Blondello _(in a merry manner) caused_ Guiotto _to beguile himselfe of a

good dinner: for which deceit,_ Guiotto _became cunningly revenged, by

procuring_ Blondello _to be unreasonably beaten and misused._

The Eight Novell.

_Whereby plainly appeareth, that they which take delight in deceiving

others, do well deserve to be deceived themselves._

It was a generall opinion in the whole Joviall Companie, that

whatsoever _Talano_ saw in his sleepe, was not anie dreame, but rather

a vision: considring, every part thereof fell out so directly, without

the lest failing. But when silence was enjoyned, then the Queene gave

forth by evident demonstration, that Madam _Lauretta_ was next to

succeed, whereupon she thus began. As all they (judicious hearers)

which have this day spoken before me, derived the ground or project

of their Novels, from some other argument spoken of before: even so,

the cruell revendge of the Scholler, yesterday discoursed at large by

Madame _Pampinea_, maketh me to remember another Tale of like nature,

some-what greevous to the sufferer, yet not in such cruell measure

inflicted, as that on Madam _Helena_.

There dwelt sometime in _Florence_, one who was generally called

by the name of _Guiotto_, a man being the greatest Gourmand, and

grossest feeder, as ever was seene in any Countrey, all his meanes &

procurements meerly unable to maintaine expences for filling his belly.

But otherwise he was of sufficient and commendable carriage, fairely

demeaned, and well discoursing on any argument: yet, not as a curious

and spruce Courtier, but rather a frequenter of rich mens Tables,

where choice of good cheere is sildome wanting, & such should have his

company, albeit not invited, yet (like a bold intruder) he had the

courage to bid himselfe welcome.

At the same time, and in our City of _Florence_ also, there was another

man, named _Blondello_, very low of stature; yet comly formed, quicke

witted, more neat and brisk then a Butter flye, alwaies wearing a

wrought silke cap on his head, and not a haire staring out of order,

but the tuft flourishing above the forehead, and he such another

trencher-fly for the table, as our forenamed _Guiotto_ was. It so fel

out on a morning in the Lent time, that hee went into the Fish-market,

where he bought two goodly Lampreyes, for _Messer Viero de Cherchi_,

and was espied by _Guiotto_, who (comming to _Blondello_) said. What is

the meaning of this cost, and for whom is it? Whereto _Blondello_ thus

answered. Yesternight, three other Lampries, far fairer and fatter then

these, and a whole Sturgeon, were sent unto _Messer Corso Donati_, and

being not sufficient to feede divers Gentlemen, whom hee hath invited

this day to dine with him, hee caused me to buy these two beside: Doest

not thou intend to make one among them? Yes I warrant thee, replied

_Guiotto_, thou knowst I can invite my selfe thither, without any other

bidding.

So parting; about the houre of dinner time, _Guiotto_ went to the

house of the saide _Messer Corso_, whom he found sitting and talking

with certain of his neighbours, but dinner was not (as yet) ready,

neither were they come thither to dinner. _Messer Corso_ demaunded of

_Guiotto_, what newes with him, and whither he went? Why Sir (said

_Guiotto_) I come to dine with you, and your good company. Whereto

_Messer Corso_ answered, That he was welcome, & his other friends being

gone, dinner was served in, none els thereat present but _Messer Corso_

and _Guiotto_: al the diet being a poore dish of Pease, a little piece

of Tunny, & a few small dishes fried, without any other dishes to

follow after. _Guiotto_ seeing no better fare, but being disapointed

of his expectation, as longing to feed on the Lampries and Sturgeon,

and so to have made a full dinner indeed: was of a quick apprehension,

& apparantly perceived, that _Blondello_ had meerly guld him in a

knavery, which did not a little vex him, and made him vow to be revenged

on _Blondello_, as he could compasse occasion afterward.

Before many daies were past, it was his fortune to meete with

_Blondello_, who having told this jest to divers of his friends, and

much good merriment made thereat: he saluted _Guiotto_ in ceremonious

manner, saying. How didst thou like the fat Lampreyes and Sturgeon,

which thou fedst on at the house of _Messer Corso Donati_? Wel Sir

(answered _Guiotto_) perhaps before eight dayes passe over my head,

thou shalt meet with as pleasing a dinner as I did. So, parting away

from _Blondello_, he met with a Porter or burthen-bearer, such as are

usually sent on errands; and hyring him to deliver a message for him,

gave him a glasse bottle, and bringing him neere to the Hal-house of

_Cavicciuli_, shewed him there a knight, called _Signior Phillippo

Argenti_, a man of huge stature, stout, strong, vainglorious, fierce

and sooner mooved to anger then any other man. To him (quoth _Guiotto_)

thou must go with this bottle in thy hand, and say thus to him. Sir,

_Blondello_ sent me to you, and courteously entreateth you, that you

would enrubinate this glasse bottle with your best Claret Wine; because

he would make merry with a few friends of his. But beware he lay no

hand on thee, because he may bee easily induced to misuse thee, and so

my businesse be disappointed. Well Sir replied the Porter, shall I say

any thing else unto him? No (quoth _Guiotto_) only go and deliver this

message, and when thou art returned, Ile pay thee for thy paines.

The Porter being gone to the house, delivered his message to the

knight, who being a man of no great civill breeding, but furious,

rash, and inconsiderate: presently conceived, that _Blondello_ (whom

he knew well enough) sent this message in meere mockage of him, and

starting up with fiery lookes, said: What enrubination of Claret

should I send him? and what have I to do with him, or his drunken

friends? Let him and thee go hang your selves together. So he stept to

catch hold on the Porter, but he (being well warnd before) was quicke

and nimble, and escaping from him, returned backe to _Guiotto_ (who

observed all) and told him the answer of Signior _Phillippo. Guiotto_

not a little contented, paied the Porter, and taried not in any place

till he met with _Blondello_, to whom he said. When wast thou at the

Hall of _Cavicciuli_? Not a long while, answerd _Blondello_, but why

dost thou demand such a question? Because (quoth _Guiotto_) Signior

_Phillippo_ hath sought about for thee, yet knowe not I what he would

have with thee. Is it so? replied _Blondello_, then I will walke thither

presently, to understand his pleasure.

When _Blondello_ was thus parted from him, _Guiotto_ folowed not

farre off behind him, to behold the issue of this angry businesse;

and Signior _Phillippo_, because he could not catch the Porter,

continued much distempred, fretting and fuming, in regard he could not

comprehend the meaning of the Porters message: but onely surmized, that

_Blondello_ (by the procurement of some body else) had done this in

scorne of him. While he remained thus deeply discontented, he espied

_Blondello_ comming towards him, and meeting him by the way, he stept

close to him, and gave him a cruell blow on the face, causing his nose

to fall out a bleeding. Alas Sir, said _Blondello_, wherefore do you

strike me? Signior _Phillippo_, catching him by the haire of the head,

trampled his wrought night-cap in the dirt, & his cloke also; when,

laying many violent blowes on him, he said. Villanous Traitor as thou

art, Ile teach thee what it is to enrubinate with Claret, either thy

selfe, or any of thy cupping companions: Am I a child, to be jested

withall?

Nor was he more furious in words, then in strokes also, beating him

about the face, hardly leaving any haire on his head, and dragging him

along in the mire, spoyling all his garments, and he not able (from

the first blow given) to speake a word in defence of himselfe. In the

end, Signior _Phillippo_ having extreamly beaten him, and many people

gathering about them, to succour a man so much misused, the matter was

at large related, and manner of the message sending. For which, they

all present, did greatly reprehend _Blondello_, considering he knew

what kinde of man _Phillippo_ was, not any way to be jested withall.

_Blondello_ in teares constantly maintained, that he never sent any

such message for wine, or intended it in the least degree: so, when the

tempest was more mildly calmed, and _Blondello_ (thus cruelly beaten

and durtied) had gotten home to his owne house, he could then remember,

that (questionles) this was occasioned by _Guiotto_.

After some few dayes were passed over, and the hurts in his face

indifferently cured; _Blondello_ beginning to walke abroade againe,

chanced to meet with _Guiotto_: who laughing heartily at him, sayde.

Tell me _Blondello_, how doost thou like the enrubinating Clarret of

Signior _Phillippo_? As well (quoth _Blondello_) as thou didst the

Sturgeon and Lampreyes at _Messer Corso Donaties_. Why then (sayde

_Guiotto_) let these two tokens continue familiar betweene thee and

me, when thou wouldst bestow such another dinner on mee, then will I

enrubinate thy nose with a bottle of the same Claret. But _Blondello_

perceived (to his cost) that hee had met with the worser bargaine,

and _Guiotto_ got cheare, without any blowes: and therefore desired

a peacefull attonement, each of them (alwayes after) abstaining from

flouting one another.

_Two yong Gentlemen, the one named_ Melisso, _borne in the City of_

Laiazzo: _and the other_ Giosefo _of_ Antioche, _travailed together

unto_ Salomon, _the famous King of_ Great Britaine. _The one desiring

to learne what he should do, whereby to compasse and winne the love

of men. The other craved to be enstructed, by what meanes hee might

reclaime an headstrong and unruly wife. And what answeres the wise King

gave unto them both, before they departed away from him._

The Ninth Novell.

_Containing an excellent admonition, that such as covet to have the

love of other men, must first learne themselves, how to love: Also, by

what meanes such women as are curst and self-willed, may be reduced to

civill obedience._

Upon the conclusion of Madame _Laurettaes_ Novell, none now remained to

succeede next in order, but onely the Queene her selfe, the priviledge

reserved, granted to _Dioneus_; wherefore, after they had all smiled at

the folly of _Blondello_, with a chearfull countenance thus the Queene

began.

