The argument to the .xiij Queſtions, compoſed in Italian, by M. John Bocace, Florentine, and Poet Laureat: And now turned into Engliſh by H. G.

FLORIO ſurnamed Philocopo, accompanied with the Duke Montorio, Aſcalion, Menedon, and Maſſalino, in ſayling to ſéeke his frend Biancofiore, was thorow a very obſcure and darke night, by the fierce winds, driuen into great dangers, but the perilles béeing once paſſed, they were caſt into the Porte of the auncient PARTHENOP • , wheras the Mariners (eſpying them ſelues in Hauen) he rereiued comfort, not knowing into what coaſt Fortune had forced him, yelded thankes to his Gods. And ſo taried the new day, the which after it once appeared, the place was of the Mariners deſcried, ſo that they al glad of ſuretie, and of ſo acceptable arriuall, came a ſhoare. Philocopo with his companions, who rather ſéemed to come foorth new riſen agayne out of their ſepultures, than diſbarked from ſhippe, looked backe towardes the waywarde waters, and repeating in them ſelues the paſſed perils of the ſpent night, could yet ſcarcely thinke themſelues in ſuretie. They all then with one voyce prayſed their gods, that had guided them ſafe out of ſo crooked a courſe, offred their pitifull Sacrifices, and began to receiue comfort, and were by a friende of Aſcalions honorably receiued into the Citie, whereas they cauſed their ſhip to be all new repaired and decked, of Maſt, ſayle, and better ſterne, than were the others whiche they had loſt: and ſo tarying time for their further voiage, the which was much longer lengthened than they looked for: by occaſion whereof Philocopo would many times haue taken his iourney by lande, but diſcouraged therein by Aſcalion, ſtayde, in tarrying a more proſperous houre in the aforeſayde place, where he and his companions ſaw Phebea fiue times round, & as many times horned, before that Notus did abandon his violent forces. And in ſo long a while, they neuer almoſt ſaw time to be merry, wherevpon Philocopo, who was very deſirous to perfourme his deferred iourney, one day called his companions vnto him, and ſayde: Let vs go take the pleaſaunt ayre, and paſſe the time vpon the ſalte ſea ſhoare, in reaſoning and prouiding for our future voyage. Thus he, with the duke Parmenion, and the reſt of his companions, directed their walke with a mild pace (diſcourſing diuers matters) towards that place wher reſt the reuerende aſhes of the moſt renoumed Poet Maro. They all thus talking a good ſpace, were not gone farre from the Citie, but that they came to the ſide of a Gardeyn, wherein they heard gracious and ioyous feaſting of young Gentlemen, dames, and damſels: There the ayre did all reſounde with the noyſe of ſundrie inſtruments, and as it were of Angelicall voyces, entring with ſwéete delighte into the hearts of them, to whoſe eares it came: the whiche noyſe it pleaſed Philocopo to ſtaye a while to heare, to the ende his former Melancolie thoroughe the ſwéeteneſſe thereof, mighte by little and litle departe away. Then Aſcalion reſtrayned theyr talke. And whyleſt Fortune helde thus Philocopo and his companions without the garden intentiuely liſtening, a yong gentleman comming foorth thereof, eſpied them, & forthwith by ſighte, porte and viſage, knew them to be noble gentlemen, & worthy to be reuerenced. Wherfore he without tariaunce, returned to his company, and ſayde: Come, let vs goe welcome certayne yong men, ſéeming to be gentlemen of great calling, the whiche perhaps baſhfull to enter herein, not being bidden, ſtay without, giuing eare to our dyſporte. The companions then of this Gentleman lefte their Ladies at their paſtime, and went foorth of the Garden, and came to Philocopo, whome by ſighte they knew too bée chiefe of all the reſte, to whome they ſpake with that reuerence their reaſon coulde deuiſe, and that was moſt conuenient for the welcoming of ſuch a gueſt, praying him that in honour and increaſe of this their Feaſt, it would pleaſe him and his companions to enter with them the garden, conſtrayning him through many requeſts, that he ſhould in no wiſe denie them this curteſy. Theſe ſwéete prayers ſo pierced the gentle heart of Philocopo, and no leſſe the hearts of his companions, that he anſwered the intreators in this ſort: Friends, of truth ſuch a Feaſt was of vs neither ſoughte for, nor fled from, but like weather beaten mates caſt into your port, we to the ende to flée drouſte thoughts, which ſpring of ydleneſſe, didde in reciting our aduerſities, paſſe by theſe ſea banks: But how fortune hath allured vs to giue eare vnto you I know not, vnleſſe as we thinke, deſirous to remoue from vs all penſiueneſſe, ſhe hath of you, in whom I know to be infinite curteſie, made vs this offer: and therfore we will ſatiſfie your deſire, though peraduenture in part we become ſomewhat laueſſe of the curteſie which otherwiſe towards others ought to procéede from vs. And thus talking, they entred togither into the Garden, wheras they founde many fayre Gentlewomen, of whom they were very graciouſly receiued, and by them welcomed to their feaſt. After Philocopo had a good while behelde this their feaſting, and likewiſe had feaſted with them, he thought it good to depart, and willing to take his leaue of the yong Gentlemen, and to giue them thanks for the honor he had receiued, one Lady more honorable than the reſt, indued with maruellous beautie and vertue, came foorth where he ſtode, and thus ſayd vnto him: Moſt noble Syr, ye haue this morning through this your great curteſie, ſhewed no ſmal pleaſure to theſe yong Gentlemen, for the which they ſhalbe alwayes beholding vnto you, that is to wit, in that you haue voucheſafed to come to honor this our feaſt. May it pleaſe you then, not to refuſe to ſhew vnto me, and to theſe other Dames, that fauor that I am ſecondarily to intreate you for: To whome Philocopo with a ſwéete voyce anſwered: Moſt gentle Lady, nothing maye iuſtly be denied you, commaunde therefore, for both I and theſe my companions are all preſt at your will: To whom the Lady ſayde in this wyſe: Foraſmuche as this your comming hath increaſed this our feaſting, with a moſt noble and goodly companie, I ſhal deſire you that you will not with departure leſſen the ſame, but rather helpe vs here to ſpende this day euen to the laſte houre, to that ende we haue already begonne the ſame. Philocopo behelde hir in the face as ſhe thus ſpake, and ſéeing hir eyes replete with burning rayes to twinkle lyke vnto the morning ſtarre, and hir face exceading pleaſaunt and faire, thoughte neuer to had ſéene (his Biancofiore excepted) ſo faire a creature: to whoſe demaund he thus made aunſwere: Madame I ſhall diſpoſe my ſelf to ſatiſfie rather your deſire than mine owne, wherefore ſo long as it ſhall pleaſe you, ſo long will I abide with you, and theſe my companions alſo: The Ladye gaue him greate thanks, and retourning to the others, began togethers with them all to be very merry. Philocopo abiding with them in this ſorte, entred greate familiaritie with a young Gentleman named Galeone, adorned with good qualities, and of a ſinguler eloquence, to whome in talking he ſayde thus: Oh, how muche are you more than any others beholding to the immortall Gods, the whiche preſerue you quiet in one will in this your mirth making. We acknowledge vs to be greatly bounden vnto them, anſwered Galeone. But what occaſion moueth you to ſay this? Philocopo anſwered: Truely none other occaſion, but that I ſée you all here aſſembled in one will. Oh, ſayde Galeone, maruayle not at all thereat, for this Lady in whome all excellencie dothe reſte, both moueth vs herevnto, and holdeth vs herein. Then demaunded Philocopo: And this Lady, who is ſhe? Galeone aunſwered: It is ſhe that made requeſt vnto you that ye woulde tarry here, when as a while ſince ye woulde haue departed. By ſight ſhe ſemeth vnto vnto me (ſayd Philocopo) exceding faire, and of a ſurmounting worthineſſe: but yet if my demaund be not vnléefull, manifeſt hir name vnto me, of whēce ſhe is, and of what Parentes diſcended. To whom Galeone anſwered: No wayes maye your requeſt bée vniuſt, beſides there is none publiquely talking of hir, which doth not vouchſafe to publiſh the renoume of ſo worthy a Lady, and therfore I ſhall fully ſatiſfie your demaund. Hir name is of vs here called Fiametta, howbeit the greateſt part of the people call hir by the name of hir, throughe whom that wounde is ſhut vp, that the preuarication of the firſt mother opened. She is the daughter of a moſt high Prince, vnder whoſe ſcepter theſe countreys are quietly gouerned, ſhe is alſo Lady to vs all: and briefly, there is no vertue that ought to be in a noble heart, that is not in hirs. And as I thinke, in tarying this day with vs, you ſhall haue good experience therof. That which you ſay (ſayde Philocopo) can not be hidden in hir ſemblance. The gods guide hir to that ende that hir ſingular giftes do merite, for aſſuredly I beléeue both that and much more than you haue affirmed. But theſe other dames, who are they? Theſe Gentlewomen (ſayde Galeone) ſome of them are of Parthenope, and other ſome of places elſe where, commen as are you your ſelues, hither into hir company. And after they had thus helde talke a good ſpace, Galeone ſayde: Ah my ſwéete friende, if it mighte not diſpleaſe you, it ſhould be very acceptable vnto me to know further of your ſtate and condition, than your outwarde appearance repreſenteth, to the ende that by knowing you, we maye do you that honor you worthily merit, bicauſe ſometimes want of knowledge bringeth lack of duetie, to them that honour others in not doing their due reuerēce. To whom Philocopo aunſwered: no lacke in doing me reuerence coulde any ways happen on your behalfe, but rather ye haue therin ſo far excéeded, as with exceſſe ye haue paſſed the bounds & limits therof. But ſince you deſire to know further of my condition, it ſhould be vniuſt not to ſatiſfie your deſire therein. And therfore (in how muche it is lawfull for me to diſcouer) I ſhall tell you: I am a poore Pilgrim of Loue, and goe ſéeking as ye ſée, a Lady of mine, taken away from me by ſubtile cautele by my Parents▪ and theſe Gentlemen whom ye ſée with me, of their curteſie kéepe me companye in this my Pilgrimage: and my name is Philocopo, of Nation a Spaniard, driuen through tempeſtuous wether (ſéeking for the Ilande of Cicilia) into your Ports. But he knew not ſo couertly to talke, as that the yong Gentleman vnderſtoode not more of his condition, than he willingly deſired he ſhould: and hauing compaſſion of thoſe his harde happes, ſomewhat comforted him with woordes, whiche promiſed him hereafter a more luckie life, and from that time forwards to increaſe his honour, willed that he ſhoulde be honored of them all, not as a Pilgrim, or as a bidden gueſt, but rather as the chiefe and principall patrone of the feaſt. The Lady, who vnderſtood his ſtate and condition, through the report of Galeone, estéeming derely of ſuch an happe, commaunded ſpecially that ſo it ſhoulde be. Apollo was now with his Chariot of light mounted to the Meridian circle, and did ſcarcely behold with leueled eye the new apparelled earth, when as theſe Dames, Damſels, and yong gentlemen béeing thus aſſembled togither in that place, (ſetting their feaſting aparte) ſéeking forth by ſundry quarters of the garden the delightfull ſhade, and fleing the noyſome heat that might offend their delicate bodies, toke by diuers companies, diuers delightes. And the Ladie accompanied with foure others, toke Philocopo by the hand, ſaying: Sir, the heat doth conſtraine vs to ſéeke out the freſh aire, let vs therfore go to yonder medow you ſée here before vs, and there with ſundry diſcourſes, paſſe ouer the heat of the day. Philocopo then greatly praiſed the Ladies deuiſe, and folowed hir motion, and with him his companions. Galeone alſo with two others, wēt with them to the appointed medow, which was excéeding fair of graſſe and floures, and filled with a ſwéete ſuauitie of ſmels, about ye which grewe ſtore of yong trées very faire and thicke of gréene leaues, wherewith the place was defended from the parching beames of the great planet. There was in the middeſt of that medowe a propre Fountain, very faire & cleare like Chriſtall, about the which they all ſate them downe, where ſome gaſing in ye water, and other ſome gathering floures, they began to talke of ſundry matters. But bicauſe ſometimes at vnwares, the one did interrupt the others Tale, the fayre Ladie ſayd vnto them thus: To the ende that this our diſcourſe may procéede in a more better order, and ſo continue vntill the freſhe coole houres, the which we attend for our further feaſting. Let vs ordaine one of vs in place of our king, to whome eche one ſhal propound a queſtion of Loue, and ſhall receiue from hint an apt reſolution thereof: and truely (as I think) we ſhal no ſooner haue made an end of our Queſtions, but yt the heat (we not knowing how) ſhall be paſt, and the time ſpent to our profit and delite. This deuiſe pleaſed them al, and among them it was ſayd: Let ther be a king: and with one voice they all choſe Aſchalion to their king, for that he was ſomewhat more growne in yeres, than was any of the reſt: To whom he made anſwer, to be altogither inſufficient for ſo great an office, bicauſe he had ſpent more yeres in the ſeruice of Mars, than of Venus. But yet he prayed them all to leaue vnto him the Election of ſuche a King. They that thought him to be ſuche a one (knowing ſo wel before hand the qualities of them all) as would conſtitute one ſuche, as ſhould yeld true anſwer to all theyr demaundes, did then wholly conſent that the Election ſhuld fréely be remitted vnto him, ſince he would not take ſuche a dignitie vpon himſelf.Fiametta choſen Queene to define the queſtions propounded. Aſcalion thē roſe him vp, and gathered certaine twigges of a greene Laurel, the ſhade wherof did ouerſpread the freſh fountaine, and therof made a riche Coronet, the which he brought in preſence of them all, and ſaid in this wiſe: from the time that I in my moſt youthful yeares began to haue vnderſtanding, I ſwere by thoſe gods whō I worſhip, that I do not remēber to haue leen or hard named, a womā of like worthineſſe to Fiametta, of whō loue holdeth vs al heer in hir preſēce inflamed, and by whō we haue this day bin honored ī ſuch ſort, as we ought neuer to forget ye ſame. And bicauſe ſhe (as wtout dout I know) is plentifully endued wyth euery good grace, adorned bothe with beautie & good qualities, and endued with a flowing eloquence, I therefore make choice of hir to be our Quéene. For aſſuredly it is cō uenient that the imperial crowne be beſtowed vppon hir magnificence, being diſcended from a ſtirpe royal, to whome the ſecrete wayes of loue, being (as they are all) open, it ſhall be an eaſie matter for hir to content vs in theſe our Queſtions. And this ſayd, he humbly knéeled before this noble Ladie, ſaying: Moſt curteous Ladie vouchſafe to decke your head with this Crowne, the which is no leſſe dearly to be eſtéemed of them, that are worthy thorow their vertues to couer their heades with the like, than if it were of Golde. The Ladie with a newe red bepainted hir white viſage, and ſaid: Truely ye haue not in due ſorte prouided a Quéene for this amorous people, (yt haue more néede of a moſt able king) for that of all you that are preſent, I am the moſt ſimple and of leaſt vertue, neither is there any one of you that is not more meet to be inueſted of ſuch a croun than am I. But ſince it thus pleſeth you, I can not withſtand this your election: & to the end I be not found cōtrary to our made promiſſe, I will receiue it, and as I hope, ſhal eke receiue from the Gods with it, ye ſtomacke due to ſuch an office: and thorowe the helpe of him to whome theſe leaues were alwayes acceptable, I ſhall anſwere you all, according to my ſmall knowledge: Neuertheleſſe, I deuoutly pray him that he will enter into my breſt, and renue my voice with that ſound wherewith he cauſed the valiant vanquiſhed man Marſia, to deſerue to be drawne forthe of the ſheath of his members. I by way of mirthe ſhall giue you light anſweres wythout ſifting to the depthe of your propounded Queſtions, the going about to ſerch forth the which, ſhould rather bring tediouſneſſe than delight to your mindes. And hauing thus ſayd, ſhe toke with hir delicate hand the offred Garland, and therwithal crouned hir head, and commaunded that eche one vppon paine to be depriued of the amorous ioyes, ſhould prepare to put forthe ſome queſtion, the which might be apte and conuenient to the purpoſe whereof they did intend to entreat, and ſuch a one as ſhould rather be an increaſer of theyr mirth, than through too great ſubtilty, or otherwiſe, a deſtroyer of the ſame.

The firſt Queſtion, propoſed by PHILOCOPO.

