love of all his kindred, and lived in most Noble condition, even as if
he had never bene any disordered man.
If the former Novels had made all the Ladies sad and sighe, this
last of Dioneus as much delighted them, as restoring them to their
former jocond humor, and banishing Tragicall discourse for ever. The
King perceiving that the Sun was neere setting, and his government
as neere ending, with many kinde and courteous speeches, excused
himselfe to the Ladies, for being the motive of such an argument, as
expressed the infelicity of poore Lovers. And having finished his
excuse, up he rose, taking the Crown of Lawrell from off his owne
head, the Ladies awaiting on whose head he pleased next to set it,
which proved to be the gracious Lady Fiammetta, and thus he spake.
Here I place this Crowne on her head, that knoweth better then any
other, how to comfort this faire assembly to morrow, for the sorrow
which they have this day endured.
Madame Fiammetta, whose lockes of haire were curled, long, and
like golden wiers, hanging somewhat downe over her white and
delicate shoulders, her visage round, wherein the Damaske Rose and
Lilly contended for priority, the eyes in her head, resembling those
of the Faulcon messenger, and a dainty mouth; her lippes looking
like two little Rubyes, with a commendable smile thus she replyed.
Philostratus, gladly I do accept your gift; and to the end that ye
may the better remember your selfe, concerning what you have done
hitherto: I will and command, that generall preparation be made
against to morrow, for faire and happy fortunes hapning to Lovers,
after former cruell and unkinde accidents. Which proposition was
very pleasing to them all.
Then calling for the Master of the Houshold, and taking order with
him, what was most needfull to be done; she gave leave unto the
whole company (who were all risen) to go recreate themselves untill
supper time. Some of them walked about the Garden, the beauty
whereof banished the least thought of wearinesse. Others walked by the
River to the Mill, which was not farre off, and the rest fell to
exercises, fitting their owne fancies, untill they heard the summons
for Supper. Hard by the goodly Fountaine (according to their wonted
manner) they supped altogether, and were served to their no meane
contentment: but being risen from the Table, they fell to their
delight of singing and dancing. While Philomena led the dance, the
Queene spake in this manner.
Philostratus, I intend not to varie from those courses heretofore
observed by my predecessors, but even as they have already done, so it
is my authority, to command a Song. And because I am well assured,
that you are not unfurnished of Songs answerable to the quality of the
passed Novels: my desire is, in regard we would not be troubled
hereafter, with any more discourses of unfortunate Love, that you
shall sing a Song agreeing with your owne disposition. Philostratus
made answer, that hee was ready to accomplish her command, and without
all further ceremony, thus he began.
THE SONG
Chorus. My teares do plainly prove,
How justly that poore heart hath cause to greeve
Which (under trust) findes Treason in his Love.
When first I saw her, that now makes me sigh,
Distrust did never enter in my thoughts.
So many vertues clearly shin'd in her,
That I esteem'd all martyrdome was light
Which Love could lay on me. Nor did I greeve,
Although I found my liberty was lost.
But now mine error I do plainly see:
Not without sorrow, thus betray'd to bee.
My teares do, etc.
For, being left by basest treachery
Of her in whom I most reposed trust:
I then could see apparant flatterie
In all the fairest shewes that she did make.
But when I strove to get forth of the snare,
I found my selfe the further plunged in.
For I beheld another in my place,
And I cast off, with manifest disgrace.
My, etc.
Then felt my heart such hels of heavy woes,
Not utterable. I curst the day and houre
When first I saw her lovely countenance,
Enricht with beautie, farre beyond all other:
Which set my soule on fire, enflamde each part,
Making a martyrdome of my poore hart.
My faith and hope being basely thus betrayde;
I durst not moove, to speake I was affrayde.
My teares do, etc.
Thou canst (thou powerfull God of Love) perceive,
My ceasselesse sorrow, voyde of any comfort:
I make my moane to thee, and do not fable,
Desiring, that to end my misery,
Death may come speedily, and with his Dart
With one fierce stroke, quite passing through my heart:
To cut off future fell contending strife,
An happy end be made of Love and Life.
My teares do, etc.
