The second tome of the Palace of pleasure conteyning store of goodly histories, tragicall matters, and other morall argument, very requisite for delighte and profit. Chosen and selected out of diuers good and commendable authors: by William Painter, clerke of the ordinance and armarie. Anno. 1567.

Mistresse Helena of Florence

¶ A Widowe called Mistresse HELENA, with whome a Scholer was in loue, (she louyng an other) 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the same Scholer to stande a whole 〈◊〉〈◊〉 nyghte in the Snowe to wayte for hir, who afterwardes by a 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and pollicie, caused hir in Iuly, to stande vpon a Tower starke 〈◊〉〈◊〉, amongs Flyes and Gnattes, and in the 〈◊〉〈◊〉.

The. xxxi. Nouel.

DIuerte we nowe a litle from these sundrie hap∣pes, to solace our selues with a 〈◊〉〈◊〉 deuise, and pleasaunt circumstance of a Scholers loue, and of the wily guily 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of an amorous Wi∣dow of Florence. A Scho∣ler returned from Paris to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 his knowlege at home in hys owne Countreye, learneth a more cunnyng lecture of Mystresse Helena, than he didde of the subtillest Sorbone Doctor, or other Ma∣thematicall from whenee hée came. The Scholler as plainly hée had applied his booke, and earnestly herkned his readings, so he simply meant to be a faithfull louer and deuoute requirant to this ioily dame, y^t had vowed

hir deuotion & promised pilgrimage to an other saint. The scholer vpon the first view of the widowes wan∣dring lookes, forgetting Ouides lessons of loues guiles, pursued his conceipt to the vttermost. The scholer ne∣uer remembred how many valiaunt, wise and learned men, wanton womē had seduced and deceiued. He had forgot howe Catullus was beguiled by Lesbia, Tibullus by Delia, Propertius by Cynthia, Naso by Corinna, Deme∣trius by Lamia, Timotheus by Phryne, Philippe by a Greeke mayden, Alexander by Thais, Hannibal by Campania, Caesar by Cleopatra, Pompeius by Flora, Pericles by Aspa ga, Psammiticus the king of Aegipt by Rhodope, and di∣uers other very famous by women of that stampe. He had not ben well trained in holy writ, or heard of Sam∣sons Dalida, or of Salamons concubines, but like a plaine dealing man, beleued what she promised, folowed what she bad him, wayted whiles she mocked him, attended till she laughed him to scorne. And yet for all these ioily pastimes inuented by this widowe, to deceiue the poore Scholer, the scaped not frée from his Logike rules, nor safe from his philosophie. He was forced to turne ouer Aristotle; to reuolue his Porphyrie, and to gather hys wittes about him, to requite this louing peate, that had so charitably delt with him. He willingly serched ouer Ptolome, perused Albumazar, made haste to Haly, yea & for a shift besturred him in Erra Pater, for matching of two contrary elements. For colde in Christmasse holy dayes, and frost at Twelftide, shewed no more force in this poore lerned scholer, thā the Suns heat in the Feries of Iuly; gnats, flies, & waspes, at noone dayes in Sōmer vpon the naked tender corpse of this fair Widow. The Scholer stode belowe in a Court, benoommed for cold, the widowe preached a lofte in the top of a Tower, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 woulde haue had water to coole hir extreme heat.

The scholler in his shirt bedecked with his demissaries. The widow so naked as hir graundmother Eue, with∣out vesture to shroud hir. The widow by magike Arte what so euer it cost, wold faine haue recouered hir lost louer. The Scholler well espying his aduaūtage when he was asked councel, so incharmed hir with his Sillo∣gismes, as he made hir to mount a tower, to cursse the time that euer she knew him or hir louer. So y^t widow not well beatē in causes of schole, was whipt with the rod, wherwith she scourged other. Alas good woman, had she knowne that olde malice had not bene forgot∣ten, she would not haue trusted, & lesse committed hir self to the circle of his enchauntments. If women wist what dealings are w^t men of great reading, they wold amongs one hundred other, not deale with one of the meanest of those that be bookish. One Girolamo Ruscelli alearned Italian making pretie notes for y^t better elu∣cidation of the Italian Decamerone of Boccaccio, iudgeth Boccaccio himself to be this scholler, whom by another name he termeth to be Rinieri. But whatsoeuer that Scholler was, he was truly too extréeme in reuenge, & therein could vse no meane. For he neuer left the pore féeble soule, for all hir curteous woords and gentle sup∣plication, vntil the skin of hir flesh was parched with y^e scalding sunne beames. And not contented with that, delt his almose also to hir maide, by sending hir to help hir mistresse, where also she brake hir legge. Yet Phi∣lenio was more pitifull ouer the thrée Nimphes & faire Goddesses of Bologna, whose History you may read in the xlix. Nouell of my former Tome. He fared not so roughly with those, as Rinieri did with this, that sought but to gain what she had lost. Wel, how so euer it was, and what differencie betwene either of them, this Hy∣storie ensuing, more amply shall giue to vnderstand.

Not long sithens, there was in Florence, a yong gen∣tlewoman of worshipfull parentage, faire and comely of personage, of courage stout, and abounding in goods of fortune (called Helena,) who being a Widow, deter∣mined not to mary again, bicause she was in loue with a yong man that was not voide of natures goodly gifts, whom for hir owne toothe, aboue other she had special∣ly chosen. In whome (setting aside all other care) ma∣ny times (by meanes of one of hir maids which she tru∣sted best) she had great pleasure and delite. It chaūced about the same time that a yong Gentleman of that Citie called Rinieri, hauing a great time studied at Pa∣ris, retourned to Florence, not to sell his Science by re∣taile, as many doe, but to know the reasons of things, and the causes of the same, which is a maruellous good exercise for a Gentleman. And being there honoured & greatly estemed of all men, aswell for his curteous be∣hauioure, as also for his knowledge, he liued like a good Citizen. But as it is commonly séene, they which haue best vnderstanding and knowledge in things, are soo∣nest tangled in Loue: euen so it happened to this Ri∣nieri, who repairing one day for his passetime to a feast, this Madame Helena clothed all in blacke, (after the manner of widowes) was there also, and séemed in his eyes so beautiful and wel fauored, as any woman that euer he sawe; and thought that he might be accompted happy, to whome God did she we so much fauoure, as to suffer him to be cleped betwene hir armes: & beholding hir diuers times, and knowing that the greatest and dearest things can not be gotten without laboure, he determined to vse all his endeuoure and care in plea∣sing of hir, that thereby he might obtaine hir loue, and so enioy hir. The yong Gentlewoman not very bash∣full, conceiuing greater opinion of hir selfe, than was

néedefull, not casting hir eyes towards the ground, but rolling them artificially on euery side, and by and by perceiuing much gazing to be vpon hir, espied Rinieri earnestly beholding hir, and sayd smiling to hir selfe:

I thinke that I haue not this day lost my time in com∣ming hither, for if I be not deceiued, I shall catch a Pi∣geon by the nose.

