THE FIFT DAY.

_Whereon, all the Discourses do passe under the Governement of the

most Noble Lady_ Fiammetta: _Concerning such persons, as have bene

successefull in their Love, after many hard and perillous misfortunes._

The Induction.

Now began the Sunne to dart foorth his golden beames, when Madam

_Fiammetta_ (incited by the sweete singing Birdes, which since the

breake of day, sat merrily chanting on the trees) arose from her bed:

as all the other Ladies likewise did, and the three young Gentlemen

descending downe into the fields, where they walked in a gentle pace on

the greene grasse, until the Sunne were risen a little higher. On many

pleasant matters they conferred together, as they walked in severall

companies, til at the length the Queene, finding the heate to enlarge

it selfe strongly, returned backe to the Castle; where when they were

all arrived, shee commanded, that after this mornings walking, their

stomackes should bee refreshed with wholsome Wines, as also divers

sorts of banquetting stuffe. Afterward, they all repaired into the

Garden, not departing thence, untill the houre of dinner was come: at

which time, the Master of the houshold, having prepared every thing

in decent readinesse, after a solemn song was sung, by order from the

Queene, they were seated at the Table.

When they had dined, to their owne liking and contentment, they began

(in continuation of their former order) to exercise divers dances, and

afterward voyces to their instruments, with many pretty Madrigals and

Roundelayes. Uppon the finishing of these delights, the Queene gave

them leave to take their rest, when such as were so minded, went to

sleep, others solaced themselves in the Garden. But after midday was

overpast, they met (according to their wonted manner) and as the Queene

had commanded, at the faire Fountaine; where she being placed in her

seate royall, and casting her eye upon _Pamphilus_, shee bad him begin

the dayes discourses, of happy successe in love, after disastrous and

troublesome accidents; who yeelding thereto with humble reverence, thus

began.

Many Novelse (gracious Ladies) do offer themselves to my memory,

wherewith to beginne so pleasant a day, as it is her Highnesse desire

that this should be, among which plenty, I esteeme one above all the

rest: because you may comprehend thereby, not onely the fortunate

conclusion, wherewith we intend to begin our day; but also, how mighty

the forces of Love are, deserving to bee both admired and reverenced.

Albeit there are many, who scarsely knowing what they say, do condemne

them with infinite grosse imputations: which I purpose to disprove, &

(I hope) to your no little pleasing.

Chynon, _by falling in love, became wise, and by force of Armes,

winning his faire Lady_ Iphigenia _on the Seas, was afterward

imprisoned at_ Rhodes. _Being delivered by one named_ Lysimachus, _with

him he recovered his_ Iphigenia _againe, and faire_ Cassandra, _even

in the middest of their mariage. They fled with them into_ Candye,

_where after they had married them, they were called home to their owne

dwelling._

The first Novell.

_Wherein is approved, that Love (oftentimes) maketh a man both wise and

valiant._

According to the ancient Annales of the _Cypriots_, there sometime

lived in _Cyprus_, a Noble Gentleman, who was commonly called

_Aristippus_, and exceeded all other of the Countrey in the goods

of Fortune. Divers children he had, but (amongst the rest) a

Sonne, in whose birth he was more infortunate then any of the rest;

and continually greeved, in regard, that having all the compleate

perfections of beauty, good forme, and manly parts, surpassing all

other youths of his age or stature, yet hee wanted the reall ornament

of the soule, reason and judgement; being (indeed) a meere Ideot

or Foole, and no better hope to be expected of him. His true name,

according as he receyved it by Baptisme, was _Galesus_, but because

neyther by the laborious paines of his Tutors, indulgence, and faire

endeavour of his parents, or ingenuity of any other, he could bee

brought to civility of life, understanding of Letters, or common

cariage of a reasonable creature: by his grosse and deformed kinde of

speech, his qualities also savouring rather of brutish breeding, then

any way derived from manly education; as an epithite of scorne and

derision, generally, they gave him the name of _Chynon_, which in their

native Countrey language, and divers other beside, signifieth a very

Sot or Foole, and so was he termed by every one.

This lost kinde of life in him, was no meane burthen of greefe unto his

Noble Father, and all hope being already spent, of any future happy

recovery, he gave command (because he would not alwayes have such a

sorrow in his sight) that he should live at a Farme of his owne in

a Country Village, among his Peazants and Plough-Swaines. Which was

not any way distastefull to _Chynon_, but well agreed with his owne

naturall disposition; for their rurall qualities, and grosse behaviour

pleased him beyond the Cities civility. _Chynon_ living thus at his

Fathers Countrey Village, exercising nothing elsee but rurall demeanour,

such as then delighted him above all other: it chanced upon a day about

the houre of noone, as hee was walking over the fields, with a long

Staffe on his necke, which commonly he used to carry; he entred into

a small thicket, reputed the goodliest in all those quarters, and by

reason it was then the month of May, the Trees had their leaves fairely

shot forth.

When he had walked thorow the thicket, it came to passe, that (even as

if good Fortune guided him) he came into a faire Meadow, on everie side

engirt with Trees, and in one corner thereof stoode a goodly Fountaine,

whose current was both coole and cleare. Harde by it, uppon the greene

grasse, he espied a very beautifull yong Damosell, seeming to bee fast

asleepe, attired in such fine loose garments, as hidde verie little of

her white body: onely from the girdle downward, shee ware a kirtle made

close unto her, of interwoven delicate silke, and at her feete lay two

other Damoselse sleeping, and a servant in the same manner. No sooner

hadde _Chynon_ fixed his eie upon her, but he stood leaning uppon his

staffe, and viewed her very advisedly, without speaking a word, and

in no mean admiration, as if he had never seene the forme of a woman

before. He began then to feele in his harsh rurall understanding (where

into never till now, either by painfull instruction, or all other good

meanes used to him, any honest civility had power of impression) a

strange kinde of humour to awake, which informed his grosse and dull

spirite, that this Damosell was the very fairest, which ever any

living man beheld.

Then he began to distinguish her parts, commending the tresses of hir

haire, which he imagined to be of gold; her forehead, nose, mouth,

neck, armes, but (above all) her brests, appearing (as yet) but onely

to shewe themselves, like two little mountainets. So that, of a fielden

clownish lout, he would needs now become a judge of beauty, coveting

earnestly in his soule, to see her eyes, which were veiled over with

sound sleepe, that kept them fast enclosed together, and onely to looke

on them, hee wished a thousand times, that she would awake. For, in

his judgement, she excelled all the women that ever he had seene, and

doubted, whether she were some Goddesse or no; so strangely was he

metamorphosed from folly, to a sensible apprehension, more then common.

And so far did this sodaine knowledge in him extend; that he could

conceive of divine and celestiall things, and that they were more to be

admired & reverenced, then those of humane or terrene consideration;

wherefore the more gladly he contented himselfe, to tarry til she

awaked of her owne accord. And although the time of stay seemed tedious

to him, yet notwithstanding, he was overcome with such extraordinary

contentment, as hee had no power to depart thence, but stood as if he

had bin glued fast to the ground.

After some indifferent respite of time, it chanced that the young

Damosel (who was named _Iphigenia_) awaked before any of the other

with her, and lifting up her head, with her eyes wide open, shee saw

_Chynon_ standing before her, leaning still on his staffe; whereat

mervailing not a little, she saide unto him: _Chynon_, whither

wanderest thou, or what dost thou seeke for in this wood? _Chynon_,

who not onely by his countenance, but likewise his folly, Nobility of

birth, and wealthy possessions of his father, was generally knowne

throughout the Countrey, made no answere at all to the demand of

_Iphigenia_: but so soone as he beheld her eies open, he began to

observe them with a constant regard, as being perswaded in his soule,

that from them flowed such an unutterable singularity, as he had never

felt til then. Which the yong Gentlewoman well noting, she began to

wax fearfull, least these stedfast lookes of his, should incite his

rusticity to some attempt, which might redound to her dishonour:

wherefore awaking her women and servant, and they all being risen, she

saide. Farewell _Chynon_, I leave thee to thine owne good Fortune;

whereto hee presently replyed, saying: I will go with you. Now,

although the Gentlewoman refused his company, as dreading some acte

of incivility from him: yet could she not devise any way to be rid of

him, til he had brought her to her owne dwelling, where taking leave

mannerly of her, hee went directly home to his Fathers house, saying;

Nothing should compel him to live any longer in the muddy Countrey. And

albeit his Father was much offended heereat, and all the rest of his

kindred and friends: (yet not knowing how to helpe it) they suffered him

to continue there still, expecting the cause of this his so sodaine

alteration, from the course of life, which contented him so highly

before.

_Chynon_ being now wounded to the heart (where never any civil

instruction could before get entrance) with loves piercing dart, by

the bright beauty of _Iphigenia_, mooved much admiration (falling from

one change to another) in his Father, Kindred, and all elsee that knew

him. For first, he requested of his Father, that he might be habited

and respected like to his other Brethren, whereto right gladly he

condiscended. And frequenting the company of civill youths, observing

also the cariage of Gentlemen, especially such as were amorously

enclined: he grew to a beginning in short time (to the wonder of every

one) not onely to understande the first instruction of letters, but

also became most skilfull, even amongest them that were best exercised

in Philosophie. And afterward, love to _Iphigenia_ being the sole

occasion of this happy alteration, not only did his harsh and clownish

voyce convert it selfe more mildely, but also hee became a singular

Musitian, & could perfectly play on any Instrument. Beside, he tooke

delight in the riding and managing of great horses, and finding

himselfe of a strong and able body, he exercised all kinds of Military

Disciplines, as wel by sea, as on the land. And, to be breefe, because

I would not seeme tedious in the repetition of al his vertues, scarsly

had he attained to the fourth yeare, after he was thus falne in love,

but hee became generally knowne, to bee the most civil, wise, and

worthy Gentleman, as well for all vertues enriching the minde, as any

whatsoever to beautifie the body, that very hardly he could be equalled

throughout the whole kingdome of _Cyprus_.

What shall we say then, (vertuous Ladies) concerning this _Chynon_?

