This argument seemed not very pleasing to the Ladies, and therefore

they urged an alteration thereof, to some matter better suting with the

day, and their discoursing: whereto thus he answered. Ladies, I know as

well as your selves, why you would have this instant argument altered:

but, to change me from it you have no power, considering the season

is such, as shielding all (both men and women) from medling with any

dishonest action; it is lawfull for us to speake of what wee please.

And know you not, that through the sad occasion of the time, which now

over-ruleth us, the Judges have forsaken their venerable benches, the

Lawes (both divine and humane) ceasing, granting ample license to every

one, to do what best agreeth with the conservation of life? Therefore,

if your honesties doe straine themselves a little, both in thinking

and speaking, not for prosecution of any immodest deede, but onely for

familiar and blamelesse entercourse: I cannot devise a more convenient

ground, at least that carrieth apparant reason, for reproofe of perils,

to ensue by any of you. Moreover, your company, which hath bin most

honest, since the first day of our meeting, to this instant: appeareth

not any jot to be disgraced, by any thing either said or done, neither

shall be (I hope) in the meanest degree.

And what is he, knowing your choise and vertuous dispositions, so

powerfull in their owne prevailing, that wanton words cannot misguide

your wayes, no nor the terror of death it selfe, that dare insinuate a

distempred thought? But admit, that some slight or shallow judgements,

hearing you (perhaps sometimes) talke of such amorous follies, should

therefore suspitiously imagine you to be faulty, or else you would bee

more sparing of speech? Their wit and censure are both alike, favouring

rather of their owne vile nature, who would brand others with their

basebred imperfections. Yet there is another consideration beside, of

some great injury offered to mine honor, and whereof I know not how you

can acquit your selves.

I that have bin obedient to you all, and borne the heavy load of your

businesse, having now (with full consent) created mee your King, you

would wrest the law out of my hands, and dispose of my authoritie as

you please. Forbeare (gentle Ladies) all frivolous suspitions, more fit

for them that are full of bad thoughts, then you, who have true Vertue

shining in your eyes; and therefore, let every one freely speake their

minde, according as their humours best pleaseth them.

When the Ladies heard this, they made answer, that all should bee

answerable to his minde. Whereupon, the King gave them all leave

to dispose of themselves till supper time. And because the Sun

was yet very high, in regard all the re counted Novels had bin so

short: _Dioneus_ went to play at the Tables with another of the yong

Gentlemen, & Madame _Eliza_, having withdrawne the Ladies aside, thus

spake unto them. During the time of our being heere, I have often bene

desirous to let you see a place somwhat neere at hand, and which I

suppose you have never seene, it being called _The Valley of Ladies_.

Till now, I could not finde any convenient time to bring you thither,

the Sunne continuing still aloft, which fitteth you with the apter

leysure, and the sight (I am sure) can no way discontent you.

The Ladies replyed, that they were all ready to walk with her thither:

and calling one of their women to attend on them, they set on, without

speaking a word to any of the men. And within the distance of halfe

a mile, they arrived at the _Valley of Ladies_, whereinto they entred

by a strait passage at the one side, from whence there issued forth a

cleare running River. And they found the saide Valley to bee so goodly

and pleasant, especially in that season, which was the hottest of all

the yeare; as all the world was no where able to yeeld the like. And,

as one of the said Ladies (since then) related to mee, there was a

plaine in the Valley so directly round, as if it had beene formed by a

compasse, yet rather it resembled the Workmanship of Nature, then to be

made by the hand of man: containing in circuite somewhat more then the

quarter of a mile, environed with sixe small hils, of no great height,

and on each of them stood a little Palace, shaped in the fashion of

Castles.

The ground-plots descending from those hils or mountaines, grew lesse

and lesse by variable degrees, as wee observe at entering into our

Theaters, from the highest part to the lowest, succinctly to narrow

the circle by order. Now, concerning these ground-plottes or little

Meadowes, those which the Sun Southward looked on, were full of Vines,

Olive-trees, Almond-trees, Cherry-trees, and Figge-trees, with divers

other Trees beside, so plentifully bearing fruites, as you could not

discerne a hands bredth of losse. The other Mountaines, whereon the

Northerne windes blow, were curiously covered with small Thickets or

Woods of Oakes, Ashes, and other Trees so greene and straite, as it was

impossible to behold fairer. The goodly plaine it selfe, not having any

other entrance, but where the Ladies came in, was planted with Trees of

Firre, Cipresse, Laurell, and Pines; so singularly growing in formall

order, as if some artificiall or cunning hand had planted them, the Sun

hardly piercing through their branches, from the top to the bottome,

even at his highest, or any part of his course.

All the whole field was richly spred with grasse, and such variety of

delicate Flowers, as Nature yeilded out of her plenteous Store-house.

But that which gave no lesse delight then any of the rest, was a small

running Brooke, descending from one of the Vallies, that divided two

of the little hils, and fell through a Veine of the intire Rocke it

selfe, that the fall and murmure thereof was most delightfull to heare,

seeming all the way in the descent, like Quicke-silver, weaving it

selfe into artificiall workes, and arriving in the plaine beneath, it

was there receyved into a small Channell, swiftly running through the

midst of the plaine, to a place where it stayed, and shaped it selfe

into a Lake or Pond, such as our Citizens have in their Orchards or

Gardens, when they please to make use of such a commodity.

This Pond was no deeper, then to reach the breast of a man, and having

no mud or soyle in it, the bottome thereof shewed like small beaten

gravell, with prety pibble stones intermixed, which some that had

nothing else to do, would sit downe and count them as they lay, as

very easily they might. And not onely was the bottome thus apparantly

seene, but also such plenty of Fishes swimming every way, as the mind

was never to be wearied in looking on them. Nor was this water bounded

in with any bankes, but onely the sides of the plain Medow, which

made it appeare the more sightly, as it arose in swelling plenty. And

alwayes as it super-abounded in his course, least it should overflow

disorderly: it fell into another Channell, which conveying it along the

lower Valley, ran forth to water other needfull places.

When the Ladies were arrived in this goodly valley, and upon advised

viewing it, had sufficiently commended it: in regard the heat of the

day was great, the place tempting, and the Pond free from sight of

any, they resolved there to bathe themselves. Wherefore they sent

the waiting Gentlewoman to have a diligent eye on the way where they

entered, least any one should chance to steale upon them. All seven

of them being stript naked, into the water they went, which hid their

delicate white bodies, like as a cleare Glasse concealeth a Damask

Rose within it. So they being in the Pond, and the water nothing

troubled by their being there, they found much prety pastime together,

running after the Fishes, to catch them with their hands, but they were

over-quicke and cunning for them. After they had delighted themselves

there to their owne contentment, and were cloathed with their garments,

as before: thinking it fit time for their returning backe againe, least

their over-long stay might give offence, they departed thence in an

easie pace, dooing nothing else all the way as they went, but extolling

the _Valley of Ladies_ beyond all comparison.

At the Palace they arrived in a due houre, finding the three Gentlemen

at play, as they left them, to whom Madame _Pampinea_ pleasantly thus

spake. Now trust me Gallants, this day wee have very cunningly beguiled

you. How now? answered _Dioneus_, begin you first to act, before you

speake? Yes truly Sir, replyed Madame _Pampinea_: Relating to him at

large, from whence they came, what they had done there, the beautie

of the place, and the distance thence. The King (upon hir excellent

report) being very desirous to see it; sodainely commaunded Supper

to be served in, which was no sooner ended, but they and their three

servants (leaving the Ladies) walked on to the _Valley_, which when

they had considered, no one of them having ever bin there before; they

thought it to be the Paradise of the World.

They bathed themselves there likewise, as the Ladies formerlie had

done, and being re-vested, returned backe to their Lodgings, because

darke night drew on apace: but they found the Ladies dauncing, to a

Song which Madame _Fiammetta_ sung. When the dance was ended, they

entertained the time with no other discourse, but onely concerning the

_Valley of Ladies_, whereof they all spake liberally in commendations.

Whereupon, the King called the Master of the Houshold, giving him

command, that (on the morrow) dinner should be readie betimes, and

bedding to be thence carried, if any desired rest at mid-time of the

day.

All this being done, variety of pleasing Wines were brought,

Banquetting stuffe, and other dainties; after which they fell to

Dauncing. And _Pamphilus_, having receyved command, to begin an

especial dance, the King turned himselfe unto Madame _Eliza_, speaking

thus. Faire Lady, you have done me so much honour this day, as to

deliver mee the Crowne: in regard whereof, be you this night the

Mistresse of the song: and let it be such as best may please your

selfe. Whereunto Madam _Eliza_, with a modest blush arising in her

face, replyed; That his will should be fulfilled, and then (with a

delicate voyce) she beganne in this manner.

_The Song._

The CHORUS sung by all.

_Love, if I can scape free from forth thy holde,

Beleeve it for a truth,

Never more shall thy falshoode me enfolde._

_When I was yong, I entred first thy fights,

Supposing there to finde a solemne peace:

I threw off all my Armes, and with delights

Fed my poore hopes, as still they did encrease.

But like a Tyrant, full of rancorous hate

Thou tookst advantage:

And I sought refuge, but it was too late.

Love, if I can scape free, &c._

_But being thus surprized in thy snares,

To my misfortune, thou madst me her slave;

Was onely borne to feede me with despaires,

And keepe me dying in a living grave.

For I saw nothing dayly fore mine eyes,

But rackes and tortures:

From which I could not get in any wise.

Love, if I can scape free, &c._

_My sighes and teares I vented to the winde,

For none would heare or pittie my complaints;

My torments still encreased in this kinde,

And more and more I felt these sharpe restraints.

Release me now at last from forth this hell.

Asswage thy rigour,

Delight not thus in cruelty to dwell,

Love, if I can scape free, &c._

_If this thou wilt not grant, be yet so kinde,

Release me from these worse then servile bands,

Which new vaine hopes have bred, wherein I finde;

Such violent feares, as comfort quite withstands.

Be now (at length) a little moov'd to pittie,

Be it nere so little:

Or in my death listen my Swan-like Dittie._

_Love, if I can scape free from forth thy holde,

Beleeve it for a truth,

Never more shall thy falshood me enfolde._

After that Madame _Eliza_ had made an end of her Song, which shee

sealed up with an heart-breaking sigh: they all sate amazedly wondering

at her moanes, not one among them being able to conjecture, what should

be the reason of her singing in this manner. But the King being in a

good and pleasing temper, calling _Tindaro_, commaunded him to bring

his Bagge-pipe, by the sound whereof they danced divers daunces: And a

great part of the night being spent in this manner, they all gave over,

and departed to their Chambers.