And beginning certaine times sted∣fastly to loke vpon him, she forced hir selfe so much as she could, to séeme effectuously to beholde him: and on the other parte thinking, that the more pleasant and a∣morous she shewed hir self to be, the more hir beautie should be estéemed, chiefly of him whome specially she was disposed to loue. The wise Scholler giuing ouer his Philosophie, bent all his endeuor hereunto, & thin∣king to be hir seruaunt, learned where she dwelt, and began to passe before hir house vnder pretense of some other occasion: wherat the Gentlewoman reioysed for the causes beforesaide, faining an earnest desire to be∣holde him. Wherfore the Scholler hauing found a cer∣taine meane to be acquainted with hir maide, discoue∣red his loue: praying hir to deale so w^t hir mistresse, as he might haue hir fauor. The maide promised him very willingly, and incontinently reported the same to hir mistresse, who with the greatest scoffes in the world, gaue eare therunto & sayd:

Séest thou not frō whence this goodfellow is come, to lose al his knowledge & doc∣trine y^t he hath brought vs from Paris. Now let vs de∣uise therefore how he may be handled for going about to séeke that, which he is not like to obtain. Thou shalt say vnto him, when he speaketh to thée againe, y^t I loue him better than he loueth me, but that it behoueth me to saue mine honoure, and to kéepe my good name and estimation amongs other women. Which thing, if he be so wise (as he séemeth) he ought to esteme & regarde.

Ah poore Wench, she knoweth not well, what it is to mingle huswiuery with learning, or to intermeddle di∣staues with bokes. Now the maid when she had found the Scholler, told him as hir mistresse had commaūded: wherof y^e Scholler was so glad, as he with greater en∣deuor procéeded in his enterprise, and began to write letters to the Gentlewoman, which were not refused, although he could receiue no answeres y^t pleased him, but such as were done opēly. And in this sort the Gen∣tle woman long time fed him with delayes. In the end she discouered all this newe loue vnto hir friend, who was attached with such an aking disease in his head, as the same was fraught with the reume of ialosie: wher∣fore she to she we hir selfe to be suspected without cause (very careful for the Scholler) sēt hir maid to tel him, that she had no conuenient time to doe the thing that shold please him, sithēs he was first assured of hir loue, but hoped the next Christmasse hollydayes to be at his commaundement: wherefore if he would vouchsafe to rome the night following the first holyday, into y^e court of hir house, she wold wait there for his comming. The Scholler the best contēted mā in the world, failed not at the time appointed, to goe to the Gentlewomans house: where being placed by the maid in a base court, and shut fast within the 〈◊〉〈◊〉, he attended for hir com∣ming, who supping with hir friend that night, very pleasantly recited vnto him al that she had determined then to do, saying:

Thou maist see what loue I do bear vnto him, of whome thou hast foolishely conceiued this iealousie.

To which wordes hir friend gaue 〈◊〉〈◊〉 with great delectation, desiring to see the effect of that, wher∣of she gaue him to vnderstand by woordes. New as it chaunced the day before, the snowe fel downe so thicke from aboue, as it couered all y^t earth, by which meanes

〈◊〉〈◊〉 Scholler within a very litle space after his arriual, began to be very colde, howbeit hoping to receiue re∣compense, he suffred it paciently. The Gentlewoman a little while after, sayd vnto hir friend:

I pray thee let vs goe into my chamber, where at a little window we may loke out, and see what he doth that maketh thee so iealous, and hearken what answer he will make to my maide, whome of purpose I wil send to speake vn∣to him.

When she had so sayd, they went to y^t window, where they séeing the Scholler (they not seene of him,) 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the maide speake these woordes:

Rinieri, my mi∣stresse is the angriest woman in the world, for that as yet she can not come vnto thée. But the cause is, y^t one of hir brethren is come to visite hir this Euening, and hath made a long discourse of talke vnto hir, and after∣wardes bad himself to supper, and as yet is not depar∣ted, but I thinke he wil not tary long, and then imme∣diately she will come. In the meane time she prayeth thée to take a litle paine. The scholler beléeuing this to be true, sayd vnto hir: Require your Mistresse to take no care for me till hir leasure may serue: howbeit en∣treat hir to make so much hast as she can.

The maid re∣tourned and wēt to bed, and the dame of the house sayd then vnto hir frend? Now sir, what say you to this:

Do you thinke that if I loued him as you mistrust, that I would suffer him to tarry beneath in the colde to coole himselfe?

And hauing sayd so, she went to bed with hir friend, who then was partly satisfied, and all the night they continued in great pleasure and solace, laughing & mocking the miserable Scholler that walked vp and downe the court to chafe himself, not knowing where to sit, or which way to auoide the colde, and curssed the long tarying of his mistresse brother, hoping at euery noise he heard, that she had come to open the dore to let

him in, but his hope was in vain. Now she hauing spor∣ted hir selfe almost till midnight, sayd vnto hir friend:

How think you (sir) by our Scholer, whether iudge you is greater, his wisdome, or the loue that I beare 〈◊〉〈◊〉 him? The cold that I make him to suffer, wil extinguish the heat of suspition which ye conceiued of my woordes the other day. Ye say true (sayd hir friend,) and I 〈◊〉〈◊〉 assure you, that like as you are my delite, my rest, my comfort and all my hope, euen so I am youres during life.

For the cōfirmation of which renewed amity, they spared no delites which the louing Goddesse doeth vse to serue and imploy vpon hir seruaūts and suters. And after they had talked a certain time, she said vnto him:

For Gods sake (sir) let vs rise a litle, to sée if y^e glowing fier which this my new louer bath daily written vnto me, to burn in him, be quēched or not.

And rising out of their beds, they wēt to a little window, & loking down into the courte, they sawe the Scholer daunsing vpon the snow, whereunto his 〈◊〉〈◊〉 téeth were so good instrumentes, as he séemed the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 dauncer that euer trode a Cinquepace after such Musike, being for∣ced therunto through the great colde which be suffred.

