thirteen most pleasant and delectable Questions, entitled A disport of divers noble personages Written in Italian by M. JOHN BOCACE, Florentine and Poet Laureate, in his Book named PHILOCOPO.  
Englished by H. G.  
These books are to be sold at the Corner shop, at the North-weast door of Paul's. (⸫)   

¶ To the right worshipful M. William Rice Esquire, H. G. wisheth a happy long life, with increase of much worship.  
IN HOW MUCH the thankful sort are desirous (as reason willeth, and experience daily teacheth) to gratify such their dear friends, as to whom for sundry good turns and received benefits they are not a little beholding, the sundry dealing of thousands daily in use and apparent to the world, to the great praise and commendation both of the one and the other, giveth a sufficient testimony: So that, taking occasion thereby to show the good will I have, to pay in part the debt many years due, for that your bounty towards me (the least spark whereof I am unable to satisfy:) I do give unto you this ITLLIAN Disport, the which I have turned out of his native attire into this our ENGLISH habit, to the end the same may be no less familiar to you, and to such other (for your sake) as shall vouchsafe thereof, than it is either to the ITALIAN or the FRENCH: and desire that the same may march abroad under your charge: to whom I recount the protection thereof. Not doubting but as the reading thereof shall bring pleasure and delight: so the matter being therewithal duly considered, shall give sundry profitable lessons meet to be followed. And because the name of the author (being of no small credit with the learned, for those his sundry well written works) is of itself sufficient to carry greater commendation therewith, than my pen is able to write, I leave to labour therein, jest my lack may be an occasion to the losing of his due praise. And until Fortune (the only hope of the unhappy) shall make me better able, I shall desire you thankfully to accept this as a token and pledge of the good will I have to perform that whereunto mine ability is unable to stretch. Thus taking my leave, I betake you to the tuition of almighty god, who preserve you in health to his pleasure, and after this life make you possessor of those joys, whereof we all hope to be partakers. 6. Martij. 1566.   

The Book to the Reader.  
Look ere thou leap, doom not by view of face,  
Lest hast make waste, in misdoming the case,  
For I teach not to love, ne yet his lore,  
Ne with what salve is cured such a sore.  
But I the cark with cares that thereby haps,  
The bliss with joys, the storms with thunderclaps,  
The courtesies, where most his force is showed,  
The choice of best, be it of good or lewd,  
Compare them so, as doomed is the doubt  
Thereof, and aye the truth well sifted out:  
The which to read such pleasure thou shalt find  
As may content a well disposed mind.   

The argument to the xiij Questions, composed in Italian, by M. John Bocace, Florentine, and Poet Laureate: And now turned into English by H. G.  
FLORIO surnamed Philocopo, accompanied with the Duke Montorio, Ascalion, Menedon, and Massalino, in sailing to seek his friend Biancofiore, was thorough a very obscure and dark night, by the fierce winds, driven into great dangers, but the perils being once passed, they were cast into the port of the ancient PARTHENOP●, whereas the Mariners (espying themselves in Haven) he rereived comfort, not knowing into what coast Fortune had forced him, yielded thanks to his Gods. And so tarried the new day, the which after it once appeared, the place was of the Mariners descried, so that they all glad of surety, and of so acceptable arrival, came a shore. Philocopo with his companions, who rather seemed to come forth new risen again out of their sepultures, than disbarked from ship, looked back towards the wayward waters, and repeating in themselves the passed perils of the spent night, could yet scarcely think themselves in surety. They all then with one voice praised their gods, that had guided them safe out of so crooked a course, offered their pitiful Sacrifices, and began to receive comfort, and were by a friend of Ascalions' honourably received into the City, whereas they caused their ship to be all new repaired and decked, of Mast, sail, and better stern, than were the others which they had lost: and so tarrying time for their further voyage, the which was much longer lengthened than they looked for: by occasion whereof Philocopo would many times have taken his journey by land, but discouraged therein by Ascalion, stayed, in tarrying a more prosperous hour in the aforesaid place, where he and his companions saw Phebea five times round, & as many times horned, before that Notus did abandon his violent forces. And in so long a while, they never almost saw time to be merry, whereupon Philocopo, who was very desirous to perform his deferred journey, one day called his companions unto him, and said: Let us go take the pleasant air, and pass the time upon the salt sea shore, in reasoning and providing for our future voyage. Thus he, with the duke Parmenion, and the rest of his companions, directed their walk with a mild pace (discoursing divers matters) towards that place where rest the reverend ashes of the most renowned Poet Maro. They all thus talking a good space, were not gone far from the City, but that they came to the side of a garden, wherein they heard gracious and joyous feasting of young Gentlemen, dames, and damsels: There the air did all resound with the noise of sundry instruments, and as it were of Angelical voices, entering with sweet delight into the hearts of them, to whose ears it came: the which noise it pleased Philocopo to stay a while to hear, to the end his former Melancholy through the sweetness thereof, might by little and little depart away. Then Ascalion restrained their talk. And whilst Fortune held thus Philocopo and his companions without the garden intentively listening, a young gentleman coming forth thereof, espied them, & forthwith by sight, port and visage, knew them to be noble gentlemen, & worthy to be reverenced. Wherefore he without tarriance, returned to his company, and said: Come, let us go welcome certain young men, seeming to be gentlemen of great calling, the which perhaps bashful to enter herein, not being bidden, stay without, giving ear to our disport. The companions then of this Gentleman left their Ladies at their pastime, and went forth of the Garden, and came to Philocopo, whom by sight they knew too be chief of all the rest, to whom they spoke with that reverence their reason could devise, and that was most convenient for the welcoming of such a guest, praying him that in honour and increase of this their Feast, it would please him and his companions to enter with them the garden, constraining him through many requests, that he should in no wise deny them this courtesy. These sweet prayers so pierced the gentle heart of Philocopo, and no less the hearts of his companions, that he answered the entreaters in this sort: Friends, of truth such a Feast was of us neither sought for, nor fled from, but like weather beaten mates cast into your port, we to the end to flee drouste thoughts, which spring of idleness, did in reciting our adversities, pass by these sea banks: But how fortune hath alured us to give ear unto you I know not, unless as we think, desirous to remove from us all pensiveness, she hath of you, in whom I know to be infinite courtesy, made us this offer: and therefore we will satisfy your desire, though peradventure in part we become somewhat lavesse of the courtesy which otherwise towards others aught to proceed from us. And thus talking, they entered together into the Garden, whereas they found many fair Gentlewomen, of whom they were very graciously received, and by them welcomed to their feast. After Philocopo had a good while beheld this their feasting, and likewise had feasted with them, he thought it good to departed, and willing to take his leave of the young Gentlemen, and to give them thanks for the honour he had received, one Lady more honourable than the rest, endued with marvelous beauty and virtue, came forth where he stood, and thus said unto him: Most noble Sir, ye have this morning through this your great courtesy, showed no small pleasure to these young Gentlemen, for the which they shallbe always beholding unto you, that is to wit, in that you have vouchsafed to come to honour this our feast. May it please you then, not to refuse to show unto me, and to these other Dames, that favour that I am secondarily to entreat you for: To whom Philocopo with a sweet voice answered: Most gentle Lady, nothing may justly be denied you, command therefore, for both I and these my companions are all priest at your will: To whom the Lady said in this wise: Forasmuch as this your coming hath increased this our feasting, with a most noble and goodly company, I shall desire you that you will not with departure lessen the same, but rather help us here to spend this day even to the last hour, to that end we have already begun the same. Philocopo beheld her in the face as she thus spoke, and seeing her eyes replete with burning rays to twinkle like unto the morning star, and her face exceeding pleasant and fair, thought never to had seen (his Biancofiore excepted) so fair a creature: to whose demand he thus made answer: Madame I shall dispose myself to satisfy rather your desire than mine own, wherefore so long as it shall please you, so long will I abide with you, and these my companions also: The Lady gave him great thanks, and returning to the others, began togethers with them all to be very merry. Philocopo abiding with them in this sort, entered great familiarity with a young Gentleman named Galeone, adorned with good qualities, and of a singular eloquence, to whom in talking he said thus: O, how much are you more than any others beholding to the immortal Gods, the which preserve you quiet in one will in this your mirth making. We acknowledge us to be greatly bounden unto them, answered Galeone. But what occasion moveth you to say this? Philocopo answered: Truly none other occasion, but that I see you all here assembled in one william. O, said Galeone, marvel not at all thereat, for this Lady in whom all excellency doth rest, both moveth us hereunto, and holdeth us herein. Then demanded Philocopo: And this Lady, who is she? Galeone answered: It is she that made request unto you that ye would tarry here, when as a while since ye would have departed. By sight she seemeth unto unto me (said Philocopo) exceeding fair, and of a surmounting worthiness: but yet if my demand be not unléefull, manifest her name unto me, of whence she is, and of what Parents descended. To whom Galeone answered: Not ways may your request be unjust, besides there is none publicly talking of her, which doth not vouchsafe to publish the renown of so worthy a Lady, and therefore I shall fully satisfy your demand. Her name is of us here called Fiametta, howbeit the greatest part of the people call her by the name of her, through whom that wound is shut up, that the prevarication of the first mother opened. She is the daughter of a most high Prince, under whose sceptre these countries are quietly governed, she is also Lady to us all: and briefly, there is no virtue that aught to be in a noble heart, that is not in hers. And as I think, in tarrying this day with us, you shall have good experience thereof. That which you say (said Philocopo) can not be hidden in her semblance. The gods guide her to that end that her singular gifts do merit, for assuredly I believe both that and much more than you have affirmed. But these other dames, who are they? These Gentlewomen (said Galeone) some of them are of Parthenope, and other some of places else where, comen as are you yourselves, hither into her company. And after they had thus held talk a good space, Galeone said: Ah my sweet friend, if it might not displease you, it should be very acceptable unto me to know further of your state and condition, than your outward appearance representeth, to the end that by knowing you, we may do you that honour you worthily merit, because sometimes want of knowledge bringeth lack of duty, to them that honour others in not doing their due reverence. To whom Philocopo answered: no lack in doing me reverence could any ways happen on your behalf, but rather ye have therein so far exceeded, as with excess ye have passed the bounds & limits thereof. But since you desire to know further of my condition, it should be unjust not to satisfy your desire therein. And therefore (in how much it is lawful for me to discover) I shall tell you: I am a poor Pilgrim of Love, and go seeking as ye see, a Lady of mine, taken away from me by subtle cautel by my Parents▪ and these Gentlemen whom ye see with me, of their courtesy keep me company in this my Pilgrimage: and my name is Philocopo, of Nation a Spaniard, driven through tempestuous wether (seeking for the Island of Cicilia) into your Ports. But he knew not so covertly to talk, as that the young Gentleman understood not more of his condition, than he willingly desired he should: and having compassion of those his hard haps, somewhat comforted him with words, which promised him hereafter a more lucky life, and from that time forwards to increase his honour, willed that he should be honoured of them all, not as a Pilgrim, or as a bidden guest, but rather as the chief and principal patron of the feast. The Lady, who understood his state and condition, through the report of Galeone, esteeming dearly of such an hap, commanded specially that so it should be. Apollo was now with his Chariot of light mounted to the Meridian circle, and did scarcely behold with leveled eye the new appareled earth, when as these Dames, Damsels, and young gentlemen being thus assembled together in that place, (setting their feasting apart) seeking forth by sundry quarters of the garden the delightful shade, and fleeing the noisome heat that might offend their delicate bodies, took by divers companies, divers delights. And the Lady accompanied with four others, took Philocopo by the hand, saying: Sir, the heat doth constrain us to seek out the fresh air, let us therefore go to yonder meadow you see here before us, and there with sundry discourses, pass over the heat of the day. Philocopo then greatly praised the Lady's devise, and followed her motion, and with him his companions. Galeone also with two others, went with them to the appointed meadow, which was exceeding fair of grass and flowers, and filled with a sweet suavity of smells, about the which grew store of young trees very fair and thick of green leaves, wherewith the place was defended from the parching beams of the great planet. There was in the midst of that meadow a proper Fountain, very fair & clear like Crystal, about the which they all sat them down, where some gazing in the water, and other some gathering flowers, they began to talk of sundry matters. But because sometimes at unwares, the one did interrupt the other's Tale, the fair Lady said unto them thus: To the end that this our discourse may proceed in a more better order, and so continued until the fresh cool hours, the which we attend for our further feasting. Let us ordain one of us in place of our king, to whom each one shall propound a question of Love, and shall receive from hint an apt resolution thereof: and truly (as I think) we shall no sooner have made an end of our Questions, but that the heat (we not knowing how) shall be passed, and the time spent to our profit and delight. This devise pleased them all, and among them it was said: Let there be a king: and with one voice they all chose Aschalion to their king, for that he was somewhat more grown in years, than was any of the rest: To whom he made answer, to be altogether insufficient for so great an office, because he had spent more years in the service of Mars, than of Venus. But yet he prayed them all to leave unto him the Election of such a King. They that thought him to be such a one (knowing so well before hand the qualities of them all) as would constitute one such, as should yield true answer to all their demands, did then wholly consent that the Election should freely be remitted unto him, since he would not take such a dignity upon himself. 
Fiametta chosen Queen to define the questions propounded.  Ascalion then rose him up, and gathered certain twigs of a green Laurel, the shade whereof did overspread the fresh fountain, and thereof made a rich Coronet, the which he brought in presence of them all, and said in this wise: from the time that I in my most youthful years began to have understanding, I swear by those gods whom I worship, that I do not remember to have leen or hard named, a woman of like worthiness to Fiametta, of whom love holdeth us all here in her presence inflamed, and by whom we have this day been honoured in such sort, as we aught never to forget the same. And because she (as without doubt I know) is plentifully endued with every good grace, adorned both with beauty & good qualities, and endued with a flowing eloquence, I therefore make choice of her to be our Queen. For assuredly it is convenient that the imperial crown be bestowed upon her magnificence, being descended from a stirpe royal, to whom the secret ways of love, being (as they are all) open, it shall be an easy matter for her to content us in these our Questions. And this said, he humbly kneeled before this noble Lady, saying: Most courteous Lady vouchsafe to deck your head with this Crown, the which is no less dearly to be esteemed of them, that are worthy thorough their virtues to cover their heads with the like, than if it were of Gold. The Lady with a new red bepainted her white visage, and said: Truly ye have not in due sort provided a Queen for this amorous people, (that have more need of a most able king) for that of all you that are present, I am the most simple and of lest virtue, neither is there any one of you that is not more meet to be invested of such a crown than am I But since it thus pleaseth you, I can not withstand this your election: & to the end I be not found contrary to our made promiss, I will receive it, and as I hope, shall eke receive from the Gods with it, the stomach due to such an office: and thorough the help of him to whom these leaves were always acceptable, I shall answer you all, according to my small knowledge: Nevertheless, I devoutly pray him that he will enter into my breast, and renew my voice with that sound wherewith he caused the valiant vanquished man Marsia, to deserve to be drawn forth of the sheath of his members. I by way of mirth shall give you light answers without sifting to the depth of your propounded Questions, the going about to search forth the which, should rather bring tediousness than delight to your minds. And having thus said, she took with her delicate hand the offered Garland, and therewithal crowned her head, and commanded that each one upon pain to be deprived of the amorous joys, should prepare to put forth some question, the which might be apt and convenient to the purpose whereof they did intent to entreat, and such a one as should rather be an increaser of their mirth, than through too great subtlety, or otherwise, a destroyer of the same.   

