Chapter XVI: Part 16

It hath bin observed as an ancient Adage, that when disasters are ordained to any one, commonly they prove to be inevitable, as poore _Ghismonda_ could witnesse too well. For, while the King thus slept, shee having (unluckily) appointed another meeting with _Guiscardo_, left hir Gentlewomen in the Garden, and stealing softly into her Chamber, having made all fast and sure, for being descried by any person: opened the doore to _Guiscardo_, who stood there ready on the staire-head, awaiting his entrance; and they sitting downe on the bed side (according as they were wont to do) began their usuall kinde conference againe, with sighes and loving kisses mingled among them. It chanced that the King awaked, & both hearing and seeing this familiarity of _Guiscardo_ with his Daughter, he became extreamly confounded with greefe thereat. Once he intended, to cry out for helpe, to have them both there apprehended; but he helde it a part of greater wisedome, to sit silent still, and (if hee could) to keepe himselfe so closely concealed: to the end, that he might the more secretly, and with far less disgrace to himselfe, performe what hee had rashly intended to do.

The poore discovered Lovers, having ended their amorous interparlance, without suspition of the Kings being so neer in person, or any else, to betray their over-confident trust; _Guiscardo_ descended againe into the Cave, and she leaving the Chamber, returned to her women in the Garden; all which _Tancrede_ too well observed, and in a rapture of fury, departed (unseene) into his owne lodging. The same night, about the houre of mens first sleepe, and according as he had given order; _Guiscardo_ was apprehended, even as he was comming forth of the loope-hole, & in his homely leather habite. Very closely was he brought before the King, whose heart was swolne so great with greefe, as hardly was hee able to speake: notwithstanding, at the last he began thus. _Guiscardo_, the love & respect I have used towards thee, hath not deserved the shameful wrong which thou hast requited me withall, and as I have seene with mine owne eyes this day. Whereto _Guiscardo_ could answer nothing elsee, but onely this: Alas my Lord! Love is able to do much more, then either you, or I. Whereupon, _Tancrede_ commanded, that he should bee secretly well guarded, in a neere adjoining Chamber, and on the next day, _Ghismonda_ having (as yet) heard nothing heereof, the Kings braine being infinitely busied and troubled, after dinner, and as he often had used to do: he went to his daughters chamber, where calling for her, and shutting the doores closely to them, the teares trickling downe his aged white beard, thus he spake to her.

_Ghismonda_, I was once grounded in a setled perswasion, that I truely knew thy vertue, and honest integrity of life; and this beleefe could never have bene altred in mee, by any sinister reports whatsoever, had not mine eyes seene, and mine eares heard the contrary. Nor did I so much as conceive a thought either of thine affection, or private conversing with any man, but onely he that was to be thy husband. But now, I my selfe being able to avouch thy folly, imagine what an heart-breake this will be to me, so long as life remaineth in this poore, weak, and aged body. Yet, if needs thou must have yeelded to this wanton weakenesse, I would thou hadst made choise of a man, answerable to thy birth & Nobility: whereas on the contrary, among so many worthy spirits as resort to my Court, thou likest best to converse with that silly yong man _Guiscardo_, one of very meane and base descent, and by mee (even for Gods sake) from his very youngest yeares, brought uppe to this instant in my Court; wherein thou hast given me much affliction of minde, and so overthrowne my senses, as I cannot wel imagine how I should deale with thee. For him, whom I have this night caused to be surprized, even as he came forth of your close contrived conveyance, and detaine as my prisoner, I have resolved how to proceed with him: but concerning thy selfe, mine oppressions are so many and violent, as I know not what to say of thee. One way, thou hast meerly murthered the unfeigned affection I bare thee, as never any father could expresse more to his child: and then againe, thou hast kindled a most just indignation in me, by thine immodest and wilfull folly, and whereas Nature pleadeth pardon for the one, yet justice standeth up against the other, and urgeth cruell severity against thee: neverthelesse, before I will determine upon any resolution, I come purposely first to heare thee speake, and what thou canst say for thy selfe, in a bad case, so desperate and dangerous.

Having thus spoken, he hung downe the head in his bosome, weeping as abundantly, as if it had beene a childe severely disciplinde. On the other side, _Ghismonda_ hearing the speeches of her Father, and perceiving withall, that not onely her secret love was discovered, but also _Guiscardo_ was in close prison, the matter which most of all did torment her; shee fell into a very strange kinde of extasie, scorning teares, and entreating tearmes, such as feminine frailety are alwayes aptest unto: but rather, with height of courage, controling feare or servile basenesse, and declaring invincible fortitude in her very lookes, shee concluded with her selfe, rather then to urge any humble perswasions, shee would lay her life downe at the stake. For plainely shee perceived, that _Guiscardo_ already was a dead man in Law, and death was likewise as welcome to her, rather then the deprivation of her Love; and therefore, not like a weeping woman, or as checkt by the offence committed, but carelesse of any harme happening to her: stoutly and couragiously, not a teare appearing in her eye, or her soule any way to be perturbed, thus shee spake to her Father.

