These were the verses, fair shepherdesses, which my Artidoro sang that day with wondrous grace and no less pleasure on the part of those that heard him. From them, and from the words he had spoken to me before, I took occasion to consider if by chance the sight of me had caused some new sensation of love in Artidoro's breast; and my suspicion did not turn out so vain, but that he himself justified it to me on our return to the village.'
Teolinda had reached this point in the tale of her love, when the shepherdesses heard a great uproar of shepherds shouting and dogs barking. This caused them to end the discourse they had begun, and to stop and observe through the branches what it was; in this way they saw a pack of hounds crossing a green plain on their right hand, in pursuit of a timid hare, that was coming with all speed to take shelter in the dense underwood. It was not long before the shepherdesses saw it coming to the same place where they were, and going straight to Galatea's side. There, overcome by the fatigue of its long course, and almost as it were safe from the peril nigh at hand, it sank down on the ground with such wearied breath, that it seemed on the point of breathing its last. The hounds pursued it by scent and track, until they came to where the shepherdesses were; but Galatea, taking the timid hare in her arms, checked the vengeful purpose of the eager hounds, for it seemed to her not to be right to fail to defend a creature that had sought her aid. Soon after there approached some shepherds, following the hounds and the hare; and amongst them came Galatea's father, out of respect for whom Florisa, Teolinda and she went out to meet him with due courtesy. He and the shepherds were filled with wonder at Teolinda's beauty, and desired to know who she was, for they saw clearly that she was a stranger. Galatea and Florisa were not a little annoyed at their approach, seeing that it had robbed them of the pleasure of learning the issue of Teolinda's love; and they asked her to be good enough not to leave their company for some days, if the accomplishment of her desires were not by chance hindered thereby.
'Nay, rather,' replied Teolinda, 'it suits me to remain a day or two on this bank, to see if they can be accomplished; and on this account, as also not to leave unfinished the story I have begun, I must do what you bid me.'
Galatea and Florisa embraced her, and offered her their friendship anew, and to serve her to the best of their power. Meanwhile Galatea's father and the other shepherds, having spread their cloaks on the margin of the clear stream, and drawn from their wallets some country fare, invited Galatea and her companions to eat with them. They accepted the invitation, and, sitting down forthwith, they sated their hunger, which was beginning to weary them as the day was already far spent. In the course of these doings, and of some stories the shepherds told to pass the time, the accustomed hour approached for returning to the village. Straightway Galatea and Florisa, returning to their flocks, collected them once more, and, in the company of fair Teolinda and the other shepherds, gradually made their way to the hamlet; and at the break of the hill where that morning they had happened on Elicio, they all heard the pipe of the unloving Lenio, a shepherd in whose breast love could never take up his abode; and thereat he lived in such joy and content, that in whatever converse or gathering of shepherds he found himself, his sole intent was to speak ill of love and lovers, and all his songs tended to this end. By reason of this strange disposition of his, he was known by all the shepherds in all those parts, and by some he was loathed, by others held in esteem. Galatea and those who came there stopped to listen, to see if Lenio was singing anything, as was his wont, and straightway they saw him give his pipe to a companion, and begin to sing what follows to its sound:
LENIO.
An idle careless thought that wanders free,
A foolish vaunting fancy of the mind,
A something that no being hath nor kind,
Nor yet foundation, nursed by memory,
A grief that takes the name of jollity,