The Palace of Pleasure, Volume 3

by Unknown

Wherefore my heart in brest consumes and pines,

With deepe desires, that far is from man’s sight,

But God he sees myne innocencie and right,

And knowes the cause of myne Accuser still,

Who seekes my bloud to haue on mee his will.

When Charles thus complayned himself, and throughly was determined to dy, great pitty it was to see how fayre Angelica did rent hir Face, and teare hir golden Locks, when she saw how impossible it was to saue hir obstinate brother from the cruel sentence pronounced vpon him, for whom she had imployed all hir wits and fayre speach, to perswade the neerest of hir Kin to make sute. Thus rested she alone ful of sutch heauinesse and vexation as they can think which see themselues depriued of things that they esteeme most dere. But of one thing I can wel assure you, that if ill fortune had permitted that Charles should haue bin put to death, the gentle damsel also had breathed forth the final gasp of hir sorowful life, yeldinge therewithall the last end of the Montanine race and family. What booteth it to hold processe of long discourse? Beholde the last day is come deferred by the Iudges, whereupon he must eyther satisfie the fine, or dye the next day after like a rebel and Traytor against the state, without any of his kin making sute or meane for his deliueraunce: albeit they visited the fayre mayden, and comforted hir in that hir wretched state, instructing hir how shee should gouerne hir selfe patiently to suffer things remedilesse. Angelica accompanied with hir kin, and the maidens dwelling by, that were hir companions, made the ayre to sound with outcries and waymentings, and she hir selfe exclaymed like a woman destraught of Wits, whose plaints the multitude assisted with like eiulations and outcries, wayling the fortune of the yong gentleman, and sorowfull to see the mayden in daunger to fal into some mishap. As these things were thus bewayled, it chaunced about nine of the clocke at night, that Anselmo Salimbene, he whom we haue sayd to be surprised with the loue of Angelica, returning out of the Countrey, where he had remayned for a certayne time, and passing before the house of his Lady, according to his custome, heard the voyce of women and maydens which mourned for Montanine, and therewithall stayd: the chiefest cause of his stay was, for that he saw go forth out of the Pallace of hys Angelica, diuers Women making Moane, and Lamentation: wherefore he demaunded of the neyghbors what noyse that was, and whether any in those Quarters were dead or no. To whom they declared at length, al that which yee haue heard before. Salimbene hearing this story, went home to his house, and being secretly entred into his chamber, began discourse with himselfe vpon that accident, and fantasying a thousand things in his heade, in the ende thought that Charles should not so be cast away, were he iustly or innocently condempned, and for the only respect of his sister, that she might not bee left destitute of the Goods, and Inheritaunce. Thus discoursing diuers things, at length he sayd: “I were a very simple person nowe to rest in doubt, sith Fortune is more curious of my felicity than I could wishe, and seeketh the effect of my desires, when least of all I though vpon them. For behold, Montanine alone is left of all the mortall enimies of our house, whych to morrow openly shall lose his head like a rebell and seditious person, vpon whose Auncesters, in him shall I be reuenged, and the quarell betweene our two Families, shall take ende, hauinge no more cause to feare renuing of discorde, by any that can descend from him. And who shall let mee then from inioying hir, whom I doe loue, hir brother being dead, and his goods confiscate to the Seigniory, and she without all Maynetenaunce, and Reliefe, except the ayde of hir onely beauty and curtesie? What maynetenaunce shall she haue, if not by the loue of some honest Gentleman, that for hys pleasure may support hir, and haue pitty vppon the losse of so excellent beauty? Ah Salimbene, what hast thou sayd? Hast thou already forgotten that a Gentleman for that only cause is esteemed aboue al other, whose glorious facts ought to shine before the brightnesse of those that force theymselues to followe vertue? Art not thou a Gentleman borne, and Bred in noble house, Issued from the Loyns of gentle and noble Parentes? Is it ignoraunt vnto thee, that it pertayneth vnto a noble and gentle heart, to reuenge receyued Iniuries himselfe, without seeking ayde of other or else to pardon them by vsing clemency and princely curtesie, burying all desire of vengeaunce vnder the Toumbe of eternall obliuion? And what greater glory can man acquire, than by vanquishing himselfe, and chastising his affections and rage, to bynde him which neuer thought to receyue pleasure or benefit at his hand? It is a thing which exceedeth the common order of nature, and so is it meete and requisite, that the most excellent doe make the effects of their excellency appeare, and seeke meanes for the immortality of their remembraunce. The great Dictator Cæsar was more praysed for pardoning hys enimies, and for shewing himselfe curteous and easie to be spoken to, than for subduinge the braue and valiaunt Galles and Britons, or vanquishing the mighty Pompee. Dom Roderico Viuario, the Spaniard, although he might haue bene reuenged vpon Dom Pietro, king of Aragon, for his infidelity, bicause he went about to hinder his voyage agaynst the Saracens at Grenado, yet woulde not Punishe or Raunsome him, but taking him Prysoner in the Warres, suffred him to goe without any Tribute, or any exaction of him and his Realme. The more I followe the example of mighty Personages in thinges that be good, the more notorious and wonderful shall I make my selfe in their rare and noble deedes. And not willing to forget a wrong done vnto me, whereof may I complayne of Montanine? What thinge hath hee euer done agaynst me or mine? And albeit his Predecessors were enimies to our Family, they haue therefore borne the penaunce, more harde than the sinne deserued. And truly I should be afrayde, that God would suffer me to tumble into some mishap, if seeing one afflicted, I should reioyce in his affliction, and take by his decay an argument of ioy and pleasure. No, no, Salimbene is not of minde that sutch fond Imagination should Bereue good will to make hymselfe a Freende, and to gayne by liberality and curtesie hir, which for hir only vertue deserueth a greater lord than I. Being assured, that there is no man (except he were dispoyled of all good nature and humanity) specially bearing the loue to Angelica, that I do, but he would be sory to see hir in sutch heauinesse and despayre, and would attempt to deliuer hir from sutch dolorous griefe. For if I loue hir as I do in deede, must not I likewise loue all that which she earnestly loueth, as him that is nowe in daunger of death for a simple fine of a thousand Florens? That my heart doe make appeere what the loue is, which maketh me Tributary and Subiect to fayre Angelica, and that eche man may knowe, that furious loue hath vanquisht kings and great monarches, it behoueth not me to be abashed, if I which am a man and subiect to passions, so well as other, doe submit my selfe to the seruice of hir, who I am assured is so vertuous as euen very necessity cannot force hir to forget the house, whereof she tooke hir originall. Vaunt thy selfe then O Angelica, to haue forced a heart of it selfe impregnable, and giuen him a wound which the stoutest Lads might sooner haue depriued of lyfe, than put him out of the way of his gentle kinde: and thou, Montanine, thinke, that if thou wilt thy selfe, thou winnest to day so hearty a frende, as only death shall separate the vnion of vs twayne, and of all our posterity. It is I, nay it is I my selfe, that shall excell thee in duety, poynting the way for the wisest, to get honor, and violently compel the mooued myndes of those that be our aduersaries, desiring rather vainely to forgo myne own life, than to giue ouer the vertuous conceipts, which be already grifted in my minde.” After this long discourse seeing the tyme required dilligence, hee tooke a thousand Ducats, and went to the Treasurer of the fines, deputed by the state, whom he founde in his office, and sayde vnto him: “I haue brought you sir, the Thousande Ducates, which Charles Montanine is bounde to pay for his deliueraunce. Tell them, and gieue him an acquittaunce, that presently hee may come forth.” The Treasorer woulde haue giuen him the rest, that exceeded the Summe of a Thousand Florens: but Salimbene refused the same, and receyuing a letter for his discharge, he sent one of his Seruaunts therewithal to the chiefe Gayler, who seeing that the Summe of his condemnation was payd, immediately deliuered Montanine out of the Prison where he was fast shut, and fettered with great, and weyghty Giues. Charles thinckinge that some Frier had bin come to confesse him, and that they had shewed him some mercy to doe hym to death in Prison, that abroade in open shame of the world he might not deface the Noble house whereof he came, was at the first sight astonned, but hauing prepared himselfe to die, praysed God, and besought him to vouchsafe not to forget him in the sorrowful passage, wherein the stoutest and coragious many times be faynt and inconstaunt. He recommended his Soule, he prayed forgieuenesse of his sinnes: and aboue all, he humbly besought the goodnesse of God, that it would please him to haue pitty vpon his Sister, and to deliuer hir from all Infamy and dishonor. When he was caried out of Pryson, and brought before the Chiefe Gayler, sodaynely his Giues were discharged from his Legges, and euery of the standers by looked merily vppon hym, without speakinge any Woorde that might affray hym. That Curtesie vnlooked for, made hym attende some better thynge, and assured hym of that whych before by any meanes hee durste not thyncke. And hys expectation was not deceiued. For the Gayler sayde vnto hym: “Bee of good Cheare Sir, for beholde the letters of your discharge, wherefore you may goe at liberty whether you list.” In saying so, he opened the Pryson, and licenced Montanine to departe, praying him not to take in ill part his intreaty and hard imprysonment, for that hee durst doe none other, the State of the City hauing so enioyned hym. May not ech Wyght now behold how that the euents of loue be diuers from other passions of the mind? How could Salimbene haue so charitably deliuered Montanine, the hatred beyng so long tyme rooted between the two houses, if some greate occasion whych hath no name in Loue, had not altred his Nature, and extinguished hys affection? It is meritoryous to succour them whome we neuer saw before, sith nature moueth vs to doe well to them that be lyke our selues. But faith surmounteth there, where the very naturall inclynation feeleth it self constrayned and seeth that to be broken, whych obstynately was purposed to be kept in mynde. The graces, gentlenesse, Beauty, mild behauior and allurement of Angelica, had greater force ouer Salimbene, than the humility of hir Brother, although he had kneeled a hundred tymes before him. But what heart is so brute, but may be made tractable and Mylde, by the Contemplation of a thyng so rare, as the excellent Beauty of that Siena Mayden, and woulde not humble it selfe to acquyre the good graces of so perfect a Damsel? I wyll neuer accuse man for beyng in Loue wyth a fayre and vertuous Woman, nor esteeme hym a slaue, whych painefully serueth a sobre Mayden, whose heart is fraught wyth honeste affections, and Mynd wyth desyre tending to good ende. Well worthy of blame is he to be deemed whych is in loue wyth the outeward hew, and prayseth the Tree onely layden with floures, without regard to the fruict, whych maketh it worthye of commendation. The young maiden must needes resemble the floure of the Spryng time, vntill by hir constancy, modesty, and chastity she hath vanquished the concupiscence of the flesh, and brought forth the hoped fruicte of a Vertue and Chastity not Common. Otherwyse, shee shall bee lyke the inrolled Souldyer, whose valyance hys only mind doth wytnes, and the offer whych he maketh to hym that doth register his name in the muster bookes. But when the effect of seruyce is ioyned wyth his attempt, and proofe belyeth not hys promyse, then the Captain imbraceth him, and aduaunceth him, as a glasse for his affaires from that time forth. The lyke of Dames hauing passed the assaults and resisted the attempts of theyr assaylants which be honest, not by force being not requyred, but inclyned by ther owne nature, and the dyligence of theyr chast and inuincyble heart. But turne we againe vnto our purpose, Montanine, when he was delyuered, forthwyth wente home to hys house, to comfort hir, whom he was more than sure to be in great distresse and heauinesse for his sake, and whych had so mutch neede of comfort as he had, to take his rest. He came to the gate of his Pallace (where beyng knowne that it was Montanine) his sister by any meanes coulde not bee made to beleue the same: so impossible seeme thynges vnto vs, which we most desyre. They were all in doubte, lyke as wee reade that they were when S. Peter escaped Herod’s Pryson by the Angel’s meanes. When Angelica was assured that it was hir Brother, sobbes wer layde aside, sighes were cast away, and heauy weepings conuerted into teares of ioy, she went to imbrace and kisse hir Brother, praising God for hys delyuerance, and making accompt that he had ben raised from death to lyfe, considering his stoutnes of minde rather bent to dye than to forgo his Land, for so smal a pryce. The Dames that wer kin vnto hym, and tarried there in Company of the maiden half in dispayre, least by dispayre and fury shee might fall into outrage therby to put hir lyfe in peril, with all expedition aduertised their husbands of Montanine’s Lyberty, not looked for, who repayred thither, as wel to reioyce with him in his ioy and good fortune, as to make their excuse, for that they had not trauayled to ryd him from that misery. Charles whych cared nothing at al for those mouth blessings, dissembled what he thought, thanking them neuerthelesse for their visitation and good remembrance they had of hym, for visiting and comforting his sister which honor, he estemed no lesse than if they had imployed the same vpon his owne person. Their friends and kinsfolk being departed, and assured that none of them had payde his ransome, hee was wonderfully astonned and the greater was his gryef for that he could not tell what hee was, whych withoute requeste, had made so gentle a proofe of his lyberality: if he knew nothing, farre more ignoraunte was his sister, forsomutch as she dyd thinke, that he had changed his mind, and that the horrour of death had made him sel his countrey inheritance, to hym whych made the first offer to buy the same: but either of them deceyued of their thought went to bed. Montanine rested not all the Nyght, hauyng still before his eyes, the vnknowne image of hym that had delyuered him. His bed serued his turne to none other purpose, but as a large field or some long alley within a Wood, for walkes to make discourse of hys mynde’s conceipts, sometimes remembryng one, sometimes another, without hitting the blanke and namyng of him that was his deliuerer, vnto whome he confessed him selfe to owe hys seruice and duety so long as hee lyued. And when hee saw the day begyn to appeare and that the Mornyng, the Vauntcurrour of the day, summoned Apollo to harnesse hys Horsse to begynne his course in our Hemisphere, he rose and went to the Chamberlaine or Treasurer, sutch as was deputed for receypt of the Fines, sessed by the State, whom he saluted, and receyuing lyke salutation, he prayed hym to shewe hym so mutch pleasure as to tell hym the parties name, that was so Lyberall to satysfie his fine due in the Eschequer of the State. To whome the other aunswered: “None other hath caused thy delyueraunce (O Montanine) but a certain person of the World, whose Name thou mayst easily gesse, to whome I gaue an acquittance of thyne imprysonmente, but not of the iuste summe, bycause hee gaue me a Thousand Ducates for a Thousand Florens, and woulde not receyue the ouerplus of the debte, whych I am