Volume 2 — The Palace of Pleasure. (continued 3)

THE FIFTY-SEUENTH NOUELL.

A punishment more rigorous than death, of a husband towarde his wife that had committed adulterie.

King Charles of Fraunce, the eight of that name, sent into Germany a gentleman called Bernage, lorde of Cyure besides Amboise: who to make speede, spared neither daye nor nighte for execution of his Prince’s commaundement. In sutch wyse as very late in an euening he arriued at the Castle of a Gentleman, to demaunde lodging, which very hardly he obtained. Howbeit, when the gentleman vnderstode that he was the seruaunt of such a kyng, he prayed him not to take it in ill parte the rudinesse of his seruantes because vppon occasion of certain his wiue’s frends which loued him not, he was forced to kepe his house so straight. Then Bernage tolde him the cause of his iourney, wherein the Gentleman offered to doe to the king his maister all seruice possible. Leading him into his house where he was feasted and lodged very honorably. When supper was ready, the Gentleman conueyed him into a parler wel hanged with fayre Tapistrie. And the meate being set vpon the table, and he required to sit down, he perceiued a woman comming forth behind the hanging, which was so beautifull as might be seene, sauing that her head was all shauen, and apparelled in Almaine blacke. After bothe the Gentlemen had washed, water was brought to the Gentlewoman, who when she had washed she sat down also, without speaking to any, or any word spoken vnto her againe. The Lorde Bernage beholding her well, thought her to be one of the fayrest Ladies that euer he sawe, if her face had not bene so pale and her countenaunce so sadde. After she had eaten a litle, she called for drinke, which one of the seruauntes brought vnto her in a straunge cup: for it was the head of a dead man trimmed with siluer, wherof she drancke twice or thrice. When she had supped and washed her handes, making a reuerence to the Lord of the house, shee retourned backe againe that way shee came, without speaking to any. Bernage was so much amased at that straunge sighte, as he waxed very heauie and sadde. The gentleman who marked hym, sayde vnto hym: “I see well that you be astonned at that you saw at the table, but seyng your honest demeanour, I wyll not keepe it secrete from you, because you shal not note that crueltie to be done without greate occasion. This gentlewoman whiche you see, is my wyfe, whom I loued better than was possible for any man to loue his wyfe. In such sorte as to marry her I forgat all feare of friendes, and brought her hither in despite of her parentes. She likewyse shewed vnto me suche signes of loue, as I attempted a thousande wayes to place her here for her ioye and myne, where wee lyued a long tyme in suche reste and contentation, as I thought my self the happiest Gentleman in Christendome. But in a iourney whiche I made, the attempt whereof myne honour forced me, shee forgot bothe her selfe, her conscience, and the loue whiche shee bare towardes mee, and fell in loue with a Gentleman that I brought vp in this house, whiche her loue vpon my retourne I perceiued to be true. Notwithstanding the loue that I bare her, was so great as I had no mistrust in her, tyll sutch tyme as experience did open myne eyes, and sawe the thynge that I feared more than death. For whiche cause my loue was tourned into furie and dispayre, so greate, as I watched her so nere, that vppon a daye fayning my selfe to goe abroade, I hydde my selfe in the chamber where now shee remayneth. Into the whiche sone after my departure shee repayred, and caused the Gentleman to come thether. Whome I did beholde to doe that thinge, which was altogether vnmeete for any man to doe to her, but my selfe. But when I sawe him mounte vppon the bed after her, I stepped forth and tooke him betwene her armes, and with my dagger immediatly did kill him. And because the offence of my wife semed so great as the doing of her to death was not sufficient to punish her, I deuised a torment which in mine opinion is worse vnto her than death. For thus I vse her, I doe locke her vp in the chamber wherein she accustomed to vse her delightes, and in the companie of hym that she loued farre better than me. In the closet of which chamber I haue placed the Anatomie of her friend, reseruing the same as a precious Iewell. And to the ende shee may not forget him at meales, at the table before my face, she vseth his skulle in steade of a cup to drinke in, to the intent she may behold him (aliue) in the presence of hym whom through her owne fault she hath made her mortal enemy, and him dead and slain for her sake, whose loue she preferred before mine. And so beholdeth those twoo thinges at dinner and supper which ought to displease her moste, her enemie liuing, and her friend dead, and al through her own wickednesse, howbeit I doe vse her no worse than my self, although shee goeth thus shauen: for the ornament of the heare doth not appertaine to an adultresse, nor the vayle or other furniture of the head to an unchast woman. Wherefore she goeth so shauen, in token she hath lost her honestie. If it please you, sir, to take the payne to see her, I wil bring you to her.” Whereunto Bernage willingly assented. And descending into her chamber whiche was very richely furnished, they founde her sitting alone at the fier. And the Gentleman drawing a Curteine, whiche was before the Closet, he sawe the Anatomie of the dead man hanging. Bernage had a great desire to speake vnto the Ladye, but for feare of her husband he durst not. The Gentleman perceiuin the same, said vnto him: “If it please you to speake vnto her, you shal vnderstand her order of talke.” Therwithall Bernage sayde vnto her: “Madame, if your pacience be correspondent to this torment, I deme you to be the happiest woman of the worlde.” The lady with teares trickeling down her eyes with a grace so good and humble as was possible, spake thus vnto him: “Sir, I doe confesse my fault to be so great, as all the afflictions and torment that the Lorde of this place (for I am not worthy to call him husbande) can doe vnto me, be nothing comparable to the sorrowe I haue conceiued of myne offence.” And in sayinge so, she began pitifully to weepe. Therewithall the Gentleman toke Bernage by the hande, and led him forth. The next day morning he departed about the businesse which the king had sent him. Notwithstanding, in bidding the Gentleman fare well, he sayde vnto hym: “Sir, the loue whiche I beare vnto you, and the honor and secretes wherewith you haue made me priuie, doth force me to saye vnto you howe I doe thinke good (seing the great repentance of the poore Gentlewoman your wife) that you doe shewe her mercie. And bicause you be yong and haue no children, it were a verie great losse and detriment to lose such a house and ligneage as yours is. And it may so come to passe, that your enemies thereby in time to come may be your heires, and inioye the goodes and patrimonie whiche you doe leaue behinde you.” The Gentleman which neuer thought to speake vnto his wife, with those wordes paused a great while, and in thend confessed his saying to be true, promising him that if she would continue in that humilitie, he would in time shew pittie vppon her, with whiche promise Bernage departed. And when he was retourned towardes the king his maister, hee recompted vnto him the successe of his iourneyes. And amonges other thinges he tolde him of the beautie of this Ladie, who sent his Painter called Iohn of Paris, to bring him her counterfaicte: which with the consent of her husband, he did. Who after that long penaunce, for a desire he had to haue children, and for the pitie hee bare to his wyfe which with great humblenesse receiued that affliction, tooke her vnto hym agayne, and afterwardes begat of her many children.

THE FIFTY-EIGHTH NOUELL.

A President of Grenoble aduertised of the ill gouernement of his wife, took such order, that his honestie was not diminished, and yet reuenged the facte.

In Grenoble (the chiefe citie of a Countrie in Fraunce called Daulphine, which citie otherwise is named Gratianapolis) there was a President that had a very fayre wyfe, who perceiuing her husbande beginne to waxe olde, fell in loue with a yong man that was her husband’s Clark, a very propre and handsome felowe. Vpon a time when her husband in a morning was gone to the Palace, the clarke entred his chamber and tooke his Maister’s place, whiche thing one of the presidente’s men, that faithfully had serued him the space of XXX. yeres like a trustie seruant perceiuing, could not keepe it secret, but tolde his Maister. The President whiche was a wise man, would not beleue it vpon his light report, but sayde that he did it of purpose to set discord betwene him and his wife, notwithstanding if the thing were true as he had reported, he might let him see the thing it selfe, whiche if he did not, he had good cause to thinke that he had deuised a lye to breake and dissolue the loue betwene them. The seruaunt did assure him that he would cause him to see the thing wherof he had tolde him. And one morning so sone as the President was gone to the Court, and the Clarked entred into his chamber, the seruaunt sent one of his companions to tel his maister that he might come in good time, to see the thing that he had declared vnto him, he himself standing stil at the doore to watch that the partie might not goe out. The President so sone as he sawe the signe that one of his men made vnto him, fayning that he was not wel at ease, left the audience, and spedely went home to his house, where he founde his olde seruaunt watching at the chamber dore, assuring him for truth that the Clarke was within, and that he should with spede to goe in. The President sayd to his seruant: “Do not tarrie at the dore, for thou knowest ther is no other going out or comming in but onely this, except a litle closet wherof I alone do beare the keye.” The president entred the chamber, and found his wife and the Clarke a bed together, who in his shirt fell downe at the president’s feete, crauing pardon, and his wife much afraid began to weepe. To whome the President sayde: “For so muche as the thing which thou hast done is such, as thou maist well consider, that I can not abyde my house (for thee) in this sort to be dishonored, and the daughters which I haue had by thee to be disauaunced and abased: therfore leaue of thy weeping, and marke what I shall doe. And thou Nicolas (for that was his Clarke’s name) hide thy selfe here in my closet, and in any wise make no noyse.” When he had so done, he opened the dore and called in his olde seruaunt, and sayde vnto him: “Diddest not thou warrant and assure me that thou wouldest let me see my Clarke and wyfe in bedde together? And vppon thy words I am come hether, thinking to haue killed my wife, and doe finde nothing to be true of that which thou diddest tell me. For I haue searched the chamber in euery place as I will shewe thee.” And with that he caused his seruant to looke vnder the beddes, and in euery corner. And when the seruant founde him not, throughly astonned, he sayde to his maister: “Sir, I sawe him goe into the chamber, and out he is not gone at the dore: and so farre as I can see he is not here: therefore I thinke the Diuel must nedes carrie him awaye.” Then his maister rebuked him in these words: “Thou art a villayn, to set such diuision betwene my wife and me, wherefore I doe discharge thee from my seruice, and for that which thou hast done me, I will paye the thy dutie, with the aduauntage: therefore get thee hence, and take hede that thou doest not tarrie in this town aboue XXIIII. houres.” The President for that he knew him to be an honest and faithfull seruaunt, gaue him five or sixe yeares wages, and purposed otherwise to preferre him. When the seruaunt (with ill will and weping teares) was departed, the President caused his Clark to come out of his Closet: and after he had declared to his wife and him, what hee thought of their ill behauiour, he forbad them to shewe no likelyhode of any such matter, and commaunded his wyfe to attire and dresse her selfe in more gorgeous apparell, than she was wont to weare, and to haunt and resort to company and feastes, willing the Clarke to make a better countenaunce on the matter then hee did before, but whensoeuer he rounded him in the eare and bad him depart, he charged him after that commaundement not to tarry foure houres in the towne. And when he had thus done, he retourned to the palace Courte, as though there hadde no sutche thing chaunced. And the space of fiftene dayes (contrary to his custome) he feasted his frendes and neighbours, and after euery those bankettes, he caused the minstrels to play, to make the Gentlewomen daunce. One daye he seing his wife not to daunce, he commaunded his Clarke to take her by the hande, and to leade her forth to daunce, who thinking the President had forgotten the trespasse past, very ioyfully daunced with her. But when the daunce was ended, the President faining as though he would haue commaunded him to doe some thing in his house, bad him in his eare to get him away and neuer to retourne. Now was the Clark very sorowfull to leaue his Ladye, but yet no lesse ioyfull he was that his life was saued. Afterwardes when the President had made all his frendes and kinsfolkes, and all the countrey, beleue what great loue he bare to his wife, vppon a faire day in the moneth of May, he went to gather a sallade in his garden, the herbes whereof after she had eaten, she liued not aboue XXIIII. houres after, whereof he counterfaited suche sorrowe, as no man could suspect the occasion of her death. And by that meanes he was reuenged of his enemy, and saued the honour of his house.