ON the right hand of the Quéene ſate Philocopo, to whome ſhée ſayde: Noble Sir, you ſhal begin to propoūd your Queſtion,The Queene commaundeth Philocopo to propound. to the end that ye reſt orderly, as we are heere placed, may after you with more ſuretie propound theirs alſo. To whō Philocopo thus made anſwer: Moſt noble Ladie, without any forſlowing, I ſhal obey your commaundement, and thus ſaid: I remember that in the citie, wherein I was borne, there was one day made a bountiful great feaſt, wherat, to honoure the ſame, were many gentlemen and Gentlewomen:Tvvo Gentlemen enamored of one Gentlevvoman. And I that was likewiſe there roming about, and beholding them that were in the place, eſpied among the reſt, two yong mē very gratious to behold, that erneſtly eyed an excéeding faire woman. Neither was I any wayes able to diſcerne whither of them hir beauty had moſt inflamed. And as ſhe in like ſort had a good ſpace beheld them, not making greater ſemblance to the one, than to the other, they betwéene themſelues, began to reaſon of hir: and among the other wordes that I vnderſtoode of their talke, was yt eche one ſaid, that he was hir beſt beloued: and for proofe thereof, either of them alleaged in the furtherance of himſelfe, diuers geſtures then before done by the yong woman. And they thus remaining in this contention a long time, being now thorowe many woordes at daggers drawing, they acknowledged that héerin they did very euil, bicauſe in thus doing, they wrought hurt and ſhame to themſelues, and diſpleaſure to the woman. Wherefore (moued of an equall agréement) bothe two wente to the mother of the mayd, who was alſo at the ſame feaſt, and thus ſayd vnto hir: That forſomuch as aboue all other women of the world, either of them beſt liked hir daughter, and that they were at contention whether of them was beſt liked of hir, it woulde therefore pleaſe hir to graunte them this fauor, to the ende no greater inconuenience might ſpring thereof, as to will hir daughter, that ſhe either by word or déede, would ſhew whether of them ſhe beſt loued. The intreated gentlewoman ſmiling, thus anſwered: willingly. And ſo calling hir daughter to hir, ſayd: My fayre daughter, eche one of theſe preferreth the loue of thée, aboue the loue of him ſelfe, and in this contention they are: whether of them is beſt beloued of thée: and they ſéeke of me this ſauour, that thou either by ſignes or words, reſolue them herein. Wheras loue is, there peace ought to be. And therefore to the end that loue, from whom all peace and goodneſſe oughte alwayes to ſpring, brede not now the contrary, content them in this, and with ſemblable curteſie, ſhew towards which of thē thy minde is moſt bent.The loued giueth cauſe of argument to hir louers. The yong damſell ſayd: It liketh me right well. And ſo beholding them bothe a while, ſhe ſaw the one of thē to haue vpon his head a faire garlande of freſh floures, and the other to ſtande without any garlande at all. Then ſhe that had likewiſe vppon hir head a garlande of gréene leaues, firſte tooke the ſame from hir head, and ſet it vpon his, that ſtoode before hir without a garlande. And after ſhe toke that whiche the other yong man had vpon his head, and ſet the ſame vpon hirs: and ſo leauing them, ſhe returned to the feaſt, ſaying that ſhe had both performed the commandement of hir mother, and eke their deſire. The yong men béeing thus lefte, returned alſo to their former cōtention, eche one affirming that ſhe loued him beſt. And he whoſe garland ſhe toke and ſet vpon hir head, ſayde: Aſſuredly ſhe loueth me beſte, bicauſe ſhe hath taken my garlande to none other ende, but for that what mine is, pleaſeth hir, and to giue occaſion to be beholding vnto me. But to thée, ſhe hath giuen hirs, as it were in place of hir laſt farewell: vnwilling that (like a countrey girle) the loue which thou beareſt hir, be without requitall, and therfore laſtly ſhe giueth thee that garlande thou haddeſt merited. The other replying with the contrary, thus anſwered: Truely ſhe loueth that thine is, better than thée, and that may be ſéene in taking therof. And me ſhe loueth better than what mine is, in as much as ſhe hath giuen me of hirs: And therefore it is no token of hir laſt deſerued gift, as thou affirmeſt, but rather a beginning of amitie and loue. A gift maketh the receiuer a ſubiect to the giuer: and bicauſe ſhe peraduenture vncertane of me, to the ende ſhe might be more certayne to haue me hir ſubiect, will binde me (if perhaps I were not bounde vnto hir before) to be hirs by gift. But howe mayſt thou thinke, if ſhe at the firſt take away frō thée, that euer ſhe may vouchſafe to giue thée. And thus they abode a long time contending, and in the ende departed without any definition at all. Now ſay I, moſt puiſſant Quéene, yf you ſhoulde be demaunded of the laſte ſentence of ſuche a contention, what would ye iudge? The faire Lady ſomewhat ſmiling, turned towards Philocopo, (hir eies ſparkling with an amorous light) and after a ſoft ſigh, thus made anſwere: Moſte noble youthe,The queenes iudgement vpon the queſtion. proper is your Queſtion: And truely, as very wiſely the young woman behaued hir ſelfe, ſo eche one of the yong men right well defended his cauſe. But bicauſe ye require what we laſtly will iudge therof, thus we make you aunſwere: It ſéemeth vnto vs, and ſo it ought to ſéeme to eche one that taketh good héede, that the woman had in hate neither the one nor the other: but to kéepe hir intent couert did two contrary acts, as appeareth, and not without occaſion. And to the end ſhe might get more aſſured the loue of him whom ſhe loued, as not to loſe the loue of the other, whome ſhe hated not, it was but wiſely doone. But to come to our Queſtion, whiche is, to whether of the two, greateſt loue was ſhewed. We ſaye: that ſhe loued him beſt, and he chiefeſt in hir fauour, to whome ſhe gaue hir garland: and this ſemeth to be the reaſon: Whatſoeuer man or woman that loueth any perſon, ech one through force of the loue they beare, is ſo ſtrongly bound to the perſon loued, that abou • all other things they deſire to pleaſe the ſame, neither to binde him or hir more ſtrongly that thus loueth, néedeth either gifts or ſeruices, and this is manyfeſt. And yet we ſée, yt who ſo loueth, though he endeuour him ſelfe ſundry wayes, is not able to make the perſon loued, in any ſorte benigne and ſubiect vnto him, wherby he may bring it to his pleaſure, and ſo with a more bolde face demaund his deſire. And that this is in ſuche ſorte as we ſay,Dido. the inflamed Dido with hir doings, dothe very well manyfeſt the ſame vnto vs, who burning in the loue of Aeneas ſo long,Aeneas. as it ſéemed hir neither with honours nor with gifts able to winne him, had not the courage to attempt the doubtfull way of aſking the queſtion: So that then the yong woman ſought to make him moſt beholding vnto hir, whom ſhe beſt loued. And thus we ſay, that he that receiued the gifte of the garlande, was hir beſt beloued. As the quéene became ſilent, Philocopo anſwered: Diſcrete Lady,Philocopo replieth to the Queene. greatly is your anſwere to be commended: but for all that, you do bring me into a great admiration of that ye haue defined, touching the propounded queſtion, bicauſe I wold haue iudged rather the contrary. For ſo muche as generally among louers, this was the wonted cuſtome, that is, to deſire to beare vpon them ſome iewell, or ſome other thing of the perſons loued, to the end that moſt times they might glorie them ſelues more therin, than in all the remnant they had, & perceiuing the ſame about them, therwith to glad their minds,Paris. as ye haue heard. Paris ſeldome times or neuer entred into the bloudie battailes againſt the Greekes, without bearing ſome token vpon him, that had béen giuen him by his Helene, Helene. beléeuing better to preuayle therewith, than if he had gone without the ſame. And truely in mine opinion, his thought was not vayne: therefore I ſhoulde thus ſaye, (that as you ſayde) the yong woman did very wiſely, not defining it for all that as you haue don, but in this maner: She knowing that ſhe was very well loued of two yong men, and that ſhe could not loue mo than one; for that loue is an indiuiſible thing, ſhe would rewarde the one for the loue he bare hir, to the ende that ſuche good will ſhould not be vnrewarded, and ſo gaue him hir garlande in requitall thereof. To the other whom ſhe loued, ſhe thought ſhe woulde giue courage and aſſured hope of hir loue, taking his garlande, and decking hir ſelfe therewith, in token wherof, ſhe playnly ſhewed to be beholding vnto him for the ſame. And therfore in my iudgement ſhe loued better him from whom ſhe toke, than him to whom ſhe gaue. To whom the Quéene thus made anſwere:The queenes ſolution of this firſt queſtion. Your argument ſhould haue pleaſed vs right well, if your ſelfe in your tale had not condemned the ſame Sée how pillage and perfect loue can agrée togither? How can ye ſhew me, that we loue him whom we ſpoyle, better than him to whom we giue? According to the Queſtion propounded, to the one ſhe gaue a garlande, and from the other ſhe toke a garlande: neither had ſhe too whome ſhe gaue, ought giuen hir: and that which we ſee euery day for example may here ſuffiſe, as is commonly ſayde: They are of gentlemen farre better loued, on whom they beſtow fauour and gifts, than thoſe that are by them depriued of them. And for that cauſe we laſtly holde opinion, concluding, that he is better loued, to whom is giuen, than he from whom is taken. We know very wel, that in theſe our reaſonings much might be obiected agaynſt this our definition, & much alſo anſwered to the contrary reaſons: But laſtly ſuch determination ſhall remayne true. And bicauſe time now ſerueth not, to ſtaye with this our talke vpon one matter only without moe, we will giue eare to the reſt if it pleaſe you. To whom Philocopo ſayd: That it pleaſed him right wel, and that very well ſuffiſed ſuche a reſolution to his demaunded queſtion: and ſo helde his peace.

The ſecond Queſtion, propoſed by LONGANO.

NExte to Philocopo was placed a curteous young man, and gracious to beholde, whoſe name was Longano, who no ſooner than Philocopo had left, thus beganne: Moſt excellent Quéene, ſo trim hath ben the firſt queſtion, that in my conceipte, mine ſhall bring no delight at al. Yet to the ende not to be ſeuered from ſo noble a company, foorth it ſhall: and thus he followed, ſaying: It is not many dayes paſt, that I abiding all ſolitarie in my chamber, wrapt in a heape of troubleſome thoughts, ſprong frō an amorous deſire, the which with a fierce battayle had aſſaulted my heart,Tvvo ſiſters complayne them of being in loue. by happe heard a piteous plaint, wherevnto (bicauſe I iudged it by eſtimation néere vnto me) intentiuely I layde mine eare, and therby knew that they were women: by occaſion whereof, I ſodaynly roſe to ſée who, and where they were: and loking forth at my chamber window, I heard ouer agaynſt the ſame, in one other chamber, two yong women, the ſame being ſiſters, adorned with an ineſtimable beautie, there abiding without any other company, whom as I ſaw making this ſorowfull plaint, I withdrew my ſelfe into a ſecret place, without beeing of them eſpied, and ſo behelde them a long while, neither was I able for all that, to vnderſtande all the words that they through griefe vttred in teares, but that the effect of ſuche plaint (according to that I coulde comprehende) ſéemed to me to be for loue: wherefore I through pitie, and ſo ſwete an occaſion offred (being thus cloſe as I was) began to ſhead my trickling teres. And after that I had in their gréefe perſeuered in the ſame a good ſpace (forſomuch as I was their very familiar, & alſo their kinſman) I purpoſed to vnderſtand more certayne the occaſion of their ſorow, and ſo went vnto them, who had no ſooner eſpied me, but all baſhfull they withhelde them from teares, endeuoring them ſelues to do me reuerence. To whom I ſayde: Gentlewomen, trouble not your ſelues, neither let this my comming moue you to reſtrain your inward grief, for your tears haue bin now a good ſpace apparant vnto me. It ſhall be therefore needeleſſe to hide you, either yet thorow baſhfulneſſe to hide from me the cauſe of thys your plaint. For I am come hither to vnderſtand the ſame. And be you aſſured, that ye ſhal not receiue by me either in word or déede any euill requitall, but rather helpe and comfort in what I may. The women greatly excuſed themſelues, ſaying, that they ſorrowed for nothing: but yet after I had coniured them, and they ſeing me deſirous to vnderſtand ye ſame, the elder thus began to ſay: It is the pleaſure of the Gods, that to thee our ſecretes be diſcouered: thou therfore ſhalt vnderſtand, that we, aboue al other women haue alwayes reſiſted the ſharpe darts of Cupide, who of a long ſeaſon in caſting the ſame, was neuer yet able to faſtē any one of them in our hearts. But now laſtly being further inflamed, and hauing determined to ouercome that his childiſhe enterpriſe, tooke of newe with his yong arme, of his beſt and deareſt ſhaftes, and with ſo great force wounded the heartes ſo ſore infeebled through the ſundry blowes before receiued, as the heades thereof pierced deepe, ſo as they made a farre greater wound, than if reſiſtance had not bene made (to the other former) had like to haue bene. And thus for the pleaſure of two moſt noble yong Gentlemen, we are become ſubiectes to his deitie, folowing his pleaſure wyth more perfect faith, and ſeruent wil, than euer any other women haue done. Now hath Fortune, and the loue of them (as I ſhall declare vnto you) left vs both comfortleſſe. Firſt I,The firſt lamē teth the loſte of hir enioyed louer. before my ſiſter héere, was in loue, and through mine endeuor, beléeuing wiſely to ende my deſire, ſo wrought as I got the loued yong Gentleman at my pleaſure, whome I found as greatly enamored of me, as I of him. But truely nowe hath not the amorous flame through ſuch effect ceaſſed, neither hathe the deſire leſſened, but eache one more vehemently increaſeth: and more than euer, I doe nowe burne in hys fire. And what tyme, ſeeing howe I might beſt mitigate & aſſuage the kindled flame thereof, holding it inwardly ſecrete, it after hapned, that the horned Moone was no ſooner come to hir perfect roundneſſe, but that he at vnwares committed a fault, for the which was adiudged him perpetuall exile from this citie, whervpon he dreading death, is departed hence without hope euer to returne. I ſorowfull woman aboue all others, more now enflamed thā euer, am without him, left both dolefull and deſperate. By occaſion whereof I ſorrow me, and that thing that moſt increaſeth my ſorrow is, that on euery ſide I ſee the way barde from béeing able to follow him. Thinke therfore now, whether I haue cauſe to playne me or no. Then ſayd I: and this other, why ſorroweth ſhe? And ſhe anſwered:The ſeconde hindered by ielouſie, ſorovveth hir hap. This my ſiſter likewiſe (as I) is enamoured of an other, and of him agayne loued aboue meaſure. And to the ende hir deſires ſhould not paſſe the amorous pathes, without taking ſome parte of delight, many times ſhe hath endeuoured hir ſelfe to bring them to effect, and contrary to hir deuiſe, iealouſie hath always occupied and broken the waye, and bicauſe ſhe coulde neuer attayne thervnto neither ſaw how to be able ſo to do, ſhe thus diſtreſſed, is thorough feruent loue conſumed, as ye may well thinke if euer ye were in loue. Séeing we wer thē here al alone, we began to reaſon of our miſfortunes, and knowing the ſame farre greater than theſe of other women, we coulde not withholde from teares, but with wéeping ſorowed our luckle •• e lottes, as ye might well perceiue. To heare this of them it gréeued me greatly, ſo that I encountred them with ſuche wordes as ſéemed me moſt profitable for their comfort, and ſo departed from them. Many times after reuoluing in minde their griefes, and ſometimes bethinking me whether of the ſame ſhoulde be the greater, at one time I agreed to that of the one, and at another time, I yelded to that of the other: and the ſundry reaſons wherwith as it ſéemeth me, ech one hath to lament hir, will not ſuffer me to ſtay vpon any one, whervpon I remayn here in doubt. May it therfore pleaſe you, that by you may be opened this errour, in telling me whether of theſe two infortunate louers ſéemed to ſuſtayne the greateſt gréefe. Great was the ſorow of either of them,The Queene decideth the queſtion. anſwered the Quéene: But conſidering aduerſitie to be moſt greuous to hir that hath taſted proſperitie, we eſtéeme that ſhée that hathe loſt hir loue, féeleth the greateſt gréefe, and is of Fortune greatlieſt offended. Fabritius. Fabritius neuer bewept the chaunces of fortune: Pompey.But that Pompey did, is a thing very manifeſt. If ſwéet things were not taſted, the ſoure ſhould be yet vnknowne. Medea. Medea neuer knewe (according to hir own ſaying) what maner a thing proſperitie was, whileſt ſhée was in loue, Iaſon.but being forſakē of Iaſon, bewayled hir aduerſitie. Who will euer lament for that he hath not had: not one but wil rather deſire it. It is demed therfore, that of the two women, the one wept for gréefe, the other for deſire. It is very hard for me (gracious Ladie) to Longano of contrary opinion to the Queene. thinke that which you affirme (ſayd the yong Gentleman) forſomuche as who that hath his deſire of any deſired thing, ought much more to content his minde, thā who that deſireth, and can not fulfil his deſire. Further, nothing is more light to loſe, than what hope promyſeth not heereafter to yéelde. There ought to be vnmeaſurable greefe, whereas the not being able to bring egall willes to effect doth hinder. From thence lamentations take place, from thēce thoughtes and troubles doe ſpring, bicauſe if the willes were not egall, of force the deſire ſhould want. But when as louers ſee them ſelues in preſence of that they deſire, and can not attaine thereunto, then doe they kindle and ſorowe them muche more, than if that they wold haue, were farre from them. And who I pray you torments Tantalus in Hel?Tantalus. but only the apples, & the water, for that howe much more neere they bend and ſwell to hys mouth, ſo much the more (afterwards in fléeing the ſame) they increaſe his hunger. Truely I beléeue, that who hopeth for a thing poſſible to be had and can not attaine thereunto, thorow contrary reſiſting impediments, féeleth more gréefe, than who that bewaileth a thing loſte & irrecuperable.The Queenes ſolution or the ij. queſtion. Then ſayd the Quéene, your anſwere would haue followed very well, where your demaunde ſhoulde haue bene of an olde griefe, although to that alſo might be ſayd: thus to be poſſible throughe forgetting the griefe, to ſhorten the deſire in the deſired things, where as continual impediment is ſens not to be able to attayn them, as in thoſe loſt, wherein Hope dothe not ſhew vs, that we ſhould euer haue them agayne. But we do reaſon whether of them ſorrowed moſt, whēn you ſaw them ſorrowing: wherfore folowing the propounded caſe, we will giue iudgement, that ſhe felt greater griefe that had loſte hir louer, without hope to haue him agayn, (putting the caſe that it be an eaſie matter to loſe a thing impoſſible to haue agayne: neuertheleſſe it was to be ſayd: who loueth well, forgetteth neuer) than the other, who if we looke well, might hope to fulfill that hereafter, that heretofore ſhe was vnable to performe. For a great leſſener of griefe is hope. It had force to kéepe chaſte and to diminiſh the ſorrowes of the lingring long life of Penelope.

¶The thirde Queſtion, propoſed by a yong Gentlevvoman.

ON the right ſide of Longano, ſat an excellent faire Gentlewoman, and very pleaſant, who as ſhe perceiued that Queſtion by the Quéene determined, thus beganne with a ſwéete talke to ſay: Moſt renoumed quéene, your eares graunt hearing to my words: And firſt by thoſe Gods whom you worſhippe, and nexte by the power of our paſtime, I pray you that ye will giue to my demaund profitable counſell. I, as you know, being deſcended of noble Parents, was borne in this Citie, and was named with a very gracious name, although my ſurname (béeing Cara) preſenteth me gratefull to the hearers, and as by my face it may appeare, I haue receiued from the Gods and Nature a ſinguler gifte of beautie, the whiche (in following my proper name more than my ſurname) I haue adorned with an infinite pleaſantneſſe, ſhewing my ſelfe benigne to whom that is delighted to beholde the ſame: by occaſion whereof, many haue endeuoured themſelues for their pleaſure to occupie my eyes, agaynſt all whom I haue withſcode with ſtrong reſiſtaunce, holding a ſtable heart agaynſt their aſſaults: but bicauſe it ſéemeth to me vnléefull that I onely ſhoulde pretermit the lawes kept and obſerued of all others, that is, not to loue being loued of many, I haue determined to become enamored, and ſetting apart many ſeekers of ſuche loue, wherof ſome do excell Midas in richeſſe, ſome other paſſe Abſalon in beautie, and other ſome in curteſie (according to the common report of all) are more ſplendent than any other. I haue of all theſe choſen thrée: Of whome eche one pleaſeth me alike.The gentlevvoman praieth to be reſolued vvhether oughte ſoneſt to be loued, either the ſtrong, the liberall, or the wiſe. Of the which thrée, the one of bodily force (as I beléeue) would excell the good Hector, he is at euery proofe ſo vigorous and ſtrong. The curteſie and liberalitie of the ſecond is ſuch, that (as I thinke) his fame doth ſound through eche pole. The third is all full of wiſdome, ſo that he ſurmounteth all other wiſe men aboue meaſure. But for that (as ye haue heard) their qualities are diuers, I doubt whether of them to take, finding in the antique age eche one of theſe to haue diuerſlye the courages of women, and of yelding men: as of Dianira, Hercules, of our Clitemneſtra, Aegiſtus, and of Lucretia, Sextus. Counſell me therfore, to whether of them ſooneſt with leaſt blame, and greateſt ſuretie, I ought to giue my ſelfe. The pleaſant Quene hauing heard the purpoſe of this Gentlewoman,The queenes anſvvere. thus made anſwere. There is neuer a one of the thrée, that dothe not worthily merite the loue of a faire and gracious Lady: but bicauſe in this caſe I am not to fighte agaynſt caſtles, or to giue away the kingdomes of great Alexander, or the treaſures of Ptholome, but that onely that Loue and honour are with diſcretion a long time to be kepte, the whiche are mainteyned neither by force nor curteſy, but only by wiſdome: we ſay, that both you, and euery other woman ought rather to giue hir loue to a wiſe man, than to any of the reſt.The reply of the Gentlewoman. Oh how diuers is my iudgement from yours, aunſwered the propounding Gentlewoman. To me it ſéemeth, that eche one of the others were ſoner to be taken than the wiſe, and this ſeemeth to be the reaſon: Loue as we ſee) is of that nature, as multiplying his force in one heart, euery other thing he baniſheth out thence, retayning that for his ſeate, and mouing it after according to his pleaſure, wherevnto no foreſight is able to reſiſt, but that it is conuenient for them to follow him, by whom it is (as I haue ſayde) gouerned. And who doubteth that Biblis knew it not to be euill to loue hir brother?Biblys. Who will gayneſay, that it was not manyfeſt to Leander, Leander. that he might drowne in Heleſpont, in his fortunate time, yf he caſte him ſelfe therein? And none will deny that Paſiphe knew not a man to be more faire than a Bul?Paſiphe. and yet they and eche one ouercome with an amorous pleſure, reiecting all knowledge, followed the ſame. Then if it haue power to take knowledge from the learned, taking away the witte from the wiſe, they ſhall haue nothing left: but if from the ſtrong and curteous, it ſhall take away the little witte they haue, it ſhall yet increaſe them in their vertues, and ſo they ſhall become more than the wiſe enamoured. Further, loue hath this propertie, it is a thing that can not long be hidde: and in reueling him ſelf, he is wont oftentimes to bring greuous perils, whervnto what remedie ſhall the wiſe giue that hath now loſt his witte? He ſhall giue none at all, but the ſtrong that vſeth his force can helpe in a perill bothe him ſelfe, and others. The curteous through his curteſie, ſhall wyth gratefull beneuolence winne the minds of many, whereby he may be bothe holpen and conſidered, and others alſo for his ſake. Sée now what it is to be of your iudgement. She was by the Quéene anſwered vnto, thus:The queenes laſt ſentence to the thirde queſtion. If there were ſuche a one as you ſpeake of, who ſhoulde than be wiſe? not one. But if he, whom you propound wiſe, and enamored of you, ſhould be made a foole, he is not to be taken. The Gods forbid, that that whereof you ſpeake, ſhoulde come to paſſe. And yet we will not deny, but that the wiſe know the euill, and do it: but for all that we will ſay, that they thereby loſe not their witte, foraſmuche as what time it pleaſeth them with the 〈1 page duplicate〉 〈1 page duplicate〉 reaſon they haue to dridle their willes, they will reduce them ſelues to their accuſtomed witte, guyding their motions in a due and ſtrayght order. And in this manner their loue ſhall bée altogither, or at the leaſt, a long time kepte ſecrete, and that withoute any doubtfull diligence, the whiche ſhall not happen to one of little witte, bée he neuer ſo ſtrong or curteous. And yet if perhappes it do happe, that ſuche loue bée diſcouered, a wyſe manne will with a hundred foreſightes, ſhut vp the eyes and vnderſtanding of the tatlers thereof, and ſhall prouide a ſafetie bothe for his owne honour, as for the honour of his loued Lady? And if néede of ſafetie bée, the helpe of the wyſe can not fayle. That of the ſtrong commeth leſſe. And the friendes that are gotten by Liberalitie, are accuſtomed in aduerſitie to ſhrinke awaye. What is ſhe of ſo little diſcretion, that is brought to ſuche a iumpe, as hath néede of manyfeſte helpe? or that if hir loue bée diſcloſed, ſéeketh fame in hauing loued a ſtrong or Liberall man? I beléeue there is none ſuche. Let the wyſe then be ſooneſt loued, hoping that he muſte be in eche cauſe more profitable than any of the reſte.

¶The fourth Queſtion, propoſed by MENEDON.