And then she sayde vnto him: what say you to this my friend, doe you not sée how cunning I am to make men daunce without Laber or Pipe? Yes in déede (said hir louer) ye be an excellent musitian. Then (quod she) let vs go downe to the dore, and I will speake vnto him, but in any wise speake you nothing, and we shal heare what reasons and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 he wil frame to moue me to compassion, and perchaunce shall haue no little pa∣stime to behold him:

wherupon they went downe soft∣ly to the dore, and there without open ing the same, she with a soft voice out at a little bole, called the Scholer vnto hir. Which he hearing, began to praise God and

thanke him a thousande times, beleuing verily that he shold then be let in, and approching the dore, said:

I am héere mine (owne swéete heart) open the dore for Gods sake, for I am like to dic for colde. Whome in mocking wise she answered: can you make me beleue (M. Scho∣ler) that you are so tender, or that the colde is so great as you affirme, for a little Snow that lieth without? There be at Paris farre greater snowes than these be: but to tel you the trothe, you cā not come in yet, for my brother (the diuell take him) came yesternight to sup∣per, and is not yet departed, but by & by he wil be gon, and then you shal obtaine the effect of your desire, assu∣ring you, that with much adoe I haue stoln away from him, to come hither for your comfort, praying you not to thinke it long. Madame said the Scholer, I beséeche you for Gods sake to open the dore, that I may stand in couert from y^e snow, which within this hour hath fallen in great aboundaunce, and doth yet continue: & there I will attend your pleasure. Alas swéete friend (said she) the dore maketh such a noise when it is opened, that it wil easily be heard of my brother, but I will pray him to depart, that I may quickely returne againe to open the same. Go your way then (said the Scholer) & I pray you cause a great fire to be made, that I may warme me when I come in, for I can scarse féele my selfe for colde. Why, it is not possible (sayd the woman) if it be true that you wholly burne in loue for me, as by your sundry letters written, it appeareth, but nowe I per∣ceiue that you mocke me, and therefore tary there still on Gods name.

Hir friend which heard all this, & tooke pleasure in those words, wēt againe to bed with hir, in∣to whose eyes no slepe y^t night could enter for the plea∣sure & sport they had with the pore Scholer. The vn∣happy wretched Scholer whose téeth clacked for colde,

saring like a Storke in cold nights, perceiuing himself to be mocked, assayed to open the doore, or if he might goe out by some other way: and seeing it 〈◊〉〈◊〉, stalking vp and downe like a Lion, curssed the nature of the time, the wickednesse of the woman, the length of the night, and the folly and simplicitie of himself: and conceiuing great rage and despite against hir, turned sodainly the long and feruent loue that he bare hir, in∣to despite and cruell hatred, deuising many and diuers meanes to be reuenged, which he then farre more desi∣red, thā he did in y^t beginning to lye with his Widow. After the prolixitie and length of the night, day appro∣ched, and the dawning therof began to appeare: where∣fore the maide instructed by hir mistresse, went downe into y^t Court, and séeming to haue pitie vpon y^e Schol∣ler, sayd vnto him:

The Diuell take him that euer he came hither this night, for he hath bothe let vs of sleepe, and hath made you to be frosen for colde, but take it paciently for this time, some other night must be ap∣pointed. For I know well y^t neuer thing could chaunce more displeasantly to my mistresse than this.

But the Scholler ful of disdaine, like a wise man which knewe wel that threats and menacing words, were weapons without hands to y^t threatned, retained in his stomake that which intemporate will, wold haue broken forth, and with so quiet words as he could, not shewing him∣self to be angry, sayd:

In décde I haue suffred y^t worste night that euer I did, but I knowe the same was not through your mistresse fault, bicause she hauing pitie vpon me, came downe to ercuse hir self and to comfort me, and as you say, that which cannot be to night, may be done another time, commend me then vnto hir, and fare wel.

And thus the pore Scholler stiffe for colde, so well as he could, retourned home to his house, where

for extreme colde and lacke of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 being almost dead, be threw himselfe vpon his bed, and when he awaked, his armes and legges were benoommed. Wherfore he sent for physitions and tolde them of the colde which he had taken, who incontinently prouided for his health: and yet for al their best and spedie remedies, they could scarce recouer his sinewes, wherin they did what they could: and had it not ben that he was yong, & the Som∣mer approching, it had ben to much for him to haue en∣dured. But after he had recouered health, and grewe to be lustie, secrete malice still resting in his breast, he thought vpon reuenge. And it chaunced in a litle time after, that Fortune prepared a newe accident to the Scholer to satisfie hys desire, bycause the yong man which was beloued of the Gentlewoman, not caryng my longer for hir, fell in loue with an other, and gaue ouer the solace and pleasure he was wont to do to my∣stresse Helena, for which she consumed in wéepings and 〈◊〉〈◊〉. But hir maide hauing pitie vpon hir so∣rowes, knowing no meanes to remoue the melancolie which she conceiued for the losse of hir friend, and seing the Scholer dayly passe by acording to his common cu∣stome, conceiued a foolish beliefe that hir mistresse frēd might be brought to loue hir againe, and wholly reco∣uered, by some charme or other sleight of Necromancie, to be wrought and broughte to passe by the Scholer. Which deuise the told vnto hir mistresse, and she vndis∣cretely (and without the due consideration, that if the Scholer had any knowledge in that science, he woulde helpe himselfe) gaue credite to the words of hir maide, and by and by sayd vnto hir, that she was able to bring it to passe, if he woulde take it in hande, and therwith∣all promised assuredly, that for recompense he shoulde vse hir at his pleasure. The maide diligently tolde the

Scholer hereof, who very ioyfull for those newes, sayd vnto him self:

O God, praised be thy name, for now the time is come, that by thy helpe I shall requite the iniu∣ries done vnto me by this vngracious woman, and bée recompensed of the great loue that I bare vnto hir: and sayd to the maid: Go tel thy mistresse that for this mat∣ter she néede to take no care, for if hir friende were in India, I could presentely force him to come 〈◊〉〈◊〉, and ask hir forgiuenesse of y^e thing he hath cōmitted against hir will. And the maner and way how to vse hir self in this behalfe, I will giue hir to vnderstand when it shal please hir to appoint me: and faile not to tell hir what I say, comforting hir in my behalf.