“¶ I will not by this Nouell (said Emarsuitte) prayse the conscience of the President, but herein I haue declared the light behauiour of a woman, and the great pacience and prudence of a man: Praying you good Ladies all, not to be offended at the truthe.” “If all women (quo Parlamente) that loue their Clarkes or seruauntes, were forced to eate such sallades, I beleue they would not loue their gardens so well as they doe, but woulde teare and plucke vp all the herbes bothe roote and rinde, to auoyde those thinges that by death might aduaunce the honor of their stock and ligneage.” “If sallades be so costly (quod Hircan) and so daungerous in May, I will prouoke appetite with other sawces, or els hunger shall be my chiefest.”

THE FIFTY-NINTH NOUELL.

A gentleman of Perche suspecting iniurie done vnto him by his friend, prouoked him to execute and put in proufe the cause of his suspicion.

Besides the countrie of Perche, there were two Gentlemen, which from the tyme of theyr youthe lyued in sutche great and perfect amitie, as there was betwene them but one harte, one bed, one house, one table, and one purse. Long time continued this perfect frendship: betwene whom there was but one will and one woorde, no difference in either of them: in so muche as they not onely semed to be two brethren, but also they appeared in al semblances to be but one man. One of them chaunced to mary: notwithstanding they gaue not ouer their frendship, but perseuered in their vsual amitie as they were wont to doe: and whan they happened to be strained to straight lodging, the maried gentleman would not stick to suffer his friend to lie with him and his wife. But yet you ought for frendship sake to consider that the maried man lay in the mids. Their goodes were common betwene them, and the mariage did yelde no cause to hinder their assured amitie. But in processe of time, the felicitie of this worlde (whiche carieth with it a certaine mutabitie) could not continue in the house, which was before right pleasaunt and happy: for the maried man forgetting the faithfull fidelitie of his friend, without any cause conceiued a greate suspicion betwene hym and his wyfe, from whom he could not dissemble the case, but sharpely tolde her his mynde. She therewithall was wonderfully amazed: howbeit, he commaunded her to doe all thinges (one thing excepted) and to make so muche of his companion as of himselfe. Neuerthelesse he forbade her to speake vnto hym except it were in the presence of many. All which she gaue her husbande’s companion to vnderstande, who would not beleue her, knowyng that hee had neither by thought or deede done anye thing whereof his companion had cause to be offended. And likewise because he used to kepe nothing secrete from hym, he tolde him what he had sayde, praying hym to tell him the truthe of the matter, because he purposed neither in that, ne yet in any other thing, to geue occasion of breach of that amitie which of long time they had imbraced. The maried Gentleman assured him that he neuer thought it, and how they which had sowen that rumor, had wickedly belied him. Whereunto his companion replied: “I knowe wel enough that Ielousie is a passion so intollerable as loue it selfe. And when you shall conceiue that opinion of Ialousie, yea and it were of my selfe, I should do you no wrong, for your selfe were not able to kepe it. But of one thing which is in your power, I haue good matter whereof to complayne, and that is because you will concele from me your maladie, sith there was no passion or opinion which you conceiued, that before this time you kept secret from me. Likewise for my owne parte if I were amorous of your wife, you ought not to impute it as a fault vnto me, because it is a fier which I bare not in my handes, to vse at my pleasure. But if I kepe it to my selfe from you, and indeuour to make youre wife knowe it by demonstration of my loue, I might then be accompted that vntrustiest friend that euer liued: and for me I doe assure you that shee is a right honest and a good woman, and one that my fansie doth lest fauour (although she were not your wife) of all them that euer I sawe. But now sithens there is no cause, I do require you that if you perceiue any suspicion, be it neuer so litle, to tell me of it, because I would so vse myself, as our frendship which hath indured so long tyme, might not bee broken for a woman: and if I did loue her aboue any thing in the worlde, yet surely I would neuer speake worde vnto her, bicause I doe esteme our frendship better then the greatest treasure.” His companion swore vnto him very great othes that he neuer thought it, praying him to vse his house as he had done before. Whereunto he aunswered: “Sithe you will haue me so to doe, I am content: but I praye you if hereafter you doe conceiue any sinistre opinion in me, not to dissemble the same, which if you doe I will neuer continue longer in your companie.” In processe of time, liuing together according to their custome, the maried Gentleman entred againe into greater Ielousie than euer he did, commaunding his wife to beare no more that countenaunce towards him that she was wont to doe. Whiche commaundement she tolde her husbande’s companion, praying him after that time to forbeare to speake vnto her, for that she was forbidden to doe the like to him. The gentleman vnderstanding by wordes and certaine countenaunces, that his companion had not kept promise, he sayd vnto him in great choler: “To be Ialous (my companion) is a thing naturall: but bicause thou diddest sweare vnto me by othes not to dissemble, I can by no meanes forbeare any longer: for I did euer thinke that betwene thyne harte and mine, there could be no let and interruption: but to my great griefe and without anye fault on my part, I doe see the contrarie. For as muche as thou art not only very Ialous betwene thy wife and mee, but also thou wouldest dissimulate and couer the same, so that in the ende thy maladie and disease continuing so long, is altered into mere malice, and lyke as oure loue hath bene the greateste that hathe bene seene in oure tyme, euen so our displeasure and hatred is nowe moste mortall. I haue done so mutche as lyeth in mee, to auoyde this inconuenience, but sithe thou hast suspected me to be an ill man, and I haue still shewed my selfe to be the contrary, I doe sweare, and therwithal assure thee, by my faith, that I am the same thou thinkest me to be, and therefore from henceforth take hede of me: for since suspicion hath separated the from my loue and amitie, despite shall deuide me from thine.” And albeit that his companion would haue made him beleue the contrarie, and that hee mistrusted hym nothing at all, yet he withdrewe his part of his moueables and goodes that before were common betweene them, so that then both their hartes and goodes were so farre separated as before they were vnited and ioyned together. In such wyse as the vnmaried Gentleman neuer ceassed till he had made his companion cockolde, according to his promise.

THE SIXTIETH NOUELL.

The piteous death of an Amorouse Gentleman, for the slacke comfort geuen him to late, by his beloued.

