It hath bin observed as an ancient Adage, that when disasters are

ordained to any one, commonly they prove to be inevitable, as poore

_Ghismonda_ could witnesse too well. For, while the King thus slept,

shee having (unluckily) appointed another meeting with _Guiscardo_,

left hir Gentlewomen in the Garden, and stealing softly into her

Chamber, having made all fast and sure, for being descried by any

person: opened the doore to _Guiscardo_, who stood there ready on

the staire-head, awaiting his entrance; and they sitting downe on

the bed side (according as they were wont to do) began their usuall

kinde conference againe, with sighes and loving kisses mingled among

them. It chanced that the King awaked, & both hearing and seeing this

familiarity of _Guiscardo_ with his Daughter, he became extreamly

confounded with greefe thereat. Once he intended, to cry out for helpe,

to have them both there apprehended; but he helde it a part of greater

wisedome, to sit silent still, and (if hee could) to keepe himselfe

so closely concealed: to the end, that he might the more secretly,

and with far less disgrace to himselfe, performe what hee had rashly

intended to do.

The poore discovered Lovers, having ended their amorous interparlance,

without suspition of the Kings being so neer in person, or any else,

to betray their over-confident trust; _Guiscardo_ descended againe

into the Cave, and she leaving the Chamber, returned to her women in

the Garden; all which _Tancrede_ too well observed, and in a rapture

of fury, departed (unseene) into his owne lodging. The same night,

about the houre of mens first sleepe, and according as he had given

order; _Guiscardo_ was apprehended, even as he was comming forth of the

loope-hole, & in his homely leather habite. Very closely was he brought

before the King, whose heart was swolne so great with greefe, as hardly

was hee able to speake: notwithstanding, at the last he began thus.

_Guiscardo_, the love & respect I have used towards thee, hath not

deserved the shameful wrong which thou hast requited me withall, and as

I have seene with mine owne eyes this day. Whereto _Guiscardo_ could

answer nothing elsee, but onely this: Alas my Lord! Love is able to do

much more, then either you, or I. Whereupon, _Tancrede_ commanded, that

he should bee secretly well guarded, in a neere adjoining Chamber, and

on the next day, _Ghismonda_ having (as yet) heard nothing heereof, the

Kings braine being infinitely busied and troubled, after dinner, and

as he often had used to do: he went to his daughters chamber, where

calling for her, and shutting the doores closely to them, the teares

trickling downe his aged white beard, thus he spake to her.

_Ghismonda_, I was once grounded in a setled perswasion, that I truely

knew thy vertue, and honest integrity of life; and this beleefe could

never have bene altred in mee, by any sinister reports whatsoever,

had not mine eyes seene, and mine eares heard the contrary. Nor did I

so much as conceive a thought either of thine affection, or private

conversing with any man, but onely he that was to be thy husband.

But now, I my selfe being able to avouch thy folly, imagine what an

heart-breake this will be to me, so long as life remaineth in this

poore, weak, and aged body. Yet, if needs thou must have yeelded to

this wanton weakenesse, I would thou hadst made choise of a man,

answerable to thy birth & Nobility: whereas on the contrary, among

so many worthy spirits as resort to my Court, thou likest best to

converse with that silly yong man _Guiscardo_, one of very meane and

base descent, and by mee (even for Gods sake) from his very youngest

yeares, brought uppe to this instant in my Court; wherein thou hast

given me much affliction of minde, and so overthrowne my senses, as I

cannot wel imagine how I should deale with thee. For him, whom I have

this night caused to be surprized, even as he came forth of your close

contrived conveyance, and detaine as my prisoner, I have resolved how

to proceed with him: but concerning thy selfe, mine oppressions are

so many and violent, as I know not what to say of thee. One way, thou

hast meerly murthered the unfeigned affection I bare thee, as never any

father could expresse more to his child: and then againe, thou hast

kindled a most just indignation in me, by thine immodest and wilfull

folly, and whereas Nature pleadeth pardon for the one, yet justice

standeth up against the other, and urgeth cruell severity against thee:

neverthelesse, before I will determine upon any resolution, I come

purposely first to heare thee speake, and what thou canst say for thy

selfe, in a bad case, so desperate and dangerous.

Having thus spoken, he hung downe the head in his bosome, weeping

as abundantly, as if it had beene a childe severely disciplinde. On

the other side, _Ghismonda_ hearing the speeches of her Father, and

perceiving withall, that not onely her secret love was discovered, but

also _Guiscardo_ was in close prison, the matter which most of all did

torment her; shee fell into a very strange kinde of extasie, scorning

teares, and entreating tearmes, such as feminine frailety are alwayes

aptest unto: but rather, with height of courage, controling feare or

servile basenesse, and declaring invincible fortitude in her very

lookes, shee concluded with her selfe, rather then to urge any humble

perswasions, shee would lay her life downe at the stake. For plainely

shee perceived, that _Guiscardo_ already was a dead man in Law, and

death was likewise as welcome to her, rather then the deprivation of

her Love; and therefore, not like a weeping woman, or as checkt by the

offence committed, but carelesse of any harme happening to her: stoutly

and couragiously, not a teare appearing in her eye, or her soule any

way to be perturbed, thus shee spake to her Father.

_Tancrede_, to denie what I have done, or to entreate any favour from

you, is now no part of my disposition: for as the one can little availe

me, so shall not the other any way advantage me. Moreover, I covet

not, that you should extend any clemency or kindnesse to me, but by

my voluntary confession of the truth; doe intend (first of all) to

defend mine honour, with reasons sound, good, and substantiall, and

then vertuously pursue to full effect, the greatnesse of my minde and

constant resolution. True it is, that I have loved, and still doe,

honourable _Guiscardo_, purposing the like so long as I shall live,

which will be but a small while: but if it bee possible to continue

the same affection after death, it is for ever vowed to him onely. Nor

did mine owne womanish weaknesse so much thereto induce me, as the

matchlesse vertues shining cleerely in _Guiscardo_, and the little

respect you had of marrying me againe. Why royall Father, you cannot be

ignorant, that you being composed of flesh and blood, have begotten a

Daughter of the selfe same composition, and not made of stone or yron.

Moreover, you ought to remember (although now you are farre stept in

yeeres) what the Lawes of youth are, and with what difficulty they are

to be contradicted. Considering withall, that albeit (during the vigour

of your best time) you evermore were exercised in Armes; yet you should

likewise understand, that negligence and idle delights, have mighty

power, not onely in yong people, but also in them of greatest yeeres.

I being then made of flesh and blood, and so derived from your selfe;

having had also so little benefit of life, that I am yet in the spring,

and blooming time of my blood: by either of these reasons, I must needs

be subject to naturall desires, wherein such knowledge as I have once

already had, in the estate of my marriage, perhaps might move a further

intelligence of the like delights, according to the better ability of

strength, which exceeding all capacity of resistance, induced a second

motive to affection, answerable to my time and youthful desires, and

so (like a yong woman) I became amorous againe; yet did I strive,

even with all my utmost might, and best vertuous faculties abiding in

me, no way to disgrace either you or my selfe, as (in equall censure)

yet I have not done. But Nature is above all humane power, and Love,

commanded by Nature, hath prevailed for Love, joyning with Fortune: in

meere pity and commiseration of my extreme wrong, I found them both

most benigne and gracious, teaching me a way secret enough, whereby I

might reach the height of my desires, howsoever you became instructed,

or (perhaps) found it out by accident; so it was, and I denie it not.

Nor did I make election of _Guiscardo_ by chance, or rashly, as many

women doe, but by deliberate counsell in my soule, and most mature

advise; I chose him above all other, and having his honest harmelesse

conversation, mutually we enjoyed our hearts contentment. Now it

appeareth, that I having not offended but by love; in imitation of

vulgar opinion, rather then truth: you seeke to reprove me bitterly,

alleaging no other maine argument for your anger, but onely my not

choosing a gentleman, or one more worthy. Wherein it is most evident,

that you doe not so much checke my fault, as the ordination of Fortune;

who many times advanceth men of meanest esteeme, and abaseth them

of greater merit. But leaving this discourse, let us looke into the

originall of things, wherein wee are first to observe, that from one

masse or lumpe of flesh, both we, and all other received our flesh, and

one Creator hath created all things; yea, all creatures, equally in

their forces and faculties, and equall likewise in their vertue: which

vertue was the first that made distinction of our birth and equality,

in regard, that such as had the most liberall portion thereof, and

performed actions thereto answerable, were thereby termed noble, all

the rest remaining unnoble: now although contrary use did afterward hide

and conceale this Law, yet was it not therefore banished from Nature or

good manners. In which respect, whosoever did execute all his actions

by vertue, declared himselfe openly to be noble; and he that tearmed

him otherwise, it was an error in the miscaller, and not in the person

so wrongfully called; as the very same priviledge is yet in full force

among us at this day.

Cast an heedfull eye then (good Father) upon all your Gentlemen, and

advisedly examine their vertues, conditions and manner of behaviour. On

the other side, observe those parts remaining in _Guiscardo_: and then,

if you will judge truly, and without affection, you will confesse him

to be most noble, and that all your Gentlemen (in respect of him) are

but base Groomes and villaines. His vertues and excelling perfections,

I never credited from the report or judgement of any person; but onely

by your speeches, and mine owne eyes as true witnesses. Who did ever

more commend _Guiscardo_, extolling all those singularities in him,

most requisite to be in an honest vertuous man; then you your selfe

have done? Nor neede you to be sorry, or ashamed of your good opinion

concerning him; for, if mine eyes have not deceived my judgement, you

never gave him the least part of praise, but I have knowne much more

in him, then ever your words were able to expresse: wherefore, if I

have beene any way deceived, truly the deceit proceeded onely from

you. How will you then maintaine, that I have throwne my liking on a

man of base condition? In troth (Sir) you cannot. Perhaps you will

alleadge, that he is meane and poore; I confesse it, and surely it is

to your shame, that you have not bestowne place of more preferment, on

a man so honest and well deserving, and having beene so long a time

your servant. Neverthelesse, poverty impaireth not any part of noble

Nature, but wealth hurries it into horrible confusions. Many Kings and

great Princes have heretofore beene poore, when divers of them that

have delved into the Earth, and kept Flockes in the Feld, have beene

advanced to riches, and exceeded the other in wealth.

Now, as concerning your last doubt, which most of all afflicteth you,

namely, how you shall deale with me; boldly rid your braine of any such

disturbance, for if you have resolved now in your extremity of yeeres,

to doe that which your younger dayes evermore despised, I meane, to

become cruell; use your utmost cruelty against me, for I will never

entreate you to the contrary, because I am the sole occasion of this

offence, if it doe deserve the name of an offence. And this I dare

assure you, that if you deale not with me, as you have done already, or

intend to _Guiscardo_, mine owne hands shall act as much: and therefore

give over your teares to women, and if you purpose to be cruel, let him

and me in death drinke both of one cup, at least, if you imagine that

we have deserved it.