The first Question, proposed by PHILOCOPO.  
ON the right hand of the Queen sat Philocopo, to whom she said: Noble Sir, you shall begin to propound your Question, 
The Queen commandeth Philocopo to propound.  to the end that the rest orderly, as we are here placed, may after you with more surety propound theirs also. To whom Philocopo thus made answer: Most noble Lady, without any forslowing, I shall obey your commandment, and thus said: I remember that in the city, wherein I was borne, there was one day made a bountiful great feast, whereat, to honour the same, were many gentlemen and Gentlewomen: 
Two Gentlemen enamoured of one Gentlewoman.  And I that was likewise there roaming about, and beholding them that were in the place, espied among the rest, two young men very gracious to behold, that earnestly eyed an exceeding fair woman. Neither was I any ways able to discern whither of them her beauty had most inflamed. And as she in like sort had a good space beheld them, not making greater semblance to the one, than to the other, they between themselves, began to reason of her: and among the other words that I understood of their talk, was that each one said, that he was her best beloved: and for proof thereof, either of them alleged in the furtherance of himself, divers gestures then before done by the young woman. And they thus remaining in this contention a long time, being now thorough many words at daggers drawing, they acknowledged that herein they did very evil, because in thus doing, they wrought hurt and shame to themselves, and displeasure to the woman. Wherefore (moved of an equal agreement) both two went to the mother of the maid, who was also at the same feast, and thus said unto her: That forsomuch as above all other women of the world, either of them best liked her daughter, and that they were at contention whether of them was best liked of her, it would therefore please her to grant them this favour, to the end no greater inconvenience might spring thereof, as to will her daughter, that she either by word or deed, would show whether of them she best loved. The entreated gentlewoman smiling, thus answered: willingly. And so calling her daughter to her, said: My fair daughter, each one of these preferreth the love of thee, above the love of himself, and in this contention they are: whether of them is best beloved of thee: and they seek of me this savour, that thou either by signs or words, resolve them herein. 
Whereas love is, there peace aught to be.  And therefore to the end that love, from whom all peace and goodness ought always to spring, breed not now the contrary, content them in this, and with semblable courtesy, show towards which of them thy mind is most bend. 
The loved giveth cause of argument to her lovers.  The young damsel said: It liketh me right well. And so beholding them both a while, she saw the one of them to have upon his head a fair garland of fresh flowers, and the other to stand without any garland at all. Then she that had likewise upon her head a garland of green leaves, first took the same from her head, and set it upon his, that stood before her without a garland. And after she took that which the other young man had upon his head, and set the same upon hers: and so leaving them, she returned to the feast, saying that she had both performed the commandment of her mother, and eke their desire. The young men being thus left, returned also to their former contention, each one affirming that she loved him best. And he whose garland she took and set upon her head, said: Assuredly she loveth me best, because she hath taken my garland to none other end, but for that what mine is, pleaseth her, and to give occasion to be beholding unto me. But to thee, she hath given hers, as it were in place of her last farewell: unwilling that (like a country girl) the love which thou bearest her, be without requital, and therefore lastly she giveth thee that garland thou hadst merited. The other replying with the contrary, thus answered: Truly she loveth that thine is, better than thee, and that may be seen in taking thereof. And me she loveth better than what mine is, in as much as she hath given me of hers: And therefore it is no token of her last deserved gift, as thou affirmest, but rather a beginning of amity and love. A gift maketh the receiver a subject to the giver: and because she peradventure uncertain of me, to the end she might be more certain to have me her subject, will bind me (if perhaps I were not bound unto her before) to be hers by gift. But how mayst thou think, if she at the first take away from thee, that ever she may vouchsafe to give thee. And thus they abode a long time contending, and in the end departed without any definition at all. Now say I, most puissant Queen, if you should be demanded of the last sentence of such a contention, what would ye judge? The fair Lady somewhat smiling, turned towards Philocopo, (her eyes sparkling with an amorous light) and after a soft sigh, thus made answer: Most noble youth, 
The queen's judgement upon the question.  proper is your Question: And truly, as very wisely the young woman behaved herself, so each one of the young men right well defended his cause. But because ye require what we lastly will judge thereof, thus we make you answer: It seemeth unto us, and so it aught to seem to each one that taketh good heed, that the woman had in hate neither the one nor the other: but to keep her intent covert did two contrary acts, as appeareth, and not without occasion. And to the end she might get more assured the love of him whom she loved, as not to loose the love of the other, whom she hated not, it was but wisely done. But to come to our Question, which is, to whether of the two, greatest love was showed. We say: that she loved him best, and he chiefest in her favour, to whom she gave her garland: and this seemeth to be the reason: Whatsoever man or woman that loveth any person, each one through force of the love they bear, is so strongly bound to the person loved, that abou● all other things they desire to please the same, neither to bind him or her more strongly that thus loveth, needeth either gifts or services, and this is manifest. And yet we see, that who so loveth, though he endeavour himself sundry ways, is not able to make the person loved, in any sort benign and subject unto him, whereby he may bring it to his pleasure, and so with a more bold face demand his desire. And that this is in such sort as we say, 
Dido.  the inflamed Dido with her doings, doth very well manifest the same unto us, who burning in the love of Aeneas so long, 
Aeneas.  as it seemed her neither with honours nor with gifts able to win him, had not the courage to attempt the doubtful way of ask the question: So that then the young woman sought to make him most beholding unto her, whom she best loved. And thus we say, that he that received the gift of the garland, was her best beloved. As the queen become silent, Philocopo answered: Discrete Lady, 
Philocopo replieth to the Queen.  greatly is your answer to be commended: but for all that, you do bring me into a great admiration of that ye have defined, touching the propounded question, because I would have judged rather the contrary. For so much as generally among lovers, this was the wonted custom, that is, to desire to bear upon them some jewel, or some other thing of the persons loved, to the end that most times they might glory themselves more therein, than in all the remnant they had, & perceiving the same about them, therewith to glad their minds, 
Paris.  as ye have heard. Paris seldom times or never entered into the bloody battles against the greeks, without bearing some token upon him, that had been given him by his Helen, 
Helen.  believing better to prevail therewith, than if he had gone without the same. And truly in mine opinion, his thought was not vain: therefore I should thus say, (that as you said) the young woman did very wisely, not defining it for all that as you have done, but in this manner: She knowing that she was very well loved of two young men, and that she could not love more than one; for that love is an indivisible thing, she would reward the one for the love he bore her, to the end that such good will should not be unrewarded, and so gave him her garland in requital thereof. To the other whom she loved, she thought she would give courage and assured hope of her love, taking his garland, and decking herself therewith, in token whereof, she plainly showed to be beholding unto him for the same. And therefore in my judgement she loved better him from whom she took, than him to whom she gave. To whom the Queen thus made answer: 
The queen's solution of this first question.  Your argument should have pleased us right well, if yourself in your tale had not condemned the same See how pillage and perfect love can agree together? How can ye show me, that we love him whom we spoil, better than him to whom we give? According to the Question propounded, to the one she gave a garland, and from the other she took a garland: neither had she too whom she gave, aught given her: and that which we see every day for example may here suffice, as is commonly said: They are of gentlemen far better loved, on whom they bestow favour and gifts, than those that are by them deprived of them. And for that cause we lastly hold opinion, concluding, that he is better loved, to whom is given, than he from whom is taken. We know very well, that in these our reasonings much might be objected against this our definition, & much also answered to the contrary reasons: But lastly such determination shall remain true. And because time now serveth not, to stay with this our talk upon one matter only without more, we will give ear to the rest if it please you. To whom Philocopo said: That it pleased him right well, and that very well sufficed such a resolution to his demanded question: and so held his peace.   

The second Question, proposed by LONGANO.  
next to Philocopo was placed a courteous young man, and gracious to behold, whose name was Longano, who no sooner than Philocopo had left, thus began: Most excellent Queen, so trim hath been the first question, that in my conceit, mine shall bring no delight at al. Yet to the end not to be severed from so noble a company, forth it shall: and thus he followed, saying: It is not many days past, that I abiding all solitary in my chamber, wrapped in a heap of troublesome thoughts, sprung from an amorous desire, the which with a fierce battle had assaulted my heart, 
Two sisters complain them of being in love.  by hap heard a piteous plaint, whereunto (because I judged it by estimation near unto me) intentively I laid mine ear, and thereby knew that they were women: by occasion whereof, I suddenly rose to see who, and where they were: and looking forth at my chamber window, I heard over against the same, in one other chamber, two young women, the same being sisters, adorned with an inestimable beauty, there abiding without any other company, whom as I saw making this sorrowful plaint, I withdrew myself into a secret place, without being of them espied, and so beheld them a long while, neither was I able for all that, to understand all the words that they through grief uttered in tears, but that the effect of such plaint (according to that I could comprehend) seemed to me to be for love: wherefore I through pity, and so sweet an occasion offered (being thus close as I was) began to shed my trickling tears. And after that I had in their grief persevered in the same a good space (forsomuch as I was their very familiar, & also their kinsman) I purposed to understand more certain the occasion of their sorrow, and so went unto them, who had no sooner espied me, but all bashful they withheld them from tears, endeavouring themselves to do me reverence. To whom I said: Gentlewomen, trouble not yourselves, neither let this my coming move you to restrain your inward grief, for your tears have been now a good space apparent unto me. It shall be therefore needless to hide you, either yet thorough bashfulness to hide from me the cause of this your plaint. For I am come hither to understand the same. And be you assured, that ye shall not receive by me either in word or deed any evil requital, but rather help and comfort in what I may. The women greatly excused themselves, saying, that they sorrowed for nothing: but yet after I had conjured them, and they seeing me desirous to understand the same, the elder thus began to say: It is the pleasure of the Gods, that to thee our secrets be discovered: thou therefore shalt understand, that we, above all other women have always resisted the sharp darts of Cupid, who of a long season in casting the same, was never yet able to fasten any one of them in our hearts. But now lastly being further inflamed, and having determined to overcome that his childish enterprise, took of new with his young arm, of his best and dearest shafts, and with so great force wounded the hearts so sore enfeebled through the sundry blows before received, as the heads thereof pierced deep, so as they made a far greater wound, than if resistance had not been made (to the other former) had like to have been. And thus for the pleasure of two most noble young Gentlemen, we are become subjects to his deity, following his pleasure with more perfect faith, and servant will, than ever any other women have done. Now hath Fortune, and the love of them (as I shall declare unto you) left us both comfortless. First I, 
The first lamenteth the lost of her enjoyed lover.  before my sister here, was in love, and through mine endeavour, believing wisely to end my desire, so wrought as I got the loved young Gentleman at my pleasure, whom I found as greatly enamoured of me, as I of him. But truly now hath not the amorous flame through such effect ceased, neither hath the desire lessened, but each one more vehemently increaseth: and more than ever, I do now burn in his fire. And what time, seeing how I might best mitigate & assuage the kindled flame thereof, holding it inwardly secret, it after happened, that the horned Moon was no sooner come to her perfect roundness, but that he at unwares committed a fault, for the which was adjudged him perpetual exile from this city, whereupon he dreading death, is departed hence without hope ever to return. I sorrowful woman above all others, more now inflamed than ever, am without him, left both doleful and desperate. By occasion whereof I sorrow me, and that thing that most increaseth my sorrow is, that on every side I see the way bard from being able to follow him. Think therefore now, whether I have cause to plain me or no. Then said I: and this other, why sorroweth she? And she answered: 
The second hindered by jealousy, sorroweth her hap.  This my sister likewise (as I) is enamoured of an other, and of him again loved above measure. And to the end her desires should not pass the amorous paths, without taking some part of delight, many times she hath endeavoured herself to bring them to effect, and contrary to her devise, jealousy hath always occupied and broken the way, and because she could never attain thereunto neither saw how to be able so to do, she thus distressed, is through fervent love consumed, as ye may well think if ever ye were in love. Seeing we were then here all alone, we began to reason of our misfortunes, and knowing the same far greater than these of other women, we could not withhold from tears, but with weeping sorrowed our luckless lots, as ye might well perceive. To hear this of them it grieved me greatly, so that I encountered them with such words as seemed me most profitable for their comfort, and so departed from them. Many times after revolving in mind their griefs, and sometimes bethinking me whether of the same should be the greater, at one time I agreed to that of the one, and at another time, I yielded to that of the other: and the sundry reasons wherewith as it seemeth me, each one hath to lament her, will not suffer me to stay upon any one, whereupon I remain here in doubt. May it therefore please you, that by you may be opened this error, in telling me whether of these two infortunate lovers seemed to sustain the greatest grief. Great was the sorrow of either of them, 
The Queen decideth the question.  answered the Queen: But considering adversity to be most grievous to her that hath tasted prosperity, we esteem that she that hath lost her love, feeleth the greatest grief, and is of Fortune greatliest offended. 
Fabritius.  Fabritius never bewept the chances of fortune: 
Pompey.  But that Pompey did, is a thing very manifest. If sweet things were not tasted, the sour should be yet unknown. 
Medea.  Medea never knew (according to her own saying) what manner a thing prosperity was, whilst she was in love, 
jason.  but being forsaken of jason, bewailed her adversity. Who will ever lament for that he hath not had: not one but will rather desire it. It is deemed therefore, that of the two women, the one wept for grief, the other for desire. It is very hard for me (gracious Lady) to 
Longano of contrary opinion to the Queen.  think that which you affirm (said the young Gentleman) forsomuch as who that hath his desire of any desired thing, aught much more to content his mind, than who that desireth, and can not fulfil his desire. Further, nothing is more light to loose, than what hope promiseth not hereafter to yield. There aught to be unmeasurable grief, whereas the not being able to bring equal wills to effect doth hinder. From thence lamentations take place, from thence thoughts and troubles do spring, because if the wills were not equal, of force the desire should want. But when as lovers see themselves in presence of that they desire, and can not attain thereunto, then do they kindle and sorrow them much more, than if that they would have, were far from them. And who I pray you torments Tantalus in Hell? 
Tantalus.  but only the apples, & the water, for that how much more near they bend and swell to his mouth, so much the more (afterwards in fleeing the same) they increase his hunger. Truly I believe, that who hopeth for a thing possible to be had and can not attain thereunto, thorough contrary resisting impediments, feeleth more grief, than who that bewaileth a thing lost & irrecuperable. 
The Queen's solution or the ij. question.  Then said the Queen, your answer would have followed very well, where your demand should have been of an old grief, although to that also might be said: thus to be possible through forgetting the grief, to shorten the desire in the desired things, where as continual impediment is since not to be able to attain them, as in those lost, wherein Hope doth not show us, that we should ever have them again. But we do reason whether of them sorrowed most, when you saw them sorrowing: wherefore following the propounded case, we will give judgement, that she felt greater grief that had lost her lover, without hope to have him again, (putting the case that it be an easy matter to loose a thing impossible to have again: nevertheless it was to be said: who loveth well, forgetteth never) than the other, who if we look well, might hope to fulfil that hereafter, that heretofore she was unable to perform. For a great lessener of grief is hope. It had force to keep chaste and to diminish the sorrows of the lingering long life of Penelope.   

¶ The third Question, proposed by a young Gentlewoman.  
ON the right side of Longano, sat an excellent fair Gentlewoman, and very pleasant, who as she perceived that Question by the Queen determined, thus began with a sweet talk to say: Most renowned queen, your ears grant hearing to my words: And first by those Gods whom you worship, and next by the power of our pastime, I pray you that ye will give to my demand profitable counsel. I, as you know, being descended of noble Parents, was borne in this City, and was named with a very gracious name, although my surname (being Cara) presenteth me grateful to the hearers, and as by my face it may appear, I have received from the Gods and Nature a singular gift of beauty, the which (in following my proper name more than my surname) I have adorned with an infinite pleasantness, showing myself benign to whom that is delighted to behold the same: by occasion whereof, many have endeavoured themselves for their pleasure to occupy my eyes, against all whom I have withscode with strong resistance, holding a stable heart against their assaults: but because it seemeth to me unléefull that I only should pretermit the laws kept and observed of all others, that is, not to love being loved of many, I have determined to become enamoured, and setting apart many seekers of such love, whereof some do excel Midas in richesse, some other pass Absalon in beauty, and other some in courtesy (according to the common report of all) are more splendent than any other. I have of all these chosen three: Of whom each one pleaseth me alike. 
The gentlewoman prayeth to be resolved whether ought soonest to be loved, either the strong, the liberal, or the wise.  Of the which three, the one of bodily force (as I believe) would excel the good Hector, he is at every proof so vigorous and strong. The courtesy and liberality of the second is such, that (as I think) his fame doth sound through each pole. The third is all full of wisdom, so that he surmounteth all other wise men above measure. But for that (as ye have heard) their qualities are divers, I doubt whether of them to take, finding in the antic age each one of these to have diversly the courages of women, and of yielding men: as of Dianira, Hercules, of our Clytaemnestra, Aegistus, and of Lucretia, Sextus. Counsel me therefore, to whether of them soon with least blame, and greatest surety, I aught to give myself. The pleasant Queen having heard the purpose of this Gentlewoman, 
The queens answer.  thus made answer. There is never a one of the three, that doth not worthily merit the love of a fair and gracious Lady: but because in this case I am not to fight against castles, or to give away the kingdoms of great Alexander, or the treasures of Ptholome, but that only that Love and honour are with discretion a long time to be kept, the which are maintained neither by force nor courtesy, but only by wisdom: we say, that both you, and every other woman aught rather to give her love to a wise man, than to any of the rest. 
The reply of the Gentlewoman.  O how divers is my judgement from yours, answered the propounding Gentlewoman. To me it seemeth, that each one of the others were sooner to be taken than the wise, and this seemeth to be the reason: Love as we see) is of that nature, as multiplying his force in one heart, every other thing he banisheth out thence, retaining that for his seat, and moving it after according to his pleasure, whereunto no foresight is able to resist, but that it is convenient for them to follow him, by whom it is (as I have said) governed. And who doubteth that Biblis knew it not to be evil to love her brother? 
Biblys.  Who will gainsay, that it was not manifest to Leander, 
Leander.  that he might drown in Hellespont, in his fortunate time, if he cast himself therein? And none will deny that Pasiphae knew not a man to be more fair than a Bull? 
Pasiphae.  and yet they and each one overcome with an amorous pleasure, rejecting all knowledge, followed the same. Then if it have power to take knowledge from the learned, taking away the wit from the wise, they shall have nothing left: but if from the strong and courteous, it shall take away the little wit they have, it shall yet increase them in their virtues, and so they shall become more than the wise enamoured. Further, love hath this property, it is a thing that can not long be hid: and in reveling himself, he is wont oftentimes to bring grievous perils, whereunto what remedy shall the wise give that hath now lost his wit? He shall give none at all, but the strong that useth his force can help in a peril both himself, and others. The courteous through his courtesy, shall with grateful benevolence win the minds of many, whereby he may be both holpen and considered, and others also for his sake. See now what it is to be of your judgement. She was by the Queen answered unto, thus: 
The queen's last sentence to the third question.  If there were such a one as you speak of, who should then be wise? not one. But if he, whom you propound wise, and enamoured of you, should be made a fool, he is not to be taken. The Gods forbidden, that that whereof you speak, should come to pass. And yet we will not deny, but that the wise know the evil, and do it: but for all that we will say, that they thereby loose not their wit, forasmuch as what time it pleaseth them with the reason they have to dridle their wills, they will reduce themselves to their accustomed wit, guiding their motions in a due and straight order. And in this manner their love shall be altogether, or at the lest, a long time kept secret, and that without any doubtful diligence, the which shall not happen to one of little wit, be he never so strong or courteous. And yet if perhaps it do hap, that such love be discovered, a wise man will with a hundred foresightes, shut up the eyes and understanding of the tattler thereof, and shall provide a safety both for his own honour, as for the honour of his loved Lady? And if need of safety be, the help of the wise can not fail. That of the strong cometh less. And the friends that are gotten by Liberality, are accustomed in adversity to shrink away. What is she of so little discretion, that is brought to such a jump, as hath need of manifest help? or that if her love be disclosed, seeketh fame in having loved a strong or Liberal man? I believe there is none such. Let the wise then be soon loved, hoping that he must be in each cause more profitable than any of the rest.   