THe Gentlewoman by hir countenance ſeemed contēt whē Menedon ſitting next vnto hir ſayd: Moſt highe and noble Quéene, now is it come to my turne to propounde my queſtion here in your preſence.Firſt Menedon telleth a tale. Wherefore by your liſence, if in my talke I ſhal wade very long, yet during the ſame I ſhall firſt of all of you, and nexte of the ſtanders aboute, pray pardon: Bicauſe ye can not be made fully to vnderſtande that, whiche I intende to propounde, vnleſſe a tale, that peraduenture ſhall not be ſhort, do precede the ſame: and after theſe words thus ſhe began to ſaye: In the countrey where I was borne, I remember thēre was a noble knyght, ſurmounting riche, the which loued in moſt loyall loue, a noble gentlewoman, borne likewiſe there, whom he tooke to wife: Of whom being as ſhe was, excéeding faire:Tarolfo a knight was enamored of a Lady. an other knight called Tarolfo was after enamoured, and with ſo great good wil loued hir, as he ſaw nothing he more deſired than hir: And in ſundry ſortes, now with paſſing before hir houſe, now iuſting, now at the barriers, now with the often ſending hir meſſangers, peraduenture promiſing hir great gifts, wherby ſhe might know his intent, and now with other like feats he endeuoured him ſelfe to purchaſe hir loue. All which thinges the Lady cloſely ſupported, without giuing ſigne or good aunſwere to the knight, ſaying to hir ſelfe: When as this knight ſhall eſpie, that he can haue neither anſwere, ne yet good countenaunce of me, perhaps he will forbeare any further, either to loue me, or to giue me theſe allurements. Now for all this, Tarolfo ſurceſſed not, following the precepts of O •• d, who ſayth, that a man muſte not throughe the hardneſſe of a woman leaue to perſeuer, becauſe with continuaunce the ſoft water pierceth the imbrued with Romayne bloud: and hauing trauailed a long while vpon the ſame,Tarolfo found an olde manne called Theban. he ſodenly eſpied before him, at the foote of a mountayn, a man not yong, nor of to many yeres, bearded, ſmall and very ſpare of perſon, whoſe attire ſhewed him to be but poore, who romed hither & thither gathering herbs, and with a little knife digged vp ſundry rootes, wherof he had filled one of the ſkirts of his cote: whom as Tarolfo ſaw, he maruelled not a little, and doubted greatly leaſt it had ben ſome other thing, but after that his ayme did certainly aſſure him to be a man, he drew nere vnto him, ſaluted him, and after aſked him who he was, of whence, & what he made ther at ſo timely an houre. To whom the old man anſwered: I am of Thebes, and Thebane is my name, and I go vp and downe this playne, gathering of theſe herbes, to the ende that with the iuyce therof, I make diuers neceſſary & profitable things for diuers infirmities, wherby I may haue wherwithal to liue: And to come at this houre, it is néede & not delight that conſtrayneth me. But who are you, that in countenaunce reſembleth noble, and walke here al alone ſolitarie. To whom Tarolfo anſwered: I am of the extremes of the weſt, very riche, and vanquiſhed of my conceipts, pricked forwards to an enterpriſe, not being able hitherto to atchieue the ſame, and therefore to be the better able without impediment to ſorrow my hap, I goe thus all alone wandring. To whome Thebane ſayde: Do you not know the qualitie of the place, and what it is? Wherfore haue you rather taken your way on the one ſide? You might eaſily here be rebuked with furious ſpirites. Tarolfo aunſwered: God can doe héere, as elſe where, it is he that hath my lyfe and honour in his hands: lette him doe with me according to his pleaſure: for aſſuredlye death ſhould be to me a riche treaſure. Then ſayd Thebane: What is that your enterpriſe, for the whiche (not béeing able to performe it) you abide thus ſorowfull? To whome Tarolfo aunſwered: It is ſuch as ſéemes vnto me impoſſible to be able euer to attayne, ſince hitherto I haue here found no counſell. Then ſayd Thebane: Dare ye vtter it? Tarolfo anſwered: Yea. But what profiteth it? Peraduenture nothing ſayde Thebane, but what doth it hurt?Tarolfo reciteth to Thebane his promis made too his Lady, of a Garden full of floures in the moneth of Ianuary. Then ſayd Tarolfo: I ſéeke counſell how may be hadde in the coldeſt moneth, a Gardeyn full of floures, fruites, and hearbs, as fayre as yf it were in the moneth of May, neither doe I fynde who can therein either helpe me, or giue me encouragement that it is poſſible to be hadde. Thebane ſtayde a whyle in a muſe without aunſwere, and after ſayde: You and many others doe iudge the ſkill and vertue of men according to their garments. If my goods were ſuch as are yours, you wold not haue lingered ſo long in diſcouering your lacke: or if peraduenture you had founde me néere to ſome riche Prince, as you haue in gathering of hearbes. But many times vnder the vyleſt veſture are hidden the greateſt treaſures of ſcience: and therefore no one concealeth his lacke, to whome is proffered counſel or helpe: And if therfore he open the ſame, it can not preiudice him at all. But what wold ye giue him that ſhould come, he ſaw the hornes of the Moone gathered into a perfect roundneſſe, and to ſhine vpon the frequēted earth. Then he went him all alone forthe of the citie, leauing his apparell apart, bare legged, and his diſſheueled locks hanging vpon his naked ſhoulders. The reſtleſſe degrées of the night did paſſe: birds, wild beaſts, and men, without any noyſe dyd take their reſt: the vnfallē leaues without mouing did hang vpon the trées, and the moyſt aire abode in milde peace: Onely the ſtarres did ſhine, when as he oftentimes went aboute the grounds, and came to a place on a riuers ſide, whiche it pleaſed him to choſe for his Garden. There he ſtretched forthe his arme thrée times towards the ſtarres, and turning him ſelfe vnto them, he as often bathed his white locks in the running ſtreame, crauing as many times with a moſt highe voyce their helpe, and after ſetting his knées to the hard earth,The inuocation magical of Thebane began thus to ſay: Oh night, moſt faithfull ſecreſer of high things, and you, oh ye ſtarres, the which togither with the Moone, do ſuccede the ſplendent day: and thou oh ſingular Hecates, become an helper to this my begon enterpriſe, & thou on holy Ceres, ye renuer of ye ample face of the earth: And you whatſoeuer verſes either artes, or herbes, and thou whatſoeuer erth bringing forth vertuous plāts, and thou oh atre, windes, mountaines, riuers and lakes, and eche God of the woods, and of the ſecrete night, by whoſe helpe I haue heeretofore made the running ſtreames to recule, inforcing them to returne to their ſprings, and things running, to become firme, & things firm to become running, and that haſt alſo giuen power to my verſes to drye vp the ſeas, that I at my pleaſure might ſearch the bottom therof, and to make the cloudie times cleare, and (at my will) to fill the cleare heauens with obſcure clouds, to make the windes to ceaſſe, & to turne as it ſéemed me beſt: breaking therwith the hard iawes of the feareful dragons, making alſo the ſtāding woods to moue, and the hault mountaines to tremble, & to returne to their bodies out of the lake Stix thoſe their ſhadowes, and aliue to come forth of their ſepultures: and ſometimes thée O Moone to draw to thy perfect roundneſſe: the attaining wherunto a ring of Baſons was wont to be an helpe, making alſo the cleare face of the Sunne many times to become pale, be ye all preſent, & aid me with your helpe. I haue at thys inſtant néede of the ſappe and iuyce of herbes, thorowe the which I may make in parte, the dry earth faſtned thorowe Autumne, and after thorow the withering colde Winter, ſpoyled of his Floures, Frutes, and hearbes, to become flouring, and to ſpring before the due terme. And hauing thus ſayde, he ſayde after, many other things ſoftely, which he added to his Prayers. And thoſe being ended, and he a while ſilent, the Starres gaue not theyr lyghte in vayne.Theban vvas caried in the air in a chariot led by tvvo Dragons. For more ſwifter than the flyght of the wyghteſt birde, there appeared before hym a Chariot drawen by two dragons, whereuppon he mounted, and taking the raines of the bridles of the two brideled Dragons in his hand, was caryed into the air. He then leauing Spain, and all Affrica, tooke his iorney by other Regions, and firſt ſought for the Ile of Crete, and from thence after with a ſhort courſe he ſought Pelion, Othrys, & Oſſa, the mount Nerium, Pachynus, Pelorus & Appaennine. Vpon them al plucking vp, & with a ſharp ſickle cutting downe ſuch rootes & herbs as beſt liked him, neither forgate he thoſe which he had before gathered when as he was found by Tarolfo in Theſſalia. He toke ſtones alſo vpon the mount Cauſacus, and of the ſandes of Ganges: and out of Libia he brought tōgs of venemous ſerpentes. He ſearched the watry bāks of Rodanus of Senna at Parys, of the great Po, of Arnus, of the imperial Tyber, of Niſeus, of Tana, & of Danuby: vpon thoſe eke gathering ſuch herbs as ſéemed to him moſt neceſſarie for his purpoſe, putting theſe together with the others, gathered on the tops of ye ſauage moūtaines. He alſo ſought the Ilands of Lesbos & Pathmos, & euery other, wherin he perceiued any profitable thing to be had for hys attempt: With all the which things he came (the third day béeing not yet paſt) to that place from whence he departed, and the Dragons, that onely had felt the odour of the gathered herbs, did caſt of their old hides of many yeres, and were with new renued and become yong.The ceremonies vſed in making the garden. There he diſmounted frō his chariot, and of the gréen earth he made two altares: on his right hand that of Hecates: and on the left that of the running goddeſſe: Ceres. that being done, & deuout fires kindled therupon, with locks diſperpled vpon his olde ſhulders, he began wyth a murmuring noiſe to goe about the ſame, and with reached bloud oftentimes he beſprēt the blaſing brands. After he placed the ſame bloud vpon the altars, ſomtimes ſoftning therwithall the ground, appoynted for his garden: and after that, he ſoftned again ye ſelf ſame thrée times, with fire, water, and Sulpher, ſetting after a great veſſell full of bloud, milke, and water, vppon the burning brandes, which he cauſed to boile a good ſpace, and put thereto the herbes and rootes, gathered in ſtraunge places, mingling therewith alſo diuers ſéedes and flours of vnknown herbs, he added therunto ſtones, ſought in the extreame parts of the eaſt, and dew gathered the nights paſt, together with the fleſh of infamous witches, the ſtones of a Wolfe, the hinder parte of a fat Cinyphis, and the ſkin of a Chilinder. And laſtly a liuer, with the whole lungs of an excéeding old Hart: and herewithall a thouſand other things, bothe without name, and ſo ſtraunge, as my memory can not againe tell them. After he toke a dry bough of an Oliue trée, and therwith begā to mingle al theſe things together. In doing wherof, ye drie bough begā to waxe gréene, and within a while after to beare leaues, and not long after the new apparelling therof, it was ladē with blacke Oliues. As Thebane ſawe this, he tooke the boyling licoures, and began therwithal to ſprinkle and water in euery place the choſen ſoyle, wherein he had ſette ſlippes of ſo many woods, as he would haue trées, & of as many ſortes as could be found. The which licour the earth had no ſooner taſted, but that it began to ſpring: yelding floures and newe herbes, and the dry ſettes became to become all gréene and frutefull plants. All this being done, Theban entring the citie, returned to Tarolfo, whom he found all in a muſe, fearing to be ſcorned thorowe his long abode, to whome he ſayd, Tarolfo, yt thing (thou requiredſt) is done to thy liking.Tarolfe offereth his ladie the Garden vvhich ſhee demaunded. Theſe newes pleaſed Tarolfo not a little, & hapning the day folowing to be a great ſolemnitie in the Citie, he wēt into the preſence of his loued Lady, yt had not now ſéene him of a long time paſt: and thus he ſayd vnto hir: Madame, after a long and tedious trauaile, I haue performed that which you haue commaunded, and when as it ſhal pleaſe you to ſee it, or to take it, it is readye at your pleaſure. Shée in ſéeing him, maruelled muche, & the more, hearing what he ſayd, and not beléeuing the ſame to be true, made him this anſwer: It pleaſeth me right wel, ye ſhal let me ſee it to morowe. The ſecond day was come, & Tarolfo went againe to his Lady, and ſaid: Madame, may it pleaſe you to walke to the Garden, the which you required to haue this colde moneth.The Ladie goeth to ſee the garden. Shée then being accompanied with many others, was moued to ſée the ſame. And they al being come to the Garden, entred therein by a fair portal: wheras they felt not the like colde as abrode, but the ſame to haue a of the Ladie, thus ſayd vnto hir: Go and couertly keepe thine othe, and liberally perform to Tarolfo what thou haſt promiſed. For he hath with his great toyle of right deſcrued the ſame. And hauing thus ſayd, the Lady began to weepe, and to ſay vnto him: The Gods ſeuer me far from ſuche a fault. In no wiſe will I ſo do: I will rather rid my ſelfe of life, than do any thing diſpleaſant to you, or diſhonor to your perſon. To whōe the knight replyed, ſaying: Wife, for this matter I will that ye doe no iniurie to your ſelfe, neither yet conceiue any gréefe therfore, for in no wiſe ſhall it diſpleaſe me, goe therfore, and perform what ye haue promiſed: for ye ſhall be neuer a whitte the leſſe deare to me: But as ye haue performed this your promiſe, ſo take ye better héede héereafter of ſuche like, although a demaunded gift may ſeeme vnto you impoſſible to be had. As the Lady perceiued the wil of hir huſbād, ſhe decked & trimmed hir and made hir ſelf very fair, toke company with hir, and ſo went to Tarolfos lodging, and bepainted with baſhfulneſſe, preſented hir ſelfe vnto hym. Tarolfo as ſoone as he ſawe hir,The Lady preſenteth hir ſelf to Tarolfo. all maruelling, roſe from Thebane and encountred hir wyth great gladneſſe, and very honourably receyued hir, demaundyng the cauſe of hir comming. To whome ſhée aunſwered, I am come to be wholly at your will, doe with me as it pleaſeth you. Then ſayde Tarolfo, yée make me to muſe aboue meaſure, conſideryng the time and the companie wherewith ye are come: Thys can not be wythout ſome great alteration betwéene you and your huſbande, tell me therefore I pray you, howe the matter goeth. The Ladie then ſhewed Tarolfo fully in order the whole matter & how it went: the which Tarolfo hearing,The liberalitie of Tarolfo tovvardes the Lady in releaſing hir of hir promiſſe. he began then to enter into a farre greater admiration than he had euer done before, and greatly to bethinke him héereof, and ſo in the ende to conceyue the great Liberalitie of the Huſbande, that had ſent his Wyfe vnto hym: whereuppon he ſayd to himſelfe: Whatſoeuer he be, that ſhould ſo muche as but thinke villanie towardes ſuche a Knight, were ſurely worthy of great blame: and ſo taking and talking wyth the Lady, he thus ſayd vnto hir: Madam, like a worthy Ladie, ye haue performed that to me due is: For the which cauſe I accompte that receiued of your hands, that I haue of you deſired, and therefore when it ſhall pleaſe you, you may returne to your Huſbande, and thanke him (I pray you) on my behalfe, for this his ſo great a pleaſure done vnto mée, and excuſe me of the follie I haue héeretofore committed towardes hym, aſſuring hym, that héereafter I ſhall neuer putte the like in practiſe. The Ladie giuing great thāks to Tarolfo for that his ſo great curteſie, merily departed thence & returned to hir huſband, to whome ſhe recited in ordre all that had ben hapned. But Theban, now comming to Tarolfo demaunded how the caſe ſtoode. Tarolfo declared vnto him the whole diſcourſe. To whom Theban then ſayd: and I, ſhal I then loſe yt which thou haſte promiſed me? Tarolfo anſwered: no, but when it pleaſeth thée, take thou half of all the caſtels and treaſures I haue in ſort heertofore promyſed thee. For I acknowledge, that thou haſte fully ſerued my turne. To whome Theban aunſwered:Liberalitie of Thebane tovvardes Tarolfo. It may neuer pleaſe the Gods, ſince the Knight was ſo liberall to thée of his wife, and thou againe waſt not a villaine to hym in that his offer, that I become leſſe than curteous. For aboue all things in the world it contenteth me, in that I haue ſerued thy turne: and therefore I will, that all that I ought to receiue in guerdon of my trauaile remaine all thine, in ſuch ſort as it hath euer bene heertofore: neither would he take of that was Tarolfos any thing at all.The concluſion of the propoſer. It is now douted, in whether of theſe was the greateſt liberalitie, either in the knight that had giuen libertie to his wife to goe to Tarolfo, either in Tarolfo, who ſent the Ladie (whome he had alwayes deſired, and for whoſe he had done ſo muche, to come to that iumpe, whereunto he was commen, when as ſhée came vnto him) back to hir huſband frée: or in Thebane, who hauing abandoned his Countrey (being nowe olde) for to gayne the promyſed rewardes, and being come thether, toyled him ſelfe to bryng that to an ende, which he hadde promyſed, whereby he iuſtly deſerued the ſame, did now remit the whole to Tarolfo, and remayned poore as he was ar the firſt.The iudgement of the Queene vpon the fourthe queſtion. Very excellent is bothe the tale and the demaund, ſayde the Quéene. Of trouth eche one was very liberall, conſidering the firſt of his honoure, the ſecond of his laſciuious deſire, and the third that of hys rewarded riches, was very courteous. Nowe if we will knowe which of them vſed the greateſt liberalitie or curteſie: It is méete we conſider whether of the thrée déedes is moſte acceptable, the which being well wayed, we ſhall manifeſtly knowe the moſt liberal, bicauſe who moſt giueth, is to be held moſt liberall: of the which thrée, the one is deare, that is Honoure, the which Paulus Aemilius vanquiſhyng Perſes, king of Maycedonia, rather deſired than the gayned treaſures. The ſecond is to be fled, that is, the wanton delightes of Venus, according to the ſentence of Sophocles, and of Xenocrates, ſaying: That luſt is to be fledde as a furious gouernement. The third is not to be deſired, that is ryches: forſomuche as the moſte tymes they are noyſome to a vertuous lyfe, and to ſuche a one as can vertuouſly lyue with moderate pouertie,Diuers Romaynes in tymes paſt pore, and yet vertuous. as liued Marcus Curtius, Attilius Regulus, and Valerius Publicola, as by their woorkes is manyfeſt. If then of theſe thrée, only Honoure is to be helde deare, and the others not, he vſed the greateſt liberalitie that gaue his wyfe to another, althoughe he dyd leſſe than wiſely therein. He was alſo the cheefeſt in liberalitie, wherein the others followed him: therefore according to our iudgement he that gaue hys wife in whome conſiſted his honoure, was aboue the reſt, the moſt liberall. I (ſayde Menedon) agrée,The reply of Menedon. that in as muche as ye haue thus ſayde, it be as you ſay: but yet eche one of the other ſéemeth to me, to be more liberall, and ye ſhall heare howe. It is very true, that the firſt graunted his wyfe, but he vſed therin not ſo great a liberalitie as ye ſpeake of, bicauſe if he wold haue denyed hir, he might not iuſtly haue done it, by reaſon of the othe ſhe made, the which was conuenient for hir to kéep • : and therefore who giueth that he may not denie, dothe but well in making himſelfe liberall therof, and it was but a trifle he gaue: and therefore (as I haue ſayde) eche one of the other was more curteous. And for that (as it is already ſayde) Tarolfo had nowe a long time deſired this Ladie, and loued hir farre aboue all others, he for to attayne hir, had of long time abode great troubles, offering himſelfe for to ſatiſfie hir requeſt, to ſéeke forth things almoſt impoſſible to be had, the which nowe obtained, he deſerued (through hir promyſed faythe) to obtaine hir alſo, whome (as wee ſay) béeing obteyned, there is no doubt but that the honoure of the Huſband, and the releſe of that ſhée had promiſed (the which he releaſed) was in his hand. Then was he, to conclude, liberall both of the honor of the huſbande, of the othe of his Ladie, and of his owne long deſire. It is a great matter to haue endured long thirſt, and to come to a pleaſant fountain, and not to drink, but to ſuffer others to drynke. The thirde was alſo very liberall, conſidering that pouertie is one of the moſte lothſome things of the world to bear, for ſo much as it is the chaſer away bothe of mirthe and reſt, a flyer of honours, a frequenter of vertue, and the inducer of crabbed care, ſo that euery one naturally endeuoure themſelues with a fiery deſire to flie the ſame the whych deſire is ſo kindled in many,Euery one flieth pouertie. to the ende to liue very ſplendantly in reſt, as they giue them ſelues no leſſe to diſhoneſt gayne, than to diſordinate ſpences, peraduenture not knowing, or not otherwayes béeing able to feede that theyr deſire: whych is cauſe many times eyther of deathe or exile. Howe muche then ought the riches to pleaſe and to be acceptable to them that in due ſorte doe bothe gaine and poſſeſſe them? And who will doubt that Thebane was not moſt poore if he behold how he abandoning hys nyghtes reſt, went gathering of herbes, and digging vp of rootes in doubtful places for the better ſuſtētation of his pore life. And yt this pouertie did occupie his vertue, may be alſo beleued, in hearing how Tarolfo did deme to be by him diſceiued, when he beheld him apparelled in vile veſture, & ſeeing him deſirous to ſhake of yt miſerie to become rich, knowing how he came as far as frō Theſſalia into Spayne, haſarding himſelf to perillous chaunces through doubtfull iourneys, and vncertayne ayre, to the ende to perfourme the promiſſe he had made, and to receiue the like from an other Alſo it may be euidently ſéene, that without doubt who giues him ſelfe-to ſuche and ſo many miſeries, to the ende to flée pouertie, knoweth the ſame to be full of all griefe and troubles. And how muche the more he hath ſhaken off the greateſt pouertie, and is entred a riche life, ſo much the more is the ſame life acceptable vnto him. Then who that is become of poore, rich, if therwith his lyfe doth delight him, how great, and what maner of liberalitie dothe he vſe, if he giue the ſame away, and conſenteth to returne to that ſtate, the whiche he hath with ſo many troubles fled? Aſſuredly he doth a thing excéeding great and liberal. And this ſéemeth farre greater than the reſt,Olde folkes commonlye couerous. conſidering alſo of the age of the giuer, that was now olde: foraſmuche as auarice was wont to be continually of greter force in old men than in yong, whervpon I gather, that eche one of the two following, hath vſed a greater liberalitie than hath the firſt, ſo much commended by you, and the thirde far more than either of the others. In how much your reaſon mighte be well by any one defended, ſo well is the ſame defended by you (ſayde the Quéene) but we minde to ſhew vnto you briefly how our iudgement rather than yours ought to take place.The queenes ſolution to the fourthe queſtion. Ye wil ſay, that he ſhewed no Liberalitie at all, graunting the vſe of his wife to an other, bicauſe of reaſon it was conuenient through the othe made by the lady, that he ſhould ſo do, ye which ought to be in déede if the othe mighte holde. But the wife forſomuch as ſhe is a member of hir huſband, or rather one body with him, coulde not iuſtly make ſuch an oth without the will of hir huſbande: and yet if ſhe did make ſuche an othe, it was nothing, bicauſe the firſt oth lawfully made, could not with reaſon be derogate by any following, chiefly not by thoſe that are not duly made for a neceſſary cauſe. And the maner is in matrimonicall vnitings the man to ſweare to be content with the woman, and the woman with the man, and neuer to chaunge the one the other for an other. Now then, the woman can not ſweare, and if ſhe do ſweare (as we haue ſayde) ſhe ſweareth for a thing vnlawfull, and ſo contrary to the former othe, it ought not to preuayle, and not preuayling otherwiſe than for his pleaſure, he ought not to commit his wife to Tarolfo, and if he do commit hir to him, then is he liberall of his honour, and not Tarolfo, as you holde opinion. Neither could he be liberall of his othe in releaſing it, for as muche as the othe was nothing. Then onely remayned Tarolfo liberall of his wanton deſire: the which thing of proper duetie is conuenient for euery man to do, bicauſe we all through reaſon are bounde to baniſhe vyce, and to folow vertue. And who that doth that, whervnto he is of reſon bound, is (as ye haue ſayd) nothing at al liberal,Flee vice, and follow vertue. but that whiche is done more than duetie requireth, may well & iuſtly be termed liberalitie. But bicauſe you peraduenture with ſilence argue in your mind, what honour may that be of a chaſt woman to hir huſbande, which ought to be ſo deare: we wil prolong ſomewhat our talke in ſhewing you, to the ende that ye may the more clearely ſée, that Tarolfo and Thebane, of whom we intend next to ſpeak, vſed no liberalitie at all in reſpect of the knight. Ye ſhall know that chaſtitie togither with the other vertues,Chaſtitie a vertue moſt excellent. yeld none other rewarde to the poſſeſſours therof, than honour, the whiche honour among vertuous men, makes the leaſt vertuous, the moſt excellent. This honour if men with humilitie ſéeke to ſupport it, it maketh them friends to god, and ſo by conſequent to liue, and after death, to poſſeſſe the goods eternall:The ioy of a man is to haue a good wife. the whiche if the woman conſerueth for hir huſbande, he may liue merily, and certayne of his ofſpring, and frequent in open ſight among the people content to ſée hir for ſuche hir vertues honored among the moſt high and chiefeſt dames, and in his minde it is a manyfeſt token that ſhe is good, feareth God, and loueth him, whiche is no ſmall pleaſure, ſéeing ſhe is giuen him for an euerlaſting companion indiuiſible, ſauing by death: He through this obtayned fauour is ſéene continually to increaſe, bothe in ſpirituall and worldly wealth.The grief of a mā hauing an euil wife. And ſo on the contrary, he whoſe wife hath default of ſuche vertues, can neuer paſſe one hour with true conſolation, nothing is acceptable vnto him, and continually the one deſireth the death of the other, he perceiueth him ſelfe through this diſordred vyce to be caried in the mouthes of the verieſt miſers, neither ſéemeth it vnto him, that ſuch a fault ſhoulde not be beléeued, of whom ſoeuer it is hearde: And yf ſhe were largely endowed with all other vertues, yet this vyce ſéemeth to haue ſuch a force as to bring hir in contempt, and to vtter ruine. Then is this honour that maketh the woman bothe chaſte and good to hir huſbande, a moſt great gifte, and ſo is to be helde moſt dearely. Bleſſed may he be called to whō throgh grace is graunted ſuch a gifte, although we beléeue they are but few, towards whom is borne enuy for ſo great a benefite. But to returne to our purpoſe, it is to be ſéene how muche the knight did giue. It is not fled our memory when as ye ſaid, that Theban was of the reſt moſt liberall, who being with trouble enriched, hath not doubted to returne into the miſerie of poore eſtate, in giuing away that whiche he had gotten. It apparantly appeareth, that ye are euill acquaynted with pouertie, who if ſhe come vnto vs mery, ſurmounteth all richeſſe. Theban now peraduenture through the attayned wealth,The care which riches bring. felte him ſelfe replete of ſundry ſoure cares. He did now imagine, that it ſéemed Tarolfo to haue done very euill, and therfore would practiſe by murdring him, to recouer agayn his Caſtles. He abode in feare to be peraduenture betrayed of his tenaunts. He was entred into care touching the gouernement of his lands. He now knew all the prepared guiles to be done vnto his coparteners. He ſaw him ſelfe gretly enuied for his riches, and doubted leſt théeues ſhould ſecretly ſpoyle him therof. He was ſtuffed with ſo many ſuche and ſundry thoughts and cares, as all quietneſſe was fled from him. Through the whiche occaſions, calling to minde his former life, and that withoute ſo many cares he paſſed the ſame merily, ſayde to him ſelfe: I deſired to grow riche, to the ende to attayne quiet reſt, but I ſee it is the increaſer of troubles and cogitations: ſo is it the flier of quietneſſe: And therefore deſirous to be in his former eſtate, he rendred them all to him by whom they were giuen.Pouertie highly eſtemed in times paſt. Pouertie is the refuſed richeſſe, a goodneſſe vnknowen, a fire of prouocations, the which was of Diogenes fully vnderſtod. As muche ſuffiſeth pouertie, as Nature requireth. He liueth ſafe from euery diſceite that paciently approcheth therewith, neither is he diſabled to attayne to great honours, that (as we haue ſayde) vertuouſly liueth therwith: and therefore as Theban reiected this allurement he was not liberal, but wiſe. So gracious he was to Tarolfo, in that it pleaſed him to giue the ſame rather to him than to an other, whereas he mighte haue beſtowed the ſame vpon many others. Then to conclude, the Knighte was more liberall that graunted his honour, than any of the others: And thinke this one thing, that the honour he gaue was not to be agayne recouered, the whiche happeneth not in many other things, as of battayls, proweſſe, and others like: For if they are at one time loſt, they are recouered at an other, and the ſame is poſſible. Therefore this may ſuffiſe for anſwere vnto your demaund.

