THE Decameron CONTAINING An hundred pleasant novels.  
Wittily discoursed, between seven Honourable Ladies, and three Noble Gentlemen.  
London, printed by Isaac Jaggard, 1620.    

TO THE RIGHT HOnourable, Sir Philip HERBERT, Knight of the Bath at the Coronation of our sovereign Lord King James, Lord Baron of Sherland, Earl of Montgomery, and Knight of the most Noble Order of the Garter, etc. (* ⁎ *)  
THE Philosopher Zeno (Right Honourable, and my most worthily esteemed Lord) being demanded on a time by what means a man might attain to happiness; made answer: By resorting to the dead, and having familiar conversation with them. Intimating thereby: The reading of ancient and modern Histories, and endeavouring to learn such good instructions, as have been observed in our Predecessors. A Question also was moved by great King Ptolemy, to one of the learned wise Interpreters. In what occasions a King should exercise himself, whereto thus he replied: To know those things which formerly have been done: And to read books of those matters which offer themselves daily, or are fittest for our instant affairs. And lastly, in seeking those things whatsoever, that make for a kingdom's preservation, and the correction of evil manners or examples.  
Upon these good and warrantable grounds (most Noble Lord) beside many more of the same Nature, which I omit, to avoid prolixity, I dare boldly affirm, that such as are exercised in the reading of Histories, although they seem to be but young in years, and slenderly instructed in worldly matters: yet gravity and gray-headed age speaketh maturely in them, to the no mean admiration of common and vulgar judgement. As contrariwise, such as are ignorant of things done and passed, before themselves had any being: continue still in the estate of children, able to speak or behave themselves no otherwise; and, even within the bounds of their native Countries (in respect of knowledge or manly capacity) they are no more than well-seeming dumb Images.  
In due consideration of the precedent allegations, and upon the command, as also most Noble encouragement of your Honour from time to time; this volume of singular and exquisite Histories, varied into so many and exact natures, appeareth in the world's view, under your Noble patronage and defence, to be safely sheelded from foul mouthed slander and detraction, which is too easily thrown upon the very best deserving labours.  
I know (most worthy Lord) that many of them have (long since) been published before, as stolen from the first original Author, and yet not beautified with his sweet style and elocution of phrases, neither savouring of his singular moral applications. For, as it was his full scope and aim, by discovering all vices in their ugly deformities, to make their mortal enemies (the sacred virtues) to shine the clearer, being set down by them, and compared with them: so every true and upright judgement, in observing the course of these well-carried novels, shall plainly perceive, that there is no spare made of reproof in any degree whatsoever, where sin is embraced, and grace neglected; but the just deserving shame and punishment thereon inflticted, that others may be warned by their example. In imitation of witty Aesop; who reciteth not a Fable, but graceth it with a judicious moral application; as many other worthy Writers have done the like.  
For instance, let me here insert one. A poor man, having a pike staff on his shoulder, and travailing thorough a country Village, a great mastiff cur ran mainly at him, so that hardly he could defend himself from him. At the length, it was his chance to kill the dog: for which, the Owner immediately apprehending him, and bringing him before the judge, alleged, that he had slain his servant, which defended his life, house, and goods, and therefore challenged satisfaction. The judge leaning more in favour to the plaintiff, as being his friend, neighbour, and familiar, then to the justice and equity of the cause; reproved the poor fellow somewhat sharply, and peremptorily commanded him, to make satisfaction, or else he would commit him to prison. That were injustice replied the poor man, because I killed the dog in defence of mine own life, which deserveth much better respect than a million of such curs. Sirrah, sirrah, said the judge, than you should have turned the other end of your staff, and not the pike, so the dog's life had been saved, and your own in no danger. True Sir (quoth the fellow) if the dog would have turned his tail, and bitten me with that, and not his teeth, than we both had parted quietly.  
I know your honour to be so truly judicious, that yourself can make the moral allusion, both in defence of my poor pains, and acceptation of the same into your protection: with most humble submission of myself, and all my uttermost endeavours, to be always ready at your service.   

The author's Prologue, to the Lords, Ladies, and Gentlewomen.  
IT is a matter of humanity, to take compassion on the afflicted, and although it be fitting towards all in general, yet to such as are most tied by bond of duty, who having already stood in need of comfort, do therefore most needfully deserve to enjoy it. Among whom, if ever any were in necessity, found it most precious, and thereby received no small contentment, I am one of them; because from my very youngest years, even until this instant: mine affections became extraordinarily inflamed, in a place high and Noble, more (perhaps) then beseemed my humble condition, albeit no way distasted in the judgement of such as were discreet, when it came truly to their knowledge and understanding. Yet (indeed) it was very painful for me to endure, not in regard of her cruelty, whom I so dearly loved; as for want of better government in mine own carriage; being altogether swayed by rash and peevish passions, which made my afflictions more offensive to me, than either wisdom allowed, or suited with my private particular.  
But, as counsel in misery is no mean comfort, so the good advice of a worthy friend, by many sound and singular persuasions, wrought such a deliberate alteration; as not only preserved my life (which was before in extreme peril) but also gave conclusion ro my inconsiderate love, which in my precedent refractory carriage, no deliberation, counsel, evident shame, or whatsoever peril should ensue thereon, could in any manner contradict; began to assuage of itself in time, bestowing not only on me my former freedom, but delivering me likewise from infinite perplexities.  
And because the acknowledgement of good turns or courtesies received (in my poor opinion) is a virtue among all other highly to be commended, and the contrary also to be condemned: to show myself not ingrateful, I determined (so soon as I saw myself in absolute liberty) in exchange of so great a benefit bestown on me, to minister some mitigation, I will not say to such as relieved me, because their own better understanding, or blessedness in Fortune, may defend them from any such necessity; but rather to them which truly stand in need. And although that my comfort, may some way or other avail the common needy, yet (methinks) where grief is greatest, and calamity most insulteth; there ought to be our pains sound employed, and our gravest instructions and advice wholly administered.  
And who can deny, but that it is much more convenient, to commiserate the distress of Ladies and Gentlewomen, than the more able condition of men? They, as being naturally bashful and timorous, have their soft and gentle souls, often inflamed with amorous afflictions, which lie there closely concealed, as they can best relate the power of them, that have been subject to the greatest proof. Moreover, they being restrained from their wills and desires, by the severity of Fathers, Mothers, brothers, and Husbands, are shut up (most part of their time) in their Chambers, where constrainedly sitting idle, diversity of strange cogitations wheel up and down their brains, forging as many several imaginations, which cannot be always pleasant and contenting. If melancholy, incited by some amorous or lovely apprehension, oppress their weak and unresisting hearts: they must be glad to bear it patiently (till by better Fortune) such occasions happen, as may overcome so proud an usurpation.  
Moreover, we cannot but confess, that they are less able, than men, to support such oppressions: for if men grow affectionate, we plainly perceive, when any melancholy troublesome thoughts, or what griefs else can any way concern them, their souls are not subject to the like sufferings. But admit they should fall into such necessity, they can come and go whither they will, hear and see many singular sights, hawk, hunt, fish, fowl, ride, or sail on the Seas, all which exercises have a particular power in themselves, to withdraw amorous passions, and appropriate the will to the pleasing appetite, either by alteration of air, distance of place, or protraction of time, to kill sorrow, and quicken delight.  
Wherefore, somewhat to amend this error in humane condition, and where least strength is, as we see to be in you most gracious Ladies and Gentlewomen, further off (than men) from all frail felicities: for such as feel the weighty insultations of proud and imprious love, and thereby are most in need of comfort (and not they that can handle the Needle, wheel, and distaff) I have provided an hundred novelles, Tales, Fables, or Histories, with judicious morals belonging to them, for your more delight, and queinter exercise. In a fair and worthy assembly, of seven Honourable Ladies, and three Noble Gentlemen, they were recounted within the compass of ten days, during the woeful time of our so late dangerous sickness, with apt Sonnets or Canzons, for the conclusion of each several day.  
In which pleasing novels, may be observed many strange accidents of love, and other notable adventures, happening as well in our times, as those of graver antiquity: by reading whereof, you may receive both pleasure and profitable counsel, because in them you shall perceive, both the sin to be shunned, and the virtue to be embraced; which as I wholly hate the one, so I do (and ever will) honour the others advancement.   

The Table.  

The First Day, governed by Madam Pampinea.  
 
MEssire chaplet du Prat, by making a false confession, beguiled an holy religious man, and after died. And having during his life time, been a very bad man, at his death was reputed to be a Saint, and called S. chaplet.  2. Novel. 
ABraham a Jew, being admonished or advised by a friend of his, named jehannot de Chevigny, travailed from Paris unto Rome: And beholding there, the wicked behaviour of men in the Church, returned to Paris again, where (nevertheless) he became a Christian.  3. Novel. 
MElchisedech a Jew, by recounting a tale of three Rings, to the great sultan, named Saladine, prevented a great danger which was prepared for him.  4. Novel. 
A monk having committed an offence deserving to be very grievously punished; freed himself from the pain to be inflicted on him, by wittily reprehending his Abbot, with the very same fault.  5. Novel. 
LAdy marquis of Montferrat, with a banquet of Hens, and diverse other gracious speeches beside, repressed the fond love of the King of France.  6. Novel. 
AN honest plain meaning man (simply & conscionably) reprehended the malignity, hypocrisy, and misdemeanour of many religious persons.  7. Novel. 
BErgamino, by telling a Tale of a skilful man, named Primasso, and of an Abbot of Clugni; honestly checked a new kind of covetousness, in Master Can de la Scala.  8. Novel. 
GVillaume Boursieur, with a few acquaint & familiar word:, checked the miserable covetousness of Signior Herminio de Grimaldi.  9 Novel. 
HOw the King of Cyprus was wittily reprehended, by the words of a Gentlewoman of gascoigny, and became virtuously altered from his vicious disposition.  10. Novel. 
MAster Albert of Bullen, honestly made a Lady to blush, that thought to have done as much to him, because she perceived him to be amorously affected towards her.    

The second Day, governed by Madam Philomena.  
1. Novel. 
MArtellino counterfeiting to be lame of his members, caused himself to be set on the body of Saint Arriguo, where he made show of his sudden recovery 〈◊〉 but when his dissimulation was discovered, he was well beaten, being afterward taken prisoner, and in great 〈◊〉 of being hanged and strangled by the neck, and yet escaped in the end.  2. Novel. 
RInaldo de Este, after he was rolled by thiefs arrived at Chasteau 〈◊〉 where he was friendly lodged by a fair Widow, and recompensed likewise for all his losses; returning afterward safe and well home unto his own house▪  3. Novel. 
OF three young Gentlemen, being Brethren, and having spent all their lands and possession● vainly, became poor. A Nephew of theirs (falling almost into as desperate a condition) became acquainted with an Abbot, whom he afterward found to be the King of England's Daughter, and made him her Husband in marriage, recompensing all his uncle's losses, and seating them again in good estate.  4. Novel. 
LAndolpho Ruffolo, falling into poverty, became a Pirate on the Seas, and being taken by the Genewayes, hardly escaped drowning: Which yet (nevertheless) he did, upon a little chest or coffer full of very rich jewels, being carried thereon to Corfu, where he was well entertained by a good woman: and afterward, returned richly home to his own house.  5. Novel. 
ANdrea de Piero, travelling from peruse unto Naples to buy Horses, was (in the space of one night) surprised by three admirable accidents, out of all which he fortunately escaped, and with a rich Ring, returned home to his own house.  6. Novel. 
Madam Beritola Caracalla, was found in an Island with two goats, having lost her two sons, and thence travailed into Lunigiana● where one of her sons became servant to the Lord thereof, and was ●ound somewhat over-familiar with his master's daughter, who therefore caused him to be imprisoned. Afterward when the Country of Sicily rebelled against King Charles, the aforesaid son chanced to be known by his Mother, & was married to his master's daughter. And his brother being found likewise, they both returned to great estate and credit.  7. Novel. 
THe sultan of Babylon sent one of his Daughters, to be joined in marriage with the King of Cholcos'; who by diverse accidents (in the space of four years) happened into the custody of nine men, and in sundry places. At length, being restored back to her Father, she went to the said king of Cholcos', as a maid, and as at first she was intended to be his Wife.  8. Novel. 
COunt D'Angiers being falsely accused, was banished out of France, and left his two children in England in diverse places. Returning afterward (unknown) through Scotland, he found them advanced unto great dignity: Then, repairing in the habit of a servitor, into the King of France his army, and his innocency made publicly known, he was reseated in his former honourable degree.  9 Novel. 
BErnardo, a Merchant of Geneway, being deceived by another Merchant, named Ambrosio, lost a great part of his goods: and commanding his innocent wife to be murdered, she escaped, and in the habit of a man, became servant to the sultan. The deceiver being found at last she compassed such means, that her husband Bernardo came into Alexandria, and there after due punishment inflicted on the false deceiver, she resumed the garments again of a woman, and returned home with her Husband to Geneway.  10. Novel. 
PAgamino da Monaco, a roving pirate on the feas, carried away the fair Wife of Signieur Ricciardo di Chi●zica, who understanding where she was, went th●ther▪ and falling into friendship with Pagamino, demanded his wife of him; whereto be yielded, provided, that she would willingly go away with him: she denied to part thence with her husband and 〈◊〉 Ricciardo dying, she became the wife of Pagamino.    

The third day, governed by madam Neiphila.  
1. Novel. 
MAssetto di Lamporechio, by counterfeiting himself dumb, became a gardener in a Monastery of Nuns, where he had familiar conversation with them all.  2. Novel. 
A equerry of the stable belonging to Agilulffo, K. of the Lombard's, found the means of access to the Queen's bed, without any knowledge or consent in her. This being secretly discovered by the King, and the party known, he gave him a mark, by shearing the hair of his head. Whereupon, he that was so shorn▪ sheared likewise the heads of all his fellows in the lodging, and so escaped the punishment intended towards him.  3. Novel. 
Under colour of confession and of a most pure conscience, a fair young Gentlewoman, being amorously affected to an honest man; induced a devout and solemn religious Friar, to advice her in the means (without his suspicion or perceiving) how to enjoy the benefit of her friend, and bring her desires to their full effect.  4. Novel. 
A young scholar named Felice, instructed Puccio di Rinieri, how to become rich in a very short time. While Puccio made experience of the instructions taught him; Felice obtained the favour of his daughter.  5. Novel. 
RIcciardo, surnamed the Magnifico, gave a horse to signior Francisco Vergillisi, upon condition; that by his leave and licence, he might speak to his wife in his presence; which he did, and she not returning him any answer, made answer to himself on her behalf, and according to his answer, so the effect followed.  6. Novel. 
RIcciardo Minutolo fell in love with the Wife of Philippello Fighinolfi, and knowing her to be very jealous of her husband, gave her to understand, that he was greatly enamoured of his Wife, and had appointed to meet her privately in a bathing house, on the next day following: where she hoping to take him tardy with his close compacted Mistress, found herself to be deceived by the said Ricciardo.  7. Nouel●. 
THebaldo Elisei, having received an unkind repulse by his beloved, departed from Florence, & returning thither again (a long while after) in the habit of a pilgrim, he spoke with her, and made his wrongs known unto her. He delivered her husband from the danger of death, because it was proved that he had slain Thebaldo▪ he made peace with his brethren, and in the end, wisely enjoyed his hearts desire.  8. Novel. 
FErando, by drinking a certain kind of powder, was buried for dead▪ & by the Abbot who was enamoured of his wife, was taken out of his grave, and put into a dark prison, where they made him believe that he was in purgatory: afterward when time came that he should be raised to life again, he was made to keep a child, which the Abbot had got by his wife.  9 Novel. 
IVliet of Narbona, cured the King of France of a dangerous Fistula▪ in recompense whereof, she requested to enjoy as her husband in marriage, Bertrand the Count of Roussilion. He having married her against his will, as utterly despising her, went to Florence, where he made love to a young Gentlewoman. Juliet, by a quaint and cunning policy, compassed the means (instead of his chosen friend) to lie with her own husband, by whom she had two sons; which being afterward made known unto the Count, he accepted her into his favour again, and loved her as his loyal and honourable wife.  10. Novel. 
THe wonderful and chaste resolved continency of fair Serictha, daughter to Siwalde King of Denmark, who being sought and sued unto by many worthy persons, that did affect her dear, would not look any man in the face, until such time as she was married.    

The Fourth Day, governed by Philostratus.  
1. Novel. 
tancred, Prince of Salern, caused the amorous friend of his daughter to be slain, and sent her his heart in a cup of gold: which afterward she steeped in an empoisoned water, & then drinking it, so died.  2. Novel. 
FRiar Albert made a young Venetian Gentlewoman believe, that God Cupid was fall'n in love with her, and he resorted oftentimes unto her, in disguise of the same God: afterward, being frighted by the gentlewoman's kindred and friends, he cast himself out of her chamber window, and was hidden in a poor man's house. On the day following in the shape of a wild or savage man, he was brought upon the Rialto of S. Mark & being there publicly known by the Brethren of his Order, he was committed to prison.  3. Novel. 
THree young Gentlemen affecting three Sisters, fled with them into Can●●e. The eldest of them (through jealousy) becometh the death of her lover. The second, by consenting to the Duke of 〈◊〉 request, is the means of saving her life. Afterward, her own friend killeth her, & thence flieth away with the elder sister. The third couple, both man and woman are charged with her death, and being committed to prison, they confess the fact: and fearing death, by corruption of money they prevail with their ●eepers, escaping from thence to Rhodes, where they died in great poverty.  4. Novel. 
GErbino, contrary to the former plighted faith of his Grandfather King Gulielmo, fought with a ship at sea belonging to the King of Thunis to take away high daughter, who was then in the same ship. She being slain by them that had the possession of her, he likewise slew them; and afterwards had his own head smitten off.  5. Novel. 
THe three Brethren to Isabel, slew a Gentleman that secretly loved her. His ghost appeared to her in her sleep, and shown her in what place they had buried his body She (in silent manner) brought away his head, and putting it into a put of earth such as Flowers, Basile, or other sweet herbs are usually set in, she watered it (a long while) with her tears: whereof her Brethren having intelligence; soon after she died, with mere conceit of sorrow.  6. Novel. 
A beautiful young virgin, named Andreana, became enamoured of a young Gentleman, called Gabriello. In conference together, she declared a dream of hers to him▪ and he another of his unto her; whereupon Gabriello fell down suddenly dead She and her chambermaid were apprehended by the Officers be o●ging unto the signory, as they were carrying Gabriello, to lay them before his own door. The Potestate offering violence to the virgin, and she resisting him virtuously: it came to the understanding of her Father, who approved the innocence of his daughter, and compassed her deliverance. But she afterward, being weary of all worldly felicities, entered into Religion, & became a Nun.  7. Novel. 
Fair Simonida affecting Pasquino, and walking with him in a pleasant garden, it fortuned that Pasquino rubbed his teeth with a leaf of Sage, and immediately fell down dead. Simonida being brought before the bench of justice, and charged with the death of Pasquino: she rubbed her teeth likewise, with one of the leaves of the same Sage, as declaring what she saw him do, & thereon she died also in the same manner.  8. Novel. 
IEronimo affecting a young maiden named Syluestra was constrained by the earnest importunity of his Mother, to take a journey to Paris At his return home from thence again, he found his love Siluestra married. By secret means he got entrance into her house, and died upon the bed lying by her. Afterward, his body being carried unto the Church to receive burial, she likewise died there instantly upon his coarse.  9 Novel. 
MEsser Guiglielmo of Rossiglione having slain Messer Guiglielmo Guardastagno, whom he imagined to love his wife, gave her his hart to eat. Which she knowing afterward; threw herself out of an high window to the ground: and being dead, was then buried with her friend.  10. Novel. 
A physician's wife laid a lover of her maids, supposing him to be dead in a chest by reason that he had drunk water which usually was given to procure a sleepy entrancing. Two Lombard usurers, stealing the chest, in hope of a rich booty carried it into their own house, where afterwards the man awaking, was apprehended for a thief. The chambermaid to the physician's wife, going before the bench of justice, accuseth herself for putting the imagined dead body into the chest, whereby he escaped hanging: and the thiefs which stole away the chest, were condemned to pay a very great sum of money.    

The Fift day, governed by madam Fiammetta.  
1. Novel. 
CHynon, by falling in love, became wise, and by force of arms, winning his fair Lady Iphigema on the seas, was afterward imprisoned at Rhodes Being delivered by one name Lysimachus with him he recovered his Iphigenia again, and fair Cassandra, even in the midst of their marriage They fled with them into Candye, where after they had married them, they were called home to their own dwelling.  2. Novel. 
Fair Constance of Liparis, fell in love with Martuccio Gon●●to: and hearing that he was dead, desperately she entered into a bark, which being transported by the winds to Susa in Barbary, from thence she went to Thunis, where she found him to be living. There she made herself known to him, and he being in great authority as a privy Counsellor to the King▪ he married the said Constance, and returned richly home to her, to the Island of Liparis.  3. Novel. 
PEdro Bocamazzo, escaping away with a young Damosel which he loved, named Angelina, met with thiefs in his journey The damosel flying fearfully into a Forest, by chance cometh to a Castle. Pedro being taken by the thiefs, & happening afterward to escape from them, accidentally came to the same Castle where Angelina wa●: & marrying her, they then returned home to Rome.  4. Novel. 
RIcciardo Manardy, was found by Messer Lizio da Valbonna, as he sat fast asleep at his daughter's chamber window, having his hand fast in hers and sleeping in the same manner. Whereupon, they were joined together in marriage, and their long loyal love mutually recompensed.  5. Novel. 
GVidotto of Cremona, departing out of this mortal life, left a daughter of his with jacomino of Pavia. Giovanni di severino, and Menghino da Minghole, fell both in love with the young Maiden, and fought for her; who being afterward known to be the sister to Giovanni, she was given in marriage to Menghino.  6. Novel. 
GVion di Procida, being found familiarly conversing with a young Damosel which he loved, and had been given formerly to Frederigo King of Sicily: was bound to a stake to be consumed with fire. From which danger (nevertheless) he escaped; being known by Don Rogiero de Oria, Lord admiral of Sicily, and afterward married the Damosel.  7. Nouel●. 
THeodoro falling in love with Violenta, the daughter to his Master, named Amarige, and she conceiving with child by him, was condemned to be hanged. As they were leading him unto the gallows, beating and misusing him all the way: he happened to be known by his own Father, whereupon he was released, and afterward enjoyed Violent a in marriage.  8. Novel. 
ANastasio, a Gentleman of the Family of the Honesti by loving the daughter to signior Pau●o Traversario, lavishly wasted a great part of his substance, without receiving any love from her again. By persuasion of some of his kindred and friends, he went to a country dwelling of his called Chiasso, where he saw a Knight desperately pursue a young damsel, whom he slew, & afterward gave her to be devoured by his hounds. A tastasio invited his friends, and her● also whom he so ●e●●rly loved, to take part of a dinner with him, who likewise saw the s●●e damsel so torn in pieces: which his unkind love perceiving, & fearing lest the like ill fortune should happen to her▪ she accepted Anastasio to be her husband.  9 Novel. 
FRederigo, of the Alberighi Family, loved a Gentlewoman, and was not requited with like love again. By bountiful expenses, and over liberal invitations, he wasted and consumed all his lands and goods, having nothing left him, but a hawk or falcon. His unkind Mistress, happeneth to come visit him, and he not having any other food for her dinner, made a dainty dish of his falcon for her to feed on. Being conquered by this his exceeding kind courtesy, she changed her former hatred towards him, accepting him as her husband in marriage, and made him a man of wealthy possessions.  10. Novel. 
PEdro di Vinciolo, went to sup at a friends house in the City His wife (in the mean while) had a young man whom she loved, at supper with her. Pedro returning home upon a sudden, the young man was hidden under a coop for Hens. Pedro, in excuse of his so soon coming home, declareth; how in the house of Herculano (with whom he should have supped) a friend of his wives was found, which was the reason of the suppers breaking off. Pedroes' wise reproving the error of Herculanoes' wife: an ass (by chance) treads on the youngman's fingers that lay hidden under the Henne-Coope. Upon his crying out, Pedro steppeth thither, sees him, knows him, and findeth the fallacy of his wife: with whom (nevertheless) he groweth to agreement, in regard of some imperfections in himself.    
The End of the Table.   

THE DECAMERON, Containing, an Hundred pleasant NOVELLES.  
Wherein, after demonstration made by the Author, upon what occasion it happened, that the persons (of whom we shall speak hereafter) should thus meet together, to make so quaint a Narration of novels: he declareth unto you, that they first begin to device and confer, under the government of Madam Pampinea, and of such matters as may be most pleasing to them all.  

The Induction of the Author, to the following Discourses.  
GRacious Ladies, so often as I consider with myself, and observe respectively, how naturally you are inclined to compassion; as many times do I acknowledge, that this present work of mine, will (in your judgement) appear to have but a harsh and offensive beginning, in regard of the mournful remembrance it beareth at the very entrance of the last pestilential mortality, universally hurtful to all that beheld it, or otherwise came to knowledge of it. But for all that, I desire it may not be so dreadful to you, to hinder your further proceeding in reading, as if none were to look thereon, but with sighs and tears. For, I could rather with, that so fearful a beginning, should seem but as an high and steepy hill appears to them, that attempt to travel fare on foot, and ascending the same with some difficulty, come afterward to walk upon a goodly even plain, which causeth the more contentment in them, because the attaining thereto was hard and painful. For, even as pleasures are cut off by grief and anguish; so sorrows cease by joys most sweet and happy arriving.  
After this brief molestation, brief I say, because it is contained within small compass of Writing; immediately followeth the most sweet and pleasant taste of pleasure, whereof (before) I made promise to you. Which (peradventure) could not be expected by such a beginning, if promise stood not thereunto engaged. And indeed, if I could well have conveyed you to the centre of my desire, by any other way, than so rude and rocky a passage as this is, I would gladly have done it. But because without this Narration, we could not demonstrate the occasion how and wherefore the matters happened, which you shall read in the ensuing Discourses: I must set them down (even as constrained thereto by mere necessity) in writing after this manner.  
The year of our blessed saviour's incarnation, 1348. that memorable mortality happened in the excellent City, fare beyond all the rest in Italy; which plague, by operation of the superior bodies, or rather for our enormous iniquities, by the just anger of God was sent upon us mortals. Some few years before, it took beginning in the Eastern parts, sweeping thence an innumerable quantity of living souls: extending itself afterward from place to place Westward, until it seized on the said City. Where neither humane skill or providence, could use any prevention, notwithstanding it was cleansed of many annoyances, by diligent Officers thereto deputed: besides prohibition of all sickly persons entrance, and all possible provision daily used for conservation of such as were in health, with incessant prayers and supplications of devout people, for the asswaging of so dangerous a sickness.  
About the beginning of the year, it also began in very strange manner, as appeared by diverse admirable effects; yet not as it had done in the East Countries, where Lord or Lady being touched therewith, manifest signs of incuitable death followed thereon, by bleeding at the nose. But here it began with young children, male and female, either under the armpits, or in the groin by certain swellings, in some to the bigness of an Apple, in others like an egg, and so in diverse greater or lesser, which (in their vulgar Language) they termed to be a Botch or boil. In very short time after, those two infected parts were grown mortiferous, and would disperse abroad indifferently, to all parts of the body; whereupon, such was the quality of the disease, to show itself by black or blue spots, which would appear on the arms of many, others on their thighs, and every part else of the body: in some great and few, in others small and thick.  
Now, as the boil (at the beginning) was an assured sign of near approaching death; so proved the spots likewise to such as had them: for the curing of which sickness it seemed, that the physician's counsel, the virtue of Medicines, or any application else, could not yield any remedy: but rather it plainly appeared, that either the nature of the disease would not endure it, or ignorance in the physicians could not comprehend, from whence the cause prooceeded, and so by consequent, no resolution was to be determined. Moreover, beside the number of such as were skilful in Art, many more both women and men, without ever having any knowledge in physic, became physicians: so that not only few were healed, but (well-near) all died, within three days after the said signs were seen; some sooner, and others later, commonly without either fever, or any other accident.  
And this pestilence was yet of fare greater power or violence; for, not only healthful persons speaking to the sick, coming to see them, or airing clothes in kindness to comfort them, was an occasion of ensuing death: but touching their garments, or any food whereon the sick person fed, or any thing else used in his service, seemed to transfer the disease from the sick to the sound, in very rare and miraculous manner. Among which matter of marvel, let me tell you one thing, which if the eyes of many (as well as mine own) had not seen, hardly could I be persuaded to write it, much less to believe it, albeit a man of good credit should report it. I say, that the quality of this contagious pestilence was not only of such efficacy, in taking and catching it one of another, either men or women: but it extended further, even in the apparent view of many, that the clothes, or any thing else, wherein one died of that disease, being touched, or lain on by any beast, fare from the kind or quality of man, they did not only contaminate and infect the said beast, were it dog, Cat, or any other; but also it died very soon after.  
Mine own eyes (as formerly I have said) among diverse other, one day had evident experience hereof, for some poor ragged clothes of linen and woollen, torn from a wretched body dead of that disease, and hurled in the open street; two Swine going by, and (according to their natural inclination) seeking for food on every dunghill, tossed and tumbled the clothes with their snouts, rubbing their heads likewise upon them; and immediately, each turning twice or thrice about, they both fell down dead on the said clothes, as being fully infected with the contagion of them: which accident, and other the like, if not far greater, begat diverse fears and imaginations in them that beheld them, all tending to a most inhuman and uncharitable end; namely, to fly thence from the sick, and touching any thing of theirs, by which means they thought their health should be safely warranted.  
Some there were, who considered with themselves, that living soberly, with abstinence from all superfluity; it would be a sufficient resistance against all hurtful accidents. So combining themselves in a sociable manner, they lived as separatists from all other company, being shut up in such houses, where no sick body should be near them. And there, for their more security, they used delicate viands and excellent wines, avoiding luxury, and refusing speech to one another, not looking forth at the windows, to hear no cries of dying people, or see any corpses carried to burial; but having musical instruments, lived there in all possible pleasure. Others were of a contrary opinion, who avouched, that there was no other physic more certain, for a disease so desperate, then to drink hard, be merry among themselves, singing continually, walking every where, and satisfying their appetites with whatsoever they desired, laughing, and mocking at every mournful accident, and so they vowed to spend day and night: for now they would go to one tavern, then to another, living without any rule or measure; which they might very easily do, because every one of them, (as if he were to live no longer in this World) had even forsaken all things that he had. By means whereof the most part of the houses were become common, and all strangers, might do the like (if they pleased to adventure it) even as boldly as the Lord or owner, without any let or contradiction.  
Yet in all this their beastly behaviour, they were wise enough, to shun (so much as they might) the weak and sickly: In which misery and affliction of our City, the venerable authority of the laws, as well divine as humane, was even destroyed, as it were, through want of the awful Ministers of them. For they being all dead, or lying sick with the rest, or else lived so solitary, in such great necessity of servants and attendants, as they could not execute any office, whereby it was lawful for every one to do as he listed.  
Between these two rehearsed extremities of life, there were other of a more moderate temper, not being so daintily dieted as the first, nor drinking so dissolutely as the second; but used all things sufficient for their appetites, and without shutting up themselves, walked abroad, some carrying sweet nosegays of flowers in their hands; others odoriferous herbs, and others diverse kinds of spiceries, holding them to their noses, and thinking them most comfortable for the brain, because the air seemed to be much infected, by the noisome smell of dead carcases, and other hurtful savours. Some other there were also of more inhuman mind (howbeit peradventure it might be the surest) saying, that there was no better physic against the pestilence, nor yet so good; as to fly away from it, which argument mainly moving them, and caring for no body but themselves, very many, both men and women, forsook the City, their own houses, their Parents, kindred, friends, and goods, flying to other men's dwellings elsewhere. As if the wrath of God, in punishing the sins of men with this plague, would fall heavily upon none, but such as were enclosed within the City walls; or else persuading themselves, that not any one should there be left alive, but that the final ending of all things was come.  
Now albeit these persons in their diversity of opinions died not all, so undoubtedly they did not all escape; but many among them becoming sick, and making a general example of their flight and folly, among them that could not stir out of their beds, they languished more perplexedly then the other did. Let us omit, that one Citizen fled after another, and one neighbour had not any care of another, Parents nor kindred never visiting them, but utterly they were forsaken on all sides: this tribulation pierced into the hearts of men, and with such a dreadful terror, that one Brother forsook another; the uncle the Nephew, the Sister the Brother, and the Wife her Husband: nay, a matter much greater, and almost incredible; Fathers and Mothers fled away from their own Children▪ even as if they had no way appertained to them. In regard whereof, it could be no otherwise, but that a countless multitude of men and women fell sick; finding no charity among their friends, except a very few, and subjected to the avarice of servants, who attended them constrainedly, for great and unreasonable wages) yet few of those attendants to be found any where too. And they were men or women but of base condition, as also of groser understanding, who never before had served in any such necessities, nor indeed were any way else to be employed, but to give the sick person such things as he called for, or to await the hour of his death; in the performance of which services, oftentimes for gain, they lost their own lives.  
In this extreme calamity, the sick being thus forsaken of neighbours, kindred, and friends, standing also in such need of servants; a custom came up among them, never heard of before, that there was not any woman, how noble, young, or fair soever she was, but falling sick, she must of necessity have a man to attend her, were he young or otherwise, respect of shame or modesty no way prevailing, but all parts of her body must be discovered to him, which (in the like urgency) was not to be seen by any but women: whereon ensued afterward, that upon the parties healing and recovery, it was the occasion of further dishonesty, which many being more modestly curious of, refused such disgraceful attending, choosing rather to die, then by such help to be healed. In regard whereof, as well through the want of convenient remedies, (which the sick by no means could attain unto) as also the violence of the contagion, the multitude of them that died night and day, was so great, that it was a dreadful sight to behold, and as much to hear spoken of. So that mere necessity (among them that remained living) begat new behaviours, quite contrary to all which had been in former times, and frequently used among the City Inhabitants.  
The custom of precedent days (as now again it is) was, that women, kindred, neighbours, and friends, would meet together at the deceased parties house, and there, with them that were of nearest alliance, express their heart's sorrow for their friend's loss. If not thus, they would assemble before the door, with many of the best citizens and kindred, and (according to the quality of the deceased) the Clergy met there likewise, and the dead body was carried (in comely manner) on men's shoulders, with funeral pomp of torchlight, and singing, to the Church appointed by the deceased. But these seemly orders, after that the fury of the pestilence began to increase, they in like manner altogether ceased, and other new customs came in their place; because not only people died, without having any women about them, but infinites also passed out of this life, not having any witness, how, when, or in what manner they departed. So that few or none there were, to deliver outward show of sorrow and grieving: but instead thereof, diverse declared idle joy and rejoicing, a use soon learned of immodest women, having put off all feminine compassion, yea, or regard of their own welfare.  
Very few also would accompany the body to the grave, and they not any of the Neighbours, although it had been an honourable citizen, but only the meanest kind of people, such as were grave-makers, coffin-bearers, or the like, that did these services only for money, and the beer being mounted on their shoulders, in all haste they would run away with it, not perhaps to the Church appointed by the dead, but to the nearest at hand, having some four or six poor Priests following, with lights or no lights, and those of the silliest; short service being said at the burial, and the body unreverently thrown into the first open grave they found. Such was the pitiful misery of poor people, and diverse, who were of better condition, as it was most lamentable to behold; because the greater number of them, under hope of healing, or compelled by poverty, kept still within their houses weak and faint, thousands falling sick daily, and having no help, or being succoured any way with food or physic, all of them died, few or none escaping.  
Great store there were, that died in the streets by day or night, and many more beside, although they died in their houses; yet first they made it known to their neighbours, that their lives perished, rather by the noisome smell of dead and putrified bodies, then by any violence of the disease in themselves. So that of these and the rest, dying in this manner every where, the neighbours observed one course of behaviour, (moved thereto no less by fear, that the smell and corruption of dead bodies should harm them, then charitable respect of the dead) that themselves when they could, or being assisted by some bearers of corpses, when they were able to procure them, would hale the bodies (already dead) out of their houses, laying them before their doors, where such as passed by, especially in the mornings, might see them lying in no mean numbers. Afterward, Bieres were brought thither, and such as might not have the help of Bieres, were glad to lay them on tables; and Bieres have been observed, not only to be charged with two or three dead bodies at once, but many times it was seen also, that the wife with the husband, two or three Brethren together; yea, the Father and the mother, have thus been carried along to the grave upon one bier.  
Moreover, oftentimes it hath been seen, that when two Priests went with one cross to fetch the body; there would follow (behind) three or four bearers with their Bieres, and when the Priests intended the burial but of one body, six or eight more have made up the advantage, and yet none of them being attended by any seemly company, lights, tears, or the very lest decency, but it plainly appeared, that the very like account was then made of men or Women, as if they had been dogs or Swine. Wherein might manifestly be noted, that that which the natural course of things could not show to the wise, with rare and little loss, to wit, the patiented support of miseries and misfortunes, even in their greatest height: not only the wise might now learn, but also th● very simplest people; & in such sort, that they should always be prepared against all infelicities whatsoever.  
Hallowed ground could not now suffice, for the great multitude of dead bodies, which were daily brought to every Church in the City, and every hour in the day; neither could the bodies have proper place of burial, according to our ancient custom: wherefore, after that the churches and churchyards were filled, they were constrained to make use of great deep ditches, wherein they were buried by hundreds at once, ranking dead bodies along in graves, as Merchandizes are laid along in ships, covering each after other with a small quantity of earth, & so they filled at last up the whole ditch to the brim.  
Now, because I would wander no further in every particularity, concerning the miseries happening in our city: I tell you, that extremities running on in such manner as you have heard; little less spare was made in the Villages round about; wherein (setting aside enclosed Castles, which were now filled like to small Cities) poor Labourers and husbandmen, with their whole Families, died most miserably in outhouses, yea, and in the open fields also; without any assistance of physic, or help of servants; & likewise in the highways, or their ploughed lands, by day or night indifferently, yet not as men, but like brute beasts.  
By means whereof, they became lazy and slothful in their daily endeavours, even like to our Citizens; not minding or meddling with their wont affairs: but, as awaiting for death every hour, employed all their pains, not in caring any way for themselves, their cattle, or gathering the fruits of the earth, or any of their accustomed labours; but rather wasted and consumed, even such as were for their instant sustenance. Whereupon, it fell so out, that their Oxen, Asses, sheep, and goats, their Swine, Pullen, yea their very dogs, the truest and faithfullest servants to men, being beaten and banished from their houses, went wildly wand'ring abroad in the fields, where the corn grew still on the ground without gathering, or being so much as reaped or cut. Many of the foresaid beasts (as endued with reason) after they had pastured themselves in the day time, would return full fed at night home to their houses, without any government of herdsmen, or any other.  
How many fair Palaces! How many goodly Houses! How many noble habitations, filled before with families of Lords and Ladies, were then to be seen empty, without any one there dwelling, except some silly servant? How many kindred's, worthy of memory! How many great inheritances! And what plenty of riches, were left without any true successors? How many good men! How many worthy Women! How many valiant and comely young men, whom none but Galen, H●ppocrates, and Aesculapius (if they were living) could have been reputed any way unhealthful; were seen to dine at morning, with their Parents, Friends, and familiar confederates, and went to sup in another world with their Predecessors?  
It is no mean breach to my brain, to make repetition of so many miseries; wherefore, being willing to part with them as easily as I may: I say that our city being in this case, void of inhabitants, it came to pass (as afterward I understood by some of good credit) that in the venerable Church of S. Marry la Neufue, on a Tuesday morning, there being then no other person, after the hearing of divine service, in mourning habits (as the season required) returned thence seven discreet young Gentlewomen, all allied together, either by friendship, neighbourhood, or parentage. She among them that was most entered into years, exceeded not eight and twenty; and the youngest was no less than eighteen; being of Noble descent, fair form, adorned with exquisite behaviour, and gracious modesty.  
Their names I could report, if just occasion did not forbid it, in regard of the occasions following by them related, and because times hereafter shall not tax them with reproof; the laws of pleasure being more straited now adays (for the matters before reucaled) then at that time they were, not only to their years, but to many much riper. Neither will I likewise minister matter to rash heads (over-readie in censuring commendable life) any way to impair the honesty of Ladies, by their idle detracting speeches. And therefore, to the end that what each of them saith, may be comprehended without confusion; I purpose to style them by names, wholly agreeing, or (in part) conformable to their qualities. The first and most aged, we will name Pampinea; the second Fiametta; the third Philamena; the fourth Aemilia; the fift Lauretta; the sixth Neiphila; and the last we term (not without occasion) Elissa, or Eliza. All of them being assembled at a corner of the Church, not by any deliberation formerly appointed, but merely by accident, and sitting as it were in a round ring: after diverse sighs severally delivered, they conferred on sundry matters answerable to the sad quality of the time, and within a while after, Madam Pampinea began in this manner.  
Fair Ladies, you may (no doubt as well as I) have often heard, that no injury is offered to any one, by such as make use but of their own right. It is a thing natural for every one which is borne in this World, to aid, conserve, and defend her life so long as she can; and this right hath been so powerfully permitted, that although it hath sometimes happened, that (to defend themselves) men have been slain without any offence: yet laws have allowed it to be so, in whose solicitude lieth the best living of all mortals. How much more honest and just is it then for us, and for every other well-disposed person, to seek for (without wronging any) and to practise all remedies that we can, for the conservation of our lives? When I well consider, what we have here done this morning, and many other already past; remembering (withal) what likewise is proper and convenient for us: I conceive (as all you may do the like) that every one of us hath a due respect of herself, and then I marvel not, but rather am much amazed (knowing none of us to be deprived of a woman's best judgement) that we seek not after some remedies for ourselves, against that, which every one among us, ought (in reason) to fear.  
Hear we meet and remain (as it seemeth to me) in no other manner, then as if we would or should be witnesses, to all the dead bodies at rest in their graves; or else to listen, when the religious Sisters here dwelling (whose number now are well-near come to be none at all) sing service at such hours as they ought to do; or else to acquaint all comers hither (by our mourning habits) with the quality and quantity of our hearts miseries. And when we part hence, we meet with none but dead bodies; or sick persons transported from one place to another; or else we see running thorough the City (in most offensive fury) such as (by authority of public laws) were banished hence, only for their bad and brutish behaviour in contempt of those laws, because now they know, that the executors of them are dead and sick. And if not these, more lamentable spectacles present themselves to us, by the base rascality of the city; who being fatted with our blood, term themselves grave-makers, and in mere contemptible mockery of us, are mounted on horseback, galloping every where, reproaching us with our losses and misfortunes, with lewd and dishonest songs: so that we can hear nothing else but such and such are dead, and such and such lie a dying; here hands wring, and every where most pitiful complaining.  
If we return home to our houses (I know not whether your case be answerable to mine) when I can find none of all my Family, but only my poor waiting chambermaid; so great are my fears, that the very hair on my head declareth my amazement, and wheresoever I go or sit down, me thinks I see the ghosts and shadows of deceased friends, not with such lovely looks as I was wont to behold them, but with most horrid and dreadful regards, newly stolen upon them I know not how. In these respects, both here, elsewhere, and at home in my house, methinks I am always ill, and much more (in mine own opinion) than any other body, not having means or place of retirement, as all we have, and none to remain here but only we.  
Moreover, I have often heard it said, that in tarrying or departing, no distinction is made in things honest or dishonest; only appetite will be served; and be they alone or in company, by day or night, they do whatsoever their appetite desireth: not secular persons only, but such as are recluses, and shut up within Monasteries, breaking the laws of obedience, and being addicted to pleasures of the flesh, are become lascivious and dissolute, making the world believe, that whatsoever is convenient for other women, is no way unbeseeming them, as thinking in that manner to escape.  
If it be so, as manifestly it maketh show of itself; What do we here? What stay we for? And whereon do we dream? Why are we more respectless of our health, than all the rest of the Citizens? Repute we ourselves less precious than all the other? Or do we believe, that life is linked to our bodies with stronger chains, then to others, and that therefore we should not fear any thing that hath power to offend us? We err therein, and are deceived. What brutishness were it in us, if we should urge any such belief? So often as we call to mind, what, and how many gallant young men and women, have been devoured by this cruel pestilence; we may evidently observe a contrary argument.  
Wherefore, to the end, that by being over-scrupulous and careless, we fall not into such danger, whence when we would (perhaps) we cannot recover ourselves by any means: I think it meet (if your judgement therein shall jump with mine) that all of us as we are (at least, if we will do as diverse before us have done, and yet daily endeavour to do) shunning death by the honest example of other, make our retreat to our country houses, wherewith all of us are sufficiently furnished, and thereto delight ourselves as best we may, yet without transgressing (in any act) the limits of reason. There shall we hear the pretty birds sweetly singing, see the hills and plains verdantly flourishing; the corn twaning in the field like the billows of the Sea; infinite store of goodly trees, and the heavens more fairly open to us, than here we can behold them: And although they are justly displeased, yet will they not there deny us better beauties to gaze on, than the walls in our City (emptied of Inhabitants) can offoord us.  
Moreover, the air is much fresh and clear, and generally, there is fare greater abundance of all things whatsoever, needful at this time for preservation of our health, and less offence or molestation than we find here.  
And although country people die, as well as here our Citizens do, the grief notwithstanding is so much the less, as the houses and dwellers there are rare, in comparison of them in our City. And beside, if we well observe it, here we forsake no particular person, but rather we may term ourselves forsaken; in regard that our Husbands, kindred, and Friends, either dying, or flying from the dead, have left us alone in this great affliction, even as if we were no way belonging unto them. And therefore, by following this counsel, we cannot fall into any reprehension; whereas if we neglect and refuse it, danger, distress, and death, (perhaps) may ensue thereon.  
Wherefore, if you think good, I would allow it for well done, to take our waiting women, with all such things as are needful for us, and (as this day) betake ourselves to one place, to morrow to another, taking there such pleasure and recreation, as so sweet a season liberally bestoweth on us. In which manner we may remain, till we see (if death otherwise prevent us not) what end the gracious heavens have reserved for us. I would have you also to consider, that it is no less seemly for us to part hence honestly, than a great number of other Women to remain here immodestly.  
The other Ladies and Gentlewomen, having heard Madam Pampinea, not only commended her counsel, but desiring also to put it in execution; had already particularly consulted with themselves, by what means they might instantly departed from thence. Nevertheless, Madam Philomena, who was very wise, spoke thus.  
Albeit fair Ladies, the case propounded by Madam Pampinea hath been very well delivered; yet (for all that) it is against reason for us to rush on, as we are over-ready to do. Remember that we are all women, and no one among us is so childish, but may consider, that when we shall be so assembled together, without providence or conduct of some man, we can hardly govern ourselves. We are frail, offensive, suspicious, weak spirited, and fearful: in regard of which imperfections, I greatly doubt (if we have no better direction than our own) this society will sooner dissolve itself, and (perchance) with less honour to us, then if we never had begun it. And therefore it shall be expedient for us, to provide before we proceed any further. Madam Elissa hereon thus replied.  
Most true it is, that men are the chief or head of women, and without their order, seldom times do any matters of ours sort to commendable end. But what means shall we make for men? we all know well enough, that the most part of our friends are dead, and such as are living, some be dispersed here, others there, into diverse places and companies, where we have no knowledge of their being. And to accept of strangers, would seem very inconvenient; wherefore as we have such care of our health, so should we be as respective (withal) in ordering our intention: that wheresoever we aim at our pleasure and contentment, reproof and scandal may by no means pursue us.  
While this discourse thus held among the Ladies, three young Gentlemen came forth of the Church (yet not so young, but the youngest had attained to five and twenty years) in whom, neither malice of the time, loss of friends or kindred, nor any fearful conceit in themselves, had the power to quench affection; but (perhaps) might a little cool it, in regard of the queasy season. One of them called himself Pamphilus, the second Philostratus, and the last Dioneus. Each of them was very affable and well conditioned, and walked abroad (for their greater comfort in such a time of tribulation) to try if they could meet with their fair friends, who (happily) might all three be among these seven, and the rest kin unto them in one degree or other. No sooner were these Ladies espied by them, but they met with them also in the same advantage; whereupon Madam Pampinea (amiably smiling) said.  
See how graciously Fortune is favourable to our beginning, by presenting our eyes with three so wise and worthy young Gentlemen, who will gladly be our guides and servants, if we do not disdain them the office. Madam Neiphila began immediately to blush, because one of them had a love in the company, and said; Good Madam Pampinea take heed what you say, because (of mine own knowledge) nothing can be spoken but good of them all; and I think them all to be absolutely sufficient, for a fare greater employment than is here intended: as being well worthy to keep company, not only with us, but them of more fair and precious esteem than we are. But because it appeareth plainly enough, that they bear affection to some here among us: I fear, if we should make the motion, that some dishonour or reproof may ensue thereby, and yet without blame either in us or them. That is nothing at all, answered Madam Philomena, let me live honestly, and my conscience not check me with any crime; speak then who can to the contrary, God and truth shall enter arms for me. I wish that they were as willing to come, as all we are to bid them welcome: for truly (as Madam Pampinea said) we may very well hope that Fortune will be furtherous to our purposed journey.  
The other Ladies hearing them speak in such manner, not only were silent to themselves, but all with one accord and consent said, that it were well done to call them, and to acquaint them with their intention, entreating their company in so pleasant a voyage. Whereupon, without any more words, Madam Pampinea mounting on her feet (because one of the three was her Kinsman) went towards the●, as they stood respectively observing them; and (with a pleasing countenance) giving them a gracious salutation, declared to them their deliberation, desiring (in behalf of all the rest) that with a brotherly and modest mind, they would vouchsafe to bear them company.  
The Gentlemen imagined at the first apprehension, that this was spoken in mockage of them, but when they better perceived, that her words tended to solemn earnest; they made answer, that they were all hearty ready to do them any service. And without any further delaying, before they parted thence, took order for their aptest furnishing withal convenient necessaries, and sent word to the place of their first appointment. On the morrow, being Wednesday, about break of day, the Ladies, with certain of their attending Gentlewomen, and the three Gentlemen, having three servants to wait on them; left the City to begin their journey, and having traveled about a leagues distance, arrived at the place of their first purpose of stay; which was seated on a little hill, distant (on all sides) from any high way, plentifully stored with fair spreading Trees, affording no mean delight to the eye. On the top of all stood a stately palace, having a large and spacious Court in the midst, round engirt with galleries, hals and chambers, every one separate alone by themselves, and beautified with pictures of admirable cunning. Nor was there any want of Gardens, meadows, and other pleasant walks, with wells and springs of fair running waters, all encompassed with branching vines, fit for curious and quaffing bibbers, than women sober and singularly modest.  
This palace the company found fully fitted and prepared, the beds in the Chambers made and daintily ordered, thickly strewed with variety of flowers, which could not but give them the greater contentment. Dioneus, who (above the other) was a pleasant young gallant, and full of infinite witty conceits, said; Your wit (fair Ladies) hath better guided us hither, than our providence. I know not how you have determined to dispose of your cares; as for mine own, I left them at the City gate, when I came thence with you: and therefore let your resolution be, to spend the time here in smiles and singing (I mean, as may fittest agree with your dignity) or else give me leave to go seek my sorrows again, and so to remain discontented in our desolate City. Madam Pampinea having in like manner shaken off her sorrows, delivering a modest and bashful smile, replied in this manner.  
Dioneus, well have you spoken, it is fit to live merrily, and no other occasion made us forsake the sick and sad city. But, because such things as are without mean or measure, are subject to no long continuance. I, who began the motion, whereby this society is thus assembled, and aim at the long lasting thereof: do hold it very convenient, that we should all agree, to have one chief commander among us, in whom the care and providence should consist, for direction of our merriment, performing honour and obedience to the party, as to our patron and sole governor. And because every one may feel the burden of solicitude, as also the pleasure of commanding, and consequently have a sensible taste of both, whereby no envy may arise on any side: I could wish, that each one of us (for a day only) should feel both the burden and honour, and the person so to be advanced, shall receive it from the election of us all. As for such as are to succeed, after him or her that hath had the days of dominion: the party thought fit for succession, must be named so soon as night approacheth. And being in this eminency (according as he or she shall please) he may order and dispose, how long the time of his rule shall last, as also of the place and manner, where best we may continue our delight.  
These words were highly pleasing to them all, and, by general voice, madam Pampinea was chosen Queen for the first day. Whereupon, madam Philomena ran presently to a Bay-tree, because she had often heard, what honour belonged to those branches, and how worthy of honour they were, that rightfully were crowned with them, plucking off diverse branches, she made of them an apparent and honourable Chaplet, placing it (by general consent) upon her head, and this, so long as their company continued, manifested to all the rest, the signal of dominion and royal greatness.  
After that madam Pampinea was thus made Queen, she commanded public silence, and causing the gentlemen's three servants, and the waiting women also (being four in number) to be brought before her, thus she began. Because I am to give the first example to you all, whereby (proceeding on from good to better) our company may live in order and pleasure, acceptable to all, and without shame to any: I create Parmeno (servant to Dioneus) master of the household, he taking the care and charge of all our t●ayne, and for whatsoever appertaineth to our Hall service. I appoint also that Silisco (servant to Pamphilus) shall be our dispenser and Treasurer, performing that which Parmeno shall command him. And that Tindaro serve as groom of the Chamber, to Philostratus his Master, and the other two, when his fellows (impeached by their offices) cannot be present. Misia my Chambermaid, and Licisca (belonging to Philomena) shall serve continually in the kitchen) and diligently make ready such viands, as shall be delivered them by Parmeno▪ chimaera, waiting-woman to Lauretta, and Stratilia (appertaining to Fiammetta) shall have the charge and government of the Lady's Chambers, and preparing all places where we shall be present. Moreover, we will and command every one of them (as they desire to deserve our grace) that wheresoever they go or come, or whatsoever they hear or see: they especially respect to bring us tidings of them. After she had summarily delivered them these orders, very much commended of every one; she arose fearfully, saying. Hear we have Gardens, Orchards, meadows, and other places of sufficient pleasure, where every one may sport & recreate themselves: but so soon as the ninth hour striketh, then all to meet here again, to dine in the cool shade.  
This jocund company having received licence from their Queen to disport themselves, the Gentlemen walked with the Ladies into a goodly Garden, making Chaplets and nosegays of diverse flowers, and singing silently to themselves. When they had spent the time limited by the Queen, they returned into the house, where they found that Parmeno had effectually executed his office. For, when they entered into the Hall, they saw the Tables covered with delicate white naperie, and the Glasses looking like silver, they were so transparently clear, all the room beside streamed with flames of juniper. When the Queen and all the rest had washed; according as Parmeno gave order, so every one was seated at the Table: the viands (delicately dressed) were served in, and excellent wines plentifully delivered, none attending but the three servants, and little or no loud tabletalk passing among them.  
Dinner being ended, and the tables withdrawn (all the Ladies, and the Gentlemen likewise, being skilful both in singing and dancing, and playing on instruments artificially) the Queen commanded, that diverse instruments should be brought, and (as she gave charge) Dioneus took a Lute, and Fiammetta a viol de gamba, and began to play an excellent dance. Whereupon the Queen, with the rest of the Ladies, and the other two young Gentlemen (having sent their attending servants to dinner) paced forth a dance very majestically. And when the dance was ended, they sung sundry excellent Canzonets, out-wearing so the time, until the Queen commanded them all to rest, because the hour did necessarily require it. The Gentlemen having their Chambers fare severed from the Ladies, curiously strewed with flowers, and their beds adorned in exquisite manner, as those of the Ladies were not a jot inferior to them: the silence of the night bestowed sweet rest on them all. In the morning, the Queen and all the rest being risen, accounting overmuch sleep to be very hurtful: they walked abroad into a goodly meadow, where the grass grew verdantly, and the beams of the sun heated not over-violently, because the shades of fair spreading trees gave a temperate calmness, cool and gentle winds fanning their sweet breath pleasingly among them. All of them being there set down in a round ring, and the Queen in the midst, as being the appointed place of eminency, she spoke in this manner.  
You see (fair company) that the sun is highly mounted, the heat (elsewhere) too extreme for us, and therefore here is our fittest refuge, the air being so cool, delicate, and acceptable, and our folly well worthy reprehension, if we should walk further, and speed worse. Hear are Tables, Cards, and chess, as your dispositions may be addicted. But if mine advice might pass for currant, I would admit none of those exercises, because they are too troublesome both to them that play, and such as look on. I could rather wish, that some acquaint discourse might pass among us, a tale or fable related by some one, to urge the attention of all the rest. And so wearing out the warmth of the day, one pretty novel will draw on another, until the Sun be lower declined, and the heats extremity more diminished, to solace ourselves in some other place, as to our minds shall seem convenient. If therefore what I have said be acceptable to you (I purposing to follow in the same course of pleasure,) let it appear by your immediate answer; for, till the evening, I think we can device no exercise more commodious for us.  
The Ladies & Gentlemen allowed of the motion, to spend the time in telling pleasant tales; whereupon the Queen said: Seeing you have approved mine advice, I grant free permission for this first day, that every one shall relate, what to him or her is best pleasing. And turning herself to Pamphilus (who was seated on her right hand) gave him favour, with one of his novels, to begin the recreation: which he not daring to deny, and perceiving general attention prepared for him, thus he began.  

Messire chaplet du Prat, by making a false confession, beguiled an holy Religious man, and after died. And having (during his life time) been a very bad man, at his death was reputed to be a Saint, and called S. chaplet.  
The first novel.  
Wherein is contained, how hard a thing it is, to distinguish goodness from hypocrisy; and how (under the shadow of holiness) the wickedness of one man, may deceive many.  
IT is a matter most convenient (dear Ladies) that a man ought to begin whatsoever he doth, in the great and glorious name of him, who was the Creator of all things. Wherefore, seeing that I am the man appointed, to begin this your invention of discoursing novelties: I intent to begin also with one of his wonderful works. To the end, that this being heard, our hope may remain on him, as the thing only permanent, and his name for ever to be praised by us. Now, as there is nothing more certain, but that even as temporal things are mortal and transitory, so are they both in and out of themselves, full of sorrow, pain, and anguish, and subjected to infinite dangers: So in the same manner, we live mingled among them, seeming as part of them, and cannot (without some error) continue or defend ourselves, if God by his especial grace and favour, give us not strength and good understanding. Which power we may not believe, that either it descendeth to us, or liveth in us, by any merits of our own; but of his only most gracious benignity. Moved nevertheless, and entreated by the intercessions of them, who were (as we are) mortals; and having diligently observed his commandments, are now with him in eternal blessedness. To whom (as to advocates and procurators, informed by the experience of our frailty) we are not to present our prayers in the presence of so great a judge; but only to himself, for the obtaining of all such things as his wisdom knoweth to be most expedient for us. And well may we credit, that his goodness is more fully inclined towards us, in his continual bounty and liberality; then the subtlety of any mortal eye, can reach into the secret of so divine a thought: and sometimes therefore we may be beguiled in opinion, by electing such and such as our intercessors before his high majesty, who perhaps are fare off from him, or driven into perpetual exile, as unworthy to appear in so glorious a presence. For he, from whom nothing can be hidden, more regardeth the sincerity of him that prayeth, then ignorant devotion, committed to the trust of a heedless intercessor; and such prayers have always gracious acceptation in his sight. As manifestly will appear, by the novel which I intent to relate; manifestly (I say) not as in the judgement of God, but according to the ahprehension of men.  
There was one named, Musciatto Francesi, who from being a most rich and great merchant in France, was become a Knight, and preparing to go into Tuscany, with Monsieur Charles without Land, Brother to the King of France (who was desired and incited to come thither by Pope Boniface) found his affairs greatly intricated here and there (as oftentimes the matters of Merchants fall out to be) and that very hardly he should suddenly unintangle them, without referring the charge of them to diverse persons. And for all he took indifferent good order, only he remained doubtful, whom he might sufficiently leave, to recover his debts among many Burgundians. And the rather was his care the more herein, because he knew the Burgundians to be people of bad nature, rioters, brablers, full of calumny, and without any faithfulness: so that he could not bethink himself of any man (how wicked soever he was) in whom he might repose trust to meet with their lewdness. Having a long while examined his thoughts upon this point, at last he remembered one master Chaplet du Prat, who ofttimes had resorted to his house in Paris. And because he was a man of little stature, yet handsome enough, the French not knowing what this word chaplet might mean, esteeming he should be called rather (in their tongue) chapel; imagined, that in regard of his small stature, they termed him chaplet, and not chapel, and so by the name of chaplet he was every where known, and by few or none acknowledged for chapel.  
This master chaplet, was of so good and commendable life; that, being a notary, he held it in high disdain, that any of his contracts (although he made but few) should be found without falsehood. And look how many soever he dealt withal, he would be urged and required thereto, offering them his pains and travail for nothing, but to be requited otherwise then by money; which proved to be his much larger recompensing, and returned to him the fare greater benefit. He took the only pleasure of the world, to bear false witness, if he were thereto entreated, and (oftentimes) when he was not requested at all. Likewise, because in those times, great trust and belief was given to an oath, he making no care or conscience to be perjured: greatly advantaged himself by Law suits, in regard that many matters relied upon his oath, and delivering the truth according to his knowledge.  
He delighted (beyond measure) and addicted his best studies, to cause enmities & scandals between kindred and friends, or any other persons, agreeing well together; and the more mischief he could procure in this kind, so much the more pleasure and delight took he therein. If he were called to kill any one, or to do any other villainous deed, he never would make denial, but go to it very willingly; and diverse times it was well known, that many were cruelly beaten, ye slainc by his hands. He was a most horrible blasphemer of God and his Saints, upon the very lest occasion, as being more addicted to choler, than any other man could be. Never would he frequent the Church, but basely contemned it, with the Sacraments and religious rites therein administered, accounting them for vile and unprofitable things: but very voluntarily would visit taverns, and other places of dishonest access, which were continually pleasing unto him, to satisfy his lust and inordinate lubricity. He would steal both in public and private, even with such a conscience, as if it were given to him by nature so to do. He was a great glutton and a drunkard, even till he was not able to take any more: being also a continual gamester, and carrier of false Dice, to cheat with them the very best friends he had.  
But why do I waste time in such extent of words? When it may suffice to say, that never was there a worse man borne; whose wickedness was for long time supported, by the favour, power, and authority of Monsieur Musciatto, for whose s●ke many wrongs and injuries were patiently endured, as well by private persons (whom he would abuse notoriously) as others of the Court, beeweene whom he made no difference at all in his vile dealing. This Master chaplet, being thus remembered by Musciatto (who very well knew his life and behaviour) he perfectly persuaded himself, that this was a man apt in all respects, to meet with the treachery of the Burgundians: whereupon, having sent for him, thus he began.  
Chaplet, thou knowest how I am wholly to retreat myself from hence, and having some affairs among the Burgundians, men full of wickedness and deceit; I can bethink myself of no meeter a man then chaplet, to recover such debts as are due to me among them. And because it falleth out so well, that thou art not now hindered by any other business; if thou wilt undergo this office for me, I will procure thee favourable Letters from the Court, and give thee a reasonable portion in all thou recoverest. Master chaplet, seeing himself idle, and greedy after worldly goods, considering that Mounsieur Musciatto (who had been always his best buckler) was now to departed from thence, without any dreaming on the matter, and constrained thereto (as it were) by necessity, set down his resolution, and answered that he would gladly do it.  
Having made their agreement together, and received from Musciatto his express procuration, as also the King's gracious Letters; after that Musciatto was gone on his journey, 
To Borgogna saith the Italian.  Master chaplet went to Dijon, where he was unknown (well near) of any. And there (quite from his natural disposition) he began benignly and graciously, in recovering the debts due; which course he took the rather, because they should have a further feeling of him in the end. Being lodged in the house of two Florentine brethren, that lived on their moneys usance; and (for Mounsieur Musciattoes' sake) using him with honour and respect: It fortuned that he fell sick, and the two brethren sent for physicians to attend him, allowing their servants to be diligent about him, making no spare of any thing, which gave the best likelihood of restoring his health. But all their pains proved to no purpose, because he (honest man) being now grown aged, and having lived all his life time very disorderedly, fell day by day (according to the physicians' judgement) from bad to worse, as no other way appeared but death, whereat the brethren greatly grieved.  
Upon a day, near to the Chamber where the sick man lay, they entered into this communication. What shall we do (quoth the one to the other) with this man? We are much hindered by him; for to send him away (sick as he is) we shall be greatly blamed thereby, and it will be a manifest note of our weak wisdom: the people knowing that first of all we gave him entertainment, and have allowed him honest physical attendance, and he not having any way injuried or offended us, to let him be suddenly expulsed our house (sick to death as he is) it can be no way for our credit.  
On the other side, we are to consider also, that he hath been so bad a man, as he will not now make any confession thereof, neither receive the blessed Sacrament of the Church, and dying so without confession; there is no Church that will accept his body, but it must be buried in profane ground, like to a dog. And yet if he would confess himself, his sins are so many and monstrous; as the like case also may happen, because there is not any Priest or Religious person, that can or will absolve him. And being not absolved, he must be cast into some ditch or pit, and then the people of the town, as well in regard of the account we carry here, (which to them appeareth so little pleasing, as we are daily pursued with their worst words) as also coveting our spoil and overthrow; upon this accident will cry out and mutiny against us; Behold these Lombard dogs, which are not to be received into the Church, why should we suffer them to live here among us? In furious madness will they come upon us, and our house, where (peradventure) not contented with robbing us of our goods, our lives will remain in their mercy and danger; so that, in what sort soever it happen, this man's dying here, must needs be baneful to us.  
Master chaplet, who (as we have formerly said) was lodged near to the place where they thus conferred, having a subtle attention (as oftentimes we see sick persons to be possessed withal) heard all these speeches spoken of him, and causing them to be called unto him, thus he spoke.  
I would not have you to be any way doubtful of me; neither that you should receive the least damage by me: I have heard what you have said, and am certain, that it will happen according to your words, if matters should fall out as you conceit; but I am minded to deal otherwise. I have committed so many offences against our Lord God, in the whole current of my life; that now I intent one action at the hour of my death, which I trust will make amends for all. Procure therefore, I pray you, that the most holy and religious man that is to be found (if there be any one at all) may come unto me, and refer the case then to me, for I will deal in such sort for you and myself, that all shall be well, and you no way discontented.  
The two Brethren, although they had no great hope in his speeches, went yet to a Monastery of Gray-Friars, and requested; that some one holy and learned man, might come to hear the confession of a Lombard, that lay very weak and sick in their house. And one was granted unto them, being an aged religious friar, a great read master in the sacred Scriptures, a very venerable person, who being of good and sanctified life, all the Citizens held him in great respect & esteem, and on he went with them to their house. When he was come up into the Chamber where Master chaplet lay, and being there seated down by him; he began first to comfort him very lovingly, demanding also of him, how many times he had been at confession? Whereto master chaplet (who never had been shriven in all his life time) thus replied.  
Holy Father, I always used (as a common custom) to be confessed once (at the least) every week, albeit sometimes much more often) but true it is, that being fallen into this sickness, now eight days since; I have not been confessed, so violent hath been the extremity of my weakness. My son (answered the good old man) thou hast done well, and so keep thee still hereafter in that mind: but I plainly perceive, seeing thou hast so often confessed thyself, that I shall take the less labour in urging questions to thee.  
Master chaplet replied: Say not so good Father, for albeit I have been so oftentimes confessed, yet am I willing now to make a general confession, even of all sins coming to my remembrance, from the very day of my birth, until this instant hour of my shrift. And therefore I entreat you (holy Father) to make a particular demand of every thing, even as if I had never been confessed at all, and to make no respect of my sickness: for I had rather be offensive to mine own flesh, then by favouring or allowing it ease, to hazard the perdition of my soul, which my Redeemer bought with so precious a price.  
These words were highly pleasing to the holy friar, and seemed to him as an argument of a good conscience: Wherefore, after he had much commended this forwardness in him, he began to demand of him if he had never offended with any Woman? Whereunto master chaplet (breathing forth a great sigh) answered.  
Holy Father, I am half ashamed to tell you the truth in this case, as fearing lest I should sinne in vainglory. Whereto the Confessor replied: speak boldly son, and fear not; for in telling the truth, be it in confession or otherwise, a man can never sinne. Then said master chaplet, Father, seeing you give me so good an assurance, I will resolve you faithfully herein. I am so true a Virgin-man in this matter, even as when I issued forth of my mother's womb. O son (quoth the friar) how happy and blessed of God art thou? Well hast thou lived, and therein hast not meanly merited: having had so much liberty to do the contrary if thou wouldst, wherein very few of us can so answer for ourselves.  
Afterward, he demanded of him, how much displeasing to God he had been in the sin of Gluttony? When (sighing again greatly) he answered: Too much, and too often, good Father. For, over and beside the Fasts of our Lent season, which every year ought to be duly observed by devout people, I brought myself to such a customary use, that I could fast three days in every week, with Bread and Water. But indeed (holy Father) I confess, that I have drunk water with such a pleasing appetite and delight (especially in praying, or walking on pilgrimages) even as greedy drunkards do, in drinking good Wine. And many times I have desired such salads of small herbs, as Women gather abroad in the open fields, and feeding only upon them, without coveting after any other kind of sustenance; hath seemed much more pleasing to me, than I thought to agree with the nature of Fasting, especially, when as it swerveth from devotion, or is not done as it ought to be.  
Son, son, replied the confessor, these sins are natural, and very light, and therefore I would not have thee to charge thy conscience with them, more than is needful. It happeneth to every man (how holy soever he be) that after he hath fasted overlong, feeding will be welcome to him, and drinking good drink after his travail. O Sir (said master chaplet) never tell me this to comfort me, for well you know, and I am not ignorant therein, that such things as are done for the service of God, ought all to be performed purely, and without any blemish of the mind; what otherwise is done, savoureth of sin. The Friar being well contented with his words, said: It is not amiss that thou understandest it in this manner, and thy conscience thus purely cleared, is no little comfort to me. But tell me now concerning avarice, hast thou sinned therein? by desiring more than was reasonable, or withholding from others, such things as thou oughtest not to detain? whereto master chaplet answered. Good Father, I would not have you to imagine, because you see me lodged here in the house of two usurers, that therefore I am of any such disposition. No truly Sir, I came hither to no other end, but only to chastise and admonish them in friendly manner, to cleanse their minds from such abominable profit: And assuredly, I should have prevailed therein, had not this violently sickness hindered mine intention. But understand (holy Father) that my parents left me a rich man, and immediately after my father's death, the greater part of his goods I gave away for God's sake, and then, to sustain mine ownelife, and to help the poor members of Jesus Christ, I betook myself to a mean estate of Merchandise, desiring none other then honest gain thereby, and evermore whatsoever benefit came to me; I imparted half thereof to the poor, converting mine own small portion about my necessary affairs, which that other part would scarcely serve to supply: yet always God gave thereto such a merciful blessing, that my business daily thrived more and more, arising still from good to better.  
Well hast thou done therein good son, said the confessor: but how often times hast thou been angry? Oh Sir (said master chaplet) therein I assure ye, I have often transgressed. And what man is able to forbear it, beholding the daily actions of men to be so dishonest? No care of keeping Gods commandments, nor any fear of his dreadful judgements. Many times in a day, I have rather wished myself dead then living, beholding youth pursuing idle vanities, to swear and forswear themselves, tippling in taverns, and never haunting Churches; but rather affecting the world's follies, than any such duties as they own to God. Alas son (quoth the Friar) this is a good and holy anger, and I can impose no penance on thee for it. But tell me, hath not rage or fury at any time so overruled thee, as to commit murder or manslaughter, or to speak evil of any man, or to do any other such kind of injury? Oh Father (answered master chaplet) you that seem to be a man of God, how dare you use any such vile words? If I had had the very lest thought, to do any such act as you speak, do you think that God would have suffered me to live? These are deeds of darkness, fit for villains and wicked livers, of which hellish crew, when at any time I have happened to meet with some one of them; I have said, go, God convert thee.  
Worthy, and charitable words, replied the Friar; but tell me son, Didst thou ever bear false witness against any man, or hast spoken falsely, or taken aught from any one, contrary to the will of the owner? Yes indeed Father, said master chaplet, I have spoken ill of another, because I have sometime seen one of my neighbours, who with no mean shame of the world, would do nothing else but beat his wife: and of him once I complained to the poor man's parents, saying, that he never did it, but when he was overcome with drink. Those were no ill words, quoth the Friar; but I remember, you said that you were a Merchant: Did you ever deceive any, as some Merchants use to do? Truly Father, answered master chaplet, I think not any, except one man, who one day brought me money which he owed me, for a certain piece of cloth I sold him, and I put it into a purse without accounting it: about a month afterward, I found that there were four small pence more than was due to me. And never happening to meet with the man again, after I had kept them the space of a whole year, I then gave them away to four poor people for God's sake.  
A small matter, said the Friar, & truly paid back again to the owner, in bestowing them upon the poor. Many other questions he demanded of him, whereto still he answered in the same manner: but before he proceeded to absolution, master chaplet spoke thus. I have yet one sin more, which I have not revealed to you: when being urged by the Friar to confess it, he said. I remember, that I should afford one day in the week, to cleanse the house of my soul, for better entertainment to my Lord and saviour, and yet I have done no such reverence to the Sunday or Sabaoth, as I ought to have done. A small fault son, replied the Friar. O no (quoth master chaplet) do not term it a small fault, because Sunday being a holy day, is highly to be reverenced: for, as on that day, our blessed Lord arose from death to life. But (quoth the confessor) hast thou done nothing else on that day? Yes, said he, being forgetful of myself, once I did spit in God's Church. The Friar smiling, said: Alas son, that is a matter of no moment, for we that are Religious persons, do use to spit there every day. The more is your shame, answered master chaplet, for no place ought to be kept more pure and clean than the sacred Temple, wherein our daily sacrifices are offered up to God,  
In this manner he held on an hour and more, uttering the like transgressions as these; and at last began to sigh very passionately, and to shed a few tears, as one that was skilful enough in such dissembling pranks; whereat the confessor being much moved, said: Alas son, what ailest thou? Oh Father (quoth chaplet) there remaineth yet one sin more upon my conscience, whereof I never at any time made confession, so shameful it appeareth to me to disclose it; and I am partly persuaded, that God will never pardon me for that sin. How now son? said the Friar, never say so; for if all the sins that ever were committed by men, or shall be committed so long as the World endureth, were only in one man, and he repenting them, and being so contrite for them, as I see thou art; the grace and mercy of God is so great, that upon penitent confession, he will freely pardon him, and therefore spare not to speak it boldly. Alas Father (said chaplet, still in pretended weeping) this sin of mine is so great, that I can hardly believe (if your earnest prayers do not assist me) that ever I shall obtain remission for it. Speak it son, said the Friar, and fear not, I promise that I will pray to God for thee.  
Master chaplet still wept and sighed, and continued silent, notwithstanding all the Confessors comfortable persuasions; but after he had held him a long while in suspense, breathing forth a sigh, even as if his very heart would have broken, he said; Holy Father, seeing you promise to pray to God for me, I will reveal it to you: Know then, that when I was a little boy, I did once curse my Mother; which he had no sooner spoken, but he wrung his hands, and grieved extraordinarily. Oh good Son, said the Friar, doth that seem so great a sin to thee? Why, men do daily blaspheme our Lord God, and yet nevertheless, upon their hearty repentance, he is always ready to forgive them; and wilt not thou believe to obtain remission, for a sin so ignorantly committed? Weep no more dear son, but comfort thyself, and rest resolved, that if thou wert one of them, who nailed our blessed saviour to his cross; yet being so truly repentant, as I see thou art, he would freely forgive thee. Say you so Father? quoth chaplet. What? mine own dear Mother? that bore me in her womb nine months, day and night, and afterwards fed me with her breasts a thousand times, can I be pardoned for cursing her? Oh no, it is too heinous a sin, and except you pray to God very instantly for me, he will not forgive me.  
When the religious man perceived, that nothing more was to be confessed by Master chaplet; he gave him absolution, and his own benediction beside, reputing him to be a most holy man, as verily believing all that he had said. And who would not have done the like, hearing a man to speak in that manner, and being upon the very point of death? Afterward, he said unto him; Master chaplet, by God's grace you may be soon restored to health, but if it so come to pass, that God do take your blessed and well disposed soul to his mercy, will it please you to have your body buried in our convent? Whereto Master chaplet answered; I thank you Father for your good motion, and sorry should I be, if my friends did bury me any where else, because you have promised, to pray to God for me; and beside, I have always carried a religious devotion to your Order. Wherefore, I beseech you, so soon as you are come home to your convent, prevail so much by your good means, that the holy Eucharist, consecrated this morning on your high Altar, may be brought unto me: for although I confess myself utterly unworthy, yet I purpose (by your reverend permission) to receive it, as also your holy and latest unction; to this end, that having lived a grievous sinner, I may yet (at the last) die a Christian. These words were pleasing to the good old man, and he caused every thing to be performed, according as Master chaplet had requested.  
The two Brethren, who much doubted the dissembling of chaplet, being both in a small partition, which sundered the sick man's Chamber from theirs, heard and understood the passage of all, between him and the ghostly Father, being many times scarcely able to refrain from laughter, at the fraudulent course of his confession. And often they said within themselves; what manner of man is this, whom neither age, sickness, nor terror of death so near approaching, and sensible to his own soul, nor that which is much more, God, before whose judgement he knows not how soon he shall appear, or else be sent to a more fearful place; none of these can alter his wicked disposition, but that he will needs die according as he hath lived? Notwithstanding, seeing he had so ordered the matter, that he had burial freely allowed him, they cared for no more.  
After that chaplet had received the Communion, and the other ceremonies appointed for him; weakness increasing on him more and more, the very same day of his goodly confession, he died (not long after) towards the evening. Whereupon the two Brethren took order, that all needful things should be in a readiness, to have him buried honourably; sending to acquaint the Fathers of the convent therewith, that they might come to say their Nigilles, according to precedent custom, and then on the morrow to fetch the body. The honest Friar that had confessed him, hearing he was dead, went to the Prior of the convent, and by sound of the house Bell, caused all the Brethren to assemble together, giving them credibly to understand, that Master chaplet was a very holy man, as appeared by all the parts of his confession, and made no doubt, but that many miracles would be wrought by his sanctified body, persuading them to fetch it thither with all devout solemnity and reverence; whereto the Prior, and all the credulous Brethren presently condescended very gladly.  
When night was come, they went all to visit the dead body of Master chaplet, where they used an especial and solemn Nigill; and on the morrow, apparelled in their richest copes and vestments, with books in their hands, and the cross borne before them, singing in the form of a very devout procession, they brought the body pompeously into their Church, accompanied with all the people of the town, both men and women. The Father Confessor, ascending up into the Pulpit, preached wonderful things of him, and the rare holiness of his life; his fasts, his virginity, simplicity, innocency, and true sanctity, recounting also (among other especial observations) what chaplet had confessed, as this most great and grievous sin, and how hardly he could be persuaded, that God would grant him pardon for it. Whereby he took occasion to reprove the people then present, saying; And you (accursed of God) for very least and trifling matter happening, will not spare to blaspheme God, his blessed Mother, and the whole Court of heavenly Paradise: Oh, take example by this singular man, this saintlike man, nay, a very Saint indeed.  
Many additions more he made, concerning his faithfulness, truth, & integrity; so that, by the vehement asseveration of his words (whereto all the people there present gave credible belief) he provoked them unto such zeal and earnest devotion; that the Sermon was no sooner ended, but (in mighty crowds and throngs) they pressed about the bier, kissing his hands and feet, and all the garments about him were torn in pieces, as precious relics of so holy a person, and happy they thought themselves, that could get the smallest piece or shred of any thing that came near to his body, and thus they continued all the day, the body lying still open, to be visited in this manner.  
When night was come, they buried him in a goodly Marble tomb, erected in a fair chapel purposely; and for many days after following, it was most strange to see, how the people of the country came thither on heaps, with holy Candles and other offerings, with Images of wax fastened to the tomb, in sign of Sacred and solemn vows, to this new created Saint. And so fare was spread the fame and renown of his sanctity, devotion, and integrity of life, maintained constantly by the Fathers of the convent; that if any one fell sick in need, distress, or adversity, they would make their vows to no other Saint but him: naming him (as yet to this day they do) Saint chaplet, affirming upon their oaths, that infinite miracles were there daily performed by him, and especially on such, as came in devotion to visit his shrine.  
In this manner lived and died Master Chaplet du Prat, who before he became a Saint, was as you have heard: and I will not deny it to be impossible, but that he may be at rest among other blessed bodies. For, although he lived lewdly and wickedly, yet such might be his contrition in the latest extremity, that (questionless) he might find mercy. But, because such things remain unknown to us, and speaking by outward appearance, vulgar judgement will censure otherwise of him, and think him to be rather in perdition, then in so blessed a place as paradise. But referring that to the Omnipotent appointment, whose clemency hath always been so great to us, that he regards not our errors, but the integrity of our Faith, making (by means of our continual Mediator) of an open enemy, a converted son and servant. And as I began in his name, so will I conclude, desiring that it may evermore be had in due reverence, and refer we ourselves thereto in all our necessities, with this settled assurance, that he is always ready to hear us. And so he ceased.   

Abraham a Jew, being admonished or advised by a friend of his, named jehannot de Chevigny, travailed from Paris unto Rome: And beholding there the wicked behaviour of men in the Church, returned back to Paris again, where yet (nevertheless) he became a Christian.  
The Second novel.  
Wherein is contained and expressed, the liberality and goodness of God, extended to the Christian Faith.  
THE novel recited by Pamphilus, was highly pleasing to the company, and much commended by the Ladies: and after it had been diligently observed among them, the Queen commanded Madam Neiphila (who was seated nearest to Pamphilus) that, in relating another of hers, she should follow on in the pastime thus begun. She being no less gracious in countenance, then merrily disposed; made answer, that she would obey her charge, and began in this manner.  
Pamphilus hath declared to us by his Tale, how the goodness of God regardeth not our errors, when they proceed from things which we cannot discern. And I intent to approve by mine, what argument of infallible truth, the same benignity delivereth of itself, by enduring patiently the faults of them, that (both in word and work) should declare unfeigned testimony of such gracious goodness, and not to live so dissolutely as they do. To the end, that others illumined by their light of life, may believe with the stronger constancy of mind.  
As I have heretofore heard (Gracious Ladies) there lived a wealthy merchant in Paris, being a Mercer, or seller of silks, named jehannot de Chevigny, a man of faithful, honest, and upright dealing; who held great affection and friendship with a very rich Jew, named Abraham, that was a Merchant also, and a man of very direct conversation. Jehannot well noting the honesty and loyal dealing of this Jew, began to have a Religious kind of compassion in his soul, much pitying, that a man so good in behaviour, so wise and discreet in all his actions, should be in danger of perdition thorough want of Faith. In which regard, lovingly he began to entreat him, that he would leave the errors of his Jewish belief, and follow the truth of Christianity, which he evidently saw (as being good and holy) daily to prosper and enlarge itself, whereas (on the contrary) his profession decreased, and grew to nothing.  
The Jew made answer, that he believed nothing to be so good & holy, as the Jewish Religion, and having been borne therein, therein also he purposed to live and dye, no matter whatsoever, being able to remove him from that resolution. For all this stiff denial, jehannot would not so give him over; but pursued him still day by day, reitterating continually his former speeches to him: delivering infinite excellent and pregnant reasons, that Merchants themselves were not ignorant, how fare the Christian faith excelled the Jewish falsehoods. And albeit the Jew was a very learned man in his own law, yet notwithstanding, the entire amity he bore to jehannot, or (perhaps) his words fortified by the blessed Spirit, were so prevalent with him: that the Jew felt a pleasing apprehension in them, though his obstinacy stood (as yet) fare off from conversion. But as he thus continued strong in opinion, so jehannot left not hourly to labour him: in so much that the Jew, being conquered by such earnest and continual importunity, one day spoke to jehannot thus.  
My worthy friend jehannot, thou art extremely desirous, that I should convert to Christianity, and I am well contended to do it, only upon this condition. That first I will journey to Rome, to see him (whom thou sayest) is God's general vicar here on earth, and to consider on the course of his life and manners, and likewise of his college of Cardinals. If he and they do appear such men to me, as thy speeches affirms them to be, and thereby I may comprehend, that thy faith and Religion is better than mine, as (with no mean pains) thou endevourest to persuade me: I will become a Christian as thou art, but if I find it otherwise, I will continue a Jew as I am.  
When jehannot heard these words, he became exceeding sorrowful, within himself. I have lost all the pains, which I did think to be well employed, as hoping to have this man converted here: For, if he go to the Court of Rome, and behold there the wickedness of the Priests lives; farewell all hope in me, of ever seeing him to become a Christian. But rather, were he already a Christian, without all question, he would turn Jew: And so (going nearer to Abraham) he said. Alas my loving friend, why shouldst thou undertake such a tedious travel, and so great a charge, as thy journey from hence to Rome will cost thee? Consider, that to a rich man (as thou art) travail by land or sea is full of infinite dangers. Dost thou not think, that here are Religious men enough, who will gladly bestow baptism upon thee. To me therefore it plainly appeareth, that such a voyage is to no purpose. If thou standest upon any doubt or scruple, concerning the faith whereto I wish thee; where canst thou desire conference with greater doctors, or men more learned in all respects, than this famous city doth afford thee, to resolve thee in any questionable case? Thou must think, that the Prelates are such there, as here thou seest them to be, and yet they must needs be in much better condition at Rome, because they are near to the principal pastor. And therefore, if thou wilt credit my counsel, reserve this journey to some time more convenient, when the jubilee of general pardon happeneth, and then (perchance) I will bear thee company, and go along with thee as in vowed pilgrimage.  
Whereto the Jew replied. I believe jehannot, that all which thou hast said may be so. But, to make short with thee, I am fully determined (if thou wouldst have me a Christian, as thou instantly urgest me to be) to go thither, for otherwise, I will continue as I am. Jehannot perceiving his settled purpose, said: go then in God's name. But persuaded himself, that he would never become a Christian, after he had once seen the Court of Rome: nevertheless, he counted his labour not altogether lost, in regard he bestowed it to a good end, and honest intentions are to be commended.  
The Jew mounted on horseback, and made no linger in his journey to Rome, where being arrived, he was very honourably entertained by other Jews dwelling in Rome. And during the time of his abiding there (without revealing to any one, the reason of his coming thither) very heedfully he observed, the manner of the Pope's life, of the Cardinals, Prelates, and all the Courtiers. And being a man very discreet and judicious, he apparently perceived, both by his own eye, and further information of friends; that from the highest to the lowest (without any restraint, remorse of conscience, shame, or fear of punishment) all sinned in abominable luxury, and not naturally only, but in foul sodomy, so that the credit of Strumpets and boys was not small, and yet might be too easily obtained. Moreover, drunkards, belly-Gods, and servants of the paunch, more than of any thing else (even like brutish beasts after their luxury) were every where to be met withal. And, upon further observation, he saw all men so covetous and greedy of coin, that every thing was bought and sold for ready money, not only the blood of men, but (in plain terms) the faith of Christians, yea, and matters of divinest qualities, how, or to whomsoever appertaining, were it for sacrifices or benefices, whereof was made no mean merchandise, and more Brokers were there to be found (then in Paris attending upon all Trades) of manifest simony, under the nice name of Negotiation, and for gluttony, not sustentation: even as if God had not known the signification of vocables, nor the intentions of wicked hearts, but would suffer himself to be deceived by the outward names of things, as wretched men commonly use to do.  
These things, and many more (fit for silence, than publication) were so deeply displeasing to the Jew, being a most sober and modest man; that he had soon seen enough, resolving on his return to Paris, which very speedily he performed. And when jehannot heard of his arrival, crediting much rather other news from him, than ever to see him a converted Christian; he went to welcome him, and kindly they feasted one another. After some few days of resting, jehannot demanded of him; what he thought of our holy father the Pope and his Cardinals, and generally of all the other Courtiers? Whereto the Jew readily answered; It is strange jehannot, that God should give them so much as he doth. For I will truly tell thee, that if I had been able to consider all those things, which there I have both heard and seen: I could then have resolved myself, never to have found in any Priest, either sanctity, devotion, good work, example of honest life, or any good thing else beside. But if a man desire to see luxury, avarice, gluttony, and such wicked things, yea, worse, if worse may be, and held in general estimation of all men; let him but go to Rome, which I think rather to be the forge of damnable actions, than any way leaning to grace or goodness. And, for aught I could perceive, me thinks your chief pastor, and (consequently) all the rest of his dependants, do strive so much as they may (with all their engine art and endeavour) to bring to nothing, or else to banish quite out of the world, Christian Religion, whereof they should be the support and foundation.  
But because I perceive, that their wicked intent will never come to pass, but contrariwise, that your faith enlargeth itself, shining every day much more clear and splendent: I gather thereby evidently, that the blessed Spirit is the true ground and defence thereof, as being more true and holy than any other. In which respect, whereas I stood stiff and obstinate against the good admonitions, and never minded to become a Christian: now I freely open my heart unto thee, that nothing in the world can or shall hinder me, but I will be a Christian, as thou art. Let us therefore presently go to the Church, and there (according to the true custom of your holy faith) help me to be baptised.  
jehannot, who expected a fare contrary conclusion, than this, hearing him speak it with such constancy; was the very gladdest man in the world, and went with him to the Church of Nostre Dame in Paris, where he requested the Priests there abiding, to bestow baptism on Abraham, which they joyfully did, hearing him so earnestly to desire it. Jehannot was his Godfather, and named him Jobn, and afterward, by learned divines he was more fully instructed in the grounds of our faith; wherein he grew of greatly understanding, and led a very virtuous life.   

Melchisedech a Jew, by recounting a Tale of three Rings, to the great Soldam, named Saladine, prevented a great danger which was prepared for him.  
The third novel.  
Whereby the Author, approving the Christian Faith, showeth, how beneficial a sudden and ingenious answer may fall out to be, especially when a man finds himself in some evident danger.  
Madam Neiphila having ended her Discourse, which was well allowed of by all the company; it pleased the Queen, that Madam Philomena should next succeed in order, who thus began.  
The Tale delivered by Neiphila, maketh me remember a doubtful case, which sometime happened to another Iew. And because that God, and the truth of his holy Faith, hath been already very well discoursed on: it shall not seem unfitting (in my poor opinion) to descend now into the accidents of men. Wherefore, I will relate a matter unto you, which being attentively heard and considered; may make you much more circumspect, in answering to diverse questions and demands, than (perhaps) otherwise you would be. Consider then (most worthy assembly) that like as folly or dulness, many times hath overthrown some men from place of eminency, into most great and grievous miseries: even so, discrect sense and good understanding, hath delivered many out of irksome perils, and seated them in safest security. And to prove it true, that folly hath made many fall from high authority, into poor and despised calamity; may be avouched by infinite examples, which now were needless to remember: But, that good sense and able understanding, may prove to be the occasion of great desolation, without happy prevention, I will declare unto you in very few words, and make it good according to my promise.  
Saladine, was a man so powerful and valiant, as not only his very valour made him sultan of Babylon, but also gave him many signal victories, over Kings of the Sarrazens, and of Christians likewise. Having in diverse wars, and other magnificent employments of his own, wasted all his treasure, and (by reason of some sudden accident happening to him) standing in need to use some great sum of money, yet not readily knowing where, or how to procure it; he remembered a rich Jew named Melchisedech, that lent out money to use or interest in the City of Alexandria. This man he imagined best able to furnish him, if he could be won to do it willingly: but he was known to be so gripple and miserable, that hardly any means would draw him to it. In the end, constrained by necessity, and labouring his wits for some apt device whereby he might have it: he concluded, though he might not compel him to do it, yet by a practice shadowed with good reason to ensnare him. And having sent for him, entertained him very familiarly in his Court, and sitting down by him, thus began.  
Honest man, I have often heard it reported by many, that thou art very skilful, and in cases concerning God, thou goest beyond all other of these times: wherefore, I would gladly be informed by thee, which of those three laws or Religions, thou takest to be truest; that of the Jew, the other of the Sarazen, or that of the Christian? The Jew, being a very wise man, plainly perceived, that Saladine sought to entrap him in his answer, and so to raise some quarrel against him. For, if he commended any one of those laws above the other, he knew that Saladine had what he aimed at. Wherefore, bethinking himself to shape such an answer, as might no way trouble or entangle him: summoning all his senses together, and considering, that dallying with the sultan might redound to his no mean danger, thus he replied.  
My Lord, the question propounded by you, is fair and worthy, & to answer mine opinion truly threof, doth necessarily require some time of consideration, if it might stand with your liking to allow it: but if not, let me first make entrance to my reply, with a pretty tale, and well worth the hearing. I have oftentimes heard it reported, that (long since) there was a very wealthy man, who (among other precious jewels of his own) had a goodly Ring of great value; the beauty and estimation whereof, made him earnestly desirous to leave it as a perpetual memory and honour to his successors. Whereupon, he willed and ordained, that he among his male children, with whom this Ring (being left by the Father) should be found in custody after his death; he and none other was to be reputed his heir, and to be honoured and reverenced by all the rest, as being the prime and worthiest person. That son, to whom this Ring was left by him, kept the same course to his posterity, dealing (in all respects) as his predecessor had done; so that (in short time) the Ring (from hand to hand) had many owners by legacy.  
At length, it came to the hand of one, who had three sons, all of them goodly and virtuous persons, and very obedient to their Father: in which regard, he affected them all equally, without any difference or partial respect. The custom of this ring being known to them, each one of them (coveting to bear esteem above the other) desired (as he could best make his means) his father, that in regard he was now grown very old, he would leave that Ring to him, whereby he should be acknowledged for his heir. The good man, who loved no one of them more than the other, knew not how to make his choice, nor to which of them he should leave the Ring: yet having past his promise to them severally, he studied by what means to satisfy them all three. Wherefore, secretly having conferred with a curious and excellent Goldsmith, he caused two other Rings to be made, so really resembling the first made Ring, that himself (when he had them in his hand) could not distinguish which was the right one.  
Lying upon his deathbed, and his sons then plying him by their best opportunities, he gave to each of them a Ring And they (after his death) presuming severally upon their right to the inheritance & honour, grew to great contradiction and square: each man producing then his Ring, which were so truly all alike in resemblance, as no one could know the right Ring from the other. And therefore, suit in Law, to distinguish the true heir to his Father; continued long time, and so it doth yet to this very day. In like manner my good Lord, concerning those three laws given by God the Father, to three such people as you have propounded: each of them do imagine that they have the heritage of God, and his true Law, and also duly to perform his commandments; but which of them do so indeed, the question (as of the three rings) is yet remaining.  
Saladine well perceiving, that the Jew was too cunning to be caught in his snare, and had answered so well, that to do him further violence, would redound unto his perpetual dishonour; 〈◊〉 to reveal his need and extremity, and try if he would therein friendly stead him. Having disclosed the matter, and how he purposed to have dealt with him, if he had not returned so wise an answer; the Jew lent him so great a sum of money as he demanded, and Saladine repaid it again to him justly, giving him other great gifts beside: respecting him as his especial friend, and maintaining him in very honourable condition, near unto his own person.   

A monk having committed an offence, deserving to be very grievously punished; freed himself from the pain to be inflicted on him, by wittily reprehending his Abbot, with the very same fault.  
The fourth novel.  
Wherein may be noted, that such men as will reprove those errors in others, which remain in themselves, commonly are the Authors of their own reprehension.  
SO ceased Madam Philomena, after the conclusion of her Tale, when Dioneus sitting next unto her, (without tarrying for any other command from the Queen, knowing by the order formerly begun, that he was to follow in the same course) spoke in this manner.  
Gracious Ladies, if I fail not in understanding your general intention; we are purposely assembled here to tell Tales, and especially such as may please ourselves. In which respect, because nothing should be done disorderly, I hold it lawful for every one (as our Queen decreed before her dignity) to relate such a novelty, as (in their own judgement) may cause most contentment. Wherefore having heard, that by the good admonitions of jehannot de Chevigny, Abraham the Jew was advised to the salvation of his soul, and Melchisedech (by his witty understanding) defended his riches from the trains of Saladine: I now purpose to tell you in a few plain words, (without fear of receiving any reprehension) how cunningly a monk compassed his deliverance, from a punishment intended towards him.  
There was in the Country of Lunigiana (which is not fare distant from our own) a Monastery, which sometime was better furnished with holiness and Religion, than now adays they are; wherein lived (among diverse other) a young novice monk, whose hot and lusty disposition (being in the vigour of his years) was such, as neither fasts nor prayers had any great power over him. It chanced on a fasting day about high noon, when all the other monks were asleep in their dormitories or Dorters, this frolic Friar was walking alone in their Church, which stood in a very solitary place, where ruminating on many matters by himself, he espied a pretty handsome wench (some husbandman's daughter in the country, that had been gathering roots and herbs in the field) upon her knees before an Altar, whom he had no sooner seen, but immediately he felt effeminate temptations, and such as ill fitted with his profession.  
Lascivious desire, and no religious devotion, made him draw near her, and whether under shift (the only cloak to compass carnal affections) or some other as close conference, to as pernicious and vile a purpose, I know not: but so fare he prevailed upon her frailty, and such a bargain passed between them, that (from the Church) he won her to his Chamber, before any person could perceive it. Now, while this young lusty monk (transported with overfond affection) was more careless of his dalliance, than he should have been; the Lord Abbot, being newly arisen from sleep, and walking softly about the cloister, came to the monks Daughters door, where hearing what noise was made between them, and a feminine voice, more strange than he was wont to hear; he laid his ear close to the Chamber door, and plainly perceived, that a woman was within. Wherewith being much moved, he intended suddenly to make him open the door; but (upon better consideration) he conceived it fare more fitting for him, to return back to his own chamber, and tarry until the monk should come forth.  
The monk, though his delight with the Damosel was extraordinary, yet fear and suspicion followed upon it: for, in the very height of all his wantonness, he heard a soft treading about the door. And prying thorough a small crevice in the same door, perceived apparently, that the Abbot himself stood listening there, and could not be ignorant, but that the maid was with him in the Chamber. As after pleasure ensueth pain, so the venial monk knew well enough (though wanton heat would not let him heed it before) that most grievous punishment must be inflicted on him; which made him sad beyond all measure. Nevertheless, without disclosing his dismay to the young Maiden, he began to consider with himself on many means, whereby to find out one that might best fit his turn. And suddenly conceited an apt stratagem, which sorted to such effect as he would have it: whereupon seeming satisfied for that season, he told the damsel, that (being careful of her credit) as he had brought her in unseen of any, so he would free her from thence again, desiring her to tarry there (without making any noise at all) until such time as he returned to her.  
Going forth of the Chamber, and locking it fast with the key, he went directly to the Lord abbot's lodging, and delivering him the said key (as every monk used to do the like, when he went abroad out of the convent) setting a good countenance on the matter, boldly said; My Lord, I have not yet brought in all my par● of the wood, which lieth ready cut down in the forest; and having now convenient time to do it, if you please to give me leave, I will go and fetch it. The Abbot persuading himself, that he had not been discovered by the monk, and to be resolved more assuredly in the offence committed; being not a little jocund of so happy an accident, gladly took the key, and gave him leave to fetch the wood.  
No sooner was he gone, but the Abbot began to consider with himself, what he were best to do in this case, either (in the presence of all the other monks) to open the Chamber door, that so the offence being known to them all, they might have no occasion of murmuring against him, when he proceeded in the monks punishment; or rather should first understand of the damsel herself, how, and in what manner she was brought thither. Furthermore, he considered, that she might be a woman of respect, or some such man's daughter, as would not take it well, to have her disgraced before all the monks. Wherefore he concluded, first to see (himself) what she was, and then (afterward) to resolve upon the rest. So going very softly to the Chamber, and entering in, locked the door fast with the key, when the poor damsel thinking it had been the gallant young monk; but finding it to be the Lord Abbot, she fell on her knees weeping, as fearing now to receive public shame, by being betrayed in this unkind manner.  
My Lord Abbot looking demurely on the maid, and perceiving her to be fair, feat, and lovely; felt immediately (although he was old) no less spurring on to fleshly desires, than the young monk before had done; whereupon he began to confer thus privately with himself. Why should I not take pleasure, when I may freely have it? Cares and molestations I endure every day, but seldom find such delights prepared for me. This is a delicate sweet young damsel, and here is no eye that can discover me. If I can induce her to do as I would have her, I know no reason why I should gainsay it. No man can know it, or any tongue blaze it abroad; and sin so concealed, is half pardoned. Such a fair fortune as this is, perhaps hereafter will never befall me; and therefore I hold it wisdom, to take such a benefit when a man may enjoy it.  
Upon this immodest meditation, and his purpose quite altered which he came for; he went nearer to her, and very kindly began to comfort her, desiring her to forbear weeping, and (by further insinuating speeches) acquainted her with his amorous intention. The maid, who was made neither of iron nor diamond, and seeking to prevent one shame by another, was easily won to the abbot's will, which caused him to embrace and kiss her often.  
Our lusty young novice monk, whom the Abbot imagined to be gone for wood, had hid himself aloft upon the roof of the Dorter, where, when he saw the Abbot enter alone into the Chamber, he lost a great part of his former fear, promising to himself a kind of persuasion, that somewhat would ensue to his better comfort; but when he beheld him locked into the Chamber, than his hope grew to undoubted certainty. A little chincke or crevice favoured him, whereat he could both hear and see, whatsoever was done or spoken by them: so, when the Abbot thought he had stayed long enough with the damsel, leaving her still there, and locking the door fast again, he returned thence to his own Chamber.  
Within some short while after, the Abbot knowing the monk to be in the convent, and supposing him to be lately returned with the wood, determined to reprove him sharply, and to have him closely imprisoned, that the damsel might remain solely to himself. And causing him to be called presently before him, with a very stern and angry countenance giving him many harsh and bitter speeches, commanded, that he should be clapped in prison.  
The monk very readily answered, saying. My good Lord, I have not yet been so long in the order of Saint Benedict, as to learn all the particularities thereto belonging. And beside Sir, you never shown me or any of my brethren, in what manner we young monks ought to use women, as you have otherwise done for our custom of prayer and fasting. But seeing you have so lately therein instructed me, and by your own example how to do it: I here solemnly promise you, if you please to pardon me but this one error, I will never fail therein again, but daily follow what I have seen you do.  
The Abbot, being a man of quick apprehension, perceived instantly by this answer; that the monk not only knew as much as he did, but also had seen (what was intended) that he should not. Wherefore, finding himself to be as faulty as the monk, and that he could not shame him, but worthily had deserved as much himself; pardoning him, and imposing silence on either's offence: they conveyed the poor abused damsel forth of their doors, she purposing (never after) to transgress in the like manner.   

The Lady marquis of Montferrat, with a Banquet of hens, and diverse other gracious speeches beside, repressed the fond love of the King of France.  
The fift novel.  
Declaring, that wise and virtuous Ladies, aught to hold their chastity in more esteem, than the greatness and treasures of Princes: and that a discreet Lord should not offer modesty violence.  
THE Tale reported by Dioneus, at the first hearing of the Ladies, began to relish of some immodesty, as the bashful blood mounting up into their faces, delivered by apparent testimony. And beholding one another with scarse-pleasing looks, during all the time it was in discoursing, no sooner had he concluded: but with a few mild and gentle speeches, they gave him a modest reprehension, and meaning to let him know, that such tales ought not to be told among women. Afterward, the Queen commanded madam Fiammetta, (sitting on a bank of flowers before her) to take her turn as next in order: and she, smiling with such a virgin-blush, as very beautifully became her, began in this manner.  
It is no little joy to me, that we understand so well (by the discourses already past) what power consisteth in the delivery of wise and ready answers; And because it is a great part of sense and judgement in men, to affect women of great birth and quality, than themselves, as also an admirable foresight in women, to keep off from being surprised in love, by Lords going beyond them in degree; a matter offereth itself to my memory, well deserving my speech and your attention, how a Gentlewoman (both in word and deed) should defend her honour in that kind, when importunity laboureth to betray it.  
The marquis of Montferrat was a worthy and valiant Knight, who being captain general for the Church, the necessary service required his company on the Seas, in a goodly Army of the Christians against the Turks. Upon a day, in the Court of King Philip, surnamed the one eyed King (who likewise made preparation in France, for a royal assistance to that expedition) as many speeches were delivered, concerning the valour and manhood of this marquis: it fortuned, that a Knight was then present, who knew him very familiarly, and he gave an addition to the former commendation, than the whole world contained not a more equal couple in marriage, than the marquis & his Lady. For, as among all Knights, the marquis could hardly be paralleled for arms and honour; even so his wife, in comparison of all other Ladies, was scarcely matchable for beauty and virtue. Which words were so weighty in the apprehension of King Philip, that suddenly (having as yet never seen her) he began to affect her very earnestly, concluding to embark himself at Gennes or Genova, there to set forward on the intended voyage, and journeying thither by land: he would shape some honest excuse to see the Lady marquis, whose Lord being then from home, opinion persuaded him over-fondly, that he should easily obtain the issue of his amorous desire.  
When he was come within a day's journey, where the Lady marquis then lay; he sent her word, that she should expect his company on the morrow at dinner. The Lady, being singularly wise and judicious; answered the Messenger, that she reputed the Kings coming to her, as an extraordinary grace and favour, and that he should be most hearty welcome. Afterward, entering into further consideration with herself, what the King might mean by this private visitation, knowing her husband to be from home, and it to be no mean bar to his apt entertainment: at last she discreetly conceited (and therein was not deceived) that babbling report of her beauty and perfections, might thus occasion the Kings coming thither, his journey lying else a quite contrary way. Notwithstanding, being a Princely Lady, and so loyal a wife as ever lived, she intended to give him her best entertainment: summoning the chiefest Gentlemen in the Country together, to take due order (by their advice) for giving the King a gracious welcome. But concerning the dinner, and diet for service to his table; that remained only at her own disposing.  
Sending presently abroad, and buying all the hens that the Country afforded; she commanded her cooks, that only of them (without any other provision beside) they should prepare all the services that they could device. On the morrow, the King came according to his promise, and was most honourable welcomed by the Lady, who seemed in his eye (fare beyond the knight's speeches of her) the fairest creature that ever he had seen before; whereat he marvelled not a little, extolling her perfections to be peerless, which much the more inflamed his affections, and (almost) made his desires impatient. The King being withdrawn into such Chambers, as orderly were prepared for him, and as beseemed so great a Prince: the hour of dinner drawing on, the King and the Lady marquis were seated at one Table, and his attendants placed at other tables, answerable to their degrees of honour.  
Plenty of dishes being served in, and the rarest wines that the country yielded, the King had more mind to the fair Lady marquis, than any meat that stood on the Table. Nevertheless, observing each service after other, and that all the Viands (though variously cooked, and in diverse kinds) were nothing else but hens only; he began to wonder, and so much the rather, because he knew the country to be of such quality, that it afforded all plenty both of fowls and Venyson: beside, after the time of his coming was heard, they had respite enough, both for hawking and hunting; and therefore it increased his marvel the more, that nothing was provided for him, but hens only: wherein to be the better resolved, turning a merry countenance to the Lady, thus he spoke. Madam, are hens only bred in this country, and no cocks? The Lady marquis, very well understanding his demand, which fitted her with an apt opportunity, to thwart his idle hope, and defend her own honour; boldly returned the King this answer. Not so my Lord, but women and wives, howsoever they differ in garments and graces one from another; yet notwithstanding, they are all here as they be in other places.  
When the King heard this reply, he knew well enough the occasion of his hen dinner, as also, what virtue lay couched under her answer; perceiving apparently, that wanton words would prove but in vain, and such a woman was not easily to be seduced; wherefore, as he grew enamoured on her inconsiderately, so he found it best fitting for his honour, to quench this heat with wisdom discreetly. And so, without any more words, or further hope of speeding in so unkingly a purpose, dinner being ended, by a sudden departing, he smoothly shadowed the cause of his coming, and thanking her for the honour she had done him, commended her to her chaste disposition, and posted away with speed to Gennes.   

An honest plain meaning man, (simply and conscionably) reprehended the malignity, hypocrisy, and misdemeanour of many Religious persons.  
The sixth novel.  
Declaring, that in few, discreet, and well placed words, the covered craft of churchmen may be justly reproved, and their hypocrisy honestly discovered.  
MAdam Aemilia sitting next to the gentle Lady Fiammetta, perceiving the modest chastisement, which the virtuous Lady marquis had given to the King of France, was generally graced by the whole Assembly; began (after the Queen had thereto appointed her) in these words. Nor will I conceal the deserved reprehension, which an honest simple layman, gave to a covetous holy Father, in very few words; yet more to be commended, then derided.  
Not long since (worthy Ladies) there dwelled in our own native City, a Friar Minor, an Inquisitor after matters of Faith, who, although he laboured greatly to seem a sanctified man, and an earnest affecter of Christian Religion, (as all of them appear to be in outward show;) yet he was a much better Inquisitor after them, that had their purses plenteously stored with money, then of such as were slenderly grounded in Faith. By which diligent continued care in him, he found out a man, more rich in purse, then understanding; and yet not so defective in matters of faith, as misguided by his own simple speaking, and (perhaps) when his brain was well warmed with wine, words fell more foolishly from him, then in better judgement they could have done.  
Being on a day in company, (very little differing in quality from himself) he chanced to say; that he had been at such good wine, as God himself did never drink better. Which words (by some sycophant then in presence) being carried to this curious Inquisitor, and he well knowing, that the man's faculties were great, and his bags swollen up full with no mean abundance: Cum gladijs & fustibus; With book, Bell, and Candle, he raised an host of execrations against him, and the Sumner cited him with a solemn process to appear before him, understanding sufficiently, that this course would sooner fetch money from him, then amend any misbelief in the man; for no further reformation did he seek after.  
The man coming before him, he demanded, if the accusation intimated against him, was true or no? Whereto the honest man answered, that he could not deny the speaking of such words, and declared in what manner they were uttered. Presently the Inquisitor, most devoutly addicted to Saint John with the golden beard, said; What? Dost thou make our Lord a drinker, and a curious quaffer of wines, as if he were a glutton, belly-god, or a tavern haunter, as thou, and other drunkards are. Being an hypocrite, as thou art, thou thinkest this to be but a light matter, because it may seem so in thine own opinion: but I tell thee plainly, that it deserveth fire and faggor, if I should proceed in justice to inflict it on thee: with these, and other such like threatening words, as also a very stern and angry countenance, he made the man believe himself to be an Epicure, and that he denied the eternity of the soul; whereby he fell into such a trembling fear, as doubting indeed, lest he should be burned, that, to be more mercifully dealt withal, he rounded him in the care, and (by secret means) so anointed his hands with Saint john's golden grease, (a very singular remedy against the disease pestilential in covetous Priests, especially Friars Minors, that dare touch no money) as the case became very quickly altered.  
This sovereign unction was of such virtue (though Galen speaks not a word thereof among all his chiefest medicines) and so fare prevailed; that the terrible threatening words of fire and faggot, became merely frozen up, and gracious language blew a more gentle and calmer air; the Inquisitor delivering him an hallowed crucifix, creating him a soldier of the cross (because he had paired Crosses good store for it) and even as if he were to travel under that Standard to the holy Land; so did he appoint him a home-paying penance, namely, to visit him thrice every week in his Chamber, and to anoint his hands with the selfsame yellow unguent, and afterward, to hear a mass of the holy cross, visiting him also at dinner time, which being ended, to do nothing all the rest of the day, but according as he directed him.  
The simple man, yet not so simple, but seeing that this weekly greasing the Inquisitors hands, would (in time) grasp away all his gold; grew weary of this anointing, and began to consider with himself, how to stay the course of this chargeable penance: And coming one morning, (according to his injunction) to hear mass, in the gospel he observed these words; You shall receive an hundred for one, and so possess eternal life; which saying he kept perfectly in his memory, and, as he was commanded, at dinner time, he came to the Inquisitor, finding him (among his fellows) seated at the Table. The Inquisitor presently demanded of him, whether he had heard mass that morning, or no? Yes Sir, replied the man very readily. Hast thou heard any thing therein (quoth the Inquisitor) whereof thou art doubtful, or desirest to be further informed? Surely Sir, answered the plain meaning man, I make no doubt of any thing I have heard, but do believe all constantly; only one thing troubleth me much, and maketh me very compassionate of you, and of all these holy Fathers your brethren, perceiving in what woeful and wretched estate you will be, when you shall come into another World. What words are these, quoth the Inquisitor? And why art thou moved to such compassion of us? O good Sir, said the man, do you remember the words in the gospel this morning? you shall receive an hundred for one. That is very true, replied the Inquisitor, but what moveth thee to urge those words?  
I will tell you Sir, answered the plain fellow, so it might please you to be not offended. Since the time of my resorting hither, I have daily seen many poor people at your door, and (out of your abundance) when you and your brethren have fed sufficiently, every one hath had a good mess of pottage: now Sir, if for every dishfull given, you are sure to receive an hundred again, you will all be merely drowned in pottage. Although though the rest (sitting at the Table with the Inquisitor) laughed hearty at this jest; yet he found himself touched in another nature, having (hypocritically) received for one poor offence, above three hundred pieces of gold, and not a mite to be restored again. But fearing to be further disclosed, yet threatening him with another process in Law, for abusing the words of the gospel; he was content to dismiss him for altogether, without any more golden greasing in the hand.   

Bergamino, by telling a Tale of a skilful man, named Primasso, and of an Abbot of Clugni; honestly checked a new kind of covetousness, in Master Can de la Scala.  
The seaventh novel.  
Approving, that it is much unfitting for a Prince, or great person, to be covetous; but rather to be liberal to all men.  
THe courteous demeanour of Madam Aemilia, and the quaintness of her discourse, caused both the Queen, and the rest of the company, to commend the invention of carrying the cross, and the golden ointment appointed for penance. Afterward, Philostratus, who was in order to speak next, began in this manner.  
It is a commendable thing (fair Ladies) to hit a But that never stirreth out of his place: but it is a matter much more admirable, to see a thing (suddenly appearing, and seldom or never frequented before) to be as suddenly hit by an ordinary Archer. The vicious and polluted lives of Priests, yields matter of itself in many things, deserving speech and reprehension, as a true But of wickedness, and well worthy to be sharply shot at. And therefore, though that honest meaning man did wisely, in touching Master Inquisitor to the quick, with the hypocritical charity of monks and Friars, in giving such things to the poor, as were more meet for swine, or to be worse thrown away; yet I hold him more to be commended, who (by occasion of a former tale, and which I purpose to relate) pleasantly reproved Master Can de la Scala, a Magnifico and mighty Lord, for a sudden and unaccustomed covetousness appearing in him, figuring by other men, that which he intended to say of him, in manner following.  
Master Can de la Scala, as fame ran abroad of him in all places, was (beyond the infinite favours of Fortune towards him) one of the most notable and magnificent Lords that ever lived in Italy, since the days of Frederick the second Emperor. He determining to procure a very solemn assembly at Verona, and many people being met there from diverse places, especially Gentlemen of all degrees; suddenly (upon what occasion I know not) his mind altered, and he would not go forward with his intention. Most of them he partly recompensed which were come thither, and they dismissed to departed at their pleasure, one only man remained unrespected, or in any kind sort sent away, whose name was Bergamino, a man very pleasantly disposed, and so wittily ready in speaking and answering, as none could easily credit it, but such as heard him; and although his recompense seemed over long delayed, yet he made no doubt of a beneficial ending.  
By some enemies of his, Master Can de la Scala was incensed, that whatsoever he gave or bestowed on him; was as ill employed and utterly lost, as if it were thrown into the fire, and therefore he neither did or spoke any thing to him. Some few days being passed over, and Bergamino perceiving, that he was neither called, nor any account made of, notwithstanding many manly good parts in him; observing beside, that he found a shrewd consumption in his purse, his inn, horses, and servants being chargeable to him: he beg●n to grow extremely melancholy, and yet he attended in expectation day by day, as thinking it fare unfitting for him, to departed before he was bidden farewell.  
Having brought with him thither three goodly rich garments, which had been given him by sundry Lords, for his more sightly appearance at this great meeting: the importunate Host being greedy of payment, first he delivered him one of them, and yet not half the score being wiped off, the second must needs follow, and beside, except he meant to leave his lodging, he must live upon the third so long as it would last, till he saw what end his hopes would sort to. It fortuned, during the time of living thus upon his latest refuge, that he met with master Can one day at dinner, where he presented himself before him, with a discontented countenance: which master Can well observing, more to distaste him, then take delight in any thing that could come from him, he said. Bergamino, how chearest thou? Thou art very melancholy, I pray thee tell us why? Bergamino suddenly, without any premeditation, yet seeming as if he had long considered thereon, reported this Tale.  
Sir, I have heard of a certain man, named Primasso, one skilfully learned in the Grammar, and (beyond all other) a very witty and ready versifier: in regard whereof, he was so much admired, and fare renowned, that such as never saw him, but only heard of him, could easily say, this is Primasso. It came to pass, that being once at Paris, in poor estate, as commonly he could light on no better fortune (because virtue is slenderly rewarded, by such as have the greatest possessions) he heard much fame of the Abbot of Clugni, a man reputed (next to the Pope) to be the richest Prelate of the Church. Of him he heard wonderful and magnificent matters, that he always kept an open and hospitable Court, and never made refusal of any (from whence so ever he came or went) but they did eat and drink freely there; provided, that they came when the Abbot was set at the Table. Primasso hearing this, and being an earnest desirer, to see magnificent and virtuous men; he resolved to go see this rare bounty of the Abbot, demanding how far he dwelled from Paris. Being answered, about some three leagues thence; Primasso made account, that if he went on betimes in the morning, he should easily reach thither before the hour for dinner.  
Being instructed in the way, and not finding any to walk along with him; fearing, if he went without some furnishment, and should stay long there for his dinner, he might (perhaps) complain of hunger: he therefore carried three loaves of bread with him, knowing that he could meet with water every where, albeit he used to drink but little. Having aptly conveyed his bread about him, he went on his journey, and arrived at the Lord abbot's Court, an indifferent while before dinner time: wherefore, entering into the great Hall, and so from place to place, beholding the great multitude of Tables, bountiful preparation in the kitchen, and what admirable provision there was for dinner; he said to himself, Truly this man is more magnificent, than Fame hath made him, because she speaks too sparingly of him.  
While thus he went about, considering on all these things, he saw the master of the abbot's household (because then it was the hour of dinner) command water to be brought for washing hands, and every one sitting down at the Table: it fell to the lot of Primasso, to sit directly against the door, whereat the Abbot must enter into the Hall. The custom in this Court was such, that no food should be served to any, of the Tables, until the Lord Abbot was himself first set: whereupon, every thing being fit and ready, the master of the household, went to tell his Lord, that nothing now wanted but his presence only.  
The Abbot coming from his Chamber to enter the Hall, looking about him, as he was wont to do; the first man he saw was Primasso, who being but in homely habit, and he having not seen him before to his remembrance; a present bad conceit possessed his brain, that he never saw an unworthier person, saying within himself: See how I give my goods away to be devoured. So returning back to his Chamber again, commanded the door to be made fast, demanding of every man near about him, if they knew the base knave that sat before his entrance into the Hall, and all his servants answered no. Primasso being extremely hungry, with travailing on foot so fare, and never used to fast so long; expecting still when meat would be served in, and that the Abbot came not at all: drew out one of his loaves which he brought with him, and very hearty fell to feeding.  
My Lord Abbot, after he had stayed within an indifferent while, sent forth one of his men, to see if the poor fellow was gone, or no. The servant told him, that he still stayed there, and fed upon dry bread, which it seemed he had brought thither with him. Let him feed on his own (replied the Abbot) for he shall taste of none of mine this day. Gladly would the Abbot, that Primasso should have gone thence of himself, and yet held it scarcely honest in his Lordship, to dismiss him by his own command. Primasso having eaten one of his loaves, and yet the Abbot was not come; began to feed upon the second: the Abbot still sending to expect his absence, and answered as he was before. At length, the Abbot not coming, and Primasso having eaten up his second loaf, hunger compelled him to begin with the third.  
When these news were carried to the Abbot, suddenly he broke forth and said. What new kind of needy trick hath my brain begotten this day? Why do I grow disdainful against any man whatsoever? I have long time allowed my meat to be eaten by all comers that did please to visit me, without exception against any person, Gentleman, Yeoman, poor or rich, merchant or minstrel, honest man or knave, never refraining my presence in the Hall, by basely contemning one poor man. believe me, covetousness of one man's meat, doth ill agree with mine estate and calling. What though he appeareth a wretched fellow to me? He may be of greater merit than I can imagine, and deserve more honour than I am able to give him.  
Having thus discoursed with himself, he would needs understand of whence and what he was, and finding him to be Primasso, come only to see the magnificence which he had reported of him, knowing also (by the general fame noised every whereof him) that he was reputed to be a learned, honest, and ingenious man: he grew greatly ashamed of his own folly, and being desirous to make him an amends, striven many ways how to do him honour, When dinner was ended, the Abbot bestowed honourable garments on him, such as beseemed his degree and merit, and putting good store of money in his purse, as also giving him a good horse to ride on, left it at his own free election, whether he would stay there still with him, or departed at his pleasure. Wherewith Primasso being highly contented, yielding him the heartiest thankes he could device to do, returned to Paris on horseback, albeit he came poorly thither on foot.  
Master Can de la Scala, who was a man of good understanding, perceived immediately (without any further interpretation) what Bergamino meant by this moral, and smiling on him, said: Bergamino, thou hast honestly expressed thy virtue and necessities, and justly reproved mine avarice, niggardness, and base folly. And trust me Bergamino, I never felt such a fit of covetousness come upon me, as this which I have dishonestly declared to thee: and which I will now banish from me, with the same correction as thou hast taught me. So, having paid the Host all his charges, redeeming also his robes or garments, mounting him on a good Gelding, and putting plenty of crowns in his purse, he referred it to his own choice to departed, or dwell there still with him.   

Guillaume Boursier, with a few acquaint and familiar words, checked the miserable covetousness of Signior Herminio de Grimaldi.  
The eight novel.  
Which plainly declareth, that a covetous Gentleman, is not worthy of any honour or respect.  
MAdam Lauretta, sitting next to Philostratus, when she had heard the witty conceit of Bergamino; knowing, that she was to say somewhat, without injunction or command, pleasantly thus began.  
This last discourse (fair and virtuous company) induceth me to tell you, how an honest Courtier reprehended in like manner (and nothing unprofitably) base covetousness in a Merchant of extraordinary wealth. Which Tale, although (in effect) it may seem to resemble the former; yet perhaps, it will prove no less pleasing to you, in regard it sorted to as good an end.  
It is no long time since, that there lived in Genes or Geneway, a Gentleman named Signior Herminio de Grimaldi, who (as every one well knew) was more rich in inheritances, and ready sums of currant money, than any other known Citizen in Italy. And as he surpassed other men in wealth, so did he likewise excel them in wretched avarice, being so miserably greedy and covetous, as no man in the world could be more wicked that way; because, not only he kept his purse locked up from pleasuring any, but denied needful things to himself, enduring many miseries & distresses, only to avoid expenses, contrary to the Genewayes general custom, who always delighted to be decently clothed, and to have their diet of the best. By reason of which most miserable baseness, they took from him the surname of Grimaldi, whereof he was in right descended: and called him master Herminio the covetous miser, a nickname very notably agreeing with his gripple nature.  
It came to pass, that in this time of his spending nothing, but multiplying daily by infinite means, that a civil honest Gentleman (a Courtier, of ready wit, and discursive in Languages) came to Geneway, being named Guillaume Boursier. A man very fare differing from diverse Courtiers in these days, who for soothing shameful and graceless manners, in such as allow them maintenance, are called and reputed to be Gentlemen, yea especial favourites: whereas much more worthily, they should be accounted as knaves and villains, being borne and bred in all filthiness, and skilful in every kind of basest behaviour, not fit to come in Prince's Courts. For, whereas in passed times, they spent their days and pains in making peace, when Gentlemen were at war or dissension, or treating on honest marriages, between friends and familiars, & (with loving speeches) would recreate disturbed minds, desiring none but commendable exercises in Court, and sharply reprooving (like fathers) disordered life, or ill actions in any, albeit with recompense little, or none at all: these upstarts now adays, employ all their pains in detractions, sowing questions and quarrels between one another, making no spare of lies & falsehoods. Nay which is worse, they will do this in the presence of any man, upbraiding him with injuries, shames, and scandals (true or not true) upon the very lest occasion. And by false and deceitful flatteries and villainies of their own inventing, they make Gentlemen to become as vile as themselves. For which detestable qualities, they are better beloved and respected of their misdemeanored Lords, and recompensed in more bountiful manner, than men of virtuous carriage and desert. Which is an argument sufficient, that goodness is gone up to heaven, and hath quite forsaken these loathed lower Regions, where men are drowned in the mud of all abominable vices.  
But returning where I left (being led out of my way by a just and religious anger against such deformity) this Gentleman, Master Guillaume Boursier, was willingly seen, and gladly welcomed by all the best men in Geneway. Having remained some few days in the City, & (among other matters, heard much talk of the miserable covetousness of master Herminio, he grew very desirous to have a sight of him. Master Herminio had already understood, that this Gentleman, Master Guillaume Boursier, was virtuously disposed, and (how covetously soever he was inclined) having in him some sparks of noble nature; gave him very good words, and gracious entertainment, discoursing with him on diverse occasions.  
In company of other Genewayes with him, h● brought him to a new erected house of his, a building of great cost and beauty, where, after he had shown him all the variable rarities, he began thus. Master Guillaume, no doubt but you have heard and seen many things, and you can instruct me in some acquaint conceit or device, to be fairly figured in painting, at the entrance into the great Hall of my House. Master Guillaume hearing him speak so simply, returned him this answer; Sir, I cannot advice you in any thing, so rare or unseen as you talk of: but how to sneeze (after a new manner) upon a full and overcloyed stomach, to avoid base humours that stupefy the brain, or other matters of the like quality. But if you would be taught a good one indeed, and had a disposition to see it fairly effected; I could instruct you in an excellent emblem, wherewith (as yet) you never came acquainted.  
Master Herminio hearing him say so, and expecting no such answer as he had said; Good Master Guillaume, tell me what it is, and on my faith I will have it fairly painted. Whereto Master Guillaume suddenly replied: do nothing but this Sir; Paint over the Portall at your Halles entrance, the lively picture of Liberality, to bid all your friends better welcome, then hitherto they have been. When Master Herminio heard these words, he became possessed with such a sudden shame, that his complexion changed from the former paleness, and answered thus. Master Guillaume, I will have your advice so truly figured over my gate, and she shall give so good welcome to all my guests, that both you, and all these Gentlemen shall say; I have both seen her, and am become reasonably acquainted with her. From that time forward, the words of Master Guillaume were so effectual with Signior Herminio, that he became the most bountiful and best housekeeper, which lived in his time in Geneway; no man more honouring and friendly welcoming both strangers and Citizens, than he continually used to do.   

The King of Cyprus was wittily reprehended, by the words of a Gentlewoman of gascoigny, and became virtuously altered from his vicious disposition.  
The ninth novel.  
Giving all men to understand, that justice is necessary in a King, above all things else whatsoever.  
THe last command of the Queen, remained upon Madam Elissa, or Eliza, who without any delaying, thus began. Young Ladies, it hath often been seen, that much pain hath been bestowed, and many reprehensions spent in vain, till a word happening at adventure, and perhaps not purposely determined, hath effectually done the deed: as appeareth by the Tale of Madam Lauretta, and another of mine own, wherewith I intent briefly to acquaint you, approving, that when good words are discreetly observed, they are of sovereign power and virtue.  
In the days of the first King of Cyprus, after the Conquest made in the holy Land by Godfrey of Bullen, it fortuned, that a Gentlewoman of gascoigny, travelling in pilgrimage, to visit the sacred sepulchre in Jerusalem, returning home again, arrived at Cyprus, where she was villainously abused by certain base wretches. Complaining thereof, without any comfort or redress, she intended to make her moan to the King of the country. Whereupon it was told her, that therein she should but lose her labour, because he was so womanish, and faint-hearted; that not only he refused to punish with justice the offences of others, but also suffered shameful injuries done to himself. And therefore, such as were displeased by his negligence, might easily discharge their spleen against him, and do him what dishonour they would.  
When the Gentlewoman heard this, despairing of any consolation, or revenge for her wrongs, she resolved to check the King's denial of justice, and coming before him weeping, spoke in this manner. Sir, I presume not into your presence, as hoping to have redress by you, for diverse dishonourable injuries done unto me; but, as a full satisfaction for them, do but teach me how you suffer such vile abuses, as daily are offered to yourself. To the end, that being therein instructed by you, I may the more patiently bear mine own; which (as God knoweth) I would bestow on you very gladly, because you know so well how to endure them.  
The King, who (till then) had been very bad, dull, and slothful, even as sleeping out his time of government; began to revenge the wrongs done to this Gentlewoman very severely, and (thence forward) became a most sharp justicer, for the least offence offered against the honour of his crown, or to any of his subjects beside.   

Master Albert of Bullen, honestly made a Lady to blush, that thought to have done as much to him, because she perceived him, to be amorously affected towards her.  
The tenth novel.  
Wherein is declared, that honest love agreeth with people of all ages.  
AFter that Madam Eliza sat silent, the last charge and labour of the like employment, remained to the Queen herself; whereupon she began thus to speak: Honest and virtuous young Ladies, like as the  
Stairss (when the air is fair and clear) are the adorning and beauty of heaven, and flowers (while the Spring time lasteth) do graciously embellish the meadows; even so sweet speeches and pleasing conferences, to pass the time with commendable discourses, are the best habit of the mind, and an outward beauty to the body: which ornament of words, when they appear to be short and sweet, are much more seemly in women, then in men; because long and tedious talking (when it may be done in lesser time) is a greater blemish in women, then in men.  
Among us women, this day, I think few or none have therein offended, but as readily have understood short and pithy speeches, as they have been quick and quaintly delivered. But when answering suiteth not with understanding, it is generally a shame in us, and all such as live; because our modern times have converted that virtue, which was within them who lived before us, into garments of the body, and show whose habits were noted to be most gaudy, fullest of embroideries and fantastic fashions: she was reputed to have most matter in her, and therefore to be more honoured and esteemed. Never considering, that whosoever loadeth the back of an ass, or puts upon him the richest bravery; he becometh not thereby a jot the wiser, or merriteth any more honour than an ass should have. I am ashamed to speak it, because in detecting other, I may (perhaps) as justly tax myself.  
Such embroidered bodies, tricked and trimmed in such boasting bravery, are they any thing else but as Marble Statues, dumb, dull, and utterly insensible? Or if (perchance) they make an answer, when some question is demanded of them; it were much better for them to be silent. For defence of honest devise and conference among men and women, they would have the world to think, that it proceedeth but from simplicity and precise opinion, covering their own folly with the name of honesty: as if there were no other honest woman, but she that confers only with her chambermaid, laundress, or Kitchin-woman, as if nature had allowed them (in their own idle conceit) no other kind of talking.  
Most true it is, that as there is a respect to be used in the action of other things; so, time and place are necessarily to be considered, and also whom we converse withal; because sometimes it happeneth, that a man or woman, intending (by a word of jest and merriment) to make another body blush or be ashamed: not knowing what strength of wit remaineth in the opposite, do convert the same disgrace upon themselves. Therefore, that we may the more advisedly stand upon our own guard, and to prevent the common proverb, That Women (in all things) make choice of the worst: I desire that this days last tale, which is to come from myself, may make us all wise. To the end, that as in gentleness of mind we confer with other; so by excellency in good manners, we may show ourselves not inferior to them.  
It is not many years since (worthy assembly) that in Boulogne there dwelled a learned physician, a man famous for skill, and fare renowned, whose name was Master Albert, and being grown aged, to the estimate of threescore and ten years: he had yet such a sprightly disposition, that though natural heat and vigour had quite shaken hands with him, yet amorous flames and desires had not wholly forsaken him. Having seen (at a Banquet) a very beautiful woman, being then in the estate of widowhood, named (as some say) madam Margaret de Chisolieri, she appeared so pleasing in his eye; that his senses became no less disturbed, then as if he had been of fare younger temper, and no night could any quietness possess his soul, except (the day before) he had seen the sweet countenance of this lovely widow. In regard whereof, his daily passage was by her door, one while on horseback, and then again on foot; as best might declare his plain purpose to see her.  
Both she and other Gentlewomen, perceiving the occasion of his passing and repassing; would privately jest thereat together, to see a man of such years and discretion, to be amorously addicted, or over-swayed by effeminate passions. For they were partly persuaded, that such wanton Ague fits of love, were fit for none but youthful apprehensions, as best agreeing with their cheerful complexion. Master Albert continuing his daily walks by the widow's lodging, it chanced upon a festival day, that she (accompanied with diverse other women of great account) being sitting at her door; espied Master Albert (fare off) coming thitherward, and a resolved determination among themselves was set down, to allow him favourable entertainment, and to jest (in some merry manner) at his loving folly, as afterward they did indeed.  
No sooner was he come near, but they all arose, and courteously invited him to enter with them, conducting him into a goodly Garden, where readily was prepared choice of delicate wines and banqueting. At length, among other pleasant and delightful discourses, they demanded of him: how it was possible for him, to be amorously affected towards so beautiful a woman, both knowing and seeing, how earnestly she was solicited by many gracious, gallant, and youthful spirits, ap●ly suiting with her years and desires? Master Albert perceiving, that they had drawn him in among them, only to scoff and make a mockery of him; set a merry countenance on the matter, and honestly thus answered.  
Believe me Gentlewoman (speaking to the widow herself) it should not appear strange to any of wisdom and discretion, that I am amorously inclined, and especially to you, because you are well worthy of it. And although those powers, which naturally appertain to the exercises of love, are bereft and gone from aged people; yet good will thereto cannot be taken from them, neither judgement to know such as deserve to be affected: for, by how much they exceed youth in knowledge and experience, by so much the more hath nature made them meet for respect and reverence. The hope which incited me (being aged) to love you, that are affected of so many youthful Gallants, grew thus. I have often chanced into diverse places, where I have seen Ladies and Gentlewomen, being disposed to a Collation or rere-banquet after dinner, to feed on lupins, and young Onions or leeks, and although it may be so, that there is little or no goodness at all in them; yet the heads of them are least hurtful, and most pleasing in the mouth. And you Gentlewomen generally (guided by unreasonable appetite) will hold the heads of them in your hands, and feed upon the blades or stalks: which not only are not good for any thing, but also are of very bad savour. And what know I (Lady) whether among the choice of friends, it may fit your fancy to do the like? For, if you did so, it were no fault of mine to be chosen of you, but thereby were all the rest of your suitors the sooner answered.  
The widowed Gentlewoman, and all the rest in her company, being bashfully ashamed of her own and their folly, presently said. Master Albert, you have both well and worthily chastised our overbold presumption, and believe me Sir, I repute your love and kindness of no mean merit, coming from a man so wise and virtuous: And therefore (mine honour reserved) command my uttermost, as always ready to do you any honest service. Master Albert, arising from his seat, thanking the fair widow for her gentle offer; took leave of her and all the company, and she blushing, as all the rest were therein in not much behind her, thinking to check him, became chidden herself, whereby (if we be wise) let us all take warning.  
The sun was now somewhat fare declined, and the heats extremity well worn away, when the Tales of the seven Ladies and three Gentlemen were thus finished, whereupon their Queen pleasantly said. For this day (fair company) there remaineth nothing more to be done under my regiment, but only to bestow a new Queen upon you, who (according to her judgement) must take her turn, and dispose what next is to be done, for continuing our time in honest pleasure. And although the day should endure till dark night; in regard, that when some time is taken before, the better preparation may be made for occasions to follow, to the end also, that whatsoever the new Queen shall please to appoint, may be the better fitted for the morrow: I am of opinion, that at the same hour as we now cease, the following days shall severally begin. And therefore, in reverence to him that giveth life to all things, and in hope of comfort by our second day; madam Philomena, a most wise young Lady, shall govern as Queen this our kingdom.  
So soon as she had thus spoken, arising from her seat of dignity, and taking the laurel crown from off her own head; she reverently placed it upon madam Philomenaes', she first of all humbly saluting her, and then all the rest, openly confessing her to be their Queen, made gracious offer to obey whatsoever she commanded. Philomena, her cheeks delivering a scarlet tincture, to see herself thus honoured as their Queen, and well remembering the words, so lately uttered by madam Pampinea; that dulness or neglect might not be noted in her, took cheerful courage to her, and first of all, she confirmed the officers, which Pampinea had appointed the day before, than she ordained for the morrow's provision, as also for the supper so near approaching, before they departed away from thence, and then thus began.  
Lovely Companions, although that Madam Pampinea, more in her own courtesy, than any matter of merit remaining in me, hath made me your Queen: I am not determined, to alter the form of our intended life, nor to be guided by mine own judgement, but to associate the same with your assistance. And because you may know what I intent to do, and so (consequently) add or diminish at your pleasure; in very few words, you shall plainly understand my meaning. If you have well considered on the course, which this day hath been kept by Madam Pampinea, me thinks it hath been very pleasing and commendable; in which regard, until by over-tedious continuation, or other occasions of irksome offence, it shall seem injurious, I am of the mind, not to alter it. Holding on the order then as we have begun to do, we will departed from hence to recreate ourselves awhile, and when the Sun groweth towards setting, we will sup in the fresh and open air: afterward, with Canzonets and other pastimes, we will outwear the hours till bed time. To morrow morning, in the fresh and gentle breath thereof, we will rise & walk to such places, as every one shall find fittest for them, even as already this day we have done; until due time shall summon us hither again, to continue our discursive Tales, wherein (I thinks) consisteth both pleasure and profit, especially by discreet observation.  
Very true it is, that some things which Madam Pampinea could not accomplish, by reason of her so small time of authority, I will begin to undergo, to wit, in restraining some matters whereon we are to speak, that better premeditation may pass upon them. For, when respite and a little leisure goeth before them, each discourse will savour of the more formality; and if it might so please you, thus would I direct the order. As since the beginning of the world, all men have been guided (by Fortune) thorough diverse accidents and occasions: so beyond all hope & expectation, the issue and success hath been good and successful, and accordingly should every one of our arguments be chosen.  
The Ladies, and the young Gentlemen likewise, commended her advice, and promised to imitate it; only Dioneus excepted, who when every one was silent, spoke thus. Madam, I say as all the rest have done, that the order by you appointed, is most pleasing and worthy to be allowed. But I entreat one special favour for myself, and to have it confirmed to me, so long as our company continueth; namely, that I may not be constrained to this Law of direction, but to tell my Tale at liberty, after mine own mind, and according to the freedom first instituted. And because no one shall imagine, that I urge this grace of you, as being vnfurnished of discourses in this kind, I am well contented to be the last in every day's exercise.  
The Queen, knowing him to be a man full of mirth and matter, began to consider very advisedly, that he would not have moved this request, but only to the end, that if the company grew wearied by any of the Tales recounted, he would shut up the day's disport with some mirthful accident. Wherefore willingly, and with consent of all the rest he had his suit granted. So, arising all, they walked to a crystal river, descending down a little hill into a valley, graciously shaded with goodly Trees; where washing both their hands and feet, much pretty pleasure passed among them; till supper time drawing ne'er, made them return home to the Palace. When supper was ended, and books and instruments being laid before them, the Queen commanded a dance, & that Madam Aemilia, assisted by Madam Lauretta and Dioneus, should sing a sweet ditty. At which command, Lauretta undertook the dance, and led it, Aemilia singing this song ensuing.  

The Song.  

SO much delight my beauty yields to me,  
That any other love,  
To wish or prove;  
Can never suit itself with my desire.   

Therein I see, upon good observation,  
What sweet content due understanding lends:  
Old or new thoughts cannot in any fashion  
Rob me of that, which mine own soul commends.  
What object then,  
('mongst infinites of men)  
Can I ever find  
to dipossesse my mind,  
And plant therein another new desire?  
So much delight. etc.   

But were it so, the bliss that I would choose,  
Is, by continual sight to comfort me:  
So rare a presence never to refuse,  
Which mortal tongue or thought, what ere it be;  
Must still conceal,  
not able to reveal,  
Such a sacred sweet,  
for none other meet,  
But hearts inflamed with the same desire.  
So much delight, etc.    
The Song being ended, the Chorus whereof was answered by them all, it passed with general applause: and after a few other dances, the night being well run on, the Queen gave ending to this first day's Recreation. So, lights being brought, they departed to their several Lodgings, to take their rest till the next morning.    
The End of the first Day.   

The Second Day.  

Wherein, all the Discourses are under the government of Madam Philomena: Concerning such men or women, as (in diverse accidents) have been much mollested by Fortune, and yet afterward (contrary to their hope and expectation, have had a happy and successful deliverance.  
ALready had the bright sun renewed the day every where with his splendent beams, and the Birds sat merrily singing on the blooming branches, yielding testimony thereof to the ears of all hearers; when the seven Ladies, and the three Gentlemen (after they were risen) entered the Gardens, and there spent some time in walking, as also making of nosegays and Chaplets of Flowers. And even as they had done the day before, so did they now follow the same course; for, after they had dined, in a cool and pleasing air they fell to dancing, and then went to sleep awhile, from which being awaked, they took their places (according as it pleased the Queen to appoint) in the same fair Meadow about her. And she, being a goodly creature, and highly pleasing to behold, having put on her crown of laurel, and giving a gracious countenance to the whole company; commanding Madam Neiphila that her Tale should begin this day's delight. Whereupon she, without returning any excuse or denial, began in this manner.  

Martellino counterfeiting to be lame of his members, caused himself to be set on the body of Saint Arriguo, where he made show of his sudden recovery; but when his dissimulation was discovered, he was well beaten, being afterward taken prisoner, and in great danger of being hanged and strangled by the neck, and yet he escaped in the end.  
The first novel.  
Wherein is signified, how easy a thing it is, for wicked men to deceive the world, under the shadow and colour of miracles: and that such treachery (oftentimes) redoundeth to the harm of the deviser.  
Fair Ladies, it hath happened many times, that he who striveth to scorn and flout other men, and especially in occasions deserving to be respected, proveth to mock himself with the selfsame matter, yea, and to his no mean danger beside. As you shall perceive by a Tale, which I intent to tell you, obeying therein the command of our Queen, and according to the subject by her enjoined. In which discourse, you may first observe, what great mischance happened to one of our Citizens; and yet afterward, how (beyond all hope) he happily escaped.  
Not long since there lived in the City of Treuers, 
Or Arrigo.  an Almain or German, named Arriguo, who being a poor man, served as a Porter, or burden-bearer for money, when any man pleased to employ him. And yet, notwithstanding his poor and mean condition, he was generally reputed, to be of good and sanctified life. In which regard (whether it were true or no, I know not) it happened, that when he died (at least, as the men of Treuers themselves affirmed) in the very instant hour of his departing, all the bells in the great Church of Treuers, (not being pulled by the help of any hand) began to ring: which being accounted for a miracle, every one said; that this Arriguo had been, and was a Saint. And presently all the people of the City ran to the house where the dead body lay, and carried it (as a sanctified body) into the great Church, where people, halt, lame, and blind, or troubled with any other diseases, were brought about it, even as if every one should forthwith be helped, only by their touching the body.  
It came to pass; that in so great a concourse of people, as resorted thither from all parts; three of our citizens went to Treuers, one of them being named Stechio, the second Martellino, and the third Marquiso, all being men of such condition, as frequented Princes Courts, to give them delight by pleasant & counterfeited qualities. None of these men having ever been at Treuers before, seeing how the people crowded thorough the streets, wondered greatly thereat: but when they knew the reason, why the throngs ran on heaps in such sort together, they grew as desirous to see the Shrine, as any of the rest. Having ordered all affairs at their lodging, Marquiso said; It is fit for us to see this Saint, but I know not how we shall attain thereto, because (as I have heard) the place is guarded by German soldiers, and other warlike men, commanded thither by the governors of this City, lest any outrage should be there committed: And beside, the Church is so full of people, as we shall never compass to get near. Martellino being also as forward in desire to see it, presently replied: All this difficulty cannot dismay me, but I will go to the very body of the Saint itself. But how? quoth Marquiso. I will tell thee, answered Martellino. I purpose to go in the disguise of an impotent lame person, supported on the one side by thyself, and on the other by Stechio, as if I were not able to walk of myself: And you two thus sustaining me, desiring to come near the Saint to cure me; every one will make way, and freely give you leave to go on.  
This devise was very pleasing to Marquiso and Stechio, so that (without any further delaying) they all three left their lodging, and resorting into a secret corner aside, Martellino so writhed and misshaped his hands, fingers, and arms, his legs, mouth, eyes, and whole countenance, that it was a dreadful sight to look upon him, and whosoever beheld him, would verily have imagined, that he was utterly lame of his limbs, and greatly deformed in his body. Marquiso and Stechio, seeing all sorted so well as they could wish, taken and led him towards the Church, making very piteous moan, and humbly desiring (for God's sake) of every one that they met, to grant them free passage, whereto they charitably condescended.  
Thus leading him on, crying still; Beware there before, and give way for God's sake, they arrived at the body of Saint Arriguo, that (by his help) he might be healed. And while all eyes were diligently observing, what miracle would be wrought on Martellino, he having sitten a small space upon the saint's body, and being sufficiently skilful in counterfeiting; began first to extend for the one of his fingers, next his hand, than his arm, and so (by degrees) the rest of his body. Which when the people saw, they made such a wonderful noise in praise of Saint Arriguo, even as if it had thundered in the church.  
Now it chanced by ill fortune, that there stood a Florentine near to the body, who knew Martellino very perfectly; but appearing so monstrously mishapen, when he was brought into the Church, he could take no knowledge of him. But when he saw him stand up and walk, he knew him then to be the man indeed; whereupon he said: How cometh it to pass, that this fellow should be so miraculously cured, that never truly was any way impotent? Certain men of the City hearing these words, entered into further questioning with him, demanding, how he knew that the man had no such imperfection? Well enough (answered the Florentine) I know him to be as direct in his limbs and body, as you; I, or any of us all are: but indeed, he knows better how to dissemble counterfeit tricks, than any man else that ever I saw.  
When they heard this, they discoursed no further with the Florentine, but pressed on mainly to the place where Martellino stood, crying out aloud. Lay hold on this traitor, a mocker of God, and his holy Saints, that had no lameness in his limbs; but to make a mock of our Saint and us, came hither in false and counterfeit manner. So laying hands upon him, they threw him against the ground, haling him by the hair on his head, and tearing the garments from his back, spurning him with their feet, and beating him with their fists, that many were much ashamed to see it.  
Poor Martellino was in a pitiful case, crying out for mercy, but no man would hear him; for, the more he cried, the more still they did beat him, as meaning to leave no life in him, which Stechio and Marquiso seeing, considered with themselves, that they were likewise in a desperate case; and therefore, fearing to be as much misused, they cried out among the rest; Kill the counterfeit knave, lay on load, and spare him not; nevertheless, they took care how to get him out of the people's hands, as doubting, lest they would kill him indeed, by their extreme violence.  
Suddenly, Marquiso bethought him how to do it, and proceeded thus. All the Sergeants for justice standing at the Church door, he ran with all possible speed to the Potestates Lieutenant, and said unto him. Good my Lord justice, help me in an hard case; yonder is a villain that hath cut my purse, I desire he may be brought before you, that I may have my money again. He hearing this, sent for a dozen of the Sergeants, who went to apprehend unhappy Martellino, and recover him from the people's fury, leading him on with them to the Palace, no mean crowds thronging after him, when they heard that he was accused to be a Cutpurse. Now durst they meddle no more with him, but assisted the Officers; some of them charging him in like manner, that he had cut their purses also.  
Upon these clamours and complaints, the Potestates Lieutenant (being a man of rude quality) took him suddenly aside, and examined him of the crimes wherewith he was charged. But Martellino, as making no account of these accusations, laughed, and returned scoffing answers. Whereat the judge, waxing much displeased, delivered him over to the Strappado, and stood by himself, to have him confess the crimes imposed on him, and then to hang him afterward. Being let down to the ground, the judge still demanded of him, whether the accusations against him were true, or no? Affirming, that it nothing availed him to deny it: whereupon he thus spoke to the judge. My Lord, I am here ready before you, to confess the truth; but I pray you, demand of all them that accuse me, when and where I did cut their purses, & then I will tell you that, which (as yet) I have not done, otherwise I purpose to make you no more answers.  
Well (quoth the judge) thou requirest but reason; & calling diverse of the accusers, one of them said, that he lost his purse eight days before; another said six, another four, and some said the very same day. Which Martellino hearing, replied. My Lord, they all lie in their throats, as I will plainly prove before you. I would to God I had never set foot within this City, as it is not many hours since my first entrance, and presently after mine arrival, I went (in an evil hour I may say for me) to see the Saints body, where I was thus beaten as you may behold. That all this is true which I say unto you, the Seigneuries Officer that keeps your book of presentations, will testify for me, as also the Host where I am lodged. Wherefore good my Lord, if you find all no otherwise, then as I have said, I humbly entreat you, that upon these bad men's reports and false informations, I may not be thus tormented, and put in peril of my life.  
While matters proceeded in this manner, Marquiso and Stechio, understanding how roughly the Potestates Lieutenant dealt with Martellino and that he had already given him the Strappado; were in heavy perplexity, saying to themselves; we have carried this business very badly, redeeming him out of the Frying-pan, and flinging him into the Fire. Whereupon, trudging about from place to place, & meeting at length with their Host, they told him truly how all had happened, whereat he could not refrain from laughing. Afterward, he went with them to one Master Alexander Agolante, who dwelled in Treuers, and was in great credit with the Cities chief Magistrate, to whom he related the whole Discourse; all three earnestly entreating him, to commiserate the case of poor Martellino.  
Master Alexander, after he had laughed hearty at this hot piece of service, went with him to the Lord of Treuers; prevailing so well with him, that he sent to have Martellino brought before him. The Messengers that went for him, found him standing in his shirt before the judge, very shrewdly shaken with the Strappado, trembling and quaking pitifully. For the judge would not hear any thing in his excuse; but hating him (perhaps) because he was a Florentine: flatly determined to have him hanged by the neck, and would not deliver him to the Lord, until in mere despite he was compelled to do it.  
The Lord of Treuers, when Martellino came before him, and had acquainted him truly with every particular: Master Alexander requested, that he might be dispatched thence for Florence, because he thought the halter to be about his neck, and that there was no other help but hanging. The Lord, smiling (a long while) at the accident, & causing Martellino to be handsomely apparelled, delivering them also his pass, they escaped out of further danger, and tarried no where, till they came unto Florence.   

Rinaldo de Este, after he was rob by thiefs, arrived at Chastea● Guillaume, where he was friendly lodged by a fair widow, and recompensed likewise for all his losses; returning afterward safe and well home unto his own house.  
The second novel.  
Whereby we may learn, that such things as sometime seem hurtful to us, may turn to our benefit and commodity.  
Much merriment was among the Ladies, hearing this Tale of Martellinos misfortunes, so familiarly reported by Madam Neiphila, and of the men, it was best respected by Philostratus, who sitting nearest unto Neiphila, the Queen commanded his Tale to be the next, when presently he began to speak thus.  
Gracious Ladies, I am to speak of universal occasions, mingled with some misfortunes in part, and partly with matters leaning to love: as many times may happen to such people, that trace the dangerous paths of amorous desires, or have not learned perfectly, to say S. julian's pater noster, having good beds of their own, yet (casually) meet with worse lodging.  
In the time of Azzo, marquis of Ferrara, there was a merchant named Rinaldo de Este, who being one day at Bologna, about some especial business of his own; his occasions there ended, and riding from thence towards Verona, he fell in company with other Horsemen, seeming to be Merchants like himself; but indeed were thiefs, men of most bad life and conversation; yet he having no such mistrust of them, road on, conferring with them very familiarly. They perceiving him to be a Merchant, and likely to have some store of money about him, concluded between themselves to rob him, so soon as they found apt place and opportunity. But because he should conceive no such suspicion, they road on like modest men, talking honestly & friendly with him, of good parts and disposition appearing in him, offering him all humble and gracious service, accounting themselves happy by his company, as he returned the same courtesy to them, because he was alone, and but one servant with him.  
Falling from one discourse to another, they began to talk of such prayers, as men (in journey) use to salute God withal; and one of the thiefs (they being three in number, spoke thus to Rinaldo. Sir, let it be no offence to you, that I desire to know, what prayer you most use when thus you travel on the way? Whereto Rinaldo replied in this manner. To tell you true Sir, I am a man gross enough in such divine matters, as meddling more with merchandise, than I do with books. Nevertheless, at all times when I am thus in journey, in the morning before I depart my Chamber, I say a Pater noster and an Aue Maria, for the souls of the father and mother of Saint Julian, and after that, I pray God and S. Julian to send me a good lodging at night. And let me tell you Sir, that very oftentimes heretofore, I have met with many great dangers upon the way, from all which I still escaped, and evermore (when night drew on) I came to an exceeding good Lodging. Which makes me firmly believe, that Saint Julian (in honour of whom I speak it) hath begged of God such great grace for me; and me thinks, that if any day I should fail of this prayer in the morning: I cannot travail securely, nor come to a good lodging. No doubt then Sir (quoth the other) but you have said that prayer this morning? I would be sorry else, said Rinaldo, such an especial matter is not to be neglected.  
He and the rest, who had already determined how to handle him before they parted, said within themselves: look thou hast said thy prayer, for when we have thy money, Saint Julian and thou shift for thy lodging. Afterward, the same man thus again conferred with him. As you Sir, so I have ridden many journeys, and yet I never used any such prayer, although I have heard it very much commended, and my lodging hath proved never the worse. Perhaps this very night will therein resolve us both, whether of us two shall be the best lodged; you that have said the prayer, or I that never used it at all. But I must not deny, that in stead thereof, I have made use of some verses; as Dirupisti, or the Jutemerata, or Deprofundis, which are (as my Grandmother hath often told me) of very great virtue and efficacy.  
Continuing thus in talk of diverse things, winning way, and beguiling the time, still waiting when their purpose should sort to effect: it fortuned, that the thiefs seeing they were come near to a town, called Casteau Guillaume, by the ford of a river, the hour somewhat late, the place solitary, and thickely shaded with trees, they made their assault; and having robbed him, left him there on foot, stripped into his shirt, saying to him. Go now and see, whether thy Saint Julian will allow thee this night a good lodging, or no, for our own we are sufficiently provided; so passing the river, away they road. Rinaldoes' servant, seeing his Master so sharply assailed, like a wicked villain, would not assist him in any sort: but giving his horse the spurs, never left gallowping, until he came to Chasteau Guillaume, where he entered upon the point of night, providing himself of a lodging, but not caring what became of his Master.  
Rinaldo remaining there in his shirt, barefoot and barelegged, the weather extremely cold, and snowing incessantly, not knowing what to do, dark night drawing on, and looking round about him, for some place where to abide that night, to the end he might not dye with cold: he found no help at all there for him, in regard that (no long while before) the late war had burnt and wasted all, and not so much as the least Cottage left. Compelled by the colds violence, his teeth quaking, and all his body trembling, he trotted on towards Chasteau Guillaume, not knowing, whether his man was gone thither or no, or to what place else: but persuaded himself, that if he could get entrance, there was no fear of finding succour. But before he came within half a mile of the town, the night grew extremely dark, and arriving there so late, he found the gates fast locked, and the Bridges drawn up, so that no entrance might be admitted.  
Grieving greatly hereat, and being much discomforted, ruefully he● went spying about the walls, for some place wherein to shroud himself, at least, to keep the snow from falling upon him. By good hap, he espied an house upon the wall of the town, which had a terrace iutting out as a penthouse, under which he purposed to stand all the night, and then to get him gone in the morning. At length, he found a door in the wall, but very fast shut, and some small store of straw lying by it, which he gathered together, and sitting down thereon very pensively; made many sad complaints to Saint Julian, saying: This was not according to the trust he reposed in her. But Saint Julian, taking compassion upon him, without any overlong tarrying; provided him of a good lodging, as you shall hear how.  
In this town of Chasteau Guillaume, lived a young Lady, who was a widow, so beautiful and comely of her person, as seldom was seen a more lovely creature. The marquis Azzo most dear affected her, and (as his choicest jewel of delight) gave her that house to live in, under the terrace whereof poor Rinaldo made his shelter. It chanced the day before, that the marquis was come thither, according to his frequent custom, to wear away that night in her company, she having secretly prepared a Bath for him, and a costly supper beside. All things being ready, and nothing wanting but the marquis his presence: suddenly a Post brought him such Letters, which commanded him instantly to horseback, and word he sent to the Lady, to spare him for that night, because urgent occasions called him thence, and he road away immediately.  
Much discontented was the Lady at this unexpected accident, and not knowing now how to spend the time, resolved to use the Bath which he had made for the marquis, and (after supper) betake herself to rest, and so she entered into the Bath. Close to the door where poor Rinaldo sat, stood the Bath, by which means, she being therein, heard all his quivering moans, and complaints, seeming to be such, as the swan singing before her death: whereupon, she called her chambermaid, saying to her. Go up above, and look over the terrace on the wall down to this door, and see who is there, and what he doth. The chambermaid went up aloft, and by a little glimmering in the air, she saw a man sitting in his shirt, bare on feet and legs, trembling in manner before rehearsed. She demanding, of whence, and what he was; Rinaldoes' teeth so trembled in his head, as very hardly could he form any words, but (so well as he could) told her what he was, and how he came thither: most pitifully entreating her, that if she could afford him any help, not to suffer him starve there to death with cold.  
The chambermaid, being much moved to compassion, returned to her Lady, and told her all; she likewise pitying his distress, and remembering she had the key of that door, whereby the marquis both entered and returned, when he intended not to be seen of any, said to her maid. Go, and open the door softly for him; we have a good supper, and none to help to eat it, and if he be a man likely, we can allow him one nights lodging too. The chambermaid, commending her Lady for this charitable kindness, opened the door, and seeing he appeared as half frozen, she said unto him. Make haste good man, get thee into this Bath▪ which yet is good and warm, for my Lady herself came but newly out of it. Whereto very gladly he condescended, as not tarrying to be bidden twice; finding himself so singularly comforted with the hear thereof, even as if he had been restored from death to life. Then the Lady sent him garments, which lately were her deceased husbands, and fitted him so aptly in all respects, as if purposely they had been made for him.  
Attending in further expectation, to know what else the Lady would command him; he began to remember God and Saint Julian, heartily thanking her, for delivering him from so bad a night as was threatened towards him, and bringing him to so good entertainment. After all this, the Lady causing a fair fire to be made in the nearest Chamber beneath, went and sat by it herself, demanding how the honest man fared. Madame, answered the chambermaid, now that he is in your deceased Lords garments, he appeareth to be a very goodly Gentleman, and (questionless) is of respective birth and breeding, well deserving this gracious favour which you have afforded him. Go then (quoth the Lady) and conduct him hither, to sit by this fire, and sup here with me, for I fear he hath had but a sorry supper. When Rinaldo was entered into the Chamber, and beheld her to be such a beautiful Lady, accounting his fortune to exceed all comparison, he did her most humble reverence, expressing so much thankfulness as possibly he could, for this her extraordinary grace and favour.  
The Lady fixing a steadfast eye upon him, well liking his gentle language and behaviour, perceiving also, how fitly her deceased husband's apparel was form to his person, and resembling him in all familiar respects, he appeared (in her judgement) fare beyond the chambermaids commendations of him; so praying him to sit down by her before the fire, she questioned with him, concerning this unhappy night's accident befallen him, wherein he fully resolved her, and she was the more persuaded, by reason of his servants coming into the town before night, assuring him, that he should be found for him early in the morning.  
Supper being served in to the Table, and he seated according as the Lady commanded, she began to observe him very considerately; for he was a goodly man, complete in all perfections of person, a delicate pleasing countenance, a quick alluring eye, fixed and constant, not wantonly gadding, in the jovial youthfulness of his time, and truest temper for amorous apprehension; all these were as battering ensigns against a bulwark of no strong resistance, and wrought strangely upon her flexible affections. And though he fed hearty, as occasion constrained, yet her thoughts had entertained a new kind of diet, digested only by the eye; yet so cunningly concealed, that no motive to immodesty could be discerned. Her mercy thus extended to him in misery, drew on (by Table discourse) his birth, education, parents, friends, and allies; his wealthy possessions by merchandise, and a sound stability in his estate, but above all (and best of all) the single and sole condition of a batch●ler; an apt and easy steel to strike fire, especially upon such quick taking tinder, and in a time favoured by Fortune.  
No imbarment remained, but remembrance of the marquis, and that being summoned to her more advised consideration, her youth and beauty stood up as conscious accusers, for blemishing her honour and fair repute, with lewd and luxurious life; fare unfit for a Lady of her degree, and well worthy of general condemnation. What should I further say? Upon a short conference with her chambermaid, repentance for sin past, and solemn promise of a constant conversion, thus she delivered her mind to Rinaldo.  
Sir, as you have related your fortunes to me, by this your casual happening hither, if you can like the motion so well as she that makes it, my deceased Lord and husband living so perfectly in your person; this house, and all mine, is yours; and of a widow I will become your wife, except (unmanly) you deny me. Rinaldo hearing these words, and proceeding from a Lady of such absolute perfections, presuming upon so proud an offer, and condemning himself of folly if he should refuse it, thus replied. Madam, considering that I stand bound for ever hereafter, to confess that you are the gracious preserver of my life, and I no way able to return requital; if you please so to shadow mine insufficiency, and to accept me and my fairest fortunes to do you service: let me die before a thought of denial, or any way to yield you the least discontentment.  
Here wanted but a Priest to join their hands, as mutual affection already had done their hearts, which being sealed with infinite kisses; the chambermaid called up Friar Roger her Confessor, and wedding and bedding were both effected before the bright morning. In brief, the marquis having heard of the marriage, did not mislike it, but confirmed it by great and honourable gifts; and having sent for his dishonest servant, he dispatched him (after sound reprehension) to Ferrara, with Letters to Rinaldoes' Father and friends, of all the accidents that had befallen him. Moreover, the very same morning, the three thiefs, that had rob, and so ill entreated Rinaldo, for another fact by them the same night committed; were taken, and brought to the town of Chasteau Guillaume, where they were hanged for their offences, and Rinaldo with his wife road to Ferrara.   

Three young Gentlemen, being brethren, and having spent all their Lands and possessions vainly, became poor. A Nephew of theirs (falling almost into as desperate a condition) became acquainted with an Abbot, whom he afterward found to be the King of England's Daughter, and made him her Husband in marriage, recompensing all his uncle's losses, and seating them again in good estate.  
The third novel.  
Wherein is declared the dangers of prodigality, and the manifold mutabilities of Fortune.  
THe fortunes of Rinaldo de Este, being heard by the Ladies and Gentlemen, they admired his happiness, and commended his devotion to Saint I●lian, who (in such extreme necessity) sent him so good succour. Nor was the Lady to be blamed, for leaving base liberty, and converting to the chaste embraces of the marriage bed, the dignity of women's honour, and eternal disgrace living otherwise. While thus they descanted on the happy night between her and Rinaldo, Madam Pampinea sitting next to Philostratus, considering, that her discourse must follow in order, and thinking on what she was to say; the Queen had no sooner sent out her command, but she being no less fair than forward, began in this manner.  
Ladies of great respect, the more we confer on the accidents of Fortune, so much the more remaineth to consider on her mutabilities, wherein there is no need of wonder, if discreetly we observe, that all such things as we fond term to be our own, are in her power, and so (consequently) change from one to another, without any stay or arrest (according to her concealed judgement) or settled order (at least) that can be known to us. Now, although these things appear thus daily to us, even apparently in all occasions, and as hath been discerned by some of our precedent discourses; yet notwithstanding, seeing it pleaseth the Queen, that our arguments should aim at these ends, I will add to the former tales another of my own, perhaps not unprofitable for the hearers, nor unpleasing in observation.  
Sometime heretofore, there dwelled in our city, a Knight named Signior Thebaldo, who (according as some report) issued from the Family of Lamberti, but others derive him of the Agolanti; guiding (perhaps) their opinion herein, more from the train of children, belonging to the said Thebaldo (evermore equal to that of the Agolanti) than any other matter else. But setting aside, from which of these two houses he came, I say, that in his time he was a very wealthy Knight, & had three sons; the first being named Lamberto, the second Thebaldo, & the third Agolanto, all goodly and graceful youths: howbeit, the eldest had not completed eighteen years, when Signior Thebaldo the father deceased, who left them all his goods and inheritances. And they, seeing themselves rich in read●e moneys and revennewes, without any other government than their own voluntary disposition, kept no restraint upon their expenses, but maintained many servants, and store of unvalewable horses, beside hawks and Hounds, with open house for all comers; and not only all delights else fit for Gentlemen, but what vanities beside best agreed with their wanton and youthful appetites.  
Not long had they run on this race, but the treasures left them by their Father, began greatly to diminish; and their revennewes sufficed not, to support such lavish expenses as they had begun: but they fell to engaging and pawning their inheritances, selling one to day, and another to morrow, so that they saw themselves quickly come to nothing, and then poverty opened their eyes, which prodigality had before closed up. Hereupon, Lamberto (on a day) calling his Brethren to him, shown them what the honours of their Father had been, to what height his wealth amounted, and now to what an ebb of poverty it was fall'n, only thorough their inordinate expenses. Wherefore he counselled them, (as best he could) before further misery insulted over them; to make sale of the small remainder that was left, and then to betake themselves unto some other abiding, where fairer Fortune might chance to shine upon them.  
This advice prevailed with them; and so, without taking leave of any body, or other solemnity than closest secrecy, they departed from Florence, not tarrying in any place until they were arrived in England. Coming to the City of London, and taking there a small house upon yearly rent, living on so little charge as possible might be, they began to lend out money at use: wherein Fortune was so favourable to them, that (in few years) they had gathered a great sum of money: by means whereof it came to pass, that one while one of them, and afterward another, returned back again to Florence: where, with those sums, a great part of their inheritances were redeemed, and many other bought beside. Linking themselves in marriage, and yet continuing their usances in England; they sent a Nephew of theirs thither, named Alessandro, a young man, and of fair demeanour, to maintain their stock in employment: while they three remained still at Florence, and growing forgetful of their former misery, fell again into as unreasonable expenses as ever, never respecting their household charges, because they had good credit among the Merchants, and the moneys still sent from Alessandro, supported their expenses diverse years.  
The dealings of Alessandro in England grew very great, for he lent out much money to many Gentlemen, Lords, and Barons of the Land, upon engagement of their manors, Castles, and other revenues: from whence he derived immeasurable benefit. While the three Brethren held on in their lavish expenses, borrowing moneys when they wanted until their supplies came from England, whereon (indeed) was their only dependence: it fortuned, that (contrary to the opinion of all men) war happened between the King of England, and one of his sons, which occasioned much trouble in the whole country, by taking part on either side, some with the son, and other with the Father. In regard whereof, those Castles and places pawned to Alessandro, were suddenly seized from him, nothing then remaining that returned him any profit. But living in hope day by day, that peace would be concluded between the Father and the son, he never doubted, but all things than should be restored to him, both the principal and interest, & therefore he would not departed out of the Country.  
The three Brethren at Florence, bounding within no limits their disordered spending; borrowed daily more and more. And after some few years, the Creditors seeing no effect of their hopes to come from them, all credit being lost with them, and no repayment of promised dues; they were imprisoned, their lands and all they had, not sufficing to pay the moiety of debts, but their bodies remained in prison for the rest, their wives and young children being sent thence, some to one village, some to another, so that nothing now was to be expected, but poverty & misery of life for ever.  
As for honest Alessandro, who had awaited long time for peace in England, perceiving there was no likelihood of it; and considering also, that (beside his tarrying there in vain to recover his dues) he was in danger of his life; without any further deferring, he set away for Italy. It came to pass, that as he issued forth of Bruges, he saw a young Abbot also journeying thence, being clothed in white, accompanied with diverse monks, and a great train before, conducting the needful carriage. Two ancient Knights, Kinsmen to the King, followed after, with whom Alessandro acquainted himself, as having formerly known them, and was kindly accepted into their company. Alessandro riding along with them, courteously requested to know, what those Monks were that road before, and such a train attending on them? Whereto one of the Knights thus answered.  
He that rideth before, is a young Gentleman, and our Kinsman, who is newly elected Abbot of one of the best abbeys in England; & because he is more young in years, than the decrees for such a dignity do allow, we travail with him to Rome, to entreat our Holy Father, that his youth may be dispensed withal, and he confirmed in the said dignity; but he is not to speak a word to any person. On road this new Abbot, sometimes before his train, and other whiles after, as we see great Lords use to do, when they ride upon the highways.  
It chanced on a day, that Alessandro road somewhat near to the Abbot, who steadfastly beholding him, perceived that he was a very comely young man, so affable, lovely, and gracious, that even in this first encounter, he had never seen any man before, that better pleased him. Calling him a little closer, he began to confer familiarly with him, demanding what he was, whence he came, and whether he traveled. Alessandro imparted freely to him all his affairs, in every thing satisfying his demands, and offering (although his power was small) to do him all the service he could.  
When the Abbot had heard his gentle answers, so wisely & discreetly delivered, considering also (more particularly) his commendable carriage; he took him to be (at the least) a well-born Gentleman, and far differing from his own loggerheaded train. Wherefore, taking compassion on his great misfortunes, he comforted him very kindly, wishing him to live always in good hope. For, if he were virtuous and honest, he should surely attain to the seat from whence Fortune had thrown him, or rather much higher. Entreating him also, that seeing he journeyed towards Tuscany, as he himself did the like; to continue still (if he pleased) in his company. Alessandro most humbly thanked him for such gracious comfort; protesting, that he would be always ready, to do whatsoever he commanded.  
The Abbot riding on, with newer crotchets in his brain, than he had before the sight of Alessandro; it fortuned, that after diverse days of travail, they came to a small country Village, which afforded little store of lodging, and yet the Abbot would needs lie there. Alessandro, being well acquainted with the Host of the house, willed him, to provide for the Abbot and his people, and then to lodge him where he thought meetest. Now, before the abbot's coming thither, the Harbinger that marshaled all such matters, had provided for his train in the Village, some in one place, and others elsewhere, in the best manner that the town could yield. But when the Abbot had supped, a great part of the night being spent, and every one else at his rest; Alessandro demanded of the Host, what provision he had made for him; and how he should be lodged that night?  
In good sadness Sir (quoth the Host) you see that my house is full of Guests, so that I and my people, must gladly sleep on the tables & benches: nevertheless, next adjoining to my Lord abbot's Chamber, there are certain Corn-lofts, whether I can closely bring you, and making shift there with a slender Pallet-bed, it may serve for one night, instead of a better. But mine Host (quoth Alessandro) how can I pass thorough my Lord's Chamber, which is so little, as it would not allow Lodging for any of his monks? If I had remembered so much (said the Host) before the curtains were drawn, I could have lodged his monks in those Corn-lofts, and then both you and I might have slept where now they do. But fear you not, my Lords curtains are close drawn, he sleepeth (no doubt) sound, and I can convey you thither quietly enough, without the least disturbance to him, and a Pallet-bed shall be fitted there for you. Alessandro perceiving, that all this might be easily done, and no disease offered to the Abbot, accepted it willingly, & went thither without any noise at all.  
My Lord Abbot, whose thoughts were so busied about amorous desires, that no sleep at all could enter his eyes; heard all this talk between the Host and Alessandro, and also where he was appointed to lodge, wherefore he said to himself. Seeing Fortune hath fitted me with a propitious time, to compass the happiness of my hearts desire; I know no reason why I should refuse it. Perhaps, I shall never have the like offer again, or ever be enabled with such an opportunity. So, being fully determined to prosecute his intention, and persuading himself also, that the silence of night had bestowed sleep on all the rest; with a low and trembling voice, he called Alessandro, advising him to come and lie down by him, which (after some few faint excuses) he did, and putting off his clothes, lay down by the Abbot, being not a little proud of so gracious a favour.  
The Abbot, laying his arm over the others body, began to embrace and hug him; even as amorous friends (provoked by earnest affection) use to do. Whereat Alessandro very much marveling, and being an Italian himself, fearing lest this folly in the Abbot, would convert to foul and dishonest action, shrunk modestly from him. Which the Abbot perceiving, and doubting, lest Alessandro would departed and leave him, pleasantly smiling, and with bashful behaviour, bearing his stomach, he took Alessandroes' hand, and laying it thereon, said; Alessandro, let all bad thoughts of bestial abuse be fare off from thee, and feel here, to resolve thee from all such fear. Alessandro feeling the abbot's breast, found there two pretty little mountainets, round, plump, and smooth, appearing as if they had been of polished ivory; whereby he perceived, that the Abbot was a woman: which, setting an edge on his youthful desires, made him fall to embracing, and immediately he offered to kiss her; but she somewhat rudely repulsing him, as half offended, said.  
Alessandro, forbear such boldness, upon thy life's peril, and before thou further presume to touch me, understand what I shall tell thee. I am (as thou perceivest) no man, but a woman; and departing a Virgin from my father's House, am travelling towards the Pope's holiness, to the end that he should bestow me in marriage. But the other day, when first I beheld thee, whether it proceeded from thy happiness in fortune, or the fatal hour of my own infelicity for ever, I know not; I conceived such an effectual kind of liking towards thee, as never did woman love a man more truly, than I do thee, having sworn within my soul to make thee my Husband before any other; and if thou wilt not accept me as thy wife, set a lock upon thy lips concerning what thou hast heard, and departed hence to thine own bed again.  
No doubt, but that these were strange news to Alessandro, and seemed merely as a miracle to him. What she was, he knew not, but in regard of her train and company, he reputed her to be both noble and rich, as also she was wonderful fair and beautiful. His own fortunes stood out of future expectation by his kinsman's overthrow, and his great losses in England; wherefore, upon an opportunity so fairly offered, he held it no wisdom to return refusal, but accepted her gracious motion, and referred all to her disposing. She arising out of her bed, called him to a little Table standing by, where hung a fair Crucifix upon the wall; before which, and calling him to witness, that suffered such bitter and cruel torments on his cross, putting a Ring upon his finger, there she faithfully espoused him, refusing all the World, to be only his: which being on either side confirmed solemnly, by an holy vow, and chaste kisses; she commanded him back to his Chamber, and she returned to her bed again, sufficiently satisfied with her love's acceptation, and so they journeyed on till they came to Rome.  
When they had rested themselves there for some few days, the supposed Abbot, with the two Knights, and none else in company but Alessandro, went before the Pope, and having done him such reverence as beseemed, the Abbot began to speak in this manner.  
Holy Father (as you know much better than any other) every one that desireth to live well and virtuously, aught to shun (so fare as in them lieth) all occasions that may induce to the contrary. To the end therefore, that I (who desire nothing more) then to live within the compass of a virtuous conversation, may perfect my hopes in this behalf: I have fled from my father's Court, and am come hither in this habit as you see, to crave therein your holy and fatherly furtherance. I am daughter to the King of England, and have sufficiently furnished myself with some of his treasures, that your holiness may bestow me in marriage; because mine unkind Father, never regarding my youth and beauty (inferior to few in my native Country) would marry me to the King of North-wales, an aged, impotent, and sickly man. Yet let me tell your sanctity, that his age and weakness hath not so much occasioned my flight, as fear of mine own youth and frailty; when being married to him, instead of loyal and unstained life, lewd and dishonest desires might make me to wander, by breaking the divine laws of wedlock, and abusing the royal blood of my Father.  
As I travailed hither with this virtuous intention, our Lord, who only knoweth perfectly, what is best fitting for all his creatures; presented mine eyes (no doubt in his mere mercy and goodness) with a man meet to be my husband, which (pointing to Alessandro) is this young Gentleman standing by me, whose honest, virtuous, and civil demeanour, deserveth a Lady of fare greater worth, although (perhaps) nobility in blood be denied him, and may make him seem not so excellent, as one derived from royal descent. Holy and religious vows have passed between us both, and the Ring on his finger, is the firm pledge of my faith and constancy; never to accept any other man in marriage, but him only, although my Father, or any else do dislike it. Wherefore (holy Father) the principal cause of my coming hither, being already effectually concluded on, I desire to complete the rest of my pilgrimage, by visiting the sanctified places in this City, whereof there are great plenty: And also, that sacred marriage, being contracted in the presence of God only, between Alessandro and myself, may by you be publicly confirmed, and in an open congregation. For, seeing God hath so appointed it, and our souls have so solemnly vowed it, that no disaster whatsoever can alter it: you being God's vicar here on earth, I hope will not gainsay, but confirm it with your fatherly benediction, that we may live in God's fear, and dye in his favour.  
Persuade yourselves (fair Ladies) that Alessandro was in no mean admiration, when he heard, that his wife was daughter to the King of England; unspeakable joy (questionless) wholly overcame him: but the two Knights were not a little troubled and offended, at such a strange and unexpected accident, yea, so violent were their passions, that had they been any where else, then in the Pope's presence, Alessandro had felt their fury, and (perhaps) the Princess herself too. On the other side, the Pope was much amazed, at the habit she went disguised in, and likewise at the election of her husband; but, perceiving there was no resistance to be made against it, he yielded the more willingly to satisfy her desire. And therefore, having first comforted the two Knights, and made peace between them, the Princess and Alessandro; he gave order for the rest that was to be done.  
When the appointed day for the solemnity was come, he caused the Princess (clothed in most rich and royal garments) to appear before all the Cardinals, and many other great persons then in presence, who were come to this worthy Feast, which he had caused purposely to be prepared, where she seemed so fair & goodly a Lady, that every eye was highly delighted to behold her, commending her with no mean admiration. In like manner was Alessandro greatly honoured by the two Knights, being most sumptuous in appearance, and not like a man that had lent money to usury, but rather of very royal quality; the Pope himself celebrating the marriage between them, which being finished, with the most magnificent pomp that could be devised, he gave them his benediction, and licenced their departure thence.  
Alessandro, his Princess and her train thus leaving Rome, they would needs visit Florence, where the news of this accident was (long before) noised, and they received by the Citizens in royal manner. There did she deliver the three brethren out of prison, having first paid all their debts, and reseated them again (with their wives) in their former inheritances and possessions. Afterward, departing from Florence, and Agolanto, one of the uncle's travailing with them to Paris; they were there also most honourably entertained by the King of France. From whence the two Knights went before for England, and prevailed so successfully with the King; that he received his daughter into grace and favour, as also his son in law her husband, to whom he gave the order of knighthood, and (for his greater dignity) created him Earl of Cornwall.  
And such was the noble spirit of Alessandro, that he pacified the troubles between the King and his son, whereon ensued great comfort to the kingdom, winning the love and favour of all the people; and Agolanto (by the means of Alessandro) recovered all that was due to him and his brethren in England, returning richly home to Florence, Count Alessandro (his kinsman) having first dubbed him Knight. Long time he lived in peace and tranquillity, with the fair Princess his wife, proving to be so absolute in wisdom, and so famous a soldier; that (as some report) by assistance of his Father in law, he conquered the realm of Ireland, and was crowned King thereof.   

Landolpho Ruffolo, falling into poverty, became a Pirate on the Seas, and being taken by the Genewayes, hardly escaped drowning: Which yet (nevertheless) he did, upon a little Chest or Coffer, full of very rich jewels, being carried thereon to Corfu, where he was well entertained by a good woman; And afterward, returned richly home to his own house.  
The fourth novel.  
Whereby may be discerned, into how many dangers a man may fall, through a covetous desire to enrich himself.  
Madam Lauretta, sitting next to madam Pampinea, and seeing how triumphantly she had finished her discourse; without attending any thing else, spoke thus. Gracious Ladies, we shall never behold (in mine opinion) a great act of Fortune, then to see a man so suddenly exalted, even from the lowest death of poverty, to a royal estate of dignity; as the discourse of madam Pampinea hath made good, by the happy advancement of Alessandro. And because it appeareth necessary, that whosoever discourseth on the subject proposed, should no way vary from the very same terms; I shall not shame to tell a tale, which, though it contain fare greater mishaps than the former, may sort to as happy an issue, albeit not so noble and magnificent. In which respect, it may (perhaps) merit the less attention; but howsoever that fault shall be found in you, I mean to discharge mine own duty.  
Opinion hath made it famous for long time, that the Sea-coast of Rhegium to Gaieta, is the only delectable part of all Italy, wherein, somewhat near to Salerno, is a shore looking upon the Sea, which the inhabitants there dwelling, do call the coast of Malfi, full of small towns, Gardens, Springs and wealthy men, trading in as many kinds of Merchandizes, as any other people that I know. Among which towns, there is one, named Ravello, wherein (as yet to this day there are rich people) there was (not long since) a very wealthy man, named Landolpho Ruffolo, who being not contented with his riches, but coveting to multiply them double and treble, fell in danger, to lose both himself and wealth together.  
This man (as other Merchants are wont to do) after he had considered on his affairs, bought him a very goodly Ship, ●ading it with diverse sorts of Merchandizes, all belonging to himself only, and making his voyage to the Isle of Cyprus. Where he found, over and beside the Merchandizes he had brought thither, many Ships more there arrived, and all laden with the self same commodities, in regard whereof, it was needful for him, not only to make a good Mart of his goods; but also was further constrained (if he meant to vent his commodities) to sell them away (almost) for nothing, endangering his utter destruction and overthrow. Whereupon, grieving exceedingly at so great a loss, not knowing what to do, and seeing, that from very abundant wealth, he was likely to fall into as low poverty: he resolved to dye, or to recompense his losses upon others, because he would not return home poor, having departed thence so rich.  
Meeting with a Merchant, that bought his great Ship of him; with the money made thereof, and also of his other Merchandizes, he purchased another, being a lighter vessel, apt and proper for the use of a Pirate, arming and furnishing it in ample manner, for roving and robbing upon the Seas. Thus he began to make other men's goods his own, especially from the Turks he took much wealth, Fortune being always therein so favourable to him, that he could never compass the like by trading. So that, within the space of one year, he had robbed and taken so many galleys from the Turk; that he found himself well recovered, not only of all his losses by merchandise, but likewise his wealth was wholly redoubled. Finding his losses to be very liberally required, and having now sufficient, it were folly to hazard a second fall; wherefore, conferring with his own thoughts, and finding that he had enough, and needed not to cover after more: he fully concluded, now to return home to his own house again, and live upon his goods thus gotten.  
Continuing still in fear, of the losses he had sustained by traffic, & minding, never more to employ his money that way, but to keep this light vessel, which had helped him to all his wealth: he commanded his men to put forth their oars, and shape their course for his own dwelling. Being aloft in the higher Seas, dark night overtaking them, and a mighty wind suddenly coming upon them: it not only was contrary to their course, but held on with such impetuous violence; that the small vessel, being unable to endure it, made to land-ward speedily, and in expectation of a more friendly wind, entered a little port of the Sea, directing up into a small Island, and there safely sheltered itself. Into the same port which Landolpho had thus taken for his refuge, entered (soon after) two great Carrackes of Genewayes, lately come from Constantinople. When the men in them had espied the small bark, and locked up her passage from getting forth; understanding the Owners name, and that report had famed him to be very rich, they determined (as men evermore addicted naturally, to covet after money and spoil) to make it their own as a prize at Sea.  
Landing some store of their men, well armed with crossbows and other weapons, they took possession of such a place, where none durst issue forth of the small bark, but endangered his life with their Darts & arrows. Entering aboard the bark, and making it their own by full possession, all the men they threw overboard, without sparing any but Landolpho himself, whom they mounted into one of the Carrackes, leaving him nothing but a poor shirt of mail on his back, and having rifled the bark of all her riches, sunk it into the bottom of the sea. The day following, the rough winds being calmed, the Carrackes set sail again, having a prosperous passage all the day long; but upon the entrance of dark night, the winds blew more tempestuously than before, and swelled the Sea in such rude storms, that the two Carracks were sundered each from other, and by violence of the tempest it came to pass, that the carrack wherein lay poor miserable Landolpho (beneath the Isle of Cephalonia) ran against a rock, and even as a glass against a wall, so split the carrack in pieces, the goods and merchandizes floating on the Sea, Chests, Coffers, Beds, and such like other things, as often happeneth in such lamentable accidents.  
Now, notwithstanding the night's obscurity, and impetuous violence of the billows; such as could swim, made shift to save their lives by swimming. Others caught hold on such things, as by fortune's favour floated nearest to them, among whom, distressed Landolpho, desirous to save his life, if possibly it might be, espied a Chest or Coffer before him, ordained (no doubt) to be the means of his safety from drowning. Now although the day before, he had wished for death infinite times, rather than to return home in such wretched poverty; yet, seeing how other men striven for safety of their lives by any help, were it never so little, he took advantage of this favour offered him, and the rather in a necessity so urgent. Keeping fast upon the Coffer so well as he could, and being driven by the winds & waves, one while this way, and anon quite contrary, he made shift for himself till day appeared; when looking every way about him, seeing nothing but clouds, the seas and the Coffer, which one while shrunk from under him, and another while supported him, according as the winds and billows carried it: all that day and night thus he floated up and down, drinking more than willingly he would, but almost hunger-starved thorough want of food. The next morning, either by the appointment of heaven, or power of the winds, Landolpho who was (well-near) become a Spundge, holding his arms strongly about the Chest, as we have some do, who (dreading drowning) take hold on any the very smallest help; drew near unto the shore of the island Corfu, where (by good fortune) a poor woman was scouring dishes with the salt water and sand, to make them (housewife like) neat and clean.  
When she saw the Chest drawing near her, and not discerning the shape of any man, she grew fearful, and retiring from it, cried out aloud. He had no power of speaking to her, neither did his sight do him the smallest service; but even as the waves and winds pleased, the Chest was driven still nearer to the Land, and then the woman perceived that it had the form of a Cofer, and looking more advisedly, beheld two arms extended over it, and afterward, she espied the face of a man, not being able to judge, whether he were alive, or no. moved by charitable and womanly compassion, she stepped in among the billows, and getting fast hold on the hair of his head, drew both the Chest and him to the Land, and calling forth her Daughter to help her, with much ado she unfolded his arms from the Chest, setting it up on her daughter's head, and then between them, Landolpho was led into the town, and there conveyed into a warm stove, where quickly he recovered (by her pains) his strength benumbed with extreme cold.  
Good wines and comfortable broths she cherished him withal, that his senses being indifferently restored, he knew the place where he was; but not in what manner he was brought thither, till the good woman shown him the Cofer that had kept him floating upon the waves, and (next under God) had saved his life. The Chest seemed of such slender weight, that nothing of any value could be expected in it, either to recompense the woman's great pains and kindness bestown on him, or any matter of his own benefit. Nevertheless, the woman being absent, he opened the Chest, and found innumerable precious stones therein, some costly and curiously set in gold, and others not fixed in any mettle. Having knowledge of their great worth and value (being a Merchant, and skilled in such matters) he became much comforted, praising God for this good success, and such an admirable means of deliverance from danger.  
Then considering with himself, that (in a short time) he had been twice well buffeted and beaten by Fortune, and fearing, lest a third mishap might follow in like manner; he consulted with his thoughts, how he might safest order the business, and bring so rich a booty (without peril) to his own home. Wherefore, wrapping up the jewels in very unsightly clouts, that no suspicion at all should be conceived of them, he said to the good woman, that the Chest would not do him any further service; but if she pleased to lend him a small sack or bag, she might keep the Cofer, for in her house it would diverse way stead her. The woman gladly did as he desired, and Landolpho returning her infinite thankes, for the loving kindness she had afforded him, throwing the sack on his neck, passed by a bark to Brundusiam, and from thence to Tranium, where Merchants in the City bestowed good garments on him, he acquainting them with his disastrous fortunes, but not a word concerning his last good success.  
Being come home in safety to Ravello, he fell on his knees, and thanked God for all his mercies towards him. Then opening the sack, and viewing the jewels at more leisure then formerly he had done, he found them to be of so great estimation, that selling them but at ordinary and reasonable rates, he was three times richer, than when he departed first from his house. And having vented them all, he sent a great sum of money to the good woman at Corfu, that had rescued him out of the Sea, and saved his life in a danger so dreadful: The like he did to Tranium, to the Merchants that had newly clothed him; living richly upon the remainder, and never adventuring more to the Sea, but ended his days in wealth and honour.   