_The End of the Sixth Day._

The Seventh Day.

_When the Assembly being met together, and under the Regiment of_

Dioneus: _the Discourses are directed, for the discoverie of such

policies and deceites, as women have used for beguiling of their

Husbandes, either in respect of their love, or for the prevention of

some blame or scandal, escaping without sight, knowledge or otherwise._

The Induction to the Dayes Discourses.

All the Starres were departed out of the East, but onely that, which

we commonly cal bright _Lucifer_, or the Day-Star, gracing the morning

very gloriously: when the Master of the household, being risen, went

with all the provision, to the _Valley of Ladies_, to make everie

thing in due and decent readines, according as his Lord over-night had

commanded him. After which departure of his, it was not long before the

King arose, beeing awaked with the noise which the carriages made; and

when he was up, the other two Gentlemen and the Ladies were quickly

readie soone after. On they set towards the _Valley_, even as the

Sunne was rising: and all the way as they went, never before had they

heard so many sweete Nightingales, and other pretty Birds melodiously

singing, as they did this morning, which keeping them company

thoroughout the journey, they arrived at the _Valley of Ladies_, where

it seemed to them, that infinit Quires of delicate Nightingales, and

other Birds, had purposely made a meeting, even as it were to give them

a glad welcome thither.

Divers times they walked about the _Valley_, never satisfied with

viewing it from one end to the other; because it appeared farre

more pleasing unto them, then it had done the precedent day: and

because the dayes splendour was much more conforme to the beauty

thereof. After they had broken their fast, with excellent Wines and

Banquetting stuffe, they began to tune their instruments and sing;

because (therein) the sweet Birds should not excell them, the _Valley_

(with delicate Echoes) answering all their notes. When dinner time

drew neere, the Tables were covered under the spreading trees, and

by the goodly Ponds side, where they sate downe orderly by the Kings

direction: and all dinner while, they saw the Fishes swimme by huge

shoales in the Pond, which sometimes gave them occasion to talke, as

well as gaze on them.

When dinner was ended, and the Tables withdrawne, in as jocond manner

as before, they renewed againe their hermonious singing. In divers

places of this pleasant _Valley_, were goodly field-Beds readily

furnished, according as the Master of the Houshold gave enstruction,

enclosed with Pavillions of costly stuffes, such as are sometimes

brought out of _France_. Such as were so disposed, were licensed by the

King to take their rest: and they that would not, he permitted them to

their wonted pastimes, each according to their minds. But when they

were risen from sleepe, and the rest from their other exercises, it

seemed to be more then high time, that they should prepare for talke

and conference. So, sitting downe on Turky Carpets, which were spred

abroad on the green grasse, and close by the place where they had

dined: the King gave command, that Madam _Æmillia_ should first begin,

whereto she willingly yeelding obedience, and expecting such silent

attention, as formerly had bin observed, thus she began.

John _of_ Lorraine _heard one knocke at his doore in the night time,

whereuppon he awaked his Wife_ Monna Tessa. _She made him beleeve, that

it was a Spirit which knocked at the doore, and so they arose, going

both together to conjure the Spirit with a prayer; and afterwardes,

they heard no more knocking._

The First Novell.

_Reprehending the simplicity of some sottish Husbands: And discovering

the wanton subtilties of some women, to compasse their unlawfull

desires._

My Gracious Lord (quoth Madame _Æmillia_) it had bene a matter highly

pleasing to mee, that any other (rather than my selfe) should have

begun to speake of this argument, which it hath pleased you to apoint.

But seeing it is your Highnesse pleasure, that I must make a passage of

assurance for all the rest; I will not be irregular, because obedience

is our cheefe Article. I shall therefore (Gracious Ladies) strive,

to speake something, which may bee advantageable to you heereafter,

in regard, that if other women bee as fearfull as we, especially of

Spirits, of which all our sexe have generally bin timorous (although,

upon my credite, I know not what they are, nor ever could meete with

any, to tell me what they be) you may by the diligent observation of

my Novell: learne a wholesome and holy prayer, very availeable, and of

precious power, to conjure and drive them away, whensoever they shall

presume to assault you in any place.

There dwelt sometime in _Florence_, and in the street of Saint

_Brancazio_, a woollen Weaver, named _John_ of _Lorrayne_; a man

more happy in his Art, then wise in any thing else beside: because,

favouring somewhat of the _Gregorie_, and (in very deede) little lesse

then an Ideot; Hee was many times made Captain of the Woollen-Weavers,

in the quarters belonging to _Santa Maria Novella_, and his house was

the Schoole or receptacle, for all their meetings and assemblies. He

had divers other petty Offices beside, by the dignity and authority

whereof, hee supposed himselfe much exalted or elevated, above the

common pitch of other men. And this humour became the more tractable

to him, because he addicted himselfe oftentimes (as being a man of an

easie inclination) to be a benefactor to the holy Fathers of _Santa

Maria Novella_, giving (beside his other charitable Almes) to someone

a paire of Breeches, to another a Hood, and to another a whole habit.

In reward whereof, they taught him (by heart) many wholesome prayers, as

the _Pater noster_ in the vulgar tongue; the Song of Saint _Alexis_;

the Lamentations of Saint _Bernard_, the Hymne of Madame _Matilda_,

and many other such like matters, which he kept charily, and repeated

usually, as tending to the salvation of his soule.

This man, had a very faire and lovely wife, named _Monna Tessa_, the

daughter of _Manuccio della Cuculia_, wise and well advised; who

knowing the simplicity of her Husband, and affecting _Frederigo di

Neri Pegolotti_, who was a comely yong Gentleman, fresh, and in the

floure of his time, even as she was, therefore they agreed the better

together. By meanes of her Chamber-maid, _Frederigo_ and shee met often

together, at a Countrie Farme of _John_ of _Lorraynes_, which hee had

neere to _Florence_, and where she used to lodge all the Summer time,

called _Camerata_, whether _John_ resorted somtimes to Supper, and

lodge for a night, returning home againe to his City house the next

morning; yet often he would stay there longer with his owne companions.

_Frederigo_, who was no meane man in his Mistresses favor, and

therefore these private meetings the more welcome to him; received a

summons or assignation from her, to be there on such a night, when hir

husband had no intent of comming thither. There they supped merrily

together, and (no doubt) did other things, nothing appertaining to

our purpose, she both acquainting, and well instructing him, in a

dozen (at the least) of her Husbands devout prayers. Nor did shee

make any account, or _Frederigo_ either, that this should be the last

time of their meeting, because (indeede) it was not the first: and

therefore they set down an order and conclusion together (because the

Chambermaide must be no longer the messenger) in such manner as you

shall heare.

_Frederigo_ was to observe especially, that alwayes when hee went

or came from his owne house, which stood much higher then _John_ of

_Lorraynes_ did, to looke upon a Vine, closely adjoyning to her house,

where stood the scull of an Asses head, advanced upon an high pole; &

when the face thereof looked towards _Florence_, he might safely come,

it being an assured signe, that _John_ kept at home. And if he found

the doore fast shut, he should softly knocke three severall times, and

thereon bee admitted entrance. But if the face stood towards _Fiesola_;

then he might not come, for it was the signe of _Johns_ being there,

and then there might be no medling at all.

Having thus agreed upon this conclusion, and had many merry meetings

together: one night above the rest, where _Frederigo_ was appointed to

suppe with _Monna Tessa_, who had made ready two fat Capons, drest in

most dainty and delicate manner: it fell out so unfortunately, that

_John_ (whose Kue was not to come that night) came thither

very late, yet before _Frederigo_, wherewith she being not a little

offended, gave _John_ a slight supper, of Lard, Bacon, and such like

coarse provision, because the other was kept for a better guest. In

the meane time, and while _John_ was at supper, the Maide (by her

Mistresses direction) had conveighed the two Capons, with boyled Egges,

Bread and a Bottle of Wine (all folded up in a faire cleane table

cloth) into her Garden, that had a passage to it, without entering into

the house, and where shee had divers times supt with _Frederigo_. She

further willed the Maide, to set all those things under a Peach-tree,

which adjoyned to the fields side: but, so angry she was at her

husbands unexpected comming, that shee forgot to bid her tarrie there,

till _Frederigoes_ comming; and to tell him of _Johns_ being there: as

also, to take what he found prepared readie for his Supper.

_John_ and she being gone to bed together, and the Maide likewise, it

was not long after, before _Frederigo_ came, and knocking once softly

at the doore, which was very neere to their lodging Chamber, _John_

heard the noise, and so did his wife. But to the end, that _John_

might not have the least scruple of suspition, she seemed to be fast

asleepe; and _Frederigo_ pausing a while, according to the order

directed, knockt againe the second time. _John_ wondering thereat very

much, jogd his wife a little, and saide to her: _Tessa_, hearest thou

nothing? Me thinkes one knocketh at our doore. _Monna Tessa_, who was

better acquainted with the knocke, then plaine honest meaning _John_

was, dissembling as if shee awaked out of a drowsie dreame, saide:

Alas Husband, dost thou know what this is? In the name of our blessed

Ladie, be not affraid, this is but the Spirit which haunts our Countrey

houses, whereof I have often told thee, and it hath many times much

dismayed me, living heere alone without thy comfort. Nay, such hath bin

my feare, that in divers nights past, so soone as I heard the knockes:

I was feigne to hide my selfe in the bedde over-head and eares (as we

usually say) never daring to be so bold, as to looke out, untill it

was broad open day. Arise good wife (quoth _John_) and if it be such

a Spirit of the Countrey, as thou talkest of, never be affraid; for

before we went to bed, I said the _Telucis_, the _Intemerata_, with

many other good prayers beside. Moreover, I made the signe of the

Crosse at every corner of our bed, in the name of the Father, Son, and

holy Ghost, so that no doubt at all needs to be made, of any power it

can have to hurt or touch us.

_Monna Tessa_, because (perhaps) _Frederigo_ might receive some other

suspition, and so enter into distaste of her by anger or offence:

determined to arise indeede, and to let him covertly understand, that

_John_ was there, and therefore saide to her husband. Beleeve me

_John_, thy counsell is good, and every one of thy words hath wisedome

in it: but I hold it best for our owne safety, thou being heere; that

wee should conjure him quite away, to the end he may never more haunt

our house. Conjure him Wife? Quoth _John_, By what meanes? and how?