The King knew well enough the high spirit of his Daughter, but yet

(neverthelesse) he did not beleeve, that her words would prove actions,

or shee doe as shee saide. And therefore parting from her, and without

intent of using any cruelty to her; concluded, by quenching the heate

of another, to coole the fiery rage of her distemper, commanding two

of his followers (who had the custody of _Guiscardo_) that without any

rumour or noyse at all, they should strangle him the night ensuing,

and taking the heart forth of his body, to bring it to him, which

they performed according to their charge. On the next day, the King

called for a goodly standing Cup of Gold, wherein he put the heart of

_Guiscardo_, sending it by one of his most familiar servants to his

Daughter, with command also to use these words to her. Thy Father hath

sent thee this present, to comfort thee with that thing which most of

all thou affectest, even as thou hast comforted him with that which he

most hated.

_Ghismonda_, nothing altered from her cruell deliberation, after her

Father was departed from her, caused certaine poysonous rootes & hearbs

to be brought her, which shee (by distillation) made a water of, to

drinke suddenly, whensoever any crosse accident should come from her

Father; whereupon, when the messenger from her Father had delivered her

the present, and uttered the words as he was commanded: shee tooke the

Cup, and looking into it with a setled countenance, by sight of the

heart, and effect of the message, shee knew certainely, that it was the

heart of _Guiscardo_; then looking stearnely on the servant, thus she

spake unto him. My honest friend, it is no more then right and justice,

that so worthy a heart as this is, should have any worser grave then

gold, wherein my Father hath dealt most wisely. So, lifting the heart

up to her mouth; and sweetly kissing it, shee proceeded thus. In all

things, even till this instant, (being the utmost period of my life)

I have evermore found my Fathers love most effectuall to me; but now

it appeareth farre greater, then at any time heretofore: and therefore

from my mouth, thou must deliver him the latest thankes that ever I

shall give him, for sending me such an honourable present.

These words being ended, holding the Cup fast in her hand, and looking

seriously upon the heart, shee began againe in this manner. Thou sweete

entertainer of all my dearest delights, accursed be his cruelty, that

causeth me thus to see thee with my corporall eyes, it being sufficient

enough for me, alwayes to behold thee with the sight of my soule.

Thou hast runne thy race, and as Fortune ordained, so are thy dayes

finished: for as all flesh hath an ending; so hast thou concluded,

albeit too soone, and before thy due time. The travailes and miseries

of this World, have now no more to meddle with thee, and thy very

heaviest enemy, hath bestowed such a grave on thee, as thy greatnesse

in vertue worthily deserveth; now nothing elsee is wanting, wherewith

to beautifie thy Funerall, but onely her sighes & teares, that was so

deare unto thee in thy life time. And because thou mightest the more

freely enjoy them, see how my mercilesse Father (on his owne meere

motion) hath sent thee to me; and truly I will bestow them frankly

on thee, though once I had resolved, to die with drie eyes, and not

shedding one teare, dreadlesse of their utmost malice towards me.

And when I have given thee the due oblation of my teares, my soule,

which sometime thou hast kept most carefully, shall come to make a

sweete conjunction with thine: for in what company elsee can I travaile

more contentedly, and to those unfrequented silent shades, but onely in

thine? As yet I am sure it is present here, in this Cup sent me by my

Father, as having a provident respect to the place, for possession of

our equall and mutuall pleasures; because thy soule affecting mine so

truely, cannot walke alone, without his deare companion.

Having thus finished her complaint, even as if her head had been

converted into a well-spring of water, so did teares abundantly flow

from her faire eyes, kissing the heart of _Guiscardo_ infinite times.

All which while, her women standing by her, neither knew what heart

it was, nor to what effect her speeches tended: but being moved to

compassionate teares, they often demanded (albeit in vaine) the

occasion of her sad complaining, comforting her to their utmost power.

When shee was not able to weepe any longer, wiping her eyes, and

lifting up her head, without any signe of the least dismay, thus shee

spake to the heart. Deare heart, all my duty is performed to thee, and

nothing now remaineth uneffected; but onely breathing my last, to let

my ghost accompany thine.

Then calling for the glasse of water, which shee had readily prepared

the day before, and powring it upon the heart lying in the Cup,

couragiously advancing it to her mouth, shee dranke it up every drop;

which being done, shee lay downe upon her bed, holding her Lovers heart

fast in her hand, and laying it so neere to her owne as she could. Now

although her women knew not what water it was, yet when they had seene

her to quaffe it off in that manner, they sent word to the King, who

much suspecting what had happened, went in all haste to his Daughters

chamber, entring at the very instant, when shee was laide upon her bed;

beholding her in such passionate pangs, with teares streaming downe his

reverend beard, he used many kinde words to comfort her, when boldly

thus shee spake unto him. Father (quoth she) well may you spare these

teares, because they are unfitting for you, and not any way desired

by me; who but your selfe, hath seene any man to mourne for his owne

wilfull offence. Neverthelesse, if but the least jot of that love doe

yet abide in you, whereof you have made such liberall profession to me;

let me obtaine this my very last request, to wit, that seeing I might

not privately enjoy the benefit of _Guiscardoes_ love, and while he

lived; let yet (in death) one publike grave containe both our bodies,

that death may affoord us, what you so cruelly in life denied us.

Extremity of griefe and sorrow, with-held his tongue from returning

any answer, and shee perceiving her end approaching, held the heart

still closed to her owne bare brest, saying; Here Fortune, receive

two true hearts latest oblation, for, in this manner are we comming

to thee. So closing her eyes, all sense forsooke her, life leaving

her body breathlesse. Thus ended the haplesse love of _Guiscardo_,

and _Ghismonda_, for whose sad disaster, when the King had mourned

sufficiently, and repented fruitlessly; he caused both their bodies

to be honourably embalmed, and buried in a most royall Monument, not

without generall sorrow of the subjects of _Salerne_.

_Fryar_ Albert _made a young Venetian Gentlewoman beleeve, that God_

Cupid _was falne in love with her, and he resorted oftentimes unto

her, in the disguise of the same God. Afterward, being frighted by the

Gentlewomans kindred and friends, he cast himselfe out of her Chamber

window, and was hidden in a poore mans House; on the day following, in

the shape of a wilde or savage man, he was brought upon the Rialto of

Saint_ Marke, _and being there publikely knowne by the Brethren of his

Order; he was committed to Prison._

The second Novell.

_Reprehending the lewd lives of dissembling hypocrites; and checking

the arrogant pride of vaine-headed women._

The Novell recounted by Madam _Fiammetta_, caused teares many times in

the eyes of all the company; but it being finished, the King shewing a

stearne countenance, saide; I should much have commended the kindnesse

of fortune, if in the whole course of my life, I had tasted the least

moity of that delight, which _Guiscardo_ received by conversing with

faire _Ghismonda_. Nor neede any of you to wonder thereat, or how it

can be otherwise, because hourely I feele a thousand dying torments,

without enjoying any hope of ease or pleasure: but referring my

fortunes to their owne poore condition, it is my will, that Madam

_Pampinea_ proceed next in the argument of successelesse love,

according as Madam _Fiammetta_ hath already begun, to let fall more

dew-drops on the fire of mine afflictions. Madam _Pampinea_ perceiving

what a taske was imposed on her, knew well (by her owne disposition)

the inclination of the company, whereof shee was more respective, then

of the Kings command: wherefore, chusing rather to recreate their

spirits, then to satisfie the Kings melancholy humour; shee determined

to relate a Tale of mirthfull matter, and yet to keepe within compasse

of the purposed Argument.

It hath been continually used as a common Proverbe; that a bad man,

taken and reputed to be honest and good, may commit many evils, yet

neither credited, or suspected: which proverbe giveth mee very ample

matter to speake of, and yet not varying from our intention, concerning

the hypocrisie of some religious persons, who having their garments

long and large, their faces made artificially pale, their language

meeke and humble, to get mens goods from them; yet sower, harsh, and

stearne enough, in checking and controuling other mens errors, as also

in urging others to give, and themselves to take, without any other

hope or meanes of salvation. Nor doe they endeavour like other men, to

worke out their soules health with feare and trembling; but, even as if

they were sole owners, Lords, and possessors of Paradice, will appoint

to every dying person, places (there) of greater or lesser excellency,

according as they thinke good, or as the legacies left by them are

in quantity, whereby they not onely deceive themselves, but all such

as give credit to their subtile perswasions. And were it lawfull for

me, to make knowne no more then is meerely necessary; I could quickly

disclose to simple credulous people, what craft lieth concealed under

their holy habites: and I would wish, that their lies and deluding

should speed with them, as they did with a _Franciscane_ Friar, none

of the younger Novices, but one of them of greatest reputation, and

belonging to one of the best Monasteries in _Venice_. Which I am the

rather desirous to report, to recreate your spirits, after your teares

for the death of faire _Ghismonda_.

Sometime (Honourable Ladies) there lived in the City of _Imola_, a

man of most lewd and wicked life; named, _Bertho de la massa_, whose

shamelesse deedes were so well knowne to all the Citizens, and won such

respect among them; as all his lies could not compasse any beleefe, no,

not when he delivered a matter of sound truth. Wherefore, perceiving

that his lewdnesse allowed him no longer dwelling there; like a

desperate adventurer, he transported himselfe thence to _Venice_, the

receptacle of all foule sinne and abhomination, intending there to

exercise his wonted bad behaviour, and live as wickedly as ever he

had done before. It came to passe, that some remorse of conscience

tooke hold of him, for the former passages of his dissolute life, and

he pretended to be surprized with very great devotion, becomming much

more Catholike then any other man, taking on him the profession of a

_Franciscane Cordelier_, and calling himselfe Fryar _Albert_ of _Imola_.

In this habite and outward appearance, hee seemed to leade an austere

and sanctimonious life, highly commending penance & abstinence, never

eating flesh, or drinking wine, but when hee was provided of both in

a close corner. And before any person could take notice thereof, hee

became (of a theefe) Ruffian, forswearer and murtherer, as formerly he

had beene a great Preacher; yet not abandoning the forenamed vices,

when secretly he could put any of them in execution. Moreover, being

made Priest, when he was celebrating Masse at the Altar, if he saw

himselfe to be observed by any; he would most mournefully reade the

passion of our Saviour, as one whose teares cost him little, whensoever

hee pleased to use them: so that, in a short while, by his preaching

and teares, he fed the humours of the _Venetians_ so pleasingly; that

they made him executour (well neere) of all their Testaments, yea, many

chose him as depositary or Guardion of their monies; because he was

both Confessour and Councellor, almost to all the men and women.