Andrea de Piero, travelling from peruse to Naples to buy Horses, was (in the space of one night) surprised by three admirable accidents, out of all which he fortunately escaped, and, with a rich Ring, returned home to his own house.  
The fift novel.  
Comprehending, how needful a thing it is, for a man that traveleth in affairs of the World, to be provident and well advised, and carefully to keep himself from the crafty and deceitful allurements of Strumpets.  
THe precious Stones and jewels found by Landolpho, maketh me to remember (said Madam Fiammetta, who was next to deliver her discourse) a Tale, containing no less perils, then that reported by Madam Lauretta: but somewhat different from it, because the one happened in sundry years, and this other had no longer time, than the compass of one poor night, as instantly I will relate unto you.  
As I have heard reported by many, there sometime lived in peruse or ●erugia, a young man, named Andrea de Piero, whose profession was to trade about Horses, in the nature of a Horse-courser, or Horse-master, who hearing of a good fair or Market (for his purpose) at Naples, did put five hundred crowns of gold in his purse, and journeyed thither in the company of other Horse-coursers, arriving there on a Sunday in the evening. According to instructions given him by his Host, he went the next day into the Horse-ma●ket, where he saw very many Horses that he liked, cheapening their prices as he went up and down, but could fall to no agreement; yet to manifest that he came purposely to buy, and not as a cheapener only, oftentimes (like a shallow brained trader in the world) he shown his purse of gold before all passengers, never respecting who, or what they were that observed his folly.  
It came to pass, that a young Sicillian wench (very beautiful, but at command of whosoever would, and for small hire) passing then by, and (without his perceiving) seeing such store of gold in his purse; presently she said to herself: why should not all those crowns be mine, when the fool that owes them, can keep them no closer? And so she went on. With this young wanton there was (at the same time) an old woman (as commonly such stuff is always so attended) seeming to be a Sicillian also, who so soon as she saw Andrea, knew him, and, leaving her youthful commodity, ran to him, and embraced him very kindly. Which when the younger lass perceived, without proceeding any further, she stayed, to see what would ensue thereon. Andrea conferring with the old bawd, and knowing her (but not for any such creature) declared himself very affable to her; she making him promise, that she would come and drink with him at his lodging. So, breaking off further speeches for that time, she returned to her young Cammerado; and Andrea went about buying his horses, still cheapening good store, but did not buy any all that morning.  
The punk that had taken notice of Adreaes' purse, upon the old woman's coming back to her (having formerly studied, how she might get all the gold, or the greater part thereof) cunningly questioned with her, what the man was, whence he came, and the occasion of his business there? wherein she fully informed her particularly, and in as ample manner as himself could have done: That she had long time dwelled in Sicily with his Father, and afterward at peruse; recounting also, at what time she came thence, and the cause which now had drawn him to Naples. The witty young housewife, being thoroughly instructed, concerning the Parents and kindred of Andrea, their names, quality, and all other circumstances thereto leading; began to frame the foundation of her purpose thereupon, setting her resolution down constantly, that the purse and gold was (already) more than half her own.  
Being come home to her own house, away she sent the old panderess about other business, which might hold her time long enough of employment, and hinder her returning to Andrea according to promise, purposing, not to trust her in this serious piece of service. Calling a young crafty girl to her, whom she had well tutoured in the like ambassages, when evening drew on, she sent her to Andrea's lodging, where (by good fortune) she found him sitting alone at the door, and demanding of him, if he knew an honest Gentleman lodging there, whose name was Signior Andrea de Piero; he made her answer, that himself was the man. Then taking him aside, she said. Sir, there is a worthy Gentlewoman of this city, that would gladly speak with you, if you pleased to vouchsafe her so much favour.  
Andrea, hearing such a kind of salutation, and from a Gentlewoman, named of worth; began to grow proud in his own imaginations, and to make no mean estimation of himself: As (undoubtedly) that he was an handsome proper man, and of such carriage and perfections, as had attracted the amorous eye of this Gentlewoman, and induced her to like and love him beyond all other, Naples not containing a man of better merit. Whereupon he answered the maid, that he was ready to attend her Mistress, desiring to know, when it should be, and where the Gentlewoman would speak with him? So soon as you please Sir, replied the damsel, for she tarrieth your coming in her own house.  
Instantly Andrea (without leaving any direction of his departure in his lodging, or when he intended to return again) said to the girl: go before, and I will follow. This little Chamber-commodity, conducted him to her mistress' dwelling, which was in a street named Naupertuis, a title manifesting sufficiently the streets honesty: but he, having no such knowledge thereof, neither suspecting any harm at all, but that he went to a most honest house, and to a Gentlewoman of good respect; entered boldly, the maid going in before, and guiding him up a fair pair of stairs, which he having more than half ascended, the cunning young quean gave a call to her Mistress, saying; Signior Andrea is come already, whereupon, she appeared at the stayres-head, as if she had stayed there purposely to entertain him. She was young, very beautiful, comely of person, and rich in adornments, which Andrea well observing, & seeing her descend two or three steps, with open arms to embrace him, catching fast hold about his neck; he stood as a man confounded with admiration, and she contained a cunning kind of silence, even as if she were unable to utter one word, seeming hindered by extremity of joy at his presence, and to make him effectually admire her extraordinary kindness, having tears plenteously at command, intermixed with sighs and broken speeches, at last, thus she spoke.  
Signior Andrea, you are the most welcome friend to me in all the world; sealing this salutation with infinite sweet kisses and embraces: whereat (in wonderful amazement) he being strangely transported, replied; madam, you honour me beyond all compass of merit. Then, taking him by the hand, she guided him thorough a goodly Hall, into her own Chamber, which was delicately embalmed with Roses, Orenge-flowres, and all other pleasing smells, and a costly bed in the midst, curtained round about, very artificial Pictures beautifying the walls, with many other embellishments, such as those Countries are liberally stored withal. He being merely a novice in these kinds of wanton carriages of the World, and free from any base or degenerate conceit; firmly persuaded himself, that (questionless) she was a Lady of no mean esteem, and he more than happy, to be thus respected and honoured by her. They both being seated on a curious Chest at the Beds feet, tears cunningly trickling down her cheeks, and sighs intermeddled with inward sobbings, breathed forth in sad, but very seemly manner; thus she began.  
I am sure Andrea, that you greatly marvel at me, in gracing you with this solemn and kind entertainment, and why I should so melt myself in sighs and tears, at a man that hath no knowledge of me, or (perhaps) seldom or never heard any speeches of me: but you shall instantly receive from me matter to augment your greater marvel, meeting here with your own sister, beyond all hope or expectation in either of us both. But seeing that heaven hath been so gracious to me, to let me see one of my brethren before I die (though gladly I would have seen them all) which is some addition of comfort to me, and that which (happily) thou hast never heard before, in plain and truest manner, I will reveal unto thee.  
Piero, my Father and thine, dwelled long time (as thou canst not choose but to have understood) in Palermo, where, through the bounty, and other gracious good parts remaining in him, he was much renowned; and (to this day) is no doubt remembered, by many of his loving friends and well-willers. Among them that most intimately affected Piero, my mother (who was a Gentlewoman, and at that time a widow) did dearest of all other love him; so that forgetting the fear of her Father, brethren, yea, and her own honour, they became so privately acquainted, that I was begotten, and am here now such as thou seest me. Afterward, occasions so befalling our Father, to abandon Palermo, and return to peruse, he left my mother and me his little daughter, never after (for aught that I could learn) once remembering either her or me: so that (if he had not been my Father) I could have much condemned him, in regard of his ingratitude to my Mother, and love which he ought to have shown me as his child, being borne of no chambermaid, neither of a City sinner; albeit I must needs say, that she was blame-worthy, without any further knowledge of him (moved only thereto by most loyal affection) to commit both herself, and all the wealth she had, into his hands: but things ill done, and so long time since, are more easily controlled, then amended.  
Being left so young at Palermo, and growing (well near) to the stature as now you see me; my mother, being wealthy, gave me in marriage to one of the Gergentes Family, a Gentleman, and of great revenues, who in his love to me and my mother, went and dwelled at Palermo: where falling into the Guelphs faction, and making one in the enterprise with Charles our King; it came to pass, that they were discovered to Frederick King of Arragon, before their intent could be put in execution, whereupon, we were enforced to fly from Sicily, even when my hope stood fairly to have been the greatest Lady in all the island. Packing up then such few things as we could take with us, few I may well call them, in regard of our wealthy possessions, both in palaces, Houses, and Lands, all which we were constrained to forgo: we made our recourse to this City, where we found King Charles so benign and gracious to us, that recompensing the greater part of our losses, he bestowed Lands and Houses on us here, beside a continual large pension to my husband your brother in Law, as hereafter himself shall better acquaint you withal. Thus came I hither, and thus remain here, where I am able to welcome my brother Andrea, thanks more to Fortune, than any friendliness in him: with which words she embraced and kissed him many times, sighing and weeping as she did before.  
Andrea hearing this fable so artificially delivered, composed from point to point, with such likely protestations, without faltering or failing in any one words utteranee; and remembering perfectly for truth, that his Father had formerly dwelled at Palermo; knowing also (by some sensible feeling in himself) the custom of young people, who are easily conquered by affection in their youthful heat; seeing beside the tears, trembling speeches, and earnest embracings of this cunning commodity: he took all to be faithfully true by her thus spoken, and upon her silence, thus he replied. Lady, let it not seem strange to you, that your words have raised marvel in me, because (indeed) I had no knowledge of you, even no more than as if I had never seen you, never also having heard my Father to speak either of you or your Mother (for some considerations best known to himself) or if at any time he used such language, either my youth then, or defective memory since, hath utterly lost it. But truly, it is no little joy and comfort to me, to find a sister here, where I had no such hope or expectation, and where also myself am a mere stranger. For to speak my mind freely of you, and the perfections gracefully appearing in you, I know not any man, of how great repute or quality soever, but you may well beseem his acceptance, much rather than mine, that am but a mean Merchant. But fair sister, I desire to be resolved in one thing, to wit, by what means you had understanding of my being in this City? whereto readily she returned him this answer.  
Brother, a poor woman of this City, whom I employ sometimes in household occasions, came to me this morning, and (having seen you) told me, that she dwelled a long while with our Father, both at Palermo, and peruse. And because I held it much better beseeming my condition, to have you visit me in mine own dwelling, than I to come see you at a common inn; I made the bolder to send for you hither. After which words, in very orderly manner, she enquired of his chiefest kindred and friends, calling them readily by their proper names, according to her former instructions. Whereto Andrea still made her answer, confirming thereby his belief of her the more strongly, and crediting whatsoever she said, fare better than before.  
Their conference having long time continued, and the heat of the day being somewhat extraordinary, she called for Greek wine, and banqueting stuff, drinking to Andrea; and he pledging her very contentedly. After which, he would have returned to his lodging, because it drew near supper time; which by no means she would permit, but seeming more than half displeased, she said. Now I plainly perceive brother, how little account you make of me, considering, you are with your own Sister, who (you say) you never saw before, and in her own House, whether you should always resort when you come to this City; and would you now refuse her, to go and sup at a common inn. Believe me brother, you shall sup with me, for although my Husband is now from home, to my no little discontentment: yet you shall find brother, that his wife can bid you welcome, and make you good cheer beside.  
Now was Andrea so confounded with this extremity of courtesy, that he knew not what to say, but only thus replied. I love you as a Sister ought to be loved, and accept of your exceeding kindness: but if I return not to my lodging, I shall wrong mine Host and his guests too much, because they will not sup until I come. For that (quoth she) we have a present remedy, one of my servants shall go and give warning, whereby they shall not tarry your coming. Albeit, you might do me a great kindness, to send for your friends to sup with us here, where I assure ye they shall find that your Sister (for your sake) will bid them welcome, and after supper, you may all walk together to your inn. Andrea answered, that he had no such friends there, as should be so burdenous to her: but seeing she urged him so fare, he would stay to sup with her, and referred himself solely to her disposition.  
Ceremonious show was made, of sending a servant to the inn, for not expecting Andrea's presence at Supper, though no such matter was performed; but, after diverse other discourse, the table being covered, and variety of costly viands placed thereon, down they sat to feeding, with plenty of curious Wines liberally walking about, so that it was dark night before they arose from the table. Andrea then offering to take his leave, she would (by no means) suffer it, but told him that Naples was a city of such strict laws and Ordinances, as admitted no nightwalkers, although they were natives, much less strangers, but punished them with great severity. And therefore, as she had formerly sent word to his inn, that they should not expect his coming to supper, the like had she done concerning his bed, intending to give her Brother Andrea one nights lodging, which as easily she could afford him, as she had done a Supper. All which this new-caught woodcock verily crediting, and that he was in company of his own Sister Fiordeliza (for so did she cunningly style herself, and in which belief he was merely deluded) he accepted the more gladly her gentle offer, and concluded to stay there all that night.  
After supper, their conference lasted very long, purposely dilated out in length, that a great part of the night might therein be wasted: when, leaving Andrea to his Chamber, and a Lad to attend, that he should lack nothing; she with her women went to their lodgings, and thus our brother and supposed Sister were parted. The season then being somewhat hot and sultry, Andrea put off his hose and doublet, and being in his shirt alone, laid them underneath the bed's bolster, as seeming careful of his money. But finding a provocation to the house of Office, he demanded of the Lad, where he might find it; who shown him a little door in a corner of the Chamber, appointing him to enter there. Safely enough he went in, but chanced to tread upon a board, which was fastened at neither end to the joints whereon it lay, being a pitfall made of purpose, to entrap any such coxcomb, as would be trained to so base a place of lodging, so that both he and the board fell down together into the draught; yet such being his good fortune, to receive no harm in the fall (although it was of extraordinary height) only the filth of the place, (it being over full) had foully myred him.  
Now for your better understanding the quality of the place, and what ensued thereupon, it is not unnecessary to describe it, according to a common use observed in those parts. There was a narrow passage or entry, as often we see reserved between two houses, for either's benefit to such a needful place; and boards loosely lay upon the joints, which such as were acquainted withal, could easily avoid any peril, in passing to or from the stool. But our so newly created brother, not dreaming to find a quean to his Sister, receiving so foul a fall into the vault, and knowing not how to help himself, being sorrowful beyond measure; cried out to the boy for light and aid, with intended not to give him any. For the crafty wag, (a meet attendant for so honest a Mistress) no sooner heard him to be fallen, but presently he ran to inform her thereof, and she as speedily returned to the Chamber, where finding his clothes under the bed's head, she needed no instruction for search in his pockets. But having found the gold, which Andrea indiscreetely carried always about him, as thinking it could no where else be so safe: This was all she aimed at, and for which she had ensnared him, feigning herself to be of Palermo, and Daughter to Piero of peruse, so that not regarding him any longer, but making fast the house of Office door, there she left him in that miserable taking.  
Poor Andrea perceiving, that his calls could get no answer from the Lad; cried out louder, but all to no purpose: when seeing into his own simplicity, and understanding his error, though somewhat too late, he made such means constrainedly, that he got over a wall, which severed that foul sink from the world's eye; and being in the open street, went to the door of the House, which then he knew too well to his cost, making loud exclaims with rapping and knocking, but all as fruitless as before. Sorrowing exceedingly, and manifestly beholding his misfortune; Alas (quoth he) how soon have I lost a Sister, and five hundred crowns beside? with many other words, loud calls, and beat upon the door without intermission, the neighbours finding themselves diseased, and unable to endure such ceaseless vexation, rose from their beds, and called to him, desiring him to be gone and let them rest. A maid also of the same House, looking forth at the window, and seeming as newly raised from sleep, called to him, saying; What noise is that beneath? Why Virgin (answered Andrea) know you not me? I am Andrea de Piero, Brother to your Mistress Fiordeliza. Thou art a drunken knave, replied the maid, more full of drink then wit, go sleep, go sleep, and come again to morrow: for I know no Andrea de Piero, neither hath my mistress any such Brother, get thee gone good man, and suffer us to sleep I pray thee. How now (quoth Andrea) dost thou not understand what I say? Thou knowest that I supped with thy mistress this night; but if our Sicilian kindred be so soon forgot, I pray thee give me my clothes which I left in my Chamber, and then very gladly will I get me gone. Hereat the maid laughing out aloud, said; Surely the man is mad, or walketh the streets in a dream; and so clasping fast the window, away she went and left him.  
Now could Andrea assure himself, that his gold and clothes were past recovery, which moving him to the more impatience, his former intercessions became converted into fury, and what he could not compass by fair entreaties, he intended to win by outrage and violence, so that taking up a great stone in his hand, he laid upon the door very powerful strokes. The neighbours hearing this molestation still, admitting them not the least respite of rest, reputing him for a troublesome fellow, and that he used those counterfeit words, only to disturb the mistress of the House, and all that dwelled near about her; looking again out at their windows, they altogether began to rate and reprove him, even like so many bawling curs, barking at a strange dog passing thorough the street. This is shameful villainy (quoth one) and not to be suffered, that honest women should be thus molested in their houses, with foolish idle words, and at such an unseasonable time of the night. For God's sake (good man) be gone, and let us sleep; if thou have any thing to say to the Gentlewoman of the House, come to morrow in the day time, and no doubt but she will make thee sufficient answer.  
Andrea being somewhat pacified with these speeches, a shag-hairde swashbuckler, a grim-visagde Ruffian (as seldom bawdy houses are without such swaggering Champions) not seen or heard by Andrea, all the while of his being in the house rapping out two or three terrible oaths, opened a casement, and with a stern dreadful voice, demanded who durst keep that noise beneath? Andrea fearfully looking up, and (by a little glimmering of the moon) seeing such a rough fellow, with a black beard, strowting like the quills of a Porcupine, and patches on his face, for hurts received in no honest quarrels, yawning also and stretching, as angry to have his sleep disturbed: trembling and quaking, answered; I am the gentlewoman's brother of the house. The Ruffian interrupting him, and speaking more fiercely than before; sealing his words with horrible oaths, said. Sirrah, rascal, I know not of whence or what thou art, but if I come down to thee, I will so bombast thy prating coxcomb, as thou was never better beaten in all thy life, like a drunken slave and beast as thou art, that all this night wilt not let us sleep; and so he clapped to the window again.  
The neighbours, well acquainted with this Ruffians rude conditions, speaking in gentle manner to Andrea, said. Shift for thyself (good man) in time, and tarry not for his coming down to thee; except thou art weary of thy life, be gone therefore, and say thou hast a friendly warning. These words dismaying Andrea, but much more the stern oaths and ugly sight of the Ruffian, incited also by the neighbour's counsel, whom he imagined to advice him in charitable manner: it caused him to departed thence, taking the way homeward to his inn, in no mean affliction and torment of mind, for the monstrous abuse offered him, and loss of his money. Well he remembered the passages, whereby (the day before) the young girl had guided him, but the loathsome smell about him, was so extremely offensive to himself: that, desiring to wash him at the Sea side, he strayed too fare wide on the contrary hand, wand'ring up the street called Ruga Gatellana.  
Proceeding on still, even to the highest part of the city, he espied a lantern and light, as also a man carrying it, and another man with him in company, both of them coming towards him. Now, because he suspected them two of the watch, or some persons that would apprehend him: he slept aside to shun them, and entered into an old house hard by at hand. The other men's intention was to the very same place, and going in, without any knowledge of Andreaes' being there, one of them laid down diverse instruments of iron, which he had brought thither on his back, and had much talk with his fellow concerning those engines. At last one of them said, I smell the most abominable stink, that ever I felt in all my life. So, lifting up his lantern, he espied poor pitiful Andrea, closely couched behind the wall. Which sight somewhat affrighting him, he yet boldly demanded, what and who he was: whereto Andrea answered nothing, but lay still and held his peace. Nearer they drew towards him with their light, demanding how he came thither, and in that filthy manner.  
Constraint having now no other evasion, but that (of necessity) all must out: he related to them the whole adventure, in the same sort as it had befallen him. They greatly pitying his misfortune, one of them said to the other. Questionless, this villainy was done in the house of Scarabone Buttafuoco; And then turning to Andrea, proceeded thus. In good faith poor man, albeit thou hast lost thy money, yet art thou highly beholding to Fortune, for falling (though in a foul place) yet in successful manner, and entering no more back into the house. For, believe me friend, if thou hadst not fall'n, but quietly gone to sleep in the house; that sleep had been thy last in this world, and with thy money, thou hadst lost thy life likewise. But tears and lamentations are now helpless, because, as easily mayest thou pluck the stars from the firmament, as get a gain the least doit of thy loss. And for that shag-haird slave in the house, he will be thy deathsman, if he but understand, that thou makest any enquiry after thy money. When he had thus admonished him, he began also in this manner to comfort him. Honest fellow, we cannot but pity thy present condition, wherefore, if thou wilt friendly associate us, in a business which we are instantly going to effect: thy loss hath not been so great, but on our words we will warrant thee, that thine immediate gain shall fare exceed it. What will not a man (in desperate extremity) both well like and allow of, especially, when it carrieth appearance of present comfort? So fared it with Andrea, he persuaded himself, worse than had already happened, could not befall him; and therefore he would gladly adventure with them.  
The self same day preceding this disastrous night to Andrea, in the chief Church of the city, had been buried the Archbishop of Naples, named Signior Philippo Minutulo, in his richest pontifical robes and ornaments, and a Ruby on his finger, valued to be worth five hundred ducats of gold: this dead body they purposed to rob and rifle, acquainting Andrea with their whole intent, whose necessity (coupled with a covetous desire) made him more forward then well advised, to join with them in this sacrilegious enterprise. On they went towards the great Church, Andreaes' unsavoury perfume much displeasing them, whereupon the one said to his fellow. Can we device no ease for this foul and noisome inconvenience? the very smell of him will be a means to betray us. There is a Well-pit hard by, answered the other, with a pulley and bucket descending down into it, and there we may wash him from this filthiness. To the Well-pit they came, where they found the rope and pulley hanging ready, but the bucket (for safety) was taken away: whereon they concluded, to fasten the rope about him, and so let him down into the Well-pit, and when he had washed himself, he should wag the rope, and then they would draw him up again, which accordingly they forthwith performed.  
Now it came to pass, that while he was thus washing himself in the Well-pit, the watch of the city walking the round, and finding it to be a very hot and sweltering night; they grew dry and thirsty, and therefore went to the Well to drink. The other two men, perceiving the Watch so near upon them: left Andrea in the Pit to shift for himself, running away to shelter themselves. Their flight was not discovered by the Watch, but they coming to the Well-pit, Andrea remained still in the bottom, and having cleansed himself so well as he could, sat wagging the rope, expecting when he should be haled up. This dumb sign the Watch discerned not, but sitting down by the Wells side, they laid down their bills and other weapons, tugging to draw up the rope, thinking the Bucket was fastened thereto, and full of water. Andrea being haled up to the Pits brim, left holding the rope any longer, catching fast hold with his hands for his better safety: and the Watch at the sight hereof being greatly affrighted, as thinking that they had dragged up a Spirit; not daring to speak one word, ran away with all the hast they could make.  
Andrea hereat was not a little amazed, so that if he had not taken very good hold on the brim: he might have fall'n to the bottom, and doubtless there his life had perished. Being come forth of the Well, and treading on bills and halberds, which he well knew that his companions had not brought thither with them; his marvel so much the more increased, ignorance and fear still seizing on him, with silent bemoaning his many misfortunes, away thence he wandered, but he witted not whither. As he went on, he met his two fellows, who purposely returned to drag him out of the Well, and seeing their intent already performed, desired to know who had done it: wherein Andrea could not resolve them, rehearsing what he could, and what weapons he found lying about the Well. Whereat they smiled, as knowing, that the Watch had haled him up, for fear of whom they left him, and so declared to him the reason of their return.  
Leaving off all further talk, because now it was about midnight, they went to the great Church, where finding their entrance to be easy: they approached near the tomb, which was very great, being all of Marble, and the cover-stone weighty, yet with crows of iron and other helps, they raised it so high, that a man might without peril pass into it. Now began they to question one another, which of the three should enter into the tomb. Not I, said the first; so said the second: No, nor I, answered Andrea. Which when the other two heard, they caught fast hold of him, saying. Wilt not thou go into the tomb? Be advised what thou sayest, for, if thou wilt not go in: we will so beat thee with one of these iron crows, that thou shalt never go out of this Church alive.  
Thus poor Andrea is still made a property, and Fortune (this fatal night) will have no other fool but he, as delighting in his hourly disasters. Fear of their fury makes him obedient, into the grave he goes, and being within, thus consults with himself. These cunning companions suppose me to be simple, & make me enter the tomb, having an absolute intention to deceive me. For, when I have given them all the riches that I find here, and am ready to come forth for mine equal portion: away will they run for their own safety, and leaving me here, not only shall I lose my right among them, but must remain to what danger may follow after. Having thus meditated, he resolved to make sure of his own share first, and remembering the rich Ring, whereof they had told him: forthwith he took it from the Archbishop's finger, finding it indifferently fit for his own. Afterward, he took the cross, mitre, rich garments, gloves and all, leaving him nothing but his shirt, giving them all these several parcels; protesting, that there was nothing else. Still they pressed upon him, affirming that there was a Ring beside, urging him to search diligently for it; yet still he answered, that he could not find it, and for their longer tarrying with him, seemed as if he searched very carefully, but all appeared to no purpose.  
The other two fellows, as cunning in craft as the third could be, still willed him to search, and watching their aptest opportunity: took away the props that supported the tombstone, and running thence with their got booty, left poor Andrea mewed up in the grave. Which when he perceived, and saw this misery to exceed all the rest, it is fare easier for you to guess at his grief, than I am any way able to express it. His head, shoulders, yea all his utmost strength he employeth, to remove that over-heavy hinderer of his liberty: but all his labour being spent in vain, sorrow threw him in a swoon upon the byshoppes' dead body, where if both of them might at that instant have been observed, the Arch-byshops dead body, and Andrea in grief dying, very hardly had been distinguished. But his senses regaining their former offices, among his silent complaints, consideration presented him with choice of these two unavoidable extremities. die starving must he in the tomb, with putrefaction of the dead body; or if any man came to open the grave, then must he be apprehended as a sacrilegious thief, and so be hanged, according to the laws in that case provided.  
As he continued in these strange afflictions of mind, suddenly he heard a noise in the Church of diverse men, who (as he imagined) came about the like business, as he and his fellows had undertaken before; wherein he was not a jot deceived, albeit his fear the more augmented. Having opened the tomb, and supported the stone, they varied also among themselves for entrance, and an indifferent while contended about it. At length, a Priest being one in the company, boldly said. Why how now you white-livered Rascals? What are you afraid of? Do you think he will eat you? Dead men cannot bite, and therefore I myself will go in. Having thus spoken, he prepared his entrance to the tomb in such order, that he thrust in his feet before, for his easier descending down into it.  
Andrea sitting upright in the tomb, and desiring to make use of this happy opportunity, caught the Priest fast by one of his legs, making show as if he meant to drag him down. Which when the Priest felt, he cried out aloud, getting out with all the hast he could make, and all his companions, being well near frighted out of their wits, ran away amain, as if they had been followed by a thousand diuels●. Andrea little dreaming on such fortunate success, made means to get out of the grave, and afterward forth of the Church, at the very same place where he entered.  
Now began daylight to appear, when he, having the rich Ring on his finger, wandered on he knew not whether: till coming to the seaside, he found the way directing to his inn, where all his company were with his Host, who had been very careful for him. Having related his manifold mischances, his host friendly advised him with speed to get him out of Naples. As instantly he did, returning home to peruse, having adventured his five hundred crowns on a Ring, wherewith he purposed to have bought Horses, according to the intent of his journey thither.   

Madame Beritola Caracalla, was found in an Island with two goats, having lost her two sons, and thence travailed into Lunigiana: where one of her sons became servant to the Lord thereof, and was found somewhat over-familiar with his master's daughter, who therefore caused him to be imprisoned. Afterward, when the Country of Sicily rebelled against K. Charles, the aforesaid son chanced to be known by his Mother, and was married to his master's daughter. And his Brother being found likewise; they both returned to great estate and credit.  
The sixth novel.  
Herein all men are admonished, never to distrust the powerful hand of heaven, when Fortune seemeth to be most adverse against them.  
THe Ladies and Gentlemen also, having smiled sufficiently at the several accidents which did befall the poor traveller Andrea, reported at large by madam Fiametta, the Lady Aemillia, seeing her tale to be fully concluded, began (by commandment of the Queen) to speak in this manner.  
The diversity of changes and alterations in Fortune as they are great, so must they needs be grievous; and as often as we take occasion to talk of them, as often do they awake and quicken our understandings, avouching, that it is no easy matter to depend upon her flatteries. And I am of opinion, that to hear them recounted, ought not any way to offend us, be it of men wretched or fortunate; because, as they instrust the one with good advice, so they animate the other with comfort. And therefore, although great occasions have been already related, yet I purpose to tell a Tale, no less true than lamentable; which albeit it sorted to a successful ending, yet notwithstanding, such and so many were the bitter thwart, as hardly can I believe, that ever any sorrow was more joyfully sweetened.  
You must understand then (most gracious Ladies) that after the death of Frederick the second Emperor, one named Manfred, was crowned King of Sicily, about whom lived in great account and authority, a Neapolitan Gentleman, called Henriet Capece, who had to Wife a beautiful Gentlewoman, and a Neapolitan also, named Madam Beritola Caracalla. This Henriet held the government of the kingdom of Sicily, and understanding, that King Charles the first, had won the battle at Beneventum, and slain King Maufred; the whole kingdom revolting also to his devotion, and little trust to be reposed in the Sicillians, or he willing to subject himself to his Lord's enemy; provided for his secret flight from thence. But this being discovered to the Sicillians, he and many more, who had been loyal servants to King Manfred, were suddenly taken and imprisoned by King Charles, and the sole possession of the island confirmed to him.  
Madam Beritola not knowing (in so sudden and strange an alteration of State affairs) what was become of her Husband, fearing also greatly before, those inconveniences which afterward followed; being overcome with many passionate considerations, having left and forsaken all her goods, going aboard a small bark with a son of hers, aged about some eight years, named Geoffrey, and grown great with child with another; she fled thence to Lipary, where she was brought to bed of another son, whom she named (answerable both to his and her hard fortune) The poor expelled.  
Having provided herself of a Nurse, they altogether went aboard again, setting sail for Naples to visit her Parents; but it chanced quite contrary to her expectation, because by stormy winds and weather, the vessel being bound for Naples, was hurried to the I'll of Ponzo, where entering into a small Port of the Sea, they concluded to make their abode, till a time more furtherous should favour their voyage.  
As the rest, so did Madam Boritola go on shore in the island, where having found a separate and solitary place, fit for her silent and sad meditations, secretly by herself, she sorrowed for the absence of her husband. Resorting daily to this her sad exercise, and continuing there her complaints, unseen by any of the mariners, or whosoever else: there arrived suddenly a Galley of pirates, who seizing on the small bark, carried it and all the rest in it away with them. When Beritola had finished her woeful complaints, as daily she was accustomed to do, she returned back to her children again; but finding no person there remaining, whereat she wondered not a little: immediately (suspecting what had happened indeed) she lent her looks on the Sea, and saw the Galley, which as yet had not gone fare, drawing the smaller vessel after her. Hereby plainly she perceived, that now she had lost her children, as formerly she had done her husband; being left there poor, forsaken, and miserable, not knowing when, where, or how to find any of them again, and calling for her husband and children, she fell down in a swound upon the shore.  
Now was not any body near, with cool water or any other remedy, to help the recovery of her lost powers; wherefore her spirits might the more freely wander at their own pleasure: but after they were returned back again, and had won their wont offices in her body, drowned in tears, and wring her hands, she did nothing but call for her children and husband, straying all about, in hope to find them, seeking in caves, dens, and every where else, that presented the very lest glimpse of comfort. But when she saw all her pains sort to no purpose, and dark night drawing swiftly on, hope and dismay raising infinite perturbations, made her yet to be somewhat respective of herself, & therefore departing from the seashore, he returned to the solitary place, where she used to sigh and mourn alone by herself.  
The night being overpassed with infinite fears and affrights, & bright day saluting the world again, with the expense of nine hours and more, she fell to her former fruitless travails. Being somewhat sharply bitten with hunger, because the former day and night she had not tasted any food: she made therefore a benefit of necessity, and fed on the green herbs so well as she could, notwithout many piercing afflictions, what should become of her in this extraordinary misery. As she walked in these pensive meditations, she saw a goat enter into a cave, and (within a while after) come forth again, wandering along thorough the woods. Whereupon she stayed, and entered where she saw the beast issue forth, where she found two young Kids, yeaned (as it seemed) the selfsame day, which sight was very pleasing to her, and nothing (in that distress) could more content her.  
As yet she had milk freshly running in both her breasts, by reason of her so late delivery in childbed; wherefore she lay down unto the two young Kids, and taking them tenderly in her arms, suffered each of them to suck a teat, whereof they made not any refusal, but took them as lovingly as their dams, and from that time forward, they made no distinguishing between their dam and her. Thus this unfortunate Lady, having found some company in this solitary desert, fed on herbs & roots▪ drinking fair running water, and weeping silently to herself, so often as she remembered her husband, children, and former days passed in much better manner. Here she resolved now to live and dye, being at last deprived both of the dam and younger Kids also, by their wandering further into the near adjoining Woods, according to their natural inclinations; whereby the poor distressed Lady became more savage and wild in her daily conditions, than otherwise she would have been.  
After many months were over-passed, at the very same place where she took landing; by chance, there arrived another small vessel of certain Pisans, which remained there diverse days. In this Bark was a Gentleman, named Conrado de Marchesi Malespini, with his holy and virtuous wife, who were returned back from a Pilgrimage, having visited all the sanctified places, that then were in the kingdom of Apulia, & now were bound homeward to their own abiding. This Gentleman, for the expelling of melancholy perturbations, one especial day amongst other, with his wife, servants, and waiting hounds, wandered up into the island, not far from the place of Madam Beritolaes' desert dwelling. The hounds questing after game, at last happened on the two kids where they were feeding, and (by this time) had attained to indifferent growth: and finding themselves thus pursued by the hounds, fled to no other part of the wood, then to the cave where Beritola remained, and seeming as if they sought to be rescued only by her, she suddenly caught up a staff, and forced the hounds thence to flight.  
By this time, Conrado and his wife, who had followed closely after the hounds, was come thither, and seeing what had happened, looking on the Lady, who was become black, swarthy, meager, and hairy, they wondered not a little at her, and she a great deal more at them. When (upon her request) Conrado had checked back his hounds, they prevailed so much by earnest entreaties, to know what she was, and the reason of her living there; that she entirely related her quality, unfortunate accidents, and strange determination for living there. Which when the Gentleman had heard, who very well knew her husband, compassion forced tears from his eyes, and earnestly he laboured by kind persuasions, to alter so cruel a deliberation; making an honourable offer, for conducting her home to his own dwelling, where she should remain with him in noble respect, as if she were his own sister, without parting from him, till Fortune should smile as fairly on her, as ever she had done before.  
When these gentle offers could not prevail with her, the Gentleman left his wife in her company, saying, that he would go fetch some food for her; and because her garments were all rent and torn, he would bring her other of his wives, not doubting but to win her thence with them. His wife abode there with Beritola, very much bemoaning her great disasters, and when both viands and garments were brought: by extremity of intercession, they caused her to put them on, and also to feed with them, albeit she protested, that she would not part thence into any place, where any knowledge should be taken of her. In the end, they persuaded her, to go with them into Lunigiana, carrying also with her the two young Goats and their dam, which were then in the cave altogether, prettily playing before Beritola, to the great admiration of Conrado and his wife, as also the servants attending on them.  
When the winds and weather grew favourable for them, Madam Beritola went aboard with Conrado and his wife, being followed by the two young goats and his dam; and because her name should be known to none but Conrado, and his wife only, she would be styled no otherwise, but the Goatherdesse. Merrily, yet gently blew the gale, which brought them to enter the river of Macra, where going on shore, and into their own castle, Beritola kept company with the wife of Conrado, but in a mourning habit, and a waiting Gentlewoman of hers, honest, humble, and very dutiful, the goats always familiarly keeping them company.  
Return we now to the pirates, which at Ponzo seized on the small bark, wherein Madam Beritola was brought thither, and carried thence away, without any sight or knowledge of her. With such other spoils as they had taken, they shaped their course for Geneway, and there (by consent of the patroness of the Galley) made a division of their booties. It came to pass, that (among other things) the Nurse that attended on Beritola, and the two with her Children, fell to the share of one Messer Gasparino d'Oria, who sent them together to his own House, there to be employed in service as servants. The Nurse weeping beyond measure for the loss of her Lady, and bemoaning her own miserable fortune, whereinto she was now fallen with the two young lads; after long lamenting, which she found utterly fruitless and to none effect, though she was used as a servant with them, and being but a very poor woman, yet was she wise and discreetly advised. Wherefore, comforting both herself, and them so well as she could, and considering the depth of their disaster; she conceited thus, that if the Children should be known, it might redound to their greater danger, and she be no way advantaged thereby.  
Hereupon, hoping that Fortune (early or late) would alter her stern malice, and that they might (if they lived) regain once more their former condition: she would not disclose them to any one whatsoever, till she should see the time aptly disposed for it. Being thus determined, to all such as questioned her concerning them, she answered that they were her own Children, 
Or Grannotto da Prochyta.  naming the eldest not Geoffrey, but jehannot de Procida. As for the youngest, she cared not greatly for changing his name, and therefore wisely informed Geoffrey, upon what reason she had altered his name, and what danger be might fall into, if he should otherwise be discovered; being not satisfied with thus telling him once, but remembering him thereof very often, which the gentle youth (being so well instructed by the wise and careful Nurse) did very warily observe.  
The two young lads, very poorly garmented, but much worse hosed and shodde, continued thus in the house of Gasparino, where both they and the Nurse were long time employed, about very base and drudging Offices, which yet they endured with admirable patience. But jehannot, aged already about sixteen years, having a loftier spirit, than belonged to a slavish servant, despising the baseness of his servile condition; departed from the drudgery of Messer Gasparino, and going aboard the galleys, which were bound for Alexandria, fortuned into many places, yet none of them affording him any advancement. In the end, about three or four hours after his departure from Gasparino, being now a brave young man, and of very goodly form: he understood, that his Father (whom he supposed to be dead) was as yet living; but in captivity, and prisoner to King Charles. Wherefore, despairing of any successful fortune, he wandered here and there, till he came to Lunigiana, and there (by strange accident) he became servant to Messer Conrado Malespina, where the service proved well liking to them both.  
Very seldom times he had a sight of his Mother, because she always kept company with Conradoes wife; and yet when they came within view of each other, she knew not him, nor he her, so much years had altered them both, from what they were wont to be, and when they saw each other last. Jehannot being thus in the service of Messer Conrado, it fortuned that a daughter of his, named Spina, being the widow of one Messer Nicolas Grignan, returned home to her father's House. Very beautiful and amiable she was, young likewise, aged but little above sixteen; growing wondrously amorous of jehannot, and he of her, in extraordinary and most fervent manner; which love was not long without full effect, continuing many months before any person could perceive it: which making them to build on the more assurance, they began to carry their means with less discretion, then is required in such nice cases, and which cannot be too providently managed.  
Upon a day, he and she walking to a goodly wood, plentifully furnished with spreading Trees, having outgone the rest of their company; they made choice of a pleasant place, very daintily shaded, and beautified with all sorts of flowers. There they spent sometime in amorous discourse, beside some other sweet embraces, which though it seemed over-short to them, yet was it so unadvisedly prolonged; that they were on a sudden surprised, first by the Mother, and next by Messer Conrado himself: who grieving beyond measure, to be thus treacherously dealt withal, caused them to be apprehended by three of his servants, and (without telling them any reason why) led bound to another Castle of his, and fretting with extremity of rage, concluded in his mind, that they should both shamefully be put to death.  
The Mother to this regardless Daughter, having heard the angry words of her Husband, and how he would be revenged on the faulty; could not endure that he should be so severe: wherefore, although she was likewise much afflicted in mind, and reputed her Daughter worthy (for so great an offence) of all cruel punishment: ●yet she hasted to her displeased husband, who began to entreat, that he would not run on in such a furious spleen, now in his aged years, to be the murderer of his own child, and soil his hands in the blood of his servant. Rather he might find out some mild course for the satisfaction of his Anger, by committing them to close imprisonment, there to remain & mourn for their folly committed. The virtuous and religious Lady alleged so many commendable examples, and used such plenty of moving persuasions; that she quite altered his mind, from putting them to death, and he commanded only, that they should separately be imprisoned, with little store of food, and lodging of the uneasiest, until he should otherwise determine of them, and so it was done. What their life now was in captivity and continual tears, with stricter abstinence than was needful for them; all this I must commit to your consideration.  
jehannot and Spina remaining in this comfortless condition, and an whole year being now outworn, yet Conrado keeping them thus still imprisoned: it came to pass, that Don Pedro King of Arragon, by the means of Messer John de Procida, caused the Isle of Sicily to revolt, and took it away from King Charles, whereat Conrado (he being of the Ghibbiline faction) not a little rejoiced. Jehannot having intelligence thereof, by some of them that had him in custody, breathing forth a vehement sigh, spoke in this manner. Alas poor miserable wretch as I am! that have already gone begging through the world above fourteen years, in expectation of nothing else but this opportunity; and now it is come, must I be in prison, to the end, that I should never more hope for any future happiness? And how can I get forth of this prison, except it be by death only? How now, replied the Officer of the Guard? What doth this business of great Kings concern thee? What affairs hast thou in Sicily?  
Once more jehannot sighed extremely, and returned him this answer. Me thinks my heart (quoth he) doth cleave in sunder, when I call to mind the charge which my Father had there, for although I was but a little boy when I fled thence: yet I can well remember, that I saw him governor there, at such time as King Manfred lived. The Guard, pursuing on still his purpose, demanded of him, what, and who his Father was? My Father (replied jehannot) I may now securely speak of him, being out of the peril which nearly concerned me if I had been discovered. He was the named (and so still if he be living) Henriet Capece, and my name is Geoffrey, not jehannot; and I make no doubt, but if I were free from hence, and might be returned home to Sicily, I should (for his sake) be placed in some authority.  
The honest man of the Guard, without seeking after any further information; so soon as he could compass the leisure, reported all to Messer Conrado, who having heard these news (albeit he made no show thereof to the revealer) went to Madam Beritola, graciously demanding of her, if she had any son by her husband, who was called Geoffrey. The Lady replied in tears, that if her eldest son were as yet living, he was so named, and now aged about two and twenty years. Conrado hearing this, imagined this same to be the man, considering further withal, that if it fell out to prove so: he might have the better means of mercy, and closely concealing his daughter's shame, joyfully join them in marriage together.  
Hereupon he secretly caused jehannot to be brought before him, examining him particularly of all his passed life, and finding (by most manifest arguments) that his name was truly Geoffrey, & he the eldest son of Henriet Capece, he spoke to him alone in this manner. Jehannot, thou knowest how great the injuries which thou hast done me, & my dear daughter, gently entreating thee (as became a good & honest servant) that thou shouldest always have been respective of mine honour, and all that do appertain unto me. There are many noble gentlewomen, who sustaining the wrog which thou hast offered me, they would have procured thy shameful death, which pity & compassion will not suffer in me. Wherefore seeing (as thou informest me) that thou art honourably derived both by father & mother; I will give end to all thine anguishes, even when thyself art so pleased, releasing thee from the misery & captivity, wherein I have so long time kept thee, and in one instant, reduce thine honour & mine into complete perfection. As thou knowest, my Daughter Spina, whom thou hast embraced in kindness as a friend (although fare unfitting for thee or her) is a widow, and her marriage is both great and good; what her manners and conditions are, thou indifferently knowest, and art not ignorant of her Father and Mother: concerning thine own estate, as now I purpose not to speak any thing. Therefore, when thou wilt, I am so determined, that whereas thou hast immodestly affected her, she shall become thy honest wife, and accepting thee as my Son, to remain with me so long as you both please.  
Imprisonment had somewhat mishapen jehannot in his outward form, but not impaired a jot of that noble spirit, really derived from his famous progenitors, much less the true love he bore to his fair friend. And although most earnestly he desired that, which Conrado now so frankly offered him, and was in his power only to bestow on him; yet could he not cloud any part of his greatness, but with a resolved judgement, thus replied. My Lord, affectation of rule, desire of wealthy possessions, or any other matter whatsoever, could never make me a traitor to you or yours; but that I have loved, do love & for ever shall love your beauteous daughter; if that be treason, I freely confess it, & will die a thousand deaths, before you or any else shall enforce me to deny it; for I hold her highly worthy of my love. If I have been more unmamnerly with her, than became me, according to the opinion of vulgar judgement, I have committed but that error, which evermore is so attendant upon youth; that to deny it, is to deny youth also. And if reverend age would but remember, that once he was young, & measure others offences by his own; they would not be thought so great or grievous, as you (& many more) account them to be, mine being committed as a friend, & not as an enemy: what you make offer of so willingly to do, I have always desired, & if I had thought it would have been granted, long since I had most humbly requested it; and so much the more acceptable would it have been to me, by how much the further off it stood from my hopes. But if you be so forward as your words do witness, then feed me not with any further fruitless expectation: but rather send me back to prison, and lay as many afflictions on me as you please: for my endeared love to your Daughter Spina, maketh me to love you the more for her sake; how hardly soever you entreat me, & bindeth me in the greater reverence to you, as being the father of my fairest friend.  
Messer Conrado hearing these words, stood as one confounded with admiration, reputing him to be a man of lofty spirit, and his affection most fervent to his Daughter, which was as a little to his liking. Wherefore, embracing him, and kissing his cheek, without any longer dallying, he sent in like manner for his Daughter. Her restraint in prison had made her looks me ager, pale and won, and very weak was she also of her person, fare differing from the woman she was wont to be, before her affection to jehannot; there in presence of her Father, and with free consent of either, they were contracted as man and wife, and the espousals agreed on according to custom. Some few days after, (without any one's knowledge of that which was done) having furnished them with all things fit for the purpose, and time aptly serving, that the Mothers should be partakers in this joy, he called his wife, and Madam Beritola, to whom first he spoke in this manner.  
What will you say Madam, if I cause you to see your eldest Son, not long since married to one of my Daughters? whereunto Beritola thus replied. My Lord, I can say nothing else unto you, but that I shall be much more obliged to you, than already I am, and so much the rather, because you will let me see the thing which is dearer to me then mine own life; and rendering it unto me in such manner as you speak of, you will recall back some part of my former lost hopes: and with these words the tears streamed abundantly from her eyes. Then turning to his wife, he said; And you dear love, if I show you such a son in Law, what will you think of it? Sir (quoth she) what pleaseth you, must and shall satisfy me, be he Gentleman, or a beggar. Well said Madam, answered Messer Conrado, I hope (within few days) to make you both joyful. So when the amorous couple had recovered their former feature, and honourable garments were prepared for them, privately thus he said to Geoffrey; Beyond the joy which already thou art enriched withal, how would it please thee to meet with thine own Mother here? I cannot believe Sir, replied Geoffrey, that her grievous misfortunes have suffered her to live so long: yet notwithstanding, if heaven hath been so merciful to her, my joys were incomparable, for by her gracious counsel, I might well hope to recover no mean happiness in Sicily. Within a while after, both the Mothers were sent for, who were transported with unspeakable joys, when they beheld the so lately married couple; being also much amazed, when they could not guess what inspiration had guided Conrado to this extraordinary benignity, joining jehannot in marriage with Spina. Hereupon Madam Beritola, remembering the speeches between her and Conrado, began to observe him very advisedly, and by a hidden virtue, which long had silently slept in her, and now with joy of spirit awaked, calling to mind the lineatures of her son's Infancy, without awaiting for any other demonstrations, she folded him in her arms with earnest affection. Motherly joy and pity now contended so violently together, that she was not able to utter one word, the sensitive virtues being so closely combined, that (even as dead) she fell down in the arms of her son. And he wondering greatly thereat, making a better recollection of his thoughts, did well remember, that he had often before seen her in the castle, without any other knowledge of her. Nevertheless, by mere instinct of Nature, whose power (in such actions) declares itself to be highly predominant; his very soul assured him, that she was his Mother, and blaming his understanding, that he had not before been better advised, he threw his arms about her, and wept exceedingly.  
Afterward, by the loving pains of Conradoes wife, as also her daughter Spina, Madam Beritola (being recovered from her passionate trance, and her vital spirits executing their Offices again;) fell once more to the embracing of her son, kissing him infinite times, with tears and speeches of motherly kindness, he likewise expressing the same dutiful humanity to her. Which ceremonious courtesies being passed over and over, to no little joy in all the beholders, beside repetition of their several misfortunes. Messer Conrado made all known to his friends, who were very glad of this new alliance made by him, which was honoured with many solemn & magnificent feastings. Which being all concluded, Geoffrey having found out fit place and opportunity, for conference with his new created Father, without any sinister opposition; began as followeth.  
Honourable Father, you have raised my contentment to the highest degree, and have heaped also many gracious favours on my noble Mother; but now in the final conclusion, that nothing may remain uneffected, which consisteth in your power to perform: I would humbly entreat you, to honour my Mother with your company, at a Feast of my making, where I would gladly also have my Brother present. Messer Gasparino d' Oria (as I have once heretofore told you) questing as a common pirate on the Seas, took us, and sent us home to his house as slaves, where (as yet he detaineth him.) I would have you likewise send one into Sicily, who informing himself more amply in the state of the Country; may understand what is become of Henriet my Father, and whether he be living or no. If he remain alive, to know in what condition he is; and being secretly instructed in all things, then to return back again to you.  
This motion made by Geoffrey, was so pleasing to Conrado, that without any reference to further leisure, he dispatched thence two discreet persons, the one to Geneway, and the other to Sicily: he which went for Geneway, having met with Gasparino, earnestly entreated him, (on the behalf of Conrado) to send him the Poor expelled; and his Nurse recounting every thing in order, which Conrado had told him, concerning Geoffrey and his Mother: when Gasparino had heard the whole discourse, he marvelled greatly thereat, and said; True it is, that I will do any thing for Messer Conrado, which may be to his love and liking, provided, that it lie in my power to perform; and (about some fourteen years since) I brought such a Lad as you seek for, with his Mother home to my house, whom I will gladly send unto him. But you may tell him from me, that I advice him from overrash crediting the fables of jehannot, that now terms himself by the name of Geoffrey, because he is a more wicked boy, than he taketh him to be, and so did I find him.  
Having thus spoken, and giving kind welcome to the Messenger, secretly he called the Nurse unto him, whom he heedfully examined concerning this case. She having heard the rebellion in the kingdom of Sicily, and understanding withal, that Henriet was yet living; joyfully threw off all her former fear, relating every thing to him orderly, and the reasons moving her, to conceal the whole business in such manner as she had done. Gasparino well perceiving, that the report of the Nurse, and the message received from Conrado, varied not in any one circumstance, began the better to credit her words. And being a man most ingenious, making further inquisition into the business, by all the possible means he could device, and finding every thing to yield undoubted assurance; ashamed of the vile and base usage, wherein he had so long time kept the lad, and desiring (by his best means) to make him amends; he had a fair Daughter, aged about thirteen years, and knowing what manner of man he was, his father Henriet also yet living, he gave her to him in marriage, with a very bountiful and honourable dowry.  
The jovial days of feasting being passed, he went aboard a Galley, with the Poor expelled; his Daughter, the ambassador, and the Nurse, departing thence to Lericy, where they were nobly welcomed by Messer Conrado, and his Castle being not fare from thence, with an honourable train they were conducted thither, and entertained with all possible kindness. Now concerning the comfort of the Mother, meeting so happily with both her sons, the joy of the Brethren and Mother together, having also found the faithful Nurse, Gasparino and his Daughter, in company now with Conrado and his Wife, friends, familiars, and all generally in a jubilee of rejoicing: it exceedeth capacity in me to express it; and therefore I refer it to your more able imagination.  
In the time of this mutual contentment, to the end that nothing might be wanting, to complete and perfect this universal joy; our Lord, a most abundant bestower where he beginneth, added long wished tidings, concerning the life and good estate of Henriet Capece. For, even as they were feasting, and the concourse great of worthy guests, both of Lords and Ladies: the first service was scarcely set on the Tables, but the Ambassador which was sent to Sicily, arrived there before them. Among many other important matters, he spoke of Henriet, who being so long a time detained in prison by King Charles, when the commotion arose in the City against the King; the people (grudging at Henriets long imprisonment) slew the Guards, and set him at liberty. Then as capital enemy to King Charles, he was created captain general, following the chase, and killing the French.  
By means whereof, he grew great in the grace of King Pedro, who replanted him in all the goods and honours which he had before, with very high and eminent authority. Hereunto the ambassador added, that he was entertained with extraordinary grace, and delivery of public joy and exaltation, when his Wife and son were known to be living, of whom no tidings had at any time been heard, since the hour of his surprisal. Moreover, that a swift winged bark was now sent thither (upon the happy hearing of this news) well furnished with noble Gentlemen, to attend till their returning back. We need to make no doubt concerning the tidings brought by this ambassador, nor of the gentlemen's welcome, thus sent to Madam Beritola and Geoffrey; who before they would sit down at the Table, saluted Messer Conrado and his kind Lady (on the behalf of Henriet) for all the great graces extended to her and her son, with promise of any thing, lying in the power of Henriet, to rest continually at their command. The like they did to Signior Gasparino, (whose liberal favours came unlooked for) with certain assurance, that when Henriet should understand what he had done for his other son, the Poor expelled; there would be no defailance of riciprocall courtesies.  
As the longest joys have no perpetuity of lasting, so all these graceful ceremonies had their conclusion, with as many sighs and tears at parting, as joys abounded at their first encountering. Imagine then, that you see such aboard, as were to have here no longer abiding, Madam Beritola and Geoffrey, with the rest, as the Poor expelled, the so late married wives, and the faithful Nurse bearing them company. With prosperous winds they arrived in Sicily, where the Wife, sons, and Daughters, were joyfully met by Henriet at Palermo, and with such honourable pomp, as a case so important equally deserved. The Histories make further mention, that there they lived (a long while after) in much felicity, with thankful hearts (no doubt) to heaven, in acknowledgement of so many great mercies received.   

The sultan of Babylon sent one of his Daughters, to be joined in marriage with the King of Cholcos'; who by diverse accidents (in the space of four years) happened into the custody of nine men, and in sundry places. At length being restored back to her Father, she went to the said King of Cholcos', as a maid, and as at first she was intended to be his wife.  
The seaventh novel.  
Alively demonstration, that the beauty of a Woman, (oftentimes) is very hurtful to herself, and the occasion of many evils, yea, and of death, to diverse men.  
Peradventure the novel related by Madam Aemilia, did not extend itself so fare in length, as it moved compassion in the Lady's minds, hearing the hard fortunes of Beritola and her Children, which had incited them to weeping: but that it pleased the Queen (upon the Tales conclusion) to command Pamphilus, to follow (next in order) with his discourse, and he being thereto very obedient, began in this manner.  
It is a matter of no mean difficulty (virtuous Ladies) for us to take entire knowledge of every thing we do, because (as oftentimes hath been observed) many men, imagining if they were rich, they should live securely, and without any cares. And therefore, not only have their prayers and intercessions aimed at that end, but also their studies and daily endeavours, without refusal of any pains or perils have not meanly expressed their hourly solicitude. And although it hath happened accordingly to them, and their covetous desires fully accomplished; yet at length they have met with such kind of people, who likewise thirsting after their wealthy possessions, have bereft them of life, being their kind and intimate friends, before they attained to such riches. Some other, being of low and base condition, by adventuring in many skirmishes and fought battles, trampling in the blood of their brethren and friends, have been mounted to the sovereign dignity of kingdoms, (believing that therein consisted the truest happiness) but bought with the dearest price of their lives. For, beside their infinite cares and fears, wherewith such greatness is continually attended, at their royal Tables, they have drunk poison in a golden pot. Many other in like manner (with most earnest appetite) have coveted beauty and bodily strength, not foreseeing with any judgement, that these wishes were not without peril; when being endued with them, they either have been the occasion of their death, or such a linger lamentable estate of life, as death were a thousand times more welcome to them.  
But because I would not speak particularly of all our frail and humane affections, I dare assure ye, that there is not any one of these desires, to be elected among us mortals, with entire foresight or providence, warrantable against their ominous issue. Wherefore, if we would walk directly, we should dispose our wills and affections, to be ordered and guided only by him, who best knoweth what is needful for us, and will bestow them at his good pleasure. Nor let me lay this blameful imputation upon men only, for offending in many things through over lavish desires: because you yourselves (gracious Ladies) sinne highly in one, as namely, in coveting to be beautiful. So that it is not sufficient for you, to enjoy those beauties bestown on you by Nature: but you practise to increase them, by the rarities of Art. Wherefore, let it not offend you, that I tell you the hard fortune of a fair Sarrazines, to whom it happened (by strange adventures) within the compass of four years, nine several times to be married, and only for her beauty.  
It is now a long time since, that there lived a sultan in Babylon, named Beminidab, to whom (while he lived) many things happened, answerable to his own desires. Among diverse other children both male and female, he had a daughter, called Alathiella, and she (according to the common voice of every one that saw her) was the fairest Lady than living in all the world. And because the King of Cholcos' had wonderfully assisted him, in a valiant fought battle, against a mighty army of Arabes, who on a sudden had assailed him: he demanded his fair daughter in marriage, which likewise was badly granted to him. A goodly and well armed Ship was prepared for her, with full furnishment of all necessary provision, and accompanied with an honourable train, both Lords and Ladies, as also most costly and sumptuous accoutrements; commending her to the mercy of heaven, in this manner was she sent away.  
The time being propitious for their parting thence, the mariner's hoist their sails, leaving the part of Alexandria, and sailing prosperously many days together. When they had past the Country of Sardignia, and (as they imagined) were well near to their journey's end: suddenly arose boisterous and contrary winds, which were so impetuous beyond all measure, and so tormented the Ship wherein the Lady was; that the Mariners, seeing no sign of comfort, gave over all hope of escaping with life. Nevertheless, as men most expert in implacable dangers, they laboured to their uttermost power, and contended with infinite blustering tempests, for the space of two days and nights together, hoping the third day would prove more favourable. But therein they saw themselves deceived, for the violence continued still, increasing in the night time more and more, being no way able to comprehend, either where they were, or what course they took, neither by marivall judgement, or any apprehension else whatsoever, the heavens were so clouded, and the night's darkness so extreme.  
Being (unknown to them) near the Isle of Maiorica, they felt the Ship to split in the bottom, by means whereof, perceiving now no hope of escaping (every one caring for himself, and not any other) they threw forth a Squiffe on the troubled waves, reposing more confidence of safety that way, then abiding any longer in the broken Ship. Howbeit, such as were first descended down, made stout resistance against all other followers, with their drawn weapons: but safety of life so fare prevailed, that what with the tempests violence, and over-lading of the Squiffe, it sunk to the bottom, and all perished that were therein. The The Ship being thus split, and more than half full of water, tossed and tormented by the blustering winds, first one way, and then another: was at last driven into a strand of the Isle Maiorica, no other persons remaining therein, but only the Lady and her women, all of them (through the rude tempest, and their own conceived fear) lying still, as if they were more than half dead. And there, within a stones cast of the neighbouring shore, the Ship (by the rough surging billows) was fixed fast in the sands, and so continued all the rest of the night, without any further molestation of the winds.  
When day appeared, and the violent storms were more mildly appeased, the Lady, who seemed well near dead, lifted up her head, and began (weak as she was) to call first one, and then another: but she called in vain, for such as she named were fare enough from her. Wherefore, hearing no answer, nor seeing any one, she wondered greatly, her fears increasing then more and more. Raising herself so well as she could, she beheld the Ladies that were of her company, and some other of her women, lying still without any stirring: whereupon, first jogging one, and then another, and calling them severally by their names; she found them bereft of understanding, and even as if they were dead, their hearts were so quailed, and their fear so overruling, which was no mean dismay to the poor Lady herself. Nevertheless, necessity now being her best counsellor, seeing herself thus all alone, and not knowing in what place she was, she used such means to them that were living, that (at the last) they came better to knowledge of themselves, And being unable to guess, what was become of the men and Mariners, seeing the Ship also driven on the sands, and filled with water: she began (with them) to lament most grievously, and now it was about the hour of midday, before they could descry any person on the shore, or any else to pity them in so urgent a necessity.  
At length, noon being past, a Gentlewoman, named Bajazeth, attended by diverse of his followers on horseback, and returning from a Country house belonging to him, chanced to ride by on the sands. Upon sight of the Ship lying in that case, he imagined truly what had happened, and commanded one of his men to enter aboard it, which (with some difficulty) he did, to resolve his Lord what remained therein. There he found the fair young Lady, with such small store of company as was left her, fearfully hidden under the prow of the Ship. So soon as they saw him, they held up their hands, woefully desiring mercy of him: but he perceiving their lamentable condition, and that he understood not what they said to them; their affliction grew the greater, labouring by signs and gestures, to give them knowledge of their misfortune.  
The servant, gathering what he could by their outward behaviour, declared to his Lord, what he had seen in the Ship: who caused the women to be brought on shore, and all the precious things remaining with them, conducting them with him to a place not fare off, where, with food and warmth he gave them comfort. By the rich garments which the Lady was clothed withal, he reputed her to be a Gentlewomen well derived, as the great reverence done to her by the rest, gave him good reason to conceive. And although her looks were pale and wan, as also her person mightily altered, by the tempestuous violence of the Sea: yet notwithstanding, she appeared fair and lovely in the eye of Bajazeth, whereupon forthwith he determined, that if she were not married, he would enjoy her as his own in marriage, or if he could not win her to be his wife, yet (at the least) she should be his friend, because she remained now in his power.  
Bajazeth was a man of stern looks, rough and harsh both in speech and behaviour: yet causing the Lady to be honourably used diverse days together, she became thereby well comforted and recovered. And seeing her beauty to exceed all comparison, he was afflicted beyond measure, that he could not understand her, nor she him, whereby he could not know, of whence or what she was. His amorous flames increasing more and more; by kind, courteous, and affable actions, he laboured to compass what he aimed at. But all his endeavour proved to no purpose, for she refused all familiar privacy with him, which so much the more kindled the fury of his fire. This being well observed by the Lady, having now remained there a month & more, and collecting by the customs of the country, that she was among Turks, and in such a place, where although she were known, yet it would little advantage her, beside, that long protraction of time would provoke Bajazeth, by fair means or force to obtain his will: she propounded to herself (with magnanimity of spirit) to tread all misfortunes under her feet, commanding her women (whereof she had but three now remaining alive) that they should not disclose what she was; except it were in some such place, where manifest signs might yield hope of regaining their liberty. Moreover, she admonished them, stoutly to defend their honour and chastity, affirming, that she had absolutely resolved with herself, that never any other should enjoy her, but her intended husband; wherein her women did much commend her, promising to preserve their reputation, according as she had commanded.  
Day by day were the torments of Bajazeth, wonderfully augmented, yet still his kind offers scornfully refused, and he as fare off from compassing his desires, as when he first began to move the matter: wherefore, perceiving that all fair courses served to no effect, he resolved to compass his purpose by craft and subtlety, reserving rigorous extremity for his final conclusion. And having once observed, that wine was very pleasing to the Lady, she being never used to drink any at all, because (by her country's law) it was forbidden her, and no mean store having been lately brought to Bajazeth in a bark of Geneway: he resolved to surprise her by means thereof, as a chief Minister of Venus, to heat the coolest blood. And seeming now in his outward behaviour, as if he had given over his amorous pursuit, and which she striven by all her best endeavours to withstand: one night, after a very majestic and solemn manner, he prepared a delicate and sumptuous supper, whereto the Lady was invited: and he had given order, that he who attended on her Cup, should serve her with many wines compounded and mingled together, which he accordingly performed, as being cunning enough in such occasions.  
Alothiella, instructing no such treachery intended against her, and liking the wines pleasing taste extraordinarily; drank more than stood with with her precedent modest resolution, and forgetting all her passed adversities, became very frolic and merry: so that seeing some women dance after the manner observed therein Maiorica, she also fell to dancing, according to the Alexandrian custom. Which when Bajazeth beheld, he imagined the victory to be more then half won, and his hearts desire very near the obtaining: plying her still with wine upon wine, and continuing this revelling the most part of the night. At the length, the invited guests being all gone, the Lady retired then to her chamber, attended on by none but Bajazeth himself, and as familiarly, as if he had been one of her women, she no way contradicting his bold intrusion, so fair had wine over-gone her senses, and prevailed against all modest bashfulness. These wanton embracings, strange to her that had never tasted them before, yet pleasing beyond measure, by reason of his treacherous advantage: afterward drew on many more of the like carousing meetings, without so much as a thought of her passed miseries, or those more honourable and chaste respects, that ever aught to attend on Ladies.  
Now, Fortune envying these their stolen pleasures, and that she, being the purposed wife of a potent King, should thus become the wanton friend of a much meaner man, whose only glory was her shame: altered the course of their too common pastimes, by preparing a fare greater infelicity for them. This Bajazeth had a Brother, aged about five and twenty years, of most complete person, in the very beauty of his time, and fresh as the sweetest smelling Rose, he being named Amurath. After he had once seen this Lady (whose fair feature pleased him beyond all women's else) she seemed in his sudden apprehension, both by her outward behaviour and civil apparency, highly to deserve his very best opinion, for she was not meanly entered into his favour. Now he found nothing to his hindrance, in obtaining the height of his hearts desire, but only the strict custody and guard, wherein his brother Bajazeth kept her: which raised a cruel conceit in his mind, whereon followed (not long after) as cruel an effect.  
It came to pass, that at the same time, in the Port of the city, called Caffa, there lay then a Ship laden with merchandise, being bound thence for Sm●r●●, of which Ship two Geneway Merchants (being brethren) were the patroness and owners, who had given direction for hoisting the sails, to departed thence when the wind should serve. With these two Genewayes Amarath had covenanted, for himself to go aboard the Ship the night ensuing, and the Lady in his company. When night was come, having resolved with himself what was to be done: in a disguised habit he went to the house of Bajazeth, who stood not any way doubtful of him, and with certain of his most faithful confederates (whom he had sworn to the intended action) they hide themselves closely in the house. After some part of the night was overpassed, he knowing the several lodgings both of Bajazeth and Alathiella: slew his brother sound sleeping, and seizing on the Lady, whom he found awake and weeping, threatened to kill her also, if she made any noise. So, being well furnished, with the greater part of costly jewels belonging to Bajazeth, unheard or undescried by any body, they went presently to the Port, and there, without any further delay, Amurath and the Lady were received into the Ship, but his companions returned back again; when the Mariners, having their sails ready set, and the wind aptly fitting for them, launched forth merrily into the main.  
You may well imagine, that the Lady was extraordinarily afflicted with grief for her first misfortune, and now this second chancing so suddenly, must needs offend her in greater manner: but Amurath did so kindly comfort her, with mild, modest, and manly persuasions; that all remembrance of Bajazeth was quickly forgotten, and she became converted to lovely demeanour, even when Fortune prepared a fresh misery for her, as not satisfied with those whereof she had tasted already. The Lady being enriched with unequalled beauty (as we have often related before) her behaviour also in such exquisite and commendable kind expressed: the two brethren, owners of the Ship, became so deeply enamoured of her, that forgetting all their more serious affairs, they studied by all possible means, to be pleasing and gracious in her eye, yet with such a careful carriage, that Amurath should neither see or suspect it.  
When the brethren had imparted their love's extremity each to the other, and plainly perceived, that though they were equally in their fiery torments, yet their desires were utterly contrary: they began severally to consider, that gain gotten by merchandise, admitted an equal and honest division, but this purchase was of a different quality, pleading the title of a sole possession, without any partner or intruder. Fearful and jealous were they both, lest either should aim at the others intention, yet willing enough to shake hands, in ridding Amurath out of the way, who only was the hinderer of their hopes. Whereupon they concluded together, that on a day, when the Ship sailed on very swiftly, and Amurath was sitting upon the deck, studiously observing, how the billows combated each with other, and not suspecting any such treason in them towards him: stealing softly behind him, suddenly they threw him into the Sea, the Ship fleeting on above half a leagues distance, before any perceived his fall into the Sea.  
When the Lady heard thereof, and saw no likely means of recovering him again, she fell to her wont tears and lamentations: but the two lovers came quickly to comfort her, using kind words and pithy persuasions (albeit she understood them not, or at the most very little) to appease the violence of her passions; and, to speak uprightly, she did not so much bemoan the loss of Amurath, as the multiplying of her own misfortunes, still one succeeding in the neck of another. After diverse long and well delivered Orations, as also very fair and courteous behaviour, they had indifferently pacified her complainings: they began to discourse and commune with themselves, which of them had most right and title to Alathiella, and (consequently) ought to enjoy her. Now that Amurath was gone, each pleaded his privilege to be as good as the others, both in the Ship, goods, and all advantages else whatsoever happening: which the elder brother absolutely denied, alleging first his propriety of birth, a reason sufficient, whereby his younger ought to give him place; likewise his right and interest both in ship and goods, to be more than the others, as being heir to his Father, and therefore in justice to be highest preferred. Last of all, that his strength only threw Amurath into the Sea, and therefore gave him the full possession of his prize, no right at all remaining to his brother.  
From temperate and calm speeches, they fell to frowns and ruder language, which heated their blood in such violent manner, that forgetting brotherly affection, and all respect of Parents or friends, they drew forth their Poniards, stabbing each other so often and desperately, that before any in the ship had the power or means to part them, both of them being very dangerously wounded, the younger brother fell down dead▪ the elder being in little better case, by receiving so many perilous hurts, remained (nevertheless) living. This unhappy accident displeased the Lady very highly, seeing herself thus left alone, without the help or counsel of any body, and fearing greatly, lest the anger of the two brethren's Parents and Friends, should now be laid to her charge, and thereon follow severiry of punishment. But the earnest entreaties of the wounded survivor, and their arrival at Smirna soon after, delivered him from the danger of death, gave some ease to her sorrow, and there with him she went on shore.  
Remaining there with him in a common inn, while he continued in the chirurgeons cure, the fame of her singular and much admired beauty was soon spread abroad throughout all the City; and amongst the rest, to the hearing of the Prince of Jonia, who lately before (on very urgent occasions) was come to Smirna. This rare rumour, made him desirous to see her, and after he had seen her, she seemed fare fairer in his eye, then common report had noised her to be, and suddenly grew so enamoured of her, that she was the only Idea of his best desires. Afterward, understanding in what manner she was brought thither, he devised how to make her his own; practising all possible means to accomplish it: which when the wounded brothers Parents heard of, they not only made tender of their willingness therein, but also immediately sent her to him: a matter most highly pleasing to the Prince, and likewise to the Lady herself; because she thought now to be freed from no mean peril, which (otherwise) the wounded Merchants friends might have inflicted on her.  
The Prince perceiving, that beside her matchless beauty, she had the true character of royal behaviour; grieved the more, that he could not be further informed of what country she was. His opinion being so steadfastly grounded, that (less than Noble) she could not be, was a motive to set a keener edge on his affection towards her, yet not to enjoy her as in honourable and loving compliment only, but as his espoused Lady and Wife. Which appearing to her by apparent demonstrations, though intercourse of speech wanted to confirm it; remembrance of her so many sad disasters, and being now in a most noble and respected condition, her comfort enlarged itself with a settled hope, her fears grew free from any more molestations, and her beauties became the only theme and argument of private and public conference in all Anatolia, that (wellnear) there was no other discourse, in any Assembly whatsoever.  
Hereupon the Duke of Athens, being young, goodly, and valiant of person, as also a near Kinsman to the Prince, had a desire to see her; and under colour of visiting his noble Kinsman, (as oftentimes before he had done) attended with an honourable train, to Smirna he came, being there most royally welcomed, and bounteously feasted. Within some few days of his there being, conference passed between them, concerning the rare beauty of the Lady; the Duke questioning the Prince, whether she was of such wonder, as fame had acquainted the World withal? Whereto the Prince replied; Much more (noble Kinsman) then can be spoken of, as your own eyes shall witness, without crediting any words of mine. The Duke soliciting the Duke thereto very earnestly, they both went together to see her; and she having before heard of their coming, adorned herself the more majestically, entertaining them with ceremonious demeanour (after her country's custom) which gave most gracious and unspeakable acceptation.  
At the Prince's affable motion, she sat down between them, their delight being beyond expression, to behold her, but abridged of much more felicity, because they understood not any part of her language: so that they could have no other conference, but by looks and outward signs only; and the more they beheld her, the more they marvelled at her rare perfections, especially the Duke, who hardly credited that she was a mortal creature. Thus not perceiving, what deep carouses of amorous poison, his eyes drank down by the mere sight of her, yet thinking thereby only to be satisfied; he lost both himself and his best senses, growing in love (beyond all measure) with her. When the Prince and he were parted from her, and he was at his own private amorous meditations in his Chamber; he reputed the Prince far happier than any man else whatsoever, by the enjoying of such a peerless beauty.  
After many intricate and distracted cogitations, which molested his brains incessantly, regarding more his loves wanton heat, than reason, kindred, and honourable hospitality; he resolutely determined (whatsoever ensued thereupon) to bereave the Prince of his fair felicity, that none but himself might possess such a treasure, which he esteemed to be the height of all happiness. His courage being conformable to his bad intent, with all haste it must be put in execution; so that equity, justice, and honesty, being quite abandoned, nothing but subtle stratagems were now his meditations. On a day, according to a fore compacted treachery, which he had ordered with a Gentleman of the Prince's Chamber, who was named Churiacy; he prepared his horses to be in readiness, and dispatched all his affairs else for a sudden departure. The night following, he was secretly conveyed by the said Churiacy, and a friend of his with him (being both armed) into the Prince's Chamber, where he (while the Lady was sound sleeping) stood at a gazing window towards the Sea, naked in his shirt, to take the cool air, because the season was exceeding hot. Having formerly instructed his friend what was to be done, very softly they stepped to the Prince, and running their weapons quite thorough his body, immediately they threw him forth of the window.  
Here you are to observe, that the palace was seated on the Sea shore, and very high, and the window whereat the Prince then stood looking forth, was directly over diverse houses, which the long continuance of time, and incessant beating on by the surges of the Sea, had so defaced and ruined them, as seldom they were visited by any person; whereof the Duke having knowledge before, was the easier persuaded, that the falling of the Prince's body in so vast a place, could neither be heard, or descried by any. The Duke and his companion having thus executed what they came for, proceeded yet in their cunning a little further; casting a strangling cord about the neck of Churiacy, seeming as if they hugged and embraced him: but drew it with so main strength, that he never spoke one word after, and so threw him down after the Prince.  
This done, and plainly perceiving that they were not heard or seen, either by the Lady, or any other: the Duke took a light in his hand, going on to the bed, where the Lady lay most sweetly sleeping; whom the more he beheld, the more he admired and commended: but if in her garments she appeared so pleasing, what did she now in a bed of such state and majesty? Being no way daunted by his so late committed sin, but swimming rather in surfeit of joy, his hands all bloody, and his soul much more ugly; he laid him down on the bed by her, bestowing infinite kisses and embraces on her, she supposing him to be the Prince all this while, no● opening her eyes to be otherwise resolved. But this was not the delight he aimed at, neither did he think it safe for him, to delay time with any longer tarrying there: wherefore having his agents at hand fit and convenient for the purpose, they surprised her in such sort, that she could not make any noise or outcry, and carrying her through the same false postern, whereat themselves had entered, laying her in a Princely litter; away they went with all possible speed, not tarrying in any place, until they were arrived near Athens. But thither he would not bring her, because himself was a married man, but rather to a goodly Castle of his own, not distant fare off from the City; where he caused her to be kept very secretly (to her no little grief and sorrow) yet attended on and served in most honourable manner.  
The Gentlemen usually attending on the Prince, having waited all the next morning till noon, in expectation of his rising, and hearing no stirring in the Chamber: did thrust at the door, which was but only closed together, & finding no body there, they presently imagined, that he was privately gone to some other place, where (with the Lady, whom he so dearly affected) he might remain some few days for his more contentment, and so they rested verily persuaded. Within some few days following, while no other doubt came in question, the Prince's fool, entering by chance among the ruined houses, where lay the dead bodies of the Prince and Churicy: took hold of the cord about Churiacyes neck, and so went along dragging it after him. The body being known to many, with no mean marvel, how he should be murdered in so vile manner: by gifts and fair persuasions they won him, to bring them to the place where he found it. And there (to the no little grief of all the city) they found the Prince's body also, which they caused to be interred with all the most majestic pomp that might be.  
Upon further inquisition, who should commit so horrid a deed, perceiving likewise, that the Duke of Athens was not to be found, but was closely gone: they judged (according to the truth) that he had his hand in this bloody business, and had carried away the Lady with him. Immediately, they elected the Prince's brother to be their Lord and sovereign, inciting him to revenge so horrid a wrong, and promising to assist him with their utmost power. The new chosen Prince being assured afterward, by other more apparent and remarkable proofs, that his people informed him with nothing but truth: suddenly, and according as they had concluded, with the help of neighbours, kindred, and friends, collected from diverse places; he mustered a goodly and powerful army, marching on towards Athens, to make war against the Duke.  
No sooner heard he of this warlike preparation made against him, but he likewise levied forces for his own defence, and to his succour came many great States: among whom, the Emperor of Constantinople sent his son Constantine, attended on by his Nephew Emanuel, with troops of fair and towardly horse, who were most honourably welcomed and entertained by the Duke, but much more by the Duchess, because she was their sister in law.  
Military provision thus proceeding on daily more and more, the Duchess making choice of a fit and convenient hour, took these two Princes with her to a withdrawing Chamber; and there in floods of tears flowing from her eyes, wring her hands, and sighing incessantly, she recounted the whole History, occasion of the war, and how dishonourably the Duke had dealt with her about this strange woman, whom he purposed to keep in despite of her, as thinking that she knew nothing thereof, and complaining very earnestly unto them, entreated that for the Duke's honour, and her comfort, they would give their best assistance in this case.  
The two young Lords knew all this matter, before she thus reported it to them; and therefore, without staying to listen her any longer, but comforting her so well as they could, with promise of their best employed pains: being informed by her, in what place the Lady was so closely kept, they took their leave, and parted from her. Often they had heard the Lady much commended, and her incomparable beauty highly extolled, yea, even by the Duke himself; which made them the more desirous to see her: wherefore earnestly they solicited him, to let them have a sight of her, and he (forgetting what happened to the Prince, by showing her so unadvisedly to him) made them promise to grant their request Causing a magnificent dinner to be prepared, & in a goodly garden, at the Castle where the Lady was kept: on the morrow morning, attended on by a small train, away they road to dine with her.  
Constantine being seated at the Table, he began (as one confounded with admiration) to observe her judiciously, affirming secretly to his soul that he had never seen so complete a woman before; and allowing it for justice, that the Duke, or any other whosoever, if (to enjoy so rare a beauty) they had committed treason, or any mischief else beside, yet in reason they ought to be held excused. Nor did he bestow so many looks upon her, but his praises infinitely surpassed them, as thinking that he could not sufficiently commend her, following the Duke step by step in affection: for being now grown amorous of her, and remembrance of the intended war utterly abandoned; no other thoughts could come nearer him, but how to bereave the Duke of her, yet concealing his love, and not imparting it to any one.  
While his fancies were thus amorously set on fire, the time came, that they must make head against the Prince, who already was marching within the Duke's Dominions: wherefore the Duke Constantine, and all the rest, according to a counsel held among them, went to defend certain of the frontiers, to the end that the Prince might pass no further. Remaining there diverse days together, Constantine, who could think on nothing else, but the beautiful Lady, considered with himself, that while the Duke was not so far off from her, it was an easy matter to compass his intent: hereupon, the better to colour his present return to Athens, he seemed to be surprised with a sudden extreme sickness, in regard whereof (by the Duke's free licence, and leaving all his power to his cousin Emanuel) forthwith he journeyed back to Athens. After some conference bad with his sister, concerning her dishonourable wrongs endured at his hands only by the Lady: he solemnly protested, that if she were so pleased, he would aid her powerfully in the matter, by taking her from the place where she was, and never more afterward, to be seen in that country any more.  
The Duchess being faithfully persuaded, that he would do this only for her sake, and not in any affection he bore to the Lady, made answer that it highly pleased her; always provided, that it might be performed in such sort, as the Duke her Husband should never understand, that ever she gave any consent thereto, which Constantine swore unto her by many deep oaths, whereby she referred all to his own disposition. Constanstine hereupon secretly prepared in readiness a subtle bark, sending it (in an evening) near to the garden where the Lady resorted; having first informed the people which were in it, fully in the business that was to be done. Afterward, accompanied with some other of his attendants, he went to the Palace to the Lady, where he was gladly entertained, not only by such as waited on her, but also by the Lady herself.  
Leading her along by the arm towards the Garden, attended on by two of her servants, and two of his own, seeming as if he was sent from the Duke, to confer with her: they walked alone to a Port opening on the Sea, which standing ready open, upon a sign given by him to one of his complices, the bark was brought close to the shore, and the Lady being suddenly seized on, was immediately conveyed into it; and he returning back to her people, with his sword drawn in his hand, said: Let no man stir●e, or speak a word, except he be willing to lose his life: for I intent not to rob the Duke of his fair friend, but to expel the shame and dishonour which he hath offered to my Sister, no one being so hardy as to return him any answer. Aboard went Constantine with his consorts, and sitting near to the Lady, who wrung her hands, and wept bitterly; he commanded the mariners to launch forth, flying away on the wings of the wind, till about the break of day following, they arrived at Melasso. There they took landing, and reposed on shore for some few days, Constantine labouring to comfort the Lady, even as if she had been his own Sister, she having good cause to curse her infortunate beauty.  
Going aboard the bark again, within few days they came to Setalia, and there fearing the reprehension of his Father, and lest the Lady should be taken from him; it pleased Constantine to make his stay, as in a place of no mean security. And (as before) after much kind behaviour used towards the Lady, without any means in herself to redress the least of all these great extremities: she became more mild and affable, for discontentment did not a jot quail her.  
While occurrences passed on in this manner, it fortuned, that Osbech the King of Turkey (who was in continual war with the Emperor) came by accident to Laiazzo: and hearing there how lasciviously Constantine spent his time in Setalia, with a Lady which he had stolen, being but weak and slenderly guarded; in the night with certain well provided ships, his men & he entered the town, & surprised many people in their beds, before they knew of their enemies coming, killing such as stood upon their defence against them, (among whom was Constantine) and burning the whole town, brought their booty and prisoners aboard their ships, wherewith they returned back to Laiazzo. Being thus come to Laiazzo, Osbech, who was a brave and gallant young man, upon a review of the pillage; found the fair Lady, whom he knew to be the beloved of Constantine, because she was found lying on his bed. Without any further delay, he made choice of her to be his Wife; causing his nuptials to be honourably sollemnized, and many months he lived there in great joy with her.  
But before occasions grew to this effect, the Emperor made a confederacy with Bassano, King of Cappadocia, that he should descend with his forces, one way upon Osbech, and he would assault him with his power on the other. But he could not so conveniently bring this to pass, because the Emperor would not yield to Bassano, in any unreasonable matter he demanded. Nevertheless, when he understood what had happened to his Son (for whom his grief was beyond all measure) he granted the King of Cappadociaes' request, soliciting him withal instancy, to be the more speedy in assailing Osbech. It was not long, before he heard of this conjuration made against him; and therefore speedily mustered up all his forces, ere he would be encompassed by two such potent Kings, and marched on to meet the King of Cappadocia, leaving his Lady and Wife, (for her safety) at Laiazzo, in the custody of a true and loyal servant of his.  
Within a short while after, he drew near the camp belonging to the King of Cappadocia, where boldly he gave him battle; chancing therein to be slain, his Army broken and discomfited, by means whereof the King of Cappadocia remaining conqueror, marched on towards Laiazzo, every one yielding him obeisance all the way as he went. In the mean space, the servant to Osbech, who was named Antiochus, and with whom the fair Lady was left in guard; although he was aged, yet seeing she was so extraordinarily beautiful, he fell in love with her, forgetting the solemn vows he had made to his Master. One happiness he had in this case to help him, namely, that he understood and could speak her language, a matter of no mean comfort to her; who constrainedly had lived diverse years together, in the state of a deaf or dumb woman, because every where else they understood her not, nor she them, but by shows and signs.  
This benefit of familiar conference, began to embolden his hopes, elevate his courage, and make him seem more youthful in his own opinion, than any ability of body could speak unto him, or promise him in the possession of her, who was so fare beyond him, and so unequal to be enjoyed by him; yet to advance his hopes a great deal higher, news came, that Osbech was vanquished and slain, and that Bassano made every where havoc of all: whereon they concluded together, not to tarry there any longer, but storing themselves with the goods of Osbech, secretly they departed thence to Rhodes. Being seated there in some indifferent abiding, it came to pass, that Antiochus fell into a deadly sickness, to whom came a Cyprian Merchant, one much esteemed by him, as being an intimate friend and kind acquaintance, and in whom he reposed no small confidence. Feeling his sickness to increase more and more upon him daily, he determined, not only to leave such wealth as he had to this Merchant, but the fair Lady likewise; and calling them both to his bed's side, he broke his mind unto them in this manner.  
Dear love, and my most worthily respected friend, I perceive plainly and infallibly, that I am drawing near unto my end, which much discontenteth me; because my hope was, to have lived longer in this world, for the enjoying of your kind and most esteemed company. Yet one thing maketh my death very pleasing and welcome to me, namely, that lying thus in my bed of latest comfort in this life: I shall expire and finish my course, in the arms of those two persons, whom I most affected in all this world, as you my ever dearest friend, and you fair Lady, whom (since the very first sight of you) I loved and honoured in my soul. Irksome and very grievous it is to me, that (if I die) I shall leave you here a stranger, without the counsel and help of any body: and yet much more offensive would it become, if I had not such a friend as you here present, who I am faithfully persuaded, will have the like care and respect of her (even for my sake) as of myself, if time had allotted my longer tarrying here. And therefore (worthy friend) most earnestly I desire you, that if I die, all mine affairs and she may remain to your trusty care, as being (by myself) absolutely commended to your providence, and so to dispose both of the one and other, as may best agree with the comfort of my soul. As for you (choice beauty) I humbly entreat, that after my death you would not forget me, to the end, I may make my vaunt in another world, that I was affected here, by the only fairest Lady that ever Nature framed. If of these two things you will give me assurance; I shall departed from you with no mean comfort.  
The friendly Merchant, and likewise the Lady, hearing these words, wept both bitterly, and after he had given over speaking: kindly they comforted him, with promise and solemn vows, that if he died, all should be performed which he had requested. Within a short while after, he departed out of this life, and they gave him very honourable burial, according to that Country custom. Which being done, the Merchant dispatching all his affairs at Rhodes, was desirous to return home to Cyprus, in a carack of the Catelans then there being: moving the Lady in the matter, to understand how she stood inclined, because urgent occasions called him thence to Cyprus. The Lady made answer, that she was willing to pass thither with him, hoping for the love he bore to deceased Antiochus, that he would respect her as his Sister. The Merchant was willing to give her any contentment, but yet resolved her, that under the title of being his Sister, it would be no warrant of security to them both; wherefore he rather advised her, to style him as her husband, and he would term her his wife, and so he should be sure to defend her from all injuries whatsoever.  
Being aboard the carack, they had a cabin and small bed conveniently allowed them, where they slept together, that they might the better be reputed as man and wife; for, to pass otherwise, would have been very dangerous to them both. And questionless, their faithful promise made at Rhodes to Antiochus, sickness on the Sea, and mutual respect they had of each others credit, was a constant restraint to all wanton desires, and a motive rather to incite chastity, than otherwise, and so (I hope) you are persuaded of them. But howsoever, the winds blewe merrily, the carack sailed lustily, and (by this time) they are arrived at Baffa, where the Cyprian Merchant dwelled, and where she continued a long while with him, no one knowing otherwise, but that she was his wife indeed.  
Now it fortuned, that there arrived also at the same Baffa (about some especial occasions of his) a Gentleman, whose name was Antigonus, well stepped into years, and better stored with wisdom than wealth: because by meddling in many matters, while he followed the service of the King of Cyprus, Fortune had been very adverse to him. This ancient Gentleman, passing (on a day) by the house where the Lady lay, and the Merchant being gone about his business into Armenia: he chanced to see the Lady at a window of the house, and because she was very beautiful, he observed her the more advisedly, recollecting his senses together, that (doubtless he had seen her before, but in what place he could not remember. The Lady herself likewise, who had so long time been fortune's tennis ball, and the term of her many miseries drawing now near ending: began to conceive (upon the very first sight of Antigonus) that she had formerly seen him in Alexandria, serving her Father in place of great degree. Hereupon, a sudden hope persuaded her, that by the advice and furtherance of this Gentleman, she should recover her wont royal condition: and opportunity now aptly fitting her, by the absence of her pretended Merchant, husband, she sent for him, requesting to have a few words with him.  
When he was come into the house, she bashfully demanded of him, if he was not named Antigonus of Famagosta, because she knew one (like him) so called? He answered, that he was so named, saying moreover: madam, me thinks that I should know you, but I cannot remember where I have seen you, wherefore I would entreat (if it might stand with your good liking) that my memory might be quickened with better knowledge of you. The Lady perceiving him to be the man indeed, weeping incessantly, she threw her arms about his neck, and soon after asked Antigonus (who stood as one confounded with marvel) if he had never seen her in Alexandria? Upon these words, Antigonus knew her immediately to be Alathiella, daughter to the great sultan, who was supposed (long since) to be drowned in the Sea: and offering to do her such reverence as became him, she would not permit him, but desired, that he would be assistant to her, and willed him also to sit down a while by her.  
A goodly chair being brought him, in very humble manner he demanded of her, what had become of her in so long a time: because it was verily believed throughout all Egypt, that she was drowned in the Sea. I would it had been so, answered the Lady, rather than to lead such a life as I have done; and I think my Father himself would wish it so, if ever he should come to the knowledge thereof. With these words the tears reigned down her fair cheeks: wherefore Antigonus thus spoke unto her. Madame, discomfort not yourself before you have occasion, but (if you be so pleased) relate your passed accidents to me, and what the course of your life hath been: perhaps, I shall give you such friendly advice as may stand you in stead, and no way be injurious to you.  
Fetching a sigh, even as if her heart would have split in sunder, thus she replied. Ah Antigonus, me thinks when I look on thee, I seem to behold my royal Father, and therefore moved with the like religious zeal and charitable love, as (in duty) I own unto him: I will make known to thee, what I rather ought to conceal, and hide from any person living. I know thee to be honourable, discreet, and truly wise, though I am a frail, simple, and weak woman, therefore I dare discover to thee, rather than any other that I know, by what strange and unexpected misfortunes, I have lived so long obscurely in the world. And if in thy great and grave judgement (after the hearing of my many miseries) thou canst any way restore me to my former estate, I pray thee do it: but if thou perceive it impossible to be done, as earnestly likewise I entreat thee, never to reveal to any living person, that either thou hast seen me, or heard any speech of me. After these words, the tears still streaming from her fair eyes, she recounted the whole passage of her rare mishaps, even from her shipwreck in the Sea of Maiorica, until that very instant hour; speaking them in such harsh manner as they happened, and not sparing any jot of them.  
Antigonus being moved to much compassion, declared how he pitied her by his tears, and having been silent an indifferent while, as considering in this case) what was best to be done, thus he began. Madam, seeing you have passed through such a multitude of misfortunes, yet undiscovered, what and who you are: I will render you as blameless to your Father, and estate you as fairly in his love, as at the hour when you parted from him, and afterward make you wife to the King of Cholcos'. She demanding of him, by what means possibly this could be accomplished: briefly he made it known to her, how, and in what manner he would perform it.  
To cut off futther tedious circumstances, forthwith he returned to Famagosta, and going before the King of the country, thus he spoke to him. Sir, you may (if so you will be pleased) in an instant, do me an exceeding honour, who have been impoverished by your service, and also a deed of great renown to yourself, without any much matter of expense and cost. The King demanding how? Antigonus thus answered. The fair daughter of the sultan, so generally reported to be drowned, is arrived at Baffa, and to preserve her honour from blemishing, hath suffered many crosses and calamities: being at this instant in very poor estate, yet desirous to revisit her father. If you please to send her home under my conduct, it will be great honour to you, and no mean benefit to me; which kindness will for ever be thankfully remembered by the sultan.  
The King in royal magnificence, replied suddenly, that he was highly pleased with these good tidings; & having sent honourably for her from Baffa, with great pomp she was conducted to Famagosta, and there most graciously welcomed both by the King and Queen, with solemn triumphs, banquets, and revelling, performed in most majestic manner. Being questioned by the King and Queen, concerning so large a time of strange misfortunes: according as Antigonus had formerly instructed her, so did she shape the form of her answers, and satisfied (with honour) all their demands. So, within few days after, upon her earnest & instant request; with an honourable train of Lords and Ladies, she was sent thence, and conducted all the way by Antigonus, until she came unto the sultan's Court.  
After some few days of her reposing there, the sultan was desirous to understand, how she could possibly live so long, in any kingdom or province whatsoever, and yet no knowledge to be taken of her? The Lady, who perfectly retained by heart, and had all her lessons at her finger's ends, by the wary instructions which Antigonus had given her, answered her father in this manner. Sir, about the twentith day after my departure from you, a very terrible and dreadful tempest overtook us, so that in dead time of the night, our ship being split in sunder upon the sands, near to a place called Varna; what became of all the men that were aboard, I neither know, or ever heard of. Only I remember, then when death appeared, and I being recovered from death to life, certain peasants of the country, coming to get what they could find in the ship so wracked, I was first (with two of my women) brought and set safely on the shore.  
No sooner were we there, but certain rude shagge-haird villains set upon us, carrying away from me both my women, then haling me along by the hair of my head, neither tears or intercessions could draw any pity from them. As thus they dragged me into a spacious wood, four horsemen on a sudden came riding by, who seeing how dishonourably the villains used me, rescued me from them, and forced them to flight. But the four horsemen, seeming (in my judgement) to be persons of power and authority, letting them go, came to me, urging sundry questions to me, which neither I understood, or they mine answers. After many deliberations held among themselves, setting me upon one of their horses, they brought me to a Monastery of religious women, according to the custom of their law: and there, whatsoever they did or said, I know not, but I was most benignly welcomed thither, and honoured of them extraordinarily, where (with them in devotion) I dedicated myself to the goddess of chastity, who is highly reverenced and regarded among the women of that country, and to her religious service, they are wholly addicted.  
After I had continued some time among them, and learned a little of their language; they asked me, of whence, and what I was. Reason gave me so much understanding, to be fearful of telling them the truth, for fear of expulsion from among them, as an enemy to their Law and Religion: wherefore I answered (according as necessity urged) that I was daughter to a Gentleman of Cyprus, who sent me to be married in Candie; but our fortunes (meaning such as had the charge of me) fell out quite contrary to our expectation, by losses, shipwreck, and other mischances; adding many matters more beside, only in regard of fear, & yielding obediently to observe their customs.  
At length, she that was in chiefest pre-eminence among these Women (whom they termed by the name of their Lady abbess) demanded of me, whither I was willing to abide in that condition of life, or to return home again into Cyprus. I answered, that I desired nothing more. But she, being very careful of mine honour, would never repose confidence in any that came for Cyprus; till two honest Gentlemen of France, who happened thither about two months since, accompanied with their wives, one of them being a near kinswoman to the Lady abbess. And she well knowing, that they traveled in pilgrimage to Jerusalem, to visit the holy sepulchre, where (as they believe) that he whom they held for their God was buried, after the Jews had put him to death: recommended me to their loving trust, with especial charge, for delivering me to my Father in Cyprus. What honourable love and respect I found in the company of those Gentlemen and their wives, during our voyage back to Cyprus: the history would be over-tedious in reporting, neither is it much material to our purpose, because your demand is to another end.  
Sailing on prosperously in our Ship, it was not long, before we arrived at Baffa, where being landed, and not knowing any person, neither what I should say to the Gentlemen, who only were careful for delivering me to my Father, according as they were charged by the reverend abbess: it was the will of heaven doubtless (in pity and compassion of my passed disasters) that I was no sooner come on shore at Baffa: but I should there haply meet with Antigonus, whom I called unto in our country Language, because I would not be understood by the Gentlemen nor their wives, requesting him to acknowledge me as his Daughter. Quickly he apprehended mine intention, accomplishing what I requested, and (according to his poor power) most bounteously feasted the Gentlemen and their wives, conducting me to the K. of Cyprus, who received me royally, and sent me home to you with so much honour, as I am no way able to relate. What else remaineth to be said, Antigonus who hath oft heard the whole story of my fortunes, at better leisure will report.  
Antigonus then turning to the sultan, said: My Lord, as she hath often told me, and by relation both of the Gentlemen and their wives, she hath delivered nothing but truth. Only she hath forgotten somewhat worth the speaking, as thinking it not fit for her to utter, because (indeed) it is not so convenient for her. Namely, how much the Gentlemen and their wives (with whom she came) commended the rare honesty and integrity of life, as also the unspotted virtue, wherein she lived, among those chaste Religious women, as they constantly (both with tears and solemn protestations) avouched to me, when kindly they resigned their charge to me. Of all which matters, and many more beside, if I should make discourse to your excellency; this whole day, the night ensuing, and the next days full extendure, are not sufficient to acquaint you withal. Let it suffice then, that I have said so much, as (both by the reports, and mine own understanding) may give you faithful assurance, to make your royal vaunt; of having the fairest, most virtuous, and honest Lady to your Daughter, of any King or Prince whatsoever.  
The sultan was joyful beyond all measure, welcomming both him and the rest in most stately manner, oftentimes entreating the Gods very hearty, that he might live to requite them with equal recompense, who had so graciously honoured his daughter: but (above all the rest) the King of Cyprus, who sent her home so majestically. And having bestown great gifts on Antigonus, within a few days after, he gave him leave to return to Cyprus: with thankful favours to the King as well by Letters, as also by ambassadors expressly sent, both from himself and his daughter.  
When as this business was fully finished, the sultan, desiring to accomplish what formerly was intended and begun, namely, that she might be wife to the King of Cholcos': he gave him intelligence of all that had happened, writing moreover to him, that (if he were so pleased) he would yet send her in royal manner to him. The King of Cholcos' was exceeding joyful of these glad tidings, and dispatching a worthy train to fetch her, she was conveyed thither very pompously, and she who had been embraced by so many, was received by him as an honest virgin, living long time after with him in much joy and felicity. And therefore, it hath been said as a common proverb: The mouth well kissed comes not short of good fortune, but is still renewed like the moon.   

The Count D'Angiers being falsely accused, was banished out of France, & left his two children in England in diverse places. Returning afterward (unknown) thorough Scotland, he found them advanced unto great dignity. Then, repairing in the habit of a servitor, into the King of France his army, and his innocence made publicly known; he was reseated in his former honourable degree.  
The eight novel.  
Whereby all men may plainly understand, that loyal●y faithfully kept to the Prince (what perils so ever do ensue) doth ye nevertheless renown a man, and bring him to fare greater honour.  
THe Ladies sighed very often, hearing the variety of woeful miseries happening to Alathiella: but who knoweth, what occasion moved them to those sighs? Perhaps there were some among them, who rather sighed they could not be so often married as she was, rather than for any other compassion they had of her disasters. But leaving that to their own construction, they smiled merrily at the last speeches of Pamphilus, and the Queen perceiving the novel to be ended: she fixed her eye upon Madame Eliza, as signifying thereby, that she was next to succeed in order, which she joyfully embracing, spoke as followeth. The field is very large and spacious, wherein all this day we have walked, and there is not any one here, so wearied with running the former races, but nimbly would adventure on as many more, so copious are the alterations of Fortune, in sad repetition of her wonderful changes: and among the infinity of her various courses, I must make addition of another, which I trust will no way discontent you.  
When the Roman Empire was translated from the French to the Germans, mighty dissensions grew between both the nations, insomuch that it drew a dismal and a lingering war. In which respect, as well for the safety of his own kingdom, as to annoy and disturb his enemies; the King of France and one of his sons, having congregated the forces of their own dominions, as also of their friends and confederates, they resolved manfully to encounter their enemies. But before they would adventure on any rash proceeding; they held it as the chiefest part of policy and royal providence, not to leave the State without a chief or governor. And having had good experience of Gaultier, Count D'Angiers, to be a wise, worthy, and most trusty Lord, singularly expert in military discipline, and faithful in all affairs of the kingdom (yet fitter for ease and pleasure, then laborious toil and travail:) he was elected Lieutenant governor in their stead, over the whole kingdom of France, and then they went on in their enterprise.  
Now began the Count to execute the office committed to his trust, by orderly proceeding, and with great discretion, yet not entering into any business, without consent of the Queen and her fair daughter in law: who although they were left under his care and custody, yet (notwithstanding) he honoured them as his superiors, and as the dignity of their quality required. Hear you are to observe, concerning Count Gaultier himself, that he was a most complete person, aged little above forty years; as affable and singularly conditioned, as any Noble man possibly could be, nor did those times afford a Gentleman, that equalled him in all respects. It fortuned, that the King and his son being busy in the afore-named war, the wife and Lady of Count Gaultier died in the mean while, leaving him only a son and a daughter, very young and of tender years, which made his own home the less welcome to him, having lost his dear love and second self.  
Hereupon, he resorted to the Court of the said Ladies the more frequently, often conferring with them, about the weighty affairs of the kingdom: in which time of so serious interparlance, the King's sons wife, threw many affectionate regards upon him, conveying such conspiring passions to her heart (in regard of his person and virtues) that her love exceeded all capacity of government. Her desires out stepping all compass of modesty, or the dignity of her Princely condition; throws off all regard of civil and sober thoughts, and guides her into a Labyrinth of wanton imaginations. For, she regards not now the eminency of his high authority, his gravity of years, and those parts that are the true conducts to honour: but looks upon her own lose and lascivious appetite, her young, gallant, and over-ready yielding nature, comparing them with his want of a wife, and likely hope (thereby) of her sooner prevailing; supposing, that nothing could be her hindrance, but only bashful shame-facednesse, which she rather chose utterly to forsake and set aside, then to fail of her hot inflamed affection, and therefore, she would needs be the discoverer of her own disgrace.  
Upon a day, being alone by herself, and the time seeming suitable to her intention: she sent for the Count, under colour of some other important conference with him. The Count D'Angiers, whose thoughts were quite contrary to hers: immediately went to her, where they both sitting down together on a bed's side in her Chamber, according as formerly she had plotted her purpose; twice he demanded of her, upon what occasion she had thus sent for him. She sitting a long while silent, as if she had no answer to make him: pressed by the violence of her amorous passions, a vermilion tincture leaping up into her face, yet shame enforcing tears from her eyes, with words broken and half confused, at last she began to deliver her mind in this manner.  
Honourable Lord, and my dear respected friend, being so wise a man as you are, it is no difficult matter for you to know, what a frail condition is imposed both on men and women; yet (for diverse occasions) much more upon the one, than the other. Wherefore desertfully, in the censure of a just and upright judge, a fault of diverse conditions (in respect of the person) ought not to be censured with one and the same punishment. Beside, who will not say, that a man or woman of poor and mean estate, having no other help for maintenance, but laborious travail of their bodies should worthily receive more sharp reprehension, in yielding to amorous desires, or such passions as are incited by love; then a wealthy Lady whose living relieth not on her pains or cares, neither wanteth any thing that she can wish to have: I dare presume, that you yourself will allow this to be equal and just. In which respect, I am of the mind, that the forenamed allegations, aught to serve as a sufficient excuse, yea, and to the advantage of her who is so possessed, if the passions of love should overreach her: always provided, that she can plead (in her own defence) the choice of a wise and virtuous friend, answerable to her own condition and quality, and no way to be taxed with a servile or vile election.  
These two especial observations, allowable in my judgement, and living now in me, seizing on my youthful blood and years: have found no mean inducement to love, in regard of my husbands far distance from me, meddling in the rude uncivil actions of war, when he should rather be at home in more sweet employment. You see Sir, that these Orators advance themselves here in your presence, to acquaint you with the extremity of my over-commanding agony: and if the same power hath dominion in you, which your discretion (questionless) cannot be void of; then let me entreat such advice from you, as may rather help, then hinder my hopes. Believe it then for truth Sir, that the long absence of my husband from me, the solitary condition wherein I am left, ill agreeing with the hot blood running in my veins, & the temper of my earnest desires: have so prevailed against my strongest resistances, that not only so weak a woman as I am, but any man of much more potent might (living in ease and idleness as I do) cannot withstand such continual assaults, having no other help then flesh and blood.  
Nor am I so ignorant, but public knowledge of such an error in me, would be reputed a shrewd taxation of honesty: whereas (on the other side) secret carriage, and heedful managing such amorous affairs, may pass for currant without any reproach. And let me tell you Noble Count, that I repute love highly favourable to me, by guiding my judgement with such moderation, to make election of a wise, worthy, and honourable friend, fit to enjoy the grace of a fare greater Lady than I am, and the first letter of his name, is the Count D'Angiers. For if error have not misled mine eye, as in love no Lady can be easily deceived: for person, perfections, and all parts most to be commended in a man, the whole realm of France containeth not your equal. Observe beside, how forward Fortune showeth herself to us both in this case, you to be destitute of a wife, as I am of an husband; for I count him as dead to me, when he denies me the duties belonging to a wife. Wherefore, in regard of the unfeigned affection I bear you, and compassion, which you ought to have of royal Princess, even almost sick to death for your sake: I earnestly entreat you, not to deny me your loving society, but pitying my youth and fiery afflictions (never to be quenched but by your kindness) I may enjoy my hearts desire.  
As she uttered these words, the tears streamed abundantly down her fair cheeks, preventing her of any further speech: so that dejecting her head into her bosom, overcome with the predominance of her passions; she fell upon the Countess' knee, whereas else she had fall'n upon the ground. When he, like a loyal and most honourable man, sharply reprehended her fond and idle love, and when she would have embraced him about the neck; he repulsed her roughly from him, protesting upon his honourable reputation, that rather than he would so wrong his Lord and Master, he would endure a thousand deaths.  
The Lady seeing her desire disappointed, and her fond expectation utterly frustrated: grew instantly forgetful of her intemperate love, and falling into extremity of rage, converted her former gentle speeches, into this harsh and ruder language. Villain (quoth she) shall the longing comforts of my life, be abridged by thy base and scornful denial? Shall my destruction be wrought by thy currish unkindness, and all my hoped joys be defeated in a moment? Know slave, that I did not so earnestly desire thy sweet embracements before, but now as deadly I hate and despise them, which either thy death or banishment shall dear pay for. No sooner had she thus spoken, but tearing her hair, and renting her garments in pieces, she ran about like a distracted woman, crying out aloud: help, help, the Count D'Angiers will forcibly dishonour me, the lustful Count will violence mine honour.  
D'Angiers seeing this, and fearing more the malice of the over-credulous Court, then either his own conscience, or any dishonourable act by him committed, believing likewise, that her slanderous accusation would be credited, above his true and spotless innocency: closely he conveyed himself out of the Court, making what hast he could, home to his own house, which being too weak for warranting his safety upon such pursuit as would be used against him, without any further advice or counsel, he seated his two children on horseback, himself also being but meanly mounted, thus away thence he went to Calais.  
Upon the clamour and noise of the Lady, the Courtiers quickly flocked thither; and, as lies soon win belief in hasty opinions, upon any silly or shallow surmise: so did her accusation pass for currant, and the Count's advancement being envied by many, made his honest carriage (in this case) the more suspected. In haste and madding fury, they ran to the Count's houses, to arrest his person, and carry him to prison: but when they could not find him, they razed his goodly buildings down to the ground, and used all shameful violence to them. Now, as i'll news seldom wants a speedy Messenger; so, in less space than you will imagine, the King and Dolphin heard thereof in the Camp, and were therewith so highly offended, that the Count had a sudden and severe condemnation, all his progeny being sentenced with perpetual exile, and promises of great and bountiful rewards, to such as could bring his body alive or dead.  
Thus the innocent Count, by his overhasty and sudden flight, made himself guilty of this foul imputation: and arriving at Calais with his children, their poor and homely habits, hide them from being known, and thence they crossed over into England, staying no where until he came to London. Before he would enter into the City, he gave diverse good advertisements to his children, but especially two precepts above all the rest. First, with patiented souls to support the poor condition, whereto Fortune (without any offence in him or them) had thus dejected them. Next, that they should have most heedful care, at no time to disclose from whence they came, or whose children they were, because it extended to the peril of their lives. His son, being named jews, and now about nine years old, his daughter called Violenta, and aged seven years, did both observe their father's direction, as afterward it did sufficiently appear. And because they might live in the safer security, he thought it for the best to change their names, calling his son Perotto, and his daughter Gianetta, for thus they might best escape unknown.  
Being entered into the city, and in the poor estate of beggars, they craved every body's mercy and alms. It came to pass, that standing one morning at the Cathedral church-door, a great Lady of England, being then wife to the Lord high marshal, coming forth of the Church, espied the Count and his children there begging. Of him she demanded what countryman he was? and whether those children were his own, or no? The Count replied, that he was borne in Picardy, and for an unhappy fact committed by his eldest son (a stripling of more hopeful expectation, then proved) he was enforced, with those his two other children to forsake his country. The Lady being by nature very pitiful, looking advisedly on the young girl, began to grow in good liking of her; because (indeed) she was amiable, gentle, and beautiful, whereupon she said. Honest man, thy daughter hath a pleasing countenance, and (perhaps) her inward disposition may prove answerable to her outward goods parts: if therefore thou canst be content to leave her with me, I will give her entertainment, and upon her dutiful carriage and behaviour, if she live to such years as may require it, I will have her honestly bestown in marriage. This motion was very pleasing to the Count, who readily declared his willing consent thereto, and with the tears trickling down his cheeks, in thankful manner he delivered his pretty daughter to the Lady.  
She being thus happily bestown, he minded to tarry no longer in London; but, in his wont begging manner, travailing through the Country with his son Perotto, at length he came into Wales: but not without much weary pain and travel, being never used before, to journey so far on foot. There dwelled another Lord, in office of Marshalship to the King of England, whose power extended over those parts; a man of very great authority, keeping a most noble and bountiful house, which they termed the Precedent of Wales his Court; whereto the Count and his son oftentimes resorted, as finding there good relief and comfort. On a day, one of the precedents sons, accompanied with diverse other gentlemen's children, were performing certain youthful sports & pastimes, as running, leaping, and such like, wherein Perotto presumed to make one among them, excelling all the rest in such commendable manner, as none of them ca●e any thing near him. divers times the precedent had taken notice thereof, and was so well pleased with the Lads behaviour, that he enquired, of whence he was? Answer was made, that he was a poor man's son, that every day came for an alms to his gate.  
The precedent being desirous to make the boy his, the Count (whose daily prayers were to the same purpose) frankly gave his son to the Nobleman: albeit natural and fatherly affection, urged some unwillingness to part so with him; yet necessity and discretion, found it to be for the benefit of them both. Being thus eased of care for his son and daughter, and they (though in different places) yet under good and worthy government: the Count would continue no longer in England: but, as best he could procure the means, passed over into Ireland, and being arrived at a place called Stanford, became servant to an Earl of that Country, a Gentleman professing arms, on whom he attended as a serving man, & lived a long while in that estate very painfully.  
His daughter Violenta, clouded under the borrowed name of Gianetta, dwelling with the Lady at London, grew so in years, beauty, comeliness of person, and was so graceful in the favour of her Lord and Lady, yea, of every one in the house beside, that it was wonderful to behold. Such as but observed her usual carriage, and what modesty shined clearly in her eyes, reputed her well worthy of honourable preferment; in which regard, the Lady that had received her of her Father, not knowing of whence, or what she was; but as himself had made report, intended to match her in honourable marriage, according as her virtues worthily deserved. But God, the just rewarder of all good endeavours, knowing her to be noble by birth, and (causeless) to suffer for the sins of another; disposed otherwise of her, and that so worthy a Virgin might be no mate for a man of ill conditions, no doubt ordained what was to be done, according to his own good pleasure.  
The noble Lady, with whom poor Gianetta dwelled, had but one only son by her Husband, and he most dearly affected of them both, as well in regard he was to be their heir, as also for his virtues and commendable qualities, wherein he excelled many young Gentlemen. Endued he was with heroical valour, complete in all perfections of person, and his mind every way answerable to his outward behaviour, exceeding Gianetta about six years in age. He perceiving her to be a fair and comely Maiden, grew to affect her so entirely, that all things else he held contemptible, and nothing pleasing in his eye but she. Now, in regard her parentage was reputed poor, he kept his love concealed from his Parents, not daring to desire her in marriage: for both he was to lose their favour, by disclosing the vehemency of his afflictions, which proved a greater torment to him, then if it had been openly known.  
It came to pass, that love overawed him in such sort, as he fell into a violent sickness, and store of physicians were sent for, to save him from death, if possibly it might be. Their judgements observing the course of his sickness, yet not reaching to the cause of the disease, made a doubtful question of his recovery; which was so displeasing to his parents, that their grief and sorrow grew beyond measure. Many earnest entreaties they moved to him, to know the occasion of his sickness, whereto he returned no other answer, but heart-breaking sighs, and incessant tears, which drew him more and more into weakness of body.  
It chanced on a day, a physician was brought unto him, being young in years, but well experienced in his practice, and as he made trial of his pulse, Gianetta (who by his mother's command, attended on him very diligently) upon some especial occasion entered into the Chamber, which when the young Gentleman perceived, and that she neither spoke word, nor so much as looked towards him, his heart grew great in amorous desire, and his pulse did beat beyond the compass of ordinary custom; whereof the physician made good observation, to note how long that fit would continue. No sooner was Gianetta gone forth of the Chamber, but the pulse immediately gave over beating, which persuaded the physician, that some part of the disease had now discovered itself apparently.  
Within a while after, pretending to have some speech with Gianetta, and holding the Gentleman still by the arm, the physician caused her to be sent for, and immediately she came. Upon her very entrance into the Chamber, the pulse began to beat again extremely, and when she departed, it presently ceased. Now was he thoroughly persuaded, that he had found the true effect of his sickness; when taking the Father and mother aside, thus he spoke to them. If you be desirous of your son's health, it consisteth not either in physician or physic, but in the mercy of your fair maid Gianetta; for manifest signs have made it known to me, and he loveth the damsel very dear: yet (for aught I can perceive, the maid doth not know it) now if you have respect of his life, you know (in this case) what is to be done. The Nobleman and his Wife hearing this, became somewhat satisfied, because there remained a remedy to preserve his life: but yet it was no mean grief to them, if it should so succeed, as they feared, namely, the marriage between their son and Gianetta.  
The physician being gone, and they repairing to their sick son, the Mother began with him in this manner. Son, I was always persuaded, that thou wouldst not conceal any secret from me, or the least part of thy desires; especially, when without enjoying them, thou must remain in the danger of death. Full well art thou assured, or in reason oughtest to be, that there is not any thing for thy contentment, be it of what quality soever, but it should have been provided for thee, and in as ample manner as for mine own self. But though thou hast wandered so fare from duty, and hazarded both thy life and ours, it cometh so to pass, that heaven hath been more merciful to thee, than thou wouldst be to thyself or us. And to prevent thy dying of this disease, a dream this night hath acquainted me with the principal occasion of thy sickness, to wit, extraordinary affection to a young Maiden, in some such place as thou hast seen her. I tell thee son, it is a matter of no disgrace to love, and why shouldst thou shame to manifest as much, it being so apt and convenient for thy youth? For if I were persuaded, that thou couldst not love, I should make the less esteem of thee. Therefore dear son, be not dismayed, but freely discover thine affections. Expel those disastrous drooping thoughts, that have endangered thy life by this long linger sickness. And let thy soul be faithfully assured, that thou canst not require any thing to be done, remaining within the compass of my power, but I will perform it; for I love thee as dear as mine own life. Set therefore aside this nice conceit of shame and fear, revealing the truth boldly to me, if I may stead thee in thy love; resolving thyself unfeignedly, that if my care stretch not to compass thy content, account me for the most cruel Mother living, and utterly unworthy of such a son.  
The young Gentleman having heard these protestations made by his Mother, was not a little ashamed of his own folly; but recollecting his better thoughts together, and knowing in his soul, that no one could better further his hopes, than she; forgetting all his former fear, he returned her this answer; Madam, and my dear affected Mother, nothing hath more occasioned my loves so strict concealment, but an especial error, which I find by daily proof in many, who being grown to years of grave discretion, do never remember, that they themselves have been young. But because herein I find you to be both discreet and wise, I will not only affirm, what you have seen in me to be true, but also will confess, to whom it is: upon condition, that the effect of your promise may follow it, according to the power remaining in you, whereby you only may secure my life.  
His Mother, desirous to be resolved, whether his confession would agree with the physician's words, or no, and reserving another intention to herself: bade him fear nothing, but freely discover his whole desire, and forthwith she doubted not to effect it. Then madam (quoth he) the matchless beauty, and commendable qualities of your maid Gianetta, to whom (as yet) I have made no motion, to commiserate this my languishing extremity, nor acquainted any living creature with my love: the concealing of these afflictions to myself, hath brought me to this desperate condition: and if some mean be not wrought, according to your constant promise, for the full enjoying of my longing desires, assure yourself (most noble Mother) that the date of my life is very short.  
The Lady well knowing, that the time now rather required kindest comfort, than any severe or sharp reprehension; smiling on him, said. Alas dear son, wast thou sick for this? Be of good cheer, and when thy strength is better restored, then refer the matter to me. The young Gentleman, being put in good hope by his mother's promise, began (in short time) to show apparent signs of well-forwarded amendment: to the mother's great joy and comfort, disposing herself daily to prove, how in honour she might keep promise with her Son.  
Within a short while after, calling Gianetta privately to her, in gentle manner, and by the way of pleasant discourse, she demanded of her, whither she was provided of a lover, or no. Gianetta, being never acquainted with any such questions, a scarlet Dye covering all her modest countenance, thus replied. Madam, I have no need of any lover, and very unseemly were it, for so poor a damsel as I am, to have so much as a thought of lovers: being banished from my friends and kinsfolk, and remaining in service as I do.  
If you have none (answered the Lady) we will bestow one on you, which shall content your mind, and bring you to a more pleasing kind of life; because it is fare unfit, that so fair a Maid as you are, should remain destitute of a lover. Madam, said Gianetta, considering with myself, that since you received me of my poor Father, you have used me rather like your daughter, than a servant; it becometh me to do as pleaseth you. Notwithstanding, I trust (in the regard of mine own good and honour) never to use any complaint in such a case: but if you please to bestow a husband on me, I purpose to love and honour him only, & not any other. For, of all the inheritance left me by my progenitors, nothing remaineth to me but honourable honesty, and that shall be my legacy so long as I live.  
These words were of a quite contrary complexion, to those which the Lady expected from her, and for effecting the promise made unto her son: howbeit (like a wise and noble Lady) much she inwardly commended the maids answers, and said unto her. But tell me Gianetta, what if my Lord the King (who is a gallant youthful Prince, and you so bright a beauty as you are) should take pleasure in your love, would ye deny him? Suddenly the maid returned this answer: Madam, the King (perhaps) might enforce me; but with my free consent, he shall never have any thing of me that is not honest. Nor did the Lady mislike her maid's courage and resolution, but breaking off all her further conference, intended shortly to put her project in proof, saying to her son, that when he was fully recovered, he should have private access to Gianetta, whom she doubted not but would be tractable enough to him; for she held it no mean blemish to her honour, to move the maid any more in the matter, but let him compass it as he could.  
Fare from the young gentleman's humour was this answer of his Mother, because he aimed not at any dishonourable end: true, faithful, & honest love was the sole scope of his intention, foul and loathsome lust he utterly defied; whereupon, he fell into sickness again, rather more violently than before. Which the Lady perceiving, revealed her whole intent to Gianetta, and finding her constancy beyond common comparison, acquainted her Lord with all she had done, and both consented (though much against their minds) to let him enjoy her in honourable marriage: accounting it better, for preservation of their only son's life, to match him fare inferior to his degree, than (by denying his desire) to let him pine away, and die for her love.  
After great consultation with kindred and friends, the match was agreed upon, to the no little joy of Gianetta, who devoutly returned infinite thankes to heaven, for so mercifully respecting her dejected poor estate, after the bitter passage of so many miseries, and never terming herself any otherwise, but the daughter of a poor Piccard. Soon was the young Gentleman recovered and married, no man alive so well contented as he, and setting down an absolute determination, to lead a loving life with his Gianetta.  
Let us now convert our looks to Wales, to Perotto; being left there with the other Lord Martial, who was the precedent of that country. On he grew in years, choicely respected by his Lord, because he was most comely of person, and addicted to all valiant attempts: so that in tourneys, Iustes, and other actions of arms, his like was not to be found in all the Island, being named only Perotto the valiant Piccard, and so was he famed fare and near. As God had not forgotten his Sister, so in mercy he became as mindful of him; for, a contagious mortality happening in the Country, the greater part of the people perished thereby, the rest flying thence into other parts of the Land, whereby the whole province became dispeopled and desolate.  
In the time of this plague and dreadful visitation, the Lord precedent, his Lady, sons, Daughters, Brothers, nephews, and Kindred died, none remaining alive, but one only Daughter marriageable a few of the household servants, beside Perotto, whom (after the sickness was more mildly assuaged) with counsel and consent of the Country people, the young Lady accepted to be her husband, because he was a man so worthy and valiant, and of all the inheritance left by her deceased Father, she made him Lord and sole commander. Within no long while after, the King of England, understanding that his precedent of Wales was dead, and fame liberally relating, the virtues, valour, and good parts of Perotto the Piccard: he created him to be his precedent there, and to supply the place of his deceased Lord. These fair fortunes, within the compass of so short a time, fell to the two innocent children of the Count D'Angiers, after they were left by him as lost and forlorn.  
Eighteen years were now fully overpassed, since the Count D'Angiers fled from Paris, having suffered (in miserable so●t) many hard and lamentable adversities, and seeing himself now to be grown aged he was desirous to leave Ireland, and to know (if he might) what was become of both his children. Hereupon, perceiving his wont form to be so altered, that such as formerly had conversed most with him, could now not take any knowledge of him, & feeling his body (through long labour and exercise endured in service) more lusty, then in his idle youthful years, especially when he left the Court of France, he purposed to proceed in his determination. Being very poor and simple in apparel, he departed from the Irish ear his Master, with whom he had continued long in service, to no advantage or advancement, and crossing over into England, travailed to the place in Wales, where he left Perotto: and where he found him to be Lord Martial and precedent of the Country, lusty and in good health, a man of goodly feature, and most honourably respected and reverenced of the people.  
Well may you imagine, that this was no small comfort to the poor aged Countess' heart, yet would he not make himself known to him, or any other about him? but referred his joy to a further enlarging or diminishing, by sight of the other limb of his life, his dear affected daughter Gianetta, denying rest to his body in any place, until such time as he came to London. Making there secret enquiry, concerning the Lady with whom he had left his daughter: he understood, that a young Gentlewoman, named Gianetta, was married to that Ladies only Son; which made a second addition of joy to his soul, accounting all his passed adversities of no value, both his children being living, and in so high honour.  
Having found her dwelling, and (like a kind Father) being earnestly desirous to see her; he daily resorted near to the house, where Sir Roger Mandavill (for so was Gianettaes' husband named) chancing to see him, being moved to compassion, because he was both poor and aged: commanded one of his men, to take him into the house, and to give him some food for God's sake, which (accordingly) the servant performed. Gianetta had diverse children by her husband, the eldest of them being but eight years old, yet all of them so fair and comely as could be. As the old Count sat eating his meat in the Hall, the children came all about him, embracing, hugging, and making much of him, even as if Nature had truly instructed them, that this was their aged, though poor grandfather, and he as lovingly receiving these kind relations from them, wisely and silently kept all to himself, with sighs, tears, and joys intermixed together. So that the children would not part from him, though their tutor and master called them often, which being told to their Mother, she came forth of the near adjoining Parlour, and threatened to beat them, if they would not do what their master commanded them.  
Then the children began to cry, saying, that they would tarry still by the good old man, because he loved them better than their master did; whereat both the Lady and the Count began to smile. The Count, like a poor beggar, and not as father to so great a Lady, arose, and did her humble reverence, because she was now a Noble woman, conceiving wonderful joy in his soul, to see her so fair and goodly a creature: yet could she take no knowledge of him, age, want and misery had so mightily altered him, his head all white, his beard without any comely form, his garments so poor, and his face so wrinkled, lean and meager, that he seemed rather some Carter, than a Count And Gianetta perceiving, that when her children were fetched away, they returned again to the old man, and would not leave him; desired their master to let them alone.  
While thus the children continued making much of the good old man, Lord Andrew Mandevile, Father to Sir Roger, came into the Hall, as being so willed to do by the children's schoolmaster. He being a hasty minded man, and one that ever despised Gianetta before, but much more since her marriage to his son, angrily said. Let them alone with a mischief, and so befall them, their best company aught to be with beggars, for so are they bred and borne by the mother's side: and therefore it is no marvel, if like will to like, a beggar's brats to keep company with beggars. The Count hearing these contemptible words, was not a little grieved thereat, and although his courage was greater, than his poor condition would permit him to express; yet, clouding all injuries with noble patience, hanging down his head, and shedding many a salt tear, endured this reproach, as he had done many, both before and after.  
But honourable Sir Roger, perceiving what delight his children took in the poor man's company; albeit he was offended at his father's harsh words, by holding his wife in such base respect; yet favoured the poor Count so much the more, and seeing him weep, did greatly compassionate his case, saying to the poor man, that if he would accept of his service, he willingly would entertain him. Whereto the Count replied, that very gladly he would embrace his kind offer: but he was capable of no other service, save only to be an horsekeeper, wherein he had employed the most part of his time. Hereupon, more for pleasure and pity, than any necessity of his service, he was appointed to the keeping of one Horse, which was only for his daughter's saddle, and daily after he had done his diligence about the Horse, he did nothing else but play with the children. While Fortune pleased thus to dally with the poor Count D'Angiers, & his children, it came to pass, that the King of France (after diverse leagues of truces passed between him & the Germans) died, and next after him, his Son the dolphin was crowned King, and it was his wife that wrongfully caused the Count's banishment. After expiration of the last league with the Germans, the wars began to grow much more fierce and sharp, and the King of England, (upon request made to him by his new brother of France) sent him very honourable supplies of his people, under the conduct of Perotto, his lately elected precedent of Wales, and Sir Roger Mandevile, Son to his other Lord high marshal; with whom also the poor Count went, and continued a long while in the camp as a common soldier, where yet like a valiant Gentleman (as indeed he was no less) both in advice and actions; he accomplished many more notable matters, than was expected to come from him.  
It so fell out, that in the continuance of this war, the Queen of France fell into a grievous sickness, and perceiving herself to be at the point of death, she became very penitently sorrowful for all her sins, earnestly desiring that she might be confessed by the Archbishop of Roan, who was reputed to be an holy and virtuous man. In the repetition of her other offences, she revealed what great wrong she had done to the Count D'Angiers, resting not so satisfied, with disclosing the whole matter to him alone; but also confessed the same before many other worthy persons, and of great honour, entreating them to work so with the King, that (if the Count were yet living, or any of his Children) they might be restored to their former honour again.  
It was not long after, but the Queen left this life, and was most royally interred, when her confession being disclosed to the King, after much sorrow for so injuriously wronging a man of so great valour and honour: Proclamation was made throughout the Camp, and in many other parts of France beside, that whosoever could produce the Count D'Angiers, or any of his Children, should richly be rewarded for each one of them; in regard he was innocent of the foul imputation, by the Queens own confession, and for his wrongful exile so long, he should be exalted to his former honour with fare greater favours, which the King frankly would bestow upon him. When the Count (who walked up and down in the habit of a common servitor) heard this Proclamation, forthwith he went to his Master Sir Roger Mandevile, requesting his speedy repair to Lord Perotto, that being both assembled together, he would acquaint them with a serious matter, concerning the late Proclamation published by the King. Being by themselves alone in the Tent, the Count spoke in this manner to Perotto. Sir, S. Roger Mandevile here, your equal competitor in this military service, is the husband to your natural sister, have yet never received any dowry with her, but her inherent unblemishable virtue & honour. Now because she may not still remain destitute of a competent Dowry: I desire that Sir Roger, and none other, may enjoy the royal reward promised by the King. You Lord Perotto, whose true name is jews, manifest yourself to be nobly borne, and son to the wrongful banished Count D'Angiers: avouch moreover, that Violenta, shadowed under the borrowed name of Gianetta, is your own Sister; and deliver me up as your Father, the long exiled Count D'Angiers. Perotto hearing this, beheld him more advisedly, and began to know him: then, the tears flowing abundantly from his eyes, he fell at his feet, and often embracing him, said: My dear and noble Father! a thousand times more dearly welcome to your son jews.  
Sir Roger Mandevile, hearing first what the Count had said, and seeing what Perotto afterward performed; became surprised with such extraordinary joy and admiration, that he knew not how to carry himself in this case. Nevertheless, giving credit to his words, and being somewhat ashamed, that he had not used the Count in more respective manner, & remembering beside, the unkind language of his furious Father to him: he kneeled down, humbly craving pardon, both for his father's rudeness and his own, which was courteously granted by the Count, embracing him lovingly in his arms.  
When they had a while discoursed their several fortunes, sometime in tears, and then again in joy, Perotto and Sir Roger, would have the Count to be garmented in better manner, but in no wise he would suffer it; for it was his only desire, that Sir Roger should be assured of the promised reward, by presenting him in the King's presence, and in the homely habit which he did then wear, to touch him with the more sensible shame, for his rash belief, and injurious proceeding. Then Sir Roger Mandevile, guiding the Count by the hand, and Perotto following after, came before the King, offering to present the Count and his children, if the reward promised in the Proclamation might be performed. The king immediately commanded, that a reward of inestimable value should be produced; desiring Sir Roger upon the sight thereof, to make good his offer, for forthwith presenting the Count and his children. Which he made no longer delay of, but turning himself about, delivered the aged Count, by the title of his servant, and presenting Perotto next, said. Sir, here I deliver you the Father and his Son, his daughter who is my wife, cannot so conveniently be here now, but shortly, by the permission of heaven, your majesty shall have a sight of her.  
When the King heard this, steadfastly he looked on the Count; and, notwithstanding his wonderful alteration, both from his wont feature and form: yet, after he had very seriously viewed him, he knew him perfectly; and the tears trickling down his cheeks, partly with remorseful shame, and joy also for his so happy recovery, he took up the Count from kneeling, kissing, and embracing him very kindly, welcoming Perotto in the selfsame manner. Immediately also he gave command, that the Count should be restored to his honours, apparel, servants, horses, and furniture, answerable to his high estate and calling, which was as speedily performed. Moreover, the King greatly honoured Sir Roger Mandevile, desiring to be made acquainted with all their passed fortunes.  
When Sir Roger had received the royal reward, for thus surrendering the Count and his son, the Count calling him to him, said. Take that Princely remuneration of my sovereign Lord the King, and commending me to your unkind Father, tell him that your Children are no beggars brats, neither basely borne by their mother's side. Sir Roger returning home with his bountiful reward, soon after brought his Wife and Mother to Paris, and so did Perotto his Wife, where in great joy and triumph, they continued a long while with the noble Count; who had all his goods and honours restored to him, in far●e greater measure than ever they were before: his sons in Law returning home with their wives into England, left the Count with the King at Paris, where he spent the rest of his days in great honour and felicity.   

Bernardo, a Merchant of Geneway, being deceived by another Merchant, named Ambrosio, lost a great part of his goods. And commanding his innocent Wife to be murdered, she escaped, and (in the habit of a man) became servant to the sultan. The deceiver being found at last, she compassed such means, that her Husband Bernardo came into Alexandria, and there, after due punishment inflicted on the false deceiver, she resumed the garments again of a woman, and returned home with her Husband to Geneway.  
The ninth novel.  
Wherein is declared, that by over-liberal commending the chastity of Women, it falleth out (oftentimes) to be very dangerous, especially by the means of treacherers, who yet (in the end) are justly punished for their treachery.  
MAdam Eliza having ended her compassionate discourse, which indeed had moved all the rest to sighing; the Queen, who was fair, comely of stature, and carrying a very majestical countenance, smiling more familiarly than the other, spoke to them thus. It is very necessary, that the promise made to Dioneus, should carefully be kept, and because now there remaineth none, to report any more novels, but only he and myself: I must first deliver mine, and he (who takes it for an honour) to be the last in relating his name, last let him be for his own deliverance. Then pausing a little while, thus she began again. Many times among vulgar people, it hath passed as a common proverb: That the deceiver is often trampled on, by such as he hath deceived. And this cannot show itself (by any reason) to be true, except such accidents as await on treachery, do really make a just discovery thereof. And therefore according to the course of this day observed, I am the woman, that must make good what I have said for the approbation of that proverb: no way (I hope) distasteful to you in the hearing, but advantageable to preserve you from any such beguiling.  
There was a fair and good inn in Paris, much frequented by many  
great Italian Merchants, according to such variety of occasions and business, as urged their often resorting thither. One night among many other, having had a merry Supper together, they began to discourse on diverse matters, and falling from one relation to another; they communed in very friendly manner, concerning their wives, left at home in their houses. Quoth the first, I cannot well imagine what my wife is now doing, but I am able to say for myself, that if a pretty female should fall into my company: I could easily forget my love to my wife, and make use of such an advantage offered.  
A second replied; And trust me, I should do no less, because I am persuaded, that if my wife be willing to wander, the law is in her own hand, and I am fare enough from home: dumb walls blab no tales, & offences unknown are seldom or never called in question. A thirde man unapt in censure, with his former fellows of the jury; and it plainly appeared, that all the rest were of the same opinion, condemning their wives over-rashly, and alleging, that when husbands strayed so far from home, their wives had wit enough to make use of their time.  
Only one man among them all, named Bernardo Lomellino, & dwelling in Geneway, maintained the contrary; boldly avouching, that by the especial favour of Fortune, he had a wife so perfectly complete in all graces and virtues, as any Lady in the world possibly could be, and that Italy scarcely contained her equal. For, she was goodly of person, and yet very young, quick, acquaint, mild, and courteous, and not any thing appertaining to the office of a wife, either for domestic affairs, or any other employment whatsoever, but in womanhood she went beyond all other. No Lord, Knight, Esquire, or Gentleman, could be better served at his table, than himself daily was, with more wisdom, modesty and discretion. After all this, he praised her for riding, hawking, hunting, fishing, fowling, reading, writing, enditing, and most absolute keeping his books of accounts, that neither himself, or any other Merchant could therein excel her. After infinite other commendations, he came to the former point of their argument, concerning the easy falling of women into wantonness, maintaining (with a solemn oath) that no woman possibly could be more chaste and honest than she: in which respect, he was verily persuaded, that if he stayed from her ten year's space, yea (all his life time) out of his house; yet never would she falsify her faith to him, or be lewdly alured by any other man.  
Among these Merchants thus communing together, there was a young proper man, named Ambroginolo of Placentia, who began to laugh at the last praises, which Bernardo had used of his wife, and seeming to make a mockery thereat, demanded, if the Emperor had given him this privilege, above all other married men? Bernardo being somewhat offended, answered: No Emperor bathe done it, but the especial blessing of heaven, exceeding all the Emperors on the earth in grace, and thereby have received this favour; whereto Ambroginolo presently thus replied. Bernardo, without all question to the contrary, I believe that what thou hast said, is true, but, for aught I can perceive, thou hast slender judgement in the nature of things: because, if thou didst observe them well, thou couldst not be of so gross understanding; for, by comprehending matters in their true kind and nature, thou wouldst speak of them more correctly than thou dost. And to the end, thou mayest not imagine, that we who have spoken of our wives, do think any otherwise of them, then as well and honestly as thou canst of thine, nor that any thing else did urge these speeches of them, or falling into this kind of discourse, but only by a natural instinct and admonition; I will proceed familiarly a little further with thee, upon the matter already propounded.  
I have evermore understood, that man was the most noble creature, form by God to live in this world, and woman in the next degree to him: but man, as generally is believed, and as is discerned by apparent effects, is the most perfect of both. Having then the most perfection in him, without all doubt, he must be so much the more firm and constant. So in like manner, it hath been, and is universally granted, that woman is more various and mutable, and the reason thereof may be approved, by many natural circumstances, which were needless now to make any mention of. If a man then be possessed of the greater stability, and yet cannot contain himself from condiscending, I say not to one that entreats him, but to desire any other that may please him, and beside, to covet the enjoying of his own pleasing contentment (a thing not chancing to him once in a month, but infinite times in a day's space.) What can you then conceive of a frail woman, subject (by nature) to entreaties, flatteries, gifts, persuasions, and a thousand other enticing means, which a man (that is affected to her) can use? Dost thou think then that she hath any power to contain? Assuredly, though thou shouldst rest so resolved, yet cannot I be of the same opinion. For I am sure thou believest, and must needs confess it, that thy wife is a woman, made● of flesh and blood, as other women are: if it be so, she cannot be without the same desires, and the weakness or strength as other women have, to resist such natural appetites as her own are. In regard whereof, it is merely impossible (although she be most honest) but she must needs do that which other women do; for there is nothing else possible, either to be denied or affirmed to the contrary, as thou most unadvisedly hast done.  
Bernardo answered in this manner. I am a Merchant▪ and no Philosopher, and like a Merchant I mean to answer thee. I am not to learn, that these accidents by thee related, may happen to fools, who are void of understanding or shame: but such as are wise, and endued with virtue, have always such a precious esteem of their honour, that they will contain those principles of constancy, which men are merely careless of, and I justify my wife to be one of them. Believe me Bernardo (replied Ambroginolo) if so often as thy wife's mind is addicted to wanton folly, a badge of scorn should arise on thy forehead, to render testimony of her female frailty; I believe the number of them would be more, then willingly you would wish them to be. And among all married men, in every degree, the notes are so secret of their wife's imperfections, that the sharpest sight is not able to discern them; and the wiser sort of men are willing not to know them; because shame and loss of honour is never imposed, but in cases evident and apparent.  
Persuade thyself then Bernardo, that, what women may accomplish in secret, they will rarely fail to do: or if they abstain, it is through fear and folly. Wherefore, hold it for a certain rule, that that woman is only chaste, that never was solicited personally, or if she endured any such suit, either she answered yea, or no. And albeit I know this to be true, by many infallible and natural reasons, yet could I not speak so exactly as I do; if I had not tried experimentally, the humours and affections of diverse women. Yea, and let me tell thee more Bernardo, were I in private company with thy wife, howsoever pure and precise thou presumest her to be: I should account it a matter of no impossibility, to find in her the self same frailty.  
Bernardoes' blood began now to boil, and patience being a little put down by choler, thus he replied. A combat of words requires overlong continuance, for I maintain the matter, which thou deniest, and all this sorts to nothing in the end. But seeing thou presumest, that all women are so apt and tractable, and thyself so confident of thine own power: I willingly yield (for the better assurance of my wife's constant loyalty) to have my head smitten off, if thou canst win her to any such dishonest act, by any means whatsoever thou canst use unto her; which if thou canst not do, thou shalt only lose a thousand ducats of gold. Now began Ambroginolo to be heated with these words, answering thus. Bernardo, if I had won the wager, I know not what I should do with thy head; but if thou be willing to stand upon the proof, pawn down five thousand ducats of gold, (a matter of much less value than thy head) against a thousand ducats of mine, granting me a lawful limited time, which I require to be no more than the space of three months, after the day of my departiug hence. I will stand bound to go for Geneway, and there win such kind consent of thy Wife, as shall be to mine own consent. In witness whereof, I will bring back with me such private and especial tokens, as thou thyself shalt confess that I have not failed. Provided, that thou do first promise upon thy faith, to absent thyself thence during my limited time, and be no hindrance to me by thy Letters, concerning the attempt by me undertaken.  
Bernardo said, be it a bargain, I am the man that will make good my five thousand ducats; and albeit the other Merchants then present, earnestly laboured to break the wager, knowing great harm must needs ensue thereon: yet both the parties were so hot and fiery, as all the other men spoke to no effect, but writings were made, sealed, and delivered under either of their hands, Bernardo remaining at Paris, and Ambroginolo departing for Geneway. There he remained some few days, to learn the streets name where Bernardo dwelled, as also the conditions and qualities of his Wife, which scarcely pleased him when he heard them; because they were fare beyond her husband's relation, and she reputed to be the only wonder of women; whereby he plainly perceived, that he had undertaken a very idle enterprise, yet would he not give it over so, but proceeded therein a little further.  
He wrought such means, that he came acquainted with a poor woman, who often frequented Bernardoes' house, and was greatly in favour with his wife; upon whose poverty he so prevailed, by earnest persuasions, but much more by large gifts of money, that he won her to further him in this manner following. A fair and artificial Chest he caused to be purposely made, wherein himself might be aptly contained, and so conveyed into the House of Bernardoes' Wife, under colour of a formal excuse; that the poor woman should be absent from the City two or three days, and she must keep it safe till he return. The Gentlewoman suspecting no guile, but that the Chest was the receptacle of all the woman's wealth; would trust it in no other room, than her own bedchamber, which was the place where Ambroginolo most desired to be.  
Being thus conveyed into the Chamber, the night going on apace, and the Gentlewoman fast asleep in her bed, a lighted Taper stood burning on the Table by her, as in her husband's absence she ever used to have: Ambroginolo softly opened the Chest, according as cunningly he had contrived it; and stepping forth in his socks made of cloth, observed the situation of the Chamber, the paintings, pictures, and beautiful hangings, with all things else that were remarkable, which perfectly he committed to his memory. Going near to the bed, he saw her lie there sweetly sleeping, and her young Daughter in like manner by her, she seeming then as complete and pleasing a creature, as when she was attired in her best bravery. No especial note or mark could he descry, whereof he might make credible report, but only a small wart upon her left pap, with some few hairs growing thereon, appearing to be as yellow as gold.  
Sufficient had he seen, and durst presume no further; but taking one of her Rings, which lay upon the Table, a purse of hers, hanging by on the wall, a light wearing Robe of silk, and her girdle, all which he put into the Chest; and being in himself, closed it fast as it was before, so continuing there in the Chamber two several nights, the Gentlewoman neither mistrusting or missing any thing. The third day being come, the poor woman, according as formerly was concluded, came to have home her Chest again, and brought it safely into her own house; where Ambroginolo coming forth of it, satisfied the poor woman to her own liking, returning (with all the forenamed things) so fast as conveniently he could to Paris.  
Being arrived there long before his limited time, he called the Merchants together, who were present at the passed words and wager; avouching before Bernardo, that he had won his five thousand ducats, and performed the task he undertook. To make good his protestation, first he described the form of the Chamber, the curious pictures hanging about it, in what manner the bed stood, and every circumstance else beside. Next he shown the several things, which he brought away thence with him, affirming that he had received them of herself. Bernardo confessed, that his description of the Chamber was true, and acknowledged moreover, that these other things did belong to his Wife: But (quoth he) this may be gotten, by corrupting some servant of mine, both for intelligence of the Chamber, as also of the Ring, Purse, and what else is beside; all which suffice not to win the wager, without some other more apparent and pregnant token. In troth, answered Ambroginolo, I thinks these should serve for sufficient proofs; but seeing thou art so desirous to know more: I plainly tell thee, that fair Geneura thy Wife, hath a small round wart upon her left pap, and some few little golden hairs growing thereon.  
When Bernardo heard these words, they were as so many stabs to his heart, yea, beyond all compass of patiented sufferance, and by the changing of his colour, it was noted manifestly, (being unable to utter one word) that Ambroginolo had spoken nothing but the truth. Within a while after, he said; Gentlemen, that which Ambroginolo hath said, is very true, wherefore let him come when he will, and he shall be paid; which accordingly he performed on the very next day, even to the utmost penny, departing then from Paris towards Geneway, with a most malicious intention to his Wife: Being come near to the City, he would not enter it, but road to a country house of his, standing about ten miles distant thence. Being there arrived, he called a servant, in whom he reposed especial trust, sending him to Geneway with two Horses, writing to his Wife, that he was returned, and she should come thither to see him. But secretly he charged his servant, that so soon as he had brought her to a convenient place, he should there kill her, without any pity or compassion, and then return to him again.  
When the servant was come to Geneway, and had delivered his Letter and message, Geneura gave him most joyful welcome, and on the morrow morning mounting on horseback with the servant, road merrily towards the country house; diverse things she discoursed on by the way, till they descended into a deep solitary valley, very thickly beset with high and huge spreading Trees, which the servant supposed to be a meet place, for the execution of his master's command. Suddenly drawing forth his Sword, and holding Geneura fast by the arm, he said; Mistress, quickly commend your soul to God, for you must die, before you pass any further. Geneura seeing the naked Sword, and hearing the words so peremptorily delivered, fearfully answered; Alas dear friend, mercy for God's sake; and before thou kill me, tell me wherein I have offended thee, and why thou must kill me? Alas good mistress replied the serua●t, you have not any way offended me, but in what occasion you have displeased your Husband, it is utterly unknown to me: for he hath strictly commanded me, without respect of pity or compassion, to kill you by the way as I bring you, and if I do it not, he hath sworn to hang me by the neck. You know good Mistress, how much I stand obliged to him, and how impossible it is for me, to contradict any thing that he commandeth. God is my witness, that I am truly compassionate of you, and yet (by no means) may I let you live.  
Geneura kneeling before him weeping, wring her hands, thus replied. Wilt thou turn Monster, and be a murderer of her that never wronged thee, to please another man, and on a bare command? God, who truly knoweth all things, is my faithful witness, that I never committed any offence, whereby to deserve the dislike of my Husband, much less so harsh a recompense as this is. But flying from mine own justification, and appealing to thy manly mercy, thou mayest (wert thou but so well pleased) in a moment satisfy both thy Master and me, in such manner as I will make plain and apparent to thee. Take thou my garments, spare me only thy doublet, and such a Bonnet as is fitting for a man, so return with my habit to thy Master, assuring him, that the deed is done. And here I swear to thee, by that life which I enjoy but by thy mercy, I will so strangely disguise myself, and wander so fare off from these Countries, as neither he or thou, nor any person belonging to these parts, shall ever hear any tidings of me.  
The servant, who had no great good will to kill her, very easily grew pitiful, took off her upper garments, and gave her a poor ragged doublet, a silly Chapperone, and such small store of money as he had, desiring her to forsake that country, and so left her to walk on foot out of the valley. When he came to his Master, and had delivered him her garments, he assured him, that he had not only accomplished his command, but also was most secure from any discovery: because he had no sooner done the deed, but four or five very ravenous wolves, came presently running to the dead body, and gave it burial in their bellies. Bernardo soon after returning to Geneway, was much blamed for such unkind cruelty to his wife; but his constant avouching of her treason to him (according then to the country's custom) did clear him from all pursuit of law.  
Poor Geneura, was left thus alone and disconsolate, and night stealing fast upon her, she went to a silly village near adjoining▪ where (by the means of a good old woman) she got such provision as the place afforded, making the doublet fit to her body, and converting her petticoat to a pair of breeches, according to the mariner's fashion: then cutting her hair, and quaintly disguised like to a sailor, she went to the Sea coast. By good fortune, she met there with a Gentleman of Cathalogna, whose name was Signior Enchararcho, who came on land from his Ship, which lay hulling there about Albagia, to refresh himself at a pleasant Spring. Enchararcho taking her to be a man, as she appeared no otherwise by her habit; upon some conference passing between them, she was entertained into his service, and being brought aboard the Ship, she went under the name of Sicurano da Finale. There she had better apparel bestown on her by the Gentleman, and her service proved so pleasing and acceptable to him, that he liked her care and diligence beyond all comparison.  
It came to pass within a short while after, that this Gentleman of Cathalogna sailed (with some charge of his) into Alexandria, carrying thither c●rtaine peregrine falcons, which he presented to the sultan: who oftentimes welcomed this Gentleman to his table, where he observed the behaviour of Sicurano, attending on his master's tre●cher, and therewith was so highly pleased; that he requested to have him from the Gentleman, who (for his more advancement) willingly parted with his so lately entertained servant▪ Sicurano was so ready and discreet in his daily services; that he grew in as great grace with the sultan, as before he had done with Enchararcho.  
At a certain season in the year, as customary order (there observed) had formerly been, in the city of Acres, which was under the soldans subjection: there yearly met a great assembly of Merchants, as Christians, moors, Jews, Sarrazines, and many other Nations beside, as at a common Mart or fair. And to the end, that the Merchants (for the better sale of their goods) might be there in the safer assurance; the sultan used to send thither some of his ordinary Officers, and a strong guard of soldiers beside, to defend them from all injuries and molestation, because he reaped thereby no mean benefit. And who should be now sent about this business, but his new elected favourite Sicurano; because she was skilful and perfect in the languages.  
Sicurano being come to Acres, as Lord and captain of the Guard for the Merchants, and for the safety of their Merchandizes▪ she discharged her office most commendably, walking with her train through every part of the fair, where she observed a worthy company of Merchants, Sicilians, Pisanes, Genewayes, Venetians, and other Italians, whom the more willingly she noted, in remembrance of her native country. At one especial time, among other, chancing into a Shop or Boothe belonging to the Venetians; she espied (hanging up with other costly wares) a Purse and a Girdle, which suddenly she remembered to be sometime her own, whereat she was not a little abashed in her mind. But, without making any such outward show, courteously she requested to know, whose they were, and whether they should be sold, or no.  
Ambroginolo of Placentia, was likewise come thither, and great store of Merchandizes he had brought with him, in a carack appertaining to the Venetians, and he, hearing the captain of the Guard demand, whose they were; stepped forth before him, and smiling, answered: That they w●re his, but not to be sold, yet if he liked them gladly, he would bestow them on him. Sicurano seeing him smile, suspected, lest himself had (by some unfitting behaviour) been the occasion thereof: and therefore, with a more settled countenance, he said. Perhaps thou smilest, because I that am a man, professing arms, should question after such womanish toys. Ambroginolo replied. My Lord, pardon me, Ismile not at you, or your demand; but at the manner how I came by these things.  
Sicurano, upon this answer, was ten times more desirous than before, and said. If Fortune favoured thee in friendly manner, by the obtaining of these things: if it may be spoken, tell me how thou hadst them. My Lord (answered Ambroginolo) these things (with many more beside) were given me by a Gentlewoman of Geneway, named madam Geneura, the wife to one Bernardo Lomellino, in recompense of one night's lodging with her, and she desired me to keep them for her sake. Now, the main reason of my smiling, was the remembrance of her husband's folly, in waging five thousand ducats of gold, against one thousand of mine, that I should not obtain my will of his wife, which I did, and thereby won the wager. But he, who better deserved to be punished for his folly, than she, who was but sick of all women's disease: returning from Paris to Geneway, caused her to be slain, as afterward it was reported by himself.  
When Sicurano heard this horrible lie, immediately she conceived, that this was the occasion of her husband's hatred to her, and all the hard haps which she had since suffered: whereupon, she reputed it for more than a mortal sin, if such a villain should pass without due punishment. Sicurano seemed to like well this report, and grew into such familiarity with Ambroginolo, that (by her persuasions) when the fair was ended, she took him higher with her into Alexandria, and all his Wares along with him, furnishing him with a fit and convenient Shop, where he made great benefit of his Merchandizes, trusting all his moneys in the captain's custody, because it was the safest course for him, and so he continued there with no mean contentment.  
Much did she pity her husband's perplexity, devising by what good and warrantable means, she might make known her innocency to him; wherein her place and authority did greatly stead her, and she wrought with diverse gallant Merchants of Geneway, that then remained in Alexandria, and by virtue of the sultan's friendly Letters, beside to bring him thither upon an especial occasion. Come he did, albeit in poor and mean order, which soon was better altered by her appointment, and he very honourably (though in private) entertained by diverse of her worthy friends, till time did favour what she further intended.  
In the expectation of Bernardoes' arrival, she had so prevailed with Ambroginolo, that the same tale which he formerly told to her, he delivered again in presence of the sultan, who seemed to be well pleased with it: But after she had once seen her Husband, she thought upon her more serious business; providing herself of an apt opportunity, when she entreated such favour of the sultan, that both the men might be brought before him, where if Ambroginolo would not confess (without constraint) that which he had made his vaunt of concerning Bernardoes' Wife, he might be compelled thereto perforce.  
Sicuranoes' word was a Law with the sultan, so that Ambroginolo and Bernardo being brought face to face, the sultan, with a stern and angry countenance, in the presence of a most Princely Assembly; commanded Ambroginolo to declare the truth, yea, upon peril of his life, by what means he won the wager, of the five thousand golden ducats he received of Bernardo. Ambroginolo seeing Sicurano there present, upon whose favour he wholly relied, yet perceiving her looks likewise to be as dreadful as the soldans, and hearing her threaten him with most grievous torments, except he revealed the truth indeed: you may easily guess (fair company) in what condition he stood at that instant.  
Frowns and fury he beheld on either side, and Bernardo standing before him, with a world of famous witnesses, to hear his lie confounded by his own confession, and his tongue to deny what it had before so constantly avouched. Yet dreaming on no other pain or penalty, but restoring back the five thousand ducats of gold, and the other things by him purloined, truly he revealed the whole form of his falsehood. Then Sicurano according as the sultan had formerly commanded him, turning to Bernardo, said. And thou, upon the suggestion of this foul lie, what didst thou to thy Wife? Being (quoth Bernardo) overcome with rage, for the loss of my money, and the dishonour I supposed to receive by my Wife; I caused a servant of mine to kill her, and as he credibly avouched, her body was devoured by ravenous wolves in a moment after.  
These things being thus spoken and heard, in the presence of the sultan, and no reason (as yet) made known, why the case was so seriously urged, and to what end it would succeed: Sicurano spoke in this manner to the sultan. My gracious Lord, you may plainly perceive, in what degree that poor Gentlewoman might make her vaunt, being so well provided, both of a loving friend, and a husband. Such was the friend's love, that in an instant, and by a wicked lie, he rob her both of her renown and honour, and bereft her also of her husband. And her husband, rather crediting another's falsehood, than the invincible truth, whereof he had faithful knowledge, by long and very honourable experience; caused her to be slain, and made food for devouring wolves. Beside all this, such was the good will and affection, borne to that woman both by friend and husband, that the longest continuer of them in her company, makes them alike in knowledge of her. But because your great wisdom knoweth perfectly, what each of them have worthily deserved: if you please (in your ever known gracious benignity) to permit the punishment of the deceiver, and pardon the party so deceived; I will procure such means, that she shall appear here in your presence, and theirs.  
The sultan, being desirous to give Sicurano all manner of satisfaction, having followed the course so industriously: bade him to produce the woman, and he was well contented. Whereat Bernardo stood much amazed, because he verily believed that she was dead. And Ambroginolo foreseeing already a preparation for punishment, feared, that the repayment of the money would not now serve his turn: not knowing also what he should further hope or suspect, if the woman herself did personally appear, which he imagined would be a miracle. Sicurano having thus obtained the soldans permission, in tears, humbling herself at his feet, in a moment she lost her manly voice and demeanour, as knowing, that she was now no longer to use them, but must truly witness what she was indeed, and therefore thus spoke.  
Great sultan, I am the miserable and unfortunate Geneura, that, for the space of six whole years, have wandered through the world, in the habit of a man, falsely and most maliciously slandered, by this villainous traitor Ambroginolo, and by this unkind cruel husband, betrayed to his servant to be slain, and left to be devoured by savage beasts. Afterward, desiring such garments as better fitted for her, and showing her breasts; she made it apparent, before the sultan and his assistants, that she was the very same woman indeed. Then turning herself to Ambroginolo, with more than manly courage, she demanded of him, when, and where it was, that he lay with her, as (villainously) he was not ashamed to make his vaunt. But he, having already acknowledged the contrary, being stricken dumb with shameful disgrace, was not able to utter one word.  
The sultan, who had always reputed Sicurano to be a man, having heard and seen so admirable an accident: was so amazed in his mind, that many times he was very doubtful, whether this was a dream, or an absolute relation of truth. But, after he had more seriously considered thereon, and found it to be real and infallible: with extraordinary gracious praises, he commended the life, constancy, conditions and virtues of Geneura, whom (till that time) he had always called Sicurano. So committing her to the company of honourable Ladies, to be changed from her manly habit: he pardoned Bernardo her husband (according to her request formerly made) although he had more justly deserved death; which likewise himself confessed, and falling at the feet of Geneura, desired her (in tears) to forgive his rash transgression, which most lovingly she did, kissing and embracing him a thousand times.  
Then the sultan strictly commanded, that on some high and eminent place of the city, Ambroginolo should be bound and impaled on a Stake, having his naked body anointed all over with honey, and never to be taken off, until (of itself) it fell in pieces, which, according to the sentence, was presently performed. Next, he gave express charge, that all his money and goods should be given to Geneura, which valued above ten thousand double ducats. Forthwith with a solemn feast was prepared, wherein, much honour was done to Bernardo, being the husband of Geneura: and to her, as to a most worthy woman, and matchless wife, he gave in costly jewels, as also vessels of gold and silver plate, so much as amounted to above ten thousand double ducats more.  
When the feasting was finished, he caused a Ship to be furnished for them, granting them licence to departed for Geneway when they pleased: whither they returned most rich and joyfully, being welcomed home with great honour, especially madam Geneura, whom every one supposed to be dead, and always after, so long as she lived, she was most famous for her manifold virtues. But as for Ambroginolo, the very same day that he was impaled on the Stake, anointed with honey, and fixed in the place appointed, to his no mean torment: he not only died, but likewise was devoured to the bare bones, by flies, wasps and Hornets, whereof the country notoriously aboundeth. And his bones, in full form and fashion, remained strangely black for a long while after, knit together by the sinews; as a witness to many thousands of people, which afterward beheld his carcase of his wickedness against so good and virtuous a woman, that had not so much as a thought of any evil towards him. And thus was the proverb truly verified, that shame succeedeth after ugly sin, and the deceiver is trampled and trod, by such as himself hath deceived.   

Pagammo da Monaco, a roving Pirate on the Seas, carried away the fair Wife of Signior Ricciardo di Chinzica, who understanding where she was▪ went thither; and falling into friendship with Pagamino, demanded his Wife of him; whereto he yielded, provided, that she would willingly go away with him. She denied to part thence with her Husband, and Signior Ricciardo dying; she became the Wife of Pagamino.  
The tenth novel.  
Wherein old men are wittily reprehended, that will match themselves with younger women, then is fit for their years and insufficiency; never considering, what afterward may happen to them.  
EVery one in this honest and gracious assembly, most highly commended the novel recounted by the Queen: but especially Dioneus, who remained, to finish that day's pleasure with his own discourse; and after many praises of the former tale were passed, thus he began. Fair Ladies, part of the Queen's novel, hath made an alteration of my mind, from that which I intended to proceed next withal, and therefore I will report another. I cannot forget the unmanly indiscretion of Bernardo, but much more the base arrogancy of Ambroginolo, how justly deserved shame fell upon him; as well it may happen to all other, that are so vile in their own opinions, as he apparently approved himself to be. For, as men wander abroad in the world, according to their occasions in diversity of Countries, and observation of the people's behaviour: so are their humours as variously transported. And if they find women wantonly disposed abroad, the like judgement they give of their wives at home; as if they had never known their birth and breeding, or made proof of their loyal carriage towards them. Wherefore, the Tale that I purpose to relate, will likewise condemn all the like kind of men; but more especially such, as suppose themselves to be endued with more strength, than Nature ever meant to bestow upon them, foolishly believing, that they can cover and satisfy their own defects, by fabulous demonstrations; and thinking to fashion other of their own complexions, that are merely strangers to such gross follies.  
Let me tell you then, that there lived in Pisa (about some hundred years before Tuscanie & Liguria came to embrace the Christian Faith) a judge better stored with wisdom and ingenuity, then corporal abilities of the body, ●e being named Signior Ricciardo di Cinzica. He being more than half persuaded, that he could content a woman with such satisfaction as he daily bestowed on his studies, being a widower, and extraordinarily wealthy; laboured (with no mean pains and endeavour) to enjoy a fair and youthful wife in marriage: both which qualities he should much rather have avoided, if he could have ministered as good counsel to him, as he did to others, resorting to him for advice.  
Upon this his amorous and diligent inquisition, it came so to pass, that a worthy Gentleman, called Bertolomea, one of the very fairest and choicest young maids in Pisa, whose youth did hardly agree with his age; but muck was the motive of this marriage, and no expectation of mutual contentment. The judge being married, and the Bride brought solemnly home to his house, we need make no question of brave cheer & banqueting, well furnished by their friends on either side: other matters were now hammering in the judge's head, for though he could please all his clients with counsel; yet now such a suit was commenced against himself, and in beauty's Court of continual requests, that the judge failing in plea for his own defence, was often nonsuited by lack of answer; yet he wanted neither good wines, drugs, and all restauratives, to comfort the heart, and increase good blood; but all availed not in this case.  
But well far a good courage, where performance faileth, he could liberally commend his passed jovial days, and make a promise of as fair felicities yet to come; because his youth would renew itself, like to the Eagle, and his vigour in as full force as before. But beside all these idle allegations, he would needs instruct his wife in an almanac or calendar, which (long before) he had bought at Ravenna, and wherein he plainly shown her, that there was not any one day in the year, but it was dedicated to some Saint or other. In reverence of whom, and for their sakes, he approved by diverse arguments & reasons, that a man & his wife ought to abstain from bedding together. Hereto he added, that those Saints days had their fasts & feasts, beside the four seasons of the year, the vigils of the Apostles, and a thousand other holy days, with Fridays, saturdays, & Sundays, in honour of our Lord's rest, and all the sacred time of Lent; as also certain observations of the moon, & infinite other exceptions beside; thinking perhaps, that it was as convenient for men to refrain from their wife's conversation, as he did often times from sitting in the Court. These were his daily documents to his young wife, wherewith with (poor soul) she became so tired, as nothing could be more irksome to her; and very careful she was, lest any other should teach her what belonged to working days, because he would have herknow none but holidays.  
Afterwards it came to pass, that the season waxing extremely hot, Signior Ricciardo would go recreate himself at his house in the country, near unto the black mountain, where for his fair wives more contentment, he continued diverse days together. And for her further recreation, he gave order, to have a day of fishing, he going aboard a small Pinnace among the Fishers, and she was in another, consorted with diverse other Gentlewomen, in whose company she shown herself very well pleased. Delight made them launch further into the Sea, then either the judge was willing they should have done, or agreed with respect of their own safety. For suddenly a Galliot came upon them, wherein was one Pagamino, a pirate very famous in those days, who espying the two Pinnaces, made out presently to them, and seized on that wherein the women were. When he beheld there so fair a young woman, he coveted after no other purchase; but mounting her into his Galliot, in the sight of Signior Ricciardo, who (by this time) was fearfully landed, he carried her away with him. When Signior judge had seen this theft (he being so jealous of his wife, as scarcely he would let the air breathe on her) it were a needless demand, to know whether he was offended, or no. He made complaint at Pisa, and in many other places beside, what injury he had sustained by those Pryrates, in carrying his wife thus away from him: but all was in vain, he neither (as yet) knew the man, nor whether he had conveyed her from him. Pagamino perceiving what a beautiful woman she was, made the more precious esteem of his purchase, and being himself a bachelor, intended to keep her as his own; comforting her with kind and pleasing speeches, not using any harsh or uncivil demeanour to her, because she wept and lamented grievously. But when night came, her husband's Calendar falling from her girdle, and all the fasts & feasts quite out of her remembrance; she received such courteous consolations from Pagamino, that before they could arrive at Monaco, the judge & his Law cases, were almost out of her memory, such was his affable behaviour to her, and she began to converse with him in more friendly manner, and he entreating her as honourably, as if she had been his espoused wife.  
Within a short while after, report had acquainted Ricciardo the judge, where, & how his wife was kept from him; whereupon he determined, not to send any one, but rather to go himself in person, & to redeem her from the pirate, with what sums of money he should demand. By Sea he passed to Monaco, where he saw his wife, and she him, as (soon after) she made known to Pagamino. On the morrow following, Signior Ricciardo meeting with Pagamino, made means to be acquainted with him, & within less than an hour's space, they grew into familiar & private conference: Pagamino yet pretending not to know him, but expected what issue this talk would sort to. When time served, the judge discoursed the occasion of his coming thither, desiring him to demand what ransom he pleased, & that he might have his wife home with him; whereto Pagamino thus answered.  
My Lord judge, you are welcome hither, and to answer you briefly very true it is, that I have a young Gentlewoman in my house, whom I neither know to be your wife, or any other man's else whatsoever: for I am ignorant both of you and her, albeit she hath remained a while here with me. If you be her husband, as you seem to avouch, I will bring her to you, for you appear to be a worthy Gentleman, and (questionless) she cannot choose but know you perfectly. If she do confirm that which you have said, and be willing to departed hence with you: I shall rest well satisfied, and will have no other recompense for her ransom (in regard of your grave and reverend years) but what yourself shall please to give me. But if it fall out otherwise, and prove not to be as you have affirmed: you shall offer me great wrong, in seeking to get her from me; because I am a young man, and can as well maintain so fair a wife, as you, or any man else that I know. Believe it certainly, replied the judge, that she is my wife, and if you please to bring me where she is, you shall soon perceive it: for, she will presently cast her arms about my neck, and I durst adventure the utter loss of her, if she deny to do it in your presence. Come on then, said Pagamino, and let us delay the time no longer.  
When they were entered into Pagaminoes' house, and sat down in the Hall, he caused her to be called, and she, being readily prepared for the purpose, came forth of her Chamber before them both, where friendly they sat conversing together; never uttering any one word to Signior Ricciardo, or knowing him from any other stranger, that Pagamino might bring in to the house with him. Which when my Lord the judge beheld, (who expected to find a fare more gracious welcome) he stood as a man amazed, saying to himself. Perhaps the extraordinary grief and melancholy, suffered by me since the time of her loss; hath so altered my wont complexion, that she is not able to take knowledge of me. Wherefore, going nearer to her, he said. Fair love, dear have I bought your going on fishing, because never man felt the like afflictions, as I have done since the day when I lost you: but by this your uncivil silence, you seem as if you did not know me. Why dearest love, seest thou not that I am thy husband Ricciardo, who am come to pay what ransom this Gentleman shall demand, even in the house where now we are: so to convey thee home again, upon his kind promise of thy deliverance, after the payment of thy ransom?  
Bertolomea turning towards him, and seeming as if she smiled to herself, thus answered. Sir, speak you to me? Advise yourself well, lest you mistake me for some other, because, concerning myself, I do not remember, that ever I did see you till now. How now quoth Ricciardo? consider better what you say, look more circumspectly on me, and then you will remember, that I am your loving husband, and my name is Ricciardo di Cinzica. You must pardon me Sir, replied Bertolomea, I know it not so fitting for a modest woman (though you (perhaps) are so persuaded) to stand gazing in the faces of men: and let me look upon you never so often, certain I am, that (till this instant) I have not seen you.  
My Lord judge conceived in his mind, that thus she denied all knowledge of him, as standing in fear of Pagamino, and would not confess him in his presence. Wherefore he entreated of Pagamino, to afford him so much favour, that he might speak alone with her in her Chamber. Pagamino answered, that he was well contented therewith, provided, that he should not kiss her against her will. Then he requested Bartolomea, to go with him alone into her Chamber, there to hear what he could say, and to answer him as she found occasion. When they were come into the Chamber, and none there present but he and she, Signior Ricciardo began in this manner. Heart of my heart, life of my life, the sweetest hope that I have in this world; wilt thou not know thine own Ricciardo, who loveth thee more than he doth himself? Why art thou so strange? Am I so disfigured, that thou knowest me not? Behold me with a more pleasing eye, I pray thee.  
Bertolomea smiled to herself, and without suffering him to proceed any further in speech, returned him this answer. I would have you to understand Sir, that my memory is not so oblivious, but I know you to be Signior Ricciardo di Cinzica, and my husband, by name or title; but during the time that I was with you, it very ill appeared that you had any knowledge of me. For if you had been so wise and considerate, as (in your own judgement) the world reputed you to be, you could not be void of so much apprehension, but did apparently perceive, that I was young, fresh, and cheerfully disposed; and so (by consequent) meet to know matters requisite for such young women, beside allowance of food & garments, though bashfulness & modesty forbidden to utter it. But if studying the laws were more welcome to you then a wife, you ought not to have married, & you lose the worthy reputation of a judge, when you fall from that venerable profession, and make yourself a common proclaimer of feasts and fasting days, lenten seasons, vigils, & solemnities due to Saints, which prohibit the household conversation of husbands and wives.  
Here am I now with a worthy Gentleman, that entertained me with very honourable respect, and here I live in this chamber, not so much as hearing of any feasts or fasting days; for, neither Fridays, Saturdays, vigils of Saints, or any linger Lents, enter at this door: but here is honest and civil conversation, better agreeing with a youthful disposition, than those harsh documents wherewith you tutored me. Wherefore my purpose is to continue here with him, as being a place suitable to my mind & youth, referring feasts, vigils, & fasting days, to a more mature & stayed time of age, when the body is better able to endure them, & the mind may be prepared for such ghostly meditations: depart therefore at your own pleasure, and make much of your calendar, without enjoying any company of mine, for you hear my resolved determination.  
The judge hearing these words, was overcome with exceeding grief, & when she was silent, thus he began. Alas dear love, what an answer is this? Hast thou no regard of thine own honour, thy Parents, & friends? Canst thou rather affect to abide here, for the pleasures of this man, and so sin capitally, then to live at Pisa in the state of my wife? Consider dear heart, when this man shall wax weary of thee, to thy shame & his own disgrace, he will reject thee. I must and shall love thee for ever, and when I dye, I leave thee Lady and commandress of all that is mine. Can an inordinate appetite, cause thee to be careless of thine honour, and of him that love's thee as his own life? Alas, my fairest hope, say no more so, but return home with me, and now that I am acquainted with thy inclination; I will endeavour hereafter to give thee better contentment. Wherefore (dear heart) do not deny me, but change thy mind, and go with me, for I never saw merry day since I lost thee.  
Sir (quoth she) I desire no body to have care of mine honour, beside myself, because it cannot be here abused. And as for my parents, what respect had they of me, when they made me your wife: If then they could be so careless of me, what reason have I to regard them now? And whereas you tax me, that I cannot live here without capital sin; fare is the thought thereof from me, for, here I am regarded as the wife of Pagamino, but at Pisa, you reputed me not worthy your society: because, by the point of the moon, and the quadratures of Geomatrie; the Planets held conjunction between you and me, whereas here I am subject to no such constellations. You say beside, that hereafter you will strive to give me better contentment than you have done; surely, in mine opinion it is no way possible, because our complexions are so fare different, as Ice is from fire, or gold from dross. As for your allegation, of this gentleman's rejecting me, when his humour is satisfied; should if it prove to be so (as it is the least part of my fear) what fortune soever shall betide me, never will I make any means to you, what miseries or misadventures may happen to me; but the world will afford me one resting place or other, and more to my contentment, then if I were with you. Therefore I tell you once again, to live secured from all offence to holy Saints, and not to injury their feasts, fasts, vigils, and other ceremonious seasons: here is my demourance, and from hence I purpose not to part.  
Our judge was now in a woeful perplexity, and confessing his folly, in marrying a wife so young, and far unfit for his age and ability: being half desperate, sad and displeased, he came forth of the Chamber, using diverse speeches to Pagamino, whereof he made little or no account at all, and in the end, without any other success, left his wife there, & returned home to Pisa. There, further afflictions fell upon him, because the people began to scorn him, demanding daily of him, what was become of his gallant young wife, making homes, with ridiculous pointings at him: whereby his senses became distracted, so that he ran raving about the streets, and afterward died in very miserable manner. Which news came no sooner to the ear of Pagamino, but, in the honourable affection he bore to Bertolomea, he married her, with great solemnity; banishing all Fasts, Vigils, and Lents from his house, and living with her in much felicity. Wherefore (fair Ladies) I am of opinion, that Bernardo of Geneway, in his disputation with Ambroginolo, might have shown himself a great deal wiser, and spared his rash proceeding with his wife.  
This tale was so merrily entertained among the whole company, that each one smiling upon another, with one consent commended Dioneus, maintaining that he spoke nothing but the truth, & condemning Bernardo for his cruelty. Upon a general silence commanded, the Queen perceiving that the time was now very fare spent, and every one had delivered their several novels, which likewise gave a period to her Royalty: she gave the crown to Madam Neiphila, pleasantly speaking to her in this order. Hereafter, the government of these few people is committed to your trust and care, for with the day concludeth my dominion. Madam Neiphila, blushing at the honour done unto her, her cheeks appeared of a vermilion tincture, her eyes glittering with graceful desires, and sparkling like the morning star. And after the modest murmur of the Assistants was ceased, and her courage in cheerful manner settled, seating herself higher than she did before, thus she spoke.  
Seeing it is so, that you have elected me your Queen, to vary somewhat from the course observed by them that went before me, whose government you have all so much commended: by approbation of your counsel, I am desirous to speak my mind, concerning what I would have to be next followed. It is not unknown to you all, that to morrow shall be Friday, and Saturday the next day following, which are days somewhat molestuous to the most part of men, for preparation of their weekly food & sustenance. Moreover, Friday ought to be reverendly respected, in remembrance of him, who died to give us life, and endured his bitter passion, as on that day; which makes me to hold it fit and expedient, that we should mind more weighty matters, and rather attend our prayers & devotions, than the repetition of tales or novels. Now concerning Saturday, it hath been a custom observed among women, to bathe & wash themselves from such immundicities as the former weeks to isle hath imposed on them. Beside, it is a day of fasting, in honour of the ensuing Sabath, whereon no labour may be done, but the observation of holy exercises.  
By that which hath been said, you may easily conceive, that the course which we have hitherto continued, cannot be prosecuted, in one and the same manner: wherefore, I would advice and do hold it an action well performed by us, to cease for these few days, from recounting any other novels. And because we have remained here four days already, except we would allow the enlarging of our company, with some other friends that may resort unto us: I think it necessary to remove from hence, & take our pleasure in another place, which is already by me determined. When we shallbe there assembled, and have slept on the discourses formerly delivered, let our next argument be still the mutabilities of Fortune, but especially to concern such persons, as by their wit and ingenuity, industriously have attained to some matter earnestly desired, or else recovered again, after the loss. Hereon let us severally study and premeditate, that the hearers may receive benefit thereby, with the comfortable maintenance of our harmless recreations; the privilege of Dioneus always reserved to himself.  
Every one commended the Queen's deliberation, concluding that it should be accordingly prosecuted: and thereupon, the master of the household was called, to give him order for that evenings' Table service, and what else concerned the time of the Queen's Royalty, wherein he was sufficiently instructed: which being done, the company arose, licensing every one to do what they listed. The Ladies and Gentlemen walked to the Garden, and having sported themselves there a while; when the hour of supper came, they sat down, and fared very daintily. Being risen from the Table, according to the Queen's command, Madam Aemilia led the dance, and the ditty following, was sung by Madam Pampinea, being answered by all the rest, as a Chorus.  

The Song.  

And if not I, what Lady else can sing,  
Of those delights, which kind contentment bring?  
Come, come, sweet love, the cause of my chief good,  
Of all my hopes, the firm and full effect;  
Sing we together, but in no sad mood,  
Of sighs or tears, which joy doth countercheck:  
Stolen pleasures are delightful in the taste,  
But yet love's fire is often times too fierce;  
Consuming comfort with ore-speedy haste,  
Which into gentle hearts too far doth pierce.  
And if not I, etc.   

The first day that I felt this fiery heat,  
So sweet a passion did possess my soul,  
That though I found the torment sharp, and great;  
Yet still me thought it was but a sweet control.  
Nor could I count it rude, or rigorous,  
Taking my wound from such a piercing eye:  
As made the pain most pleasing, gracious,  
That I desire in such assaults to die.  
And if not I, etc.   

Grant then great God of love, that I may still  
Enjoy the benefit of my desire;  
And honour her with all my deepest skill,  
That first inflame my heart with holy fire.  
To her my bondage is free liberty,  
My sickness health, my tortures sweet repose;  
Say she the word, in full felicity,  
All my extremes join in an happy close.  
Then if not I, what lover else can sing,  
Of those delights which kind contentment bring.    
After this Song was ended, they sung diverse other beside, and having great variety of instruments, they parted to them as many pleasing dances. But the Queen considering that the meet hour for rest was come, with their lighted Torches before them they all repaired to their Chambers; sparing the other days next succeeding, for those reasons by the Queen alleged, and spending the Sunday in solemn devotion.    
The end of the second Day.   

The Third Day.  
Upon which Day, all matters to be discoursed on, do pass under the regiment of Madam Neiphila: concerning such persons as (by their wit and industry) have attained to their long wished desires, or recovered something, supposed to be lost.  

The Induction to the ensuing Discourses.  
THE morning put on a vermilion countenance, and made the sun to rise blushing red, when the Queen (and all the fair company) were come abroad forth of their Chambers; the seneschal or great Master of the household, having (long before) sent all things necessary to the place of their next intended meeting. And the people which prepared there every needful matter, suddenly when they saw the Queen was setting forward, charged all the rest of their followers, as if it had been preparation for a camp; to make hast away with the carriages, the rest of the family remaining behind, to attend upon the Ladies and Gentlemen.  
With a mild, majestic, and gentle peace, the Queen road on, being followed by the other Ladies, and the three young Gentlemen, taking their way towards the West; conducted by the musical notes of sweet singing Nightingales, and infinite other pretty Birds beside, riding in a tract not much frequented, but richly abounding with fair herbs and flowers, which by reason of the sun's high mounting, began to open their bosom, and fill the fresh air with their odorifferous perfumes. Before they had traveled two small miles distance, all of them pleasantly conversing together; they arrived at another goodly Palace, which being somewhat mounted above the plain, was seated on the side of a little rising hill.  
When they were entered there into, and had seen the great Hall, the parlours, and beautiful Chambers, every one stupendiously furnished, with all convenient commodities to them belonging, and nothing wanting, that could be desired; they highly commended it, reputing the Lord thereof for a most worthy man, that had adorned it in such Princely manner. Afterward, being descended lower, and noting the most spacious and pleasant Court, the Sellars stored with the choicest Wines, and delicate Springs of water every where running, their praises then exceeded more and more. And being weary with beholding such variety of pleasures, they sat down in a fair Gallery, which took the view of the whole Court, it being round engirt with trees and flowers, whereof the season than yielded great plenty. And then came the discreet Master of the household, with diverse servants attending on him, presenting with Comfits, and other banqueting, as also very singular Wines, to serve in stead of a breakfast.  
Having thus reposed themselves a while, a Garden gate was set open to them, coasting on one side of the palace, and round enclosed with high mounted walls. Whereinto when they were entered, they found it to be a most beautiful Garden, stored with all varieties that possibly could be devised; and therefore they observed it the more respectiuley. The walks and allies were long and spacious, yet directly straight as an arrow, environed with spreading vines, whereon the grapes hung in copious clusters; which being come to their full ripeness, gave so rare a smell throughout the Garden, with other sweet savours intermixed among, that they supposed to feel the fresh spiceries of the East.  
It would require large length of time, to describe all the rarities of this place, deserving much more to be commended, than my best faculties will afford me. In the midst of the Garden, was a square plot, after the resemblance of a Meadow, flourishing with high grass, herbs, and plants, beside a thousand diversities of flowers, even as if by the art of painting they had been there deputed. Round was it circkled with very verdant Orange and Cedar Trees, their branches plenteously stored with fruit both old and new, as also the flowers growing freshly among them, yielding not only a rare aspect to the eye, but also a delicate savour to the smell.  
In the midst of this Meadow, stood a fountain of white Marble, whereon was engraven most admirable workmanship, and within it (I know not whether it were by a natural vein, or artificial) flowing from a figure, standing on a Collomne in the midst of the fountain, such abundance of water, and so mounting up towards the Skies, that it was a wonder to behold. For after the high ascent, it fell down again into the womb of the fountain, with such a noise and pleasing murmur, as the stream that glideth from a mill. When the receptacle of the fountain did overflow the bounds, it streamed along the Meadow, by secret passages and channels, very fair and artificially made, returning again into every part of the Meadow, by the like ways of cunning conveyance, which allowed it full course into the Garden, running swiftly thence down towards the plain; but before it came thither, the very swift current of the stream, did drive two goodly Milles, which brought in great benefit to the Lord of the soil.  
The sight of this Garden, the goodly grafts, plants, trees, herbs, fruitages, and flowers, the Springs, fountains, and pretty rivulets streaming from it, so highly pleased the Ladies and Gentlemen▪ that among other infinite commendations, they spared not to say: if any Paradise remained on the earth to be seen, it could not possibly be in any other place, but only was contained within the compass of this Garden. With no mean pleasure and delight they walked round about it, making Chaplets of flowers, and other fair branches of the trees, continually hearing the Birds in melodious notes, echoing and warbling one to another, even as if they envied each others felicities.  
But yet another beauty (which before had not presented itself unto them) on a sudden they perceived; namely diverse pretty creatures in many parts of the Gardens. In one place coneys tripping about; in another place Hares; in a third part Goats browsing on the herbs, & little young hinds feeding every where: yet without strife or warring together, but rather living in such a domestic and pleasing kind of company, even as if they were apppointed to enstruct the most noble of all creatures, to imitate their sociable conversation.  
When their senses had sufficiently banqueted on these several beauties, the tables were suddenly prepared about the fountain, where first they sung six Canzonets; and having paced two or three dances, they sat down to dinner, according as the Queen ordained, being served in very sumptuous manner, with all kind of costly and delicate viands, yet not any babbling noise among them. The Tables being withdrawn, they played again upon their instruments, singing and dancing gracefully together: till, in regard of the extreme heat, the Queen commanded to give over, and permitted such as were so pleased, to take their ease and rest. But some, as not satisfied with the places pleasures, gave themselves to walking: others fell to reading the lives of the Romans; some to the chess, and the rest to other recreations.  
But, after the day's warmth was more mildly qualified, and every one had made benefit of their best content: they went (by order sent from the Queen) into the Meadow where the fountain stood, and being set about it, as they used to do in telling their Tales (the argument appointed by the Queen being propounded) the first that had the charge imposed, was Philostratus, who began in this manner.  

Massetto di Lamporechio, by counterfeiting himself to be dumb, became a gardener in a Monastery of nuns, where he had familiar conversation with them all.  
The first novel.  
Wherein is declared, that virginity is very hardly to be kept, in all places.  
MOst worthy Ladies, there wants no store of men and women, that are so simple, as to credit for a certainty, that so soon as a young virgin hath the veil pnt on her head (after it is once shorn and filletted) & the black Cowle given to cover her withal: she is no longer a woman, nor more sensible of feminine affections, then as if in turning Nun, she became converted to a stone. And if (perchance) they heard some matters, contrary to their former settled persuasion; then they grow so furiously offended, as if one had committed a most foul and enormous sin, directly against the course of nature. And the torrent of this opinion hurries them on so violently, that they will not admit the least leisure to consider, how (in such a full scope of liberty, they have power to do what they list, yea beyond all means of sufficient satisfying; never ramembring withal, how potent the privilege of idleness is, especially when it is backed by solitude.  
In like manner, there are other people now, who do verily believe, that the Spade and Pickaxe, gross feeding and labour, do quench all sensual and fleshly concupiscences, yea, in such as till and husband the grounds, by making them dull, blockish, and (almost) mere senseless of understanding. But I will approve (according as the Queen hath commanded me, and within the compass of her direction) and make it apparent to you all, by a short and pleasant Tale; how greatly they are abused by error, that build upon so weak a foundation.  
Not far from Alexandria, there was (and yet is) a great & goodly Monastery, belonging to the Lord of those parts, who is termed the Admiral. And therein, under the care and trust of one woman, diverse virgins were kept as recluses or nuns, vowed to chastity of life; out of whose number, the sultan of Babylon (under whom they lived in subjection) at every three year's end, had usually three of these virgins sent him. At the time whereof I am now to speak, there remained in the Monastery, no more but eight religious Sisters only, beside the governess or Lady abbess, and an honest poor man, who was a gardener, and kept the garden in commendable order.  
His wages being small, and he not well contented therewith, would serve there no longer: but making his accounts even, with the Factotum or bailiff belonging to the house, returned thence to the village of Lamporechio, being a nature of the place. Among many other that gave him welcome home, was a young Hebrew peasant of the country, sturdy, strong, and yet comely of person, being named Masset. But because he was born not fare off from Lamporechio, and had there been brought up all his younger days, his name of Masset (according to their vulgar speech) was turned to Massetto, and therefore he was usually called and known, by the name of Massetto of Lamporechio.  
Massetto, falling in talk with the honest poor man, whose name was Lurco, demanded of him what services he had done in the monastery, having continued there so long a time? Quoth Lurco I laboured in the Garden, which is very fair and great; then I went to the Forest to fetch home wood, and cloven it for their Chamber fuel, drawing up all their water beside, with many other toilesom services else: but the allowance of my wages was so little, as it would not pay for the shoes I wore. And that which was worst of all, they being all young women, I think the devil dwells among them, for a man cannot do any thing to please them. When I have been busy at my work in the Garden, one would come & say, Put this here, put that there; and others would take the dibble out of my hand, telling me, that I did not perform any thing well, making me so weary of their continual trifling, as I have left all business, gave over the Garden, and what for one molestation, as also many other; I intended to tarry no longer there, but came away, as thou seest. And yet the Factotum desired me at my departing, that if I knew any one, who would undertake the aforesaid labours, I should send him thither, as (indeed) I promised to do: but let me fall sick and dye, before I help to send them any.  
When Massetto had heard the words of Lurco, he was so desirous to dwell among the nuns, that nothing else now hammered in his head: for he meant more subtly, then poor Lurco did, and made no doubt, to please them sufficiently. Then considering with himself, how best he might bring his intent to effect; which appeared not easily to be done, he could question no further therein with Lurco, but only demanded other matters of him, and among them said. Introth thou didst well Lurco, to come away from so tedious a dwelling; had he not need to be more than a man that is to live with such women? It were better for him to dwell among so many devils, because they understand not the tenth part that women's wily wits can dive into.  
After their conference was ended, Massetto began to beat his brains, how he might compass to dwell among them, & knowing that he could well enough perform all the labours, whereof Lurco had made mention: he cared not for any loss he should sustain thereby: but only stood in doubt of his entertainment, because he was too young and sprightly. Having pondered on many imaginations, he said to himself. The place is fare enough distant hence, and none there can take knowledge of me; if I have wit sufficient, cleanly to make them believe that I am dumb, then (questionless) I shall be received. And resolving to prosecute this determination, he took a Spade on his shoulder, and without revealing to any body, whether he went, in the disguise of a poor labouring countryman, he traveled to the Monastery.  
When he was there arrived, he found the great gate open, and entering in boldly, it was his good hap to espy the factotum in the court, according as Lurco had given description of him. Making signs before him, as if he were both dumb and deaf; he manifested, that he craved an alms for God's sake, making shows beside, that if need required, he could cleave wood, or do any reasonable kind of service. The factotum gladly gave him food, and afterward shown him diverse knotty logs of wood, which the weak strength of Lurco had left uncloven; but this fellow being more active and lusty, quickly rend them all to pieces. Now it so fell out, that the factotum must needs go to the forest, and took Massetto along with him thither: where causing him to fell diverse Trees, by signs he bade him to lad the two Asses therewith, which commonly carried home all the wood, and so drive them to the monastery before him, which Massetto knew well enough how to do, and performed it very effectually.  
Many other servile offices were there to be done, which caused the factotum, to make use of his pains diverse other days beside: in which time, the Lady abbess chancing to see him, demanded of the factotum what he was? Madam (quoth he) a poor labouring man, who is both deaf and dumb: hither he came to crave an alms the other day, which in charity I could do no less but give him; for which he hath done many honest services about the house. It seems beside, that he hath some pretty skill in Gardening, so that if I can persuade him to continue here, I make no question of his able services: for the old silly man is gone, and we have need of such a stout fellow, to do the business belonging unto the Monastery, and one fit for the turn, comes seldom hither. Moreover, in regard of his double imperfections, the Sisters can sustain no impeachment by him. Whereto the abbess answered, saying; By the faith of my body, you speak but the truth: understand then, if he have any knowledge in Gardening, and whether he will dwell here, or no: which compass so kindly as you can. Let him have a new pair of shoes, fill his belly daily full of meat, flatter, and make much of him, for we shall find him work enough to do. All which, the factotum promised to fulfil sufficiently.  
Massetto, who was not fare off from them all this while, but seemed seriously busied, about sweeping and making clean the Court, heard all these speeches; and being not a little joyful of them, said to himself. If once I come to work in your Garden, let the proof yield praise of my skill and knowledge. When the factotum perceived, that he knew perfectly how to undergo his business, and had questioned him by signs, concerning his willingness to serve there still, and received the like answer also, of his dutiful readiness thereto; he gave him order, to work in the Garden, because the season did now require it; and to leave all other affairs for the Monastery, attending now only the Gardens preparation.  
As Massetto was thus about his Garden employment, the nuns began to resort thither, and thinking the man to be dumb and deaf indeed, were the more lavish of their language, mocking and flouting him very immodestly, as being persuaded, that he heard them not. And the Lady abbess, thinking he might as well be an Eunuch, as deprived both of hearing and speaking, stood the less in fear of the sister's wal●s, but referred them to their own care and providence. On a day, Massetto having laboured somewhat extraordinarily, lay down to rest himself awhile under the trees, and two delicate young nuns, walking there to take the air, drew near to the place where he dissembled sleeping; and both of them observing his comeliness of person, began to pity the poverty of his condition, but much more the misery of his great defects. Then one of them, who had a little livelier spirit than the other, thinking Massetto to be fast asleep, began in this manner.  
Sister (quoth she) if I were faithfully assured of thy secrecy, 
Example, at least excuses form to that intent, prevaileth much with such kind of religious women.  I would tell thee a thing which I have often thought on, and it may (perhaps) redound to thy profit. Sister, replied the other Nun, speak your mind boldly, and believe it (on my maidenhead) that I will never reveal it to any creature living. Encoraged by this solemn answer, the first Nun thus prosecuted her former purpose, saying. I know not Sister, whether it hath entered into thine understanding or no, how strictly we are here kept and attended, never any man daring to adventure among us, except our good and honest factotum, who is very aged; and this dumb fellow, maimed, and made imperfect by nature, and therefore not worthy the title of a man. Ah Sister, it hath of ten-times been told me, by gentlewomen coming hither to visit us, that all other sweets in the world, are mere mockeries, to the incomparable pleasures of man and woman, of which we are barred by our unkind parents, binding us to perpetual chastity, which they were never able to observe themselves.  
A Sister of this house once told me, that before her turn came to be sent to the sultan, she fell in frailty, with a man that was both lame and blind, and discovering the same to her Ghostly Father in confession; he absolved her of that sin; affirming, that she had not transgressed with a man, because he wanted his rational and understanding parts. Behold Sister, here lies a creature, almost form in the selfsame mould, dumb and deaf, which are two the most rational and understanding parts that do belong to any man, and therefore no Man, wanting them. If folly & frailty should be committed with him (as many times since he came hither it hath run in my mind) he is by Nature, sworn to such secrecy, that he cannot (if he would) be a blab thereof. Beside, the laws and constitutions of our Religion doth teach us, that a sin so assuredly concealed, is more than half absolved.  
Aue Maria Sister (said the other nun) what kind of words are these you utter? Do not you know, that we have promised our virginity to God? Oh Sister (answered the other) how many things are promised to him every day, and not one of a thousand kept or performed? If we have made him such a promise, and some of our weaker witted Sisters do perform it for us, no doubt but he will accept it in part of payment. Yea but Sister, replied the second nun again, there is another danger lying in our way: If we prove to be with child, how shall we do then? Sister (quoth our courageous Wench) thou art afraid of a harm, before it happen, if it come so to pass, let us consider on it then: thou art but a novice in matters of such moment, and we are provided of a thousand means, whereby to prevent conception. Or, if they should fail, we are so surely fitted, that the world shall never know it: let it suffice, our lives must not be (by any) so much as suspected, our monastery questioned, or our Religion rashly scandalised. Thus she schooled her younger Sister in wit, albeit as forward as she in will, and longed as desirously, to know what kind a creature a man was.  
After some other questions, how this intention of theirs might be safely brought to full effect: the sprightly nun, that had wit at will, thus answered. You see Sister (quoth she) it is now the hour of midday, when all the rest of our Sisterhood are quiet in their Chambers, because we are then allowed to sleep, for our earlier rising to morning matins. Here are none in the Garden now but ourselves, and, while I awake him, be you the watch, and afterward follow me in my fortune, for I will valiantly lead you the way. Massetto imitating a dog's sleep, hea●d all this conspiracy intended against him, and longed as earnestly, till she came to awake him. Which being done, he seeming very simply sottish, and she cheering him with flattering behaviour: into the close Arbour they went, which the sun's bright eye could not pierce into, and there I leave it to the nuns own approbation, whether Massetto was a man rational, or no. Ill deeds require longer time to contrive, than act, and both the nuns, having been with Massetto at this new form of confession, were enjoined (by him) an easy and silent penance, as brought them the oftener to shrift, and made him to prove a perfect confessor.  
Desires obtained, but not fully satisfied, do commonly urge more frequent access, than wisdom thinks expedient, or can continue without discovery. Our two jovial nuns, not a little proud of their private stolen pleasures, so long resorted to the close Arbour; till an other Sister, who had often observed their haunt thither, by means of a little hole in her window; that she began to suspect them with Massetto, and imparted the same to two other Sisters, all three concluding, to accuse them before the Lady abbess. But upon a further conference had with the offenders, they changed opinion, took the same oath as the fore-woman had done, and because they would be free from any taxation at all: they revealed their adventures to the other three ignorants, and so fell all eight into one formal confederacy, but by good and wary observation, lest the abbess herself should descry them; finding poor Massetto such plenty of garden-work, as made him very doubtful in pleasing them all.  
It came to pass in the end, that the Lady abbess, who all this while imagined no such matter, walking all alone in the Garden on a day, found Massetto sleeping under an Almond tree, having then very little business to do, because he had wrought hard all the night before. She observed him to be an handsome man, young, lusty, well limbde, and proportioned, having a merciful commisseration of his dumbness and deafness, being persuaded also in like manner, that if he were an Eunuch too, he deserved a thousand times the more to be pitied. The season was exceeding hot, and he lay down so carelessly to sleep, that something was noted, wherein she intended to be better resolved, almost falling sick of the other nun's disease. Having awaked him, she commanded him (by signs) that he should follow her to her chamber, where he was kep● close so long, that the nuns grew offended, because the Gardener came not to his daily labour.  
Well may you imagine that Massetto was no misse-proud man now, to be thus advanced from the Garden to the Chamber, and by no worse woman, than the Lady abbess herself, what signs, shows, or what language he speaks there, I am not able to express; only it appeared that his behaviour pleased her so well, as it procured his daily repairing thither; and acquainted her with such familiar conversation, as she would have condemned in the Nuns her daughters, but that they were wise enough to keep it from her. Now began Massetto to consider with himself, that he had undertaken a task belonging to great Hercules, in giving content meant to so many, and by continuing dumb in this manner, it would redound to his no mean detriment. Whereupon, as he was one night sitting by the abbess, the string that restrained his tongue from speech, broke on a sudden, and thus he spoke.  
Madam, I have often heard it said, that one cock may do service to ten several hens, but ten men can (very hardly) even with all their best endeavour, give full satisfaction every way to one woman; and yet I am tied to content mine, which is fare beyond the compass of my power to do. Already have I performed so much Garden and chamber-work, that I confess myself stark tired, and can travail no further; and therefore let me entreat you to lysence my departure hence, or find some means for my better ease. The abbess hearing him speak, who had so long served there dumb; being stricken into admiration, and accounting it almost a miracle, said. How cometh this to pass? I verily believed thee to be dumb. Madam (quoth Massetto) so I was indeed, but not by Nature; only I had a long linger sickness, which bereft me of speech, and which I have not only recovered again this night, but shall ever remain thankful to you for it.  
The abbess verily credited his answer, demanding what he meant, in saying, that he did service to nine? Madam, quoth he, this were a dangerous question, and not easily answered before all the eight Sisters. Upon this reply, the abbess plainly perceived, that not only she had fallen into folly, but all the nuns likewise cried guilty too: wherefore being a woman of sound discretion, she would not grant that Massetto should departed, but to keep him still about the nun's business, because the Monastery should not be scandalised by him. And the factotum being dead a little before, his strange recovery of speech revealed, and some things else more nearly concerning them: by general consent, & with the good liking of Massetto, he was created the factotum of the monastery.  
All the neighbouring people dwelling thereabout, who knew Masetto to be dumb, by fetching home wood daily from the forest, and diverse employments in other places; were made to believe that by the nuns devout prayers and discipline, as also the merits of the Saint, in whose honour the Monastery was built and erected, Massetto had his long restrained speech restored, and was now become their sole factotum, having power now to employ others in drudgeries, and ease himself of all such labours. And albeit he make the nuns to be fruitful, by increasing some store of younger Sisters; yet all matters were so close & cleanly carried, as it was never talked of, till after the death of the Lady abbess, when Massetto began to grow in good years, and desired, to return home to his native abiding, which (within a while after) was granted him.  
Thus Massetto, being rich and old, returned home like a wealthy Father, taking no care for the nursing of his children, but bequeathed them to the place where they were bred and born, having (by his wit and ingenious apprehension) made such a benefit of his youthful years, that now he merrily took ease in his age.   

A equerry of the Stable, belonging to Agilulffo; King of the Lombard's, found the means of access to the Queen's bed, without any knowledge or consent in her. This being secretly discovered by the King, and the party known, he gau him a mark, by shearing the hair of his head. Whereupon, he that was so shorn, sheared likewise the heads of all his fellows in the lodging, and so escaped the punishment intended towards him.  
The second novel.  
Wherein is signified, the providence of a wise man, when he shall have reason to use revenge. And the cunning means of another, when he compasseth means to defend himself from peril.  
WHen the novel of Philostratus was concluded, which made some of the Ladies blush, and the rest to smile: it pleased the Queen, that Madam Pampinea should follow next, to second the other gone before; when she, smiling on the whole assembly, began thus. There are some men so shallow of capacity, that they will (nevertheless) make show of knowing and understanding such things, as neither they are able to do, nor appertain to them: whereby they will sometimes reprehend other men's errors, and such faults as they have unwillingly committed, thinking thereby to hide their own shame, when they make it much more apparent and manifest. For proof whereof, fair company, in a contrary kind I will show you the subtle cunning of one, who (perhaps) might be reputed of less reckoning then Massetto; and yet he went beyond a King, that thought himself to be a much wiser man.  
Agilalffo, King of Lombardie, according as his predecessors had done before him, made the principal seat of his kingdom, in the city of Pavia, having embraced in marriage, Tendelinga, the late left widow of Vetario, who likewise had been King of the Lombard's; a most beautiful, wise and virtuous Lady, but made unfortunate by a mischance. The occurrences and estate of the whole realm, being in an honourable, quiet and well settled condition, by the discreet care and providence of the King; a Querrie appertaining to the Queen's Stable of Horse, being a man but of mean and low quality, though comely of person, and of equal stature to the King; became immeasurably amorous of the Queen. And because his base and servile condition, had endued him with so much understanding, as to know infallibly, that his affection was mounted, beyond the compass of conveniency: wisely he concealed it to himself, not acquainting any one therewith, or daring so much, as to discover it either by looks, or any other affectionate behaviour.  
And although he lived utterly hopeless, of ever attaining to his hearts desires; yet notwithstanding, he proudly gloried, that his love had soared so high a pitch, as to be enamoured of a Queen. And daily, as the fury of his flame increased; so his carriage was fare above his fellows and companions, in the performing of all such serviceable duties, as any way he imagined might content the Queen. Whereon ensued, that whensoever she road abroad to take the air, she used oftener to mount on the Horse, which this Querrie brought when she made her choice, than any of the other that were led by his fellows. And this did he esteem as no mean happiness to him, to order the stirrup for her mounting, and therefore gave daily his due attendance: so that, to touch the stirrup, but (much more) to put her foot into it, or touch any part of her garments, he thought it the only heaven on earth.  
But, as we see it oftentimes come to pass, that by how much the lower hope declineth, so much the higher love ascendeth; even so fell it out with this poor equerry; for, most irksome was it to him, to endure the heavy weight of his continual oppressions, not having any hope at all of the very lest mitigation. And being utterly unable to relinquish his love diverse times he resolved on some desperate conclusion, which might yet give the world an evident testimony, that he died for the love he bore to the Queen. And upon this determination, he grounded the success of his future fortune, to dye in compassing some part of his desire, without either speaking to the Queen, or sending any missive of his love; for to speak or write, were merely in vain, and drew on a worse consequence than death, which he could bestow on himself more easily, and when he listed.  
No other course now beleagers his brains, but only for secret access to the Queen's bed, and how he might get entrance into her Chamber, under colour of the King, who (as he knew very well) slept many nights together from the Queen. Wherefore, to see in what manner, & what the usual habit was of the King, when he came to keep company with his Queen: he hide himself diverse nights in a Gallery, which was between both their lodging Chambers. At length, he saw the King come forth of his Chamber, himself all alone, with a fair night-mantle wrapped about him, carrying a lighted Taper in the one hand, and a small white Wand in the other, so went he on to the Queen's lodging; and knocking at the door once or twice with the wand, and not using any word, the door opened, the light was left without, and he entered the Chamber, where he stayed not long, before his returning back again, which likewise very diligently he observed.  
So familiar was he in the Wardrobe, by often fetching and returning the King and Queen's furnitures; that the fellow to the same Mantle, which the King wore when he went to the Queen, very secretly he conveyed away thence with him, being provided of a Light, and the very like Wand. Now bestows he costly bathe on his body, that the least sent of the Stable might not be felt about him; and finding a time suitable to his desire, when he knew the King to be at rest in his own Lodging, and all else sleeping in their beds; closely he steals into the Gallery, where alighting his Taper, with Tinder purposely brought thither, the Mantle folded about him, and the Wand in his hand, valiantly he adventures upon his life's peril. Twice he knocked softly at the door, which a waiting woman immediately opened, and receiving the Light, went forth into the Gallery, while the supposed King, was conversing with the Queen.  
Alas good Queen, here is sin committed, without any guilty thought in thee, as (within a while after) it plainly appeared. For, the equerry having compassed what he most covered, and fearing to forfeit his life by delay, when his amorous desire was indifferently satisfied: returned back as he came, the sleepy waiting woman not so much as looking on him, but rather glad, that she might get her to rest again. Scarcely was the Querrie stepped into his bed, unheard or discerned by any of his fellows, diverse of them lodging both in that and the next Chamber: but it pleased the King to visit the Queen, according to his wont manner, to the no little marvel of the drowsy waiting woman, who was never twice troubled in a night before. The King being in bed, whereas always till then, his resort to the Queen, was altogether in sadness and melancholy, both coming and departing without speaking one word: now his majesty was become more pleasantly disposed, whereat the Queen began not a little to marvel. Now trust me Sir, quoth she, this hath been a long wished, and now most welcome alteration, vouch-safing twice in a night to visit me, and both within the compass of one hour; for it cannot be much more, since your being here, and now coming again.  
The King hearing these words, suddenly presumed, that by some counterfeit person or other, the Queen had been this night beguiled: wherefore (very advisedly) he considered, that in regard the party was unknown to her, and all the women about her; to make no outward appearance of knowing it, but rather concealed it to himself. Fare from the indiscretion of some harebrained men, who presently would have answered and sworn; I came not hither this night, till now. Whereupon many dangers might ensue, to the dishonour and prejudice of the Queen; beside, her error being discovered to her, might afterward be an occasion, to urge a wand'ring in her appetite, and to covet after change again. But by this silence, no shame redounded to him or her, whereas prating, must needs be the publisher of open infamy: yet was he much vexed in his mind, which neither by looks or words he would discover, but pleasantly said to the Queen. Why madam, although I was once here before to night, I hope you mislike not my second seeing you, nor if I should please to come again. No truly Sir, quoth she, I only desire you to have care of your health. Well, said the King, I will follow your counsel, and now return to mine own lodging again, committing my Queen to her good rest.  
His blood boiling with rage and distemper, by such a monstrous injury offered him; he wrapped his night-mantle about him, and leaving his Chamber, imagining, that whatsoever he was, needs he must be one of his own house: he took a light in his hand, and conveyed it into a little lantern, purposing to be resolved in his suspicion. No guests or strangers were now in his Court, but only such as belonged to his household, who lodged altogether about the Escurie and Stables, being there appointed to diverse beds. Now, this was his conceit, that whosoever had been so lately familiar with the Queen, his heart and pulse could (as yet) be hardly at rest, but rather would be troubled with apparent agitation, as discovering the guilt of so great an offender. Many Chambers had he passed thorough, where all were sound sleeping, and yet he felt both their breasts and pulses.  
At last he came to the lodging of the man indeed, that had so impudently usurped his place, who could not as yet sleep, for joy of his achieved adventure. When he espied the King come in, knowing well the occasion of his search, he began to wax very doubtful, so that his heart and pulse beating extremely, he felt a further addition of fear, as being confidently persuaded, that there was now no other way but death, especially if the King discovered his agony. And although many considerations were in his brain, yet because he saw that the King was unarmed, his best refuge was, to make show of sleep, in expectation what the King intended to do. Among them all he had sought, yet could not find any likelihood, whereby to gather a grounded probability; until he came to this equerry, whose heart and pulses laboured so sternly, that he said to himself; yea marry, this is the man that did the deed.  
Nevertheless, purposing to make no appearance of his further intention, he did nothing else to him, but drawing forth a pair of shears, which purposely he brought thither with him, he clipped away a part of his locks, which (in those times) they used to wear very long, to the end that he might the better know him the next morning, and so returned back to his lodging again. The equerry, who partly saw, but felt what was done to him; perceived plainly (being a subtle ingenious fellow) for what intent he was thus marked. Wherefore, without any longer dallying, up he rose, and taking a pair of shears, wherewith they used to trim their Horses; softly he went from bed to bed, where they all lay yet sound sleeping, and clipped away each man's lock from his right ear, in the self same manner as the King had done his, and being not perceived by any one of them, quietly he laid him down again.  
In the morning, when the King was risen, he gave command that before the palace gates were opened, all his whole Family should come before him, as instantly his will was fulfilled. Standing all uncovered in his presence, he began to consider with himself, which of them was the man that he had marked. And seeing the most part of them to have their locks cut, all after one and the self same manner; marvelling greatly, he said to himself. The man whom I seek for, though he be but of mean and base condition, yet it plainly appeareth, that he is of no deject or common understanding. And seeing, that without further clamour and noise, he could not find out the party he looked for; he concluded, not to win eternal shame, by compassing a poor revenge: but rather (by way of admonition) to let the offender know in a word, that he was both noted and observed. So turning to them all, he said; He that hath done it, let him be silent, and do so no more, and now departed about your business.  
Some other turbulent spirited man, no imprisonments, tortures, examinations, and interrogatories, could have served his turn; by which course of proceeding, he makes the shame to be publicly known, which reason requireth to keep concealed. But admit that condign vengeance were taken, it diminisheth not one title of the shame, neither qualifieth the people's bad affections, who will lash out as liberally in scandal, and upon the very lest babbling rumour. Such therefore as heard the King's words, few though they were, yet truly wise; marvelled much at them, and by long examinations among themselves, questioned, but came far short of his meaning; the man only excepted, whom indeed they concerned, and by whom they were never discovered, so long as the King lived, neither did he dare at any time after, to hazard his life in the like action, under the frowns or favour of Fortune.   

