Fetching a sigh, even as if her heart would have split in sunder,

thus she replyed. Ah _Antigonus_, me thinkes when I looke on thee, I

seeme to behold my royall Father, and therefore mooved with the like

religious zeale and charitable love, as (in duty) I owe unto him: I

will make knowne to thee, what I rather ought to conceale, and hide

from any person living. I know thee to bee honourable, discreete, and

truely wise, though I am a fraile, simple, and weake woman, therefore

I dare discover to thee, rather then any other that I know, by what

straunge and unexpected misfortunes, I have lived so long obscurely in

the world. And if in thy great and grave judgement (after the hearing

of my many miseries) thou canst any way restore me to my former estate,

I pray thee do it: but if thou perceive it impossible to bee done, as

earnestly likewise I entreate thee, never to reveale to any living

person, that either thou hast seene me, or heard any speech of me.

After these words, the teares still streaming from her faire eyes,

shee recounted the whole passage of her rare mishaps, even from her

shipwracke in the Sea of _Majorica_, until that very instant houre;

speaking them in such harsh manner as they hapned, and not sparing any

jot of them.

_Antigonus_ being mooved to much compassion, declared how hee pitied

her by his teares, and having bene silent an indifferent while, as

considering in this case, what was best to be done, thus he began.

Madam, seeing you have past through such a multitude of misfortunes,

yet undiscovered, what and who you are: I will render you as blamelesse

to your Father, and estate you as fairely in his love, as at the hour

when you parted from him, and afterward make you wife to the King of

_Cholcos_. She demanding of him, by what meanes possibly this could

be accomplished: breefely he made it knowne to her, how, and in what

manner hee would performe it.

To cut off further tedious circumstances, forthwith he returned to

_Famagosta_, and going before the King of the country, thus he spake

to him. Sir, you may (if so you will be pleased) in an instant, do me

an exceeding honour, who have bene impoverished by your service, and

also a deed of great renowne to your selfe, without any much matter of

expence and cost. The King demanding how? _Antigonus_ thus answered.

The fayre daughter of the Soldane, so generally reported to be drowned,

is arrived at _Baffa_, and to preserve her honour from blemishing,

hath suffered many crosses and calamities: being at this instant in

very poore estate, yet desirous to re-visite her father. If you please

to send her home under my conduct, it will be great honour to you, and

no meane benefite to mee; which kindnesse will for ever be thankfully

remembred by the Soldan.

The King in royall magnificence, replied sodainly, that he was highly

pleased with these good tydings; & having sent honourably for her from

_Baffa_, with great pompe she was conducted to _Famagosta_, and there

most graciously welcommed both by the King and Queene, with solemne

triumphes, bankets, and revelling, performed in most Majesticke manner.

Being questioned by the King and Queene, concerning so large a time of

strange misfortunes: according as _Antigonus_ had formerly enstructed

her, so did she shape the forme of her answers, and satisfied (with

honour) all their demands. So, within few dayes after, upon her earnest

& instant request, with an honourable traine of Lords and Ladies, shee

was sent thence, and conducted all the way by _Antigonus_, untill she

came unto the Soldans Court.

After some few dayes of her reposing there, the Soldan was desirous

to understand, how she could possibly live so long, in any Kingdome

or Province whatsoever, and yet no knowledge to bee taken of her? The

Lady, who perfectly retained by heart, and had all her lessons at her

fingers ends, by the warie instructions which _Antigonus_ had given

her, answered her father in this manner. Sir, about the twentith day

after my departure from you, a verie terrible and dreadfull tempest

over-tooke us, so that in dead time of the night, our ship being split

in sunder upon the sands, neere to a place called _Varna_; what became

of all the men that were aboord, I neither know, or ever heard of.

Onely I remember, then when death appeared, and I being recovered from

death to life, certaine pezants of the countrey, comming to get what

they could finde in the ship so wrackt, I was first (with two of my

women) brought and set safely on the shore.

No sooner were we there, but certaine rude shagge-haird villaines set

upon us, carrying away from me both my women, then haling me along by

the haire of my head, neither teares or intercessions could draw any

pitty from them. As thus they dragd me into a spacious Woodd, foure

horsemen on a sodaine came riding by, who seeing how dishonourably the

villaines used me, rescued me from them, and forced them to flight. But

the foure horsemen, seeming (in my judgement) to bee persons of power

and authority, letting them go, came to mee, urging sundry questions

to me, which neither I understood, or they mine answers. After many

deliberations held among themselves, setting me upon one of their

horses, they brought me to a Monastery of religious women, according

to the custome of their law: and there, whatsoever they did or sayde,

I know not, but I was most benignely welcommed thither, and honoured

of them extraordinarily, where (with them in devotion) I dedicated

my selfe to the Goddesse of chastity, who is highly reverenced and

regarded among the women of that Countrey, and to her religious

service, they are wholly addicted.

After I had continued some time among them, and learned a little of

their language; they asked me, of whence, and what I was. Reason gave

me so much understanding, to be fearfull of telling them the trueth,

for feare of expulsion from among them, as an enemy to their Law and

Religion: wherefore I answered (according as necessity urged) that I

was daughter to a Gentleman of _Cyprus_, who sent me to bee married in

_Candie_; but our fortunes (meaning such as had the charge of mee) fell

out quite contrary to our expectation, by losses, Shipwracke, and other

mischances; adding many matters more beside, onely in regard of feare,

& yeelding obediently to observe their customes.

At length, she that was in cheefest preheminence among these Women

(whom they termed by the name of their Lady Abbesse) demaunded of

me, whither I was willing to abide in that condition of life, or to

returne home againe into _Cyprus_. I answerd, that I desired nothing

more. But she, being very carefull of mine honour, would never repose

confidence in any that came for _Cyprus_; till two honest Gentlemen

of _France_, who hapned thither about two moneths since, accompanied

with their wives, one of them being a neere kinswoman to the Lady

Abbesse. And she well knowing, that they travelled in pilgrimage to

_Jerusalem_, to visit the holy Sepulcher, where (as they beleeve) that

he whom they held for their God was buried, after the Jewes had put him

to death: recommended me to their loving trust, with especial charge,

for delivering me to my Father in _Cyprus_. What honourable love and

respect I found in the company of those Gentlemen and their wives,

during our voyage backe to _Cyprus_: the history would be over-tedious

in reporting, neither is it much material to our purpose, because your

demand is to another end.

Sayling on prosperously in our Ship, it was not long, before wee

arrived at _Baffa_, where being landed, and not knowing any person,

neither what I should say to the Gentlemen, who onely were carefull

for delivering me to my Father, according as they were charged by the

reverend Abbesse: it was the will of heaven doubtlesse (in pitty and

compassion of my passed disasters) that I was no sooner come on shore

at _Baffa_: but I should there haply meete with _Antigonus_, whome I

called unto in our countrey Language, because I would not be understood

by the Gentlemen nor their wives, requesting him to acknowledge me as

his Daughter. Quickly he apprehended mine intention, accomplishing

what I requested, and (according to his poore power) most bounteously

feasted the Gentlemen and their wives, conducting me to the K. of

_Cyprus_, who received me royally, and sent me home to you with so

much honour, as I am no way able to relate. What else remaineth to be

said, _Antigonus_ who hath oft heard the whole story of my fortunes, at

better leisure will report.

_Antigonus_ then turning to the Soldan, said: My Lord, as shee hath

often told me, and by relation both of the Gentlemen and their wives,

she hath delivered nothing but trueth. Onely shee hath forgotten

somewhat worth the speaking, as thinking it not fit for her to utter,

because (indeede) it is not so convenient for her. Namely, how much

the Gentlemen and their wives (with whom she came) commended the rare

honesty and integrity of life, as also the unspotted vertue, wherein

she lived, among those chaste Religious women, as they constantly (both

with teares and solemne protestations) avouched to me, when kindly

they resigned their charge to mee. Of all which matters, and many more

beside, if I should make discourse to your Excellencie; this whole

day, the night ensuing, and the next dayes full extendure, are not

sufficient to acquaint you withall. Let it suffice then, that I have

said so much, as (both by the reports, and mine owne understanding) may

give you faithfull assurance, to make your Royall vaunt; of having the

fayrest, most vertuous, and honest Lady to your Daughter, of any King

or Prince whatsoever.

The Soldane was joyfull beyond all measure, welcomming both him and

the rest in most stately manner, oftentimes entreating the Gods very

heartily, that he might live to requite them with equall recompence,

who had so graciously honoured his daughter: but (above all the rest)

the King of _Cyprus_, who sent her home so majestically. And having

bestowne great gifts on _Antigonus_, within a few dayes after, hee gave

him leave to returne to _Cyprus_: with thankfull favours to the King

as well by Letters, as also by Ambassadours espresly sent, both from

himselfe and his daughter.

When as this businesse was fully finished, the Soldane, desiring to

accomplish what formerly was intended and begun, namely, that shee

might be wife to the King of _Cholcos_: he gave him intelligence of

all that had happened, writing moreover to him, that (if he were so

pleased) hee would yet send her in Royall manner to him. The King of

_Cholcos_ was exceeding joyfull of these glad tydings, and dispatching

a worthy trayne to fetch her, she was convayed thither very pompously,

and she who had beene embraced by so many, was received by him as

an honest virgine, living long time after with him in much joy and

felicity. And therefore, it hath beene said as a common Proverbe: The

mouth well kist comes not short of good fortune, but is still renewed

like the Moone.

_The Count_ D'Angiers _being falsly accused, was banished out of_

France, _& left his two children in_ England _in divers places.

Returning afterward (unknowne) thorow_ Scotland, _hee found them

advanced unto great dignity. Then, repayring in the habite of a

Servitour, into the King of_ France _his Armie, and his innocencie made

publiquely knowne; hee was reseated in his former honourable degree._

The eight Novell.

_Whereby all men may plainely understand, that loyalty faithfully kept

to the Prince (what perils so ever doe ensue) doth yet neverthelesse

renowne a man, and bring him to farre greater honour._

The Ladies sighed very often, hearing the variety of wofull miseries

happening to _Alathiella_: but who knoweth, what occasion moved them

to those sighes? Perhaps there were some among them, who rather

sighed they could not be so often married as she was, rather then for

any other compassion they had of her disasters. But leaving that to

their owne construction, they smiled merrily at the last speeches of

_Pamphilus_, and the Queene perceiving the Novell to be ended: shee

fixed her eye upon Madame _Eliza_, as signifying thereby, that she

was next to succeede in order, which shee joyfully embracing, spake

as followeth. The field is very large and spacious, wherein all this

day we have walked, and there is not any one here, so wearied with

running the former races, but nimbly would adventure on as many more,

so copious are the alterations of Fortune, in sad repetition of her

wonderfull changes; and among the infinity of her various courses, I

must make addition of another, which I trust will no way discontent

you.

When the Romaine Empire was translated from the French to the Germains,

mighty dissentions grew between both the nations, insomuch that it

drew a dismall and a lingring warre. In which respect, as well for the

safety of his owne Kingdome, as to annoy and disturbe his enemies; the

King of _France_ and one of his sonnes, having congregated the forces

of their owne dominions, as also of their friends and confederates,

they resolved manfully to encounter their enemies. But before they

would adventure on any rash proceeding; they held it as the chiefest

part of pollicie and Royall providence, not to leave the State

without a chiefe or Governour. And having had good experience of

_Gualtier_, Counte _D'Angiers_, to be a wise, worthy, and most trusty

Lord, singularly expert in militarie discipline, and faithfull in

all affaires of the Kingdome (yet fitter for ease and pleasure, then

laborious toyle and travaile:) hee was elected Lieutenant Governour in

their sted, over the whole Kingdome of _France_, and then they went on

in their enterprize.

Now began the Counte to execute the office committed to his trust, by

orderly proceeding, and with great discretion, yet not entring into

any businesse, without consent of the Queene and her faire daughter

in law: who although they were left under his care and custodie, yet

(notwithstanding) he honoured them as his superiours, and as the

dignity of their quality required. Heere you are to observe, concerning

Counte _Gualtier_ himselfe, that he was a most compleat person, aged

little above forty yeares; as affable and singularly conditioned,

as any Noble man possibly could be, nor did those times afford a

Gentleman, that equalled him in all respects. It fortuned, that the

King and his sonne being busie in the afore-named warre, the wife and

Lady of Counte _Gualtier_ died in the meane while, leaving him onely

a sonne and a daughter, very young and of tender yeares, which made

his owne home the lesse welcome to him, having lost his deare Love and

second selfe.