Bee patient good man (quoth _Tessa_) and I will enstruct thee. I have

learned an excellent kinde of conjuration; for, the last weeke, when

I went to procure the pardons at _Fiesola_, one of the holy recluse

Nuns, who (indeede _John_) is my indeered Sister and Friend, and the

most sanctimonius in life of them all; perceiving me to be troubled

and terrified by Spirits; taught me a wholesome and holy prayer, and

protested withall, that shee had often made experiment thereof, before

she became a Recluse, & found it (alwayes) a present helpe to her.

Yet never durst I adventure to essay it, living heere by my selfe all

alone: but honest _John_, seeing thou art heere with me, we will go

both together, and conjure this Spirit. _John_ replyed, that he was

very willing; and being both up, they went fayre and softly to the

doore, where _Frederigo_ stoode still without, and was growne somewhat

suspitious of his long attendance.

When they were come to the doore, _Monna Tessa_ said to _John_: Thou

must cough and spet, at such time as I shall bid thee. Well (quoth

_John_) I will not faile you. Immediately she beganne her prayer in

this manner.

_Spirit, that walkst thus in the night,

Poore Countrey people to affright:

Thou hast mistane thy marke and ayme,

The head stood right, but_ John _home came,

And therefore thou must packe away,

For I have nothing else to say:

But to my Garden get the gone,

Under the Peach-tree stands alone,

There shalt thou finde two Capons drest,

And Egges laide in mine owne Hennes nest,

Bread, and a Bottle of good wine,

All wrapt up in a cloath most fine.

Is not this good Goblins fare?

Packe and say you have your share;

Not doing harme to_ John _or me,

Who this night keepes me companie._

No sooner had she ended her devoute conjuring prayer, but she saide

to her husband: Now _John_, cough and spet: which _John_ accordingly

did. And _Frederigo_, being all this while without, hearing her witty

conjuration of a Spirit, which he himselfe was supposed to be, being

ridde of his former jealous suspition: in the middst of all his

melancholy, could very hardly refraine from laughing, the jest appeared

so pleasing to him: But when _John_ cought and spet, softly he said to

himselfe: When next thou spetst, spet out all thy teeth.

The woman having three severall times conjured the Spirite, in such

manner you have already heard; returned to bed againe with her

husband: and _Frederigo_, who came as perswaded to sup with her, being

supperlesse all this while; directed by the words of _Monna Tessa_ in

hir praier, went into the Garden. At the foot of the Peach-tree, there

he found the linnen cloth, with the two hot Capons, Bread, Egges, and a

Bottle of Wine in it, all which he carried away with him, and went to

Supper at better leysure. Oftentimes afterward, upon other meetings of

_Frederigo_ and she together, they laughed heartily at her enchantment,

and the honest beleefe of silly _John_.

I cannot deny, but that some do affirme, that the Woman had turned

the face of the Asses head towards _Fiesola_, and a Country Travailer

passing by the Vine, having a long piked staffe on his necke; the

staffe, (by chance) touched the head, and made it turne divers

times about, & in the end faced _Florence_, which being the cal for

_Frederigoes_ comming, by this meanes he was disappointed. In like

manner some say, that _Monna Tessaes_ prayer for conjuring the Spirit,

was in this order.

_Spirit, Spirit, go thy way,

And come againe some other day,

It was not I that turnd the head,

But some other. In our Bed

Are John and I: Go from our dore,

And see thou trouble us no more._

So that _Frederigo_ departed thence, both with the losse of his labour

& supper. But a neighbour of mine, who is a woman of good yeares, told

me, that both the one and other were true, as she her selfe heard, when

she was a little Girle. And concerning the latter accident, it was

not to _John_ of _Lorrayne_, but to another, named _John de Nello_,

that dwelt at S. _Peters_ Gate, and of the same profession as _John_

of _Lorrayne_ was. Wherefore (faire Ladies) it remaineth in your owne

choice, to entertain which of the two prayers you please, or both

together if you will: for they are of extraordinary vertue in such

strange occurrences, as you have heeretofore heard, and (upon doubt)

may prove by experience. It shall not therefore be amisse for you, to

learne them both by hart, for (peradventure) they may stand you in good

sted, if ever you chance to have the like occasion.

Peronella _hid a yong man her friend and Lover, under a great brewing

Fat, upon the sodaine returning home of her Husband; who told her, that

hee had solde the saide Fat, and brought him that bought it, to carry

it away._ Peronella _replyed, that shee had formerly solde it unto

another, who was nowe underneath it, to see whether it were whole and

sound, or no. Whereupon, he being come forth from under it; she caused

her Husband to make it neate and cleane, and so the last buyer carried

it away._

The Second Novell.

_Wherein is declared, what hard and narrow shifts and distresses, such

as bee seriously linked in Love, are many times enforced to undergo:

According as their owne wit, and capacitie of their surprizers, drive

them to in extremities._

Not without much laughter and good liking, was the Tale of Madame

_Æmillia_ listened unto, and both the prayers commended to be sound and

soveraigne: but it being ended, the King commaunded _Philostratus_,

that hee should follow next in order, whereupon thus he began.

Deare Ladies, the deceites used by men towards your sexe, but

especially Husbands, have bene so great and many, as when it hath

sometime happened, or yet may, that husbands are requited in the

self-same kinde: you need not finde fault at any such accident, either

by knowledge thereof afterward, or hearing the same reported by any

one; but rather you should referre it to generall publication, to

the end, that immodest men may know, and finde it for trueth, that

if they have apprehension and capacity; women are therein not a jote

inferiour to them. Which cannot but redound to your great benefite,

because, when any one knoweth, that another is as cunning and subtile

as himselfe; he will not be so rashly adventurous in deceite. And who

maketh any doubt, that if those sleights and trickes, whereof this

dayes argument may give us occasion to speake, should afterwardes

be put in execution by men: would it not minister just reason, of

punishing themselves for beguiling you, knowing, that (if you please)

you have the like abilitie in your owne power? Mine intent therefore

is to tell you, what a woman (though but of meane quality) did to her

husband, upon a sodaine, and in a moment (as it were) for her owne

safety.

Not long since, there lived in _Naples_, an honest meane man, who did

take to Wife, a fayre and lustie young Woman, being named _Peronella_.

He professing the Trade of a Mason, and shee Carding and Spinning,

maintained themselves in a reasonable condition, abating and abounding

as their Fortunes served. It came to passe, that a certayne young

man, well observing the beauty and good parts of _Peronella_, became

much addicted in affection towardes her: and by his often and secret

sollicitations, which he found not to be unkindly entertayned; his

successe proved answerable to his hope, no unindifferencie appearing in

their purposes, but where her estate seemed weakest, his supplies made

an addition of more strength.

Now, for their securer meeting, to stand cleare from all matter of

scandal or detection, they concluded in this order between themselves.

_Lazaro_, for so was _Peronellaes_ Husband named, being an earely

riser every morning, either to seeke for worke, or to effect it being

undertaken: this amorous friend being therewith acquainted, and

standing in some such convenient place, where hee could see _Lazaroes_

departure from his house, and yet himselfe no way discerned; poore

_Lazaro_ was no sooner gone, but presently he enters the house, which

stood in a verie solitarie street, called the _Avorio_. Many mornings

had they thus met together, to their no meane delight and contentation,

till one especiall morning among the rest, when _Lazaro_ was gone

forth to worke, and _Striguario_ (so was the amorous young man named)

visiting _Peronella_ in the house: upon a very urgent occasion,

_Lazaro_ returned backe againe, quite contrary to his former wont,

keeping foorth all day, and never comming home till night.

Finding his doore to be fast lockt, and he having knockt softlie once

or twice, he spake in this manner to himselfe. Fortune I thanke thee,

for albeit thou hast made mee poore, yet thou hast bestowed a better

blessing on me, in matching me with so good, honest, & loving a Wife.

Behold, though I went early out of my house, her selfe hath risen in

the cold to shut the doore, to prevent the entrance of theeves, or

any other that might offend us. _Peronella_ having heard what her

husband sayde, and knowing the manner of his knocke, said fearfully to

_Striguario_. Alas deare friend, what shall wee doe? I am little lesse

then a dead Woman: For, _Lazaro_ my Husband is come backe again, and

I know not what to do or say. He never returned in this order before

now, doubtlesse, hee saw when you entred the doore; and for the safety

of your honour and mine: creepe under this brewing Fat, till I have

opened the doore, to know the reason of his so soone returning.

_Striguario_ made no delaying of the matter, but got himselfe closelie

under the Fat, and Peronella opening the doore for her husbands

enterance, with a frowning countenance, spake thus unto him. What

meaneth this so early returning home againe this morning? It seemeth,

thou intendest to do nothing to day, having brought backe thy tooles in

thy hands. If such be thine intent, how shall we live? Where shall we

have bread to fill our bellies? Dooest thou thinke, that I will suffer

thee to pawne my gowne, and other poore garments, as heeretofore thou

hast done? I that card and spinne both night and day, till I have worne

the flesh from my fingers; yet all will hardly finde oyle to maintaine

our Lampe. Husband, husband, there is not one neighbour dwelling by us,

but makes a mockerie of me, and tels me plainly, that I may be ashamed

to drudge and moyle as I do; wondering not a little, how I am able to

endure it; and thou returnest home with thy hands in thy hose, as if

thou hadst no worke at all to do this day.

Having thus spoken, she fell to weeping, and then thus began again.

Poore wretched woman as I am, in an unfortunate houre was I borne, and

in a much worse, when I was made thy Wife. I could have had a proper,

handsome yong man; one, that would have maintained mee brave and

gallantly: but, beast as I was, to forgoe my good, and cast my selfe

away on such a beggar as thou art, and whom none wold have had, but

such an Asse as I. Other women live at hearts ease, and in jollity,

have their amorous friends and loving Paramours, yea, one, two, three

at once, making their husbands looke like a Moone cressent, whereon

they shine Sun-like, with amiable lookes, because they know not how to

helpe it: when I (poore foole) live heere at home a miserable life, not

daring once to dreame of such follies, an innocent soule, heartlesse

and harmelesse.