readye to delyuer thee wyth thyne acquyttaunce.” “I haue not to doe wyth the Money” (sayd Charles) “onely I pray you to tell me the name of him that hath don me thys great curtesy, that hereafter I may acknowledge him to be my Friend.” “It is” (sayd the Chamberlayne) “Anselmo Salimbene, who is to bee commended and praysed aboue all thy parents and kinne, and came hither very late to bryng the Money, the surplusage whereof, beholde here it is.” “God forbid” (sayd Montaine) “that I should take awaye that, whych so happily was brought hither to rid me out of payne.” And so went away wyth his acquittance, his mind charged with a numbre of fansies for the fact don by Salimbene. Being at home at his house, he was long time stayed in a deepe consideration, desirous to know the cause of that gentle parte, proceeding from him whose Parents and Auncesters were the capitall Enimies of his race. In the end lyke one risyng from a sound sleepe, he called to mynd, that very many times he had seene Anselmo with attentiue eye and fixed looke to behold Angelica, and in eying hir uery louyngly, he passed euery day (before theyr gate) not shewing other countenaunce, but of good wyll, and wyth fryendly gesture, rather than any Ennimies Face, saluting Angelica at all tymes when he met hir. Wherefore Montanine was assured, that the onely loue of Salimbene towards his sister caused that delyueraunce, concluding that when the passion doth proceede of good loue, seazed in gentle heart and of noble enterpryse, it is impossible but it muste bryng forth the maruellous effects of vertue’s gallantize, of honesty and curtesy, and that the spyrite wel borne, can not so mutch hide hys gentle nourtoure, but the fyre must flame abroade, and that whych seemeth dyfficult to bee brought to passe, is facilitye, and made possible by the conceiptes and indeuors so wel imployed: wherefore in the Ende not to bee surmounted in Honesty, ne yet to beare the marke of one, that vnthankefully accepteth good turnes, he determyned to vse a great prodigality vppon him, that vnder the name of foe, had shewed himselfe a more faythful friend, then those that bare good face, and at neede wer furthest off from afflicted Montanine, who not knowing what present to make to Salimbene, but of himselfe and hys syster, purposed to impart his minde to Angelica, and then vpon knowledge of hir wil to performe his intent. For which cause vnderstanding that his gracious enimy was gone into the Countrey, he thoughte well to consyder of his determynatyon, and to breake wyth hir in hys absence, the better to Execute the same, vppon his nexte retourne to the Citye. He called Angelica asyde, and beynge bothe alone together, hee vsed these or sutch lyke Woordes: “You knowe, deare Sister, that the higher the fall is, the more daungerous and greater gryefe he feeleth that doth fall from highe than hee that tumbleth downe from place more low and of lesser steepenes. I speak this, bicause I cal to mind the condition, nobility, and excellency of our ancesters, the glorie of our race, and riches of all our house, which constraineth me many tymes to sigh, and sheade a streame of teares, when I see the sumptuous palaces that were the homes and resting places of our Fathers, and grand fathers, when I see on al parts of this City, the Armes, and Scutcheons painted and imbossed, bearyng the mark of the Antiquity of our house, and when I beholde the stately marble tombes and brasen Monuments, in dyuers our Temples erected for perpetuall Memorye of many knyghtes and generalles of warres, that sorted forth of the Montanine race: and chyefly I neuer enter thys great Palace, the remnant of our inheritaunce and patrimony, but the remembraunce of our auncesters, so glaunceth ouer mine Hearte, as an hundred hundred tymes, I wysh for death, to thynke that I am the Post alone of the mysery and decay fallen vppon the name and famous familye of the Montanines, whych maketh me thinke our life to be vnhappy, being downe fallen from sutch felicity, to feele a mysery most extreame. But one thing alone ought to content vs, that amid so great pouerty, yl luck, ruine and abasement, none is able to lay vnto our charge any thing vnworthy of the nobility and the house, whereof we be descended, our lyfe being conformable to the generositie of our predecessors: whereby it chanceth, that although our poore estate be generally knowne, yet none can affirme, that we haue forligned the vertue of them, which vertuously haue lyued before vs. If so bee wee haue receiued pleasure or benefit of any man, neuer disdained I with al duety to acknowledge a good turne, stil shunning the vyce of ingratytude, to soyle the reputation wherein hitherto I haue passed my lyfe. Is there anye blot which more spotteth the renoume of man, than not confessing receiued benefites and pleasures perfourmed in our necessity? You know in what peril of death I was, these few daies past, through their false surmise which neuer loued me, and how almost miraculously I was redemed out of the hangman’s hands, and the cruel sentence of the vnryghteous Magistrate, not one of our kin offrynge themselues in deede or word for my defense, which forceth mee to say, that I haue felt of my Kin, which I neuer thought, and haue tasted sutch commodity at his hands, of whome I neuer durst expect or hope for pleasure, relief, aide or any comfort. I attended my delyueraunce by sute of those whome I counted for Kin and fryends, but the same so soon vanished, as the Necessity and peryll were present. So pressed with woe, and forsaken of fryends, I was affrayde that our aduersaries (to remoue all feare and suspition in tyme to come) would haue purchased my totall ruine, and procured the ouerthrowe of the Montanines name, by my Death, and approched end. But good God, from the place whereof I feared the danger, the calme arose, which hath brought my Barke to the hauen of health, and at his hands where I attended ruine, I haue tasted affiance and sustentation of myne honor and lyfe. And playnely to procede, it is Anselmo Salimbene, the son of our auncient and capital enimies, that hath shewed himself the very loyall and faithful fryend of our family, and hath deliuered your brother by payment to the State, the summe of a Thousand Ducats to raunsome the life of him, who thought him to be his moste cruel aduersary. O Gentleman’s heart in dede and gentle mind, whose rare vertues do surpasse all humaine vnderstanding. Friends vnited together in band of Amitye, amaze the World by the effects not vulgar in things whych they do one for an other. But thys surmounteth all, a mortall Ennimy, not reconcyled or requyred, without demaund of assuraunce for the pleasure which he doth, payeth the debts of his aduersarie: which facte exceedeth all consideration in them, that discouer the factes of men. I can not tel what name to attribute to the deede of Salimbene, and what I ought to call that his curtesy, but this must I needes protest, that the example of his honestie and gentlenes is of sutch force, and so mutch hath vanquished me, as whether I shal dye in payne or lyue at ease, neuer am I able to exceede his lyberality. Now my life being ingaged for that which he hath don to mee, and hee hauynge delyuered the same from infamous Death, it is in your handes (deare sister) to practize the deuyse imagined in my mind, to the intente that I may be onely bound to you for satisfying the liberalitye of Salimbene, by meanes whereof, you which wepte the death and wayled the lost liberty of your Brother, doe see me free and in safety hauyng none other care but to be acquited of hym, to whome both you and I be dearely bound.” Angelica hearyng hir brother speak those words, and knowing that Salimbene was he, that had surpassed all their kinne in amity and comforte of theyr familye, answered her brother, sayinge: “I woulde neuer haue thought (good Brother) that your deliuerance had come to passe by him whose name euen now you tolde, and that our Ennimyes breaking al remembraunce of auncient quarels, had care of the health and conseruation of the Montanines. Wherefore if it were in my power I would satisfy the curtesy and gentlenesse of Anselmo, but I know not which way to begin the same. I being a maid that knoweth not how to recompense a good turne, but by acknowledging the same in heart: and to go to render thanks, it is neither lawfull or comely for me, and mutch lesse to offer him any thynge for the lyttle accesse I haue to his house, and the small familiarity I haue with the Gentlewomen of his kinne. Notwythstanding, Brother, consider you wherein my power resteth to ayde and helpe you, and be assured (myne honor saued) I wyll spare nothynge for your contentment.” “Sister” (sayd Montanine) “I haue of long time debated with my self what is to be done, and deuised what myghte be the occasion that moued this young Gentleman to vse so greate kindnesse toward mee, and hauing diligently pondred and waied what I haue seene and knowne, at length I founde that it was the onely force of Loue, which constrained his affection, and altered the auncient hatred that he bare vs, into new loue, that by no meanes can be quenched. It is the couert fire which Loue hathe kindled in his intrailes, it is loue whych hath raysed the true effects of gentlenesse, and hath consumed the conceipts of displeased mind. O the great force of that amorous alteration, which vppon the sodain exchaung, seemeth impossible to receiue any more chaung or mutation. The onely Beauty and good grace of you Syster, hath induced our gracious Enimy, the seruaunt of your perfections, to delyuer the poore Gentleman forlorn of all good fortune. It is the honest lyfe and commendable behauiour of Angelica Montanine, that hath incyted Anselmo to doe an acte so praise worthy, and a deede so kinde, to procure the deliuerance of one, which looked not for a chaunce of so great consequence. Ah gentle younge gentleman: Ah pryncely minde, and heart noble and magnanimous. Alas how shall it be possyble that euer I can approche the honest liberalitye wherwyth thou hast bound me for euer? My lyfe is thine, myne honour dependeth of thee, my goodes be tyed to thee. What resteth then, if not that you (sister) voyde of cruelty do vse no vnkyndnesse to hym that loueth you, and who for love of you hathe prodygally offred hys owne goodes to ryd me from payne and dyshonor? If so be, my lyfe and sauegarde haue ben acceptable vnto thee, and the sight of me dyscharged from Pryson was ioyful unto thee, if thou gauest thy willing consent that I should sel my patrimony, graunt presently that I may wyth a great, rare, and precious present, requyte the Goodnesse, Pleasure and curtesye that Salimbene hath done for your sake: And syth I am not able with goodes of Fortune to satisfie his bountye, it is your person which may supply that default, to the intent that you and I may be quytted of the oblygation, wherein we stand bound vnto him. It behoueth that for the offer and reward of Money whych he hath imployed, we make present of your Beautye, not selling the pryce of your chastity, but delyueryng the same in exchaunge of curtesye, beyng assured for hys gentlenesse and good Nourtoure sake, hee wyll vse you none otherwyse, or vsurpe any greater authority ouer you, than Vertue permitteth in ech gentle and Noble hearte. I haue none other means of satisfaction, ne larger raumsome to render free my head from the Tribute whych Salimbene hathe gyuen for my Lyfe and Liberty. Thynke (deare Sister) what determinate aunswere you wyll make me, and consider if my request be meete to be denyed. It is in your choise and pleasure to deny or consent to my demaund. If so be that I be denyed and loose the meanes by your refuse to be acquitted of my defender, I had rather forsake my Citye and Countrey, than to lyue heere wyth the title of ingratitude, for not acknowledging so greate a pleasure. But alas, with what Eye, shall I dare behold the Nobility of Siena, if by greate vnkyndnesse I passe vnder silence the rarest friendship that euer was deuised? What heartes sorrow shall I conceyue to bee pointed at wyth the finger, like one that hath forgotten in acknowledging by effecte, the receiued pleasure of my delyueraunce? No (sister) eyther you must bee the quyet of my Minde, and the acquittance of vs bothe, or else must I dye, or wander lyke a vagabond into straunge Countries, and neuer put foote agayne into Italy.” At those words Angelica stode so astonned and confused, and so besides hir selfe, like as wee see one distraught of sense that feeleth himself attached with some amaze of the Palsey. In the end recouering hir sprytes, and bee blubbered al with teares, hir stomacke panting like the Bellowes of a forge, she answeared hir brother in thys manner: “I knowe not louyng Brother by reason of my troubled minde howe to aunswere your demaund, which seemeth to be both ryght, and wronge, right for respect of the bond, not so, in consideration of the request. But how I proue the same, and what reason I can alleadge and discouer for that proofe, hearken me so paciently, as I haue reason to complayne and dispute vpon this chaunce more hard and difficulte to auoyde, than by reply able to be defended, sith that Lyfe and the hazarding thereof is nothing, in regarde of that which you wyll haue me to present with too exceeding prodigall Liberality, and I would to God that Life mighte satisfie the same, than be sure it should so soone be imployed, as the promise made thereof. Alas, good God, I thought that when I sawe my brother out of Pryson, the neare distresse of death, whereunto vniustly he was thrown, I thought (I say) and firmely did beleue, that fortune the Enimy of our ioy, had vomitted al hir poison, and being despoyled of hir fury and crabbed Nature had broken the bloudy and Venemous Arrowes, wherewyth so longe tyme she hath plagued our family, and that by resting of hir selfe, shee had gyuen some rest to the Montanine house of al theyr troubles and misaduentures. But I (O miserable wight) do see and feele how far I am deuided from my hope, and deceiued of mine opinion, sith the furious stepdame, appeareth before me with a face more fierce and threatning, then euer she did, sharpening hir selfe against my youth in other sort, then euer against any of our race. If euer she persecuted our auncesters, if she brought them to ruine and decay, she now doth purpose wholly to subuerte the same, and throw vs headelong into the bottomlesse pit of all misery, exterminating for all tegether, the remnaunte of our consumed house. Be it either by losse of thee (good brother) or the vyolent death of me which cannot hazarde my Chastity for the pryce of myne vnhappy life: Ah, good God, into what anguish is my mynde exponed, and how doe I feele the force and Vyolence of froward Fortune? But what speak I of fortune? How doth hard lucke insue, that is predestinated by the heauens vppon our familly? Must I at so tender yeares, and of so feeble kinde make choyse of a thing, which would put the wysest vpon Earth into their shifts? My heart doth fayle me, reason wanteth and Iudgement hangeth in ballaunce by continuall agitations, to see how I am dryuen to the extremity of two daungerous straits, and enuironned with fearefull ieoperdies, forcibly compelled either to bee deuided and separated from thee (my Brother,) whome I loue aboue mine owne life, and in whome next after God I haue fyxed and put my hope and trust, hauing none other solace, Comfort and helpe, but thee, or else by keping thee, am forced to giue vnto an other, and know not how, the precious treasure which beyng once lost, cannot be recouered by any meanes, and for the gard and conseruation whereof, euery woman of good iudgement that loueth vertue, ought a thousand times to offer hir selfe to death (if so many wayes she could) rather than to blot or soyle that inestimable Iewell of chastity, wherewith our lyfe is a true lyfe: contrarywyse shee which fondly suffreth hir self to be disseazed and spoyled of the same, and looseth it without honest title, albeit she be a lyue, yet is she buryed in the most obscure caue of death, hauing lost the honour which maketh Maydens march with head vpryght. But what goodnesse hath a Ladye, Gentlewoman, Maiden, or Wyfe, wherein she can glory, hir honour being in doubt, and