Under colour of Confession, and of a most pure conscience, a fair young Gentlewoman, being amorously affected to an honest man; induced a devout and solemn religious Friar, to advice her in the means (without his suspicion or perceiving) how to enjoy the benefit of her friend, and bring her desires to their full effect.  
The third novel.  
Declaring, that the lewd and naughty qualities of some persons, do oftentimes misguide good people, into very great and grievous errors.  
WHen Madam Pampinea sat silent, and the Querries boldness equalled with his crafty cunning, and great wisdom in the King had passed among them with general applause; the Queen, herself to Madam Philomena, appointed her to follow next in order, and to hold rank with her discourse, as the rest had done before her: whereupon Philomena graciously began in this manner.  
It is my purpose, to acquaint you with a notable mockery, which was performed (not in jest, but earnest) by a fair Gentlewoman, to a grave and devout religious Friar, which will yield so much the more pleasure and recreation, to every secular understander, if but diligently he or she do observe; how commonly those religious persons (at least the most part of them) like notorious fools, are the inventors of new courses and customs, as thinking themselves more wise and skilful in all things than any other; yet prove to be of no worth or validity, addicting the very best of all their devices, to express their own vileness of mind, and fatten themselves in their sties, like to pampered Swine. And assure yourselves worthy Ladies, that I do not tell this Tale only to follow the order enjoined me; but also to inform you that such saintlike holy Sirs, of whom we are too opinative and credulous, may be, yea, and are (diverse times) cunningly met withal, in their craftiness, not only by men, but likewise some of our own sex, as I shall make it apparent to you.  
In our own City (more full of craft and deceit, than love or faithful dealing) there lived not many years since a Gentlewoman, of good spirit, highly minded, endued with beauty and all commendable qualities, as any other woman (by nature) could be. Her name, or any others, concerned in this novel, I mean not to make manifest, albeit I know them, because some are yet living, and thereby may be scandalised; and therefore it shall suffice to pass them over with a smile. This Gentlewoman, seeing herself to be descended of very great parentage, and (by chance) married to an Artezen, a Clothier or Drapier, that lived by the making and selling of Cloth: she could not (because he was a tradesman) take down the height of her mind; conceiving, that no man of mean condition (how rich soever) was worthy to enjoy a Gentlewoman in marriage. Observing moreover, that with all his wealth and treasure, he understood nothing better, then to open skeines of yarn, fill shuttles, lay webs in looms, or dispute with his Spinsters, about their business.  
Being thus over-swayed with her proud opinion, she would no longer be embraced, or regarded by him in any manner, and only because she could not refuse him; but would find some other for her better satisfaction, who might seem more worthy of her respect, than the Drapier her Husband did. Hereupon she fell so deep in love, with a very honest man of our City also, and of indifferent years; as what day she saw him not, she could take no rest the night ensuing. The man himself knew nothing hereof, and therefore was the more neglect and careless, and she being curious, nice, yet wisely considerate; durst not let him understand it, neither by any woman's close conveyed message, nor yet by Letters, as fearing the perils which happen in such cases. But her eye observing his daily walks and resorts, gave her notice of his often conversing with a religious Friar, who albeit he was a fat and corpulent man, yet notwithstanding, because he seemed to lead a sanctimonious life, and was reported to be a most honest man; she persuaded herself, that he might be the best means, between her and her friend.  
Having considered with herself, what course was best to be observed in this case; upon a day, apt and convenient, she went to the convent, where he kept, and having caused him to be called, she told him, that if his leisure so served, very gladly she would be confessed, and only had made her choice of him. The holy man seeing her, and reputing her to be a Gentlewoman, as indeed she was no less; willingly heard her, and when she had confessed what she could, she had yet another matter to acquaint him withal, and thereupon thus she began.  
Holy Father, it is no more than convenient, that I should have recourse to you, to be assisted by your help and council, in a matter which I will impart unto you. I know, that you are not ignorant of my parents and husband, of whom I am affected as dear as his life, for proof whereof, there is not any thing that I can desire, but immediately I have it of him, he being a most rich man, and may very sufficiently afford it. In regard whereof, I love him equally as myself, and, setting aside my best endeavours for him; I must tell you one thing, quite contrary to his liking and honour, wherein no woman can more worthily deserve death, than myself. Understand then, good Father, that there is a man, whose name I know not, but he seemeth to be honest, and of good worth; moreover (if I am not deceived) he resorteth oftentimes to you, being fair and comely of person, going always in black garments of good price and value. This man, imagining (perhaps) no such mind in me, as truly there is; hath often attempted me, and never can I be at my door, or window, but he is always present in my sight, which is not a little displeasing to me; he watcheth my walks, and much I marvel, that he is not now here.  
Let me tell you holy Sir, that such behaviours, do many times lay bad imputations upon very honest women, yet without any offence in them. It hath often run in my mind, to let him have knowledge thereof by my brethren: but afterward I considered, that men (many times) deliver messages in such sort, as draw on very ungentle answers, whereon grow words, and words beget actions. In which respect, because no harm or scandal should ensue, I thought it best to be silent; determining, to acquaint you rather therewith, than any other, as well because you seem to be his friend, as also in regard of your office, which privilegeth you, to correct such abuses, not only in friends, but also in strangers. Enough other women there are, (more is the pity) who (perhaps) are better disposed to such suits, than I am, and can both like and allow of such courting, otherwise than I can do; as being willing to embrace such offers, and (happily) loath to yield denial. Wherefore, most humbly I entreat you, good Father (even for our blessed Lady's sake) that you would give him a friendly reprehension, and advice him, to use such unmanly means no more hereafter. With which words, she hung down her head in her bosom, cunningly dissembling, as if she wept, wiping her eyes with her handkerchief, when not a tear fell from them, but indeed were dry enough.  
The holy Religious man, so soon as he heard her description of the man, presently knew whom she meant, and highly commending the Gentlewoman, for her good and virtuous seeming disposition, believed faithfully all that she had said: promising her, to order the matter so well and discreetly, as she should not be any more offended. And knowing her to be a woman of great wealth (after all their usual manner, when they cast forth their fishing nets for gain:) liberally he commended almsdeeds, and daily works of charity, recounting to her (beside) his own particular necessities. Then, giving him two pieces of gold, she said. I pray you (good Father) to be mindful of me, and if he chance to make any denial: tell him boldly, that I spoke it myself to you, and by the way of a sad complaint her confession being ended, and penance easy enough enjoined her, she promised to make her parents bountiful benefactors to the convent, and put more money into his hand, desiring him in his Masses, to remember the souls of her deceased friends, and so returned home to her house.  
Within a short while after her departure, the Gentleman, of whom she had made this counterfeit complaint, came thither, as was his usual manner, and having done his duty to the holy Father; they sat down together privately, falling out of one discourse into another. At the length, the friar (in very loving and friendly sort) mildly reproved him, for such amorous glances, and other pursuites, which (as he thought) he daily used to the Gentlewoman, according to her own speeches. The Gentleman marvelled greatly thereat, as one that had never seen her, and very seldom passed by the way where she dwelled, which made him the bolder in his answers; wherein the confessor interrupting him, said. Never make such admiration at the matter, neither waste more words in these stout denials, because they cannot serve thy turn: I tell thee plainly, I heard it not from any neighbours, but even of her own self, in a very sorrowful and sad complaint. And though (perhaps) hereafter, thou canst very hardly refrain such follies; yet let me tell thee so much of her (and under the seal of absolute assurance) that she is the only woman of the world, who (in my true judgement) doth hate and abhor all such base behaviour. Wherefore, in regard of thine own honour, as also not to vex & prejudice so virtuous a Gentlewoman: I pray thee refrain such idleness henceforward, & suffer her to live in peace.  
The Gentleman, being a little wiser than his ghostly Father, perceived immediately (without any further meditating on the matter) the notable policy of the woman: whereupon, making somewhat bashful appearance of any error already committed; he said, he would afterward be better advised. So, departing from the friar, he went on directly, to pass by the house where the Gentlewoman dwelled, and she stood always ready on her watch, at a little window, to observe, when he should walk that way: And seeing him coming, she shown herself so joyful, and gracious to him, as he easily understood, whereto the substance of the holy Fathers chiding tended. And, from that time forward, he used daily, though in covert manner (to the no little liking of the Gentlewoman and himself) to make his passage through that street, under colour of some important occasions there, concerning him.  
Soon after, it being plainly discerned on either side, that the one was as well contented with these walks, as the other could be: she desired to inflame him a little further, by a more liberal illustration of her affection towards him, when time and place afforded convenient opportunity. To the holy Father again she went, (for she had been too long from shrift) and kneeling down at his feet, intended to begin her confession in tears; which the Friar perceiving, sorrowfully demanded of her, what new accident had happened? Holy Father (quoth she) no novel accident, but only your wicked and ungracious friend, by whom (since I was here with you, yea, no longer ago then yesterday) I have been so wronged, as I verily believe that he was borne to be my mortal enemy, and to make me do something to my utter disgrace for ever; and whereby I shall not dare to be seen any more of you, my dear Father. How is this? answered the Friar, hath he not refrained from afflicting you so abusively?  
Pausing a while, and breathing forth many a dissembled sigh, thus she replied. No truly, holy Father, there is no likelihood of his abstaining; for since I made my complaint to you, he belike taking it in evil part, to be contraried in his wanton humours, hath (merely in despite) walked seven times in a day by my door, whereas formerly, he never used it above once or twice. And well were it (good Father) if he could be contented with those walks, and gazing glances which he darts at me: but grown he is so bold and shameless, that even yesterday, (as I told you) he sent a woman to me, one of his Pandora's) as it appeared, and as if I had wanted either Purses or Girdles, he sent me (by her) a Purse and a Girdle. Whereat I grew so grievously offended, as had it not been for my due respect and fear of God, and next the sacred reverence I bear to you my ghostly Father; doubtless, I had done some wicked deed. Nevertheless, happily I withstood it, and will neither say or do any thing in this case, till first I have made it known to you.  
Then I called to mind, that having redelivered the Purse and Girdle to his she messenger, (which brought them) with looks sufficient to declare my discontentment: I called her back again, fearing lest she would keep them to herself, and make him believe, that I had received them (as I have heard such kind of women use to do sometimes) and in anger I snatched them from her, and have brought them hither to you, to the end that you may give him them again; and tell him, I have no need of any such things, thankes be to heaven and my husband, as no woman can be better stored than I am. Wherefore good Father, purposely am I now come to you, and I beseech you accept my just excuse, that if he will not abstain from thus molesting me, I will disclose it to my Husband, Father, and Brethren, whatsoever shall ensue thereon: for I had rather he should receive the injury (if needs it must come) than I to be causelessly blamed for him; wherein good Father tell me, if I do not well. With many counterfeit sobs, sighs, and tears, these words were delivered; and drawing forth from under her gown, a very fair and rich purse, as also a Girdle of great worth, she threw them into the friar's lap.  
He verily believing all this false report, being troubled in his mind thereat beyond measure, took the Gentlewoman by the hand, saying: Daughter, if thou be offended at these impudent follies, assuredly I cannot blame thee, nor will any wise man reprove thee for it; and I commend thee for following my counsel. But let me alone for schooling of my Gentleman: ill hath he kept his promise made to me; wherefore, in regard of his former offence, as also this other so lately committed, I hope to set him in such a heat, as shall make him leave off from further iniurying thee. And in God's name, suffer not thyself to be conquered by choler, in disclosing this to thy kindred or husband, because too much harm may ensue thereon. But fear not any wrong to thyself; for, both before God and men, I am a true witness of thine honesty and virtue.  
Now began she to appear somewhat better comforted; & forbearing to play on this string any longer, as well knowing the covetousness of him and his equals she said. Holy Father, some few nights past, me thought in my sleep, that diverse spirits of my kindred appeared to me in a vision, who (I thought) were in very great pains, and desired nothing else but alms; especially my godmother, who seemed to be afflicted with such extreme poverty, that it was most pitiful to behold. And I am half persuaded, that her torments are the greater, seeing me troubled with such an enemy to goodness. Wherefore (good Father) to deliver her soul and the others, out of those fearful flames; among your infinite other devout prayers, I would have you to say the forty Masses of S. Gregory, as a means for their happy deliverance, and so she put ten ducats into his hand. Which the holy man accepted thankfully, and with good words, as also many singular examples, confirmed her bountiful devotion: and when he had given her his benediction, home she departed.  
After that the Gentlewoman was gone, he sent for his friend, whom she so much seemed to be troubled withal; and when he was come, he beholding his Holy Father to look discontentedly: thought, that now he should hear some news from his Mistress, and therefore expected what he would say. The friar, falling into the course of his former reprehensions, but yet in more rough and impatient manner, sharply checked him for his immodest behaviour towards the Gentlewoman, in sending her the Purse and Girdle. The Gentleman, who as yet could not guess whereto his speeches tended; somewhat coldly and temperately, denied the sending of such tokens to her, to the end that he would not be utterly discredited with the good man, if so be the Gentlewoman had shown him any such things. But then the friar, waxing much more angry, sternly said. Bad man as thou art, how canst thou deny a manifest truth? See sir, these are none of your amorous tokens? No, I am sure you do not know them, nor ever saw them till now.  
The Gentleman, seeming as if he were much ashamed, said. Truly Father I do know them, and confess that I have done ill, and very greatly offended: but now I will swear unto you, seeing I understand how firmly she is affected, that you shall never hear any more complaints of me. Such were his vows and protestations, as in the end the ghostly Father gave him both the Purse and Girdle: then after he had preached, & severely conjured him, never more to vex her with any gifts at all, and he binding himself thereto by a solemn promise, he gave him licence to departed. Now grew the Gentleman very jocund, being so surely certified of his mistress' love, and by tokens of such worthy esteem; wherefore no sooner was he gone from the friar, but he went into such a secret place, where he could let her behold at her Window, what precious tokens he had received from her, whereof she was extraordinarily joyful, because her devices grew still better and b●●ter; nothing now wanting, but her husband's absence, upon some journey from the City, for the full effecting of her desire.  
Within a few days after, such an occasion happened, as her husband of necessity must journey to Geneway; and no sooner was he mounted on horseback, taking leave of her and all his friends: but she, being sure he was gone, went in all haste to her Ghostly Father; and, after a few feigned outward shows, thus she spoke. I must now plainly tell you, holy father, that I can no longer endure this wicked friend of yours; but because I promised you the other day, that I would not do any thing, before I had your counsel therein, I am now come to tell you, the just reason of my anger, and full purpose to avoid all further molestation.  
Your friend I cannot term him, but (questionless) a very devil of hell. This morning, before the break of day, having heard (but how, I know not) that my husband was ridden to Geneway: got over the wall into my Garden, and climbing up a tree which standeth close before my chamber window, when I was fast asleep, opened the Casement, and would have entered in at the window. But, by great good fortune, I awaked and made show of an open outcry: but that he entreated me, both for God's sake and yours, to pardon him this error, and never after he would presume any more to offend me. When he saw, that (for your sake) I was silent, he closed fast the window again, departed as he came, and since I never saw him, or heard any tidings of him. Now judge you, holy Father, whether these be honest courses, or no, and to be endured by any civil Gentlewoman; neither would I so patiently have suffered this, but only in my dutiful reverence to you.  
The Ghostly Father hearing this, became the sorrowfullest man in the world, not knowing how to make her any answer, but only demanded of her diverse times, whether she knew him so perfectly, that she did nor mistake him for some other? Quoth she, I would I did not know him from any other. Alas dear daughter (replied the friar) what can more be said in this case, but that it was overmuch boldness, and very il done; & thou show'dst thyself a worthy wise woman, in sending him away so mercifully, as thou didst. Once more I would entreat thee (dear and virtuous daughter) seeing grace hath hitherto kept thee from dishonour, and twice already thou hast credited my counsel, let me now advice thee this last time. Spare speech, or complaining to any other of thy friends, and leave it to me, to try if I can overcome this unchained devil, whom I took to be a much more holy man. If I can recall him from this sensual appetite, I shall account my labour well employed; but if I cannot do it, henceforward (with my blessed benediction) I give thee leave to do, even what thy heart will best tutor thee to. You see Sir (said she) what manner of man he is, yet would I not have you troubled or disobeyed, only I desire to live without disturbance, which work (I beseech you) as best you may: for I promise you, good Father, never to solicit you more upon this occasion: And so, in a pretended rage, she returned back from the ghostly Father.  
Scarcely was she gone forth of the Church, but in cometh the man that had (supposedly) so much transgressed; and the friar taking him aside, gave him the most injurious words that could be used to a man, calling him disloyal, perjured, and a traitor. He who had formerly twice perceived, how high the holy man's anger mounted, did nothing but expect what he would say; and, like a man extremely perplexed, striven how to get it from him, saying; Holy Father, how come you to be so heinously offended? What have I done to incense you so strangely? Hear me dishonest wretch answered the friar, listen what I shall say unto thee. Thou answerest me, as if it were a year or two past, since so foul abuses were by thee committed, & they almost quite out of thy remembrance. But tell me wicked man, where wast thou this morning, before break of the day? Wheresoever I was, replied the Gentleman, me thinks the tidings come very quickly to you. It is true, said the friar, they are speedily come to me indeed, and upon urgent necessity.  
After a little curbing in of his wrath, somewhat in a milder strain, thus he proceeded. Because the gentlewoman's husband is iourneyed to Geneway, proves this a ladder to your hope, that to embrace her in your arms, you must climb over the Garden wall, like a treacherous robber in the night season, mount up a tree before her Chamber window, open the Casement, as hoping to compass that by importunity, which her spotless chastity will never permit. There is nothing in the world, that possibly she can hate more than you, and yet you will love her whether she will or no. Many demonstrations herself hath made to you, how retrograde you are to any good conceit of her, & my loving admonishments might have had better success in you, then as yet they show by outward appearance. But one thing I must tell you, her silent sufferance of your injuries all this while, hath not been in any respect of you, but at my earnest entreaties, and for my sake. But now she will be patiented no longer, and I have given her free licence, if ever hereafter you offer to attempt her any more, to make her complaint before her Brethren, which will redound to your no mean danger.  
The Gentleman, having wisely collected his love-lesson out of the Holy father's angry words, pacified the good old man so well as he could with very solemn promises and protestations, that he should hear (no more) any misbehaviour of his. And being gone from him, followed the instructions given in her complaint, by climbing over the Garden Wall, ascending the Tree, and entering at the Casement, standing ready open to welcome him. Thus the friar's simplicity, wrought on by her most ingenuous subtlety, made way to obtain both their longing desires.   

A young scholar, named Felice, instructed Puccio di Rinieri, how to become rich in a very short time. While Puccio made experience of the instructions taught him; Felice obtained the favour of his Daughter.  
The fourth novel.  
Wherein is declared, what craft and subtlety some wily wits can device, to deceive the simple, and compass their own desires.  
AFter that Philomena had finished her Tale, she sat still; and Dioneus with fair and pleasing Language) commended the gentlewoman's acquaint cunning, but smiled at the Confessors witless simplicity. Then the Queen, turning with cheerful looks towards Pamphilus, commanded him to continue on their delight; who gladly yielded, and thus began. Madame, many men there are, who while they strive to climb from a good estate, to a seeming better; do become in much worse condition than they were before. As happened to a neighbour of ours, and no long time since, as the accident will better acquaint you withal.  
According as I have heard it reported, near to Saint Brancazio, there dwelled an honest man, and somewhat rich, who was called Puccio di Rinieri, and who addicted all his pains and endeavours to alchemy: wherefore, he kept no other family, but only a widowed daughter, and a servant; and because he had no other Art or exercise, he used often to frequent the market place. And in regard he was but a weak witted man, and a gourmand or gross feeder; his language was the more harsh and rude, like to our common Porters or loutish men, and his carriage also absurd, boore-like, and clownish. His daughter, being named Monna Isabetta, aged not above eight and twenty, or thirty years; was a fresh indifferent fair, plump, round woman, cherry cheeked, like a queen-apple; and, to please her Father, fed not so sparingly, as otherwise she would have done, but when she communed or jested with any body, she would talk of nothing, but only concerning the great virtue in alchemy, extolling it above all other Arts.  
Much about this season of the year, there returned a young scholar from Paris, named Felice, fair of complexion, comely of person, ingeniously witted, and skilfully learned, who (soon after) grew into familiarity with Puccio: now because he could resolve him in many doubts, depending on his profession of alchemy, (himself having only practice, but no great learning) he used many questions to him, shown him very especial matters of secrecy, entertaining him often to dinners and suppers, whensoever he pleased to come and converse with him; and his daughter likewise, perceiving with what favour her Father respected him, became the more familiar with him, allowing him good regard and reverence.  
The young man continuing his resort to the House of Puccio, and observing the widow to be fair, fresh, and prettily formal; he began to consider with himself, what those things might be, wherein she was most wanting; and (if he could) to save another's labour, supply them by his best endeavours. Thus not always carrying his eyes before him, but using many back and circumspect regards, he proceeded so fare in his wily apprehensions, that (by a few sparks close kept together) he kindled part of the same fire in her, which began to flame apparently in him. And he very wittily observing the same, as occasion first smiled on him, and allowed him favourable opportunity, so did he impart his intention to her.  
Now albeit he found her pliant enough, to gain physic for her own grief, as soon as his; yet the means and manner were (as yet) quite out of all apprehension. For she in no other part of the World, would trust herself in the young man's company, but only in her father's house; and that was a place out of all possibility, because Puccio (by a long continued custom) used to watch well near all the night, as commonly he did, each night after other, never stirring forth of the rooms, which much abated the edge of the young man's appetite. After infinite intricate revoluing, wheeling about his busied brain, he thought it not altogether an Herculean task, to enjoy his happiness in the house, and without any suspicion, albeit Puccio kept still within doors, and watched as he was wont to do.  
Upon a day as he sat in familiar conference with Puccio, he began to speak unto him in this manner; I have many times noted, kind friend Puccio, that all thy desire and endeavour is, by what means thou mayest become very rich, wherein (I thinks) thou takest too wide a course, when there is a much near and shorter way, which Mighell, Scotus, and other his associates, very diligently observed and followed, yet were never willing to instruct other men therein; whereby the mystery might be drowned in oblivion, and prosecuted by none but only great Lords, that are able to undergo it. But because thou art mine especial friend, and I have received from thee infinite kind favours; whereas I never intended, that any man (by me) should be acquainted with so rare a secret; if thou wilt imitate the course as I shall show thee, I purpose to teach it thee in full perfection. Puccio being very earnestly desirous to understand the speediest way to so singular a mystery, first began to entreat him (with no mean instance) to acquaint him with the rules of so rich a Science; and afterward swore unto him, never to disclose it to any person, except he gave his consent thereto; affirming beside, that it was a rarity, not easy to be comprehended by very apprehensive judgements. Well (quoth Felice) seeing thou hast made me such a sound and solemn promise, I will make it known unto thee.  
Know then friend Puccio, the Philosophers do hold, that such as covet to become rich indeed, must understand how to make the Stone: as I will tell thee how, but mark the manner very heedfully. I do not say, that after the Stone is obtained, thou shalt be even as rich as now thou art; but thou shalt plainly perceive, that the very grossest substances, which hitherto thou hast seen, all of them shallbe made pure gold, and such as afterward thou makest, shall be more certain, then to go or come with Aqua fortis, as now they do. Most expedient is it therefore, that when a man will go diligently about this business, and purposeth to prosecute such a singular labour, which will and must continue for the space of 40. nights, must give very careful attendance, wholly abstaining from sleep, slumbering, or so much as nodding all that while.  
Moreover, in some apt and convenient place of thy house, there must be a forge or furnace erected, framed in decent and formal fashion, and near it a large table placed, ordered in such sort, as standing upright on thy feet, and leaning the reines of thy back against it; thou must stand steadfastly in that manner every night, without the least motion or stirring, until the break of day appeareth, and thine eyes still upon the Furnace fixed, to keep ever in memory, the true order which I have prescribed. So soon as the morning is seen, thou mayst (if thou wilt) walk, or rest a little upon thy bed, and afterward go about thy business, if thou have any. Then go to dinner, attending readily till the evenings' approach, preparing such things as I will readily set thee down in writing, without which there is not any thing to be done; and then return to the same task again, not varying a jot from the course directed. Before the time be fully expired, thou shalt perceive many apparent signs, that the stone is still in absolute forwardness, but it will be utterly lost if thou fail in the least of all the observances. And when the experience hath crowned thy labour, thou art sure to have the philosopher's stone, and thereby shalt be able to enrich all, and work wonders beside.  
Puccio instantly replied. Now trust me Sir, there is a great difficulty in this labour, neither doth it require any extraordinary length of time: but it may very easily be followed and performed, and (by your friendly favour, in helping to direct the Furnace and Table, according as you imagine most convenient) on Sunday at night next, I will begin my task. The scholar being gone, he went to his daughter, and told her all the matter, and what he had determined to do: which she immediately understood sufficiently, and what would ensue on his nightly watching in that manner, returning him answer, that whatsoever he liked and allowed of, it became not her any way to mislike. Thus they continued in this kind concordance, till Sunday night came. When Puccio was to begin his experience, and Felice to set forward upon his adventure. Concluded it was, that every night the scholar must come to Supper, partly to be a witness of his constant performance, but more especially for his own advantage.  
The place which Puccio had chosen, for his hopeful attaining to the philosopher's Stone, was close to the Chamber where his daughter lay, having no other separation or division, but an old ruinous tottering wall. So that, when the scholar was playing his prize, Puccio heard an unwonted noise in the house, which he had never observed before, neither knew the wall to have any such motion: wherefore, not daring to stir from his standing, lest all should be marred in the very beginning, he called to his daughter, demanding, what busy labour she was about? The widow, being much addicted to frumping, according as questions were demanded of her, and (perhaps) forgetting who spoke to her, pleasantly replied: Whoop Sir, where are we now? Are the Spirits of alchemy walking in the house, that we cannot lie quietly in our beds?  
Puccio marveling at this answer, knowing she never gave him the like before; demanded again, what she did? The subtle wench, remembering that she had not answered as became her, said: Pardon me Father, my wits were not mine own, when you demanded such a sudden question; and I have heard you say an hundred times, that when folk go supperless to bed, either they walk in their sleep, or being awake, talk very idly, as (no doubt) you have discerned by me. Nay daughter (quoth he) it may be, that I was in a waking dream, and thought I heard the old wall totter: but I see I was deceived, for now it is quiet and still enough. Talk no more good Father, said she, lest you stir from your place, and hinder your labour: take no care for me, I am able enough to have care of myself.  
To prevent any more of these mighty disturbances, they went to lodge in another part of the house, where they continued out the time of Puccioes pains, with equal contentment to them both, which made her diverse times say to Felice: You teach my father the chief grounds of alchemy, while we help to waste away his treasure. Thus the scholar being but poor, yet well forwarded in Learning, made use of Puccioes folly, and found benefit thereby, to keep him out of wants, which is the bane and overthrow of numberless good wits. And Puccio dying, before the date of his limited time, because he failed of the philosopher's Stone, Isabetta joined in marriage with Felice, to make him amends for instructing her father, by which means he came to be her husband.   

Ricciardo, surnamed the Magnifico, gave a Horse to Signior Francisco Vergellisi, upon condition, that (by his leave and licence) he might speak to his Wife in his presence; which he did, and she not returning him any answer, made answer to himself on her behalf, and according to his answer, so the effect followed.  
The fifth novel.  
Wherein is described the frailty of some Women, and folly of such Husbands, as leave them alone to their own disposition.  
PAmphilus having ended the novel of Puccio the alchemist, the Queen fixing her eye on Madam Eliza, gave order, that she should succeed with hers next. When she ask somewhat more austerely, than any of the rest, not in any spleen, but as it was her usual manner, thus began. The World containeth some particular people▪ who do believe (because themselves know something) that others are ignorant in all things; who for the most part, while they intent to make a scorn of other men, upon the proof, do find● themselves to carry away the scorn. And therefore I account it no mean folly in them▪ who (upon no occasion) will tempt the power of another man's wit or experience. But because all men and women (perhaps) are not of mine opinion; I mean that you shall perceive it more apparently, by an accident happening to a Knight of Pistoia, as you shall hear by me related.  
In the town of Pistoia, bordering upon Florence, there lived not long since, a Knight named Signior Francisco, descended of the lineage or family of the Vergellisi, a man very rich, wise, and in many things provident, but gripple, covetous, and too close handed, without respect to his worth and reputation. He being called to the Office of Podesta in the City of Milan, furnished himself with all things (in honourable manner) beseeming such a charge; only, a comely horse (for his own saddle) excepted, which he knew not by any means how to compass, so loathe he was to lay out money, albeit his credit much depended thereon.  
At the same time, there lived in Pistoya likewise, a young man, named Ricciardo, derived of mean birth, but very wealthy, quick witted, and of commendable person, always going so neat, fine, and formal in his apparel, that he was generally termed the Magnifico, who had long time affected, yea, and closely courted, (though without any advantage or success) the Lady and Wife of Signior Francisco, who was very beautiful, virtuous, and chaste. It so chanced, that this Magnifico had the very choicest and goodliest ambling Gelding in all Tuscanie, which he loved dear, for his fair form, and other good parts. Upon a flying rumour throughout Pistoria, that he daily made love to the foresaid Lady; some busy body, put it into the head of Signior Francisco, that if he pleased to request the Gelding, the Magnifico would frankly give it him, in regard of the love he bore to his Wife.  
The base minded Knight, coveting to have the Horse, and yet not to part with any money, sent for the Magnifico, desiring to buy his fair Gelding of him, because he hoped to have him of free gift. The Magnifico hearing his request, was not a little joyful hereof, and thus answered; Sir, if you would give me all the wealth which you possess in this World, I will not sell you my Horse, rather I will bestow him on you as a Gentlemanly gift; but yet upon this condition, that before you have him delivered, I may with your licence, and in your presence speak a few words to your virtuous Lady, and so fare off in distance from you, as I may not be heard by any, but only herself. Signior Francisco, wholly conducted by his base avaricious desire, and meaning to make a scorn at the Magnifico, made answer; that he was well contented, to let him speak with her when he would, and leaving him in the great Hall of the house, he went to his wife's Chamber, and told her, how easily he might enjoy the House; commanding her forthwith, to come and hear what he could say to her, only she should abstain, and not return him any answer. The Lady with a modest blush, much condemned this folly in him, that his covetousness should serve as a cloak, to cover any unfitting speeches, which her chaste ears could never endure to hear: nevertheless, being to obey her husband's will, she promised to do it, and followed him down into the House, to hear what the Magnifico would say. Again, he there confirmed the bargain made with her Husband, and sitting down by her in a corner of the Hall, fare enough off from any one's hearing, taking her courteously by the hand, thus he spoke.  
Worthy Lady, it appeareth to me for a certainty, that you are so truly wise, as you have (no doubt) a long while since perceived, what unfeigned affection your beauty (fare excelling all other women's that I know) hath compelled me to bear you. Setting aside those commendable qualities, and singular virtues, gloriously shining in you, and powerful enough to make a conquest of the very stoutest courage: I held it utterly needless, to let you understand by words, how faithful the love is I bear you, were it not much more fervent and constant, then ever any other man can express to a woman. In which condition it shall still continue, without the least blemish or impair, so long as I enjoy life or motion; yea, and I dare assure you, that if in the future World, affection may contain the same powerful dominion, as it doth in this; I am the man, borne to love you perpetually. Whereby you may rest confidently persuaded, that you enjoy not any thing, how poor or precious soever it be, which you can so solemnly account to be your own, and in the truest title of right, as you may myself, in all that I have, or for ever shall be mine.  
To confirm your opinion in this case, by any argument of greater power, let me tell you, that I should repute it as my fairest and most gracious fortune, if you would command me some such service, as consisteth in mine ability to perform, and in your courteous favour to accept, yea, if it were to travail thorough the whole world, right willing am I, and obedient. In which regard, fair madam, if I be so much yours, as you hear I am, I may boldly adventure (and not without good reason) to acquaint your chaste ears with my earnest desires, for on you only dependeth my happiness, life and absolute comfort, and as your most humble servant, I beseech you (my dearest good, and sole hope of my soul) that rigour may dwell no longer in your gentle breast, but ladylike pity and compassion: whereby I shall say, that as your divine beauty inflamed mine affections, even so it extended such a merciful qualification, as exceeded all my hope, but not the half part of your pity.  
Admit (miracle of Ladies) that I should die in this distress: Alas, my death would be but your dishonour; I cannot be termed mine own murderer, when the Dart came from your eye that did it, and must remain a witness of your rigour. You cannot then choose but call to mind, and say within your own soul: Alas! what a sin have I committed, in being so unmerciful to my Magnifico. Repentance then serves to no purpose, but you must answer for such unkind cruelty. Wherefore, to prevent so black a scandal to your bright beauty, beside the ceaseless acclamations, which will dog your walks in the day time, and break your quiet sleeps in the night season, with fearful sights and ghastly apparitions, hover and haunting about your bed; let all these 〈◊〉 you to mild mercy, and spill not life, when you may save it.  
So the Magnifico ceasing, with tears streaming from his eyes, and si●hes breaking from his heart, he sat still in expectation of the Lady's answer, who made neither long or short of the matter, neither Tilts nor Tourneying, nor many lost mornings and evenings, nor infinite other such like offices, which the Magnifico (for her sake) from time to time had spent in vain, without the least show of acceptation, or any hope at all to win her love: moved now in this very hour, by these solemn protestations, or rather most prevailing asseverations; she began to find that in her, which (before) she never felt, namely love.. And although (to keep her promise made to her husband) she spoke not a word: yet her heart heaving, her soul throbbing, sighs intermixing, and complexion altering, could not hide her intended answer to the Magnifico, if promise had been no hindrance to her will. All this while the Magnifico sat as mute as she, and seeing she would not give him any answer at all; he could not choose but wonder thereat, yet at length perceived, that it was thus cunningly contrived by her husband. Notwithstanding, observing well her countenance, that it was in a quite contrary temper, another kind of fire sparkling in her eye, other humours flowing, her pulses strongly beating, her stomach rising, and sighs swelling; all these were arguments of a change, and motives to advance his hope. Taking courage by this tickling persuasion, and instructing his mind with a new kind of counsel: he would needs answer himself on her behalf, and as if she had uttered the words, he spoke in this manner.  
Magnifico, and my friend, surely it is a long time since, when I first noted thine affection towards me, to be very great and most perfect: but now I am much more certain thereof, by thine own honest and gentle speeches, which content me as they ought to do. Nevertheless, if heretofore I have seemed cruel and unkind to thee, I would not have thee think, that my heart was any way guilty of my outward severity; but did evermore love thee, and held thee dearer than any man living. But yet it became me to do so, as well in fear of others, as for the renown of mine own reputation. But now the time is at hand, to let thee know more clearly, whether I do affect thee or no: as a just guerdon of thy constant love, which long thou hast, and still dost bear to me. Wherefore comfort thyself, and dwell upon this undoubted hope, because Signior Francisco my husband, is to be absent hence for many days, being chosen Podesta at Milan, as thou canst not choose but hear, for it is common through the Country.  
I know (for my sake) thou hast given him thy goodly ambling Gelding, and so soon as he is gone, I promise thee upon my word, and by the faithful love I bear thee: that I will have further conference with thee, and let thee understand somewhat more of my mind. And because this is neither fitting time nor place, to discourse on matters of such serious moment; observe hereafter, as a signal, when thou seest my crimson scarf hanging in the window of my Chamber, which is upon the Garden side; that evening (so soon as it is night) come to the Garden gate, with wary respect, that no eye do discover thee, and there thou shalt find me walking, and ready to acquaint thee with other matters, according as I shall find occasion.  
When the Magnifico, in the person of the Lady, had spoken thus, than he returned her this answer. Most virtuous Lady, my spirits are so transported with extraordinary joy, for this your gracious and welcome answer; that my senses so fail me, and all my faculties quite forsake me, as I cannot give you such thankes as I would. And if I could speak equally to my desire, yet the season suits not therewith, neither were it convenient that I should be so troublesome to you. Let me therefore humbly beseech you, that the desire I have to accomplish your will (which words avail not to express) may remain in your kind consideration. And, as you have commanded me, so will I not fail to perform it accordingly, and in more thankful manner, then as yet I am able to let you know. Now there resteth nothing else to do, but, under the protection of your gracious pardon, I to give over speech, and you to attend your worthy husband.  
Notwithstanding all that he had spoken, yet she replied not one word, wherefore the Magnifico arose, and returned to the Knight, who went to meet him, saying in a loud laughter. How now man? Have I not kept my promise with thee? No Sir, answered the Magnifico, for you promised I should speak with your wife, and you have made me talk to a marble Statue. This answer was greatly pleasing to the Knight, who, although he had an undoubted opinion of his wife; yet this did much more strengthen his belief, and he said. Now thou confessest thy Gelding to be mine? I do, replied the Magnifico, but if I had thought, that no better success would have ensued on the bargain; without your motion for the horse, I would have given him you: and I am sorry that I did not, because now you have bought my horse, and yet I have not sold him. The Knight laughed hearty at this answer, and being thus provided of so fair a beast, he road on his journey to Milan, and there entered into his authory of Podesta.  
The Lady remained now in liberty at home, considering on the Magnificoes words, and likewise the Gelding, which (for her sake) was given to her husband. Oftentimes she saw him pass to and fro before her window, still looking when the flag of defiance should be hanged forth, that he might fight valiantly under her Colours. The Story saith, that among many of her much better meditations, she was heard to talk thus idly to herself. What do I mean? Wherefore is my youth? The old miserable man is gone to Milan, and God knoweth when he comes back again, ever, or never. Is dignity preferred before wedlock's holy duty, and pleasures abroad, more than comforts at home? Ill can age pay youths arrearages, when time is spent, and no hope spared. Actions omitted, are often times repent, but done in due season, they are seldom sorrowed for. Upon these un-lady-like private consultations, whether the window shown the signal or no; it is no matter belonging to my charge: I say, husbands are unwise, to grant such ill advantages, and wives much worse, if they take hold of them, only judge you the best, and so the Tale is ended.   

Ricciardo Minutolo fell in love with the Wife of Philippello Fighinolfi, and knowing her to be very jealous of her Husband, gave her to understand, that he was greatly enamoured of his Wife, and had appointed to meet her privately in a Bathing house, on the next day following: Where she hoping to take him tardy with his close compacted Mistress, found herself to be deceived by the said Ricciardo.  
The sixth novel.  
Declaring, how much perseverance, and a courageous spirit is available in love.  
NO more remained to be spoken by madam Eliza, but the cunning of the Magnifico, being much commended by all the company: the Queen commanded madam Fiammetta, to succeed next in order with one of her novels, who (smilingly) made answer that she would, and began thus. Gracious Ladies, me thinks we have spoken enough already, concerning our own city, which as it aboundeth copiously in all commodities, so is it an example also to every convenient purpose. And as Madam Eliza hath done, by recounting occasions happening in another World, so must we now leap a little further off, even so fare as Naples, to see how one of those saintlike Dames, that nicely seems to shun loves allure, was guided by the good spirit to a friend of hers, and tasted of the fruit, before she knew the flowers. A sufficient warning for you, to apprehend before hand, what may follow after; and to let you see beside, that when an error is committed, how to be discreet in keeping it from public knowledge.  
In the City of Naples, it being of great antiquity, and (perhaps) as pleasantly situated, as any other City in all Italy, there dwelled sometime a young Gentleman, of noble parentage, and well known to be wealthy, named Ricciardo Minutolo, who, although he had a Gentlewoman (of excellent beauty, and worthy the very kindest affecting) to his wife; yet his gadding eye gazed elsewhere, and he became enamoured of another, which (in general opinion) surpassed all the Neapolitan women else, in feature, favour, and the choicest perfections, she being named Madam Catulla, wife to as gallant a young Gentleman, called Philippello Fighinolfi, who most dear he loved beyond all other, for her virtue and admired chastity.  
Ricciardo loving this Madam Catulla, and using all such means, whereby the grace and liking of a Lady might be obtained; found it yet a matter beyond possibility, to compass the height of his desire: so that many desperate and dangerous resolutions beleaguered his brain, seeming so intricate, and unlikely to afford any hopeful issue, as he wished for nothing more than death. And death (as yet) being deaf to all his earnest imprecations, delayed him on in linger afflictions, and continuing still in such an extreme condition, he was advised by some of his best friends, utterly to abstain from this fond pursuit, because his hopes were merely in vain, and Madam Catulla prized nothing more precious to her in the World, then unstained loyalty to her Husband; and yet she lived in such extreme jealousy of him, as fearing lest some bird flying in the air, should snatch him from her.  
Ricciardo not unacquainted with this her jealous humour, as well by credible hearing thereof, as also by daily observation; began to consider with himself, that it were best for him, to dissemble amorous affection in some other place, and (henceforward) to set aside all hope, of ever enjoying the love of Madam Catulla, because he was now become the servant to another Gentlewoman, pretending (in her honour) to perform many worthy actions of arms, jousts, Tournaments, and all such like noble exercises, as he was wont to do for Madam Catulla. So that almost all the people of Naples, but especially Madam Catulla, became verily persuaded, that his former fruitless love to her was quite changed, and the new elected Lady had all the glory of his best endeavours, persevering so long in this opinion, as now it passed absolutely for currant. Thus seemed he now as a mere stranger to her, whose house before he familiarly frequented; yet (as a neighbour) gave her the days salutations, according as he chanced to see her, or meet her.  
It came to pass, that it being now the delightful Summer season, when all Gentlemen and Gentlewomen used to meet together (according to a custom long observed in that country) sporting along on the Sea Coast, dining and supping there very often. Ricciardo Minutolo happened to hear, that Madam Catulla (with a company of her friends) intended also to be present there among them, at which time, consorted with a seemly train of his confederates, he resorted thither, and was graciously welcomed by Madam Catulla, where he pretended no willing long time of tarrying; but that Catulla and the other Ladies were fain to entreat him, discoursing of his love to his new elected Mistress: which Minutolo graced with so solemn a countenance, as it ministered much more matter of conference, all coveting to know what she was.  
So fare they walked, and held on this kind of discoursing, as every Lady and Gentlewoman, waxing weary of too long a continued argument, began to separate herself with such an associate as she best liked, and as in such walking women are wont to do; so that Madam Catulla having few females left with her, stayed behind with Minutolo, who suddenly shot forth a word, concerning her husband Philippello, & of his loving another woman beside herself. She that was overmuch jealous before, became so suddenly set on fire, to know what she was of whom Minutolo spoke; as she sat silent a long while, till being able to contain no longer, she entreated Ricciardo, even for the Lady's sake, whose love he had so devoutly embraced, to resolve her certainly, in this strange alteration of her Husband; whereunto thus he answered.  
Madam, you have so straight conjured me, by urging the remembrance of her; for whose sake I am not able to deny any thing you can demand, as I am ready therein to pleasure you. But first you must promise me, that neither you, or any other person for you, shall at any time disclose it to your Husband, until you have seen by effect, that which I have told you proveth to be true: and when you please, I will instruct you how yourself shall see it. The Lady was not a little joyful, to be thus satisfied in her husband's folly, and constantly crediting his words to be true, she swore a solemn oath, that no one alive should ever know it. So stepping a little further aside, because no listening ear should hear him, thus he began.  
Lady, if I did love you now so effectually, as heretofore I have done, I should be very circumspect, in uttering any thing which I imagined might distaste you. I know not whether your Husband Philippello, were at any time offended; because I affected you, or believed, that I received any kindness from you: but whether it were so or no, I could never discern it by any outward appearance. But now awaiting for the opportunity of time, which he conceived should afford me the least suspicion; he seeks to compass that, which (I doubt) he fears I would have done to him, in plain terms Madam, to have his pleasure of my wife. And as by some carriages I have observed, within few days past, he hath solicited and pursued his purpose very secretly, by many Ambassages, and other means, as (indeed) I have learned from herself, and always she hath returned in such answers, as she received by my direction.  
And no longer ago Madam, than this very morning, before my coming hither, I found a woman messenger in my House, in very close conference with my Wife, when growing doubtful of that which was true indeed, I called my Wife, enquiring, what the woman would have with her, and she told me it was another pursuit of Philippello Fighinolfi, who (quoth she) upon such answers as you have caused me to send him from time to time, perhaps doth gather some hope of prevailing in the end, which maketh him still to importune me as he doth. And now he adventureth so fare, as to understand my final intention, having thus ordered his complot, that when I please, I must meet him secretly in an house of this City, where he hath prepared a Bath ready for me, and hopeth to enjoy the end of his desire, as very earnestly he hath solicited me thereto. But if you had not commanded me, to hold him in suspense with so many frivolous answers; I would (long ere this) have sent him such a message, as should have been little to his liking.  
With patience (Madam) I endured all before, but now (I thinks) he proceedeth too fare, which is not any way to be suffered; and therefore I intended to let you know it, whereby you may perceive, how well you are rewarded, for the faithful and loyal love you bear him, and for which I was even at the door of death. Now, because you may be the surer of my speeches, not to be any lies or fables, and that you may (if you be so pleased) approve the truth by your own experience: I caused my Wife to send him word, that she would meet him to morrow, at the Bathing-house appointed, about the hour of noonday, when people repose themselves, in regard of the heats violence; with which answer the woman returned very iocondly. Let me now tell you Lady, I hope you have better opinion of my wit, than any meaning in me, to send my wife thither; I rather did it to this end, that having acquainted you with his treacherous intent, you should supply my wife's place, by saving both his reputation and your own, and frustrating his unkind purpose to me. Moreover, upon the view of his own delusion, wrought by my wife in mere love to you, he shall see his foul shame, and your most noble care, to keep the rites of marriage between you still unstained.  
Madame Catulla, having heard this long and unpleasing report; without any consideration, either what he was that told the tale, or what a treason he intended against her: immediately (as jealous persons use to do) she gave faith to his forgery, and began to discourse many things to him, which imagination had often misguided her in, against her honest minded husband, and inflamed with rage, suddenly replied; that she would do according as he had advised her, as being a matter of no difficulty. But if he came, she would so shame and dishonour him, as no woman whatsoever should better school him. Ricciardo highly pleased herewith, & being persuaded, that his purpose would take the full effect: confirmed the Lady in her determination with many words more; yet putting her in memory, to keep her faithful promise made, without revealing the matter to any living person, as she had sworn upon her faith.  
On the morrow morning, Ricciardo went to an ancient woman of his acquaintance, who was the mistress of a Bathing-house, and there where he had appointed madam Catulla, that the Bath should be prepared for her, giving her to understand the whole business, and desiring her to be favourable therein to him. The woman, who had been much beholding to him in other matters, promised very willingly to fulfil his request, concluding with him, both what should be done and said. She had in her house a very dark Chamber, without any window to afford it the least light, which Chamber she had made ready, according to Ricciardoes' direction, with a rich Bed therein, so soft and delicate as possible could be, wherein he entered so soon as he had dined, to attend the arrival of madam Catulla. On the same day, as she had heard the speeches of Ricciardo, and gave more credit to them then became her; she returned home to her house in wonderful impatience. And Philippello her husband came home discontentedly too, whose head being busied about some worldly affairs, perhaps he looked not so pleasantly, neither used her so kindly, as he was wont to do. Which Catulla perceiving, she was ten times more suspicious than before, saying to herself. Now apparent truth doth disclose itself, my husband's head is troubled now with nothing else, but Ricciardoes' wife, with whom (to morrow) he purposeth his meeting; wherein he shall be disappointed, if I live; taking no rest at all the whole night, for thinking how to handle her husband.  
What shall I say more? On the morrow, at the hour of midday, accompanied only with her chambermaid, and without any other alteration in opinion; she went to the house where the Bath was promised, and meeting there with the old woman, demanded of her, if Philippello were come thither as yet or no? The woman, being well instructed by Ricciardo, answered: Are you she that should meet him here. Yes, replied Catulla. Go in then to him (quoth the woman) for he is not fare off before you.  
Madame Catulla, who went to seek that which she would not find, being brought vailed into the dark Chamber where Ricciardo was, entered into the Bath, hoping to find none other there but her husband, and the custom of the country, never disallowed such meetings of men with their wives, but held them to be good and commendable. In a counterfeit voice he bade her welcome, and she, not seeming to be any other than she was indeed, entertained his embracings in as loving manner; yet not daring to speak, lest he should know her, but suffered him to proceed in his own error.  
Let pass the wanton follies passing between them, and come to madam Catulla, who finding it a fit and convenient time, to vent forth the tempest of her spleen, began in this manner. Alas! how mighty are the misfortunes of women, and how ill requited is the loyal love, of many wives to their husbands? I, a poor miserable Lady, who, for the space of eight years now fully completed, have loved thee more dear than mine own life, find now (to my hearts endless grief) how thou wastest and consumest thy desires, to delight them with a strange woman, like a most vile and wicked man as thou art. With whom dost thou now imagine thyself to be? Thou art with her, whom thou hast long time deluded by false blandishments, feigning to affect her, when thou dotest in thy desires elsewhere. I am thine own Catulla, and not the wife of Ricciardo, traitorous and unfaithful man, as thou art. I am sure thou knowest my voice, and I think it a thousand years, until we may see each other in the light, to do thee such dishonour as thou justly deservest, dogged, disdainful, and villainous wretch. By conceiving to have another woman in the wanton embraces, thou hast declared more jovial disposition, and demonstrations of fare greater kindness, then domestic familiarity. At home thou lookest sour, sullen or surly, often froward, and seldom well pleased. But the best is, whereas thou intendest this husbandry for another man's ground, thou hast (against thy will) bestowed it on thine own, and the water hath run a contrary course, quite from the current where thou meantst it.  
What answer canst thou make, devil, and no man? What, have my words smitten thee dumb? Thou mayest (with shame enough) hold thy peace, for with the face of a man, and love of an husband to his wife, thou art not able to make any answer.  
Ricciardo durst not speak one word, but still expressed his affable behaviour towards her, bestowing infinite embraces and kisses on her: which so much the more augmented her rage and anger, continuing on her chiding thus. If by these flatteries and idle follies, thou hopest to comfort or pacify me, thou runnest quite by as from thy reckoning: for I shall never imagine myself half satisfied, until in the presence of my parents, friends, and neighbours, I have revealed thy base behaviour. Tell me, treacherous man, am not I as fair, as the wife of Ricciardo? Am I not as good a Gentlewoman borne, as she is? What canst thou more respect in her, then is in me? Villain, monster, why dost thou not answer me? I will send to Ricciardo, who loveth me beyond all other women in Naples, and yet could never vaunt, that I gave him so much as a friendly look: he shall know, what a dishonour thou hadst intended towards him; which both he and his friends will revenge sound upon thee.  
The exclamations of the Lady were so tedious and irksome, that Ricciardo perceiving, if she continued longer in these complaints, worse would ensue thereon, then could be easily remedied: resolved to make himself known to her, to reclaim her out of this violent ecstasy, and holding her somewhat strictly, to prevent her escaping from him, he said. Madam, afflict yourself no further, for, what I could not obtain by simply loving you, subtlety hath better taught me, and I am your Ricciardo, which she hearing, and perfectly knowing him by his voice; she would have leapt out of the Bath, but she could not, and to avoid her crying out, he laid his hand on her mouth, saying. Lady, what is done, cannot now be undone, albeit you cried out all your life time. If you exclaim, or make this known openly by any means; two unavoidable dangers must needs ensue thereon. The one (which you ought more carefully to respect) is the wounding of your good renown and honour, because, when you shall say, that by treachery I drew you hither: I will boldly maintain the contrary, avouching, that having corrupted you with gold, and not giving you so much as covetously you desired; you grew offended, and thereon made the outcry, and you are not to learn, that the world is more easily induced to believe the worst, than any goodness, be it never so manifest. Next unto this, mortal hatred must arise between your husband and me, and (perhaps) I shall as soon kill him, as he me; whereby you can hardly live in any true contentment after. Wherefore, joy of my life, do not in one moment, both shame yourself, and cause such peril between your husband and me: for you are not the first, neither can be the last, that shall be deceived. I have not beguiled you, to take any honour from you, but only declared, the faithful affection I bear you, and so shall do for ever, as being your bounden and most obedient servant; and as it is a long time ago, since I dedicated myself and all mine to your service, so henceforth must I remain for ever. You are wise enough (I know) in all other things; then show yourself not to be silly or simple in this.  
Ricciardo uttered these words, tears streaming abundantly down his cheeks, and madam Catulla (all the while) likewise showered forth her sorrows equally to his, now, although she was exceedingly troubled in mind, and saw what her own jealous folly had now brought her to, a shame beyond all other whatsoever: in the midst of her tormenting passions, she considered on the words of Ricciardo, found good reason in them, in regard of the unavoidable evils, whereupon she thus spoke. Ricciardo, I know not how to bear the horrible injury, and notorious treason used by thee against me, grace and goodness having so forsaken me, to let me fall in so foul a manner. Nor becometh it me, to make any noise or outcry here, whereto simplicity, or rather devilish jealousy, did conduct me. But certain I am of one thing, that I shall never see any one joyful day, till (by one means or other I be revenged on thee. Thou hast glutted thy desire with my disgrace, let me therefore go from thee, never more to look upon my wronged husband, or let any honest woman ever see my face.  
Ricciardo perceiving the extremity of her perplexed mind, used all manly and mild persuasions, which possibly he could device to do, to turn the torrent of this high tide, to a calmer course; as by outward show she made appearance of, until (in frightful fears shunning every one she met withal, as arguments of her guiltiness) she recovered her own house, where remorse so tortured her distressed soul, that she fell into so fierce a melancholy, as never left her till she died. Upon the report whereof, Ricciardo becoming likewise a widower, and grieving extraordinarily for his heinous transgression, penitently betook himself to live in a wilderness, where (not long after) he ended his days.   

Thebaldo Elisei, having received an unkind repulse by his beloved, departed from Florence, and returning thither again (a long while after) in the habit of a pilgrim; he spoke with her, and made his wrongs known unto her. He delivered her Husband from the danger of death, because it was proved, that he had slain Thebaldo: he made peace with his brethren, and in the end, wisely enjoyed his hearts desire.  
The seaventh novel.  
Wherein is signified the power of love, and the diversity of dangers, whereinto men may daily fall.  
SO ceased Fiametta her discourse, being generally commended, when the Queen, to prevent the loss of time, commanded Aemillia to follow next, who thus began. It liketh me best (gracious Ladies) to return home again to our own City, which it pleased the former two discoursers to part from: And there I will show you, how a Citizen of ours, recovered the kindness of his love, after he had lost it.  
Sometime there dwelled in Florence a young gentleman, named Thebaldo Elisci, descended of a noble House, who became earnestly enamoured of a widow, called Hermelina, the daughter to Aldobrandino Palermini: well deserving, for his virtues and commendable qualities, to enjoy of her whatsoever he could desire. Secretly they were espoused together, but Fortune, the enemy to lover's felicities, opposed her malice against them, in depriving Thebaldo of those dear delights, which sometime he held in free possession, and making him as a stranger to her gracious favours. Now grew she contemptibly to despise him, not only denying to hear any message sent from him, but scorning also to vouchsafe so much as a sight of him, causing in him extreme grief and melancholy, yet concealing all her unkindness so wisely to himself, as no one could understand the reason of his sadness.  
After he had laboured by all hopeful courses, to obtain that favour of her, which he had formerly lost, without any offence in him, as his innocent soul truly witnessed with him, and saw that all his further endeavours were fruitless and in vain; he concluded to retreat himself from the World, and not to be any longer irksome in her eye, that was the only occasion of his unhappiness. Hereupon, storing himself with such sums of money, as suddenly he could collect together, secretly he departed from Florence, without speaking any word to his friends or kindred; except one kind companion of his, whom he acquainted with most of his secrets, and so traveled to Ancona, where he termed himself by the name of Sandolescio. Repairing to a wealthy Merchant there, he placed himself as his servant, and went in a Ship of his with him to Cyprus; his actions and behaviour proved so pleasing to the Merchant, as not only he allowed him very sufficient wages, but also grew into such association with him; as he gave the most of his affairs into his hands, which he guided with such honest and discreet care, that he himself (in few years compass) proved to be a rich Merchant, and of famous report.  
While matters went on in this successful manner, although he could not choose, but still he remembered his cruel Mistress, and was very desperately transported for her love, as coveting (above all things e●se) to see her once more; yet was he of such powerful constancy, as 7. whole years together, he vanquished all those fierce conflicts. But on a day it chanced he heard a song sung in Cyprus, which he himself had formerly made, in honour of the love he bore to his Mistress, and what delight he conceived, by being daily in her presence; whereby he gathered, that it was impossible for him to forget her, and proceeded on so desirously, as he could not live, except he had a sight of her once more, and therefore determined on his return to Florence. Having set all his affairs in due order, accompanied with a servant of his only, he passed to Ancona, where when he was arrived, he sent his Merchandises to Florence, in name of the Merchant of Ancona, who was his especial friend and partner; travailing himself alone with his servant, in the habit of a pilgrim, as if he had been newly returned from Jerusalem.  
Being come to Florence, he went to an inn kept by two brethren, near neighbours to the dwelling of his Mistress, and the first thing he did, was passing by her door, to get a sight of her if he were so happy. But he found the windows, doors, and all parts of the house fast shut up, whereby he suspected her to be dead, or else to be changed from her dwelling: wherefore (much perplexed in mind) he went on to the two brother's inn, finding four persons standing at the gate, attired in mourning, whereat he marvelled not a little; knowing himself to be so transfigured, both in body and habit, fare from the manner of common use at his parting thence, as it was a difficult matter to know him: he stepped boldly to a shoemaker's shop near adjoining, and demanded the reason of their wearning mourning. The shoemaker made answer thus; Sir, those men are clad in mourning, because a brothers of theirs, being named Thebaldo (who hath been absent hence a long while) about some fifteen days since was slain. And they having heard, by proof made in the Court of justice, that one Aldobrandino Palermini (who is kept close prisoner) was the murderer of him, as he came in a disguised habit to his daughter, of whom he was most affectionately enamoured; cannot choose, but let the World know by their outward habits, the inward affliction of their hearts, for a deed so dishonourably committed.  
Thebaldo wondered greatly hereat, imagining, that some man belike resembling him in shape, might be slain in this manner, and by Aldobr andino, for whose misfortune he grieved marvellously. As concerning his Mistress, he understood that she was living, and in good health; and night drawing on apace, he went to his lodging, with infinite molestations in his mind, where after supper, he was lodged in a Corne-loft with his man. Now by reason of many disturbing imaginations, which incessantly wheeled about his brain, his bed also being none of the best, and his supper (perhaps) somewhat of the coursest; a great part of the night was spent, yet could he not close his eyes together. But lying still broad awake, about the dead time of night, he heard the treading of diverse persons over his head, who descended down a pair of stairs by his Chamber, into the lower parts of the house, carrying a light with them, which he discerned by the chinks and crannies in the wall. Stepping softly out of his bed, to see what the meaning hereof might be, he espied a fair young woman, who carried the light in her hand, and three men in her company, descending down the stairs together, one of them speaking thus to the young woman. Now we may boldly warrant our safety, because we have heard it assuredly, that the death of Thebaldo Elisei, hath been sufficiently approved by the Brethren, against Aldobrandino Palermini, and he hath confessed the fact; whereupon the sentence is already set down in writing. But yet it behoveth us notwithstanding, to conceal it very secretly, because if ever hereafter it should be known, that we are they who murdered him, we shall be in the same danger, as now Aldobrandino is.  
When Thebaldo had heard these words, he began to consider with himself, how many and great the dangers are, wherewith men's minds may daily be molested. First, he thought on his own brethren in their sorrow, and buried a stranger in steed of him, accusing afterward (by false opinion, and upon the testimony of as false witnesses) a man most innocent, making him ready for the stroke of death. Next, he made a strict observation in his soul, concerning the blinded severity of Law, and the Ministers thereto belonging, who pretending a diligent and careful inquisition for truth, do oftentimes (by their tortures and torments) hear lies avouched (only for ●ase of pain) in the place of a true confession, yet thinking themselves (by doing so) to be the Ministers of God and justice, whereas indeed they are the devil's executioners of his wickedness. Lastly, converting his thoughts to Aldobrandino, the imagined murderer of a man yet living, infinite cares beleaguered his soul, in devising what might best be done for his deliverance.  
So soon as he was risen in the morning, leaving his servant behind him in his lodging, he went (when he thought it fit time) all alone toward the house of his Mistress, where finding by good fortune the gate open, he entered into a small Parlour beneath, and where he saw his mistress sitting on the ground, wring her hands, and woefully weeping, which (in mere compassion) moved him to weep likewise; and going somewhat near her, he said. Madam, torment yourself no more, for your peace is not fare off from you. The Gentlewoman hearing him say so, lifted up her head, and in tears spoke thus. Good man, thou seemest to me to be a Pilgrim stranger; what dost thou know, either concerning my peace, or mine affliction? Madam (replied the pilgrim) I am of Constantinople, and (doubtless) am conducted hither by the hand of heaven, to convert your tears into rejoicing, and to deliver your Father from death. How is this? answered she: If thou be of Constantinople, and art but now arrived here; dost thou know who we are, either I, or my Father?  
The pilgrim discoursed to her, even from one end to the other, the history of her Husbands sad disasters, telling her, how many years since she was espoused to him, and many other important matters, which well she knew, and was greatly amazed thereat, thinking him verily to be a Prophet, and kneeling at his feet, entreated him very earnestly, that if he were come to deliver her Father Aldobrandino from death, to do it speedily, because the time was very short. The pilgrim appearing to be a man of great holiness, said. Rise up Madam, refrain from weeping, and observe attentively what I shall say; yet with this caution, that you never reveal it to any person whatsoever. This tribulation whereinto you are fall'n, (as by revelation I am faithfully informed) is for a grievous sin by you heretofore committed, whereof divine mercy is willing to purge you, and to make a perfect amends by a sensible feeling of this affliction; as seeking your sound and absolute recovery, lest you fall into fare greater danger than before. Good man (quoth she) I am burdened with many sins, and do not know for which any amends should be made by me, any one sooner than another: wherefore if you have intelligence thereof, for charity's sake tell it me, and I will do so much as lieth in me, to make a full satisfaction for it. Madam, answered the pilgrim; I know well enough what it is, and will demand it no more of you, to win any further knowledge thereof, than I have already: but because in revealing it yourself, it may touch you with the more true compunction of soul; let us go to the point indeed, and tell me, do you remember, that at any time you were married to an Husband, or no?  
At the hearing of these words, she breathed forth a very vehement sigh, and was stricken with admiration at this question, believing that not any one had knowledge thereof. Howbeit, since the day of the supposed Thebaldoes' burial, such a rumour ran abroad, by means of some speeches, rashly dispersed by a friend of Thebaldoes', who (indeed) knew it; whereupon she returned him this answer. It appeareth to me (good man) that divine ordinativation hath revealed unto you all the secrets of men; and therefore I am determined, not to conceal any of mine from you. True it is, that in my younger years, being left a widow, I entirely affected an unfortunate young Gentleman, who (in secret) was my Husband, and whose death is imposed on my Father. The death of him I have the more bemoaned, because (in reason) it did nearly concern me, by showing myself so savage and rigorous to him before his departure: nevertheless, let me assure you Sir, that neither his parting, long absence from me, or his untimely death, never had the power to bereave my heart of his remembrance.  
Madame, said the pilgrim, the unfortunate young Gentleman that is slain, did never love you; but sure I am, that Thebaldo Elisei loved you dear. But tell me, what was the occasion whereby you conceived such hatred against him? Did he at any time offend you? No truly Sir, quoth she; but the reason of my anger towards him, was by the words and threatenings of a religious Father, to whom once I revealed (under confession) how faithfully I affected him, and what private familiarity had passed between us. When instantly he used such dreadful threatenings to me, and which (even yet) do afflict my soul, that if I did not abstain, and utterly refuse him, the devil would fetch me quick to Hell, and cast me into the bottom of his quenchless and everlasting fire.  
These menaces were so prevailing with me, as I refused all further conversation with Thebaldo, in which regard, I would receive neither letters or messages from him. Howbeit, I am persuaded, that if he had continued here still, and not departed hence in such desperate manner as he did, seeing him melt and consume daily away, even as snow by power of the sunbeams: my austere deliberation had been long ago quite altered, because not at any time (since then) life hath not allowed me one merry day, neither did I, or ever can love any man like unto him.  
At these words the pilgrim sighed, and then proceeded on again thus. Surely Madam, this one only sin, may justly torment you, because I know for a certainty, that Thebaldo never offered you any injury, since the day he first became enamoured of you; and what grace or favour you afforded him, was your own voluntary gift, and (as he took it) no more than in modesty might well become you; for he loving you first, you had been most cruel and unkind, if you should not have requited him with the like affection. If then he continued so just and loyal to you, as (of mine own knowledge) I am able to say he did; what should move you to repulse him so rudely? Such matters ought well to be considered on before hand; for if you did imagine, that you should repeat it as an action ill done, yet you could not do it, because as he became yours, so were you likewise only his; and he being yours, you might dispose of him at your pleasure, as being truly obliged to none but you. How could you then withdraw yourself from him, being only his, and not commit most manifest theft, a fare unfitting thing for you to do, except you had gone with his consent?  
Now Madam, let me further give you to understand, that I am a religious person, and a pilgrim, and therefore am well acquainted with all the courses of their dealing; if therefore I speak somewhat more amply of them, and for your good, it cannot be so unseeming for me to do it, as it would appear ugly in another. In which respect, I will speak the more freely to you, to the end, that you may take better knowledge of them, than (as it seemeth) hitherto you have done. In former passed times such as professed Religion, were learned and most holy persons; but our religious professors now adays, and such as coue● to be so esteemed; have no matter at all of Religion in them, but only the outward show & habit. Which yet is no true badge of Religion neither, because it was ordained by religious institutions, that their garments should be made of narrow, plain, and coursest spun cloth, to make a public manifestation to the world, that (in mere devotion, and religious disposition) by wrapping their bodies in such base clothing, they condemned and despised all temporal occasions. But now adays they make them large, deep, glistering, and of the finest cloth or stuffs to be gotten, reducing those habits to so proud and pontifical a form, that they walk Peacock-like rustling, and strutting with them in the Churches; yea, and in open public places, as if they were ordinary secular persons, to have their pride more notoriously observed. And as the Angler bestoweth his best cunning, with one line and bait to catch many fishes at one strike; even so do these counterfeited habite-mongers, by their dissembling and crafty dealing, beguile many credulous widows, simple women, yea, and men of weak capacity, to credit whatsoever they do or say, and herein they do most of all excercise themselves.  
And to the end, that my speeches may not savour of any untruth against them; these men which I speak of, have not any habit at all of religious men, but only the colour of their garments, and whereas they in times past, desired nothing more than the salvation of men's souls; these fresher witted fellows, covet after women & wealth, and employ all their pains by their whispering confessions, and figures of painted fearful examples, to affright and terrify unsettled and weak consciences, by horrible and blasphemous speeches; yet adding a persuasion withal, that their sins may be purged by almsdeeds and Masses. To the end, that such as credit them in these their daily courses, being guided more by appearance of devotion, than any true compunction of heart, to escape severe penances by them enjoined: may some of them bring bread, others wine, others coin, all of them matter of commodity and benefit, and simply say, these gifts are for the souls of their good friends deceased.  
I make not any doubt, but almsdeeds and prayers, are very mighty, and prevailing means, to appease heaven's anger for some sins committed; but if such as bestow them, did either see or know, to whom they give them: they would more warily keep them, or else cast them before Swine, in regard they are altogether so unworthy of them. But come we now to the case of your ghostly father, crying out in your ear, that secret marriage was a most grievous sin: Is not the breach thereof fare greater. Familiar conversation between man and woman, is a concession merely natural: but to rob, kill, or banish any one, proceedeth from the mind's malignity. That you did rob Thebaldo, yourself hath already sufficiently witnessed, by taking that from him, which with free consent in marriage you gave him. Next I must say, that by all the power remaining in you, you killed him, because you would not permit him to remain with you, declaring yourself in the very height of cruelty, that he might destroy his life by his own hands. In which case the Law requireth, that whosoever is the occasion of an ill act committed, he or she is as deep in the fault, as the party that did it. Now concerning his banishment, and wand'ring seven years in exile thorough the world; you cannot deny, but that you were the only occasion thereof. In all which three several actions, fare more capitally have you offended; then by contracting of marriage in such clandestine manner.  
But let us see, whether Thebaldo deserved all these several castigations, or not. In truth he did not, yourself have confessed (beside that which I know) that he loved you more dear than himself, and nothing could be more honoured, magnified and exalted, then daily you were by him, above all other women whatsoever. When he came in any place, where honestly, and without suspicion he might speak to you: all his honour, and all his liberty, lay wholly committed into your power. Was he not a noble young Gentleman? Was he (among all those parts that most adorn a man, and appertain to the very choicest respect) inferior to any one of best merit in your city? I know that you cannot make denial to any of these demands. How could you then by the persuasion of a beast, a fool, a villain, yea, a vagabond, envying both his happiness and yours, enter into so cruel a mind against him? I know not what error misguideth women, in scorning and despising their husbands: but if they entered into a better consideration, understanding truly what they are, and what nobility of nature God hath endued man withal, fare above all other creatures; it would be their highest title of glory, when they are are so preciously esteemed of them, so dear affected by them, and so gladly embraced in all their best abilities.  
This is so great a sin, as the divine justice (which in an equal balance bringeth all operations to their full effect) did purpose not to leave unpunished; but, as you enforced against all reason, to take away Thebaldo from yourself: even so your Father Aldobrandino, without any occasion given by Thebaldo, is in peril of his life, and you a partaker of his tribulation. Out of which if you desire to be delivered, it is very convenient that you promise one thing which I shall tell you, and may much better be by you performed. Namely, that if Thebaldo do at any time return from his long banishment, you shall restore him to your love, grace, and good acceptation; accounting him in the self same degree of favour and private entertainment, as he was at the first, before you wicked ghostly father so hellishly incensed you against him.  
When the pilgrim had finished his speeches, the Gentlewoman, who had listened to them very attentively (because all the all caged reasons appeared to be plainly true) became verily persuaded, that all these afflictions had fall'n on her and her Father, for the ingrateful offence by her committed, and therefore thus replied. Worthy man, and the friend to goodness, I know undoubtedly, that the words which you have spoken are true, and also I understand by your demonstration, what manner of people some of those religious persons are, whom heretofore I have reputed to be Saints, but find them now to be far otherwise. And to speak truly, I perceive the fault to be great and grievous, wherein I have offended against Thebaldo, and would (if I could) willingly make amends, even in such manner as you have advised. But how is it possible to be done? Thebaldo being dead, can be no more recalled to this life; and therefore, I know not what promise I should make, in a matter which is not to be performed. Whereto, the pilgrim without any longer pausing, thus answered.  
Madam, by such revelations as have been shown to me, I know for a certainty, that Thebaldo is not dead, but living, in health, and in good estate; if he had the fruition of your grace and favour. Take heed what you say Sir (quoth the Gentlewoman) for I saw him lie slain before my door, his body having received many wounds, which I folded in mine arms, and washed his face with my brinish tears; whereby (perhaps) the scandal arose, that flew abroad to my disgrace. Believe me Madam, (replied the pilgrim) say what you will, I dare assure you that Thebaldo is living, and if you dare make promise, concerning what hath been formerly requested, and keep it inviolably; I make no doubt, but you yourself shall shortly see him. I promise it (quoth she) and bind myself thereto by a sacred oath, to keep it faithfully: for never could any thing happen, to yield me the like contentment, as to see my Father free from danger, and Thebaldo living.  
At this instant Thebaldo thought it to be a very apt and convenient time to disclose himself, and to comfort the Lady, with an assured signal of hope, for the deliverance of her Father, wherefore he said. Lady, to the end that I may comfort you infallibly, in this dangerous peril of your father's life; I am to make known an especial secret to you, which you are to keep carefully (as you tender your own life) from ever being revealed to the world. They were then in a place of sufficient privacy, and alone by themselves, because she reposed great confidence in the pilgrims sanctity of life, as thinking him none other, then as he seemed to be. Thebaldo took out of his Purse a Ring, which she gave him, the last night of their conversing together, and he had kept with no mean care, and showing it to her, he said. Do you know this Ring Madam? So soon as she saw it, immediately she knew it, and answered. Yes Sir, I know the Ring, and confess that heretofore I gave it unto Thebaldo.  
Hereupon the pilgrim stood up, and suddenly putting off his poor linen frock, as also the Hood from his head; using then his Florentine tongue, he said. Then tell me Madam, do you not know me? When she had advisedly beheld him, and knew him indeed to the Thebaldo; she was stricken into a wonderful astonishment, being as fearful of him, as she was of the dead body, which she saw lying in the street. And I dare assure you, that she durst not go near him, to respect him, as Thebaldo so lately come from Cyprus: but (in terror) fled away from him; as if Thebaldo had been newly risen out of his grave, and came thither purposely to affright her; wherefore he said. Be not afraid Madam, I am your Thebaldo, in health, alive, and never as yet died, neither have I received any wounds to kill me, as you and my brethren have formerly imagined.  
Some better assurance getting possession of her soul, as knowing him perfectly by his voice, and looking more steadfastly on his face, which constantly avouched him to be Thebaldo; the tears trickling amain down her fair cheeks, she ran to embrace him, casting her arms about his neck, and kissing him a thousand times, saying; Theboldo, my true and faithful! Husband, nothing in the World can be so welcome to me. Thebaldo having most kindly kissed and embraced her, said; sweet wife, time will not now allow us those ceremonious courtesies, which (indeed) so long a separation do justly challenge; but I must about a more weighty business, to have your Father safe and sound delivered, which I hope to do before to morrow at night, when you shall hear tidings to your better contentment. And questionless, if I speed no worse than my good hope persuadeth me, I will see you again to night, and acquaint you at better leisure, in such things as I cannot do now at this present.  
So putting on his pilgrims habit again, kissing her once more, and comforting her with future good success, he departed from her, going to the prison where Aldobrandino lay, whom he found more pensive, as being in hourly expectation of death, than any hope he had to be freed from it. Being brought nearer to him by the prisoners favour, as seeming to be a man, come only to comfort him; sitting down by him, thus he began. Aldobrandino, I am a friend of thine, whom heaven hath sent to do thee good, in mere pity and compassion of thine innocency. And therefore, if thou wil● grant me one small request, which I am earnestly to crave at thy hands; thou shalt hear (without any failing) before to morrow at night, the sentence of thy free absolution, whereas now thou expectest nothing but death; whereunto Aldobrandino thus answered. Friendly man, seeing thou art so careful of my safety (although I know thee not, neither do remember that ever I saw thee till now) thou must needs (as it appeareth no less) be some especial kind friend of mine. And to tell thee the truth, I never committed the sinful deed, for which I am condemned to death. Most true it is, I have other heinous and grievous sins, which (undoubtedly) have thrown this heavy judgement upon me, and therefore I am the more willing to undergo. Nevertheless, let me thus fare assure thee, that I would gladly, not only promise something, which might to the glory of God, if he were pleased in this case to take mercy on me; but also would as willingly perform and accomplish it. Wherefore, demand whatsoever thou pleasest of me, for unfeignedly (if I escape with life) I will truly keep promise with thee.  
Sir, replied the pilgrim, I desire nor demand any thing of you, but that you would pardon the four brethren of Thebaldo, who have brought you to this hard extremity, as thinking you to be guilty of their brother's death, and that you would also accept them as your brethren and friends, upon their craving pardon for what they have done. Sir, answered Aldobrandino, no man knoweth how sweet revenge is, nor with what heat it is to be desired, but only the man who hath been wronged. Notwithstanding, not to hinder my hope, which only aimeth at heaven; I freely forgive them, and henceforth pardon them for ever; intending moreover, that if mercy give me life, and clear me from this bloody imputation, to love and respect them so long as I shall live. This answer was most pleasing to the pilgrim, and without any further multiplication of speeches, he entreated him to be of good comfort, for he feared not but before the time prefixed, he should hear certain tidings of his deliverance.  
At his departing from him, he went directly to the Signoria, and prevailed so fare, that he spoke privately with a Knight, who was then one of the States chiefest Lords, to whom he said. Sir, a man ought to bestow his best pains and diligence, that the truth of things should be apparently known; especially, such men as hold the place and office as you do: to the end, that those persons which have committed no foul offence, should not be punished, but only the guilty and heinous transgressors. And because it will be no mean honour to you, to lay the blame where it worthily deserveth; I am come hither purposely, to inform you in a case of most weighty importance. It is not unknown to you, with what rigour the State hath proceeded against Aldobrandino Palermini, and you think verily he is the man that hath slain Thebaldo Elisei, whereupon your law hath condemned him to dye. I dare assure you Sir, that a very unjust course hath been taken in this case, because Aldobrandino is falsely accused, as you yourself will confess before midnight, when they are delivered into your power, that were the murderers of the man.  
The honest Knight, who was very sorrowful for Aldobrandino, gladly gave attention to the pilgrim, and having conferred on many matters, appertaining to the fact committed: the two brethren, who were Thebaldoes' hostess, and their chambermaid, upon good advice given, were apprehended in their first sleep, without any resistance made in their defence. But when the tortures were sent for, to understand truly how the case went; they would not endure any pain at all, but each aside by himself, and then altogether, confessed openly, that they did the deed, yet not knowing him to be Thebaldo Elisei. And when it was demanded of them, upon what occasion they did so foul an act. They answered, that they were so hateful against the man's life, because he would luxuriously have abused one of their wives, when they both were absent from their own home.  
When the pilgrim had heard this their voluntary confession, he took his leave of the Knight, returning secretly to the house of Madame Hermelina, and there, because all her people were in their beds, she careful awaited his return, to hear some glad tidings of her father, and to make a further reconciliation between her and Thebaldo, when, sitting down by her, he said. Dear love, be of good cheer, for (upon my word) to morrow you shall have your father home safe, well, and delivered from all further danger: and to confirm her the more confidently in his words, he declared at large the whole carriage of the business. Hermelina being wondrously joyful, for two such sudden and successful accidents to enjoy her husband alive and in health, and also to have her father freed from so great a danger; kissed and embraced him most affectionately, welcomming him lovingly into her bed, whereto so long time he had been a stranger.  
No sooner did bright day appear, but Thebaldo arose, having acquainted her with such matters as were to be done, and once more earnestly desiring her, to conceal (as yet) these occurrences to herself. So, in his pilgrims habit, he departed from her house, to await convenient opportunity, for attending on the business belonging to Aldobrandino. At the usual hour appointed, the Lords were all set in the signora, and had received full information, concerning the offence imputed to Aldobrandino: setting him at liberty by public consent, and sentencing the other malefactors with death, who (within a few days after) were beheaded in the place where the murder was committed. Thus Aldobrandino being released, to his exceeding comfort, and no small joy of his daughters, kindred and friends, all knowing perfectly, that this had happened by the pilgrims means: they conducted him home to Aldobrandinoes' house, where they desired him to continue so long as himself pleased, using him with most honourable and gracious respect; but especially Hermelina, who knew (better then the rest) on whom she bestowed her liberal favours, yet concealing all closely to herself.  
After two or three days were overpassed, in these complemental entercoursing of kindness, Thebaldo began to consider, that it was high time for reconciliation, to be solemnly passed between his brethren and Aldobrandino. For, they were not a little amazed at his strange deliverance, and went likewise continually armed, as standing in fear of Aldobrandino and his friends; which made him the more earnest, for accomplishment of the promise formerly made unto him. Aldobrandino lovingly replied, that he was ready to make good his word. Whereupon, the pilgrim provided a goodly Banquet, whereat he purposed to have present, Aldobrandino, his daughter, kindred, and their wives. But first, himself would go in person, to invite them in peace to his Banquet, to perform this desired pacification, and conferred with his brethren, using many pregnant and forcible arguments to them, such as are requisite in the like discordant cases. In the end, his reasons were so wise, and prevailing with them, that they willingly condescended, and thought it no disparagement to them, for the recovery of Aldobrandinoes' kindness again, to crave pardon for their great error committed.  
On the morrow following, about the hour of dinner time, the four brethren of Thebaldo, attired in their mourning garments, with their wives and friends, came first to the house of Aldobrandino, who purposely attended for them, and having laid down their weapons on the ground: in the presence of all such, as Aldobrandino had invited as his witnesses, they offered themselves to his mercy, and humbly required pardon of him, for the matter wherein they had offended him. Aldobrandino, shedding tears, most lovingly embraced them, and (to be brief) pardon whatsoever injuries he had received. After this, the sisters and wives, all clad in mourning, courteously submitted themselves, and were graciously welcomed by madam Hermelina, as also diverse other Gentlewomen there present with her. Being all seated at the Tables, which were furnished with such rarities as could be wished for; all things else deserved their due commendation, but only sad silence, occasioned by the fresh remembrance of sorrow, appearing in the habits of Thebaldoes' friends and kindred, which the pilgrim himself plainly perceived, to be the only disgrace to him and his feast. Wherefore, as before he had resolved, when time served to purge away this melancholy; he arose from the Table, when some (as yet) had scarce begun to eat, and thus spoke.  
Gracious company, there is no defect in this Banquet, and more debars it of the honour it might else have, but only the presence of Thebaldo, who having been continually in your company, it seems you are not willing to take knowledge of him, and therefore I mean myself to show him. So, uncasing himself out of his pilgrims clothes, and standing in his Hose and Doublet: to their no little admiration, they all knew him, yet doubted (a good while) whether it were he or no. Which he perceiving, he repeated his brothers and absent kindred's names, and what occurrences had happened between them from time to time, beside the relation of his own passed fortunes, inciting tears in the eyes of his brethren, and all else there present, every one hugging and embracing him, yea, many beside, who were no kin at all to him, Hemelina only excepted, which when Aldobrandino saw, he said unto her. How now Hermelina? Why dost thou not welcome home Thebaldo, so kindly as all here else have done?  
She making a modest courtesy to her Father, and answering so loud as every one might hear her, said. There is not any in this assembly, that more willingly would give him all expression of a joyful welcome home, and thankful gratitude for such especial favours received, then in my heart I could afford to do: but only in regard of those infamous speeches, noised out against me, on the day when we wept for him, who was supposed to be Thebaldo, which slander was to my great discredit. Go on boldly, replied Aldobrandino, dost thou think that I regard any such praters? In the procuring of my deliverance, he hath approved them to be manifest liars, albeit I myself did never credit them. Go then I command thee, and let me see thee both kiss and embrace him. She who de-desired nothing more, shown herself not slothful in obeying her Father, to do but her duty to her husband. Wherefore, being risen; as all the rest had done, but yet in fare more effectual manner, she declared her unfeigned love to Thebaldo. These bountiful favours of Aldobrandino, were joyfully accepted by Thebaldoes' brethren, as also every one else there present in company; so that all former rancour and hatred, which had caused heavy variances between them, was now converted to mutual kindness, and solemn friendship on every side.  
When the feasting days were finished, the garments of sad mourning were quite laid aside, and those, becoming so general a joy, put on, to make their hearts and habits suitable. Now, concerning the man slain, and supposed to be Thebaldo, he was one, that in all parts of body, and trueness of complexion so nearly resembled him, as Thebaldoes' own brethren could not distinguish the one from the other: but he was of Lunigiana, named Fatinolo, and not Thebaldo, whom the two brethren innkeepers maliced, about some idle suspicion conceived, and having slain him, lay the his body at the door of Aldobrandino, where, by the reason of Thebaldoes' absence, it was generally reputed to be he, and Aldobrandino charged to do the deed, by vehement persuasion of the brethren, knowing what love had passed between him and his daughter Hermelina. But happy was the pilgrims return, first to hear those words in the inn, the means to bring the murder to light; and then the discreet carriage of the pilgrim, until he plainly approved himself, to be truly Thebaldo.   

Ferando, by drinking a certain kind of Powder, was buried for dead. And by the Abbot, who was enamoured of his Wife, was taken out of his grave, and put into a dark prison, where they made him believe, that he was in purgatory. Afterward, when time came that he should be raised to life again; he was made to keep a child, which the Abbot had got by his Wife.  
The eight novel.  
Wherein is displayed, the apparent folly of jealousy: And the subtlety of some religious carnal minded men, to beguile silly and simple married men.  
WHen the long discourse of madam Aemilia was ended, not displeasing to any, in regard of the length, but rather held too short, because no exceptions could be taken against it, comparing the rarity of the accidents, and changes together: the Queen turned to madam Lauretto, giving her such a manifest sign, as she knew, that it was her turn to follow next, and therefore she took occasion to begin thus. Fair Ladies, I intent to tell you a Tale of truth, which (perhaps) in your opinions, will seem to sound like a lie: and yet I heard by the very last relation, that a dead man was wept and mourned for, in stead of another being then alive. In which respect. I am now to let you know, how a living man was buried for dead, and being raised again, yet not as living, himself, and diverse more beside, did believe that he came forth of his grave, and adored him as a Saint, who was the occasion thereof, and who (as a bad man) deserved justly to be condemned.  
In Tuscanie there was sometime an abbey, seated, as now we see commonly they are, in a place not much frequented with people, and thereof a monk was Abbot, very holy and curious in all things else, save only a wanton appetite to women: which yet he kept so cleanly to himself, that though some did suspect it, yet it was known to very few. It came to pass, that a rich Country Franklin, named Ferando, dwelled as a near neighbour to the said abbey, he being a man material, of simple and gross understanding, yet he fell into great familiarity with the Abbot; who made use of this friendly conversation to no other end, but for diverse times of recreation, when he delighted to smile at his silly and sottish behaviour.  
Upon this his private frequentation with the Abbot, at last he observed, that Ferando had a very beautiful woman to his wife, with whom he grew so deeply in love, as he had no other meditations either by day or night, but how to become acceptable in her favour. Nevertheless, he concealed his amorous passions privately to himself, and could plainly perceive, that although Ferando (in all things else) was merely a simple fellow, and more like an Idiot, then of any sensible apprehension: yet was he wise enough in loving his wife, keeping her carefully out of all company, as one (indeed) very jealous, lest any should kiss her, but only himself, which driven the Abbot into despair, for ever attaining the issue of his desire. Yet being subtle, crafty, and cautelous, he wrought so on the flexible nature of Ferando, that he brought his wife with him diverse days to the monastery; where they walked in the goodly Garden, discoursing on the beatitudes of eternal life, as also the most holy deeds of men and women, long since departed out of this life, in marvellous civil and modest manner. Yet all these were but trains to a further intention, for the Abbot must needs be her ghostly Father, and she come to be confessed by him; which the fool Ferando took as an especial favour, and therefore he gave his consent the sooner.  
At the appointed time, when the woman came to confession to the Abbot, and was on her knees before him, to his no small contentment, before she would say any thing else, thus she began: Sacred Father, if God had not given me such an husband as I have, or else had bestowed on me none at all; I might have been so happy, by the means of your holy doctrine, very easily to have entered into the way, whereof you spoke the other day, which leadeth to eternal life. But when I consider with myself, what manner of man Ferando is, and think upon his folly withal; I may well term myself to be a widow, although I am a married wife, because while he liveth, I cannot have any other husband. And yet (as sottish as you see him) he is (without any occasion given him) so extremely jealous of me; as I am not able to live with him, but only in continual tribulation & heart's grief. In which respect, before I enter into confession, I most humbly beseech you, that you would vouchsafe (in this distress) to assist me with your fatherly advice and counsel, because, if thereby I cannot attain to a more pleasing kind of happiness; neither confession, or any thing else, is able to do me any good at all.  
These words were not a little welcome to my Lord Abbot, because (thereby) he half assured himself, that Fortune had laid open the path to his hoped pleasures, whereupon he said. Dear daughter, I make no question to the contrary, but it must needs be an exceeding infelicity, to so fair and goodly a young woman as you are, to be plagued with so sottish an husband, brainsick, and without the use of common understanding; but yet subject to a more bellish affliction then all these, namely jealousy, and therefore you being in this woeful manner tormented, your tribulations are not only so much the more credited, but also as amply grieved for, & pitied. In which heavy and irksome perturbations, I see not any means of remedy, but only one, being a kind of physic (beyond all other) to cure him of his foolish jealousy; which medicine is very familiar to me, because I know best how to compound it, always provided, that you can be of so strong a capacity, as to be secret in what I shall say unto you.  
Good Father (answered the Woman) never make you any doubt thereof, for I would rather endure death itself, then disclose any thing which you enjoin me to keep secret: wherefore, I beseech you Sir to tell me, how, and by what means it may be done. If (quoth the Abbot) you desire to have him perfectly cured, of a disease so dangerous and offensive, of necessity he must be sent into Purgatory. How may that be done, said the woman, he being alive? He must needs die, answered the Abbot, for his more speedy passage thither; and when he hath endured so much punishment, as may expiate the quality of his jealousy, we have certain devout and zealous prayers, whereby to bring him back again to life, in as able manner as ever he was. Why then, replied the woman, I must remain in the state of a widow? Very true, said the Abbot, for a certain time, in all which space, you may not (by any means) marry again, because the heavens will therewith be highly offended: but Ferando being returned to life again, you must repossess him as your Husband, but never to be jealous any more. Alas Sir (quoth the woman) so that he may be cured of his wicked jealousy, and I no longer live in such an hellish imprisonment, do as you please.  
Now was the Abbot (well near) on the highest step of his hope, making her constant promise, to accomplish it: But (quoth he) what shall be my recompense when I have done it? Father, said she, whatsoever you please to ask, if it remain within the compass of my power: but you being such a virtuous and sanctified man, and I a woman of so mean worth or merit; what sufficient recompense can I be able to make you? Whereunto the Abbot thus replied. Fair woman, you are able to do as much for me, as I am for you, because as I do dispose myself, to perform a matter for your comfort and consolation, even so ought you to be as mindful of me, in any action concerning my life and welfare. In any such matter Sir (quoth she) depending on your benefit so strictly, you may safely presume to command me. You must then (said the Abbot) grant me your love, and the kind embracing of your person; because so violent are mine affections, as I pine and consume away daily, till I enjoy the fruition of my desires, and none can help me therein but you.  
When the woman heard these words, as one confounded with much amazement, this she replied. Alas, holy Father! what a strange motion have you made to me? I believed very faithfully, that you were no less than a Saint, and is it convenient, that when silly women come to ask counsel of such sanctified men, they should return them such unfitting answers? Be not amazed good woman, said the Abbot, at the motion which I have made unto you, because holiness is not thereby impaired a jot in me; for it is the inhabitant of the soul, the other is an imperfection attending on the body: but be it whatsoever, your beauty hath so powerfully prevailed on me, that entire love hath compelled me to let you know it. And more may you boast of your beauty, than any that ever I beheld before, considering, it is so pleasing to a sanctified man, that it can draw him from divine contemplations, to regard a matter of so humble an equality.  
Let me tell you moreover, worthy Woman, that you see me reverenced here as Lord Abbot, yet am I but as other men are, and in regard I am neither aged, nor misshapen, me thinks the motion I have made, should be the less offensive to you, and therefore the sooner granted. For, all the while as Ferando remaineth in Purgatory, do you but imagine him to be present with you, and your persuasion will the more absolutely be confirmed. No man can, or shall be privy to our close meetings, for I carry the same holy opinion among all men, as you yourself conceived of me, and none dare be so saucy, as to call in question whatsoever I do or say, because my words are Oracles, and mine actions more than half miracles; do you not then refuse so gracious an offer. Enough there are, who would gladly enjoy that, which is frank and freely presented to you, and which (if you be a wise Woman) is merely impossible for you to refuse. Richly am I possessed of Gold and jewels, which shall be all yours, if you please in favour to be mine; wherein I will not be gainsaid, except yourself do deny me.  
The Woman having her eyes fixed on the ground, knew not well how she should deny him; and yet in plain words, to say she consented, she held it to be over-base and immodest, and ill agreeing with her former reputation: when the Abbot had well noted this attention in her, and how silent she stood without returning any answer; he accounted the conquest to be more than half his own: so that continuing on his formal persuasions, he never ceased, but alured her still to believe whatsoever he said. And she much ashamed of his importunity, but more of her own flexible yielding weakness, made answer, that she would willingly accomplish his request; which yet she did not absolutely grant, until Ferando were first sent into Purgatory. And till then (quoth the Abbot) I will not urge any more, because I purpose his speedy sending thither: but yet, so fare lend me your assistance, that either to morrow, or else the next day, he may hither once more to converse with me. So putting a fair gold Ring on her finger, they parted till their next meeting.  
Not a little joyful was the Woman of so rich a gift, hoping to enjoy a great many more of them, and returning home to her neighbours, acquainted them with wonderful matters, all concerning the sanctimonious life of the Abbot, a mere miracle of men, and worthy to be truly termed a Saint. Within two days after, Ferando went to the Abbye again, and so soon as the Abbot espied him, he presently prepared for his sending of him into purgatory. He never was without a certain kind of drug, which being beaten into powder, would work so powerfully upon the brain, and all the other vital senses, as to entrance them with a deadly sleep, and deprive them of all motion, either in the pulses, or any other part else, even as if the body were dead indeed; in which operation it would so hold and continue, according to the quantity given and drunk, as it pleased the Abbot to order the matter. This powder or drug, was sent him by a great Prince of the East, and therewith he wrought wonders upon his novices, sending them into Purgatory when he pleased, and by such punishments as he inflicted on them there, made them (like credulous asses) believe whatsoever himself listed.  
So much of this powder had the Abbot provided, as should suffice for three days entrauncing, and having compounded it with a very pleasant Wine, calling Ferando into his Chamber, there gave it him to drink, and afterward walked with him about the cloister, in very friendly conference together, the silly sot never dreaming on the treachery intended against him. Many monks beside were recreating themselves in the cloister, most of them delighting to behold the follies of Ferando, on whom the potion began so to work, that he slept in walking, nodding and reeling as he went, till at the last he fell down, as if he had been dead.  
The Abbot pretending great admiration at this accident, called his monks about him, all labouring by rubbing his temples, throwing cold water and vinegar in his face, to revive him again; alleging that some fume or vapour in the stomach, had thus overawed his understanding faculties, and quite deprived him of life indeed. At length, when by tasting the pulse, and all their best employed pains, they saw that their labour was spent in vain; the Abbot used such persuasions to the monks, that they all believed him to be dead: whereupon they sent for his Wife and friends, who crediting as much as the rest did, were very sad and sorrowful for him.  
The Abbot (clothed as he was) laid him in a hollow vault under a tomb, such as there are used in stead of graves; his Wife returning home again to her House, with a young son which she had by her Husband, protesting to keep still within her House, and never more to be seen in any company, but only to attend her young son, and be very careful of such wealth as her Husband had left unto her.  
From the City of Bologna, that very instant day, a well stayed and governed monk there arrived, who was a near kinsman to the Abbot, and one whom he might securely trust. In the dead time of the night, the Abbot and this monk arose, and taking Ferando out of the vault, carried him into a darge dungeon or prison, which he termed by the name of Purgatory, and where he used to discipline his monks, when they had committed any notorious offence, deserving to be punished in Purgatory. There they took off his usual wearing garments, and clothed him in the habit of a monk, even as if he had been one of the house; and laying him on a bundle of straw, so left him until his senses should be restored again. On the day following, late in the evening, the Abbot, accompanied with his trusty monk, (by way of visitation) went to see and comfort the supposed widow; finding her attired in black, very sad and pensive, which by his wont persuasions, indifferently he appeased; challenging the benefit of her promise. She being thus alone, not hindered by her husband's jealousy, and espying another goodly gold Ring on his finger, how frailty and folly overruled her, I know not, she was a weak woman, he a devilish deluding man; and the strongest holds by overlong battery and besieging, must needs yield at the last, as I fear she did: for very often afterward, the Abbot used in this manner to visit her, and the simple ignorant country people, carrying no such ill opinion of the holy Abbot, and having seen Ferando lying for dead in the vault, and also in the habit of a monk; were verily persuaded, that when they saw the Abbot pass by to and fro, but most commonly in the night season, it was the ghost of Ferando, who walked in this manner after his death, as a just penance for his jealousy.  
When Ferando's senses were recovered again, and he found himself to be in such a darksome place; not knowing where he was, he began to cry and make a noise. When presently the monk of Bologna (according as the Abbot had tutured him) stepped into the dungeon, carrying a little wax candle in the one hand, and a smarting whip in the other, going to Ferando, he stripped off his clothes, and began to lash him very sound. Ferando roaring and crying, could say nothing else, but, where am I? The monk (with a dreadful voice) replied: Thou art in Purgatory. How? Said Ferando; what? Am I dead? Thou art dead (quoth the monk) and began to lash him lustily again. Poor Ferando, crying out for his Wife and little son, demanded a number of idle questions, whereto the monk still fitted him with as fantastic answers. Within a while after, he set both food and wine before him, which when Ferando saw, he said; How is this? Do dead men eat and drink? Yes, replied the monk, and this food which here thou seest, thy Wife brought hither to their Church this morning, to have Masses devoutly sung for thy soul; and as to other, so must it be set before thee, for such is the command of the patron of this place.  
Ferando having lain entranced three days and three nights, felt his stomach well prepared to eat, and feeding very hearty, still said; O my good Wife, O my loving Wife, long mayest thou live for this extraordinary kindness. I promise thee (sweet heart) while I was alive, I cannot remember, that ever any food and wine was half so pleasing to me. O my dear Wife; O my honey Wife. Canst thou (quoth the monk) praise and commend her now, using her so villainously in thy life time? Then did he whip him more fiercely than before, when Ferando holding up his hands, as craving for mercy, demanded wherefore he was so severely punished? I am so commanded (quoth the monk) by supreme power, and twice every day must thou be thus disciplined. Upon what occasion? Replied Ferando. Because (quoth the monk) thou wast most notoriously jealous of thy Wife, she being the very kindest woman to thee, as all the country containeth not her equal. It is too true, answered Ferando, I was overmuch jealous of her indeed: but had I known, that jealousy was such a hateful sin against heaven, I never would have offended therein.  
Now (quoth the monk) thou canst confess thine own wilful folly, but this should have been thought on before, and whilst thou wast living in the World. But if the Fates vouchsafe to favour thee so much, as hereafter to send thee to the World once more; remember thy punishment here in Purgatory, and sin no more in that foul sin of jealousy. I pray you Sir tell me, replied Ferando, after men are dead, and put into Purgatory, is there any hope of their ever visiting the World any more? Yes, said the monk, if the fury of the Fates be once appeased. O that I knew (quoth Ferando) by what means they would be appeased, and let me visit the World once again: I would be the best Husband that ever lived, and never more be jealous, never wrong so good a Wife, nor ever use one unkind word against her. In the mean while, and till their anger may be qualified; when next my Wife doth send me ●oode, I pray you work so much, that some Candles may be sent me also, because I live here in uncomfortable darkness; and what should I do with food, if I have no light. She sends Lights enough, answered the monk, but they are burnt out on the Altar in Masse-time, and thou canst have none other here, but such as I must bring myself; neither are they allowed, but only for the time of thy feeding and correcting.  
Ferando breathing forth a vehement sigh, desired to know what he was, being thus appointed to punish him in Purgatory? I am (quoth the monk) a dead man, as thou art, borne in Sardignia, where I served a very jealous Master; and because I soothed him in his jealousy, I had this penance imposed on me, to serve thee here in Purgatory with meat and drink, and (twice every day) to discipline thy body, until the Fates have otherwise determined both for thee and me. Why? Said Ferando, are any other persons here, beside you and I? Many thousands, replied the monk, whom thou canst neither hear nor see, no more than they are able to do the like by us. But how fare, said Ferando, is Purgatory distant from our native Countries? About some fifty thousand leagues, answered the monk; but yet passable in a moment, whensoever the offended Fates are pleased: and many Masses are daily said for thy soul, at the earnest entreaty of thy Wife, in hope of thy conversion; and becoming a new man, hating to be jealous any more hereafter.  
In these and such like speeches, as thus they beguiled the time, so did they observe it for a daily course, sometime discipling, other whiles eating and drinking, for the space of ten whole months together: in the which time, the Abbot seldom failed to visit Ferando's wife, without the least suspicion in any of the neighbours, by reason of their settled opinion, concerning the nightly walking of Ferando's ghost. But, as all pleasures cannot be exempted from some following pain or other, so it came to pass, that Ferando's wife proved to be conceived with child, and the time was drawing on for her deliverance. Now began the Abbot to consider, that Ferando's folly was sufficiently chastised, and he had been long enough in Purgatory: wherefore, the better to countenance all passed inconveniences, it was now thought high time, that Ferando should be sent to the world again, and set free from the pains of Purgatory, as having paid for his jealousy dear, to teach him better wisdom hereafter.  
Late in the dead time of the night, the Abbot himself entered into the dark dungeon, and in an hollow counterfeited voice, called to Ferando, saying. Comfort thyself Ferando, for the Fates are now pleased, that thou shalt be released out of Purgatory, and sent to live in the world again. Thou didst leave thy wife newly conceived with child, and this very morning she is delivered of a goodly son, whom thou shalt cause to be named Bennet: because, by the incessant prayers of the holy Abbot, thine own loving wife, and for sweet Saint Bennets sake, this grace and favour is afforded thee. Ferando hearing this, was exceeding joyful, and returned this answer: For ever honoured be the Fates, the holy Lord Abbot, blessed Saint Bennet, and my most dear beloved wife, whom I will faithfully love for ever, and never more offend her by any jealousy in me.  
When the next food was sent to Ferando, so much of the powder was mingled with the wine, as would serve only for four hours entrauncing, in which time, they clothed him in his own wearing apparel again, the Abbot himself in person, and his honest trusty monk of Bologna, conveying and laying him in the same vault under the tomb, where at the first they gave him burial. The next morning following, about the break of day, Ferando recovered his senses, and thorough diverse chinks and crannies of the tomb, descried daylight, which he had not seen in ten months space before. Perceiving then plainly, that he was alive, he cried out aloud, saying: Open, open, and let me forth of Purgatory, for I have been here long enough in conscience. Thrusting up his head against the cover of the tomb, which was not of any great strength, neither well closed together; he put it quite off the tomb, and so got forth upon his feet: at which instant time, the Monks having ended their morning matins, and hearing the noise, ran in haste thither, and knowing the voice of Ferando, saw that he was come forth of the Monument,  
Some of them were ancient Signiors of the house, and yet but mere novices (as all the rest were) in these cunning and politic stratagems of the Lord Abbot, when he intended to punish any one in Purgatory, and therefore, being affrighted, and amazed at this rare accident; they fled away from him running to the Abbot, who making a show to them, as if he were but new come forth of his Oratory, in a kind of pacifying speeches, said; Peace my dear sons, be not afraid, but fetch the cross and Holywater hither; then follow me, and I will show you, what miracle the Fates have pleased to show in our convent, therefore be silent, and make no more noise; all which was performed according to his command.  
Ferando looking lean and pale (as one, that in so long time had not seen the light of heaven, and endured such strict discipline twice every day: stood in a ghastly amazement by the tombs side, as not daring to adventure any further, or knowing perfectly, whether he was (as yet) truly alive, or no. But when he saw the monks and Abbot coming, with their lighted Torches, and singing in a solemn manner of Procession, he humbled himself at the abbot's fear, saying. Holy Father, by your zealous prayers (as hath been miraculously revealed to me) and the prayers of blessed S. Bennet; as also of my honest, dear, and loving Wife, I have been delivered from the pains of Purgatory, and brought again to live in this world; for which unspeakable grace and favour, most humbly I thank the well-pleased Fates, S. Bennet, your fatherhood, and my kind Wife, and will remember all your loves to me for ever. Blessed be the Fates, answered the Abbot, for working so great a wonder here in our Monastery. Go then my good Son, seeing the Fates have been so gracious to thee; Go (I say) home to thine own house, and comfort thy kind wife, who ever since thy departure out of this life, hath lived in continual mourning, love, cherish, and make much of her, never afflicting her henceforth with causeless jealousy. No I warrant you good Father, replied Ferando; I have been well whipped in Purgatory for such folly, and therefore I might be called a stark fool, if I should that way offend any more, either my loving wife, or any other.  
The Abbot causing Miserere to be devoutly sung, sprinkling Ferando well with Holywater, and placing a lighted Taper in his hand, sent him home so to his own dwelling Village: where when the Neighbours beheld him, as people half frighted out of their wits, they fled away from him, so scared and terrified, as if they had seen some dreadful sight, or ghastly apparition; his wife being as fearful of him, as any of the rest. He called to them kindly by their several names, telling them, that he was newly risen out of his grave, and was a man as he had been before. Then they began to touch and feel him, growing into more certain assurance of him, perceiving him to be a living man indeed: whereupon, they demanded many questions of him; and he, as if he were become fare wiser than before, told them tidings, from their long deceased Kindred and Friends, as if he had met with them all in Purgatory, reporting a thousand lies and fables to them, which (nevertheless) they believed.  
Then he told them what the miraculous voice had said unto him, concerning the birth of another young son, whom (according as he was commanded) he caused to be named Bennet Ferando. Thus his return to life again, and the daily wonders reported by him, caused no mean admiration in the people, with much commendation of the abbot's holiness, and Ferando's happy curing of his jealousy.   

juliet of Narbona, cured the King of France of a dangerous Fistula, in recompense whereof, she requested to enjoy as her husband in marriage, Bertrand the Count of Roussilion. He having married her against his will, as utterly despising her, went to Florence, where he made love to a young Gentle woman. Juliet, by a quaint and cunning policy, compassed the means (instead of his chosen new friend) to lie with her own husband, by whom she conceived, and had two sons; which being afterward made known unto Count Bertrand, he accepted her into his favour again, and loved her as his loyal and honourable wife.  
The Ninth novel.  
Commending the good judgement and understanding in Ladies or Gentlewomen, that are of a quick and apprehensive spirit.  
NOw there remained no more (to preserve the privilege granted to Dioneus uninfringed) but the Queen only, to declare her novel. Wherefore, when the discourse of Madam Lauretta was ended, without attending any motion to be made for her next succeeding, with a gracious and pleasing disposition, thus she began to speak. Who shall tell any Tale hereafter, to carry any hope or expectation of a King, having heard the rare and witty discourse of madam Lauretta? Believe me, it was very advantageable to us all, that she was not this days first beginner, because few or none would have had any courage to follow after her; & therefore the rest yet remaining, are the more to be feared and suspected. Nevertheless, to avoid the breach of order, and to claim no privilege by my place, of not performing what I ought to do: prove as it may, a Tale you must have, and thus I proceed.  
There lived sometime in the kingdom of France, a Gentleman named Isnarde, being the Count of Roussillion, who because he was continually weak, crazy and sickly, kept a physician daily in his house, who was called Master Gerard of Narbona. Count Isnarde had one only son, very young in years, yet of towardly hope, fair, comely, and of pleasing person, named Bertrand; with whom, many other children of his age, had their education: and among them, a daughter of the forenamed physician, called Juliet; who, even in these tender years, fixed her affection upon young Bertrand, with such an earnest and intimate resolution, as was most admirable in so young a maiden, and more than many times is noted in years of greater discretion. Old Count Isnard dying, young Bertrand fell as a Ward to the King, and being sent to Paris, remained there under his royal custody and protection, to the no little discomfort of young Juliet, who became grievously afflicted in mind, because she had lost the company of Bertrand.  
Within some few years after, the physician her Father also died, and then her desires grew wholly addicted, to visit Paris herself in person, only because she would see the young Count, awaiting but time & opportunity, to fit her stolen journey thither. But her kindred and friends, to whose care and trust she was committed, in regard of her rich dowry, and being left as a fatherless orphan: were so circumspect of her walks and daily behaviour, as she could not compass any means of escaping. Her years made her now almost fit for marriage, which so much more increased her love to the Count, making refusal of many worthy husbands, and laboured by the motions of her friends and kindred, yet all denied, they not knowing any reason for her refusalles. By this time the Count was become a gallant goodly Gentleman, and able to make election of a wife, whereby her affections were the more violently inflamed, as fearing lest some other should be preferred before her, & so her hopes be utterly disappointed.  
It was noised abroad by common report, that the King of France was in a very dangerous condition, by reason of a strange swelling on his stomach, which failing of apt and convenient curing, became a Fistula, afflicting him daily with extraordinary pain and anguish, no Chirurgeon or physician being found, that could minister any hope of healing, but rather increased the grief, and driven it to more vehement extremity, compelling the King, as despairing utterly of all help, to give over any further counsel or advice. Hereof fair Juliet was wondrously joyful, as hoping that this accident would prove the means, not only of her journey to Paris, but if the disease were no more than she imagined; she could easily cure it, and thereby compass Count Bertrand to be her husband. Hereupon, quickening up her wits, with remembrance of those rules of Art, which (by long practice and experience) she had learned of her skilful Father, she compounded certain herbs together, such as she knew fitting for that kind of infirmity, and having reduced hit compound into a powder, away she road forthwith to Paris.  
Being there arrived, all other serious matters set aside, first she must needs have a sight of Count Bertrand, as being the only Saint that caused her pilgrimage. Next she made means for her access to the King, humbly entreating his majesty, to vouchsafe her the sight of his Fistula. When the King saw her, her modest looks did plainly deliver, that she was a fair, comely, and discreet young Gentlewoman; wherefore, he would no longer hide it, but laid it open to her view. When she had seen and felt it, presently she put the King in comfort; affirming, that she knew herself able to cure his Fistula, saying: Sir, if your highness will refer the matter to me, without any peril of life, or any the least pain to your person, I hope (by the help of heaven) to make you whole and sound within eight days space. The King hearing her words, began merrily to smile at her, saying: How is it possible for thee, being a young Maiden, to do that which the best physicians in Europe, are not able to perform? I commend thy kindness, and will not remain unthankful for thy forward willingness: but I am fully determined, to use no more counsel, or to make any further trial of physic or Chirurgery. Whereto fair Juliet thus replied: Great King, let not my skill and experience be despised, because I am young, and a Maiden; for my profession is not physic, neither do I undertake the ministering thereof, as depending on mine own knowledge; but by the gracious assistance of heaven, & some rules of skilful observation, which I learned of reverend Gerard of Narbona, who was my worthy Father, and a physician of no mean fame, all the while he lived.  
At the hearing of these words, the King began somewhat to admire at her gracious carriage, and said within himself. What know I, whether this virgin is sent to me by the direction of heaven, or no? Why should I disdain to make proof of her skill? Her promise is, to cure me in a small times compass, and without any pain or affliction to me: she shall not come so fare, to return again with the loss of her labour, I am resolved to try her cunning, and thereon said. Fair Virgin, if you cause me to break my settled determination, and fail of curing me, what can you expect to follow thereon? Whatsoever great King (quoth she) shall please you. Let me be strongly guarded, yet not hindered, when I am to prosecute the business: and then if I do not perfectly heal you within eight days, let a good fire be made, and therein consume my body unto ashes. But if I accomplish the cure, and set your highness' free from all further grievance, what recompense then shall remain to me?  
Much did the King commend the confident persuasion which she had of her own power, and presently replied. Fair beauty (quoth he) in regard that thou art a maid and unmarried, if thou keep promise, and I find myself to be fully cured: I will match thee with some such Gentleman in marriage, as shall be of honourable and worthy reputation, with a sufficient dowry beside. My gracious sovereign said she, willing am I, and most hearty thankful withal, that your highness shall bestow me in marriage: but I desire then, to have such a husband, as I shall desire or demand by your gracious favour, without presuming to crave any of your sons, Kindred, or Alliance, or appertaining unto your royal blood. Whereto the King gladly granted. Young Juliet began to minister her physic, and within fewer days than her limited time, the King was sound and perfectly cured; which when he perceived, he said unto her. Trust me virtuous maid, most worthily hast thou won a Husband, name him, and thou shalt have him. Royal King (quoth she) then have I won the Count Bertrand of Roussillion, whom I have most entirely loved from mine Infancy, and cannot (in my soul) affect any other. Very loath was the King to grant her the young Count, but in regard of his solemn passed promise, and his royal word engaged, which he would not by any means break; he commanded, that the Count should be sent for, and spoke thus to him.  
Noble Count, it is not unknown to us, that you are a Gentleman of great honour, and it is our royal pleasure, to discharge your wardship, that you may repair home to your own House, there to settle your affairs in such order, as you may be the readier to enjoy a Wife, which we intent to bestow upon you. The Count returned his highness' most humble thankes, desiring to know of whence, and what she was? It is this Gentlewoman, answered the King, who (by the help of heaven) hath been the means to save my life. Well did the Count know her, as having very often before seen her; and although she was very fair and amiable, yet in regard of her mean birth, which he held as a disparagement to his Nobility in blood; he made a scorn of her, and spoke thus to the King. Would your highness give me a quacksalver to my Wife, one that deals in drugs and Physicarie? I hope I am able to bestow myself much better than so. Why? quoth the King, wouldst thou have us break our faith; which for the recovery of our health, we have given to this virtuous virgin, and she will have no other reward, but only Count Bertrand to be her husband? Sir, replied the Count, you may dispossess me of all that is mine, because I am your Ward and subject, and any where else you may bestow me: but pardon me to tell you, that this marriage cannot be made with any liking or allowance of mine, neither will I ever give consent thereto.  
Sir, said the King, it is our will that it shall be so, virtuous she is, fair and wise; she loveth thee most affectionately, and with her mayest thou lead a more Noble life, then with the greatest Lady in our kingdom. Silent, and discontented stood the Count, but the King commanded preparation for the marriage; and when the appointed time was come, the Count (albeit against his will) received his wife at the King's hand; she loving him dearly as her own life. When all was done, the Count requested of the King, that what else remained for further solemnisation of the marriage, it might be performed in his own country, reserving to himself what else he intended. Being mounted on horseback, and humbly taking their leave of the King, the Count would not ride home to his own dwelling, but into Tuscany, where he heard of a war between the Florentines and the Senesi, purposing to take part with the Florentines, to whom he was willingly and honourably welcomed, being created Captain of a worthy Company, and continuing there a long while in service.  
The poor forsaken new married Countess, could scarcely be pleased with such dishonourable unkindness, yet governing her impatience with no mean discretion, and hoping by her virtuous carriage, to compass the means of his recall: home she road to Roussillion, where all the people received her very lovingly. Now, by reason of the Counts so long absence, all things were there fare out of order; mutinies, quarrels, and civil dissensions, having procured many dissolute eruptions, to the expense of much blood in many places. But she, like a jolly stirring Lady, very wise and provident in such disturbances, reduced all occasions to such civility again, that the people admired her rare behaviour, and condemned the Count for his unkindness towards her.  
After that the whole country of Roussillion (by the policy and wisdom of this worthy Lady was fully reestablished) in their ancient liberties; she made choice of two discreet knights, whom she sent to the Count her husband, to let him understand, that if in displeasure to her, he was thus become a stranger to his own country: upon the return of his answer, to give him contentment, she would departed thence, and by no means disturb him. Roughly and churlishly he replied; Let her do as she list, for I have no determination to dwell with her, or near where she is. Tell her from me, when she shall have this Ring, which you behold here on my finger, and a son in her arms begotten by me; then will I come live with her, and be her love. The Ring he made most precious and dear account of, and never took it off from his finger, in regard of an especial virtue and property, which he well knew to be remaining in it. And these two Knights, hearing the impossibility of these two strict conditions, with no other favour else to be derived from him; sorrowfully returned back to their Lady, and acquainted her with this unkind answer, as also his unalterable determination, which well you may conceive, must needs be very unwelcome to her.  
After she had an indifferent while considered with herself, her resolution became so undauntable; that she would adventure to practise such means, whereby to compass those two apparent impossibilities, and so to enjoy the love of her husband. Having absolutely concluded what was to be done, she assembled all the chiefest men of the country, revealing unto them (in mournful manner) what an attempt she had made already, in hope of recovering her husband's favour, and what a rude answer was thereon returned. In the end, she told them, that it did not suit with her unworthiness, to make the Count live as an exile from his own inheritance, upon no other inducement, but only in regard of her: wherefore, she had determined between heaven and her soul, to spend the remainder of her days in Pilgrimages and prayers, for preservation of the Count's soul and her own; earnestly desiring them, to undertake the charge and government of the country, and signifying unto the Count, how she had forsaken his house, and purposed to wander so far thence, that never would she visit Roussillion any more. In the delivery of these words, the Lords and gentlemen wept and sighed extraordinarily, using many earnest imprecations to alter this resolve in her, but all was in vain.  
Having taken her sad and sorrowful farewell of them all, accompanied only with her maid, and one of her Kinsmen, away she went, attired in a pilgrim's habit, yet well furnished with money and precious jewels, to avoid all wants which might befall her in travail; not acquainting any one whether she went. In no place stayed she, until she was arrived at Florence, where happening into a poor widow's house, like a poor Pilgrim, she seemed well contented therewith. And desiring to hear some tidings of the Count, the next day she saw him pass by the house on horseback, with his company. Now, albeit she knew him well enough, yet she demanded of the good old widow, what Gentleman he was? She made answer, that be was a stranger there, yet a Nobleman, called Count Bertrand of Roussillion, a very courteous Knight, beloved and much respected in the City. Moreover, that he was fare in love with a neighbour of hers, a young Gentlewoman, but very poor and mean in substance, yet of honest life, virtuous, and never taxed with any evil report: only her poverty was the main imbarment of her marriage, dwelling in house with her mother, who was a wise, honest, and worthy Lady.  
The Countess having well observed her words, and considered thereon from point to point; debated soberly with her own thoughts, in such a doubtful case what was best to be done. When she had understood which was the house, the ancient Lady's name, and likewise her daughters, to whom her husband was now so affectionately devoted; she made choice of a fit and convenient time, when (in her pilgrim's habit) secretly she went to the house. There she found the mother and daughter in poor condition, and with as poor a family: whom after she had ceremoniously saluted, she told the old Lady, that she requested but a little conference with her. The Lady arose, and giving her courteous entertainment, they went together into a withdrawing chamber, where being both set down, the Countess began in this manner.  
Madame, in my poor opinion, you are not free from the frowns of Fortune, no more than I myself am: but if you were so well pleased, there is no one that can comfort both our calamities in such manner, as you are able to do. And believe me answered the Lady, there is nothing in the world that can be so welcome to me, as honest comfort. The Countess proceeding on in her former speeches said: I have now need (good madam) both of your trust and fidelity, whereon if I should rely, and you fail me, it will be your own vndooing as well as mine. Speak then boldly, replied the old Lady, and remain constantly assured, that you shall no way be deceived by me. Hereupon, the Countess declared the whole course of her love, from the very original to the instant, revealing also what she was, and the occasion of her coming thither, relating every thing so perfectly, that the Lady verily believed her, by some reports which she had formerly heard, and which moved her the more to compassion. Now, when all circumstances were at full discovered, thus spoke the Countess.  
Among my other miseries and misfortunes, which hath half broken my heart in the mere repetition, beside the sad and afflicting sufferance; two things there are, which if I cannot compass to have, all hope is quite frustrate for ever, of gaining the grace of my Lord and Husband. Yet those two things may I obtain by your help, if all be true which I have heard, and you can therein best resolve me. Since my coming to this City, it hath credibly been told me, that the Count my husband, is deeply in love with your daughter. If the Count (quoth the Lady) love my daughter, and have a wife of his own, he must think, and so shall surely find it, that his greatness is no privilege for him, whereby to work dishonour upon her poverty. But indeed, some appearances there are, and such a matter as you speak of, may be so presumed; yet so fare from a very thought of entertaining in her or me; as whatsoever I am able to do, to yield you any comfort and content, you shall find me therein both willing and ready: for I prise my daughters spotless poverty as at high a rate, as he can do the pride of his honour.  
Madam, quoth the Countess, most hearty I thank you. But before I presume any further on your kindness, let me first tell you, what faithfully I intent to do for you, if I can bring my purpose to effect I see that your daughter is beautiful, and of sufficient years for marriage; and is debarred thereof (as I have heard) only by lack of a competent dowry. Wherefore madam, in recompense of the favour I expect from you, I will enrich her with so much ready money as you shall think sufficient to match her in the degree of honour. Poverty made the poor Lady, very well to like of such a bountiful offer, and having a noble heart she said: Great Countess say, wherein am I able to do you any service, as can deserve such a gracious offer? If the action be honest, without blame or scandal to my poor, yet vndetected reputation, gladly I will do it; and it being accomplished, let the requital rest in your own noble nature.  
Observe me then Madam, replied the Countess. It is most convenient for my purpose, that by some trusty and faithful messenger, you should advertise the Count my husband, that your daughter is, and shall be at his command: but because she may remain absolutely assured, that his love is constant to her, and above all other: she must entreat him, to send her (as a testimony thereof) the Ring which he weareth upon his little finger, albeit she hath heard, that he loveth it dearly. If he send the Ring, you shall give it me, & afterward send him word, that your daughter is ready to accomplish his pleasure; but, for the more safety and secrecy, he must repair hither to your house, where I being in bed instead of your daughter, fair Fortune may so favour me, that (unknown to him) I may conceive with child. Upon which good success, when time shall serve, having the Ring on my finger, and a child in my arms begotten by him, his love and liking may be recovered, and (by your means) I continue with my Husband, as every virtuous Wife ought to do.  
The good old Lady imagined, that this was a matter somewhat difficult, and might lay a blameful imputation on her daughter: nevertheless, considering, what an honest office it was in her, to be the means, whereby so worthy a Countess should recover an unkind husband, led altogether by lust, and not a jot of cordial love; she knew the intent to be honest, the Countess virtuous, and her promise religious, and therefore undertook to effect it. Within few days after, very ingeniously, and according to the instructed order, the Ring was obtained, albeit much against the Counts will; and the Countess, in stead of the Ladies virtuous daughter, was embraced by him in bed: the hour proving so auspicious, and Juno being Lady of the ascendent, conjoined with the witty Mercury, she conceived of two goodly sons, and her deliverance agreed correspondently with the just time.  
Thus the old Lady, not at this time only, but at many other meetings beside; gave the Countess free possession of her husband's pleasures, yet always in such dark and concealed secrecy, as it was never suspected, nor known by any but themselves, the Count lying with his own wife, and disappointed of her whom he more dearly loved. Always at his vprising in the mornings (which usually was before the break of day, for for preventing the least scruple of suspicion) many familiar conferences passed between them, with the gifts of diverse fair and costly jewels; all which the Countess carefully kept, and perceiving assuredly, that she was conceived with child, she would no longer be troublesome to the good old Lady; but calling her aside, spoke thus to her. Madam, I must needs give thankes to heaven and you, because my desires are amply accomplished, and both time and your deserts do justly challenge, that I should accordingly quite you before my departure. It remaineth now in your own power, to make what demand you please of me, which yet I will not give you by way of reward, because that would seem to be base and mercenary: but only whatsoever you shall receive of me, is in honourable recompense of fair & virtuous deservings, such as any honest and well-minded Lady in the like distress, may with good credit allow, and yet no prejudice to her reputation.  
Although poverty might well have tutored the Lady's tongue, to demand a liberal recompense for her pains; yet she requested but an 100 pounds, as a friendly help towards her daughter's marriage, and that with a bashful blushing was uttered too; yet the Countess gave her five hundred pounds, beside so many rich and costly jewels, as amounted to a fare greater sum. So she returned to her wont lodging, at the aged widow's house, where first she was entertained at her coming to Florence; and the good old Lady, to avoid the Counts repairing to her house any more, departed thence suddenly with her daughter, to diverse friends of hers that dwelled in the Country, whereat the Count was much discontented; albeit afterward, he did never hear any more tidings of her or her daughter, who was worthily married, to her mother's great comfort.  
Not long after, Count Bertrand was re-called home by his people: and he having heard of his wife's absence, went to Roussillion so much the more willingly. And the Countess knowing her husband's departure from Florence, as also his safe arrival at his own dwelling, remained still in Florence, until the time of her deliverance, which was of two goodly sons, lively resembling the looks of their Father, and all the perfect lineaments of his body. Persuade yourselves, she was not a little careful of their nursing; and when she saw the time answerable to her determination, she took her journey (unknown to any) and arrived with them at Montpellier, where she rested herself for diverse days, after so long and wearisome a journey.  
Upon the day of all Saints, the Count kept a solemn festival, for the assembly of his Lords, Knights, Ladies, and Gentlewomen: upon which jovial day of general rejoicing, the Countess attired in her wont pilgrims weed, repaired thither, entering into the great Hall, where the Tables were readily covered for dinner. Pressing through the throng of people, with her two children in her arms, she presumed unto the place where the Count sat, & falling on her knees before him, the tears trickling abundantly down her checks, thus she spoke. Worthy Lord, I am thy poor, despised, and unfortunate wife; who, that thou mightst return home, and not be an exile from thine own abiding, have thus long gone begging through the world. Yet now at length, I hope thou wilt be so honourably-minded, as to perform thine own too strict imposed conditions, made to the two Knights which I sent unto thee, and which (by thy command) I was enjoined to do. Behold here in mine arms, not only one son by thee begotten, but two Twins, and thy Ring beside. High time is it now, if men of honour respect their promises, that after so long and redious travel, I should at last be welcomed as thy true wife.  
The Count hearing this, stood as confounded with admiration; for full well he knew the Ring: and both the children were so perfectly like him, as he was confirmed to be their Father by▪ general judgement. Upon his urging by what possible means this could be brought to pass: the Countess in presence of the whole assembly, and unto her eternal commendation, related the whole history, even in such manner as you have formerly heard it. Moreover, she reported the private speeches in bed, uttered between himself and her, being witnessed more apparently, by the costly jewels there openly shown. All which infallible proofs, proclaiming his shame, and her most noble carriage to her husband; he confessed, that she had told nothing but the truth in every point which she had reported.  
Commending her admirable constancy, excellency of wit, & sprightly courage, in making such a bold adventure; he kissed the two sweet boys, and to keep his promise, whereto he was earnestly importuned, by all his best esteemed friends there present, especially the honourable Ladies, who would have no denial, but by forgetting his former harsh and uncivil carriage towards her, to accept her for ever as his lawful wife: folding her in his arms, and sweetly kissing her diverse times together, he bade her welcome to him, as his virtuous, loyal, & most loving wife, and so (for ever after) he would acknowledge her. Well knew he that she had store of better beseeming garments in the house, and therefore requested the Ladies to walk with her to her Chamber, to uncase her of those pilgrims weeds, and clothe her in her own more sumptuous garments, even those which she wore on her wedding day, because that was not the day of his contentment, but only this: for now he confessed her to be his wife indeed, and now he would give the King thanks for her, and now was Count Bertrand truly married to the fair Juliet of Narbona.   

The wonderful and chaste resolved continency of fair Serictha, daughter to Siwalde King of Denmark, who being sought and sued unto by many worthy persons, that did affect her dearly, would not look any man in the face, until such time as she was married.  
The tenth novel.  
A very singular and worthy precedent, for all young Ladies and Gentlewomen: not rashly to bestow themselves in marriage, without the knowledge and consent of their Parents and Friends:  
DIoneus having diligently listened to the Queen's singular discourse, so soon as she had concluded, and none now remaining but himself, to give a full period unto that day's pleasure: without longer trifling the time, or expecting any command from the Queen, thus he began. Gracious Ladies, I know that you do ●ow expect from me, some such quaint Tale, as shall be suitable to my merry disposition, rather savouring of wantonness, than any discreet and sober wisdom, and such a purpose indeed, I once had entertained. But having well observed all your several relations, grounded on grave & worthy examples, especially the last, so notably delivered by the Queen: I cannot but commend fair Juliet of Narbona, in performing two such strange impossibilities, and conquering the unkindness of so cruel a husband. If my Tale come short of the precedent excellency, or give not such content, as you (perhaps) expect; accept my good will, and let me stand engaged for a better hereafter.  
The annals of Denmark do make mention, that the King of the said country, who was first set down as Prince, contrary to the ancient custom and laws observed among the Danes, namely Hunguinus; had a son called Siwalde, who succeeded him in the estates and kingdom, belonging to his famous predecessors. That age, and the Court of that royal Prince, was very highly renowned, by the honour of fair Serictha, Daughter to the said Siwalde; who beside her general repute, of being a miracle of Nature, in perfection of beauty, and most complete in all that the heart of man could desire to note, in a body full of grace, gentleness, and whatsoever else, to attract the eyes of every one to behold her: was also so chaste, modest, and bashful, as it was merely impossible, to prevail so fare with her, that any man should come to speak with her. For, in those days, marriages were pursued and sought by valour, and by the only opinion, which stout warriors conceived, of the virtuous qualities of a Lady. Notwithstanding, never could any man make his vaunt, that she had given him so much as a look, or ever any one attained to the favour, to whisper a word in her ear. Because both the custom and will of Parents then (very respectively kept in those Northern parts of the world) of hearing such speak, as desired their daughters in marriage; grew from offering them some worthy services; and thereby compassed means, to yield their contentation, by some gracious and kind answers.  
But she, who was fare off from the desire of any such follies, referring herself wholly to the will and disposition of the King her Lord and Father; was so contrary, to give any living man an answer, that her eye never looked on any one speaking to her, appearing as sparing in vouchsafing a glance, as her heart was free from a thought of affection. For, she had no other imagination, but that maids, both in their choice & will, aught to have any other disposition, but such as should be pleasing to their parents, either to grant, or deny, according as they were guided by their grave judgement. In like manner, so well had she bridled her sensual appetites, with the curb of Reason, wisdom, and providence, setting such a severe and constant restraint, on the twinkling or motions of her eyes, in absolute obedience to her Father; as never was she seen to turn her head aside, to lend one look on any man of her age.  
A worthy sight it was, to behold Knights errant, passing, repassing to Denmark, and back again, labouring to conquer those settled eyes, to win the least sign of grace and favour, from her whom they so dutiously pursued, to steal but a silly glimpse or glance, and would have thought it a kind of honourable theft. But this immovable rock of beauty, although she knew the designs of them which thus frequented the Court of the King her Father, and could not pretend ignorance of their endeavour, aiming only at obtaining her in marriage: yet did she not lend a●y look of her eye, yielding the least signal of the heart's motion, in affecting any thing whatsoever, but what it pleased her Father she should do.  
Serictha living in this strange and unusual manner, it moved many Princes and great Lords, to come and court her, contending both by signs and words, to change her from this severe constancy, and make known (if possible it might be) whether a woman would or could be so resolute, as to use no respect at all towards them, coming from so many strange countries, to honour her in the Courts of the King her father. But in these days of ours, if such a number of gallant spirits should come, to ask but one look of some of our beauties; I am half afraid, that they should find the eyes of many of our dainty darlings, not so sparing of their glances, as those of Serictha were. Considering, that our Courtiers of these times, are this way emulous one of another, and women are so forward in offering themselves, that they perform the office of suitors, as fearing lest they should not be solicited, yea, though it be in honest manner.  
The King, who knew well enough, that a daughter was a treasure of some danger to keep, and growing doubtful withal lest (in the end) this so obstinate severity would be shaken, if once it came to pass, that his daughter should feel the piercing apprehensions of love, & whereof (as yet) she never had any experience; he determined to use some remedy for this great concourse of lovers, and strange kind of carriage in the Princess his daughter. For, he apparently perceived, that such excelling beauty as was in Serictha, with those good and commendable customs, and other ornaments of his daughter's mind, could never attain to such an height of perfection; but yet there would be found some men, so wittily acute and ingenious, as to convert and humour a maid, according to their will, and make a mockery of them, who were (before) of most high esteem, Beside, among so great a troop of Lords, as daily made tender of their amorous service, some one or other would prove so happy, as (at the last) she should be his Mistress. And therefore forbearing what otherwhise he had intended, as a final conclusion of all such follies: calling his daughter alone to himsel●e in his Chamber, and standing clear from all other attention, he used to her this, or the like Language.  
I know not fair daughter, what reason may move you to show yourself so disdainful towards so many Noble and worthy men, as come to visit you, and honour my Court with their presence, offering me their love and loyal service, under this only pretence (as I perceive) of obtaining you, and compassing the happiness (as it appeareth in plain strife among them) one day to win the prize, you being the main issue of all their hope. If it be bashful modesty, which (indeed) ought to attend on all virgins of your years, and so veils your eyes, as (with honour) you cannot look on any thing, but what is your own, or may not justly vouchsafe to see: I commend your maidenly continency, which yet nevertheless, I would not have to be so severe, as (at length) your youth falling into mislike thereof, it may be the occasion of some great misfortune, either to you, or me, or else to us both together: considering what rapes are ordinarily committed in these quarters, and of Ladies equal every way to yourself; which happening, would presently be the cause of my death.  
If it be in regard of some vow which you have consecrated to virginity, and to some one of our Gods: I seek not therein to hinder your designs, neither will bereave the celestial powers, of whatsoever appertaineth to them. Albeit I could wish, that it should be kept in a place more straited, and separate from the resort of men; to the end, that so bright a beauty as yours is, should cause no discords among amorous suitors, neither my Court prove a camp destinied unto the conclusion of such quarrels, or you be the occasion of ruining so many, whose service would beseem a much more needful place, then to dye here by fond and foolish opinion of enjoying a vain pleasure, yet remaining in the power of another body to grant. If therefore I shall perceive, that these behaviours in you do proceed from pride, or contempt of them, who endeavour to do you both honour and service, and in stead of granting them a gracious look, in arrogancy you keep from them, making them enemies to your folly and my sufferance: I swear to you by our greatest God, that I will take such due order, as shall make you feel the hand of an offended Father, and teach you (henceforth) to be much more affable.  
Wherefore dear daughter, you shall do me a singular pleasure, freely to acquaint me with your mind, and the reasons of your so strict severity: promising you, upon the word and faith of a King, nay more, of a loving and kind Father, that if I find the cause to be just and reasonable, I will desist so fare from hindering your intent, as you shall rather perceive my fatherly furtherance, and rest truly resolved of my help and favour. Wherefore fair daughter, neither blush or dismay, or fear to let me understand your will; for evidently I see, that mere virgin shame hath made a rapture of your soul, being nothing else but those true splendours of virtue derived from your ancestors, and shining in you most gloriously, gracing you with a much richer embellishing, them those beauties bestowed on you by Nature. Speak therefore boldly to your Father, because there is no law to prohibit your speech to him: for when he commandeth, he ought to be obeyed: promising upon mine oath once again, that if your reasons are such as they ought to be, I will not fail to accommodate your fancy.  
The wise and virtuous Princess, hearing the King to allege such gracious reasons, and to lay so kind a command on her; making him most low and humble reverence, in sign of dutiful accepting such favour, thus she answered. Royal Lord and Father, seeing that in your Princely Court, I have gathered whatsoever may be termed virtuous in me, & you being the principal instructor of my life, from whom I have learned those lessons, how maids (of my age) ought to govern and maintain themselves: you shall apparently perceive, that neither gazing looks, which I ought not to yield without your consent, nor pride or arrogancy, never taughr me by you, or the Queen my most honourable Lady and Mother, are any occasion of my carriage towards them, which come to make ostentation of their folly in your Court, as if a mere look of Serictha, were sufficient to yield assurance effectually of their desires victory.  
Nothing (my most royal Lord and Father) induceth me to this kind of behaviour, but only due respect of your honour & mine own: and to the end it may not be thought, that I belie myself, in not eyeing the affectionate offers of amorous pursuers, or have any other private reserved meaning, then what may best please King Siwalde my Father: let it suffice Sir, that it remaineth in your power only, to make an apt election and choice for me; for I neither aught, nor will allow the acceptance of any suitors kindness, so much as by a look (much less than by words) until your highness shall nominate the man, to be a meet husband for Serictha. It is only you then (my Lord) that bears the true life-blood of our Ancestors. It is the untainted life of the Queen my Mother, that sets a chaste and strict restraint on mine eyes, from estranging my heart, to the idle amorous enticements of young giddy-headed Gentlemen, and have sealed up my soul with an absolute determination, rather to make choice of death, than any way to alter this my warrantable severity.  
You being a wise King, and the worthy Father of Serictha, it is in you to mediate, counsel, and effect, what best shall beseem the designs of your daughter: because it is the virtue of children, yea, and their eternal glory and renown, to illustrate the lives and memories of their parents. It consisteth in you, either to grant honest licence to such Lords as desire me, or to oppose them with such discreet conditions, as both yourself may sit free from any further afflicting, and they rest defeated of dangerous dissensions, according as you foresee what may ensue. Which yet (nevertheless) I hold as a matter impossible, if their discord should be grounded on the sole apprehension of their souls: and the only prevention thereof, is, not to yield any sign, glance of the eye, or so much as a word more to one man then another: for, such is the settled disposition of your daughter's soul, and which she humbly entreateth, may so be still suffered.  
Many means there are, whereby to win the grace of the greatest King, by employing their pains in worthy occasions, answerable unto their years and virtue, if any such sparks of honour do shine in their souls; rather then by gaining here any matter of so mean moment, by endeavouring to shake the simplicity of a bashful maid: Let them clear the King's highways of thiefs, who make the passages difficult: or let them expel Pirates from off the Seas, which make our Danish coasts every way inaccessible. These are such Noble means to merit, as may throw deserved recompense upon them, and much more worthily, then making Idols of Lady's looks, or gazing for babies in their wanton eyes. So may you bestow on them what is your own, granting Serictha to behold none, but him who you shall please to give her: for otherwise, you know her absolute resolve, never to look any living man in the face, but only you my gracious Lord and Father.  
The King hearing this wise and modest answer of his daughter, could not choose but commend her in his heart; and smiling at the counsel which she gave him, returned her this answer. Understand me well, fair daughter; neither am I minded to break your determination wholly, nor yet to govern myself according to your fancy. I stand indifferently contented, that until I have otherwise purposed, you shall continue the nature of your ancient custom: yet conditionally, that when I command an alteration of your carriage, you fail not therein to declare your obedience. What else remaineth beside, for so silly a thing as a Woman is, and for the private pleasing of so many great Princes and Lords, I will not endanger any of their lives; because their parents and friends (being sensible of such losses) may seek revenge, perhaps to their own ruin, and some following scourge to my indiscretion. For I consider (daughter) that I have neighbours who scarcely love me, and of whom (in time) I may right myself, having received (by their means) great wrongs & injuries. Also I make no doubt, but to manage your love-suit with discretion, and set such a pleasing proceednig between them, as neither shall beget any hatred in them towards me, nor yet offend them in their affection's pursuit, till fortune may smile so favourably upon some one man, to reach the height of both your wished desires.  
Siwalde was thus determinately resolved, to let his daughter live at her own discretion, without any alteration of her continued severity, perceiving day by day, that many came still to request her in marriage; & he could not give her to them all, nor make his choice of any one, lest all the rest should become his enemies, and fall in quarrel one with another. Only this therefore was his ordination, that among such a number of amorous suitors, he only should wear the laurel wreath of victory, who could obtain such favour of Serictha, as but to look him in the face. This condition seemed to be of no mean difficulty, yea, and so impossible, that many gave over their amorous enterprise: whereof Serictha was wondrously joyful, seeing herself eased of such tedious importunity, dulling her ears with their proffered services, and foppish allegations of fantastic servitude: such as ydle-headed lovers do use to protest before their Mistresses, wherein they may believe them, if they list.  
Among all them that were thus forward in their heat of affection, there was a young Danish Lord, named Ocharus, the son of a Pirate, called Hebonius, the same man, who having stolen the Sister unto King Hunguinus, and Sister to Siwalde, & affiancing himself to her, was slain by King Haldune, and by thus killing him, enjoyed both the Lady, and the kingdom of the Goths also, as her inheritance. This Ocharus, relying much on his comeliness of person, wealth, power, and valour, but (above all the rest) on his excellent and eloquent speaking; bestowed his best endeavour to obtain Serictha, notwithstanding the contemptible carriage of the rest towards him; whereupon prevailing for his access to the Princess, and admitted to speak, as all the other did, he reasoned with her in this manner.  
Whence may it proceed, Madam, that you being the fairest and wisest Princess living at this day in all the Northern parts, should make so small account of yourself, as to deny that, which with honour you m●y yield to them, as seek to do you most humble service; and forgetting the rank you hold, do refuse to deign them recompense in any manner whatsoever, seeking only to enjoy you in honourable marriage? Perhaps you are of opinion, that the gods should become slaves to you● beauty, in which respect, men are utterly unworthy to crave any such acquaintance of you. If it be so, I confess myself conquered: But if the gods seek no such association with women, and since they forsook the World, they left this legacy to us men; I think you covet after none, but such as are extracted of their blood, or may make vaunt of their near kindred and alliance to them. I know that many have wished, and do desire you: I know also, that as many have requested you of the King your Father, but the choice remaineth in your power, and you being ordained the judge, to distinguish the merit of all your suitors; I thinks you do wrong to the office of a judge; in not regarding the parties which are in suit, to sentence the dese●t of the best and bravest, and so to delay them with no more linger.  
I cannot think Madam, that you are so fare out of yourself, and so i'll cold in your affection, but desire of occasions, equal to your virtue and singular beauty, do sometime touch you feelingly, and make you to wish for such a man, answerable to the greatness of your excellency. And if it should be otherwise (as I imagine it to be impossible) yet you ought to break such an obstinate design, only to satisfy the King your Father, who can desire nothing more, then to have a son in Law, to revenge him on the Tyrant of Swetia; who, as you well know, was sometime the murderer of your grandfather Hunguinus, and also of his Father. If you please to vouchsafe me so much grace and favour, as to make me the man, whom your heart hath chosen to be your Husband; I swear unto you by the honour of a soldier, that I will undergo such service, as the King shall be revenged, you royally satisfied, and myself advanced to no mean happiness, by being the only fortunate man of the World. Gentle Princess, the most beautiful daughter to a King, open that indurate heart, and so soften it, that the sweet impressions of love may be engraven therein; see there the loyal pursuit of your Ocharus, who, to save his life, cannot so much as win one look from his divine Mistress.  
This niceness is almost merely barbarous, that I, wishing to adventure my life prodigally in your service, you are so cruel, as not to deign recompense to this duty of mine, with the least sign of kindness that can be imagined. Fair Serictha, if you desire the death of your friendly servant Ocharus, there are many other means whereby to perform it, without consuming him in so small a fire, and suffering him there to languish without any answer. If you will not look upon me; if my face be so unworthy, that one beam of your bright suns may not shine upon it: If a word of your mouth be too precious for me; make a sign with your hand, either of my happiness or disaster. If your hand be envious of mine ease, let one of your women be she, to pronounce the sentence of life o● death; because, if my life be hateful to you, this hand of mine may satisfy your will, and sacrifice it to the rigour of your disdain. But if (as I am rather persuaded) the ruin of your servants, be against your more merciful wishes; deal so that I may perceive it, and express what compassion you have of your Ocharus, who coveteth nothing more, than your daily hearts ease and contentment, with a privilege of honour above other Ladies. All this discourse was heard by Serictha, but so little was she moved therewith, as she was fare enough off from returning him any answer, neither did any of the Gentlewomen attending on her, ever hear her use the very lest word to any of her amorous solicitors, nor did she know any one of them, but by speech only, which driven them all into an utter despair, perceiving no possible means whereby to conquer her.  
The Histories of the Northern 〈…〉 de●●are, that in those times, the rapes of women were not much 〈…〉, and such as pursued any Lady or Gentlewoman with love 〈…〉 persuaded, that they never made sufficient proof of the● 〈◊〉 passions, if they undertook not all cunning stratagems, with adventure of their lives to all perils whatsoever, for the rape or stealth of them, whom they purposed to enjoy in marriage. As we read in the Goths History of Gramo, son to the King of Denmark, who being impatiently amorous of the daughter to the King of the Goths, and winning the love of the Lady, stole her away, before her Parents or friends had any notice thereof; by means of which rape, there followed a most bloody war between the Goths and the Danes. In recompense of which injury, Sibdagerus, King of Norway, being chosen chief Commander of the Swetians & Goths, entered powerfully into Denmark, where first he violated the Sister to King Gramo, and led away her Daughter, whom in the like manner he made his Spouse, as the Dane had done the Daughter of Sigtruge, Prince of the Goths.  
I induce these brief narrations, only to show, that while Ocharus made honest and affable means, to win respect from Serictha, and used all honourable services to her, as the Daughter of so great a Prince worthily deserved: some there were, not half so conscientious as he, especially one of the amorous suitors, who being weary of the strange carriages of Serictha, dissembling to prosecute his purpose no further; prevailed so fare, that he corrupted one of her governesses, for secretly training her to such a place, where the ravisher should lie in ambush to carry her away, so to enjoy her by policy, seeing all other means failed for to compass his desire.  
Behold to what a kind of foolish rage, which giddy headed dullards do term a natural passion, they are led, who, being guided more by sensuality, than reason or discretion, follow the brainsick motions of their rash apprehensions. He which pursueth, and protesteth to love a Lady for her gentility and virtue; knoweth not how to measure what love is, neither seethe or conceiveth, how fare the permission of his own endeavour extendeth. Moreover, you may observe, that never any age was so gross, or men so simple, but even almost from the beginning, avarice did hoodwink the hearts of men, and that (with gold) the very strongest Fortification in the World hath been broken, yea, and the best bard gates laid wide open. Serictha, who shunned the sight of all men, and never disinherited them which kept about her; she who never knew (except some natural spark gave light to her understanding) what belonged to the embracements of men, must now (without dreaming thereon) fall as food to the insatiable appetite of a wretch, who compassed this surprisal of her, to glory in his own lewdness, and make a mock of the Princess' settled constancy.  
She, good Lady, following the council of her traitorous guide, went abroad on walking, but weakly accompanied, as one that admitted no men to attend her, which she might have repent very dear, if heaven had not succoured her innocency, by the help of him, who wished her as well as the ravisher, though their desires were quite contrary; the one to enjoy her by violence, but the other affecting rather to die, then do the least act which might displease her. No sooner was Serictha arrived at the destined place, where her false governess was to deliver her; but behold a second Paris came, and seized on her, hurrying her in haste away, before any help could possibly rescue her; the place being fare off from any dwelling.  
Now the ravisher durst not convey her to his own abiding, to enjoy the benefit of his purchase; but haled her into a small thicket of trees, where, although she knew the evident peril, whereinto her severe continency had now thrown her: yet notwithstanding, she would not lift up her eyes, to see what he was that had thus stolen her, so firmly she dwelled upon grounded deliberation, and such was the vigour of her chaste resolve. And albeit she knew a wickedness (worse than death) preparing for her, who had no other glory then in her virtue, and desire to live contentedly; yet was she no more astoned thereat, then if he had led her to the Palace of the King her Father: persuading herself, that violence done to the body, is no prejudice to honour, when the mind is free and clear from consent.  
As thus this robber of beauty was preparing to massacre the modesty of the fair Princess, she resisted him with all her power, yea, and defended herself so worthily, that he could not get one look of her eye, one kiss of her cheek, nor any advantage whatsoever, crying out shrilly, and struggling against him strongly: her outcries were heard by one, who little imagined that she was so near, whom he loved more dear than his own life, namely, Ocharus; who was walking accidentally alone in this wood, devising by what means he might win grace from his stern Mistress. No sooner took he knowledge of her, and saw her (in the arms of another) to be ravished; but he cried out to the thief, saying, Hand off villain, let not such a slave as thou, profane with an unreverend touch the sacred honour of so chaste a Princess, who deserveth to be more royally respected, then thus rudely hurried: Hand off I say, or else I swear by her divine perfections, whom I esteem above all creatures in this World, to make thee die more miserably, then ever any man as yet did.  
Whosoever had seen a lion or an Ounce rouse himself, chafing when any one adventureth to rob him of his prey; and these with fierce eyes, mounted crests, writhed tails, and sharpened paws, make against him that durst so mollest him. In the like manner did the ravisher show himself, and one while snarling, another while bristling the darted disdainful looks at Ocharus, and spoke to him in this manner. Vile and base Sea-thiefe, as thou art, welcome to thy deserved wages, and just repayment for thy proud presuming. It glads my heart not a little, to meet thee here, where thou shalt soon perceive what good will I bear thee, and whether thou be worthy or no to enjoy the honour of this Lady, now in mine own absolute possession. It will also increase her more ample persuasion of my worth, and plead my merit more effectually in her favour; when she shall see what a powerful arm I have, to punish this proud insolence of a Pirate.  
This harsh language was so distasteful to Ocharus, that like a Bull, made angry by the teeth of some mastiff dog, or pricked by the point of a weapon, he ran upon his enemy, and was so roughly welcomed by him, as it could not easily be judged which of them had the better advantage. But in the end Fortune favoured most the honest man, and Ocharus having overthrown the robber, he smote the head of him quite from his shoulders, which he presented to her, whom he had delivered out of so great a peril, and thus he spoke. You may now behold Madam, whether Ocharus be a true lover of Sericthaes' virtues, or no, and your knowledge fully resolved, at what end his affection aimeth; as also, how fare his honest desert extendeth, for you both to love him, and to recompense the loyal respect he hath used towards you. Never look on the villain's face, who striven to shame the King your father's Court, by violation of thievery, the chastest Princess on the Earth; but regard Ocharus, who is ready to sacrifice himself, if you take as much pleasure in his ruin, as (he thinketh) he hath given you contentment, by delivering you from this traitor.  
Doth it not appear unto you Madam, that I have as yet done enough, whereby to be thought a worthy Husband, for the royal Daughter of Denmark? Have I not satisfied the Kings own Ordinance, by delivering his Daughter, as already I have done? Will Serictha be so constant in her cruelty, as not to turn her eye towards him, who exposed his life, to no mean peril and danger, only in the defence of her Chastity? Then I plainly perceive, that the wages of my devoir, is ranked amongst those precedent services, which I have performed for so hurtful a beauty. Yet gentle Princess, let me tell you, my carriage hath been of more importance, than all the others can be, and my merit no way to be compared with theirs; at least, if you pleased to make account of him, who is an unfeigned lover of your modesty, and devoutly honoureth your virtuous behaviour. And yet madam, shall I have none other answer from you, but your perpetual silence? Can you continue so obstinate in your opinion, in making yourself still as strange to your Ocharus, as to the rest, who have no other affection, but only to the bare outside of beauty? Why then, royal Lady, seeing (at this instant time) all my labour is but lost, and your heart seemeth much more hardened, in acknowledging any of my honest services: at least yet let me be so happy, as to conduct you back to the Palace, and restore you to that sacred safety, which will be my soul's best comfort to behold.  
No outward sign of kind acceptation, did any way express itself in her, but rather as fearing, lest the commodiousness of the place should incite this young Lord, to forget all honest respect, and imitate the other in like baseness. But he, who rather wished a thousand deaths, than any way to displease his Mistress, as if he were half doubtful of her suspicion, made offer of guiding her back to the place, from whence she had before been stolen, where she found her company still staying, as not daring to stir thence, to let the King know his daughters ill fortune; but when they saw her return, and in the company of so worthy a Knight, they grew resolved, that no violence had been done unto her.  
The Princess, sharply rebuking her women, for leaving her so basely as they had done, gave charge to one of them (because she would not seem altogether negligent & discourteous) that she being gone thence, she should not fail to thank Ocharus, for the honest and faithful service he had done unto her, which she would continually remember, and recompense as it lay in her power. Nevertheless, she advised him withal, not to hope of any more advantage thereby, then reason should require. For, if it were the will of the Gods, that she should be his wife, neither she or any other could let or hinder it: but if her destiny reserved her for another, all his services would avail to no purpose, but rather to make her the more rigorous towards him.  
This gracious answer, thus given him by her Gentlewoman, although it gave some small contentment to the poor languishing lover: yet he saw no assured sign whereon to settle his resolve, but his hopes vanished away in smoke, as fast as opinion bred them in his brain. And gladly he would have given over all further amorous solicit, but by some private persuasions of her message sent him, which in time might so advance his services done for her sake, as would derive far greater favours from her. Whereupon, he omitted no time or place, but as occasion gave him any gracious permission, still plied her memory, with his manly rescuing her from the ravisher, sufficient to plead his merit to her Father, and that (in equity) she ought to be his wife, by right both of Honour and arms; no man being able to deserve her, as he had done.  
So long he pursued her in this manner, that his speeches seemed hateful to her, and devising how to be free from his daily importunities, at length, in the habit of a poor chambermaid, she secretly departed out of the Court, wandering into the solitary parts of the country; where she entered into service, and had the charge of keeping sheep. It may seem strange, that a King's only daughter should stray in such sort, and despising Courtly life, betake herself to pains and servility: but such was her resolution, and women delighting altogether in extremes, spare no attempts to compass their own wills. All the Court was in an uproar for the Lady's loss, the Father in no mean affliction, the lover's well-nere beside their wits, and every one else most grievously tormented, that a Lady of such worth should so suddenly be gone, and all pursuit made after her, gain no knowledge of her.  
In this high tide of sorrow and disaster, what shall we say of the gentle Lord Ocharus? What judgement can sound the depth of his woeful extremity? Fearing lest some other thief had now made a second stealth of his divine goddess; he must needs follow her again, seeking quite throughout the world, never more rerurning back to the Court, nor to the place of his own abiding, until he heard tidings of his Mistress, or ended his days in the search of her. No Village, Town, Cottage, cast, or any place else of note or name, did he leave unsought, but diligently he searched for Serictha; striving to get knowledge, under what habit she lived thus concealed, but all his labour was to no effect: which made him leave the places so much frequented, and visit the solitary desert shades, entering into all caves and rustic habitations, whereon he could fasten his eye, to seek for the lost Treasure of his soul.  
On a day, as he wandered along in a spacious valley, seated between two pleasant hills, taking delight to hear the gentle murmur of the rivers, running by the sides of two neighbouring rocks, planted with all kind of trees, and very thickely spread with moss: he espied a flock of sheep feeding on the grass, and not fare off from them sat a maid spinning on her distaff; who having got a sight of him, presently covered her face with a veil. Love, who sat as sentinel both in the heart and eye of the gentle Norwegian Lord, as quickly discovered the subtlety of the fair Shephearddesse, instructing the soul of Ocharus, that thus she hide her face, as coveting not to be known: whereupon he gathered, that doubtless this was she, for whom he had sought with such tedious travail, and therefore going directly unto her, thus he spoke.  
Gentle Princess; wherefore do you thus hide yourself from me? Why do you haunt these retreats and desolate abodes, having power to command over infinite men, that cannot live but by your presence? What hath moved you madam, to fly from company, to dwell among desert rocks, and serve as a slave, to such as are no way worthy of your service? Why do you forsake a potent King, whose only daughter and hope you are; leaving your country and royal train of Ladies, and so fare abasing yourself, to live in the dejected state of a servant, and to some rustic clown or peazant? What reason have you, to despise so many worthy Lords, that dear love and honour you, but (above them all) your poor slave Ocharus, who hath no spare of his own life, for the safety of yours, and also for the defence of your honour? Royal maid, I am the same man that delivered you from the villain, who would have violated your fair chastity; and since then, have not spared any pain or travel in your search: for whose loss, King Siwalde is in extreme anguish, the Danes in mourning habits, and Ocharus even at the door of death, being no way able to endure your absence.  
Are you of the mind, worthy madam, that I have not hitherto deserved so much as one good look or glance of your eye, in recompense of so many good & loyal services? If Alas! I am neither ravisher, nor demander of any unjust requests, or else incivill in my motions: I may merit one regard of my Mistress. I require only so silly a favour, that her eyes may pay me the wages for all which I have hitherto done in her service. What would you do Madam, if I were an importunate solicitor, and requested fare greater matters of you, in just recompense of my labours? I do not desire, that you should embrace me. I am not so bold, as to request a kiss of Sericthaes', more than immortal lips. Nor do I covet, that she should any otherwise entreat me, then with such severity as beseemeth so great a Princess. I ask no more, but only to elevate your chaste eyes, and grace me with one little look, as being the man, who for his virtue and loyal affection, hath deserved more than that favour, yea, a much greater and excellent recompense. Can you then be so cruel, as to deny me so small a thing, without regard of the main debt, wherein you stand engaged to your Ocharus?  
The Princess perceiving that it availed nothing to conceal herself, being by him so apparently discovered; began now to speak (which she had never done before, either to him, or any other of her amorous suitors) answering him in this manner. Lord Orharus, it might suffice you, that your importunity made me forsake my father's Court, and causeth me to live in this abased condition, which I purpose to prosecute all my life time; or so long (at the least) as you, and such as you are, pursue me so fond as you have presumed to do. For I am resolved, never to favour you any otherwise, then hitherto I have done; desiring you therefore, that Serictha wanting an Interpreter to tell you her will, you would now receive it from her own mouth, determining sooner to dye, then altar a jot of her intended purpose.  
Ocharus hearing this unwelcome answer, was even upon the point to have slain himself: but yet, not to lose the name of a valiant man, or to be thought of an effeminate or cowardly spirit, that a Woman should force him to an act, so fare unfitting for a man of his rank; he took his leave of her, solemnly promising, not to forget her further pursuit, but at all times to obey her so long as he lived, although her command was very hard for him to endure. So he departed thence, not unto the Court, she being not there, that had the power to enjoin his presence: but home to his own house, where he was no sooner arrived, but he began to wax weary of his former folly; accusing himself of great indiscretion, for spending so much time in vain, and in her service, who utterly despised him, and all his endeavours which he undertook. He began to accuse her of great ingratitude, laying overmuch respect upon her virtue, to have no feeling at all of his loyal sufferings; but merely made a mockery of his martyrdom. Hereupon, he concluded to give over all further affection, to languish no longer for her sake, that hated him and all his actions.  
While he continued in these melancholy passions, the Princess, who all this while had persisted in such strict severity, as astonished the courages of her stoutest servants; considering (more deliberately) on the sincere affection of Ocharus, and that virtue only made him the friend to her modesty, and not wanton or lascivious appetite; she felt a willing readiness in her soul, to gratify him in some worthy manner, and to recompense some part of his travails. Which to effect, she resolved to follow him (in some counterfeit habit) even to the place of his own abiding, to try, if easily he could take knowledge of her, whom so lately he saw in the garments of a Shephearddesse. Being thus minded, she went to her mistress whom she served, and who had likewise seen Lord Ocharus (of whom she had perfect knowledge) when he conferred with the Shephearddesse, and enquiring the cause, why he resorted in that manner to her; Serictha returned her this answer.  
Mistress, I make no doubt, but you will be somewhat amazed, and (perhaps) can hardly credit when you hear, that she who now serveth you in the poor degree of Shephearddesse, is the only daughter to Siwalde King of the Danes: for whose love, so many great Lords have continually laboured; and that I only attracted hither Ocharus, the Noble son of valiant Hebonius, to wander in these solitary deserts, to find out her that fled from him, and held him in as high disdain, as I did all the rest of his fellow rivals. But if my words may not herein sufficiently assure you, I would advice you, to send where Ocharus dwelleth, & there make further enquiry of him, to the end that you may not imagine me a liar. If my speeches do otherwise prevail with you, and you remain assured, that I am she, whom your Noble neighbour so dearly affecteth, albeit I never made any account at all of him: then I do earnestly entreat you, so much to stand my friend, as to provide some convenient means for me, whereby I may pass unknown to the Castle of Ocharus, to revenge myself on his civil honesty, & smile at him hereafter, if he prove not so clearly sighted, as to know her being near him, whom he vaunteth to love above all women else.  
The good countrywoman hearing these words, and perceiving that she had the Princess in her house, of whose speeches she made not any doubt, in regard of her stout countenance, gravity, and fair demeanour, began to relish something in her mind, fare differing from matter of common understanding, and therefore roundly replied in this kind of language.  
Madam (for servant I may no longer call you) I make no question to the contrary, but that you are derived of high birth; having observed your behaviour, and womanly carriage. And so much the more I remain assured thereof, having seen such great honour done unto you, by the Noble Lord, and worthy warrior Ocharus: wherefore, it lieth not in my power, to impeach your designs, much less to talk of your longer service, because you are the Princess Serictha, whom I am to perform all humble duty unto, as being one of your meanest subjects. And although you were not she, yet would I not presume any way to offend you, in regard of the true and virtuous love, which that good Knight Ocharus seemeth to bear you. If my company be needful for you, I beseech you to accept it: if not, take whatsoever is mine, which may any way stead you; for, to make you pass unknown, I can and will provide sufficiently, even to your own contentment, and in such strange manner, as Ocharus (were he never so clearly sighted) shallbe deceived, you being attired in those fashion garments, which here in these parts are usually worn.  
Serictha being wondrously joyful at her answer, suffered her to paint, or rather soil her fair face, with the juice of diverse herbs and roots, and clothed her in such an habit as those women use to wear that live in the mountains of Norway, upon the sea-coast fronting Great-Britain. Being thus disguised, confidently she went, tobeguile the eye of her dearest friend, and so to return back again from him, having afforded him such a secret favour, in requital of his honourable services; delivering her out of so great a danger, and coming to visit her in so solitary a life. Nor would she have the woman's company any further, then till she came within the sight of Ocharus his Castle; where when she was arrived (he being then absent) the mother unto the Noble Gentleman, gave her courteous welcome; and, notwithstanding her gross & homely outward appearance, yet she collected by her countenance, that there was a matter of much more worth in her, then to be a woman of base breeding.  
When Ocharus was returned home, he received advertisement by his mother, concerning the arrival of this stranger, when as suddenly his soul half persuaded him, of some kind courtesy to proceed from his sweet rebel, pretending now some feigned excuse, in recompense of all his travails, and passed honest offices. Observing all her actions and gestures, her wont rigour never bending one jot, or gave way to her eye to look upon any man; he grew the better assured, that she was the daughter to King Siwalde. Yet feigning to take no knowledge thereof, he bethought himself of a quaint policy, whereby to make trial, whether secret kindness had conducted this Lady thither, or no, to conclude his torments, and give a final end to his grievous afflictions.  
Upon a watchword given to his Mother, he pretended, and so caused it to be noised through the house, that he was to marry a very honourable Lady; which the constant and chaste maid verily believed; and therefore gave the more diligent attendance (as a new-come servant) to see all things in due decency, as no one could express herself more ready, because she esteemed him above all other men. Yet such was the obstinate opinion she conceived of her own preciseness, as she would rather suffer all the flames of love, then express the least show of desire to any man living. Nevertheless, she was inwardly offended, that any other should have the honour, to make her vaunt of enjoying Ocharus; whom (indeed) she coveted, and thought him only worthy in her heart, to be Son in law to the King of Denmark.  
Now, as the Mother was very seriously busied in preparing the Castle, for receiving the pretended Bride; she employed her new maid (Serictha I mean) as busily as any of the rest. In the meanwhile, Ocharus was laid upon a bed, well noting all her carriage and behaviour, she having a lighted Candle in her hand, without any candlestick to hold it in. As all the servants (both men and maids) were running hastily from place to place, to carry such occasions as they were commanded, the candle was consumed so near to Sericthaes' fingers, that it burned her hand. She, not to fail a jot in her height of mind, and to declare that her courage was invincible; was so fare off from casting away the small snuff which offended her, that she rather grasped it the more strongly, even to the enflaming of her own flesh, which gave light to the rest about their business. A matter (almost) as marvelous, as the act of the noble Roman, who gave his hand to be burned, in presence of the Tuscan King, that had besieged Rome. Thus this Lady would needs make it apparently known, by this generous act of hers, that her heart could not be inflamed or conquered, by all the fires of concupiscence, in suffering so stoutly and courageously, the burning of this material fire.  
Ocharus, who (as we have already said) observed every thing that Serictha did; perceiving that she spoke not one word, albeit her hand burned in such fierce manner, was much astonished at her sprightly mind. And as he was about to advice her, to hurl away the fire so much offending her; curiosity (merely natural unto Women) made the Lady lift up her eyes, to see (by stealth) whether her friend had noted her invincible constancy, or no. hereby Ocharus won the honour of his long expected victory; and leaping from off the bed, he ran to embrace her, not with any such fear as he had formerly used, in not daring so much as to touch her: but boldly now clasping his arms about her, he said. At this instant Madam, the King your father's decree is fully accomplished, for I am the first man that ever you looked in the face, & you are only mine, without making any longer resistance. You are the Princely Lady and wife, by me so constantly loved and desired, whom I have followed with such painful travels, exposing my life to infinite perils in your service: you have seen and looked on him, who never craved any thing of you, but only this favour, whereof you cannot bereave me again, because the Gods themselves, at such time as I lest expected it, have bestown it on me, as my deserved recompense, and worthy reward.  
In the delivery of these words, he kissed and embraced her a thousand times, she not using any great resistance against him, but only as somewhat offended with herself, either for being so rash in looking on him, or else for delaying his due merit so long; or rather, because with her good will she had fall'n into the transgression. She declared no violent or contending motion, as loath to continue so long in his a●mes; but rather, evident signs of hearty contentment, yet in very bashful and modest manner, willing enough to accept his loving kindness, yet not wand'ring from her wont chaste carriage. He being favourably excused, for the outward expression of his amorous behaviour to her, and certified withal, that since the time of freeing her from the wretch, who sought the violating of her chastity, she had entirely respected him, (albeit, to shun suspicion of lightness, and to win more assurance, of what she credited sufficiently already, she continued her stiff opinion against him) yet always this resolution was set down in her soul, never (with her will) to have any other Husband but Ocharus, who (above all other) had best deserved her, by his generosity, virtue, manly courage, and valiancy; whereof he might the better assure himself, because (of her own voluntary disposition) she followed to find him out, not for any other occasion, but to revenge herself (by this honest Office) for all that he had done or undertaken, to win the grace and love of the King of Denmark's Daughter, to whom he presented such dutiful service.  
Ocharus, who would not lose this happiness, to be made King of all the Northern lands, with more than a thankful heart, accepted all her gracious excuses. And being desirous to waste no longer time in vain, lest Fortune should raise some new stragatem against him, to dispossess him of so fair a felicity; left off his counterfeit intended marriage, and effected this in good earnest, and was wedded to his most esteemed Serictha. Not long had these lovers lived in the lawful and sacred rites of marriage, but King Siwalde was advertised, that his Daughter had given her consent to Ocharus, and received him as her noble Husband. The party was not a jot displeasing to him, he thought him to be a worthy Son in Law, and the condition did sufficiently excuse the match; only herein lay the error and offence, that the marriage was sollemnized without his knowledge and consent, he being not called thereto, or so much as acquainting him therewith, which made him condemn Ocharus of overbold arrogancy, he being such a great and powerful King, to be so lightly respected by his subject, and especially in the marriage of his Daughter.  
But Serictha, who was now metamorphosed from a maid to a wife, and had lain a few nights by the side of a soldier, was become much more valiant and adventurous than she was before. She took the matter in hand, went to her Father, who welcomed her most lovingly, and so pleasing were her speeches, carried with such wit and womanly discretion, that nothing wanted to approve what she had done. Matters which he had never known, or so much as heard of, were now openly revealed, how Ocharus had delivered her from the ravisher, what worthy respect he then used towards her, and what honour he extended to her in the deserts, where she tended her flock as a Shephearddesse, with many other honourable actions beside: that the King's anger became mildly qualified, and so fare he entered into affection, that he would not do any thing thenceforward, without the counsel and advice of his son in Law, whom so highly he esteemed, and liked so respectively of him, and his race; that his Queen dying, he married with the Sister to Ocharus, going hand in hand with the gentle and modest Princess Serictha.  
This novel of Dioneus, was commended by all the company, and so much the rather, because it was free from all folly and obscoennesse. And the Queen perceiving, that as the Tale was ended, so her dignity must now be expired: she took the crown of laurel from off her head, & graciously placed it on the head of Philostratus, saying; The worthy Discourse of Dioncus, being out of his wont wanton element, causeth me (at the resignation of mine Authority) to make choice of him as our next Commander, who is best able to order and enstruct us all; and so I yield both my place and honour to Philostratus, I hope with the good liking of all our assistants: as plainly appeareth by their instant carriage towards him, with all their heartiest love and suffrages.  
Whereupon Philostratus, beginning to consider on the charge committed to his care, called the master of the household, to know in what estate all matters were, because where any defect appeared, every thing might be the sooner remedied, for the better satisfaction of the company, during the time of his authority. Then returning back to the assembly, thus he began. Lovely Ladies, I would have you to know, that since the time of ability in me, to distinguish between good and evil, I have always been subject (perhaps by the means of some beauty here among us) to the proud and imperious dominion of love, with expression of all duty, humility, and most intimate desire to please: yet all hath proved to no purpose, but still I have been rejected for some other, whereby my condition hath fall'n from ill to worse, and so still it is likely, even to the hour of my death. In which respect, it best pleaseth me, that our conferences to morrow, shall extend to no other argument, but only such casesas are most conformable to my calamity, namely of such, whose love hath had unhappy ending, because I await no other issue of mine; nor willingly would I be called by any other name, but only, the miserable and unfortunate lover.  
Having thus spoken, he arose again; granting leave to the rest, to recreate themselves till supper time. The Garden was very fair and spacious, affording large limits for their several walks; the Sun being already so low descended, that it could not be offensive to any one, the coneys, Kids, and young hinds skipping every where about them, to their no mean pleasure and contentment. Dioneus & Fiammetta, sat singi●g together, of Messire Guiglielmo and the Lady of Virtue. Philomena and Pamphilus playing at the chess, all sporting themselves as best they pleased. But the hour of Supper being come, and the Tables covered about the fair fountain, they sat down and supped in most loving manner. Then Philostratus, not to swerve from the course which had been observed by the Queens before him, so soon as the Tables were taken away, gave command, that Madam Lauretta should begin the dance, and likewise to sing a Song. My gracious Lord (quoth she) I can skill of no other Songs, but only a piece of mine own, which I have already learned by heart, & may well beseem this fair assembly: if you please to allow of that, I am ready to perform it with all obedience. Lady, replied the King, you yourself being so fair and lovely, so needs must be whatsoever cometh from you, therefore let us hear such as you have. Madam Lauretta, giving instruction to the Chorus, prepared, and began in this manner.  

The Song.  

NO soul so comfortless,  
Hath more cause to express,  
Like woe and heaviness,  
As I poor amorous maid.   

He that did form the heavens and every star,  
Made me as best him pleased,  
Lovely and gracious, no Element at jar,  
Or else in gentle breasts to move stern war,  
But to have strifes appeased  
Where beauty's eye should make the deepest scar.  
And yet when all things are confessed,  
Never was any soul distressed,  
Like mine poor amorous maid.  
No soul so comfortless, etc.   

There was a time, when once I was held dear,  
Blest were those happy days:  
Numberless love-suites whispered in mine ear,  
All of fair hope, but none of desperate fear;  
And all sung beauty's praise.  
Why should black clouds obscure so bright a clear?  
And why should others swim in joy,  
And no heart drowned in annoy,  
Like mine poor amorous maid?  
No soul so comfortless, etc.  
Well may I curse that sad and dismal day,  
When in unkind exchange;  
Another Beauty did my hopes betray,  
And stole my dearest love from me away:  
Which I thought very strange,  
Considering vows were passed, and what else may  
Assure a loyal Maidens trust,  
Never was lover so unjust,  
Like mine poor amorous maid.  
No soul so comfortless, etc.   

Come then kind Death, and finish all my woes,  
Thy help is now the best.  
Come lovely nymphs, lend hands mine eyes to close,  
And let him wander wheresoever he goes,  
Vaunting of mine unrest;  
Beguiling others by his treacherous shows.  
Grave on my Monument,  
No true love was worse spent,  
Then mine poor amorous maid.  
No soul so comfortless, etc.    
So did Madam Lauretta finish her Song, which being well observed of them all, was understood by some in diverse kinds: some alluding it one way, & others according to their own apprehensions, but all consenting, that both it was an excellent Ditty, well devised, and most sweetly sung. Afterward, lighted Torches being brought, because the Stars had already richly spangled all the heavens, and the fit hour of rest approaching: the King commanded them all to their Chambers, where we mean to leave them until the next morning.    
The End of the Third Day.   

The Fourth Day.  
❧ Wherein all the several Discourses, are under the government of Honourable Philostratus: And concerning such persons, whose loves have had successelesse ending.  

The Induction unto the ensuing novelles.  
MOst worthy Ladies, I have always heard, as well by the sayings of the judicious, as also by mine own observation and reading, that the impetuous and violent winds of envy, do seldom blow turbulently; but on the highest Towers and tops of the trees most eminently advanced. Yet (in mine opinion) I have found myself much deceived; because, by striving with my very uttermost endeavour, to shun the outrage of those implacable winds; I have laboured to go, not only by plain and even paths, but likewise through the deepest valleys. As very easily may be seen and observed in the reading of these few small novels, which I have written not only in our vulgar Florentine prose, without any ambitious title: but also in a most humble style, so low and gentle as possibly I could. And although I have been rudely shaken, yea, almost half unrooted, by the extreme agitation of those blustering winds, and torn in pieces by that base backbiter, envy: yet have I not (for all that) discontinued, or broken any part of mine intended enterprise. Wherefore, I can sufficiently witness (by mine own comprehension) the saying so much observed by the wise, to be most true; That nothing is without envy in this world, but misery only.  
Among variety of opinions, fair Ladies; some, seeing these novelties, spared not to say; That I have been over-pleasing to you, and wandered too fare from mine respect, embasing my credit and repute, by delighting myself too curiously, for the fitting of your honours, and have extolled your worth too much, with addition of worse speeches than I mean to utter. Others, seeming to express more maturity of judgement, have likewise said, That it was very unsuitable for my years, to meddle with women's wanton pleasures, or contend to delight you by the very lest of my labours. Many more, making show of affecting my good fame and esteem, say; I had done much more wisely, to have kept me with the Muses at Parnassus, then to confound my studies with such effeminate follies. Some other beside, speaking more despitefully then discreetly, said; I had declared more humanity, in seeking means for mine own maintenance, and wherewith to support my continual necessities, then to glut the world with gulleries, and feed my hopes with nothing but wind. And others, to calumniate my travails, would make you believe, that such matters as I have spoken of, are merely disguised by me, and figured in a quite contrary nature, quite from the course as they are related. Whereby you may perceive (virtuous Ladies) how while I labour in your service, I am agitated and mollested with these blusterings, and bitten even to the bare bones, by the sharp and venomous teeth of envy; all which (as heaven best knoweth) I gladly endure, and with good courage.  
Now, albeit it belongeth only to you, to defend me in this desperate extremity; yet, notwithstanding all their utmost malice, I will make no spare of my best abilities, and, without answering them any otherwise then is fitting, will quickly keep their slanders from mine ears, with some sleight reply, yet not deserving to be dreamt on. For I apparently perceive, that (having not already attained to the third part of my pains) they are grown to so great a number, and presume very fare upon my patience: they may increase, except they be repulsed in the beginning, to such an infinity before I can reach to the end, as with their very least pains taking, they will sink me to the bottomless depth, if your sacred forces (which are great indeed) may not serve for me in their resistance. But before I come to answer any one of them, I will relate a Tale in mine own favour; yet not a whole Tale, because it shall not appear, that I purpose to mingle mine, among those which are to proceed from a company so commendable. Only I will report a parcel thereof, to the end, that what remaineth untold, may sufficiently express, it is not to be numbered among the rest to come.  
By way then of familiar discourse, and speaking to my malicious detractors, I say, that a long while since, there lived in our City, a Citizen who was named Philippo Balduccio, a man but of mean condition, yet very wealthy, well qualified, and expert in many things appertaining unto his calling. He had a wife whom he loved most entirely, as she did him, leading together a sweet and peaceable life, studying on nothing more, than how to please each other mutually. It came to pass, that as all flesh must, the good woman left this wretched life for a better, leaving one only son to her husband, about the age of two years. The husband remained so disconsolate for the loss of his kind Wife, as no man possibly could be more sorrowful, because he had lost the only jewel of his joy. And being thus divided from the company which he most esteemed: he determined also to separate himself from the world, addicting all his endeavours to the service of God; and applying his young son likewise, to the same holy exercises. Having given away all his goods for God's sake, he departed to the mountain Asinaio, where he made him a small Cell, and lived there with his little son, only upon charitable alms, in abstinence and prayer, forbearing to speak of any worldly occasions, or letting the Lad see any vain sight: but conferred with him continually, on the glories of eternal life, of God and his Saints, and teaching him nothing else but devout prayers, leading this kind of life for many years together, not permitting him ever to go forth of the Cell, or showing him any other but himself.  
The good old man used diverse times to go to Florence, where having received (according to his opportunities) the alms of diverse well disposed people, he returned back again to his hermitage. It fortuned, that the boy being now about eighteen years old, and his Father grown very aged; he demanded of him one day, whether he went? Wherein the old man truly resolved him: whereupon, the youth thus spoke unto him. Father, you are now grown very aged, and hardly can endure such painful travel: why do you not let me go to Florence, that by making me known to your well disposed friends, such as are devoutly addicted both to God, and you; I, who am young, and better able to endure travail than you are, may go thither to supply our necessities, and you take your ease in the mean while? The aged man, perceiving the great growth of his son, and thinking him to be so well instructed in God's service, as no worldly vanities could easily allure him from it; did not dislike the Lads honest motion, but when he went next to Florence, took him thither along with him.  
When he was there, and had seen the goodly Palaces, Houses, and Churches, with all other sights to be seen in so populous a city: he began greatly to wonder at them, as one that had never seen them before, at least within the compass of his remembrance; demanding many things of his Father, both what they were, and how they were named: wherein the old man still resolved him. The answers seemed to content him highly, and caused him to proceed on in further questionings, according still as they found fresh occasions: till at the last, they met with a troop of very beautiful women, going on in seemly manner together, as returning back from a Wedding. No sooner did the youth behold them, but he demanded of his Father, what things they were; whereto the old man replied thus. Son, cast down thy looks unto the ground, and do not seem to see them at all, because they are bad things to behold. Bad things Father? answered the Lad: How do you call them? The good old man, not to quicken any concupiscible appetite in the young boy, or any inclinable desire to aught but goodness; would not term them by their proper name of Women, but told him that they were called young goslings.  
Hear grew a matter of no mean marvel, that he who had never seen any women before now; appeared not to respect the fair Churches, Palaces, goodly horses, gold, silver, or any thing else which he had seen; but, as fixing his affection only upon this sight, suddenly said to the old man. Good Father, do so much for me, as to let me have one of these goslings. Alas son (replied the Father) hold thy peace I pray thee, and do not desire any such naughty thing. Then by way of demand, he thus proceeded, saying. Father, are these naughty things made of themselves? Yes son, answered the old man. I know not Father (quoth the Lad) what you mean by naughtiness, nor why these goodly things should be so badly termed; but in my judgement, I have not seen any thing so fair and pleasing in mine eye, as these are, who excel those painted Angels, which here in the Churches you have shown me. And therefore Father, if either you love me, or have any care of me, let me have one of these goslings home to our Cell, where we can make means sufficient for her feeding. I will not (said the Father) be so much thine enemy, because neither thou, or I, can rightly skill of their feeding. Perceiving presently, that Nature had fare greater power than his son's capacity and understanding; which made him repent, for fond bringing his son to Florence.  
Having gone so fare in this fragment of a Tale, I am content to pause here, and will return again to them of whom I spoke before; I mean my envious depravers: such as have said (fair Ladies) that I am double blame-worthy, in seeking to please you, and that you are also over-pleasing to me; which freely I confess before all the world, that you are singularly pleasing to me, and I have striven how to please you effectually. I would demand of them (if they seem so much amazed heereat,) considering, I never knew what belonged to true-love kisses, amorous embraces, and their delectable fruition, so often received from your graces; but only that I have seen, and do yet daily behold, your commendable conditions, admired beauties, noble adornments by nature, and (above all the rest) your womenly and honest conversation. If he that was nourished, bred, and educated, on a savage solitary Mountain, within the confines of a poor small Cell, having no other company then his Father: If such a one, I say, upon the very first sight of your sex, could so constantly confess, that women were only worthy of affection, and the object which (above all things else) he most desired; why should these contumelious spirits so murmur against me, tear my credit with their teeth, and wound my reputation to the death, because your virtues are pleasing to me, and I endeavour likewise to please you with my utmost pains? Never had the auspicious heavens allowed me life, but only to love you; and from my very infancy, mine intentions have always been that way bend: feeling what virtue flowed from your fair eyes, understanding the mellifluous accents of your speech, whereto the enkindled flames of your sighs gave no mean grace. But remembering especially, that nothing could so please an hermit, as your divine perfections, an unnurtured Lad, without understanding, and little differing from a mere brutish beast: undoubtedly, whosoever loveth not women, and desireth to be affected of them again; may well be ranked among these women-haters, speaking out of cankered spleen, and utterly ignorant of the sacred power (as also the virtue) of natural affection, whereof they seeming so careless, the like am I of their depraving.  
Concerning them that touch me with mine age; Do not they know, that although Leeks have white heads, yet the blades of them are always green? But referring them to their flouts and taunts, I answer, that I shall never hold it any disparagement to me, so long as my life endureth, to delight myself with those exercises, which Guido Cavalconti, and Dante Alighieri, already aged, as also Messer Cino de Pistoia, older than either of them both, held to be their chiefest honour. And were it not a wandering too fare from our present argument, I would allege Histories to approve my words, full of very ancient and famous men, who in the ripest maturity of all their time, were carefully studious for the contenting of women, albeit these cockbraines neither know the way how to do it, nor are so wise as to learn it.  
Now, for my dwelling at Parnassus with the Muses, I confess their counsel to be very good: but we cannot always continue with them, nor they with us. And yet nevertheless, when any man departeth from them, they delighting themselves, to see such things as may be thought like them, do not therein deserve to be blamed. We find it recorded, that the Muses were women, and albeit women cannot equal the performance of the Muses; yet in their very prime aspect, they have a lively resemblance with the Muses: so that, if women were pleasing for nothing else, yet they ought to be generally pleasing in that respect. Beside all this, women have been the occasion of my composing a thousand Verses, whereas the Muses never caused me to make so much as one. Very true it is, that they gave me good assistance, and taught me how I should compose them, yea, and directed me in writing of these novels. And how basely soever they judge of my studies, yet have the Muses never scorned to dwell with me, perhaps for the respective service, and honourable resemblance of those Ladies with themselves, whose virtues I have not spared to commend by them. Wherefore, in the composition of these varieties, I have not strayed so fare from Parnassus, nor the Muses; as in their silly conjectures they imagine.  
But what shall I say to them, who take so great compassion on my poverty, as they advice me to get something, whereon to make my living? Assuredly, I know not what to say in this case, except by due consideration made with myself, how they would answer me, if necessity should drive me to crave kindness of them; questionless, they would then say: go, seek comfort among thy fables and follies. Yet I would have them know, that poor Poets have always found more among their fables & fictions; then many rich men ever could do, by ransacking all their bags of treasure. Beside, many other might be spoken of, who made their age and times to flourish, merely by their inventions and fables: whereas on the contrary, a great number of other busier brains, seeking to gain more than would serve them to live on; have utterly run upon their own ruin, and overthrown themselves for ever. What should I say more? To such men, as are either so suspicious of their own charity, or of my necessity, whensoever it shall happen: I can answer (I thank my God for it) with the Apostle; I know how to abound, & how to abate, yea, how to endure both prosperity and want; and therefore, let no man be more careful of me, than I am of myself.  
For them that are so inquisitive into my discourses, to have a further construction of them, than agrees with my meaning, or their own good manners, taxing me with writing one thing, but intending another; I could wish, that their wisdom would extend so fare, as but to compare them with their originals, to find them a jot discordant from my writing; and then I would freely confess, that they had some reason to reprehend me, and I should endeavour to make them amends. But until they can touch me with any thing else, but words only; I must let them wander in their own giddy opinions, and follow the course projected to myself, saying of them, as they do of me.  
Thus holding them all sufficiently answered for this time, I say (most worthy Ladies) that by heaven's assistance and yours, whereto I only lean: I will proceed on, armed with patience; and turning my back against these impetuous winds, let them breath till they burst, because I see nothing can happen to harm me, but only the venting of their malice. For the roughest blasts, do but raise the smallest dust from off the ground, driving it from one place to another; or, carrying it up to the air, many times it falleth down again on men's heads, yea, upon the crowns of Emperors and Kings, and sometimes on the highest Palaces and tops of Towers; from whence, if it chance to descend again by contrary blasts, it can light no lower, than whence it came at the first. And therefore, if ever I striven to please you with my uttermost abilities in any thing, surely I must now contend to express it more than ever. For, I know right well, that no man can say with reason, except some such as myself, who love and honour you, that we do any otherwise then as nature hath commanded us; and to resist her laws, requires a greater and more powerful strength than ours: and the contenders against her supreme privileges, have either laboured merely in vain, or else incurred their own bane. Which strength, I freely confess myself not to have, neither covet to be possessed of it in this case: but if I had it, I would rather lend it to some other, than any way to use it on mine own behalf. Wherefore, I would advice them that thus check and control me, to give over, and be silent; and if their cold humours cannot learn to love, let them live still in their frosty complexion, delighting themselues in their corrupted appetites: suffering me to enjoy mine own, for the little while I have to live; and this is all the kindness I require of them.  
But now it is time (bright beauties) to return whence we parted, and to follow our former order begun, because it may seem we have wandered too fare. By this time the Sun had chased the starlight from the heavens, and the shady moisture from the ground, when Philostratus the King being risen, all the company arose likewise. When being come into the goodly Garden, they spent the time in variety of sports, dining where they had supped the night before. And after that the Sun was at his highest, and they had refreshed their spirits with a little slumbering, they sat down (according to custom) about the fair fountain. And then the King commanded Madam Fiammeta, that she should give beginning to the day's novels: when she, without any longer delaying, be 'gan in this gracious manner.  

tancred, Prince of Salerne, caused the amorous friend of his daughter to be slain, and sent her his heart in a cup of Gold: which afterward she steeped in an empoisoned water, and then drinking it, so died.  
The first novel.  
Wherein is declared the power of love, and their cruelty justly reprehended, who imagine to make the vigour thereof cease, by abusing or killing one of the lovers.  
OUR King (most Noble and virtuous Ladies) hath this day given us a subject, very rough and stern to discourse on, and so much the rather, if we consider, that we are come hither to be merry & pleasant, where sad tragical reports are no way suitable, especially, by reviving the tears of others, to bedew our own checks withal. Nor can any such argument be spoken of, without moving compassion both in the reporters, and hearers. But (perhaps) it was his highness' pleasure, to moderate the delights which we have already had. Or whatsoever else hath provoked him thereto, seeing it is not lawful for me, to alter or contradict his appointment; I will recount an accident very pitiful, or rather most unfortunate, and well worthy to be graced with our tears.  
tancred, Prince of Salerne (which City, before the Consulles of Rome held dominion in that part of Italy, stood free, and thence (perchance) took the modern title of a Principality) was a very humane Lord, and of ingenious nature; if, in his elder years, he had not soiled his hands in the blood of lovers, especially one of them, being both near and dear unto him. So it fortuned, that during the whole life time of this Prince, he had but one only daughter (albeit it had been much better, if he had had none at all) whom he so choicely loved and esteemed, as never was any child more dearly affected of a Father: and so fare extended his overcurious respect of her, as he would seldom admit her to be forth of his sight; neither would he suffer her to marry, although she had out-stept (by diverse years) the age meet for marriage. Nevertheless, at length, he matched her with the son to the Duke of Capua, who lived no long while with her; but left her in a widowed estate, and then she returned home to her father again.  
This Lady, had all the most absolute perfections, both of favour and feature, as could be wished in any woman, young, quaintly disposed, and of admirable understanding, more (perhaps) then was requisite in so weak a body. Continuing thus in Court with the King her Father, who loved her beyond all his future hopes; like a Lady of great and glorious magnificence, she lived in all delights & pleasure. She well perceiving, that her Father thus exceeding in his affection to her, had no mind at all of re-marrying her, and holding it most immodest in her, to solicit him with any such suit: concluded in her minds private consultations, to make choice of some one especial friend or favourite (if Fortune would prove so furtherous to her) whom she might acquaint secretly, with her sober, honest, and familiar purposes. Her father's Court being much frequented, with plentiful access of brave Gentlemen, and others of inferior quality, as commonly the Courts of Kings & Princes are, whose carriage and demeanour she very heedfully observed. There was a young Gentleman among all the rest, a servant to her Father, and named Guiscardo, a man not derived from any great descent by blood, yet much more Noble by virtue and commendable behaviour, than appeared in any of the other, none pleased her opinion, like as he did; so that by often noting his parts and perfections, her affection being but a glowing spark at the first, grew like a bavin to take flame, yet kept so closely as possibly she could; as Ladies are wary enough in their love.  
The young Gentleman, though poor, being neither block nor dullard, perceived what he made no outward show of, and understood himself so sufficiently, that holding it no mean happiness to be affected by her, he thought it very base and cowardly in him, if he should not express the like to her again. So loving mutually (yet secretly) in this manner, and she coveting nothing more, then to have private conference with him, yet not daring to trust any one with so important a matter; at length she devised a new cunning stratagem, to compass her longing desire, and acquaint him with her private purpose, which proved to be in this manner. She wrote a Letter, concerning what was the next day to be done, for their secret meeting together; and conveying it within the joint of an hollow Cane, in jesting manner threw it to Guiscardo, saying; Let your man make use of this, instead of a pair of bellowes, when he meaneth to make fire in your chamber. Guiscardo taking up the Cane, and considering with himself, that neither was it given, or the words thus spoken, but doubtless on some important occasion: went unto his lodging with the Cane, where viewing it respectively, he found it to be cleft, and opening it with his knife, found there the written Letter enclosed.  
After he had read it, and well considered on the service therein concerned; he was the most joyful man of the world, and began to contrive his aptest means, for meeting with his gracious Mistress, and according as she had given him direction. In a corner of the King's Palace, it being seated on a rising hill, a cave had long been made in the body of the same hill, which received no light into it, but by a small spiracle or vent-loope, made our ingeniously on the hills side. And because it had not in long time been frequented, by the access of any body, that ventlight was overgrown with briers and bushes, which almost engirt it round about. No one could descend into this cave or vault, but only by a secret pair of stairs, answering to a lower Chamber of the Palace, and very near to the Princess' lodging, as being altogether at her command, by means of a strong barred and defensible door, whereby to mount or descend at her pleasure. And both the cave itself, as also the degrees conducting down into it, were now so quite worn out of memory (in regard it had not been visited by any one in long time before) as no man remembered that there was any such thing.  
But love, from whose bright discerning eyes, nothing can be so closely concealed, but at the length it cometh to light: had made this amorous Lady mindful thereof, and because she would not be discovered in her intention, many days together, her soul became perplexed; by what means that strong door might best be opened, before she could compass to perform it. But after that she had found out the way, and gone down herself alone into the cave; observing the loope-light, & had made it commodious for her purpose, she gave knowledge thereof to Guiscardo, to have him device an apt course for his descent, acquainting him truly with the height, and how fare it was distant from the ground within. After he had found the souspirall in the hills side, and given it a larger entrance for his safer passage; he provided a Ladder of cords, with steps sufficient for his descending and ascending, as also a wearing suit made of leather, to keep his skin unscratched of the thorns, and to avoid all suspicion of his resorting thither. In this manner went he to the said loop-hole the night following, and having fastened the one end of his corded ladder, to the strong stump of a tree being closely by it; by means of the said ladder, he descended down into the cave, and there attended the coming of his Lady.  
She, on the morrow morning, pretending to her waiting woman, that she was scarcely well, and therefore would not be diseased the most part of that day; commanded them to leave her alone in her Chamber, and not to return until she called for them, locking the door herself for better security. Then opened she the door of the cave, and going down the stairs, found there her amorous friend Guiscardo, whom she saluting with a chaste and modest kiss; caused him to ascend up the stairs with her into her chamber. This long desired, and now obtained meeting, caused the two dearly affecting lovers, in kind discourse of amorous argument (without incivill or rude demeanour) to spend there the most part of that day, to their heart's joy and mutual contentment. And having concluded on their often meeting there, in this cunning & concealed sort; Guiscardo went down into the cave again, the Princess making the door fast after him, and then went forth among her Women. So in the night season, Guiscardo ascended up again by his Ladder of cords, and covering the loop-hole with brambles and bushes, returned (unseen of any) to his own lodging: the cave being afterward guilty of their often meeting there in this manner.  
But Fortune, who hath always been a fatal enemy to lovers stolen felicities, became envious of their thus secret meeting, and overthrew (in an instant) all their poor happiness, by an accident most spiteful and malicious. The King had used diverse days before, after dinner time, to resort all alone to his daughter's Chamber, there conversing with her in most loving manner. One unhappy day amongst the rest, when the Princess, being named Ghismonda, was sporting in her private Garden among her Ladies, the King (at his wont time) went to his daughter's Chamber, being neither heard or seen by any. Nor would he have his daughter called from her pleasure, but finding the windows fast shut, and the curtains close drawn about the bed; he sat down in a chair behind it, and leaning his head upon the bed, his body being covered with the curtain, as if he hide himself purposely; he mused on so many matters, until at last he sell fast asleep.  
It hath been observed as an ancient Adage, that when disasters are ordained to any one, commonly they prove to be inevitable, as poor Ghismonda could witness too well. For, while the King thus slept, she having (unluckily) appointed another meeting with Guiscardo, left her Gentlewomen in the Garden, and stealing softly into her Chamber, having made all fast and sure, for being descried by any person: opened the door to Guiscardo, who stood there ready on the stairhead, awaiting his entrance; and they sitting down on the bed side (according as they were wont to do) began their usual kind conference again, with sighs and loving kisses mingled among them. It chanced that the King awaked, & both hearing and seeing this familiarity of Guiscardo with his Daughter, he became extremely confounded with grief thereat. Once he intended, to cry out for help, to have them both there apprehended; but he held it a part of greater wisdom, to sit silent still, and (if he could) to keep himself so closely concealed: to the end, that he might the more secretly, and with far less disgrace to himself, perform what he had rashly intended to do.  
The poor discovered lovers, having ended their amorous interparlance, without suspicion of the Kings being so near in person, or any else, to betray their over-confident trust; Guiscardo descended again into the cave, and she leaving the Chamber, returned to her women in the Garden; all which tancred too well observed, and in a rapture of fury, departed (unseen) into his own lodging. The same night, about the hour of men's first sleep, and according as he had given order; Guiscardo was apprehended, even as he was coming forth of the loop-hole, & in his homely leather habit. Very closely was he brought before the King, whose heart was swollen so great with grief, as hardly was he able to speak▪ notwithstanding, at the last he began thus. Guiscardo, the love & respect I have used towards thee, hath not deserved the shameful wrong which thou hast requited me withal, and as I have seen with mine own eyes this day. Whereto Guiscardo could answer nothing else, but only this: Alas my Lord! Love is able to do much more, then either you, or I. Whereupon, tancred commanded, that he should be secretly well guarded, in a near adjoining Chamber, and on the next day, Ghismonda having (as yet) heard nothing hereof, the King's brain being infinitely busied and troubled, after dinner, and as he often had used to do: he went to his daughter's chamber, where calling for her, and shutting the doors closely to them, the tears trickling down his aged white beard, thus he spoke to her.  
Ghismonda, I was once grounded in a settled persuasion, that I truly knew thy virtue, and honest integrity of life; and this belief could never have been altered in me, by any sinister reports whatsoever, had not mine eyes seen, and mine ears heard the contrary. Nor did I so much as conceive a thought either of thine affection, or private conversing with any man, but only he that was to be thy husband. But now, I myself being able to avouch thy folly, imagine what an heartbreak this will be to me, so long as life remaineth in this poor, weak, and aged body. Yet, if needs thou must have yielded to this wanton weakness, I would thou hadst made choice of a man, answerable to thy birth & Nobility: whereas on the contrary, among so many worthy spirits as resort to my Court, thou likest best to converse with that silly young man Guiscardo, one of very mean and base descent, and by me (even for God's sake) from his very youngest years, brought up to this instant in my Court; wherein thou hast given me much affliction of mind, and so overthrown my senses, as I cannot well imagine how I should deal with thee. For him, whom I have this night caused to be surprised, even as he came forth of your close contrived conveyance, and detain as my prisoner, I have resolved how to proceed with him: but concerning thyself▪ mine oppressions are so many and violent, as I know not what to say of thee. One way, thou hast merely murdered the unfeigned affection I bore thee, as never any father could express more to his child: and then again, thou hast kindled a most just indignation in me, by thine immodest and wilful folly, and whereas Nature pleadeth pardon for the one, yet justice standeth up against the other, and urgeth cruel severity against thee: nevertheless, before I will determine upon any resolution, I come purposely first to hear thee speak, and what thou canst say for thyself, in a bad case, so desperate and dangerous.  
Having thus spoken, he hung down the head in his bosom, weeping as abundantly, as if it had been a child severely disciplined. On the other side, Ghismonda hearing the speeches of her Father, and perceiving withal, that not only her secret love was discovered, but also Guiscardo was in close prison, the matter which most of all did torment her; she fell into a very strange kind of ecstasy, scorning tears, and entreating terms, such as feminine frailty are always aptest unto: but rather, with height of courage, controling fear or servile baseness, and declaring invincible fortitude in her very looks, she concluded with herself, rather than to urge any humble persuasions, she would lay her life down at the stake. For plainly she perceived, that Guiscardo already was a dead man in Law, and death was likewise as welcome to her, rather than the deprivation of her love; and therefore, not like a weeping woman, or as checked by the offence committed, but careless of any harm happening to her: stoutly and courageously, not a tear appearing in her eye, or her soul any way to be perturbed, thus she spoke to her Father.  
tancred, to deny what I have done, or to entreat any favour from you, is now no part of my disposition: for as the one can little avail me, so shall not the other any way advantage me. Moreover, I covet not, that you should extend any clemency or kindness to me, but by my voluntary confession of the truth; do intent (first of all) to defend mine honour, with reason's sound, good, and substantial, and then virtuously pursue to full effect, the greatness of my mind and constant resolution. True it is, that I have loved, and still do, honourable Guiscardo, purposing the like so long as I shall live, which will be but a small while: but if it be possible to continue the same affection after death, it is for ever vowed to him only. Nor did mine own womanish weakness so much thereto induce me, as the matchless virtues shining clearly in Guiscardo, and the little respect you had of marrying me again. Why royal Father, you cannot be ignorant, that you being composed of flesh and blood, have begotten a Daughter of the self same composition, and not made of stone or iron. Moreover, you ought to remember (although now you are fare stepped in years) what the laws of youth are, and with what difficulty they are to be contradicted. Considering withal, that albeit (during the vigour of your best time) you evermore were exercised in arms; yet you should likewise understand, that negligence and idle delights, have mighty power, not only in young people, but also in them of greatest years.  
I being then made of flesh and blood, and so derived from yourself; having had also so little benefit of life, that I am yet in the spring, and blooming time of my blood: by either of these reasons, I must needs be subject to natural desires, wherein such knowledge as I have once already had, in the estate of my marriage, perhaps might move a further intelligence of the like delights, according to the better ability of strength, which exceeding all capacity of resistance, induced a second motive to affection, answerable to my time and youthful desires, and so (like a young woman) I became amorous again; yet did I strive, even with all my utmost might, and best virtuous faculties abiding in me, no way to disgrace either you or myself, as (in equal censure) yet I have not done. But Nature is above all humane power, and love, commanded by Nature, hath prevailed for love, joining with Fortune: in mere pity and commiseration of my extreme wrong. I found them both most benign and gracious, teaching me a way secret enough, whereby I might reach the height of my desires, howsoever you became instructed, or (perhaps) found it out by accident; so it was, and I deny it not.  
Nor did I make election of Guiscardo by chance, or rashly, as many women do, but by deliberate counsel in my soul, and most mature advice; I chose him above all other, and having his honest harmless conversation, mutually we enjoyed our heart's contentment. Now it appeareth, that I having not offended but by love; in imitation of vulgar opinion, rather than truth: you seek to reprove me bitterly, alleging no other main argument for your anger, but only my not choosing a gentleman, or one more worthy. Wherein it is most evident, that you do not so much check my fault, as the ordination of Fortune; who many times advanceth men of meanest esteem, and abaseth them of greater merit. But leaving this discourse, let us look into the original of things, wherein we are first to observe, that from one mass or lump of flesh, both we, and all other received our flesh, and one Creator hath created all things; yea, all creatures, equally in their forces and faculties, and equal likewise in their virtue: which virtue was the first that made distinction of our birth and equality, in regard, that such as had the most liberal portion thereof, and performed actions thereto answerable, were thereby termed noble; all the rest remaining unnoble: now although contrary use did afterward hide and conceal this Law, yet was it not therefore banished from Nature or good manners. In which respect, whosoever did execute all his actions by virtue, declared himself openly to be noble; and he that termed him otherwise, it was an error in the miscaller, and not in the person so wrongfully called; as the very same privilege is yet in full force among us at this day.  
Cast an heedful eye then (good Father) upon all your Gentlemen, and advisedly examine their virtues, conditions and manner of behaviour. On the other side, observe those parts remaining in Guiscardo: and then, if you will judge truly, and without affection, you will confess him to be most noble, and that all your Gentlemen (in respect of him) are but base grooms and villains. His virtues and excelling perfections, I never credited from the report or judgement of any person; but only by your speeches, and mine own eyes as true wirnesses. Who did ever more commend Guiscardo, extolling all those singularities in him, most requisite to be in an honest virtuous man; than you yourself have done? Nor need you to be sorry, or ashamed of your good opinion concerning him; for, if mine eyes have not deceived my judgement, you never gave him the least part of praise, but I have known much more in him, than ever your words were able to express: wherefore, if I have been any way deceived, truly the deceit proceeded only from you. How will you then maintain, that I have thrown my liking on a man of base condition? In troth (Sir) you cannot. Perhaps you will allege, that he is mean and poor; I confess it, and surely it is to your shame, that you have not bestown place of more preferment, on a man so honest and well deserving, and having been so long a time your servant. Nevertheless, poverty impaireth not any part of noble Nature, but wealth hurries it into horrible confusions. Many Kings and great Princes have heretofore been poor, when diverse of them that have delved into the Earth, and kept flocks in the field, have been advanced to riches, and exceeded the other in wealth.  
Now, as concerning your last doubt, which most of all afflicteth you, namely, how you shall deal with me; boldly rid your brain of any such disturbance, for if you have resolved now in your extremity of years, to do that which your younger days evermore despised, I mean, to become cruel; use your utmost cruelty against me, for I will never entreat you to the contrary, because I am the sole occasion of this offence, if it do deserve the name of an offence. And this I dare assure you, that if you deal not with me, as you have done already, or intent to Guiscardo, mine own hands shall act as much: and therefore give over your tears to women, and if you purpose to be cruel, let him and me in death drink both of one cup, at least, if you imagine that we have deserved it.  
The King knew well enough the high spirit of his Daughter, but yet (nevertheless) he did not believe, that her words would prove actions, or she do as she said. And therefore parting from her, and without intent of using any cruelty to her; concluded, by quenching the heat of another, to cool the fiery rage of her distemper, commanding two of his followers (who had the custody of Guiscardo) that without any rumour or noise at all, they should strangle him the night ensuing, and taking the heart forth of his body, to bring it to him, which they performed according to their charge. On the next day, the King called for a goodly standing Cup of Gold, wherein he put the heart of Guiscardo, sending it by one of his most familiar servants to his Daughter, with command also to use these words to her. Thy Father hath sent thee this present, to comfort thee with that thing which most of all thou affectest, even as thou hast comforted him with that which he most hated.  
Ghismonda, nothing altered from her cruel deliberation, after her Father was departed from her, caused certain poisonous roots & herbs to be brought her, which she (by distillation) made a water of, to drink suddenly, whensoever any cross accident should come from her Father; whereupon, when the messenger from her Father had delivered her the present, and uttered the words as he was commanded: she took the Cup, and looking into it with a settled countenance, by sight of the heart, and effect of the message, she knew certainly, that it was the heart of Guiscardo; then looking stearnely on the servant, thus she spoke unto him. My honest friend, it is no more than right and justice, that so worthy a heart as this is, should have any worse grave than gold, wherein my Father hath dealt most wisely. So, lifting the heart up to her mouth, and sweetly kissing it, she proceeded thus. In all things, even till this instant, (being the utmost period of my life) I have evermore found my father's love most effectual to me; but now it appeareth fare greater, then at any time heretofore: and therefore from my mouth, thou must deliver him the latest thankes that ever I shall give him, for sending me such an honourable present.  
These words being ended, holding the Cup fast in her hand, and looking seriously upon the heart, she began again in this manner. Thou sweet entertainer of all my dearest delights, accursed be his cruelty, that causeth me thus to see thee with my corporal eyes, it being sufficient enough for me, always to behold thee with the sight of my soul. Thou hast run thy race, and as Fortune ordained, so are thy days finished: for as all flesh hath an ending; so hast thou concluded, albeit too soon, and before thy due time. The travails and miseries of this World, have now no more to meddle with thee, and thy very heaviest enemy, hath bestowed such a grave on thee, as thy greatness in virtue worthily deserveth; now nothing else is wanting, wherewith to beautify thy funeral, but only her sighs & tears, that was so dear unto thee in thy life time. And because thou mightest the more freely enjoy them, see how my merciless Father (on his own mere motion) hath sent thee to me; and truly I will bestow them frankly on thee, though once I had resolved, to die with dry eyes, and not shedding one tear, dreadless of their utmost malice towards me.  
And when I have given thee the due oblation of my tears, my soul, which sometime thou hast kept most carefully, shall come to make a sweet conjunction with thine: for in what company else can I travail more contentedly, and to those unfrequented silent shades, but only in thine? As yet I am sure it is present here, in this Cup sent me by my Father, as having a provident respect to the place, for possession of our equal and mutual pleasures; because thy soul affecting mine so truly, cannot walk alone, without his dear companion.  
Having thus finished her complaint, even as if her head had been converted into a wellspring of water, so did tears abundantly flow from her fair eyes, kissing the heart of Guiscardo infinite times. All which while, her women standing by her, neither knew what heart it was, nor to what effect her speeches tended: but being moved to compassionate tears, they often demanded (albeit in vain) the occasion of her sad complaining, comforting her to their utmost power. When she was not able to weep any longer, wiping her eyes, and lifting up her head, without any sign of the least dismay, thus she spoke to the heart. Dear heart, all my duty is performed to thee, and nothing now remaineth uneffected; but only breathing my last, to let my ghost accompany thine.  
Then calling for the glass of water, which she had readily prepared the day before, and pouring it upon the heart lying in the Cup, courageously advancing it to her mouth, she drank it up every drop; which being done, she lay down upon her bed, holding her lover's heart fast in her hand, and laying it so near to her own as she could. Now although her women knew not what water it was, yet when they had seen her to quaff it off in that manner, they sent word to the King, who much suspecting what had happened, went in all haste to his daughter's chamber, entering at the very instant, when she was laid upon her bed; beholding her in such passionate pangs, with tears streaming down his reverend beard, he used many kind words to comfort her, when boldly thus she spoke unto him. Father (quoth she) well may you spare these tears, because they are unfitting for you, and not any way desired by me; who but yourself, hath seen any man to mourn for his own wilful offence. Nevertheless, if but the least jot of that love do yet abide in you, whereof you have made such liberal profession to me; let me obtain this my very last request, to wit, that seeing I might not privately enjoy the benefit of Guiscardoes' love, and while he lived; let yet (in death) one public grave contain both our bodies, that death may afford us, what you so cruelly in life denied us.  
Extremity of grief and sorrow, withheld his tongue from returning any answer, and she perceiving her end approaching, held the heart still closed to her own bare breast, saying; Here Fortune, receive two true hearts latest oblation, for, in this manner are we coming to thee. So closing her eyes, all sense forsook her, life leaving her body breathless. Thus ended the hapless love of Guiscardo, and Ghismonda, for whose sad disaster, when the King had mourned sufficiently, and repent fruitlessly; he caused both their bodies to be honourably embalmed, and buried in a most royal Monument; not without general sorrow of the subjects of Salerne.   

