THOMAS HOBY
El Cortesano

I have a longe time doubted with my self (most loving M. Alphonsus) which of the two were harder for me, either to denye you the thinge that you have with suche instance manye tymes required of me, or to take it in hande: bicause on the one side me thoughte it a verye harde matter to denye anye thynge, especially the request beinge honest, to the personne whom I love deerlye, and of whom I perceyve my selfe deerlye beloved. Againe on the other syde, to undertake an enterpryse whiche I do not knowe my selfe able to brynge to an end, I judged it uncomely for him that wayeth due reproofes so much as they oughte to be wayed. At length after muche debatynge, I have determined to prove in this behalfe what ayde that affection and great desyre to please, can bring unto my dilygence, whyche in other thynges is wont to encreace the laboure of menne. You then require me to wryte, what is (to my thynkynge) the trade and maner of Courtyers, whyche is most fyttynge for a Gentilman that lyveth in the Court of Princes, by the whiche he maye have the knoweleage howe to serve them perfectlye in everye reasonable matter, and obtaine thereby favour of them and prayse of other men. Fynallye, of what sort he ought to be that deserveth to be called so perfect a Courtyer, that there be no wante in him: wherefore I, considering this kinde of request, say, that in case it should not appeare to my selfe a greater blame to have you esteame me to be of smal frendeshippe, then all other men of litle wysdome, I woulde have ryd my handes of this laboure, for feare leaste I shoulde bee counted rashe of all such as knowe, what a harde matter it is, emonge suche diversitye of maners, that are used in the Courtes of Christendome, to picke out the perfectest trade and way, and (as it were) the floure of this Courtiership. Because use maketh us manye times to delite in, and to set litle by the self same thinges: wherby somtime it proceadeth that maners, garmentes, customes, and facions whiche at sometyme have beene in price, becumme not regarded, and contrarywyse the not regarded, becumme of price. Therfore it is manifestlye to be descerned, that use hath greater force then reason, to brynge up newe inventions emonge us, and to abolishe the olde, of the whiche who so goeth about to judge the perfection, is often tymes deceyved. For which consideration, perceyvinge this and manye other lettes in the matter propunded for me to write upon, I am constreyned to make a peece of an excuse, and to open playnelye that this errour (yf it may be termed an errour) is commune to us both, that if anye blame happen to me about it, it may be also partned with you. For it ought to be reckned a no lesse offence in you to laye uppon me a burden that passeth my strengthe, then in me to take it upon me. Let us therfore at length settle oure selves to begin that is oure purpose and drifte, and (if it be possible) let us facion suche a Courtier, as the Prince that shalbe worthy to have him in his servyce, although hys state be but small, maye notwythstandynge be called a myghtye Lorde. We will not in these bookes folow any certaine order or rule of appointed preceptes, the whiche for the moste part is wont to be observed in the teaching of any thinge whatsoever it be: but after the maner of men of olde time, renuinge a gratefull memorye, we will repeat certaine reasoninges that were debated in times past betwene men verye excellent for that purpose. And althoughe I was not there present, but at the time when they were debated, it was my chaunce to be in Englande, yet soone after my retourne, I hearde them of a person that faithfullye reported them unto me. And I will endevoure my selfe, for so muche as my memorye wyll serve me, to call them perticularly to remembraunce, that you maye see what, men worthy greate commendacion, and unto whose judgement a man maye in everye poynt geve an undoubted credyt, have judged and beleved in this matter. Neyther shall we swarve from the pourpose to arryve in good order at the ende unto the whiche all oure communication is directed, yf wee disclose the cause of the reasoninges that hereafter folowe.

As everye man knoweth the lytle Citye of Urbin 

Situation of Urbin.

is sytuated upon the side of the Appenine (in a maner) in the middes of Italy towardes the Golf of Venice. The which for all it is placed emonge hylles, and those not so pleasaunt as perhappes some other that we behoulde in many places, yet in this point the element hathe been favourable unto it, that all aboute, the 

Mare Adriaticum.

countrye is very plentyfull and full of fruites: so that beside the holsomenesse of aer, it is very aboundant and stored wyth all thinges necessarye for the lief of man. But amonge the greatest felycityes that men can recken it to have, I counte thys the chief, that now a longe tyme it hath alwayes bene governed with very good Princes, although in the commune calamyties of the warres of Italy it remayned also a season with out anye at all. But without searching further of this we maye make a good proofe wyth the famous memorye of Duke Fridericke, who in his dayes was the light of Italy. Neyther do we want true and very large 

Duke Fredericke.

testimonies yet remayninge of his wisdome, courtesye, justice, liberalitye, of his invincible courage and pollycy of warr. And of this do his so many vyctoryes make proofe, chyeflye his conquerynge of places impregnable, his sodyne redynesse in settynge forwarde to geve battaile, his putting to flyght sundrye tymes wyth a small numbre, verie greate and puissaunte armyes, and never suteined losse in any conflict: so that we may, not without cause, compare hym to manye famous men of olde time. This man emong his other deedes praiseworthy, in the hard and sharpe situation of Urbin buylt a Palaice, 

The palaice of Urbin.

to the opinion of many men, the fayrest that was to be founde in all Italy, and so fornished it with everye necessary implement belonging therto, that it appeared not a palaice, but a Citye in fourme of a palaice, and that not onelye with ordinarie matters, as Silver plate, hanginges for chambers of verye riche cloth of golde, of silke and other like, but also for sightlynesse: and to decke it out withall, placed there a wonderous number of auncyent ymages of marble and mettall, verye excellente peinctinges and instrumentes of musycke of all sortes, and nothinge would he have there but what was moste rare and excellent. To this with verye great charges he gathered together a great number of most excellent and rare bookes, in Greke, Latin and Hebrue, the which he garnished wyth golde and sylver, esteaming this to be the chiefest ornament of his great palaice. This duke then folowing the course of nature when he was lxv. yeares of age, as he had lived, so did he end his lief with glorye. And left Duke after him a childe of x. yeares, 

Guidubaldo duke of Urbin.

havynge no more male, and wythout mother, who hight Guidubaldo. Thys chylde as of the state, so did it appeare also that he was heyre of all his fathers vertues: and sodenly wyth a marveylous towardnes beeganne to promise so much of himselfe, as a manne woulde not have thought possyble to be hoped of a man mortall. So that the opinyon of men was, that of all duke Friderickes notable dedes there was none greater then that he begat suche a son. But fortune envyinge this so great vertue, wythall her myght gainstoode this so gloryous a beginnynge, in suche wyse that before duke Guidubaldo was xx. yeares of age, he fell sicke of the gout, the which 

Troubled with the goute.

encreasinge uppon him wyth most bitter paynes, in a short tyme so nummed hym of all hys members, that he coulde neyther stande on foote nor move hymselfe. And in this maner was one of the best favoured and towardlyest personages in the world deformed and marred in his greene age. And beside, not satisfyed with thys, fortune was so contrarye to him in all his pourposes, that verye sildome he brought to passe any thynge to hys minde. And for all he had in him moste wise counsayle, and an invincible courage, yet it seemed that whatsoever he tooke in hande bothe in feates of armes and in everye other thinge small or greate, it came alwayes to yll successe. 

His ill lucke.

And of thys make proofe his manye and dyvers calamityes, which he alwayes bore out with suche stoutnesse of courage, that vertue never yelded to fortune. But wyth a boulde stomake despising her stormes, lyved wyth great dignytie and estimation emonge all men: in sickenesse, as one that was sounde, and in adversitye, as one that was most fortunate. So that for all he was thus diseased in his bodye, he seved in time of warre wyth moste honourable enterteinmente under the most famous kinges of Naples, Alphonsus and Ferdinande the yonger. 

Hys service with princes and commune weales.

Afterward with Pope Alexander the vi. with the lordes of Venice and Florence. And when Julius the ii. was created Pope, he was then made generall Captayne of the Churche: at whych tyme proceadynge in hys accustomed usage, he sett hys delyte above all thynges to have hys house furnished with most noble and valyaunte Gentylmen, wyth whom he lyved very famylyarly, enjoying theyr conversation, wherein the pleasure whyche he gave unto other menne was no lesse, then that he receyved of other, because he was verye wel seene in both tunges, and together wyth a lovynge behavyour and pleasauntnesse he had also accompanied the knowleage of infinite thinges. And beside this, the greatnesse of his courage so quickened hym, that where he was not in case with hys personne to practise the feates of Chivalrye, as he had done longe before, yet dyd he take verye great delyte to behoulde them in other men, and with his wordes sometyme correctinge, and otherwhyle praysing everye man accordynge to hys desertes, he declared evydentlye howe greate a judgment he hadde in those matters. And upon this at Tylt, at Tourneye, in rydynge, in playinge at all sorts of weapon, also in inventing devyces, in pastymes, in musicke, fynallye in all exercise s meete for noble Gentilmen, everye manne stryved to showe hymselfe suche a one, as myght deserve to bee judged woorthye of so noble an assemblye. Therefore were all the houres of the daye devyded into honourable and pleasaunt exercyses, aswell of the bodye as of the mynde. But because the Duke 

Elizabeth Gonzaga dutchesse of Urbin. L. Emilia Pia.

used continuallye, by reason of his infirmytye, soone after supper to go to his rest, everye man ordinarelye, at that houre drewe where the Dutchesse was, the Lady Elizabeth Gonzaga. Where also continuallye was the Lady Emilia Pia, who for that she was endowed with so lively a wytt and judgement as you knowe, seemed the maistresse and ringe leader of all the companye, and that everye manne at her receyved understandinge and courage. There was then to be hearde pleasaunte communication and merye conceytes, and in every mannes countenaunce a manne myght perceyve peyncted a lovynge jucoundenesse. So that thys house truelye myght well be called the verye mansion place of Myrth and Joye. And I beleave it was never so tasted in other place, what maner a thynge the sweete conversation is that is occasioned of an amyable and lovynge companye, as it was once there. For leavynge aparte what honoure it was to all us to serve such a Lorde, as he whom I declared unto you right nowe, everye man conceyved in his minde an high contentacyon everye tyme we came into the dutchesse sight. And it appeared that this was a chaine that kept all lincked together in love, in suche wise that there was never agrement of wyll or hearty love greater betweene brethren, then was there beetweene us all. The lyke was beetweene the women, with whom we hadde such free and honest conversation, that every manne myght commune, syt, daly, and laugh with whom he had lusted. But such was the respect which we bore to the Dutchesse wyll, that the selfe same libertye was a very great bridle. Neither was there anye that thought it not the greatest pleasure he coulde have in the worlde, to please her, and the greatest griefe to offende her. For this respecte were there most honest condicions coupled with wonderous greate libertye, and devises of pastimes and laughinge matters tempred in her sight, besyde most wyttye jestes, with so comelye and grave a majesty, that the verye sober moode and greatnesse that dyd knyt together all the actes, woordes and gestures of the Dutchesse in jesting and laughynge, made them also that had never seene her in their lief before, to count her a verye greate Ladye. 

The behavyoure of the Dutchesse.

And all that came in her presence havyng this respect fyxed in their breast, it seemed she had made them to her becke: so that every man enforced himself to folowe this trade, takynge (as it were) a rule and ensample of faire condicions at the presence of so greate and so vertuous a Lady. Whose most excellent qualities I entend not nowe to expresse, for it is neyther my pourpose, and againe they are well inoughe knowen to the worlde, and muche better then I am able either with tunge or with pen to endite. And such as would perhaps have lien hid a space, fortune, as she that wondreth at so rare vertues, hath thought good with many adversities and temptatyons of miseries to disclose them, to make trial therby that in the tender breast of a woman, in companye wyth synguler beawtie, there can dwell wysdome, and stoutenes of courage, and all other vertues that in grave men them selves are most seldome. But leavynge this apart, I say that the maner of all the Gentilmen in the house was immedyatelye after supper to assemble together where the dutchesse was. Where emonge other recreations, musicke and dauncynge, whiche they used contynuallye, sometyme they propounded feate questions, otherwhyle they invented certayne wytty sportes and pastimes, at the devyse some tyme of one sometyme of an other, in the whych under sundrye covertes, often tymes the standers bye opened subtylly theyr imaginations unto whom they thought beste. At other tymes there arrose other disputations of divers matters, or els jestinges with prompt inventions. Manye tymes they fell into pourposes, as we nowe a dayes terme them, where in thys kynde of talke and debating of matters, there was wonderous great pleasure on all sydes: because (as I have sayde) the house was replenyshed wyth most noble wyttes. Emonge whych (as you knowe) were moste famous the Lord Octavian 

Noble personages in the Court of Urbin.

Fregoso, Sir Friderick his brother, the L. Julian de Medicis, M. Peter Bembo, the L. Cesar Gonzaga, Count Lewis of Canossa, the L. Gaspar Pallavicin, the L. Lodovicus Pius, M. Morello of Ortona, Peter of Naples, M. Robert of Bari, and infynyte other most woorthye knyghtes and Gentlymen. Beesyde these there were manye that for all ordinarilye they dwelled not there, yet spent they most of their tyme there, as M. Bernard Bibiena, Unico Aretino, Johnchristopher Romano, Peter Mount, Therpander, M. Nicholas Phrisio, so that thither ran continually poetes, musitiens, and al kinde of men of skyll, and the excellentest in every faculty that were in al Italy. After pope Julius the ii. had with his owne presence by the ayde of the Frenchmen brought Bolonia to the obedyence of the Apostolyke Sea again, in the yeare mdvi. in hys retourn toward Roome he tooke Urbin in his way, where he was receaved as honorably as was possible, and with as sumptuous and costlye preparation, as coulde have bine in any other Citie of Italy whatsoever it be. So that beeside the Pope, all the Cardinalles and other Courtyers thought themselves throughly satisfied. And some there were that provoked wyth the sweetnesse of this companye, after the Pope and the Court was departed, contynued manye dayes together in Urbin. At which time they did not onely proceade in their accustomed trade of disportinge and ordinary recreations, but also every man sett to his helpinge hande to augment them somewhat, and especially in pastymes, which they had up almost everye nyght. And the order therof was such, that assoone as they were assembled where the Dutches was, every man satt him down at his will, or as it fell to his lot, in a circle together, and in sittinge were devyded a man and a woman, as longe as there were women, for alwayes (lightlye) the number of men was farr the greater. Then were they governed as the Dutchesse thought best, whiche manye times gave this charge unto the L. Emilia.

So the daye after the Pope was departed, the companye beeinge gathered to the accustomed place, after much pleasaunt talke, the Dutchesse pleasure was that the 

Devises of pastimes.

L. Emilia should beginne these pastimes: and she after a litle refusing of that charge, sayd in this maner: Syth it is your pleasure (Madam) I shall be she that must give the onsett in oure pastimes this night, bicause I ought not of reason disobey you, I thinke meete to propounde a pastyme, wherof I suppose shall ensue little blame, and lesse travayle. And that shall be to have every man, as nigh as he can, propounde a devyse not yet hearde of, then shall we chuse out such a one as shall be thought meete to be taken in hande in this companye.

And after she had thus spoken, she tourned her unto the L. Gaspar Pallavicin, willynge him to propounde his: who immediatelye made answere: But first (madam) you must beeginne to propounde yours.

Then saide the L. Emilia: I have alreadye done. But your grace must commaunde hym (Madam) to be obedient.

Then the Dutchesse laughynge: To thintent (quoth she) every man shal obey you, I make you my deputy, and give unto you all mine aucthority.

It is surely a great matter, aunswered the L. Gaspar, that it is alwaies lawfull for women to have this privilege, to be exempt and free from paines takyng, and truely reason woulde we should in any wise knowe why. But bicause I will not be he that shall geve example to disobey, I shal leave thys untill an other time, and will speake of that I am nowe charged withall, and thus I beginne. Mine oppinion is, that oure mindes, as in other thinges, so also in lovynge are diverse in judgemente, 

The L. Gaspars devise

and therefore it chaunceth often tymes, that the thynge whyche is most acceptable unto one, is most abhorred of an other. Yet for all that they alwayes agree in that everye man counteth most deere the wight beloved. So that many times the overmuch affection in lovers doth so deceive their judgemente, that they weene the person whom they love, to be so garnished wyth all excellent vertues and wythout faulte, that he hath no peere in the worlde. But bycause the nature of man doth not admytte suche full perfectyons, and there is no mann that hath not some defaulte or want in hym, it can not be sayde that suche as these be are not deceyved, and that the lover doeth not become blynde as touchynge the beloved. I would therefore oure pastyme should be thys nyghte to have everye manne open what vertues he would principally the person he loveth should be indowed with all. And seeyng it is so necessarilye that we all have some spotte, what vyce he woulde also have in hym: to se who can fynde out most prayse woorthye and manlye vertues, and most tollerable vyces, that shoulde be least hurtfull bothe to hym that loveth, and to the wyghte beloved.

 

The L. Constance Fregosa.

After the L. Gaspar hadde thus spoken, the L. Emilia made a signe unto the Lady Constaunce Fregosa, bicause she was next in order to folow: who was about to speake, whan the Dutchesse sodeinlye said: Seinge the L. Emilia will not take the paine to fynde out some pastime, reason willeth that the other Ladyes should be partakers of the same privilege, and be also fre from this burden for this night: especially seing there are so many men in place, for assure your self we shall want no pastimes.

So shall we do, aunswered the L. Emilia, and puttinge the L. Consataunce to silence tourned her to the L. Cesar Gonzaga, that sat next her, commaunding him to speak, 

The L. Cesar Gonzagas devise.

and thus he began: Whoso wyll diligentlye consider all our doynges, he shall fynde alwayes in them sundrye imperfections. And that happeneth, bicause nature doth varye, as well in this, as in all other thinges. Unto one she hath geven the lyght of reason in one thyng, and unto an other, in an other thyng. Therefore it commeth to passe, where one man knoweth that another knoweth not, and is ignoraunte in the thyng that the other hath understandynge in, eche man doth easilye perceyve the errour of hys felow, and not hys owne, and we all think oure selves to be verye wyse and peradventure in that poynt most, wherein we are most foolysh. So that we have seene by experience in this house manye men whyche at the beegynnynge were counted most wise, in processe of tyme were knowen to be most foolysh. Whiche hath proceaded of no other thyng but of oure owne dilygence, lyke, as it is sayde to be in Pulia of them that are bitten with a 

A kind of spiders, whiche beyng dyvers of nature causes divers effectes, some after their biting fal a singyng, some laugh, some wepe, some watche, some sweate: and this disease is onely cured with instrumentes of musick, whiche must never cease until the diseased beynge constrained with the melodye thereof to fall a daunsinge with long exercise overcommeth the force of this poyson.

Tarrantula, about whom men occupye manye instrumentes of musicke, and wyth sundrye sounes goe searchynge out, untyll the humor that maketh this dysease by a certayn concordance it hath wyth some of those sounes, feling it, doth sodeinly move, and so stirreth the pacient, that by that styrrynge he recovereth hys health agayne. In lyke maner we, whan we have felt some privie operacion of folye we provoke it so subtillye, and with suche sundrye perswasions, and so divers wayes that at length we understand whether it tended. Afterward the humour knowen, we so stir it that alwayes it is brought to the perfection of open foly. And some is wexed foolish in verses, some in musicke, some in love, some in daunsinge, some in makynge antiques, some in rydinge, some in playnge at fence, everye man accordinge to the moine of his mettall, wherby hath ensued (as you know) marveylous great pastime. I houlde therfore for certeine, that in everye one of us there is some seede of folye, the which beyng stirred may multiplye (in a maner) infinite. Therfore I would this night our pastime were to dispute upon this matter: and that everye man myght say his mynde, seeynge I must be openly foolysh, in what sort of foly I am foolysh, and over what matter, judginge it the issue for the sparkles of folye that are daylye sene to proceade from me. And let the lyke be sayd of all the rest, kepinge the order of our devises, and let everye man do his best to grounde his opinion upon some sure signe and argument, and so by this our pastime shall everye one of us get profite, in that we shal know our defaultes, and then shall we the better take heede. And in case the veyne of folye whiche we shall discover, be so ranke that it shall appeare to us past remedy, 

Frier Marian

we will set therto oure helpynge hande, and according to the doctrine of Frier Marian, wee shal gaigne a soule whiche shalbe no small gaigne. At this devise there was much laughing, and none coulde refraine from speakinge. One sayde, I shoulde be founde foolysh in imagining. An other, in viewinge. An other sayde, he was alreadye become foolysh for love: and suc[h] lyke matters.

Then frier Seraphin after his maner, laughing: This (quoth he) should be to tedious a matter. But if you wyll have a pretye pastime, 

Frier Seraphin.

let everyman tel his opinion, how it cummeth that (in a maner) all women abhorre rattes, and love serpentes, and you shall see that none will hit upon it, but I, that knowe this misterye by a straunge means.

And now began he to enter into his triflyng tales, but the L. Emilia commaunded him to silence, and overscipping 

Unico Aretinos devise.

the Lady that satt there, made a signe to Unico Aretino that was next in order, and he without looking for anye more biddyng, I (quoth he) would gladlye be a judge of aucthoritye that I might with all kinde of tourment bolte out the truth of offenders: and that, to discover the deceytes of an ungrate woman, who with the eies of an angel, and hearte of a Serpent, never agreeth her tunge with her mynde, and with a feygned deceyvable compassion, purposeth nothyng els but to make Anatomie of hartes. Neither is there in all the sandie countrey of Libia to be found so venemous a serpent that is so deirous of mans bloud, as is this false creature. Which not onely for the sweetenesse of voice and pleasant soune of woordes, but also for her eyes, for her laughing, for her countenaunce, and for all her gestures is a most perfect meremayden. Therfore seying it is not lawful for me, as I would, to use chaines, ropes, or fier, to understand a matter of trouth, my desire is to compasse the knowledge of it with a mirye pastyme, whiche is this: That every man should expresse his fansye what the S dothe signify that the dutchess carieth in her foreheade. For although this be also an artificial covert, the better to beguile, perhappes there may be an interpretacion whiche she never thought upon. And who knoweth whether fortune, with pity behoulding the tormentes of men, hath stirrid her with this small token to discover against her wyll the inwarde desire she hathe to slea and bury alyve in calamitie hym that honoureth and serveth her. The duchesse laughed: and Unico, perceiving she would have excused her self of thys interpretacion, No (quoth he) speake you not (madam) for it is not your turne to speake nowe.

The L. Emilia then tourned her and sayd: M. Unico, there is none of us all here that geveth not place to you in everye thyng, and especiallye in knowynge the disposicion of the Dutchesse. And as you by your dyvyne wit knowe her better then all the rest, so do you love her better then all the rest, whych lyke byrdes of a feble sight, that cannot looke stedfastlye into the circle of the Sunne, cannot so well perceyve the perfection of it. Therfore all laboure were in vaine in cleeryng of thys doubt, savyng your judgement alone. Thys interprise then is reserved onely to you, as unto him that alone can brynge it to an ende, and none other.

Unico, after he had pawsed a while being stil called upon to say his fansy, at length rehersed a rime upon the aforesaide matter, expoundynge what signified the letter S, the which many judged to be made at the first sight. But bicause it was more witty a nd better knitt then a man would have beleved the shortnes of time required, it was thought he had prepared it before.

So after mens favourable voyce geven in the praise of this rime, and after sufficient talke, the L. Octavian 

The L. Octavian Fregosos devise.

Fregoso whose tourne was then next, began in this sorte smilyng: My lordes, if I should say unto you that I never felt passion of love in my daies, I am sure the Dutchesse and the L. Emilia, althoughe they beleved it not in deede, yet would they make semblant to beleve it, and would saye that it proceded bicause I mistrusted I should never frame any woman to love me. The which trulye I have not hytherto proved with such instance, that of reason I should dispare to obtain it once. Neither have I forborne the doynge of it, bicause I set so much by my self and so litle by women, that I thinke none worthye to bestowe my love and service upon. But rather amased at the continual bewailings of some lovers, that with their palenes, sorow, and silence, it appeareth they have evermore their owne discomfort painted in their eyes. And if they speake, accompanyinge everye woorde with certeyne treblefolde syghes, they reason of nothing elles, but of teares, of tourmentes, of desperacions, and of longyng for death. So that whansoever any sparckle of love hath beegonne to kyndle in my breast, I have by and by enforced my self wyth all dyligence to quenche it, not for anye hatred that I have conceyved agaynst women (as these Ladyes suppose) but for myne owne health. On the other side, I have knowen some other cleane contrarye to these sorowfull, whiche do not onelye avaunce and content theymselves with the cheerfull lookes, lovinge woordes, and sweete countenances of their ladies, but also sauce their sorowes with sweetnesse, so that they count the debates, the angers and the disdeignes of them, most sweete. Therefore these men seme unto me to be much more then happy, for whereas they fynde so muche sweetenesse in the amorous disdeignes, whiche some men recken much more bytter then death, I beleve in lovyng gestures they should feele that wonderfull blisse, whyche we seeke for in vayne in thys worlde. Therefore would I oure pastyme were this nyght to have everye manne shew, where there muste be a dysdeygne againste him in the person beloved, what the cause should be that should make the person conceive thys disdeygne. For if there be anye here that have proved those sweete disdeignes, I am sure they wil desire for courtesy one of these causes that make them so sweet. And perhappes I shall with a better will proceade somewhat farther in love, in hope that I shall also fynde thys sweetenesse, where as some finde bitternesse, and so shall not these Ladies geve me anye more this slaunderous reporte, that I am not in love.

This pastime was muche praysed, and therefore dyd everye man setle himselfe to reason uppon this matter. 

M. Peter Bembos devyse.

But the Lady Emilia holdying her peace, M. Peter Bembo, that satt next in order, spake in this maner: My Lordes, this pastime that the L. Octavian hath propounded hath raysed no smal doubt in my mind, where he hath resoned of the disdiegnes of love, the whiche though they be sondry, yet unto me have they alwaies bin most bitter. Neither do I beleve that I can learne any sauce that shalbe sufficient to sweten them. But peradventure they are the more and the lesse bitter according to the cause wherof they arrise. For I have in my daies (I remember) seene the woman whom I served, stirred against me, eyther upon a vaine suspicyon that she conceyved her self of my trustinesse, or elles upon some other false opinyon that that had bine put into her head by some mennes report to my hindraunce, so I beleaved no grief might be compared to myne. And me thought that the greatest sorowe I felt was to suffer wythout deservyng, and to sustayne this affliction, not for any offence of mine, but for the small love that was in her. At other times I saw her disdeignefull for some oversight of mine, and knew that her anger proceaded of myne offence, and at that instante I judged the former vexation to be verye lyght in comparison to that whych I felt then. And me thought to be in displeasure and that for myne owne trespas, wyth the persone to whom onelye I coveted and with suche diligence sought to please, was the greatest torment of all other. Therefore woulde I oure pastyme were to have every man declare his opinion, where there must be a disdeigne agaynst hym in the person beloved, of whom he woulde the cause of this disdeigne shoulde have his beeginning, whether of her or of him selfe: to know which is the greater grief, eyther to dysplease the wight beloved, or to receyve dyspleasure of the wyght beloved.

Every man looked what the L. Emilia woulde make aunswere to this, but without anye woord speakyng to Bembo, she tourned her and made a signe to Sir Friderick 

S. Friderick Fregosos divise.

Fregoso to shew his devyse. And he incontinentlye beegan thus: Madam, I woulde it were lawfull for me, as the maner is manye tymes to remytte me to the judgement of an other, for I for my part woulde wyth all my heart allowe some of the pastymes that have bine already propounded by these Lordes, bicause in deede me thinke they would be worth the hearing. Yet least I shoulde breake the order, thys I saye: who so woulde take in hande to praise oure Court, leaving a part the desertes of the dutchesse, which ghostly spirite, with her influence, is sufficient to drawe from the earth up into heaven the simplest wittes in the world, he might wel do it without suspicion of flattery. For peradventure in all Italy a man shall have muche a do to fynde out 

Good Courtyers in the court of Urbin.

so many gentlemen and noble personages that are so worthy, and besyde the principall profession of Chivalrye so excellent in sundry thinges, as are presently here. Therfore if in any place men may be founde that deserve the name of good Courtyers, and can judge what belongeth to the perfeccion of Courtyership, by reason a man may beleve them to be here. To disgrace therefore many untowardly asseheades, that through malepertnes thinke to purchase them the name of a good Courtyer, I would have suche a pastime for this night, that one of the company myght bee picked out who should take in hand to shape in woordes a good Courtyer, specifying all suche condicions and particuler qualities, as of necessitie must be in hym that deserveth this name. And in suche thinges as shall not appere necessarie, as of necessitie must be in hym that deserveth against them, as the maner of Philosophers schooles is against him that kepeth disputacions.

Syr Friderick proceaded styll forwarde in his talke, whan the L. Emilia interruptyng hym, sayde: If it bee my L. the dutchesse pleaser, this shall be our pastime for this once.

The Dutchesse aunswered: I am wel pleased. Then (in maner) all the company began to say both to the dutchesse, and among themselves that this was the trimmest pastyme they could have, and without looking for answere the one of the other thei craved the Lady Emilia to appoint who should first beginne. Who tournynge her towarde the dutchesse, sayde: Commaunde you (madam) whom shall please you to take this enterprise in hand, for I wyll not by chousing, more one then an other, declare my selfe to judge in this behalf, whom I thinke to be better skilled then the rest, and so do wrong to some.

The Dutchesse aunswered: Make you this choise your selfe, and take hede that in disobeying you bee not a president to the rest to be disobedient.

Then the Lady Emilia saide laughyng unto Lewis count of Canossa: Therefore for leesyng any more tyme, you (Count) shall be he that shall take this enterprise uppon hym in fourme and maner as Syr Friderick hath declared. Not for that we knowe ye are so good a Courtyer that you have at your fingers endes that belongeth thereto: but because in repeatinge everye arsiversy, as we hope ye wyll, we shall have somuch the more pastyme, and everye one shall be able to answere you, where if an other more skilfull then you should take it in hande, there should bee nothing sayde againste hym for tellyng the trueth, and so shoulde we have but a colde pastime.

The Count aunswered by and by: We neede not feare (madam) that we shall wante contrarying in wordes againste hym that telleth the truth, as longe as you be here. And after they had laughed a whyle at this answer, he proceded on: But truely I would with al l my hearte bee ridde of this burthen, for it is to hard for me. And I know that to be most true in me which you have spoken in jest: namelye, that I have no understandynge in that belongeth to a good Courtyer. And this dooe I not seeke to prove with anye other tryall, for seeyng I dooe not the deedes, a manne may judge I understande it not, and I beleve I am the lesse to bee blamed. For oute of doubte it is a woorse matter not to dooe well, then not to understande howe to dooe it. Yet seynge youre pleaser is, that I shall take the charge uppon me, I can not, nor wyll refuse it, for withstandyng youre order and judgement, the which I knowe is much better then myne.

Then the L. Cesar Gonzaga: Because it is nowe (quoth he well forwarde in nyghte, and have here redy for us other sortes of pastimes, peradvendture it shoulde not bee amysse to deferre this resonynge untyll to morowe, and the Counte shall have leysure to thynke better uppon that he hathe to saye: for in verye deede to entreate uppon suche a matter at the fyrste syghte, it is a harde thynge.

Then aunswered the Count: I wyll not dooe as he dyd, that strypped himself into his dublette, and leaped lesse grounde then he didde before in his Coate. And me thynke my lucke is good that it is late, because the shortenesse of tyme shall make me use few e woordes, and the sodeinnesse of the matter shall so excuse me, that it shall be lawfull for me to speak without blame whatsoever commeth firste to mynde. Because I wyll not therefore carye this burthen of duetye anye longer uppon my shoulders, this I saye: in everye thynge it is so harde a matter to knowe the true perfeccion, that it is almoste 

The true perfeccion in thinges.

unpossible, and that by reason of the varietie of judgementes. Therefore manye there are, that delite in a manne of muche talke, and hym they call a pleasaunt felowe. Some wyll delite more in modestie, some other wyll fansye a manne that is actyve and alwayes doynge: other, one that sheweth a quietnes and a respecte in everye thynge. And thus dooeth everye man prayse or dysprayse accordynge to hys fansye, alwayes coverynge a vyce with the name of the next vertue to it, and a vertue with the name of the nexte vice: as in calling him that is sawcye, bolde: hym that is sober, drie: hym that is seelye, good: hym that is unhappye, wittie: and lykewyse in the reste. 

Vice cloked with the name of a vertue, and contrariwise.

Yet doe I thinke that eche thing hath his perfeccion, althoughe it be hid, and with reasonable dyscourses myght be judged of hym that hath knowledge in the matter. And for as much as the trueth (as I have sayd) is oftentymes hid, and I take not upon me to have this knowledge, I cannot praise but that kind of Courtyers which I set most by, and allow that whiche semeth unto me most nigh the trueth, in my smal judgement. The which you shal folowe if ye thinke it good, or els sticke to youre owne, yf it shal vary from mine. Neither will I (for all that) stand stiffe that mine is better then yours, for not onelye one thynge maie seme unto you, and an other to me, but also unto my self it may appere sometime one thing, sometime another. 

The facioning of a Courtyer. A Gentleman borne.

I wyll have this our Courtyer therfore to be a Gentleman borne and of a good house. For it is a great deale lesse dyspraise for him that is not born a gentleman to faile in the actes of vertue then for a gentleman. If he swarve from the steppes of his auncestours, he stayneth the name of his familie, and doeth not onely not get, but loseth that is already gotten. For noblenesse of birth is (as it were) a clere lampe that sheweth forth and bringeth into light, workes bothe good and badde, and enflameth and provoketh unto vertue, as wel with the feare of slaunder, as also with the hope of praise. And wheras this brightnesse of nobleness dothe not discover the workes of the unnoble, they have a wante of provocation and of feare of slaunder, and they recken not themselves bounde to wade anye further then their auncestours did before theym, whereas the noble of birth counte it a shame not to arrive at the leaste at the boundes of their predecessors set foorth unto them. Therefore it chaunceth alwaies (in a maner) bothe in armes and in all other vertuous actes, that the moste famous menne are gentlemen. Because nature in every thing hath depely sowed that privie sede, which geveth a certain force and propertie of her beginning, unto whatsoever springeth of it, and maketh it lyke unto her selfe. As we see by exaumple not onely in the race of horses and other beastes, but also in trees, whose slippes and graftes alwayes for the moste parte are lyke unto the stocke of the tree they came from: and yf at any time they growe out of kind, the fault is in the husbandman. And the lyke is in men, yf they 

Gentlemen of most prowesse. Good bringing up in youthe. Some borne full of graces and comelines. Some borne very asseheds. Hypolitus da Este brother to the Duke of Ferrara.

be trayned up in good nourtour, moste commonlye they resemble them from whom thei come and often times passe them, but yf they have not one that can well trayn them up, thei growe (as it were) wylde, and never come to their ripenesse. Truth it is, whether it be through the favour of the starres or of nature, some there are borne endowed wyth suche graces, that they seeme not to have bene borne, but rather facioned with the verye hand of some God, and abounde in all goodnesse bothe of bodye and mynde. As againe we see some so unapte and dull, that a man wyl not beleve, but nature hath brought them into the worlde for a spite and mockerie. And lyke as these with continual diligence and good bringyng up for the most parte can bring small fruite: even so the other with litle attendance clime to the full perfeccion of all excellency. Marke me the Lorde Hyppolitus da Este Cardinall of Ferrara, he hath hade so happye a birthe, that his person, his woordes, and all his gestures are so facioned and compact with this grace, that among the moste aunciente prelates (for all he is but yonge) he dothe represente so grave an aucthoritie, that a man woulde weene he were more meete to teache, then nedefull to learne. Likewise in company with menne and women of all degrees, in sportynge, in laughynge, and in jestynge he hath in hym a certayne sweetenesse, and so comely demeanours, that whoso speaketh with hym or yet beholdeth hym, muste nedes beare him an affeccion for ever. But returnyng to our purpose I saye, that betwene thys excellent grace, and that fond foolyshnesse there is yet a meane, and they that are not by nature so perfectly furnished, with studye and diligence maye polishe and correct a great part of the defaultes of nature. The Courtyer therfore, besyde noblenesse of birthe, I wyll have hym to be fortunate in this behalfe, and by nature to have not only a wytte, and a comely shape of persone and countenance, but also a certain grace, and (as they saie) a hewe, that shall make him at the first sight acceptable and lovyng unto who so beholdeth him. And let this be an ornament to frame and accompanye all his actes, and to assure men in his looke, such a one to bee woorthy the companye and favour of every great man.