reputatyon darkened with infamie? Whereto serued the imperyall house of Augustus, in those Ladyes that were intituled the Emperour’s Daughters, when for their villany, theyr were vnworthy of the title of chaste and vertuous? What profited Faustina the Emperiall Crowne vpon hir head, hir chastity through hir abhominable Life, being rapt and despoyled? What wronge hath bene done to many symple Women, for being buryed in the Tombe of dark obliuion, which for their vertue and pudique Lyfe, meryted Eternall prayse? Ah Charles, my Brother deare, where hast thou bestowrd the Eye of thy foreseeing mynde, that without prouidence and care of the fame due to honest Dames, and chast Damosels of our Family, hauyng lost the goodes and Fathers inheritance, wilt haue me in like sort forgoe my Chastity, whych hytherto I haue kept with heedeful dilygence. Wilte thou deare Brother, by the pryce of my virginity, that Anselmo shall haue greater victorye ouer vs, than he hath gotten by fight of Sword vpon the allied remnaunt of our house? Art thou ignorant that the woundes and diseases of the Mynd, be more vehement than those which afflict the Body? Ah I vnhappy mayden, and what ill lucke is reserued for me, what destiny hath kept me till this day to be presented for Venus’ Sacrifice, to satisfy a young manne’s lust, which coueteth (peraduenture) but the spoile of mine honor? O happy the Romain maide, slayne by the proper hands of hir woeful Father Virginius, that she myght notbe soyled with infamy, by the Lecherous embracements of rauenous Appius, which desired hir acquaintaunce. Alas, that my brother doe not so, rather I woulde to God of his owne accord he be the infamous minister of my life ready to be violated, if God by his grace take not my cause in hand? Alas death, why dost thou not throwe against my hearte thy most pearcing dart, that I may goe waite vpon the shadowes of my thryce happy Parents, who knowing this my gryefe, wyll not be voide of passion to helpe me wayle my woefull state. O God, why was not I choaked and strangled, so soone as I was taken forth the secret imbracements of my mother’s Wombe, rather than to arriue into this mishap, that either must I lose the thing I deeme moste deare, or die with the violence of my proper hands? Come death, come and cut the vnhappy threede of my woefull Lyfe: stope the pace of teares with thy trenchant Darte that streame outragiously downe my face, and close the breathing wind of sighes, which hynder thee from doing thine office vpon my heart, by suffocation of my lyfe and it.” When she had ended those Words, hir speache dyd faile, and waxing pale and faint, (sitting vppon hir stoole) she fared as though that very death had sitten in hir place. Charles thynking that his sister had bene deade, mated with sorrowe, and desirous to lyue no longer after hir, seeing he was the cause of that sownyng, fell downe dead vpon the Ground, mouing neither hand nor foote, as though the soule had ben departed from the bodye. At the noyse which Montanine made by reason of hys fall, Angelica reuiued out of hir sowne, and seeinge hir Brother in so pytifull plyght, and supposing he had bene dead for care of hys request, for beyng berieued of hir Brother, was so moued, as a lyttle thynge would haue made hir do, as Thisbe dyd, when she viewed Pyramus to be slayne. But conceyuing hope, she threw hir selfe vppon hir Brother, cursing hir Fortune, bannyng the Starres of cruelty, and hir lauish speach, and hir self for hir little loue to hir brother, who made no refusall to dye to saue his Lande for reliefe of hir: wher she denyed to yeld hir selfe to him that loued hir with so good affection. In the end she applied so many remedies vnto hir brother, sometimes casting cold water vpon his face, sometimes pinching and rubbing the temples and pulses of his armes and his mouth with vineger, that she made hym to come agayne: and seeing that his eyes were open, beholding hir intentiuely with the countenance of a man half in despayre, she saied vnto him: “For so mutch brother as I see fortune to be so froward, that by no meanes thou canst auoide the cruel lot, which launceth me into the bottome of mortall misery, and that I must aduenture to folowe the indeuors of thy minde, and obey thy will, which is more gentle and Noble, than fraught with reason, I am content to satisfy the same and the loue which hitherto thou hast born me. Be of good cheere, and doe wyth mee and my body what thou list, giue and presente the same to whom thou pleasest. Wel be thou sure, that so sone as I shal bee out of thy hands and power, I wyl be called or esteemed thine no more, and thou shalt haue lesse authority to stay me from doing the deuises of my fantasie, swearing and protesting by the Almighty God, that neuer man shall touch Angelica, except it be in mariage, and that if he assay to passe any further, I haue a heart that shall incourage my hands to sacrifice my Life to the Chastitye of Noble Dames whych had rather dye than liue in slaunder of dyshonesty. I wyll die a body without defame, and the Mynde voyde of consent, shall receiue no shame or filth that can soyle or spot the same.” In saying so, she began againe to weepe in sutch aboundance, as the humour of hir brayne ranne downe by the issue of bothe hir Eyes. Montanine albeit sorrowful beyond measure to see his gentle and chast sister in sutch vexation and heauinesse, reioysed yet in his mind, that she had agreed to his request, which presaged the good lucke that afterwardes chaunced vnto him, for hys Lyberal offer. “Wherefore” (said he to Angelica,) “I was neuer in my Lyfe so desirous to liue, but that I rather choose to dye, than procure a thinge that should turne thee to displeasure and griefe, or to hazarde thine honor and reputation in daunger or peryll of damage, which thou hast euer knowne, and shouldest haue still perceyued by effect, or more properly to speak, touched with thy finger if that incomparable and rare curtesy and Lyberality of Salimbene had not prouoked me to requyre that, which honestly thou canst not gyue, nor I demaunde without wronge to thee, and preiudice to mine owne estimation and honoure. But what? the feare I haue to be deemed ingrate, hath made me forget thee, and the great honesty of Anselmo maketh me hope, yea and stedfastly beleue, that thou shalt receiue none other displeasure, but to be presented vnto him whome at other times we haue thought to be our mortal enimy. And I thinke it impossible that he wil vse any villany to hir whome he so feruently loueth, for whose sake he feareth not the hatred of his friends, and disdained not to save him whome he hated, and on whome he myght haue bene reuenged. And forsomutch sister, as the face commonly sheweth the signe and token of the hearte’s affection, I pray thee by any meanes declare no sad countenaunce in the presence of Salimbene, but rather cheere vp thy face, dry vp the aboundance of thy teares, that he by seeing thee Ioyfull and mery, may be moued to continue his curtesy and use thee honestly, being satisfied with thy liberality, and the offer that I shall make of our seruice.” Here may be seene the extremitie of two dyuers thinges, duety combatting with shame, reason being in contention with himself. Angelica knew and confessed that hir brother did but his duetye, and that she was bound by the same very bond. On the other side, hir estate and virginall chastity, brake the endeuours of hir duety, and denyed to doe that which she esteemed ryght. Neuerthelesse shee prepared hir self to follow both the one and the other: and by acquitting the duety to hir brother, she ordayned the meane, to discharge him of that which he was bound to his benefactor, determinynge neuerthelesse rather to dye, than shamefully to suffer hir selfe to be abused, or to make hir lose the floure, which made hir glyster amongs the maidens of the city, and to deface hir good fame by an acte so vyllanous. But that speciall rare vertue was more singular in hir, than was that continency of Cyrus the Persian King, who fearing to be forced by the allurements of the excellent beauty of chast Panthea, would not suffer hir to be brought into his presence, for feare that hee being surmounted with folysh lustes, should force hir, that by other meanes could not be persuaded to breake the holy lawes of Mariage, and promised faith to hir husband. For Salimbene hauing in his presence, and at his commaundement hir whome aboue al thyngs he loued would by no meanes abuse his power, but declared his gentle nature to bee of other force and effect, than that of the aforesaid king as by reading the successe of this historie you shal perceiue. After that Montanine and his sister had vttered many other words vpon their determination, and that the fayre maiden was appeased of hir sorrow, attending the issue of that which they went about to begin: Anselmo was come home out of the Countrey, whereof Charles hauing intelligence, about the second houre of the night, he caused his sister to make hir ready, and in company of one of their seruants that caried light before them, they came to the lodginge of Salimbene, whose seruaunt seeing Montanine so accompanied to knocke at the Gate, if hee did maruel I leaue for you to think, by reason of the displeasure and hatred which he knew to bee betweene the two families, not knowing that which had already passed for the heginning of a final peace of so many controuersies: for which cause so astonned as he was, he went to tel his maister that Montanine was at the gate, desirous secretly to talk vnto him. Salimbene knowing what company Charles had with him, was not vnwilling to goe downe, and causing two Torches to be lighted, came to his gate to entertaine them, and to welcome the brother and the sister, wyth so great curtesie and friendship as he was surprysed with loue, seeing before his eyes the sight of hir that burned hys heart incessantly, not discoueryng as yet the secrets of his thought by making hir to vnderstand the good wyl he bare hir, and how mutch he was hir seruant. He could not tel wel whether he was incharmed or his eyes daselled, or not wel wakened from sleepe when he saw Angelica, so amazed was he with the straungenesse of the fact, and arriuall of the maiden to his house. Charles seeing hym so confused, and knowing that the great affection he bare vnto his sister, made him so perplexed and besides himself, said vnto him: “Sir, we would gladly speake with you in one of your Chambers, that there myght be none other witnesse of our dyscourse, but we three together.” Salimbene which was wrapt wyth ioy, was able to make none other aunsweare, but: “Goe we whether you please.” So taking his Angelica by the hand, they went into the Hall, and from thence into his chamber, whych was furnyshed accordinge to the state and riches of a Lord, he being one of the welthiest and chiefe of the City of Siena. When they were set downe, and al the seruants gone forth, Charles began to say to Salimbene, these words: “You may not thinke it straunge (sir Salimbene) if against the Lawes and customes of our Common Wealthe, I at thys tyme of the Nyght doe call you vp, for knowyng the Bande wherewyth I am bound vnto you, I must for euer confesse and count my selfe to be your slaue and bondman, you hauing don a thing in my behalf that deserueth the name of Lord and maister. But what vngrateful man is he that wil forget so greate a benefit, as that which I haue receyued of you, holding of you, life, goods, honor, and this mine own sister that enioyeth by your meanes the presence of hir brother and hir rest of mind, not losing our noble reputation by the losse prepared for me through vnrighteous iudgement, you hauing staied the ruine both of hir and me, and the rest of our house and kin. I am ryghte glad sir, that this my duety and seruice is bounden to so vertuous a Gentleman as you be, but exceeding sorry, that fortune is so froward and contrary vnto me, that I am not able to accomplishe my good will, and if ingratitude may lodge in mind of a neady Gentleman, who hath no helpe but of himselfe, and in the wyll of hys chast sister, and minde vnited in two persons onely saued by you, duety doeth requyre to present the rest, and to submit al that is left to be disposed at your good pleasure. And bicause that I am well assured, that it is Angelica alone which hath kindled the flame of desire, and hath caused you to loue that which your predecessours haue deadly hated, that same sparke of knowledge, whych our misery could not quench with all his force, hath made the way and shewed the path whereby we shall auoide the name of ingrate and forgetfull persons, and that same which hath made you lyberall towards me, shalbe bountifully bestowed vpon you. It is Angelica sir, which you see present heere, who to discharge my band, hath willingly rendred to be your owne, submittinge hir selfe to your good wyll, for euer to be youres. And I which am hir brother, and haue receiued that great good wyll of hir, as in my power to haue hir wyl, do present the same, and leaue hir in your hands, to vse as you would your owne, praying you to accept the same, and to consider whose is the gift, and from whence it commeth, and how it ought to be regarded.” When he had sayd so, Montanine rose vp, and without further talke, went home vnto his house. If Anselmo were abashed at the Montanines arriuall, and astonned at the Oration of Charles, his sodain departure was more to be maruelled at, and therwithal to see the effect of a thing which he neuer hoped, nor thought vpon. He was exceding glad and ioyfull to see himself in the company of hir, whome he desired aboue al things of the world, but sory to see hir heauy and sorrowful for sutch chaunce. He supposed hir being ther, to procede rather of the yong man’s good and gentle Nature, than of the Maiden’s will and lykynge. For whych cause taking hir by the hand, and holding hir betwene hys armes, he vsed these or sutch lyke words: “Gentlewoman, if euer I had felt and knowne with what Wing the variety and lyghtnesse of worldly thynges do flye, and the gaynes of inconstant fortune, at this present I haue seen one of the most manifest profes which seemeth to me so straunge, as almost I dare not beeleue that I see before myne Eyes. I know well that it is for you, and for the seruice that I beare you, that I haue broken the effect of that hatred, whych by inheritaunce I haue receiued against your House, and for that deuotion haue deliuered your Brother. But I see that Fortune wyll not let mee to haue the vpper hand, to bee the Conquerer of hir sodaine pangs. But you your self shall see, and euery man shall know that my heart is none other than noble, and my deuises tend, but to the exploit of all vertue and Gentlenesse: wherefore I pray you (sayd he, kissing hir louingly) be not sad, and doubt not that your seruaunt is any other now, hauing you in his power, than he was when he durst not dyscouer the ardent Loue that vexed him, and held him in feeble state, ful of desire and thought: you also may bee sure, that he hath not had the better hande ouer me, ne yet for his curtesy hath obteined victory, nor you for obeying him. For sith that you be myne, and for sutch yelded and giuen to me, I wyl keepe you, as hir whome I loue and esteme aboue al things of the World, makyng you my Companion and the onely mistresse of my goodes heart, and wyll. Thinke not that I am the Fryend of Fortune, and practise pleasure alone without vertue. It is modesty which commaundeth me, and honesty is the guide of my conceipts. Assure you then, and repose your comfort on mee: for none other than Angelica Montanine shall be the wyfe of Anselmo Salimbene: and during my life, I wyll bee the Fryend, the defender and supporter of your house.” At these good Newes, the drousie and wandryng Spirite of the fayre Siena mayd awaked, who endyng hir teares and appeasing hir sorrow, rose vp, and made a very lowe reuerence vnto hir curteous fryend, thanking hym for hys greate and incomparable liberalitye, promising all seruice, duetie, and Amitye, that a Gentlewoman ought to beare vnto him, whom God hath reserued for hir Spouse and husband. After an infinite number of honest imbracements and pleasaunte kisses giuen and receiued on both partes, Anselmo called vnto him one of his Auntes that dwelled