Friar Albert made a young Venetian Gentlewoman believe, that God Cupid was fall'n in love with her, and he resorted oftentimes unto her, in the disguise of the same God. Afterward, being frighted by the gentlewoman's kindred and friends, he cast himself out of her Chamber window, and was hidden in a poor man's House; on the day following, in the shape of a wild or savage man, he was brought upon the Rialto of Saint mark, and being there publicly known by the Brethren of his Order; he was committed to Prison.  
The second novel.  
Reprehending the lewd lives of dissembling hypocrites; and checking the arrogant pride of vaine-headed women.  
THE novel recounted by Madam Fiammetta, caused tears many times in the eyes of all the company; but it being finished, the King showing a stern countenance, said; I should much have commended the kindness of fortune, if in the whole course of my life, I had tasted the least moiety of that delight, which Guiscardo received by conversing with fair Ghismonda. Nor need any of you to wonder thereat, or how it can be otherwise, because hourly I feel a thousand dying torments, without enjoying any hope of ease or pleasure: but referring my fortunes to their own poor condition, it is my will, that Madam Pampinea proceed next in the argument of successelesse love, according as Madam Fiammetta hath already begun, to let fall more dew-drops on the fire of mine afflictions. Madam Pampinea perceiving what a task was imposed on her, knew well (by her own disposition) the inclination of the company, whereof she was more respective, then of the King's command: wherefore, choosing rather to recreate their spirits, then to satisfy the King's melancholy humour; she determined to relate a Tale of mirthful matter, and yet to keep within compass of the purposed Argument.  
It hath been continually used as a common proverb; that a bad man, taken and reputed to be honest and good, may commit many evils, yet neither credited, or suspected: which proverb giveth me very ample matter to speak of, and yet not varying from our intention, concerning the hypocrisy of some religious persons, who having their garments long and large, their faces made artificially pale, their language meek and humble, to get men's goods from them; yet four, harsh, and stern enough, in checking and controlling other men's errors, as also in urging others to give, and themselves to take, without any other hope or means of salvation. Nor do they endeavour like other men, to work out their soul's health with fear and trembling; but, even as if they were sole owners, Lords, and possessors of paradise, will appoint to every dying person, places (there) of greater or lesser excellency, according as they think good, or as the legacies left by them are in quantity, whereby they not only deceive themselves, but all such as give credit to their subtle persuasions. And were it lawful for me, to make known no more than is merely necessary; I could quickly disclose to simple credulous people, what craft lieth concealed under their holy habits: and I would wish, that their lies and deluding should speed with them, as they did with a Franciscane Friar, none of the younger novices, but one of them of greatest reputation, and belonging to one of the best Monasteries in Venice. Which I am the rather desirous to report, to recreate your spirits, after your tears for the death of fair Ghismonda.  
Sometime (Honourable Ladies) there lived in the City of Imola, a man of most lewd and wicked life; named, Bertho de la massa, whose shameless deeds were so well known to all the Citizens, and won such respect among them; as all his lies could not compass any belief, no, not when he delivered a matter of sound truth. Wherefore, perceiving that his lewdness allowed him no longer dwelling there; like a desperate adventurer▪ he transported himself thence to Venice, the receptacle of all foul sin and abomination, intending there to exercise his wont bad behaviour, and live as wickedly as ever he had done before. It came to pass, that some remorse of conscience took hold of him, for the former passages of his dissolute life, and he pretended to be surprised with very great devotion, becoming much more Catholic then any other man, taking on him the profession of a Franciscane Cordelier, and calling himself friar Albert of Imola.  
In this habit and outward appearance, he seemed to lead an austere and sanctimonious life, highly commending penance & abstinence, never eating flesh, or drinking wine, but when he was provided of both in a close corner. And before any person could take notice thereof, he became (of a thief) Ruffian, forswearer and murderer, as formerly he had been a great Preacher; yet not abandoning the forenamed vices, when secretly he could put any of them in execution. Moreover, being made Priest, when he was celebrating mass at the Altar, if he saw himself to be observed by any; he would most mournefully read the passion of our saviour, as one whose tears cost him little, whensoever he pleased to use them: so that, in a short while, by his preaching and tears, he fed the humours of the Venetians so pleasingly; that they made him executor (well near) of all their Testaments, yea, many chose him as depositary or Guardion of their moneys; because he was both confessor and councillor, almost to all the men and women.  
By this well seeming outside of sanctity, the wolf became a shepherd, and his renown for holiness was so famous in those parts, as Saint Frances himself had hardly any more. It fortuned, that a young Gentlewoman, being somewhat foolish, wanton and proud minded, named Madam Lisetta de Caquirino, wife to a wealthy Merchant, who went with certain galleys into Flanders, and there lay as Lieger long time, in company of other Gentlewomen, went to be confessed by this ghostly Father; kneeling at his feet, although her heart was high enough, like a proud minded woman, (for Venetians are presumptuous, vainglorious, and witted much like to their skittish Gondoloes) she made a very short rehearsal of her sins. At length Friar Albert demanded of her, whether she had any amorous friend or lover? Her patience being exceedingly provoked, stern anger appeared in her looks, which caused her to return him this answer. How now Sir Domine? what? Have you no eyes in your head? Can you not distinguish between mine, and these other common beauties? I could have lovers enough, if I were so pleased; but those perfections remaining in me, are not to be affected by this man, or that. How many beauties have you beheld, any way answerable to mine, and are more fit for Gods, than mortals.  
Many other idle speeches she uttered, in proud opinion of her beauty, whereby Friar Albert presently perceived, that this Gentlewoman had but a hollow brain, and was fit game for folly to fly at; which made him instantly enamoured of her, and that beyond all capacity of resisting, which yet he referred to a further, and more commodious time. Nevertheless, to show himself an holy and religious man now, he began to reprehend her, and told her plainly, that she was vainglorious, and overcome with infinite follies. Hereupon, she called him a logger headed beast, and he knew not the difference between an ordinary complexion, and beauty of the highest merit. In which respect, Friar Albert, being loath to offend her any further; after confession was fully ended, let her pass away among the other Gentlewomen, she giving him diverse disdainful looks.  
Within some few days after, taking one of his trusty brethren in his company, he went to the House of Madam Lisetta, where requiring to have some conference alone with herself; she took him into a private parlour, and being there, not to be seen by any body, he fell on his knees before her, speaking in this manner. Madam, for charity's sake, and in regard of your own most gracious nature, I beseech you to pardon those harsh speeches, which I used to you the other day, when you were with me at confession: because, the very night ensuing thereon, I was chastised in such such cruel manner, as I was never able to stir forth of my bed, until this very instant morning; whereto the weak witted Gentlewoman thus replied. And who I pray you (quoth she) did chastise you so severely? I will tell you Madam, said Friar Albert, but it is a matter of admirable secrecy.  
Being alone by myself the same night in my Dorter, and in very serious devotion, according to my usual manner: suddenly I saw a bright splendour about me, and I could no sooner arise to discern what it might be, and whence it came, but I espied a very goodly young Lad standing by me, holding a golden Bow in his hand, and a rich quiver of arrows hanging at his back. Catching fast hold on my Hood, against the ground he threw me rudely, trampling on me with his feet, and beating me with so many cruel blows, that I thought my body to be broken in pieces. Then I desired to know, why he was so rigorous to me in his correction? Because (quoth he) thou didst so saucily presume this day, to reprove the celestial beauty of Madam Lisetta, who (next to my Mother Venus) I love most dear. Whereupon I perceived, he was the great commanding God Cupid, and therefore I craved most humbly pardon of him. I will pardon thee (quoth he) but upon this condition, that thou go to her so soon as conveniently thou canst, and (by lowly humility) prevail to obtain her free pardon: which if she will not vouchsafe to grant thee, then shall I in stern anger return again, and lay so many torturing afflictions on thee, that all thy whole life time shall be most hateful to thee. And what the displeased God said else beside, I dare not disclose, except you please first to pardon me.  
Mistress shallow brain, being swollen big with this wind, like an empty bladder; conceived no small pride in hearing these words, constantly crediting them to be true, and therefore thus answered. Did I not tell you Father Albert, that my beauty was celestial? But I swear by my beauty, notwithstanding your idle passed arrogancy, I am hearty sorry for your so severe correction; which that it may no more be inflicted on you, I do freely pardon you; yet with this proviso, that you tell me, what the God else said unto you; whereto friar Albert thus replied. Madam, seeing you have so graciously vouchsafed to pardon me, I will thankfully tell you all: but you must be very careful and respective, that whatsoever I shall reveal unto you, must so closely be concealed, as no living creature in the World may know it; for you are the only happy Lady now living, and that happiness relieth on your silence and secrecy: with solemn vows and protestations she sealed up her many promises, and then the friar thus proceeded.  
Madam, the further charge imposed on me by God Cupid, was to tell you, that himself is so extremely enamoured of your beauty, and you are become so gracious in his affection; as, many nights he hath come to see you in your Chamber, sitting on your pillow, while you slept sweetly, and desiring very often to awake you, but only fearing to affright you. Wherefore, now he sends you word by me, that one night he intendeth to come visit you, and to spend some time in conversing with you. But in regard he is a God, and merely a spirit in form, whereby neither you or any else have capacity of beholding him, much less to touch or feel him: he saith, that (for your sake) he will come in the shape of a man, giving me charge also to know of you, when you shall please to have him come, and in whose similitude you would have him to come, whereof he will not fail; in which respect, you may justly think yourself to be the only happy woman living, and fare beyond all other in your good fortune.  
Mistress want-wit presently answered, she was well contented, that God Cupid should love her, and she would return the like love again to him; protesting withal, that wheresoever she should see his majestical picture, she would set a hallowed burning Taper before it. Moreover, at all times he should be most welcome to her, whensoever he would vouchsafe to visit her; for, he should always find her alone in her private Chamber: on this condition, that his old love Psyche's, and all other beauties else whatsoever, must be set aside, and none but herself only to be his best Mistress, referring his personal form of appearance, to what shape himself best pleased to assume, so that it might not be frightful, or offensive to her.  
Madam (quoth Friar Albert) most wisely have you answered, & leave the matter to me; for I will take order sufficiently, and to your contentment. But you may do me a great grace, and without any prejudice to yourself, in granting me one poor request; namely, to vouchsafe the god's appearance to you, in my bodily shape and person, and in the perfect form of a man as now you behold me, so may you safely give him entertainment, without any taxation of the world, or ill apprehension of the most curious inquisition. Beside, a greater happiness can never befall me: for, while he assumeth the soul out of my body, and walketh on the earth in my humane figure: I shall be wandering in the joys of lover's Paradise, feeling the fruition of their felicities; which are such, as no mortality can be capable of, no, not so much as in imagination.  
The wise Gentlewoman replied, that she was well contented, in regard of the severe punishment inflicted on him by God Cupid, for the reproachful speeches he had given her; to allow him so poor a kind of consolation, as he had requested her to grant him. Whereupon friar Albert said: Be ready then Madam to give him welcome to morrow in the evening, at the entering into your house, for coming in an humane body, he cannot but enter at your door, whereas, if (in powerful manner) he made use of his wings, he then would fly in at your window, and then you could not be able to see him.  
Upon this conclusion, Albert departed, leaving Lisetta in no mean pride of imagination, that God Cupid should be enamoured of her beauty; and therefore she thought each hour a year, till she might see him in the mortal shape of Friar Albert. And now was his brain wonderfully busied, to visit her in more than common or humane manner; and therefore he made him a suit (close to his body) of white taffeta, all powdered over with stars, and spangles of Gold, a Bow and quiver of arrows, with wings also fastened to his back behind him, and all cunningly covered with his friar's habit, which must be the sole means for his safe passage.  
Having obtained licence of his superior, and being accompanied with an holy Brother of the convent, yet ignorant of the business by him intended; he went to the house of a friend of his, which was his usual receptacle, whensoever he went about such deeds of darkness. There did he put on his dissembled habit of God Cupid, with his wings, bow, and quiver, in formal fashion; and then (clouded over with his monks Cowle) leaves his companion to await his returning back, while he visited foolish Lisetta, according to her expectation, readily attending for the god's arrival.  
Albert being come to the house, knocked at the door, and the Maid admitting him entrance, according as her mistress had appointed, she conducted him to her mistress' Chamber, where laying aside his friar's habit, and she seeing him shine with such glorious splendour, adding action also to his assumed dissimulation, with majestic motion of his body, wings, and bow, as if he had been God Cupid, indeed converted into a body much bigger of stature, than Painters commonly do describe him, her wisdom was so overcome with fear and admiration, that she fell on her knees before him, expressing all humble reverence unto him. And he spreading his wings over her, as with wires and strings he had made them pliant; shown how graciously he accepted her humiliation; folding her in his arms, and sweetly kissing her many times together, with repetition of his entire love and affection towards her. So delicately was he perfumed with odorifferous savours, and so complete of person in his spangled garments, that she could do nothing else, but wonder at his rare behaviour, reputing her felicity beyond all women's in the world, and utterly impossible to be equalled, such was the pride of her presuming. For he told her diverse tales and fables, of his awful power among the other Gods, and stolen pleasures of his upon the earth; yet gracing her praises above all his other loves, and vows made now, to affect none but her only, as his often visitations should more constantly assure her, that she verily credited all his protestations, and thought his kisses and embraces, far to exceed any mortal comparison.  
After they had spent so much time in amorous discoursing, as might best fit with this their first meeting, and stand clear from suspicion on either side: our Albert-Cupid, or Cupid-Albert, which of them you best please to term him, closing his spangled wings together again behind his back, fastening also on his Bow and quiver of arrows, over-clouds all with his religious monks Cowle, and then with a parting kiss or two, returned to the place where he had left his fellow and companion, perhaps employed in as devout an exercise, as he had been in his absence from him; whence both repairing home to the Monastery, all this nights wandering was allowed as tolerable, by them who made no spare of doing the like.  
On the morrow following, Madam Lisetta immediately after dinner, being attended by her chambermaid, went to see Friar Albert, finding him in his wont form and fashion, and telling him what had happened between her and God Cupid, with all the other lies and tales which he had told her. Truly Madam (answered Albert) what your success with him hath been, I am no way able to comprehend; but this I can assure you, that so soon as I had acquainted him with your answer, I felt a sudden rapture made of my soul, and visibly (to my apprehension) saw it carried by elves and Fairies, into the floury fields about Elysium, where lovers departed out of this life, walk among the beds of lilies and Roses, such as are not in this world to be seen, neither to be imagined by any humane capacity. So superabounding was the pleasure of this joy and solace, that, how long I continued there, or by what means I was transported hither again this morning, it is beyond all ability in me to express, or how I assumed my body again after that great God had made use thereof to your service. Well Friar Albert (quoth she) you may see what an happiness hath befallen you, by so gross an opinion of my perfections, and what a felicity you enjoy, and still are like to do, by my pardoning your error, and granting the god's access to me in your shape: which as I envy not, so I wish you hereafter to be wiser, in taking upon you to judge of beauty. Much other idle folly proceeded from her, which still he soothed to her contentment, and (as occasion served) many meetings they had in the former manner.  
It fortuned within a few days after, that Madam Lisetta being in company with one of her Gossips, and their conference (as commonly it falleth out to be) concerning other women of the City; their beauty, behaviour, amorous suitors and servants, and general opinion conceived of their worth and merit; wherein Lisetta was overmuch conceited of herself, not admitting any other to be her equal. Among other speeches, savouring of an unseasoned brain: Gossip (quoth she) if you knew what account is made of my beauty, and who holds it in no mean estimation, you would then freely confess, that I deserve to be preferred before any other. As women are ambitious in their own opinions, so commonly are they covetous of one another's secrets, especially in matter of emulation, whereupon the Gossip thus replied. Believe me Madam, I make no doubt but your speeches may be true, in regard of your admired beauty, and many other perfections beside: yet let me tell you, privileges, how great and singular soever they be, without they are known to others, beside such as do particularly enjoy them; they carry no more account, than things of ordinary estimation. Whereas on the contrary, when any Lady or Gentlewoman hath some eminent and peculiar favour, which few or none other can reach unto, and it is made famous by general notion: then do all women else admire and honour her, as the glory of their kind, and a miracle of Nature.  
I perceive Gossip said Lisetta whereat you aim, & such is my love to you, as you should not lose your longing in this case, were I but constantly secured of your secrecy, which as hitherto I have been no way able to tax, so would I be loath now to be more suspicious of then needs. But yet this matter is of such main moment, that if you will protest as you are truly virtuous, never to reveal it to any living body, I will disclose to you almost a miracle. The virtuous oath being past, with many other solemn protestations beside, Lisetta then proceeded in this manner.  
I know Gossip, that it is a matter of common & ordinary custom, for Ladies and Gentlewomen to be graced with favourites, men of frail & mortal conditions, whose natures are as subject to inconstancy, as their very best endeavours dedicated to folly, as I could name no mean number of our Ladies here in Venice. But when sovereign deities shall feel the impression of our humane desires, and behold subjects of such prevailing efficacy, as to subdue their greatest power, yea, and make them enamoured of mortal creatures: you may well imagine Gossip, such a beauty is superior to any other. And such is the happy fortune of your friend Lisetta, of whose perfections, great Cupid the awful commanding God of love himself, conceived such an extraordinary liking: as he hath abandoned his seat of supreme majesty, and appeared to me in the shape of a mortal man, with lively expression of his amorous passions, and what extremities of anguish he hath endured, only for my love. May this be possible? Replied the Gossip. Can the Gods be touched with the apprehension of our frail passions? True it is Gossip, answered Lisetta, and so certainly true, that his sacred kisses, sweet embraces, and most pleasing speeches, with proffer of his continual devotion towards me, hath given me good cause to confirm what I say, and to think my felicity fare beyond all other women's, being honoured with his often nightly visitations.  
The Gossip inwardly smiling at her idle speeches, which (nevertheless) she avouched with very vehement asseverations: fell instantly sick of women's natural disease, thinking every minute a tedious month, till she were in company with some other Gossips, to break the obligation of her virtuous promise, and that others (as well as herself) might laugh at the folly of this shallow-witted woman. The next day following, it was her hap to be at a wedding, among a great number of other women, whom quickly she acquainted with this so strange a wonder; as they did the like to their husbands: and passing so from hand to hand, in less space than two days, all Venice was fully possessed with it.  
Among the rest, the brethren to this foolish woman, heard this admirable news concerning their Sister; and they discreetly concealing it to themselves, closely concluded, to watch the walks of this pretended god: and if he soared not too lofty a flight, they would clip his wings, to come the better acquainted with him. It fortuned, that the Friar hearing his cupidical visitations over-publikely discovered, purposed to check and reprove Lisetta for her indiscretion. And being habited according to his former manner, his Friarly Cowle covering all his former bravery, he left his companion where he used to stay, and closely walked along unto the house. No sooner was he entered, but the Brethren being ambushed near to the door, went in after him, and ascending the stairs, by such time as he had uncased himself, and appeared like God Cupid, with his spangled wings displayed: they rushed into the Chamber, and he having no other refuge, opened a large Casement, standing directly over the great gulf or river, and presently leapt into the water; which being deep, and he skilful in swimming, he had no other harm by his fall, albeit the sudden affright did much perplex him.  
Recovering the further side of the river, he espied a light, & the door of an house open, wherein dwelled a poor man, whom he earnestly entreated, to save both his life and reputation, telling him many lies and tales by what means he was thus disguised, and thrown by nightwalking villains into the water. The poor man, being moved to compassionate his distressed estate, laid him in his own bed, ministering such other comforts to him, as the time and his poverty did permit; and day drawing on, he went about his business, advising him to take his rest, and it should not be long till he returned. So, locking the door, and leaving the counterfeit God in bed, away goes the poor man to his daily labour. The Brethren to Lisetta, perceiving God Cupid to be fled and gone, and she in melancholy sadness sitting by them: they took up the relics he had left behind him, I mean the friar's hood and Cowle, which showing to their sister, and sharply reproving her unwomanly behaviour: they left her in no mean discomfort, returning home to their own houses, with their conquered spoils of the forlorn Friar.  
During the time of these occurrences, broad day speeding on, & the poor man returning homeward by the Rialto, to visit his guest so left in bed: he beheld diverse crowds of people, and a general rumour noised among them, that God Cupid had been that night with Madame Lisetta, where being over-closely pursued by her Brethren, for fear of being surprised, he leapt out of her window into the gulf, and no one could tell what was become of him. Hereupon, the poor man began to imagine that the guest entertained by him in the night time, must needs be the same supposed God Cupid, as by his wings and other embellishments appeared: wherefore being come home, and sitting down on the bed's side by him, after some few speeches passing between them, he knew him to be Friar Albert, who promised to give him fifty ducats, if he would not betray him to Lisettaes' brethren.  
Upon the acceptation of this offer, the money being sent for, and paid down; there wanted nothing now, but some apt and convenient means, whereby Albert might safely be conveyed into the monastery, which being wholly referred to the poor man's care and trust, thus he spoke. Sir, I see no likelihood of your clear escaping home, except in this manner as I advice you. We observe this day as a merry festival, & it is lawful for any one, to disguise a man in the skin of a bear, or in the shape of a savage man, or any other form of better device. Which being so done, he is brought upon S. Marks market place, where being hunted a while with dogs, upon the hunt conclusion, the Feast is ended; and then each man leads his monster whether him pleaseth. If you can accept any of these shapes, before you be seen here in my poor abiding, then can I safely (afterward) bring you where you would be. Otherwise, I see no possible means, how you may escape hence unknown; for it is without all question to the contrary, that the gentlewoman's brethren, knowing your concealment in some one place or other, will set such spies and watches for you throughout the City, as you must needs be taken by them.  
Now, although it seemed a most severe imposition, for Albert to pass in any of these disguises: yet his exceeding fear of Lisettaes' brethren and friends, made him gladly yield, and to undergo what shape the poor man pleased, which thus he ordered. Anointing his naked body with honey, he then covered it over with downy small Feathers, and fastening a chain about his neck, and a strange ugly vizard on his face; he gave him a great staff in the one hand, and two huge mastiff dog's chained together in the other, which he had borrowed in the Butchery. Afterward, he sent a man to the Rialto, who there proclaimed by the sound of Trumpet: That all such as desired to see God Cupid, which the last night had descended down from the skies, and fell (by ill hap) into the Venetian gulf, let them repair to the public Market place of S. mark, and there he would appear in his own likeness.  
This being done, soon after he left his house, and leading him thus disguised along by his chain, he was followed by great crowds of people, every one questioning of whence, and what he was. In which manner, he brought him to the Market place, where an infinite number of people were gathered together, as well of the followers, as of them that before heard the proclamation. There he made choice of a pillar, which stood in a place somewhat highly exalted, whereto he chained his savage man, making show, as if he meant to await there, till the hunting should begin: in which time, the Flies, wasps, and Hornets, did so terribly sting his naked body, being anointed with Hony, that he endured thereby unspeakable anguish. When the poor man saw, that there needed no more concourse of people; pretending, as if he purposed to let lose his salvage man; he took the mask or vizard from Albert's face, and then he spoke aloud in this manner.  
Gentlemen and others, seeing the wild boar cometh not to our hunting, because I imagine that he cannot easily be found: I mean (to the end you may not lose your labour in coming hither) to show you the great God of love called Cupid, whom Poets feigned long since to be a little boy, but now grown to manly stature. You see in what manner he hath left his high dwelling, only for the comfort of our Venetian beauties: but belike, the night-fogs over-flagging his wings, he fell into our gulf, and comes owe to present his service to you. No sooner had he taken off his vizard, but every one knew him to be Friar Albert; and suddenly arose such shouts and out-cries, with most bitter words breathed forth against him, hurling also stones, dirt and filth in his face, that his best acquaintance than could take no knowledge of him, and not any one pitying his abusing.  
So long continued the offended people in their fury, that news thereof was carried to the convent, and six of his Religious brethren came, who casting an habit about him, and releasing him from his chain, they led him to the Monastery, not without much molestation and trouble of the people; where imprisoning him in their house, severity of some inflicted punishment, or rather conceit for his open shame, shortened his days, and so he died. Thus you see fair Ladies, when licentious life must be clouded with a cloak of sanctity, and evil actions daily committed, yet escaping uncredited: there will come a time at length, for just discovering of all, that the good may shine in their true lustre of glory, and the bad sink in their own deserved shame.   

Three young Gentlemen affecting three Sisters, fled with them into Candie. The eldest of them (through jealousy) becometh the death of her lover: The second, by consenting to the Duke of Candy's request, is the means of saving her life. Afterward, her own Friend killeth her, and thence flieth away with the elder Sister. The third couple, both man & woman, are charged with her death, and being committed prisoners, they confess the fact: And fearing death, by corruption of money they prevail with their keepers, escaping from thence to Rhodes, where they died in great poverty.  
The third novel.  
Herein is declared, how dangerous the occasion is, ensuing by anger and despite, in such as entirely love, especially, being injuried and offended by them that they love.  
WHen the King perceived, that madam Pampinea had ended her discourse; he sat sadly a pretty while, without uttering one word, but afterward spoke thus. Little goodness appeared in the beginning of this novel, because it ministered occasion of mirth; yet the ending proved better, and I could wish, that worse inflictions had fall'n on the venereous Friar. Then turning towards Madam Lauretta, he said; Lady, do you tell us a better tale, if possible it may be. She smiling, thus answered the King: Sir, you are over-cruelly bend against poor lovers, in desisiring, that their amorous processions should have harsh and sinister concludings. Nevertheless, in obedience to your severe command, among three persons amorously perplexed, I will relate an unhappy ending; whereas all may be said to speed as unfortunately, being equally alike, in enjoying the issue of their desires, and thus I purpose for to proceed.  
Every vice (choice Ladies) as very well you know, redoundeth to the great disgrace and prejudice, of him or her by whom it is practised, and oftentimes to others. Now, among those common hurtful enemies, the sin or vice which most carrieth us with full carrere, and draweth us into unavoidable perils and dangers; in mine opinion, seemeth to be that of choler or anger, which is nothing else, but a sudden and inconsiderate moving, provoked by some received injury, which having excluded all respect of reason, and dimmed (with dark vapours) the bright discerning sight of the understanding, inflameth the mind with most violent fury. And albeit this inconvenience happeneth most to men, and more to some few, than others; yet notwithstanding, it hath been noted, that women have felt the self same infirmity, and in more extreme manner, because it much sooner is kindled in them, and burneth with the brighter flame, in regard they have the lesser consideration, and therefore not to be wondered at. For if we will advisedly observe, we shall plainly perceive, that fire (even of his own nature) taketh hold on such things as are light and tender, much sooner than it can on hard and weighty substances; and some of us woman (let men take no offence at my words) are fare more soft and delicate than they be, and therefore more frail. In which regard, seeing we are naturally inclined hereto, and considering also, how much our affability and gentleness, do show themselves pleasing and full of content, to those men with whom we are to live; and likewise, how anger and fury are compacted of extraordinary perils: I purpose (because we may be the more valiant in our courage, to outstand the fierce assaults of wrath and rage) to show you by mine ensuing novel, how the loves of three young Gentlemen, and of as many Gentlewomen, came to fatal and unfortunate success, by the tempestuous anger of one among them, according as I have formerly related unto you.  
Marseilles (as you are not now to learn) is in Provence, seated on the Sea, and is also a very ancient and most noble City, which hath been (heretofore) inhabited with fare richer and more wealthy Merchants, then at this instant time it is. Among whom there was one, named Narnaldo Civada, a man but of mean condition, yet clear in faith and reputation, and in lands, goods, and ready moneys, immeasurably rich. Many children he had by his Wife, among whom were three Daughters, which exceeded his sons in years. Two of them being twins, and borne of one body, were counted to be fifteen years old; the third was fourteen, and nothing hindered marriage in their Parents own expectation, but the return home of Narnaldo, who was then abroad in Spain with his Merchandises. The eldest of these Sisters was named Ninetta, the second Magdalena, and the third Bertella. A Gentleman (albeit but poor in fortunes) and called Restagnone, was so extraordinarily enamoured of Ninetta, as no man possibly could be more, and she likewise as earnest in affection towards him; yet both carrying their loves proceeding with such secrecy, as long time they enjoyed their hearts sweet contentment, yet undiscovered by any eye.  
It came to pass, that two other young Gallants, the one named Folco, and the other Hugnetto, (who had attained to incredible wealth, by the decease of their Father) were also as fare in love, the one with Magdalena, and the other with Bertella. When Restagnone had intelligence thereof, by the means of his fair friend Ninetta; he purposed to relieve his poverty, by friendly furthering both their love, and his own: and growing into familiarity with them, one while he would walk abroad with Folco, and then again with Hugnetto, but oftener with them both together, to visit their Mistresses, and continue worthy friendship. On a day, when he saw the time suitable to his intent, and that he had invited the two Gentlemen home to his House, he fell into this like conference with them.  
Kind friends (quoth he) the honest familiarity which hath passed between us, may render you some certain assurance, of the constant love I bear to you both, being as willing to work any means that may tend to your good, as I desire to compass mine own. And because the truth of mine affection cannot conceal itself to you, I mean to acquaint you with an intention, wherewith my brain hath a long while traveled, and now may soon be delivered of, if it may pass with your liking and approbation. Let me then tell you, that except your speeches savour of untruth, and your actions carry a double understanding, in common behaviour both by night and day, you appear to pine and consume away, in the cordial love you bear to two of the Sisters, as I suffer the same afflictions for the third, with reciprocal requital of their dearest affection to us. Now, to qualify the heat of our tormenting flames, if you will condescend to such a course as I shall advice you, the remedy will yield them equal ease to ours, and we may safely enjoy the benefit of contentment. As wealth aboundeth with you both, so doth want most extremely tyrannize over me: but if one bank might be made of both your rich substances, I embraced therein as a third partaker, and some quarter of the World dissigned out by us, where to live at hearts ease upon your possessions; I durst engage my credit, that all the Sisters, (not meanly stored with their father's treasure) shall bear us company to what place soever we please. There each man freely enjoying his own dearest love, we may live like three brerhrens, without any hindrance to our mutual contentment; it remaineth now in you Gentlemen, to accept this comfortable offer, or to refuse it.  
The two Brothers, whose passions exceeded their best means for support, perceiving some hope how to enjoy their loves; desired no long time of deliberation, or greatly disputed with their thoughts what was best to be done: but readily replied, that let happen any danger whatsoever, they would join with him in this determination, and he should partake with them in their wealthiest fortunes. After Restagnone had heard their answer, within some few days following, he went to confer with Ninetta, which was no easy matter for him to compass. Nevertheless, opportunity proved so favourable to him, that meeting with her at a private place appointed, he discoursed at large, what had passed between him and the other two young Gentlemen, maintaining the same with many good reasons, to have her like and allow of the enterprise. Which although (for a while) he could very hardly do; yet, in regard she had more desire than power, without suspicion to be daily in his company, she frankly thus answered. My hearts chosen friend, I cannot any way mislike your advice, and will take such order with my Sisters, that they shall agree to our resolution: let it therefore be your charge, that you and the rest make every thing ready, to departed from hence so soon, as with best convenient means we may be enabled.  
Restagnone being returned to Folco and Hugnetto, who thought every hour a year, to hear what would succeed upon the promise passed between them; he told them in plain terms, that their Ladies were as free in consent as they, and nothing wanted now, but furnishment for their sudden departing having concluded, that Candye should be their harbour for entertainment, they made sale of some few inheritances, which lay the readiest for their purpose, as also the goods in their Houses, and then, under colour of venting Merchandises abroad; they bought a nimble Pinnace, fortified with good strength and preparation, and waited but for a convenient wind. On the other side, Ninetta, who was sufficiently acquainted with the forwardness of her sister's desires and her own; had so substantially prevailed with them, that a good voyage now was the sole expectation. Whereupon, the same night when they should set away, they opened a strong barred Chest of their Fathers, whence they took great store of gold and costly jewels, wherewith escaping secretly out of the House; they came to the place where their lovers attended for them, and going all aboard the Pinnace, the winds were so furtherous to them; that without touching any where, the night following they arrived at Geneway.  
There being out of peril or pursuit, they all knit the knot of holy wedlock, and then freely enjoyed their long wished desires, from whence setting sail again, and being well furnished with all things wanting; passing on from Port to Port, at the end of eight days they landed in Candie, not meeting with any impeachment by the way. Determining there to spend their days, first they provided themselves of fair and goodly Lands in the country, and then of beautiful dwelling Houses in the City, with all due furnishments belonging to them, and Families well beseeming such worthy Gentlemen, and all delights else for their daily recreations, inviting their Neighbours, and they them again in loving manner; so that no lovers could wish to live in more ample contentment.  
Passing on their time in this height of felicity, and not crossed by any sinister accidents, it came to pass (as often we may observe in the like occasions, that although delights do most especially please us, yet they breed surfeit, when they swell too overgreat in abundance) that Restagnone, who most dearly affected his fair Ninetta, and had her now in his free possession, without any peril of losing her: grew now also to be weary of her, and consequently, to fail in those familiar performances, which formerly had passed between them. For, being one day invited to a banquet, he saw there a beautiful gentlewoman of that country, whose perfections pleasing him beyond all comparison: he laboured (by painful pursuit) to win his purpose; and meeting with her in diverse private places, grew prodigal in his expenses upon her. This could not be so closely carried, but being seen and observed by Ninetta, she became possessed with such extreme jealousy, that he could not do any thing whatsoever, but immediately he had knowledge of it: which fire, growing to a flame in her, her patience became extremely provoked, urging rough and rude speeches from her to him, and daily tormenting him beyond power of sufferance.  
As the enjoying of any thing in too much plenty, makes it appear irksome and loathing to us, and the denial of our desires, do more and more whet on the appetite: even so did the angry spleen of Ninetta proceed on in violence, against this new commenced love of Restagnone. For in succession of time, whether he enjoyed the embracements of his new Mistress, or no: yet Ninetta (by sinister reports, but much more through her own jealous imaginations) held it for infallible, and to be most certain. Hereupon, she fell into an extreme melancholy, which melancholy begat implacable fu●y, and (consequently) such contemptible disdain: as converted her former kindly love to Restagnone, into most cruel and bloody hatred; yea, and so strangely was reason or respect confounded in her, as no revenge else but speedy death, might satisfy the wrongs she imagined to receive by Restagnone and his Minion.  
Upon enquiry, by what means she might best compass her bloody intention, she grew acquainted with a Grecian woman, and wonderfully expert in the compounding of poisons, whom she so persuaded, by gifts and bounteous promises, that at the length she prevailed with her. A deadly water was distilled by her, which (without any other counsel to the contrary) on a day when Restagnone had his blood somewhat overheated, and little dreamt on any such Treason conspired against him by his Wife, she caused him to drink a great draught thereof, under pretence, that it was a most sovereign and cordial water: but such was the powerful operation thereof, that the very next morning, Restagnone was found to be dead in his bed. When his death was understood by Folco, Hugnetto and their wives, and not knowing how he came to be thus empoisoned (because their sister seemed to bemoan his sudden death, with as apparent shows of mourning as they could possibly express) they buried him very honourably, and so all suspicion ceased.  
But as Fortune is infinite in her vagaries, never acting disaster so closely, but as cunningly discovereth it again: so it came to pass, that within a few days following, the Grecian woman, that had delivered the poison to Ninetta, for such another deed of damnation, was apprehended even in the action. And being put upon the tortures, among many other horrid villainies by her committed, she confessed the empoisoning of Restagnone, and every particle thereto appertaining. Whereupon, the Duke of Candie, without any noise or publication, setting a strong guard (in the night time) about the house of Folco, where Ninetta then was lodged; there suddenly they seized on her, & upon examination, in maintenance of her desperate revenge; voluntarily confessed the fact, and what else concerned the occasion of his death, by the wrongs which he had offered her.  
Folco and Hugnetto understanding secretly, both from the Duke, & other intimate friends, what was the reason of Ninettaes' apprehension, which was not a little displeasing to them, laboured by all their best pains and endeavour, to work such means with the Duke, that her life might not perish by fire, although she had most justly deserved it; but all their attempts proved to no effect, because the Duke had concluded to execute justice.  
Hear you are to observe, that Magdalena (being a very beautiful Woman, young, and in the choicest flower of her time:) had often before been solicited by the Duke, to entertain his love and kindness, whereto by no means she would listen or give consent. And being now most earnestly importuned by her, for the safety of her sister's life, she took hold on this her daily suit to him, and in private told her, that if she was so desirous of Ninettaes' life: it lay in her power to obtain it, by granting him the fruition of her love. She apparently perceiving, that Ninetta was not likely to live, but by the prostitution of her chaste honour, which she preferred before the loss of her own life, or her Sisters; concluded, to let her dye, rather than run into any such disgrace. But having an excellent ingenious wit, quick, and apprehensive in perilous occasions, she intended now to make a trial of overreaching the lascivious Duke in his wanton purpose, and yet to be assured of her sister's life, without any blemish to her reputation.  
Soliciting him still as she was wont to do, this promise passed from her to him, that when Ninetta was delivered out of prison, and in safety at home in her house: he should resort thither in some quaint disguise, and enjoy his long expected desire; but until then she would not yield. So violent was the Duke in the prosecution of his purpose, that under colour of altering the manner of Ninettaes' death, not suffering her to be consumed by fire, but to be drowned, according to a custom observed there long time, and at the importunity of her Sister Magdalena, in the still silence of the night, Ninetta was conveyed into a sack, and sent in that manner to the House of Folco, the Duke following soon after, to challenge her promise.  
Magdalena, having acquainted her Husband with her virtuous intention, for preserving her sister's life, and disappointing the Duke in his wicked desire; was as contrary to her true meaning in this case, as Ninetta had formerly been adverse to Restagnone, only being overruled likewise by jealousy, and persuaded in his rash opinion, that the Duke had already dishonoured Magdalena, otherwise, he would not have delivered Ninetta out of prison. Mad fury gave further fire to this unmanly persuasion, and nothing will now quench this violent shame, but the life of poor Magdalena, suddenly sacrificed in the rescue of her Sisters, such a devil is anger, when the understandings bright eye is thereby abused. No credit might be given to her womanly protestations, nor any thing seem to alter his bloody purpose; but, having slain Magdalena with his Poniard, (notwithstanding her tears and humble entreaties) he ran in haste to Ninettaes' Chamber, she not dreaming on any such desperate accident, and to her he used these dissembling speeches.  
Sister (quoth he) my wife hath advised, that I should speedily convey you hence, as fearing the renewing of the Duke's fury, and your falling again into the hands of justice: I have a bark readily prepared for you, and your life being secured, it is all that she and I do most desire. Ninetta being fearful, and no way distrusting what he had said; in thankful allowance of her sister's care, and courteous tender of his so ready service; departed thence presently with him, not taking any farewell of her other Sister and her Husband. To the seashore they came, very weakly provided of moneys to defray their charges, and getting aboard the bark, directed their course themselves knew not whether.  
The amorous Duke in his disguise, having long danced attendance at Folcoes' door, and no admittance of his entrance; angrily returned back to his Court, protesting severe revenge on Magdalena, if she gave him not the better satisfaction, to clear her from thus basely abusing him. On the morrow morning, when Magdalena was found murdered in her Chamber, and tidings thereof carried to the Duke; present search was made for the bloody offendor, but Folco being fled and gone with Ninetta; some there were, who bearing deadly hatred to Hugnetto, incensed the Duke against him and his wife, as supposing them to be guilty of Magdalenaes' death. He being thereto very easily persuaded, in regard of his immoderate love to the slain Gentlewoman; went himself in person (attended on by his Guard) to Hugnettoes' House, where both he and his wife were seized as prisoners.  
These news were very strange to them, and their imprisonment as unwelcome; and although they were truly innocent, either in knowledge of the horrid fact, or the departure of Folco with Ninetta: yet being unable to endure the tortures extremity, they made themselves culpable by confession, and that they had hand with Folco in the murder of Magdalena. Upon this their forced confession, and sentence of death pronounced on them by the Duke himself; before the day appointed for their public execution, by great sums of money, which they had closely hid in their House, to serve when any urgent extremity should happen to them; they corrupted their keepers, and before any intelligence could be had of their flight, they escaped by Sea to Rhodes, where they lived afterward in great distress and misery. The just vengeance of heaven followed after Folco and Ninetta, he for murdering his honest wife, and she for poisoning her offending Husband: for being beaten a long while on the Seas, by tempestuous storms and weather, and not admitted landing in any Port or creek; they were driven back on the Coast of Candie again, where being apprehended, and brought to the City before the Duke, they confessed their several notorious offences, and ended their loathed lives in one fire together.  
Thus the idle and lose love of Restagnone, with the frantic rage and jealousy of Ninetta and Folco, overturned all their long continued happiness, and threw a disastrous ending on them all.   

Gerbino, contrary to the former plighted faith of his grandfather, King Gulielmo, fought with a Ship at Sea, belonging to the King of Thunis, to take away his Daughter, who was then in the same Ship. she being slain by them that had the possession of her, he likewise slew them; and afterward had his own head smitten off.  
The fourth novel.  
In commendation of justice between Princes; and declaring withal, that neither fear, dangers, nor death itself, can any way daunt a true and loyal lover.  
MAdam Lauretta having concluded her novel, and the company complaining on lover's misfortunes, some blaming the angry and jealous fury of Ninetta, and every one delivering their several opinions; the King, as awaking out of a passionate perplexity, exalted his looks, giving a sign to Madam Elisa, that she should follow next in order, whereto she obeying, began in this manner. I have heard (Gracious Ladies, quoth she) of many people, who are verily persuaded, that love's arrows, never wound any body, but only by the eyes looks and gazes, mocking and scorning such as maintain that men may fall in love by hearing only. Wherein (believe me) they are greatly deceived, as will appear by a novel which I must now relate unto you, and wherein you shall plainly perceive, that not only fame or report is as prevailing as sight; but also hath conducted diverse, to a wretched and miserable ending of their lives.  
Gulielmo the second, King of Sicily, according as the Sicilian Chronicles record, had two children, the one a son, named Don Rogero, and the other a daughter, called Madam Constance. The said Rogero died before his Father, leaving a son behind him, named Gerbino, who, with much care and cost, was brought up by his grandfather, proving to be a very goodly Prince, and wondrously esteemed for his great valour and humanity. His fame could not contain itself, within the bounds or limits of Sicily only, but being published very prodigally, in many parts of the world beside, flourished with no mean commendations throughout all Barbary, which in those days was tributary to the King of Sicily. Among other persons, deserving most to be respected, the renowned virtues, and affability of this gallant Prince Gerbino, was understood by the beauteous Daughter to the King of Thunis, who by such as had seen her, was reputed to be one of the rarest creatures, the best conditioned, and of the truest noble spirit, that ever Nature framed in her very choicest pride of art.  
Of famous, virtuous, and worthy men, it was continually her chiefest delight to hear, and the admired actions of valiant Gerbino, reported to her by many singular discoursers, such as could best describe him, with language answerable to his due deservings, won such honourable entertainment in her understanding soul, that they were most affectionately pleasing to her, and in capitulating (over and over again) his manifold and heroical perfections; mere speech made her extremely amorous of him, nor willingly would she lend an ear to any other discourse, but that which tended to his honour and advancement.  
On the other side, the fame of her incomparable beauty, with addition of her other infinite singularities beside; as the World had given ●are to in numberless places, so Sicily came at length acquainted therewith, in such flowing manner, as was truly answerable to her merit. Nor seemed this as a bare babbling rumour, in the Princely hearing of royal Gerbino; but was embraced with such a real apprehension, and the entire probation of a true understanding: that he was no less inflamed with noble affection towards her, than she expressed the like in virtuous opinion of him. Wherefore, awaiting such convenient opportunity, when he might entreat licence of his Grandfather, for his own going to Thunis, under colour of some honourable occasion, for the earnest desire he had to see her: he gave charge to some to his especial friends (whose affairs required their presence in those parts) to let the Princess understand, in such secret manner as best they could device, what noble affection he bore unto her, devoting himself only to her service.  
One of his chosen friends thus put in trust, being a jeweller, a man of singular discretion, and often resorting to Ladies for sight of his jewels, winning like admittance to the Princess: related at large unto her, the honourable affection of Gerbino, with full tender of his person to her service, and that she only was to dispose of him. Both the message and the messenger, were most graciously welcome to her, and flaming in the selfsame affection towards him; as a testimony thereof, one of the very choicest jewels which she bought of him, she sent by him to the Prince Gerbino, it being received by him with such joy and contentment, as nothing in the world could be more pleasing to him. So that afterward, by the trusty carriage of this jeweller, many Letters and love-tokens passed between them, each being as highly pleased with this poor, yet happy kind of intercourse, as if they had seen & conversed with one another.  
Matters proceeding on in this manner, and continuing longer than their lovesick passions easily could permit, yet neither being able to find out any other means of help; it fortuned, that the King of Thunis promised his daughter in marriage to the King of Granada, whereat she grew exceeding sorrowful, perceiving, that not only she should be sent further off, by a large distance of way from her friend, but also be deprived utterly, of all hope ever to enjoy him. And if she could have devised any means, either by secret flight from her Father, or any way else to further her intention, she would have adventured it for the Prince's sake. Gerbino in like manner hearing of this purposed marriage, lived in a hell of torments, consulting oftentimes with his soul, how he might be possessed of her by power, when she should be sent by Sea to her husband, or private stealing her away from her father's Court before: with these and infinite other thoughts, was he incessantly afflicted, both day and night.  
By some unhappy accident or other, the King of Thunis heard of this their secret love, as also of Gerbinoes' purposed policy to surprise her, and how likely he was to effect it, in regard of his manly valour, and store of stout friends to assist him. Hereupon, when the time was come, that he would convey his daughter thence to her marriage, and fearing to be prevented by Gerbino: he sent to the King of Sicily, to let him understand his determination, craving safe conduct from him, without impeachment of Gerbino, or any one else, until such time as his intent was accomplished. King Gulielmo being aged, and never acquainted with the affectionate proceed of Gerbino, nor any doubtful reason to urge this security from him, in a case convenient to be granted: yielded the sooner thereto right willingly, and as a signal of his honourable meaning, he sent him his royal glove, with a full confirmation for his safe conduct.  
No sooner were these Princely assurances received, but a goodly ship was prepared in the Port of Carthagena, well furnished with all things thereto belonging, for the sending his daughter to the King of Granada, writing for nothing else but best favouring winds. The young Princess, who understood and saw all this great preparation; secretly sent a servant of hers to Palermo, giving him especial charge, on her behalf, to salute the Prince Gerbino, and to tell him withal, that (within few days) she must be transported to Granada. And now opportunity gave fair and free mean, to let the world know, whether he were a man of that magnanimous spirit, or no, as general opinion had formerly conceived of him, and whether he affected her so firmly, as by many close messages he had assured her. He who had the charge of this embassy, effectually performed it, and then returned back to Thunis.  
The Prince Gerbino, having heard this message from his divine Mistress, and knowing also, that the King his Grandfather, had past his safe conduct to the King of Thunis, for peaceable passage through his Seas: was at his wit's end, in this urgent necessity, what might best be done. Notwithstanding, moved by the settled constancy of his plighted love, and the speeches delivered to him by the messenger from the Princess: to show himself a man endued with courage, he departed thence unto Messina, where he made ready two speedy galleys, and fitting them with men of valiant disposition, set away to Sardignia, as making full account, that the Ship which carried the Princess, must come along that Coast. Nor was his expectation therein deceived: for, within few days after, the Ship (not over-swiftly wound) came sailing near to the place where they attended for her arrival; whereof Gerbino had no sooner gotten a sight, but to animate the resolutes which were in his company, thus he spoke.  
Gentlemen, if you be those men of valour, as heretofore you have been reputed, I am persuaded, that there are some among you, who either formerly have, or now instantly do feel, the all-commanding power of love, without which (as I think) there is not any mortal man, that can have any goodness or virtue dwelling in him. Wherefore, if ever you have been amorously affected, or presently have any apprehension thereof, you shall the more easily judge of what I now aim at. True it is, that I do love, and love hath guided me to be comforted, and manfully assisted by you, because in yonder Ship, which you see cometh on so gently under sail (even as if she offered herself to be our prize) not only is the jewel which I most esteem, but also mighty and unvalewable treasure, to be won without any difficult labour, or hazard of a dangerous fight, you being men of such undauntable courage. In the honour of which victory, I covet not any part or parcel, but only a Lady, for whose sake I have undertaken these arms, and freely give you all the rest contained in the ship. Let us set on them, gentlemans, and my dearest friends; courageously let us assail the ship, you see how the wind favours us, and (questionless) in so good an action, Fortune will not fail us.  
Gerbino needed not to have spoken so much, in persuading them to seize so rich a booty; because the men of Messina were naturally addicted to spoil and rapine: and before the Prince began his Oration, they had concluded to make the ship their purchase. Wherefore, giving a loud shout, according to their country manner, and commanding their Trumpets to sound cheerfully, they rowed on amain with their oars, and (in mere despite) set upon the ship. But before the galleys could come near her, they that had the charge and managing of her, perceiving with what speed they made towards them, and no likely means of escaping from them, resolvedly they stood upon their best defence, for now it was no time to be slothful.  
The Prince being come near to the Ship, commanded that the patroness should come to him, except they would adventure the fight. When the sarazens were thereof advertised, and understood also what he demanded, they returned answer: That their motion and proceeding in this manner, was both against Law and plighted faith, which was promised by the King of Sicily, for their safe passage thorough his Sea, by no means to be mollested or assailed. In testimony whereof, they shown his glove, avouching moreover, that neither by force (or otherwise) they would yield, or deliver him any thing which they had aboard their Ship.  
Gerbino espying his gracious mistress on the Ships deck, and she appearing to be fare more beautiful, than Fame had made relation of her: being much more inflamed now, then formerly he had been, replied thus when they shown the glove. We have (quoth he) no falcon here now, to be humbled at the sight of your glove: and therefore, if you will not deliver the Lady, prepare yourselves for fight, for we must have her whether you will or no. Hereupon, they began to let fly (on both sides) their Darts and arrows, with stones sent in violent sort from their slings, thus continuing the fight a long while, to very great harm on either side. At the length, Gerbino perceiving, that small benefit would redound to him, if he did not undertake some other kind of course: he took a small Pinnace, which purposely he brought with him from Sardignia, and setting it on a flaming fire, conveyed it (by the galleys help) close to the ship. The sarazens much amazed thereat, and evidently perceiving, that either they must yield or die; brought their King's daughter upon the prow of the ship, most grievously weeping and wring her hands. Then calling Gerbino, to let him behold their resolution, there they slew her before his face; and afterward, throwing her body into the Sea, said: Take her, there we give her to thee, according to our bounden duty, and as thy perjury hath justly deserved.  
This sight was not a little grievous to the Prince Gerbino, who madded now with this their monstrous cruelty, and not caring what became of his own life, having lost her for whom he only desired to live: not dreading their Darts, arrows, slinged stones, or what violence else they could use against him; he leapt aboard their ship, in despite of all that durst resist him, behaving himself there like a hunger-starved lion, when he enters among a heard of beasts, tearing their carcases in pieces both with his teeth and paws. Such was the extreme fury of the poor Prince, not sparing the like of any one, that durst appear in his presence; so that what with the bloody slaughter, and violence of the fires increasing in the Ship; the Mariners got such wealth as possibly they could save, and suffering the Sea to swallow the rest, Gerbino returned unto his galleys again, nothing proud of this so ill-gotten victory.  
Afterward, having recovered the Princess' dead body out of the Sea, and enbalmed it with sighs and tears: he returned back into Sicily, where he caused it to be most honourably buried, in a little Island, named Vstica, face to face confronting Trapanum. The King of Thunis hearing these disastrous news, sent his Ambassadors (habited in sad mourning) to the aged King of Sicily, complaining of his faith broken with him, and how the accident had fall'n out. Age being suddenly incited to anger, and the King extremely offended at this injury, seeing no way whereby to deny him justice, it being urged so instantly by the ambassadors: caused Gerbino to be apprehended, and he himself (in regard that none of his Lords and Barons would therein assist him, but laboured to divert them by their earnest importunity) pronounced the sentence of death on the Prince, and commanded to have him beheaded in his presence; affecting rather, to dye without an heir, then to be thought a King void of justice. So these two unfortunate lovers, never enjoying the very lest benefit of their long wished desires: ended both their lives in violent manner.   

The three Brethren to Isabel, slew a Gentleman that secretly loved her. His ghost appeared to her in her sleep, and shown her in what place they had buried his body. She (in silent manner) brought away his head, and putting it into a pot of earth, such as Flowers, Basile, or other sweet herbs are usually set in; she watered it (a long while) with her tears. Whereof her Brethren having intelligence; soon after she died, with mere conceit of sorrow.  
The fift novel.  
Wherein is plainly proved, that love cannot be rooted up, by any humane power or providence; especially in such a soul, where it hath been really apprehended.  
THE novel of madam Eliza being finished, and somewhat commended by the King, in regard of the tragical conclusion; Philomena was enjoined to proceed next with her discourse. She being overcome with much compassion, for the hard Fortunes of Noble Gerbino, and his beautiful Princess, after an extreme and vehement sigh, thus she spoke. My tale (worthy Ladies) extendeth not to persons of so high birth or quality, as they were of whom madam Eliza gave you relation: yet (peradventure) it may prove to be no less pitiful. And now I remember myself, Messina so lately spoken of, is the place where this accident also happened.  
In Messina there dwelled three young men, Brethren, and Merchants by their common profession, who becoming very rich by the death of their Father, lived in very good fame and repute. Their Father was of San Gemignano, and they had a Sister named Isabel, young, beautiful, and well conditioved; who, upon some occasion, as yet remained unmarried. A proper youth, being a Gentleman borne in Pisa, and named Lorenzo, as a trusty factor or servant, had the managing of the brethren's business and affairs. This Lorenzo being of comely personage, affable, and excellent in his behaviour, grew so gracious in the eyes of Isabel, that she afforded him many very respective looks, yea, kindnesses of no common quality. Which Lorenzo taking notice of, and observing by degrees from time to time, gave over all other beauties in the city, which might allure any affection from him, and only fixed his heart on her, so that their love grew to a mutual embracing, both equally respecting one another, and entertaining kindnesses, as occasion gave leave.  
Long time continued this amorous league of love, yet not so cunningly concealed, but at the length, the secret meeting of Lorenzo and Isabel, to ease their poor souls of love's oppressions, was discovered by the eldest of the Brethren, unknown to them who were thus betrayed. He being a man of great discretion, although this sight was highly displeasing to him: yet notwithstanding, he kept it to himself till the next morning, labouring his brain what might best be done in so urgent a case. When day was come, he resorted to his other brethren, and told them what he had seen in the time past, between their sister and Lorenzo.  
Many deliberations passed on in this case; but after all, thus they concluded together, to let it proceed on with patiented supportance, that no scandal might ensue to them, or their Sister, no evil act being (as yet) committed. And seeming, as if they knew not of their love, had a wary eye still upon her secret walks, awaiting for some convenient time, when without their own prejudice, or Isabellaes' knowledge, they might safely break off this their stolen love, which was altogether against their liking. So, showing no worse countenance to Lorenzo, then formerly they had done, but employing and conversing with him in kind manner; it fortuned, that riding (all three) to recreate themselves out of the city, they took Lorenzo in their company, and when they were come to a solitary place, such as best suited with their vile purpose: they ran suddenly upon Lorenzo, slew him, & afterward interred hid body, where hardly it could be discovered by any one. Then they returned back to Messina, & gave it forth (as a credible report) that they had sent him abroad about their affairs, as formerly they were wont to do: which every one verily believed, because they knew no reason why they should conceit any otherwise.  
Isabel, living in expectation of his return, and perceiving his stay to her was so offensively long: made many demands to her Brethren, into what parts they had sent him, that his tarrying was so quite from all wont course. Such was her importunate speeches to them, that they taking it very discontentedly, one of them returned her this frowning answer. What is your meaning Sister, by so many questionings after Lorenzo? What urgent affairs have you with him, that makes you so impatient upon his absence? If hereafter you make any more demands for him, we shall shape you such a reply, as will be but little to your liking. At these harsh words, Isabel fell into abundance of tears, where-among she mingled many sighs and groans, such as were able to overthrew a far stronger constitution: so that, being full of fear and dismay, yet no way distrusting her brethren's cruel deed; she durst not question any more after him.  
In the silence of dark night, as she lay afflicted in her bed, oftentimes would she call for Lorenzo, entreating his speedy returning to her: And then again, as if he had been present with her, she checked and reproved him for his so long absence. One night amongst the rest, she being grown almost hopeless, of ever seeing him again, having a long while wept and grievously lamented; her senses and faculties utterly spent and tired, that she could not utter any more complaints, she fell into a trance or sleep; and dreamt, that the ghost of Lorenzo appeared unto her, in torn and unbefitting garments, his looks pale, meager, and staring: and (as she thought) thus spoke to her. My dear love Isabel, thou dost nothing but torment thyself, with calling on me, accusing me for overlong tarrying from thee: I am come therefore to let thee know, that thou canst not enjoy my company any more, because the very same day when last thou sawest me, thy brethren most bloodily murdered me. And acquainting her with the place where they had buried his mangled body: he strictly charged her, not to call him at any time afterward, and so vanished away.  
The young damsel awaking, and giving some credit to her Vision, sighed and wept exceedingly; and after she was risen in the morning, not daring to say any thing to her brethren, she resolutely determined, to go see the place formerly appointed her, only to make trial, if that which she seemed to see in her sleep, should carry any likelihood of truth. Having obtained favour of her brethren, to ride a day's journey from the City, in company of her trusty Nurse, who long time had attended on her in the house, and knew the secret passages of her love: they road directly to the designed place, which being covered with some store of dried leaves, and more deeply sunk then any other part of the ground thereabout, they digged not fare, but they found the body of murdered Lorenzo, as yet very little corrupted or impaired, and then perceived the truth of her vision.  
Wisdom and government so much prevailed with her, as to instruct her soul, that her tears spent there, were merely fruitless and in vain, neither did the time require any long tarrying there. Gladly would she have carried the whole body with her, secretly to bestow honourable innterment on it, but it exceeded the compass of her ability. Wherefore, in regard she could not have all, yet she would be possessed of a part, & having brought a keen razor with her, by help of the Nurse, she divided the head from the body, and wrapped it up in a Napkin, which the nurse conveyed into her lap, and then laid the body in the ground again. Thus being undiscovered by any, they departed thence, and arrived at home in convenient time, where being alone by themselves in the Chamber: she washed the head over and over with her tears, and bestowed infinite kisses thereon.  
Not long after, the Nurse having brought her a large earthen pot, such as we use to set Basile, Marierom, Flowers, or other sweet herbs in, and shrouding the head in a silken scarf, put it into the pot, covering it with earth, and planting diverse roots of excellent Basile therein, which she never watered, but either with her tears, Rose water, or water distilled from the Flowers of Oranges. This pot she used continually to sit by, either in her chamber, or any where else: for she carried it always with her, sighing and breathing forth sad complaints thereto, even as if they had been uttered to her Lorenzo, and day by day this was her continual exercise, to the no mean admiration of her brethren, and many other friends that beheld her.  
So long she held on in this mourning manner, that, what by the continual watering of the Basile, and putrefaction of the head, so buried in the pot of earth; it grew very flourishing, and most odorifferous to such as scented it, so that as no other Basile could possibly yield so sweet a savour. The neighbours noting this behaviour in her, observing the long continuance thereof, how much her bright beauty was defaced, and the eyes sunk into her head by incessant weeping, made many kind and friendly motions, to understand the reason of her so violent oppressions; but could not by any means prevail with her, or win any discovery by her Nurse, so faithful was she in secrecy to her. Her brethren also waxed weary of this carriage in her; and having very often reproved her for it, without any other alteration in her: at length, they closely stole away the pot of Basile from her, for which she made infinite woeful lamentations, earnestly entreating to have it restored again, avouching that she could not live without it.  
Perceiving that she could not have the pot again, she fell into an extreme sickness, occasioned only by her ceaseless weeping: and never urged she to have any thing, but the restoring of her Basile pot. Her brethren grew greatly amazed thereat, because she never called for aught else beside; and thereupon were very desirous to ransack the pot to the very bottom. Having emptied out all the earth, they found the scarf of silk, wherein the head of Lorenzo was wrapped; which was (as yet) not so much consumed, but by the locks of hair, they knew it to be Lorenzo's head, whereat they became confounded with amazement.  
Fearing lest their offence might come to open publication, they buried it very secretly; and, before any could take notice thereof, they departed from Messina, and went to dwell in Naples. Isabella crying & calling still for her pot of Basile, being unable to give over mourning, died within a few days after. Thus have you heard the hard fare of poor Lorenzo and his Isabel. Within no long while after, when this accident came to be publicly known, an excellent ditty was composed thereof, beginning thus: 
Cruel and unkind was the Christian,  
That robbed me of my Basiles bliss, etc.    

A beautiful young Virgin, named Andreana, became enamoured of a young Gentleman, called Gabriello. In conference together, she declared a dream of hers to him, and he another of his to her; whereupon Gabriello fell down suddenly dead in her arms. She, and her chambermaid were apprehended, by the Officers belonging to the signory, as they were carrying Gabriello, to lay him before his own door. The Potestate offering violence to the Virgin, and she reststing him virtuously: it came to the understanding of her Father, who approved the innocence of his daughter, and compassed her deliverance. But she afterward, being weary of all worldly felicities, entered into Religion, and became a Nun.  
The sixth novel.  
Describing the admirable accidents of Fortune; and the mighty prevailing power of love..  
THE novel which Madam Philomena had so graciously related, was highly pleasing unto the other Ladies; because they had oftentimes heard the Song, without knowing who made it, or upon what occasion it was composed. But when the King saw that the Tale was ended: he commanded Pamphilus, that he should follow in his due course: whereupon he spoke thus.  
The dream already recounted in the last novel, doth minister matter to me, to make report of another Tale, wherein mention is made of two several dreams; which divined as well what was to ensue, as the other did what had happened before. And no sooner were they finished in the relation, by both the parties which had formerly dreamt them, but the effects of both as suddenly followed.  
Worthy Ladies, I am sure it is not unknown to you, that it is, & hath been a general passion, to all men and women living, to see diverse and sundry things while they are sleeping. And although (to the sleeper) they seem most certain, so that when he awaketh, he judgeth the truth of some, the likelihood of others, and some beyond all possibility of truth: yet notwithstanding, many dreams have been observed to happen, and very strangely have come to pass. And this hath been a grounded reason for some men, to give as great credit to such things as they see sleeping, as they do to others usually waking. So that, according unto their dreams, and as they make construction of them, that are sadly distasted, or merrily pleased, even as (by them) they either fear or hope. On the contrary, there are some, who will not credit any dream whatsoever, until they be fall'n into the very same danger which formerly they saw, and most evidently in their sleep.  
I mean not to commend either the one or other, because they do not always fall out to be true; neither are they at all times liars. Now, that they prove not all to be true, we can best testify to ourselves. And that they are not always liars, hath already sufficiently been manifested, by the discourse of madam Philomena, and as you shall perceive by mine own, which next cometh in order to salute you. Wherefore, I am of this opinion, that in matters of good life, and performing honest actions; no dream is to be feared presaging the contrary, neither are good works any way to be hindered by them. Likewise, in matters of bad and wicked quality, although our dreams may appear favourable to us, and our visions flatter us with prosperous success: yet let us give no credence unto the best, nor addict our minds to them of contrary Nature. And now we will proceed to our novel.  
In the city of Brescia, there lived sometime a Gentleman, named Messer Negro da Ponte Cararo, who (among many other children) had a daughter called Andreana, young and beautiful, but as yet unmarried. It fortuned, that she fell in love with a neighbour, named Gabriello, a comely young Gentleman, of affable complexion, and graciously conditioned. Which love was (with like kindness) welcomed and entertained by him, and by the furtherance of her chambermaid, it was so cunningly carried, that in the Garden belonging to Andreanaes' Father, she had many meetings with her Gabriello. And solemn vows being mutually passed between them, that nothing but death could alter their affection: by such ceremonious words as are used in marriage, they married themselves secretly together, and continued their stolen chaste pleasures, with equal contentment to them both.  
It came to pass, that Andreana sleeping in her bed, dreamt, that she met with Gabriello in the Garden, where they both embracing lovingly together, she seemed to see a thing black and terrible, which suddenly issued forth of his body, but the shape thereof she could not comprehend. It rudely seized upon Gabriello, & in despite of her utmost strength (with incredible force) snatched him out of her arms, and sinking with him into the earth, they never after did see one another; whereupon, overcome with extremity of grief and sorrow, presently she awaked, being than not a little joyful, that she found no such matter as she feared, yet continued very doubtful of her dream. In regard whereof, Gabriello being desirous to visit her the night following: she laboured very diligently to hinder his coming to her; yet knowing his loyal affection toward her, and fearing lest he should grow suspicious of some other matter: she welcomed him into the Garden, where gathering both white and damask Roses (according to the nature of the season) at length, they sat down by a goodly fountain, which stood in the midst of the Garden  
After some small familiar discourse passing between them, Gabriello demanded of her upon what occasion she denied his coming thither the night before, and by such a sudden unexpected admonition? Andreana told him, that it was in regard of a troublesome dream, wherewith her soul was perplexed the precedent night, and doubt what might ensue thereon. Gabriello hearing this, began to smile, affirming to her, that it was an especial note of folly, to give any credit to idle dreams: because (oftentimes) they are caused by excess of feeding, and continually are observed to be mere lies. For (quoth he) if I had any superstitious belief of dreams, I should not then have come hither now: yet not so much as being dismayed by your dream, but for another of mine own, which I am the more willing to acquaint you withal.  
Me thought, I was in a goodly delightful forest, in the Noble exercise of sportful hunting, and became there possessed of a young hind, the very loveliest and most pleasing beast that was ever seen. It seemed to be as white as snow, and grew (in a short while) so familiar with me, that by no means it would forsake me. I could not but accept this rare kindness in the beast, and fearing least (by some ill hap) I might lose it, I put a collar of Gold about the neck thereof, and fastened it into a chain of Gold also, which then I held strictly in my hand. The Hind afterward couched down by me, laying his head mildly in my lap; and on a sudden, a black greyhound bitch came rushing on us (but whence, or how I could not imagine) seeming half hunger-starved, and very ugly to look upon. At me she made her full career, without any power in me of resistance: and putting her mouth into the left side of my bosom, gripped it so mainly with her teeth, that (I thought) I felt my heart quite bitten through, and she tugged on still, to take it wholly away from me; by which imagined pain and anguish I felt, instantly I awaked: Laying then my hand upon my side, to know whether any such harm had befallen me, or no, and finding none at all, I smiled at mine own folly, in making such a frivolous and idle search. What can be said then in these or the like cases? divers times I have had as ill seeming dreams, yea, and much more to be feared: yet never any thing hurtful to me) followed thereon; and therefore I have always made the less account of them.  
The young Maiden, who was still dismayed by her own dream, became much more afflicted in her mind, when she had heard this other reported by Gabriello: but yet to give him no occasion of distaste, she bore it out in the best manner she could device to do. And albeit they spent the time in much pleasing discourse, maintained with infinite sweet kisses on either side: yet was she still suspicious, but knew not whereof; fixing her eyes oftentimes upon his face, and throwing strange looks to all parts of the Garden, to catch hold on any such black ugly sight, whereof he had formerly made description to her. As thus she continued in these afflicting fears, it fortuned, that Gabriello suddenly breathing forth a very vehement sigh, and throwing his arms fast about her, said: O help me dear love, or else I die; and, in speaking the words, fell down upon the ground. Which the young damsel perceiving, and drawing him into her lap, weeping said: Alas sweet Friend, What pain dost thou feel?  
Gabriello answered not one word, but being in an exceeding sweat, without any ability of drawing breath, very soon after gave up the ghost. How grievous this strange accident was to poor Andreana, who loved him as dearly as her own life: you that have felt love's tormenting afflictions, can more easily conceive, than I relate. Wring her hands, & weeping incessantly, calling him, rubbing his temples, and using all likely means to reduce life: she found all her labour to be spent in vain, because he was stark dead indeed, and every part of his body as cold as ice: whereupon, she was in such woeful extremity, that she knew not what to do or say. All about the Garden she went weeping, in infinite fears and distraction of soul, calling for her chambermaid, the only secret friend to their stolen meetings, and told her the occasion of this sudden sorrow. After they had sighed and mourned awhile, over the dead body of Gabriello, Andreana in this manner spoke to her maid.  
Seeing Fortune hath thus bereft me of my love, mine own life must needs be hateful to me: but before I offer any violence to myself, let us device some convenient means, as may both preserve mine honour from any touch or scandal, and conceal the secret love passing between us: but yet in such honest sort, that this body (whose blessed soul hath too soon forsaken it) may be honourably interred. Whereto her maid thus answered: Mistress, never talk of doing any violence to yourself, because by such a black and dismal deed, as you have lost his kind company here in this life, so shall you never more see him in the other world: for immediately you sink down to hell, which foul place cannot be a receptacle for his fair soul, that was endued with so many singular virtues. Wherefore, I hold it fare better for you, to comfort yourself by all good means, and with the power of fervent prayer, to fight against all desperate intruding passions, as a truly virtuous mind ought to do. Now, as concerning his enterrement, the means is readily prepared for you here in this Garden, where never he hath been seen by any, or his resorting hither known, but only to ourselves. If you will not consent to have it so, let you and I convey his body hence, and leave it in such apt place, where it may be found to morrow morning: and being then carried to his own house, his friends and kindred will give it honest burial.  
Andreana, although her soul was extraordinarily sorrowful, & tears flowed abundantly from her eyes; yet she listened attentively to her maid's counsel; allowing her first advice against desperation, to be truly good; but to the rest thus she replied. God forbidden (quoth she) that I should suffer so dear a loving friend, as he hath always showed himself to me; nay, which is much more, my husband; by sacred and solemn vows passed between us, to be put into the ground basely, and like a dog, or else to be left in the open street. He hath had the sacrifice of my virgin tears, and if I can prevail, he shall have some of his kindred, as I have instantly devised, what (in this hard case) is best to be done. Forthwith she sent the maid to her Chamber, for diverse else of white damask lying in her Chest, which when she had brought, they spread it abroad on the grass, even in the manner of a winding sheet, and therein wrapped the body of Gabriello, with a fair wrought pillow lying under his head, having first (with their tears) closed his mouth and eyes, and placed a Chaplet of Flowers on his head, covering the whole shroud over in the same manner; which being done, thus she spoke to her maid.  
The door of his own house is not fare hence, and thither (between us two) he may be easily carried, even in this manner as we have adorned him; where leaving him in his own Porch, we may return back before it be day; and although it will be a sad sight to his friends; yet, because he died in mine arms, and we being so well discharged of the body, it will be a little comfort to me. When she had ended these words, which were not uttered without infinite tears, the Maid entreated her to make haste, because the night passed swiftly on. At last, she remembered the Ring on her finger, wherewith Gabriello had solemnly espoused her, and opening the shroud again, she put it on his finger, saying, My dear and loving husband, if thy soul can see my tears, or any understanding to remain in thy body, being thus untimely taken from me: receive the latest safety thou gavest me, as a pledge of our solemn and spotless marriage. So, making up the shroud again as it should be, and conveying it closely out of the Garden, they went on along with it, towards his dwelling house.  
As thus they passed along, it fortuned, that they were met and taken by the Guard or Watch belonging to the Potestate, who had been so late abroad, about very earnest and important business. Andreana, desiring more the dead man's company, than theirs whom she had thus met withal, boldly spoke thus to them. I know who and what you are, and can tell myself, that to offer flight will nothing avail me: wherefore, I am ready to go along with you before the signory, and there will tell the truth concerning this accident. But let not any man among you, be so bold as to lay hand on me, or to touch me, because I yield so obediently to you: neither to take any thing from this body, except he intent that I shall accuse him. In which respect, not any one daring to displease her, she went with the dead body to the signory, there to answer all objections.  
When notice hereof was given to the Potestate, he arose; and she being brought forth into the Hall before him, he questioned with her, how and by what means this accident happened. Beside, he sent for diverse physicians, to be informed by them, whether the Gentleman were poisoned, or otherwise murdered: but all of them affirmed the contrary, avouching rather, that some impostumation had engendered near his heart, which suddenly breaking, occasioned his as sudden death. The Potestate hearing this, and perceiving that Andreana was little or nothing at all faulty in the matter: her beauty and good carriage, kindled a villainous and lustful desire in him towards her, provoking him to the immodest motion, that upon granting his request, he would release her. But when he saw, that all his persuasions were to no purpose, he sought to compass his will by violence; which, like a virtuous and valiant Virago, she worthily withstood, defending her honour Nobly, and reprooving him with many injurious speeches, such as a lustful lecher justly deserved.  
On the morrow morning, these news being brought to her Father, Messer Negro da Ponte Cararo; grieving thereat exceedingly, and accompanied with many of his friends, he went to the Palace. Being there arrived, and informed of the matter by the Potestate: he demanded (in tears) of his daughter, how, and by what means she was brought thither? The Potestate would needs accuse her first, of outrage and wrong offered to him by her, rather than to tarry her accusing of him: yet, commending the young Maiden, and her constancy, proceeded to say, that only to prove her, he had made such a motion to her, but finding her so firmly virtuous, his love and liking was now so addicted to her, that if her Father were so pleased, to forget the remembrance of her former secret husband, he willingly would accept her in marriage.  
While thus they continued talking, Andreana coming before her Father, the tears trickling mainly down her cheeks, and falling at his feet, she began in this manner. Dear Father, I shall not need to make an historical relation, either of my youthful boldness or misfortunes, because you have both seen and known them: rather most humbly, I crave your pardon, for another error by me committed, in that, both without your leave and liking, I accepted the man as my troth-plighted husband, whom (above all other in the world) I most entirely affected. If my offence herein do challenge the forfeit of my life, than (good Father) I free you from any such pardon: because my only desire is to die your daughter, and in your gracious favour; with which words, in sign of her humility, she kissed his feet. Messer Negro da Ponte, being a man well stepped into years, and of a mild and gentle nature, observing what his daughter had said: could not refrain from tears, and in his weeping, lovingly took her from the ground, speaking thus to her.  
Daughter, I could have wished, that thou hadst taken such an husband, as (in my judgement) had been best fitting for thee, and yet if thou didst make election of one, answerable to thine own good opinion & liking: I have no just reason to be therewith offended. My greatest cause of complaint, is, thy too severe concealing it from me, and the slender trust thou didst repose in me, because thou hast lost him, before I knew him. Nevertheless, seeing these occasions are thus come to pass, and accidents already ended, cannot by any means be re-called: it is my will, that as I would gladly have contented thee, by making him my son in Law, if he had lived; so I will express the like love to him now he is dead. And so turning himself to his kindred and friends, lovingly requested of them, that they would grace Gabriello with most honourable obsequies.  
By this time, the kindred and friends to the dead man (upon noise of his death bruited abroad) were likewise come to the palace, yea, most of the men and women dwelling in the city, the body of Gabriello being laid in the midst of the Court, upon the white damask shroud given by Andreana, with infinite Roses and other sweet Flowers lying thereon: and such was the people's love to him, that never was any man's death, more to be bemoaned and lamented. Being delivered out of the Court, it was carried to burial, not like a burgess or ordinary Citizen, but with such pomp as beseemed a Lord Baron, and on the shoulders of very noble Gentlemen, with very especial honour and reverence.  
Within some few days after, the Potestate pursuing his former motion of marriage, and the Father moving it to his daughter; she would not by any means listen thereto. And he being desirous to give her contentment, delivered her and her chambermaid into a Religious Abbey, very famous for devotion and sanctity, where afterwards they ended their lives.   

Fair Simonida affecting Pasquino, and walking with him in a pleasant garden, it fortuned, that Pasquino rubbed his teeth with a leaf of Sage, and immediately fell down dead. Simonida being brought before the bench of justice, and charged with the death of Pasquino: she rubbed her teeth likewise with one of the leaves of the same Sage, as declaring what she saw him do; and thereon she died also in the same manner.  
The seaventh novel.  
Whereby is given to understand, that love & Death do use their power equally alike, as well upon poor and mean persons, as on them that are rich and Noble.  
PAmphilus having ended his Tale, the King declaring an outward show of compassion, in regard of Andreanaes' disastrous Fortune: fixed his eye on Madam Emillia, and gave her such an apparent sign, as expressed his pleasure, for her next succeeding in discourse; which being sufficient for her understanding, thus she began. Fair assembly, the novel so lately delivered by Pamphilus, maketh me willing to report another to you, varying from it, in any kind of resemblance; only this excepted: that as Andreana lost her lover in a Garden, even so did she of whom I am now to speak. And being brought before the seat of justice, according as Andreana was, freed herself from the power of the Law; yet neither by force, or her own virtue, but by her sudden and inopinate death. And although the nature of love is such (according as we have oftentimes heretofore maintained) to make his abiding in the houses of the Noblest persons; yet men and women of poor and fare inferior quality, do not always sit out of his reach, though enclosed in their meanest Cottages; declaring himself sometimes as powerful a commander in those humble places, as he doth in the richest and most imperious Palaces. As will plainly appear unto you, either in all, or a great part of my novel, whereto our city pleadeth some title; though, by the diversity of our discourses, talking of so many several accidents; we have wandered into many other parts of the world, to make all answerable to our own liking.  
It is not any long time since, when there lived in our City of Florence, a young and beautiful damsel, yet according to the nature of her condition; because she was the Daughter of a poor Father, and called by the name of Simonida. Now, albeit she was not supplied by any better means, then to maintain herself by her own painful travel, & earn her bread before she could eat it, by carding and spinning to such as employed her; yet was she not of so base or dejected a spirit, but had both courage and sufficient virtue, to understand the secret solicit of love, and to distinguish the parts of well deserving both by private behaviour and outward ceremony. As natural instinct was her first tutor thereto, so wanted she not a second maine and urging motion, a chip hewed out of the like Timber, one no better in birth then herself, a proper young springal, named Pasquino, whose generous behaviour, and graceful actions (in bringing her daily wool to spin, by reason his master was a Clothier) prevailed upon her liking and affection.  
Nor was he negligent in the observation of her amorous regards, but the Tinder took, and his soul flamed with the selfsame fire; making him as desirous of her loving acceptance, as possibly she could be of his: so that the commanding power of love, could not easily be distinguished in which of them it had the greater predominance. For, every day as he brought her fresh supply of woolles, and found her seriously busied at her wheel: her soul would vent forth many deep sighs, and those sighs fetch floods of tears from her eyes, through the singular good opinion she had conceived of him, and earnest desire to enjoy him. Pasquino on the other side, as leisure gave him leave for the least conversing with her: his disease was every way answerable to her, for tears stood in his eyes, sighs flew abroad, to ease the poor hearts afflicting oppressions, which though he was unable to conceal; yet would he seem to cloud them cleanly, by entreating her that his master's work might be nearly performed, and with such speed as time would permit her, intermixing infinite praises of her artificial spinning; and affirming withal, that the quills of yearn received from her, were the choicest beauty of the whole piece; so that when other workwomen played, Simonida was sure to want no employment.  
Hereupon, the one soliciting, and the other taking delight in being solicited; it came to pass, that often access bred the bolder courage, & overmuch bashfulness became abandoned, yet no immodesty passing between them: but affection grew the better settled in them both▪ by interchangeable vows of constant perseverance, so that death only, but no disaster else had power to divide them. Their mutual delight continuing on in this manner, with more forcible increasing of their love's equal flame it fortuned, that Pasquino sitting by Simonida, told her of a goodly Garden, whereto he was desirous to bring her, to the end, that they might the more safely converse together, without the suspicion of envious eyes. Simonida gave answer of her well-liking the motion, and acquainting her Father therewith, he gave her leave, on the Sunday following after dinner, to go ferch the pardon of S. Gallo, and afterwards to visit the Garden.  
A modest young maiden named Lagina, following the same profession, and being an intimate familiar friend, Simonida took along in her company, and came to the Garden appointed by Pasquino; where she found him readily expecting her coming, and another friend also with him, called Puccino (albeit more usually termed Strambo) a secret well-willer to Lagina, whose love became the more furthered by this friendly meeting. Each lover delighting in his hearts chosen Mistress, caused them to walk alone by themselves, as the spaciousness of the Garden gave them ample liberty: Puccino with his Lagina in one part, & Pasquino with his Simonida in another. The walk which they had made choice of, was by a long and goodly bed of Sage, turning and returning by the same bed as their conference ministered occasion, and as they pleased to recreate themselves, affecting rather to continue still there, then in any part of the Garden.  
One while they would sit down by the Sage bed, and afterward rise to walk again, as ease or weariness seemed to invite them. At length, Pasquino chanced to crop a leaf of the Sage, wherewith he both rubbed his teeth and gums, and champing it between them also, saying; that there was no better thing in the world to cleanse the teeth withal, after feeding. Not long had he thus champed the Sage in his teeth, returning to his former kind of discoursing, but his countenance began to change very pale, his sight failed, and speech forsook him; so that (in brief) he fell down dead. Which when Simonida beheld, wring her hands, she cried out for help to Strambo and Lagina, who immediately came running to her. They finding Pasquino not only to be dead, but his body swollen, and strangely overspread with foul black spots, both on his face, hands, and all parts else beside: Strambo cried out, saying; Ah wicked maid, what hast thou poisoned him?  
These words and their shrill out-cries also, were heard by Neighbours dwelling near to the Garden, who coming in suddenly upon them, and seeing Pasquino lying dead, and hugely swollen, Strambo likewise complaining, and accusing Simonida to have poisoned him; she making no answer, but standing in a ghastly amazement, all her senses merely confounded, at such a strange and uncouth accident, in losing him whom she so dear loved: knew not how to excuse herself, and therefore every one verily believed, that Strambo had not unjustly accused her. Poor woeful maid, thus was she instantly apprehended, and drowned in her tears, they led her along to the Potestates Palace, where her accusation was justified by Strambo, Lagina, and two men more; the one named Atticciato, and the other Malagevole, fellows and companions with Pasquino, who came into the Garden also upon the outcry.  
The judge, without any delay at all, gave ear to the business, and examined the case very strictly: but could by no means comprehend, that any malice should appear in her towards him, nor that she was guilty of the man's death. Wherefore, in the pre●ence of Simonida, he desired to see the dead body, and the place where he fell down dead, because there he intended to have her relate, how she saw the accident to happen, that her own speeches might the sooner condemn her, whereas the case yet remained doubtful, and fare beyond his comprehension. So, without any further publication, and to avoid the following of the turbulent multitude: they departed from the bench of justice, and came to the place, where Pasquinoes' body lay swollen like a tun. Demanding there questions, concerning his behaviour, when they walked there in conference together, and, not a little admiring the manner of his death, while he stood advisedly considering thereon.  
She going to the bed of Sage, reporting the whole precedent history, even from the original to the ending: the better to make the case understood, without the least colour of ill carriage towards Pasquino; according as she had seen him do, even so did she pluck another leaf of the Sage, rubbing her teeth therewith, and champing it as he formerly did. Strambo, and the other intimate friends of Pasquino, having noted in what manner she used the Sage, and this appearing as her utmost refuge, either to acquit or condemn her: in presence of the judge they smiled thereat, mocking and deriding whatsoever she said, or did, and desiring (the more earnestly) the sentence of death against her, that her body might be consumed with fire, as a just punishment for her abominable transgression.  
Poor Simonida, sighing and sorrowing for her dear love's loss, and (perhaps) not meanly terrified, with the strict infliction of torment so severely urged and followed by Strambo and the rest: standing dumb still, without answering so much as one word; by tasting of the same Sage, fell down dead by the bed, even by the like accident as Pasquino formerly did, to the admirable astonishment of all there present.  
Oh poor infortunate lovers, whose stars were so inauspicious to you, as to finish both your mortal lives, and fervent love, in less limitation than a day's space. How to censure of your deaths, and happiness to ensue thereon, by an accident so strange and inevitable: it is not within the compass of my power, but to hope the best, and so I leave you. But yet concerning Simonida herself, in the common opinion of us that remain living: her true virtue and innocency (though Fortune was other wise most cruel to her) would not suffer her to sink under the testimony of Strambo, Lagina, Atticciato and Malagevole, being but carders of wool, or perhaps of meaner condition; a happier course was ordained for her, to pass clearly from their infamous imputation, and follow her Pasquino, in the very same manner of death, and with such a speedy expedition.  
The judge standing amazed, and all there present in his company, were silent for a long while together: but, upon better re-collection of his spirits, thus he spoke. This inconvenience which thus hath happened, and confounded our senses with no common admiration; in mine opinion concerneth the bed of Sage, avouching it either to be venomous, or dangerously infected, which (nevertheless) is seldom found in Sage. But to the end, that it may not be offensive to any more hereafter, I will have it wholly digged up by the roots, and then to be burnt in the open Market place.  
Hereupon, the gardener was presently sent for, and before the judge would departed thence, he saw the bed of Sage digged up by the roots, and found the true occasion, whereby these two poor lovers lost their lives, For, just in the midst of the bed, and at the main root, which directed all the Sage in growth; lay an huge mighty Toad, even weltering (as it were) in a hole full of poison; by means whereof, in conjecture of the judge, and all the rest, the whole bed of Sage became envenomed, occasioning every leaf thereof to be deadly in taste. None being so hardy, as to approach near the toad, they made a pile of wood directly over it, and setting it on a flaming fire, threw all the Sage thereinto, and so they were consumed together. So ended all further suit in law, concerning the deaths of Pasquino and Simonida: whose bodies being carried to the Church of Saint Paul, by their sad and sorrowful accusers, Strambo, Lagina, Atticciato and Malagevole, were buried together in one goodly Monument, for a future memory of their hard Fortune.   

jeronimo affecting a young Maiden, named Siluestra: was constrained (by the earnest importunity of his Mother) to take a journey to Paris. At his return home from thence again, he found his love Siluestra married. By secret means, he got entrance into her house, and died upon the bed lying by her. Afterward, his body being carried to Church, to receive burial, she likewise died there instantly upon his coarse.  
The eight novel.  
Wherein is again declared, the great indiscretion and folly of them, that think to constrain love, according to their will, after it is constantly settled before: With other instructions, concerning the unspeakable power of love..  
MAdam Emillia had no sooner concluded her novel, but madam Neiphila (by the King's command) began to speak in this manner. It seemeth to me (Gracious Ladies) that there are some such people to be found, who imagine themselves to know more, than all other else in the world beside, and yet indeed do know nothing at all: presuming (through this arrogant opinion of theirs) to employ and oppose their senseless understanding, against infallible grounded reason, yea, and to attempt courses, not only contrary to the counsel and judgement of men, but also to cross the nature of divine ordination. Out of which saucy & ambitious presumption, many mighty harms have already had beginning, and more are like to ensue upon such boldness, because it is the ground of all evils.  
Now, in regard that among all other natural things, no one is less subject to take counsel, or can be wrought to contrariety, than love, whose nature is such, as rather to run upon his own rash consumption, then to be ruled by admonitions of the very wisest: my memory hath inspired itself, with matter incident to this purpose, effectually to approve, what I have already said. For I am now to speak of a woman, who would appear to have more wit, then either she had indeed, or appertained to her by any title▪ The matter also, wherein she would needs show her studious judgement and capacity, was of much more consequence than she could deserve to meddle withal. Yet such was the issue of her fond presuming; that (in one instant) she expelled both love, and the soul of her own son out of his body, where (doubtless) it was planted by divine favour and appointment.  
In our own City (according to true & ancient testimony) there dwelled sometime a very worthy and wealthy Merchant, named Leonardo Sighiero, who by his wife had one only son, called Jeronimo and within a short while after his birth, Leonardo being very sick, and having settled all his affairs in good order; departed out of this wretched life to a better. The Tutors and governors of the child, thought it fittest to let him live with his Mother, where he had his whole education, though schooled among many other worthy neighbour's children, according as in most Cities they use to do. Young Jeronimo growing on in years, and frequenting daily the company of his schoolfellows and others: he would often sport (as the rest did) with the neighbours, and much pretty pastime they found together.  
In the harmless recreations of youth, graver judgements have often observed, that some especial matter received then such original, as greater effect hath followed thereon. And many times, parents and kindred have been the occasion (although perhaps beyond their expectation) of very strange and extraordinary accidents, by names of familiarity passing between boys and girls, as King and Queen, sweet heart and sweet heart, friend and friend, husband and wife, and diverse other such like kind terms, proving afterwards to be true indeed. It fell out so with our young Jeronimo; for, among a number of pretty Damosels, daughters to men of especial respect, and others of fare inferior quality: a tailor's daughter, excelling the rest in favour and feature (albeit her Father was but poor) Jeronimo most delighted to sport withal; and no other titles passed between them, even in the hearing of their parents and friends, but wife and husband: such was the beginning of their young affection, presaging (no doubt) effectually to follow.  
Nor grew this familiarity (as yet) any way distasted, till by their daily conversing together, and interchange of infinite pretty speeches: Jeronimo felt a strange alteration in his soul, with such enforcing and powerful afflictions; as he was never well but in her company, nor she enjoyed any rest if Jeronimo were absent. At the length, this being noted by his Mother, she began to rebuke him, yea, many times gave him both threatenings and blows, which proving to no purpose, nor hindering his access to her; she complained to his Tutors, and like one that in regard of her riches, thought to plant an Orange upon a black thorn, spoke as followeth.  
This son of mine Jeronimo, being as yet but fourteen years of age, is so deeply enamoured of a young girl, named Siluestra, daughter unto a poor Tailor, our near dwelling neighbour: that if we do not send him out of her company, one day (perhaps) he may make her his wife, and yet without any knowledge of ours, which questionless would be my death. Otherwise, he may pine and consume himself away, if he see us procure her marriage to some other. Wherefore, I hold it good, that to avoid so great an inconvenience, we should send Jeronimo some far distance hence, to remain where some of our Factors are employed: because, when he shall be out of her sight, and their often meetings utterly disappointed; his affection to her will the sooner cease, by frustrating his hope for ever enjoying her, and so we shall have the better means, to match him with one of greater quality. The Tutors did like well of her advice, not doubting but it would take answerable effect: and therefore, calling Jeronimo into a private parlour, one of them began in this manner.  
jeronimo, you are now grown to an indifferent stature, and (almost) able to take government of yourself. It cannot then seem any way inconvenient, to acquaint you with your deceased father's affairs, and by what good courses he came to such wealth. You are his only son and heir, to whom he hath bequeathed his rich possessions (your mother's moiety evermore remembered) and travail would now seem fitting for you, as well to experience in traffic and merchandise, as also to let you see the world's occurrences. Your Mother therefore (and we) have thought it expedient, that you should journey from hence to Paris, there to continue for some such fitting time, as may grant you full and free opportunity, to survey what stock of wealth is there employed for you, and to make you understand, how your Factors are furtherous to your affairs. Beside, this is the way to make you a man of more solid apprehension, & perfect instruction in civil courses of life; rather then by continuing here to see none but Lords, Barons, and Gentlemen, whereof we have too great a number. When you are sufficiently qualified there, and have learned what belongeth to a worthy merchant, such as was Leonardo Sighiero your famous Father; you may return home again at your own pleasure.  
The youth gave them attentive hearing, and (in few words) returned them answer: That he would not give way to any such travail, because he knew how to dispose of himself in Florence, as well as in any other place he should be sent too. Which when his Tutors heard, they reproved him with many severe speeches: and seeing they could win no other answer from him, they made return thereof to his Mother. She storming extremely thereat, yet not so much for denying the journey to Paris, as in regard of his violent affection to the maid; gave him very bitter and harsh language. All which availing nothing, she began to speak in a more mild and gentle strain, entreating him with flattering and affable words, to be governed in this case by his Tutors good advice. And so fare (in the end) she prevailed with him, that he yielded to live at Paris for the space of a year; but further time he would not grant, and so all was ended.  
jeronimo being gone to remain at Paris, his love daily increasing more and more, by reason of his absence from Siluestra, under fair and friendly promises, of this month and the next month sending for him home; there they detained him two whole years together. Whereupon, his love was grown to such an extremity, that he neither would, or could abide any longer there, but home he returned, before he was expected. His love Siluestra, by the cunning compacting of his Mother and Tutors, he found married to a Tent-makers son; whereat he vexed and grieved beyond all measure. Nevertheless, seeing the case was now no way to be helped; he striven to bear it with so much patience, as so great a wrong, and his hearts tormenting grief, would give him leave to do.  
Having found out the place where she dwelled, he began (as it is the custom of young lovers) to use diverse daily walks by her door: as thinking in his mind, that her remembrance of him was constantly continued, as his was most entirely fixed on her. But the case was very strangely altered, because she was now grown no more mindful of him, then if she had never seen him before. Or if she did any way remember him, it appeared to be so little, that manifest signs declared the contrary. Which Jeronimo very quickly perceived, albeit not without many melancholy perturbations. Notwithstanding, he laboured by all possible means, to recover her former kindness again: but finding all his pains frivouslie employed; he resolved to dye, and yet to compass some speech with her before.  
By means of a near dwelling neighbour (that was his very dear & intimate friend) he came acquainted with every part of the house, & prevailed so far, that one evening; when she and her husband supped at a neighbour's house; he compassed access into the same bed chamber, where Siluestra used most to lodge. Finding the curtains ready drawn, he hide himself behind them on the further side of the bed, and so tarried there untlll Siluestra and her husband were returned home, and laid down in bed to take their rest. The husband's senses were soon overcome with sleep, by reason of his painful toiling all the day, and bodies that are exercised with much labour, are the more desirous to have ease. She staying up last, to put out the light, and hearing her husband sleep so sound, that his snoring gave good evidence thereof: laid herself down the more respectively, as being very loath any way to disease him, but sweetly to let him enjoy his rest.  
Siluestra lay on the same side of the bed, where Jeronimo had hid himself behind the curtains; who stepping softly to her in the dark, and laying his hand gently on her breast, said: dear love, forbear a little while to sleep, for here is thy loyal friend Jeronimo. The young woman starting with amazement, would have cried out, but that he entreated her to the contrary; protesting, that he came for no ill intent to her, but only to take his latest leave of her. Alas Jeronimo (quoth she) those idle days are past and gone, when it was no way unseemly for our youth, to entertain equality of those desires, which then well agreed with our young blood. Since when, you have lived in foreign Countries, which appeared to me to alter your former disposition: for, in the space of two whole years, either you grew forgetful of me (as change of air, may change affection) or (at the best) made such account of me, as I never heard the least salutation from you. Now you know me to be a married wife, in regard whereof, my thoughts have embraced that chaste and honourable resolution, not to mind any man but my husband; and therefore, as you are come hither without my love or licence, so in like manner I do desire you to be gone. Let this privilege of my husband's sound sleeping, be no colour to your longer continuing here, or encourage you to find any further favour at mine hand: for if mine husband should awake, beside the danger that thereon may follow to you, I cannot but lose the sweet happiness of peaceful life, which hitherto we have both mutually embraced.  
The young man, hearing these words, and remembering what loving kindness he had formerly found, what secret love Letters he had sent from Paris, with other private intelligences and tokens, which never came to her receit and knowledge, so cunningly his Mother and Tutors had carried the matter: immediately he felt his heart strings to break; and lying down upon the bed's side by her, uttered these his very last words. Siluestra farewell, thou hast killed the kindest heart that ever loved a woman: and speaking no more, gave up the ghost. She hearing these words delivered with an entire sigh, and deepe-fetcht groan: did not imagine the strange consequence following thereon; yet was moved to much compassion, in regard of her former affection to him. Silent she lay an indifferent while, as being unable to return him any answer; and looking when he would be gone, according as before she had earnestly entreated him. But when she perceived him to lie so still, as neither word or motion came from him, she said: kind Jeronimo, why dost thou not departed and get thee gone? So putting forth her hand, it happened to light upon his face, which she felt to be as cold as ice: whereat marvelling not a little, as also at his continued silence: she jogged him, and felt his hands in like manner, which were stiffly extended forth, and all his body cold, as not having any life remaining in him, which greatly amazing her, and confounding her with sorrow beyond all measure, she was in such perplexity, that she could not device what to do or say.  
In the end, she resolved to try how her husband would take it, that so strange an accident should thus happen in his house, and putting the case as if it did not concern them, but any other of the neighbours; awaking him first, demanded of him what was best to be done, if a man should steal into a neighbour's house, unknown to him, or any of his family; & in his bed chamber to be found dead. He presently replied (as not thinking the case concerned himself) that, the only help in such an unexpected extremity, was, to take the dead body, and convey it to his own house, if he had any; whereby no scandal or reproach would follow to them, in whose house he had so unfortunately died. Hereupon, she immediately arose, and lighting a candle, shown him the dead body of Jeronimo, with protestation of every particular, both of her innocence, either of knowledge of his coming thither, or any other blame that could concern her. Which he both instantly knowing and believing, made no more ceremony, but putting on his Garments, took the dead body upon his shoulders, and carried it to the mother's door, where he left it, and afterward returned to his own house again.  
When day light was come, and the dead body found lying in the Porch, it moved very much grief and amazement, considering, he had been seen the day before, in perfect health to outward appearance. Nor need we to urge any question of his mother's sorrow upon this strange accident, who, causing his body to be carefully searched, without any blow, bruise, wound, or hurt upon it, the physicians could not give any other opinion, but that some inward conceit of grief had caused his death, as it did indeed, and no way otherwise. To the chief Church was the dead body carried, to be generally seen of all the people, his mother and friends weeping heavily by it, as many more did the like beside, because he was beloved of every one. In which time of universal mourning, the honest man (in whose house he died) spoke thus to his wife: disguise thyself in some decent manner, and go to the Church, where (as I hear) they have laid the body of Jeronimo. Crowd in amongst the Women, as I will do the like amongst the men, to hear what opinion passeth of his death, and whether we shall be scandalised thereby, or no.  
Siluestra, who was now become full of pity too late, quickly condescended, as desiring to see him dead, whom sometime she dearly affected in life. And being come to the Church, it is a matter to be admired, if advisedly we consider on the powerful working of love; for the heart of this woman, which the prosperous fortune of Jeronimo could not pierce, now in his woeful death did split in sunder; and the ancient sparks of love so long concealed in the embers, broke forth into a furious flame; and being violently surprised with extraordinary compassion, no sooner did she come near to the dead body, where many stood weeping round about it; but strangely shrieking out aloud, she fell down upon it: & even as extremity of grief finished his life, so did it hers in the same manner. For she moved neither hand nor foot, because her vital powers had quite forsaken her. The women labouring to comfort her by all the best means they could device; did not take any knowledge of her, by reason of her disguised garments: but finding her dead indeed, and knowing her also to be Siluestra, being overcome with unspeakable compassion, & daunted with no mean admiration, they stood strangely gazing each upon other.  
Wonderful crowds of people were then in the Church; and this accident being now noised among the men, at length it came to her husband's understanding, whose grief was so great, as it exceeded all capacity of expression. Afterward, he declared what had happened in his house the precedent night, according as his wife had truly related to him, with all the speeches, which passed between Siluestra and Jeronimo; by which discourse, they generally conceived, the certain occasion of both their sudden deaths, which moved them to great compassion. Then taking the young woman's body, and ordering it as a corpse aught to be: they laid it on the same bier by the young man, and when they had sufficiently sorrowed for their disastrous fortune, they gave them honourable burial both in one grave. So, this poor couple, whom love (in life) could not join together, death did unite in an inseparable conjunction.   

Messer Guiglielmo of Rossiglione having slain Messer Guiglielmo Guardastagno, whom he imagined to love his wife, gave her his heart to eat. Which she knowing afterward, threw herself out of an high window to the ground; and being dead, was then buried with her friend.  
The ninth novel.  
Whereby appeareth, what ill success attendeth on them, that love contrary to reason: in offering injury both to friendship and marriage together.  
WHen the novel of Madam Neiphila was ended, which occasioned much compassion in the whole assembly; the King who would not infringe the privilege granted to Dioneus, no more remaining to speak but they two, began thus. I call to mind (gentle Ladies) a novel, which (seeing we are so fare entered into the lamentable accidents of successelesse love, will urge you unto as much commisseration, as that so lately reported to you. And so much the rather, because the persons of whom we are to speak, were of respective quality; which approveth the accident to be more cruel, than those whereof we have formerly discoursed.  
According as the people of Provence do report, there dwelled sometime in that jurisdiction, two noble Knights, each well possessed of Castles & followers; the one being named Messer Guiglielmo de Rossiglione, and the other Messer Guiglielmo Guardastagno. Now, in regard that they were both valiant Gentlemen, and singularly expert in actions of arms; they loved together the more mutually, and held it as a kind of custom, to be seen in all Tiltes and Tournaments, or any other exercises of arms, going commonly alike in their wearing garments. And although their Castles stood about five miles distant each from other, yet were they daily conversant together, as very loving and intimate friends. The one of them, I mean Messer Guiglielmo de Rossiglione, had to wife a very gallant beautiful Lady, of whom Messer Guardastagno (forgetting the laws of respect and loyal friendship) became over-fondly enamoured, expressing the same by such outward means, that the Lady herself took knowledge thereof, and not with any dislike, as it seemed, but rather lovingly entertained; yet she grew not so forgetful of her honour and estimation, as the other did of faith to his friend.  
With such indiscretion was this idle love carried, that whether it sorted to effect, or no, I know not: but the husband received some such manner of behaviour, as he could not easily digest, nor thought it fitting to endure. Whereupon, the league of friendly amity so long continued, began to fail in very strange fashion, and became converted into deadly hatred: which yet he very cunningly concealed, bearing an outward show of constant friendship still, but (in his heart) he had vowed the death of Guardastagno. Nothing wanted, but by what means it might best be effected, which fell out to be in this manner. A public lust or Tourney, was proclaimed by sound of Trumpet throughout all France, wherewith immediately, Messer Guiglielmo Rossiglione acquainted Messer Guardastagno, entreating him that they might further confer thereon together, and for that purpose to come and visit him, if he intended to have any hand in the business. Guardastagno being exceeding glad of this accident, which gave him liberty to see his Mistress; sent answer back by the messenger, that on the morrow at night, he would come and sup with Rossiglione; who upon this reply, projected to himself in what manner to kill him.  
On the morrow, after dinner, arming himself, and two more of his servants with him, such as he had solemnly sworn to secrecy, he mounted on horseback, and road on about a mile from his own Castle, where he lay closely ambushed in a Wood, through which Guardastagno must needs pass. After he had stayed there some two hours' space and more, he espied him come riding with two of his attendants, all of them being unarmed, as no way distrusting any such intended treason. So soon as he was come to the place, where he had resolved to do the deed; he rushed forth of the ambush, and having a sharp Lance readily charged in his rest, ran mainly at him, saying: False villain, thou art dead. Guardastagno, having nothing wherewith to defend himself, nor his servants able to give him any succour; being pierced quite through the body with the Lance, down he fell dead to the ground, and his men (fearing the like misfortune to befall them) galloped mainly back again to their Lord's Castle, not knowing them who had thus murdered their Master, by reason of their armed disguises, which in those martial times were usually worn.  
Messer Guiglielmo Rossiglione, alighting from his horse, and having a keen knife ready drawn in his hand; opened therewith the breast of dead Guardastagno, and taking forth his heart with his own hands, wrapped it in the Banderole belonging to his Lance, commanding one of his men to the charge thereof, and never to disclose the deed. So, mounting on horseback again, and dark night drawing on apace, he returned home to his Castle. The Lady, who had heard before of Guardastagnoes intent, to sup there that night, and (perhaps) being earnestly desirous to see him; marveling at his so long tarrying, said to her husband. Believe me Sir (quoth she) I thinks it is somewhat strange, that Messer Guiglielmo Guardastagno delays his coming so long, he never used to do so till now. I received tidings from him wife (said he) that he cannot be here till to morrow. Whereat the Lady appearing to be displeased, concealed it to herself, and used no more words.  
Rossiglione leaving his Lady, went into the kitchen, where calling for the cook, he delivered him the heart, saying: Take this heart of a wild boar, which it was my good hap to kill this day, and dress it in the daintiest manner thou canst device to do; which being so done, when I am set at the Table, send it to me in a silver dish, with sauce beseeming so dainty a morsel. The cook took the heart, believing it to be no otherwise, then as his Lord had said: and using his utmost skill in dressing it, did divide it into artificial small slices, and made it most pleasing to be tasted. When supper time was come, Rossiglione sat down at the table with his Lady: but he had little or no appetite at all to eat, the wicked deed which he had done so perplexed his soul, and made him to sit very strangely musing. At length, the Cook brought in the dainty dish, which he himself setting before his wife, began to find fault with his own lack of stomach, yet provoked her with many fair speeches, to taste the Cooks cunning in so rare a dish.  
The Lady having a good appetite indeed, when she had first tasted it, fed afterward so hearty thereon, that she left very little, or none at all remaining. When he perceived that all was eaten, he said unto her: tell me Madam, how you do like this delicate kind of meat? In good faith Sir (quoth she) in all my life I was never better pleased. Now trust me Madam, answered the Knight, I do verily believe you, nor do I greatly wonder thereat, if you like that dead, which you loved so dearly being alive. When she heard these words, a long while she sat silent, but afterward said. I pray you tell me Sir, what meat was this which you have made me to eat? Muse no longer (said he) for therein I will quickly resolve thee. Thou hast eaten the heart of Messer Guiglielmo Guardastagno, whose love was so dear and precious to thee, thou false, perfidious, and disloyal Lady: I plucked it out of his vile body with mine own hands, and made my cook to dress it for thy diet.  
Poor Lady, how strangely was her soul afflicted, hearing these harsh and unpleasing speeches? Tears flowed abundantly from her fair eyes, and like tempestuous winds emboweled in the earth, so did vehement sighs break mainly from her heart, and after a tedious time of silence, she spoke in this manner. My Lord and husband, you have done a most disloyal and damnable deed, misguided by your own wicked jealous opinion, and not by any just cause given you, to murder so worthy and Noble a Gentleman. I protest unto you upon my soul, which I wish to be confounded in eternal perdition, if ever I were unchaste to your bed, or allowed him any other favour, but what might well become so honourable a friend. And seeing my body hath been made the receptacle for so precious a kind of food, as the heart of so valiant and courteous a Knight, such as was the Noble Guardastagno; never shall any other food hereafter, have entertainment there, or myself live the Wife to so bloody a husband.  
So starting up from the Table, and stepping unto a great gazing window, the Casement whereof standing wide open behind her: violently she leapt out thereat, which being an huge height in distance from the ground, the fall did not only kill her, but also shivered her body into many pieces. Which Rossiglione perceiving, he stood like a body without a soul, confounded with the kill of so dear a friend, loss of a chaste and honourable wife, and all through his own ounr-credulous conceit.  
Upon further conference with his private thoughts, and remorseful acknowledgement of his heinous offence, which repentance (too late) gave him eyes now to see, though rashness before would not permit him to consider; these two extremities enlarged his dulled understanding. First, he grew fearful of the friends and followers to murdered Guardastagno, as also the whole country of Provence, in regard of the people's general love unto him; which being two main and important motives, both to the detestation of so horrid an act, and immediate severe revenge to succeed thereon: he made such provision as best he could, and as so sudden a warning would give leave, he fled away secretly in the night season.  
These unpleasing news were soon spread abroad the next morning, not only of the unfortunate accidents, but also of Rossiglions' flight; in regard whereof, the dead bodies being found, and brought together, as well by the people belonging to Guardastagno, as them that attended on the Lady: they were laid in the chapel of Rossigliones Castell; where, after so much lamentation for so great a misfortune to befall them, they were honourably interred in one fair tomb, with excellent Verses engraven thereon, expressing both their noble degree, and by what unhappy means, they chanced to have burial there.   

A physician's wife laid a lover of her Maids (supposing him to be dead) in a Chest, by reason that he had drunk Water, which usually was given to procure a sleepy entrancing. Two Lombard usurers, stealing the Chest, in hope of a rich booty, carried it into their own house, where afterward the man awaking, was apprehended for a thief. The chambermaid to the physician's wife, going before the bench of justice, accuseth herself for putting the imagined dead body into the Chest, by which means he escapeth hanging: And the thiefs which stole away the Chest, were condemned to pay a great sum of money.  
The tenth novel.  
Wherein is declared, that sometime by adventurous accident, rather than any reasonable comprehension, a man may escape out of manifold perils, but especially in occurrences of love..  
AFTER that the King had concluded his novel, there remained none now but Dioneus to tell the last: which himself confessing, and the King commanding him to proceed, he began in this manner. So many miseries of unfortunate love, as all of you have already related, hath not only swollen your eyes with weeping, but also made sick our hearts with sighing: yea (Gracious Ladies) I myself find my spirits not meanly afflicted thereby. Wherefore the whole day hath been very irksome to me, and I am not a little glad, that it is so near ending. Now, for the better shutting it up altogether, I would be very loath to make an addition, of any more such sad and mournful matter, good for nothing but only to feed melancholy humour, and from which (I hope) my fair stars will defend me. Tragical discourse, thou art no fit companion for me, I will therefore report a novel which may minister a more jovial kind of argument, unto those tales that must be told to morrow, and with the expiration of our present King's reign, to rid us of all heart-greeving hereafter.  
Know then (most gracious assembly) that it is not many years since, when there lived in Salerne, a very famous physician, named Signieur Mazzeo della Montagna, who being already well entered into years, would (nevertheless) marry with a beautiful young maiden of the city, bestowing rich garments, gaudy attires, rings, and jewels on her, such as few Women else could any way equal, because he loved her most dearly. Yet being an aged man, and never remembering, how vain and idle a thing it is, for age to make such an unfitting Election, injurious to both; and therefore endangering that domestic agreement, which ought to be the sole and main comfort of Marriage: it maketh me therefore to misdoubt, that as in our former Tale of signior Ricciardo de Cinzica, some days of the calendar did here seem as distasteful, as those that occasioned the other woman's discontentment. In such unequal choices, Parents commonly are more blameworthy, than any imputation, to be laid on the young Women, who gladly would enjoy such as in heart they have elected: but that their Parents, looking through the glasses of greedy lucre, do overthrow both their own hopes, and the fair fortunes of their children together.  
Yet to speak uprightly of this young married Wife, she declared herself to be of a wise and cheerful spirit, not discouraged with her inequality of marriage: but bearing all with a contented brow, for fear of urging the very lest mislike in her Husband. And he, on the other side, when occasions did not call him to visit his patients, or to be present at the college among his fellow-Doctours, would always be cheering and comforting his Wife, as one that could hardly afford to be out of her company. There is one especial fatal misfortune, which commonly awaiteth on old men's marriages; when freezing December will match with flowering May, and green desires appear in age, beyond all possibility of performance. Nor are there wanting good store of wanton Gallants, who hating to see Beauty in this manner betrayed, and to the embraces of a loathed bed, will make their folly seen in public appearance, and by their daily proffers of amorous services (seeming compassionate of the woman's disaster) are usually the cause of jealous suspicions, & very heinous household discontentments.  
Among diverse other, that fain would be nibbling at this bait of beauty, there was one, named Ruggiero de Jeroly, of honourable parentage, but yet of such a debauched and disordered life, as neither Kindred or Friends, were willing to take any knowledge of him, but utterly gave him over to his dissolute courses: so that, throughout all Salerne, his conditions caused his general contempt, and he accounted no better, but even as a thieving and lewd companion. The doctors Wife, had a chambermaid attending on her; who, notwithstanding all the ugly deformities in Ruggiero, regarding more his person then his imperfections (because he was a complete and well-featured youth) bestowed her affection most entirely on him, and oftentimes did supply his wants, with her own best means.  
Ruggiero having this benefit of the maids kind love to him, made it an hopeful mounting Ladder, whereby to derive some good liking from the Mistress, presuming rather on his outward comely parts, than any other honest quality that might commend him. The mistress knowing what choice her maid had made, and unable by any persuasions to remove her, took knowledge of Ruggieroes private resorting to her house, and in mere love to her maid (who had very many especial deservings in her) oftentimes she would (in kind manner) rebuke him, and advice him to a more settled course of life; which counsel, that it might take the better effect; she graced with liberal gifts: one while with Gold, others with silver, and often with garments, for his comelier access thither: which bounty, he (like a lewd mistaker) interpreted as assurances of her affection to him, and that he was more graceful in her eye, than any man else could be.  
In the continuance of these proceed, it came to pass, that master Doctor Mazzeo (being not only a most expert physician, but likewise as skilful in chirurgery beside) had a patient in cure, who by great misfortune, had one of his legs broken all in pieces; which some weaker judgement having formerly dealt withal, the bones and sinews were become so foully putrified, as he told the party's friends, that the leg must be quite cut off, or else the patient must needs dye: yet he intended so to order the matter, that the peril should proceed no further, to prejudice any other part of the body. The case being thus resolved on with the patient and his Friends, the day and time was appointed when the deed should be done: and the Doctor conceiving, that except the Patient were sleepily entranced, he could not by any means endure the pain, but must needs hinder what he meant to do: by distillation he made such an artificial Water, as (after the patient hath received it) it will procure a kind of dead sleep, and endure so long a space, as necessity requireth the use thereof, in full performance of the work.  
After he had made this sleepy water, he put it into a glass, wherewith it was filled (almost) up to the brim; and till the time came when he should use it, he set it in his own Chamber-Windowe, never acquainting any one, to what purpose he had provided the water, nor what was his reason of setting it there; when it drew towards the evening, and he was returned home from his patients, a Messenger brought him Letters from Malfi, concerning a great conflict happening there between two Noble Families, wherein diverse were very dangerously wounded on either side, and without his speedy repairing thither, it would prove to the loss of many lives. Hereupon, the cure of the man's leg must needs be prolonged, until he was returned back again, in regard that many of the wounded persons were his worthy friends, and liberal bounty was there to be expected, which made him presently go aboard a small bark, and forthwith set away towards Malfi.  
This absence of Master Doctor Mazzeo, gave opportunity to adventurous Ruggiero, to visit his house (he being gone) in hope to get more crowns, and courtesy from the Mistress, under formal colour of courting the maid. And being closely admitted into the house, when diverse Neighbours were in conference with her Mistress, and held her with such pleasing Discourse, as required longer time than was expected: the maid, had no other room to conceal Ruggiero in, but only the bed chamber of her Master, where she locked him in; because none of the household people should descry him, and stayed attending on her Mistress, till all the Guests took their leave, and were gone. Ruggiero thus remaining alone in the Chamber, for the space of three long hours and more, was visited neither by maid nor Mistress, but awaited when he should be set at liberty.  
Now, whether feeding on salt meats before his coming thither, or customary use of drinking, which maketh men unable any long while to abstain, as being never satisfied with excess; which of these two extremes they were, I know not: but drink needs he must. And, having no other means for quenching his thirst, espied the glass of water standing in the Window, and thinking it to be some sovereign kind of water, reserved by the Doctor for his own drinking, to make him lusty in his old years, he took the glass; and finding the Water pleasing to his palate, drank it off every drop; then sitting down on a Coffer by the bed's side, soon after he fell into a sound sleep, according to the powerful working of the water.  
No sooner were all the Neighbours gone, and the maid at liberty from her Mistress, but unlocking the door, into the chamber she went; and finding Ruggiero sitting fast asleep, she began to hunch and punch him, entreating him (softly) to awake: but all was to no purpose, for he neither moved, or answered one word, whereat her patience being some what provoked, she punched him more rudely, and angrily said: Awake for shame thou drowsy dullard, and if thou be so desirous of sleeping, get thee home to thine own lodging, because thou art not allowed to sleep here. Ruggiero being thus rudely punched, fell from off the Coffer flat on the ground, appearing no other in all respects, then as if he were a dead body. Whereat the maid being fearfully amazed, plucking him by the nose and young beard, and what else she could device to do, yet all her labour proving still in vain: she was almost beside her wits, stamping and raving all about the room, as if sense and reason had forsaken her; so violent was her extreme distraction.  
Upon the hearing of this noise, her mistress came suddenly into the Chamber, where being affrighted at so strange an accident, and suspecting that Ruggiero was dead indeed: she pinched him strongly, and burned his fingers with a candle, yet all was as fruitless as before. Then sitting down, she began to consider advisedly with herself, how much her honour and reputation would be endangered hereby, both with her Husband, and in vulgar opinion when this should come to public notice. For (quoth she to her maid) it is not thy fond love to this unruly fellow that can sway the censure of the monster multitude, in believing his access hither only to thee: but my good name, and honest repute, as yet untouched with the very lest taxation, will be racked on the tenter of infamous judgement, and (though never so clear) branded with general condemnation. It is wisdom therefore, that we should make no noise but (in silence) consider with ourselves, how to clear the house of this dead body, by some such helpful and witty device, as when it shall be found in the morning, his being here may pass without suspicion, and the world's rash opinion no way touch us.  
Weeping and lamenting is now laid aside, and all hope in them of his lives restoring: only to rid his body out of the house, that now requires their care and cunning, whereupon the maid thus began. Mistress (quoth she) this evening, although it was very late, at our next neighbour's door (who you know is a joiner by his trade) I saw a great Chest stand; and, as it seemeth, for a public sale, because two or three nights together, it hath not been thence removed: and if the owner have not locked it, all invention else cannot furnish us with the like help. For therein will we lay his body, whereon I will bestow two or three wounds with my Knife, and leaving him so, our house can be no more suspected concerning his being here, than any other in the street beside; nay rather fare less, in regard of your husband's credit and authority. Moreover, hereof I am certain, that he being of such bad and disordered qualities: it will the more likely be imagined, that he was slain by some of his own lose companions, being with them about some pilfering business, and afterward hid his body in the chest, it standing so fitly for the purpose, and dark night also favouring the deed.  
The Maids counsel passed under the seal of allowance, only her mistress thought it not convenient, that (having affected him so dearly) she should mangle his body with any wounds; but rather to let it be gathered by more likelihood, that villains had strangled him, and then conveied his body into the Chest. Away she sends the maid, to see whether the Chest stood there still, or no; as indeed it did, and unlocked, whereof they were not a little joyful. By the help of her Mistress, the maid took Ruggiero upon her shoulders, and bringing him to the door, with dillidilegent respect that no one could discover them; in the Chest they laid him, and so there left him, closing down the lid according as they found it.  
In the same street, and not fare from the joiner, dwelled two young men who were Lombard's, living upon the interest of their monies, coveting to get much, and spend little. They having observed where the chest stood, and wanting a necessary movable to household, yet loath to lay out money for buying it: complotted together this very night, to steal it thence, and carry it home to their house, as accordingly they did; finding it somewhat heavy, and therefore imagining, that matter of worth was contained therein. In the chamber where their wives lay, they left it; and so without any further search till the next morning, they laid them down to rest likewise.  
Ruggiero, who had now slept a long while, the drink being digested, & the virtue thereof fully consummated; began to awake before day. And although his natural sleep was broken, and his senses had recovered their former power, yet notwithstanding, there remained such an astonishment in his brain, as not only did afflict him all the day following, but also diverse days and nights afterward. Having his eyes wide open, & yet not discerning any thing, he stretched forth his arms every where about him, and finding himself to be enclosed in the chest, he grew more broad awake, and said to himself. What is this? Where am I? Do I wake or sleep? Full well I remember, that not long since I was in my sweetheart's Chamber, and now (I thinks) I am mewed up in a chest. What should I think hereof? Is master Doctor returned home, or hathsome other inconvenience happened, whereby finding me asleep, she was enforced to hide me thus? Surely it is so, and otherwise it cannot be: wherefore, it is best for me to lie still, and listen when I can hear any talking in the Chamber.  
Continuing thus a longer while then otherwise he would have done, because his lying in the bare Chest was somewhat uneasy and painful to him; turning diverse times on the one side, and then as often again on the other, coveting still for ease, yet could not find any: at length, he thrust his back so strongly against the Chests side, that (it standing on an un-even ground) it began to totter, and after fell down. In which fall, it made so loud a noise, as the women (lying in the beds standing by) awaked, and were so overcome with fear, that they had not the power to speak one word. Ruggiero also being affrighted with the Chests fall, and perceiving how by that means it was become open: he thought it better, lest some other sinister fortune should befall him, to be at open liberty, then enclosed up so strictly. And because he knew not where he was, as also hoping to meet with his Mistress; he went all about groping in the dark, to find either some stairs or door, whereby to get forth.  
When the Women (being then awake) heard his trampling, as also his justling against the doors and windows; they demanded, Who was there? Ruggiero, not knowing their voices, made them no answer, wherefore they called to their husbands, who lay very sound sleeping by them, by reason of their so late walking abroad, and therefore heard not this noise in the house. This made the Women much more timorous, and therefore rising out of their beds, they opened the Casements towards the street, crying out aloud, thiefs, thiefs. The neighbours arose upon this outcry, running up and down from place to place, from engirting the house, and others entering into it: by means of which troublesome noise, the two Lombard's awaked, and seizing there upon poor Ruggiero, (who was well-near affrighted out of his wits, at so strange an accident, and his own ignorance, how he happened thither, and how to escape from them) he stood gazing on them without any answer.  
By this time, the Sergeants and other Officers of the City, ordinarily attending on the Magistrate, being raised by the tumult of this uproar, were come into the house, and had poor Ruggiero committed unto their charge: who bringing him before the governor, was forthwith called in question, and known to be of a most wicked life, a shame to all his friends and kindred. He could say little for himself, never denying his taking in the house, and therefore desiring to finish all his fortunes together, desperately confessed, that he came with a felonious intent to rob them, and the governor gave him sentence to be hanged.  
Soon were the news spread throughout Salerne; that Ruggiero was apprehended, about robbing the house of the two usuring lombards: which when mistress Doctor and her chambermaid heard, they were confounded with most strange admiration, and scarcely credited what they themselves had done the night before, but rather imagined all matters past, to be no more then merely a dream, concerning Ruggieroes dying in the house, and their putting him into the Chest, so that by no likely or possible means, he could be the man in this perilous extremity.  
In a short while after, Master Doctor Mazzco was returned from Malfi, to proceed in his cure of the poor man's leg; and calling for his glass of Water, which he left standing in his own Chamber window, it was found quite empty, and not a drop in it: whereat he raged so extremely, as never had the like impatience been noted in him. His wife, and her maid, who had another kind of business in their brain, about a dead man so strangely come to life again, known not well what to say; but at the last, his Wife thus replied somewhat angrily. Sir (quoth she) what a coil is here about a paltry glass of Water, which perhaps hath been spilt, yet neither of us faulty therein? Is there no more such water to be had in the world? Alas dear Wife (said he) you might repute it to be a common kind of Water, but indeed it was not so; for I did purposely compound it, only to procure a dead-seeming sleep: And so related the whole matter at large, of the patients' leg, and his water's loss.  
When she had heard these words of her husband, presently she conceived, that the water was drunk off by Ruggiero, which had so sleepily entranced his senses, as they verily thought him to be dead, wherefore she said. Believe me Sir, you never acquainted us with any such matter, which would have procured more careful respect of it: but seeing it is gone, your skill extendeth to make more, for now there is no other remedy. While thus Master Doctor and his Wife were conferring together, the maid went speedily into the city, to understand truly, whither the condemned man was Ruggiero, and what would now become of him. Being returned home again, and alone with her mistress in the Chamber, thus she spoke. Now trust me Mistress, not one in the city speaketh well of Ruggiero, who is the man condemned to dye; and, for aught I can perceive, he hath neither Kinsman nor Friend that will do any thing for him; but he is left with the provost, and must be executed to morrow morning. Moreover Mistress, by such instructions as I have received, I can well-near inform you, by what means he came to the two Lombard's house, if all be true that I have heard.  
You know the loyner before whose door the Chest stood, wherein we did put Ruggiero; there is now a contention between him and another man, to whom (it seemeth) the Chest doth belong; in regard whereof, they are ready to quarrel extremely each with other. For the one owing the Chest, and trusting the joiner to sell it for him, would have him to pay him for the Chest. The joiner denieth any sale thereof, avouching, that the last night it was stolen from his door. Which the other man contrarying, maintaineth that he sold the Chest to the two Lombard usurers, as himself is able to affirm, because he found it in the house, when he (being present at the apprehension of Ruggiero) saw it there in the same house. Hereupon, the joiner gave him the lie, because he never sold it to any man; but if it were there, they had robbed him of it, as he would make it manifest to their faces. Then falling into calmer speeches they went together to the lombards house, even as I returned home. Wherefore Mistress, as you may easily perceive, Ruggiero was (questionless) carried thither in the chest, and so there found; but how he revived again, I cannot comprehend.  
The mistress understanding now apparently, the full effect of the whole business, and in what manner it had been carried, revealed to the maid her husband's speeches, concerning the glass of sleepy Water, which was the only engine of all this trouble, clearly acquitting Ruggiero of the robbery, howsoever (in desperate fury, and to make an end of a life so contemptible) he had wrongfully accused himself. And notwithstanding this his hard fortune, which hath made him much more infamous than before, in all the dissolute behaviour of his life: yet it could not quail her affection towards him; but being loath he should dye for some other man's offence, and hoping his future reformation; she fell on her knees before her mistress, and (drowned in her tears) most earnestly entreated her, to advice her with some such happy course, as might be the safety of poor Ruggieroes life. Mistress Doctor, affecting her maid dear, and plainly perceiving, that no disastrous fortune whatsoever, could alter her love to condemned Ruggiero; hoping the best hereafter, as the maid herself did, and willing to save life rather than suffer it to be lost without just cause, she directed her in such discreet manner, as you will better conceive by the success.  
According as she was instructed by her Mistress, she fell at the feet of Master Doctor, desiring him to pardon a great error, whereby she had overmuch offended him. As how? said Master Doctor. In this manner (quoth the Maid) and thus proceeded. You are not ignorant Sir, what a le●d liver Ruggiero de Jeroly is, and notwithstanding all his imperfections, how dear I love him, as he protesteth the like to me, and thus hath our love continued a year, and more. You being gone to Malfi, and your absent granting me apt opportunity, for conference with so kind a friend; I made the bolder, and gave him entrance into your house, yea even into mine own Chamber, yet free from any abuse, neither did he (bad though he be) offer any. Thirsty he was before his coming thither, either by salt meats, or distempered diet, and I being unable to fetch him wine or water, by reason my mistress sat in the Hall, seriously talking with her Sisters; remembered, that I saw a vial of Water standing in your Chamber window, which he drinking quite off, I set it empty in the place again. I have heard your discontentment for the said Water, and confess my fault to you therein: but who liveth so justly, without offending at one time or other? And I am hearty sorry for my transgression; yet not so much for the water, as the hard fortune that hath followed thereon; because thereby Ruggiero is in danger to lose his life, and all my hopes are utterly lost. Let me entreat you therefore (gentle Master) first to pardon me, and then to grant me permission, to secure my poor condemned friend, by all the best means I can device.  
When the Doctor had heard all her discourse, angry though he were, yet thus he answered with a smile. Much better had it been, if thy folly's punishment had fall'n on thyself, that it might have paid thee with deserved repentance, upon thy Mistresses finding thee sleeping. But go and get his deliverance if thou canst, with this caution, that if ever hereafter he be seen in my house, the peril thereof shall light on thyself. receiving this answer, for her first entrance into the attempt, and as her mistress had advised her, in all hast she went to the prison, where she prevailed so well with the jailor, that he granted her private conference with Ruggiero. She having instructed him what he should say to the provost, if he had any purpose to escape with life; went thither before him to the provost, who admitting her into his presence, and knowing that she was Master Doctors maid, a man especially respected of all the city, he was the more willing to hear her message, he imagining that she was sent by her Master.  
Sir (quoth she) you have apprehended Ruggiero de Jeroly, as a thief, and judgement of death is (as I hear) pronounced against him: but he is wrongfully accused, and is clearly innocent of such a heinous detection. So entering into the History, she declared every circumstance, from the original to the end: relating truly, that being her lover, she brought him into her master's house, where he drank the compounded sleepy water, and reputed for dead, she laid him in the Chest. Afterward, she rehearsed the speeches between the joiner, and him that laid claim to the Chest, giving him to understand thereby, how Ruggiero was taken in the Lombard's house.  
The provost presently gathering, that the truth in this case was easy to be known; sent first for Master Doctor Mazzeo, to know, whether he compounded any such water, or no: which he affirmed to be true, and upon what occasion he prepared it. Then the joiner, the owner of the Chest, and the two Lombard's, being severally questioned withal: it appeared evidently, that the Lombard's did steal the chest in 〈◊〉 night season, and carried it home to their own house. In the end, Ruggiero being brought from the prison, and demanded, where he was lodged the night before, made answer, that he knew not where. Only he well remembered, that bearing affection to the chambermaid of Master Doctor Mazzea della Montagna, she brought him into a Chamber, where a viol of water stood in the Window, and he being extremely thirsty, drank it off all. But what became of him afterward (till being awake, he found himself enclosed in a Chest, and in the house of the two Lombard's) he could not say any thing.  
When the provost had heard all their answers, which he caused them to repeat over diverse times, in regard they were very pleasing to him: he cleared Ruggiero from the crime imposed on him, and condemned the Lombard's in three hundred ducats, to be given to Ruggiero in way of an amends, and to enable his marriage with the doctor's maid, whose constancy was much commended, and wrought such a miracle on penitent Ruggiero; that, after his marriage, which was graced with great and honourable pomp, he regained the intimate love of all his kindred, and lived in most Noble condition, even as if he had never been the disordered man.  
If the former novels had made all the Ladies sad and sigh, this last of Dioneus as much delighted them, as restoring them to their former jocund humour, and banishing tragical discourse for ever. The King perceiving that the Sun was near setting, and his government as near ending, with many kind and courteous speeches, excused himself to the Ladies, for being the motive of such an argument, as expressed the infelicity of poor lovers. And having finished his excuse, up he arose, taking the crown of laurel from off his own head, the Ladies awaiting on whose head he pleased next to set it, which proved to be the gracious Lady Fiammetta, and thus he spoke. Hear I place this crown on her head, that knoweth better than any other, how to comfort this fair assembly to morrow, for the sorrow which they have this day endured.  
Madame Fiammetta, whose locks of hair were curled, long, and like golden wires, hanging somewhat down over her white & delicate shoulders her visage round, wherein the damask Rose and Lilly contende● for priority, the eyes in her head, resembling those of the falcon me, senger, and a dainty mouth; her lips looking like two little rubies with a commendable smile thus she replied.  
Philostratus, gladly I do accept your gift; and to the end that ye may the better remember yourself, concerning what you have done hitherto: I will and command, that general preparation be made against to morrow, for fair and happy fortunes happening to lovers, after former cruel and unkind accidents. Which proposition was very pleasing to them all.  
Then calling for the Master of the household, and taking order with him, what was most needful to be done; she gave leave unto the whole company (who were all risen) to go recreate themselves until supper time. Some of them walked about the Garden, the beauty whereof banished the least thought of weariness. Others walked by the river to the Mill, which was not fare off, and the rest fell to exercises, fitting their own fancies, until they heard the summons for Supper. Hard by the goodly fountain (according to their wont manner) they supped altogether, and were served to their no mean contentment: but being risen from the Table, they fell to their delight of singing and dancing. While Philomena led the dance, the Queen spoke in this manner.  
Philostratus, I intent not to vary from those courses heretofore observed by my predecessors, but even as they have already done, so it is my authority, to command a Song. And because I am well assured, that you are not unfurnished of Songs answerable to the quality of the passed novels: my desire is, in regard we would not be troubled hereafter, with any more discourses of unfortunate love, that you shall sing a Song agreeing with your own disposition. Philostratus made answer, that he was ready to accomplish her command, and without all further ceremony, thus he began.  

The Song.  

Chorus. My tears do plainly prove,  
How justly that poor heart hath cause to grieve,  
Which (under trust) finds Treason in his love..   

WHen first I saw her, that now makes me sigh,  
Distrust did never enter in my thoughts.  
So many virtues clearly shined in her,  
That I esteemed all martyrdom was light  
Which love could lay on me. Nor did I grieve,  
Although I found my liberty was lost.  
But now mine error I do plainly see:  
Not without sorrow, thus betrayed to be.  
My tears do, etc.   

For, being left by basest treachery  
Of her in whom I most reposed trust:  
I than could see apparent flattery  
In all the fairest shows that she did make.  
But when I striven to get forth of the snare,  
I found myself the further plunged in.  
For I beheld another in my place,  
And I cast off, with manifest disgrace.  
My tears do, etc.   

Then felt my heart such hells of heavy woes,  
Not utterable. I cursed the day and hour  
When first I saw her lovely countenance,  
Enriched with beauty, fare beyond all other,  
Which set my soul on fire, inflame each part,  
Making a martyrdom of my poor hart.  
My faith and hope being basely thus betrayed;  
I durst not move, to speak I was afraid.  
My tears do, etc.   

Thou canst (thou powerful God of love) perceive,  
My ceasselesse sorrow, void of any comfort,  
I make my moan to thee, and do not fable,  
Desiring, that to end my misery,  
Death may come speedily, and with his Dart  
With one fierce stroke, quite passing through my hart:  
To cut off future fell contending strife,  
An happy end be made of love and Life.  
My tears do, etc.   

No other means of comfort doth remain,  
To ease me of such sharp afflictions,  
But only death. Grant then that I may die,  
To finish grief and life in one blessed hour.  
For, being bereft of any future joys,  
Come, take me quickly from so false a friend.  
Yet in my death, let thy great power approve,  
That I died true, and constant in my love..  
My tears, etc.   

Happy shall I account this sighing Song,  
If some (beside myself) do learn to sing it,  
And so consider of my miseries,  
As may incite them to lament my wrongs.  
And to be warned by my wretched fate;  
Lest (like myself) themselves do sigh too late.  
Learn lovers learn, what 'tis to be unjust.  
And be betrayed where you repose best trust.    
The words contained in this Song, did manifestly declare, what torturing afflictions poor Philostratus felt, and more (perhaps) had been perceived by the looks of the Lady whom he spoke of, being then present in the dance; if the sudden ensuing darkness had not hid the crimson blush, which mounted up into her face. But the Song being ended, & diverse other beside, lasting till the hour of rest drew on; by command of the Queen, they all repaired to their Chambers.    
The End of the Fourth Day.   

THE FIFT DAY.  
Whereon, all the Discourses do pass under the government of the most Noble Lady Fiammetta: Concerning such persons, as have been successful in their love, after many hard and perilous misfortunes.  

The Induction.  
NOW began the sun to dart forth his golden beams, when Madam Fiammetta (incited by the sweet singing birds, which since the break of day, sat merrily chanting on the trees) arose from her bed: as all the other Ladies likewise did, and the three young Gentlemen descending down into the fields, where they walked in a gentle pace on the green grass, until the sun were risen a little higher. On many pleasant matters they conferred together, as they walked in several companies, till at the length the Queen, finding the heat to enlarge itself strongly, returned back to the Castle; where when they were all arrived, she commanded, that after this morning's walking, their stomaches should be refreshed with wholesome Wines, as also diverse sorts of banqueting stuff. Afterward, they all repaired into the Garden, not departing thence, until the hour of dinner was come: at which time, the Master of the household, having prepared every thing in decent readiness, after a solemn song was sung, by order from the Queen, they were seated at the Table.  
When they had dined, to their own liking and contentment, they began (in continuation of their former order) to exercise diverse dances, and afterward voices to their instruments, with many pretty Madrigals and roundelays. Upon the finishing of these delights, the Queen gave them leave to take their rest, when such as were so minded, went to sleep, others solaced themselves in the Garden. But after midday was overpast, they met (according to their wont manner) and as the Queen had commanded, at the fair fountain; where she being placed in her seat royal, and casting her eye upon Pamphilus, she bade him begin the day's discourses, of happy success in love, after disastrous and troublesome accidents; who yielding thereto with humble reverence, thus began.  
Many novels (gracious Ladies) do offer themselves to my memory, wherewith to begin so pleasant a day, as it is her highness' desire that this should be, among which plenty, I esteem one above all the rest: because you may comprehend thereby, not only the fortunate conclusion, wherewith we intent to begin our day; but also, how mighty the forces of love are, deserving to be both admired and reverenced. Albeit there are many, who scarcely knowing what they say, do condemn them with infinite gross imputations: which I purpose to disprove, & (I hope) to your no little pleasing.  

Chynon, by falling in love, became wise, and by force of arms, winning his fair Lady Iphigenia on the Seas, was afterward imprisoned at Rhodes. Being delivered by one named Lysimachus, with him he recovered his Iphigenia again, and fair Cassandra, even in the midst of their marriage. They fled with them into Candye, where after they had married them, they were called home to their own dwelling.  
The first novel.  
Wherein is approved, that love (oftentimes) maketh a man both wise and valiant.  
ACcording to the ancient annals of the Cypriots, there sometime lived in Cyprus, a Noble Gentleman, who was commonly called Aristippus, and exceeded all other of the country in the goods of Fortune. divers children he had, but (amongst the rest) a son, in whose birth he was more infortunate than any of the rest; and continually grieved, in regard, that having all the complete perfections of beauty, good form, and manly parts, surpassing all other youths of his age or stature, yet he wanted the real ornament of the soul, reason and judgement; being (indeed a mere idiot or fool, and no better hope to be expected of him. His true name, according as he received it by baptism, was Galesus, but because neither by the laborious pains of his Tutors, indulgence, and fair endeavour of his parents, or ingenuity of any other, he could be brought to civility of life, understanding of Letters, or common carriage of a reasonable creature: by his gross and deformed kind of speech, his qualities also savouring rather of brutish breeding, than any way derived from manly education; as an epithet of scorn and derision, generally, they gave him the name of Chynon, which in their native country language, and diverse other beside, signifieth a very Sot or fool, and so was he termed by every one.  
This lost kind of life in him, was no mean burden of grief unto his Noble Father, and all hope being already spent, of any future happy recovery, he gave command (because he would not always have such a sorrow in his sight) that he should live at a farm of his own in a Country Village, among his peasant's and plough-swains. Which was not any way distasteful to Chynon, but well agreed with his own natural disposition; for their rural qualities, and gross behaviour pleased him beyond the city's civility. Chynon living thus at his father's country Village, exercising nothing else but rural demeanour, such as then delighted him above all other: it chanced upon a day about the hour of noon, as he was walking over the fields, with a long staff on his neck, which commonly he used to carry; he entered into a small thicket, reputed the goodliest in all those quarters, and by reason it was then the month of May, the Trees had their leaves fairly shot forth.  
When he had walked thorough the thicket, it came to pass, that (even as if good Fortune guided him) he came into a fair Meadow, on every side engirt with Trees, and in one corner thereof stood a goodly fountain, whose current was both cool and clear. Hard by it, upon the green grass, he espied a very beautiful young damsel, seeming to be fast asleep, attired in such fine lose garments, as hid very little of her white body: only from the girdle downward, she ware a kirtle made close unto her, of interwoven delicate silk, and at her feet lay two other Damosels sleeping, and a servant in the same manner. No sooner had Chynon fixed his eye upon her, but he stood leaning upon his staff, and viewed her very advisedly, without speaking a word, and in no mean admiration, as if he had never seen the form of a woman before. He began then to feel in his harsh rural understanding (whereinto never till now, either by painful instruction, or all other good means used to him, any honest civility had power of impression) a strange kind of humour to awake, which informed his gross and dull spirit, that this damsel was the very fairest, which ever any living man beheld.  
Then he began to distinguish her parts, commending the tresses of her hair, which he imagined to be of gold; her forehead, nose, mouth, neck, arms, but (above all) her breasts, appearing (as yet) but only to show themselues, like two little mountainets. So that, of a fielden clownish lout, he would needs now become a judge of beauty, coveting earnestly in his soul, to see her eyes, which were veiled over with sound sleep, that kept them fast enclosed together, and only to look on them, he wished a thousand times, that she would awake. For, in his judgement, she excelled all the women that ever he had seen, and doubted, whether she were some goddess or no; so strangely was he metamorphosed from folly, to a sensible apprehension, more than common. And so far did this sudden knowledge in him extend; that he could conceive of divine and celestial things, and that they were more to be admired & reverenced, than those of humane or terrene consideration; wherefore the more gladly he contented himself, to tarry till she awaked of her own accord. And although the time of stay seemed tedious to him, yet notwithstanding, he was overcome with such extraordinary contentment, as he had no power to departed thence, but stood as if he had been glued fast to the ground.  
After some indifferent respite of time, it chanced that the young Damosel (who was named Iphigenia) awaked before any of the other with her, and lifting up her head, with her eyes wide open, she saw Chynon standing before her, leaning still on his staff; whereat marveling not a little, she said unto him: Chynon, whither wanderest thou, or what dost thou seek for in this wood? Chynon, who not only by his countenance, but likewise his folly, Nobility of birth, and wealthy possessions of his father, was generally known throughout the country, made no answer at all to the demand of Iphigenia: but so soon as he beheld her eyes open, he began to observe them with a constant regard, as being persuaded in his soul, that from them flowed such an unutterable singularity, as he had never felt till then. Which the young Gentlewoman well noting, she began to wax fearful, lest these steadfast looks of his, should incite his rusticity to some attempt, which might redound to her dishonour: wherefore awaking her women and servant, and they all being risen, she said. Farewell Chynon, I leave thee to thine own good Fortune; whereto he presently replied, saying: I will go with you. Now, although the Gentlewoman refused his company, as dreading some act of incivility from him: yet could she not device any way to be rid of him, till he had brought her to her own dwelling, where taking leave mannerly of her, he went directly home to his father's house, saying; Nothing should compel him to live any longer in the muddy country. And albeit his Father was much offended heereat, and all the rest of his kindred and friends: (yet not knowing how to help it) they suffered him to continue there still, expecting the cause of this his so sudden alteration, from the course of life, which contented him so highly before.  
Chynon being now wounded to the heart (where never any civil instruction could before get entrance) with love's piercing dart, by the bright beauty of Iphigenia, moved much admiration (falling from one change to another) in his Father, Kindred, and all else that knew him. For first, he requested of his Father, that he might be habited and respected like to his other Brethren, whereto right gladly he condescended. And frequenting the company of civil youths, observing also the carriage of Gentlemen, especially such as were amorously inclined: he grew to a beginning in short time (to the wonder of every one) not only to understand the first instruction of letters, but also became most skilful, even amongst them that were best exercised in philosophy. And afterward, love to Iphigenia being the sole occasion of this happy alteration, not only did his harsh and clownish voice convert itself more mildly, but also he became a singular musician, & could perfectly play on any Instrument. Beside, he took delight in the riding and managing of great horses, and finding himself of a strong and able body, he exercised all kinds of Military Disciplines, as well by sea, as on the land. And, to be brief, because I would not seem tedious in the repetition of all his virtues, scarcely had he attained to the fourth year, after he was thus fall'n in love, but he became generally known, to be the most civil, wise, and worthy Gentleman, aswell for all virtues enriching the mind, as any whatsoever to beautify the body, that very hardly he could be equalled throughout the whole kingdom of Cyprus.  
What shall we say then (virtuous Ladies) concerning this Chynon? Surely nothing else, but that those high and divine virtues, infused into his gentle soul, were by envious Fortune bound and shut up in some small angle of his intellect, which being shaken and set at liberty by love, (as having a fare more potent power then Fortune, in quickening and reviving the dull drowsy spirits; declared his mighty and sovereign Authority, in setting free so many fair and precious virtues unjustly detained, to let the world's eye behold them truly, by manifest testimony, from whence he can deliver those spirits subjected to his power, & guide them (afterward) to the highest degrees of honour. And although Chynon by affecting Iphigenia, failed in some particular things; yet notwithstanding, his Father Aristippus duly considering, that love had made him a man, whereas (before) he was no better than a beast: not only endured all patiently, but also advised him therein, to take such courses as best liked himself. Nevertheless, Chynon (who refused to be called Galesus, which was his natural name indeed) remembering that Iphigenia termed him Chynon, and coveting (under that title) to accomplish the issue of his honest amorous desire: made many motions to Ciphaeus the Father of Iphigenia, that he would be pleased to let him enjoy her in marriage. But Ciphaeus told him, that he had already passed his promise for her, to a Gentleman of Rhodes, named Pasimondo, which promise he religiously intended to perform.  
The time being come, which was concluded on for Iphigeniaes' marriage, in regard that the affianced husband had sent for her: Chynon thus communed with his own thoughts. Now is the time (quoth he) to let my divine mistress see, how truly and honourably I do affect her, because (by her) I am become a man. But if I could be possessed of her, I should grow more glorious, than the common condition of a mortal man, and have her I will, or lose my life in the adventure. Being thus resolved, he prevailed with diverse young Gentlemen his friends, making them of his faction, and secretly prepared a ship, furnished with all things for a naval fight, setting suddenly forth to sea, and hulling abroad in those parts by which the vessel should pass, that must convey Iphigenia to Rhodes to her husband. After many honours done to them, who were to transport her thence unto Rhodes, being embarked, they set sail upon their Bon viaggio.  
Chynon, who slept not in a business so earnestly importing him, set on them (the day following) with his Ship, and standing aloft on the deck, cried out to them that had the charge of Iphigenia, saying. Strike your sails, or else determine to be sunk in the Sea. The enemies to Chynon, being nothing daunted with his words, prepared to stand upon their own defence; which made Chynon, after the former speeches delivered, and no answer returned, to command the grappling Irons to be cast forth, which took such fast hold on the Rhodians ship, that (whether they would or no) both the vessels joined close together. And he showing himself fierce like a lion, not tarrying to be seconded by any, stepped aboard the Rhodians ship, as if he made no respect at all of them, and having his sword ready drawn in his hand (incited by the virtue of unfeigned love) said about him on all sides very manfully. Which when the men of Rhodes perceived, casting down their weapons, and all of them (as it were) with one voice, yielded themselves his prisoners: whereupon he said.  
Honest Friends, neither desire of booty, or hatred to you, did occasion my departure from Cyprus, thus to assail you with drawn weapons: but that which hereto hath most moved me, is a matter highly importing to me, and very easy for you to grant, and so enjoy your present peace. I desire to have fair Iphigenia from you, whom I love above all other Ladies living, because I could not obtain hereof her Father, to make her my lawful wife in marriage. Love is the ground of my instant Conquest, and I must use you as my mortal enemies, if you stand upon any further terms with me, and do not deliver her as mine own: for your Pasimondo, must not enjoy what is my right, first by virtue of my love, & now by conquest: deliver her therefore, and departed hence at your pleasure.  
The men of Rhodes, being rather constrained thereto, then of any free disposition in themselves; with tears in their eyes, delivered Iphigenia to Chynon; woe beholding her in like manner to weep, thus spoke unto her. Noble Lady, do not any way discomfort yourself, for I am your Chynon, who have more right and true title to you, and much better do deserve to enjoy you, by my long continued affection to you, than Pasimondo can any way plead; because you belong to him but only by promise. So, bringing her aboard his own ship, where the Gentlemen his companions gave her kind welcome, without touching any thing else belonging to the Rhodians, he gave them free liberty to departed.  
Chynon being more joyful, by the obtaining of his hearts desire, than any other conquest else in the world could make him, after he had spent some time in comforting Iphigenia, who as yet sat sadly sighing; he consulted with his companions, who joined with him in opinion, that their safest course was, by no means to return to Cyprus; and therefore all (with one consent) resolved to set sail for Candye, where every one made account, but especially Chynon, in regard of ancient and new combined Kindred, as also very intimate friends, to find very worthy entertainment, and so to continue there safely with Iphigenia. But Fortune, who was so favourable to Chynon, in granting him so pleasing a Conquest, to show her inconstancy, as suddenly changed the inestimable joy of our jocund lover, into as heavy sorrow and disaster. For, four hours were not fully completed, since his departure from the Rhodians, but dark night came upon them, and he sitting conversing with his fair Mistress, in the sweetest solace of his soul; the winds began to blow roughly, the Seas swollen angrily, & a tempest arose impetuously, that no man could see what his duty was to do, in such a great unexpected distress, nor how to warrant themselves from perishing.  
If this accident were displeasing to poor Chynon, I think the question were in vain demanded: for now it seemed to him, that the gods had granted his chief desire, to the end he should dye with the greater anguish, in losing both his love and life together. His friends likewise, felt the self same affliction, but especially Iphigenia, who wept and grieved beyond all measure, to see the ship beaten with such stormy billows, as threatened her sinking every minute. Impatiently she cursed the love of Chynon, greatly blaming his desperate boldness, and maintaining, that so violent a tempest could never happen, but only by the god's displeasure, who would not permit him to have a wife against their will; and therefore thus punished his proud presumption, not only in his unavoidable death, but also that her life must perish for company.  
She continuing in these woeful lamentations, and the Mariners labouring all in vain, because the violence of the tempest increased more and more, so that every moment they expected wracking: they were carried (contrary to their own knowledge) very near unto the Isle of Rhodes, which they being no way able to avoid, and utterly ignorant of the coast; for safety of their lives, they laboured to land there if possibly they might. Wherein Fortune was somewhat furtherous to them, driving them into a small gulf of the Sea, whereinto (but a little while before) the Rhodians, from whom Chynon had taken Iphigenia, were newly entered with their ship. Nor had they any knowledge each of other, till the break of day (which made the heavens to look more clearly) gave them discovery, of being within a flight shoot together. Chynon looking forth, and espying the same ship which he had left the day before, he grew exceeding sorrowful, as fearing that which after followed, and therefore he willed the Mariners, to get away from her by all their best endeavour, & let fortune afterward dispose of them as she pleased; for into a worse place they could not come, no● fall into the like danger.  
The Mariners employed their very utmost pains, and all proved but loss of time: for the wind was so stern, and the waves so turbulent, that still they driven them the contrary way: so that striving to get forth of the gulf, whether they would or no, they were driven on land, and instantly known to the Rhodians, whereof they were not a little joyful. The men of Rhodes being landed, ran presently to a near neighbouring Village, where dwelled diverse worthy Gentlemen, to whom they reported the arrival of Chynon, what fortune befell them at Sea, and that Iphigenia might now be recovered again, with chastisement to Chynon for his bold insolence. They being very joyful of these good news, took so many men as they could of the same Village, and ran immediately to the Sea side, where Chynon being newly Landed and his people, intending flight into a near adjoining forest, for defence of himself and Iphigenia, they were all taken, led thence to the Village, and afterwards to the chief City of Rhodes.  
No sooner were they arrived, but Pasimondo, the intended Husband for Iphigenia (who had already heard the tidings) went and complained to the Senate, who appointed a Gentleman of Rhodes, named Lysimachus, and being that year sovereign Magistrate over the Rhodians, to go well provided for the apprehension of Chynon and all his company, committing them to prison, which accordingly was done. In this manner, the poor unfortunate lover Chynon, lost his fair Iphigenia, having won her in so short a while before, and scarcely requited with so much as a kiss. But as for Iphigenia, she was royally welcomed by many Lords and Ladies of Rhodes, who so kindly comforted her, that she soon forgot all her grief and trouble on the Sea, remaining in company of those Ladies and Gentlewomen, until the day determined for her marriage.  
At the earnest entreary of diverse Rhodian Gentlemen, who were in the Ship with Iphigenia, and had their lives courteously saved by Chynon: both he and his friends had their lives likewise spared, although Pasimondo laboured importunately, to have them all put to death; only they were condemned to perpetual imprisonment, which (you must think) was most grievous to them, as being now hopeless of any deliverance. But in the mean time, while Pasimondo was ordering his nuptial preparation, Fortune seeming to repent the wrongs she had done to Chynon, prepared a new accident, whereby to comfort him in this deep distress, and in such manner as I will relate unto you.  
Pasimondo had a Brother, younger than he in years, but not a jot inferior to him in virtue, whose name was Hormisda, and long time the case had been in question, for his taking to wife a fair young Gentlewoman of Rhodes, called Cassandra; whom Lysimachus the governor loved very dearly, and hindered her marriage with Hormisda, by diverse strange accidents. Now Pasimondo perceiving, that his own Nuptials required much cost and solemnity, he thought it very convenient, that one day might serve for both the weddings, which else would launch into more lavish expenses, and therefore concluded, that his brother Hormisda should marry Cassandra, at the same time as he wedded Iphigenia. Heereuppon, he consulted with the gentlewoman's parents, who liking the motion as well as he, the determination was set down, and one day to effect the duties of both.  
When this came to the hearing of Lysimachus, it was very greatly displeasing to him, because now he saw himself utterly deprived of all hope to attain the issue of his desire, if Hormisda received Cassandra in marriage. Yet being a very wise and worthy man, he dissembled his distaste, and began to consider on some apt means, whereby to disappoint the marriage once more, which he found impossible to be done, except it were by way of rape or stealth. And that did not appear to him any difficult matter, in regard of his Office and Authority: only it would seem dishonest in him, by giving such an unfitting example. Nevertheless, after long deliberation, honour gave way to love, and resolutely he concluded to steal her away, whatsoever became of it.  
Nothing wanted now, but a convenient company to assist him, & the order how to have it done. Then he remembered Chynon and his friends, whom he detained as his prisoners, and persuaded himself, that he could not have a more faithful friend in such a business, than Chynon was. Hereupon, the night following, he sent for him into his Chamber, and being alone by themselves, thus he began. Chynon (quoth he) as the Gods are very bountiful, in bestowing their blessings on men, so do they therein most wisely make proof of their virtues, and such as they find firm and constant, in all occurrences which may happen, them they make worthy (as valiant spirits) of the very best and highest merits. Now, they being willing to have more certain experience of thy virtues, than those which heretofore thou hast shown, within the bounds and limits of thy father's possessions, which I know to be superabounding: perhaps do intent to present thee other occasions, of more important weight and consequence.  
For first of all (as I have heard) by the piercing solicitudes of love, of a senseless creature, they made thee to become a man endued with reason. Afterward, by adverse fortune, and now again by wearisome imprisonment, it seemeth that they are desirous to make trial, whether thy manly courage be changed, or no, from that which heretofore it was, when thou enjoyedst a matchless beauty, and lost her again in so short a while. Wherefore, if thy virtue be such as it hath been, the Gods can never give thee any blessing more worthy of acceptance, than she whom they are now minded to bestow on thee: in which respect, to the end that thou mayst reassume thy wont heroic spirit, and become more courageous than ever heretofore, I will acquaint thee withal more at large.  
Understand then Noble Chynon, that Pasimondo, the only glad man of thy misfortune, and diligent suitor after thy death, maketh all haste he can possibly deu●se to do, to celebrate his marriage with thy fair mistress: because he would plead possession of the prey, which Fortune (when she smiled) did first bestow, and (afterward frowning) took from thee again. Now, that it must needs be very irksome to thee (at least if thy love be such, as I am persuaded it is) I partly can collect from myself, being intended to be wronged by his brother Hormisda, even in the selfsame manner, and on his marriage day, by taking fair Cassandra from me, the only jewel of my love and life. For the prevention of two such notorious injuries, I see that Fortune hath left us no other means, but only the virtue of our courages, and the help of our right hands, by preparing ourselves to arms, opening a way to thee, by a second rape or stealth; and to me the first, for absolute possession of our divine Mistresses. Wherefore, if thou art desirous to recover thy loss, I will not only pronounce liberty to thee (which I think thou dost little care for without her) but dare also assure thee to enjoy Iphigenia, so thou wilt assist me in mine enterprise, and follow me in my fortune, if the Gods do let them fall into our power.  
You may well imagine, that Chynons' dismayed soul was not a little cheered at these speeches; and therefore, without craving any long respite of time for answer, thus he replied. Lord Lysimachus, in such a business as this is, you cannot have a faster friend than myself at least, if such good hap may betide me, as you have more then half promised: & therefore do no more but command what you would have to be effected by me, and make no doubt of my courage in the execution: whereon Lysimachus made this answer. Know then Chynon (quoth he) that three days hence; these marriages are to be celebrated in the houses of Pasimondo and Hormisda, upon which day, thou, thy friends, and myself (with some others, in whom I repose especial trust) by the friendly favour of night, will enter into their houses, while they are in the midst of their jovial feasting; and (seizing on the two Brides) bear them thence to a ship, which I will have lie in secret, waiting for our coming, and kill all such as shall presume to impeach us. This direction gave great contentment to Chynon, who remained still in prison, without revealing a word to his own friends, until the limited time was come.  
Upon the Wedding day, performed with great and magnificent Triumph, there was not a corner in the brethren's houses, but it sung joy in the highest key. Lysimachus, after he had ordered all things as they ought to be, and the hour for dispatch approached near; he made a division in three parts, of Chynon, his followers, and his own friends, being all well armed under their outward habits. Having first used some encouraging speeches, for more resolute prosecution of the enterprise, he sent one troop secretly to the Port, that they might not be hindered of going aboard the ship, when the urgent necessity should require it. Passing with the other two trains of Pasimondo, he left the one at the door, that such as were in the house might not shut them up fast, and so impeach their passage forth. Then with Chynon, and the third band of Confederates, he ascended the stairs up into the Hall, where he found the Brides with store of Ladies and Gentlewomen, all sitting in comely order at Supper. Rushing in roughly among the attendants, down they threw the Tables, and each of them laying hold of his Mistress, delivered them into the hands of their followers, commanding that they should be carried aboard the ship, for avoiding of further inconveniences.  
This hurry and amazement being in the house, the Brides weeping, the Ladies lamenting, and all the servants confusedly wondering; Chynon and Lysimachus (with their Friends) having their weapons drawn in their hands, made all opposers to give them way, and so gained the stair head for their own descending. There stood Pasimondo, with an huge long staff in his hand, to hinder their passage down the stairs; but Chynon saluted him so sound on the head, that it being cleft in twain, he fell dead before his feet. His Brother Hormisda came to his rescue, and sped in the selfsame manner as he had done; so did diverse other beside, whom the companions to Lysimachus and Chynon, either slew outright, or wounded.  
So they left the house, filled with blood, tears, and out-cries, going on together, without any hindrance, and so brought both the Brides aboard the ship, which they rowed away instantly with their oars. For, now the shore was full of armed people, who came in rescue of the stolen Ladies: but all in vain, because they were launched into the main, and sailed on merrily towards Candye. Where being arrived, they were worthily entertained by honourable friends and Kinsmen, who pacified all unkindnesses between them and their Mistresses: And, having accepted them in lawful marriage, there they lived in no mean joy and contentment: albeit there was a long and troublesome difference (about these rapes) between Rhodes and Cyprus.  
But yet in the end, by the means of Noble Friends and Kindred on either side, labouring to have such discontentment appeased, endangering war between the kingdoms: after a limited time of banishment, Chynon returned joyfully with his Iphigenia home to Cyprus, and Lysimachus with his beloved Cassandra unto Rhodes, each living in their several Countries, with much felicity.   

Fair Constance of Liparis, fell in love with Martuccio Gomito: and hearing that he was dead, desperately she entered into a bark, which being transported by the winds to Susa in Barbary, from thence she went to Thunis, where she found him to be living. There she made herself known to him, and he being in great authority, as a privy Counsellor to the King: he married the said Constance, and returned richly home with her, to the Island of Liparis.  
The second novel.  
Wherein is declared the firm loyalty of a true lover: And how Fortune doth sometime humble men, to raise them afterward to a fare higher degree.  
WHen the Queen perceived, that the novel recited by Pamphilus was concluded, which she graced with especial commendations: she commanded madam Aemillia, to take her turn as next in order; whereupon, thus she began. Me thinks it is a matter of equity, that every one should take delight in those things, whereby the recompense may be noted, answerable to their own affection. And because I rather desire to walk along by the paths of pleasure, then dwell on any ceremonious or scrupulons affectation, I shall the more gladly obey our Queen to day, than yesterday I did our melancholy King.  
Understand then (Noble Ladies) that near to Sicily, there is a small Island, commonly called Liparis, wherein (not long since) lived a young damsel, named Constance, born of very sufficient parentage in the same Island. There dwelled also a young man, called Martuccio Gomito, of comely feature, well conditioned, and not unexpert in many virtuous qualities; affecting Constance in hearty manner: and she so answerable to him in the same kind, that to be in his company, was her only felicity. Martuccio coveting to enjoy her in marriage, made his intent known to her Father: who upbraiding him with poverty, told him plainly that he should not have her. Martuccio grieving to see himself thus despised, because he was poor: made such good means, that he was provided of a small bark; and calling such friends (as he thought fit) to his association, made a solemn vow, that he would never return back to Liparis, until he was rich, and in better condition.  
In the nature and course of a rover or Pirate, so put he thence to sea, coasting all about Barbary, robbing and spoiling such as he met with; who were of no greater strength than himself: wherein Fortune was so favourable to him, that he became wealthy in a very short while. But as felicities are not always permanent, so he and his followers, not contenting themselves with sufficient riches: by greedy seeking to get more, happened to be taken by certain ships of the Saracens, and so were rob themselves of all that they had gotten, yet they resisted them stoutly a long while together, though it proved to the loss of many lives among them. When the Saracens had sunk his ship in the Sea, they took him with them to Thunis, where he was imprisoned, and lived in extremest misery.  
News came to Liparis, not only by one, but many more beside, that all those which departed thence in the small bark with Martuccio, were drowned in the Sea, and not a man escaped. When Constance heard these unwelcome tidings (who was exceeding full of grief, for his so desperate departure) she wept and lamented extraordinarily, desiring now rather to dye, then live any longer. Yet she had not the heart, to lay any violent hand on herself, but rather to end her days by some new kind of necessity. And departing privately from her father's house, she went to the port or haven, where (by chance) she found a small Fisher-boate, lying distant from the other vessels, the owners whereof being all gone on shore, and it well furnished with Masts, sails, and oars, she entered into it; and putting forth the oars, being somewhat skilful in sailing, (as generally all the Women of that Island are) she so well guided the sails, Rudder, and oars, that she was quickly fare off from the Land, and solely remained at the mercy of the winds. For thus she had resolved with herself, that the Boat being uncharged, and without a guide) would either be overwhelmed by the winds, or split in pieces against some rock; by which means she could not escape although she would, but (as it was her desire) must needs be drowned.  
In this determination, wrapping a mantle about her head, and lying down weeping in the boats bottom, she hourly expected her final expiration: but it fell out otherwise, and contrary to her desperate intention, because the wind turning to the North, and blowing very gently, without disturbing the Seas a jot, they conducted the small Boat in such sort, that after the night of her entering into it, and the morrows sailing until the evening, it came within an hundred leagues of Thunis, and to a strand near a town called Susa. The young damsel knew not whether she were on the sea or land; as one, who not by any accident happening, lifted up her head to look about her, neither intended ever to do. Now it came to pass, that as the boat was driven to the shore, a poor woman stood at the Sea side, washing certain fisher-men's Nets; and seeing the boat coming towards her under sail, without any person appearing in it, she wondered thereat not a little. It being close at the shore, and she thinking the Fishermen to be asleep therein: stepped boldly, and looked into the boat, where she saw not any body, but only the poor distressed damsel, whose sorrows having brought her now into a sound sleep, the woman gave many calls before she could awake her, which at the length she did, and looked very strangely about her.  
The poor woman perceiving by her habit that she was a Christian, demanded of her (in speaking Latin) how it was possible for her, being all alone in the boat, to arrive there in this manner? When Constance heard her speak the Latin tongue, she began to doubt, lest some contrary wi●de had turned her back to Liparis again, and starting up suddenly, to look with better advice about her, she saw herself at Land: and not knowing the country, demanded of the poor woman where she was? Daughter (quoth she) you are here hard by Susa in Barbary. Which Constance hearing, and plainly perceiving, that death had denied to end her miseries, fearing lest she should receive some dishonour, in such a barbarous unkind Country, and not knowing what should now become of her, she sat down by the boats side, wring her hands, & weeping bitterly.  
The good Woman did greatly compassionate her case, and prevailed so well by gentle speeches, that she conducted her into her own poor habitation; where at length she understood, by what means she happened thither so strangely. And perceiving her to be fasting, she set such homely bread as she had before her, a few small Fishes, and a Crewse of Water, praying her for to accept of that poor entertainment, which mere necessity compelled her to do, and shown herself very thankful for it.  
Constance hearing that she spoke the Latin language so well; desired to know what she was. Whereto the old woman thus answered: Gentlewoman (quoth she) I am of Trapanum, named Carapresa, and am a servant in this country to certain Christian Fishermen. The young Maiden (albeit she was very full of sorrow) hearing her name to be Carapresa, conceived it as a good augury to herself, & that she had heard the name before, although she knew not what occasion should move her thus to do. Now began her hopes to quicken again, and yet she could not tell upon what ground; nor was she so desirous of death as before, but made more precious estimation of her life, and without any further declaration of herself or country, she entreated the good woman (even for charity's sake) to take pity on her youth, and help her with such good advice, to prevent all injuries which might happen to her, in such a solitary woeful condition.  
Carapresa having heard her request, like a good woman as she was, left Constance in her poor Cottage, and went hastily to leave her nets in safety: which being done, she returned back again, and covering Constance with her Mantle, led her on to Susa with her, where being arrived, the good woman began in this manner. Constance, I will bring thee to the house of a very worthy Sarazin Lady, to whom I have done many honest services, according as she pleased to command me. She is an ancient woman, full of charity, and to her I will commend thee as best I may, for I am well assured, that she will gladly entertain thee, and use thee as if thou wert her own daughter. Now, let it be thy part, during thy time of remaining with her, to employ thy utmost diligence in pleasing her, by deserving and gaining her grace, till heaven shall bless thee with better fortune: And as she promised, so she performed.  
The Sarazine Lady, being well stepped into years, upon the commendable speeches delivered by Carapresa, did the more seriously fasten her eye on Constance, and compassion provoking her to tears, she took her by the hand, and (in loving manner) kissed her forehead. So she led her further into her house, where dwelled diverse other women (but not one man) all exercising themselves in several labours, as working in all sorts of silk, with embroideries of Gold and silver, and sundry other excellent Arts beside, which in short time were very familiar to Constance, and so pleasing grew her behaviour to the old Lady, and all the rest beside; that they loved and delighted in her wonderfully, and (by little and little) she attained to the speaking of their language, although it were very harsh and difficult.  
Constance continuing thus in the old Lady's service at Susa, & thought to be dead or lost in her own father's house; it fortuned, that one reigning then as King of Thunis, who named himself Mariabdela: there was a young Lord of great birth, and very powerful, who lived as then in Granada, and pleaded that the kingdom of Thunis belonged to him. In which respect, he mustered together a mighty Army, and came to assault the King, as hoping to expel him. These news coming to the ear of Martuccio Gomito, who spoke the Barbarian Language perfectly; and hearing it reported, that the King of Thunis made no mean preparation for his own defence: he conferred with one of his keepers, who had the custody of him, and the rest taken with him, saying: If (quoth he) I could have means to speak with the King, and he were pleased to allow of my counsel, I can enstruct him in such a course, as shall assure him to win the honour of the field. The Guard reported these speeches to his master, who presently acquainted the King therewith, and Martuccio being sent for; he was commanded to speak his mind: Whereupon he began in this manner.  
My gracious Lord, during the time that I have frequented your country, I have heedfully observed, that the military Discipline used in your fights and battles, dependeth more upon your Archers, than any other men employed in your war. And therefore, if it could be so ordered, that this kind of Artillery might fail in your enemy's camp, & yours be sufficiently furnished therewith, you need make no doubt of winning the battle: whereto the King thus replied. Doubtless, if such an act were possible to be done, it would give great hope of successful prevailing. Sir, said Martuccio, if you please it may be done, and I can quickly resolve you how. Let the strings of your Archers bows be made more soft and gentle, than those which heretofore they have formerly used; and next, let the nockes of the arrows be so provided, as not to receive any other, than those pliant gentle strings. But this must be done so secretly, that your enemies may have no knowledge thereof, lest they should provide themselves in the ●ame manner. Now the reason (Gracious Lord) why thus I counsel you, is to this end. When the Archers on the enemy's side have shot their arrows at your men, and yours in the like manner at them: it followeth, that (upon mere constraint) they must gather up your arrows, to shoot them back again at you, for so long while as the battle endureth, as no doubt but your men will do the like to them. But your enemies will find themselves much deceived, because they can make no use of your people's arrows, in regard that the nockes are too narrow to receive their boisterous strings. Which will fall out contrary with your followers, for the pliant strings belonging to your bows, are as apt for their enemies great nockt arrows, as their own, and so they shall have free use of both, reserving them in plentiful store, when your adversaries must stand unfurnished of any, but them that they cannot any way use.  
This counsel pleased the King very highly, and he being a Prince of great understanding, gave order to have it accordingly followed, and thereby valiantly vanquished his enemies. Hereupon, Martuccio came to be great in his grace, as also consequently rich, and seated in no mean place of authority. Now, as worthy and commendable actions are soon spread abroad, in honour of the man by whom they happened: even so the fame of this rare got victory, was quickly noised throughout the country, and came to the hearing of poor Constance, that Martuccio Gomito (whom she supposed so long since to be dead) was living, and in honourable condition. The love which formerly he bore unto him, being not altogether extinct in her heart; of a small spark, broke forth into a sudden flame, and so increased day by day, that her hope (being before almost quite dead) revived again in cheerful manner.  
Having imparted all her fortunes to the good old Lady with whom she dwelled; she told her beside, that she had an earnest desire to see Thunis, to satisfy her eyes as well as her ears, concerning the rumour blazed abroad. The good old Lady commended her desire, and (even as if she had been her mother) took her with her aboard a bark, and so sailed thence to Thunis, where both she and Constance found honourable welcome, in the house of a kinsman to the Sarazin Lady. Carapresa also went along with them thither, and her they sent abroad into the city, to understand the news of Martuccio Gomito. After they knew for a certainty that he was living) and in great authority about the King, according as the former report went of him. Then the good old Lady, being desirous to let Martuccio know, that his fair friend Constance was come thither to see him; went herself to the place of his abiding, and spoke unto him in this manner. Noble Martuccio, there is a servant of thine in my house, which came from Liparis, and requireth to have a little private conference with thee: but because I durst not trust any other with the message, myself (at her entreaty) am come to acquaint thee therewith. Martuccio gave her kind and hearty thankes, and then went along with her to the house.  
No sooner did Constance behold him, but she was ready to dye with conceit of joy, and being unable to contain her passion: suddenly she threw her arms about his neck, and in mere compassion of her many misfortunes, as also the instant solace of her soul (not being able to utter one word) the tears trickled abundantly down her cheeks. Martuccio also seeing his fair friend, was overcome with exceeding admiration, & stood awhile, as not knowing what to say; till venting forth a vehement sigh, thus he spoke. My dearest love Constance! art thou yet living? It is a tedious long while since I heard thou wast lost, and never any tidings known of thee in thine own father's house. With which words, the tears standing in his eyes, most lovingly he embraced her. Constance recoun●ed to him all her fortunes, and what kindness she had received from the Sarazine Lady, since her first hour of coming to her. And after much other discourse passing between them, Martuccio departed from her, and returning to the King his master, told him all the history of his fortunes, and those beside of his love Constance, being purposely minded (with his gracious liking) to marry her according to the Christian Law.  
The King was much amazed at so many strange accidents, and sending for Constance to come before him; from her own mouth he heard the whole relation of her continued affection to Martuccio, whereupon he said. Now trust me fair damsel, thou hast dearly deserved him to be thy husband. Then sending for very costly jewels, and rich presents, the one half of them he gave to her, and the other to Martuccio, granting them licence withal, to marry according to their own minds.  
Martuccio did many honours, and gave great gifts to the aged Sarazine Lady, with whom Constance had lived so kindly respected: which although she had no need of, neither ever expected any such rewarding; yet (conquered by their urgent importunity, especially Constance, who could not be thankful enough to her) she was enforced to receive them, and taking her leave of them weeping, sailed back again to Susa.  
Within a short while after, the King licensing their departure thence, they entered into a small bark, and Carapresa with them, sailing on with prosperous gales of wind, until they arrived at Liparis, where they were entertained with general rejoicing. And because their marriage was not sufficiently performed at Thunis, in regard of diverse Christian ceremonies there wanting, their Nuptials were again most honourably solemnised, and they lived (many years after) in health and much happiness.   

Pedro Bocamazzo, escaping away with a young damsel which he loved, named Angelina, met with thiefs in his journey. The damsel flying fearfully into a forest, by chance arriveth at a Castle. Pedro being taken by the thiefs, and happening afterward to escape from them; cometh (accidentally to the same Castle where Angelina was. And marrying her, they then returned home to Rome.  
The third novel.  
Wherein, the several powers both of love and Fortune, is more at large approved.  
THere was not any one in the whole company, but much commended the novel reported by Madam Emillia, and when the Queen perceived it was ended, she turned towards Madam Eliza, commanding her to continue on their delightful exercise: whereto she declaring her willing obedience, began to speak thus. Courteous Ladies, I remember one unfortunate night, which happened to two lovers, that were not endued with the greatest discretion. But because they had very many fair and happy days afterwards, I am the more willing for to let you hear it.  
In the city of Rome, which (in times past) was called the Lady and mistress of the world, though now scarcely so good as the waiting maid: there dwelled sometime a young Gentleman, named Pedro Boccamazzo, descended from one of the most honourable families in Rome, who was much enamoured of a beautiful Gentlewoman, called Angelina, daughter to one named Giglivozzo Saullo, whose fortunes were none of the fairest, yet he greatly esteemed among the Romans'. The intercourse of love between these twain, had so equally instructed their hearts and souls, that it could hardly be judged which of them was the more fervent in affection. But he, not being imputed to such oppressing passions, and therefore the less able to support them, except he were sure to compass his desire plainly made the motion, that he might enjoy her in honourable marriage. Which his parents and friends hearing, they went to confer with him, blaming him with overmuch baseness, so fare to disgrace himself and his stock. Beside, they advised the Father to the Maid, neither to credit what Pedro said in this case, or to live in hope of any such match, because they all did wholly despise it.  
Pedro perceiving, that the way was shut up, whereby (and none other) he was to mount the Ladder of his hopes; began to wax weary of longer living: and if he could have won her father's consent, he would have married her in the despite of all his friends. Nevertheless, he had a conceit hammering in his head, which if the maid would be as forward as himself, should bring the matter to full effect. Letters and secret intelligences passing still between, at length he understood her ready resolution, to adventure with him through all fortunes whatsoever, concluding on their sudden and secret flight from Rome. For which Pedro did so well provide, that very early in a morning, and well mounted on horseback, they took the way leading unto Alagna, where Pedro had some honest friends, in whom he reposed especial trust. Riding on thus thorough the country, having no leisure to accomplish their marriage, because they stood in fear of pursuit: they were ridden above four leagues from Rome, still shortening the way with their amorous discoursing.  
It fortuned, that Pedro having no certain knowledge of the way, but following a tracked guiding too fare on the left hand; road quite out of course, and came at last within sight of a small Castle, out of which (before they were ware) issued twelve villains, whom Angelina sooner espied, than Pedro could do, which made her cry 〈◊〉 to him, saying: Help dear love to save us, or else we shall be assailed. Pedro then turning his horse so expeditiously as he could, and giving him the spurs as need required; mainly be galloped into a near adjoining forest, more minding the following of Angelina, than any direction of his way, or them that endeavoured to be his hindrance. So that by often winding & turning about, as the passage appeared troublesome to him, when he thought himself free and furthest from them, he was round engirt, and seized on by them. When they had made him to dismount from his horse, questioning him of whence and what he was, and he resolving them therein, they fell into a secret consultation, saying thus among themselves. This man is a friend to our deadly enemies, how can we then otherwise dispose of him, but bereave him of all he hath, and in despite of the Orsini (men in nature hateful to us) hang him up here on one of these Trees?  
All of them agreeing in this dismal resolution, they commanded Pedro to put off his garments, which he yielding to do (albeit unwillingly) it so fell out, that five and twenty other thiefs, came suddenly rushing in upon them, crying, Kill, kill, and spare not a man.  
They which before had surprised Pedro, desiring now to shift for their own safety; left him standing quaking in his shirt, and so ran away mainly to defend themselves. Which the new crew perceiving, and that their number fare exceeded the other: they followed to rob them of what they had gotten, accounting it as a present purchase for them. Which when Pedro perceived, and saw none tarrying to prey upon him; he put on his clothes again, and mounting on his own horse, galloped that way, which Angelina before had taken: yet could he not descry any track or path, or so much as the footing of a horse; but thought himself in sufficient security, being rid of them that first seized on him, and also of the rest, which followed in the pursuit of them.  
For the loss of his beloved Angelina, he was the most woeful man in the world, wandering one while this way, and then again another, calling for her all about the forest, without any answer returning to him. And not daring to ride back again, on he travailed still, not knowing where to make his arrival. And having formerly heard of savage ravenous beasts, which commonly live in such unfrequented forests: he not only was in fear of losing his own life, but also despaired much for his Angelina, lest some lion or wolf, had torn her body in pieces.  
Thus road on poor unfortunate Pedro, until the break of day appeared, not finding any means to get forth of the forest, still crying and calling for his fair friend, riding many times backward, when as he thought he road forward, until he became so weak and faint, what with extreme fear, loud calling, and continuing so long a while without any sustenance, that the whole day being thus spent in vain, and dark night suddenly come upon him, he was not able to hold out any longer.  
Now was he in fare worse case than before, not knowing where, or how to dispose of himself, or what might best be done in so great a necessity. From his Horse he alighted, and tying him by the bridle unto a great tree, up he climbed into the same Tree, fearing to be devoured (in the night time) by some wild beast, choosing rather to let his horse perish, than himself. Within a while after, the moon began to rise, and the skies appeared bright and clcare: yet durst he not nod, or take a nap, lest he should fall out of the tree; but sat still grieving, sighing, and mourning, despairing of ever seeing his Angelina any more, for he could not be comforted by the smallest hopeful persuasion, that any good fortune might befall her in such a desolate forest, where nothing but dismal fears was to be expected, and no likelihood that she should escape with life.  
Now, concerning poor affrighted Angelina, who (as you heard before) knew not any place of refuge to fly unto: but even as it pleased her horse to carry her: she entered so fare into the Forest, that she could not device where to seek her own safety. And therefore, even as it fared with her friend Pedro, in the same manner did it fall out with her, wandering the whole night, and all the day following, one while taking one hopeful track, and then another, calling, weeping, wring her hands, and grievously complaining of her hard fortune. At the length, perceiving that Pedro came not to her at all, she found a little path (which she lighted on by great good fortune) even when dark night was apace drawing, and followed it so long, till it brought her within the sight of a small poor Cottage, whereto she road on so fast as she could; and found therein a very old man, having a wife rather more aged than he, who seeing her to be without company, the old man spoke thus unto her.  
Fair daughter (quoth he) whether wander you at such an unseasonable hour, and all alone in a place so desolate? The damsel weeping, replied; that she had lost her company in the forest, and enquired how near she was to Alagna. Daughter (answered the old man) this is not the way to Alagna, for it is a 'bove six leagues hence. Then she desired to know, how fare off she was from such houses, where she might have any reasonable lodging? There are none so near, said the old man, that day light will give you leave to reach. May it please you then good Father (replied Angelina) seeing I cannot travail any whether else; For god's sake, to let me remain here with you this night. Daughter answered the good old man, we can gladly give you entertainment here, for this night, in such poor manner as you see: but let me tell you withal, that up and down these woods (as well by night as day) walk companies of all conditions, and rather enemies than friends, who do us many grievous displeasures and harms. Now if by msifortune, you being here, any such people should come, and seeing you so loovely fair, as indeed you are, offer you any shame or injury: Alas you see it lies not in our power to lend you any help or secure. I thought it good (therefore) to acquaint you herewith; because if any such mischance do happen, you should not afterward complain of us.  
The young Maiden, seeing the time to be so fare spent, albeit the old man's words did much dismay her, yet she thus replied. If it be the will of heaven, both you and I shall be defended from any misfortune: but if any such mischance do happen, I account the matter less deserving grief, if I fall into the mercy of men, then to be devoured by wild beasts in this forest. So, being dismounted from her horse, and entered into the homely house; she supped poorly with the old man and his wife, with such mean cates as their provision afforded: and after supper, lay down in her garments on the same poor pallet, where the aged couple took their rest, and was very well contented therewith, albeit she could not refrain from sighing and weeping, to be thus divided from her dear Pedro, of whose life and welfare she greatly despaired.  
When it was almost day, she heard a great noise of people travailing by, whereupon suddenly she arose, and ran into a Garden plot, which was on the backside of the poor Cottage, espying in one of the corners a great stack of Hay, wherein she hide herself, to the end, that travelling strangers might not readily find her there in the house. Scarcely was she fully hidden, but a great company of thiefs and villains, finding the door open, rushed into the Cottage, where looking round about them for some booty, they saw the Damosels horse stand ready saddled, which made them demand to whom it belonged. The good old man, not seeing the Maiden present there, but immagining that she had made some shift for herself, answered thus. Gentlemen, there is no body here but my wife and myself: as for this Horse, which seemeth to be escaped from the Owner; he came hither yesternight, and we gave him houseroom here, rather than to be devoured by wolves abroad. Then said the principal of the thievish crew: This horse shall be ours, in regard he hath no other master, and let the owner come claim him of us.  
When they had searched every corner of the poor Cottage, & found no such prey as they looked for, some of them went into the back side, where they had left their javelins and Targets, wherewith they used commonly to travail. It fortuned, that one of them, being more subtly suspicious than the rest, thrust his javeline into the stack of Hay, in the very same place where the damsel lay hidden, missing very little of killing her; for it entered so fare, that the iron head pierced quite through her Garments, and touched her left bare breast: whereupon, she was ready to cry out, as fearing that she was wounded: but considering the place where she was, she lay still, and spoke not a word. This disordered company, after they had fed on some young Kids, and other flesh which they brought with them thither, they went thence about their thieving exercise, taking the Damosels horse along with them.  
After they were gone a good distance off, the good old man began thus to question his Wife. What is become (quoth he) of our young Gentlewoman, which came so late to us yesternight? I have not seen her to day since our arising. The old woman made answer, that she knew not where she was, and sought all about to find her. Angelinaes' fears being well overblown, and hearing none of the former noise, which made her the better hope of their departure, came forth of the Hay-stack; whereof the good old man was not a little joyful, and because she had so well escaped from them: so seeing it was now broad daylight, he said unto her. Now that the morning is so fairly begun, if you can be so well contented, we will bring you to a Castle, which stands about two miles and an half hence, where you will be sure to remain in safety. But you must needs travail thither on foot, because the nightwalkers that happened hither, have taken away your horse with them.  
Angelina making little or no account of such a loss, entreated them for charity's sake, to conduct her to that Castle, which accordingly they did, ●nd arrived there between seven and eight of the clock. The Castle belonged to one of the Orsini, being called, Liello di Campo di Fiore, and by great good fortune, his wife was then there, she being a very virtuous and religious Lady. No sooner did she look upon Angelina, but she knew her immediately, and entertaining her very willingly, requested, to know the reason of her thus arriving there: which she at large related, and moved the Lady (who likewise knew Pedro perfectly well) to much compassion, because he was a kinsman and dear friend to her Husband; and understanding how the thiefs had surprised him, she feared, that he was slain among them, whereupon she spoke thus to Angelina. Seeing you know not what is become of my kinsman Pedro, you shall remain here with me, until such time, as (if we hear no other tidings of him) you may with safety be sent back to Rome.  
Pedro all this while sitting in the Tree, so full of grief, as no man could be more; about the hour of midnight (by the bright splendour of the moon) espied about some twenty wolves, who, so soon as they got a sight of the Horse, ran and engirt him round about. The Horse when he perceived them so near him, drew his head so strongly backward, that breaking the reines of his bridle, he laboured to escape away from them. But being beset on every side, and utterly unable to help himself, he contended with his teeth & feet in his own defence, till they haled him violently to the ground, and tearing his body in pieces, left not a ●ot of him but the bare bones, and afterward ran ranging thorough the forest. At this sight poor Pedro was mightily dismayed, fearing to speed no better than his Horse had done, and therefore could not device what was best to be done; for he saw no likelihood now, of getting out of the forest with life. But daylight drawing on apace, and he almost dead with cold, having stood quaking so long in the Tree; at length by continual looking every where about him, to discern the least glimpse of any comfort; he espied a great fire, which seemed to be about half a mile off from him.  
By this time it was broad day, when he descended down out of the Tree, (yet not without much fear) and took his way towards the fire, where being arrived, he found a company of shepherds banqueting about it, whom he courteously saluting, they took pity on his distress, and welcomed him kindly. After he had tasted of such cheer as they had, and was indifferently refreshed by the good fire; he discoursed his hard disasters to them, as also how he happened thither, desiring to know, if any Village or Castle were near thereabout, where he might in better manner relieve himself. The shepherds told him, that about a mile and an half from thence, was the Castle of Signior Liello di Campo di Fiore, and that his Lady was now residing there; which was no mean comfort to poor Pedro, requesting that one of them would accompany him thither, as two of them did in loving manner, to rid him of all further fears.  
When he was arrived at the Castle, and found there diverse of his familiar acquaintance; he laboured to procure some means, that the damsel might be sought for in the forest. Then the Lady calling for her, and bringing her to him; he ran and caught her in his arms, being ready to swoon with conceit of joy, for never could any man be more comforted, than he was at the sight of his Angelina, and questionless, her joy was not a jot inferior to his, such a sympathy of firm love was sealed between them. The Lady of the Castle, after she had given them very gracious entertainment, and understood the scope of their bold adventure; she reproved them both somewhat sharply, for presuming so fare without the consent of their Parents. But perceiving (notwithstanding all her remonstrances) that they continued still constant in their resolution, without any inequality on either side; she said to herself. Why should this matter be any way offensive to me? They love each other loyally; they are not inferior to one another in birth, but in fortune; they are equally loved and allied to my Husband, and their desire is both honest and honourable. Moreover, what know I, if it be the will of heaven to have it so? Thiefs intended to hang him, in malice to his name and kindred, from which hard fate he hath happily escaped. Her life was endangered by a sharp pointed javeline, and yet her fairer stars would not suffer her so to perish: beside, they both have escaped the fury of ravenous wild beasts, and all these are apparent signs, that future comforts should recompense former passed misfortunes; fare be it therefore from me, to hinder the appointment of the heavens.  
Then turning herself to them, thus she proceeded. If your desire be to join in honourable marriage, I am well contented therewith, and your nuptials shall here be sollemnized at my husband's charges. Afterward both he and I will endeavour, to make peace between you and your discontented Parents. Pedro was not a little joyful at her kind offer, and Angelina much more than he; so they were married together in the Castle, and worthily feasted by the Lady, as Forrest entertainment could permit, and there they enjoyed the first fruits of their love. Within a short while after, the Lady and they (well mounted on horseback▪ and attended with an honourable train) returned to Rome; where her Lord Liello and she prevailed so well with Pedroes' angry Parents: that all variance ended in love and peace, and afterward they lived lovingly together, till old age made them as honourable, as their true and mutual affection formerly had done.   

Ricciardo Manardy, was found by Messer Lizio da Valbonna, as he sat fast asleep at his daughter's Chamber window, having his hand fast in hers, and she sleeping in the same manner. Whereupon, they were joined together in marriage, and their long loyal love mutually recompensed.  
The fourth novel.  
Declaring the discreet providence of Parents, in care of their children's love and their own credit, to cut off inconveniences, before they do proceed too fare.  
MAdam Eliza having ended her Tale, and heard what commendations the whole company gave thereof; the Queen commanded Philostratus, to tell a novel agreeing with his own mind, who smiling thereat, thus replied. Fair Ladies, I have been so often checked & snapped, for my yester days matter and argument of discoursing, which was both tedious and offensive to you; that if I intended to make you any amends, I should now undertake to tell such a Tale, as might put you into a mirthful humour. Which I am determined to do, in relating a brief and pleasant novel, not any way offensive (as I trust) but exemplary for some good notes of observation.  
Not long since, there lived in Romania, a Knight, a very honest Gentleman, and well qualified, whose name was Messer Lizio da Valbonna, to whom it fortuned, that (at his entrance into age) by his Lady and wife, called Jaquemina, he had a Daughter, the very choicest and goodliest gentlewoman in all those places. Now because such a happy blessing (in their old years) was not a little comfortable to them; they thought themselves the more bound in duty, to be circumspect of her education, by keeping her out of over-frequent companies, but only such as agreed best with their gravity, & might give the least ill example to their Daughter, who was named Catharina; as making no doubt, but by this their provident and wary respect, to match her in marriage answerable to their liking. There was also a young Gentleman, in the very flourishing estate of his youthful time, descended from the Family of the Manardy da Brettinoro, named Messer Ricciardo, who oftentimes frequented the House of Messer Lizio, and was a continual welcome guest to his Table, Messer Lizio and his wife making the like account of him, even as if he had been their own son.  
This young Gallant, perceiving the Maiden to be very beautiful, of singular behaviour, and of such years as was fit for marriage, became exceedingly enamoured of her, yet concealed his affection so closely as he could; which was not so covertly carried, but that she perceived it, and grew in as good liking of him. Many times he had an earnest desire to have conference with her, which yet still he deferred, as fearing to displease her; till at the length he lighted on an apt opportunity, and boldly spoke to her in this manner. Fair Catharina, I hope thou wilt not let me die for thy love? Signior Ricciardo (replied she suddenly again) I hope you will extend the like mercy to me, as you desire that I should show to you. This answer was so pleasing to Messer Ricciardo, that presently he said. Alas dear love, I have dedicated all my fairest fortunes only to thy service, so that it remaineth solely in thy power, to dispose of me as best shall please thee, and to appoint such times of private conversation, as may yield more comfort to my poor afflicted soul.  
Catharina standing musing a while, at last returned him this answer. Signior Ricciardo, quoth she, you see what a restraint is set on my liberty, how short I am kept from conversing with any one, that I hold this our enterparlance now almost miraculous. But if you could device any convenient means, to admit us more familiar freedom, without any prejudice to mine honour, or the least distaste of my Parents; do but enstruct it, and I will adventure it. Ricciardo having considered on many ways and means, thought one to be the fittest of all; and therefore thus replied. Catharina (quoth he) the only place for our more private talking together, I conceive to be the Gallery over your father's Garden. If you can win your Mother to let you lodge there, I will make means to climb over the wall, and at the goodly gazing window, we may discourse so long as we please. Now trust me dear love (answered Catharina) no place can be more convenient for our purpose, there shall we hear the sweet Birds sing, especially the Nightingale, which I have heard singing there all the night long; I will break the matter to my Mother, and how I speed, you shall hear further from me. So, with diverse parting kisses, they broke off conference, till their next meeting.  
On the day following, which was towards the ending of the month of May, Catharina began to complain to her Mother, that the season was overhot and tedious, to be still lodged in her mother's Chamber, because it was an hindrance to her sleeping; and wanting rest, it would be an impairing of her health. Why Daughter (quoth the Mother) the weather (as yet) is not so hot, but (in my mind) you may very well endure it. Alas Mother, said she, aged people, as you and my Father are, do not feel the heats of youthful blood, by reason of your fare colder complexion, which is not to be measured by younger years. I know that well Daughter, replied the Mother; but is it in my power, to make the weather warm or cool, as thou perhaps wouldst have it? Seasons are to be suffered, according to their several qualities; and though the last night might seem hot, this next ensuing may be cooler, and then thy rest will be the better. No Mother, quoth Catharina, that cannot be; for as Summer proceedeth on, so the heat increaseth, and no expectation can be of temperate weather, until it groweth to Winter again. Why Daughter, said the Mother, what wouldst thou have me to do? Mother (quoth she) if it might stand with my father's good liking and yours, I would be spared from in the Garden Gallery, which is a great deal more cool, and temperate. There shall I hear the sweet Nightingale sing, as every night she useth to do, and many other pretty Birds beside, which I cannot do, lodging in your Chamber.  
The Mother loving her Daughter dear, as being somewhat overfond of her, and very willing to give her contentment; promised to impart her mind to her Father, not doubting but to compass what she requested. When she had moved the matter to Messer Lizio, whose age made him somewhat froward and tasty; angrily he said to his wife. Why how now woman? Cannot our Daughter sleep, except she hear the Nightingale sing? Let there be a bed made for her in the oven, and there let the Crickets make her melody. When Catharina heard this answer from her Father, and saw her desire to be disappointed; not only could she take any rest the night following, but also complained more of the heat then before, not suffering her Mother to take any rest, which made her go angrily to her Husband in the morning, saying. Why Husband, have we but one only Daughter, whom you pretend to love right dear, and yet can you be so careless of her, as to deny her a request, which is no more than reason? What matter is it to you or me, to let her lodge in the Garden Gallery? Is her young blood to be compared with ours? Can our weak and crazy bodies, feel the frolic temper of hers? Alas, she is hardy (as yet) out of her childish years, and Children have many desires fare differing from ours: the singing of Birds is rare music to them, and chief the Nightingale; whose sweet notes will provoke them to rest, when neither art or physic can do it.  
Is it even so Wife? answered Messer Lizio. Must your will and mine be governed by our Daughter? Well be it so then, let her bed be made in the Garden gallery, but I will have the keeping of the key, both to lock her in at night, and set her at liberty every morning. Woman, woman, young wenches are wily, many wanton crotchets are busy in their brains, and to us that are aged, they sing like Lapwings, telling us one thing, and intending another; talking of Nightingales, when their minds run on Cocke-Sparrowes. Seeing Wife, she must needs have her mind, let yet your care and mine extend so fare, to keep her chastity uncorrupted, and our credulity from being abused. Catharina having thus prevailed with her Mother, her bed made in the Garden Gallery, and sectet intelligence given to Ricciardo, for preparing his means of access to her window; old provident Lizio locks the door to bedward, and gives her liberty to come forth in the morning, for his own lodging was near to the same Gallery.  
In the dead and silent time of night, when all (but lovers) take their rest; Ricciardo having provided a Ladder of Ropes, with grappling hooks to take hold above and below, according as he had occasion to use it. By help thereof, first he mounted over the Garden wall, and then climbed up to the Gallery window, before which (as is every whe●e in Italy) was a little round eng●●ting terrace, only for a man to stand upon, for making clean the window, or otherwise repairing it. Many nights (in this manner) enjoyed they their meetings, entermixing their amorous conference with infinite kisses and kind embraces, as the window gave leave, he sitting in the terrace, and departing always before break of day, for fear of being discovered by any.  
But, as excess of delight is the Nurse to negligence, and begetteth such an over-presuming boldness, as afterward proveth to be sauced with repentance: so came it to pass with our overfond lovers, in being taken ●ardy through their own folly. After they had many times met in this manner, the nights (according to the season) growing shorter and shorter, which their stolen delight made them less respective of, than was requisite in an adventure so dangerous: it fortuned, that their amorous pleasure had so fare transported them, and dulled their senses in such sort, by these than continued nightly watchings; that they both fell fast asleep, he having his hand closed in hers, and she one arm folded about his body, and thus they slept till broad day light. Old Messer Lizio, who continually was the morning Cock to the whole House, going forth into his Garden, saw how his Daughter and Ricciardo were seated at the window. In he went again, and going to his wife's Chamber, said to her. Rise quickly wise, and you shall see, what made our Daughter so desirous to lodge in the Garden Gallery. I perceive that she loved to hear the Nightingale, for she hath caught one, and holds him fast in her hand. Is it possible, said the Mother, that our Daughter should catch a live Nightingale in the dark? You shall see that yourself, answered Messer Lizio, if you will make haste, and go with me.  
She, putting on her garments in great haste, followed her Husband, and being come to the Gallery door, he opened it very softly, and going to the window, shown her how they both sat fast asleep, and in such manner as hath been before declared: whereupon, she perceiving how Ricciardo and Catharina had both deceived her, would have made an outcry, but that Messer Lizio spoke thus to her. Wife, as you love me, speak not a word, neither make any noise: for, seeing she hath loved Ricciardo without our knowledge, and they have had their private meetings in this manner, yet free from any blameful imputation; he shall enjoy her, and she him. Ricciardo is a Gentleman, well derived, and of rich possessions, it can be no disparagement to us, that Catharina match with him in marriage, which he neither shall, or dare deny to do, in regard of our law's severity; for climbing up to my window with his Ladder of Ropes, whereby his life is forfeited to the Law, except our Daughter please to spare it, as it remaineth in her power to do, by accepting him as her husband, or yielding his life up to the Law, which surely she will not suffer, their love agreeing together in such mutual manner, and he adventuring so dangerously for her.  
Madam Jaquemina, perceiving that her husband spoke very reasonably, and was no more offended at the matter; stepped aside with him behind the drawn curtains, until they should awake of themselves. At the last, Ricciardo awaked, and seeing it was so fare in the day, thought himself half dead, and calling to Catharina, said. Alas dear love! what shall we do? we have slept too long, and shall be taken here. At which words, Messer Lizio stepped forth from behind the curtains, saying-Nay, Signior Ricciardo, seeing you have found such an unbefitting way hither, we will provide you a better for your back returning. When Ricciardo saw the Father and Mother both there present, he could not device what to do or say, his senses became so strangely confounded; yet knowing how heinously he had offended, if the strictness of Law should be challenged against him, falling on his knees, he said. Alas Messer Lizio, I humbly crave your mercy, confessing myself well worthy of death, that knowing the sharp rigour of the Law, I would presume so audaciously to break it. But pardon me worthy Sir, my loyal and unfeigned love to your Daughter Catharina, hath been the only cause of my transgressing.  
Ricciardo (replied Messer Lizio) the love I bear thee, and the honest confidence I do repose in thee, step up (in some measure) to plead thine excuse, especially in the regard of my Daughter, whom I blame thee not for loving, but for this unlawful way of presuming to her. Nevertheless, perceiving how the case now standeth, and considering withal, that youth and affection were the ground of thine offence: to free thee from death, and myself from dishonour, before thou departest hence, thou shalt espouse my Daughter Catharina, to make her thy lawful wife in marriage, and wipe off all scandal to my House and me. All this while was poor Catharina on her knees likewise to her Mother, who (notwithstanding this her bold adventure) made earnest suit to her Husband to remit all, because Ricciardo right gladly condescended, as it being the main issue of his hope and desire; to accept his Catharina in marriage, whereto she was as willing as he. Messer Lizio presently called for the confessor of his House, and borrowing one of his wife's Rings, before they went out of the Gallery; Ricciardo and Catharina were espoused together, to their no little joy and contentment.  
Now had they more leisure for further conference, with the Parents and kindred to Ricciardo, who being no way discontented with this sudden match, but applauding it in the highest degree; they were publicly married again in the cathedral Church, and very honourable triumphs performed at the nuptials, living long after in happy prosperity.   