¶ The fourth Question, proposed by MENEDON.  
THe Gentlewoman by her countenance seemed content when Menedon sitting next unto her said: Most high and noble Queen, now is it come to my turn to propound my question here in your presence. 
First Menedon telleth a tale.  Wherefore by your licence, if in my talk I shall wade very long, yet during the same I shall first of all of you, and next of the standers about, pray pardon: Because ye can not be made fully to understand that, which I intend to propound, unless a tale, that peradventure shall not be short, do precede the same: and after these words thus she began to say: In the country where I was borne, I remember there was a noble knight, surmounting rich, the which loved in most loyal love, a noble gentlewoman, borne likewise there, whom he took to wife: Of whom being as she was, exceeding fair: 
Tarolfo a knight was enamoured of a Lady.  an other knight called Tarolfo was after enamoured, and with so great good will loved her, as he saw nothing he more desired than her: And in sundry sorts, now with passing before her house, now justing, now at the barriers, now with the often sending her messengers, peradventure promising her great gifts, whereby she might know his intent, and now with other like feats he endeavoured himself to purchase her love. All which things the Lady closely supported, without giving sign or good answer to the knight, saying to herself: When as this knight shall espy, that he can have neither answer, ne yet good countenance of me, perhaps he will forbear any further, either to love me, or to give me these allurements. Now for all this, Tarolfo surcessed not, following the precepts of O●●d, who saith, that a man must not through the hardness of a woman leave to persever, because with continuance the soft water pierceth the imbrued with Roman blood: and having travailed a long while upon the same, 
Tarolfo found an old man called Theban.  he suddenly espied before him, at the foot of a mountain, a man not young, nor of to many years, bearded, small and very spare of person, whose attire showed him to be but poor, who roamed hither & thither gathering herbs, and with a little knife digged up sundry roots, whereof he had filled one of the skirts of his cote: whom as Tarolfo saw, he marveled not a little, and doubted greatly lest it had been some other thing, but after that his aim did certainly assure him to be a man, he drew near unto him, saluted him, and after asked him who he was, of whence, & what he made there at so timely an hour. To whom the old man answered: I am of Thebes, and Theban is my name, and I go up and down this plain, gathering of these herbs, to the end that with the juice thereof, I make divers necessary & profitable things for divers infirmities, whereby I may have wherewithal to live: And to come at this hour, it is need & not delight that constraineth me. But who are you, that in countenance resembleth noble, and walk here all alone solitary. To whom Tarolfo answered: I am of the extremes of the west, very rich, and vanquished of my conceits, pricked forwards to an enterprise, not being able hitherto to achieve the same, and therefore to be the better able without impediment to sorrow my hap, I go thus all alone wandering. To whom Theban said: Do you not know the quality of the place, and what it is? Wherefore have you rather taken your way on the one side? You might easily here be rebuked with furious spirits. Tarolfo answered: God can do here, as else where, it is he that hath my life and honour in his hands: let him do with me according to his pleasure: for assuredly death should be to me a rich treasure. Then said Theban: What is that your enterprise, for the which (not being able to perform it) you abide thus sorrowful? To whom Tarolfo answered: It is such as seems unto me impossible to be able ever to attain, since hitherto I have here found no counsel. Then said Theban: Dare ye utter it? Tarolfo answered: Yea. But what profiteth it? Peradventure nothing said Theban, but what doth it hurt? 
Tarolfo reciteth to Theban his promise made too his Lady, of a Garden full of flowers in the month of january.  Then said Tarolfo: I seek counsel how may be had in the coldest month, a garden full of flowers, fruits, and herbs, as fair as if it were in the month of May, neither do I find who can therein either help me, or give me encouragement that it is possible to be had. Theban stayed a while in a muse without answer, and after said: You and many others do judge the skill and virtue of men according to their garments. If my goods were such as are yours, you would not have lingered so long in discovering your lack: or if peradventure you had found me near to some rich Prince, as you have in gathering of herbs. But many times under the vilest vesture are hidden the greatest treasures of science: and therefore no one concealeth his lack, to whom is proffered counsel or help: And if therefore he open the same, it can not prejudice him at all. But what would ye give him that should come, he saw the horns of the Moon gathered into a perfect roundness, and to shine upon the frequented earth. Then he went him all alone forth of the city, leaving his apparel apart, bore legged, and his disheveled locks hanging upon his naked shoulders. The restless degrees of the night did pass: birds, wild beasts, and men, without any noise did take their rest: the unfallen leaves without moving did hung upon the trees, and the moist air abode in mild peace: Only the stars did shine, when as he oftentimes went about the grounds, and came to a place on a rivers side, which it pleased him to choose for his Garden. There he stretched forth his arm three times towards the stars, and turning himself unto them, he as often bathed his white locks in the running stream, craving as many times with a most high voice their help, and after setting his knees to the hard earth, 
The invocation magical of Theban  began thus to say: O night, most faithful secreser of high things, and you, o ye stars, the which together with the Moon, do succeed the splendent day: and thou o singular Hecates, become an helper to this my begun enterprise, & thou on holy Ceres, the renewer of the ample face of the earth: And you whatsoever verses either arts, or herbs, and thou whatsoever earth bringing forth virtuous plants, and thou o atre, winds, mountains, rivers and lakes, and each God of the woods, and of the secret night, by whose help I have heretofore made the running streams to recoil, enforcing them to return to their springs, and things running, to become firm, & things firm to become running, and that hast also given power to my verses to dry up the seas, that I at my pleasure might search the bottom thereof, and to make the cloudy times clear, and (at my will) to fill the clear heavens with obscure clouds, to make the winds to cease, & to turn as it seemed me best: breaking therewith the hard jaws of the fearful dragons, making also the standing woods to move, and the haut mountains to tremble, & to return to their bodies out of the lake Styx those their shadows, and alive to come forth of their sepultures: and sometimes thee O Moon to draw to thy perfect roundness: the attaining whereunto a ring of Basins was wont to be an help, making also the clear face of the Sun many times to become pale, be ye all present, & aid me with your help. I have at this instant need of the sap and juice of herbs, thorough the which I may make in part, the dry earth fastened thorough Autumn, and after thorough the withering cold Winter, spoiled of his Flowers, Fruits, and herbs, to become flowering, and to spring before the due term. And having thus said, he said after, many other things softly, which he added to his Prayers. And those being ended, and he a while silent, the Stars gave not their light in vain. 
Theban was carried in the air in a chariot led by two Dragons.  For more swifter than the flight of the wyghtest bird, there appeared before him a Chariot drawn by two dragons, whereupon he mounted, and taking the rains of the bridles of the two bridled Dragons in his hand, was carried into the air. He then leaving Spain, and all Africa, took his journey by other Regions, and first sought for the isle of Crete, and from thence after with a short course he sought Pelion, Othrys, & Ossa, the mount Nerium, Pachynus, Pelorus & Appaennine. Upon them all plucking up, & with a sharp sickle cutting down such roots & herbs as best liked him, neither forgot he those which he had before gathered when as he was found by Tarolfo in Thessalia. He took stones also upon the mount Causacus, and of the sands of Ganges: and out of Libya he brought tongues of venomous serpents. He searched the watery banks of Rodanus of Senna at Paris, of the great Po, of Arnus, of the imperial Tiber, of Niseus, of Tana, & of Danuby: upon those eke gathering such herbs as seemed to him most necessary for his purpose, putting these together with the others, gathered on the tops of the savage mountains. He also sought the islands of Lesbos & Pathmos, & every other, wherein he perceived any profitable thing to be had for his attempt: With all the which things he came (the third day being not yet past) to that place from whence he departed, and the Dragons, that only had felt the odour of the gathered herbs, did cast of their old hides of many years, and were with new renewed and become young. 
The ceremonies used in making the garden.  There he dismounted from his chariot, and of the green earth he made two altars: on his right hand that of Hecates: and on the left that of the running goddess: 
Ceres.  that being done, & devout fires kindled thereupon, with locks dispurpled upon his old shoulders, he began with a murmuring noise to go about the same, and with reached blood oftentimes he besprent the blazing brands. After he placed the same blood upon the altars, sometimes softening therewithal the ground, appointed for his garden: and after that, he softened again the self same three times, with fire, water, and Sulphur, setting after a great vessel full of blood, milk, and water, upon the burning brands, which he caused to boil a good space, and put thereto the herbs and roots, gathered in strange places, mingling therewith also divers seeds and flowers of unknown herbs, he added thereunto stones, sought in the extreme parts of the east, and dew gathered the night's past, together with the flesh of infamous witches, the stones of a Wolf, the hinder part of a fat Cinyphis, and the skin of a Chilinder. And lastly a liver, with the whole lungs of an exceeding old heart: and herewithal a thousand other things, both without name, and so strange, as my memory can not again tell them. After he took a dry bough of an Olive tree, and therewith began to mingle all these things together. In doing whereof, the dry bough began to wax green, and within a while after to bear leaves, and not long after the new appareling thereof, it was laden with black Olives. As Theban saw this, he took the boiling licoures, and began therewithal to sprinkle and water in every place the chosen soil, wherein he had set slips of so many woods, as he would have trees, & of as many sorts as could be found. The which liquor the earth had no sooner tasted, but that it began to spring: yielding flowers and new herbs, and the dry sets become to become all green and fruitful plants. All this being done, Theban entering the city, returned to Tarolfo, whom he found all in a muse, fearing to be scorned thorough his long abode, to whom he said, Tarolfo, that thing (thou requiredst) is done to thy liking. 
Tarolfe offereth his lady the Garden which she demanded.  These news pleased Tarolfo not a little, & happening the day following to be a great solemnity in the City, he went into the presence of his loved Lady, that had not now seen him of a long time past: and thus he said unto her: Madame, after a long and tedious travail, I have performed that which you have commanded, and when as it shall please you to see it, or to take it, it is ready at your pleasure. She in seeing him, marveled much, & the more, hearing what he said, and not believing the same to be true, made him this answer: It pleaseth me right well, ye shall let me see it to morrow. The second day was come, & Tarolfo went again to his Lady, and said: Madame, may it please you to walk to the Garden, the which you required to have this cold month. 
The Lady goeth to see the garden.  She then being accompanied with many others, was moved to see the same. And they all being come to the Garden, entered therein by a fair portal: whereas they felt not the like cold as abroad, but the same to have a of the Lady, thus said unto her: Go and covertly keep thine oath, and liberally perform to Tarolfo what thou hast promised. For he hath with his great toil of right deserved the same. And having thus said, the Lady began to weep, and to say unto him: The Gods sever me far from such a fault. In no wise will I so do: I will rather rid myself of life, than do any thing displeasant to you, or dishonour to your person. To whom the knight replied, saying: Wife, for this matter I will that ye do no injury to yourself, neither yet conceive any grief therefore, for in no wise shall it displease me, go therefore, and perform what ye have promised: for ye shall be never a whit the less dear to me: But as ye have performed this your promise, so take ye better heed hereafter of such like, although a demanded gift may seem unto you impossible to be had. As the Lady perceived the will of her husband, she decked & trimmed her and made herself very fair, took company with her, and so went to Tarolfos lodging, and bepainted with bashfulness, presented herself unto him. Tarolfo as soon as he saw her, 
The Lady presenteth herself to Tarolfo.  all marveling, rose from Theban and encountered her with great gladness, and very honourably received her, demanding the cause of her coming. To whom she answered, I am come to be wholly at your will, do with me as it pleaseth you. Then said Tarolfo, ye make me to muse above measure, considering the time and the company wherewith ye are come: This can not be without some great alteration between you and your husband, tell me therefore I pray you, how the matter goeth. The Lady than showed Tarolfo fully in order the whole matter & how it went: the which Tarolfo hearing, 
The liberality of Tarolfo towards the Lady in releasing her of her promiss.  he began then to enter into a far greater admiration than he had ever done before, and greatly to bethink him hereof, and so in the end to conceive the great Liberality of the Husband, that had sent his Wife unto him: whereupon he said to himself: Whatsoever he be, that should so much as but think villainy towards such a Knight, were surely worthy of great blame: and so taking and talking with the Lady, he thus said unto her: Madam, like a worthy Lady, ye have performed that to me due is: For the which cause I account that received of your hands, that I have of you desired, and therefore when it shall please you, you may return to your Husband, and thank him (I pray you) on my behalf, for this his so great a pleasure done unto me, and excuse me of the folly I have heretofore committed towards him, assuring him, that hereafter I shall never put the like in practice. The Lady giving great thanks to Tarolfo for that his so great courtesy, merrily departed thence & returned to her husband, to whom she recited in ordre all that had been happened. But Theban, now coming to Tarolfo demanded how the case stood. Tarolfo declared unto him the whole discourse. To whom Theban then said: and I, shall I then loose that which thou hast promised me? Tarolfo answered: not, but when it pleaseth thee, take thou half of all the castles and treasures I have in sort heretofore promised thee. For I acknowledge, that thou haste fully served my turn. To whom Theban answered: 
Liberality of Theban towards Tarolfo.  It may never please the Gods, since the Knight was so liberal to thee of his wife, and thou again wast not a villain to him in that his offer, that I become less than courteous. For above all things in the world it contenteth me, in that I have served thy turn: and therefore I will, that all that I aught to receive in guerdon of my travail remain all thine, in such sort as it hath ever been heretofore: neither would he take of that was Tarolfos any thing at all. 
The conclusion of the proposer.  It is now doubted, in whether of these was the greatest liberality, either in the knight that had given liberty to his wife to go to Tarolfo, either in Tarolfo, who sent the Lady (whom he had always desired, and for whose he had done so much, to come to that jump, whereunto he was comen, when as she came unto him) back to her husband free: or in Theban, who having abandoned his Country (being now old) for to gain the promised rewards, and being come thither, toiled himself to bring that to an end, which he had promised, whereby he justly deserved the same, did now remit the whole to Tarolfo, and remained poor as he was are the first. 
The judgement of the Queen upon the fourth question.  Very excellent is both the tale and the demand, said the Queen. Of troth each one was very liberal, considering the first of his honour, the second of his lascivious desire, and the third that of his rewarded riches, was very courteous. Now if we will know which of them used the greatest liberality or courtesy: It is meet we consider whether of the three deeds is most acceptable, the which being well weighed, we shall manifestly know the most liberal, because who most giveth, is to be held most liberal: of the which three, the one is dear, that is Honour, the which Paulus Aemilius vanquishing Perses, king of Maycedonia, rather desired than the gained treasures. The second is to be fled, that is, the wanton delights of Venus, according to the sentence of Sophocles, and of Xenocrates, saying: That lust is to be fled as a furious government. The third is not to be desired, that is riches: forsomuch as the most times they are noisome to a virtuous life, and to such a one as can virtuously live with moderate poverty, 
divers Romans in times past poor, and yet virtuous.  as lived Marcus Curtius, Attilius Regulus, and Valerius Publicola, as by their works is manifest. If then of these three, only Honour is to be held dear, and the other's not, he used the greatest liberality that gave his wife to another, although he did less than wisely therein. He was also the chiefest in liberality, wherein the others followed him: therefore according to our judgement he that gave his wife in whom consisted his honour, was above the rest, the most liberal. I (said Menedon) agree, 
The reply of Menedon.  that in as much as ye have thus said, it be as you say: but yet each one of the other seemeth to me, to be more liberal, and ye shall hear how. It is very true, that the first granted his wife, but he used therein not so great a liberality as ye speak of, because if he would have denied her, he might not justly have done it, by reason of the oath she made, the which was convenient for her to keep: and therefore who giveth that he may not deny, doth but well in making himself liberal thereof, and it was but a trifle he gave: and therefore (as I have said) each one of the other was more courteous. And for that (as it is already said) Tarolfo had now a long time desired this Lady, and loved her far above all others, he for to attain her, had of long time abode great troubles, offering himself for to satisfy her request, to seek forth things almost impossible to be had, the which now obtained, he deserved (through her promised faith) to obtain her also, whom (as we say) being obtained, there is no doubt but that the honour of the Husband, and the release of that she had promised (the which he released) was in his hand. Then was he, to conclude, liberal both of the honour of the husband, of the oath of his Lady, and of his own long desire. It is a great matter to have endured long thirst, and to come to a pleasant fountain, and not to drink, but to suffer others to drink. The third was also very liberal, considering that poverty is one of the most loathsome things of the world to bear, for so much as it is the chaser away both of mirth and rest, a flyer of honours, a frequenter of virtue, and the inducer of crabbed care, so that every one naturally endeavour themselves with a fiery desire to fly the same the which desire is so kindled in many, 
Every one flieth poverty.  to the end to live very splendantly in rest, as they give themselves no less to dishonest gain, than to disordinate spences, peradventure not knowing, or not otherways being able to feed that their desire: which is 'cause many times either of death or exile. How much then aught the riches to please and to be acceptable to them that in due sort do both gain and possess them? And who will doubt that Theban was not most poor if he behold how he abandoning his nights rest, went gathering of herbs, and digging up of roots in doubtful places for the better sustentation of his poor life. And that this poverty did occupy his virtue, may be also believed, in hearing how Tarolfo did dame to be by him deceived, when he beheld him appareled in vile vesture, & seeing him desirous to shake of that misery to become rich, knowing how he came as far as from Thessalia into Spain, hasarding himself to perilous chances through doubtful journeys, and uncertain air, to the end to perform the promiss he had made, and to receive the like from an other Also it may be evidently seen, that without doubt who gives himself to such and so many miseries, to the end to flee poverty, knoweth the same to be full of all grief and troubles. And how much the more he hath shaken off the greatest poverty, and is entered a rich life, so much the more is the same life acceptable unto him. Then who that is become of poor, rich, if therewith his life doth delight him, how great, and what manner of liberality doth he use, if he give the same away, and consenteth to return to that state, the which he hath with so many troubles fled? Assuredly he doth a thing exceeding great and liberal. And this seemeth far greater than the rest, 
Old folks commonly covetous.  considering also of the age of the giver, that was now old: forasmuch as avarice was wont to be continually of greater force in old men than in young, whereupon I gather, that each one of the two following, hath used a greater liberality than hath the first, so much commended by you, and the third far more than either of the others. In how much your reason might be well by any one defended, so well is the same defended by you (said the Queen) but we mind to show unto you briefly how our judgement rather than yours aught to take place. 
The queen's solution to the fourth question.  You will say, that he showed no Liberality at all, granting the use of his wife to an other, because of reason it was convenient through the oath made by the lady, that he should so do, the which aught to be in deed if the oath might hold. But the wife forsomuch as she is a member of her husband, or rather one body with him, could not justly make such an oath without the will of her husband: and yet if she did make such an oath, it was nothing, because the first oath lawfully made, could not with reason be derogate by any following, chief not by those that are not duly made for a necessary cause. And the manner is in matrimonical unitings the man to swear to be content with the woman, and the woman with the man, and never to change the one the other for an other. Now then, the woman can not swear, and if she do swear (as we have said) she sweareth for a thing unlawful, and so contrary to the former oath, it aught not to prevail, and not prevailing otherwise than for his pleasure, he aught not to commit his wife to Tarolfo, and if he do commit her to him, then is he liberal of his honour, and not Tarolfo, as you hold opinion. Neither could he be liberal of his oath in releasing it, for as much as the oath was nothing. Then only remained Tarolfo liberal of his wanton desire: the which thing of proper duty is convenient for every man to do, because we all through reason are bound to banish vice, and to follow virtue. And who that doth that, whereunto he is of reason bound, is (as ye have said) nothing at all liberal, 
Flee vice, and follow virtue.  but that which is done more than duty requireth, may well & justly be termed liberality. But because you peradventure with silence argue in your mind, what honour may that be of a chaste woman to her husband, which aught to be so dear: we will prolong somewhat our talk in showing you, to the end that ye may the more clearly see, that Tarolfo and Theban, of whom we intent next to speak, used no liberality at all in respect of the knight. You shall know that chastity together with the other virtues, 
Chastity a virtue most excellent.  yield none other reward to the possessors thereof, than honour, the which honour among virtuous men, makes the least virtuous, the most excellent. This honour if men with humility seek to support it, it maketh them friends to god, and so by consequent to live, and after death, to possess the goods eternal: 
The joy of a man is to have a good wife.  the which if the woman conserveth for her husband, he may live merrily, and certain of his offspring, and frequent in open sight among the people content to see her for such her virtues honoured among the most high and chiefest dames, and in his mind it is a manifest token that she is good, feareth God, and loveth him, which is no small pleasure, seeing she is given him for an everlasting companion indivisible, saving by death: He through this obtained favour is seen continually to increase, both in spiritual and worldly wealth. 
The grief of a man having an evil wife.  And so on the contrary, he whose wife hath default of such virtues, can never pass one hour with true consolation, nothing is acceptable unto him, and continually the one desireth the death of the other, he perceiveth himself through this disordered vice to be carried in the mouths of the veriest misers, neither seemeth it unto him, that such a fault should not be believed, of whom soever it is heard: And if she were largely endowed with all other virtues, yet this vice seemeth to have such a force as to bring her in contempt, and to utter ruin. Then is this honour that maketh the woman both chaste and good to her husband, a most great gift, and so is to be held most dearly. Blessed may he be called to whom through grace is granted such a gift, although we believe they are but few, towards whom is borne envy for so great a benefit. But to return to our purpose, it is to be seen how much the knight did give. It is not fled our memory when as ye said, that Theban was of the rest most liberal, who being with trouble enriched, hath not doubted to return into the misery of poor estate, in giving away that which he had gotten. It apparently appeareth, that ye are evil acquainted with poverty, who if she come unto us merry, surmounteth all richesse. Theban now peradventure through the attained wealth, 
The care which riches bring.  felt himself replete of sundry sour cares. He did now imagine, that it seemed Tarolfo to have done very evil, and therefore would practise by murdering him, to recover again his Castles. He abode in fear to be peradventure betrayed of his tenants. He was entered into care touching the government of his lands. He now knew all the prepared guiles to be done unto his copartners. He saw himself greatly envied for his riches, and doubted jest thieves should secretly spoil him thereof. He was stuffed with so many such and sundry thoughts and cares, as all quietness was fled from him. Through the which occasions, calling to mind his former life, and that without so many cares he passed the same merrily, said to himself: I desired to grow rich, to the end to attain quiet rest, but I see it is the increaser of troubles and cogitations: so is it the flyer of quietness: And therefore desirous to be in his former estate, he rendered them all to him by whom they were given. 
poverty highly esteemed in times past.  poverty is the refused richesse, a goodness unknown, a fire of provocations, the which was of Diogenes fully understood. As much sufficeth poverty, as Nature requireth. He liveth safe from every deceit that patiently approacheth therewith, neither is he disabled to attain to great honours, that (as we have said) virtuously liveth therewith: and therefore as Theban rejected this allurement he was not liberal, but wise. So gracious he was to Tarolfo, in that it pleased him to give the same rather to him than to an other, whereas he might have bestowed the same upon many others. Then to conclude, the Knight was more liberal that granted his honour, than any of the others: And think this one thing, that the honour he gave was not to be again recovered, the which happeneth not in many other things, as of battles, prowess, and others like: For if they are at one time lost, they are recovered at an other, and the same is possible. Therefore this may suffice for answer unto your demand.   