within him, to whome he deliuered his new Conquest to keepe, and spedily without delay he sent for the next of his Kinne and dearest friends: and being come, he intreated them to kepe him company, in a very vrgent and weighty businesse he had to do, wherein if they shewed themselues dilygent in his request, doubtful it is not, but he addressed speede for accomplishment of his Enterpryse. Then causyng hys Aunte and welbeloued Angelica to come forth, he carryed them (not without their great admiration) to the pallace of Montanine, whither being arryued: he and hys Companie were well intertayned of the sayd Montanine, the Brother of fayre Angelica. When they were in the Hall, Salimbene sayd to hys Brother in law that should be: “Senio Montanine, it is not long sithens, that you in company of my faire Gentlewoman heere, came home to speake wyth mee, desirous to haue no man priuy to the effect of your conference. But I am come to you with this troupe to disclose my minde before you al, and to manifeste what I purpose to doe, to the intente the whole World may know your good and honest Nature, and vnderstand how I can be requited on them, which indeuor to gratifie me in any thing.” Hauing said so, and euery man being set down he turned his talk to the rest of the company in thys wise: “I doubt not my friends and Noble Dames, but that ye mutch muse and maruell to see me in this house so late, and in your company, and am sure, that a great desire moueth your minds to know for what purpose, the cause, and why I haue gathered this assemblie in a time vnlooked for, and in place where none of our race and kinne of long time did enter, and lesse did meane to make hither their repaire. But when you doe consider what vertue and goodnesse resteth in the heartes of those men, that shunne and auoide the brutyshnesse of Minde, to followe the reasonable part, and which proprely is called Spirituall, you shall thereby perceiue, that when Gentle kynde and Noble Heart, by the great mistresse dame Nature be gryfted in the myndes of Men, they cease not to make appeare the effect of their doings, sometyme producing one vertue, sometimes another, which cease not to cause the fruicte of sutch industry both to blome and beare: In sutch wyse, as the more those vertuous actes and commendable workes, do appeare abroade, the greater dyligence is imployed to searche the matter wherein she can cause to appeare the force of vertue and excellency, conceiuing singular delyghte in that hir good and holy delyuery, which bryngeth forth a fruict worthy of sutch a stocke. And that force of mind and Generosity of Noble Heart is so firme and sure in operation, as although humane thinges be vnstable and subiect to chaung, yet they cannot be seuered or disparcled. And although it be the Butte and white, whereat fortune dischargeth al hir dartes and shaftes, threatning shooting and assayling the same round, yet it continueth stable and firme like a Rocke and Clyffe beaten wyth the vyolent fury of waues rising by wind or tempest. Whereby it chaunceth, that riches and dignity can no more aduaunce the heart of a slaue and villaine, than pouerty make vile and abase the greatnesse of courage in them that be procreated of other stuffe than of common sorte, whych daily keepe the maiesty of their oryginall, and lyve after the instincte of good and Noble Bloude, wherewith their auncesters were made Noble, and sucked the same vertue oute of the Teates of Noursses Breasses, who in the myddes of troublesome trauayles of Fortune that doe assayle them, and depresse theyr modesty, their face and Countenaunce, and theyr factes full well declare theyr condition, and to doe to vnderstande, that vnder sutch a Misery, a Mynde is hydde which deserueth greater Guerdon than the eigre taste of Calamitye. In that dyd glowe and shyne the Youthe of the Persian and Median Monarch, beynge nourssed amonges the stalles and Stables of hys Grandfather, and the gentle kind of the founder of stately Rome sockeled in the Shepecoates of Prynces sheepehierds. Thus mutch haue I sayd, my good lords and dames, in consideration of the noble corage and gentle minde of Charles Montanine, and of his sister, who without preiudice to any other I dare to say, is the paragon and mirrour of all chast and curteous maidens, well trayned vp, amonges the whole Troupe of those that lyue thys day in Siena, who beeyng brought to the ende and last poynt of their ruine, as euery of you doth knowe, and theyr race so sore decayed as there remayneth but the onely Name of Montanine: notwythstanding they neuer lost the heart, desire, ne yet the effect of the curtesy, and naturall bounty, whych euer doth accompany the mynd of those that be Noble in deede. Whych is the cause that I am constrayned to accuse our Auncesters, of to mutch cruelty, and of the lyttle respecte whych for a controuersye occured by chaunce, haue pursued them with sutch mortall reuenge, as without ceasing, with all their force, they haue assayed to ruinate, abolyshe, and for euer adnichilate that a ryghte Noble and illustre race of the Montanines, amongs whome if neuer any goodnesse appeared to the Worlde, but the Honesty, Gentlenesse, Curtesy and vertuous maners of these twayne here presente, the Brother and sister, yet they ought to be accompted amonges the ranke of the Noblest and chiefest of our City, to the intent in time to come it may not be reported, that wee haue esteemed and chearyshed Riches and drossie mucke, more than vertue and modesty. But imitating those excellent gouerners of Italy, whych held the Romane Empire, let vs rather reuerence the Vertuous Poore, than prayse or pryse the Rich, gyuen to vice and wickednesse. And for so mutch as I do see you all to be desirous to knowe the cause and argument, whych maketh me to vse this talke, and forceth mee to prayse the curtesy and goodnesse of the Montanines, pleaseth you to stay a lyttle with pacience, and not think the tyme tedyous, I meane to declare the same. Playnely to confesse vnto you (for that it is no cryme of Death, or heinous offence) the gyfts of nature, the Beauty and comelynesse of fayre Angelica heere present, haue so captiuate my Mind, and depriued my heart of Lyberty, as Night and Day trauailing how I might discouer vnto hir my martirdom, I did consume in sutch wyse, as losing lust of slepe and meate, I feared ere long to be either dead of sorrow or estranged of my right wits, seing no meanes how I might auoide the same, bicause our two houses and Families were at contynuall debate: and albeit conflicts were ceased, and quarelles forgotten, yet there rested (as I thought) a certaine desire both in the one and the other of offence, when time and occasion did serue. And yet mine affection for all that was not decreased, but rather more tormented, and my gryefe increased, hopelesse of help, which now is chaunced to me as you shall heare. You do know, and so do all men, howe wythin these fewe dayes past, the Lord Montanine here present, was accused before the Seniorie, for trespasses against the statutes and Edicts of the same, and being Prysoner, hauing not wherewith to satisfie the condempnation, the Law affirmed that his life should recompence and supply default of Money. I not able to suffer the want of hym, which is the brother of the dearest thing I esteeme in the Worlde, and hauing not hir in possession, nor lyke without him to attayne hir, payed that Summe, and delyuered hym. He, by what meanes I know not, or how he coniectured the beneuolence of my deede, thynking that it proceeded of the honest Loue and affection which I bare to gracious and amiable Angelica, wel consideryng of my curtesy, hath ouercome me in prodigalitye, he this Nyght came vnto mee, with his sister my mistresse, yelding hir my slaue and Bondwoman, leauyng hir with me, to doe with hir as I would with any thing I had. Behold my good Lordes, and yee Noble Ladies and cosins, and consider how I may recompence this Benefit, and be able to satisfie a present so precious, and of sutch Value and regard as both of them be, sutch as a right puissant prince and Lord may be contented wyth, a duety so Liberall and Iewell inestymable of two offered thynges.” The assistants that were there, could not tell what to say, the discourse had so mutch drawne their myndes into dyuers fantasies and contrary opinions, seing that the same requyred by deliberation to be considered, before lightly they vttred their mindes. But they knew not the intent of him, which had called them thither, more to testify his fact, than to iudge of the thing he went about, or able to hinder and let the same. True it is, that the ladies viewing and marking the amiable countenance of the Montanine Damsell, woulde haue iudged for hir, if they feared not to bee refused of hym, whome the thing did touche most neere. Who without longer staye, opened to them al, what he was purposed to do, saying: “Sith ye do spende time so long vpon a matter already meant and determyned, I wyll ye to knowe, that hauing regard of mine honour, and desirous to satisfie the honesty of the Brother and sister, I mynde to take Angelica to my wyfe and lawfull spouse, vniting that whych so long tyme hath bene deuyded, and making into two bodyes, whilom not well accorded and agreed, one like and vniforme wyll, praying you ech one, ioyfully to ioy with me, and your selues to reioyse in that alliaunce, whych seemeth rather a worke from Heauen, than a deede concluded by the Counsell and industrie of Men. So lykewyse all wedded feeres in holy Wedlocke (by reason of the effect and the Author of the same, euen God himselfe, whych dyd ordayne it firste) bee wrytten in the infallible booke of hys owne prescience, to the intent that nothing may decay, whych is sustayned wyth the mighty hand of that Almyghty God, the God of wonders, which verily hee hath displayed ouer thee (deare Brother) by makynge thee to fall into distresse and daunger of death, that myne Angelica, beeing the meane of thy delyueraunce, myght also bee cause of the attonement which I doe hope henceforth shall bee, betwene so Noble houses as ours be.” Thys finall decree reueled in open audience, as it was, against their expectation, and the ende that the kindred of Anselmo looked for, so was the same no lesse straunge and bashfull, as ioyful and pleasaunt, feeling a sodain ioy, not accustomed in theyr mynde, for that vnion and allyaunce. And albeit that their ryches was vnequall, and the dowry of Angelica nothyng neare the great wealth of Salimbene, yet all Men dyd deeme him happy, that hee had chaunced vpon so vertuous a maiden, the onely Modestie and Integritie of whome, deserued to bee coupled wyth the most honourable. For when a man hath respecte onely to the beauty or Riches of hir, whome he meaneth to take to Wyfe, hee moste commonly doth incurre the Mischiefe, that the Spyrite of dyssention intermeddleth amyd theyr household, whereby Pleasuere vanishing wyth Age, maketh the riueled Face (beset wyth a Thousand wrynkeled furrowes) to growe pale and drye. The Wyfe lykewyse when she seeth her goodes to surmount the substance of hir wedded Husband, she aduaunceth hir hearte, she swelleth wyth pryde, indeuoryng the vpper hand and souerainty in all thyngs, whereupon it riseth, that of two frayle and transitorie things, the building which hath so fyckle foundation, can not indure, man being borne to commaund, and can not abyde a mayster ouer hym, beyng the chyefe and Lord of hys Wyfe. Now Salimbene, to perfourme the effect of hys curtesie, gaue his fayre Wife the moytie of his Lands and goods, in fauoure of the Mariage, adopting by that meanes, Montanine to bee his Brother, appointing hym to be heyre of all hys goodes in case he deceased wythout heyres of his Body. And if God did send hym Children, he instituted him to bee the heyre of the other halfe, which rested by hys donation to Angelica his new espouse: Whom he maried solempnely the Sunday folowing, to the great contentation and maruell of the whole City, which long time was afflicted by the ciuile dissentions of those two houses. But what? Sutch be the varieties of worldly successe, and sutch is the mischiefe amongs men, that the same which honesty hath no power to winne, is surmounted by the disgrace and misfortune of wretched time. I neede not to alleage here those amongs the Romanes, which from great hatred and malice were reconciled with the indissoluble knot of Amity; forsomutch as the dignyties and Honoures of theyr Citty prouoked one to flatter and fawne vpon an other for particular profit, and not one of them attained to sutch excellencie and renoume, as the foresayd did, one of whome was vanquyshed with the fire of an amorous passion, whych forcyng nature hir selfe, brought that to passe, which could neuer haue bene thoughte or imagyned. And yet Men wyll accuse loue, and painte hir in the Colours of foolysh Furye and raging Madnesse. No, no, Loue in a gentle heart is the true subiect and substance of Vertue, Curtesy, and Modest Manners, expellynge all Cruelty and Vengeance, and nourishyng peace amongs men. But if any do violate and prophane the holy Lawes of Loue, and peruert that which is Vertuous, the faulte is not in that holye Saincte but in hym whych foloweth it wythout skyll, and knoweth not the perfection. As hapneth in euery operation, that of it selfe is honest, although defamed by those, who thinking to vse it, doe filthily abuse the same, and cause the grosse and ignoraunte to condempne that is good, for the folye of sutch inconstant fooles: In the other is painted a heart so voyde of the blody and abhominable sinne of Ingratitude, as if death had ben the true remedy and meane to satisfie his band and duety, he would haue made no conscience to offer himselfe frankly and freely to the dreadful passage of the same. You see what is the force of a gentle heart wel trained vp, that would not be vanquished in curtesye and Lyberality. I make you to be iudges, (I meane you) that be conuersant in loue’s causes, and that with a Iudgement passionlesse, voide of parciality doe dyscourse vppon the factes and occurrentes that chaunce to men. I make you (I saye) iudges to gyue sentence, whether of three caried away the pryse, and most bound his companion by lyberall acte, and curtesie not forced. You see a mortall enimy sorrow for the misery of his aduersary, but solycited therunto by the ineuitable force of Loue. The other marcheth with the glory of a present so rare and exquisite, as a great Monarch would haue accompted it for singuler fauor and prodigality. The maiden steppeth forth to make the third in ranke, wyth a loue so stayed and charity wonderfull towards hir brother, as being nothynge assured whether he to whome she offered hir selfe were so Moderate, as Curteous, she yeldeth hir selfe to the losse of hir chastity. The first assayeth to make himselfe a conquerour by mariage, but she diminishyng no iote of hir Noble mind, he must seeke else where hys pryse of victory. To hir a desyre to kyll hir selfe (if thinges succeeded contrary to hir minde) myght haue stopped the way to hir great glory, had she not regarded hir virginity, more than hir own Lyfe. The second seemeth to go half constrained, and by maner of acquitall, and had hys affectyon bene to render hymselfe Slaue to hys Foe, hys Patron and preseruer, it would haue diminished his prayse. But sithens inough wee haue hereof dyscoursed, and bene large in treatie of Tragicomicall matters, intermyxed and suaged (in some parte) wyth the Enteruiewes of dolor, modesty, and indifferente good hap, and in some wholly imparted the dreadfull endes like to terrible beginnings, I meane for a reliefe, and after sutch sowre sweete bankets, to interlarde a licorous refection for sweeting the mouthes of the delicate: And do purpose in this Nouell insuing, to manifest a pleasaunt disport betweene a Wydow and a Scholler, a passing Practise of a crafty Dame, not well schooled in the discipline of Academicall rules, a surmountinge science to trade the nouices of that forme, by ware foresight, to incountre those that by laborsome trauayle and nightly watch, haue studied the rare knowledge of Mathematicalles, and other hidden and secrete Artes. Wishing them so well to beware, as I am desirous to let them know by this rudiment, the successe of sutch attemptes.