By this well seeming out-side of sanctity, the Wolfe became a

Shepheard, and his renown for holinesse was so famous in those parts,

as Saint _Frances_ himselfe had hardly any more. It fortuned, that a

young Gentlewoman, being somewhat foolish, wanton and proud minded,

named Madam _Lisetta de Caquirino_, wife to a wealthy Merchant, who

went with certaine Gallies into _Flanders_, and there lay as Lieger

long time, in company of other Gentlewomen, went to be confessed by

this ghostly Father; kneeling at his feete, although her heart was high

enough, like a proud minded woman, (for _Venetians_ are presumptuous,

vaine-glorious, and witted much like to their skittish Gondoloes) she

made a very short rehearsall of her sinnes. At length Fryar _Albert_

demanded of her, whether shee had any amorous friend or lover? Her

patience being exceedingly provoked, stearne anger appeared in her

lookes, which caused her to returne him this answer. How now Sir

_Domine_? what? have you no eyes in your head? Can you not distinguish

between mine, and these other common beauties? I could have Lovers

enow, if I were so pleased; but those perfections remaining in me, are

not to be affected by this man, or that. How many beauties have you

beheld, any way answerable to mine, and are more fit for Gods, then

mortals.

Many other idle speeches shee uttered, in proud opinion of her beauty,

whereby Friar _Albert_ presently perceived, that this Gentlewoman had

but a hollow braine, and was fit game for folly to flye at; which

made him instantly enamoured of her, and that beyond all capacity of

resisting, which yet he referred to a further, and more commodious

time. Neverthelesse, to shew himselfe an holy and religious man

now, he began to reprehend her, and told her plainely, that she was

vain-glorious, and overcome with infinite follies. Hereupon, she called

him a logger headed beast, and he knew not the difference between an

ordinary complexion, and beauty of the highest merit. In which respect,

Friar _Albert_, being loth to offend her any further; after confession

was fully ended, let her passe away among the other Gentlewomen, she

giving him divers disdainfull lookes.

Within some few dayes after, taking one of his trusty brethren in his

company, he went to the House of Madam _Lisetta_, where requiring

to have some conference alone with her selfe; shee tooke him into a

private Parlour, and being there, not to be seene by any body, he fell

on his knees before her, speaking in this manner. Madam, for charities

sake, and in regard of your own most gracious nature, I beseech you

to pardon those harsh speeches, which I used to you the other day,

when you were with me at confession: because, the very night ensuing

thereon, I was chastised in such cruell manner, as I was never able

to stirre forth of my bed, untill this very instant morning; whereto

the weake witted Gentlewoman thus replyed. And who I pray you (quoth

she) did chastise you so severely? I will tell you Madam, said Friar

_Albert_, but it is a matter of admirable secrecie.

Being alone by my selfe the same night in my Dorter, and in very

serious devotion, according to my usuall manner: suddenly I saw a

bright splendour about me, and I could no sooner arise to discerne what

it might be, and whence it came, but I espied a very goodly young Lad

standing by me, holding a golden Bow in his hand, and a rich Quiver of

Arrowes hanging at his back. Catching fast hold on my Hood, against the

ground he threw me rudely, trampling on me with his feete, and beating

me with so many cruell blowes, that I thought my body to be broken in

peeces. Then I desired to know, why he was so rigorous to me in his

correction? Because (quoth he) thou didst so saucily presume this day,

to reprove the celestiall beauty of Madam _Lisetta_, who (next to my

Mother _Venus_) I love most dearely. Whereupon I perceived, he was

the great commanding God _Cupid_, and therefore I craved most humbly

pardon of him. I will pardon thee (quoth he) but upon this condition,

that thou goe to her so soone as conveniently thou canst, and (by lowly

humility) prevaile to obtaine her free pardon: which if she will not

vouchsafe to grant thee, then shall I in stearne anger returne againe,

and lay so many torturing afflictions on thee, that all thy whole life

time shall be most hateful to thee. And what the displeased God saide

elsee beside, I dare not disclose, except you please first to pardon me.

Mistresse shallow braine, being swolne big with this wind, like an

empty bladder; conceived no small pride in hearing these words,

constantly crediting them to be true, and therefore thus answered.

Did I not tel you Father _Albert_, that my beauty was celestiall? But

I sweare by my beauty, notwithstanding your idle passed arrogancy, I

am heartily sorry for your so severe correction; which that it may

no more be inflicted on you, I doe freely pardon you; yet with this

_proviso_, that you tell me, what the God elsee saide unto you; whereto

Fryar _Albert_ thus replyed. Madam, seeing you have so graciously

vouchsafed to pardon me, I will thankfully tell you all: but you must

be very carefull and respective, that whatsoever I shall reveale unto

you, must so closely be concealed, as no living creature in the World

may know it; for you are the onely happy Lady now living, and that

happinesse relieth on your silence and secrecie: with solemne vowes and

protestations shee sealed up her many promises, and then the Fryar thus

proceeded.

Madam, the further charge imposed on me by God _Cupid_, was to tell

you, that himselfe is so extremely enamoured of your beauty, and you

are become so gracious in his affection; as, many nights he hath come

to see you in your Chamber, sitting on your pillow, while you slept

sweetly, and desiring very often to awake you, but onely fearing to

affright you. Wherefore, now he sends you word by me, that one night he

intendeth to come visite you, and to spend some time in conversing with

you. But in regard he is a God, and meerely a spirit in forme, whereby

neither you or any elsee have capacity of beholding him, much lesse to

touch or feele him: he saith, that (for your sake) he will come in the

shape of a man, giving me charge also to know of you, when you shall

please to have him come, and in whose similitude you would have him

to come, whereof he will not faile; in which respect, you may justly

thinke your selfe to be the onely happy woman living, and farre beyond

all other in your good fortune.

Mistris want-wit presently answered, shee was well contented, that God

_Cupid_ should love her, and she would returne the like love againe

to him; protesting withall, that wheresoever shee should see his

majesticall picture, she would set a hallowed burning Taper before it.

Moreover, at all times he should be most welcome to her, whensoever

hee would vouchsafe to visite her; for, he should alwayes finde her

alone in her private Chamber: on this condition, that his olde Love

_Psyches_, and all other beauties elsee whatsoever, must be set aside,

and none but her selfe only to be his best Mistresse, referring his

personall forme of appearance, to what shape himselfe best pleased to

assume, so that it might not be frightfull, or offensive to her.

Madam (quoth Friar _Albert_) most wisely have you answered, & leave

the matter to me; for I will take order sufficiently, and to your

contentment. But you may do me a great grace, and without any prejudice

to your selfe, in granting me one poore request; namely, to vouchsafe

the Gods appearance to you, in my bodily shape and person, and in the

perfect forme of a man as now you behold me, so may you safely give him

entertainment, without any taxation of the world, or ill apprehension

of the most curious inquisition. Beside, a greater happinesse can never

befall me: for, while he assumeth the soule out of my body, and walketh

on the earth in my humane figure: I shall be wandering in the joyes

of Lovers Paradise, feeling the fruition of their felicities; which

are such, as no mortality can be capeable of, no, not so much as in

imagination.

The wise Gentlewoman replied, that she was well contented, in regard

of the severe punishment inflicted on him by God _Cupid_, for the

reproachfull speeches he had given her; to allow him so poore a kinde

of consolation, as he had requested her to grant him. Whereuppon Fryar

_Albert_ saide: Be ready then Madam to give him welcome to morrow in

the evening, at the entering into your house, for comming in an humane

body, he cannot but enter at your doore, whereas, if (in powerfull

manner) he made use of his wings, he then would flye in at your window,

and then you could not be able to see him.

Upon this conclusion, _Albert_ departed, leaving _Lisetta_ in no meane

pride of imagination, that God _Cupid_ should bee enamored of her

beauty; and therefore she thought each houre a yeare, till she might

see him in the mortall shape of Friar _Albert_. And now was his braine

wonderfully busied, to visite her in more then common or humane manner;

and therefore he made him a sute (close to his body) of white Taffata,

all poudred over with Starres, and spangles of Gold, a Bow and Quiver

of Arrowes, with wings also fastened to his backe behinde him, and all

cunningly covered with his Friars habit, which must be the sole meanes

for his safe passage.

Having obtained licence of his Superiour, and being accompanyed with

an holy Brother of the Convent, yet ignorant of the businesse by him

intended; he went to the house of a friend of his, which was his usuall

receptacle, whensoever he went about such deeds of darkness. There

did he put on his dissembled habit of God _Cupid_, with his winges,

Bowe, and Quiver, in formall fashion; and then (clouded over with his

Monkes Cowle) leaves his companion to awaite his returning backe, while

he visited foolish _Lisetta_, according to her expectation, readily

attending for the Gods arrivall.

_Albert_ being come to the house, knocked at the doore, and the Maid

admitting him entrance, according as her Mistresse had appointed, shee

conducted him to her Mistresses Chamber, where laying aside his Friars

habite, and she seeing him shine with such glorious splendour, adding

action also to his assumed dissimulation, with majesticke motion of his

body, wings, and bow, as if he had bene God _Cupid_, indeede converted

into a body much bigger of stature, then Painters commonly do describe

him, her wisedome was so overcome with feare and admiration, that she

fell on her knees before him, expressing all humble reverence unto him.

And he spreading his wings over her, as with wiers and strings hee had

made them pliant; shewed how graciously he accepted her humiliation;

folding her in his armes, and sweetly kissing her many times together,

with repetition of his entire love and affection towards her. So

delicately was he perfumed with odorifferous favours, and so compleate

of person in his spangled garments, that she could do nothing elsee,

but wonder at his rare behaviour, reputing her felicity beyond all

Womens in the world, and utterly impossible to bee equalled, such was

the pride of her presuming. For he told her divers tales and fables,

of his awefull power among the other Gods, and stolne pleasures of his

upon the earth; yet gracing her praises above all his other Loves, and

vowes made now, to affect none but her onely, as his often visitations

should more constantly assure her, that shee verily credited all his

protestations, and thought his kisses and embraces, farre to exceed any

mortall comparison.

After they had spent so much time in amorous discoursing, as might best

fit with this their first meeting, and stand cleare from suspition

on either side: our _Albert-Cupid_, or _Cupid-Albert_, which of them

you best please to terme him, closing his spangled winges together

againe behinde his backe, fastening also on his Bow and Quiver of

Arrowes, over-clouds all with his religious Monkes Cowle, and then with

a parting kisse or two, returned to the place where he had left his

fellow and companion, perhaps imployed in as devout an exercise, as

he had bin in his absence from him; whence both repayring home to the

Monastery, all this nightes wandering was allowed as tollerable, by

them who made no spare of doing the like.