Here without any longer tariyng the L. Gaspar Pallavicin saide: That our pastime may have the fourme and maner agreed upon, and least it shoulde appeare that we litle esteme the aucthoritie geven us to contrary you, I say (in mine advise) that this noblenesse of birth is not so necessarie for the Courtyer. And if I wiste that anye of you thought it straunge or a newe matter, I woulde alledge unto you sondrye, who for all they were borne of moste noble bloude, yet have they bene heaped full of vyces: and contrarywise, many unnoble that have made famous their posteritie. And yf it be true that you sayde before, that the privie force of the firste seede is in everye thynge, we shoulde al bee in one maner condicion, for that we had all one selfe begynnynge, and one shoulde not bee more noble then an other. But besyde the diversityes and degrees in us of highe and lowe, I beleve there bee manye other matters, wherein I judge fortune to be the chief, because we see her beare a stroke in al worldlye thinges, and (as it were) take a pastime to exalt many time whom pleaseth her without any desert at all, and burie in the bottomles depth the most worthy to be exalted. I confirme your saying as touching the happines of them that are borne abounding in all goodnes both of minde and bodie: but this is seen aswel in the unnoble, as in the noble of birthe, for nature hath not these so subtile distinctions: yea (as I have sayde) we se many times in persons of most base degree, most high giftes of nature. Therefore seing this noblenes is gotten neither with force, nor art, but is rather a praise of oure ancestours then our own, me think it a strange opinion that the parentes of our Courtyer being unnoble, his good qualities should be defaced, and these oure good condicions whiche you have named should not be sufficient to bring him to the top of al perfeccion: that is to say, wit, beauty of fisnamy, dispsicion of person, and that grace which at the first sight shal make him moste acceptable unto all men.

Then aunswered Count Lewis: I denie not, but in men of base degree may reigne the very same vertues that are in gentlemen. But to avoyd rehersal of that we have already said, with many other reasons that might be alleged in commendacion of noblenesse, the which is evermore honored of al men because it standeth with reason that good should spring of good, forsomuch as our entent is to facion a Courtyer without ani maner default or lack in hym, and heaped with all praise, me thinke it a necessarye matter to make him a gentleman, as well for many other respects, as also for the common opinion, which by and by doeth leane to noblenesse. For where there are two in a noble mans house which at the first have geven no proofe of themselves with woorkes good or bad, 

Noblenes of birthe in estimacion with all men. The imprintinges of the mind with expectacion.

assoone as it is knowen that the one is a gentleman borne, and the other not, the unnoble shall be muche lesse estemed with everye manne, then the gentleman, and he muste with much travaile and long time imprint in mennes heades a good opinion of himselfe, whiche the other shal geat in a moment, and onely for that he is a gentleman: and howe waighty these imprintinges are every man may easily judge. For, to speake of our selves: we have seen menne come to thys house, whiche for all they were fooles and dulwitted, yet had they a report through all Italye of great Courtyers, and though at length they were discovered and knowen, yet manye daies did thei beguyle us, and mainteyned in our mindes that oppinion of themselves, whiche at the fyrste they found there imprinted, although they wrought accordyng to their small skil. 

The yl incyncion of princes in favouring them that deserve it not.

We have seen other at the fyrste in very smal estimacion, and afterwarde in the ende have acquited themselves marveilous well. And of these errors there are divers causes and among other the obstinatenes of princes, whiche to prove mastries oftentimes bend themselves to favor him, that to their seeming, deserveth no favour at all, and manye tymes in deede they are deceyved. But because thei have alwaies many that counterfait them, a very great report dependeth upon their favor, the which moste commonly judgements folow. And if thei find any thing that semeth contrary to the common opinion, thei are in doubt for deceiving themselves, and alwaies loke for some matter secretly because it semeth, that these general opinions ought to be founded upon a trothe, and arise of reasonable causes. 

We be moved to passions without anye manifest cause why.

And forsomuch as our mindes are very apte to love and to hate: as in the sightes of combates and games and in all other kinde of contencion one with an other, it is seene that the lookers on many times beare affeccion without any manifest cause why, unto one of the two parties, with a gredy desire to have him get the victorie, and the other to have the overthrow. Also as touching the opinion of mens qualities, the good or yll reporte at the first brunt moveth oure mynde to one of these two passions: therefore it commeth to passe, that for the moste part we judge with love or els with hatred. You see then of what importance this first imprinting is, and howe he ought to endeavoure himself to get it good in princes, if he entende to be set by, and to purchase him the name of a good Coutyer. But to come to some particularitie, I judge the principall and true profession of a Courtyer ought to be in feates of armes, the which 

Armes the Courtyers chiefe profession. That he take no foile.

above all I will have hym to practise lively, and to bee knowen among other for his hardinesse, for his acheving of enterprises, and for his fidelitie toward him whom he serveth. And he shall purchase himselfe a name with these good condicions, in doing the dedes in everie time and place: for it is not for him to feint at any time in this behalfe without a wonderous reproche. And even as in women honestye once stained dothe never retourne againe to the former astate: so the fame of a gentleman that carieth weapon, yf it once take a foile in any litle point through dastardlines or any other reproche, doeth evermore continue shameful in the worlde and full of ignoraunce. Therefore the more excellent our Courtyer shalbe in this arte, the more shall he bee worthy praise: albeit I judge not necessarye in hym so perfect a knowledge of thynges and other qualities that is requisite in a capitaine. But because this is overlarge a scope of matters, wee wyll holde oure selves contented (as we have sayde) with the uprightnesse of a well meaning minde, and with an invincible courage, and that he alwaies shew himself such a one: for many times men of courage are sooner knowen in small matters then in greate. Often times 

Cowardes sometime hardie.

in daugers that stande them upon, and where many eyes be, ye shall see some that for all their hearte is dead in their bodie, yet pricked with shame or with the company, go forwarde (as it were) blindfield and do their dutie. And God knoweth bothe in matt ers that little touche them, and also where they suppose that without missynge they may convey themselves from daunger, how they are willing ynough to slepe in a whole skinne. But such as think themselves neither marked, seen, nor knowen, and yet 

Who have the stoutenesse of courage.

declare a stout courage, and suffer not the leaste thyng in the worlde to passe that maie burthen them, they have the courage of spirite whiche we seke to have in our Coutyer. Yet will we not have him for al that so lustie to make braverie in woordes, and to bragge that he hath wedded his harneys for his wife, and to threaten with suche grim lookes, as we have seene Berto do oftentimes. For unto suche maie well be saide that a worthie Gentlewoman in a noble assembly spake pleasauntly unto one, that shall be namelesse for this tyme, whome she to shewe hym a good countenance, desired to daunce with her, and he refusing both that, and to heare musick and many other entertainmentes offred him, alwaies affirming suche trifles not to be his profession, at last the Gentlewoman demaunding him, What is then your profession? He aunswered with a frowning looke: To fight.

Then saide the Gentlewoman: Seing you are not nowe at the warre nor in place to fight, I woulde thinke it best for you to bee well besmered and set up in an armorie with other implementes of warre till time wer that you should be occupied, least you waxe more rustier then you are.

Thus with much laughinge of the standers by she left him with a mocke in his foolish presumpcion. 

A stout-herted man. To avoide praising a mans selfe.

He therefore that we seeke for, where the enemies are, shall shewe himselfe moste fierce, bitter, and evermore with the firste. In everie place beside, lowly, sober, and circumspecte, fleeing above all thinge bragginge and unshamefull praising himself, for therewith a man alwaies purchaseth himself the hatred and yll will of the hearers.

And I, aunswered the L. Gaspar, have knowen few men excellent in any thing whatsoever it bee, but they praise them selves. An me thinke it may wel be borne in them: for he that is of skill, whan he seeth that he is not knowen for his woorkes of the ignoraunte, hath a disdeigne that his connynge should lye buried, and needes must he open it one waie, least he should bee defrauded of the estimation that belongeth to it, whiche is the true rewarde of vertuous 

Estimation the reward of vertious actes.

travailes. Therefore among the auncient writers he that muche excelleth doeth sildome forbeare praisyng hymself. They in deede are not to be borne withall that havyng no skill in theym, wyll prayse themselves: but we wyll not take our Courtyer to be suche a one.

Then the Count: Yf you have well understoode (quoth he) I blamed the praysinge of a mans selfe impudently and withoute respecte. And surelye (as you saye) a man ought not to conceyve an yll oppinion of a skifull man that praiseth hymselfe dyscretely, but rather take it for a more certaine witnes, then yf it came out of an other mans mouth. I agree well that he, whiche in praising himselfe falleth not into errour, nor purchaseth himself lothsomenes or hatred of the hearers, is moste discrete: and beside the praises whiche he giveth himselfe, deserveth the same of other men also, because it is a very hard matter.

Then the L. Gaspar: This (quoth he) muste you teache us.

 

In what sort a man maye praise himself.

The Count aunswered: Emong the auntient writers there hathe not also wanted that hathe taught it. But in mine opinion, all doth consist in speaking such thynges after a sort, that it maye appeare that they are not rehearsed to that ende: but that they come so to purpose, that he can not refrayne tellyng them, and alwaies seemynge to flee his owne prayse tell the trueth. But not as those lustie laddes dooe, that open their mouthe and thruste oute woordes at aventure they care not how. As within these few dayes one of oure company 

Brave roysters.

being pusshed throughe the thygh with a pyke at Pysa, thought that it was the bytynge of a flie. And an other sayde that he occupied no lookynge glasse in his chamber, because in hys rage he was so terrible to beholde, that in lookynge upon his owne count enaunce he shoulde put himself into much feare.

At this every one laughed. But the L. Cesa Gonzaga saide unto them: At what laugh you Knowe ye not that the great Alexander, hearing a certaine Philosophers oppinion 

Anaxagoras.

to be that there were infinite worldes, fell in weping: and when he was asked the question why he wept, he aunswered: Because I have not yet one in hande, as thoughe hys mynde was to have them all. Dooe you not thynke that this was a greater braverie, then to speak of the fly biting.

So was Alexander a greater person then he that so sayde, aunswered the Count. But excellent men in very deede are to be held excused, whan they take muche upon them: because he that undertaketh great enterprises muste have a boldnesse to dooe it, and a confidence of hym selfe, and not of a bashfull or cowardly mynde, but yet sober in woores: shewing as though he tooke lesse upon hym then he dothe in deede, so that his taking upon him do not extend unto rashnesse.

Here the Count respetyng a while, M. Bernard Bibiena saide merelye: I remember you saide before, that this oure Courtyer oughte of nature to have a faire comelynesse of fisnamye and person, with the grace that oughte to make hym so amyable. As for the grace and beautie of fisnamie, I thynke not the contrary but they are in me, and therefore doe so many women burne for the love of me, as you knowe. But for the comelinesse of persone, I stande somewhat in doubte, and especiallye by reason of my legges here, for me thinke in deede thei are not so wel made as I could wishe thei were: the body and the rest is meetely wel. Therefore declare som what more particularly this comelines of person, what it should be, that I may be out of this doubt and set my heart at reste.

Whan thei had a while laughed at this, the Count sayde: Certes, the grace of the fisnamy, may wel be said to be in you without any lye. And no other exaumple. doe I alledge but this, to declare what maner thing it should bee: for undoubtedly we see your countenaunce is most acceptable and pleasant to beholde unto every man, although the proporcion and draughtes of it be not very delicate, but it is manly and hath a good grace withall. And this qualitie have many and sundrye shapes of visages. And suche a countenaunce as this is, will I have our Courtyer to have, and not so softe and womanishe as many procure to have, that do not onely courle 

The countenaunce of the Courtyer. Menne that woulde appere women.

the hear, and picke the browes, but also paumpre themselves in every point like the most wanton and dishonest women in the worlde: and a man would thinke them in goyng, in standing, and in all their gestures so tender and feint, that their members were ready to flee one from an other, and their woordes they pronounce so drawningly, that a man would weene they were at that instant yelding up the ghost: and the higher in degree the men are they talke withall, the more they use such facyons. These men, seing nature (as they seeme to have a desire to appeare and to bee) hath not made them women, ought not to be esteamed in place of good women, but like common Harlottes to be banished, not onely out of prynces courtes, but also oute of the companye of Gentlemen. To come therefore to the qualitie of the person, 

Good to bee of a meane stature.

I say he is well, if he bee neither of the least, nor of the greatest sise. For bothe the one and the other hath with it a certayne spytefull wonder, and suche men are marveyled at, almoste, as muche as men marveile to behoulde monstrous thynges. Yet if there must needes be a defaulte in one of the two extremities, it shall be lesse hurtfull to bee somewhat of the least, then to excede the common stature in height. For men so shut up of bodie, beside that manye tymes they are of a dull wit, they are also unapte 

Rather with the lowest then to high. To be a man of warre. To handle al kind of weapon.

for all exercyses of nimblenesse, whiche I much desire to have in the Courtyer. And therefore will I have him to bee of a good shape, and well proporcioned in his lymmes, and to shewe strength, lightnes, and quicknesse, and to have understandyng in all exercises of the bodie, that belonge to a man of warre. And herein I thinke the chief point is to handle well all kynde of weapon both for the footeman and horseman, and to know the vauntages in it. And especially to be skilfull on those weapons that are used ordinarily emong gentlemen, for beside the use that he shall have of them in warre, where peradventure nedeth no great connyng, there happen often times variaunces betwene one gentleman and an other, whereupon ensueth a combat. And manye tymes it shall stande him in stede to use the weapon whiche he hath at that instant by his side, therefore it is a very sure thing to be skilfull. And I am none of them whiche saye, that he forgetteth his conning whan he commeth to the poynte: for to abide by, 

Fightinge maketh not a man to forget his fence. Wrastlynge. To knowe what is to be done in quarrels whan they happen. Not rashe to fight combattes. Howe a man ought to behave himself in fightyng a combatte.

whoso loseth his conning at that time, sheweth that he hath firste loste his hearte and his spirites for feare. I think also it will serve his turne greatly, to know the feate of wrastling, because it goeth much together with all weapon on foote. Againe it is behouffull bothe for him selfe and for his frendes, that he have a foresight in the quarrelles and controversies that may happen, and let him beware of the vauntages, declarynge alwaies in everye pointe bothe courage and wisedome. Neither let him runne rashely to these combattes, but whan he muste needes to save his estimation withall: for beside the greate daunger that is in the doubtfull lotte, hee that goeth headlonge to these thynges and without urgent cause, deserveth verye great blame, although his chaunce bee good. But whan a man perceiveth that he is entred so farre that hee can not drawe backe withoute burdeyn, hee muste, bothe in suche thinges he hath to doe before the combat and also in the combat be utterly resolved with hymselfe, and alwayes shewe a readinesse and a stomake. And not as some dooe, passe the matter in arguing and pointes, and having the choise of weapon, take such as have neyther poynte nor edge. And arme themselves as thoughe they shoulde goe against the shotte of a Cannon. And weening it sufficyent not to be vanquished, stande alwaies at their defence and geve ground, in so muche that they declare an extreme faint hert, and are a mocking stocke to the verye chyldren. As those two of Ancona: that a while a goe fought a combat beside Perugia, and made them to laughe that looked on.

And what were they? quoth the L. Gaspar Pallavicin.

The L. Cesar aunswered: Cousins Germains of two sisters.

Then said the Count: At the combat a man would have thought them naturall brethren, then he went forwarde. Also men occupie their weapon oftentimes in tyme of peace aboute sondrie exercises, and gentlemen are seen in open showes in the presence of people, women and Princes. Therefore will I have our Courtyer a perfecte horseman for 

A perfecte horseman.

everye saddle. And beside the skyll in horses and in whatsoever belongeth to a horseman, let him set all his delite and dylygence to wade in everye thyng a litle farther then other menne, so that he maye be knowen among al menne for one that is excellente. As it is reade of Alcibiades, that he excelled all other nations wheresoever he came, and every manne in the thynge he hadde moste skyll in. 

Alcibiades excelled other nations in theyr owne feates. Property of Italians. Property of Frenchmen. Property of Spaniardes. Huntyng. Swimming. Leapying. Running. Castying the stone. Play at tenyse. Vawting.

So shall this our Courtyer passe other menne, and every manne in his owne profession. And because it is the peculyer prayse of us Italians to ryde well, to manage wyth reason, especiallye roughe horses, to runne at the rynge and at tylte, he shall bee in this amonge the beste Italyans. At tourneymente, in kepyng a passage, in fightinge at barriers, he shall be good emonge the best Frenchemen. At Joco di canne, runninge at Bull, castinge of speares and dartes, he shall be amonge the Spaniardes excellent. But principallye lette hym accompanye all his mocion wyth a certayne good judgemente and grace, yf he wyll deserve that generall favour whiche is so muche set by. There bee also manye other exercises, the whiche thoughe they depende not throughlye upon armes, yet have they a greate agreemente with them, and have in them muche manlye activitie. And of them me thinke huntynge is one of the chiefest, for it hath a certaine lykenesse with warre, and truelye a pastyme for great men, and fitte for one lyvyng in courte. And it is founde that it hath also bene muche used amonge them of olde tyme. It is meete for hym also to have the arte of swimming, to leape, to runne, to cast the stone: for beside the profite that he maie recyve of thys in the warres, it happeneth to hym manye tymes to make proofe of himselfe in such thynges, whereby he getteth hym a reputacion, especiallye among the multitude, unto whom a man muste sometyme applye hymselfe. Also it is a noble exercyse and meete for one lyvyng in courte to play at tenyse, where the disposition of the bodye, the quickenesse and nimblenesse of everye member is much perceyved, and almoste whatsoever a manne can see in all other exercises. And I recken vautyng of no lesse prayse, which for all it is peynefull and harde, maketh a man more light and quicker then any of the rest: and beside the profite, yf that lightnesse be accompanyed with a good grace, it maketh (in my judgemente) a better showe then anye of the reste. If our Courtyer then be taught these exercises more then indifferently well, I beleve he may sette a syde 

Tumblynge not fit for a Gentleman.

tumblyng, clymynge upon a corde, and suche other matters that taste somewhat of jugglers crafte, and doe lytle beseeme a Gentleman. But because we can not alwayes endure emonge these so paynefull doynges, besyde that the contynuance goeth nyghe to geve a manne hys fyll, and taketh awaye the admyracion that menne have of thynges sildome seen, we muste contynuallye alter oure lyfe with practysynge sondrye matters. 

To frame himself to the company.

Therefore wyll I have oure Courtyer to descende manye times to more easye and pleasaunt exercyses. And to avoyde envye and to keepe companye pleasauntlye with every man, let him do whatsoever other men do: so he decline not at any time from commendable dedes, but governeth himselfe with that good judgement that will not suffer him to enter into any folye: but let him laugh, dalie, jest, and daunce, yet in such wise that he maie alwayes declare himselfe to bee wittie and discrete, and everie thynge that he doeth or speaketh, let him doe it with a grace.

Truelye, saide then the L. Cesar Gonzaga, the course of this communicacion shoulde not be stopped: but if I shoulde houlde my peace, I should not satisfie the libertie whiche I have to speake, nor the desyre that I have to understand one thing. And let me be pardoned if where I ought to speake against, I demaund a question: because I suppose I maie lawfully do it after the example of M. Bernard, who for the to great desire he hadde to be counted a welfavoured man, hath offended agaynst the lawes of our pastime in demaunding without speakinge against.

Behoulde I beseeche ye, saide then the Dutchesse, howe one errour bringeth in a great sorte. Therfore who so offendeth and geveth yll example, as M. Bernard hathe done, deserveth to be punished not onely for his owne offence, but for other mens also.

Then auswered the L. Cesar: Therefore must I (madam) escape punishmente, for that M. Bernard ought to bee punished for his owne offence and mine bothe.

Nay (quoth the Dutchesse) you oughte to have bothe double punishmente. He for his offence, and for beynge an occasion for you to commit the lyke: and you for your offence and for taking hym for a president that dyd offende.

I have not hytherto offended, madam, answered the L. Cesar. Therefore because I wyll leave the whole punishmente for M. Bernard I wyll kepe silence.

And nowe he held his peace, whan the L. Emilia aunswered: Say what pleaseth you, for (by the dutchesse leave) I perdone thys faulte, and whosoever shall offende in so small a trespace.

Upon that the Dutchesse said: I am well pleased. But take ye heede that ye deceive not your selfe, thinking peradventure to be better reported of for mercy then for justice. For in perdoning the offendour to muche, ye do wrong to him that doeth not offende. Yet wyll not I have my rigour at this time in accusing your mercye to be the cause that we shall lose the hearing of this the L. Cesars demaund.

So he, after the dutches and the L. Emilia had made a signe to him, sayde by and by: if I do well beare in mind, me thynke (Count Lewis) you have this night oftentimes repeted, that the Courtier ought to accompany all his doinges, gestures, demeaners, finally al his mocions with a grace, and this, me think, ye put for a sauce to every thing, without the which all his other properties and good condicions were litle woorth. And I beleve verely that every man would soone be perswaded therin, for by the vertue of the worde a man may saye, that whoso hath grace is gracious. But bicause you have saide sundry times that it is the gift of nature and of the heavens, 

Grace.

and againe where it is not so perfect, that it maye with studye and diligence be made muche more, that they be borne so happye and so welthye with such a tresure (as some that we se) me thynke therin they have litle nede of anye other teacher, because the bountifull favour of heaven doeth (as it were) in spite of them, guide them higher then they covet, and maketh them not onely acceptable, but marveylous unto all the world. Therfore I do not reason of this, because the obtainynge of it of our selves lyeth not in our powre: but such as by nature have onely so much, that they be apte to beecome gratious in bestowinge labour, exercise, and diligence, I would faine knowe what art, with that learning, and by what meane they shall compasse this grace, aswel in the exercises of the bodye (wherin ye thinke it so necessarie a matter) as in all other thynges that they dooe or speake. Therfore as you have in praysinge thys qualitye to us engendred (I beleve) in al a fervent thirst to come by it, by the charge ye received of the L. Emilia, so with teaching it us, ye are bound to quenche it.

Bound I am not (quoth the Count) to teache you to have a good grace, nor anye thing els, saving only to shew you what a perfect Courtyer ought to be. Neither will I take upon me to teach you this perfeccion, sins a while a goe, I said, that the Courtier ought to have the feate of wrastlyng and vawtinge, and such other thinges, the which howe I should be able to teache them not having learned them my selfe, I am sure ye knowe it all. It sufficeth that as a good souldyer cann speake his minde to an armourer of what facion, of what temper and goodnesse he will have his harneys, and for all that cannot teache him to make it, nor to hammer or temper it: so perhaps I am able to tel you what a perfect Courtyer ought to be, but not able to teach you how ye should doe to be one. Notwithstanding to fulfill your request in what I am able, althoughe it be (in maner) in a proverbe that Grace is not to be learned, I say unto you, whoso mindeth to be gracious or to have a good grace in the exercises of the body, (presupposing first that he be not of nature unapt) ought to begin betimes, and to learne his principles of cunning men. The which thing how neccessarie a matter Philip king of Macedonie thought it, a man may gather in that his wil was that Aristotel so famous a philosopher, and perhappes 

Grace not to be learned. Aristotle the first that taught great Alexander. S. Galeazzo Sanseverino. A good scoler must seeke to be like his maister.

the greatest that ever hath bine in the world, should be the man that should instruct Alexander his sonne in the first principles of letters. And of men whom we know nowadayes, mark how wel and with what a good grace Sir Galiazzo Sanseverino M. of the horse to the French king, doth all exercises of the body: and that because, besyde the naturall disposition of person that is in him, he hath applyed all his study to learne of cunning men, and to have continually excellent men about hym, and of every one to chuse the best of that they have skill in. For as in wrastling, in vawting, and in learning to handle sundry kinde of weapons he hath taken for his guide oure M. Peter Mount, who (as you know) is the true and only maister of al artificial force and sleight: so in ridyng, in justyng, and in every other feate, he hath alwayes had before his eyes the most perfectest that hath ben knowen to be in those professions: he therfore that wil be a good scolar, beside the practysing of good thinges, must evermore set al his diligence to bee lyke his mayster, and (if it were possible) chaunge himself into him. And when he hath had some entrey, it profiteth hym much to behould sondrye men of that profession: and governing hymselfe with that good judgement that must alwayes be hys guyde, go about to pyke out, sometyme of one and sometyme of an other, sundry matters. And even as the bee in the greene medowes fleeth alwayes aboute the grasse chousynge out flowres: so shall our Courtyer steale thys grace from them that to hys seming 

Howe grace is to be atteined.

have it, and from ech one that percell that shal be most worthy praise. And not do, as a frende of ours, whom you al know, that thought he resembled much kyng Ferdinande the yonger of Aragon, and regarded not to resemble hym in anye other poynt but in the often lyftyng up hys head, wrying therewythall a part of hys mouth, the whych custome the king had gotten by infymitye. And manye such there are that thynke they doe much, so they resemble a great man in somewhat, and take many tymes the thynge in hym that woorst becommeth hym. But I, imagynyng with my self oftentymes how this grace commeth, leaving a part such as have it from above, fynd one rule that is most general whych in thys part (me thynk) taketh 

A generall rule. To avoid curiositie. Reckelesnes.

place in all thynges belongyng to man in worde or deede above all other. And that is to eschew as much as a man may, and as a sharp and dangerous rock, Affectation or curiousity and (to speak a new word) to use in every thyng a certain Reckelessness, to cover art withall, and seeme whatsoever he doth and sayeth to do it wythout pain, and (as it were) not myndyng it. And of thys do I beleve grace is muche deryved, for in rare matters and wel brought to passe every man knoweth the hardnes of them, so that a redines therin maketh great wonder. And contrarywise to use force, and (as they say) to hale by the hear, geveth a great disgrace, and maketh every thing how great so ever it be, to be litle estemed. Therfore that may be said to be a very art 

To cover art.

that appeereth not to be art, neyther ought a man to put more dilgence in any thing then in covering it: for in case it be open, it loseth credit cleane, and maketh a man litle set by. And I remember that I have reade in my dayes, that there were some excellent Oratours, which among other their cares, enforced themselves to make every man beleve that they had no sight in letters, and dissembinge their conning, made semblant their orations to be made very simply, and rather as nature and trueth lead them, then study and arte, the whiche if it had bene openly knowen, would have putte a doubte in the peoples minde for feare least he beguiled them. You may see then how howe to shewe arte and suche 

To seme not to mynde the thing a man doeth excellently well.

bent study taketh away the grace of every thing. Which of you is it that laugheth not whan our M. Peterpaul daunseth after his owne facion with such fine skippes and on tipto without moving his head, as though he were all of wood, so heedfullie, that truely a man would weene he counted his paces? What eye is so blind that perceiveth not in this disgrace of curiosity, and in many men and women here present the grace of that not regarded agylitie and slighte conveyaunce (for in the mocions of the bodye manye so terme it) with a kinde of speaking or smiling, or gesture, betokening not to passe upon it, and to minde anye other thinge more then that, to make him beleve that loketh on that he can not do amisse?

Here M. Bernard Bibiena not forbearing any longer, sayde: You may se yet that our M. Robert hath found one to prasie his maner of daunsing, though the reste of you set litle by it. For if this excellency doeth consist in Recklesness, and in shewing not to passe upon and rather to minde anye other thing then that a man is in hande withall, M. Robert hath no peere in the worlde. For that men should wel perceive that he litle mindeth it, manye tymes his garmentes fall from hys backe, and his slippers from his feete, and daunseth on still without taking uppe againe anye of both.

Then aunswered the Count: Seyng you will nedes have me speake, I wyll saye somewhat also of oure vices. Do you not marke, this that you call in M. Robert Reckelesness, is a verie curiositie? for it is well knowen that he enforceth himself with al dilgence possible to make a show not to minde it, and that is to minde it to much. And bicause he passeth certain limites of a meane, that Reckelesness of his is curious, and not comly, and is a thing that commeth cleane contrarye to passe from the dryfte, (that is to wit) to cover arte. Therfore I judge it a no lesse vyce of curiositye to be in Reckelesness (which in it selfe is prayse worthye) in lettynge a mans clothes fal of his backe, then in 

Preciseness.

Preciseness (whiche likewise of it self is praise worthy) to carie a mans head so like a malthorse for feare of ruffling his hear, or to keepe in the bottom of his cappe a looking glasse, and a comb in his sleeve, and to have alwayes at his heeles up and down the streetes a page with a spunge and a brushe: for this maner of Preciseness and Reckelesness are to much in the extremitie, which is alwaies a vice and contrarie to that pure and amiable simplicitie, which is so acceptable to mens mindes. Marke what an yll grace a man at armes hath, when he enforceth himselfe to goe so bolt upright setled in saddle (as we use to say after the Venetian phrase) in comparison of an other that appeareth not to mind it, and sitteth on horseback so nimbly and close as though he were on fote. How much more do we take pleaser in a gentilman that is a man at armes, and how much more worthy praise is he if he be modest, of few words, and no bragger, then an other that alwayes craketh of himself, and blaspheming with a bravery seemeth to threaten the worlde. And this is nothing els but a curiositie to seeme to be a roister. The lyke happeneth in all exercises, yea in everye thinge in the worlde that a man can doe or speak.

Then said the L. Julian: This in like maner is verified in musicke: 

Musicke.

where it is a verye greate vice to make two perfecte cordes, the one after the other, so that the verye sence of our hearing abhorreth it, and often times deliteth in a seconde or in a seven, which in it selfe is an unpleasaunt discord and not tollerable: and this proceadeth because the continuance in the perfit tunes engendreth urksomenesse and betokeneth a to curious harmonye the whyche in mynglyng therwythall the unperfect is avoyded wyth makynge (as it were) a comparason, whereby oure eares stande to listen and gredely attend and tast the perfecte, and are otherwhyle delyted wyth the disagement of the seconde or seven, as it were with a thing lytle regarded.

Behould ye then, answered the Count, that curiosnesse hurteth in thys as well as in other thynges. They say also that it hath bene a proverbe emonge some most excellent peincters of old time, that To muche diligence is hurtfull, 

To much diligence hurtfull.

and the Apelles found fault with Protogenes because he coulde not keepe his handes from the table.

Then sayd the L. Cesar: The very same fault (me think) is in our Frier Seraphin that he cannot kepe his handes from the table, especially as long as there is any meat styrryng.

The Count laughed and went forward: Apelles meaning was, that Protogenes knew not when it was well, whych was nothyng els but to reprehend hys curyousnesse in hys workes. Thys vertue therfore contrarye to curiosity whych we for thys tyme terme Reckelesness, besyde that it is the true fountain from the whych all grace spryngeth, it bryngeth wyth it also an other ornamente, whych accompanyinge anye deede that a man doeth, how lytle so ever it be, doeth not onely by and by open the knowledge of hym that doth it, but also many times maketh it to be estemed much more in effect then it is, because it imprinteth the myndes of the lookers on an opinyon, that whoso can so sleyghtly do well, hath a great deale more knowledge then indeede he hath: and if he wyll 

A manne is thought manye times to be more cunning then he is in deede.

applye hys study and dilygence to that he doeth, he myght do it much better. And to repete even the verye same examples, marke a man that taketh weapon in hande: yf goyng about to cast a darte, or houldyng in hys hand a sworde or any other waster, he setleth hym self lightsomely (not thinking upon it) in a ready aptnesse wyth such activity, that a man would seeme hys bodye and all his members were naturally setled in that disposition and without any payne, though he doeth nothing els, yet doeth he declare hymself unto everye man to be most perfect in that exercise. Lykewyse in daunsinge, one measure, one mocion of a bodye that hath a good grace, not being forced, doeth by and by declare the knowledge of him that daunseth. A musitien, yf in singing he roule out but a playne note endinge in a dooble relise wyth a 

A slight trick betokeneth knowledge.

sweete tune, so easily that a man would judge he did it at aventure, in that point alone he doeth men to understand that his knowledge is far greater then it is indeede. Oftentymes also in peinctinge, one lyne not studyed upon, one draught with the pensel sleightly drawen, so it appeareth the hand without the guiding of any study or art, tendeth to his mark, according to the peincters purpose, doth evidently discover the excellency of the workman, about the opinion wherof every man afterwarde contendeth accordyng to his judgement. The like happeneth also, in a maner, about every other thing. Therfore shall our Courtyer be esteemed excellent, and in everye thyng he shall have a good grace, and especially in speaking, if he avoide curiositye: 

Men that wil be deemed to be wel languaged.

into which errour many men runne, and some time more then other, certain of our Lumbardes, which after a yeeres travaile abrode, come home and begin by and by to speake the Romayne tunge, somtime the Spanish tunge, or the Frenche, and God wotteth howe. And all this proceadeth of an over great desier to show much knowledge: and in this wise a man applyeth hys studye and diligence to gett a most odyous vice. And truelye it were no small travayle for me, if I should use in this communycatyon of oures, those auncient Tuscane wordes, that are not in use among 

Auncient Tuscane woordes.

the Tuscanes nowe a dayes, and beesyde that, I beleeve every manne would laughe at me.

Then spake Syr Frederick: In deede reasoning together as wee nowe dooe, peradventure it were not well done to use those auntient Tuscane woordes: for (as you say) they would be a lothsomnesse both to the speaker and to the hearer, and of manye they should not be understoode without muche a doe. But he that shoulde write, I would thinke he committed an errour in not using them: bicause they gave a great grace and aucthoritye unto writinges, and of them is compact a tonge more grave and more full of majestie, then of the newe.

I knowe not, aunswered the Count, what grace and aucthority those wordes can geve unto writinges that ought to be eschewed, not only in the maner of speach that we now use (which you your self confesse) but also in any other maner that can be imagined. 

Old wordes to be eschewed both in speaking and writing.

For if anye man, of howe good a judgement so ever he were, had to make an oration of grave matters in the verye Counsell chamber of Florence which is the head of Tuscane: or els to common privately with a person of estimacion in that city about waightye affaires: or also with the familiarst frend he hath about pleasaunt matters: or with women or gentilmen about matters of love, either in jesting or daliyng, banketting, gaming, or where ever els: or in any time or place, or purpose, I am assured he would flee the using of those auntient Tuscane wordes. And in usyng them, beside that he should be a laughing stock, he should bringe no small lothesomenesse to hym that heard them. Therefore me thinke it a straunge matter to use those wordes for good in writing, that are to be eschewed for naughtie in everie maner of speache: and to have that whiche is never proper in speache, to be the proprest way a man can use in writing, forsomuch as (in mine opinion) 

What wrytyng is.

wrytyng is nothinge elles, but a maner of speache, that remaineth stil after a man hath spoken, or (as it were) an Image, or rather the life of the woordes. And therfore in speache, whiche as soone as the soune is pronounced vanisheth a way, peradventure somthinges are more to be borne withall, then in writinge. Because writinge keepeth the woordes in store, and referreth them to the judgemente of the reader, and geveth tyme to examyne them depely. And therfore reason willeth that greater diligence should be had therein to make it more trimme and better corrected: yet not so, that the written wordes should be unlike the spoken, but in writing to chuse oute the fayrest and prorest of significacion that be used in speaking. And if that should be lawful in writing, which is not lawfull in speaking, there should arise an inconvenience of it (in my judgement) very great: namely, that a man myght use a greater libertie in the thinge, where he ought to use most diligence, and the labour he bestoweth in writing, in stede of furtherance should hinder him. Therfore it is certain, whatsoever is allowed in writing, 

What is allowed in wryting, is allowed in speaking. Why writing oughte to bee more understoode then speaking.

is also allowed in speaking: and that speache is moste beautifull that is like unto beautifull writinges. And I judge it much more behoufful to be understoode in writing then in speaking, because they that write are not alwaies presente with them that rede, as they that speake with them that speake. Therfore would I commende him, that beside the eschewing of many auncient Tuskane woordes, would applye himself also to use bothe in writing and speakyng, suche as now a daies are in use in Tuscane and in other partes of Italy, and that have some grace in the pronunciation. And (in my minde) whoso foloweth any other trade is not assured not to runne into that curiositie so muche blamed, whiche we have spoken of before.

Then spake Sir Frederick: I cannot denye you, Count Lewis, that writinge is not a maner of speaking. But this I saie, if the wordes that are spoken have any darkenesse in them, that communicacion perceth not the minde of him that heareth: and passing with out being understoode, wexeth vaine and to no purpose: the whiche dothe not happen in writyng, for if the woordes that the writer useth bring with them a litle (I will not saie diffycultie) but covered subtilty, and not so open, as suche as be ordinarily spoken, they geve a certain greater aucthoritye to writing, and make the reader more hedefull to pause at it, and to ponder it better, and he taketh a delyte in the wittinesse and learning of him that writeth, and with a good judgement, after some paines takyng, he tasteth the pleaser that consisteth in harde thinges. And if the ygnoraunce of him that readeth bee suche, that he cannot compasse that difficultie, there is no blame in the writer, neither ought a man for all that to thinke that tunge not to bee faire. Therefore in writing, I houlde opinion it is necessarie for a man to use the Tuscane wordes, and only such as have bene used among the auncient Tuskans: for it is a great testimoniall and approved by tyme, that they bee good and of pithie signification in that thei be applyed to. And beside this they have that grace and majesty that antiquitie geveth not only to woordes, but unto buildinges, ymages, peinctinges, and to everye thyng that is of force to preserve it. And many times with this onely brightnes and dignitie they make the fourme of sentences very fair, and through the vertue and elegancie thereof, every matter howe base so ever it be, maie be so decked oute, that it maie deserve verye great commendacion. But this youre custome, that you make so muche a doe of, appeareth unto me very daungerous, and many times it maie be naught. And if anye vice of speache be taken up of many ignorant persones, me thinke for all that it oughte not to be receyved for a rule, nor folowed of other. Besides this, customs be manye and divers, and ye have not a notable Citye in Italy that hath not a divers maner of speache from all the rest. Therefore if ye take not the paines to declare 

So manye Cities so many diverse maner of speaches in Italy. The Bergamask tunge the moste barbarous in Italy. Petrarca. Boccaccio.

is the best, a manne maye as well geve hym selfe to the Bergamask tunge, as to the Florentine, and to folowe youre advyse it were no erroure at all. Me semeth then who so wyll be out of doubte and well assured, it is requisite for him to determyne with hym selfe to folowe one, that by al mens accorde is judged good, and to take him for a guyde alwaies and for a shielde againste suche as wyll goe about to fynde faulte, and that I thinke oughte to bee none other, (I meane in the vulgar tunge) but Petrarca and Boccaccio: and who so swarveth from these two, goeth at all aventure, as he that walketh in the darke without lyght, and therefore many times strayeth from the right waye. But wee are so hardye nowadayes, that wee disdeigne to do as other good menne of auncient tyme have done: that is to saye, to take dylygente heede to folowinge, without the whiche I judge no man canne wryte well. And me thinke Virgill declarethe a greate triall of this, whoo for all that with his so devine a witte and judgemente he tooke all hope from his posteritye for anye to folowe him at anye tyme, yet would he folow Homer.