¶The fyfth Queſtion, propoſed by CLONICO.

AFter the Quéene became ſilent, and Menedon ſatiſfied, a worthy yong gentleman called Clonico, that ſat next to Menedon, thus began to ſay: Moſt mightie quéene, this Gentlewomans tale hath bene ſo excellent, and therwithall ſo long, as I in what I may, ſhall briefly ſhew vnto you this my conceipt, to the end the reſt may the better at their more leaſure ſay theirs. Then for as much as I, although very yong, know the life of the ſubiects of our lorde Loue, to be replete with many cares and ſundry pining prouocations, yet with ſmal delight I haue long time as I was able, fled the like, rather eſchuing than commending them which follow him: And although I was ſundry times tempted, yet with a valiaunt minde leauing the pitched ſnares I alwayes reſiſted: But bicauſe I being not ſtrong enough, could no ways reſiſt that force, whervnto Phoebu was vnable to gainſtande, Cupide hauing taken heart to bring me into the number of his thrals, was taken before I knew how. For one day being allured abroade thorow the freſh renued time, walking all merry, and for my delight gathering of ſhel fiſh vpon the ſalt ſea bankes, it happened as I turned mine eyes towards the glittering waues, I ſodenly ſaw a little Barke comming towardes me,Foure yong damſels to a barke vpon the ſea. wherein, with one onely mariner, were foure yong Gentlewomen, ſo faire, as it was a maruellous thing to beholde the beautie they ſéemed to haue. They now béeing approched ſomewhat néere vnto me, and I not hauing as yet turned mine eye frō them, ſaw in the middeſt of them an excéeding great light, wherin, as my eſtimation gaue me, me thought I ſaw the figure of an Angell, very yong, and ſo faire, as I neuer behelde thing more fairer:Clonico at taynted of Loue. whō as I thus eyed, me thought he ſayde vnto me with a voyce farre diſcrepant from ours: O yong foole, perſecuter of our power (and being therwith arriued) I am come hither with foure yong damſels, let thy eye make choyſe of hir for thy maiſtreſſe, that beſt liketh thée. I when I heard this voyce, abode all appalled, and deuiſed both with eye and heart to auoyde that which heretofore I had many times fled: but al was booteleſſe, for the ſtrength of my legges fayled me, and byſide, he had bow and wings to ouertake me quickly: wherevppon I in gazing among them, eſpied one ſo faire, ſo benigne of cheare, and ſo piteous of ſemblaunce, as I imagined to make choyſe of hir, as of a ſinguler maiſtreſſe, ſaying to my ſelf: This damſell preſenteth hir ſelfe ſo humble to my eyes, as aſſuredly ſhe wil neuer become enemy to my deſires, as many others haue ben to them, whō I haue in beholding ful of troubles always ſcorned, but ſhe ſhall rather be a chaſer away of my annoys: and hauing thus thought, I forth with anſwered: The gracious beautie of that yong damſel, that (O my lord) ſitteth on your right hand, makes me me deſire to be both to you and hir, a moſt faithfull ſeruant. I am therfore redy to obey your will, do with me as ſhall beſt like you. I had not ended my tale, but that I felt my lefte ſide wounded with a ſhining ſhafte ſhot from the bow which he bare,The .ij. ſhafts of loue are different. as me thought ye ſame was of gold. And aſſuredly, I ſaw him as he turned towards hir, to ſtrike hir with an other of leade. And thus I being in this ſort taken, abode in the ſnares I had of long time fled. This yong damſel hath & doth ſo much content mine eye, as all other pleſure is very ſcarce in cōpariſon of this. Which ſhe eſpying, of lōg time ſhewed hir ſelf contēt: but after that ſhe knew me to be ſo taken with this delight, as not to loue hir was a thing impoſſible, incontinent ſhe diſcouered hir guile towards me, with an vndeſerued diſdayne, ſhewing hir ſelfe in apparance a moſt cruel enemie, always turning hir eye the contrary way, as ſhe happened to eſpye me and with words, on my parte vndeſerued, alwayes diſprayſing me, by occaſion wherof, I haue in ſundry ſortes endeuoured my ſelfe both with prayers and humilitie to appeaſe hir crueltie: but being vnable, I oftentimes bewéepe and lament this my hard fortune,Clonico an vnbeloued louer. neither can I any wayes withdraw me from louing hir, but rather how much the more I finde hir cruell, ſo muche the more me thinketh the flame of hir pleaſure doth ſet my ſorowful heart on fire. As I through theſe occaſions, one day being all ſolitarie in a garden, bewayled my hap with infinite ſighes, accompanied with many teares, there came vpon me a ſinguler friend of mine, to whō part of my griefs were diſcouered, who with pitifull words began to comfort me the beſt he could, but I giuing thervnto no eare at all, anſwered him, that my miſery excéeded all others. Whervnto he made me this anſwere: A man is ſo much the more miſerable (ſaid he) as he either maketh or reputeth himſelfe a miſer: but aſſured I haue greater cauſe to lament than haſt thou. I then at angry turned towards him with a diſdainful loke, ſaying: And how? who can haue greater cauſe than I? Do not I for good ſeruice receiue euil recompence? Is not my faithfull loue rewarded with hatred? So that any may be as ſorowful as I, but more he can not be.A louer infected vvith iealouſie reciteth to Clonico the good entertainment of his Lady. Truely ſayde my friend) I haue greater cauſe of grief than haſt thou, and heare how. It is not vnknowen to thee, but that I haue of long time, and yet vs loue a Gentlewoman as thou knoweſt: neither was ther euer any thing that I thought mighte pleaſure hir, whiche I gaue not my ſelfe with all my witte and power to bring to effecte. And truely when ſhe vnderſtoode the ſumme of that I deſired, ſhe made me a gracious gifte, the which as I had receiued, and receiuing it at what time it pleaſed me, me thought none by a great way to haue a life comparable to myne in gladneſſe: only one thing pricked me, that I could not make hir beleue how perfectly I loued hir. Further than this, ſhe perceiuing me to loue hir (as I ſaid) paſſed lightly for me. But the gods that will graunt no worldly good turne without ſome bitternes,A godly ſentence. to the ende that the heuenly may be the better knowen, & by conſequent the more deſired, to this they gaue me an other corſey without cōpariſon noiſome, that is, that it hapned one day, as I abode with hir al alone, in a ſecret place, ſeing (without being againe ſene) who paſſed by, eſpied a proper yong man, & of a pleaſant coūtenance to come along by vs, whom ſhe behelde as I perceiued, with a fixed eye, and being paſt, ſhe fette a pityfull ſighe, the whiche I eſpying, ſayde: Alas, do you ſo ſoone repent, as that ye now ſighe for the loue of an other? She, whoſe face was throughe this occaſion paynted with a new rudde, ſwearing by the power of the high gods, beganne with many excuſes to endeuor hir ſelfe to make me beléeue the contrary of that which I had conceiued through the ſighe, but all was to no purpoſe, bicauſe ſhe kindled my hert with an anger ſo excéeding fierce, as ſhe made me then almoſt ready to chide with hir, but yet I withhelde me therefrom: And certainly it will neuer out of my mynde, but that ſhe loueth him or ſome other better than me: and all thoſe perſwaſions, the whiche at other times heretofore ſhe vſed for my helpe, that was, that ſhe loued me better than ſhe did any other, I now eſteme them all in contrary, imagining that ſhe hath fainedly ſayd, & done al that ſhe hath heretofore wrought, whereby I endure intollerable griefe, neither dothe any comfort at all preuayle therein: but bicauſe ſhame oftentimes doth bridle the will, I haue rather to ſorrowe me than glad me, I doe not continue my bitter grief, ſo as I make any apparaunce therof: but brieflye I am neuer withoute cares and cogitations, the whiche bring me far greater annoy than I willingly would. Learne then to beare the leſſe griefs, ſince thou ſéeſt the greteſt with a valiaunt minde borne of me. To whom I anſwered, that as it ſéemed to me, his grief although it wer gret, was no ways to be compared to mine. He anſwered me the contrary, and thus we abode in a long contention, and in the end parted without any diffinition. Wherefore I pray you yt you wil ſay your iudgement hereof.The queenes iudgement vppon the fifte queſtion. Yong Gentleman, ſayde the Quéene, great is that payne of yours, and great wrong doth the damſell committe in not louing you. But yet at all times your griefe may by hope be eaſed, the whiche happeneth not to your companion, bicauſe that ſince he is once entred in ſuſpecte, nothing is able to draw it away. Therfore continually whileſt loue laſteth, he ſoroweth without comfort: So that in our iudgement greater ſéemeth the griefe of the iealous, than that of the vnloued louer.The contrary opinion of Clonico. Then ſayde Clonico: Oh noble queene, ſince you ſay ſo, it playnly appeareth that you haue always ben loued agayne, of him whom you haue loued, by occaſion whereof, ye hardely know what my payne is. How may it appeare that iealouſie bringeth greater griefe than is that I feele, forſomuche as the iealous poſſeſſeth that he deſireth, and may in holding the ſame, take more delight thereof in one houre, than in a long time after to feele any payne through want thereof: and neuertheleſſe he may (through experience) abandon ſuch iealouſie, if it happen that this iudgement be found falſe: but I being kindled wt a fiery deſire, howe much the more I ſée my ſelfe farre off from the attaining the ſame, ſo muche the more I burne and conſume my ſelfe aſſaulted of a thouſand inſtigations, neither is any experiēce able to help me therin, bicauſe thorow the often reprouing hir, and finding hir euery houre more ſharpe, I liue deſperate. Wherefore your anſwer ſéemeth contrary to the truthe, bicauſe I doubt not but that it is muche better to holde with ſuſpition, than to deſire wyth teares. That amorous flame that dothe ſhine in our eyes, and that euery houre dothe adorne our ſight with the greater beautie,The Queene replieth. doeth neuer conſent (replied the Quéene) that we loue in vain, as you affirme: but for all that it is not vnknown to vs, howe great and what manner of paine that is, bothe of the one and the other: and therfore as our anſwere hath bene confirmable to the truth, one thing we will ſhew to you. It is manifeſt that thoſe things which moſte doe hinder the quiet of the minde, are cares, the which are ſome of them come to a merrie ende, ſo ſome we ſée to end with great ſorow, wherof, how much more the mind is repleat, ſo much the more hath it of gréefe, and chieflieſt, when as the ſame are noiſome: and that ye iealous haue more ſtore therof thā haue you, is manifeſt, bicauſe you héede nothing elſe but only to gette the good will of the dāſel whom ye loue, the which not being able to attaine, is to you a gréefe moſt gréeuous: but yet it is certaine, that it may eaſly come to paſſe to attaine the ſame at one inſtant, not thinking therof (forſomuch as womens heartes are inconſtant) biſides peraduē ture ſhe loueth you not withſtanding (to proue if you alſo loue hir) ſhée ſheweth the contrary, and ſo perhappes wil ſhew vntil ſuch time as ſhe ſhalbe wel aſſured of your loue, ſo that with theſe thoughts, hope can mitigate vnfained gréefe: but the iealous hath his minde ful fraught of infinite eares, againſt the which neither hope nor other delight can bring cōfort, or eaſe the paine.The effectes of iealouſie. For he ſtandeth intentiue to giue a law to the wandring eyes, the which his poſſeſſor can not giue. He wil and doth endeuour hymſelfe to giue a law to the féete, to the hands, and to euery other acte of his Miſtreſſe. He will be a circūſpect knower both of hir thoughtes, & of hir myrth, interpreting euery thing in euil part towardes himſelf, belèeuing that eche one deſireth and loueth hir whome hée loueth. Likewiſe he imagineth euery woord that ſhée ſpeaketh to be twaine, and full of diſceit. And if he euer committed any detraction towardes hir, it is death to him to remembre it, imagining to be by the like means deceiued. He wil with coniectures ſhut vp the wayes of the aire, and of the earthe. And briefly the heauens, the earthe, birdes, beaſtes, and euery other creature that he thinketh doth hinder his deuiſes. And to remoue him from this, hope hathe no place, bicauſe in this doing, if he find the woman faithful, he thinketh that ſhée eſpyeth that which he doth, and is therfore héedefull therein. If he findeth that he ſéeketh for, and that he would not finds, who is more dolorous than hée? If peraduenture ye thinke that the imbracing hir in his armes be ſo great a delighte vnto him as ſhuld mitigate theſe pangs, your iudgemēt is then falſe, bicauſe ſuch manner of colling bringeth him in choller, in thinking that others as wel as he hath imbraced hir in the like ſort: and if the woman peraduenture doe louingly entertaine him, he demeth that ſhée doth it to the ende to remoue him from ſuche his imaginations, & not for the true loue ſhée beareth him. If he finde hir maliciouſly diſpoſed, he thynketh that ſhée then loueth an other, and is not content with him. And thus we can ſhewe you an infinite numbre of other ſuſpitions & cares that are harbored in a iealous perſone. What ſhall we then ſay of his lyfe, but that it is farre more gréeuous than that of any other liuing creature?The miſerie of a iealous life. He lyueth beléeuing, and not beléeuing, and ſtil alluring the woman: and moſte tymes it hapneth, that theſe iealous perſons doe end their liues thorow the ſelf ſame malice, wherof they liue fearful, & not without cauſe, for that with their reprehenſions, they ſhewe the way to theyr owne harmes.The concluſion of the Queene vpon the fift queſtion. Conſidering then the aforeſayd reaſons, more cauſe hath your frend that is iealous to ſorrow, than haue you, bicauſe you may hope to get, and he liueth in feare to loſe that which he ſcarſly holdeth for his own. And therfore if he haue more cauſe of gréefe than you, & yet comforts him ſelfe the beſt he cā, much more ought you to comfort your ſelf, and to ſet aſide bewailings that are méete for faint heartes: and hope, that the aſſured loue which you beare towardes your Ladie, ſhall not loſe his due deſert: For though ſhe ſhew hir ſelfe ſharp towardes you at this preſent, it can not be but that ſhee loueth you, bicauſe that loue neuer pardoned any loued to loue: and ye ſhal know, that with the fierce vehement windes, are ſooner broken the ſtubburne Okes, than the conſenting réedes.