Hereupon, hee resorted to the Court of the said Ladies the more

frequently, often conferring with them, about the waighty affaires of

the Kingdome: in which time of so serious interparlance, the Kings

Sonnes wife, threw many affectionate regards upon him, convaying such

conspiring passions to her heart (in regard of his person and vertues)

that her love exceeded all capacity of governement. Her desires

out-stepping all compasse of modesty, or the dignity of her Princely

condition; throwes off all regard of civill and sober thoughts, and

guides her into a Labyrinth of wanton imaginations. For, she regards

not now the eminencie of his high authority, his gravity of yeares, and

those parts that are the true conducts to honour: but lookes upon her

owne loose and lascivious appetite, her young, gallant, and over-ready

yeelding nature, comparing them with his want of a wife, and likely

hope (thereby) of her sooner prevailing; supposing, that nothing

could be her hinderance, but onely bashfull shame-facednesse, which

she rather chose utterly to forsake and set aside, then to faile of

her hote enflamed affection, and therefore, shee would needes be the

discoverer of her owne disgrace.

Upon a day, being alone by her selfe, and the time seeming suteable to

her intention: shee sent for the Counte, under colour of some other

important conference with him. The Counte _D'Angiers_, whose thoughts

were quite contrary to hers: immediately went to her, where they both

sitting downe together on a beds side in her Chamber, according as

formerly shee had plotted her purpose; twice hee demaunded of her,

upon what occasion she had thus sent for him. She sitting a long while

silent, as if she had no answere to make him: pressed by the violence

of her amorous passions, a vermillion tincture leaping up into her

face, yet shame enforcing teares from her eyes, with words broken and

halfe confused, at last she began to deliver her minde in this manner.

Honourable Lord, and my dearely respected friend, being so wise a man

as you are, it is no difficult matter for you to know, what a fraile

condition is imposed both on men and women; yet (for divers occasions)

much more upon the one, then the other. Wherefore desertfully, in the

censure of a just and upright Judge, a fault of divers conditions

(in respect of the person) ought not to be censured with one and the

same punishment. Beside, who will not say, that a man or woman of

poore and meane estate, having no other helpe for maintainance, but

laborious travaile of their bodies should worthily receive more sharpe

reprehension, in yeelding to amorous desires, or such passions as

are incited by love; then a wealthy Lady whose living relieth not on

her paines or cares, neither wanteth any thing that she can wish to

have: I dare presume, that you your selfe will allow this to be equall

and just. In which respect, I am of the minde, that the fore-named

allegations, ought to serve as a sufficient excuse, yea, and to the

advantage of her who is so possessed, if the passions of love should

over-reach her: alwayes provided, that shee can pleade (in her owne

defence) the choise of a wise and vertuous friend, answerable to her

owne condition and quality, and no way to be taxed with a servile or

vile election.

These two especiall observations, allowable in my judgement, and living

now in me, seazing on my youthfull blood and yeares: have found no

mean inducement to love, in regard of my husbands far distance from

me, medling in the rude uncivill actions of warre, when he should

rather be at home in more sweet imployment. You see Sir, that these

Orators advance themselves here in your presence, to acquaint you

with the extremity of my over-commanding agony: and if the same power

hath dominion in you, which your discretion (questionlesse) cannot be

voide of; then let me entreate such advise from you, as may rather

helpe, then hinder my hopes. Beleeve it then for trueth Sir, that the

long absence of my husband from me, the solitary condition wherein I

am left, ill agreeing with the hot blood running in my veines, & the

temper of my earnest desires: have so prevailed against my strongest

resistances, that not onely so weake a woman as I am, but any man of

much more potent might (living in ease and idlenesse as I doe) cannot

withstand such continuall assaults, having no other helpe then flesh

and blood.

Nor am I so ignorant, but publique knowledge of such an error in me,

would be reputed a shrewd taxation of honesty: whereas (on the other

side) secret carriage, and heedfull managing such amorous affaires,

may passe for currant without any reproach. And let me tell you Noble

Counte, that I repute Love highly favourable to mee, by guiding my

judgement with such moderation, to make election of a wise, worthy, and

honourable friend, fit to enjoy the grace of a farre greater Lady then

I am, and the first letter of his name, is the Count _D'Angiers_. For

if error have not misled mine eye, as in Love no Lady can be easily

deceived: for person, perfections, and all parts most to be commended

in a man, the whole Realme of _France_ containeth not your equall.

Observe beside, how forward Fortune sheweth her selfe to us both in

this case, you to be destitute of a wife, as I am of an husband; for I

count him as dead to me, when he denies me the duties belonging to a

wife. Wherefore, in regard of the unfaigned affection I beare you, and

compassion, which you ought to have of Royall Princesse, even almost

sicke to death for your sake: I earnestly entreate you, not to denie me

your loving society, but pittying my youth and fiery afflictions (never

to be quenched but by your kindnesse) I may enjoy my hearts desire.

As shee uttered these words, the teares streamed aboundantly downe

her faire cheekes, preventing her of any further speech: so that

dejecting her head into her bosome, overcome with the predominance of

her passions; shee fell upon the Countes knee, whereas else shee had

falne upon the ground. When hee, like a loyall and most honourable

man, sharply reprehended her fonde and idle love, and when shee would

have embraced him about the necke; hee repulsed her roughly from him,

protesting upon his honourable reputation, that rather then hee would

so wrong his Lord and Maister, he would endure a thousand deathes.

The Lady seeing her desire disappointed, and her fond expectation

utterly frustrated: grewe instantly forgetfull of her intemperate

love, and falling into extremity of rage, converted her former gentle

speeches, into this harsh and ruder language. Villaine (quoth shee)

shall the longing comforts of my life, be abridged by thy base and

scornefull deniall? Shall my destruction bee wrought by thy currish

unkindnesse, and all my hoped joyes be defeated in a moment? Know

slave, that I did not so earnestly desire thy sweet embracements

before, but now as deadly I hate and despise them, which either thy

death or banishment shall dearely pay for. No sooner had shee thus

spoken, but tearing her haire, and renting her garments in pieces, shee

ranne about like a distracted woman, crying out aloude: Helpe, helpe,

the Count _D'Angiers_ will forcibly dishonour mee, the lustfull Count

will violence mine honour.

_D'Angiers_ seeing this, and fearing more the malice of the

over-credulous Court, then either his owne conscience, or any

dishonourable act by him committed, beleeving likewise, that her

slanderous accusation would bee credited, above his true and spotlesse

innocency: closely he conveyed himselfe out of the Court, making what

hast hee could, home to his owne house, which being too weake for

warranting his safety upon such pursuite as would be used against him,

without any further advice or counsell, he seated his two children on

horsebacke, himselfe also being but meanly mounted, thus away thence

hee went to _Calice_.

Upon the clamour and noise of the Lady, the Courtiers quickly flocked

thither; and, as lies soone winne beleefe in hasty opinions, upon any

silly or shallow surmise: so did her accusation passe for currant, and

the Counts advancement being envied by many, made his honest carriage

(in this case) the more suspected. In hast and madding fury, they ran

to the Counts houses, to arrest his person, and carry him to prison:

but when they could not finde him, they raced his goodly buildings

downe to the ground, and used all shamefull violence to them. Now, as

il newes sildome wants a speedy Messenger; so, in lesse space then you

will imagine, the King and Dolphin heard thereof in the Camp, and were

therewith so highly offended, that the Count had a sodaine and severe

condemnation, all his progeny being sentenced with perpetuall exile,

and promises of great and bountifull rewards, to such as could bring

his body alive or dead.

Thus the innocent Count, by his over-hasty and sodaine flight, made

himselfe guilty of this foule imputation: and arriving at _Callice_

with his children, their poore and homely habites, hid them from being

knowne, and thence they crossed over into England, staying no where

untill hee came to London. Before he would enter into the City, he

gave divers good advertisements to his children, but especially two

precepts above all the rest. First, with patient soules to support the

poore condition, whereto Fortune (without any offence in him or them)

had thus dejected them. Next, that they should have most heedfull care,

at no time to disclose from whence they came, or whose children they

were, because it extended to the perill of their lives. His Sonne,

being named _Lewes_, and now about nine yeares old, his daughter called

_Violenta_, and aged seaven yeares, did both observe their fathers

direction, as afterward it did sufficiently appeare. And because

they might live in the safer securitie, hee thought it for the best

to change their names, calling his sonne _Perotto_, and his daughter

_Gianetta_, for thus they might best escape unknowne.

Being entred into the City, and in the poore estate of beggers, they

craved every bodies mercy and almes. It came to passe, that standing

one morning at the Cathedral Church-doore, a great Lady of England,

being then wife to the Lord high Marshall, comming forth of the Church,

espied the Count and his children there begging. Of him she demanded

what Countrey-man he was? and whether those children were his owne,

or no? The Count replyed, that he was borne in _Picardy_, and for

an unhappy fact committed by his eldest sonne (a stripling of more

hopefull expectation, then proved) hee was enforced, with those his

two other children to forsake his country. The Lady being by nature

very pittiful, looking advisedly on the yong Girle, beganne to grow

in good liking of her; because (indeede) she was amiable, gentle, and

beautifull, whereupon shee saide. Honest man, thy daughter hath a

pleasing countenance, and (perhaps) her inward disposition may proove

answerable to hir outward goods parts: if therefore thou canst bee

content to leave her with me, I will give her entertainment, and upon

her dutifull carriage and behaviour, if she live to such yeares as may

require it, I will have her honestly bestowne in marriage. This motion

was verie pleasing to the Count, who readily declared his willing

consent thereto, and with the teares trickling downe his cheekes, in

thankfull manner he delivered his prettie daughter to the Lady.

Shee being thus happily bestowne, hee minded to tarry no longer in

_London_; but, in his wonted begging manner, travailing thorough the

Country with his sonne _Perotto_, at length hee came into _Wales_: but

not without much weary paine and travell, being never used before,

to journey so far on foote. There dwelt another Lord, in office of

Marshalship to the King of _England_, whose power extended over

those partes; a man of very great authority, keeping a most noble

and bountifull house, which they termed the _President of Wales his

Court_; whereto the Count and his son oftentimes resorted, as finding

there good releefe and comfort. On a day, one of the Presidents sons,

accompanied with divers other Gentlemens children, were performing

certaine youthfull sports & pastimes, as running, leaping, and such

like, wherein _Perotto_ presumed to make one among them, excelling all

the rest in such commendable manner, as none of them came any thing

nere him. Divers times the President had taken notice thereof, and was

so well pleased with the Lads behaviour, that he enquired, of whence

he was? Answer was made, that hee was a poore mans son, that every day

came for an almes to his gate.

The President being desirous to make the boy his, the Count (whose

dayly prayers were to the same purpose) frankly gave his son to

the Nobleman: albeit naturall and fatherly affection, urged some

unwillingnesse to part so with him; yet necessity and discretion, found

it to bee for the benefit of them both. Being thus eased of care for

his son and daughter, and they (though in different places) yet under

good and woorthie government: the Count would continue no longer in

_England_: but, as best he could procure the meanes, passed over into

_Ireland_, and being arrived at a place called _Stanford_, became

servant to an Earle of that Country, a Gentleman professing Armes, on

whom he attended as a serving man, & lived a long while in that estate

very painfully.

His daughter _Violenta_, clouded under the borrowed name of _Gianetta_,

dwelling with the Lady at _London_, grew so in yeares, beauty,

comelinesse of person, and was so gracefull in the favour of her Lord

and Lady, yea, of every one in the house beside, that it was wonderfull

to behold. Such as but observed her usuall carriage, and what modesty

shined clearely in her eyes, reputed her well worthy of honourable

preferment; in which regard, the Lady that had received her of her

Father, not knowing of whence, or what shee was; but as himselfe had

made report, intended to match her in honourable mariage, according

as her vertues worthily deserved. But God, the just rewarder of all

good endeavours, knowing her to be noble by birth, and (causelesse) to

suffer for the sinnes of another; disposed otherwise of her, and that

so worthy a Virgin might be no mate for a man of ill conditions, no

doubt ordained what was to be done, according to his owne good pleasure.