On the morrow following, Madam _Lisetta_ immediately after dinner,

being attended by her Chamber-maid, went to see Friar _Albert_,

finding him in his wonted forme and fashion, and telling him what

had hapned betweene her and God _Cupid_, with all the other lies and

tales which hee had told her. Truly Madam (answered _Albert_) what

your successe with him hath beene, I am no way able to comprehend;

but this I can assure you, that so soone as I had acquainted him with

your answer, I felt a sodaine rapture made of my soule, and visibly

(to my apprehension) saw it carried by Elves and Fairies, into the

floury fields about _Elisium_, where Lovers departed out of this life,

walk among the beds of Lillies and Roses, such as are not in this

world to be seene, neither to be imagined by any humane capacity. So

super-abounding was the pleasure of this joy and solace, that, how

long I continued there, or by what meanes I was transported hither

againe this morning, it is beyond all ability in mee to expresse,

or how I assumed my body againe after that great God hadde made use

thereof to your service. Well Friar _Albert_ (quoth shee) you may see

what an happinesse hath befalne you, by so grosse an opinion of my

perfections, and what a felicity you enjoy, and still are like to do,

by my pardoning your error, and granting the Gods accesse to me in your

shape: which as I envy not, so I wish you heereafter to be wiser, in

taking upon you to judge of beautie. Much other idle folly proceeded

from hir, which still he soothed to her contentment, and (as occasion

served) many meetings they had in the former manner.

It fortuned within a few dayes after, that Madam _Lisetta_ being in

company with one of her Gossips, and their conference (as commonly it

falleth out to be) concerning other women of the City; their beautie,

behaviour, amorous suters and servants, and generall opinion conceived

of their worth and merit; wherein _Lisetta_ was over-much conceyted

of her selfe, not admitting any other to be her equall. Among other

speeches, favouring of an unseasoned braine: Gossip (quoth she) if

you knew what account is made of my beauty, and who holdes it in no

meane estimation, you would then freely confesse, that I deserve to

bee preferred before any other. As women are ambitious in their owne

opinions, so commonly are they covetous of one anothers secrets,

especially in matter of emulation, whereupon the Gossip thus replyed.

Beleeve me Madam, I make no doubt but your speeches may bee true, in

regard of your admired beauty, and many other perfections beside: yet

let me tell you, priviledges, how great and singular soever they be,

without they are knowen to others, beside such as do particularly enjoy

them; they carrie no more account, then things of ordinary estimation.

Whereas on the contrary, when any Lady or Gentlewoman hath some eminent

and peculiar favour, which few or none other can reach unto, and it is

made famous by generall notion: then do all women elsee admire and honour

her, as the glory of their kinde, and a miracle of Nature.

I perceive Gossip said _Lisetta_ whereat you ayme, & such is my love

to you, as you should not lose your longing in this case, were I but

constantly secured of your secrecy, which as hitherto I have bene no

way able to tax, so would I be loth now to be more suspitious of then

needs. But yet this matter is of such maine moment, that if you will

protest as you are truely vertuous, never to reveale it to any living

body, I will disclose to you almost a miracle. The vertuous oath being

past, with many other solemne protestations beside, _Lisetta_ then

proceeded in this manner.

I know Gossip, that it is a matter of common & ordinary custome, for

Ladies and Gentlewomen to be graced with favourites, men of fraile &

mortall conditions, whose natures are as subject to inconstancy, as

their very best endeavours dedicated to folly, as I could name no mean

number of our Ladies heere in _Venice_. But when Soveraigne deities

shal feele the impression of our humane desires, and behold subjects

of such prevailing efficacy, as to subdue their greatest power, yea,

and make them enamored of mortall creatures: you may well imagine

Gossip, such a beauty is superiour to any other. And such is the

happy fortune of your friend _Lisetta_, of whose perfections, great

_Cupid_ the awefull commanding God of Love himselfe, conceived such

an extraordinary liking: as he hath abandoned his seate of supreme

Majesty, and appeared to me in the shape of a mortall man, with lively

expression of his amorous passions, and what extremities of anguish

he hath endured, onely for my love. May this be possible? replyed the

Gossip. Can the Gods be toucht with the apprehension of our fraile

passions? True it is Gossip, answered _Lisetta_, and so certainly true,

that his sacred kisses, sweet embraces, and most pleasing speeches,

with proffer of his continuall devotion towards me, hath given me good

cause to confirme what I say, and to thinke my felicity farre beyond

all other womens, being honoured with his often nightly visitations.

The Gossip inwardly smiling at her idle speeches, which (nevertheles)

she avouched with very vehement asseverations; fell instantly sicke of

womens naturall disease, thinking every minute a tedious month, till

she were in company with some other Gossips, to breake the obligation

of her vertuous promise, and that others (as well as her selfe)

might laugh at the folly of this shallow-witted woman. The next day

following, it was her hap to be at a wedding, among a great number of

other women, whom quickly she acquainted with this so strange a wonder;

as they did the like to their husbands: and passing so from hand to

hand, in lesse space then two daies, all _Venice_ was fully possessed

with it.

Among the rest, the brethren to this foolish woman, heard this

admirable newes concerning their Sister; and they discreetly concealing

it to themselves, closely concluded to watch the walks of this

pretended god: and if he soared not too lofty a flight, they would clip

his wings, to come the better acquainted with him. It fortuned, that

the Friar hearing his Cupidicall visitations over-publikely discovered,

purposed to check and reprove _Lisetta_ for her indiscretion. And being

habited according to his former manner, his Friarly Cowle covering

al his former bravery, he left his companion where he used to stay,

and closely walked along unto the house. No sooner was he entred, but

the Brethren being ambushed neer to the doore, went in after him,

and ascending the staires, by such time as he had uncased himselfe,

and appeared like God _Cupid_, with his spangled wings displayed:

they rushed into the Chamber, and he having no other refuge, opened a

large Casement, standing directly over the great gulfe or River, and

presently leapt into the water; which being deepe, and hee skilfull in

swimming, he had no other harme by his fall, albeit the sodain affright

did much perplex him.

Recovering the further side of the River, he espied a light, & the

doore of an house open, wherein dwelt a poore man, whom he earnestly

intreated, to save both his life and reputation, telling him many

lies and tales by what meanes he was thus disguised, and throwne by

night-walking Villaines into the water. The poore man, being moved

to compassionate his distressed estate, laid him in his owne bed,

ministring such other comforts to him, as the time and his poverty

did permit; and day drawing on, he went about his businesse, advising

him to take his rest, and it should not be long till he returned. So,

locking the doore, and leaving the counterfeit God in bed, away goes the

poore man to his daily labour. The Brethren to _Lisetta_, perceiving

God _Cupid_ to bee fled and gone, and shee in melancholly sadnesse

sitting by them: they tooke up the Reliques he had left behind him, I

meane the Friars hood and Cowle, which shewing to their sister, and

sharply reproving her unwomanly behaviour: they lefte her in no meane

discomfort, returning home to their owne houses, with their conquered

spoiles of the forlorne Friar.

During the time of these occurrences, broad day speeding on, & the

poore man returning homeward by the _Rialto_, to visit his guest so

lefte in bed: he beheld divers crouds of people, and a generall rumor

noysed among them, that God _Cupid_ had beene that night with Madame

_Lisetta_, where being over-closely pursued by her Brethren, for fear

of being surprized, he leapt out of her window into the gulfe, and no

one could tell what was become of him. Heereupon, the poore man beganne

to imagine, that the guest entertained by him in the night time, must

needs bee the same supposed God Cupid, as by his wings and other

embellishments appeared: wherefore being come home, and sitting downe

on the beds side by him, after some few speeches passing between them,

he knew him to be Friar Albert, who promised to give him fifty ducates,

if hee would not betray him to _Lisettaes_ brethren.

Upon the acceptation of this offer, the money being sent for, and paied

downe; there wanted nothing now, but some apt and convenient meanes,

whereby _Albert_ might safely be conveyed into the Monasterie, which

being wholly referred to the poore mans care and trust, thus hee spake.

Sir, I see no likely-hoode of your cleare escaping home, except in this

manner as I advise you. We observe this day as a merry Festivall, &

it is lawfull for any one, to disguise a man in the skin of a Beare,

or in the shape of a savage man, or any other forme of better device.

Which being so done, he is brought upon S. _Marks_ market place, where

being hunted a while with dogs, upon the huntings conclusion, the Feast

is ended; and then each man leades his monster whether him pleaseth.

If you can accept any of these shapes, before you bee seene heere in

my poore abiding, then can I safely (afterward) bring you where you

would bee. Otherwise, I see no possible meanes, how you may escape

hence unknown; for it is without all question to the contrary, that the

Gentlewomans brethren, knowing your concealment in some one place or

other, will set such spies and watches for you throughout the City, as

you must needs be taken by them.

Now, although it seemed a most severe imposition, for _Albert_ to passe

in any of these disguises: yet his exceeding feare of _Lisettaes_

brethren and friends, made him gladly yeelde, and to undergo what shape

the poore man pleased, which thus he ordered. Annointing his naked

body with Hony, he then covered it over with downy small Feathers,

and fastning a chaine about his necke, and a strange ugly vizard on

his face; hee gave him a great staffe in the one hand, and two huge

Mastive dogs chained together in the other, which he had borrowed in

the Butchery. Afterward, he sent a man to the _Rialto_, who there

proclaimed by the sound of Trumpet: That all such as desired to see God

_Cupid_, which the last night had descended downe from the skies, and

fell (by ill hap) into the _Venetian_ gulfe, let them repaire to the

publike Market place of S. _Marke_, and there he would appeare in his

owne likenesse.

This being done, soone after he left his house, and leading him thus

disguised along by his chaine, hee was followed by great crowds of

people, every one questioning of whence, and what he was. In which

manner, he brought him to the Market place, where an infinite number

of people were gathered together, as well of the followers, as of them

that before heard the proclamation. There he made choise of a pillar,

which stood in a place somewhat highly exalted, whereto he chained his

savage man, making shew, as if he meant to awaite there, till the

hunting shold begin: in which time, the Flies, Waspes, and Hornets, did

so terribly sting his naked body, being annointed with Hony, that he

endured thereby unspeakable anguish. When the poore man saw, that there

needed no more concourse of people; pretending, as if he purposed to

let loose his Salvage man; he tooke the maske or vizard from _Alberts_

face, and then he spake aloud in this manner.