The ſixt Queſtion, propoſed by a yong Gentlevvoman.

NExt vnto Clonico ſate a faire Gentlewoman apparelled in black veſture vnder an honeſt veyle, who as ſhe perceiued the Quéen to haue made an end of hir wordes, thus began to ſay: Moſte gracious Quéene I remembre, that being a little girle, howe one day I with my brother, who was a propre yong man and of ripe yeres, abode all alone in a garden, without other company: and in tarying there together, it happened that two yonge Damſelles of noble bloud,Tvvo dāſels amorous of a gentleman he not knovving thereof: and that vvhich happened. abounding in riches, and borne in this our Citie, who loued this my Brother very well, and perceiuyng him to be in the ſayde Garden, came thyther, and began a farre off to beholde hym that was altogether ignoraunt of theyr purpoſe. And after a while, ſéeing him al alone, ſauing for me of whome they reckened not, bicauſe I was but a little one, thus the one began to ſay to the other. We loue this yong Gentleman aboue all others, neither do knowe whether he loueth vs or no, yet is it méete that he loue vs bothe: ſo that nowe it is léefull for vs to ſatiſfie our deſire: and to knowe whether he loue eyther of vs, or whether of vs he beſt loueth, to the ende that ſhée, whom he ſhal beſt like of, may after remaine his, without being hindred of the other: wherfore ſince he is all alone, and that we haue a méet time offred, let vs runne vnto him, and eche one imbrace and kiſſe hym, that done, he ſhall take whether of vs beſt pleaſeth him. Theſe two yong gentlewomen being thus determined vpon this reſolution, began to run their race towardes my ſayd brother. Whereat he maruelled greatly, eſpying them, and ſeing in what ſort they came: but the one of them or euer ſhée came at vs, by a good way, ſtayed all bathful, and almoſt wéeping ripe: the other runne thorowe, and came vnto him, whom ſhe imbraced and kiſſed, and ſo ſate hir downe by him, recommending hir ſelfe vnto him. And he, after y• admiration conceiued of hir boldneſſe, was ſomewhat ceaſſed, prayed hir as euer ſhée loued him, to tell him truely what moued them thus to do? Shée concealed nothing from him, the which hée hearing, & examining wel in his mind yt which ye one & other had done, knew not how to perſuade himſelf, whether of thē beſt loued hym, neither yet whether of them he might beſt loue. And ſo hapning at that time to depart from them, he after prayed counſel of many of his frends touching this matter: neither hath any one euer ſatiſfied his deſire touching that demaunde. For the which cauſe (I pray you) from whome I aſſuredly beleeue to haue a true definition of this my queſtion, that ye will tell me whether of theſe two damſels ought ſooneſt to be leued of the yonge man.The anſvver of the Quene To this Gentlewoman the Quéene thus made anſwer: Truely of the two yong womē, ſhée as it ſéemeth loued your brother beſt, & ſooneſt ought to be loued of him again, that doubting) baſhfully abode without imbracing him, & why I thus thinke, this is the reaſon: loue (as we know) maketh thoſe alwais fearful in whom he doth abide:Loue is accompanyed vvith feare. and wher he is of greateſt force, there is like wiſe the greateſt feare: and this hapneth, bicauſe the intent or conſent of the perſon loued can not be fully knowne. And if it could be knowne, many things ſhoulde be done, that in fearing to offend are left vndone, bicauſe the one knoweth that in diſpleaſing, is taken away euery occaſion to be loued: And with this feare and loue, ſhamefaſtneſſe is alwayes accompanied, & not without reaſon. Returning then to our queſtion. We ſay, yt it was an act of one vnfainedly enamored, that of the Gentlewomans, wherby ſhée ſhewed hir ſelfe both fearfull and baſhfull: And that of the other, was rather ye part of one both loud & licencious. And therefore he being of hir beſt beloued, ought the rather (according to our iudgement) to loue hir beſt. Thē anſwered the gentlewoman: Moſt curteous Quéene,The Gentlevvoman replyeth to the Queene. it is true, that where loue abideth with moderation, there feare and baſhfulneſſe dothe altogether frequent, but where he doth abound in ſuche quantitie as he taketh away the ſight from the moſt wiſe (as is alredy ſaid) I ſay, that feare hathe there no place, but that the motions of him yt feeleth the ſame, are according to him that vrgeth them forwards, & therfore that Gentlewoman ſéeing hir deſire before hir eyes, was ſo hotly kindled, as all ſhamfaſtneſſe abandoned, ſhée ranne ſtraight to him, by whom ſhe was ſo vehemently pricked forwards, as till then vnable to abide. The other not ſo muche inflamed, obſerued the amerous termes, being baſhfull and remaining behind, as you ſay. So that then ſhée that ran, loued moſt, and moſt ought to be loued again. Diſcrete gentlewomā (ſaid the Queene) true it is,The Queene to the Gentlevvoman maketh anſvver. yt exceſſiue loue taketh away the ſight, & euery other due perſeuerāce in things that are ought of his nature, but not in thoſe that belong vnto hym, the which as he increaſeth, ſo grow they. Then how greater quantitie of Loue is found in any one, ſo much the more fear (as we ſaid at the firſt) is there alſo foūd. And that this is true, the cruell heart of Biblis dothe manifeſt the ſame vnto vs,Biblis: who howe much ſhée loued, was ſéene by the ſequele therof. For ſhée ſéeing hir ſelf abandoned and refuſed, had not the audacitie to diſcouer hir ſelfe with hir propre wordes, but wryting ſhée diſcloſed hir vnfitting deſire.Phedra and Hippolito. Likewiſe Phedra many times gaue the attempt to goe to Hippolito, to whom ſhée thought boldly to ſpeake, and to tel how much ſhe loued him: but the wordes ſhée had to vtter, no ſooner came into hir mouthe, but they ſtayed vpon hir tong and there died. Oh how fearfull is the perſone that loueth? Who hath ben more mighty than Alcides, Alcides to whome ſatiſfied not the victorie of humain things, but alſo he gaue himſelf to beare vp the heauens, and not wythſtanding was laſtly ſo enamoured, not of a womā, but of a yong wench, a ſlaue, which he had gained, as fearing hir cō maundements, did like an hūble ſubiect or ſeruaunt, euen the very baſeſt things. Alſo Paris in what he durſt not attempt neither with eye nor tong,Paris. with his finger in the preſence of his loue, wryting firſt hir name with wine that had bene ſpilt, wrote after, I loue thée. How farre paſſing all theſe doth Paſiphe Paſiphe bring vs a due example of feare, the which without any reaſonable intendemēt, yea & without vnderſtanding, durſt not ſo much as expreſſe hir deſire to a beaſt, but wt hir propre handes, gathering the ſoft graſſe, endeuored hir ſelf to make him benigne vnto hir, oftētimes decking hir ſelf at the glaſſe for to pleſe him, & to kindle him in the like deſire yt ſhe was in, to the end he might attempt to ſéeke that which ſhée durſt not demaund. It is not méete for a womā enamored,Shame preſcribeth the honoure of Ladyes. neither for any other, to be prompt and ready, foraſmuch as y• great ſhame faſtneſſe onely which ought to be in vs, doth remaine as the guarder of our honor. We haue the voyce among men, (and the trouth is ſo) to know better how to hide the amorous flame than they doe, & nothing elſe engendreth this in vs, but the great feare, the which doth rather occupie our forces than thoſe of men. How many hath there ben of them (& peraduenture we haue known ſome) which many times haue cauſed themſelues, to haue bene bidden, to the ende therby they might haue atchéeued to the amorous effectes, the which willingly would rather haue bidden the bidder, before he them, if due baſhfulneſſe and fear had not detained them: and not only yt, but euery time that No is ſcaped theyr mouth, they haue had in theyr mindes a thouſand repentings, ſaying from theyr hearts a thouſand times Yea. There remaineth then the like ſcelerate fire on ye behalfe of Semiramis, and Cleopatra, Semiramis & Cleopatra. the which loued not, but ſought to quiet the rage of their wanton willes, & the ſame being quieted, they after remēbred not them ſelues the one of the other. Wiſe marchaunts vnwillingly do aduenture at one time all their treaſures to the hazarde of Fortune, and yet notwithſtanding, they care not to graunt hir ſome ſmall portion, the which if they happen to loſe, yet do they féele no gréefe of mind at all for the ſame. The yong woman therfore that embraced your brother,The concluſion of the Quene vpon the ſixt queſtion. loued him but a little, & that little ſhe committed to Fortune, ſaying: This gentleman if I may héereby get him, it is wel: but if he refuſe me, there ſhalbe no more but lette him take an other. The other that abode all baſhfull, foraſmuch as ſhe loued him aboue all others, ſhee doubted to put ſo great loue in aduenture, imagining leaſt thys peraduenture ſhould diſpleaſe hir, and he ſo refuſe hir, that hir gréefe ſhould be then ſuche and ſo much, as ſhe ſhould die therof. Let therfore the ſecond be loued before the firſt.

The ſeuenth Queſtion, propoſed by GALEONE.

A Cleare Sunne beam • piercing thorow amōgſt the gréene leaues, did ſtrike vpon the aforeſaid Fountaine, and dyd rebound the light therof vpon the fair face of the adorned Quéene, who was therby apparelled with that colour, wherof the heauens maketh ſhewe, when as bothe the children of Latona (from vs hidden) with their ſtarres onely giueth vs light: and beſides the ſplendoure it brought to hir face, it did ſo lighten the place, as among the freſh ſhade it yelded a maruellous luſter to the whole company. Further what time the reflected raye did extend euen to that place wher the Laurel crowne on hir head on the one ſide, and the golden treſſes on the other, dyd determine: It ſo entermingled there amōg with twinings not artificiall, as at the firſt fight one wold haue ſayd, that there had iſſued forth among the gréene leaues a cleare flame of a burning fire, whych did ſpread in ſuch ſort, as the aburn hairs were eaſily ſéene to the flanders about. Galeone that was peraduēture ſooner or better awares of this maruellous ſight than any of the reſt (being ſet in circle ouer agaynſt the Queene deuided only wt the water) did very intentiuely beholde the ſame almoſte as though he cared for nothing elſe: ſo yt he moued not his mouthe to the queſtion yt was nowe come to his turne: To whom the Quéene therefore (hauing now both kept ſilēce a good ſpace, as eke contēted the wittie gentlewoman) thus ſayd: The only deſire peraduēture of the thing which thou beholdeſt, ſtayeth thée: Tel what is the occaſion yt holdeth thée thus appalled, as in folowing the order of the reſt thou ſpekeſt not? It is only (as we beleue) the gazing at our hed, as if ye had neuer ſéen ye ſame before: Tell vs firſt, & after as the other haue propounded, euen ſo propoūd you. At this ſodaine voice Galeone lift vp his mind replete with ſwéet thoughts, ſomwhat comming to him ſelf, at what time he is wont to doe, that thorow a ſodaine fear doth breake his golden ſléepe, & thus ſayd: Moſt noble & renoumed Quéene, whoſe worthyneſſe it ſhoulde be impoſſible for me to declare, my mind was ſo wrapped in gracious thoughts (when as I did ſo firmly loke at your hed) as in beholding the bright ray, ſtreming into the freſh fountaine, and rebounding vpō your face, me thought there iſſued forthe of the water, a little ſprite ſo gentle and gracious to ſée vnto, as he plucked my minde backe, to beholde that whych he did, & perceiuing peraduenture, my eyes altogither inſufficient to behold ſo great a ioy, he mounted by the cleare ray into your eyes, & there for a good ſpace made maruellous myrth, adorning the ſame with a new cleareneſſe: And after moū ting more high, I ſawe how he aſcended by this light (leauing his footeſteppes in your eyes) vpon your crown, wheras he together with the ray, kindled (as it ſéemed vnto me) a new flame, ſuch a one as was of yore ſéene by Tanaquil, to apéere to Seruius Tullus a little boy whileſt he ſlept, and ſo wēt about your crowne, leaping from ſprigge to ſprigge, like a little amorous birde, that finging dothe viſite many leaues, mouing your hearte with ſundry ieſtures, ſometimes wrapping & hiding himſelfe therin, being more merrier euery time he came forth thereof, and therewith (as it ſeemed vnto me) ſo iocunde in him ſelfe, as nothing more, and that ſinging, or with a ſwéete voyce he vttered theſe words:

Of the third rolling Skie, the benigne babe deuine I am, enamoured ſo, to neast in theſe two eyne, That doubtleſſe dye I ſhould, were I of mortal routs From twig to twig I twine to feede this my delight. Theſe golden Treſſes whirling in and out: My ſelfe, inflaming my ſelfe, right So as with flame I ſhew, theffect, the potent might, Of my darts deuine, piercing where I goe, Eche one wounding, that with ſweete ſight, Doth gaze hir in the eyes: wheras eche houre loe, If ſuche hir pleaſure be, I there diſcend adowne, For of my kingdomes ſhe, quene is of great renowne.

And herewith he ſayde muche more, going about as at what time ye called me, and ye had no ſooner ſpoken, but that he ſodenly retired into your eyes, the whiche ſparkling like to the morning ſtarre gaue a new light that made al the place to ſhine: ye haue now heard with what ioy new thoughts haue ſtayed me for a time. Philocopo and the reſt maruelled not a litle hereat, and turning their eyes towards their Quéene, ſaw that, whiche to heare ſéemed to them impoſſible. And ſhe that was attyred with humility, liſtued to the words that were truely reported of hir, and abode with a ſtable countenaunce, making no anſwere at all. And therefore Galeone ſpeaking in this wiſe, followed with his queſtion: Moſt gracious Quéene, I deſire to know whether a man ought to be enamoured for his delyght or no? And to demaunde this, many things moue me, both ſéene, heard, and helde, through the ſundry opinions of many. The Quéene beheld Galeone a good while in the face, and afterwards, after a certayne ſigh, thus made anſwere. It is conuenient we ſpeake agaynſt that which with deſire we ſéeke to follow. And truely that which you in aſking, do propounde in doubt, ought to be manifeſt vnto you. In anſwering you therfore there ſhalbe kept the begon order. And he whoſe ſubiects we are, pardon vs the words, that we, as cōſt rained through force of Iudgement, ſhall (more ſooner than willing) ſay againſt his diuine maieſtie, leaſt thereby his indignation do fall vpon vs. And you that likewiſe as well as we are his ſubiect, with a bolde minde giue eare vnto them, neither do you for all that chaunge your purpoſe at all. And to the ende that ſo much the better, and with a more apparant intendment our words may be receiued, we wil ſomwhat digreſſe frō our matter, returning againe therevnto as briefly as poſſible we may, and thus we ſay: Loue is of thrée ſorts, thorow which three al other things are loued, ſome thorow the vertue of one, & ſome throw the power of an other, according as is the thing loued, and likewiſe the louer: The firſt of the which .iij. is called honeſt loue: This is the good, vpright, & loyall loue, the which of all perſons ought to be receiued: This, the high & firſt creator holdeth, linked to his creatures, & them h • tieth therwith vnto him. Through this, the heauens, the world, realmes, prouinces, and cities do remaine in their ſtate: thorow this we do merite to be eternall poſſeſſors of the celeſtiall kingdome: and without this is loſt al that we haue in power of well doing. The ſeconde is called loue for delight: And this is he, whoſe ſubiectes we are: This is our god, him we do worſhip, him we do pray vnto, in him do we truſt, that he may be our contentation, and that he may fully bring our deſire to paſſe: Of this is put the queſtion, whervnto we ſhall duely anſwere. The thirde is loue for vtilitie, of this loue the worlde is repleniſhed more than of any of the other thinges. This is coupled with Fortune, whileſt ſhe tarieth, he likewiſe abideth: but if they parte, he is then the waſter of many goods. And to ſpeake reaſonably, he oughte to be déemed rather hate than loue. Now as touching the propounded queſtion, we néede to ſpeake neither of the firſt, nor of the laſt: we will ſpeake of the ſecond, that is, of loue for delight, to whom truely, no perſon that deſireth to leade a vertuous life, oughte to ſubmit him ſelfe, bicauſe he is the depriuer of honours, the bringer of troubles, the reueler of vices, the copious giuer of vaine cares, and the vnworthy occupier of the libertie of others, a thing aboue al things to be helde moſt deare. What is he then regarding his own wealth (being wiſe) that will not flée ſuche a gouernment? Let him that may, liue frée, following thoſe things that doe euery way increaſe his liberty, and let vicious gouernours gouerne vicious vaſſals. I did not thinke, ſayde Galeone then, to giue occaſion through theſe my words to the leſſening of this our diſport, nor to diſquiet the regiment of our lorde loue, neither yet to trouble the minds of any others, but did rather imagine (you defining it according to the intente of me & many others) that ye might therby confirme thoſe that are his ſubiects with a valiaunt minde, and inuite thoſe whiche are not, with a gréedy appetite: but I ſée that your intent is all contrary to mine, bicauſe you with your words do ſhew to be thrée ſortes of loue, of the which thrée, the firſt and the laſt I conſent they be as you ſay. But the ſecond, whiche anſwereth to my demaunde, ye ſay it is as muche to be fled, as I holde opinion, it is (as the increaſer of vertue) to be folowed of him that deſireth a glorious end, as I beleue to make apparant vnto you by this that followeth. This Loue, of whom we reaſon (as it may be manyfeſt to all the worlde, bicauſe we proue it) doth worke this propertie in humayne hearts, that after that it hath diſpoſed the mind to a thing which pleaſeth, it ſpoyleth the ſame of all pride and of al fierceneſſe, making them humble in eche doing, as it is manyfeſt vnto vs by Mars, whome we finde, that in louing Venus, became of a fierce and ſharpe Duke in battayle, a moſte humble and pleaſaunt Louer. It makes the gréedie and couetous, liberall and curteous. Medea the moſt carefull hider of hir arte, after ſhe felte his flames, liberally yelded hir ſelf, hir honour, and hir arts to Iaſon. Who makes men more diligent to high attempts than he? And what he can do, behold by Paris and Menelaus. Who furthereth forwarde the angry fiers more than doth he? He ſheweth vs how oftentimes the anger of Achilles was quieted thorowe the ſwéete prayer of Polixena.