Honourable Ladies, if with advised judgement, we do duly consider the

order of all things, we shall very easily perceyve, That the whole

universall multiplicitie of Women, by Nature, custome, and lawes,

are & ought to be subject to men, yea, and to be governd by their

discretion. Because every one desiring to enjoy peace, repose and

comfort with them, under whose charge they are; ought to be humble,

patient and obedient, over and beside her spotlesse honesty, which is

the crowne and honour of every good woman. And although those lawes,

which respect the common good of all things, or rather use & custome

(as our wonted saying is) the powers whereof are very great, and worthy

to be referenced, should not make us wise in this case. Yet Nature

hath given us a sufficient demonstration, in creating our bodies more

soft and delicate, yea, and our hearts timorous, fearefull, benigne

and compassionable, our strength feeble, our voyces pleasing, and

the motion of our members sweetly plyant; all which are apparant

testimonies, that wee have neede of others government.

Now, it is not to be denyed, that whosoever hath need of helpe, and

is to bee governed: meerely reason commandeth, that they should bee

subject and obedient to their governour. Who then should we have for

our helps and governours, if not men? Wherefore, we should be intirely

subject to them, in giving them due honour and reverence, and such

a one as shall depart from this rule: she (in mine opinion) is not

onely worthy of grievous reprehension, but also severe chastisement

beside. And to this exact consideration (over and above divers other

important reasons) I am the rather induced, by the Novel which Madame

_Pampinea_ so lately reported, concerning the froward and wilfull

wife of _Talano_, who had a heavier punishment inflicted on her, then

her Husband could devise to doe. And therefore it is my peremptory

sentence, that all such women as will not be gracious, benigne and

pleasing: doe justly deserve (as I have already said) rude, rough and

harsh handling, as both nature, custome and lawes have commanded.

To make good what I have said, I will declare unto you the counsell &

advise, given by _Salomon_, the wise and famous King of Great Britaine,

as a most wholesome and soveraigne medicine for the cure of such a

dangerous disease, in any woman so fouly infected. Which counsell

(notwithstanding) all such women as have no need of this Phisicke, I

would not have them to imagine, that it was meant for them, albeit men

have a common Proverbe, to wit.

_As the good horse and bad horse, doe both need the spurre.

So a good wife and bad wife, a wand will make stirre._

Which saying, whosoever doth interpret it in such pleasing manner

as they ought, shall find it (as you al will affirm no lesse) to

be very true: especially in the morall meaning, it is beyond all

contradiction. Women are naturally all unstable, and easily enclining

to misgovernment; wherefore to correct the iniquity of such a

distemperature in them that out-step the tearmes and bounds of

womanhood, a wand hath been allowed for especiall phisicke. As in the

like manner, for support of vertue, in those of contrary condition,

shaming to be sullyed with so grosse a sinne: the correcting Wand may

serve as a walking staffe, to protect them from all other feares. But,

forbearing to teach any longer; let mee proceed to my purpose, and tell

you my Novell.

In those ancient and reverend dayes, whereof I am now to speake, the

high renowne and admirable wisedome of _Salomon_, King of Great

Brittain, was most famous throughout all parts of the world; for

answering all doubtfull questions and demaunds whatsoever, that

possibly could be propounded to him. So that many resorted to him, from

the most remote and furthest off countreyes, to heare his miraculous

knowledge and experience, yea, and to crave his counsell, in matters of

greatest importance. Among the rest of them which repaired thither, was

a rich yong Gentleman, honourably descended, named _Melisso_, who came

from the City of _Laiazzo_, where he was both borne, and dwelt.

In his riding towards _France_, as he passed by _Naples_, hee overtooke

another yong Gentleman, a native of _Antioch_, and named _Giosefo_,

whose journey lay the same way as the others did. Having ridden in

company some few dayes together, as it is a custome commonly observed

among Travellers, to understand one anothers Countrey and condition,

as also to what part his occasions call him: so happened it with them,

_Giosefo_ directly telling him, that he journyed towards the wise King

_Salomon_, to desire his advise what meanes he should observe, in the

reclaiming of a wilfull wife, the most froward and selfe-willed woman

that ever lived; whom neither faire perswasions, nor gentle courtesies

could in any manner prevaile withall. Afterward he demaunded of

_Melisso_, to know the occasion of his travell, and whither.

Now trust me Sir, answered _Melisso_, I am a native of _Laiazzo_, and

as you are vexed with one great misfortune, even so am I offended

with another. I am young, wealthy, well derived by birth, and allow

liberall expences, for maintaining a worthy table in my house, without

distinguishing persons by their rancke and quality, but make it free

for all commers, both of the city, & all places els. Notwithstanding

all which bounty and honourable entertainement, I cannot meet with any

man that loveth me. In which respect, I journey to the same place as

you doe, to crave the counsell of so wise a King, what I should doe,

whereby I might procure men to love me. Thus like two well-met friendly

companions, they rode on together, untill they arrived in Great

Britaine, where, by meanes of the Noble Barons attending on the King;

they were brought before him. _Melisso_ delivered his minde in very

few words, whereto the King made no other answere, but this: Learne to

love. Which was no sooner spoken, but _Melisso_ was dismissed from the

Kings presence.

_Giosefo_ also relating, wherefore he came thither; the King replyed

onely thus; Goe to the Goose Bridge: and presently _Giosefo_ had

also his dismission from the King. Comming forth, he found _Melisso_

attending for him, and revealed in what manner the King had answered

him: whereupon, they consulted together, concerning both their

answeres, which seemed either to exceed their comprehension, or else

was delivered them in meere mockery, and therefore (more then halfe

discontented) they returned homeward againe.

After they had ridden on a few dayes together, they came to a River,

over which was a goodly Bridge, and because a great company of Horses

and Mules (heavily laden, and after the manner of a _Caravan_ of Camels

in _Egypt_) were first to passe over the saide Bridge; they gladly

stayed to permit their passe. The greater number of them being already

past over, there was one shie and skittish Mule (belike subject to

fearefull starting, as oftentimes we see horses have the like ill

quality) that would not passe over the Bridge by any meanes, wherefore

one of the Muletters tooke a good Cudgell, and smote her at the first

gently, as hoping so to procure her passage. Notwithstanding, starting

one while backeward, then againe forward, side-wayes, and every way

indeed, but the direct Road way she would not goe.

Now grew the Muletter extreamely angry, giving her many cruell

stroakes, on the head, sides, flancks and all parts else, but yet they

proved to no purpose, which _Melisso_ and _Giosefo_ seeing, and being

(by this meanes) hindred of their passage, they called to the Muletter,

saying. Foolish fellow, what doest thou? Intendest thou to kill the

Mule? why dost thou not leade her gently, which is the likelier course

to prevaile by, then beating and misusing her as thou dost? Content

your selves Gentlemen (answered the Muletter) you know your horses

qualities, as I doe my Mules, let mee deale with her as I please.

Having thus spoken, he gave her so many violent strokes, on head,

sides, hippes, and every where else, as made her at last passe over the

Bridge quietly, so that the Muletter wonne the Mastery of his Mule.

When _Melisso_ and _Giosefo_ had past over the Bridge, where they

intended to part each from other; a sudden motion happened into the

minde of _Melisso_, which caused him to demaund of an aged man (who

sate craving almes of Passengers at the Bridge foot) how the Bridge was

called: Sir, answered the old man, this is called, The Goose Bridge.

Which words when _Giosefo_ heard, hee called to minde the saying of

King _Salomon_, and therefore immediately saide to _Melisso_. Worthy

friend, and partner in my travell, I dare now assure you, that the

counsell given me by King _Salomon_, may fall out most effectuall

and true: For I plainely perceive, that I knew not how to handle my

selfe-will'd-wife, untill the Muletter did instruct me. So, requesting

still to enjoy the others Company, they journeyed on, till at the

length they came to _Laiazzo_, where _Giosefo_ retained _Melisso_ still

with him, for some repose after so long a journey, and entertained him

with very honourable respect and courtesie.

One day _Giosefo_ said to his Wife: Woman, this Gentleman is my

intimate friend, and hath borne me company in all my travell: such dyet

therefore as thou wilt welcome him withall, I would have it ordered

(in dressing) according to his direction. _Melisso_ perceiving that

_Giosefo_ would needs have it to be so; in few words directed her such

a course, as (for ever) might be to her Husbands contentment. But

she, not altring a jote from her former disposition, but rather farre

more froward and tempestuous: delighted to vexe and crosse him, doing

every thing, quite contrary to the order appointed. Which _Giosefo_

observing, angerly he said unto her. Was it not tolde you by my friend,

in what manner he would have our Supper drest? She turning fiercely

to him, replyed. Am I to be directed by him or thee? Supper must and

shall bee drest as I will have it: if it pleaseth mee, I care not who

doth dislike it; if thou wouldst have it otherwise, goe seeke both your

Suppers where you may have it.

_Melisso_ marvelling at her froward answere, rebuked her for it in very

kind manner: whereupon, _Giosefo_ spake thus to her. I perceive wife,

you are the same woman as you were wount to be: but beleeve me on my

word, I shall quite alter you from this curst complexion. So turning

to _Melisso_, thus he proceeded. Noble friend, we shall try anone,

whether the counsell of King _Salomon_ bee effectuall, or no; and I

pray you, let it not be offensive to you to see it; but rather hold all

to be done in merriment. And because I would not be hindered by you,

doe but remember the answere which the Muletter gave us, when we tooke

compassion on his Mule. Worthy friend, replyed _Melisso_, I am in your

owne house, where I purpose not to impeach whatsoever you doe.

_Giosefo_, having provided a good Holly-wand, went into the Chamber,

where his wife sate railing, and despitefully grumbling, where taking

her by the haire of her head, he threw her at his feete, beating her

entreamely with the wand. She crying, then cursing, next railing,

lastly fighting, biting and scratching, when she felt the cruell smart

of the blowes, and that all her resistance served to no end: then she

fell on her knees before him, and desired mercy for charities sake.

_Giosefo_ fought still more and more on head, armes, shoulders, sides,

and all parts else, pretending as if he heard not her complaints, but

wearied himselfe wel neere out of breath: so that (to be briefe) she

that never felt his fingers before, perceived and confessed, it was now

too soone. This being done, hee returned to _Melisso_, and said: To

morrow we shall see a miracle, and how availeable the councell is of

going to the Goose Bridge. So sitting a while together, after they had

washed their hands, and supt, they withdrew to their lodgings.