[ THE THIRTY-FIRST NOUELL.]

A Wydow called Mistresse Helena, wyth whom a Scholler was in loue, (shee louing an other) made the same Scholler to stande a whole Wynter’s night in the Snow to wayte for hir, who afterwardes by a sleyght and pollicie, caused hir in Iuly, to stand vppon a Tower starke naked amongs Flies and Gnats, and in the Sunne.

Diuert we now a little from these sundry haps, to solace our selues wyth a merry deuice, and pleasaunt circumstaunce of a Scholler’s loue, and of the wily guily Subtilties of an amorous Wydow of Florence. A Scholler returned from Paris to practise hys knowledge at home in his owne Countrey, learneth a more cunning Lecture of Mistresse Helena, than he did of the subtillest Sorbone Doctor, or other Mathematicall from whence he came. The Scholler as playnely hee had applied his booke, and earnestly harkned his readings, so he simply meant to be a faythfull Louer and deuout requirant to this Iolly dame, that had vowed his Deuotion and promised Pilgrimage to an other Saynct. The Scholler vpon the first view of the Wydowe’s wandring Lookes, forgetting Ouide’s Lessons of Loue’s guiles, pursued his conceipt to the vttermost. The Scholler neuer remembred how many valiaunt, wise and learned men, wanton Women had seduced and deceyued. Hee had forgot how Catullus was beguiled by Lesbia, Tibullus by Delia, Propertius by Cynthia, Naso by Corinna, Demetrius by Lamia, Timotheus by Phryne, Philip by a Greeke mayden, Alexander by Thays, Hanniball by Campania, Cæsar by Cleopatra, Pompeius by Flora, Pericles by Aspaga, Psammiticus the king of Ægypt by Rhodope, and diuers other very famous by Women of that stampe. Hee had not ben wel trayned in holy writ, or heard of Samson’s Dalida, or of Salomon’s Concubins, but like a playne dealinge man, beleued what she promised, followed what she bad him, waited whiles she mocked him, attended till shee laughed him to scorne. And yet for all these Iolly pastimes inuented by this Widdow, to deceyue the poore Scholler, she scaped not free from his Logike rules, not saife from his Philosophy. He was forced to turne ouer Aristotle, to reuolue his Porphyrie, and to gather his Wits about hym to requite this louing Peate, that had so charitably delt with him. He willingly serched ouer Ptolome, perused Albumazar, made haste to Haly, yea and for a shift besturred him in Erra Pater, for matching two contrary Elements. For colde in Christmasse holy dayes, and Frost at Twelftide, shewed no more force on this poore learned Scholler, than the Sunne’s heate in the Feries of Iuly, Gnats, Flyes, and Waspes, at Noone dayes in Sommer vpon the naked tender Corpse of this fayre Wyddow. The Scholler stoode belowe in a Court, benoommed for colde, the Wyddowe preached a lofte in the top of a Tower, and fayne would haue had water to coole hir extreme heate. The Scholler in his Shyrt bedecked wyth his demissaries. The Wyddow so Naked as hir Graundmother Eue, wythout vesture to shroud hir. The Wyddow by magike arte what so euer it cost, would fayne haue recouered hir lost Louer. The Scholler well espying his aduantage when hee was asked councell, so Incharmed hir with his Sillogismes, as he made hir to mount a Tower, to cursse the time that euer she knew him or hir Louer. So the Wydow not well beaten in causes of Schoole, was whipt with the Rod, wherewith shee scourged other. Alas good Woman, had she known that olde malice had not bene forgotten, she woulde not haue trusted, and lesse committed hir selfe to the Circle of his Enchauntments. If women wist what dealings are wyth men of great reading, they would amongs one hundred other, not deale wyth one of thee meanest of those that be Bookish. One Girolamo Ruscelli, a learned Italyan making prety notes for the better elucidation of the Italyan Decamerone of Boccaccio, iudgeth Boccaccio himselfe to be this scholler, whom by an other name he termeth to be Rinieri. But whatsoeuer that Scholler was, he was truely to extreme in reueng, and therein could vse no meane. For hee neuer left the poore feeble soule, for all hir curteous Words and gentle Supplication, vntill the Skin of hir flesh was Parched with the scalding Sunne beames. And not contented with that, delt his Almose also to hir Mayde, by sending hir to help hir Mistresse, where also she brake hir Legge. Yet Phileno was more pityfull ouer the 3 nymphes and fayre Goddesses of Bologna, whose Hystory you may reade in the 49 Nouell of my former Tome. He fared not so roughly with those, as Rinieri did with thys, that sought but to gayne what she had lost. Well, how so euer it was, and what differency betweene eyther of theym, this Hystory ensuinge, more aptly shall gieue to vnderstande. Not long sithens, there was in Florence, a young Gentlewoman of worshipfull parentage, fayre and comely of personage, of courage stout, and abounding in goods of Fortune (called Helena,) who being a widow, determined not to mary agayne, bicause she was in loue with a yong man that was not voyde of Nature’s good gifts, whom for hir owne Tooth, aboue other shee had specially chosen. In whom (setting aside all other care) many tymes (by meanes of one of hir maydes which she trusted best) she had great pleasure and delight. It chaunced about the same time that a yong Gentleman of that Citty called Rinieri, hauinge a great time studied at Paris, returned to Florence, not to sell his Science by retayle, as many doe, but to knowe the reasons of things, and the causes thereof, which is a speciall good exercise for a Gentleman. And being there honoured and greatly esteemed of all men, aswell for his curteous behauiour, as also for his knowledge, he liued like a good Cittizen. But it is commonly seene, they which haue best vnderstandinge and knowledge, are soonest tangled in Loue: euen so it hapned with this Rinieri, who repayringe one day for his passetime to a Feaste, this Madame Helena clothed al in blacke, (after the manner of Widowes) was there also, and seemed in his eyes so beautifull and well fauored, as any woman euer he saw, and thought that hee might bee accoumpted happy, to whom God did shewe so mutch fauoure, as to suffer him to be cleped betweene hir Armes: and beholdinge her diuers tymes and knowing that the greatest and dearest things cannot be gotten with out labour, he determined to use all his endeuour and care in pleasing of hir, that thereby he might obtayne hir loue, and so enioy hir. The yong Gentlewoman not very bashfull, conceyuing greater opinion of hir selfe, than was needefull, not castinge hir Eyes towards the Ground, but rolling them artificially on euery side, and by and by perceyuing mutch gazing to be vpon hir, espied Rinieri earnestly beholding hir, and sayd, smiling to hir selfe: “I thinke that I haue not this day lost my time in comming hither, for if I bee not deceyued, I shall catch a Pigeon by the Nose.” And beginning certayne times stedfastly to looke vpon him, she forced hir selfe so mutch as she could, to seeme very ernestly to beholde him. And on the other part thinking, that the more pleasaunt and amorous she shewed hirselfe to be, the more hir beauty should be esteemed, chiefly of him whom specially shee was disposed to loue. The wise Scholler giuing ouer his Philosophy, bent all his endeuour here vnto, and thinking to be hir seruaunt, learned where she dwelt, and began to passe before hir house under pretence of some other occasion: whereat the Gentlewoman reioysed for the causes beforesayde, fayning an earnest desire to looke vpon him. Wherefore the Scholler hauing found a certayne meane to be acquaynted wyth hir Mayde discouered his loue: Praying her to deale so with hir mistresse, as he might haue hir fauor. The maide promised him very louingly incontinently reporting the same to hir mistresse, who with the greatest Scoffes in the Worlde, gaue ear thereunto and sayd: “Seest thou not from whence this Goodfellowe is come to lose al his knowledge and doctrine that he hath brought vs from Paris. Now let vs deuise therefore how he may bee handled for going about to seeke that, which he is not like to obtaine. Thou shalt say vnto him, when he speaketh to thee agayne, that I loue him better than he loueth me, but it behooueth me to saue mine honoure, and to keepe my good name and estimation amongs other Women.” Whych thinge, if he be so wise (as hee seemeth) hee ought to Esteeme and Regarde. “Ah, poore Wench, she knoweth not wel, what it is to mingle Huswiuery with learning, or to intermeddle distaues with bookes.” Now the mayde when she had founde the Scholler, tolde him as hir mistresse had commaunded: whereof the Scholler was so glad, as he with greater endeuor proceded in his enterprise, and began to write Letters to the Gentlewoman, which were not refused, although he could receyue no aunsweres that pleased him, but sutch as were done openly. And in this sorte the Gentlewoman long time fed him with delayes. In the ende she discouered all this new loue vnto hir frend, who was attached with sutch an Aking Disease in his heade, as the same was Fraught with the Reume of Iealousie: wherefore she to shewe hir selfe to be suspected without cause (very carefull for the Scholler) sent hir mayde to tell him, that she had no conuenient time to doe the thinge that should please him, sithens he was first assured of hir loue, but hoped the next Christmasse holly dayes to be at his commaundement: wherefore if he would vouchsafe to come the night following the first holly day, into the Court of hir house, she would wayte there for his comminge. The Scholler the best contented man in the Worlde fayled not at the time appoyncted, to go to the Gentlewoman’s house: where being placed by the Mayde in a base Court, and shut fast within the same, he attended for hir, who Suppinge with hir friende that night, very pleasauntly recited vnto him all that she had determined then to doe, saying: “Thou mayst see now what loue I do beare vnto him, of whom thou hast foolishly conceyued thys Iealousie. To which woordes hir Freende gaue eare with great delectation, desiringe to see the effect of that, whereof she gaue him to vnderstand by wordes.” Now as it chaunced the day before the Snowe fell downe so thicke from aboue, as it couered the Earth, by which meanes the Scholler within a very little space after his arriuall, began to be very colde: howbeit hopinge to receyue recompence, he suffred it paciently. The Gentlewoman a little whyle after, sayd vnto hir Freende: “I pray thee let vs goe into my chuamber, where at a little Window we may looke out, and see what he doth that maketh thee so Iealous, and herken what aunswere he will make to my Mayde, whom of purpose I wyll send forth to speake vnto him.” When she had so sayde, they went to the Window, where they seeing the Scholler (they not seene of hym,) heard the Mayde speake these wordes: “Rinieri, my Mystresse is the angriest Woman in the World, for that as yet she cannot come vnto thee. But the cause is, that one of hir Brethren is come to visite hir this Euening, and hath made a long discourse of talke vnto hir, and afterwardes bad himselfe to Supper, and as yet is not departed, but I thinke hee will not tary longe, and then immediately she will come. In the meane tyme she prayeth thee to take a little payne.” The Scholler beleeuing this to be true, sayde vnto hir: “Require your Mistresse to take no care for mee till hir leasure may serue: But yet entreat hir to make so mutch hast as she can.” The Mayde returned and went to Bed, and the Dame of the house sayd then vnto hir frend: “Now sir, what say you to this? Doe you thincke that if I loued him, as you mystrust, that I would suffer him to tarry beneath in this greate colde to coole himselfe?” And hauing sayd so, she went to Bed with hir frende, who then was partly satisfied, and all the night they continued in greate pleasure and solace, laughing, and mocking the miserable Scholler that walked vp and downe the Court to chafe himselfe, not knowing where to sit, or which way to auoyde the colde, and curssed the long taryinge, of his mistresse Brother, hoping at euery noyse he heard, that she had come to open the dore to let him in, but his hope was in vayne. Now she hauinge sported hir selfe almost till midnight, sayd vnto hir frend: “How think you (sir) by our Scholler, whether iudge you is greater, his Wysedome, or the loue that I beare vnto him? The colde that I make him to suffer, will extinguish the heate of suspition whych yee conceyued of my wordes the other day.” “Yee say true,” (sayd hir frend,) “and I do assure you, that like as you are my delight, my rest, my comfort, and all my hope, euen so I am yours, and shalbe during life.” For the confirmation of which renewed amity, they spared no delights which the louing Goddesse doeth vse to serue and imploy vpon her seruaunts and suters. And after they had talked a certayne time, she sayd vnto him: “For God’s sake (sir) let vs rise a little, to see if the glowing fire which this my new louer hath dayly written vnto me, to burn in him, bee quenched or not.” And rysing out of their Beds, they went to a little Window and looking downe into the Courte, they saw the Scholler dauncing vpon the Snow, whereunto his shiuering teeth were so good Instruments, as he seemed the trimmest Dauncer that euer trode a Cinquepace after sutch Musicke, being forced thereunto through the great colde which he suffered. And then she sayde vnto him: “What say you to this my frende, do you not see how cunninge I am to make men daunce without Taber, or Pipe?” “Yes in deede,” (sayd hir Louer) “yee be an excellent Musitian.” “Then” (quod shee) “let vs go downe to the dore, and I will speake vnto him, but in any Wise say you nothing, and we shal heare what reasons and arguments he will frame to mooue me to compassion, and perchaunce shall haue no little pastime to behold him.” Whereupon they went downe softly to the dore, and there without opening the same, shee with a softe voyce out at a little whole, called the Scholler vnto hir. Which hee hearinge, began to prayse God and thancke hym a thousande times, beleeuing veryly that he should then be let in, and approching the dore, said: “I am heere mine (owne sweete heart) open the dore