the Gentleman said unto him. Sir I am more beholding to you than to all the men in the world, for that by your good counsel I hope this night to reap that I have so many years laboured to obtain. I pray thee said Boniuet show me the manner of the enterprise, to see if there be deceit or hazard therein, that I may aid and serve thee as a friend. The Gentleman told him how she meant to leave the street door open, under pretence of a certain disease that one of her brethren had, for whom at all times of the night they were forced to fetch some thing or other: and that he might assuredly enter into the Court: but that he was to take heed he went not up the great stairs, but rather, a small pair of stairs on the right hand, and so enter into the first gallery, where he should find that all the doors of the chambers of her father and brother in law did open, and that he should choose the third door nearest unto the said stairs, and that if in thrusting it softly from him he found it shut, he should not stay, being assured that her husband was come, who nevertheless was not to return in two days, and that if he found it open, he should go in softly, and then shut it to him, knowing thereby not any body to be therein, but she herself; and that above all, he should not forget to make shoes of felt, fearing to make any noise, and that he should likewise be sure not to come before two hours after midnight, because her brethren that loved play, never used to go to bed before one of the clock at night: the said Boniuet answered him and said: Go my friend, God be thy speed, I beseech him to keep them from encumbrance, if my company may pleasure thee, I will not spare any thing that is in my power. The Gentleman thanked him most hearty, and told him that in such an enterprise he could not be too sure, and went presently to take order for the same. The L. of Boniuet for his part slept not, and perceiving it time to be revenged on his cruel Dame, withdrew himself in good time unto his lodging, and caused his beard to be cut of the same length and breadth that the Gentleman ware his beard, and cut his hairs likewise, to the end that by touching, their difference might not be known: he forgot not his felt shoes, and the rest of his apparel like unto the Gentlewoman's: and because he was much beloved of the father in law to that Gentlewoman, was not afraid to go thither in good time, thinking that if he were perceived, he would go straight unto the old man's chamber, with whom he had some business to do; and about midnight entered into the gentlewoman's house, where he found divers of the house stirring, but yet he passed and was not known, and so entered into the gallery; and touching the two first doors, he found them shut, but not the third, which he thrust softly from him, and being in the chamber, he shut the door to him, and perceived all the chamber to be hanged with white linen cloth, the floor and the roof in like sort, and a bed of linen very fine, so well wrought with white work as possible might be, and the Gentlewoman alone within the bed in her smock and a wastecoate all set with pearls and stones, which he perceived thorough the curtains, not being seen of her, for there stood a great candle of white wax upon the table, that made her chamber seem as light as day: but fearing to be known by her, he put it out: that done, he put off his clothes unto his shirt, and laid himself down by her, she thinking it had been the Gentleman that had loved her so long, received him in as friendly manner as she could: but he that knew it was done in the name of another man, would not speak a word, but thought only to execute his revenge, which was to bereave her, both of honour and chastity, without giving her thanks: but against his will and determination, the Gentlewoman contented herself so well with that revenge, that she thought she had recompensed him well for his pains, until an hour after midnight, that it was time to bid her farewell, and then as softly as he could, he asked her if she were as well content with him as he with her: she thinking it had been her friend, said that she was not only content, but marveled at his great love, that had made him stay an whole hour from speaking unto her: with that he began to laugh, saying unto her, Well Gentlewoman, will you refuse me another time, as till now you have used to do? She that knew him by his speech and laughter, for shame was almost desperate, and more than a thousand times called him villain, traitor, and cousiner, thinking to rise out of the bed, to find a knife to kill herself, seeing she had been so accursed, to lose her honour, for a man she loved not, and that to be revenged on her, might make it known to all the world. But he held her in his arms, and by good and fair speeches, assured her to love her more than him she● loved, and that he would be secret, in such sort that she should never hear it. Which the poor fool believed: and understanding his invention, and the pains that he had taken for to win her, swore she would love him better than the other, that could not keep his secrets: and said that she then knew the contrary of the false report given of French men, for they were wiser, more perceivant, and discreet than the Italians: wherefore from thenceforward she would desist from her opinion touching his countrymen, to content her mind with him. But she desired him very earnestly, that for a time he would not be in place, or banquet where she might come, but only in a mask, because she knew full well she should be so ashamed, that her countenance would make it known to all the world. He promised her it should be so, and prayed her that when her friend came about two of the clock, that she would bid him welcome, and that after by little and little she might cast him off. Whereof she made so great difficulty, that but only for the love she bore unto him, she would have granted it. Nevertheless in bidding him adieu, he contented her so well, that she would willingly have had him stayed longer. After he was up and made him ready, he went out of the chamber, and left the door as he had found it: and because it was almost two of the clock after midnight, and that he feared to meet the Gentleman in the way, he stayed at the top of the stairs, where presently after he saw him pass by, and enter into the chamber. Which done he went strait unto his lodging, to rest him of his travails, in such sort, that at nine of the clock in the morning they found him in his bed. When he was rising, the Gentleman came in, that failed not to show him his fortune, not so good as he hoped it should have been: for said he, when I entered into the chamber, I found her up, and set in her mantle, with a fit of an ague upon her, her pulses beating sore, her face all in a colour and sweeting, her disease beginning to come upon her, in such manner, that she desired me presently to departed, for that fearing some inconvenience, she durst not call her women, whereby she was so ill at ease, that she had more cause to think on death, then upon love, and rather to hear speaking of God then of Cupid, being very sorry for the hazard wherein I had put myself for her, seeing she had not the means in this world to render me the like, but she hoped to do it in the world to come. Whereat I was so abashed, that my fire and joy were turned into ise and sadness, and so I presently departed: and in the morning about break of day I sent to know how she did, and news were returned me of a certain that she was very sick: and saying so, he wept so bitterly, that it seemed he would yield his spirit with tears. Boniuet that had as much desire to laugh as the other to weep, comforted him the best he could: saying unto him, that things of long continuance have always a hard beginning, and that love gave him a delay to cause him to feel a enjoying thereof to be more pleasant, and therewith they departed from each other. The Gentlewoman for certain days after kept her bed, and recovering her health, gave her first servant his farewell, grounding it upon the fear she had of death, and remorse of conscience, and contented herself with the lord of Boniuet, whereof the amity endured (according to the custom) as the beauty of the flowers in the field.   

The twelfth Novel.  
¶ Of a Gentlewoman in the King's court, that perceiving herself to be disdained of her husband, that loved other women, she revenged herself by the like means.  
IN the Court of King Francis, the first, there was a Gentleman whose name I know full well, but I will not name it, he was but poor, as having but 500 franks yearly rent, to live on, but so much esteemed of by the King, for the virtues wherewith he was endowed, that he married so rich a wife, as that a great Lord would have contented himself with her, and because she was very young, he desired one of the greatest Ladies in the court to keep her in her house, which she willingly did. This Gentleman was so honest and so full of good grace, that all the Ladies in the court made great account of him, and one among the rest the King loved, yet not so fair nor so young as his own, and for the great love he bore unto her he made so small account of his wife, that hardly once a year he lay with her, and which was more importable for her, was, that he never spoke unto her, nor showed any signs of love: and although he enjoyed her goods, yet he gave her so small a portion, that hardly was she appareled as her estate required, neither as she desired, whereby the Lady with whom she was, oftentimes reproved the Gentleman, saying unto him: your wife is fair, rich and of a good house▪ and you esteem not of her, which her infancy and young years hath borne unto this time, but I fear that when she shall perceive herself to be fair and of good stature, that some one that loveth you not, seeing beauty (which to you is not esteemed) will seek to court her so, that in bespight she will do that, which being by you will used she durst not once conceal. The Gentleman that had set his heart in another place, mocked her, and for all that ceased not to follow his old course: but two or three years being passed over, his wife began to be one of the fairest women in all France, and so fair, that she had the whole report in the court not to have her match: and the more she perceived and felt herself worthy to be beloved, the more it grieved her to see her husband, that made no account of her, in such sort, that she took so great displeasure thereat, that without the comfort of her mistress she was in a manner desperace: and having sought all means she could to win her husband's love, though with herself it was impossible, but that he should love her considering the great love she bore unto him, unless his mind were called otherwise, which she so subtly went about to know, that in time she found the truth, and that he every night was so busy elsewhere, that he forgot both his conscience and his wife: and after she was assured of the life he led, she was so melancholy, that she would wear nothing but black, nor haunt any places where mirth or good cheer was used. Which her mistress perceiving, did what she could to withdraw her from this sad conceit; but it was impossible and although her husband were advertised thereof, yet was he readier to mock her, then to take any order therein. You know Gentlewoman that grief overcometh joy, and that grief by joy is overcome. Wherefore it happened that a great Lord near kinsman unto the mistress of the Gentlewoman and that came often thither, understanding the strange manner of the Gentlewoman's husband, had so great pity on her, that he thought to try if he could comfort her: and speaking with her found her so fair and virtuous, that he had more desire to win her favour, then to speak unto her of her husband: unless it were to show her what small occasion she had to love him.  