The maide caried y^t answer, & it was concluded, that they should talk more hereof at the church of S. Lucie, whither being come, & resoning together alone, not remembring that she had brought the Scholer almost to the point of death, she re ueled vnto him all the whole matter, & the thing which he desired, praying him instantly to helpe hir, to whom the Scholer sayd:

True it is Lady, that amongs other thyngs whiche I learned at Paris, the Arte of 〈◊〉〈◊〉, (whereof I haue very great skill,) is one: but bycause it is much displeasant to God, I haue made an othe neuer to vse it, eyther for my selfe, or for any o∣ther: howebeit the loue which I beare you, is of such force, as I can not denie you any request, yea and if I shoulde be damned amongs all the deuils in hell, I am readie to perform your pleasure. But I tel you before, that it is a harder matter to be doue, than peraduēture you beleue, and specally when a woman shall prouoke a man to loue, and a man the woman, bycause it can not be done but by the propre person, whome it dothe touche, and therefore it is méete, what so euer is done, in any wyse not to bée afrayde, for that the coniura∣tion

must bée made in the night, and in a solitarie place without companie: Which thing I know not how you shall bée disposed to doe. To whome the woman more amorous than wise, aunswered: Loue pricketh mée in such wise, as there is nothing but I dare attēpt, to haue him againe, that causelesse hath forsaken me. But if it be your pleasure, tel me wherein it behoueth that I bée so bold and hardie. The Scholer (subtil ynough) said: I must of necessitie make an image of brasse, in the name of him that you desire to haue, which being sente vnto you, you must when the Moone is at hir full force, bath your self alone stark naked in a running riuer at y^e first hour of sléepe. 〈◊〉〈◊〉. times with the same image: and after∣wards being still naked, you must go vp into some trée or house vnhabited, and turnyng youre selfe towardes the northside thereof with the image in your hand, you shall say. 〈◊〉〈◊〉. times certain words, that I will giue you in writing, which when you haue done, two damsells shall come vnto you, the fairest that euor you saw, and they shall salute you, humbly demaunding what youre pleasure is to commaundé them: to whome you shall willingly declare in good order what you desire: & take hede aboue all things, that you name not one for an o∣ther: and when they be gone, you may descend down to the place where you left your apparell, and aray your selfe agayne, and afterwardes 〈◊〉〈◊〉 home vnto youre house, and assure your self, that before the midde of the next nyght folowing, your friend shall come vn∣to you wéeping, and crying mercie and forgiuenesse at youre handes. And knowe ye, that from that tyme forth. hée will neuer forsake you for any other.

The Gentlewoman hearyng those woords, gaue great credite 〈◊〉〈◊〉: and thoughte that already she helde hir friend betwéene hir armes, and very ioyfull sayde:

Doubt not but I will accomplishe all that whiche you haue tolde me:

and I haue the méetest place in y^t world to do it: for toward the valley of Arno, very néere the riuer side, I haue a manor house, secretly to worke 〈◊〉〈◊〉 attempt that I list: and now it is the moneth of 〈◊〉〈◊〉, in which tyme bathing is most pleasant. And also I re∣membre that not farre from the riuer, there is a little Toure vnhabited, into whiche one can scarce get vp, but by a certain ladder made of chesnut trée, whiche is alreadie there, whervpon the shephierds do sometyme ascende to the turrasse of the same Toure, to looke for their cattel when they be gone astray: and the place is very solitarie and out of the way. Into that Toure wil I goe vp, and trust to do al that you haue required me. The Scholer which knew very well bothe the village whereof she spake, and also the Toure, right glad for that he was assured of his purpose, sayde: Madame, I was neuer there, and do neither know the village, nor the Toure, but if it be as you say, it is not possible to finde any better place in the worlde: wherefore when the time is come, I will sende you the image, and the prayer. But I heartily beséech you, when you haue ob∣tained your desire, and do perceiue that I haue wel ser∣ued your turne, to haue me in remembrance, & to kepe your promise: which the Gentlewoman assured him to doe without faile, and taking hir leaue of him, she reti∣red home to hir house.

The Scholer ioyfull for that his deuise should in déede come to passe, caused an image to be made with certaine Characters, and wrote a tale of a tubbe in stede of the prayer. And when he saw tyme he sent them to the Gentlewoman, aduertising hir that the night folowing, she muste doe the thing he had ap∣pointed hir. Then to procede in his enterprise, he and his man went secretly to one of his friends houses that

dwelte harde by the towne. The woman on the other side, and hir maide repaired to hir place: where when it was night, making as though she would go 〈◊〉〈◊〉, she sent hir maid to bed: afterwards about ten of the clock she went very softely out of hir lodgyng, and repaired néere to the towne vpon the riuer of Arno, and looking aboute hir, not seing or perceyuyng any man, she vn∣clothed hir selfe, and hidde hir apparell vnder a bushe of thornes, and then bathed hir selfe. vy. tymes with the image, and afterwards starke naked holding the same in hir hand, she went towards the Toure. The Scho∣ler at the beginning of the night beyng hidden with his seruant 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the willowes and other trées nere the Toure, saw all the aforesayd things, and hir also pas∣sing naked by him, (the whitenesse of whose bodie sur∣passed as he thought, the darknesse of the night, so farre as blacke excedeth white) who afterwardes behelde hir stomack, and the other partes of hir body, which semed vnto him to be very beautiful. And remembring what would shortly come to passe, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 had some pitie vpon hir. And on the other side, the temptation of the fleshe so∣dainly assailed him, prouoking him to issue forth of the secrete corner, to surprise hir, and take his plesure vp∣on hir, and within a while after was vanquished bothe with the one and the other. But calling to his remem∣brance what she was, and what great wrong he hadde sustained, his malice began to kindle again, and did re∣moue from him his compassion, and lust, continuing stil 〈◊〉〈◊〉 in his determination, and so did lette hir passe. The Widow so being vpon the Toure, and turnyng hir face towards the North, began to saye the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 which the Scholer had giuen hir. Within a while after the Scholer entred in very softly, and toke away the ladder whervpon she got vp, & stode still to heare what

would say and doe. Who hauing. vy. times recited hir prayer, attended the comming of the two damsels: for whome she waited so long in vaine, as she began to be extreemely colde, and perceiued the dawning of y^e day appeare. Wherefore taking great displeasure that it came not to passe as the Scholer had tolde hir, she sayd to hir self:

I doubt much least this Scholer wil reward me with such another night, as wherein once I made him to wait: but if he haue done it for that occasion, he is not well reuenged, for y^e nights now want the third part of the length of those then, besides, the cold that he indured, which was of greater extremity.

And that the day might not discouer hir, she would haue gon downe out of the Toure, but she found the ladder to be taken away. Then as though the worlde had molten vnder hir féete, hir heart began to faile, & fainting, fell downe vpon the tarrasse of the Toure, and when hir force be∣gan to come againe, she began pitifully to wéepe and complaine. And knowing well that the Scholer hadde done that déede, she grew to be angry with hir selfe, for that she has offended another, and too much trusted him whome she ought (by good reason) to haue accompted hir 〈◊〉〈◊〉. And after she had remained a great while in this plight, then loking if there were any way for hir to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 downe, and perceiuing none, she renued hir wéeping, whose minde great care and sorow did pierce saying to hir self:

O vnhappy wretch what wil thy bre∣thren say, thy parents, thy neighbors, and generally al they of 〈◊〉〈◊〉, when they shall vnderstande that thou hast ben found here starke naked? Thy honesty which hitherto hath bene neuer stained, shall nowe be atta∣ched with the blot of shame, yea and if thou were able to finde (for remedy hereof) any matter of excuse (such as might be found) the wicked Scholer (who knoweth

all thy doings) will not suffer thée to lie: Ah miserable wretch, y^t in one houres space, hast lost both thy frend & thine honor. What shall become of thée: who is able to couer thy shame?