Betwene Daulphine and Prouence, there was a gentleman, more riche and better furnished with beautie, vertue, and good condicions, then with the goodes of fortune: who fill in loue with a gentlewoman that for this time shall want a name, for respecte of her parentes that are come of honorable houses, and the Gentleman’s name also shalbe vntolde, for like respecte, although altogether not so honorably allied, as the Gentlewoman that he loued, and yet the historie very certen and true. And bicause his degree was not so high as hers, hee durst not discouer his affection: for the loue which he bare her, was so good and perfect, as rather would he haue bene tormented with the panges of death, then couet the least aduauntage that might redounde to her dishonor. And seing his state to base in respecte of hers, had no hope to marry her. Wherefore he grounded his loue vpon none other foundation and intent, but to loue her with all his power so perfectlye as was possible, which in the ende came vnto her knowledge. And the Gentlewoman knowing and seing the honest amitie which he bare her, to be ful of vertue, ioyned with chast and comly talke, felt her selfe right happie to be beloued and had in prise, of a personage so well condicioned, practising dayly cherefull countinaunce towardes him (whiche was the best rewarde he pretended to haue) whereof he conceiued great ease and contentment. But malice the cancred enemy of all reste and quiet, could not long abide this honest and happie life. For some frowning at his good happe, (as malice euer accompanieth a well disposed mynde) tolde the mother of the mayden, howe they marueiled that the Gentleman should bee so familiar in her house, inferring therewithall that the beautie of her daughter was the only cause, with whom they sawe him many times to vse secrete and priuat speach. The mother which by no meanes doubted the honestie of the Gentleman, no more then shee did of her own children, was very sorie to vnderstand that some shold be offended at that their familiarity. She thought therfore to shunne the cause of their offence. And at length, (fearing that slaunder might be raised of malice) she required the Gentleman for a tyme to haunt no more her house, as he was wont to doe. A thing to him of harde digestion, knowing his own innocencie, and lesse desert to be estranged from the house, for respect of the honest talke he vsed to the yonge gentlewoman. Notwithstanding, to stoppe the rage of malicious tongues, he withdrew himself, till he thought the brute was ceased, and then retourned after his wonted maner: whose absence nothing abridged his auncient good will. And he began no soner to be familiar there again, but he vnderstode that the mayden should be maried to a Gentleman, that was not so ritche and noble (as semed to hym) and therfore he thought he should receiue great wrong, if she were bestowed vpon that Gentleman, and not on hym, that had bene so long a sutor. And thereupon conceiued corage to preferre hym selfe in playne tunes, if choyse were geuen to the maiden. Howebeit, the mother and other of her kynne, sollicited and chose the other gentleman because (in dede) he was more welthie. Whereat the poore gentleman fretted with displeasure, seing that his Ladie should for worldly mucke be defrauded of her greatest ioye, by little and little without other maladie, began to languishe, and in litle tyme was so altered, as in his face appeared the visage of death. Neuerthelesse he could not forbeare the house of his beloued, but continually from time to time made his repaire thether to fede himselfe with the baulme of that beautie, which he thought would prolong his dayes, but it was the onely abridgement. In thend the poyson he sucked by the viewe of that beautie, consumed his strength, and force failing him, was constrained to kepe his bedde. Whereof he would not aduertise her whome he loued, for greuing her, knowing well that she would bee tormented with the newes. And so suffring him selfe to runne the race of past recourye, lost also his appetite to eate or drinck, and therewithall his slepe and rest fayled, in suche plight as within short space he was consumed in visage and face, as it grewe to be vglie and cleane out of knowledge. Brought to this lowe estate, one of his frends certified the mother of his mistres, that was a very charitable and kinde Gentlewoman, and loued so well the man, as if all their parentes and kinne had bene of her’s and the mayden’s opinion they would haue preferred the honestie of him, before the great substance of the other. But the frendes of the father’s side by no meanes would consent vnto it. Yet the good Gentlewoman and her daughter (for all the other’s frowardnes) vouchsafed to visit the poor gentleman whom they founde, rather declining towards death, then in hope of life. And knowing his ende to approche, he was shriuen and receiued the holy Sacrament, purposing of present passage by panges of death, neuer to see any of his frendes againe. Being in this case and yet seing her, whome he counted to be his life and sauftie, felte suche soudden recouerie, as hee threwe hym selfe alofte his bedde and spake these wordes vnto her: “What cause hath drieuen you hither (mistres myne) by takyng paines to visite him, who hath one of his feet alreadie within the graue, the other stepping after with conuenient speede, for execution whereof you bee the onely Instrument.” “Howe so, sir?” sayde the mother. “Is it possible that hee, whom we so derely loue, can receiue death by our offences? I pray you sir to tell me, what reason leadeth you to speake these wordes.” “Madame,” sayde he, “so long as I could, I dissembled the loue that I bare to my deare mistres your daughter: so it is that my parentes and frendes speaking of a mariage betwene her and me, haue clattred thereof moe nedeles woordes then I desired, by waying the mishap that might insue, and nowe doth happe past all hope not for my particular pleasure, but bicause I knowe with none other she shalbe so well intreated nor beloued as she should haue bene with me. The benefit which I see she hath lost, is the most perfect frende the best affected seruaunt that euer shee had in this worlde, the losse wherof summoneth death to arrest the carcase, that should haue bene imployed for her seruice, which intierly was conserued and should haue bene for her sake: but sithe nowe it can serue her to no purpose, the simple losse shall redounde to greatest gaine. I meane my selfe (good Ladies bothe) that lieth bewrapped in death before your faces, whose withered clammes hath catched the same within her reach, and hath warned the clocke to tolle the dolefull bell for his poor lovyng ghoste, nowe stretchynge out for the winding shete to shrowde his maigre corps, all forworne with the watche and toile, that such poore men (affected with like care) do feele. It is my selfe, that erst was rouing amid the troupe of Courtlie knightes decked with comely face, whose hewe dame Nature stayned with the colours of her golden art. It is I that of late was loued of that Nymphe, and earthie Goddesse, who with courtinge countenaunce imbraced the place where I did stande, and kissed the steps wherein I trode. It is my selfe I saye, that whilom in painefull blisse, did bath my selfe, and fedde mine eyes with the happie viewe of the heauenliest creature that euer God did make. And by forgoing of those ioyes by to to much mishap, and sacred famine of cursed mucke, I am thus pined as ye see, and wrapte in hopeles state.” The mother and doughter hearinge this complainte, did their indeuour to cheere him vp, and the mother sayde unto him: “Be of good courage sir, and I promise you my fayth, that if God giue you health, my doughter shal haue none other husband but you, and behold her here, whom I commaunde to make you present promise.” The mayden weeping with a virginall shamefastnes, consented to her mother’s hest. But knowing when he was recouered, that he should not haue her, and that the mother was so liberal of her fayre words, to recomfort him and assaye if she might restore him: he said vnto them, that if those words had bin pronounced three monethes past, he had bin the lustiest and most happie gentleman of Fraunce: but helpe offred so late, was past beliefe and hope. But when he saw, that they went about to force him to beleeue it, he said vnto them: “Now that I see ye go about to promise the good tourne which can neuer chaunce vnto mee, yea although consent ioyned with vnfayned promise desires the effect, for respect of the feeble state wherein I am: yet let me craue one thing at your hands, farre lesse then that ye offer, which hitherto I neuer durst be so bolde to aske.” Whereunto they both assented and swore to performe it, intreating him not to be ashamed to requyre it. “I humbly beseech ye (quoth hee) to deliuer her into mine armes whom ye haue promised to be my wife, and commaunde her to imbrace and kisse me.” The mayden not vsed to such priuie sutes, ne yet acquainted with such secrete facts, made some difficultie, but her mother gaue her expresse commaundement to doe it, perceyuing in him no likelihode or force of a man to liue. The maiden then vpon that commaundement, aduaunced herselfe uppon the bedde of the poore pacient, saying vnto him: “Sir, I beseech you to be of good cheere.” The languishing creature, so hard as he could for his extreeme debilitie, stretched forth his faint consumed armes, and with al the force of his body imbraced the cause of his death, and kissinge her with his colde and wanne mouth, held her so long as he could, and then spake vnto the mayden: “The loue which I haue borne you hath bin so great, and the good will so honest, as neuer (mariage excepted) I wished anye other thinge of you, but that which I presentlye haue, throughe the wante whereof and with the same I will ioyfully render my spirite to God, who is the parfaicte Loue, and truest Charitie, whoe knoweth the greatnes of my loue and the honestie of my desire: humblie beseeching him, (that nowe I hauing my desire betweene mine armes,) to interteigne my ghost within his blessed bosome.” And in saying so he caught her againe betweene his armes with such vehemencie, as the feeble hart not able to abide that assault, was abandoned of all powers and mouinges: for the instant ioye so dilated and stretched forth the same, as the siege of the soule gaue ouer, making his repaire and flighte to his Creator: and because the senceles bodye rested withoute life, it gaue ouer his holde. Howbeit the loue, which the Damosell had still kept secrete, at that time shewed it self so strong and mightie, as the mother and seruauntes of the dead Gentleman had much a do to separate that vnion, but by force they haled away the liuing, almost deade with the deade. After the funerall was done with honourable exequies: but the greatest triumph was spent in teares, weepinges and cryes, specially by the gentlewoman, which so much more were manifeste after his death, as before in his life time they were dissembled, bestowinge them as an expiacion or sacrifice, to satisfie the wrong she had done vnto him. And afterwards (as I haue heard tell) she was maried to one, for mitigacion of her sorow, that neuer was partaker of the ioye of her harte. See here good Ladies an Image of perfect loue, that so muche had seazed vpon thaffections of this amorous Gentleman, as the pange neuer gaue ouer, till death (the rest of all troubles) had diuided life from the body. Yet some perchaunce for the desperate part of this hopeles louer, will terme him to be a fonde louing foole: and say that it is not meete that they should neglecte theyr liues for womens sakes, which were not created but for their helpe and comforte. And that being true as verifyed and auouched by Scriptures, there is no cause of feare to demaunde that of them, which God hath enioyned them to giue vs. In deede a sensuall loue, and such as is grounded to satisfye beastly luste, is a thinge horrible to Nature, and abhominable in the sight of him that made both those creatures, whom he fraughted with reason and knowledge for the refusall of those vices, which are onely to be applied to beastes voyde of reason. But loue founded in the soyle of Vertue, for auoyding carnall lust exercized in the state of Wedlocke, or first begonne and practized for that ende, is very ciuil and to be honoured. And if that loue attaine not equall successe, through parents default or vnkindnes of frendes or other humane accidents, if that loue so perce the hart, or otherwyse afflict the pacient with dispaire of helpe, and so occasioneth death, it is not to be termed follie or dotage, but to be celebrated with honourable titles. The honest amitie then of this gentleman, borne long time to this gentlewoman, meriteth euerlasting praise: for to finde such great chastitie in an amorous hart, is rather a thing deuine then humaine. A mocion moued aboue amongs the heauenly route, and not an ac wrought in the grosenes of man’s infirmitie.