The poore beaten woman, could hardly raise her selfe from the ground,

which yet (with much adoe) she did, and threw her selfe upon the bed,

where she tooke such rest as she could: but arising early the next

morning, she came to her Husband, and making him a very low courtesie,

demaunded what hee pleased to have for his dinner; he smiling heartely

thereat, with _Melisso_, tolde her his mind. And when dinner time

came, every thing was ready according to the direction given: in which

regard, they highly commended the counsell, whereof they made such an

harsh construction at the first.

Within a while after, _Melisso_ being gone from _Giosefo_, and returned

home to his owne house: hee acquainted a wise and reverend man, with

the answere which king _Salomon_ gave him, whereto hee received this

reply. No better or truer advise could possibly be given you, for well

you know, that you love not any man; but the bountiful banquets you

bestow on them, is more in respect of your owne vaine-glory, then any

kind affection you beare to them: Learne then to love men, as _Salomon_

advised, and you shall be beloved of them againe. Thus our unruly Wife

became mildely reclaimed, and the yong Gentleman, by loving others,

found the fruits of reciprocall affection.

John de Barolo, _at the instance and request of his Gossip_ Pietro

da Trefanti, _made an enchantment, to have his wife become a Mule.

And when it came to the fastening on of the taile; Gossip_ Pietro _by

saying she should have no taile at all, spoyled the whole enchantment._

The Tenth Novell.

_In just reproofe of such foolish men, as will be governed by

over-light beleefe._

This Novell reported by the Queene, caused a little murmuring among the

Ladies, albeit the men laughed heartely thereat: but after they were

all growne silent, _Dioneus_ began in this manner. Gracious Beauties,

among many white Doves, one blacke Crow will seeme more sightly, then

the very whitest Swanne can doe. In like manner, among a multitude of

wise men, sometimes one of much lesse wisedome and discretion, shall

not onely increase the splendour and Majestie of their maturity, but

also give an addition of delight and solace.

In which regard, you all being modest and discreet Ladies, and my

selfe more much defective in braine, then otherwise able: in making

your vertues shine gloriously, through the evident apparance of mine

owne weakenesse, you should esteeme the better of mee, by how much I

seeme the more cloudy and obscure. And consequently, I ought to have

the larger scope of liberty, by plainely expressing what I am, and

be the more patiently endured by you all, in saying what absurdly I

shall; then I should be if my speeches favoured of absolute wisdome.

I will therefore tell you a Tale, which shall not be of any great

length, whereby you may comprehend, how carefully such things should

be observed, which are commanded by them, as can effect matters by the

power of enchantment, and how little delayance also ought to be in

such, as would not have an enchantment so be hindered.

About a yeare already past since, there dwelt at _Barletta_, an honest

man, called _John de Barolo_, who because he was of poore condition;

for maintenance in his contented estate, provided himselfe of a Mule,

to carry commodities from place to place, where Faires and Markets were

in request, but most especially to _Apuglia_, buying and selling in the

nature of a petty Chapman. Travelling thus thorow the Countreyes, he

grew into great and familiar acquaintance, with one who named himselfe

_Pietro da Trefanti_, following the same Trade of life as he did,

carrying his commodities upon an Asse. In signe of amitie, according

to the Countreyes custome, he never tearmed him otherwise, then by

the name of Gossip _Pietro_ and alwayes when he came to _Barletta_,

he brought him to his own house, taking it as his Inne, entreating

him very friendly, and in the best manner he could devise to doe.

On the other side, Gossip _Pietro_ being very poore, having but one

simple habitation in the village of _Trefanti_, hardly sufficient for

him, and an handsome young woman which he had to his wife, as also

his Asse: evermore when _John de Barolo_ came to _Trefanti_, he would

bring him to his poore abiding, with all his uttermost abilitie of

entertainement, in due acknowledgement of the courtesie he afforded to

him at _Barletta_. But when he came to take repose in the night-season,

Gossip _Pietro_ could not lodge him as gladly he would: because he had

but one silly bed, wherein himselfe and his wife lay; so that _John de

Barolo_ was faigne to lie on a little straw, in a small stable, close

adjoyning by his owne Mule and the Asse.

The woman understanding, what good and honest welcome, Gossip

_John_ afforded her husband, when he came to _Barletta_, was often

very willing to goe lodge with an honest neighbour of hers, called

_Carapresa di Giudice Leo_, because the two Gossips might both lie

together in one bed; wherewith divers times she acquainted her Husband,

but by no meanes he would admit it.

At one time among the rest, as she was making the same motion againe to

her Husband, that his friend might be lodged in better manner: Gossip

_John_ thus spake to her. Good _Zita Carapresa_, never molest your

selfe for me, because I lodge to mine owne contentment, and so much the

rather, in regard that whensoever I list: I can convert my Mule into a

faire young woman, to give mee much delight in the night-season, and

afterward make her a Mule againe: thus am I never without her company.

The young woman wondring at these words, and beleeving he did not fable

in them: she told them to her Husband, with this addition beside,

_Pietro_ (quoth she) if he be such a deare friend to thee, as thou hast

often avouched to me; with him to instruct thee in so rare a cunning,

that thou maist make a Mule of me; then shalt thou have both an Asse

and a Mule to travell withall about thy businesse, whereby thy benefit

will be double: and when we returne home to our house; then thou maist

make mee thy wife againe, in the same condition as I was before. Gossip

_Pietro_, who was (indeed) but a very Coxecombe; beleeved also the

words to be true, yeelding therefore the more gladly to her advise; and

moving the matter to his Gossip _John_, to teach him such a wonderfull

secret, which would redound so greatly to his benefit: but _John_

began to disswade him from it, as having spoken it in merriment, yet

perceiving, that no contradiction would serve to prevaile, thus he

began.

Seeing you will needs have it so, let us rise to morrow morning before

day, as in our travell we use to doe, and then I will shew you how it

is to be done: onely I must and doe confesse, that the most difficult

thing of all the rest, is, to fasten on the taile, as thou shalt see.

Gossip _Pietro_ and his wife, could hardly take any rest all the night

long, so desirous they were to have the deed done; and therefore when

it drew towards day, up they arose, and calling Gossip _John_, he came

presently to them in his shirt, & being in the Chamber with them, he

said. I know not any man in the world, to whom I would disclose this

secret, but to you, and therefore because you so earnestly desire

it, I am the more willing to doe it. Onely you must consent, to doe

whatsoever I say, if you are desirous to have it done. Faithfully they

promised to performe all, whereupon _John_ delivering a lighted Candle

to Gossip _Pietro_, to hold in his hand, said. Marke well what I doe,

and remember all the words I say: but be very carefull, that whatsoever

thou hearest or seest, thou doe not speake one word, for then the

enchantment will be utterly overthrowne, onely wish that the taile may

be well set on, for therein consisteth all the cunning.

Gossip _Pietro_ holding the Candle, and the woman being prepared as

_John_ had appointed her, she bowed her selfe forwardes with her hands

set to the ground, even as if she stood upon foure feete. First with

his hands he touched her head and face, saying, Heere is the goodly

head of a Mule: then handling her disheveld haire, termed them the

goodly mane of a Mule. Afterwardes, touching the body, armes, legs,

and feete, gave them all the apt names (for those parts) belonging to

a Mule, nothing else remaining, but onely the forming of the taile,

which when _Pietro_ perceived, how _John_ was preparing to fasten it

on (having no way misliked all his former proceeding) he called to

him, saying: Forbeare Gossippe _John_, my Mule shall have no taile

at all, I am contented to have her without a taile. How now Gossip

_Pietro_? answered _John_, What hast thou done? Thou hast mard all by

this unadvised speaking, even when the worke was almost fully finished.

It is no matter Gossip (answered _Pietro_) I can like my Mule better

without a taile, then to see it set on in such manner.

The fond yong woman, more covetously addicted to gayne and commodity,

then looking into the knavish intention of her Gossip _John_; began to

grow greatly offended. Beast as thou art (quoth she to her Husband) why

hast thou overthrowne both thine own good Fortune and mine? Diddest

thou ever see a Mule without a taile? Wouldst thou have had him made

me a monster? Thou art wretchedly poore, and when we might have bin

enriched for ever, by a secret knowne to none but our selves, thou

art the Asse that hast defeated all, and made thy friend to become

thine enemy. Gossippe _John_ began to pacifie the woman, with solemne

protestations of his still continuing friendship, albeit (afterwards)

there was no further desiring of any more Mule-making: but Gossip

_Pietro_ fel to his former Trading onely with his Asse, as he was no

lesse himselfe, and hee went no more with Gossip _John_ to the Faires

in _Apuglia_, neyther did he ever request, to have the like peece of

service done for him.

* * * * *

Although there was much laughing at this Novell, the Ladies

understanding it better, then _Dioneus_ intended that they should have

done, yet himselfe scarsely smiled. But the Novels being all ended, and

the Sunne beginning to loose his heate; the Queene also knowing, that

the full period of her government was come: dispossessing her selfe of

the Crowne, shee placed it on the head of _Pamphilus_, who was the last

of all to be honoured with this dignity; wherefore (with a gracious

smile) thus she spake to him.

Sir, it is no meane charge which you are to undergo, in making amends

(perhaps) for all the faults committed by my selfe and the rest,

who have gone before you in the same authority; and, may it prove

as prosperous unto you, as I was willing to create you our King.

_Pamphilus_ having received the Honour with a chearfull mind, thus

answered. Madam, your sacred vertues, and those (beside) remaining in

my other Subjects, will (no doubt) worke so effectually for me, that

(as the rest have done) I shall deserve your generall good opinion.

And having given order to the Master of the Houshold (as all his

predecessors had formerly done, for every necessary occasion) he turned

to the Ladies, who expected his gracious favour, and said.

Bright Beauties, it was the discretion of your late Soveraigne &

Queene, in regard of ease and recreation unto your tyred spirits, to

grant you free liberty, for discoursing on whatsoever your selves

best pleased: wherefore, having enjoyed such a time of rest, I am

of opinion, that it is best to returne once more to our wonted Law,

in which respect, I would have every one to speake in this manner

to morrow. Namely, of those men or women, who have done any thing

bountifully or magnificently, either in matter of amity, or otherwise.