The Gentlewoman perceiving herself forsaken of him that ought to love her, and on the other side loved, and sought unto of so great and fair a prince, counted herself happy to be so much in his favour. And although she always desired to preserve her honour, yet she took great pleasure to speak unto him, and to see herself beloved; a thing whereof she had great want. This love continued for a time, until by chance the King perceived it, who loved the Gentleman her husband so well, that he would not suffer any man to procure his shame or displeasure: wherefore he desired the prince to withdraw his mind, saying that if he did it not, he would be offended with him. The prince that loved the king's favour and goodwill better than all the Ladies in the world, promised him, that for his sake he would leave his enterprise, and that at night he would take his leave of her: which he did as soon as he understood her to be in her lodging, and the gentleman himself was lodged in a chamber over hers: and looking out of his chamber window, perceived the prince to enter into his wife's chamber being under his. But the prince that saw him well, stayed not to enter, and bidding her adieu, whose love as then did but begin, told her the reason was because the King had commanded him so to do. After many tears and sighs that continued until an hour after midnight, the gentlewoman for conclusion spoke and said: I thank God (my Lord) that it hath pleased him to alter your opinion, seeing it is so small and feeble that you can take and leave it at man's commandment. For as for me I have not asked counsel either of mistress, or of husband, or of myself to love you; for love helping itself with your beauty and honesty, hath had such power over me, that I have not known other God or King than it: but seeing your heart is not filled with so true love, that fear as yet remaineth therein: you cannot be a perfect friend; and of an imperfect I will not make afriend, for that I love perfectly, as I had determined to love you, but now (my lord) I am constrained to bid you farewell, whose fear doth not deserve the freedom of my love. With that the Lord departed weeping, and as he went away, he perceived her husband still standing at the window, that had both seen him go in and out: wherefore the next day he told him the occasion why he went unto his wife, and the commandment the King had given him, wherewith the Gentleman was well pleased, and thanked the King: but seeing his wife daily to wax fairer than she was, and he to the contrary became old and less beautiful, began to change course, taking that which he had caused his wife full often to use, for that he made more of her than usually ●e did, whereby he took more heed unto her. But the more she perceived herself sought unto by him, the more she estranged herself from him, desiring to give him part of the sorrows and griefs she had had, in being little beloved of him, and not so soon to lay hold on that pleasure, which love began to show her, she addressed herself unto a young Gentleman so fair, so well spoken, and of so good a grace that he was beloved of all the ladies in the court. And making her complaints unto him, how she had been well used, moved him to have pity on her, in such manner, that the Gentleman forgot not any thing that might comfort her: and she to recompense herself for the loss of a prince that had forsaken her, set her love so sure upon the gentleman, that she forgot her sorrow past, and thought of nothing else but how to behave herself therein, which she could do so well, that her mistress never perceived it, for she never spoke unto him in her presence. But when she would speak unto him, she went to visit certain ladies that lodged in the Court: among the which there was one whereof her husband feigned to be amorous; and upon an evening after supper this gentlewoman stole out when it was dark without company, and went into the lady's chamber, wherein she found him whom she loved better than herself; and sitting hard by him, leaving on a table, they spoke together, making semblance as if they had been reading upon a book: but some one whom her husband had appointed to watch her, told him whither his wife was gone: he being crafty, went presently thither, and entering into the chamber, perceived his wife reading in a book, but making as though he saw her not, went among the ladies to speak to them: The poor gentlewoman perceiving her husband had found her in his company, to whom in his presence she had never spoken, was in such fear, that she lost all sense; and having not the means to pass by a bench, she slid along by a table, and came away, as if her husband had followed her with a naked sword in his hand, and went into her mistress chamber, who as then was come into her lodging; and when her mistress was a bed, she went into her own chamber, where one of her maids told her, that her husband asked for her: she boldly made answer, she would not come at him, saying that he was so strange and cruel▪ that she feared he would do her some mischief. But in the end, lest worse should happen, she went unto him: when she came into his chamber, her husband gave her not a word before they were in bed, where she that could not dissemble, as he had done, began to weep: And when he asked wherefore she wept, she said: because she feared he was angry with her, for that he had found her by a gentleman reading in a book. Whereunto he answered he had never forbidden her to speak to any man, and that he disliked not of her speaking to him, but for that she ran away, as if she had done some thing worthy reproach, and that her running away made him verily suspect she loved the gentleman: wherefore he forbade her, that from that time forward she should not speak either privately or publicly unto any man, assuring her, that the first time she should do it, he would kill her without mercy, which she promised to perform, making her account at other times not to be so foolish. But because that in the things that we most desire, the more we are forbidden, so much the more we desire them. This poor woman had soon forgotten her husband's threatenings, for that the same night being returned to her chamber to lie with other gentlewomen that attended on her: she sent to seek the gentleman, desiring him to come that night to see her. But her husband that was so plagued with jealousy, that he could not sleep, rose up, and casting a cloak upon his shoulders, calling one of his servants, went out of his chamber, because he had understood that thy young gentleman went thither by night, and went and knocked at his wives chamber door: she that looked for nothing less than her husband, rose up, and putting a mantle about her, and perceiving that three or four of her maids slept, went out of the chamber, and came to the door where he knocked: and ask, who is there? answer was made in the gentleman's name that she loved: but she for more assurance opened a little hatch, saying: if you be he you say you are, give me your hand, & I shall know the better: and having touched her husband's hand, she knew it well, and in all haste shutting the hatch began to cry out: O sir, it is your hand: her husband answered her and said; yea it is the hand that shall keep promise with you, wherefore fail not to come when I send for you: and saying so he went unto his lodging, and she returned into her chamber rather dead than living, and spoke aloud unto her women saying: Up my friends you have been over sleepy for me; for that I thinking to deceive you, have deceived myself: and saying so she sounded and fell down in the middle of the Chamber. The poor women at that cry rose up, much abashed to see their mistress lie upon the ground, and to hear the words she spoke so that they knew not what to do, but only to find means to recover her: and when she could speak, she said unto them: this day (my friends) shall you see me the most miserable creature living on the earth; and therewith showed them the cause, desiring them to help her, for that she made full account to lose her life.  