¶ The fifth Question, proposed by CLONICO.  
AFter the Queen become silent, and Menedon satisfied, a worthy young gentleman called Clonico, that sat next to Menedon, thus began to say: Most mighty queen, this Gentlewoman's tale hath been so excellent, and therewithal so long, as I in what I may, shall briefly show unto you this my conceit, to the end the rest may the better at their more leisure say theirs. Then for as much as I, although very young, know the life of the subjects of our lord Love, to be replete with many cares and sundry pining provocations, yet with small delight I have long time as I was able, fled the like, rather eschewing than commending them which follow him: And although I was sundry times tempted, yet with a valiant mind leaving the pitched snares I always resisted: But because I being not strong enough, could no ways resist that force, whereunto Phoebu was unable to gainstand, Cupid having taken heart to bring me into the number of his thralls, was taken before I knew how. For one day being alured abroad thorough the fresh renewed time, walking all merry, and for my delight gathering of shell fish upon the salt sea banks, it happened as I turned mine eyes towards the glittering waves, I suddenly saw a little Bark coming towards me, 
Four young damsels to a bark upon the sea.  wherein, with one only mariner, were four young Gentlewomen, so fair, as it was a marvelous thing to behold the beauty they seemed to have. They now being approached somewhat near unto me, and I not having as yet turned mine eye from them, saw in the midst of them an exceeding great light, wherein, as my estimation gave me, me thought I saw the figure of an Angel, very young, and so fair, as I never beheld thing more fairer: 
Clonico at tainted of love.  whom as I thus eyed, me thought he said unto me with a voice far discrepant from ours: O young fool, persecuter of our power (and being therewith arrived) I am come hither with four young damsels, let thy eye make choice of her for thy mistress, that best liketh thee. I when I heard this voice, abode all appalled, and devised both with eye and heart to avoid that which heretofore I had many times fled: but all was bootless, for the strength of my legs failed me, and beside, he had bow and wings to overtake me quickly: whereupon I in gazing among them, espied one so fair, so benign of cheer, and so piteous of semblance, as I imagined to make choice of her, as of a singular mistress, saying to myself: This damsel presenteth herself so humble to my eyes, as assuredly she will never become enemy to my desires, as many others have been to them, whom I have in beholding full of troubles always scorned, but she shall rather be a chaser away of my annoys: and having thus thought, I forth with answered: The gracious beauty of that young damsel, that (O my lord) sitteth on your right hand, makes me me desire to be both to you and her, a most faithful servant. I am therefore ready to obey your will, do with me as shall best like you. I had not ended my tale, but that I felt my left side wounded with a shining shaft shot from the bow which he bore, 
The two shafts of love are different.  as me thought the same was of gold. And assuredly, I saw him as he turned towards her, to strike her with an other of lead. And thus I being in this sort taken, abode in the snares I had of long time fled. This young damsel hath & doth so much content mine eye, as all other pleasure is very scarce in comparison of this. Which she espying, of long time showed herself content: but after that she knew me to be so taken with this delight, as not to love her was a thing impossible, incontinent she discovered her guile towards me, with an undeserved disdain, showing herself in appearance a most cruel enemy, always turning her eye the contrary way, as she happened to espy me and with words, on my part undeserved, always dispraising me, by occasion whereof, I have in sundry sorts endeavoured myself both with prayers and humility to appease her cruelty: but being unable, I oftentimes beweep and lament this my hard fortune, 
Clonico an unbeloved lover.  neither can I any ways withdraw me from loving her, but rather how much the more I find her cruel, so much the more me thinketh the flame of her pleasure doth set my sorrowful heart on fire. As I through these occasions, one day being all solitary in a garden, bewailed my hap with infinite sighs, accompanied with many tears, there came upon me a singular friend of mine, to whom part of my griefs were discovered, who with pitiful words began to comfort me the best he could, but I giving thereunto no ear at all, answered him, that my misery exceeded all others. Whereunto he made me this answer: A man is so much the more miserable (said he) as he either maketh or reputeth himself a miser: but assured I have greater cause to lament than hast thou. I then at angry turned towards him with a disdainful look, saying: And how? who can have greater cause than I? Do not I for good service receive evil recompense? Is not my faithful love rewarded with hatred? So that any may be as sorrowful as I, but more he can not be. 
A lover infected with jealousy reciteth to Clonico the good entertainment of his Lady.  Truly said my friend) I have greater cause of grief than hast thou, and hear how. It is not unknown to thee, but that I have of long time, and yet us love a Gentlewoman as thou knowest: neither was there ever any thing that I thought might pleasure her, which I gave not myself with all my wit and power to bring to effect. And truly when she understood the sum of that I desired, she made me a gracious gift, the which as I had received, and receiving it at what time it pleased me, me thought none by a great way to have a life comparable to mine in gladness: only one thing pricked me, that I could not make her believe how perfectly I loved her. Further than this, she perceiving me to love her (as I said) passed lightly for me. But the gods that will grant no worldly good turn without some bitterness, 
A godly sentence.  to the end that the heavenly may be the better known, & by consequent the more desired, to this they gave me an other corsie without comparison noisome, that is, that it happened one day, as I abode with her all alone, in a secret place, seeing (without being again seen) who passed by, espied a proper young man, & of a pleasant countenance to come along by us, whom she beheld as I perceived, with a fixed eye, and being passed, she fet a pitiful sigh, the which I espying, said: Alas, do you so soon repent, as that ye now sigh for the love of an other? She, whose face was through this occasion painted with a new rudde, swearing by the power of the high gods, began with many excuses to endeavour herself to make me believe the contrary of that which I had conceived through the sigh, but all was to no purpose, because she kindled my heart with an anger so exceeding fierce, as she made me then almost ready to chide with her, but yet I withheld me therefrom: And certainly it will never out of my mind, but that she loveth him or some other better than me: and all those persuasions, the which at other times heretofore she used for my help, that was, that she loved me better than she did any other, I now esteem them all in contrary, imagining that she hath feignedly said, & done all that she hath heretofore wrought, whereby I endure intolerable grief, neither doth any comfort at all prevail therein: but because shame oftentimes doth bridle the will, I have rather to sorrow me than glad me, I do not continued my bitter grief, so as I make any appearance thereof: but briefly I am never without cares and cogitations, the which bring me far greater annoy than I willingly would. Learn then to bear the less griefs, since thou seest the greatest with a valiant mind borne of me. To whom I answered, that as it seemed to me, his grief although it were great, was no ways to be compared to mine. He answered me the contrary, and thus we abode in a long contention, and in the end parted without any definition. Wherefore I pray you that you will say your judgement hereof. 
The queen's judgement upon the fift question.  Young Gentleman, said the Queen, great is that pain of yours, and great wrong doth the damsel commit in not loving you. But yet at all times your grief may by hope be eased, the which happeneth not to your companion, because that since he is once entered in suspect, nothing is able to draw it away. Therefore continually whilst love lasteth, he sorroweth without comfort: So that in our judgement greater seemeth the grief of the jealous, than that of the unloved lover. 
The contrary opinion of Clonico.  Then said Clonico: O noble queen, since you say so, it plainly appeareth that you have always been loved again, of him whom you have loved, by occasion whereof, ye hardly know what my pain is. How may it appear that jealousy bringeth greater grief than is that I feel, forsomuch as the jealous possesseth that he desireth, and may in holding the same, take more delight thereof in one hour, than in a long time after to feel any pain through want thereof: and nevertheless he may (through experience) abandon such jealousy, if it happen that this judgement be found false: but I being kindled with a fiery desire, how much the more I see myself far off from the attaining the same, so much the more I burn and consume myself assaulted of a thousand instigations, neither is any experience able to help me therein, because thorough the often reproving her, and finding her every hour more sharp, I live desperate. Wherefore your answer seemeth contrary to the truth, because I doubt not but that it is much better to hold with suspicion, than to desire with tears. That amorous flame that doth shine in our eyes, and that every hour doth adorn our sight with the greater beauty, 
The Queen replieth.  doth never consent (replied the Queen) that we love in vain, as you affirm: but for all that it is not unknown to us, how great and what manner of pain that is, both of the one and the other: and therefore as our answer hath been confirmable to the truth, one thing we will show to you. It is manifest that those things which most do hinder the quiet of the mind, are cares, the which are some of them come to a merry end, so some we see to end with great sorrow, whereof, how much more the mind is replete, so much the more hath it of grief, and chiefliest, when as the same are noisome: and that the jealous have more store thereof than have you, is manifest, because you heed nothing else but only to get the good will of the dansel whom ye love, the which not being able to attain, is to you a grief most grievous: but yet it is certain, that it may easily come to pass to attain the same at one instant, not thinking thereof (forsomuch as women's hearts are inconstant) besides peradventure she loveth you not withstanding (to prove if you also love her) she showeth the contrary, and so perhaps will show until such time as she shallbe well assured of your love, so that with these thoughts, hope can mitigate unfeigned grief: but the jealous hath his mind full fraught of infinite ears, against the which neither hope nor other delight can bring comfort, or ease the pain. 
The effects of jealousy.  For he standeth intentive to give a law to the wandering eyes, the which his possessor can not give. He will and doth endeavour himself to give a law to the feet, to the hands, and to every other act of his Mistress. He will be a circumspect knower both of her thoughts, & of her mirth, interpreting every thing in evil part towards himself, belèeving that each one desireth and loveth her whom he loveth. Likewise he imagineth every word that she speaketh to be twain, and full of deceit. And if he ever committed any detraction towards her, it is death to him to remember it, imagining to be by the like means deceived. He will with conjectures shut up the ways of the air, and of the earth. And briefly the heavens, the earth, birds, beasts, and every other creature that he thinketh doth hinder his devices. And to remove him from this, hope hath no place, because in this doing, if he found the woman faithful, he thinketh that she espieth that which he doth, and is therefore heedful therein. If he findeth that he seeketh for, and that he would not finds, who is more dolorous than he? If peradventure ye think that the embracing her in his arms be so great a delight unto him as should mitigate these pangs, your judgement is then false, because such manner of colling bringeth him in choler, in thinking that others as well as he hath embraced her in the like sort: and if the woman peradventure do lovingly entertain him, he deemeth that she doth it to the end to remove him from such his imaginations, & not for the true love she beareth him. If he find her maliciously disposed, he thinketh that she than loveth an other, and is not content with him. And thus we can show you an infinite numbered of other suspicions & cares that are harboured in a jealous person. What shall we then say of his life, but that it is far more grievous than that of any other living creature? 
The misery of a jealous life.  He liveth believing, and not believing, and still alluring the woman: and most times it happeneth, that these jealous persons do end their lives thorough the self same malice, whereof they live fearful, & not without cause, for that with their reprehensions, they show the way to their own harms. 
The conclusion of the Queen upon the fift question.  Considering then the aforesaid reasons, more cause hath your friend that is jealous to sorrow, than have you, because you may hope to get, and he liveth in fear to loose that which he scarcely holdeth for his own. And therefore if he have more cause of grief than you, & yet comforts himself the best he can, much more aught you to comfort yourself, and to set aside bewailings that are meet for faint hearts: and hope, that the assured love which you bear towards your Lady, shall not loose his due desert: For though she show herself sharp towards you at this present, it can not be but that she loveth you, because that love never pardoned any loved to love: and ye shall know, that with the fierce vehement winds, are sooner broken the stubborn Okes, than the consenting reeds.   