Guidotto of Cremona, departing out of this mortal life, left a Daughter of his, with jacomino of Pavia. Giovanni di severino, and Menghino da Minghole, fell both in love with the young Maiden, and fought for h●●; who being afterward known, to be the Sister to Giovanni, she was given in marriage to Menghino.  
The fifth novel.  
Wherein may be observed, what quarrels and contentions are occasioned by love; with some particular description, concerning the sincerity of a loyal friend.  
ALl the Ladies laughing hearty, at the novel of the Nightingale, so pleasingly delivered by Philostratus, when they saw the same to be fully ended, the Queen thus spoke. Now trust me Philostratus, though yesterday you did much oppress me with melancholy, yet you have made me such an amends to day, as we have little reason to complain any more of you. So converting her speech to Madam Neiphila, she commanded her to succeed with her discourse, which willingly she yielded to, beginning in this manner. Seeing it pleased Philostratus, to produce his novel out of Romania: I mean to walk with him in the same jurisdiction, concerning what I am to say.  
There dwelled sometime in the City of Fano, two Lombard's, the one being named Guidotto of Cremona, and the other jacomino of Pavia, men of sufficient entrance into years, having followed the wars (as soldiers) all their youthful time. Guidotto feeling sickness to overmaster him, and having no son, kinsman, or friend, in whom he might repose more trust, than he did in jacomino: having long conference with him about his worldly affairs, and settled his whole estate in good order; he left a Daughter to his charge, about ten years of age, with all such goods as he enjoyed, and then departed out of this life. It came to pass, that the City of Forenza, long time being molested with tedious wars, and subjected to very servile condition; began now to recover her former strength, with free permission (for all such as pleased) to return and possess their former dwellings. Whereupon, jacomino (having sometime been an inhabitant there) was desirous to live in Faenza again, conveying thither all his goods, and taking with him also the young girl, which Guidotto had left him, whom he loved, and respected as his own child.  
As she grew in stature, so she did in beauty and virtuous qualities, as none was more commended throughout the whole City, for fair, civil, and honest demeanour, which incited many amorously to affect her. But (above all the rest) two very honest young men, of good fame and repute, who were so equally in love addicted to her, that being jealous of each others fortune, in preventing of their several hopeful expectation; a deadly hatred grew suddenly between them, the one being named, Giovanni de Severino, and the other Menghino da Minghole. Either of these two young men, before the maid was fifteen years old, laboured to be possessed of her in marriage, but her Guardian would give no consent thereto: wherefore, perceiving their honest intended meaning to be frustrated, they now began to busy their brains, how to forestall one another by craft and circumvention.  
jacomino had a maidservant belonging to his House, somewhat aged, and a manservant beside, named Grivello, of mirthful disposition, and very friendly, with whom Giovanni grew in great familiarity; and when he found time fit for the purpose, he discovered his love to him, requesting his furtherance and assistance, in compassing the height of his desire, with bountiful promises of rich rewarding; whereto Grivello returned this answer. I know not how to stead you in this case, but when my Master shall sup forth at some neighbour's House, to admit your entrance where she is: because, if I offer to speak to her, she never will stay to hear me. Wherefore, if my service this way may do you any good, I promise to perform it; do you beside, as you shall find it most convenient for you. So the bargain was agreed on between them, and nothing else now remained, but to what issue it should sort in the end.  
Menghino, on the other side, having entered into the chambermaids acquaintance, sped so well with her, that she delivered so many messages from him, as had (already) half won the liking of the Virgin; passing further promises to him beside, of bringing him to have conference with her, whensoever her Master should be absent from home. Thus Menghino being favoured (on the one side) by the old chambermaid, and Giovanni (on the other) by trusty Grivello; their amorous war was now on foot, and diligently followed by both their solicitors. Within a short while after, by the procurement of Grivello, jacomino was invited by a neighbour to supper, in company of diverse his very familiar friends, whereof intelligence being given to Giovanni; a conclusion passed between them, that (upon a certain signale given) he should come, and find the door standing ready open, to give him all access unto the affected maiden.  
The appointed night being come, and neither of these hot lovers knowing the others intent, but their suspicion being alike, and increasing still more and more; they made choice of certain friends and associates, well armed and provided, for either's safer entrance when need should require. Menghino stayed with his troop, in a near neighbouring house to the maiden, attending when the signal would be given: but Giovanni and his comforts, were ambushed somewhat further off from the House, and both saw when jacomino went forth to supper. Now Grinello and the chambermaid began to vary, which should send the other out of the way, till they had effected their several intention; whereupon Grinello said to her. What maketh thee to walk thus about the House, and why dost thou not get thee to bed? And thou (quoth the maid) why dost thou not go to attend on our Master, and tarry for his returning home? I am sure thou hast supped long ago, and I know no business here in the House for thee to do. Thus (by no means) the one could send away the other, but either remained as the others hindrance.  
But Grinello remembering himself, that the hour of his appointment with Giovanni was come, he said to himself. What care I whether our old maid be present, or no? If she disclose any thing that I do, I can be revenged on her when I list. So, having made the signal, he went to open the door, even when Giovanni (and two of his confederates) rushed into the House, and finding the fair young Maiden sitting in the Hall, laid hands on her, to bear her away. The damsel began to resist them, crying out for help so loud as she could, as the old chambermaid did the like: which Menghino hearing, he ran thither presently with his friends, and seeing the young damsel brought well-near out of the House; they drew their Swords, crying out: traitors, you are but dead men, here is no violence to be offered, neither is this a booty for such base grooms. So they laid about them lustily, and would not permit them to pass any further. On the other side, upon this mutinous noise and outcry, the Neighbours came forth of their Houses, with lights, staffs, and clubs, greatly reproving them for this outrage, yet assisting Menghino: by means whereof, after a long time of contention, Menghino recovered the maiden from Giovanni, and placed her peaceably in Jacominoes' House.  
No sooner was this hurly-burly somewhat calmed, but the sergeants to the captain of the City, came thither, and apprehended diverse of the mutineers: among whom were Menghino, Giovanni, and Grinello, committing them immediately to prison. But after every thing was pacified, and jacomino returned home to his House from supper; he was not a little offended at so gross an injury. When he was fully informed, how the matter happened, and apparently perceived, that no blame at all could be imposed on the maiden: he grew the better contented, resolving with himself (because no more such inconveniences should happen) to have her married so soon as possibly he could.  
When morning was come, the kindred and friends on either side, understanding the truth of the error committed, and knowing beside, what punishment would be inflicted on the prisoners, if jacomino pressed the matter no further, then as with reason and equity well he might; they repaired to him, and (in gentle speeches) entreated him, not to regard a wrong offered by unruly and youthful people, merely drawn into the action by persuasion of friends; submitting both themselves, and the offenders, to such satisfaction as he pleased to appoint them. Jacomino, who had seen and observed many things in his time, and was a man of sound understanding, returned them this answer.  
Gentlemen, if I were in mine own country, as now I am in yours; I would as forwardly confess myself your friend, as here I must needs fall short of any such service, but even as you shall please to command me. But plainly, and without all further ceremonious compliment, I must agree to whatsoever you can request; as thinking you to be more injured by me, than any great wrong that I have sustained. Concerning the young damsel remaining in my House, she is not (as many have imagined) either of Cremona, or Pavia, but borne a Faentine, here in this Cirie: albeit neither myself, she, or he of whom I had her, did ever know it, or yet could learn whose Daughter she was. Wherefore, the suit you make to me, should rather (in duty) be mine to you: for she is a native of your own, do right to her, and then you can do no wrong unto me.  
When the Gentlemen understood, that the maiden was borne in Faenza, they marvelled thereat, and after they had thanked jacomino for his courteous answer; they desired him to let them know, by what means the damsel came into his custody, and how he knew her to be borne in Faenza: when he, perceiving them attentive to hear him, began in this manner.  
Understand worthy Gentlemen, that Guidotto of Cremona, was my companion and dear friend, who growing near to his death, told me, that when this City was surprised by the Emperor Frederigo, and all things committed to sack and spoil; he and certain of his confederates entered into a House, which they found to be well furnished with goods, but utterly forsaken of the dwellers, only this poor maiden excepted, being then aged but two years, or thereabout. As he mounted up the steps, with intent to departed from the House; she called him Father, which word moved him so compassionately: that he went back again, brought her away with him, and all things of worth which were in the House, going thence afterward to Fano, and there deceasing, he left her and all his goods to my charge; conditionally, that I should see her married when due time required, and bestow on her the wealth which he had left her. Now, very true it is, although her years are convenient for marriage, yet I could never find any one to bestow her on, at least that I thought fitting for her: howbeit, I will listen thereto much more respectively, before any other such accident shall happen.  
It came to pass, that in the reporting of this discourse, there was then a Gentleman in the company, named Guillemino da Medicina, who at the surprisal of the City, was present with Guidotto of Cremona, and knew well the House which he had ransacked, the owner whereof was also present with him, wherefore taking him aside, he said to him. Bernardino, hearest thou what jacomino hath related? yes very well, replied Bernardino, and remember withal, that in that dismal bloody combustion, I lost a little Daughter, about the age as jacomino spoke he. Questionless then, replied Guillemino, she must needs be the same young maiden, for I was there at the same time, and in the House, whence Guidotto did bring both the girl and goods, and I do perfectly remember, that it was thy House. I pray thee call to mind, if ever thou sawest any scar or mark about her, which may revive thy former knowledge of her, for my mind persuades me, that the maid is thy Daughter.  
Bernardino musing a while with himself, remembered, that under her left care, she had a scar, in the form of a little cross, which happened by the biting of a wolf, and but a small while before the spoil was made. Wherefore, without deferring it to any further time, he stepped to jacomino (who as yet stayed there) and entreated him to fetch the maiden from his house, because she might be known to some in the company: whereto right willingly he condescended, and there presented the maid before them. So soon as Bernardino beheld her, he began to be much inwardly moved, for the perfect character of her mother's countenance, was really figured in her sweet face; only that her beauty was somewhat more excelling. Yet not herewith satisfied, he desired jacomino to be so pleased, as to lift up a little the locks of hair, depending over her left ear▪ jacomino did it presently, albeit with a modest blushing in the maid, and Bernardino looking advisedly on it, knew it to be the self same cross; which confirmed her constantly to be his Daughter.  
Overcome with excess of joy, which made the tears to trickle down his cheeks, he proffered to embrace and kiss the maid: but she refusing his kindness, because (as yet) she knew no reason for it, he turned himself to jacomino, saying. My dear brother and friend, this maid is my Daughter, and my House was the same which Guidotto spoiled, in the general havoc of our City, and thence he carried this child of mine, forgotten (in the fury) by my Wife her Mother. But happy was the hour of his becoming her Father, and carrying her away with him; for else she had perished in the fire, because the House was instantly burnt down to the ground. The maiden hearing his words, observing him also to be a man of years and gravity: she believed what he said, and humbly submitted herself to his kisses & embraces, even as instructed thereto by instinct of nature. Bernardino instantly sent for his wife, her own mother, his daughters, sons, and kindred, who being acquainted with this admirable accident, gave her most gracious and kind welcome, he receiving her from jacomino as his child, and the legacies which Guidotto had left her.  
When the captain of the City (being a very wise and worthy Gentleman) heard these tidings, and knowing that Giovanni, than his prisoner, was the Son to Bernardino, and natural Brother to the newly recovered maid: he bethought himself, how best he might qualify the fault committed by him. And entering into the Hall among them, handled the matter so discreetly, that a loving league of peace was confirmed between Giovanni and Menghino, to whom (with free and full consent on all sides) the fair maid, named Agatha, was given in marriage, with a more honourable enlargement of her dowry, and Grinello, with the rest, delivered out of prison, which for their tumultuous riot they had justly deserved. Menghino and Agatha had their wedding worthily sollemnized, with all due honours belonging thereto; and long time after they lived in Faenza, highly beloved, and graciously esteemed.   

Guion di Procida, being found familiarly conversing with a young damsel, which he loved; and had been given (formerly) to Frederigo, King of Sicily: was bound to a stake, to be consumed with fire. From which danger (nevertheless) he escaped, being known by Don Rogiero de Oria, Lord admiral of Sicily, and afterward married the damsel.  
The sixth novel.  
Wherein is manifested, that love can lead a man into numberless perils: out of which he escapeth with no mean difficulty.  
THe novel of Madam Neiphila being ended, which proved very pleasing to the Ladies: the Queen commanded Madam Pampinea, that she should prepare to take her turn next, whereto willingly obeying, thus she began. Many and mighty (Gracious Ladies) are the prevailing powers of love, conducting amorous souls into infinite travels, with inconveniences no way avoidable, and not easily to be foreseen, or prevented. As partly already hath been observed, by diverse of our former novels related, and some (no doubt) to ensue hereafter; for one of them (coming now to my memory) I shall acquaint you withal, in so good terms as I can.  
Ischia is an island very near to Naples, wherein (not long since) lived a fair and lovely Gentlewoman, named Restituta, Daughter to a Gentleman of the same Isle, whose name was Marino Bolgaro. A proper youth called Guion, dwelling also in a near neighbouring Isle, called Procida, did love her as dear as his own life, and she was as intimately affected towards him. Now because the sight of her was his only comfort, as occasion gave him leave; he resorted to Ischia very often in the day time, and as often also in the night season, when any bark passed from Procida to Ischia; if to see nothing else, yet to behold the walls that enclosed his mistress thus.  
While this love continued in equal fervency, it chanced upon a fair summer's day, that Restituta walked alone upon the Sea-shoare, going from rock to rock, having a naked knife in her hand, wherewith she opened such Oysters as she found among the stones, seeking for small pearls enclosed in their shells. Her walk was very solitary and shady, with a fair Spring or well adjoining to it, and thither (at that very instant time) certain Sicilian young Gentlemen, which came from Naples, had made their retreat. They perceiving the Gentlewoman to be very beautiful (she as yet not having any sight of them) and in such a silent place alone by herself: concluded together, to make a purchase of her, and carry her thence away with them; as indeed they did, notwithstanding all her outcries and exclaimes, bearing her perforce aboard their bark.  
Setting sail thence, they arrived in Calabria, and then there grew a great contention between them, to which of them this booty of beauty should belong; because each of them pleaded a title to her. But when they could not grow to any agreement, but doubted greater disaster would ensue thereon, by breaking their former league of friendship: by an equal conformity in consent, they resolved, to bestow her as a rich present, on Frederigo King of Sicily, who was then young & jovial, and could not be pleased with a better gift; wherefore, they were no sooner landed at Palermo, but they did according as they had determined. The King did commend her beauty extraordinarily, and liked her fare beyond all his other loves: but, being at that time impaired in his health, and his body much distempered by ill diet; he gave command, that until he should be in more able disposition, she must be kept in a goodly house of his own, erected in a beautiful Garden, called the Cube, where she was attended in most pompous manner.  
Now grew the noise and rumour great in Ischia, about this rape or stealing away of Restituta; but the chiefest grievance of all, was, that it could not be known how, by whom, or by what means. But Guion di Procida, whom this injury concerned much more than any other; stood not in expectation of better tidings from Ischia, but hearing what course the bark had taken, made ready another, to follow after with all possible speed. Flying thus on the winged minds through the Seas, even from Minerva, unto the Scalea in Calabria, searching for his lost love in every angle: at length it was told him at the Scale● that she was carried away by certain Sicillian mariners, to Palermo, whither Guion set sail immediately.  
After some diligent search made there, he understood, that she was delivered to the King, and he had given strict command, for keeping her in his place of pleasure; called the Cube: which news were not a little grievous to him, for now he was almost quite out of hope, not only of ever enjoying her, but also of seeing her. Nevertheless, love would not let him utterly despair, whereupon he sent away his bark, and perceiving himself to be vnknowne of any; he continued for some time in Palermo, walking many times by that goodly place of pleasure. It chanced on a day, that keeping his walk as he used to do, Fortune was so favourable to him, as to let him have a sight of her at her window; from whence also she had a full view of him, to their exceeding comfort and contentment. And Guion observing, that the Cube was seated in a place of small resort; approached so near as possibly he durst, to have some conference with Restituta.  
As love sets a keen edge on the dullest spirit, and (by a small advantage) makes a man the more adventurous: so this little time of unseen talk, inspired him with courage, and her with witty advice, by what means his access might be much nearer to her, and their communication concealed from any discovery, the situation of the place, and benefit of time duly considered. Night must be the cloud to their amorous conclusion, and therefore, so much thereof being spent, as was thought convenient, he returned thither again, provided of such grappling-yrons, as is required when men will clamber, made fast unto his hands and knees; by their help he attained to the top of the wall, whence descending down into the Garden, there he found the main yard of a ship, whereof before she had given him instruction, and rearing it up against her chamber window, made that his means for ascending thereto, she having left it open for his easier entrance.  
You cannot deny (fair Ladies) but here was a very hopeful beginning, and likely to have as happy an ending, were it not true love's fatal misery, even in the very height of promised assurance, to be thwarted by unkind prevention, and in such manner as I will tell you. This night, intended for our lover's meeting, proved disastrous and dreadful to them both: for the King, who at the first sight of Restituta, was highly pleased with her excelling beauty; gave order to his Eunuches and other women, that a costly bathe should be prepared for her, and therein to let her wear away that night, because the next day he intended to visit her. Restituta being royally conducted from her Chamber to the bath, attended on with torchlight, as if she had been a Queen: none remained there behind, but such women as waited on her, and the Guards without, which watched the Chamber.  
No sooner was poor Guian aloft at the window, calling softly to his Mistress, as if she had been there; but he was overheard by the women in the dark, and immediately apprehended by the Guard, who forthwith brought him before the Lord Martial, where being examined, and he avouching, that Restituta was his elected wife, and for her he had presumed in that manner; closely was he kept in prison till the next morning. When he came into the King's presence, and there boldly justified the goodness of his cause: Restituta likewise was sent for, who no sooner saw her dear love Guian, but she ran and caught him fast about the neck, kissing him in tears, and grieving not a little at his hard fortune. Hereat the King grew exceedingly enraged, loathing and hating her now, much more than formerly he did affect her, and having himself seen, by what strange means he did climb over the wall, and then mounted to her Chamber window; he was extremely impatient, and could not otherwise be persuaded, but that their meetings thus had been very many.  
Forthwith he sentenced them both with death, commanding, that they should be conveyed thence to Palermo, and there (being stripped stark naked) be bound to a stake back to back, and so to stand the full space of nine hours, to see if any could take knowledge, of whence, or what they were; then afterward, to be consumed with fire. The sentence of death, did not so much daunt or dismay the poor lovers, as the uncivil and unsightly manner, which (in fear of the King's wrathful displeasure) no man durst presume to contradict. Wherefore, as he had commanded, so were they carried thence to Palermo, and bound naked to a stake in the open Market place, and (before their eyes) the fire and wood brought, which was to consume them, according to the hour as the King had appointed. You need not make any question, what an huge concourse of people were soon assembled together, to behold such a sad and woeful spectacle, even the whole City of Palermo, both men and women. The men were stricken with admiration, beholding the unequalled beauty of fair Restituta, & the self same passion possessed the women, seeing Guian to be such a goodly and complete young man: but the poor infortunate lovers themselves, they stood with their looks dejected to the ground, being much pitied of all, but no way to be helped or rescued by any, awaiting when the happy hour would come, to finish both their shame and lives together.  
During the time of this tragical expectation, the fame of this public execution being noised abroad, calling all people fare and near to behold it; it came to the ear of Don Rogiero de Oria, a man of much admired valour, and then the Lord high admiral of Sicily, who came himself in person, to the place appointed for their death. First he observed the maiden, confessing her (in his soul) to be a beauty beyond all compare. Then looking on the young man, thus he said within himself: If the inward endowments of the mind, do parallel the outward perfections of body; the World cannot yield a more complete man. Now, as good natures are quickly incited to compassion (especially in cases almost commanding it) and compassion knocking at the door of the soul, doth quicken the memory with many passed recordations: so this noble admiral, advisedly beholding poor condemned Guion, conceived, that he had somewhat seen him before this instant, and upon this persuasion (even as if divine virtue had tutured his tongue) he said: Is not thy name Guion di Procida?  
Mark now, how quickly misery can receive comfort, upon so poor and silly a question; for Guion began to elevate his dejected countenance, and looking on the admiral, returned him this answer. Sir, heretofore I have been the man which you spoke of; but now, both that name and man must die with me. What misfortune (quoth the admiral) hath thus unkindly crossed thee? Love (answered Guion) and the King's displeasure. Then the admiral would needs know the whole history at large, which briefly was related to him, and having heard how all had happened; as he was turning his Horse to ride away thence, Guion called to him, saying. Good my Lord, entreat one favour for me, if possible it may be. What is that? Replied the admiral. You see Sir (quoth Guion) that I am very shortly to breathe my last; all the grace which I do most humbly entreat, is, that as I am here with this chaste Virgin, (whom I honour and love beyond my life) and miserably bound back to back: our faces may be turned each to other, to the end, that when the fire shall finish my life, by looking on her, my soul may take her flight in full felicity. The admiral smiling, said; I will do for thee what I can, and (perhaps) thou mayest so long look on her, as thou wilt be weary, and desire to look off her.  
At his departure, he commanded them that had the charge of this execution, to proceed no further, until they heard more from the King, to whom he galloped immediately, and although he beheld him to be very angrily moved; yet he spared not to speak in this manner. Sir, wherein have those poor young couple offended you, that are so shamefully to be burnt at Palermo? The King told him: whereto the admiral (pursuing still his purpose) thus replied. Believe me Sir, if true love be an offence, then theirs may be termed to be one; and albeit it did deserve death, yet fare be it from thee to inflict it on them: for as faults do justly require punishment, so do good turns as equally merit grace and requital. Knowest thou what and who they are, whom thou hast so dishonourably condemned to the fire? Not I, quoth the King. Why then I will tell thee, answered the admiral, that thou mayest take the better knowledge of them, and forbear hereafter, to be so over-violently transported with anger.  
The young Gentleman, is the son to Landolfo di Procida, the only Brother to Lord john di Procida, by whose means thou becamest Lord and King of this country. The fair young damsel, is the Daughter to Marino Bolgaro, whose power extendeth so fare, as to preserve thy prerogative in Ischia, which (but for him) had long since been out-rooted there. Beside, these two main motives, to challenge justly grace and favour from thee; they are in the flower and pride of their youth, having long continued in loyal love together, and compelled by fervency of endeared affection, not any will to displease thy majesty: they have offended (if it may be termed an offence to love, and in such lovely young people as they are.) Canst thou then find in thine heart to let them die, whom thou rather oughtest to honour, and recompense with no mean rewards?  
When the King had heard this, and believed for a certainty, that the admiral told him nothing but truth: he appointed not only, that they should proceed no further, but also was exceeding sorrowful for what he had done, sending presently to have them released from the Stake, and honourably to be brought before him. Being thus instructed in their several qualities, and standing in duty obliged, to recompense the wrong which he had done, with respective honours: he caused them to be clothed in royal garments, and knowing them to be knit in unity of soul; the like he did by marrying them solemnly together, and bestowing many rich gifts and presents on them, sent them honourably attented home to Ischia; where they were with much joy and comfort received, and lived long after in great felicity.   

Theodoro falling in love with Violenta, the Daughter to his Master, named Amarigo, and she conceiving with child by him; was condemned to be hanged. As they were leading him to the gallows, beating and misusing him all the way: he happened to be known by his own Father, whereupon he was released, and afterward enjoyed Violenta in marriage.  
The seventh novel.  
Wherein is declared, the sundry travels and perilous accidents, occasioned by those two powerful Commanders, love and Fortune, the insulting Tyrants over humane life.  
GReatly were the Lady's minds perplexed, when they heard, that the two poor lovers were in danger to be burned: but hearing afterward of their happy deliverance, for which they were as joyful again; upon the concluding of the novel, the Queen looked on Madam Lauretta, enjoining her to tell the next Tale, which willingly she undertook to do, and thus began.  
Fair Ladies, at such time as the good King William reigned in Sicily, there lived within the same Dominions a young Gentleman, named Signior Amarigo, Abbot of Trapani, who (among his other worldly blessings, commonly termed the goods of Fortune) was not unfurnished of children; and therefore having need of servants, he made his provision of them as best he might. At that time, certain galleys of Geneway pirates coming from the Eastern parts, which coasting along Armenia, had taken diverse children; he bought some of them, thinking that they were turks. They all resembling clownish peasant's, yet there was one among them, who seemed to be of more tractable and gentle nature, yea, and of a more affable countenance then any of the rest, being named, Theodoro: who growing on in years, (albeit he lived in the condition of a servant) was educated among Amarigoes' Children, and as instructed rather by nature, than accident, his conditions were very much commended, as also the feature of his body, which proved so highly pleasing to his Master Amarigo, that he made him a free man, and imagining him to be a Turk, caused him to be baptised, and named Pedro, creating him superintendent of all his affairs, and reposing his chiefest trust in him.  
As the other Children of Signior Amarigo grew in years and stature, so did a Daughter of his, named Violenta, a very goodly and beautiful damsel, somewhat overlong kept from marriage by her father's covetousness, and casting an eye of good liking on poor Pedro Now, albeit she loved him very dear, and all his behaviour was most pleasing to her, yet maiden modesty forbade her to reveal it, till love (too long concealed) must needs disclose itself. Which Pedro at the length took notice of, and grew so forward towards her in equality of affection, as the very sight of her was his only happiness. Yet very fearful he was, lest it should be noted, either by any of the House, or the Maiden herself: who yet well observed it, and to her no mean contentment, as it appeared no less (on the other side) to honest Pedro.  
While thus they loved together merely in dumb shows, not daring to speak to each other, (though nothing more desired) to find some ease in this their oppressing passions: Fortune, even as if she pitied their so long languishing, instructed them how to find out a way, whereby they might both better relieve themselves. Signior Amarigo, about some two or three mile's distance from Trapani, had a countryhouse or farm, whereto his Wife, with her Daughter and some other women, used oftentimes to make their resort, as it were in sportful recreation; Pedro always being diligent to man them thither. One time among the rest, it came to pass, as often it falleth out in the Summer season, that the fair sky became suddenly overclouded, even as they were returning home towards Trapani, threatening a storm of rain to overtake them, except they made the speedier haste.  
Pedro, who was young, and likewise Violenta, went fare more lightly than her Mother and her company, as much perhaps provoked by love, as fear of the sudden rain falling, and paced on so fast before them, that they were wholly out of sight. After many flashes of lightning, and a few dreadful claps of thunder, there fell such a tempestuous shower of hail, as compelled the Mother and her train to shelter themselves in a poor countryman Cottage. Pedro and Violenta having no other refuge, ran likewise into a poor sheepcoat, so over ruined, as it was in danger to fall on their heads; for no body dwelled in it, neither stood any other house near it, and it was scarcely any shelter for them, howbeit, necessity enforceth to make shift with the meanest. The storm increasing more & more, and they coveting to avoid it so well as they could, sighs and dry hems were often intervented, as dumbly (before) they were wont to do, when willingly they could afford another kind of speaking.  
At last Pedro took heart, and said: I would this shower would never cease, that I might be always where I am. The like could I wish, answered Violenta, so we were in a better place of safety. These wishes drew on other gentle language, with modest kisses and embraces, the only ease to poor lover's souls; so that the rain ceased not, till they had taken order for their oftener conversing, and absolute plighting of their faiths together. By this time the storm was fairly over blown, and they attending on the way, till the Mother and the rest were come, with whom they returned to Trapani, where by wise and provident means, they often conferred in private together, and enjoyed the benefit of their amorous desires, yet free from any ill surmise or suspicion.  
But, as lover's felicities are seldom permanent, without one encountering cross or other: so these stolen pleasures of Pedro and Violenta, met with as sour a sauce in the farewell. For, she proved to be conceived with child, than which could befall them no heavier affliction, and Pedro fearing to lose his life therefore, determined immediate flight, and revealed his purpose to Violenta. Which when she heard, she told him plainly, that if he fled, forthwith she would kill herself. Alas dear love (quoth Pedro) with what reason can you wish my tarrying here? This conception of yours, doth discover our offence, which a father's pity may easily pardon in you: but I being his servant and vassal, shall be punished both for your sin and mine, because he will have no mercy on me. Content thyself Pedro, replied Violenta, I will take such order for mine own offence, by the discreet counsel of my loving Mother, that no blame shall any way be laid on thee, or so much as a surmise, except thou wilt fond betray thyself. If you can do so, answered Pedro, and constantly maintain your promise; I will not departed, but see that you prove to be so good as your word.  
Violenta, who had concealed her amiss so long as she could, and saw no other remedy, but now at last it must needs be discovered; went privately to her Mother, and (in tears) revealed her infirmity, humbly craving her pardon, and furtherance in hiding it from her Father. The Mother being extraordinarily displeased, chiding her with many sharp and angry speeches, would needs know with whom she had thus offended. The Daughter (to keep Pedro from any detection) forged a Tale of her own brain, fare from any truth indeed, which her Mother verily believing, and willing to preserve her Daughter from shame, as also the fierce anger of her Husband, he being a man of very implacable nature: conveyed her to the country-farm, whither Signior Amarigo seldom or never resorted, intending (under the shadow of sickness) to let her lie in there, without the least suspicion of any in Trapani.  
Sin and shame can never be so closely carried, or clouded with the greatest cunning; but truth hath a loop-light whereby to discover it, even when it supposeth itself in the surest safety. For, on the very day of her deliverance, at such time as the Mother, and some few friends (sworn to secrecy) were about the business: Signior Amarigo, having been in company of other Gentlemen, to fly his hawk at the river, upon a sudden, (but very unfortunately, albeit he was alone by himself) stepped into his farm house, even to the next room where the women were, and heard the newborn Babe to cry, whereat marvelling not a little, he called for his Wife, to know what young child cried in his House. The Mother, amazed at his so strange coming thither, which never before he had used to do, and pitying the woeful distress of her Daughter, which now could be no longer covered, revealed what happened to Violenta. But he, being nothing so rash in belief, as his Wife was, made answer, that it was impossible for his Daughter to be conceived with child, because he never observed the least sign of love in her to any man whatsoever, and therefore he would be satisfied in the truth, as she expected any favour from him, for else there was no other way but death.  
The Mother laboured by all means she could device, to pacify her husband's fury, which proved all in vain; for being thus impatiently incensed, he drew forth his Sword, and stepping with it drawn into the Chamber (where she had been delivered of a goodly son) he said unto her. Either tell me who is the Father of this Bastard, or thou and it shall perish both together. Poor Violenta, less respecting her own life, than she did the child's; forgot her solemn promise made to Pedro, and discovered all. Which when Amarigo had heard, he grew so desperately enraged, that hardly he could forbear from killing her. But after he had spoken what his fury instructed him, he mounted on horseback again, riding back to Trapani, where he disclosed the injury which Pedro had done him, to a noble Gentleman, named Signior Conrado, who was captain for the King over the City.  
Before poor Pedro could have any intelligence, or so much as suspected any treachery against him; he was suddenly apprehended, and being called in question, stood not on any denial, but confessed truly what he had done: whereupon, within some few days after, he was condemned by the captain, to be whipped to the place of execution, and afterward to be hanged by the neck. Signior Amarigo, because he would cut off (at one and the same time) not only the lives of the two poor lovers, but their childes also; as a frantic man, violently carried from all sense of compassion, even when Pedro was led and whipped to his death: he mingled strong poison in a Cup of wine, delivering it to a trusty servant of his own, and a naked Rapier withal, speaking to him in this manner. Go carry these two presents to my late Daughter Violenta, and tell her from me, that in this instant hour, two several kinds of death are offered unto her, and one of them she must make choice of, either to drink the poison, and so die, or to run her body on this rapier's point, which if she deny to do, she shall be haled to the public market place, and presently be burned in the sight of her lewd companion, according as she hath worthily deserved. When thou hast delivered her this message, take her bastard brat, so lately since borne, and dash his brains out against the walls, and afterward throw him to my dogs to feed on.  
When the Father had given this cruel sentence, both against his own Daughter, and her young son, the servant, readier to do evil, than any good, went to the place where his Daughter was kept. Poor condemned Pedro, (as you have heard) was led whipped to the lybbet, and passing (as it pleased the captain's Officers to guide him) by a fair inn: at the same time were lodged there three chief persons of Armenia, whom the King of the country had sent to Rome, as ambassadors to the Pope's holiness, to negociate about an important business nearly concerning the King and State. Reposing there for some few days, as being much wearied with their journey, and highly honoured by the Gentlemen of Trapani, especially Signior Amarigo; these ambassadors standing in their Chamber window, heard the woeful lamentations of Pedro in his passage by.  
Pedro was naked from the middle upward, and his hands bound fast behind him, but being well observed by one of the ambassadors, a man aged, and of great authority, named Phineo: he espied a great red spot upon his breast, not painted, or procured by his punishment, but naturally imprinted in the flesh, which women (in these parts) term the Rose. Upon the sight hereof, he suddenly remembered a son of his own, which was stolen from him about fifteen years before, by pirates on the Sea-coast of Laiazzo, never hearing any tidings of him afterward. Upon further consideration, and compairing his son's age with the likelihood of this poor wretched man's; thus he conferred with his own thoughts. If my son (quoth he) be living, his age is equal to this man's time, and by the red blemish on his breast, it plainly speaks him for to be my son.  
Moreover, thus he conceived, that if it were he, he could not but remember his own name, his Fathers, and the Armenian Language; wherefore, when he was just opposite before the window, he called aloud to him, saying: Theodoro. Pedro hearing the voice, presently lifted up his head, and Phineo speaking Armenian, said: Of whence art thou, and what is thy father's name? The Sergeants (in reverence to the Lord ambassador) stayed a while, till Pedro had returned his answer, who said. I am an Armenian borne, son to one Phineo, and was brought hither I cannot tell by whom. Phineo hearing this, knew then assuredly, that this was the same son which he had lost; wherefore, the tears standing in his eyes with conceit of joy: down he descended from the window, and the other ambassadors with him, running in among the Sergeants to embrace his son, and casting his own rich cloak about his whipped body, entreating them to forbear and proceed no further, till they heard what command he should return withal unto them; which very willingly they promised to do.  
Already, by the general rumour dispersed abroad, Phineo had understood the occasion, why Pedro was thus punished, and sentenced to be hanged; wherefore, accompanied with his fellow ambassadors, and all their attending train, he went to Signior Conrado, and spoke thus to him. My Lord, he whom you have sent to death as a slave, is a free Gentleman borne, and my son, able to make her amends whom he hath dishonoured, by taking her in marriage as his lawful Wife. Let me therefore entreat you, to make stay of the execution, until it may be known, whether she will accept him as her Husband, or no; lest (if she be so pleased) you offend directly against your own Law. When Signior Conrado heard, that Pedro was son to the Lord ambassador, he wondered thereat not a little, and being somewhat ashamed of his fortune's error, confessed, that the claim of Phineo was conformable to Law, and ought not to be denied him; going presently to the council Chamber, sending for Signior Amarigo immediately thither, and acquainting him fully with the case.  
Amarigo, who believed that his Daughter and her Child were already dead, was the woefullest man in the World, for his so rash proceeding, knowing very well, that if she were not dead, the scandal would easily be wiped away with credit. Wherefore he sent in all post haste, to the place where his Daughter lay, that if his command were not already executed, by no means to have it done at all. He who went on this speedy errand, found there Signior Amarigoes' servant standing before Violenta, with the Cup of poison in his one hand, and the drawn Rapier in the other, reproaching herewith very foul and injurious speeches, because she had delayed the time so long, and would not accept the one or other, striving (by violence) to make her take the one. But hearing his master's command to the contrary, he left her, and returned back to him, certifying him how the case stood.  
Most highly pleased was Amarigo with these glad news, and going to the ambassador Phineo, in tears excused himself (so well as he could) for his severity, and craving pardon; assured him, that if Theodoro would accept his Daughter in marriage, willingly he would bestow her on him. Phineo allowed his excuses to be tolerable, and said beside; If my son will not marry your Daughter, then let the sentence of death be executed on him. Amarigo and Phineo being thus accorded, they went to poor Theodoro, fearfully looking every minute when he should die, yet joyful that he had found his Father, who presently moved the question to him. Theodoro hearing that Violenta should be his Wife, if he would so accept her: was overcome with such exceeding joy, as if he had leapt out of hell into Paradise; confessing, that no greater felicity could befall him, if Violenta herself were so well pleased as he.  
The like motion was made to her, to understand her disposition in this case, who hearing what good hap had befallen Theodoro, and now in like manner must happen to her: whereas not long before, when two such violent deaths were prepared for her, and one of them she must needs embrace, she accounted her misery beyond all other women's, but she now thought herself above all in happiness, if she might be wife to her beloved Theodoro, submitting herself wholly to her father's disposing. The marriage being agreed on between them, it was celebrated with great pomp and solemnity, a general Feast being made for all the Citizens, and the young married couple nourished up their sweet Son, which grew to be a very comely child.  
After that the embassy was dispatched at Rome, and Phineo (with the rest) was returned thither again; Violenta did reverence him as her own natural Father, and he was not a little proud of so lovely a Daughter, beginning a fresh feasting again, and continuing the same a whole month together. Within some short while after, a Galley being fairly furnished for the purpose, Phineo, his son, Daughter, and their young Son went aboard, sailing away thence to Laiazzo, where afterward they lived long in much tranquillity.   

Anastasio, a Gentleman of the Family of the Honesti, by loving the Daughter to Signior Paulo Traversario, lavishly wasted a great part of his substance, without receiving any love from her again. By persuasion of some of his kindred and friends, he went to a country dwelling of his, called Chiasso, where he saw a Knight desperately pursue a young damsel, whom he slew, and afterward gave her to be devoured by his Hounds. Anastasio invited his friends, and hers also whom he so dear loved, to take part of a dinner with him, who likewise saw the same damsel so torn in pieces: which his unkind love perceiving, and fearing least the like ill fortune should happen to her; she accepted Anastasio to be her Husband.  
The eighth novel.  
Declaring, that love not only makes a man prodigal, but also an enemy to himself. Moreover, adventure oftentimes bringeth such matters to pass, as wit and cunning in man can never comprehend.  
SO soon as Madam Lauretta held her peace, Madam Philomena (by the Queen's command) began, and said. Lovely Ladies, as pity is most highly commended in our sex, even so is cruelty in us as severely revenged (oftentimes) by divine ordination. Which that you may the better know, and learn likewise to shun, as a deadly evil; I purpose to make apparent by a novel, no less full of compassion, then delectable.  
Ravenna being a very ancient City in Romania, there dwelled sometime a great number of worthy Gentlemen, among whom I am to speak of one more especially, named Anastasio, descended from the Family of the Honesti, who by the death of his Father, and an uncle of his, was left extraordinarily abounding in riches; and growing to years fitting for marriage, (as young Gallants are easily apt enough to do) he became enamoured of a very beautiful Gentlewoman, who was Daughter to Signior Paulo Traversario, one of the most ancient and noble Families in all the country. Nor made he any doubt, but by his means and industrious endeavour, to derive affection from her again; for he carried himself like a brave minded Gentleman, liberal in his expenses, honest and affable in all his actions, which commonly are the true notes of a good nature, and highly to be commended in any man. But, howsoever Fortune became his enemy, these laudable parts of manhood did not any way friend him, but rather appeared hurtful to him: so cruel, unkind, and almost merely savage did she show herself to him; perhaps in pride of her singular beauty, or presuming on her nobility by birth, both which are on her blemishes, than ornaments in a woman, especially when they be abused.  
The harsh and uncivil usage in her, grew very distasteful to Anastasio, and so unsufferable, that after a long time of fruitless service, requited still with nothing but coy disdain; desperate resolutions entered into his brain, and often he was minded to kill himself. But better thoughts supplanting those furious passions, he abstained from any such violent act; & governed by more manly consideration, determined, that as she hated him, he would require her with the like, if he could: wherein he became altogether deceived, because as his hopes grew to a daily decaying, yet his love enlarged itself more and more.  
Thus Anastasio persevering still in his bootless affection, and his expenses not limited within any compass; it appeared in the judgement of his Kindred and Friends, that he was fall'n into a mighty consumption, both of his body and means. In which respect, many times they advised him to leave the City of Ravenna, and live in some other place for such a while; as might set a more moderate stint upon his spend, and bridle the indiscreet course of his love, the only fuel which fed this furious fire.  
Anastasio held out thus a long time, without lending an ear to such friendly counsel: but in the end, he was so nearly followed by them, as being no longer able to deny them, he promised to accomplish their request. Whereupon, making such extraordinary preparation, as if he were to set thence for France or Spain, or else into some further distant country: he mounted on horseback, and accompanied with some few of his familiar friends, departed from Ravenna, and road to a country dwelling house of his own, about three or four miles distant from the city, which was called Chiasso, and there (upon a very goodly green) erecting diverse Tents and pavilions, such as great persons make use of in the time of a progress: he said to his friends, which came with him thither, that there he determined to make his abiding, they all returning back unto Ravenna, and might come to visit him again so often as they pleased.  
Now, it came to pass, that about the beginning of May, it being then a very mild and serrene season, and he leading there a much more magnificent life, than ever he had done before, inviting diverse to dine with him this day, and as many to morrow, and not to leave him till after supper: upon the sudden, falling into remembrance of his cruel Mistress, he commanded all his servants to forbear his company, and suffer him to walk alone by himself awhile, because he had occasion of private meditations, wherein he would not (by any means) be troubled. It was then about the ninth hour of the day, and he walking on solitary all alone, having gone some half miles distance from his Tents, entered into a grove of Pine-trees, never minding dinner time, or any thing else, but only the unkind requital of his love.  
Suddenly he heard the voice of a woman, seeming to make most mournful complaints, which breaking of his silent considerations, made him to lift up his head, to know the reason of this noise. When he saw himself so fare entered into the grove, before he could imagine where he was; he looked amazedly round about him, and out of a little thicket of bushes & briers, round engirt with spreading trees, he espied a young damsel come running towards him, naked from the middle upward, her hair dishevelled on her shoulders, and her fair skin rend and torn with the briers and brambles, so that the blood ran trickling down mainly; she weeping, wring her hands, and crying out for mercy so loud as she could. Two fierce bloodhounds also followed swiftly after, and where their teeth took hold, did most cruelly bite her. Last of all (mounted on a lusty black Courser) came galloping a Knight, with a very stern and angry countenance, holding a drawn short Sword in his hand, giving her very vile and dreadful speeches, and threatening every minute to kill her.  
This strange and uncouth sight, bred in him no mean admiration, as also kind compassion to the unfortunate woman; out of which compassion, sprung an earnest desire, to deliver her (if he could) from a death so full of anguish and horror: but seeing himself to be without arms, he ran and plucked up the plant of a Tree, which handling as if it had been a staff, he opposed himself against the dogs and the Knight, who seeing him coming, cried out in this manner to him. Anastasio, put not thyself in any opposition, but refer to my Hounds and me, to punish this wicked woman as she hath justly deserved. And in speaking these words, the Hounds took fast hold on her body, so staying her, until the Knight was come nearer to her, and alighted from his horse: when Anastasio (after some other angry speeches) spoke thus unto him. I cannot tell what or who thou art, albeit thou takest such knowledge of me: yet I must say, that it is mere cowardice in a Knight, being armed as thou art, to offer to kill a naked woman, and make thy dogs thus to seize on her, as if she were a savage beast; therefore believe me, I will defend her so fare as I am able.  
Anastasio, answered the Knight, I am of the same City as thou art, and do well remember, that thou wast a little lad, when I (who was then named Guido Anastasio, and thine uncle) became as entirely in love with this woman, as now thou art of Paulo Traversarioes' daughter. But through her coy disdain and cruelty, such was my heavy fate, that desperately I slew myself with this short sword which thou beholdest in mine hand: for which rash sinful deed, I was and am condemned to eternal punishment. This wicked woman, rejoicing immeasurably in mine unhappy death, remained no long time alive after me, and for her merciless sin of cruelty, and taking pleasure in my oppressing torments; dying unrepentant, and in pride of her scorn, she had the like sentence of condemnation pronounced on her, and sent to the same place where I was tormented.  
There the three impartial judges, imposed this further infliction on us both; namely, that she should fly in this manner before me, and I (who loved her so dearly while I lived) must pursue her as my deadly enemy, not like a woman that had any taste of love in her. And so often as I can overtake her, I am to kill her with this sword, the same Weapon wherewith I slew myself. Then am I enjoined, therewith to open her accursed body, and tear out her hard and frozen heart, with her other inwards, as now thou seest me do, which I give unto my hounds to feed on. Afterward, such is the appointment of the supreme powers, that she re-assumeth life again, even as if she had not been dead at all, and falling to the same kind of flight, I with my hounds am still to follow her, without any respite or intermission. Every Friday, and just at this hour, our course is this way, where she suffereth the just punishment inflicted on her. Nor do we rest any of the other days, but are appointed unto other places, where she cruelly executed her malice against me, being now (of her dear affectionate friend) ordained to be her endless enemy, and to pursue her in this manner) for so many years, as she exercised months of cruelty towards me. Hinder me not then, in being the executioner of divine justice; for all thy interposition is but in vain, in seeking to cross the appointment of supreme powers.  
Anastasio having attentively heard all this discourse, his hair stood upright like Porcupines quills, and his soul was so shaken with the terror, that he stepped back to suffer the Knight ro do what he was enjoined, looking yet with mild commisseration on the poor woman. Who kneeling most humbly before the Knight, & sternly seized on by the two blood hounds, he opened her breast with his weapon, drawing forth her heart and bowels, which instantly he threw to the dogs, and they devoured them very greedily. Soon after, the damsel (as if none of this punishment had been inflicted on her) started up suddenly, running amain towards the Sea shore, and the Hounds swiftly following her, as the Knight did the like, after he had taken his sword, and was mounted on horseback; so that Anastasio had soon lost all sight of them, and could not guess what was become of them.  
After he had heard and observed all these things, he stood awhile as confounded with fear and pity, like a simple silly man, hoodwinked with his own passions, not knowing the subtle enemies cunning illusions, in offering false suggestions to the sight, to work his own ends thereby, & increase the number of his deceived servants. Forthwith he persuaded himself, that he might make good use of this woman's tormenting, so justly imposed on the Knight to prosecute, if thus it should continue still every Friday. Wherefore, setting a good note or mark upon the place, he returned back to his own people, and at such time as he thought convenient, sent for diverse of his kindred and friends from Ravenna, who being present with him, thus he spoke to them.  
Dear Kinsmen and Friends, ye have a long while importuned me, to discontinue my over-doting love to her, whom you all think, and I find to be my mortal enemy: as also, to give over my lavish expenses, wherein I confess myself too prodigal; both which requests of yours, I will condescend to, provided, that you will perform one gracious favour for me; Namely, that on Friday next, Signior Paulo Traversario, his wife, daughter, with all other women linked in lineage to them, and such beside only as you shall please to appoint, will vouchsafe to accept a dinner here with me; as for the reason thereto moving me, you shall then more at large be acquainted withal. This appeared no difficult matter for them to accomplish: wherefore, being returned to Ravenna, and as they found the time answerable to their purpose, they invited such as Anastasio had appointed them. And although they found it somewhat ●n hard matter, to gain her company whom he so dearly affected; yet notwithstanding, the other women won her along with them.  
A most magnificent dinner had Anastasio provided, and the tables were covered under the Pine-trees, where he saw the cruel Lady so pursued and slain: directing the guests so in their seating, that the young Gentlewoman his unkind Mistress, sat with her face opposite unto the place, where the dismal spectacle was to be seen. About the closing up of dinner, they began to hear the noise of the poor prosecuted Woman, which driven them all to much admiration; desiring to know what it was, and no one resolving them, they arose from the tables, and looking directly as the noise came to them, they espied the woeful Woman, the dogs eagerly pursuing her; and the armed Knight on horse back galloping fiercely after them with his drawn weapon, and came very ne'er unto the company, who cried out with loud exclaims against the dogs and the Knight, stepping forth in assistance of the injuried woman.  
The Knight spoke unto them, as formerly he had done to Anastasio, (which made them draw back, possessed with fear and admiration) acting the same cruelty as he did the Friday before, not differing in the least degree. Most of the Gentlewomen there present, being near allied to the unfortunate Woman, and likewise to the Knight, remembering well both his love and death, did shed tears as plentifully, as if it had b●n to the very persons themselves, in visiall performance of the action indeed. Which tragical Scene being passed over, and the Woman and Knight gone out of their sight: all that had seen this strange accident, fell into diversity of confused opinions, yet not daring to disclose them, as doubting some further danger to ensue thereon.  
But beyond all the rest, none could compare in fear and astonishment with the cruel young maid affected by Anastasio, who both saw and observed all with a more inward apprehension, knowing very well, that the moral of this dismal spectacle, carried a much nearer application to her then any other in all the company. For now she could call to mind, how unkind and cruel she had shown herself to Anastasio, even as the other Gentlewoman formerly did to her lover, still flying from him in great contempt and scorn: for which, she thought the bloodhounds also pursued her at the heels already, and a sword of due vengeance to mangle her body. This fear grew so powerful in her, that, to prevent the like heavy doom from falling on her; she studied (by all her best & commendable means, and therein bestowed all the night season) how to change her hatred into kind love, which at the length she fully obtained, and then purposed to prosecute in this manner.  
Secretly she sent a faithful chambermaid of her own, to greet Anastasio on her behalf; humbly entreating him to come see her: because now she was absolutely determined, to give him satisfaction in all which (with honour) he could request of her. Whereto Anastasio answered, that he accepted her message thankfully, and desired no other favour at her hand, but that which stood with her own offer, namely, to be his Wife in honourable marriage. The maid knowing sufficiently, that he could not be more desirous of the match, than her mistress shown herself to be, made answer in her name, that this motion would be most welcome to her.  
Hereupon, the Gentlewoman herself, became the solicitor to her Father and Mother, telling them plainly, that she was willing to be the Wife of Anastasio: which news did so highly content them, that upon the Sunday next following, the marriage was very worthily sollemnized, and they lived and loved together very kindly. Thus the divine bounty, out of the malignant enemies secret machinations, can cause good effects to arise and succeed. For, from this conceit of fearful imagination in her, not only happened this long desired conversion, of a maid so obstinately scornful and proud: but likewise all the women of Ravenna (being admonished by her example) grew afterward more kind and tractable to men's honest motions, than ever they shown themselves before. And let me make some use hereof (fair Ladies) to you, not to stand over-nicely conceited of your beauty and good parts, when men (growing enamoured of you by them) solicit you with their best and humblest services. Remember then this disdainful Gentlewoman, but more especially her, who being the death of so kind a lover, was therefore condemned to perpetual punishment, and he made the minister thereof, whom she had cast off with coy disdain, from which I wish your minds to be as free, as mine is ready to do you any acceptable service.   

Frederigo, of the Alberighi Family, loved a Gentlewoman, and was not requited with like love again. By bountiful expenses, and over liberal invitations, he wasted and consumed all his lands and goods, having nothing left him, but a hawk or falcon. His unkind mistress happeneth to come visit him, and he not having any other food for her dinner; made a dainty dish of his Faulcone for her to feed on. Being conquered by this his exceeding kind courtesy; she changed her former hatred towards him, accepting him as her Husband in marriage, and made him a man of wealthy possessions.  
The ninth novel.  
Wherein is figured to the life, the notable kindness and courtesy, of a true and constant lover: As also the magnanimous mind of a famous Lady.  
Madam Philomena having finished her discourse, the Queen perceiving, that her turn was the next, in regard of the privilege granted to Dioneus; with a smiling countenance thus she spoke. Now or never am I to maintain the order which was instituted when we began this commendable exercise, whereto I yield with all humble obedience. And (worthy Ladies) I am to acquaint you with a novel, in some sort answerable to the precedent, not only to let you know, how powerfully your kindnesses do prevail, in such as have a free and gentle soul: but also to advice you, in being bountiful, where virtue doth ●●stly challenge it. And evermore, let your favours shine on worthy deservers, without the direction of chance or Fortune, who never bestoweth any gift by discretion; but rashly without consideration, even to the first she blindly meets withal.  
You are to understand then, that Coppo di Borghese Domenichi, who was of our own City, and perhaps (as yet) his name remaineth in great and reverend authority, now in these days of ours, as well deserving eternal memory; yet more for his virtues and commendable qualities, than any boast of Nobility from his predecessors. This man, being well entered into years, and drawing towards the finishing of his days; it was his only delight and felicity, in conversation among his neighbours, to talk of matters concerning antiquity, and some other things within compass of his own knowledge: which he would deliver in such singular order, (having an absolute memory) and with the best Language, as very few or none could do the like. Among the multiplicity of his quaint discourses, I remember he told us, that sometime there lived in Florence a young Gentleman, named Frederigo, son to Signior Philippo Alberigho, who was held and reputed, both for arms, and all other actions beseeming a Gentleman, hardly to have his equal through all Tuscany.  
This Frederigo (as it is no rare matter in young Gentlemen) became enamoured of a Gentlewoman, named Madam Giana, who was esteemed (in her time) to be the fairest and most gracious Lady in all Florence. In which respect, and to reach the height of his desire, he made many sumptuous Feasts and Banquets, jousts, Tiltes, Tournaments, and all other noble actions of arms, beside, sending her infinite rich and costly presents, making spare of nothing, but las●ing all out in lavish expense. Notwithstanding, she being no less honest than fair, made no reckoning of whatsoever he did for her sake, or the least respect of his own person. So that Frederigo, spending thus daily more, than his means and ability could maintain, and no supplies any way redounding to him, or his faculties (as very easily they might) diminished in such sort, that he became so poor; as he had nothing left him, but a small poor farm to live upon, the silly revenues whereof were so mean, as scarcely allowed him meat and drink; yet had he a fair hawk or falcon, hardly any where to be followed, so expeditious and sure she was of flight. His low ebb and poverty, no way quailing his love to the Lady, but rather setting a keener edge thereon; he saw the City life could no longer contain him, where most he coveted to abide: and therefore, betook himself to his poor country farm, to let his falcon get him his dinner and supper, patiently supporting his penurious estate, without suit or means making to one, for help or relief in any such necessity.  
While thus he continued in this extremity, it came to pass, that the Husband to Madam Giana fell sick, and his debility of body being such, as little, or no hope of life remained: he made his last will and testament, ordaining thereby, that his son (already grown to indifferent stature) should be heir to all his Lands and riches, wherein he abounded very greatly. Next unto him, if he chanced to die without a lawful heir, he subsistuted his Wife, whom most dear he affected, and so departed out of this life. Madam Giana being thus left a widow; as commonly it is the custom of our City Dames, during the Summer season, she went to a House of her own in the country, which was somewhat near to poor Frederigoes' farm, and where he lived in such an honest kind of contented poverty.  
Hereupon, the young Gentleman her son, taking great delight in Hounds and hawks; grew into familiarity with poor Frederigo, and having seen many fair flights of his falcon, they pleased him so extraordinarily, that he earnestly desired to enjoy her as his own; yet durst not move the motion for her, because he saw how choicely Frederigo esteemed her. Within a short while after, the young Gentleman, became very sick, whereat his Mother grieved exceedingly, (as having no more but he, and therefore loved him the more entirely) never parting from him either night or day, comforting him so kindly as she could, and demanding, if he had a desire to any thing, willing him to reveal it, and assuring him withal, that (if it were within the compass of possibility) he should have it. The youth hearing how many times she had made him these offers, and with such vehement protestations of performance, at last thus spoke.  
Mother (quoth he) if you can do so much for me, as that I may have Frederigoes' falcon, I am persuaded, that my sickness soon will cease. The Lady hearing this, sat some short while musing to herself, and began to consider, what she might best do to compass her son's desire: for well she knew, how long a time Frederigo had most lovingly kept it, not suffering it ever to be out of his sight. Moreover, she remembered, how earnest in affection he had been to her, never thinking himself happy, but only when he was in her company; wherefore, she entered into this private consultation with her own thoughts. Shall I send, or go myself in person, to request the falcon of him, it being the best that ever flew? It is his only jewel of delight, and that taken from him, no longer can he wish to live in this World. How fare then void of understanding shall I show myself, to rob a Gentleman of his sole felicity, having no other joy or comfort left him? These and the like considerations, wheeled about her troubled brain, only in tender care and love to her son, persuading herself assuredly, that the falcon were her own, if she would but request it: yet not knowing whereon it were best to resolve, she returned no answer to her son, but sat still in her silent meditations. At the length, love to the youth, so prevailed with her, that she concluded on his contentation, and (come of it what could) she would not send for it; but go herself in person to request it, and then return home again with it, whereupon thus she spoke. Son, comfort thyself, and let languishing thoughts no longer offend thee: for here I promise thee, that the first thing I do to morrow morning, shall be my journey for the falcon, and assure thyself, that I will bring it with me. Whereat the youth was so joyed, that he imagined, his sickness began instantly a little to leave him, and promised him a speedy recovery.  
Somewhat early the next morning, the Lady, in care of her sick Sons health, was up and ready betimes, and taking another Gentlewoman with her; only as a morning's recreation, she walked to Frederigoes' poor country farm, knowing that it would not a little glad him to see her. At the time of her arrival there, he was (by chance) in a silly Garden, on the backside of his House, because (as yet) it was no convenient time for flight: but when he heard, that Madam Giana was come thither, and desired to have some conference with him; as one almost confounded with admiration, in all haste he ran to her, and saluted her with most humble reverence. She in all modest and gracious manner, requited him with the like salutations, thus speaking to him. Signior Frederigo, your own best wishes befriend you, I am now come hither, to recompense some part of your passed travails, which heretofore you pretended to suffer for my sake, when your love was more to me, than did well become you to offer, or myself to accept. And such is the nature of my recompense, that I make myself your guest, and mean this day to dine with you, as also this Gentlewoman, making no doubt of our welcome: whereto, with lowly reverence, thus he replied.  
Madam, I do not remember, that ever I sustained any loss or hindrance by you, but rather so much good, as if I was worth any thing, it proceeded from your great deservings, and by the service in which I did stand engaged to you. But my present happiness can no way be equalled, derived from your superabounding gracious favour, and more than common course of kindness, vouchsafing (of your own liberal nature) to come and visit so poor a servant. Oh that I had as much to spend again, as heretofore riotously I have run thorough: what a welcome would your poor Host bestow upon you, for gracing this homely house with your divine presence? With these words, he conducted her into his house, and then into his simple Garden, where having no convenient company for her, he said. Madam, the poverty of this place is such, that it affordeth none fit for your conversation: this poor woman, wife to an honest Husbandman will attend on you, while I (with some speed) shall make ready dinner.  
Poor Frederigo, although his necessity was extreme, and his grief great, remembering his former inordinate expenses, a moiety whereof would now have stood him in some stead; yet he had a heart as free and forward as ever, not a jot dejected in his mind, though utterly overthrown by Fortune. Alas! how was his good soul afflicted, that he had nothing wherewith to honour his Lady? Up and down he runs, one while this way, than again another, exclaiming on his disastrous Fate, like a man enraged, or bereft of senses: for he had not one penny of money neither pawn or pledge, wherewith to procure any. The time hasted on, and he would gladly (though in mean measure) express his honourable respect of the Lady. To beg of any, his nature denied it, and to borrow he could not, because his neighbours were all as needy as himself.  
At last, looking round about, and seeing his falcon standing on her perch, which he felt to be very plump and fat, being void of all other helps in his need, and thinking her to be a fowl meet for so Noble a Lady to feed on: without any further demurring or delay, he plucked off her neck, and caused the poor woman presently to pull her Feathers: which being done, he put her on the spit, and in short time she was daintily roasted. Himself covered the table, set bread and salt on, and laid the Napkins, whereof he had but a few left him. Going then with cheerful looks into the Garden, telling the Lady that dinner was ready, and nothing now wanted, but her presence. She, and the Gentlewoman went in, and being seated at the table, not knowing what they fed on, the Falcon was all their food; and Frederigo not a little joyful, that his credit was so well saved. When they were risen from the table, and had spent some small time in familiar conference: the Lady thought it fit, to acquaint him with the reason of her coming thither, and therefore (in very kind manner) thus began.  
Frederigo, if you do yet remember your former carriage towards me, as also my many modest and chaste denials, which (perhaps) you thought to savour of a harsh, cruel, and un-womanly nature: I make no doubt, but you will wonder at my present presumption, when you understand the occasion, which expressly moved me to come hither. But if you were possessed of children, or ever had any, whereby you might comprehend what love (in nature) is due unto them: then I durst assure myself, that you would partly hold me excused.  
Now, in regard that you never had any, and I myself (for my patt) have but only one, I stand not exempted from those laws, which are in common to other mothers. And being compelled to obey the power of those laws; contrary to mine own will, and those duties which reason ought to maintain: I am to request such a gift of you, which I am certain, that you do make most precious account of, as in manly equity you can do no less. For, Fortune hath been so extremely adverse to you, that she hath rob you of all other pleasures, allowing you no comfort or delight, but only that poor one, which is your fair Faulcone. Of which Bird, my son is become so straungeiy desirous, as, if I do not bring it to him at my coming home; I fear so much the extremity of his sickness, as nothing can ensue thereon, but his loss of life. Wherefore I beseech you, not in regard of the love you have born me, for thereby you stand no way obliged: but in your own true gentle nature (the which hath always declared itself ready in you, to do more kind offices generally, than any other Gentleman that I know) you will be pleased to give her me, or at the least, let me buy her of you. Which if you do, I shall freely then confess, that only by your means, my son's life is saved, and we both shall for ever remain engaged to you.  
When Frederigo had heard the Lady's request, which was now quite out of his power to grant, because it had been her service at dinner: he stoodlike a man merely dulled in his senses, the tears trickling amain down his checks: and he not able to utter one word. Which she perceiving, began to conjecture immediately, that these tears and passions proceeded rather from grief of mind, as being loather to part with his falcon, than any other kind of matter: which made her ready to say, that she would not have it. Nevertheless she did not speak, but rather tarried to attend his answer. Which, after some small respite and pause, he returned in this manner.  
Madame, since the hour, when first mine affection became solely devoted to your service; Fortune hath been cross and contrary to me, in many occasions, as justly, and in good reason I may complain of her. Yet all seemed light and easy to be endured, in comparison of her present malicious contradiction, to my utter overthrow, and perpetual molestation. Considering, that you are come hither to my poor house, which (while I was rich and able) you would not so much as vouchsafe to look on. And now you have requested a small matter of me, wherein she hath also most crookedly thwarted me, because she hath disabled me, in bestowing so mean a gift, as yourself will confess, when it shall be related to you in very few words.  
So soon as I heard, that it was your gracious pleasure to dine with me, having regard to your excellency, and what (by merit) is justly due unto you: I thought it a part of my bounden duty, to entertain you with such exquisite viands, as my poor power could any way compass, and fare beyond respect or welcome, to other common and ordinary persons. Whereupon, remembering my falcon, which now you ask for; and her goodness, excelling all other of her kind; I supposed, that she would make a dainty dish for your diet, and having dressed her, so well as I could device to do: you have fed heartily on her, and I am proud that I have so well bestown her. But perceiving now, that you would have her for your sick son; it is no mean affliction to me, that I am disabled of yielding you contentment, which all my life time I have desired to do.  
To approve his words, the feathers, feet, and beak were brought in, which when she saw, she greatly blamed him for killing so rare a Falcon, to content the appetite of any woman whatsoever. Yet she commended his height of spirit, which poverty had no power to abase. Lastly, her hopes being frustrate for enjoying the falcon, and fearing beside the health of her son: shethanked Frederigo for his honourable kindness, returning home again sad and melancholy. Shortly after, her son either grieving that he could not have the Faulcone, or by extremity of his disease, chanced to dye, leaving his mother a most woeful Lady.  
After so much time was expired, as conveniently might agree with sorrow and mourning; her Brethren made many motions to her, to join herself in marriage again, because she was extraordinarily rich, and as yet but young in years. Now, although she was well contented never to be married any more; yet being continually importuned by them, and remembering the honourable honesty of Frederigo, his last poor, yet magnificent dinner, in killing his Faulcone for her sake, she said to her Brethren. This kind of widowed estate doth like me so well, as willingly I would never leave it: but seeing you are so earnest for my second marriage, let me plainly tell you, that I will never accept of any other husband, but only Frederigo di Alberino.  
Her brethren in scornful manner reproved her, telling her, that he was a beggar, and had nothing left to keep him in the world. I know it well (quoth she) and am hearty sorry for it. But give me a man that hath need of wealth, rather than wealth that hath need of a man. The Brethren hearing how she stood addicted, and knowing Frederigo to be a worthy Gentleman, though poverty had disgraced him in the world: consented thereto, so she bestowed herself and her riches on him. He on the other side, having so noble a Lady to his Wife, and the same whom he had so long and dearly loved: submitted all his fairest Fortunes unto her, became a better husband (for the world) then before, and they lived and loved together in equal joy and happiness.   

Pedro di Vinciolo went to sup at a friends House in the City. His Wife (in the mean while) had a young man (whom she loved) at supper with her. Pedro returning whom upon a sudden, the young man was hidden under a coop for hens. Pedro, in excuse of his so soon coming home, declareth, how in the House of Herculano (with whom he should have supped) a friend of his wives was found, which was the reason of the Suppers breaking off. Pedroes' Wife reproving the error of Hetculanoes' Wife; an ass (by chance) treads on the young man's fingers, that lay hidden under the Hen Coope. Upon his crying out, Pedro steppeth thither, sees him, knows him, and findeth the fallacy of his Wife: with whom (nevertheless) he groweth to agreement, in regard of some imperfections in himself.  
The tenth novel.  
Reprehending the cunning shifts, of light headed and immodest Women, who, by abusing themselves, do throw evil aspersions on all the sex.  
THe Queen's novel being ended, and all the company applauding the happy fortune of Frederigo, as also the noble nature of Madam Giana: Dioneus, who never expected any command, prepairing to deliver his discourse, began in this manner. I know not, whether I should term it a vice accidental, and ensuing through the badness of complexions upon us mortals; or else an error in Nature, to joy and smile rather at lewd accidents, then at deeds that justly deserve commendation, especially, when they do not any way concern ourselves. Now, in regard that all the pains I have hitherto taken, and am also to undergo at this present, aimeth at no other end, but only to purge your minds of melancholy, and entertain the time with mirthful matter: pardon me I pray you (fair Ladies) if my Tale trip in some part, and savour a little of immodesty; yet in hearing it, you may observe the same course, as you do in pleasing and delightful Gardens, pluck a sweet Rose, and yet preserve your fingers from pricking. Which very easily you may do, winking at the imperfections of a foolish man, and smiling at the amorous subtleties of his Wife, compassionating the misfortune of others, where urgent necessity doth require it.  
There dwelled (not long since) in Perugia, a wealthy man, named Pedro di Vinciolo, who perhaps) more to deceive some other, and restrain an evil opinion, which the Perugians had conceived of him, in matter no way beseeming a man, than any beauty or good feature remaining in the woman entered into the estate of marriage. And Fortune was so conform to him in his election, that the woman whom he had made his wife, had a young, lusty, and well enabled body, a red hairde wench, hot and fiery spirited, standing more in need of three Husbands, than he, who could not any way well content one Wife, because his mind ran more on his money, than those offices and duties belonging to wedlock, which time acquainting his Wife withal, contrary to her own expectation, and those delights which the estate of marriage afforded, knowing herself also to be of a sprightly disposition, and not to be easily tamed by household cares and attendances: she waxed weary of her Husbands unkind courses, upbraided him daily with harsh speeches, making his own home merely as a hell to him.  
When she saw that this domestic disquietness returned her no benefit, but rather tended to her own consumption, than any amendment in her miserable Husband; she began thus to confer with her private thoughts. This Husband of mine liveth with me, as if he were no Husband, or This Wife; the marriage bed, which should be a comfort to us both, seemeth hateful to him, and as little pleasing to me, because his mind is on his money, his head busied with worldly cogitations, and early and late in his countinghouse, admitting no familiar conversation with me. Why should not I be as respectless of him, as he declares himself to be of me? I took him for an Husband, brought him a good and sufficient dowry, thinking him to be a man, and affected a woman as a man ought to do, else he had never been any Husband of mine. If he be a Woman hater, why did he make choice of me to be his Wife? If I had not intended to be of the World, I could have cooped myself up in a cloister, and shorn myself a nun, but that I was not borne to such severity of life. My youth shall be blasted with age, before I can truly understand what youth is, and I shall be branded with the disgraceful word barrenness, knowing myself meet and able to be a Mother, were my Husband but worthy the name of a Father, or expected issue and posterity, to leave our memorial to after times in our race, as all our predecessors formerly have done, and for which marriage was chief instituted. Castles long besieged, do yield at the last, and women wronged by their own Husbands, can hardly warrant their own frailty, especially living among so many temptations, which flesh and blood are not always able to resist. Well, I mean to be advised in this case, before I will hazard my honest reputation, either to suspicion or scandal, than which, no woman can have two heavier enemies, and very few there are that can escape them.  
Having thus a long while consulted with herself, and (perhaps) oftener than twice or thrice; she became secretly acquainted with an aged woman, generally reputed to be more than half a Saint, walking always very demurely in the streets, counting (over and over) her Pater nosters, and all the Cities holy pardons hanging at her girdle, never talking of any thing, but the lives of the holy Fathers, or the wounds of Saint Frances, all the World admiring her sanctity of life, even as if she were divinely inspired: this she Saint must be our distressed woman's counsellor, and having found out a convenient season, at large she imparted all her mind to her, in some such manner as formerly you have heard, whereto she returned this answer.  
Now trust me Daughter, thy case is to be pitied, and so much the rather, because thou art in the flower and spring time of thy youth, when not a minute of time is to be left: for there is no greater an error in this life, than the loss of time, because it cannot be recovered again; and when the fiends themselves affright us, yet if we keep our embers still covered with warm ashes on the hearth, they have not any power to hurt us. If any one can truly speak thereof, than I am able to deliver true testimony; for I know, but not without much perturbation of mind, and piercing afflictions in the spirit; how much time I lost without any profit. And yet I lost not all, for I would not have thee think me to be so foolish, that I did altogether neglect such an especial benefit; which when I call to mind, and consider now in what condition I am, thou must imagine, it is no small heart's grief to me, that age should make me utterly despised, and no fire afforded to light my tinder.  
With men it is not so, they are borne apt for a thousand occasions, as well for the present purpose we talk of, as infinite other beside; yea, and many of them are more esteemed being aged, then when they were young. But women serve only for men's contentation, and to bring children, and therefore are they generally beloved, which if they fail of, either it is by unfortunate marriage, or some imperfection depending on nature, not through want of good will in themselves. We have nothing in this world but what is given us, in which regard, we are to make use of our time, and employ it the better while we have it. For, when we grow to be old, our Husbands, yea, our very dearest and nearest friends, will scarcely look on us. We are then fit for nothing, but to sit by the fire in the kitchen, telling tales to the Cat, or counting the pots and pans on the shelves. Nay, which is worse, rhymes and songs is made of us, even in mere contempt of our age, and commendation of such as are young, the daintiest morsels are fittest for them, and we referred to feed on the scraps from their trenchers, or such reversion as they can spare us. I tell thee Daughter, thou couldst not make choice of a merer woman in all the City, to whom thou mightest safely open thy mind, and knows better to advice thee then I do. But remember withal, that I am poor, and it is your part not to suffer poverty to be unsupplyed. I will make thee partaker of all these blessed pardons, at every Altar I will say a Pater noster, and an Aue Maria, that thou Mayst prosper in thy hearts desires, and be defended from foul sin and shame, and so she ended her Motherly counsel.  
Within a while after, it came to pass, that her Husband was inivited forth to Supper, with one named Herculano, a kind friend of his, but his Wife refused to go, because she had appointed a friend to supper with her, to whom the old woman was employed as her messenger, and was well recompensed for her labour. This friend was a gallant proper youth, as any all Perugia yielded, and scarcely was he seated at the Table, but her Husband was returned back, and called to be let in at the door. Which when she perceived, she was almost half dead with fear, and coveting to hide the young man, that her Husband should not have any sight of him, she had no other means, but in an enrry, hard by the Parlour where they purposed to have supped, stood a coop or Hen pen, wherein she used to keep her Pullen, under which he crept, and then she covered it with an old empty sack, and after ran to let her Husband come in. When he was entered into the House; as half offended at his so sudden return, angrily he said: It seems Sir you are a shaver at your meat, that you have made so short a supper. In troth Wife (quoth he) I have not supped at all, no, not so much as eaten one bit. How happened that? said the woman. Marry wife (quoth he) I will tell you, and then thus he began.  
As Herculano, his wife, and I were sitting down at the Table, very near unto us we heard one sneeze, whereof at the first we made no reckoning, until we heard it again the second time, yea, a third, fourth, and fifth, and many more after, whereat we were not a little amazed. Now Wife I must tell you, before we entered the room where we were to sup, Herculanoes' wife kept the door fast shut against us, and would not let us enter in an indifferent while; which made him then somewhat offended, but now much more, when he had heard one to sneeze so often. Demanding of her a reason for it, and who it was that thus sneezed in his House: he started from the Table, and stepping to a little door near the stair's head, necessarily there made, to set such things in, as otherwise would be troublesome to the room, (as in all Houses we commonly see the like) he perceived, that the party was hidden there, which we had heard so often to sneeze before.  
No sooner had he opened the door, but such a smell of brimstone came forth (whereof we felt not the least savour before) as made us likewise to cough and sneeze, being no way able to refrain it. She seeing her Husband to be much moved, excused the matter thus, that (but a little while before) she had whited certain linen with the smoke of brimstone, as it is an usual thing to do, and then set the pan into that spare place, because it should not be offensive to us. By this time, Herculano had espied him that sneezed, who being almost stifled with the smell, and closeness of the small room wherein he lay, had not any power to help himself, but still continued coughing and sneezing, even as if his heart would have split in twain. Forth he plucked him by the heels, and perceiving how matters had past, he said to her. I thank you Wife, now I see the reason, why you kept us so long from coming into this room, let me die, if I bear this wrong at your hands. When his Wife heard these words, and saw the discovery of her shame; without returning either excuse or answer, forth of doors she ran, but whither, we know not. Herculano drew his Dagger, and would have slain him that still lay sneezing: but I dissuaded him from it, as well in respect of his, as also mine own danger, when the Law should censure on the deed. And after the young man was indifferently recovered; by the persuasion of some Neighbours coming in: he was closely conveyed out of the house, and all the noise quietly pacified. Only (by this means, and the flight of Herculanoes' wife) we were disappointed of our Supper; and now you know the reason of my so soon returning.  
When she had heard this whole discourse, than she perceived, that other Women were subject to the like infirmity, and as wise for themselves, as she could be, though these and the like sinister accidents might sometimes cross them, and gladly she wished, that Herculanoes' wife's excuse, might now serve to acquit her: but because in blaming others errors, our own may sometime chance to escape discovery, and clear us, albeit we are as guilty; in a sharp reprehending manner, thus she began. See Husband, here is handsome behaviour, of an holy fair seeming, and Saint like woman, to whom I durst have confessed my sins, I conceived such a religious persuasion of her life's integrity, free from the least scruple of taxation. A woman, so fare stepped into years, as she is, to give such an evil example to other younger women, is it not a sin beyond all sufferance? Accursed be the hour, when she was borne into this World, and herself likewise, to be so lewdly and incontinently given; an universal shame and slander, to all the good women of our City.  
Shall I term her a woman, or rather some savage monster in a woman's shape? Hath she not made an open prostitution of her honesty broken her plighted faith to her Husband, and all the womanly reputation she had in this World? Her Husband, being an honourable Citizen, entreating her always, as few men else in the City do their wives; what an heartbreak must this needs be to him, good man? Neither I, nor any honest man else, aught to have any pity on her; but (with our own hands) tear her in pieces, or drag her along to a good fire in the market place, wherein she and her minion should be consumed together, and their base ashes dispersed abroad in the wind, lest the pure air should be infected with them.  
Then, remembering her own case, and her poor affrighted friend, who lay in such distress under the Hen-coope; she began to advice her Husband, that he would be pleased to go to bed, because the night passed on apace. But Pedro, having a better will to eat, then to sleep, desired her to let him have some meat, else he must go to bed with an empty belly; whereto she answered. Why Husband (quoth she) do I make any large provision, when I am debarred of your company? I would I were the wife of Herculano, seeing you cannot content yourself from one nights feeding, considering, it is now over-late to make any thing ready.  
It fortuned, that certain Husbandmen, which had the charge of Pedroes' farm house in the country, and there followed his affairs of Husbandry, were returned home this instant night, having their Asses laden with such provision, as was to be used in his City-house. When the Asses were unladen, and set up in a small Stable, without watering; one of them being (belike) more thirsty than the rest, broke lose, and wandering all about smelling to seek water, happened into the entry, where the young man lay hidden under the Hen-pen. Now, he being constrained (like a carp) to lie flat on his belly, because the coop was over-weighty for him to carry, and one of his hands more extended forth, then was requisite for him in so urgent a shift: it was his hap (or ill fortune rather) that the ass set his foot on the young man's fingers, treading so hard, and the pain being very irksome to him, as he was enforced to cry out aloud, which Pedro hearing, he wondered thereat not a little.  
Knowing that this cry was in his house, he took the candle in his hand, and going forth of the Parlour, heard the cry to be louder and louder; because the ass removed not his foot, but rather trod the more firmly on his hand. Coming to the coop, driving thence the ass, and taking off the old sack, he espied the young man, who, beside the painful anguish he felt of his fingers, arose up trembling, as fearing some outrage beside to be offered him by Pedro, who knew the youth perfectly, and demanded of him, how he came thither. No answer did he make to that question, but humbly entreated (for charity's sake) that he would not do● him any harm. Fear not (quoth Pedro) I will not offer thee any violence: only tell me how thou camest hither, and for what occasion; wherein the youth fully resolved him.  
Pedro being no less joyful for thus finding him, than his wife was sorrowful, took him by the hand, and brought him into the Parlour, where she sat trembling and quaking, as not knowing what to say in this distress. Seating himself directly before her, and holding the youth still fast by the hand, thus he began. Oh Wife! what bitter speeches did you use (even now) against the wife of Herculano, maintaining that she had shamed all other women, and justly deserved to be burned? Why did you not say as much of yourself? Or, if you had not the heart to speak it, how could you be so cruel against her, knowing your offence as great as hers? Questionless, nothing else urged you thereto, but that all women are of one and the same condition, covering their own gross faults by fare inferior infirmities in others. You are a perverse generation, merely false in your fairest shows.  
When she saw that he offered her no other violence, but gave her such vaunting and reproachful speeches, holding still the young man before her face, merely to vex and despite her: she began to take heart, and thus replied. Dost thou compare me with the wife of Herculano, who is an old, discembling hypocrite? yet she can have of him whatsoever she desireth, and he useth her as a woman ought to be, which favour I could never yet find at thy hands. Put the case, that thou keepest me in good garments, allowing me to go neatly hosed and shod; yet well thou knowest, there are other meet matters belonging to a woman, and every way as necessarily required, both for the preservation of household quietness, and those other rites between a Husband and Wife. Let me be worse garmented, courser dieted, yea, debarred of all pleasure and delights; so I might once be worthy the name of a Mother, and leave some remembrance of womanhood behind me. I tell thee plainly Pedro, I am a woman as others are, and subject to the same desires, as (by nature) attendeth on flesh and blood: look how thou failest in kindness towards me, think it not amiss, if I do the like to thee, and endeavour thou to win the worthy tile of a Father, because I was made to be a Mother.  
When Pedro perceived, that his Wife had spoken nothing but reason, in regard of his overmuch neglect towards her, and not using such household kindness, as aught to be between Man and Wife, he returned her this answer. Well Wife (quoth he) I confess my fault, and hereafter will labour to amend it; conditionally, that this youth, nor any other, may no more visit my House in mine absence. Get me therefore something to eat, for doubtless, this young man and thyself fell short of your supper, by reason of my so soon returning home. In troth Husband, said she, we did not eat one bit of any thing, and I will be a true and loyal Wife to thee, so thou wilt be the like to me. No more words than wife, replied Pedro, all is forgotten and forgiven, let us to supper, and we are all friends. She seeing his anger was so well appeased, lovingly kissed him, and laying the cloth, set on the supper, which she had provided for herself & the youth, and so they supped together merrily, not one unkind word passing between them. After supper, the youth was sent away in friendly manner, and Pedro was always afterward more loving to his Wife, then formerly he had been, and no complaint passed on either side, but mutual joy and household contentment, such as ought to be between man and wife.  
Dioneus' having ended his Tale, for which the Ladies returned him no thankes, but rather angrily frowned on him: the Queen, knowing that her government was now concluded, arose, and taking off her crown of laurel, placed it graciously on the head of Madam Eliza, saying. Now Madam, it is your turn to command. Eliza having received the honour, did (in all respects) as others formerly had done, and after she had instructed the Master of the household, concerning his charge during the time of her regiment, for contentation of all the company; thus she spoke.  
We have long since heard, that with witty words, ready answers, and sudden jests or taunts, many have checked & reproved great folly in others, and to their own no mean commendation. Now, because it is a pleasing kind of argument, ministering occasion of mirth and wit: my desire is, that all our discourse to morrow shall tend thereto. I mean of such persons, either Men or Women, who with some sudden witty answer, have encountered a scorner in his own intention, and laid the blame where it justly belonged. Every one commended the Queen's appointment, because it savoured of good wit and judgement; and the Queen being risen, they were all discharged till supper time, falling to such several exercises as themselves best fancied.  
When supper was ended, and the instruments laid before them; by the Queen's consent, Madam Aemillia undertook the dance, and the Song was appointed to Dioneus, who began many, but none that proved to any liking, they were so palpably obscene and idle, savouring altogether of his own wanton disposition. At the length, the Queen looking stearnely on him, and commanding him to sing a good one, or none at all; thus he began.  

The Song.  

EYes, can ye not refrain your hourly weeping?  
Ears, how are you deprived of sweet attention?  
Thoughts, have you lost your quiet silent sleeping?  
Wit, who hath robbed thee of thy rare invention?  
The lack of these, being life and motion giving:  
Are senseless shapes, and no true signs of living.   

Eyes, when you gazed upon her angel beauty;  
Ears, while you heard her sweet delicious strains,  
Thoughts (sleeping then) did yet perform their duty,  
Wit, than took springtly pleasure in his pains.  
While she did live, than none of these were scanting,  
But now (being dead) they all are gone and wanting.    
After that Dioneus (by proceeding no further) declared the finishing of his Song; many more were sung beside, and that of Dioneus highly commended. Some part of the night being spent in other delightful exercises, and a fitting hour for rest drawing on: they betook themselves to their Chambers, where we will leave them till to morrow morning.    
The end of the Fifth Day.   
FINIS.  

The Errata of such faults as have unwillingly escaped in the Printing.  
Folio a. b. the several sides: Line correction:  
FOl. 4. a. Line 32, for been reputed, read have reputed: 5 b. 8: for twaining, r. waving: 7 b. 6. for fearfully, r. fairly: Eod. b. 18, for flames, r. flowers; 12 b. 24, for Nigilles, r. Vigilles: 14 a. 39, for within himself, r. said within himself: Eod. b. 14, for shift, r. shrift: Eod. b. 22, for daughter's door, r. Dorter door: Eod. b. 35, for venial, r. venereal: 21. a. 12, for paired, r. paid: 28 b. 20: for commanding, r. commanded; 29 b. 29, for for the, r. forth: 33 a. 19, for ensigns r. engines: 37 b. 12, for great, r. greater: Eod. b. 13, for death, r. depth; 39 a. 2, for some do, r. seen some do: 40 b. 26, for Naupertuis, r. Malpertuis: 46 a. 3, for instrust, r. enstruct: Eod. b. 20, for he, r. she; 47 b. 3, for his, r. their: Eod. b. 17, for the two with her children, r. & the two children with her: 48 a. 4, for hours, r. years: Eod. a. 42, for who, r. and: 4● a. 5, for injuries which, r. injuries are which: Eod. a. 8, for Gentlewoman, r. Gentlemen: Eod. b. 5, for was as a little, r. was not a little: 52, a. 21, for badly, r. kindly: Eod: b. 35, for Gentlewoman, r. Gentleman; Eod▪ b. vlt. for them r. him: 53 b. 11, for instructing, r. mistructing: 55 a. 31, for Duke, r. Prince: 56 a. 42, for horse, r. force: Eod. b. 41, for not so far, r. now so far: 64 a. 19, for both, r. loath: 68 a. 22, for ear, r. Earl; Eod. a. 26, for Ambrosio, r. Ambroginolo: Eod. b. 32, for name, r. own: 70 a. 14, for unapt, r. jumped; 74 b. 30, for he, r. her Eod. b. 16; for him, r. himself: Eod. b. 19, for Gentleman, r. Gentlewoman: 75 a. 2, for she was, r. he was; 77 b. vlt. for parted, r. played: 78 b, 16, for with, r. them with: 81 b. 34, for an easy, r. such an easy; 82 a. 39, for mine, r. nine: Eod. b. 40, for means, r. craft: 90. a. 18, for must, r. he must: Eod▪ a: ●9, for is a great, r. is no great; Eod: b. 31, for mighty, r. nightly: 85 a: 20, for herself, r. turning herself: Eob: b, 24, for and only, r: saving only: 86 a. 8, 9, read thus. If I should do any thing contrary to his liking and honour, no woman could more worthily, etc. 91 a. 14, for ask, r. looking: Eod. b. 22, for house, r. horse: 96 b. 19, for husband, r. father; 98 b. 40, for hath not, r. hath; 99 a. 7, for repeat, r. repent: 101 a. 14, for undergo, r. undergo it; Eod. b. 8, for hostess, r. hosts: 102 a. 41, for and, r. or; 104 b. 40, for hither, r. come hither: 105 a. 42, for darge, r. dark: 107 b. 27, for a King, r. liking: 114, b. 23, for your, r. our: 116, b. 12, for these, r. then: 118, a. 8, for no spare, r. made no spare: 122, a. 27, for mine respect, r. mine own respect: Eod. a. 29▪ for honour, r humours: Eod. b. 13, for quickly, r. quietly: 155, a. 34, for and and, r. one: Eod. b. 27, for she, r. he: 156, a. 10, for shame, r. flame; 158, a. 4, for writing, r. waiting: 159, a. 4, for like, r. life: Eod. a. 19, for divert them, r. divert him: 167, b. 22; for neighbours, r. neighbour's children: 168, a. 24, for to experience, r. to gain experience: 169 b. 9, for instantly r. constantly: 170, b. 24, for received, r. perceived: 187, a. 6; for imputed, r. enured: 190, a. 13, for places, r. parts: 191, a 5; for spared from, r. lodged: Eod: a. 26, for hardy, r. hardly: 192, b: 22, for Forenza, r. Faenza: 194, b: 7: for spoke he, r. speaketh:   


THE Decameron CONTAINING An hundred pleasant novels.  
Wittily discoursed, between seven Honourable Ladies, and three Noble Gentlemen.  
The last five days.  
London, Printed by Isaac Jaggard, 1620.    

TO THE RIGHT HOnourable, Sir Philip HERBERT, Knight, Lord Baron of Sh●rland, Earl of Montgomery, and Knight of the most Noble order of the Garter.  
Having (by your honourable command) translated this Decameron, or Cento Novelle, surnamed Il Principe Galeotto, of ten days several discourses, grounded on variable and singular Arguments, happening between seven Noble Ladies, and three ver-Honourable Gentlemen: Although not attired in such elegant cy of phrase, or nice curiosity of style, as a quicker and more sprightly wit could have performed, but in such home-born language, as my ability could stretch unto; yet it cometh (in all duty) to kiss your Noble hand, and to shelter itself under your Gracious protection, though not from the leering eye, and over-lavish tongue of snarling envy; yet from the power of his blasting poison, and malice of his machinations.   

To the Reader.  
Books (Courteous Reader) may rightly be compared to Gardens; wherein, let the painful Gardiner express never so much care and diligent endeavour; yet among the very fairest, sweetest, and freshest Flowers, as also Plants of most precious virtue; ill savouring and stinking Weeds, fit for no use but the fire or muckhill, will spring and sprout up. So fareth it with books of the very best quality, let the Author be never so indulgent, and the Printer vigilant: yet both may miss their aim, by the escape of Errors and Mistakes, either in sense or matter, the one fault ensuing by a ragged Written Copy; and the other through want of wary Correction. If then the best books cannot be free from this common infirmity; blame not this then, of fare lighter argument, wherein thy courtesy may help us both: His blame, in acknowledging his more sufficiency, then to write so gross and absurdly: And mine, in pardoning unwilling errors committed, which thy judgement finding, thy pen can as easily correct.  
Farewell.   

THE sixth DAY.  
Governed under the Authority of Madam Eliza, and the Argument of the Discourses or novels there to be recounted, do concern such persons; who by some witty words (when any have checked or taunted them) have revenged themselves, in a sudden, unexpected and discreet answer, thereby preventing loss, danger, scorn and disgrace, retorting them on the busi-headed Questioners.  

The Induction.  
THe moon hane past the heaven, lost her bright splendour, by the arising of a more powerful light, and every part of our world began to look clear: when the Queen (being risen) caused all the Company to be called, walking forth afterward upon the pearled dew (so fare as was supposed convenient) in fair and familiar conference together, according as severally they were disposed, & repetition of diverse the passed novels, especially those which were most pleasing, and seemed so by their present commendations. But the sun being somewhat higher mounted, gave such a sensible warmth to the air, as caused their return back to the palace, where the Tables were readily covered against their coming, strewed with sweet herbs and odoriferous flowers, seating themselves at the Tables (before the heat grew more violent) according as the Queen commanded.  
After dinner, they sung diverse excellent Canzonnets, and then some went to sleep, others played at the chess, and some at the Tables: But Dioneus and Madam Lauretta, they sung the love-conflict between Troilus and Cressida. Now was the hour come, of repairing to their former Consistory or meeting place, the Queen having thereto generally summoned them, and seating themselves (as they were wont to do) about the fair fountain. As the Queen was commanding to begin the first novel, an accident suddenly happened, which never had befallen before: to wit, they heard a great noise and tumult, among the household servants in the Kitchin. Whereupon, the Queen caused the Master of the household to be called, demanding of him, what noise it was, and what might be the occasion thereof? He made answer, that Lacisca and Tindar● were at some words of discontentment, but what was the occasion thereof, he knew not. Whereupon, the Queen commanded that they should be sent for, (their anger and violent speeches still continuing) and being come into her presence, she demanded the reason of their discord; and Tindaro offering to make answer, Lacisca (being somewhat more ancient than he, and of a fiercer fiery spirit, even as if her heart would have leapt out of her mouth) turned herself to him, and with a scornful frowning countenance, said. See how this bold, unmannerly and beastly fellow, dare presume to speak in this place before me: Stand by (saucy impudence) and give your better leave to answer; then turning to the Queen, thus she proceeded.  
Madam, this idle fellow would maintain to me, that Signior Sicophanto marrying with Madama dell●● Grazza, had the victory of her virginity the very first night; and I avouched the contrary, because she had been a mother twice before, in very fair adventuring of her fortune. And he dared to affirm beside, that young maids are so simple, as to lose the flourishing April of their time, in mere fear of their parents, and great prejudice of their amorous friends. Only being abused by infinite promises, that this year and that year they shall have husbands, when, both by the laws of nature and reason, they are not tied to tarry so long, but rather ought to lay hold upon opportunity, when it is fairly and friendly offered, so that seldom they come maids to marriage. Beside, I have heard, and know some married wives, that have played diverse wanton pranks with their husbands, yet carried all so demurely and smoothly; that they have gone free from public detection. All which this woodcock will not credit, thinking me to be so young a novice, as if I had been borne but yesterday.  
While Larisca was delivering these speeches, the Ladies smiled on one another, not knowing what to say in this case: And although the Queen (five or six several times) commanded her to silence; yet such was the earnestness of her spleen, that she gave no attention, but held on still▪ even until she had uttered all that she pleased. But after she had concluded her complaint, the Queen (with a smiling countenance) turned towards Dioneus, saying. This matter seemeth most properly to belong to you; and therefore I dare repose such trust in you, that when our novels (for this day) shall be ended, you will conclude the case with a definitive sentence. Whereto Dioneus presently thus replied. Madam the verdict is already given, without any further expectation: and I affirm, that Lacisca hath spoken very sensibly, because she is a woman of good apprehension, and Tindaro is but a puny, in practice and experience, to her.  
When Licisca heard this, she fell into a loud Laughter, and turning herself to Tindaro, said: The honour of the day is mine, and thine own quarrel hath overthrown thee in the field. Thou that (as yet) hath scarcely learned to suck, wouldst thou presume to know so much as I do? Couldst thou imagine me, to be such a truant in loss of my time, that I came hither as an ignorant creature? And had not the Queen (looking very frowningly on her) strictly enjoined her to silence; she would have continued still in this triumphing humour. But fearing further chastisement for disobedience, both she and Tindaro were commanded thence, where was no other allowance all this day, but only silence and attention, to such as should be enjoined speakers.  
And then the Queen, somewhat offended at the folly of the former controversy, commanded madam Philomena, that she should give beginning to the day's novels: which (in dutiful manner) she undertook to do, and seating herself in formal fashion, with modest and very gracious gesture, thus she began.  

A Knight requested Madam Oretta, to ride behind him on horseback, and promised, to tell her an excellent Tale by the way. But the Lady perceiving, that his discourse was idle, and much worse delivered: entreated him to let her walk on foot again.  
The First novel.  
Reprehending the folly of such men, as undertake to report discourses, which are beyond their wit and capacity, and gain nothing but blame for their labour.  
GRacious Ladies, like as in our fair, clear, and serene seasons, the Statres are bright ornaments to the heavens, and the flowery fields (so long as the spring time lasteth) wear their goodliest liveries, the Trees likewise bragging in their best adorn: even so at friendly meetings, short, sweet, and sententious words, are the beauty & ornament of any discourse, savouring of wit and sound judgement, worthily deserving to be commended. And so much the rather, because in few and witty words, aptly suiting with the time and occasion, more is delivered then was expected, or sooner answered, then rashly apprehended: which, as they become men very highly, yet do they show more singular in women.  
True it is, what the occasion may be, I know not, either by the badness of our wits, or the especial enmity between our complexions and the celestial bodies: there are scarcely any, or very few Women to be found among us, that well knows how to deliver a word, when it should and ought to be spoken; or, if a question be moved, understands to suit it with an apt answer, such as conveniently is required, which is no mean disgrace to us women. But in regard, that madam Pampinea hath already spoken sufficiently of this matter, I mean not to press it any further: but at this time it shall satisfy me, to let you know, how wittily a Lady made due observation of opportunity, in answering of a Knight, whose talk seemed tedious and offensive to her.  
No doubt there are some among you, who either do know, or (at the least) have heard, that it is no long time since, when there dwelled a Gentlewoman in our city, of excellent grace and good discourse, with all other rich endowments of Nature remaining in her, as pity it were to conceal her name: and therefore let me tell ye, that she was called madam Oretta, the Wife to Signior Geri Spina. She being upon some occasion (as now we are) in the country, and passing from place to place (by way of neighbourly invitations) to visit her loving Friends and Acquaintance, accompanied with diverse Knights and Gentlewomen, who on the day before had dived and supped at her house, as now (belike) the selfsame courtesy was intended to her: walking along with her company upon the way; and the place for her welcome being further off then she expected▪ a Knight chanced to overtake this fair troop, who well knowing Madam Oretta, using a kind and courteous salutation, spoke thus unto her.  
Madam, this foot travel may be offensive to you, and were you so well pleased as myself, I would ease your journey behind me on my Gelding, even so fare as you shall command me: and beside, will shorten your weariness with a Tale worth the hearing. Courteous Sir (replied the Lady) I embrace your kind offer with such acceptation, that I pray you to perform it; for therein you shall do me an especial favour. The Knight, whose Sword (perhaps) was as unsuitable to his side, as his wit out of fashion for any ready discourse, having the Lady mounted behind him: road on with a gentle pace, and (according to his promise) began to tell a Tale, which indeed (of itself) deserved attention, because it was a known and commendable History, but yet delivered so abruptly, with idle repetitions of some particulars three or four several times, mistaking one thing for another, and wandering erroneously from the essential subject, seeming near an end, and then beginning again: that a poor Tale could not possibly be more mangled, or worse tortured in telling, than this was; for the persons therein concerned, we●e so abusively nicke-named, their actions and speeches so monstrously mishapen, that nothing could appear to be more ugly.  
Madame Oretta, being a Lady of unequalled ingenuity, admirable in judgement, and most delicate in her speech, was afflicted in foul, beyond all measure; overcome with many cold sweats, and passionate heart-aking qualms, to see a fool thus in a Pinne-fold, and unable to get out, albeit the door stood wide open to him, whereby she became so sick; that, converting her distaste to a kind of pleasing acceptation, merrily thus she spoke. Believe me Sir, your horse trots so hard, & travels so uneasily; that I entreat you to let me walk on foot again.  
The Knight, being (perchance) a better understander, than a Discourser; perceived by this witty taunt, that his bowl had run a contrary bias, and he as fare out of Tune, as he was from the town. So, linger the time, until her company was nearer arrived: he left her with them, and road on as his wisdom could best direct him.   

Cistio a Baker, by a witty answer which he gave unto Messer Geri Spina, caused him to acknowledge a very indiscreet motion, which he had made to the said Cistio.  
The Second novel.  
Approving, that a request ought to be civil, before it should be granted to any one whatsoever.  
THE words of madam Oretta, were much commended by the men and women; and the discourse being ended, the Queen gave command to Madam Pampinea, that she should follow next in order, which made her to begin in this manner.  
Worthy Ladies, it exceedeth the power of my capacity, to censure in the case whereof I am to speak, by saying, who sinned most, either Nature, in seating a Noble soul in a vile body, or Fortune, in bestowing on a body (beautified with a noble soul) a base or wretched condition of life. As we may observe by Cistio, a Citizen of our own, and many more beside; for, this Cistio being endued with a singular good spirit▪ Fortune hath made him no better than a Baker. And believe me Ladies, I could (in this case) lay as much blame on Nature, as on Fortune; if I did not know Nature to be most absolutely wise, & that Fortune hath a thousand eyes, albeit fools have figured her to be blind. But, upon more mature and deliberate consideration, I find, that they both (being truly wise and judicious) have dealt justly, in imitation of our best advised mortals, who being uncertain of such inconveniences, as may happen unto them, do bury (for their own benefit) the very best and choicest things of esteem, in the most vile and abject places of their houses, as being subject to least suspicion, and where they may be sure to have them at all times, for supply of any necessity whatsoever, because so base a conveyance hath better kept them, than the very best chamber in the house could have done. Even so these two great commanders of the world, do many times hide their most precious jewels of worth, under the clouds of Arts or professions of worst estimation, to the end; that fetching them thence when need requires, their splendour may appear to be the more glorious. Nor was any such matter noted in our homely Baker Cistio, by the best observation of Messer Geri Spina, who was spoken of in the late repeated novel, as being the husband to madam Oretta; whereby this accident came to my remembrance, and which (in a short Tale) I will relate unto you.  
Let me then tell ye, that Pope Boniface (with whom the forenamed Messer Geri Spina was in great regard) having sent diverse Gentlemen of his Court to Florence as Ambassadors, about very serious and important business: they were lodged in the house of Messer Geri Spina, and he employed (with them) in the said Pope's negotiation. It chanced, that as being the most convenient way for passage, every morning they walked on foot by the Church of Saint Marie d'Vghi, where Cistio the Baker dwelled, and exercised the trade belonging to him. Now although Fortune had humbled him to so mean a condition, yet she added a blessing of wealth to that contemptible quality, and (as smiling on him continually) no disasters at any time befell him, but still he flourished in riches, lived like a ●olly Citizen, with all things fitting for honest entertainment about him, and plenty of the best Wines (both White and Claret) as Florence or any part thereabout yielded.  
Our frolic Baker perceiving, that Messer Geri Spina and the other Ambassadors, used every morning to pass by his door, and afterward to return back the same way: seeing the season to be somewhat hot & sultry, he took it as an action of kindness and courtesy, to make them an offer of tasting his white wine. But having respect to his own mean degree, and the condition of Messer Geri: he thought it fare unfitting for him, to be so forward in such presumption; but rather entered into consideration of some such means, whereby Messer Geri might be the inviter of himself to taste his Wine. And having put on him a truss or thin doublet, of very white and fine linen cloth, as also breeches, and an apron of the same; and a white cap upon his head, so that he seemed rather to be a Miller, than a Baker: at such times as Messer Geri and the Ambassadors should daily pass by, he set before his door a new Bucket of fair water, and another small vessel of Bologna earth (as new and sightly as the other) full of his best and choicest white Wine, with two small Glasses, looking like silver, they were so clear. Down he sat, with all this provision before him, and emptying his stomach twice or thrice, of some clotted flegmes which seemed to offend it: even as the Gentlemen were passing by, he drank one or two roufes of his Wine so hearty, and with such a pleasing appetite, as might have moved a longing (almost) in a dead man.  
Messer Geri well noting his behaviour, and observing the very same course in him two mornings together; on the third day (as he was drinking) he said unto him. Well done Cistio, what, is it good, or no? Cistio starting up, forwith replied: Yes Sir, the wine is good indeed, but how can I make you to believe me, except you taste of it? Messer Geri, either in regard of the times quality, or by reason of his pains taken, perhaps more than ordinary, or else, because he saw Cistio had drunk so sprightly, was very desirous to taste of the Wine, and turning unto the Ambassadors, in merriment he said. My Lords, me thinks it were not much amiss, if we took a taste of this honest man's Wine, perhaps it is so good, that we shall not need to repent our labour.  
Hereupon, he went with them to Cistio, who had caused an handsome seat to be fetched forth of his house, whereon he requested them to sit down, and having commanded his men to wash clean the Glasses, he said. Fellows, now get you gone, and leave me to the performance of this service; for I am no worse a skinker, than a Baker, and tarry you never so long, you shall not drink a drop. Having thus spoken, himself washed four or five small glasses, fair and new, and causing a vial of his best wine to be brought him: he diligently filled it out to Messer Geri and the ambassadors, to whom it seemed the very best Wine, that they had drunk of in a long while before. And having given Cistio most hearty thankes for his kindness, and the Wine his due commendation: many days afterwards (so long as they continued there) they found the like courteous entertainment, and with the good liking of honest Cistio.  
But when the affairs were fully concluded, for which they were thus sent to Florence, and their parting preparation in due readiness: Messer Geri made a very sumptuous Feast for them, inviting thereto the most part of the honourablest Citizens, and Cistio to be one amongst them; who (by no means) would be seen in an assembly of such State and pomp, albeit he was thereto (by the said Messer Geri) most earnestly entreated.  
In regard of which denial, Messer Geri commanded one of his servants, to take a small Bottle, and request Cistio to fill it with his good Wine; then afterward, to serve it in such sparing manner to the Table, that each Gentleman might be allowed half a glass-full at their down-sitting. The servingman, who had heard great report of the Wine, and was half offended, because he could never taste thereof: took a great flagon Bottle, containing four or five Gallons at the least, and coming therewith unto Cistio, said unto him. Cistio, because my Master cannot have your company among his friends, he prays you to Il this Bottle with your best Wine. Cistio looking upon the huge flagon, replied thus. Honest Fellow, Messer Geri never sent thee with such a Message to me: which although the servingman very stoutly maintained, yet getting no other answer, he returned back therewith to his Master.  
Messer Geri returned the servant back again unto Cistio, saying: go, and assure Cistio, that I sent thee to him, and if he make thee any more such answers, then demand of him, to what place else I should send thee? Being come again to Cistio, he avouched that his master had sent him, but Cistio affirming, that he did not: the servant asked, to what place else he should send him? Marry (quoth Cistio) unto the river of Arno, which runneth by Florence, there thou mayest be sure to fill thy flagon. When the servant had reported this answer to Messer Geri, the eyes of his understanding began to open, and calling to see what Bottle he had carried with him: no sooner looked he on the huge flagon, but severely reproving the sauciness of his servant, he said. Now trust me, Cistio told thee nothing but truth, for neither did I send thee with any such dishonest message, nor had the reason to yield or grant it.  
Then he sent him with a bottle of more reasonable competency, which so soon as Cistio saw: Yea marry my friend, quoth he, now I am sure that thy Master sent thee to me, and he shall have his desire with all my h●rt. So, commanding the Bottle to be filled, he sent it away by the servant, and presently following after him, when he came unto Messer Geri, he spoke unto him after this manner. Sir, I would not have you to imagine, that the huge flagon (which first came) did any jot dismay me; but rather I conceived, that the small vial whereof you tasted every morning, yet filled many mannerly Glasses together, was fallen quite out of your remembrance; it plainer terms, it being no Wine for grooms or peasant's, as yourself affirmed yesterday. And because I mean to be a Skinker no longer, by keeping Wine to please any other palate but mine own: I have sent you half my store, and hereafter think of me as you shall please. Messer Geri took both his safety and speeches in most thankful manner, accepting him always after, as his intimate Friend, because he had so graced him before the ambassadors.   

Madame Nonna de Pulci, by a sudden answer, did put to silence a Bishop of Florence, and the Lord Martial: having moved a question to the said Lady, whi●h seemed to come short of honesty.  
The Third novel.  
Wherein is declared, that mockers do sometimes meet with their matches in mockery, and to their own shame.  
WHen madam Pampinea had ended her Discourse, and (by the whole company) the answer and bounty of Cistio, had passed with deserved commendation: is pleased the Queen, that madam Lauretta should next succeed: whereupon very cheerfully thus she began.  
Fair assembly, madam Pampinea (not long time since) gave beginning, and Madam Philomena hath also seconded the same argument, concerning the slender virtue remaining in our sex, and likewise the beauty of witty words, delivered on apt occasion, and in convenient meetings. Now, because it is needless to proceed any further, than what hath been already spoken: let me only tell you (over and beside) and commit it to memory, that the nature of meetings and speeches are such, as they ought to nip or touch the hearer, like unto the sheep's nibbling on the tender grass, and not as the sullen dog biteth. For, if their biting be answerable to the dogs, they deserve not to be termed witty jests or quips, but foul and offensive language: as plainly appeareth by the words of madam Oretta, and the merry, yet sensible answer of Cistio.  
True it is, that if it be spoken by way of answer, and the answerer biteth doggedly, because himself was bitten in the same manner before: he is the less to be blamed, because he maketh payment but with coin of the same stamp. In which respect, an especial care is to be had, how, when, with whom, and where we jest or gibe, whereof very many prove too unmindful, as appeared (not long since) by a Prelate of ours, who met with a biting, no less sharp and bitter, then had first come from himself before, as very briefly I intent to tell you how.  
Messer Antonio d'Orso, being Byshoppe of Florence, a virtuous, wise, and reverend Prelate; it fortuned that a Gentleman of Catalogna, named Messer Diego de la Ratta, and Lord Martial to King Robert of Naples, came thither to visit him. He being a man of very comely personage, and a great observer of the choicest beauties in Court: among all the other Florentine Dames, one proved to be most pleasing in his eye, who was a very fair Woman indeed, and niece to the Brother of the said Messer Antonio.  
The Husband of this Gentlewoman (albeit descended of a worthy Family) was, nevertheless, immeasurably covetous, and a very vile harsh natured man. Which the Lord Martial understanding, made such a mad composition with him, as to give him five hundred ducats of Gold, on condition, that he would let him lie one night with his wife, not thinking him so base minded as to give consent. Which in a greedy avaricious humour he did, and the bargain being absolutely agreed on; the Lord marshal prepared to fit him with a payment, such as it should be. He caused so many pieces of silver to be cunningly guilded, as then went for currant money in Florence, and called Popolines, & after he had lain with the Lady (contrary to her will and knowledge, her husband had so closely carried the business) the money was duly paid to the cornuted coxcomb. Afterwards, this impudent shame chanced to be generally known, nothing remaining to the wilful wittol, but loss of his expected gain, and scorn in every place where he went. The Bishop likewise (being a discreet and sober man) would seem to take no knowledge thereof; but bore out all scoffs with a well settled countenance.  
Within a short while after, the Bishop and the Lord Marshal (always conversing together) it came to pass, that upon Saint john's day, they riding thorough the City, side by side, and viewing the brave beauties, which of them might best deserve to win the prize: the Bishop espied a young married Lady (which our late grievous pestilence bereft us of) she being named Madame Nonna de Pulci, and cousin to Messer Alexio Rinucci, a Gentleman well known unto us all. A very goodly beautiful young woman she was, of delicate language, and singular spirit, dwelling close by S. Peter's gate. This Lady did the Bishop show to the marshal, and when they were come to her, laying his hand upon her shoulder, he said. Madam Nonna, What think you of this Gallant? Dare you adventure another wager with him?  
Such was the apprehension of this witty Lady, that these words seemed to tax her honour, or else to contaminate the hearers understanding, whereof there were great plenty about her, whose judgement might be as vile, as the speeches were scandalous. Wherefore, never seeking for any further purgation of her clear conscience, but only to retort taunt for taunt, presently thus she replied. My Lord, if I should make such a vile adventure, I would look to be paid with better money.  
These words being heard both by the Bishop and Martial, they felt themselves touched to the quick, the one, as the Factor or Broker, for so dishonest a business, to the Brother of the Bishop; and the other, as receiving (in his own person) the shame belonging to his Brother. So, not so much as looking each on other, or speaking one word together all the rest of that day, they road away with blushing cheeks. Whereby we may collect, that the young Lady, being so injuriously provoked, did no more than well became her, to bite their baseness nearly, that so abused her openly.   

Chichibio, the cook to Messer Currado Gianfiliazzi, by a sudden pleasant answer which he made to his Master; converted his anger into laughter, and thereby escaped the punishment, that Messer meant to impose on him.  
The Fourth novel.  
Whereby plainly appeareth, that a sudden witty and merry answer, doth oftentimes appease the furious choler of an angry man.  
MAdam Lauretta sitting silent, and the answer of Lady Nonna having passed with general applause: the Queen commanded madam Neiphila to follow next in order; who instantly thus began. Although a ready wit (fair Ladies) doth many times afford worthy and commendable speeches, according to the accidents happening to the speaker: yet notwithstanding, Fortune (being a ready helper diverse ways to the timorous) doth often tip the tongue with such a present reply, as the party to speak, had not so much leisure as to think on, not yet to invent; as I purpose to let you perceive, by a pretty short novel.  
Messer Currado Gianfiliazzi (as most of you have both seen and known) living always in our city, in the estate of a Noble Citizen, being a man bountiful, magnificent, and within the degree of knighthood: continually kept both hawks and Hounds, taking no mean delight in such pleasures as they yielded, neglecting (for them) fare more serious employments, wherewith our present subject presumeth not to meddle. Upon a day, having killed with his falcon a Crane, near to a Village called Peretola, and finding her to be both young and fat, he sent it to his cook, a Venetian borne, and named Chichibio, with command to have it prepared for his supper. Chichibio, who resembled no other, than (as he was indeed) a plain, simple, honest merry fellow, having dressed the Crane as it ought to be, put it on the spit, and laid it to the fire.  
When it was well near fully roasted, and gave forth a very delicate pleasing savour; it fortuned that a young Woman dwelling not far off, named Brunetta, and of whom Chichibio was somewhat enamoured, entered into the kitchen, and feeling the excellent smell of the Crane, to please her beyond all savours, that ever she had felt before: she entreated Chichibio very earnestly, that he would bestow a leg thereof o● her. Whereto Chichibio (like a pleasant companion, and evermore delighting in singing) sung her this answer.  
My Brunetta, fair and feata,  
Why should you say so?  
The meat of my Master,  
Allows you for no Taster,  
Go from the kitchen go.  
Many other speeches passed between them in a short while, but in the end, Chichibio, because he would not have his Mistress Brunetta angry with him; cut away one of the Cranes legs from the spit, and gave it to her to eat. Afterward, when the fowl was served up to the Table before Messer Carrado, who had invited certain strangers his friends to sup with him, wondering not a little, he called for Chichibio his Cook; demanding what was become of the Cranes other leg? Whereto the Venetian (being a liar by Nature) suddenly answered: Sir, Cranes have no more but one leg each Bird. Messer Currado, growing very angry, replied. Wilt thou tell me, that a Crane hath no more but one leg? Did I never see a Crane before this? Chichibio persisting resolutely in his denial, said. Believe me Sir, I have told you nothing but the truth, and when you please, I will make good my words, by such fowls as are living.  
Messer Currado, in kind love to the strangers that he had invited to supper, gave over any further contestation; only he said. Seeing thou assurest me, to let me see thy affirmation for truth, by other of the same fowls living (a thing which as yet I never saw, or heard of) I am content to make proof thereof to morrow morning, till than I shall rest satisfied: but, upon my word, if I find it otherwise, expect such a sound payment, as thy knavery justly deserveth, to make thee remember it all thy life time. The contention ceasing for the night season, Messer Currado, who though he had slept well, remained still discontented in his mind: arose in the morning by break of day, and puffing & blowing angrily, called for his horses, commanding Chichibio to mount on one of them; so riding on towards the river, where (early every morning) he had s●ene plenty of Cranes, he said to his man; We shall see anon sirrah, whether thou or I lied yesternight.  
Chichibio perceiving, that his master's anger was not (as yet) assuaged, and now it stood him upon, to make good his lie; not knowing how he should do it, road after his Master, fearfully trembling all the way. Gladly he would have made an escape, but he could not by any possible means, and on every side he looked about him, now before, and after behind, to espy any Cranes standing on both their legs, which would have been an ominous sight to him. But being come near to the river, he chanced to see (before any of the rest) upon the bank thereof, about a dozen Cranes in number, each of them standing but upon one leg, as they use to do when they are sleeping. Whereupon, showing them quickly to Messer Currado, he said. Now Sir yourself may see, whether I told you true yesternight, or no: I am sure a Crane hath but one thigh, and one leg, as all here present are apparent witnesses, and I have been as good as my promise.  
Messer Currado looking on the Cranes, and well understanding the knavery of his man, replied: Stay but a little while sirrah, & I will show thee, that a Crane hath two thighs, and two legs. Then riding somewhat nearer to them, he cried out aloud, shove, shove, which caused them to set down their other legs, and all fled away, after they had made a few paces against the wind for their mounting. So going unto Chichibio, he said: How now you lying knave, hath a Crane two legs, or no? Chichibio being well-near at his wit's end, not knowing now what answer he should make; but even as it came suddenly into his mind, said: Sir, I perceive you are in the right, and if you would have done as much yesternight, and had cried shove, as here you did: questionless, the Crane would then have set down the other leg, as these here did: but if (as they) she had fled away too, by that means you might have lost your Supper.  
This sudden and unexpected witty answer, coming from such a loggerheaded Lout, and so seasonably for his own safety: was so pleasing to Messer Currado, that he fell into a hearty laughter, and forgetting all anger, said. Chichibio, thou hast quit thyself well, and to my contentment: albeit I advice thee, to teach me no more such tricks hereafter. Thus Chichibio, by his sudden and merry answer, escaped a sound beating, which (otherwise) his master had inflicted on him.   

Messer Forese da Rabatte, and Master Giotto, a Painter by his profession, coming together from Mugello, scornfully reprehended one another for their deformity of body.  
The Fift novel.  
Whereby may be observed, that such as will speak contemptibly of others, ought (first of all) to look respectively on their own imperfections.  
SO soon as madam Neiphila sat silent (the Ladies having greatly commended the pleasant answer of Chichibio) Pamphilus, by command from the Queen, spoke in this manner. Worthy Ladies, it cometh to pass oftentimes, that like as Fortune is observed diverse ways, to hide under vile and contemptible Arts, the most great and unvalewable treasures of virtue (as, not long since, was well discoursed unto us by madam Pampinea:) so in like manner hath appeared; that Nature hath infused very singular spirits into most misshapen and deformed bodies of men. As hath been noted in two of our own Citizens, of whom I purpose to speak in few words. The one of them was named Messer Forese de Rabatta, a man of little and low person, but yet deformed in body, with a flat face, like a Terrier or Beagle, as if no comparison (almost) could be made more ugly. But notwithstanding all this deformity, he was so singularly experienced in the laws, that all men held him beyond any equal, or rather reputed him as a Treasury of civil knowledge.  
The other man, being named Giotto, had a spirit of so great excellency, as there was not any particular thing in Nature, the Mother and Worke-mistresse of all, by continual motion of the heavens; but he by his pen and pencil could perfectly portrait; shaping them all so truly alike and resemblable, that they were taken for the real matters indeed; and, whether they were present or no, there was hardly any possibility of their distinguishing. So that many times it happened, that by the variable devices he made, the visible sense of men became deceived, in crediting those things to he natural, which were but merely painted. By which means, he reduced that singular Art to light, which long time before had lain buried, under the gross error of some; who, in the mystery of painting, delighted more to content the ignorant, then to please the judicious understanding of the wise, he justly deserving thereby, to be termed one of the Florentines most glorious lights. And so much the rather, because he performed all his actions, in the true and lowly spirit of humility: for while he lived, and was a Master in his Art, above all other Painters: yet he refused any such title, which shined the more majestically in him, as appeared by such, who knew much less than he, or his scholars either: yet his knowledge was extremely coveted among them.  
Now, notwithstanding all this admirable excellency in him: he was not (thereby) a jot the handsomer man (either in person or countenance) then was our forenamed Lawyer Messer Forese, and therefore my novel concerneth them both. Understand then (fair assembly) that the possessions and inheritanees of Messer Forese and Giotto, lay in Mugello; wherefore, when holidays were celebrated by Order of Court, and in the summer time, upon the admittance of so apt a vacation; Forese road thither upon a very unsightly jade, such as a man can can seldom meet with worse. The like did Giotto the Painter, as ill fitted every way as the other; and having dispatched their business there, they both returned back towards Florence, neither of them being able to boast, which was the best mounted.  
Riding on a fair and softly pace, because their Horses could go no faster: and they being well entered into years, it fortuned (as oftentimes the like befalleth in summer) that a sudden shower of rain overtook them; for avoiding whereof, they made all possible haste to a poor countryman Cottage, familiarly known to them both. Having continued there an indifferent while, and the rain unlikely to cease: to prevent all further protraction of time, and to arrive at Florence in due season; they borrowed 'twoold cloaks of the poor man, of overworn and ragged Country grey, as also two hoods of the like Complexion, because the poor man had no better) which did more mishap them, than their own ugly deformity, and made them notoriously flouted and scorned, by all that met or overtook them.  
After they had ridden some distance of ground, much moiled and bemyred with their shuffling jades, flinging the dirt every way about them, that well they might be termed two filthy companions: the rain gave over, and the evening looking somewhat clear, they began to confer familiarly together. Messer Forese, riding a lofty French trot, every step being ready to hoist him out of his saddle, hearing Giottos discreet answers to every idle question he made (for indeed he was a very elegant speaker) began to peruse and survey him, even from the foot to the head, as we use to say. And perceiving him to be so greatly deformed, as no man could be worse, in his opinion: without any consideration of his own mishaping as bad, or rather more unsightly than he; in a scoffing laughing humour, he said Giotto, dost thou imagine▪ that a stranger, who had never seen thee before, and should now happen into our company, would believe thee to be the best Painter in the world, as indeed thou art? Presently Giotto (without any further meditation) returned him this answer. Signior Forese, I think he might then believe it, when (beholding you) he could imagine that you had learned your A. B. C. Which when Forese heard, he knew his own error, and saw his payment returned in such coin, as he sold his Wares for.   

A young and ingenious scholar, being unkindly reviled and smitten by his ignorant Father, and through the procurement of an unlearned vicar; afterward attained to be doubly revenged on him.  
The Sixth novel.  
Serving as an advertisement to unlearned Parents, not to be overrash, in censuring on scholar's perfections, through any bad or unbeseeming persuasions.  
THE Ladies smiled very hearty, at the ready answer of Giotto; until the Queen charged Madam Fiammetta, that she should next succeed in order: whereupon, thus she began. The very greatest infelicity that can happen to a man, and most insupportable of all other, is Ignorance; a word (I say) which hath been so general, as under it is comprehended all imperfections whatsoever. Yet notwithstanding, whosoever can cull (grain by grain) the defects incident to humane race; will and must confess, that we are not all borne to knowledge: but only such, whom the heavens illuminating by their bright radiance (wherein consisteth the source and wellspring of all science) by little & little, do bestow the influence of their bounty, on such and so many as they please, who are to express themselves the more thankful for such a blessing. And although this grace doth lessen the misfortune of many, which were over-mighty to be in all; yet some there are, who by saucy presuming on themselves, do bewray their ignorance by their own speeches; setting such behaviour on each matter, and soothing every thing with such gravity, even as if they would make comparison: or (to speak more properly) durst encounter in the lists with great Solomon or Socrates. But let us leave them, and come to the matter of our purposed novel.  
In a certain Village of Piccardie, there lived a Priest or Vicar, who being merely an ignorant block, had yet such a peremptory presuming spirit: as, though it was sufficiently discerned, yet he beguiled many thereby, until at last he deceyued himself, and with due chastisement to his folly.  
A plain Husbandman dwelling in the same Village, possessed of much Land and living, but very gross and dull in understanding; by the entreaty of diverse his Friends and Well-willers, something more intelligable than himself: became incited, or rather provoked, to send a son of his to the university of Paris, to study there as was fitting for a scholar. To the end (quoth they) that having but this Son only, and fortune's blessings abounding in store for him: he might likewise have the riches of the mind, which are those true treasures indeed, that Aristippus giveth us advice to be furnished withal.  
His Friends persuasions having prevailed, and he continued at for the space of three years: what with the documents he had attained to, before his going thither, and by means of a happy memory in the time of his being there, wherewith no young man was more singularly endued (in so short a while) he attained and performed the greater part of his Studies.  
Now, as oftentimes it cometh to pass, the love of a Father (surmounting all other affections in man) made the old Farmer desirous to see his son: which caused his sending for him with all convenient speed, and obedience urged his as forward willingness thereto. The good old man, not a little joyful to see him in so good condition and health, and increased so much in stature since his parting thence: familiarly told him, that he earnestly desired to know, if his mind and body had attained to a competent and equal growth, which within three or four days he would put in practice.  
No other help had he silly simple man, but Master Vicar must be the questioner and poser of his son: wherein the Priest was very unwilling to meddle, for fear of discovering his own ignorance, which passed under better opinion than he deserved. But the Farmer being imimportunate, and the Vicar many ways beholding to him, durst not return denial, but undertook it very formally, as if he had been an able man indeed.  
But see how fools are borne to be fortunate, and where they lest hope, there they find the best success; the simplicity of the Father, must be the means for abusing his Schollerly Son, and a screen to stand between the Priest and his ignorance. Earnest is the old man to know, what and how fare his son had profited at school, and by what note he might best take understanding of his answers: which iumping fit with the vicar's vanity, and a warrantable cloak to cover his knavery; he appoints him but one word only, namely Nescio, wherewith if he answered to any of his demands, it was an evident token, that he understood nothing. As thus they were walking and conferring in the Church, the Farmer very careful to remember the word Nescio: it came to pass upon a sudden, that the young man entered into them, to the great contentment of his Father, who prayed Master Vicar, to make approbation of his son, whether he were learned, or no, and how he had benefited at the university?  
After the time of the day's salutations had passed between them, the Vicar being subtle and crafty, as they walked along by one of the tombs in the Church; pointing with his finger to the tomb, the Priest uttered these words to the scholar.  Quis hic est sepultus? 
The young scholar (by reason it was erected since his departure, and finding no inscription whereby to inform him) answered, as well he might, Nescio. Immediately the Father, keeping the word perfectly in his memory, grew very angrily passionate; and, desiring to hear no more demands: gave him three or four boxes on the cares▪ with many harsh and injurious speeches, terming him an ass and villain, and that he had not learned any thing. His son was patient, and returned no answer, but plainly perceived, that this was a trick intended against him, by the malicious treachery of the Priest, on whom (in time) he might be revenged.  
Within a short while after, the suffragan of those parts (under whom the Priest was but a Deputy, holding the benefice of him, with no great charge to his conscience) being abroad in his visitation, sent word to the Vicar, that he intended to preach there on the next Sunday, and he to prepare in a readiness, Bonum & Commodum, because he would have nothing else to his dinner. Heereat Master Vicar was greatly amazed, because he had never heard such words before, neither could he find them in all his breviary. Hereupon, he went to the young scholar, whom he had so lately before abused, and crying him mercy, with many impudent and shallow excuses, desired him to reveal the meaning of those words, and what he should understand by Bonum & Commodum.  
The scholar (with a sober and modest countenance) made answer; That he had been overmuch abused, which (nevertheless) he took not so impatiently, but he had already both forgot and forgiven it, with promise of comfort in this his extraordinary distraction, and grief of mind. When he had perused the suffragans Letter, well observing the blushless ignorance of the Priest: seeming (by outward appearance) to take it strangely, he cried out aloud, saying; In the name of virtue, what may be this man's meaning? How? (quoth the Priest) What manner of demand do you make? Alas, replied the scholar, you have but one poor ass, which I know you love dearly, and yet you must stew his genitories very daintily, for your Patron will have no other meat to his dinner. The genitories of mine ass, answered the Priest? Passion of me, who then shall carry my corn to the Mill? There is no remedy, said the scholar, for he hath so set it down for an absolute resolution.  
After that the Priest had considered thereon a while by himself, remembering the yearly revennewes, which clearly he put up into his purse, to be ten times of fare greater worth than his ass: he concluded to have him gelded, what danger soever should ensue thereon, preparing them in readiness against his coming. So soon as the Suffragan was there arrived, heavily he complained to him for his ass: which kind of Language he not understanding, knew not what he meant, nor how he should answer. But being (by the scholar) acquainted with the whole History, he laughed hearty at the Priests ignorant folly, wishing that all such bold Bayards (from time to time) might be so served. Likewise, that all ignorant Priests, Vicars, and other grasshoppers of towns or Villages, who sometimes have only seen Parts ●●ationis quod sunt, not to stand overmuch on their own sufficiency, grounded solely upon their Grammar; but to beware whom they jest withal, without out meddling with scholars, who take not injuries as dullards do, lest they prove infamous by then disputations.   

Madam Phillippa, being accused by her Husband Rinaldo de Puglie●e, because he took her in adultery, with a young Gentleman named Lazar●no de Guazzagliotri: caused her to be cited before the judge. From whom she delivered herself, by a sudden, witty, and pleasant answer, and moderated a severe strict Statute, formerly made against women.  
The seventh novel.  
Wherein is declared, of what worth it is to confess a truth, with a facetious and witty excuse.  
AFter that madam Fiammetta had given over speaking, and all the Auditory had sufficiently applauded the scholars honest revenge, the Queen enjoined Philostratus, to proceed on next with his novel, which caused him to begin thus. Believe me Ladies, it is an excellent & most commendable thing, to speak well, and to all purposes: but I hold it a matter of much greater worth, to know how to do it, and when necessity doth most require it. Which a Gentlewoman (of whom I am now to speak) was so well instructed in, as not only it yielded the hearers mirthful contentment, but likewise delivered her from the danger of death, as (in few words) you shall hear related.  
In the city of Pirato, there was an Edict or Statute, no less blame-worthy (to speak uprightly) then most severe and cruel, which (without making any distinction) gave strict command; That every Woman should be burned with fire, whose husband found her in the act of Adultery, with any secret or familiar friend, as one deserving to be thus abandoned, like such as prostituted their bodies to public sale or hire. During the continuance of this sharp Edict, it fortuned that a Gentlewoman, who was named Phillippa, was found in her Chamber one night, in the arms of a young Gentleman of the same City, named Lazarino de Guazzagliotori, and by her own husband, called Rinaldo de Pugliese, she loving the young Gallant, as her own life, because he was most complete in all perfections, and every way as dearly addicted to her.  
This sight was so irksome to Rinaldo, that, being overcome with extreme rage, he could hardly contain from running on them, with a violent intent to kill them both: but fear of his own life caused his forbearance, meaning to be revenged by some better way. Such was the heat of his spleen and fury, as, setting aside all respect of his own shame: he would needs prosecute the rigour of the deadly Edict, which he held lawful for him to do, although it extended to the death of his Wife. Hereupon, having witnesses sufficient, to approve the guiltiness of her offence: a day being appointed (without desiring any other counsel) he went in person to accuse her, and required justice against her.  
The Gentlewoman, who was of an high and undauntable spirit, as all such are, who have fixed their affection resolvedly, and love upon a grounded deliberation: concluded, quite against the counsel and opinion of her Parents, Kindred, and Friends; to appear in the Court, as desiring rather to dye, by confessing the truth with a manly courage, then by denying it, and her love unto so worthy a person as he was, in whose arms she chanced to be taken; to live basely in exile with shame, as an eternal scandal to her race. So, before the Potestate, she made her appearance, worthily accompanied both with men and women, all advising her to deny the act: but she, not minding them or their persuasions, looking on the judge with a constant countenance, and a voice of settled resolve, craved to know of him, what he demanded of her?  
The Potestate well noting her brave carriage, her singular beauty and praiseworthy parts, her words apparently witnessing the height of her mind: began to take compassion on her, and doubted, lest she would confess some such matter, as should enforce him to pronounce the sentence of death against her. But she boldly scorning all delays, or any further protraction of time; demanded again, what was her accusation? Madame, answered the Potestate, I am sorry to tell you, what needs I must, your husband (whom you see present here) is the complainant against you, avouching, that he took you in the act of adultery with another man: and therefore he requireth, that, according to the rigour of the Statute here in force with us, I should pronounce sentence against you, and (consequently) the infliction of death. Which I cannot do, if you confess not the fact, and therefore be well advised, how you answer me, and tell me the truth, if it be as your Husband accuseth you, or no.  
The Lady, without any dismay or dread at all, pleasantly thus replied. My Lord, true it is, that Rinaldo is my Husband, and that he found me, on the night named, between the arms of Lazarino, where many times heretofore he hath embraced me, according to the mutual love re-plighted together, which I deny not, nor ever will. But you know well enough, and I am certain of it, that the laws enacted in any country, aught to be common, and made with consent of them whom they concern, which in this Edict of yours is quite contrary. For it is rigorous against none, but poor women only, who are able to yield much better content and satisfaction generally, then remaineth in the power of men to do. And moreover, when this Law was made, there was not any woman that gave consent to it, neither were they called to like or allow thereof: in which respect, it may deservedly be termed, an unjust Law. And if you will, in prejudice of my body, and of your own soul, be the executioner of so unlawful an Edict, it consisteth in your power to do as you please.  
But before you proceed to pronounce any sentence, may it please you to favour me with one small request, namely, that you would demand of my Husband, if at all times, and whensoever he took delight in my company, I ever made any curiosity, or came to him unwillingly. Whereto Rinaldo, without tarrying for the Potestate to move the question, suddenly answered; that (undoubtedly) his wife at all times, and oftener than he could request it, was never sparing of her kindness, or put him off with any denial. Then the Lady, continuing on her former speeches, thus replied. Let me then demand of you my Lord, being our Potestate and judge, if it be so, by my Husbands own free confession, that he hath always had his pleasure of me, without the least refusal in me, or contradiction; what should I do with the ouer-plus remaining in mine own power, and whereof he had no need? Would you have me cast it away to the dogs? Was it not more fitting for me, to pleasure therewith a worthy Gentleman, who was even at death's door for my love, than (my husbands surfeiting, and having no need of me) to let him lie languishing, and dye?  
Never was heard such an examination before, and to come from a woman of such worth, the most part of the honourable Pratosians (both Lords and Ladies) being there present, who hearing her urge such a necessary question, cried out all aloud together with one voice (after they had laughed their fill) that the Lady had said well, and no more than she might. So that, before they departed thence, by comfortable advice proceeding from the Potestate: the Edict (being reputed overcruel) was modified, and interpreted to concern them only, who offered injury to their Husbands for money. By which means, Rinaldo standing as one confounded, for such a foolish and unadvised enterprise, departed from the auditory: and the Lady, not a little joyful to be thus freed and delivered from the fire, returned home with victory to her own house.   

Fresco damn Celatico, counselled and advised his niece Cesca: That if such as deserved to be looked on, were offensive to her eyes, as she had often told him; she should forbear to look on any.  
The Eighth novel.  
In just scorn of such unsightly and ill-pleasing surly Sluts, who imagine none to be fair or well-favoured, but themselves.  
ALL the while as Philostratus was recounting his novel; it seemed, that the Ladies (who heard it) found themselves much moved thereat, as by the wanton blood monting up into their cheeks, it plainly appeared. But in the end, looking on each other with strange behaviour, they could not forbear smiling: which the Queen interrupting by a command of attention, turning to madam Aemillia, willed her to follow next. When she, puffing and blowing, as if she had been newly awaked from sleep, began in this manner.  
Fair Beauties; My thoughts having wandered a great distance hence, and further than I can easily collect them together again; in obedience yet to our Queen, I shall report a much shorter novel, then otherwise (perhaps) I should have done, if my mind had been a little nearer home. I shall tell you the gross fault of a foolish damsel, well corrected by a witty reprehension of her uncle; if she had been endued but with so much sense, as to have understood it.  
An honest man, named Fresco da Celatico, had a good fulsome wench to his niece, who for her folly and squemishnes, was generally called Cesta, or nice Francesca. And although she had stature sufficient, yet none of the handsomest, & a good hard favoured countenance, nothing near such Angelical beauties as we have seen: yet she was endued with such height of mind, and so proud an opinion of herself, that it appeared as a custom bred in her, or rather a gift bestowed on her by nature (though none of the best) to blame and despise both men and women, yea whosoever she looked on; without any consideration of herself, she being as unsightly, ill shaped, and ugly faced, as a worse was very hardly to be found.  
Nothing could be done at any time, to yield her liking or content: moreover, she was so waspish, nice, & squeamish, that when she came into the royal Court of France, it was hateful & contemptible to her. Whensoever she went through the streets, every thing stunk and was noisome to her; so that she never did any thing but stop her nose; as if all men or women she met withal; and whatsoever else she looked on, were stinking and offensive. But let us leave all further relation of her ill conditions, being every way (indeed) so bad, and hardly becoming any sensible body, that we cannot condemn them so much as we should.  
It chanced upon a day, that she coming home to the house where her uncle dwelled, declared her wont scurvy and scornful behaviour; swelling, puffing, and pouting extremely, in which humour she sat down by her uncle, who desiring to know what had displeased her, said. Why how now Francesca? what may the meaning of this be? This being a solemn festival day, what is the reason of your so soon returning home? She coily biting the lip, and bridling her head, as if she had been some man's best Gelding, sprucely thus replied.  
Indeed you say true uncle, I am come home very early, because, since the day of my birth, I never saw a City so pestered with unhandsome people, both men and women, and worse this high holiday then ever I did observe before. I walked thorough some store of streets, and I could not see one proper man: and as for the women, they are the most misshapen and ugly creatures, that, if God had made me such an one, I should be sorry that ever I was borne. And being no longer able to endure such unpleasing sights; you will not think (uncle) in what an anger I am come home. Fresco, to whom these stinking qualities of his niece seemed so unsufferable, that he could not (with patience) endure them any longer, thus short and quickly answered. Francesca, if all people of our city (both men and women) be so odious in thy eyes, and offensive to thy nose, as thou hast often reported to me: be advised then by my counsel. Stay still at home, and look upon none but thyself only, and then thou shalt be sure that they cannot displease thee. But she, being as empty of wit as a pithless Cane, and yet thought her judgement to exceed salomon's, could not understand the least part of her uncle's meaning, but stood as senseless as a sheep. Only she replied, that she would resort to some other parts of the country, which if she found as weakly furnished of handsome people, as here she did, she would conceive better of herself, than ever she had done before.   

Signior Guido cavalcante, with a sudden and witty answer, reprehended the rash folly of certain Florentine Gentlemen, that thought to scorn and flout him.  
The Ninth novel.  
Notably discovering the great difference that is between learning and ignorance, upon judicious apprehension.  
WHen the Queen perceived, that madam Aemillia was discharged of her novel, and none remained now to speak next, but only herself, his privilege always remembered, to whom it belonged to be the last, she began in this manner.  
Fair Company, you have this day disappointed me of two novels at the least, whereof I had intended to make use. Nevertheless, you shall not imagine me so unfurnished, but that I have left one in store; the conclusion whereof, may minister such instruction, as will not be reputed for idle and impertinent: but rather of such material consequence, as better hath not this day passed among us.  
Understand then (most fair Ladies) that in former times long since past, our city had many excellent and commendable customs in it; whereof (in these unhappy days of ours) we cannot say that poor one remaineth, such hath been the too much increase of Wealth and covetousness, the only supplanters of all good qualities whatsoever. Among which laudable and friendly observations, there was one well deserving note, namely, that in diverse places of Florence, men of the best houses in every quarter, had a sociable and neighbourly assembly together, creating their company to consist of a certain number, such as were able to supply their expenses; as this day one, and to morrow another: and thus in a kind of friendly course, each daily furnished the Table, for the rest of the company. Oftentimes, they did honour to diverse Gentlemen and strangers, upon their arrival in our city, by inviting them into their assembly, and many of our worthiest Citizens beside; so that it grew to a customary use, and one especially day in the year appointed, in memory of this so loving a meeting, when they would ride (triumphally as it were) on horseback thorough the city, sometimes performing Tilts, tourneys, and other martial exercises, but they were reserved for festival days.  
Among which company, there was one called, Signior Betto Bruneleschi, who was earnestly desirous, to procure Signior Guido cavalcante de cavalcanti, to make one in this their friendly society. And not without great reason: for, over and beside his being one of the best logicians as those times could not yield a better: He was also a most absolute natural Philosopher (which wortby qualities were little esteemed among these honest metres) a very friendly Gentleman, singularly well spoken, and whatsoever else was commendable in any man, was no way wanting in him, being wealthy withal, and able to return equal honours, where he found them to be duly deserved, as no man therein could go beyond him. But Signior Betto, notwithstanding his long continued importunity, could not draw him into their assembly, which made him and the rest of his company conceive, that the solitude of Guid●, retiring himself always from familiar conversing with men: provoked him to many curious speculations: and because he retained some part of the Epicurean Opinion, their vulgar judgement passed on him, that his speculations tended to no other end, but only to find out that which was never done.  
It chanced upon a day, that Signior Guido departing from the Church of Saint Michael d'Horta, and passing along by the Adamari, so fare as to Saint john's Church, which evermore was his customary walk: many goodly Marble tombs were then about the said Church, as now adays are at Saint Reparata, and diverse more beside. He entering among the Collumbes of Porphiry, and the other Sepulchers being there, because the door of the Church was shut: Signior Betto & his company, came riding from S. Reparata, & espying Signior Guido among the graves and tombs, said. Come, let us go make some jests to anger him. So putting the spurs to their horses, they road apace towards him: and being upon him before he perceived them, one of them said. Guido thou refusest to be one of our society, & seekest for that which never was: when thou hast found it, tell us, what wilt thou do with it?  
Guido seeing himself round engirt with them, suddenly thus replied: Gentlemen, you may use me in your own house as you please. And setting his hand on one of the tombs (which was somewhat great) he took his rising, and leapt quite over it on the further side, as being of an agile and sprightly body, and being thus freed from them, he went away to his own lodging. They stood all like men amazed, strangely looking one upon another, and began afterward to murmur among themselves: That Guido was a man without any understanding, and the answer which he had made unto them, was to no purpose, neither savoured of any discretion, but merely came from an empty brain because they had no more to do in the place where now they were, than any of the other Citizens, and Signior Guido (himself) as little as any of them; whereto Signior Betto thus replied.  
Alas Gentlemen, it is you yourselves that are void of understanding: for, if you had but observed the answer which he made unto us: he did honestly, and (in very few words) not only notably express his own wisdom, but also deservedly reprehend us. Because, if we observe things as we ought to do, graves and tombs are the houses of the dead, ordained and prepared to be their latest dwellings. He told us moreover, that although we have here (in this life) other habitations and abidings; yet these (or the like) must at last be our houses. To let us know, and all other foolish, indiscreet, and unlearned men, that we are worse than dead men, in comparison of him, and other men equal to him in skill and learning. And therefore, while we are here among these graves and Monuments, it may well be said, that we are not fare from our own houses, or how soon we shall be possessors of them, in regard of the frailty attending on us.  
Then every one could presently say, that Signior Guido had spoken nothing but the truth, and were much ashamed of their own folly, and shallow estimation which they had made of Guido, desiring never more after to meddle with him so grossly, and thanking Signior Betto, for so well reforming their ignorance, by his much better apprehension.   

Friar onion, promised certain honest people of the country, to show them a Feather of the same Phoenix, that was with Noah in his ark. In ●●ed whereof, he found coals, which he avouched to be those very coals, wherewith the same Phoenix was roasted.  
The Tenth novel.  
Wherein may be observed, what palpable abuses do many times pass, under the counterfeit cloak of Religion.  
WHen all of them had delivered their novels, Dioneus knowing, that it remained in him to relate the last for this day: without attending for any solemn command (after he had imposed silence on them, that could not sufficiently commend the witty reprehension of Guido, thus he began. Wise and worthy Ladies, although by the privilege you have granted, it is lawful for me to speak any thing best pleasing to myself: yet notwithstanding, it is not any part of my meaning, to vary from the matter and method, whereof you have spoken to very good purpose. And therefore, following your footsteps, I intend to tell you, how craftily, and with a Rampiar suddenly raised in his own defence: a Religious friar of Saint Anthony's Order, shunned a shame, which two wily companions had prepared for him. Nor let it offend you, if I run into more large discourse, than this day hath been used by any, for the apt completing of my novel: because, if you well observe it, the Sun is as yet in the midst of heaven, and therefore you may the better forbear me.  
Certoldo, as (perhaps) you know, or have heard, is a Village in the Vale of Elsa, and under the authority and command of our Florence, which although it be but small: yet (in former times) it hath been inhabited with Gentlemen, and people of especial respect. A religious Friar of S. Anthony's Order, named Friar onion, had long time used to resort thither, to receive the benevolent alms, which those charitably affected people in simplicity gave him, & chief at diverse days of the year, when their bounty and devotion would extend themselves more largely then at other seasons. And so much the rather, because they thought him to be a good Pastor of holy life in outward appearance, & carried a name of much greater matter, than remained in the man indeed; beside, that part of the country yielded far more plentiful abundance of onions, than all other in Tuscany elsewhere, a kind of food greatly affected by those Friars, as men always of hungry & good appetite. This Friar onion was a man of little stature, red hair, a cheerful countenance, and the world afforded not a more crafty companion, than he. Moreover, albeit he had very little knowledge or learning, yet he was so prompt, ready & voluble of speech, uttering often he knew not what himself: that such as were not well acquainted with his qualities, supposed him to be a singular rhetorician, excelling Cicero or Quintilian themselves; & he was a gossip, friend, or dearly affected, by every one dwelling in those parts. According to his wont custom, one time he went thither in the month of August, and on a Sunday morning, when all the dwellers thereabout, were present to hear mass, and in the chiefest Church above all the rest: when the Friar saw time convenient for his purpose, he advanced himself, and began to speak in this manner.  
Gentlemen and Gentlewomen, you know you have kept a commendable custom, in sending yearly to the poor brethren of our Lord Baron S. Anthony, both of your corn and other provision, some more, some less, all according to their power, means, and devotion, to the end that blessed S. Anthony should be the more careful of your oxen, sheep, asses, swine, pigs, and other cattle. Moreover, you have used to pay (especially such as have their names registered in our Fraternity) those duties which annually you send unto us. For the collection whereof, I am sent by my Superior, namely our L. Abbot, & therefore (with God's blessing) you may come after noon hither, when you shall hear the bells of the Church ring: then will I make a predication to you; you shall kiss the cross, and beside, because I know you all to be most devout servants to our Lord Baron S. Anthony, in especial grace and favour, I will show you a most holy and goodly relic, which I myself (long since) brought from the holy Land beyond the seas. If you desire to know what it is, let me tell you, that it is one of the Feathers of the same Phoenix, which was in the ark with the Patriarch Noah. And having thus spoken, he became silent, returning back to hear mass. While he delivered these and the like speeches, among the other people then in the church, there were two shrewd and crafty Companions; the one, named john de Bragoniero, and the other, Biagio Pizzino. These subtle fellows, after they had heard the report of Fry●● onions relic: although they were his intimate friends, and came thither in his company; yet they concluded between themselves, to show him a trick of Legierdumaine, and to steal the Feather from him. When they had intelligence of Friar onions di●ing that day at the Castle, with a worthy Friend of his: no sooner was he set at the Table, but away went they in all haste, to the inn where the friar frequented, with this determination, that Biagio should hold conference with the Friars boy, while his fellow ransacked the Wallet, to find the Feather, and carry it away with him, for a future observation, what the Friar would say unto the people, when he found the loss of the Feather, and could not perform his promise's to them.  
The friar's Boy, whom some called Guccio Balena, some Guccio Imbrata, and others Guccio Porco, was such a knavish Lad, and had so many bad qualities, as Lippo Topo the cunning Painter, or the most curious poetical wit, had not any ability to describe them. Friar onion himself did often observe his behaviour, and would make this report among his Friends. My Boy (quoth he) hath nine rare qualities in him, and such they are, as if Solomon, Aristotle, or Seneca had only but one of them: it were sufficient to torment and trouble all their virtue, all their senses, & all their sanctity. Consider then, what manner of man he is like to be, having nine such rarities, yet void of all virtue, wit, or goodness. And when it was demanded of Friar onion, what these nine rare conditions were: he having them all ready by heart, and in rhyme, thus answered. 
Boys I have known, and seen,  
And heard of many:  But, 
For Lying, loitering, laziness,  
For Facing, Filching, filthiness;  
For careless, graceless, all unthriftiness,  
My Boy excelleth any.   
Now, over and beside all these admirable qualities, he hath many more such singularities, which (in favour towards him) I am fain to conceal. But that which I smile most at in him, is, that he would have a Wife in every place where he cometh, yea, and a good house to boot too: for, in regard his beard beginneth to show itself, rising thick in hair, black and amiable, he is verily persuaded, that all Women will fall in love with him; and if they refuse to follow him, he will in all hast run after them. But truly, he is a notable servant to me, for I cannot speak with any one, and in never so great secrecy, but he will be sure to hear his part; and when any question is demanded of me, he stands in such awe and fear of my displeasure: that he will be sure to make the first answer, yea or no, according as he thinketh it most convenient.  
Now, to proceed where we left, Friar onion having left this serviceable youth at his lodging, to see that no body should meddle with his commodities, especially his Wallet, because of the sacred things therein contained: Guccio Imbrata, who as earnestly affected to be in the kitchen, as Birds to hop from branch to branch, especially, when any of the chambermaids were there, espied one of the hostess' Female attendants, a gross fat Trugge, low of stature, ill faced, and worse form, with a pair of breasts like two bumbards, smelling loathsomely of grease and sweat; down she descended into the kitchen, like a Kite upon a piece of Carion. This Boy, or knave, choose whither you will style him, having carelessly left friar onions Chamber door open, and all the holy things so much to be neglected, although it was then the month of August, when heat is in the highest predominance, yet he would needs sit down by the sire, and began to confer with this amiable creature, who was called by the name of Nuta.  
Being set close by her, he told her, that he was a Gentleman by Atturniship, and that he had more millions of crowns, than all his life time would serve him to spend; beside those which he paid away daily, as having no convenient employment for them. Moreover, he knew how to speak, and do such things, as were beyond wonder or admiration. And, never remembering his old tattered Friars Cowle, which was so snotty and greasy, that good store of kitchen stuff might have been boiled out of it; as also a foul slovenly truss or half doublet, all baudied with bousing, fat greasy lubbetly sweeting, and other drudgeries in the convent kitchen, where he was an Officer in the meanest credit. So that to describe this sweet youth in his lively colours, both for natural perfections of body, and artificial composure of his Garments; never came the foulest silks out of Tartary or India, more ugly or unsightly to be looked upon. And for a further addition to his neat knavery, his breeches were so rend between his legs, his shoes and stockings had been at such a merciless massacre: that the gallantest Commandador of Castille (though he had never so lately been released out of slavery) could have wished for better garments, than he; or make larger promises, than he did to his Nuta. Protesting to entitle her as his only, to free her from the inn and Chamber thraldoms, if she would live with him, be his love, partaker of his present possessions, and so to succeed in his future Fortunes. All which bravadoes, though they were belched forth with admirable insinuations: yet they converted into smoke, as all such braggadochio behaviours do, and he was as wise at the ending, as when he began.  
Our former named two crafty Companions, seeing Guccio Porco so seriously employed about Nuta, was therewith not a little contented, because their intended labour was now more than half ended. And perceiving no contradiction to cross their proceeding, into Friar onions chamber entered they, finding it ready open for their purpose: where the first thing that came into their hand in search, was the wallet. When they had opened it, they found a small Cabinet, wrapped in a great many foldings of rich taffeta; and having unfolded it, a fine formal Key was hanging thereat: wherewith having unlocked the Cabinet, they found a fair Feather of a Parrots tail, which they supposed to be the very same, that he meant to show the people of Certaldo. And truly (in those days) it was no hard matter to make them believe any thing, because the idle vanities of Egypt and those remoter parts, had not (as yet) been seen in Tuscany, as since then they have been in great abundance, to the utter ruin (almost) of Italy.  
And although they might then be known to very few, yet the inhabitants of the Country generally, understood little or nothing at all of them. For there, the pure simplicity of their ancient predecessors still continuing; they had not seen any Parrots, or so much as heard any speech of them. Wherefore the two crafty consorts, not a little joyful of finding the Feather, took it thence with them, and because they would not leave the Cabinet empty, espying charcoals lying in a corner of the Chamber, they filled it with them, wrapping it up again in the taffeta, and in as demure manner as they found it. So, away came they with the Feather, neither seen or suspected by any one, intending now to hear what Friar onion would say, upon the loss of his precious relic, and finding the coals there placed instead thereof.  
The simple men and women of the country, who had been at morning mass in the Church, and heard what a wonderful Feather they should see in the after noon; returned in all haste to their houses, where one telling this news to another, and gossip with gossip consulting thereon; they made the shorter dinner, and afterward flocked in main troops to the Castle, contending who should first get entrance, such was their devotion to see the holy feather. Friar onion having dined, and reposed a little after his wine, he arose from the table to the window, where beholding what multitudes came to see the feather, he assured himself of good store of money. Hereupon, he sent to his Boy Guccio Imbrata, that upon the bells ringing, he should come and bring the wallet to him. Which (with much ado) he did, so soon as his quarrel was ended in the kitchen, with the amiable chambermaid Nuta, away than he went with his holy commodities: where he was no sooner arrived, but because his belly was ready to burst with drinking water, he sent him to the Church to ring the bells, which not only would warm the cold water in his belly, but likewise make him run as gaunt as a greyhound.  
When all the people were assembled in the Church together, Friar onion (never distrusting any injury offered him, or that his close commodities had been meddled withal) began his predication, uttering a thousand lies to fit his purpose. And when he came to show the feather of the Phoenix (having first in great devotion finished the confession) he caused two goodly torches to be lighted, & ducking down his head three several times, before he would so much as touch the taffeta, he opened it with much reverence. So soon as the Cabinet came to be seen, off went his Hood, lowly he bowed down his body, and uttering especial praises of the Phoenix, and sacred properties of the wonderful relic, the cover of the Cabinet being lifte● up, he saw the same to be full of coals. He could not suspect his villain boy to do this deed, for he knew him not to be endued with so much wit, only he cursed him for keeping it no better, and cursed himself also, for reposing trust in such a careless knave, knowing him to be slothful, disobedient, negligent, and void of all honest understanding or grace. Suddenly (without blushing) lest his loss should be discerned, he lifted his looks and hands to heaven, speaking out so loud, as every one might easily hear him, thus: O thou omnipotent providence, for ever let thy power be praised. Then making fast the Cabinet again, and turning himself to the people, with looks expressing admiration, he proceeded in this manner.  
Lords, Ladies, and you the rest of my worthy Auditors: You are to understand, that I (being then very young) was sent by my superior, into those parts, where the Sun appeareth at his first rising. And I had received charge by express command, that I should seek for (so much as consisted in my power to do) the especial virtues and privileges belonging to porcelain, which although the boiling thereof be worth but little, yet it is very profitable to any but us. In regard whereof, being upon my journey, and departing from Venice, passing along the Borgo de Grecia, I proceeded thence (on horseback) through the realm of Garbo, so to Baldacca, till I came to Parione; from whence, not without great extremity of thirst, I arrived in Sardignia.  
But why do I trouble you with the repetition of so many countries? I coasted on still, after I had past Saint George's arm, into Truffia, and then into Buffia, which are Countries much inhabited, and with great people. From thence I went into the Land of Lying, where I found store of the Brethren of our Religion, and many other beside, who shunned all pain and labour, only for the love of God, and cared as litlte, for the pains and travails which others took, except some benefit arised thereby to them; nor spend they any money in this Country, but such as is without stamp. Thence I went into the Land of Abruzza, where the men and women go in Galoches over the mountains, and make them garments of their swine's guts. Not fare from thence, I found people, that carried bread in their staffs, and wine in Satchels, when parting from them, I arrived among the mountains of Bacchus, where all the waters run down with a deep fall, and in short time, I went on so far, that I found myself to be in India Pastinaca; where I swear to you by the holy habit which I wear on my body, that I saw Serpents fly, things incredible, and such as were never seen before.  
But because I would be loath to lie, so soon as I departed thence, I met with Maso de Saggio, who was a great Merchant there, and whom I found cracking Nuts, and felling Cockles by retale. Nevertheless, all this while I could not find what I sought for, and therefore I was to pass from hence by water, if I intended to travail thither, and so in returning back, I came into the Holy Land, where cool fresh bread is sold for four pence, and the hot is given away for nothing. There I found the venerable Father (blame me not I beseech you) the most worthy Patriarch of Jerusalem, who for the reverence due to the habit I wear, and love to our Lord Baron Saint Anthony, would have me to see all the holy relics, which he had there under his charge: whereof there were so many, as if I should recount them all to you, I never could come to a conclusion. But yet, not to leave you discomforted, I will relate some few of them to you.  
First of all, he shown me the finger of the holy Ghost, so whole and perfect, as ever it was. Next, the nose of the Cherubin, which appeared to Saint Frances; with the pairing of the nail of a Seraphin; and one of the ribs of Verbum caro, fastened to one of the windows, covered with the holy garments of the Catholic Faith. Then he took me into a dark chapel, where he shown me diverse beams of the star that appeared to the three Kings in the East. Also a viol of Saint Michael's sweat, when he combated with the devil: And the jawbone of dead Lazarus, with many other precious things beside. And because I was liberal to him, giving him two of the plains of Monte Morello, in the vulgar Edition, and some of the Chapters deal Caprezio, which he had long laboured in search of; he bestowed on me some of his relics.  
First, he gave me one of the eye-teeths of Santa Crux; and a little viol, filled with some part of the sound of those bells, which hung in the sumptuous Temple of Solomon. Next, he gave me the Feather of the Phoenix, which was with Noah in the ark, as before I told you. And one of the wooden Pattens, which the good Saint Gerrard de Magnavilla used to wear in his travails, and which I gave (not long since) to Gerrardo di bouzy at Florence, where it is respected with much devotion. Moreover, he gave me a few of those coals, wherewith the Phoenix of Noah was roasted; all which things I brought away thence with me. Now, most true it is, that my superior would never suffer me to show them any where, until he was faithfully certified, whether they were the same precious relics, or no. But perceiving by sundry miracles which they have wrought, and Letters of sufficient credence received from the reverend Patriarch, that all is true, he hath granted me permission to show them, and because I would not trust any one with matters of such moment, I myself brought them hither with me.  
Now I must tell you, that the Feather of the same Phoenix, I conveyed into a small Cabinet or Casket, because it should not be bend or broken. And the coals where with the said Phoenix was roasted, I put into another Casket, in all respects so like to the former, that many times I have taken one for another. As now at this instant it hath been my fortune: for, imagining that I brought the Casket with the feather, I mistook myself, & brought the other with the coals. Wherein doubtless I have not offended, because I am certain, that we of our orders do not any thing, but it is ordered by divine direction, and our blessed Patron the Lord Baron Saint Anthony. And so much the rather, because about a seven-night hence, the Feast of Saint Anthony is to be solemnised, against the preparation whereof, and to kindle your zeal with the greater fervency: he put the Casket with the coals into my hand, meaning, to let you see the Feather, at some more fitting season. And therefore my blessed sons and Daughters, put off your Bonnets, and come hither with devotion to look upon them. But first let me tell you, whosoever is marked by any of these coals, with the sign of the cross: he or she shall live all this year happily, and no fire whatsoever shall come near to touch or hurt them. So, singing a solemn anthem in the praise of S. Anthony, he unveyled the Casket, and shown the coals openly.  
The simple multitude, having (with great admiration and reverence) a long while beheld them, they thronged in crowds to friar onion, giving him fare greater offerings, then before they had, and enteating him to mark them each after other. Whereupon, he taking the coals in his hand, began to mark their garments of white, and the veils on the women's heads, with Crosses of no mean extendure: affirming to them, that the more the coals wasted with making those great crosses, the more they still increased in the Casket, as often before he had made trial.  
In this manner, having crossed all the Certaldanes (to his great benefit) and their abuse: he smiled at his sudden and dexterious devise, in mockery of them, who thought to have made a scorn of him, by dispossessing him of the Feather. For Bragoniero and Pizzino, being present at his Learned predication, and having heard what a cunning shift he found, to come off cleanly, without the least detection, and all delivered with such admirable protestations: they were fain to forsake the Church, lest they should have burst with laughing.  
But when all the people were parted and gone, they met Friar onion at his inn, where closely they discovered to him, what they had done, delivering him his Feather again: which the year following, did yield him as much money, as now the coals had done.  
THis novel afforded equal pleasing to the whole company, Friar onions Sermon being much commended, but especially his long Pilgrimage, and the relics he had both seen, and brought home with him. Afterward, the Queen perceiving, that her reign had now the full expiration, graciously she arose, and taking the crown from off her own head, placed on the head of Dioneus, saying. It is high time Dioneus, that you should taste part of the charge & pain, which poor women have felt and undergone in their sovereignty and government: wherefore, be you our King, and rule us with such awful authority, that the ending of your dominion may yield us all contentment. Dioneus' being thus invested with the crown, returned this answer.  
I make no doubt (bright Beauties) but you many times have seen as good, or a better King among the Chesse-men, than I am. But yet of a certainty, if you would be obedient to me, as you ought in duty unto a true King: I should grant you a liberal freedom of that, wherein you take the most delight, and without which, our choicest desires can never be complete. Nevertheless, I mean, that my government shall be according to mine own mind. So, causing the Master of the household to be called for, as all the rest were wont to do for conference with him: he gave him direction, for all things fitting the time of his Regiment, and then turning to the Ladies, thus he proceeded.  
Honest Ladies, we have already discoursed of variable devices, and so many several manners of humane industry, concerning the business wherewith Licisca came to acquaint us: that her very words, have ministered me matter, sufficient for our morrow's conference, or else I stand in doubt, that I could not have devised a more convenient theme for us to talk on. She (as you have all heard) said, that she had not any neighbour, who came a true Virgin to her Husband, and added moreover, that she knew some others, who had beguiled their husbands, in very cunning and crafty manner. But setting aside the first part, concerning the proof of children, I conceive the second to be more apt for our intended argument. In which respect, my will is (seeing Licisca hath given us so good an occasion) that our discoursing to morrow, may only concern such sly cunning and deceits, as women have heretofore used, for satisfying their own appetites, and beguiling their Husbands, without their knowledge, or suspicion, and cleanly escaping with them, or no.  
This argument seemed not very pleasing to the Ladies, and therefore they urged an alteration thereof, to some matter better suiting with the day, and their discoursing: whereto thus he answered. Ladies, I know as well as yourselves, why you would have this instant argument altered: but, to change me from it you have no power, considering the season is such, as shielding all (both men and women) from meddling with any dishonest action; it is lawful for us to speak of what we please. And know you not, that through the sad occasion of the time, which now over-ruleth us, the judges have forsaken their venerable benches, the laws (both divine and humane) ceasing, granting ample licence to every one, to do what best agreeth with the conservation of life? Therefore, if your honesties do strain themselves a little, both in thinking and speaking, not for prosecution of any immodest deed, but only for familiar and blameless intercourse: I cannot device a more convenient ground, at least that carrieth apparent reason, for reproof of perils, to ensue by any of you. Moreover, your company, which hath been most honest, since the first day of our meeting, to this instant: appeareth not any jot to be disgraced, by any thing either said or done, neither shall be (I hope) in the meanest degree.  
And what is he, knowing your choice and virtuous dispositions, so powerful in their own prevailing, that wanton words cannot misguide your ways, no nor the terror of death itself, that dare insinuate a distempered thought? But admit, that some slight or shallow judgements, hearing you (perhaps sometimes) talk of such amorous follies, should therefore suspiciously imagine you to be faulty, or else you would be more sparing of speech? Their wit and censure are both alike, savouring rather of their own vile nature, who would brand others with their basebred imperfections. Yet there is another consideration beside, of some great injury offered to mine honour, and whereof I know not how you can acquit yourselves.  
I that have been obedient to you all, and borne the heavy load of your business, having now (with full consent) created me your King, you would wrest the law out of my hands, and dispose of my authority as you please. Forbear (gentle Ladies) all frivolous suspicions, more fit for them that are full of bad thoughts, than you, who have true virtue shining in your eyes; and therefore, let every one freely speak their mind, according as their humours best pleaseth them.  
When the Ladies heard this, they made answer, that all should be answerable to his mind. Whereupon, the King gave them all leave to dispose of themselves till supper time. And because the Sun was yet very high, in regard all the recounted novels had been so short: Dioneus went to play at the Tables with another of the young Gentlemen, & madam Eliza, having withdrawn the Ladies aside, thus spoke unto them. During the time of our being here, I have often been desirous to let you see a place somewhat near at hand, and which I suppose you have never seen, it being called The Valley of Ladies. Till now, I could not find any convenient time to bring you thither, the sun continuing still aloft, which fitteth you with the apt leisure, and the sight (I am sure) can no way discontent you.  
The Ladies replied, that they were all ready to walk with her thither: and calling one of their women to attend on them, they set on, without speaking a word to any of the men. And within the distance of half a mile, they arrived at the Valley of Ladies, wherinto they entered by a straight passage at the one side, from whence there issued forth a clear running river. And they found the said Valley to be so goodly and pleasant, especially in that season, which was the hottest of all the year; as all the world was no where able to yield the like. And, as one of the said Ladies (since then) related to me, there was a plain in the Valley so directly round, as if it had been form by a compass, yet rather it resembled the Workmanship of Nature, then to be made by the hand of man: containing in circuit somewhat more than the quarter of a mile, environed with six small hills, of no great height, and on each of them stood a little Palace, shaped in the fashion of Castles.  
The ground-plots descending from those hills or mountains, grew less and less by variable degrees, as we observe at entering into our theatres, from the highest part to the lowest, succinctly to narrow the circle by order. Now, concerning these ground-plottes or little meadows, those which the Sun Southward looked on, were full of Vines, olive-trees, Almond-trees, Cherry-trees, and Figge-trees, with diverse other Trees beside, so plentifully bearing fruits, as you could not discern a hands breadth of loss. The other mountains, whereon the Northern winds blow, were curiously covered with small Thickets or Woods of Oakes, Ashes, and other Trees so green and straight, as it was impossible to behold fairer. The goodly plain itself, not having any other entrance, but where the Ladies came in, was planted with Trees of fir, cypress, laurel, and Pines; so singularly growing in formal order, as if some artificial or cunning hand had planted them, the Sun hardly piercing through their branches, from the top to the bottom, even at his highest, or any part of his course.  
All the whole field was richly spread with grass, and such variety of delicate Flowers, as Nature yielded out of her plenteous storehouse. But that which gave no less delight than any of the rest, was a small running brook, descending from one of the valleys, that divided two of the little hills, and fell through a vein of the entire rock itself, that the fall and murmur thereof was most delightful to hear, seeming all the way in the descent, like quicksilver, weaving itself into artificial works, and arriving in the plain beneath, it was there received into a small channel, swiftly running through the midst of the plain, to a place where it stayed, and shaped itself into a Lake or Pond, such as our Citizens have in their Orchards or Gardens, when they please to make use of such a commodity.  
This Pond was no deeper, then to reach the breast of a man, and having no mud or soil in it, the bottom thereof showed like small beaten gravel, with pretty pebble stones intermixed, which some that had nothing else to do, would sit down and count them as they lay, as very easily they might. And not only was the bottom thus apparently seen, but also such plenty of Fishes swimming every way, as the mind was never to be wearied in looking on them. Nor was this water bounded in with any banks, but only the sides of the plain meadow, which made it appear the more sightly, as it arose in swelling plenty. And always as it superabounded in his course, lest it should overflow disorderly: it fell into another channel, which conveying it along the lower Valley, ran forth to water other needful places.  
When the Ladies were arrived in this goodly valley, and upon advised viewing it, had sufficiently commended it: in regard the heat of the day was great, the place tempting, and the Pond free from sight of any, they resolved there to bathe themselves. Wherefore they sent the waiting Gentlewoman to have a diligent eye on the way where they entered, lest any one should chance to steal upon them. All seven of them being stripped naked, into the water they went, which hide their delicate white bodies, like as a clear glass concealeth a Damask Rose within it. So they being in the Pond, and the water nothing troubled by their being there, they found much pretty pastime together, running after the Fishes, to catch them with their hands, but they were over-quicke and cunning for them. After they had delighted themselves there to their own contentment, and were clothed with their garments, as before: thinking it fit time for their returning back again, lest their overlong stay might give offence, they departed thence in an easy pace, doing nothing else all the way as they went, but extolling the Valley of Ladies beyond all comparison.  
At the Palace they arrived in a due hour, finding the three Gentlemen at play, as they left them, to whom madam Pampinea pleasantly thus spoke. Now trust me Gallants, this day we have very cunningly beguiled you. How now? answered Dioneus, begin you first to act, before you speak? Yes truly Sir, replied madam Pampinea: Relating to him at large, from whence they came, what they had done there, the beauty of the place, and the distance thence. The King (upon her excellent report) being very desirous to see it; suddenly commanded Supper to be served in, which was no sooner ended, but they and their three servants (leaving the Ladies) walked on to the Valley, which when they had considered, no one of them having ever been there before; they thought it to be the Paradise of the World.  
They bathed themselves there likewise, as the Ladies formerly had done, and being reuested, returned back to their Lodgings, because dark night drew on apace: but they found the Ladies dancing, to a Song which madam Fiammetta sung. When the dance was ended, they entertained the time with no other discourse, but only concerning the Valley of Ladies, whereof they all spoke liberally in commendations. Whereupon, the King called the Master of the household, giving him command, that (on the morrow) dinner should be ready betimes, and bedding to be thence carried, if any desired rest at mid-time of the day.  
All this being done, variety of pleasing Wines were brought, banqueting stuff, and other dainties; after which they fell to dancing. And Pamphilus, having received command, to begin an especial dance, the King turned himself unto madam Eliza, speaking thus. Fair Lady, you have done me so much honour this day, as to deliver me the crown: in regard whereof, be you this night the mistress of the song: and let it be such as best may please yourself. Whereunto Madam Eliza, with a modest blush arising in her face, replied; That his will should be fulfilled, and then (with a delicate voice) she began in this manner.  

The Song.  

The chorus sung by all.  
LOVE, if I can scape free from forth thy hold,  
Believe it for a truth,  
Never more shall thy falsehood me enfold.   

WHen I was young, I entered first thy fights,  
Supposing there to find a solemn peace:  
I threw off all my arms, and with delights  
Fed my poore-hopes, as still they did increase.  
But like a Tyrant, full of rancorous hate,  
Thou tookst advantage:  
And I sought refuge, but it was too late.  
Love, if I can scape free, &c,   

But being thus surprised in thy snares,  
To my misfortune, thou mad'st me her slave;  
Was only borne to feed me with despairs.  
And keep me dying in a living grave.  
For I saw nothing daily fore mine eyes,  
But racks and tortures:  
From which I could not get in any wise.  
Love, if I can scape free, etc.   

My sighs and tears I vented to the wind,  
For none would hear or pity my complaints;  
My torments still increased in this kind,  
And more and more I felt these sharp restraints.  
Release me now at last from forth this hell.  
Assuage thy rigour,  
Delight not thus in cruelty to dwell.  
Love, if I can scape free, etc.   

If this thou wilt not grant, be yet so kind,  
Release me from those worse than servile bands,  
Which new vain hopes have bred, wherein I find;  
Such violent fears, as comfort quite withstands.  
be now (at length) a little moved to pity,  
Be it ne'er so little:  
Or in my death listen my swanlike ditty.   

Love, if I can scape free from forth thy hold,  
Believe it for a truth,  
Never more shall thy falsehood me enfold.    
After that madam Eliza had made an end of her Song, which she sealed up with an heart-breaking sigh: they all sat amazedly wandering at her moans, not one among them being able to conjecture, what should be the reason of her singing in this manner. But the King being in a good and pleasing temper, calling Tindaro, commanded him to bring his bagpipe, by the sound whereof they danced diverse dances: And a great part of the night being spent in this manner, they all gave over, and departed to their Chambers.    
The End of the Sixth Day.   

The seventh Day.  
When the Assembly being met together, and under the Regiment of Dioneus: the Discourses are directed, for the discovery of such policies and deceits, as women have used for beguiling of their husbands, either in respect of their love, or for the prevention of some blame or scandal, escaping without sight, knowledge, or otherwise.  

The Induction to the day's Discourses.  
ALL the stars were departed out of the East, but only that, which we commonly call bright Lucifer, or the daystar, gracing the morning very gloriously: when the Master of the household, being risen, went with all the provision, to the Valley of Ladies, to make every thing in due and decent readiness, according as his Lord overnight had commanded him. After which departure of his, it was not long before the King arose, being awaked with the noise which the carriages made; and when he was up, the other two Gentlemen and the Ladies were quickly ready soon after. On they set towards the Valley, even as the sun was rising: and all the way as they went, never before had they heard so many sweet Nightingales, and other pretty Birds melodiously singing, as they did this morning, which keeping them company throughout the journey, they arrived at the Valley of Ladies, where it seemed to them, that infinite Quires of delicate Nightingales, and other Birds, had purposely made a meeting, even as it were to give them a glad welcome thither.  
divers times they walked about the Valley, never satisfied with viewing it from one end to the other; because it appeared fare more pleasing unto them, than it had done the precedent day: and because the day's splendour was much more conform to the beauty thereof. After they had broken their fast, with excellent Wines and banqueting stuff, they began to tune their instruments and sing; because (therein) the sweet Birds should not excel them, the Valley (with delicate Echoes) answering all their notes. When dinner time drew near, the Tables were covered under the spreading trees, and by the goodly Ponds side, where they sat down orderly by the King's direction: and all dinner while, they saw the Fishes swim by huge shoals in the Pond, which sometimes gave them occasion to talk, as well as gaze on them.  
When dinner was ended, and the Tables withdrawn, in as jocund manner as before, they renewed again their hermonious singing. In diverse places of this pleasant Valley, were goodly field-Beds readily furnished, according as the Master of the household gave instruction, enclosed with pavilions of costly stuffs, such as are sometimes brought out of France. Such as were so disposed, were licenced by the King to take their rest: and they that would not, he permitted them to their wont pastimes, each according to their minds. But when they were risen from sleep, and the rest from their other exercises, it seemed to be more than high time, that they should prepare for talk and conference. So, sitting down on Turkey Carpets, which were spread abroad on the green grass, and close by the place where they had dined: the King gave command, that Madam Aemillia should first begin, whereto she willingly yielding obedience, and expecting such silent attention, as formerly had been observed, thus she began.  

john of Lorraine heard one knock at his door in the night time, whereupon he awaked his Wife Monna Tessa. She made him believe, that it was a Spirit which knocked at the door, and so they arose, going both together to conjure the Spirit with a prayer; and afterwards, they heard no more knocking.  
The First novel.  
Reprehending the simplicity of some sottish Husbands: And discovering the wanton subtleties of some women, to compass their unlawful desires.  
MY Gracious Lord (quoth madam Aemillia) it had been a matter highly pleasing to me, that any other (rather than myself) should have begun to speak of this argument, which it hath pleased you to appoint. But seeing it is your highness' pleasure, that I must make a passage of assurance for all the rest; I will not be irregular, because obedience is our chief Article. I shall therefore (Gracious Ladies) strive, to speak something, which may be advantageable to you hereafter, in regard, that if other women be as fearful as we, especially of Spirits, of which all our sex have generally been timorous (although, upon my credit, I know not what they are, nor ever could meet with any, to tell me what they be) you may, by the diligent observation of my novel: learn a wholesome and holy prayer, very available, and of precious power, to conjure and drive them away, whensoever they shall presume to assault you in any place.  
There dwelled sometime in Florence, and in the street of Saint Brancazio, a woollen weaver, named John of Lorraine; a man more happy in his Art, then wise in any thing else beside: because, savouring somewhat of the Gregory, and (in very deed) little less than an idiot; he was many times made Captain of the woollen-weavers', in the quarters belonging to Santa Maria novella, and his house was the school or receptacle, for all their meetings and assemblies. He had diverse other petty Offices beside, by the dignity and authority whereof, he supposed himself much exalted or elevated, above the common pitch of other men. And this humour became the more tractable to him, because he addicted himself oftentimes (as being a man of an easy inclination) to be a benefactor to the holy Fathers of Santa Maria novella, giving (beside his other charitable alms) to some one a pair of Breeches, to another a Hood, and to another a whole habit. In reward whereof, they taught him (by heart) many wholesome prayers, as the Pater noster in the vulgar tongue; the Song of Saint Alexis; the Lamentations of Saint Bernard, the hymn of madam Matilda, and many other such like matters, which he kept charily, and repeated usually, as tending to the salvation of his soul.  
This man, had a very fair and lovely wife, named Monna Tessa, the daughter of Manuccio della Cuculia, wise and well advised; who knowing the simplicity of her Husband, and affecting Frederigo di Neri Pegolotti, who was a comely young Gentleman, fresh, and in the flower of his time, even as she was, therefore they agreed the better together. By means of her chambermaid, Frederigo and she met often together, at a country farm of John of Lorraynes, which he had near to Florence, and where she used to lodge all the Summer time, called Camerata, whether John resorted sometimes to Supper, and lodge for a night, returning home again to his City house the next morning; yet often he would stay there longer with his own companions.  
Frederigo, who was no mean man in his mistress' favour, and therefore these private meetings the more welcome to him; received a summons or assignation from her, to be there on such a night, when her husband had no intent of coming thither. There they supped merrily together, and (no doubt) did other things, nothing appertaining to our purpose, she both acquainting, and well instructing him, in a dozen (at the least) of her Husbands devout prayers. Nor did she make any account, or Frederigo either, that this should be the last time of their meeting, because (indeed) it was not the first: and therefore they set down an order and conclusion together (because the chambermaid must be no longer the messenger) in such manner as you shall hear.  
Frederigo was to observe especially, that always when he went or came from his own house, which stood much higher than John of Lorraynes did, to look upon a Vine, closely adjoining to her house, where stood the scull of an ass' head, advanced upon an high pole; & when the face thereof looked towards Florence, he might safely come, it being an assured sign, that John kept at home. And if he found the door fast shut, he should softly knock three several times, and thereon be admitted entrance. But if the face stood towards Fiesola; then he might not come, for it was the sign of john's being there, and then there might be no meddling at all.  
Having thus agreed upon this conclusion, and had many merry meetings together: one night above the rest, where Frederigo was appointed to sup with Monna Tessa, who had made ready two fat Capons, dressed in most dainty and delicate manner: it fell out so unfortunately, that John (whose cue was not to come that night came thither very late, yet before Frederigo, wherewith she being not a little offended, gave John a slight supper, of Lard, Bacon, and such like corpse provision, because the other was kept for a better guest. In the mean time, and while John was at supper, the maid (by her mistress' direction) had conveyed the two Capons, with boiled eggs, Bread and a Bottle of Wine (all folded up in a fair clean table cloth) into her Garden, that had a passage to it, without entering into the house, and where she had diverse times supped with Frederigo. She further willed the maid, to set all those things under a Peach tree, which adjoined to the fields side: but, so angry she was at her husband's unexpected coming, that she for got to bid her tarry there, till Frederigoes' coming, and to tell him of john's being there: as also, to take what he found prepared ready for his Supper.  
john and she being gone to bed together, and the maid likewise, it was not long after, before Frederigo came, and knocking once softly at the door, which was very near to their lodging Chamber, John heard the noise, and so did his wife. But to the end, that John might not have the least scruple of suspicion, she seemed to be fast asleep; and Frederigo pausing a while, according to the order directed, knocked again the second time. John wondering thereat very much, jogged his wife a little, and said to her: Tessa, hearest thou nothing? Me thinks one knocketh at our door. Monna Tessa, who was better acquainted with the knock, then plain honest meaning John was, dissembling as if she awaked our of a drowsy dream, said: Alas Husband, dost thou know what this is? In the name of our blessed Lady, be not afraid, this is but the Spirit which haunts our country houses, whereof I have often told thee, and it hath many times much dismayed me, living here alone without thy comfort. Nay, such hath been my fear, that in diverse nights passed, so soon as I heard the knocks: I was feign to hide myself in the bed overhead and ears (as we usually say) never daring to be so bold, as to look out, until it was broad open day. Arise good wife (quoth John) and if it be such a Spirit of the country, as thou talkest of, never be afraid; for before we went to bed, I said the Telucis, the Intemerata, with many other good prayers beside. Moreover, I made the sign of the sign of the cross at every corner of our bed, in the name of the Father, Son, and holy Ghost, so that no doubt at all needs to be made, of any power it can have to hurt or touch us.  
Monna Tessa, because (perhaps) Frederigo might receive some other suspicion, and so enter into distaste of her by anger or offence: determined to arise indeed, and to let him covertly understand, that John was there, and therefore said to her husband. Believe me John, thy counsel is good, and every one of thy words hath wisdom in it: but I hold it best for our own safety, thou being here; that we should conjure him quite away, to the end he may never more haunt our house, conjure him Wife? Quoth John, By what means? and how? Be patiented good man (quoth Tessa) and I will enstruct thee. I have learned an excellent kind of conjuration; for, the last week, when I went to procure the pardons at Fiesola, one of the holy recluse Nuns, who (indeed John) is my endeared Sister and Friend, and the most sanctimonious in life of them all; perceiving me to be troubled and terrified by Spirits; taught me a wholesome and holy prayer, and protested withal, that she had often made experiment thereof, before she became a Recluse, & found it (always) a present help to her. Yet never durst I adventure to essay it, living here by myself all alone: but honest John, seeing thou art here with me, we will go both together, and conjure this Spirit. John replied, that he was very willing; and being both up, they went fair and softly to the door, where Frederigo stood still without, and was grown somewhat suspicious of his long attendance.  
When they were come to the door, Monna Tessa said to John: Thou must cough and spit, at such time as I shall bid thee. Well (quoth John) I will not fail you. Immediately she began her prayer in this manner.  
Spirit, that walkest thus in the night,  
Poor country people to affright:  
Thou hast mista'en thy mark and aim,  
The head stood right, but John home came,  
And therefore thou must pack away,  
For I have nothing else to say:  
But to my Garden get the gone,  
Under the Peach-tree stands alone,  
There shalt thou find two Capons dressed,  
And eggs laid in mine own hen's nest,  
Bread, and a Bottle of good Wine,  
All wrapped up in a cloth most fine.  
Is not this good Goblins far?  
Pack and say you have your share;  
Not doing harm to John or me,  
Who this night keeps me company.  
No sooner had she ended her devout conjuring prayer, but she said to her husband: Now John, cough and spit: which John accordingly did. And Frederigo, being all this while without, hearing her witty conjuration of a Spirit, which he himself was supposed to be being rid of his former jealous suspicion: in the midst of all his melancholy, could very hardly refrain from laughing, the jest appeared so pleasing to him: But when John caught and spit, softly he said to himself: When next thou spetst, spit out all thy teeth.  
The woman having three several times conjured the spirit, in such manner as you have already heard; returned to bed again with her husband: and Frederigo, who came as persuaded to sup with her, being supperless all this while; directed by the words of Monna Tessa in her prayer, went into the Garden. At the foot of the Peach-tree, there he found the linen cloth, with the two hot Capons, Bread, eggs, and a Bottle of Wine in it, all which he carried away with him, and went to Supper at better leisure. Oftentimes afterward, upon other meetings of Frederigo and she together, they laughed hearty at her enchantment, and the honest belief of silly John.  
I cannot deny, but that some do affirm, that the Woman had turned the face of the ass' head towards Fiesola, and a Country traveller passing by the Vine, having a long piked staff on his neck: the staff, (by chance) touched the head, and made it turn diverse times-about, & in the end faced Florence, which being the call for Frederigoes' coming, by this means he was disappointed. In like manner some say, that Monna Tessaes' prayer for conjuring the Spirit, was in this order.  
Spirit, Spirit, go thy way,  
And come again some other day.  
It was not I that turned the head,  
But some other. In our Bed  
Are John and I: Go from our door,  
And see thou trouble us no more.  
So that Frederigo departed thence, both with the loss of his lahour & supper. But a neighbour of mine, who is a woman of good years, told me, that both the one and other were true, as she herself heard, when she was a little girl. And concerning the latter accident, it was not to john of Lorraine, but to another, named john de Nello, that dwelled at S. Peter's Gate, and of the same profession as john of Lorraine was. Wherefore (fair Ladies) it remaineth in your own choice, to entertain which of the two prayers you please, or both together if you will: for they are of extraordinary virtue in such strange occurrences, as you have heretofore heard, and (upon doubt) may prove by experience. It shall not therefore be amiss for you, to learn them both by hart, for (peradventure) they may stand you in good stead, if ever you chance to have the like occasion.   

Peronella hide a young man her friend and lover, under a great brewing Fat, upon the sudden returning home of her Husband; who told her, that he had sold the said Fat, and brought him that bought it, to carry it away. Peronella replied, that she had formerly sold it unto another, who was now underneath it, to see whether it were whole and sound, or no. Whereupon, he being come forth from under it; she caused her Husband to make it neat and clean, and so the last buryer carried it away.  
The Second novel.  
Wherein is declared, what hard and narrow shifts and distresses, such as be seriously linked in love, are many times enforced to undergo: According as their own wit, and capacity of their surprizers, drive them to in extremities.  
NOT without much laughter and good liking, was the Tale of madam Aemillia listened unto, and both the prayers commended to be sound and sovereign: but it being ended, the King commanded Philostratus, that he should follow next in order, whereupon thus he began.  
Dear Ladies, the deceits used by men towards your sex, but especially Husbands, have been so great and many, as when it hath sometime happened, or yet may, that husbands are required in the selfsame kind: you need not find fault at any such accident, either by knowledge thereof afterward, or hearing the same reported by any one; but rather you should refer it to general publication, to the end, that immodest men may know, and find it for truth, that if they have apprehension and capacity; women are therein not a jot inferior to them. Which cannot but redound to your great benefit, because, when any one knoweth, that another is a cunning and subtle as himself; he will not be so rashly adventurous in deceit. And who maketh any doubt, that if those sleights and tricks, whereof this day's argument may give us occasion to speak, should afterwards be put in execution by men: would it not minister just reason, of punishing themselves for beguiling you, knowing, that (if you please) you have the like ability in your own power? Mine intent therefore is to tell you, what a woman (though but of mean quality) did to her husband, upon a sudden, and in a moment (as it were) for her own safety.  
Not long since, there lived in Naples, an honest mean man, who did take to Wife, a fair and lusty young Woman, being named Peronella. He professing the Trade of a Mason, and she Carding and Spinning, maintained themselves in a reasonable condition, abating and abounding as their Fortunes served. It came to pass, that a certain young man, well observing the beauty and good parts of Peronella, became much addicted in affection towards her: and by his often and secret solicitations, which he found not to be unkindly entertained; his success proved answerable to his hope, no unindifferencie appearing in their purposes, but where her estate seemed weakest, his supplies made an addition of more strength.  
Now, for their securer meeting, to stand clear from all matter of scandal or detection, they concluded in this order between themselves. Lazaro, for so was Peronellaes' Husband named, being an early riser every morning, either to seek for work, or to effect it being undertaken: this amorous friend being therewith acquainted, and standing in some such convenient place, where he could see Lazaroes' departure from his house, and yet himself no way discerned; poor Lazaro was no sooner gone, but presently he enters the house, which stood in a very solitary street, called the Auorio. Many mornings had they thus met together, to their no mean delight and contentation, till one especial morning among the rest, when Lazaro was gone forth to work, and Striguario (so was the amorous young man named) visiting Peronella in the house: upon a very urgent occasion, Lazaro returned back again, quite contrary to his former wont, keeping forth all day, and never coming home till night.  
Finding his door to be fast locked, and he having knocked softly once or twice, he spoke in this manner to himself. Fortune I thank thee, for albeit thou hast made me poor, yet thou hast bestowed a better blessing on me, in matching me with so good, honest, & loving a Wife. Behold, though I went early out of my house, herself hath risen in the cold to shut the door, to prevent the entrance of thiefs, or any other that might offend us. Peronella having heard what her husband said, and knowing the manner of his knock, said fearfully to Striguario. Alas dear friend, what shall we do? I am little less than a dead Woman: For, Lazaro my Husband is come back again, and I know not what to do or say. He never returned in this order before now, doubtless, he saw when you entered the door; and for the safety of your honour and mine: creep under this brewing Fat, till I have opened the door, to know the reason of his so soon returning.  
Striguario made no delaying of the matter, but got himself closely under the Fat, and Peronella opening the door for her husband's entetance, with a frowning countenance, spoke thus unto him. What meaneth this so early returning home again this morning? It seemeth, thou intendest to do nothing to day, having brought back thy tools in thy hands. If such be thine intent, how shall we live? Where shall we have bread to fill our bellies? Dost thou think, that I will suffer thee to pawn my gown, and other poor garments, as heretofore thou hast done? I that card and spin both night and day, till I have worn the flesh from my fingers; yet all will hardly find oil to maintain our lamp. Husband, husband, there is not one neighbour dwelling by us, but makes a mockery of me, and tells me plainly, that I may be ashamed to drudge and moil as I do; wondering not a little, how I a●●ble to endure it; and thou returnest home with thy hands in thy hose, as if thou hadst no work at all to do this day.  
Having thus spoken, she fell to weeping, and then thus began again. Poor wretched woman as I am, in an unfortunate hour was I borne, and in a much worse, when I was made thy Wife. I could have had a proper, handsome young man; one, that would have maintained me brave and gallantly: but, beast as I was, to forgo my good, and cast myself away on such a beggar as thou art, and whom none would have had, but such an ass as I. Other women live at hearts ease, and in jollity, have their amorous friends and loving Paramours, yea, one, two, three at once, making their husbands look like a moon crescent, whereon they shine sunlike, with amiable looks, because they know not how to help it: when I (poor fool) live here at home a miserable life, not daring once to dream of such follies, an innocent soul, heartless and harmless.  
Many times, sitting and sighing to myself: Lord, think I, of what mettle am I made? Why should not I have a Friend in a corner, aswell as others have? I am flesh and blood, as they are, not made of brass or iron, and therefore subject to women's frailty. I would thou shouldest know it husband, and I tell it thee in good earnest; That if I would do ill, I could quickly find a friend at a need. Gallants there are good store, who (of my knowledge) love me dear, and have made me very large and liberal promises, of gold, silver, jewels, and gay Garments, if I would extend them the least favour. But my heart will not suffer me, I never was the daughter of such a mother, as had so much as a thought of such matters: no, I thank our blessed Lady, and S. Friswid for it: and yet thou returnest home again, when thou shouldst be at Worke.  
Lazaro, who stood all this while like a well-beleeving loggerhead, demurely thus answered. Alas good Wife! I pray you be not so angry, I never had so much as an ill thought of you, but know well enough what you are, and have made good proof thereof this morning. Understand therefore patiently (sweet Wife) that I went forth to my work as daily I use to do, little dreaming (as I think you do not) that it had been holiday. Wife, this is the Feast day of Saint Galeone; whereon we may in no wise work, and this is the reason of my so soon returning. Nevertheless (dear Wife) I was not careless of our household provision: For, though we work not, yet we must have food, which I have provided for more than a month. Wife, I remembered the brewing Fat, whereof we have little or no use at all, but rather it is a trouble to the house, than otherwise. I met with an honest Friend, who stayeth without at the door, to him I have sold the Fat for ten Gigliatoes, and he tarrieth to take it away with him.  
How Husband? replied Peronella, Why now I am worse offended then before. Thou that art a man, walkest every where, and shouldst be experienced in worldly affairs: wouldst thou be so simple, as to sell such a brewing Fat for ten Gigliatoes? Why, I that am a poor ignorant woman, a house-dove, seldom going out of my door: have sold it already for twelve Gigliatoes, to a very honest man, who (even a little before thy coming home) came to me, we agreed on the bargain, and he is now underneath the Fat, to see whether it be sound or no. When credulous Lazaro heard this, he was better contented then ever, and went to him that tarried at the door, saying. Good man, you may go your way; for, whereas you offered me but ten Gigliatoes for the Fat, my loving wife hath sold it for twelve, and I must maintain what she hath done: so the man departed, and the variance ended.  
Peronella then said to her husband. Seeing thou art come home so luckily, help me to lift up the Fat, that the man may come forth, and then you two end the bargain together. Striguario▪ who though he was mewed up under the tub, had his ears open enough; and hearing the witty excuse of Peronella, took himself free from future fear: and being come from under the Fat, pretending also, as if he had herd nothing, nor saw Lazaro, looking round about him, said. Where is this good woman? Lazaro stepping forth boldly like a man, replied: here am I, what would you have Sir? Thou? quoth Striguario, what art thou? I ask for the good wife, with whom I made my match for the Fat. Honest Gentleman (answered Lazaro) I am that honest woman's Husband, for lack of a better, and I will maintain whatsoever my Wife hath done.  
I cry you mercy Sir, replied Striguario, I bargained with your Wife for this brewing Fat, which I find to be whole and sound: only it is unclean within, hard crusted with some dry soil upon it, which I know not well how to get off, if you will be the means of making it clean, I have the money here ready for it. For that Sir (quoth Peronella) take you no care, although no match at all had been made, what serves my Husband for, but to make it clean? Yes forsooth Sir, answered silly Lazaro, you shall have it neat and clean before you pay the money.  
So, stripping himself into his shirt, lighting a Candle, and taking tools fit for the purpose; the Fat was whelmed over him, and he being within it, wrought until he sweated, with scraping and scrubbing. So that these poor lovers, what they could not accomplish as they would, necessity enforced them to perform as they might. And Peronella, looking in at the vent-hole, where the Liquor runneth forth for the meshing; seemed to instruct her husband in the business, as espying those parts where the Fat was foulest, saying: There, there Lazaro, tickle it there, the Gentleman pays well for it, and is worthy to have it: but see thou do thyself no harm good Husband. I warrant thee Wife, answered Lazaro, hurt not yourself with leaning your stomach on the Fat, and leave the cleansing of it to me. To be brief, the Brewing Fat was neatly cleansed, Peronella and Striguario both well pleased, the money paid, and honest meaning Lazaro not discontented.   

Friar Reynard, falling in love with a Gentlewoman, Wife to a man of good account; found the means to become her Gossip. Afterward, he being conferring closely with her in her Chamber, and her Husband coming suddenly thither: she made him believe, that he came thither for no other end; but to cure his godson by a charm, of a dangerous disease which he had by worms.  
The Third novel.  
Serving as a friendly advertisement to married women, that Monks, Friars, and Priests may be none of their Gossips, in regard of unavoidable perils ensuing thereby.  
PHilostratus told not this Tale so covertly, concerning Lazaros simplicity, and Peronellaes' witty policy; but the Ladies found a knot in the rush, and laughed not a little, at his quaint manner of discoursing it. But upon the conclusion, the King looking upon Madam Eliza, willed her to succeed next, which as willingly she granted, and thus began. Pleasant Ladies, the charm or conjuration wherewith Madam Aemillia laid her nightwalking Spirit, maketh me remember a novel of another enchantment; which although it carrieth not commendation equal to the other, yet I intent to report it, because it suiteth with our present purpose, and I cannot suddenly be furnished with another, answerable thereto in nature.  
You are to understand then, that there lived in Stena, a proper young man, of good birth and well friended, being named Reynard. Earnestly he affected his near dwelling neighbour, a beautiful Gentlewoman, and wife to a man of good esteem: of whom he grew half persuaded, that if he could (without suspicion) compass private conference with her, he should reach the height of his amorous desires. Yet seeing no likely means wherewith to further his hope, and she being great with child, he resolved to become a Godfather to the child, at such time as it should be brought to Christening. And being inwardly acquainted with her Husband, who was named Credulano; such familiar intercourses passed between them, both of Reynards' kind offer, and Credulanoes as courteous acceptance, that he was set down for a gossip.  
Reynard being thus embraced for Madam Agnesiaes' Gossip, and this proving the only colourable means, for his safer permission of speech with her, to let her now understand by word of mouth, what long before she collected by his looks and behaviour: it fell out no way beneficial to him, albeit Agnesia seemed not nice or scrupulous in hearing, yet she had a more precious care of her honour. It came to pass, within a while after (whether by seeing his labour vainly spent, or some other urgent occasion moving him thereto, I know not) Reynard would needs enter into Religion, and whatsoever strictness or austerity he found to be in that kind of life, yet he determined to persevere therein, whether it were for his good or ill. And although within a short space, after he was thus become a Religious monk, he seemed to forget the former love which he bore to his gossip Agnesia, and diverse other enormous vanities beside: yet let me tell you, success of time tutored him in them again; and, without any respect to his poor holy habit, but rather in contempt thereof (as it were) he took an especial delight, in wearing garments of much richer esteem, yet favoured by the same monastical profession, appearing (in all respects) like a Court-Minion or favourite, of a sprightly and poetical disposition, for composing Verses, Sonnets, and Canzons, singing them to sundry excellent instruments, and yet not greatly curious of his company, so they were some of the best, and madam Agnesia one, his former Gossip.  
But why do I trouble myself, in talking thus of our so lately converted Friar, holy Father Reynard, when they of longer standing, and reputed merely for Saints in life, are rather much more vile than he? Such is the wretched condition of this world, that they shame not (fat, foggy, and nasty Abbey-lubbers) to show how full fed they live in their cloisters, with cherry cheeks, and smooth shining looks, gay and gaudy garments, far from the least expression of humility, not walking in the streets like doves: but high-crested like cocks, with well crammed gorges. Nay, which is worse, if you did but see their Chambers furnished with galley-pots of Electuaries, precious unguents, Apothecary Boxes, filled with various Confections, conserves, excellent Perfumes, and other goodly Glasses of artificial oils and Waters: beside rundlers' and small Barrels full of Greek Wine, Muscatella, Lachrime Christi, and other such like most precious Wines, so that (to such as see them) they seem not to be Chambers of Religious men; but rather Apothecaries shops, or appertaining to druggist's, Grocers, or Perfumers.  
It is no disgrace to them to be gouty; because when other men know it not, they allege, that strict fasting, feeding on gross meats (though never so li●le,) continual studying, and such like restraints from the bodies freer exercise, maketh them subject to many infirmities. And yet, when any one of them chanceth to fall sick, the physician must minister no such counsel to them, as Chastity, Abstinence from voluptuous meats, Discipline of the body, or any of those matters appertaining to a modest religious life. For, concerning the plain, vulgar, and Plebeian people, these holy Fathers are persuaded, that they know nothing really belonging to a sanctimonious life; as long watching, praying, discipline and fasting, which (in themselves) are not able, to make men look lean, wretched, and pale. Because Saint Dominicke, Saint Frances, and diverse other holy Saints beside, observed the selfsame religious orders and constitutions, as now their careful successors do. Moreover, in example of those forenamed Saints, who went well clothed, though they had not three Garments for one, nor made of the finest Woollen excellent cloth: but rather of the very coarsest of all other, and of the common ordinary colour, to expel cold only, but not to appear brave or gallant, deceyuing thereby infinite simple credulous souls, whose purses (nevertheless) are their best paymasters.  
But leave we this, and return we back to virtuous friar Reynard, who falling again to his former appetites; became an often visitant of his Gossip Agnesia, and now he had learned such a blushless kind of boldness; that he durst be more instant with her (concerning his privy suit) then ever formerly he had been, yea, even to solicit the enjoying of his immodest desires. The good Gentlewoman, seeing herself so importunately pursued, and friar Reynard appearing now (perhaps) of sweeter and more delicare complexion, then at his entrance into Religion: at a set time of his secret communing with her; she answered him in as apt terms, as they use to do, who are not greatly squeamish, in granting matters demanded of them.  
Why how now Friar Reynard? quoth she, do godfathers use to move such questions? Whereto the Friar thus replied. Madam, when I have laid off this holy habit (which is a matter very easy for me to do) I shall seem in your eye, in all respects made like another man, quite from the course of any Religious life. Agnesia, biting the lip with a pretty smile, said; O my fair stars! You will never be so unfriendly to me. What? You being my Gossip, would you have me consent unto such a sin? Our blessed Lady shield me, for my ghostly Father hath often told me, that it is utterly unpardonable: but if it were, I fear too much confiding on mine own strength. Gossip, Gossip, answered the Friar, you speak like a fool, and fear (in this case) is wholly frivolous, especially, when the motions moved by such an one as myself, who (upon repentance) can grant you pardon and indulgence presently. But I pray you let me ask you one question, Who is the nearest Kinsman to your Son; either I, that stood at the Font for his baptism, or your Husband that begot him? The Lady made answer, that it was her Husband. You say very true Gossip, replied the Friar, and yet notwithstanding, doth not your Husband (both at board and bed) enjoy the sweet benefit of your company? Yes, said the Lady, why should he not? Then Lady (quoth Reynard) I, who am not so near a Kinsman to your son, as your Husband is, why may ye not afford me the like favour, as you do him? Agnesia, who was no logician, and therefore could not stand on any curious answer, especially being so cunningly moved; believed, or rather made show of believing, that the Godfather said nothing but truth, and thus answered. What woman is she (Gossip) that knoweth how to answer your strange speeches? And, how it came to pass, I know not, but such an agreement passed between them, that, for once only (so it might not infringe the league of gossipship, but that title to countenance their further intent) such a favour should be afforded, so it might stand clear from suspicion.  
An especial time being appointed, when this amorous combat should be fought in love's field, Friar Reynard came to his gossip's house, where none being present to hinder his purpose, but only the nurse which attended on the child, who was an indifferent fair & proper woman: his holy brother that came thither in his company (because Friars were not allowed to walk alone) was sent aside with her into the Pigeon loft, to enstruct her in a new kind of Pater noster, lately devised in their holy convent. In the mean while, as Friar Reynard and Agnesia were entering into her chamber, she leading her little son by the hand, and making fast the door for their better safety: the Fri●r laid by his holy habit, Cowle, Hood, book, and Beads, to be (in all respects) as other men were. No sooner were they thus entered the Chamber, but her husband Credulano, being come into the house, and unseen of any, stayed not till he was at the Chamber door, where he knocked, and called for his Wife.  
She hearing his voice: Alas Gossip (quoth she) what shall I do? My Husband knocketh at the door, and now he will perceive the occasion of our so familiar acquaintance. Reynard being stripped into his truss and straight Strouses, began to tremble and quake exceedingly. I hear your husband's tongue Gossip, said he, and seeing no harm as yet hath been done, if I had but my garments on again; we would have one excuse or other to serve the turn, but till than you may not open the door. As women's wits are seldom gadding abroad, when any necessity concerneth them at home: even so Agnesia, being suddenly provided of an invention, both how to speak and carry herself in this extremity, said to the Friar. Get on your garments quickly, and when you are clothed, take your little godson in your arms, and listening well what I shall say, shape your answers according to my words, and then refer the matter to me. Credulano had scarcely ended his knocking, but Agnesia stepping to the door said: Husband, I come to you. So she opened the door, and (going forth to him) with a cheerful countenance thus spoke. Believe me Husband, you could not have come in a more happy time, for our young Son was suddenly extremely sick, and (as good Fortune would have it) our loving Gossip Reynard chanced to come in; and questionless, but by his good prayers and other religious pains, we had utterly lost our child, for he had no life left in him.  
Credulano, being as credulous as his name imported, seemed ready to swoon with sudden conceit: Alas good wife (quoth he) how happened this? Sat down sweet Husband said she, and I will tell you al. Our child was suddenly taken with a swooning, wherein I being unskilful, did verily suppose him to be dead, not knowing what to do, or say. By good hap, our Gossip Reynard came in, and taking the child up in his arms, said to me. Gossip, this is nothing else but worms in the belly of the child, which ascending to the heart, must needs kill the child, without all question to the contrary. But be of good comfort Gossip, and fear not, for I can charm them in such sort, that they shall all die, and before I depart hence, you shall see your Son as healthful as ever. And because the manner of this charm is of such nature, that it required prayer and exorcising in two places at once: Nurse went up with his holy Brother into our Pigeon loft, to exercise their devotion there, while we did the like here. For none but the mother of the child must be present at such a mystery, nor any enter to hinder the operation of the charm; which was the reason of making fast the Chamber door. You shall see Husband anon the child, which is indifferently recovered in his arms, and if Nurse and his holy Brother were returned from their meditations; he saith, that the charm would then be fully effected: for the child beginneth to look cheerful and merry.  
So dearly did Credulano love the child, that he verily believed, what his Wife had said, never misdoubting any other treachery: and, lifting up his eyes, with a vehement sigh, said. Wife, may not I go in and take the child into my arms? Oh no, not yet good husband (quoth she) in any case, lest you should overthrew all that is done. Stay but a little while, I will go in again, and if all be well, then will I call you. In went Agnesia again, making the door fast after her, the friar having heard all the passed speeches, by this time he was fitted with his habit, and taking the child in his arms, he said to Agnesia. Gossip methought I heard your husband's voice, is he at your Chamber door? Yes Gossip Reynard (quoth Credulano without, while Agnesia opened the door, and admitted him entrance) indeed it is I. Come in Sir, I pray you, replied the Friar, and here receive your child of me, who was in great danger, of your ever seeing him any more alive. But you must take order, to make an Image of wax, agreeing with the stature of the child, to be placed on the Altar before the Image of S. Frances, by whose merires the child is thus restored to health.  
The child, beholding his Father, made signs of coming to him, rejoicing merrily, as young infants use to do; and Credulano clasping him in his arms, wept with conceit of joy, kissing him infinitely, and hearty thanking his Gossip Reynard, for the recovery of his godson. The Friars brotherly Companion, who had given sufficient instructions to the Nurse, and a small purse full of Sisters white thread, which a nun (after shrift) had bestowed on him, upon the husband's admittance into the Chamber (which they easily heard) came in also to them, and seeing all in very good terms, they holp to make a joyful conclusion, the Brother saying to Friar Reynard: Brother, I have finished all those four jaculatory prayers, which you commanded me.  
Brother, answered Reynard, you have a better breath than I, and your success hath proved happier than mine, for before the arrival of my Gossip Credulano, I could accomplish but two jaculatory prayers only. But it appeareth, that we have both prevailed in our devout desires, because the child is perfectly cured. Credulano calling for Wine and good cheer, feasted both the Friars very iocondly, and then conducting them forth of his house, without any further intermission, caused the child's Image of wax to be made, and sent it to be placed on the Altar of Saint Frances, among many other the like oblations.   