 

Imitation. Virgil.

Then the L. Gasper Pallavicin: This disputacion (quoth he) of writinge in verye deede is woorthe the hearinge: yet were it more to oure purpose, if you woulde teache in what sorte the Courtier ought to speake, for me thinke he hath more neede of that, and he serveth his tourne oftner with speakyng then with wrytinge.

The L. Julian aunswered: There is no doubt, but so excellent and so perfect a Courtier hath nede to understand both the one and the other, and without these two qualyties paraventure all the rest should not be much woorthye prayse: therefore if the Count will fulfill hys charge, he shall teache the Courtier not onelye to speake but also to write well.

Then said the Count: I will not (my Lorde) undertake this enterprise, for it shoulde be a great folye for me to teache an other that I understand not my self. And thoughe I were skillful in it, yet can I not see howe I shoulde thinke to do the thing in so fewe woordes, which greate Clearkes have scase done wyth such great study and diligince, unto whose writings I would remit out Courtyer, if it were so that I wer bounde to teache him to write and to speake.

The L. Cesar then said: The L. Julian meaneth the speaking and writing of the vulgar tunge, and not Latin, therfore those writinges of great Clearkes are not for our purpose. But you muste shewe us in this behalfe as muche as you knowe, as for the reste, ye shalbe held excused.

I have already sayde, aunswered the Count. But in reasoning upon the Tuskane tunge, perhappes it were rather the L. Julians part, then any mans els to geve judgement in it.

The L. Julian saide: I cannot, nor of reason ought to speake against him that saith the Tuskane tunge is fairer then al the rest. 

Woordes in Petrarca, and in Boccaccio not to be used.

Trueth it is, there are many wordes in Petrarca and Boccaccio worne out of use now a daies: and suche would I never use neither in speakyng nor in writyng, and peradventure they themselves if thei were nowe alive would use them no more.

Then spake Sir Frederick: No doubt but they would use them still. And you Lordes of Tuscane ought to renue your tunge, and not to suffer it decaye, as you do, for a man may saie now, that there is lesse knowledge in Florence, then in manye other places of Italy.

Then aunswered M. Bernard: Those woordes that are no more in use in Florence, doe styl continue among the men of the countrey, and are refused of the gentlemen for woordes corrupt and decayed by antiquitie.

Then the Dutchesse: Let us not swarve (quoth she) from our firste purpose, but lette us make Count Lewis teache the Courtyer to speake and to write well, be it Tuscane or what ever els.

The Count aunswered: I have alreadye spoken (madam) what I knowe. And I suppose the verye same rules that teache the one, maye also serve to teache the other. But sins ye commaunde me: I will make aunswere unto Syr Frederick what commeth in my head, for I am of a contrary opinion to him. And paraventure I shal be drieven to answere somewhat more darkely then will be allowed, but it shall be as muche as I am hable to saie. And first I say, that (to my judgement) this our tunge, whiche we name the vulgar tunge, is tender and newe, for al it hath bene now 

The vulgar tunge of Italy is a new tunge. How the Italian tunge was corrupted.

used a long while. For in that Italy hathe bene, not onely vexed and spoyled, but also inhabited a long time with barbarous people, by the great resort of those nations, the Latin tunge was corrupted and destroyed, and of that corruption have spronge other tunges. The whiche lyke the ryvers that departe from the toppe of the Appennine and runne abrode towarde the two seas: so are they also divided, and some died with the Latin speach have spred abrode sundrye waies, some into one part, and some into another, and one dyed with barbarousnesse hath remayned in Italy. This then hath a long time bene among us out of order and dyverse, because there was none that would bestow diligence about it, nor write in it, ne yet seke to geve it brightnesse or anye grace. Yet hath it bene afterwarde broughte into better frame in Tuscane, then in the other partes of Italye. And by this it appeareth that the flowre of it hath remained there ever since those first times, because that nation hath kept proper and sweete accentes in the pronunciation and an order of grammer, where it was meete, more then the other. And hath had three noble writers, whiche wittily bothe in the woordes and termes 

Petrarca. Dante. Boccaccio.

that custome did allowe in their time, have expressed their conceites and that hath happened (in my mind) with a better grace to Petrarca in maters of love, then to any of the other. Where there arose afterwarde from time to time, not onely in Tuscane, but in al Italy, among gentlemen brought up in court, in armes and in letters, some studye to speake and to write more finely then they did in that first rude age, whan the turmoyle of the miseries that arose through barbarous nations was not as yet quieted, many woordes have bene left out as well in Florence it selfe, and in all Tuscane, as in the residue of Italy, and other brought in, in their stead, and made in this behalfe the alteration that happeneth in all worldly thinges: the whiche also hath evermore chaunced in other tunges. For in case those auncient Latin writinges had lasted hitherto, we shoulde see that Evander and Turnus and the other Latins in those dayes spake otherwise then dyd afterwarde the laste kinges of the Romanies 

Speaches chaunge from time to time. The priestes of Mars.

and the fyrste Consules. You may see the verses song by the Salii wer scantly understoode of their posteritie: but because it was so ordeyned by the first inventours of it, they were not altered for reverence of religion. So from time to time Oratours and Poets forsoke manye woordes that had bene used amonge their predecessours: for Antonius, Crassus, Hortensius, and Cicero eschewed manye that Cato had used, and Virgill many of Ennius, and so did the reste. For albeit they had antiquitie in great reverence, yet did they not esteme them so much, that they woulde bee so bounde to them, as you wil have us nowe. Yea, where they thoughte good, 

Men never delited in wordes worne out with time. Horace. Cicero.

they spake agaynst them, as Horace, that sayeth, his predecessours dyd foolyshlye praise Plautus, which would that we should have the aucthoritye to bring up newe woordes. And Cicero in manye places reprehendeth manye of his predecessours, and to blame S. Galba, he sayeth that his Oracions smelled of antiquitie. And affirmeth that Ennius also in some pointes set lytle by his predecessours, so that yf we wyll folow them of olde tyme, we shall not folowe them. And Virgil that you saye folowed Homer, folowed hym not in the tunge. Therfore woulde I (for my parte) alwayes shonne the use of those auncient woordes, except it wer in certayne clauses, and in them very seldome. And (in my judgement) he that useth them otherwise, committeth a no lesse errour, then whoso would to folowe them of olde time, fede upon maste, where he hath nowe aboundance of corne founde oute. And because you saie the auncient woodes onely, with the brightnesse of antiquitie descke oue so highlye every matter, how base so ever it be, that it maye make it woorthy great commendacion: I saie unto you that not of these auncient woordes onely, but of those that be good in dede, I make so smal accompt, that I suppose without the juyce of fair sentences thei ought of reason to be litle set by. For to divide the sentences from the woordes, 

Woordes without faire sentences litle worthe. Knowledge necessarie to speake and write well. What words oughte to be.

is the deviding of the soule from the body, the which cannot be done, neither in the one nor in the other, without destruccion ensue upon it. That therfore which is the principal mater and necessary for a Coutyer to speak and write wel, I beleve is knowledge. For he that hath not knowledge and the thing in his minde that deserveth to be understood, can neither speak nor write it. Then must he couch in a good order that he hath to speake or to write, and afterward expresse it wel with wordes: the which (if I be not deceived) ought to be apt, chosen, clere, and wel applyed, and (above al) in use also among the people: for very suche make the greatnes and gorgeousnes of an Oracion, so he that speaketh have a good judgement and heedfulnes withal, and the understanding to pike such as be of most proper significacion, for that he entendeth to speake and commend, and tempring them like wexe after his owne mynde, applyeth them in such parte and in suche order, that at the firste showe they maie set furth and doe men to understand the dignitie and brightnes of them, as tables of peincting placed in their good and naturall light. And 

Thynges necessay in speakinge. The voyce.

this do I saie as well of writing as of speaking, wherein certayne thinges are requisite that are not necessary in wryting, as a good voyce, not to subtyll or soft, as in a woman: nor yet so boysterous and roughe, as in one of the Countrey, but shrill, clere, sweete and wel framed with a prompt pronunciacion and with fitte maners and gestures, which (in my minde) consiste in certain mocions of al the body not affected nor forced, but tempred with a manerly countenance and with amoving of the eyes, that may geve a grace and accord with the words, and (asmuch as he can) signify also with gestures the entent and affeccion of the speaker. But al these thinges wer in vain and of smal accompte yf the sentences expressed by the wordes should not be fair, witty, subtil, fine and grave according to the mater.

 

The sentences.

I doubt, said the M. Morello, if this Courtyer speake with suche finenesse and gravity among us, there wil be some that wil not understand him.

Nay every one shall understand him, answered the Count, for finenes hindreth not the easines of understanding. Neither wil I have him to speak alwaies in gravity, but of pleasant matters, and of mery conceits, of honest divises, and of jestes according to the time, and in al notwithstanding after a pithy maner, and with redines and varietie without confusion, neither shal he in anye part show vanity or childish foly. 

What he muste speake of. To speake to raise affectyons.

And whan he shal then commune of a matter that is dark and hard, I wil have him both in woordes and sentences wel pointed, to expresse his judgement, and to make every doubt clere and plain after a certaine diligent sort without tediousnesse. Likewise (whan he shal see time) to have the understanding to speake with dignitie and vehemency, and to raise those affections which oure mindes have in them, and to enflame or stirre them accordinge to the matter: sometime with a simplicitye of suche meekenesse of mynde, that a man woulde weene nature her self spake, to make them tender and (as it wer) dronken with sweetnesse: and with suche conveiaunce of easinesse, that whoso heareth him, maye conceyve a good oppinion of himselfe, and thinke that he also with very litle a doe, mighte attaine to that perfection, but whan he commeth to the proofe shall finde himselfe farre wide. I would have oure Courtyer to speake and write in that sort, and not onely choose gorgeous and fine woordes out of every parte of Italye, but also I would judge him woorthy praise to use some of those termes bothe Frenche and Spanishe, which by oure custome have bene admitted. Therefore it should not mislike me, fallyng so to purpose, 

Certaine termes out of the French and Spanishe, which sound not so wel in Englishe nor can be applyed to oure phrase. Woordes in an other sygnificacion. To forge new wordes.

to say, Vauntcourrour: to saye, to acertain, to aventure: to say, to perce through a body with talke, meaning thereby to use a familiaritie wyth him, and to grope him to geat of him some perfect knoweledge: to saie, a royall gentleman, a nete man to be about a Prince, and suche other termes, so he maie thinke to be understoode. Sometime I would have him take certain woordes in an other significacion then that is proper to them, and wrasting them to his purpose (as it were) graffe them lyke a graffe of a tree in a more luckye stocke, to make them more sightly and faire, and (as it were draw the matters to the sense of the verye eyes, and (as they saie) make them felte wyth hande, for the delyte of him that heareth, or readeth. Neyther woulde I have him to sticke to forge newe also, and with newe figures of speache, deriving them featly from the Latins, as the Latins in olde tyme, derived from the Grecians. In case then of suche learned men bothe of good witte and judgement, as now a dayes may be piked out among us, there were some that would bestow their travail to write after the maner that we have spoken of, in this tongue thinges worth the readinge, wee should soone see it in good frame and flowinge with termes and good phrases, and so copious that a man might as well write in it as in anye other tongue: and thoughe it were not the meere auntient Tuscane tongue, yet shoulde it be the Italian tongue, commune, plentifull, and variable, and (as it were) like a delicious gardein ful of sundrie flowres and frutes. Neyther shoulde this be a newe matter: for of the foure tongues that were in use among the Greeke writers, pikinge out of every worde, moodes and rules as they thought meete, they raysed therby an other, whiche was named the Commune tongue, and afterward all 

v. tunges of Greece.

fyve they called with one name the Greeke tongue. And albeit the Athenian tongue was more fine, purer, and eloquenter then the rest, yet did not the good writers that were not of Athens borne, so affect it, but in the stile of writing, and (as it were) in the smack and propretie of their naturall speache they were welinough knowen: neither were they anye whit the lesse regarded for all that, but rather such as would appeere over mere Athenians wer blamed for it. Amonge the Latin writers in like case manye there were in their dayes much setbye that were no Romanes althoughe there appeared not in them the propre and peculiar purenesse of the Romane tongue, whiche menne of an other nation can verie seldome attaine. In times past T. Livius was not neglected, 

T. Livius. Virgill.

althoughe some one sayde he founde in him mere Padowan: nor Virgil, for that he was reprehended that he spake not Romane. And (as you know) there were also read and much setbye in Roome manie writers of Barbarous nations. But we more precise a great deale then they of olde time, do binde our selves with certaine new lawes out of purpose: and having the brode beaten waye beefore oure eyes, seeke through gappes to walke in unknowen pathes. For in oure owne tounge, whose office is (as all others) to expresse well and clearlye the conceites of the minde, we delite in darkenesse, and callinge it the vulgar tounge, 

The vulgar tunge ought not to be dark.

will use in it woordes, that are not onely not understoode of the vulgar people, but also of the best sort of menne and that men of learninge, and are not used in any part, not regarding that all good wryters of olde time blamed such woordes as were refused of custome, the which you (in my mind) do not well knowe, for somuche as you say, if any vice of speache be taken up of many ignorant parsons, it ought not to be called a custome nor received for a rule of speache. And (as at other tymes I have hard you say) ye wil have again in stead of Capitolio, we should say 

Mere Tuscane writing of certaine wordes.

Campidoglio: for Hieronymo, Girolamo: Aldace, for Audace: and for Patrone padrone: and such corrupt and mangled wordes, because they have bene founde so written by some ignorant Tuscane of olde time, and because the men of the countrey speak so in Tuscane now a dayes. The good use of speach therefore I beleve ariseth of men that have wytte, and with learninge and practise have gotten a good judgement, and with it consent and agree to receave the woordes that they think good, which are knowen by a certaine naturall judgement, and not by art or anye maner rule. Do you not 

Figures of speach, abuse of grammer rules. Good customs. Thinges good in every tunge.

knowe that figures of speach which give suche grace and brightnesse to an Oration, are all the abuse of Grammer rules, but yet are receaved and confirmed by use, because men are able to make no other reason but that they delite, and to the very sence of our eares it appeareth they bringe a lief and a sweetenesse? And this beleave I is good custome, which the Romanes, the Napolitans, the Lombardes, and the rest are as apt to receave, as the Tuscanes. Truth it is, in everye tounge some thinges are alwayes good, as easinesse to be understoode, a good ordre, varietie, piked sentences, clawses wel framed: and on the other side Affectation, and the other contrary to these are to be shonned. But of woordes some there are that last a good tyme and afterwarde wexe stale and cleane lose their grace: other some take force and creepe into estimation, for as the seasones of the yeare make leaves and fruites to fal, and afterward garnish the trees a freshe with other: evenso, doth time make those first wordes to fall, and use maketh other to springe afreshe and giveth theim grace and estimation, untill they in like sorte consumed by lytle and lytle with the envyous biting of tyme come to their end, because at the last both we and whatsoever is oures, are mortall. Consider with your selves that we have no more any knoweleage of the Osca tunge. 

Tunges decayed with time.

The Provinciall tung, that (a man may say) the last day was renowmed of noble writers, now is it not understoode of the inhabitantes of the countrey. I beleave therefore (as the L. Julian hath said), that wer Petrarca, and Boccaccio, at this present in lief, they would not use many woordes that we see in their writinges. Therfore (in mine opinion) it is not wel done to folow them therin. Yet do I muche commende them that can folowe that ought to be folowed: but notwithstanding I beleve it be possible ynough to write well without folowyng, and especiallye in this our tunge, wherin we may be helped by custome, the which I wyll not take upon me in the Latin.

The Sir Friderick: Why, wil you (quoth he) custom should be more appriced in the vulgar tunge, then in the Latin?

Nay, bothe in the one and the other (answered the Count) I judge custome ought to be the Maistresse. But forsomuche as those menne, unto whom the Latin tunge was as proper, as is the the vulgar tunge nowe to us, are no more in the world, we must learne of their writinges that they learned by use and custome: 

Auntient speach auntient custome of speache.

neyther doeth auncyent speach signifye anything els but an auncyent custome of speach: and it wer a fond matter to love the auncient speach for nothing elles but to speake rather as men did speake, then as menne doe speake.

Did not they then of olde time folowe? aunswered Sir Fridericke.

I beleave, quoth the Counte, many did folowe, but not 

Olde writers did not imitate in all pointes.

in every point. An if Virgill had altogether folowed Hesiodus, he should not have passed him nor Cicero, Crassus, nor Ennius, his predecessors. Behould Homer, who is so auntient that he is thought of many to be the first heroical Poet aswell of time, as also of excellencie of phrase: and whom wyll you have him to have folowed?

Some other, aunswered Sir Friderick, more auntient then he was, whiche we heare not of, by reason of tomuch antiquitie.

Whom will you say Petrarca and Boccaccio folowed, said the Count, whiche (a man may say) were but thre dayes agoo in the world?

I knowe not, aunswered Sir Fridericke, but it is to be thoughte they in lyke wise bent their minde to folowinge, thoughe wee knowe not of whom.

The Count aunswered: A man maye beleave that they that were folowed, were better then they that did folowe: and it were to great a wonder that their name and renowme (if they were good) should so soone be cleane lost. But I beleave their verye maister 

A man may write well without imitation. Musick. Sundry sortes of musike and all delite.

was witt, and their owne naturall inclination and judgement. And therat no man ought to wonder, for (in a maner) alwayes a manne by sundrye wayes may clime to the toppe of all perfection. And their is no matter, that hath not in it many thinges of like sort unlike the one to the other, which for al that among them selves deserve a like praise. Mark me Musick, wherin are harmonies sometime of base soune and slowe, and otherwhile very quicke and of new divises, yet do they all recreat a man: but for sundrye causes, as a manne may perceive in the maner of singinge that Bidon useth, which is so artificiall, counninge, vehement, stirred, and suche sundrye melodies, that the spirites of the hearers move al and are enflamed, and so listening a man would wene they were lifte up in to heaven. And no lesse doeth our Marchetto Cara move in his singinge, but with a more softe harmonye, that by a delectable waye and full of mourninge swetnesse maketh tender and perceth the mind, and sweetly imprinteth in it a passion full of great delite. Sundrye thinges in lyke maner do equally please oure eyes somuche, that a man shall have muche a do to judge in whiche they most delite. Behould in peincting Leonard Vincio, Mantegna, Raphael, Michelangelo, George of Castelfranco: they 

Sundry peincters perfit in sundrie kinde of trades.

are all most excellent dooers, yet are they in working unlike, but in any of them a man would not judge that there wanted ought in his kind of trade: for every one is knowen to be of most perfection after his maner. The like is of many Poets both Greeke and Latin, which being divers in writing are alike in praise. Oratours also have alwaies had such a diversitye emong them, as (in a maner) everye age hath brought forth and set by one sort of Oratours peculiar for that time, which have bene unlike and disagreing not only to their predecessours and folowers but also emong themselves. As it is 

Greeke oratours. Latin oratours. So many oratours so many kindes of speach. De Oratore lib. i. Lib. ii.

written emonge the Grecians, of Isocrates, Lysias, Eschines and many other, al excellent, but yet like unto none saving themselves. And emong the Latins, Carbo, Laelig;lius, Scipio Affricanus, Galba, Sulpitius, Cotta, Graccus, Marcus Antonius, Crassus, and so many, that it should be long to repete them, all good and moste diverse one from an other. So that whoso could consider all the Oratours that have bene in the worlde, he should finde so many Oratours, so many kindes of speach. Me thynke I remember also that Cicero in a place bringeth in Marcus Antonius to say unto Supitius that ther are many that folow no man, and yet clime they to a high degree of excellency. And speaketh of certein that had brought up a new stile and phrase of speaking faire, but not used of the Oratours of that time wherin they folowed none but themselves. Therfore he affirmeth also that maisters shoulde consider the nature of their scolers, and taking it for thier guide, direct and prompt them in the way that their witt and naturall inclination moveth them unto. For this cause therfore, Sir Fridericke, do I beleve if a man have not an inclination unto some author whatsoever he be, it were not wel done to force him to folowing. Bicause the vertue of that disposicion of his, soon feinteth and is hindered, by reason that it is a stray out of the way in which he would have profited, had he not bene stopped in it. I knowe not then how it will stande wel, in steade of enriching this tunge, and of gevyng it majestye and light, to make it poore, sclender, bare and dark, and to seeke to shut it up into so narrowe a rowne, that everye man should be compelled to folow onely Petrarca and Boccaccio, and that we should not also in that tung, 

An errour to imitate none but Boccaccio and Petrarca.

credit Laurence de Medicis, Francis Diaceto, and certein other that notwithstanding are Tuscanes, and perhappes of no lesse learning and judgement then Petrarca and Boccaccio. And truly it should be a great miserye to stoppe without wading any farther then almost the first that ever wrote: and to dispaire, that so many and so noble wittes shall never find out any mo then one good maner of speach in the tung that unto them is proper and naturall. But now a dayes there be some so scrupulous, that (as it were) with a religion and high misteries of this their Tuscane tung, put as manye as heareth them in such dread, that they bring in like case many gentilmen and learned men into such an awe, that they dare not open their mouth: and confesse plainly, that they can not speak the tung which thei have learned of their nurses, even from their cradel. But in this point (me think) we have spoken tomuch. Therfore let us now procead in our communication of the Courtier.

Then aunswered Sir Friderick: But first I will saye this lytle, whiche is that I denye not but the opinions and wittes of men are divers emong themselves: neither doe I judge it comlye for one that is vehement and quicke of nature to take in hand to write of soft and quiet matters. Nor yet for an other that is severe and grave to write of mery conceits. For in this point (me think) it is reason every man should aply him self to his own proper inclination, and of this I beleve spake Cicero, when he said that maisters should have a consideration to the nature of their scolers, least they should doe like the yll husbandemanne, that sometime in a soyle that is good onely for vynes will sowe graine. But it wyll not sinke into my head why in a perticuler tunge, that is not so proper unto all menne, as are discourses and conceites, and many other operations, but an invencion contained under certaine termes, a man may not with more reason folowe them that speake best, then speake at al aventure. And that, as in the Latin tunge a manne ought to appy himselfe to bee in the tunge lyke unto Virgil and Cicero, rather then Silius and Cornelius Tacitus, so in the vulgar tunge why it were not better to folowe the tunge of Petrarca and Boccaccio then any mannes els: and therin expresse well his owne conceites, and so applye himselfe as (Cicero saith) to his owne naturall inclination. And thus shall the difference whiche you saye is betwene the good Oratours, be found to consist in the senses and not in the tunge.

Then the Count: I feare me (quoth he) we shall enter into a large sea, and leave our first purpose of the Courtyer. But I would knowe of you, wherin consisteth the goodnes of this tunge?

Sir 

Wherin consisteth the goodnesse of the tung.

Fridericke aunswered: In keping well the propertie of it: and in taking it in the significacion (using the same stile and measur) that al such have done as have written wel.

I would know then, quoth the Count, whether this stile and measure which you speake of, arise of the sentences or of the wordes?

Of the wordes, answered Sir Frederick.

Do you not think then, quoth the Count, that the wordes of Silius and Cornelius Tacitus are the very same that Virgil and Cicero use? and taken in the same signification?

Sir Fridericke aunswered: They are the very same in dede, but some yl applyed and dyverslye taken.

The Count aunswered: In case a manne should pyke out of a booke of Cornelius and of Silius, al the woordes placed in other signification then is in Virgil and Cicero, (whiche should bee verye fewe) woulde you not then saye that Cornelius in the tounge were equall with Cicero, and Silius with Virgil?

Then the L. Emilia: Me thinke (quoth shee) thys youre dysputation hathe lasted to longe, and hathe been verye tedyouse, therefore it shall bee best to deferre it untill an other tyme.

Sir Fridericke began still to make aunswere, but the L. Emilia alwayes interrupted hym.

 

Many talkers of imitation.

At laste the Count saide: manye wil judge of styles and talke of numbers and measures, and of folowing, but they cannot doe me to understande what maner a thing stile and measure is, and wherin folowing consisteth. Nor why, thinges taken out of Homer or any other, are so well couched in Virgil, that they appeare rather amplyfied then folowed, and peradventure the occation thereof is that I am not able to conceive it. But because a great argument that a man understandeth a thinge, is the understanding that he hath to teach it, I feare me they themselves have small understanding in it, and praise Virgil and Cicero, because they heare them praised of many, not for that they knowe the difference betwene them and others, whiche out of peradventure consisteth not in the observation of two, or three, or of tenne woordes used after a divers maner from other. In Salust, in Cesar, in Varro, and in other good writers, there are founde some termes applyed otherwise then Cicero applyeth them, and both the one and the other doeth welinough. Bicause in so triflynge a matter the goodnesse and perfection of a tunge doeth not consiste as Demosthenes 

Demosthenes aunswer to Eschines.

answered Eschines well that had taken him up, demaundinge him of certaine woordes which he hadde used and yet were not auntient, what monster or wonderous matters they were? Wherat Demothenes laughed, and answered him, that the fortunes of Grece depended not upon them. Even so would I passe full litle if a Tuscane should reprehende me for speaking rather Satisfatto, then Sodisfatto: and Honorevale, then Horrevole: and Causa, then Cagione: and Populo, then Popolo, and such other matters.

 

Diversitie of certain Tuscane wordes with the rest of Italy.

Then arose Sir Friderick upon his feete and saide: I beseech ye give the hearing of these few woordes.

The L. Emilia answered laughing: Uppon my displeasure I forbid anye of you to talke any more in this matter, for I wil have you to breake it of untill an other night. But you Count, proceade you in your communication of the Courtyer, and let us see how good a memory you have: for I beleve, if ye can knitt it agayne where you brake of, ye shall not do a litle.

Madam, answered the Count, me think the thrid is broken in sunder, but if I be not deceyved, I trowe we saide that pestilent curiositie doth alwayes geve an il grace unto al thinges: and contrarywise simplicity and Reckelesness a marvailous good grace. In commendation whereof and in dispraise of curiosity, many other thinges might be said, yet wil I alleage but one mo, and then have done. All women generally have a great desire to be, and when they canne not be, at the least to appear beawtyfull. Therfore where nature in some part hath not done her devoyr therin, they endeavour them selves to supply it with art. 

Women that peincte them selves to seme faire to men.

Of this ariseth the trymming of the face, with such studye and many times peines, the pilling of the browes and forehead, and the usynge of all those maner wayes, and the abydyng of such lothsomenesse, as you women beleave are kepte very secret from men, and yet do all men know them.

The La. Constance Fregosa laughed at this, and said: You shoulde do much better to go forward in your communication, and declare how a man may attein a good grace, and speak of courtynge, then to discover the faultes of women wythout purpose.

Nay, it is much to purpose, answered the Count, bicause these defaultes that I talke of take this grace from you: for they proceade of nothing els but of curiousnesse, whereby ye discover openlye unto everye man the over great desire that ye have to be beawtifull. Do not you marke howe much more grace is in a woman, that if she doth trim her self, doeth it so scarcely and so litle, that whoso behouldeth her, standeth in doubt whether she be trimmed or no: then in an other so bedawbed, that a man woulde we ne she had a viser on her face and dareth not laugh for making it chappe: nor at any tyme chaungeth her colour, but whan she apparayeleth her self in the morninge and all the rest of the daye standeth lyke an image of woodde without movinge, shewinge her self onely in torche light, as craftye 

Women that bestowe no payne in settinge out themselves.

marchaundmen do their clothes in their darke lightes? How much more then doeth a man delite in one, I meane not foule, that is manyfestlye seene she hath nothinge uppon her face, though she be not so white nor so red, but with her naturall colour somewhat wan, sometime with blusshinge or through other chaunce dyed with a pure rednes, with her hear by happe out of order and ruffled, and with her simple and naturall gestures, without shewing her self to bestow diligence or study, to make her faire? This is that not regarded pureness which best pleaseth the eyes and mindes of men, that stande alwayes in awe to be deceived by art. Whyte teeth is a good sight in a woman, for sence they are not in so open sight as is the face, but most 

White teath. Faire handes.

communly are hid, a man may think she bestoweth not so much laboure about them, to make them white, as she doeth in the face: yet who so shoulde laughe without cause purposly to show them, should discover the art, and for all their faire whitenesse should appeare unto all men to have a very yll grace, as Egnatius in Catullus. The like is in the handes, which being delicate, smooth and faire, yf they be shewed bare at a tyme whan occasyon is to occupye them, and not of purpose to showe the beawtye of them, they leave a very great desire of themselves, and especiallye after they are covered with gloves agayne, for a manne would judge that in puttynge them on againe she passeth not and lytle regardeth whether they be in sighte or no, and that they are so fayre rather by nature, then by anye studye or dilygence. Have ye not hadde an eye otherwhyle, whan eyther in the stretes goynge to Churche, or in anye other place, or in sportyng, or by any other chaunce it happeneth that a woman lyfteth up her clothes so high, that she sheweth her foote, and sometime a litle of her pretye legge unwittinglye? And seemeth shee not to you to have a verye good grace, yf ye beholde her then with a certayne womanlye disposition, cleanlye and precise, with her shooes of vellute, and her hose sittynge cleane to her legge? Truelye it deliteth me much, and I beleve all of you, for everye manne supposeth 

Clenlye and precise in places sildome seene.

that Preciseness in so secret place and so sildom seen, to be unto that woman rather natural and propre then forced, and that thereby she thinketh to gett her no commendation at all. In such sort is curiousenesse avoyded and covered, the which you maye nowe conceyve howe contrarye it is, and taketh awaye the grace of everye operation and deede, aswell of the bodye as of the minde, whereof hitherto we have spoken but litle, and yet 

The minde.

ought it not to be omitted, for as the minde is muche more worthye then the bodye, so deserveth it also to bee better decked and polished. And howe that ought to be in oure Courtyer (leavyng a parte the preceptes of so manye wyse Phylosophers that wryte in this matter and define the vertues of the minde, and so subtillye dyspute of the dignitye of them) wee will expresse in fewe wordes, applyinge to our pourpose, that it is sufficient he be (as they terme it commonlye) an honest manne and welmeaning: for in this is comprehended the goodnesse, the wisdome, the manlynesse and the temperaunce of the mynde, and all other qualityes that belonge to so worthye a name. And I recken hym onely a true morall Phylosopher that wyll be good, and to that, he needeth fewe other preceptes then that will of his. 

To applye a mans good will is profeting.

And therefore saide Socrates well, that he thought his instructions hadde brought foorth good fruite whan by them he hadde provoked anye one to applye his wyll to the knoweleage and learnynge of vertue. For they that are come to the pointe that they covet te nothynge more then to be good, do easyly attayne the understandynge of all that beelongeth thereto: therefore herein we wyll make no more a do. But besyde goodnesse, the true and principall ornament of the mynde in everye manne (I beeleeve) 

The French menne make none accompte of learning.

are letters, although the Frenchmen know onelye the noblenesse of armes, and passe for nothing beside: so that they do not onelye not sett by letters, but they rather abhorre them, and all learned men they count verie rascalles, and they think it a great vilany when any one of them is called a clarke.

Then aunswered the L. Julian: You say very true, this errour in deede hath longe reigned among the Frenchemen. But if Monseigneur Angoulism have so good luck that he may (as men hope) succeede in the Croun, the glory of armes in Fraunce doeth not so florishe nor is had in suche estimation, as letters wilbe, I beleave. 

Francis I. French king.

For it is not long sins I was in Fraunce, and saw this Prince in the Court there, who semed unto me beside the handsomenesse of personne and beawty of visage, to have in his countenance so great a majestie, accompanyed neverthelesse with a certayne lovely e courteisy, that the realme of Fraunce should ever seeme unto him a small matter. I understoode afterwarde by many gentilmen both French and Italian, very much of the most noble condicions, of the greatnesse of courage, prowesse and liberalitie that was in him: and emonge other thinges, it was tolde me that he highly loved and esteamed letters, and had in verie great reputation all learned men, and blamed the Frenchemen themselves that their mindes were so farr wide from this profession, especially having 

Universitye of Paris.

at their doores so noble an universitye as Paris is, where all the world resorteth.

Then spake the Count: It is great wonder that in these tender yeres only by the provocation of nature, contrary to the maner of the countrey, he hath geven himself to so good a way. And because subjectes folow alwaies the condicions of the higher powers, it is possible that it may come to passe (as you say) that the Frenchmen will yet esteeme letters to be of that dignity that they are in deed. The which (if they give ear therto) they may soone be perswaded, forsomuch as men ought to covet of nature nothing so much and that is more proper for them, then knowleage: which thing it wer a great folly to say or to holde opinion 

Knowleage.

that it is not alwaies good. And in case I might commune with them, or with other that were of a contrarie opinion to me, I would do my diligence to show them, how much letters (which undoubtedlye have bene graunted of God unto men for a soveraigne gift) are profytable and necessarye for our lief and estimation. Neyther should I want thexamples of so many excellent capitaines of old time, which all joyned the Ornament of letters, with the powesse of armes. For (as you know) Alexander had Homer in such reverence, that he laide his Ilias alwayes under his beddes head: and he applied diligentlye not these studies onely, but also the speculations of Philosophye under the discipline of Aristotle. 

Howe the great Alexander esteamed Homer, Plutarck, in the life of Alexander. Alcibiades Socrates scholar. J. Cesar. Scipio Africanus. Paidia Xenophontis. Hannibal learned.

Alcibiades encreased his good condicions and made them greater with letters, and with the instructions of Socrates. Also what dyligence Cesar used in studye, those thinges which he hath so divinely written him self, make triall. It is said that Scipio Africanus caried alwayes in his hande the bookes of Xenophon, wherein under the name of Cyrus he instructeth a perfect king. I could recite unto you Lucullus, Sylla, Pompeius, Brutus, and many other Romanes and Gretians, but I will do no more but make mencion of Hanibal, which being so excellent a captaine ( yet for all that of a fierce nature, and voide of all humanitye, an untrue dealer, and a despiser of men and of the Gods) had also understanding in letters, and the knowleage of the Greeke tunge. And if I be not deceived (I trowe) I have read in my time that he left a booke behind him of his owne makynge in the Greeke tunge. But this kynd of talke is more then nedeth, for I knowe all you understand howe much the Frenchemen be deceived in houlding opinion letters to do anye hurt to armes. You knowe in great matters and aventurous in wars the true provocation is glory: and whoso for lucres sake or for any other consideration taketh it in hand (beside that he never doeth anye thynge woorthy prayse) deserveth not the name of a gentleman, but is a most vile marchaunt. And every man maye conceive it to be the true glorye, that is stored up in the holy treasure of letters, excepte such unlucky creatures as have had no tast therof. What minde is so fainte, so bashefull and of so base a courage, that in reading the actes and greatnesse of Cesar, Alexander, Scipio, Hannibal, and so many other, is not incensed with a most fervent longing to be like them: and doth not preferre the getting of that perpetuall fame, before this rotten life that lasteth twoo dayes? 

Glorye. In letters the true glorye. Noble courages enflamed in readyng the actes of famous captaines. The unlearned knowe not glorye. Why the unlearned seeke not to be famous. Italians faint in armes.