The relation of such worthy arguments, will (doubtlesse) give an

addition to our very best desires, for a free and forward inclination

to good actions, whereby our lives (how short soever they bee) may

perpetuate an ever-living renowne and fame, after our mortall bodies

are converted into dust, which (otherwise) are no better then those of

bruite beasts, reason onely distinguishing this difference, that as

they live to perish utterly, so we respire to reigne in eternity.

The Theame was exceedingly pleasing to the whole Company; who being all

risen, by permission of the new King, every one fel to their wonted

recreations, as best agreed with their owne disposition; untill the

houre for Supper came, wherein they were served very sumptuously. But

being risen from the Table, they began their dances, among which,

many sweet Sonnets were enterlaced, with such delicate Tunes as moved

admiration. Then the King commanded Madam _Neiphila_, to sing a song in

his name, or how her selfe stood best affected. And immediatly with a

cleare and rare voice, thus she began.

_THE SONG._

The Chorus sung by all the Companie.

_In the Spring season,

Maides have best reason,

To dance and sing;

With Chaplets of Flowers,

To decke up their Bowers,

And all in honour of the Spring._

_I heard a Nimph that sate alone,

By a Fountaines side:

Much her hard Fortune to bemone,

For still she cride:

Ah! Who will pitty her distresse,

That findes no foe like ficklenesse?

For truth lives not in men:

Poore soule, why live I then?

In the Spring season, &c._

_Oh, How can mighty Love permit,

Such a faithlesse deed,

And not in justice punish it

As treasons meed?

I am undone through perjury,

Although I loved constantly:

But truth lives not in men,

Poore soule, why live I then?

In the Spring season,&c._

_When I did follow Dyans traine,

As a loyall Maide,

I never felt oppressing paine,

Nor was dismaide.

But when I listened Loves alluring,

Then I wandred from assuring.

For truth lives not in men:

Poore soule, why live I then?

In the Spring season, &c._

_Adiew to all my former joyes,

When I lived at ease,

And welcome now those sad annoies

Which do most displease.

And let none pitty her distresse,

That fell not, but by ficklenesse.

For truth lives not in men,

Alas! why live I then?_

_In the Spring season,

Maides have best reason,

To dance and sing;

With Chaplets of Flowers,

To decke up their Bowers,

And all in honour of the Spring._

This Song, most sweetly sung by Madame _Neiphila_, was especially

commended, both by the King, & all the rest of the Ladies. Which being

fully finished, the King gave order, that everie one should repaire to

their Chambers, because a great part of the night was already spent.

_The end of the Ninth Day._

The Tenth and last Day.

_Whereon, under the government of Pamphilus, the severall Arguments

do concerne such persons, as either by way of Liberality, or in

Magnificent manner, performed any worthy action, for love, favour,

friendship, or any other honourable occasion._

The Induction.

Already began certaine small Clouds in the West, to blush with a

Vermillion tincture, when those in the East (having reached to their

full heighth) looked like bright burnished Gold, by splendour of the

Sun beames drawing neere unto them: when _Pamphilus_ being risen,

caused the Ladies, and the rest of his honourable companions to be

called. When they were all assembled, and had concluded together on

the place, whither they should walke for their mornings recreation:

the King ledde on the way before, accompanied with the two Noble

Ladies _Philomena_ and _Fiammetta_, all the rest following after them,

devising, talking, and answering to divers demands both what that day

was to be don, as also concerning the proposed imposition.

After they had walked an indifferent space of time, and found the rayes

of the Sunne to be over-piercing for them: they returned backe againe

to the Pallace, as fearing to have their blood immoderately heated.

Then rinsing their Glasses in the coole cleare running current, each

tooke their mornings draught, & then walked into the milde shades

about the Garden, untill they should bee summoned to dinner. Which

was no sooner over-past, and such as slept, returned waking: they

mette together againe in their wonted place, according as the King

had appointed, where he gave command unto Madame _Neiphila_, that

shee should (for that day) begin the first Novell, which she humbly

accepting, thus began.

_A Florentine knight, named Signior_ Rogiero de Figiovanni, _became

a servant to_ Alphonso, _King of_ Spaine, _who (in his owne opinion)

seemed but sleightly to respect and reward him. In regard whereof, by a

notable experiment, the King gave him a manifest testimony, that it was

not through any defect in him, but onely occasioned by the Knights ill

fortune; most bountifully recompensing him afterward._

The First Novell.

_Wherein may evidently be discerned, that Servants to Princes and great

Lords, are many times recompenced, rather by their good fortune, then

in any regard of their dutifull services._

I doe accept it (Worthy Ladies) as no mean favour, that the King hath

given me the first place, to speake of such an honourable Argument, as

Bounty and Magnificence is, which precious Jewell, even as the Sunne is

the beauty, or ornament and bright glory of al heaven; so is bounty and

magnificence the Crowne of all vertues. I shall then recount to you a

short Novell, sufficiently pleasing, in mine owne opinion, and I hope

(so much I dare rely on your judgements) both profitable, and worthy to

be remembred.

You are to know then, that among other valiant Knights, which of long

have lived in our City, one of them, and (perhappes) of as great

merit as any, was one, named Signior _Rogiero d'Figiovanni_. He being

rich, of great courage, and perceiving, that (in due consideration)

the quality belonging to life, and the customes observed among our

_Tuscanes_, were not answerable to his expectation, nor agreed with the

disposition of his valour; determined to leave his native Countrey,

and belong in service (for some time) to _Alfonso_, King of _Spaine_,

whose fame was generally noised in all places, for excelling all

other Princes in those times, for respect of mens well deservings,

and bountifull requitall of their paines. Being provided in honorable

order, both of Horses, Armes, & a competent train, he travelled to

_Spaine_, where he was worthily entertained.

Signior _Rogiero_ continuing there, living in honorable manner, and

performing many admirable actions of arms; in short time he made

himselfe sufficiently knowne, for a very valiant and famous man. And

having remained there an indifferent long while, observing divers

behaviours in the king: he saw, how he enclined himselfe first to one

man, then to another, bestowing on one a Castle, a Towne on another,

and Baronnies on divers, some-what indiscreetly, as giving away

bountifully to men of no merit. And restraining all his favors from

him, as seeming close fisted, and parting with nothing: he took it as

a diminishing of his former reputation, and a great empayring of his

fame, wherefore he resolved on his departure thence, & made his suit to

the king that he might obtaine it. The king did grant it, bestowing on

him one of the very best Mules, and the goodliest that ever was backt,

a gift most highly pleasing to _Rogiero_, in regarde of the long journy

he intended to ride. Which being deliverd, the king gave charge to one

of his Gentlemen, to compasse such convenient meanes, as to ride thorow

the country, and in the company of Signior _Rogiero_, yet in such

manner, as he should not perceive, that the King had purposely sent him

so to do. Respectively he should observe whatsoever he said concerning

the king, his gesture, smiles, and other behavior, shaping his answers

accordingly, and on the nexte morning to command his returne backe with

him to the King.

Nor was the Gentleman slacke in this command, but noting _Rogieroes_

departing forth of the city, he mounted on horseback likewise, and

immediatly after came into his company, making him beleeve, that he

journied towards _Italy. Rogiero_ rode on the Mule which the king had

given him, with diversity of speeches passing between them. About three

of the clocke in the afternoone, the Gentleman said. It were not

amisse Sir, (having such fit opportunitie) to Stable our horses for a

while, till the heate be a little more overpast. So taking an Inne, and

the horses being in the stable, they all staled except the Mule.

Being mounted againe, and riding on further, the Gentleman duely

observed whatsoever _Rogiero_ spake, and comming to the passage of a

small River or Brooke: the rest of the beasts dranke, and not the Mule,

but staled in the River: which Signior _Rogiero_ seeing, clapping his

hands on the Mules mane, hee said. What a wicked beast art thou? thou

art just like thy Master that gave thee to mee. The Gentleman committed

the words to memory, as he did many other passing from _Rogiero_,

riding along the rest of the day, yet none in disparagement of the

King, but rather highly in his commendation. And being the next morning

mounted on horseback, seeming to hold on still the way for _Tuscane_:

the Gentleman fulfilled the Kings command, causing Signior _Rogiero_ to

turne back againe with him, which willingly he yeelded to doe.

When they were come to the Court, and the King made acquainted with

the words, which _Rogiero_ spake to his Mule; he was called into the

presence, where the King shewed him a gracious countenance, & demanded

of him, why he had compared him to his Mule? Signior _Rogiero_ nothing

daunted, but with a bold and constant spirit, thus answered. Sir, I

made the comparison, because, like as you give, where there is no

conveniency, and bestow nothing where reason requireth: even so, the

Mule would not stale where she should have done, but where was water

too much before, there she did it. Beleeve me Signior _Rogiero_,

replyed the King, if I have not given you such gifts, as (perhaps) I

have done to divers other, farre inferiour to you in honour and merit;

this happened not thorough any ignorance in me, as not knowing you to

be a most valiant Knight, and well-worthy of speciall respect: but

rather through your owne ill fortune, which would not suffer me to

doe it, whereof she is guilty, and not I, as the truth thereof shall

make it selfe apparent to you. Sir, answered _Rogiero_, I complaine

not, because I have received no gift from you, as desiring thereby

covetously to become the richer: but in regard you have not as yet any

way acknowledged, what vertue is remaining in me. Neverthelesse, I

allow your excuse for good and reasonable, and am heartely contented,

to behold whatsoever you please; although I doe confidently credit you,

without any other testimony.

The King conducted him then into the great Hall, where (as hee had

before given order) stood two great Chests, fast lockt; & in the

presence of all his Lords, the King thus spake. Signior _Rogiero_,

in out of these Chests is mine imperiall Crowne, the Scepter Royall,

the Mound, & many more of my richest girdles, rings, plate, & Jewels,

even the very best that are mine: the other is full of earth onely.