The noble Lady, with whom poore _Gianetta_ dwelt, had but one onely

Sonne by her Husband, and he most deerely affected of them both, as

well in regard hee was to be their heire, as also for his vertues

and commendable qualities, wherein he excelled many young Gentlemen.

Endued he was with heroycal valour, compleate in all perfections of

person, and his mind every way answerable to his outward behaviour,

exceeding _Gianetta_ about sixe yeeres in age. Hee perceiving her to

be a faire and comely Maiden, grew to affect her so entirely, that all

things else he held contemptible, and nothing pleasing in his eye but

shee. Now, in regard her parentage was reputed poore, hee kept his

love concealed from his Parents, not daring to desire her in marriage:

for loth hee was to loose their favour, by disclosing the vehemency of

his afflictions, which proved a greater torment to him, then if it had

beene openly knowne.

It came to passe, that love over-awed him in such sort, as he fell into

a violent sicknesse, and score of Physicions were sent for, to save him

from death, if possibly it might be. Their judgements observing the

course of his sicknesse, yet not reaching to the cause of the disease,

made a doubtfull question of his recovery; which was so displeasing to

his parents, that their griefe and sorrow grew beyond measure. Many

earnest entreaties they moved to him, to know the occasion of his

sicknesse, whereto he returned no other answer, but heart-breaking

sighes, and incessant teares, which drew him more and more into

weakenesse of body.

It chanced on a day, a Physicion was brought unto him, being young in

yeeres, but well experienced in his practise, and as hee made triall

of his pulse, _Gianetta_ (who by his Mothers command, attended on him

very diligently) upon some especial occasion entred into the Chamber,

which when the young Gentleman perceived, and that shee neither spake

word, nor so much as looked towards him, his heart grew great in

amorous desire, and his pulse did beate beyond the compasse of ordinary

custome; whereof the Physicion made good observation, to note how long

that fit would continue. No sooner was _Gianetta_ gone forth of the

Chamber, but the pulse immediately gave over beating, which perswaded

the Physicion, that some part of the disease had now discovered it

selfe apparantly.

Within a while after, pretending to have some speech with _Gianetta_,

and holding the Gentleman still by the arme, the Physicion caused her

to be sent for, and immediately shee came. Upon her very entrance into

the Chamber, the pulse began to beate againe extreamely, and when shee

departed, it presently ceased. Now was he thorowly perswaded, that hee

had found the true effect of his sicknesse; when taking the Father and

mother aside, thus he spake to them. If you be desirous of your Sons

health, it consisteth not either in Physicion or physicke, but in the

mercy of your faire Maide _Gianetta_; for manifest signes have made it

knowne to me, and he loveth the Damosell very dearely: yet (for ought

I can perceive, the Maide doth not know it) now if you have respect

of his life, you know (in this case) what is to be done. The Nobleman

and his Wife hearing this, became somewhat satisfied, because there

remained a remedy to preserve his life: but yet it was no meane griefe

to them, if it should so succeede, as they feared, namely, the marriage

betweene their Sonne and _Gianetta_.

The Physicion being gone, and they repairing to their sicke Sonne, the

Mother began with him in this manner. Sonne, I was alwayes perswaded,

that thou wouldest not conceale any secret from me, or the least part

of thy desires; especially, when without enjoying them, thou must

remaine in the danger of death. Full well art thou assured, or in

reason oughtest to be, that there is not any thing for thy contentment,

be it of what quality soever, but it should have beene provided for

thee, and in as ample manner as for mine owne selfe. But though thou

hast wandred so farre from duty, and hazarded both thy life and ours,

it commeth so to passe, that Heaven hath been more mercifull to thee,

then thou wouldest be to thy selfe or us. And to prevent thy dying

of this disease, a dreame this night hath acquainted me with the

principall occasion of thy sickenesse, to wit, extraordinary affection

to a young Maiden, in some such place as thou hast seene her. I tell

thee Sonne, it is a matter of no disgrace to love, and why shouldst

thou shame to manifest as much, it being so apt and convenient for

thy youth? For if I were perswaded, that thou couldst not love, I

should make the lesse esteeme of thee. Therefore deare Sonne, be not

dismayed, but freely discover thine affections. Expel those disastrous

drouping thoughts, that have indangered thy life by this long lingering

sicknesse. And let thy soule be faithfully assured, that thou canst

not require any thing to be done, remaining within the compasse of

my power, but I will performe it; for I love thee as dearely as mine

owne life. Set therefore aside this nice conceit of shame and feare,

revealing the truth boldly to me, if I may stead thee in thy love;

resolving thy selfe unfaignedly, that if my care stretch not to

compasse thy content, account me for the most cruell Mother living, and

utterly unworthy of such a Sonne.

The young Gentleman having heard these protestations made by his

Mother, was not a little ashamed of his owne follie; but recollecting

his better thoughts together, and knowing in his soule, that no one

could better further his hopes, then shee; forgetting all his former

feare, he returned her this answere; Madam, and my dearely affected

Mother, nothing hath more occasioned my loves so strict concealement,

but an especiall error, which I finde by daily proofe in many, who

being growne to yeeres of grave discretion, doe never remember, that

they themselves have bin yong. But because heerein I find you to be

both discreet and wise, I will not onely affirme, what you have seen in

me to be true, but also will confesse, to whom it is: upon condition,

that the effect of your promise may follow it, according to the power

remaining in you, whereby you onely may secure my life.

His Mother, desirous to bee resolved, whether his confession would

agree with the Physitians words, or no, and reserving another intention

to her selfe: bad him feare nothing, but freely discover his whole

desire, and forthwith she doubted not to effect it. Then Madame (quoth

hee) the matchlesse beauty, and commendable qualities of your maid

_Gianetta_, to whom (as yet) I have made no motion, to commisserate

this my languishing extremity, nor acquainted any living creature with

my love: the concealing of these afflictions to my selfe, hath brought

mee to this desperate condition: and if some meane bee not wrought,

according to your constant promise, for the full enjoying of my longing

desires, assure your selfe (most noble Mother) that the date of my life

is very short.

The Lady well knowing, that the time now rather required kindest

comfort, then any severe or sharpe reprehension; smiling on him, saide.

Alas deere sonne, wast thou sicke for this? Be of good cheare, and when

thy strength is better restored, then referre the matter to me. The

young Gentleman, being put in good hope by his mothers promise, began

(in short time) to shew apparant signes of well-forwarded amendment: to

the Mothers great joy and comfort, disposing her selfe daily to proove,

how in honour she might keepe promise with her Son.

Within a short while after, calling _Gianetta_ privately to her, in

gentle manner, and by the way of pleasant discourse, she demanded of

her, whither she was provided of a Lover, or no. _Gianetta_, being

never acquainted with any such questions, a scarlet Dye covering all

her modest countenance, thus replied. Madam, I have no neede of any

Lover, and very unseemly were it, for so poore a Damosell as I am, to

have so much as a thought of Lovers: being banished from my friends and

kinsfolke, and remaining in service as I do.

If you have none (answered the Lady) wee will bestowe one on you,

which shall content your minde, and bring you to a more pleasing

kinde of life; because it is farre unfit, that so faire a Maid as you

are, should remaine destitute of a lover. Madam, sayde _Gianetta_,

considering with my selfe, that since you received me of my poore

Father, you have used me rather like your daughter, then a servant; it

becommeth mee to doe as pleaseth you. Notwithstanding, I trust (in the

regard of mine own good and honour) never to use any complaint in such

a case: but if you please to bestow a husband on me, I purpose to love

and honour him onely, & not any other. For, of all the inheritance left

me by my progenitors, nothing remaineth to me but honourable honesty,

and that shall bee my legacie so long as I live.

These words were of a quite contrary complexion, to those which

the Lady expected from her, and for effecting the promise made

unto hir Sonne: howbeit (like a wise and noble Lady) much shee

inwardly commended the maids answers, and saide unto her. But tell

me _Gianetta_, what if my Lord the King (who is a gallant youthfull

Prince, and you so bright a beauty as you are) should take pleasure

in your love, would ye denie him? Sodainly the Maide returned this

answer; Madam, the King (perhaps) might enforce me; but with my free

consent, hee shall never have any thing of me that is not honest. Nor

did the Lady mislike her Maides courage and resolution, but breaking

off all her further conference, intended shortly to put her project in

proofe, saying to her son, that when he was fully recovered, he should

have private accesse to _Gianetta_, whom shee doubted not but would

be tractable enough to him; for she held it no meane blemish to her

honour, to moove the Maide any more in the matter, but let him compasse

it as he could.

Farre from the yong Gentlemans humour was this answer of his Mother,

because he aimed not at any dishonourable end: true, faithfull, &

honest love was the sole scope of his intention, foule and loathsome

lust he utterly defied; whereupon, he fell into sickenesse againe,

rather more violently then before. Which the Lady perceiving, revealed

her whole intent to _Gianetta_, and finding her constancie beyond

common comparison, acquainted her Lord with all she had done, and both

consented (though much against their mindes) to let him enjoy her in

honourable marriage: accounting it better, for preservation of their

onely sons life, to match him farre inferiour to his degree, then (by

denying his desire) to let him pine away, and die for her love.

After great consultation with kindred and friendes, the match was

agreed upon, to the no little joy of _Gianetta_, who devoutly returned

infinite thankes to heaven, for so mercifully respecting her dejected

poore estate, after the bitter passage of so many miseries, and

never tearming her selfe any otherwise, but the daughter of a poore

_Piccard_. Soone was the yong Gentleman recovered and married, no

man alive so well contented as he, and setting downe an absolute

determination, to lead a loving life with his _Gianetta_.

Let us now convert our lookes to _Wales_, to _Perotto_; being lefte

there with the other Lord Marshall, who was the President of that

Countrey. On he grew in yeares, choisely respected by his Lord, because

hee was most comely of person, and addicted to all valiant attempts:

so that in Tourneyes, Justes, and other actions of Armes, his like was

not to bee found in all the Island, being named onely _Perotto_ the

valiant _Piccard_, and so was he famed farre and neere. As God had not

forgotten his Sister, so in mercy he became as mindefull of him; for, a

contagious mortalitie hapning in the Country, the greater part of the

people perished thereby, the rest flying thence into other partes of

the Land, whereby the whole Province became dispeopled and desolate.

In the time of this plague and dreadfull visitation, the Lord President,

his Lady, Sonnes, Daughters, Brothers, Nephewes, and Kindred dyed, none

remaining alive, but one onely Daughter marriageable, a few of the

houshold servants, beside _Perotto_, whom (after the sicknesse was more

mildly asswaged) with counsaile and consent of the Country people, the

young Lady accepted to be her husband, because hee was a man so worthy

and valiant, and of all the inheritance left by her deceased Father,

she made him Lord and sole commaunder. Within no long while after, the

King of _England_, understanding that his President of _Wales_ was

dead, and fame liberally relating, the vertues, valour, and good parts

of _Perotto_ the Piccard: hee created him to be his President there,

and to supply the place of his deceased Lord. These faire fortunes,

within the compasse of so short a time, fell to the two innocent

children of the Count _D'Angiers_, after they were left by him as lost

and forlorne.

Eighteene yeares were now fully over-past, since the Count _D'Angiers_

fled from _Paris_, having suffered (in miserable sort) many hard and

lamentable adversities, and seeing himselfe now to be growne aged, hee

was desirous to leave Ireland, and to know (if hee might) what was

become of both his children. Hereupon, perceiving his wonted forme to

be so altered, that such as formerly had conversed most with him, could

now not take any knowledge of him, & feeling his body (through long

labour and exercise endured in service) more lusty, then in his idle

youthfull yeares, especially when he left the Court of _France_, hee

purposed to proceede in his determination. Being very poore and simple

in apparell, hee departed from the Irish Earle his Maister, with whom

hee had continued long in service, to no advantage or advancement, and

crossing over into _England_, travailed to the place in _Wales_, where

he left _Perotto_: and where hee found him to be Lord Marshall and

President of the Country, lusty and in good health, a man of goodly

feature, and most honourably respected and reverenced of the people.