_Tancrede_, to denie what I have done, or to entreate any favour from you, is now no part of my disposition: for as the one can little availe me, so shall not the other any way advantage me. Moreover, I covet not, that you should extend any clemency or kindnesse to me, but by my voluntary confession of the truth; doe intend (first of all) to defend mine honour, with reasons sound, good, and substantiall, and then vertuously pursue to full effect, the greatnesse of my minde and constant resolution. True it is, that I have loved, and still doe, honourable _Guiscardo_, purposing the like so long as I shall live, which will be but a small while: but if it bee possible to continue the same affection after death, it is for ever vowed to him onely. Nor did mine owne womanish weaknesse so much thereto induce me, as the matchlesse vertues shining cleerely in _Guiscardo_, and the little respect you had of marrying me againe. Why royall Father, you cannot be ignorant, that you being composed of flesh and blood, have begotten a Daughter of the selfe same composition, and not made of stone or yron. Moreover, you ought to remember (although now you are farre stept in yeeres) what the Lawes of youth are, and with what difficulty they are to be contradicted. Considering withall, that albeit (during the vigour of your best time) you evermore were exercised in Armes; yet you should likewise understand, that negligence and idle delights, have mighty power, not onely in yong people, but also in them of greatest yeeres.

I being then made of flesh and blood, and so derived from your selfe; having had also so little benefit of life, that I am yet in the spring, and blooming time of my blood: by either of these reasons, I must needs be subject to naturall desires, wherein such knowledge as I have once already had, in the estate of my marriage, perhaps might move a further intelligence of the like delights, according to the better ability of strength, which exceeding all capacity of resistance, induced a second motive to affection, answerable to my time and youthful desires, and so (like a yong woman) I became amorous againe; yet did I strive, even with all my utmost might, and best vertuous faculties abiding in me, no way to disgrace either you or my selfe, as (in equall censure) yet I have not done. But Nature is above all humane power, and Love, commanded by Nature, hath prevailed for Love, joyning with Fortune: in meere pity and commiseration of my extreme wrong, I found them both most benigne and gracious, teaching me a way secret enough, whereby I might reach the height of my desires, howsoever you became instructed, or (perhaps) found it out by accident; so it was, and I denie it not.

Nor did I make election of _Guiscardo_ by chance, or rashly, as many women doe, but by deliberate counsell in my soule, and most mature advise; I chose him above all other, and having his honest harmelesse conversation, mutually we enjoyed our hearts contentment. Now it appeareth, that I having not offended but by love; in imitation of vulgar opinion, rather then truth: you seeke to reprove me bitterly, alleaging no other maine argument for your anger, but onely my not choosing a gentleman, or one more worthy. Wherein it is most evident, that you doe not so much checke my fault, as the ordination of Fortune; who many times advanceth men of meanest esteeme, and abaseth them of greater merit. But leaving this discourse, let us looke into the originall of things, wherein wee are first to observe, that from one masse or lumpe of flesh, both we, and all other received our flesh, and one Creator hath created all things; yea, all creatures, equally in their forces and faculties, and equall likewise in their vertue: which vertue was the first that made distinction of our birth and equality, in regard, that such as had the most liberall portion thereof, and performed actions thereto answerable, were thereby termed noble, all the rest remaining unnoble: now although contrary use did afterward hide and conceale this Law, yet was it not therefore banished from Nature or good manners. In which respect, whosoever did execute all his actions by vertue, declared himselfe openly to be noble; and he that tearmed him otherwise, it was an error in the miscaller, and not in the person so wrongfully called; as the very same priviledge is yet in full force among us at this day.

Cast an heedfull eye then (good Father) upon all your Gentlemen, and advisedly examine their vertues, conditions and manner of behaviour. On the other side, observe those parts remaining in _Guiscardo_: and then, if you will judge truly, and without affection, you will confesse him to be most noble, and that all your Gentlemen (in respect of him) are but base Groomes and villaines. His vertues and excelling perfections, I never credited from the report or judgement of any person; but onely by your speeches, and mine owne eyes as true witnesses. Who did ever more commend _Guiscardo_, extolling all those singularities in him, most requisite to be in an honest vertuous man; then you your selfe have done? Nor neede you to be sorry, or ashamed of your good opinion concerning him; for, if mine eyes have not deceived my judgement, you never gave him the least part of praise, but I have knowne much more in him, then ever your words were able to expresse: wherefore, if I have beene any way deceived, truly the deceit proceeded onely from you. How will you then maintaine, that I have throwne my liking on a man of base condition? In troth (Sir) you cannot. Perhaps you will alleadge, that he is meane and poore; I confesse it, and surely it is to your shame, that you have not bestowne place of more preferment, on a man so honest and well deserving, and having beene so long a time your servant. Neverthelesse, poverty impaireth not any part of noble Nature, but wealth hurries it into horrible confusions. Many Kings and great Princes have heretofore beene poore, when divers of them that have delved into the Earth, and kept Flockes in the Feld, have beene advanced to riches, and exceeded the other in wealth.

Now, as concerning your last doubt, which most of all afflicteth you, namely, how you shall deale with me; boldly rid your braine of any such disturbance, for if you have resolved now in your extremity of yeeres, to doe that which your younger dayes evermore despised, I meane, to become cruell; use your utmost cruelty against me, for I will never entreate you to the contrary, because I am the sole occasion of this offence, if it doe deserve the name of an offence. And this I dare assure you, that if you deale not with me, as you have done already, or intend to _Guiscardo_, mine owne hands shall act as much: and therefore give over your teares to women, and if you purpose to be cruel, let him and me in death drinke both of one cup, at least, if you imagine that we have deserved it.