When she had thus cōplained hirself, she was wrapt in suche sorowe, as she was like to cast hir self headlong downe from the Toure: but the sunne being already risen, she approched neare one of the cor∣ners of the wall, espying if she could see any boy keping of Cattell, that she might send him for hir maide. And it chaunced that the Scholer which had slept a while vnder a bush, awaked, & one espied the other, to whom the Scoler sayd:

Good morow Lady, be the damsels yet come?

The woman séeing and hearing him, begā again bitterly to wéepe, and prayed him to come vp to the Toure, that she might speake with hym. The Scholer was therunto very agreable, and she lying on hir belly vpō the terrasse of the Toure, discouering nothing but hir head ouer y^t side of the same, said vnto him wéeping:

Rinieri, truly if euer I caused thée to endure an il night, thou art now well reuenged on me: for although it be the moneth of 〈◊〉〈◊〉, I thought (because I was naked) y^t I shold haue frosen to death this night for cold, besides my great and continual teares for the offense which I haue done thée, and of my folly for beleuing thée, y^t mar∣uel it is mine eyes do remaine 〈◊〉〈◊〉 my head: & therfore I pray thee, not for the loue of me, whom thou oughtest not to loue, but for thine own 〈◊〉〈◊〉 which art a gentle∣man, y^t the shame & paine which I haue sustained, may satisfy y^e offense & wrong I haue cōmitted against 〈◊〉〈◊〉: & cause mine aparel to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 brought vnto me, y^t I may go towne frō hēce, & take not y^t frō me, which 〈◊〉〈◊〉 y^u art not able to restore, which is, mine honor: for if I haue depriued thée of being with me y^t night, I cā at all times when it shall please thée, render many for y^t 〈◊〉〈◊〉.

Let 〈◊〉〈◊〉 suffise thée then with this, and like an honest mā content thy self by being a little reuēged on me, in ma∣king me to know what it is to hurt another. Do not, I pray thée, practise thy power against a woman: for the Egle hath no fame for conquering of the Doue. Then for the loue of God, and for thine honor sake, haue pitie and remorse vpon me.

The Scholer with a cruel heart remembring the iniury that he had receiued, and seing hir so to weepe and pray, conceiued at one instant both pleasure & griefe in his minde: pleasure of the reuenge which he aboue all things desired, and grief moued his manhode to haue compassion vpon the miserable wo∣man.

Notwithstanding, pitie not able to ouercome the fury of his desire, he answered: Mistresse Helena, if my prayers (which in 〈◊〉〈◊〉 I could not moisten 〈◊〉〈◊〉 teares, ne yet swéeten them with sugred woordes, as you doe yours now) might haue obtained that night wherein I thought I should haue died for colde in the Court ful of snowe, to haue bene conueyed by you into some couert place, an easie matter it had bene for me at this instant to heare your sute. But if now more than in times past your honor doe ware warme, and be so greuous for you to stande starke naked, make your prayers to him, be∣twene whose armes it grieued you not at all to be na∣ked that night, wherein you heard me trot vp & downe the court, my téeth chattering for colde, and marching vpon the snow: and at his hands séeke reliefe, and pray him to bring your clothes. and fetche a ladder that you may come downe: force your self to set your honoures care on him, for whome bothe then, and nowe besides many other times, you haue not feared to put the same in perill: why doe you not cal for him to come and help you? and to whome doth your helpe better appertaine than vnto him? You are his owne, & what things will

he not prouide in this distresse of yours? or else what person will hée séeke to succour, if not to helpe and suc∣cour you? Cal him (foolish woman) and proue if the loue which thou 〈◊〉〈◊〉 him, and thy wit together with his, be able to deliuer thée from my folie, wherat (whē both you were togethers) you toke your pleasure. And now thou hast experiēce whether my folly or the loue which thou diddest beare vnto him, is the greatest. And be not now so liberall and curteous of that which I go not a∣bout to séeke. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 thy good nightes to thy 〈◊〉〈◊〉 friend, if thou chaunce to escape from hence aliue: for from my selfe I cléerely discharge you both. And truely I haue had to much of one: and sufficient it is for me to be mocked once. Moreouer by thy craftie talke vttered by subtill speache, and by 〈◊〉〈◊〉 〈◊〉〈◊〉 praise, thou thinkest to force the getting of my good will, and thou callest me Gentleman, valiant man, thinking thereby to withdrawe my valiant minde from punishing of thy wretched body: but thy flateries shal not yet blear mine vnderstanding eyes, as once with thy vnfaithfull pro∣mises thou diddest beguile my ouerwening wit. I now too well do know, and thereof 〈◊〉〈◊〉 thée well assure, that all the time I was a scholer in Paris, I neuer learned so much, as thou in one night diddest me to vnderstande. But put the case that I wer a valiāt man, yet thou art none of them vpon whom valiance ought to shewe his effectes: for the ende of repentance in such cruel beasts as thou art, and the like reuenge, oughte to be death a∣lone: where amongs men thy pitifull plaintes whiche so lamētably thou speakest, ought to suffise. But yet as I am no Eagle, & 〈◊〉〈◊〉 no Doue, but a most venomous serpent, I intende so well as I am able, so persecute thée mine auncient enimie, with the greatest malice I can deuise, which I can not so proprely call reuenge, as