They thinking to comfort her, there came one of the Gentleman's servants, that attended on him in his chamber, that told her his master had sent for her. She there at (embracing two of her maids began to weep) desiring them not to let her go, seeing she was assured to die. But the page assured her the contrary, and that he would venture his life, that the should have no hurt. She perceiving that no resistance would serve, cast herself into her servants arms, saying unto him, My friend, seeing it must be so, do thou ●ary this unhappy body unto her death: and therewith, half dead with grief, she was borne by the page into her husbands lodging, at whose feet the poor Gentlewoman fell down, and said: Sir, I beseech you to have pity upon me, and I swear unto you, of my faith, I will show you the truth of all. With that, like a desperate man he said: By God you shall tell me the truth: and therewith sent all his servants forth. And because he had found his wife to be very devout, he thought she would not forswear herself, if that she swore upon the cross: wherefore he called for a very fair Crucifire, that he had borrowed, and they two being alone together, made her swear by it, that she would tell him truth in whatsoever he should ask. But she that already had past the first brunt of the fear of death, took comfort, determining before she died, not to hide any thing from him, and also not to tell him any thing whereby the Gentleman whom she loved, might sustain any wrong: and having heard the questions he propounded, answered him, and said: I will not justify myself, neither yet dissemble the love unto you I bear unto the Gentleman whom you suspect, for that you neither can nor aught to believe it, considering the experience that this day you have had, but I am very desirous to show you the occasion thereof: wherefore, sir you must understand that never any woman loved her husband so well as I love you, for that since I married you until this time, there never entered any other love into mine heart then only yours: you know that I being a child, my parents sought to marry me unto a man of greater renown than yourself, yet could they never make me agree unto it, after I once had spoken unto you, for that against all their minds I remained constant, to have you, not respecting your poverty, my friends instructions to the contrary: and you are not ignorant what entertainment I have hitherto had of you, and how you have loved and esteemed me, whereby I have had so much sorrow and grief, that without the help of my lady with whom you placed me, I was in manner desperate: but in the end perceiving myself to wax of more years, and of all men, except yourself esteemed fair. I began in such sort to feel the displeasure of the wrong you did me, that the love I bore unto you, turned into hatred, and the desire to please you, changed into revenge: and in this despair a prince resorted to me, who to obey the king more than love, left me at such time as I began to feel the comfort of my torments by an honest love: and leaving him, I found this Gentleman, that needed not to entreat me, for that his beauty, honesty and virtues deserved to be required and sought unto of all women of good judgement. At my request, and not at his, he hath loved me, with so honest a mind, that never in his life did he require any thing of me contrary to mine honour. And although the small love that I have cause to bear unto you, gave me occasion neither to show faith nor loyalty unto you, the love which I only bear to God and to mine honour, have hitherto preserved me from doing that, for the which I should need any confession, or fear of shame. I will not deny, but that as often as possible I could, I went to speak with him in a gallery, under pretence to go to prayer, for that I never put my trust either in man or woman to be a means therein. I will likewise not deny, that being in so secret a place, and out of all suspicion, but that I kissed him with a better heart, than ever I kissed you, but yet I never ask mercy at God's hands, if that between us two there ever was other kind of privity, or ever he sought more at my hands, or that ever my heart had other desire, for that I was so well pleased to see him, that me thought there was no greater pleasure in the world. And you sir, that are the only cause of my mishap, would you be redenged on a deed, where you yourself have so long time given me an example, yours being wholly without honour or conscience? for you know and I am well assured, that she whom you love contenteth not herself with that which god and reason commandeth. And although the laws of man do attribute so great dishonour unto women, that love other men besides their husbands, yet it is so, that the law of God doth not exempt the husband that loveth other women than his wife: and if both our offences were put into a pair of balance it would soon be tried which were heaviest: you are a man in years, wise and of good experience, to know and understand how to avoid evil; I am young and wholly without experience to know the force and power of love. You have a wife, that seeketh, loveth & esteemeth you, more than her own life, and I have a husband that flieth from me, that hateth and despiseth me, more than a poor servant. You love a woman already in years, and of no great beauty, in respect of me, and I love a Gentleman younger, fairer, and amiabler than you. You love the wife of one of the greatest friends you have in all the world, on the one side offending the Aunt, and on the other side the reverence you bear unto them both; and I love a Gentleman that is not bound nor linked unto any, but only to the love he beareth me. Now sir I pray you without partiality to judge, which of us two is most worthy of punishment or to be excused, I know not any man of experience, but would lay the fault on you, seeing that I am young and ignorant, despised and contenmed of you, & loved of the fairest & honestest Gentleman in France, whom I love, being in despair never to be beloved of you.  
The Gentleman hearing those speeches full of truth, and uttered with a countenance so fair, together with so good a spirit, that thereby she showed not any fear to have deserved punishment, found himself so surprised with doubt, that he could make her no other answer, then only that the honour of a man and of a woman make no less, nor yet all one, but that nevertheless seeing she swore there was no sin between her friend and her, he determined not to do her any hurt, so that she never used it again: and that neither he nor she would ever call to mind their griefs and injuries forepast, which she promised to observe; and with that they went to bed, as good friends. In the morning an old Gentlewoman that was in great fear of her mistress life, came unto her when she arose, ask her and said; well Madam how do you? she answered her laughing, why sweet heart, there is not a better husband in the world than mine, for he believed me upon mine oath. In that manner five or six days passed over, wherein the Gentleman so narrowly watched his wife, that both night and day, she had those that looked to her: but he could not watch her so well but that she spoke unto him she loved in a very dark and suspicious place. Yet she did it so secretly that neither man nor woman could ever have known it, had it not been for a report that a servingman gave forth that he had sound a Gentleman and a Gentlewoman together in a stall under the chamber of this Lady: whereat the Gentleman her husband had so great suspicion, that he determined to kill the Gentleman, and to the same end assembled a great number of his kinsmen and friends, that if they could find him in any place to kill him: but his chief kinsman was so great a friend unto the Gentleman whom he sought for, that in steed of taking him, advertised him what was done against him: who on the other side was so well beloved in the court, and so well accompanied that he feared not his enemies, so that he could not be found; but being in a Church, went in to the mistress of his love, that never had heard of any thing that had passed, for that before her he never spoke unto her. The Gentleman told her of the suspicion and hatred her husband bare unto him, and that notwithstanding his innocency he was determined to absent himself by some long voyage, to avoid the suspicion already begun: the princes, mistress to his friend, was much abashed to hear those speeches, and swore that the husband did wrong to suspect so honest a woman as his wife, in whom she had never found other then virtue and honesty. Nevertheless because of the authority of her husband, and to quench suspicion, the princes counseled him to absent himself for a certain time, assuring him that she would not believe any of her husband's follies or suspicions. The Gentleman and the Gentlewoman her waiting maid were very well content to remain in the good opinion and favour of the princes, who counseled the Gentleman, that before his departure he should speak with her husband, which he did, finding him in a gallery hard by the King's chamber, where with a bold countenance (giving him his due honour) he said unto him. Sir, I have always had a great desire to do you service, and for my labour I understand that the last night you sought to kill me, I beseech you sir remember that you have more authority & power then I have, yet I am a Gentleman as well as you, it would grieve me much to lose my life for nothing: I beseech you likewise think that you have an honest woman, and that if there be any man that will affirm the contrary, I will plainly tell him that he lieth, and for my part, I think I have not done any thing whereby you should have cause to bear me ill will; wherefore if it please you, I am your friend, if not I am the Kings, whereby I have occasion to content myself. The Gentleman to whom he spoke said, that truly he had had some suspicion of him, but that he accounted him so honest a man, that he would rather desire his love, than otherwise; and bidding him farewell with his hat in hand embraced him as his great friend. You may well think what they said, which the night before had had commission for to kill him, when they saw so great shows of friendship and love between them, whereof every man did speak: with that the Gentleman departed: but because he was not so well furnished of money as of beauty, his Lady gave him a jewel worth 3000. crowns, which he laid to pawn for 1500. And not long after his departure the married Gentleman went unto the chamber of the Princes, his wives mistress, desiring her to give his wife leave for a time to lie at one of his sister's houses: which the princes found very strange, desiring him to let her know the cause, who told her part, but not all. After the young married Gentlewoman had taken her leave of the princes, and of all the court without weeping or any sign of grief, went unto the place where her husband had appointed, being in the conduct of a Gentleman that had express charge to look carefully unto her, and especially that as she road in the way, she should not speak unto him for whom he suspected her. She that knew her husband's strait commandment, every day during their journey, gave them some alarm, mocking both them and their negligent watch: and one day among the rest, as they went out of their lodging, she found a friar on horseback, and she likewise on a gelding, entertained him from noon till night: and being about a mile from their lodging, she said unto him, Father, for the good counsels and comforts you have given me this afternoon, there are two French crowns which I give you, that are within a paper because I know you dare not touch them, praying you that assoon as you depart from me, you will gallop in all haste over the fields. And when he was somewhat far off from the Gentlewoman, she spoke aloud unto her servants, saying: Do you think yourselves good servants, and careful of your charge, when he whom ye are expressly commanded not to let speak with me hath been with me all this afternoon, and you never sought to hinder him: you deserve that your master, which trusteth so much in you, should give you blows in stead of wages. When the Gentleman that had charge of her, heard those speeches, he was in such a rage, that he could not speak a word, but spurred his horse, and calling two of the men with him, did so much that they overtook the friar: who seeing them come towards him, fied as fast as he could, but because they were better horsed than he they overtook him, and he that knew not wherefore, cried them mercy, and putting off his hood with more humility to entreat them, they knew well it was not he they sought, and that their mistress had mocked them, which she did much more at their return, saying unto them: Such men as you, aught to have the keeping of a woman, for when you have let her speak you know not to whom, giving credit to her words, you go and do injury to the servants of God. And after all these mocks, she atrived at the place where her husband had appointed her to be, being by her two sisters in law, & one of their husbands kept in great subjection. Mean time her husband understood that her iewellay at pawn for L500. crowns, for the which he was sorry: but to save his wives credit, and to have it again, he told her that she should fetch it, and he would pay the 1500. crowns. She that cared not for the jewel, seeing her friend had the money, wrote unto him, how that her husband would constrain her to redeem the jewel: and to the end he should not think she did it for want of good will, she sent him a diamond that her mistress had given her, which she loved more than any jewel she had. The Gentleman willingly sent her the merchants obligation, and contented himself to have had 1500. crowns and a diamond, and to be assured of his friends good will, although that as long as her husband lived he had no more means to speak unto her but by letters. And after her husband's death, because he thought her to be the same she always promised him, he used all the means he could to have her in marriage. But he found that his long absence had gotten her a friend whom she loved better: whereat he took such grief, that shunning all Gentlewomen, he sought adventures, where he obtained as much honour as any young Gentleman could have, and so ended his days.   