Tofano in the night season, did lock his wife out of his house, and she not prevailing to get entrance again, by all the entreaties she could possibly use: made him believe that she had thrown herself into a Well, by casting a great stone into the same Well. Tofano hearing the fall of the stone into the Well, and being persuaded that it was his Wife indeed; came forth of his house, and ran to the Welles side. In the mean while, his wife got into the house, made fast the door against her Husband, and gave him many reproachful speeches.  
The Fourth novel.  
Wherein is manifested, that the malice and subtlety of a woman, surpasseth all the Art or Wit in man,  
SO soon as the King perceived, that the novel reported by madam Eliza was finished: he turned himself to madam Lauretta, and told her it was his pleasure, that she should now begin the next, whereto she yielded in this manner. O love: What, and how many are thy prevailing forces? How strange are thy foresights? And how admirable thine attempts? Where is, or ever was the Philosopher or Artist, that could enstruct the wiles, escapes, preventions, and demonstrations, which suddenly thou teachest such, as are thy apt and understanding scholars indeed? Certain it is, that the documents and eruditions of all other whatsoever, are weak, or of no worth, in respect of thine: as hath notably appeared, by the remonstrances already past, and whereto (worthy Ladies) I will add another of a simple woman, who taught her husband such a lesson, as she never learned of any, but love himself.  
There dwelled sometime in Arezzo (which is a fair Village of Tuscany) a rich man, named Tofano, who enjoyed in marriage a young beautiful woman, called Oneta: of whom (without any occasion given, or reason known to himself) he became exceeding jealous. Which his wife perceiving, she grew much offended thereat, and took it in great scorn, that she should be servile to so vile and slavish a condition. Oftentimes, she demanded of him, from whence this jealousy in him received original, he having never seen or heard of any; he could make her no other answer, but what his own bad humour suggested, and driven him every day (almost) to death's door, by fear of that which no way needed. But, whether as a just scourge for this his gross folly, or a secret decree, ordained to him by Fortune and the Fates, I am not able to distinguish: It came so to pass, that a young Gallant made means to enjoy her favour, and she was so discreetly wise in judging of his worthiness; that affection passed so fare mutually between them, as nothing wanted, but effects to answer words, suited with time and place convenient, for which order was taken as best they might, yet to stand free from all suspicion.  
Among many other evil conditions, very frequent and familiar in her husband Tofano; he took a great delight in drinking, which not only he held to be a commendable quality, but was always so often solicited thereto: that Cheta herself began to like and allow it in him, feeding his humour so effectually, with quaffing and carousing, that (at any time when she listed) she could make him bowsie beyond all measure: and leaving him sleeping in this drunkenness, would always get herself to bed. By help hereof, she compassed the first familiarity with her friend, yea, diverse times after, as occasion served: and so confidently did she build on her husband's drunkenness, that not only she adventured to bring her friend home into her own house; but also would as often go to his, which was somewhat near at hand, and abide with him there, the most part of the night season.  
While Cheta thus continued on these amorous courses, it fortuned, that her sly suspicious husband, began to perceive, that though she drunk very much with him, yea, until he was quite spent and gone: yet she remained fresh and sober still, and thereby imagined strange matters, that he being fast asleep, his wife then took advantage of his drowsiness, and might— and so forth. Being desirous to make experience of this his distrust, he returned home at night (not having drunk any thing all the whole day) dissembling both by his words and behaviour, as if he were-notoriously drunk indeed. Which his Wife constantly believing, said to herself: That he had now more need of sleep, then drink; getting him immediately into his warm bed; and then going down the stairs again, softly went out of doors unto her friend's house, as formerly she had used to do, and there she remained until midnight.  
Tofano perceiving that his Wife came not to bed, and imagining to have heard his door both open and shut: arose out of his bed, and calling his Wife Cheta diverse times, without any answer returned: he went down the stairs, and finding the door but closed too, made it fast and sure on the inside, and then got him up to the window, to watch the returning home of his wife, from whence she came, and then to make her conditions apparently known. So long there he stayed, till at the last she returned indeed, and finding the door so surely shut, she was exceeding sorrowful, essaying how she might get it open by strength: which when Tofano had long suffered her in vain to approve, thus he spoke to her. Cheta, Cheta, all thy labour is merely lost, because here is no entrance allowed for thee; therefore return to the place from whence thou camest, that all thy friends may judge of thy behaviour, and know what a nightwalker thou art become.  
The woman hearing this unpleasing language, began to use all humble entreaties, desiring him (for charity's sake) to open the door and admit her entrance, because she had not been in any such place, as his jealous suspicion might suggest to him: but only to visit a weak & sickly neighbour, the nights being long, she not (as yet) capable of sleep, nor willing to sit alone in the house. But all her persuasions served to no purpose, he was so settled in his own opinion, that all the Town should now see her nightly gading, which before was not so much as suspected. Cheta seeing, that fair means would not prevail, she entered into rough speeches and threatenings, saying: If thou wilt not open the door and let me come in, I will so shame thee, as never base man was. As how I pray thee? answered Tofano, what canst thou do to me?  
The woman, whom love had inspired with sprightly counsel, ingeniously instructing her what to do in this distress, stearnly thus replied. Before I will suffer any such shame as thou intendest towards me, I will drown myself here in this Well before our door, where being found dead, and thy villainous jealousy so apparently known, beside thy more than beastly drunkenness: all the neighbours will constantly believe, that thou didst first strangle me in the house, and afterwards threw me into this Well. So either thou must fly upon the supposed offence, or lose all thy goods by banishment, or (which is much more fitting for thee) have thy head smitten off, as a wilfullmurtherer of thy wife; for all will judge it to be no otherwise. All which words, moved not Tofano a jot from his obstinate determination: but he still persisting therein, thus she spoke. I neither can nor will longer endure this base villainy of thine: to the mercy of heaven I commit my soul, and stand there my wheel, a witness against so hard-hearted a murderer.  
No sooner had she thus spoke, but the night being so extremely dark, as they could not discern one another; Cheta went to the Well, where finding a very great stone, which lay lose upon the brim of the Well, even as if it had been laid there on purpose, she cried out aloud, saying. Forgive me fair heavens, and so threw the stone down into the Well. The night being very still & silent, the fall of the great stone made such a dreadful noise in the Well; that he hearing it at the window, thought verily she had drowned herself indeed. Whereupon, running down hastily, and taking a Bucket fastened to a strong Cord: he left the door wide open, intending speedily to help her. But she standing close at the doors entrance; before he could get to the wells fide; she was within the house, softly made the door fast on the inside, and then went up to the Window, where Tofano before had stood talking to her.  
While he was thus dragging with his Bucket in the Well, crying and calling Cheta; take hold good Cheta, and save thy life: she stood laughing in the Window, saying. Water should be put into Wine before a man drinks it, and not when he hath drunk too much already. Tofano hearing his Wife thus to flout him out of his Window, went back to the door, and finding it made fast against him: he willed her to grant him entrance. But she, forgetting all gentle Language, which formerly she had used to him: in mere mockery and derision (yet intermixed with some sighs and tears, which women are said to have at command) out aloud (because the Neighbours should hear her) thus she replied.  
Beastly drunken knave as thou art, this night thou shalt not come within these doors, I am no longer able to endure thy base behaviour, it is more than high time, that thy course of life should be publicly known, and at what drunken hours thou returnest home to thy house. Tofano, being a man of very impatient Nature, was as bitter unto her in words on the other side, which the Neighbours about them (both men and Women) hearing; looked forth of their windows, and demanding a reason for this their disquietness, Cheta (seeming as if she wept) said.  
Alas my good Neighbours, you see at what unfitting hours, this bad man comes home to his house, after he hath lain in a tavern all day drunk, sleeping and snorting like a Swine. You are my honest witnesses, how long I have suffered this beastliness in him, yet neither your good counsel, nor my too often loving admonitions, can work that good which we have expected. Wherefore, to try if shame can procure any amendment, I have shut him out of doors, until his drunken fit be overpassed, and so he shall stand to cool his feet.  
Tofano (but in very uncivil manner) told her being abroad that night, and how she had used him: But the Neighbours seeing her to be within the house, and believing her, rather than him, in regard of his too well known ill qualities; very sharply reproved him, gave him gross speeches, pitying that any honest Woman should be so continually abused. Now my good Neighbours (quoth she) you see what manner of man he is. What would you think of me, if I should walk the streets thus in the night time, or be so late out of mine own house, as this daily Drunkard is? I was afraid lest you would have given credit to his dissembling speeches, when he told you, that I was at the Welles side, and threw something into the Well: but that I know your better opinion of me, and how seldom I am to be seen out of doors, although he would induce your sharper judgement of me, and lay that shame upon me, wherein he hath sinned himself.  
The Neighbours, both men and Women, were all very severely incensed against Tofano, condemning him for his great fault that night committed, and avouching his wife to be virtuous and honest. Within a little while, the noise passing from Neighbour to Neighbour, at the length it came to the ears of her Kindred, who forthwith resorted thither, and hearing how sharply the Neighbours reprehended Tofano: they took him, sound bastanadoed him, and hardly left any bone of him unbruised. Afterward, they went into the house, took all such things thence as belonged to her, taking her also with them to their dwelling, and threatening Tofano with further infliction of punishment, both for his drunkenness, and causeless jealousy.  
Tofano perceiving how curstly they had handled him, and what crooked means might further be used against him, in regard her Kindred & Friends were very mighty: thought it much better, patiently to suffer the wrong already done him then by obstinate contending, to proceed further, and far worse. He became a suitor to her Kindred, that all might be forgotten and forgiven, in recompense whereof; he would not only refrain from drunkenness, but also, never more be jealous of his wife. This being faithfully promised, and Cheta reconciled to her Husband, all strife was ended, she enjoyed her friend's favour, as occasion served, but yet with such discretion, as it was not noted. Thus the coxcomb fool, was fain to purchase his peace, after a notorious wrong sustained, and further injuries to be offered.   

A jealous man, clouded with the habit of a Priest, became the confessor to his own Wife; who made him believe, that she was deeply in love with a Priest, which came every night, and lay with her. By means of which confession, while her jealous Husband watched the door of his house; to surprise the Priest when he came: she that never meant to do amiss, had the company of a secret Friend, who came over the top of the house to visit her, while her foolish Husband kept the door.  
The Fift novel.  
In just scorn and mockery of such jealous Husbands, that will be so idle headed upon no occasion. And yet when they have good reason for it, do least of all suspect any such injury.  
MAdam Lauretta having ended her novel, and every one commended the Woman, for fitting Tofano in his kind; and, as his jealousy and drunkenness justly deserved: the King (to prevent all loss of time) turned to madam Fiammetta, commanding her to follow next: whereupon, very graciously, she began in this manner.  
Noble Ladies, the precedent novel delivered by madam Lauretta, maketh me willing to speak of another jealous man; as being half persuaded, that whatsoever is done to them by their wives, and especially upon no occasion given, they do no more than well becometh them. And if those grave heads, which were the first instituters of laws, had diligently observed all things; I am of the mind, that they would have ordained no other penalty for Women, than they appointed against such, as (in their own defence) do offend any other. For jealous husbands, are mere insidiators of their wife's lives, and most diligent pursuers of their deaths, being locked up in their houses all the week long, employed in nothing but domestic drudging affairs: which makes them desirous of high festival days, to receive some little comfort abroad, by an honest recreation or pastime, as Husbandmen in the fields, artisans in our city, or governors in our judicial courts; yea, or as our Lord himself, who rested the seaventh day from all his travails. In like manner, it is so willed and ordained by the laws, as well divine as humane, which have regard to the glory of God, and for the common good of every one; making distinction between those days appointed for labour, and the other determined for rest. Whereto jealous persons (in no case) will give consent, but all those days (which for other women are pleasing and delightful) unto such, over whom they command, are most irksome, sad and sorrowful, because than they are locked up, and very strictly restrained. And if question were urged, how many good women do live and consume away in this torturing hell of affliction: I can make no other answer, but such as feel it, are best able to discover it. Wherefore to conclude the proheme to my present purpose, let none be over rash in condemning women: for what they do to their husbands, being jealous without occasion; but rather commend their wit and providence.  
Sometime (fair Ladies) there lived in Arimino, a Merchant, very rich in wealth and worldly possessions, who having a beautiful Gentlewoman to his wife, he became extremely jealous of her. And he had no other reason for this foolish conceit; but, like as he loved her dearly, and found her to be very absolutely fair: even so he imagined, that although she devised by her best means to give him content; yet others would grow enamoured of her, because she appeared so amiable to al. In which respect, time might tutor her to affect some other beside himself: the only common argument of every bad minded man, being weak and shallow in his own understanding. This jealous humour increasing in him more and more, he kept her in such narrow restraint: that many persons condemned to death, have enjoyed larger liberty in their imprisonment. For, she might not be present at Feasts, Weddings, nor go to Church, or so much as to be seen at her door: Nay, she durst not stand in her Window, nor look out of her house, for any occasion whatsoever. By means whereof, life seemed most tedious and offensive to her, and she supported it the more impatiently, because she knew herself not any way faulty.  
Seeing her husband still persist in this shameful course towards her; she studied, how she might best comfort herself in this desolate case: by devising some one mean or other (if any at all were to be found) whereby he might be requited in his kind, and wear that badge of shame whereof he was now but only afraid. And because she could not gain so small a permission, as to be seen at any window, where (happily) she might have observed some one passing by in the street, discerning a little parcel of her love: she remembered at length, that, in the next house to her Husbands (they both joining close together) there dwelled a comely young proper Gentleman, whose perfections carried correspondency with her desires. She also considered with herself, that if there were any partition wall; such a chink or cranny might easily be made therein, by which (at one time or other) she should gain a sight of the young Gentleman, and find an hour so fitting, as to confer with him, and bestow her lovely favour on him, if he pleased to accept it. If success (in this case) proved answerable to her hope, than thus she resolved to outrun the rest of her wearisome days, except the frenzy of jealousy did finish her husband's loathed life before.  
Walking from one room to another, through every part of the house; and no wall escaping without diligent surveying; on a day, when her Husband was absent from home, she espied in a corner very secret, an indifferent cleft in the Wall, which though it yielded no full view on the other side, yet she plainly perceived it to be an handsome Chamber, and grew more than half persuaded, that either it might be the Chamber of Philippo (for so was the neighbouring young Gentleman named) or else a passage guiding thereto. A Chambermaid of hers, who compassioned her case very much; made such observance, by her mistress' direction, that she found it to be Philippoes' bed Chamber, and where always he used to lodge alone. By often visiting this rift or chink in the Wall, especially when the Gentleman was there; and by throwing in little stones, flowers, and such like things, which fell still in his way as he walked: so fare she prevailed, that he stepping to the chink, to know from whence they came; she called softly to him, who knowing her voice, there they had such private conference together, as was not any way displeasing to either. So that the chink being made a little larger; yet so, as it could not be easily discerned: their mouths might meet with kisses together, and their hands folded each in other; but nothing else to be performed, for continual fear of her jealous husband.  
Now the Feast of Christmas drawing near, the Gentlewoman said to her Husband; that, if it stood with his liking: she would do such duty as fitted with so solemn a time, by going early in a morning unto Church, there to be confessed, and receive her saviour, as other Christians did. How now? replied the jealous ass, what sins have you committed, that should need confession? How Husband? quoth she, what do you think me to be a Saint? Who knoweth not, I pray you, that I am as subject to sin, as any other Woman living in the world? But my sins are not to be revealed to you, because you are no Priest. These words inflamed his jealousy more violently than before, and needs must he know what sins she had committed, & having resolved what to do in this case, made her answer: That he was contented with her motion, always provided, that she went to no other Church, then unto their own chapel, betimes in a morning; and their own chaplain to confess her, or some other Priest by him appointed, but not any other: and then she to return home presently again. She being a woman of acute apprehension, presently collected his whole intention: but seeming to take no knowledge thereof, replied, that she would not swerve from his direction.  
When the appointed day was come, she arose very early, and being prepared answerable to her own liking, to the chapel she went as her Husband had appointed, where her jealous Husband (being much earlier risen than she) attended for her coming: having so ordered the matter with his chaplain, that he was clothed in his Cowle, with a large Hood hanging over his eyes, that she should not know him, and so he went and sat down in the Confessors place. She being entered into the chapel, and calling for the Priest to hear her confession, he made her answer: that he could not intehd it, but would bring her to another holy Brother, who was at better leisure than he. So to her Husband he brought her, that seemed (in all respects) like the Confessor himself: save only his Hood was not so closely veiled, but she knew his beard, and said to herself. What a mad world is this, when jealousy can metamorphose an ordinary man into a Priest? But, let me alone with him, I mean to fit him with that which he looks for.  
So, appearing to have no knowledge at all of him, down she fell at his feet, and he had conveyed a few Cherry stones into his mouth, to trouble his speech from her knowledge; for, in all things else, he thought himself to be sufficiently fitted for her. In the course of her confession, she declared, that she was married to a most wicked jealous Husband, and with whom she lead a very hateful life. Nevertheless (quoth she) I am indifferently even with him, for I am beloved of an holy friar, that every night cometh and lieth with me. When the jealous Husband heard this, it stabbed him like a dagger to the heart, and, but for this greedy covetous desire to know more; he would fain have broke off confession, and got him gone. But, perceiving that it was his wisest course, he questioned further with his wife, saying: Why good Woman, doth not your husband lodge with you? Yes Sir, quoth she. How is it possible then (replied the Husband) that the Friar can lodge there with you too?  
She, dissembling a fare fetched sigh, thus answered. Reverend Sir, I know not what skilful Art the friar useth, but this I am sure, every door in our house will fly open to him, so soon as he doth but touch it. Moreover, he told me, that when he cometh unto my Chamber door, he speaketh certain words to himself, which immediately casteth my Husband into a dead sleep, and, understanding him to be thus sleepily entranced: he openeth the door, entereth in, lieth down by me, and this every night he faileth not to do. The jealous Coxcomb angrily scratching his head, and wishing his wife half hanged, said: Mistress, this is very badly done, for you should keep yourself from all men, but your husband only. That shall I never do, answered she, because (indeed) I love him dear. Why then (quoth our supposed Confessor) I cannot give you any absolution. I am the more sorry Sir, said she, I came not hither to tell you any leasings, for if I could, yet I would not, because it is not good to fable with such saintlike men as you are. You do therein (quoth he) the better, and surely I am very sorry for you, because in this dangerous condition, it will be the utter loss of your soul: nevertheless, both for your husband's sake and your own, I will take some pains, and use such especial prayers in your name, which may (perchance) greatly avail you. And I purpose now and then, to send you a novice or young clerk of mine, whom you may safely acquaint with your mind, and signify to me, by him, whether they have done you good, or no: and if they prove helpful, then will we further proceed therein. Alas Sir, said she, never trouble yourself, in sending any body to our house; because, if my Husband should know it, he is so extremely jealous, as all the world cannot otherwise persuade him, but that he cometh thither for no honest intent, and so I shall live worse than now I do. Fear not that, good woman, quoth he, but believe it certainly, that I will have such a care in this case, as your Huband shall never speak thereof to you. If you can do so Sir, said she, proceed I pray you, and I am well contented.  
Confession being thus ended, and she receiving such penance as he appointed, she arose on her feet, and went to hear mass; while our jealous woodcock (testily puffing and blowing) put off his Religious habit, returning home presently to his house, beating his brains all the the way as he went, what means he might best defy, for the taking of his wife and the Friar together, whereby to have them both severely punished. His wife being come home from the chapel, discerned by her husband's looks, that he was like to keep but a sorry Christmas: yet he used his utmost industry, to conceal what he had done, & which she knew as well as himself. And he having fully resolved, to watch his own street door the next night ensuing in person, in expectation of the Friars coming, said to his Wife. I have occasion both to sup and lodge out of my house this night, wherefore see you the street door to be surely made fast on the inside, and the door at the midst of the stairs, as also your own Chamber door, and then (in God's name) get you to bed. Whereto she answered, that all should be done as he had appointed.  
Afterward, when she saw convenient time, she went to the chink in the Wall, and making such a sign as she was wont to do: Philippo came thither, to whom she declared all her morning's affairs, & what directions her husband had given her. Furthermore she said, certain I am, that he will not departed from the house, but sit and watch the door without, to take one that comes not here. If therefore, you can climb over the house top, and get in at our gutter Window, you and I may confer more familiarly together. The young Gentleman being no dullard, had his lesson quickly taught him; and when night was come, Geloso (for so must we term the Cocke-braind husband) arms himself at all points, with a brown Bill in his hand, and so he sits to watch his own door. His Wife had made fast all the doors, especially that on the midst of the stairs, because he should not (by any means) come to her Chamber; and so, when the hour served, the Gentleman adventured over the house top, found the gutter Window, and the way conducting him to her Chamber, where I leave them to their further amorous conference.  
Geloso, more than half mad with anger, first, because he had lost his supper: next, having sitten almost all the night (which was extremely cold and windy) his armour much mollesting him, and yet he could see no Friar come: when day drew near, and he ashamed to watch there any longer; conveyed himself to some more convenient place, where putting off his arms, and seeming to come from the place of his Lodging; about the ninth hour, he found his door open, entered in, & went up the stairs, going to dinner with his Wife. Within a while after, according as Geloso had ordered the business, a youth came thither, seeming to be the novice sent from the Confessor, and he being admitted to speak with her, demanded, whether she were troubled or mollested that night passed, as formerly she had been, and whether the party came or no? The Woman, who knew well enough the Messenger (notwithstanding all his formal disguise) made answer: That the party expected, came not: but if he had come, it was to no purpose; because her mind was now otherwise altered, albeit she changed not a jot from her amorous conclusion.  
What should I now further say unto you? Geloso continued his watch many nights afterward, as hoping to surprise the Friar at his entrance, and his wife kept still her contented quarter, according as opportunity served. In the conclusion, Geloso being no longer able to endure his bootless watching, nor some (more than ordinary) pleasing countenance in his wife: one day demanded of her (with a very stern and frowning brow) what secret sins she had revealed to the ghostly Father, upon the day of her shrift? The Woman replied, that she would not tell him, neither was it a matter reasonable, or lawful for her to do. Wicked Woman, answered Geloso: I know them all well enough, even in despite of thee, and every word that thou spakest unto him. But Huswife, now I must further know, what the friar is, with whom you are so farre in love, and (by means o● his enchantments) lieth with you every night; tell me what and who he is, or else I mean to cut your throat.  
The Woman immediately made answer, it was not true, that she was in love with any friar. How? quoth Geloso, didst not thou confess so much to the Ghostly Father, the other day when thou wast at shrift? No Sir, said she, but if I did, I am sure he would not disclose it to you, except he suffered you to be there present, which is an Article beyond his duty. But if it were so, than I confess freely, that I did say so unto him. Make an end then quickly Wife (quoth Geloso) and tell me who the Friar is. The Woman fell into a hearty laughter, saying. It liketh me singularly well, when a wise man will suffer himself to be led by a simple Woman, even as a sheep is to the slaughter, and by the horns. If once thou wast wise, that wisdom became utterly lost, when thou fellst into that devilish frenzy of jealousy, without knowing any reason for it: for, by this beastlike and no manly humour, thou hast eclipsed no mean part of my glory, and womanly reputation.  
Dost thou imagine Husband, that if I were so blinded in the eyes of my head, as thou art in them which should inform thine understanding; I could have found out the Priest, that would needs be my Confessor? I knew thee Husband to be the man, and therefore I prepared my wit accordingly, to fit thee with the foolish imagination which thou soughtest for, and (indeed) gave it thee. For, if thou hadst been wise, as thou makest the world to believe by outward appearance, thou wouldst never have expressed such a baseness of mind, to borrow the colour of a sanctified cloak, thereby to undermine the secrets of thine honest meaning Wife. Wherefore, to feed thee in thy fond suspicion, I was the more free in my Confession, and told thee truly, with whom, and how heinously I had transgressed. Did I not tell thee, that I loved a friar? And art not thou he whom I love, being a friar, and my ghostly Father, though (to thine own shame) thou mad'st thyself so? I said moreover, that there is not any door in our house, that can keep itself shut against him, but (when he pleaseth) he comes and lies with me. Now tell me Husband, What door in our house hath (at any time) been shut against thee, but they are freely thine own, & grant thee entrance? Thou art the same Friar that confessed me, and lieth every night with me, and so often as thou sent'st thy young novice or clerk to me, as often did I truly return thee word, when the same friar lay with me. But (by jealousy) thou hast so lost thine understanding, that thou wilt hardly believe all this.  
Alas good man, like an armed Watchman, thou satst at thine own door all a cold winter's night, persuading me poor silly credulous woman) that, upon urgent occasions, thou must needs sup and lodge from home. Remember thyself therefore better hereafter, become a true understanding man, as thou shouldst be, and make not thyself a mocking stock to them, who knoweth thy jealous qualities, as well as I do, and be not so watchful over me, as thou art. For I swear by my true honesty, that if I were but as willing, as thou art suspicious: I could deceive thee, if thou hadst an hundred eyes, as Nature affords thee but two, and have my pleasures freely, yet thou be not a jot the wiser, or my credit any way impaired.  
Our wonderful wise Geloso, who (very advisedly considered) that he had wholly heard his wife's secre confession, and dreamt now on no other doubt beside, but (perceiving by her speeches) how he was become a scorn to all men: without returning other answer, confirmed his wife to be both wise and honest, and now when he had just occasion on to be jealous indeed, he utterly forswear it, and counted them all coxcombs that would be so misguided. Wherefore, she having thus wisely won the way to her own desires, and he reduced into a more humane temper: I hope there was no more need, of clambering over houses in the night time like Cats, nor walking in at gutter windows; but all abuses were honestly reform.   

Madame Isabel, delighting in the company of her affected Friend, named Lionello, and she being likewise beloved by Signior Lambertuccio: At the same time as she had entertained Lionello, she was also visited by Lambertuccio. Her Husband returning home in the very instant; she caused Lambertuccio to run forth with a drawn sword in his hand, and (by that means) made an excuse sufficient for Lionello to her husband.  
The Sixth novel.  
Wherein is manifestly discerned, that if love be driven to a narrow strait in any of his attempts; yet he can accomplish his purpose by some other supply.  
WOndrously pleasing to all the company, was the reported novel of madam Fiammetta, every one applauding the woman's wisdom, and that she had done no more, then as the jealous fool her husband justly deserved. But she having ended, the King gave order unto Madame Pampinea, that now it was her turn to speak, whereupon, thus she began. There are no mean store of people who say (though very false and foolishly,) that love maketh many to be out of their wits, and that such as fall in love, do utterly lose their understanding. To me this appeareth a very idle opinion, as already hath been approved by the related discourses, and shall also be made manifest by another of mine own.  
In our City of Florence, famous for some good, though as many bad qualities, there dwelled (not long since) a Gentlewoman, endued with choice beauty and admirable perfections, being wife to Signior Beltramo, a very valiant Knight, and a man of great possessions. As oftentimes it cometh to pass, that a man cannot always feed on one kind of bread, but his appetite will be longing after change: so fared it with this Lady, named Isabella, she being not satisfied with the delights of her Husband; grew enamoured of a young Gentleman, called Lionello, complete of person and commendable qualities, albeit not of the fairest fortunes, yet his affection every way suitable to hers. And full well you know (fair Ladies) that where the minds irreciprocally accorded, no diligence wanteth for the desires execution: so this amorous couple, made many solemn protestations, until they should be friended by opportunity.  
It fortuned in the time of their hopeful expectation a Knight, named Signior Lambertuccio, fell likewise in love with Isabel: but because he was somewhat unsightly of person, and utterly unpleasing in the eye, she grew regardless of his frequent solicit, and would not accept either tokens, or letters. Which when he saw, (being very rich and of great power) he sought to compass his intent by a contrary course, threatening her with scandal and disgrace to her reputation, and with his associates to bandy against her best friends. She knowing what manner of man he was, and how able to abuse any with infamous imputations, wisely returned him hopeful promises, though never meaning to perform any, but only (ladylike) to flatter and fool him therewith.  
Some few miles distant from Florence, Beltramo had a Castle of pleasure, and there his Lady Isabel used to live all Summer, as all other do the like, being so possessed. On a day, Beltramo being ridden from home, and she having sent for Lionello, to take the advantage of her husband's absence; accordingly he went, not doubting but to win what he had long expected. Signior Lambertuccio on the other side, meeting Beltramo riding from his Castle, and Isabel now fit to enjoy his company: gallops thither with all possible speed▪ because he would be no longer delayed. Scarcely was Lionello entered the Castle, and receiving directions by the waiting woman, to her Lady's Chamber: but Lambertuccio galloped in at the Gate, which the woman perceiving, ran presently and acquainted her Lady with the coming of Lambertuccio.  
Now was she the only sorrowful woman of the world; for nothing was now to be feared, but storms and tempests, because Lambertuccio, spoke no other than Lightning and Thunder, and Lionello, (being no less afraid than she) by her persuasion crept behind the bed, where he hide himself very contentedly. By this time Lambertuccio was dismounted from his Courser, which he fastened (by the bridle) to a ring in the wall, and then the waiting woman came to him, to guide him to her Lady and Mistress: who stood ready at the stair's head, graced him with a very acceptable welcome, yet marvelling much at his so sudden coming. Lady (quoth he) I met your Husband upon the way, which granting mine access to see you; I come to claim your long delayed promise, the time being now so favourable for it.  
Before he had uttered half these words, Beltramo, having forgot an especial evidence in his Study, which was the only occasion of his journey, came galloping back again into the castle Court, and seeing such a goodly Gelding stand fastened there, could not readily imagine who was the own thereof. The waiting woman, upon the sight of her Masters entering into the Court, came to her Lady, saying: My Master Beltramo is returned back, newly alighted, and (questionless) coming up the stairs. Now was our Lady Isabel, ten times worse affrighted then before, (having two several amorous suitors in her house, both hoping, neither speeding, yet her credit lying at the stake for either) by this unexpected return of her Husband. Moreover, there was no possible means, for the concealing of Signior Lambertuccio, because his Gelding stood in the open Court, and therefore made a shrewd presumption against her, upon the least doubtful question urged.  
Nevertheless, as women's wits are always best upon sudden constraints, looking forth of her window, and espying her Husband preparing to come up: she threw herself on her day Couch, speaking thus (earnestly) to Lambertuccio. Sir, if ever you loved me, and would have me faithfully to believe it, by the instant safety both of your own honour, and my life, do but as I advice you. Forth draw your Sword, and, with a steanre countenance, threatening death and destruction: run down the stairs, and when you are beneath, say. I swear by my best fortunes, although I miss of thee now here, yet I will be sure to find thee some where else. And if my Husband offer to stay you, or move any question to you: make no other answer, but what you formerly spoke in fury. Beside, so soon as you are mounted on horseback, have no further conference with him, upon any occasion whatsoever; to prevent all suspicion in him, of our future intendments.  
Lambertuccio swore many terrible oaths, to observe her directions in every part, and having drawn forth his Sword, grasping it naked in his hand, and setting worse looks one the business, than ever nature gave him, because he had spent so much labour in vain; he failed not in a jot of the Lady's injunction. Beltramo having commanded his horse to safe custody, and meeting Lambertuccio descending down the stairs, so so armed, swearing, and most extremely storming, wondering extraordinarily as his threatening words, made offer to embrace him, and understand the reason of his distemper. Lambertuccio repulsing him rudely, and setting foot in the stirrup, mounted on his Gelding, and spoke nothing else but this. I swear by the fairest of all my fortunes, although I miss of thee here: yet I will be sure to find thee some where else, and so he galloped mainly away.  
When Beltramo was come up into his wine's Chamber, he found her cast down upon her Couch, weeping, full of fear, and greatly discomforted; wherefore he said unto her, What is he that Signior Lambertuccio is so extremely offended withal, and threatneth in such implacable manner? The Lady arising from her Couch, and going near to the Beds, because Lionello might the better hear her; returned her Husband this answer. Husband (quoth she) never was I so dreadfully affrighted till now; for, a young Gentleman, of whence, or what he is, I know not, came running into our Castle for rescue, being pursued by Signior Lambertuccio, with a weapon ready drawn in his hand. Ascending up our stairs, by what fortune, I know not, he found my Chamber door standing open, finding me also working on my Sampler, and in wonderful fear and trembling.  
Good madam (quoth he) for God's sake help to save my life, or else I shall be slain here in your Chamber. Hearing his piteous cry, and compassionating his desperate case; I arose from my work, and in my demanding of whence, and what he was, that durst presume so boldly into my bedchamber: presently came up Signior Lambertuccio also, in the same uncivil sort, as before I told you, swaggering and swearing; where is this traitorous villain? Hereupon, I stepped (somewhat stoutly to my Chamber door, and as he offered to enter, with a woman's courage I resisted him, which made him so much enraged against me, that when he saw me to debar his entrance; after many terrible and vile oaths and vows, he ran down the stairs again, in such like manner as you chanced to meet him.  
Now trust me dear wife (said Beltramo) you behaved yourself very well and worthily: for, it would have been a most notorious scandal to us, if a man should be slain in your bedchamber: and Signior Lambertuccio carried himself most dishonestly, to pursue any man so outrageously, having taken my Castle as his Sanctuary. But alas wife, what is become of the poor affrighted Gentleman? Introth Sir (quoth she) I know not, but (somewhere or other) hereabout he is hidden. Where art thou honest friend? said plain meaning Beltramo; Come forth and fear not, for thine enemy is gone.  
Lionello, who had heard all the forepassed discourse, which she had delivered to her Husband Beitramo, came creeping forth amazedly (as one now very fearfully affrighted indeed) from under the further side of the bed, and Beltramo said to him, What a quarrel was this, between thee and furious Lambertuccio? Not any at all Sir, replied Lionello, to my knowledge, which verily persuadeth me; that either he is not well in his wits, or else he mistaketh me for some other; because, so soon as he saw me on the way, somewhat near to this your Castle, he drew forth his Sword, and swearing an horrible oath, said. Traitor thou art a dead man. upon these rough words, I stayed not to question the occasion of mine offending him: but fled from him so fast as possibly I could; but confess myself (indeed) overbold, by presuming into your Lady's bed chamber, which yet (equalled with her mercy) hath been the only means at this time, of saving my life.  
She hath done like a good Lady, answered Beltramo, and I do very much commend her for it. But, recollect thy dismayed spirit together, for I will see thee safely secured hence, afterward, look to thyself so well as thou canst. Dinner being immediately made ready, and they having merrily feasted together: he bestowed a good Gelding on Lionello, and road along with him to Florence, where he left him quietly in his own lodging. The selfsame evening (according as Isabel had given instruction) Lionello conferred with Lambertuccio: and such an agreement passed between them, that though some rough speeches were noised abroad, to set the better colour on the business; yet all matters were so cleanly carried, that Beltramo never knew this quaint deceitful policy of his Wife.   

Lodovico discovered to his mistress madam Beatrix, how amorously he was affected to her. She cunningly sent Egano her Husband into his garden, in all respects disguised like herself, while (friendly) Lodovico conferred with her in the mean while. Afterward, Lodovico pretending a lascivious allurement of his Mistress, thereby to wrong his honest Master, instead of her, beateth Egano sound in the Garden.  
The seventh novel.  
Whereby is declared, that such as keep many honest seeming servants, may sometime find a knave among them, and one that proves to be over-sawcy with his Master.  
THis so sudden dexterity of wit in Isabel, related in very modest manner by madam Pampinea, was not only admired by all the company; but likewise passed with as general approbation. But yet Madam Philomena (whom the King had commanded next to succeed) peremptorily said. Worthy Ladies, if I am not deceived; I intent to tell you another Tale presently; as much to be commended as the last.  
You are to understand then, that it is no long while since, when there dwelled in Paris a Florentine Gentleman, who falling into decay of his estate, by over-bountifull expenses; undertook the degree of a Merchant, and thrived so well by his trading, that he grew to great wealth, having one only son by his wife, named Lodovico. This son, partaking somewhat in his father's former height of mind, and no way inclineable to deal in merchandise, had no meaning to be a Shop-man, and therefore accompanied the Gentlemen of France, in sundry services for the King; among whom, by his singular good carriage and qualites, he happened to be not meanly esteemed. While thus he continued in the Court, it chanced, that certain Knights, returning from Jerusalem, having there visited the holy sepulchre, and coming into company where Lodovico was: much familiar discourse passed amongst them, concerning the fair women of France, England, and other parts of the world where they had been, and what delicate beauties they had seen.  
One in the company constantly avouched, that of all the Women by them so generally observed, there was not any comparable to the Wife of Egano de Galluzzi, dwelling in Bologna, and her name Madam Beatrix, reputed to be the only fair woman of the world. Many of the rest maintained as much, having been at Bologna, and likewise seen her. Lodovico hearing the woman to be so highly commended, and never (as yet) feeling any thought of amorous inclination; became suddenly touched with an earnest desire of seeing her, and his mind could entertain no other matter, but only of travailing thither to see her, yea, and to continue there, if occasion so served. The reason for his journey urged to his Father, was to visit Jerusalem, and the holy sepulchre, which with much difficulty, at length he obtained his leave.  
Being on his journey towards Bologna, by the name of Anichino, and not of Lodovico, and being there arrived; upon the day following, and having understood the place of her abiding: it was his good hap, to see the Lady at her Window; she appearing in his eye fare more fair, than all reports had made her to be. Hereupon, his affection became so inflamed to her, as he vowed, never to departed from Bologna, until he had obtained her love. And devising by what means he might effect his hopes, he grew persuaded (setting all other attempts aside) that if he could be entertained into her husband's service, and undergo some business in the house, time might tutor him to obtain his desire. Having given his attendants sufficient allowance, to spare his company, and take no knowledge of him, selling his Horses also, and other notices which might discover him: he grew into acquaintance with the host of the house where he lay, revealing an earnest desire in himself, to serve some Lord or worthy Gentleman, if any were willing to give him entertainment.  
Now believe me Sir (answered the host) you seem worthy to have a good service indeed, and I know a Noble Gentleman of this city, who is named Egano: he will (without all question) accept your offer, for he keepeth many men of very good deserving, and you shall have my furtherance therein so much as may be. As he promised, so he performed, and taking Anichino with him unto Egano: so fare he prevailed by his friendly protestations, and good opinion of the young Gentleman; that Anichino was (without more ado) accepted into Eganoes' service, than which, nothing could be more pleasing to him. Now had he the benefit of daily beholding his heart's Mistress, and so acceptable proved his service to Egano, that he grew very fare in love with him: not undertaking any affairs whatsoever, without the advice and direction of Anichino, so that he reposed his most especial trust in him, as a man altogether governed by him.  
It fortuned upon a day, that Egano being ridden to fly his hawk at the river, and Anichino remaining behind at home, Madame Beatrix, who (as yet) had taken no notice of Anichinoes' love to her (albeit herself, observing his fair carriage and commendable qualities, was highly pleased to have so seeming a servant) called him to play at the chess with her: and Anichino, coveting nothing more than to content her, carried himself so dexteriously in the game, that he permitted her still to win, which was no little joy to her. When all the gentlewomen, and other friends there present, as spectators to behold their play, had taken their farewell, and were departed, leaving them all alone, yet gaming still: Anichino breathing forth an entire sigh, madam Beatrix looking merrily on him, said. Tell me Anichino, art not thou angry, to see me win? It should appear so by that solemn sigh. No truly madam, answered Anichino, a matter of fare greater moment, than loss of infinite games at the chess, was the occasion why I sighed. I pray thee (replied the Lady) by the love thou bearest me, as being my servant (if any love at all remain in thee towards me) give me a reason for that hearty sigh.  
When he heard himself so severely coninred, by the love he bore to her, and loved none else in the world beside: he gave a fare more heart-sick sigh, than before. Then his Lady and mistress entreated him seriously, to let her know the cause of those two deep sighs: whereto Anichino thus replied. Madam, if I should tell you, I stand greatly in fear of offending you: and when I have told you, I doubt your discovery thereof to some other. Believe me Anichino (quoth she) therein thou neither canst, or shalt offend me. Moreover, assure thyself, that I will never disclose it to any other, except I may do it with thy consent. Madam (said he) seeing you have protested such a solemn promise to me, I will reveal no mean secret unto you.  
So, with tears standing in his eyes, he told her what he was; where he heard the first report of her singular perfections, and instantly became enamoured of her, as the main motive of his entering into her service. Then, most humbly he entreated her, that if it might agree with her good liking, she would be pleased to commiserate his case, and grace him with her private favours. Or, if she might not be so merciful to him; that yet she would vouchsafe, to let him live in the lowly condition as he did, and think it a thankful duty in him, only to love her. O singular sweetness, naturally living in fair feminine blood! How justly art thou worthy of praise in the like occasions? Thou couldst never be won by sighs and tears; but hearty imprecations have always prevailed with thee, making thee apt and easy to amorous desires. If I had praises answerable to thy great and glorious deservings, my voice should never faint, nor my pen wax weary, in the due and obsequious performance of them.  
Madam Beatrix, well observing Anichino when he spoke, and giving credit to his so solemn protestations; they were so powerful in prevailing with her, that her senses (in the same manner) were enchanted; and sighs flew as violently from her, as before he had vented them: which stormy tempest being a little overblown, thus she spoke. Anichino, my hearts dear affected Friend, live in hope, for I tell thee truly, never could gifts, promises, nor any court used to me by Lords, Knights, Gentlemen, or other (although I have been solicited by many) win the least grace or favour at my hand, no, nor move me to any affection. But thou, in a minute of time (compared with their long and tedious suing) hast expressed such a sovereign potency in thy sweet words, that thou hast mad● me more thine, than mine own: and believe it unfeignedly, I hold thee to be worthy of my love. Wherefore, with this kiss I freely give it thee, and make thee a further promise, that before this night shall be fully past, thou shalt in better manner perceive it. Adventure into my Chamber about the hour of midnight, I will leave the door open: thou knowest on which side of the bed I use to rest, come thither and fear not: if I sleep, the least gentle touch of thy hand will wake me, and then thou shalt see how much I love thee. So, with a kind kiss or two, the bargain was concluded, she licensing his departure for that time, and he staying in hope of his heart's happiness, till when, he thought every hour a year.  
In the mean while; Egano returned home from Hawking, and so soon as he had supped (being very weary) he went to bed, and his Lady likewise with him, leaving her Chamber door open, according as she had promised. At the hour appointed, Anichino came, finding the door but easily put too, which (being entered) softly he closed again, in the same manner as he found it. Going to the bed's side where the Lady lay, and gently touching her breast with his hand, he found her to be awake, and perceiving he was come according unto promise, she caught his hand fast with hers, and held him very strongly. Then, turning (as she could) towards Egano, she made such means, as he awaked, whereupon she spoke unto him as followeth.  
Sir, yester night I would have had a few speeches with you: but, in regard of your weariness and early going to bed, I could not have any opportunity. Now, this time and place being most convenient, I desire to be resolved by you: Among all the men retained into your service; which of them you do think to be the best, most loyal, and worthiest to enjoy your love? Egano answered thus: Wife, why should you move such a question to me? Do not you know, that I never had any servant heretofore, or ever shall have hereafter, in whom I reposed the like trust as I have done, and do in Anichino? But to what end is this motion of yours? I will tell your Sir (quoth she) and then be judge yourself, whether I have reason to move this question, or no. Mine opinion every way equalled yours, concerning Anichino, & that he was more just and faithful to you, than any could be amongst all the rest: But Husband, like as where the water runneth stillest, the ford is deepest, even so, his smooth looks have beguiled both you and me. For, no longer ago, than this very day, no sooner were you ridden forth on hawking, but he (belike purposely) tarrying at home, watching such a leisure as best fitted his intent: was not ashamed to solicit me, both to abuse your bed, and mine own spotless honour.  
Moreover, he prosecuted his impious purpose with such alluring persuasions: that being a weak woman, and not willing to endure over many Amorous proofs (only to acquaint you with his most saucy immodesty, and to revenge yourself upon him as best you may; yourself being best able to pronounce him guilty) I made him promise, to meet him in our Garden, presently after middenight, and to find me sitting under the pinetree; never meaning (as I am virtuous) to be there. But, that you may know the deceit and falsehood of your servant, I would have you to put on my nightgown, my head Attire, and Chinne-cloath, and sitting but a short while there underneath the pinetree: such is his insatiate desire, as he will not fail to come, and then you may proceed, as you find occasion.  
When Egano heard these Words, suddenly he started out of Bed, saying. Do I foster such a Snake in mine own bosom? Gramercy Wife for this politic promise of thine, and believe me, I mean to follow it effectually. So, on he put his Lady's nightgown, her formal head Attire and Chin-cloth, going presently down into the Garden, to expect Anichinoes' coming to the pinetree. But before the matter grew to this issue, let me demand of you fair Ladies, in what a lamentable condition (as you may imagine) was poor Anichino; to be so strongly detained by her, hear all his amorous suit discovered, and likely to draw very heavy afflictions on him? Vndoubredly, he looked for immediate apprehension by Egano, imprisonment and public punishment for his so malapert presumption: and had it proved so, she had much renowned herself, and dealt with him but as he had justly deserved.  
But frailty in our feminine sex is too much prevalent, and makes us wander from virtuous courses, when we are well onward in the way to them. Madam Beatrix, whatsoever passed between her and Anichino, I know not, but, either to continue this new begun league for further time, or, to be revenged on her husband's simplicity, in over-rashlie giving credit to so smooth a lie; this was her advice to him. Anichino, quoth she, Take a good cudgel in thy hand, then go into the Garden so fare as the Pine; and there, as if formerly thou hadst solicited me unto this secret meeting, only but by way of approving my honesty: in my name, revile thy master so bitterly as thou canst, bestowing many sound blows on him with thy cudgel; yet urge the shame still (as it were) to me, and never leave him, till thou hast beaten him out of the garden, to teach him keep his bed another time. Such an apt scholar as Anichino was in this kind, needs no tuturing, but a word is enough to a ready Wit. To the Garden goes he, with a good willow cudgel in his hand, and coming near to the pinetree, there he found Egano disguised like to his Lady, who arising from the place where he sat, went with cheerful gesture to welcome him; but Anichino (in rough and stern manner) thus spoke unto him. Wicked, shameless, and most immodest Woman, Art thou come, according to thine unchaste and lascivious promise? Couldst thou so easily credit, (though I tempted thee, to try the virtue of thy continency) I would offer such a damnable wrong to my worthy Master, that so dearly love's me, and reposeth his especial confidence in me? Thou art much deceived in me, and shalt find, that I hate to be false to him.  
So lifting up the cudgel, he gave him therewith half a score good bastinadoes, laying them on sound, both on his arms and shoulders: and Egano feeling the smart of them, durst not speak one word, but fled away from him so fast as he could, Anichino still following, and multiplying many other injurious speeches against him, with the epithets of Strumpet, lustful and insatiate Woman. Go thou lewd beast (quoth he) most unworthy the title of a Lady, or to be Wife unto so good a natured man, as my master is, to whom I will reveal thy most ungracious incivility to Morrow, that he may punish thee a little better than I have done.  
Egano being thus well beaten for his Garden walk, got within the door, and so went up to his Chamber again: his Lady there demanding of him, whether Anichino came according to his promise, or no? Come? quoth Egano, Yes Wife, he came, but dearly to my cost: for he verily taking me for thee, hath beaten me most extremely, calling me an hundred Whores and Strumpets, reputing thee to be the wickedest Woman living. In good sadness Beatrix, I wondered not a little at him, that he would give thee any such vile speeches, with intent to wrong me in mine honour. Questioulesse, because he saw thee to be jovial spirited, gracious and affable towards all men; therefore he intended to make trial of thine honest carriage. Well Sir (said she) 'twas happy that he tempted me with words, and let you taste the proof of them by deeds: and let him think, that I brook those words as distastably, as you do or can, his ill deeds. But seeing he is so just, faithful, and loyal to you, you may loan him the better, and respect him as you find occasion.  
Whereto Egano thus replied. Now trust me wife, thou hast said very well: And drawing hence the argument of his settled persuasion; that he had the chastest Woman living to his wife, and so just a servant, as could not be followed: there never was any further discovery of this Garden-night accident. Perhaps, madam Beatrix and Anichino might subtly smile thereat in secret, in regard that they knew more than any other else beside did. But, as for honest meaning Egano, he never had so much as the very lest mistrust of ill dealing, either in his Lady, or Anichino; whom he loved and esteemed fare more respectively upon this proof of his honesty towards him, than he would or could possibly have done, without a trial so plain and pregnant.   

Arriguccio Berlinghieri, became immeasurably jealous of his Wife Simonida, who fastened a thread about her great toe, for to serve as a signal, when her amorous friend should come to visit her. Arriguccio findeth the fallacy, and while he pursueth the amorous friend, she causeth her maid to lie in her bed against his return: whom he beateth extremely, cutting away the locks of her hair (thinking he had done all this violence to his wife Simonida:) and afterward fetcheth her Mother & Brethren, to shame her before them, and so be rid of her. But they finding all his speeches to be utterly false; and reputing him to be a drunken jealous fool; all the blame and disgrace falleth on himself.  
The Eight novel.  
Whereby appeareth, that an Husband ought to be very well advised, when he meaneth to discover any wrong offered his wife; except he himself do rashly run into all the shame and reproach.  
IT seemed to the whole assembly, that Madam Beatrix, dealt somewhat strangely, in the manner of beguiling her husband; and affirmed also, that Anichino had great cause of fear, when she held him so strongly by her bed's side, and related all his amorous temptation. But when the King perceived, that madam Philomena sat silent, he turned to Madam Neiphila, willing her to supply the next place; who modestly smiling, thus began.  
Fair Ladies, it were an heavy burden imposed on me, and a matter much surmounting my capacity, if I should vainly imagine, to content you with so pleasing a novel, as those have already done, by you so singularly reported: nevertheless, I must discharge my duty, and take my fortune as it falls, albeit I hope to find you merciful.  
You are to know then, that sometime there lived in our city, a very wealthy Merchant, named Arriguccio Berlinghieri, who (as many Merchants have done) fond imagined, to make himself a Gentleman by marriage. Which that he might the more assuredly do, he took to wife a Gentlewoman, one much above his degree or element, she being named Simonida. Now, in regard that he delighted (as it is the usual life of a Merchant) to be often abroad, and little at home, whereby she had small benefit of his company; she grew very forward in affection with a young Gentleman, called Signior Roberto, who had solicited her by many amorous means, and (at length) prevailed to win her favour. Which favour being once obtained; affection gads so fare beyond all discretion, and makes lovers so heedless of their private conversations: that either they are taken tardy in their folly, or else subjected to scandalous suspicion.  
It came to pass, that Arriguccio, either by rumour, or some other more sensible apprehension, had received such intelligence concerning his Wife Simonida, as he grew into extraordinary jealousy of her, refraining travail abroad, as formerly he was wont to do, and ceasing from his very ordinary affairs, addicting all his care and endeavour, only to be watchful of his Wife; so that he never durst sleep, until she were by him in the bed, which was no mean molestation to her, being thus curbed from her familiar meetings with Roberto. Nevertheless, having a long while consulted with her wits, to find some apt means for conversing with him, being thereto also very earnestly still solicited by him; you shall hear what course she undertook.  
Her Chamber being on the street side, and somewhat iuttying over it, she observed the disposition of her Husband, that every night it was long before he fell asleep: but being once fall'n into it, no noise whatsoever, could easily wake him. This his solemn and sound sleeping, emboldened her so fare, as to meet with Roberto at the street door, which (while her Husband slept) softly she would open to him, and there in private converse with him.  
But, because she would know the certain hour of his coming, without the least suspicion of any: she hung a thread forth of her Chamber Window, descending down, within the compass of Robertoes reach in the street, and the other end thereof, guided from the Window to the bed, being conveyed under the clothes, and she being in bed, she fastened it about her left great Toe, wherewith Roberto was sufficiently acquainted, and thus instructed withal; that at his coming, he should pluck the thread, & if her husband was in his dead sleep, she would let go the thread, and come down to him: but if he slept not, she would hold it strongly, and then his tarrying would prove but in vain, there could be no meeting that night.  
This devise was highly pleasing both to Roberto and Simonida, being the intelligencer of their often meeting, and many times also advising the contrary. But in the end, as the quaintest cunning may fail at one time or other; so it fortuned one night, that Simonida being in a sound sleep, and Arriguccio waking, because his drowsy hour was not as yet come: as he extended forth his leg in the bed, he found the thread, which feeling in his hand, and perceiving it was tied to his wife's great toe; it proved apt tinder to kindle further jealousy, and now he suspected some treachery indeed, and so much the rather because the thread guided (under the clothes) from the bed to the window, and there hanging down into the street, as a warning to some further business.  
Now was Arriguccio so furiously inflamed, that he must needs be further resolved in this apparent doubt: and because therein he would not be deceived, softly he cut the thread from his wife's toe, and made it fast about his own; to try what success would ensue thereon. It was not long before Roberto came, and according as he used to do, he plucked the thread, which Arriguccio felt, but because he had not tied it fast, and Roberto pulling it over-hardly, it fell down from the window into his hand, which he understood as his lesson, to attend her coming, and so he did. Arriguccio stealing softly out of bed from his wife, and taking his Sword under his arm, went down to the door, to see who it was, with full intent of further revenge. Now, albeit he was a Merchant, yet he wanted not courage, and boldness of spirit, and opening the door without any noise, only as his wife was wont to do: Roberto, there waiting his entrance, perceived by the doors unfashionable opening, that it was not Simonida, but her Husband, whereupon he betook himself to flight, and Arriguccio fiercely followed him. At the length, Roberto perceiving that flight availed him not, because his enemy still pursued him: being armed also with a Sword, as Arriguccio was; he returned back upon him, the one offering to offend, as the other stood upon his defence, and so in the dark they fought together.  
Simonida awaking, even when her Husband went forth of the Chamber, and finding the thread to be cut from her toe; conjectured immediately, that her subtle cunning was discovered, and supposing her Husband in pursuit of Roberto, presently she arose; and, considering what was likely to ensue thereon, called her chambermaid (who was not ignorant in the business) and by persuasions prevailed so with her, that she lay down in her place in the bed, upon solemn protestations and liberal promises, not to make herself known, but to suffer all patiently, either blows, or other ill usage of her Husband, which she would recompense in such bountiful sort, as she should have no occasion to complain. So, putting out the watch-light, which every night burned in the Chamber, she departed thence, and sat down in a close corner of the house, to see what would be the end of all this stir, after her Husbands coming home.  
The fight (as you have formerly heard) continuing between Roberto and Arriguccio, the neighbours hearing of the clashing of their Swords in the streets; arose out of their beds, and reproved them in very harsh manner. In which respect Arriguccio, fearing to be known, and ignorant also what his adversary was (no harm being as yet done on either side) permitted him to departed; and extremely full of anger, returned back again to his house. Being come up into his bedchamber, Thus he began; Where is this lewd and wicked woman? what? hast thou put out the light, because I should not find thee? that shall not avail thee, for I can well enough find a drab in the dark. So, groping on to the bed's side, and thinking he had taken hold on his wife, he grasped the chambermaid, so beating her with his fists, and spurning her with his feet, that all her face was bloody & bruised. Next, with his knife he cut off a great deal of her hair, giving her the most villainous speeches as could be devised: swearing, that he would make her a shame to all the world.  
You need make no doubt, but the poor maid wept exceedingly, as she had good occasion to do: and albeit many times she desired mercy, and that he would not be so cruel to her: yet notwithstanding, her voice was so broken with crying, and his impatience so extreme, that rage hindered all power of distinguishing, or knowing his wife's tongue from a strangers. Having thus madly beaten her, and cut the locks off from her head, thus he spoke to her. Wicked woman, and no wife of mine, be sure I have not done with thee yet; for, although I mean not now to beat thee any longer: I will go to thy brethren, and they shall understand thy dishonest behaviour. Then will I bring them home with me, and they perceiving how much thou hast abused both their honour and thine own; let them deal with thee as they find occasion, for thou art no more a companion for me. No sooner had he uttered these angry words, but he went forth of the Chamber, bolting it fast on the outward side, as meaning to keep her safely enclosed, & out of the house he went alone by himself.  
Simonida, who had heard all this tempestuous conflict, perceiving that her Husband had locked the street door after him, and was gone whether he pleased: unbolted the Chamber door, lighted a wax candle, and went in to see her poor maid, whom she found to be most pitifully misused. She comforted her as well as she could, brought her into her own lodging Chamber, where washing her face and hurts in very sovereign waters, and rewarding her liberally with Arriguccioes own Gold; she held herself to be sufficiently satisfied. So, leaving the maid in her lodging, and returning again to her own Chamber: she made up the bed in such former manner, as if no body had lodged therein that night. Then hanging up her Lampefresh filled with oil, and clearly lighted, she decked herself in so decent sort, as if she had been in no bed all that night.  
Then taking sowing work in her hand, either shirts or bands of her Husbands; hanging the lamp by her, and sitting down at the stairs head, she fell to work in very serious manner, as if she had undertaken some imposed task.  
On the other side, Arriguccio had traveled so fare from his house, till he came at last to the dwelling of Simonidaes' brethren: where he knocked so sound, that he was quickly heard, and (almost is speedily) let in. Simonidaes' brethren, and her mother also, hearing of Arriguccioes coming thither so late. Rose from their beds, and each of them having a wax Candle lighted came presently to him, to understand the cause of this his so unseasonable visitation. Arriguccio, beginning at the original of the matter, the thread found tied about his wife's great toe, the fight and household conflict after following: related every circumstance to them. And for the better proof of his words, he shown them the thread itself, the locks supposed of his wife's hair, and adding withal; that they might now dispose of Simonida as themselves pleased, because she should remain no longer in his house.  
The brethren to Simonida were exceedingly offended at this relation, in regard they believed it for truth, and in this fury, commanded Torches to be lighted, preparing to part thence with Arriguccio home to his house, for the more sharp rehrehension of their Sister. Which when their mother saw, she followed them weeping, first entreating one, and then the other, not to be over rash in crediting such a slander, but rather to consider the truth thereof advisedly: because the Husband might be angry with his Wife upon some other occasion, and having outraged her, made this the means in excuse of himself. Morever she said, that she could not choose but wonder greatly, how this matter should thus come to pass; because she had good knowledge of her daughter, during the whole course of her education, faultless and blameless in every degree; with many other good words of her beside, as proceeding from natural affection of a mother.  
Being come to the house of Arriguccio, entering in, and ascending up the stairs: they heard Simonida sweetly singing at her working; but pausing, upon hearing their rude trampling, she demanded, who was there. One of the angry brethren presently answered: Lewd woman as thou art, thou shalt know soon enough who is here: Our blessed Lady be with us (quoth Simonida) and sweet Saint Frances help to defend me, who dare use such unseemly speeches? Starting up and meeting them on the stair head: Kind brethren, (said she) is it you? What, and my loving mother too? For sweet Saint charity's sake, what may be the reason of your coming hither in this manner. she being set down again to her work, so neatly apparrlled, without any sign of outrage offered her, her face unblemished, her hair comely ordered, and differing wholly from the former speeches of her Husband: the Brethren marvelled thereat not a little; and assuaging somewhat the impetuous torrent of their rage, began to demand in cool blood, (as it were) from what ground her husband's complaints proceeded, and threatening her roughly, if she would not confess the truth entirely to them.  
Ane Maria (quoth Simonida, crossing herself) Alas dear Brethren, I know not what you say, or mean, nor wherein my Husband should be offended, or make any complaint at all of me. Arriguccio hearing this, looked on her like a man that had lost his Senses: for well he remembered, how many cruel blows he had given her on the face, beside scratches of his nails, and spurns of his feet, as also the cutting of her hair, the the least show of all which misusage, was not now to be seen. Her brethren likewise briefly told her, the whole effect of her husband's speeches, showing her the thread, and in what cruel manner he swore he did beat her. Simonida, turning then to her Husband, and seeming as confounded with amazement, said. How is this Husband? what do I hear? would you have me supposed (to your own shame and disgrace) to be a bad woman, and yourself a cruel cursed man, when (on either side) there is no such matter? When were you this night here in the house With me? Or when should you beat me, and I not feel nor know it. Believe me (sweet heart) all these are merely miracles to me.  
Now was Arriguccio ten times more mad in his mind, than before, saying. devil, and no woman, did we not this night go both together to bed? Did not I cut this thread from thy great toe, tied it to mine, and found the crafty compact between thee and thy minion? Did not I follow and fight with him in the streets? Came I not back again, and beat thee as a Strumpet should be? And are not these the locks of hair, which I myself did cut from thy head?  
Alas Sir (quoth she) where have you been? Do you know what you say? you did not lodge in this house this night, neither did I see you all the whole day and night, till now.  
But leaving this, and come to the matter now in question, because I have no other testimony than mine own words. You say, that you did beat me, and cut those locks of hair from my head. Alas Sir, why should you slander yourself? In all your life time you did never strike me. And to approve the truth of my speeches, do you yourself, and all else here present, look on me advisedly, if any sign of blow or beating is to be seen on me. Nor were it an easy matter for you to do either to smite, or so much as lay your hand (in anger) on me, it would cost dearer than you think for. And whereas you say, that you did cut those locks of hair from my head; it is more then either I know, or felt, nor are they in colour like to mine: but, because my Mother and brethren shall be my witnesses therein, and whether you did it without my knowledge; you shall all see, if they be cut, or no. So, taking off her head attire, she displayed her hair over her shoulders, which had suffered no violence, neither seemed to be so much as uncivilly or rudely handled.  
When the mother and brethren saw this, they began to murmur against Arriguccio, saying. What think you of this Sir? you tell us of strange matters which you have done, and all proving false, we wonder how you can make good the rest. Arriguccio looked wild, and confusedly, striving still to maintain his accusation: but seeing every thing to be flatly against him, he durst not attempt to speak one word. Simonida took advantage of this distraction in him, and turning to her brethren, said. I see now the mark whereat he aimeth, to make me do what I never meant: Namely, that I should acquaint you with his vile qualities, and what a wretched life I lead with him, which seeing he will needs have me to reveal; bear with me if I do it upon compulsion.  
Mother and Brethren, I am verily persuaded, that those accidents which be disclosed to you, hath doubtless (in the same manner) happened to him, and you shall hear how. Very true it is, that this seeming honest man, to whom (in a luckless hour) you married me, styleth himself by the name of a Merchant, coveting to be so accounted and credited, as holy in outward appearance, as a Religious monk, and as demure in looks, as the modestest maid: like a notorious common drunkard, is a tavern hunter, where making his luxurius matches, one while with one Whore, than again with another; he causeth me every night to sit tarrying for him, even in the same sort as you found me: sometimes till midnight, and otherwhiles till broad day light in the morning.  
And questionless, being in his wonted drunken humour, he hath lain with one of his sweet Consorts, about whose toe he found the thread, and finding her as false to him, as he hath always been to me: Did not only beat her, but also cut the hair from her head. And having not yet▪ recovered his senses, is verily persuaded, and cannot be altered from it; but that he performed all this villainy to me. And if you do but advisedly observe his countenance, he appeareth yet to be more then half drunk.  
But whatsoever he hath said concerning me, I make no account at all thereof, because he spoke it in his drunkenness, and as freely as I forgive him, even so (good Mother and kind Brethren,) let me entreat you to do the like.  
When the Mother had heard these words, and confidently believed her Daughter: she began to torment herself with anger, saying. By the faith of my body Daughter, this unkindness is not be endured, but rather let the dog be hanged, that his qualities may be known, he being utterly unworthy, to have so good a woman to his wife, as thou art. What could he have done more, if he had taken thee in the open street, and in company of some wanton Gallants? In an unfortunate hour wast thou married to him, base jealous coxcomb as he is, and it is quite against sense, or reason, that thou shouldest be subject to his fooleries. What was he, but a Merchant of Eale-skinnes or oranges; bred in some paltry country village; taken from Hogge-rubbing; clothed in Sheepes-Sattin, with Clownish Startops, Leather stockings, and Caddies garters: His whole habit not worth three shillings: And ye he must have affair Gentle Woman to his Wife, of honest fame, riches and reputation; when, comparing his pedigree with hers, he is fare unfit to wipe her shoes.  
Oh my dear sons, I would you had followed my counsel, and permitted her to math in the honourable family of Count Guido, which was much moved, and seriously pursued. But you would needs bestow her on this goodly jewel; who, although she is one of the choicest beauties in Florence, chaste, honest and truly virtuous: Is not ashamed at midnight, to proclaim her for a common whore, as if we had no better knowledge of her. But by the blessed mother of Saint John, if you would be ruled by mine advice; our law should make him dear smart for it.  
Alas my sons, did I not tell you at home in our own house, that his words were no way likely to prove true? Have not your eyes observed his unmannerly behaviour to your Sister? If I were as you are, hearing what he hath said, and noting his drunken carriage beside; I should never give over, as long as he had any life left in him. And were I a man, as I am a woman; none other than myself should revenge her wrongs, making him a public spectacle to all drabbing drunkards.  
When the brethren had heard and observed all these occurrences; in most bitter manner they railed on Arriguccio, bestowing some good bastinadoes on him beside, concluding thus with him in the end. Quoth one of them, we will pardon this shameful abusing of our Sister, because thou art a notoriom drunkard: but look to it (on peril of thy life) that we have no more such news hereafter; for, believe it unfeignedly, if any such impudent rumours happen to our ears, or so much as a flying fame thereof; thou shalt surely be paid for both faults together.  
So home again went they, and Arriguccio stood like one that had neither life or motion, not knowing (whether what he had done) was true, or no, or if he dreamt all this while, and so (without uttering any word) he left his Wife, and went quietly to bed. Thus by her wisdom, she did not only prevent an imminent peril: but also made a free and open passage, to further contentment with her amorous friend, yet dreadless of any distaste or suspicion in her Husband.   

Lydia, a Lady of great beauty, birth, and honour, being Wife to Nicostratus, governor of Argos, falling in love with a Gentleman, named Pyrrhus; was requested by him (as a true testimony of her unfeigned affection) to perform three several actions of herself. She did accomplish them all, and embraced and kissed Pyrrhus in the presence of Nicostratus; by persuading him, that whatsoever he saw, was merely false.  
The Ninth novel.  
Wherein is declared, that great Lords may sometime be deceived by their wives, as well as men of meaner condition.  
THe novel delivered, by madam Neiphila, seemed so pleasing to all the Ladies; as they could not refrain from hearty laughter, beside much liberality of speech. Albeit the King did oftentimes urge silence, and commanded Pamphilus to follow next. So, when attention was admitted, Pamphilus began in this order. I am of opinion, fair Ladies, that there is not any matter, how uneasy or doubtful soever it may seem to be; but the man or woman that affecteth fervently, dare boldly attempt, and effectually accomplish. And this persuasion of mine, although it hath been sufficiently approved, by many of our passed novels: Yet notwithstanding, I shall make it much apparent to you, by a present discourse of mine own. Wherein I have occasion to speak of a Lady, to whom Fortune was more favourable, than either reason or judgement, could give direction. In which regard, I would not advice any of you, to entertain so high an imagination of mind, as to track her footsteps of whom I am now to speak: because Fortune containeth not always one and the same disposition, neither can all men's eyes be blinded after one manner. And so proceed we to our Tale.  
In Argos, a most ancient city of Achaya, much more renowned by her precedent Kings, than wealth, or any other great matter of worth: there lived as Lieutenant or governor thereof, a Noble Lord, named Nicostratus, on whom (albeit he was well stepped into years) Fortune bestowed in a marriage a great Lady, no less bold of spirit, then choicely beautiful. Nicostratus, abounding in treasure and wealthy possessions, kept a goodly train of servants, Horses, hounds, hawks, and what else not, as having an extraordinary felicity in all kinds of game, as singular exercises to maintain his health.  
Among his other servants and Followers, there was a young Gentleman, graceful of person, excellent in speech, and every way as active as no man could be more: his name Pyrrhus, highly affected of Nicostratus, and more intimately trusted then all the rest. Such seemed the perfections of this Pyrrhus, that Lydia (for so was the Lady named) began to affect him very earnestly, and in such sort, as day or night she could take no rest, but devised all means to compass her heart's desire. Now, whether he observed this inclination of her towards him, or else would take no notice thereof, it could not be discerned by any outward apprehension: which moved the more impatiency in her, & driven her hopes to despairing passions. Wherein to find some comfort and ease, she called an ancient Gentlewoman of her Chamber, in whom she reposed especial confidence, and thus she spoke to her.  
Lesca, The good turns and favours thou hast received from me, should make thee faithful and obedient to me: and therefore set a lock upon thy lips, for revealing to any one whatsoever, such matters as now I shall impart to thee; except it be to him that I command thee. Thou perceivest Lesca, how youthful I am, apt to all sprightly recreations, rich, and abounding in all that a woman can wish to have, in regard of fortune's common & ordinary favours: yet I have one especial cause of complaint: namely, the inequality of my marriage, my Husband being over-ancient for me; in which regard, my youth finds itself too highly wronged, being defeated of those duties and delights, which Women (fare inferior to me) are continually cloyed withal, and I am utterly deprived of. I am subject to the same desires they are, and deserve to taste the benefit of them, in as ample manner, as they do or can.  
Hitherto I have lived with the loss of time, which yet (in some measure) may be relieved and recompensed: For, though Fortune were mine enemy in marriage, by such a disproportion of our conditions: yet she may befriend in another nature, and kindly redeem the injury done me. Wherefore Lesca, to be as complete in this case, as I am in all the rest beside; I have resolved upon a private Friend, and one more worthy than any other, Namely, my servant Pyrrhus, whose youth carrieth some correspondency with mine; and so constantly have I settled my love to him, as I am not well, but when I think on him, or see him: and (indeed) shall dye, except the sooner I may enjoy him. And therefore, if my life and well far be respected by thee, let him understand the integrity of mine affection, by such good means as thou findest it most expedient to be done: entreating him from me, that I may have some conference with him, when he shall thereto be solicited by me.  
The Chamber-Gentlewoman Lesca, willingly undertook the Lady's embassy; and so soon as opportunity did favour her: having withdrawn Pyrrhus into an apt and commodious place, she delivered the Message to him, in the best manner she could device. Which Pyrrhus hearing, did not a little wonder thereat, never having noted any such matter; and therefore suddenly conceived, that the Lady did this only to try him; whereupon, somewhat roundly and roughly, he returned this answer. Lesca, I am not so simple, as to credit any such Message to be sent from my Lady, and therefore be better advised of thy words. But admit that it should come from her, yet I cannot be persuaded, that her soul consented to such harsh Language, far differing from a form so full of beauty. And yet admit again, that her hart and tongue herein were relatives: My Lord and Master hath so fare honoured me, and so much beyond the least part of merit in me: as I will rather dye, than any way offer to disgrace him: And therefore I charge thee, never more to move me in this matter.  
Lesca, not a jot daunted at his stern words, presently she said. Pyrrhus, Both in this and all other Messages my Lady shall command me, I will speak to thee whensoever she pleaseth, receive what discontent thou canst thereby; or make presumption of what doubts thou Mayst device. But as I found thee a senseless fellow, dull, and not shaped to any understanding, so I leave thee: And in that anger parted from him, carrying back the same answer to her Lady. She no sooner heard it, but instantly she wished herself to be dead; and within some few days after, she conferred again with her Chamber-woman, saying. Lesca, thou knowest well enough, that the ox falleth not at the first blow of the Axe, neither is the victory won, upon a silly and shallow adventure: Wherefore, I think it convenient, that once more thou shouldst make another trial of him, who (in prejudice to me) standeth so strictly on his loyalty, and choosing such an hour as seemeth most commodious, sound possess him with my tormenting passions. Bestir thy wits, and tip thy tongue with a woman's eloquence, to effect what I so earnestly desire: because, by languishing in this lovesick affliction, it well be the danger of my death, and some severe detriment to him, to be the occasion of so great a loss.  
Lesca, comforted her Lady, so much as lay in her power to do, and having sought for Pyrrhus, whom she found at good leisure; and, in a pleasing humour, thus she began. Pyrrhus, some few days since I told thee, in what extreme Agonies thy Lady and mine was, only in regard of her love to thee: and now against I come once more, to give thee further assurance thereof: Wherefore, believe it unfeignedly, that if thy obstinacy continue still, in like manner as the other day it did, expect very shortly to hear the tidings of her death.  
It is my part therefore, to entreat thee, to comfort her long languishing desires: but if thou persist in thy harsh opinion, in stead of reputing thee a wise and fortunate young man, I shall confess thee to be an ignorant ass. What a glory is it to thee, to be affected of so fair and worthy a Lady; beyond all men else what soever? Next to this, tell me, how highly Mayst thou confess thyself beholding to Fortune, if thou but duly consider, how she hath elected thee as sole sovereign of her hopes, which is a crown of honour to thy youth and a sufficieut refuge against all wants and necessities? Where is any to thy knowledge like thyself, that can make such advantage of his time, as thou Mayst do, if thou wert wise? Where canst thou find any one to go beyond thee in arms, Horses, sumptuous garments, and Gold, as will be heaped on thee, if Lydia may be the Lady of thy love? Open then thine understanding to my words, return into thine own soul, and be wise for thyself.  
Remember (Pyrrhus) that Fortune presents herself but once before any one, with cheerful looks, and her lap wide open of richest favours, where if choice be not quickly made, before she fold it up, and turn her back; let no complaint afterward be made of her, if the Fellow that had so fair an offer, prove to be miserable, wretched, and a beggar, only thorough his own negligence. Beside, what else hath formerly been said, there is now no such need of loyalty in servants to their Ladies, as should be among dear Friends and Kindred: but servants ought rathee (as best they may) be such to their Masters, as they are to them. Dost thou imagine, that if thou hadst a fair Wife, Mother, Daughter, or Sister, pleasing in the eye of our Nicostratus; he would stand on such nice terms of duty or loyalty, as now thou dost to his Lady? Thou went a very fool to rest so persuaded. Assure thyself, that if entreaties and fair means might not prevail, force, and compulsion (whatsoever ensued thereon) would win the mastery, Let us then use them, and the commodities unto them belonging, as they would us and ours. Use the benefit of thy Fortune, & beware of abusing her favonr. She yet smiles on thee; but take heed lest she turn her back, it will then be over-late to repent thy folly. And if my Lady die through thy disdain, be assured, that thou canst not escape with life, beside open shame and disgrace for ever.  
Pyrrhus, who had often considered on Lescaes' first message, concluded with himself; that if any more she moved the same matter: he would return her another kind of answer, wholly yielding to content his Lady; provided, that he might remain assured, concerning the entire truth of the motion, and that it was not urged only to try him, wherefore, thus he replied. Lesca, do not imagine me so ignorant, as not to know the certainty of all thy former allegations, confessing them as freely as thou dost, or canst. But yet let me tell thee withal, that I know my Lord to be wise and judicious, and having committed all his affair 〈◊〉 my care and trust: never blame me to misdoubt, lest my Lady (by his counsel and advice) make thee the messenger of this motion; thereby to call my fidelity in question.  
To clear which doubt; and for my further assurance of her well 〈◊〉 toward me; if she will undertake the performance of three such things as I must needs require in this case: I am afterward her own, in any service she can command me. The first of them, is; that in the presence of my Lord and Master, she kill his fair falcon, which so dearly he affecteth. The second, to send me a lock or tuft of his beard, being pulled away with her own hand. The third and last, with the same hand also, to pluck out one of his best and soundest faith, and send it me as her love's true token. When I find all these three effectually performed, I am wholly hers, & not before.  
These three strict impositions, seemed to Lesca, and her Lady likewise, almost beyond the compass of all possibility. Nevertheless love, being a powerful orator in persuading, as also adventurous even on the most difficult dangers; gave her courage to undertake them all: sending Lesca back again to him, with full assurance, of these more than Herculean labours. Moreover, herself did intent to add a fourth task, in regard of his strong opinion concerning the great wisdom of his Lord and Master. After she had effected all the other three, she would not permit him to kiss her, but before his Lord's face: which yet should be accomplished in such sort, as Nicostratus himself should not believe it, although apparently he saw it. Well, (quoth Pyrrhus) when all these wonders are performed, assure my Lady, that I am truly hers.  
Within a short while after, Nicostratus made a solemn feastival (according as yearly he used to do) in honour of his birth day, inviting many Lords and Ladies thereto. On which rejoicing day, so soon as dinner was ended, and the Tables withdrawn: Lydia came into the great Hall. where the Feast was solemnly kept; very rich and costly apparelled; and there, in presence of Pyrrhus, and the whole assembly, going to the Perch whereon the Faulcone sat, wherein her Husband took no little delight, and having untied her, as if she meant to bear her on her Fist: took her by the Jesses', and beating her against the wall, killed her. Nicostratus beholding this, called out aloud unto her, saying. Alas madam! What have you done? She making him no answer, but turning to the Lords and Ladies, which had dined there, spoke in this mander.  
Ill should I take revenge on a King, that had offended me, if I had not so much heart, as to wreak my spleen on a paltry hawk. Understand then, worthy Lords and Ladies, that this Faulcone hath long time rob me of those delights, which men (in mere equity) ought to have with their wives: because continually, so soon as break of day hath appeared, my Husband, starting out of bed, makes himself ready, presently to horse, and with this falcon on his Fist, rides abroad to his recreation in the Fields. And I, in such forsaken sort as you see, am left all alone in my bed, discontented and despised: often vowing to myself, to be thus revenged as now I am, being withheld from it by no other occasion, but only want of a fit and apt time, to do it in the presence of such persons, as might be just judges of my wrongs, and as I conceive you all to be.  
The Lords and Ladies hearing these words, and believing this deed of hers to be done no otherwise, but out of her entire affection to Nicostratus, according as her speeches sounded: compassionately turning towards him (who was exceedingly displeased) and all smiling, said. Now in good sadness Sir; madam Lydia hath done well, in acting her just revenge upon the hawk, that bereft her of her Husbands kind company; than which nothing is more precious to a loving wife, and a hell it is to live without it. And Lydia, being suddenly withdrawn into her chamber; with much other friendly and familiar talk, they converted the anger of Nicostratus into mirth and smiling.  
Pyrrhus. who had diligently observed the whole carriage of this business, said to himself. My Lady hath begun well, and proceeding on with no worse success, will (no doubt) bring her love to an happy conclusion. As for the Lady herself, she having thus killed the hawk, it was no long while after, but being in the Chamber with her husband, and they conversing familiarly together: she began to jest with him, & he in the like manner with her, tickling and toying each the other, till at the length she played with his beard, and now she found occasion aptly serving, to effect the second task imposed by Pyrrhus. So, taking fast hold on a small tuft of his beard, she gave a sudden snatch, and plucked it away quite from his chin. Whereat Nicostratus being angrily moved, she (to appease his distaste) pleasantly thus spoke. How now my Lord? Why do you look so frowningly? What? Are you angry, for a few lose hairs of your beard? How then should I take it, when you pluck me by the hair of my head, and yet I am not a jot discontented, because I know you do it but in jesting manner? These friendly speeches cut off all further contention, and she kept charily the tuft of her husband's beard, which (the very selfsame day) she sent to Pyrrhus her hearts chosen friend.  
But now concerning the third matter to be adventured, it driven her to a much more serious consideration, than those two which she had already so well and exactly performed. Notwithstanding, like a Lady of unconquerable spirit, and (in whom) love enlarged his power more and more: she suddenly conceited, what course was best to be kept in this case, forming her attempt in this manner. Upon Nicostratus waited two young Gentlemen, as Pages of his Chamber, whose Fathers had given them to his service, to learn the manners of honourable Courtship, and those qualities necessarily required in Gentlemen. One of them, when Nicostratus sat down to dinner or supper, stood in Office of his carver, delivering him all the meats whereon he fed. The other (as Taster) attended on his Cup, and he drank no other drink, but what he brought him, and they both were highly pleasing unto him.  
On a day, Lydia called these two youths aside; and, among some other speeches, which served but as an induction to her intended policy; she persuaded them, that their mouths yielded an unsavoury & il-pleasing smell, whereof their Lord seemed to take dislike. Wherefore she advised them, that at such times as they attended on him in their several places: they should (so much as possibly they could) withdraw their heads aside from him, because their breath might not be noyous unto him. But withal, to have an especial care, of not disclosing to any one, what she had told them; because (out of mere love) she had acquainted them therewith: which very constantly they believed, and followed the same direction as she had advised, being loath to displease, where service bond them to obey. Choosing a time fitting for her purpose, when Nicostratus was in private conference with her, thus she began. Sir, you observe not the behaviour of your two Pages, when they wait on you at the Table? Yes but I do wife (quoth he) how squemishly they turn their heads aside from me, and it hath often been in my mind, to understand a reason why they do so.  
Seating herself by him, as if she had some weighty matter to tell him; she proceeded in this manner. Alas my Lord, you shall not need to question them, because I can sufficiently resolve you therein: which (nevertheless) I have long concealed, because I would not be offensive to you. But in regard, it is now manifestly apparent, that others have tasted, what (I imagined) none but myself did, I will no longer hide it from you. Assuredly Sir, there is a most strange and unwonted ill-savour, continually issuing from your mouth, smelling most noysomely, and I wonder what should be the occasion. In former times, I never felt any such foul breathing to come from you: and you, who do daily converse with so many worthy persons, should seek means to be rid of so great an annoyance. You say very true wife (answered Nicostratus) and I protest to you on my credit, I feel no such ill smell, neither know what should cause it, except I have some corrupted tooth in my mouth. Perhaps Sir (quoth she) it may be so and yet you feel not the savour which others do, yea, very offensively.  
So, walking with her to a Window, he opened wide his mouth, the which nicely she surveyed on either side, and, turning her head from him, as seeming unable to endure the savour: starting, and shrieking out aloud, she said. Santa Maria! What a sight is this? Alas my good Lord, How could you abide this, and for so long a while? Hear is a tooth on this side, which (so fare as I can pereeive) is not only hollow and corrupted: but also wholly putrified and rotten, and if it continue still in your head, believe it for a truth, that it will infect and spoil all the rest near it. I would therefore counsel you, to let it be plucked out, before it breed your further, danger. I like your counsel well Lydia, replied Nicostratus, and presently intent to follow it; Let therefore my Barber be sent for, and, without any longer delay, he shall pluck it forth instantly.  
How Sir? (quoth she,) your Barber? Upon mine Honour, there shall come no Barber here. Why ●ir, it is such a rotten Tooth, and standeth so fairly for my hand: that, without help or advice of any Barber, let me alone for plucking it forth, without putting you to any pain at all. Moreover, let me tell you Sir, those tooth-drawer's are so rude and cruel, in performing such Offices, as my heart cannot endure, that you should come within compass of their currish courtesy, neither shall you Sir, if you will be ruled by me. If I should fail in the manner of their facility, yet love & duty hath instructed me, to forbear your least paining, which no unmannerly Barber will do.  
Having thus spoken, and he well contented with her kind offer, the instruments were brought, which are used in such occasions, all being commanded forth of the Chamber, but only Lesca, who evermore kept still in her company. So, locking fast the door, and Nicostratus being seated, as she thought fittest for her purpose, she put the Tanacles into his mouth, catching fast hold on one of his soundest teeth: which, notwithstanding his loud crying, Lesca held him so strongly, that forth she plucked it, and hide it, having another tooth ready made hot & bloody, very much corrupted and rotten, which she held in the Tanacles, and shown to him, who was well-near half dead with anguish. See Sir (quoth she) was this Tooth to be suffered in your head, and to yield so foul a smell as it did? He verily believing what she said, albeit he had endured extreme pain, and still complained on her harsh and violent pulling it out: rejoiced yet, that he was now rid of it, and she comforting him on the one side, and the anguish assuaging him on the other, he departed forth of the Chamber.  
In the mean while, by Lesca she sent the sound tooth to Pyrrhus, who (wondering not a little at her so many strange attempts, which he urged so much the rather, as thinking their performance impossible, and in mere loyal duty to his Lord) seeing them all three to be notably effected; he made no further doubt of her entire love towards him, but sent her assurance likewise, of his readiness and serviceable diligence, whensoever she would command him.  
Now, after the passage of all these adventures, hardly to be undertaken by any other Woman: yet she held them insufficient for his security, in the grounded persuasion of her love to him, except she performed another of her own, and according as she had boldly promised. Hours do now seem days, and day's multiplicity of years, till the kiss may be given, and received in the presence of Nicostratus, yet he himself to avouch the contrary.  
Madam Lydia (upon a pretended sickness) keepeth her chamber, and as women can hardly be exceeded in dissimulation: so, she wanted no wit, to seem exquisitely cunning, in all the outward appearances of sickness. One day after dinner, she being visited by Nicostratus, and none attending on him but Pyrrhus only: she earnestly entreated, that as a mitigation, to some inward afflictions which she felt, they would help to guide her into the Garden.  
Most gladly was her motion granted, and Nicostratus gently taking her by one arm, and Pyrrhus by the other, so they conducted her into the Garden, seating her in a fair floury grassplot, with her back leaning to a peartree. Having sitten there an indifferent while, and Pyrrhus, being formerly instructed, in the directions which she had given him, thus she spoke, somewhat faintly. Pyrrhus, I have a kind of longing desire upon a sudden, to taste of these pears: Wherefore, climb up into the Tree, and cast me down one or two; which instantly he did. Being aloft in the Tree, and throwing down some of the best and ripest pears; at length (according to his premeditated Lesson) looking down, he said.  
Forbear my Lord, Do you not see, in how weak and feeble condition my Lady is, being shaken with so violent a sickness? And you Madam, how kind and loving soever you are to my Lord, Are you so little careful of your health, being ●ut now come forth of your sick Chamber, to be ruffled and tumbled in such rough manner? Though such dalliances are not amiss in you both; being fitten for the private Chamber, than an open garden, and in the presence of a servant: yet time and place should always be respectively considered, for the avoiding of ill example, and better testimony of your own wisdoms, which ever should be like yourselves. But if so soon, and even in the heat of a yet turbulent sickness, your equal love can admit these kisses and embraces: your private lodgings were much more convenient, where no servant's eye can see such wantonness, nor you be reproved of indiscretion, for being too public in your familiarity.  
Madame Lydia, suddenly starting, and turning unto her Husband, said. What doth Pyrrhus prate? Is he well in his wits? Or is he frantic? No madam, replied Pyrrhus, I am not frantic. Are you so fond as to think that I do not see your folly? Nicostratus wondering at his Words, presently answered. Now trust me Pyrrhus, I think thou dreamest. No my Lord, replied Pyrrhus, I dream not a jot, neither do you, or my Lady: but if this Tree could afford the like kindness to me, as you do to her, there would not a pear be le●t upon it. How now Pyrrhus? (quoth Lydia) this language goeth beyond our understanding, it seemeth thou knowest not what thou sayest. Believe me husband, if I were as well as ever I have been, I would climb this tree, to see those idle wonders which he talketh of: for, while he continueth thus above, it appeareth, he can find no other prattle, albeit he taketh his mark amiss.  
Hereupon, he commanded Pyrrhus to come down, and being on the ground: Now Pyrrhus (quoth he) tell me what thou saidst, Pyrrhus, pretending an alteration into much amazement, strangely looking about him, said, I know not very well (my Lord) what answer I should make you, fearing lest my sight hath been abused by error: for when I was aloft in that Tree, it seemed manifestly to me: that you embraced my Lady (though somewhat rudely, in regard of her perilous sickness, yet lovingly) and as youthfully as in your younger days, with infinite kisses, and wanton daelliances, such as (indeed) deserved a far more private place in my poor opinion. But in my descending down, me thought you gave over that amorous familiarity, and I found you seated as I left you, Now trust me Pyrrhus, answered Nicostratus, Thy tongue and wit have very strangely wandered, both from reason and all real apprehension: because we never stirred from hence, since thou didst climb up into the Tree, neither moved otherwise, then as now thou seest us. Alas my Lord (said Pyrrhus I humbly crave pardon for my presumption, in reprooving you for meddling with your own: which shall make me hereafter better advised, in any thing what soever I hear or see.  
Marvel and amazement, increased in Nicostratus far greater than before, hearing him to avouch still so constantly what he had ●eene, no contradiction being able to alter him, which made him rashly swear and say. I will see myself, whether this peartree be enchanted, or no: and such wonders to be seen when a man is up in it, as thou wouldst have us to believe. And being mounted up so hy, that they were safe from his sudden coming on them, Lydia had soon forgotten her sickness, and the promised kiss cost her above twenty more, beside very kind and hearty embraces, as lovingly respected and entertained by Pyrrhus. Which Nicostratus beholding aloft in the tree; cried out to her, saying. Wicked woman, What dost thou mean? And thou villain Pyrrhus, Dar'st thou abuse thy Lord, who hath reposed so much trust in thee? So, descending in haste down again, yet crying so to them still: Lydia replied, Alas my Lord, Why do you rail and rave in such sort? So, he found her seated as before, and Pyrrhus waiting with dutiful reverence, even as when he climbed up the Tree: but yet he thought his ●ight not deceyued, for all their demure and formal behaviour, which made him walk up and down, extremely suming and fretting unto himself, and which in some milder manner to qualify, Pyrrhus spoke thus to him.  
I deny not (my good Lord) but freely confess, that even as yourself, so I, being above in the Tree, had my fight most falsely deluded: which is so so apparently confirmed by you, and in the same sort, as there needeth no doubt of both our beguiling; in one and the same suspicious nature. In which case to be the more assuredly resolved, nothing can be questioned, but whether your belief do so fare mislead you, as to think, that my Lady (who hath always been most wise, loyal, and virtuous,) would so shamefully wrong you: yea, and to perform it before your face, wherein I dare gadge my life to the contrary. Concerning myself, it is not fit for me, to argue or contest in mine own commendation: you that have ever known the sincerity of my service, are best able to speak in my behalf: and rather would I be drawn in pieces with four wild horses, than he such an injurious slave to my Lord and Master.  
Now then, it can be no otherwise, but we must needs rest certainly persuaded, that the guile and offence of this false appearance, was occasioned by thee only. For all the world could not make me otherwise believe, but but that I saw you kiss and most kindly embrace my Lady: if your own eyes had not credited the like behaviour in me to her, of which sin, I never conceived so much as a thought. The Lady (on the other side) seeming to be very angrily incensed, starting faintly up on her feet, yet supporting herself by the tree, said. It appeareth Sir, that you have entertained a goodly opinion of me, as, if I were so lewd and lasciviously disposed, or addicted to the very lest desire of wantonness: that I would be so forgetful of mine own honour, as to adventure it in your sight, and with a servant of my house? Oh Sir, such women as are so familiarly affected, need learn no wit of men in amorous matters▪ their private Chambers shall be better trusted, than an open blabing and tell-tale Garden.  
Nicostratus, who verily believed what they had both said, and that neither of them would adventure such familiarity before his face: would talk no more of the matter, but rather studied of the rarity of such a miracle, not seen, but in the height of the tree, and changing again up on the descent. But Lydia, containing still her collourable kind of impatience, and angrily frowning upon Nicostratus, stearnely said. If I may have my will, this villainous and deceiving tree, shall never more shame me, or any other woman: and therefore Pyrrhus, run for an Axe, and by felling it to the ground, in an instant, revenge both thy wrong and mine. Dost not thou serve a worthy Lord? And have not I a wise Husband, who, without any consideration, will suffer the eye of his understanding to be so dazzled, with a foolish imagination beyond all possibility? For, although his eyes did apprehend such a folly, and it seemed to be a truth indeed: yet, in the depth of settled judgement, all the world should not persuade him, that it was so.  
Pyrrhus had quickly brought the Axe, and he wing down the tree, so soon as the Lady saw it fall; turning herself to Nicostratus, she said. Now that I have seen mine honour and honesties enemy laid along; mine anger is past, and Husband, I freely pardon you: entreating you hearty henceforward, not to presume or imagine, that my love either is, or can be altered from you.  
Thus the mocked and derided Nicostratus, returned in again with his Lady and Pyrrhus; where perhaps (although the peartree was cut down) they could find as cunning means to overreach him.   

Two Citizens of Sienna, the one ●amed Tingoccio Mini, & the other Meucio di Tura, affected both one woman, called Monna Mita, to whom the one of them was a Gossip. The Gossip died, and appeared afterward to his companion, according as he had formerly promised him to do, and told him what strange wonders he had seen in the other world.  
The Tenth novel.  
Wherein such men are covertly reprehended, who make no care or conscience at all of those things that should preserve them from sin.  
NOw there remained none but the King himself, last of all to recount his novel; who, after he heard the Lady's complaints indifferently pacified, for the rash felling down of such a precious peartree; thus he began-Faire Ladies, it is a case more than manifest, that every King, who will be accounted just and upright: should first of all, and rather than any other, observe those laws which he himself hath made; otherwise he ought to be reputed as a servant, worthy of punishment, and no King. Into which fault and reprehension, I your King, shall well near be constrained to fall; for yesterday I enacted a Law, upon the form of our discoursing, with full intent, that this day I would not use any part of my privilege; but being subject (as you all are) to the same Law, I should speak of that argument, which already you have done.  
Wherein, you have not only performed more than I could wish, upon a subject so suitable to my mind: but in every novel, such variety of excellent matter, such singular illustrations, and delicate eloquence hath flown from you all; as I am utterly unable to invent any thing (notwithstanding the most curious search of my brain) apt or fit for the purpose, to paragon the meanest of them already related. And therefore seeing I must needs sin in the Law established by myself; I tender my submission, as worthy of punishment, or what amends else you please to enjoin me. Now, as returned to my wont privilege, I say, that the novel recounted by madam Eliza, of the friar Godfather and his Gossip Agnesia, as also the sottishness of the Senese her Husband, hath wrought in me (worthy Ladies) to such effect; as, forbearing to speak any more of these wily pranks, which witty wives exercise on their simple Husbands; I am to tell you a pretty short Tale; which, though there is matter enough in it, not worthy the crediting, yet partly it will be a pleasing to hear.  
Sometime there lived in Sienna two popular men; the one being named Tingoccio, Mini, and the other Meucio de Tora; Men simple, and of no understanding, both of them dwelling in Porta Salaia. These two men lived in such familiar conversation together, and expressed such cordial affection each to other, as they seldom walked asunder; but (as honest men use to do) frequented Churches and Sermons, oftentimes hearing, both what miseries and beatitudes were in the world to come, according to the merits of their souls that were departed out of this life, and found their equal repayment in the other. The manifold repetition of these matters, made them very earnestly desirous to know, by what means they might have tidings from thence, for their further confirmation. And finding all their endeavours utterly frustrated, they made a solemn vow and promise (each to other under oath) that he which first died of them two, should return back again (so soon as possibly he could) to the other remaining alive, and tell him such tidings as he desired to hear.  
After the promise was thus faithfully made, and they still keeping company, as they were wont to do: It fortuned, that Tingoccio became Gossip to one, named Ambrosio Anselmino, dwelling in Camporeggio, who by his wise, called Monna Mita, had a sweet and lovely son. Tingoccio often resorting thither, and consorted with his companion Meucio; the she-Gossip, being a woman worthy the loving, fair and comely of her person: Tingoccio, notwithstanding the Gossipship between them, had more than a month's mind to his God child's Mother. Meucio also fell sick of the same disease, because she seemed pleasing in his eye, and Tingoccio gave her no mean commendations; yet, carefully they concealed their love to themselves, but not for one & the same occasion. Because Tingoccio kept it closely from Meucio, lest he should hold it disgraceful in him, to bear amorous affection to his Gossip, and thought it unfitting to be known. But Meucio had no such meaning, for he knew well enough that Tingoccio loved her, and therefore conceived in his mind, that if he discovered any such matter to him: He will (quoth he) be jealous of me, and being her Gossip (which admitteth his conference with her when himself pleaseth; he may easily make her to distaste me, and therefore I must rest contented as I am.  
Their love continuing on still in this kind, Tingoccio proved so fortunate in the business, that having better means than his companion, and more prevailing courses, when, where, and how to Court his Mistress, which seemed to forward him effectually. All which Meucio plainly perceived, and though it was tedious and wearisome to him, yet hoping to find some success at length: he would not take notice of any thing▪ as fearing to infringe the amity between him and Tingoccio, and so his hope to be quite supplanted. Thus the one triumphing in his love's happiness, and the other hoping for his felicity to come; a linger sickness seized on Tingoccio, which brought him to so low a condition, as at the length he died.  
About some three or four nights after, Meucio being fast asleep in his bed, the ghost of Tingoccio appeared to him, and called so loud, that Meucio awaking, demanded who called him? I am thy friend Tingoccio, replied the ghost, who according to my former promise made, am come again in vision to thee, to tell thee tidings out of the neither world. Meucio was a while somewhat amazed; but, recollecting his more manly spirits together, boldly he said. My brother and friend, thou art hearty welcome: but I thought thou hadst been utterly lost. Those things (quoth Tingoccio) are lost, which cannot be recovered again, and if I were lost, how could I then be here with thee? Alas Tingoccio, replied Meucio, my meaning is not so: but I would be resolved, whether thou art among the damned souls, in the painful fire of hell torments, or no? No (quoth Tingoccio) I am not sent thither, but for diverse sins by me committed I am to suffer very great and grievous pains. Then Meucio demanded particularly, the punishments inflicted there, for the several sins committed here: Wherein Tingoccio fully resolved him. And upon further question, what he would have to be done for him here, made answer, That Meucio should cause Masses, Prayers and almsdeeds to be performed for him, which (he said) were very helpful to the souls abiding there, and Meucio promised to see them done.  
As the ghost was offering to departed, Meucio remembered Tingoccioes Gossip Monna Mita, and raising himself higher upon his pillow, said. My memory informeth me, friend Tingoccio, of your kind Gossip Monna Mita, with whom (when you remained in this life) I knew you to be very familiar: let me entreat you then to tell me, what punishment is inflicted on you there, for that wanton sin committed here? Oh Brother Meucio, answered Tingoccio, so soon as my soul was landed there, one came immediately to me, who seemed to know all mine offences readily by heart, and forthwith commanded, that I should departed thence into a certain place, where I must weep for my sins in very grievous pains. There I found more of my companions, condemned to the same punishment as I was, and being among them, I called to mind some wanton dalliances, which had passed between my Gossip and me, and expecting therefore fare greater afflictions, then as yet I felt (although I was in a huge fire, and exceedingly hot) yet with conceit of fear, I quaked and trembled wondrously.  
One of my other Consorts being by me, and perceiving in what an extreme agony I was; presently said unto me. My friend, what hast thou done more, than any of us here condemned with thee, that thou ●remblest and quakest, being in so hot a fire? Oh my friend (quoth I) I am in fear of a greater judgement than this, for a grievous offence by me heretofore committed while I lived. Then he demanded of me what offence it was, whereto thus I answered. It was my chance in the other world, to be Godfather at a child's christening, and afterward I grew so affectionate to the child's mother, as (indeed) I kissed her twice or thrice. My companion laughing at me in mocking manner, replied thus. Go like an ass as thou art, and be no more afraid hereafter, for here is no punishment inflicted, in any kind whatsoever, for such offences of frailty committed, especially with Gossips, as I myself can witness.  
Now day drew on, and the cocks began to crow, a dreadful hearing to walking spirits, when Tingoccio said to Meucio. Farewell my friendly companion, for I may tarry no longer with thee, and instantly he vanished away. Meucio having heard this confession of his friend, and verily believing it for a truth, that no punishment was to be inflicted in the future world, for offences of frailty in this life, and chief with Gossips: began to condemn his own folly, having been a Gossip to many wives, yet modesty restrained him from such familiar offending. And therefore being sorry for this gross ignorance, he made a vow to be wiser hereafter. And if friar Reynard had been acquainted with this kind of shrift (as doubtless he was, though his Gossip Agnesia knew it not) he needed no such syllogisms, as he put in practice, when he converted her to his lustful knavery, in the comparison of kindred by him moved, concerning her husband, the child and himself. But, these are the best fruits of such Fryerly Confessions, to compass the issue of their inordinate appetites; yet clouded with the cloak of Religion, which hath been the overthrow of too many.  
By this time the gentle blast of Zephyrus began to blow, because the sun grew near his setting, wherewith the King concluded his novel, and none remaining more to be thus employed: taking the crown from off his own head, he placed it on madam Laurettaes, saying, Madam, I crown you with your own crown, as Queen of our Company. You shall henceforth command as Lady and Mistress, in such occasions as shall be to your liking, and for the contentment of us all; With which words he set him down. And madam Lauretta being now created Queen, she caused the Master of the household to be called, to whom she gave command, that the Tables should be prepared in the pleasant valley, but at a more convenient hour, then formerly had been, because they might (with better ease) return back to the palace. Then she took order likewise, for all such other necessary matters, as should be required in the time of her Regiment: and then turning herself to the whole Company, she began in this manner.  
It was the Will of Dioneus yesternight, that our discourses for this day, should concern the deceits of wives to their Husbands. And were it not to avoid taxation, of a spleenitive desire to be revenged, like the dog being bitten, biteth again: I could command our to morrows conference, to touch men's treacheries towards their wives. But because I am free from any such fiery humour, let it be your general consideration, to speak of such quaint beguyling, as have heretofore past, either of the woman to the man, the man to the woman, or of one man to another: and I am of opinion, that they will yield us no less delight, than those related (this day) have done. When she had thus spoken, she rose; granting them all liberty, to go recreate themselves until Supper time.  
The Ladies being thus at their own disposing, some of them bared their legs and feet, to wash them in the cool current. Others, not so minded, walked on the green grass, and under the goodly spreading trees. Dioneus and madam Fiammetta, they sat singing together, the love-warre between Arcit and Palemon. And thus with diversity of disports, in choice delight and much contentment, all were employed, till Supper drew near. When the hour was come, and the Tables covered by the Ponds side: we need not question their diet and dainties, infinite Birds sweetly singing about them, as no music in the world could be more pleasing; beside calm winds, fanning their faces from the neighbouring hills (free from flies, or the least annoyance) made a delicate addition to their pleasure.  
No sooner were the Tables withdrawn, and all risen: but they fetched a few turnings about the valley, because the sun was not (as yet) quite set. Then in the cool evening, according to the Queen's appointment: in a soft and gentle pace, they walked homeward: devising on a thousand occasions, as well those which the days discourses had yielded, as others of their own inventing beside. It was almost dark night, before they arrived at the palace; where, with variety of choice Wines, and abounding plenty of rare banqueting, they out-wore the little toil and weariness, which the long walk had charged them withal. Afterward, according to their wont order, the Instruments being brought and played on, they fell to dancing about the fair fountain; Tindaro's intruding (now and then) the sound of his Bagpipe, to make the music seem more melodious. But in the end, the Queen commanded madam Philomena to sing; whereupon the Instruments being tuned fit for the purpose, thus she began.  

The Song.  

The Chorus Sung by the whole Company.  
WEarisome is my life to me,  
Because I cannot once again return;  
Unto the place which made me first to mourn.   

NOthing I know, yet feel a powerful fire,  
Burning within my breast,  
Through deep desire;  
To be once more where first I felt unrest,  
Which cannot be expressed.  
O my sole good! O my best happiness!  
Why am I thus restrained?  
Is there no comfort in this wretchedness?  
Then let me live content, to be thus pained.  
Wearisome is my life to me, etc.   

I cannot tell what was that rare delight,  
Which first inflame my soul,  
And gave command in spite,  
That I should find no ease by day or night,  
But still live in control.  
I see, I hear, and feel a kind of bliss,  
Yet find no form at all:  
Other in their desire, feel blessedness,  
But I have none, nor think I ever shall.  
Wearisome is my life to me, etc.   

Tell me, if I may hope in following days,  
To have but one poor sight,  
Of those bright Sunny rays,  
Dazzling my sense, did o'ercome me quite,  
Bequeathed to wand'ring ways.  
If I be posted off, and may not prove,  
To have the smallest grace:  
Or but to know, that this proceeds from love,  
Why should I live despised in every place?  
Wearisome is my life to me, etc.  
Me thinks mild favour whispers in mine ear,  
And bids me not despair;  
There will a time appear  
To quell and quite confound consuming care,  
And joy surmount proud fear.  
In hope that gracious time will come at length,  
To cheer my long dismay:  
My spirits reassume yonr former strength,  
And never dread to see that joyful day.  
Wearisome is my life to me,  
Because I cannot once again return;  
Unto the place which made me first to mourn.    
This Song gave occasion to the whole Company, to imagine, that some new and pleasing apprehension of love, constrained madam Philomena to sing in this manner. And because (by the discourse thereof) it plainly appeared, that she had felt more than she saw, she was so much the more happy, and the like was wished by all the rest. Wherefore, after the Song was ended; the Queen remembering, that the next day following was Friday, turning herself graciously to them all, thus she spoke.  
You know noble Ladies, and you likewise most noble Gentlemen, that to morrow is the day consecrated to the Passion of our blessed Lord and saviour, which (if you have not forgotten it, as easily you cannot) we devoutly celebrated, madam Neiphila being then Queen, ceasing from all our pleasant discoursing, as we did the like on the Saturday following, sanctifiing the sacred sabbath, in due regard of itself. Wherefore, being desirous to imitate precedent good example, which in worthy manner she began to us all: I hold it very decent and necessary, that we should asttaine to morrow, and the day ensuing, from recounting any of our pleasant novels, reducing to our memories, what was done (as on those days) for the salvation of our souls. This holy and Religious motion made by the Queen, was commendably allowed by all the assembly, and therefore, humbly taking taking their leave of her, and an indifferent part of the night being already spent; severally they betook themselves to their Chambers.    
The end of the seaventh day.   

THE EIGHT DAY.  
Whereon all the Discourses, pass under the Rule and government, of the Honourable Lady Lauretta. And the Argument imposed, is, Concerning such witty deceyving; as have, or may be put in practice, by wives to their Husbands; Husbands to their wives: Or one man towards another.  

The Induction.  
EARLY on the Sunday Morning, Aurora showing herself bright and lovely; the sun's Golden beams began to appear, on the tops of the near adjoining mountains▪ so, that herbs, Plants, Trees, and all things else, were very evidently to be discerned. The Queen and her company, being all come forth of their Chambers, and having walked a while abroad, in the goodly green meadows, to taste the sweetness of the fresh and wholesome ayrethey returned back again into the Palace, because it was their duty so to do.  
Afterward, between the hours of seven and eight, they went to hear mass▪ in a fair chapel ●eere at hand, and thence returned to their Lodgings. When they had dined merrily together, they fell to their wont singing and dancing: Which being done, such as were so pleased (by licence of the Queen first obtained) went either to their rest, or such exercises as they took most delight in. When midday, and the heat thereof was well overpassed, so that the air seemed mild and temperate: according as the Queen had commanded; they were all seated again about the fountain, with intent to prosecute their former pastime. And then madam Neiphila, by the charge imposed on her, as first speaker for this day, began as followeth.  

Gulfardo made a match or wager, with the Wife of Gasparuolo, for the obtaining of her amorous favour, in regard of a sum of money first to be given her. The money he borrowed of her Husband, and gave it in payment to her, as in case of discharging him from her husband's debt After his return home from Geneway, he told him in the presence of his Wife, how he had paid the whole sum to her, with charge of delivering it to her Husband, which she confessed to be true, albeit greatly against her will.  
The First novel.  
Wherein is declared, that such women as will make sale of their honesty, are sometimes overreached in their payment, and justly served as they should be.  
SEeing it is my fortune, Gracious Ladies, that I must give beginning to this days discoursing, by some such novel which I think expedient; as duty bindeth me, I am therewith well contented. And because the deceits of Women to men, have been at large and liberally related; I will tell you a subtle trick of a man to a Woman. Not that I blame him for the deed, or think the deceit not well fitted to the woman: but I speak it in a contrary nature, as commending the man, and condemning the woman very justly, as also to show, how men can as well beguile those crafty companions, which least believe any such cunning in them, as they that stand most on their artificial skill.  
Howbeit, to speak more properly, the matter by me to be reported, deserveth not the reproachful title of deceit, but rather of a recompense duly returned: because women ought to be chaste and honest, & to preserve their honour as their lives, without yielding to the contamination thereof, for any occasion whatsoever. And yet (nevertheless (in regard of our frailty) many times we prove not so constant as we should be: yet I am of opinion, that she which selleth her honesty for money, deserveth justly to be burned. Whereas on the contrary, she that falleth into the offence, only through intirc affection (the powerful laws of love being above all resistance) in equity meriteth pardon, especially of a judge not overrigorous: as not long since we heard from Philostratus, in revealing what happened to Madam Phillippa de Prato, upon the dangerous Edict.  
Understand then, my most worthy Auditors, that there lived sometime in Milan an Almaigne soldier, named Gulfardo, of commendable carriage in his person, and very faithful to such as he served, a matter not common among the Almains. And because he made just repayment, to every one which lent him moneys; he grew to such especial credit, and was so familiar with the very best merchants; as (many times) he could not be so ready to borrow, as they were willing always to lend him. He thus continuing in the city of Milan, fastened his affection on a very beautiful Gentlewoman, named Mistress Ambrosia, Wife unto a rich Merchant, who was called Signior Gasparuolo Sagastraccio, who had good knowledge of him, and respectively used him. Loving this Gentlewoman with great discretion, without the least apprehension of her husband: he sent upon a day to entreat conference with her, for enjoying the fruition of her love, and she should find him ready to fulfil whatsoever she pleased to command him, as, at any time he would make good his promise.  
The Gentlewoman, after diverse of these private solicit, resolutely answered, that she was as ready to fulfil the request of Gulfardo, provided, that two especial considerations might ensue thereon. First, the faithful concealing thereof from any person living. Next, because she knew him to be rich, and she had occasion to use two hundred Crowns, about business of important consequence: he should freely bestow so many on her, and (ever after) she was to be commanded by him. Gulfardo perceiving the covetousness of this woman, who (notwithstanding his doting affection) he thought to be entirely honest to her Husband: became so deeply offended at her vile answer, that his fervent love converted into as earnest loathing her; determining constantly to deceive her, and to make her avaricious motion, the only means whereby to effect it.  
He sent her word, that he was willing to perform her request, or any fare greater matter for her: in which respect, he only desired for to know, when she would be pleased to have him come see her, and to receive the money of him? No creature he acquainted with his settled purpose, but only a dear friend and kind companion, who always used to keep him company, in the nearest occasions that concerned him. The Gentlewoman, or rather most disloyal wife, upon this answer sent her, was extraordinarily jocund and contented, returning him a secret Letter, wherein she signified: that Gasparuolo her husband, had important affairs which called him to Geneway: but he should understand of his departure, and then (with safety) he might come see her, as also his bringing of the crowns.  
In the mean while, Gulfardo having determined what he would do, watched a convenient time, when he went unto Gasparuolo, and said: Sir, I have some business of main importance, and shall need to use but two hundred crowns only: I desire you to lend me so many crowns, upon such profit as you were wont to take of me, at other times when I have made use of you, and I shall not fail you at my day.  
Gasparuolo was well contented with the motion, and made no more ado, but counted down the crowns: departing thence (within few days after) for Geneway, according to his wives former message; she giving Gulfardo also intelligence of his absence, that now (with safety) he might come see her, and bring the two hundred crowns with him.  
Gulfardo, taking his friend in his company, went to visit Mistress Ambrosia, whom he found in expectation of his arrival, and the first thing he did, he counted down the two hundred crowns; and delivering them to her in the presence of his friend, said: Mistress Ambrosia, receive these two hundred crowns, which I desire you to pay unto your Husband on my behalf, when he is returned from Geneway. Ambrosia, received the two hundred crowns, not regarding wherefore Gulfardo used these words: because she verily believed, that he spoke in such manner, because his friend should take no notice, of his giving them to her, upon any covenant passed between them; whereupon, she said. Sir, I will pay them to my Husband for you; and cause him to give you a sufficient discharge: but first I will count them over myself, to see whether the sum be just, or no. And having drawn them over upon the Table, the sum containing truly two hundred crowns (wherewith she was most highly contented) she locked them safe up in her Cuppeboord, and Gulfardoes' Friend being gone (as formerly it was compacted between them) she came to converse more familiarly with him, having provided a banquet for him. What passed between them afterward, both then, and oftentimes beside, before her husband returned home, is a matter out of my element, and rather requires my ignorance then knowledge.  
When Gasparuolo was come from Geneway, Gulfardo observing a convenient time, when he was sitting at the door with his Wife; took his Friend with him, and coming to Gasparuolo, said. Worthy Sir, the two hundred crowns which you lent me, before your journey to Geneway, in regard they could not serve my turn, to compass the business for which I borrowed them: within a day or two after, in the presence of this Gentle man my friend, I made repayment of them to your Wife, and therefore I pray you cross me out of your book.  
Gasparuolo turning to his Wife, demanded; Whether it was so, or no? She beholding the witness standing by, who was also present at her receiving them: durst not make denial, but thus answered. indeed Husband, I received two hundred crowns of the Gentleman, and never remembered, to acquaint you therewith since your coming home: but hereafter I will be made no more your receiver, except I carried a quicker memory.  
Then said Gasparuolo: Signior Gulfardo, I find you always a most honest Gentleman, and will be ready at any time, to do you the like, or a fare greater kindness; depart at your pleasure, and fear not the crossing of my book. So Gulfardo went away merrily contented, and Ambrosia was served as she justly merited; she paying the price of her own lewdness to her Husband, which she had a more covetous intent to keep, questionless, not caring how many like lustful matches she could make, to be so liberally rewarded, if this had succeeded to her mind: whereas he shown himself wise and discreet, in paying nothing for his pleasure, and requiting a covetous quean in her kind.   

A lusty youthful Priest of Varlungo, fell in love with a pretty woman, named Monna Belcolore. To compass his amorous desire, he left his cloak (as a pledge of further payment) with her. By a subtle sleight afterward, he made means to borrow a mortar of her, which when he sent home again in the presence of her Husband; he demanded to have his cloak sent him, as having left it in pawn for the mortar. To pacify her Husband, offended that she did not lend the Priest the mortar without a pawn: she sent him back his cloak again, albeit greatly against her will.  
The Second novel.  
Approving, that no promise is to be kept with such Women as will make sale of their honesty for coin. A warning also for men, not to suffer Priests to be over familiar with their wives.  
BOth the Gentlemen and Ladies gave equal commendations, of Gulfardoes' quaint beguiling the Milan gentlewoman Ambrosia, and wishing all other (of her mind) might always be so served. Then the Queen, smiling on Pamphilus, commanded him to follow next: whereupon, thus he began.  
I can tell you (fair Ladies) a short novel, against such as are continually offensive to us, yet we being no way able to offend him; at least, in the same manner as they do injury us. And for your better understanding what and who they be, they are our lusty Priests, who advance their Standard, and make their public predications against our wives, winning such advantage over them, that they can pardon them both of the sin and punishment, whensoever they are once subjected unto their persuasions, even as if they brought the sultan bound and captived, from Alexandria to Auignon. Which imperious power, we (poor souls) cannot exercise on them, considering, we have neither heart nor courage, to do our devoir in just revenge on their Mothers, Sisters, Daughters, and Friends, with the like spirit as they rise in arms against our wives. And therefore, I mean to tell you a tale of a Country man's wife, more to make you laugh at the conclusion thereof; then for any singularity of words or matter: yet this benefit you may gain thereby, of an apparent proof, that such cinnamon, amorous and persuading Priests, are not always to be credited on their words or promises.  
Let me then tell you, that at Varlungo, which you know to be not fare distant hence, there dwelled an youthful Priest, lusty, gallant, and proper of person (especially for women's service) commonly called by the name of sweet Sir Simon. Now, albeit he was a man of slender reading, yet notwithstanding, he had store of Latin sentences by heart; some true, but twice so many maimed and false, saintlike shows, holy speeches, and ghostly admonitions, which he would preach under an oak in the fields, when he had congregated his Parishioners together. When women lay in childbed, he was their daily comfortable visitant, and would man them from their houses, when they had any occasion to walk abroad: carrying always a bottle of holy water about him, wherewith he would sprinkle them by the way, pieces of hallowed Candles, and chrisom Cakes, which pleased women extraordinarily, and all the Country afforded not such another frolic Priest, as this our nimble and active sweet Sir Simon.  
Among many other of his feminine Parishioners, all of them being handsome and comely Women: yet there was one more pleasing in his wanton eye, than any of the rest, named Monna Belcolore, and wife to a plain mecanicke man, called Bentivegna del Mazzo And, to speak uprightly, few country Villages yielded a Woman, more fresh and lovely of complexion, although not admirable for beauty, yet sweet Sir Simon thought her a Saint, and fain would be offering at her shrine. divers pretty pleasing qualities she had, as sounding the Cymbal, playing artificially on the Timbrill, and singing thereto as it had been a Nightingale, dancing also so dexteriously, as happy was the man that could dance in her company. All which so inflamed sweet Sir Simon, that he lost his wont sprightly behaviour, walked sullen, sad and melancholy, as if he had melted all his mettle, because he could hardly have a sight of her. But on the Sunday morning, when he heard or knew that she was in the Church, he would tickle it with a Kyrie and a Sanctus, even as if he contended to show his singular skill in singing, when it had been as good to hear an ass bray. Whereas on the contrary, when she came not to Church, mass, and all else were quickly shaken up, as if his devotion waited only on her presence. Yet he was so cunning in the carriage of his amorous business, both for her credit and his own; as Bentivegna her husband could not perceive it, or any neighbour so much as suspect it.  
But, to compass more familiar acquaintance with Belcolore, he sent her sundry gifts and presents, day by day, as sometime a bunch of dainty green garlic, whereof he had plenty growing in his Garden, which he manured with his own hands, and better than all the country yielded; otherwhiles a small basket of Pease or Beanes, and onions or Scallions, as the season served. But when he could come in place where she was; then he darted amorous winks and glances at her, withbecks, nods, and blushes, love's private ambassadors, which she (being but countrey-bred) seeming by outward appearance, not to see, retorted disdainfully, and forthwith would absent herself, so that sweet Sir Simon laboured still in vain, and could not compass what he coveted.  
It came to pass within a while after, that on a time, (about high noon) Sir Simon being walking abroad, chanced to meet with Bentivegna, driving an ass before him, laden with diverse commodities, and demanding of him, whither he went, Bentivegna, thus answered. In troth Sir Simon, I am going to the City, about some especial business of mine own, and I carry these things to Signior Bonacorci da Ginestreto, because he should help me before the judge, when I shall be called in question concerning my patrimony. Sir Simon looking merrily on him, said. Thou dost well Bentivegna, to make a friend sure before thou need him; go, take my blessing with thee, and return again with good success. But if thou meet with Laguccio, or Naldino, for yet not to tell them, that they must bring me my shoe-ties before Sunday. Bentivegna said, he would discharge his errand, and so parted from him, driving his ass on towards Florence.  
Now began Sir Simon to shrug, and scratch his head, thinking this to be a fit convenient time, for him to go visit Belcolore, and to make trial of his fortune: wherefore, setting aside all other business, he stayed no where till he came to the house, whereinto being entered, he said: All happiness be to them that dwell here. Belcolore being then above in the Chamber, when she heard his tongue, replied. Sweet Sir Simon! you are heartily welcome, whether are you walking, if the question may be demanded? believe me dainty duck, answered Sir Simon, I am come to sit a while with thee, because I met thy Husband going to the city. By this time, Belcolore was descended down the stairs, and having once again given welcome to Sir Simon, she sat down by him, cleansing of Colewort seeds from such other course chaff, which her Husband had prepared before his departure.  
Sir Simon hugging her in his arms, and fetching a vehement sigh, said. My Belcolore, how long shall I pine and languish for thy love? How now Sir Simon? answered she, is this behaviour fitting for an holy man? Holymen Belcolore, (quoth Sir Simon) are made of the same matter as others be, they have the same affections, and therefore subject to their infirmities. Santa Maria, answered, Belcolore, Dare Priests do such things as you talk of? Yes Belcolore (quoth he) and much better than other men can, because they are made for the very best business, in which regard they are restrained from marriage True (quoth Belcolore) but much more from meddling with other men's wives. Touch not that Text Belcolore, replied Sir Simon, it is somewhat above your capacity: talk of that I come for, namely thy love, my duck, and my dove, Sir Simon is thine, I pray thee be mine.  
Belcolore observing his smirking behaviour, his proper person, pretty talk, and quaint insinuating; felt a motion to female frailty, which yet she would withstand so long as she could, and not be overhasty in her yielding. Sir Simon promiseth her a new pair of shoes, garters, ribbons, girdles, or what else she would request. Sir Simon (quoth she) all these things which you talk of, are fit for women: but if your love to me be such as you make choice of, fulfil what I will motion to you, and then (perhaps) I shall tell you more. Sir Simons heat made him hasty to promise whatsoever she would desire; whereupon, thus she replied. On Saturday, said she, I must go to Florence, to carry home such yarn as was sent me to spin, and to amend my spinning wheel: if you will lend me ten Florines, wherewith I know you are always furnished, I shall redeem from the usurer my best petticoat, and my wedding gown (both well near lost for lack of repayment) without which I cannot beseen at Church, or in any other good place else, and then afterward other matters may be accomplished.  
Alas sweet Belcolore answered Sir Simon, I never bear any such sum about me, for men of our profession, do seldom carry any money at all: but believe me on my word, before Saturday come, I will not fail to bring them hither. Oh Sir (quoth Belcolore) you men are quick promisers, but slow performers. Do you think to use me, as poor Billezza was, who trusted to as fair words, and found herself deceived? Now Sir Simon, her example in being made scandal to the world, is a sufficient warning for me: if you be not so provided, go and make use of your friend, for I am not otherwise to be moved. Nay Belcolore (quoth he) I hope you will not serve me so, but my word shall be of better worth with you. Consider the conveniency of time, we being so privately here alone: whereas at my returning hither again, some hindrance may thwart me, and the like opportunity be never obtained. Sir, Sir, (said she) you have heard my resolution; if you will fetch the Florines, do; otherwise, walk about your business, for I am a woman of my word.  
Sir Simon perceiving, that she would not trust him upon bare words, nor any thing was to be done, without Saluum me fac, whereas his meaning was Sine custodia; thus answered. Well Belcolore, seeing you dare not credit my bringing the ten Florines, according to my promised day: I will leave you a good pawn, my very best cloak, lined quite thorough with rich silk, and made up in the choicest manner.  
Belcolore looking on the cloak, said. How much may this cloak be worth? How much? quoth Sir Simon, upon my word Belcolore, it is of a right fine Flanders Serdge, and not above eight days since, I bought it thus (ready made) of Lotto the Fripperer, and paid for it six and twenty Florines, a pledge then sufficient for your te●. Is it possible, said she, that it should cost so much? Well, Sir Simon, deliver it me first, I will lay it up safe for you against Saturday, when of you fetch it not; I will redeem ●ine own things with it, and leave you to release it yourself.  
The cloak is laid up by Belcolore, and Sir Simon so forward in his affection; that (in brief) he enjoyed what he came for; and departed afterward in his light tripping cassock, but yet thorough by La●ies, and no much frequented places, smelling on a Nosegay, as if he had been at some wedding in the country, and went thus lightly without his cloak, for his better ease. As commonly after actions of evil, Repentance knocketh at the door of Conscience, and urgeth a guilty remembrance, with some sense of sorrow: so was it now with sweet Sir Simon, who surveying over all his veils of offering Candles, the validity of his yearly benefits, and all coming nothing near the sum of (scarce half) six and twenty Florines; he began to repent his deed of darkness, although it was acted in the daytime, and considered with himself, by what honest (yet unsuspected means) he might recover his cloak again, before it went to the broker, in redemption of Belcolores pawned apparel, and yet to send her no Florines neither.  
Having a cunning reaching wit, especially in matters for his own advantage, and pretending to have a dinner at his lodging, for a few of some invited friends: he made use of a neighbour's Boy, sending him to the house of Belcolore, with request of lending him her Stone mortar, to make greensauce in for his guests, because he had meat required such sauce. Belcolore suspecting no treachery, sent him the Stone mortar with the pestle, and about dinner time, when he knew Bentivegna to be at home with his wife, by a spy which was set for the purpose; he called the clerk (usually attending on him) and said. Take this mortar and pestle, bear them home to Belcolore, and tell her: Sir Simon sends them home with thankes, they having sufficiently served his turn, and desire her likewise, to send me my cloak, which the Boy left as a pledge for better remembrance, and because she would not lend it without a pawn.  
The clerk coming to the house of Belcolore, found her sitting at dinner with her Husband, and delivering her the pestle and mortar, performed the rest of Sir Simons message. Belcolore hearing the cloak demanded, stepped up to make answer: But Bentivegna, seeming (by his looks) to be much offended, roughly replied. Why how now wife? Is not Sir Simon our especial friend, and cannot he be pleasured without a pawn? I protest upon my word, I could find in my heart to smite thee for it. Rise quickly thou wert best, and send him back his cloak; with this warning hereafter, that whatsoever he will have, be it your poor ass, or any thing else being ours, let him have it: and tell him (Master clerk) he may command it. Belcolore rose grumbling from the Table, and fetching the cloak forth of the Chest, which stood near at hand in the same room; she delivered it to the clerk, saying. Tell Sir Simon from me, and boldly say you heard me speak it: that I make a vow to myself, he shall never make use of my mortar hereafter, to beat any more of his sauciness in, let my Husband say whatsoever he will, I speak the word, and will perform it.  
Away went the clerk home with the cloak, and told Sir Simon what she had said, whereto he replied. If I must make use of her mortar no more; I will not trust her with the keeping of my cloak, for fear it go to gauge indeed.  
Bentivegna was a little displeased at his wife's words, because he thought she spoke but in jest; albeit Belcolore was so angry with Sir Simon, that she would not speak to him till vintage time following. But then Sir Simon, what by sharp threatenings, of her soul to be in danger of hell fire, continuing so long in hatred of a holy Priest, which words did not a little terrify her; besides daily presents to her, of sweet new Wines, roasted Chesse-nuts, figs and Almonds: all unkindness became converted to former familiarity; the garments were redeemed: he gave her Sonnets which she would sweetly sing to her Cimbale, and further friendship increased between her and sweet Sir Simon.   

Calandrino, Bruno, and Buffalmaco, all of them being Painters by profession, traveled to the plain of Mugnone, to find the precious Stone called Helitropium. Calandrino persuaded himself to have found it; returned home to his house heavily loaden with stones. His Wife rebuking him for his absence, he groweth into anger, and shrewdly beateth her. Afterward, when the case is debated among his other friends Bruno and Buffalmaco, all is found to be mere foolery.  
The Third novel.  
justly reprehending, the simplicity of such men, as are too much addicted to credulity, and will give credit to every thing they hear.  
PAmphilus having ended his novel, whereat the Ladies laughed exceedingly, so that very hardly they could give over: The Queen gave charge to madam Eliza, that she should next succeed in order; when, being scarcely able to refrain from smiling, thus she began.  
I know not (Gracious Ladies) whether I can move you to at hearty laughter, with a brief novel of mine own, as Pamphilus lately did with his: yet I dare assure you, that it is both true and pleasant, and I will relate it in the best manner I can.  
In our own city, which evermore hath contained all sorts of people, not long since there dwelled, a Painter, named Calandrino, a simple man; yet as much addicted to matters of novelty, as any man whatsoever could be. The most part of his time, he spent in the company of two other Painters, the one called Bruno, and the other Buffalmaco, men of very recreative spirits, and of indifferent good capacity, often resorting to the said Calandrino, because they took delight in his honest simplicity, and pleasant order of behaviour. At the same time likewise, there dwelled in Florence, a young Gentleman of singular disposition, to every generous and witty conceit, as the world did not yield a more pleasant companion, he being named Maso del Saggio, who having heard somewhat of Calandrinos' silliness: determined to jest with him in merry manner, and to suggest his longing humours after novelties, with some conceit of extraordinary nature.  
He happening (on a day) to meet him in the Church of Saint John, and seeing him seriously busied, in beholding the rare pictures, and the curious carved Tabernacle, which (not long before) was placed on the high Altar in the said Church: considered with himself, that he had now fit place and opportunity, to effect what he had long time desired. And having imparted his mind to a very intimate friend, how he intended to deal with simple Calandrino: they went both very near him, where he sat all alone, and making show as if they saw him not; began to consult between themselves, concerning the rare properties of precious stones; whereof Maso discoursed as exactly, as he had been a most skilful lapidary; to which conference of theirs, Calandrino lent an attentive ear, in regard it was matter of singular rarity.  
Soon after, Calandrino started up, and perceiving by their loud speaking, that they talked of nothing which required secret counsel: he went into their company (the only thing which Maso desired) and holding on still the former Argument; Calandrino would needs request to know, in what place these precious stones were to be found, which had such excellent virtues in them? Maso made answer, that the most of them were to be had in Berlinzona, near to the City of Bascha, which was in the Territory of a country, called Bengodi, where the Vines were bound about with S●●●cidges, a Goose was sold for a penny, and the Goslings freely given in to boot. There was also an high mountain, wholly made of Parmezane, grated Cheese, whereon dwelled people, who did nothing else but make Mocharones' and raviuolies, boiling them with broth of Capons, and afterward hurled them all about, to whosoever can or will catch them. near to this mountain runneth a fair river, the whole stream being pure white Bastard, none such was ever sold for any money, and without one drop of water in it.  
Now trust me Sir, (said Calandrino) that is an excellent country to dwell in: but I pray you tell me Sir, what do they with the Capons after they have boiled them? The Baschanes (quoth Maso) eat them all. Have you Sir, said Calandrino, at any time been in that country? How? answered Maso, do you demand if I have been there? Yes man, above a thousand times, at the least. How fare Sir, I pray you (quoth Calandrino) is that worthy country, from this our City? In troth, replied Maso, the miles are hardly to be numbered, for the most part of them, we travel when we are nightly in our beds, and if a man dream right; he may be there upon a sudden.  
Surely Sir, said Calandrino, it is further hence, then to Abruzzi? Yes questionless, replied Maso; but, to a willing mind, no travel seemeth tedious.  
Calandrino well noting, that Maso delivered all these speeches, with a steadfast countenance, no sign of smiling, or any gesture to urge the least mislike: he gave such credit to them, as to any matter of apparent and manifest truth, and upon this assured confidence, he said.  
Believe me Sir, the journey is over-farre for me to undertake, but if it were nearer; I could afford to go in your Company; only to see how they make these Macherones, and to fill my belly with them.  
But now we are in talk Sir, I pray you pardon me to ask, whether any such precious stones, as you spoke off, are to be found in that country, or no? Yes indeed, replied Maso, there are two kinds of them to be found in those Territories, both being of very great virtue. One kind, are gritty stones, of Settignano, and of Montisca, by virtue of which places, when any millstones or Grind-stones are to be made, they kneaded the sand as they use to do meal, and so make them of what bigness they please. In which respect, they have a common saying there: that Nature maketh common stones, but Montisca millstones. Such plenty are there of these millstones, so slenderly here esteemed among us, as Emeralds are with them, whereof they have whole mountains, fare greater than our Montemorello, which shine most gloriously at midnight. And how meanly soever we account of their millstones; yet there they drill them, and enchase them in Rings, which afterward they send to the great sultan, and have whatsoever they will demand for them.  
The other kind is a most precious Stone indeed, which our best Lapidaries call the Helitropium, the virtue whereof is so admirable; as whosoever beareth it about him, so long as he keepeth it, it is impossible for any eye to discern him, because he walketh merely invisible. O Lord Sir (quoth Calandrino) those stones are of rare virtue indeed: but where else may a man find that Helitropium? Whereto Maso thus answered: That country only doth not contain the Helitropium; for they be many times found upon our plain of Mugnone. Of what bigness Sir (quoth Calandrino) is the Stone, and what colour? The Helitropium, answered Maso, is not always of one quality, because some are big, and others less; but all are of one colour, namely black.  
Calandrino committing all these things to respective memory, and pretending to be called thence by some other especial affairs; departed from Maso, concluding resolvedly with himself, to find this precious stone, if possibly he could: yet intending to do nothing, until he had acquainted Bruno and Buffalmaco therewith, whom he loved dearly: he went in all haste to seek them; because, (without any longer trifling the time) they three might be the first men, that should find out this precious stone, spending almost the whole morning, before they were all three met together. For they were painting at the Monastery of the Sisters of Faenza, where they had very serious employment, and followed their business diligently: where having found them, and saluting them in such kind manner, as continually he used to do, thus he began.  
Loving friends, if you were pleased to follow mine advice, we three will quickly be the richest men in Florence; because, by information from a Gentleman (well deserving to be credited) on the plain of Mugnone: there is a precious stone to be found, which whosoever carrieth it about him, walketh invisible, and is not to be seen by any one. Let us three be the first men to go and find it, before any other hear thereof, and go about it, and assure ourselves that we shall find it, for I know it (by description) so soon as I see it. And when we have it, who can hinder us from bearing it about us. Then will we go to the Tables of our Bankers, or money Changers, which we see daily charged with plenty of gold and silver, where we may take so much as we list, for they (nor any) are able to descry us. So, (in short time) shall we all be wealthy, never needing to drudge any more, or paint muddy walls, as hitherto we have done; and, as many of our poor profession are forced to do.  
Bruno and Buffalmaco hearing this, began to smile, and looking merrily each on other, they seemed to wonder thereat, and greatly commended the counsel of Calandrino. Buffalmaco demanding how the stone was named. Now it fortuned, that Calandrino (who had but a gross and blockish memory) had quite forgot the name of the stone, and therefore said. What need have we of the name, when we know, and are assured of the stones virtue? Let us make no more ado, but (setting aside all other business) go seek where it is to be found. Well my friend (answered Bruno) you say we may find it, but how, and by what means?  
There are two sorts of them (quoth Calandrino) some big, others smaller, but all carry a black colour: therefore (in mine opinion) let us gather all such stones as are black, so shall we be sure to find it among them, without any further loss of time.  
Buffalmaco and Bruno, liked and allowed the counsel of Calandrino, which when they had (by several commendations) given him assurance of, Bruno said. I do not think it a convenient time now, for us to go about so weighty a business: for the Sun is yet in the highest degree, and striketh such a heat on the plain of Mugnone, as all the stones are extremely dried, and the very blackest will now seem whitest. But in the morning, after the dew is fall'n, and before the sun shineth forth, every stone retaineth his true colour. Moreover, there be many Labourers now working on the plain, about such business as they are severally assigned, who seeing us in so serious a search: may imagine what we seek for, & partake with us in the same inquisition, by which means they may chance to speed before us, and so we may lose both our trot and amble. Wherefore, by my consent, if your opinion jump with mine, this is an enterprise only to be performed in an early morning, when the black stones are to be distinguished from the white, and a festival day were the best of all other, for then there will be none to discover us.  
Buffalmaco applauded the advice of Bruno, and Calandrino did no less, concluding all together; that Sunday morning (next ensuing) should be the time, and then they all three would go seek the Stone. But Calandrino was very earnest with them, that they should not reveal it to any living body, because it was told him as an especial secret: disclosing further to them, what he had heard concerning the country of Bengodi, maintaining (with solemn oaths and protestations) that every part thereof was true. Upon this agreement, they parted from Calandrino, who hardly enjoyed any rest at all, either by night or day, so greedy he was to be possessed of the stone. On the Sunday morning, he called up his Companions before break of day, and going forth at S. Galls Port, they stayed not, till they came to the plain of Mugnone, where they searched all about to find this strange stone.  
Calandrino went stealing before the other two, and verily persuaded himself, that he was borne to find the Helitropium, and looking on every side about him, he rejected all other Stones but the black, whereof first he filled his bosom, and afterwards, both his Pockets. Then he took off his large painting Apron, which he fastened with his girdle in the manner of a sack, and that he filled full of stones likewise. Yet not so satisfied, he spread abroad his cloak, which being also full of stones, he bond it up carefully, for fear of losing the very lest of them. All which Buffalmaca and Bruno well observing (the day growing on, and hardly they could reach home by dinner time) according as merrily they had concluded, and pretending not to see Calandrino, albeit he was not fare from them: What is become of Calandrino? Said Buffalmaco. Bruno gazing strangely every where about him, as if he were desirous to find him, replied. I saw him not long since, for than he was hard by before us; questionless, he hath given us the slip, is privily gone home to dinner, and making stark fools of us, hath left us to pick up blackè stones, upon the parching plains of Mugnone. Well (quoth Buffalmaco) this is but the trick of an hollow-hearted friend, and not such as he protested himself to be, to us. can any but we have been so sottish, to credit his frivolous persuasions, hoping to find any stones of such virtue, and here on the fruitless plains of Mugnone? No, no, none but we would have believed him.  
Calandrino (who was close by them) hearing these words, and seeing the whole manner of their wondering behaviour: became constantly persuaded, that he had not only found the precious stone; but also had some store of them about him, by reason he was so near to them, and yet they could not see him, therefore he walked before them. Now was his joy beyond all compass of expression, and being exceedingly proud of so happy an adventure: did not mean to speak one word to them, but (heavily laden as he was) to steal home fair and softly before them, which indeed he did, leaving them to follow after, if they would. Bruno perceiving his intent, said to Buffalmaco: What remaineth now for us to do? Why should not we go home, as well as he? And reason too, replied Bruno, It is in vain to tarry any longer here: but I solemnly protest, Calandrino shall no more make an ass of me: and were I now as near him, as not long since I was, I would give him such a remembrance on the heel with this Flint stone, as should stick by him this month, to teach him a lesson for abusing his friends.  
He threw the stone, and hit him shrewdly on the heel therewith; but all was one to Calandrino, whatsoever they said, or did, as thus they still followed after him. And although the blow of the stone was painful to him; yet he mended his pace so well as he was able, in regard of being overladen with stones, and gave them not one word all the way, because he took himself to be invisible, and utterly unseen of them. Buffalmaco taking up another flintstone, which was indifferent heavy and sharp, said to Bruno. Seest thou this Flint? Casting it from him, he smote Calandrino just in the back therewith, saying. Oh that Calandrino had been so near, as I might have hit him on the back with the stone. And thus all the way on the plain of Mugnone, they did nothing else but pelt him with stones, even so fare as the Port of S. Gall, where they threw down what other stones they had gathered, meaning not to molest him any more, because they had done enough already.  
There they stepped before him unto the Port, and acquainted the Warders with the whole matter, who laughing hearty at the jest, the better to uphold it; would seem not to see Calandrino in his passage by them, but suffered him to go on, sore wearied with his burden, and sweeting extremely. Without resting himself in any place, he came home to his house, which was near to the corner of the Milles, Fortune being so favourable to him in the course of this mockery, that as he passed along the river's side, and afterward through part of the City; he was neither met nor seen by any, in regard they were all in their houses at dinner.  
Calandrino, every minute ready to sink under his weighty burden, entered into his own house, where (by great ill luck) his wife, being a comely and very honest woman, and named Monna Trista, was standing aloft on the stairs head. She being somewhat angry for his so long absence, and seeing him come in grunting and groaning, frowningly said. I thought that the devil would never let thee come home, all the whole city have dined, and yet we must remain without our dinner, When Calandrino heard this, & perceived that he was not invisible to his Wife: full of rage and wrath, he began to rail, saying. Ah thou wicked Woman, where art thou? Thou hast utterly undone me: but (as I live) I will pay thee sound for it. up the stairs he ascended into a small Parlour, where when he had spread all his burden of stones on the floor: he ran to his wife, catching her by the h●●re of the head, and throwing her at his feet; giving her so many spurns and cruel blows, as she was not able to move either arms or legs, notwithstanding all her tears, and humble submission.  
Now Buffalmaco and Bruno, after they had spent an indifferent while, with the Warders at the Port in laughter, in a fair & gentle pace, they followed Calandrino home to his house, and being come to the door, they heard the harsh bickering between him and his Wife, and seeming as if they were but newly arrived, they called out aloud to him. Calandrino being in a sweat, st●●ping and raving still at his Wife: looking forth of the window, entreated them to ascend up to him, which they did, counterfeiting grievous displeasure against him. Being come into the room, which they saw all covered over with stones, his Wife sitting in a corner, all the hair (well-near) torn off her head, her face broken and blee●ing, and all her body cruelly beaten; on the other side, Calandrino standing unbraced and ungirded, struggling and wallowing, like a 〈◊〉 quite our of breath: after a little pausing, Bruno th●● spoke.  
Why how now Calandrino? What may the m●●●ing of this matter be? What, art thou preparing for building, that thou hast provided such plenty of stones? How sitteth thy poor wife? How hast thou misused her? Are these the behaviours of a wise or honest man? Calandrino, utterly over-spent with travail, and carrying such an huge burden of stones, as also the toilsome beating of his Wife, (but much more impatient and offended, for that high good Fortune, which he imagined to have lost:) could not collect his spirits together, to answer them one ready word, wherefore he sat fretting like a mad man. Whereupon, Buffalmaco thus began to him. Calandrino, if thou be angry with any other, yet thou shouldest not have made such a mockery of us, as thou hast done: in leaving us (like a couple of coxcombs) to the plain of Mugnone, whether thou leddest us with thee, to seek a precious stone called Helitropium. And couldst thou steal home, never bidding us so much as farewell? How can we but take it in very evil part, that thou shouldest so abuse two honest neighbours? Well, assure thyself, this is the last time that ever thou shalt serve us so.  
Calandrino (by this time) being somewhat better come to himself, with an humble protestation of courtesy, returned them this answer. Alas my good frionds, be not you offended, the case is fare otherwise than you imagine. Poor unfortunate man that I am, I found the rare precious stone that you speak of: and mark me well, if I do not tell you the truth of all. When you asked one another (the first time) what was become of me; I was hard by you: at the most, within the distance of two yard's length; and perceiving that you saw me not, (being still so near, and always before you:) I w●●t on, smiling to myself, to hear you brabble and rage against me.  
So, proceeding on in his discourse, he recounted every accident as it happened, both what they had said and did unto him, concerning the several blows, with the two Flint-stones, the one hurting him grievously in the heel, and the other paining him as extremely in the back, with their speeches used then, and his laughter, notwithstanding he felt the harm of them both, yet being proud that he did so invisibly beguile them. Nay more (quoth he) I cannot forbear to tell you, that when I passed thorough the Port, I saw you standing with the Warders; yet, by virtue of that excellent Stone, undiscovered of you all. Beside, going along the streets, I met many of my Gossips, friends, and familiar acquaintance, such as used day lie to converse with me, and drinking together in every tavern: yet not one of them spoke to me, neither used any courtesy or salutation; which (indeed) I did the more freely forgive them, because they were not able to see me.  
In the end of all, when I was come home into mine own house, this devilish and accursed Woman, being aloft upon my stairs head, by much misfortune chanced to see me; in regard (as it is not unknown to you) that women cause all things to lose their virtue. In which respect, I that could have styled myself the only happy man in Florence, am now made most miserable. And therefore did I justly beat her, so long as she was able to stand against me, and I know no reason to the contrary, why I should not yet tear her in a thousand pieces▪ for I may well curse the day of our marriage, to hinder and bereave me of such an invisible blessedness.  
Buffalmaco and Bruno hearing this, made show of very much marveling thereat, and many times maintained what Calandrino had said; being well near ready to burst with laughter; considering, how confidently he stood upon it, that he had found the wonderful stone, and lost it by his wives speaking only to him. But when they saw him rise in fury once more, with intent to beat her again: then they stepped between them; affirming, That the woman had no way offended in this case, but rather he himself: who knowing that women cause all things to lose their virtue, had not therefore expressly commanded her, not to be seen in his presence all that day, until he had made full proof of the stones virtue. And questionless, the consideration of a matter so available and important, was quite taken from him, because such an especial happiness, should not belong to him only; but (in part) to his friends, whom he had acquainted therewith, drew them to the plain with him in company, where they took as much pains in search of the stone, as possibly he did, or could; and yet (dishonestly) he would deceive them, and bear it away covetously, for his own private benefit.  
After many other, as wise and wholesome persuasions, which he constantly credited, because they spoke them, they reconciled him to his wife, and she to him: but not without some difficulty in him; who falling into wonderful grief and melancholy, for loss of such an admirable precious stone, was in danger to have died, within less than a month after.   

The provost belonging to the cathedral Church of Fiesola, fell in love with a Gentlewoman, being a widow, and named Piccarda, who hated him as much as he loved her. He imagining, that he lay with her: by the gentlewoman's brothers, and the Bishop under whom he served, was taken in bed with her maid, an ugly, soul, deformed Slut.  
The Fourth novel.  
Wherein is declared, how love oftentimes is so powerful in aged men, and driveth them to such doting, that it redoundeth to their great disgrace and punishment.  
Lady Eliza having concluded her novel, notwithout infinite commendations of the whole company: the Queen turning her looks to madam Aemillia, gave her such an express sign, as she must needs follow next after madam Eliza, whereupon she began in this manner.  
Virtuous Ladies, I very well remember (by diverse novels formerly related) that sufficient hath been said, concerning Priests and Religious persons, and all other carrying shaved crowns▪ in their luxurious appetites and desires. But because no one can at any time say so much, as thereto no more may be added: beside them already spoken of, I will tell you another concerning the provost of a Cathedral Church, who would needs (in despite of all the world) love a Gentlewoman whether she would or no: and therefore, in due chastisement both unto his age and folly, she gave him such entertainment as he justly deserved.  
It is not unknown unto you all, that the city of Fieosola, the mountain whereof we may very easily hither discern, hath been (in times past) a very great and most ancient City: although at this day it is well-near all ruined: yet nevertheless, it always was, and yet is a Bishops See, albeit not of the wealthiest. In the same city, and no long while since, near unto the cathedral Church, there dwelled a Gentlewoman, being a widow, and commonly there styled by the name of madam Piccarda, whose house and inheritance was but small, wherewith yet she lived very contentedly (having no wandering eye, or wanton desires) and no company but her two Brethren, Gentlemen of especial honest and gracious disposition.  
This Gentlewoman, being yet in the flourishing condition of her time, did ordinarily resort to the cathedral Church, in holy zeal, and religious devotion; where the provost of the place, became so enamoured of her, as nothing (but the sight of her) yielded him any contentment. Which fond affection of his, was forwarded with such an audacious and bold carriage, as he dared to acquaint her with his love, requiring her interchange of affection, and the like opinion of him, as he had of her. True it is, that he was very fare entered into years, but young and lusty in his own proud conceit, presuming strangely beyond his capacity, and thinking as well of his ability, as the youthfullest gallant in the World could do. Whereas (in very deed) his person was utterly displeasing, his behaviour immodest and scandalous, and his usual Language, savouring of such sensuality, as, very few or none cared for his company. And if any Woman seemed respective of him, it was in regard of his outside and profession, and more for fear, than the least affection, and always as welcome to them, as the headache.  
His fond and foolish carriage still continuing to this Gentlewoman; she being wise and virtuously advised, spoke thus unto him. Holy Sir, if you love me according as you protest, & manifest by your outward behaviour: I am the more to thank you for it, being bound in duty to love you likewise. But if your love have any harsh or unsavoury taste, which mine is no way able to endure, neither dare entertain in any kind what soever: you must and shall hold me excused, because I am made of no such temper. You are my ghostly and spiritual Father, an Holy Priest. Moreover, years have made you honourably aged; all which several weighty considerations, aught to confirm you in continency & chastity. Remember withal (good sir) that I am but a child to you in years, & were I bend to any wanton appetites, you should justly correct me by fatherly counsel, such as most beautifieth your sacred profession. Beside, I am a widow, and you are not ignorant, how requisite a thing honesty is in widows. Wherefore, pardon me (Holy Father:) for, in such manner as you make the motion: I desire you not to love me, because I neither can or will at any time so affect you.  
The provost gaining no other grace at this time, would not so give over for this first repulse, but pursuing her still with unbeseeming importunity; many private means he used to her by Letters, tokens, and insinuating ambassages; yea, whensoever she came to the Church, he never ceased his wearisome solicit. Whereat she growing greatly offended, and perceiving no likelihood of his desisting; became so tired with his tedious suit, that she considered with herself, how she might dispatch him as he deserved, because she saw no other remedy. Yet she would not attempt any thing in this case, without acquainting her brothers first therewith. And having told them, how much she was importuned by the provost, and also what course she meant to take (wherein they both counselled and encouraged her:) within a few days after, she went to Church as she was wont to do; where so soon as the provost espied her: forthwith he came to her, and according to his continued course, he fell into his amorous courting. She looking upon him with a smiling countenance, and walking aside with him out of any hearing: after he had spent many impertinent speeches, she (venting forth many a vehement sigh) at length returned him this answer.  
Reverend Father, I have often heard it said: That there is not any Fort or Castle, how strongly munited soever it be; but by continual assailing, at length (of necessity) it must and will be surprised. Which comparison, I may full well allude to myself. For, you having so long time solicited me, one while with affable language, than again with tokens and enticements, of such prevailing power: as have broken the very barricado of my former deliberation, and yielded me up as your prisoner, to be commanded at your pleasure, for now I am only devoted yours.  
Well may you (Gentle Ladies) imagine, that this answer was not a little welcome to the provost; who, shrugging with conceit of joy, presently thus replied. I thank you madam Piccarda, and to tell you true, I held it almost as a miracle, that you could stand upon such long resistance, considering, it never so fortuned to me with any other. And I have many times said to myself, that if women were made of silver, they hardly could be worth a penny, because there can scarcely one be found of so good allay, as to endure the test and essay. But let us break off this frivolous conference, and resolve upon a conclusion; How, when and where we may safely meet together. Worthy Sir, answered Piccard●, yourself may appoint the time whensoever you please, because I have no Husband, to whom I should render any account of my absence, or presence: but I am not provided of any place.  
A pretty while the provost stood musing, and at last said. A place Madame? where can be more privacy, then in your own house? Alas Sir (quoth she) you know that I have two Gentlemen my brethren, who continually are with me, & other of their friends beside: My house also is not great, wherefore it is impossible to be there, except you could be like a dumb man, without speaking one word, or making the very lest noise; beside, to remain in darkness, as if you were blind, and who can be able to endure all these? And yet (without these) there is no adventuring, albeit they never come into my Chamber: but their lodging is so close to mine, as there cannot any word be spoken, be it never so low or in whispering manner, but they hear it very easily. Madam said the provost, for one or two nights, I can make hard shift. Why Sir (quoth she) the matter only remaineth in you, for if you be silent and suffering, as already you have heard, there is no fear at all of safety. Let me alone madam, replied the provost, I will be governed by your directions: but, in any case, let us begin this night. With all my heart, said she. So appointing him how, and when he should come; he parted from her, and she returned home to her house.  
Hear I am to tell you, that this Gentlewoman had a servant, in the nature of an old maid, not endued with any well featured face, but instead thereof, she had the ugliest and most counterfeit countenance, as hardly could be seen a worse. She had a wry mouth, huge great lips, foul teeth, great and black, a monstrous stinking breath, her eyes bleared, and always running, the complexion of her face between green and yellow, as if she had not spent the Summer season in the city, but in the parching country under a hedge; and beside all these excellent parts, she was crook backed, poult footed, and went like a lame Mare in Fetters. Her name was Ciuta, but in regard of her flat nose, lying as low as a Beagles, she was called Ciutazza. Now, notwithstanding all this deformity in her, yet she had a singular opinion of herself, as commonly all such foul sluts have: in regard whereof, madam Piccarda calling her aside, Thus began.  
Ciutazza, if thou wilt do for me one nights service, I shall bestow on thee a fair new smock. When Ciutazza heard her speak of a new smock, instantly she answered. Madame, if you please to bestow a new smock on me, were it to run thorough the fire for you, or any business of fare greater danger, you only have the power to command me, and I will do it. I will not (said Piccarda) urge thee to any dangerous action, but only to lodge in my bed this night with a man, and give him courteous entertainment, who shall reward thee liberally for it. But have an especial care that thou speak not one word, for fear thou shouldst be heard by my Brethren, who (as thou knowest) lodge so near by; do this, and then demand thy smock of me. Madam (quoth Ciutazza) if it were to lie with six men, rather than one; if you say the word, it shall be done.  
When night was come, the provost also came according to appointment, even when the two brethren were in their lodging, where they easily heard his entrance, as Piccarda (being present with them) had informed them. In went the provost without any candle, or making the least noise to be heard, & being in Piccardaes Chamber, went to bed: Ciutazza tarrying not long from him, but (as her mistress had instructed her) she went to bed likewise, not speaking any word at all, and the provost, imagining to have her there, whom he so highly affected, fell to embracing and kissing Ciutazza, who was as forward in the same manner to him, and there for a while I intent to leave them.  
When Piccarda had performed this hot piece of business, she referred the effecting of the remainder to her Brethren, in such sort as it was compacted between them. Fair and softly went the two brethren forth of their Chamber, and going to the Market place, Fortune was more favourable to them then they could wish, in accomplishing the issue of their intent. For the heat being somewhat tedious, the Lord Bishop was walking abroad very late, with purpose to visit the Brethren at the widow's house, because he took great delight in their company, as being good scholars, and endued with other singular parts beside. Meeting with them in the open Market place, he acquainted them with his determination; whereof they were not a little joyful, it iumping so justly with their intent.  
Being come to the widow's house, they passed through a small neither Court, where lights stood ready to welcome him thither; and entering into a goodly Hall, there was store of good wine and banqueting, which the Bishop accepted in very thankful manner: and courteous compliment being overpassed, one of the Brethren, thus spoke. My good Lord, seeing it hath pleased you to honour our poor widowed sister's house with your presence, for which we shall thank you while we live: We would entreat one favour more of you, only but to see a sight which we will show you. The Lord Bishop was well contented with the motion: so the Brethren conducting him by the hand, brought him into their sister's Chamber, where the the provost was in bed with Ciutazza, both sound sleeping, but enfolded in his arms, as wearied (belike) with their former wantoning, and whereof his age had but little need.  
The curtains being close drawn about the bed, although the season was exceeding hot, they having lighted Torches in their hands; drew open the curtains, and shown the Bishop his provost, close snugging between the arms of Ciutazza. Upon a sudden the provost awaked, and seeing so great a light, as also so many people about him: shame and fear so daunted him, that he shrunk down into the bed, and hid his head. But the Bishop being displeased at a sight so unseemly, made him to discover his head again, to see whom he was in bed withal. Now the poor provost perceiving the gentlewoman's deceit, and the proper handsome person so sweetly embracing him: it made him so confounded with shame, as he had not the power to utter one word: but having put on his clothes by the Bishop's command, he sent him (under sufficient guard) to his palace, to suffer due chastisement for his sin committed; and afterward he desired to know, by what means he became so favoured of Ciutazza, the whole history whereof, the two brethren related at large to him.  
When the Bishop had heard all the discourse, highly he commended the wisdom of the Gentlewoman, and worthy assistance of her brethren, who contemning to soil their hands in the blood of a Priest, rather sought to shame him as he deserved. The Bishop enjoined him a penance of repentance for forty days after, but love and disdain made him weep nine and forty. Moreover, it was a long while after, before he durst be seen abroad. But when he came to walk the streets, the boys would point their fingers at him, saying. Behold the provost that lay with C●utazza: Which was such a wearisome life to him, that he became (well near) distracted in his wits. In this manner the honest Gentlewoman discharged her duty, and rid herself of the provosts importunity: Ciutazza had a merry night of it, and a new smock also for her labour.   

Three pleasant Companions, played a merry prank with a judge (belonging to the marquisate of Ancona) at Florence, at such time as he sat on the Bench, and hearing criminal causes.  
The Fift novel.  
Giving admonition, that for the managing of public affairs, no other persons are or aught to be appointed, but such as be honest, and meet to sit on the seat of Authority.  
NO sooner had Madam Aemillia finished her novel, wherein, the excellent wisdom of Piccarda, for so worthily punishing the luxurious old provost, had general commendations of the whole Assembly: but the Queen, looking on Philostratus, said. I command you next to supply the place: whereto he made answer, that he was both ready and willing, and then thus began. Honourable Ladies, the merry Gentleman, so lately remembered by madam Eliza, being named Maso del Saggio; causeth me to passover an intended Tale, which I had resolved on when it came to my turn: to report another concerning him, and two men more, his friendly Companions. Which although it may appear to you somewhat unpleasing, in regard of a little gross and unmannerly behaviour: yet it will move merriment without any offence, and that is the main reason why I relate it.  
It is not unknown to you, partly by intelligence from our reverend predecessors, as also some understanding of your own, that many time have resorted to our City of Florence, Potestates and Officers, belonging to the marquisate of Anconia; who commonly were men of low spirit, and their lives so wretched and penurious, as they rather deserved to be termed Misers, than men. And in regard of this their natural covetousness and misery, the judges would bring also in their company, such Scribes or Notaries, as being paralleled with their Masters: they all seemed like swains come from the Plough, or bred up in some cobbler's quality, rather than scholars, or Students of Law.  
At one time (above all the rest) among other Potestates and judges, there came an especial man, as picked out of purpose, who was named Messer Niccolao da San Lepidio, who (at the first beholding) looked rather like a Tinker, than any Officer in authority. This handsome man (among the rest) was deputed to hear criminal causes. And, as often it happeneth, that Citizens, although no business inviteth them to judicial Courts, yet they still resort thither, sometimes accidentally: So it fortuned, that Maso del Saggio, being one morning in search of an especial friend, went to the Court-house, and being there, observed in what manner Messer Niccolao was seated; who looking like some strange fowl, lately come forth of a fare country; he began to survey him the more seriously, even from the head to the foot, as we use to say.  
And albeit he saw his gown furred with Miniver, as also the hood about his neck, a pen and inkhorn hanging at his girdle, and one skirt of his Garment longer than the other, with more misshapen sights about him, fare unfitting for a man of so civil profession: yet he spied one error extraordinary, the most notable (in his opinion) that ever he had seen before. Namely, a paltry pair of Breeches, wickedly made, and worse worn, hanging down so low as half his leg, even as he sat upon the Bench, yet cut so sparingly of the cloth, that they gaped wide open before, as a wheelbarrow might have full entrance allowed it. This strange sight was so pleasing to him; as leaving off further search of his friend, and scorning to have such a spectacle alone by himself: he went upon another Inquisition; Namely, for two other merry Lads like himself, the one being called Ribi, and the other Matteuzza, men of the same mirthful disposition as he was, and therefore the fit for his Company.  
After he had met with them, these were his salutations: My honest boys, if ever you did me any kindness, declare it more effectually now, in accompanying me to the Court-house, where you shall behold such a singular spectacle, as (I am sure) you never yet saw the like. Forthwith they went along altogether, and being come to the Court house, he shown them the judges handsome pair of Breeches, hanging down in such base and beastly manner; that (being as yet fare off from the Bench) their hearts did ache with extremity of laughter. But when they came near to the seat whereon Messer Niccolao sat, they plainly perceived, that it was very eas●e to be crept under, and withal, that the board whereon he set his feet, was rotten and broken, so that it was no difficult matter, to reach it, and pull it down as a man pleased, and let him fall bare breeched to the ground. Cheer up your spirits (my hearts) quoth Maso, and if your longing be like to mine; we will have yonder Breeches a good deal lower, for I see how it may be easily done.  
Laying their heads together, plotting and contriving several ways, which might be the likeliest to compass their intent: each of them had his peculiar appointment, to undertake the business without failing, and it was to be performed the next morning. At the hour assigned, they met there again, and finding the Court well filled with people, the plaintiffs and Defendants earnestly pleading: Matteuzzo (before any body could descry him, was cunningly crept under the Bench, and lay close by the board whereon the judge placed his feet. Then stepped in Maso on the right hand of Messer Niccolao, and took fast hold on his gown before; the like did Ribi on the left hand, in all respects answerable to the other. Oh my Lord judge (cried Maso out aloud) I humbly entreat you for charity's sake, before th●● pilfering knave escape away from hence; that I may have justice against him, for stealing my drawing-over stockeing, which he stoutly denyeth, yet mine own eyes beheld the deed, it being now not above fifteen days since, when first I bought them for mine own use.  
Worthy Lord judge (cried Ribi, on the other side) do not believe what he saith, for he is a paltry lying fellow, and because he knew I came hither to make my complaint for a Male or cloak-bag which he stole from me: he urgeth this occasion for a pair of drawing stockeing, which he delivered me with his own hands. If your Lordship will not credit me, I can produce as witnesses, Trecco the Shoemaker, with Monna Grassa the Souse-seller, and he that sweeps the Church of Santa Maria á Verzaia, who saw him when he came posting hither. Maso haling and tugging the judge by the sleeve, would not suffer him to hear Ribi, but cried out still for justice against him, as he did the like on the contrary side.  
During the time of this their clamourous contending, the judge being very willy willing to hear either party: Matteuzzo, upon a sign received from the other, which was a word in Masoes pleading, laid hold on the broken board, as also on the judges low-hanging Breech, plucking at them both so strongly, that they fell down immediately, the Breeches being only tied but with one point before. He hearing the boards breaking underneath him, and such main pulling at his Breeches; striven (as he sat) to make them fast before, but the point being broken, and Maso crying in his ear on the one side, as Ribi did the like in the other; he was at his wits end to defend himself. My Lord (quoth Maso) you may be ashamed that you do me not justice, why will you not hear me, but wholly lend your ear to mine adversary? My Lord (said Ribi) never was libel preferred into this Court, of such a paltry trifling matter, and therefore I must, and will have justice.  
By this time the judge was dismounted from the Bench, and stood on the ground, with his slovenly Breeches hanging about his heels: Matteuzzo being cunningly stolen away, and undiscovered by any body. Ribi, thinking he had shamed the judge sufficiently, went away, protesting, that he would declare his cause in the hearing of a wiser judge. And Maso forbearing to tug his gown any longer, in his departing, said. Far you well Sir, you are not worthy to be a Magistrate, if you have no more regard of your honour and honesty, but will put off poor men's suits at your pleasure. So both went several ways, and soon were gone out of public view.  
The worshipful judge Messer Niccolao stood all this while on the ground; and, in presence of all the beholders, trussed up his Breeches, as if he were new risen out of his bed: when better bethinking himself on the matters indifference, he called for the two men, who contended for the drawing stockings and the cloak-bag; but no one could tell what was become of them. Whereupon, he rapt out a kind of judge's oath, saying: I will know whether it be Law or no here in Florence, to make a judge sit bare breeched on the Bench of justice, and in the hearing of criminal Causes; whereat the chief Potestate, and all the standers by laughed hearty.  
Within few days after, he was informed by some of his especial Friends, that this had never happened to him, but only to testify, how understanding the Florentines are, in their ancient constitutions and customs, to embrace, love and honour, honest discreet worthy judges and Magistrates; Whereas on the contrary, they as much condemn miserable knaves, fools, and dolts, who never merit to have any better entertainment. Wherefore, it would be best for him, to make no more enquiry after the parties; lest a worse inconvenience should happen to him.   

Bruno and Buffalmaco, did steal a young brawn from Calandrino, and for his recovery thereof, they used a kind of pretended conjuration, with pills made of Ginger and strong malmsey. But instead of this application, they gave him two pills of a dog's Dates, or Dowsets, confected in aloes, which he received each after the other; by means whereof they made him believe, that he had robbed himself. And for fear they should report this theft to his wife; they made him to go buy another brawn.  
The sixth novel.  
Wherein is declared, how easily a plain and simple man may be made a fool, when he dealeth with crafty companions.  
PHilostratus had no sooner concluded his novel, and the whole Assembly laughed hearty thereat: but the Queen gave command to madam Philomena, that she should follow next in order; whereupon thus she began. Worthy Ladies, as Philostratus, by calling to memory the name of Maso del Saggio, hath contented you with another merry novel concerning him: in the same manner must I entreat you, to remember once again Calandrino and his subtle Consorts, by a pretty tale which I mean to tell you; how, and in what manner they were revenged on him, for going to seek the inusible Stone.  
Needless were any fresh relation to you, what manner of people those three men were, Calandrino, Bruno, and Buffalmaco, because already you have had sufficient understanding of them. And therefore, as an induction to my discourse, I must tell you, that Calandrino had a small countryhouse, in a Village somewhat near to Florence, which came to him by the marriage of his Wife. Among other Cattle and Poultry, which he kept there in store, he had a young boar ready fatted for brawn, whereof yearly he used to kill one for his own provision; and always in the month of December, he and his wife resorted to their village house, to have a brawn both killed and salted.  
It came to pass at this time concerning my Tale, that the Woman being somewhat crazy and sickly, by her husband's unkind usage, whereof you heard so lately; Calandrino went alone to the kill of his boar, which coming to the hearing of Bruno and Buffalmaco, and that the Woman could by no means be there: to pass away the time a little in merriment, they went to a friendly Companion of theirs, an honest jovial Priest, dwelling not fare off from Calandrinoes' country house.  
The same morning as the boar was killed, they all three went thither, and Calandrino seeing them in the priest's company: bade them all hearty welcome; and to acquaint them with his good Husbandry, he shown them his house, and the boar where it hung. They perceiving it to be fair and fat, knowing also, that Calandrino intended to salt it for his own store, Bruno said unto him: Thou art an ass Calandrino, sell thy brawn, and let us make merry with the money: then let thy wife know no otherwise, but that it was stolen from thee, by those thiefs which continually haunt country houses, especially in such scattering Villages.  
Oh mine honest friends, answered Calandrino, your counsel is not to be followed, neither is my wife so easy to be persuaded: this were the readiest way to make your house a hell, and she to become the master-divell: therefore talk no further, for flatly I will not do it. Albeit they laboured him very earnestly, yet all proved not to any purpose: only he desired them to sup with him, but in so cold a manner, as they denied him, and parted thence from him. As they walked on the way, Bruno said to Buffalmaco. Shall we three (this night) rob him of his brawn? Yea marry (quoth Buffalmaco) how is it to be done? I have (said Bruno) already found the means to effect it, if he take it not from the place where last we saw it. Let us do it then (answered Buffalmaco) why should we not do it? Sir Domine here and we, will make good cheer with it among ourselves. The nimble Priest was as forward as the best; and the match being fully agreed on, Bruno thus spoke. My delicate Sir Domine, Art and cunning must be our main helps: for thou knowest Buffalmaco, what a covetous wretch Calandrino is, glad and ready to drink always on other men's expenses: let us go take him with us to the tavern, where the Priest (for his own honour and reputation) shall offer to make payment of the whole reckoning, without receiving a farthing of his, whereof he will not be a little joyful, so shall we bring to pass the rest of the business, because there is no body in the house, but only himself: for he is best at ease without company.  
As Bruno had propounded, so was it accordingly performed, & when Calandrino perceived, that the Priest would suffer none to pay, but himself, he drank the more freely; and when there was no need at all, took his cups courageously one after another. Two or three hours of the night were spent, before they parted from the tavern, Calandrino going directly home to his house, and instantly to bed, without any other supper, imagining that he had made fast his door, which (indeed) he left wide open: sleeping sound▪ without suspicion of any harm intended unto him. Buffalmaco and Bruno went and supped with the Priest, and so soon as supper was ended, they took certain Engines, for their better entering into Calandrinoes' house, and so went on to effect their purpose. Finding the door standing ready open, they entered in, took the brawn, carried it with them to the priest's house, and afterward went all to bed.  
When Calandrino had well slept after his Wine, he arose in the morning, and being descended down the stairs; finding the street door wide open, he looked for the brawn, but it was gone. Enquiring of the neighbours dwelling near about him, he could hear no tidings of his brawn, but became the woefullest man in the world, telling every one that his brawn was stolen. Bruno and Buffalmaco being risen in the morning, they went to visit Calandrino, to hear how he took the loss of his brawn: and he no sooner had a sight of them, but he called them to him; and with the tears running down his cheeks, said: Ah my dear friends, I am robbed of my brawn. Bruno stepping closely to him, said in his ear: It is wonderful, that once in thy life time thou canst be wise. How? answered Calandrino, I speak to you in good earnest. Speak so still in earnest (replied Bruno) and cry it out so loud as thou canst, then let who list believe it to be true.  
Calandrino stamped and fretted exceedingly, saying: At I am a true man to God, my Prince, and country, I tell thee truly, that my brawn is stolen. Say so still I bid thee (answered Bruno) and let all the world believe thee, if they list to do so, for I will not. Wouldst thou (quoth Calandrino) have me damn myself to the devil? I see thou dost not credit what I say: but would I were hanged by the neck, if it be not true, that my brawn is stolen. How ca● it possible be, replied Bruno? Did not I see it in thy house yester night? Wouldst thou 〈◊〉 me believe, that it is flown away? Although it is not flown away (quoth Calandrino) yet I am certain, that it 〈◊〉 stolen away for which I am weary of my life, because I dare not go home to mine own house, in regard my wife will never believe it; and yet if she should credit it, we are sure to have no peace for a twelvemonth's space.  
Bruno, seeming as if he were more than half sorrowful, yet supporting still his former jesting humour, said: Now trust me Calandrino, if it be so; they that did it are much too blame. If it be so? answered Calandrino, Belike thou wouldst have me blaspheme heaven, and all the Saints therein: I tell thee once again Bruno, that this last night my brawn was stolen. Be patiented good Calandrino, replied Buffalmaco, and if thy brawn be stolen from thee, there are means enough to get it again. Means enough to get it again? said Calandrino, I would fain hear one likely one, and let all the rest go by. I am sure Calandrino, answered Buffalmaco, thou art verily persuaded, that no thief came from India, to steal thy brawn from thee: in which respect, it must needs then be some of thy Neighbours: whom if thou couldst lovingly assemble together, I know an experiment to be made with Bread and Cheese, whereby the party that hath it, will quickly be discovered.  
I have heard (quoth Bruno) of such an experiment, and held it to be infallible; but it extendeth only unto persons of gentility, whereof there are but few dwelling here about, and in the case of stealing a brawn, it is doubtful to invite them, neither can there be any certainty of their coming. I confess what you say, answered Buffalmaco, to be very true: but then in this matter, so nearly concerning us to be done, and for a dear Friend, what is your advice? I would have pills made of Ginger, compounded with your best and strongest Malmsey, then let the ordinary sort of people be invited (for such only are most to be mistrusted) and they will not fail to come, because they are utterly ignorant of our intention. Besides, the pills may as well be hallowed and consecrated, as bread and cheese on the like occasion. Indeed you say true (replied Buffalmaco) but what is the opinion of Calandrino? Is he willing to have this try all made, or no? Yes, by all means, answered Calandrino, for gladly I would know who hath stolen my brawn; and your good words have (more than half) comforted me already in this case.  
Well then (quoth Bruno) I will take the pains to go to Florence, to provide all things necessary for this secret service, but I must be furnished with money to effect it. Calandrino had some forty, shillings then about him, which he delivered to Bruno, who presently went to Florence, to a friend of his an apothecary, of whom he bought a pound of white Ginger, which he caused him to make up in small pills: and two other beside of a Dogges-dates or Dowsets, confected all over with strong Aloes, yet well moulded in Sugare, as all the rest were: and because they should the more easily be known from the other, they were spotted with Gold, in very formal and physical manner. He bought moreover, a big flagon of the best malmsey, returning back with all these things to Calandrino, and directing him in this order.  
You must put some friend in trust, to invite your neighbours (especially such as you suspect) to a breakfast in the morning: and because it is done as a feast in kindness, they will come to you the more willingly. This night will I and Buffalmaco take such order, that the pills shall have the charge imposed on them, and then we will bring them hither again in the morning: and I myself (for your sake) will deliver them to your guests, and perform whatsoever is to be said or done. On the next morning, a goodly company being assembled, under a fair elm before the Church; as well young florentines (who purposely came to make themselves merry) as neighbouring Husbandmen of the Village: Bruno was to begin the service, with the pills in a fair Cup, and Buffalmaco followed him with another Cup, to deliver the wine out of the flagon, all the company being set round, as in a circle; and Bruno with Buffalmaco being in the midst of them, Bruno thus spoke.  
Honest friends, it is fit that I should acquaint you with the occasion, why we are thus met together, and in this place: because if any thing may seem offensive to you; afterward you shall make no complaint of me. From Calandrino (our loving friend here prefent) yesternight there was a new-killed fat brawn taken, but who hath done the deed, as yet he knoweth not; and because none other, but some one (or more) here among us, must needs offend in this case: he, desiring to understand who they be, would have each man to receive one of these pills, and afterward to drink of this Wine; assuring you all, that whosoever stole the brawn hence, cannot be able to swallow the Pill: for it will be so extreme bitter in his mouth, as it will enforce him to cough and spit extraordinarily. In which respect, before such a notorious shame be received, and in so goodly an assembly, as now are here present: it were much better for him or them that have the brawn, to confess it in private to this honest Priest, and I will abstain from urging any such public proof.  
Every one there present answered, that they were well contented both to eat and drink, and let the shame fall where it deserved; whereupon, Bruno appointing them how they should sit, and placing Calandrino as one among them: he began his counterfeit exorcism, giving each man a Pill, and Buffalmaca a Cup of Wine after it. But when he came to Calandrino, he took one of them which was made of the dog's dates or Dowsets, and delivering it into his hand, presently he put it into his mouth and chewed it. So soon as his tongue tasted the bitter Aloes, he began to cough and spit extremely, as being utterly unable, to endure the bitterness and noisome smell. The other men that had received the pills, began to gaze one upon another, to see whose behaviour should discover him; and Bruno having not (as yet) delivered pills to them all, proceeded on still in his business, as seeming not to hear any coughing, till one behind him, said. What meaneth Calandrino by this spitting and coughing?  
Bruno suddenly turning him about, and seeing Calandrino to cough and spit in such sort, said to the rest. Be not too rash (honest Friends) in judging of any man, some other matter (than the Pille) may procure this Coughing, wherefore he shall receive another, the better to clear your belief concerning him. He having put the second prepared Pill into his mouth, while Bruno went to serve the rest of the Guests: if the first was exceeding bitter to his taste, this other made it a great deal worse, for tears streamed forth of his eyes as big as Cherry-stones, and champing and chewing the Pill, as hoping it would overcome his coughing; he coughed and spette the more violently, and in grosser manner than he did before, nor did they give him any wine to help it.  
Buffalmaco, Bruno, and the whole company, perceiving how he continued still his coughing and spitting, said all with one voice, That Calandrino was the thief to himself: and gave him many gross speeches beside, all departing home unto their houses, very much displeased and angry with him. After they were gone, none remained with him but the Priest, Bruno and Buffalmaco, who thus spoke to Calandrino. I did ever think, that thou wast the thief thyself, yet thou imputedst thy robbery to some other, for fear we should once drink freely of thy purse, as thou hast done many times of ours. Calandrino, who had not yet ended his coughing and spitting, swore many bitter oaths, that his brawn was stolen from him. Talk so long as thou wilt, quoth Buffalmaco, thy knavery is both known and seen, and well thou mayst be ashamed of thyself. Calandrino hearing this, grew desperately angry; and to incense him more, Bruno thus pursued the matter.  
Hear me Calandrino, for I speak to thee in honest earnest, there was a man in the company, who did eat and drink here among thy neighbours, and plainly told me, that thou keptst a young Lad here to do thee service, feeding him with such victuals as thou couldst spare, by him thou didst send away thy brawn, to one that bought it of thee for four crowns, only to cousin thy poor wife and us. Canst thou not yet learn to leave thy mocking and scorning? Thou hast forgot, how thou brought'st us to the plain of Mugnone, to seek for black invisible stones: which having found, thou concealedst them to thyself, stealing home invisibly before us, and making us follow like fools after thee.  
Now likewise, by horrible lying oaths, and perjured protestations, thou wouldst make us to believe, that the brawn (which thou hast cunningly sold for ready money) was stolen from thee out of thy house, when thou art only th● thief to thyself, as by that excellent rule of Art (which never faileth) hath plainly, to thy shame, appeared. We being so well acquainted with thy delusions, and knowing them perfectly; now do plainly tell thee, that we mean not to be fooled any more. Nor is it unknown to thee, what pains we have taken, in making this singular piece of proof. Wherefore we inflict this punishment on thee, that thou shalt bestow on this honest Priest and us, two couple of Capons, and a flagon of Wine, or else we will discover this knavery of thine to thy Wife.  
Calandrino perceiving, that all his protestations could win no credit with them, who had now the Law remaining in their own hands, and purposed to deal with him as they pleased: apparently saw, that sighing and sorrow did nothing avail him. Moreover, to fall into his wife's tempestuous storms of chiding, would be worse to him then racking or torturing: he gladly therefore gave them money, to buy the two couple of Capons and Wine, being hearty contented likewise, that he was so well delivered from them. So the merry Priest, Bruno, and Buffalmaco, having taken good order for salting the brawn; closely carried it with them to Florence, leaving Calandrino to complain of his loss, and well requited, for mocking them with the invisible stones.   