I may terme it correction: for that the reuēge of a mat∣ter ought to surmount the offense, & yet I wil bestow no reuenge on thée: for if I wer disposed to applie my mynde thervnto, for respect of thy displeasure done to me, thy life shoulde not suffise, nor one hundred more like vnto thine: which if I tooke away, I shold but rid a vile, mischeuous & wicked woman out of the world. And to say the 〈◊〉〈◊〉, what other deuill art thou (to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 passe a litle beautie 〈◊〉〈◊〉 thy face, which within few yea∣res will be so riueled as the oldest cribbe of the world) but the most vnhappie and wicked woman, the dame of the diuell himselfe: for thou tookest no care to kill and destroy an honest man (as thou euen now diddst terme me) whose life, may in time to come bée more profita∣ble to the worlde, than an hundred thousande suche as thyne, so long as the worlde indureth. I wil teach thée then by the pain thou suffrest, what it is to mock such men as be of skil, and what maner of thyng it is to de∣lude and scorne poore Scholers, giuyng thée warning hereby, that thou neuer fall into such like follie, if thou escapest thys. But if thou haue so great a wil to come downe as thou sayest thou haste, why doest thou not leape and throwe downe thy selfe, that by breaking of thy necke (if it so please God) at one instant thou ridde thy selfe of the payne, wherin thou sayest thou art, and make me the beste contented man of the worlde. For this time I will saye no more to thée, but that I haue done inough for thée, by making thée to mount so high. Lerne then now so wel how thou mayst get downe, as thou didst know how to mock & deceiue me. While the Scholer had preached vnto hir these words, y^t wretched womā wept continually, & the time stil did passe away, the sunne rising more and more: but when she percey∣ued that he held his peace, she answered: O cruel man,

if the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 night was grieuous vnto thée, & my fault appeared great, can not my youth and beautie, my tea∣res and humble prayers be able to mitigate thy wrath and to moue thée to pitie: do at least that thou 〈◊〉〈◊〉 be moued & thy cruel minde appeased for that only act, let me once again be trusted of thée, and sith I haue mani∣fested al my desire, pardon me, for this time, thou haste sufficiently made me féele the penāce of my sinue. For, if I had not reposed my trust in thée, thou hadst not now reuenged thy self on me, which with ardent desire, thou 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ful wel declare. Giue ouer then thine anger, & par∣don me hēceforth: for I am determinod if thou wilt for∣giue me, & cause me to come downe out of this place, to forsake for euer y^t vnfaithful louer, & to receiue thée for my only friend & lord. Moreouer wher thou gretly bla∣mest my beautie, esteming it to be short, & of small ac∣compt, such as it is, & the like of other women I know, not to be regarded for other cause: but for pastime & ple∣sure of youthly mē, & therfore not to be contēned: & thou thy self truly art not very old: & albeit that cruelly I am intreated of thée, yet therfore I cānot beleue that thou woldest haue me so miserably to die, as to cast my selfe down hedlong, like one desperate, before thy eies, whō (except thou wer a lier as thou art now becom) in time past I did wel please & like. Haue pitie then vpon me, for Gods sake, for y^t Sun begins to grow exceding hot, & as the extreme & bitter cold did hurt me the last night euen so y^t heat beginneth to molest me. Whervnto the Scholer which kept hir there for the nonce, and for his plesure, answered: Mistresse you did not now cōmit your faith to me for loue you bare me, but to haue y^t againe, which you had lost, wherfore y^t deserueth no good turne, but greter pain: And fondly y^u thinkest this to be y^e only means, wherby I am able to take desired reuenge. For

I haue a thousand other wayes, and a thousand trapps haue I layde to tangle thy féete, in making thée beléeue that I dyd loue thée, in such wise as thou shoulde 〈◊〉〈◊〉 haue gone no where at any time, if this had not chaunced, but thou sholdest haue fallen into one of them: & sure∣ly thou couldest haue chaunced into neither of them, but would haue bred thée more annoyaunce and shame than this (which I chose not for thine ease, but for my greater pleasure.) And wher all these meanes had fay∣led me, the penne should not, wherwith I would haue displayed thée in such colours, as when it had come to thy knowledge, thou wouldest haue desired a thousand times a day, that thou hadst neuer ben borne. For the forces of the pen be farre more vehement, than they can estéeme that haue not proued them by experience. I sweare vnto thée by God, that I do reioise, and so wil to the end, for this reuenge I take of thée, and so haue I done from the beginning: but if I had with pen pain∣ted thy maners to the worlde, thou shouldest not haue bene so much ashamed of other, as of thy selfe, that ra∣ther than thou wouldest haue looked mée in the face a∣gaine, thou wouldest haue plucked thyne eyes oute of thy head: and therfore reproue no more the sea, for be∣ing incresed with a litle brooke. For thy loue, or y^t thou be mine own, I care not, as I haue already tolde thée, & loue him againe if thou canst, so much as thou wilte, to whome for the hatred that I haue borne him, I pre∣sently doe beare so much good will againe, and, for the benefite which he hath done thée now. You bée inamo∣red and desire the loue of yong mē, bicause you sée their 〈◊〉〈◊〉 somewhat freshe, their beard more blacke, their bodies well shaped to daunce and runne at tilt & ryng, but all these qualities haue they had, that be growne to elder yeares, and they by good experience knowe what

other are yet to learne. Moreouer you déeme them the better horssmen, bicause they can iorney more miles a day than those that be of farther yeares. Truly I con∣fesse, that with great force they please suche 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Gentlewomen as you be, who do not perceiue (like sa∣uage beastes) what heapes of euill do lurke vnder the forme of faire apparance. Yong men be not contente with one louer, but so many as they beholde, they doe desire, and of so many they thinke themselues worthy: wherfore their loue can not be stable. And that this is true, thou mayst now beare true witnesse thy self. And they thinkyng them selues worthie to be honoured and cherished of their paramors, haue none other glory but to vaunt of those whom they haue enioyed: which fault maketh many to yelde themselues to those that be dis∣crete and wise, and to suche as be no blabbes or Tel∣tales. And where thou sayest that thy loue is knowne to none, but to thy mayde and me, thou art deceyued, and worsse beleuest, if thou beleue the same: for al the inhabitants of the stréete wherin thy louer dwelleth, & the stréete also wherin thy house doth stand, talk of no∣thing more than of your loue. But many times in such cases, the partie whom such brute doth touch, is the last that knoweth the same. Moreouer, yong men do robbe thée, where they of elder yeres do gyue thée. Thou then (which hast made such choise) remaine to him whome thou hast chosen, & me (whom thou sloutest) giue leaue to applie to an other: for I haue founde a woman to be my friende, whiche is of an other discretion than thou art, and knoweth me better than thou dost. And 〈◊〉〈◊〉 thou mayst in an other world be more certain of mine eyes desire, than thou hitherto art, Throwe thy selfe downe so soone as thou canst, that thy soule alreadie (as I suppose) receiued betwene the armes of the diuel him

self may se, if mine eies be troubled or not, to view thée breake thy neck. But bicause I think thou wilt not do me that good turne, I say if y^t Sun begin to warm thée, remember the cold which thou madest me suffer, which if thou cāst mingle with that heat, no doubt thou shalt féele the same more temperate.

The comfortlesse wo∣man séeing that the Scholers words tended but to cru∣ell end, began to wéepe & said:

Now then, sith nothing can moue thée to take pitie for my sake, at lest wise for the loue of hir, whom thou sayest to be of better discre∣tion than I, take some compassion: For hir sake (I say) whom thou callest thy frend, pardon me & bring hither my clothes y^t I may put them on, & cause me if it please thée to come downe from hence.