for God’s sake, for I am like to die for Cold.” Whom in mocking wise she answered: “Can you make me beleue (M. Scholler) that you are so tender, or that the colde is so great as you affirme, for a little Snow newly falne downe? There be at Paris farre greater Snowes than these be, but to tell you the troth, you cannot come in yet, for my Brother (the deuell take him) came yesternight to supper, and is not yet departed, but by and by hee wyll be gon, and then you shall obtayne the effect of your desire, assuring you, that with mutch a doe I haue stolne away from hym, to come hither for your comfort, praying you not to thincke it longe.” “Madame” sayd the Scholler, “I beseech you for God’s sake to open the dore, that I may stand in couert from the Snow, which within this houre hath fallen in great aboundaunce, and doth yet continue: and there I will attend your pleasure.” “Alas sweet Friend” (sayd she) “the dore maketh sutch a noyse when it is opened, that it will easily be heard of my brother, but I will pray him to depart, that I may quickely returne agayne to open the same.” “Goe your way then” (sayd the Scholler) “and I pray you cause a great fire to be made, that I may warme mee when I come in, for I can scarce feele my selfe for colde.” “Why, it is not possible” (quod the Woman) “if it be true that you wholly burne in loue for me, as by your sundry Letters written, it appeareth, but now I perceyue that you mocke me, and therefore tary there still on God’s name.” Hir frende which heard all this, and tooke pleasure in those wordes, went agayne to Bed with hir, into whose eyes no slepe that night coulde enter for the pleasure and sport they had with the poore Scholler. The vnhappy wretched Scholler whose teeth chattered for colde, faring like a Storke in colde nights, perceyuing himselfe to be mocked, assayed to open the dore, or if he might goe out by some other way: and seeing it impossible, stalking vp and downe like a Lyon, curssed the nature of the time, the wickednesse of the woman, the length of the Night, and the Folly and simplicity of himselfe: and conceyuing great rage, and despight agaynst hir, turned sodaynely the long and feruent loue that he bare hir, into despight and cruell hatred, deuising many and diuers meanes to bee reuenged, whych he then farre more desired, than hee did in the beginninge to lye with his Widow. After that longe and tedious night, day approched, and the dawning thereof began to appeare: wherefore the mayde instructed by hir mistresse, went downe into the court, and seemyng to haue pity uppon the Scholler, sayd vnto hym: “The Diuell take hym that euer he came hyther this nyghte, for hee hath bothe let vs of sleepe, and hath made you to be frozen for colde, but take it paciently for this tyme, some other Nyght must be appointed. For I know well that neuer thyng coulde chaunce more displeasantly to my Mistresse than this.” But the Scholler full of dysdayne, lyke a wyse man which knew well that threats and menacyng words, were weapons without hands to the threatned, retayned in hys Stomacke that whych intemporate wyll would haue broken forth, and wyth so quiet Woordes as hee coulde, not shewynge hymselfe to bee angry, sayd: “In deede I haue suffred the worste Nyghte that euer I dyd, but I knowe the same was not throughe your mistresse fault, bicause shee hauing pitye vppon me, and as you say, that which cannot be to Night, may be done another time, commend me then vnto hir, and farewell.” And thus the poore Scholler stiffe for colde, so well as hee coulde, retourned home to his house, where for the extremitye of the tyme and lacke of sleepe beyng almost deade, he threwe hymselfe vppon his bed, and when he awaked, his Armes and Legges had no feeling. Wherefore he sent for Physitions and tolde them of the colde he had taken, who incontinently prouided for his health: and yet for al their best and spedy remedies, they could scarce recouer his Iointes and Sinewes, wherein they did what they could: and had it not bene that he was yong, and the Sommer approching, it had ben to mutch for him to haue endured. But after he was come to Healthe, and grewe to be lusty, secrete Malyce still resting in his breaste, hee thought vpon reuenge. And it chaunced in a lytle tyme after, that Fortune prepared a new accident to the scholer to satisfy his desire, bycause the young man which was beloued of the Gentlewoman, not caring any longer for hir, fel in loue with an other, and gaue ouer the solace and pleasure he was wont to doe to mistresse Helena, for which despite she consumed herself in wepings and lamentations. But hir maid hauing pity vpon hir mistresse sorrowes, knowing no meanes to remoue the melancoly which she conceiued for the losse of hir friend, and seing the scholler daily passe by accordinge to his common Custome, conceiued a foolishe beliefe that hir mistresse friend might be brought to loue hir agayne, and wholly recouered, by some charme or other sleight of Necromancy, to bee wrought and brought to passe by the Scholler. Which deuise she tolde vnto hir mistresse, and she vndiscretely (and without due consideration that if the scholler had any knowledge in that science, he would helpe himselfe) gaue credite to the words of hir mayde, and by and by sayd vnto hir, that shee was able to bring it to passe, if he would take it in hande, and therewithall promised assuredly, that for recompense he should vse hir at his pleasure. The mayde diligently tolde the Scholler hereof, who very ioyfull for those newes, sayd vnto himselfe: “O God, praysed be thy name, for now the time is come, that by thy helpe I shall requite the iniuries done vnto me by this wicked Woman, and be recompensed of the great loue that I bare vnto hir:” And aunswered the mayd: “Go tell thy mistresse that for this matter she neede to take no care, for if hir frend were in India, I can presently force him to come hither, and aske hir forgiuenesse of the fault he hath committed agaynst hir. And the maner, and way how to vse hir selfe in this behalfe, I will gieue hir to vnderstand when it shal please hir to appoinct me: and fayle not to tell hir what I say, comforting hir in my behalfe.” The mayde caried the aunswere, and it was concluded, that they should talke more hereof at the Church of S. Lucie, whither being come, and reasoning together alone, not remembring that she had brought the Scholler almost to the poynct of death, she reueyled vnto him all the whole matter, and the thing which he desired, praying him instantly to helpe hir, to whome the scholler sayd: “True it is lady, that amongs other things which I learned at Paris, the arte of Necromancie, (whereof I haue very great skill,) is one: But bycause it is mutch displeasaunt to God, I haue made an othe neuer to vse it, eyther for my selfe, or for any other: howbeit the loue which I beare you, is of sutch force, as I cannot deny you any request, yea and if I should be damned amongs all the deuils in hell, I am ready to performe your pleasure. But I tell you before, that it is a harder matter to be done, than paraduenture you belieue, and specially where a Woman shall prouoke a Man to loue, or a Man the Woman, bycause it can not be done by the propre Person, whome it doth touche, and therefore it is meete, whatsoeuer is done, in any wyse not to be affrayde, for that the coniuration must bee made in the Nyght, and in a solytarie place wythout Companye: which thing I know not how you shal bee disposed to doe.” To whom the Woman more amorous than wise, aunswered: “Loue prycketh mee in sutch wise, as there is nothyng but I dare attempt, to haue him againe, that causelesse hath forsaken me. But tel me I beseech you wherein it behoueth that I be so bold and hardy.” The Scholer (subtil inough) said: “I muste of necessity make an image of brasse, in the name of him that you desire to haue, which being sent vnto you you must, when the Mone is at hir ful, bath your self stark naked in a running riuer at the first houre of sleepe VII. times with the same image: and afterwards beyng stil naked, you must go vp into some tree or house vnhabited, and turning your selfe towardes the North side thereof wyth the image in your hand you shal say VII. times certain words, that I wil giue you in writing, which when you haue done, two damsels shal come vnto you, the fairest that euer you saw, and they shall salute you, humbly demaundyng what your pleasure is to commaund them: to whome you shal willingly declare in good order what you desire: and take hede aboue al things, that you name not one for an other: and when they begonne, you may descend downe to the place where you left your Apparel, and array your selfe agayne, and afterwardes retourne home vnto your house, and assure your self, that before the mid of the nexte Nyghte folowing, your Fryend shall come vnto you weepyng, and crying Mercye and forgyuenesse at youre Handes. And know yee, that from that tyme forth, he wil neuer forsake you for any other.” The gentlewoman hearing those words, gaue great credyte thervnto: and thought that already she helde hir fryend betweene hir Armes, and very ioyfull sayd: “Doubt not sir, but I wyll accomplysh al that you haue inioyned me: and I haue the meetest place in the World to doe it: for vppon the valley of Arno, very neare the Ryuer syde I haue a Manor house, secretly to woorke any attempt that I list: and now it is the moneth of Iuly, in which tyme bathing is most pleasaunt. And also I remembre that not far from the Ryuer, there is a lyttle Toure vnhabited, into which one can scarce get vp, but by a certain Ladder made of chesnut tree, which is already there, whereuppon the shephierds do sometime ascende to the turrasse of the same Toure, to looke for their cattell when they be gone astray: and the place is very solitarie out of the way. Into that Toure wyll I goe vp, and trust to execute what you haue requyred me.” The Scholler which knew very well both the village whereof she spake, and also the Toure, right glad for that he was assured of his purpose, sayde: “Madame, I was neuer there, ne yet do knowe the village, nor the Toure, but if it bee as you saye, it is not possible to finde anye better place in the Worlde: wherefore when the tyme is come, I wyll send you the Image, and the prayer. But I heartily beseech you, when you haue obtained your desire, and do perceyue that I haue well serued your turne, to haue me in remembraunce, and to keepe your promyse.” Which the Gentlewoman assured hym to doe withoute fayle, and taking hir leaue of him, she retired home to hir house. The Scholer ioyfull for that his deuise should in deede come to passe, caused an image to be made with certaine Characters, and wrote a tale of a Tubbe in stede of the prayer. And when hee sawe tyme he sent them to the Gentlewoman, aduertising hir that the Nyght folowyng, she must doe the thing he had appoynted hir. Then to procede in his enterprise, he and his man went secretly to one of his fryends houses that dwelte harde by the towne. The Woman on the other side, and hir Mayde repaired to hir place: where when it was nyght, makyng as though she would go slepe, she sent hir Mayde to Bed: afterwards about ten of the Clocke she conueyed hirself very softly out of hir lodgyng, and repayred neare to the Towne vpon the riuer of Arno, and lookyng aboute hir, not seeing or perceiuing any man, she vnclothed hir selfe, and hidde hir apparell vnder a bush of Thornes, and then bathed hir selfe VII. tymes with the Image, and afterwardes starke naked, holding the same in her hand, she went towardes the Toure. The Scholler at the beginning of the Nyghte beying hydden wyth hys seruaunt amongs the willowes and other trees neere the Toure, saw all the aforesayde thinges, and hir also passing naked by him, (the whitenesse of whose body surpassed as he thought, the darknesse of the night, so farre as blacke exceedeth white) who afterwardes behelde hir Stomack, and the other partes of hir body, which seemed unto him to be very delectable. And remembringe what would shortly come to passe, he had some pitty vppon hir, on the other side, the temptation of the Flesh sodaynely assayled hym, prouoking him to issue forth of the secret corner, to Surprise hir, and to take his pleasure vpon hir. But calling to hys rememberaunce what shee was, and what great wrong hee had sustayned, his mallice began to kindle agayne, and did remoue his pitty, and lust, continuing still stedfast in his determination, suffring her to passe hir Iorney. The Wydow being vppon the Toure, and turning hir face towards the North, began to say the wordes which the Scholler had giuen hir. Within a while after the Scholler entred in very softly, and tooke away the ladder whereupon she got vp, and stoode still to heare what she did say and doe. Who hauing VII. times recited hir prayer, attended the comming of the two damsels: for whom she wayted so long in vayne, and therewithall began to be extreemely colde, and perceyued the dawning of the day appeare. Wherefore taking great displeasure that it came not to passe as the Scholler had tolde hir, she spake theese wordes to hir selfe: “I doubt mutch least this Scholler will rewarde mee with sutch another night, as wherein once I made him to wayte: but if he haue done it for that respect, he is not well reuenged, for the nights now want the third part of the length of those, then, besides the colde that he indured, which was of greater extremity.” And that the day might not discouer hir, she woulde haue gone downe from the Toure, but she found the Ladder to be taken away. Then as thou the Worlde had molten vnder hir Feete, hir heart began to fayle, and Fayntinge, fell downe vppon the tarrasse of the toure, and when hir force reuiued agayne, she began pitifully to weepe and complayne. And knowing well that the Scholler had done that deede for reuenge, she grew to be angry wyth hir selfe, for that shee hadde Offended another, and to mutch trusted hym whom she ought (by good reason) to haue accoumpted hir enimy. And after she had remayned a great while in this plight, then looking if there were any way for hir to goe downe, and perceyuinge none, she renued hir weeping, whose minde great care and sorrow