The sixth Question, proposed by a young Gentlewoman.  
NExt unto Clonico sat a fair Gentlewoman appareled in black vesture under an honest veil, who as she perceived the Queen to have made an end of her words, thus began to say: Most gracious Queen I remember, that being a little girl, how one day I with my brother, who was a proper young man and of ripe years, abode all alone in a garden, without other company: and in tarrying there together, it happened that two young Damsels of noble blood, 
Two dansels amorous of a gentleman he not knowing thereof: and that which happened.  abounding in riches, and borne in this our City, who loved this my Brother very well, and perceiving him to be in the said Garden, came thither, and began a far off to behold him that was altogether ignorant of their purpose. And after a while, seeing him all alone, saving for me of whom they reckoned not, because I was but a little one, thus the one began to say to the other. We love this young Gentleman above all others, neither do know whether he loveth us or not, yet is it meet that he love us both: so that now it is leeful for us to satisfy our desire: and to know whether he love either of us, or whether of us he best loveth, to the end that she, whom he shall best like of, may after remain his, without being hindered of the other: wherefore since he is all alone, and that we have a meet time offered, let us run unto him, and each one embrace and kiss him, that done, he shall take whether of us best pleaseth him. These two young gentlewomen being thus determined upon this resolution, began to run their race towards my said brother. Whereat he marveled greatly, espying them, and seeing in what sort they came: but the one of them or ever she came at us, by a good way, stayed all bashful, and almost weeping ripe: the other run thorough, and came unto him, whom she embraced and kissed, and so sat her down by him, recommending herself unto him. And he, after y admiration conceived of her boldness, was somewhat ceased, prayed her as ever she loved him, to tell him truly what moved them thus to do? She concealed nothing from him, the which he hearing, & examining well in his mind that which the one & other had done, knew not how to persuade himself, whether of them best loved him, neither yet whether of them he might best love. And so happening at that time to departed from them, he after prayed counsel of many of his friends touching this matter: neither hath any one ever satisfied his desire touching that demand. For the which cause (I pray you) from whom I assuredly believe to have a true definition of this my question, that ye will tell me whether of these two damsels aught soon to be leve of the young man. 
The answer of the Queen  To this Gentlewoman the Queen thus made answer: Truly of the two young women, she as it seemeth loved your brother best, & soon aught to be loved of him again, that doubting) bashfully abode without embracing him, & why I thus think, this is the reason: love (as we know) maketh those always fearful in whom he doth abide: 
Love is accompanied with fear.  and where he is of greatest force, there is like wise the greatest fear: and this happeneth, because the intent or consent of the person loved can not be fully known. And if it could be known, many things should be done, that in fearing to offend are left undone, because the one knoweth that in displeasing, is taken away every occasion to be loved: And with this fear and love, shamefastness is always accompanied, & not without reason. Returning then to our question. We say, that it was an act of one unfeignedly enamoured, that of the Gentlewoman's, whereby she showed herself both fearful and bashful: And that of the other, was rather the part of one both loud & licentious. And therefore he being of her best beloved, aught the rather (according to our judgement) to love her best. Then answered the gentlewoman: Most courteous Queen, 
The Gentlewoman replieth to the Queen.  it is true, that where love abideth with moderation, there fear and bashfulness doth altogether frequent, but where he doth abound in such quantity as he taketh away the sight from the most wise (as is already said) I say, that fear hath there no place, but that the motions of him that feeleth the same, are according to him that urgeth them forwards, & therefore that Gentlewoman seeing her desire before her eyes, was so hotly kindled, as all shamefastness abandoned, she ran strait to him, by whom she was so vehemently pricked forwards, as till then unable to abide. The other not so much inflamed, observed the amorous terms, being bashful and remaining behind, as you say. So that then she that ran, loved most, and most aught to be loved again. Discrete gentlewoman (said the Queen) true it is, 
The Queen to the Gentlewoman maketh answer.  that excessive love taketh away the sight, & every other due perseverance in things that are aught of his nature, but not in those that belong unto him, the which as he increaseth, so grow they. Then how greater quantity of Love is found in any one, so much the more fear (as we said at the first) is there also found. And that this is true, the cruel heart of Biblis doth manifest the same unto us, 
Biblis:  who how much she loved, was seen by the sequel thereof. For she seeing herself abandoned and refused, had not the audacity to discover herself with her proper words, but writing she disclosed her unfitting desire. 
Phedra and Hippolito.  Likewise Phedra many times gave the attempt to go to Hippolito, to whom she thought boldly to speak, and to tell how much she loved him: but the words she had to utter, no sooner came into her mouth, but they stayed upon her tongue and there died. O how fearful is the person that loveth? Who hath been more mighty than Alcides, 
Alcides  to whom satisfied not the victory of human things, but also he gave himself to bear up the heavens, and notwithstanding was lastly so enamoured, not of a woman, but of a young wench, a slave, which he had gained, as fearing her commandments, did like an humble subject or servant, even the very basest things. Also Paris in what he durst not attempt neither with eye nor tongue, 
Paris.  with his finger in the presence of his love, writing first her name with wine that had been spilled, wrote after, I love thee. How far passing all these doth Pasiphae 
Pasiphae  bring us a due example of fear, the which without any reasonable intendment, yea & without understanding, durst not so much as express her desire to a beast, but with her proper hands, gathering the soft grass, endeavoured herself to make him benign unto her, oftentimes decking herself at the glass for to please him, & to kindle him in the like desire that she was in, to the end he might attempt to seek that which she durst not demand. It is not meet for a woman enamoured, 
Shame prescribeth the honour of Ladies.  neither for any other, to be prompt and ready, forasmuch as y great shame fastness only which aught to be in us, doth remain as the guarder of our honour. We have the voice among men, (and the troth is so) to know better how to hide the amorous flame than they do, & nothing else engendereth this in us, but the great fear, the which doth rather occupy our forces than those of men. How many hath there been of them (& peradventure we have known some) which many times have caused themselves, to have been bidden, to the end thereby they might have achieved to the amorous effects, the which willingly would rather have bidden the bidder, before he them, if due bashfulness and fear had not detained them: and not only that, but every time that No is scaped their mouth, they have had in their minds a thousand repentings, saying from their hearts a thousand times Yea. There remaineth then the like scelerate fire on the behalf of Semiramis, and Cleopatra, 
Semiramis & Cleopatra.  the which loved not, but sought to quiet the rage of their wanton wills, & the same being quieted, they after remembered not themselves the one of the other. Wise merchants unwillingly do adventure at one time all their treasures to the hazard of Fortune, and yet notwithstanding, they care not to grant her some small portion, the which if they happen to loose, yet do they feel no grief of mind at all for the same. The young woman therefore that embraced your brother, 
The conclusion of the Queen upon the sixth question.  loved him but a little, & that little she committed to Fortune, saying: This gentleman if I may hereby get him, it is well: but if he refuse me, there shallbe no more but let him take an other. The other that abode all bashful, forasmuch as she loved him above all others, she doubted to put so great love in adventure, imagining lest this peradventure should displease her, and he so refuse her, that her grief should be then such and so much, as she should die thereof. Let therefore the second be loved before the first.   

The seventh Question, proposed by GALEONE.  
A Clear Sun beam● piercing thorough amongst the green leaves, did strike upon the aforesaid Fountain, and did rebound the light thereof upon the fair face of the adorned Queen, who was thereby appareled with that colour, whereof the heavens maketh show, when as both the children of Latona (from us hidden) with their stars only giveth us light: and besides the splendour it brought to her face, it did so lighten the place, as among the fresh shade it yielded a marvelous lustre to the whole company. Further what time the reflected ray did extend even to that place where the Laurel crown on her head on the one side, and the golden tresses on the other, did determine: It so intermingled there among with twinings not artificial, as at the first fight one would have said, that there had issued forth among the green leaves a clear flame of a burning fire, which did spread in such sort, as the aburn hairs were easily seen to the flanders about. Galeone that was peradventure sooner or better awares of this marvelous sight than any of the rest (being set in circle over against the Queen divided only with the water) did very intentively behold the same almost as though he cared for nothing else: so that he moved not his mouth to the question that was now come to his turn: To whom the Queen therefore (having now both kept silence a good space, as eke contented the witty gentlewoman) thus said: The only desire peradventure of the thing which thou beholdest, stayeth thee: Tell what is the occasion that holdeth thee thus appalled, as in following the order of the rest thou speakest not? It is only (as we believe) the gazing at our head, as if ye had never seen the same before: Tell us first, & after as the other have propounded, even so propound you. At this sudden voice Galeone lift up his mind replete with sweet thoughts, somewhat coming to himself, at what time he is wont to do, that thorough a sudden fear doth break his golden sleep, & thus said: Most noble & renowned Queen, whose worthiness it should be impossible for me to declare, my mind was so wrapped in gracious thoughts (when as I did so firmly look at your head) as in beholding the bright ray, streming into the fresh fountain, and rebounding upon your face, me thought there issued forth of the water, a little spirit so gentle and gracious to see unto, as he plucked my mind back, to behold that which he did, & perceiving peradventure, my eyes altogether insufficient to behold so great a joy, he mounted by the clear ray into your eyes, & there for a good space made marvelous mirth, adorning the same with a new clearness: And after mounting more high, I saw how he ascended by this light (leaving his footsteps in your eyes) upon your crown, whereas he together with the ray, kindled (as it seemed unto me) a new flame, such a one as was of yore seen by Tanaquil, to appear to Servius Tullus a little boy whilst he slept, and so went about your crown, leaping from sprig to sprig, like a little amorous bird, that fing doth visit many leaves, moving your heart with sundry gestures, sometimes wrapping & hiding himself therein, being more merrier every time he came forth thereof, and therewith (as it seemed unto me) so jocund in himself, as nothing more, and that singing, or with a sweet voice he uttered these words:  