Gentlemen and others, seeing the wilde Boare commeth not to our

hunting, because I imagine that he cannot easily be found: I meane

(to the end you may not lose your labour in comming hither) to shew

you the great God of Love called _Cupid_, whom Poets feigned long

since to be a little boy, but now growne to manly stature. You see in

what manner he hath left his high dwelling, onely for the comfort of

our _Venetian_ beauties: but belike, the night-fogs over-flagging his

wings, he fell into our gulfe, and comes now to present his service to

you. No sooner had he taken off his vizard, but every one knew him to

be Friar _Albert_; and sodainly arose such shoutes and out-cries, with

most bitter words breathed forth against him, hurling also stones, durt

and filth in his face, that his best acquaintance then could take no

knowledge of him, and not any one pittying his abusing.

So long continued the offended people in their fury, that newes thereof

was carried to the Convent, and six of his Religious brethren came, who

casting an habite about him, and releasing him from his chain, they

led him to the Monastery, not without much molestation and trouble of

the people; where imprisoning him in their house, severitie of some

inflicted punishment, or rather conceite for his open shame, shortned

his dayes, and so he dyed. Thus you see faire Ladies, when licentious

life must be clouded with a cloake of sanctity, and evill actions dayly

committed, yet escaping uncredited: there will come a time at length,

for just discovering of all, that the good may shine in their true

luster of glory, and the bad sinke in their owne deserved shame.

_Three yong Gentlemen affecting three Sisters, fledde with them into_

Candie. _The eldest of them (through jealousie) becommeth the death of

her Lover: The second, by consenting to the Duke of_ Candies _request,

is the meanes of saving her life. Afterward, her owne Friend killeth

her, and thence flyeth away with the elder Sister. The third couple,

both man & woman, are charged with her death, and being committed

prisoners, they confesse the facte: And fearing death, by corruption

of money they prevaile with their keepers, escaping from thence to_

Rhodes, _where they died in great poverty._

The third Novell.

_Heerein is declared, how dangerous the occasion is, ensuing by anger

and despight, in such as entirely love, especially, being injuried and

offended by them that they love._

When the King perceived, that Madame _Pampinea_ had ended her

discourse; he sat sadly a prety while, without uttering one word, but

afterward spake thus. Little goodnesse appeared in the beginning of

this Novell, because it ministred occasion of mirth; yet the ending

proved better, and I could wish, that worse inflictions had falne on

the venerious Friar. Then turning towards Madam _Lauretta_, he said;

Lady, do you tell us a better tale, if possible it may be. She smiling,

thus answered the King: Sir, you are over-cruelly bent against poore

Lovers, in desiring, that their amourous processions should have harsh

and sinister concludings. Neverthelesse, in obedience to your severe

command, among three persons amourously perplexed, I will relate an

unhappy ending; whereas all may be saide to speede as unfortunately,

being equally alike, in enjoying the issue of their desires, and thus I

purpose for to proceede.

Every vice (choise Ladies) as very well you know, redoundeth to the

great disgrace and prejudice, of him or her by whom it is practised,

and oftentimes to others. Now, among those common hurtfull enemies, the

sinne or vice which most carrieth us with full carrere, and draweth

us into unavoidable perils and dangers; in mine opinion, seemeth to

be that of choller or anger, which is nothing elsee, but a sudden and

inconsiderate moving, provoked by some received injury, which having

excluded all respect of reason, and dimde (with darke vapours) the

bright discerning sight of the understanding, enflameth the minde with

most violent furie. And albeit this inconvenience happeneth most to

men, and more to some few, then others; yet notwithstanding, it hath

been noted, that women have felt the selfe same infirmity, and in more

extreme manner, because it much sooner is kindled in them, and burneth

with the brighter flame, in regard they have the lesser consideration,

and therefore not to be wondred at. For if we will advisedly observe,

we shall plainely perceive, that fire (even of his owne nature) taketh

hold on such things as are light and tender, much sooner then it can

on hard and weighty substances; and some of us women (let men take no

offence at my words) are farre more soft and delicate then they be,

and therefore more fraile. In which regard, seeing we are naturally

enclined hereto, and considering also, how much our affability and

gentlenesse, doe shew themselves pleasing and full of content, to

those men with whom we are to live; and likewise, how anger and fury

are compacted of extraordinary perils; I purpose (because we may be

the more valiant in our courage, to outstand the fierce assaults of

wrath and rage) to shew you by mine ensuing Novel, how the loves of

three young Gentlemen, and of as many Gentlewomen, came to fatall and

unfortunate successe, by the tempestuous anger of one among them,

according as I have formerly related unto you.

_Marseilles_ (as you are not now to learne) is in _Provence_, seated

on the Sea, and is also a very ancient and most noble City, which

hath beene (heretofore) inhabited with farre richer and more wealthy

Merchants, then at this instant time it is. Among whom there was one,

named _Narnaldo Civada_, a man but of meane condition, yet cleare

in faith and reputation, and in lands, goods, and ready monies,

immeasurably rich. Many children he had by his Wife, among whom were

three Daughters, which exceeded his Sonnes in yeeres. Two of them being

twinnes, and borne of one body, were counted to be fifteene yeares

old; the third was foureteene, and nothing hindered marriage in their

Parents owne expectation, but the returne home of _Narnaldo_, who was

then abroade in _Spaine_ with his Merchandises. The eldest of these

Sisters was named _Ninetta_, the second _Magdalena_, and the third

_Bertella_. A Gentleman (albeit but poore in fortunes) and called

_Restagnone_, was so extraordinarily enamoured of _Ninetta_, as no

man possibly could be more, and shee likewise as earnest in affection

towards him; yet both carrying their loves proceeding with such

secresie, as long time they enjoyed their hearts sweete contentment,

yet undiscovered by any eye.

It came to passe, that two other young Gallants, the one named _Folco_,

and the other _Hugnetto_, (who had attained to incredible wealth, by

the decease of their Father) were also as farre in love, the one with

_Magdalena_, and the other with _Bertella_. When _Restagnone_ had

intelligence thereof, by the meanes of his faire friend _Ninetta_; he

purposed to releeve his poverty, by friendly furthering both their

love, and his owne: and growing into familiarity with them, one while

he would walke abroade with _Folco_, and then againe with _Hugnetto_,

but oftner with them both together, to visite their Mistresses, and

continue worthy friendship. On a day, when hee saw the time sutable

to his intent, and that hee had invited the two Gentlemen home to his

House, hee fell into this like conference with them.

Kind friends (quoth he) the honest familiarity which hath past betweene

us, may render you some certaine assurance, of the constant love I

beare to you both, being as willing to worke any meanes that may tend

to your good, as I desire to compasse mine owne. And because the truth

of mine affection cannot conceale it selfe to you, I meane to acquaint

you with an intention, wherewith my braine hath a long while travelled,

and now may soone be delivered of, if it may passe with your liking and

approbation. Let me then tell you, that except your speeches savour

of untruth, and your actions carry a double understanding, in common

behaviour both by night and day, you appeare to pine and consume away,

in the cordiall love you beare to two of the Sisters, as I suffer the

same afflictions for the third, with reciprocall requitall of their

dearest affection to us. Now, to qualifie the heate of our tormenting

flames, if you will condescend to such a course as I shall advise you,

the remedy will yeeld them equall ease to ours, and we may safely

enjoy the benefit of contentment. As wealth aboundeth with you both,

so doth want most extremely tyrannize over me: but if one banke might

be made of both your rich substances, I embraced therein as a third

partaker, and some quarter of the World dissigned out by us, where to

live at hearts ease upon your possessions; I durst engage my credite,

that all the Sisters, (not meanly stored with their Fathers treasure)

shall beare us company to what place soever we please. There each man

freely enjoying his owne dearest love, we may live like three brethren,

without any hinderance to our mutuall contentment; it remaineth now in

you Gentlemen, to accept this comfortable offer, or to refuse it.

The two Brothers, whose passions exceeded their best meanes for

support, perceiving some hope how to enjoy their loves; desired no

long time of deliberation, or greatly disputed with their thoughts

what was best to be done: but readily replyed, that let happen any

danger whatsoever, they would joyne with him in this determination,

and he should partake with them in their wealthiest fortunes. After

_Restagnone_ had heard their answer, within some few dayes following,

he went to conferre with _Ninetta_, which was no easie matter for him

to compasse. Neverthelesse, opportunity proved so favourable to him,

that meeting with her at a private place appointed, he discoursed at

large, what had passed betweene him and the other two young Gentlemen,

maintaining the same with many good reasons, to have her like and allow

of the enterprize. Which although (for a while) he could very hardly

doe; yet, in regard shee had more desire then power, without suspition

to be daily in his company, she franckly thus answered. My hearts

chosen friend, I cannot any way mislike your advise, and will take such

order with my Sisters, that they shall agree to our resolution: let it

therefore be your charge, that you and the rest make every thing ready,

to depart from hence so soone, as with best convenient meanes we may be

enabled.

_Restagnone_ being returned to _Folco_ and _Hugnetto_, who thought

every houre a yeere, to heare what would succeed upon the promise past

betweene them; he told them in plaine termes, that their Ladies were as

free in consent as they, and nothing wanted now, but furnishment for

their sudden departing. Having concluded, that Candye should be their

harbour for entertainment, they made sale of some few inheritances,

which lay the readiest for their purpose, as also the goods in their

Houses, and then, under colour of venting Merchandises abroade; they

bought a nimble Pinnace, fortified with good strength and preparation,

and waited but for a convenient wind. On the other side, _Ninetta_,

who was sufficiently acquainted with the forwardnesse of her Sisters

desires and her owne; had so substantially prevailed with them, that

a good voyage now was the sole expectation. Whereupon, the same night

when they should set away, they opened a strong barred Chest of their

Fathers, whence they tooke great store of gold and costly Jewelse,

wherewith escaping secretly out of the House; they came to the place

where their Lovers attended for them, and going all aboard the Pinnace,

the windes were so furtherous to them; that without touching any where,

the night following they arrived at _Geneway_.

There being out of peril or pursuite, they all knit the knot of holy

wedlocke, and then freely enjoyed their long wished desires, from

whence setting sayle againe, and being well furnished with all things

wanting; passing on from Port to Port, at the end of eight dayes they

landed in _Candie_, not meeting with any impeachment by the way.

Determining there to spend their dayes, first they provided themselves

of faire and goodly Lands in the Countrey, and then of beautifull

dwelling Houses in the City, with all due furnishments belonging to

them, and Families well beseeming such worthy Gentlemen, and all

delights elsee for their daily recreations, inviting their Neighbours,

and they them againe in loving manner; so that no Lovers could wish to

live in more ample contentment.