The King knew well enough the high spirit of his Daughter, but yet (neverthelesse) he did not beleeve, that her words would prove actions, or shee doe as shee saide. And therefore parting from her, and without intent of using any cruelty to her; concluded, by quenching the heate of another, to coole the fiery rage of her distemper, commanding two of his followers (who had the custody of _Guiscardo_) that without any rumour or noyse at all, they should strangle him the night ensuing, and taking the heart forth of his body, to bring it to him, which they performed according to their charge. On the next day, the King called for a goodly standing Cup of Gold, wherein he put the heart of _Guiscardo_, sending it by one of his most familiar servants to his Daughter, with command also to use these words to her. Thy Father hath sent thee this present, to comfort thee with that thing which most of all thou affectest, even as thou hast comforted him with that which he most hated.

_Ghismonda_, nothing altered from her cruell deliberation, after her Father was departed from her, caused certaine poysonous rootes & hearbs to be brought her, which shee (by distillation) made a water of, to drinke suddenly, whensoever any crosse accident should come from her Father; whereupon, when the messenger from her Father had delivered her the present, and uttered the words as he was commanded: shee tooke the Cup, and looking into it with a setled countenance, by sight of the heart, and effect of the message, shee knew certainely, that it was the heart of _Guiscardo_; then looking stearnely on the servant, thus she spake unto him. My honest friend, it is no more then right and justice, that so worthy a heart as this is, should have any worser grave then gold, wherein my Father hath dealt most wisely. So, lifting the heart up to her mouth; and sweetly kissing it, shee proceeded thus. In all things, even till this instant, (being the utmost period of my life) I have evermore found my Fathers love most effectuall to me; but now it appeareth farre greater, then at any time heretofore: and therefore from my mouth, thou must deliver him the latest thankes that ever I shall give him, for sending me such an honourable present.

These words being ended, holding the Cup fast in her hand, and looking seriously upon the heart, shee began againe in this manner. Thou sweete entertainer of all my dearest delights, accursed be his cruelty, that causeth me thus to see thee with my corporall eyes, it being sufficient enough for me, alwayes to behold thee with the sight of my soule. Thou hast runne thy race, and as Fortune ordained, so are thy dayes finished: for as all flesh hath an ending; so hast thou concluded, albeit too soone, and before thy due time. The travailes and miseries of this World, have now no more to meddle with thee, and thy very heaviest enemy, hath bestowed such a grave on thee, as thy greatnesse in vertue worthily deserveth; now nothing elsee is wanting, wherewith to beautifie thy Funerall, but onely her sighes & teares, that was so deare unto thee in thy life time. And because thou mightest the more freely enjoy them, see how my mercilesse Father (on his owne meere motion) hath sent thee to me; and truly I will bestow them frankly on thee, though once I had resolved, to die with drie eyes, and not shedding one teare, dreadlesse of their utmost malice towards me.

And when I have given thee the due oblation of my teares, my soule, which sometime thou hast kept most carefully, shall come to make a sweete conjunction with thine: for in what company elsee can I travaile more contentedly, and to those unfrequented silent shades, but onely in thine? As yet I am sure it is present here, in this Cup sent me by my Father, as having a provident respect to the place, for possession of our equall and mutuall pleasures; because thy soule affecting mine so truely, cannot walke alone, without his deare companion.

Having thus finished her complaint, even as if her head had been converted into a well-spring of water, so did teares abundantly flow from her faire eyes, kissing the heart of _Guiscardo_ infinite times. All which while, her women standing by her, neither knew what heart it was, nor to what effect her speeches tended: but being moved to compassionate teares, they often demanded (albeit in vaine) the occasion of her sad complaining, comforting her to their utmost power. When shee was not able to weepe any longer, wiping her eyes, and lifting up her head, without any signe of the least dismay, thus shee spake to the heart. Deare heart, all my duty is performed to thee, and nothing now remaineth uneffected; but onely breathing my last, to let my ghost accompany thine.

Then calling for the glasse of water, which shee had readily prepared the day before, and powring it upon the heart lying in the Cup, couragiously advancing it to her mouth, shee dranke it up every drop; which being done, shee lay downe upon her bed, holding her Lovers heart fast in her hand, and laying it so neere to her owne as she could. Now although her women knew not what water it was, yet when they had seene her to quaffe it off in that manner, they sent word to the King, who much suspecting what had happened, went in all haste to his Daughters chamber, entring at the very instant, when shee was laide upon her bed; beholding her in such passionate pangs, with teares streaming downe his reverend beard, he used many kinde words to comfort her, when boldly thus shee spake unto him. Father (quoth she) well may you spare these teares, because they are unfitting for you, and not any way desired by me; who but your selfe, hath seene any man to mourne for his owne wilfull offence. Neverthelesse, if but the least jot of that love doe yet abide in you, whereof you have made such liberall profession to me; let me obtaine this my very last request, to wit, that seeing I might not privately enjoy the benefit of _Guiscardoes_ love, and while he lived; let yet (in death) one publike grave containe both our bodies, that death may affoord us, what you so cruelly in life denied us.

Extremity of griefe and sorrow, with-held his tongue from returning any answer, and shee perceiving her end approaching, held the heart still closed to her owne bare brest, saying; Here Fortune, receive two true hearts latest oblation, for, in this manner are we comming to thee. So closing her eyes, all sense forsooke her, life leaving her body breathlesse. Thus ended the haplesse love of _Guiscardo_, and _Ghismonda_, for whose sad disaster, when the King had mourned sufficiently, and repented fruitlessly; he caused both their bodies to be honourably embalmed, and buried in a most royall Monument, not without generall sorrow of the subjects of _Salerne_.