did pierce saying thus to hir selfe: “O vnhappy wretch, what will thy brethren say, thy Parents, thy Neyghbors, and generally all they of Florence, when they shall vnderstande that thou hast bene found heere naked? Thy honesty which hitherto hath bene neuer stayned, shall now bee blotted with the stayne of shame, yea, and if thou were able to finde (for reamedy hereof) any matter of excuse (sutch as might be founde) the wicked Scholler (who knoweth all thy doings) will not suffer thee to ly: ah miserable wretch, that in one houre’s space, thou hast lost both thy freende and thyne honour. What shall become of thee? Who is able to couer thy shame?” When she had thus complayned hirselfe, hir sorrowe was not so great as shee was like to cast hirselfe headlong downe from the Toure: but the Sunne being already risen, she approched neare one of the corners of the Walle, espying if she coulde see any Boy keeping of cattell, that she might send him for hir Mayde. And it chaunced that the Scholler which lay and slept in couert, awaked, one espying the other, the Scholler saluted hir thus: “Good morow, Lady, be the Damsels yet come?” The Woman seeing, and hearing him, began agayne bitterly to weepe, and prayed him to come vp to the Toure, that she might speake with him. The Scholler was thereunto very agreable, and she lying on hir belly vpon the terrasse of the Touer, discouering nothing but hir head ouer the side of the same, sayd vnto him weeping: “Rinieri, truly, if euer I caused thee to endure an ill Night, thou art now well reuenged on me; for although it be the moneth of Iuly, I thought (because I was naked) that I should haue frosen to death this night for cold, besides my great, and continuall Teares for the offence which I haue done thee, and of my Folly for beleeuing thee, that maruell it is mine eyes do remayne within my head: And therefore I pray thee, not for the loue of me, whom thou oughtest not to loue, but for thine owne sake which art a gentleman, that the shame and payne which I haue sustayned, may satisfy the offence and wrong I haue committed agaynst thee: and cause mine apparell I beseech thee to be brought vnto me, that I may goe downe from hence, and doe not robbe mee of that, which afterwardes thou art not able to restore, which is, myne honor: for if I haue deceyued thee of one night, I can at all times when it shall please thee, render vnto thee for that one, many. Let it suffice thee then with this, and like an honest man content thy selfe by being a little reuenged on me, by making me to know now what it is to hurt another. Do not, I pray thee, practise thy power against a woman: for the Egle hath no fame for conquering of the Doue. Then for the loue of God, and for thine honor sake, haue pitty and remorse vpon me.” The Scholler with a cruel heart remembring the iniury that he hath receyued, and seeing hir so to weepe and pray, conceyued at one instant both pleasure and griefe in his minde: pleasure of the reuenge which he aboue all things desired, and griefe mooued his manhoode to haue compassion vpon the myserable woman. Notwithstanding, pitty not able to ouercome the fury of his reuenge, he aunswered: “Mistresse Helena, if my praiers (which in dede I could not moysten with teares, ne yet sweeten them with sugred woordes, as you doe yours nowe) might haue obtained that night wherein I thought I should haue died for colde in the Court full of snowe, to haue bene conueyed by you into some couert place, an easie matter it had beene for mee at this instant to heare your suite. But if now more than in times past your honor do waxe warme, and that it greeueth you to stand starke naked, make your prayers to him, betweene whose Armes you ware not offended to be naked that night, wherein you hearde me trot vp and downe your Courte, my Teeth chattering for cold and marching vpon the Snow: And at his handes seeke releefe, and pray him to bring your Clothes, and fetch a Ladder that you may come downe: Force your selfe to set your honor’s care on him for whom both then, and now besides many other times, you haue not feared to put the same in perill, Why doe you not cal for him to come and help you? And to whom doth your help better appertayne than vnto him? You are his owne, and what things will he not prouyde in this distresse of yours? Or else what person will hee seeke to succour, if not to helpe and succour you? Call him (O foolish woman) and proue if the loue which thou bearest him, and thy wit together with his, be able to deliuer thee from my Folly, where (when both you were togethers) you tooke your Pleasure. And now thou haste Experience wheather my Folly or the Loue which thou diddest beare vnto him, is greatest. And be not now so Lyberall, and Curteous of that which I go not about to seeke: reserue thy good Nights to thy beloued freende, if thou chaunce to escape from hence aliue: for from my selfe I cleerely discharge you both. And truly I haue had to mutch of one: and sufficient it is for mee to bee mocked once. Moreouer by thy crafty talke vttered by subtill speache, and by thyne vntimely prayse, thou thinkest to force the getting of my good will, and thou callest me Gentleman, valiaunt man, thinkinge thereby to withdrawe my valyaunte minde from punishing of thy wretched body: but thy flatteries shall not yet bleare mine vnderstanding eyes, as once wyth thy vnfathyfull promises thou diddest beguile my ouerweeninge wit. I now to well do know, and thereof thee well assure, that all the time I was a Scholler in Paris, I neuer learned so mutch as thou in one night diddest teach mee. But put the Case that I were a valiaunt man, yet thou art none of them vpon whom valiaunce ought to shewe his effects: and for the end of sutch tormenting and passing cruell beasts, as thou art, only death is fittest rewarde: for if a Woman made but halfe these playnts, there is no man, but woulde asswage his reuenge. But yet as I am no Eagle, and thou no Doue, but a most venomous Serpent, I intend so well as I can to persecute thee mine auncient enimy, wyth the greatest mallice I can deuise, which I cannot so properly cal reuenge, as I may terme it Correction: for that the reuenge of a matter ought to surmount the Offence, and I will bestow no reuenge on thee: for if I were disposed to apply my mynde therevnto, for respect of thy displeasure done to me, thy Lyfe should not suffise, nor one hundred more like vnto thine: which if I tooke away, I should but rid the Worlde of a most vile, and wicked woman. And to say the truth, what other art thou then a Deuill accept a little beauty in thy Face, which within few yeares will vanishe and consume: for thou tookest no care to kill, and destroy an honest man (as thou euen now diddest terme me) whose Life, may in tyme to come bee more profitable to the Worlde, than an hundred thousand sutch as thyne, so long as the World indureth. I wil teach thee then by the paine thou suffrest, what is it to mock sutch Men as bee of skyll, and what maner of thyng it is to delude and Scorne poore schollers, gyuing thee warning hereby, that thou never fall into sutch folly, if thou escapest this. But if thou haue so great a will to come downe as thou sayest thou hast, why doest thou not throwe downe thy selfe headlonge, that by breaking of thy Necke (if it please God) at one instante thou rid thy selfe of the payne, wherein thou sayest thou art, and make mee the best contented man of the Worlde. For this tyme I will say no more to thee, but that I haue done inough to make thee clime so high. Learne then now so wel how thou maist get down, as thou didst know how to mock and deceyue me.” While the Scholler had preached vnto hir these words, the wretched woman wepte continually, and the time stil did passe away, the Sunne increasing more and more: but when the Scholler held his peace, she replyed: “O cruell man, if that curssed nyght was grieuous vnto thee, and my fault appeared great, cannot my youth and Beauty, my Teares and humble Prayers bee able to mitigate thy wrath and to moue thee to pitty: do at least that thou mayst be moued and thy cruell minde appeased for that onely act, let me once again be trusted of thee, and sith I haue manifested al my desire, pardon me for this tyme, sith thou hast sufficiently made me feele the penance of my sinne. For, if I had not reposed my trust in thee, thou hadst not now reuenged thy self on me, which with desire most spytefull thou doest full well declare. Gyue ouer then thine anger, and pardon me henceforth: for I am determined if thou wilt forgeue mee, and cause me to come downe out of this place, to forsake for ever that vnfaithfull Louer, and to receive thee for my only friend and Lord. Moreouer where thou greatly blamest my beauty, esteeming it to be short, and of smal accompt, sutch as it is, and the like of other women I know, not be regarded for other cause but for pastime and plesure of youthly Men, and therefore not to be contemned: and thou thy self truly art not very old; and albeit that cruelly I am intreated of thee, yet can I not beleue that thou wouldest haue me so miserably to die, as to cast my selfe down headlong, like one desperate, before thine eyes, whome (except thou were a lier as thou seemest to be now) in time past I did wel please and like. Haue pitye then upon me, for God’s sake, for the Sunne begins to grow exceding hot, and as the extreame and bitter cold did hurt me the last Night euen so the heat beginneth to molest me.” Whereunto the Scholler which kept hir there for the nonce, and for his pleasure, answered: “Mistresse you did not now commit your faith to me for any loue you bare, but to get that again which you had lost, wherfore that deserueth no good turne, but greater pain: and fondlye thou thinkest this to be the onely meanes, whereby I am able to take desired reuenge. For I haue a thousand other wayes and a thousand Trappes haue I layed to tangle thy feete, in makynge thee beleue that I dyd loue thee: in sutch wyse as thou shouldest haue gone no where at any tyme, is thys had not chanced but thou shouldest haue fallen into one of them: and surely thou couldest haue falne into none of them, but would haue bred thee more anoyaunce and shame than this (which I chose not for thyne ease, but for my greater pleasure.) And besides if all these meanes had fayled me, the pen should not, wherewyth I would haue displayed thee in sutch Colours, as when the simple brute thereof hadde come to thyne eares, thou wouldest haue desired a thousand times a Day, that thou hadst neuer bene born. For the forces of the pen be farre more vehement, than they can esteeme that haue not proued them by experience. I swear vnto thee by God, that I doe reioyse, and so wil to the ende, for this reuenge I take of thee, and so haue I done from the beginning: but if I had with pen painted thy maners to the Worlde, thou shouldest not haue ben so mutch ashamed of other, as of thy selfe, that rather than thou wouldest haue loked mee in the Face agayne, thou wouldest haue plucked thyne Eyes oute of thy head: and therefore reproue no more the Sea, for beeing increased wyth a lyttle Brooke. For thy loue, or for that thou wilt be mine own, I care not, as I haue already told thee, and loue him again if thou canst, so mutch as thou wilt, to whome for the hatred that I haue borne, I presently bear so mutch good wyll agayne, and for the pleasure that he hath don thee now. You be amorous and couet the loue of young men, bicause you see theyr Colour somewhat fresh, their beard more black, their bodies well shaped to daunce and runne at Tylt and Ryng, but al these qualities haue they had, that be growne to elder yeares, and they by good experience know what other are yet to learn. Moreouer you deeme them the better horssemen, bicause they can iourney more myles a day than those that be of farther yeares. Truely I confesse, that with great paynes they please sutch Venerial Gentlewomen as you be, who doe not perceyue (like sauage Beastes) what heapes of euill doe lurke vnder the forme of fayre apparance. Younge men be not content with one Louer, but so many as they behold, they do desire, and of so many they think themselues worthy: wherefore their loue cannot be stable. And that this is true, thou mayest now be thine owne wytnesse. And yong men thynkyng themselues worthy to be honoured and cherished of theyr Ladies, haue none other glory but to vaunt themselues of those whome they have enioyed: whych fault maketh many to yeld themselues to those that be discrete and wise, and to sutch as be no blabbes or Teltales. And where thou sayest that thy loue is knowne to none, but to thy mayde and me, thou art deceiued, if thou beleue the same, for al the inhabitants of the streete wherein thy Louer dwelleth, and the streete also wherein thy house doth stand, talke of nothynge more than of your Loue. But many times in sutch cases, the party whome sutch Brute doth touch, is the last that knoweth it. Moreouer, young men do robbe thee, where they of elder yeares do gyue thee. Thou then (which hast made sutch choyse), remayne to him whome thou hast chosen, and me (whom thou floutest) gyue leaue to apply to an other: for I haue found a Woman to bee my fryend, which is of an other discretion than thou art, and knoweth me better than thou dost. And that thou mayst in an other world be more certaine of myne Eyes desire, than thou hitherto art, throwe thy selfe downe so soone as thou canst, that thy soule already (as I suppose) receiued betwene the armes of the diuel hym selfe may se if mine eyes be troubled or not, to view thee breake thy Necke. But bicause I think thou wilt not do me that good turne, I say if the Sunne begin to warme thee, remember the cold thou madest me suffer, which if thou canst mingle with that heat, no doubt thou shalt feele the same more temperate.” The comfortlesse Woman seeing that the Scholler’s words tended but to cruell end, began to weepe and said: “Now then sith nothing can moue thee to take pity for my sake, at lest wise for the loue of hir, whom thou saiest to be of better discretion than I, take some compassion: for hir sake (I say) whom thou callest thy friend, pardon mee and bryng hither my clothes that I may put