Surely nothing elsee, but that those high and divine vertues, infused

into his gentle soule, were by envious Fortune bound and shut uppe

in some small angle of his intellect, which being shaken and set at

liberty by love, (as having a farre more potent power then Fortune,

in quickning and reviving the dull drowsie spirits); declared his

mighty and soveraigne Authority, in setting free so many faire and

precious vertues unjustly detayned, to let the worlds eye behold them

truly, by manifest testimony, from whence he can deliver those spirits

subjected to his power, & guide them (afterward) to the highest degrees

of honour. And although _Chynon_ by affecting _Iphigenia_, failed in

some particular things; yet notwithstanding, his Father _Aristippus_

duely considering, that love had made him a man, whereas (before) he

was no better then a beast: not only endured all patiently, but also

advised him therein, to take such courses as best liked himselfe.

Neverthelesse, _Chynon_ (who refused to be called _Galesus_, which was

his naturall name indeede) remembring that _Iphigenia_ tearmed him

_Chynon_, and coveting (under that title) to accomplish the issue of

his honest amorous desire: made many motions to _Ciphæus_ the Father of

_Iphigenia_, that he would be pleased to let him enjoy her in marriage.

But _Ciphæus_ told him, that he had already passed his promise for

her, to a Gentleman of _Rhodes_, named _Pasimondo_, which promise he

religiously intended to performe.

The time being come, which was concluded on for _Iphigeniaes_ marriage,

in regard that the affianced husband had sent for her: _Chynon_ thus

communed with his owne thoughts. Now is the time (quoth he) to let

my divine Mistresse see, how truly and honourably I doe affect her,

because (by her) I am become a man. But if I could bee possessed of

her, I should growe more glorious, then the common condition of a

mortall man, and have her I will, or loose my life in the adventure.

Beeing thus resolved, he prevailed with divers young Gentlemen his

friends, making them of his faction, and secretly prepared a Shippe,

furnished with all things for a Navall fight, setting sodainly forth

to sea, and hulling abroad in those parts by which the vessell should

passe, that must convey _Iphigenia_ to _Rhodes_ to her husband.

After many honours done to them, who were to transport her thence unto

_Rhodes_, being imbarked, they set saile uppon their _Bon viaggio_.

_Chynon_, who slept not in a businesse so earnestly importing him, set

on them (the day following) with his Ship, and standing aloft on the

decke, cried out to them that had the charge of _Iphigenia_, saying.

Strike your sayles, or elsee determine to be sunke in the Sea. The

enemies to _Chynon_, being nothing danted with his words, prepared to

stand upon their own defence; which made _Chynon_, after the former

speeches delivered, and no answer returned, to commaund the grapling

Irons to bee cast forth, which tooke such fast hold on the Rhodians

shippe, that (whether they would or no) both the vesselse joyned close

together. And hee shewing himselfe fierce like a Lyon, not tarrying to

be seconded by any, stepped aboord the Rhodians ship, as if he made no

respect at all of them, and having his sword ready drawne in his hand

(incited by the vertue of unfaigned love) layed about him on all sides

very manfully. Which when the men of _Rhodes_ perceyved, calling downe

their weapons, and all of them (as it were) with one voice, yeelded

themselves his prisoners: whereupon he said.

Honest Friends, neither desire of booty, or hatred to you, did occasion

my departure from _Cyprus_, thus to assaile you with drawne weapons:

but that which heereto hath most mooved me, is a matter highly

importing to me, and very easie for you to graunt, and so enjoy your

present peace. I desire to have faire _Iphigenia_ from you, whom I love

above all other Ladies living, because I could not obtain her of her

Father, to make her my lawfull wife in marriage. Love is the ground of

my instant Conquest, and I must use you as my mortall enemies, if you

stand uppon any further tearmes with me, and do not deliver her as mine

owne: for your _Pasimondo_, must not enjoy what is my right, first by

vertue of my love, & now by conquest: Deliver her therefore, and depart

hence at your pleasure.

The men of _Rhodes_, being rather constrained thereto, then of any

free disposition in themselves; with teares in their eyes, delivered

_Iphigenia_ to _Chynon_; who beholding her in like manner to weepe,

thus spake unto her. Noble Lady, do not any way discomfort your selfe,

for I am your _Chynon_, who have more right and true title to you, and

much better doe deserve to enjoy you, by my long continued affection

to you, then _Pasimondo_ can any way pleade; because you belong to

him but only by promise. So, bringing her aboord his owne ship, where

the Gentlemen his companions gave her kinde welcome, without touching

any thing elsee belonging to the Rhodians, he gave them free liberty to

depart.

_Chynon_ being more joyfull, by the obtaining of his hearts desire,

then any other conquest elsee in the world could make him, after

hee had spent some time in comforting _Iphigenia_, who as yet sate

sadly sighing; he consulted with his companions, who joyned with him

in opinion, that their safest course was, by no meanes to returne

to _Cyprus_; and therefore all (with one consent) resolved to set

saile for _Candye_, where every one made account, but especially

_Chynon_, in regard of ancient and newe combined Kindred, as also

very intimate friends, to finde very worthy entertainement, and so

to continue there safely with _Iphigenia_. But Fortune, who was so

favourable to _Chynon_, in granting him so pleasing a Conquest, to

shew her inconstancy, as sodainly changed the inestimable joy of our

jocond Lover, into as heavy sorrow and disaster. For, foure houres

were not fully compleated, since his departure from the Rhodians, but

darke night came upon them, and he sitting conversing with his fayre

Mistris, in the sweetest solace of his soule; the winds began to blow

roughly, the Seas swelled angerly, & a tempest arose impetuously, that

no man could see what his duty was to do, in such a great unexpected

distresse, nor how to warrant themselves from perishing.

If this accident were displeasing to poore _Chynon_, I thinke the

question were in vaine demanded: for now it seemed to him, that the

Godds had granted his cheefe desire, to the end hee should dye with the

greater anguish, in losing both his love and life together. His friends

likewise, felte the selfesame affliction, but especially _Iphigenia_,

who wept and greeved beyond all measure, to see the ship beaten,

with such stormy billowes, as threatned her sinking every minute.

Impatiently she cursed the love of _Chynon_, greatly blaming his

desperate boldnesse, and maintaining, that so violent a tempest could

never happen, but onely by the Gods displeasure, who would not permit

him to have a wife against their will; and therefore thus punished his

proud presumption, not only in his unavoidable death, but also that her

life must perish for company.

She continuing in these wofull lamentations, and the Mariners labouring

all in vaine, because the violence of the tempest encreased more and

more, so that every moment they expected wracking: they were carried

(contrary to their owne knowledge) very neere unto the Isle of

_Rhodes_, which they being no way able to avoid, and utterly ignorant

of the coast; for safety of their lives, they laboured to land there if

possibly they might. Wherein Fortune was somewhat furtherous to them,

driving them into a small gulfe of the Sea, whereinto (but a little

while before) the Rhodians, from whom _Chynon_ had taken Iphigenia,

were newly entred with their ship. Nor had they any knowledge each

of other, till the breake of day (which made the heavens to looke

more clearly) gave them discoverie, of being within a flight shoote

together. _Chynon_ looking forth, and espying the same ship which

he had left the day before, hee grew exceeding sorrowfull, as fearing

that which after followed, and therefore hee willed the Mariners, to

get away from her by all their best endeavour, & let fortune afterward

dispose of them as she pleased; for into a worse place they could not

come, nor fall into the like danger.

The Mariners employed their very utmost paines, and all prooved but

losse of time: for the winde was so stern, and the waves so turbulent,

that still they drove them the contrary way: so that striving to get

foorth of the gulfe, whether they would or no, they were driven on

land, and instantly knowne to the Rhodians, whereof they were not a

little joyful. The men of _Rhodes_ being landed, ran presently to

a neere neighbouring Village, where dwelt divers worthy Gentlemen,

to whom they reported the arrivall of _Chynon_, what fortune befell

them at Sea, and that _Iphigenia_ might now be recovered againe, with

chastisement to _Chynon_ for his bold insolence. They being very

joyfull of these good newes, tooke so many men as they could of the

same Village, and ran immediately to the Sea side, where _Chynon_ being

newly Landed and his people, intending flight into a neere adjoining

Forrest, for defence of himselfe and _Iphigenia_, they were all taken,

led thence to the Village, and afterwards to the chiefe City of

_Rhodes_.

No sooner were they arrived, but _Pasimondo_, the intended Husband for

_Iphigenia_ (who had already heard the tydings) went and complayned to

the Senate, who appointed a Gentleman of _Rhodes_, named _Lysimachus_,

and being that yeare soveraigne Magistrate over the Rhodians, to go

well provided for the apprehension of _Chinon_ and all his company,

committing them to prison, which accordingly was done. In this manner,

the poore unfortunate lover _Chynon_, lost his faire _Iphigenia_,

having won her in so short a while before, and scarsely requited with

so much as a kisse. But as for _Iphigenia_, she was royally welcommed

by many Lords and Ladies of _Rhodes_, who so kindely comforted her,

that she soone forgotte all her greefe and trouble on the Sea,

remaining in company of those Ladies and Gentlewomen, untill the day

determined for her mariage.

At the earnest entreaty of divers Rhodian Gentlemen, who were in

the Ship with _Iphigenia_, and had their lives courteously saved by

_Chynon_: both he and his friends had their lives likewise spared,

although _Pasimondo_ laboured importunately, to have them all put to

death; onely they were condemned to perpetuall imprisonment, which (you

must thinke) was most greevous to them, as being now hopelesse of any

deliverance. But in the meane time, while _Pasimondo_ was ordering his

nuptiall preparation, Fortune seeming to repent the wrongs shee had

done to _Chynon_, prepared a new accident, whereby to comfort him in

this deep distresse, and in such manner as I will relate unto you.

_Pasimondo_ had a Brother, yonger then he in yeares, but not a jot

inferiour to him in vertue, whose name was _Hormisda_, and long

time the case had bene in question, for his taking to wife a faire

yong Gentlewoman of _Rhodes_, called _Cassandra_; whom _Lysimachus_

the Governour loved verie dearly, and hindred her marriage with

_Hormisda_, by divers strange accidents. Now _Pasimondo_ perceiving,

that his owne Nuptials required much cost and solemnity, hee thought

it very convenient, that one day might serve for both the Weddinges,

which elsee would lanch into more lavish expences, and therefore

concluded, that his brother _Hormisda_ should marry _Cassandra_, at

the same time as he wedded _Iphigenia_. Heereuppon, he consulted with

the Gentlewomans parents, who liking the motion as well as he, the

determination was set downe, and one day to effect the duties of both.