Many times, sitting and sighing to my selfe: Lord, thinke I, of what

mettall am I made? Why should not I have a Friend in a corner, as

well as others have? I am flesh and blood, as they are, not made of

brasse or iron, and therefore subject to womens frailty. I would thou

shouldest know it husband, and I tell it thee in good earnest; That if

I would doe ill, I could quickely finde a friend at a neede. Gallants

there are good store, who (of my knowledge) love me dearely, and have

made me very large and liberall promises, of Golde, Silver, Jewels, and

gay Garments, if I would extend them the least favour. But my heart

will not suffer me, I never was the daughter of such a mother, as had

so much as a thought of such matters: no, I thanke our blessed Ladie,

and S. _Friswid_ for it: and yet thou returnest home againe, when thou

shouldst be at Worke.

_Lazaro_, who stoode all this while like a well-beleeving Logger-head,

demurely thus answered. Alas good Wife! I pray you bee not so angry, I

never had so much as an ill thought of you, but know wel enough what

you are, and have made good proofe thereof this morning. Understand

therefore patiently (sweet Wife) that I went forth to my work as

dayly I use to do, little dreaming (as I thinke you doe not) that it

had bene Holy-day. Wife, this is the Feast day of Saint _Galeone_;

whereon we may in no wise worke, and this is the reason of my so soone

returning. Neverthelesse (deare Wife) I was not carelesse of our

Houshold provision: For, though we worke not, yet we must have foode,

which I have provided for more then a moneth. Wife, I remembred the

brewing Fat, whereof wee have little or no use at all, but rather it is

a trouble to the house, then otherwise. I met with an honest Friend,

who stayeth without at the doore, to him I have sold the Fat for ten

_Gigliatoes_, and he tarrieth to take it away with him.

How Husband? replied _Peronella_, Why now I am worse offended then

before. Thou that art a man, walkest every where, and shouldst be

experienced in worldly affaires: wouldst thou bee so simple, as to

sell such a brewing Fat for ten _Gigliatoes_? Why, I that am a poore

ignorant woman, a house-Dove, sildome going out of my doore: have sold

it already for twelve _Gigliatoes_, to a very honest man, who (even a

little before thy comming home) came to me, we agreed on the bargaine,

and he is now underneath the Fat, to see whether it be sound or no.

When credulous _Lazaro_ heard this, he was better contented then ever,

and went to him that taried at the doore, saying. Good man, you may goe

your way, for, whereas you offered me but ten _Gigliatoes_ for the Fat,

my loving wife hath sold it for twelve, and I must maintaine what shee

hath done: so the man departed, and the variance ended.

_Peronella_ then saide to her husband. Seeing thou art come home so

luckily, helpe me to lift up the Fat, that the man may come foorth, and

then you two end the bargaine together. _Striguario_, who though he was

mewed up under the tubbe, had his eares open enough; and hearing the

witty excuse of _Peronella_, tooke himselfe free from future feare:

and being come from under the Fat, pretending also, as if he had herd

nothing, nor saw _Lazaro_, looking round about him, said. Where is this

good woman? _Lazaro_ stepping forth boldly like a man, replyed: Heere

am I, what wold you have Sir? Thou? quoth _Striguario_, what art thou?

I ask for the good wife, with whom I made my match for the Fat. Honest

Gentleman (answered _Lazaro_) I am that honest Womans Husband, for

lacke of a better, and I will maintaine whatsoever my Wife hath done.

I crie you mercie Sir, replyed _Striguario_, I bargained with your Wife

for this brewing Fat, which I finde to be whole and sound: only it is

uncleane within, hard crusted with some dry soile upon it, which I know

not well how to get off, if you will be the meanes of making it cleane,

I have the money heere ready for it. For that Sir (quoth _Peronella_)

take you no care, although no match at all had beene made, what serves

my Husband for, but to make it cleane? Yes forsooth Sir, answered sily

_Lazaro_, you shall have it neate and cleane before you pay the mony.

So, stripping himselfe into his shirt, lighting a Candle, and taking

tooles fit for the purpose; the Fat was whelmed over him, and he being

within it, wrought untill he sweated, with scraping and scrubbing. So

that these poore Lovers, what they could not accomplish as they wold,

necessity enforced them to performe as they might. And _Peronella_,

looking in at the vent-hole, where the Liquor runneth forth for the

meshing; seemed to instruct her husband in the businesse, as espying

those parts where the Fat was fowlest, saying: There, there _Lazaro_,

tickle it there, the Gentleman payes well for it, and is worthy to have

it: but see thou do thy selfe no harme good Husband. I warrant thee

Wife, answered _Lazaro_, hurt not your selfe with leaning your stomacke

on the Fat, and leave the cleansing of it to me. To be breefe, the

Brewing Fat was neatly cleansed, _Peronella_ and _Striguario_ both well

pleased, the money paide, and honest meaning _Lazaro_ not discontented.

_Friar_ Reynard, _falling in love with a Gentlewoman, Wife to a man

of good account; found the meanes to become her Gossip. Afterward,

he being conferring closely with her in her Chamber, and her Husband

coming sodainly thither: she made him beleeve, that he came thither for

no other end; but to cure his God-sonne by a charme, of a dangerous

disease which he had by Wormes._

The Third Novell.

_Serving as a friendly advertisement to married women, that Monks,

Friars, and Priests may be none of their Gossips, in regard of

unavoydable perilles ensuing thereby._

_Philostratus_ told not this Tale so covertly, concerning _Lazaros_

simplicity, and _Peronellaes_ witty policy; but the Ladies found a

knot in the rush, and laughed not a little, at his queint manner of

discoursing it. But upon the conclusion, the King looking upon Madam

_Eliza_, willed her to succeede next, which as willingly she granted,

and thus began. Pleasant Ladies, the charme or conjuration wherewith

Madam _Æmillia_ laid her night-walking Spirit, maketh me remember

a Novell of another enchantment; which although it carrieth not

commendation equall to the other, yet I intend to report it, because it

suteth with our present purpose, and I cannot sodainly be furnisht with

another, answerable thereto in nature.

You are to understand then, that there lived in _Siena_, a proper yong

man, of good birth and well friended, being named _Reynard_. Earnestly

he affected his neere dwelling neighbour, a beautifull Gentlewoman,

and wife to a man of good esteeme: of whom hee grew halfe perswaded,

that if he could (without suspition) compasse private conference with

her, he should reach the height of his amorous desires. Yet seeing no

likely meanes wherewith to further his hope, and shee being great with

childe, he resolved to become a Godfather to the childe, at such time

as it should be brought to Christening. And being inwardly acquainted

with her Husband, who was named _Credulano_; such familiar entercourses

passed betweene them, both of _Reynards_ kinde offer, and _Credulanoes_

as courteous acceptance, that hee was set downe for a Gossippe.

_Reynard_ being thus embraced for Madam _Agnesiaes_ Gossip, and this

proving the onely colourable meanes, for his safer permission of

speech with her, to let her now understand by word of mouth, what long

before she collected by his lookes and behaviour: it fell out no way

beneficiall to him, albeit _Agnesia_ seemed not nice or scrupulous

in hearing, yet she had a more precious care of her honor. It came

to passe, within a while after (whether by seeing his labour vainly

spent, or some other urgent occasion moving him thereto, I know not)

_Reynard_ would needs enter into Religion, and whatsoever strictnesse

or austeritie hee found to be in that kinde of life, yet he determined

to persevere therein, whether it were for his good or ill. And although

within a short space, after he was thus become a Religious Monke, hee

seemed to forget the former love which he bare to his gossip _Agnesia_,

and divers other enormous vanities beside: yet let me tell you,

successe of time tutord him in them againe; and, without any respect

to his poore holy habite, but rather in contempt thereof (as it were)

he tooke an especiall delight, in wearing garments of much richer

esteeme, yet favoured by the same Monasticall profession, appearing

(in all respects) like a Court-Minion or Favourite, of a sprightly and

Poeticall disposition, for composing Verses, Sonnets, and Canzons,

singing them to sundry excellent instruments, and yet not greatly

curious of his company, so they were some of the best, and Madame

_Agnesia_ one, his former Gossip.

But why doe I trouble my selfe, in talking thus of our so lately

converted Friar, holy Father _Reynard_, when they of longer standing,

and reputed meerely for Saints in life, are rather much more vile

then hee? Such is the wretched condition of this world, that they

shame not (fat, soggie, and nastie Abbey-lubbers) to shew how full

fedde they live in their Cloysters, with cherry cheekes, and smooth

shining lookes, gay and gaudy garments, far from the least expression

of humility, not walking in the streets like Doves: but high-crested

like Cockes, with well cramd gorges. Nay, which is worse, if you did

but see their Chambers furnished with Gally-pots of Electuaries,

precious Unguents, Apothecary Boxes, filled with various Confections,

Conserves, excellent Perfumes, and other goodly Glasses of artificiall

Oyles and Waters: beside Rundlets and small Barrels full of Greeke

Wine, _Muscatella, Lachrime Christi,_ and other such like most precious

Wines, so that (to such as see them) they seeme not to bee Chambers

of Religious men; but rather Apothecaries Shoppes, or appertaining to

Druggists, Grocers, or Perfumers.

It is no disgrace to them to be Gowty; because when other men

know it not, they alledge, that strict fasting, feeding on grosse

meates (though never so little,) continuall studying, and such like

restraints from the bodies freer exercise, maketh them subject to

many infirmities. And yet, when any one of them chanceth to fall

sicke, the Physitian must minister no such counsell to them, as

Chastity, Abstinence from voluptuous meats, Discipline of the body,

or any of those matters appertaining to a modest religious life.

For, concerning the plaine, vulgar, and Plebeian people, these holy

Fathers are perswaded, that they know nothing really belonging to a

sanctimonious life; as long watching, praying, discipline and fasting,

which (in themselves) are not able, to make men look leane, wretched,

and pale. Because Saint _Dominicke_, Saint _Fraunces_, and divers

other holy Saints beside, observed the selfesame religious orders

and constitutions, as now their carefull successors do. Moreover, in

example of those fore-named Saints, who went wel cloathed, though

they had not three Garments for one, nor made of the finest Woollen

excellent cloath: but rather of the very coarsest of all other, and of

the common ordinary colour, to expell cold onely, but not to appear

brave or gallant, deceyving thereby infinite simple credulous soules,

whose purses (neverthelesse) are their best pay-masters.

But leave we this, and returne wee backe to vertuous Fryar _Reynard_,

who falling againe to his former appetites; became an often visitant

of his Gossip _Agnesia_, and now hee had learned such a blushlesse

kinde of boldnesse; that he durst be more instant with her (concerning

his privie sute) then ever formerly he had bin, yea, even to solicite

the enjoying of his immodest desires. The good Gentlewoman, seeing

her selfe so importunately pursued, and Fryar _Reynard_ appearing

now (perhappes) of sweeter and more delicate complexion, then at his

entrance into Religion: at a set time of his secret communing with

her; she answered him in as apt tearmes, as they use to do, who are not

greatly squeamish, in granting matters demanded of them.