_Fryar_ Albert _made a young Venetian Gentlewoman beleeve, that God_ Cupid _was falne in love with her, and he resorted oftentimes unto her, in the disguise of the same God. Afterward, being frighted by the Gentlewomans kindred and friends, he cast himselfe out of her Chamber window, and was hidden in a poore mans House; on the day following, in the shape of a wilde or savage man, he was brought upon the Rialto of Saint_ Marke, _and being there publikely knowne by the Brethren of his Order; he was committed to Prison._

The second Novell.

_Reprehending the lewd lives of dissembling hypocrites; and checking the arrogant pride of vaine-headed women._

The Novell recounted by Madam _Fiammetta_, caused teares many times in the eyes of all the company; but it being finished, the King shewing a stearne countenance, saide; I should much have commended the kindnesse of fortune, if in the whole course of my life, I had tasted the least moity of that delight, which _Guiscardo_ received by conversing with faire _Ghismonda_. Nor neede any of you to wonder thereat, or how it can be otherwise, because hourely I feele a thousand dying torments, without enjoying any hope of ease or pleasure: but referring my fortunes to their owne poore condition, it is my will, that Madam _Pampinea_ proceed next in the argument of successelesse love, according as Madam _Fiammetta_ hath already begun, to let fall more dew-drops on the fire of mine afflictions. Madam _Pampinea_ perceiving what a taske was imposed on her, knew well (by her owne disposition) the inclination of the company, whereof shee was more respective, then of the Kings command: wherefore, chusing rather to recreate their spirits, then to satisfie the Kings melancholy humour; shee determined to relate a Tale of mirthfull matter, and yet to keepe within compasse of the purposed Argument.

It hath been continually used as a common Proverbe; that a bad man, taken and reputed to be honest and good, may commit many evils, yet neither credited, or suspected: which proverbe giveth mee very ample matter to speake of, and yet not varying from our intention, concerning the hypocrisie of some religious persons, who having their garments long and large, their faces made artificially pale, their language meeke and humble, to get mens goods from them; yet sower, harsh, and stearne enough, in checking and controuling other mens errors, as also in urging others to give, and themselves to take, without any other hope or meanes of salvation. Nor doe they endeavour like other men, to worke out their soules health with feare and trembling; but, even as if they were sole owners, Lords, and possessors of Paradice, will appoint to every dying person, places (there) of greater or lesser excellency, according as they thinke good, or as the legacies left by them are in quantity, whereby they not onely deceive themselves, but all such as give credit to their subtile perswasions. And were it lawfull for me, to make knowne no more then is meerely necessary; I could quickly disclose to simple credulous people, what craft lieth concealed under their holy habites: and I would wish, that their lies and deluding should speed with them, as they did with a _Franciscane_ Friar, none of the younger Novices, but one of them of greatest reputation, and belonging to one of the best Monasteries in _Venice_. Which I am the rather desirous to report, to recreate your spirits, after your teares for the death of faire _Ghismonda_.

Sometime (Honourable Ladies) there lived in the City of _Imola_, a man of most lewd and wicked life; named, _Bertho de la massa_, whose shamelesse deedes were so well knowne to all the Citizens, and won such respect among them; as all his lies could not compasse any beleefe, no, not when he delivered a matter of sound truth. Wherefore, perceiving that his lewdnesse allowed him no longer dwelling there; like a desperate adventurer, he transported himselfe thence to _Venice_, the receptacle of all foule sinne and abhomination, intending there to exercise his wonted bad behaviour, and live as wickedly as ever he had done before. It came to passe, that some remorse of conscience tooke hold of him, for the former passages of his dissolute life, and he pretended to be surprized with very great devotion, becomming much more Catholike then any other man, taking on him the profession of a _Franciscane Cordelier_, and calling himselfe Fryar _Albert_ of _Imola_.

In this habite and outward appearance, hee seemed to leade an austere and sanctimonious life, highly commending penance & abstinence, never eating flesh, or drinking wine, but when hee was provided of both in a close corner. And before any person could take notice thereof, hee became (of a theefe) Ruffian, forswearer and murtherer, as formerly he had beene a great Preacher; yet not abandoning the forenamed vices, when secretly he could put any of them in execution. Moreover, being made Priest, when he was celebrating Masse at the Altar, if he saw himselfe to be observed by any; he would most mournefully reade the passion of our Saviour, as one whose teares cost him little, whensoever hee pleased to use them: so that, in a short while, by his preaching and teares, he fed the humours of the _Venetians_ so pleasingly; that they made him executour (well neere) of all their Testaments, yea, many chose him as depositary or Guardion of their monies; because he was both Confessour and Councellor, almost to all the men and women.