When this came to the hearing of _Lysimachus_, it was very greatly

displeasing to him, because now he saw himselfe utterly deprived of

al hope to attaine the issue of his desire, if _Hormisda_ receyved

_Cassandra_ in marriage. Yet being a very wise and worthy man, hee

dissembled his distaste, and began to consider on some apt meanes,

whereby to disappoint the marriage once more, which he found impossible

to bee done, except it were by way of rape or stealth. And that did

not appear to him any difficult matter, in regard of his Office and

Authority: onely it wold seeme dishonest in him, by giving such an

unfitting example. Neverthelesse, after long deliberation, honour gave

way to love, and resolutely he concluded to steale her away, whatsoever

became of it.

Nothing wanted now, but a convenient company to assist him, & the order

how to have it done. Then he remembred _Chynon_ and his friends, whom

he detained as his prisoners, and perswaded himself, that he could not

have a more faithfull friend in such a busines, then _Chynon_ was.

Hereupon, the night following, he sent for him into his Chamber, and

being alone by themselves, thus he began. _Chynon_ (quoth hee) as the

Gods are very bountifull, in bestowing their blessings on men, so doe

they therein most wisely make proofe of their vertues, and such as they

finde firme and constant, in all occurrences which may happen, them

they make worthy (as valiant spirits) of the very best and highest

merites. Now, they being willing to have more certain experience of

thy vertues, then those which heeretofore thou hast shewne, within

the bounds and limits of thy fathers possessions, which I know to be

superabounding: perhaps do intend to present thee other occasions, of

more important weight and consequence.

For first of all (as I have heard) by the piercing solicitudes of love,

of a senselesse creature, they made thee to become a man endued with

reason. Afterward, by adverse fortune, and now againe by wearisome

imprisonment, it seemeth that they are desirous to make triall, whether

thy manly courage be changed, or no, from that which heretofore it

was, when thou enjoyedst a matchlesse beautie, and lost her againe in

so short a while. Wherefore, if thy vertue be such as it hath bin,

the Gods can never give thee any blessing more worthy of acceptance,

then she whom they are now minded to bestow on thee: in which respect,

to the end that thou mayst re-assume thy wonted heroicke spirit, and

become more couragious then ever heretofore, I will acquaint thee

withall more at large.

Understand then Noble _Chynon_, that _Pasimondo_, the onely glad man

of thy misfortune, and diligent sutor after thy death, maketh all hast

hee can possibly devise to do, to celebrate his marriage with thy faire

mistris: because he would pleade possession of the prey, which Fortune

(when she smiled) did first bestow, and (afterward frowning) took from

thee again. Now, that it must needs be very irkesome to thee (at least

if thy love bee such, as I am perswaded it is) I partly can collect

from my selfe, being intended to be wronged by his brother _Hormisda_,

even in the selfsame manner, and on his marriage day, by taking faire

_Cassandra_ from me, the onely Jewell of my love and life. For the

prevention of two such notorious injuries, I see that Fortune hath left

us no other meanes, but only the vertue of our courages, and the helpe

of our right hands, by preparing our selves to Armes, opening a way to

thee, by a second rape or stealth; and to me the first, for absolute

possession of our divine Mistresses. Wherefore, if thou art desirous to

recover thy losse, I will not onely pronounce liberty to thee (which I

thinke thou dost little care for without her) but dare also assure thee

to enjoy _Iphigenia_, so thou wilt assist mee in mine enterprize, and

follow me in my fortune, if the Gods do let them fall into our power.

You may well imagine, that _Chynons_ dismayed soule was not a little

cheared at these speeches; and therefore, without craving any long

respit of time for answer, thus he replyed. Lord _Lysimachus_, in such

a busines as this is, you cannot have a faster friend then my self,

at least, if such good hap may betide me, as you have more then halfe

promised: & therefore do no more but command what you would have to

be effected by mee, and make no doubt of my courage in the execution:

whereon _Lysimachus_ made this answer. Know then _Chynon_ (quoth hee)

that three dayes hence, these marriages are to bee celebrated in

the houses of _Pasimondo_ and _Hormisda_, upon which day, thou, thy

friends, and my self (with some others, in whom I repose especiall

trust) by the friendly favour of night, will enter into their houses,

while they are in the middest of theyr Joviall feasting; and (seizing

on the two Brides) beare them thence to a Shippe, which I will have lye

in secret, waiting for our comming, and kil all such as shall presume

to impeach us. This direction gave great contentment to _Chynon_, who

remained still in prison, without revealing a word to his owne friends,

until the limited time was come.

Upon the Wedding day, performed with great and magnificent Triumph,

there was not a corner in the Brethrens houses, but it sung joy in the

highest key. _Lysimachus_, after he had ordered all things as they

ought to be, and the houre for dispatch approached neere; he made a

division in three parts, of _Chynon_, his followers, and his owne

friendes, being all well armed under their outward habites. Having

first used some encouraging speeches, for more resolute prosecution

of the enterprize, he sent one troope secretly to the Port, that

they might not be hindred of going aboord the ship, when the urgent

necessity should require it. Passing with the other two traines of

_Pasimondo_, he left the one at the doore, that such as were in the

house might not shut them up fast, and so impeach their passage forth.

Then with _Chynon_, and the third band of Confederates, he ascended

the staires up into the Hall, where he found the Brides with store of

Ladies and Gentlewomen, all sitting in comely order at Supper. Rushing

in roughly among the attendants, downe they threw the Tables, and each

of them laying hold of his Mistris, delivered them into the hands of

their followers, commanding that they should be carried aboord the

ship, for avoiding of further inconveniences.

This hurrie and amazement beeing in the house, the Brides weeping, the

Ladies lamenting, and all the servants confusedly wondering; _Chynon_

and _Lysimachus_ (with their Friends) having their weapons drawn in

their hands, made all opposers to give them way, and so gayned the

stair head for their owne descending. There stoode _Pasimondo_, with

an huge long Staffe in his hand, to hinder their passage downe the

stayres; but _Chynon_ saluted him so soundly on the head, that it being

cleft in twaine, hee fell dead before his feete. His Brother _Hormisda_

came to his rescue, and sped in the selfe-same manner as he had done;

so did divers other beside, whom the companions to _Lysimachus_ and

_Chynon_, either slew out-right, or wounded.

So they left the house, filled with bloode, teares, and out-cries,

going on together, without any hinderance, and so brought both the

Brides aboord the shippe, which they rowed away instantly with theyr

Oares. For, now the shore was full of armed people, who came in

rescue of the stolne Ladies: but all in vaine, because they were

lanched into the main, and sayled on merrily towardes _Candye_. Where

beeing arrived, they were worthily entertained by honourable Friendes

and Kinsmen, who pacified all unkindnesses betweene them and their

Mistresses: And, having accepted them in lawfull marriage, there

they lived in no meane joy and contentment: albeit there was a long

and troublesome difference (about these rapes) betweene _Rhodes_ and

_Cyprus_.

But yet in the end, by the meanes of Noble Friends and Kindred

on either side, labouring to have such discontentment appeased,

endangering warre betweene the Kingdomes: after a limited time of

banishment, _Chynon_ returned joyfully with his _Iphigenia_ home to

_Cyprus_, and _Lysimachus_ with his beloved _Cassandra_ unto _Rhodes_,

each living in their severall Countries, with much felicity.

_Faire_ Constance _of_ Liparis, _fell in love with_ Martuccio Gomito:

_and hearing that he was dead, desperately she entred into a Barke,

which being transported by the windes to_ Susa _in_ Barbary, _from

thence she went to_ Thunis, _where she found him to be living. There

she made her selfe knowne to him, and he being in great authority, as

a privy Counsellor to the King: he married the saide_ Constance, _and

returned richly home with her, to the Island of_ Liparis.

The second Novell.

_Wherein is declared the firme loyaltie of a true Lover: And how

Fortune doth sometime humble men, to raise them afterward to a farre

higher degree._

When the Queene perceyved, that the Novell recited by _Pamphilus_ was

concluded, which she graced with especial commendations: she commaunded

Madame _Æmillia_, to take her turne as next in order; whereupon, thus

she began. Me thinkes it is a matter of equity, that every one should

take delight in those things, whereby the recompence may be noted,

answerable to their owne affection. And because I rather desire to

walke along by the paths of pleasure, then dwell on any ceremonious or

scrupulous affectation, I shall the more gladly obey our Queen to day,

then yesterday I did our melancholly King.

Understand then (Noble Ladies) that neere to _Sicily_, there is a small

Island, commonly called _Liparis_, wherein (not long since) lived a

yong Damosell, named _Constance_, born of very sufficient parentage

in the same Island. There dwelt also a young man, called _Martuccio

Gomito_, of comely feature, well conditioned, and not unexpert in many

vertuous qualities; affecting _Constance_ in hearty manner: and she so

answerable to him in the same kinde, that to be in his company, was

her onely felicity. _Martuccio_ coveting to enjoy her in marriage, made

his intent knowne to her Father: who upbraiding him with poverty, tolde

him plainly that hee should not have her. _Martuccio_ greeving to see

himselfe thus despised, because he was poore: made such good meanes,

that he was provided of a small Barke; and calling such friends (as he

thought fit) to his association, made a solemne vow, that hee would

never returne backe to _Liparis_, untill he was rich, and in better

condition.

In the nature and course of a Rover or Pirate, so put he thence to sea,

coasting all about _Barbarie_, robbing and spoyling such as hee met

with; who were of no greater strength then himselfe: wherein Fortune

was so favourable to him, that he became wealthy in a very short while.

But as felicities are not alwayes permanent, so hee and his followers,

not contenting themselves with sufficient riches: by greedy seeking

to get more, happened to be taken by certaine ships of the Sarazins,

and so were robbed themselves of all that they had gotten, yet they

resisted them stoutly a long while together, though it proved to

the losse of many lives among them. When the Sarazens had sunke his

shippe in the Sea, they tooke him with them to _Thunis_, where he was

imprisoned, and lived in extreamest misery.