A young Gentleman being a scholar, fell in love with a Lady, named Helena, she being a widow, and addicted in affection to another Gentleman. One whole night in cold Winter, she caused the scholar to expect her coming, in an extreme frost and snow. In revenge whereof, by his imagined Art and skill, he made her to stand naked on the top of a Tower, the space of a whole day, and in the hot month of July, to be sunburnt and bitten with wasps and Flies.  
The seventh novel.  
Serving as an admonition to all Ladies and Gentlewomen, not to mock or scorn Gentlemen-Schollers, when they make means of love to them: Except they intent to seek their own shame, by disgracing them.  
GReatly did the Ladies commend madam Philomenaes' Novel, laughing hearty at poor Calandrino, yet grieving withal, that he should be so knavishly cheated, not only of his brawn, but two couple of Capons, and a flagon of Wine beside. But the whole discourse being ended; the Queen commanded madam Pampinea, to follow next with her novel, and presently she thus began. It happeneth oftentimes (bright beauties) that mockery falleth on him, that intended the same unto another: And therefore I am of opinion, that there is very little wisdom declared on him or her, who taketh delight in mocking any person. I must needs confess, that we have smiled at many mockeries and deceits, related in those excellent novels, which we have already ●●ard: without any due revenge returned, but only in this last of silly Calandrino. Wherefore, it is now my determination, to urge a kind of compassionate apprehension, upon a very just retribution, happening to a Gentlewoman of our city, because her scorn fell deservedly upon herself, remaining mocked, and to the peril of her life. Let me then assure you, that your diligent attention may redound to your benefit, because if you keep yourselves (henceforward) from being scorned by others: you shall express the greater wisdom, and be the better warned by their mishaps.  
As yet there are not many years overpassed, since there dwelled in Florence, a young Lady, descended of Noble parentage, very beautiful, of sprightly courage, and sufficiently abounding in the goods of Fortune, she being named madam Helena. Her delight was to live in the estate of widowhood, desiring to match herself no more in marriage, because she bare affection to a gallant young Gentleman, whom she had made her private election of, and with whom (having excluded all other amorous cares and cogitations) by means of her Waiting-woman, she had diverse meetings, and kind conferences.  
It chanced at the very same time, another young Gentleman of our city, called Reniero, having long studied in the schools at Paris, returned home to Florence, not to make sale of his Learning and experience, as many do: but to understand the reason of things, as also the causes and effects of them, which is marvelously fitting for any Gentleman. Being greatly honoured and esteemed of every one, as well for his courteous carriage towards all in general, as for his knowledge and excellent parts: he lived more like a familiar Citizen, then in the nature of a Courtly Gentleman, albeit he was choicely respected in either estate.  
But, as oftentimes it cometh to pass, that such as are endued with the best judgement and understanding in natural occasions, are soon caught and entangled in the snares of love: so fell it out with our scholar Reniero, who being invited to a solemn Feast, in company of other his especial Friends; this Lady Helena, attired in her black Garments (as widows commonly use to wear) was likewise there a Guest. His eye observing her beauty and gracious demeanour, she seemed in his judgement, to be a Woman so complete and perfect, as he had never seen her equal before: & therefore, he accounted the man more than fortunate, that was worthy to embrace her in his arms. Continuing this amorous observation of her from time to time, and knowing withal, that rare and excellent things are not easily obtained, but by painful study, labour, and endeavour: he resolved with himself constantly, to put in practise all his best parts of industry, only to honour and please her, and attaining to her contentation, it would be the means to win her love, and compass thereby his hearts desire.  
The young Lady, who fixed not her eyes on inferior subjects (but esteemed herself above ordinary reach or capacity) could move them artificially, as curious women well know how to do, looking on every side about her, yet not in a gadding or gross manner for she was not ignorant in such darting glances, as proceeded from an inflamed affection, which appearing plainly in Reniero; with a pretty smile, she said to herself. I am not come hither this day in vain; for, if my judgement fail me not, I think I have caught a woodcock by the Bill. And lending him a cunning look or two, quaintly carried with the corner of her eye; she gave him a kind of persuading apprehension, that her heart was the guide to her eye. And in this artificial Schoole-tricke of hers, she carried therewith another consideration, to wit, that the more other eyes fed themselves on her perfections, and were (well-near) lost in them beyond recovery: so much the greater reason had he to account his fortune beyond comparison, that was the sole master of her heart, and had her love at his command.  
Our witty scholar having set aside his philosophical considerations, striven how he might best understand her carriage toward him, and believing that she beheld him with pleasing regards; he learned to know the house where she dwelled, passing daily by the door diverse times, under colour of some more serious occasions: wherein the Lady very proudly gloried, in regard of the reasons before alleged, and seemed to afford him looks of good liking. Being led thus with a hopeful persuasion, he found the means to gain acquaintance with her waiting-woman, revealing to her his entire affection, desiring her to work for him in such sort with her Lady, that his service might be gracious in her acceptance. The Gentlewoman made him a very willing promise, and immediately did his errand to her Lady; who heard her with no small pride and squeamishness, and breaking forth into a scornful laughter, thus she spoke.  
Ancilla (for so she was named) dost thou not observe, how this scholar is come to lose all the wit here, which he studied so long for in the university of Paris? Let us make him our only Table argument, and seeing his folly soareth so high, we will feed him with such a diet as he deserveth. Yet when thou speakest next with him, tell him, that I affect him more than he can do me; but it becometh me to be careful of mine honour, and to walk with an untainted brow, as other Ladies and Gentlewomen do: which he is not to mislike, if he be so wise as he maketh show of, but rather will the more commend me. Alas good Lady lack-wit, little did she understand (fair assembly) how dangerous a case it is deal with scholars.  
At his next meeting with the waiting woman, she delivered the message, as her Lady had command her, whereof poor Reniero was so joyful: that he pursued his love-suite the more earnestly, and began to write letters, send gifts, and tokens, all which were still received, yet without any other answer to give hope, but only in general, and thus she dallied with him a long while. In the end, she discovered this matter to her secret chosen friend, who fell suddenly sick of the headache, only through mere conceit of jealousy: which she perceiving, and grieving to be suspected without any cause, especially by him whom she esteemed above all other; she intended to rid him quickly of that Idle disease. And being more and more solicited by the scholar, she sent him word by her maid Ancilla, that (as yet) she could find no convenient opportunity, to yield him such assurance, as he should not any way be distrustful of her love.  
But the Feast of Christmas was now near at hand, which afforded leisures much more hopeful, than any other formerly passed. And therefore, the next night after the first Feasting day, if he pleased to walk in the open Court of her house: she would soon send for him, into a place much better beseeming, and where they might freely converse together.  
Now was our scholar the only jocund man of the world, and failed not the time assigned him, but went unto the Lady's house, where Ancilla was ready to give him entertainment, conducting him into the base Court, where she locked him up fast, until her Lady should send for him. This night she had privately sent for her friend also, and sitting merrily at supper with him, told him, what welcome she had given the scholar, and how she further meant to use him, saying. Now Sir, consider with yourself, what hot affection I bear to him, of whom you became so fond jealous. The which words were very welcome to him, and made him extraordinarily joyful; desiring to see them as effectually performed, as they appeared to him by her protestations.  
Hear you are to understand (Gracious Ladies) that according to the season of the year, a great snow had fall'n the day before, so as the whole Court was covered therewith, and being an extreme frost upon it, our scholar could not boast of any warm walking, when the teeth quivered in his head with cold, as a Dog could not be more discourteously used: yet hope of enjoying love's recompense at length, made him to support all this injury with admirable patience.  
Within a while after, madam Helena said to her friend. Walk with me (dear heart) into my Chamber, and there at a secret little window, I shall show thee what he doth, that driven thee to such a suspicion of me, and we shall hear beside, what answer he will give my maid Ancilla, whom I will send to comfort him in his coldness.  
When she had so said, they went to the appointed chamber window, where they could easily see him, but he not them: and then they heard Ancilla also, calling to him forth of another window, saying. Signior Reniero, my Lady is the woefullest woman in the world, because (as yet) she cannot come to you, in regard that one of her brethren came this evening to visit ●er, and held her with much longer discourse than she expected: whereby she was constrained to invite him to sup with her, and yet he is not gone; but shortly I hope he will, and then expect her coming presently; till when, she entreateth your genle sufferance.  
Poor Reniero, our over-credulous scholar, whose vehement affection to madam Helena, so hoodwinked the sight of his understanding, as he could not be distrustful of any guilt; returned this answer to Ancilla. Say to your Lady that I am bound in duty, to attend the good hour of her leisure, without so much as the very least prejudicate conceit in me: nevertheless, entreat her, to let it be so soon as she possibly may, because here is miserable walking, and it begininneth again to snow extremely. Ancilla making fast the casement, went presently to bed; when Helena spoke thus to her amorous friend. What sayest thou now? Dost thou think that I loved him, as thou wast afraid of? If I did, he should never walk thus in the frost and snow. So, away went they likewise from their close gazing window, and spent wanton dalliances together, laughing, and deriding (with many bitter taunts and jests) the lamentable condition of poor Reniero.  
About the Court walked he numberless times, finding such exercises as he could best device, to compass warmth in any manner: no seat or shelter had he any where, either to ease himself by sitting down a while, or keep him from the snow, falling continually on him, which made him bestow many curses on the Lady's Brother, for his so long tarrying with her, as believing him verily to be in the house, or else she would (long before) have admitted his entrance, but therein his hope was merely deceived. It grew now to be about the hour of midnight, and Helena had delighted herself with her friend extraordinarily, till at last, thus she spoke to him. What is thine opinion of my amorous scholar? Which dost thou imagine to be the greatest, either his sense and judgement, or the affection I bear to him? Is not this cold sufferance of this, able to quench the violent ●eat of his love's extremity, and having so much snow broth to help it? Believe me (sweet Lady) quoth her friend, as he is a man, and a learned scholar, I pity that he should be thus ungently dealt withal: but as he is my rival and love's enemy, I cannot allow him the least compassion, resting the more confidently assured of your love to me, which I will always esteem most precious.  
When they had spent a long while in this or the like conference, with infinite sweet kisses and embraces intermixed; then she began again in this manner. dear love (quoth she) cast thy cloak about thee, as I intent to do with my night mantle, and let us step to the little window once more, to see whether the flaming fire, which burned in the scholar's breast (as daily avouched to me in his love letters) be as yet extinct or no. So going to the window again, and looking down into the Court; there they saw the scholar dancing in the snow, to the cold tune of his teeth quivering and chattering, and clapping his arms about his body, which was no pleasing melody to him. How thinkest thou now sweet heart (ssaide she) cannot I make a man dance without the sound of a Taber, or of a Bagpipe? yes believe me Lady (quoth he) I plain perceive you can, and would be very loath, that you should exercise your cunning on me. Nay, said she, we will yet delight ourselves a little more; let us softly descend down the stairs, even so fare as to the Court door: thou shalt not speak a word, but I will talk to him, and hear some part of his quivering language, which cannot choose but be passing pleasing for us to hear.  
Out of the Chamber went they, and descended down the stairs to the Court door; where, without opening it, she laid her mouth to a small cranny, and in a low soft kind of voice, called him by his name: which the scholar hearing, was exceeding joyful, as believing verily, that the hour of his deliverance was come, and entrance now should be admitted him. Upon the heating of her voice, he stepped close to the door, saying. For charity's sake, good Lady, let me come in, because I am almost dead with cold; whereto thus she answered in mocking manner. I make no doubt (my dear friend Renioero) but the night is indifferent cold, and yet somewhat the warmer by the snows falling: and I have heard that such weather as this, is tenne-times more extreme at Paris, then here in our warmer country. And trust me, I am exceeding sorrowful, that I may not (as yet) open the door, because mine unhappy brother, who came (unexpected) yesternight to sup with me, is not yet gone, at within a short while (I hope) he will, and then shall I gladly set open the door to you, for I made an excuse to steal a little from him, only to cheer you with this small kind of comfort, that his so long tarrying might be the less offensive to you.  
Alas sweet madam, answered quaking and quivering Reniero, be then so favourable to me, as to free me from forth this open Court, where there is no shelter or help for me, the snow falling still so exceedingly, as a man might easily be more then half buried in it: let me be but within your door, and there I will wait your own good leisure. Alas dear Reniero (answered Helena) I dare not do it, because the door maketh such a noise in the opening, as it will be too ●asily heard by my Brother: but I will go and use such means, as shortly he shall get him gone, and then I dare boldly give you entrance. Do so good madam, replied Reniero, and let there be a fair fire made ready, that when I am within, I may the sooner warm myself; for I am so strangely benumbed with cold, as well-near I am passed all sense of feeling.  
Can it be possible (quoth Helena) that you should be so benumbed with cold? Then I plainly perceive, that men can lie in their love letters, which I can show under your own hand, how you fried in flames, and all for my love, and so have you written to me in every letter. Poor credulous women are often thus deluded, in believing what men writ and speak out of passion: but I will return back to my Brother, and make no doubt of dispatch, because I would gladly have your Company.  
The amorous Friend to Helena, who stood by all this while, laughing at the scholars hard usage, returned up again with her to her Chamber, where they could not take a jot of rest, for flouting and scorning the betrayed scholar. As for him poor man, he was become like the swan, coldly chattering his teeth together, in a strange new kind of harmony to him. And perceiving himself to be merely mocked, he attempted to get open the door, or how he might pass forth at any other place: but being no way able to compass it, he walked up and down like an angry lion, cursing the hard quality of the time, the discourtesy of the Lady, the over-tedious length of the night; but (most of all) his own folly and simplicity, in being so basely abused and gulled. Now began the heat of his former affection to Helena, altered into as violent a detestation of her; Yea, extremity of hatred in the highest degree; beating his brains, and ransacking every corner of invention, by what means he might best be revenged on her, which now he more earnestly desired to effect, then to enjoy the benefit of her love, or to be embraced between her arms.  
After that the sad and uncomfortable night had spent itself, & the break of day was beginning to appear; Ancilla the waiting-woman, according as she was instructed by her Lady, went down and opened the Court door, and seeming exceedingly to compassionate the scholars unfortunate night of sufferance, said unto him.  
Alas courteous Gentleman, in an unblessed hour came my Lady's brother hither yesternight, inflicting too much trouble upon us, and a grievous time of affliction to you. But I am not ignorant, that you being virtuous, and a judicious scholar, have an invincible spirit of patience, and sufficient understanding withal; that what this night could not afford, another may make a sound amends for. This I can and dare sufficiently assure you, that nothing could be more displeasing to my Lady, neither can she well be quieted in her mind: until she have made a double and triple requital, for such a strange unexpected inconvenience, whereof she had not the very lest suspicion.  
Reniero swelling with discontentment, yet wisely clouding it from open apprehension, and knowing well enough, that such golden speeches and promises, did always savour of what intemperate spleen would more lavishly have vented forth, and therefore in a modest dissembling manner; without the least show of any anger, thus he answered.  
In good sadness Ancilla, I htue endured the most miserablest night of cold, frost and snow, that ever any poor Gentleman suffered; but I know well enough, your Lady was not in any fault thereof, neither meriteth to be blamed, for in her own person (as being truly compassionate of my distress) she came so fare as the door of this Court, to excuse herself, and comfort me. But as you said, and very well too, what hath failed this night, another hereafter may more fortunately perform: in hope whereof, commend my love and duteous service to her, and (what else remaineth mine) to your gentle self.  
So our half frozen scholar, scarcely able to walk upon his legs, returned home, (so well as he could) to his own lodging; where, his spirits being grievously out of order, and his eyes staring ghastly through lack of sleep: he lay down on his bed, and after a little rest, he found himself in much worse condition than before, as merely taken lame in his arms and his legs. Whereupon he was enforced to send for physicians, to be advised by their council, in such an extremity of cold received. Immediately, they made provision for his health's remedy (albeit his nerves and sinews could very hardly extend themselves) yet in regard he was young, & Summer swiftly drawing on; they had the better hope of affecting his safety, out of so great and dangerous a cold.  
But after he was become almost well and lusty again, he used to be seldom seen abroad for an indifferent while; concealing his intended revenge secret to himself, yet appearing more affectionate to madam Helena, then formerly he had been.  
Now, it came to pass (within no long while after) that Fortune being favourable to our injured scholar, prepared a new accident, whereby he might fully effect his heart's desire. For the lusty young Gallant, who was madam Helenaes' dear darling and delight, and (for whose sake) she dealt so inhumanely with poor Reniero: became weary of her amorous service, and was fal●● in liking of another Lady, scorning and disdaining his former Mistress; whereat she grew exceedingly displeased, and began to languish in sighs and tears.  
But Ancilla her waiting-woman, compassionating the perilous condition of her Lady, and knowing no likely means whereby to conquer this oppressing melancholy, which she suffered for the loss of her hearts chosen friend: at length she began to consider, that the scholar still walked daily by the door, as formerly he was wont to do, and (by him) there might some good be done.  
A fond and foolish opinion overswayed her, that the scholar was extraordinarily skilful in the Art of necromancy, and could thereby so overrule the heart of her lost friend, as he should be compelled to love her again, in as effectual manner as before; herewith immediately she acquainted her Lady▪ who being as rashly credulous, as her maid was opinionative (never considering, that if the scholar had any experience in Negromancy, he would thereby have procured his own success) gave relief to her surmise, in very jovial and comfortable manner, and entreated her in all kindness, to know of him, whether he could work such a business, or no, and (upon his undertaking to effect it) she would give absolute assurance, that (in recompense thereof) he should unfeignedly obtain his hearts desire. Ancilla was quick and expeditious, in delivering this message to discontented Reniero, whose soul being ready to mount out of his body, only by conceit of joy; cheerfully thus he said within himself. Gracious Fortune! how highly am I obliged to thee for this so great a favour? Now thou hast blest me with a happy time, to be justly revenged on so wicked a woman, who sought the utter ruin of my life, in recompense of the unfeigned affection I bore her. Return to thy Lady (quoth he) and saluting her first on my behalf, bid her to abandon all care in this business; for, if her amorous Friend were in India, I would make him come (in mere despite of his heart) and crave mercy of her for his base transgression. But concerning the means how, and in what manner it is to be done, especially on her own behalf: I will impart it to her so soon as she pleaseth: fail not to tell her so constantly from me, with all my utmost pains at her service.  
Ancilla came iocondly home with her answer, and a conclusion was set down for their meeting together at Santa Lucia del prato, which accordingly was performed▪ in very solemn conference between them. Her fond affection had such power over her, that she had forgot, into what peril she brought his life, by such an unnatural night walk: but disclosed all her other intention to him, how loath she was to lose so dear a friend, and desiring him to exercise his utmost height of skill, with large promises of her manifold favours to him, whereto our scholar thus replied.  
Very true it is Madam, that among other studies at Paris, I learned the Art of Negromancy, the depth whereof I am as skilful in, as any other scholar whatsoever. But, because it is greatly displeasing unto God, I made a vow never to use it, either for myself, or any other. Nevertheless, the love I bear you is of such power, as I know not well how to deny, whatsoever you please to command me: in which respect, if in doing you my very best service, I were sure to be seized on by all the devils: I will not fail to accomplish your desire, you only having the power to command me. But let me tell you madam, it is a matter not so easy to be performed, as you perhaps may rashly imagine, especially, when a Woman would repeal a man to love her, or a man a woman: because, it is not to be done, but by the person whom it properly concerneth. And therefore it behoveth, that such as would have this business effected, must be of a constant mind, without the least scruple of fear: because it is to be accomplished in the dark night season, in which difficulties I do not know, how you are able to warrant yourself, or whether you have such courage of spirit, as (with boldness) to adventure.  
Madame Helena, more hot in pursuit of her amorous contentment, than any way governed by temperate discretion, presently thus answered. Sir, love hath set such a keen edge on my unconquerable affection, as there is not any danger so difficult, but I dare resolutely undertake it, for the recovery of him, who hath so shamefully refused my kindness: wherefore (if you please) show me, wherein I must be so constant and dreadless. The scholar, who had (more than half) caught a right ninnihammer by the beak, thus replied. Madame, of necessity I must make an image of Tin, in the name of him whom you desire to recall. Which when I have sent you, the moon being then in her full, and yourself stripped stark naked: immediately after your first sleep, seven times you must bathe yourself with it in a swift running river. Afterward, naked as you are, you must climb up upon some tree, or else upon an uninhabited house top, where standing dreadless of any peril, and turning your face to the North, with the Image in your hand, seven times you must speak such words, as I will deliver to you in writing.  
After you have so often spoken them, two goodly Ladies (the very fairest that ever you beheld) will appear unto you, very graciously saluting you, and demanding what you would have them to perform for you. Safely you may speak unto them, and orderly tell them what you desire: but ●e very careful, that you 〈◊〉 not one man instead of another. When you have uttered your mind, they will departed from you, and then you may descend again to the place where you did leave your garments, which ●●uing put on, then return to your house. And undoubtedly, before the midst of the next night following, your friend will come in tears to you, and humbly crave your pardon on his knees; being never able afterward to be false to you, or leave your love for any other whatsoever.  
The Lady hearing these words, gave very settled belief to them, imagining unfeignedly, that she had (more than half) recovered her friend already, and held him embraced between her arms: in which jocund persuasion, the cheerful blood mounted up into her cheeks, and thus she replied. Never make you any doubt Sir, but that I can sufficiently perform whatsoever you have said, and am provided of the only place in the world, where such a weighty business is to be effected. For I have a farm or dairy house, near adjoining to the vale of Arno, & closely bordering upon the same river. It being now the month of July, the most convenientest time of all the year to bathe in; I can be the easier induced thereunto.  
Moreover, there is hard by the river's side a small Tower or Turret uninhabited; whereinto few people do seldom enter, but only herdsmen or Flocke-keepers, who ascend up (by the help of a wooden Ladder) to a terrace on the top of the said Tower, to look all about for their beasts, when they are wandered astray: it standing in a solitary place, and out of the common way or resort. There dare I boldly adventure to mount up, and with the invincible courage of a wronged Lady (not fearing to look death himself in the face) do all that you have prescribed, yea, and much more, to recover my dear lost lover again, whom I value equal with my own Life.  
Reniero, who perfectly knew both the Dairy farm, and the old small Turret, not a little joyful, to hear how forward she was to shame herself, answered in this manner. Madame, I was never in those parts of the Country, albeit they are so near to our City, & therefore I must needs be ignorant, not only of your farm, but the Turret also. But if they stand in such convenient manner as you have described, all the world could not yield the like elsewhere, so apt and suitable to your purpose: wherefore, with such expedition as possibly I can use, I will make the Image, and send it you, as also the charm, very fairly written. But let me entreat you, that when you have obtained your hearts desire, and are able to judge truly of my love and service: not to be unmindful of me, but (at your best leisure) to perform what you have with such protestations promised; which she gave him her ha●d and faith to do, without any impeach or hindrance: and so parting, she returned home to her house.  
Our over-ioyed scholar, applauding his happy stars, for furthering him with so fair a way to his revenge; immagining that it was already half executed, made the Image in due form, & wrote an old Fable, instead of a charm; both which he sent to the Lady, so soon as he thought the time to be fitting: and this admonition withal, that the moon being entering into the full, without any longer delay, she might venture on the business the next night following, and remain assured to repossess her friend. Afterward for the better pleasing of himself, he went secretly attended, only by his servant, to the house of a trusty friend of his, who dwelled somewhat near to the Turret, there to expect the issue of this ladylike enterprise. And Madam Helena accompanied with none but Ancilla, walked on to her dairy farm, where the night ensuing, pretending to take her rest sooner than formerly she used to do, she commanded Ancilla to go to bed, referring herself to her best liking.  
After she had slept her first sleep (according to the scholar's direction) departing softly out of her chamber, she went on towards the ancient Tower, standing hard by the river of Arno, looking every way heedfully about her, lest she should be spied by any person. But perceiving herself to be so secure as she could desire; putting off all her garments, she hide them in a small brake of bushes: afterward, holding the Image in her hand, seven times she bathed her body in the river, and then returned back with it to the Tower. The scholar, who at the nights closing up of day, had hid himself among the willows & other trees, which grew very thick about the Tower, saw both her going and returning from the river, and as she passed thus naked by him, he plainly perceived, that the night's obscurity could not cloud the delicate whiteness of her body, but made the stars themselves to gaze amorously on her, even as if they were proud to behold her bathing, and (like so many twinkling Tapers) shown her in emulation of another Diana. Now, what conflicts this sight caused in the mind of our scholar, one while, quenching his hateful spleen towards her, all coveting to embrace a piece of such perfection: another while, thinking it a purchase fit for one of Cupid's soldiers, to seize and surprise her upon so fair an advantage, none being near to yield her rescue: in the fiery trial of such temptations, I am not able to judge, or to say, what resistance flesh and blood could make, being opposed with such a sweet enemy.  
But he well considering what she was, the greatness of his injury, as also how, and for whom: he forgot all wanton allurements of love, scorning to entertain a thought of compassion, continuing constant in his resolution, to let her suffer, as he himself had done. So, Helena being mounted up on the Turret, and turning her face towards the North; she repeated those idle frivolous words (composed in the nature of a charm) which she had received from the scholar. Afterward, by soft and stealing steps, he went into the old Tower, and took away the Ladder, whereby she ascended to the terrace, staying and listening, how she proceeded in her amorous exorcism.  
Seven times she rehearsed the charm to the Image, looking still when the two Ladies would appear in their likeness, and so long she held on her imprecations (feeling greater cold, then willingly she would have done) that break of day began to show itself, and half despairing of the Ladies coming, according as the scholar had promised, she said to herself: I much misdoubt, that Reniero hath quitted me with such another piece of night-seruice, as it was my luck to bestow on him: but if he have done it in that respect, he was but ill advised in his revenge, because the night wants now three parts of the length, as than it had: and the cold which he suffered, was far superior in quality to mine, albeit it is more sharp now in the morning, than all the time of night it hath been.  
And, because daylight should not discover her on the terrace, she went to make her descent down again: but finding the Ladder to be taken away, & thinking how her public shame was now inevitable, her heart dismayed, and she fell down in a swoon on the terrace: yet recovering her senses afterward, her grief and sorrow exceeded all capacity of utterance. For, now she became fully persuaded, that this proceeded from the scholar's malice, repenting for her unkind usage towards him, but much more condemning herself, for reposing any trust in him, who stood bound (by good reason) to be her enemy.  
Continuing long in this extreme affliction, and surveying all likely means about her, whereby she might descend from the terrace, whereof she was wholly disappointed: she began to sigh and weep exceedingly, and in this heavy perplexity of spirit, thus she complained to herself. Miserable and unfortunate Helena, what will be said by thy brothers, Kindred, Neighbours, and generally throughout all Florence, when they shall know, that thou wast found here on this Turret, stark naked? Thine honourable carriage, and honesty of life, heretofore free from a thought of suspicion, shall now be branded with detestation; and if thou wouldst cloud this mishap of thine, by such lies and excuses, as are not rare amongst women: yet Reniero that wicked scholar, who knoweth all thy privy compacting, will stand as a thousand witnesses against thee, and shame thee before the whole City, so both thine honour and loved friend are lost for ever.  
Having thus consulted with herself, many desperate motions entered her mind, to throw herself headlong from off the terrace; till better thoughts won possession of her soul. And the sun being risen, she went to every corner of the terrace, to espy any Lad come abroad with his beasts, by whom she might send for her waiting-woman. About this instant, the scholar who lay sleeping (all this while) under a bush, suddenly awaking; saw her look over the wall, and she likewise espied him; whereupon he said unto her. Good morrow madam Helena, What? are the Ladies come yet or no? Helena hearing his scorning question, and grieving that he should so delude her: in tears and lamentations, she entreated him to come near the Tower, because she desired to speak with him. Which courtesy he did not deny her, and she lying grovelling upon her breast on the terrace, to hide her body that no part thereof might be seen, but her head; weeping, she spoke thus to him.  
Reniero, upon my credit, if I gave thee an ill night's rest, thou hast well revenged that wrong on me; for, although we are now in the month of July, I have been plagued with extremity of cold (in regard of my nakedness) even almost frozen to death: beside my continual tears and lamenting, that folly persuaded me to believe thy protestations, wherein I account it well-near miraculous, that mine eyes should be capable of any sight. And therefore I pray thee, not in respect of any love which thou canst pretend to bear me; but for regard of thine own self, being a Gentleman and a scholar, that this punishment which thou hast already inflicted upon me, may suffi●e for my former injuries towards thee, and to hold thyself revenged fully, as also permit my garments to be brought me, that I may descend from hence, without taking that from me, which afterward (although thou wouldst) thou canst never restore me, I mean mine honour. And consider with thyself, that albeit thou didst not enjoy my company that unhappy night, yet thou hast power to command me at any time whensoever, with making many diversities of amends, for one night's offence only committed. Content thyself then good Reniero, and as thou art an honest Gentleman, say thou art sufficiently revenged on me, in making me dear confess mine own error. Never exercise thy malice upon a poor weak woman, for the Eagle disdaineeh to pray on the yielding dove: and therefore in mere pity, and for manhoods sake, be my release from open shame and reproach.  
The scholar, whose envious spleen was swollen very great, in remembering such a malicious cruelty exercised on him, beholding her to weep and make such lamentations; found a fierce conflict in his thoughts, between content and pity. It did not a little joy and content him that the revenge which he so earnestly desired to compass, was now by him so effectually inflicted. And yet (in mere humanity) pity provoked him, to commiserate the Lady's distressed condition: but clemency being overweake to withstand his rigour, thus he replied. Madam Helena, if mine entreaties (which, to speak truly, I never knew how to steep in tears, nor wrap up my words in sugar Candie, so cunningly as you women know how to do) could have prevailed, that miserable night, when I was well-near frozen to death with cold, and merely buried with snow in your Court, not having any place of rescue or shelter; your complaints would now the more easily overrule me. But if your honour in estimation, be now more precious to you the● heretofore, and it seemeth so offensive to stand there naked: convert your persuasions & prayers to him, in whose arms you were that night embraced, both of your triumphing in my misery, when poor I, trotted about your Court, with the teeth quivering in my head, and beating mine arms about my body, finding no compassion in him, or you. Let him bring thee thy Garments, let him come help thee down with the Ladder, and let him have the care of thine honour, on whom thou hast been so prodigal heretofore in bestowing it, and now hast unwomanly thrown thyself in peril, only for the maintenance of thine immodest desires.  
Why dost thou not call on him to come help thee? To whom doth it more belong, then to him? For thou art his, and he thine. Why then should any other but he help thee in this distress? Call him (fool as thou art) and try, if the love he beareth thee, and thy best understanding joined with his, can deliver thee out of my sottish detaining thee. I have not forgot, that when you both made a pastime of my misery, thou didst demand of him, which seemed greatest in his opinion, either my sottish simplicity, or the love thou barest him. I am not now so liberal or courteous, to desire that of thee, which thou wouldst not grant, if I did request it: No, no, reserve those night favours for thy amorous friend, if thou dost escape hence alive to see him again. As for myself, I leave thee freely to his use and service: because I have sufficiently paid for a woman's falsehood, & wisemen take such warning, that they scorn to be twice deceived, & by one woman. Proceed on still in thy flattering persuasions, terming me to be a Gentleman and a scholar, thereby to win such favour from me, that I should think thy villainy toward me, to be already sufficiently punished▪ No, treacherous Helena, thy blandishments cannot now hoodwink the eyes of my understanding, as when thou didst outreach me with thy disloyal promises and protestations. And let me now tell thee plainly, that all the while I continued in the university of Paris, I never attained unto so perfect an understanding of myself, as in that one miserable night thou didst enstruct me. But admit, that I were inclined unto a merciful and compassionate mind, yet thou art none of them, on whom mild and gracious mercy should any way declare her effects. For, the end of penance among savage beasts, such as thou art, and likewise of due vengeance, aught to be death: whereas among men, it should suffice according to thine own saying. Wherefore, in regard that I am neither an Eagle, nor thou a dove, but rather a most venomous Serpent: I purpose with my utmost hatred, and as an ancient enemy to all such as thou art, to make my revenge famous on thee.  
I am not ignorant, that whatsoever I have already done unto thee, cannot properly be termed revenge, but rather chastisement; because revenge ought always to exceed the offence, which (as yet) I am fare enough from. For, if I did intent to revenge my wrongs, and remembered thy monstrous cruelty to me: thy life, if I took it from thee, and an hundred more such as thyself, were fare insufficient, because in killing thee, I should kill but a vile inhuman beast, yea, one that deserved not the name of a Woman. And, to speak truly, Art thou any more, or better (setting aside thy borrowed hair, and painted beauty, which in few years will leave thee wrinkled and deformed) then the basest beggarly Chamber-stuffe that can be? Yet thou soughtest the death of a Gentleman and scholar as (in scorn) not long since, thou didst term me: whose life may hereafter be more beneficial unto the world, than millions of such as thou art, to live in the like multiplicity of ages. Therefore, if this anguish be sensible to thee, learn what it is to mock men of apprehension, and (amongst them especially) such as are scholars: to prevent thy falling hereafter into the like extremity, if it be thy good luck to escape out of this.  
It appeareth to me, that thou art very desirous to come down hither on the ground; the best counsel that I can give thee, is to leap down headlong, that by breaking thy neck (if thy fortune be so fair) thy life and loathsome qualities ending together, I may sit and smile at thy deserved destruction. I have no other comfort to give thee, but only to boast my happiness, in teaching thee the way to ascend that Tower, and in thy descending down (even by what means thy wit can best device) make a mockery of me, and say thou hast learned more, than all my scholarship could instruct thee.  
All the while as Reniero uttered these speeches, the miserable Lady sighed and wept very grievously, the time running on, and the sun ascending higher and higher; but when she heard him silent, thus she answered. unkind and cruel man, if that wretched night was so grievous to thee, and mine offence appeared so great, as neither my youth, beauty, tears, and humble intercessious, are able to derive any mercy from thee; yet let the last consideration move thee to some remorse: namely, that I reposed new confidence in thee (when I had little or no reason at all to trust thee) and discovered the integrity of my soul unto thee, whereby thou didst compass the means, to punish me thus deservedly for my sin. For, if I had not reposed confidence in thee, thou couldst not (in this manner) have wrought revenge on me, which although thou didst earnestly covet, yet my rash credulity was thy only help. Assuage then thine anger, and graciously pardon me, wherein if thou wilt be so merciful to me, and free me from this fatal Tower: I do here faithfully promise thee, to forsake my most false and disloyal friend, electing thee as my Lord and constant love for ever.  
Moreover, although thou condemnest my beauty greatly, esteeming it as a trifle, momentary, and of slender continuance; yet, such as it is (being comparable with any other woman's whatsoever) I am not so ignorant, that were there no other reason to induce liking thereof: yet men in the vigour of their youth (as I am sure you think yourself not aged) do hold it for an especial delight, ordained by nature for them to admire and honour. And notwistanding all thy cruelty extended to me, yet I cannot be persuaded, that thou art so flinty or Iron-hearted, as to desire my miserable death, by casting myself headlong down (like a desperate mad woman) before thy face so to destroy that beauty, which (if thy Letters lied not) was once so highly pleasing in thine eyes. Take pity then on me for charity's sake, because the sun beginneth to heat extremely: and as overmuch cold (that unhappy night) was mine offence, so let not over-violent warmth be now my utter ruin and death.  
The scholar, who (only to delight himself) maintained this long discoursing with her, returned her this answer. Madame, you did not repose such confidence in me, for any good will or affection in you towards me, but in hope of recovering him whom you had lost; wherein you merit not a jot of favour, but rather the more sharp and severe infliction. And whereas you infer, that your overrash credulity, gave the only means to my revenge: Alas! therein you deceive yourself; for I have a thousand crotchets working continually in my brain, whereby to entrap a wiser creature than a woman, yet veiled all under the cunning cloak of love, but sauced with the bitter wormwood of hate. So that, had not this happened as now it doth, of necessity you must have fall'n into another: but, as it hath pleased my happy stars to favour me therein, none could prove more to your eternal scandal and disgrace, than this of your own devising; which I made choice of, not in regard of any ease to you, but only to content myself.  
But if all other devices else had failed, my pen was and is my prevailing Champion, where with I would have written such and so many strange matters, concerning you in your very dearest reputation; that you should have cursed the hour of your conception, & wished your birth had been abortive. The powers of the pen are too many & mighty, whereof such weak wits as have made no experience, are the less able to use any relation. I swear to you Lady, by my best hopes, that this revenge which (perhaps) you esteem great and dishonourable, is no way compareable to the wounding Lines of a pen, which can character down so infinite infamies (yet none but guilty and true taxations) as will make your own hands immediate instruments, to tear the eyes from forth your head, and so bequeath your after days unto perpetual darkness.  
Now, concerning your lost lover, for whose sake you suffer this unexpected penance; although your choice hath proved but bad, yet still continue your affection to him: in regard that I have another Lady and Mistress, of higher and greater desert than you, and to whom I will continue for ever constant. And whereas you think, the warm beams of the sun, will be too hot and scorching for your nice body to endure: remember the extreme cold which you caused me to feel, and if you can intermix some part of that cold with the present heat, I dare assure you, the Sun (in his highest heat) will be far more temperate for your feeling.  
The disconsolate Lady perceiving, that the scholar's words savoured of no mercy, but rather as covering her desperate ending; with the tears streaming down her cheeks, thus she replied. Well Sir, seeing there is no matter of worth in me, whereby to derive any compassion from you: yet for that Lady's sake, whom you have elected worthy to enjoy your love, and so fare excelleth me in wisdom; vouchsafe to pardon me, and suffer my garments to be brought me, wherewith to cover my nakedness, and so to descend down from this Tower, if it may stand with your gentle Nature to admit it.  
Now began Reniero to laugh very hearty, and perceiving how swiftly the day ran on in his course, he said unto her. Believe me madam Helena, you have so conjured me by mine endeared Lady and Mistress, that I am no longer able to deny you; wherefore, tell me where your garments are, and I will bring them to you, that you may come down from the Turret. She believing his promise, told him where she had hid them, and Reniero departing from the Tower, commanded his servant, not to stir thence: but to abide still so near it, as none might get entrance there till his returning. Which charge was no sooner given to his man, but he went to the house of a near neighbouring friend, where he dined well, and afterward laid him down to sleep.  
In the mean while, madam Helena remaining still on the Tower, began to comfort herself with a little vain hope, yet sighing and weeping incessantly, seating herself so well as she could, where any small shelter might yield the least shade, in expectation of the scholars returning: one while weeping, then again hoping, but most of all despairing, by his so long tarrying away with her Garments; so that being overwearied with anguish and long watching, she fell into a little slumbering. But the sun was so extremely hot, the hour of noon being already past, that it merely parched her delicate body, and burned her bare head so violently: as not only it seared all the flesh it touched; but also cleft & chinked it strangely, beside blisters and other painful scorchings in the flesh which hindered her sleeping, to help herself (by all possible means) waking. And the Turret being covered with Lead, gave the greater addition to her torment; for, as she removed from one place to another, it yielded no mitigation to the burning heat, but parched and wrinkled the flesh extraordinarily, even as when a piece of parchment is thrown into the fire, and recovered out again, can never be extended to his former form.  
Moreover, she was so grievously pained with the headache, as it seemed to split in a thousand pieces, whereat there needed no great marvel, the Lead of the Turret being so exceedingly hot, that it afforded not the least defence against it, or any repose to qualify the torment: but driven her still from one place to another, in hope of ease, but none was there to be found.  
Nor was there any wind at all stirring, whereby to assuage the sun's violent scalding, or keep away huge swarms of wasps, Hornets, and terrible biting flies, which vexed her extremely, feeding on those parts of her body, that were rifte and chinked, like crannies in a mortered wall, and pained her like so many points of pricking Needles, labouring still with her hands to beat them away, but yet they fastened on one place or other, and afflicted her in grievous manner, causing her to curse her own life, her amorous friend, but (most of all) the scholar, that promised to bring her Garments, and as yet returned not. Now began she to gaze upon every side about her, to espy some labouring Husbandmen in the fields, to whom she might call or cry out for help, not fearing to discover her desperate condition: but Fortune therein also was adverse to her, because the heats extremity, had driven all the village out of the fields, causing them to feed their Cattle about their own houses, or in remote and shady valleys: so that she could see no other creatures to comfort her, but swans swimming in the river of Arno, and wishing herself there a thousand times with them, for to cool the extremity of her thirst, which so much the more increased, only by the sight thereof, and utterly disabled of having any.  
She saw beside in many places about her, goodly Woods, fair cool shades, and Country houses here and there dispersed; which added the greater violence to her affliction, that her desires (in all these) could no way be accomplished. What shall I say more concerning this disastrous Lady? The parching beams of the sun above her, the scalding heat of the Lead beneath her, the Hornets and flies every way stinging her, had made such an alteration of her beautiful body: that, as it checked and controlled the precedent night's darkness, it was now so metamorphosed with redness, yea, and blood issuing forth in infinite places, as she seemed (almost) loathsome to look on, continuing still in this agony of torment, quite void of all hope, and rather expecting death, than any other comfort.  
Reniero, when some three hours of the afternoon were overpast, awaked from sleeping: and remembering madam Helena, he went to see in what estate she was; as also to send his servant unto dinner, because he had fasted all that day. She perceiving his arrival, being altogether weak, faint, and wondrously overwearied, she crept on her knees to a corner of the Turret, and calling to him, spoke in this manner. Reniero, thy revenge exceedeth all manhood and respect: For, if thou wast almost frozen in my Court, thou hast roasted me all day long on this Tower, yea, merely broiled my poor naked body, beside starving me through want of Food and drink. Be now then so merciful (for manhoods sake) as to come up hither, and inflict that on me, which mine own hands are not strong enough to do, I mean the ending of my loathed and wearisome life, for I desire it beyond all comfort else, and I shall honour thee in the performance of it. If thou deny me this gracious favour; at least send me up a glass of Water, only to moisten my mouth, which my tears (being all merely dried up) are not able to do, so extreme is the violence of the sun's burning heat.  
Well perceived the scholar, by the weakness of her voice, and scorching of her body by the sun's parching beams, that she was brought now to great extremity: which sight, as also her humble intercession, began to touch him with some compassion, nevertheless, thus he replied. Wicked woman, my hands shallbe no mean of thy death, but make use of thine own, if thou be so desirous to have it: and as much water shalt thou get of me to assuage thy thirst, as thou gavest me fire to comfort my freezing, when thou wast in the luxurious heat of thy immodest desires, and I well-near frozen to death with extremity of cold. Pray that the evening may rain down Rose-water on thee, because that in the river of Arno is not good enough for thee: for as little pity do I take on thee now, as thou didst extend compassion to me then.  
Miserable Woman that I am, answered Helena; Why did the heavens bestow beauty on me, which others have admired and honoured, and yet (by thee) is utterly despised? More cruel art thou then any savage Beast; thus to vex and torment me in such merciless manner. What greater extremity couldst thou inflict on me, if I had been the destruction of all thy Kindred, and left no one man living of thy race? I am verily persuaded, that more cruelty cannot be used against a Traitor, who was th● subversion of an whole city, than this tyranny of thine, roasting me thus in the beams of the Sun, and suffering my body to be devoured with Elies, without so small a mercy, as to give me a little cool water, which murderers are permitted to have, being condemned by justice, and led to execution: yea Wine also, if they request it.  
But, seeing thou art so constant in thy pernicious resolve, as neither thine own good Nature, nor this lamentable sufferance in me, are able to alter thee: I will prepare myself for death patiently, to the end, that heaven may be merciful to my soul, and reward thee justly, according to thy cruelty. Which words being ended, she withdrew herself towards the midst of the terrace, despairing of escaping (with life) from the heats violence; and not once only, but infinite times beside (among her other grievous extremities) she was ready to dye with drought, bemoaning incessantly her dolorous condition.  
By this time the day was well near spent, and night began to hasten on apace: when the scholar (immagining that he afflicted her sufficiently) took her Garments, and wrapping them up in his man's cloak, went thence to the Lady's house, where he found Ancilla the Waiting-woman sitting at the door, sad and disconsolate for her Ladies long absence, to whom thus he spoke. How now Ancilla? Where is thy Lady and Mistress? Alas Sir (quoth she) I know not. I thought this morning to have found her in her bed, as usually I was wont to do, and where I left her yesternight at our parting: but there she was not, nor in any place else of my knowledge, neither can I imagine what is become of her, which is to me no mean discomfort.  
But can you (Sir) say any thing of her? Ancilla, said he, I would thou hadst been in her company, and at the same place where now she is, that some punishment for thy fault might have fall'n upon thee, as already it hath done on her. But believe it assuredly, that thou shalt not freely escape from my fingers, till I have justly paid thee for thy pains, to teach thee to abuse any Gentleman, as thou didst me.  
Having thus spoken, he called to his servant, saying. Give her the Garments, and bid her go look her Lady, if she will. The servingman fulfilled his master's command, and Ancilla having received her Lady's clothes, knowing them perfectly, and remembering (withal) what had been said: she waxed very doubtful, lest they had slain her, hardly refraining from exclaiming on them, but that greet and heavy weeping overcame her; so that upon the scholars departing, she ran in all haste with the garments towards the Tower.  
Upon this fatal and unfortunate day to madam Helena, it chanced, that a clown or country Peazant belonging to her farm or Dairy house, having two of his young heifers wandered astray, and he labouring in diligent search to find them: within a while after the scholar's departure, came to seek them in Woods about the Tower, and, notwithstanding all his crying and calling for his beasts, yet he heard the Ladies grievous moans and lamentations. Wherefore, he cried out so loud as he could, saying: Who is it that mourneth so aloft on the Tower? Full well she knew the voice of her peazant, and therefore called unto him, and said in this manner.  
Go (quoth she) I pray thee for my Waiting-woman Ancilla, and bid her make some means to come up hither to me. The clown knowing his Lady, said. How now madam? Who hath carried you up there so high? Your Woman Ancilla hath sought for you all this day, yet no one could ever have imagined you to be there. So looking about him, he espied the two sides of the Ladder, which the scholar had pulled in sunder; as also the steps, which he had scattered thereabout; placing them in due order again as they should be, and binding them fast with Withies and willows.  
By this time Ancilla was come thither, who so soon as she was entered into the Tower, could not refrain from tears & complaints, beating her hands each against other, and crying out. Madam, Madam, my dear Lady and Mistress! Alas, Where are you? So soon as she heard the tongue of Ancilla, she replied (so well as she could) saying: Ah my sweet Woman, I am here aloft upon the terrace; weep not, neither make any noise, but quickly bring me some of my Garments. When she heard her answer in such comfortable manner, she mounted up the Ladder, which the peazant had made very firm and strong, holding it fast for her safer ascending; by which means she went up on the terrace. Beholding her Lady in so strange a condition, resembling no humane body, but rather the trunk of a Tree half burned, lying flat on her face, naked, scorched and strangely deformed: she began to tear the locks of her own hair, raving and raging in as pitiful manner, as if her Lady had been quite dead. Which storming tempest, madam Helena soon pacified, entreating her to use silence, and help to put on her garments.  
Having understood by her, that no one knew of her being there, but such as brought her clothes, and the poor peazant, attending there still to do her any service: she became the better comforted, entreating them by all means, that it might be concealed from any further discovery, which was on either side, most faithfully protested.  
The poor clown holp to bear down his Lady upon his back, because the Ladder stood not conveniently enough for her descending, neither were her limbs pliable for her own use, by reason of their rifts and smarting. Ancilla following after, and being more respective of her Lady, than her own security in descending, missing the step in the midst of the Ladder, fell down to the ground, and quite broke her leg in the fall, the pain whereof was so grievous to her, that she cried and roared extraordinarily, even like a lion in the desert.  
When the clown had set his Lady safe on a fair green bank, he returned to see what the waiting woman ailed, and finding her leg to be quite broken: he carried her also to the same bank, & there seated her by her Lady: who perceiving what a mischance had happened, and she (from whom she expected her only best help, to be now in far greater necessity herself: she lamented exceedingly, complaining on fortune's cruel malice toward her, in thus heaping one misery upon another, and never ceasing to torment her, especially now in the conclusion of all, and when she thought all future perils to be past.  
Now was the Sun upon his setting, when the poor honest countryman, because dark night should not overtake them, conducted the Lady home to his own house: and gaining the assistance of his two brethren and wife, setting the waiting-woman in a chair, thither they brought her in like manner. And questionless, there wanted no diligence and comfortable language, to pacify the Lady's continual lamentations. The good wife, led the Lady into her own poor lodging, where (such cates as they had to feed on) lovingly she set before her: conveying her afterward into her own bed, and taking such good order, that Ancilla was carried in the night time to Florence, to prevent all further ensuing danger, by reason of her legs breaking.  
Madame Helena, to colour this misfortune of her own: as also the great mishap of her woman: forged an artificial and cunning tale, to give some formal appearance of her being in the Tower, persuading the poor simple Country people, that in a strange accident of thunder and lightning, and by the illusions of wicked spirits, all this adventure happened to her. Then physicians were sent for; who, not without much anguish and affliction to the Lady (by reason of her flesh's flaying off, with the Medicines and emplasters applied to the body) was glad to suffer whatsoever they did, beside falling into a very dangerous fever; out of which she was not recovered in a long while after, but continued in daily despair of her life; beside other accidents happening in her time of physic, utterly unavoidable in such extremities: and hardly had Ancilla her leg cured.  
By this unexpected penance imposed on madam Helena, she utterly forgot her amorous friend; and (from thence forward) carefully kept herself from fond love's allurements, and such scornful behaviour, wherein she was most disorderly faulty. And Reniero the scholar, understanding that Ancilla had broken her leg, which he reputed as a punishment sufficient for her, held himself satisfied, because neither the mistress nor her maid, could now make any great boast, of his nights hard entertainment, and so concealed all matters else.  
Thus a wanton-headed Lady, could find no other subject to work her mocking folly on, but a learned scholar, of whom she made no more respect, than any other ordinary man. never remembering, that such men are expert (I cannot say all, but the greater part of them) to help the frenzy of foolish Ladies, that must enjoy their lose desires, by Negromancy, and the divelles' means. Let it therefore (fair Ladies) be my loving admonition to you, to detest all unwomanly mocking and scorning, but more especially to scholars.   

Two near dwelling Neighbours, the one being named Spineloccio Tavena, and the other Zeppa di Mino, frequenting each others company daily together; Spinelloccio Cuckolded his Friend and Neighbour. Which happening to the knowledge of Zeppa, he prevailed so well with the Wife of Spinelloccio, that he being locked up in a Chest, he revenged his wrong at that instant, so that neither of them complained of his misfortune.  
The Eight novel.  
Wherein is approved, that he which offereth shame and disgrace to his Neighbour; may receive the like injury (if not in worse manner) by the same man.  
Grievous, and full of compassion, appeared the hard Fortunes of madam Helena to be, having much discontented, and (well-near) wearied all the Ladies in hearing them recounted. But because they were very justly inflicted upon her, and according as (in equity) she had deserved, they were the more moderate in their commisseration: howbeit, they reputed the scholar not only over-obstinate, but also too strict, rigorous and severe. Wherefore, when madam Pampinea had finished her novel, the Queen gave command to madam Fiammetta, that she should follow next with her discourse; whereto she showing obedience, thus began.  
Because it appeareth in my judgement (fair Ladies) that the scholar's cruelty hath much displeased you, making you more melancholy than this time requireth: I hold it therefore very convenient, that your contristed spirits should be cheerfully revived, with matter more pleasing and delightful. And therefore, I mean to report a novel of a certain man, who took an injury done him, in much milder manner, and revenged his wrong more moderately, than the furious incensed scholar did. Whereby you may comprehend, that it is sufficient for any man, and so he ought to esteem it, to serve another with the same sauce, which the offending party caused him first to taste of: without coveting any stricter revenge, then agreeth with the quality of the injury received.  
Know then (Gracious assembly) that, as I have heretofore heard, there lived not long since in Sienna, two young men, of honest parentage and equal condition, neither of the best, nor yet the meanest calling in the City: the one being named Spinelloccio Tavena, and the other termed Zeppa di Mino, their houses Neighbouring together in the street Camollia. Seldom the one walked abroad without the others Company, and their houses allowed equal welcome to them both; so that by outward demonstrations, & inward mutual affection, as far as humane capacity had power to extend, they lived and loved like two Brethren, they both being wealthy, and married unto two beautiful women.  
It came to pass, that Spinelloccio, by often resorting to the house of Zeppa, as well in his absence, as when he abode at home; began to glance amorous looks on Zeppaes' wife, and pursued his unneighbourly purpose in such sort: that he being the stronger persuader, and she (belike) too credulous in believing, or else over-feeble in resisting; from private imparlance, they fell to action; and continued their close fight a long while together, unseen and without suspicion, no doubt to their equal joy and contentment.  
But, whether as a just punishment, for breaking so loving a league of friendship and neighbourhood, or rather a fatal infliction, evermore attending on the closest Cuckoldry, their felicity still continuing in this kind: it fortuned on a day, Zeppa abiding within doors, contrary to the knowledge of his wife, Spinelloccio came to inquire for him, and she answering (as she verily supposed) that he was gone abroad: up they went both together into the Hall, and no body being there to hinder what they intended, they fell to their wont recreation without any fear, kissing and embracing as lovers use to do.  
Zeppa seeing all this, spoke not one word, neither made any noise at all; but kept himself closely hidden, to observe the issue of this amorous conflict. To be brief, he saw Spinelloccio go with his wife into the Chamber, and make the door fast after them, whereat he could have been angry, which he held to be no part of true wisdom. For he knew well enough, that to make an out cry in this case, or otherwise to reveal this kind of injury, it could no way make it less, but rather give a greater addition of shame and scandal: he thought this no course for him to take; wiser considerations entered his brain, to have this wrong fully revenged, yet with such a discreet and orderly carriage, as no neighbours knowledge should by any means apprehend it, or the least sign of discontent in himself blab it, because they were two dangerous evils.  
Many notable courses wheeled about his conceit, every one promising fairly, and ministering means of formal appearance, yet one (above the rest) won his absolute allowance, which he intended to prosecute as best he might. In which resolution, he kept still very close, so long as Spinelloccio was with his Wife; but he being gone, he went into the Chamber, where he found his wife, amending the form of her head attire, which Spinelloccio had put into a disordered fashion. Wife (quoth he) what art thou doing? Why? Do you not see Husband? answered she. Yes that I do wife, replied Zeppa, and something else happened to my sight, which I could wish that I had not seen. Rougher Language growing between them, of his avouching, and her as stout denying, with defending her cause over-weakely, against the manifest proofs both of eye and ear: at last she fell on her knees before him, weeping incessantly, and no excuses now availing, she confessed her long acquaintance with Spinelloccio, and most humbly entreated him to forgive her. Upon the which penitent confession and submission, Zeppa thus answered.  
Wife, if inward contrition be answerable to thy outward seeming sorrow, than I make no doubt, but faithfully thou dost acknowledge thine own evil doing: for which, if thou expectest pardon of me; determine then to fulfil effectually, such a business as I must enjoin, and thou perform. I command thee to tell Spinelloccio, that to morrow morning, about nine of the clock, we being both abroad walking, he must find some apt occasion to leave my company, and then come hither to visit thee. When he is here, suddenly will I return home, and upon thy hearing of my entrance: to save his own credit, and thee from detection, thou shalt require him to enter this Chest, until such time as I am gone forth again; which he doing, for both your safeties, so soon as he is in the chest, take the key and lock him up fast. When thou hast effected this, then shall I acquaint thee with the rest remaining, which also must be done by thee, without dread of the least harm to him or thee, because there is no malicious meaning in me, but such as (I am persuaded) thou canst not justly mislike. The wife, to make some satisfaction for her offence committed, promised that she would perform it, and so she did.  
On the morrow morning, the hour of nine being come, when Zeppa and Spinelloccio were walking abroad together, Spinelloccio remembering his promise unto his Mistress, and the clock telling him the appointed hour, he said to Zeppa. I am to dine this day with an especial friend of mine, who I would be loath should tarry for my coming; and therefore hold my departure excused. How now? answered Zeppa, the time for dinner is yet fare enough off, wherefore then should we part so soon? Yea but Zeppa, replied Spinelloccio, we have weighty matters to confer on before dinner, which will require three hours' space at the least, and therefore it behoveth me to respect due time.  
Spinelloccio being departed from Zeppa (who followed fair and softly after him) being come to the house, and kindly welcomed by the wife: they were no sooner gone up the stairs, and entering in at the Chamber door; but the Woman heard her Husband cough, and also his coming up the stairs. Alas dear Spinelloccio (quoth she) what shall we do? My Husband is coming up, and we shall be both taken tardy, step into this Chest, lie down there and stir not, till I have sent him forth again, which shall be within a very short while. Spinelloccio was not a little joyful for her good advice; down in the Chest lay he, and she locked him in: by which time Zeppa was entered the Chamber. Where are you Wife? said he, (speaking so loud, as he in the Chest might hear him) What, is it time to go to dinner? It will be anon Sir, answered she, as yet it is overearly; but seeing you are come, the more haste shall be made, and every thing will be ready quickly.  
Zeppa, sitting down upon the Chest, wherein Spinelloccio lay not a little affrighted, speaking still aloud, as formerly he did: Come hither Wife (quoth he) how shall we do for some good company to dine with us? Mine honest kind neighbour Spinelloccio is not at home, because he dineth forth to day with a dear friend of his, by which means, his wife is left at home alone: give her a call out at our Window, and desire her to come dine with us: for we two can make no merry music, except some more come to fill up the consort.  
His Wife being very timorous, yet diligent to do whatsoever he commanded, so prevailed with the Wife of Spinelloccio: that she came to them quickly, and so much the rather, because her Husband dined abroad. She being come up into the Chamber, Zeppa gave her most kind entertainment, taking her gently by the hand, and winking on his Wife, that she should betake herself to the kitchen, to see dinner speedily prepared, while he sat conversing with his neighbour in the Chamber.  
His wife being gone, he shut the door after her; which the new-come Neighbour perceiving, she said. Our blessed Lady defend me. Zeppa, What is your meaning in this? Have you caused me to come hither to this in tent? Is this the love you bear to Spinelloccio, and your professed loyalty in friendship? Zeppa, seating her down on the Chest, wherein her Husband was enclosed, entreating her patience, thus began. Kind and loving neighbour, before you adventure too fare in anger, vouchsafe to hear what I shall tell you.  
I have loved, and still do love, Spinelloccio as my brother, but yesterday (albeit he knoweth it not) I found, the honest trust I reposed in him, deserved no other, or better recompense, but even to be bold with my wife, in the selfsame manner as I am, and as he ought to do with none but you. Now, in regard of the love which I bear him, I intent to be no otherwise revenged on him, but in the same kind as the offence was committed. He hath been more than familiar with my wife, I must borrow the selfsame courtesy of you, which in equity you cannot deny me, weighing the wrong you have sustained by my wife. Our injuries are alike, in your Husband to me, and in my wife to you: let then their punishment and ours be alike also; as they, so we; for in this case there can be no juster revenge.  
The Woman hearing this, and perceiving the manifold confirmations thereof, protested (on solemn oath) by Zeppa; her belief grew settled, and thus she answered. My loving neighbour Zeppa, seeing this kind of revenge is (in mere justice) imposed on me, and ordained as a due scourge, as well to the breach of friendship and neighbourhood, as abuse of his true and loyal wife: I am the more willing to consent: always provided, that it be no imbarrement of love between your wife and me, albeit I have good reason to allege, that she began the quarrel first: and what I do is but to right my wrong, as any other woman of spirit would do: Afterwards, we may the more easily pardon one another. For breach of peace (answered Zeppa) between my wife and you, take my honest word for your warrant. Moreover, in requital of this favour to me, I will bestow a dear and precious jewel on you, excelling all the rest which you have beside.  
In delivering these words, he sweetly kissed and embraced her, as she sat on the Chest wherein her husband lay: now, what they did else beside, in recompense of the wrong-received, I leave to your imagination, as rather deserving silence, then immodest blabbing. Spinelloccio, being all this while in the Chest, hearing easily all the words which Zeppa had uttered, the answer of his wife, as also what music they made over his head: you may guess in what a case he was, his heart being ready to split with rage, and, but that he stood in fear of Zeppa, he would have railed and exclaimed on his wife, as thus he lay shut up in the Chest. But entering into better consideration, that so great an injury was first begun by himself, & Zeppa did no more, then in reason and equity he might well do (having evermore carried himself like a kind neighbour and friend towards him, without the least offer of distaste) he faithfully resolved, to be a firmer friend to Zeppa then formerly he had been, if it might be embraced and accepted on the other side.  
Delights and pleasures, be they never so long in contenting and continuance, yet they come to a period and conclusion at last: So Zeppa, having ended his amorous combat, and over the head of his perfidious friend, thought himself sufficiently revenged. But now, in consideration of a further promise made on the bargain; Spinelloccioes wife challengeth the jewel, than which kind of recompense, nothing can be more welcome to women. Hereupon, Zeppa calling for his own wife, commanded her to open the Chest; which she did, and he merrily smiling, said. Well wife, you have given me a Cake instead of bread, and you shall lose nothing for your labour. So Spinelloccio coming forth of the Chest, it requireth a better wit than mine, to tell you, which of them stood most confounded with shame, either Spinelloccio seeing Zeppa, and knowing well enough what he had done: or the woman beholding her husband, who easily heard all their familiar conference, and the action thereupon so deservedly performed.  
See neighbour, is not this your dearest jewel? Having kept it awhile in my wife's custody; according to my promise, here I deliver it you. Spinelloccio being glad of his deliverance out of the Chest, albeit not a little ashamed of himself; without using many impertinent words, said. Zeppa, our wrongs are equally requited on each other, and therefore I allow thy former speeches to my Wife, that thou wast my friend, as I am the like to thee, and so I pray thee let us still continue. For nothing else is now to be divided between us, seeing we have shared alike in our wives, which none knowing but ourselves, let it be as closely kept to ourselves. Zeppa was well pleased with the motion, and so all four dined lovingly together, without any variance or discontentment. And thence forward, each of the Women had two Husbands, as either Husband enjoyed two wives, without further contention or debate.   

Maestro Simone, an ydle-headed Doctor of physic, was thrown by Bruno and Buffalmaco, into a common Leystall of Filth: The physician fond believing, that (in the night time) he should he made one of a new created Company, who usually went to see wonders at Corsica; and there in the Leystall they left him.  
The Ninth novel.  
Wherein is approved, that Titles of Honour, Learning, and Dignity, are not always bestown on the wisest men.  
AFter that the Ladies had a while considered, on the communication between the two wives of Sienna, and the falsehood in friendship of their Husbands: the Queen, who was the last to recount her novel, without offering injury to Dioneus, began to speak thus.  
The reward for a precedent wrong committed, which Zeppa retorted upon Spinelloccio, was answerable to his desert, and no more than equity required, in which respect, I am of opinion, that such men ought not to be over-sharpely reproved, as do in jury to him, who seeketh for it, and justly should have it, although Madam Pampinea (not long since) avouched the contrary. Now, it evidently appeareth, that Spinelloccio well deserved what was done to him, and I purpose to speak of another, who needs would seek after his own disgrace. The rather to confirm my former speeches, that they which beguile such wilful foolish men; are not to be blamed, but rather commended. And he unto whom the shame was done, was a physician, which came from Bologna to Florence; and returned thither again like unto a Beast, notoriously baffulled and disgraced.  
It is a matter well known to us, and (almost) observed day by day, that diverse of our Citizens, when they return from their studying at Bologna: one becometh an advocate, another a physician, and a third a notary, with long & large gowns, some of Scarlet, and hoods furred with Minever, beside diverse other great appearances, succeeding effectually daily in their several kinds. Among whom, there returned (not long since) thence, one Master Simon da Villa, more rich in possessions left him by his parents, than any knowledge thereto obtained: yet clothed in Scarlet, with his Miniver hood, and styled a Doctor of physic, which title he only bestowed on himself, and took a goodly house for his dwelling, in the street which we commonly call La via del Cocomero. This Master Doctor Simon, being thus newly come thither, among other notable qualities in him, had one more especial than any of the rest, namely, to know the names and conditions of such persons, as daily passed by his door, and what professions they were of, whereby any likelihood might be gathered of needing his help, and being his patients, observing them all with very vigilant care.  
But, among all the rest by him thus warily noted, he most observed two Painters, of whom we have heretofore twice discoursed, Bruno and Buffalmaco, who walked continually together, and were his near dwelling neighbours. The matter which most of all he noted in them, was; that they lived metrily, and with much less care, than any else in the city beside, and verily they did so in deed. Wherefore, he demanded of diverse persons, who had good understanding of them both, of what estate and condition they were. And hearing by every one, that they were but poor men & Painters: he greatly marvelled, how it could be possible for them, that they should live so iocondly, and in such poverty. It was related to him further beside, that they were men of a quick and ingenious apprehension, whereby he politicly imagined, that their poor condition could not so well maintain them; without some courses else, albeit not publicly known unto men, yet redounding to their great commodity and profit. In which regard, he grew exceeding desirous, by what means he might become acquainted, and grow into familiarity with them both, or any of them, at the least: wherein (at the length) he prevailed, and Bruno proved to be the man.  
Now Bruno plainly perceiving (within a short while of this new begun acquaintance) that the physician was a loggerhead, and merely no better than a Gregorian animal: he began to have much good pastime with him, by telling him strange and incredible Tales, such as none but a coxcomb would give credit too; yet they delighted Doctor Dunce extraordinarily, and Brunoes' familiarity was so highly pleasing to him, that he was a daily guest at dinner and supper with him, and he was not meanly proud of enjoying his company. One day, as they sat in familiar conference together, he told Bruno that he wondered not a little at him and Buffalmaco, they being both so poor people, yet lived far more iovially than Lords, and therefore desired to understand, by what secret means they compassed such mirthful maintenance. Bruno, hearing the doctor's demand, & perceiving that it savoured more of the fool, than any the very lest taste of wisdom: smiled unto himself, and determined to return him such an answer, as might be fitting for his folly, whereupon, thus he replied.  
Believe me Master Doctor, I would not impart to many people, what private helps we have for our maintenance: but yet I dare boldly acquaint you therewith, in regard you are one of our most intimate friends, and of such secrecy, as (I know) you will not reveal it to any. True it is, that mine honest neighbour and myself, do lead our lives in such merry manner as you see, and better than all the world is ware of, for I cannot imagine you to be so ignorant, but are certainly persuaded: that if we had no better means, than our poor manual trade and profession; we might sit at home with bread and water, and be nothing so lively spirited as we are. Yet Sir, I would not have you to conceive, that we do either rob or steal, or use any other unlawful courses: only we travail to Corsica, from whence we bring (without the least prejudice to any other) all things we stand in need of, or whatsoever we can desire. Thus do we maintain ourselves well and honestly, and live in this mirthful disposition.  
Master Doctor hearing this Discourse, and believing it constantly, without any further instruction or intelligence: became possessed with very much admiration, and had the most earnest desire in the world, to know what this travailing to Corsica might mean: entreating Bruno with very great instances, to tell him what it was, and made many protestations never to disclose it to any one. How now Master Doctor? answered Bruno, What a strange motion do you make to me? It is too great a secret, which you desire to know, yea, a matter of mine own ruin, and an utter expulsion out of this world, with condemnation into the mouth of Lucifer da San Gallo, if any man whatsoever should know it from me, wherefore I pray you to urge it no more. O my deer and honest neighbour Bruno (quoth the Doctor) assure thyself upon my soul, that whatsoever thou reuealest to me, shall be under seal from all, but only ourselves. Fie, fie Master Doctor, answered Bruno, you are too pressing and importunate. So sitting smiling to himself, shaking his head, and beating his breast, as if he were in some strange distraction of mind, stamping with his feet, and beating his fist oftentimes on the Table, at last he started up, and spoke in this manner.  
Ah Master Doctor, the love I bear to your capricious and rarely circumcised experience, and likewise the confidence I repose in your scrutinous taciturnity, are both of such mighty and prevailing power; as I cannot conceal any thing from you, which you covet to know. And therefore, if you will swear unto me by the cross of Monteson, that never (as you have already faithfully promised) you will disclose a secret so admirable; I will relate it unto you, and not otherwise. The Doctor swore, and swore again, and then Brwo thus began.  
Know then my learned and judicious Doctor, that it is not long time since, when there lived in this city of ours, a man very excellent in the Art of necromancy, who named himself Michale Scoto, because he was a Scottishman borne, of many worthy Gentlemen (very few of them being now living) he was much honoured and respected. When he grew desirous to departed from hence, upon their earnest motion and entreaty; he left here two of his scholars behind him, men of absolute skill and experience: giving them especial charge and command, to do all possible services they could device, for those Gentlemen who had so highly honoured him. The two famous scholars, were very helpful to those Gentlemen, in diverse of their amorous occasions, and very many other matters beside.  
Not long after, they finding the city, and behaviour of the people sufficiently pleasing to them; they resolved on their continuance here, entering into a league of love and friendship with diverse, never regarding, whether they were Gentlemen, or no, or distinguishing the poor from the rich: but only in being conform to their complexions, sociable and fit for friendship.  
They created a kind Society, consisting of about five and twenty men, who should meet together twice in a month, & in a place reputed convevient for them: where being so assembled, every man uttered his mind to those two scholars, in such cases as they most desired, to have wherewith they were all satisfied the selfsame night. It came so to pass, that Buffalmaco and I, grew into acquaintance with those two worthy scholars, and our private familiarity together proved so prosperous, that we were admitted into the same Society, and so have ever since continued. Now Sir, I am to tell you matter deserving admiration, & which (in very good judgements) would seem to exceed all belief.  
For, at every time when we were assembled together: you are not able to imagine, what sumptuous hangings of tapestry, did adorn the Hall where we sat at meat, the Tables covered in such royal manner, waited on by numberless Noble and goodly attendants, both Women and Men, serving readily, at each man's command of the company. The Basins, Ewers, Pots, flagons, & all the vessels else which stood before, and for the service of our diet, being composed only of Gold and silver, and out of no worse did we both eat and drink: the viands being very rare and dainty, abounding in plenty and variety, according to the appetite of every person, as nothing could be wished for, but it was instantly obtained.  
In good sadness Sir, I am not able to remember and tell you (within the compass of a thousand years) what, and how many several kinds of musical Instruments, were continually played on before us; what multiplicity of wax lights burned in all parts of the rooms; neither the excessive store of rich Drugs, Marchpanes, comfits, and rare banqueting stuff, consumed there at one Feasting, wherein there wanted no bounty of the best and purest wines. Nor do I (Master Doctor) repute you so weakly witted, as to think, that in the time of our being thus assembled there, any of us all were clothed in such simple and mean Garments, as ordinarily are worn in the streets on men's bodies, or any so silly as the very best you have: No Sir, not any one man among us, but appeared by his apparel, equal to the greatest Emperor on the earth, his robe most sumptuously embroidered with precious stones, pearls, and Carbuncles, as all the world affordeth not the like. But above all the rest, the delights and pleasures there, are beyond my capacity to express, or (indeed) any comparison: as namely, store of goodly and beautiful women, brought thither from all parts of the world; always provided, if men be desirous of their company: but for your easier comprehension, I will make some brief relation of them to you, according as I heard them there named.  
There is the great Lady of Barbanicchia; the Queen of Baschia; the Wife to the great sultan, the Empress of Osbeccho; the Ciancianfera of Norniera; the Semistante of Berlinzona; and the Scalpedra of Narsia. But why do I break my brain, in numbering up so many to you? All the Queens of the world are there, even so fare as to the Schinchimurra of Prester John, that hath a horn in the midst of her posteriores, albeit not visible to every eye.  
Now I am further to tell you, that after we have tasted a Cup of precious Wine, fed on a few delicate Comfits, and danced a dance or two to the rare music: every one taketh a Lady by the hand, of whom he pleaseth to make his election, and she conducteth him to her Chamber, in very grave and gracious manner. Concerning the Chambers there, each of them resembleth a Paradise to look on, they are so fair and goodly; and no less odorifferous in smell, than the sweetest perfumes in your apothecary's shops, or the rare compounds of Spices, when they are beaten in an open mortar. And as for the Beds, they are infinitely richer, than the very costliest belonging to the Duke of Venice: yet (in such) each man is appointed to take his rest, the music of rare Cymbals lasting all night long, much better to be by you considered, then in my rude eloquence expressed.  
But of all those rich and sumptuous Beds (if pride of mine own opinion do not deceive me) them two provided for Buffalmaco and me, had hardly any equal: he having the Queen of France as his Lady and Mistress, and I, the renowned Queen of England, the only two choice beauties of the whole World, and we appeared so pleasing in their eyes, as they would have refused the greatest monarches on the earth, rather than to be rejected by us. Now therefore, you may easily consider with yourself, what great reason we have to live more merrily, than any other men can do: in regard we enjoy the gracious favour of two such royal Queens, receiving also from them (whensoever we please to command them) a thousand or two thousand Florines at the least, which are both truly and duly sent us. enjoying thus the benefit of this high happiness, we that are companions of this Society, do term it in our vulgar Language, The pirates voyage to Corsica. Because, as rovers or pirates rob and take away the goods of such as they meet withal, even so do we: only there remaineth this difference between us, that they never restore what they have taken: which we do immediately afterward, whether it be required or no. And thus Master Doctor, as to my most endeared friend, I have now revealed the meaning of sailing to Corsica, after the manner of our private piracy, and how important the close retention of the voyage is, you are best able yourself to judge: In which regard, remember your oaths and faithful promises, or else I am undone for ever.  
Our worthy wise Doctor, whose best skill scarcely extended so fare, as to cure the itch in Children; gave such sound belief to the relation of Bruno, as any man could do, to the most certain truth of life or death: having his desire immeasurably inflamed, to be made a member of this strange society, which he more coveted, than any thing in the world beside, accounting it a felicity fare beyond all other.  
Whereupon he answered Bruno, that it was no great matter of marvel, if he lived so merrily as he did, having such a singular supply, to avoid all necessities whatsoever: and very hardly could he refrain from immediate request, to be accepted into the company. But yet he thought fit to defer it further, until he had made Bruno more beholding to him, by friendly entertainments and other courtesies, when he might (with better hope) be bold to move the motion.  
Well may you conceive, that nothing more hammered in the doctor's head, than this rare voyage to Corsica, and Bruno was his daily guest at dinner and supper, with such extraordinary appearances of kindness and courtesy, as if the physician could not live, except he had the company of Bruno. Who seeing himself to be so lovingly respected, and hating ingratitude, for favours so abundantly heaped on him: he painted the whole story of Lent about his Hall, and an Agnus Dei fairly gilt, on the portal of his Chamber, as also a goodly urinal on his street door, to the end, that such as had need of his counsel, might know where so judicious a doctor dwelled. In a Gallery likewise by his Garden, he painted the furious battle between the Rats and Cats, which did (not a little) delight Master Doctor.  
Moreover, at such times as Bruno had not supped with our physician, he would be sure to tell him on the morrow, that the night passed, he had been with the Company which he did wots of. And there (quoth he) the Queen of England having somewhat offended me, I commanded, that the Gomedra, belonging to the Grand Cham of Tartary, should be brought me, and instantly she was. What may be the meaning of Gomedrabe? Said the Doctor, I understand not those difficult names. I believe you Sir, answered Bruno, nor do I need to marvel thereat: and yet I have heard Porcograsso speak, and also Vannacenna, and both unexperienced in our Language. You would say (replied the Doctor) Hypocrates and Auicenna, who were two admirable physicians. It may be so (said Bruno) & as hardly do I understand your names, as you mine: but Gomedra, in the Grand Cham's language, signifies Empress in ours. But had you once seen her Sir, she would make you forget all physical observations, your arguments, receipts and medicines, only to be in her heavenly presence, which words he used (perceiving his forward longing) to inflame him the more. Not long after, as the doctor was holding the candle to Bruno, at the perfecting the bloody battle of the cats and rats, because he could never be wearied in his company, and therefore was the more willing, to undergo the office of the candleholder: he resolved to acquaint him with his mind, and being all alone by themselves, thus be began.  
Bruno, as heaven knoweth, there is not this day any creature living, for whom I would gladly do more, then for thee, and the very lest word of thy mouth, hath power to command me to go barefooted, even from hence so fare as to Peretola, and account my labour well employed for thy sake: wherefore, never wonder at my continual kindness towards thee, using thee as my domestic companion, and embracing thee as my bosom friend, and therefore I am the bolder in moving one request unto thee. As thou well knowest, it is no long while since, when thou didst acquaint me with the behaviour of the Corsicane roving Company, to be one in so rare and excellent a Society, such hath been my earnest longing ever since, as day nor night have I enjoyed any rest, but should think my felicity beyond all compare, if I could be entertained in fellowship among you.  
Nor is this desire of mine but upon great occasion, as thou thyself shalt perceive, if I prove accepted into your society, and let me then be made a mocking stock for ever, if I cause not to come thither, one of the most delicate young women, that ever any eye beheld, and which I myself saw (not above a year since) at Cacavinciglia, on whom I bestowed my intirest affection, and (by the best urinal that ever I gazed on) would have given her ten fair Bologninaes', to yield the matter I moved to her, which yet I could not (by any means) compass. Therefore, with all the flowing faculties of my soul I entreat thee, and all the very uttermost of my all indeed; to instruct me in those ways and means, whereby I may hope to be a member of you. Which if thou dost accomplish for me, and I may find it effectually performed: I shall not only be thy true and loyal friend for ever, but will honour thee beside, beyond all men living.  
I know thee to be a man of judgement, deeply informed in all well-grounded experience: thou seest what a proper, portly, and comely man I am, how fitly my legs are answerable to my body, my looks amiable, lovely, and of rosy colour: beside I am a Doctor of physic, of which profession (being only most expedient) I think you have not one in your Society. I have many commendable qualities in me, as, playing on diverse instruments, exquisite in singing, and composing rare ditties, whereof I will instantly sing thee one. And so he began to sing.  
Bruno was swollen so big with desire of laughter, that he had scarcely any power to refrain from it: nevertheless, he made the best means he could device: and the Song being ended, the physician said. How now Bruno? What is thine opinion of my singing? believe me Sir, replied Bruno, the vials of Sagginali, will lose their very best times, in contending against you, so mirilifficially are the sweet accents of your voice heard. I tell thee truly Bruno (answered Master Doctor) thou couldst not by any possibility have believed it, if thou hadst not heard it. In good sadness Sir (said Bruno) you speak most truly. I could (quoth the Doctor) sing thee infinite more beside, but at his time I must forbear them. Let me then further inform thee Bruno, that beside the complete perfections thou seest in me, my father was a Gentleman, although he dwelled in a poor Country village, and by my mother's side, I am derived from them of Vallecchio. Moreover, as I have formerly shown thee, I have a goodly Library of books, yea, and so fair and costly garments, as few physicians in Florence have the like. I protest to thee upon my faith, I have one gown, which cost me (in ready money) almost an hundred pounds in Bagattinoes, and it is not yet above ten years old. Wherefore let me prevail with thee, good Bruno, to work so with the rest of thy friends, that I may be one of your singular Society; and, by the honest trust thou reposest in me, be boldly sick whensoever thou wilt, my pains and physic shall be freely thine, without the payment of one single penny. Bruno hearing his importunate words, and knowing him (as all men else did beside) to be a man of more words than wit, said. Master Doctor, snuff the candle I pray you, and lend me a little more light with it hitherward, until I have finished the tails of these Rats, and then I will answer you.  
When the rat's tails were fully finished, Bruno declaring by outward behaviour, that he greatly distasted the matter moved, thus answered. Worthy Master Doctor, the courtesies you have already extended towards me, and the bountiful favours promised beside, I know to be exceeding great, and fare beyond the compass of any merit in me. But concerning your request, albeit in respect of your admired brain and wisdom, it is of little or no moment at all; yet it appeareth over-mighty to me, and there is not any man now living in the world, that hath the like authority over me, and can more command me, than you (with one poor syllable) easily may do: as well in regard of my love and duty, as also your singular and sententious speeches, able not only to make me break a sound and settled resolution, but (almost) to move mountains out of their places, and the more I am in your Learned company, so much the faster am I linked unto you, in immovable affection, so fare am I in love with your admirable qualities. And had I no other reason, to affect you in such endeared manner, as I do; yet because you are enamoured of so rare a beauty, as you have already related to me, it only were a motive sufficient to compel me. But indeed I must need tell you, that I have not so much power in this case, as you (perhaps) do imagine, which barreth me from such forward readiness, as otherwise needed not to be urged. Nevertheless, having so solemnly engaged your faith to me, and no way misdoubting your faithful secrecy, I shall instruct you in some means to be observed; and it appeareth plainly to me, that being furnished with such plenty of books, as you are, and other rich endowments, as you have before rehearsed, you cannot but attain to the full period of your longing desire.  
Speak boldly thy mind Bruno, answered the doctor: for, I perceive thou hast no perfect knowledge of me as yet, neither what an especial gift I have of secrecy. Messer Gasparino da Salicete, when he was judge and Potestat over the people of Forlini, made choice of me (among infinite of his dearest friends) to acquaint with a secret of no mean moment. And such a faithful Secretary he found me, as I was the only man, that knew his marriage with Bergamino; why then should any distrust be made of me? If it be so as you say Sir (answered Bruno) your credit is the sounder, and I dare the better adventure on your fidelity: the means than which you are to work by, I shall now direct you in.  
We have always in this noble Society of ours, a captain, and two Counsellors, which are changed at every six months' end. And now at Christmas next (so near drawing on) Buffalmaco shall be elected captain, and myself one of the counsellors, for so it is already agreed on, and orderly set down. Now, he that is Captain, may do much more than any other can, and appoint matters as himself pleaseth, Wherefore I think it very expedient, that so soon as possibly you may, you procure acquaintance with Buffalmaco, entreating him with all respective courtesy. He is a man, who when he perceiveth you to be so wonderfully Wise and discreet, he will be immediately in love with you: so, when you have your best senses about you, and your richest wearing Garments on (always remembered, that your acquaintance first be fully confirmed) then never fear to urge your request, for he can have no power at all to deny you; because I have already spoken of you to him, and find him to stand affected unto you very entirely: thus when you have begun the business, leave me to deal with him in the rest.  
Now trust me kind friend Bruno, replied the physician, I like your advice exceeding well. For, if he be a man, that taketh delight to converse with men of skill and judgement, and you have made the way for his knowing me: he will him thirst, and long to follow after me, to understand the incredible eloquence flowing from me, and the rare composition of my musical Ditties, out of which he may learn no mean wisdom. When the matter was thus agreed on between them, Bruno departed thence, & acquainted Buffalmaco with every circumstance: which made him think every day a year, until he might join in the fooling of master doctor, according to his own fancy. Who being also as desirous on the other side, to make one in the Corsicane Voyage; could take no manner of rest either by day or night, till he was linked in friendship with Buffalmaco, which very quickly after he compassed.  
For now there wanted no costly dinners and suppers, with all delicates could be devised, for the entertainment of Buffalmaco and Bruno; who, like Guests very easy to be invited, where rich wines and good cheer are never wanting) needed little sending for, be-because his house was as familiar to them, as their own. In the end, when the physician espied an opportunity apt for the purpose, he made the same request to Buffalmaco, as formerly he had done to Bruno. Whereat Buffalmaco, suddenly starting, and looking frowningly on Bruno, as if he were extraordinarily incensed against him: clapping his hand furiously on the Table, he said. I swear by the great God of Pasignano, that I can hardly refrain from giving thee such a blow on the face, as should make thy Nose to fall at thy heels: vile Traitor as thou art: for none beside thyself, could discover so rare and excellent a secret unto this famous physician. The doctor, with very plausible and pleasing terms, excused the matter very artificially; protesting, that another had revealed it unto him: and after many wise circumstantial Allegations, at length he prevailed so fare, that Buffalmaco was pacified; who afterwards turning in kind manner, thus he began.  
Master doctor, you have lived both at Bologna, and here in these parts with us, having (no doubt) sufficiently understood, what it is to carry a close mouth, I mean the true character of taciturnity. Questionless, you never learned the A. B. C. as now foolish idiots do, blabbing their lessons all about the town, which is much better apprehended by rumination; and surely (if I be not much deceyued) your nativity happened on a Sunday morning, Sol being at that time, Lord of the ascendent, joined with Mercury in a fiery triplicity. By such conference as I have had with Bruno, I conceived (as he himself also did) that you were very singular in physic only: but it seemeth, your Studies reached a higher strain, for you have learned, and know very skilfully, how to steal men's hearts from them, yea, to bereave them of their very souls, which I perceive that you can fare better do, than any man else living to my knowledge, only by your wise, witty, judicious, and more than mere Mercurian eloquence, such as I never heard before.  
The physician interrupting him bashfully, turned himself unto Bruno, saying. Did not I tell thee this before? Observe what a notable thing it is, to speak well, and to frequent the company of the Wise. A thousand other, merely blocks and dullards by Nature, could never so soon comprehend all the particularities of my knowledge, as this honest and apprehensive man hath done. Thou didst not search into it half so soon, nor (indeed) did I express a quarter of my ingenuity to thee, as (since his coming) hath prodigally flown from me.  
Well do I remember thy words, that Buffalmaco delighted to be among men of wisdom: and have I not now fitted him unto his own desire? How thinkest thou Bruno? The best (quoth Bruno) that any man living in the World could do. Ah worthy Buffalmaco, answered the physician: What wouldst thou then have said, if thou hadst seen me at Bologna, where there was neither great nor small, Doctor nor scholar, but thought themselves happy by being in my company? If I ought any debts, I discharged them with my very witty words: and whensoever I spoke, I could set them all on a hearty laughter, so much pleasure they took in hearing me. And when I departed thence, no men in the world could be more sorrowful than they, as desiring nothing more than my remaining among them; which they expressed so apparently, that they made humble suit and intercession to me, to be chief Reader of the Physicke-Lecture, to all the scholars studying our profession. But I could not be so persuaded, because my mind was wholly addicted hither, to enjoy those Goods, lands, and Inheritances, belonging lineally to them of our house, and accordingly I did perform it.  
How now Buffalmaco (quoth Bruno) what is thine opinion now? Thou wouldst not believe me when I told thee, that there is not a Doctor in all these parts, more skilful in distinguishing the urine of an ass, from any other, than this most expert and singular man: and I dare boldly maintain it, that his fellow is not to be found, from hence to the very gates of Paris. Go then, and do the uttermost endeavour that thou canst, to grant the request which he hath made.  
Believe me Buffalmaco, said the Doctor, Bruno hath spoken nothing but truth, for I am scarcely known here in this City, where (for the most part) they are all grosse-wit●ed people, rather than any jot judicious: but I would thou hadst seen me among the Doctors, in manner as I was wont to be. Introth Sir, replied Buffalmaco, you are much more Learned than ever I imagined, in which respect, speaking unto you as it becometh me, to a man so excellent in wit and understanding: I dare assure you, that (without any fail) I will procure you to be one of our Company.  
After this promise thus made, the good cheer, favours and kindnesses done by the Doctor to them, was beyond the compass of all relation: whereof they made no more than a mere mockery, flouting him to his face, and yet his wisdom could not discern it. Moreover, they promised, that they would give him to Wife, the fair Countess di Civillari, who was the only goodliest creature to be found in the whole Culattario of humane generation. The Doctor demanded, what Countess that was? Oh Sir, answered Buffalmaco, she is a great Lady, one worthy to have issue by; and few houses are there in the world, where she hath not some jurisdiction and command: so that not mean people only, but even the greatest Lords, at the sound of her Trumpets, do very gladly pay her tribute. And I dare boldly affirm, that whensoever she walketh to any place, she yields a hot and sensible savour, albeit she keepeth most of all close. Yet once every night, she duly observeth it (as a custom) to pass from her own house, to bathe her feet in the river of Arno, and take a little of the sweeter air: albeit her continual residency, is within the kingdom of Laterino.  
She seldom walketh abroad, but goeth with her attending Officers about her, who (for more demonstration of her greatness) do carry the Rod and plummet of Lead. Store of her Lords and Barons are every where to be seen; as the Tamagnino della porta, Don Meta di Sirropa; Manico di Scopa; Signior Squacchera, and others beside, who are (as I suppose) oftentimes your daily visitants, when of necessity they must be remembered. All our care and courtesy shall extend so fare (if we do not fail in our enterprise) to leave you in the arms of so majestic a Lady, quite forgetting her of Cacavinciglia.  
The physician, who was borne and brought up at Bologna, and therefore understood not these Florentine terms: became fully contented to enjoy the Lady; and, within some few days following, the Painters brought him tidings, that they had prepared the way for his entertainment into the society of rovers. The day being come, when the supposed assembly was to be made the night following: the physician invited them both to dinner; when he demanding, what provision he should make for his entrance into their company, Buffalmaco returned him this answer, whereto he gave very heedful attention.  
Master Doctor, you must be first of all, strongly armed with resolution and confidence: for, if you be not, you may not only receive hindrance, but also do us great harm beside: and now you shall hear, in what manner, and how you are to be bold and constant. You must procure the means, this instant night, when all the people are in their soundest sleep, to stand upon one of those high exalted Tombs or Monuments, which are in the Churchyard of Santa Maria novella, with the very fairest gown you have about you, because you may appear in the more honourable condition, before the assembly seated together, and likewise to make good our speeches already delivered of you, concerning your quality & profession: that the Countess, perceiving you to be a worthy Gentleman, may have you first honoured with the bath, and afterward Knighted at her own cost and charge. But you must continue still upon the tomb (dreadless of nightly apparitions & visions) until such time as we send for you.  
And for your better information in every particular; a Beast, black and horned, but of no great stature, will come to fetch you: perhaps he will use some ghastly noises, strange leaps, and lofty tricks, only to terrify and affright you: but when he perceiveth that he cannot daunt you, he will gently come near you, which when he hath done, you may descend from off the tomb; and, without naming or thinking on God, or any of his saints, mount boldly on his back, for he will stand ready to receive you. Being so seated, cross your arms over your breast, without presuming to touch or handle the Beast, for he will carry you thence softly, and so bring you along to the company. But if in all this time of your travail, you call on heaven, any Saint, or be possessed with the least thought of fear: I must plainly tell you, that either he will cast you dangerously, or throw you into some noisome place. And therefore, if you know yourself, not to be of a constant courage, and sprightly bold, to undertake such an adventure as this: never presume any further, because you may do us a great deal of injury, without any gain or benefit to yourself, but rather such wrong, as we would be very sorry should happen happen unto so dear a Friend.  
Alas honest Buffalmaco, answered the physician, thou art not half acquainted with me as yet: because I walk with gloves upon my hands, and in a long gown, thou perhaps dost imagine me a faint-hearted fellow. If thou didst know, what I have heretofore done at Bologna in the night time, when I and my Consorts went to visit pretty wenches, thou wouldst wonder at my courageous attempts. As I am a Gentleman, one night, we met with a young Bona Roba, a paltry green-sickness baggage, scarcely above a Cubite in height, & because she refused to go with us willingly, I gave her a kick on the bum, and spurned her more than a crossbow shoot in distance from me, and made her walk with us whether she would, or no. Another time I remember, when having no other company but my boy, I went thorough the Churchyard of the friar's Minors, after the sounding of Aue Maria: a woman had been buried there the very same day, and yet I was not a jot afraid.  
Wherefore, never be distrustful of me, but resolvedly build upon my courage. And in regard of my more honourable entertainment, I will then wear my Scarlet gown and Hood, wherein I received my graduation; and then do both of you observe, what a rejoicing will be among the whole company, at the entertaining of such as a man as I am, enough to create me captain immediately. You shall perceive also how the case will go, after I have been there but a while, in regard that the Countess (having as yet never seen me) is so deeply enamoured of me: she cannot choose but bestow the bath and knighthood on me, which she shall have the more honour of, in regard I am well able to maintain it, therefore refer all the rest to me, and never misdoubt your injury or mine.  
Spoken like a Gallant, replied Buffalmaco, and I fear not now, but we shall win credit by your company. But be careful I pray you, that you make not a mockery of us, and come not at all, or fail to be there, when the Beast shall be sent for you; I speak it the rather, because it is cold weather, and you Gentlemen physicians can hardly endure it. You are careful of me (quoth the Doctor) and I thank you for it, but I applaud my fair stars, I am none of your nice or easie-frozen fellows, because cold weather is very familiar to me. I dare assure you, when I arise in the night time for that natural office whereto all men are subject, I wear no warmer defence, than my thin waistcoat over my shirt, and find it sufficient for the coldest weather at any time.  
When Bruno and Buffalmaco had taken their leave, the physician, so soon as night drew near, used many apt excuses to his wife, stealing forth his Scarlet gown and Hood unseen of any, wherewith being clothed: at the time appointed, he got upon one of the Marble tombs, staying there (quaking with cold) awaiting when the Beast should come. Buffalmaco, being a lusty tall man of person, had got an ugly masking suit, such as are made use of in Tragedies and plays, the outside being of black shagged hair, wherewith being clothed, he seemed like a strange deformed bear, and a devil's vizard over his face, with two ghastly horrible horns, and thus disguised, Bruno following him, they went to behold the issue of the business, so fare as the new Market place, closely adjoining to Santa Maria novella.  
Having espied Master Doctor upon the tomb, Buffalmaco in his misshapen habit, began to bond, leap, and career, snuffling and blowing in mad and raging manner: which when the physician saw, his hair stood on end, he quaked and trembled, as being more fearful than a Woman, wishing himself at home again in his house, rather than to behold a sight so dreadful. But because he was come forth, and had such an earnest desire, to see the wonders related to him; he made himself so courageous as possibly he could, and bare all out in formal manner. After that Buffalmaco had (an indifferent while) played his horse-tricks, ramping and stamping somewhat strangely: seeming as become of much milder temper, he went near to the Tomb whereon the physician stood, and there appeared to stay contentedly.  
Master Doctor, trembling and quaking still extremely, was so fare dismayed, as he knew not what was best to be done, either to mount on the beasts back, or not to mount at all. In the end, thinking no harm could happen to him, if he were once mounted, with the second fear, he expelled the former, and descending down softly from the tomb, mounted on the beast, saying out a loud: God, Saint Dominicke, and my good angel help to defend me. Seating himself so well as he could, but trembling still exceedingly; he crossed his arms over his stomach, according to the Lesson given him.  
Then did Buffalmaco shape his course in mild manner, toward Santa Maria della Scala, and groping to find his way in the dark, went on so fare as the Sisters of Ripole, commonly called the Virgin Sanctuary. Not fare off from thence, were diverse trenches & ditches, wherein such men as are employed in necessary night-seruices, used to empty the Countess di Cimillari, and afterward employed it for manuring husbandmen's grounds. Buffalmaco, being come near one of them, he stayed to breathe himself awhile, and then catching fast hold on one of the doctors feet, raised him somewhat higher on his back, for the easier discharging of his burden, and so pitched him (with his head forwardly) into the Lay-stall.  
Then began he to make a dreadful kind of noise, stamping and trampling with his feet, passing back again to Santa Maria della Scala, and to Prato d'Ognissanti, where he met with Bruno, who was constrained to forsake him, because he could not refrain from loud Laughter, then both together went back once more, to see how the physician would behave himself, being so sweetly embrued.  
Master Doctor, seeing himself to been in such an abominable stinking place, laboured with all his utmost endeavour, to get himself released thence: but the more he contended and striven or getting forth, he plunged himself the further in, being most pitifully myred from head to foot▪ sighing and sorrowing extraordinarily, because much of the foul water entered in at his mouth. In the end, being forced to leave his hood behind him, scrambling both with his hands and feet, he got landing out of his stinking Labyrinth, & having no other means, home he returned to his own house, where knocking at the door, he was at length admitted entrance. The door being scarce made fast again after his letting in, Buffalmaco and Bruno were there arrived, listening how M. Doctor should be welcomed home by his angry wife: who scolding and railing at him with wonderful impatience, gave him most hard and bitter speeches, terming him the vilest man living.  
Where have you been Sir? quoth she. Are you become a nightwalker after other Women? And could no worse garments serve your turn, but your doctor's gown of Scarlet? Am I to suffer this behaviour? Or am not I sufficient to content you, but you must be longing after change? I would thou hadst been stifled in that foul filth, where thy fouler life did justly cast thee. Behold goodly Master Doctor of the Leystall, who being married to an honest woman must yet go abroad in the night time, insatiatly lusting after whores and harlots. With these and the like intemperate speeches, she ceased not to afflict and torment him, till the night was almost spent, and the Doctor brought into a sweeter savour.  
The next morning, Bruno and Buffalmaco, having coloured their bodies with a strange kind of painting, resembling blisters, swellings, and bruises, as if they had been extremely beaten; came to the physician's house, finding him to be newly up, all the house yet smelling of his foul savour (although it had been very well perfumed) and being admitted to him in the Garden, he welcomed them with the morning's salutations. But Bruno and Buffalmaco (being otherwise provided for him) delivering stern and angry looks, stamping and chafing, Bruno thus replied.  
Never speak so fair and flattering to us, for we are moved beyond all compass of patience. All misfortunes in the world fall upon you, and an evil death may you dye, like the most false and perfidious Traitor living on the earth. We must beat our brains, and move all our most endeared friends, only for your honour and advancement: while we were well near starved to death in the cold like Dogs, and, by your breach of promise, have been this night so extremely beaten, as if (like Asses) we should have been driven to Rome.  
But that which is most grievous of all, is danger of excluding out of the Society, where we took good order for your admittance, and for your most honourable entertainment. If you will not credit us, behold our bodies, and let your own eyes be witnesses, in what cruel manner we have been beaten. So taking him aside under the Gallery, where they might not be discovered by overmuch light, they opened their bosoms, shown him their painted bodies, and suddenly closed them up again.  
The physician laboured to excuse himself, declaring his misfortunes at large, and into what a filthy place he was thrown. It maketh no matter (answered Buffalmaco) I would you had been thrown from off the Bridge into Arno, where you might have been recommended to the devil, and all his Saints. Did not I tell you so much before. In good sadness (quoth the Doctor) I neither commended myself to God, nor any of his Saints. How? Said Buffalmaco, I am sure you will maintain an untruth, you used a kind of recommendation: for our messenger told us, that you talked of God, S. Dominicke, and your good angel, whom you desired to assist you, being so affrighted with fear, that you trembled like a leaf upon a tree, not knowing indeed where you were. Thus have you unfaithfully dealt with us, as never any man shall do the like again, in seeking honour, and losing it through your own negligence.  
Master Doctor humbly entreated pardon, and that they would not revile him any more, labouring to appease them by the best words he could use, as fearing lest they should publish this great disgrace of him. And whereas (before) he gave them gracious welcomes; now he redoubled them with fare greater courtesies, feasting them daily at his own table, and evermore delighting in their company. Thus (as you have heard) two poor Painters of Florence, taught Master Doctor better Wit, than all the Learned at Bologna.   

A Cicilian courtesan, named madam Biancafiore, by her crafty wit and policy, deceived a young Merchant, called Salabetto, of all the money he had taken for his Wares at Palermo. Afterward, he making show of coming hither again, with fare richer Merchandises than he brought before: made the means to borrow a great sum of Money of her, leaving her so base a pawn, as well requited her for her former cozenage.  
The Tenth novel.  
Whereby appeareth, that such as meet with cunning Harlots, and suffer themselves to be deceived by them: must sharpen their Wits, to make them requital in the selfsame kind.  
Needless it were to question, whether the novel related by the Queen, in diverse passages thereof, moved the Ladies to hearty laughter, and likewise to compassionate sighs and tears; as pitying madam Helena in her hard misfortune, and yet applauding the scholar for his just revenge. But the discourse being ended, Dioneus, who knew it was his Office to be the last speaker every day, after silence was commanded, he began in this manner.  
Worthy Ladies, it is a matter very manifest, that deceits do appear so much the more pleasing, when (by the selfsame means) the subtle deceiver is artificially deceived. In which respect, though you all have reported very singular deceits: yet I mean to tell you one, that may prove as pleasing to you, as any of your own. And so much the rather, because the woman deceived, was a great and cunning mistress in beguiling others; equalling (if not excelling) any of your former beguilers.  
It hath been observed heretofore, and (happily) at this very day it is as frequent, that in all Cities and towns upon the seacoasts, having Ports for the benefit and venting Merchandises; Merchants use to bring their wealthy laden Vessels thither. And when they unlade any Ship of great fraught, there are prepared storehouses, which in many places are called Magazines or Doganaes', at the charge of the communality, or Lord of the town or City, for the use whereof, they receive yearly gain and benefit. Into those warehouses, they deliver (under writing, and to the owners of them in especial charge) all their goods and merchandises, of what price or value soever they are.  
Such as be the Owners of these Magazines, when the Wares are thus stored up in them, do safely lock them up there with their keys, having first registered down truly all the goods, in the Register belonging to the customhouse, that the Merchant may have a just account rendered him, and the rights paid to the customhouse, according to the Register, and as they are either in part, or in all made sale of.  
Brokers are continually there attending, being informed in the quality of the Merchandises stored, and likewise to what Merchants they appertain: by means of these men, and according as the goods come to their hands, they device to have them exchanged, trucked, vented, and such other kinds of dispatches, answerable to the men's minds, and worth of the Commodities. As in many other kingdoms and Countries, so was this custom observed at Palermo in Sicily, where likewise then were, and (no doubt) now adays are, store of Women, fair and comely of person, but yet vowed enemies to honesty.  
Nevertheless, by such as know them not, they are held and reputed to be blameless Women, and by yielding their bodies unto general use, are the occasion of infinite misfortunes to men. For so soon as they espy a Merchant-stranger there arrived, they win information from the book belonging to the magazine, what wares are therein stored, of what value they be, and who is the Owner of them. Afterwards, by amorous actions, and affable speeches, they allure young Merchants to take knowledge of them, to be familiar in their company, till from some they get most part of their wealth, from others all. Nay, diverse have gone so fare, as to make Port-sale of Ship, Goods, and Person, so cunningly they have been shaved by these Barbers, and yet without any Razor.  
It came to pass, and no long time since, that a young Florentine of ours, named Niccolo d● Cignano, but more usually called Salabetto, employed as Factor for his Master, arrived at Palermo; his Ship stored with many Woollen clothes, a remainder of such as had been sold at the Mart of Salerno, amounting in value to above five hundred Florines of Gold. When he had given in his packet to the customhouse, and made them up safe in his Warehouse; without making show of desiring any speedy dispatch, he delighted to view all parts of the City, as men's minds are continually addicted to novelties. He being a very fair and affable young man, easy to kindle affection in a very modest eye: it fortuned, that a courtesan, one of our before remembered shavers, who termed herself madam Biancafiore, having heard somewhat concerning his affairs, began to dart amorous glances at him. Which the indiscreet youth perceiving, and thinking her to be some great Lady: began also to grow half persuaded, that his comely person was pleasing to her, and therefore he would carry this good fortune of his somewhat cautelously.  
Without imparting his mind unto any one, he would daily pass too and fro before her door; which she observing, and having indifferently wounded him with her wanton piercing looks: she began to use the first trick of her Trade, by pretending her inflamed affection towards him, which made her pine and consume away in care, except he might be moved to pity her. Whereupon, she sent one of her Pandora's unto him, perfectly instructed in the Art of a Maquerella, who (after many cunning counterfeited sighs, and tears, which she had always ready at command, told him; that his comely person and complete perfections, had so wounded the very soul of her Mistress, as she could enjoy no rest in any place, either by day or night. In regard whereof, she desired (above all things else) to meet with him privately in a bath: with which words, she straightway took a Ring forth of her purse, and in most humble manner, delivered it unto him, as a token from her Mistress.  
Salabetto having heard this Message, was the only joyful man that could be: and having received the Ring, looking on it advisedly; first kissed it, and then put it upon his finger. Then in answer to the Messenger, he said: That if her Mistress Biancafiore affected him, she sustained no loss thereby, in regard he loved her as fervently, and was ready to be commanded by her, at any time whensoever she pleased.  
She having delivered this message to her Mistress, was presently returned back again to him, to let him understand, in which of the baths she meant to meet him, on the next morrow in the evening. This being counsel for himself only to keep, he imparted it not to any friend whatsoever; but when the hour for their meeting was come, he went unto the place where he was appointed, a bath (belike) best agreeing with such business.  
Not long had he tarried there, but two Women slaves came laden to him, the one bearing a mattress of fine Fustian on her head, and the other a great Basket filled with many things. Having spread the mattress in a fair Chamber on a Couch-bed, they covered it with delicate white linen sheets, all about embroidered with fair Fringes of gold, then laid they on costly quilts of rich silks, artificially wrought with gold and silver knots, having pearls and precious stones interwoven among them, and two such rich pillows, as seldom before had the like been seen. Salabetto putting off his garments, entered the Bath prepared for him, where the two slaves washed his body very neatly. Soon after came Biancafiore herself, attended on by two other women slaves, and seeing Salabetto in the bath; making him a lowly reverence, breathing forth infinite dissembled sighs, and tears trickling down her cheeks, kissing and embracing him, thus she spoke.  
I know not what man else in the world, beside thyself, could have the power to bring me hither: the fire flew from thy fair eyes (O thou incompareable lovely Tuscan) that melted my soul, and makes me only live at thy command. Then hurling off her light wearing garment (because she came prepared for the purpose) she stepped into the bathe to him, and, not permitting the slaves a while to come near, none but herself must now lave his body, with musk compounded soap and Gilly-floures. Afterward, the slaves washed both him and her, bringing two goodly sheets, soft and white, yielding such a delicate smell of Roses, even as if they had been made of rose-leaves. In the one, they folded Salabetto, and her in the other, and so conveyed them on their shoulders unto the prepared Bed-Couch, where because they should not sweat any longer, they took the sheets from about them, and laid them gently in the bed.  
Then they opened the Basket, wherein were diverse goodly silver bottles, some filled with Rosewaters, others with flowers of oranges, and Waters distilled of Gelsomine, musk, and Amber-Greece, wherewith (again) the slaves bathed their bodies in the bed, & afterward presented them with variety of comfits, as also very precious Wines, serving them in stead of a little Collation. Salabetto supposed himself to be in Paradise: for this appeared to be no earthly joy, bestowing a 〈…〉 (questionless se) was a 〈…〉 the slaves, seemed millions of year● to him, 〈…〉 freely 〈…〉 the 〈…〉 Salabetto, bestowed those further favours on him, which he came for, and she was not 〈…〉 was exceedingly joyful, because he imagined, that they proceeded from the integrity of her affection towards him.  
When she thought it convenient time to departed thence, the slaves returned; they clothed themselves, and had a Banquet standing ready prepared for them; wherewith they cheered their wearye● spirits, after they had first washed in odorifferous waters. At parting: Salabetto (quoth she) whensoever thy leisures shall best serve thee, I will repute it as my chiefest happiness, that thou wilt accept a Supper and Lodging in my house, which let it be this instant night, if thou canst. He being absolutely caught, both by hi● beauty and flattering behaviour: believed faithfully, that he was as entirely beloved of her, as the heart is of the body: whereupon he thus answered. Madame, whatsoever pleaseth you, must needs be much more acceptable unto me: and therefore, not only may command my service this night, but likewise the whole employment of my life, to be only yours in my very best studies and endeavours.  
No sooner did she hear this answer, but she returned home to her own house, which she decked in most sumptuous manner, and also made ready a costly Supper, expecting the arrival of Satabetto: who when the dark night was indifferently well entered, went thither, and was welcomed with wonderful kindness, wanting no costly Wines and Delicates all the Supper 〈◊〉. Being afterward conducted into a goodly Chamber, he 〈◊〉 here admirable sweet scenting savours, such as might well beseem a Prince's palace. He beheld a most costly Bed, and very rich 〈◊〉 round about the room: which when he had duly considered to himself, he was constantly persuaded, that she was a Lady of infinite wealth, And although he had heard diverse flying reports concerning 〈◊〉 life, yet he would not credit any thing 〈◊〉 of her, for 〈◊〉 she might (perhaps) beguile some other; yet she affected 〈◊〉 (he thought) in better manner, and no such misfortune could happen to him.  
Having spent all the night with her in want on 〈…〉 being risen in the morning; to inflame his affection more and 〈◊〉 towards her, and to prevent any 〈◊〉 opinion he might 〈…〉 her, she bestowed a rich and 〈…〉 on him, as also a 〈◊〉 most curiously wrought, saying to him. My sweet Salabetto, with these testimonies of my true affection to thee, I give thee faithfully to understand, that as my person is only subjected thine; so this house and all the riches in it, remaineth absolutely at thy disposition, or whatsoever hereafter shall happen within the compass of my power.  
He being not a little proud of this her bountiful offer (having never bestowed any gift on her, because by no means she would admit it) after many sweet kisses and embraces; departed thence, to the place where the Merchants usually frequented: resorting to her (from time to time) as occasion served, and paying not one single penny for all his wanton pleasure, by which cunning baits (at length) she caught him.  
It came to pass, that having made sale of all his Clothes, whereby he had great gains, and the monies justly paid him at the times appointed: Biancafiore got intelligence thereof; yet not by him, but from one of the Brokers. Salabetto coming one night to sup with her, she embraced and kissed him as she was wont to do, and seemed so wonderfully addicted in love to him, even as if she would have died with delight in his arms. Instantly, she would needs bestow two goodly gilt standing cups on him, which Salabetto by no means would receive, because she had formerly been very bountiful to him, to above the value of an hundred Crowns, and yet she would not take of him so much as a mite. At length, pressing still more tokens of her love and bounty on him, which he as courteously denied, as she kindly offered: one of her▪ women-slaves (as she had before cunningly appointed) suddenly calling her, forthwith she departed out of her Chamber. And when she had continued a pretty while absent, she returned again weeping, and throwing herself down upon her Pallet, breathed forth such sighs and woeful lamentations, as no Woman could possibly do the like.  
Salabetto amazedly wondering thereat, took her in his arms, and weeping also with her, said. Alas my dear love, what sudden accident hath befallen you, to urge this lamentable alteration? If you love me, hide it not from me. After he had often entreated her in this manner, casting her arms about his neck, and sighing as if her heart would break, thus she replied.  
Ah Salabetto, the only jewel of my joy on earth, I know not what to do, or say, for (even now) I received Letters from Messi●a, wherein my Brother writes to me, that although it cost the sale of all my goods, or whatsoever else I have beside, I must (within eight days space) not fail to send him a thousand Florins of gold, or else he must have his head smitten off, and I know not by what means to procure them so soon. For, if the limitation of fifteen days might serve the turn, I could borrow them in a place, where I can command a fare greater sum, or else I would sell some part of our Lands. But being no way able to furnish him so soon, I would I had died before I heard these dismal tidings. And in the uttering of these words, she graced them with such cunning dissembled sorrow, as if she had meant truly indeed.  
Salabetto, in whom the fury of his amorous flames, had consumed a great part of his necessary understanding, believing these counterfeited tears and complaints of hers, to proceed from an honest meaning soul; rashly and foolishly thus replied. Dear Biancafiore, I cannot furnish you with a thousand golden Florines, but am able to lend you five hundred, if I were sure of their repayment at fifteen days, wherein you are highly beholding to Fortune, that I have made sale of all my clothes; which if they had lain still on my hand, my power could not stretch to lend you five Florines. Alas dear heart (quoth she) would you be in such want of money, and hide it from her that love's you so loyally? Why did you not make your need known to me? Although I am not furnished of a thousand Florines; yet I have always ready three or four hundred by me, to do any kind office for my friend. In thus wronging me, you have robbed me of all boldness, to presume upon your offer made me. Salabetto, far faster inveigled by these words then before, said. Let not my folly (bright Biancafiore) cause you to refuse my friendly offer, in such a case of extreme necessity: I have them ready prepared for you, and am hearty sorry, that my power cannot furnish you with the whole sum.  
Then catching him fast in her arms, thus she answered. Now I plainly perceive, my dearest Salabetto, that the love thou bearest me is true and perfect; when without expectation of being requested, thou art ready to secure me in such an urgent need, & with so fair a sum of Florines. Sufficiently was I thine own before, but now am much more engaged by so high deserving; with this particular acknowledgement for ever, that my brother's head was redeemed by thy goodness only. Heaven beareth me record, how unwilling I am to be beholding in this kind, considering that you are a Merchant, & Merchants furnish all their affairs with ready monis: but seeing necessity constraineth me, and I make no doubt of repayment at the time appointed: I shall the more boldly accept your kindness, with this absolute promise beside, that I will rather sell all the houses I have, then break my honest word with you  
Sergeant tears still draining down her cheeks, and Salabetto kindly comforting her; he continued there with her all that night, to express himself her most liberal servant. And, without expecting any more requesting, the next morning he brought her the five hundred Florines, which she received with a laughing heart, but outward dissembled weeping eyes; Salabetto never demanding any other security, but only her single promise.  
Biancafiore, having thus received the five hundred Florines, the indiction of the almanac began to alter: and whereas (before) Salabetto could come see her whensoever he pleased, many occasions now happened, whereby he came seven times for once, and yet his entrance was scarcely admitted, neither was his entertainment so affable, or his cheer so bountiful, as in his former accesses thither. Moreover, when the time for repayment was come, yea a month or two overpassed, and he demanded to have his money; he could have nothing but words for payment. Now he began to consider on the craft and cunning of this wicked Woman, as also his own shallow understanding, knowing he could make no proof of his debt, but what herself listed to say, having neither witness, specialty, bill or bond to show: which made his folly so shameful to him, that he durst not complain to any person, because he had received some advertisements before, whereto he would by no means listen, and now should have no other amends, but public infamy, scorn and disgrace, which made him almost weary of his life, and much to bemoan his own unhappiness. He received also diverse Letters from his Master, to make return of the 500 Florines over by way of bank, according as he had used to do: but now could perform no such matter.  
Hereupon, because his error should not be discovered, he departed in a small vessel thence, not making for Pisa, as he should have done, but directly for Naples he shaped his course. At that instant lodged there, Don Pietro della Conigiano, Treasurer of the Empress of Constantinople, a man of great wisdom and understanding, as also very ingenious and politic, he being an especial favourer of Salabetto and all his friends, which made him presume the more boldly (being urged thereto by mere necessity, the best corrector of wandering wits) to acquaint him with his lamentable misfortune, in every particular as it had happened, requesting his aid and advice, how he might best wear out the rest of his days, because he never meant to visit Florence any more.  
Conigiano being much displeased at the repetition of his folly, sharply reproved him, saying. Thou hast done lewdly, in carrying thyself so loosely, and spending thy master's goods so carelessly, which though I cannot truly term spent, but rather art merely cousined and cheated of them, yet thou seest at what a dear rate thou hast purchased pleasure, which yet is not utterly helpless, but may by one means or other be recovered. And being a man of wondered apprehension, advised him instantly what was to be done, furnishing him also with a sum of money, wherewith to adventure a second loss, in hope of recovering the first again: he caused diverse packs to be well bound up, with the merchant's marks orderly made on them, and bought about twenty butts or barrels, all filled (as it were) with oil, and these pretended commodities being shipped, Salabetto returned with them to Palermo. Where having given in his packets to the customhouse, and entered them all under his own name, as being both owner and factor: all his Wares were locked up in his Magizine, with open publication, that he would not vent any of them, before other merchandises (which he daily expected) were there also arrived.  
Biancafiore having heard thereof, and understanding withal, that he had brought Merchandises now with him, amounting to above two thousand Florins, staying also in expectation of other commodities, valuing better than three thousand more, she began to consider with herself, that she had not yet gotten money enough from him, and therefore would cast a figure for a fare bigger booty. Which that she might the more fairly effect, without so much as an imagination of the least mistrust: she would repay him back his five hundred Florines, to win from him a larger portion of two or three thousand at the least, and having thus settled her determination, she sent to have him come speak with her. Salabetto, having been sound bitten before, and therefore the better warranted from the like rankling teeth; willingly went to her, not showing any sign of former discontent: & she, seeming as if she knew nothing of the wealth he brought with him, gracing him in as loving manner as ever she had done, thus she spoke.  
I am sure Salabetto, you are angry with me, because I restored not your Florines at my promised day. Salabetto smiling, presently answered. Believe me Lady (quoth he) it did a little distaste me, even as I could have been offended with him, that should pluck out my heart to bestow it on you, if it would yield you any contentment. But to let you know unfeignedly, how much I am incensed with anger against you: such and so great is the affection I bear you, that I have sold the better part of my whole estate, converting the same into Wealthy Merchandises, which I have already brought hither with me, and valuing above two thousand Florines, all which are stored up in my Magazine. There must they remain, till another Ship come forth of the Western parts, wherein I have a much greater adventure, amounting unto more than three thousand Florines. And my purpose is, to make my abode here in this City, which hath won the sole possession of my heart, only in regard of my Biancafiore, to whom I am so entirely devoted, as both myself, and whatsoever else is mine (now or hereafter) is dedicated only to her service; whereto thus she replied.  
Now trust me Salabetto, whatsoever redoundeth to thy good and benefit, is the chiefest comfort of my soul, in regard I prise thy love dearer than mine own life, and am most joyful of thy rerurne hither again; but much more of thy still abiding here, because I intent to live only with thee, so soon as I have taken order for some business of import. In the mean while, let me entreat thee to hold me excused, because before thy departure hence, thou camest sometimes to see me, without thy entrance admitted; and otherwhiles again, found not such friendly entertainment, as formerly had been afforded. But indeed, and above all the rest, in not re-paying thy money according to my promise. But consider good Salabetto, in what great trouble and affliction of mind I then was, both in regard of my brother's danger, and other important occurrences beside, which mollestations do much distract the senses, and hinder kind courtesies, which otherwise would be extended liberally.  
Last of all consider also, how difficult a thing it is for a woman, so suddenly to raise the sum of a thousand golden Florines, when one friend promiseth, and performeth not; another protesteth, yet hath no such meaning; a third sweareth, and yet proveth a false liar: so that by being thus ungently used, a breach is made between the best friends living. From hence it proceeded, and no other defect else, that I made not due return of your five hundred Florins. No sooner were you departed hence, but I had them ready, and as many more, and could I have known whither to send them, they had been with you long time since, which because I could not (by any means) compass, I kept them still for you in continual readiness, as hoping of your coming hither again. So causing a purse to be brought, wherein the same Florines were, which he had delivered her; she gave it into his hand, and prayed him to count them over, whether there were so many, or no.  
Never was Salabettoes' heart half so joyful before; and having counted them, found them to be his own five hundred Florines: then, putting them up into his pocket, he said. Comfort of my life, Full well I know that whatsoever you have said, is most certain; but let us talk no more of falsehood in friendship, or casual accidents happening unexpected: you have dealt with me like a most loyal Mistress, and here I protest unsainedly to you, that as well in respect of this kind courtesy, as also the constancy of mi●e affection to you, you cannot request hereafter a far greater sum of me, to supply any necessary occasion of yours; but (if my power can perform it) you shall assuredly find it certain: make proof thereof whensoever you please, after my other goods are Landed, and I have established my estate here in your City.  
Having in this manner renewed his wont amity with her, and with words fare enough off from all further meaning: Salabetto began again to frequent her company, she expressing all former familiarity, and showing herself as lavishly bountiful to him, in all respects as before she had done, nay, many times in more magnificent manner.  
But he intending to punish her notorious treachery towards him, when she left him as an open scorn to the World, wounded with disgrace, and quite out of credit with all his friends: she having (on a day) solemnly invited him, to sup and lodge in her house all night; he went, both with sad and melancholy looks, seeming as overcome with extremity of sorrow. Biancafiore marveling at this strange alteration in him, sweetly kissing and embracing him: would needs know the reason of his passionate affliction, & he permitting her to urge the question oftentimes together, without returning any direct answer; to quit her in her kind, and with coin of her own stamp, after a few dissembled sighs, he began in this manner.  
Ah my dearest love, I am utterly undone, because the ship containing the rest of mine expected Merchandises, is taken by the pirates of Monago, and put to the ransom of ten thousand Florines of Gold, and my part particularly, is to pay one thousand. At this instant I am utterly destitute of money, because the five hundred Florines which I received of you, I sent hence the next day day following to Naples, to buy more clothes, which likewise are to be sent hither. And if I should now make sale of the Merchandizes in my Magazine (the time of general utterance being not yet come) I shall not make a pennyworth for a penny. And my misfortune is the greater, because I am not so well known here in your City, as to find some succour in such an important distress; wherefore I know not what to do or say. Moreover, if the money be not speedily sent, our goods will be carried into Monago, and then they are passed all redemption utterly.  
Biancafiore appearing greatly discontented, as one verily persuaded, that this pretended loss was rather hers, than his, because she aimed at the mainest part of all his wealth: began to consider with herself, which was the likeliest course to be taken, for saving the goods from carriage to Monago: whereupon thus she replied. Heaven knoweth (my dearest Salabetto) how thy love maketh me sorrowful for this misfortune, and it grieveth me to see thee any way distressed: for if I had money lying by me (as many times I have) thou shouldst find succour from myself only, but indeed I am not able to help thee. True it is, there is a friend of mine, who did lend me five hundred Florines in my need, to make up the other sum which I borrowed of thee: but he demandeth extreme interest, because he will not abate any thing of thirty in the hundred, and if you should be forced to use him, you must give him some good security. Now for my part, the most of my goods here I will pawn for thee: but what pledge can you deliver in to make up the rest? Well did Salabetto conceive, the occasion why she urged this motion, and was so diligent in doing him such a pleasure: for it appeared evidently to him, that herself was to lend the money, whereof he was not a little joyful, seeming very thankful to her. Then he told her, that being driven to such extremity, how unreasonable soever the usury was, yet he would gladly pay for it. And for her Friends further security, he would pawn him all the goods in his Magazine, entering them down in the name of the party, who lent the money. Only he desired to keep the keys of the Warehouse, as well to show his Merchandises, when any Merchant should be so desirous: as also to preserve them from ill using, transporting or changing, before his redemption of them.  
She found no fault with his honest offer, but said, he shown himself a well-meaning man, and the next morning she sent for a Broker, in whom she reposed especial trust; and after they had privately consulted together, she delivered him a thousand Golden Florines, which were carried by him presently to Salabetto, and the Bond made in the broker's name, of all the goods remaining in Salabettoes' warehouse, with composition and absolute agreement, for the prefixed time of the moneys repayment. No sooner was this trick fully accomplished, but Salabetto seeming as if he went to redeem his taken goods: set sail for Naples towards Pietro della Canigiano, with fifteen hundred Florines of Gold: from whence also he sent contentment to his Master at Florence (who employed him as his Factor at Palermo) beside his own packs of clothes. He made repayment likewise to Canigniano, for the moneys which furnished him in this last voyage, and any other to whom he was indebted. So there he stayed awhile with Canigniano, whose counsel thus holp him to outreach the Sicillian courtesan: and meaning to deal in Merchandise no more, afterward he returned to Florence and there lived in good reputation.  
Now as concerning Biancafiore, when she saw that Salabetto returned not again to Palermo, she began to grow somewhat abashed, as half suspecting that which followed. After she had 〈◊〉 for him above two months space, and perceived he came not, nor any tidings heard of him: she caused the Broker to break open the Magazine, casting forth the butts or Barrels, which she believed to be full of good oils. But they were all filled with Sea-water, each of them having a small quantity of oil floating on the top, only to serve when a trial should be made. And then unbinding the packs, made up in formal and Merchantable manner: there was nothing else in them, but logs and stumps of Trees, wrapped handsomely in hurdles of hemp and Tow; only two had clothes in them. So that (to be brief) the whole did not value two hundred crowns: which when she saw, and observed how cunningly she was deceived: a long while after she sorrowed, for repaying back the five hundred Florines, and folly in lending a thousand more, using it as a proverb always after to herself: That whosoever dealt with a Tuscan, had need to have sound sight and judgement. So remaining contented (whither she would or no) with her loss: she plainly perceived, that although she lived by cheating others, yet now at the length she had met with her match.  
SO soon as Dioneus had ended his novel, madam Lauretta also knew, that the conclusion of her Regiment was come; whereupon, when the counsel of Canigiano had passed with general commendation, and the wit of Salabetto no less applauded, for fitting it with such an effectual prosecution; she took the crown of laurel from her own head, and set it upon madam Aemilliaes', speaking graciously in this manner. Madam, I am not able to say, how pleasant a Queen we shall have of you, but sure I am, that we shall enjoy a fair one: let matters therefore be so honourably carried; that your government may be answerable to your beautiful perfections; which words were no sooner delivered, but she sat down in her mounted seat.  
Madame Aemillia being somewhat bashful, not so much of her being created Queen, as to hear herself thus publicly praised, with that which Women do most of all desire: her face then appearing, like the opening of the damask Rose, in the goodliest morning. But after she had a while dejected her looks, and the vermilion blush was vanished away: having taken order with the Master of the household, for all needful occasions befitting the assembly, thus she began.  
Gracious Ladies, we behold it daily, that those Oxen which have laboured in the yoke most part of the day, for their more convenient feeding, are let forth at liberty, and permitted to wander abroad in the Woods. We see moreover, that Gardens and Orchards, being planted with variety of the fairest fruit Trees, are equalled in beauty by Woods and forests, in the plentiful enjoying of as goodly spreading branches. In consideration whereof, remembering how many days we have already spent (under the severity of laws imposed) shaping all our discourses to a form of observation: I am of opinion, that it will not only well become us, but also prove beneficial for us, to live no longer under such restraint, and like enthralled people, desirous of liberty, we should no more be subjected to the yoke, but recover our former strength in walking freely.  
Wherefore, concerning our pastime purposed for to morrow, I am not minded to use any restriction, or tie you unto any particular ordination: but rather do liberally grant, that every one shall device and speak of arguments agreeing with your own dispositions.  
Besides, I am verily persuaded, that variety of matter uttered so freely, will be much more delightful, than restraint to one kind of purpose only. Which being thus granted by me, whosoever shall succeed me in the government, may (as being of more power and pre-eminence) restrain all back again to the accustomed laws. And having thus spoken, she dispensed with their any longer attendance, until it should be Supper time.  
Every one commended the Queen's appointment, allowing it to relish of good wit and judgement; and being all risen, fell to such exercises as they pleased. The Ladies made nosegays and Chaplets of Flowers, the men played on their Instruments, singing diverse sweet Ditties to them, and thus were busied until Supper time. Which being come, and they supping about the beautiful fountain: after Supper, they fell to singing and dancing. In the end, the Queen, to imitate the order of her predecessors, commanded Pamphilus, that notwithstanding all the excellent songs formerly sung: he should now sing one, whereunto dutifully obeying, thus he began.  

THE SONG.  

The Chorus sung by all.  
LOVE, I found such felicity,  
And joy, in thy captivity:  
As I before did never prove,  
And thought me happy, being in love..   

COmfort abounding in my hart,  
joy and Delight  
In soul and spirit  
I did possess in every part;  
O sovereign love by thee.  
Thy Sacred fires,  
Fed my desires,  
And still aspires,  
Thy happy thrall to be.  
Love, I found such felicity, etc.   

My Song wants power to relate,  
The sweets of mind  
Which I did find  
In that most blissful state,  
O sovereign love by thee.  
No sad despair,  
Or kill care  
Can me prepare;  
Still thou didst comfort me.  
Love, I found such felicity, etc.  
I hate all such as do complain,  
Blaspheming thee  
With Cruelty,  
And sleights of coy disdain.  
O sovereign love, to me  
Thou hast been kind:  
If others find  
Thee worse inclined,  
Yet I will honour thee.   

LOVE, I found such felicity,  
And joy in thy captivity:  
As I before did never prove,  
But thought me happy, being in love..    
Thus the Song of Pamphilus ended, whereto all the rest (as a Chorus) answered with their voices, yet every one particularly (according as they felt their lovesick passions) made a curious construction thereof, perhaps more than they needed, yet not divining what Pamphilus intended. And although they were transported with variety of imaginations; yet none of them could arrive at his true meaning indeed. Wherefore the Queen, perceiving the Song to be fully ended, and the Ladies, as also the young Gentlemen, willing to go take their rest: she commanded them severally to their Chambers.    
The End of the Eight Day.   

THE NINTH DAY.  
Whereon, under the government of madam AEMILLIA, the Argument of each several Discourse, is not limited to any one peculiar subject: but every one remaineth at liberty, to speak of whatsoever themselves best pleaseth.  

The Induction.  
Fair Aurora, from whose bright and cheerful looks, the dusky dark night flieth as an utter enemy, had already reached so high as the eight heaven, converting it all into an Azure colour, and the pretty Flowrets began to spread open their leaves: when madam Aemillia, being risen, caused all her female attendants, and the young Gentlemen likewise, to be summoned for their personal appearance. Who being all come, the Queen leading the way, and they following her majestic pace, walked into a little Wood, not fare off distant from the Palace.  
No sooner were they there arrived, but they beheld store of wild Beasts, as hinds, Hares, Goats, and such like; so safely secured from the pursuit of Huntsmen (by reason of the violent Pestilence then reigning) that they stood gazing boldly at them, as dreadless of any danger, or as if they were become tame and domestic.  
Approaching nearer them, first to one, then unto another, as if they purposed to play gently with them, they then began to skip and run, making them such pastime with their pretty tripping, that they conceived great delight in beholding of them.  
But when they beheld the sun to exalt itself, it was thought convenient to return back again, shrouding themselves under the Trees spreading arms, their hands full of sweet Flowers and Odorifferous herbs, which they had gathered in their Walking. So that such as chanced to meet them, could say nothing else: but that death knew not by what means to conquer them, or else they had set down an absolute determination, to kill him with their jovial disposition.  
In this manner, singing, dancing, or prettily prattling, at length they arrived at the Palace, where they found all things readily prepared, and their servants duly attending for them. After they had reposed themselves awhile, they would not (as yet) sit down at the Table, until they had sung half a dozen of Canzonets, some more pleasant than another, both the women and men together.  
Then they fell to washing hands, and the master of the household caused them to sit down, according as the Queen had appointed, and Dinner was most sumptuously served in before them. Afterward, when the Tables were withdrawn, they all took hands to dance a Roundelay: which being done, they played on their Instruments a while; and then, such as so pleased, took their rest. But when the accustomed hour was come, they all repaired to the place of discoursing, where the Queen, looking on Madam Philomena, gave her the honour of beginning the first novel for that day: whereto she dutifully condiscending, began as followeth.  

Madam Francesca, a widow of Pistoya, being affected by two Florentine Gentlemen, the one named Rinuccio Palermini, and the other Alessandro Chiarmontesi, and she bearing no good will to either of them; ingeniously freed herself from both their importunate suits. One of them she caused to lie as dead in a grave, and the other to fetch him from thence: so neither of them accomplishing what they were enjoined, failed of obtaining his hoped expectation.  
The First novel.  
Approving, that chaste and honest Women, ought rather to deny importunate suitors, by subtle and ingenious means, then fall into the danger of scandal and slander.  
Madam, it can no way discontent me (seeing it is your most gracious pleasure) that I should have the honour, to break the first staff of freedom in this fair company (according to the injunction of your majesty) for liberty of our own best liking arguments: wherein I dismay not (if I can speak well enough) but to please you all as well, as any other that is to follow me. Nor am I so oblivious (worthy Ladies) but full well I remember, that many times hath been related in our passed demonstrations, how mighty and variable the powers of love are: and yet I cannot be persuaded, that they have all been so sufficiently spoken of, but something may be further added, and the bottom of them never dived into, although we should sit arguing a whole year together. And because it hath been already approved, that lovers have been led into diverse accidents, not only inevitable dangers of death, but also have entered into the very houses of the dead, thence to convey their amorous friends: I purpose to acquaint you with a novel, beside them which have been discoursed; whereby you may not only comprehend the power of love, but also the wisdom used by an honest Gentlewoman, to rid herself of two importunate suitors, who loved her against her own liking, yet neither of them knowing the others affection.  
In the City of Pistoya, there dwelled sometime a beautiful Gentlewoman, being a widow, whom two of our Florentines (the one named Rinuccio Palermini, and the other Alessandro Chiarmontesi, having withdrawn themselves to Pistoya) desperately affected, the one ignorant of the others intention, but each carrying his case closely, as hoping to be possessed of her. This Gentlewoman, named madam Francesca de Lazzari, being often solicited by their messages, and troublesomely pestered with their importunities: at last (less advisedly then she intended) she granted admittance to hear either of them speak. Which she repenting, and coveting to be rid of them both, a matter not easy to be done: she wittily devised the only means, namely, to move such a motion to them, as neither would willingly undertake, yet within the compass of possibility; but they failing in the performance, she might have the more honest occasion, to be free from all further molestation by them, and her politic intention was thus projected.  
On the same day, when she devised this piece of service, a man was buried in Pistoya, and in the churchyard belonging unto the grey Friars, who being descended of good and worthy parentage: yet himself was very infamous, and reputed to be the vilest man living, not only there in Pistoya, but throughout the whole World beside. Moreover, while he lived, he had such a strange misshapen body, and his face so ugly deformed, that such as knew him not, would stand ghastly affrighted at the first sight of him. In regard whereof, she considered with herself, that the foul deformity of this loathed fellow, would greatly avail in her determination, and consulting with her chambermaid, thus she spoke.  
Thou knowest (my most true and faithful servant) what trouble and affliction of mind I suffer daily, by the messages and Letters of the two Florentines, Rinuccio and Alessandro, how hate-their importunity is to me, as being utterly unwilling to hear them speak, or yield to any thing which they desire. Wherefore, to free myself from them both together, I have devised (in regard of their great and liberal offers) to make trial of them in such a matter, as I am assured they will never perform.  
It is not unknown to thee, that in the churchyard of the grey Friars, and this instant morning, Scannadio (for so was the ugly fellow named) was buried; of whom, when he was living, as also now being dead, both men, women, and children, do yet stand in fear, so ghastly and dreadful always was his personal appearance to them. Wherefore, first of all go thou to Alessandro, and say to him thus. My Mistress Francesca hath sent me to you, to tell you, that now the time is come, wherein you may deserve to enjoy her love, and gain the possession of her person, if you will accomplish such a motion as she maketh to you. For some especial occasion, wherewith hereafter you shall be better acquainted, a near Kinsman of hers, must needs have the body of Scannadio (who was buried this morning) brought to her house. And she, being as much afraid of him now he is dead, as when he was living, by no means would have his body brought thither.  
In which respect, as a Token of your unfeigned love to her, and the latest service you shall ever do for her: she earnestly entreateth you, that this night, in the very deadest time thereof, you would go to the grave, where Scannadio lieth yet uncovered with earth until to morrow, and attiring yourself in his garments, even as if you were the man himself, so to remain there until her kinsman do come.  
Then, without speaking any one word, let him take you forth of the grave, & bring you thence (instead of Scannadio) to her house: where she will give you gentle welcome, and disappoint her Kinsman in his hope, by making you Lord of her, and all that is hers, as afterward shall plainly appear. If he say he will do it, it is as much as I desire: but if he trifle and make denial, then boldly tell him, that he must refrain all places wheresoever I am, and forbear to send me any more Letters, or messages.  
Having done so, then repair to Rinuccio Palermini, and say. My Mistress Francesca is ready to make acceptance of your love; provided, that you will do one thing for her sake. Namely, this ensuing night, in the midst & stillest season thereof, to go to the grave where Scannadio was this morning buried, & (without making any noise) or speaking one word, whatsoever you shall hear or see: to take him forth of the grave, and bring him home to her house, where you shall know the reason of this strange business, and enjoy her freely as your own for ever. But if he refuse to do it, than I command him, never hereafter to see me, or move further suit unto me, by any means whatsoever.  
The chambermaid went to them both, and delivered the several messages from her Mistress, according as she had given her in charge; whereunto each of them answered, that they would (for her sake) not only descend into a grave, but also into hell, if it were her pleasure.  
She returning with this answer unto her Mistress, Frances●a remained in expectation, what the issue of these fond attempts in them, would sort unto. When night was come, and the middle hour thereof already past, Alessandro Chiarmontesi, having put off all other garments to his doublet and hose; departed secretly from his lodging, walking towards the churchyard, where Scannadio lay in his grave: but by the way as he went, he became surprised with diverse dreadful conceits and imaginations, and questioned with himself thus.  
What a beast am I? What a business have I undertaken? And whither am I going? What do I know, but that the Kinsman unto this Woman, perhaps understanding mine affection to her, and crediting some such matter, as is nothing so: hath laid this politic train for me, that he may murder me in the grave? Which (if it should so happen) my life is lost, and yet the occasion never known whereby it was done. Or what know I, whether some secret enemy of mine (affecting her in like manner, as I do) have devised this stratagem (out of malice) against me, to draw my life in danger, and further his own good Fortune? Then, contrary motions, overswaying these suspicions, he questioned his thoughts in another nature.  
Let me (quoth he) admit the case, that none of these surmises are intended, but her Kinsman (by and in this manner devised) must bring me into her house: I am not therefore persuaded, that he or they do covet, to have the body of Scannadio, either to carry it thither, or present it to her, but rather do aim at some other end. May not I conjecture, that my close murdering is purposed, and this way acted, as on him that (in his life time) had offended them? The Maid hath straight charged me, that whatsoever is said or done unto me, I am not to speak a word. What if they pull out mine eyes, tear out my teeth, cut off my hands, or do me any other mischief: Where am I then? Shall all these extremities bar me of speaking? On the other side, if I speak, than I shall be known, and so much the sooner (perhaps) be abused. But admit that I sustain no injury at all, as being guilty of no transgression: yet (perchance) I shall not be carried to her house, but to some other base place, and afterward she shall reprove me, that I did not accomplish what she commanded, and so all my labour is utterly lost.  
Perplexed with these various contradicting opinions, he was willing diverse times to turn home back again: yet such was the violence of his love, and the power thereof prevailing against all sinister arguments; as he went to the grave, and removing the boards covering it, whereinto he entered; and having despoiled Scannadio of his garments, clothed himself with them, & so laid him down, having first covered the grave again. Not long had he tarried there, but he began to bethink him, what manner of man Scannadio was, and what strange reports had been noised of him, not only for ransacking dead men's graves in the night season, but many other abominable villainies committed by him, which so fearfully assaulted him; that his hair stood on end, every member of him quaked, and every minute he imagined Scannadio rising, with intent to strangle him in the grave. But his fervent affection overcorning all these idle fears, and lying stone still, as if he had been the dead man indeed; he remained to see the end of his hope.  
On the contrary side, after midnight was past, Rinuccio Palermini departed from his lodging, to do what he was enjoined by his heart's Mistress, and as he went along, diverse considerations also ran in his mind, concerning occasions possible to happen. As, falling into the hands of justice, with the body of Scannadio upon his back, and being condemned for sacrilege, in robbing graves of the dead; either to be burned, or otherwise so punished, as might make him hateful to his best friends, and merely a shame to himself.  
Many other the like conceits mollested him, sufficient to alter his former determination: but affection was much more prevailing in him, and made him use this consultation. How now Rinuccio? Wilt thou dare to deny the first request, being moved to thee by a Gentlewoman, whom thou dearly lovest, and is the only means, whereby to gain assurance of her gracious favour? Undoubtedly, were I sure to die in the attempt, yet I will accomplish my promise. And so he went on with courage to the grave.  
Alessandro hearing his arrival, and also the removal of the boards, although he was exceedingly afraid; yet he lay quietly still, and stirred not, and Rinuccio being in the grave, took Alessandro by the feet, haling him forth, and (mounting him upon his back) went on thus laden, towards the house of Madam Francesca. As he passed along the streets, unseen or unmet by any, Alessandro suffered many shrewd rushings and punches, by turnings at the streets corners, and jolting against bulks, posts, and stalls, which Rinuccio could not avoid, in regard the night was so wonderfully dark, as he could not see which way he went.  
Being come somewhat near to the gentlewoman's house, and she standing ready in the Window with her maid, to see when Rinuccio should arrive there with Alessandro, provided also of an apt excuse, to send them thence like a couple of coxcombs; it fortuned, that the Watchmen, attending there in the same street, for the apprehension of a banished man, stolen into the City contrary to order; hearing the trampling of Rinuccioes feet, directed their course as they heard the noise, having their lantern and light closely covered, to see who it should be, and what he intended, and beating their weapons against the ground, demanded, Who goes there? Rinuccio knowing their voices, and that now was no time for any long deliberation: let fall Alessandro, and ran away as fast as his legs could carry him.  
Alessandro being risen again (although he was clothed in Scannadioes' Garments, which were long and too big for him) fled away also as Rinuccio did. All which madam Francesca easily discerned by help of the watchman's lantern, and how Rinuccio carried Alessandro on his back, being attired in the Garments of Scannadio: whereat she marvelled not a little, as also the great boldness of them both. But in the midst of her marveling, she laughed very hearty, when she saw the one let the other fall, and both to run away so manfully. Which accident pleasing her beyond all comparison, and applauding her good Fortune, to be so happily delivered from their daily molestation: she betook herself to her Chamber with the maid, avouching solemnly to her, that (questionless) they both affected her dear, having undertaken such a strange imposition, and very near brought it to a final conclusion.  
Rinuccio, being sadly discontented, and cursing his hard fortune, would not yet return home to his Lodging: but, when the watch was gone forth of that street, came back to the place where he let fall Alessandro, purposing to accomplish the rest of his enterprise. But not finding the body, and remaining fully persuaded, that the Watchmen were possessed thereof; he went away, grieving extremely. And Alessandro, not knowing now what should become of him: confounded with the like grief and sorrow, that all his hope was thus utterly overthrown, retired thence unto his own house, not knowing who was the Porter which carried him.  
The next morning, the grave of Scannadio being found open, & the body not in it, because Alessandro had thrown it into a deep ditch near adjoining: all the people of Pistoya were possessed with sundry opinions, some of the more foolish sort verily believing, that the devil had carried away the dead body. Nevertheless, each of the lovers, severally made known to Madam Francesca, what he had done, and how disappointed, either excusing himself, that though her command had not been fully accomplished, yet to continue her favour towards him. But she, like a wise and discreet Gentlewoman, seeming not to credit either the one or other: discharged herself honestly of them both, with a cutting answer, That she would never (afterward) expect any other service from them, because they had failed in their first injunction.   

Madame Vsimbalda, Lady abbess of a Monastery of Nu●s in 〈◊〉 bardie, arising hastily in the night time without a Candle, to 〈◊〉 one of her Daughter Nu●●es in bed with a young Gentleman, whereof she was enviously accused, by certain of her other sister's 〈◊〉 abbess herself (being at the same time in bed with a Priest) 〈◊〉 to have put or her head her plaited veil, put on the Priest breeches. Which when the poor nun perceived; by causing the abbess to see her own error, she got herself to be absolved, and had the freer liberty afterward, to be more familiar with her friend, then formerly she had been.  
The Second novel.  
Whereby is declared, that whosoever is desirous to reprehend sin in other men, should first examine himself, that he be not guilty of the same crime.  
BY this time, madam Philomena sat silent, and the wit of Francesca, in freeing herself from them whom she could not fancy, was generally commended 〈◊〉 also on the contrary, the bold presumption of the two amorous suitors, was reputed not to be love, but merely folly. And then the Queen, with a gracious admonition, gave way for Madam Eliza to follow next, who presently thus began.  
Worthy Ladies, madam Francesca delivered herself discreetly from trouble, as already hath been related: but a young Nun, by the help and favour of Fortune, did also free herself (in speaking advisedly) from an inconvenience suddenly falling on her. And as you well know, there wants none of them, who (like bold Bayards) will be very forward in checking other men's misdemeanours, when themselves, as my novel will approve, deserve more justly to be corrected. As happened to a Lady abbess, under whose government the same young nun was, of whom I am now to speak.  
You are then to understand (Gracious Auditors) that in Lombardie there was a goodly Monastery, very famous for holiness and Religion, where, among other sanctified Sisters, there was a young Gentlewoman, endued with very singular beauty, being named Isabel, who on a day, when a Kinsman of hers came to see her at the grate, became enamoured of a young Gentleman, being then in his company.  
He likewise, beholding her to be so admirably beautiful, & conceiving by the pretty glances of her eye, that they appeared to be silent intelligencers, of the heart's meaning, grew also as affectionately inclined towards her, and this mutual love continued thus concealed a long while, but not without great affliction unto them both. In the end, either of them being circumspect and provident enough, the Gentleman contrived a means, whereby he might secretly visit his nun, wherewith she seemed no way discontented: and this visitation was not for once or twice, but very often, and closely concealed to themselves.  
At length it came to pass, that either through their own indiscreet carriage, or jealous suspicion in some others: it was espied by one of the Sisters, both the gentleman's coming and departing, yet unknown to him or Isabel. The said Sister, disclosing the same to two or three more: they agreed together, to reveal it to the Lady abbess, who was named madam Vsimbalda, a holy and devout Lady, in common opinion of all the nuns, and whosoever else knew her.  
They further concluded (because Isabel should not deny their accusation) to contrive the business so cunningly: that the Lady abbess should come herself in person, and take the young Gentleman in bed with the Nun. And upon this determination, they agreed to watch nightly by turns, because by no means they would be prevented: so to surprise poor Isabel, who being ignorant of their treachery, suspected nothing. Presuming thus still on this secret felicity, and fearing no disaster to befall her: it chanced (on a night) that the young Gentleman being entered into the nun's Dorter, the Scowts had descried him, & intended to be revenged on her.  
After some part of the night was overpast; they divied themselves into two bands, one to guard Isabellaes' Dorter door, the other to carry news to the abbess, and knocking at her Close● door, said. Rise quickly madam, and use all the haste you may, for we have seen a man enter our Sister Isabellaes' Dorter, and you may take her in bed with him. The Lady abbess, who (the very same night) had the company of a lusty Priest in bed with herself, as oftentimes before she had, and he being always brought thither in a Chest: hearing these tidings, and fearing also, lest the nuns hasty knocking at her door, might cause it to fly open, and so (by their entrance) have her own shame discovered: arose very hastily, and thinking she had put on her plaited veil, which always she walked with in the night season, and used to term her Psalter; she she put the Priests breeches upon her head, and so went away in all haste with them, supposing them verily to be her Psalter: but making fast the Closet door with her key, because the Priest should not be discovered.  
Away she went in all haste with the Sisters, who were so forward in the detection of poor Isabel, as they never regarded what manner of veil the Lady abbess wore on her head. And being come to the Dorter door, quickly they lifted it off from the hooks, and being entered, found the two lovers sweetly embracing: but yet so amazed at this sudden surprisal, as they durst not stir, nor speak one word. The young nun Isabel, was raised forthwith by the other Sisters, and according as the abbess had commanded, was brought by them into the Chapter-house: the young Gentleman remaining still in the Chamber, where he put on his garments, awaiting to see the issue of this business, and verily intending to act severe revenge on his betrayers, if any harm were done to Isabel, and afterward to take her thence away with him, as meaning to make her amends by marriage.  
The abbess being seated in the Chapter house, and all the other nuns then called before her, who minded nothing else but the poor offending Sister: she began to give her very harsh and vile speeches, as never any transgressor suffered the like, and as to her who had (if it should be openly known abroad) contaminated by 〈◊〉 lewd life and actions, the sanctity and good renown of the whole Monastery, and threatened her with very severe chastisement. Poor Isabel, confounded with fear and shame, as being no way able to excuse her fault, knew not what answer to make, but standing silent, made her case compassionable to all the rest, even those hard-hearted Sisters which betrayed her.  
And the abbess still continuing her harsh speeches, it fortuned, that Isabel raising her head, which before she dejected into her bosom, espied the breeches on her head, with the stockings hanging on either side of her; the sight whereof did so much encourage her, that boldly she said. Madam, let a poor offender advice you for to mend your veil, and afterward say to me what you will.  
The abbess being very angry; and not understanding what she meant, frowningly answered. Why how now saucy companion? What veil are you prating of? Are you so malapert, to be chatting already? Is the deed you have done, to be answered in such immodest manner? Isabella not a jot daunted by her stern behaviour, once again said. Good Madam let me persuade you to fet your veil right, and then chide me as long as you will. At these words, all the rest of the nuns exalted their looks, to behold what veil the abbess wore on her head, wherewith Isabel should find such fault, and she herself lift up her hand to feel it: and then they all perceived plainly, the reason of Isabella's speeches, and the abbess saw her own error.  
Hereupon, when the rest observed, that she had no help to cloud this palpable shame withal, the tide began ro turn, and her tongue found another manner of Language, than her former fury to poor Isabel, growing to this conclusion, that it is impossible to resist against the temptations of the flesh. And therefore she said: Let all of you take occasion, according as it offereth itself, as both we and our predecessors have done: to be provident for yourselves, take time while you may, having this sentence always in remembrance, Si non caste, tamen caute.  
So, having granted the young nun Isabel free absolution: the Lady abbess returned back again to bed to the Priest, and Isabella to the Gentleman. As for the other Sisters, who (as yet) were without the benefit of friends; they intended to provide themselves so soon as they could, being enduced thereto by so good example.   

Master Simon the physician, by the persuasions of Bruno, Buffalmaco, and a third Companion, named Nello, made Calandrino to believe, that he was conceived great with child. And having physic ministered to him for the disease: they got both good fat Capons and money of him, and so cured him, without avy other manner of deliverance.  
The Third novel.  
Discovering the simplicity of some silly witted men, and how easy a matter it is to abuse and beguile them.  
AFter that madam Eliza had concluded her novel, and every one of the company given thankes to Fortune, for delivering poor Isabel the fair young nun, from the bitter reprehensions of the as faulty abbess, as also the malice of her envious Sisters: the Queen gave command unto Philostratus, that he should be the next in order, and he (without expecting any other warning) began in this manner.  
Fair Ladies, the paltry judge of the Marquisate, whereof yesterday I made relation to you; hindered me then of another novel, concerning silly Calandrino, wherewith I purpose now to acquaint you. And because whatsoever hath already been spoken of him, tended to no other end but matter of merriment, he and his companions duly considered: the novel which I shall noun report, keepeth within the selfsame compass, and aimeth also at your contentment, according to the scope of imposed variety.  
You have already heard what manner of man Calandrino was, and likewise the rest of his pleasant Companions, who likewise are now again to be remembered, because they are actors in our present discourse. It came so to pass, that an Aunt of Calandrinoes' dying, left him a legacy of two hundred Florines, wherewith he purposed to purchase some small Farme-house in the country, or else to enlarge the other, whereof he was possessed already. And, as if he were to disburse some ten thousand Florines, there was not a Broker in all Florence, but understood what he intended to do: and all the worst was, that the strings of his purse could stretch no higher. Bruno, and Buffalmaco (his ancient Confederates) who heard of this good Fortune befallen him, advised him in such manner as they were wont to do; allowing it much better for him, to make merry with the money in good cheer among them, then to lay it out in paltry Land, whereto he would not by any means listen, but rid himself of them with a dinners cost, as loath to be at any further charge with them.  
These merry lads meant not to leave him so; but sitting one day in serious consultation, and a third man in their company, named Nello; they all three lay de their brains in steep, by what means to wash their mouths well, and Calandrino to be at the cost thereof.  
And having resolved what was to be done, they met together the next morning, even as Calandrino was coming forth of his house, and sundering themselves, to avoid all suspicion, yet being not fare distant each from other; Nello first met him, and said unto him, Good Morrow Calandrino: which he requited back again with the same salutation. But then Nello standing still, looked him steadfastly in the face: whereat Calandrino marveling, said. Nello, why dost thou behold me so advisedly? Whereunto Nello answered, saying Hast thou felt any pain this last night past? Thou lookest nothing so well, as thou didst yesterday. Calandrino beganinstantly to wax doubtful, and replied thus. Dost thou see any alteration in my face, whereby to imagine, I should feel some pain? In good faith Calandrino (quoth Nello) me thinks thy countenance is strangely changed, and surely it proceedeth from some great cause, and so he departed away from him.  
Calandrino being very mistrustful, scratched his head, yet felt he no grievance at all, and going still on; Buffalmaco suddenly en-encountred him, upon his departure from Nello, and after salutations passing between them; in a manner of admiration, demanded what he ailed?  
Truly (quoth Calandrino) well enough to mine own thinking, yet notwithstanding, I met with Nello but even now; and he told me, that my countenance was very much altered; Is it possible that I should be sick, and feel no pain or distaste in any part of me? Buffalmaco answered; I am not so skilful in judgement, as to argue on the Nature of distemper in the body: but sure I am, that thou hast some dangerous inward impediment, because thou look'st (almost) like a man more than half dead.  
Calandrino began presently to shake, as if he had had a fever hanging on him, and then came Bruno looking fearfully on him, and before he would utter any words, seemed greatly to bemoan him, saying at length. Calandrino? Art thou the same man, or no? How wonderfully art thou changed since last I saw thee, which is no longer then yester day? I pray thee tell me, How dost thou feel thy health?  
Calandrino hearing, that they all agreed in one opinion of him; he began verily to persuade himself, that some sudden sickness, had seized upon him, which they could discern, although he felt no anguish at all: and therefore, like a man much perplexed in mind, demanded of them, What he should do? Believe me Calandrino (answered Bruno) if I were worthy to give thee counsel, thou shouldst return home presently to thy house, and lay thee down in thy warm bed, covered with so many clothes as thou canst well endure. Then to Morrow morning, send thy Water unto Learned master Doctor the physician, who (as thou knowest) is a man of most singular skill and experience: he will instruct thee presently what is the best course to be taken, and we that have ever been thy loving friends, will not fail thee in any thing that lieth in our power.  
By this time, Nello being come again unto them, they all returned home with Calandrino unto his own house, whereinto he entering very faintly, he said to his Wife: Woman, make my Bed presently ready, for I feel myself to be grown extremely sick, and see that thou layest clothes enough upon me. Being thus laid in his bed, they left him for that night, and returned to visit him again the very next morning, by which time, he had made a reservation of his Water, and sent it by a young damsel unto master Doctor, who dwelled then in the old market place, at the sign of the musk Mellone. Then said Bruno unto his Companions; Abide you here to keep him company, and I will walk along to the physician, to understand what he will say: and if need be, I can procure him to come hither with me. Calandrino very kindly accepted his offer, saying withal. Well Bruno, thou showst thyself a friend in the time of necessity, I pray thee know of him, how the case stands with me, for I feel a very strange alteration within me, far beyond all compass of my conceit.  
Bruno being gone to the physician, he made such expedition, that he arrived there before the damsel, who carried the Water, and informed Master Simon with the whole trick intended: wherefore, when the damsel was come, and he had passed his judgement concerning the water, he said to her.  
Maid, go home again, and tell Calandrino, that he must keep himself very warm: and I myself will instantly be with him, to enstruct him further in the quality of his sickness.  
The damsel delivered her message accordingly, and it was not long before master Doctor Simon came, with Bruno also in his company, and sitting down on the bed's side by Calandrino, he began to taste his pulse, and within a small while after, his Wife being come into the Chamber, he said. Observe me well Calandrino, for I speak to thee in the nature of a true friend; thou hast no other disease, but only thou art great with child.  
So soon as Calandrino heard these words, in despairing manner he began to rage, and cry out aloud, saying to his wife. Ah thou wicked woman, this is long of thee, and thou hast done me this mischief: for always thou wilt be upon me, ever railing at me, and fight, until thou hast gotten me under thee. Say thou devilish creature, do I not tell thee true? The Woman, b●ing of very honest and civil conversation, hearing her husband speak so foolishly: blushing with shame, and hanging down her head in bashful manner; without returning any answer, went forth of her Chamber.  
Calandrino continuing still in his angry humour, wring his hands, and beating them upon his breast, said: Wretched man that I am, What shall I do? How shall I be delivered of this child? Which way can it come from me into the world? I plainly perceive, that I am none other than a dead man, and all through the wickedness of my Wife: heaven plague her with as many mischiefs, as I am desirous to find ease. Were I now in as good health, as heretofore I have been, I would rise out of my bed, and never cease beating her, until I had broken her in a thousand pieces. But if Fortune will be so favourable to me, as to help me out of this dangerons agony: hang me, if ever she get me under her again, or make me such an ass, in having the mastery over me, as diverse times she hath done.  
Bruno, Buffalmaco and Nello, hearing these raving speeches of Calandrino, were swollen so big with laughter, as if their ribs would have burst in sunder; nevertheless, they abstained so well as they were able; but Doctor Simon gaped so wide with laughing as one might easily have plucked out all his teeth. In the end, because he could tarry there no longer, but was preparing to departed: Calandrino thanked him for his pains, requesting that he would be careful of him, in aiding him with his best advice and counsel, and he would not be unmindful of him. Honest neighbour Calandrino, answered the physician, I would not have you to torment yourself, in such an impatient and tempestuous manner, because I perceive the time so to hasten on, as we shall soon perceive (and that within very few day's space) your health well restored, and without the sense of much pain; but indeed it will cost expenses. Alas Sir, said Calandrino, make not any spare of my purse, to procure that I may have safe deliverance. I have two hundred Florines, lately fall'n to me by the death of mine Aunt, wherewith I intended to purchase a farm in the country: take them all if need be, only reserving some few for my lying in Childbed. And then Master Doctor, Alas, I know not how to behave myself, for I have heard the grievous complaint of women in that case, oppressed with bitter pangs and throws; as questionless they will be my death, except you have the greater care of me.  
Be of good cheer neighbour Calandrino, replied Doctor Simon, I will provide an excellent distilled drink for you, marvelously pleasing in taste, and of sovereign virtue, which will resolve all in three mornings, making you as whole and as sound as a Fish newly spawned. But you must have an especial care afterward, being providently wise, lest you fall into the like follies again. Concerning the preparation of this precious drink, half a dozen of Capons, the very fairest and fattest, I must make use of in the distillation: what other things shall be employed beside, you may deliver forty Florines to one of these your honest friends, to see all the necessaries bought, and sent me home to my house. Concerning my business, make you no doubt thereof, for I will have all distilled against to morrow, and then do you drink a great glass full every morning, fresh and fasting next your heart. Calandrino was highly pleased with his words, returning master Doctor infinite thankes, and referring all to his disposing. And having given forty Florines to Bruno, with other money beside, to buy the half dozen of Capons: he thought himself greatly beholding to them all, and protested to requite their kindness.  
Master Doctor being gone home to his house, made ready a bottle of very excellent Hypocrasse, which he sent the next day according to his promise: and Bruno having bought the Capons, with other junkets, sit for the turn, the physician and his merry Companions, fed on them heartily for the giver's sake. As for Calandrino, he liked his diet drink excellently well, quaffing a large glassful off three mornings together: afterward Master Doctor and the rest came to see him, and having felt his pulse, the physician said. Calandrino, thou art now as sound in health, as any man in all Florence can be: thou needest not to keep within doors any longer, but walk abroad boldly, for all is well and the child gone.  
Calandrino arose like a joyful man, and walked daily through the streets, in the performance of such affairs as belonged to him: and every acquaintance he met withal, he told the condition of his sudden sickness; and what a rare cure Master Doctor Simon had wrought on him, delivering him (in three days space) of a child, and without the feeling of any pain. Bruno, Buffalmaco, and Nello, were not a little jocund, for meeting so well with covetous Calandrino: but how the Wife liked the folly of her Husband, I leave to the judgement of all good Women.   

Francisco Fortarigo, played away all that he had at Buonconuento, and likewise the money of Francisco Aniolliero, being his Master. Then running after him in his shirt, and avouching that he had rob him: he caused him to be taken by peasants of the Country, clothed himself in his Masters wearing garments, and (mounted on his horse) road thence to Sienna, leaving Aniolliero in his shirt, and walked barefooted.  
The fourth novel.  
Serving as an admonition to all men, for taking Gamesters and Drunkards into their service.  
THe ridiculous words given by Calandrino to his Wife, all all the whole company heartily laughed at: but Philostratus ceasing, madam Neiphila (as it pleased the Queen to appoint) began to speak thus. Virtuous Ladies, if it were not more hard and uneasy for men, to make good their understanding and virtue, then apparent publicarion of their disgrace and folly; many would not labour in vain, to curb in their idle speeches with a bridle, as you have manifestly observed by the weak wit of Calandrino. Who needed no such fantastic circumstance, to cure the strange disease, which he imagined (by sottish persuasions) to have: had he not been so lavish of his tongue, and accused his Wife of overmastering him. Which maketh me remember a novel, quite contrary to this last related, namely, how one man may strive to surmount another in malice; yet he to sustain the greater harm, that had (at the first) the most advantage of his enemy, as I will presently declare unto you.  
There dwelled in Sienna, and not many years since, two young men of equal age, both of them bearing the name of Francisco: but the one was descended of the Aniollieri, and the other likewise of the Fortarigi; so that they were commonly called Aniolliero, and Fortarigo, both Gentlemen, and well derived. Now, although in many other matters, their complexions did differ very much: Yet notwithstanding, they varied not in one bad quality, namely too great neglect of their Fathers, which caused their more frequent conversation, as very familiar and respective friends. But Aniolliero (being a very goodly and fair conditioned young Gentleman) apparently perceiving, that he could not maintain himself at Sienna, in such estate as he liked, and upon the pension allowed him by his Father, hearing also, that at the Marquisate of Ancona, there lived the Pope's Legate, a worthy Cardinal, his much endeared good Lord and friend: he intended to go visit him, as hoping to advance his fortunes by him.  
Having acquainted his Father with this determination, he concluded with him, to have that from him in a moment which might supply his wants for many months, because he would be clothed gallantly, and mounted honourably. And seeking for a servant necessary to attend on him, it chanced that Fortarigo hearing thereof, came presently to Aniolliero, entreating him in the best manner he could, to let him wait on him as his serving man, promising both dutiful and diligent attendance: yet not to demand any other wages, but only payment of his ordinary expenses. Aniolliero made him answer, that he durst not give him entertainment, not in regard of his insufficiency, and unaptness for service: but because he was a great Gamester, and diverse times would be beastly drunk? whereto Fortarigo replied that he would refrain from both those foul vices, and addict all his endeavour wholly to please him, without just taxation of any gross error; making such solemn vows and protestations beside, as conquered Aniolliero, and won his consent.  
Being entered upon his journey, and arriving in a morning at Buonconuento, there Aniolliero determined to dine, and afterward, finding the heat to be unfit for travail; he caused a bed to be prepared, wherein being laid to rest by the help of Fortarigo, he gave him charge, that after the heats violence was overpast, he should not fail to call and awake him. While Aniolliero slept thus in his bed, Fortarigo, never remembering his solemn vows and promises: went to the tavern, where having drunk indifferently, and finding company fit for the purpose, he fell to play at the dice with them. In a very short while, he had not only lost his money, but all the clothes on his back likewise, and coveting to recover his losses again; naked in his shirt, he went to aniollieroes Chamber, where finding him yet sound sleeping, he took all the money he had in his purse, and then returned back to play, speeding in the same manner as he did before, not having one poor penny left him.  
Aniolliero chancing to awake,, arose and made him ready, without any servant to help him; then calling for Fortarigo, and not hearing any tidings of him: he began immediately to imagine, that he was become drunk, and so had fall'n asleep in one place or other, as very often he was wont to do. Wherefore, determining so to leave him, he caused the male and Saddle to be set on his horse, & so to furnish himself with a more honest servant at Corsignano.  
But when he came to pay his host, he found not any penny left him: whereupon (as well he might) he grew greatly offended, and raised much trouble in the house, charged the hosts people to have robbed him, and threatening to have them sent as prisoners to Sienna. Suddenly entered Fortarigo in his shirt, with intent to have stolen Aniollieroes garments, as formerly he did the money out of his purse, and seeing him ready to mount on horseback, he said.  
How now Aniolliero? What shall we go away so soon? I pray you Sir tarry a little while, for an honest man is coming hither, who hath my Doublet engaged for eight and thirty shillings; and I am sure that he will restore it me back for five and thirty, if I could presently pay him down the money.  
During the speeches, an other entered among them, who assured Aniolliero, that Fortarigo was the thief which robbed him of his money, showing him also how much he had lost at the Dice: Wherewith Aniolliero being much moved, very angrily reproved Fortarigo, and, but for fear of the Law, would have offered him outrage, threatening to have him hanged by the neck, or else condemned to the galleys belonging to Florence, and so mounted on his horse. Fortarigo making show to the standers by, as if Aniolliero menaced some other body, and not him, said. Come Aniolliero, I pray thee let us leave this frivolous prating, for (indeed) it is not worth a Button, and mind a matter of more importance: my Doublet will be had again for five and thirty shillings, if the money may be tendered down at this very instant, whereas if we defer it till to morrow, perhaps he will then have the whole eight and thirty which he lent me, and he doth me this pleasure, because I am ready (at another time) to afford him the like courtesy; why then should we lose three shillings, when they may so easily be saved.  
Aniolliero hearing him speak in such confused manner, and perceiving also, that they which stood gazing by, believed (as by their looks appeared) that Fortarigo had not played away his master's money at the Dice, but rather that he had some stock of Fortarigoes' in his custody; angrily answered, Thou saucy companion, what have I to do with thy Doublet? I would thou wert hanged, not only for playing away my money, but also by delaying thus my journey, and yet boldly thou standest outfacing me, as if I were no better than thy fellow. Fortarigo held on still his former behaviour, without using any respect or reverence to Aniolliero, as if all the accusations did not concern him, but saying, Why should we not take the advantage of three shillings profit? Thinkest thou, that I am not able to do as much for thee? why, lay out so much money for my sake, and make no more haste than needs we must, because we have daylight enough to bring us (before night) to Torreniero. Come, draw thy purse, and pay the money, for upon mine honest word, I may inquire throughout all Sienna, and yet not find such another Doublet as this of mine is. To say then, that I should leave it, where it now lieth pawned, and for eight and thirty shillings, when it is richly more worth than fifty, I am sure to suffer a double endamagement thereby.  
You may well imagine, that Aniolliero was now enraged beyond all patience, to see himself both robbed of his money, and overborne with presumptuous language: wherefore, without making any more replications, he gave the spur to his horse, and road away towards Torreniero. Now fell Fortarigo into a more knavish intention against Aniolliero, and being very speedy in running, followed apace after him in his shirt, crying out still aloud to him all the way, to let him have his Doublet again. Aniolliero riding on very fast, to free his ears from this idle importunity, it fortuned that Fortarigo espied diverse country peasants, labouring in the fields about their business, and by whom Aniolliero (of necessity) must pass: To them he cried out so loud as he could; Stay the thief, Stop the thief, he rides away so fast, having robbed me.  
They being provided, some with Prongges, Pitchforkes and Spades, and others with the like weapons fit for Husbandry, stepped into the way before Aniolliero: and believing undoubtedly, that he had robbed the man which pursued him in his shirt, stayed and apprehended him. Whatsoever Aniolliero could do or say, prevailed not any thing with the unmannerly clowns, but when Fortarigo was arrived among them, he braved Aniolliero most impudently, saying.  
What reason have I to spoil thy life (thou traitorous villain) to rob that spoil thy Master thus on the high way? Then turning to the country boors: How much dear friends (quoth he) am I beholding to you for this unexpected kindness? You behold in what manner he left me in my Lodging, having first played away all my money at the Dice, and then deceiving me of my horse and garments also: but had not you (by great good luck) thus holp me to stay him; a poor Gentleman had been undone for ever, and I should never have found him again.  
Aniolliero avouched the truth of his wrong received, but the base peasant's, giving credit only to Fortarigoes' lying exclamations: took him from his horse, despoiled him of all his wearing apparel, even to the very boots from off his legs: suffered him to ride away from him in that manner, and Aniolliero left so in his shirt, to dance a barefoot Galliard after him, either towards Sienna, or any place else.  
Thus Aniolliero, purposing to visit his Cousin the Cardinal like a Gallant, and at the Marquisate of Ancona, returned back poorly in his shirt unto Buonconuento, and durst not (for shame) repair to Sienna. In the end, he borrowed money on the other horse which Fortarigo road on, and remained there in the inn, whence riding to Corsignano, where he had diverse Kinsmen and Friends, he continued there so long with them, till he was better furnished from his Father.  
Thus you may perceive, that the cunning villainies of Fortarigo, hindered the honest intended enterprise of Aniolliero, howbeit in fit time and place, nothing afterward was left unpunished.   

Calandrino became extraordinarily enamoured of a young damsel, named Nicholetta. Bruno prepared a charm or writing for him, avouching constantly to him, that so soon as he touched the damsel therewith, she should follow him whither soever he would have her. She being gone to an appointed place with him, he was found there by his wife, and dealt withal according to his deserving.  
The Fift novel.  
In just reprehension of those vaine-headed fools, that are led and governed by idle persuasions.  
BEcause the novel reported by madam Neiphila was so soon concluded, without much laughter, or commendation of the whole Company: the Queen turned herself towards Madam Fiammetta, enjoining her to succeed in apt order; & she being as ready as suddenly commanded, began as followeth. Most gentle Ladies, I am persuaded of your opinion in judgement with mine, that there is not any thing, which can be spoken pleasingly, except it be conveniently suited with apt time and place: in which respect, when Ladies and Gentlewomen are bend to discoursing, the due election of them both are necessarily required. And therefore I am not unmindful, that our meeting here (aiming at nothing more, then to outwear the time with our general contentment) should tie us to the course of our pleasure and recreation, to the same conveniency of time and place; not sparing, though some have been nominated oftentimes in our passed arguments; yet, if occasion serve, and the nature of variety be well considered, we may speak of the selfsame persons again.  
Now, notwithstanding the actions of Calandrino have been indifferently canuazed among us; yet, remembering what Philostratus not long since said, That they intended to nothing more than matter of mirth: I presume the bodlier, to report another novel of him, beside them already past. And, were I willing to conceal the truth, and clothe it in more circumstantial manner: I could make use of contrary names, and paint it in a poetical fiction, perhaps more probable, though not so pleasing. But because wand'ring from the truth of things, doth much diminish (in relation) the delight of the hearers: I will build boldly on my fore-alledged reason, and tell you truly how it happened.  
Niccholao Cornacchini was once a Citizen of ours, and a man of great wealth; who, among other his rich possessions in Camerata, builded there a very goodly house, which being perfected ready for painting: he compounded with Bruno and Buffalmaco, who because their work required more help than their own, they drew Nello and Calandrino into their association, and began to proceed in their business. And because there was a Chamber or two, having old moveables in them, as Bedding, Tables, and other householdstuff beside, which were in the custody of an old Woman that kept the house, without the help of any other servants else, a Son unto the said Niccholao, being named Philippo, resorted thither diverse times, with one or other pretty damsel in his company (in regard he was unmarried) where he would abide a day or two with her, & then convey her home again.  
At one time among the rest, it chanced that he brought a damsel thither named Nicholetta, who was maintained by a wily companion, called Magione, in a dwelling which he had at Camaldoli, and (indeed) no honester than she should be. She was a very beautiful young woman, wearing garments of great value, and (according to her quality) well spoken, and of commendable carriage. Coming forth of her Chamber one day, covered with a White veil, because her hair hung lose about her, which she went to wash at a Well in the middle Court, bathing there also her face and hands: Calandrino going (by chance) to the same Well for water, gave her a secret salutation. She kindly returning the like courtesy to him, began to observe him advisedly: more, because he looked like a man newly come thither, than any handsomeness she perceived in him.  
Calandrino threw wanton glances at her, and seeing she was both fair and lovely, began to find some occasion of tarrying, so that he returned not with water to his other associates, yet neither knowing her, or daring to deliver one word. She, who was not to learn her lesson in alluring, noting what affectionate regards (with bashfulness) he gave her: answered him more boldly with the like; but merely in scorning manner, breathing forth diverse dissembled sighs among them: so that Calandrino became foolishly inveigled with her love, and would not departed out of the Court, until Philippo, standing above in his Chamber window called her thence.  
When Calandrino was returned back to his business, he could do nothing else, but shake the head, sigh, puff, and blow, which being observed by Bruno (who always sitted him according to his folly, as making a mere mockery of his very best behaviour) suddenly he said. Why how now Calandrino? Sigh, puss, & blow man? What may be the reason of these unwonted qualities? Calandrino immediately answered, saying: My friendly Companion Bruno, if I had one to lend me a little help, I should very quickly become well enough. How? quoth Bruno, doth any thing offend thee, and wilt thou not reveal it to thy friends? Dear Bruno, said Calandrino, there is a proper handsome woman here in the house, the goodliest creature that every any eye beheld, much fairer than the Queen of Fairies herself, who is so deeply fall'n in love with me, as thou wouldst think it no less than a wonder; and yet I never saw her before, till yet while when I was sent to fetch water. A very strange case, answered Bruno, take heed Calandrino, that she be not the lovely friend to Philippo, our young Master, for than it may prove a dangerous matter.  
Calandrino stood scratching his head an indifferent while, and then suddenly replied thus. Now trust me Bruno, it is to be doubted, because he called her at his Window, and she immediately went up to his Chamber. But what do I care if it be so? Have not the Gods themselves been beguiled of their Wenches, who were better men than ever Philippo can be, and shall I stand in fear of him? Bruno replied: Be patiented Calandrino, I will inquire what Woman she is, and if she be not the wife or friend to our young master Philippo, with fair persuasions I can overrule the matter, because she is a familiar acquaintance of mine. But how shall we do, that Buffalmaco may not know hereof? I can never speak to her, if he be in my company. For Buffalmaco (quoth Calandrino) I have no fear of all, but rather of Nello, because he is a near Kinsman to my wife, and he is able to undo me quite, if once it should come to his hearing. Thou sayest well, replied Bruno, therefore the matter hath need to be very cleanly carried.  
Now let me tell you, the Woman was well enough known to Bruno, as also her quality of life, which Philippo had acquainted him withal, and the reason of her resorting thither. Wherefore, Calandrino going forth of the room where they wrought, only to gain another sight of Nicholetta, Bruno revealed the whole history to Buffalmaco and Nello; they all concluding together, how this amorous fit of the fool was to be followed. And when Calandrino was returned back again; in whispering manner Bruno said to him. Hast thou once more seen her? Yes, yes Bruno, answered Calandrino: Alas, she hath slain me with her very eye, and I am no better than a dead man. Be patiented said Bruno, I will go and see whether she be the same woman which I take her for, or no: and if it prove so, then never fear, but refer the business unto me.  
Bruno descending down the stairs, found Philippo and Nicholetta in conference together, and stepping unto them, discoursed at large, what manner of man Calandrino was, and how fare he was fall'n in love with her: so that they made a merry conclusion, what should be performed in this case, only to make a pastime of his ●ot begun love. And being come back again to Calandrino, he said. It is the same woman whereof I told thee, and therefore we must work wisely in the business: for if Philippo perceive any thing, all the water in Arno will hardly serve to quench his fury. But what wouldst thou have me say to her on thy behalf, if I compass the means to speak with her? First of all (quoth Calandrino) and in the prime place, tell her, that I wish infinite bushels of those blessings, which makes maid's Mothers, and begetteth children. Next, that I am only hers, in any service she will command me. Dost thou understand me what I say? Sufficiently answered Bruno, leave all to me.  
When supper time was come, that they gave over working, and were descended down into the Court: there they found Philippo and Nicholetta readily attending to expect some beginning of amorous behaviour, and Calandrino glanced such leering looks at her, coughing and spitting with hums and haes, yea in such close and secret manner, that a stark blind sight might very easily have perceived it.  
She also on the other side, returned him such quaint and cunning carriage, as inflamed him fare more furiously, even as if he were ready to leap out of himself. In the mean while, Philippo, Buffalmaco and the rest that were there present, seeming as if they were seriously consulting together, and perceived nothing of his fantastic behaviour, according as Bruno had appointed, could scarce refrain from extremity of laughter, they noted such antic tricks in Calandrino.  
Having spent an indifferent space in this foppish folly, the hour of parting came, but not without wonderful affliction to Calandrino; and as they were going towards Florence, Bruno said closely to Calandrino. I dare assure thee, that thou hast made her to consume and melt, even like ice against the warm sun. On my word, if thou wouldst bring thy gittern, and sit down by us, singing some few amorous songs of thine own making, when we are beneath about our business in the Court: she would presently leap out of the Window, as being unable to tarry from thee.  
I like thy counsel well Bruno, answered Calandrino; but shall I bring my gittern thither indeed? Yes, in any case, replied Bruno, for music is a matter of mighty prevailing. Ah Bruno (quoth Calandrino) thou wouldst not credit me in the morning, when I told thee, how the very sight of my person had wounded her: I perceived it at the very first look of her own, for she had no power to conceal it. Who but myself could so soon have inflamed her affection, and being a woman of such worth and beauty as she is? There are infinite proper handsome fellows, that daily haunt the company of dainty Damosels, yet are so shallow in the affairs of love, as they are not able to win one wench of a thousand, no, not with all the wit they have, such is their extreme folly and ill fortune.  
Then pausing a while, and suddenly rapping out a lover's Oath or two, thus he proceeded. My dearest Bruno, thou shalt see how I can tickle my gittern, and what good sport will ensue thereon. If thou dost observe me with judgement, why man, I am not so old as I seem to be, and she could perceive it at the very first view; yea, and she shall find it so too, when we have leisure to consult upon further occasions: I find myself in such a free and frolic jocundity of spirit, that I will make her to follow me, even as a fond woman doth after her child.  
But beware, said Bruno, that thou do not gripe her overhard, and in kissing, be careful of biting, because the teeth stand in thy head like the pegs of a Lute, yet make a comely show in thy fair wide mouth, thy cheeks looking like two of our artificial Roses, swelling amiably, when thy jaws are well filled with meat. Calandrino hearing these handsome commendations, thought himself a man of action already, going, singing, and frisking before his company so lively, as if he had not been in his skin.  
On the morrow, carrying his gittern thither with him, to the no little delight of his companions, he both played and sung a whole bead-roll of Songs, not addicting himself to any work all the day: but loitering fantastically, one while he gazed out at the window, than ran to the gate, and oftentimes down into the Court, only to have a sight of his Mistress. She also (as cunningly) encountered all his follies, by such directions as Bruno gave her, and many more beside of her own devising, to quicken him still with new occasions: Bruno played the Ambassador between them, in delivering the messages from Calandrino, and then returning her answers to him. Sometimes when she was absent thence (which often happened as occasions called her) than he would write letters in her name, & bring them, as if they were sent by her, to give him hope of what he desired, but because she was then among her kindred, yet she could not be unmindful of him.  
In this manner, Bruno and Buffalmaco (who had the managing of this amorous business) made a mere Gregory of poor Calandrino, causing him sometimes to send her, one while a pretty piece of ivory, than a fair wrought purse, and a costly pair of knives, with other such like friendly tokens: bringing him back again, as in requital of them, counterfeited Rings of no value, Bugles and babbles, which he esteemed as matters of great moment. Moreover, at diverse close and sudden meetings, they made him pay for many dinners & suppers, amounting to indifferent charges, only to be careful in the furtherance of his love-suit, and to conceal it from his wife.  
Having worn out three or four months' space in this fond and frivolous manner, without any other success then as hath been declared; and Calandrino perceiving, that the work undertaken by him and his fellows, grew very near upon the finishing, which would bar him of any longer resorting thither: he began to solicit Bruno more importunately, than all the while before he had done. In regard whereof, Nicholetta being one day come thither, & Bruno having conferred both with her and Philippo, with full determination what was to be done, he began with Calandrino, saying. My honest Neighbour and Friend, this Woman hath made a thousand promises, to grant what thou art so desirous to have, and I plainly perceive that she hath no such meaning, but merely plays with both our noses. In which respect, seeing she is so perfidious, and will not perform one of all her faithfull-made promises: if thou wilt consent to have it so, she shall be compelled to do it whether she will or no. Yea marry Bruno, answered Calandrino, that were an excellent course indeed, if it could be done, and with expedition.  
Bruno stood musing awhile to himself, as if he had some strange stratagem in his brain, & afterward said. Hast thou so much courage Calandrino, as but to handle a piece of written parchment, which I will give thee? Yes, that I have answered Calandrino, I hope that needed not to be doubted. Well then, said Bruno, procure that I may have a piece of Virgin Parchment brought me, with a living Bat or Reremouse; three grains of Incense, and an hallowed Candle, then leave me to effect what shall content thee. Calandrino watched all the next night following, with such preparation as he could make, only to catch a Bat; which being taken at the last, he brought it alive to Bruno (with all the other materials appointed) who taking him alone into a backer Chamber, there he wrote diverse follies on the Parchment, in the shape of strange and unusual characters, which he delivered to Calandrino, saying: Be bold Calandrino, and build constantly upon my words, that if thou canst but touch her with this sacred Charractred charm, she will immediately follow thee, and fulfil whatsoever thou pleasest to command her. Wherefore, if Philippo do this day walk any whither abroad from this house, presume to salute her, in any manner whatsoever it be, & touching her with the written lines, go presently to the barn of hay, which thou perceivest so near adjoining, the only convenient place that can be, because few or none resort thither. She shall (in despite of her blood) follow thee; and when thou hast her there, I leave thee then to thy valiant victory. Calandrino stood on tiptoe, like a man newly moulded by Fortune, and warranted Bruno to fulfil all effectually.  
Nello, whom Calandrino most of all feared and mistrusted, had a hand as deep as any of the rest in this deceit, and was as forward also to have it performed, by Brunoes' direction, he went unto Florence, where being in company with Calandrinoes' Wife, thus he began.  
Cousin, thine unkind usage by thine husband, is not unknown to me, how he did beat thee (beyond the compass of all reason) when he brought home stones from the plain of Mugnone; in which regard, I am very desirous to have thee revenged on him: which if thou wilt not do, never repute me hereafter for thy Kinsman and Friend. He is fall'n in love with a Woman of the common gender, one that is to be hired for money: he hath his private meetings with her, and the place is partly known to me, as by a secret appointment (made very lately) I am credibly given to understand; wherefore walk presently along with me, and thou shalt take him in the heat of his knavery.  
All the while as these words were uttering to her, she could not dissemble her inward impatience, but starting up as half frantic with fury, she said. O notorious villain! Darest thou abuse thine honest wife so basely? I swear by blessed Saint Bridge●, thou shalt be paid with coin of thi●● ownestampe. So casting a light wearing cloak about her, and taking a young woman in her company; she went away with Nell● in no mean haste. Bruno seeing her coming a fare off, said to Philippo: You Sir, you know what is to be done, act your part according to your appointment. Philippo went immediately into the room, where Calandrino and his other Consorts were at work, and said to them. Honest friends, I have certain occasions which command mine instant being at Florence: work hard while I am absent, and I will not be unthankful for it. Away he departed from them, and hid himself in a convenient place, where he could not be descried, yet see whatsoever Calandrino did: who when he imagined Philippo to be fare enough off, descended down into the Court, where he found Nicholetta sitting alone, and going towards her, began to enter into discoursing with her.  
She knowing what remained to be done on her behalf, drew somewhat near him, and shown herself more familiar then formerly she had done: by which favourable means, he touched her with the charmed Parchment, whibh was no sooner done; but with out using any other kind of language, he went to the hay-Barne, whither Nicholletta followed him, and both being entered, he closed the barn door, and then stood gazing on her, as if he had never seen her before. Standing still as in a study, or bethinking himself what he should say: she began to use affable gesture to him, and taking him by the hand, made show as if she meant to kiss him, which yet she reframed, though he (rather than his life) would gladly have had it. Why how now dear Calandrino (quoth she) jewel of my joy, comfort of my heart, how many times have I longed for thy sweet Company? And enjoying it now, according to mine own desire, dost thou stand like a Statue, or man alla morte? The rare tunes of the gittern, but (much more) the melodious accents of thy voice, excelling Orpheus or Amphion, so ravished my soul, as I know not how to express the depth of mine affection; and yet hast thou brought me hither, only to look babies in mine eyes, and not so much as speak one kind word to me?  
Bruno and Buffalmaco, having hid themselves close behind Philippo, they both heard and saw all this amorous conflict, and as Calandrino was quickening his courage, and wiping his mouth, with intent to kiss her: his wife and Nello entered into the barn, which caused Nicholetta to get her gone presently, sheltering herself where Philippo lay scouting. But the enraged woman ran furiously upon poor daunted Calandrino, making such a pitiful massacre with her nails, and tearing the hair from his head, as he merely looked like an infected Anatomy. Fowl loathsome dog (quoth she) must you be at your minions, and leave me hunger-starved at home? An old knave with (almost) never a good tooth in thy head, and yet art thou neighing after young wenches? hast thou not work enough at home, but must be gadding in to other men's grounds? Are these the fruits of wand'ring abroad?  
Calandrino being in this pitiful perplexity, stood like one neither alive nor dead, nor daring to use any resistance against her; but fell on his knees before his Wife, holding up his hands for mercy, and entreating her (for charity's sake) not to torment him any more: for he had committed no harm at all, and the Gentlewoman was his master's Wife, who came with no such intent thither, as she fond imagined. Wife, or wife not (quoth she) I would have none to meddle with my Husband, but I that have the most right to him.  
Bruno and Buffalmaco, who had laughed all this while hearty at this pastime, with Philippo and Nicholetta; came running in haste to know the reason of this loud noise, and after they had pacified the woman with gentle persuasions: they advised Calandrino, to walk with his Wife to Florence, and return no more to work there again, lest Philippo hearing what had happened, should be revenged on him with some outrage. Thus poor Calandrino miserably misused and beaten, went home to Florence with his Wife, scolded and railed at all the way, beside his other molestations (day and night) afterward: his Companions, Philippo and Nicholetta, making themselves merry at his misfortune.   

Two young Gentlemen, the one named Panuccio, and the other Adriano, lodged one night in a poor inn, where one of them went to bed to the hosts Daughter, and the other (by mistaking his way in the dark) to the hosts Wife. He which lay with the daughter, happened afterward to the hosts bed, and told him what he had done, as thinking he spoke to his own companion. Discontent growiug between them, the Mother perceiving her error, went to bed to her daughter, and with discreet language, made a general pacification.  
The sixth novel.  
Wherein is manifested, that an offence committed ignorantly, and by mistaking; aught to be covered with good advice, and civil discretion.  
CAlandrino, whose mishaps had so many times made the whole assembly merry, and this last passing among them with indifferent commendations: upon a general silence commanded, the Queen gave order to Pamphilus, that he should follow next, as indeed he did, beginning thus. Praiseworthy Ladies, the name of Nicoletta, so fond affected by Calandrino, putteth me in mind of a novel, concerning another Nicoletta, of whom I purpose to speak: to the end you may observe how by a sudden wary foresight, a discreet woman compassed the means to avoid a notorious scandal.  
On the plain of Mugnone, near to Florence, dwelled (not long since) an honest mean man, who kept a poor inn or Ostery for travellers, where they might have some slender entertainment for their money. As he was but a poor man, so his house afforded but very small receipt of guests, not lodging any but on necessity, and such as he had some knowledge of. This honest poor host had a woman (sufficiently fair) to his wife, by whom he had also two children, the one a comely young maiden, aged about fifteen years, and the other a son, not fully (as yet) a year old, and sucking on the mother's breast.  
A comely youthful Gentleman of our City, became amorously affected to the damsel, resorting thither diverse times as he traveled on the way, to express how much he did respect her. And she accounting her fortune none of the meanest, to be beloved by so youthful a Gallant, declared such virtuous and modest demeanour, as might deserve his best opinion of her: so that their love grew to an equal sympathy, and mutual contentment of them both, in expectation of further effects; he being named Panuccio, and she Nicholletta.  
The heat of affection thus increasing day by day, Panuccio grew exceedingly desirous to enjoy the fruits of his long continued liking, and diverse devices mustered in his brain, how he might compass one nights lodging in her father's house, whereof he knew every part and parcel, as not doubting to effect what he desired, yet undiscovered by any, but the maid herself.  
According as his intention aimed, so he longed to put it in execution, and having imparted his mind to an honest loyal friend, named Adriano, who was acquainted with the course of his love: hiring two horses, and having portmanteaus behind them, filled with matters of no moment, they departed from Florence, as if they had some great journey to ride. Having spent the day time where themselves best pleased, dark night being entered, they arrived on the plain of Mugnone, where, as if they were come from the parts of Romanio, they road directly to this poor inn, and knocking at the door, the honest host (being familiar and friendly to all comers) opened the door, when Panuccio spoke in this manner to him. Good man, we must request one nights lodging with you, for we thought to have reached so fare as Florence, but dark night preventing us, you see at what a late hour we are come hither. Signior Panuccio, answered the host, it is not unknown to you, how unfiting my poor house is, for entertaining such guests as you are: nevertheless, seeing you are overtaken by so unseasonable an hour, and no other place is near for your receit; I will gladly lodge you so well as I can.  
When they were dismounted from their horses, and entered into the simple inn: having taken order for feeding their horses, they accepted such provision, as the place and time afforded, requesting the host to sup with them. Now I am to tell you, that there was but one small Chamber in the house, wherein stood three beds, as best the host had devised to place them, two of them standing by the walls side, and the third fronting them both, but with such close and narrow passage, as very hardly could one step between them. The best of these three beds was appointed for the Gentlemen, and therein they'd lay them down to rest, but sleep they could not, albeit they dissembled it very formally. In the second Bed was Nicholetta the daughter, lodged by herself, and the father and mother in the third, and because she was to give the child suck in the night time, the Cradle (wherein it lay) stood close by their bed's side, because the child's crying or any other occasion concerning it, should not disquiet the Gentlemen.  
Panuccio having subtly observed all this, and in what manner they went to bed; after such a space of time, as he imagined them to be all fast asleep, he arose very softly, and stealing to the bed of Nicholetta, lay down gently by her. And albeit she seemed somewhat afraid at the first, yet when she perceived who it was, she rather bade him welcome, than shown herself any way discontented. Now while Panuccio continued thus with the maid, it fortuned that a Cat threw down somewhat in the house, the noise whereof awaked the wife, and fearing greater harm, than (indeed) had happened, she arose without a Candle, and went groping in the dark, towards the place where she heard the noise. Adriano, who had no other meaning but well, found occasion also to rise, about some natural necessity, and making his passage in the dark, stumbled on the child's Cradle (in the way) where the woman had set it, and being unable to pass by, without removing it from the place: took and set it by his own bed's side, and having done the business for which he rose, returned to his bed again, never remembering to set the Cradle where first he found it.  
The Wife having found the thing thrown down being of no value or moment, cared not for lighting any candle; but rating the Cat, returned back, feeling for the bed where her Husband lay, but finding not the Cradle there, she said to herself. What a foolish woman am I, that cannot well tell myself what I do? Instead of my husband's bed, I am going to both my guests.  
So, stepping on a little further, she found the child's Cradle, and laid herself down by Adriano, thinking she had gone right to her Husband. Adriano being not yet fall'n asleep, feeling the hostess in bed with him: took advantage of so fair an occasion offered, and what he did, is no business of mine, (as I heard) neither found the woman any fault. Matters coming to pass in this strange manner, and Panuccio fearing, lest sleep seizing on him, he might disgrace the maid's reputation: taking his kind farewell of her, with many kisses and sweet embraces: returned again to his own Bed, but meeting with the Cradle in his way, and thinking it stood by the hosts Bed, (as truly it did so at the first) went back from the Cradle, and stepped into the hosts Bed indeed, who awaked upon his very entrance, albeit he slept very sound before.  
Panuccio supposing that he was laid down by his loving friend Adriano, merrily said to the host. I protest to thee, as I am a Gentleman, Nicholetta is a dainty delicate wench, and worthy to be a very good man's wife: this night she hath given me the sweetest entertainment, as the best Prince in the world can wish no better, and I have kissed her most kindly for it. The host hearing these news, which seemed very unwelcome to him, said first to himself: What make such a devil here in my bed? Afterward being more rashly angry, then well advised, he said to Panuccio. Canst thou makes vaunt of such a mounstrous villainy? Or thinkest thou, that heaven hath not due vengeance in store, to requite all wicked deeds of darkness? If all should sleep, yet I have courage sufficient to right my wrong, and yet as old as I am thou shalt be sure to find it.  
Our amorous Panuccio being none of the wisest young men in the world, perceiving his error; sought not to amend it, (as well he might have done) with some quaint strain of wit, carried in quick and cleanly manner, but angrily answered. What shall I find that thou dar'st do to me? am I any way afraid of thy threatenings? The hosts imagining she was in bed with her Husband, said to Adriano: hark Husband, I think our Guests are quarrelling together, I hope they will do no harm to one another. Adriano laughing outright, answered. Let them alone, and become friends again as they fell out: perhaps they drank too much yesternight.  
The woman perceiving that it was her husband that quarrelled, and distinguishing the voice of Adriano from his: knew presently where she was, and with whom; wherefore having wit at will, and desirous to cloud an error unadvisedly committed, and with no willing consent of herself: without returning any more words, presently she rose, and taking the Cradle with the child in it, removed it thence to her daughter's bed side, although she had no light to help her, and afterward went to bed to her, where (as if she were but newly awaked) she called her Husband, to understand what angry speeches had passed between him and Panuccio. The host replied, saying. Didst thou not hear him wife, brag & boast, how he hath lain this night with our daughter Nicholetta? Husband (quoth she) he is no honest Gentleman; if he should say so, and believe me it is a manifest lie, for I am in bed with her myself, and never yet closed mine eyes together, since the first hour I laid me down: it is unmannerly done of him to speak it, and you are little less than a loggerhead, if you do believe it. This proceedeth from your bibbing and swilling yesternight, which (as it seemeth) maketh you to walk about the room in your sleep, dreaming of wonders in the night season: it were no great sin if you broke your necks, to teach you keep a fairer quarter; and how cometh it to pass, that Signior Panuccio could not keep himself in his own bed?  
Adriano (on the other side) perceiving how wisely the woman excused her own shame and her daughters; to back her in a business so cunningly begun, he called to Panuccio, saying. Have not I told thee an hundred times, that thou art not fit to lie any where, out of thine own lodging? What a shame is this base imperfection to thee, by rising and walking thus in the nighttime, according as thy dreams do wantonly delude thee, and cause thee to forsake thy bed, telling nothing but lies and fables, yet avouching them for manifest truths? Assuredly this will procure no mean peril unto thee: Come hither, and keep in thine own bed for mere shame.  
When the honest meaning Host heard, what his own Wife and Adriano had confirmed: he was verily persuaded, that Panuccio spoke in a dream all this while: And to make it the more constantly apparent, Panuccio (being now grown wiser by others example) lay talking and blundring to himself, even as if dreams or perturbations of the mind did much molest him, with strange distractions in frantic manner. Which the host perceiving, and compassionating his case, as one man should do another's: he took him by the shoulders, jogging and hunching him, saying. Awake Signior Panuccio, and get you gone hence to your own bed.  
Panuccio, yawning and stretching out his limbs, with unusual groans and respirations, such as (better) could be hardly dissembled: seemed to wake as out of a trance, and calling his friend Adriano, said.  
Adriano, is it day, that thou dost waken me? It may be day or night replied Adriano, for both (in these fits) are alike to thee. Arise man for shame, and come to thine lodging. Then feigning to be much troubled and sleepy, he arose from the host, and went to Adrianoes' bed.  
When it was day, and all in the house risen, the host began to smile at Panuccio, mocking him with his idle dreaming and talking in the night.  
So, falling from one merry matter to another, yet without any mislike at all: the Gentlemen, having their houses prepared, and their portmanteaus fastened behind, drinking to their host, mounted on horseback, and they road away towards Florence, no less contented with the manner of occasions happened, than the effects they sorted to. Afterward, other courses were taken, for the continuance of this begun pleasure with Nicholetta, who made her mother believe, that Panuccio did nothing else but dream. And the mother herself remembering how kindly Adriano had used her (a fortune not expected by her before:) was more than half of the mind, that ●he did then dream also, while she was waking.   

Talano de Molese dreamt, That a wolf rend and tore his wife's face and throat. Which dream he told to her, with advice to keep herself out of danger; which she refusing to do, received what followed.  
The seventh novel.  
Whereby (with some indifferent reason) it is concluded, that dreams do not always fall out to be leasings.  
BY the conclusion of Pamphilus his novel, wherein the woman's ready wit, at a time of such necessity, carried deserved commendations: the Queen gave command to Madam Pampinea, that she should next begin with hers, and so she did, in this manner. In some discourses (gracious Ladies) already past among us, the truth of apparitions in dreams hath partly been approved, whereof very many have made a mockery. Nevertheless, whatsoever hath heretofore been said, I purpose to acquaint you with a very short novel, of a strange accident happening unto a neighbour of mine, in not crediting a dream which her Husband told her.  
I cannot tell, whether you knew Talano de Molese, or no, a man of much honour, who took to wife a young Gentlewoman, named Margarita, as beautiful as the best: but yet so peevish, scornful, and fantastical, that she disdained any good advice given her; neither could any thing be done, to cause her contentment; which absurd humours were highly displeasing to her husband: but in regard he knew not how to help it, constrainedly he did endure it. It came to pass, that Talano being with his wife, at a summer-house of his own in the country, he dreamt one night, that he saw his Wife walking in a fair wood, which adjoined near unto his house, and while she thus continued there, he seemed to see issue forth from a corner of the said Wood, a great and furious wolf, which leaping suddenly on her, caught her by the face and throat, drawing her down to the earth, and offering to drag her thence. But he crying out for help, recovered her from the wolf, yet having her face and throat very pitifully rend and torn.  
In regard of this terrifying dream, when Talano was risen in the morning, and sat conversing with his wife, he spoke thus unto her. Woman, although thy froward wilful Nature be such, as hath not permitted me one pleasing day with thee, since first we became man and wife, but rather my life hath been most tedious to me, as fearing still some mischief should happen to thee: yet let me now in loving manner advice thee, to follow my counsel, and (this day) not to walk abroad out of this house. She demanded a reason for this advice of his. He related to her every particular of his dream, adding with all these speeches.  
True it is Wife (quoth he) that little credit should be given to dreams: nevertheless, when they deliver advertisement of harms to ensue, there is nothing lost by shunning and avoiding them. She fleering in his face, and shaking her head at him, replied. Such harms as thou wishest, such thou dreamest of. Thou pretendest much pity and care of me, but all to no other end: but what mischiefs thou dreamest happening unto me, so wouldst thou see them effected on me. Wherefore, I will well enough look to myself, both this day, and at all times else: because thou shalt never make thyself merry, with any such misfortune as thou wishest unto me.  
Well Wife, answered Talano, I knew well enough before, what thou wouldst say: An unsound head is soon scratched with the very gentlest comb: but believe as thou pleasest. As for myself, I speak with a true and honest meaning soul, and once again I do advice thee, to keep within our doors all this day: at least wise beware, that thou walk not into our wood, be it but in regard of my dream. Well sir (quoth she scoffingly) once you shall say, I followed your counsel: but within herself she fell to this murmuring. Now I perceive my husband's cunning colouring, & why I must not walk this day into our wood: he hath made a compact with some common quean, closely to have her company there, and is afraid lest I should take them tardy. Belike he would have me feed among blind folk, and I were worthy to be thought a stark fool, if I should not prevent a manifest treachery, being intended against me. Go thither therefore I will, and tarry there all the whole day long; but I will meet with him in his merchandise, and see the Pink wherein he adventures.  
After this her secret consultation, her husband was no sooner gone forth at one door, but she did the like at another, yet so secretly as possibly she could device to do, and (without any delaying) she went to the Wood, wherein she hide herself very closely, among the thickest of the bushes, yet could discern every way about her, if any body should offer to pass by her. While she kept herself in this concealment, suspecting other mysterious matters, as her idle imagination had tutored her, rather than the danger of any wolf: out of a brakie thicket by her, suddenly rushed a huge & dreadful wolf, as having found her by the sent, mounting up, and grasping her throat in his mouth, before she saw him, or could call to heaven for mercy.  
Being thus seized of her, he carried her as lightly away, as if she had been no heavier than a lamb, she being (by no means) able to cry, because he held her so fast by the throat, and hindered any helping of herself. As the wolf carried her thus from thence he had quite strangled her, if certain shepherds had not met him, who with their outcries and exclaims at the wolf, caused him to let her fall, and hast away to save his own life. Notwithstanding the harm done to her throat and face, the shepherds knew her, and carried her home to her house, where she remained a long while after, carefully attended by physicians and chirurgeons.  
Now, although they were very expert and cunning men all, yet could they not so perfectly cure her, but both her throat, and part of her face were so blemished, that whereas she seemed a rare creature before, she was now deformed and much unsightly. In regard of which strange alteration, being ashamed to show herself in any place, where formerly she had been seen: she spent her time in sorrow and mourning, repenting her insolent and scornful carriage, as also her rash running forth into danger, upon a foolish and jealous surmise, believing her husband's dreams the better for ever after.   

Blondello (in a merry manner) caused Guiotto to beguile himself of a good dinner: for which deceit, Guiotto became cunningly revenged, by procuring Blondello to be unreasonably beaten and misused.  
The Eight novel.  
Whereby plainly appeareth, that they which take delight in deceiving others, do well deserve to be deceived themselves.  
IT was a general opinion in the whole jovial company, that whatsoever Talano saw in his sleep, was not any dream, but rather a vision: considering, every part thereof fell out so directly, without the lest failing. But when silence was enjoined, than the Queen gave forth by evident demonstration, that Madam Lauretta was next to succeed, whereupon she thus began. As all they (judicious hearers) which have this day spoken before me, derived the ground or project of their novels, from some other argument spoken of before: even so, the cruel revendge of the scholar, yesterday discoursed at large by madam Pampinea, maketh me to remember another Tale of like nature, somewhat grievous to the sufferer, yet not in such cruel measure inflicted, as that on Madam Helena.  
There dwelled sometime in Florence, one who was generally called by the name of Guiotto, a man being the greatest Gourmand, and grossest feeder, as ever was seen in any country, all his means & procurements merely unable to maintain expenses for filling his belly. But otherwise he was of sufficient and commendable carriage, fairly demeaned, and well discoursing on any argument: yet, not as a curious and spruce Courtier, but rather a frequenter of rich men's Tables, where choice of good cheer is seldom wanting, & such should have his company, albeit not invited, yet (like a bold intruder) he had the courage to bid himself welcome.  
At the same time, and in our City of Florence also, there was another man, named Blondello, very low of stature, yet comely form, quick witted, more neat and brisk than a Butter fly, always wearing a wrought silk cap on his head, and not a hair staring out of order, but the tuft flourishing above the forehead, and he such another trencher-fly for the table, as our forenamed Guiotto was. It so fell out on a morning in the Lent time, that he went into the fishmarket, where he bought two goodly Lampreyes, for Messer Viero de Cherchi, and was espied by Guiotto, who (coming to Blondello) said. What is the meaning of this cost, and for whom is it? Whereto Blondello thus answered. Yesternight, three other lampreys, far fairer and fatter than these, and a whole Sturgeon, were sent unto Messer Corso Donati, and being not sufficient to feed diverse Gentlemen, whom he hath invited this day to dine with him, he caused me to buy these two beside: dost not thou intent to make one among them? Yes I warrant thee, replied Guiotto, thou know'st I can invite myself thither, without any other bidding.  
So parting; about the hour of dinner time, Guiotto went to the house of the said Messer Corso, whom he found sitting and talking with certain of his neighbours, but dinner was not (as yet) ready, neither were they come thither to dinner. Messer Corso demanded of Guiotto, what news with him, and whither he went? Why Sir (said Guiotto) I come to dine with you, and your good company. Whereto Messer Corso answered, That he was welcome, & his other friends being gone, dinner was served in, none else thereat present but Messer Corso and Guiotto: all the diet being a poor dish of Pease, a little piece of Tunny, & a few small fishes fried, without any other dishes to follow after. Guiotto seeing no better fare, but being disappointed of his expectation, as longing to feed on the lampreys and Sturgeon, and so to have made a full dinner indeed was of a quick apprehension, & apparently perceived, that Blondello had merely gulled him in a knavery, which did not a little vex him, and made him vow to be revenged on Blondello, as he could compass occasion afterward.  
Before many days were passed, it was his fortune to meet with Blondello, who having told this jest to diverse of his friends, and much good merriment made thereat: he saluted Guiotto in ceremonious manner, saying. How didst thou like the fat Lampreyes and Sturgeon, which thou fedst on at the house of Messer Corso Donati? Well Sir (answered Guiotto) perhaps before eight days pass over my head, thou shalt meet with as pleasing a dinner as I did. So, parting away from Blondello, he met with a Porter or burthen-bearer, such as are usually sent on errands; and hiring him to deliver a message for him, gave him a glass bottle, and bringing him near to the Halhouse of Cavicciuli, shown him there a knight, called Signior Phillipo Argenti, a man of huge stature, stout, strong, vainglorious, fierce and sooner moved to anger then any other man. To him (quoth Guiotto) thou must go with this bottle in thy hand, and say thus to him. Sir, Blondello sent me to you, and courteously entreateth you, that you would enrubinate this glass bottle with your best Claret Wine; because he would make merry with a few friends of his. But beware he lay no hand on thee, because he may be easily induced to misuse thee, and so my business be disappointed. Well Sir replied the Porter, shall I say any thing else unto him? No (quoth Guiotto) only go and deliver this message, and when thou art returned, I'll pay thee for thy pains.  
The Porter being gone to the house, delivered his message to the knight, who being a man of no great civil breeding; but furious, rash, and inconsiderate: presently conceived, that Blondello (whom he knew well enough) sent this message in mere mockage of him, and starting up with fiery looks, said: What enrubination of Claret should I send him? and what have I to do with him, or his drunken friends? Let him and thee go hang yourselves together. So he stepped to catch hold on the Porter, but he (being well warned before) was quick and nimble, and escaping from him, returned back to Guiotto (who observed all) and told him the answer of Signior Philippo. Guiotto not a little contented, paid the Porter, and tarried not in any place till he met with Blondello, to whom he said. When wast thou at the Hall of Cavicciuli? Not a long while, answered Blundello, but why dost thou demand such a question? Because (quoth Guiotto) Signior Philippo hath sought about for thee, yet know not I what he would have with thee. Is it so? replied Blondello, than I will walk thither presently, to understand his pleasure.  
When Blondello was thus parted from him, Guiotto followed not fare off behind him, to behold the issue of this angry business; and Signior Philippo, because he could not catch the Porter, continued much distempered, fretting and fuming, in regard he could not comprehend the meaning of the porter's message: but only surmised, that Blondello (by the procurement of some body else) had done this in scorn of him. While he remained thus deeply discontented, he espied Blondello coming towards him, and meeting him by the way, he stepped close to him, and gave him a cruel blow on the face, causing his nose to fall out a bleeding. Alas Sir, said Blondello, wherefore do you strike me? Signior Philippo, catching him by the hair of the head, trampled his wrought nightcap in the dirt, & his cloak also; when, laying many violent blows on him, he said. Villainous Traitor as thou art, I'll teach thee what it is to enrubinate with Claret, either thyself, or any of thy cupping companions: Am I a child, to be jested withal?  
Nor was he more furious in words, then in strokes also, beating him about the face, hardly leaving any hair on his head, and dragging him along in the mire, spoiling all his garments, and he not able (from the first blow given) to speak a word in defence of himself. In the end, Signior Philippo having extremely beaten him, and many people gathering about them, to secure a man so much misused, the matter was at large related, and manner of the message sending. For which, they all present, did greatly reprehend Blondello, considering he knew what kind of man Philippo was, not any way to be jested withal. Blondello in tears constantly maintained, that he never sent any such message for wine, or intended it in the least degree: so, when the tempest was more mildly calmed, and Blondello (thus cruelly beaten and durtied) had gotten home to his own house, he could then remember, that (questionless) this was occasioned by Guiotto.  
After some few days were passed over, and the hurts in his face indifferently cured; Blondello beginning to walk abroad again, chanced to meet with Guiotto: who laughing hearty at him, said. Tell me Blondello, how dost thou like the enrubinating claret of Signior Philippo? As well (quoth Blondello) as thou didst the Sturgeon and Lampreyes at Messer Corso Donaties. Why rhen (said Guiotto, let these two tokens continue familiar between thee and me, when thou wouldst bestow such another dinner on me, then will I enrubinate thy nose with a bottle of the same Claret. But Blondello perceived (to his cost) that he had met with the worse bargain, and Guiotto got cheer, without any blows: and therefore desired a peaceful atonement, each of them (always after) abstaining from flouting one another.   

Two young Gentlemen, the one named Melisso, borne in the City of Laiazzo: and the other Giosefo of Antioch, travailed together unto Solomon, the famous King of Great Britain. The one desiring to learn what he should do, whereby to compass and win the love of men. The other craved to be instructed, by what means he might reclaim an headstrong and unruly wife. And what answers the wise King gave unto them both, before they departed away from him.  
The Ninth novel.  
Containing an excellent admonition, that such as covet to have the love of other men, must first learn themselves, how to love: Also, by what means such women as are cursed and selfwilled, may be reduced to civil obedience.  
Upon the conclusion of madam Laurettaes novel, none now remained to succeed next in order, but only the Queen herself, the privilege reserved, granted to Dioneus; wherefore, after they had all smiled at the folly of Blondello, with a cheerful countenance thus the Queen began.  
Honourable Ladies, if with advised judgement, we do duly consider the order of all things, we shall very easily perceive, That the whole universal multiplicity of Women, by Nature, custom, and laws, are & aught to be subject to men, yea, and to be governed by their discretion. Because every one desiring to enjoy peace, repose and comfort with them, under whose charge they are; aught to be humble, patiented and obedient, over and beside her spotless honesty, which is the crown and honour of every good woman. And although those laws, which respect the common good of all things, or rather use & custom (as our wont saying is) the powers whereof are very great, and worthy to be reverenced, should not make us wise in this case. Yet Nature hath given us a sufficient demonstration, in creating our bodies more soft and delicate, yea, and our hearts timorous, fearful, benign and compassionable, our strength feeble, our voices pleasing, and the motion of our members sweetly pliant; all which are apparent testimonies, that we have need of others government.  
Now, it is not to be denied, that whosoever hath need of help, and is to be governed: merely reason commandeth, that they should be subject and obedient to their governor. Who then should we have for our helps and governors, if not men? Wherefore, we should be entirely subject to them, in giving them due honour and reverence, and such a one as shall departed from this rule: she (in mine opinion) is not only worthy of grievous reprehension, but also severe chastisement beside. And to this exact consideration (over and above diverse other important reasons) I am the rather induced, by the novel which madam Pampinea so lately reported, concerning the froward and wilful wife of Talano, who had a heavier punishment inflicted on her, than her Husband could device to do. And therefore it is my peremptory sentence, that all such women as will not be gracious, benign and pleasing: do justly deserve (as I have already said) rude, rough and harsh handling, as both nature, custom and laws have commanded.  
To make good what I have said, I will declare unto you the counsel & advice, given by Solomon, the wise and famous King of Great Britain, as a most wholesome and sovereign medicine for the cure of such a dangerous disease, in any woman so foully infected. Which counsel (notwithstanding) all such women as have no need of this physic, I would not have them to imagine, that it was meant for them, albeit men have a common proverb, to wit.  