Which in despite of death maketh him lyve a greate deale more famous then before. But he that savoureth not the sweetnesse of letters, cannot know how much is the greatnesse of glorye, which is a longe whyle preserved by them and onely measureth it with the age of one or two men, for farther he beareth not in minde. Therfore can he not esteme this shorte glorye so much as he would do that, which (in a maner) is everlastinge, yf by his ill happe he wer not barred from the knowleage of it. And not passing upon it so much, reason perswadeth and a man may well beleave he wyll never hasard hym self to come by it, as he that knoweth it. I would not nowe some one of the contrarye parte should alleage unto me the contrarye effectes to confute min e opinion with all: and tell me how the Italians with their knowleage of letters have shewed small prowesse in armes from a certaine time hitherto, the which neverthelesse is to true. But in very dede a man may well saye that the offence of a few, hath brought (beside the great damage) an everlasting reproche unto all other. And the very cause of our confusion, and of the neglecting of vertue in our mindes (if it be not clean dead) proceaded of them. But it were a more shamefull matter unto us to publishe it, then unto the Frenchman the ignoraunce in letters. Therfore it is better to passe that over with silence that cannot be rehersed without sorow, and leaving this purpose into the which I am entred against my will, retourne againe unto oure Courtier, whom in letters I will have to bee more then indyfferentlye well seene, at the leaste in those studyes, 

The Courtier ought to be learned. In humanity. In the Latin and Greeke tung. In poetes. In oratours. In Historiographers. In writinge ryme and prose. What is to be done of a mans writinges.

which they call Humanitie, and to have not only the understandinge of the Latin tunge, but also of the Greeke, because of the many and sundrye thinges that with greate excellencye are written in it. Let him much exercise hym selfe in poets, and no lesse in Oratours and Historiographers, and also in writinge bothe rime and prose, and especiallye in this our vulgar tunge. For beside the contentation that he shall receive thereby himselfe, he shall by this meanes never want pleasaunt interteinments with women which ordinarylye love such matters. And if by reason either of his other busines beside, or of his slender studie, he shall not attaine unto that perfection that hys writinges may be worthye much commendation, let him be circumspect in keeping them close, least he make other men to laugh at him. Onely he may show them to a frend whom he may trust, for at the leastwise he shall receive so much profite, that by that exercise he shall be able to geve his judgement upon other mennes doinges. For it happeneth verye sildome, that a man not exercised in writinge, how learned so ever he be, can at any tyme know perfectly the labour and toile of writers, or tast of the sweetenes that often times are found in them of olde tyme. And besyde that, those studyes shall make him copyous, and (as Aristippus aunswered that Tiran) bould to speake uppon a good grounde wyth everye manne. Notwithstanding I wyll have oure Courtier to keepe faste in his minde one lesson, and that is this, to be alwaies wary both in this and in every other point, and rather fearfull then bould, and beware that he perswade not him self falsely to knowe the thing he knoweth not indede. 

The not practised can not judge. Dionysius. To be rather warie then bould in all thinges. The wordes of flatterers sweete.

Because we are of nature al the sort of us much more gredy of praise then is requisite, and better to our eares love the melody of wordes sounding to our praise, then any other song or soune that is most sweete. And therfore manye tymes, lyke the voices of Meremaydens, they are the cause of drownyng him that doeth not well stoppe his eares at such deceitfull harmonie. This daunger being perceived, there hath bene among the auncient wise men that hath written bookes, howe a manne should know a true friend from a flatterer. But what availeth it? If there be many of them (or rather infinit) that manifestly perceive there are flatterers, and yet love hym that flattereth them, and hate him that telleth them the trothe, and often times (standinge in opinion that he that praiseth them is to scace in his woordes) they themselves helpe him forward, and utter such matters of themselves, that the most impudent flatterer of all is ashamed of. 

Men take no hede to flatterers. Men flatter themselves.

Let us leave these blinde busardes in their owne erroure, and make oure Courtyer of so good a judgement, that he will not be geven to understand blacke for white, nor presume more of him selfe then what he knoweth very manifestlye to be true, and especially in those thinges, which (yf he beare well in minde) the L. Cesar rehearsed in his divise of pastimes, that we have manye tymes used for an instrument to make many become foolysh. But rather, that he may be assured not to fall into anye errour, where he knoweth those prayses that are geven him to be true: let hym not so openly consent to them, nor confirme them so without resistance, but rather with modesty (in a maner) denye them cleane, shewyng alwayes and countynge in effect, armes to be his principall profession, and al the other good qualities for an ornament thereof, 

How he should avoid flatterers. Letters an ornamente of armes.

and pryncypallye amonge souldiers, least he be like unto them that in learnyng will seeme men of warr, and among men of warr, learned. In this wise for the reasons we have said he shal avoyde curyousnesse, and the meane thinges which he taketh in hand, shal appeare very great.

Here M. Peter Bembo answered: I know not (Count Lewis) howe you will have this Courtier, being learned and of so many other vertuous qualities, to count every thing for an ornament of armes, and not armes and the reste for an ornamente of letters. The whyche wythout other addicyon are in dignitie so muche above armes, as the minde is above the bodye: because the practising of them belongeth properly to the mind even as the practising of armes dooeth to the body.

 

Armes belong to the mind and body both.

The Count answered then: Nay the practisinge of armes beelongeth aswel to the mind as to the body. But I wold not have you (M. Peter) a judge in this cause, for you would be to partial to one of the partes. And forsomuch as this disputacion hath already bene tossed a long time my moste wise men, we neede not to renew it, but I count it resolved upon armes side, and wil have our Courtier (since I have the facioning of him at mi wil) think thus also. And if you be of a contrary opinion, tary till you heare a disputacion, where it may be as well lawfull for him that taketh part with armes, to use his armes, as thei that defend letters use in the defence the very same letters.

Oh (quoth M. Peter) you rebuked the Frenchmen before for setting litle by letters, and declared what a great light of glory they shew unto men and how they make them immortal: and now it seemeth you are in an other opinion. Do you not remember that:

 

Petrarca: Son. 155. Alexander. Homer. Quint. Curt. lib. 2.

The great Macedo, when he proched neer
  Fiers Achils famous Toumb, thus said and sight:
O happy Prince that found a Tromp so cleer,
  And happy he that prayed so worthy a wight.

And if Alexander envied Achilles not for his deedes but for his fortune that gave him so great luck to have his actes renowmed by Homer, a man may gather he estemed more the letters of Homer then the armes of Achilles. What other judge then or what other sentence looke you for, as touching the dignity of armes and letters, then that which was geven by one of the greatest capitaines that ever were?

The Count answered: I blame the Frenchmen because they think letters hurt the profession of armes: and I hould opinion that it is not so necessary for any man to be learned, as it is for a man of war. 

The Courtyer a manne of warre and learned.

And these two pointes linked together and aided the one by the other (which is most fit) wil I have to bee in the Courtier. Neyther doe I thinke my self for this to be in an other opinion, but (as I have said) I will not dispute: whiche of them is most worthy praise, it sufficeth that learned men take not in hande at anye time to praise any but great men, and glorious actes, which of themselves deserve prayse by their proper essentiall vertues from whence they arrise. 

Glorious actes a noble Theme.

Beside that, they are a most noble Theme for writers, which is a great ornament, and partly the cause of the continuance of writinges, that paraventure should not be so much read and set by, if there wanted in them noble matter, but counted vaine and of smal reputation. And if Alexander envied Achilles bicause he was praised of him that did it, yet doth it not consequently folowe that he esteamed letters more then armes. Wherin if he had knowen himself so farr wide from Achilles, as in writing he thought al they would be from Homer that should go about to write of him, I am sure he would muche sooner have desired wel doing in himself then wel speaking in an other. Therfore think I that this was a close praise of himself, 

Alexander thought not himself inferiour to Achilles. What Alexander ment by calling Achilles happy.

and a wishing for that he thought he had not, namelye the high excellency of a writer, and not for that he thought with himself he had already obtayned, that is to say, the prowess of armes, wherin he counted not Achilles any whit his superiour, wherefore he called him happye, as it were signifying, where his fame in foretime was not so renowmed in the worlde, as was the fame that by so divyne a Poeme was cleere and excellent, it proceaded not for that his prowes and desertes were not such and worthy so much praise: but it arose of fortune that had before hand prepared for Achilles that miracle of nature for a glorious renowme and trompet of his actes. And peradventure again he minded therby to stirr up some noble wit to wryte of himself, declaring how acceptable it should be to him, forsomuch as he loved and reverenced the holye monumentes of letters: about the which we have now spoken sufficient.

Nay more then sufficient, aunswered the L. Lodovicus Pius. For I beleve there is never a vessell in the world possible to be founde so bigge that shalbe able to receive al the thinges that you wil have in this Courtyer.

Then the Count: Abide yet a while (quoth he) for there be manye other thinges to be had in him yet.

Peter of Naples aunswered: After this maner Crassus de Medicis shal have great avantage of M. Peter Bembo.

At this they all laughed. And the Counte beginning a freshe: My Lordes (quoth he) you must thinke I am not pleased with the Courtier if he be not also a musitien, 

The Courtyer a musitien.

and beside his understanding and couning upon the booke, have skill in lyke maner on sudrye instruments. For yf we waie it well, there is no ease of the labours and medicines of feeble mindes to be founde more honeste and more praise worthye in time of leyser then it. And princypally in Courtes, where (beside the refreshing of vexacyons that musike bringeth unto eche man) many thynges are taken in hande to please women withal, whose tender and softe breastes are soone perced with melody and fylled with swetenesse. Therefore no marvaile that in the olde times and nowe a dayes they have alwayes bene enclined to musitiens, and counted this a moste acceptable foode of the mynde.

Then the L. Gaspar: I beleve musicke (quoth he) together with many other vanities is mete for women, and paradventure for some also that have the lykenes of men, but not for them that be men in dede: who ought not with suche delicacies to womannishe their mindes, and brynge themselves in that sort to dread death.

Speake it not, answered the Count. For I shall enter into a large sea of the praise of Musicke, and call to rehearsal howe much it hath alwayes bene renowmed emong them of olde time, and counted a holy matter: and how it hath bene the opinion of most wise Philosophers 

Musick in estimation in olde time.

that the world is made of musick, and the heavens in their moving make a melody, and our soule framed after the very same sort, and therfore lifteth up it self and (as it were) reviveth the vertues and force of it with musick: wherfore it is written that Alexander was sometime so ferventely styrred with it, that (in a maner) against his wyll he was forced to arise from bankettes and runne to weapon, 

Alexander styrred with musicke. Xenofant. Musitien. Socrates beyng olde lerned upon the harpe. Why musick is good. Lycurgus. The Lacedemons. The Cretenses. Epaminondas. Themistocles the lesse estemed for not beyng a musitien. Chiron. Achilles a musitien.

afterward the mustien chaunging the stroke and his maner of tume, pacified himself againe and retourned from weapon to banketting. And I shall tell you that grave Socrates when he was well stricken in yeares learned to playe uppon the harpe. And I remember I have understoode that Plato and Aristotle will have a man that is well brought up, to be also a musitien: and declare with infinite reasons the force of musicke to be to very great purpose in us, and for many causes (that should be to long to rehearse) ought necessarilye to be learned from a mans childhoode, not onely for the superficial melodie that is hard, but to be sufficient to bring into us a newe habite that is good, and a custome enclyning to vertue, whiche maketh the minde more apt to the conceiving of felicitie, even as bodely exercise maketh the bodie more lustie, and not onely hurteth not civyl matters and warrelyke affaires, but is a great staie to them. Also Lycurgus in his sharpe lawes allowed musicke. And it is read that the Lacedemons, whiche were valiaunt in armes, and the Cretenses used harpes and other soft intstumentes: and many most excellent captaines of olde time (as Epaminondas) gave themselves to musicke: and suche as had not a syght in it (as Themistocles) were a great deale the lesse set by. Have you read that among the first instruccions which the good olde man Chiron taught Achilles in his tender age, whome he had brought up from his nurse and cradle, musick was one? And the wise maister would have those hands that should shed so muche Troyan bloude, to be oftentimes occupyed in playing upon the harpe? What souldyer is there (therefore) that will thinke it a shame to folow Achilles, omitting many other famous captaines that I could alledge? Do ye not then deprive our Coutyer of musicke, which doth not only make swete the mindes of men, but also many times wilde beastes tame: and whoso savoureth it not, a manne may assuredly thinke him not to be wel in his wittes. Beholde I pray you what force it hath, that in times paste allured a fishe to suffer a 

Wielde beasts delyte in musicke. Dolphines delyte in musicke. Musicke acceptable to God. Labourers. Countreywomen. Mariners. Pylgroms. Prisoners. Suckyng babes.

man to ride upon him throughe the tempestious sea. We maie see it used in the holy temples to render laude and thankes unto God, and it is a credible matter that it is acceptable unto him, and that he hath geven it unto us for a most swete lightning of our travailes and vexations. So that many times the boisterous labourers in the fieldes in the heate of the sunne beguyle theyr paine with rude and cartarlyke singing. With this the unmannerly countreywoman that aryseth befor e daye out of her slepe. to spinne and carde, defendeth her self and maketh her labour pleasant. Tis is the most swete pastime after reigne, wind, and tempest unto the miserable mariners. With this do the wery pilgromes comfort themselves in their troublesome and long viages. And often tymes prisoners in adversitie, in fetters, and in stockes. In lyke maner for a greater proofe that the tunablenes of musicke (though it be but rude) is a very great refrshing of al worldly paines and griefs, a man would judge that nature hath taughte it unto nurses for a speciall remedye to the contynuall waylinges of sucking babes, whiche at the soune of their voice fall into a quiete and swete sleep, forgetting the teares that are so proper to them, and geven us of nature in that age for a gesse of the reste of oure life to come.

Here the Count pausing a whyle the L. Julian saide: I am not of the L. Gaspars opinion, but I beleve for the reasons you alledge and for many other, that musicke is not onelye an ornament, but also necessarie for a Courtyer. But I woulde have you declare how this and the other qualities whiche you appoint him are to be practised, and at what time, and in what sort. Because many thinges that of them selves bee worthie praise, oftentimes in practisyng theym out of season seeme most foolish. And contrarywise, some thinges that appere to be of smal moment, in the wel applying them, are greatly esteemed.

Then saide the Count: Before we enter into this matter, I will talke of an other thing, whiche for that it is of importaunce (in my judgemente) I beleve our Courtyer ought in no wise to leave it out. And that is the cunning in drawyng, and the knowledge in the very arte of peincting. And wonder ye not if I wish this feat in him, whiche now a dayes perhappes is counted an handycraft and ful litle to become a gentleman, for I remember I have read that the men of olde time, and especially in all Greece would have 

Peincting. Gentlemens children learned to peinct. Peincting forbid to bondmen. Fabius Pictor. Temple of health.

Gentlemens children in the schooles to apply peincting, as a matter both honest and necessary. And this was received in the firste degree of liberal artes, afterwarde openly enacted not to be taught to servauntes and bondmen. Emong the Romanes in like maner it was in very great reputacion, and thereof sprong the surname of the most noble family of Fabii, for the first Fabius was named Pictor, because in ded he was a most excellent peinter, and so addicted to peincting, that after he had peincted the walles of the temple of Health, he writte therein hys name thinking with himselfe, that for all he was borne in so noble a familye whiche was honoured with so many titles of Consulshippes and triumphes and other dignities, and was learned and wel seene in the lawe, and reckened among Oratours, to geve also an encrease of brightnesse and an ornament unto his renowme, by leavyng behynde him a memorie that he had bene a peinter. There have not in lyke maner wanted many other of notable famylyes that have bene renowmed in this art, of the which (beside that in it selfe it is moste noble and worthye) there ensue manye 

Necessarye in warre.

commodities, and especially in warre to drawe oute countreys, plattefourmes, ryvers, brydges, castelles, houldes, fortresses, and suche other matters, the which thoughe a manne were hable to kepe in mynde (and that is a harde matter to doe) yet can he not shewe them to others. And in verye dede who so esteameth not this arte, is (to my seemyng) farre wyde from all reason: forsomuche as the engine of the worlde that we behoulde with a large sky, 

The world and peincting.

so bright with shining sterres, and in the middes, the earth environed with the Seas, severed in partes wyth Hylles, Dales, and Rivers, and so decked with suche diverse trees, beawtifull flowres and herbes, a man maye saye it to be a noble and a great peincting, drawen wyth the hande of nature and of God: the whych whoso can folow in myne opinion he is woorthye muche commendacion. Neyther can a man atteyne to thys wythout the knoweledge of manye thinges, as he well knoweth that trieth it. Therefore had they of olde time in verye great estimation both the art and the artificers, so that it came to the toppe of all excellencye. And of this maye a man gather a suffuciient argument at the auntient ymages 

Auntient ymages. Carving.

of marble and mettall, whyche at thys daye are to be seene. And though peincting be a diverse matter from carving, yet they do both arise out of one self fountayne (namelye) of a good patterne. And even as the ymages are divine and excellent, so it is to be thought peinctinges were also, and so much the more, for that they conteine in them a greater workemanshipp.

Then the L. Emilia tourning her unto Johnchristopher Romano that sat ther emong the rest: How thinke you (quoth she) to this judgement, will you graunt that peincting conteineth in it a greater workmanship, then carving?

Johnchristopher answered: in my minde carving is of more travaile, of more art, and of a more dignitye then peincting.

Then said the Count: Bicause ymages are more durable, perhappes a man may say they are of a more dignity. For sith they are made for a memory, they better satisfy the effect why thei be made, then peincting. But beside memory, both peincting and carving are made also to set out a thing, and in this point hath peincting a great deale the upper hande, the which though it be not so long lastyng (to terme it so) as carving is, yet doth it for al that endure a long tyme, and for the while it lasteth, is much more sightly.

Then aunswered Johnchristopher: I beleave verelye you thynke not as ye speake, and all this you do for your 

Raphael.

Raphaelles sake. And peradventure to, you judge the excellency you know to be in him in peincting to be of such perfection, that carvynge in marble cannot come to that degree. But weye with youre self, that this is the praise of the artificer and not of the art. Then he proceaded: And I judge also both the one and the other to be an artificiall folowing of nature. But yet I know not how you can say, that the trueth and property that nature maketh, cannot be folowed better in a figure of marble or mettall, wherin the members are all round, proporcioned and measured as nature her self shapeth them, then in a Table, where men perceyve nothing but the outwarde syght and those colours that deceive the eyes: and say not to me that being, is not nigher unto the trueth then seeming. Again, I judge 

Why carving is harder than peinctyng.

carving in marble much harder, bicause if ye make a fault it cannot be amended again, for marble cannot be joyned together, but ye must be drieven to make a newe image, the which happeneth not in peincting, for a man may alter, put to, and diminish, alwaies making it better.

The Count said laughing: I speak not for Raphelles sake, neither ought you to think me so ignoraunt a person, but I understand the excellency of 

Michelange.

Michelangelo, of you your selfe, and of other men in carvyng marble, but I speake of the art and not of the artificers. And you say wel, that both the one and the other is the folowing of nature. But for al that, it is not so, that peinting appeareth and carving is: for although images are all round like the lively patterne, and peinctyng is onely seene in the outward apparance, yet want there manye thinges in ymages, that want not in peinctinges, and especiallye lightes and shadowes, for fleshe geveth one light, and Marble an other, and that doth the Peincter naturally folow with cleare and darke, more and lesse, as he seeth occasion, which the graver in marble can not doe. And where the Peincter maketh not his figure round, he maketh the muscles and the members in round wise, so that they go to meete with the partes not seene, after such a maner, that a man may very well gather the peincter hath also a knowleage in them and understandeth them. 

Prospective.

And in this poynt he must have an other craft that is greater to frame those membres, that they may seeme short and diminishe accordinge to the proportion of the sight by way of prospective, which by force of measured lines, colours, lightes and shadowes discover unto you also in the outward sight of an upright wal the plainnesse and farnesse, more and lesse, as pleaseth him. 

Wherin the peincter passeth the carver.

Think you it agayn a triflyng matter to counterfeyt naturall coulours, flesh, clothe, and all other coloured thinges? This can not now the graver in marble do, ne yet express the grace of the sight that is in the black eyes or in azurre with the shininge of those amorous beames. He can not show the coulour of yellow hear, nor the glistring of armour, nor a darke nyght, nor a Sea tempest, nor those twincklinges and sperkeles, nor the burninge of a Citye, nor the rising of the mornyng in the coulour of roses with those beames of purple and gold. Finallye he can not show the skye, the sea, the earth, hilles, woddes, medowes, gardeines, rivers, Cityes, nor houses, which the peincter doeth all. For this respect (me thinke) peinctinting is more noble, and conteyneth in it a greater workemanshippe then graving in marble. And among them of olde tyme I beleve it was in as high estimation as other thinges, the which is also to be discerned by certayn litle remnantes that are to be sene yet, especially in places under ground in Roome, but much more evidentlye may a man gather it by olde wrytinges, wherein is so famous and so often mention both of the workes and workemen, that by them a man maye understande in what hig h reputation they have bene alwaies with Princes and Commune weales. Therefore it is read that 

Remnants of peinctinge in Roome. Alexander loved Appelles. Alexanders gift to Appelles.

Alexander loved highlye Appelles of Ephesus, and somuch, that after he had made him draw out a woman of his, naked, whom he loved most deerly, and understandinge that this good peincter, for her marveylous beauty, was most fervently in love with her, with out any more a do, he bestowed her upon him. Truely a woorthy liberalitye of Alexander, not to geve onelye treasures and states, but also his owne affections and desires, and a token of very great love towarde Apelles, not regarding (to please him with all) the displeasure of the woman that he highly loved, who it is to be thought was sore agreved to chaunge so great a king for a peincter. There be manye other signes rehersed also of Alexanders good will toward Apelles, but he shewed plainlye in what esti mation he had him, whan he commaunded by open proclamation no other peincter shoulde be so hardy to draw out his picture. Here could I repete unto you the contentions of manye noble peincters with the greatest commendation and marvaile (in a maner) in the world. I coulde tel you with what solemnitie the Emperours of old time decked out their tryumphes with peinctinges, and dedicated them up in haunted places and how deere it cost them. And that there wer some Peincters that gave their 

Onely Appelles drewe out his picture. Estimation of peincting. A table wherin Bacchus was peinted. Metrodorus.

woorkes freely, seeming unto them no golde nor silver was inough to value them. And how a table of Protogenes was of such estimation, that Demetrius lying encamped before Rhodes, where he might have entred the citie by setting fier to the place where he wiste this table was, for feare of burning it, staid to bid them battaile, and so he wan not the city at al. And how Metrodorus a Philosopher and a most excellent peincter was sent out of Athens to L. Paulus to bringe up his children and to deck out his triumph he had to make. And also manye noble writers have written of this art, which is a token great inough to declare in what estimation it hath bene. But I will not we procede any farther in this communication. Therfore it sufficeth onely to say that our Courtier ought also to have a knowledge in peincting, since it was honest and profitable, and much set by in those daies whan men were of a more prowesse then they are now. 

Profite of peincting.

And thoughe he never geat other profite or delite in it (beside that it is a helpe to him to judge of the ymages both olde and new, of vessels, buildings, old coines, cameses, gravings and such other matters) it maketh him also understand the beawtye of lively bodies, and not onely in the sweetenesse of the fisnamy, but in the proportion of all the rest, aswell in men as other living creatures. Se then how the knowleage in peinctinge is cause of verye great pleasure. 

Lovers ought to have a sight in it.

And this let them think that do enjoy and view the beauty of a woman so throughly that they think them selves in paradise, and yet have not the feate of peinctinge: the which if they had, they would conceive a farre greater contentation, for then should they more perfectly understand the beauty that in their brest engendreth such hartes ease.

Here the L. Cesar laughed and saide: I have not the art of peincting, and yet I know assuredly I have a far greater delyte in behoulding a woman in the world then Apelles himself that was so excellent whom ye named right now, could have if he wer now in lief again.

 

Affection or love.

The Count answered: This delite of yours proceadeth not wholy of the beawty, but of the affection which you perhappes beare unto the woman. And if you wil tell the troth, the first time you beheld that woman, ye felt not the thousandth part of the delite which ye did afterward, though her beauty wer the very same. Therfore ye may conceive how affection beareth a greater stroke in your delite then beauty.

I deny not that (quoth the L. Cesar): but as delite ariseth of affection, so doth affection arise of beauty, therfore a man may say for al that, that beauty is the cause of delite.

The Count aunswered: There may be other thinges also that beside beawty often times enflame our mindes, as maners, knowleage, speach, gestures and a thousand mo (which peradventure after a sort may be called beauty to) and above all the knowing a mans self to be beloved: so that without the beautys you reason of, a man may be most ferventlye in love, but those loves that arise onelye of the beauty which we dyscerne superficially in bodyes, without doubt will bring a farre greater delite to him that hath but a litle. 

Campaspes.

Therefore retourning to our pourpose, I beleve Appelles conceived a far greater joy in behoulding the beawty of Campaspes then did Alexander, for a man maye easilye beleeve that the love of them both proceaded of that beawtye, and perhaps also for this respect Alexander determined to bestowe her upon him, that (in his minde) could knowe her more perfectlye then he did. Have you not read of the five daughters of Croton, 

V. doughters of Croton. Zeusis.

which among the rest of the people, Zeusis the peincter chose to make of all five one figure that was most excellent in beawty, and wer renowmed of many Poets, as they that wer alowed for beawtifull of him that ought to have a most perfect judgment in beawty?

Here the L. Cesar, declaring him self not satisfied nor willing to consent by any meanes, that any man coulde tast of the delite that he felt in beholding the beawty of a certein woman, but he him self, began to speake: and then was there hard a great scraping of feet in the floore with a cherme of loud speaking, and upon that every man tourninge him selfe about, saw at the Chambre doore appeare a light of torches, and by and by after entred in the L. Generall with a greate and noble traine, 

L. Franciscomaria della Rovére.

who was then retourned from accompaninge the Pope a peece of the way. And at his first entrey into the Palaice demaundinge what the Dutches did, he was certefied what kind of pastime they had in hande that night, and howe the charg was committed to Count Lewis to entreat of courting. Therfore he hasted him as much as he could to come betime to heare somewhat. And assone as he had saluted the Dutchesse and setled the reste that were risen up at his comminge, he satte hym downe in the circle amonge them and certeine of the chiefe of his traine, amonge which were the marquesse Phebus of Ceva, and Ghirardin brethern, M. Hector of Roome, Vincent Calmeta, Horace Floridus and many other.

And whan al was whist, the L. General said: My Lordes, my comminge shoulde bee to hurtefull, if I should hindre such good communication as I gesse was even now emong you. Therfore do you me not this injurie to deprive both youre selves and me of this pleasure.

Then aunswered Count Lewis: I beleave (my Lorde) silence ought rather to please all parties then speakinge. For seinge it hath been my lot this night before all other to take this travaile in hande, it hath nowe weried me in speakinge and I werie all the rest in hearinge: because my talke hath not bene worthye of this companye, nor sufficient ynoughe for the waightinesse of the matter I have bene charged withall, wherin sins I have litle satisfied my self, I recken I have muche lesse satysfied others. Therfore (my Lorde) your lucke hath bene good to come at the latter end, and nowe shal it be wel done to geve the enterprise of that is behind to an other that may succede in my roume. For whosoever he be, I knowe well he will much better acquite him selfe then I should do if I went forwarde with it, beinge thus wery as I am.

This will I in no wise permit, aunswered the L. Julian, to be deceived of the promise ye have made me. And I knowe well the Lord Generall will not be against the understandinge of that point.

And what promise was that? quoth the Count.

The L. Julian answered: to declare unto us in what sort the Courtyer ought to use those good condicions and qualities which you say are meete for him.

The Lorde Generall, though he were but a child in yeares, yet was he wise and discreete more then a man would think belonged unto those tender yeares of his, and in every gesture he declared with a greatnesse of minde a certaine livelinesse of wit, which did sufficiently pronosticate the excellente degree of honoure, and vertue whereunto afterwarde he ascended. Wherfore he said incontinentlye: If all this be behinde yet to be spoken of (me thinke) I am come in good season. For understandinge in what sort the Courtier muste use his good condicions and qualities, I shall knowe also what they are, and thus shall I come to the knowleage of al that have bene spoken hitherto. Therfore sticke not (Count) to pay this debt, being alreadye discharged of one part therof.

I should not have so greate a debt to discharg, answered the Count, if the peynes were equally devided, but the faulte hath bene, in gevinge a Ladye authoritye to commaunde, that is to partial.

And so smiling he beheld the Lady Emilia, which said immediately: you ought not to complain of my partialyty, yet sins ye do it against reason, we wil give one part of this honor, which you call peynes, unto an other: and tourninge her unto Sir Friderick Fregoso, You (quoth she propounded this devise of the Coutier, therfore reason willeth ye should say somewhat in it: and that shalbe to fulfill the L. Julians request, in declaring what sort, maner and time the Courtier ought to practise his good condicio ns and qualityes, and those other thinges which the Count hath said are meete for him.

Then Sir Friderick: Madam (quoth he) where ye will sever the sort, the time and the maner of good condicions and qualityes and the well practisinge of the Courtyer, ye will sever that can not be sundred: for it is these thinges that make the condicions and qualityes good and the practising good. Therfore sins the Count hath spoken so much and so wel, and also said somwhat of these circumstances, and prepared for the rest in his mind that he had to say, were but reason he should go forward untill he came to the ende.

The Lady aunswered: Set the case you were the Count your self, and spake that your mind geveth you he would do, and so shall all be well. Then said Calmeta: My lordes, sins it is late, least Sir Friderick should find a scuse to utter that he knoweth, I beleve it were wel done to deferre the rest of the communication untill to morowe, and bestowe the small time that remayneth about some other pastyme without ambicion. The which being agreed upon of all handes, the Dutches willed the Lady Margaret and the Lady Constance Fregosa to shew them a daunce. Wherefore Barletta immediately, a very pleasaunt mustien and an excellent daunser, who continually kept al the Court in mirth and joy, began to play upon his instrumentes, and they hande in hande, shewed them a daunce or twoo with a verye good grace and greate pleasure to the lookers on: that doone, because it was farre in nighte, the Dutches arrose uppon her feete, and so every man taking his leave reverentlye of her, departed to his reste.

LIBRO II

Not often without marveile many a time and often have I considered wyth my self howe one errour should arise, the which bicause it is generally seene in olde men, a man may beleave it is proper and naturall unto them: and that is, how (in a maner) all of them commend the times 

An errour in age. The cause of the errour.

past, and blame the times present: dispraising our doinges and maners: and whatsoever they dyd not in their youthe: affirmynge moreover every good custome and good trade of lyving, every vertue, finally ech thing to declyne alwayes from yll to worse. And in good sooth it seemeth a matter very wide from reason and worthye to be noted, that rype age whiche with long practise is wont to make mennes judgementes more perfecte in other thynges, should in this behalf so corrupt them, that they should not discerne, yf the world wexed worse and worse, and the fathers were generally better than the children, we should long ere this tyme have ben come to that utmost degree of yll that can not wexe worse. And yet doe we see not onely in our dayes, but also in tymes past that this hath alwaies ben the peculiar vyce of that age. The which is to be manifestlye gathered by the writynges of manye most auntient aucthours, and especyally comedy writers, whiche expresse better then the rest, the trade of mannes lyfe. The cause therefore of this false opinion in old menne, I beleve (in mine opinion) is, for that, yeares wearing away, cary also with them many commodities, and emonge other take awaye from the bloud a greate part of the lyvely spirites that altereth the complection, and the instrumentes wexe feeble, wherby the soule worketh her effectes. Therfore the sweete flowers of delite vade away in that season out of oure heartes, as the leaves fall from the trees after harvest, and in steade of open and cleere thoughtes there entreth cloudy and troublous heavinesse accompanied with a thousand heart grieffes: so that not onely the bloude, but the mind is also feble, neither of the former pleasures receyveth it anye thynge elles but a fast memorye and the print of the beloved time of tender age, which whan we have upon us, the heaven, the earth, and ech thing to our seeming rejoiceth and laugheth alwayes about our eyes, and in thought (as in a savoury and pleasaunt gardein) florisheth the sweete spring time of mirth, so that peradventure it were not unprofitable, when now in the colde season, the Son of our lief (taking away from us oure delites) beginneth to draw towarde the Weste, to lose in like case therwithal the mindefulnesse of them, and to find out (as Themistocles sayth) an art to 

Tyme of youth. Senses of the body. The mind of olde age.

teach us to forget: for the sences of oure bodye are so deceyvable, that they beguile many times also the judgment of the mind. Therefore (me thinke) olde men be like unto them, that saylinge in a vessell out of a haven, behoulde the ground with their eyes, and the vessell to ther seeminge standeth styll and the shore goeth: and yet it is cleane contrarye for the haven, and likewise the time and pleasures continue still in their astate, and we with the vessell of moratalitye flying away, go one after an other through the tempestuous sea that swaloweth up and devoureth al thinges, neither is it graunted us at any time to come on shore again, but alwaies beaten with contrary windes, at the end we break our vessell at some rocke. Because therefore the minde of old age is without order subject to many pleasures, it can not taste them: and even as to them that be sycke of a feaver whan by corrupt vapours they have lost theyr taste, all wines appeare most bitter, though they be precious and delicate in dede: so unto olde men for there unaptenes (wherein notwithstanding desier fayleth them not) pleasures seeme without taste and colde, much differing from those they remember they have proved in foretyme, althoughe the pleasures in themselves be the selfe same. Therefore when they feele themselves voide of them, it is a griefe, and they blame the time present for yll, not perceyvinge that this chaunge proceadeth of themselves and not of the tyme. And contrarywyse whan they call to mind the pleasures past, they remember therwithall the time they had them in, and therfore commend it for good, because to their weening it carieth with it a savour of it, which they felt in them when it was presente, by reason that in effecte our mindes conceyve an hatred against all thynges that have accompanyed oure sorowes, and love such as have accompanied our pleasures. Upon this it commeth that unto a lover it is most acceptable sometime to behoulde a window though it be shutte, because otherwhiles it may be hys chaunce to see his maistresse there: in like maner to see a rynge, a letter, a gardein or anye place or what ever other thynge he supposeth hathe bene a wittinge testimoniall of his pleasures. And contrariwise, often times a faire trymmed and well decked chamber is abhorred of him that 

Thinges beloved that accumpanye pleasures. Old mens opinion of Courtes.

hath bene kept prysoner in it, or abidde therin any other sorow. and in my dayes I have knowen some that will will never drinke of a cup like unto that wherin in their sickenesse they had taken a medicin. For even as that windowe, ringe, or letter, doeth bring to the minde a sweete remembraunce unto the one that somuch pleaseth him, for that he imagineth it was a percell of his pleasures, so unto the other the chamber or cuppe seemeth to bringe with the memory his sicknes or imprisoninge againe. The verye same cause (I beleave) moveth old men to praise the times past and dsicommend the present. Therfore as they talke of other thynges, so do they also of Courtes, affirminge suche as have bene in their memory to be much more excellent and farre better furnished with notable men, then we see them to be that are now a dayes. And immediatly whan they entre into this kind of talke, they beginne to extol with infinyte praises the Courtes of Duke Philip, or of Duke Borso, and declare the sayinges of Nicholas Piccininus and reherse that in those tymes a man should very sildome have hearde of a murther committed, and no combattes, no craftes nor deceites: but a certaine faithful and loving good meaning emong all men and an upright dealing. And in Courtes at that time there reigned such good condicions and such honestie that the Courtyers were (in a maner) religious folke: and woe unto him that shoulde have spoken an yll word of an other, or made but a signe otherwyse then honestly to a woman. And on the other side, they say in these dayes every thing is cleane contrary, and not onely that brotherlye love and manerlye conversation loste emonge Courtiers, but also in Courtes there reigneth nothynge elles but envye and malyce, yll maners, and a most wanton lyfe in every kinde of vice: the women enticefull past shame, and the men womanishe. They disprayse also the apparaile to be dishonest and to softe. To be shorte, they speake against infinite thinges, emonge the whiche many in very dede deserve to be discommended, for it cannot be excused, but there are many yll and naughtie menne emonge us, and this oure age is muche more full of vices then was that whiche they commende. But (me thinke) they doe full yll skanne 

Envie. Women wanton. Men Womanish. Aparaile. Contraries. Socrates. Esopus

the cause of this difference, and they bee fonde persones, because they woulde have all goodnesse in the worlde withoute any yll, whiche is unpossible. For synce yll is contrarie to good, and good to yll, it is (in a maner) necessarie by contrarietye and a certayne counterpese the one shoulde underproppe and strengthen the other, and where the one wanteth or encreaseth, the other to want or encrease also: beecause no contrarye is wythoute hys other contrarye. Who knoweth not that there shoulde bee no Justyce in the worlde, were it not for wronges? no stoutenesse of courage, were there not feynthearted? no continency, were there not incontinencie? nor health, were there not sickenes? nor trueth, were there not lyes? nor happynesse were there not mischaunces? Therefore Socrates saieth well in Plato that he marveyleth that Esope made not an Apologus or fable, wherin he mighte have feigned that God, since he coulde never coople pleasure and sorowe together, might have knit them with an extremitie, so that the beginninge of the one shoulde have beene the ende of the other. For we see no pleasure can delite us at anye time if sorow goeth not beefore. Who can love rest well onlesse he have firste felte the griefe of weerinesse? Who savereth meate, drinke, and sleepe, if he have not firste felt hunger, thirste, and watchinge? I beleave therfore passions and dyseases are geven to menne of nature, not principallye to make them subject to them, for it wer not mete that she, whiche is the mother of all goodnesse, shoulde by her owne purposed advise give us so manye evilles, but since nature doth make healthe, pleasure and other goodnesse, consequentlye after these, were joyned diseases, sorowes and other evilles. Therefore since vertues were graunted to the worlde for a favoure and gifte of nature, by and by were vices by that lincked contrariety necessarily accompanied with them: so that the one encreasing or wanting, the other must in like maner encrease or want. Therefore when our olde men praise the Courtes of times past because there were not in them so vitious men, as some that are in oures, they doe not knowe that there were not also in them so vertuous men, as some that are in oures: the which is no wonder, for no yll is so evill, as that which arriseth of the corrupte seede of goodnesse. And therfore where nature now bringeth forth muche better 

One contrarie foloweth an other. Better wittes now then in foretime. Thinges neither good nor badd.

wyttes then she did tho, even as they that bee geven to goodnesse doe muche better then didde those of theyr tyme, so also they that be geven to yll doe muche woorse. Therefore it is not to bee saide, that suche as absteyned frome doinge ill because they knewe not howe to doe it, deserved in that case any praise: for although they dyd but a lyttle yll, yet dydde they the woorste they knewe. And that the wittes of those tymes were generaly much inferiour to these now a dayes, a man may judge by all that hath proceaded from them, letters, peynctynges, statues, buildinges and al other thinges. Again these olde men discommende many thynges in us, which of themselves are neyther good nor badde, onelye because they did them not: and say it is no good sight to see yonge men on horsebacke aboute the stretes and especially upon Mules, nor to wear furres, nor syde garmentes in winter, nor to weare a cappe before a man be a the least xviii. yeares of age, and such other matters, wherin truly they be much deceyved. For these facions (beside that they be commodious and profitable) are brought up by custome, and generallye men delite in them, as at that time they were contented to goe in their jacket, in their breechlesse hose and in their lowe shoes with lachettes, and (to appeere fine) carye all day longe a hauke upon their fiste, without pourpose, and daunce without touching a womans hand, and used many other facions, the which as they are nowe stale, so were they at that time muche set by. Therefore may it be lawfull for us also to followe the custome of our times, without controulment of these olde men, whiche going bout to praise themselves, say: Whan I was xx. yeares olde I laye wyth my mother and sisters, nor a great while after wiste I what women ment: and nowe children are not so soone crepte oute of the shell, but they knowe more naughtynesse, then they that were come to mans state did in those dayes: neither be they aware in so sayinge that they confirme our children to have more wit then their olde men. Let them leave therfore speakinge against our times, as full of vyces: for in takinge awaye them, they take also 

Facions setby in the olde tyme. The sayinge of olde men. Noble wittes in the Court of Urbin.

away the vertues. And let them remember that among the good men of auncient time, when as the glorious wittes florished in the world, which in very dede were of most perfection in every vertue, and more then manlye, there were also manye moste mischevous, which if they had still lived, shoulde have excelled oure yll men somuch in ill, as those good men in goodnes, and of this do all Histories make full mention. But unto these olde men I weene I have made a sufficient aunswer. Therfore we will leave aparte this discourse, perhappes to tedious, but not altogether out of pourpose: and beeing sufficient to have declared that the Courtes of oure time are worthy no lesse praise, then those that old men commend so much, we wil attende to our communication that was had about the Courtier, wherby a man may easely gather, in what degre the Court of Urbin was emonge the reste, and what maner a Prince and Lady they were that had suche noble wyttes attendyng upon them, and howe fortunate all they might call themselves that lyved in that familiar felowship. Whan the day folowinge therefore was come, there was great and sundrye Therfore almost the whole day was spent about talking in this, and assoone as night drue on, the L. Generall commaunded meate to be set on the borde, and toke all the Gentelmen with him, and immediatlye after supper he repayred to the Dutches side: who beehouldinge so great a companye assembled sooner then they had done at other times, saide: Me thinke, it is a great weight, Sir Friderick, that is layd upon your shoulders, and a greate expectacion that you must satisfy.