He aboue all others maketh men couragious and ſtrong. Neither know I what greater example may be giuen vs, than that of Perſeus, who for Andromaca made a maruellous proofe of his vertuous force. He decketh all them that are by him aparelled, with excellent qualities, with ornate talke, with magnificence, and with pleaſantneſſe. He I ſay beſtoweth vpon al his ſubiects fineneſſe and gentleneſſe. Oh how many are the good things whiche procéede from him? Who moued Virgill? who Ouid? who the other Poets to leaue of them ſelues eternall fame in thoſe their holy verſes, the which (if he had not ben) ſhold neuer haue comen to our eares, but he? What ſhall we ſay further of his vertues? but that he was able to giue ſuche a ſwéeteneſſe to Orpheus harpe, as after that he had called to that ſounde all the woods, ſtanders about, and made the running ſtreames to ſtay, & to come into his preſence in milde peace the fierce Lions togithers, with the faint hearted Hartes, and all other beaſts: he made likewiſe the infernal furies quiet, & gaue reſt, and ſwéeteneſſe to the troubled ſoules, and after all this the ſound was of ſuch vertue, as he attayned to haue agayne his loſt wiſe. Then is he not the chaſer away of honour as you ſay, neither the giuer of vnſitting troubles, nor the prouoker of vices, nor the diſpoſer of vayn cares, nor the vnworthy vſer of the libertie of others. So that euery one of whom he maketh none accompt, and is not as yet his ſeruaunt, ought with all their wit and diligence, to endeuour and to occupie them ſelues in the attayning the fauour of ſuche a Lorde, and to become his ſubiect, ſince throw him he becometh vertuous. That which pleaſeth the Gods, and men of greateſt ſtrength, ought likewiſe to pleaſe vs. Let ſuche a Lorde therfore be loued, ſerued, and liue alwayes in our minds. Greatly deceyueth thée thine opinion, ſayd the quéene, and it is no maruell, bicauſe as farre as we vnderſtande, thou art ſo farre enamoured, as none the like, and without doubt the iudgement of the enamoured is méerely falſe, bicauſe as they haue loſt the ſight of the eyes of their minde, ſo haue they baniſhed reaſon as their vtter enemie. And for this cauſe it ſhall be conuenient, that we agaynſt our will ſpeake of loue, the whiche gréeueth vs, ſince we be his ſubiects. But yet to pluck thée from thine error, we ſhall turne our ſilence to a true report, and wil therfore that thou know, that this loue is nothing elſe, than an vnreaſonable will ſprong of a paſſion entered the heart through a wanton pleaſure, that is opened to the eyes, nouriſhed with idleneſſe, by the memorie and thoughts of fooliſh minds: and many times in how much it multiplieth, ſo much it taketh away the intent of him in whom it abideth, from things neceſſarie, and diſpoſeth the ſame to things vnprofitable. But bicauſe that thou through example giuing doſt endeuour thy ſelfe to ſhew, that all goodneſſe and all vertue doth procéede from him, we will procéede to the diſprofes of thy prooufes. It is no part of humilitie vniuſtly to bring to a mans ſelfe, that whiche belongeth to an other, but rather an arrogancie and an vnſitting preſumption: The whiche thing Mars (whome thou makeſt throughe loue to become humble) aſſuredly vſed in taking away from Vulcan, Venus his moſte lawfull wife. And without doubt this humilitie that appeareth in the face of louers doth not procéede of a benigne heart, but taketh roote from guile and deceipt, neither makes this loue the couetous liberal, but when as ſuch abundance as thou laieſt to haue ben in Medea, doth abound in the heart, and doth depriue the ſame of the ſight of the minde, and moſt fooliſhly is become prodigall of things heretofore duly eſtemed deare, and not giuing the ſame with meaſure, but vnprofitably caſting them away, beléeueth to pleaſe, and diſpleaſeth. Medea nothing wiſe of hir prodigalitie, in ſhort time repented very muche without vtilitie, and knew that if ſhe had modeſtly vſed thoſe hir dere gifts, ſhe ſhould not haue comen to ſo vile an ende. And that ſoliciting that purchaſeth or worketh hurt to the ſoliciters, as it ſeemeth to vs, ought not any ways to be ſought for: for muſt better it is to ſtand idle, than worke harme, although that neither the one nor the other is to be prayſed. Paris was a ſolicitour to his own deſtruction, if he beheld the end of his ſoliciting. Menelaus as reſon was, became diligent, not for loue, but to recouer his honor loſt, as eche diſcrete perſon ought to doe. Neither yet is this loue a meane to mitigate anger, but the benignitie of minde, the brunt being paſte that induceth it, makes it to become nothing, and remitteth the offence agaynſt whom it is angry. And yet louers and diſcrete perſons were wont at the prayers of the perſon loued, or of ſome friend to forgiue offences, to ſhew them ſelues curteous of that which coſt thē nothing, and to make the crauers thereof beholding vnto them. And in this ſort Achilles, many times ſhewed himſelfe to expell from him this congeled anger. Likewiſe it ſéemes that this makes men couragious and worthy: But therof I can ſhew you the contrary. Who was a man of greater valour than Hercules, and yet béeing enamoured, became vile & forgetful of his force, ſo that he did ſpin thréede with the women of Iole? Aſſuredly in things, wherein occurreth no daunger, a moſt hardy people are the enamoured, and wherin daunger hapneth, they ſhew themſelues in apparaunce hardie, and put themſelues forwarde, neither dothe loue, but little wit allure them ſo to do, to the ende they may after haue glory in the ſight of their loues, although it hapneth very ſeldome, bicauſe they doubt ſo much the loſing of the perſon loued, that they are rather content to be helde vyle and of little courage, than to giue themſelues to perill. And yet we doubt not, but this loue repoſeth all ſwéeteneſſe in Orpheus harpe. We agrée that it is true that thou haſt ſhewed, that truly in generall loue ladeth the tongs of his ſubiects with ſuch a ſwéeteneſſe, and with ſo many enticements, as they many tymes would therby make the ſtones turne vp ſide downe, ſo that to entice is not onely the propertie of wauering and inconſtant men, but of vile men. How ſhal we ſay, that ſuche a lorde ought to be followed, throughe the good propertie of the follower? Aſſuredly he (in whom he abideth) maketh wiſe and profitable counſels to be deſpiſed. For it was euill with the Troians that thoſe of Caſſandra, were not heard of Paris. He maketh likewiſe his ſubiects to forget and deſpiſe their good fame, the which ought to remayne to vs all on earth after our deathes, as an eternall heire of our memorie. And how much theſe aforeſayd did contemne, the ſame Egiſtus may ſuffiſe for an example: Although Scylla wrought no leſſe hurt than Paſiphe. Is not he the occaſion that breaketh ſacred bonds of the promiſed pure faith? Yet truely what had Ariadna done to duke Theſeus, whereby contaminating the matrimonical bands, and giuing himſelfe, and his promiſed fayth to the winds, he ſhoulde abandon hir poore miſer among the deſert rockes? A little pleaſure in gaſing in the eyes of Phedra, was occaſion to celerate ſo much euill, and of ſuche requitall for the receiued honor. In him alſo is found no law: and that it is true, may be ſéene by the doings of Tereus, who hauing receyued Philomena, from hir pitifull father, and carnally knowen hir, made no ſtaye to contaminate the moſte holy lawes matrimonially contracted betwéene hym and Progne, the ſiſter of Philomena This alſo calling and cauſing himſelfe to be called a God, occupieth the reaſons of the gods. Who coulde euer fully with words ſhew the iniquitie of him? He to ſpeake briefly, leadeth them that follow him to all euilles: and if by happe his followers do any vertuous acte (whiche happeneth very ſeldome) with a vicious beginning they beginne it, deſiring therby to come very quickly to the deſired ende of their lothſome willes, the which may be rather ſayd vices, than vertues, forſomuche as that is not to be héeded onely whiche man dothe, but with what minde it is doone, and ſo according to the will of the worker, to repute the ſame vicious or vertuous, bicauſe that neuer of an euill roote ſprang a good trée, nor from an euill trée good fruite. This loue then is leude and naught: and if he be naught, he is to be fledde. And who that fleeth things euill, of conſequent followeth the good, and ſo is bothe good and vertuous. The beginning of this loue is none other thing, than feare, the ſequels is ſinne, and the ende is griefe and noy, it ought then to be fled, and to be reproued, and to feare you to haue him in you, bicauſe he is violent, neither knoweth he in any of his doings to kepe meaſure, and is altogither voyde of reaſon. He is without all doubt the deſtroyer of the minds, the ſhame, anguiſhe, paſſion, griefe, and plaint of the ſame, neuer conſenteth that the hearte of whome that lodgeth hym be withoute bitterneſſe, who will than prayſe that he is to be followed, but fooles. Truely if it were lawfull we would willingly liue without him, but of ſuche an harme we are to late awares, and therefore it is conuenient for vs, ſince we are caught in his nettes to follow his life vntil what time as that light which guided Aeneas out of the darke wayes, fléeing the perilous fiers, may appeare to vs, and guide vs to his pleaſures.

¶The eyght Queſtion, propoſed by a fayre Gentlevvoman named POLA.

ON the right hande of Galeone, was ſet a fayre gentlewoman, whoſe name was Pola, pleaſaunt, and yet vnder an honeſt couerture, who after the Quéene blent, thus began to ſay: O noble Quéene, ye haue domed at this preſent, that no perſon ought to follow this our lord Loue, and I for my part conſent thervnto: but yet ſince it ſéemes to me impoſſible, that the youthfull race both of men and women ſhould be runne ouer without this benigne Loue: I gather, at this preſent, ſetting apart (by your leaue) your ſentence, that to be enamoured is lefull, taking the euill doing for due working: And in following the ſame,Of vvhat degrees one ſhould choſe his louer. I deſire to know of you, whether of theſe two women ought rather to be loued of a yong man, bothe two pleaſing him alike, either ſhe that is of noble blood, and of able kinſfolke, and copious of hauing muche more than the yong man, or the other that is nether noble nor rich, nor of kinſfolkes ſo abounding as is the yong mā? To whome the Queene thus made anſwere: Faire Gentlewoman,The Quenes anſvvere. admitting the caſe that both man and womā ought to follow Loue as you haue before affirmed, we giue iudgement, that in howe much the woman is richer, greater, and more noble than the yong mā, of whatſoeuer degrée or dignitie he be of, euen ſo ſhe ought to be rather preferred to the loue of a yong man, than ought ſhée that hath any thing leſſe thā he: bicauſe mans mind was created to folow high things. And therfore he muſt ſeeke rather to aduance, than any ways to imbace himſelf. Further there is a common Prouerbe, which ſayth: The good to couet better t'is, Than to poſſeſſe that bad is. Wherefore in our iudgement, thou art better to loue the moſt noble, and wyth good reſon to refuſe the leſſe noble. Thē ſaid pleaſant Pola: noble Queen,The cōtrary opinion of Pola vvith hir reaſons. I wold haue giuen an other iudgement (if it had bene to me) of this Queſtion, as ye ſhall heare. We all naturally doe rather deſire ſhort and bréefe, than long and tedyous troubles, and that it is a leſſe & more bréefe trouble to get the loue of the leſſe noble, thā of the more noble, is manifeſt. Then the leſſe ought to be followed: for as muchè as the loue of the leſſe may be ſayd to be alredy won, the which of the more is yet to get. Further, many perils may folow to a man louing a woman of a greater condition, than him ſelfe is of, nether hath he laſtly therby any greater delight, than of the leſſer. For we ſee a great woman to haue many kinſfolks, & a great family, and them all as diligent héeders of hir honour, to haue an eye vnto hir, ſo that if any one of them happē to eſpie this loue, therof may folow (as we haue already ſayd) great perill to the louer, the which of the leſſe noble cā not ſo lightly com to paſſe: and theſe perils ech one (as he is able) ought to flée, for as much as who y• receiueth harme is ſure therof, and who that hath done it, laugheth him after to ſcorn, ſaying he ſpéedeth wel, where he liketh, there let him loue: yet dyeth he more than once. But howe that once happeneth, where, and for what occaſion, beſides eche one ought to take good heede: it is very credible that a Gentlewoman will lightly eſteeme of hym, for that ſhee will deſire to loue one more Noble or greater than hir ſelfe, and not one inferioure to hir ſelf: wherby ſoldome or neuer, he ſhall attaine his deſire. But of the leſſer ſhall happen the contrary, bicauſe that ſhee will glory to bée loued of ſuche a Louer, and will endeuour hir ſelfe to pleaſe hym, to the ende to nouriſhe Loue, and yet if this were not, the power of the Louer onely myght be able wythout feare to bryng to paſſe to fulfill his deſire. Wherefore I gather, that the leſſe Noble oughte to bée preferred in loue before the more noble. Your iudgement deceiueth you (ſaid the Quéene) to the fair Gentlewoman,The Que ••• ſolution vpon the eight queſtion. bicauſe Loue is of thys nature, that howe muche the more one Loueth, ſo muche the more he deſireth to loue: And this may be ſéene by them, that thorowe loue féele ye greater gréefe, the which although it trouble thē not a litle, yet loue they continually the more: Neyther doeth any one from his heart, althoughe he make great apparance in wordes, deſire thereof a ſpéedie end. Then as ſmall troubles are ſought for of the ſlouthfull, of the wiſe, things that are attained wt moſt trouble, are helde moſt deare and delightfull. And therefore in louing the leſſe woman, to get hir, ſhould be (as you ſay) little trouble, and the loue both litle and ſhort, & ſhould be folowed as though one in louing, would deſire to loue leſſe and leſſe, which is contrary to the nature of Loue, as we haue ſayd. But in louing the greater, that is gotten wyth trouble, happeneth the contrary: bicauſe, that as in a thing dearely gotten, with trauaile, is repoſed all diligēce to the wel héeding of the gained Loue, euen ſo is ſhée euery houre the more loued, and the lōger doth continue the delight and pleaſure therof. And yet if ye will ſay that all the doubt is of theyr kinſmen, we wil not denie it, for this is one of the occaſions. Wherefore, it is a trouble to haue the loue of one of theſe great women: but not withſtanding the diſcrete in ſuche caſes procéede by a ſecrete way. And we dout not but that the honor bothe of the greateſt and meaneſt woman is by ſome of their kinſfolkes according to their power loked vnto, in ſuch ſort, as a fole may come to an euill aduenture, louing aſwell in a baſe, as in a noble ſtocke. But what ſhal he be that wil paſſe Piſiſtrato in crueltie, hauing offended them which loued hysThe crueltie of Piſiſtratus. without forethinking yt which he ſhould afterwardes haue done to thoſe that had had the ſame in heart? In ſaying alſo, that louing a greater woman than himſelf, he ſhall neuer be able to come to the ende of his deſire, bicauſe the woman coueteth to loue one greater than hir ſelfe, and therefore will make of him no eſtimation at all: ye ſhew your ſelf to be ignorant that the meaneſt man (in what belōgeth to naturall vertues) is of greater and better condition,The meaneſt man of better condition than the nobleſt vvoman. thā the nobleſt woman of the world. Whatſoeuer man ſhee then deſireth, ſhée deſireth him that is of greater and better condition than hir ſelfe, bicauſe the vertuous or vicious life maketh many times ye meane great, and the great meane. In as much therefore as any woman ſhall bée ſolicited by any man in due ſorte, euen ſo wythout doubt ſhée ſhall yeld to his deſire, though the great wt more trouble thā the mean. For we ſee the ſofte water with a continuall fall to breake and pierce the harde ſtone: and therefore let none deſpaire to loue.The Queene concludeth that vve ſhould rather loue the more noble vvoman than the leſſe noble. For ſo muche goodneſſe ſhall folow him that loueth a greater woman than hymſelfe, as he ſhall endeuour him ſelfe to pleaſe hir, to haue decent qualities, the company of noble perſonages, to be ornate of ſwéete talke, bold in enterpriſes, and ſplendant in apparell, and if he ſhall attaine to greater glory, the greater delight ſhall he haue of minde, likewiſe he ſhalbe exalted with the good report of the people, and reputed of a noble mind. Let him therfore followe the moſt noble, as we haue alredy ſayd.

The ninthe Queſtion, propoſed by FERAMONTE. Duke of Montorio.

NExte vnto pleaſante Pola, ſate Feramonte Duke of Montorio, who after the Quene had ſaid, thus began: I conſent that it bée conuenyent to loue, that ye haue alredy fully anſwered this Gentlewoman to hir Queſtion. And that a man ought to loue rather a more noble woman than a leſſe noble than himſelfe, may very well be yelded vnto, thorow the ſundry reſons by you ſhewed touching the ſame.Whether is to be choſen in louing, either the vvife, the vvidovve, or the maide. But foraſmuch as there are ſundry Gentlewomen of ſundry ſortes attired with diuerſities of habites, that (as it is thought) doe diuerſly loue, ſome more, ſome leſſe, ſome more hotly, & ſome others more luke warme. I deſire to vnderſtād of you, whether of theſe three, a yong mā to bring his deſire to a moſt happy ende, ought ſooneſt to be enamoured of, either of hir yt is maryed, or of the maide, or of the widowe? To whome the Queene made this anſwers: Of the thrée,The Quenes anſvver. the one, that is the maryed woman, ought in no wiſe to be deſired, bicauſe ſhe is not hir owne, neither hath libertie to giue hir ſelfe to any: and therfore either to deſire hir, or to take hir, is both to commit an offence againſt the diuine lawes, as alſo againſt the lawes naturall & poſitiue, the offending wherof, is to heap vpon our ſelues, the diuine anger, and by conſequent, heauie iudgement. Howbeit, who that gropeth not his conſcience ſo farre inwardly, dothe oftentimes ſpéede better in louing hir, than of any of the other two, either maid or widowe, in as much as he (althoughe ſuch loue ſomtimes be with great peril) is to haue the effecte of his deſire. And why this loue may diuers times bring the louer to his deſire, ſooner thā the loue of the others, this is the reſon: It is manifeſt, that in how much more the fire is blowne, ſo much the more it flameth, & without blowing, it becommeth deade. And as all other things thorowe muche vſe do decay, ſo contrariwiſe luſt ye more it is vſed, the more it increſeth. The widowe in that ſhée hath bene a long tyme without the like effect, doth fele the ſame almoſt as though it had neuer bene, and ſo is rather kindled with the memorie thereof, than with any concupiſcence at all. The maid that yet hath no ſkil therof, neither knoweth the ſame but by imagination, deſireth as it were one luke warme: and therfore the maried woman kindled in ſuch paſſions, doth more than any of the others deſire ſuche effectes. What time the maried are wont to receiue from their huſbandes outragyous woords or déedes, wherof willingly they would take reuenge if they might, there is no way left more readier vnto them, than in deſpite of their huſbands to giue their loue to him, by whome they are allured to receiue the like. And althoughe it be expedient that ſuche manner of reuenge be very ſecrete, yt no ſhame grow thereby, netheleſſe are they yet content in their mindes. Further the alwayes vſing of one kinde of meat is tedious: and wée haue oftentimes ſéene the delycate meates left for the groſſe, turning afterwardes vnto the ſame again, what time the appetite hath bene ſatiſfied of the others. But bicauſe (as wée haue ſayd) it is not lawfull thorowe any vniuſt occaſion to deſire yt which is an other mans, we will leaue the marryed to theyr huſbandes, and take of the others, whereof a copious numbre our Citie dothe ſette before our eyes.The vvidovve is to be loued before the maide. And we would in beſtowing our loue, rather ſeke the widowes than the rude maides, groſſe for ſuche a miſterie, and that are not without great trouble (the which in widowes néedeth not) made able to a mannes deſire. Further if mayds loue, they know not what they deſire, and therefore they doe not followe with an intentiue mynde, the ſteppes of the louer as do the widowes, in whome nowe the antique fire taketh force, and maketh them to deſire that which thorowe long abuſe they had forgotten: ſo that to come to ſuche effecte, they (to late) bewéepe the loſt tymes, and the ſolitarie long nightes, the which they haue paſſed in their widowiſh beds. Theſe are therefore (as it ſéemeth vnto vs) rather to be loued of them in whom is the libertie to ſubmitte them ſelues to others, than any of the reſt. Then aunſwered Faramonte: The contrary opinion of Feramonte. Moſte excellent Quéene, what ye haue ſayde of the maryed, I hadde determined in my minde that ſo it ought to bée: and now hearing the ſame from you, I am the rather aſſured thereof. But touching the Maides and Widowes, I am of the contrary opinion, bicauſe (ſetting the maryed aparte, for the reaſons by you alleaged) it ſéemeth vnto me very good, that the Maide rather than the Widowe, ought to be deſired: For as muche as the loue of the Maide ſéemeth more firme and aſſured than that of the Widowe. For the Widowe without doubt hathe alreadie loued one other time before, and hathe ſéene and felt many things of loue, and knoweth what ſhame may folow thereof: and therefore knowing theſe things better than the Mayde, loueth faire and ſoftely: and doubting and not louyng firmly, deſireth now this and now that, and knoweth not to whether for hir moſt delight and greateſt honour to link hir ſelfe, for ſometimes ſhée will neither the one, nor the other: ſo that deliberation dothe wauer in hir minde, neither is the amorous paſſion able to take there ſtabilitie: but to the mayde theſe things are alltogether vnknowne.The conſtancie of maides in loue. And therefore as ſhée perſuadeth hir ſelf with good aduiſement, that of many yong men ſhée greatly pleaſeth one, ſo wythout further examination ſhée maketh choice of him as of hir louer, and to him onely diſpoſeth hir loue, not knowing howe for hir pleaſure to ſhew any contrary acte, neither is there for the more ſure tying of the Louer, any newe deliberation by hir ſought for the, touching hir loue, ſo that ſhée is then pure at the wil and pleaſure of him that ſimply pleaſeth hir, & quickly diſpoſeth hir wounded heart, him only to ſerue as Lorde. The which thyng (as I haue already ſayd) happeneth not of the widowe, and therfore is the other, the rather to be followed. Further, with more efficacie the mayde taryeth thoſe things that neuer any one of hir ſorte hath ſéene, heard or proued. And yet ſhée deſireth more to ſée, hear and proue them than who that ha the many times bothe ſéene, heard and proued them, and this is manyfeſt. Emong the other occaſions for the which our life doeth greatly delight vs, and is deſired to be long, is for to ſée newe thyngs, ſuche as wée haue yet neuer ſéene before. And alſo for to ſée thyngs moſte newe we haue a great delight to runne wyth a dilygent pace to that, which we aboue all other things doe endeuoure our ſelues to flée, that is Deathe, the laſte ende of oure bodyes. The maide knoweth not that delyghtfull coniunction, thorowe the which wee come into the world, and yet is it naturall to euery creature thorowe a deſire to be drawne thereunto. Further, ſhée many times hath heard from them, that know what manner a thing it is, howe muche ſwéeteneſſe doth conſiſt therein, the which wyth woordes haue giuen fire to the deſire, and therefore drawne of nature, and of a deſire to proue the thing, of hir not as yet proued, dothe thorow the woordes whych ſhée hathe hearde, deſire boldly with a kindled heart thys concourſe. And with whome is it preſumed to be had but only with him, whom ſhée hathe alreadie made Lorde of hir minde? This heat ſhal not be in the widowe, bycauſe hauing once proued and felte what manner a thing it was, ſhée is thereby prouoked thereunto: So that the Mayde then ſhall loue more, and be more diligent (thorowe the reaſons aforeſayde) to the pleaſure of hir Louer, than the widowe. To what ende ſhall wée then wade any further in ſéeking that the Maide ought not rather to be loued than the Widowe? You, ſayde the Quéene reaſon well,The Queenes ſolution vpon the nynthe queſtion. and very well you defend your iudgement: But yet we wil ſhewe you with apparant reaſon, howe you likewiſe ought to holde the ſame opinion, that we holde of thys contention, if wyth a ſtraight eye ye looke to the nature of Loue. Thus in the Mayde as in the Widowe, and ſo in the Widowe as in the Maide we ſée him to be firme, ſtrong, and conſtant, and that thys is true, Dido and Adriana with theyr doings haue left vs an example. And wher as thys Loue is neyther in the one nor the other, none of the aforeſayde operations will thereof followe. Then is it conuenient that eche one of them doe loue, if we wil haue that to folow, wherof bothe you and I haue already talked. And therfore in louing eyther maide or widowe, without going about to ſéeke whether of them is moſt diſcretely enamored (as we are certain of the widow) we ſhall ſhewe you how the widowe is more diligent to the pleaſure of the louer, than is the maide.Maides ought not to loue, but in reſpect of mariage. For doubtleſſe among thoſe things, that a woman eſtéemeth deare aboue the reſt, is her virginitie: and this is the reaſon, bycauſe therein conſiſteth all the honoure of hir following life. And without doubt ſhee ſhall neuer be ſo much vrged forwardes to loue, as ſhe ſhal not willingly be courteous thereof, but yet to him onely, to whome ſhee beléeueth to be coupled as wife thorowe the matrimoniall Lawe. And therfore we go not about ſeking for this: for there is no doubt but that who will loue to marry, ought rather to loue the maide than the widowe, bicauſe ſhée ſhalbe ſlow and negligent in giuing hir ſelfe to hym that loueth hir not (if ſhée know it) to that effect. Further, maydes are generally fearefull, neither are they ſubtile enoughe to finde the wayes and meanes, whereby they may take the ſtolne delights: But the widow of theſe things maketh no doubt at all, bicauſe that ſhée already hathe honorably giuen that which the other taryeth to giue, and being without the ſame, doubteth not in giuing hir ſelfe to an other, that token which may accuſe: Whereby afterwardes, ſhée becommeth the more aduenturous, bicauſe (as is ſayd) the chéefeſt occaſion that bringeth doubt, is not in hir: beſides ſhée knoweth better the ſecrete wayes, and ſo putteth them in effect. In that which you ſay, that ye maide as deſirous of a thing which ſhée neuer proued, may be made more diligent to this thā the widow, that knoweth what maner a thing it is, therof the contrary. Maides do not at the firſt time for their delight, run to ſuche effect (although the thing ye delighteth, the oftener it is ſene, heard, or felt, the more it pleaſeth, and the more carefull is euery one to folowe the ſame (bicauſe it is then more noiſom thā pleſant vnto thē. This thing wherof we reaſon, doth not follow the order of many other things, that once or twice being ſéene, are afterwards no more deſired, but rather the oftener it is putte in effecte, with ſo muche the more affection it coueteth to returne, and more deſireth he the thing whom it pleaſeth, than dothe he whom it ought to pleaſe, and hath not as yet taſted therof. Wherfore the widdow, foraſmuche as ſhe giueth leaſt, and is beſt able to giue, ſhe ſhall be the moſt liberall, and the more ſooner than the mayde, that muſt giue the deareſt thing ſhe hath. Alſo the widow ſhal be ſooner drawen (as we haue ſhewed) than the mayde to ſuche effects. For the which occaſion, let the widow be rather loued than the maide. (⸫)