Newes came to _Liparis_, not onely by one, but many more beside, that

all those which departed thence in the small Barke with _Martuccio_

were drowned in the Sea, and not a man escaped. When _Constance_ heard

these unwelcome tydings (who was exceeding full of greefe, for his so

desperate departure) she wept and lamented extraordinarily, desiring

now rather to dye, then live any longer. Yet shee had not the heart,

to lay any violent hand on her selfe, but rather to end her dayes by

some new kinde of necessity. And departing privately from her Fathers

house, shee went to the port or haven, where (by chance) she found a

small Fisher-boate, lying distant from the other vesselse, the owners

whereof being all gone on shore, and it well furnished with Masts,

Sailes, and Oares, she entred into it; and putting forth the Oares,

beeing some-what skilfull in sayling, (as generally all the Women of

that Island are) shee so well guyded the Sailes, Rudder, and Oares,

that she was quickly farre off from the Land, and soly remained at the

mercy of the windes. For thus she had resolved with her selfe, that the

Boat being uncharged, and without a guide, wold either be over-whelmed

by the windes, or split in peeces against some Rocke; by which meanes

she could not escape although shee would, but (as it was her desire)

must needs be drowned.

In this determination, wrapping a mantle about her head, and lying

downe weeping in the boats bottome, she hourely expected her finall

expiration: but it fell out otherwise, and contrary to her desperate

intention, because the winde turning to the North, and blowing very

gently, without disturbing the Seas a jot, they conducted the small

Boat in such sort, that after the night of her entering into it, and

the morowes sailing untill the evening, it came within an hundred

leagues of _Thunis_, and to a strond neere a Towne called _Susa_.

The young Damosell knew not whether she were on the sea or land; as

one, who not by any accident hapning, lifted up her head to look about

her, neither intended ever to doe. Now it came to passe, that as the

boate was driven to the shore, a poore woman stood at the Sea side,

washing certaine Fishermens Nets; and seeing the boate comming towards

her under saile, without any person appearing in it, she wondred

thereat not a little. It being close at the shore, and she thinking

the Fishermen to be asleepe therein: stept boldly, and looked into

the boate, where she saw not any body, but onely the poore distressed

Damosell, whose sorrowes having broght her now into a sound sleepe, the

woman gave many cals before she could awake her, which at the length

she did, and looked very strangely about her.

The poore woman perceyving by her habite that she was a Christian,

demanded of her (in speaking Latine) how it was possible for her,

beeing all alone in the boate, to arrive there in this manner? When

_Constance_ heard her speake the Latine tongue, she began to doubt,

least some contrary winde had turned her backe to _Liparis_ againe, and

starting up sodainly, to looke with better advice about her, shee saw

her selfe at Land: and not knowing the Countrey, demanded of the poore

woman where she was? Daughter (quoth she) you are heere hard by _Susa_

in _Barbarie_. Which _Constance_ hearing, and plainly perceyving, that

death had denied to end her miseries, fearing least she should receive

some dishonour, in such a barbarous unkinde Country, and not knowing

what shold now become of her, she sate downe by the boates side,

wringing her hands, & weeping bitterly.

The good Woman did greatly compassionate her case, and prevailed so

well by gentle speeches, that shee conducted her into her owne poore

habitation; where at length she understoode, by what meanes shee hapned

thither so strangely. And perceyving her to be fasting, shee set such

homely bread as she had before her, a few small Fishes, and a Crewse

of Water, praying her for to accept of that poore entertainement,

which meere necessity compelled her to do, and shewed her selfe very

thankefull for it.

_Constance_ hearing that she spake the Latine language so well; desired

to know what she was. Whereto the olde woman thus answered: Gentlewoman

(quoth she) I am of _Trapanum_, named _Carapresa_, and am a servant

in this Countrey to certaine Christian Fishermen. The yong Maiden

(albeit she was very full of sorrow) hearing her name to be _Carapresa_,

conceived it as a good augury to her selfe, & that she had heard the

name before, although shee knew not what occasion should move her thus

to do. Now began her hopes to quicken againe, and yet shee could not

tell upon what ground; nor was she so desirous of death as before, but

made more precious estimation of her life, and without any further

declaration of her selfe or countrey, she entreated the good woman

(even for charities sake) to take pitty on her youth, and help her with

such good advice, to prevent all injuries which might happen to her, in

such a solitary wofull condition.

_Carapresa_ having heard her request, like a good woman as shee was,

left _Constance_ in her poore Cottage, and went hastily to leave her

nets in safety: which being done, she returned backe againe, and

covering _Constance_ with her Mantle, led her on to _Susa_ with her,

where being arrived, the good woman began in this manner. _Constance_,

I will bring thee to the house of a very worthy Sarazin Lady, to whome

I have done manie honest services, according as she pleased to command

me. She is an ancient woman, full of charity, and to her I will commend

thee as best I may, for I am well assured, that shee will gladly

entertaine thee, and use thee as if thou wert her owne daughter. Now,

let it be thy part, during thy time of remaining with her, to employ

thy utmost diligence in pleasing her, by deserving and gaining her

grace, till heaven shall blesse thee with better fortune: And as she

promised, so she performed.

The Sarazine Lady, being well stept into yeares, upon the commendable

speeches delivered by _Carapresa_, did the more seriously fasten her

eye on _Constance_, and compassion provoking her to teares, she tooke

her by the hand, and (in loving manner) kissed her fore-head. So she

led her further into her house, where dwelt divers other women (but not

one man) all exercising themselves in severall labours, as working in

all sorts of silke, with Imbroideries of Gold and Silver, and sundry

other excellent Arts beside, which in short time were verie familiar to

_Constance_, and so pleasing grew her behaviour to the old Lady, and

all the rest beside; that they loved and delighted in her wonderfully,

and (by little and little) she attained to the speaking of their

language, although it were verie harsh and difficult.

_Constance_ continuing thus in the old Ladies service at _Susa_, &

thought to be dead or lost in her owne Fathers house; it fortuned, that

one reigning then as King of _Thunis_, who named himselfe _Mariabdela_:

there was a young Lord of great birth, and very powerfull, who lived as

then in _Granada_, and pleaded that the Kingdome of _Thunis_ belonged

to him. In which respect, he mustred together a mighty Army, and came

to assault the King, as hoping to expell him. These newes comming

to the eare of _Martuccio Gomito_, who spake the Barbarian Language

perfectly; and hearing it reported, that the King of _Thunis_ made

no meane preparation for his owne defence: he conferred with one of

his keepers, who had the custody of him, and the rest taken with him,

saying: If (quoth hee) I could have meanes to speake with the King, and

he were pleased to allow of my counsell, I can enstruct him in such a

course, as shall assure him to win the honour of the field. The Guard

reported these speeches to his master, who presently acquainted the

King therewith, and _Martuccio_ being sent for; he was commanded to

speake his minde: Whereupon he began in this manner.

My gracious Lord, during the time that I have frequented your countrey,

I have heedfully observed, that the Militarie Discipline used in your

fights and battailes, dependeth more upon your Archers, then any other

men imployed in your warre. And therefore, if it could bee so ordered,

that this kinde of Artillery might fayle in your Enemies Campe, & yours

be sufficiently furnished therewith, you neede make no doubt of winning

the battaile: whereto the King thus replyed. Doubtlesse, if such an

acte were possible to be done, it would give great hope of successefull

prevailing. Sir, said _Martuccio_, if you please it may bee done, and

I can quickly resolve you how. Let the strings of your Archers Bowes

bee made more soft and gentle, then those which heretofore they have

formerly used; and next, let the nockes of the Arrowes be so provided,

as not to receive any other, then those pliant gentle strings. But

this must be done so secretly, that your enemies may have no knowledge

thereof, least they should provide themselves in the same manner. Now

the reason (Gracious Lord) why thus I counsell you, is to this end.

When the Archers on the Enemies side have shot their Arrowes at your

men, and yours in the like manner at them: it followeth, that (upon

meere constraint) they must gather up your Arrowes, to shoote them

backe againe at you, for so long while as the battell endureth, as no

doubt but your men will do the like to them. But your enemies will finde

themselves much deceived, because they can make no use of your peoples

Arrowes, in regard that the nockes are too narrow to receive their

boysterous strings. Which will fall out contrary with your followers,

for the pliant strings belonging to your Bowes, are as apt for their

enemies great nockt Arrowes, as their owne, and so they shall have free

use of both, reserving them in plentifull store, when your adversaries

must stand unfurnished of any, but them that they cannot any way use.

This counsell pleased the King very highly, and hee being a Prince of

great understanding, gave order to have it accordingly followed, and

thereby valiantly vanquished his enemies. Heereupon, _Martuccio_ came

to be great in his grace, as also consequently rich, and seated in no

meane place of authority. Now, as worthy and commendable actions are

soone spread abroad, in honour of the man by whome they hapned: even so

the fame of this rare got victory, was quickly noysed throughout the

Countrey, and came to the hearing of poore _Constance_, that _Martuccio

Gomito_ (whom she supposed so long since to be dead) was living, and in

honourable condition. The love which formerly she bare unto him, being

not altogether extinct in her heart; of a small sparke, brake foorth

into a sodaine flame, and so encreased day by day, that her hope (being

before almost quite dead) revived againe in chearfull manner.

Having imparted all her fortunes to the good olde Lady with whome she

dwelt; she told her beside, that she had an earnest desire to see

_Thunis_, to satisfie her eyes as well as her eares, concerning the

rumor blazed abroad. The good olde Lady commended her desire, and (even

as if she had bene her mother) tooke her with her aboord a Barke, and

so sayled thence to _Thunis_, where both she and _Constance_ found

honourable welcome, in the house of a kinsman to the Sarazin Lady.

_Carapresa_ also went along with them thither, and her they sent abroad

into the Citie, to understand the newes of _Martuccio Gomito_. After

they knew for a certaintie that hee was living, and in great authority

about the King, according as the former report went of him. Then the

good old Lady, being desirous to let _Martuccio_ know, that his faire

friend _Constance_ was come thither to see him; went her selfe to

the place of his abiding, and spake unto him in this manner. Noble

_Martuccio_, there is a servant of thine in my house, which came from

_Liparis_, and requireth to have a little private conference with thee:

but because I durst not trust any other with the message, my selfe (at

her entreaty) am come to acquaint thee therewith. _Martuccio_ gave her

kinde and hearty thankes, and then went along with her to the house.

No sooner did _Constance_ behold him, but shee was ready to dye with

conceite of joy, and being unable to containe her passion: sodainely

she threw her armes about his necke, and in meere compassion of her

many misfortunes, as also the instant solace of her soule (not being

able to utter one word) the teares trickled abundantly downe her

cheekes. _Martuccio_ also seeing his faire friend, was overcome with

exceeding admiration, & stood awhile, as not knowing what to say;

till venting forth a vehement sighe, thus he spake. My deerest love

_Constance_! art thou yet living? It is a tedious long while since I

heard thou wast lost, and never any tydinges knowne of thee in thine

owne Fathers house. With which wordes, the teares standing his eyes,

most lovingly he embraced her. _Constance_ recounted to him all her

fortunes, and what kindnesse she hadde receyved from the Sarazine Lady,

since her first houre of comming to her. And after much other discourse

passing betweene them, _Martuccio_ departed from her, and returning to

the King his master, tolde him all the historie of his fortunes, and

those beside of his Love _Constance_, beeing purposely minded (with his

gracious liking) to marry her according to the Christian Law.