Passing on their time in this height of felicity, and not crossed by

any sinister accidents, it came to passe (as often wee may observe in

the like occasions, that although delights doe most especially please

us, yet they breed surfet, when they swell too over-great in abundance)

that _Restagnone_, who most deerely affected his faire _Ninetta_, and

had her now in his free possession, without any perill of loosing her:

grew now also to bee wearie of her, and consequently, to faile in

those familiar performances, which formerly had passed betweene them.

For, being one day invited to a Banket, hee saw there a beautifull

Gentle-woman of that Countrey, whose perfections pleasing him beyond

all comparison: hee laboured (by painfull pursuite) to win his purpose;

and meeting with her in divers private places, grew prodigall in his

expences upon her. This could not be so closely carried, but beeing

seene and observed by _Ninetta_, she became possessed with such

extreame jelousie, that hee could not doe any thing whatsoever, but

immediately he had knowledge of it: which fire, growing to a flame in

her, her patience became extreamely provoked, urging rough and rude

speeches from her to him, and daily tormenting him beyond power of

sufferance.

As the enjoying of anything in too much plenty, makes it appeare

irkesome and loathing to us, and the deniall of our desires, do more

and more whet on the appetite: even so did the angry spleene of

_Ninetta_ proceede on in violence, against this newe commenced love

of _Restagnone_. For in succession of time, whether hee enjoyed the

embracements of his new Mistresse, or no: yet _Ninetta_ (by sinister

reports, but much more through her owne jealous imaginations) held it

for infallible, and to be most certaine. Heereupon, she fell into an

extreame melancholly, which melancholly begat implacable fury, and

(consequently) such contemptible disdaine: as converted her former

kindly love to _Restagnone_, into most cruell and bloudie hatred; yea,

and so strangely was reason or respect confounded in her, as no revenge

elsee but speedy death, might satisfie the wrongs shee imagined to

receive by _Restagnone_ and his Minion.

Upon enquiry, by what meanes shee might best compasse her bloody

intention, she grew acquainted with a _Græcian_ woman, and wonderfully

expert in the compounding of poysons, whom shee so perswaded, by gifts

and bounteous promises, that at the length shee prevailed with her. A

deadly water was distilled by her, which (without any other counsell

to the contrary) on a day when _Restagnone_ had his blood some-what

over-heated, and little dreamed on any such Treason conspired against

him by his Wife, she caused him to drinke a great draught thereof,

under pretence, that it was a most soveraigne and cordiall water:

but such was the powerfull operation thereof, that the very next

morning, _Restagnone_ was found to be dead in his bed. When his death

was understood by _Folco, Hugnetto_ and their Wives, and not knowing

how hee came to bee thus empoysoned (because their sister seemed to

bemoane his sodaine death, with as apparant shewes of mourning as they

could possibly expresse) they buried him very honourably, and so all

suspition ceased.

But as Fortune is infinite in her fagaries, never acting disaster so

closely, but as cunningly discovereth it againe: so it came to passe,

that within a few dayes following, the _Græcian_ woman, that had

delivered the poyson to _Ninetta_, for such another deede of damnation,

was apprehended even in the action. And being put upon the tortures,

among many other horrid villanies by her committed, she confessed the

empoysoning of _Restagnone_, and every particle thereto appertaining.

Whereupon, the Duke of _Candie_, without any noyse or publication,

setting a strong guard (in the night time) about the house of _Folco_,

where _Ninetta_ then was lodged; there sodainly they seized on her, &

upon examination, in maintainance of her desperate revenge; voluntarily

confessed the fact, and what elsee concerned the occasion of his death,

by the wrongs which hee had offered her.

_Folco_ and _Hugnetto_ understanding secretly, both from the Duke,

& other intimate friends, what was the reason of _Ninettaes_

apprehension, which was not a little displeasing to them, laboured by

all their best pains and endeavour, to worke such meanes with the Duke,

that her life might not perish by fire, although she had most justly

deserved it; but all their attempts prooved to no effect, because the

Duke had concluded to execute justice.

Heere you are to observe, that _Magdalena_ (beeing a very beautifull

Woman, yong, and in the choisest flower of her time:) had often before

bin solicited by the Duke, to entertaine his love and kindnesse,

whereto by no meanes she would listen or give consent. And being now

most earnestly importuned by her, for the safety of her Sisters life,

shee tooke hold on this her daily suite to him, and in private told

her, that if she was so desirous of _Ninettaes_ life: it lay in her

power to obtaine it, by granting him the fruition of her love. She

apparantly perceiving, that _Ninetta_ was not likely to live, but by

the prostitution of her chaste honour, which she preferred before

the losse of her owne life, or her Sisters; concluded, to let her

dye, rather then run into any such disgrace. But having an excellent

ingenious wit, quicke, and apprehensive in perillous occasions, shee

intended now to make a trial of over-reaching the lascivious Duke in

his wanton purpose, and yet to be assured of her Sisters life, without

any blemish to her reputation.

Soliciting him still as she was wont to doe, this promise passed from

her to him, that when _Ninetta_ was delivered out of prison, and in

safety at home in her house: hee should resort thither in some queint

disguise, and enjoy his long expected desire; but untill then she would

not yeeld. So violent was the Duke in the prosecution of his purpose,

that under colour of altering the manner of _Ninettaes_ death, not

suffering her to bee consumed by fire, but to be drowned, according

to a custome observed there long time, and at the importunity of her

Sister _Magdalena_, in the still silence of the night, _Ninetta_

was conveyed into a sacke, and sent in that manner to the House of

_Folco_, the Duke following soone after, to challenge her promise.

_Magdalena_, having acquainted her Husband with her vertuous intention,

for preserving her Sisters life, and disappointing the Duke in his

wicked desire; was as contrary to her true meaning in this case, as

_Ninetta_ had formerly beene adverse to _Restagnone_, onely being

over-ruled likewise by jealousie, and perswaded in his rash opinion,

that the Duke had already dishonoured _Magdalena_, otherwise, he would

not have delivered _Ninetta_ out of prison. Mad fury gave further fire

to this unmanly perswasion, and nothing will now quench this violent

flame, but the life of poore _Magdalena_, suddenly sacrificed in the

rescue of her Sisters, such a divell is anger, when the understandings

bright eye is thereby abused. No credit might be given to her womanly

protestations, nor any thing seeme to alter his bloody purpose; but,

having slaine _Magdalena_ with his Poniard, (notwithstanding her teares

and humble entreaties) hee ran in haste to _Ninettaes_ Chamber, shee

not dreaming on any such desperate accident, and to her he used these

dissembling speeches.

Sister (quoth he) my wife hath advised, that I should speedily convey

you hence, as fearing the renewing of the Dukes fury, and your falling

againe into the hands of Justice: I have a Barke readily prepared for

you, and your life being secured, it is all that she and I doe most

desire. _Ninetta_ being fearefull, and no way distrusting what he had

saide; in thankfull allowance of her Sisters care, and curteous tender

of his so ready service; departed thence presently with him, not taking

any farewell of her other Sister and her Husband. To the Sea-shore they

came, very weakely provided of monies to defray their charges, and

getting aboard the Barke, directed their course themselves knew not

whether.

The amourous Duke in his disguise, having long daunced attendance at

_Folcoes_ doore, and no admittance of his entrance; angerly returned

backe to his Court, protesting severe revenge on _Magdalena_, if

she gave him not the better satisfaction, to cleare her from thus

basely abusing him. On the morrow morning, when _Magdalena_ was found

murthered in her Chamber, and tidings thereof carried to the Duke;

present search was made for the bloody offendor, but _Folco_ being fled

and gone with _Ninetta_; some there were, who bearing deadly hatred to

_Hugnetto_, incensed the Duke against him and his wife, as supposing

them to be guilty of _Magdalenaes_ death. He being thereto very easily

perswaded, in regard of his immoderate love to the slaine Gentlewoman;

went himselfe in person (attended on by his Guard) to _Hugnettoes_

House, where both he and his wife were seized as prisoners.

These newes were very strange to them, and their imprisonment as

unwelcome; and although they were truly innocent, either in knowledge

of the horrid fact, or the departure of _Folco_ with _Ninetta_: yet

being unable to endure the tortures extremity, they made themselves

culpable by confession, and that they had hand with _Folco_ in the

murder of _Magdalena_. Upon this their forced confession, and sentence

of death pronounced on them by the Duke himselfe; before the day

appointed for their publike execution, by great summes of money,

which they had closely hid in their House, to serve when any urgent

extremitie should happen to them; they corrupted their keepers, and

before any intelligence could be had of their flight, they escaped

by Sea to _Rhodes_, where they lived afterward in great distresse

and misery. The just vengeance of Heaven followed after _Folco_ and

_Ninetta_, he for murthering his honest wife, and she for poysoning

her offending Husband: for being beaten a long while on the Seas, by

tempestuous stormes and weather, and not admitted landing in any Port

or creeke; they were driven backe on the Coast of _Candie_ againe,

where being apprehended, and brought to the City before the Duke, they

confessed their severall notorious offences, and ended their loathed

lives in one fire together.

Thus the idle and loose love of _Restagnone_, with the franticke rage

and jealousie of _Ninetta_ and _Folco_, overturned all their long

continued happinesse, and threw a disastrous ending on them all.

Gerbino, _contrary to the former plighted faith of his Grand-father,

King_ Gulielmo, _fought with a Ship at Sea, belonging to the King of_

Thunis, _to take away his Daughter, who was then in the same Ship. Shee

being slaine by them that had the possession of her, he likewise slew

them; and afterward had his owne head smitten off._

The fourth Novell.

_In commendation of Justice betweene Princes; and declaring withal,

that neither feare, dangers, nor death it selfe; can any way daunt a

true and loyall Lover._

Madam _Lauretta_ having concluded her Novel, and the company

complaining on Lovers misfortunes, some blaming the angry and jealous

fury of _Ninetta_, and every one delivering their severall opinions;

the King, as awaking out of a passionate perplexity, exalted his

lookes, giving a signe to Madam _Elisa_, that shee should follow next

in order, whereto she obeying, began in this manner. I have heard

(Gracious Ladies, quoth she) of many people, who are verily perswaded,

that Loves arrowes, never wound any body, but onely by the eyes lookes

and gazes, mocking and scorning such as maintaine that men may fall in

love by hearing onely. Wherein (beleeve me) they are greatly deceived,

as will appeare by a Novell which I must now relate unto you, and

wherein you shall plainely perceive, that not onely fame or report is

as prevailing as sight; but also hath conducted divers, to a wretched

and miserable ending of their lives.