Chuse one of these two, and which thou makest election of; upon my

Royall word thou shalt enjoy it. Hereby shalt thou evidently perceive,

who hath bin ingreatful to the deservings, either I, or thine owne

bad fortune. _Rogiero_ seeing it was the kings pleasure to have it

so; chose one of them, which the King caused presently to be opened,

it approving to be the same that was full of earth, whereat the King

smyling, said thus unto him.

You see Signior _Rogiero_, that what I said concerning your ill

fortune, is very true: but questionlesse, your valour is of such

desert, as I ought to oppose my selfe against all her malevolence. And

because I know right, that you are not minded to become a Spaniard;

I will give you neither Castle nor dwelling place: but I will bestow

the Chest on you (in meer despight of your malicious fortune) which

she so unjustly tooke away from you. Carry it home with you into your

Countrey, that there it may make an apparant testimoney, in the sight

of all your well-willers, both of your owne vertuous deservings, and my

bounty. Signior _Rogiero_ humbly receiving the Chest, and thanking his

Majestie for so liberall a gift, returned home joyfully therewith, into

his native Countrey of _Tuscane_.

Ghinotto di Tacco; _tooke the Lord Abbot of_ Clugni _as his prisoner,

and cured him of a grievous disease, which he had in his stomacke, and

afterward set him at liberty. The same Lord Abbot, when hee returned

from the Court of Rome, reconciled_ Ghinotto _to Pope_ Boniface; _who

made him a Knight, and Lord Prior of a goodly Hospitall._

The second Novell.

_Wherein is declared that good men doe sometimes fall into bad

conditions, onely occasioned thereto by necessity: And what meanes are

to be used, for their reducing to goodnesse againe._

The magnificence and Royall bounty, which King _Alphonso_ bestowed on

the Florentine knight, passed through the whole assembly with no mean

applause; & the King (who gave it the greatest praise of al) commanded

Madame _Eliza_, to take the second turne in order; whereupon, thus she

began.

Faire Ladies, if a king shewed himselfe magnificently minded, and

expressed his liberall bounty to such a man, as had done him good and

honourable services: it can be termed no more then a vertuous deed well

done, and becomming a King. But what will we say, when we heare that

a Prelate of the Church, shewed himselfe wondrously magnificent, and

to such a one as was his enemy: can any malicious tongue speake ill

of him? Undoubtedly, no other answere is to be made, but the action of

the King was meerely vertue, and that of the Prelate, no lesse then

a miracle: for how can it be otherwise, when they are more greedily

covetous then women, and deadly enemies to all liberality? And although

every man (naturally) desireth revenge for injuries and abuses done

unto him: yet men of the Church, in regard that dayly they preached

patience, and commaund (above all things else) remission of sinnes: it

would appeare a mighty blemish in them, to be more froward and furious

then other men. But I am to speake of a reverend Prelate of the Church,

as also concerning his munificent bounty, to one that was his enemy,

and yet became his reconciled friend, as you shall perceive by my

Novell.

_Ghinotto di Tacco_, for his insolent and stout robberies, became a man

very farre famed, who being banished from _Sienna_, and an enemy to

the Countes _Disanta Fiore_: prevailed so by his bold and headstrong

perswasions, that the Towne of _Raticonfani_ rebelled against the

Church of Rome, wherein he remaining; all passengers whatsoever,

travelling any way thereabout, were robde and rifled by his theeving

Companions. At the time whereof now I speake, _Boniface_ the eight,

governed as Pope at Rome, and the Lord Abbot of _Clugni_ (accounted to

be one of the richest Prelates in the world) came to Rome, and there

either by some surfeit, excesse of feeding, or otherwise, his stomacke

being grievously offended and pained; the Phisitians advised him, to

travell to the Bathes at _Sienna_, where he should receive immediate

cure. In which respect, his departure being licenced by the Pope,

to set onward thither, with great and pompous Cariages, of Horses,

Mules, and a goodly traine, without hearing any rumour of the theevish

Consorts.

_Ghinotto di Tacco_, being advertised of his comming, spred about

his scouts and nettes, and without missing so much as one Page, shut

up the Abbot, with all his traine and baggage, in a place of narrow

restraint, out of which he could by no meanes escape. When this was

done, he sent one of his most sufficient attendants, (well accompanyed)

to the Lord Abbot, who said to him in his Masters name, that if his

Lordship were so pleased, hee might come and visite _Ghinotto_ at his

Castle. Which the Abbot hearing, answered chollerickly, that he would

not come thither, because hee had nothing to say to _Ghinotto_: but

meant to proceed on in his journy, and would faine see, who durst

presume to hinder his passe. To which rough words, the messenger thus

mildely answered. My Lord (quoth he) you are arrived in such a place,

where we feare no other force, but the all-controlling power of heaven,

clearely exempted from the Popes thunder-cracks, of maledictions,

interdictions, excommunications, or whatsoever else: and therefore

it would bee much better for you, if you pleased to do as _Ghinotto_

adviseth you.

During the time of this their interparlance, the place was suddenly

round ingirt with strongly armed theeves, and the Lord Abbot

perceiving, that both he and all his followers were surprized: tooke

his way (though very impatiently) towards the Castle, and likewise all

his company and carriages with him. Being dismounted, hee was conducted

(as _Ghinotto_ had appointed) all alone, into a small Chamber of the

Castle, it being very darke and uneasie: but the rest of his traine,

every one according to his ranck and quality, were all well lodged

in the Castle, their horses, goods and all things else, delivered

into secure keeping, without the least touch of injury or prejudice.

All which being orderly done, _Ghinotto_ himselfe went to the Lord

Abbot, and said. My Lord, _Ghinotto_, to whom you are a welcome guest,

requesteth, that it might be your pleasure to tell him, whither you are

travelling, and upon what occasion?

The Lord Abbot being a very wise man, and his angry distemper more

moderately qualified; revealed whither he went, and the cause of

his going thither. Which when _Ghinotto_ had heard, hee departed

courteously from him, and began to consider with himselfe, how he might

cure the Abbot; yet without any Bathe. So, commanding a good fire to be

kept continually in his small Chamber, and very good attendance on him:

the next morning, he came to visite him againe, bringing a faire white

Napkin on his arme, and in it two slices or toasts of fine Manchet, a

goodly cleare Glasse, full of the purest white-Bastard of _Corniglia_

(but indeed, of the Abbots owne provision brought thither with him) and

then hee spoke to him in this manner.

My Lord, when _Ghinotto_ was yonger then now he is, he studyed

Physicke, and he commanded me to tell you, that the very best medicine,

he could ever learne, against any disease in the stomacke, was this

which he had provided for your Lordship, as an especial preparative,

and which he should finde to be very comfortable. The Abbot, who had

a better stomacke to eate, then any will or desire to talke: although

hee did it somewhat disdainfully, yet hee eate up both the toastes,

and roundly dranke off the Glasse of Bastard. Afterward, divers other

speeches passed betweene them, the one still advising in Phisicall

manner, and the other seeming to care little for it: but moved many

questions concerning _Ghinotto_, and earnestly requesting to see him.

Such speeches as favoured of the Abbots discontentment, and came from

him in passion; were clouded with courteous acceptance, & not the least

signe of any mislike: but assuring his Lordship, that _Ghinotto_

intended very shortly to see him, and so they parted for that time.

Nor returned he any more, till the next morning with the like two

toastes of bread, and such another Glasse of white Bastard, as he had

brought him at the first, continuing the same course for divers dayes

after: till the Abbot had eaten (and very hungerly too) a pretty store

of dryed Beanes, which _Ghinotto_ purposely, (yet secretly) had hidden

in the Chamber. Whereupon he demaunded of him (as seeming to be so

enjoyned by his pretended master) in what temper he found his stomacke

now? I should finde my stomacke well enough (answered the Lord Abbot)

if I could get forth of thy masters fingers, and then have some good

food to feed on: for his medicines have made me so soundly stomackt,

that I am ready to starve with hunger.

When _Ghinotto_ was gone from him, hee then prepared a very faire

Chamber for him, adorning it with the Abbots owne rich hangings, as

also his Plate and other moveables, such as were alwayes used for his

service. A costly dinner he provided likewise, whereto he invited

divers of the Towne, and many of the Abbots chiefest followers: then

going to him againe the next morning, he said. My Lord, seeing you doe

feele your stomacke so well, it is time you should come forth of the

Infirmary. And taking him by the hand, he brought him into the prepared

Chamber, where he left him with his owne people, and went to give order

for the dinners serving in, that it might be performed in magnificent

manner.

The Lord Abbot recreated himselfe a while with his owne people,

to whom he recounted, the course of his life since hee saw them;

and they likewise told him, how kindly they had bin initeated by

_Ghinotto_. But when dinner time was come, the Lord Abbot and all his

company, were served with Costly viands and excellent Wines, without

_Ghinottoes_ making himselfe knowne to the Abbot: till after he had

beene entertained some few dayes in this order: into the great Hall of

the Castle, _Ghinotto_ caused all the Abbots goods and furniture to bee

brought, and likewise into a spacious Court, whereon the windowes of the

said Court gazed, all his mules and horses, with their sumpters, even

to the very silliest of them, which being done, _Ghinotto_ went to the

Abbot, and demaunded of him, how he felt his stomacke now, and whether

it would serve him to venter on horsebacke as yet, or no? The Lord

Abbot answered, that he found his stomacke perfectly recovered, his

body strong enough to endure travell, and all things well, so hee were

delivered from _Ghinotto_.

Hereupon, he brought him into the hall where his furniture was, as

also all his people, & commanding a window to be opned, whereat he

might behold his horses, he said. My Lord, let me plainely give you

to understand, that neither cowardise, or basenesse of minde, induced

_Ghinotto di Tacco_ (which is my selfe) to become a lurking robber on

the high-wayes, an enemy to the Pope, and so (consequently) to the

Romane Court: but onely to save his owne life and honour, knowing

himselfe to be a Gentleman cast out of his owne house, and having

(beside) infinite enemies. But because you seeme to be a worthy Lord,

I will not (although I have cured your stomacks disease) deale with

you as I doe to others, whose goods (when they fall into my power)

I take such part of as I please: but rather am well contented, that

my necessities being considered by your selfe, you spare me out a

proportion of the things you have heere, answerable to your owne

liking. For all are present here before you, both in this Hall, and

in the Court beneath, free from any spoyle, or the least impairing.