The King was much amazed at so many strange accidents, and sending for

_Constance_ to come before him; from her own mouth he heard the whole

relation of her continued affection to _Martuccio_, whereuppon hee

saide. Now trust me faire Damosell, thou hast dearly deserved him to be

thy husband. Then sending for very costly Jewelse, and rich presents,

the one halfe of them he gave to her, and the other to _Martuccio_,

graunting them license withall, to marry according to their owne mindes.

_Martuccio_ did many honours, and gave great giftes to the aged Sarazine

Lady, with whom _Constance_ had lived so kindly respected: which

although she had no neede of, neither ever expected any such rewarding;

yet (conquered by their urgent importunity, especially _Constance_, who

could not be thankfull enough to her) she was enforced to receive them,

and taking her leave of them weeping, sayled backe againe to _Susa_.

Within a short while after, the King licensing their departure thence,

they entred into a small Barke, and _Carapresa_ with them, sailing

on with prosperous gales of winde, untill they arrived at _Liparis_,

where they were entertained with generall rejoycing. And because their

marriage was not sufficiently performed at _Thunis_, in regard of

divers Christian ceremonies there wanting, their Nuptials were againe

most honourably solemnized, and they lived (many yeares after) in

health and much happinesse.

Pedro Bocamazzo, _escaping away with a yong Damosell which he loved,

named_ Angelina, _met with Theeves in his journey. The Damosell flying

fearfully into a Forrest, by chance arriveth at a Castle._ Pedro _being

taken by the Theeves, and happening afterward to escape from them;

commeth (accidentally) to the same Castle where_ Angelina _was. And

marrying her, they then returned home to Rome._

The third Novell.

_Wherein, the severall powers both of Love and Fortune, is more at

large approved._

There was not any one in the whole company, but much commended the

Novell reported by Madam _Emillia_, and when the Queene perceived it

was ended, she turned towards Madam _Eliza_, commanding her to continue

on their delightfull exercise: whereto shee declaring her willing

obedience, began to speak thus. Courteous Ladies, I remember one

unfortunate night, which happened to two Lovers, that were not indued

with the greatest discretion. But because they had very many faire and

happy dayes afterwardes, I am the more willing for to let you heare it.

In the Citie of _Rome_, which (in times past) was called the Ladie and

Mistresse of the world, though now scarsely so good as the waiting

maid: there dwelt sometime a yong Gentleman, named _Pedro Bocamazzo_,

descended from one of the most honourable families in _Rome_, who

was much enamoured of a beautifull Gentlewoman, called _Angelina_,

daughter to one named _Giglivozzo Saullo_, whose fortunes were none

of the fairest, yet he greatly esteemed among the Romaines. The

entercourse of love between these twaine, had so equally enstructed

their hearts and souls, that it could hardly be judged which of them

was the more fervent in affection. But he, not being inured to such

oppressing passions, and therefore the lesse able to support them,

except he were sure to compasse his desire, plainly made the motion,

that he might enjoy her in honourable mariage. Which his parents and

friends hearing, they went to conferre with him, blaming him with

over-much basenesse, so farre to disgrace himselfe and his stocke.

Beside, they advised the Father to the Maid, neither to credit what

_Pedro_ saide in this case, or to live in hope of any such match,

because they all did wholly despise it.

_Pedro_ perceiving, that the way was shut up, whereby (and none other)

he was to mount the Ladder of his hopes; began to waxe weary of longer

living: and if he could have won her fathers consent, he would have

maried her in the despight of all his friends. Neverthelesse, he had a

conceit hammering in his head, which if the maid would bee as forward

as himselfe, should bring the matter to full effect. Letters and secret

intelligences passing still betweene, at length he understood her ready

resolution, to adventure with him thorough all fortunes whatsoever,

concluding on their sodaine and secret flight from Rome. For which

_Pedro_ did so well provide, that very early in a morning, and well

mounted on horsebacke, they tooke the way leading unto _Alagna_, where

_Pedro_ had some honest friends, in whom he reposed especiall trust.

Riding on thus thorow the countrey, having no leysure to accomplish

their marriage, because they stoode in feare of pursuite: they were

ridden above foure leagues from Rome, still shortning the way with

their amorous discoursing.

It fortuned, that _Pedro_ having no certaine knowledge of the way,

but following a trackt guiding too farre on the left hand; rode quite

out of course, and came at last within sight of a small Castle, out

of which (before they were aware) yssued twelve Villaines, whom

_Angelina_ sooner espyed, then _Pedro_ could do, which made her cry

out to him, saying: Help deere Love to save us, or elsee we shall be

assayled. _Pedro_ then turning his horse so expeditiously as he could,

and giving him the spurres as neede required; mainly he gallopped into

a neere adjoining Forrest, more minding the following of _Angelina_,

then any direction of his way, or then that endeavoured to be his

hinderance. So that by often winding & turning about, as the passage

appeared troublesome to him, when he thought him selfe free and furthest

from them, he was round engirt, and seized on by them. When they had

made him to dismount from his horse, questioning him of whence and

what he was, and he resolving them therein, they fell into a secret

consultation, saying thus among themselves. This man is a friend to our

deadly enemies, how can wee then otherwise dispose of him, but bereave

him of all he hath, and in despight of the _Orsini_ (men in nature

hatefull to us) hang him up heere on one of these Trees?

All of them agreeing in this dismall resolution, they commanded _Pedro_

to put off his garments, which he yeelding to do (albeit unwillingly)

it so fell out, that five and twenty other theeves, came sodainly

rushing in upon them, crying, Kill, kill, and spare not a man.

They which before had surprized _Pedro_, desiring nowe to shifte

for their owne safetie; left him standing quaking in his shirt, and

so ranne away mainely to defend themselves. Which the new crewe

perceyving, and that their number farre exceeded the other: they

followed to robbe them of what they had gotten, accounting it as a

present purchase for them. Which when _Pedro_ perceyved, and saw

none tarrying to prey uppon him; hee put on his cloathes againe, and

mounting on his owne Horsse, gallopped that way, which _Angelina_

before had taken: yet could hee not descry any tracke or path, or so

much as the footing of a horse; but thought himselfe in sufficient

securitie, beeing rid of them that first seized on him, and also of the

rest, which followed in the pursuite of them.

For the losse of his beloved _Angelina_, he was the most wofull man

in the world, wandering one while this way, and then againe another,

calling for her all about the Forrest, without any answere returning

to him. And not daring to ride backe againe, on he travailed still, not

knowing where to make his arrivall. And having formerly heard of savage

ravenous beasts, which commonly live in such unfrequented Forrests: he

not onely was in feare of loosing his owne life, but also despayred

much for his _Angelina_, least some Lyon or Woolfe, had torne her body

in peeces.

Thus rode on poore unfortunate _Pedro_, untill the breake of day

appeared, not finding any meanes to get forth of the Forrest, still

crying and calling for his fayre friend, riding many times backeward,

when as hee thought hee rode forward, untill hee became so weake and

faint, what with extreame feare, lowd calling, and continuing so long

a while without any sustenance, that the whole day beeing thus spent

in vaine, and darke night sodainly come uppon him, hee was not able to

hold out any longer.

Now was hee in farre worse case then before, not knowing where, or

how to dispose of himselfe, or what might best bee done in so great a

necessity. From his Horse hee alighted, and tying him by the bridle

unto a great tree, uppe he climbed into the same Tree, fearing to bee

devoured (in the night time) by some wilde beast, choosing rather to

let his Horsse perish, then himselfe. Within a while after, the Moone

beganne to rise, and the skies appeared bright and cleare: yet durst

hee not nod, or take a nap, lest he should fall out of the tree; but

sate still greeving, sighing, and mourning, despairing of ever seeing

his _Angelina_ any more, for he could not be comforted by the smallest

hopefull perswasion, that any good fortune might befall her in such a

desolate Forrest, where nothing but dismall feares was to be expected,

and no likelihood that she should escape with life.

Now, concerning poore affrighted _Angelina_, who (as you heard before)

knew not any place of refuge to flye unto: but even as it pleased hir

horse to carry her: she entred so farre into the Forest, that she could

not devise where to seeke her owne safety. And therefore, even as it

fared with her friend _Pedro_, in the same manner did it fall out

with her, wandering the whole night, and all the day following, one

while taking one hopefull tracke, and then another, calling, weeping,

wringing hir hands, and greevously complaining of her hard fortune. At

the length, perceyving that _Pedro_ came not to her at all, she found

a little path (which shee lighted on by great good fortune) even when

dark night was apace drawing, and followed it so long, til it brought

her within the sight of a small poore Cottage, whereto she rode on

so fast as she could; and found therein a very old man, having a wife

rather more aged then he, who seeing hir to be without company, the old

man spake thus unto her.

Faire daughter (quoth he) whether wander you at such an unseasonable

houre, and all alone in a place so desolate? The Damosell weeping,

replied; that shee had lost her company in the forest, and enquired

how neere shee was to _Alagna_. Daughter (answered the old man) this

is not the way to _Alagna_, for it is above sixe leagues hence. Then

shee desired to knowe, how farre off shee was from such houses, where

she might have any reasonable lodging? There are none so neere, said

the old man, that day light will give you leave to reach. May it please

you then good Father (replied _Angelina_) seeing I cannot travaile any

whether elsee; For Gods sake, to let me remaine heere with you this

night. Daughter answered the good old man, wee can gladly give you

entertainement here, for this night, in such poore manner as you see:

but let mee tell you withall, that up and downe these wooddes (as well

by night as day) walke companies of all conditions, and rather enimies

then friends, who doe us many greevious displeasures and harmes. Now

if by misfortune, you beeing heere, any such people should come, and

seeing you so loovely faire, as indeed you are, offer you any shame or

injurie: Alas you see it lies not in our power to lend you any helpe

or succour. I thought it good (therefore) to acquaint you heerewith;

because if any such mischance do happen, you should not afterward

complaine of us.