Here not tariynge for Sir Friderickes answere, And what greate weight (I beseche ye) is it? said then Unico Aretino. Who is so foolishe that whan he can do a thinge, will not do it in a fit and due time?

Reasoninge in this wise about the matter, every man satte him downe in his wonted place and maner with very heedful expectacion of the propounded talke.

Then Sir Fridericke tourninge him to Unico: Doe you not think then, M. Unico (quoth he) that I am laden this night with a great and peinful burden, since I must declare in what sort, maner and time, the Courtier hath to practise hys good condicions and qualities, and to use those other thinges that are alreadie saide to be mete for him?

Me thynke it is no great matter, answered Unico: and I beleve a good judgement in the Courtyer is sufficient for al this, which the Count saide well yesterday nighte that he oughte to have: and in case it be so, without any other preceptes, I suppose he may practyse welynough the thynge that hee knoweth in due time and after a good sorte. The whiche to bring more particularly into rule were to harde a matter, and perhappes more then nedeth, for I know not who is so fonde to go about his fence, whan the rest be in their musicke: or to goe about the streetes daunsing the Morisco, though he could doe it never so well: or goinge aboute to comfort a mother that had buried her childe, to beginne to talke with her of pleasant matters and mery conceites. I beleve surely no gentleman will do this, onlesse he wer cleane out of his wittes.

Me think (M. Unico) quoth Sir Friderick then, ye harpe to muche uppon your extremities. For it happeneth otherwhile a man is so fonde that he remembreth not himself so easilye, and oversightes are not all alike. And it may be that a man shall abstaine from a common foly which is to manifest, as that is you speak of, to go daunce the Morisco in the market place, and yet shal he not refraine from praising himself out of purpose, from using a noysome sawcinesse, from casting out otherwhile a worde thinking 

To observe time.

to make men laughe, whiche for that it is spoken out of time will appeare colde and without any grace, and these oversightes often times are covered with a certaine veile that suffereth a manne not to forget who doeth them, onlesse he take no heed to them: and although for many causes our sight descerneth but litle, yet for ambicions sake it is darkened in especyall, for every man willingly setteth forth himselfe in that he perswadeth himself he knoweth whether this perswasion of his bee true or false. Therefore the well behaving of a mannes selfe in this case (me think) consisteth in a certein sidedome and judgement of choise, and to knowe more and lesse what encreaseth or diminisheth in thinges, to practise them in due time or out of season. And for all the Courtyer be of so good a judgement that he can discerne those differences, yet shall he the sooner compasse that hee seketh, if his imagination be opened with soem rule, and the wayes shewed him, and (as it were) the places where he should ground himself upon, then yf he should take him self onely to the generaltie. Fosomuche as therefore the Count yesterday night entreated upon Courtyership so copiously and in so good a maner, he hath made me (truely) conceive no small feare and doubte that I shall not so throughly satisfie this noble audience in the matter that lieth upon me to discourse in, as he hath done in that was his charge. Yet to make my self partener in what I maye of his praise, and to be sure not to erre (at the least in thys part) I will not contrarie him an any point. Wherefor agreing to his opinions, and beside the reste, as touchynge noblenes of birthe, wit and disposition of person and grace of countenaunce, I say unto you that to gete hym prayse worthely and a good estimation with all men, and favour with suche great men as he shal attende upon, me thinke it behouffull he have the understanding to frame all hys life and to set foorth his good qualities generally in company with al men without purchasing himself envy. The whiche howe harde a matter it is of it selfe, a man maye consider by the sildomenesse of suche as are seen to attain to that point: because we are al the sort of us in very dede more enclined of nature to dispraise faultes, then to commende thinges well done. And a man would thinke that many by a certain rooted malice, although they manifestly descerne the goodnes, enforce themselves with al study and diligence to finde in us either a faulte or at the leaste 

To set forthe good qualities. Manye bent to finde faultes. Stoici. To set out one qualytie with another.

the likenes of a fault. Therefore it behoveth oure Courtyer in all his doinges to be charie and heedfull, and what so he saith or doeth to accompany it with wisedome, and not onely to set his delite to have in himself partes and excellent qualities, but also to order the tenour of his life after suche a trade, that the whole may be answerable unto these partes, and see the selfe same to bee alwayes and in every thing suche, that it disagree not from it selfe, but make one body of all these good qualities, so that everye deede of his may be compact and framed of al the vertues, as the Stoikes say the duetie of a wiseman is: although not withstanding alwaies one vertue is the principall, but all are so knit and linked one to an other, that they tende to one ende, and all may bee applyed and serve to every purpose. Therefore it behoveth he have the understandynge to set them forth, sometime to make the other the better knowen: as the good peincters with a shadow make the lightes of high places to appeere, and so with light make lowe the shadowes of plaines, and meddle divers coulours together, so that throughe that diversitie bothe the one and the other are more sightly to behoulde, and the placing of the figures contrarie the one to the other is a helpe to them to doe the feate that the peincters mynde is to bring to passe. So that lowlines is muche to be commended in a Gentleman that is of prowesse and well seene in armes: and as that fearcenesse seemeth the greater whan it is accompanied with sobermoode, even so dooeth sobermood encrease and shewe it selfe the more through fiercenesse. Therefore little speaking, muche dooing, and not praising a mannes owne selfe in commendable deedes, dissemblying them after an honeste sorte, dooeth encrease both the one vertue and the other in a person that can discreatly use this trade: and the like is to be said in all the other 

Lowlinesse. Generall rules. Avoid curiositye. Circumstances.

good qualities. Therefore will I have our Courtyer in that he doeth or saieth to use certaine general rules, the whiche (in my minde) containe briefly asmuch as belongeth to me to speake. And for the first and chief lette him avoid (as the Count saide wel in that behalf yester night) above all thinges curiositie. Afterwarde let him consider wel what the thing is he doth or speaketh, the place wher it is done, in presence of whom, in what time, the cause why he doeth it, his age, his profession, the ende whereto it tendeth, and the meanes that may bring him to it: and so let him apply himselfe discreatly with these advertisementes to whatsoever he mindeth to doe or speake.

After Syr Fridericke had thus saide, he seemed to staye a whyle.

Then said M. Morello of Ortona: Me thinke these your rules teache but litle. And I for my parte am as skilfull now as I was before you spake them, althoughe I remember I have harde them at other times also of friers with whom I have bene in confession, and I weene they terme them circumstances.

Then laughed Syr Fridericke and said: If you doe well beare in mynde, the Counte willed yesternighte that the chief profession of the Courtyer should bee in armes, and spake very largely in what sorte he shoulde do it, therefore will we make no more rehearsall thereof: yet by our rule it may be also understoode, that where the Courtyer is at a skirmishe, or assault, or battaile upon the land, or in such other places of enterprise, he ought to worke the matter wisely in seperating himself from the multitude, and take his notable and bould feates which he hath to do with as litle company as he can, and in the sighte of noble men that be of most estimation in the campe, and especially in the presence and (if it wer possible) beefore the very eyes of his king or greate parsonage he is in service withal: for in dede it is mete to set forth to the shew thinges well done. And I beleave even as it is an yll matter to seke a false renoume, and in the thing he deserveth no praise at all, so is it also an yll matter to defraude a mans self of his due estimation, and not to seke that praise, which alone is the true reward of vertuous enterprises. And I remember I have knowen of them in my time for all they wer of prowesse, yet in this point they have shewed themselves but grossheaded, and put their life in as great hasard to go take a flock of shiepe, as in being the formost to scale the walles of a batred towne, the which our Courtyer wil not doe if 

An example of the circumstances. Praise to be sought for. Grosheaded persons. The cause to venture life is estimacion. Open showes. Readie in his armour. A horse well trimmed. Wittye inventions. Not of the last to come furth.

he beare in minde the cause that bryngeth him to the warre, which ought to be onely his estimation. And if he happen moreover to be one to shewe feates of Chivalrie in open sightes at tilt, turney, or Joco di canne or in any other exercise of the person, remembryng the place where he is, and in the presence of whom, he shall provide before hand to be in his armour no lesse handsome and sightly then sure, and feede the eyes of the lookers on wyth all thinges that he shall thinke may geve him a good grace, and shall do his best to gete him a horse sett out with fair harneis and sightly trappinges, and to have proper devyses, apt poesies, and wittie inventions that maye drawe unto him the eyes of the lookers on, as the Adamant stone doth yron. He shall never be among the last that come furth into the listes to shewe themselves, considering the people, and especially women take muche more hede to the fyrste then to the last: because the eyes and mindes that at the begynning are greedy of that noveltye, note everye lyttle matter and printe it, afterward by continuance they are not onely full, but weery of it. Therefore was there a noble Stageplaier in olde tyme that for this respecte would alwaies be the first to come furth to playe his parte. In like maner also if our Courtier do but talke of armes, he shal have an eie to the profession of them he talketh withall and according to that frame himselfe, and use one maner of talke with men, and an other 

Q. Roscius comoedus.

with women: and in case he will touche any thing sounding to his own praise, he shall do it so dissemblinglye as it wer at a chaunce and by the way and with the discretion and warinesse that count Lewis shewed us yesterday. Do you not nowe thinke (M. Morello) that our rules can teache somewhat? Trowe you not that friende of ours I tould you of a fewe dayes agoe had cleane forgotten with whom he spake, and why? Whan to entertein a gentilwoman whom he never saw before, at his first entring in talke with her, he began to tell how many men he had slain and what a hardie felow he was, and how he could play at twohand-sworde and had never done untill he hadde taught her howe to defende certeine strokes with a Pollaxe being armed and how unarmed, and to shewe howe (in a mannes defence) to lay hande uppon a dagger, so that the poore gentilwoman stood upon thornes, and thought an houre a thousande yeare till she were got from him, for feare least he would go nigh to kil her as he had done those other. Into these errours runne they that have not an eye to the circumstances whiche you saye ye have heard of Friers. Therefore I say of the exercises of the body, some there are that (in maner) are never practised but in open shewe, as runninge at Tilt, Barriers, Joco do Canne, and all the reste that depende uppon Armes. Therefore whan oure Courtyer taketh any 

Well provided for open showes.

of these in hande, firste hee muste provide to bee so well in order for Horse, Harneys, and other fournitures beelongynge thereto, that he wante nothinge. And if he see not hym selfe throughelye fournyshed in all poyntes, lette him not meddle at all. For if he dooe not well, it can not bee scused that it is not his profession. After thys, he oughte to have a great consideration in presence of whom he sheweth himselfe, and who be his matches. For it were not meete that a Gentilman shoulde be present in person and a doer in such a matter in the countrey, where the lookers on and the doers were of a base sort.

Then saide the L. Gaspar Pallavicin: In our countrey of Lumbardy these matters are not passed uppon, for you shall see there yonge Gentilmen upon the holy dayes come daunce all the day long in the Sunne with them of the countrey, and passe the time with them in casting the barre, in wrastling, running and leaping. And I beleve it is not ill done. For no comparason is there made of noblenesse of birth, but of force and slight, in which thinges many times the men of the countrey are not a whit inferiour to Gentilmen, and it seemeth this familiar conversation conteineth in it a certein lovely freenesse.

This daunsing in the son, answered Syr Fridericke, can I in no case away withall: and I can not see what a man shall gain by it. But whoso wyll wrastle, runne and leape with men of the countrey, ought (in my judgement) to do it after a sorte: to prove himselfe and (as they are wonte to saye) for courtesie, not to trye maistry with them: and a man ought (in a maner) to be assured to get the upper hand, elles let him not meddle with al, for it is to ill a sight and to foule a matter and without estimation to see a Gentilman overcome by a Carter and especially in wrastling. 

How to practise feates with men of the countrey. Play at tenise. The fond toyes of some.

Therfore I beleve it is wel done to abstaine from it, at the leastwise in the presence of many, because if he overcome, his gaine is small, and his losse in being overcome very great. Also they play at tenise (in maner) alwaies in open sight, and this is one of the commune games which the multitude with their presence muche set furth. I will have oure Courtier therfore to do this and all the rest beside handlyng his weapon, as a matter that is not his profession: and not seeme to seeke or loke for any praise for it, nor be acknowen that he bestoweth much study or time about it, although he do it excellently well. Neither shall he be like unto some that have a delite in musicke, and in speaking with whom soever alwaies whan he maketh a pause in their talke, begine in a voice as though they would sing. Other walking in the stretes or in the churches, go alwayes daunsing. Other meetyng in the market place or whersoever anye friende, make a gesture as though they would play at fence, or wrastle, according as their delite is.

Here, said the L. Cesar Gonzaga, we have in Roomé a yong Cardinal that doeth better then so, whiche feeling him self lusty of person leadeth as manye as come to visit him (though he never sawe them before) into a gardein, and is very instant uppon them to strippe themselves into their dublet to leape with him.

Syr Fridericke laughed, afterwarde he proceaded on: There be some other exercises that may be done both openly and privately, as dauncyng: and in this I beleve the Courtier ought to have a respecte, for yf he daunseth in the presence of many and in a place ful of people, he must (in my mind) keepe a certain dignitie, tempred notwithstanding with a handsome and sightly sweetnesse of gestures, and for all he feeleth himself very nimble and to have time and measure at will, yet let him not enter into that swiftnesse of feete and doubled footinges, that we see are very comely in oure Barletta, and peradventure were unseemely for a Gentilman, 

Daunsing. Daunsinge privatlye. To be in maske. Maner of disguising.

although privately in a chamber together as we be nowe, I will not saye but he maye do both that, and also daunce the morsico and braulles, yet not openlye onlesse he were in a maske. And though it were so that all menne knewe him, it skilleth not, for there is no way to that, if a man will shewe himselfe in open sightes about such matters, whether it be in armes, or out of armes. Because to be in a maske bringeth with it a certaine libertie and lycence, that a man may emong other thinges take uppon him the fourme of that he hath best skill in, and use bente studye and preciseness about the principall drift of the matter wherin he will shewe himselfe, and a certaine Reckelesness aboute that is not of importaunce, whiche augmenteth the grace of the thinge, as it were to disguise a yonge man in an olde mannes attire, but so that his garmentes be not a hindraunce to him to shew his nimblenes of person. And a man at armes in fourm of a wield shepehearde, or some other suche kinde of disguisinge, but with an excellent horse and wel trimmed for the purpose. Because the minde of the lookers on runneth furthwith to imagine the thing that is offered unto the eyes at the first shew, and whan they behold afterward a farre greater matter to come of it then they looked for under that attire, it deliteth them and 

The prince in maske not to take the shap of a prince.

they take pleasure at it. Therefore it were not meete in such pastimes and open shewes, where they take up counterfaiting of false visages, a prince should take upon him to be like a prince in dede, because in so doing, the pleasure that the lookers on receyve at the noveltye of the matter should want a great deale, for it is no noveltie at all to any man for a prince to bee a prince. And whan it is perceyved that beside his beinge a prince, he wil also beare the shape of a prince, he loseth the libertie to do all those thinges that are out of the dignity of a prince. And in case there should any contencion happen especially with weapon in these pastimes, he might easily make men beleave that he keepeth the persone of a prince because he will not be beaten but spared of the rest: beside that, doing in sport the very same he should do in good earnest whan neede required, it woulde take away his authoritye in deede and would appeere in lyke case to be play also. But in this point the prince stripping himself of the person of a prince, and minglinge himselfe equallye with his underlinges (yet in suche wise that he maye bee knowen) with refusynge superioritye, lette him chalenge a greater superioritie, namelye, to passe other men, not in authoritie, but in vertue, and declare that his prowes is not encresed by his being a prince. Therefore 

In some exercises flee the multitude. People have sone their fill. Some set out them selves unadvisedly.

I saye that the Courtier ought in these open sightes of armes to have the self same respect according to his degree. But in vauting, wrastling, running and leaping, I am well pleased he flee the multitude of people, or at least be sene very sildome times. For there is nothing so excellent in the world, that the ignorant people have not their fil of, and smallye regard in often beholding it. The like judgement I have in musike: but I would not our Courtier should do as many do, that assone as they come to any place, and also in the presence of great men with whom they have no acquaintance at al, without much entreating sett out themselves to shew asmuch as they know, yea and many times that thei know not, so that a man would weene they cam purposely to shew themselves for that, and that it is their principall profession. Therfore let our Courtier come to shewe his musike as a thing to passe the time withall, and as he wer enforced to doe it, and not in the presence of noble menne, nor of any great multitude. And for all he be skilfull and doeth wel understand it, yet wil I have him to dissemble the study and peines that a man must needes take in all thinges that are well done. And let him make semblante that he estemeth but litle in 

How to shew musike. Pricke song.

himself that qualitie, but in doing it excellently wel make it muche estemed of other menne.

Then saide the L. Gaspar Pallavicin: There are manye sortes of musike aswell in the brest, as upon instrumentes, therfore would I gladly learne whiche is the best, and at what time the Courtyer ought to practise it.

Me thinke, answered Sir Friderick, pricksong is a faire musicke, so it bee done upon the booke surely and after a good sorte. But to sing to the lute is muche better, because al the sweetenesse consisteth in one alone, and a manne is muche more heedefull and understandeth better the feate maner and the aer or veyne of it, whan the eares are not busyed in hearynge any moe then one voyce: and beesyde everye lyttle erroure is soone perceyved, whiche happeneth not in syngynge wyth companye, for one beareth oute an other. But syngynge to the Lute wyth the dyttie (me thynke) is more pleasaunte then the reste, for it addeth to the wordes suche a grace and strength, that it is a great wonder. Also all instrumentes with freates are ful of harmony, because the tunes of them are very perfect, and 

To synge to the lute. Singinge with dittie. Instrumentes with freates. A sette of violes. A mannes brest. Shalmes. Dulcimers. Harpe.

with ease a manne may do many thinges upon them that fil the minde with the sweetnesse of musike. And the musike of a sette of Violes doth no lesse delite a man, for it is verie sweete and artificiall. A mannes breste geveth a great ornament and grace to all these instrumentes, in the which I wil have it sufficient that our Courtyer have an understanding. Yet the more counninger he is uppon them, the better it is for him, without medlynge muche with the instrumentes that Minerva and Alcibiades refused, because it seemeth they are noisome. Nowe as touchyng the time and season whan these sortes of musike are to be practised: I beleave at all times whan a man is in familiar and loving company, having nothing elles a doe. But especiallye they are meete to bee practised in the presence of women, because those sightes sweeten the mindes of the hearers, and make them the more apte to bee perced with the pleasantnesse of musike, and also they quicken the spirites of the verye doers. I am well pleased (as I have saide) they flee the multitude, and especially of the unnoble. But the seasoning of the whole must bee discreation, because in effect it 

Time to practise musike. Discreation. Olde men. How olde men should practise musike.

wer a matter unpossible to imagine all cases that fall. And if the Courtyer be a righteous judge of himselfe, he shall apply himselfe well inough to the tyme, and shall discerne whan the hearers mindes are disposed to geve eare and whan they are not. He shall knowe his age, for (to saie the trueth) it were no meete matter, but an yll sight to see a man of eny estimation being olde, horeheaded and toothlesse, full of wrinckles, with a lute in his armes playing upon it and singing in the middes of a company of women, although he coulde doe it reanablye well. And that, because suche songes conteine in them woordes of love, and in olde men love is a thing to bee jested at: although otherwhile he seemeth emonge other miracles of his to take delite in spite of yeres to set a fier frosen herts.

Then answered the L. Julian: Doe you not barr poore olde men from this pleasure (Syr Fridericke), for in my time I have known men of yeeres have very perfect brestes and most nimble fingers for instrumentes, much more then some yong men.

I go not about, quoth Syr Fridericke, to barr olde men from this pleasure, but I wil barr you these Ladies from laughing at that folie. And in case olde men will sing to the lute, let them doe it secretly, and onely to ridde their mindes of those troublesome cares and grevous disquietinges that oure life is full of: and to taste of that excellency which I beleve Pythagoras and Socrates favoured in musike. And set case they exercise it not at all: for that thei have gotten a certain habit and custome of it, they shal savour it muche better in hearing, then he that hath no knowledge in it. For like as the armes of a smith that is weake in other thinges, because they are more exercised, be stronger then an other bodyes, that is sturdy, but not exercysed to worke with his armes: even so the eares that be exercised in musike do muche better and sooner descerne it, and with much more pleasure judge of it, then other, how good and quicke soever they be that have not bene practised in the varietie of pleasant musike: because those musical tunes perce not, but withoute leaving anye taste of themselves passe by the eares not accustomed to heare them although the very wilde beastes feele some delite in melodye. This is therfore the pleasure meete for olde men to take in musike. The self same I say of daunsing, for in dede these excercises oughte to bee lefte of before age constraineth us to leave them whether we will or no.

It is better then, aunswered here M. Morello, halfe chafed, to excepte all olde men and to saie that only yong men are to be called Courtiers.

 

Olde men that will seme yonge against nature. The nature of olde men. The nature of yong men.

Then laughed Syr Fridericke and said: Note (M.Morello) whether suche as delite in these matters, yf they bee not yonge men, do not study to appere yonge, and therfore dye their hear and make their beard grow twise a weeke, and this proceadeth upon that nature saith to them in secrete, that these matters are not comely but for yong men.

All the Ladies laughed, because thei knew these wordes touched M. Morello, and he seemed somwhat out of pacience at the matter.

Yet are there other enterteinments with women, saide immediatly Syr Fridericke, meete for olde men.

And what be these, quoth M. Morello, to tell fables?

And that to, answered Syr Fridericke. But every age (as you know) carieth with him his thoughtes, and hath some peculiar vertue and some peculier vice. And old men for al they are ordinarily wiser then yong men, more continent, and of a better foresight, yet are they withall more lavish in wordes, more greedie, harder to please, more fearfull, alwayes chafyng in the house, sharpe to their children, and will have every man wedded to their will. And contrarywise, yonge men are hardy, easie to be entreated, but more apt to brawling and chiding, waveringe and unstedfast, that love and unlove all at a time: geven to all their delites, and ennemies to them that tell them of their profit. But of all the other ages, mans state is moste temperate, whiche hath 

Mans state moste temperate. The behaviour of olde men.

nowe done with the curst prankes of youth, and not yet growen to aunciety. These then that be placed (as it were) in the extremities, it is behouffull for them to knowe howe to correct the vices with reason, that nature hath bredde in them. Therefore oughte olde men to take heede of muche praising themselves, and of the other vices, that we have said are proper to them, and suffre the wisdome and knowledge to beare stroke in them that they have gotten by long experience, and be (as it were) Oracles, to the whiche everye man should haunt for cousaile, and have a grace in utteringe that they knowe, applying it aptlye to the purpose, accompanying with the grace of yeeres a certaines temperate and meery pleasauntnesse. In this wyse shall they be good Courtiers, and be well entertayned wyth menne and women, and everye man will at all tymes be glad of their companye, without syngynge or daunsynge: and whan neede requireth they shall showe their prowesse in matters of weighte. The verye same respecte and judgemente shall yonge men have, not in keepyng the facion of olde menne (for what is meete for the one, were not in all poynctes so fitte for the other, and it is a commune sayinge, To muche gravytee in yonge menne is an yll signe, but in correctynge the natural vices in them. Therfore delite I 

The behaviour of yonge menne. Sagenesse. Noble corrage in brute beastes.

in a yonge manne, and especiallye a man at armes, if he have a certayne sagenesse in him and few woordes, and somewhat demure, wythoute those busye gestures and unquyete manners whyche we see so manye tymes in that age: for they seeme to have a certayne gyfte above other yonge menne. Beesyde that, thys mylde beehavyour conteyneth in it a kynde of syghtelye fiersenesse, because it appeereth to bee sturred, not of wrathe but of judgement, and rather governed by reason then appetyte: and thys (in manner) alwayes is knowen in al menne of stomacke, and we see it lykewyse in brute beastes, that have a certayne noble courage and stoutnesse above the reste: as the Lion and the Egle, neither is it voide of reason, forsomuche as that violente and sodeyne mocyon withoute woordes or other token of coler whyche wyth all force bursteth oute together at once (as it were the shott of a gunn) from quietnesse, whyche is contrary to it, is muche more violente and furious, then that whiche encreaseth by degrees and wexeth hott by little and little. Therefore suche as goynge aboute some enterpryse, are so full of woordes, that they leape and skip and can not stande styll, it appeereth they be ravyshed in those matters, and (as oure M. Peter Mount sayeth well) they doe like children, that goinge in the nighte singe for feare, as though that synginge of theirs shoulde make them plucke up their spirites to be the boulder. Even as therfore in a yonge man a quiet and ripe youthe is to be commended, because it appeareth that lightnesse (whiche is the peculiar vice of that age) is tempred and corrected: even so in an olde man a grene and lively olde age is much to be esteamed, because it appeareth that the force of the minde 

Lightnesse. Behaviour in dailye conversation. So many men so many mindes.

is so much, that it heateth and geveth a certein strength to that feeble and colde age, and mainteineth it in that middle state, which is the better part of our life. But in conclusion al these good qualities shal not suffise oure Courtyer to purchase him the general favour of great men, Gentlemen and Ladies, yf he have not also a gentle and lovynge behaviour in his daily conversation. And of this I beleve verely it is a hrd matter to geve anye maner rule, for the infinit and sundry matters that happen in practising one with an other: forsomuch as emong al the men in the world, there are not two to be found that in every point agree in mind together. Therfore he that must be pliable to be conversant with so many, oughte to guide himselfe with hys own judgement. And knowing the difference of one man and an other, every day alter facion and maner accordyng to the disposition of them he is conversant withall. And for my part I am not able in this behalf to geve him other rules then the aforesaid, whiche oure M. Morello learned of a child in confessing him self.

Here the L. Emilia laughed and said: You would rid your handes of peines taking (Syr Fridericke) but you shall not escape so, for it is youre parte to minister talke untill it be bed time.

And what if I have nothing to saye (madam)? Howe then? aunswered Sir Fridericke.

The L. Emilia said: We shall nowe trie your wit. And if al be true I have heard, there have bene men so wittie and eloquent, that thei have not wanted matter to make a booke in the praise of a flie, other in the praise of a quartaine fever, an other in the praise of bauldnes, doth not your hert serve you to finde oute omwhat to saie for one nyghte of Courting?

We have already, answered Syr Fridericke, spoken asmuch as wil go nigh to make two bokes. But since no excuse shal serve me, I wil speak until you shal think I have fulfilled though not my duety, yet my poure. I suppose the conversation which the Courtier ought chiefly to be pliable unto with al diligence to get him favour, is the very same that he shal have with his prince. And although this name of conversation bringeth with it a certain equalitie that a man would not judge can reigne betweene the maister and the servaunt, yet will we so terme it for this once. I will have our Courtyer therfore (beside that he hath and doeth daily geve men to understande that he is of the 

Conversation with his prince. To please his prince. Flatterers.

prowesse which we have said ought to be in him) to turne al his thoughtes and force of minde to love, and (as it were) to reverence the Prince he serveth above al other thinges, and in his wil, maners and facions, to be altogether pliable to please him.

Here without anye lenger staye, Peter of Naples saide: Of these, Courtyers noweadayes ye shall finde ynow, for (me thinke) in fewe wordes ye have peincted us out a joly flatterer.

You are farre deceived, answered Sir Fridericke, for flatteres love not their Lordes nor their frindes, the whiche I saie unto you I will have principally in our Courtyer: and to please him and to obey hys commaundementes whom he serveth, may be done without flattery, for I meane the commaundementes that are reasonble and honest, or suche as of themselves are neyther good nor bad, as is gaming and pastime, and geving himself more to some one exercise then to an other. And to this will I have the Courtyer to frame himselfe, though by nature he were not enclined to it: so that whansoever his lorde looketh upon him, he may thinke in his minde that he hath to talke with him of a matter that he will be glad to heare. The which shal come to passe if there bee a good judgement in him to understand what pleaseth his prince and a wit and wisedom to know how to applie it, and a bent wil to make him pleased with the thing which perhappes by nature should displease him. And havinge these principles, he shal never be sad before his prince nor melancholy, nor so solein as many, that a man would weene wer at debate with their Lordes, whiche is truly an hateful matter. He shall not be yll tunged, and especiallye againste his superiours, whiche happeneth often times: for it appeereth that there is a storme in courtes that carieth this condicion with it, that alwaies 

His behaviour in his princes presence. Not yl tunged. The most made of worst reporters. Not saucye. No pratler of newes. Not stubborne. No babbler. No lyar. No boaster. No flatterer. The behaviour of some fonde persons toward great men.

looke who receyveth most benifittes at his Lordes handes, and promoted from very base degree to high astate, he is evermore complaynynge and reporteth woorst of hym: which is an uncomly thing, not onely for suche as these be, but even for such as be yll handled in deede. Oure Courtier shall use no fonde sausinesse. He shall be no carier about of trifling newes. He shall not be overseene in speakinge otherwhile woordes that may offende, where his entent was to please. He shall not be stubborne and full of contencion, as some busy bodyes that a man would weene had none other delite but to vexe and stirr men like flyes, and take uppon them to contrarie every man spitefullye without respect. He shall be no babbler, not geven to lyghtenesse, no lyar, no boaster, nor fonde flatterer, but sober, and keapinge hym alwayes within his boundes, use continually, and especially abrode, the reverence and respecte that beecommeth the servaunte towarde the mayster. And shall not do, as many that meetinge a Prince how great soever he be, yf they have once spoken with him beefore, come towarde him with a certaine smilynge and frindly countenaunce, as though they would make of one their equall, or showe favour to an inferiour of theirs. Very sildome or (in maner) never shall he crave any thinge of his Lorde for himselfe, least the lorde having respect to denie it him for him selfe, should happen to graunte it him with dyspleasure, which is farr worse. Againe in suinge for others, he shall discreatly observe the times, and in his suite shall be for honest and reasonable matters, and he shall so frame hys suite, in leavinge oute those poinctes that he shall knowe wil trouble him, and in making easie after a comely sort the lettes, that his Lord wil evermore graunt it him: and though he denie it, he shall not think to have offended him whom he ment not to doe, for, because greate menne often times after thei have denied request to one that hath suid to them with great instance, thinke the person that laboured to them so earnestly for it, was very greedy of it, and therefore in not obtaining it, hath cause to beare him yll will that denied him it, and upon this suspicion thei conceive an hatred 

Why he shall not sue for him selfe. His sute for others. The imaginacyon of princes. He shall not presse into secret places. Greate men should make of their chamber men of no greate estimation.

against that person, and can never afterwarde brooke him nor aforde him good countenance. He shall not covet to presse into the chamber or other secrete places where his Lord is withdrawen, onlesse he be bed, for all he be of great authoritie with him: because great men often times whan thei are privatly gotten alone, love a certain libertie to speake and do what thei please, and therefore will not be seene or herd of any person that may lightly deeme of them, and reason willeth no lesse. Therefore suche as speake against great menne for making of their chamber persons of no great qualitie in other thinges but in knowing how to attende about their person (me thinke) commit an errour: because I can not see why they should not have the libertie to refresh their mindes, whiche we oure selves would have to refreshe ours. But in case the Courtyer that is inured with weightie affaires, happen to bee afterwarde secretely in chamber with him, he oughte to chaunge his coate and to differr grave matters till an other time and place, and frame himselfe to pleasante communicacion, and suche as his lorde will bee willing to geve eare unto, least he hinder that good moode of his. But herein and in al other thinges, let him have an especial regard, that he be not cumbrous to him. And let him rather looke to have favour and promotion offred him, then crave it so openly in the face of the worlde, as manye dooe, that are so greedy of it, that a man would weene the not obtaynynge it, greeveth them as muche as the losse of lyfe: and yf they chaunce to enter into anye displeasure, or elles see other in favoure, they are in suche anguishe of mynde, that thei can by no meanes dissemble the malice, and so make al men laugh them to scorne: and many times thei are the cause that great men favour some one, only to spite them withal. And afterward if thei happen to enter in favour that passeth a meane, they are so dronken in it, that thei know not what to do for joy: and a man would wene that thei wist not what wer become of their feete and handes, and (in a maner) are ready to cal company to behoulde them and to rejoice with them, as a matter they have not bene accustomed withal. Of this sort 

Not to sue for promotions. The griefe of some for anger. The wye of some in a meane authoritye. Behaviour in receivynge promotion. Promotions not begged.

I wil not have our Courtyer to be. I would have him esteame favour and promotion, but for al that, not to love it so much, that a man should thinke he could not live without it. And whan he hath it, let him not shew himself new or straunge in it: nor wonder at it whan it is offred him: nor refuse it in such sort as some, that for very ignorance receive it not, and so make men beleve that thei acknowledge themselve unworthy of it. Yet ought a man alwaies to humble himself somewhat under his degree, and not receive favour and promocions so easilye as thei be offred him, but refuse them modestlye, shewing he much estemeth them and after such a sort, that he may geve him an occasion that offreth them, to offer them with a great deale more instance: because the more resistance a man maketh in such maner to receive them, the more doeth he seeme to the prince that geveth them to be estemed, and that the benefite whiche he bestoweth is so muche the more, as he that receiveth it seemeth to make of it, thinking himself much honoured therby. And these are the true and perfect promotions that make men esteamed of such as se them abrode: because whan they are not craved, everye man conjectureth they arrise of true vertue, and so muche the more as they are accompanied with modestie.

Then said the L. Cesar Gonzaga: Me thinke ye have this clause oute of the Gosspell where it is written: Whan thou art bed to a mariage, go and sit thee downe in the lowest rowme, that whan he commeth that bed thee, he may saie, Friende come higher, and so shal it be an honour for thee in the sight of the gestes.