Wherefore, give a part, or take all, if you please, and then depart

hence when you will, or abide heere still, for now you are at your owne

free liberty.

The Lord Abbot wondred not a little, that a robber on the high wayes,

should have such a bold and liberall spirit, which appeared very

pleasing to him; and instantly, his former hatred and spleene against

_Ghinotto_, became converted into cordiall love and kindnes, so that

(imbracing him in his armes) he said. I protest upon my vow made to

Religion, that to win the love of such a man, as I plainely perceive

thee to be: I would undergo far greater injuries, then those which I

have received at thy hands. Accursed be cruell destiny, that forced

thee to so base a kind of life, and did not blesse thee with a fairer

fortune. After he had thus spoken, he left there the greater part of

all his goods, and returned back againe to Rome, with fewer horses, and

a meaner traine.

During these passed accidents, the Pope had received intelligence of

the Lord Abbots surprizall, which was not a little displeasing to him:

but when he saw him returned, he demaunded, what benefit he received

at the Bathes? Whereto the Abbot, merrily smyling, thus replyed.

Holy Father, I met with a most skilfull Physitian neerer hand, whose

experience is beyond the power of the Bathes, for by him I am very

perfectly cured: and so discoursed all at large. The Pope laughing

heartely, and the Abbot continuing on still his report, moved with an

high and magnificent courage, he demaunded one gracious favour of the

Pope: who imagining that he would request a matter of greater moment,

then he did, freely offered to grant, whatsoever he desired.

Holy Father, answered the Lord Abbot, all the humble suit which I

make to you, is, that you would be pleased to receive into your grace

and favor, _Ghinotto di Tacco_ my Physitian, because among all the

vertuous men, deserving to have especial account made of them I never

met with any equall to him both in honour and honesty. Whatsoever

injury he did to me, I impute it as a greater in-fortune, then any way

he deserveth to be charged withall. Which wretched condition of his,

if you were pleased to alter, and bestow on him some better meanes of

maintenance, to live like a worthy man, as he is no lesse: I make no

doubt, but (in very short time) hee will appeare as pleasing to your

holinesse, as (in my best judgement) I thinke him to be.

The Pope, who was of a magnanimious spirit, and one that highly

affected men of vertue, hearing the commendable motion made by the

Abbot; returned answere, that he was as willing to grant it, as the

other desired it, sending Letters of safe conduct for his comming

thither. _Ghinotto_ receiving such assurance from the Court of Rome,

came thither immediatly, to the great joy of the Lord Abbot: and the

Pope finding him to be a man of valour and worth, upon reconciliation,

remitted all former errors, creating him knight, and Lord Prior of the

very chiefest Hospitall in Rome. In which Office he lived long time

after, as a loyall servant to the Church, and an honest thankefull

friend to the Lord Abbot of _Clugny_.

Mithridanes _envying the life and liberality of_ Nathan, _and

travelling thither, with a setled resolution to kill him: chaunceth to

conferre with_ Nathan _unknowne. And being instructed by him, in what

manner he might best performe the bloody deede, according as hee gave

direction, hee meeteth with him in a small Thicket or Woode, where

knowing him to be the same man, that taught him how to take away his

life: Confounded with shame, hee acknowledgeth his horrible intention,

and becommeth his loyall friend._

The third Novell.

_Shewing in an excellent and lively demonstration, that any especiall

honourable vertue, persevering and dwelling in a truly noble soule,

cannot be violenced or confounded, by the most politicke attemptes of

malice and envy._

It appeared to the whole assembly, that they had heard a matter of

mervaile, for a Lord Abbot to performe any magnificent action: but

their admiration ceasing in silence, the King commanded _Philostratus_

to follow next, who forthwith thus began.

Honourable Ladies, the bounty and magnificence of _Alphonso_ King

of _Spaine_, was great indeede, and that done by the Lord Abbot of

_Clugny_, a thing (perhaps) never heard of in any other. But it will

seeme no lesse mervailous to you, when you heare, how one man, in

expression of great liberality to another man, that earnestly desired

to kill him; should bee secretly disposed to give him his life, which

had bin lost, if the other would have taken it, as I purpose to

acquaint you withall, in a short Novell.

Most certaine it is, at least, if Faith may bee given to the report of

certaine _Genewayes_, and other men resorting to those remote parts,

that in the Country of _Cathaya_, there lived somtime a Gentleman, rich

beyond comparison, and named _Nathan_. He having his living adjoyning

to a great common rode-way, whereby men travayled from the East to

the West (as they did the like from the West unto the East, as having

no other means of passage) and being of a bountifull and chearfull

disposition, which he was willing to make knowen by experience: he

summoned together many Master Masons and Carpenters, and there erected

(in a short time) one of the greatest, goodliest, and most beautifull

houses (in manner of a Princes Pallace) that ever was seene in all

those quarters.

With movables and all kinde of furnishment, befitting a house of

such outward apparance, hee caused it to be plentifully stored,

onely to receive, entertaine, and honor all Gentlemen or other

Travailers whatsoever, as had occasion to passe that way, being not

unprovided also of such a number of servants, as might continuallie

give attendance on all commers and goers. Two and fifty severall

gates, standing al way wide open, & over each of them in great golden

carracters was written, _Welcome, welcome,_ and gave free admission to

all commers whatsoever.

In this honourable order (observed as his estated custom) he persevered

so long a while, as not onely the East parts, but also those in the

west, were every where acquainted with his fame & renown. Being

already well stept into yeares, but yet not wearie (therefore) of his

great charge and liberality: it fortuned, that the rumour of his noble

Hospitality, came to the eare of another gallant Gentleman, named

_Mithridanes_, living in a Countrey not farre off from the other.

This Gentleman, knowing himself no lesse wealthy then _Nathan_, and

enviously repining at his vertue and liberality, determined in his

mind, to dim and obscure the others bright splendour, by making himselfe

farre more famous. And having built a Palace answerable to that of

_Nathans_, with like windings of gates, and welcome inscriptions; he

beganne to extend immeasurable courtesies, unto all such as were

disposed to visite him: so that (in a short while) hee grew very

famous in infinite places. It chanced on a day, as _Mithridanes_ sate

all alone within the goodly Court of his Pallace: a poore woman

entred at one of the gates, craving an almes of him, which she had;

and returned in againe at a second gate, comming also to him, and

had a second almes; continuing so still a dozen times; but at the

thirteenth returning, _Mithridanes_ saide to her: Good Woman, you goe

and come very often, and still you are served with almes. When the old

Woman heard these words, she said. O the liberality of _Nathan_! How

honourable and wonderfull is that? I have past through two and thirty

gates of his Palace, even such as are here, and at every one I receyved

an almes, without any knowledgement taken of me, either by him, or any

of his followers: and heere I have past but through thirteene gates,

and am there both acknowledged and taken. Fare well to this house, for

I never meane to visit it any more; with which words shee departed

thence, and never after came thither againe.

When _Mithridanes_ had a while pondered on her speeches, hee waxed

much discontented, as taking the words of the olde woman, to extoll

the renowne of _Nathan_, and darken or ecclipse his glorie, whereupon

he said to himselfe. Wretched man as I am, when shall I attaine to the

height of liberality, and performe such wonders, as _Nathan_ doth? In

seeking to surmount him, I cannot come neere him in the very meanest.

Undoubtedly, I spend all my endeavour but in vaine, except I rid the

world of him, which (seeing his age will not make an end of him) I must

needs do with my own hands. In which furious and bloody determination

(without revealing his intent to any one) he mounted on horse-backe,

with few attendants in his company, and after three dayes journey,

arrived where _Nathan_ dwelt. He gave order to his men, to make no shew

of beeing his servants, or any way to acknowledge him: but to provide

them selves of convenient lodgings, untill they heard other tydings

from him.

About Evening, and (in this manner) alone by himselfe, neere to the

Palace of _Nathan_, he met him solitarily walking, not in pompous

apparrell, whereby to bee distinguished from a meaner man: and, because

he knew him not, neyther had heard any relation of his description,

he demanded of him, if he knew where _Nathan_ then was? _Nathan_,

with a chearfull countenance, thus replyed. Faire Syr, there is no

man in these parts, that knoweth better how to shew you _Nathan_

then I do; and therefore, if you be so pleased, I will bring you to

him. _Mithridanes_ said, therein he should do him a great kindnesse:

albeit (if it were possible) he would bee neyther knowne nor seene

of _Nathan_. And that (quoth he) can I also do sufficiently for you,

seeing it is your will to have it so, if you will goe along with me.

Dismounting from his horse, he walked on with _Nathan_, diversly

discoursing, untill they came to the Pallace, where one of the servants

taking _Mithridanes_ his horse, _Nathan_ rounded the fellow in the

eare, that he should give warning to all throughout the House, for

revealing to the Gentleman, that he was _Nathan_; as accordingly it was

performed. No sooner were they within the Pallace, but he conducted

_Mithridanes_ into a goodly chamber, where none (as yet) had seene him,

but such as were appointed to attend on him reverently; yea, and he did

himselfe greatly honor him, as being loth to leave his company.

While thus _Mithridanes_ conversed with him, he desired to know

(albeit he respected him much for his yeares) what he was. Introth

Sir, answered _Nathan_, I am one of the meanest servants to _Nathan_,

and from my child-hood, have made my selfe thus olde in his service:

yet never hath he bestowed any other advancement on mee, then as you

now see; in which respect, howsoever other men may commend him, yet

I have no reason at all to do it. These Words, gave some hope to

_Mithridanes_, that with a little more counsell, he might securely put

in execution his wicked determination. _Nathan_ likewise demaunded of

him (but in very humble manner) of whence, and what he was, as also

the businesse inviting him thither: offering him his utmost aide and

counsell, in what soever consisted in his power.