The yong Maiden, seeing the time to be so farre spent, albeit the olde

mans words did much dismay her, yet she thus replyed. If it be the will

of heaven, both you and I shall be defended from any misfortune: but

if any such mischance do happen, I account the matter lesse deserving

grief, if I fall into the mercy of men, then to be devoured by wild

beasts in this Forrest. So, being dismounted from her horse, and

entred into the homely house; she supt poorely with the olde man and

his wife, with such mean cates as their provision affoorded: and after

supper, lay downe in hir garments on the same poore pallet, where the

aged couple tooke their rest, and was very well contented therewith,

albeit she could not refraine from sighing and weeping, to bee thus

divided from her deare _Pedro_, of whose life and welfare she greatly

despaired.

When it was almost day, she heard a great noise of people travailing

by, whereupon sodainly she arose, and ranne into a Garden plot, which

was on the backside of the poore Cottage, espying in one of the corners

a great stacke of Hay, wherein she hid her selfe, to the end, that

travelling strangers might not readily finde her there in the house.

Scarsely was she fully hidden, but a great company of Theeves and

Villaines, finding the doore open, rushed into the Cottage, where

looking round about them for some booty, they saw the Damoselse horse

stand ready sadled, which made them demand to whom it belonged. The

good olde man, not seeing the Maiden present there, but immagining that

shee had made some shift for her selfe, answered thus. Gentlemen, there

is no body here but my wife and my selfe: as for this Horse, which

seemeth to bee escaped from the Owner; hee came hither yesternight, and

we gave him house-roome heere, rather then to be devoured by Wolves

abroad. Then said the principall of the Theevish crew; This horse shall

be ours, in regard he hath no other master, and let the owner come

claime him of us.

When they had searched every corner of the poore Cottage, & found no

such prey as they looked for, some of them went into the backe side;

where they had left their Javelins and Targets, wherewith they used

commonly to travaile. It fortuned, that one of them, being more subtily

suspitious then the rest, thrust his Javeline into the stacke of Hay,

in the very same place where the Damosell lay hidden, missing very

little of killing her; for it entred so farre, that the iron head

pierced quite thorough her Garments, and touched her left bare brest:

whereupon, shee was ready to cry out, as fearing that she was wounded:

but considering the place where she was, she lay still, and spake not

a word. This disordred company, after they had fed on some young Kids,

and other flesh which they brought with them thither, they went thence

about their theeving exercise, taking the Damoselse horse along with

them.

After they were gone a good distance off, the good old man beganne

thus to question his Wife. What is become (quoth hee) of our young

Gentlewoman, which came so late to us yesternight? I have not seen hir

to day since our arising. The old woman made answer, that she knew

not where she was, and sought all about to finde her. _Angelinaes_

feares being well over-blowne, and hearing none of the former noise,

which made her the better hope of their departure, came forth of the

Hay-stack; whereof the good old man was not a little joyfull, and

because she had so well escaped from them: so seeing it was now broad

day-light, he sayde unto her. Now that the morning is so fairely begun,

if you can be so well contented, we will bring you to a Castle, which

stands about two miles and an halfe hence, where you will be sure

to remaine in safety. But you must needs travaile thither on foote,

because the night-walkers that happened hither, have taken away your

horse with them.

_Angelina_ making little or no account of such a losse, entreated them

for charities sake, to conduct her to that Castle, which accordingly

they did, and arrived there betweene seven and eight of the clocke. The

Castle belonged to one of the _Orsini_, being called, _Liello di Campo

di Fiore_, and by great good fortune, his wife was then there, she

being a very vertuous and religious Lady. No sooner did shee looke upon

_Angelina_, but shee knew her immediately, and entertaining her very

willingly, requested, to know the reason of her thus arriving there:

which shee at large related, and moved the Lady (who likewise knew

_Pedro_ perfectly well) to much compassion, because he was a kinsman

and deare friend to her Husband; and understanding how the Theeves had

surprized him, shee feared, that he was slaine among them, whereupon

shee spake thus to _Angelina_. Seeing you know not what is become of my

kinsman _Pedro_, you shall remaine here with me, untill such time, as

(if we heare no other tidings of him) you may with safety be sent backe

to _Rome_.

_Pedro_ all this while sitting in the Tree, so full of griefe, as no man

could be more; about the houre of midnight (by the bright splendour of

the Moone) espied about some twenty Wolves, who, so soone as they got

a sight of the Horse, ran and engirt him round about. The Horse when

he perceived them so neere him, drew his head so strongly back-ward,

that breaking the reines of his bridle, he laboured to escape away

from them. But being beset on every side, and utterly unable to helpe

himselfe, he contended with his teeth & feete in his owne defence, till

they haled him violently to the ground, and tearing his body in peeces,

left not a jot of him but the bare bones, and afterward ran ranging

thorow the Forrest. At this sight, poore _Pedro_ was mightily dismayed,

fearing to speed no better then his Horse had done, and therefore could

not devise what was best to be done; for he saw no likelihood now, of

getting out of the Forrest with life. But day-light drawing on apace,

and he almost dead with cold, having stood quaking so long in the Tree;

at length by continuall looking every where about him, to discerne the

least glimpse of any comfort; he espied a great fire, which seemed to

be about halfe a mile off from him.

By this time it was broade day, when he descended downe out of the

Tree, (yet not without much feare) and tooke his way towards the fire,

where being arrived, he found a company of Shepheards banquetting about

it, whom he curteously saluting, they tooke pity on his distresse, and

welcommed him kindly. After he had tasted of such cheare as they had,

and was indifferently refreshed by the good fire; hee discoursed his

hard disasters to them, as also how he happened thither, desiring to

know, if any Village or Castle were neere thereabout, where he might

in better manner releeve himselfe. The Shepheards told him, that about

a mile and an halfe from thence, was the Castle of _Signior Liello di

Campo di Fiore_, and that his Lady was now residing there; which was

no meane comfort to poore _Pedro_, requesting that one of them would

accompany him thither, as two of them did in loving manner, to ridde

him of all further feares.

When he was arrived at the Castle, and found there divers of his

familiar acquaintance; he laboured to procure some meanes, that the

Damosell might be sought for in the Forrest. Then the Lady calling

for her, and bringing her to him; he ran and caught her in his armes,

being ready to swoune with conceit of joy, for never could any man

be more comforted, then he was at the sight of his _Angelina_, and

questionlesse, her joy was not a jot inferior to his, such a simpathy

of firme love was sealed between them. The Lady of the Castle, after

shee had given them very gracious entertainement, and understood

the scope of their bold adventure; shee reproved them both somewhat

sharpely, for presuming so farre without the consent of their Parents.

But perceiving (notwithstanding all her remonstrances) that they

continued still constant in their resolution, without any inequality on

either side; shee saide to her selfe. Why should this matter be any way

offensive to me? They love each other loyally; they are not inferiour

to one another in birth, but in fortune; they are equally loved and

allied to my Husband, and their desire is both honest and honourable.

Moreover, what know I, if it be the will of Heaven to have it so?

Theeves intended to hang him, in malice to his name and kinred, from

which hard fate he hath happily escaped. Her life was endangered by a

sharpe pointed Javeline, and yet her fairer starres would not suffer

her so to perish: beside, they both have escaped the fury of ravenous

wild beasts, and all these are apparant signes, that future comforts

should recompence former passed misfortunes; farre be it therefore from

me, to hinder the appointment of the Heavens.

Then turning her selfe to them, thus shee proceeded. If your desire

be to joyne in honourable marriage, I am well contented therewith,

and your nuptials shall here be sollemnized at my Husbands charges.

Afterward both he and I will endeavour, to make peace between you and

your discontented Parents. _Pedro_ was not a little joyfull at her

kind offer, and _Angelina_ much more then he; so they were maried

together in the Castle, and worthily feasted by the Lady, as Forrest

entertainment could permit, and there they enjoyed the first fruits of

their love. Within a short while after, the Lady and they (well mounted

on Horse-backe, and attended with an honourable traine) returned

to _Rome_; where her Lord _Liello_ and shee prevailed so wel with

_Pedroes_ angry Parents: that all variance ended in love and peace,

and afterward they lived lovingly together, till old age made them as

honourable, as their true and mutuall affection formerly had done.

Ricciardo Manardy, _was found by_ Messer Lizio da Valbonna, _as he sate

fast asleepe at his Daughters Chamber window, having his hand fast in

hers, and shee sleeping in the same manner. Whereupon, they were joyned

together in marriage, and their long loyall love mutually recompenced._

The fourth Novell.

_Declaring the discreete providence of Parents, in care of their

Childrens love and their owne credit, to cut off inconveniences, before

they doe proceede too farre._

Madam _Eliza_ having ended her Tale, and heard what commendations the

whole company gave thereof; the Queene commanded _Philostratus_, to

tell a Novell agreeing with his owne minde, who smiling thereat, thus

replyed. Faire Ladies, I have beene so often checkt & snapt, for my

yester dayes matter and argument of discoursing, which was both tedious

and offensive to you; that if I intended to make you any amends, I

should now undertake to tell such a Tale, as might put you into a

mirthfull humour. Which I am determined to doe, in relating a briefe

and pleasant Novell, not any way offensive (as I trust) but exemplary

for some good notes of observation.

Not long since, there lived in _Romania_, a Knight, a very honest

Gentleman, and well qualified, whose name was _Messer Lizio da

Valbonna_, to whom it fortuned, that (at his entrance into age) by his

Lady and wife, called _Jaquemina_, he had a Daughter, the very choycest

and goodliest gentlewoman in all those parts. Now because such a happy

blessing (in their olde yeeres) was not a little comfortable to them;

they thought themselves the more bound in duty, to be circumspect of

her education, by keeping her out of over-frequent companies, but

onely such as agreed best with their gravity, & might give the least

ill example to their Daughter, who was named _Catharina_; as making no

doubt, but by this their provident and wary respect, to match her in

mariage answerable to their liking. There was also a young Gentleman,

in the very flourishing estate of his youthfull time, descended from

the Family of the _Manardy da Brettinoro_, named _Messer Ricciardo_,

who oftentimes frequented the House of _Messer Lizio_, and was a

continuall welcome guest to his Table, _Messer Lizio_ and his wife

making the like account of him, even as if he had beene their owne

Sonne.