THE SIXTY-FIRST NOUELL.

A Gentlewoman of the Courte, very pleasauntly recompenced the seruice of a kinde seruaunte of her’s, that pursued her with seruice of loue.

In the Courte of king Fraunces, the first of that name, not longe sithens Frenche king, the graunde father of Henry the 3 of that name now raigning: there was a Gentlewoman of good grace and interteignment, wanting not both minde and witte, such as the like of her sexe, are not to seeke, vnder what climate soeuer they be borne and bred, whose comly demeaner, curteous behauiour and eloquent speache, was agreeable to her other qualities of nature’s giftes: whereby she gayned the hartes and good minds of nombers of seruauntes, with whom shee was cunning ynough to spend her time, (hauing respect to the sauftie and saufgard of her honor, which she preferred before all other solace) by such delectable consumption of time, as they that could not tell howe els to imploie their leasure, thoughte themselues most blessed, if they might attaine the delightfull presence of this well nourtered Dame. For they that made greatest assuraunce of her fidelitie, were in dispayre, and the most desperat were yet in some hope to winne her. Howbeit in deceyuing the most nomber, she could not forbeare intirely to loue one, who for his part was not able to plaie the counterfait, to colour the substance of his longe pursute: but as nothing is sure and stable, their loue tourned to displeasure, and by frequent renewing of what was well knowen the hole Court was not ignoraunt, what deuocion thone did beare to thother. One day the Gentlewoman, aswell to let him know that his affection was not bestowed in vaine, as to make him to feele some smart and paine for his louing seruice, the more louingly to forde him on, with preety morsells of her dissembling concept, made show vnto him of greater fauour, then euer she did before: for which cause he that was faultles either in deedes of armes, or in prowesse of loue, began liuely and valiantly to folow her, to whom long before with gentlenes and humilitie he had many times bin a suppliante. Who fayning that she was not able any longer to rest obstinate, made semblance of a womanly pitie and accorded to his demaund. Telling him that for respect of his tedious trauaile, she was now disposed to go to her chamber, (which was in a Gallerie of the Castell where that time the kinge did lie) where shee knew was none that could hinder what they two intended: willing him not to faile but so sone he saw her depart the place she was in, to folow after to her chamber, where he should finde her alone, tarying for him with good deuocion. The gentleman beleeuinge her appointmente, was readie to leape out of his skinne for ioye: and therewithall began to dalye and sport with other Ladies, attending the time of her departure. She wanting not the practize of any fine sleight or subtile pollicie, most pregnaunte in birds of her Ayrie, called two of the greatest Ladies to the present chamber window and said vnto them: “If it may please you good Ladies, I will discouer vnto you the pretiest pastime of the world.” They which hard the grief of melancholie, besoughte her to tell what it was. “Thus it is” (quoth shee) “such a gentleman, whom you know very well, to be both honest and vertuous, hath longe time (as partlie you haue by to much experience seene,) gone about diuers wayes to winne that, which he shall neuer get: for when I began to applie my fancie towards him, he (vnconstant) ceased not to couet and folow other Ladies with like pursute hee did me: whereat I conceyued such more then spitefull hatred, as notwithstanding my outwarde semblaunce, I coueted reuenge. Nowe therefore maistresse, Occasion hath lente me a porcion of oportunitie, to be requited of his vaine and fickle sute: which is, that hauinge appointed him to come to my chamber, whither he meaneth presently to follow me, it maye please you to giue heedefull eye and watch: and that when hee hath passed alonge the Galerie, and is gone vp the stayers, that both of you wil recline your heads out of this window to helpe me singe the holding of the Caroll, that I meane to chaunte vnto him. And then shall you see the raging choler of this Gentleman, that at other times presumed to be a quiet Suter: wherat perhaps through his malapert boldnes, it cannot dash his blushles face, but yet if he do not deale vnto me like spiteful reproch in open hearing, I know full well in hart he will wishe me X. M. mischifes.” This conclusion was not spoken without treble laughter: for there was no gentlemen in all the Courte, that had warred so much with the woman kind as hee, and yet welbeloued and esteemed of euery one, that listed not to be intrapped within his daunger. Therfore these Ladies thinking to carie awaye some part of the glorie, which one alone hoped to atchieue vpon this gentleman, were contente to assent to the other’s liking. So sone then as they saw her depart, that purposed this enterprise, they began to espie the countenaunce of the betrayed partie, who paused not long before he exchaunged the place: and when he was oute of the chamber, the Ladies trayned after, to lose no part of the sport, and went the faster that he might not be out of theyr sight. And he that doubted not the successe, threwe his cape about his necke to hide his face, and went downe the staiers out into the Court, and afterwards mounted vp againe: but perceyuing some approche which he was loth should be a witnes, he went downe againe, returning another way on the other side. All which the Ladies sawe, vnknowen to him. But when he came to the stayers where he beleeued verely, that he might surely enter into his Maistres chamber, the two Ladies put they heads out of the window, and incontinently perceyued the gentlewoman alofte, crying out a lowde, “A theefe, a theefe:” wherunto they two below aunswered with so vehement voyce, doubling the other’s outcrie, as all the castell ronge of it. I leaue for you to consider in what despite this gentleman fled to his lodginge, but not so closely, but that he was ouertaken by those that knew this misterie: who afterwards oftentimes reproched this fact vnto him, speciall she that had deuised the reuenge: but hee had armed himselfe with aunswers and defences so readely, as he told them that he foreknew their deuise, and mente nothing by his pilgrimage but to solace his beloued. For of her loue long time before he was out of all hope, as hauing reasonable proofe by his longe pursute and seruice. Howbeit the Ladyes would not hold his excuse for a veritie, which euen to this day hangeth in suspence.

THE SIXTY-SECOND NOUELL.

The honest and maruellous loue of a mayden of noble house, and of a gentleman that was base borne, and howe a Queene did impeche and let their mariage, with the wise aunswere of the mayde to the Queene.