By this well seeming out-side of sanctity, the Wolfe became a Shepheard, and his renown for holinesse was so famous in those parts, as Saint _Frances_ himselfe had hardly any more. It fortuned, that a young Gentlewoman, being somewhat foolish, wanton and proud minded, named Madam _Lisetta de Caquirino_, wife to a wealthy Merchant, who went with certaine Gallies into _Flanders_, and there lay as Lieger long time, in company of other Gentlewomen, went to be confessed by this ghostly Father; kneeling at his feete, although her heart was high enough, like a proud minded woman, (for _Venetians_ are presumptuous, vaine-glorious, and witted much like to their skittish Gondoloes) she made a very short rehearsall of her sinnes. At length Fryar _Albert_ demanded of her, whether shee had any amorous friend or lover? Her patience being exceedingly provoked, stearne anger appeared in her lookes, which caused her to returne him this answer. How now Sir _Domine_? what? have you no eyes in your head? Can you not distinguish between mine, and these other common beauties? I could have Lovers enow, if I were so pleased; but those perfections remaining in me, are not to be affected by this man, or that. How many beauties have you beheld, any way answerable to mine, and are more fit for Gods, then mortals.

Many other idle speeches shee uttered, in proud opinion of her beauty, whereby Friar _Albert_ presently perceived, that this Gentlewoman had but a hollow braine, and was fit game for folly to flye at; which made him instantly enamoured of her, and that beyond all capacity of resisting, which yet he referred to a further, and more commodious time. Neverthelesse, to shew himselfe an holy and religious man now, he began to reprehend her, and told her plainely, that she was vain-glorious, and overcome with infinite follies. Hereupon, she called him a logger headed beast, and he knew not the difference between an ordinary complexion, and beauty of the highest merit. In which respect, Friar _Albert_, being loth to offend her any further; after confession was fully ended, let her passe away among the other Gentlewomen, she giving him divers disdainfull lookes.

Within some few dayes after, taking one of his trusty brethren in his company, he went to the House of Madam _Lisetta_, where requiring to have some conference alone with her selfe; shee tooke him into a private Parlour, and being there, not to be seene by any body, he fell on his knees before her, speaking in this manner. Madam, for charities sake, and in regard of your own most gracious nature, I beseech you to pardon those harsh speeches, which I used to you the other day, when you were with me at confession: because, the very night ensuing thereon, I was chastised in such cruell manner, as I was never able to stirre forth of my bed, untill this very instant morning; whereto the weake witted Gentlewoman thus replyed. And who I pray you (quoth she) did chastise you so severely? I will tell you Madam, said Friar _Albert_, but it is a matter of admirable secrecie.

Being alone by my selfe the same night in my Dorter, and in very serious devotion, according to my usuall manner: suddenly I saw a bright splendour about me, and I could no sooner arise to discerne what it might be, and whence it came, but I espied a very goodly young Lad standing by me, holding a golden Bow in his hand, and a rich Quiver of Arrowes hanging at his back. Catching fast hold on my Hood, against the ground he threw me rudely, trampling on me with his feete, and beating me with so many cruell blowes, that I thought my body to be broken in peeces. Then I desired to know, why he was so rigorous to me in his correction? Because (quoth he) thou didst so saucily presume this day, to reprove the celestiall beauty of Madam _Lisetta_, who (next to my Mother _Venus_) I love most dearely. Whereupon I perceived, he was the great commanding God _Cupid_, and therefore I craved most humbly pardon of him. I will pardon thee (quoth he) but upon this condition, that thou goe to her so soone as conveniently thou canst, and (by lowly humility) prevaile to obtaine her free pardon: which if she will not vouchsafe to grant thee, then shall I in stearne anger returne againe, and lay so many torturing afflictions on thee, that all thy whole life time shall be most hateful to thee. And what the displeased God saide elsee beside, I dare not disclose, except you please first to pardon me.

Mistresse shallow braine, being swolne big with this wind, like an empty bladder; conceived no small pride in hearing these words, constantly crediting them to be true, and therefore thus answered. Did I not tel you Father _Albert_, that my beauty was celestiall? But I sweare by my beauty, notwithstanding your idle passed arrogancy, I am heartily sorry for your so severe correction; which that it may no more be inflicted on you, I doe freely pardon you; yet with this _proviso_, that you tell me, what the God elsee saide unto you; whereto Fryar _Albert_ thus replyed. Madam, seeing you have so graciously vouchsafed to pardon me, I will thankfully tell you all: but you must be very carefull and respective, that whatsoever I shall reveale unto you, must so closely be concealed, as no living creature in the World may know it; for you are the onely happy Lady now living, and that happinesse relieth on your silence and secrecie: with solemne vowes and protestations shee sealed up her many promises, and then the Fryar thus proceeded.

Madam, the further charge imposed on me by God _Cupid_, was to tell you, that himselfe is so extremely enamoured of your beauty, and you are become so gracious in his affection; as, many nights he hath come to see you in your Chamber, sitting on your pillow, while you slept sweetly, and desiring very often to awake you, but onely fearing to affright you. Wherefore, now he sends you word by me, that one night he intendeth to come visite you, and to spend some time in conversing with you. But in regard he is a God, and meerely a spirit in forme, whereby neither you or any elsee have capacity of beholding him, much lesse to touch or feele him: he saith, that (for your sake) he will come in the shape of a man, giving me charge also to know of you, when you shall please to have him come, and in whose similitude you would have him to come, whereof he will not faile; in which respect, you may justly thinke your selfe to be the onely happy woman living, and farre beyond all other in your good fortune.