_Gulielmo_ the second, King of _Sicilie_, according as the _Sicilian_

Chronicles record, had two children, the one a sonne, named _Don

Rogero_, and the other a daughter, called Madam _Constance_. The

saide _Rogero_ died before his Father, leaving a sonne behind him,

named _Gerbino_, who, with much care and cost, was brought up by his

Grand-father, proving to be a very goodly Prince, and wondrously

esteemed for his great valour and humanity. His fame could not

containe it selfe, within the bounds or limits of _Sicilie_ onely, but

being published very prodigally, in many parts of the world beside,

flourished with no meane commendations throughout all _Barbarie_,

which in those dayes was tributary to the King of _Sicilie_. Among

other persons, deserving most to be respected, the renowned vertues,

and affability of this gallant Prince _Gerbino_, was understood by

the beautious Daughter to the King of _Thunis_, who by such as had

seene her, was reputed to be one of the rarest creatures, the best

conditioned, and of the truest noble spirit, that ever Nature framed in

her very choycest pride of art.

Of famous, vertuous, and worthy men, it was continually her cheefest

delight to heare, and the admired actions of valiant _Gerbino_,

reported to her by many singular discoursers, such as could best

describe him, with language answerable to his due deservings, won such

honourable entertainment in her understanding soule, that they were

most affectionately pleasing to her, and in capitulating (over and over

againe) his manifold and heroycall perfections; meere speech made her

extreamely amorous of him, nor willingly would she lend an eare to any

other discourse, but that which tended to his honour and advancement.

On the other side, the fame of her incomparable beauty, with addition

of her other infinite singularities beside; as the World had given

eare to in numberlesse places, so _Sicilie_ came at length acquainted

therewith, in such flowing manner, as was truly answerable to her

merit. Nor seemed this as a bare babling rumour, in the Princely

hearing of royall _Gerbino_; but was embraced with such a reall

apprehension, and the entire probation of a true understanding: that

he was no lesse enflamed with noble affection towards her, then she

expressed the like in vertuous opinion of him. Wherefore, awaiting

such convenient opportunity, when he might entreate license of his

Grandfather, for his owne going to _Thunis_, under colour of some

honourable occasion, for the earnest desire hee had to see her: he

gave charge to some of his especiall friends (whose affaires required

their presence in those parts) to let the Princesse understand, in such

secret manner as best they could devise, what noble affection he bare

unto her, devoting himselfe onely to her service.

One of his chosen friends thus put in trust, being a Jeweller, a man

of singular discretion, and often resorting to Ladies for sight of his

Jewelles, winning like admittance to the Princesse: related at large

unto her, the honourable affection of _Gerbino_, with full tender of

his person to her service, and that she onely was to dispose of him.

Both the message and the messenger, were most graciously welcome to

her, and flaming in the selfsame affection towards him; as a testimony

thereof, one of the very choisest Jewelse which she bought of him, shee

sent by him to the Prince _Gerbino_, it being received by him with such

joy and contentment, as nothing in the world could be more pleasing to

him. So that afterward, by the trusty carriage of this Jeweller, many

Letters and Love-tokens passed betweene them, each being as highly

pleased with this poore, yet happy kinde of entercourse, as if they had

seene & conversed with one another.

Matters proceeding on in this manner, and continuing longer then their

love-sicke passions easily could permit, yet neither being able to find

out any other meanes of helpe; it fortuned, that the King of _Thunis_

promised his daughter in marriage to the King of _Granada_, whereat

she grew exceeding sorrowfull, perceyving, that not onely she should

be sent further off, by a large distance of way from her friend, but

also bee deprived utterly, of all hope ever to enjoy him. And if she

could have devised any meanes, either by secret flight from her Father,

or any way else to further her intention, she would have adventured it

for the Princes sake. _Gerbino_ in like manner hearing of this purposed

mariage, lived in a hell of torments, consulting oftentimes with his

soule, how he might bee possessed of her by power, when she should

be sent by Sea to her husband, or private stealing her away from her

Fathers Court before: with these and infinite other thoughts, was he

incessantly afflicted, both day and night.

By some unhappy accident or other, the King of _Thunis_ heard of this

their secret love, as also of _Gerbinoes_ purposed policy to surprize

her, and how likely he was to effect it, in regard of his manly valour,

and store of stout friends to assist him. Hereupon, when the time was

come, that hee would convey his daughter thence to her marriage, and

fearing to be prevented by _Gerbino_: he sent to the King of _Sicily_,

to let him understand his determination, craving safe conduct from

him, without impeachment of _Gerbino_, or any one elsee, untill such

time as his intent was accomplished. King _Gulielmo_ being aged, and

never acquainted with the affectionat proceedings of _Gerbino_, nor any

doubtfull reason to urge this securitie from him, in a case convenient

to be granted: yeelded the sooner thereto right willingly, and as a

signale of his honourable meaning, he sent him his royall Glove, with a

full confirmation for his safe conduct.

No sooner were these Princely assurances received, but a goodly ship

was prepared in the Port of _Carthagena_, well furnished with all

thinges thereto belonging, for the sending his daughter to the King of

_Granada_, waiting for nothing elsee but best favouring windes. The yong

Princesse, who understood and saw all this great preparation; secretly

sent a servant of hers to _Palermo_, giving him especiall charge, on

her behalfe, to salute the Prince _Gerbino_, and to tell him withall,

that (within few dayes) shee must be transported to _Granada_. And now

opportunity gave fayre and free meane, to let the world know, whether

hee were a man of that magnanimous spirit, or no, as generall opinion

had formerly conceyved of him, and whether he affected her so firmely,

as by many close messages he had assured her. He who had the charge of

this embassie, effectually performed it, and then returned backe to

_Thunis_.

The Prince _Gerbino_, having heard this message from his divine

Mistresse, and knowing also, that the King his Grandfather, had past

his safe conduct to the King of _Thunis_, for peaceable passage

thorough his Seas: was at his wits end, in this urgent necessitie, what

might best bee done. Notwithstanding, moved by the setled constancie of

his plighted Love, and the speeches delivered to him by the messenger

from the Princesse: to shew himselfe a man endued with courage, he

departed thence unto _Messina_, where he made readie two speedie

gallies, and fitting them with men of valiant disposition, set away to

_Sardignia_, as making full account, that the Ship which carried the

Princesse, must come along that Coast. Nor was his expectation therein

deceived: for, within few dayes after, the Ship (not over-swiftly

winded) came sailing neere to the place where they attended for her

arrivall; whereof _Gerbino_ had no sooner gotten a sight, but to

animate the resolutes which were in his company, thus he spake.

Gentlemen, if you be those men of valour, as heeretofore you have beene

reputed, I am perswaded, that there are some among you, who either

formerly have, or now instantly do feele, the all-commanding power of

Love, without which (as I thinke) there is not any mortall man, that

can have any goodnesse or vertue dwelling in him. Wherefore, if ever

you have bene amorously affected, or presently have any apprehension

thereof, you shall the more easily judge of what I now aime at. True

it is, that I do love, and love hath guided me to be comforted, and

manfully assisted by you, because in yonder Ship, which you see commeth

on so gently under saile (even as if she offered her selfe to be our

prize) not onely is the Jewell which I most esteeme, but also mighty

and unvalewable treasure, to be wonne without any difficult labour, or

hazard of a dangerous fight, you being men of such undauntable courage.

In the honour of which victory, I covet not any part or parcell, but

onely a Ladie, for whose sake I have undertaken these Armes, and freely

give you all the rest contained in the shippe. Let us set on them,

Gentlemen, and my dearest friends; couragiously let us assaile the

ship, you see how the wind favours us, and (questionlesse) in so good an

action, Fortune will not faile us.

_Gerbino_ needed not to have spoken so much, in perswading them to

seize so rich a booty; because the men of _Messina_ were naturally

addicted to spoile and rapine: and before the Prince began his Oration,

they had concluded to make the ship their purchase. Wherefore, giving

a lowde shout, according to their Countrey manner, and commaunding

their Trumpets to sound chearefully, they rowed on amain with their

Oares, and (in meere despight) set upon the ship. But before the

Gallies could come neere her, they that had the charge and managing of

her, perceyving with what speede they made towards them, and no likely

meanes of escaping from them, resolvedly they stood uppon their best

defence, for now it was no time to be slothfull.

The Prince being come neere to the Ship, commanded that the Patrones

should come to him, except they would adventure the fight. When

the Sarazines were thereof advertised, and understood also what he

demanded, they returned answer: That their motion and proceeding

in this manner, was both against Law and plighted faith, which was

promised by the King of _Sicily_, for their safe passage thorow his

Sea, by no meanes to be molested or assailed. In testimony whereof,

they shewed his Glove, avouching moreover, that neyther by force (or

otherwise) they would yeelde, or deliver him any thing which they had

aboorde their Ship.

_Gerbino_ espying his gracious Mistresse on the Ships decke, and she

appearing to be farre more beautifull, then Fame had made relation of

her: being much more enflamed now, then formerly he had bin, replyed

thus when they shewed the Glove. Wee have (quoth he) no Faulcon heere

now, to be humbled at the sight of your Glove: and therefore, if you

will not deliver the Lady, prepare your selves for fight, for we must

have her whether you will or no. Hereupon, they began to let flie (on

both sides) their Darts and arrowes, with stones sent in violent sort

from their slings, thus continuing the fight a long while, to very

great harme on either side. At the length, _Gerbino_ perceyving, that

small benefite would redound to him, if he did not undertake some

other kinde of course: he tooke a small Pinnace, which purposely he

brought with him from _Sardignia_, and setting it on a flaming fire,

conveyd it (by the Gallies help) close to the ship. The Sarazines much

amazed thereat, and evidently perceiving, that eyther they must yeeld

or dy; brought their Kings daughter upon the prow of the ship, most

greevously weeping and wringing her hands. Then calling _Gerbino_, to

let him behold their resolution, there they slew hir before his face;

and afterward, throwing her body into the Sea, said: Take her, there

we give her to thee, according to our bounden duty, and as thy perjury

hath justly deserved.

This sight was not a little greevous to the Prince _Gerbino_, who

madded now with this their monstrous cruelty, and not caring what

became of his owne life, having lost her for whom hee onely desired

to live: not dreading their Darts, Arrowes, slinged stones, or what

violence else they could use against him; he leapt aboord their ship, in

despight of all that durst resist him, behaving himself there like a

hunger-starved Lyon, when he enters among a heard of beastes, tearing

their carkasses in pieces both with his teeth and pawes. Such was the

extreme fury of the poor Prince, not sparing the life of any one, that

durst appeare in his presence; so that what with the bloody slaughter,

and violence of the fires encreasing in the Ship; the Mariners got such

wealth as possibly they could save, and suffering the Sea to swallow

the rest, _Gerbino_ returned unto his Gallies againe, nothing proud of

this so ill-gotten victory.