The thirteenth Novel.  
¶ A Gentlewoman of Milan tried the boldness and great courage of her lover, for the which after that▪ she loved him perfectly.  
IN the time of the great master du Chaumont, there was a Gentlewoman esteemed one of the honestest women in her time living within the City of Milan, she married an Italian Earl, whose widow she was, living in a house of her husband's brethren▪ never caring or desiring to hear any speech of marrying again, behaving herself so wisely and so holily that there was not any French man or Italian within that Duchy, which made not great account of her. Upon a day as her brethren and her mother in law made a great feast for the great master du Chamount, this Lady being a widow was constrained to be there, which in other places she used not: and when the French men saw her, they esteemed much her beauty and good grace, specially one whose name I will not disclose: but it sufficeth you to know that there was not any Frenchman in Italy worthier than he to be beloved; for that he was adorned with all the beauties and good qualities a Gentleman may have: and although he saw this Lady (being a widow) wearing a black sipres, separated from the younger Ladies, and bearing company with the elder sort, as one to whom man or woman could never procure fear, he began to entertain her, taking away his vizard and leaving off to dance, that he might sit by her, and all that night left not off to speak unto her, and the old ladies together, wherein he found more pleasure than with all the bravest and youngest Ladies in the court, in such manner, that when he should recite he thought he had had the leisure only to sit down: and although he spoke not to this Lady, but only of common matters, which might be spoken in such company, yet she perceived well he was desirous to acquaint himself with her: so that she determined to abstain as much as possible she might, in such manner that he could never after find her at any feast or banquet: whereupon he inquired what her common exercises were, and found that she often used to the Church and divers religious houses, where he made so good watch, that she could not go so secretly but he was there before her, and that he stayed in the Church as long as he might have means to see her, and that as long as he was there he beheld her with so great affection, that she could not be ignorant of the love he bore her: which to avoid, she determined for a time to feign herself sick, and to hear mass within her house; whereat the Gentleman was so grieved as more he could not be, for that he had no other means to see her but only as I said before: she thinking to have broken off that custom, went unto the Churches as before she used to do, which love presently made known unto the Gentleman who renewed his first devotions, and fearing lest she should find out some other means of hindrance, and that he might not have the time to let her know his mind, one morning as she thought herself well hidden within a little Chapel, where she heard mass, he went and placed himself, at the end of the altar: and perceiving that she had but small company, as the Priest held up the Corpus Domini, he turned unto her, and wi●h a vnfi● speech and great affection said unto her: Madam, I take him whom the Priest holdeth in his hands for my damnation, if you only be not the cause of my death, for although you take from me, all means of speaking to you, yet can you not be ignorant of my desire, seeing that truth sufficiently declareth it unto you by my languishing eyes, and dead countenance. The Lady counterfeiting not to know his meaning, answered him and say●; God ought not to be served in this manner, but Poets do commonly say, that Gods do laugh at the oaths and lies of lovers, wherefore women that love their honours ought to be neither credulous nor pitiful. And saying so she rose and went unto her lodging: if the gentleman was displeased at those words they that have tried the like will say yea: but he that wanted no courage, desired rather that hard answer, then to have failed to declare his mind, which for the space of three years he held most constantly, and both by letters and other means ceased not daily to solicit her: but during three years space, he could never obtain other answer, but that she fled from him, as the wolf doth from the dogs, fearing to be taken, not for any hatred she did hear unto him, but for the danger of her honour and reputation, which he perceived so well that more earnestly then before her followed his suit: and after many pains, refusals, torments, and d●spaires, perceiving the continuance of his love, this Lady had pity on him, & granted him that he had so long and earnestly desired, and when they had agreed upon the means, the French Gentleman failed not to hazard himself to go unto her house, although his life thereby might be in great danger, because his kinsmen lodged in the same house. He that had no less subtlety than beauty, behaved himself so wisely, that he entered into her chamber at the time she had appointed, where he found her alone lying in a rich bed, and as he made haste to put off his clothes to go to bed unto her, he heard a great noise of men's voices speaking softly, and of swords that struck against the walls.  
The Lady with a face half dead said unto him, now at this time your life and my honour are in the greatest danger that ever they were, for there I hear my brethren which seek for you to kill you: wherefore I pray you hide you under the bed, for when they find you not, I shall have an occasion to be offended with them, for that without cause they have given me such alarm. The Gentleman that as yet had never been afraid said unto her, and what are your brethren to make an honest man afraid? if all the race of them were here in presence, I am sure they would not stay the fourth blow that I should give, wherefore lie you still, and let me keep the door: with that he wrapped his cloak about his arm, and having his sword in hand, he went to open the door to see his enemy's weapons, whereof he heard the noise, and having opened it, he saw two maids that had two sword in each hand, wherewith they gave him that alarm, which said unto him, pardon us sir, for we have commandment from our mistresses to do so: but you shall have no more trouble by our means. The Gentleman perceiving them to be women, could not do less than wish them at the devil, shutting the door against them, and as soon as he could, went to bed unto the Lady, whose fear had not in any thing diminished his love, and forgetting to ask her the causes of her skirmishes, had no other thought but to satisfy his desire. But perceiving day to appear, desired her to tell him why he had done him that injury, not only in prolonging time, but also in that last enterprise, she laughing answered him, saying: my determination was never to love which sure my widdowe-hood I had always observed, but your honesty from the time you spoke unto me, at the banquet made me, change opinion, and that I began as then to love you as much as you loved me, it is true chst lone which always guided me, would not permit that love should cause me do the thing whereby mine honour should be aught impaired but as the hind wounded to death, thinketh in changing places, to change the evil which she heareth in her body, so I went from Church to Church thinking to fly that which I bore within my heart, whereof I have made so perfect proof, that it hath made mine honour to consent unto my love, but to the end I might be well assured to place my love and my heart in a perfect honest man, I thought to make this proof which my maids have now effected, assuring you, that for fear of life or other respect, I had found you fearful, so that you had hidden yourself under my bed, I was determined to have risen, and have gone into another chamber, without ever seeing you more: but because I have found you fair, of good grace, and full of virtue and hardiness, more than was certified unto me, and that fear could not overcome your heart, nor in any sort lessen the love you bear unto me, I am dotermined to content myself with you, until I die, being assured that I cannot put my life and honour into a better hand, then in his, whose like for virtues I never found. And so as if the minds of men were not mutable they swore and promised that which was not in their powers, that is a perpetual amity, which cannot spring nor yet dwell in man's heart, and they know it well, that have tried and known how long such opinions do continue.   

The fourteenth Novel.  
¶ A poor simple country man, whose wife loved the Curate of the Church suffereth himself easily to be deceived.  
IN the County of Maim, in a villadge called Arcelles there was a rich husbandman, that in his age had married a fair young wench, that had no children by him: but for the loss she had by him, till the recompensed herself with other men, and when gentlemen and other good companions failed she turned to her last relief, which was the Church, and made him companion of her sin, that could absolve her, which was the Curate, that oftentimes came to visit his sheep. The husband being old and crazy, suspected nothing, but because he was rude and churlish, his wife played her part as secretly as she could, fearing that if her husband should perceive it, he would kill her. Upon a day as he was abroad, his wife thinking he would come so soon again, sent for the Curate to confess her, and as they made good there together, her husband came in upon the sudden, whereby the Curate had not leisure to go unto his house, but devised means to hide himself, and by the woman's counsel went into a barn, and covered the stairs head where he went up with a fan of corn, the husband being in the house; she lest he should suspect her, made him so good cheer to dinner, that she spared no drink, whereof he took so much, that together with the weariness he had by labouring in the fields, he fell a sleep, sitting in a chair before the fire. The Curate being weary to be so long in the barn, hearing no noise in the chamber, went unto the stairs, & thrusting out his neck as far as he could to look down, perceived the good man to be a sleep, and looking earnestly upon him, leaned so hardly upon the fan, that both fan and he fell unto the ground, hard by the old man that slept, where with he waked: the Curate that arose up sooner than the man could open his eyes, said unto him there is your fan, and I thank you, wherewith he went his way, and the poor man being abashed asked what it was: she answered him, it is your fan that the Curate borrowed, and now hath brought it home, he grumbling said, do men use to bring home things they borrow in such rude manner, I thought the house would have fallen down, by which means the Curate saved himself to the poor man's cost, that found fault with nothing but that he brought his fan so rudely home.   