Then the Scholer be∣gan to laugh, & seing y^t it was a good while past. 〈◊〉〈◊〉. of the clock, he answered:

Well go to, for y^t womans sake I cānot wel say nay, or refuse thy request, tell me where thy garments be, and I wil go seke them, & cause thée to come down:

She beleuing that, was somwhat comfor∣ted, and told him the place where she had bestowed thē. And the Scholer went out of the Toure, & cōmaunded his seruant to tarie there, & to take hede that none wēt in vntil he came againe. Then he wente to one of hys friends houses, where he wel refreshed himselfe, and af∣terwards when he thought time, he laide him downe to sléepe. Al that space mistresse Helena which was stil v∣pon the Toure, and recōforted with a litle foolish hope, sorowfull beyond measure, began to sit downe, séeking some shadowed place to bestow hir self, and with bitter thoughts & heuy chere in good deuotiō, waited for his cō∣ming, now musing, now weping, thē hoping, & sodainly dispairing y^t Scholers returne w^t hir clothes: & chāging frō one thought to an other, like one that was werie of trauel, & had takē no rest al the night, she fel into a litle 〈◊〉〈◊〉. But y^t sun which was passing hot, being about

〈◊〉〈◊〉, glaūced his burning beames vpon hir 〈◊〉〈◊〉 body & bare head, with such force, as not only it singed y^t flesh in sight, but also did chip & parch the same, with such ro∣sting heat, as she which soundly slepte, was constrained to wake: & féeling that raging warmth, desirous some∣what to remoue hir self, she thought in turning y^t al hir rosted skin had opened and broken, like vnto a skyn of parchment holden against the fire: besides which payne extreme, hir heade began to ake, with such vehemence, as it séeme to be knocked in peces: And no maruel, for the pament of the Toure was so passing hotte, as ney∣ther vpon hir féete, or by other remedie, she could fynde place of reste. Wherefore without power to abide in one place, she stil remoued weping bitterly. And more∣ouer, for that no winde did blow, the Toure was filled with such a swarme of Flies and Gnats, as they ligh∣ting vpon hir parched flesh, did so cruelly bite and sting hir, that euery of them semed worsse than the pricke of a néedle, which made hir to bestirre hir hāds, incessant∣ly to beate them off, cursing still hir selfe, hir life, hir frend and Scholer. And being thus and with such pain bittē and afflicted with the vehement heat of the Sun, with the flies and gnats, hungrie, & much more thirsty, assailed with a thousād greuous thoughts, she arose vp, & began to loke about hir, if she could hear or sée any per son, purposing whatsoeuer came of it to call for helpe. But hir yll fortune had taken away al this hoped mea∣nes of hir reliefe: for the husbandmen and other labo∣rers wer all gone out of the fields to shrowde thēselues from heate, sparing their trauail abrode, to thresh their corne, and do other things at home, by reason whereof, she neither saw or heard any thing, except Butterflies, humble bées, crickets, & the ryuer of Arno, which ma∣king hir lust to drink of y^e water, quenched hir thirst no∣thing

at all, but rather did augment the same. She saw be sides in many places, woodes, shadowes and houses, which likewise did bréede hir double griefe, for desire she had vnto the same. But what shall we speake any more of this vnhappy woman? The Sunne aboue, and the hot Toure paiment below, with the bitings of the flies and gnats, had on euery part so dressed hir tender corps, that where before the whitenesse of hir body did passe the darkenesse of the night, the same was become red, all arayed and spotted with gore bloud, that to the beholder and viewer of hir state, she semed the most ill fauored thing of the world: & remaining in this plight, without hope or councel, she loked rather for death thā other comfort. The Scholer after the clocke had soun∣ded thrée in the after noone, awaked, and remembring his Ladie, went to the Toure to sée what was become of hir, & sent his man to dinner, that had eaten nothing all that day. The Gentlewoman hearing the Scholer, repaired so féeble and tormented as she was, vnto the trap doore, and sitting vpon the same, pitifully wéeping began to say:

Rinieri, thou art beyond measure reuen∣ged on me, for if I made thée fréese all night in mine open court, thou hast tosted me to day vpō this Toure, nay rather burnt, and with heat consumed me: and be∣sides that, to die & sterne for hunger and thirst. Wher∣fore I pray thée for Gods sake to come vp, and sith my heart is faint to kill my self, I pray thée heartely to doe the same. For aboue all things I desire to die, so great and bitter is the torment which I endure. And if thou wilt not shew me that fauor, yet cause a glasse of wa∣ter to be brought vnto me, y^t I may moisten my mouth, sith my teares be not able to coole the same so great is the drouth & heat I haue within.

Wel knew the Scho∣ler by hir voice, hir weake estate, and sawe besides the

most part of hir body all tosted with the Sunne: by the viewe whereof, and humble sute of hir, he conceiued a little pitie. Notwithstanding he answered hir in this wise:

Wicked woman thou shalt not die with my hands, but of thine owne, if thou desire the same, and so much water shalt thou haue of me, for cooling of thine 〈◊〉〈◊〉, as dampned Diues had in hell at Lazarus handes, when he lifted vp his cry to Abraham, holding that sa∣ued wight within his blessed bosome, or as I had fire of thée for easing of my colde. The greater is my griefe that the vehemence of my colde must be cured with the heat of such a stincking carion beast, and thy heat hea∣led with the coldnesse of most soote and sauerous water distilled frō the orient Rose. And where I was in daū∣ger to lose my limmes and life, thou wilt renewe thy beautie like the Serpent when he casteth of his skin. Oh I miserable wretche (sayd the woman) God giue him such beautie gotten in suche wise, that wisheth me such euill. But (thou more cruel than any other beast) what heart hast thou, thus like a Tyrant to deale with me? What more grieuous paine could I endure of thée, or of any other, than I doe, if I had killed and done to death thy parents, or whole race of thy stocke and kin with most cruell torments. Truely I know not what greater cruelty could be vsed against a Trayter which had sacked or put a whole Citie to the sword, than that thou hast done to me, to make my flesh to be the foode & rost meat of the Sunne, and the bait for licorous flies, not 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to reache hither a simple glasse of wa∣ter, which would haue bene graunted to the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 théefe and manqueller, when they be haled forth to hanging, yea wine most commōly, if they 〈◊〉〈◊〉 y^t same. Now for that I sée thée stil remaine in 〈◊〉〈◊〉 mind, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 that my passion can nothing moue thée, I will pre∣pare

paciently to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 my death, that God may haue mercy on my soule, whome I humbly do beséeche with his righteous eyes to beholde that cruell facte of thine.