Afterward, having recovered the Princesses dead body out of the Sea,

and enbalmed it with sighes and teares: hee returned backe into

_Sicilie_, where he caused it to be most honourably buried, in a little

Island, named _Ustica_, face to face confronting _Trapanum_. The King

of _Thunis_ hearing these disastrous Newes, sent his Ambassadors

(habited in sad mourning) to the aged King of _Sicily_, complaining

of his faith broken with him, and how the accident had falne out. Age

being sodainly incited to anger, and the King extreamly offended at

this injury, seeing no way whereby to deny him justice, it being urged

so instantly by the Ambassadours: caused _Gerbino_ to be apprehended,

and hee himselfe (in regard that none of his Lords and Barons would

therein assist him, but laboured to divert him by their earnest

importunity) pronounced the sentence of death on the Prince, and

commanded to have him beheaded in his presence; affecting rather, to

dye without an heire, then to be thought a King void of justice. So

these two unfortunate Lovers, never enjoying the very least benefite of

their long wished desires: ended both their lives in violent manner.

_The three Brethren to_ Isabella, _slew a Gentleman that secretly loved

her. His ghost appeared to her in her sleepe, and shewed her in what

place they had buried his body. She (in silent manner) brought away his

head, and putting it into a pot of earth, such as Flowers, Basile, or

other sweet hearbes are usually set in; she watered it (a long while)

with her teares. Whereof her Brethren having intelligence; soone after

she dyed, with meere conceite of sorrow._

The fift Novell.

_Wherein is plainly proved, that Love cannot be rooted uppe, by any

humane power or providence; especially in such a soule, where it hath

bene really apprehended._

The Novell of Madame _Eliza_ being finished, and some-what commended

by the King, in regard of the Tragicall conclusion; _Philomena_ was

enjoyned to proceede next with her discourse. She beeing overcome

with much compassion, for the hard Fortunes of Noble _Gerbino_, and

his beautifull Princesse, after an extreame and vehement sighe, thus

she spake. My tale (worthy Ladies) extendeth not to persons of so

high birth or quality, as they were of whom Madame _Eliza_ gave you

relation: yet (peradventure) it may proove to be no lesse pitifull.

And now I remember my selfe, _Messina_ so lately spoken of, is the

place where this accident also happened.

In _Messina_ there dwelt three yong men, Brethren, and Merchants

by their common profession, who becoming very rich by the death of

theyr Father, lived in very good fame and repute. Their Father was

of _San Gemignano_, and they had a Sister named _Isabella_, young,

beautifull, and well conditioned; who, upon some occasion, as yet

remained unmaried. A proper youth, being a Gentleman borne in _Pisa_,

and named _Lorenzo_, as a trusty factor or servant, had the managing of

the Brethrens businesse and affaires. This _Lorenzo_ being of comely

personage, affable, and excellent in his behaviour, grew so gracious in

the eyes of _Isabella_, that shee affoorded him many very respective

lookes, yea, kindnesses of no common quality. Which _Lorenzo_ taking

notice of, and observing by degrees from time to time, gave over all

other beauties in the Citie, which might allure any affection from him,

and only fixed his heart on her, so that their love grew to a mutuall

embracing, both equally respecting one another, and entertaining

kindnesses, as occasion gave leave.

Long time continued this amorous league of love, yet not so cunningly

concealed, but at the length, the secret meeting of _Lorenzo_ and

_Isabella_, to ease their poore soules of Loves oppressions, was

discovered by the eldest of the Brethren, unknowne to them who were

thus betrayed. He being a man of great discretion, although this sight

was highly displeasing to him: yet notwithstanding, he kept it to

himselfe till the next morning, labouring his braine what might best be

done in so urgent a case. When day was come, he resorted to his other

brethren, and told them what he had seene in the time past, betweene

their sister and _Lorenzo_.

Many deliberations passed on in this case; but after all, thus they

concluded together, to let it proceede on with patient supportance,

that no scandall might ensue to them, or their Sister, no evill acte

being (as yet) committed. And seeming, as if they knew not of their

love, had a wary eye still upon her secret walkes, awaiting for some

convenient time, when without their owne prejudice, or _Isabellaes_

knowledge, they might safely breake off this their stolne love, which

was altogether against their liking. So, shewing no worse countenance

to _Lorenzo_, then formerly they had done, but imploying and conversing

with him in kinde manner; it fortuned, that riding (all three) to

recreate themselves out of the Cittie, they tooke _Lorenzo_ in their

company, and when they were come to a solitarie place, such as best

suited with their vile purpose: they ran sodainly upon _Lorenzo_, slew

him, & afterward enterred his body, where hardly it could be discovered

by any one. Then they returned backe to _Messina_, & gave it forth (as

a credible report) that they had sent him abroad about their affaires,

as formerly they were wont to do: which every one verily beleeved,

because they knew no reason why they should conceite any otherwise.

_Isabella_, living in expectation of his returne, and perceiving his

stay to her was so offensively long: made many demands to her Brethren,

into what parts they had sent him, that his tarrying was so quite from

all wonted course. Such was her importunate speeches to them, that they

taking it very discontentedly, one of them returned her this frowning

answer. What is your meaning Sister, by so many questionings after

_Lorenzo_? What urgent affaires have you with him, that makes you so

impatient upon his absence? If heereafter you make any more demands for

him, we shall shape you such a reply, as will bee but little to your

liking. At these harsh words, _Isabella_ fell into abundance of teares,

where-among she mingled many sighes and groanes, such as were able to

overthrow a far stronger constitution: so that, being full of feare and

dismay, yet no way distrusting her brethrens cruell deede; shee durst

not question any more after him.

In the silence of darke night, as she lay afflicted in her bed,

oftentimes would she call for _Lorenzo_, entreating his speedy

returning to her: And then againe, as if he had bene present with

her, shee checkt and reproved him for his so long absence. One night

amongst the rest, she being growen almost hopelesse, of ever seeing him

againe, having a long while wept and greevously lamented; her senses

and faculties utterly spent and tired, that she could not utter any

more complaints, she fell into a trance or sleepe; and dreamed, that

the ghost of _Lorenzo_ appeared unto her, in torne and unbefitting

garments, his lookes pale, meager, and staring: and (as she thought)

thus spake to her. My deare love _Isabella_, thou doest nothing but

torment thy selfe, with calling on me, accusing me for overlong

tarrying from thee: I am come therefore to let thee know, that thou

canst not enjoy my company any more, because the very same day when

last thou sawest me, thy brethren most bloodily murthered me. And

acquainting her with the place where they had buried his mangled body:

hee strictly charged her, not to call him at any time afterward, and so

vanished away.

The yong Damosell awaking, and giving some credite to her Vision,

sighed and wept exceedingly; and after she was risen in the morning,

not daring to say any thing to her brethren, she resolutely determined,

to go see the place formerly appointed her, onely to make triall,

if that which she seemed to see in her sleepe, should carry any

likely-hood of truth. Having obtained favour of her brethren, to ride a

dayes journey from the City, in company of her trusty Nurse, who long

time had attended on her in the house, and knew the secret passages

of her love: they rode directly to the designed place, which being

covered with some store of dried leaves, and more deeply sunke then any

other part of the ground thereabout, they digged not farre, but they

found the body of murthered _Lorenzo_, as yet very little corrupted or

impaired, and then perceived the truth of her vision.

Wisedome and government so much prevailed with her, as to instruct her

soule, that her teares spent there, were meerely fruitlesse and in

vaine, neither did the time require any long tarrying there. Gladly

would shee have carried the whole body with her, secretly to bestow

honourable enterment on it, but it exceeded the compasse of her

ability. Wherefore, in regard she could not have all, yet she would be

possessed of a part, & having brought a keene razor with her, by helpe

of the Nurse, shee divided the head from the body, and wrapped it up

in a Napkin, which the nurse conveyed into her lap, and then laide the

body in the ground again. Thus being undiscovered by any, they departed

thence, and arrived at home in convenient time, where being alone by

themselves in the Chamber: she washed the head over and over with her

teares, and bestowed infinite kisses thereon.

Not long after, the Nurse having brought her a large earthen potte,

such as wee use to set Basile, Marjerom, Flowers, or other sweet

hearbes in, and shrouding the head in a silken Scarfe, put it into the

pot, covering it with earth, and planting divers rootes of excellent

Basile therein, which she never watered, but either with her teares,

Rose water, or water distilled from the Flowers of Oranges. This pot

she used continually to sitte by, either in her chamber, or any where

elsee: for she caried it alwaies with her, sighing and breathing foorth

sad complaints thereto, even as if they had beene uttered to her

_Lorenzo_, and day by day this was her continuall exercise, to the no

meane admiration of her bretheren, and many other friends that beheld

her.

So long she held on in this mourning manner, that, what by the

continuall watering of the Basile, and putrifaction of the head,

so buried in the pot of earth; it grew very flourishing, and most

odorifferous to such as scented it, so that as no other Basile could

possibly yeeld so sweet a savour. The neighbours noting this behaviour

in her, observing the long continuance thereof, how much her bright

beauty was defaced, and the eyes sunke into her head by incessant

weeping, made many kinde and friendly motions, to understand the reason

of her so violent oppressions; but could not by any meanes prevaile

with her, or win any discovery by her Nurse, so faithfull was she in

secrecie to her. Her brethren also waxed wearie of this carriage in

her; and having very often reproved her for it, without any other

alteration in her: at length, they closely stole away the potte of

Basile from her, for which she made infinite wofull lamentations,

earnestly entreating to have it restored againe, avouching that shee

could not live without it.

Perceiving that she could not have the pot againe, she fell into an

extreame sicknesse, occasioned onely by her ceaselesse weeping: and

never urged she to have any thing, but the restoring of her Basile pot.

Her brethren grew greatly amazed thereat, because shee never called for

ought elsee beside; and thereupon were very desirous to ransacke the pot

to the very bottome. Having emptied out all the earth, they found the

Scarfe of silke, wherein the head of Lorenzo was wrapped; which was (as

yet) not so much consumed, but by the lockes of haire, they knew it to

be _Lorenzoes_ head, whereat they became confounded with amazement.

Fearing least their offence might come to open publication, they

buried it very secretly; and, before any could take notice thereof,

they departed from _Messina_, and went to dwell in _Naples. Isabella_

crying & calling still for her pot of Basile, being unable to give over

mourning, dyed within a few dayes after. Thus have you heard the hard

fate of poore _Lorenzo_ and his _Isabella_. Within no long while after,

when this accident came to be publikely knowne, an excellent ditty was

composed thereof, beginning thus:

_Cruell and unkinde was the Christian,

That robd me of my Basiles blisse, &c._