¶The tenth Queſtion, propoſed by ASCALIONE.

IT was conuenient that that Aſcalione, who in circle ſat next vnto the duke Feramonte, ſhoulde nowe propound: and therefore thus he ſayd: Moſt excellent quéene, I remember that there was heretofore in this our citie a faire & noble gentlewoman lefte the widow of a worthye huſbande, the whiche for that hir maruellous beautie, was of many a noble yong Gentleman beloued. And of thoſe many, there were two gentlemen coragious knights, eche one in what he could did endeuor him ſelfe to attaine hir loue. And whilſt this cōtinued, by chance it hapned, that an vniuſt accuſation was brought againſt hir, by certayne of hir kinſfolks, before the Magiſtrate, & after by falſe euidence proued, thorow whiche vntrue proceſſe ſhe was condemned to the fire. But bicauſe the conſcience of the Iudge was perplexed, for that it ſéemed him, as it wer to know the vniuſt profe, he was willing to committe hir life to the Gods, and to Fortunes happe, and ſo tyed ſuche a condition to his giuen ſentence, as after the Gentlewoman ſhould be ledde to the fire, if any knight coulde be founde the which would combate in the defence of hir honour, agaynſt him that would maintayne the contrary, and ſhoulde happe to ouercome, ſhe ſhoulde then be frée, and if the contrary, to be burned according to the domed ſentence. As the condition was vnderſtoode of hir two louers,Tvvo knightes amorous of one gentle vvoman, did in ſundry vviſe ſhevve their loue. and by chaunce ſooner knowen to the one than to the other: He which knew the ſame ſooneſt, foorthwith tooke him to his armour, mounted on horſebacke, and came into the fielde, gainſaying him that wold come & maintayne the death of the Gentlewoman. The other that ſomewhat later than the firſt vnderſtod of this ſentence, and hearing how that the knight was alredy in field in hir defence, neither that ther was then place for any other to go thither in that enterpriſe, & therefore not knowing herein what to do, became very ſorowfull, imagining that through his ſtackeneſſe he had loſt the loue of the loued Gentlewoman, and that the other iuſtly had deſerued the ſame: and whileſt he thus ſorowed his miſſehap, he bethought him, that if he before any other ſhoulde go armed into the fielde, ſaying that the Gentlewoman ought to dye, and ſo ſuffer him ſelfe to be ouercome, he mighte thereby cauſe hir to eſcape, and ſo according to his deuice, he put the ſame in effect. The gentlewoman hereby eſcaped, and was deliuered from perill. So that then after certayne days, the firſt knight went vnto hir, and recommended him ſelfe vnto hir, putting hir in remēbrance how that he, to preſerue hir from death, had a few days paſte offred him ſelfe to the perill of death, and thanks be to the Gods, and to his forces, he had deliuered bothe hir and him ſelfe from ſo harde an happe: Whervpon it would pleaſe hir, according to his deſert to giue hir loue, the whiche aboue all things he had always deſired. Afterwards with the like prayers came the ſeconde knight, ſaying that for your ſake I haue hazarded my lyfe, and bicauſe you ſhould not dye, ſuffred my ſelfe to be ouercome, whervpon I haue purchaſed to my ſelfe eternall infamie: wheras I contrarywiſe with incountring your ſuretie, and willing to vſe my force, might haue bene able to haue gottē the honor of the victorie. The Gentlewoman thanked ech one of them very benignely, promiſing them bothe due recompence for the receiued ſeruice. And now they being departed, ſhe abode in great doubt to whether of them ſhe ſhould the rather giue hir loue, to ye firſt, or to the ſeconde, and thereof prayeth counſell of you, on whether of them ye would ſay, that ſhe ought ſooneſt to beſtowe the ſame.The queenes iudgement vpon the contrary doings of the tvvo knights. We déeme (ſayde the Quéene) that the firſt is to be loued, and the laſt to be left: bicauſe the firſt vſed force, and ſhewed his aſſured loue in diligent ſort, giuing him ſelfe to euery perill, that might happen through the future battaile, euen vnto the death, wherby it might very well haue folowed, foraſmuche as if ſuche a battayle to be done agaynſt him, had ben as lefull to any of the enemies of the Gentlewoman, as it was to the louer, he had bene in perill of death for his defence: neither was it manyfeſt to him, that one ſhould come agaynſt him, that would ſuffer him ſelfe to be ouercomen, as it happened. The laſt truely went well aduiſed not to dye, neither to ſuffer the Gentlewoman to dye. Then, foraſmuche as he put leaſt in aduenture, he meriteth to gayn the leſſe. Let the firſt then haue the loue of the faire gentlewoman, as the iuſt deſeruer thereof.Aſcalion contrarieth the queene. Aſcaleone ſayde: Omoſt prudent Quéene, what is that you ſay? Doth not not one time ſuffize to be rewarded for well doing, without crauing further deſert? Truely yes. The firſt is well requited, with being of euery one honored for the receiued victorie: and what greater rewarde néedeth he than honour the rewarde of vertue? the receiued honour did ſuffiſe for a greater matter than he did. And he that with all his witte came well aduiſed, ought he to be vnrecompenced? and further, he to be of euery one euill ſpoken of, hauing nothing leſſe than the firſt holpen the Gentlewoman to eſcape? Is not the witte to to foreſée euery bodyly force? How ſo? If this man with all his witte came for the ſafetie of the Gentlewoman, ought he for his deſert to be reiected? God forbid it ſhould ſo be. If he knew not the ſame ſo ſoone as the other, this was not through negligence: for if perhaps he had knowen it before the other, he woulde haue runne to that, whiche he tooke diſcretely for the laſt remedie: whereof rewarde iuſtly ought to follow, the which reward ought to be the loue of the Gentlewoman, yf rightly ſhe ſée vnto him: and yet you ſay the contrary.The queenes ſolution of the tenth queſtion. God defende from your minde (anſwered the Quéene) that vyce come to a good ende, merite the ſame rewarde that vertue done to the lyke end meriteth: But rather in as muche as vice deſerueth correction, ſo no worldly deſerte can iuſtly ſatiſfie vertue. Who ſhall denye vs to beléeue (although we can not manifeſt the ſame with apparāt reaſon) but that the laſt knight as enuious of the good turn he ſaw prepared for the other, was moued to ſuche an enterpriſe, to the ende to diſturbe the ſame, and not for the loue he bare to the Gentlewoman, and yet his deuice failed him. He is a foole, that vnder the coloure of an enimie, doth endeuor himſelf (to the end to receiue recompence) to helpe an other. Infinite are the ways wherby it is poſſible enough for vs to ſhewe at the firſt with open frendſhip, the loue that one of vs beareth towards the other, without ſhewing our ſelues as enemies, and after with coloured words to make ſhew to haue profited. That whiche we haue ſayd may now ſuffiſe you for anſwere, whom old age more than any thing elſe, ought to make diſcrete. And we beléeue, that when your minde ſhall haue duely digeſted theſe things, ye ſhal not find our iudgement guilefull, but true, and to be folowed. And ſo ſhe held hir peace.

The eleuenth Queſtion, propoſed by a Gentlevvoman, named GARCE.

THere followed after him a gentlewoman of cheare very milde, whoſe name was Grace, and aſſuredly the name was conſonant to hir nature, who with an humble and modeſt voyce began theſe words: It is come to my tourne, O moſte vertuous quene, to propound this my queſtion, the which to the ende the time (that now approcheth to our laſt feſting, may be ſwetened with the new beginning thereof) be only ſpent in talke, I ſhal briefly propound that whiche willingly (if it were lefull for me) I would paſſe ouer, but yet not to pretermit the limits of your obedience, neither the order of the reſt,Whether is greter pleaſure to a louer to ſee the preſent, or to think on the abſent. I ſhal propound this: Whether is it great delight to the louer to ſée his loue preſent, or not ſéeing hir, to thinke amorouſly on hir? My gracious Grace, ſayd the quéene, we beléeue that muche more delight is taken in thinking than in beholding: bicauſe in thinking on the thing loued, all the ſenſitiue ſpirites do then graciouſly féele a maruellous ioy, and as it were, do content their inflamed deſires, with the delight onely of the thought. But this happeneth not in the beholding, bicauſe that onely the viſible ſpirite féeleth ioy, and the others ar kindled with ſuch a deſire that they are not able to endure, and ſo remayne vanquiſhed: and that viſible ſpirite ſometime taketh ſo great pleſure,The iudgement of the queene. that of force he is conſtrayned to withdraw himſelfe back, remayning vile and altogether vanquiſhed. Then do we gather hereof, that greater delighte is to thinke than to beholde. That thing whiche is loued, anſwered the Gentlewoman, how muche the more it is ſéene, ſo muche the more it delighteth: and therfore I beléeue, that greater delight bringeth the beholding, than dothe the thinking, bicauſe euery beautie at the firſte, pleaſeth thorowe the ſight therof: and ſo after thorow the continuall ſight, ſuche pleaſure is confirmed in the minde, as therof is ingendred loue, and thoſe pleaſures that ſpring from him. No beautie is ſo muche loued, neither for any other occaſion than to pleaſe the eyes, and to content the ſame. Then in ſéeing they ar contented, and in thinking to ſée, the deſire increaſeth: ſo that more delight feeleth he that is cōtented, than doth he that deſireth to content himſelf.Laodomia and Protheſilaus. We may ſée and know by Laodomia how much more the preſent ſight than the abſent thought doth delight, bicauſe we are to think that hir Protheſilaus neuer departed from hir thought, neither yet was ſhe euer ſéene diſpoſed to other than to melancolie, refuſing to decke and apparel hir ſelf with hir coſtly garments: The whiche thing in ſéeing him neuer happened: For what time ſhe abode in his preſence, ſhe was mery, gracious, and alwayes ioyful, and trimly attired. What more manyfeſt teſtimonie will we haue than this, that the gladneſſe is not greater of the ſighte than of the thought? Bicauſe that thorow the exteriour doings, that may be comprehended, whiche in the hearte is hidden?The queenes ſolution of the xj. queſtion, defining that the thought is to be preferred before the looke. The Quéene then, thus made anſwere: Thoſe things, bothe delightfull and noyſome, that approche moſt néere to the minde, bring more annoye, and more ioye, than doe thoſe farre off from the ſame. And who doubteth, but that the thought abideth in the mind, and that the minde is not from the eye? although thorow the particuler vertue of the minde they haue their fighte, and that it is conuenient for them by ſundry means to render their proportiōs to the animate vnderſtanding. Hauing then in the minde a ſwéete thought of the loued, in that acte which the thought bringeth, in that togither with the thing loued, it ſéemes the louer to be. Then he ſéeth the ſame with thoſe eyes, to whome nothing, no not of a long diſtance may be hidden. Then he ſpeaketh with hir whō he loueth, and peraduenture with piteous ſtile telleth the annoys ſuſtained for hir ſake. Then it is lauful for him without feare to embrace hir. Then dothe he according to his deſire maruelouſly glad himſelfe with hir. Then doth he hold hir wholly at his pleaſure, the whiche in beholding happeneth not, bicauſe that ſight onely at firſt taketh pleaſure without paſſing further. And as we ſay, Loue is timorous and fearefull, and in beholding dothe make the heart tremble in ſuche ſorte, as it leaueth neither thought nor ſpirite in his place. For many with the long beholding of their ladies,The effects of fond amorous lookes. loſe thoſe their naturall forcas, and remayne vanquiſhed: and many not béeing able to moue, ſtande like poſtes, other ſome, in tangling and trauerſing their legs, fal to the grounde. Others thereby loſe their ſpeache: & by ſight we know many other like things to haue happened, the which all ſhoulde haue bene very acceptable to them, to whom (as we haue ſayde) they haue happened, if they had not happened at all: how then bringeth that thing delight, that ſhall willingly be fled? We confeſſe, that if it were poſſible to behold without feare, it ſhoulde be a great delight. But yet little or nothing without the thought, the which without the bodily ſight, pleſeth very much. And that that whereof we haue may ſpoken come to paſſe through the thought, it is manifeſt, that, yea, and muche more. For we finde that men with thought haue paſſed the heauens, and taſted of the eternal peace. Then more delighteth the thought than the ſighte. And if ye ſay that Laodomia was melancolie with thinking, we doe not denye it, but yet it was rather a dolorouſe than an amorouſe thoughte, that dyd trouble hir: She as it were a diuiner to hir owne harme, alwayes doubted the death of Protheſilaus, and ſtil was thinking theron, contrary to thoſe thoughts wherof we reaſon, which thorow that doubt could not enter into hir, but rather ſorowing through this occaſion as reaſon was, ſhe ſhewed a troubleſome and heauy looke.

¶The twelfth Queſtion, propoſed by PARMENIO.