And with those woords, she approched with pain to the middle of y^e terrasse, despairing to escape that burning heat, and not only once, but a thousand times, (besides hir other sorowes) she thought to sowne for thirst, and bitterly wept without ceasing, complaining hir misse∣happe.

But being almost night, the Scholer thought he had done inough, wherfore he toke hir clothes, & wrapping the same within his seruants cloke, he went home to the Gentlewomans house, where he founde before the gate, hir maide sitting all sad and heauie, of whome he asked where hir mistresse was.

Syr (sayd she) I cannot tell, I thought this morning to finde hir a bed, where I left hir yester night, but I cannot finde hir there, nor in any other place, ne yet can tel whether to goe seke hir, which maketh my heart to throbbe some misfortune chaunced vnto hir. But (sir quod she) can not you tell where she is? The Scholler answered: I would thou haddest bene with hir in the place where I lefte hir, that I might haue bene reuenged on thée so well, as I am of hir. But beleue assuredly, that thou shalt not es∣cape my handes vntill I pay thée thy deserte, to the in∣tent hereafter in mocking other, thou maist haue cause to remember me.

When he had sayd so, he willed his man to giue the maide hir mistresse clothes, and then did bidde hir to séeke hir out if she would. The seruaunt did his maisters commaundement, and the maide ha∣uing receiued them, knewe them by and by, and mar∣king. well the Scholers woordes, she doubted least he had slaine hir mistresse, and much 〈◊〉〈◊〉 she had to re∣fraine from crying out. And the Scholer being gone,

〈◊〉〈◊〉 tooke hir mistresse garmentes and ranne vnto the Toure.

That day by happe, one of the Gentlewomans la∣bouring men, hadde two of his Hogges runne a stray, and as he went to séeke them (a little while after the Scholers departure) he approched neare the Toure, looking round about if he might sée them. In the busie searche of whome he heard the miserable plaint that the vnhappie woman made, wherefore so loude as he coulde, he cried out:

Who weepeth there aboue? the woman knewe the voice of hir man, and calling him by his name, she sayd vnto him: Goe home I pray thée to call my maide, and cause hir to come vp hither vn∣to me. The fellowe knowing his mistresse voice, sayd vnto hir: what Dame, who hathe borne you vp so 〈◊〉〈◊〉? your maide hath sought you all this day, and who would haue thought to finde you there?

He then taking the staues of the ladder, did set it vp against the Toure as it ought to be, and bounde the steppes that were wanting, with fastenings of Willowe twigges, and suche like pliant stuffe as hée coulde finde. And at that instant the maide came thither, who so soone as she was entred the Toure, not able to forbeare hir voice, beating hir handes, she began to cry:

Alas swéete mistresse where be you? she hearing the voice of hir maide answered so well as she coulde: Ah (swéete wenche) I am héere aboue, crie no more, but bring me hither my clothes.

When the maide heard hir speake, by and by for ioy, in haste she mounted vp the Ladder, which the labou∣rer had made ready, and with his helpe gate vp to the ferrasse of the Toure, and séeing hir Mistresse resem∣bling not a humane body, but rather a wedden faggot halfe consumed with fire, all weary and withered,

lying a long starke naked vpon the ground, she began with hir nailes to wreke the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 vpon hir face, and wept ouer hir with such 〈◊〉〈◊〉 as 〈◊〉〈◊〉 she had bene dead. But hir Dame prayed hir for Gods sake to holde hir peace, and to help hir to make hir ready: and vnder∣standing by hir that no man knewe where she was be∣come, except they which caried home hir clothes, & the laborer that was present there, she was some what re∣comforted, and prayed them for Gods sake to say no∣thing of that chaunce to any person. The laborer after much talk & request to his mistres, to be of good chéere, when she was risen vp, caried hir down vpon his neck, for that she was not able to goe so farre, as out of the Toure. The poore maide which came behinde, in going downe the ladder without taking héede, hir foote failed hir, & falling downe to the ground, she brake hir thigh, for griefe whereof she began to rore and cry out like a Lion. Wherefore the labourer hauing placed his dame vpon a gréene bank, went to see what the maid did aile, and perceiuing that she had broken hir thigh, he caried hir likewise vnto that banke, and placed hir be sides hir mistresse, who séeing one mischiefe vpon another to chaunce, and that she of whome she hoped for greater helpe, than of any other, had broken hir thigh sorowful beyonde measure, renewed hir cry so miserably, as not only the labourer was not able to comforte hir, but he himselfe began to wéepe for company. The Sunne ha∣uing trauailed into his Westerne course, and taking his farewell by settling himself to rest, was at y^t point of going downe. And the pore desolate woman vnwil∣ling to be benighted, went home to the laborers house, where taking two of his brothers and his wife, retur∣ned to fetch the maide and caried hir home in a chaire. Then chéering vp his dame with a little fresh water, &

many faire 〈◊〉〈◊〉, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 caried hir vp vpon his necke into a chāber, afterwards his wife made hir warme drinks and meates, & putting of hir clothes, laid hir in hir bed, and toke order that the mistresse and maide that night were caried to Florence, where the mistresse full of lies deuised a tale all out of order of that which chaunced to hir and hir maide, making hir brethren, hir sisters, and other hir neighboures beleue, that by flush of lightning and euill sprites, hir face and body were blistered, and the maiden stroken vnder the arse bone with a Thun∣derbolt. Then Physitians were 〈◊〉〈◊〉 for, who not with∣out great griefe and paine to the woman (which many times left hir skin sticking to the shéetes) cured hir cru∣ell feuer, and other hir diseases, and likewise the maid of hir thigh: which caused the Gentlewoman to forget hir louer, and from that time forth wisely did beware and take héede whom she did mocke, and where she did bestow hir loue. And the Scholer knowing y^t the maid had broken hir thigh, thought himself sufficiently 〈◊〉〈◊〉, ioyfully passing by them bothe many times in si∣lence. Beholde the reward of a foolish wanton widowe for hir morkes and flouts, thinking that no great care or more prouident héede ought to be taken in iesting w^t a Scholer, than with any other cōmon person, nor wel remembring how they 〈◊〉〈◊〉 know (not all, I say, but the greatest part) where the Diuell holdeth his taile: and therfore take héede good wiues and widowes, how you giue your selues to mockes and daliaunce specially of Scholers. But now turne we to another widowe that was no amorous dame, but a sober matrone a mother∣ly gentlewoman, y^t by pitie and money redemed & raū∣somed a Kings sonne out of miserable captiuity, being vtterly abandoned of all his friendes. The maner and meanes how, the Nouel ensuing shall she we.