No other meanes of comfort doth remaine,
To ease me of such sharpe afflictions,
But onely death. Grant then that I may die,
To finish greefe and life in one blest houre.
For, being bereft of any future joyes,
Come, take me quickly from so false a friend.
Yet in my death, let thy great power approve,
That I died true, and constant in my Love.
My teares do, etc.
Happy shall I account this sighing Song,
If some (beside my selfe) do learne to sing it,
And so consider of my miseries,
As may incite them to lament my wrongs.
And to be warned by my wretched fate;
Least (like my selfe) themselves do sigh too late.
Learne Lovers, learne, what tis to be unjust,
And be betrayed, where you repose best trust.
The words contained in this Song, did manifestly declare, what
torturing afflictions poore Philostratus felt, and more (perhaps)
had beene perceived by the lookes of the Lady whom he spake of,
being then present in the dance; if the sodaine ensuing darknesse
had not hid the crimson blush, which mounted up into her face. But the
Song being ended, and divers other beside, lasting till the houre of
rest drew on; by command of the Queene, they all repaired to their
Chambers.
THE INDUCTION TO THE FIFT DAY
WHEREON, ALL THE DISCOURSES DO PASSE UNDER THE GOVERNMENT OF THE
MOST NOBLE LADY FIAMMETTA: CONCERNING SUCH PERSONS, AS HAVE BENE
SUCCESSEFULL IN THEIR LOVE, AFTER MANY HARD AND
PERILLOUS MISFORTUNES
Now began the Sunne to dart foorth his golden beames, when Madam
Fiammetta (incited by the sweete singing Birdes, which since the
breake of day, sat merrily chanting on the trees) arose from her
bed: as all the other Ladies likewise did, and the three young
Gentlemen descending downe into the fields, where they walked in a
gentle pace on the greene grasse, untill the Sunne were risen a little
higher. On many pleasant matters they conferred together, as they
walked in severall companies, till at the length the Queene, finding
the heate to enlarge it selfe strongly, returned backe to the
Castle; where when they were all arrived, she commanded, that after
this mornings walking, their stomackes should be refreshed with
wholsom Wines, as also divers sorts of banquetting stuffe.
Afterward, they all repaired into the Garden, not departing thence,
the houre of dinner was come: at which time, the Master of the
houshold, having prepared every thing in decent readinesse, after a
solemne song was sung, by order from the Queene, they were seated:
When they had dined, to their own liking and contentment, they began
(in continuation of their former order) to exercise divers dances, and
afterward voyces to their instruments, and many pretty Madrigals and
Roundelayes. Upon the finishing of these delights, the Queene gave
them leave to take their rest, when such as were so minded, went to
sleep, others solaced themselves in the Garden. But after midday was
overpast, they met (according to their wonted manner) and as the
Queene had commanded, at the faire Fountaine; where she being placed
in her seate royall, and casting her eye upon Pamphilus, she bad him
begin the dayes discourses, of happy successe in love, after
disastrous and troublesome accidents; who yeelding thereto with humble
reverence, thus began.
Many Novels (gracious Ladies) do offer themselves to my memory,
wherewith to beginne so pleasant a day, as it is her Highnesse
desire that this should be: among which plenty, I esteeme one above
all the rest, because you may comprehend thereby, not onely the
fortunate conclusion, wherewith we intend to begin our day; but
also, how mighty the forces of Love are, deserving to be both
admired and reverenced. Albeit there are many, who scarsely knowing
what they say, do condemne them with infinite grosse imputations:
which I purpose to disprove, and (I hope) to your no little pleasing.
THE FIFT DAY, THE FIRST NOVELL
WHEREBY THAT LOVE (OFTENTIMES) MAKETH A MAN BOTH WISE AND
VALIANT
Chynon, by falling in Love, became wise, and by force of Armes,
winning his faire Lady Iphigenia on the Seas, was afterward imprisoned
at Rhodes. Being delivered by anyone named Lysimachus, with him he
recovered his Iphigenia againe, and faire Cassandra, even in the
middest of their marriage. They fled with them into Candye, where
after they had married them, they were called home to their owne
dwelling.