_Mithridanes_ sat an indifferent while meditating with his thoughts

before he would returne any answer: but at the last, concluding to

repose confidence in him (in regard of his pretended discontentment)

with many circumstantiall perswasions, first for fidelity, next for

constancie, and lastly for counsell and assistance, he declared to him

truly what he was, the cause of his comming thither, and the reason

urging him thereto. _Nathan_ hearing these words, and the detestable

deliberation of _Mithridanes_, became quite changed in himself: yet

wisely making no outward appearance thereof, with a bold courage and

setled countenance, thus he replyed.

_Mithridanes_, thy Father was a Noble Gentleman, and (in vertuous

qualities) inferiour to none, from whom (as now I see) thou desirest

not to degenerate, having undertaken so bold & high an enterprise,

I meane, in being liberall and bountifull to all men. I do greatly

commend the envy which thou bearest to the vertue of _Nathan_: because

if there were many more such men, the world that is now wretched and

miserable, would become good and conformable. As for the determination

which thou hast disclosed to mee, I have sealed it up secretly in my

soule: wherein I can better give thee counsell, then any especiall

helpe or furtherance: and the course which I would have thee to

observe, followeth thus in few words.

This window, which we now looke forth at, sheweth thee a small wood

or thicket of trees, being little more then the quarter of a miles

distance hence; whereto _Nathan_ usually walketh every morning, and

there continueth time long enough: there maist thou very easily meet

him, and do whatsoever thou intended to him. If thou kilst him, because

thou maist with safety returne home unto thine owne abiding, take not

the same way which guided thee thither, but another, lying on the

left hand, & directing speedily out of the wood, as being not so much

haunted as the other, but rather free from all resort, and surest for

visiting thine owne countrey, after such a dismall deed is done.

When _Mithridanes_ had receyved this instruction, and _Nathan_ was

departed from him, hee secretly gave intelligence to his men, (who

likewise were lodged, as welcome strangers, in the same house) at what

place they should stay for him the next morning. Night being passed

over, and _Nathan_ risen, his heart altred not a jot from his counsell

given to _Mithridanes_, much lesse changed from anie part thereof: but

all alone by himselfe, walked on to the wood, the place appointed for

his death. _Mithridanes_ also being risen, taking his Bow & Sword (for

other weapons had he none) mounted on hors-backe, and so came to the

wood, where (somewhat farre off) hee espyed _Nathan_ walking, and no

creature with him. Dismounting from his horse, he had resolved (before

he would kill him) not onely to see, but also to heare him speake: so

stepping roughly to him, and taking hold of the bonnet on his head,

his face being then turned from him, he sayde. Old man, thou must dye.

Whereunto _Nathan_ made no other answer, but thus: Why then (belike) I

have deserved it.

When _Mithridanes_ heard him speake, and looked advisedly on his face,

he knew him immediatly to be the same man, that had entertained him

so lovingly, conversed with him so familiarly, and counselled him so

faithfully: all which overcomming his former fury, his harsh nature

became meerly confounded with shame: So throwing downe his drawne

sword, which he held readily prepared for the deede: he prostrated

himselfe at _Nathans_ feet, and in teares, spake in this manner. Now

do I manifestly know (most loving Father) your admired bounty and

liberalitie; considering, with what industrious providence, you made

the meanes for your comming hither, prodigally to bestow your life

on me, which I have no right unto, although you were so willing to

part with it. But those high and supreame powers, more carefull of my

dutie, then I my selfe: even at the very instant, and when it was most

needfull, opened the eyes of my better understanding, which infernall

envy had closed up before. And therefore, looke how much you have

bin forward to pleasure me; so much the more shame and punishment, I

confesse my heinous transgression hath justly deserved: take therefore

on me (if you please) such revenge, as you thinke (in justice)

answerable to my sin.

_Nathan_ lovingly raised _Mithridanes_ from the ground, then kissing

his cheeke, and tenderly embracing him, he said. Sonne, thou needed

not to aske, much lesse to obtaine pardon, for any enterprise of

thine, which thou canst not yet terme to be good or bad: because

thou soughtest not to bereave me of my life, for any hatred thou

barest me, but onely in coveting to be reputed the Woorthier man.

Take then this assurance of me, and beleeve it constantly, that there

is no man living, whom I love and honour, as I do thee: considering

the greatnesse of thy minde, which consisteth not in the heaping up

of money, as wretched and miserable Worldlings make it their onely

felicity; but, contending in bounty to spend what is thine, didst hold

it for no shame to kill me, thereby to make thy selfe so much the more

worthily famous.

Nor is it any matter to be wondred at, in regard that Emperors, and the

greatest Kings, hadde never made such extendure of their Dominions, and

consequently of their renowne, by any other Art, then killing; yet not

one man onely, as thou wouldst have done: but infinite numbers, burning

whole Countries, and making desolate huge Townes and Cities, onely to

enlarge their dominion, and further spreading of their fame. Wherefore,

if for the increasing of thine owne renowne, thou wast desirous of my

death: it is no matter of novelty, and therefore deserving the lesse

mervaile, seeing men are slaine daily, and all for one purpose or other.

_Mithridanes_, excusing no further his malevolent deliberation, but

rather commending the honest defence, which _Nathan_ made on his

behalfe; proceeded so farre in after discoursing, as to tel him

plainely, that it did wondrously amaze him, how he durst come to

the fatall appointed place, himselfe having so exactly plotted and

contrived his owne death: whereunto _Nathan_ returned this aunswere.

I would not have thee _Mithridanes_, to wonder at my counsell or

determination; because, since age hath made mee Maister of mine owne

will, and I resolved to doe that, wherein thou hast begun to follow

me: never came any man to mee, whom I did not content (if I could) in

any thing he demanded of mee. It was thy fortune to come for my life,

which when I saw thee so desirous to have it, I resolved immediately to

bestow it on thee: and so much the rather, because thou shouldst not

be the onely man, that ever departed hence, without enjoying whatsoever

hee demanded. And, to the end thou mightst the more assuredly have it,

I gave thee that advice, least by not enjoying mine, thou shouldest

chance to loose thine owne. I have had the use of it full fourescore

yeares, with the consummation of all my delights and pleasures: and

well I know, that according to the course of Nature (as it fares with

other men, and generally all things else) it cannot bee long before it

must leave mee.

Wherefore, I hold it much better for me to give it away freely, as I

have alwayes done my goods and treasure; then bee curious in keeping

it, and suffer it to be taken from me (whether I will or no) by Nature.

A small gift it is, if time make me up the full summe of an hundred

yeares: how miserable is it then, to stand beholding but for foure or

five, and all of them vexation too? Take it then I intreate thee, if

thou wilt have it; for I never met with any man before (but thy selfe)

that did desire it, nor (perhaps) shall finde any other to request it:

for the longer I keepe it, the worse it will be esteemed: and before it

grow contemptible, take it I pray thee.

_Mithridanes_, being exceedingly confounded with shame, bashfully

sayde: Fortune fore-fend, that I should take away a thing so precious

as your life is, or once to have so vile a thought of it as lately I

had; but rather then I would diminish one day thereof, I could wish,

that my time might more amply enlarge it. Forthwith aunswered _Nathan_,

saying. Wouldst thou (if thou couldst) shorten thine owne dayes, onely

to lengthen mine? Why then thou wouldest have me to do that to thee,

which (as yet) I never did unto any man, namely, robbe thee, to enrich

my selfe. I will enstruct thee in a much better course, if thou wilt

be advised by mee. Lusty and young, as now thou art, thou shalt dwell

heere in my house, and be called by the name of _Nathan_. Aged, and

spent with yeares, as thou seest I am, I will goe live in thy house,

and bee called by the name of _Mithridanes_. So, both the name and

place shall illustrate thy Glorie, and I live contentedly, without the

very least thought of envie.

Deare Father, answered _Mithridanes_, if I knew so well howe to direct

mine owne actions, as you doe, and alwayes have done, I would gladly

accept your most liberall offer: but because I plainlie perceive, that

my very best endeavours, must remayne darkened by the bright renowne of

_Nathan_: I will never seeke to impayre that in another, which I cannot

(by any means) increase in my selfe, but (as you have worthily taught

me) live contented with my owne condition.

After these, and many more like loving speeches had passed between

them, according as _Nathan_ very instantly requested, _Mithridanes_

returned back with him to the Pallace, where many dayes he highly

honored & respected him, comforting & counselling him, to persever

alwayes in his honourable determination. But in the end, when

_Mithridanes_ could abide there no longer, because necessary occasions

called him home: he departed thence with his men, having found by good

experience, that hee could never goe beyond _Nathan_ in liberality.

Signior Gentile de Carisendi, _being come from_ Modena, _took a

Gentlewoman, named Madam_ Catharina, _forth of a grave, wherein she

was buried for dead: which act he did, in regard of his former honest

affection to the said Gentlewoman. Madame_ Catharina _remaining

afterward, and delivered of a goodly Sonne: was (by_ Signior _there_

Gentile) _delivered to her owne Husband, named_ Signior Nicoluccio

Caccianimico, _and the yong infant with her._

The Fourth Novell.

_Wherein is shewne, That true love hath alwayes bin, and so still is,

the occasion of many great and worthy courtesies._

By judgment of all the honorable assembly, it was reputed wonderfull,

that a man should be so bountifull, as to give away his owne life,

and to his hatefull enemy. In which respect, it passed with generall

affirmation, that _Nathan_ (in the vertue of liberallity) had

exceeded _Alphonso_, King of _Spaine_, but (especially) the Abbot of

_Clugny_. So, after every one had delivered their opinion, the King,

turning himselfe to Madame _Lauretta_, gave her such a signe, as well

instructed her understanding, that she should be the next in order,

whereto she gladly yeelding, began in this manner.

Youthfull Ladies, the discourses already past, have been so worthy and

magnificent, yea, reaching to such a height of glorious splendour; as

(me thinkes) there remaineth no more matter, for us that are yet to

speake, whereby to enlarge so famous an Argument, and in such manner

as it ought to be: except we lay hold on the actions of love, wherein

is never any want of subject, it is so faire and spacious a field to

walke in. Wherefore, as well in behalfe of the one, as advancement

of the other, whereto our instant age is most of all inclined: I

purpose to acquaint you with a generous and magnificent act, of an

amourous Gentleman, which when it shall be duely considered on, perhaps

will appeare equall to any of the rest. At least, if it may passe

for currant, that men may give away their treasures, forgive mighty

injuries, and lay downe life it selfe, honour and renowne (which is

farre greater) to infinite dangers, only to attaine any thing esteemed

and affected.