Mistris want-wit presently answered, shee was well contented, that God _Cupid_ should love her, and she would returne the like love againe to him; protesting withall, that wheresoever shee should see his majesticall picture, she would set a hallowed burning Taper before it. Moreover, at all times he should be most welcome to her, whensoever hee would vouchsafe to visite her; for, he should alwayes finde her alone in her private Chamber: on this condition, that his olde Love _Psyches_, and all other beauties elsee whatsoever, must be set aside, and none but her selfe only to be his best Mistresse, referring his personall forme of appearance, to what shape himselfe best pleased to assume, so that it might not be frightfull, or offensive to her.

Madam (quoth Friar _Albert_) most wisely have you answered, & leave the matter to me; for I will take order sufficiently, and to your contentment. But you may do me a great grace, and without any prejudice to your selfe, in granting me one poore request; namely, to vouchsafe the Gods appearance to you, in my bodily shape and person, and in the perfect forme of a man as now you behold me, so may you safely give him entertainment, without any taxation of the world, or ill apprehension of the most curious inquisition. Beside, a greater happinesse can never befall me: for, while he assumeth the soule out of my body, and walketh on the earth in my humane figure: I shall be wandering in the joyes of Lovers Paradise, feeling the fruition of their felicities; which are such, as no mortality can be capeable of, no, not so much as in imagination.

The wise Gentlewoman replied, that she was well contented, in regard of the severe punishment inflicted on him by God _Cupid_, for the reproachfull speeches he had given her; to allow him so poore a kinde of consolation, as he had requested her to grant him. Whereuppon Fryar _Albert_ saide: Be ready then Madam to give him welcome to morrow in the evening, at the entering into your house, for comming in an humane body, he cannot but enter at your doore, whereas, if (in powerfull manner) he made use of his wings, he then would flye in at your window, and then you could not be able to see him.

Upon this conclusion, _Albert_ departed, leaving _Lisetta_ in no meane pride of imagination, that God _Cupid_ should bee enamored of her beauty; and therefore she thought each houre a yeare, till she might see him in the mortall shape of Friar _Albert_. And now was his braine wonderfully busied, to visite her in more then common or humane manner; and therefore he made him a sute (close to his body) of white Taffata, all poudred over with Starres, and spangles of Gold, a Bow and Quiver of Arrowes, with wings also fastened to his backe behinde him, and all cunningly covered with his Friars habit, which must be the sole meanes for his safe passage.

Having obtained licence of his Superiour, and being accompanyed with an holy Brother of the Convent, yet ignorant of the businesse by him intended; he went to the house of a friend of his, which was his usuall receptacle, whensoever he went about such deeds of darkness. There did he put on his dissembled habit of God _Cupid_, with his winges, Bowe, and Quiver, in formall fashion; and then (clouded over with his Monkes Cowle) leaves his companion to awaite his returning backe, while he visited foolish _Lisetta_, according to her expectation, readily attending for the Gods arrivall.

_Albert_ being come to the house, knocked at the doore, and the Maid admitting him entrance, according as her Mistresse had appointed, shee conducted him to her Mistresses Chamber, where laying aside his Friars habite, and she seeing him shine with such glorious splendour, adding action also to his assumed dissimulation, with majesticke motion of his body, wings, and bow, as if he had bene God _Cupid_, indeede converted into a body much bigger of stature, then Painters commonly do describe him, her wisedome was so overcome with feare and admiration, that she fell on her knees before him, expressing all humble reverence unto him. And he spreading his wings over her, as with wiers and strings hee had made them pliant; shewed how graciously he accepted her humiliation; folding her in his armes, and sweetly kissing her many times together, with repetition of his entire love and affection towards her. So delicately was he perfumed with odorifferous favours, and so compleate of person in his spangled garments, that she could do nothing elsee, but wonder at his rare behaviour, reputing her felicity beyond all Womens in the world, and utterly impossible to bee equalled, such was the pride of her presuming. For he told her divers tales and fables, of his awefull power among the other Gods, and stolne pleasures of his upon the earth; yet gracing her praises above all his other Loves, and vowes made now, to affect none but her onely, as his often visitations should more constantly assure her, that shee verily credited all his protestations, and thought his kisses and embraces, farre to exceed any mortall comparison.

After they had spent so much time in amorous discoursing, as might best fit with this their first meeting, and stand cleare from suspition on either side: our _Albert-Cupid_, or _Cupid-Albert_, which of them you best please to terme him, closing his spangled winges together againe behinde his backe, fastening also on his Bow and Quiver of Arrowes, over-clouds all with his religious Monkes Cowle, and then with a parting kisse or two, returned to the place where he had left his fellow and companion, perhaps imployed in as devout an exercise, as he had bin in his absence from him; whence both repayring home to the Monastery, all this nightes wandering was allowed as tollerable, by them who made no spare of doing the like.

On the morrow following, Madam _Lisetta_ immediately after dinner, being attended by her Chamber-maid, went to see Friar _Albert_, finding him in his wonted forme and fashion, and telling him what had hapned betweene her and God _Cupid_, with all the other lies and tales which hee had told her. Truly Madam (answered _Albert_) what your successe with him hath beene, I am no way able to comprehend; but this I can assure you, that so soone as I had acquainted him with your answer, I felt a sodaine rapture made of my soule, and visibly (to my apprehension) saw it carried by Elves and Fairies, into the floury fields about _Elisium_, where Lovers departed out of this life, walk among the beds of Lillies and Roses, such as are not in this world to be seene, neither to be imagined by any humane capacity. So super-abounding was the pleasure of this joy and solace, that, how long I continued there, or by what meanes I was transported hither againe this morning, it is beyond all ability in mee to expresse, or how I assumed my body againe after that great God hadde made use thereof to your service. Well Friar _Albert_ (quoth shee) you may see what an happinesse hath befalne you, by so grosse an opinion of my perfections, and what a felicity you enjoy, and still are like to do, by my pardoning your error, and granting the Gods accesse to me in your shape: which as I envy not, so I wish you heereafter to be wiser, in taking upon you to judge of beautie. Much other idle folly proceeded from hir, which still he soothed to her contentment, and (as occasion served) many meetings they had in the former manner.