Syr Fridericke laughed and said: It were to great a sacrilege to steale out of the Gospell. But you are better learned in scripture than I was aware of: then he proceaded. See into what daunger they fal sometime, that 

The rashnes of some. To deserve favour. Not to counterfait other mens doings. Some ready in their jestes.

rashly before a great manne entre into talke unrequired: and manye times that Lorde to skorne them withall, maketh no aunswere and tourneth his head to the other hand: and in case he doeth make aunswewe, every man perceyveth it is done full skornfullye. Therfore to purchase favour at great mens handes, there is no better waye then to deserve it. Neyther must a manne hope when he seeth an other in favour with a Prince, for whatsoever matter, in folowinge his steppes to come to the same, because every thing is not fitt for every man. And ye shal finde otherwhile some one that by nature is so readie in his meeye jestes, that what ever he speaketh bringeth laughter with it, and a man would weene that he were borne onlye for that: and if another that hath a grave facion in him, of howe good a witt so ever he be, attempt the like, it will be very colde and without any grace, so that he will make a man abhorre to heare him, and in effect will be like the asse, that to counterfeyt the dogg would play with his maister. Therefore it is meete eche man knowe himselfe and his own disposicion, and applye himself thereto, and consider what thynges are mete for him to folow, and what are not.

Before ye go anye farther, saide here M. Vincent Calmeta, if I have well marked, me thaught ye said right now, that the best way to purchase favour, is to deserve it: and the Courtier oughte rather to tarie till promotions bee offered him, then presumpciously to crave them. I feare me least this rule bee litle to purpose, and me thinke experience doeth us very manifestly to understande the contrarye: because noweadayes very fewe are in favoure with Princes but such as be malapert. And I wote well you can be a good witnesse of some, that perceivyng themselves in smal credite with their Princis, are come up only with presumption. As for such as come to promtion with modestie, I for my parte know none, and if I geve you respite to bethink your self, I beleve ye wil find out but fewe. And if you marke the French Court, which at this day is one of the nobleste in al Christendome, ye shal find that al such as are generally in favour there, have in them a certein malapertnesse, and that not onely one with an other, but with the king himselfe.

Do you not so say, answered Syr Fridericke, for in Fraunce there are very modest and courtious gentlemen. Truth it is, that they use a certein libertie and familaritie 

The Frenche gentlemen without ceremonies. Spaniardes. Many Spaniardes be sawcye.

without ceremonies, which is proper and natural unto them, and therefore it ought not to be termed malapertnesse. For in that maner of theirs, although they laugh and jeste at suche as be malapert, yet do they sett muche by them that seeme to them to have any prowesse or modesty in them.

Calmeta answered: Marke the Spaniardes that seme the very maisters of Courtly facions, and consider how many ye find that with women and great men are not moste malapert, and so muche woorse then the Frenchemen, in that at the fyrste showe they declare a certein modesty. And no doubt but they be wise in so doing, because (as I have said) the great men of our time do al favour suche as are of these condicions.

Then answered Syr Friderick: I can not abide (M. Vincent) that ye should defame in this wise the great men of our time, because there be many notwithstanding that love modesty: the which I do not say of it self is sufficient to make a man estemed, but I saie unto you, whan it is accompanied with great prowesse it maketh him muche esteamed that hath it. And though of it self it lye styll, the woorthye deedes speake at large, and are much more to be wondred at, then if they were accompanied with presumption or rashnes. I will not nowe denie but many Spaniardes there be full of malapertnesse: but I saie unto you, they that are best esteamed, for the moste part are very modest. Agayne some other there be also so cold, that they flee the companye of menne to out of measure, and 

What modestie ought to be.

passe a certein degree of meane: so that they make men deeme them either to fearfull or to high minded. And this doe I in no case allowe, neyther would I have modestie so drye and withered, that it shoulde become rudenesse. But let the Courtier, whan it commeth to pourpose, be well spoken, and in discourses uppon states, wise and expert: and have such a judgement that he maye frame himselfe to the manners of the countrey where ever he commeth. Then in lower matters, let him bee pleasauntly disposed, and reason well uppon everye matter, but in especiall tende alwayes to goodnesse. no envious person, no caryar of an yll tunge in his head: nor at anye tyme geven to seeke prefarmente or promotion anye naughtie waye, not by the meane of anye subtyll practise.

Then saide Calmeta: I wyll assure you all the other waies are much more doubtfull and harder to compasse, then is that you discommende: because now a dayes (to rehearse it againe) great menne love none but such as be of that condicion.

Do you not so say, answered then Syr Fridericke, for that were to plaine an argumente that the greate menne of our time were all vitious and naughte, whiche is untrue, for some there be that bee good. But if it fell to oure Courtyers lott to serve one that wer vitious and wycked, assoone as he 

What he must do in service with the wicked.

knoweth it, let him forsake hym, least he taste of the bytter peine that all good menne feele that serve the wicked.

We must praie unto God, answered Calmeta, to helpe us to good, for whan wee are once with them, wee muste take them with all theyr faultes, for infinite respectes constraine a Gentleman after he is once entred into service with a Lorde, not to forsake him. But the yll lucke is in the begynnyng: and Courtyers in this case are not unlyke unluckye foules bread up in an yl vale.

Me thinke, quoth Syr Fridericke, duetye oughte to vayle beefore all other respectes, but yet so a gentleman forsake not his Lorde at the warre or in anye other adversitie, and bee thought to doe it to follwe Fortune, or because he wanted a meane to profitte by, at al other times I beleve he maye with good reason, and oughte to forsake that service, that among good men shall put hym to shame, for all men will imagine that he that serveth the good, is is good, and he that serveth the yll, is yll.

I woulde have you to clere me of one doubt that I have in my head, quoth the the L. Lodovicus Pius, namely, whether a gentleman be bound or no, while he is in his Princis service, to obey him in all thinges which he shal commaund, though they were dishonest and shamefull matters.

In dishoneste matters we are not bounde to obey any body, aunswered Syr Fridericke.

And what (replyed the L. Lodovicus Pius) if I be in service with a Prince who handleth me well, and hopeth that I will do any thing for him that may be done, and he happen to commaunde me to kyll a man, or any other like matter, ought I to refuse to do it?

 

Whan a man may forsake his maister. Howe and in what princis are to be obeied. Thinges otherwhile seeme good that be yll.

You ought, answered Syr Fridericke, to obey your Lorde in all thinges that tend to his profitt and honour, not in suche matters that tende to his losse and shame. Therefore yf he shoulde commaunde you to conspire treason, ye are not onely not bounde to doe it, but ye are bounde not to doe it, bothe for your owne sake and for being a minister of the shame of your Lorde. Truth it is, many thinges seeme at the first sight good, which are il: and many ill, that not withstanding are good. Therefore it is lawfull for a man sometyme in his Lordes service to kill not one manne alone, but tenne thousande, and to do many other thinges, which if a man waye them not as he ought, will appeare yll, and yet are not so in deede.

Then aunswered the L. Gaspar Pallavicin: I beseche you let us heare you speake somwhat in this case, and teach us how we maie descerne thinges good in dede, from suche as appeeare good.

I pray you pardon me, quoth Syr Fridericke, I will not at this time enter into that: for there were to muche to be saide in it: but all is to be referred to your discretion.

Clere ye me at the least of another doubt, replied the L. Gaspar.

And what doubt is that? quoth Syr Fridericke.

This aunswered the L. Gaspar: I would know where I am charged by my maister in expresse wordes in an interprise or businesse what ever it be, what I have to do therein: if I, at the deede doynge thinkynge wyth my selfe in doynge it more or lesse, or otherwise then my commission, to bringe it more prosperouslye to passe and more for his profit that gave me that commission, whether ought I to govern my selfe accordinge to the first charge withoute passinge the boundes of the commission, or elles do the thinge that I judge to be best?

 

Whether a man maie folow a part of his owne mind in a commission. T. Manlius Torq. caused his sonne to be slaine for fighting contrary to commaundement. Commaundementes of the superioure poures are to be obeyed.

Then answered Sir Fridericke: In this pointe I woulde geve you the judgemente with the example of Manlius Torquatus, whiche in that case for overmuch affeccion slue his sonne, if I thought hym woorthy great praise, which (to saie the troth) I doe not: although againe I dare not discommende him, contrarye to the opinion of so manye hundreth yeeres. For oute of doubte, it is a daungerous matter to swarve from the commaundementes of a manes superiours, trusting more in his owne judgement then in theirs, whom of reason he ought to obey: because if his imagination faile him and the matter take yll successe, he renneth into the errour of disobedience, and marreth that he hath to doe, without any maner excuse or hope of pardon. Againe in case the matter come well to passe accordinge to his desier, he muste thanke his fortune, and no more a doe. Yet in this sorte a custome is brought up to set litle by the commaundementes of the superiour poures. And by his example that bryngeth the matter to good passe, which paraventure is a wise man and hath discoursed with reason and also ayded by fortune, afterwarde a thousand other ignoraunt persons and light headed will take a stomake to aventure in matters of moste importaunce to doe after their owne waye, and to appere wise and of authoritie, wil swarve from the commission of their heades, whiche is a very yll matter, and often times the cause of infinite errours. But I beleave in this point, the person whom the matter toucheth ought to skanne it depely, and (as it were) put in a balaunce the goodnesse and commoditie that is like to ensue unto him in doing contrarie to that he is charged, admytting his purpose succeede according to his hope: and counterpese on the other side the hurt and discommoditie that arriseth, if in doing otherwise then he is commaunded, the matter chaunce to have yll successe: and knowing that the hurt may be greater and of more importance, if it succeede yll, then the profitt, if it happen well, he ought to refrain, and in every point to observe his 

What he that receiveth a charge ought to do. The nature of the L. to be considered. The crueltye of Mutianus.

commission. And contrarywise, if the profitt be like to bee of more importaunce, if it succeede well, then the hurte, if it happen amisse, I beleve he may with good reason take in hand to do the thing that reason and judgement shall sette before him, and leave somewhat a side the very fourme of the commission, after the example of good marchaunt men, that to gaine much, adventure a litle, and not much, to gaine a litle. I allowe well that he have a regarde to the nature of the Lorde he serveth, and according to that, frame hymselfe. For in case he be rigorous (as many suche there are) I woulde never counsell him, if he were my friende, to varye in any parcell from the appointed order least it happen unto him, as a maister Inginner of Athens was served, unto whom P. Crassus Mutianus being in Asia and going aboute to batter a towne, sent to demaunde of him one of the two shipmastes that he had sene in Athens to make a Ramm to beate down the walles, and sayde he woulde have the greater. Thys Inginner, as he that was verye counnynge in deede, knewe the greater woulde not verye well serve for thys pourpose, and because the lesser was more easy to bee caried, and also fytter to make that ordinaunce, he sent that to Mutianus. After he had understoode how the matter passed, he sente for the poore Inginner and asked hym why he obeyed hym not, and not admyttinge anye reason he coulde alleage for hymselfe, made hym to be strypped naked, beaten and whipped with roddes, so that he died, seemyng to hym in steede of obeying him, he would have counsailed him: therefore with suche rigorous men, a man muste looke well to his doynges. But lette us leave a parte nowe this practyse of the superiours, and come downe to the conversation that a manne hath with his equalles or somewhat inferiours, for unto them also must a manne frame hymselfe, because it is more universallye frequented, and a manne findeth himselfe oftner emonge them, then emong his superiours. Although ther be some fonde persons that beeing in companye with the greatest friende they have in the worlde, if they meete wyth one better apparailed, by and by they cleave unto him: and yf an other come in place better then he, they doe the like unto him. And againe, whan the Prince passeth throughe 

Conversacion with a mannes equalles. Some felowship them selves alwayes with the best apparailed. Men that will seeme to be in favour. Of raiment and apparail.

the market place, through churches, or other haunted places, they make all men geve them rowme with their elbowes tyll they come to thier heeles, and thoughe they have nothing to saie to him, yet wyll they talke with him and keape him with a long tale, laugh, clappe the handes, and nod the head, to seeme to have weightie businesse, that the people maye see they are in favoure. But because these kynde of menne vouchesafe not to speake but with great menne, I wyll not we should vouchsafe to speake of them.

Then the L. Julian: Since ye have (quoth he) made mention of these that are so ready to felowshippe themselves with the wel apparailed, I would have you to shew us in what sorte the Courtier shoulde apparayle hymself, what kind of garment doeth beste become hym, and howe he shoulde fitte himselfe in all his garmentes aboute his bodye: beecause we see infinite varietie in it, and some are arayed after the Frenche facion, some after the Spanyshe attier, an other wyll seeme a Dutcheman. Neyther wante wee of them also that wil cloth themselves lyke Turkes: some weare beardes, other dooe not. Therefore it were a good deede in this varietie, to shewe howe a manne shoulde chouse oute the beste.

Syr Fridericke saide: In verye deede I am not able to geve anye certeyne rule about rayment, but that a man should frame himselfe to the custome of the moste. And since (as you saye) this custome is so variable, and Italians are so desirous to take up other mennes facions, I beleave every manne maye lawfullye apparaile himselfe at his pleasure. But I knowe not by what destinye it commeth that Italy hathe not, as it was wonte to have, a facion of attier knowen to bee the Italian facion, for although the bringing up of these new facions maketh the first to appeere very grosse, yet were they peraventure a token of libertie, where these have bene a pronosticate of bondage, the which (me thinke) now is plainly ynough fulfilled. And as it is written, when Darius the yere before he fought with Alexander had altered his swerd he wore by his side, which was a Persian blade, into the facion of Macedony, it was interpreted by the Sothsayers, how this signified, that they into whose facion Darius had altered the fourme of his Persian blade should become rulers of Persia: even so where we have 

Caldæi. Italy a prey to all nations. Frenchemen use long wastes. Dutchmen short. Grave apparaile. Blacke colour. Colours upon armour. Solemnitie of Spaniardes.

altered our Italian facions into straunge, me thinke, it signified, that all they into whose facions oures wer chaunged, should come in to overrunne us: the whiche hathe been to true, for there is not nowe a nation lefte that hath not made us their prey, so that there remaineth little behinde to prey upon, and yet for all that cease they not to prey still. But I wyll not enter into communication of sorowe: therefor it shalbe wel to speake of the raiment of our Courtyer, the whiche so it be not out of use, nor contrary to his profession, in the rest (I thinke) it will do welynough, so the wearer be satisfied withall. Truth it is, that I woulde love it the better yf it were not extreme in anye part, as the Frenchman is wont to bee sometyme over longe, and the Dutchmanne overshorte, but as they are bothe the one and the other amended and broughte into better frame by the Italians. Moreover I will houlde alwayes with it, yf it bee rather somewhat grave and auncient, then garishe. Therefore me thinke a blacke colour hath a better grace in garmentes then any other, and though not throughly blacke, yet somwhat darke, and this I meane for his ordinary apparaile. For there is no doubt, but upon armour it is more meete to have sightly and meery coulours, and also garmentes for pleasure, cut, pompous and riche. Likewise in open showes about triumphes, games, maskeries, and suche other matters, because so appointed there is in them a certein livelinesse and mirth, which in deede doeth well sette furth feates of armes and pastimes. But in the rest I coulde wishe they should declare the solemnitie that the Spanyshe nation muche observeth, for outwarde matters manye times are a token of the inwarde.

Then saide the L. Cesar Gonzage: I woulde not sticke muche at this, for so a gentleman be of woorthinesse in other matters, his garmentes neyther encrease nor minishe reputation.

Syr Friderick answered: Ye saie true. Yet whiche of us is there, that seeing a gentleman go with a garment upon his backe quartred with sundry coulours, or with so many points tyed together, and al about with lases and fringes set overthwart, will not count him a very disard or a commune jestar?

Neither disard, quoth M. Peter Bembo, nor jestar woulde a man count him, that had lived any while in Lumbardy, for there they all go so.

Why then, answered the Dutchesse smylyng, if they go all so, it ought not to bee objected to them for a vice, this kinde of attier being as comely and proper to them, as it is to the Venetians to weare their longe wyde sleeves, and to the Florentines, their hoodes.

I speake no more of Lumbardy, quoth Syr Fridericke, then of other places, for in every nation ye shall finde bothe foolishe and wyse. But to speake that I thinke is most requisite as touching apparaile, I will have the Courtier in all his garmentes handsome and clenlye, and take a certain 

Delites of men.

delite in modest Precisenesse, but not for all that after a womanish or lyghte maner, neither more in one point, then in an other, as we see many so curious about their hear, that they forget all the rest. Other delite to have their teeth faire. Other in their beard. Other in buskines. Other in cappes. Other in coyffes. And so it commeth to passe, that those fewe thinges whiche they have clenly in them, appeere borowed ware, and all the rest, whiche is most fonde, is knowne to be their owne. But this trade wil I have our Courtier to flee by my counsel, with an addition also, that he ought to determine with himselfe what he will appeere to be, and in suche sorte as he desireth to bee esteamed so to apparaile himselfe, and make his garmentes helpe him to be counted suche a one, even of them that heare hym not speake, nor see him doe anye maner thyng.

I thinke it not meete, quoth then the L. Pallavicin, neyther is it used emong honest menne to judge mennes conditions by their garmentes, and not by their woordes and deedes, for many a manne might be deceived: and this proverb arriseth not without cause: The habit maketh not the Monke.

I say not, answered Syr Friderick, that menne shoulde geve a resolute judgement by this alone, of mennes conditions, and that they are not knowen by wordes and deedes, more then by the garmentes. But I saie that the garment 

The garment judgeth the mynde. Operations. Gozzuti, men in the mountaines with great bottles of flesh under their chin, through the drinking of snow water.

is withall no small argument of the fansie of him that weareth it, although otherwhile it appeere not true. And not this alone, but all the behaviours, gestures, and maners, beeside wordes and deedes, are a judgement of the inclination of him in whome they are seene.

And what thynges be those, aunswered the L. Gaspar, that you fynde we maye geve judgement upon, that are neyther woordes nor deedes.

Then said Syr Friderick: You are to subtill a Logicien, but to tell you as I meane, some Operations there are that remayne after they are done, as buylding, writynge, and suche other: some remayn not, as these that I meane now. Therefore doe I not counte in this pourpose, goynge, laughyng, lookyng, and suche matters to bee Operations, and notwithstandyng outwardly doe geve many times a knowledge of that is within. Tell me, dyd you not geve your judgemente upon that friende of oures we communed of this morning paste, to bee a foolishe and light person, assoone as you sawe he wried his head and bowed his bodye, and invited with a cheerful countenaunce the companye to put of their cappes to him? So in like maner whan you see one gase earnestely with his eyes abashed, lyke one that had lytle witt: or that laugheth so fondly as do those dombe menne, with the great wennes in theyr throte, that dwell in the Mountaines of Bergamo, thoughe he neyther speake ne doe anye thinge elles, will you not counte him a verye foole? Ye may see then that these beehaviours, maners and gestures, whiche I mynde not for this time to terme Operations, are a great matter to make menne knowne. But me thynke there is an other thyng that geveth and dimynisheth muche reputation: namely, the choyse of friendes, with whom a manne must have inwarde conversation. 

Choise of friendes.

For, undoubtedly reason wylleth that suche as are coopled in streicte amitie and unseparable companye, should be also alike in wyll, in mynde, in judgemente, and inclination. So that who so is conversaunt wyth the ignoraunt or wycked, he is also counted ignoraunt and wucked. And contrariwise he that is conversaunt with the good, wyse, and dyscreete, he is reckened suche a one. For it seemeth by nature, that everye thing doeth willingly felowshippe with his lyke. Therefore I beleave that a man oughte to have a respect in the first beeginning of these frendshippes, for of two neere friendes, who ever knoweth the one, by and by he ymagineth the other to bee of the same condition.

Then aunswered M. Peter Bembo: To bee bounde in frenshyppe with suche agreemente of mynde as you speake of, me thynke in deede a manne ought to have great respect, not onely forgetting or leesing reputation, but because nowe adaies ye finde very fewe true friendes. Neyther doe I beleave that there any more in the world, those Pylades and Orestes, Theseus and Perithous, nor Scipio and La&elig;lius, but rather it happeneth dailye, I wote not by what destinye, that two friendes whiche many yeeres have lyved together with most hartie love, yet at the ende beguile one an other, in one maner or other, either for malice, or envye, or for lightnesse, or some other yll cause: and eche one imputeth the faulte to his felow, of that whiche perhappes both the one and the other deserveth. Therfore because it hath happened to me more then once to bee deceived of hym whom I loved beste, and of whom I hoped I was beloved above anye other person, I have thought with my selfe alone other while to bee well done, never to put a mannes trust in any person in the worlde, nor to geve himselfe so for a prey to friend how deere and loving so ever he wer, that without stoppe a manne shoulde make him partaker of all his thoughtes, as he woulde his owne selfe: because there are in our mindes so many dennes and corners, that it is unpossible for the witt of manne to knowe the disymulations that lye lurking in them. I beleave therefore that it is well done to love and awaie with one more then another, according to the desertes and honesty: but not for all that so to assure a mannes selfe, with this sweete bait of frendship, that afterwarde it shoulde be to late for us to repente.

Then Syr Fridericke: Truely (quoth he) the losse shoulde bee much more then the gain, if that high degree of frindshippe shoulde bee taken from the felowshippe of 

Frendshippe necessarye for the lyfe of man. Frendshippe of two together.

manne, whiche (in mine opinion) ministreth unto us all the goodnes conteined in our life: and therefore wyll I in no case consente to you, that it is reasonable, but rather I can finde in my heart to conclude, and that with moste evident reasons, that without this perfect friendship, men were much more unluckie, then all other livyng creatures. And albeit some wicked and prophane taste of this holye name of friendship, yet is it not for all that to be so rooted oute of mennes mindes, and for the trespasse of the yll, to deprive the good of so great a felicitie. And I beleave verely for my parte, there is here emong us moe then one couple of friends, whose love is indissoluble and without any guile at all, and to endure untill death, with agreement of will, no lesse then those menne of olde time, whom you mentioned right nowe. And so is it alwaies, whan beside the inclination that commeth from above, a man chouseth him a friende lyke unto himselfe in conditions. And I meane the whole to consist emong the good and vertuous menne, because the friendship of the wicked, is no friendshippe. I allowe well that this knott, which is so streicte, knitt or binde no mo then two, elles were it in a hasarde: for (as you knowe) three instrumentes of musike are hardlier brought to agree together then two. I woulde have our Courtier therefore to finde him oute an especiall and hartie friende, if it were possible, of that sort we have spoken of. Then according to their desertes and honesty, love, honour, and observe all other menne, and alwaies do hys beste to felowshippe himselfe with menne of estimation that are noble and knowen to bee good, more then with the unnoble and of small reputation, so he be also beloved and honoured of them. And this shall come to passe if he be gentle, lowely, freeharted, easie to be spoken to, and sweete in company, humble and diligent to serve, and to have an eye to 

A mans duetie towarde his friend.

his friendes profitt and estimation, as wel absente as present, bearing with their naturall defaultes that are to be borne withall, without breaking with them upon a small grounde, and correcting in himselfe such as lovingly shall bee toulde him, never prefarring himselfe before other menne in seeking the highest and chiefe rowmes of estimation, neither in doing as some that a manne would weene despised the worlde, and with a noysome sharpnes will tell every manne his duetie, and beside that they are full of contention in avery trifling matter, and out of tyme, they comptroule whatsoever they doe not themselves, and alwaies seeke cause to complaine of their friendes, which is a most hatefull thing.

Here whan Sir Friderick had made a stay, the L. Gaspar Pallavicin saide, I would have you to expresse somewhat more particularlye this conversation with friendes, then you doe, for in deede ye keepe your self to muche in the generall, and touch unto us thinges (as it were) by the waie.

How by the waye? aunswered Sir Fridericke. Woulde you have me to tell you also the verye woordes that a manne muste use? Suppose you not then we have sufficientlye communed of this?

I thynke yea, aunswered the L. Gaspar. Yet doe I desier to understand also some particular point of the maner of enterteinment emong menne and women, whiche (me thynke) is a verye necessary matter, consideryng the moste parte of a mans tyme is spent therein in Courtes, and if it were alwayes after one maner wyse, a manne would soone wexe weerye of it.

Me thynke, aunswered Syr Fridericke, we have geven the Courtier a knowledge in so many thynges, that he maye well varye his conversation and frame hymselfe accordynge to the inclination of them he accompanyeth hymself withall, presupposyng him to be a a good judgemente, and therewithall to guyde hymself. And according to the time otherwhile, have an eye to grave matters, and sometyme to pastimes and games.

And what games? quoth the L. Gaspar.

Syr Friderick aunswered: Lette us aske counsel of Frier Seraphin that daily inventeth newe.

 

Dice and Cardes. The play at Chestes.

But in good earneste, replied the L. Gaspar, doe you not thynke it a vice in the Courtier to plaie at Dice and Cardes?

I thynke it none, quoth Syr Fridericke, onlesse a man apply it tomuch, and by reason of that, setteth aside other thynges more necessary, or elles for none other entent but to get money, and to beguile his felow, and in his losse, fume and take on so, that it might be thought a token of covetounesse.

The L. Gaspar answered: And what say you to the game at chestes?

It is truely an honest kynde of enterteynmente and wittie, quoth Syr Friderick. But me think it hath a fault, whiche is, that a man may be to couning at it, for who ever will be excellent in the playe of chestes, I beleave he must beestowe much tyme about it, and applie it with so much study, that a man may assoone learne some noble scyence, or compase any other matter of importaunce, and yet in the ende in beestowing all that laboure, he knoweth no more but a game. Therfore in this I beleave there happeneth a very rare thing, namely, that the meane is more commendable, then the excellency.

The L. Gaspar answered: There be many Spaniardes excellent at it, and in many other games, whiche for all that bestowe not muche studye upon it, nor yet lay aside the compassing of other matters.

 

The meane knowledge is best in the play at Chestes. Spaniardes dissemble their study in the play at Chestes.

Beleave not the contrarye aunswered Syr Fridericke, but they beestowe muche studye upon it, although feiningly. As for those other games ye speake of beeside chestes, paraventure they are like many which I have seen that serve to small pourpose, but onely to make the commune people wonder. Therfore (in mine opinion) thei deserve none other praise or reward, then the great Alexander gave unto him, that standing a farr of, did so well broch Chiche peason upon a nedle. But because fortune, as in manye other thinges, so in the opinion of men seemeth to beare a great stroke, it is somtime seen that a gentleman, how well conditioned ever he be, and endowed with many qualities, shall be litle set by of a great man, and (as thei say) groweth not in favour with him, and without any cause why, that a man may discearn. Therefore whan he commeth into his presence without any acquaintance before hande, with the reste about him, though he be wittie and ready in his answeres, and showeth himself handsomly wel in his beehaviours, in his conditions and wordes, and in what ever belongeth unto him, yet wil that Lord sett light by him, 

Some woorthy in deede, smally regarded of great men.

and rather geve hym an yll countenance, then esteame him: and of this wil arrise that the rest immediatly will frame tenselves to their lordes mind, and it shall seeme unto every man that he is litle worth, neyther will any manne regarde hym, or make of him, or laugh at his pleasante sayinges, or set any thing by hym, but will beeginne all to serve him sluttish pranckes, and make him a Cousin, neyther shall good aunsweres suffyce the poore soule, nor yet the takynge of thynges as spoken in jeste, for even the verye Pages wyll bee at hym, so that were he the fairest condicioned man in the world, he can not couse but bee thus baited and jested at. And contrariwise, if a Prince bee inclined to one 

Ignoraunt men otherwhile in favour..

that is moste ignoraunt, that can neither do nor saie any thing, his maners and beehaviours (be they never so fonde and foolish) are many tymes commended with acclamation and wonder of all menne, and it seemeth that all the Courte behouldeth and observeth him, and everye manne laugheth at his boording and certein cartarlike jestes, that shoulde rather move a manne to vomite, then to laughe: so addicted and stiffe menne bee in the opinions that arrise of the favoures and disfavoures of great men. Therefore wil I have our Courtier the best he can (beside his worthinesse) to help himself with witt and art, and whan ever he hath to goe where he is straunge and not knowen, let him procure there goe first a good opinion of him, beefore he come in person, and so woork, that they maie understand there, howe he is in other places with Lordes, Ladyes, and gentlemen in good estimation: because that fame, which seemeth to arrise of the judgementes of many, engendreth a certeine assured confidence of a mans worthinesse, which afterwarde finding mennes mindes so settled and prepared, is easily with deedes mainteined and encreased, beeside that a man is eased of the trouble that I feele, whan I am asked the question, who I am and what is my name.

I can not see what this can helpe, aunswered M. Bernard Bibiena, for it hath sundry times happened unto me, and I beleve to many moe, after I had grounded in my mynde by reporte of manye menne of judgemente a matter to bee of great perfection beefore I had seene it, whan I had once seen it, it feinted muche, and I was muche deceived in mine imagination, and this proceaded of nothyng elles, 

Good opinion. Report deceiveth. The report of thinges that the eye is judge of, may deceyve.

but of geving to muche credit to fame and reporte, and of conceivinge in my minde so greate an opinion, that measuring it afterwarde with the trueth, the effecte, thoughe it were greate and excellente, yet in comparison of that I had imagined of it, seemed very sclender unto me. Even so (I feare me) maye also come to passe of the Courtyer. Therefore I can not see howe it were well done to geve these expectations, to sende that fame of a man beefore: because oure mindes manye times facion and shape thinges, whiche is unpossible afterwarde to aunswere to and fulfill, and so doeth a man lose more then he gayneth by it.

Here Sir Friderick saide: Thinges that unto you and many moe are lesse in effect than the fame is of them, are for the most part of that sort, that the eye at the first sight maie geve a judgemente of them. As if you have never been at Naples or at Roome, whan you here men commune of it, you imagine muche more of it, then perhappes you find afterwarde in sight. But in the conditions of menne it is not alike, because that you see outwardly is the least part. Therefore in case the first daie you heare a gentlemanne talke, ye perceive not the worthinesse in him that you had beefore imagined, you doe not so soone lose the good opinion of him, as you doe in the thinges wherein your eye is by and by a judge. But you will looke from day to day, to have him disclose some other hid vertue, kepinge notwithstanding alwaies that stedfaste imprinting whiche you have, risen by the woordes of so manye. And this man then beeing (as I set case our Courtyer is) of so good qualities, he will every houre strengthen you more and more, to geve credence to that fame, for that with his doinges he shall geve you a cause, and you will ever surmise somwhat more to bee in him, then you see. And certeinly it can not bee 

Thinges in the judgement of the minde. The first conceiving of a thing in ones minde. An example what reporte can doe.

denied, but these first imprintinges, have a very great force, and a man ought to take muche heede to them. And that you may understand of what weight they bee, I saie unto you, that I have knowen in my dayes a gentleman, who albeit he was of sufficient manerly beehaviour and modest conditions and well seene in armes, yet was he not in any of these qualities so ecsellente, but there were manie as good and better. Notwithstandynge (as lucke served him) it beefell that a gentlewoman entred most fervently in love with him, and this love daily encreasing through declaration that the yonge man made to agree with her in that beehalf, and perceivinge no maner meane how they might come to speake together, the gentlewoman provoked with to greate passyon opened her desire to an other gentlewoman, by whose meane she hoped upon some commodity, this woman neyther in blood nor in beautie was a whitt inferiour to the firste. Uppon this it came to passe that she, perceivynge her talke so effectuallye of this yonge manne, whom she never sawe, and knowinge howe that gentlewoman, whom she wist well was most discreete and of a very good judgement, loved him extreemelye, imagyned furthwith that he was the fairest, the wisest, the discreetest, and finallie the woorthiest manne to be beloved that was in the world: and so without seeinge him fell so deepe in love with hym, that she practised what she coulde to come by him, not for her friend, but for her owne selfe, and to make him answerable to her in love, the which she brought to passe without anye greate a doe, for (to say the troth) she was a woman rather to be sought upon then to seeke upon others. Nowe heare a pretye chaunce. It happened no longe time after, that a letter which this last gentlewoman writt unto her lover came to the handes of another, that was a noble woman of excellent qualities and singular beawtye, who beeinge (as the most part of women are) inquisitive and greedie to understande secretes and expecyallye of other women, opened the letter, and in readinge it perceyved it was written with an extreeme affection of love. And the sweete woordes full of fire that the reade, firste moved her to take comapassyon on that Gentlewoman (for she knew verie well from whom the letter came and to whom it went) afterward they had suche force, that skanning them in her minde, and consideringe what maner a man this was like to be, that could bring that woman into suche love, by and by she fell in love wyth him, and that letter was more effectuall to woorke in thys case, then peradventure it would have bene if it had bene sent her from the yonge man himselfe. And as it chaunceth sometime, poyson prepared in a dishe of meate for some great man, killeth him that tasteth first of it, so thys poore gentlewoman because she was to greedye, dranke of the amourous poyson that was ordeyned for an other. What shall I saye to you? The matter was verie open and spred so abrode, that manie women beeside these, partlye in despite of the other, and partly to do as the other did, bent all their studie and diligence to enjoye his love, and for a season played as children do at Chipchirie: and the wholl proceaded of the first opinion which that woman conceyved that heard him so prayed of an other.

Nowe the L. Gaspar Pallavicin answered here smilinge: You to confirme your judgement with reason, alleage unto 

Womens dedes out of reason.

me womens doinges, which for the most part are voide of al reason. And in case you would tell all, this good felowe thus favoured of so manie women was some doult, and a man in deede not to be regarded, because the maner of them is alwayes to cleave to the woorst, and like sheepe to do that they see the first do, bee it well or yll: beeside that they be so spiteful emong themselves, that if he had bene a monstrous creature they would surelye have stolen him one from an other.

Here manie began and (in maner) all, to speake againste the L. Gaspar, but the Dutchesse made them all to houlde their peace. Afterward she said smilinge: If the yll which you speake of women were not so farr wide from the truth, that in speakinge it, it hurtheth and shameth rather the speaker than them, I would suffer you to be answered. But I will not have you, in speaking agaynste you wyth a number of reasons, forsake thys youre ill custome, because you may be sharplie punished for this offence of yours: which shall be with the ill opinion that all thei wil conceive of you that heare you talke in this wise.

Then aunswered Syr Fridericke: Saye not, my L. Gaspar, that women are so voide of reason, though somtime they applie themselves to love, more through the judgemente of others then their owne, for great men and many wyse men doe often times the like. And it it be lawfull to tell the troth, you your selfe and all we here ave many tymes, and doe at this presente credit the opinion of others, more then our owne. And that it is true, not long agoe there were certein verses showed here, that bore the name of Sanazarus, and were thought of every bodie very excellent, 

What opinion doeth.

and praised out of reason, afterwarde whan they wer certeinly knowen to bee an other mannes doyng, they loste by and by their reputation, and seemed worse then meane. And where there was song in the Dutchesse presence, here a certein Antheme, it never delited nor was reckened good, until it was knowen to be the doing of Josquin de Pris. But what token will you have more plainer of opinion? Doe you not remember where you your selfe dranke of one self wine, sometime ye said it was most perfect, and an other time, without al taste? and that because you had been perswaded they were two sortes, the one of the Coost of Genua, and the other of this soile: and whan the errour was opened, by no meanes you woulde beleave it: that false opinion was grounded so stifly in your head, whiche arrose notwithstanding of other mennes woordes. Therefore ought the Courtier diligently to applie in the beeginning to geve a good imprinting of himself, and consider what a harmefull and deadly thing it is, to runne in the contrarie. And in this daunger more then other menne doe they stande that wil make profession to be pleasaunt and with this their meerie facion purchase them a certeine libertie, that lawfully they may saye and doe what commeth in their minde, without thinking upon it. For suche men many times enter into certein matters, which whan thei can not gete out again, will afterwarde helpe them selves with raising laughter, and it is done with so yll a grace that it will in no wise frame, whereby they bring a very great lothsomenesse upon as manie as see or heare them, and they remain very colde and without any grace or countenance. Sometime thinking thereby to bee subtill witted and ful of jestes, in 

Men that counterfeit to be pleasant. Filthy talke. Good felowes. Ruffianlye pranckes.

the presence of honourable women, yea, and often times to them themselves, they thrust out filthie and most dishonest woordes: and the more they see them blush at it, the better Courtiers they recken themselves, and styll they laugh at it, and rejoyce emong themselves at thys goodlie vertue they thinke thei have gotten them. But they practise this beastlinesse for none other cause, but to bee counted good felowes. This is the name alone whiche they deeme woorthie praise, and whiche they bragg more of, then of anye thing elles, and to gete it them, thei speak the foulest and shamefullest villainies in the world. Many times they shoulder one another downe the stayers, and hurle billettes and brickes, one at an others head. They hurle handfulles of dust in mens eyes. Thei cast horse and man into ditches, or downe on the side of some hill. Then at table, potage, sauce, gelies, and what ever commeth to hande, into the face it goith. And afterwarde laughe: and whoso can doe most of these trickes, he counteth himselfe the best and galantest Courtyer, and supposeth that he hath wonne great glorye. And in case otherwhile they gete a gentleman in these their pleasaunt pastimes, that will not geve himselfe to suche horseplay, they say by and by: He is to wise, we shall have him a Counsellor, he is no good felowe. But I will tell you a worse matter. Some there bee that contende and laye wager, who can eate and drinke more unsaverye and stincking thinges, and so abhorryng and contrary to mans senses, that it is not possible to name them, without very great lothsomenesse.

And what thinges be those? quoth the L. Lodovicus Pius.

Syr Friderick aunswered: Let the Marquesse Phebus tell you, for he hath often seen it in Fraunce, and peraventure felte it.