Well may you imagine, that this was no small comfort to the poore

aged Countes heart, yet would he not make himselfe knowne to him or

any other about him? but referred his joy to a further enlarging or

diminishing, by sight of the other limme of his life, his dearely

affected daughter _Gianetta_, denying rest to his body in any

place, untill such time as he came to _London_. Making there secret

enquiry, concerning the Lady with whom he had left his daughter: hee

understoode, that a young Gentlewoman, named _Gianetta_, was married

to that Ladies onely Son; which made a second addition of joy to his

soule, accounting all his passed adversities of no value, both his

children being living, and in so high honour.

Having found her dwelling, and (like a kinde Father) being earnestly

desirous to see her; he dayly resorted neere to the house, where Sir

_Roger Mandavill_ (for so was _Gianettaes_ husband named) chauncing to

see him, being moved to compassion because he was both poore and aged:

commaunded one of his men, to take him into the house, and to give him

some foode for Gods sake, which (accordingly) the servant performed.

_Gianetta_ had divers children by her husband, the eldest of them being

but eight yeares olde, yet all of them so faire and comely as could

be. As the olde Count sate eating his meate in the Hall, the children

came all about him, embracing, hugging, and making much of him, even as

if Nature had truly instructed them, that this was their aged, though

poore Grandfather, and hee as lovingly receiving these kinde relations

from them, wisely and silently kept all to himselfe, with sighes,

teares, and joyes entermixed together. So that the children would not

part from him, though their Tutour and Maister called them often, which

being tolde to their Mother, shee came foorth of the neere adjoining

Parlour, and threatned to beate them, if they would not doe what their

Maister commanded them.

Then the children began to cry, saying, that they would tarie still by

the good olde man, because he loved them better then their Maister did;

whereat both the Lady and the Count began to smile. The Count, like

a poore beggar, and not as father to so great a Lady, arose, and did

her humble reverence, because shee was now a Noble woman, conceiving

wonderfull joy in his soule, to see her so faire and goodly a creature:

yet could she take no knowledge of him, age, want and misery had

so mightily altred him, his head all white, his beard without any

comely forme, his garments so poore, and his face so wrinkled, leane

and meager, that hee seemed rather some Carter, then a Count. And

_Gianetta_ perceiving, that when her children were fetcht away, they

returned againe to the olde man, and would not leave him; desired their

Maister to let them alone.

While thus the children continued making much of the good olde man,

Lord _Andrew Mandevile_, Father to Sir _Roger_, came into the Hall,

as being so willed to doe by the Childrens Schoolemaister. He being a

hastie minded man, and one that ever despised _Gianetta_ before, but

much more since her mariage to his sonne, angerly said. Let them alone

with a mischiefe, and so befall them, their best company ought to be

with beggers, for so are they bred and borne by the Mothers side: and

therefore it is no mervaile, if like will to like, a beggers brats to

keepe company with beggers. The Count hearing these contemptible words,

was not a little greeved thereat, and although his courage was greater,

then his poore condition would permit him to expresse; yet, clouding

all injuries with noble patience, hanging downe his head, and shedding

many a salt teare, endured this reproach, as hee had done many, both

before and after.

But honourable Sir _Roger_, perceiving what delight his children tooke

in the poore mans company; albeit he was offended at his Fathers harsh

words, by holding his wife in such base respect; yet favoured the poore

Count so much the more, and seeing him weepe, did greatly compassionate

his case, saying to the poore man, that if hee would accept of his

service, he willingly would entertaine him. Whereto the Count replied,

that very gladly he would embrace his kinde offer: but hee was capable

of no other service, save onely to be an horse-keeper, wherein he had

imployed the most part of his time. Heereupon, more for pleasure and

pitty, then any necessity of his service, he was appointed to the

keeping of one Horse, which was onely for his Daughters saddle, and

daily after he had done his diligence about the Horse, he did nothing

elsee but play with the children. While Fortune pleased thus to dally

with the poore Count _D'Angiers_, & his children, it came to passe,

that the King of _France_ (after divers leagues of truces passed

between him & the _Germaines_) died, and next after him, his Son the

dolphin was crowned King, and it was his wife that wrongfully caused

the Counts banishment. After expiration of the last league with the

_Germains_, the warres began to grow much more fierce and sharpe, and

the King of _England_, (upon request made to him by his new brother of

_France_) sent him very honourable supplies of his people, under the

conduct of _Perotto_, his lately elected President of _Wales_, and Sir

_Roger Mandevile_, Son to his other Lord high Marshall; with whom also

the poore Count went, and continued a long while in the Campe as a

common Souldier, where yet like a valiant Gentleman (as indeed he was

no lesse) both in advice and actions; he accomplished many more notable

matters, then was expected to come from him.

It so fell out, that in the continuance of this warre, the Queen of

_France_ fell into a grievous sicknes, and perceiving her selfe to be

at the point of death, shee became very penitently sorrowfull for all

her sinnes, earnestly desiring that shee might be confessed by the

Archbishop of _Roane_, who was reputed to be an holy and vertuous man.

In the repetition of her other offences, she revealed what great wrong

she had done to the Count _D'Angiers_, resting not so satisfied, with

disclosing the whole matter to him alone; but also confessed the same

before many other worthy persons, and of great honour, entreating them

to worke so with the King; that (if the Count were yet living, or any

of his Children) they might be restored to their former honour againe.

It was not long after, but the Queene left this life, and was most

royally enterred, when her confession being disclosed to the King,

after much sorrow for so injuriously wronging a man of so great valour

and honour: Proclamation was made throughout the Camp, and in many

other parts of _France_ beside, that whosoever could produce the Count

_D'Angiers_, or any of his Children, should richly be rewarded for each

one of them; in regard he was innocent of the foule imputation, by the

Queenes owne confession, and for his wrongfull exile so long, he should

be exalted to his former honour with farre greater favours, which the

King franckely would bestow upon him. When the Count (who walked up

and downe in the habite of a common servitor) heard this Proclamation,

forth-with he went to his Master Sir _Roger Mandevile_, requesting his

speedy repaire to Lord _Perotto_, that being both assembled together,

he would acquaint them with a serious matter, concerning the late

Proclamation published by the King. Being by themselves alone in the

Tent, the Count spake in this manner to _Perotto_. Sir, S. _Roger

Mandevile_ here, your equal competitor in this military service, is the

husband to your naturall sister, having as yet never received any dowry

with her, but her inherent unblemishable vertue & honour. Now because

she may not still remain destitute of a competent Dowry: I desire that

Sir _Roger_, and none other, may enjoy the royall reward promised by

the King. You Lord _Perotto_, whose true name is _Lewes_, manifest

your selfe to be nobly borne, and sonne to the wrongfull banished

Count _D'Angiers_: avouch moreover, that _Violenta_, shadowed under

the borrowed name of _Gianetta_, is your owne Sister; and deliver me

up as your Father, the long exiled Count _D'Angiers. Perotto_ hearing

this, beheld him more advisedly, and began to know him: then, the tears

flowing abundantly from his eyes, he fell at his feete, and often

embracing him, saide: My deere and noble Father! a thousand times more

deerely welcome to your Sonne _Lewes_.

Sir _Roger Mandevile_, hearing first what the Count had said, and

seeing what _Perotto_ afterward performed; became surprized with

such extraordinary joy and admiration, that he knew not how to carry

himselfe in this case. Neverthelesse, giving credite to his words,

and being somewhat ashamed, that he had not used the Count in more

respective manner, & remembring beside, the unkinde language of his

furious Father to him: he kneeled downe, humbly craving pardon, both

for his fathers rudenes and his owne, which was courteously granted by

the Count, embracing him lovingly in his armes.

When they had a while discoursed their severall fortunes, sometime

in teares, and then againe in joy, _Perotto_ and Sir _Roger_, would

have the Count to be garmented in better manner, but in no wise he

would suffer it; for it was his onely desire, that Sir _Roger_ should

be assured of the promised reward, by presenting him in the Kings

presence, and in the homely habit which he did then weare, to touch

him with the more sensible shame, for his rash beleefe, and injurious

proceeding. Then Sir _Roger Mandevile_, guiding the Count by the

hand, and _Perotto_ following after, came before the King, offering

to present the Count and his children, if the reward promised in the

Proclamation might be performed. The king immediately commanded,

that a reward of inestimable valew should be produced; desiring Sir

_Roger_ uppon the sight thereof, to make good his offer, for forthwith

presenting the Count and his children. Which hee made no longer delay

of, but turning himselfe about, delivered the aged Count, by the title

of his servant, and presenting _Perotto_ next, said. Sir, heere I

deliver you the Father and his Son, his daughter who is my wife, cannot

so conveniently be heere now, but shortly, by the permission of heaven,

your Majesty shall have a sight of her.

When the King heard this, stedfastly he looked on the Count; and,

notwithstanding his wonderfull alteration, both from his wonted feature

and forme: yet, after he had very seriously viewed him, he knew him

perfectly; and the teares trickling downe his cheekes, partly with

remorsefull shame, and joy also for his so happy recovery, he tooke

up the Count from kneeling, kissing, and embracing him very kindely,

welcomming _Perotto_ in the selfesame manner. Immediately also he gave

commaund, that the Count should be restored to his honours, apparrell,

servants, horses, and furniture, answerable to his high estate and

calling, which was as speedily performed. Moreover, the King greatly

honoured Sir _Roger Mandevile_, desiring to be made acquainted with all

their passed fortunes.

When Sir _Roger_ had received the royall reward, for thus surrendring

the Count and his Sonne, the Count calling him to him, saide. Take that

Princely remuneration of my soveraigne Lord the King, and commending

me to your unkinde Father, tell him that your Children are no beggars

brats, neither basely borne by their Mothers side. Sir _Roger_

returning home with his bountifull reward, soone after brought his Wife

and Mother to _Paris_, and so did _Perotto_ his Wife, where in great

joy and triumph, they continued a long while with the noble Count; who

had all his goods and honours restored to him, in farre greater measure

then ever they were before: his Sonnes in Law returning home with their

Wives into _England_, left the Count with the King at _Paris_, where he

spent the rest of his dayes in great honour and felicity.

Bernardo, _a Merchant of_ Geneway, _being deceived by another Merchant,

named_ Ambroginolo, _lost a great part of his goods. And commanding his

innocent Wife to be murthered, shee escaped, and (in the habite of a

man) became servant to the Soldane. The deceiver being found at last,

shee compassed such meanes, that her Husband_ Bernardo _came into_

Alexandria, _and there, after due punishment inflicted on the false

deceiver, shee resumed the garments againe of a woman, and returned

home with her Husband to_ Geneway.

The ninth Novell.

_Wherein is declared, that by over-liberall commending the chastity of

Women, it falleth out (oftentimes) to be very dangerous, especially by

the meanes of treacherers, who yet (in the ende) are justly punished

for their treachery._

Madam _Eliza_ having ended her compassionate discourse, which indeede

had moved all the rest to sighing; the Queene, who was faire, comely

of stature, and carrying a very majesticall countenance, smiling more

familiarly then the other, spake to them thus. It is very necessary,

that the promise made to _Dioneus_, should carefully be kept, and

because now there remaineth none, to report any more Novelse, but onely

he and my selfe: I must first deliver mine, and he (who takes it for an

honour) to be the last in relating his owne, last let him be for his

owne deliverance. Then pausing a little while, thus shee began againe.

Many times among vulgar people, it hath passed as a common Proverbe:

That the deceiver is often trampled on, by such as he hath deceived.

And this cannot shew it selfe (by any reason) to be true, except such

accidents as awaite on treachery, doe really make a just discovery

thereof. And therefore according to the course of this day observed, I

am the woman, that must make good what I have saide for the approbation

of that Proverbe; no way (I hope) distastfull to you in the hearing,

but advantageable to preserve you from any such beguiling.

There was a faire and good Inne in _Paris_, much frequented by many

great _Italian_ Merchants, according to such variety of occasions and

businesse, as urged their often resorting thither. One night among many

other, having had a merry Supper together, they began to discourse on

divers matters, and falling from one relation to another; they communed

in very friendly manner, concerning their wives, lefte at home in

their houses. Quoth the first, I cannot well imagine what my wife is

now doing, but I am able to say for my selfe, that if a pretty female

should fall into my company: I could easily forget my love to my wife,

and make use of such an advantage offered.