The fifteenth Novel.  
¶ The strange fragility of man, that to cover his horror falleth from evil to worse.  
IN the time of king Lewes the twelfth, one of the house of Ambois nephew to the legate of France named George, being legate in Auigneon, had in the country of Languedoc a Lady, whose name I will not rehearse for her kindreds sake, that had better than four thousand crowns yearly revenue: she being very young was a widow, and had but one child, being a son; and for grief she had for the loss of her husband, as also for the love of her son, determined not to marry again. And to avoid all occasions would not use the company of any other than religious persons, thinking that sin causeth temptations, whereby the young widow gave herself only to divine service, wholly forsaking worldly company, in such manner that she made conscience to go to any wedding, or to hear the Organs play within the church. When her son was seven years old, she chose a man of zealous life to be his schoolmaster, by whose good means he might be brought up in godliness. When her son entered into his fifteenth year, Nature, which of itself is a secret Schoolmaster, finding him too delicately nourished, and full of idleness, taught him an other lesson, than his master used to do, for that he began to behold and respect things that seemed fair; and among the rest a gentlewoman that lodged in his mother's chamber, whereof no man ever doubted, for that they no more respected him, than a young infant; no other thing being spoken of in the whole house but godliness. This young gentleman began secretly to seek unto the maid that told it to her mistress, who loved and esteemed her son so much, that she suspected the maid to tell it her, only to make her hate him: but she was so importunate with her mistress, that she said unto her, I will know if it be true, and assure yourself I will correct him if I find it to be so: but if you tell me an untruth, I will make you feel the price thereof. And to find the truth she willed her to appoint her son to come about midnight to lie with her in a bed near unto the door of the chamber where the maid lay. The maid obeyed her mistress: and when night came the Gentlewoman laid herself in her maids bed, determining if it were true, to correct her son so well, that never after he should desire to lie with maid again. And in that thought and displeasure her son came to bed unto her. She, although she saw him lie down, would not yet believe he would commit any dishonest art, but stayed to speak with him, until she perceived some signs of bad desire: but not being persuaded with so small a sign, that he would proceed further, was so long pa●ient, and so frail of nature, that she converted her choler into a most abominable pleasure, forgetting the name of mother: and even as water that by force is holden in, when it issueth forth, meke more noise than that which runneth his ordinary course, so this poor lady turned her glory into the restraint she gave unto her body. And when she proceeded to decline from the first degree of honesty, she found herself suddenly carried and borne unto the last; and the said night became with child by him, whom she sought to keep from getting others with child. The same was no sooner committed, but the remorse of conscience, brought her into into so great torment, that the repentance never left her during her whole life, which at the first was so sharp, that she rose out of the bed from her son, that knew no other but it had been the maid, and went into a closet, where calling her good determination unto mind, and the wicked execution thereof, she passed all the night in weeping and lamenting all alone: but in stead of acknowledging of the impossibility of our flesh, that without God's help, can not but sin, desiring by herself, and by her tears to satisfy her fault past, and by her wisdom to avoid the evil to come, she laid the excuse of her sin upon the occasion, and upon the weakness of flesh and blood, whereunto there is no remedy but only by the grace of God: she thought to do that, whereby in time to come she might not fall into the like inconvenience, ●nd as though there were but one kind of sin to damn men, ●he devised all the means she could to avoid the same. Bu● the root of pride which external sin should heal, increase● 〈◊〉 her heart, in such manner, that by avoiding one mischief she fell into divers others: for the next morning as son as it was day, she sent for her sons School master and ●aid unto him; Now my son beginneth to wax great, it is time to send him abroad. I have a kinsman that dwelleth beyond the mountains with Mousis the great master du Chaumont that will be very glad to have him in his company, wherefore I pray you bring him thither: and to th'end I be not grieved with his departure, let him not come to take his leave of me. And saying so, she gave him money to bear his charges for the voyage: and the same morning caused the young gentleman to departed, that was very glad at nothing else than after the enjoying the pleasure of his love, to go unto the wars. The lady continued long time in great melancholy and distress; and had it not been for the fear of God, she had often ●●shed the end of the vnfort●nat fruit she bore within her bo●●. In the end she feigned to be sick, that under that under th●● 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 might cover her imperfection: and being re●dy to 〈…〉, remembering that there was no man in the world in whom she so much trusted, as a bastard brother of hers, whom she entertained & did him much good; she sent for him, and showing him her hard fortune (but made him not acquainted that it was by her son) desired him to help her, and to save her honour, which he did: and not long before she should lie down, he gave her counsel to change the air, and to go to his house, where she might sooner recover her health than in her own. She went thither but with small train, and there she found a midwife ready for her, that by night not knowing her, brought her to bed of a fair daughter: the gentleman delivered it unto a nurse, and caused it to be nursed for his own. The Lady having stayed there a month, went home unto her own house, where after that she lived more strictly than ever she did, both in fasting and discipline. But when her son became great, perceiving no war to be in Italy, he sent to desire his mother that he might come see her: she fearing to fall into the evil from whence she had escaped, would not permit him, till in th'end he was so importunate with her, that she had no reason to deny him. Nevertheless she sent him word, that he should never come unto her, if he were not married to a wife that he loved well; and that he should not respect her riches, so she were honest, and it should suffice. In the mean time bastard brother perceiving the daughter whereof he had the charge, to wax great, & very fair, thought to place her in some house far off, where she should not be known; and by the mother's counsel, gave her unto the Queen of Navarre. This daughter named Katherine grew to the age of twelve or thirteen years, and became so fair & honest, that the Q. of Navarre bore her good affection, and desired much to marry her richly. But by reason she was poor, she found herself to have suitors great store, but none that would be her husband. Upon a day it happened that the Gentleman that was her unknown father, returning from the other side of the Alps, went unto the Queen of Navarre's house, where he had no sooner espied the maid, but he became amorous of her, and because he had licence of his mother to marry one that liked him, he took no care but only to have a wife that pleased his fantasy, and knowing her to be such, asked her in marriage of the Queen, that most willingly consented as knowing the Gentleman to be rich, and with his riches both fair and honest. The marriage being finished the Gentleman wrote unto his mother that from thenceforth she need not refuse him her house, for seeing he brought with him as fair a wife as any could be found, the Gentlewoman that inquired with what house he had matched himself, found he had married their own daughter, wherewith she was in such despair, that he presently thought to die, perceiving that the more she sought to hinder her grief, the more she was the means to increase the same. Whereupon not knowing what to do, she went unto the Legate being at avignon, to whom she confessed the greatness of her sin, ask his counsel what she should do therein. The Legate to satisfy her desire, sent for certain divines, to whom he uttered the matter not naming the persons, & found by their counsel, that the Gentlewoman ought not to make it known unto her children, for that for their parts considering their ignorance, they had not sinned, but that she during her life ought to do penance without making any show thereof. Which done, the poor woman returned home, where not long after arrived her son and her daughter in law that loved so well, that never husband nor wife loved in better sort, for she was both his daughter, sister, and wife, & he too her father, brother and husband; in which great amity they continued long: and the poor Gentlewoman in her extreme penance, that never saw them merry, but she withdrew herself to weep.   

The sixteenth Novel.  
¶ Of a merry conceited Bricke-layer, that had a cursed quean to his wife, and of that which happened.  