The Marquesse Phebus aunswered: I have seen none of these thinges done in Fraunce more then in Italy. But looke what good thinges the Italyans have in their garmentes, in feastinge, in bancketting, in feates of armes and in every other thinge that belongeth to a Courtier, they have it all of the Frenchmen.

I denie not, answered Syr Friderick, but there are also emong the Frenchmen verye honest and sober gentlemen, 

Italyans borow of the Frenchmen. Spaniardes agree wyth Italians in condicions. Gravitye. in Spaniardes. Livelines in French men. Frenche facions. To have sundry languages.

and for my part I have knowen manye (without peraventure) worthye all praise. But yet some there are of litle good maner: and to speake generally (me thinke) the Spaniardes agree more wyth Italyans, in condicions, the Frenchmen: because (in my minde) the peculiar quiet gravitie of the Spaniardes is more agreeable to oure nature then the quicke livelinesse that is perceived in the French nation almost in every gesture: which is not to be discommended in them, but is rather a grace, for it is so naturall and propre to them, that there is no maner affecting or curiositie in it. There are many Italians that would faine counterfeit their facion, and can do naught elles but shake the head in speakinge, and make a legg with an yll grace, and when they come oute of their doores into the Citie, goe so faste that good footemen canne scant overtake them, and with these maners they weene themselves good Frenchmen, and to have of that libertye: whiche (ywisse) chaunseth verie sildome savinge to suche as are brought up in Fraunce and have learned that facion from their childhood. The like is to be said in the knowleag of sundrie tunges, which I commend much in oure Courtier, and expeciallye Spanish and Frenche, because the entercourse of both the one nation and the other is much haunted in Italy, and these two are more agreable unto us then any of the rest, and those two Princes for that they are verye mighty in war and most riall in peace, have their Court alwaies fournished with valiant gentlemen, whiche are disperesed throughout the world, and againe we must needes practise with them. I wil not now proceade to speake any more particularly of matters to well knowen, as that oure Courtier ought not to professe to be a glutton nor a dronkard, nor riotous and unordinate in any il condicion, nor filthy and unclenly in his living, with certaine rude and boysterous beehaviours that smell of the plough and cart a thousand mile of, for he that is of that sort, it is not only not to be hoped that he will make a good Courtier, but he can be set to no better use then to kepe sheepe. And to conclude, I saye that (to doe well) the Courtier oughte to have a perfect understandinge in that we have sayde is meete for him, so that every possible thinge may be easye to him, and all men wonder at him, and he at no manne: meaning notwithstanding in this poinct that there be not a certaine loftye and unmanerlye stubburnnesse, as some men have that showe themselves not to wonder at the thinges which other men do, because they take upon 

Some commende not thynges well done. Many places to be commended beeside the best.

them that they can do them much better: and with their silence do commend them as unworthy to be spoken of, and wyll make a gesture (in a maner) as though none beeside were (I will not say their equall, but) able to conceyve the understanding of the profoundnes of their couning. Therfore ought the Courtier to shonn these hateful maners, and with gentlenesse and courtesie praise other mens good dedes: and thoughe he perceyve himselfe excellent and farr above others, yet showe that he esteameth not hymselfe for such a one. But because these so full perfections are very sildome founde in the nature of man, and perhappes never, yet ought not a man that perceyveth himself in some part to want, to lay aside his hope to come to a good passe, though he can not reach to that perfect and high excellency which he aspireth unto: because in every art there be manye other places beeside the best, all praiseworthye: and he that striveth to come by the highest, it is sildome sene that he passeth not the meane. I will have our Courtier therfore, if he find himself excellent in anie thinge beeside armes, to sett out himselfe, and gete him estymatyon by it after an honest sorte, and be so dyscreete and of so good a judgemente, that he maye have the understandinge after a comelye maner, and with good pourpose to allure men to heare or to looke on that he supposeth himselfe to be excellente in: making semblant alwaies to doe it, not for a bragge and to shewe it for vainglory, but at a chaunce, and rather praied by others, then commyng of his owne free will. And in every thing that he hath to do or to speake, if it be possible, lette him come alwaies provided and thinke on it beefore hande, showyng notwithstanding, the whole to bee done ex tempore, and at the first sight. As for the thinges he hath but a meane skill in, let him touche them (as it were) by the waie, without grounding muche upon them, 

Howe a man should show his couning. Somtyme a mannes ignoraunce is to be confessed. Men utter thinges to their shame many times.

yet in such wise that a man may beleve he hath a great deale more cunning therin, then he uttereth: as certein Poetes sometime that harped upon verye subtill pointes of Philosophie, or other sciences, and paraventure had small understanding in the matter. And in that he knoweth himself altogether ignoraunt in, I will never have him make any profession at all, nor seeke to purchase him anye fame by it: but rather whan occasion serveth, confesse to have no understanding in it.

This, quoth Calmeta, would Nicholetto never have done, whiche being a verye excellent Philosopher, and no more skilfull in the lawe then in fleeing, whan a Governour of Padoa was mynded to geve him one of those Lectures in the lawe, he woulde never yelde at the perswasion of many Scholars, to deceyve the opinion whiche the governour had conceived of him, and confesse that he had no understanding in it: but saide styll that he was not in this point of Socrates opinion, for it is not a Phylosophers part to saye at anye tyme, that he hath no understanding.

I say not, aunswered Syr Fridericke, that the Courtyer should of hymself go say he hath no understandyng, without it bee required of hym: for I allowe not this fondnesse to accuse and debase himselfe. Againe I remember some otherwhyle that in like sorte doe willingly disclose some matters, whiche although they happened perhappes without any faulte of theirs, yet bring they with them a shadowe of sclaunder, as did a gentleman (whom you all know) which alwayes whan he heard any mencion made of the battaile beeside Parma agaynst kynge Charles, he woulde by and by declare how he fled away, and a man would weene that he sawe or understoode nothing elles in that journey. Afterward talking of a certein famous just, he reheresed continuallie howe he was overthrowen: and manye times also he seemed in his talke to seeke how he might bringe into pourpose to declare that upon a nyghte as he was goynge to speake with a gentlewoman, he was well beaten wyth a cudgell. Such triflyinge folyes I will not have our Courtier to speake of. But me thinke whan occasion is offred to showe his skill in a matter he is altogether ignoraunte in it is well done to avoide it. Yf necessitie compell him, let him rather confesse plainly his lack of understanding in it, then hasard himself, and so shall he avoide a blame that manye 

How he should doe in a matter he hath no skil in. Men that take in hand thinges they have no skill in.

deseve nowadayes, which I woote not through what corrupte inward motion or judgement out of reason, do alwayes take upon them to practise the thinge they know not, and lay aside that they are skilfull in: and for a confirmation of this, I know a very excellent musitien, which leaving his musike a part hath whollye geven himselfe to versifiynge, and thynketh himselfe a great clearke therin, but in deede he maketh everye man to laugh him to skorne, and now hath he also cleane lst his musike. An other, one of the chieffest peincters in the world, neglectinge his art wherin he was verie excellent, hath applied himselfe to learne Pilosophye, wherein he hath such straunge conceites and monstrous fansyes, that withall the peinctinge he hath he can not peinct them. And such as these there be infinite. Some there be that knowing themselves to have an excellency in one thing, make their principall profession in an other, in which not withstanding they are not ignoraunt, but whan time serveth to show themselves in that they are most skilfull in, they doe it alwayes verie perfectlye: and otherwhile it commeth so to passe, that the companye perceivinge them so couning in that which is not their profession, they imagine them to be much better in that thei professe im deede. This art in case it be coopled with a good judgemente, discontenteth me nothing at all.

Then answered the L. Gaspar Palavicin: I thinke not this is an art, but a verie deceite, and I beleave it is not meete for him that will bee an honset man to deceive at anye time.

This, quoth Syr Fridericke, is rather an ornament that accompanyeth the thinge he doeth, then a deceite: and though it be a deceite, yet it is not to be disalowed. Will you not saye also, that he that beateth he felow, where there be two plaiyng at fence together, beeguyleth hym, and that is bicause he hath more art then the other? And where you have a jewell that unsett seemeth faire, afterward whan it commeth to a goldsmithes handes that in well setting it maketh it appeere muche more fairer, will you not saye that the goldsmith deceiveth the eyes of them that looke on it? And yet for that deceite, deserveth he praise, for with judgement and art a couninge hande doeth manie tymes ad a grace and ornament to yvorie, or to sylver, or to a stone that is faire in sight, settinge it in golde. We saye not then that this art or deceite (in case you wyll so terme it) deserveth anie maner blame. Also it is not ill for a man that knoweth himselfe skilfull in a matter, to seeke occasyon after a comelye sorte to showe hys feat therein, and in lykecase to cover the partes he thynketh scante woorthye praise, yet notwithstandinge all after a certeine warye dyssymulacion. Doe you not remember how kinge Ferdinande 

King Ferdinand of Naples. J. Cæsar.

wythout makinge any showe to seeke it, tooke occasion verye well to stryppe hymselfe sometyme into his doblet? and that bicause he knewe he was verye well made and nymble wythall. And bicause hys handes were not all of the fairest, he sildome plucked of hys gloves, and (in maner) never. And fewe there were that tooke heede to this warinesse of hys. Me thynke also I have reade, that Julius Cæsar ware for the nones a garlande of Laurell, to hyde hys baldenesse withall. But in these matters a manne muste be verye circumspecte and of a good judgemente least he passe hys boundes: for to avoyde one errour often tymes a manne falleth into an other, and to gete him praise, purchaseth blame.

Therfore the surest way in the worlde, is, for a manne in hys lyving and conversation to governe himself alwaies with a certeine honest meane, whych (no doubt) is a great and moste sure shield againste envie, the whiche a manne ought to avoide in what he is able. I wyll have oure Courtier also take heede he purchase not the name of a lyar, nor of a vaine person, whiche happeneth manie tymes and to them 

An honest meane in livinge. No lyar.

also that deserve it not. Therfore in his communicatyon let him be alwayes heedefull not to goe out of the lykelyhoode of truth, yea and not to speake to often those truthes that have the face of a lye, as many doe, that never speake but of wonders, and will be of suche authoritye, that everye uncredyble matter must be beleaved at their mouth. Other, at the firste entringe into a frendshipp wyth a newe friende, to gete favour wyth hym, the firste thynge they speake, sweare that there is not a person in the world whom thei love better, and they are wyllynge to jeoparde their lyfe for hys sake, and suche other matters out of reason, and whan they part from hym makewise to weepe, and not to speake a woorde for sorowe. Thus bicause they woulde bee counted to lovynge woormes, they make menne counte them lyars, and fonde flatterers. But it were to longe a matter and tedyous to recken uppe all vyces that maye happen in conversatyon. Therefore, for that I desire in the Courtyer, it suffyceth to saye (beesyde the matters rehersed) that he bee suche a one that shall never wante good communycatyon 

Conceytes and jestes.

and fytte for them he talketh wythall, and have a good understandynge with a certein sweetnesse to refresh the hearers mindes, and with meerie conceites and Jestes to provoke them to solace and laughter, so that without beinge at any time lothesome or satiate he may evermore delite them. Now I hope my L. Emilia wil give me leave to houlde my peace, which in case she denie me, I shall by mine owne woordes be convicted not to be the good courtier I have tould you of, for not only good communication, which neither at this time nor perhappes at any other ye have heard in me: but also this I have, such as it is, doeth cleane faile me.

Then spake the L. Generall: I will not have this false opinion to sticke in the heade of anye of us, that you are not a verye good Courtier, for (to say the truth) this desire of yours to houlde your peace proceadeth rather because you would be rid of your peine, then for that ye want talke. Therfore that it maye not appeare in so noble assemblye as this, and in so excellent talke, any percell be left out, saye you not nay to teach us how we shoulde use these Jestes you have made mention of, and showe us the art that beelongeth to all this kinde of pleasant speach to provoke laughter and solace after an honest sorte, for (in myne opinion) it is verye necessary and much to pourpose for a Courtier.

My Lord, answered Syr Fridericke, Jestes and meerie conceites are rather a gifte, and a grace of nature, then of 

This discourse of Jestes is taken out of Cicero de Orat. lib. ii. Respectes in jesting. Cavillatio.

art, but yet there are some nations more redier in it then other some, as the Tuscanes, which in deede are very subtill. Also it appeareth propre to the Spaniardes to invent meerie conceites. Yet are there manye notwithstandinge both of this nation and other also that in to much babblinge passe sometime their boundes and wexe unsavery and fonde, because thei have no respecte to the condicion of the person they commune withall, to the place where they be, to the time, to the gravitie and modestye which they ought to have in themselves.

Then answered the L. Generall: You denie that there is any art in Jestes, and yet in speaking against such as observe them not with modestye and gravitie and have not respecte to the time and to the person they commune withal, me thinke ye declare that this may also be taught and hath some doctrine in it.

These rules my Lorde, ansered Sir Fridericke, be so generall that they maye be applied to everie matter, and helpe it forward. But I have said there is no art in Jestes, because (me thinke) they are onlie of two sortes: whereof the one is enlarged in communication that is longe and without interruption: as is seene in some men that with so good an utterance and grace and so pleasantly declare and expresse a matter that happened unto them or that they have seene and hearde, that with their gesture and woordes they sett it beefore a mans eyes, and (in maner) make him feele it with hande, and this peraventure for want of an other terme we may call Festivitie or els Civilitie. The other sort of Jestes is verie breef, and consisteth only in quicke and subtill saiynges, as manie times there are heard emong us, and in nickes, neyther doeth it appeare that they 

Dicacitas. Dicta.

are of any grace without that litle bitynge, and these emong them of olde time wer also called Saiynges, now some terme them Privie tauntes. I say therfore in the first kinde, whiche is a meerye maner of expressinge, there needeth no art, bicause verye nature her self createth and shapeth menne apt to expresse pleasantly and geveth them a countenaunce, gestures, a voice, and woordes for the pourpose to conterfeit what they luste. In the other of Privie tauntes what can art do? Sins that quippie ought to be shott out and hit the pricke beefore a man can descerne that he that speaketh it can thinke upon it, elles it is colde and litle woorth. Therfore (thinke I) all is the woorke of witt and nature.

Then tooke M. Peter Bembo the matter in hande, and said: The L. Generall denieth not that you say: namely that nature and witt beare not the chieffest stroke, especiallye as touching invention, but it is certein that in ech mans mind, of howe good a witt so ever he be, there arrise conceites both good and badd, and more and lesse, but then judgement and art doeth polishe and correct them, and chouseth the good and refuseth the bad. Therfore laiynge aside that beelongeth to witt, declare you unto us that consisteth in art: that is to weete, of Jestes amd meery conceites that move laughter, whiche are meete for the Courtier and whyche are not, and in what time and maner they ought to be used: for this is that the L. Generall demaundeth of you.

Then Sir Fridericke said smilynge: There is never a one of us here that I will not geve place unto in everie matter, and especiallie in Jestinge, onlesse perhappes folies, whiche make menne laugh manie times more then wittie saiynges, were also to be allowed for Jestes.

And so tourning him to Count Lewis and to M. Bernarde Bibiena, he said unto them: These be the maisters of this facultie, of whom in case I must speake of meerie saiynges, I must first learne what I have to saye.

Count Lewis answered: Me thynke you begine nowe to practise that you saye ye are not skilfull in, whiche is, to make these Lordes laughe in mockinge M. Bernarde and me, bicause everye one of them woteth well that the thinge which you praise us for, is much more perfectly in you. Therefore in case you be weerie, it is better for you to sue to the Dutchesse that it would please her to deferr the remnant of oure talke till to morowe, then to go about with craft to rid your handes of peines takinge.

Sir Friderick beegan to make aunswere, but the L. Emilia interrupted him immediatlye and said: It is not the order that the disputacion shoulde be consumed upon your praise, it sufficeth ye are verie well knowen all. But bicause it commeth in my minde that you (Count) imputed to me yesternyght, that I divided not the paines takinge equallye, it shall be well done that Syr Frydericke reste him a whyle and the charge of speakynge of Jestes we wyll commytte to M. Bernarde Bibiena, for we doe not onlye knowe hym verye quicke wytted in talkynge wythoute intermission, but also it is not oute of oure memorye that he hath sundrye tymes promysed to wryte of thys matter. And therfore we maye thynke he hath verye well thought uppon it all thys whyle, and ought the better to satiysfie us in it. Afterwarde when there shall be sufficientlye spoken of Jestes, Syr Fridericke shall proceede forwarde againe wyth that he hath yet bee hinde concerning the Courtier.

Then sayde Sir Fridericke: Madam, I knowe not what I have lefte beehinde anie more, but lyke a travailer on the waye nowe weerie of the peinefulnesse of my longe journey at noone tide, I will reste me in M. Bernardes communication at the sowne of hys woordes, as it were under some faire tree that casteth a goodlye shadowe at the sweete roaringe of a plentifull and livelye springe: afterward (maye happe) beeinge somewhat refreshed I maye have somewhat elles to saye.

M. Bernarde answered laughynge: Yf I showe you the toppe ye shall see what shadowe may be hoped for at the leaves of my tree. To heare the roaringe of the livelye sprynge ye speake of, it maye happen bee your chaunce so to doe, for I was once tourned into a sprynge: not by anye of the goddes of old tyme, but by oure frier Marian. And from that tyme hytherto I have never wanted water.

Then beegan they all to fall in a laughynge, bicause thys pleasante matter whiche M. Bernarde ment that happened to him in Roome in the presence of Galeotto Cardinal of S. Petro in Vincula, was well knowen to them all.

After they had ceased laughinge the L. Emilia saide: Leave now makynge us laugh wyth practisynge of Jestes, and teache us howe we should use them, and whence they are deryved, and what ever elles ye knowe in thys matter. And for losynge anye more tyme beegyne oute of hande.

I doubte me, quoth M. Bernarde, it is late, and leaste my talke of pleasant matters should seeme unpleasant and tedyous, perhappes it were good to deferr it tyll to morrow.

Here incontinently many made answer that it lacked yet a good deale of the houre whan they were wont to leave of reasoning.

Then M. Bernarde tourning to the Dutchesse and to the L. Emilia, I wil not refuse this labour (quoth he) althoughe I be wont to marveile at the boulnesse of them that dare take upon them to sing to the lute, whan our James Sansecondo standeth by, even so ought not I in the presence of hearers that have much better understanding in that I have to saye, then I my selfe, take upon me to entreate of Jestes. Nevertheles least I should show a president to anye of these Lordes to refuse that they shall bee charged withall, I will speake as breeflye as I can possible what commeth in my minde as touching matters that cause laughter, which is so propre to us that to describe a man 

Homo animal risibile.

the commune saiyng is, He is a livinge creature that can laugh: because this laughing is perceived onlie in man, and (in maner) alwaies is a token of a certein jocundenesse and meerie moode that he feeleth inwardlie in his minde, which by nature is drawen to pleasantnesse and coveteth quietnes and refreshing, for whiche cause we can see menne have invented many matters, as sportes, games and pastimes, and so many sundrie sortes of open showes. And because we beare good will to suche as are the occasion of this recreation of oures, the maner was emonge the kinges of olde time, emong the Romanes, the Athenians and manie other, to gete the good will of the people withall, and to feede the eyes and myndes of the multitude, to make greate Theatres, and other publyque buildinges, and there to showe new devises of pastimes, running of horses and Charettes, fightinges of men together, straunge beastes, Comedies, Tragedies, and daunses of Antique. Neither did the grave Philosophers shonn these sightes, for manie tymes both in thys maner and at banckettes they refreshed their weeryesome myndes, in those high discourses and divine imaginacions of theirs. The which in lykewyse all sortes of men are wyllinge to doe, for not onlye Ploughmen, Mariners, and all such as are inured wyth harde and boysterous exercises, with hande, but also holye religious men and prisoners that from hour to hour waite for death, goe about yet to seeke 

To fede the eyes of the people. Wherein laughing matters consist.

some remedy and medicine to refreshe themselves. Whatsoever therefore causeth laughter, the same maketh the minde jocunde and geveth pleasure, nor suffreth a man in that instant to minde the troublesome greefes that oure life is full of. Therefore (as you see) laughing is very acceptable to all men, and he is muche to be commended that can cause it in due time and after a comlie sort. But what this laughing is, and where it consisteth, and in what maner somtime it taketh the veines, the eies, the mouth and the sides, and seemeth as though it woulde make us burst, so that what ever resistance we make, it is not possible to kepe it, I will leave it to be disputed of Democritus, the which also in case he woulde promise us, he should not perfourme it. The place therfore and (as it were) the hedspring that laughing matters arrise of, consisteth in a certein deformitie or ill favourednesse, bicause a man laugheth onlie at those matters that are disagreeing in themselves, and (to a mans seeminge) are in yll plight, where it is not so in deede. I wote not otherwise how to expounde it, but if you will beethinke your selfe, ye shall perceive the thinge that a man alwayes laugheth at, is a matter that soundeth not well, and yet is it not in yll syttinge. What kinde of wayes therefore those be that the Courtier ought to use in causing laughter and of what scope, I will assay in what I can tho utter unto you as farr as my judgemente can give me, bicause to make men laughe alwayes is not comelie for the Courtier, nor yet in suche wise as frantike, dronken, foolishe and fonde men and in like maner commune jesters do: and though to a mans thinkinge Courtes cannot be without suche kinde of persons, yet deserve they not the name of a Courtier, but eche man to be called by his name and esteamed suche as they are. The scope an measure to make men 

Considerations in jesting. Who are to be jested at. Praise or dispraise in the self woordes.

laughe in tauntinge must also be diligentlye considered: who he is that is taunted, for it provoketh no laughter to mocke and skorne a seelye soule in miserie and calamitie, nor yet a naughtie knave and commune ribaulde, bicause a man would thinke that these men deserved to be otherwise punished, then in jestinge at. And mens mindes are not bent to scoff them in misery, onelesse such men in their mishapp bragg and boast of them selves and have a proude and haughtye stomake. Again a respect must be had to them that are generallye favoured and beloved of everie man, and that beare stroke, bicause in mockinge and scorninge such a one, a man may sometime purchase himselfe daungerous enimitie. Therefore it is not amysse to scoff and mocke at vices that are in persons not of such miserye that it should move compassion, nor of suche wickednesse that a man woulde thinke they deserved not to go on the grounde, nor of such aucthoritie that any litle displeasure of theirs may be a great hindraunce to a man. You shall understande moreover that out of the places jestinge matters are derived from, a man may in like maner pike grave sentences to praise or dispraise. And otherwhile with the self same woordes: as to praise a liberall man that partaketh his goodes in commune with his friendes, the commune saying is, That he hath is none of his owne. The like may be saide in dispraise of one that hath stolen or compased that he hath by other ill meanes. It is also a commune saiyng, She is a woman of no small price, whan a man will praise her for her vertues, for her wisedome and goodnes. The very same may be said of a woman that loketh to be kept sumtiouslye: But it commeth oftner to pourpose that a man in this case serveth his tourne with the self same places then with the self same woordes. As within these few dayes three Gentilmen standinge at masse together in a churche where was a gentilwoman one of the three was in love withall, there came a poore beggar and stood before her requiringe her almes, and so with much instance and lamenting with a groning voice repeted manie times his request: yet for all that did she not give him her almes, nor denie it him in making signe to depart in Gods name, but stoode musing with her self as though she minded another matter. Then said the gentilman that loved her to his two companions, See what I maye hope for at my maistresse handes, which is so cruell, that she will neither give the poore naked soule dead for hunger, that requireth her with such passion and so instantly, her almes, ne yet leave to depart, so much she rejoyceth to beehoulde with her eyes one that is broughte lowe with misery and that in vaine requireth her reward. One of the two answered: It is no crueltye, but a privie adminicion for you to doe you to weete that your maistresse is not pleased with him that requireth her with much instance. The other answered: Nay, it is rather a lesson for him, that although she give not that is required of her, yet she is willing inough to be suid to. See here, bicause the gentilwoman sent not the poore man away, there arrose one saying of great dispraise, one of modest praise and another of nipping boord. To retourn therefore to declare the kindes of Jests apperteining 

Ré. Dicto. Cicero mentioneth not this last kind of jestes.

to our pourpose, I say (in mine opinion) there are of three sorts, although Sir Fridericke hath made mention but of two. The one a civill and pleasant declaration without interruption, which consisteth in the effect of a thing. The other a quicke and subtill readines, which consisteth in one saiyng alone. Therfore wil we ad a third sort to these, which we call Boordes or meerie Prankes, wherin the processe is long and the saiynges short and some deedes with all. The firste therfore that consisteth in communication without interruption are in that sort (in a maner) as though a man woulde tell a tale. And to give you an example, whan Pope Alexander the sixte died and Pius the thirde created, beeinge then in Roome and in the Palaice youre Sir Anthonye Agnello of Mantua, my L. Dutchesse, and communynge of the death of the one and creatyon of the other, and therin makyng sundrie discourses with certein friendes of his, he said: Sirs, in Caullus time gates beegan to speake without tunge and to heare without eares and in that sort discovered advouteries. Now although men be not of such worthinesse as they were in those daies, yet perhappes the gates that are made, a great sorte of them, especiallye here at Roome, of auntient Marble, have the same vertue they had then. And for my parte I beleave that these two will cleere us of all our doubtes, in case we will aske counsell of them. Then those Gentilmen mused much at the matter and attended to see to what ende it woulde come, whan Sir Anthony folowinge on still up and downe lifte up his eyes as at a sodeine, to one of the two gates of the hall where they walked: and stayinge a while with his finger he showed his companye the inscriptyon over it, which was Pope Alexanders name, and 

Alexander PP. VI. N. PP. V.

at the ende of it was V and I, bicause it should signifie (as ye knowe) the sixt. And said: See here, this gate sayth Alexander Papa VI. which signifieth he hath bin Pope through the force he hath used, and hath prevailed more thereby then with right and reason. Now let us see if we may of this other understand anye thinge of the newe Bishoppe: and tounyng him as at aventure to the other gate, pointed to the inscription of one N. two PP. and one V. whiche signifieth Nicholaus Papa Quintus, and immediately he said: Good Lord ill newis, see here this gate saith Nihil Papa Valet. See now how this kinde of Jestes is propre and good and how fitting it is for one in Court, whether it be true or false a man saith, for in this case it is lawfull to feigne what a man lusteth wythout blame: and in speakinge the truthe to sett it furthe with a feat lye, augmentinge or diminishinge according to the pourpose. But the perfect grace and very pith of this, is to set furth so well and without peine not onlie in woordes but in gestures, the thynge a man pourposeth to expresse, that unto the hearers he maye appeere to do before their eyes the thinges he speaketh of. And this expressed maner in this wise hath suche force, that otherwhile it setteth furth and maketh a matter delite verie muche, whiche of it selfe is not verie meerie nor wittie. And althoughe these protestacions neede gestures, and the earnestnesse that a livelie voice hath, yet is the force of them knowen also otherwhile in writing. Who laugheth not when John Boccaccio in the eight journey of his hundreth tales declareth howe the priest of Varlungo strayned himselfe to singe a Kyrie and a Sanctus, 

Giornata viii. Novella ii. Gior. viii. Novel. ii. and vi. Gior. ix. Novel. iii. and v. Counterfeiters of mens maners.

when he perceived Belcolore was in the Church? These be also pleasant declarations in his tales of Calandrino and manie other. After the same sort seemeth to be the makinge a man laughe in counterfeitinge or imitatinge (howe-ever we lyste to terme it) of a mans maners, wherin hitherto I have seene none passe oure M. Robert of Bari.

This were no small praise, quoth M. Robert, if it were true, for then would I surely go about to counterfeite rather the good then the bad: and if I could liken my self to some I know, I would thinke my selfe a happye man. But I feare me I can counterfeite nothinge but what maketh a man laughe, which you said before consisteth in vice.

M. Bernarde answered: In vice in deede, but that that standeth not in yll plight. And weete you well, that this counterfeitinge we speake of, can not be without witt, for beeside the maner to applie his woordes and his gestures, and to set beefore the hearers eyes the countenance and maners of him he speaketh of, he must be wise, and have great respect to the place, to the time and to the persons with whom he talketh, and not like a commune Jester passe his boundes, which thinges you wonderfully well observe, and therefore I beleave ye are skilfull in all. For undoubtedlye it is not meete for a Gentlemanne to make weepinge and laughing faces, to make sounes and voices, and to wrastle with himselfe alone as Berto doeth, to apparaile himself like a lobb of the Countrey as doeth Strascino, and such other matters, which do well beecome them, bicause it is their profession. But we must by the way and privilie steale this counterfeiting, alwayes keeping the astate of a gentilman, without speaking filthy wordes, or doing uncomelye deedes, without making faces and antiques, but frame our gestures after a certein maner, that who so heareth and seeth us, may by our wordes and countenances imagin muche more then he seeth and heareth, and upon that take occasion to laughe. He must also in this counterfeiting take heed of to much taunting in touching a man, especially in the ill favourednesse of visage or yll shape of bodye. For as the mishappes and vices of the bodie minister manie times ample matter to laughe at, if a man can discreatly handle it, even so the usinge of this maner to bytingly is a token not onlie of a commune jester, but of a plaine ennemy. Therfore must a man observe in this poinct (though it be hard) the facion of our M. Roberte, as 

Nippes that touch a man. Foolish maters.

I have said, which counterfeiteth al men and not with out touchinge them in the matters wherein they be faultie and in presence of themselves, and yet no man findeth himselfe agreeved, neyther may a man thinke that he can take it in ill part. And of this I will geve you no example, bicause we all see infinit in him dailie. Also it provoketh much laughter (which nevertheles is conteined under declaration) whan a man repeteth with a good grace certein defaultes of other men, so they be meane and not worthy greater correction: as foolishe matters sometime symplye of themselves alone, somtime annexed with a litle readie nippinge fondenesse. Likewise certein extreme and curious matters. Otherwhile a great and well forged lye. As few dayes ago oure M. Cesar declared a pretie foolishe matter, which was, that beeyng with the Mayor of this Citie, he saw a Countrey man come to him to complaine that he had an Asse stolen from him, and after he had toulde him of his povertie and how the theif deceyved him, to make his losse the greater he said unto him: Syr if you had seen mine Asse you should have knowen what a cause I have to complaine, for with his pad on his backe a man would have thought him very Tully himself. And one of our train meetinge a herd of Gotes beefore the which was a mightie great Ramm Gote, he stayed and with a merveilous countenaunce saide: Marke me this Gote, he seemeth a Saint Paul.

The L. Gasper saith he knew an other, whyche for that he was an olde servaunt to Hercules duke of Ferrara, did offre him two pretie boyes which he had, to be hys pages, and these two died both beefore they came to hys service. The which whan the duke understoode, he lamented lovinglie with the father, saying that he was verie sorie, bicause whan he sawe them upon a time he thought them handsome and wittie children. The father made answere, Nay My Lorde, you sawe nothing, for within these fewe dayes they were become muche more handsomer and of better qualities then I woulde ever have thought, and sange together like a coople of haukes. And one of these dayes a Doctour of oures beehouldinge one that was judged to be whipped aboute the markett place, and taking pitye upon him bicause the poore soules shoulders bled sore, and went so soft a pace, as thoughe he had walked about for his pleasure to pass the time withall he sayd to hym: Goo on a pace poore felowe that thou mayst be the sooner out of they peine. Then he tourninge about and beehouldynge him that so said (in a maner) with a wonder, staide a while withoute anye woord, afterwarde he saide: Whan thou art whipped goe at thy pleasure, for nowe will I goe as I shall thinke good.

You may remember also the foolyshe matter that not longe a goe the Duke rehersed of the Abbot that beeynge presente upon a daye whan Duke Fridericke was talkynge where he shoulde bestowe the greate quantitye of rubbyshe that was caste up to laye the foundacyon of this Palayce, 

The judgement of an Abbot.

woorkynge dailye upon it, sayde: My Lorde, I have well beethoughte me where you shall bestowe it, let there be a great pitt digged and into that may you have it cast without any more ado. Duke Fridericke answered him not withoute laughter: And where shall we beestowe then the quantitie of earth that shall be cast out of that pit? The abbot saide unto him: Let it be made so large that it may well receive both the one and the other. And so for all the Duke repeted sundrie times, the greater the pitt was, the more earth should be cast out of it, yet coulde he never make it sink into his braine, but it might be made so large that it mighte receive both the one and the other: and he answered him nothinge elles but make it so much the larger. Now see what a good forecast this Abbot had.

Then said M. Peter Bembo: And why tell you not that, of your great Capitain of Florence that was beeseaged of the Duke of Calabria within Castellina? Where there were found upon a day in the towne certeine quarelles pysoned that had bine shott out of the campe, he wrott unto the Duke, yf the warr should procead so cruellye, he would also put a medicin upon his gunnstones, and then he that hath the woorst, hath his mendes in his handes.

M. Bernarde laughed and saide: Yf you houlde not youre peace (M. Peter) I will tell whatsoever I have seene my selfe and hearde of your Ventians, which is not a litle, and especially when they play the riders.

Doe not I beseech ye, answered M. Peter, for I will keepe to my selfe two other verie pretye ones that I knowe of your Florentines.

M. Bernarde saide: They are rather of the Seneses, for 

Siena.

it often happeneth emonge them. As within these fewe dayes one of them hearing certein lettres read in the Counsell chamber, in which for avoidinge to often repetition of his name that was spoken of, this terme was manie times put in, il Prelabato (which signifieth the aforenamed) he said unto him that read them: Soft, stay there a litle and tell me, this Prelibato what is he? A frinde to oure Communaltye?

M. Peter laughed, then he proceaded: I speake of Florentines and not of Seneses.

Speake it hardly, quoth the L. Emilia, and bash not for that matter.

M. Peter said: Whan the Lordes of Florence were in warr against the Pisanes, they were otherwhile out of money by reason of theyr great charges, and laying their heades together upon a daye in the counsell chambre what waye were beste to make provision to serve their tourne withall, after many divises propounded, one of the auntientest Citizins said: I have found two wayes, wherby without much travaile we may in a small while come by a good portion of money. 

A Florentines devise.

Wherof the one is (bicause we have no redier rent then the custome at the gates of Florence) where we have xi. gates, let us with speede make xi. mo, and so shall we double oure revenue. The other way is, to set up a mint in Pistoia and an other in Prato no more nor lesse then is here within Florence: and there doe nothinge elles daye and night but coyne money, and all Ducates of golde, and this divise (in mine opinion) is the speedier and lesse chargeable.

They fell a laughing apace at the subtill divise of this Citizin, and whan laughinge was ceased the L. Emilia said: Will you (M. Bernarde) suffre M. Peter thus to jeste at Floretines without a revenge?

M. Bernarde answered smilinge: I pardon him this offence, for where he hath displeased me in jestinge at Floretines, he hath pleased me in obeyinge of you, the which I would alwaies do my selfe.

Then said the L. Cesar: I heard a Brescian speake a jolie grosse matter, whiche beeinge this yeere in Venice at the feast of the Assention, rehersed in a place where I was to 

Upon the ascention daye a great faire in Venice. A faire vessell of pleasure in Venice made Galliwise. Everye yeere upon the Ascension daye the Duke with all the counsell goith in it a mile or two into the sea, and there casteth a ring of gold into it thinking by this yeerly ceremonye they so marie the Sea that it will never leave the Citye on drie lande.

certain mates of his, the goodlye matters he had seene there, what sundrie merchaundise, what plate, what sortes of spices, and what cloth and silke there was, then how the Signora yssued out with a great pompe in Bucentoro to wedd the Sea, in which were so manie gentilmen well apparailed, so manie sortes of instrumentes and melodies that a man woulde have thought it a paradise. And whan one of his companions demaunded him what kynde of musike did please him best of all that he had heard there, he said: All were good, yet emong the rest I saw one blowe in a straunge trumpett, whiche at everye pushe thrust it into his throte more then two handful, and then by and by drew it out again, and thrust it in a freshe, that you never sawe a greater wondre.

Then they all laughed, understandinge the fonde imagination of him that thoughte the blower thruste into his throte that part of the Sagbout that is hid in puttinge it backe againe.

Then M. Bernarde went forward: Those Affectations and curiosities that are but meane, bringe a lothsomnesse with them, but whan they be done oute of measure they much provoke laughter. As otherwhile whan some men are heard to speake of their antientrye and noblenesse of birth: sometime women of their beawtie and handsomenesse: as not long ago a Gentilwoman did, which at a great feast beinge verie sad and musing with her self, it was demaunded of her, what she thought upon that should make her so sad. And she made answere, I thought upon a matter whiche as ofte as it commeth into my minde doth muche trouble me, and I can not put it out of my hert: whiche is, where in the daye of generall judgement all bodies muste arrise again and appeere naked beefore the judgement seat of Christ, I can not abide the greef I feele in thinking mine must also be sene naked. Such Affectacions as these be bicause they passe the degree, doe rather provoke laughter then lothsomnesse. Those feat lyes now that come so well to pourpose, how they provoke laughter ye all knowe. And that friend of oures that suffreth us not to wante, within these fewe dayes rehersed one to me that was very excellent.

 

Feat lyes. Polonia. Muscovia. Boristhenes.