PArmenio ſat nexte to this gentlewoman, and without attending further, as the Quéene had left, thus beganne: Moſte mightie Quéene, I was of long time companion with a yong gentleman, to whom that happened which I intend to ſhew. He as much as any man could loue a woman, loued a fayre yong gentlewoman of our citie, gracious, gentle, and very rich, both of wealth and parents, and ſhe eke loued him for ought that I (to whom his loue was diſcouered) could vnderſtand. This gentleman thē louing hir in moſt ſecrete ſort, fearing that if it ſhuld be bewrayd, that he ſhould no ways be able to ſpeake vnto hir: to the ende therfore yt he might diſcouer his intent, and be certified likewiſe of hirs, he truſted no one that ſhold attempt to ſpeake of this matter: yet his deſire inforcing him, he purpoſed ſince yt he could not bewray him ſelf vnto hir, to make hir vnderſtand by ſome other, that whiche he ſuffered for hir ſake. And bethinking him many dayes, by whom he might moſt cloſely ſignifie vnto hir that his intent, he ſaw one day a poore olde woman, wrinkled, and of an Orenge tawnie colour, ſo deſpitefull to beholde as none the like, the whiche being entred the houſe of the young woman to aſke hir almeſſe, followed hir foorthe of the doore, and many times after in lyke ſort, and for like occaſion he ſaw hir returne thither. In this woman his hearte gaue him to repoſe his whole truſt, imagining that he ſhould neuer be had in ſuſpicion, and that ſhe might fully bring his deſire to effect: therfore calling hir to him, he promiſed hir greate gifts, yf ſhe would helpe him in that which he ſhould demaunde of hir: She ſware to do hir endeuour, to whom this gentleman then diſcouered his minde. The olde woman departed, and after a while hauing certified the yong woman of the loue that my companion bare hir, and him likewiſe▪ how that ſhe aboue al other things of the world did loue him, ſhe deuiſed how this yong man ſhoulde be ſecretly one euening with the deſired woman: and ſo he going before hir,A gentleman, a gentlevvoman, and an old vvoman vvere taken by the brethren of the gentlevvoman. as ſhe had appoynted▪ ſhe guided him to this yong Gentlewomans houſe, wherein he was no ſooner entred, than through his miſfortune, the yong woman, the olde, and he, were all thrée found, and taken togithers, by the brethren of the yong woman, & cōpelled to tell the truth of that they made there, who confeſſed the whole matter as it was. Theſe brethren, for that they were the friends of this yong gentleman, and knowing that he as yet had attayned nothing that might redound to their ſhame woulde not doe him any harme as they might haue done, but laughing ſayd vnto him in this ſorte:The gentleman condemned to lye vvith the yong and olde vvoman eyther of them a yeare. Thou art now in our hands, & haſt ſought to diſhonour vs, and for that we may puniſh thée, yf we will, of theſe two wayes ſée that thou take the one, either that thou wilte we take thy life from thée, or elſe that thou lie wyth this olde woman, & this our ſiſter, either of them one yeare, ſwearing faithfully, that if thou ſhalt take vppon thée to lye with either of them a yeare, and the firſt yeare with the yong womā, that as many times as thou ſhalt kiſſe or haue to do with hir, as many times ſhalt thou kiſſe and haue to do with the old woman the ſeconde yeare. And if thou ſhalt take the firſt yeare the olde woman, looke howe many times thou ſhalt kiſſe and touche hir, ſo many times likewiſe, and neither more nor leſſe ſhalt thou doe the lyke to the yong woman the ſeconde yeare. The yong mā liſtening to the ſentence, and deſirous to liue, ſayd, that he would lie with theſe two, two yeares. It was graunted him. But he remained in dout with which of them he ſhuld firſt begin, either with the yong, or with the olde. Whether of them would you giue counſell he ſhould firſt, for his moſte conſolation begin withall?The Queene decideth the xij. queſtion. The Quéene, and likewiſe the whole company ſomewhat ſmiled at this tale, and after, ſhée thus made anſwere: According to our iudgement the yong gentleman ought rather to take the faire yong woman, than the fowle old, bycauſe no preſent good turne ought to be left for the future, neither the euil to be takē for the future good, bicauſe we know that we are vncertain of thinges to come: and in doing the contrary hereof, many haue already ſorowed to late, and if any haue prayſed him ſelfe herein, not dutie, but fortune hath therin holpen him. Let the faire therfore be firſt taken.The contrary opinion of Parmenio. Ye make me greatly to maruell (ſayd Parmenio) ſeing ye the preſent good ought not to be left for ye future, to what end then is it conuenient for vs with a valiaunt mind to follow & beare worldly troubles, wheras we may flée them, if it were not thorow the future eternall kingdoms promiſed to vs thorow hope? It is a maruellous thing that ſuche a ſhocke of people as are in the worlde, al moyling to the ende at one time to taſt of reſt, and béeing able to reſte before trouble, ſhoulde remayne ſo long whyle in ſuche an errour, as trouble after reſt were better than before. It is a thing verye iuſte (as it ſéemeth to me) after troubles to ſéeke reſt, but to deſire to reſt without trouble in my iudgement ought not to be, neither can it bring delight. Who then will giue counſell to any, that he lye firſt with a fayre Gentlewoman one yere, the whiche is the onely reſt and ioye of him that muſt lye with hir, in ſhewing him after that there muſt follow ſo great annoy and vnpleaſaunt lyfe, as he muſte in euery acte wherein he abode with the young woman, haue to do as long with a lothſome olde woman? Nothing is ſo noyſome to a delightfull lyfe, as to remember, that after death we ſhall be founde ſpotted. This death returning to our memory as enime cōtrary to our being, doth diſturbe vs of al goodnes & pleſure: and whilſt this is remembred, there can neuer be ioy taſted in worldly things. Likewiſe no delight can be had with the yong woman, that is not troubled or deſtroyed in thinking & remembring that it behoueth him to do as muche with a moſt vile old womā, who ſhal alwais be remayning before the eyes of his minde. The time that flyeth with an ineſtimable wing, ſhall ſéeme vnto him to ouerflie, leſning eche day a great quantitie of the due houres: and this mirth is not taſted, where as infallible future ſorow is taryed for. Wherefore I would iudge, that the contrary were better counſell, that is, that all trouble, wherof gracious reſt is hoped for, is more delightfull, thā the delight, whereof anoy is taryed for. The colde waters ſéemed warme, and the dreadfull time of the darke night ſéemed cleare and ſound day, and turmoils reſt to Leander, at what time he went to Hero, ſwimming wyth the force of hys armes, thorow the ſalt ſourges betwéen Seſto and Abido, for the delight that he conceyued to haue of hir tarrying his cō ming. God forbid then, that a man ſhuld couet reſt before trauaile, or reward before the doing his ſeruice, or delight, before he hath taſted tribulatiō: foraſmuch as if that way (as we haue alredy ſayd) ſhould be taken, the future annoy ſhould ſo muche hinder the preſent ioy, that not ioy, but rather annoy it might be ſayde. What delight could the delicate meats, and the inſtruments ſounded with cunning hande, and the other maruellous ioyes made to Dionyſius the tyrāt bring,Dionyſius. when as he ſawe a ſharp pointed ſword hang by a fine thréede ouer his heade? Let then ſorowful occaſions be firſt fled, that afterwards with pleaſure, and that without ſuſpition, gracious delightes may be followed.The Quenes ſolution of the .xij. queſtiō, defining that the yōg is to be lyen vvith before the olde. The Queen made him anſwere, ſaying: You anſwer in part as though we did reaſon of eternall ioyes, for the purchaſing whereof, there is no doubt but that all troubles oughte to be taken in hand, and all worldly wealthe and delight to be left aparte: but at this inſtant we do not ſpeake of them, but do moue a Queſtion of worldly delightes, and of worldly annoyes. Wherunto we anſwere as we ſayd before, that euery worldly delight, that is followed wyth worldly anoy, ought rather to be taken, than the worldly annoye that taryeth worldly delight: bicauſe who that hath tyme, and tarieth time, loſeth time. Fortune graunteth hir goodneſſe with ſundry mutations, the which is rather to be taken when as ſhe giueth, than to moile to the ende after turmoyles to gette the ſame. If hir whéele ſtoode firme and ſtable, vntil that a man had toyled ſo much as he ſhould nede to toyle no more, we would then ſay, that it wer to be graunted to take paynes firſt: but who is certayne that after the euil, may not folow the worſe, as well as the better that is taried for? The times together with worldly things are al tranſitorie, & therfore in taking the old woman, before the yere be complete, the which ſhall neuer ſeeme to waxe leſſe, the young woman may dye, and hir brethren repent them of this they haue don, either elfe ſhe may be giuen to ſome other, or peraduenture ſtolne away, ſo that after one euil, there ſhal follow a worſe to the taker. But cō trarywiſe, if the yong woman ſhall be taken, the taker ſhal therby haue his deſire ſo long time of him deſired, neither ſhall there after follow that annoy of thought, that you ſay muſt follow thereby, bicauſe that we muſt dye is infallible, but to lye with an old woman is a hap able enough with many remedies to be of a wiſe man auoyded, & worldly things ar to be taken of the diſcret with this condition, that ech one whiiſt he holdeth and enioyeth them, he diſpoſe himſelf with a liberal mind, when he ſhalbe required to reſtore or leaue them. Who that buſieth himſelfe to the ende to reſt, bringeth a manyfeſt example, that without that he can not haue reſt: & ſince he therefore taketh troubles to the ende to haue reſt, how much more is it to be preſumed, ye if reſt were as redy as if trouble, but that he would ſooner take that thā this? Neither is it to be thought that Leander, if he had ben able to haue had Hero without paſſing the tempeſtuous arme of the ſea, wherin after he periſhed wold not rather haue taken hir, thā haue ſwom the ſame. It is conuenient to take fortunes happes what time ſhe giueth them.A ſmal gift • in hand is better than a promiſed greater. For no gift is ſo ſmall, that is not better than a promiſed greater. And as for future things, let remedies be taken, and the preſent gouerned according to their qualities. It is a naturall thing to deſire rather the good than the euil, whē as equally they concurre, and who that dothe the contrarye followeth not naturall reaſon, but his owne folly. We confeſſe, that after troubles quietneſſe is more gracious and better knowne than before, but yet not that it is rather to be taken than the other. It is poſſible for wiſe men and fooles to vſe the Counſels both of fooles and wiſemen accordyng to their liking: but for all that the infallible veritie is not altered, the which doth giue vs leaue to ſée that rather the faire yong woman than the lothſome olde is to be taken of him, to whom was made ſuche a choiſe.

The thirtenth queſtion, propoſed by MASSALINE.

MAſſaline the whiche ſate on the right hande of the Quéene, and next to Parmenio, performing the circle, ſayde in this wiſe: It is méete that I laſtly propound my queſtion: And therfore to the ende that I may make the pleaſaunt tolde tales, and the before propouned Queſtions to ſéeme more ſwéete, I ſhall tell you a ſhort tale worth the hearing, wherein there falleth a Queſtion very propre to make an ende withall. I haue héeretofore heard ſay that there was in this our Citie a Gentleman, who was very rich, that had to wyfe an exceeding faire yong Gentlewoman,A Gentlevvomā vvas loued of a Knight. whom he loued aboue al worldly things. This gentlewoman was intierly beloued of a Knight of the fame Citie, but ſhée loued him not at all, neither cared for hym, by occaſion wherof, the Knight was neuer able to get from hir, either good wordes or curteous countenance: and while he thus liued comfortleſſe of ſuche loue, It happened that he was called to the regiment of a Citie not farre diſtante from this of oures: And accordingly he went thither, hauing honorably gouerned the ſame all the time of his abode there: during the which it happened, that there came a meſſanger vnto hym,The Knyght aduertiſed of the death of hir vvhom he loued. who after other newes thus ſayd: Sir ye ſhal vnderſtand, that the Gentlewoman of our Citie, whom you ſo intierly loued aboue all others, this morning labouring with great griefe to be deliuered of child died, not being deliuered, and was in my preſence, of hir parents honourably buried. The knight not without great ſorrow, gaue • are to this tale, and with a ſtrong heart endured the telling thereof, without ſhewing any alteration of countenance at all, and to himſelf thus ſaid: Hawretched death, curſed be thy power, thou haſt depryued me of hir, whom I loued aboue all others, and whom I deſired more to ſerue, although I knew hir cruell vnto me, than any other worldly wight. But ſince it is thus come to paſſe that which loue in hir life time woulde not vouchſafe to graunt me, now that ſhe is deade, he can not deny me: That aſſuredly if I ſhould dye therfore, I wil now kiſſe the face of hir béeing deade, that liuing I loued ſo well. And ſo ſtaying vpon this determination, he taryed vntill it was night, and then tooke one of his ſeruants,The knighte ſeeketh his loued gentlevvoman in hir graue. whom he beſt truſted with him, and trauayled the dreadfull darke wayes, till at the laſt he came to the Citie: And being entred the ſame, he went ſtreight to the ſepulture, wherein the gentlewoman was buried: and after he had comforted his ſeruaunt, that he without any feare ſhoulde attende him there, he opened the ſame, & went thereinto, wheras lamenting with a piteous plaint, he kiſſed the gentlewoman, and tooke hir in his armes, and not ſatiſfied therwith, he began to féele hir here and there, and to put his hand into hir frozen breſt among the colde dugs. But afterwards (being become more bolde than was méete) to ſeke out vnder the rich attire which ſhe had on, the ſecrete parts of the body, going & féeling with a feareful hand hither and thither, til at the laſt he ſpred the ſame vpon hir ſtomack, where as with a féeble motion he felt the weak pulſes ſomewhat to moue. He then became very fearefull, but yet loue made him bolde, and therefore trying further with a more aſſured héede, he knew that ſhe was not dead: and firſt of all with a ſwéete mutation he drew hir out of that place, and after wrapping hir in a great mantell (leauing the ſepulture open) he and his ſeruant caried hir ſecretly to his mothers houſe, whereas he coniured his ſayd Mother,The Knight caryeth his Lady to his mothers houſe. thorow the power of the Gods, that ſhée, neyther this, nor any thing elſe ſhould manifeſt to any perſon liuing. He cauſed great fires to be made, to the ende to comfort the colde membres, whereunto the loſt forces did not therby returne in due ſort: by occaſion wherof, as one peraduenture diſcrete in ſuche a caſe, willed a ſolemne hotte houſe to be prepared, wherein he cauſed firſt to be ſtrowed many vertuous herbes, and after placed the Gentlewoman therein, cauſing hir as it was méete for one in that plight, to be tenderly looked vnto. In the which h • tehouſe, after ſhée had for a time made hir abode there, the bloud coagulate about the heart, began thorow the receyued heate to diſperſe by the cold vaines, & the ſpirites halfe dead began to returne to their places: whervpon the Gentlewoman (no ſooner féeling the ſame) begā to cal to hir mother, & after to aſke wher ſhée was: to whome the Knight in ſtéede of hir mother made anſwer, ye ſhée was in a very good place, and that ſhée ſhould comfort hir ſelf: ſhée abiding in this ſorte, calling vppon the womā Lucina for help,Lucina, the goddeſſe of child bearing. was as it pleſed the Gods (aboue all expectation) deliuered of a faire ſonne, & therewith of great trouble and perill: whereof remaining diſburdened,The Gentlevvoman abiding vvith the Knight, vvas deliuered of childe. and being ioyful of hir new born childe, there were out of hand prouided nourſes, bothe for the charge of hir, as alſo of hir ſonne. The Gentlewoman now after all theſe heauie troubles, returned to hir perfecte vnderſtanding, and the new ſonne was alſo borne to the world, before ſhée ſawe either the Knight that thus loued hir, or his mother who was preſt to doe hir ſeruyce, neither did ſhe ſee any one of hir parents or kinſfolkes about hir, for to looke vnto hir: whereupon being come into a cogitable admiration as it were all amazed, ſayd: Where am I? what a wonder is this? Who hath brought me hyther, wheras I was neuer before? To whom the Knight anſwered:The Knyght declareth to the gentlevvoman hovv ſhe vvas brought into his houſe. Gentlewoman, maruell not, comfort your ſelfe, for that which you ſée, hath bene the pleaſure of the Gods, and I ſhall tell you how, and ſo declaring from the beginning to the ende all that which was happened hir, concluded, that throughe him, ſhée and hir ſonne were aliue: By occaſion wherof they were alwayes bounden to be at his pleaſure. The Gentlewoman perceiuing this to be true, knowing aſſuredly that ſhe could not by any other meanes, but onely by this which he ſhewed hir, be come to the hands of the knight: firſt of all with a deuoute voyce, rendred thanks to the immortall gods, and after to him, offring hir ſelf to be always at his pleaſure and ſeruice. Then ſayd the knight: gentlewoman ſince you know your ſelfe to be beholding vnto me▪ I wil that in guerdon of my wel doing, ye comforte your ſelfe here in this place, vntill I returne from mine office, wherevnto it is now ſo long ſince that I was choſen, as the date hereof is almoſt at an end. Beſides ye ſhall promiſſe me faithfully, neuer to bewray your ſelfe without my licence, either to your huſband, or any other perſon. To whom the Gentlewoman anſwered, that ſhée was vnable to denye him eyther this, or any other requeſt, and that aſſuredly ſhe would comfort hir ſelfe: and ſo by othe made vnto him, ſhe affirmed neuer to cauſe hir ſelfe be knowen without his pleaſure. The knight ſéeing the Gentlewoman out of all perill to receiue comfort, after he had abode two dayes in hir ſeruice, recommended hir and hir childe to his mothers charge, and ſo departed, returning to the gouernment of his ſaid office, the whiche after a little while he honorably ended, and returned home to his owne houſe and poſſeſſions: where as of the Gentlewoman he was graciouſly receyued.The knighte biddeth the husbande of the gentlevvoman to a banquet. Certayne days after his returne, he cauſed to be prepared a great banquet, wherevnto he inuited the huſbande of this Gentlewoman, whom he loued, hir brethren, and many others of hir friendes and his: and the bydden gueſtes beeing ſette downe at the table, the Gentlewoman according to the pleaſure of the knight, came apparelled in thoſe garments, and decked with that crowne, ring, and other precious ornaments (as the vſe was then) wherwith ſhe was buried. And by the commaundement of the knighte placed hir ſelfe on the one ſide by hir huſband, & on the other ſide by himſelfe, where as ſhée ſedde that morning, without ſpeaking any worde at all. This Gentlewoman was oftentimes behelde of hir huſband, and hir attire and ornaments alſo: and as it ſéemed vnto him, he knewe hir to bée his wife, and thoſe to be the garmentes wherein ſhée was buryed: But yet for that he thought he had buried hir dead into hir ſepulture, and not beleuing that ſhée was ryſen againe, durſte not once giue hir a word, doubting leaſt ſhée had bene ſome other that did reſemble his wife, imagining that it were more eaſie to finde one woman, in attire and ornamentes like to an other, than to raiſe vp a dead body. But yet for all this, he tourned many times towardes the Knighte, and aſked him who ſhée was. To whome the knight anſwered: Aſke of hir, whome ſhée is, for I can not tell, out of ſo vnpleſant a place I haue brought hir. Then the huſband aſked ye wife who ſhée was, to whome ſhée anſwered: I was brought by this Knight by vnknowne wayes inte this place, to that gracious life that is of euery one deſired. At theſe words there wanted no admiration in the huſbande, but rather the ſame increaſed, and ſo they remayned vntill the banket was ended. Then the knight ledde the huſbande of this gentlewoman into a chamber, and with him the Gentlewoman, and the other likewiſe that banketted with them, where as they found the Gentlewomans fayre & gracious ſonne in the neurſes armes, whome the knighte deliuered into the fathers handes,The knight reſtoreth the gentlevvoman to hir huſbande. ſaying: This is thy ſonne, and giuing him the right hande of his wife, ſayde: This is thy wife, and mother of this childe: ſhewing to him and to the reſt, how it happened that ſhe was brought thither. They al after gret wonder, made great ioy, and chiefly the huſbande of his wife, and the wife with hir huſbande, of their ſonne. And ſo both two thanking the knight, retourned merily home to their houſe, many dayes after making maruelous ioy. This knight entreated this gentlewoman with that tenderneſſe and that pure fayth, as if ſhe had bene his ſiſter, and therefore it is doubted whiche of theſe two was the greter:The queſtiō is vvhether the loyaltye of the knighte, or the ioye of the husbande vvas the greater. either the loyaltie of the knight,The queenes iudgement. or the ioy of the huſbande, that had now gotten agayne his loſt wyfe, whome he reputed as dead. I pray you to ſay your opinion, and what you woulde iudge hereof? Moſt great (as we beléeue) anſwered the Quéene) was the ioy of the agayne gotten wife, and of hir childe: and likewiſe noble and very great was the loyaltie of the knight. But for that it is a naturall thing to be glad of the getting agayne of things loſt (neither could it otherwiſe be bicauſe it woulde an other) and ſpecially in the getting agayne of a thing before ſo gretly loued, with a childe, wherof there could not be made ſo gret ioy as was cōuenient. We do not repute it to be ſo great a matter as to do that wherevnto a man is of his proper vertue conſtrayned to doe, the which in béeing loyall cōmeth to paſſe, bicauſe the béeing and not béeing loyal, is a thing poſſible. We ſay then, that from whom procedeth the being loyall in a thing ſo greatly loued, that he doth a moſt great and noble thing in keping loyaltie, & that in a far greater quantity layaltie doth increaſe in him, than dothe ioy in the other,The contrary opiniō of Maſſani •• e. & thus we iudge. Truly ſayde Maſſaline: Moſt renoumed quéene, I beléeue it be as you ſay: but yet it ſemes vnto me a great matter to think, that with ſo great ioy as was in him that had gotten agayne his wyfe, there could be made compariſon of greatneſſe in an other thing: foraſmuch as greater griefe is not ſupported, than when as thorow death a thing loued is loſt. Further, if the knight were faythfull, as is already ſayd, he did therin but his dutie, bicauſe we are all bounden to the working of vertue: and he that dothe that, whervnto he is of duetie bounden, doth but well, but yet it is not to be reputed for ſo great a matter. Therfore I imagine, that there may be iudged greater ioy than loyaltie.The queenes ſolution vpō the laſt queſtion. You with your words do contrary your ſelfe (ſayd the quéene) bicauſe man ought as well to reioyce in the goodneſſe of god in taking him away as thorow the working of vertue: but if the one could be in the one caſe, as ſorowful as the other could be in the other caſe diſloyall, it might be conſented to your iudgement. To follow the laws of nature, which can not be fled, is no great matter, but to obey the poſitiue lawes, is a vertue of the minde, and the vertues of the minde bothe for greatneſſe as for euery other reſpecte, are to be preferred before bodily works. And if vertuous workes (making due recompence) do ſurmount in greatneſſe euery other working, it may be ſayd, that the hauing ben loyall, dureth always in béeing. Ioy may be turned into ſodayn ſorow, either elſe in a ſhorte ſpace of time become little or nothing, loſing ye thing thorow the whiche it is become mery. And therfore let it be ſayde of him, that vprightly will iudge, the knight to haue bene more loyall, than the other mery. Not one there was that followed Maſſaline, that had any thing more to ſay, for that they all had now propounded their Queſtions. The ſunne now in ſetting, left the place replete with a temperate aire. By reaſon whereof, Fiametta, moſte reuerente quene of this amorous people, raiſed hir on foote, and thus fayd: Gentlemen and gentlewomen, your queſtions are finiſhed: whervnto (the Gods be thanked) we haue according to our ſmall knowledge, made anſwere, following rather pleaſant reaſoning, than matter of contention. And we know, that much more might haue bene anſwered vnto the ſame, yea and in farre better ſorte than we haue done: But yet that whiche we haue ſaid may ſuffize to our paſtime: and for the reſt, let it remayne to the Philoſophers of Athens. We ſée Phoebus now not to beholde vs with a ſtraight aſpect, we féele the ayre refreſhed, and knowe this Feaſt, which we at our comming hither left through the exceſſiue heate, to be agayne begonne by our companions. And therfore it ſéemeth vs good, that we returne to the ſame: and this being ſayd, ſhe toke with hir delicate hande, the laurell crowne from hir heade, and in the place where ſhe ſate, ſhe laide it downe, ſaying: I leaue here the crowne of my honour and yours, vntill that we ſhall retourne hither to the like reaſoning. 〈1 page duplicate〉 〈1 page duplicate〉 And hauing thus ſayde, ſhe toke Philocopo by the hand, that now with the reſt was riſen, and ſo returned with them al to their Feaſt. Thence was heard of all ſides the pleaſant inſtruments, and the aire reſounding of amorous ſongs, no part of the Garden was without banketting: wherin they all abode merily all that day, euen to the laſt houre: but night béeing come vppon them, and the ſtarres ſhewing foorth their light, it ſéemed good to the lady, and to them all, to depart, and to returne to the citie, wherin bring entred, Philocopo taking his leaue, thus ſayde vnto hir: Moſt noble Fiametta, if the Gods ſhould euer graunt me, that I were mine owne, as I am an others, without doubt I ſhould be preſently yours, but bicauſe mine owne I am not, I can not giue my ſelfe to an other: Howe be it for ſo muche as the miſerable heart coulde receiue ſtraunge fire, ſo muche the more it féeleth thorow your ineſtimable worthyneſſe to be kindeled, and ſhall feele alwayes and inceſſantly, with more effecte ſhall deſire neuer to be forgetfull of your worthineſſe. She thanked Philocopo greatly of this curteſie at his departure, adding that it would pleaſe the Gods quickely to bring a gracious peace to his deſire. (⸪)

FINIS▪