IN the town of Blear near Arragon, there is a village called S. Mortis the fair, where there dwelled a handsome proper fellow, as any in Paris, where he was borne; and for his valour he durst have travailed into any Gentleman's buttery, where all the barrels had been full, without either dagger or sword about him. For his resolution, if he had once gotten under a maids chamber window, he would never have started, till they had emptied a chamber pot on his head. For his courage he durst have gone into any bawdy house, and would have come out again as honest a man as when he went first in. For his credit, he might have run on the score for six pots with any Alewife that kept house within five miles where he dwelled. For his qualities every manner of way, he had the pre-eminence amongst all the youths that were in those quarters; for at Maytide, who was the ringleader for the fetching home of a Maypole, but he? at Midsummer he was chosen the Summer lord: at every bridal, who must dance with the bride, but lusty Roger? Thus for a pleasant life, the Constable of Paris lived not more merrily than he. And for his reputation, he was almost as much reverenced as our Churchwardens. But as the stoutest stand of ale at last is set on tilt, and the fattest goose comes soonest to the spit; so his former fortunes were drawn to the latest date, and his prime of pleasures concluded with mishap. But oh love, oh cruel love, that was the first fruit to his felicities. But who can resist love, if it be once crept into the bottom of a man's belly? oh what a rumbling it makes in his gu●s, and how it bethrobs him about the heart. And see now the sequel of his mishap: he fortuned to be at a sheepshearing, where he met with a pretty wench, named Sisly, in a fine red petticoat, with damask upper bodies, a white apron before her: and upon her head a broad felt hat, with a brave branch of rosemary sticking in her bosom, appointed amongst the rest with a pair of shears to help shear sheep, and he having brought forth a lusty young ram, would have laid him in her lap; but she refusing to take him, said unto him: Now good friend Roger, if you love me, bring me none but polled sheep; for of all things in the world, I cannot abide these horned beasts. When he heard these mild words, that gently spoken, and how kindly she pronounced this sentence (Good friend Roger, if you love me) oh heavens (thought he) what a sweet charm is this? then noting her modesty, that she could not abide the sight of an horned beast, he began to think with himself, how happy might that man be accounted that could light of such a wife. And having but a little given scope to his own affections, love that had his tinder box ready to strike fire, by this time had set his fancy of such a flame, that not longer able to endure the heat without a cup of sack, he said unto her: Sister, your manner of phrase hath wonderfully troubled me: for in your first speeches you call me your good friend Roger, and then you came in with a doubtful demand, in these words (if you do love me) as though I could be your good friend, and yet did not love you: but Cicely, sith you have popped me such a doubtful question, if you and I were alone by ourselves, I would pop you such an answer, that you should well find that I loved you, and that hereafter you might leave out your, If, and say Roger Ass you love me.  
With these words, prettily casting her head at one side, she gave him such a leering look, that might aswell have daunted him with despair, as gave him comfort and hope of grace, for the one of her eyes was bleared, and seemed as though she wept, the other was a pretty pinkeny, looking ever as though she smiled, so that in her very countenance at one instance, you might easily behold pleasure, and pain, pity, and rigour, courtesy and cruelty, love and disdain; and then with a sweet voice, like one that were ask an alms, she said: Roger, if you love me as you say, your love shall not be lost: but men are so crafty now adays before they are married, that they will make a maid believe they love her, till they have got up her belly, and then they will not stick to deny their own children, and that makes women when they be once married, to play their husbands such a cast, that they shall not know their own children, but if your love be no such love, Roger, you shall not find me unkind: when he heard the wisdom of the wench, it made his pulses so to beat, that he had thought his codpisse point would have broken a sunder: but for an answer he said.  
Sisly, your sober speeches so wisely delivered, together with your sweet countenance so lively placed, hath so prevailed with your good friend Roger, that for the better confirmation of my love receive here this token, as a pledge of my good will, and taking then a twopenny piece which he had in his purse, he bowed it and gave it unto her, the which when she had received, she said.  
Well Roger, now I do account you as mine own, and at night when my mother is gone to bed, if you will come home, we will there talk further of this matter: and for your welcome I will bestow of you a mess of cream.  
Sisly, (said he) look you keep your promise, for I willbe there, and because you will be at so much cost with a mess of cream, I will bring with me a penny worth of spice cakes: and although they had thus referred their further speeches till their next meeting, yet during the time that they remained there in place, many amorous glances, & loving countenances, there passed still too and fro between them: but at night the appointed time being come, thither he went, and Sisly, was at the window watching for his coming, who having once espied him, she opened the door, where she received him with such a sweet kiss, as if her breath had been lately perfumed for the purpose, whose dainty smell was as savery, as if it had been a red herring that had been newly roasted, her lovely lips pleasant and soft, like a lock of wool, that was but then come out of the seam basket: but should I tell you of all the other love tricks that passed betwixt him and her that night, I might either oppress your stomachs to think of it, or otherwise perhaps make you ashamed to hear it. But let this suffice, before they departed their marriage day was appointed, and Sisly, in time made her mother acquainted with the matter, who nothing misliking of her daughter's choice, gave her her blessing, with many other good helps to furnish forth her bridal day: the which when time had drawn to be solemnized, & that the lusty youths of the parish were gathered together to go with us to Church, and the young damsels were flocked on a heap to wait on the bride, attending her coming forth, the good old woman her mother, who had been ever chary of the lovely chicken her daughter, and even at the very instant when we were ready to go to church, she was schooling of her with this exhortation.  
Sisly (said she) the day is now come which you have so much longed after, it is twenty years ago since you first wished for a husband, & byrlady daughter, you were then seventeen or eighteen years of age, so that at this present you want not above two or three of forty: now if wit went by years, you are old enough to be wise: but I being your mother, besides my many years, which might advance my skill: so I have buried four several husbands (the heavens he praised for it) which hath so much the more confirmed my experience in the dispositions of men, and can the better judge of their natural inclinations: and by all that I have gathered by my own proof and practice, I have found it still by trial, that the fantasies of men, are ever best fitted with the follies of women: but leaving generalities, and to come to so much as concerneth but thyself, thou art now to be married to a husband, who in respect of his age thou mightst be his mother: and couldst thou now but consider, what a comfort it is for an old woman, to be embraced by a young man, O daughter daughter, thy mother's mouth begins to water, but with the very imagination to think of the pleasure, and therefore happy mayest thou deem thyself, that art so likely to enjoy it.  
But here is now a great piece of discretion to be used, for as age conceiveth such contentment with the society of flesh and pleasant youth, so youth will quickly fall a loathing of old and crooked age, if the parties be not wise to enforce that by art, that they are otherwise devaied by nature: which is, to show a youthful disposed mind how far soever they be spent in years, for it is a tired jade that cannot cry we he, and a sorry mare that cannot wag her tail: thou art now to consider the inequality of the years between thyself and thy husband: and therefore a little to whet him on to make him to like the better of thee, it shall not be a miss for thee to show some youthful conceit, especially being thy bridal day, it is tolerable for thee a little to play the wanton. I tell thee daughter, men are well pleased to see their wives youthfully given, as there is nothing doth more delight them, then to see them wanton disposed: and this is the means to win your husband's liking, & to draw him to that appetite, which your many years might quench, remember therefore what I have told you, and fail not for your advantage, to show some youthful trick.  
Sisly, making a mannerly courtesy, said: yes forsooth mother, I will remember all that you have told me: by this time all things being prepared, to Church they went, where the Priest having once done his office, they returned again, and were accompanied with her neighbours and friends that went home to dinner with them, for whom there was provided furmentie, and minced pies, besides other good meats both roast and sad, the which being all ready, Sisly was placed at the upper end, between two of the most substantial honest men according to the custom of the parish and himself likewise (as the manner was) did wait that day at the table with a napkin hanging on his shoulder.  
But o what a comfort it was unto him, to see how dainetily Sisly fed of every dish that came to the table, and how lustily she laid about her for her victuals, and (though he) if it be true as some men say, that a good feeding horse will go through with his labour, than I warrdnt you if I give Sisly her meat, I need not fear to ride her where I list: but dinner being almost at an end, and the cakebread & cheese ready to be set on the table, the good old woman her mother who had likewise been very busy that day in taking pains to fill the pots, & to carry away empty dishes, began to cheer up the company, bidding them welcome, and telling them she was sorry there was no better cheer for them.  
Sisly, presently upon the sight of her mother, bethought herself what she had to do, and calling now to mind what lesson she had given her, and how she had willed her that day to show some youthful trick, thereby to purchase the favour of her husband, and picking out at that very instant a sit opportunity to perform it, she called to her mother, in this youthful manner, Mamma, up and cack, the old woman hearing her daughter, said: why how now Sisly, fie for shame, will you speak bugs words? could you not prettily have said I pray you mother have me up to pick a rose, nay now I see you play the wanton too much, then speaking to the company that sat by, she said: I pray you bear with my daughter's childishness, for I know it is the furmentie that doth so much annoy her, for even from her infancy, if she had taken any spoon meat, she was still troubled in the bottom of her back side with a great ventosity.  
The neighbours seeing the cleanliness of the wench, did ever after that call her by the name of mannerly Sisly. Let this suffice: within a very few months after he was married, Sisly began to grow jealous: for if she had been once thirsty, and that he wanted money to send to the alehouse, she would tell him that he spent away his thrift amongst some other young queans. Here began our first falling out: and to set forward the matter, there dwelled at the very next house by him a Tailor that had a wife, who was sure once a day to measure the breadth of her husband's shoulders with his own metyarde.  