Why how now Friar _Reynard_? quoth shee, Doe God-fathers use to move

such questions? Whereto the Friar thus replyed. Madam, when I have

laide off this holy habite (which is a matter very easie for mee to

do) I shall seeme in your eye, in all respects made like another man,

quite from the course of any Religious life. _Agnesia_, biting the lip

with a prety smile, said, O my faire Starres! You will never bee so

unfriendly to me. What? You being my Gossip, would you have me consent

unto such a sinne? Our blessed Lady shield mee, for my ghostly Father

hath often told me, that it is utterly unpardonable: but if it were,

I feare too much confiding on mine owne strength. Gossip, Gossip,

answered the Friar, you speake like a Foole, and feare (in this case)

is wholly frivolous, especially, when the motions mooved by such an one

as my selfe, who (upon repentance) can grant you pardon and indulgence

presently. But I pray you let mee aske you one question, Who is the

neerest Kinsman to your Son; either I, that stood at the Font for his

Baptisme, or your Husband that begot him? The Lady made answere, that

it was her Husband. You say very true Gossip, replyed the Friar, and

yet notwithstanding, doth not your Husband (both at boord and bed)

enjoy the sweet benefit of your company? Yes, said the Lady, why shold

he not? Then Lady (quoth _Reynard_) I, who am not so neere a Kinsman

to your Sonne, as your Husband is, why may ye not afford mee the like

favour, as you do him? _Agnesia_, who was no Logitian, and therefore

could not stand on any curious answer, especially being so cuningly

moved; beleeved, or rather made shew of beleeving, that the Godfather

said nothing but truth, and thus answered. What woman is she (Gossip)

that knoweth how to answer your strange speeches? And, how it came to

passe, I know not, but such an agreement passed betweene them, that,

for once onely (so it might not infrindge the league of Gossip-ship,

but that title to countenance their further intent) such a favour

should be affoorded, so it might stand cleare from suspition.

An especiall time being appointed, when this amorous Combate should be

fought in loves field, Friar _Reynard_ came to his Gossips house, where

none being present to hinder his purpose, but onely the Nursse which

attended on the child, who was an indifferent faire & proper woman:

his holy brother that came thither in his company (because Friars were

not allowed to walke alone) was sent aside with her into the Pigeon

loft, to enstruct her in a new kinde of _Pater noster_, lately devised

in their holy Convent. In the meane while, as Friar _Reynard_ and

_Agnesia_ were entring into hir chamber, she leading her little son by

the hand, and making fast the doore for their better safety: the Friar

laide by his holie habit, Cowle, Hood, Booke, and Beads, to bee (in

all respects) as other men were. No sooner were they thus entred the

Chamber, but her husband _Credulano_, being come into the house, and

unseen of any, staid not till he was at the Chamber doore, where hee

knockt, and called for his Wife.

She hearing his voice: Alas Gossip (quoth she) what shall I do? My

Husband knocketh at the doore, and now he will perceive the occasion

of our so familiar acquaintance. _Reynard_ being stript into his

Trusse and straite Strouses, began to tremble and quake exceedingly.

I heare your Husbands tongue Gossip, said he, and seeing no harme as

yet hath bin done, if I had but my garments on againe; wee would have

one excuse or other to serve the turne, but till then you may not

open the doore. As womens wits are sildome gadding abroad, when any

necessitie concerneth them at home: even so _Agnesia_, being sodainly

provided of an invention, both how to speake and carry her selfe in

this extreamitie, saide to the Friar. Get on your garments quickely,

and when you are cloathed, take your little God-son in your armes,

and listning wel what I shall say, shape your answeres according to

my words, and then refer the matter to me. _Credulano_ had scarsely

ended his knocking, but _Agnesia_ stepping to the doore said: Husband,

I come to you. So she opened the doore, and (going forth to him) with

a chearefull countenance thus spake. Beleeve me Husband, you could not

have come in a more happy time, for our yong Son was sodainly extreamly

sicke, and (as good Fortune would have it) our loving Gossip _Reynard_

chanced to come in; and questionlesse, but by his good prayers and

other religious paynes, we had utterly lost our childe, for he had no

life left in him.

_Credulano_, being as credulous as his name imported, seemed ready

to swoune with sodaine conceit: Alas good wife (quoth he) how hapned

this? Sit downe sweet Husband said she, and I will tell you al. Our

child was sodainly taken with a swouning, wherein I being unskilful,

did verily suppose him to be dead, not knowing what to doe, or say.

By good hap, our Gossip _Reynard_ came in, and taking the childe up

in his armes, said to me. Gossip, this is nothing else but Wormes in

the bellie of the childe, which ascending to the heart, must needs

kill the child, without all question to the contrary. But be of good

comfort Gossip, and feare not, for I can charme them in such sort, that

they shall all die, and before I depart hence, you shall see your Son

as healthfull as ever. And because the manner of this charm is of such

nature, that it required prayer and exorcising in two places at once:

Nurse went up with his Holye Brother into our Pigeon loft, to exercise

their devotion there, while we did the like heere. For none but the

mother of the childe must bee present at such a mystery, nor any enter

to hinder the operation of the charme; which was the reason of making

fast the Chamber doore. You shall see Husband anon the Childe, which is

indifferently recovered in his armes, and if Nurse and his holy Brother

were returned from theyr meditations; he saith, that the charme would

then be fully effected: for the child beginneth to looke chearefull and

merry.

So deerely did _Credulano_ love the childe, that hee verily beleeved,

what his Wife had saide, never misdoubting any other treachery: and,

lifting up his eyes, with a vehement sigh, said. Wife, may not I goe in

and take the child into my armes? Oh no, not yet good husband (quoth

she) in any case, least you should overthrow all that is done. Stay but

a little while, I will go in againe, and if all bee well, then will I

call you. In went _Agnesia_ againe, making the doore fast after her,

the Fryar having heard all the passed speeches, by this time he was

fitted with his habite, and taking the childe in his armes, he said to

_Agnesia_. Gossip methought I heard your Husbands voice, is hee at your

Chamber doore? Yes Gossip _Reynard_ (quoth _Credulano_ without, while

_Agnesia_ opened the doore, and admitted him entrance) indeede it is

I. Come in Sir, I pray you, replyed the Friar, and heere receive your

childe of mee, who was in great danger, of your ever seeing him any

more alive. But you must take order, to make an Image of waxe, agreeing

with the stature of the childe, to be placed on the Altar before the

Image of S. _Frances_, by whose merites the childe is thus restored to

health.

The childe, beholding his Father, made signes of comming to him,

rejoycing merrily, as yong infants use to do; and _Credulano_ clasping

him in his armes, wept with conceite of joy, kissing him infinitely,

and heartily thanking his Gossip _Reynard_, for the recovery of his

God-son. The Friars brotherly Companion, who had given sufficient

enstructions to the Nurse, and a small purse full of Sisters white

thred, which a Nunne (after shrift) had bestowed on him, upon the

husbands admittance into the Chamber (which they easily heard) came in

also to them, and seeing all in very good tearmes, they holpe to make

a joyfull conclusion, the Brother saying to Friar Reynard: Brother, I

have finished all those foure Jaculatory prayers, which you commanded

me.

Brother, answered _Reynard_, you have a better breath then I, and your

successe hath prooved happier then mine, for before the arrivall of

my Gossip _Credulano_, I could accomplish but two Jaculatory prayers

onely. But it appeareth, that we have both prevailed in our devout

desires, because the childe is perfectly cured. _Credulano_ calling for

Wine and good cheare, feasted both the Friars very jocondly, and then

conducting them forth of his house, without any further intermission,

caused the childs Image of waxe to be made, and sent it to be placed on

the Altar of Saint _Frances_, among many other the like oblations.

Tofano _in the night season, did locke his wife out of his house, and

shee not prevailing to get entrance againe, by all the entreaties she

could possiblie use: made him beleeve that she had throwne her selfe

into a Well, by casting a great stone into the same Well_. Tofano

_hearing the fall of the stone into the Well, and being perswaded that

it was his Wife indeed; came forth of his house, and ran to the Welles

side. In the meane while, his wife gotte into the house, made fast the

doore against her Husband, and gave him many reproachfull speeches._

The Fourth Novell.

_Wherein is manifested, that the malice and subtilty of a Woman,

surpasseth all the Art or Wit in man._

So soone as the King perceyved, that the Novell reported by Madame

_Eliza_ was finished: hee turned himselfe to Madame _Lauretta_, and

told her it was his pleasure, that she should now begin the next,

whereto she yeelded in this manner. O Love: What, and how many are thy

prevailing forces? How straunge are thy foresights? And how admirable

thine attempts? Where is, or ever was the Philosopher or Artist, that

could enstruct the wiles, escapes, preventions, and demonstrations,

which sodainly thou teachest such, as are thy apt and understanding

Schollers indeede? Certaine it is, that the documents and eruditions of

all other whatsoever, are weak, or of no worth, in respect of thine: as

hath notably appeared, by the remonstrances already past, and whereto

(worthy Ladies) I will adde another of a simple woman, who taught her

husband such a lesson, as shee never learned of any, but Love himselfe.

There dwelt sometime in _Arezzo_ (which is a faire Village of

_Tuscany_) a rich man, named _Tofano_, who enjoyed in marriage a young

beautifull woman, called _Cheta_: of whom (without any occasion given,

or reason knowne to himselfe) he became exceeding jealous. Which his

wife perceyving, she grew much offended thereat, and tooke it in great

scorne, that she should be servile to so vile and slavish a condition.

Oftentimes, she demanded of him, from whence this jealousie in him

received originall, he having never seene or heard of any; he could

make her no other answer, but what his owne bad humour suggested, and

drove him every day (almost) to deaths doore, by feare of that which no

way needed. But, whether as a just scourge for this his grosse folly,

or a secret decree, ordained to him by Fortune and the Fates, I am not

able to distinguish: It came so to passe, that a young Gallant made

meanes to enjoy her favour, and she was so discreetly wise in judging

of his worthinesse; that affection passed so farre mutually betweene

them, as nothing wanted, but effects to answere words, suited with time

and place convenient, for which order was taken as best they might, yet

to stand free from all suspition.