As the good horse and bad horse, do both need the spur.  
So a good wife and bad wife, a wand will make stir.   
Which saying, whosoever doth interpret join such pleasing manner as they ought, shall find it (as you all will affirm no less) to be very true: especially in the moral meaning, it is beyond all contradiction. Women are naturally all unstable, and easily inclining to misgovernment; wherefore to correct the iniquity of such a distemperature in them that out-step the terms and bounds of womanhood, a wand hath been allowed for especial physic. As in the like manner, for support of virtue, in those of contrary condition, shaming to be sullied with so gross a sin: the correcting Wand may serve as a walking staff, to protect them from all other fears. But, forbearing to teach any longer; let me proceed to my purpose, and tell you my novel.  
In those ancient and reverend days, whereof I am now to speak, the high renown and admirable wisdom of Solomon, King of Great Britain, was most famous throughout all parts of the world; for answering all doubtful questions and demands whatsoever, that possibly could be propounded to him. So that many resorted to him, from the most remote and furthest off countries, to hear his miraculous knowledge and experience, yea, and to crave his counsel, in matters of greatest importance. Among the rest of them which repaired thither, was a rich young Gentleman, honourably descended, named Melisso, who came from the City of Laiazzo, where he was both borne, and dwelled.  
In his riding towards France, as he passed by Naples, he overtook another young Gentleman, a native of Antioch, and named Giosefo, whose journey lay the same way as the others did. Having ridden in company some few days together, as it is a custom commonly observed among travellers, to understand one another's country and condition, as also to what part his occasions call him: so happened it with them, Giosefo directly telling him, that he journeyed towards the wise King Solomon, to desire his advice what means he should observe, in the reclaiming of a wilful wife, the most froward and self-willed woman that ever lived; whom neither fair persuasions, nor gentle courtesies could in any manner prevail withal. Afterward he demanded of Melisso, to know the occasion of his travel, and whither.  
Now trust me Sir, answered Melisso, I am a native of Laiazzo, and as you are vexed with one great misfortune, even so am I offended with another. I am young, wealthy, well derived by birth, and allow liberal expenses, for maintaining a worthy table in my house, without distinguishing persons by their rank and quality, but make it free for all comers, both of the city, & all places else. Notwithstanding all which bounty and hovourable entertainment, I cannot meet with any man that loveth me. In which respect, I journey to the same place as you do, to crave the counsel of so wise a King, what I should do, whereby I might procure men to love me. Thus like two well-met friendly companions, they road on together, until they arrived in Great Britain, where, by means of the Noble Barons attending on the King; they were brought before him. Melisso delivered his mind in very few words, whereto the King made no other answer, but this: learn to love. Which was no sooner spoken, but Melisso was dismissed from the King's presence.  
Giosefo also relating, wherefore he came thither; the King replied only thus: go to the Goose Bridge: and presently Giosefo had also his dismission from the King. coming forth, he found Melisso attending for him, and revealed in what manner the King had answered him: whereupon, they consulted together, concerning both their answers, which seemed either to exceed their comprehension, or else was delivered them in mere mockery, and therefore (more than half discontented) they returned homeward again.  
After they had ridden on a few days together, they came to a river, over which was a goodly Bridge, and because a great company of Horses and Mules (heavily laden, and after the manner of a caravan of Camels in Egypt) were first to pass over the said Bridge; they gladly stayed to permit their pass. The greater number of them being already passed over, there was one shy and skittish Mule (belike subject to fearful starting, as oftentimes we see horses have the like ill quality) that would not pass over the Bridge by any means, wherefore one of the Muletters took a good cudgel, and smote her at the first gently, as hoping so to procure her passage. Notwithstanding, starting one while backward, then again forward, sideways, and every way indeed, but the direct Road way she would not go.  
Now grew the Muletter extremely angry, giving her many cruel strokes, on the head, sides, flanks and all parts else, but yet they proved to no purpose, which Melisso and Giosefo seeing, and being (by this means) hindered of their passage, they called to the Muletter, saying. Foolish fellow, what dost thou? Intendest thou to kill the Mule? why dost thou not lead her gently, which is the likelier course to prevail by, then beating and misusing her as thou dost? Content yourselves Gentlemen (answered the Muletter) you know your horses qualities, as I do my Mules, let me deal with her as I please. Having thus spoken, he gave her so many violent strokes, on head, sides, hips, and every where else, as made her at last pass over the Bridge quietly, so that the Muletter won the Mastery of his Mule.  
When Melisso and Giosefo had passed over the Bridge, where they intended to part each from other; a sudden motion happened into the mind of Melisso, which caused him to demand of an aged man (who sat craving alms of Passengers at the Bridge foot) how the Bridge was called: Sir, answered the old man, this is called, The Goose Bridge. Which words when Giosefo heard, he called to mind the saying of King Solomon, and therefore immediately said to Melisso. Worthy friend, and partner in my travel, I dare now assure you, that the counsel given me by King Solomon, may fall out most effectall and true: For I plainly perceive, that I knew not how to handle my self-willed-wife, until the Muletter did instruct me. So, requesting still to enjoy the others Company, they journeyed on, till at the length they came to Laiazzo, where Giosefo retained Melisso still with him, for some repose after so long a journey, and entertained him with very honourable respect and courtesy.  
One day Giosefo said to his Wife: Woman, this Gentleman is my intimate friend, and hath borne me company in all my travel: such diet therefore as thou wilt welcome him withal, I would have it ordered (in dressing) according to his direction. Melisso perceiving that Giosefo would needs have it to be so; in few words directed her such a course, as (for ever) might be to her husband's contentment. But she, not altering a jot from her former disposition, but rather fare more froward and tempestuous: delighted to vex and cross him, doing every thing quite contrary to the order appointed. Which Giosefo observing, angrily he said unto her. Was it not told you by my friend, in what manner he would have our Supper dressed? She turning fiercely to him, replied. Am I to be directed by him or thee? Supper must and shall be dressed as I will have it: if it pleaseth me, I care not who doth dislike it; if thou wouldst have it otherwise, go seek both your Suppers where you may have it.  
Melisso marvelling at her froward answer, rebuked her for it in very kind manner: whereupon, Giosefo spoke thus to her. I perceive wife, you are the same woman as you were wont to be: but believe me on my word, I shall quite alter you from this cursed complexion. So turning to Melisso, thus he proceeded. Noble friend, we shall try anon, whether the counsel of King Solomon be effectual, or no; and I pray you, let it not be offenssive to you to see it; but rather hold all to be done in merriment. And because I would not be hindered by you, do but remember the answer which the Muletter gave us, when we took compassion on his Mule. Worthy friend, replied Melisso, I am in your own house, where I purpose not to impeach whatsoever you do.  
Giosefo, having provided a good Holly-wand, went into the Chamber, where his wife sat railing, and despitefully grumbling, where taking her by the hair of her head, he threw her at his feet, beating her entreamely with the wand. She crying, then cursing, next railing, lastly fight, biting and scratching, when she felt the cruel smart of the blows, and that all her resistance served to no end: then she fell on her knees before him, and desired mercy for charity's sake. Giosefo fought still more and more on head, arms, shoulders, sides, and all parts else, pretending as if he heard not her complaints, but wearied himself well near out of breath: so that (to be brief) she that never felt his fingers before, perceived and confessed, it was now too soon. This being done, he returned to Melisso, and said: To morrow we shall see a miracle, and how available the council is of going to the Goose Bridge. So sitting a while together, after they had washed their hands, and supped, they withdrew to their lodgings.  
The poor beaten woman, could hardly raise herself from the ground, which yet (with much ado) she did, and threw herself upon the bed, where she took such rest as she could: but arising early the next morning, she came to her Husband, and making him a very low courtesy, demanded what he pleased to have for his dinner; he smiling heartily thereat, with Melisso, told her his mind▪ And when dinner time came, every thing was ready according to the direction given: in which regard, they highly commended the counsel, whereof they made such an harsh construction at the first.  
Within a while after, Melisso being gone from Giosefo, and returned home to his own house: he acquainted a wise and reverend man, with the answer which king Solomon gave him, whereto he he received this reply. No better or truer advice could possibly be given you, for well you know, that you love not any man; but the bountiful banquets you bestow on them, is more in respect of your own vainglory, than any kind affection you bear to them: learn then to love men, as Solomon advised, and you shall be beloved of them again. Thus our unruly Wife became mildly reclaimed, and the young Gentleman, by loving others, found the fruits of reciporall affection.   

john de Barolo, at the instance and request of his Gossip Pietro da Tresanti, made an enchantment, to have his wife become a Mule. And when it came to the fastening on of the tail; Gossip Pietro by saying she should have no tail at all, spoilt the whole enchantment.  
The Tenth novel.  
In just reproof of such foolish men, as will be governed by overlight belief.  
THis novel reported by the Queen, caused a little murmuring among the Ladies, albeit the men laughed heartily thereat: but after they were all grown silent, Dioneus began in this manner. Gracious Beauties, among many white doves, one black Crow will seem more sightly, than the very whitest swan can do. In like manner, among a multitude of wise men, sometimes one of much less wisdom and discretion, shall not only increase the splendour and majesty of their maturity, but also give an addition of delight and solace.  
In which regard, you all being modest and discreet Ladies, and myself more much defective in brain, than otherwise able: in making your virtues shine gloriously, through the evident appearance of mine own weakness, you should esteem the better of me, by how much I seem the more cloudy and obscure. And consequently, I ought to have the larger scope of liberty, by plainly expressing what I am, and be the more patiently endured by you all, in saying what absurdly I shall; then I should be if my speeches savoured of absolute wisdom. I will therefore tell you a Tale, which shall not be of any great length, whereby you may comprehend, how carefully such things should be observed, which are commanded by them, as can effect matters by the power of enchantment, and how little delayance also aught to be in such, as would not have an enchantment to be hindered.  
About a year already passed since, there dwelled at Barletta, an honest man, called john de Barolo, who because he was of poor condition; for maintenance in his contented estate, provided himself of a Mule, to carry commodities from place to place, where fairs and Markets were in request, but most especially to Apuglia, buying and selling in the nature of a petty Chapman. Travelling thus thorough the countries, he grew into great and familiar acquaintance, with one who named himself Pietro da Tresanti, following the same Trade of life as he did, carrying his commodities upon an ass. In sign of amity, according to the country's custom, he never termed him otherwise, then by the name of Gossip Pietro and always when he came to Barletta, he brought him to his own house, taking it as his inn, entreating him very friendly, and in the best manner he could device to do. On the other side, Gossip Pietro being very poor, having but one simple habitation in the village of Tresanti, hardly sufficient for him, and an handsome young woman which he had to his wife, as also his ass: evermore when john de Barolo came to Tresanti, he would bring him to his poor abiding, with all his uttermost ability of entertainment, in due acknowledgement of the courtesy he afforded to him at Barletta. But when he came to take repose in the night season, Gossip Pietro could not lodge him as gladly he would: because he had but one silly bed, wherein himself and his wife lay; so that john de Barolo was feign to lie on a little straw, in a small stable, close adjoining by his own Mule and the ass.  
The woman understanding, what good and honest welcome, Gossip John afforded her husband, when he came to Barletta, was often very willing to go lodge with an honest neighbour of hers, called Carapresa di Giudice Leo, because the two Gossips might both lie together in one bed; wherewith diverse times she acquainted her Husband, but by no means he would admit it.  
At one time among the rest, as she was making the same motion again to her Husband, that his friend might be lodged in better manner: Gossip John thus spoke to her. Good Zita Carapresa, never molest yourself for me, because I lodge to mine own contentment, and so much the rather, in regard that whensoever I list: I can convert my Mule into a fair young woman, to give me much delight in the night-season, and afterward make her a Mule again: thus am I never without her company.  
The young woman wondering at these words, and believing he did not fable in them: she told them to her Husband, with this addition beside, Pietro (quoth she) if he be such a dear friend to thee, as thou hast often avouched to me; wish him to instruct thee in so rare a cunning, that thou Mayst make a Mule of me; then shalt thou have both an ass and a Mule to travel withal about thy business, whereby thy benefit will be double: and when we return home to our house, than thou Mayst make me thy wife again, in the same condition as I was before. Gossip Pietro, who was (indeed) but a very coxcomb; believed also the words to be true, yielding therefore the more gladly to her advice; and moving the matter to his Gossip John, to teach him such a wonderful secret, which would redound so greatly to his benefit: but John began to dissuade him from it, as having spoken it in merriment, yet perceiving, that no contradiction would serve to prevail, thus he began.  
Seeing you will needs have it so, let us rise to morrow morning before day, as in our travel we use to do, and then I will show you how it is to be done: only I must and do confess, that the most difficult thing of all the rest, is, to fasten on the tail, as thou shalt see.  
Gossip Pietro and his wife, could hardly take any rest all the night long, so desirous they were to have the deed done; and therefore when it drew towards day, up they arose, and calling Gossip John, he came presently to them in his shirt, & being in the Chamber with them, he said. I know not any man in the world, to whom I would disclose this secret, but to you, and therefore because you so earnestly desire it, I am the more willing to do it. Only you must consent, to do whatsoever I say, if you are desirous to have it done. Faithfully they promised to perform all, whereupon John delivering a lighted Candle to Gossip Pietro, to hold in his hand, said. Mark well what I do, and remember all the words I say: but be very careful, that whatsoever thou hearest or seest, thou do not speak one word, for then the enchantment will be utterly overthrown, only wish that the tail may be well set on, for therein consisteth all the cunning.  
Gossip Pietro holding the Candle, and the woman being prepared as John had appointed her, she bowed herself forwardly with her hands set to the ground, even as if she stood upon four fear. First with his hands he touched her head and face, saying, here is the goodly head of a Mule: then handling her disheveled hair, termed them the goodly mane of a Mule. afterwards, touching the body, arms, legs, and feet, gave them all the apt names (for those parts) belonging to a Mule, nothing else remaining, but only the forming of the tail, which when Pietro perceived, how John was preparing to fasten it on (having no way misliked all his former proceeding:) he called to him, saying: forbear gossip John, my Mule shall have no tail at all, I am contented to have her without a tail. How now Gossip Pietro? answered John, What hast thou done? Thou hast marred all by this unadvised speaking, even when the work was almost fully finished. It is no matter Gossip (answered Pietro) I can like my Mule better without a tail, then to see it set on in such manner.  
The fond young woman, more covetously addicted to gain and commodity, then looking into the knavish intention of her Gossip John; began to grow greatly offended. Beast as thou art (quoth she to her Husband) why hast thou overthrown both thine own good Fortune and mine? Didst thou ever see a Mule without a tail? Wouldst thou have had him made me a monster? Thou art wretchedly poor, and when we might have been enriched for ever, by a secret known to none but ourselves, thou art the ass that hast defeated all, and made thy friend to become thine enemy. Gossip John began to pacify the woman, with solemn protestations of his still continuing friendship, albeit (afterwards) there was no further desiring of any more Mule-making: but Gossip Pietro fell to his former Trading only with his ass, as he was no less himself, and he went no more with Gossip John to the fairs in Apuglia, neither did he ever request, to have the like piece of service done for him.  
ALthough there was much laughing at this novel, the Lady's understanding it better, than Dioneus intended that they should have done, yet himself scarcely smiled. But the novels being all ended, and the sun beginning to lose his heat; the Queen also knowing, that the full period of her government was come: dispossessing herself of the crown, she placed it on the head of Pamphilus, who was the last of all to be honoured with this dignity; wherefore (with a gracious smile) thus she spoke to him.  
Sir, it is no mean charge which you are to undergo, in making amends (perhaps) for all the faults committed by myself and the rest, who have gone before you in the same authority; and, may it prove as prosperous unto you, as I was willing to create you our King. Pamphilus having received the honour with a cheerful mind, thus answered. Madam, your sacred virtues, and those (beside) remaining in my other subjects, will (no doubt) work so effectually for me, that (as the rest have done) I shall deserve your general good opinion. And having given order to the Master of the household (as all his predecessors had formerly done, for every necessary occasion; he turned to the Ladies, who expected his gracious favour, and said.  
Bright Beauties, it was the discretion of your late sovereign & Queen, in regard of ease and recreation unto your tired spirits, to grant you free liberty, for discoursing on whatsoever yourselves best pleased: wherefore, having enjoyed such a time of rest, I am of opinion, that it is best to return once more to our wont Law, in which respect, I would have every one to speak in this manner to morrow. Namely, of those men or women, who have done any thing bountifully or magnificently, either in matter of amity, or otherwise. The relation of such worthy arguments, will (doubtless) give an addition to our very best desires, for a free and forward inclination to good actions, whereby our lives (how short soever they be) may perpetuate an everliving renown and fame, after our mortal bodies are converted into dust, which (otherwise) are no better than those of bruit beasts, reason only distinguishing this difference, that as they live to perish utterly, so we respire to reign in eternity.  
The theme was exceedingly pleasing to the whole Company; who being all risen, by permission of the new King, every one fell to their wont recreations, as best agreed with their own disposition; until the hour for Supper came, wherein they were served very sumptuously. But being risen from the Table, they began their dances, among which, many sweet Sonnets were interlaced, with such delicate Tunes as moved admiration. Then the King commanded Madam Neiphila, to sing a song in his name, or how herself stood best affected. And immediately with a clear and rare voice, thus she began.  

THE SONG.  

The Chorus sung by all the company.  
IN the Spring season,  
Maids have best reason,  
To dance and sing;  
With Chaplets of Flowers,  
To deck up their Bowers,  
And all in honour of the Spring.   

I herd a nymph that sat alone,  
By a fountain's side:  
Much her hard Fortune to bemoan,  
For still she cried:  
Ah! Who will pity her distress,  
That finds no foe like fickleness?  
For truth life's not in men:  
Poor soul, why live I then?  
In the Spring season, etc.   

Oh, How can mighty love permit,  
Such a faithless deed,  
And not in justice punish it  
As treasons meed?  
I am undone through perjury,  
Although I loved constantly:  
But truth life's not in men,  
Poor soul, why live I then?  
In the Spring season, etc.   

When I did follow dyans' train,  
As a loyal maid,  
I never felt oppressing pain,  
Nor was dismayed.  
But when I listened love's alluring,  
Then I wandered from assuring.  
For truth life's not in men:  
Poor soul, why live I then?  
In the Spring season, etc.   

Adieu to all my former joys,  
When I lived at case,  
And welcome now those sad annoys  
Which do most displease.  
And let none pity her distress,  
That fell not, but by fickleness.  
For truth life's not in men,  
Alas! why live I then?   

IN the Spring season,  
Maids have best reason,  
To dance and sing;  
With Chaplets of Flowers,  
To deck up their Bowers,  
And all in honour of the Spring.    
This Song, most sweetly sung by madam Neiphila, was especially commended, both by the King, & all the rest of the Ladies. Which being fully finished, the King gave order, that every one should repair to their Chambers, because a great part of the night was already spent.    
The end of the Ninth Day.   

THE Tenth and last Day.  
Whereon, under the government of Pamphilus, the several Arguments do concern such persons, as either by way of Liberality, or in Magnificent manner, performed any worthy action, for love, favour, friendship, or any other honourable occasion.  

The Induction.  
ALready began certain small Clouds in the West, to blush with a vermilion tincture, when those in the East (having reached to their full height) looked like bright burnished Gold, by splendour of the Sun beams drawing near unto them: when Pamphilus being risen, caused the Ladies, and the rest of his honourable companions to be called. When they were all assembled, and had concluded together on the place, whither they should walk for their morning's recreation: the King led on the way before, accompanied with the two Noble Ladies Philomena and Fiammetta, all the rest following after them, devising, talking, and answering to diverse demands both what that day was to be done, as also concerning the proposed imposition.  
After they had walked an indifferent space of time, and found the rays of the sun to be over-piercing for them: they returned back again to the palace, as fearing to have their blood immoderately heated. Then rinsing their Glasses in the cool clear running current, each took their morning's draught, & then walked into the mild shades about the Garden, until they should be summoned to dinner. Which was no sooner overpassed, and such as slept, returned waking: they met together again in their wont place, according as the King had appointed, where he gave command unto madam Neiphila, that she should (for that day) begin the first novel, which she humbly accepting, thus began.  

A Florentine knight, named Signior Rogiero de Figiovanni, became a servant to Alphonso, King of Spain, who (in his own opinion) seemed but slightly to respect and reward him. In regard whereof, by a notable experiment, the King gave him a manifest testimony, that it was not through any defect in him, but only occasioned by the Knights ill fortune; most bountifully recompensing him afterward.  
The First novel.  
Wherein may evidently be discerned, that servants to Princes and great Lords, are many times recompensed, rather by their good fortune, then in uny regard of their dutiful services.  
I do accept it (Worthy Ladies) as no mean favour, that the King hath given me the first place, to speak of such an honourable Argument, as Bounty and Magnificence is, which precious jewel, even as the sun is the beauty, or ornament and bright glory of all heaven; so is bounty and magnificence the crown of all virtues. I shall then recount to you a short novel, sufficiently pleasing, in mine own opinion, and I hope (so much I dare rely on your judgements) both profitable, and worthy to be remembered.  
You are to know then, that among other valiant Knights, which of long have lived in our City, one of them, and (perhaps) of as great merit as any, was one, named Signior Rogiero d'Figiouanni. He being rich, of great courage, and perceiving, that (in due consideration) the quality belonging to life, and the customs observed among our Tuscans, were not answerable to his expectation, nor agreed with the disposition of his valour; determined to leave his native country, and belong in service (for some time) to Alfonso, King of Spain, whose fame was generally noised in all places, for excelling all other Princes in those times, for respect of men's well deservings, and bountiful requital of their pains. Being provided in honourable order, both of Horses, arms, & a competent train, he traveled to Spain, where he was worthily entertained.  
Signior Rogiero continuing there, living in honourable manner, and performing many admirable actions of arms; in short time he made himself sufficiently known, for a very valiant and famous man. And having remained there an indifferent long while, observing diverse behaviours in the king: he saw, how he inclined himself first to one man, then to another, bestowing on one a Castle, a town on another, and Baronnies on diverse, somewhat indiscreetly, as giving away bountifully to men of no merit. And restraining all his favours from him, as seeming close fisted, and parting with nothing: he took it as a diminishing of his former reputation, and a great ●mpayring of his fame, wherefore he resolved on his departure thence, & made his suit to the king that he might obtain it. The king did grant it, bestowing on him one of the very best Mules, and the goodliest that ever was backed, a gift most highly pleasing to Rogiero, in regard of the long journey he intended to ride. Which being delivered, the king gave charge to one of his Gentlemen, to compass such convenient means, as to ride thorough the country, and in the company of Signior Rogiero, yet in such manner, as he should not perceive, that the King had purposely sent him so to do. Respectively he should observe whatsoever he said concerning the king, his gesture, smiles, and other behaviour, shaping his answers accordingly, and on the nexte morning, to commaud his return back with him to the King.  
Nor was the Gentleman slack in this command, but noting Rogieroes departing forth of the city, he mounted on horseback likewise, and immediately after came into his company, making him believe, that he journeyed towards Italy. Rogiero road on the Mule which the king had given him, with diversity of speeches passing between them. About three of the clock in the afternoon, the Gentleman said. It were not amiss Sir, (having such fit opportunity) to Stable our horses for a while, till the heat be a little more overpast. So taking an inn, and the horses being in the stable, they all staled except the Mule.  
Being mounted again; and riding on further, the Gentleman duly observed whatsoever Rogiero spoke, and coming to the passage of a small river or Blooke: the rest of the beasts drank, and not the Mule, but staled in the river: which Signior Rogiero seeing, clapping his hands on the Mules mane, he said. What a wicked beast art thou? thou art just like thy Master that gave thee to me. The Gentleman committed the words to memory, as he did many other passing from Rogiero, riding along the rest of the day, yet none in disparagement of the King, but rather highly in his commendation. And being the next morning mounted on horseback, seeming to hold on still the way for Tuscan: the Gentleman fulfilled the King's command, causing Signior Rogiero to turn back again with him, which willingly he yielded to do.  
When they were come to the Court, and the King made acquainted with the words, which Rogiero spoke to his Mule; he was called into the presence, where the King shown him a gracious countenance, & demanded of him, why he had compared him to his Mule? Signior Rogiero nothing daunted, but with a bold and constant spirit, thus answered. Sir, I mad● the comparison, because, like as you give, where there is no conveniency, and bestow nothing where reason requireth: even so, the Mule would not stale where she should have done, but where was water too much before, there she did it. Believe me Signior Rogiero, replied the King, if I have not given you such gifts, as (perhaps) I have done to diverse other, fare inferior to you in honour and merit; this happened not through any ignorance in me, as not knowing you to be a most valiant Knight, and well-worthy of special respect: but rather through your own ill fortune, which would not suffer me to do it, whereof she is guilty, and not I, as the truth thereof shall make itself apparent to you. Sir, answered Rogiero, I complain not, because I have received no gift from you, as desiring thereby covetously to become the richer: but in regard you have not as yet any way acknowledged, what virtue is remaining in me. Nevertheless, I allow your excuse for good and reasonable, and am heartily contented, to behold whatsoever you please; although I do confidently credit you, without any other testimony.  
The King conducted him then into the great Hall, where (as he had before given order) stood two great Chests, fast locked; & in the presence of all his Lords, the King thus spoke. Signior Rogiero, in out of these Chests is mine imperial crown, the sceptre royal, the Mound, & many more of my richest girdles, rings, plate, & jewels, even the very best that are mine: the other is full of earth only. Choose one of these two, and which thou makest election of; upon my royal word thou shalt enjoy it. Hereby shalt thou evidently perceive, who hath been ingreatful to the deservings, either I, or thine own bad fortune. Rogiero seeing it was the King's pleasure to have it so; chose one of them, which the King caused presently to be opened, it approving to be the same that was full of earth, whereat the King smiling, said thus unto him.  
You see Signior Rogiero, that what I said concerning your ill fortune, is very true: but questionless, your valour is of such desert, as I ought to oppose myself against all her malevolence. And because I know right, that you are not minded to become a Spaniard; I will give you neither Castle nor dwelling place: but I will bestow the Chest on you (in mere despite of your malicious fortune) which she so unjustly took away from you. Carry it home with you into your country, that there it may make an apparent testimoney, in the sight of all your well-willers, both of your own virtuous deservings, and my bounty. Signior Rogiero humbly receiving the Chest, and thanking his majesty for so liberal a gift, returned home joyfully therewith, into his native country of Tuscan.   

Ghinotto di Tacco; took the Lord Abbot of Clugni as his prisonors, and cured him of a grievous disease, which he had in his stomach, and afterward set him at liberty. The same Lord Abbot, when he returned from the Court of Rome, reconciled Ghinotto to Pope Boniface; who made him a Knight, and Lord Prior of a goodly hospital.  
The second novel.  
Wherein is declared that good men do sometimes fall into bad conditions, only occasioned thereto by necessity: And what means are to be used, for their reducing to goodness again.  
THe magnificence and royal bounty, which King Alphonso bestowed on the Florentine knight, passed through the whole assembly with no mean applause, & the King (who gave it the greatest praise of all) commanded madam Eliza, to take the second turn in order; whereupon, thus she began.  
Fair Ladies, if a king shown himself magnificently minded, and expressed his liberal bounty to such a man, as had done him good and honourable services: it can be termed no more than a virtuous deed well done, and becoming a King But what will we say, when we hear that a Prelate of the Church, shown himself wondrously magnificent, and to such a one as was his enemy: can any malicious tongue speak ill of him? Undoubtedly, no other answer is to be made, but the action of the King was merely virtue, and that of the Prelate, no less than a miracle: for how can it be otherwise, when they are more greedily covetous than women, and deadly enemies to all liberality? And although every man (naturally) desireth revenge for injuries and abuses done unto him: yet men of the Church, in regard that daily they preached patience, and command (above all things else) remission of sins: it would appear a mighty blemish in them, to be more froward and furious than other men. But I am to speak of a reverend Prelate of the Church, as also concerning his munificent bounty, to one that was his enemy, and yet became his reconciled friend, as you shall perceive by my novel.  
Ghinotto di Tacco, for his insolent and stout robberies, became a man very fare famed, who being banished from Sienna, and an enemy to the Countess Disanta Fiore: prevailed so by his bold and headstrong persuasions, that the town of Raticonfani rebelled against the Church of Rome, wherein he remaining; all passengers whatsoever, travelling any way thereabout, were robbed and rifled by his thieving Companions. At the time whereof now I speak, Boniface the eight, governed as Pope at Rome, and the Lord Abbot of Clugni (accounted to be one of the richest Prelates in the world) came to Rome, and there either by some surfeit, excess of feeding, or otherwise, his stomach being grievously offended and pained; the physicians advised him, to travel to the baths at Sienna, where he should receive immediate cure. In which respect, his departure being licenced by the Pope, to set onward thither, with great and pompous carriages, of Horses, Mules, and a goodly train, without hearing any rumour of the thievish Consorts.  
Ghinotto di Tacco, being advertised of his coming, spread about his scouts and nets, and without missing so much as one Page, shut up the Abbot, with all his train and baggage, in a place of narrow restraint, out of which he could by no means escape. When this was done, he sent one of his most sufficient attendants, (well accompanied) to the Lord Abbot, who said to him in his master's name, that if his Lordship were so pleased, he might come and visit Ghinotto at his Castle. Which the Abbot hearing, answered cholericly, that he would not come thither, because he had nothing to say to Ghinotto: but meant to proceed on in his journey, and would fain see, who durst presume to hinder his pass. To which rough words, the messenger thus mildly answered. My Lord (quoth he) you are arrived in such a place, where we fear no other force, but the all-controlling power of heaven, clearly exempted from the Pope's thunder cracks, of maledictions, interdictions, excommunications, or whatsoever else: and therefore it would be much better for you, if you pleased to do as Ghinotto adviseth you.  
During the time of this their interparlunce, the place was suddenly round engird with strongly armed thiefs, and the Lord Abbot perceiving, that both he and all his followers were surprised: took his way (though very impatiently) towards the Castle, and likewise all his company and carriages with him. Being dismounted, he was conducted (as Ghinotto had appointed) all alone, into a small Chamber of the Castle, it being very dark and uneasy: but the rest of his train, every one according to his rank and quality, were all well lodged in the Castle, their horses, goods and all things else, delivered into secure keeping, without the least touch of injury or prejudice. All which being orderly done, Ghinotto himself went to the Lord Abbot, and said. My Lord, Ghinotto, to whom you are a welcome guest, requesteth, that it might be your pleasure to tell him, whither you are travelling, and upon what occasion?  
The Lord Abbot being a very wise man, and his angry distemper more moderately qualified; revealed whither he went, and the cause of his going thither. Which when Ghinotto had heard, he departed courteously from him, and began to consider with himself, how he might cure the Abbot; yet without any bath. So, commanding a good fire to be kept continually in his small Chamber, and very good attendance on him: the next morning, he came to visit him again, bringing a fair white Napkin on his arm, and in it two slices or toasts of fine Manchet, a goodly clear glass, full of the purest white-Bastard of Corniglia (but indeed, of the Abbots own provision brought thither with him) and then he spoke to him in this manner.  
My Lord, when Ghinotto was younger than now he is, he studied physic, and he commanded me to tell you, that the very best medicine, he could ever learn, against any disease in the stomach, was this which he had provided for your Lordship, as an especial preparative, and which he should find to be very comfortable. The Abbot, who had a better stomach to eat, than any will or desire to talk: although he did it somewhat disdainfully, yet he eat up both the toasts, and roundly drank off the glass of Bastard. Afterward, diverse other speeches passed between them, the one still advising in physical manner, and the other seeming to care little for it: but moved many questions concerning Ghinotto, and earnestly requesting to see him. Such speeches as savoured of the abbot's discontentment, and came from him in passion; were clouded with courteous acceptance, & not the least sign of any mislike: but ring his Lordship, that Ghinotto intended very shortly to see him, and so they parted for that time.  
Nor returned he any more, till the next morning with the like two toasts of bread, and such another glass of white Bastard, as he had brought him at the first, continuing the same course for diverse days after: till the Abbot had eaten (and very hungerly too) a pretty store of dried beans, which Ghinotto purposely, (yet secretly) had hidden in the Chamber. Whereupon he demanded of him (as seeming to be so enjoined by his pretended master) in what temper he found his stomach now? I should find my stomach well enough (answered the Lord Abbot) if I could get forth of thy master's fingers, and then have some good food to feed on: for his medicines have made me so sound stomached, that I am ready to starve with hunger.  
When Ghinotto was gone from him, he then prepared a very fair Chamber for him, adorning it with the Abbots own rich hangings, as also his Plate and other movables, such as were always used for his service. A costly dinner he provided likewise, whereto he invited diverse of the town, and many of the abbot's chiefest followers: then going to him again the next morning, he said. My Lord, seeing you do feel your stomach so well, it is time you should come forth of the Infirmary. And taking him by the hand, he brought him into the prepared Chamber, where he left him with his own people, and went to give order for the dinners serving in, that it might be performed in magnificent manner.  
The Lord Abbot recreated himself a while with his own people, to whom he recounted, the course of his life since he saw them; and they likewise told him, how kindly they had been initeated by Ghinotto. But when dinner time was come, the Lord Abbot and all his company, were served with costly viands and excellent Wines, without Ghinottoes making himself known to the Abbot: till after he had been entertained some few days in this order: into the great Hall of the Castle, Ghinotto caused all the abbot's goods and furniture to be brought, and likewise into a spacious Court, whereon the windows of the said Court gazed, all his mules and horses, with their sumpters, even to the very silliest of them, which being done, Ghinotto went to the Abbot, and demanded of him, how he felt his stomach now, and whether it would serve him to venture on horse back as yet, or no? The Lord Abbot answered, that he found his stomach perfectly recovered, his body strong enough to endure travel, and all things well, so he were delivered from Ghinotto.  
Hereupon, he brought him into the hall where his furniture was, as also all his people, & commanding a window to be opened, whereat at he might behold his horses, he said. My Lord; let me plainly give you to understand, that neither cowardice, or baseness of mind, induced Ghinotto di Tacco (which is myself) to become a lurking robber on the highways, an enemy to the Pope, and so (consequently) to the Roman Court: but only to save his own life and honour, knowing himself to be a Gentleman cast out of his own house, and having (beside) infinite enemies. But because you seem to be a worthy Lord, I will not (although I have cured your stomach's disease) deal with you as I do to others, whose goods (when they fall into my power) I take such part of as I please: bet rather am well contented, that my necessities being considered by yourself, you spare me out a proportion of the things you have here, answerable to your own liking. For all are present here before you, both in this Hall, and in the Court beneath, free from any spoil, or the least impairing. Wherefore, give a part, or take all, if you please, and then departed hence when you will, or abide here still, for now you are at your own free liberty.  
The Lord Abbot wondered not a little, that a robber on the high ways, should have such a bold and liberal spirit, which appeared very pleasing to him; and instantly, his former hatred and spleen against Ghinotto, became converted into cordial love and kindness, so that (embracing him in his arms) he said I protest upon my vow made to Religion, that to win the love of such a man, as I plainly perceive thee to be: I would undergo far greater injuries, than those which I have received at thy hands. Accursed be cruel destiny, that forced thee to so base a kind of life, and did not bless thee with a fairer fortune. After he had thus spoken, he left there the greater part of all his goods, and returned back again to Rome, with few horses, and a meaner train.  
Durig these passed accidents, the Pope had received intelligence of the Lord abbot's surprisal, which was not a little displeasing to him: but when he saw him returned, he demanded, what benefit he received at the baths? Whereto the Abbot, merrily smiling, thus replied. Holy Father, I met with a most skilful physician nearer hand, whose experience is beyond the power of the baths, for by him I am very perfectly cured: and so discoursed all at large. The Pope laughing heartily, and the Abbot continuing on still his report; moved with an high and magnificent courage, he demanded one gracious favour of the Pope: who imagining that he would request a matter of greater moment, than he did, freely offered to grant, whatsoever he desired.  
Holy Father, answered the Lord Abbot, all the humble suit which I make to you, is, that you would be pleased to receive into your grace and favour, Ghinotto di Tacco my physician, because among all the virtuous men, deserving to have especial account made of them I never met wih any equal to him both in honour and honesty. Whatsoever injury he did to me, I impute it as a greater in-fortune, than any way he deserveth to be charged withal. Which wretched condition of his, if you were pleased to alter, and bestow on him some better means of maintenance, to live like a worthy man, as he is no less: I make no doubt, but (in very short time) he will appear as pleasing to your holiness, as (in my best judgement) I think him to be.  
The Pope, who was of a magnanimous spirit, and one that highly affected men of virtue, hearing the commendable motion made by the Abbot; returned answer, that he was as willing to grant it, as the other desired it, sending. Letters of safe conduct for his coming thither. Ghinotto receiving such assurance from the Court of Rome, came thither immediately, to the great joy of the Lord Abbot: and the Pope finding him to be a man of valour and worth, upon reconciliation, remitted all former errors, creating him knight, and Lord Prior of the very chiefest hospital in Rome. In which Office he lived long time after, as a loyal servant to the Church, and an honest thankful friend to the Lord Abbot of Clugny.   

Mithridanes envying the life and liberality of Nathan, and travelling thither, with a settled resolution to kill him: chanceth to confer with Nathan unknown. And being instructed by him, in what manner he might best perform the bloody deed, according as he gave direction, he meeteth with him in a small Thicket or wood, where knowing him to be the same man, that taught him how to take away his life: Confounded with shame, he acknowledgeth his horrible intention, and becometh his loyal friend.  
The third novel.  
Showing in an excellent and lively demonstration, that any especial honourable virtue, persevering and dwelling in a truly noble soul, cannot be violenced or confounded, by the most politic attempts of malice and envy.  
IT appeared to the whole assembly, that they had heard a matter of marvel, for a Lord Abbot to perform any magnificent action: but their admiration ceasing in silence, the King commanded Philostratus to follow next, who forthwith thus began.  
Honourable Ladies, the bounty and magnificense of Alphonso King of Spain, was great indeed, and that done by the Lord Abbot of Clugny, a thing (perhaps) never heard of in any other. But it will seem no less marvellous to you, when you hear, how one man, in expression of great liberality to another man, that earnestly desired to kill him; should be secretly disposed to give him his life, which had been lost, if the other would have taken it, as I purpose to acquaint you withal, in a short novel.  
Most certain it is, at least, if Faith may be given to the report of certain Genewayes, and other men resorting to those remote parts, that in the Country of Cathaya, there lived sometime a Gentleman, rich beyond comparison, and named Nathan. He having his living adjoining to a great common rode-way, whereby men travailed from the East to the West (as they did the like from the West unto the East, as having no other means of passage) and being of a bountiful and cheerful disposition, which he was willing to make known by experience: he summoned together many Master Masons and Carpenters, and there erected (in a short time) one of the greatest, goodliest, and most beautiful houses (in manner of a Prince's palace) that ever was seen in all those quarters.  
With movables and all kind of furnishment, befitting a house of such outward appearance, he caused it to be plentifully stored, only to receive, entertain, and honour all Gentlemen or other travellers whatsoever, as had occasion to pass that way, being not unprovided also of such a number of servants, as might continually give attendance on all comers and goers. Two and fifty several gates, standing always wide open, & over each of them in great golden characters was written, Welcome, welcome, and gave free admission to all comers whatsoever.  
In this honourable order (observed as his estated custom) he persevered so long a while, as not only the East parts, but also those in the west, were every where acquainted with his fame & renown. Being already well stepped into years, but yet not weary (therefore) of his great charge and liberality: it fortuned, that the rumour of his noble Hospitality, came to the ear of another gallant Gentleman, named Mithridanes, living in a country not fare off from the other.  
This Gentleman, knowing himself no less wealthy than Nathan, and enviously repining at his virtue and liberality, determined in his mind, to dim and obscure the others bright splendour, by making himself fare more famous. And having built a Palace answerable to that of nathan's, with like windings of gates, and welcome inscriptions; he began to extend immeasurable courtesies, unto all such as were dispoted to visit him: so that (in a short while) he grew very famous in infinite places. It chanced on a day, as Mithridanes sat all alone within the goodly Court of his palace: a poor woman entered at one of the gates, craving an alms of him, which she had; and returned in again at a second gate, coming also to him, and had a second alms, continuing sostill a dozen times; but at the thirteenth returning, Mithridanes said to her: Good Woman, you go and come very often, and still you are served with alms. When the old Woman heard these words, she said. O the liberality of Nathan! How honourable and wonderful is that? I have passed through two and thirty gates of his Palace, even such as are here, and at every one I received an alms, without any knowledgement taken of me, either by him, or any of his followers: and here I have passed but through thirteen gates, and am there both acknowledged and taken. Farewell to this house, for I never mean to visit it any more; with which words she departed thence, and never after came thither again.  
When Mithridanes had a while pondered on her speeches, he waxed much discontented, as taking the words of the old woman, to extol the renown of Nathan, and darken or eclipse his glory, whereupon he said to himself. Wretched man as I am, when shall I attain to the height of liberality, and perform such wonders, as Nathan doth? In seeking to surmount him, I cannot come near him in the very meanest. Undoubtedly, I spend all my endeavour but in vain, except I rid the world of him, which (seeing his age will not make an end of him) I must needs do with my own hands. In which furious and bloody determination (without revealing his intent to any one) he mounted on horseback, with few attendants in his company, and after three days journey, arrived where Nathan dwelled. He gave order to his men, to make no show of being his servants, or any way to acknowledge him: but to provide themselves of convenient lodgings, until they heard other tidings from him.  
About evening, and (in this manner) alone by himself, near to the Palace of Nathan, he met him solitarily walking, not in pompous apparel, whereby to be distinguished from a meaner man: and, because he knew him not, neither had heard any relation of his description, he demanded of him, if he knew where Nathan then was? Nathan, with a cheerful countenance, thus replied. Fair Sir, there is no man in these parts, that knoweth better how to show you Nathan then I do; and therefore, if you be so pleased, I will bring you to him. Mithridanes said, therein he should do him a great kindness: albeit (if it were possible) he would be neither known nor seen of Nathan. And that (quoth he) can I also do sufficiently for you, seeing it is your will to have it so, if you will go along with me.  
Dismounting from his horse, he walked on with Nathan, diversely discoursing, until they came to the palace, where one of the servants taking Mithridanes his horse, Nathan rounded the fellow in the care, that he should give warning to all throughout the House, for revealing to the Gentleman, that he was Nathan; as accordingly it was performed. No sooner were they within the palace, but he conducted Mithridanes into a goodly chamber, where none (as yet) had seen him, but such as were appointed to attend on him reverently; yea, and he did himself greatly honour him, as being loath to leave his company.  
While thus Mithridanes conversed with him, he desired to know (albeit he respected him much for his years) what he was. Introth Sir, answered Nathan, I am one of the meanest servants to Nathan, and from my childhood, have made myself thus old in his service: yet never hath he bestowed any other advancement on me, then as you now see; in which respect, howsoever other men may commend him, yet I have no reason at all to do it. These Words, gave some hope to Mithridanes, that with a little more counsel, he might securely put in execution his wicked determination. Nathan likewise demanded of him (but in very humble manner) of whence, and what he was, as also the business inviting him thither: offering him his utmost aid and counsel, in what soever consisted in his power.  
Mithridanes sat an indifferent while meditating with his thoughts before he would return any answer: but at the last, concluding to repose confidence in him (in regard of his pretended discontentment) with many circumstantial persuasions, first for fidelity, next for constancy, and lastly for counsel and assistance, he declared to him truly what he was, the cause of his coming thither, and the reason urging him thereto. Nathan hearing these words, and the detestable deliberation of Mithridanes, became quite changed in himself: yet wisely making no outward appearance thereof, with a bold courage and settled countenance, thus he replied.  
Mithridanes, thy Father was a Noble Gentleman, and (in virtuous qualities) inferior to none, from whom (as now I see) thou desirest not to degenerate, having undertaken so bold & high an enterprise, I mean, in being liberal and bountiful to all men. I do greatly commend the envy which thou bearest to the virtue of Nathan: because if there were many more such men, the world that is now wretched and miserable, would become good and conformable. As for the determination which thou hast disclosed to me, I have sealed it up secretly in my soul: wherein I can better give thee counsel, than any especial help or furtherance: and the course which I would have thee to observe, followeth thus in few words.  
This window, which we now look forth at, showeth thee a small wood or thicket of trees, being little more than the quarter of a miles distance hence; whereto Nathan usually walketh every morning, and there continueth time long enough: there Mayst thou very easily meet him, and do whatsoever thou intendest to him. If thou kill'st him, because thou Mayst with safety return home unto thine own abiding, take not the same way which guided thee thither, but another, lying on the left hand, & directing speedily out of the wood, as being not so much haunted as the other, but rather free from all resort, and surest for visiting thine own country, after such a dismal deed is done.  
When Mithridanes had received this instruction, and Nathan was departed from him, he secretly gave intelligence to his men, (who likewise were lodged, as welcome strangers, in the same house) at what place they should stay for him the next morning. Night being passed over, and Nathan risen, his heart altered not a jot from his counsel given to Mithridanes, much less changed from any part thereof: but all alone by himself, walked on to the wood, the place appointed for his death. Mithridanes also being risen, taking his Bow & Sword (for other weapons had he none) mounted on horseback, and so came to the wood, where (somewhat fare off) he espied Nathan walking, and no creature with him. Dismounting from his horse, he had resolved (before he would kill him) not only to see, but also to hear him speak: so stepping roughly to him, and taking hold of the bonnet on his head, his face being then turned from him, he said. Old man, thou must dye. Whereunto Nathan made no other answer, but thus: Why then (belike) I have deserved it.  
When Mithridanes heard him speak, and looked advisedly on his face, he knew him immediately to be the same man, that had entertained him so lovingly, conversed with him so familiarly, and counselled him so faithfully: all which overcoming his former fury, his harsh nature became merely confounded with shame: So throwing down his drawn sword, which he held readily prepared for the deed: he prostrated himself at nathan's feet, and in tears, spoke in this manner. Now do I manifestly know (most loving Father) your admired bounty and liberality; considering, with what industrious providence, you made the means for your coming hither, prodigally to bestow your life on me, which I have no right unto, although you were so willing to part with it. But those high and supreme powers, more careful of my duty, than I myself: even at the very instant, and when it was most needful, opened the eyes of my better understanding, which infernal envy had closed up before. And therefore, look how much you have been forward to pleasure me; so much the more shame and punishment, I confess my heinous transgression hath justly deserved: take therefore on me (if you please) such revenge, as you think (in justice) answerable to my sin.  
Nathan lovingly raised Mithridanes from the ground, then kissing his cheek, and tenderly embracing him, he said. Son, thou needest not to ask, much less to obtain pardon, for any enterprise of thine, which thou canst not yet term to be good or bad: because thou soughtest not to bereave me of my life, for any hatred thou barest me, but only in covering to be reputed the worthier man. Take then this assurance of me, and believe it constantly, that there is no man living, whom I love and honour, as I do thee: considering the greatness of thy mind, which consisteth not in the heaping up of money, as wretched and miserable Worldlings make it their only felicity; but, contending in bounty to spend what is thine, didst hold it for no shame to kill me, thereby to make thyself so much the more worthily famous.  
Nor is it any matter to be wondered at, in regard that Emperors, and the greatest Kings, had never made such extendure of their Dominions, and consequently of their renown, by any other Art, then killing; yet not one man only, as thou wouldst have done: but infinite numbers, burning whole Countries, and making desolate huge towns and Cities, only to enlarge their dominion, and further spreading of their fame. Wherefore, if for the increasing of thine own renown, thou wast desirous of my death: it is no matter of novelty, and therefore deserving the less marvel, seeing men are slain daily, and all for one purpose or other.  
Mithridanes, excusing no further his malevolent deliberation, but rather commending the honest defence, which Nathan made on his behalf; proceeded so fare in after discoursing, as to tell him plainly, that it did wondrously amaze him, how he durst come to the fatal appointed place, himself having so exactly plotted and contrived his own death: whereunto Nathan returned this answer.  
I would not have thee Mithridanes, to wonder at my counsel or determination; because, since age hath made me master of mine own will, and I resolved to do that, wherein thou hast begun to follow me: never came any man to me, whom I did not content (if I could) in any thing he demanded of me. It was thy fortune to come for my life, which when I saw thee so desirous to have it, I resolved immediately to bestow it on thee: and so much the rather, because thou shouldst not be the only man, that ever departed hence, without enjoying whatsoever he demanded. And, to the end thou mightst the more assuredly have it, I gave thee that advice, lest by not enjoying mine, thou shouldest chance to lose thine own. I have had the use of it full fourscore years, with the consummation of all my delights and pleasures: and well I know, that according to the course of Nature (as it fares with other men, and generally all things else) it cannot be long before it must leave me.  
Wherefore, I hold it much better for me to give it away freely, as I have always done my goods and treasure; then be curious in keeping it, and suffer it to be taken from me (whether I will or no) by Nature. A small gift it is, if time make me up the full sum of an hundred years: how miserable is it then, to stand beholding but for four or five, and all of them vexation too? Take it then I entreat thee, if thou wilt have it; for I never met with any man before (but thyself) that did desire it, nor (perhaps) shall find any other to request it: for the longer I keep it, the worse it will be esteemed: and before it grow contemptible, take it I pray thee.  
Mithridanes, being exceedingly confounded with shame, bashfully said: Fortune forefend, that I should take away a thing so precious as your life is, or once to have so vile a thought of it as lately I had; but rather than I would diminish one day thereof, I could wish, that my time might more amply enlarge it. Forthwith answered Nathan, saying. Wouldst thou (if thou couldst) shorten thine own days, only to lengthen mine? Why then thou wouldst have me to do that to thee, which (as yet) I never did unto any man, namely, rob thee, to enrich myself. I will enstruct thee in a much better course, if thou wilt be advised by me. Lusty and young, as now thou art, thou shalt dwell here in my house, and be called by the name of Nathan. Aged, and spent with years, as thou seest I am, I will go live in thy house, and be called by the name of Mithridanes. So, both the name and place shall illustrate thy glory, and I live contentedly, without the very lest thought of envy.  
Dear Father, answered Mithridanes, if I knew so well how to direct mine own actions, as you do, and always have done, I would gladly accept your most liberal offer: but because I plainly perceive, that my very best endeavours, must remain darkened by the bright renown of Nathan: I will never seek to impair that in another, which I cannot (by any means) increase in myself, but (as you have worthily taught me) live contented with my own condition.  
After these, and many more like loving speeches had passed between them; according as Nathan very instantly requested, Mithridanes returned back with him to the palace, where many days he highly honoured & respected him, comforting & counselling him, to persever always in his honourable determination. But in the end, when Mithridanes could abide there no longer, because necessary occasions called him home: he departed thence with his men, having found by good experience, that he could never go beyond Nathan in liberality.   

Signior Gentile de Carisendi, being come from Modena, took a Gentlewoman, named Madam Catharina, forth of a grave, wherein she was buried for dead: which act he did, in regard of his former honest affection to the said Gentlewoman. Madame Catharina remaining afterward, and delivered of a goodly son: was (by Signior there Gentile) delivered to her own Husband, named Signior Nicoluccio Caccianimico, and the young infant with her.  
The Fourth novel.  
Wherein is shown, That true love hath always been, and so still is, the occasion of many great and worthy courtesies.  
BY judgement of all the honourable assembly, it was reputed wonderful, that a man should be so bountiful, as to give away his own life, and to his hateful enemy. In which respect, it passed with general affirmation, that Nathan (in the virtue of liberality) had exceeded Alphonso. King of Spain, but (especially) the Abbot of Clugny. So, after every one had delivered their opinion, the King, turning himself to madam Lauretta, gave her such a sign, as well instructed her understanding, that she should be the next in order, whereto she gladly yielding, began in this manner.  
Youthful Ladies, the discourses already past, have been so worthy and magnificent, yea, reaching to such a height of glorious splendour; as (I thinks) there remaineth no more matter, for us that are yet to speak, whereby to enlarge so famous an Argument, and in such manner as it ought to be: except we lay hold on the actions of love, wherein is never any want of subject, it is so fair and spacious a field to walk in. Wherefore, as well in behalf of the one, as advancement of the other, whereto our instant age is most of all inclined: I purpose to acquaint you with a generous and magnificent act, of an amorous Gentleman, which when it shall be duly considered on, perhaps will appear equal to any of the rest. At least, if it may pass for currant, that men may give away their treasures, forgive mighty injuries, and lay down life itself, honour and renown (which is fare greater) to infinite dangers, only to attain any thing esteemed and affected.  
Understand then (Gracious hearers) that in Bologna, a very famous City of Lombardie, there lived sometime a Knight, most highly respected for his virtues, named Signior Gentile de Carisendi, who (in his younger days) was enamoured of a Gentlewoman, called Madam Catharina, the Wife of Signior Nicoluccio Caccianimico. And because during the time of his amorous pursuit, he found but a sorry interchange of affection from the Lady; he went (as hopeless of any success) to be Potestate of Modena, whereto he was called by place and order.  
At the sametime, Signior Nicoluccio being absent from Bologna, and his Lady at a Farme-house of his in the country (about three miles distant from the City) because she was great with child, and somewhat near the time of her teeming: it came to pass, that some dangerous accident befell her, which was so powerful in operation, as no sign of life appeared remained in her, but she was reputed (even in the judgement of the best physicians, whereof she wanted no attendance) to be verily dead. And because in the opinion of her parents and nearest kindred, the time for her deliverance was yet so fare off, as the Infant within her, wanted much of a perfect creature: they made the less mourning; but in the next Church, as also the vault belonging to her Ancestors; they gave her burial very speedily.  
Which tidings coming to the hearing of Signior Gentile, by one that was his endeared friend: Although (while she lived) he could never be gracious in her favour, yet her so sudden death did greatly grieve him, whereupon he discoursed in this sort with himself. Dear madam Catharina, I am not a little sorry for thy death, although (during thy life-time) I was scarcely worthy of one kind look: Yet now being dead, thou canst not prohibit me, but I may rob thee of a kiss. No sooner had he spoke the words, but it being then night, and taking such order, as none might know of his departure: he mounted on horseback, accompanied only with one servant, and stayed no where, till he came to the vault where the Lady was buried. Which when he had opened, with instruments convenient for the purpose, he descended down into the vault, and kneeled down by the beer whereon she lay, and in her wearing garments, according to the usual manner; with tears trickling mainly down his cheeks, he bestowed infinite sweet kisses on her.  
But as we commonly see, that men's desires are never contented, but still will presume on further advantages, especially such as love entirely: so fared it with Gentile, who being once minded to get him gone, as satisfied with the oblation of his kisses; would needs yet step back again, saying. Why should I not touch her ivory breast, the Adamant that drew all desires to adore her? Ah let me touch it now, for never hereafter can I be half so happy. Overcome with this alluring appetite, gently he laid his hand upon her breast, with the like awful respect, as if she were living, and holding it so an indifferent while: either he felt, or his imagination so persuaded him, the heart of the Lady to beat and pant. Casting off all fond fear, and the warmth of his increasing the motion: his inward soul assured him, that she was not dead utterly, but had some small sense of life remaining in her, whereof he would needs be further informed.  
So gently as possible he could, and with the help of his man, he took her forth of the monument, & laying her softly on his horse before him, conveyed her closely to his house in Bologna. Signior Gentile had a worthy Lady to his Mother, a woman of great wisdom and virtue, who understanding by her son, how matters had happened; moved with compassion, and suffering no one in the house to know what was done, made a good fire, and very excellent bath, which recalled back again wrong-wandering life. Then fetching a vehement sigh, opening her eyes, & looking very strangely about her, she said. Alas! where am I now? whereto the good old Lady kindly replied, saying. Comfort yourself madam, for you are in a good place.  
Her spirits being in better manner met together, and she still gazing every way about her, not knowing well where she was, and seeing Signior Gentile standing before her: he entreated his mother to tell her by what means she came thither; which the good old Lady did, Gentile himself helping to relate the whole history. A while she grieved and lamented, but afterward gave them most hearty thankes, humbly requesting, that, in regard of the love he had formerly borne her, in his house she might find no other usage, varying from the honour of herself and her Husband, and when day was come, to be conveyed home to her own house. Madame, answered Signior Gentile, whatsoever I sought to gain from you in former days, I never mean, either here, or any where else, to motion any more. But seeing it hath been my happy fortune, to prove the blessed means, of reducing you from death to life: you shall find no other entertainment here, then as if you were mine own Sister. And yet the good deed which I have this night done for you, doth well deserve some courteous requital: in which respect, I would have you not to deny me one favour, which I will presume to crave of you. Whereto the Lady lovingly replied, that she was willing to grant it; provided, it were honest, and in her power: whereto Signior Gentile thus answered.  
Madame, your parents, kindred and friends, and generally all throughout Bologna, do verily think you to be dead, wherefore there is not any one, that will make any inquisition after you: in which regard, the favour I desire from you, is no more but to abide here secretly with my Mother, until such time as I return from Modena, which shall be very speedily. The occasion why I move this motion, aimeth at this end, that in presence of the chiefest persons of our City, I may make a gladsome present of you to your Husband. The Lady knowing herself highly beholding to the Knight, and the request he made to be very honest: disposed herself to do as he desired (although she earnestly longed, to glad her parents and kindred with seeing her alive) and made her promise him on her faith, to effect it in such manner, as he pleased to appoint and give her direction.  
Scarcely were these words concluded, but she felt the custom of women to come upon her, with the pains and throws incident to childing: wherefore, with help of the aged Lady, Mother to Signior Gentile, it was not long before her deliverance of a goodly son, which greatly augmented the joy of her and Gentile, who took order, that all things belonging to a woman in such a case, were not wanting, but she was as carefully respected, even as if she had been his own Wife. Secretly he repaired to Modena, where having given direction for his place of authority; he returned back again to Bologna, and there made preparation for a great and solemn feast, appointing who should be his invited guests, the very chiefest persons in Bologna, and (among them) Signior Nicoluccio Caccianimico the especial man.  
After he was dismounted from horseback, and found so good company attending for him (the Lady also, more fair and healthful then ever, and the Infant lively disposed) he sat down at the Table with his guests, causing them to be served in most magnificent manner, with plenty of all delicates that could be devised, and never before was there such a jovial feast. About the ending of dinner, closely he made the Lady acquainted with his further intention, and likewise in what order every thing should be done, which being effected, he returned to his company, & used these speeches.  
Honourable friends, I remember a discourse sometime made unto me, concerning the country of Persia, and a kind of custom there observed, not to be misliked in mine opinion. When any one intended to honour his friend in effectual manner, he invited him home to his house, and there would show him the thing, which with greatest love he did respect; were it Wife, Friend, son, Daughter, or any thing else whatsoever; wherewithal he spared not to affirm, that as he shown him those choice delights, the like view he should have of his heart, if with any possibility it could be done; and the very same custom I mean now to observe here in our City. You have vouchsafed to honour me with your presence, at this poor homely dinner of mine, and I will welcome you after the Persian manner, in showing you the jewel, which (above all things else in the world) I ever have most respectively esteemed. But before I do it, I crave your favourable opinions in a doubt, which I will plainly declare unto you.  
If any man having in his house a good and faithful servant, who falling into extremity of sickness, shall be thrown forth into the open street, without any care or pity taken on him: A stranger chanceth to pass by, and (moved with compassion of his weakness) carrieth him home to his own house, where using all charitable diligence, and not sparing any cost, he recovereth the sick person to his former health. I now desire to know, if keeping the said restored person, and employing him about his own business: the first Master (by pretending his first right) may lawfully complain of the second, and yield him back again to the first master, albeit he do make challenge of him?  
All the Gentlemen, after many opinions passing among them, agreed altogether in one sentence, and gave charge to Signior Nicoluccio, Caccianimico, (because he was an excellent and elegant speaker) to give answer for them all. First, he commended the custom observed in Persia, saying, he jumped in opinion with all the rest, that the first Master had no right at all to the servant, having not only (in such necessity) forsaken him, but also cast him forth into the comfortless street. But for the benefits and mercy extended to him; it was more than manifest, that the recovered person, was become justly servant to the second Master, and in detaining him from the first, he did not offer him any injury at all. The whole Company sitting at the Table (being all very wise & worthy men) gave their verdict likewise with the confession of Signior Nicoluccio Caccianimico. Which answer did not a little please the Knight; and so much the rather, because Nicoluccio had pronounced it, affirming himself to be of the same mind.  
So, sitting in a pretended musing a while, at length he said. My honourable guests, it is now more than high time, that I should do you such honour, as you have most justly deserved, by performing the promise made unto you. Then calling two of his servants, he sent them to madam Catharina (whom he had caused to adorn herself in excellent manner) entreating her, that she would be pleased to grace his guests with her presence. Catharina, having decked her child in costly habiliments, laid it in her arms, and came with the seruauts into the dining Hall, and sat down (as the Knight had appointed) at the upper end of the Table, and then Signior Gentile spoke thus. Behold, worthy Gentlemen, this is the jewel which I have most affected, and intent to love none other in the world; be you my judges, whether I have just occasion to do so, or no? The Gentlemen saluting her with respective reverence, said to the Knight; that he had great reason to affect her: And viewing her advisedly, many of them thought her to be the very same woman (as indeed she was) but that they believed her to be dead.  
But above all the rest, Nicoluccio Caccianimico could never be satisfied with beholding her; and, inflamed with earnest desire, to know what she was, could not refrain (seeing the Knight was gone out of the room) but demanded of her, whether she were of Bologna, or a stranger? when the Lady heard herself to be thus questioned, and by her Husband, it seemed painful to her, to contain from answering: nevertheless, to perfect the knights intended purpose, she sat silent. Others demanded of her, whether the sweet Boy were hers, or no; and some questioned, if she were Gentiles Wife, or no, or else his Knisewoman; to all which demands, she returned not any answer. But when the Knight came to them again, some of them said to him. Sir, this woman is a goodly creature, but she appeareth to be dumb, which were great pity, if it should be so. Gentlemen (quoth he) it is no small argument of her virtue, to sit still and silent at this instant. Tell us then (said they) of whence, and what she is. Therein (quoth he) I will quickly resolve you, upon your conditional promise: that none of you do remove from his place, whatsoever shall be said or done, until I have fully delivered my mind. Every one bound himself by solemn promise, to perform what he had appointed, and the Tables being voided, as also the Carpets laid; then the Knight (sitting down by the Lady) thus began.  
Worthy Gentlemen, this Lady is that true and faithful servant, whereof I moved the question to you, whom I took out of the cold street, where her parents, kindred and friends (making no account at all of her) threw her forth, as a thing vile and unprofitable. Nevertheless, such hath been my care and cost, that I have rescued her out of death's griping power; and, in a mere charitable disposition, which honest affection caused me to bear her; of a body, full of terror & affrighting (as then she was) I have caused her to become thus lovely as you see. But because you may more apparently discern, in what manner this occasion happened; I will lay it open to you in more familiar manner. Then he began the whole history, from the original of his unbeseeming affection to her (in regard she was a worthy man's wife) and consequently, how all had happened to the instant hour, to the no mean admiration of all the hearers, adding withal. Now Gentlemen (quoth he) if you vary not from your former opinion, and especially Signior Nicoluccio Caccianimico: this Lady (by good right) is mine, and no man else, by any just title, can lay any claim to her.  
All sat silent, without answering one word, as expecting what he intended further to say: but in the mean while, Nicoluccio, the parents and kindred, but chiefly the Lady herself, appeared as half melted into tears with weeping. But Signior Gentile, starting up from the Table, taking the Infant in his arm, and leading the Lady by the hand, going to Nicoluccio, thus spoke. Rise Sir, I will not give thee thy wife, whom both her kindred and thine, threw forth into the street: but I will bestow this Lady on thee, being my Gossip, and this sweet Boy my godson, who was (as I am verily persuaded) begotten by thee, I standing witness for him at the Font of baptism, and give him mine own name Gentile. Let me entreat thee, that, although she hath lived here in mine house, for the space of three months, she should not be less welcome to thee, then before: for I swear to thee upon my soul, that my former affection to her (how unjust soever) was the only means of preserving her life: and more honestly she could not live, with Father, Mother, or thyself, than she hath done here with mine own Mother.  
Having thus spoken, he turned to the Lady, saying. Madame, I now discharge you of all promises made me, delivering you to your Husband frank and free: And when he had given him the Lady, and the child in his arms, he returned to his place, and sat down again. Nicoluccio, with no mean joy and hearty contentment received both his wife and child, being before fare from expectation of such an admirable comfort; returning the Knight infinite thankes (as all the rest of the Company did the like) who could not refrain from weeping for mere joy, for such a strange and wonderful accident: every one highly commending Gentile, & such also as chanced to hear thereof. The Lady was welcomed home to her own house, with many months of jovial feasting, and as she passed through the streets, all beheld her with admiration, to be so happily recovered from her grave. Signior Gentile lived long after, a loyal friend to Nicoluccio and his Lady, and all that were well-willers to them.  
What think you now Ladies? Can you imagine, because a King gave away his crown and sceptre; and an Abbot (without any cost to himself) reconciled a Malefactor to the Pope; and an old idle-headed man, yielding to the mercy of his enemy: that all those actions are comparable to this of Signior Gentile? Youth and ardent affection, gave him a just and lawful title, to her who was free (by imagined death) from Husbands, Parents, and all friends else, she being so happily won into his own possession. Yet honesty not only over-swayed the heat of desire, which in many men is violent and immoderate: but with a bountiful and liberal soul, that which he coveted beyond all hopes else, and had within his own command; he freely gave away. Believe me (bright Beauties) not any of the other (in a true and unpartial judgement) are worthy to be equalled with this, or styled by the name of magnificent actions.   

Madame Dianora, the Wife of Signior Gilberto, being immodestly affected by Signior Ansaldo, to free herself from his tedious importunity, she appointed him to perform (in her judgement) an act of impossibility; namely, to give her a Garden, as plentifully stored with fragrant Flowers in lanuary, as in the flourishing month of May. Ansaldo, by means of a bond which he made to a magician, performed her request. Signior Gilberto, the Lady's Husband, gave consent, that his Wife should fulfil her promise made to Ansaldo. Who hearing the bountiful mind of her Husband; released her of her promise: And the magician likewise discharged Signior Ansaldo, without taking any thing of him.  
The Fift novel.  
Admonishing all Ladies and Gentlewomen, that are desirous to preserve their chastity, free from all blemish and taxation: to make no promise of yielding to any, under a compact or covenant, how impossible soever it may seem to be.  
NOt any one in all the Company, but extolled the worthy Act of Signior Gentile to the skies; till the King gave command to madam Aemillia, that she should follow next with her Tale, who boldly stepping up, began in this order.  
Gracious Ladies, I think there is none here present among us, but (with good reason) may maintain, that signior Gentile performed a magnificent deed: but whosoever saith, it is impossible to do more; perhaps is ignorant in such actions, as can and may be done, as I mean to make good unto you, by a novel not overlong or tedious.  
The country of Fretulium, better known by the name of Forum julij; although it be subject to much cold, yet it is pleasant, in regard of many goodly mountains, rivers, and clear running Springs, wherewith it is not meanly stored. Within those Territories, is a City called Vdina, where sometime lived a fair and Noble Lady, named madam Dianora, Wife to a rich and worthy Knight, called Signior Gilberto, a man of very great fame and merit.  
This beautiful Lady, being very modest and virtuously inclined, was highly affected by a Noble Baron of those parts, termed by the name of Signior Ansaldo Gradense; a man of very great spirit, bountiful, active in arms, and yet very affable and courteous, which caused him to be the better respected. His love to this Lady was extraordinary, hardly to be contained within any moderate compass, striving to be in like manner affected of her: to which end, she wanted no daily solicit, Letters, Ambassages and love-tokens, all proving to no purpose.  
This virtuous Lady, being wearied with his often temptations, and seeing, that by denying whatsoever he demanded, yet he would not give over his suit, but so much the more importunately still pursued her: began to bethink herself, how she might best be rid of him, by imposing some such task upon him, as should be impossible (in her opinion) for him to effect. An old woman, whom he employed for his continual messenger to her, as she came one day about her ordinary errand, with her she communed in this manner. Good woman (quoth she) thou hast so often assured me, that Signior Ansaldo loveth me above all other Women in the world, offering me wonderful gifts and presents in his name, which I have always refused, and so still will do, in regard I am not to be won by any such allurements: yet if I could be sound persuaded, that his affection is answerable to thy peremptory protestations, I should (perhaps) be the sooner won, to listen to his suit in milder manner, than hitherto I have done. Wherefore, if he will give me assurance, to perform such a business as I mean to enjoin him, he shall the speedier hear better answer from me▪ and I will confirm it with mine oath.  
Wonderfully pleased was Mistress Maquerella, to hear a reply of such comfortable hope; and therefore desired the Lady, to tell her what she would have done. Listen to me well (answered Madam Dianora) the matter which I would have him to effect for me, is; without the walls of our City, and during the month of Januarie nexte ensuing, to provide me a Garden, as fairly furnished with all kind of fragrant flowers, as the flourishing month of May can yield no better. If he be not able to accomplish this imposition, than I command him, never hereafter to solicit me any more, either by thee, or any other whatsoever: for, if he do importune me afterward, as hitherto I have concealed his secret conspiring, both from my husband, and all my friends; so will I then lay his dishonest suit open to the world, that he may receive punishment accordingly, for offering to wrong a Gentleman in his wife.  
When Signior Ansaldo heard her demand, and the offer beside thereupon made him (although it seemed no easy matter, but a thing merely impossible to be done) he considered advisedly, that she made this motion to no other end, but only to bereave him of all his hope, ever to enjoy what so earnestly he desired: nevertheless, he would not so give it utterly over, but would needs approve what could be done. Hereupon, he sent into diverse parts of the world, to find out any one that was able to advice him in this doubtful case. In the end, one was brought to him, who being well recompensed for his pains, by the Art of necromancy would under take to do it. With him Signior Ansaldo covenanted, binding himself to pay a great sum of money, upon performance of so rare a deed, awaiting (in hopeful expectation) for the month of Januaries coming.  
It being come, and the weather then in extremity of cold, every thing being covered with ice and snow, the magician prevailed so by his Art, that after the Christmas Holy days were passed, and the Calends of January entered: in one night, and without the city walls, the goodliest Garden of flowers and fruits, was suddenly sprung up, as (in opinion of such as beheld it) never was the like seen before. Now Ladies, I think I need not demand the question, whether Signior Ansaldo were well pleased, or no, who going to behold it, saw it most plenteously stored, with all kind of fruit trees, flowers, herbs and plants, as no one could be named, that was wanting in this artificial garden. And having gathered some pretty store of them, secretly he sent them to Madam Dianora, inviting her to come see her Garden, perfected according to her own desire, and upon view thereof, to confess the integrity of his love to her, considering and remembering withal, the promise she had made him under solemn oath, that she might be reputed for a woman of her word.  
When the Lady beheld the fruits and flowers, and heard many other things recounted, so wonderfully growing in the same Garden: she began to repent her rash promise made; yet notwithstanding her repentance, as Women are covetous to see all rarities; so, accompanied with diverse Ladies and Gentlewomen more, she went to see the Garden; and having commended it with much admiration, she returned home again, the most sorrowful Woman as ever lived, considering what she had tied herself to, for enjoying this Garden. So excessive grew her grief and affliction, that it could not be so clouded or concealed: but her Husband took notice of it, and would needs understand the occasion thereof. Long the Lady (in regard of shame and modesty) sat without returning any answer; but being in the end constrained, she disclosed the whole History to him.  
At the first, Signior Gilberto waxed exceeding angry, but when he further considered withal, the pure and honest intention of his Wife; wisely he pacified his former distemper, and said. Dianora, it is not the part of a wise and honest woman, to lend an ear to ambassages of such immodest nature, much less to compound or make agreement for her honesty, with any person, under any condition whatsoever. Those persuasions which the heart listeneth to, by allurement of the ear, have greater power than many do imagine, & nothing is so uneasy or difficult, but in a lover's judgement it appeareth possible. Ill didst thou therefore first of all to listen, but worse (afterward) to contract.  
But, because I know the purity of thy soul, I will yield (to disoblige thee of thy promise) as perhaps no wise man else would do: moved thereto only by fear of the magician, who seeing Signior Ansaldo displeased, because thou makest a mockage of him; will do some such violent wrong to us, as we shall be never able to recover. Wherefore, I would have thee go to Signior Ansaldo, and if thou canst (by any means) obtain of him, the safekeeping of thy honour, and full discharge of thy promise; it shall be an eternal fame to thee, and the crown of a most victorious conquest. But if it must needs be otherwise, lend him thy body only for once, but not thy will: for actions committed by constraint, wherein the will is no way guilty, are half pardonable by the necessity.  
Madame Dianora, hearing her husband's words, wept exceedingly, and avouched, that she had not deserved any such especial grace of him, and therefore she would rather dye, then do it. Nevertheless, it was the will of her Husband to have it so, and therefore (against her will) she gave consent. The next morning, by the break of day, Dianora arose, and attiring herself in her very meanest garments, with two servingmen before her, and a waiting Woman following, she went to the lodging of Signior Ansaldo, who hearing that Madam Dianora was come to visit him, greatly marvelled, and being risen, he called the magician to him▪ saying. Come go with me, and see what effect will follow upon thine Art. And being come into her presence, without any base or inordinate appetite, he did her humble reverence, embracing her honestly, and taking her into a goodly Chamber, where a fair fire was readily prepared, causing her to sit down by him, he said unto her as followeth.  
Madam, I humbly entreat you to resolve me, if the affection I have long time borne you, and yet do still, deserve any recompense at all: you would be pleased then to tell me truly, the occasion of your instant coming hither, and thus attended as you are. Dianora, blushing with modest shame, and the tears trickling mainly down her fair cheeks, thus answered. Signior Ansaldo, not for any love I bear you, or care of my faithful promise made to you, but only by the command of my husband (who respecting more the pains and travels of your inordinate love, than his own reputation and honour, or mine;) hath caused me to come hither: and by virtue of his command, am ready (for once only) to fulfil your pleasure, but far from any will or consent in myself. If Signior Ansaldo were abashed at the first, he began now to be more confounded with admiration, when he heard the Lady speak in such strange manner: & being much moved with the liberal command of her husband, he began to alter his inflamed heat, into most honourable respect and compassion, returning her this answer.  
Most noble Lady, the Gods forbidden (if it be so as you have said) that I should (Villain-like) soil the honour of him, that takes such unusual compassion of my unchaste appetite. And therefore, you may remain here so long as you please, in no other condition, but as mine own natural borne Sister; and likewise, you may departed freely when you will: conditionally, that (on my behalf) you render such thankes to your husband, as you think convenient for his great bounty towards me, accounting me for ever hereafter, as his loyal Brother and faithful servant. Dianora having well observed his answer, her heart being ready to mount out at her mouth with joy, said. All the world could never make me believe (considering your honourable mind and honesty) that it would happen otherwise to me, than now it hath done, for which noble courtesy, I will continually remain obliged to you. So, taking her leave, she returned home honourably attended to her husband, and relating to him what had happened, it proved the occasion of begetting entire love and friendship, between himself and the Noble Lord Ansaldo.  
Now concerning the skilful magician, to whom Ansaldo meant to give the bountiful recompense agreed on between them, he having seen the strange liberality, which the husband expressed to Signior Ansaldo, and that of Ansaldo to the Lady, he presently said. Great Jupiter strike me dead with thunder, having myself seen a husband so liberal of his honour, and you Sir of true noble kindness, if I should not be the like of my recompense: for, perceiving it to be so worthily employed, I am well contented that you shall keep it. The Noble Lord was modestly ashamed, and striven (so much as in him lay) that he should take all, or the greater part thereof: but seeing he laboured merely in vain, after the third day was past, and the magician had destroyed the Garden again, he gave him free liberty to departed, quite controlling all fond and unchaste affection in himself, either towards Dianora, or any Lady else, and living (ever after) as best becometh any Nobleman to do.  
What say you now Ladies? Shall we make any account of the woman well-near dead, and the kindness grown cold in signior Gentile, by loss of his former hopes, comparing them with the liberality of Signior Ansaldo, affecting more fervently, then ever the other did? And being (beyond hope) possessed of the booty, which (above all things else in the world) he most desired to have, to part with it merely in fond compassion? I protest (in my judgement) the one is no way comparable to the other, that of Gentile, with this last of Signior Ansaldo.   

Victorious King Charles, surnamed the Aged, and first of that Name, fell in love with a young Maiden, named genevera, daughter to an ancient Knight, called Signior Neri degli Uberti. And waxing ashamed of his amorous folly, caused both genevera, and her fair Sister Isotta, to be joined in marriage with two Noble Gentlemen; the one named Signior Maffeo da Palizzi, and the other, Signior Gulielmo della Magna.  
The sixth novel.  
Sufficiently declaring, that how mighty soever the power of love is: yet a magnanimous and truly generous heart, it can by no means fully conquer.  
WHo is able to express ingeniously, the diversity of opinions, which happened among the Ladies, in censuring on the act of madam Dianora, and which of them was most liberal, either Signior Gilberto the Husband, Lord Ansaldo the importunate suitor, or the magician, expecting to be bountifully rewarded. Surely, it is a matter beyond my capacity: but after the King had permitted their disputation a long while, looking on Madam Fiammetta, he commanded that she should report her novel to make an end of their controversy; and she (without any further delaying) thus began. I did always (Noble Ladies) hold it fit and decent, that in such an assembly as this of ours is, every one ought to speak so succinctly and plainly: that the obscure understanding, concerning the matters spoken of, should have no cause of disputation. For disputes do much better become the colleges of scholars, then to be among us, who hardly can manage our distaves or Samplers. And therefore I, do intent to relate something, which (peradventure) might appear doubtful: will forbear (seeing you in such a difference; for that which hath been spoken already) to use any difficult discourse; but will speak of one, a man of no mean rank or quality, being both a valiant and virtuous King, and what he did, without any impeach or blemish to his honour.  
I make no doubt, but you have often heard report, of king Charles the Aged, and first of that name, by reason of his magnificent enterprises, as also his most glorious victory, which he obtained against King Manfred, when the Ghibellines were expulsed forth of Florence, and the Guelphs returned thither again. By which occasion, an ancient knight, named Signior Neri degli Uberti; forsaking then the City, with all his family and great store of wealth, would live under any other obedience, than the awful power or command of King Charles. And coveting to be in some solitary place, where he might finish the remainder of his days in peace, he went to Castello da Mare; where, about a Bow shoot distance from all other dwelling houses, he bought a parcel of ground, plentifully stored with variety of Trees, bearing olives, chestnuts, oranges, Lemons Pomcitrons, and other excellent fruitages, wherewith the country flourisheth abundantly. There he built a very fair and commodious house, and planted (close by it) a pleasant Garden, in the midst whereof, because he had great plenty of water: according as other men use to do, being in the like case so well provided; he made a very goodly Pond, which forthwith had all kind of Fish swimming in it, it being his daily care and endeavour, to tend his Garden, and increase his fishpond.  
It fortuned, that King Charles (in the Summer time) for his pleasure and recreation, went to repose himself (for some certain days) at Castello de Mare, where having heard report of the beauty and singularity of signior Neries Garden; he grew very desirous to see it. But when he understood to whom it belonged, than he entered into consideration with himself, that he was an ancient Knight, maintaining a contrary faction to his: wherefore, he thought it fit to go in some familiar manner, and with no train attending on him. Whereupon he sent him word, that he would come to visit him, with four Gentlemen only in his company, meaning to sup with him in his Garden the next night ensuing. The news was very welcome to Signior Neri, who took order in costly manner for all things to be done, entertaining the King most joyfully into his beautiful Garden.  
When the King had surveyed all, and the house likewise, he commended it beyond all other comparison, and the Tables being placed by the Ponds side, he washed his hands therein, & then sat down at the table, commanding the Count, Sir Guy de Montforte (who was one of them which came in his company) to sit down by him, and Signior Neri on his other side. As for the other three of the train, he commanded them to attend on his service, as Signior Neri had given order. There wanted no exquisite viands and excellent Wines, all performed in most decent manner, and without the least noise or disturbance, wherein the King took no little delight.  
Feeding thus in this contented manner, and facying the solitude of the place: suddenly entered into the garden, two young Damosels, each aged about some fifteen years, their hair resembling wyars of Gold, and curiously curled, having Chaplets (made like provincial crowns) on their heads, and their delicate faces, expressing them to be rather Angels, then mortal creatures, such was the appearance of their admired beauty. Their under-garments were of costly silk, yet white as the finest snow, framed (from the girdle upward) close to their bodies, but spreading largely downward, like the extendure of a pavilion, and so descending to the feet. She that first came in sight, carried on her shoulder a couple of fishing nets, which she held fast with her lefthand, and in the right she carried a long staff. The other following her, had on her left shoulder a Frying-pan, and under the same arm a small Faggot of wood, with a trevit in her hand; and in the other hand a pot of oil, as also a brand of fire flaming.  
No sooner did the King behold them, but he greatly wondered what they should be; and, without uttering one word, attended to listen what they would say. Both the young damosels, when they were come before the King, with modest and bashful gesture, they performed very humble reverence to him, and going to the place of entrance into the Pond, she who held the trevit, set it down on the ground, with the other things also; and taking the staff which the other damsel carried: they both went into the Pond, the water whereof reached so high as to their bosoms. One of the servants to Signior Neri, presently kindled the fire, setting the trevit over it, and putting oil into the frying-pan, held it upon the trevit, awaiting until the Damosels should cast him up Fish. One of them did beat a place with the staff, where she was assured of the fish's resort, and the other had lodged the Nets so conveniently, as they quickly caught great store of Fish, to the King's high contentment, who observed their behaviour very respectively.  
As the Fishes were thrown up to the servant, alive as they were, he took the best and fairest of them, and brought them to the Table, where they skipped and mounted before the King, Count Guy de Montfort and the Father: some leaping from the Table into the Pond again, and others, the King (in a pleasing humour) voluntarily threw back to the Damosels. Jesting and sporting in this manner, till the servant had dressed diverse of them in exquisite order, and served them to the Table, according as Signior Neri had ordained. When the Damosels saw the fish's service performed, and perceived that they had fished sufficiently: they came forth of the water, their garments then (being wet) hanging close about them, even as if they hide no part of their bodies. Each having taken those things again, which at first they brought with them, and saluting the king in like humility as they did before, returned home to the mansion house.  
The King and Count likewise, as also the other attending Gentlemen, having duly considered the behaviour of the Damosels: commended extraordinarily their beauty and fair feature, with those other perfections of Nature so gloriously shining in them. But (beyond all the rest) the King was boundless in his praises given of them, having observed their going into the water, the equal carriage there of them both, their coming forth, and gracious demeanour at their departing (yet neither knowing of whence, or what they were) he felt his affection very violently flamed, and grew into such an amorous desire to them both, not knowing which of them pleased him most, they so choicely resembled one another in all things.  
But after he had dwelled long enough upon these thoughts, he turned himself to Signior Neri, and demanded of him, what Damosels they were. Sir (answered Neri) they are my Daughters, both brought into the world at one birth, and twins, the one being named genevera the fair, and the other Isotta the amiable. The King began again to commend them both, and gave him advice to get them both married: wherein he excused himself, alleging, that he wanted power to do it. At the same time instant, no other service remaining to be brought to the table, except Fruit and Cheese, the two Damosels returned again, attired in goodly robes of Carnation satin, form after the Turkish fashion, carrying two fair silver dishes in their hands, filled with diverse delicate Fruies, such as the season then afforded, setting them on the Table before the King. Which being done, they retired a little backward, and with sweet melodious voices, sung a ditty, beginning in this manner.  

Where love presumeth into place:  
Let no one sing in love's disgrace.   
So sweet and pleasing seemed the Song to the King (who took no small delight, both to hear and behold the Damosels) even as if all the Hirarchies of Angels, were descended from the heavens to sing before him. No sooner was the Song ended, but (humbly on their knees) they craved favour of the King for their departing. Now, although their departure was greatly grieving to him, yet (in outward appearance) he seemed willing to grant it.  
When Supper was concluded, and the King and his Company remounted on horseback: thankfully departing from Signior Neri, the King returned to his lodging, concealing there closely his affection to himself, and whatsoever important affairs happened: yet he could not forget the beauty, & gracious behaviour of genevera the fair (for whose sake he loved her Sister likewise) but became so linked to her in vehement manner, as he had no power to think on any thing else. Pretending other urgent occasions, he fell into great familiarity with Signior Neri, visiting very often his goodly Garden; only to see his fair Daughter genevera, the Adamant which drew him thither.  
When he felt his amorous assaults, to exceed all power of longer sufferance: he resolved determinately with himself, (being unprovided of any better means) to take her away from her Father, and not only she, but her Sister also; discovering both his love and intent to Count Guy de Montforte, who being a very worthy and virtuous Lord, and meet to be a counsellor for a King, delivered his mind in this manner.  
Gracious Lord, I wonder not a little at your speeches, and so much the greater is my admiration, because no man else can be subject to the like, in regard I have known you from the time of your infancy; even to this instant hour, and always your carriage to be one and the same. I could never perceive in your youthful days (when love should have the greatest means to assail you) any such oppressing passions: which is now the more novel and strange to me, to hear it but said, that you being old, and called the Aged; should be grown amorous, surely to me it seemeth a miracle. And if it appertained to me to reprehend you in this case, I know well enough what I could say. Considering, you have yet your Armour on your back, in a Kiugdome newly conquered, among a Nation not known to you, full of falsehoods, breaches, and treasons; all which are no mean motives to care and needful respect. But having now won a little leisure, to rest yourself a while from such serious affairs; can you give way to the idle suggestions of love? Believe me Sir, it is no act becoming a magnanimous King; but rather the giddy folly of a young brain.  
Moreover you say (which most of all I mislike) that you intent to take the two virgins from the Knight, who hath given you entertainment in his house beyond his ability, and to testify how much he honoured you, he suffered you to have a sight of them, merely (almost) in a naked manner: witnessing thereby, what constant faith he reposed in you, believing verily, that you were a just King, and not a ravenous wolf. Have you so soon forgot, that the rapes and violent actions, done by King Manfred to harmless Ladies, made your only way of entrance into this kingdom? What treason was ever committed, more worthy of eternal punishment, than this will be in you: to take away from him (who hath so highly honoured you) his chiefest hope and consolation? What will be said by all men, if you do it?  
Peradventure you think, it will be a sufficient excuse for you, to say: I did it, in regard he was a Ghihelline. Can you imagine this to be justice in a King, that such as get into their possession in this manner (whatsoever it be) ought to use it in this sort? Let me tell you Sir, it was a most worthy victory for you, to conquer King Manfred: but it is fare more famous victory, for a man to conquer himself. You therefore, who are ordained to correct vices in 〈◊〉 men, learn first to subdue them in yourself, and (by bridling this inordinate appetite) set not a foul blemish on so fair a fame, as will be honour to you to preserve spotless.  
These words pierced the heart of the King deeply, and so much the more afflicted him, because he knew them to be most true: wherefore, after he had ventured a very vehement sigh, thus he replied. Believe me noble Count, there is not any enemy, how strong soever he be, but I hold him weak and easy to be vanquished, by him who is skilful in the war, where a man may learn to conquer his own appetite. But because he shall find it a laborious task, requiring inestimable strength and courage: your words have so touched me to the quick, that it becometh me to let you effectually perceive (and within the compass of few days) that as I have learned to conquer others, so I am not ignorant, in expressing the like power upon myself.  
Having thus spoken, within some few days after, the King being returned to Naples, he determined, as well to free himself from any the like ensuing folly, as also to recompense Signior Neri, for the great kindness he had shown to him (although it was a difficult thing, to let another enjoy, what he rather desired for himself) to have the two Damosels married, not as the Daughters of Signior Neri, but even as if they were his own. And by consent of the Father, he gave genevera the fair, to Signior Maffeo da Palizzi, and Isotta the amiable, to Signior Gulielmo della Magna, two Noble Knights and honourable Barons. After he had thus given them in marriage, in sad mourning he departed thence into Apuglia, where by following worthy and honourable actions, he so well overcame all inordinate appetites: that shaking off the enthralling fetters of love, he lived free from all passions, the rest of his life time, and died as an honourable King.  
Some perhaps will say, it was a small matter for a King, to give away two Damosels in marriage, and I confess it: but I maintain it to be great, and more than great, if we say, that a King, being so earnestly enamoured as this King was; should give her away to another, whom he so dear affected himself, without receiving (in recompense of his affection) so much as a leaf, flower, or the least fruit of love. Yet such was the virtue of this magnificent King, expressed in so highly recompensing the noble knight's courtesy, honouring the two daughters so royally, and conquering his own affections so virtuously.   

Lisana, the Daughter of a Florentine Apothecary, named Bernardo Puccino, being at Palermo, and seeing Piero, King of Arragon run at the Tilt; fell so affectionately enamoured of him, that she languish●● in an extreme and long sickness. By her own devise, and means of a Song, sung in the hearing of the King: he vouchsafed to visit her, and giving her a kiss, terming himself also to be her Knight for ever after, he honourably bestowed her in marriage on a young Gentleman, who was called Perdicano, and gave him liberal endowments with her.  
The seventh novel.  
Wherein is covertly given to understand, that howsoever a Prince may make use of his absolute power and authority, towards maids or wives that are his subjects: yet he ought to deny and reject all things, as shall make him forgetful of himself, and his true honour.  
Madam Fiammetta being come to the end of her novel, and the great magnificence of King Charles much commended (howbeit, some of the Company, affecting the Ghibelline faction, were otherwise minded) madam Pampinea, by order given from the King, began in this manner.  
There is no man of good understanding (honourable Ladies) but will maintain what you have said of victorious Charles; except such as cannot wish well to any. But because my memory hath instantly informed me, of an action (perhaps) no less commendable than this, done by an enemy of the said King Charles, and to a young Maiden of our City, I am the more willing to relate it, upon your gentle attention vouchsafed, as hitherto it hath been courteously granted.  
At such time as the French were driven out of Sicily, there dwelled at Palermo a Florentine Apothecary, named Bernardo Puccino, a man of good wealth and reputation, who had by his Wife one only Daughter, of marriageable years, and very beautiful. Piero, King of Arragon, being then become Lord of that Kingdom, he made an admirable Feast royal at Palermo, accompanied with his Lords and Barons. In honour of which public Feast, the King kept a triumphal day (of justs and tournament) at Catalana, and whereat it chanced, that the Daughter of Bernardo, named Lisana, was present. Being in a window, accompanied with other Gentlewomen, she saw the King run at the Tilt, who seemed so goodly a person in her eye; that being never satisfied with beholding him, she grew enamoured, and fell into extremity of affection towards him.  
When the festival was ended, she dwelling in the house of her Father, it was impossible for her to think on any thing else, but only the love, which she had fixed on a person of such height. And that which most tormented her in this case, was the knowledge of her own condition, being but mean and humble in degree; whereby she confessed, that she could not hope for any successful issue of her proud love. Nevertheless, she would not refrain from affecting the King, who taking no note of this kindness in her, by any perceivable means; must needs be the more regardless, which procured (by wary observation) her afflictions to be the greater and intolerable.  
Whereon it came to pass, that this earnest love increasing in her more and more, and one melancholy conceit taking hold on another: the fair maid, when she could bear the burden of her grief no longer; fell into a languishing sickness, consuming away daily (by evident appearance) even as the Snow melteth by the warm beams of the sun.  
The Father and Mother, much dismayed and displeased at this hapless accident, applying her with continual comforts, physic, and the best skill remaining in all the physicians, sought all possible means ways to give her succour: but all proved to no effect, because in regard of her choice (which could sort to none other than a desper ate end) she was desirous to live no longer. Now it fortuned, that her parents offering her whatsoever remained in their power to perform, a sudden apprehension entered her mind, to wit, that (if it might possible be done) before she died, she would first have the King to know, in what manner she stood affected to him. Wherefore, one day she entreated her Father, that a Gentleman, named Manutio de Arezza, might be permitted to come see her. This Manutio was (in those times) held to be a most excellent musician, both for his voice in singing, and exquisite skill in playing on Instruments, for which he was highly in favour with King Piero, who made (almost) daily use of him, to hear him both sing and play.  
Her tender and loving father conceived immediately, that she was desirous to hear his playing and singing, both being comfortable to a body in a languishing sickness, whereupon, he sent presently for the Gentleman, who came accordingly, and after he had comforted Lisana with kind and courteous speeches; he played dexteriously on his Lute, which purposely he had brought with him, and likewise he sung diverse excellent Ditties, which instead of his intended consolation to the Maid, did nothing else but increase her fire and flame.  
Afterward, she requested to have some conference with Manutio alone, and every one being gone forth of the Chamber, she spoke unto him in this manner.  
Manutio, I have made choice of thee, to be the faithful Guardian of an especial secret, hoping first of all, that thou wilt never reveal it to any living body, but only to him whom I shall bid thee: And n●xt, to help me so much as possibly thou canst, because my only hope relieth in thee. Know then my dearest friend Manutio, that on the solemn festival day, when our sovereign Lord the King honoured his exaltation, with the noble exercises of Tilt and Turney; his brave behaviour kindled such a spark in my soul, as since broke forth into a violent flame, and brought me to this weak condition as now thou seest. But knowing and confessing, how fare unbeseeming my love is, to aim so ambitiously at a King, and being unable to control it, or in the least manner to diminish it: I have made choice of the only and best remedy of all, namely, to dye, and so I am most willing to do.  
True it is, that I shall travail in this my latest journey, with endless torment and affliction of soul, except he have some understanding thereof before, and not knowing by whom to give him intelligence, in so oft and convenient order, as by thee▪ I do therefore commit this last office of a friend to thy trust, desiring thee, not to refuse me in the performance thereof. And when thou hast done it, to let me understand what he saith, that I may dye the more contentedly, and disburdened of so heavy an oppression, the only comfort to a parting spirit: and so she ceased, her tears flowing forth abundantly.  
Manutio did not a little wonder at the maids great spirit, and her desperate resolution, which moved him to exceeding commiseration, and suddenly he conceived, that honectly he might discharge this duty for her, whereupon, he returned her this answer. Lisana, here I engage my faith to thee, that thou shalt find me firm and constant, and die I will, rather than deceive thee. Greatly I do commend thy high attempt, in fixing thy affection on so Potent a King, wherein I offer thee my utmost assistance: and I make no doubt (if thou wouldst be of good comfort) to deal in such sort, as, before three days are fully passed, to bring such news as will content thee, and because I am loath to lose the least time, I will go about it presently. Lisana the young Maiden, once again entreated his care and diligence, promising to comfort herself so well as she could, commending him to his good fortune. When Manutio was gone from her, he went to a Gentleman, named Mico de Sienna, one of the best Poets in the composing of verses, as all those parts yielded not the like. At his request, Mico made for him this ensuing ditty.  

The Song sung in the hearing of King Piero, on the behalf of lovesick Lisana.  

Go love, and tell the torments I endure,  
Say to my sovereign Lord, that I must die  
Except he come, some comfort to procure,  
For tell I may not, what I feel, and why.   

WIth heaved hands Great love, I call to thee,  
Go see my sovereign, where he doth abide,  
And say to him, in what extremity,  
Thou hast (for him) my firm affection tried.  
To die for him, it is my sole desire,  
For live with him I may not, nor a spire,  
To have my fortunes thereby dignified,  
Only his sight would lend me life a while:  
Grant it (great love) mine anguish to beguile.  
Go love and tell the torments, etc.   

Since the first hour that love enthralled me,  
I never had the heart, to tell my grief,  
My thoughts did speak, for thoughts be always free,  
Yet hopeful thoughts do find but poor relief.  
When Gnats will mount to Eagles in the air,  
Alas! they scorn them, for full well they know,  
They were not bred to pray so base and low,  
Aloft they look, to make their flight more fair.  
And yet his sight would lend me life a while:  
Grant it (great love) mine anguish to beguile.  
Go love, and tell the torments, etc.   

If sight shall be denied, then tell them plain,  
His high triumphal day procured my death,  
The lance that won him Honour, hath me slain.  
For instantly it did bereave my breath.  
That speak I could not, nor durst be so bold,  
To make the air acquainted with my woe:  
Alas! I looked so high, and doing so,  
justly deserve by death to be controlled.  
Yet mercy's sight would lend me life a while,  
Grant it (great love) mine anguish to beguile.   

Go love, and tell the torments I endure,  
Say to my sovereign Lord, that I must die:  
Except he come, some comfort to procure,  
For tell I may not, what I feel, and why.    
The lines contained in this Ditty, Manutio fitted with notes so moving and singularly musical, that every word had the sensible motion of life in it, where the King being (as yet) not risen from the Table, he commanded him to use both his Lute and voice.  
This seemed a happy opportunity to Manutio, to sing the ditty so purposely done and devised: which he delivered in such excellent manner, the voice and Instrument concording so extraordinary pleasing; that all the persons then in the Presence; seemed rather Statues, then living men, so strangely they were wrapped with admiration, and the King himself fare beyond all the rest, transported with a rare kind of alteration.  
When Manutio had ended the Song, the King demanded of him, whence this Song came, because he had never heard it before? My gracious Lord, answered Manutio, it must needs seem strange to your majesty, because it is not fully three days, since it was invented, made, and set to the note. Then the King asked, whom it concerned? Sir (quoth Manutio) I dare not disclose that to any but only yourself. Which answer made the King much more desirous, and being risen from the Table, he took him into his bedchamber, where Manutio related all at large to him, according to the trust reposed in him. Wherewith the King was wonderfully well pleased, greatly commending the courage of the maid, and said, that a Virgin of such a valiant spirit, did well deserve to have her case commiserated: and commanded him also, to go (as sent from him) and comfort her, with promise, that the very same day, in the evening, he would not fail to come and see her.  
Manutio, more than contented, to carry such glad tidings to Lisana; without staying in any place, and taking his Lute also with him, went to the apothecary's house, where speaking alone with the maid: he told her what he had done, and afterward sung the song to her, in as excellent manner as he had done before, wherein Lisana conceived such joy and contentment, as even in the very same moment, it was observed by apparent signs, that the violence of her fits forsook her, and health began to get the upper hand of them. So, without suffering any one in the house to know it, or by the least means to suspect it; she comforted herself till the evening, in expectation of her sovereign's arrival.  
Piero being a Prince, of most liberal and benign nature, having afterward diverse times considered on the matters which Manutio had revealed to him, knowing also the young Maiden, to be both beautiful and virtuous: was so much moved with pity of her extremity, as mounting on horse back in the evening, and seeming as if he road abroad for his private recreation; he went directly to the apothecary's house, where desiring to see a goodly garden, appertaining then to the apothecary, he dismounted from his horse. Walking into the garden, he began to question with Bernardo, demanding him for his Daughter, and whether he had (as yet) married her, or no? My Gracious Lord, answered Bernardo, as yet she is not married, neither likely to be, in regard she hath had a long and tedious sickness: but since Dinner time, she is indifferently eased of her former violent pain, which we could not discern the like alteration in her, a long while before.  
The King understood immediately, the reason of this so sudden alteration, and said. In good faith Bernardo, the world would sustain a great main & imperfection, by the loss of thy fair daughter; wherefore, we will go ourself in person to visit her. So, with two of his Lords only, and the Father, he ascended to the maid's Chamber & being entered, he went to the Beds side, where she sat, somewhat raised, in expectation of his coming, and taking her by the hand, he said. Fair Lisana, how cometh this to pass? You being so fair a Virgin, young, and in the delicacy of your days, which should be the chiefest comfort to you, will you suffer yourself to be overawed with sickness? Let us entreat you, that (for our sake) you will be of good comfort, and thereby recover your health the sooner, especially, when it is requested by a King, who is sorry to see so bright a beauty sick, and would help it, if it consisted in his power.  
Lisana, feeling the touch of his hand, whom she loved above all things else in the world, although a bashful blush mounted up into her cheeks: yet her heart was seized with such a rapture of pleasure, that she thought herself translated into Paradise, and, so well as she could, thus she replied. Great King, by opposing my feeble strength, against a burden of over-ponderous weight, it became the occasion of this grievous sickness: but I hope that the violence thereof is (almost) already killed, only by this sovereign mercy in you▪ and doubtless it will cause my speedy deliverance. The King did best understand this so well palliated answer of Lisana, which as he did much commend, in regard of her high adventuring; so he did again as greatly condemn Fortune, for not making her more happy in her birth.  
So, after he had stayed there a good while, and given her many comfortable speeches, he returned back to the Court. This humanity in the King, was reputed a great honour to the Apothecary and his daughter, who (in her own mind) received as much joy and contentment thereby, as ever any wife could have of her own Husband.  
And being assisted by better hopes, within a short while after, she became recovered, and fare more beautiful (in common judgement) then ever she was before.  
Lisana being now in perfect health, the King consulted with his Queen, what meet recompense he should gratify her withal, for loving and affecting him in such fervent manner. Upon a day determined, the King mounting on horseback, accompanied with many of his chiefest Lords and Barons, he road to the apothecary's house, where walking in his beautiful Garden, he called for Bernardo and his daughter Lisana. In the mean space, the Queen also came thither, Royally attended on by her Ladies, and Lisana being admitted into their company, they expressed themselves very gracious to her. Soon after, the King and the Queen called Lisana, and the King spoke in this manner to her.  
Fair Virgin, the extraordinary love which you bore to us, calleth for as great honour from us to you; in which respect, it is our royal desire, by one means or other to requite your kind love.. In our opinion, the chiest honour we can extend to you, is, that being of sufficient years for marriage, you would grace us so much, as to accept him for your Husband, whom we intent to bestow on you. Beside this further grant from us, that (nowithstanding whatsoever else) you shall call us your Knight; without coveting any thing else from you, for so great favour, but only one kiss, and think not to bestow it nicely on a King, but grant it the rather, because he begs it.  
Lisana, whose looks, were died with a vermilion tincture, or rather converted into a pure maiden blush, reputing the Kings desire to be her own; in a low and humbled voice, thus answered. My Lord, most certain am I, that if it had been publicly known, how none but your highness, might serve for me to fix my love on, I should have been termed the fool of all fools: they perhaps believing, that I was forgetful of myself, in being ignorant of mine own condition, and much less of yours. But the Gods are my witnesses (because they know the secrets of all hearts) that even in the very instant, when love's fire took hold on my yielding affection: I knew you to be a King, and myself the daughter of poor Bernardo the Apothecary: likewise, how fare unfitting it was for me, to be so ambitious in my loves presuming. But I am sure your majesty doth know (much better than I am able to express) that no one becometh amorous, according to the duty of election, but as the appetite shapeth his course, against whose laws my strength made many resistances, which not prevailing, I presumed to love, did, and so for ever shall do, your majesty.  
Now royal sovereign, I must needs confess, that so soon as I felt myself thus wholly conquered by loving you, I resolved for ever after, to make your will mine own, and therefore, am not only willing to accept him for my Husband, whom you shall please to appoint, befitting my honour and degree: but if you will have me to live in a flaming fire, my obedience shall sacrifice itself to your will, with the absolute conformity of mine own. To style you by the name of my Knight, whom I know to be my lawful King and sovereign; you are not ignorant, how fare unfitting a word that were for me to use: As also the kiss which you request, in requital of my love to you; to these two I will never give consent, without the Queen's most gracious favour and licence first granted. Nevertheless, for such admirable benignity used to me, both by your royal self, and your virtuous Queen: heaven shower down all boundless graces on you both, for it exceedeth all merit in me, and so she ceased speaking, in most dutiful manner.  
The answer of Lisana pleased the Queen exceedingly, in finding her to be so wise and fair, as the King himself had before informed her: who instantly called for her Father and Mother, and knowing they would be well pleased with whatsoever he did; he called for a proper young Gentleman, but somewhat poor, being named Perdicano, and putting certain Rings into his hand, which he refused not to receive, caused him there to espouse Lisana. To whom the King gave immediately (besides chains and jewels of inestimable value, delivered by the Queen to the Bride) Ceffala and Calatabelotta, two great territories abounding in diverse wealthy possessions, saying to Perdicano. These we give thee, as a dowry in marriage with this beautiful Maid, and greater gifts we will bestow on thee hereafter, as we shall perceive thy love and kindness to her.  
When he had ended these words, he turned to Lisana, saying: here do I freely give over all further fruits of your affection towards me, thanking you for your former love: so taking her head between his hands, he kissed her fair forehead, which was the usual custom in those times. Perdicano, the Father and Mother of Lisana, and she herself likewise, extraordinarily joyful for this so fortunate a marriage, returned humble and hearty thankes both to the King and Queen, and (as many credible Authors do affirm) the King kept his promise made to Lisana, because (so long as he lived) he always termed himself by the name of her Knight, and in all actions of chivalry by him undertaken, he never carried any other devise, but such as he received still from her.  
By this, and diverse other like worthy deeds, not only did he win the hearts of his subjects; but gave occasion to the whole world beside, to renown his fame to all succeeding posterity. Whereto (in these more wretched times of ours) few or none bend the sway of their understanding: but rather how to be cruel and tyrannous Lords, and thereby win the hatred of their people.   

Sophronia, thinking herself to be the married wife of Gisippus, was (indeed) the wife of Titus Quintus Fuluius, & departed thence with him to Rome. Within a while after, Gisippus also came thither in very poor condition, and thinking that he was despised by Titus, grew weary of his life, and confessed that he had murdered a man, with full intent to die for the fact. But Titus taking knowledge of him, and desiring to save the life of Gisippus, charged himself to have done the bloody deed. Which the murderer himself (standing then among the multitude) seeing, truly confessed the deed. By means whereof, all three were delivered by the Emperor Octavius; and Titus gave his Sister in marriage to Gisippus, giving them also the most part of his goods & inheritances.  
The eight novel.  
Declaring, that notwithstanding the frowns of Fortune, diversity of occurrences, and contrary accidents happening: yet love and friendship ought to be preciously preserved among men.  
BY this time Madam Philomena, at command of the King, (Madam Pampinea ceasing) prepared to follow next in order, whereupon thus she began. What is it (Gracious Ladies) that Kings cannot do (if they list) in matters of greatest importance, and especially unto such as most they should declare their magnificence? He than that performeth what he ought to do, when it is within his own power, doth well. But it is not so much to be admired, neither deserveth half the commendations, as when one man doth good to another, when least it is expected, as being out of his power, and yet performed. In which respect, because you have so extolled king Piero, as appearing not meanly meritorious in your judgements; I make no doubt but you will be much more pleased, when the actions of our equals are duly considered, and shall parallel any of the greatest Kings. Wherefore I purpose to tell you a novel, concerning an honourable courtesy of two worthy friends.  
At such time as Octavius Caesar (not as yet named Augustus, but only in the office called Triumueri) governed the Roman Empire, there dwelled in Rome a Gentleman, named Publius' Quintus Fuluius, a man of singular understanding, who having one son, called Titus Quintus Fuluius, of towardly years and apprehension, sent him to Athens to learn Philosophy, but with letters of familiar commendations, to a Noble Athenian Gentleman, named Chremes, being his ancient friend, of long acquaintance. This Gentleman lodged Titus in his own house, as companion to his son, named Gisippus, both of them studying together, under the tutor of a Philosopher, called Aristippus. These two young Gentlemen living thus in one city, House, and school, it bred between them such a brotherhood and amity, as they could not be severed from one another, but only by the accident of death; nor could either of them enjoy any content, but when they were both together in company.  
Being each of them endued with gentle spirits, and having begun their studies together: they arose (by degrees) to the glorious height of Philosophy, to their much admired fame and commendation. In this manner they lived, to the no mean comfort of Chremes, hardly distinguishing the one from the other for his Son, & thus the scholars continued the space of three years. At the ending whereof (as it happeneth in all things else) Chremes died, whereat both the young Gentlemen conceived such hearty grief, as if he had been their common father; nor could the kindred of Chremes discern, which of the two had most need of comfort, the loss touched them so equally.  
It chanced within some few months after, that the kindred of Gisippus came to ●ee him, and (before Titus) avised him to marriage, and with a young Gentlewoman of singular beauty, derived from a most noble house in Athens, and she named Sophronia, aged about fifteen years. This marriage drawing near, Gisippus on a day, entreated Titus to walk along with him thither, because (as yet) he had not seen her. Coming to the house, and she sitting in the midst between them, Titus making himself a considerator of beauty, & especially on his friend's behalf; began to observe her very judicially, & every part of her seemed so pleasing in his eye, that giving them all a private praise, yet answerable to their due deserving; he became so inflamed with affection to her, as never any lover could be more violently surprised, so suddenly doth beauty beguile our best senses.  
After they had sat an indifferent while with her, they returned home to their lodging, where Titus being alone in his chamber, began to bethink himself on her, whose perfections had so powerfully pleased him: and the more he entered into this consideration, the fiercer he felt his desires inflamed, which being unable to quench, by any reasonable persuasions, after he had vented forth infinite sighs, thus he questioned with himself.  
Most unhappy Titus as thou art, whether dost thou transport thine understanding, love, and hope? Dost thou not know as well by the honourable favours, which thou hast received of Chremes and his house, as also the entire amity between thee and Gisippus (unto whom fair Sophronia is the affianced friend) that thou shouldst hold her in the like reverend respect, as if she were thy true born Sister? Darest thou presume to fancy her? Whether shall beguiling love allure thee, and vain immaging hopes carry thee? Open the eyes of thy better understanding, and acknowledge thyself to be a most miserable man. give way to reason, bridle thine in temperate appetites, reform all irregulare desires, and guide thy fancy to a place of better direction. Resist thy wanton and lascivious will in the beginning, and be master of thyself, while thou hast opportunity, for that which thou aimest at, is neither reasonable nor honest. And if thou wert assured to prevail upon this pursuit, yet thou oughtest to avoid it, if thou hast any regard of true friendship, and the duty therein justly required. What wilt thou do then Titus? Fly from this inordinate affection, if thou wilt be reputed to be a man of sensible judgement.  
After he had thus discoursed with himself, remembering Sophronia, and converting his former allegations, into a quite contrary sense, in utter detestation of them, and guided by his idle appetite, thus he began again. The laws of love are of greater force, than any other whatsoever, they not only break the bands of friendship, but even those also of more divine consequence. How many times hath it been noted, the father to affect his own daughter, the brother his sister, and the step mother her son in law, matters far more monstrous, then to see one friend love the wife of another, a case happening continually? Moreover, I am young, and youth is wholly subjected to the passions of love: is it reasonable then, that those should be bard from me, which are fitting and pleasing to love? Honest things, belong to men of more years and maturity, than I am troubled withal; and I can covet none, but only those wherein love is director. The beauty of Sophronia is worthy of general love, and if I that am a youngman do love her, what man living can justly reprove me for it? Should not I love her, because she is affianced to Gisippus? That is no matter to me, I ought to love her, because she is a woman, and women were created for no other occasion, but to be loved. Fortune had sinned in this case, and not I, in directing my friend's affection to her, rather than any other; and if she ought to be loved, as her perfections do challenge, Gisippus understanding that I affect her, may be the better contented that it is I, rather than any other.  
With these, and the like cross intercourses, he often mocked himself, falling into the contrary, and then to this again, and from the contrary, into another kind of alteration, wasting and consuming himself, not only this day and the night following, but many more afterward, till he lost both his feeding & sleep, so that through debility of body, he was constrained to keep his bed. Gisippus, who had diverse days noted his melancholy disposition, and now his falling into extremity of sickness, was very sorry to behold it: and with all means and inventions he could device to use, he both questioned the cause of this strange alteration, and essayed every way, how he might best comfort him, never ceasing to demand a reason, why he should become thus sad and sickly. But Titus after infinite importuning (which still he answered with idle and frivolous excuses, fare from the truth indeed, and (to the no mean affliction of his friend) when he was able to use no more contradictions; at length, in sighs and tears, thus he replied.  
Gisippus, were the Gods so well pleased, I could more gladly yield to dye, then continue any longer in this wretched life, considering, that Fortune hath brought me to such an extremity, as proof is now to be made of my constancy and virtue; both which I find conquered in me, to my eternal confusion and shame. But my best hope is, that I shall shortly be requited, as I have in justice deserved, namely with death, which will be a thousand times more welcome to me, than a loathed life, with remembrance of my base dejection in courage, which because I can no longer conceal from thee; not without blushing shame, I am well contented for to let thee know it.  
Then began he to recount, the whole occasion of this strange conflict in him, what a main battle he had with his private thoughts, confessing that they got the victory, causing him to die hourly for the love of Sophronia, and affirming withal, that in due acknowledgement, how greatly he had transgressed against the laws of friendship, he thought no other penance sufficient for him, but only death, which he willingly expected every hour, and with all his heart would gladly bid welcome.  
Gisippus hearing this discourse, and seeing how Titus bitterly wept, in agonies of most moving afflictions: sat an indifferent while sad and pensive, as being wounded with affection to Sophronia, but yet in a well-governed and temperate manner. So, without any long delaying, he concluded with himself; that the life of his friend ought to be accounted much more dear, than any love he could bear unto Sophronia: And in this resolution, the tears of Titus forcing his eyes to flow forth like two fountains, thus he replied.  
Titus, if thou hadst not need of comfort, as plainly I see thou hast, I would justly complain of thee to myself, as of the man who hath violated our friendship, in keeping thine extremity so long time concealed from me, which hath been over-tedious for thee to endure. And although it might seem to thee a dishonest case, and therefore kept from the knowledge of thy friend, yet I plainly tell thee, that dishonest courses (in the league of amity) deserve no more concealment, than those of the honestest nature. But leaving these impertinent wanderings, let us come to them of much greater necessity.  
If thou dost earnestly love fair Sophronia, who is betrothed and affianced to me, it is no matter for me to marvel at: but I should rather be much abashed, if thou couldst not intyrely affect her, knowing how beautiful she is, and the nobility of her mind, being as able to sustain passion, as the thing pleasing is fullest of excellence. And look how reasonably thou fanciest Sophronia, as unjustly thou complainest of thy fortune, in ordaining her to be my wife, although thou dost not speak it expressly: as being of opinion, that thou mightst with more honesty love her, if she were any others, then mine. But if thou art so wise, as I have always held thee to be, tell me truly upon thy faith, to whom could Fortune better guide her, and for which thou oughtest to be more thankful, then in bestowing her on me? Any other that had enjoyed her, although thy love were never so honest, yet he would better affect her himself, then for thee, which thou canst not (in like manner) look for from me, if thou dost account me for thy friend, and as constant now as ever.  
Reason is my warrant in this case, because I cannot remember, since first our entrance into friendship, that ever I enjoyed any thing, but it was as much thine, as mine. And if our affairs had such an equal course before, as otherwise they could not subsist; must they not now be kept in the same manner? Can any thing more particularly appertain to me, but thy right therein is as absolute as mine? I know not how thou Mayst esteem of my friendship, if in any thing concerning myself, I can plead my privilege to be above thine. True it is, that Sophronia is affianced to me, and I love her dear, daily expecting when our nuptials shall be celebrated. But seeing thou dost more fervently affect her, as being better able to judge of the perfections, remaining in so excellent a creature as she is, than I do: assure thyself, and believe it constantly, that she shall come to my bed, not as my wife, but only thine. And therefore leave these despairing thoughts, shake off this cloudy disposition, reassume thy former jovial spirit, with comfort and what else can content thee: in expectation of the happy hour, and the just requital of thy long, loving, and worthy friendship, which I have always valued equal with mine own life.  
Titus hearing this answer of Gisippus, look how much the sweet hope of that which he desired gave him pleasure, as much both duty and reason affronted him with shame; setting before his eyes this du consideration, that the greater the liberality of Gisippus was, fare greater and unreasonable it appeared to him in disgrace, if he should unmannerly accept it. Wherefore, being unable to refrain from tears, and with such strength as his weakness would give leave, thus he replied.  
Gisippus, thy bounty and firm friendship suffereth me to see apparently, what (on my part) is no more than ought to be done. All the Gods forbidden, that I should receive as mine, her whom they have adjudged to be thine, by true respect of birth and desert. For if they had thought her a wife fit for me, do not thou or any else imagine, that ever she should have been granted to thee. Use freely therefore thine own election, and the gracious favour wherewith they have blessed thee: leave me to consume away in tears, a mourning garment by them appointed for me, as being a man unworthy of such happiness; for either I shall conquer this disaster, and that will be my crown, or else will vanquish me, and free me from all pain: whereto Gisippus presently thus answered.  
Worthy Titus, if our amity would give me so much licence, as but to contend with myself, in pleasing thee with such a thing as I desire, and could also induce thee therein to be directed: it is the only end whereat I aim, and am resolved to pursue it. In which regard, let my persuasions prevail with thee, and thereto I conjure thee, by the faith of a friend, suffer me to use mine authority, when it extendeth both to mine own honour, and thy good, for I will have Sophronia to be only thine. I know sufficiently, how fare the forces of love do extend in power, and am not ignorant also, how not once or twice, but very many times, they have brought lovers to unfortunate ends, as now I see thee very near it, and so fare gone, as thou art not able to turn back again, nor yet to conquer thine own tears, but proceeding on further in this extremity, thou wilt be left vanquished, sinking under the burden of love's tyrannical oppression, and then my turn is next to follow thee. And therefore, had I no other reason to love thee, yet because thy life is dear to me, in regard of mine own depending thereon; I stand the nearer thereto obliged. For this cause, Sophronia must and shall be thine, for thou canst not find any other so conform to thy fancy: albeit I who can easily convert my liking to another wife, but never to have the like friend again, shall hereby content both thee, and myself.  
Yet perhaps this is not a matter so easily done, or I to express such liberality therein, if wives were to be found with the like difficulty, as true and faithful friends are: but, (being able to recover another wife) though never such a worthy friend; I rather choose to change, I do not say lose her (for in giving her to thee, I lose her not myself) and by this change, make that which was good before, ten times better, and so preserve both thee and myself. To this end therefore, if my prayers and persuasions have any power with thee, I earnestly entreat thee, that, by freeing thyself out of this affliction, thou wilt (in one instant) make us both truly comforted, and dispose thyself (living in hope) to embrace that happiness, which the fervent love thou bearest to Sophronia, hath justly deserved.  
Now although Titus was confounded with shame, to yield consent, that Sophronia should be accepted as his wife, and used many obstinate resistances: yet notwithstanding, love pleading on the one side powerfully, and Gisippus as earnestly persuading on the other, thus he answered. Gisippus, I know not what to say, neither how to behave myself in this election, concerning the fitting of mine contentment, or pleasing thee in thy importunate persuasion. But seeing thy liberality is so great, as it surmounteth all reason or shame in me, I will yield obedience to thy more than noble nature. Yet let this remain for thine assurance, that I do not receive this grace of thine, as a man not sufficiently understanding, how I enjoy from thee, not only her whom most of all I do affect, but also do hold my very life of thee. Grant then you greatest Gods (if you be the patroness of this mine unexpected felicity) that with honour and due respect, I may hereafter make apparently known: how highly I acknowledge this thy wonderful favour, in being more merciful to me, than I could be to myself.  
For abridging of all further circumstances, answered Gisippus, and for easier bringing this matter to full effect, I hold this to be our only way. It is not unknown to thee, how after much discourse had between my kindred, and those belonging to Sophronia, the matrimonial conjunction was fully agreed on, and therefore, if now I shall fly off, and say, I will not accept thee as my wife: great scandal would arise thereby, and make much trouble among our friends, which could not be greatly displeasing to me, if that were the way to make her thine. But I rather stand in fear, that if I forsake her in such peremptory sort, her kindred and friends will bestow her on some other, and so she is utterly lost, without all possible means of recovery. For prevention therefore of all sinister accidents, I think it best, (if thy opinion jump with mine) that I still pursue the business, as already I have begun, having thee always in my company, as my dearest friend and only associate. The nuptials being performed with our friends, in secret manner at night (as we can cunningly enough contrive it) thou shalt have her maiden honour in bed, even as if she were thine own wife. Afterward, in apt time and place, we will publicly make known what is done; if they take it well, we will be as jocund as they: if they frown and wax offended, the deed is done, over-late to be recalled, and so perforce they must rest contented.  
You may well imagine, this advice was not a little pleasing to Titus, whereupon Gisippus received home Sophronia into his house, with public intention to make her his wife, according as was the custom then observed, and Titus being perfectly recovered, was present at the Feast very ceremonially observed. When night was come, the Ladies and Gentlewomen conducted Sophronia to the Bride-Chamber, where they lest her in her husband's bed, and then departed all away. The Chamber wherein Titus used to lodge, joined close to that of Gisippus, for their easier access each to the other, at all times whensoever they pleased, and Gisippus being alone in the Bride-Chamber, preparing as if he were coming to bed: extinguishing the light, he went softly to Titus, willing him to go to bed to his wife. Which Titus hearing, overcome with shame and fear, became repentant, and denied to go. But Gisippus, being a true entire friend indeed, and confirming his words with actions: after a little lingering dispute, sent him to the Bride, and so soon as he was in the bed with her, taking Sophronia gently by the hand, softly he moved the usual question to her, namely, if she were willing to be his wife.  
She believing verily that he was Gisippus, modestly answered. Sir, I have chosen you to be my Husband, reason requires then, that I should be willing to be your wife. At which words, a costly Ring, which Gisippus used daily to wear, he put upon her finger, saying. With this Ring, I confess myself to be your Husband, and bind you (for ever) my Spouse and Wife; no other kind of marriage was observed in those days, and so he continued all the night with her, she never suspecting him to be any other then Gisippus, and thus was the marriage consummated, between Titus and Sophronia, albeit the friends (on either side) thought otherwise.  
By this time, Publius, the father of Titus, was departed out of this mortal life, & letters came to Athens, that with all speed he should return to Rome, to take order for occasions there concerning him; wherefore he concluded with Gisippus about his departure, and taking Sophronia thither with him, which was no easy matter to be done, until it were first known, how occasions had been carried among them. Whereupon, calling her one day into her Chamber, they told her entirely, how all had passed, which Titus confirmed substantially, by such direct passages between themselves, as exceeded all possibility of denial, and moved in her much admiration; looking each on other very discontentedly, she heavily weeping and lamenting, & greatly complaining of Gisippus, for wronging her so unkindly.  
But before any further noise was made in the house, she went to her Father, to whom, as also to her Mother, she declared the whole treachery, how much both they and their other friends were wronged by Gisippus, avouching herself to be the wife of Titus, and not of Gisippus, as they supposed. These news were highly displeasing to the Father of Sophronia, who with her kindred, as also those of Gisippus, made great complaints to the Senate, very dangerous troubles and commotions arising daily between them, drawing both Gisippus and Sophronia into harsh reports; he being generally reputed, not only worthy of all bitter reproof, but also the severest punishment. Nevertheless, he maintained publicly what he had done, avouching it for an act both of honour and honesty, wherewith Sophronia's friends had no reason to be offended, but rather to take it in very thankful part, having married a man of fare greater worth and respect, than himself was, or could be.  
On the other side, Titus hearing these uncivil acclamations, became much moved and provoked at them, but knowing it was a custom observed among the Greeks', to be so much the more hurried away with rumours and threatenings, as less they find them to be answered, and when they find them, show themselves not only humble enough, but rather as base men, and of no courage; he resolved with himself, that their braveries were no longer to be endured, without some some bold and manly answer. And having a Roman heart, as also an Athenian understanding, by politic persuasions, he caused the kindred of Gisippus and Sophronia, to be assembled in a Temple, and himself coming thither, accompanied with none but Gisippus only, he began to deliver his mind before them all, in this manner following.  

The Oration uttered by Titus Quintus Fuluius, in the hearing of the Athenians, being the kindred and friends to Gisippus and Sophronia.  
MAny Philosophers do hold opinion, that the actions performed by mortal men, do proceed from the disposing and ordination of the immortal gods. Whereupon some do maintain, that things which be done, or never are to be done, proceed of necessity: howbeit some other do hold, that this necessity is only referred to things done. Both which opinions (if they be considered with mature judgement) do most manifestly approve, that they who reprehend any thing which is irrevocable, do nothing else but show themselves, as if they were wiser than the Gods, who we are to believe, that with perpetual reason, and void of any error, do dispose and govern both us, and all our actions; In which respect, how foolish and beastlike a thing it is, presumptuously to check or control their operations, you may very easily consider; and likewise, how justly they deserve condign punishment, who suffer themselves to be transported in so temerarious a manner.  
In which notorious transgression, I understand you all to be guilty, if common fame speak truly, concerning the marriage of myself and Sophronia, whom you imagined as given to Gisippus; for you never remember that it was so ordained from eternity, she to be mine, and no Wife for Gisippus, as at this instant is made manifest by full effect. But because the kind of speaking, concerning divine providence, and intention of the Gods, may seem a difficult matter to many, and somewhat hard to be understood: I am content to presuppose, that they meddle not with any thing of ours, and will only stay myself on humane reasons, and in this nature of speech, I shall be enforced to do two things, quite contrary to my natural disposition. The one is, to speak somewhat in praise and commendation of myself: And the other, justly to blame and condemn other men's seeming estimation. But because both in the one and the other, I do not intent to swerve a jot from the Truth, and the necessity of the present case in question, doth not only require, but also command it, you must pardon what I am to say.  
Your complaints do proceed, rather from fury then reason, and (with continual murmurings, or rather seditious) slander, backebite and condemn Gisippus, because (of his own free will and noble disposition) he gave her to be my Wife, whom (by your election) was made his; wherein I account him most highly praiseworthy: and the reasons inducing me thereunto, are these. The first, because he hath performed no more than what a friend ought to do: And the second, in regard he hath dealt more wisely, than you did. I have no intention, to display (at this present) what the sacred law of amity requireth, to be acted by one friend towards another, it shall suffice me only to inform you, that the league of friendship (fare stronger than the bond of blood and kindred) confirmed us in our election of either at the first, to be true, loyal and perpetual friends; whereas that of kindred, cometh only by fortune or chance. And therefore if Gisippus affected more my life, than your benevolence, I being ordained for his friend, as I confess myself to be; none of you ought to wonder thereat, in regard it is no matter of marvel.  
But let us come now to our second reason, wherein, with fare greater instance I will show you, that he hath (in this occasion) shown himself to be much more wise, than you did, or have done: because it plainly appeareth, that you have no feeling of the divine providence, and much less knowledge in the effects of friendship. I say, that your foresight, council and deliberation, gave Sophronia to Gisippus, a young Gentleman, and a Philosopher: Gisippus likewise hath given her to a young Gentleman, and a Philosopher, as himself is. Your discretion gave her to an Athenian; the gift of Gisippus, is to a Roman. Yours, to a Noble and honest man; that of Gisippus, to one more Noble by race, and no less honest than himself. Your judgement hath bestowed her on a rich young man: Gisippus hath given her to one fare richer. Your wisdom gave her to one who not only loved her not, but also one that had no desire to know her: Gisippus gave her unto him, who, above all felicity else, yea, more than his own life, both entirely loved and desired her.  
Now, for proof of that which I have said, to be most true and infallible, and that his deed deserveth to be much more commended than yours, let it be duly considered on, point by point. That I am a young man and a Philosopher, as Gisippus is; my years, face, and studies, without seeking after further proof, doth sufficiently testify: One selfsame age is both his and mine, in like quality of course have we lived and studied together. True it is, that he is an Athenian, and I am a Roman. But if the glory of these two Cities should be disputed on: then let me tell you, that I am of a city that is Francke and Free, and he is of a tributary city. I say, that I am of a city, which is chief Lady and mistress of the whole World, and he is of a city subject to mine. I say that I am of a city, that is strong in Arms, Empire, and studies: whereas his can commend itself but for Studies only. And although you seem here to be a scholar, in appearance mean enough, yet I am not descended of the simplest stock in Rome.  
My houses and public places, are filled with the ancient Statues of my Predecessors, and the annals record the infinite triumphs of the Quintij, brought home by them into the Roman Capitole, and years cannot eat out the glory of our name, but it will live and flourish to all posterity.  
Modest shame makes me silent in my wealth and possessions, my mind truly telling me, that honest contented poverty, is the most ancient and richest inheritance, of our best and Noblest Romans, which opinion, if it be condemned by the understanding of the ignorant multitude, and herein we shall give way to them by preferring riches and worldly treasures, than I can say that I am abundantly provided, not as ambitious, or greedily covetous, but sufficiently stored with the goods of Fortune.  
I know well enough, that you held it as a desired benefit, Gisippus being a native of your city; should also be linked to you by alliance: but I know no reason, why I should not be as near and dear to you at Rome, as if I lived with you here. Considering, when I am there, you have a ready and well wishing friend, to stead you in all beneficial and serviceable offices, as careful and provident for your support, yea, a protector of you and your affairs, as well public as particular. Who is it then, not transported with partial affection, that can (in reason) more approve your act, then that which my friend Gisippus hath done? Questionless, not any one, as I think. Sophronia is married to Titus Quintus Fuluius, a Noble Gentleman by antiquity, a rich Citizen of Rome, and (which is above all) the friend of Gisippus: therefore, such a one as thinks it strange, is sorry for it, or would not have it to be; knoweth not what he doth.  
Perhaps there may be some, who will say, they do not so much complain, that Sophronia is the wife to Titus; but of the manner whereby it was done, as being made his wife secretly, and by theft, not any of her parents, kindred or friends called thereto: no, nor so much as advertised thereof Why Gentlemen, this is no miraculous thing, but heretofore hath oftentimes happened, and therefore no novelty.  
I cannot count unto you, how many there have been, who (against the will of their Fathers) have made choice of their husbands; nor them that have fled away with their lovers into strange Countries, being first friends, before they were wives: nor of them who have sooner made testimony of marriage by their bellies, than those ceremonies due to matrimony, or publication thereof by the tongue; so that mere necessity & constraint, hath forced the parents to yield consent: which hath not so happened to Sophronia, for show was given to me by Gisippus discreetly, honestly, and orderly.  
Others also may say, that she is married to him, to whom it belonged no to marry her. These complaints are foolish, and womanish, proceeding from very little, or no consideration at all. In these days of ours, Fortune makes no use of novel or inconsiderate means, whereby to bring matters to their determined effect. Why should it offend me, if a cobbler, rather than a scholar, hath ended a business of mine, either in private or public, if the end be well made? Well I may take order, if the cobbler be indiscreet, that he meddle no more with any matters of mine, yet I ought, in courtesy, to thank him for that which he did.  
In like mauner, if Gisippus hath married Sophronia well, it is foolish and superfluous, to find fault with the manner he used in her marriage. If you mislike his course in the case, beware of him hereafter, yet thank him because it is no worse.  
Nevertheless, you are to understand, that I sought not by fraud or deceit, (but only by wit) any opportunity, whereby any way to sully the honesty and clear nobility of your blood, in the person of Sophronia: for although in secret I made her my wife, yet I came not as an enemy, to take her perforce, nor (like a ravisher) wronged her virginity, to blemish your noble titles, or despising your alliance. But fervently, inflamed by her bright beauty, and incited also by her unparallelled virtues, I shaped my course; knowing well enough, that if I took the ordinary way of wiving, by moving the question to you, I should never win your consent, as fearing, lest I would take her with me to Rome, and so conneigh out of your sight, a jewel by you so much esteemed, as she is.  
For this, and no other reason, did I presume to use the secret cunning which now is openly made known unto you: and Gisippus disposed himself thereunto, which otherwise he never determined to have done, in contracting the marriage for me, and she consenting to me in his name.  
Moreover, albeit most earnestly I affected her, I sought to procure your union, not like a lover, but as a true husband, nor would I immodestly touch her, till first (as herself can testify) with the words becoming wedlock, and the Ring also I espoused her, demanding of her, if she would accept me as her husband, and she answered me, with her full consent. Wherein, if it may seem that she was deceived, I am not any way to be blamed, but she, for not demanding, what, and who I was.  
This then is the great evil, the great offence, and the great injury committed by my friend Gisippus, and by me as a lover: that Sophronia is secretly become the wife of Titus Quintus Fuluius. And for this cause, like spies you watch him, threaten him daily, as if you intended to tear him in pieces. What could you do more, if he had given her to a man of the very vilest condition? to a villain, to a slave? What prisons? what fetters? Or what torments are sufficient for this fact? But leaving these frivolous matters, let us come to discourse of more moment, and better beseeming your attention.  
The time is come, that I may no longer continue here, because Publius my Father is dead, and I must needs return to Rome, wherefore being minded to take Sophronia thither with me, I was the more willing to acquaint you therewith, as also what else I have said, which otherwise had still been concealed from you. Nor can you but take it in good part, if you be wise, and rest well contented with what is done: considering, if I had any intention either to deceive, or otherwise wrong you; I could have basely left her, and made a scorn both of her and you, you not having any power to stay me here. But the Gods will never permit that any courageous Roman, should ever conceive so vile and degenerate a thought.  
Sophronia, by ordination of the Gods, by force of humane laws, and by the laudable consent of my friend Gisippus, as also the powerful command of love is mine. But you perchance, imagining yourselves to be wiser than the Gods, or any other men whatsoever; may think ill of it, and more brutishly than beasts, condemn their working in two kinds, which would be offensive to me. The one is, your detaining of Sophronia from me, of whom you have no power, but what pleaseth me. The other, is your bitter threatenings against Gisippus my dear friend, to whom you are in duty obliged. In both which cases, how unreasonably soever you carry yourselves, I intent not at this time to press any further. But rather let me counsel you like a friend, to cease your hatred and disdain, and suffer Sophronia to be delivered me, that I may departed contentedly from you as a kinsman, and (being absent) remain your friend: assuring you, that whether what is done shall please or displease you, if you purpose to proceed any otherwise: I will take Gisippus along with me, and when I come to Rome, take such sure order, to fetch her hence, who in justice is mine, even in mere despite of you all, and then you shall feel by sound experience, how powerful is the just indignation of the wronged Romans.   
WHen Titus had thus concluded his Oration, he arose with a stern and discontented countenance, and took Gisippus by the hand, plainly declaring, that he made small account of all the rest that were in the Temple; and shaking his head at them, rather menaced then any other wise seemed to care for them.  
They which tarried, when they were gone, considering partly on the reasons alleged by Titus, and partly terrified by his latest speeches; became induced, to like well of his alliance and amity, as (with common consent) they concluded: that it was much better to accept Titus as their kinsman (seeing Gisippus had made manifest refusal thereof) than to lose the kindred of the one, and procure the hatred of the other. Wherefore they went to seek Titus, and said unto him, they were very well contented that Sophronia should be his Wife, he their dear and loving kinsman, and Gisippus to remain their much respected friend. And embracing one another, making a solemn feast, such as in the like cases is necessarily required, they departed from him, presently sending Sophronia to him, who making a virtue of necessity, converted her love (in short time after) to Titus, in as effectual manner, as formerly she had done to Gisippus, and so was sent away with him to Rome, where she was received and welcomed with very great honour.  
Gisippus remaining still at Athens, in small regard of either theirs or his own friends: not long after by means of sundry troublesome Citizens; and partialities happening among the common people, was banished from Athens, and he, as also all his family, condemned to perpetual exile: during which tempestuous time, Gisippus was become not only wretchedly poor, but wandered abroad as a common beggar; in which miserable condition he traveled to Rome, to try if Titus would take any acknowledgement of him. Understanding that he was living, and one most respected among the Romans, as being a great Commander and a Senator: he enquired for the place where he dwelled, and going to be near about his house, stayed there so long, till Titus came home, yet not daring to manifest himself, or speak a word to him, in regard of his poor and miserable estate, but striven to have him see him, to the end, that he might acknowledge and call him by his name; notwithstanding, Titus passed by him without either speech, or looking on him. Which when Gisippus perceived, and making full account, that (at the least) he would remember him, in regard of former courtesies, done to him: confounded with grief and desperate thoughts, he departed thence, never meaning to see him any more.  
Now, in regard it was night, he having eaten nothing all that day, nor provided of one penny to buy him any food, wandered he knew not whether, desiring rather to die than live; he came at last to an old ruinous part of the City, overspread with briers and bushes, and seldom resorted unto by any: where finding a hollow cave or vault, he entered into it, meaning there to wear away the comfortless night, and laying himself down on the hard ground, almost stark naked, and without any warm garments, overwearied with weeping, at last he fell into a sleep.  
It fortuned that two men, who had been abroad the same night, committing thefts and robberies together; somewhat very early in the morning, came to the same cave, intending there to share and divide their booties, and difference happening between them about it, he that was the stronger person, slew there the other, and then went away with the whole purchase.  
Gisippus having heard and seen the manner of this accident, was not a little joyful, because he had now found a way to death, without laying any violent hand on himself; for life being very loathsome to him, it was his only desire to die. Wherefore, he would not budge from the place, but tarried there so long, till the Sergeants and Officers of justice (by information of him that did the deed) came thither well attended, and furiously led Gisippus thence to prison.  
Being examined concerning this bloody fact, he plainly confessed, that he himself had committed the murder, and afterward would not departed from the cave, but purposely stayed for apprehension, as being truly touched with compunction for so foul an offence: upon which peremptory confession, Marcus Varro being then Praetor, gave sentence that he should be crucified on a cross, as it was the usual manner of death in those days. Titus chancing to come at the same time into Praetorium, advisedly beholding the face of the condemned man (as he sat upon the bench) knew him to be Gysippus, not a little wondering at this strange accident, the poverty of his estate, and what occasion should bring him thither, especially in the questioning for his life, and before the tribunal of justice.  
His soul earnestly thirsting, by all possible means to help and defend him, and no other course could now be taken for safety of his life, but by accusing himself, to excuse and clear the other of the crime: he stepped from off the judgement bench, and crowding through the throng to the bar, called out to the Praetor in this manner. Marcus Varro, recall thy sentence given on the condemned man sent, away because he is truly guiltless and innocent: With one bloody blow have I offended the Gods, by killing that wretched man, whom the sergeants found this morning slain, wherefore Noble Praetor, let no innocent man's blood be shed for it, but only mine that have offended.  
Marcus Varro stood like a man confounded with admiration, being very sorry, for that which the whole assistants had both seen and heard, yet he could not (with honour) desist from what must needs be done, but would perform the laws severe injunction. And sending for condemned ●isippus back again, in the presence of Titus, thus he spoke to him. How becamest thou so madly incensed, as (without any torment inflicted on thee) to confess an offence by thee never committed? Art thou weary of thy life? Thou chargest thyself falsely, to be the person who this last night murdered the man in the cave, and there is another that voluntarily also doth confess his guiltiness.  
Gisippus lifting up his eyes, and perceiving it was Titus, conceived immediately, that he had done this only for his deliverance, as one that remembered him sufficiently, and would not be ungrateful for former kindnesses received. Wherefore, the tears flowing abundantly down his cheeks, he said to the judge Varro, it was none but I that murdered the man, wherefore, I commiserate the case of this Noble Gentleman Titus, who speaks now too late for the safety of my life. Titus on the other side, said. Noble Praetor, this man (as thou seest) is a stranger here, and was found without any weapon, fast asleep by the dead body: thou mayst then easily perceive, that merely the miserable condition wherein he is, hath made him desperate, and he would make mine offence the occasion of his death. Absolve him, and send me to the cross, for none but I have deserved to die for this fact.  
Varro was amazed, to observe with what earnest instance each of them striven to excuse the other, which half persuaded him in his soul, that they were both guiltless. And as he was starting up, with full intent to acquaint them: a young man, who had stood there all this while, and observed the hard pleading on either side; he crowded into the bar, being named Publius Ambustus, a fellow of lewd life, and utterly out of hopes, as being debauched in all his fortunes, and known among the Romans' to be a notorious thief, who verily had committed the murder. Well knew his conscience, that none of them were guilty of the crime, wherewith each so wilfully charged himself: being therefore truly touched with remorse, he stepped before Marcus Varro, saying.  
Honourable Praetor, mine own horrid and abominable actions, have induced me thus to intrude myself, for clearing the strict contention between these two persons. And questionless, some God or greater power, hath tormented my wretched soul, and so compunctually solicited me, as I cannot choose, but make open confession of my sin. Here therefore, I do apparently publish, that neither of these men is guilty of the offence, wherewith so wilfully each chargeth himself. I am the villain, who this morning murdered the man in the cave, one of no greater honesty than myself, and seeing this poor man lie there sleeping, while we were dividing the stolen booties between us; I slew my companion, because I would be the sole possessor. As for Noble Lord Titus, he had no reason thus to accuse himself, because is a man of no such base quality: let them both then be delivered, and inflict the sentence of death on me.  
Octavius Caesar, to whom tidings was brought of this rare accident, commanding them all three to be brought before him; would needs understand the whole History, in every particular as all had happened, which was substantially related to him. Whereupon, Octavius pleased them all three: the two noble friends, because they were innocent, and the third, for openly revealing the very truth.  
Titus took home with him his friend Gisippus, and after he had sharply reproved him for his distrust, and cold credence of his friendship: he brought him to Sophronia, who welcomed him as lovingly, as if he had been her natural born brother, bemoaning his hard and disastrous fortune, and taking especial care, to convert all passed distresses, into as happy and comfortable a change, fitting him with garments and attendants, beseeming his degree both in Nobility and virtue▪ Titus, out of his honourable bounty, imparted half his lands and rich possessions to him, and afterward gave him in marriage, his own Sister, a most beautiful Lady, named Fulvia, saying to him beside. My dear friend Gisippus, it remaineth now in thine own election, whether thou wilt live live here still with me, or return back to Athens, with all the wealth which I have bestowed on thee. But Gisippus, being one way constrained, by the sentence of banishment from his native City, & then again, in regard of the constant love, which he bore to so true and thankful friend as Titus was: concluded to live there as a loyal Roman, where he with his Fulvia, and Titus with his fair Sophronia, lived long after together in one and the same house, augmenting daily (if possible it might be) their amity beyond all other equalizing.  
A most sacred thing therefore is cordial amity, worthy not only of singular reverence, but also to be honoured with eternal commendation, as being the only wise Mother of all magnificence and honesty, the Sister of Charity and Gratitude, the enemy to hatred and avarice, and which is always ready (without attending to be requested) to extend all virtuous actions to others, which she would have done to herself. Her rare and divine effects, in these contrary times of ours, are not to be found between two such persons, which is a mighty fault, and greatly checketh the miserable covetousness of men, who respecting nothing but only their particular benefit; have banished true Amity, to the utmost confines of the whole earth, and sent her into perpetual exile.  
What love, what wealth, or affinity of kindred, could have made Gisippus feel (even in the intyrest part of his soul) the fervent compassion, the tears, the sighs of Titus, and with such efficacy as plainly appeared: to make him consent, that his fair elected Spouse, by him so dear esteemed, should become the wife of his Companion, but only the precious league of Amity? What laws, what threatenings, what fears, could cause the young arms of Gisippus to abstain embraces, betaking himself to solitary walks, and obscure places, when in his own bed, he might have enjoyed so matchless a beauty (who perhaps desired it so much as himself) but only the gracious title of Amity? What greatness, what merits or precedence, could cause Gisippus not to care, for the loss of his kindred, those of Sophronia, yea, of Sophronia herself, not respecting the dishonest murmurings of base minded people, their vile and contemptible language, scorns and mockeries, and all to content and satisfy a friend, but only divine Amity?  
Come now likewise to the other side. What occasions could compel Noble Titus, so promptly and deliberately, to procure his own death, to rescue his friend from the cross, and inflict the pain and shame upon himself, pretending not see or know Gisippus at all, had it not been wrought by powerful Amity? What cause else could make Titus so liberal, in dividing (with such willingness) the larger part of his patrimony to Gisippus, when Fortune had dispossessed him of his own, but only heaven-borne Amity? What else could have procured Titus, without any further dilation, fear or suspicion, to give his Sister Fulvia in marriage to Gisippus, when he saw him reduced to such extreme poverty, disgrace and mi●ery, but only infinite Amity? To what end do men care then, to covet and procure great multitudes of kindred, store of brethren, numbers of children, and to increase (with their own monies) plenty of servants: when by the least loss and damage happening, they forget all duty to Father, Brother, or Master? Amity and true friendship is of a quite contrary nature, satisfying (in that sacred bond) the obligation due to all degrees, both of parentage, and all alliances else.   

Saladine, the great sultan of Babylon, in the habit of a Merchant, was hovourably received and welcomed, into the house of Signior Thorello d'Istria. Who travelling to the Holy Land, prefixed a certain time to his Wife, for his return back to her again, wherein, if he failed, it was lawful for her to take another Husband. By clouding himself in the disguise of a falconer, the sultan took notice of him, and did him many great honours. Afterward, Thorello falling sick, by magical Art, he was conveyed in one night to Pavia, when his Wife was to be married on the morrow: where making himself known to her, all was disappointed, and she went home with him to his own house.  
The Ninth novel.  
Declaring what an honourable virtue courtesy is, in them that truly know how to use them.  
Madam Philomena having concluded her discourse, and the rare acknowledgement, which Titus made of his esteemed friend Gisippus, extolled justly as it deserved by all the Company: the King, reserving the last office to Dioneus (as it was at the first granted him) began to speak thus. Without all question to the contrary (worthy Ladies) nothing can be more truly said, then what madam Philomena, hath delivered, concerning Amity, and her complaint in the conclusion of her novel, is not without great reason, to see it so slenderly reverenced and respected (now a days) among all men. But if we had met here in duty only for correcting the abuses of iniquity, and the malevolent courses of this preposterous age; I could proceed further in this just cause of complaint. But because our end aimeth at matters of other nature, it cometh to my memory to tell you of a History, which (perhaps) may seem somewhat long, but altogether pleasant, concerning a magnificent act of great Saladine: to the end, that by observing those things which you shall hear in my novel, if we cannot (by reason of our manifold imperfections) entirely compass the amity of any one; yet (at least) we may take delight, in stretching our kindness (in good deeds) so fare as we are able, in hope one day after, some worthy reward will ensue thereon, as thereto justly appertaining.  
Let me tell you then, that (as it is affirmed by many) in the time of the Emperor Frederick, first of that name, the Christians, for the better recovery of the holy land, resolved to make a general voyage over the Seas. Which being understood by Saladine, a very worthy Prince, and then sultan of Babylon: he concluded with himself, that he would (in person) go see, what preparation the Christian Potentates made for this war, that he might the better provide for himself. Having settled all things orderly in Egypt for the business, and making an outward appearance, as if he purposed a pilgrimage to Mecha: he set onward on his journey, habited like a Merchant, attended only with two of his most Noble and wisest Baschaes, and three waiting servants.  
When he had visited many Christian provinces, and was riding thorough Lombardie, to pass the mountains; it fortuned, in his journeying from Milan to Pavia, and the day being very fare spent, so that night hastened speedily on him: he met with a Gentleman, named Signior Thorella d'Istria, but dwelling at Pavia, who with his men, hawks and Hounds, went to a house of his, seated in a singular place, and on the river of Ticinum. Signior Thorello seeing such men making towards him, presently imagined, that they were some Gentle-strangers, and such he desired to respect with honour.  
Wherefore, Saladine demanding of one of Thorelloes' men, how fare (as then) it was to Pavia, and whether they might reach thither by such an hour, as would admit their entrance into the city: Thorello would not suffer his servant to return the answer, but replied thus himself. Sir (quoth he) you cannot reach Pavia, but night will abridge you of any entrance there. I beseech you then Sir, answered Saladine, favour us so much (because we are all strangers in these parts) as to tell us where we may be well lodged. That shall I Sir, said Thorello, and very gladly too.  
Even at the instant Sir, as we met with you, I had determined in my mind, to send one of my servants somewhat near to Pavia, about a business concerning myself: he shall go along with you, and conduct you to a place, where you will be very well entertained. So, stepping to him, who was of best discretion amongst his men, he gave order to him what should be done, and sent him with them. Himself, making haste by a fare nearer way, caused Supper to be prepared in worthy manner, and the Tables to be covered in his Garden; and all things being in good readiness, he sat down at his door, to attend the coming of his guests. The servingman, discoursing with the Gentlemen on diverse occasions, guided them by such unusual passages, as (before they could discern it) he brought them to his master's house; where so soon as Thorello saw them arrived, he went forth to meet them, assuring them all of most hearty welcome.  
Saladine, who was a man of acute understanding, did well perceive, that this Knight Thorello misdoubted his going with him, if (when he met him) he should have invited him; and therefore, because he would not be denied, of entertaining him into his house; he made choice of this kind and honourable course, which caused him to return this answer. Gentle Sir, if courtesy in one man to another, do deserve condemning, then may we justly complain of you, who meeting us upon the way, which you have shortened by your kindness and which we are no way able to deserve, we are constrained to accept, taking you to be the mirror of courtesy. Thorello being a Knight of ingenious apprehension, and well languaged, replied thus.  
Gentlemen; this courtesy (seeing you term it so) which you rereceive of me, in regard of that justly belonging to you, as your faces do sufficiently inform me, is matter of very slender account. But assuredly out of Pavia, you could not have any lodging, deserving to be termed good. And therefore, let it not be displeasing to you, if you have a little gone forth of the common road way, to have your entertainment somewhat bettered, as many travailers are easily induced to do.  
Having thus spoken, all the people of the house shown themselves, in serviceable manner to the Gentlemen, taking their horses as they dismounted, and Thorello himself, conducted the three Gentlemen, into three several fair Chambers, which in costly manner were prepared for them, where their boots were plucked off, fair Napkins with Manchets lay ready, and delicate Wines to refresh their wearied spirits, much pretty conference being entercoursed, till Supper time invited them thence.  
Saladine, and they that were with him, spoke the Latin tongue very readily, by which means they were the better understood; and Thorello seemed (in their judgement) to be the most gracious, complete, and best spoken Gentleman, as ever they met with in all their journey. It appeared also (on the other side) to signior Thorello, that his guests were men of great merit, and worthy of much more esteem, than there he could use towards them: wherefore, it did highly distaste him, that he had no more friends there this night to keep them company, or himself better provided for their entertainment, which he intended (on the morrow) to recompense with larger amends at dinner.  
Hereupon, having instructed one of his men with what he intended, he sent him to Pavia, which was not fare off (and where he kept no door shut) to his Wife, named Madam Adialetta; a Woman singularly wise, and of a Noble spirit, needing little or no direction, especially when she knew her husband's mind. As they were walking in the Garden, Thorello desired to understand, of whence, and what they were? Whereto Saladine thus answered. Sir, we are Cyprian merchants, coming now from Cyprus, and are travailing to Paris, about affairs of importance. Now trust me Sir, replied Thorello, I could hearty wish, that this country of ours would yield such Gentlemen, as your Cyprus affordeth merchants. So, falling from one discourse unto another, Supper was served in; and look how best themselves pleased, so they sat at the Table, where (we need make no doubt) they were respected in honourable order.  
So soon as the Tables were withdrawn, Thorello knowing they might be weary, brought them again to their Chambers, where committing them to their good rest, himself went to bed soon after. The servant sent to Pavia, delivered the message to his Lady; who, not like a woman of ordinary disposition, but rather truly royal, sent Thorelloes' servants into the City, to make preparation for a Feast indeed, and with lighted Torches (because it was somewhat late) they invited the very greatest and noblest persons of the city, all the rooms being hanged with the richest Ar●s, Clothes of gold work, velvets, silks, and all other rich adornments, in such manner as her husband had commanded, and answerable to her own worthy mind, being no way to learn, in what manner to entertain strangers.  
On the morrow morning, the Gentlemen arose, and mounting on horseback with Signior Thorello, he called for his hawks and Hounds, brought them to the river, where he shown two or three fair flights: but Saladine desiring to know, which was the fairest Hostery in all Pavia, Thorello answered. Gentlemen, I will show you that myself, in regard I have occasion to ride thither. Which they believing, were the better contented, and road on directly unto Pavia, arriving there about nine of the clock, and thinking he guided them to the best inn, he brought them to his own house; where, above fifty of the worthiest Citizens, stood ready to welcome the Gentlemen, embracing them as they lighted from their horses. Which Saladine, and his associates perceiving, they guessed as it was indeed, and Saladine said. Believe me worthy Thorello, this is not answerable to my demand; you did too much yesternight, and much more than we could desire or deserve: Wherefore, you might well be the sooner discharged of us, and let us travail on our journey.  
Noble Gentlemen, replied Thorello (for in mine eye you seem no less) that courtesy which you met with yesternight, I am to thank Fortune for, more than you, because you were then straited by such necessity, as urged your acceptance of my poor Country house. But now this morning, I shall account myself much beholding to you (as the like will all these worthy Gentlemen here about you) if you do but answer kindness with kindness, and not refuse to take a homely dinner with them.  
Saladine and his friends, being conquered with such potent persuasions, and already dismounted from their horses, saw that all denial was merely in vain: and therefore thankfully condiscen●ing (after some few ceremonious compliments were overpassed) the Gentlemen conducted them to their Chambers, which were most sumptuously prepared for them, and having laid aside their riding garments, being a little refreshed with Cakes and choice Wines; they descended into the dining Hall, the pomp whereof I am not able to report.  
When they had washed, and were seated at the Tables, dinner was served in most magnificent sort; so that if the Emperor himself had been there, he could not have been more sumptuously served. And although Saladine and his Baschaes were very Noble Lords, and wont to see matters of admiration: yet could they do no less now, but rather exceeded in marvel, considering the quality of the Knight, whom they knew to be a Citizen, and no Prince or great Lord. Dinner being ended, and diverse familiar conferences passing amongst them: because it was exceeding hot, the Gentlemen of Pavia (as it pleased, Thorello to appoint) went to repose themselves awhile, and he keeping company with his three guests, brought them into a goodly Chamber, where, because he would not fail in the least scruple of courtesy, or conceal from them the richest jewel which he had; he sent for his Lady and wife, because (as yet) they had not seen her.  
She was a Lady of extraordinary beauty, tall stature, very sumptuously attired, and having two sweet sons (resembling Angels) she came with them waiting before her, and graciously saluted her guests. At her coming, they arose, and having received her with great reverence, they seated her in the midst, kindly cherishing the two Children. After some gracious Language passed on either side, she demanded of whence, and what they were, which they answered in the same kind as they had done before to her husband. Afterward, with a modest smiling countenance, she said. Worthy Gentlemen, let not my weak Womanish discretion appear distastable, in desiring to crave one especial favour from you, namely, not to refuse or disdain a small gift, wherewith I purpose to present you. But considering first, that women (according to their simple faculty) are able to bestow but silly gifts: so you would be pleased, to respect more the person that is the giver, than the quality or quantity of the gift.  
Then causing to be brought (for each of them) two goodly gowns or Robes (made after the Persian manner) the one lined through with cloth of Gold, and the other with the costlyest Fur; not after such fashion as Citizens or merchants use to wear, but rather beseeming Lords of greatest account, and three light under-wearing Cassocks or mandilions, of Carnatian satin, richly embroidered with Gold and pearls, and lined thorough with White taffeta, presenting these gifts to him, she said. I desire you Gentlemen to receive these mean trifles, such as you see my Husband wears the like, and these other beside, considering you are so far from your wives, having travailed a long way already, and many miles more yet to overtake; also merchants (being excellent men) affect to be comely and handsome in their habits; although these are of slender value, yet (in necessity) they may do you service.  
Now was Saladine and his Baschaes half astonied with admiration, at the magnificent mind of signior Thorello, who would not forget the least part of courtesy towards them, and greatly doubted (seeing the beauty and riches of the Garments) lest they were discovered by Thorello. Nevertheless, one of them thus answered the Lady. Believe me madam, these are rich gifts, not lightly either to be given, or received: but in regard of your strict imposition, we are not able to deny them. This being done, with most gracious and courteous demeanour, she departed from them, leaving her Husband to keep them still company; who furnished their servants also, with diverse worthy necessaries fitting for their journey.  
Afterward, Thorello (by very much importunity) won them to stay with him all the rest of the day; wherefore, when they had rested themselves awhile, being attired in their newly given robes; they road on horseback thorough the city. When supper time came, they supped in most honourable and worthy company being afterwards Lodged in most fair and sumptuous Chambers, and being risen in the morning, in exchange of their ho●ses (overwearied with travail) they found three other very richly furnished, and their men also in like manner provided. Which when Saladine had perceived, he took his Baschaes aside, and spoke in this manner.  
By our greatest Gods, I never met with any man, more complete in all noble perfections, more courteous and kind than Thorello is. If all the Christian Kings, in the true and heroical nature of Kings, do deal as honourably as I see this Knight doth, the sultan of Babylon is not able to endure the coming of one of them, much less so many, as we see preparing to make head against us. But beholding, that both refusal and acceptation, was all one in the mind of Thorello: after much kind Language had been intercoursed between them, Saladine (with his Attendants) mounted on horseback.  
Signior Thorello, with a number of his honourable Friends (to the number of an hundred horse) accompanied them a great distance from the city, and although it grieved Saladine exceedingly, to leave the company of Thorello, so dear he was affected to him: but necessity (which controlleth the power of all laws whatsoever) must needs divide them: yet requesting his return again that way, if possibly it might be granted; which Saladine promised but did not perform. Well Gentlemen (quoth Thorello at parting) I know not what you are, neither (against your will) do I desire it: but whether you be merchants or no, remember me in your kindness, and so to the heavenly powers I commend you. Saladine, having taken his leave of all them that were with Thorello, returned him this answer. Sir, it may one day hereafter so happen, as we shall let you see some of our merchandises, for the better confirmation of your belief, and our profession.  
Thus parted Signior Thorello and his friends, from Saladine and his company, who verily determined in the height of his mind, if he should be spared with life, and the war (which he expected) concluded: to requite Thorello with no less courtesy, than he had already declared to him; conferring a long while after with his Baschaes, both of him and his beauteous Lady, not forgetting any of their courteous actions, but gracing them all with deserved commendation. But after they had (with very laborious pains) surveyed most of the Western parts, they all took Shipping, and returned into Alexandria: sufficiently informed, what preparation was to be made for their own defence. And Signior Thorello being come back again to Pavia, consulted with his private thoughts (many times after) what these three travellers should be, but came fare short of knowing the truth, till (by experience) he became better informed.  
When the time was come, that the Christians were to make their passage, and wonderful great preparations, in all places performed: signior Thorello, notwithstanding the tears and entreaties of his Wife, determined to be one in so worthy and honourable a voyage: and having made his provision ready, nothing wanting but mounting on horseback, to go where he should take shipping; to his Wife (whom he most entirely affected) thus he spoke. Madame, I go as thou seest in this famous Voyage, as well for mine Honour, as also the benefit of my soul; all our goods and possessions, I commit to thy virtuous care. And because I am not certain of my returning back again, in regard of a thousand accidents which may happen, in such a country as I go unto: I desire only but one favour of thee, whatsoever danger shall befall me; Namely, when any certain tidings shall be brought me of my death; to stay no longer before thy second marriage, but one year, one month, and one day; to begin on this day of my departing from thee.  
The Lady, who wept exceedingly, thus answered. Alas Sir: I know not how to carry myself, in such extremity of grief, as now you leave me; but if my life surmount the fortitude of sorrow, and whatsoever shall happen to you for certainty, either life or death: I will live and dye the Wife of signior Thorello, and make my obsequies in his memory only.  
Not so madam (replied her Husband) not so; Be not overrash in promising any thing, albeit I am well assured, that so much as consisteth in thy strength, I make no question of thy performance. But consider withal (dear heart) thou art a young woman, beautiful, of great parentage, and no way thereto inferior in the blessings of Fortune.  
Thy virtues are many, and universally both divulged and known, in which respect, I make no doubt; but diverse and sundry great Lords and Gentlemen (if but the least rumour of my death be noised) will make suit for thee to thy parents and brethren, from whose violent solicit, wouldst thou never so resolutely make resistance, yet thou canst not be able to defend thyself; but whether thou wilt or no, thou must yield to please them; and this is the only reason, why I would tie thee to this limited time, and not one day or minute longer.  
Adalietta, sweetly hugging him in her arms, and melting herself in kisses, sighs, and tears on his face, said. Well Sir, I will do so much as I am able, in this your most kind and loving imposition: and when I shall be compelled to the contrary: yet rest thus constantly assured, that I will not break this your charge, so much as in thought. Praying ever hearty to the heavenly powers, that they will direct your course home again to me, before your prefixed date, or else I shall live in continual languishing. In the knitting up of this woeful parting, embracing and kissing either infinite times, the Lady took a Ring from off her finger, and giving it to her husband, said. If I chance to die before I see you again, remember me when you look on this. He receiving the Ring, and bidding all the rest of his Friends farewell, mounted on horseback, and road away well attended.  
Being come unto Geneway, he and his company boarded a Galley, and (in few days after) arrived at Acres, where they joined themselves with the Christian Army, wherein there happened a very dangerous mortality: During which time of so sharp visitation (the cause unknown whence it proceeded) whether through the industry, or rather the good Fortune of Saladine, well-near all the rest of the Christians (which escaped death) were surprised his prisoner (without a blow strucken) and sundered and imprisoned in diverse towns and cities. Amongst the which number of prisoners, it was Signior Thorelloes' chance to be one, and walked in bonds to Alexandria, where being unknown, and fearing lest he should be discovered: constrained thereto merely by necessity, he shown himself in the condition of a falconer; wherein he was very excellently experienced, and by which means his profession was made known to Saladine, he delivered out of prison, and created the sultan's falconer.  
Thorello (whom the sultan called by no other name, than the Christian, neither of them knowing the other) sadly now remembered his departure from Pavia, devising and practising many times, how he might escape thence, but could not compass it by any possible means. Wherefore, certain ambassadors being sent by the Genewayes, to redeem diverse citizens of theirs, there detained as prisoners, and being ready to return home again: he purposed to write to his Wife, that he was living, and would repair to her so soon as he could, desiring the still continued remembrance of her limited time. By close and cunning means he wrote the Letter, earnestly entreating one of the Ambassadors (who knew him perfectly, but made no outward appearance thereof) to deal in such sort for him, that the Letter might be delivered to the hands of the Abbot Di San Pietro ni Ciel d'Oro, who was (indeed) his uncle.  
While Thorello remained in this his falconers condition, it fortuned upon a day, that Saladine, conversing with him about his hawks: Thorello chanced to smile, and used such a kind of gesture or motion with his lips, which Saladine (when he was in his house at Pavia) had heedfully observed, and by this note, instantly he remembered Signior Thorello, and began to eye him very respectively, persuading himself that he was the same man. And therefore falling from their former kind of discoursing: Tell me Christian (quoth Saladine) what countryman art thou of the West? Sir, answered signior Thorello, I am by Country a Lombard, borne in a city called Pavia, a poor man, and of as poor condition.  
So soon as Saladine had heard these Words; becoming assured in that which (but now) he doubted, he said within himself. Now the Gods have given me time, wherein I may make known to this man, how thankfully I accepted his kind courtesy, and cannot easily forget it. Then, without saying any thing else, causing his Guard-robe to be set open, he took him with him thither, and said. Christian, observe well all these Garments, and quicken thy remembrance, in telling me truly, whether thou hast seen any of them before now, or no. signior Thorello looked on them all advisedly, and espied those two especial Garments, which his wife had given one of the strange Merchants; yet he durst not credit it, or that possibly it could be the same, nevertheless he said. Sir, I do not know any of them, but true it is, that these two do resemble two such Robes, as I was wont to wear myself, and these (or the like) were given to three Merchants, that happened to visit my poor house.  
Now could Saladine contain no longer, but embracing him joyfully in his arms, he said. You are Signior Thorello d'Istria, and I am one of those three Merchants, to whom your Wife gave these robes: and now the time is come to give you credible intelligence of my Merchandise, as I promised at my departing from you, for such a time (I told you) would come at length. Thorello, was both glad, and bashful together: glad, that he had entertained such a Guest, and bashfully ashamed, that his welcome had not exceeded in more bountiful manner. Thorello, replied Saladine, seeing the Gods have sent you so happily to me: account yourself to be solely Lord here, for I am now no more than a private man.  
I am not able to express their counterchanges of courtesy, Saladine commanding him to be clothed in royal garments, and brought into the presence of his very greatest Lords, where having spoken liberally in his due commendation, he commanded them to honour him as himself, if they expected any grace or favour from him, which every one did immediately, but (above all the rest) those two Baschaes, which accompanied Saladine at his house. The greatness of this pomp and glory, so suddenly thrown on Signior Thorello, made him half forget all matters of Lomberdie; and so much the rather, because he had no doubt at all, but that his letters, were safely come to the hands of his uncle.  
Here I am to tell you, that in the camp or Army of the Christians, on the day when Saladine made his surprisal, there was a provincial Gentleman dead and buried, who was Signior Thorello de Dignes, a man of very honourable and great esteem, in which respect (Signior Thorello d'Istria, known throughout the Army, by his Nobility and valour) whosoever heard that Signior Thorello was dead: believed it to be Thorello d'Istria, and not he of Dignes, so that Thorello d'Istriaes unknown surprisal and thraldom, made it also to pass for an assured truth.  
Beside, many Italians returning home, and carrying this report for credible; some were so audaciously presumptuous, as they avouched upon their oaths, that not only they saw him dead, but were present at his burial likewise. Which rumour coming to the ear of his Wife, and likewise to his kindred and hers: procured a great and grievous mourning among them, and all that happened to hear thereof.  
Guer-tedious time it would require, to relate at large, the public grief and sorrow, with the continual lamentations of his Wife, who (within some few months after) became tormented with new marriage solicit, before she had half sighed for the first: the very greatest persons of Lomberdie making the motion, being daily followed and furthered by her own brothers and friends. Still (drowned in tears) she returned denial, till in the end, when no contradiction could prevail, to satisfy her parents, and the importunate pursuers: she was constrained to reveal, the charge imposed on her by her Husband, which she had vowed infallibly to keep, and till that very time, she would in no wise consent.  
While wooing for a second wedding with Adalietta, proceeded in this manner at Pavia, it chanced on a day, that Signior Thorello had espied a man in Alexandria, whom he saw with the Geneway ambassadors, when they set thence towards Geneway with their galleys. And causing him to be sent for, he demanded of him, the success of the voyage, and when the galleys arrived at Geneway; whereto he returned him this answer. My Lord, our galleys made a very fatal voyage, as it is (already) too well known in Crete, where my dwelling is. For when we drew near Sicily, there suddenly arose a very dangerous North-West-winde, which driven us on the quicksands of Barbary, where not any man escaped with life, only myself excepted, but (in the wrack) two of my brethren perished.  
Signior Thorello, giving credit to the man's words, because they were most true indeed, and remembering also, that the time limited to his Wife, drew near expiring within very few days, and no news now possibly to be sent thither of his life, his Wife would questionless be married again: he fell into such a deep conceited melancholy, as food and sleep forsook him, whereupon, he kept his bed, setting down his peremptory resolution for death. When Saladine (who dear loved him) heard thereof, he came in all haste to see him, and having (by many earnest persuasions and entreaties) understood the cause of his melancholy and sickness: he very severely reproved him, because he could no sooner acquaint him therewith. Many kind and comfortable speeches, he gave him, with constant assurance, that (if he were so minded) he would so order the business for him; as he should be at Pavia, by the same time as he had appointed to his Wife, and revealed to him also the manner how.  
Thorello verily believed the soldans promise, because he had often heard the possibility of performance, and others had effected as much, diverse times elsewhere: whereupon he began to comfort himself, soliciting the sultan earnestly that it might be accomplished. Saladine sent for one of his Sorcerers (of whose skill he had formerly made experience) to take a direct course, how Signior Thorello should be carried (in one night) to Pavia, and being in his bed. The magician undertook to do it, but, for the gentleman's more ease, he must first be possessed with an entraunced dead sleep. Saladine being thus assured of the deeds full effecting, he came again to Thorello, and finding him to be settled for Pavia (if possibly it might be accomplished by the determined time, or else no other expectation but death) he said unto him as followeth.  
Signior Thorello, if with true affection you love your Wife, and misdoubt her marriage to some other man: I protest unto you, by the supreme powers, that you deserve no reprehension in any manner whatsoever. For, of all the Ladies that ever I have seen, she is the only woman, whose carriage, virtues, and civil speaking (setting aside beauty, which is but a fading flower) deserveth most graciously to be respected, much more to be affected in the highest degree. It were to me no mean favour of our Gods, (seeing Fortune directed your course so happily hither) that for the short or long time we have to live, we might reign equally together in these Lingdomes under my subjection. But if such grace may not be granted me, yet, seeing it stands mainly upon the peril of your life, to be at Pavia again by your own limited time, it is my chiefest comfort, that I am therewith acquainted, because I intended to have you conveyed thither, yea, even into your own house, in such honourable order as your virtues do justly merit, which in regard it cannot be so conveniently performed, but as I have already informed you, and as the necessity of the case urgently commandeth; accept it as it may be best accomplished,  
Great Saladine (answered Thorella) effects (without words) have already sufficiently warranted your Gracious disposition towards me, fare beyond any requital remaining in me; your word only being enough for my comfort in this case, either dying or living. But in regard you have taken such order for my departure hence, I desire to have it done with all possible expedition, because to morrow is the very last day, that I am to be absent. Saladine protested that it should be done, and the same evening in the great Hall of his palace, commanded a rich and costly bed to be set up, the mattras form after the Alexandrian manner, of velvet and cloth Gold, the Quilts, counter-points and coverings, sumptuously embroidered with Orient pearls and Precious Stones, supposed to be of inestimable value, and two rarely wrough▪ pillows, such as best beseemed so stately a bed, the curtains and Vallans every way equal to the other pomp.  
Which being done, he commanded that Thorello (who was indifferently recovered) should be attired in one of his own sumptuous Saracine robes, the very fairest and richest that ever was seen, and on his head a majestical turban, after the manner of his own wearing, and the hour appearing to be somewhat late, he with many of his best Baschaes, went to the Chamber where Thorello was, and sitting down a while by him, in tears thus he spoke. Signior Thorello, the hour for sundering you and me, is now very near, and because I cannot bear you company, in regard of the business you go about, and which by no means will admit it: I am to take my leave of you in this Chamber, and therefore am purposely come to do it. But before I bid you farewell, let me entreat you, by the love and friendship confirmed between us, to be mindful of me, and to take such order (your affairs being fully finished in Lombardie) that I may once more enjoy the sight of you here, for a mutual solace and satisfaction of our minds, which are now divided by this urgent haste. Till which may be granted, let me want no visitation of your kind letters, commanding thereby of me, whatsoever here can possibly be done for you: assuring yourself, no man living can command me as you do.  
Signior Thorello could not forbear weeping, but being much hindered thereby, answered in few words. That he could not possibly forget, his Gracious favours and extraordinary benefits used towards him, but would accomplish whatsoever he commanded, according as heaven did enable him.  
Hereupon, Saladine embracing him, and kissing his forehead, said. All my Gods go with you, and guard you from any peril, departing so out of the Chamber weeping, and his Baschaes (having likewise taken their leave of Thorello) followed Saladine into the Hall, whereas the bed stood readily prepared. Because it waxed very late, and the magician also there attending for his dispatch: the physician went with the potion to Thorello, and persuading him, in the way of friendship, that it was only to strengthen him after his great weakness: he drank it off, being thereby immediately entraunced, and so presently sleeping, was (by Saladines' command) laid on the sumptuous and costly Bed, whereon stood an imperial crown of infinite value, appearing (by a description engraven on it) that Saladine sent it to madam Adalietta, the wife of Thorello. On his finger also he put a Ring, wherein was enchased an admirable Carbuncle, which seemed like a flaming torch, the value thereof not to be estimated. By him likewise he laid a rich sword, with the girdle, hangers, and other furniture, such as seldom can be seen the like. Then he laid a jewel on the Pillow by him, so sumptuously embellished with pearls and precious Stones, as might have beseemed the greatest Monarch in the World to wear. Last of all, on either side of them, he set two great basins of pure Gold, full of double ducats, many cords of Orient pearls, Rings, Girdles, and other costly jewels (over-tedious to be recounted) and kissing him once more as he lay in the bed, commanded the magician to dispatch and be gone.  
Instantly, the bed and Thorello in it, in the presence of Saladine, was invisibly carried thence, and while he sat conferring with his Baschaes, the bed, Signior Thorello, and all the rich jewels about him, was transported and set in the Church of San Pietro in Ciel d' Ore in Pavia, according to his own request, and sound sleeping, being placed directly before the high Altar. Afterward, when the bells rung to matins, the Sexton entering the Church with a light in his hand (where he beheld a light of greater splendour) and suddenly espied the sumptuous bed there standing: not only was he smitten into admiration, but he ran away also very fearfully. When the Abbot and the monks met him thus running into the cloister, they became amazed, and demanded the reason why he ran in such haste, which the Sexton told them. How? quoth the Abbot, thou art no child, or a new-come hither, to be so easily affrighted in our holy Church, where Spirits can have no power to walk, God and Saint Peter (we hope) are stronger for us then so: wherefore turn back with us, and let us see the cause of thy fear.  
Having lighted many Torches, the Abbot and his monks entered with the Sexton into the Church, where they beheld the wonderful rich bed, and the Knight lying fast asleep in it. While they stood all in amazement, not daring to approach near the bed, whereon lay such costly jewels: it chanced that Signior Thorello awaked, and breathed forth a vehement sigh. The monks and the Abbot seeing him to stir, ran all away in fear, crying aloud, God and S. Peter defend us.  
By this time Thorello had opened his eyes, and looking round about him, perceived that he was in the place of Saladines' promise, whereof he was not a little joyful. Wherefore, sitting up in the bed, and particularly observing all the things about him: albeit he knew sufficiently the magnificence of Saladine, yet now it appeared far greater to him, and imagined more largely thereof, than he could do before. But yet, without any other ceremony, seeing the flight of the monks, hearing their cry, and perceiving the reason; he called the Abbot by his name, desiring him not to be afraid, for he was his Nephew Thorello, and no other.  
When the Abbot heard this, he was ten times worse affrighted then before, because (by public fame) he had been so many months dead and buried; but receiving (by true arguments) better assurance of him, and hearing him still call him by his name: blessing himself with the sign of the cross, he went somewhat nearer to the bed, when Thorello said. My loving uncle, and religious holy Father, whereof are you afraid? I am your loving Nephew, newly returned from beyond the Seas. The Abbot, seeing his beard to be grown long, and his habit after the Arabian fashion, did yet collect some resemblance of his former countenance; and being better persuaded of him, took him by the hand, saying:  
Son thou art happily returned, yet there is not any man in our city, but doth verily believe thee to be dead, and therefore do not much wonder at our fear. Moreover; I dare assure thee, that thy Wife Adalietta, being conquered by the controlling command, and threatenings of her kindred (but much against her own mind) is this very morning to be married to a new husband, and the marriage feast is solemnly prepared, in honour of this second nuptials.  
Thorello arising out of the bed, gave gracious salutations to the Abbot and his monks, entreating earnestly of them all, that no word might be spoken of his return, until he had completed an important business. Afterward, having safely secured the bed, and all the rich jewels, he fully acquainted the Abbot with all his passed fortunes, whereof he was immeasurably joyfully, & having satisfied him, concerning the new elected husband, Thorello said unto the Abbot. Uncle, before any rumour of my return, I would gladly see my wife's behaviour at this new briding feast, & although men of religion are seldom seen at such jovial meetings: yet (for my sake) do you so order the matter, that I (as an Arabian stranger) may be a guest under your prorection▪ whereto the Abbot very gladly condescended.  
In the morning, he sent to the Bridegroom, and advertised him, that he (with a stranger newly arrived) intented to dine with him, which the Gentleman accepted in thankful manner. And when dinner time came, Thorello in his strange disguise went with the Abbot to the bridegroom's house, where he was looked on with admiration of all the guests, but not known or suspected by any one; because the Abbot reported him to be a Sarracine, and sent by the sultan (in Ambassage) to the King of France. Thorello was seated at a by-table, but directly opposite to the new Bride, whom he much delighted to look on, and easily collected by her sad countenance, that she was scarcely well pleased with this new nuptials. She likewise beheld him very often, not in regard of any knowledge she took of him: for the bushiness of his beard, strangeness of habit, (but most of all) firm belief of his death, was the main prevention.  
At such time as Thorello thought it convenient, to approve how fare he was fall'n out of her remembrance; he took the ring which she gave him at his departure, and calling a young Page that waited on none but the Bride, said to him in Italian: fair youth, go to the Bride, and saluting her from me, tell her, it is a custom observed in my Country, that when any Stranger (as I am here) sitteth before a new married Bride, as now she is, in sign that he is welcome to her feast, she sendeth the same Cup (wherein she drinketh herself) full of the best wine, and when the stranger hath drunk so much as him pleaseth, the Bride than pledgeth him with all the rest. The Page delivered the message to the Bride, who, being a woman of honourable disposition, and reputing him to be a Noble Gentleman, to testify that his presence there was very acceptable to her, she commanded a fair cup of gold (which stood directly before her) to be neatly washed, and when it was filled with excellent Wine, caused it to be carried to the stranger, and so it was done.  
Thorello having drunk a hearty draught to the Bride, conveyed the Ring into the cup, before any person could perceive it, and having left but small store of Wine in it, covered the cup, and sent it again to the Bride, who received it very graciously, and to honour the Stranger in his country's custom, drank up the rest of the Wine, and espying the Ring, she took it forth undescried by any: Knowing it to be the same Ring which she gave Signior Thorello at his parting from her; she fixed her eyes often on it, & as often on him, whom she thought to be a stranger, the cheerful blood mounting up into her cheeks, and returning again with remembrance to her heart, that (howsoever thus disguised) he only was her husband.  
Like one o● Bacchus' Froes, up furiously she started, and throwing down the Table before her, cried out aloud: This is my Lord and Husband, this truly is my Lord Thorello. So running to the Table where he sat, without regard of all the riches thereon, down she threw it likewise, and clasping her arms about his neck, hung so mainly on him (weeping, sobbing, and kissing him) as she could not be taken off by any of the company, nor shown any moderation in this excess of passion, till Thorello spoke, and entreated her to be more patiented, because this extremity was over-dangerous for her. Thus was the solemnity much troubled, but every one there very glad and joyful for the recovery of such a famous and worthy Knight, who entreated them all to vouchsafe him silence, and so related all his fortunes to them, from the time of his departure, to the instant hour. Concluding withal, that he was no way offended with the new bridegroom, who upon the so constant report of his death, deserved no blame in making election of his wife.  
The bridegroom, albeit his countenance was somewhat cloudy, to see his hope thus disappointed: yet granted freely, that Adalietto was Thorello's wife in equity, and he could not justly lay any claim to her. She also resigned the Crown and Rings which she had so lately received of her new Spouse, and put that on her finger which she found in the Cup, and that crown was set upon her head, in honour sent her from great Saladine. In which triumphant manner, she left the new Bridegrooms abiding, and repaired home to Thorello's house, with such pomp and magnificence as never had the like been seen in Pavia before, all the Citizens esteeming it as a miracle, that they had so happily recovered Signior Thorello again.  
Some part of the jewels he gave to him, who had been at cost with the marriage feasting, and some to his uncle the Abbot, beside a bounty bestowed on the monks. Then he sent a messenger to Saladine, with Letters of his whole success, and confessing himself (for ever) his obliged servant: living many years (after) with his wife Adalietta, and using greater courtesies to strangers, then ever before he had done.  
In this manner ended the troubles of Signior Thorello, and the afflictions of his dear affected Lady, with due recompense to their honest and ready courtesies. Many strive (in outward show) to do the like, who although they are sufficiently able, do perform it so basely, as it rather redoundeth to their shame, than honour. And therefore if no merit ensue thereon, but only such disgrace as justly should follow; let them lay the blame upon themselves.   

The marquis of Saluzzo, named Gualtiero, being constrained by the importunate soliciting of his Lords, and other inferior people, to join himself in marriage; took a woman according to his own liking, called Grizelda, she being the daughter of a poor countryman, named Janiculo, by whom he had two children, which he pretended to be secretly murdered. Afterward, they being grown to years of more stature, and making show of taking in marriage another wife, more worthy of his high degree and Calling: made a seeming public liking of his own daughter, expulsing his wife Grizelda poorly from him. But finding her incomparable patience; more dear (than before) he received her into favour again, brought her home to his own palace, where (with her children) he caused her and them to be respectively honoured, in despite of all her adverse enemies.  
The Tenth novel.  
Set down as an example or warning to all wealthy men, how to have care of marrying themselves. And likewise to poor and mean women, to be patiented in their fortunes, and obedient to their husbands.  
QVestionlesse, the King's novel did not so much exceed the rest in length, but it proved as pleasing to the whole assembly, & passed with their general approbation, till Dioneus (in a merry jesting humour) said. The plain honest simple man, that stood holding the Candle, to see the setting on of his Mules tail; deserved two pennyworth of more praise, than all our applauding of Signior Thorello: And knowing himself to be left for the last speaker, thus he began.  
Mild & modest Ladies, for aught I can perceive to the contrary, this day was dedicated to none but Kings, soldans, and great Potentates, not in favour of any inferior or meaner persons. And therefore, because I would be loath to disrank myself from the rest, I purpose to speak of a Lord marquis, not any matter of great magnificence, but rather in a more humble nature, and sorted to an honest end: which yet I will not advice any to imitate, because (perhaps) they cannot so well digest it, as they did whom my novel concerneth; thus than I begin.  
It is a great while since, when among those that were Lord Marquesses of Saluzzo, the very greatest and worthiest man of them all, was a young Noble Lord, named Gualtiero, who having neither wife nor child, spent his time in nothing else but hawking & hunting: nor had he any mind of marriage, or to enjoy the benefit of children, wherein many did repute him the wiser. But this being distasteful to his subjects, they very often earnestly solicited him, to match himself with a wife, to the end, that he might not decease without an heir, nor they be left destitute of a succeeding Lord; offering themselves to provide him of such a one, so well descended by Father and Mother, as not only should confirm their hope, but also yield him high contentment; whereto the Lord marquis thus answered.  
Worthy friends, you would constrain me to the thing, wherewith I never had any intent to meddle, considering, how difficult a case it is to meet with such a woman, who can agree with a man in all his conditions, and how great the number is of them, who daily happen on the contrary: but most (and worst of all the rest) how wretched and miserable proves the life of man, who is bound to live with a wife not fit for him. And in saying, you can learn to understand the custom and qualities of children, by behaviour of the fathers and mothers, and so to provide me of a wife, it is a mere argument of folly: for neither shall I comprehend, or you either, the secret inclinations of parents; I mean of the Father, and much less the complexion of the mother. But admit it were within compass of power to know them; yet it is a frequent sight, and observed every day; that daughters do resemble neither father nor mother, but that they are naturally governed by their own instinct.  
But because you are so desirous to have me fettered in the chains of wedlock; I am contented to grant what you request. And because I would have no complaint made of any but myself, if matters should not happen answerable to expectation; I will make mine own eyes my electors, and not see by any others sight. Giving you this assurance before, that if she whom I shall make choice of, be not of you honoured and respected as your Lady and Mistress: it will ensue to your detriment, how much you have displeased me, to take a wife at your request, and against mine own will.  
The Noble men answered, that they were well satisfied, provided that he took a wife.  
Some indifferent space of time before, the beauty, manners, and well-seeming virtues, of a poor countryman's daughter, dwelling in no fare distant village, had appeared very pleasing to the Lord marquis, and gave him full persuasion, that with her he should lead a comfortable life. And therefore without any further search or inquisition, he absolutely resolved to marry her, and having conferred with her Father, agreed, that his daughter should be his wife. Whereupon, the marquis made a general convocation convocation of all his Lords, Barons, and other of his especial friends, from all parts of his Dominion; and when they were assembled together, he then spoke unto them in manner as followeth.  
Honourable friends, it appeared pleasing to you all, and yet (I think) you are of the same mind, that I should dispose myself to take a wife: and I thereto condescended, more to yield you contentment, then for any particular desire in myself. Let me now remember you of your solemn made promise, with full consent to honour and obey her (whosoever) as your sovereign Lady and Mistress, that I shall elect to make my wife: and now the time is come, for my exacting the performance of that promise, and which I look you must constantly keep. I have made choice of a young virgin, answerable to mine own heart and liking, dwelling not fare off hence, whom I intent to make my wife, and (within few days) to have her brought home to my palace. Let your care and diligence then extend so fare, as to see that the feast may be sumptuous, and her entertainment to be most honourable: to the end that I may receive as much contentment in your promise performed, as you shall perceive I do in my choice.  
The Lords and all the rest, were wondrously joyful to hear him so well inclined, expressing no less by their shouts and jocund suffrages: protesting cordially, that she should be welcomed with pomp and majesty, and honoured of them all, as their Liege Lady and sovereign. Afterward, they made preparation for a princely and magnificent feast, as the marquis did the like, for a marriage of extraordinary state and quality, inviting all his kindred, friends, and acquaintance in all parts and provinces, about him. He made also ready most rich and costly garments, shaped by the body of a comely young Gentlewoman, who he knew to be equal in proportion and stature, to her of whom he had made his election.  
When the appointed nuptial day was come, the Lord Marques, about nine of the clock in the morning, mounted on horseback, as all the rest did, who came to attend him honourably, and having all things in due readiness with them, he said: Lords, it is time for us to go fetch the Bride. So on he road with his train, to the same poor Village whereas she dwelled, and when he was come to her father's house, he saw the maiden returning very hastily from a Well, where she had been to fetch a pail of water, which she set down, and stood (accompanied with other maidens) to see the passage by of the Lord marquis and his train. Gualtiero called her by her name, which was Grizelda, and asked her, where her Father was: who bashfully answered him, and with an humble courtesy, saying. My gracious Lord, he is in the house.  
Then the marquis dismounted from his horse, commanding every one to attend him, than all alone he entered into the poor Cottage, where he found the maid's father, being named Janiculo, and said unto him. God speed good Father, I am come to espouse thy daughter Grizelda: but first I have a few demands to make, which I will utter to her in thy presence. Then he turned to the maid, and said.  
Fair Grizelda, if I make you my wife, will you do your best endeavour to please me, in all things which I shall do or say? will you also be gentle, humble, and patiented? with diverse other the like questions: whereto she still answered, that she would, so near as heaven (with grace) should enable her.  
Presently he took her by the hand, so led her forth of the poor homely house, and in the presence of all his company, with his own hands, he took off her mean wearing garments, smock and all, and clothed her with those Robes of State which he had purposely brought thither for her, and plaiting her hair over her shoulders, he placed a crown of gold on her head, whereat every one standing as amazed, and wondering not a little, he said: Grizelda, wilt thou have me to thy husband. Modestly blushing, and kneeling on the ground, she answered. Yes my gracious Lord, if you will accept so poor a maiden to be your wife. Yes Grizelda, quoth he, with this holy kiss, I confirm thee for my wife; and so espoused her before them all. Then mounting her on a milk-white palfrey, brought thither for her, she was thus honourably conducted to her palace.  
Now concerning the marriage feast and triumphs, they were performed with no less pomp, then if she had been daughter to the King of France. And the young Bride apparently declared, that (with her garments) her mind and behaviour were quite changed. For indeed she was (as it were shame to speak otherwise) a rare creature, both of person and perfections, and not only was she absolute for beauty, but so sweetly amiable, gracious, and goodly; as if she were not the daughter of poor Janiculo, and a country shepherdess, but rather of some Noble Lord, whereat every one wondered that formerly had known her. Beside all this, she was so obedient to her husband, so fervent in all dutiful offices, and patiented, without the very lest provoking: as he held himself much more then contented, and the only happy man of the world.  
In like manner, towards the subjects of her Lord and Husband, she shown herself always so benign and gracious; as there was not any one, but the more they looked on her, the better they loved her, honouring her voluntarily, and praying to the heavens, for her health, dignity and welfare long continuance. Speaking now (quite contrary to their former opinion of the marquis) honourably and worthily, that he had shown himself a singular wise man, in the election of his Wife, which few else (but he) in the world would have done: because their judgement might fall fare short, of discerning those great and precious virtues, veiled under a homely habit, and obscured in a poor country cottage. To be brief, in very short time, not only the Marquisate itself, but all neighbouring provinces round about, had no other common talk, but of her rare course of life, devotion, charity, and all good actions else; quite quailing all sinister Instructions of her Husband, before he received her in marriage.  
About four or five years after the birth of her daughter, she conceived with child again, and (at the limited hour of deliverance) had a goodly son, to the no little liking of the marquis. Afterward, a strange humour entered into his brain, namely, that by a long continued experience, and courses of intolerable quality; he would needs make proof of his fair wife's patience. First he began to provoke her by injurious speeches, showing fierce and frowning looks to her, intimating; that his people grew displeased with him, in regard of his wives base birth and education, and so much the rather, because she was likely to bring children, who (by her blood) were no better than beggars, and murmured at the daughter already borne. Which words when Grizelda heard, without any alteration of countenance, for the least distemperature in any appearing action, she said.  
My honourable and gracious Lord, dispose of me, as you think best, for your own dignity and contentment, for I shall therewith be well pleased: as she that knows herself, fare inferior to the meanest of your people, much less worthy of the honour, whereto you liked to advance me.  
This answer was very welcome to the marquis, as apparently perceiving hereby, that the dignity whereto he had exalted her, or any particular favours beside, could not infect her with any pride, coyness, or disdain. Not long after, having told her in plain and open speeches, that his subjects could not endure her so late borne daughter: he called a trusty servant of his, and having instructed him what he should do, sent him to Grizelda, and he being alone with her, looking very sad, and much perplexed in mind, he said. Madame, except I intent to lose mine own life, I must accomplish what my Lord hath strictly enjoined me, which is, to take this your young daughter, and then I must: So breaking off abruptly, the Lady hearing his words, and noting his frowning looks, remembering also what the marquis himself had formerly said; she presently imagined, that he had commanded his servant to kill the child. Suddenly therefore, she took it out of the Cradle, and having sweetly kissed, and bestown her blessing on it (albeit her heart throbbed, with the inward affection of a Mother) without any alteration of countenance, she tenderly laid it in the servant's arms, and said. Here friend, take it, and do with it as thy Lord and mine hath commanded thee: but leave it in no rude place, where birds or savage beasts may devour it, except it be his will to have it so.  
The servant departing from her with the child, and reporting to the marquis what his Lady had said; he wondered at her incomparable constancy. Then he sent it by the same servant to Bologna, to an honourable Lady his kinswoman, requesting her (without revealing whose child it was) to see it both nobly and carefully educated.  
At time convenient afterward, being with child again, and delivered of a Princely son (than which nothing could be more joyful to the marquis) yet all this was not sufficient for him; but with fare ruder language than before, and looks expressing harsh intentions, he said unto her. Grizelda, though thou pleasest me wonderfully, by the birth of this Princely Boy, yet my subjects are not therewith contented, but blunder abroad maliciously; that the grandchild of Janiculo, a poor country peasant, when I am dead and gone, must be their sovereign Lord and Master. Which makes me stand in fear of their expulsion, and to prevent that, I must be rid of this child, as well as the other, and then send thee away from hence, that I may take another wife, more pleasing to them.  
Grizelda, with a patiented sovereign soul, hearing what he had said, returned no other answer but this. Most Gracious and Honourable Lord, satisfy and please your own royal mind, and never use any respect of me: for nothing is precious or pleasing to me, but what may agree with your good liking. Within a while after, the Noble marquis in the like manner as he did before for the Daughter, so he sent the same servant for the son, and seeming as if he had sent it to have been slain, conveyed it to be nursed at Bologna, in company of his sweet Sister. Whereat the Lady shown no other discontentment in any kind, then formerly she had done for her Daughter, to the no mean marvel of the marquis, who protested in his soul, that the like woman was not in all the world beside. And were it not for his heedful observation, how loving and careful she was of her children, prising them as dear as her own life: rash opinion might have persuaded him, that she had no more in her, than a carnal affection, not caring how many she had, so she might thus easily be rid of them; but he knew her to be a truly virtuous mother, and wisely liable to endure his severest impositions.  
His subjects believing, that he had caused the children to be slain, blamed him greatly, thought him to be a most cruel man, and did highly compassionate the Lady's case: who when she came in company of other Gentlewomen, which mourned for their deceased children, would answer nothing else: but that they could not be more pleasing to her, than they were to the father that begot them.  
Within certain years after the birth of these children, the marquis purposed with himself, to make his last and final proof of fair Grizeldaes' patience, and said to some near about him: that he could no longer endure, to keep Grizelda as high wife, confessing, he had done foolishly, and according to a young giddy brain, when he was so rash in the marriage of her. Wherefore he would send to the Pope, and purchase a dispensation from him, to repudiate Grizelda, and take another Wife. Wherein although they greatly reproved him; yet he told them plainly, that it must needs be so.  
The Lady hearing these news, and thinking she must return again to her poor father's house, and (perhaps) to her old occupation of keeping sheep, as in her younger days she had done, understanding withal, that another woman must enjoy him, whom she dear loved and honoured; you may well think (worthy Ladies) that her patience was now put to the main proof indeed. Nevertheless, as with an invincible true virtuous courage, she had outstood all the other injuries of Fortune; so did she constantly settle her soul, to bear this with an undaunted countenance and behaviour.  
At such time as was prefixed for the purpose, counterfeit Letters came to the marquis (as sent from Rome) which he caused to be publicly read in the hearing of his subjects: that the Pope had dispensed with him, to leave Grizelda, and marry with another Wife, wherefore, sending for her immediately, in presence of them all, thus he spoke to her. Woman, by concession sent me from the Pope, he hath dispensed with me, to make choice of another Wife, and to free myself from thee. And because my predecessors have been Noblemen, and great Lords in this Country, thou being the daughter of a poor country clown, and their blood and mine notoriously embased, by my marriage with thee: I intent to have thee no longer my Wife, but will return thee home to thy father's house, with all the rich Dowry thou broughtest me; and then I will take another Wife, with whom I am already contracted, better beseeming my birth, and fare more contenting and pleasing to my people.  
The Lady hearing these words (not without much pain and difficulty) restrained her tears, quite contrary to the natural inclination of women, and thus answered. Great marquis, I never was so empty of discretion, but did always acknowledge, that my base and humble condition, could not in any manner suit with your high blood and Nobility, and my being with you, I ever acknowledged, to proceed from heaven and you, not any merit of mine, but only as a favour lent me, which you being now pleased to recall back again, I ought to be pleased (and so am) that it be restored. Here is the Ring, wherewith you Espoused me; here (in all humility) I deliver it to you. You command me, to carry home the marriage Dowry which I brought with me: there is no need of a Treasurer to repay it me, neither any new purse to carry it in, much less any Sumpter to be laden with it. For (Noble Lord) it it was never out of my memory, that you took me stark naked, and if it shall seem sightly to you, that this body which hath borne two children, and be gotten by you, must again be seen naked; willingly must I departed hence naked. But I humbly beg of your Excellency, in recompense of my Virginity, which I brought you blameless, so much as in thought: that I may have but one of my wedding Smocks, only to conceal the shame of nakedness, and then I depart rich enough.  
The marquis whose heart wept bloody tears, as his eyes would likewise gladly have yielded their natural tribute; covered all with a dissembled angry countenance, and starting up, said. Go, give her a smock only, and so send her gadding. All there present about him, entreated him to let her have a petticoat, because it might not be said, that she who had been his Wife thirteen years and more, was sent away so poorly in her smock: but all their persuasions prevailed not with him. Naked in her smock, without hose or shoes, bareheaded, and not so much as a Cloth about her neck, to the great grief and mourning of all that saw her, she went home to her old father's house.  
And he (good man) never believing, that the marquis would long keep his daughter as his Wife, but rather expected daily, what now had happened: safely laid up the garments, whereof the marquis despoiled her, the same morning when he espoused her. Wherefore he delivered them to her, and she fell to her father's household business, according as formerly she had done; sustaining with a great and unconquerable spirit, all the cruel assaults of her enemy Fortune.  
About such time after, as suited with his own disposition, the marquis made publicly known to his subsects, that he meant to join in marriage again, with the daughter to one of the Counts of Panago, and causing preparation to be made for a sumptuous wedding; he sent for Grizelda, and she being come, thus he spoke to her. The Wife that I have made the new election of, into arrive here within very few days, and at her first coming, I would have her to be most honourably entertained. Thou knowest I have no women in my house, that can deck up the Chambers, and set all requisite things in due order, befitting for so solemn a Feast: and therefore I sent for thee, who knowing (better then any other) all the parts, provision and goods in the house, set every thing in such order, as thou shalt think necessary.  
Invite such Ladies and Gentlewomen as thou wilt, and give them welcome, even as if thou wert the Lady of the house: and when the marriage is ended, return then home to thy father again.  
Although these words pierced like wounding daggers, the heart of poor (but Noble patient) Grizelda, as being unable to forget the unequaled love she bore to the marquis, though the dignity of her former fortune, more easily slipped out of her remembrance; yet nevertheless, thus she answered.  
My Gracious Lord, I am glad I can do you any service; wherein you shall find me both willing and ready. In the same poor garments, as she came from her father's house, (although she was turned out in her smock) she began to sweep and make clean the Chambers, rubbe the stools and benches in the Hall, and ordered things in the kitchen, as if she were the worst maid in all the house, never ceasing or giving over, till all things were in due and decent order as best beseemed in such a case. After all which was done, the marquis, having invited all the Ladies of the country, to be present at so great a Feast: when the marriage day came, Grizelda, in her gown of country grey, gave them welcome, in honourable manner, and graced them all with very cheerful countenance.  
Gualtiero the marquis, who had caused his two children to be nobly nourished at Bologna, with a near kinswoman of his, who had married with one of the Counts of Panago, his daughter being now aged twelve years old, and somewhat more, as also the Son about six or seven. He sent a Gentleman expressly to his kindred, to have them come and visit him at Saluzza, bringing his daughter and son with them, attended in very honourable manner, and publishing every where as they came along, that the young Virgin (known to none but himself and them) should be the Wife to the marquis, and that only was the cause of her coming. The Gentleman was not slack, in the execution of the trust reposed in him: but having made convenient preparation; with the kindred, son, daughter, and a worthy company attending on them, arrived at Saluzza about dinner time, where wanted no resort, from all neighbouring parts round about, to see the coming of the Lord marquis' new Spouse.  
By the Lords and Ladies she was joyfully entertained, and coming into the great Hall, where the Tables were readily covered: Grizelda, in her homely Country habit, humbled herself before her, saying. Gracious welcome, to the new elected Spouse of the Lord marquis.  
All the Ladies there present, who had very earnestly importuned Gualtiero (but in vain) that Grizelda, might either be shut up in some Chamber, or else to lend her the wearing of any other garments, which formerly had been her own, because she should not be so poorly seen among strangers: being seated at the Tables, she waited on them very serviceably. The young Virgin was observed by every one, who spared not to say; that the marquis had made an excellent change: but above them all, Grizelda did most commend her, and so did her brother likewise, as young as he was, yet not knowing her to be his Sister.  
Now was the marquis sufficiently satisfied in his soul, that he had seen so much as he desired, concerning the patience of his Wife, who in so many hart grieving trials, was never noated so much as to alter her countenance. And being absolutely persuaded, that this proceeded not from any want of understanding in her, because he knew her to be singularly wise: he thought it high time now, to free her from these afflicting oppressions, and give her such assurance as she ought to have. Wherefore, commanding her into his presence, openly before all his assembled friends, smiling on her, he said. What thinkest thou Grizelda of our new chosen Spouse? My Lord (quoth she) I like her exceeding well, and if she be so wise, as she is fair (which verily I think she is) I make no doubt but you shall live with her, as the only happy man of the world. But I humbly entreat your honour (if I have any power in me to prevail by) that you would not give her such cutting and unkind language, as you did to your other wife: for I cannot think her armed with such patience, as should (indeed) support them: as well in regard she is much younger, as also her more delicate breeding and education, whereas she who you had before, was brought up in continual toil and travail.  
When the marquis perceived, that Grizelda believed verily, this young daughter of hers should be his wife, and answered him in so honest and modest manner: he commanded her to sit down by him, and said. Grizelda, it is now more than fit time, that thou shouldst taste the fruit of thy long admired patience, and that they who have thought me cruel, harsh and uncivil natured, should at length observe, that I have done nothing basely, or unadvisedly. For this was a work premeditated before, for instructing thee, what it is to be a married wife, and to let them know (whosoever they be) how to take and keep a wife. Which hath begotten (to me) perpetual joy and happiness, so long as I have a day to live with thee: a matter whereof I stood before greatly in fear, and which (in marriage I thought) would never happen to me.  
It is not unknown to thee, in how many kinds (for my first proof) I gave thee harsh and unpleasing speeches, which drawing no discontentment from thee, either in looks, words, or behaviour, but rather such comfort as my soul desired, and so in my other succeedings afterward: in one minute now, I purpose to give thee that consolation, which I bereft thee of in many tempestuous storms, and make a sweet restauration, for all thy former sour sufferings. My fair and dearly affected Grizelda, she whom thou supposest for my new elected Spouse, with a glad and cheerful hart, embrace for thine own daughter, and this also her Brother, being both of them thy children and mine, in common opinion of the vulgar multitude, imagined to be (by my command) long since slain. I am thy honourable Lord and Husband, who doth, and will love thee fare above all women else in the world; giving thee justly this deserved praise and commendation, That no man living hath the like Wife, as I have.  
So, sweetly kissing her infinitely, and hugging her joyfully in his arms (the tears now streaming like new-let-loose rivers, down her fair face, which no disaster before could force from her) he brought her, and seated her by her daughter, who was not a little amazed at so rare an alteration. She having (in zeal of affection) kissed and embraced them both, all else there present being clearly resolved from the former doubt which too long deluded them; the Ladies arose iocondly from the tables, and attending on Grizelda to her Chamber, in sign of a more successful augury to follow: took off her poor contemptible rags, and put on such costly robes, which (as Lady marchioness) she used to wear before.  
Afterward, they waited on her into the Hall again, being their true sovereign Lady and Mistress, as she was no less in her poorest Garments; where all rejoicing for the new restored Mother, & happy recovery of so noble a son and daughter, the festival continued many months after. Now every one thought the marquis to be a noble and wise Prince, though somewhat sharp and unsufferable, in the severe experiences made of his wife: but (above all) they reputed Grizelda, to be a most wise, patiented, & virtuous Lady. The Count of Panago, within few days after returned back to Bologna; and the Lord Marques, fetching home old Janiculo from his country drudgery, to live with him (as his Father in law) in his Princely Palace, gave him honourable maintenance, wherein he long continued, and ended his days. Afterward, he matched his daughter in a Noble marriage: he and Grizelda living long time together, in the highest honour that possibly could be.  
What can now be said to the contrary, but that poor Country Cottages, may yield as divine & excellent spirits, as the most stately and royal mansions, which breed and bring up some, more worthy to be Hog-rubbers, then hold any sovereignty over men? Where is any other (beside Grizelda) who not only without a wet eye, but emboldened by a valiant and invincible courage: that can suffer the sharp rigours, and (never the like heard of proofs) made by the marquis? Perhaps he might have met with another, who would have quitted him in a contrary kind, and for thrusting her forth of doors in her smock, could have found better succour somewhere else, rather than walk so nakedly in the cold streets.  
Dioneus' having thus ended his novel, and the Ladies delivering their several judgements, according to their own fancies, some holding one conceit, others leaning to the contrary; one blaming this thing, and another commending that, the King lifting his eyes to heaven, and seeing the Sun begin to fallow, by rising of the evening star; without arising from his seat, spoke as followeth. Discreet Ladies, I am persuaded you know sufficiently, that the sense and understanding of us mortals, consisteth not only (as I think) by preserving in memory things past, or knowledge of them present; but such as both by the one and other, kuow how to foresee future occasions, are worthily thought wise, and of no common capacity.  
It will be (to morrow) fifteen days, since we departed from the City of Florence, to come hither for our pastime and comfort, the conservation of our lives, and support of our health, by avoiding those melancholies, griefs and anguishes, which we beheld daily in our City, since the pestilential visitation began there, wherein (by my judgement) we have done well and honestly. Albeit some light novels, perhaps attractive to a little wantonness, as some say, and our jovial feasting with good cheer, singing and dancing, may seem matters inciting to incivility, especially in weak and shallow understandings. But I have neither seen, heard, or known, any act, word, or whatsoever else, either on your part or ours, justly deserving to be blamed: but all has been honest, as in a sweet and hermonious concord, such as might well beseem the community of Brethren and Sisters; which assuredly, as well in regard of you, as us, hath much contented me.  
And therefore, least by overlong consuetude, something should take life, which might be converted to a bad construction, & by our country demourance for so many days, some captious conceit may wrest out an ill imagination; I am of the mind (if yours be the like) seeing each of us hath had the honour, which now remaineth still on me: that it is very fitting for us, to return thither from whence we came. And so much the rather, because this sociable meeting of ours, which already hath won the knowledge of many dwellers here about us, should not grow to such an increase, as might make our purposed pastime offensive to us. In which respect (if you allow of my advice) I will keep the crown till our departing hence; the which I intent shallbe to morrow: but if you determine otherwise, I am the man ready to make my resignation.  
Many imaginations passed amongst the Ladies, and likewise the men, but yet in the end, they reputed the King's counsel to be the best and wisest, concluding to do as he thought convenient. Whereupon, he called the Master of the household, and conferred with him, of the business belonging to the next morning, and then gave the company leave to rise. The Ladies and the rest, when they were risen, fell some to one kind of recreation, and others as their fancies served them, even as (before) they had done. And when Supper time came, they dispatched it in very loving manner. Then they began to play on instruments, sing and dance, and madam Lauretta leading the dance: the King commanded madam Fiammetta to sing a song, which pleasantly she began in this manner.  

THE SONG.  

The Chorus sung by all the rest of the Company.  
IF love were free from jealousy,  
No Lady living,  
Had less heart-greeving,  
Or lived so happily as I.   

If gallant youth  
In a fair friend, a woman could content,  
If virtues prise, valour and hardiment,  
Wit, carriage, purest eloquence,  
Can free a Woman from impatience:  
Then I am she can vaunt (if I were wise)  
All these in one fair flower,  
Are in my power,  
And yet I boast no more but truth.  
If love were free from jealousy, etc.   

But I behold  
That other Women are as wise as I  
Which kills me quite,  
Fearing false sirquedrie.  
For when my fire gins to flame  
Others desires misguide my aim,  
And so bereaves me of secure delight.  
Only through fond mistrust, he is unjust:  
Thus are my comforts hourly hot and cold.  
If love were free, etc.   

If in my friend,  
I found like faith, as manly mind I know;  
Mistrust were slain.  
But my fresh griefs still grow,  
By sight of such as do allure,  
So I can think none true, none sure,  
But all would rob me of my golden gain.  
Lo thus I die, in jealousy,  
For loss of him, on whom I most depend.  
If love were free, etc.   

Let me advice  
Such Ladies as in love are bravely bold,  
Not to wrong me, I scorn to be controlled.  
If any one I chance to find,  
By winks, words, smiles, in crafty kind,  
Seeking for that, which only mine should be:  
Then I protest, to do my best,  
And make them know, that they are scarcely wise.   

If love were free from jealousy,  
I know no Lady living,  
Can have less heart-greeving,  
Or live so happily as I.    
So soon as Madam Fiammetta had ended her Song; Dioneus, who sat by her, smiling said. Truly Madam, you may do us a great courtesy, to express yourself more plainly to us all, lest (thorough ignorance) the possession may be imposed on yourself, and so you remain the more offended. After the Song was past, diverse other were sung beside, and it now drawing well-near midnight, by the King's command, they all went to bed. And when new day appeared, and all the world awaked out of sleep, the mast of the household having sent away the carriages; they returned (under the conduct of their discreet King) to Florence, where the three Gentlemen left the seven Ladies at the Church of Santa Maria novella, from whence they went with them at the first. And having parted with kind salutations; the Gentlemen went whether themselves best pleased, and the Ladies repaired home to their houses.    
The End of the Tenth and Last Day.