them on, and cause me if it please thee to come down from hence.” Then the Scholler began to laugh, and seing that it was a good while past III. of the clocke, he answered: “Well go to, for that woman’s sake I cannot wel say nay, or refuse thy request, tel me where thy garments be, and I wyll go seke them, and cause thee to come downe.” She beleuing hym, was some what comforted, and told hym the place where she had bestowed them. And the Scholler going out of the Toure, commaunded his seruaunt to tarry there, and to take heede that none went in vntil he came againe. Then he departed to one of hys friends houses, where he wel refreshed himselfe, and afterwards when he thought time, he layd him downe to slepe. Al that space mistresse Helena whych was styll vpon the Toure, and recomforted with a lyttle foolish hope, sorrowful beyonde measure, began to sit downe, seeking some shadowed place to bestow hir selfe, and with bitter thoughts and heauy cheare in good deuotion, wayted for his comming, now musing, now wepyng, then hopyng, and sodaynely dispayring the Scholler’s retourne wyth hir Clothes: and chaunging from one thought to another, like one that was weary of trauel, and had taken no rest al the Nyght, she fel into a litle slumbre. But the Sun whych was passing hote, being aboute noone, glaunced his burning beames vpon hir tender body and bare head, with sutch force, as not only it singed the flesh in sight, but also did chip and parch the same with sutch rosting heat, as she which soundly slepte, was constrayned to wake: and feling that raging warmth, desirous somewhat to remoue hir self, she thought in turning that all hir tosted flesh had opened and broken, like vnto a skyn of parchement holden against the fire: besides with payne extreame, hir head began to ake, with sutch vehemence, as it seemed to be knocked in pieces: and no maruel, for the pament of the Toure was so passing hotte, as neither vpon hir feete, or by other remedy, shee could find place of rest. Wherefore without power to abide in one place, she stil remoued to and fro wepying bitterly. And moreouer, for that no Wynd did blow, the Toure was haunted wyth sutch a swarme of Flies, and Gnats, as they lighting vppon hir parched flesh, did so cruelly byte and stinge hir, that euery of them seemed worsse than the prycke of a Nedle, which made hir to bestirre hir hands, incessantly to beate them off cursing still hir selfe, hir Lyfe, hir friend and Scholler. And being thus and with sutch pain bitten and afflicted with the vehement heat of the Sun, with the Flies and gnats, hungry, and mutch more thyrsty, assailed with a thousand grieuous thoughts, she arose vp, and began to loke about hir if she could heare or see any person, purposing whatsoeuer came of it to call for helpe. But hir ill fortune had taken way al this hoped meanes of hir reliefe: for the Husbandmen and other Laborers were al gone out of the fields to shrowd themselues from the heate of the day, sparing their trauail abrode, to thresh their corn and doe other things at home, by reason whereof she neither saw nor hearde any thing, except Butterflies, humble bees, crickets, and the riuer of Arno, which making hir lust to drink of the water quenched hir thirst nothing at al, but rather did augment the same. She sawe besides in many places, woodes, shadows and houses, which lykewyse did breede hir double grief, for desire she had vnto the same. But what shal we speak any more of this vnhappy woman? The Sunne aboue, and the hot Toure paiment below, wyth the bitings of the flies and gnats, had on euery part so dressed hir tender corps, that where before the whitenesse of hir body did passe the darkenesse of the Night, the same was become red, al arayed and spotted wyth gore bloud, that to the beholder and viewer of hir state, she seemed the most yll sauored thyng of the Worlde: and remayning in thys plyght without hope or councel, she loked rather for death than other comfort. The Scholler after the Clocke had rounded three in the afternoon, awaked, and remembring his lady, went to the Toure to see what was become of hir, and sent his man to dinner, that had eaten nothing all that day. The Gentlewoman hearing the Scholler, repayred so feeble and tormented as shee was, vnto the trap doore, and sitting vppon the same, pityfully weeping began to say: “Rinieri, thou art beyonde measure reuenged on me, for if I made thee freese all night in mine open Court, thou haste tosted me to day vppon this Toure, nay rather burnt with heate, consumed me: and besides that, to dye and sterue for hunger, and thirst. Wherefore I pray thee for God’s sake to come vp, and sith my heart is faynt to kill my selfe, I pray thee heartely speedily to do it. For aboue all things I desire to dy, so great and bitter is the torment which I endure. And if thou wilt not shewe me that fauor, yet cause a glasse of Water to be brought vnto me, that I may moysten my mouth, sith my teares bee not able to coole the same, so great is the drouth and heate I haue within.” Wel knew the Scholler by hir voyce, hir weake estate, and sawe besides the most part of hir body all tosted with the Sunne: by the viewe whereof, and humble sute of hir, he conceiued a little pitty. Notwythstanding he aunsweared hir in this wise: “Wicked woman thou shalt not dye with my hands, but of thine owne, if thou desire the same, and so mutch water shalt thou haue of me for coolinge of thine heate, as dampned Diues had in hell at Lazarus handes, when he lifted up his cry to Abraham, holdinge that saued wighte within his blessed bosome, or as I had fire of thee for easing of my colde. The greater is my griefe that the vehemence of my colde must be cured with the heate of sutch a stincking carion beast, and thy heate healed with the coldnesse of most Soote and sauerous Water distilled from the orient Rose. And where I was in daunger to loose my Limmes, and life, thou wilt renew thy Beauty like the Serpent that casteth his Skin once a yeare.” “Oh myserable wretch” (sayd the woman) “God gieue him sutch Beauty gotten in this sorte, that wisheth me sutch euill. But (thou more cruell than any other beast) what heart haste thou, thus like a Tyraunte to deale with me? What more grieuous payne coulde I endure of thee, or of any other, than I do, if I had killed, and done to death thy parents or whole race of thy stocke and kin with most cruel torments? Truely I know not what greater tyranny coulde be vsed agaynst a Trayter that had sacced or put a whole Citty to the sword, than that thou haste done to me, to make my flesh to bee the foode and rost meate of the Sunne, and the baite for licorous flies, not vouchsafing to reach hither a simple glasse of Water whych would haue bene graunted to the condempned Theefe, and Manqueller, when they be haled forth to hanging, yea wine most commonly, if they aske the same. Now for that I see thee still remayne in obstinate mind, and that my passion can nothinge mooue thee, I wyll prepare paciently to receiue my death, that God may haue mercy on my soule, whom I humbly beseech with his righteous eyes to beholde that cruell act of thyne.” And with those woords, she approched with payne to the middle of the terrasse, despayring to escape that burning heate, and not onely once, but a thousande times, (besides hir other sorowes) she thought to sowne for thirst, and bitterly wept without ceasing, complayning hir mishap. But being almost night, the Scholler thought hee had done inough, wherefore he tooke hir clothes, and wrapping the same within his seruaunt’s cloke, he went home to the Gentlewoman’s house where he founde before the gate, hir mayde sitting al sad and heauy, of whom he asked where hir mistresse was. “Syr,” (sayd she) “I cannot tell, I thought this morning to finde hir a Bed, where I left hir yester night, but I cannot finde hir there, nor in any other place, ne yet can tell wheather to goe seeke hir, which maketh my hearte to throb some misfortune chaunced vnto hir. But (sir quod she) cannot you tell where she is?” The Scholler aunswered: “I would thou haddest bene with hir in the place where I left hir, that I might haue bene reuenged on thee so well, as I am of hir. But beleue assuredly, that thou shalt not escape my handes vntill I pay thee thy desert, to the intent hereafter in mocking other, thou mayst haue cause to remember me.” When hee had sayde so, hee willed his man to gieue the mayde hir Mistresse Clothes, and then did bidde hir seeke hir out if shee would. The Seruaunte did his Mayster’s commaundment, and the Mayde hauinge receyued them, knewe them by and by, and markinge well the scholler’s wordes, she doubted least hee had slayne hir Mistresse, and mutch adoe she had to refrayne from crying out. And the Scholler being gone, she tooke hir Mistresse Garments, and ran vnto the Toure. That day by hap, one of the Gentlewoman’s labouring Men had two of his hogges runne a stray, and as he went to seeke them (a little while after the Scholler’s departure) he approched neare the Toure looking round about if he might see them. In the busie searche of whom hee heard the miserable playnt that the vnhappy Woman made, wherefore so loude as he coulde, be cried out: “Who weepeth there aboue?” The Woman knew the voice of hir man, and calling him by his name, shee sayde vnto him: “Goe home I pray thee to call my mayde and cause her to come vp hither vnto me.” The fellow knowing his mistresse voice sayd vnto hir: “What Dame, who hath borne you vp so hygh? Your mayde hath sought you al this day, and who would haue thought to finde you there?” He then taking the staues of the Ladder, did set it vp against the Toure as it ought to be, and bounde the steppes that were wanting, with fastenings of Wyllowe twigges, and sutch like pliant stuffe as he could finde. And at that instant the mayde came thither, who so soone as she was entred the Toure, not able to forbeare hir voyce, beating hir hands, shee began to crye: “Alas sweete Mistresse where be you?” She hearing the voyce of hir Mayde aunswered so well as shee could: “Ah (sweete Wench) I am heere aboue, cry no more, but bring me hither my clothes.” When the mayde heard hir speake, by and by for ioy, in haste she mounted vp the Ladder, which the Labourer had made ready, and with his helpe gat vp to the Terrasse of the Toure, and seeing hir Mystresse resembling not a humayne body but rather a wodden Faggot halfe consumed with fire, all weary and whithered, lying a long starke naked vppon the Grounde, she began with hir Nayles to wreke the griefe vpon hir Face, and wept ouer hir with sutch vehemency as if she had beene deade. But hir Dame prayed hir for God’s sake to holde hir peace, and to help hir to make hir ready: and vnderstanding by hir, that no man knewe where she was become, except they which caried home hir clothes, and the Labourer that was present there, shee was somewhat recomforted, and prayed them for God’s sake to say nothing of that chaunce to any person. The Laborer after mutch talke, and request to his Mistresse, to be of good cheere, when shee was rysen vp, caried hir downe vpon his Necke, for that she was not able to goe so farre, as out of the Toure. The poore Mayde which came behinde, in goinge downe the Ladder without takinge heede, hir foote fayled, and fallinge downe to the Grounde, shee brake hir Thigh, for griefe whereof she roared, and cryed out lyke a Lyon. Wherefore the Labourer hauing placed his Dame vpon a greene banke, went to see what hurt the Mayde had taken, and perceyued that she had broken hir Thigh, he caried hir likewise vnto that banke, and placed hir besides hir mistresse, who seeing one mischiefe vppon another to chaunce, and that she of whom she hoped for greater help, than of any other, had broken hir Thigh, sorrowfull beyonde measure, renewed hir cry so miserably, as not onely the Labourer was not able to comforte hir, but he himself began to weepe for company. The Sunne hauinge trauayled into hys Westerne course, and taking his farewell by settling himselfe to rest, was at the poynct of goinge downe. And the poore desolate woman vnwilling to be benighted, went home to the Labourer’s house, where taking two of his Brothers, and his Wyfe, returned to fetch the Mayde, and caried hir home in a Chayre. Then cheering vp hys Dame with a little fresh water, and many fayre Wordes, he caried hir vpon his Necke into a Chaumber, afterwardes his Wyfe made hir warm Drinks and Meates, and putting of hir clothes, layd hir in hir Bed, and tooke order that the mistresse and maide that night were caried to Florence, where the Mistresse ful of lies, deuised a Tale all out of order of that which chaunced to hir, and hir Mayde, making hir Brethren, hir Sisters, and other hir neighbours beleeue, that by flush of lightning, and euill Sprites, hir face and body were Blistered, and the Mayde stroken vnder the Arse bone with a Thunderbolt. Then Physitians were sent for, who not without greate griefe, and payne to the Woman (which many tymes left hir Skin sticking to the Sheets) cured hir cruell Feuer, and other hir diseases, and lykewise the mayde of hir Thigh: which caused the Gentlewoman to forget hir Louer, and from that time forth wisely did beware and take heede whom she did mocke, and where she did bestow hir loue. And the Scholler knowing that the Mayde had broken hir Thigh, thought himselfe sufficiently reuenged, ioyfully passing by them both many times in silence. Beholde the reward of a foolish wanton widow for hir Mockes and Flouts, thinking that no greate care or more prouident heede ought to be taken in iesting with a Scholler, than with any other common person, nor well remembring how they doe know (not all, I say, but the greatest parte) where the Diuell holdeth his Tayle: and therefore take heede good Wyues, and Wydowes, how you giue your selues to mockes and daliaunce, specially of Schollers. But nowe turne we to another Wyddow that was no amorous Dame but a sober Matrone, a motherly Gentlewoman, that by pitty, and Money Redeemed, and Raunsomed a King’s Sonne out of myserable Captiuity, that was vtterly abandoned of all his Friendes. The manner and meanes how the Nouell ensuing shall shewe.

[ THE THIRTY-SECOND NOUELL.]