A second replyed; And trust me, I should do no lesse, because I am

perswaded, that if my wife be willing to wander, the law is in her owne

hand, and I am farre enough from home: dumbe walles blab no tales, &

offences unknowne are sildome or never called in question. A thirde man

jumpt in censure, with his former fellowes of the Jury; and it plainly

appeared, that al the rest were of the same opinion, condemning their

wives over-rashly, and alledging, that when husbands strayed so far

from home, their wives had wit enough to make use of their time.

Onely one man among them all, named _Bernardo Lomellino_, & dwelling

in _Geneway_, maintained the contrary; boldly avouching, that by the

especiall favour of Fortune, he had a wife so perfectly compleat in

al graces and vertues, as any Lady in the world possibly could be,

and that _Italy_ scarsely contained her equall. For, she was goodly

of person, and yet very young, quicke, quaint, milde, and courteous,

and not any thing appertaining to the office of a wife, either for

domesticke affayres, or any other imployment whatsoever, but in

woman-hoode shee went beyond all other. No Lord, Knight, Esquire, or

Gentleman, could bee better served at his table, then himselfe dayly

was, with more wisedome, modesty and discretion. After all this, hee

praised her for riding, hawking, hunting, fishing, fowling, reading,

writing, enditing, and most absolute keeping his Bookes of accounts,

that neither himselfe, or any other Merchant could therein excell her.

After infinite other commendations, he came to the former point of

their argument, concerning the easie falling of women into wantonnesse,

maintaining (with a solemne oath) that no woman possibly could be more

chaste and honest then she: in which respect, he was verily perswaded,

that if he stayed from her ten yeares space, yea (all his life time)

out of his house; yet never would shee falsifie her faith to him, or be

lewdly allured by any other man.

Among these Merchants thus communing together, there was a young proper

man, named _Ambroginolo_ of _Placentia_, who began to laugh at the

last praises, which _Bernardo_ had used of his wife, and seeming to

make a mockerie thereat, demaunded, if the Emperour had given him this

priviledge, above all other married men? _Bernardo_ being somewhat

offended, answered: No Emperour hath done it, but the especiall

blessing of heaven, exceeding all the Emperours on the earth in grace,

and thereby have received this favour; whereto _Ambroginolo_ presently

thus replied. _Bernardo_, without all question to the contrary, I

beleeve that what thou hast said, is true, but, for ought I can

perceive, thou hast slender judgement in the nature of things: because,

if thou didst observe them well, thou couldst not be of so grosse

understanding; for, by comprehending matters in their true kinde and

nature, thou wouldst speake of them more correctly then thou doest. And

to the end, thou mayest not imagine, that wee who have spoken of our

wives, doe thinke any otherwise of them, then as well and honestly as

thou canst of thine, nor that any thing elsee did urge these speeches of

them, or falling into this kinde of discourse, but onely by a naturall

instinct and admonition; I will proceede familiarly a little further

with thee, upon the matter already propounded.

I have ever more understood, that man was the most noble creature,

formed by God to live in this world, and woman in the next degree

to him: but man, as generally is beleeved, and as is discerned by

apparant effects, is the most perfect of both. Having then the most

perfection in him, without all doubt, he must be so much the more firme

and constant. So in like manner, it hath beene, and is universally

graunted, that woman is more various and mutable, and the reason

thereof may be approved, by many naturall circumstances, which were

needlesse now to make any mention of. If a man then be possessed of the

greater stability, and yet cannot containe himselfe from condiscending,

I say not to one that entreates him, but to desire any other that may

please him, and beside, to covet the enjoying of his owne pleasing

contentment (a thing not chancing to him once in a moneth, but infinite

times in a dayes space.) What can you then conceive of a fraile woman,

subject (by nature) to entreaties, flatteries, gifts, perswasions,

and a thousand other enticing meanes, which a man (that is affected

to her) can use? Doest thou think then that shee hath any power to

containe? Assuredly, though thou shouldst rest so resolved, yet cannot

I be of the same opinion. For I am sure thou beleevest, and must needes

confesse it, that thy wife is a woman, made of flesh and blood, as

other women are: if it be so, shee cannot be without the same desires,

and the weakenesse or strength as other women have, to resist such

naturall appetites as her owne are. In regard whereof, it is meerely

impossible (although shee be most honest) but she must needs do that

which other women do; for there is nothing elsee possible, either to be

denied or affirmed to the contrary, as thou most unadvisedly hast done.

_Bernardo_ answered in this manner. I am a Merchant, and no

Philosopher, and like a Merchant I meane to answere thee. I am not to

learne, that these accidents by thee related, may happen to fooles, who

are void of understanding or shame: but such as are wise, and endued

with vertue, have alwayes such a precious esteeme of their honour,

that they will containe those principles of constancie, which men are

meerely carelesse of, and I justifie my wife to be one of them. Beleeve

me _Bernardo_ (replied _Ambroginolo_) if so often as thy wives minde

is addicted to wanton folly, a badge of scorne should arise on thy

forehead, to render testimonie of her female frailty; I beleeve the

number of them would be more, then willingly you would wish them to be.

And among all married men, in every degree, the notes are so secret

of their wives imperfections, that the sharpest sight is not able

to discerne them; and the wiser sort of men are willing not to know

them; because shame and losse of honour is never imposed, but in cases

evident and apparant.

Perswade thy selfe then _Bernardo_, that, what women may accomplish

in secret, they will rarely faile to doe: or if they abstaine, it

is through feare and folly. Wherefore, hold it for a certaine rule,

that that woman is onely chaste, that never was solicited personally,

or if she endured any such sute, either shee answered yea, or no.

And albeit I know this to be true, by many infallible and naturall

reasons, yet could I not speake so exactly as I doe; if I had not tried

experimentally, the humours and affections of divers women. Yea, and

let me tell thee more _Bernardo_, were I in private company with thy

wife, howsoever pure and precise thou presumest her to be: I should

account it a matter of no impossibility, to finde in her the selfe same

frailty.

_Bernardoes_ blood began now to boile, and patience being a little

put downe by choller, thus hee replied. A combat of words requires

over-long continuance, for I maintaine the matter, which thou deniest,

and all this sorts to nothing in the end. But seeing thou presumest,

that all women are so apt and tractable, and thy selfe so confident

of thine owne power: I willingly yeeld (for the better assurance of

my wifes constant loyalty) to have my head smitten off, if thou canst

winne her to any such dishonest act, by any meanes whatsoever thou

canst use unto her; which if thou canst not doe, thou shalt onely loose

a thousand duckets of gold. Now began _Ambroginolo_ to be heated with

these words, answering thus. _Bernardo_, if I had won the wager, I know

not what I should doe with thy head; but if thou be willing to stand

upon the proofe, pawne downe five thousand Duckets of gold, (a matter

of much lesse value then thy head) against a thousand Duckets of mine,

granting me a lawfull limitted time, which I require to be no more then

the space of three moneths, after the day of my departing hence. I will

stand bound to goe for _Geneway_, and there winne such kinde consent

of thy Wife, as shall be to mine owne consent. In witnesse whereof, I

will bring backe with me such private and especiall tokens, as thou

thy selfe shalt confesse that I have not failed. Provided, that thou

doe first promise upon thy faith, to absent thy selfe thence during my

limitted time, and be no hinderance to me by thy Letters, concerning

the attempt by me undertaken.

_Bernardo_ saide, be it a bargaine, I am the man that will make good

my five thousand Duckets; and albeit the other Merchants then present,

earnestly laboured to breake the wager, knowing great harme must needs

ensue thereon: yet both the parties were so hot and fiery, as all the

other men spake to no effect, but writings were made, sealed, and

delivered under either of their hands, _Bernardo_ remaining at _Paris_,

and _Ambroginolo_ departing for _Geneway_. There he remained some few

dayes, to learne the streetes name where _Bernardo_ dwelt, as also the

conditions and qualities of his Wife, which scarcely pleased him when

he heard them; because they were farre beyond her Husbands relation,

and shee reputed to be the onely wonder of women; whereby he plainely

perceived, that he had undertaken a very idle enterprise, yet would he

not give it over so, but proceeded therein a little further.

He wrought such meanes, that he came acquainted with a poore woman, who

often frequented _Bernardoes_ house, and was greatly in favour with

his wife; upon whose poverty he so prevailed, by earnest perswasions,

but much more by large gifts of money, that he won her to further him

in this manner following. A faire and artificiall Chest he caused to

be purposely made, wherein himselfe might be aptly contained, and

so conveyed into the House of _Bernardoes_ Wife, under colour of a

formall excuse; that the poore woman should be absent from the City

two or three dayes, and shee must keepe it safe till he returne. The

Gentlewoman suspecting no guile, but that the Chest was the receptacle

of all the womans wealth; would trust it in no other roome, then her

owne Bed-chamber, which was the place where _Ambroginolo_ most desired

to bee.

Being thus conveyed into the Chamber, the night going on apace, and the

Gentlewoman fast asleepe in her bed, a lighted Taper stood burning on

the Table by her, as in her Husbands absence shee ever used to have:

_Ambroginolo_ softly opened the Chest, according as cunningly hee had

contrived it; and stepping forth in his sockes made of cloath, observed

the scituation of the Chamber, the paintings, pictures, and beautifull

hangings, with all things elsee that were remarkable, which perfectly

he committed to his memory. Going neere to the bed, he saw her lie

there sweetly sleeping, and her young Daughter in like manner by her,

shee seeming then as compleate and pleasing a creature, as when shee

was attired in her best bravery. No especiall note or marke could hee

descrie, whereof he might make credible report, but onely a small wart

upon her left pappe, with some few haires growing thereon, appearing to

be as yellow as gold.

Sufficient had he seene, and durst presume no further; but taking one

of her Rings, which lay upon the Table, a purse of hers, hanging by on

the wall, a light wearing Robe of silke, and her girdle, all which he

put into the Chest; and being in himselfe, closed it fast as it was

before, so continuing there in the Chamber two severall nights, the

Gentlewoman neither mistrusting or missing any thing. The third day

being come, the poore woman, according as formerly was concluded, came

to have home her Chest againe, and brought it safely into her owne

house; where _Ambroginolo_ comming forth of it, satisfied the poore

woman to her own liking, returning (with all the forenamed things) so

fast as conveniently he could to _Paris_.

Being arrived there long before his limitted time, he called the

Merchants together, who were present at the passed words and wager;

avouching before _Bernardo_, that he had won his five thousand Duckets,

and performed the taske he undertooke. To make good his protestation,

first he described the forme of the Chamber, the curious pictures

hanging about it, in what manner the bed stood, and every circumstance

elsee beside. Next he shewed the severall things, which he brought away

thence with him, affirming that he had received them of her selfe.

_Bernardo_ confessed, that his description of the Chamber was true,

and acknowledged moreover, that these other things did belong to his

Wife: But (quoth he) this may be gotten, by corrupting some servant

of mine, both for intelligence of the Chamber, as also of the Ring,

Purse, and what elsee is beside; all which suffice not to win the wager,

without some other more apparant and pregnant token. In troth, answered

_Ambroginolo_, me thinks these should serve for sufficient proofes; but

seeing thou art so desirous to know more: I plainely tell thee, that

faire _Genevra_ thy Wife, hath a small round wart upon her left pappe,

and some few little golden haires growing thereon.

When Bernardo heard these words, they were as so many stabs to his

heart, yea, beyond all compasse of patient sufferance, and by the

changing of his colour, it was noted manifestly, (being unable to utter

one word) that _Ambroginolo_ had spoken nothing but the truth. Within a

while after, he saide; Gentlemen, that which _Ambroginolo_ hath saide,

is very true, wherefore let him come when he will, and he shall be

paide; which accordingly he performed on the very next day, even to the

utmost penny, departing then from _Paris_ towards _Geneway_, with a

most malicious intention to his Wife: Being come neere to the City, he

would not enter it, but rode to a Countrey house of his, standing about

tenne miles distant thence. Being there arrived, he called a servant,

in whom hee reposed especiall trust, sending him to _Geneway_ with two

Horses, writing to his Wife, that he was returned, and shee should come

thither to see him. But secretly he charged his servant, that so soone

as he had brought her to a convenient place, he should there kill her,

without any pitty or compassion, and then returne to him againe.