There was in Fraunce a Queene, who in her company and traine broughte vp many maydens, that were issued of great and honourable progenie: amonges other that serued this Queene there was one named Rolandine, which was nere kinne to the Queene. But she for a certaine displeasure conceyued against her father, bare vnto the yonge gentlewoman no greate good will. This Maiden, although shee was none of the fayrest, yet so wyse and vertuous as many great Lords and personages made sute to her for mariage, to whom she rendred for earnest sutes, cold aunsweares: because shee knew her father to be more bent to keeping of money, then to thaduauncement of his children: and her Maistresse (as is before said) bare vnto her so little fauour as they which esteemed the Queene’s good grace, woulde neuer make anye sute vnto her. Thus by father’s negligence and Maistres disdaine, the poore gentlewoman remayned long time vnmaried. And as shee that forcibly was payned, not so much for griefe of mariage, as for that shee was not required or sued vnto, became so werie of worldly life, as deuoutly she bent herselfe to God, and by forsakinge the toyes and brauerie of the Courte, passed her time in prayer, or els in other vertuous exercise: and by withdrawing herselfe to this kinde of life, she spent her youth so soberlie and deuoutly as was possible for a woman to do. When she approched nere the age of XXX. yeares, there was a gentleman a bastarde borne, of right honorable house, a uery curteous and honest personage, whose every riches and beautie was such, as no Lady or gentlwoman for pleasure would haue chosen him to husband. This poore gentleman was voide of frends for maintenaunce of lyuing, and vnhappie in mariage sutes, although he pursued many, till at length he borded this poore Gentlewoman Rolandine: for their Fortunes, complexions and condicions were very like, and by vse of seuerall complaints made one to another, ech of them fell in ernest loue with the other: and being both thrall vnto mishap, they sought desired comforte by vertuous and honest talke: and by that vse and frequentacion greater loue increased and grew betwene them. Those which had seene the maiden so straungly retired from wonted demeanor, as she would speake to none, now marking her continuallie to interteigne the bastard gentleman, incontinently conceiued ill opinion of her, and told the mother of the Queene’s maids (called Modesta) that she ought not to suffer such familiaritie betweene them. Which report Modesta reuealed to Rolandine, sayinge that diuers persons did speake euill of her, for that she vsed to talke with the bastard, that neither was of sufficient abilitie for her to marie, ne yet of beautie worthie to be beloued. Rolandine which daily was more rebuked for her austeritie of life, then for worldly toyes, sayd vnto Modesta her gouernesse: “Alas, mother, you see that I cannot haue a husband according to the worthines of my bloud, and that dailye I haue auoyded those which be beautifull and yonge: for feare to incurre the inconuenience wherinto I haue seene other to fall: and now hauing chosen this wise and vertuous gentleman, who preacheth vnto me words that be good and godly, what wrong do they to me that make this report, sith in this honest order I doe receiue consolacion of my griefes?” The good old Lady who loued the maiden (which she called maistresse) as herselfe, said vnto her: “I see well, that you are worse delt withall at your father and maistres handes then you deserue. Howbeit sith such reporte is made of your honor, you ought to refuse to speake vnto him, although he were your naturall brother.” Rolandine weeping saide vnto her: “Mother, for so much as you aduise me therunto, I will performe your request, although it be very straunge that without slaunder, a woman can haue no comfort or seeke freedome without misreport.” The bastard gentleman, as he was before accustomed, came to visite her, but she tolde him (a farre of) those words which her gouernesse had said vnto her: and with teares prayed him to refraine for a time to speake vnto her, vntill the brute and rumor were somewhat appaised: which thing he did at her request. But during this long time, either of them hauing loste their consolacion, began to feele such torment within themselues, as shee for her part neuer felte the like. She ceased not from praying vnto God, from goinge on pilgrimage, and fasting: for this vnacquainted loue brought her to such disquiet as she could not rest the space of one houre. Wherewith the noble bastard was no lesse tormented: but he which had alreadie minded in hart to loue her and pursue her till mariage, and hauing respecte (for loue sake) to the honor he should acquire by the same, thought to finde meanes to declare his minde vnto her, and aboue al things to get the good wil of her gouernesse: which he did, declaring vnto her the miserie wherein her poore maistresse remayned, which was voide of al comfort and other frendship. Then the poore old Lady Modesta, gaue him thankes for the honest affection that hee bare to her maistresse: and deuised meanes how the two louers might impart their minds together. Rolandine fayned herselfe to be sicke of a Mygrim and paine in her heade, the brute of whose maladie was feared to be greater then it was, and so concluded betwene them that when her companion were gone into the chamber, they two should remaine together alone to satisfie ech other with mutuall talke. The bastard gentleman was very glad, and ruled himselfe holy by the councell of the Gouernesse, in such sort as when he liste, he spake vnto his louer and vertuous Lady: but this contencaion did not indure: for the Queene who loued her but a little, inquired what Rolandine did so long in her Chamber, and one made aunswere that it was by reason of her sicknes. Albeit there was another which knewe to well the cause of her absence, sayde vnto her, that the ioye which Rolandine had to speake vnto the bastard was able to ease her Mygrim. The Queene which found out the veniall sinnes of other, by mortall offences in herselfe, sent for her, and forbad her in any wyse not to speake vnto the bastard, except it were in the hall or within her owne Chamber. The Gentlewoman made as though she vnderstode her not, but mildlie aunswered that, is shee knew any talke betweene them might offend her maiestie, she would neuer speake vnto him againe. Notwithstanding she determined to finde out some other secret meanes that the Queene should not know of their meeting: which was this. The Wednesday, Fridaye, and Saturday, the gentlewoman vsed to fast, and for that purpose kept her Chamber with her Gouernesse Modesta, where she had leysure to talke (whilest the reste did suppe) with him whom she began so earnestlie to loue: and as constrainte of time did force their talke to be shorte, the greater was their affection in vtteraunce of the same: because for the doing therof they stole time, as the theefe doth his desired praye. This order of their contentacion could not proceede so secretely, but that a certaine varlet a yeoman of the Chamber, chaunced to see him resort vnto her vpon a fasting day, and told it in such place wher of some hearer, it was disclosed to the Queene herself, who was so sore offended as neuer after that time the poore bastard gentleman durste once attempt to go into the maiden’s chamber againe. And to thintent that he might not lose the commodity of talke with her, whom he so derely loued, oftentimes he fayned himselfe to go on pilgrimage, and in the euening returned to the Church and chapell of the Castel, in the habite of a frier, or Iacobin (so wel disguised and altered, as no creature could know him) and thither repaired the gentlewoman Rolandine, with her Gouernesse to enterteigne him. He marking the great loue that she bare him, feared not to say vnto her: “Madame, you see the daunger which I hasard for your seruice, and the warnings that the Queene hath giuen for our talke. You see on thother side what a father you haue, who careth not after what sort he bestow you in mariage: and you hauinge refused so many greate states and noble men, I know not one, either farre or neare, that is minded to haue you. I confesse my selfe to be but poore, and that you may marie diuers gentlemen of greater reputacion and richesse, then I am: but if loue and good wil were deemed treasure and richesse, then woulde I presume to be the richest gentleman of the world. God hath indowed you with great plentie of goodes, and you are yet in choise to haue more: and if I were so happie as you would vouchsafe to chose me for your husband, I would accompt my selfe to be vnto you both husband, frend and seruaunt, all the dayes of my life: and againe, if you should take one equall to your nobilitie (a thinge very harde to finde) he would rule and gouerne ouer you, and haue more respecte to your goodes, then to your person, to your beautie then to your vertue: and in triumphinge with dispence of that you haue, hee maye chaunce to intreate you otherwise then you deserue. The desire of this contentacion, and the feare that I haue, least you should graunte it to some other, do force me to beseech you, that by one only meanes you would make me happie and your selfe the most contented and best intreated woman that euer was.” Rolandine giuing eare to that communication which shee herselfe ment to haue pronounced, aunswered him with stoute courage: “I am very glad and wel pleased that you haue begunne the sute your self, which I of long time haue determined to breake vnto you: for which cause these two yeres past as you know, I haue not ceased to thincke and deuise all the reasons and arguments for and against you, that I could inuent: but in thend for so much as I do meane to take vpon me the state of Matrimonie, it is time that I begin to chose such husbande, with whom I shall in my conscience like to liue at rest and quiet all the dayes of my life: and amidde all the troupe of my thoughts in choise, I cannot finde anye one, were he neuer so faire, riche or noble, with whom my hart and minde can so well agree and match as with you. I know that by marying of you I shall not offende God, but rather do the thinge that hee commaundeth. And touching my Lord my father, he hath had so litle consideracion of my perferment, and so often refused it, as the law now will suffice, that I giue my selfe in mariage withoute his consent, and therefore cannot disenherite me, or worthely thincke ill of me: and by hauing a husband (a thing appertinent to women kinde) such as you be, I shall esteeme my selfe the richest woman of the worlde. As for the Queene my maistresse, I oughte not to take any care or remorse of conscience by displeasing her, to obey God: for she hath not ceased to hinder that aduauncement, which in my youth I mighte haue had, and by paine and diligence towards her did well deserue: but to thend you may vnderstand, that the loue and good will which I beare you, is founded vppon vertue and honor, you shall promise me, that if I doe accorde this mariage, you shall neuer purchase or require the consummacion thereof, Vntill my father be deade, or els do finde some meanes to make him consente hereunto.” Which the bastard gentleman willingly did graunt: and vppon these promises and termes, either of them gaue eche other a ringe in the name of mariage, and did kisse together in the Church before God, whom they toke to witnes of their assurance, and neuer after betwene them was any other priuie fact committed, but only kissing. This litle easement of mind did greatly satisfie the harts of these two perfect louers: and were a great while without seing ech other, liuing only by this assurance. There was no place where honour mighte be gotten, but thereunto the bastarde made his repaire with so great delight, as he thought he could neuer be poore for respect of that riche wife which God had prouided for him. Which wyfe in his absence, did euer continue her absolute amitie towards that gentleman: and although many made sute yet they receyued none other aunswere from her but deniall, and for that she had remayned so long time vnmaried, she was minded neuer to take vppon her that state. This her aunswere was so generall as the Queene heard of it, and asked her for what occasion shee was so determined. Rolandine saide vnto her, that it was to obey her: for that shee knew shee would neuer suffer her to marie, because in time and place where she might haue bin honorablie matched to her well liking, she denied the same, and that the vertue of pacience had taught her to contente herselfe with the state wherein she was. And still as she was sued for in mariage, she rendred like aunswere. When the warres were ended, and the bastarde returned to the Courte, shee neuer spake vnto him in open presence, but wente alwayes into some Church to interteigne him vnder colour of Confession: for the Queene had forbidden both him and her, that they should not talke together, vnlesse it were before companye vpon paine of losse of their liues. But honest loue, which feareth no defence, was more prest to find meanes, for their mutuall talke, then their enemies were ready to separate the same: and vnder the habite or colour of all the religions they could deuise, they continued that honest amitie, vntil the king remoued into a house of pleasure, not so nere as the Ladies were able to go on foote to that Church, as they were to the Church of the Castell, which was not situate in such conueniente wyse for their purpose, as they could secretely repaire (vnder colour of confession) to talke together: notwithstanding if on the one side occasion fayled, loue found out another for their contentment: for there arriued a Lady to the Court, to whom the bastard was very nere kin. This Lady with her sonne were lodged in the king’s house, and the chamber of this yong prince was far beyond the body of the lodging, where the king himselfe did lie: but so nere vnto Rolandine’s Chamber as he might both see and speake vnto her, for their windowes were properlie and directly placed at either corner of the house: in which chamber (being ouer