It fortuned within a few dayes after, that Madam _Lisetta_ being in company with one of her Gossips, and their conference (as commonly it falleth out to be) concerning other women of the City; their beautie, behaviour, amorous suters and servants, and generall opinion conceived of their worth and merit; wherein _Lisetta_ was over-much conceyted of her selfe, not admitting any other to be her equall. Among other speeches, favouring of an unseasoned braine: Gossip (quoth she) if you knew what account is made of my beauty, and who holdes it in no meane estimation, you would then freely confesse, that I deserve to bee preferred before any other. As women are ambitious in their owne opinions, so commonly are they covetous of one anothers secrets, especially in matter of emulation, whereupon the Gossip thus replyed. Beleeve me Madam, I make no doubt but your speeches may bee true, in regard of your admired beauty, and many other perfections beside: yet let me tell you, priviledges, how great and singular soever they be, without they are knowen to others, beside such as do particularly enjoy them; they carrie no more account, then things of ordinary estimation. Whereas on the contrary, when any Lady or Gentlewoman hath some eminent and peculiar favour, which few or none other can reach unto, and it is made famous by generall notion: then do all women elsee admire and honour her, as the glory of their kinde, and a miracle of Nature.

I perceive Gossip said _Lisetta_ whereat you ayme, & such is my love to you, as you should not lose your longing in this case, were I but constantly secured of your secrecy, which as hitherto I have bene no way able to tax, so would I be loth now to be more suspitious of then needs. But yet this matter is of such maine moment, that if you will protest as you are truely vertuous, never to reveale it to any living body, I will disclose to you almost a miracle. The vertuous oath being past, with many other solemne protestations beside, _Lisetta_ then proceeded in this manner.

I know Gossip, that it is a matter of common & ordinary custome, for Ladies and Gentlewomen to be graced with favourites, men of fraile & mortall conditions, whose natures are as subject to inconstancy, as their very best endeavours dedicated to folly, as I could name no mean number of our Ladies heere in _Venice_. But when Soveraigne deities shal feele the impression of our humane desires, and behold subjects of such prevailing efficacy, as to subdue their greatest power, yea, and make them enamored of mortall creatures: you may well imagine Gossip, such a beauty is superiour to any other. And such is the happy fortune of your friend _Lisetta_, of whose perfections, great _Cupid_ the awefull commanding God of Love himselfe, conceived such an extraordinary liking: as he hath abandoned his seate of supreme Majesty, and appeared to me in the shape of a mortall man, with lively expression of his amorous passions, and what extremities of anguish he hath endured, onely for my love. May this be possible? replyed the Gossip. Can the Gods be toucht with the apprehension of our fraile passions? True it is Gossip, answered _Lisetta_, and so certainly true, that his sacred kisses, sweet embraces, and most pleasing speeches, with proffer of his continuall devotion towards me, hath given me good cause to confirme what I say, and to thinke my felicity farre beyond all other womens, being honoured with his often nightly visitations.

The Gossip inwardly smiling at her idle speeches, which (nevertheles) she avouched with very vehement asseverations; fell instantly sicke of womens naturall disease, thinking every minute a tedious month, till she were in company with some other Gossips, to breake the obligation of her vertuous promise, and that others (as well as her selfe) might laugh at the folly of this shallow-witted woman. The next day following, it was her hap to be at a wedding, among a great number of other women, whom quickly she acquainted with this so strange a wonder; as they did the like to their husbands: and passing so from hand to hand, in lesse space then two daies, all _Venice_ was fully possessed with it.

Among the rest, the brethren to this foolish woman, heard this admirable newes concerning their Sister; and they discreetly concealing it to themselves, closely concluded to watch the walks of this pretended god: and if he soared not too lofty a flight, they would clip his wings, to come the better acquainted with him. It fortuned, that the Friar hearing his Cupidicall visitations over-publikely discovered, purposed to check and reprove _Lisetta_ for her indiscretion. And being habited according to his former manner, his Friarly Cowle covering al his former bravery, he left his companion where he used to stay, and closely walked along unto the house. No sooner was he entred, but the Brethren being ambushed neer to the doore, went in after him, and ascending the staires, by such time as he had uncased himselfe, and appeared like God _Cupid_, with his spangled wings displayed: they rushed into the Chamber, and he having no other refuge, opened a large Casement, standing directly over the great gulfe or River, and presently leapt into the water; which being deepe, and hee skilfull in swimming, he had no other harme by his fall, albeit the sodain affright did much perplex him.