Of the third rolling Sky, the benign babe divine  
I am, enamoured so, to nest in these two eyen,  
That doubtless die I should, were I of mortal routs  
From twig to twig I twine to feed this my delight.  
These golden Tresses whirling in and out:  
Myself, inflaming myself, right  
So as with flame I show, th'effect, the potent might,  
Of my darts divine, piercing where I go,  
Each one wounding, that with sweet sight,  
Doth gaze her in the eyes: whereas each hour lo,  
If such her pleasure be, I there descend adown,  
For of my kingdoms she, queen is of great renown.   
And herewith he said much more, going about as at what time ye called me, and ye had no sooner spoken, but that he suddenly retired into your eyes, the which sparkling like to the morning star gave a new light that made all the place to shine: ye have now heard with what joy new thoughts have stayed me for a time. Philocopo and the rest marveled not a little hereat, and turning their eyes towards their Queen, saw that, which to hear seemed to them impossible. And she that was attired with humility, listued to the words that were truly reported of her, and abode with a stable countenance, making no answer at all. And therefore Galeone speaking in this wise, followed with his question: Most gracious Queen, I desire to know whether a man aught to be enamoured for his delight or no? And to demand this, many things move me, both seen, heard, and held, through the sundry opinions of many. The Queen beheld Galeone a good while in the face, and afterwards, after a certain sigh, thus made answer. It is convenient we speak against that which with desire we seek to follow. And truly that which you in ask, do propound in doubt, aught to be manifest unto you. In answering you therefore there shallbe kept the begun order. And he whose subjects we are, pardon us the words, that we, as constrained through force of judgement, shall (more sooner than willing) say against his divine majesty, lest thereby his indignation do fall upon us. And you that likewise as well as we are his subject, with a bold mind give ear unto them, neither do you for all that change your purpose at all. And to the end that so much the better, and with a more apparent intendment our words may be received, we will somewhat digress from our matter, returning again thereunto as briefly as possible we may, and thus we say: Love is of three sorts, thorough which three all other things are loved, some thorough the virtue of one, & some throw the power of an other, according as is the thing loved, and likewise the lover: The first of the which three is called honest love: This is the good, upright, & loyal love, the which of all persons aught to be received: This, the high & first creator holdeth, linked to his creatures, & them h●tieth therewith unto him. Through this, the heavens, the world, realms, provinces, and cities do remain in their state: thorough this we do merit to be eternal possessors of the celestial kingdom: and without this is lost all that we have in power of well doing. The second is called love for delight: And this is he, whose subjects we are: This is our god, him we do worship, him we do pray unto, in him do we trust, that he may be our contentation, and that he may fully bring our desire to pass: Of this is put the question, whereunto we shall duly answer. The third is love for utility, of this love the world is replenished more than of any of the other things. This is coupled with Fortune, whilst she tarrieth, he likewise abideth: but if they part, he is then the waster of many goods. And to speak reasonably, he ought to be deemed rather hate than love. Now as touching the propounded question, we need to speak neither of the first, nor of the last: we will speak of the second, that is, of love for delight, to whom truly, no person that desireth to lead a virtuous life, ought to submit himself, because he is the depriver of honours, the bringer of troubles, the reveller of vices, the copious giver of vain cares, and the unworthy occupier of the liberty of others, a thing above all things to be held most dear. What is he then regarding his own wealth (being wise) that will not flee such a government? Let him that may, live free, following those things that do every way increase his liberty, and let vicious governors govern vicious vassals. I did not think, said Galeone then, to give occasion through these my words to the lessening of this our disport, nor to disquiet the regiment of our lord love, neither yet to trouble the minds of any others, but did rather imagine (you defining it according to the intent of me & many others) that ye might thereby confirm those that are his subjects with a valiant mind, and invite those which are not, with a greedy appetite: but I see that your intent is all contrary to mine, because you with your words do show to be three sorts of love, of the which three, the first and the last I consent they be as you say. But the second, which answereth to my demand, ye say it is as much to be fled, as I hold opinion, it is (as the increaser of virtue) to be followed of him that desireth a glorious end, as I believe to make apparent unto you by this that followeth. This Love, of whom we reason (as it may be manifest to all the world, because we prove it) doth work this property in human hearts, that after that it hath disposed the mind to a thing which pleaseth, it spoileth the same of all pride and of all fierceness, making them humble in each doing, as it is manifest unto us by Mars, whom we find, that in loving Venus, become of a fierce and sharp Duke in battle, a most humble and pleasant Lover. It makes the greedy and covetous, liberal and courteous. Medea the most careful hider of her art, after she felt his flames, liberally yielded herself, her honour, and her arts to jason. Who makes men more diligent to high attempts than he? And what he can do, behold by Paris and Menelaus. Who furthereth forward the angry fires more than doth he? He showeth us how oftentimes the anger of Achilles was quieted thorough the sweet prayer of Polixena.  
He above all others maketh men courageous and strong. Neither know I what greater example may be given us, than that of Perseus, who for Andromaca made a marvelous proof of his virtuous force. He decketh all them that are by him appareled, with excellent qualities, with ornate talk, with magnificence, and with pleasantness. He I say bestoweth upon all his subjects fineness and gentleness. O how many are the good things which proceed from him? Who moved Virgil? who Ovid? who the other Poets to leave of themselves eternal fame in those their holy verses, the which (if he had not been) should never have comen to our ears, but he? What shall we say further of his virtues? but that he was able to give such a sweetness to Orpheus' harp, as after that he had called to that sound all the woods, standers about, and made the running streams to stay, & to come into his presence in mild peace the fierce Lions togethers, with the faint hearted Hearts, and all other beasts: he made likewise the infernal furies quiet, & gave rest, and sweetness to the troubled souls, and after all this the sound was of such virtue, as he attained to have again his lost wise. Then is he not the chaser away of honour as you say, neither the giver of unfitting troubles, nor the provoker of vices, nor the disposer of vain cares, nor the unworthy user of the liberty of others. So that every one of whom he maketh none account, and is not as yet his servant, aught with all their wit and diligence, to endeavour and to occupy themselves in the attaining the favour of such a Lord, and to become his subject, since throw him he becometh virtuous. That which pleaseth the Gods, and men of greatest strength, aught likewise to please us. Let such a Lord therefore be loved, served, and live always in our minds. Greatly deceiveth thee thine opinion, said the queen, and it is no marvel, because as far as we understand, thou art so far enamoured, as none the like, and without doubt the judgement of the enamoured is merely false, because as they have lost the sight of the eyes of their mind, so have they banished reason as their utter enemy. And for this cause it shall be convenient, that we against our will speak of love, the which grieveth us, since we be his subjects. But yet to pluck thee from thine error, we shall turn our silence to a true report, and will therefore that thou know, that this love is nothing else, than an unreasonable will sprung of a passion entered the heart through a wanton pleasure, that is opened to the eyes, nourished with idleness, by the memory and thoughts of foolish minds: and many times in how much it multiplieth, so much it taketh away the intent of him in whom it abideth, from things necessary, and disposeth the same to things unprofitable. But because that thou through example giving dost endeavour thyself to show, that all goodness and all virtue doth proceed from him, we will proceed to the disprofes of thy prooufes. It is no part of humility unjustly to bring to a man's self, that which belongeth to an other, but rather an arrogancy and an unfitting presumption: The which thing Mars (whom thou makest through love to become humble) assuredly used in taking away from Vulcan, Venus his most lawful wife. And without doubt this humility that appeareth in the face of lovers doth not proceed of a benign heart, but taketh root from guile and deceit, neither makes this love the covetous liberal, but when as such abundance as thou layest to have been in Medea, doth abound in the heart, and doth deprive the same of the sight of the mind, and most foolishly is become prodigal of things heretofore duly esteemed dear, and not giving the same with measure, but unprofitably casting them away, believeth to please, and displeaseth. Medea nothing wise of her prodigality, in short time repented very much without utility, and knew that if she had modestly used those her dear gifts, she should not have comen to so vile an end. And that soliciting that purchaseth or worketh hurt to the solicitors, as it seemeth to us, aught not any ways to be sought for: for must better it is to stand idle, than work harm, although that neither the one nor the other is to be praised. Paris was a solicitor to his own destruction, if he beheld the end of his soliciting. Menelaus as reason was, become diligent, not for love, but to recover his honour lost, as each discrete person aught to do. Neither yet is this love a mean to mitigate anger, but the benignity of mind, the brunt being paste that induceth it, makes it to become nothing, and remitteth the offence against whom it is angry. And yet lovers and discrete persons were wont at the prayers of the person loved, or of some friend to forgive offences, to show themselves courteous of that which cost them nothing, and to make the cravers thereof beholding unto them. And in this sort Achilles, many times showed himself to expel from him this congealed anger. Likewise it seems that this makes men courageous and worthy: But thereof I can show you the contrary. Who was a man of greater valour than Hercules, and yet being enamoured, become vile & forgetful of his force, so that he did spin thread with the women of jole? Assuredly in things, wherein occurreth no danger, a most hardy people are the enamoured, and wherein danger happeneth, they show themselves in appearance hardy, and put themselves forward, neither doth love, but little wit allure them so to do, to the end they may after have glory in the sight of their loves, although it happeneth very seldom, because they doubt so much the losing of the person loved, that they are rather content to be held vile and of little courage, than to give themselves to peril. And yet we doubt not, but this love reposeth all sweetness in Orpheus' harp. We agree that it is true that thou hast showed, that truly in general love ladeth the tongues of his subjects with such a sweetness, and with so many enticements, as they many times would thereby make the stones turn up side down, so that to entice is not only the property of wavering and inconstant men, but of vile men. How shall we say, that such a lord aught to be followed, through the good property of the follower? Assuredly he (in whom he abideth) maketh wise and profitable counsels to be despised. For it was evil with the troyans that those of Cassandra, were not heard of Paris. He maketh likewise his subjects to forget and despise their good fame, the which aught to remain to us all on earth after our deaths, as an eternal heir of our memory. And how much these aforesaid did contemn, the same Aegisthus may suffice for an example: Although Scylla wrought no less hurt than Pasiphae. Is not he the occasion that breaketh sacred bonds of the promised pure faith? Yet truly what had Ariadna done to duke Theseus, whereby contaminating the matrimonical bands, and giving himself, and his promised faith to the winds, he should abandon her poor miser among the desert rocks? A little pleasure in gazing in the eyes of Phedra, was occasion to celerate so much evil, and of such requital for the received honour. In him also is found no law: and that it is true, may be seen by the doings of Tereus, who having received Philomena, from her pitiful father, and carnally known her, made no stay to contaminate the most holy laws matrimonially contracted between him and Progne, the sister of Philomena This also calling and causing himself to be called a God, occupieth the reasons of the gods. Who could ever fully with words show the iniquity of him? He to speak briefly, leadeth them that follow him to all evils: and if by hap his followers do any virtuous act (which happeneth very seldom) with a vicious beginning they begin it, desiring thereby to come very quickly to the desired end of their loathsome wills, the which may be rather said vices, than virtues, forsomuch as that is not to be heeded only which man doth, but with what mind it is done, and so according to the will of the worker, to repute the same vicious or virtuous, because that never of an evil root sprang a good tree, nor from an evil tree good fruit. This love than is lewd and nought: and if he be nought, he is to be fled. And who that fleeth things evil, of consequent followeth the good, and so is both good and virtuous. The beginning of this love is none other thing, than fear, the sequels is sin, and the end is grief and noy, it aught then to be fled, and to be reproved, and to fear you to have him in you, because he is violent, neither knoweth he in any of his doings to keep measure, and is altogether void of reason. He is without all doubt the destroyer of the minds, the shame, anguish, passion, grief, and plaint of the same, never consenteth that the heart of whom that lodgeth him be without bitterness, who will than praise that he is to be followed, but fools. Truly if it were lawful we would willingly live without him, but of such an harm we are to late awares, and therefore it is convenient for us, since we are caught in his nets to follow his life until what time as that light which guided Aeneas out of the dark ways, fleeing the perilous fires, may appear to us, and guide us to his pleasures.   

¶ The eight Question, proposed by a fair Gentlewoman named POLA.  
ON the right hand of Galeone, was set a fair gentlewoman, whose name was Pola, pleasant, and yet under an honest coverture, who after the Queen blended, thus began to say: O noble Queen, ye have domed at this present, that no person aught to follow this our lord Love, and I for my part consent thereunto: but yet since it seems to me impossible, that the youthful race both of men and women should be run over without this benign Love: I gather, at this present, setting apart (by your leave) your sentence, that to be enamoured is leeful, taking the evil doing for due working: And in following the same, 
Of what degrees one should choose his lover.  I desire to know of you, whether of these two women aught rather to be loved of a young man, both two pleasing him alike, either she that is of noble blood, and of able kinsfolk, and copious of having much more than the young man, or the other that is neither noble nor rich, nor of kinsfolks so abounding as is the young man? To whom the Queen thus made answer: Fair Gentlewoman, 
The Queens answer.  admitting the case that both man and woman aught to follow Love as you have before affirmed, we give judgement, that in how much the woman is richer, greater, and more noble than the young man, of whatsoever degree or dignity he be of, even so she aught to be rather preferred to the love of a young man, than aught she that hath any thing less than he: because man's mind was created to follow high things. And therefore he must seek rather to advance, than any ways to imbace himself. Further there is a common Proverb, which saith: 
The good to covet better 'tis,  
Than to possess that bad is.  Wherefore in our judgement, thou art better to love the most noble, and with good reason to refuse the less noble. Then said pleasant Pola: noble Queen, 
The contrary opinion of Pola with her reasons.  I would have given an other judgement (if it had been to me) of this Question, as ye shall hear. We all naturally do rather desire short and brief, than long and tedious troubles, and that it is a less & more brief trouble to get the love of the less noble, than of the more noble, is manifest. Then the less aught to be followed: for as muchè as the love of the less may be said to be already won, the which of the more is yet to get. Further, many perils may follow to a man loving a woman of a greater condition, than himself is of, neither hath he lastly thereby any greater delight, than of the lesser. For we see a great woman to have many kinsfolks, & a great family, and them all as diligent héeders of her honour, to have an eye unto her, so that if any one of them hap to espy this love, thereof may follow (as we have already said) great peril to the lover, the which of the less noble can not so lightly come to pass: and these perils each one (as he is able) aught to flee, for as much as who that receiveth harm is sure thereof, and who that hath done it, laugheth him after to scorn, saying he speedeth well, where he liketh, there let him love: yet dieth he more than once. But how that once happeneth, where, and for what occasion, besides each one aught to take good heed: it is very credible that a Gentlewoman will lightly esteem of him, for that she will desire to love one more Noble or greater than herself, and not one inferior to herself: whereby soldome or never, he shall attain his desire. But of the lesser shall happen the contrary, because that she will glory to be loved of such a Lover, and will endeavour herself to please him, to the end to nourish Love, and yet if this were not, the power of the Lover only might be able without fear to bring to pass to fulfil his desire. Wherefore I gather, that the less Noble ought to be preferred in love before the more noble. Your judgement deceiveth you (said the Queen) to the fair Gentlewoman, 
The Que●●● solution upon the eight question.  because Love is of this nature, that how much the more one loveth, so much the more he desireth to love: And this may be seen by them, that thorough love feel the greater grief, the which although it trouble them not a little, yet love they continually the more: Neither doth any one from his heart, although he make great appearance in words, desire thereof a speedy end. Then as small troubles are sought for of the slothful, of the wise, things that are attained with most trouble, are held most dear and delightful. And therefore in loving the less woman, to get her, should be (as you say) little trouble, and the love both little and short, & should be followed as though one in loving, would desire to love less and less, which is contrary to the nature of Love, as we have said. But in loving the greater, that is gotten with trouble, happeneth the contrary: because, that as in a thing dearly gotten, with travail, is reposed all diligence to the well héeding of the gained Love, even so is she every hour the more loved, and the longer doth continued the delight and pleasure thereof. And yet if ye will say that all the doubt is of their kinsmen, we will not deny it, for this is one of the occasions. Wherefore, it is a trouble to have the love of one of these great women: but not withstanding the discrete in such cases proceed by a secret way. And we doubt not but that the honour both of the greatest and meanest woman is by some of their kinsfolks according to their power looked unto, in such sort, as a fool may come to an evil adventure, loving aswell in a base, as in a noble stock. But what shall he be that will pass Pisistrato in cruelty, having offended them which loved his 
The cruelty of Pisistratus.  without forethinking that which he should afterwards have done to those that had had the same in heart? In saying also, that loving a greater woman than himself, he shall never be able to come to the end of his desire, because the woman coveteth to love one greater than herself, and therefore will make of him no estimation at all: ye show yourself to be ignorant that the meanest man (in what belongeth to natural virtues) is of greater and better condition, 
The meanest man of better condition than the noblest woman.  than the noblest woman of the world. Whatsoever man she than desireth, she desireth him that is of greater and better condition than herself, because the virtuous or vicious life maketh many times the mean great, and the great mean. In as much therefore as any woman shall be solicited by any man in due sort, even so without doubt she shall yield to his desire, though the great with more trouble than the mean. For we see the soft water with a continual fall to break and pierce the hard stone: and therefore let none despair to love. 
The Queen concludeth that we should rather love the more noble woman than the less noble.  For so much goodness shall follow him that loveth a greater woman than himself, as he shall endeavour himself to please her, to have decent qualities, the company of noble personages, to be ornate of sweet talk, bold in enterprises, and splendent in apparel, and if he shall attain to greater glory, the greater delight shall he have of mind, likewise he shallbe exalted with the good report of the people, and reputed of a noble mind. Let him therefore follow the most noble, as we have already said.   

The ninth Question, proposed by FERAMONTE. Duke of Montorio.  
next unto pleasant Pola, sat Feramonte Duke of Montorio, who after the Queen had said, thus began: I consent that it be convenient to love, that ye have already fully answered this Gentlewoman to her Question. And that a man aught to love rather a more noble woman than a less noble than himself, may very well be yielded unto, thorough the sundry reasons by you showed touching the same. 
Whether is to be chosen in loving, either the wife, the widow, or the maid.  But forasmuch as there are sundry Gentlewomen of sundry sorts attired with diversities of habits, that (as it is thought) do diversly love, some more, some less, some more hotly, & some others more luke warm. I desire to understand of you, whether of these three, a young man to bring his desire to a most happy end, aught soon to be enamoured of, either of her that is married, or of the maid, or of the widow? To whom the Queen made this answers: Of the three, 
The queens answer.  the one, that is the married woman, aught in no wise to be desired, because she is not her own, neither hath liberty to give herself to any: and therefore either to desire her, or to take her, is both to commit an offence against the divine laws, as also against the laws natural & positive, the offending whereof, is to heap upon ourselves, the divine anger, and by consequent, heavy judgement. Howbeit, who that gropeth not his conscience so far inwardly, doth oftentimes speed better in loving her, than of any of the other two, either maid or widow, in as much as he (although such love sometimes be with great peril) is to have the effect of his desire. And why this love may divers times bring the lover to his desire, sooner than the love of the others, this is the reason: It is manifest, that in how much more the fire is blown, so much the more it flameth, & without blowing, it becometh dead. And as all other things thorough much use do decay, so contrariwise lust the more it is used, the more it increaseth. The widow in that she hath been a long time without the like effect, doth feel the same almost as though it had never been, and so is rather kindled with the memory thereof, than with any concupiscence at all. The maid that yet hath no skill thereof, neither knoweth the same but by imagination, desireth as it were one luke warm: and therefore the married woman kindled in such passions, doth more than any of the others desire such effects. What time the married are wont to receive from their husbands outrageous words or deeds, whereof willingly they would take revenge if they might, there is no way left more readier unto them, than in despite of their husbands to give their love to him, by whom they are alured to receive the like. And although it be expedient that such manner of revenge be very secret, that no shame grow thereby, nevertheless are they yet content in their minds. Further the always using of one kind of meat is tedious: and we have oftentimes seen the delicate meats left for the gross, turning afterwards unto the same again, what time the appetite hath been satisfied of the others. But because (as we have said) it is not lawful thorough any unjust occasion to desire that which is an other man's, we will leave the married to their husbands, and take of the others, whereof a copious numbered our City doth set before our eyes. 
The widow is to be loved before the maid.  And we would in bestowing our love, rather seek the widows than the rude maids, gross for such a mystery, and that are not without great trouble (the which in widows needeth not) made able to a man's desire. Further if maids love, they know not what they desire, and therefore they do not follow with an intentive mind, the steps of the lover as do the widows, in whom now the antic fire taketh force, and maketh them to desire that which thorough long abuse they had forgotten: so that to come to such effect, they (to late) beweep the lost times, and the solitary long nights, the which they have passed in their widowish beds. These are therefore (as it seemeth unto us) rather to be loved of them in whom is the liberty to submit themselves to others, than any of the rest. Then answered Faramonte: 
The contrary opinion of Feramonte.  Most excellent Queen, what ye have said of the married, I had determined in my mind that so it aught to be: and now hearing the same from you, I am the rather assured thereof. But touching the Maids and Widows, I am of the contrary opinion, because (setting the married apart, for the reasons by you alleged) it seemeth unto me very good, that the Maid rather than the Widow, aught to be desired: For as much as the love of the Maid seemeth more firm and assured than that of the Widow. For the Widow without doubt hath already loved one other time before, and hath seen and felt many things of love, and knoweth what shame may follow thereof: and therefore knowing these things better than the Maid, loveth fair and softly: and doubting and not loving firmly, desireth now this and now that, and knoweth not to whether for her most delight and greatest honour to link herself, for sometimes she will neither the one, nor the other: so that deliberation doth waver in her mind, neither is the amorous passion able to take there stability: but to the maid these things are altogether unknown. 
The constancy of maids in love.  And therefore as she persuadeth herself with good advisement, that of many young men she greatly pleaseth one, so without further examination she maketh choice of him as of her lover, and to him only disposeth her love, not knowing how for her pleasure to show any contrary act, neither is there for the more sure tying of the Lover, any new deliberation by her sought for thee, touching her love, so that she is then pure at the will and pleasure of him that simply pleaseth her, & quickly disposeth her wounded heart, him only to serve as Lord. The which thing (as I have already said) happeneth not of the widow, and therefore is the other, the rather to be followed. Further, with more efficacy the maid tarrieth those things that never any one of her sort hath seen, heard or proved. And yet she desireth more to see, hear and prove them than who that ha' the many times both seen, heard and proved them, and this is manifest. Among the other occasions for the which our life doth greatly delight us, and is desired to be long, is for to see new things, such as we have yet never seen before. And also for to see things most new we have a great delight to run with a diligent pace to that, which we above all other things do endeavour ourselves to flee, that is Death, the last end of our bodies. The maid knoweth not that delyghtfull conjunction, thorough the which we come into the world, and yet is it natural to every creature thorough a desire to be drawn thereunto. Further, she many times hath heard from them, that know what manner a thing it is, how much sweetness doth consist therein, the which with words have given fire to the desire, and therefore drawn of nature, and of a desire to prove the thing, of her not as yet proved, doth thorough the words which she hath heard, desire boldly with a kindled heart this concourse. And with whom is it presumed to be had but only with him, whom she hath already made Lord of her mind? This heat shall not be in the widow, because having once proved and felt what manner a thing it was, she is thereby provoked thereunto: So that the Maid than shall love more, and be more diligent (thorough the reasons aforesaid) to the pleasure of her Lover, than the widow. To what end shall we then wade any further in seeking that the Maid aught not rather to be loved than the Widow? You, said the Queen reason well, 
The Queen's solution upon the ninth question.  and very well you defend your judgement: But yet we will show you with apparent reason, how you likewise aught to hold the same opinion, that we hold of this contention, if with a strait eye ye look to the nature of Love. Thus in the Maid as in the Widow, and so in the Widow as in the Maid we see him to be firm, strong, and constant, and that this is true, Dido and Adriana with their doings have left us an example. And where as this Love is neither in the one nor the other, none of the aforesaid operations will thereof follow. Then is it convenient that each one of them do love, if we will have that to follow, whereof both you and I have already talked. And therefore in loving either maid or widow, without going about to seek whether of them is most discreetly enamoured (as we are certain of the widow) we shall show you how the widow is more diligent to the pleasure of the lover, than is the maid. 
Maids aught not to love, but in respect of marriage.  For doubtless among those things, that a woman esteemeth dear above the rest, is her virginity: and this is the reason, because therein consisteth all the honour of her following life. And without doubt she shall never be so much urged forwards to love, as she shall not willingly be courteous thereof, but yet to him only, to whom she believeth to be coupled as wife thorough the matrimonial Law. And therefore we go not about seeking for this: for there is no doubt but that who will love to marry, aught rather to love the maid than the widow, because she shallbe slow and negligent in giving herself to him that loveth her not (if she know it) to that effect. Further, maids are generally fearful, neither are they subtle enough to find the ways and means, whereby they may take the stolen delights: But the widow of these things maketh no doubt at all, because that she already hath honourably given that which the other tarrieth to give, and being without the same, doubteth not in giving herself to an other, that token which may accuse: Whereby afterwards, she becometh the more adventurous, because (as is said) the chiefest occasion that bringeth doubt, is not in her: besides she knoweth better the secret ways, and so putteth them in effect. In that which you say, that the maid as desirous of a thing which she never proved, may be made more diligent to this than the widow, that knoweth what manner a thing it is, thereof the contrary. Maids do not at the first time for their delight, run to such effect (although the thing the delighteth, the oftener it is seen, heard, or felt, the more it pleaseth, and the more careful is every one to follow the same (because it is then more noisome than pleasant unto them. This thing whereof we reason, doth not follow the order of many other things, that once or twice being seen, are afterwards no more desired, but rather the oftener it is put in effect, with so much the more affection it coveteth to return, and more desireth he the thing whom it pleaseth, than doth he whom it aught to please, and hath not as yet tasted thereof. Wherefore the widow, forasmuch as she giveth lest, and is best able to give, she shall be the most liberal, and the more sooner than the maid, that must give the dearest thing she hath. Also the widow shall be sooner drawn (as we have showed) than the maid to such effects. For the which occasion, let the widow be rather loved than the maid. (⸫)   