the hall) were lodged al the Ladies of honor, the companions of Rolandine. Who beholding many times the yong king at that window, caused the bastard to be aduertized therof by her gouernesse: who after he had well beholden the place, made as though he had great delighte to read vpon a booke of the Knightes of the Round Table, that lay in the chamber window of the yong king: and when euery man was gone to dinner, he prayed the yeoman to suffer him to make an end of the historie, and to shut him within the chamber. The other which knew him to be the kinsman of his maistres, and an assured man, suffred him to read so long as he liste. On thother side Rolandine came vnto her window, who to find occasion to tarrie there the longer, fayned to haue a paine in her leg, and dined and supped in so good time, as she went no more to the ordinarie of the Ladies: wher she began to set herselfe a worke about the making of a bed of Crimson silke, placing her worke vpon the window, as desirous to be alone. And when she saw no man to be there, shee interteigned her husband, to whom she might speake in secret wise, so as none was able to vnderstande them: and when any person came nere, she coughed and made a signe that the bastard might withdraw himselfe. They that were appointed to watche them, thought vndoubtedlie that their loue was past and ended, because she went not out of the Chamber, wher safely he coulde not see her, for that hee was forbidden the same. Vppon a day the mother of the yong Prince being in her sonne’s Chamber, repayred to the windowe where that great booke did lie, and shee had not staied there long, but one of Rolandine’s fellowes which was within her Chamber saluted her. The lady asked her how Rolandine did, who sayd that shee might very wel see her, if it were her pleasure: and caused her to come to the window wyth her night geare vppon her head. And after they had talked a while of her sicknes they withdrew themselues. The other ladie espying the great booke of the Round Table, sayde to her yeoman of the Chamber: “I do marueille much why yong men do imploie themselues to read such follies.” The yeoman made aunsweare, that he marueled much more, why men of good yeres, counted and esteemed wise and discrete, should haue greater delight in reading of such trifles, then those that were yong. And to iustifie that maruel hee told her how her cosin the bastard did spend 4 or 5 houres in a day to read vppon the same. Vpon which words by and by she conceyued the cause of his deepe studie, and charged him to hide himselfe in some place to mark what he did. Which commaundement the yeoman performed, and perceiued that the booke which the bastard read vpon, was the window out of which Rolandine talked with him: and therewithal called to remembrance many wordes of the loue which they thought to keepe very secreete. The next day he rehersed the same vnto his maistresse, who sent for her cosin the bastard, and after many tales told him, she forbad him to resort thither any more, and at night she gaue like warning to Rolandine, threatninge her that if she continued in her fond and foolish loue, she woulde tell the Queene the whole circumstaunce of her lighte demeaner. Rolandine (nothing astonied with those woords) did sweare that sith the time she was forbidden by her maistresse the queene’s maiesty, she neuer spake vnto him: the troth whereof shee might learne aswel of the gentlewomen her companions, as of other seruauntes of the house: and touching the window whereof she spake, she boldly aduouched that she neuer talked with the Bastard there. Who (poore gentleman) fearing that his affayres would be reuealed, kept himselfe farre out from daunger, and longe time after did not retourne to the Courte. Howbeit, he wrote many times to Rolandine by such secret meanes as for all the espiall that the Queene had put, there passed no weeke but twise at least shee hearde newes from him: and when one meanes did fayle hym, hee deuised another, and many tymes sent a litle Page clothed in colours (so often altered and chaunged as he was sent) who staying at the gates when the Ladies passed by, delyuered his letters priuelye in the middest of the prease. Vpon a time as the Queene for her pleasure walked into the fieldes, one which knew the Page and had charge to take hede vnto those doings, ranne after him: but the Page which was a fine boye, doubtinge leaste hee should be searched, conueyed hym selfe into a poore woman’s house, where spedelie he burnt his letters in the fier, ouer whiche a potte was boyling with meate for her poore familie. The gentleman that followed him stripped him naked and searched his clothes, but when he sawe that he could finde nothing, he let him goe: and when he was departed, the olde woman asked him wherefore he searched the boye: who aunswered: “to finde letters which he thought he had about him.” “Tush,” (quod she) “serch no more, for he hath hidden them very well.” “I pray thee tell me,” (quod the Gentleman) “In what place:” hoping to haue recouered the same. But when hee vnderstode that they were throwen into the fire, he well perceiued that the boye was craftier then him selfe. All whiche incontinently hee tolde the Queene, notwithstanding from that time forthe, the bastard vsed no longer the Page, but sent one other of his olde seruauntes, whom he faithfully trusted, and he (forgetting feare of death which hee knewe well the Queene threatned on them that had to doe in those affaires) tooke vpon him to carie his maister’s letters to Rolandine. And when hee was entred the Castell, hee wayted at a certen doore placed at the foote of a paire of staiers, by whiche the ladies passed to and fro: where he had not taried long, but a yeoman which at other times had sene him, knewe him and thereof told the maister of the Queene’s house, who soudainly made searche to apprehende him. The fellowe which was wise and politique, seing that diuers loked vpon him a farre of, retourned towardes the wall (as though he would haue made his water) tearing his letters in so many small peces as he could doe for his life, and threw them behinde an old gate: who had no soner done the facte, but hee was apprehended and throughly searched, and when they could finde nothing about him, they made him weare whether he had brought any letters or not, vsing him partly by rigor, and somewhat by faire perswasion to make him confesse the truthe: but neither through promise or threate, they could get any thing at his handes. Report hereof was brought to the Queene, and one of the companie gaue aduise that searche should be made behind the gate, where he was taken: in which place they founde nothing but litle peces of letters. Then they caused the kinge’s Confessor to be sent for, who recouering the peces layd them vpon a table, and red the lettre throughout, where the veritie of the mariage (so much dissembled) was throughly discifered, for the bastard in those letters called her nothing els but wife. The Queene not meaning to conceale the fault of her kinswoman, (which she ought to haue done) fil into a great rage and storme, commaunding that the poore man by al meanes possible should be forced to confesse the true tenor of that letter, to thintent that the same by his affirmacion might not be denied: but doe what they could, they were not able to make him alter his former tale. They which had commission to examine him, brought him to the Riuer side and did put him into a sack, saying that he did lie before God and the Queene, and against an approued trothe. He that had rather lose his life than accuse his maister, prayed them to suffer him to haue a ghostly father that like a Christian he might ende his life, and so entre the ioyes prepared for all repentant sinners, and after that he had clered his conscience, he said vnto them: “Maisters, tell my Lorde and maister the Bastarde, that I recommend vnto him the poore estate of my poore wife and children, trusting his honour will haue consideration of them for my sake, for so mutch as with good and loyall harte, I doe imploye my life for his honor and suretie: and with me doe what you list, for you get nothing at my handes that shall redounde to his hurt and preiudice.” Then to put him in greater feare, they bounde him within the sacke and threwe him into the water, crying unto him, if thou wilt tell the trouth thou shalt be saued: but they seing that he would make no aunswer drew him out againe, making reporte to the Queene of his faith and constancie. Who then sayd, that neither the king nor she were so happy in seruauntes as the Bastarde was, that had not wherewith to recompence such fidelitie. The Quene did what she coulde to get him from his seruice, but the poore fellowe would in no wise forsake his maister. Notwithstanding in thende by his said maister’s leaue, he was put into the Queene’s seruice, where he liued many happy dayes. The Queene after she vnderstode by the bastarde’s letters the trouth of the mariage, sent for Rolandine, and in great rage, called her caitife and miserable wretche, in stede of cosin, reciting vnto her the disparagement of her noble house, and the villanie she had committed against the honorable race whereof she came, and against the will of her which was her Queene, kinswoman and maistres, by contracting mariage without the licence of the king and her. Rolandine whiche of long time knewe the small devocion that her maistres bare vnto her, vsed her with like affection: and bicause she was werie of the Quene’s displeasure, thinking that her correction vttered in presence of many proceded not of loue, but rather to make her ashamed, abandoned feare, and conceiuing courage, when she sawe the Queene in her chiefest rage, with gladsome and firme countenaunce answered her in this wise: “Madame, if you cannot conceiue the malice of your owne harte, I will set before your eyes the rancour and displeasure of the same, which malice of long time you haue borne towardes the Lorde my father and me: whereof madame, I doe fele the smarte, to my great losse and grief: for if it had pleased you to haue borne vnto me that good wil which you do to those that are not so nere about you as I am, I had before this tyme been placed and preferred in mariage as well to the likyng of your honour as to my greate satisfaction: but you haue regarded mee as one forgotten, and cleane out of fauour, in such wyse as all the noblemen, with whome I might haue been matched, haue contempned me, as well through the negligence of my Lorde my father, as for the like estimation and accompt that you haue made of me: by meanes whereof I fell into that dispaire which if my health could haue susteined the order and state of religion, I would willingly haue taken it vpon me, to haue seuered my selfe from the continuall hatred and enuy which your grace ful rigorously hath showen vnto me: and being in this dispaire, I chaunced to finde out him, that is proceded of so noble a house as my selfe. If the loue of twoo persones is to be regarded, that meane to accomplishe the holy state of wedlock: for you knowe that his father in nobilitie farre excelled myne. He hath of long time loued me, and made great sute vnto me, but you madame, whiche neuer pardoned me for any small offence, ne yet praysed anye good acte of myne (although you know by experience that I haue not vsed to talke of matters of loue or other worldlie affaires, and that I minded aboue all things to leade a more religious life then any other) doe make it an hainous matter that I should talke with a Gentleman (so infortunate as my selfe), by whose loue, I thought or sought for nothing els but the ease and comfort of my minde. And seing my selfe voyde and frustrate of mine expectation, I shall imploie indeuour so well to seeke my rest and quiet, as you haue gone about to dispoyle me of the same: and then will celebrate the mariage which is already assured by promises and by a ring. Wherefore, madame, I thinke that you doe me great wrong by terming me to be a wicked woman, sithe that in so great and perfect amitie I might haue founde occasion (if I would) to haue committed euills: but there was neuer betwene him and me any priuie fact, other then that is honest, hoping that God wil shewe me such fauour, as before the mariage be consumat, I shall obtaine the fauour and good will of my Lorde my father: wherby I do neither offende God, nor my conscience, for I haue taried till the age of XXX. yeares, to see what you and my father would doe for me. I haue kept my selfe so chast and honest, as no man liuing is able to laye the contrarie to my charge. And with that reason wherewith God hath indued me, being olde and voyde of hope, to finde a husbande agreable to my nobilitie, I am determined to marie sutche a one as I like beste, not for the pleasure or satisfaction of the eye (for you know he is not faire) nor for lust of the flesh (for there hath bene no carnall fact committed) ne yet for pryde and couetousnes (for he is but poore and of litle estimation) but I haue a sincere respecte and pure regarde to his vertue, honestie and good grace, for whiche the worlde doth geue him praise, and the great loue also that he beareth me, maketh me hope to finde with him great rest and quiet. And after I had deuised and considered the good and euill that might insue by this my choise, I still persisted in that mind, and haue well wayed and pondered the same these twoo yeares past, being throughly resolued to waste and spende the rest of my dayes with him which I meane still firmely to kepe in despite of all the tormentes and cruelties, that the greatest enemies I haue, be able to make my poore bodie suffre, no not death it selfe shall force me to refuse hym. Wherefore Madame, I beseech you to accept this my reasonable excuse, whereunto your self is nowe made priuie, and suffer me to liue in that peace, whiche I hope for euer through him, in these mine elder to finde.” The Queene wel marking her stout wordes and countenaunce, and knowing the same to be very true, was not able to aunswere her againe with reason: but continuing, her rebukes and taunting checkes began to