When the servant was come to _Geneway_, and had delivered his Letter

and message, _Genevra_ gave him most joyful welcome, and on the morrow

morning mounting on Horse-backe with the servant, rode merrily towards

the Countrey house; divers things shee discoursed on by the way, til

they descended into a deepe solitary valey, very thickly beset with

high and huge spreading Trees, which the servant supposed to be a meete

place, for the execution of his Masters command. Suddenly drawing forth

his Sword, and holding _Genevra_ fast by the arme, he saide; Mistresse,

quickly commend your soule to God, for you must die, before you passe

any further. _Genevra_ seeing the naked Sword, and hearing the words

so peremptorily delivered, fearefully answered; Alas deare friend,

mercy for Gods sake; and before thou kill me, tell me wherein I have

offended thee, and why thou must kill me? Alas good Mistresse replied

the servant, you have not any way offended me, but in what occasion you

have displeased your Husband, it is utterly unknowne to me: for he hath

strictly commanded me, without respect of pitty or compassion, to kill

you by the way as I bring you, and if I doe it not, he hath sworne to

hang me by the necke. You know good Mistresse, how much I stand obliged

to him; and how impossible it is for me, to contradict any thing that

he commandedeth. God is my witnesse, that I am truly compassionate of

you, and yet (by no meanes) may I let you live.

_Genevra_ kneeling before him weeping, wringing her hands, thus

replied. Wilt thou turne Monster, and be a murtherer of her that never

wronged thee, to please another man, and on a bare command? God, who

truly knoweth all things, is my faithfull witnesse, that I never

committed any offence, whereby to deserve the dislike of my Husband,

much lesse so harsh a recompence as this is. But flying from mine owne

justification, and appealing to thy manly mercy, thou mayest (wert thou

but so well pleased) in a moment satisfie both thy Master and me, in

such manner as I will make plaine and apparant to thee. Take thou my

garments, spare me onely thy doublet, and such a Bonnet as is fitting

for a man, so returne with my habite to thy Master, assuring him,

that the deede is done. And here I sweare to thee, by that life which

I enjoy but by thy mercy, I will so strangely disguise my selfe, and

wander so farre off from these Countries, as neither he or thou, nor

any person belonging to these parts, shall ever heare any tydings of me.

The servant, who had no great good will to kill her, very easily grew

pittifull, tooke off her upper garments, and gave her a poore ragged

doublet, a sillie Chapperone, and such small store of money as he had,

desiring her to forsake that Countrey, and so left her to walke on

foote out of the vally. When he came to his Maister, and had delivered

him her garments, he assured him, that he had not onely accomplished

his commaund, but also was most secure from any discovery: because he

had no sooner done the deede, but foure or five very ravenous Wolfes,

came presently running to the dead body, and gave it buriall in their

bellies. _Bernardo_ soone after returning to _Geneway_, was much blamed

for such unkinde cruelty to his wife; but his constant avouching of her

treason to him (according then to the Countries custome) did cleare him

from all pursuite of law.

Poore _Genevra_, was left thus alone and disconsolate, and night

stealing fast upon her, shee went to a silly village neere adjoining,

where (by the meanes of a good olde woman) she got such provision as

the place afforded, making the doublet fit to her body, and converting

her petticote to a paire of breeches, according to the Mariners

fashion: then cutting her haire, and queintly disguised like to a

Sayler, shee went to the Sea coast. By good fortune, she met there with

a Gentleman of _Cathalogna_, whose name was _Signior Enchararcho_, who

came on land from his Ship, which lay hulling there about _Albagia_, to

refresh himselfe at a pleasant Spring. _Enchararcho_ taking her to be a

man, as shee appeared no otherwise by her habite; upon some conference

passing betweene them, shee was entertained into his service, and

being brought aboord the Ship, she went under the name of _Sicurano

da Finale_. There shee had better apparell bestowne on her by the

Gentleman, and her service proved so pleasing and acceptable to him,

that hee liked her care and diligence beyond all comparison.

It came to passe within a short while after, that this Gentleman of

_Cathalogna_ sayled (with some charge of his) into _Alexandria_,

carying thither certaine peregrine Faulcons, which hee presented to the

Soldane: who oftentimes welcommed this Gentleman to his table, where

hee observed the behaviour of _Sicurano_, attending on his Maisters

trencher, and therewith was so highly pleased; that he requested to

have him from the Gentleman, who (for his more advancement) willingly

parted with his so lately entertained servant. _Sicurano_ was so ready

and discreete in his dayly services; that he grew in as great grace

with the Soldane, as before he had done with _Enchararcho_.

At a certaine season in the yeare, as customarie order (there

observed) had formerly beene, in the Citie of _Acres_, which was

under the Soldanes subjection: there yearely met a great assembly of

Merchants, as Christians, Moores, Jewes, Sarrazines, and many other

Nations beside, as at a common Mart or Fayre. And to the end, that the

Merchants (for the better sale of their goods) might be there in the

safer assurance; the Soldane used to send thither some of his ordinarie

Officers, and a strong guard of Souldiers beside, to defend them from

all injuries and molestation, because he reaped thereby no meane

benefit. And who should be now sent about this businesse, but his new

elected favourite _Sicurano_; because she was skilfull and perfect in

the languages.

_Sicurano_ being come to _Acres_, as Lord and Captaine of the Guard for

the Merchants, and for the safety of their Merchandizes: she discharged

her office most commendably, walking with her traine through every

part of the Fayre, where shee observed a worthy company of Merchants,

Sicilians, Pisanes, Genewayes, Venetians, and other Italians, whom

the more willingly shee noted, in remembrance of her native Countrey.

At one especiall time, among other, chancing into a Shop or Boothe

belonging to the Venetians; she espied (hanging up with other costly

wares) a Purse and a Girdle, which suddainly shee remembred to be

sometime her owne, whereat she was not a little abashed in her mind.

But, without making any such outward shew, courteously she requested to

know, whose they were, and whether they should be sold, or no.

_Ambroginolo_ of _Placentia_, was likewise come thither, and great

store of Merchandizes hee had brought with him, in a Carrack

appertaining to the Venetians, and hee, hearing the Captaine of

the Guard demaund, whose they were; stepped foorth before him, and

smiling, answered: That they were his, but not to be solde, yet if

hee liked them gladly, hee would bestowe them on him. _Sicurano_

seeing him smile, suspected, least himselfe had (by some unfitting

behaviour) beene the occasion thereof: and therefore, with a more

setled countenance, hee said. Perhaps thou smilest, because I that am

a man, professing Armes, should question after such womanish toyes.

_Ambroginolo_ replied. My Lord, pardon me, I smile not at you, or your

demaund; but at the manner how I came by these things.

_Sicurano_, upon this answere, was ten times more desirous then before,

and said. If Fortune favoured thee in friendly manner, by the obtaining

of these things: if it may be spoken, tell me how thou hadst them. My

Lord (answered _Ambroginolo_) these things (with many more beside) were

given me by a Gentlewoman of _Geneway_, named Madame _Genevra_, the

wife to one _Bernardo Lomellino_, in recompence of one nights lodging

with her, and she desired me to keepe them for her sake. Now, the maine

reason of my smiling, was the remembrance of her husbands folly, in

waging five thousand Duckets of golde, against one thousand of mine,

that I should not obtaine my will of his wife, which I did, and thereby

wone the wager. But hee, who better deserved to be punished for his

folly, then shee, who was but sicke of all womens disease: returning

from _Paris_ to _Geneway_, caused her to be slaine, as afterward it was

reported by himselfe.

When _Sicurano_ heard this horrible lye, immediatly shee conceived,

that this was the occasion of her husbands hatred to her, and all the

hard haps which she had since suffered: whereupon, shee reputed it for

more then a mortall sinne, if such a villaine should passe without due

punishment. _Sicurano_ seemed to like well this report, and grew into

such familiarity with _Ambroginolo_, that (by her perswasions) when the

Fayre was ended, she tooke him higher with her into _Alexandria_, and

all his Wares along with him, furnishing him with a fit and convenient

Shop, where he made great benefit of his Merchandizes, trusting all

his monies in the Captaines custody, because it was the safest course

for him; and so he continued there with no meane contentment.

Much did shee pitty her Husbands perplexity, devising by what good

and warrantable meanes, she might make knowne her innocency to him;

wherein her place and authority did greatly sted her, and shee wrought

with divers gallant Merchants of _Geneway_, that then remained in

_Alexandria_, and by vertue of the _Soldans_ friendly Letters, beside

to bring him thither upon an especiall occasion. Come he did, albeit

in poore and meane order, which soone was better altered by her

appointment, and he very honourably (though in private) entertained by

divers of her worthy friends, till time did favour what shee further

intended.

In the expectation of _Bernardoes_ arrivall, shee had so prevailed

with _Ambroginolo_, that the same tale which he formerly tolde to her,

he delivered againe in presence of the _Soldane_, who seemed to be

well pleased with it: But after shee had once seene her Husband, shee

thought upon her more serious businesse; providing her selfe of an apt

opportunity, when shee entreated such favour of the _Soldane_, that

both the men might be brought before him, where if _Ambroginolo_ would

not confesse (without constraint) that which he had made his vaunt of

concerning _Bernardoes_ Wife, he might be compelled thereto perforce.

_Sicuranoes_ word was a Law with the _Soldane_, so that _Ambroginolo_

and _Bernardo_ being brought face to face, the _Soldane_, with a sterne

and angry countenance, in the presence of a most Princely Assembly;

commanded _Ambroginolo_ to declare the truth, yea, upon peril of his

life, by what means he won the wager, of the five thousand golden

Duckets he received of _Bernardo. Ambroginolo_ seeing _Sicurano_ there

present, upon whose favour he wholly relied, yet perceiving her lookes

likewise to be as dreadfull as the _Soldanes_, and hearing her threaten

him with most greevous torments, except he revealed the truth indeede:

you may easily guesse (faire company) in what condition he stood at

that instant.

Frownes and fury he beheld on either side, and _Bernardo_ standing

before him, with a world of famous witnesses, to heare his lie

confounded by his owne confession, and his tongue to denie what it

had before so constantly avouched. Yet dreaming on no other paine

or penalty, but restoring backe the five thousand Duckets of gold,

and the other things by him purloyned, truly he revealed the whole

forme of his falshood. Then _Sicurano_ according as the _Soldane_ had

formerly commanded him, turning to _Bernardo_, saide. And thou, upon

the suggestion of this foule lie, what didst thou to thy Wife? Being

(quoth _Bernardo_) overcome with rage, for the losse of my money, and

the dishonour I supposed to receive by my Wife; I caused a servant of

mine to kill her, and as he credibly avouched, her body was devoured by

ravenous Wolves in a moment after.

These things being thus spoken and heard, in the presence of the

_Soldane_, and no reason (as yet) made knowne, why the case was so

seriously urged, and to what end it would succeede: _Sicurano_ spake

in this manner to the Soldane. My gracious Lord, you may plainely

perceive, in what degree that poore Gentlewoman might make her vaunt,

being so well provided, both of a loving friend, and a husband. Such

was the friends love, that in an instant, and by a wicked lye, hee

robbed her both of her renowne and honour, and bereft her also of her

husband. And her husband, rather crediting anothers falshood, then

the invincible trueth, whereof he had faithfull knowledge, by long

and very honourable experience; caused her to be slaine, and made

foode for devouring Wolves. Beside all this, such was the good will

and affection, borne to that woman both by friend and husband, that

the longest continuer of them in her company, makes them alike in

knowledge of her. But because your great wisedome knoweth perfectly,

what each of them have worthily deserved: if you please (in your ever

knowne gracious benignity) to permit the punishment of the deceiver,

and pardon the party so deceived; I will procure such meanes, that she

shall appeare here in your presence, and theirs.

The Soldane, being desirous to give _Sicurano_ all manner of

satisfaction, having followed the course so industriously: bad him

to produce the woman, and hee was well contented. Whereat _Bernardo_

stoode much amazed, because he verily beleeved that she was dead. And

_Ambroginolo_ foreseeing already a preparation for punishment, feared,

that the repayment of the money would not now serve his turne: not

knowing also what he should further hope or suspect, if the woman her

selfe did personally appeare, which hee imagined would be a miracle.