Among many other evill conditions, very frequent and familiar in her

husband _Tofano_; he tooke a great delight in drinking, which not

only he held to be a commendable quality, but was alwaies so often

solicited thereto: that _Cheta_ her selfe began to like and allow it

in him, feeding his humour so effectually, with quaffing and carowsing,

that (at any time when she listed) she could make him bowsie beyonde

all measure: and leaving him sleeping in this drunkennesse, would

alwayes get her selfe to bed. By helpe heereof, she compassed the first

familiarity with her friend, yea, divers times after, as occasion

served: and so confidently did she builde on her husbands drunkennesse,

that not onely shee adventured to bring her friend home into her owne

house; but also would as often go to his, which was some-what neere at

hand, and abide with him there, the most part of the night season.

While _Cheta_ thus continued on these amorous courses, it fortuned,

that her slye suspitious husband, beganne to perceive, that though shee

drunke very much with him, yea, untill he was quite spent and gone:

yet she remained fresh and sober still, and thereby imagined strange

matters, that he being fast asleepe, his wife then tooke advantage of

his drowsinesse, and might ---- and so forth. Beeing desirous to make

experience of this his distrust, hee returned home at night (not having

drunke any thing all the whole day) dissembling both by his words and

behaviour, as if he were notoriously drunke indeede. Which his Wife

constantly beleeving, saide to her selfe: That hee had now more neede

of sleepe, then drinke; getting him immediately into his warme bed; and

then going downe the staires againe, softly went out of doores unto her

Friends house, as formerly she had used to do, and there shee remained

untill midnight.

_Tofano_ perceiving that his Wife came not to bed, and imagining to

have heard his doore both open and shut: arose out of his bed, and

calling his Wife _Cheta_ divers times, without any answere returned:

hee went downe the staires, and finding the doore but closed too, made

it fast and sure on the inside, and then got him up to the window, to

watch the returning home of his wife, from whence shee came, and then

to make her conditions apparantly knowne. So long there he stayed,

till at the last she returned indeede, and finding the doore so surely

shut, shee was exceeding sorrowfull, essaying how she might get it

open by strength: which when _Tofano_ had long suffered her in vaine

to approove, thus hee spake to her. _Cheta, Cheta,_ all thy labour is

meerely lost, because heere is no entrance allowed for thee; therefore

return to the place from whence thou camest, that all thy friends may

judge of thy behaviour, and know what a night-walker thou art become.

The woman hearing this unpleasing language, began to use all humble

entreaties, desiring him (for charities sake) to open the doore and

admit her entrance, because she had not bin in any such place, as his

jelous suspition might suggest to him: but onely to visit a weak &

sickly neighbour, the nights being long, she not (as yet) capable of

sleepe, nor willing to sit alone in the house. But all her perswasions

served to no purpose, he was so setled in his owne opinion, that all

the Town should now see her nightly gading, which before was not

so much as suspected. _Cheta_ seeing, that faire meanes would not

prevaile, shee entred into roughe speeches and threatnings, saying: If

thou wilt not open the doore and let me come in, I will so shame thee,

as never base man was. As how I pray thee? answered _Tofano_, what

canst thou do to me?

The woman, whom love had inspired with sprightly counsell, ingeniously

enstructing her what to do in this distresse, stearnly thus replyed.

Before I will suffer any such shame as thou intended towards mee,

I will drowne my selfe heere in this Well before our doore, where

being found dead, and thy villanous jealousie so apparantly knowne,

beside thy more then beastly drunkennesse: all the neighbours will

constantly beleeve, that thou didst first strangle me in the house,

and afterwardes threw me into this Well. So either thou must flie upon

the supposed offence, or lose all thy goodes by banishment, or (which

is much more fitting for thee) have thy head smitten off as a wilfull

murtherer of thy wife; for all will judge it to be no otherwise.

All which wordes, mooved not _Tofano_ a jot from his obstinat

determination: but he still persisting therein, thus she spake. I

neither can nor will longer endure this base Villanie of thine: to the

mercy of heaven I commit my soul, and stand there my wheele, a witnesse

against so hard-hearted a murtherer.

No sooner had she thus spoke, but the night being so extreamly dark,

as they could not discerne one another; Cheta went to the Well, where

finding a verie great stone, which lay loose upon the brim of the Well,

even as if it had beene layde there on purpose, shee cried out aloud,

saying. Forgive me faire heavens, and so threw the stone downe into the

Well. The night being very still & silent, the fall of the great stone

made such a dreadfull noise in the Well; that he hearing it at the

Windowe, thought verily she had drowned her selfe indeede. Whereupon,

running downe hastily, and taking a Bucket fastened to a strong Cord:

he left the doore wide open, intending speedily to helpe her. But she

standing close at the doores entrance, before he could get to the Wels

side; she was within the house, softly made the doore fast on the

inside, and then went up to the Window, where _Tofano_ before had stood

talking to her.

While he was thus dragging with his Bucket in the Well, crying and

calling _Cheta_, take hold good _Cheta_, and save thy life: she stood

laughing in the Window, saying. Water should bee put into Wine before a

man drinkes it, and not when he hath drunke too much already. _Tofano_

hearing his Wife thus to flout him out of his Window, went back to the

doore, and finding it made fast against him: he willed hir to grant him

entrance. But she, forgetting all gentle Language, which formerly she

had used to him: in meere mockery and derision (yet intermixed with

some sighes and teares, which women are saide to have at command) out

aloud (because the Neighbours should heare her) thus she replyed.

Beastly drunken Knave as thou art, this night thou shalt not come

within these doores, I am no longer able to endure thy base behaviour,

it is more then high time, that thy course of life should bee

publiquely known, and at what drunken houres thou returnest home to thy

house. _Tofano_, being a man of very impatient Nature, was as bitter

unto her in words on the other side, which the Neighbours about them

(both men and Women) hearing; looked forth of their Windowes, and

demaunding a reason for this their disquietnesse, _Cheta_ (seeming as

if she wept) sayde.

Alas my good Neighbours, you see at what unfitting houres, this bad

man comes home to his house, after hee hath lyen in a Taverne all

day drunke, sleeping and snorting like a Swine. You are my honest

witnesses, how long I have suffered this beastlinesse in him, yet

neyther your good counsell, nor my too often loving admonitions, can

worke that good which wee have expected. Wherefore, to try if shame can

procure any amendment, I have shut him out of doores, until his drunken

fit be over-past, and so he shall stand to coole his feet.

_Tofano_ (but in very uncivill manner) told her being abroad that night,

and how she had used him: But the Neighbours seeing her to be within

the house, and beleeving her, rather then him, in regard of his too

wellknowne ill qualities; very sharpely reproved him, gave him grosse

speeches, pittying that any honest Woman should be so continually

abused. Now my good Neighbours (quoth she) you see what manner of man

he is. What would you thinke of me, if I should walk the streets thus

in the night time, or be so late out of mine owne house, as this dayly

Drunkard is? I was affraid least you would have given credit to his

dissembling speeches, when he told you, that I was at the Welles side,

and threw something into the Well: but that I know your better opinion

of me, and how sildome I am to be seene out of doores, although he

would induce your sharper judgement of me, and lay that shame upon me,

wherein he hath sinned himselfe.

The Neighbours, both men and Women, were all very severely incensed

against _Tofano_, condemning him for his great fault that night

committed, and avouching his wife to be vertuous and honest. Within a

little while, the noise passing from Neighbour to Neighbour, at the

length it came to the eares of her Kindred, who forthwith resorted

thither, and hearing how sharpely the Neighbours reprehended _Tofano_:

they tooke him, soundly bastanadoed him, and hardly left any bone

of him unbruised. Afterward, they went into the house, tooke all

such things thence as belonged to hir, taking hir also with them to

their dwelling, and threatning _Tofano_ with further infliction of

punishment, both for his drunkennesse, and causlesse jealousie.

_Tofano_ perceyving how curstly they had handled him, and what crooked

meanes might further be used against him, in regard her Kindred &

Friends were very mightie: thought it much better, patiently to suffer

the wrong alreadie done him, then by obstinate contending, to proceed

further, and fare worse. He became a suter to her Kindred, that al

might be forgotten and forgiven, in recompence whereof; he would not

onely refraine from drunkennesse, but also, never more be jelous of

his wife. This being faithfully promised, and _Cheta_ reconciled to

her Husband, all strife was ended, she enjoyed her friends favour, as

occasion served, but yet with such discretion, as it was not noted.

Thus the Coxcombe foole, was faine to purchase his peace, after a

notorious wrong sustained, and further injuries to bee offered.

_A jealous man, clouded with the habite of a Priest, became the

Confessour to his owne Wife; who made him beleeve, that she was deepely

in love with a Priest, which came every night, and lay with her. By

meanes of which confession, while her jealous Husband watched the doore

of his house; to surprize the Priest when he came: she that never meant

to do amisse, had the company of a secret Friend, who came over the

toppe of the house to visite her, while her foolish Husband kept the

doore._

The fift Novell.

_In just scorne and mockery of such jealous Husbands, that will be so

idle headed upon no occasion. And yet when they have good reason for

it, do least of all suspect any such injury._

Madam _Lauretta_ having ended her Novell, and every one commended

the Woman, for fitting _Tofano_ in his kinde; and, as his jealousie

and drunkennesse justly deserved: the King (to prevent all losse of

time) turned to Madame _Fiammetta_, commaunding her to follow next:

whereuppon, very graciously, shee beganne in this manner.

Noble Ladies, the precedent Novell delivered by Madame _Lauretta_,

maketh me willing to speake of another jealous man; as being halfe

perswaded, that whatsoever is done to them by their Wives, and

especially upon no occasion given, they doe no more then well becommeth

them. And if those grave heads, which were the first instituters of

lawes, had diligently observed all things; I am of the minde, that they

would have ordained no other penalty for Women, then they appointed

against such, as (in their owne defence) do offend any other. For

jealous husbands, are meere insidiators of their Wives lives, and most

diligent pursuers of their deaths, being lockt up in their houses all

the Weeke long, imployed in nothing but domesticke drudging affayres:

which makes them desirous of high Festivall dayes, to receive some

little comfort abroad, by an honest recreation or pastime, as Husbandmen

in the fields, Artizans in our Citie, or Governours in our judiciall

Courtes; yea, or as our Lord himselfe, who rested the seaventh day from

all his travailes. In like manner, it is so willed and ordained by the

Lawes, as well divine as humane, which have regard to the glory of God,

and for the common good of every one; making distinction betweene those

dayes appointed for labour, and the other determined for rest. Whereto

jealous persons (in no case) will give consent, but all those dayes

(which for other women are pleasing and delightfull) unto such, over

whom they command, are most irksome, sadde and sorrowfull, because then

they are lockt up, and very strictly restrained. And if question were

urged, how many good women do live and consume away in this torturing

hel of affliction: I can make no other answere, but such as feele it,

are best able to discover it. Wherefore to conclude the proheme to my

present purpose, let none be over rash in condemning women: for what

they do to their husbands, being jealous without occasion; but rather

commend their wit and providence.