Sisly and this tailors wife grew to be acquainted: and amongst other conclusions it was agreed between them, that to prevent diseases, & to preserve them in health, they would every morning next their hearts, take a physical diet, which was, a full quart of the quintessence drawn from an Ale tub, warmed by the fire, with a grated nutmeg, half a yard of black pudding roasted, a quantity of salt, with a measure of fine wheat flower, first made into paste, and after baked in a loaf of bread: these ingrediences after they had incorporated together, they would afterwards lightly fast till noon: and they found such a commodity in using the medicine, that if the Tailor and he had not every morning given them money to pay for the simples, it had not been good for them to come that day after in their sights; for the tailors wife she could handle a metyeard or a cudgel passing nimbly. But Sisly had gotten the practice of all manner of weapons; and besides that, she had the use of her nails, which she employed many times about my face: she could likewise handle a pair of bellows about my pate, a pair of tongues athwart my shins, a firebrand sometimes should fly at my head, a ladle full of scalding liquor otherwhiles in my bosom, a three footed stool, a pot, a candlestick, or any other thing whatsoever came next her hand, all was one to her; and she had learned such a dexterity in the delivery, that they should have come whirling about my ears. But in th'end, he devising with himself a remedy for these mischiefs, he found means to be made the Constable, hoping that his office would have been a protection to him for a year, and that she durst not have stricken her majesties Officer. But within a day or two, it was his fortune to find out a pot of strong ale, which she had set up in a corner for her own drinking; and he (being thirsty) gave it such a soup, that he left very little behind; the which afterward when she came to seek for, and found her store so pitifully impaired, against his coming home at night, she provided her of a waster: and he was no sooner entered the doors, but forth she comes with her cudgel in her hand, and with such a terrible countenance, that were able to affright any man that should behold it.  
Roger (said she) I had thought you would never have given me occasion to be jealous of you; but now I see you love a cup of strong ale better than you love me: and do you not think then that I have great reason to be displeased with your unkindness towards me, and to beat out that lack of love that causeth you so lightly to regard me? Sisly (said he) take heed what you do, for you know that I am her majesties Officer, and here I charge you in the Queen's name that you hold your hands. What master Constable (said she) have you gotten an enchantment for me? or do you think that your charm shall serve to excuse you? No sure, no, for now you have deserved double punishment: first, you being an officer, if you offer wrong, your punishment must be so much the more grievous: and is it not mere injustice to take that which was not provided for you? Next, you have deserved to be well punished, for the little reverence you have used in the execution of your office, commanding me in the Queen's name to hold my hands with your cap on your head, nor using any other duty or reverence. But master Constable, I will teach you how to use an office: and with that she let fly at his head, shoulders, and arms, and would still cry, Remember here after how you do your office, remember your duty to the Queen; remember when you do command in her majesties name, that you put off your cap, and do it with reverence; and such a number of other remembrances she gave him, as (I think) there was never poor Constable before nor since, so instructed in an office as he was. To tell of many other like remembrances which at other times she bestowed on him, would be but tedious: but the conclusion is, he is now rid of her, she being dead, he'll keep himself a widower (for her sake) as long as he liveth.   

The seventeenth Novel.  
¶ Mahomet one of the Turkish Emperors, executes cursed cruelty upon a Greek maiden, whom he took prisoner at the winning of Constantinople.  
IF you do ever make any proof or trial, to know of what tramp the arrows of love be, & what fruit they bring to them that do use & practise them, I am assured you shallbe touched with some pity when you understand the beastly cruelty of an Infidel lover towards his Lady. He of whom I will declare the history is Mahomet, not the false prophet, but the great grandfather of Soliman Otiman Emperor of the Turks, which reigned at that time: he it is that to the shame and eternal infamy of all Christian Princes of his time, did win Constantinople, and took away the East empire from Constantine, a Christian emperor. Mahomet then having obtained so great a victory at Constantinople, among the spoils of that rich city, there was a fond Greek maiden, of such rare and excellent beauty, as she alured the eyes of every wight to wonder and behold her, as a thing miraculous, whose name was Hyerenae, of the age of sixteen or seventeen years, whom a Captain to gratify his Lord did present: a jewel (as he thought) most acceptable unto him, above all things of the world. The emperor Mahomet, young and wanton beyond measure, after that he had cast his eye upon the young maiden, & had graven her beauty in his heart, gave a strait charge that she should be kept for him, hoping after the tumult of the war was ended, to bestow convenient time upon her. The retreict sounded, and the affairs of the empire reduced to sure estate, remembering himself of the beauty of Hyerence, which had made a breach and entry into his heart, commanded that she should be brought forth unto him, and having viewed her at his pleasure, he felt himself surprised with the new flame, that he conceived no other delight, but to play and dally with her, in such sort, as his spirits being in loves full possession, love dealt with him so cruelly, as he could take no rest day nor night, who yielded himself such a pray to his darling Hyerence, that he felt none other contentation in his mind, but that which he received of her. And this amorous passion endured the space of three years, taking such vigour and increase by little and little, that he began to forget that which appertained to the ornament and honour of his empire, leaving the whole administration of public causes unto his Baschats, he himself being so negligent, as he reposed in them all matters concerning the state of the empire. During this disorder, the vulgar people began secretly to grudge, as well for the confusion and disorder of the empire, as for the ill government of the same (and specially because the Baschats corrupted with avarice, employed themselves to the particular profit, and to enrich themselves with the spoil of the people:) the janissaries on the other side a warlike people, and brought up in continual exercise of arms, began with open voice to detract and slander their lord, commonly complaining how he consumed his life like an effeminate person without inferring or doing any profit to the empire. To be short, the matter came to such desolation, as it might rather have been called a sedition, than a murmur: & yet there was none so hardy, as durst attempt to declare the same to the emperor, knowing him to be of nature terrible, cruel & rigorous, that with a word would put him to death that went about to withdraw him from his desire: so that he was so drunk with the beauty of the Greek, that the least matter wherewith they might give occasion to withdraw him from his negligent life, was enough to draw him into rage and fury. This poor emperor was so bewitched, as not only he consumed days & nights with her, but he burned with continual jealousy, whose beauty was so lively painted in the inward parts of his mind and heart, that he remained thus overwhelmed in beastly pleasure. Every man in particular, & all in general conspired against him with one determinate mind, to yield no more obedience unto him in time to come, and purposed to choose some emperor that were more warlike and martial, through whose succour and counsel they might not only conserve the things gotten, but amplify the bounds & limits of their empire. Mustapha which was brought up with the emperor, a gentle parsonage, frank of talk, and so near to his majesty, that he might go into his chamber although the Greeke was present: when he perceived convenient time, such as he desired to have, repaired to the emperor upon a day, who liking well of his devices, walked alone with him into his garden: to whom after he had made great reverence, according to their custom, he said: My sovereign lord & master, if I might speak freely, without servile fear, which stayeth me, or if the terror of your displeasure might not abash me, I would willingly declare unto your majesty that which concerneth not only your security & safeguard, but (which is more) the safety of your whole empire. Whom Mahomet answered with merry countenance, in these words: Cast away such cold fear as staithe thee, & speak hardly thy mind, show me what it is that toucheth me. I doubt, & it shall please your majesty, lest I shall seem over presumptuous, and rash, if Idiscover the secrets of my heart; but over ancient education, the duty of my conscience, with the experience that you have always had of my fidelity, have so much forced me, as being no longer able to rule myself, I am constrained (by what virtuous provocation I know not) to manifest things unto you, that both time & necessity will make you think them good & necessary: although (it may so be) that now your eyes be so bound up in the vail of your disordinate affection, that you can not digest or take the same in good part. The life (my lord) which you have led since the taking of Constantinople, and the excessive pleasures wherein you have been plunged these three years; is occasion, that not only your soldiers, and the rest of your popular people, but the most faithful lords of your empire, do murmur, conspire, & conjure against you: and pardon me (my lord) if I speak so unreverently in things touching your preservation, for there is no man, but doth very much marvel of this great & new alteration that appeareth in you, which doth so abase you, & maketh you to degenerate from your ancient generosity & valiance: yourself hath given over yourself to be a spoil & pray to a simple woman, that you wholly depend upon her flatteries & allurements; reason or counsel can take no place in your passionate & afflicted heart: but I humbly beseech your majesty to enter a little into yourself, and make a survey of your life that you have led these three years past. The glory of your ancestors acquired and come by so much shedding of so much blood, kept by so great prudence, conserved by so happy counsel, have they no representation or show before your face? the remembrance of their memorable victories, doth it not touch the depth of your conscience? the magnanimity & valiance, whereby they be immortalised, and their fame registered thorough the whole world, is it extinguished in you? their trophies & monuments gotten, and advanced to all the corners of the earth, be they thrown down and defaced, from the siege of your remembrance? But where is now the ardent desire which boiled in you from your infancy, to make Italy tributary unto you, and to cause yourself to be crowned at Rome, emperor aswell of the Orient as of the Occident? this is not the way to amplify and enlarge your empire, but rather to restrain and diminish the same: this is not the way to preserve it, but to spoil it, and to make it less. If Ottomon the first Turk or stock of your gentle family & kindred, had thus given himself to be corrupted in idleness, you had not now inherited the noble kingdom of Greece, nor governed the countries of Galatia and Bithynia, and many other provinces, which invirone the great sea. Semblably his son Orcan (a lively image of his father, and a follower of his valiant facts, had not triumphed over Licaonia, Phrigia, Caria, nor dilated the bounds of his empire, to Hellesponte. What shall I speak of Amurates the successor of Orcan, who was the first that invaded Europa, conquered Thrafia, Syria, Rasia, and Bulgaria. and Bajazet likewise, did not he cut off the head of the great Tamburlaine, which called himself the scourge of God, and brought into the field four hundredth thousand Sithians a horseback, and six hundredth thousand footmen? shall I pass over with silence the courteous exploits of your grandfather, Mahomet, who conquered Masedonia, and made the countries to feel the edge of his sword, even to the sea Tonicom, letting pass many wonderful expeditions and journeys, by him made against the Lydians, and Scicillians: but now I cannot revive the memory of your father Amurate, but to my great sorrow & grief, who by the space of forty years, made the sea and earth to tremble and quake and with the fury of his strong hand, used such cruel revengment over the greeks, that the memory of the wounds do remain at this day, even to the mountains of Thomao, and Pindus, he subjugated the Phecians: made tributary Athens, Boetia, Aetolia, Caramania, and all the barbarous nations, from Morea, to the straits of Cornitte, what need I here to bring in the cruel battle that he fought with the Emperor Sigismounde, and Phillippe Duke of Burgundia, wherein he overthrew the whole force of the christians, took the Emperor prisoner, and the Duke of Burgundia also, whom he sent to Andrionopolis; or to remember other fierce armies which he sent into Hungaria, whereof your Majesty is a faithful witness, yourself being still there in your own person.  