waste, and at length fell out into this rage: “Ah, presumptuous drabbe, and caitife wretch, in stede of humbling thy selfe and repenting thine offence, thou carpest boldly without dropping or sheading any teare, whereby thou doest manifestly declare that stubbornes and hardnes of thy harte: but if the king, and thy father, would follow mine aduise, they should put thee into a place, where force should make thee to vse other language.” “Madame,” said Rolandine, “because you haue accused me of bolde talke and presumptous speache, I meane from henceforth to hold my peace, except you geue me leaue to make mine aunswere.” And when she was commaunded to tell forth her mynde, she said: “It is not my part, Madame, boldly or without duetifull reuerence to speake before your maiestie (whiche is my maistresse, and the greatest Princesse in Christendome). The wordes which I haue said, be not spoken (Madame) of presumption, but to declare that I haue none other aduocate to pleade for me, but the trouth of my cause. And therefore am bolde without blushing feare to disclose the same, hoping that if your grace did knowe the secret concept of my poore faithfull harte, you woulde not iudge mee to be that woman which you terme me to be. I doe not doubt that any mortall creature vnderstanding my behauiour in those matters wherwith I am charged, would blame me, for my liberall speache, sithe I am sure that God and myne honor in no point I haue offended. The cause which maketh me thus without feare to saye my minde is, because I am assured that he whiche seeth my harte, is the geuer of my life also, and remaineth with me. If then such a Iudge and Guide doe order and dispose my life, why should I be afrayd of them that be subiect vnto his iudgement? And why then Madame, should I wayle or wepe, sithe mine honor and conscience without remorse or grudge do wel like of these my doings, which if they were newly to begin, I would not repente me to doe the same againe. But it is you (Madame) that hath good cause to wepe, as well for the great displeasure, euer borne me from my youthfull dayes, as for the wrong you doe me nowe by reprehending me before the face of all the worlde for a faulte, whiche ought rather to be imputed vnto you then vnto me. For if I had offended God, the king, or you, my parentes, or my conscience, I were well worthy to be counted very obstinate, if with great repentaunce I did not lament the same, but for a dede that is right good and vertuous, I ought not to wepe, whereof there was neuer other rumor spred but verie honorable, except the slaunder which your selfe hath raised, whereby your desire to increase my shame and dishonor appeareth to be greater then the respecte you haue to conserue the nobilitie of your house, or kindred wherof you come. But because it pleaseth you, Madame, so to vse me, I purpose not to withstand you. For when you shall ordeine that punishment for me, which you like best, I shal reioyse no lesse to suffer the same without desert, then you be willing to bestowe it vpon me without cause. Wherefore Madame, commaunde my Lorde my father to put me to what tormente you will, for the execution wherof you shall not finde him vnwilling. And I shall not be altogether without ioy, to see him prest and redie to obey your wilfull mynde. But I haue a father in heauen, who (I am sure) will geue me suche pacience, as I shall be able to abide and indure, what affliction soeuer you prepare for me, in whom only is al my hope and trust.” The Queene, so angrie as she could be, commaunded her out of her sight, and to be shutte into a chamber alone, that none might speake vnto her. In which imprisonment shee was not depriued from the companie of her gouernesse, by whose meanes she let the Bastarde vnderstande all her fortune, and she likewise vnderstode what he thought best for her to doe. Who thinking that the seruice which he had done to the king, would stand him in some stede, came vnto the Court with all spede, and founde the king in the fieldes, to whome hee rehearsed the trouth of the facte, beseching his maiestie that vnto him (who was a poore gentleman) he would shewe such fauour and grace as the rigor of the Queene’s maiestie might be appeased, and the mariage fully consumat and ended. The king made him none other aunswere, but saide: “Is it true that thou hast maried her?” “Yea sir,” saide the Bastarde: “by wordes only as yet: but if it please your maiestie, the same may be throughly made perfit.” The king nodded his hed, and for that time geuing him none other aunswere, hee retourned straite to the Castell, and when he was almost there, he called the Captaine of his Guarde, and commaunded him to apprehend the Bastarde. Notwithstanding one of his frendes which knewe the kinge’s countenaunce, willed him to absent himselfe, and to retire to one of his houses, and if the king made serche after him (as he suspected) he would incontinently aduertise him therof, that he might auoyde the realme: and when the king’s displeasure was pacified, he would sende him worde. The Bastarde beleued him, and vsed such diligence as the Captain of the Guarde could not finde him. The king and the Queene councelled together what they might doe with this poore damsell, whiche was their kinswoman, and by the Queene’s aduise it was concluded, that she should be sent home to her father, with the true aduertisement of the whole matter. But before she was sent, diuerse Diuines and learned men of the Clergie, were demaunded their opinions of the priuat mariage, and the Counsell also did sit vpon the same, who concluded that for so muche as the mariage was not celebrated but by wordes, it might easely be vndone, vntill one of them had acquited the other. Which the king commaunded to be performed for the honor of the house wherof she came. But she made them aunswere, that in all thinges she was redie to obey the king, except it were in matter against her conscience, sayinge, that those whome God had coupled together by heauenly aduise, could not bee separated by man’s decree, praying them not to attempt a thing so vnreasonable: for if loue and good will founded vpon the feare of God, were the true and sure knot of mariage, then she was so wel bounde and tied, as neither iron, fier, or water coulde breake that band, but death alone. Wherunto, and to none other constitution, she was determined to rendre her ring and othe, praying them not to speake, do, or proceede, to any thing that were contrarie vnto that: wherin she was so stedfastly resolued, as she had rather die by keping her faith, then liue to denie the same. The Commissioners retorned to the king and Queene the constant answere of the Gentlewoman, and when they sawe no remedie could be found to make her renounce her husband, they conueyed her home to her father, in such pitifull sorte, as by the way she passed, eche man and woman lamented her fortune. And albeit shee had offended, yet the punishement and affliction she suffred was so great and her constancie so firmely bent, as she made her fault to be estemed a vertue. The father receiuing those pitifull newes, would not see her, but sent her to his castell that stoode in a forest, which he had before time builded for an occasion, worthy to be rehersed hereafter, and there kept her in prison a long time, sending worde vnto her, that if shee would forsake her husband, he would take her for his doughter, and set her at libertie. Who for all that offer was firme and constant, and loued her prison the better by obseruing the bond of mariage, then al the libertie of the world, without the hauing of her husband. And it semed by her countenaunce, that al the paynes she had indured were most pleasaunt pastimes, for that she suffred the same for his sake, whome she loued best. What should I speake of men? This Bastarde at length became vnmindeful of her, and fled into Alemaine, where he had many frendes. Whose inconstancie afterwardes appeared so manifest, as the vertue of true and perfit loue outwardly seming to remain in him, was conuerted into the vice of odible ingratitude, whereby it was euident, that the causes that made him so hotte a Suter, were the vglie monsters of Auarice and Ambition, where he fill in loue with an Almaine Ladie, he forgetting to visite her with letters, that for his sake had susteined so great and manifold tribulations. For what rigor or affliction soeuer Fortune offred, coulde neuer before that tyme put awaye the meanes from writing one to an other, but onely the vices before named, and the foolish and wicked loue wherin he suffred him selfe to fall. Which sudden and newe loue so perced the hart of Rolandine, and so fiercely assailed the same, as she could no more content and rest her self. Afterwards vpon the viewe of his wrytinges and letters, seing him to be so chaunged and altered from his accustomed stile, what tormentes then she suffred, they doe knowe that haue felte and tasted the bitter cup of like passions. And yet her perfecte loue would not suffer her to fixe certaine iudgement vpon this aduertisement, and therefore deuised secretly to sende one of her seruaunts whome shee trusted best, to espie, and priuely make serche whether the same were true or not. Whiche her seruaunt being retourned, hee truely tolde her, howe the Bastarde Gentleman was in loue with a Ladie of Almaine, and howe the brute was that he made great sute vnto her for mariage, because shee was very ritche. These newes brought sutche extreme sorrowe and grief to the harte of poore Rolandine, as being not able to abide the bruntes thereof, she fill very sicke. Those whiche vnderstode the originall of her disease, sayde vnto her (in the behalfe of her father) that for so muche as nowe she knewe the great villanie of the Bastarde, shee might iustly forsake hym: persuading her thereunto with the greatest reasons they could deuise. But for all those persuasions, no remedie could be founde to make her chaunge opinion: in whiche her laste tentacion shee declared the great constancie wherewith she was affected: for like as loue was decreased in him: so the same augmented in her, whiche remained and persisted in despite of all the malice of the worlde. For that loue, whiche fayled, and was fledde from him, tourned and retired into her. And when she perceiued her selfe alone fully possessed with that whiche before was deuided betwene them bothe, shee determined to obserue the same vntill death had made an ende of her fatall dayes. Wherefore the goodnes of God (which is perfect charitie and true loue) had pitie vpon her sorrowe, and regarded her pacience in such wise, as within few daies after the Bastarde died in the pursute of the other ladie’s Loue. Wherof Rolandine being dauertised by those which saw him buried, prayed them to trauell with her father by humble sute, that he would vouchsafe to giue her leaue to speake vnto him. Who at their request, (although he neuer spake vnto her before, during the tyme of her imprisonment) incontinently was pleased so to doe. And after that he had herde the discourse of her iuste reasons, in place of rebukes, and his promise made to kill her (which many times he threatened by woordes) he cleped her betweene his armes, and bitterly weping, sayde vnto her: “Daughter, I wel perceiue your vertue and constant mynde, which farre surmounteth any thing that is good in mee, for if there be any faulte or lacke of consideration of your estate, I am the principal occasion thereof: but sith the goodnes of God hath thus ordeined it, I wil make satisfaction for mine offence past.” And afterwardes he sent her home to his house, where he vsed and interteigned her like his derest and eldest daughter. In the ende she was demaunded in mariage by a Gentleman of name and armes, to her estate and bloud not inferior. Who was bothe wise and vertuous, and so louingly regarded Rolandine (whome he many times visited) as he attributed vnto her the prise of prayse for that, which others accompted worthy of rebuke, knowing that her intent of former loue was grounded vpon the foundation of vertue. The mariage was well liked of her father, was acceptable to Rolandine, and was forthwith concluded. True it is that a brother she had, the only inheritour of her father’s landes, who would not agree that she should receiue her childe’s porcion, obiecting that she had disobeied her father. And after the death of the good old man (her father) her brother vsed her very rigorously and cruelly. For her husbande was but a yonger brother, and had wherewithal scarce able to liue: for which want, God bountifully prouided: for the brother whose gredie minde did craue in one daie to be possessor of al, by sodain death was depriued, as well of his sister’s porcion as of al the rest. By whose death she remained the whole inheritor of that honorable house: and afterwardes liued an honorable and stately life, in great wealth and pleasure, and was welbeloued and duetifully intreated of her husband. Finally hauing by her husband two goodly sonnes, she very vertuously brought them vp, and finishing her aged dayes, she ioyfully rendred her soule vnto him, in whom of long time she had reposed her onely trust and confidence. Now good ladies let them come forth that be the common displaiers of women’s inconstancie, and let them bring forth in presence, so good and perfect a husband as this was a good and constant woman, indued with semblable faith and vertue. I am sure to bring this to passe the matter wilbe very difficult: and therfore I had rather discharge them of this my chalenge, then put them to payne to trauell and seeke for such a one. Whose vertuous loue and godlye continuance of the same, is worthye to bee sounded by Trompe of fame to the extreame partes of the Earth. And yet I would aduise yonge Ladies and gentlewomen to beware how they be inamoured, and pursue the trade of loue, contrarie to the will of parentes, who ought in time of infancie to be their guide, and also in riper yeares to procure them mariage according to their worthines: which they may the better and soner do, is by vertuous education they arme and instruct their tender and youthly age.