Somtime (faire Ladies) there lived in _Arimino_, a Merchant, very rich

in wealth and worldly possessions, who having a beautifull Gentlewoman

to his wife, he became extreamly jelous of her. And he had no other

reason for this foolish conceit; but, like as he loved hir dearly,

and found her to be very absolutely faire: even so he imagined, that

althogh she devised by her best meanes to give him content; yet

others would grow enamored of her, because she appeared so amiable

to al. In which respect, time might tutor her to affect some other

beside himselfe: the onely common argument of every bad minded man,

being weake and shallow in his owne understanding. This jelous humour**

increasing in him more and more, he kept her in such narrow restraint:

that many persons condemned to death, have enjoyed larger libertie in

their imprisonment. For, she might not bee present at Feasts, Weddings,

nor goe to Church, or so much as to be seen at her doore: Nay, she

durst not stand in her Window, nor looke out of her house, for any

occasion whatsoever. By means whereof, life seemed most tedious and

offensive to her, and she supported it the more impatiently, because

shee knew her selfe not any way faulty.

Seeing her husband still persist in this shamefull course towards her;

she studied, how she might best comfort her selfe in this desolate

case: by devising some one meane or other (if any at all were to bee

founde) whereby he might be requited in his kind, and wear that badge

of shame whereof he was now but onely affraid. And because she could

not gain so small a permission, as to be seene at any window, where

(happily) she might have observed some one passing by in the street,

discerning a little parcell of her love: she remembred at length, that,

in the next house to her Husbands (they both joyning close together)

there dwelt a comely yong proper Gentleman, whose perfections carried

correspondencie with her desires. She also considered with her selfe,

that if there were any partition wall; such a chinke or cranny might

easily be made therein, by which (at one time or other) she should

gaine a sight of the young Gentleman, and finde an houre so fitting,

as to conferre with him, and bestow her lovely favour on him, if he

pleased to accept it. If successe (in this case) proved answerable to

her hope, then thus she resolved to outrun the rest of her wearisome

dayes, except the frensie of jealousie did finish her husbands loathed

life before.

Walking from one roome to another, thorough every part of the house;

and no wall escaping without diligent surveying; on a day, when her

Husband was absent from home, she espyed in a corner very secret, an

indifferent cleft in the Wall, which though it yeelded no full view on

the other side, yet she plainly perceived it to be an handsome Chamber,

and grew more then halfe perswaded, that either it might be the Chamber

of _Philippo_ (for so was the neighbouring yong Gentleman named) or

else a passage guiding thereto. A Chambermaid of hers, who compassioned

her case very much; made such observance, by her Mistresses direction,

that she found it to be _Philippoes_ bed Chamber, and where alwayes he

used to lodge alone. By often visiting this rift or chinke in the Wall,

especially when the Gentleman was there; and by throwing in little

stones, flowers, and such like things, which fell still in his way as

he walked: so farre she prevailed, that he stepping to the chinke, to

know from whence they came; shee called softly to him, who knowing her

voyce, there they had such private conference together, as was not

any way displeasing to either. So that the chinke being made a little

larger; yet so, as it could not be easily discerned: their mouthes

might meete with kisses together, and their hands folded each in other;

but nothing else to be performed, for continuall feare of her jelous

husband.

Now the Feast of Christmasse drawing neere, the Gentlewoman said to

her Husband; that, if it stood with his liking: she would do such

duty as fitted with so solemne a time, by going earely in a morning

unto Church, there to be confessed, and receive her Saviour, as other

Christians did. How now? replied the jealous Asse, what sinnes have

you committed, that should neede confession? How Husband? quoth she,

what do you thinke me to be a Saint? Who knoweth not, I pray you, that

I am as subject to sinne, as any other Woman living in the world? But

my sins are not to be revealed to you, because you are no Priest.

These words enflamed his jealousie more violently then before, and

needes must he know what sinnes she had committed, & having resolved

what to do in this case, made her answer: That hee was contented with

her motion, alwaies provided, that she went to no other Church, then

unto their owne Chappel, betimes in a morning; and their own Chaplaine

to confesse her, or some other Priest by him appointed, but not any

other: and then she to returne home presently againe. She being a

woman of acute apprehension, presently collected his whole intention:

but seeming to take no knowledge thereof, replyed, that she would not

swerve from his direction.

When the appointed day was come, she arose very earely, and being

prepared answerable to her owne liking, to the Chappell shee went

as her Husband had appointed, where her jealous Husband (being much

earlier risen than she) attended for her comming: having so ordred the

matter with his Chaplaine, that he was cloathed in his Cowle, with a

large Hood hanging over his eyes, that she should not know him, and

so he went and sate downe in the Confessors place. Shee being entred

into the Chappell, and calling for the Priest to heare her confession,

he made her answer: that he could not intend it, but would bring her

to another holy Brother, who was at better leysure than hee. So to

her Husband he brought her, that seemed (in all respects) like the

Confessor himselfe: save onely his Hood was not so closely veyled, but

shee knew his beard, and said to her selfe. What a mad world is this,

when jealousie can metamorphose an ordinary man into a Priest? But, let

me alone with him, I meane to fit him with that which he lookes for.

So, appearing to have no knowledge at all of him, downe she fell at

his feete, and he had conveyed a few Cherry stones into his mouth,

to trouble his speech from her knowledge; for, in all things else, he

thought himselfe to be sufficiently fitted for her. In the course of her

confession, she declared, that she was married to a most wicked jealous

Husband, and with whom she lead a very hatefull life. Neverthelesse

(quoth she) I am indifferently even with him, for I am beloved of an

Holie Fryar, that every night commeth and lyeth with me. When the

jealous Husband heard this, it stabbed him like a dagger to the heart,

and, but for this greedy covetous desire to know more; he would faine

have broke off confession, and got him gone. But, perceiving that it

was his wisest course, he questioned further with his wife, saying: Why

good Woman, doth not your husband lodge with you? Yes Sir, quoth she.

How is it possible then (replyed the Husband) that the Friar can lodge

there with you too?

She, dissembling a farre fetcht sigh, thus answered. Reverend Sir, I

know not what skilfull Art the Fryar useth, but this I am sure, every

doore in our house will flye open to him, so soone as he doth but touch

it. Moreover, he told me, that when he commeth unto my Chamber doore,

he speaketh certaine words to himselfe, which immediately casteth my

Husband into a dead sleepe, and, understanding him to bee thus sleepily

entranced: he openeth the doore, entreth in, lieth downe by me, and

this every night he faileth not to do. The jealous Coxcomb angerly

scratching his head, and wishing his wife halfe hangd, said: Mistresse,

this is very badly done, for you should keepe your selfe from all men,

but your husband onely. That shall I never doe, answered shee, because

(indeed) I love him dearely. Why then (quoth our supposed Confessor)

I cannot give you any absolution. I am the more sorry Sir, said she, I

came not hither to tell you any leasings, for if I could, yet I would

not, because it is not good to fable with such Saint-like men as you

are. You do therein (quoth hee) the better, and surely I am very sorry

for you, because in this dangerous condition, it will bee the utter

losse of your soule: neverthelesse, both for your husbands sake and

your owne, I will take some paines, and use such especiall prayers in

your name, which may (perchance) greatly avayle you. And I purpose now

and then, to send you a Novice or young Clearke of mine, whom you may

safely acquaint with your minde, and signifie to me, by him, whether

they have done you good, or no: and if they prove helpefull, then will

we further proceed therein. Alas Sir, said she, never trouble your

selfe, in sending any body to our house; because, if my Husband should

know it, he is so extreamly jelous, as all the world cannot otherwise

perswade him, but that he commeth thither for no honest intent, and so

I shall live worse then now I do. Fear not that, good woman, quoth he,

but beleeve it certainly, that I will have such a care in this case, as

your Husband shall never speake thereof to you. If you can doe so Sir,

sayde she, proceed I pray you, and I am well contented.

Confession being thus ended, and she receiving such pennance as hee

appointed, she arose on her feete, and went to heare Masse; while our

jealous Woodcocke (testily puffing and blowing) put off his Religious

habite, returning home presently to his house, beating his braines

al the the way as he went, what meanes he might best devise, for

the taking of his wife and the Friar together, whereby to have them

both severely punished. His wife being come home from the Chappell,

discerned by her Husbands lookes, that he was like to keepe but a

sorry Christmasse: yet he used his utmost industry, to conceale what

he had done, & which she knew as well as himself. And he having fully

resolved, to watch his own street doore the next night ensuing in

person, in expectation of the Friars comming, saide to his Wife. I have

occasion both to suppe and lodge out of my house this night, wherefore

see you the streete doore to be surely made fast on the inside, and the

doore at the middest of the staires, as also your own Chamber doore,

and then (in Gods name) get you to bed. Whereto she answered, that all

should be done as hee had appointed.

Afterward, when she saw convenient time, she went to the chink in the

Wall, and making such a signe as shee was woont to doe: _Phillippo_

came thither, to whom she declared all her mornings affayres, & what

directions her husband had given her. Furthermore she saide, certaine

I am, that he will not depart from the house, but sit and watch the

doore without, to take one that comes not heere. If therefore, you can

climbe over the house top, and get in at our gutter Window, you and I

may conferre more familiarly together. The young Gentleman being no

dullard, had his lesson quickly taught him; and when night was come,

_Geloso_ (for so must wee tearme the Cocke-braind husband) armes

himselfe at all points, with a browne Bill in his hand, and so he

sits to watch his owne doore. His Wife had made fast all the doores,

especially that on the midst of the stayres, because he should not (by

any means) come to her Chamber; and so, when the houre served, the

Gentleman adventured over the house top, found the gutter Window, and

the way conducting him to her Chamber, where I leave them to their

further amorous conference.