Recovering the further side of the River, he espied a light, & the doore of an house open, wherein dwelt a poore man, whom he earnestly intreated, to save both his life and reputation, telling him many lies and tales by what meanes he was thus disguised, and throwne by night-walking Villaines into the water. The poore man, being moved to compassionate his distressed estate, laid him in his owne bed, ministring such other comforts to him, as the time and his poverty did permit; and day drawing on, he went about his businesse, advising him to take his rest, and it should not be long till he returned. So, locking the doore, and leaving the counterfeit God in bed, away goes the poore man to his daily labour. The Brethren to _Lisetta_, perceiving God _Cupid_ to bee fled and gone, and shee in melancholly sadnesse sitting by them: they tooke up the Reliques he had left behind him, I meane the Friars hood and Cowle, which shewing to their sister, and sharply reproving her unwomanly behaviour: they lefte her in no meane discomfort, returning home to their owne houses, with their conquered spoiles of the forlorne Friar.

During the time of these occurrences, broad day speeding on, & the poore man returning homeward by the _Rialto_, to visit his guest so lefte in bed: he beheld divers crouds of people, and a generall rumor noysed among them, that God _Cupid_ had beene that night with Madame _Lisetta_, where being over-closely pursued by her Brethren, for fear of being surprized, he leapt out of her window into the gulfe, and no one could tell what was become of him. Heereupon, the poore man beganne to imagine, that the guest entertained by him in the night time, must needs bee the same supposed God Cupid, as by his wings and other embellishments appeared: wherefore being come home, and sitting downe on the beds side by him, after some few speeches passing between them, he knew him to be Friar Albert, who promised to give him fifty ducates, if hee would not betray him to _Lisettaes_ brethren.

Upon the acceptation of this offer, the money being sent for, and paied downe; there wanted nothing now, but some apt and convenient meanes, whereby _Albert_ might safely be conveyed into the Monasterie, which being wholly referred to the poore mans care and trust, thus hee spake. Sir, I see no likely-hoode of your cleare escaping home, except in this manner as I advise you. We observe this day as a merry Festivall, & it is lawfull for any one, to disguise a man in the skin of a Beare, or in the shape of a savage man, or any other forme of better device. Which being so done, he is brought upon S. _Marks_ market place, where being hunted a while with dogs, upon the huntings conclusion, the Feast is ended; and then each man leades his monster whether him pleaseth. If you can accept any of these shapes, before you bee seene heere in my poore abiding, then can I safely (afterward) bring you where you would bee. Otherwise, I see no possible meanes, how you may escape hence unknown; for it is without all question to the contrary, that the Gentlewomans brethren, knowing your concealment in some one place or other, will set such spies and watches for you throughout the City, as you must needs be taken by them.

Now, although it seemed a most severe imposition, for _Albert_ to passe in any of these disguises: yet his exceeding feare of _Lisettaes_ brethren and friends, made him gladly yeelde, and to undergo what shape the poore man pleased, which thus he ordered. Annointing his naked body with Hony, he then covered it over with downy small Feathers, and fastning a chaine about his necke, and a strange ugly vizard on his face; hee gave him a great staffe in the one hand, and two huge Mastive dogs chained together in the other, which he had borrowed in the Butchery. Afterward, he sent a man to the _Rialto_, who there proclaimed by the sound of Trumpet: That all such as desired to see God _Cupid_, which the last night had descended downe from the skies, and fell (by ill hap) into the _Venetian_ gulfe, let them repaire to the publike Market place of S. _Marke_, and there he would appeare in his owne likenesse.

This being done, soone after he left his house, and leading him thus disguised along by his chaine, hee was followed by great crowds of people, every one questioning of whence, and what he was. In which manner, he brought him to the Market place, where an infinite number of people were gathered together, as well of the followers, as of them that before heard the proclamation. There he made choise of a pillar, which stood in a place somewhat highly exalted, whereto he chained his savage man, making shew, as if he meant to awaite there, till the hunting shold begin: in which time, the Flies, Waspes, and Hornets, did so terribly sting his naked body, being annointed with Hony, that he endured thereby unspeakable anguish. When the poore man saw, that there needed no more concourse of people; pretending, as if he purposed to let loose his Salvage man; he tooke the maske or vizard from _Alberts_ face, and then he spake aloud in this manner.

Gentlemen and others, seeing the wilde Boare commeth not to our hunting, because I imagine that he cannot easily be found: I meane (to the end you may not lose your labour in comming hither) to shew you the great God of Love called _Cupid_, whom Poets feigned long since to be a little boy, but now growne to manly stature. You see in what manner he hath left his high dwelling, onely for the comfort of our _Venetian_ beauties: but belike, the night-fogs over-flagging his wings, he fell into our gulfe, and comes now to present his service to you. No sooner had he taken off his vizard, but every one knew him to be Friar _Albert_; and sodainly arose such shoutes and out-cries, with most bitter words breathed forth against him, hurling also stones, durt and filth in his face, that his best acquaintance then could take no knowledge of him, and not any one pittying his abusing.

So long continued the offended people in their fury, that newes thereof was carried to the Convent, and six of his Religious brethren came, who casting an habite about him, and releasing him from his chain, they led him to the Monastery, not without much molestation and trouble of the people; where imprisoning him in their house, severitie of some inflicted punishment, or rather conceite for his open shame, shortned his dayes, and so he dyed. Thus you see faire Ladies, when licentious life must be clouded with a cloake of sanctity, and evill actions dayly committed, yet escaping uncredited: there will come a time at length, for just discovering of all, that the good may shine in their true luster of glory, and the bad sinke in their owne deserved shame.