judge then my Lord what diligent and intolerable travel he used in his manifold glorious enterprises, and famous victories, do you think that if he had been idle in his palace, amongst the Ladies you had inherited your Empire or had now been Lord of so many provinces; which he is not sufficient to rule, that cannot provide to confirm, and establish the same: there be many of your subjects and vassals at this day, that do obey and honour your Majesty, more for fear, than good love they bear you, that would rebel against you, if fortune would turn her back. The christians of long time (as you know) have sworn your ruin & destruction: moreover they say that their high bishop the Pope of Rome, hath convocated all his prelate's to unite, & reconciled the princes and monarches of christendom together to overrun you, & to take the sceptre out of your hands, & to despoil you of your empire, but what know we whether they'll join their forces with the power of the Persian Sophi, your capital enemy, or with the soldan of Egypt, your ancient adversary, which if it come to pass (as god forbidden) your Empire will be consumed: gather your wits then together, from henceforth my Lord & call again reason, which so many years you have banished away from you: awake out of the deep sleep, that hath sealed up your eyes, imitate & follow the steps of your ancestors which ever loved better one day of honour then a hundredth living years of shame and reproach, attend to the government of your empire, leave off this effeminate life, receive again the smell of your generosity and virtue, and if you cannot at one time cut off & remove all that amorous heat, which undermineth so your heart, moderate the same by little and little, and give some hope to your people, which think you to be utterly lost, and desperate of recovery, or if so be the greek do so much delight you, who shall let you to carry her with you in all your journeys and expeditions? why, cannot you both enjoy her beauty together, and use the practice of arms? me think that your pleasure shallbe greater after you have won some victory, and subdued some country, to enjoy her in your arms, then to remain in a house with eternal infamy, and continual grudging of your subjects: but prove I pray you, to separate yourself certain days from her, and you shall certainly judge, how far more passing, the pleasure be so deferred, than those that be daily used: yet one thing more, & it please your Majesty, there resteth to be said, which is, that all the victories of your progenitors, or the conquests, which yourself hath made, be to small purpose if you do not keep them, & increase them, the keeping of a thing gotten, being of no less glory and praise, than the conquest: be now then a conqueror of yourself, humbly beseeching your Majesty, that if I have spoken any thing, disagreeable to your mind, according to your wont clemency to pardon the same, and to impute the fault to my bounden duty, and the care that I have of your honour and safety. Mahomet, after he had heard the long discourse of this slave, stood as still as a block, and fixing his eyes upon the ground, with sudden change of colour, declared by outward signs, the cogitations and unquietness of his mind in such wise, as the poor slave Mustapha, seeing in him those alterations, was in doubt of his life; whose words so pricked the Emperors heart, that he knew not what to do, or whereupon to be resolved: and feeling his conscience troubled with a furious battle, knowing evidently that Mustapha had spoken the truth, and that he uttered the same like a trusty servant to his master: but on the other side the beauty of the greek was still before his eyes, and the mind he had to abandon her, gave him such alarm, that he seemed at that instant, as though his heart had been torn out of his belly, and thus moved with divers tempests, and disquieted with sundry thoughts, having his eyes inflamed with great rage and fury, he said unto him: although thou hast spoken unreverently enough, yet our education together, and the fidelity that I have proved in thee in time past shall be thy pardon for this time. To the purpose; before the sun doth compass the Zodiac, I will let it be known to thee and other, what puissance and power, governs me, whether I am able to bridle mine affection or not; take order in the mean time, that all my noble men, the Baschats, and the principal of my men of war, be assembled together to morrow in the midst of the great hall of my palace. This determination finished, the Emperor went into the grenke with whom he rejoiced all that day and night, and made more of her then ever he did before; and the more to flatter her, he dined with her, and commanded that after dinner, she should adorn herself with her best jewels, and deck her with the costliest apparel she had: whereunto the poor wench obeyed, not knowing that it was her funeral garments: on the other side Mustapha uncertain of the Emperor's mind at the hour appointed, caused all the nobility to be assembled in the hall, every of them marveling what moved the Emperor so to do, since he had so long time shut up himself, without showing his person abroad: being thus assembled, and every man talking diversly of this matter, according as the affection served: behold the Emperor entered the hall, leading the Greek by the hand, who being adorned otherwise than she was wont to be, was accompanied and garnished with beauty, so rare and excellent that she resembled rather an heavenly Goddess, than a humane creature: the Turk being come into the hall, after that the Lords had made their reverence, according to the wonted manner, he holding still the fair greek and the left hand, and stood still in the midst of the same, looking furiously round about him, he said unto them. So far as I understand, all you do mutiny and grudge, because I (being vanquished with love) cannot be divided, nor yet content myself day nor night from the presence of this greek: but I do know none of you all so continent, and chaste in love, that if he had in possession, a thing so rare and precious, so amiable, endowed with beauty so excellent, but before he could forget her, and gitie her over, he would three times be well advised. What say you to the matter▪ every of you shall have free livertie, frankly to tell me your mind: but they rapt with an incredible admiration, to see so fair a thing, said that he had with great reason passed his time with her. Whereunto the barbarous cruel prince answered: well, now than I will make you to understand, that there is no earthly thing that can bind up, or captivate my senses so much, but that from henceforth I will follow the glory, of mine ancestors, and imitate the valiance of the Ottomans, which is so fixed in my breast, as nothing but death is able to blot it out of my remembrance. Those words finished, incontinently with one of his hands, he catched the Greek by the hair of the head, and with his other hand, he drew forth his falchion from his side, and folding his hands about her golden locks, at one blow, he struck of her head, to the great terror of them all▪ when he had so done, he said unto them: Now ye know, whether your Emperor is able to repress, and bridle hi● affection's, or not. Within a while after, meaning to discharge the rest of his choler, he addressed a camp of four score or an hundredth thousand men: with whom piercing Bossive, he besieged Belgrade, where fortune was so contrary unto him that he was put to flight, and lost there a notable battle against the christians, under the conduct of John Huniades, surnamed le Blank.  
FINIS.