_Sicurano_ having thus obtayned the Soldanes permission, in teares,

humbling her selfe at his feete, in a moment shee lost her manly voyce

and demeanour, as knowing, that she was now no longer to use them, but

must truely witnesse what she was indeede, and therefore thus spake.

Great Soldane, I am the miserable and unfortunate _Genevra_, that, for

the space of sixe whole yeares, have wandered through the world, in

the habite of a man, falsly and most maliciously slaundered, by this

villainous traytour _Ambroginolo_, and by this unkinde cruell husband,

betrayed to his servant to be slaine, and left to be devoured by savage

beasts. Afterward, desiring such garments as better fitted for her, and

shewing her brests; she made it apparant, before the Soldane and his

assistants, that she was the very same woman indeede. Then turning her

selfe to _Ambroginolo_, with more then manly courage, she demaunded of

him, when, and where it was, that he lay with her, as (villainously)

he was not ashamed to make his vaunt. But hee, having alreadie

acknowledged the contrarie, being stricken dumbe with shamefull

disgrace, was not able to utter one word.

The Soldane, who had alwayes reputed _Sicurano_ to be a man, having

heard and seene so admirable an accident: was so amazed in his minde,

that many times he was very doubtfull, whether this was a dreame, or

an absolute relation of trueth. But, after hee had more seriously

considered thereon, and found it to be reall and infallible: with

extraordinary gracious praises, he commended the life, constancie,

conditions and vertues of _Genevra_, whom (till that time) he had

alwayes called _Sicurano_. So committing her to the company of

honourable Ladies, to be changed from her manly habite: he pardoned

_Bernardo_ her husband (according to her request formerly made)

although hee had more justly deserved death; which likewise himselfe

confessed, and falling at the feete of _Genevra_, desired her (in

teares) to forgive his rash transgression, which most lovingly she did,

kissing and embracing him a thousand times.

Then the Soldane strictly commaunded, that on some high and eminent

place of the Citie, _Ambroginolo_ should be bound and impaled on a

Stake, having his naked body annointed all over with honey, and never to

be taken off, untill (of it selfe) it fell in pieces, which, according

to the sentence, was presently performed. Next, he gave expresse

charge, that all his mony and goods should be given to _Genevra_,

which valued above ten thousand double Duckets. Forth-with a solemne

feast was prepared, wherein, much honour was done to _Bernardo_, being

the husband of _Genevra_: and to her, as to a most worthy woman, and

matchlesse wife, he gave in costly Jewelse, as also vesselse of gold and

silver plate, so much as amounted to above ten thousand double Duckets

more.

When the feasting was finished, he caused a Ship to be furnished for

them, graunting them licence to depart for _Geneway_ when they pleased:

whither they returned most rich and joyfully, being welcommed home with

great honour, especially Madame _Genevra_, whom every one supposed

to be dead, and alwayes after, so long as shee lived, shee was most

famous for her manifold vertues. But as for _Ambroginolo_, the very

same day that he was impaled on the Stake, annointed with honey, and

fixed in the place appointed, to his no meane torment: he not onely

died, but likewise was devoured to the bare bones, by Flyes, Waspes and

Hornets, whereof the Countrey notoriously aboundeth. And his bones,

in full forme and fashion, remained strangely blacke for a long while

after, knit together by the sinewes; as a witnesse to many thousands of

people, which afterward beheld his carkasse of his wickednesse against

so good and vertuous a woman, that had not so much as a thought of any

evill towards him. And thus was the Proverbe truly verified, that shame

succeedeth after ugly sinne, and the deceiver is trampled and trod, by

such as himselfe hath deceived.

Pagamino da Monaco, _a roving Pirate on the Seas, caried away the

faire Wife of_ Signior Ricciardo di Chinzica, _who understanding where

shee was, went thither; and falling into friendship with_ Pagamino,

_demaunded his Wife of him; whereto he yeelded, provided, that shee

would willingly goe away with him. She denied to part thence with

her Husband, and_ Signior Ricciardo _dying; she became the Wife of_

Pagamino.

The tenth Novell.

_Wherein olde men are wittily reprehended, that will match themselves

with younger women, then is fit for their yeares and insufficiencie;

never considering, what afterward may happen to them._

Every one in this honest and gracious assembly, most highly commended

the Novell recounted by the Queene: but especially _Dioneus_, who

remained, to finish that dayes pleasure with his owne discourse;

and after many praises of the former tale were past, thus he began.

Faire Ladies, part of the Queenes Novell, hath made an alteration

of my minde, from that which I intended to proceede next withall,

and therefore I will report another. I cannot forget the unmanly

indiscretion of _Bernardo_, but much more the base arrogancie of

_Ambroginolo_, how justly deserved shame fell upon him; as well it

may happen to all other, that are so vile in their owne opinions, as

he apparantly approved himselfe to be. For, as men wander abroade in

the world, according to their occasions in diversity of Countries, and

observation of the peoples behaviour: so are their humours as variously

transported. And if they finde women wantonly disposed abroade, the

like judgement they give of their wives at home; as if they had never

knowne their birth and breeding, or made proofe of their loyall

carriage towards them. Wherefore, the Tale that I purpose to relate,

will likewise condemne all the like kinde of men; but more especially

such, as suppose themselves to be endued with more strength, then

Nature ever meant to bestow upon them, foolishly beleeving, that they

can cover and satisfie their owne defects, by fabulous demonstrations;

and thinking to fashion other of their owne complexions, that are

meerely strangers to such grosse follies.

Let me tell you then, that there lived in _Pisa_ (about some hundred

yeeres before _Tuscanie_ & _Liguria_ came to embrace the Christian

Faith) a Judge better stored with wisdome and ingenuity, then corporall

abilities of the body, he being named _Signior Ricciardo di Cinzica_.

He being more then halfe perswaded, that he could content a woman

with such satisfaction as he daily bestowed on his studies, being a

widdower, and extraordinarily wealthy; laboured (with no meane paines

and endeavour) to enjoy a faire and youthfull wife in marriage: both

which qualities he should much rather have avoyded, if he could have

ministred as good counsell to himselfe, as he did to others, resorting

to him for advice.

Upon this his amorous and diligent inquisition, it came so to passe,

that a worthy Gentlewoman, called _Bertolomea_, one of the very fairest

and choysest young Maides in _Pisa_, whose youth did hardly agree with

his age; but mucke was the motive of this mariage, and no expectation

of mutuall contentment. The Judge being maried, and the Bride brought

solemnly home to his house, we need make no question of brave cheare

& banqueting, wel furnished by their friends on either side: other

matters were now hammering in the Judges head, for though he could

please all his Clyents with counsell; yet now such a sute was commenced

against himself, and in Beauties Court of continuall requests, that the

Judge failing in plea for his owne defence, was often non-suited by

lacke of answer; yet he wanted neither good wines, drugges, and all

restauratives, to comfort the heart, and encrease good blood; but all

avayled not in this case.

But well fare a good courage, where performance faileth, he could

liberally commend his passed joviall dayes, and make a promise of

as faire felicities yet to come; because his youth would renew it

selfe, like to the Eagle, and his vigour in as full force as before.

But beside all these idle allegations, he would needs instruct his

wife in an Almanack or Calender, which (long before) he had bought at

_Ravenna_, and wherein he plainely shewed her, that there was not any

one day in the yeere, but it was dedicated to some Saint or other. In

reverence of whom, and for their sakes, he approved by divers arguments

& reasons, that a man & his wife ought to abstaine from bedding

together. Hereto he added, that those Saints dayes had their fasts

& feasts, beside the foure seasons of the yeere, the vigils of the

Apostles, and a thousand other holy dayes, with Fridayes, Saturdayes,

& Sundayes, in honour of our Lords rest, and all the sacred time of

Lent; as also certaine observations of the Moone, & infinite other

exceptions beside; thinking perhaps, that it was as convenient for men

to refraine from their wives conversation, as he did often times from

sitting in the Court. These were his daily documents to his young wife,

wherewith (poore soule) she became so tired, as nothing could be more

irksome to her; and very carefull he was, lest any other shold teach her

what belonged to working daies, because he wold have her know none but

holidaies.

Afterward it came to passe, that the season waxing extremely hot,

_Signior Ricciardo_ would goe recreate himselfe at his house in the

Countrey, neere unto the black Mountaine, where for his faire wives

more contentment, he continued divers dayes together. And for her

further recreation, he gave order, to have a day of fishing; he going

aboard a small Pinnace among the Fishers, and shee was in another,

consorted with divers other Gentlewomen, in whose company shee shewed

her selfe very well pleased. Delight made them launch further into

the Sea, then either the Judge was willing they should have done,

or agreed with respect of their owne safety. For suddenly a Galliot

came upon them, wherein was one _Pagamino_, a Pyrate very famous in

those dayes, who espying the two Pinnaces, made out presently to them,

and seized on that wherein the women were. When he beheld there so

faire a young woman, he coveted after no other purchase; but mounting

her into his Galliot, in the sight of _Signior Ricciardo_, who (by

this time) was fearefully landed, he caried her away with him. When

_Signior_ Judge had seene this theft (he being so jealous of his wife,

as scarcely he would let the ayre breathe on her) it were a needlesse

demand, to know whether he was offended, or no. He made complaint at

_Pisa_, and in many other places beside, what injury he had sustained

by those Pyrates, in carying his wife thus away from him: but all was

in vaine, he neither (as yet) knew the man, nor whether he had conveyed

her from him. _Pagamino_ perceiving what a beautifull woman she was,

made the more precious esteeme of his purchase, and being himselfe a

bachelar, intended to keepe her as his owne; comforting her with kind

and pleasing speeches, not using any harsh or uncivill demeanour to her,

because shee wept and lamented grievously. But when night came, her

husbands Calendar falling from her girdle, and all the fasts & feasts

quite out of her remembrance; she received such curteous consolations

from _Pagamino_, that before they could arrive at _Monaco_, the Judge

& his Law cases, were almost out of her memory, such was his affable

behaviour to her, and she began to converse with him in more friendly

manner, and he entreating her as honourably, as if shee had beene his

espoused wife.

Within a short while after, report had acquainted _Ricciardo_

the Judge, where, & how his wife was kept from him; whereupon he

determined, not to send any one, but rather to go himselfe in person,

& to redeem her from the Pyrate, with what sums of mony he should

demand. By Sea he passed to _Monaco_, where he saw his wife, and shee

him, as (soone after) shee made known to _Pagamino_. On the morrow

following, _Signior Ricciardo_ meeting with _Pagamino_, made means

to be acquainted with him, & within lesse then an houres space, they

grew into familiar & private conference: _Pagamino_ yet pretending not

to know him, but expected what issue this talke would sort to. When

time served, the Judge discoursed the occasion of his comming thither,

desiring him to demand what ransome he pleased, & that he might have

his wife home with him; whereto _Pagamino_ thus answered.

My Lord Judge, you are welcome hither, and to answer you breefely

very true it is, that I have a yong Gentlewoman in my house, whome I

neither know to be your wife, of any other mans elsee whatsoever: for I

am ignorant both of you and her, albeit she hath remained a while here

with me. If you bee her husband, as you seeme to avouch, I will bring

her to you, for you appeare to be a worthy Gentleman, and (questionles)

she cannot chuse but know you perfectly. If she do confirme that which

you have said, and be willing to depart hence with you: I shall rest

well satisfied, and will have no other recompence for her ransome (in

regard of your grave and reverent yeares) but what your selfe shall

please to give me. But if it fall out otherwise, and prove not to be

as you have affirmed: you shall offer me great wrong, in seeking to

get her from me; because I am a young man, and can as well maintaine

so faire a wife, as you, or any man elsee that I know. Beleeve it

certainly, replied the Judge, that she is my wife, and if you please

to bring me where she is, you shall soone perceive it: for, she will

presently cast her armes about my neck, and I durst adventure the utter

losse of her, if shee denie to doe it in your presence. Come on then,

said _Pagamino_, and let us delay the time no longer.