Understand then (Gracious hearers) that in _Bologna_, a very famous

City of _Lombardie_, there lived sometime a Knight, most highly

respected for his vertues, named Signior _Gentile de Carisendi_, who

(in his yonger dayes) was enamoured of a Gentlewoman, called Madam

_Catharina_, the Wife of Signior _Nicoluccio Caccianimico_. And

because during the time of his amourous pursuite, he found but a sorry

enterchange of affection from the Lady; hee went (as hopelesse of any

successe) to be Potestate of _Modena_, whereto he was called by place

and order.

At the same time, Signior _Nicoluccio_ being absent from _Bologna_, and

his Lady at a Farme-house of his in the Countrey (about three miles

distant from the City) because she was great with child, and somewhat

neere the time of her teeming: it came to passe, that some dangerous

accident befell her, which was so powerfull in operation, as no signe

of life appeared remained in her, but she was reputed (even in the

judgement of the best Phisitians, whereof she wanted no attendance) to

be verily dead. And because in the opinion of her parents and neerest

kinred, the time for her deliverance was yet so farre off, as the

Infant within her, wanted much of a perfect creature: they made the

lesse mourning; but in the next Church, as also the vault belonging to

her Ancestors, they gave her buriall very speedily.

Which tydings comming to the hearing of Signior _Gentile_, by one that

was his endeared friend: Although (while she lived) he could never be

gracious in her favour, yet her so sudden death did greatly grieve

him, whereupon he discoursed in this sort with himselfe. Deare Madame

_Catharina_, I am not a little sorry for thy death, although (during

thy life-time) I was scarcely worthy of one kind looke: Yet now being

dead, thou canst not prohibite me, but I may robbe thee of a kisse.

No sooner had hee spoke the words, but it beeing then night, and

taking such order, as none might know of his departure: hee mounted on

horse-backe, accompanied onely with one servant, and stayed no where,

till hee came to the vault where the Lady was buried. Which when he had

opened, with instruments convenient for the purpose, he descended downe

into the vault, and kneeled downe by the Beere whereon she lay, and

in her wearing garments, according to the usuall manner, with teares

trickling mainly downe his cheekes, he bestowed infinite sweet kisses

on her.

But as we commonly see, that mens desires are never contented, but

still will presume on further advantages, especially such as love

entirely: so fared it with _Gentile_, who being once minded to get him

gone, as satisfied with the oblation of his kisses; would needs yet

step backe againe, saying. Why should I not touch her yvory breast,

the Adamant that drew all desires to adore her? Ah let me touch it

now, for never hereafter can I bee halfe so happy. Overcome with this

alluring appetite, gently he laid his hand upon her breast, with the

like awefull respect, as if she were living, and holding it so an

indifferent while: either he felt, or his imagination so perswaded him,

the heart of the Lady to beate and pant. Casting off all fond feare,

and the warmth of his increasing the motion: his inward soule assured

him, that she was not dead utterly, but had some small sense of life

remaining in her, whereof he would needs be further informed.

So gently as possible he could, and with the helpe of his man, he tooke

her forth of the monument, & laying her softly on his horse before him,

conveighed her closely to his house in _Bologna_. Signior _Gentile_

had a worthy Lady to his Mother, a woman of great wisdome and vertue,

who understanding by her Sonne, how matters had happened; moved with

compassion, and suffering no one in the house to know what was done,

made a good fire, and very excellent Bathe, which recalled back againe

wrong-wandering life. Then fetching a vehement sigh, opening her eyes,

& looking very strangely about her, she said. Alas! where am I now?

whereto the good old Lady kindly replyed, saying. Comfort your selfe

Madame, for you are in a good place.

Her spirits being in better manner met together, and she still gazing

every way about her, not knowing well where she was, and seeing Signior

_Gentile_ standing before her: he entreated his mother to tell her by

what meanes she came thither; which the good old Lady did, _Gentile_

himselfe helping to relate the whole history. A while she grieved

and lamented, but afterward gave them most hearty thankes, humbly

requesting, that, in regard of the love he had formerly borne her, in

his house she might finde no other usage, varying from the honour of

her selfe and her Husband, and when day was come, to be conveighed home

to her owne house. Madame, answered Signior _Gentile_, whatsoever I

sought to gaine from you in former dayes, I never meane, either here,

or any where else, to motion any more. But seeing it hath been my happy

fortune, to prove the blessed means, of reducing you from death to

life: you shall find no other entertainment here, then as if you were

mine owne Sister. And yet the good deed which I have this night done

for you, doth well deserve some courteous requitall: in which respect,

I would have you not to deny me one favour, which I will presume to

crave of you. Whereto the Lady lovingly replyed, that she was willing

to grant it; provided, it were honest, and in her power: whereto

Signior _Gentile_ thus answered.

Madame, your parents, kindred and friends, and generally all throughout

_Bologna_, doe verily thinke you to be dead, wherefore there is not any

one, that will make any inquisition after you: in which regard, the

favour I desire from you, is no more but to abide here secretly with

my Mother, untill such time as I returne from _Modena_, which shall

be very speedily. The occasion why I move this motion, aymeth at this

end, that in presence of the chiefest persons of our City, I may make

a gladsome present of you to your Husband. The Lady knowing her selfe

highly beholding to the Knight, and the request he made to be very

honest: disposed her selfe to doe as he desired (although she earnestly

longed, to glad her parents and kindred with seeing her alive) and

made her promise him on her faith, to effect it in such manner, as he

pleased to appoint and give her direction.

Scarcely were these words concluded, but she felt the custome of women

to come upon her, with the paines and throwes incident to childing:

wherefore, with helpe of the aged Lady, Mother to Signior _Gentile_, it

was not long before her deliverance of a goodly Sonne, which greatly

augmented the joy of her and _Gentile_, who tooke order, that all

things belonging to a Woman in such a case, were not wanting, but she

was as carefully respected, even as if she had been his owne Wife.

Secretly he repaired to _Modena_, where having given direction for his

place of authority; he returned back againe to _Bologna_, and there

made preparation for a great and solemne feast, appointing who should

be his invited guests, the very chiefest persons in _Bologna_, and

(among them) Signior _Nicoluccio Caccianimico_ the especiall man.

After he was dismounted from horsebacke, and found so good company

attending for him (the Lady also, more faire and healthful then ever,

and the Infant lively disposed) he sate downe at the Table with his

guests, causing them to be served in most magnificent manner, with

plenty of all delicates that could be devised, and never before was

there such a Joviall feast. About the ending of dinner, closely he made

the Lady acquainted with his further intention, and likewise in what

order every thing should be done, which being effected, he returned to

his company, & used these speeches.

Honourable friends, I remember a discourse sometime made unto me,

concerning the Countrey of _Persia_, and a kind of custome there

observed, not to be misliked in mine opinion. When any one intended

to honour his friend in effectuall manner, he invited him home to his

house, and there would shew him the thing, which with greatest love

he did respect; were it Wife, Friend, Sonne, Daughter, or any thing

else whatsoever; wherewithall hee spared not to affirme, that as he

shewed him those choyce delights, the like view he should have of his

heart, if with any possibility it could be done; and the very same

custome I meane now to observe here in our City. You have vouchsafed

to honour me with your presence, at this poore homely dinner of mine,

and I will welcome you after the _Persian_ manner, in shewing you the

Jewell, which (above all things else in the world) I ever have most

respectively esteemed. But before I doe it, I crave your favourable

opinions in a doubt, which I will plainely declare unto you.

If any man having in his house a good and faithfull servant, who

falling into extremity of sickenesse, shall be throwne forth into

the open street, without any care or pitty taken on him; A stranger

chanceth to passe by, and (moved with compassion of his weakenesse)

carryeth him home to his owne house, where using all charitable

diligence, and not sparing any cost, he recovereth the sicke person to

his former health. I now desire to know, if keeping the said restored

person, and imploying him about his owne businesse: the first Master

(by pretending his first right) may lawfully complaine of the second,

and yeeld him backe againe to the first master, albeit he doe make

challenge of him?

All the Gentlemen, after many opinions passing among them, agreed

altogether in one sentence, and gave charge to Signior _Nicoluccio

Caccianimico_, (because he was an excellent and elegant speaker) to

give answere for them all. First, he commended the custome observed in

_Persia_, saying, he jumpt in opinion with all the rest, that the first

Master had no right at all to the servant, having not onely (in such

necessity) forsaken him, but also cast him forth into the comfortlesse

street. But for the benefits and mercy extended to him; it was more

then manifest, that the recovered person, was become justly servant to

the second Master, and in detayning him from the first, hee did not

offer him any injury at all. The whole Company sitting at the Table

(being all very wise & worthy men) gave their verdict likewise with

the confession of Signior _Nicoluccio Caccianimico_. Which answere

did not a little please the Knight; and so much the rather, because

_Nicoluccio_ had pronounced it, affirming himselfe to be of the same

minde.

So, sitting in a pretended musing a while, at length he said. My

honourable guests, it is now more then high time, that I should doe

you such honour, as you have most justly deserved, by performing the

promise made unto you. Then calling two of his servants, he sent

them to Madame _Catharina_ (whom he had caused to adorne her self

in excellent manner) entreating her, that she would be pleased to

grace his guests with her presence. _Catharina_, having deckt her

child in costly habiliments, layed it in her armes, and came with

the servants into the dyning Hall, and sate down (as the Knight had

appointed) at the upper end of the Table, and then Signior _Gentile_

spake thus. Behold, worthy Gentlemen, this is the Jewell which I have

most affected, and intend to love none other in the world; be you my

Judges, whether I have just occasion to doe so, or no? The Gentlemen

saluting her with respective reverence, said to the Knight; that he had

great reason to affect her: And viewing her advisedly, many of them

thought her to be the very same woman (as indeed she was) but that they

beleeved her to be dead.