¶ The tenth Question, proposed by ASCALIONE.  
IT was convenient that that Ascalione, who in circle sat next unto the duke Feramonte, should now propound: and therefore thus he said: Most excellent queen, I remember that there was heretofore in this our city a fair & noble gentlewoman left the widow of a worthy husband, the which for that her marvelous beauty, was of many a noble young Gentleman beloved. And of those many, there were two gentlemen courageous knights, each one in what he could did endeavour himself to attain her love. And whilst this continued, by chance it happened, that an unjust accusation was brought against her, by certain of her kinsfolks, before the Magistrate, & after by false evidence proved, thorough which untrue process she was condemned to the fire. But because the conscience of the judge was perplexed, for that it seemed him, as it were to know the unjust proof, he was willing to commit her life to the Gods, and to Fortune's hap, and so tied such a condition to his given sentence, as after the Gentlewoman should be led to the fire, if any knight could be found the which would combat in the defence of her honour, against him that would maintain the contrary, and should hap to overcome, she should then be free, and if the contrary, to be burned according to the domed sentence. As the condition was understood of her two lovers, 
Two knights amorous of one gentle woman, did in sundry wise show their love.  and by chance sooner known to the one than to the other: He which knew the same soon, forthwith took him to his armour, mounted on horseback, and came into the field, gainsaying him that would come & maintain the death of the Gentlewoman. The other that somewhat later than the first understood of this sentence, and hearing how that the knight was already in field in her defence, neither that there was then place for any other to go thither in that enterprise, & therefore not knowing herein what to do, become very sorrowful, imagining that through his stackenesse he had lost the love of the loved Gentlewoman, and that the other justly had deserved the same: and whilst he thus sorrowed his mishap, he bethought him, that if he before any other should go armed into the field, saying that the Gentlewoman aught to die, and so suffer himself to be overcome, he might thereby 'cause her to escape, and so according to his device, he put the same in effect. The gentlewoman hereby escaped, and was delivered from peril. So that then after certain days, the first knight went unto her, and recommended himself unto her, putting her in remembrance how that he, to preserve her from death, had a few days passed offered himself to the peril of death, and thanks be to the Gods, and to his forces, he had delivered both her and himself from so hard an hap: Whereupon it would please her, according to his desert to give her love, the which above all things he had always desired. Afterwards with the like prayers came the second knight, saying that for your sake I have hazarded my life, and because you should not die, suffered myself to be overcome, whereupon I have purchased to myself eternal infamy: whereas I contrariwise with encountering your surety, and willing to use my force, might have been able to have gotten the honour of the victory. The Gentlewoman thanked each one of them very benignly, promising them both due recompense for the received service. And now they being departed, she abode in great doubt to whether of them she should the rather give her love, to the first, or to the second, and thereof prayeth counsel of you, on whether of them ye would say, that she aught soon to bestow the same. 
The queen's judgement upon the contrary doings of the two knights.  We deem (said the Queen) that the first is to be loved, and the last to be left: because the first used force, and showed his assured love in diligent sort, giving himself to every peril, that might happen through the future battle, even unto the death, whereby it might very well have followed, forasmuch as if such a battle to be done against him, had been as leeful to any of the enemies of the Gentlewoman, as it was to the lover, he had been in peril of death for his defence: neither was it manifest to him, that one should come against him, that would suffer himself to be overcomen, as it happened. The last truly went well advised not to die, neither to suffer the Gentlewoman to die. Then, forasmuch as he put lest in adventure, he meriteth to gain the less. Let the first then have the love of the fair gentlewoman, as the just deserver thereof. 
Ascalion cotrarieth the queen.  Ascaleone said: Omost prudent Queen, what is that you say? Doth not not one time suffice to be rewarded for well doing, without craving further desert? Truly yes. The first is well requited, with being of every one honoured for the received victory: and what greater reward needeth he than honour the reward of virtue? the received honour did suffice for a greater matter than he did. And he that with all his wit came well advised, aught he to be unrecompensed? and further, he to be of every one evil spoken of, having nothing less than the first holpen the Gentlewoman to escape? Is not the wit to to foresee every bodily force? How so? If this man with all his wit came for the safety of the Gentlewoman, aught he for his desert to be rejected? God forbidden it should so be. If he knew not the same so soon as the other, this was not through negligence: for if perhaps he had known it before the other, he would have run to that, which he took discreetly for the last remedy: whereof reward justly aught to follow, the which reward aught to be the love of the Gentlewoman, if rightly she see unto him: and yet you say the contrary. 
The queen's solution of the tenth question.  God defend from your mind (answered the Queen) that vice come to a good end, merit the same reward that virtue done to the like end meriteth: But rather in as much as vice deserveth correction, so no worldly desert can justly satisfy virtue. Who shall deny us to believe (although we can not manifest the same with apparent reason) but that the last knight as envious of the good turn he saw prepared for the other, was moved to such an enterprise, to the end to disturb the same, and not for the love he bore to the Gentlewoman, and yet his device failed him. He is a fool, that under the colour of an enemy, doth endeavour himself (to the end to receive recompense) to help an other. Infinite are the ways whereby it is possible enough for us to show at the first with open friendship, the love that one of us beareth towards the other, without showing ourselves as enemies, and after with coloured words to make show to have profited. That which we have said may now suffice you for answer, whom old age more than any thing else, aught to make discrete. And we believe, that when your mind shall have duly digested these things, ye shall not found our judgement guileful, but true, and to be followed. And so she held her peace.   

The eleventh Question, proposed by a Gentlewoman, named GARCE.  
THere followed after him a gentlewoman of cheer very mild, whose name was Grace, and assuredly the name was consonant to her nature, who with an humble and modest voice began these words: It is come to my turn, O most virtuous queen, to propound this my question, the which to the end the time (that now approacheth to our last feasting, may be sweetened with the new beginning thereof) be only spent in talk, I shall briefly propound that which willingly (if it were leeful for me) I would pass over, but yet not to pretermit the limits of your obedience, neither the order of the rest, 
Whether is greater pleasure to a lover to see the present, or to think on the absent.  I shall propound this: Whether is it great delight to the lover to see his love present, or not seeing her, to think amorously on her? My gracious Grace, said the queen, we believe that much more delight is taken in thinking than in beholding: because in thinking on the thing loved, all the sensitive spirits do then graciously feel a marvelous joy, and as it were, do content their inflamed desires, with the delight only of the thought. But this happeneth not in the beholding, because that only the visible spirit feeleth joy, and the others are kindled with such a desire that they are not able to endure, and so remain vanquished: and that visible spirit sometime taketh so great pleasure, 
The judgement of the queen.  that of force he is constrained to withdraw himself back, remaining vile and altogether vanquished. Then do we gather hereof, that greater delight is to think than to behold. That thing which is loved, answered the Gentlewoman, how much the more it is seen, so much the more it delighteth: and therefore I believe, that greater delight bringeth the beholding, than doth the thinking, because every beauty at the first, pleaseth thorough the sight thereof: and so after thorough the continual sight, such pleasure is confirmed in the mind, as thereof is engendered love, and those pleasures that spring from him. No beauty is so much loved, neither for any other occasion than to please the eyes, and to content the same. Then in seeing they are contented, and in thinking to see, the desire increaseth: so that more delight feeleth he that is contented, than doth he that desireth to content himself. 
Laodomia and Prothesilaus.  We may see and know by Laodomia how much more the present sight than the absent thought doth delight, because we are to think that her Prothesilaus never departed from her thought, neither yet was she ever seen disposed to other than to melancholy, refusing to deck and apparel herself with her costly garments: The which thing in seeing him never happened: For what time she abode in his presence, she was merry, gracious, and always joyful, and trimly attired. What more manifest testimony will we have than this, that the gladness is not greater of the sight than of the thought? Because that thorough the exterior doings, that may be comprehended, which in the heart is hidden? 
The queen's solution of the xj. question, defining that the thought is to be preferred before the look.  The Queen then, thus made answer: Those things, both delightful and noisome, that approach most near to the mind, bring more annoy, and more joy, than do those far off from the same. And who doubteth, but that the thought abideth in the mind, and that the mind is not from the eye? although thorough the particular virtue of the mind they have their fight, and that it is convenient for them by sundry means to tender their proportions to the animate understanding. Having then in the mind a sweet thought of the loved, in that act which the thought bringeth, in that together with the thing loved, it seems the lover to be. Then he seeth the same with those eyes, to whom nothing, not not of a long distance may be hidden. Then he speaketh with her whom he loveth, and peradventure with piteous stile telleth the annoys sustained for her sake. Then it is lawful for him without fear to embrace her. Then doth he according to his desire marvelously glad himself with her. Then doth he hold her wholly at his pleasure, the which in beholding happeneth not, because that sight only at first taketh pleasure without passing further. And as we say, Love is timorous and fearful, and in beholding doth make the heart tremble in such sort, as it leaveth neither thought nor spirit in his place. For many with the long beholding of their ladies, 
The effects of fond amorous looks.  loose those their natural forcas, and remain vanquished: and many not being able to move, stand like posts, other some, in tangling and traversing their legs, fall to the ground. Others thereby loose their speech: & by sight we know many other like things to have happened, the which all should have been very acceptable to them, to whom (as we have said) they have happened, if they had not happened at all: how then bringeth that thing delight, that shall willingly be fled? We confess, that if it were possible to behold without fear, it should be a great delight. But yet little or nothing without the thought, the which without the bodily sight, pleaseth very much. And that that whereof we have may spoken come to pass through the thought, it is manifest, that, yea, and much more. For we find that men with thought have passed the heavens, and tasted of the eternal peace. Then more delighteth the thought than the sight. And if ye say that Laodomia was melancholy with thinking, we do not deny it, but yet it was rather a dolorous than an amorous thought, that did trouble her: She as it were a diviner to her own harm, always doubted the death of Prothesilaus, and still was thinking thereon, contrary to those thoughts whereof we reason, which thorough that doubt could not enter into her, but rather sorrowing through this occasion as reason was, she showed a troublesome and heavy look.   