When they were entred into _Pagaminoes_ house, and sate downe in the

Hall, he caused her to be called, and shee, being readily prepared for

the purpose, came forth of her Chamber before them both, where friendly

they sate conversing together; never uttering any one word to _Signior

Ricciardo_, or knowing him from any other stranger, that _Pagamino_

might bring in to the house with him. Which when my Lord the Judge

beheld, (who expected to finde a farre more gracious welcome) he stoode

as a man amazed, saying to himselfe. Perhaps the extraordinary griefe

and melancholly, suffered by me since the time of her losse; hath so

altred my wonted complexion, that shee is not able to take knowledge

of me. Wherefore, going neerer to her, hee said. Faire Love, dearely

have I bought your going on fishing, because never man felt the like

afflictions, as I have done since the day when I lost you: but by this

your uncivill silence, you seeme as if you did not know me. Why dearest

Love, seest thou not that I am thy husband _Ricciardo_, who am come to

pay what ransome this Gentleman shall demaund, even in the house where

now we are: so to convay thee home againe, upon his kinde promise of

thy deliverance, after the payment of thy ransome?

_Bertolomea_ turning towards him, and seeming as if shee smiled to her

selfe, thus answered. Sir, speake you to me? Advise your selfe well,

least you mistake me for some other, because, concerning my selfe,

I doe not remember, that ever I did see you till now. How now quoth

_Ricciardo_? consider better what you say, looke more circumspectly

on me, and then you will remember, that I am your loving husband, and

my name is _Ricciardo di Cinzica_. You must pardon me Sir, replied

_Bertolomea_, I know it not so fitting for a modest woman (though you

(perhaps) are so perswaded) to stand gazing in the faces of men: and

let mee looke upon you never so often, certaine I am, that (till this

instant) I have not seene you.

My Lord Judge conceived in his mind, that thus she denied all

knowledge of him, as standing in feare of _Pagamino_, and would not

confesse him in his presence. Wherefore hee entreated of _Pagamino_,

to affoord him so much favour, that he might speake alone with her in

her Chamber. _Pagamino_ answered, that he was well contented therewith,

provided, that he should not kisse her against her will. Then he

requested _Bertolomea_, to goe with him alone into her Chamber, there

to heare what he could say, and to answere him as shee found occasion.

When they were come into the Chamber, and none there present but he

and shee, _Signior Ricciardo_ began in this manner. Heart of my heart,

life of my life, the sweetest hope that I have in this world; wilt

thou not know thine owne _Ricciardo_, who loveth thee more then he

doth himselfe? Why art thou so strange? Am I so disfigured, that thou

knowest me not? Behold me with a more pleasing eye, I pray thee.

_Bertolomea_ smiled to her selfe, and without suffering him to proceed

any further in speech, returned him this answere. I would have you to

understand Sir, that my memory is not so oblivious, but I know you to

be _Signior Ricciardo di Cinzica_, and my husband by name or title;

but during the time that I was with you, it very ill appeared that you

had any knowledge of me. For if you had been so wise and considerate,

as (in your own judgement) the world reputed you to be, you could not

be voide of so much apprehension, but did apparantly perceive, that I

was young, fresh, and cheerefully disposed; and so (by consequent) meet

to know matters requisite for such young women, beside allowance of

food & garments, though bashfulnesse & modesty forbid to utter it. But

if studying the Lawes were more welcome to you then a wife, you ought

not to have maried, & you loose the worthy reputation of a Judge, when

you fall from that venerable profession, and make your selfe a common

proclaimer of feasts and fasting dayes, lenten seasons, vigils, &

solemnities due to Saints, which prohibite the houshold conversation of

husbands and wives.

Here am I now with a worthy Gentleman, that entertained mee with very

honourable respect, and here I live in this chamber, not so much

as hearing of any feasts or fasting daies; for, neither Fridaies,

Saturdaies, vigils of Saints, or any lingering Lents, enter at this

doore: but here is honest and civill conversation, better agreeing

with a youthfull disposition, then those harsh documents wherewith

you tutord me. Wherefore my purpose is to continue here with him, as

being a place sutable to my mind & youth, referring feasts, vigils, &

fasting dayes, to a more mature & stayed time of age, when the body is

better able to endure them, & the mind may be prepared for such ghostly

meditations: depart therefore at your owne pleasure, and make much of

your Calender, without enjoying any company of mine, for you heare my

resolved determination.

The Judge hearing these words, was overcome with exceeding griefe, &

when she was silent, thus he began. Alas deare Love, what an answer is

this? Hast thou no regard of thine owne honour, thy Parents, & friends?

Canst thou rather affect to abide here, for the pleasures of this man,

and so sin capitally, then to live at _Pisa_ in the state of my wife?

Consider deare heart, when this man shall waxe weary of thee, to thy

shame & his owne disgrace, he will reject thee. I must and shall love

thee for ever, and when I dye, I leave thee Lady and commandresse

of all that is mine. Can an inordinate appetite, cause thee to be

carelesse of thine honour, and of him that loves thee as his owne

life? Alas, my fairest hope, say no more so, but returne home with me,

and now that I am acquainted with thy inclination; I will endeavour

heereafter to give thee better contentment. Wherefore (deare heart) doe

not denie me, but change thy minde, and goe with me, for I never saw

merry day since I lost thee.

Sir (quoth she) I desire no body to have care of mine honour, beside

my selfe, because it cannot be here abused. And as for my parents,

what respect had they of me, when they made me your wife: if then they

could be so carelesse of mee, what reason have I to regard them now?

And whereas you taxe me, that I cannot live here without capitall

sin; farre is the thought thereof from me, for, here I am regarded as

the wife of _Pagamino_, but at _Pisa_, you reputed me not worthy your

society: because, by the point of the Moone, and the quadratures of

Geomatrie; the Planets held conjunction betweene you and me, whereas

here I am subject to no such constellations. You say beside, that

hereafter you will strive to give me better contentment then you have

done: surely, in mine opinion it is no way possible, because our

complexions are so farre different, as Ice is from fire, or gold from

drosse. As for your allegation, of this Gentlemans rejecting me, when

his humour is satisfied; should if it prove to be so (as it is the

least part of my feare) what fortune soever shall betide me, never will

I make any meanes to you, what miseries or misadventures may happen

to me; but the world will affoord me one resting place or other, and

more to my contentment, then if I were with you. Therefore I tell you

once againe, to live secured from all offence to holy Saints, and not

to injury their feasts, fasts, vigills, and other ceremonious seasons:

here is my demourance, and from hence I purpose not to part.

Our Judge was now in a wofull perplexity, and confessing his folly, in

marying a wife so yong, and far unfit for his age and abilitie: being

halfe desperate, sad and displeased, he came forth of the Chamber,

using divers speeches to _Pagamino_, whereof he made little or no

account at all, and in the end, without any other successe, left his

wife there, & returned home to _Pisa_. There, further afflictions fell

upon him, because the people began to scorne him, demanding dayly of

him, what was become of his gallant young wife, making hornes, with

ridiculous pointings at him: whereby his sences became distracted,

so that he ran raving about the streetes, and afterward died in very

miserable manner. Which newes came no sooner to the eare of _Pagamino_,

but, in the honourable affection hee bare to _Bertolomea_, he maried

her, with great solemnity; banishing all Fasts, Vigils, and Lents

from his house, and living with her in much felicity. Wherefore

(faire Ladies) I am of opinion, that _Bernardo_ of _Geneway_, in his

disputation with _Ambroginolo_, might have shewne himselfe a great

deale wiser, and spared his rash proceeding with his wife.

This tale was so merrily entertained among the whole company, that

each one smiling upon another, with one consent commended _Dioneus_,

maintaining that he spake nothing but the truth, & condemning

_Bernardo_ for his cruelty. Upon a generall silence commanded, the

Queene perceiving that the time was now very farre spent, and every

one had delivered their severall Novelse, which likewise gave a period

to her Royalty: shee gave the Crowne to Madam _Neiphila_, pleasantly

speaking to her in this order. Heereafter, the government of these few

people is committed to your trust and care, for with the day concludeth

my dominion. Madam _Neiphila_, blushing at the honour done unto her, her

cheekes appeared of a vermillion tincture, her eyes glittering with

gracefull desires, and sparkling like the morning Starre. And after

the modest murmure of the Assistants was ceased, and her courage in

chearfull manner setled, seating her selfe higher then she did before,

thus she spake.

Seeing it is so, that you have elected me your Queene, to varie

somewhat from the course observed by them that went before me, whose

government you have all so much commended: by approbation of your

counsell, I am desirous to speake my mind, concerning what I wold have

to be next followed. It is not unknown to you all, that to morrow

shal be Friday, and Saturday the next day following, which are daies

somewhat molestuous to the most part of men, for preparation of their

weekly food & sustenance. Moreover, Friday ought to be reverendly

respected, in remembrance of him, who died to give us life, and endured

his bitter passion, as on that day; which makes me to hold it fit and

expedient, that wee should mind more weighty matters, and rather attend

our prayers & devotions, then the repetition of tales or Novelse. Now

concerning Saturday, it hath bin a custom observed among women, to bath

& wash themselves from such immundicities as the former weekes toile

hath imposed on them. Beside, it is a day of fasting, in honour of the

ensuing Sabath, whereon no labour may be done, but the observation of

holy exercises.

By that which hath bin saide, you may easily conceive, that the course

which we have hitherto continued, cannot bee prosecuted, in one and

the same manner: wherefore, I would advice and do hold it an action wel

performed by us, to cease for these few dayes, from recounting any

other Novelse. And because we have remained here foure daies already,

except we would allow the enlarging of our company, with some other

friends that may resort unto us: I think it necessary to remove from

hence, & take our pleasure in another place, which is already by me

determined. When we shal be there assembled, and have slept on the

discourses formerly delivered, let our next argument be still the

mutabilities of Fortune, but especially to concerne such persons, as

by their wit and ingenuity, industriously have attained to some matter

earnestly desired, or elsee recovered againe, after the losse. Heereon

let us severally study and premeditate, that the hearers may receive

benefit thereby, with the comfortable maintenance of our harmlesse

recreations; the priviledge of _Dioneus_ alwayes reserved to himselfe.

Every one commended the Queens deliberation, concluding that it shold

be accordingly prosecuted: and thereupon, the master of the houshold

was called, to give him order for that evenings Table service, and

what elsee concerned the time of the Queenes Royalty, wherein he was

sufficiently instructed: which being done, the company arose, licensing

every one to doe what they listed. The Ladies and Gentlemen walked to

the Garden, and having sported themselves there a while; when the houre

of supper came, they sate downe, and fared very daintily. Being risen

from the Table, according to the Queenes command, Madam _Æmilia_ led

the dance, and the ditty following, was sung by Madam _Pampinea_, being

answered by all the rest, as a Chorus.

_The Song.

And if not I, what Lady elsee can sing,

Of those delights, which kind contentment bring?

Come, come, sweet Love, the cause of my chiefe good,

Of all my hopes, the firme and full effect;

Sing we together, but in no sad moode,

Of sighes or teares, which joy doth counterchecke:

Stolne pleasures are delightfull in the taste,

But yet Loves fire is often times too fierce;

Consuming comfort with ore-speedy haste,

Which into gentle hearts too far doth pierce.

And if not I, &c.

The first day that I felt this fiery heate,

So sweete a passion did possesse my soule,

That though I found the torment sharpe, and great;

Yet still me thought t'was but a sweete controule.

Nor could I count it rude, or rigorous,

Taking my wound from such a piercing eye:

As made the paine most pleasing, gracious,

That I desire in such assaults to die.

And if not I, &c.

Grant then great God of Love, that I may still

Enjoy the benefit of my desire;

And honour her with all my deepest skill,

That first enflamde my heart with holy fire.

To her my bondage is free liberty,

My sicknesse health, my tortures sweet repose;

Say shee the word, in full felicity,

All my extreames joyne in an happy close.

Then if not I, what Lover elsee can sing,

Of those delights which kind contentment bring._

After this Song was ended, they sung divers other beside, and having

great variety of instruments, they played to them as many pleasing

dances. But the Queene considering that the meete houre for rest was

come, with their lighted Torches before them they all repaired to their

Chambers; sparing the other dayes next succeeding, for those reasons by

the Queene alleaged, and spending the Sunday in solemne devotion.

_The ende of the second Day._

The Third Day.

_Upon which Day, all matters to be discoursed on, doe passe under the

regiment of Madam_ Neiphila: _concerning such persons as (by their wit

and industry) have attained to their long wished desires, or recovered

something, supposed to be lost.