This young Gallant, perceiving the Maiden to be very beautifull, of

singular behaviour, and of such yeeres as was fit for mariage, became

exceedingly enamoured of her, yet concealed his affection so closely as

he could; which was not so covertly caried, but that she perceived it,

and grew in as good liking of him. Many times he had an earnest desire

to have conference with her, which yet still he deferred, as fearing to

displease her; till at the length he lighted on an apt opportunity, and

boldly spake to her in this manner. Faire _Catharina_, I hope thou wilt

not let me die for thy love? _Signior Ricciardo_ (replyed shee suddenly

againe) I hope you will extend the like mercy to me, as you desire

that I should shew to you. This answere was so pleasing to _Messer

Ricciardo_, that presently he saide. Alas deare Love, I have dedicated

all my fairest fortunes onely to thy service, so that it remaineth

soly in thy power, to dispose of me as best shall please thee, and to

appoint such times of private conversation, as may yeeld more comfort

to my poore afflicted soule.

_Catherina_ standing musing awhile, at last returned him this answere.

_Signior Ricciardo_, quoth shee, you see what a restraint is set on my

liberty, how short I am kept from conversing with any one, that I hold

this our enterparlance now almost miraculous. But if you could devise

any convenient meanes, to admit us more familiar freedome, without any

prejudice to mine honour, or the least distaste of my Parents; doe but

enstruct it, and I will adventure it. _Ricciardo_ having considered

on many wayes and meanes, thought one to be the fittest of all; and

therefore thus replyed. _Catharina_ (quoth he) the onely place for our

more private talking together, I conceive to be the Gallery over your

Fathers Garden. If you can winne your Mother to let you lodge there,

I will make meanes to climbe over the wall, and at the goodly gazing

window, we may discourse so long as we please. Now trust me deare Love

(answered _Catharina_) no place can be more convenient for our purpose,

there shall we heare the sweete Birds sing, especially the Nightingale,

which I have heard singing there all the night long; I will breake the

matter to my Mother, and how I speede, you shall heare further from me.

So, with divers parting kisses, they brake off conference, till their

next meeting.

On the day following, which was towards the ending of the moneth of

_May, Catharina_ began to complaine to her Mother, that the season

was over-hot and tedious, to be still lodged in her Mothers Chamber,

because it was an hinderance to her sleeping; and wanting rest, it

would be an empairing of her health. Why Daughter (quoth the Mother)

the weather (as yet) is not so hot, but (in my minde) you may very well

endure it. Alas Mother, said shee, aged people, as you and my Father

are, doe not feele the heates of youthfull bloud, by reason of your

farre colder complexion, which is not to be measured by younger yeeres.

I know that well Daughter, replyed the Mother; but is it in my power,

to make the weather warme or coole, as thou perhaps wouldst have it?

Seasons are to be suffered, according to their severall qualities; and

though the last night might seeme hot, this next ensuing may be cooler,

and then thy rest will be the better. No Mother, quoth _Catherina_,

that cannot be; for as Summer proceedeth on, so the heate encreaseth,

and no expectation can be of temperate weather, untill it groweth to

Winter againe. Why Daughter, saide the Mother, what wouldest thou have

me to doe? Mother (quoth shee) if it might stand with my Fathers good

liking and yours, I would be lodged in the Garden Gallery, which is a

great deale more coole, and temperate. There shall I heare the sweete

Nightingale sing, as every night shee useth to doe, and many other

pretty Birds beside, which I cannot doe, lodging in your Chamber.

The Mother loving her Daughter dearely, as being some-what over-fond of

her, and very willing to give her contentment; promised to impart her

minde to her Father, not doubting but to compasse what shee requested.

When shee had moved the matter to _Messer Lizio_, whose age made him

somewhat froward and teasty; angerly he said to his wife. Why how now

woman? Cannot our Daughter sleepe, except shee heare the Nightingale

sing? Let there be a bed made for her in the Oven, and there let the

Crickets make her melody. When _Catharina_ heard this answere from

her Father, and saw her desire to be disappointed; not onely could

shee not take any rest the night following, but also complained more

of the heate then before, not suffering her Mother to take any rest,

which made her goe angerly to her Husband in the morning, saying. Why

Husband, have we but one onely Daughter, whom you pretend to love

right dearely, and yet can you be so carelesse of her, as to denie her

a request, which is no more then reason? What matter is it to you or

me, to let her lodge in the Garden Gallery? Is her young bloud to be

compared with ours? Can our weake and crazie bodies, feele the frolicke

temper of hers? Alas, shee is hardly (as yet) out of her childish

yeeres, and Children have many desires farre differing from ours: the

singing of Birds is rare musicke to them, and chiefly the Nightingale;

whose sweete notes will provoke them to rest, when neither art or

physicke can doe it.

Is it even so Wife? answered _Messer Lizio_. Must your will and mine be

governed by our Daughter? Well be it so then, let her bed be made in

the Garden Gallerie, but I will have the keeping of the key, both to

locke her in at night, and set her at libertie every morning. Woman,

woman, young wenches are wily, many wanton crochets are busie in their

braines, and to us that are aged, they sing like Lapwings, telling us

one thing, and intending another; talking of Nightingales, when their

mindes run on Cocke-Sparrowes. Seeing Wife, shee must needes have

her minde, let yet your care and mine extend so farre, to keepe her

chastity uncorrupted, and our credulity from being abused. _Catharina_

having thus prevailed with her Mother, her bed made in the Garden

Gallery, and secret intelligence given to _Ricciardo_, for preparing

his meanes of accesse to her window; old provident _Lizio_ lockes the

doore to bed-ward, and gives her liberty to come forth in the morning,

for his owne lodging was neere to the same Gallery.

In the dead and silent time of night, when all (but Lovers) take their

rest; _Ricciardo_ having provided a Ladder of Ropes, with grapling

hookes to take hold above and below, according as he had occasion to

use it. By helpe thereof, first he mounted over the Garden wall, and

then climbde up to the Gallery window, before which (as is every where

in _Italie_) was a little round engirting Tarras, onely for a man to

stand upon, for making cleane the window, or otherwise repairing it.

Many nights (in this manner) enjoyed they their meetings, entermixing

their amorous conference with infinite kisses and kinde embraces, as

the window gave leave, he sitting in the Tarras, and departing alwayes

before breake of day, for feare of being discovered by any.

But, as excesse of delight is the Nurse to negligence, and begetteth

such an over-presuming boldnesse, as afterward proveth to be sauced

with repentance: so came it to passe with our over-fond Lovers, in

being taken tardy through their owne folly. After they had many times

met in this manner, the nights (according to the season) growing

shorter and shorter, which their stolne delight made them lesse

respective of, then was requisite in an adventure so dangerous: it

fortuned, that their amorous pleasure had so farre transported them,

and dulled their sences in such sort, by these their continued nightly

watchings; that they both fell fast asleepe, he having his hand closed

in hers, and shee one arme folded about his body, and thus they

slept till broade day light. Old _Messer Lizio_, who continually was

the morning Cocke to the whole House, going foorth into his Garden,

saw how his Daughter and _Ricciardo_ were seated at the window. In

he went againe, and going to his wives Chamber, saide to her. Rise

quickly wife, and you shall see, what made our Daughter so desirous to

lodge in the Garden Gallery. I perceive that shee loved to heare the

Nightingale, for shee hath caught one, and holds him fast in her hand.

Is it possible, saide the Mother, that our Daughter should catch a

live Nightingale in the darke? You shall see that your selfe, answered

_Messer Lizio_, if you will make haste, and goe with me.

Shee, putting on her garments in great haste, followed her Husband,

and being come to the Gallery doore, he opened it very softly, and

going to the window, shewed her how they both sate fast asleepe,

and in such manner as hath been before declared: whereupon, shee

perceiving how _Ricciardo_ and _Catharina_ had both deceived her,

would have made an outcry, but that _Messer Lizio_ spake thus to her.

Wife, as you love me, speake not a word, neither make any noyse: for,

seeing shee hath loved _Ricciardo_ without our knowledge, and they

have had their private meetings in this manner, yet free from any

blamefull imputation; he shall enjoy her, and shee him. _Ricciardo_

is a Gentleman, well derived, and of rich possessions, it can be no

disparagement to us, that _Catharina_ match with him in mariage,

which he neither shall, or dare denie to doe, in regard of our Lawes

severity; for climbing up to my window with his Ladder of Ropes,

whereby his life is forfeited to the Law, except our Daughter please to

spare it, as it remaineth in her power to doe, by accepting him as her

husband, or yeelding his life up to the Law, which surely shee will not

suffer, their love agreeing together in such mutuall manner, and he

adventuring so dangerously for her.

Madam _Jaquemina_, perceiving that her husband spake very reasonably,

and was no more offended at the matter; stept aside with him behinde

the drawne Curtaines, untill they should awake of themselves. At the

last, _Ricciardo_ awaked, and seeing it was so farre in the day,

thought himselfe halfe dead, and calling to _Catharina_, saide. Alas

deare Love! what shall we doe? we have slept too long, and shall be

taken here. At which words, _Messer Lizio_ stept forth from behind the

Curtaines, saying. Nay, _Signior Ricciardo_, seeing you have found

such an unbefitting way hither, we will provide you a better for your

backe returning. When _Ricciardo_ saw the Father and Mother both there

present, he could not devise what to doe or say, his sences became so

strangely confounded; yet knowing how hainously hee had offended, if

the strictnesse of Law should be challenged against him, falling on

his knees, he saide. Alas _Messer Lizio_, I humbly crave your mercy,

confessing my selfe well worthy of death, that knowing the sharpe

rigour of the Law, I would presume so audaciously to breake it. But

pardon me worthy Sir, my loyall and unfeined love to your Daughter

_Catharina_, hath beene the onely cause of my transgressing.

_Ricciardo_ (replyed _Messer Lizio_) the love I beare thee, and the

honest confidence I doe repose in thee, step up (in some measure) to

pleade thine excuse, especially in the regard of my Daughter, whom I

blame thee not for loving, but for this unlawfull way of presuming

to her. Neverthelesse, perceiving how the case now standeth, and

considering withall, that youth and affection were the ground of thine

offence: to free thee from death, and my selfe from dishonour, before

thou departest hence, thou shalt espouse my Daughter _Catharina_, to

make her thy lawfull wife in mariage, and wipe off all scandall to

my House and me. All this while was poore _Catharina_ on her knees

likewise to her Mother, who (notwithstanding this her bold adventure)

made earnest suite to her Husband to remit all, because _Ricciardo_

right gladly condiscended, as it being the maine issue of his hope

and desire; to accept his _Catharina_ in mariage, whereto shee was as

willing as he. _Messer Lizio_ presently called for the Confessour of

his House, and borrowing one of his Wives Rings, before they went out

of the Gallery; _Ricciardo_ and _Catharina_ were espoused together, to

their no little joy and contentment.