¶ The twelfth Question, proposed by PARMENIO.  
PArmenio sat next to this gentlewoman, and without attending further, as the Queen had left, thus began: Most mighty Queen, I was of long time companion with a young gentleman, to whom that happened which I intent to show. He as much as any man could love a woman, loved a fair young gentlewoman of our city, gracious, gentle, and very rich, both of wealth and parents, and she eke loved him for aught that I (to whom his love was discovered) could understand. This gentleman them loving her in most secret sort, fearing that if it should be bewrayed, that he should no ways be able to speak unto her: to the end therefore that he might discover his intent, and be certified likewise of hers, he trusted no one that should attempt to speak of this matter: yet his desire enforcing him, he purposed since that he could not bewray himself unto her, to make her understand by some other, that which he suffered for her sake. And bethinking him many days, by whom he might most closely signify unto her that his intent, he saw one day a poor old woman, wrinkled, and of an Orange tawny colour, so despiteful to behold as none the like, the which being entered the house of the young woman to ask her alms, followed her forth of the door, and many times after in like sort, and for like occasion he saw her return thither. In this woman his heart gave him to repose his whole trust, imagining that he should never be had in suspicion, and that she might fully bring his desire to effect: therefore calling her to him, he promised her great gifts, if she would help him in that which he should demand of her: She swore to do her endeavour, to whom this gentleman then discovered his mind. The old woman departed, and after a while having certified the young woman of the love that my companion bore her, and him likewise▪ how that she above all other things of the world did love him, she devised how this young man should be secretly one evening with the desired woman: and so he going before her, 
A gentleman, a gentlewoman, and an old woman were taken by the brethren of the gentlewoman.  as she had appointed▪ she guided him to this young Gentlewoman's house, wherein he was no sooner entered, than through his misfortune, the young woman, the old, and he, were all three found, and taken togethers, by the brethren of the young woman, & compelled to tell the truth of that they made there, who confessed the whole matter as it was. These brethren, for that they were the friends of this young gentleman, and knowing that he as yet had attained nothing that might redound to their shame would not do him any harm as they might have done, but laughing said unto him in this sort: 
The gentleman condemned to lie with the young and old woman either of them a year.  Thou art now in our hands, & hast sought to dishonour us, and for that we may punish thee, if we will, of these two ways see that thou take the one, either that thou wilt we take thy life from thee, or else that thou lie with this old woman, & this our sister, either of them one year, swearing faithfully, that if thou shalt take upon thee to lie with either of them a year, and the first year with the young woman, that as many times as thou shalt kiss or have to do with her, as many times shalt thou kiss and have to do with the old woman the second year. And if thou shalt take the first year the old woman, look how many times thou shalt kiss and touch her, so many times likewise, and neither more nor less shalt thou do the like to the young woman the second year. The young man listening to the sentence, and desirous to live, said, that he would lie with these two, two years. It was granted him. But he remained in doubt with which of them he should first begin, either with the young, or with the old. Whether of them would you give counsel he should first, for his most consolation begin withal? 
The Queen decideth the xij. question.  The Queen, and likewise the whole company somewhat smiled at this tale, and after, she thus made answer: According to our judgement the young gentleman aught rather to take the fair young woman, than the fowl old, because no present good turn aught to be left for the future, neither the evil to be taken for the future good, because we know that we are uncertain of things to come: and in doing the contrary hereof, many have already sorrowed to late, and if any have praised himself herein, not duty, but fortune hath therein holpen him. Let the fair therefore be first taken. 
The contrary opinion of Parmenio.  You make me greatly to marvel (said Parmenio) seeing the the present good aught not to be left for the future, to what end then is it convenient for us with a valiant mind to follow & bear worldly troubles, whereas we may flee them, if it were not thorough the future eternal kingdoms promised to us thorough hope? It is a marvelous thing that such a shock of people as are in the world, all moiling to the end at one time to taste of rest, and being able to rest before trouble, should remain so long while in such an error, as trouble after rest were better than before. It is a thing very just (as it seemeth to me) after troubles to seek rest, but to desire to rest without trouble in my judgement aught not to be, neither can it bring delight. Who then will give counsel to any, that he lie first with a fair Gentlewoman one year, the which is the only rest and joy of him that must lie with her, in showing him after that there must follow so great annoy and unpleasant life, as he must in every act wherein he abode with the young woman, have to do as long with a loathsome old woman? Nothing is so noisome to a delightful life, as to remember, that after death we shall be found spotted. This death returning to our memory as enime contrary to our being, doth disturb us of all goodness & pleasure: and whilst this is remembered, there can never be joy tasted in worldly things. Likewise no delight can be had with the young woman, that is not troubled or destroyed in thinking & remembering that it behoveth him to do as much with a most vile old woman, who shall always be remaining before the eyes of his mind. The time that flieth with an inestimable wing, shall seem unto him to overfly, lesning each day a great quantity of the due hours: and this mirth is not tasted, where as infallible future sorrow is tarried for. Wherefore I would judge, that the contrary were better counsel, that is, that all trouble, whereof gracious rest is hoped for, is more delightful, than the delight, whereof annoy is tarried for. The cold waters seemed warm, and the dreadful time of the dark night seemed clear and sound day, and turmoils rest to Leander, at what time he went to Hero, swimming with the force of his arms, thorough the salt surges between Sesto and Abido, for the delight that he conceived to have of her tarrying his coming. God forbidden then, that a man should covet rest before travail, or reward before the doing his service, or delight, before he hath tasted tribulation: forasmuch as if that way (as we have already said) should be taken, the future annoy should so much hinder the present joy, that not joy, but rather annoyed it might be said. What delight could the delicate meats, and the instruments sounded with cunning hand, and the other marvelous joys made to Dionysius the tyrant bring, 
Dionysius.  when as he saw a sharp pointed sword hung by a fine thread over his head? Let then sorrowful occasions be first fled, that afterwards with pleasure, and that without suspicion, gracious delights may be followed. 
The queens solution of the twelve question, defining that the young is to be lain with before the old.  The Queen made him answer, saying: You answer in part as though we did reason of eternal joys, for the purchasing whereof, there is no doubt but that all troubles ought to be taken in hand, and all worldly wealth and delight to be left apart: but at this instant we do not speak of them, but do move a Question of worldly delights, and of worldly annoys. Whereunto we answer as we said before, that every worldly delight, that is followed with worldly annoy, aught rather to be taken, than the worldly annoy that tarrieth worldly delight: because who that hath time, and tarrieth time, loseth time. Fortune granteth her goodness with sundry mutations, the which is rather to be taken when as she giveth, than to moil to the end after turmoils to get the same. If her wheel stood firm and stable, until that a man had toiled so much as he should need to toil no more, we would then say, that it were to be granted to take pains first: but who is certain that after the evil, may not follow the worse, as well as the better that is tarried for? The times together with worldly things are all transitory, & therefore in taking the old woman, before the year be complete, the which shall never seem to wax less, the young woman may die, and her brethren repent them of this they have done, either elf she may be given to some other, or peradventure stolen away, so that after one evil, there shall follow a worse to the taker. But contrariwise, if the young woman shall be taken, the taker shall thereby have his desire so long time of him desired, neither shall there after follow that annoy of thought, that you say must follow thereby, because that we must die is infallible, but to lie with an old woman is a hap able enough with many remedies to be of a wise man avoided, & worldly things are to be taken of the discreet with this condition, that each one whiist he holdeth and enjoyeth them, he dispose himself with a liberal mind, when he shallbe required to restore or leave them. Who that busieth himself to the end to rest, bringeth a manifest example, that without that he can not have rest: & since he therefore taketh troubles to the end to have rest, how much more is it to be presumed, the if rest were as ready as if trouble, but that he would sooner take that than this? Neither is it to be thought that Leander, if he had been able to have had Hero without passing the tempestuous arm of the sea, wherein after he perished would not rather have taken her, than have swom the same. It is convenient to take fortunes haps what time she giveth them. 
A small gifts in hand is better than a promised greater.  For no gift is so small, that is not better than a promised greater. And as for future things, let remedies be taken, and the present governed according to their qualities. It is a natural thing to desire rather the good than the evil, when as equally they concur, and who that doth the contrary followeth not natural reason, but his own folly. We confess, that after troubles quietness is more gracious and better known than before, but yet not that it is rather to be taken than the other. It is possible for wise men and fools to use the Counsels both of fools and wisemen according to their liking: but for all that the infallible verity is not altered, the which doth give us leave to see that rather the fair young woman than the loathsome old is to be taken of him, to whom was made such a choice.   

The thirteenth question, proposed by MASSALINE.  
MAssaline the which sat on the right hand of the Queen, and next to Parmenio, performing the circle, said in this wise: It is meet that I lastly propound my question: And therefore to the end that I may make the pleasant told tales, and the before proponed Questions to seem more sweet, I shall tell you a short tale worth the hearing, wherein there falleth a Question very proper to make an end withal. I have heretofore heard say that there was in this our City a Gentleman, who was very rich, that had to wife an exceeding fair young Gentlewoman, 
A Gentlewoman was loved of a Knight.  whom he loved above all worldly things. This gentlewoman was entirely beloved of a Knight of the fame City, but she loved him not at all, neither cared for him, by occasion whereof, the Knight was never able to get from her, either good words or courteous countenance: and while he thus lived comfortless of such love, It happened that he was called to the regiment of a City not far distant from this of ours: And accordingly he went thither, having honourably governed the same all the time of his abode there: during the which it happened, that there came a messenger unto him, 
The Knight advertised of the death of her whom he loved.  who after other news thus said: Sir ye shall understand, that the Gentlewoman of our City, whom you so entirely loved above all others, this morning labouring with great grief to be delivered of child died, not being delivered, and was in my presence, of her parents honourably buried. The knight not without great sorrow, gave ●are to this tale, and with a strong heart endured the telling thereof, without showing any alteration of countenance at all, and to himself thus said: Hawretched death, cursed be thy power, thou hast deprived me of her, whom I loved above all others, and whom I desired more to serve, although I knew her cruel unto me, than any other worldly wight. But since it is thus come to pass that which love in her life time would not vouchsafe to grant me, now that she is dead, he can not deny me: That assuredly if I should die therefore, I will now kiss the face of her being dead, that living I loved so well. And so staying upon this determination, he tarried until it was night, and then took one of his servants, 
The knight seeketh his loved gentlewoman in her grave.  whom he best trusted with him, and travailed the dreadful dark ways, till at the last he came to the City: And being entered the same, he went straight to the sepulture, wherein the gentlewoman was buried: and after he had comforted his servant, that he without any fear should attend him there, he opened the same, & went thereinto, whereas lamenting with a piteous plaint, he kissed the gentlewoman, and took her in his arms, and not satisfied therewith, he began to feel her here and there, and to put his hand into her frozen breast among the cold dugs. But afterwards (being become more bold than was meet) to seek out under the rich attire which she had on, the secret parts of the body, going & feeling with a fearful hand hither and thither, till at the last he spread the same upon her stomach, where as with a feeble motion he felt the weak pulses somewhat to move. He then become very fearful, but yet love made him bold, and therefore trying further with a more assured heed, he knew that she was not dead: and first of all with a sweet mutation he drew her out of that place, and after wrapping her in a great mantel (leaving the sepulture open) he and his servant carried her secretly to his mother's house, whereas he conjured his said Mother, 
The Knight carrieth his Lady to his mother's house.  thorough the power of the Gods, that she, neither this, nor any thing else should manifest to any person living. He caused great fires to be made, to the end to comfort the cold members, whereunto the lost forces did not thereby return in due sort: by occasion whereof, as one peradventure discrete in such a case, willed a solemn hot house to be prepared, wherein he caused first to be strewed many virtuous herbs, and after placed the Gentlewoman therein, causing her as it was meet for one in that plight, to be tenderly looked unto. In the which h●tehouse, after she had for a time made her abode there, the blood coagulate about the heart, began thorough the received heat to disperse by the cold veins, & the spirits half dead began to return to their places: whereupon the Gentlewoman (not sooner feeling the same) began to call to her mother, & after to ask where she was: to whom the Knight in steed of her mother made answer, the she was in a very good place, and that she should comfort herself: she abiding in this sort, calling upon the woman Lucina for help, 
Lucina, the goddess of child bearing.  was as it pleased the Gods (above all expectation) delivered of a fair son, & therewith of great trouble and peril: whereof remaining disburdened, 
The Gentlewoman abiding with the Knight, was delivered of child.  and being joyful of her new born child, there were out of hand provided nurses, both for the charge of her, as also of her son. The Gentlewoman now after all these heavy troubles, returned to her perfect understanding, and the new son was also borne to the world, before she saw either the Knight that thus loved her, or his mother who was priest to do her service, neither did she see any one of her parents or kinsfolks about her, for to look unto her: whereupon being come into a cogitable admiration as it were all amazed, said: Where am I? what a wonder is this? Who hath brought me hither, whereas I was never before? To whom the Knight answered: 
The Knight declareth to the gentlewoman how she was brought into his house.  Gentlewoman, marvel not, comfort yourself, for that which you see, hath been the pleasure of the Gods, and I shall tell you how, and so declaring from the beginning to the end all that which was happened her, concluded, that through him, she and her son were alive: By occasion whereof they were always bounden to be at his pleasure. The Gentlewoman perceiving this to be true, knowing assuredly that she could not by any other means, but only by this which he showed her, be come to the hands of the knight: first of all with a devout voice, rendered thanks to the immortal gods, and after to him, offering herself to be always at his pleasure and service. Then said the knight: gentlewoman since you know yourself to be beholding unto me▪ I will that in guerdon of my well doing, ye comfort yourself here in this place, until I return from mine office, whereunto it is now so long since that I was chosen, as the date hereof is almost at an end. Besides ye shall promiss me faithfully, never to bewray yourself without my licence, either to your husband, or any other person. To whom the Gentlewoman answered, that she was unable to deny him either this, or any other request, and that assuredly she would comfort herself: and so by oath made unto him, she affirmed never to 'cause herself be known without his pleasure. The knight seeing the Gentlewoman out of all peril to receive comfort, after he had abode two days in her service, recommended her and her child to his mother's charge, and so departed, returning to the government of his said office, the which after a little while he honourably ended, and returned home to his own house and possessions: where as of the Gentlewoman he was graciously received. 
The knight biddeth the husband of the gentlewoman to a banquet.  Certain days after his return, he caused to be prepared a great banquet, whereunto he invited the husband of this Gentlewoman, whom he loved, her brethren, and many others of her friends and his: and the bidden guests being set down at the table, the Gentlewoman according to the pleasure of the knight, came appareled in those garments, and decked with that crown, ring, and other precious ornaments (as the use was then) wherewith she was buried. And by the commandment of the knight placed herself on the one side by her husband, & on the other side by himself, where as she said that morning, without speaking any word at all. This Gentlewoman was oftentimes beheld of her husband, and her attire and ornaments also: and as it seemed unto him, he knew her to be his wife, and those to be the garments wherein she was buried: But yet for that he thought he had buried her dead into her sepulture, and not believing that she was risen again, durst not once give her a word, doubting lest she had been some other that did resemble his wife, imagining that it were more easy to find one woman, in attire and ornaments like to an other, than to raise up a dead body. But yet for all this, he turned many times towards the Knight, and asked him who she was. To whom the knight answered: Ask of her, whom she is, for I can not tell, out of so unpleasant a place I have brought her. Then the husband asked the wife who she was, to whom she answered: I was brought by this Knight by unknown ways inte this place, to that gracious life that is of every one desired. At these words there wanted no admiration in the husband, but rather the same increased, and so they remained until the banquet was ended. Then the knight led the husband of this gentlewoman into a chamber, and with him the Gentlewoman, and the other likewise that banqueted with them, where as they found the Gentlewoman's fair & gracious son in the neurses arms, whom the knight delivered into the father's hands, 
The knight restoreth the gentlewoman to her husband.  saying: This is thy son, and giving him the right hand of his wife, said: This is thy wife, and mother of this child: showing to him and to the rest, how it happened that she was brought thither. They all after great wonder, made great joy, and chief the husband of his wife, and the wife with her husband, of their son. And so both two thanking the knight, returned merrily home to their house, many days after making marvelous joy. This knight entreated this gentlewoman with that tenderness and that pure faith, as if she had been his sister, and therefore it is doubted which of these two was the greater: 
The question is whether the loyalty of the knight, or the joy of the husband was the greater.  either the loyalty of the knight, 
The queen's judgement.  or the joy of the husband, that had now gotten again his lost wife, whom he reputed as dead. I pray you to say your opinion, and what you would judge hereof? Most great (as we believe) answered the Queen) was the joy of the again gotten wife, and of her child: and likewise noble and very great was the loyalty of the knight. But for that it is a natural thing to be glad of the getting again of things lost (neither could it otherwise be because it would an other) and specially in the getting again of a thing before so greatly loved, with a child, whereof there could not be made so great joy as was convenient. We do not repute it to be so great a matter as to do that whereunto a man is of his proper virtue constrained to do, the which in being loyal cometh to pass, because the being and not being loyal, is a thing possible. We say then, that from whom proceedeth the being loyal in a thing so greatly loved, that he doth a most great and noble thing in keeping loyalty, & that in a far greater quantity layaltie doth increase in him, than doth joy in the other, 
The contrary opinion of Massani●●e.  & thus we judge. Truly said Massaline: Most renowned queen, I believe it be as you say: but yet it seems unto me a great matter to think, that with so great joy as was in him that had gotten again his wife, there could be made comparison of greatness in an other thing: forasmuch as greater grief is not supported, than when as thorough death a thing loved is lost. Further, if the knight were faithful, as is already said, he did therein but his duty, because we are all bounden to the working of virtue: and he that doth that, whereunto he is of duty bounden, doth but well, but yet it is not to be reputed for so great a matter. Therefore I imagine, that there may be judged greater joy than loyalty. 
The queen's solution upon the last question.  You with your words do contrary yourself (said the queen) because man aught as well to rejoice in the goodness of god in taking him away as thorough the working of virtue: but if the one could be in the one case, as sorrowful as the other could be in the other case disloyal, it might be consented to your judgement. To follow the laws of nature, which can not be fled, is no great matter, but to obey the positive laws, is a virtue of the mind, and the virtues of the mind both for greatness as for every other respect, are to be preferred before bodily works. And if virtuous works (making due recompense) do surmount in greatness every other working, it may be said, that the having been loyal, dureth always in being. joy may be turned into sudden sorrow, either else in a short space of time become little or nothing, losing the thing thorough the which it is become merry. And therefore let it be said of him, that uprightly will judge, the knight to have been more loyal, than the other merry. Not one there was that followed Massaline, that had any thing more to say, for that they all had now propounded their Questions. The sun now in setting, left the place replete with a temperate air. By reason whereof, Fiametta, most reverent queen of this amorous people, raised her on foot, and thus said: Gentlemen and gentlewomen, your questions are finished: whereunto (the Gods be thanked) we have according to our small knowledge, made answer, following rather pleasant reasoning, than matter of contention. And we know, that much more might have been answered unto the same, yea and in far better sort than we have done: But yet that which we have said may suffice to our pastime: and for the rest, let it remain to the Philosophers of Athens. We see Phoebus now not to behold us with a strait aspect, we feel the air refreshed, and know this Feast, which we at our coming hither left through the excessive heat, to be again begun by our companions. And therefore it seemeth us good, that we return to the same: and this being said, she took with her delicate hand, the laurel crown from her head, and in the place where she sat, she laid it down, saying: I leave here the crown of my honour and yours, until that we shall return hither to the like reasoning. And having thus said, she took Philocopo by the hand, that now with the rest was risen, and so returned with them all to their Feast. Thence was heard of all sides the pleasant instruments, and the air resounding of amorous songs, no part of the Garden was without banqueting: wherein they all abode merrily all that day, even to the last hour: but night being come upon them, and the stars showing forth their light, it seemed good to the lady, and to them all, to departed, and to return to the city, wherein bring entered, Philocopo taking his leave, thus said unto her: Most noble Fiametta, if the Gods should ever grant me, that I were mine own, as I am an others, without doubt I should be presently yours, but because mine own I am not, I can not give myself to an other: How be it for so much as the miserable heart could receive strange fire, so much the more it feeleth thorough your inestimable worthiness to be kindled, and shall feel always and incessantly, with more effect shall desire never to be forgetful of your worthiness. She thanked Philocopo greatly of this courtesy at his departure, adding that it would please the Gods quickly to bring a gracious peace to his desire. (⸪)  
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Imprinted at London, by Henry Bynneman, for richard Smyth.  
Anno. 1571.  
JAMES POOLE  
OMNIA TEMPUS HABENT.