_Geloso_, more then halfe mad with anger, first, because hee had

lost his supper: next, having sitten almost all the night (which was

extreamely cold and windie) his Armor much molesting him, and yet he

could see no Friar come: when day drew neere, and hee ashamed to watch

there any longer; conveighed himselfe to some more convenient place,

where putting off his Armes, and seeming to come from the place of

his Lodging; about the ninth houre, he found his doore open, entred

in, & went up the stayres, going to dinner with his Wife. Within a

while after, according as _Geloso_ had ordred the businesse, a youth

came thither, seeming to be the Novice sent from the Confessor, and he

being admitted to speake with her, demanded, whether shee were troubled

or molested that night passed, as formerly she had bin, and whether

the partie came or no? The Woman, who knew well enough the Messenger

(notwithstanding all his formall disguise) made answer: That the party

expected, came not: but if hee had come, it was to no purpose; because

her minde was now otherwise altred, albeit she changed not a jote from

her amorous conclusion.

What should I now further say unto you? _Geloso_ continued his

watch many nights afterward, as hoping to surprize the Friar at his

entrance, and his wife kept still her contented quarter, according

as opportunitie served. In the conclusion, _Geloso_ being no longer

able to endure his bootlesse watching, nor some (more then ordinary)

pleasing countenance in his wife: one day demaunded of her (with a very

stearne and frowning brow) what secret sinnes shee had revealed to the

ghostly Father, upon the day of her shrift? The Woman replyed, that

she would not tell him, neyther was it a matter reasonable, or lawfull

for her to doe. Wicked Woman, answered _Geloso_: I knowe them all well

enough, even in despight of thee, and every word that thou spakest unto

him. But Huswife, now I must further know, what the Fryar is, with whom

you are so farre in love, and (by meanes of his enchantments) lyeth

with you every night; tell me what and who he is, or else I meane to

cut your throate.

The Woman immediately made answer, it was not true, that she was in

love with any Fryar. How? quoth _Geloso_, didst thou not thou confesse

so much to the Ghostly Father, the other day when thou wast at shrift?

No Sir, sayde she, but if I did, I am sure he would not disclose it to

you, except hee suffered you to bee there present, which is an Article

beyonde his dutie. But if it were so, then I confesse freely, that I

did say so unto him. Make an end then quickely Wife (quoth _Geloso_)

and tell mee who the Friar is. The Woman fell into a hearty laughter,

saying. It liketh me singularly well, when a wise man will suffer

himselfe to be ledde by a simple Woman, even as a Sheepe is to the

slaughter, and by the hornes. If once thou wast wise, that wisedome

became utterly lost, when thou felst into that divellish frensie of

jealousie, without knowing anie reason for it: for, by this beastlike

and no manly humour, thou hast eclipsed no meane part of my glory, and

womanly reputation.

Doest thou imagine Husband, that if I were so blinded in the eyes of

my head, as thou art in them which should informe thine understanding;

I could have found out the Priest, that would needs bee my Confessor?

I knew thee Husband to be the man, and therefore I prepared my wit

accordingly, to fit thee with the foolish imagination which thou

soughtest for, and (indeed) gave it thee. For, if thou hadst beene

wise, as thou makest the world to beleeve by outward apparance, thou

wouldest never have expressed such a basenesse of minde, to borrow

the coulour of a sanctified cloake, thereby to undermine the secrets

of thine honest meaning Wife. Wherefore, to feede thee in thy fond

suspition, I was the more free in my Confession, and tolde thee truely,

with whom, and how heinously I had transgressed. Did I not tell thee,

that I loved a Fryar? And art not thou he whom I love, being a Fryar,

and my ghostly Father, though (to thine owne shame) thou madst thy

selfe so? I said moreover, that there is not any doore in our house,

that can keepe it selfe shut against him, but (when he pleaseth) he

comes and lies with me. Now tell me Husband, What doore in our house

hath (at any time) bin shut against thee, but they are freely thine

owne, & grant thee entrance? Thou art the same Friar that confest me,

and lieth every night with me, and so often as thou sentst thy yong

Novice or Clearke to me, as often did I truly returne thee word, when

the same Fryar lay with me. But (by jealousie) thou hast so lost thine

understanding, that thou wilt hardly beleeve all this.

Alas good man, like an armed Watchman, thou satst at thine owne doore

all a cold Winters night, perswading mee (poore silly credulous woman)

that, upon urgent occasions, thou must needs suppe and lodge from

home. Remember thy selfe therefore better heereafter, become a true

understanding man, as thou shouldst bee, and make not thy selfe a

mocking stocke to them, who knoweth thy jealous qualities, as well as

I do, and be not so watchfull over me, as thou art. For I sweare by my

true honesty, that if I were but as willing, as thou art suspitious: I

could deceive thee, if thou hadst an hundred eyes, as Nature affords

thee but two, and have my pleasures freely, yet thou be not a jot the

wiser, or my credit any way impaired.

Our wonderfull wise _Geloso_, who (very advisedly considred) that he

had wholly heard his wives secret confession, and dreamed now on no

other doubt beside, but (perceiving by her speeches) how hee was become

a scorne to al men: without returning other answer, confirmed his wife

to bee both wise and honest, and now when he hadde just occasion to

be jealous indeede, hee utterly forsware it, and counted them all

Coxcombes that would be so misguided. Wherefore, she having thus wisely

wonne the way to her owne desires, and he reduced into a more humane

temper: I hope there was no more neede, of clambring over houses in the

night time like Cats, nor walking in at gutter Windowes, but all abuses

were honestly reformed.

_Madame_ Isabella, _delighting in the company of her affected

Friend, named_ Lionello, _and she being likewise beloved by_ Signior

Lambertuccio: _At the same time as shee had entertained_ Lionello,

_shee was also visited by_ Lambertuccio. _Her Husband returning home in

the very instant: shee caused_ Lambertuccio _to run forth with a drawne

sword in his hand, and (by that meanes) made an excuse sufficient for_

Lionello _to her husband._

The Sixth Novell.

_Wherein is manifestly discerned, that if Love be driven to a narrow

straite in any of his attempts, yet hee can accomplish his purpose by

some other supply._

Wondrously pleasing to all the company, was the reported Novell of

Madame _Fiammetta_, every one applauding the Womans wisedome, and that

she had done no more, then as the jealous foole her husband justly

deserved. But shee having ended, the King gave order unto Madame

_Pampinea_, that now it was her turne to speake, whereupon, thus she

began. There are no meane store of people who say (though very false

and foolishly,) that Love maketh many to be out of their wits, and that

such as fall in Love, do utterly loose their understanding. To mee

this appeareth a very ydle opinion, as already hath beene approved by

the related discourses, and shall also bee made manifest by another of

mine owne.

In our City of _Florence_, famous for some good, though as many

bad qualities, there dwelt (not long since) a Gentlewoman, endued

with choice beauty and admirable perfections, being wife to Signior

_Beltramo_, a very valiant Knight, and a man of great possessions. As

oftentimes it commeth to passe, that a man cannot alwayes feede on

one kind of bread, but his appetite will be longing after change: so

fared it with this Lady, named _Isabella_, she being not satisfied

with the delights of her Husband; grew enamoured of a young Gentleman,

called _Lionello_, compleate of person and commendable qualities,

albeit not of the fairest fortunes, yet his affection every way

sutable to hers. And full well you know (faire Ladies) that where the

mindes irreciprocally accorded, no dilligence wanteth for the desires

execution: so this amorous couple, made many solemne protestations,

untill they should bee friended by opportunity.

It fortuned in the time of their hopefull expectation a Knight, named

Signior _Lambertuccio_, fell likewise in love with _Isabella_: but

because he was somewhat unsightly of person, and utterly unpleasing

in the eye, she grew regardlesse of his frequent solicitings, and

would not accept either tokens, or letters. Which when hee saw, (being

very rich and of great power) hee sought to compasse his intent by

a contrary course, threatning her with scandall and disgrace to her

reputation, and with his associates to bandie against her best friends.

She knowing what manner of man he was, and how able to abuse any with

infamous imputations, wisely returned him hopefull promises, though

never meaning to performe any, but onely (Lady-like) to flatter and

foole him therewith.

Some few miles distant from _Florence, Beltramo_ had a Castle of

pleasure, and there his Lady _Isabella_ used to live all Summer, as

all other doe the like, being so possessed. On a day, _Beltramo_ being

ridden from home, and she having sent for _Lionello_, to take the

advantage of her Husbands absence; accordingly he went, not doubting

but to winne what he had long expected. Signior _Lambertuccio_ on the

other side, meeting _Beltramo_ riding from his Castle, and _Isabella_

now fit to enjoy his company: gallops thither with all possible speede,

because hee would bee no longer delayed. Scarcely was _Lionello_

entred the Castle, and receiving directions by the waiting woman, to

her Ladies Chamber: but _Lambertuccio_ gallopped in at the Gate, which

the woman perceiving, ranne presently and acquainted her Lady with the

comming of _Lambertuccio_.

Now was shee the onely sorrowfull woman of the world; for nothing was

now to bee feared, but stormes and tempests, because _Lambertuccio_,

spake no other, then Lightning and Thunder, and _Lionello_, (being no

lesse affraide then shee) by her perswasion crept behind the bed,

where he hid himselfe very contentedly. By this time _Lambertuccio_ was

dismounted from his Courser, which he fastened (by the bridle) to a

ring in the wall, and then the waiting woman came to him, to guide him

to her Lady and Mistresse: who stood ready at the staires head, graced

him with a very acceptable welcome, yet marvelling much at his so

sodaine comming. Lady (quoth he) I met your Husband upon the way, which

granting mine accesse to see you; I come to claime your long delayed

promise, the time being now so favourable for it.

Before he had uttered halfe these words, _Beltramo_, having forgot

an especiall evidence in his Study, which was the onely occasion of

his journey, came gallopping backe againe into the Castell Court,

and seeing such a goodly Gelding stand fastened there, could not

redily imagine who was the owner thereof. The waiting woman, upon

the sight of her Masters entring into the Court, came to her Lady,

saying: My Master _Beltramo_ is returned backe, newly alighted, and

(questionlesse) comming up the staires. Now was our Lady _Isabella_,

ten times worse affrighted then before, (having two severall amourous

suters in her house, both hoping, neither speeding, yet her credite

lying at the stake for either) by this unexpected returne of her

Husband. Moreover, there was no possible meanes, for the concealing of

Signior _Lambertuccio_, because his Gelding stood in the open Court,

and therefore made a shrewde presumption against her, upon the least

doubtfull question urged.