THE SIXTY-THIRD NOUELL.

The Wisedome of a woman to withdrawe the foolishe loue of her husband, wherwith he was tormented.

Many yeares are not yet expired sithens there was a Gentlewoman of noble house (whose name I may not disclose), so wise and vertuous as shee was wel beloued and esteemed of her neighbours: her husband (not without good cause) trusted her in al his affaires, which she ordred and gouerned so wisely, as her house by her meanes grew to be one of the richest and best apparelled, that was in the countrie wherein she dwelled. Liuing thus a long time with her husbande, by whom shee had many goodly children, their happie state and felicitie (after which daily insue their contraries) began to decaie, because that he, defatigated with to much quiet, abandoned restfull life, to seeke after troublesom trauell: and had gotten a custome when his wife was a sleepe to rise from her side, and not to returne vntill it was very nere morning. The gentlewoman misliking this maner of life, became very ielous of her husband, and yet made as though she mistrusted nothing: but that spitefull passion entred her stomacke so farre, as in thende shee forgot thaffayres of her house, the diligence of her person, and good gouernment of her familie, like vnto one that verely supposed that (do what shee could) she had lost the fruite of her paine and labour, which was the great loue of her husband, for continuance whereof shee spared no trauaile or toile: but losinge altogether as shee manifestly perceiued, shee grew to be so carelesse of her housholde state and houswiferie, as speedelie appeared the fruites of slouth and negligence: for her husband for his part spent without order, and she staied her trauell from matters of houshold: in such wise as the same was growen to so great penurie, as the high and stately woodes were felled downe to the stubbe, and the goodly maners deliuered into the handes of sir Mathewe Morgage. One of the gentlewoman’s frendes and kinsemen which knew her disease, tolde her of her fault, and rebuked her for that carelesse life: sayinge, that if loue of husband could not make her to haue respecte of housholde profite: zeale and regarde of poore children’s state ought to moue her thereunto. This good councell of her frende touched her very nere, and the pitie of her children at lengthe made her to recouer her spirits, and to assaie by all meanes possible to wynne againe her husbande’s loue. See here the nature of honestie, and condicion of well disposed life: this gentlewoman was infected with the plague of Ielousie (an ordinarie disease in women,) and not without iust cause: for what Grisilde could suffre her wedded husband, assembled in bedde, in depthe of slepe, to rise and runne a straie like a wylde horse, neying after the straied female kinde of that sorte? This good Gentlewoman, I saye, almoste besides her wittes for alienation of her deserued loue, now growen careles of worldly thinges, as you haue heard, is vpon the louing admonicion of her nerest frend, pricked with naturall regarde of Infantes: launching forth that festred sore of Ialousie, serched meanes by policie to wynne that which Ialousie could not get, whiche was her husbande’s loue, whom with curteouse wiuely shame not before assemblie of neighbours, or straungers audience, by huy and crye as many doe, but in domesticall boundes, within the compas of housholde, and within the circuit of secret chambre, shee made him blushe from former life, and to deteste all filthie and beastly factes in future time. Suche be the frutes of a right matrone’s life. Suche be the gaines of the milde and quiet wife. Such a wife, I say, is the honor of her husband’s name, the onely vpholder and restoratife of his renowme and fame. But turne we againe to the experienced wisedome of this Gentlewoman. The next day she diligently watched by false slepe, the time of his vprising from her: and when he was gone, shee rose likewyse, putting her night gowne about her, causing the bedde to bee made, and saying her prayers, she waited the retourne of her husband, who being retired into his chambre, she came before him to kisse hym, and brought him a basen with water to washe his handes: and musing at the vnaccustomed order of his wife, he tolde her that he was come but from the priuie, and therfore neded not to washe. Whereunto she answered, that although it were no great matter, yet cleanly and honest, to washe the handes, being come from an vncleane and stinking place, by which wordes she was desirous to let him vnderstande his follie thereby to hate his dishonest and filthie life. But for all that wyse and pretie taunte hee amended nothing at all: Howbeit she continued that ordre the space of one yere. And when she sawe, that her diligence could not reforme his vsuall trade of lyfe, on a tyme wayting for her husband, which taried longer then he was wont to doe, shee was desirous to seeke hym out, and went from chamber to chamber, till at lengthe shee founde hym a bedde in a back chambre and a sleepe with the moste ill fauoured, foule and filthiest Slutte of her house, such a homely pece and durty beaste, as the lyke was not to be founde in a countrie. The gentlewoman beholding this manerly sight, thought to teache him a lesson howe to remembre the difference betwene the sweete and pleasaunt lodging, with a fayre and duetifull wife, and the vncleanly couching with a stinking and lothsome Queane. Wherupon she caused a burden of Strawe and worne rushes to be brought vnto her, setting the same on fier in the middes of the chamber, but when she sawe her husband almoste choked with the great smother, she waked hym, and plucked him out of the bed by the armes, crying: “fier, fier.” If the husbande were ashamed, and offended with him selfe to be founde in a bedde with such an vncleanly matche, by his faire and honest wife, I referre the iudgement to all indifferent men, that be coupled with like wiues. Then his wyfe said vnto him: “Sir I haue assaied the space of one whole yeare, to withdrawe you from this vile and wicked life, by gentlenes and pacience, and shewed example by washing you without, that you might also clense your selfe within. But when I sawe myne endeuour could take no place, I attempted to helpe my selfe with the element that shall ende and consume vs all: assuring you, sir, that if this doe not amende you, I cannot tell if the seconde time, I be able likewise to ridde you from the daunger that may happen. I praye you sir to thinke and consider that there is no greater dispayre or dispite, then that whiche is conceiued of loue: and had I not set before mine eyes the feare of God, I could not haue practised suche pacience, as I haue done.” The husband very glad, that he had escaped that misfortune, promised her neuer to geue occasion, that shee should take like payne to bring him to order. Whiche promise the Gentlewoman very willingly beleued, and with her husbande’s consent, she expelled out of her house, that which did displease her moste: and from that time forth, they louingly liued together, and the former faultes of this reformed life, was an increase of ioyful and mutuall delightes. I beseche you Gentlewomen (if there be any in the place where this nouell is redde) if God doe geue you such husbandes to beware of dispaire, vntill ye haue assayed all possible meanes to reduce them to good ordre. For there be in the daye XXIIII. houres, in euery of whiche houres a man may chaunge opinion: and a woman ought to accompt her selfe moste happie, if by pacience and long suffraunce she wynne her husbande, excepte fortune and frendes haue procured one that is alreadie perfecte. This example therefore maye serue al sortes of maried women. Let her take example that list (quod Dame Partelot) for it is impossible for me to vse suche long pacience. But let Dame Partelot speake her pleasure, I would aduise all husbandes to lyue honestly with their honest wiues, and doe praie to God to plant mo sutch wiues to store the barren worlde that neuer or seldome bryngeth forth such increase.