According to the ancient Annales of the Cypriots, there sometime
lived in Cyprus, a Noble Gentleman, who was commonly called
Aristippus, and exceeded all other of the Country in the goods of
Fortune. Divers children he had, but (amongst the rest) a Sonne, in
whose birth he was more infortunate then any of the rest; and
continually greeved, in regard, that having all the compleate
perfections of beauty, good forme, and manly parts, surpassing all
other youths of his age or stature, yet hee wanted the reall
ornament of the soule, reason and judgement; being (indeed a meere
Ideot or Foole,) and no better hope to be expected of him. His true
name, according as he received it by Baptisme, was Galesus, but
because neyther by the laborious paines of his Tutors indulgence,
and faire endevour of his parents, or ingenuity of any other, he could
not be brought to civility of life, understanding of Letters, or
common carriage of a reasonable creature: by his grosse and deformed
kinde of speech, his qualities also savouring rather of brutish
breeding, then any way derived from manly education; as an Epithite of
scorne and derision, generally, they gave him the name of Chynon,
which in their native Countrey language, and divers other beside,
signifieth a very Sot or Foole, and so was he termed by every one.
This lost kinde of life in him, was no meane burthen of greefe
unto his Noble Father, and all hope being already spent, of any future
happy recovery, he gave command (because he would not alwaies have
such a sorrow in his sight) that he should live at a Farme of his owne
in a Country Village, among his Peazants and Plough-Swaines. Which was
not any way distastefull to Chynon, but well agreed with his owne
naturall disposition; for their rurall qualities, and grosse behaviour
pleased him beyond the Cities civility. Chynon living thus at his
Fathers Countrey Village, exercising nothing else but rurall
demeanour, such as then delighted him above all other: it chanced upon
a day about the houre of noone, as hee was walking over the fields,
with a long staffe on his necke, which commonly he used to carry; he
entred in to a small thicket, reputed the goodliest in all those
quarters, and by reason it was then the month of May, the Trees had
their leaves fairely shot forth.
When he had walked through the thicket, it came to passe, that (even
as good Fortune guided him) hee came into a faire Meadow, on every
side engirt with and in one corner thereof stoode a goodly
Fountaine, whose current was both coole and cleare. Hard by it, upon
the greene grasse, he espied a very beautifull young Damosell, seeming
to be fast asleepe, attired in such fine loose garments, as hidde very
little of her white body: onely from the girdle downward, she ware a
kirtle made close unto her, of interwoven delicate silke; and at her
feete lay two other Damosels sleeping, and a servant in the same
manner. No sooner had Chynon fixed his eye upon her, but he stood
leaning upon his staffe; and viewed her very advisedly, without
speaking word, and in no meane admiration, as if he had never seene
the forme of a woman before. He began then to feele in his harsh
rurall understanding (whereinto never till now, either by painfull
instruction, or all other good meanes used to him, any honest civility
had power of impression) a strange kinde of humour to awake, which
informed his grosse and dull spirite, that this Damosell was the
very fairest, which ever any living man beheld.
Then he began to distinguish her parts, commending the tresses of
her haire, which he imagined to be of gold; her forehead, nose, mouth,
necke, armes, but (above all) her brests, appearing (as yet) but onely
to shew themselves, like two little mountaines. So that, of a
fielden clownish lout, he would needs now become a Judge of beauty,
coveting earnestly in his soule, to see her eyes, which were veiled
over with sound sleepe, that kept them fast enclosed together, and
onely to looke on them, hee wished a thousand times, that she would
awake. For, in his judgement, she excelled all the women that ever
he had seene, and doubted, whether she were some Goddesse or no; so
strangely was he metamorphosed from folly, to a sensible apprehension,
more then common. And so farre did this sodaine knowledge in him
extend; that he could conceive of divine and celestiall things, and
that they were more to be admired and reverenced, then those of humane
or terrene consideration; wherefore the more gladly he contented
himselfe, to tarry till she awaked of her owne accord. And although
the time of stay seemed tedious to him, yet notwithstanding, he was
overcome with such extraordinary contentment, as he had no power to