Now had they more leasure for further conference, with the Parents and

kindred to _Ricciardo_, who being no way discontented with this sudden

match, but applauding it in the highest degree; they were publikely

maried againe in the Cathedrall Church, and very honourable triumphes

performed at the nuptials, living long after in happy prosperity.

Guidotto _of Cremona, departing out of this mortall life, left a

Daughter of his, with_ Jacomino _of Pavia._ Giovanni di Severino,

_and_ Menghino da Minghole, _fell both in love with the young Maiden,

and fought for her; who being afterward knowne, to be the Sister to_

Giovanni, _shee was given in mariage to_ Menghino.

The fifth Novell.

_Wherein may be observed, what quarrelse and contentions are occasioned

by Love; with some particular discription, concerning the sincerity of

a loyall friend._

All the Ladies laughing heartily, at the Novell of the Nightingale, so

pleasingly delivered by _Philostratus_, when they saw the same to be

fully ended, the Queene thus spake. Now trust me _Philostratus_, though

yester-day you did much oppresse mee with melancholy, yet you have

made me such an amends to day, as wee have little reason to complaine

any more of you. So converting her speech to Madam _Neiphila_, shee

commanded her to succeede with her discourse, which willingly she

yeelded to, beginning in this manner. Seeing it pleased _Philostratus_,

to produce his Novell out of _Romania_: I meane to walke with him in

the same jurisdiction, concerning what I am to say.

There dwelt sometime in the City of _Fano_, two Lombards, the one being

named _Guidotto_ of _Cremona_, and the other _Jacomino_ of _Pavia_,

men of sufficient entrance into yeeres, having followed the warres

(as Souldiers) all their youthful time. _Guidotto_ feeling sicknesse

to over-master him, and having no sonne, kinsman, or friend, in whom

he might repose more trust, then hee did in _Jacomino_: having long

conference with him about his worldly affaires, and setled his whole

estate in good order; he left a Daughter to his charge, about ten

yeeres of age, with all such goods as he enjoyed, and then departed

out of this life. It came to passe, that the City of _Faenza_, long

time being molested with tedious warres, and subjected to very servile

condition; beganne now to recover her former strength, with free

permission (for all such as pleased) to returne and possesse their

former dwellings. Whereupon, _Jacomino_ (having sometime beene an

inhabitant there) was desirous to live in _Faenza_ againe, convaying

thither all his goods, and taking with him also the young girle, which

_Guidotto_ had left him, whom hee loved, and respected as his owne

childe.

As shee grew in stature, so shee did in beauty and vertuous qualities,

as none was more commended throughout the whole City, for faire,

civill, and honest demeanour, which incited many amorously to affect

her. But (above all the rest) two very honest young men, of good

fame and repute, who were so equally in love addicted to her, that

being jealous of each others fortune, in preventing of their severall

hopefull expectation; a deadly hatred grew suddenly betweene them,

the one being named, _Giovanni de Severino_, and the other _Menghino

da Minghole_. Either of these two young men, before the Maide was

fifteene yeeres old, laboured to be possessed of her in marriage, but

her Guardian would give no consent thereto: wherefore, perceiving their

honest intended meaning to be frustrated, they now began to busie their

braines, how to forestall one another by craft and circumvention.

_Jacomino_ had a Maide-servant belonging to his House, somewhat aged,

and a Man-servant beside, named _Grivello_, of mirthfull disposition,

and very friendly, with whom _Giovanni_ grew in great familiarity; and

when he found time fit for the purpose, he discovered his love to him,

requesting his furtherance and assistance, in compassing the height

of his desire, with bountifull promises of rich rewarding; whereto

_Grivello_ returned this answere. I know not how to sted you in this

case, but when my Master shall sup foorth at some Neighbours House,

to admit your entrance where she is: because, if I offer to speake to

her, shee never will stay to heare me. Wherefore, if my service this

way may doe you any good, I promise to performe it; doe you beside, as

you shall find it most convenient for you. So the bargaine was agreed

on betweene them, and nothing elsee now remained, but to what issue it

should sort in the end.

_Menghino_, on the other side, having entred into the Chamber-maides

acquaintance, sped so well with her, that shee delivered so many

messages from him, as had (already) halfe won the liking of the

Virgin; passing further promises to him beside, of bringing him to

have conference with her, whensoever her Master should be absent from

home. Thus _Menghino_ being favoured (on the one side) by the olde

Chamber-maide, and _Giovanni_ (on the other) by trusty _Grivello_;

their amorous warre was now on foote, and diligently followed by both

their sollicitors. Within a short while after, by the procurement of

_Grivello, Jacomino_ was invited by a neighbour to supper, in company

of divers his very familiar friends, whereof intelligence being given to

_Giovanni_; a conclusion passed betweene them, that (upon a certaine

signale given) he should come, and finde the doore standing ready open,

to give him all accesse unto the affected Mayden.

The appointed night being come, and neither of these hot Lovers knowing

the others intent, but their suspition being alike, and encreasing

still more and more; they made choyce of certaine friends and

associates, well armed and provided, for eithers safer entrance when

neede should require. _Menghino_ stayed with his troope, in a neere

neighbouring house to the Mayden, attending when the signall would be

given: but _Giovanni_ and his consorts, were ambushed somewhat further

off from the House, and both saw when _Jacomino_ went foorth to supper.

Now _Grivello_ and the Chamber-maide began to vary, which should

send the other out of the way, till they had effected their severall

intention; whereupon _Grivello_ said to her. What maketh thee to walke

thus about the House, and why doest thou not get thee to bed? And thou

(quoth the Maide) why doest thou not goe to attend on our Master, and

tarry for his returning home? I am sure thou hast supt long agoe, and

I know no businesse here in the House for thee to doe. Thus (by no

meanes) the one could send away the other, but either remained as the

others hinderance.

But _Grivello_ remembring himselfe, that the houre of his appointment

with _Giovanni_ was come, he saide to himselfe. What care I whether

our olde Maide be present, or no? If shee disclose any thing that

I doe, I can be revenged on her when I list. So, having made the

signall, he went to open the doore, even when _Giovanni_ (and two of

his confederates) rushed into the House, and finding the faire young

Maiden sitting in the Hall, laide hands on her, to beare her away.

The Damosell began to resist them, crying out for helpe so loude as

shee could, as the olde Chamber-maide did the like: which _Menghino_

hearing, he ranne thither presently with his friends, and seeing

the young Damosell brought well-neere out of the House; they drew

their Swords, crying out: Traytors, you are but dead men, here is no

violence to be offered, neither is this a booty for such base groomes.

So they layed about them lustily, and would not permit them to passe

any further. On the other side, upon this mutinous noyse and out-cry,

the Neighbours came foorth of their Houses, with lights, staves, and

clubbes, greatly reproving them for this out-rage, yet assisting

_Menghino_: by meanes whereof, after a long time of contention,

_Menghino_ recovered the Mayden from _Giovanni_, and placed her

peaceably in _Jacominoes_ House.

No sooner was this hurly-burly somewhat calmed, but the Serjeants to

the Captaine of the City, came thither, and apprehended divers of

the mutiners: among whom were _Menghino, Giovanni,_ and _Grivello_,

committing them immediately to prison. But after every thing was

pacified, and _Jacomino_ returned home to his House from supper; he

was not a little offended at so grosse an injury. When he was fully

informed, how the matter happened, and apparantly perceived, that

no blame at all could be imposed on the Mayden: he grew the better

contented, resolving with himselfe (because no more such inconveniences

should happen) to have her married so soone as possibly he could.

When morning was come, the kindred and friends on either side,

understanding the truth of the error committed, and knowing beside,

what punishment would be inflicted on the prisoners, if _Jacomino_

pressed the matter no further, then as with reason and equity well he

might; they repaired to him, and (in gentle speeches) entreated him,

not to regard a wrong offered by unruly and youthfull people, meerely

drawne into the action by perswasion of friends; submitting both

themselves, and the offendors, to such satisfaction as he pleased to

appoint them. _Jacomino_, who had seene and observed many things in his

time, and was a man of sound understanding, returned them this answere.

Gentlemen, if I were in mine owne Countrey, as now I am in yours; I

would as forwardly confesse my selfe your friend, as here I must needes

fall short of any such service, but even as you shall please to command

me. But plainely, and without all further ceremonious complement, I

must agree to whatsoever you can request; as thinking you to be more

injured by me, then any great wrong that I have sustained. Concerning

the young Damosell remaining in my House, shee is not (as many have

imagined) either of _Cremona_, or _Pavia_, but borne a _Faentine_,

here in this Citie: albeit neither my selfe, shee, or he of whom I had

her, did ever know it, or yet could learne whose Daughter shee was.

Wherefore, the suite you make to me, should rather (in duty) be mine to

you: for shee is a native of your owne, doe right to her, and then you

can doe no wrong unto mee.

When the Gentlemen understood, that the Mayden was borne in _Faenza_,

they marvelled thereat, and after they had thanked _Jacomino_ for his

curteous answer; they desired him to let them know, by what meanes the

Damosell came into his custody, and how he knew her to be borne in

_Faenza_: when he, perceiving them attentive to heare him, began in

this manner.

Understand worthy Gentlemen, that _Guidotto_ of _Cremona_, was my

companion and deare friend, who growing neere to his death, tolde

me, that when this City was surprized by the Emperour _Frederigo_,

and all things committed to sacke and spoile; he and certaine of his

confederates entred into a House, which they found to be well furnished

with goods, but utterly forsaken of the dwellers, onely this poore

Mayden excepted, being then aged but two yeeres, or thereabout. As hee

mounted up the steps, with intent to depart from the House; she called

him Father, which word moved him so compassionately: that he went backe

againe, brought her away with him, and all things of worth which were

in the House, going thence afterward to _Fano_, and there deceasing, he

left her and all his goods to my charge; conditionally, that I should

see her maried when due time required, and bestow on her the wealth

which he had left her. Now, very true it is, although her yeeres are

convenient for mariage, yet I could never find any one to bestow her

on, at least that I thought fitting for her: howbeit, I will listen

thereto much more respectively, before any other such accident shall

happen.