Aiphantus, a younger brother, very honourably descended, brought up but not born in Venice; naturally subject to Courting, but not to Love; reputed a man rather full of compliment, than of true courtesy; more desirous to be thought honest, than so to be wordish beyond discretion; promising more to all, than friendship could challenge; mutable in all his actions, but his affections aiming indeed to gain opinion rather than goodwill; challenging love from greatness, not from merit; studious to abuse his own wit, by the common sale of his infirmities; lastly, under the colour of his natural affection (which indeed was very pleasant and delightful) coveted to disgrace every other to his own discontent: a scourge to Beauty, a traitor to Women, and an infidel to Love.
This He, this creature, at length, falls in love with two at one instant; yea, two of his nearest allies: and so indifferently [equally] yet outrageously, as what was commendable in the one, was admirable in the other. By which means, as not despised, not regarded! if not deceived, not pitied! They esteemed him as he was in deed, not words. He protested, they jested! He swore he loved in sadness; they in sooth believed, but seemed to give no credence to him: thinking him so humorous as no resolution could be long good; and holding this his attestation to them of affection in that kind, [no] more than his contesting against it before time.
Thus overcome of that he seemed to conquer, he became a slave to his own fortunes. Laden with much misery, utter mischief seized upon him. He fell in love with another, a wedded Lady. Then with a fourth, named Vitullia. And so far was he imparadised in her beauty (She not recomforting him) that he fell from Love to Passion, so to Distraction, then to Admiration [wonderment] and Contemplation, lastly to Madness. Thus did he act the Tragical scenes, who only penned the Comical: became, if not as brutish as Actæon, as furious as Orlando. Of whose Humours and Passions, I had rather you should read them, than I act them!
In the end, by one, or rather by all, he was recovered. A Voice did mad him; and a Song did recure him! Four in one sent him out of this world; and one with four redeemed him to the world. To whose unusual strains in Music, and emphatical emphasis in Love; I will leave you to turn over a new leaf!
This only I will end with:
Who, of Love should better write,
Than he that Love learns to indite?