Then said the L. Julian: What ever it were, more excellenter it can not be, nore more suttler then one that a Tuscane of oures, whiche is a merchaunt man of Luca, affirmed unto me the last day for most certein.

Tell it us, quoth the Dutchesse.

The L. Julian said smilinge: This merchaunt man (as he saith) beeinge upon a time in Polonia, determined to buie a quantitie of Sables, mindinge to bringe them into Italy and to gaigne greatly by them. And after much practisinge in the matter, where he could not himselfe go into Moscovia bicause of the warr beetweene the kynge of Polonia and the Duke of Moscovia, he tooke order by the meane of some of the Countrey that upon a day apointed certein merchaunt men of Moscovia shoulde come with their Sables into the borders of Polonia, and he promysed also to be there himselfe to bargaine with them. This merchaunt man of Luca travailing then with his companie toward Moscovia arrived at the river of Boristhenes, which he found hard frosen like a marble stone, and saw the Moscovites, which for suspicion of warr were in doubt of the Polakes, were on the other side, and neerer cam not than the breadth of the river. So after they knewe the one the other, makinge certein signes, the Moscovites beegan to speake aloud and toulde the price how they would sell their Sables, but the colde was so extreme, that they were not understood, bicause the woordes beefore they cam on the other syde where thys merchaunt of Luca was and his interpreters, were congeled in the aere and there remayned frosen and stopped. So that the Polakes that knew the maner, made no more adoe but kindled a great fire in the middest of the river (for to their seeminge that was the point wherto the voice came hott beefore the frost tooke it) and the river was so thicke frosen that it did well beare the fire. When they had thus done the wordes that for space of an houre had bin frosen beegan to thawe and cam doun, making a noyse as doeth the snow from the mounteignes in Maye, and so immediatlye they were well understood, but the men on the other side were first departed, and bicause he thought that those woordes asked to great a price for Sables, he woulde not bargaine, and so cam awaye without.

Then laughed all. And M. Bernarde: Truelye (quoth he) thys that I wyll tell you is not so subtill, yet it is a pretye matter, and this it is. Where talke was a fewe dayes ago of the countrey or world newly founde out by the mariners of Portugal, and of straunge beastes and other matters brought from thens, that friend I toulde you of, affirmed that he had seene an Ape, 

An ape plaied at chestes. To lose at chestes vexeth men.

verie divers in shape from such as we are accustomed to see, that played excellently well at Chestes. And emong other times upon a day beefore the king of Portugal the Gentilman that brought herr played as Chestes with herr, where the Ape showed some draughtes very suttill, so that she put him to his shiftes, at length she gave him Checkemate. Upon this the gentilman beeinge somwhat vexed (as communlie they are all that lose at that game) tooke the kinge in his hande whiche was good and bigg (as the facion is emonge the Portugalles) and reached the Ape a great knocke on the heade. She furthwith leaped aside complayning greatly, and seemed to require justice at the kinges handes for the wrong done her. The gentilman afterward called her to play with him again, the whiche with signes she refused a while, but at last was contented to play an other game, and as she had done the other time beefore, so did she now drive him to a narrow point. In conclusion: the Ape perceivinge she could give the gentilman the mate, thought with a newe divise she would be sure to escape without any mo knockes, and privilie conveyed her right hande without makinge semblant what her entent was, under the gentilmans left elbowe, leaning for pleaser upon a litle taffata coushin, and snatchinge it slightlie awaye, at one instant gave him with her left hande a mate with a paune, and with her right hande caste the coushin upon her heade to save her from strokes, then she made a gamboll beefore the king joifully, in token (as it were) of her victory. Now we see whether this Ape were not wise, circumspect and of a good understanding.

Then spake the L. Cesar Gonzaga: It must needes be that this ape was a Doctour emong other Apes and of much authoritie: and I beleave the commune weale of the Apes of India sent her into Portugall to gete a name in a straunge countrey.

At this every manne laughed, both for the lye and for the addition mande to it by the L. Cesar.

So proceadinge on in his talke M. Bernarde said: You have understoode therfore what Jestes are that be of effect and communication without interruption asmuche as cummeth to mynde: therfore it shall be well nowe we speake of such as consist in one saying alone, and have a quicke sharpenesse that lyeth breefly in a sentence or in a word. And even as in the first kind of meerie talke a man must in his protestacion and counterfeitinge take heede that he be not like commune jesters and parasites, and such as with fonde matters move menne to laughe, so in this breef kinde the Courtier must be circumspect that he appeere not malitious and venimous and speake tauntes and quippies only for spite and to touch the quick, bicause such men often times for offence of the tunge are chastised in the wholl body. Of those readie Jestes therfore that consist in a short sayinge, such are most livelie that arrise of doubtfulnesse, though alwais they provoke not laughing, for they be rather praised for wittie, then for matters of laughter.

Come pochi di sono disse' il nostro M. Anniball Palleotto ad uno che' li proponea un maestro per insegnare' Grammatica a suoi figliuoli, et poi che' gliel hebbe' laudato per molto dotto, venendo al salario, disse' che' oltre' ai danari volea una camera fornita per habitare e dormire, perche' 

These two examples are put in Italian, bicause they have no grace in the English tunge by reason of the doubtfulnesse of the woordes that may be taken two sundry wayes: yet is the English as plentifull of these jestes as any other tunge, wherin Syr Thomas Moore excelled in our time. Mattonato A paviment. Matto nato A naturall foole.

esso non havea letto. Allhor M. Anniball subito rispose', e come' puo egli esser dotto se non ha letto?

See howe well he tooke avauntage at the diverse signification of Haver letto (which is interpreted both to have a bed and to have read). But bicause these doubtfull woordes have a pretie sharpenesse of witt in them, beeing taken in a contrarie signification to that al other men take them, it appeereth (as I have said) that they rather provoke a manne to wondre then to laughe, except whan they be joyned with other kindes of sayinges. The kinde therfore of wittie sayinges that is most used to make men laughe, is whan we give eare to heare one thinge, and he that maketh answere, speaketh an other and is alleaged contrarye to expectacion, and in case a doubt be annexed therwithall, then is it verie wittie and pleasant.

Come' laltr' hieri disputandosi di far un bel mattonato nel camerino della S. Duchessa, dopo molte' parole Voi M. Jo. Christofero diceste, Se' noi potessimo havere' il vescovo do Potentia, e farlo ben Spianare, saria molto a proposito, perche egli e' il piu bel matto nato ch'io vedessi mai. Ogn'un rise molto, perche' dividendo quella parola matto nato faceste' lo ambiguo, poi dicendo che' Si havesse a spianare' un vescovo e metterlo per pavimento d'un camerino fu fuor d'opinione' di chi ascoltava, cosi riusci il motto argutissimo e risibile.

But of doubtfull woordes there be manie sortes, therfore must a man be circumspect and chouse out termes verie artificiallye, and leave oute suche as make the Jest colde, and that a man would weene were haled by the heare, or 

Jestes that are to nipping.

elles (as we have saide) that have to much bitternesse in them. As certeine companions beeinge in a friendes house of theirs, who had but one eye, after he had desired the company to tarye dinner with him, they departed all saving one, that said: And I am well pleased to tarye, for I see a voide roume for one, and so with his fingre poyncted to the hole where his eye had bine. See howe bytter and discourtious this is passynge measure, for he nipped him without a cause and wythout beeinge first pricked himselfe: and he saide the thynge that a man might speake against blinde men. Suche generall matters delyte not, bicause it appeereth they are thought upon of pourpose. And after thys sorte was the saiynge to one wythout a nose: And where doest thou fasten thy spectacles? Or, wherewithall doest thou smell roses at the time of the yere? But emong other meerie saiynges, they have a verie good grace that arryse whan a man at the nippynge talke of his felowe taketh the verye same woodes in the self same sence, and retourneth them backe agayne pryckynge hym wyth hys owne weapon. As an attourney in the lawe, unto whom in the presence of the judge his adversarye saide, What barkeste 

To nicke a man with his owne woordes. Catullus answere to Philippus. To chaunge a letter or sillable. Virgil. The vii. churches of Roome.

thou? furthwyth he answered: bycause I see a thief. And of this sorte was also, whan Galeotto of Narni passyng throughe Siena stayed in a streete to enquire for an ynn, and a Senese Seeinge hym so corpulente as he was, saide laughinge: Other menne carye their bougettes beehynde them, and this good felowe caryeth his beefore him. Galeotto answered immediatlye: So must menne do in the Countrey of theeves. There is yet another sorte called in Italian Bischizzi, and that consisteth in chaungynge or encreasinge, or diminisshinge of a letter or syllable. As he that saide: Thou shouldest be better learned in the Latrine tunge then in the Greeke. And to you (madam) was written in the superscription of a letter, To the Ladye Emilia Impia. It is also a meerye divise to mingle together a verse or mo, takyng it in an other meeninge then the Author doeth, or some other commune sayinge. Sometyme in the verye same meanynge, but altringe a woorde, as a Gentilman said that had a foule and scoulinge wief: whan he was asked the question how he dyd, answered: Thynke thou thy selfe, for Furiarum maxima juxta me cubat. And M. Hierom Donato goynge a vistinge the Stacions of Roome in Lente, in companye wyth manye other Gentilmen, mett with a knott of faire Romaine Ladies, and whan one of those gentilmen had said:

Quot coelum stellas, tot habet tua Roma Puellas,

by and by he added:

Pascua quotque hædos, tot habet tua Roma cinædos,

showinge a rout of yonge menne that came on the other 

Ovid. Of wanton dames Roome hath like store, As sterres be in the skie. As many boyes preservde for love, As Kiddes in pastures lie.

side. And Marcantonio della Torre sayde after the maner to the Byshoppe of Padoa: Where there was a Nounrye in Padoa under the charge of a religious person muche esteamed for hys good lye and learnynge, yt happened that thys father hauntinge much to the Nounrye verie familiarlie, and confessynge often the Sisters, beegat five of them with chylde, where there were not passinge five mo in all. And whan the matter was knowen, the father would have fled, and wist not how. The bishoppe caused him to be apprehended, and upon that, he confessed that he had gotten those five Nounnes with childe through the temptacion of the Dyvell, so that the Bishoppe was fullye bent to chastice him sore. And bicause this man was learned, he had manye friendes, which altogether assayed to helpe him, and emonge the rest there went also M. Marcantonio to entreate for him. The Bishoppe would in no wise give eare to them. At length they beynge instant upon him and commending the gyltie, and excusinge him throughe the commoditie of place, frailtye of manne and manie other causes, the Bishop said: I will do nothing for you, bicause I must make accompt unto God of this. And whan they had replyed again, the Bishop said: What answere shall I make unto God at the day of judgement, whan He shall say unto me Redde' Rationem villicationis tue? M. Marcantonio answered him immediatly: 

Yelde an accompt of thy husbandrie. Lord, thou deliveredst into me v. talentes, beholde I have gained v. mo. To allude to names.

Mary my lord the verie same that the Gospell sayth: Dominé quinque talenta traddisti mihi, ecce alia quinque superlucratus sum. Then could not the Bishoppe absteine laughing and he asswaged much his anger and the punishemente that he had ordeined for the offender. It is likewise verie pretie to allude to names and to feine somwhat, for that he the talke is of, is so called, or els bicause he doeth some such thinge. As not longe sins Proto da Luca (which as you know is one meerelie disposed) asking the Bishopprike of Calio, the Pope answered him: Doest thou not knowe that Calio, in the Spanishe tunge is as muche to say as, I houlde my Peace, and thou art a great prater? Therfore it were unfittinge for a Bishoppe at any time in naminge his title to make alye, now Calia, houlde thy peace then. To this Proto gave an answere, the which although it were not in this sorte yet was it no lesse pretie then this. For after he had often put him in remembrance of this his suite and sawe it take none effect, at last he said: 

Dooble signification of Calio. Dooble signification of Officium.

Holye father, in case youre holynesse do give me this bisshoppricke, yt shal not be without a profit to you, for then will I surrender two offices into your handes. And what offices hast thou to surrender into my handes? quoth the Pope. Proto answered: I shall surrender unto you Officium principale, and Officium beatæ Mariæ. Then coulde not the Pope though he were a verye grave person, absteine from laughinge. An other also in Padoa said Calphurnius was so named, bicause he was wont to heate fourneyses. And upon a day whan I asked Phedra how it happeneth, where prayer is made in the Church upon goodfridaye not onlie for Chrystyans, but also for Paganes and for Jewes, there was no mention made of the Cardinalles, as there was of Bishops and other prelates. He answered me, that the Cardinalles were conteined in the Collet, Oremus pro hæticis et Schismaticis. And oure Count Lewis saide that I reprehended a ladie of love for occupyinge a certein kinde of lye that shined muche, bicause whan she was trimmed therwithall, I might see my selfe in her face, and for that I was yll favoured I coulde not abyde to looke upon my selfe. In this maner was that M. Camillo Paleotto saide unto M. Anthonio Porcaro, whiche reasoninge of a companion of his that under confessyon had sayde unto the Priest that he fasted with all his harte, and went to Masse and to holye service and did all the good deedes in the worlde, said: This felowe in stead of accusynge prayseth hym self. Unto whom M. Camillo answered: Nay, he rather confesseth himself of these matters, bicause he reckeneth the doinge of them great sinn. Do you not remember how well the L. Generall said the last daye, whan Johnthomas Galeotto wondred at one that demaunded two hundreth Ducates for a horse? for whan Johnthomas saide that he was not worth a farthing, bicause emong other yll properties he had, he could not abide weapons, neyther was it possible to make him come nighe where he sawe anye, the L. Generall said (willing to reprehende him of cowardise): Yf the horse hath this propertie that he can not abide weapons, I marveile he asketh not a thousand Ducates. Also sometime a man speaketh the verie same woord, but to another ende then the commune use is. As, whan the Duke was passing over a very swift river, he said to the trompetter: Goo on. The trumpetter tourned him backe with his cappe in his hande and after a reverent maner, saide: It shalbe youres my lorde. It is also a pleasant maner of jestinge, whan a man seemeth to take the woordes and not the meaninge of him that speaketh. As this yeere a Dutch man in Roome meetinge in an Eveninge oure M. Philipp Beroaldo whose Scholar he was, said unto him: Dominé magister, Deus det vobis bonum sero. And Beroaldo answered incontinently: Tibi malum cito. And Diego Dé Chignognes 

Ferdinando Gonsalvo. Note here the dooble signification of Vino. Diego tooke it not for wine but for, God came, He came indeed (quoth Diego, meninge it by Christe) and thou knewest him not: wherby he signified to the hearers that Spaniarde to be of the beleaf that Christ is not yet come. Countes taken here both for respectes or causes and also for Erles. Contrary woordes. To enterpret otherwise then a man meaneth.

beeinge at table with the Great Capitain, whan an other Spaniarde that satt there had saide, Vino dios (calling for wine) Diego answered hym again: Vino, y nolo conocistes, to nip him for a marrané. Also M. James Sadoleto said unto Beroaldo, that had tould him how he wold in any wise go to Bolonia: What is the cause that maketh you thus to leave Roome where there are so manie pleasures, to go to Bolonia full of disquietnesse? Beroaldo answered: I am forced to go to Bolonia for three Countes. And nowe he had lifte up three fingers of hys left hande to alleage three causes of his goynge, whan M. James sodeinlye interrupted hym and said: The three countes that make you goe to Bolonia are, Count Lewis da San Bifacio, Count Hercules Rangon and the Count of Pepoli. Then they all laughed bicause these three Countes had bine Beroaldoes Scholers and were propre yonge menne and applyed their studie in Bolonia. This kinde of meerye jestinge therfore maketh a man laughe muche, bicause it bryngeth wyth it other maner answeres then a manne looketh for to heare: and oure owne errour doeth naturallye delite us in these matters, whyche whan it deceyveth us of that we looke for, we laughe at it. But the termes of speache and fygures that have anye grace and grave talke, are likewise (in a maner) alwayes comelye in Jestes and meerye pleasantnesse. See how woordes placed contrarywyse give a great ornament, whan a contrarye clause is sett agaynste another. The same maner is often times verye meerye and pleasant. As a Genuesé that was verye prodigall and lavysh in hys expences beeinge reprehended by a usurer, who was most covetous, that said unto him: And whan wilt thou leave castynge away thy substance? Then he answered: Whan thou leavest stealinge of other mens. And bicause (as we have alreadie said) from the places that we derive Jestes from, that touch a manne, we may manie times from the verie same take grave sentences to prayse and commende, it is a verye comelye and honest maner both for the one and the other pourpose, whan a man consenteth to and confirmeth the selfe same thinge that the other speaketh, but interpreteth it otherwise then he meaneth. As within these fewe dayes a Priest of the Countrey sayinge Masse to his parishioners, after he had toulde them what holye dayes they shoulde have that weeke, he beegane the generall confession in the name of all the people, and sayde: I have synned in yll dooynge, in yll speakynge, in yll thynkynge, and the rest that foloweth, makynge mention of all the deadlye sinnes. Then a Gossippe of his and one that was verye familiar wyth the Priest to sporte with hym, saide to the standers bye: Beare recorde, Sirs, what he confesseth with hys owne mouth he hath done, for I entende to present him to the Bishoppe for it. The verye same maner used Salazza della Pedrata to hounoure a Ladye of love wythall. With whome entringe in talke, after he had praysed herr beeside her vertuous qualities for her beawtie also, she answered him that she deserveth not that praise, bicause she was now well striken in yeeres. And he then said to her: That is in you of age, is nothing elles but to liken you unto the aungelles, whiche were the firste and are the auntientest creatures that ever God made. Also meerie sayinges are muche to the pourpose to nippe a man, aswell as grave sayinges to praise one, so the metaphors be well applyed, and especiallye yf they be answered, and he that maketh answere continue in the self same metaphor spoken by the other. And in this sorte was 

Palla Strozzi. Cosimo de Medici. The Lorde Marcus Anthonius Columna.

answered to M. Palla Strozzi, whiche banished out of Florence, and sendinge thither one of his about certein affaires, said unto him after a threatninge maner: Tell Cosmus de Medicis in my name that The henn sitteth abroodé. The messenger did the errand to him, as he was wylled. And Cosmus without any more deliberacion, answered him immediatlye: Tell M. Palla in my name again, that Hennes can full yll sitt abroodé out of the nest. With a metaphor also M. Camillo Porcaro commended honorablye the Lorde Marcantonio Colonna, who understandynge that M. Camillo in an Oration of hys had extolled certein noble men of Italy that were famous in marcial prowesse, and emonge the rest had made most honorable mention of him, after rendringe due thankes, he said to him: You (M. Camillo) have done by your friendes as some merchaunt men play by their money, which findinge a counterfeit Ducat, to dispatch him away, cast him into a heape of good ones and so uttre him: even so you, to honour me withall, where I am little woorth, have sett me in company with so excellent and vertuous personages, that through their prowesse, I may peraventure passe for a good one. Then M. Camillo made answere: They that use to counterfeit Ducates, gylte them so that they seeme to the eye much better then the good: therfore if there were to be founde counterfeiters of menne, as there be of Ducates, a man might have a juste cause to suspect you were false, beeinge (as you are) of much more faire and brighter mettall then any of the rest. You may see that this place is commune both for the one and the other kinde of Jestes, and so are manie mo, of the which a man might geve infinite examples, and especially in grave sayinges. As the great Capitain saide, whiche (beeinge sett at table and everye roume filled) save two Italian Gentilmen standinge bye that had done him verye good service in the warr, sodainly he start up and made all the rest to arrise to give place to these two, and said: Make roume Sirs for these gentilmen to sitt at their meat, for had they not bine we should not have had now wherwithall to feade our selves. He saide also to Diego Garzia that perswaded hym to remove out of a dangerous place that lay open upon gunnshott: 

Lewis the XII. Gein Ottomani.

Sins God hath not put feare into your mynd, put not you it into myne. And kinge Lewis, which is nowe Frenche kinge, where it was saide unto him soone after his creation, that then was the time to be even with his enemies that had done him so much injurye while he was Duke of Orleans. He made answere: That the French kinge hath nothing ado to revenge the wronges done to the Duke of Orleans. A man toucheth also in Jest manye times with a certein gravitie without moving a man to laughe. As Gein Ottomani brother to the great Turke, whan he was prisoner in Roome, he said: Justinge (as we used it in Italye) seemed to him overgreat a daliaunce, and a tryfle to that should be in deede. And he said, whan it was tould him that kinge Ferdinande the yonger was nimble and quycke of person in renning, leapinge, vautynge and suche matters, in his country slaves used these exercises, but great men learned from their childhood liberalitie and were renowmed for that. And in a maner after the same sort, savinge it had a litle more matter to laughe at, was that the archbishopp of Florence said unto Cardinal Alexandrino: That men have nothinge but Substance, a body and a soul: their Substance is at Lawyars disposynge, their Bodye at Phisitiens, and their Soul at divines.

Then answered the L. Julian: A man might ad unto this the saiynge of Nicholetto: which is, that it is seldome seene a Lawyer to go to lawe, nor a Phisitien take medicin, nor a divine a good Christian.

M. Bernarde laughed, then he proceaded: of this there be infinite examples spoken by great Princes and verie grave men. But a man laugheth also manye times at 

Comparasons.

comparasons. As oure Pistoia wrott unto Seraphin: I sende thee backe again thy great male whiche is like thy self. If ye remember well Seraphin was muche like a male. Again, there be some that have a pastime to liken menne and women to horses, to dogges, to birdes, and often times to coffers, to stooles, to cartes, to candelstickes, which somtime hath a good grace and otherwhile verye stale. Therfore in this point a man must consider the place, the time, the persones, and the other thinges we have so manie times spoken of.

Then spake the L. Gaspar Pallavicin: The comparason that the L. John Gonzaga made of Alexander the Great to M. Aleaxander his son, was verye pleasant.

I wote not what it was, answered M. Bernarde.

The L. Gaspar said: The L. John was playinge at dice (as his use is) and had lost a numbre of Ducates and was still on the losing hande, and M. Alexander his sonn, which for all he is a childe delyteth no lesse in playe then his father, stoode verie still to beehould him and seemed verye sad. The Count of Pianella, that was there present with manye other Gentilmen, said: See (my Lorde) M. Alexander is verie heavie for youre losse, and his hert panteth waytinge whan lucke will come to you that he may gete some of your winninges: therfore rid him of this griefe, and beefore ye lose the rest, gyve hym at the least one Ducat that he maye goe playe him too, emonge hys companyons. Then sayde the L. John: You are deceyved, for Alexander thynketh not upon suche a trifle, but as it is wrytten of Alexander the great, while he was a childe, understandinge that Philipp his father had dyscomfited a great armie, and conquered a certein kingdome, he fell in weepinge, and whan he was asked the question whye he wept, he answered, bicause he doubted that his father would conquerr so manye Countryes, that he should have none left for him to conquerr: even so nowe Alexander my sonne is sorye and readye to weepe in seeinge me his father lose, bycause he doubteth that I shall lose so much, that I shall leave him nothinge at all to lose.

Whan they had a whyle laughed at this M. Bernarde wente forwarde: A man must take heede also his jestynge be not wicked, and that the matter extende not (to appeere quycwitted) to blasphemye, and studye therin to invent newe wayes: least herein, where a manne deserveth not 

Blasphemye. Filthy and baudie in persons talke.

onelye blame, but also sharpe punishment, he should appeere to seke a praise, which is an abhominable matter. And therfore suche as these be, that goe about to shew their pregnant witt wyth small reverence to Godward, deserve to be excluded out of everye Gentylmans companye. And no lesse, they that be filthye and bawdye in talke, and that in the presence of women have no maner respect, and seeme to take none other delite but to make women blushe for shame, and upon thys goe seekynge oute meerye and jestynge woordes. As thys yeere in Ferrara at a banckett in presence of manye Ladyes there was a Florentine and a Senese, whiche for the moste parte (as you knowe) are ennemies together. The Senese sayd to nipp the Florentine: We have maryed Siena to the Emperour and given him Florence in dowerye. And this he spake bicause the talke was abrode in those dayes, that the Senes had given a certein quantitie of money to the Emperour, and he tooke the protection of them upon him. The Florentine answered immediatlye: But Siena shalbe first ridden (after the Frenche phrase, but he spake the Italian worde) and then the dowerye afterward be pleaded for at good leyser. You may see the taunt was wittie, but bicause it was in presence of women it appeered bawdie and not to be spoken.

Then spake the L. Gaspar Pallavicin: Women have none other delite but to heare of such matters, and yet will you deprive them of it. And as for my part I have bine ready to blushe for shame at woordes which women have spoken to me oftener then men.

And I speake not of such women as these be, quoth M. Bernarde, but of the vertuous that deserve to be reverenced and honoured of all gentilmen.

The L. Gaspar saide: It were good we might finde out some pretie rule howe to knowe them, bicause moste communlie the best in apparance are cleane contrarye in effect.

The said M. Bernarde smylinge: Were not the L. Julian here present that in everye place is counted the protectour of women, I woulde take upon me to answere you, but I will take his offyce from him.

Here the L. Emilia in like maner smilinge, said: Women neede no defendoure againste an accuser of so small authoritie. Therefore let the L. Gaspar alone in this his froward opinion, risen more bicause he could never finde woman that was willynge to loke upon him, then for anye want that is in women, and proceade you in youre communication of Jestes.

Then M. Bernarde: Trulye mandam (quoth he) me thinke I have named unto you manie places, out of the which a man may pike pleasant and wittie sayinges, which afterward have so much the more grace, as they are set furth with a comelie protestacion. Yet may there be alleaged manie other also, as whan to encrease or diminish, thinges be spoken that uncrediblye passe the likelihoode of truth. And of this sort was that Marius da Volterra said by a prelate that thought himselfe so taule a person, that as he went into Saint Peters, he stowped for hittinge his heade againste the greate beame over the porche. Also the L. Julian here saide that Golpino hys servaunte was so leane and drie, that in a morning as he was blowing the fire to kendle it, the smoke bore him up the chimney unto the tonnell, and had gone awaye with him had he not stooke on crosse at one of the holes above. And M. Augustin Bevazzano toulde, that a covetous manne whiche woulde not sell hys corne while it was at a highe price, whan he sawe afterwarde it had a great falle, for desperacion he hanged himself upon a beame in his chamber, and a servaunt of his hearing the noise, made speede, and seeing his maister hang, furthwith cut in sunder the rope and so saved him from death: afterwarde whan the covetous man came to himselfe, he woulde have had hys servaunt to have paide him for his halter that he had cut. Of this sort appeareth to be also that Laurence de Medicis said unto a colde jester: Thou shouldest not make me laugh if thou ticklidest me. The like he answered unto an other foolishe person, who in a morninge had founde him in bed verie late and blamed him for sleeping somuche, sayinge unto him: I have now bine in the new and olde markett place, afterward I went oute at the gate of San Gallo to walke about the walles, and have done a thousande other matters, and you are yet in bed. Then said Laurence: That I have dreamed in one houre is more woorth, then al that you have done in foure. It is also pretie whan one reprehendeth a thinge which a man would not thinke he minded to reprehende. As the marquesse Friderick of Mantua oure Dutchesse father, beeinge at table wyth manye gentilmen, one of them after he had eaten up his dishe of broth, said: By your leave my L. marquesse. And whan he had so said, be beegane to suppe up the rest that remayned in the dishe. Then said the marquesse by and by: Aske leave of the swyne, for thou doest me no wronge at all. Also M. Nicholas Leonicus said, to touch a noble manne that was falsely reported to be liberall: Gesse you what liberalitye is in him that doeth not onlye 

Dissimulacion.

geve awaye hys owne good but other mens also. That is in like maner an honest and comelie kinde of jesting that consisteth in a certein dissimulacion, whan a man speaketh one thinge and privilie meaneth another. I speake not of the maner that is cleane contrarye, as if one shoulde call a dwarf a giaunt: and a blacke man, white: or one most ilfavoured beawtifull, bicause they be to open contraries, although otherwhile also they stirr a man to laughe. But whan with a grave and drie speache in sportinge a a man speaketh pleasantlie that he hath not in his minde. As whan a gentilman tould M. Augustin Folietta a loude lye and earnestlye did affirme it, bicause he thought he scase beleaved it. At laste M. Augustin said: Gentilman, if you will ever do me pleaser, be so good to me as to quiet your selfe in case I do not beleave anye thinge you saye. Yet whan he replied again and bound it with an othe to be true, at lengthe he saide: Sins you wyll have me, I am content to beleave it for your sake, for to saye the trueth I would do a greater thinge for you then this commeth to. In a maner after the same sorte Don Giovanni di Cardona said of one that woulde forsake Rome: In mine opinion thys felowe is yll advysed, for he is so wicked that in abidinge in Rome it maye be his chaunce in time to be made a Cardinall. Of this sorte is also that Alphonsus Santacroce said, whiche a litle beefore havinge certein injuries done him by the Cardinall of Pavia, and walking without Bolonia with certein Gentilmen nighe unto the place of execution, and seeinge one newlye hanged there, tourned him that waye with a certein heavie looke and said so loude that every man might heare him: Thou art a happie man that hast nothinge adoo with the Cardinal of Pavia. And the kinde of jestinge that is somewhat grounded upon scoffinge seemeth verie meete for 

Jestinge grounded upon scoffing meete for great men.

great men, bicause it is grave and wittie and may be used both in sportynge matters and also in grave. Therfore dyd manye of olde time and menne of best estimatyon use it: as Cato, Scipio Affricanus minor. But above all they saye Socrates the Philosopher excelled in it. And in oure time Kynge Alphonsus the first of Aragon: which upon a time as he went to diner tooke manye ryche jewelles from his fingers, for wetting them in washing hys handes, and so gave them to him that stoode nexte him as thoughe he had not minded who it was. This servaunt had thought sure the king marked not to whom he gave them, and bicause his heade was busied with more waightie affaires, wold soone forgete them cleane, and therof he tooke the more assurance, whan he sawe the kinge asked not for them again. And whan the matter was passed certein dayes, wekes and monthes without hearinge anye woord of it, he thought surelye he was safe. And so about the yeeres end after this matter had happened, an other time as the kinge was in like maner going to diner, he stepped furth and put out his hande to take the kinges ringes. Then the kinge rounding him in the eare, said: The first is well for thee, these shall be good for an other. See this taunt how pleasant, wittie and grave it is, and woorthie in verie deede for the noble courage of an Alexander. Like unto this 

To name an yll thing with honest woordes. Frumpes.

maner grounded upon scoffinge there is also an other kinde, whan with honest woordes, a man nameth a vitious matter or a thinge that deserveth blame. As the great Capitain said unto a Gentilman of hys, that after the journey of Cirignola and whan all thinges were alreadye in safetye, mett him as richelye armed as might be, readye to fight. Then the great Capitain tourninge to him Don Ugo di Cardona, saide: Feare ye not now any more Sea tempest, for Saint Hermus hath appeered. And wyth thys honeste woorde he gave him a nicke. Bicause you knowe Saint Hermus doeth alwayes appeer unto Mariners after a tempeste and gyveth a token of calme. And the meaning of the great capitain was, that whan this gentilman appeered it was a signe that daunger was alreadye cleane past. Again M. Octavian Ubaldino beeinge in Florence in Companye wyth certein of the best Citizins and reasonynge together of souldiers, one of them asked him whether he knewe Antonello da Forli whiche was then fled out of the state of Florence. M. Octavian answered: I have no great knowledge of him, but I have heard him alwaies reported to be a quick souldier. Then said an other Florentin: it appeereth he is quicke, for he taried not so longe as to aske leave to depart. They be also pretie tauntes whan a man of the verie communication of his felowe taketh that he would not, and my meaning is in that sort, as our Duke answered the Capitain that lost Saint Leo. Whan this state was taken by Pope Alexander and given to Duke Valentin, the Duke beeing in Venice at that time I speake of, manie of his subjectes came continually to give him secret information how the matters of state passed, and emonge the rest, thither came also this 

Pope Alexander VI. usurped the dukedome of Urbin and gave it to hys sonne Cesar Borgia, comunlye called Duca Valentino.

Capitain, whiche after he had excused himselfe the best he coulde, laiynge the fault in his unluckinesse, he saide: My Lorde doubt ye not, my hart serveth me yet to woorke a meane that Saint Leo may be recovered again. Then answered the Duke: Trouble not thy self any more about that, for in losing it thou haste wrought a meane that it may be recovered again. Certein other sayinges there are whan a man that is knowen to be wittie speaketh a matter, that seemeth to proceede of folye. As the last day M. Camillo Paleotto said by one: That foole, assoone as he beegane to wexe riche, died. There is like unto this maner a certein wittie and kinde dissimulacion, whan a man (as I have said) that is wise maketh semblant not to understande that he doth understande. As the marquesse Friderick of Mantua, which beeing sued to by a prating felow that complained upon certein of his neighbours takinge the Pigions of his Dovehouse with snares, and helde one continuallye in his hande hanging by the foote in a snare, which he had founde so dead, he answered him that there should be a remedye for it. This felowe never satisfied, not 

Dessimulacion.

once but manye a time repeted unto him his losse, showinge alwaies the Pigion so hanged, and saide still: But I besech you, howe thinke ye (my Lorde) what should a man do in this matter? The marquesse at length said: By mine advise the Pigeon ought in no wise to be buried in the Church, for sins he hath so hanged himself, it is to be thought that he was desperat. In a maner after the same sorte was that Scipio Nascia said unto Ennius. For whan Scipio went unto Ennius house to speake with him and called to him in the streete, a maiden of his made him answere that he was not at home. And Scipio heard plainlye Ennius himselfe saye unto his mayden to tell hym that he was not at home, so he departed. Within a while after Ennius came unto Scipioes house, and so likewise stoode beneethe and called him. Unto whom Scipio himselfe with a loude voice made answere that he was not at home. Then said Ennius: What, do not I knowe thy voice? Scipio answered: Thou hast smalle Courteysie in thee, the last day I beleaved thy maiden thou waste not at home, and now wilt not thou beleave 

To touche in the same matter a man is touched.

me my selfe? It is also pretie whan one is touched in the verie same matter that he hath first touched his felowe. As Alonso Carillo beeinge in the Spanishe Court and havynge committed certein youthfull partes that were of no great importance, was by the kinges commaundement caried to prison, and there abode for one night. The next day he was taken out again, and whan he came to the Palaice in the morninge, he entred into the chamber of presence that was full of gentilmen and Ladies, and jestynge together at this his imprisonment, maistresse Boadilla said: M. Alonso, I tooke great thought for this mishap of yours, for al that knew you were in feare least the kinge wold have hanged you. Then said immediatlye Alonso: Indeede maistresse, I was in doubte of the matter my selfe to, but yet I had a good hope that you would have begged me for your husbande. See howe sharpe and wittie this is. Bicause in Spaine (as in many other places also) the maner is, whan a manne is lead to execution, if a commune harlot will aske him for her husbande, it saveth his life. In this maner also did Raphael the peincter answere two Cardinalles (with whom he might be familiar) which to make him talke, found fault in his hearinge with a table he had made, where Saint Peter and Saint Paul were: saiynge, that those twoo 

The maner of Spaine. A semblant of laughing. With a certein gravitie. A matter that seemeth foolishe.

pictures were to red in the face. Then said Raphael by and by: My lordes, wonder you not at it, for I have made them so for the nones, bicause it is to be thought that Saint Peter and Saint Paul are even as red in heaven as you see them here, for verie shame that their Churche is goverened by such men as you be. Also those Jestes are pleasant, that have in them a certein privie semblant of laughter. As whan a husband lamented much and bewayled his wief that had hanged her selfe upon a figgtree, an other came to him and pluckynge him by the slieve, said, Friend, may I receive such pleaser as to have a graff of that figgtree to graff in some stocke of my Orcharde? There be certein other Jestes that be pacient and spoken softlie with a kinde of gravitie. As a man of the Countrye caryinge a coffer upon his shoulders, chaunced therwithall to gyve Cato a harde pushe, and afterward said: Give roume. Cato answered: Haste thou anye thinge upon thy shoulders beeside that coffer? It is also a matter of laughter whan a man hath committed an errour and to amend it speaketh a matter pourposelye that appeereth foolishe, and yet is applyed to the ende that he hath appointed, and serveth hys tourne therwithall that he seeme not oute of countenaunce and dismayed. As not longe sins two ennemies beeinge together in the Counsell chamber of Florence (as it happeneth often in those Commune weales) the one of them, which was of the house of Altoviti, slept, and he that satt next unto him for a sporte, where his adversarye that was of the house of Alamanni, had said nothinge neyther then nor beefore, 

Altoviti. Alamanni.

stirringe him wyth his elbowe made him awake, and saide unto him: Hearest thou not what such a one saith? Make answere, for the Lordes aske for thine advise. Then did Altoviti all sleepie arrise upon his feete and without anye more deliberation said: My Lordes, I say the cleane contrarye to that Alamanni hath spoken. Alamanni answered: What? I have said nothinge. Altoviti said immediatlye: To that thou wilt speake. In this maner also did youre M. Seraphin the Phisitien here in Urbin saye unto a manne of the Country, which had receyved such a stroke upon the eye, that in verie deede it was oute, yet thought he beste to go seeke to M. Seraphin for remedie. Whan he saw it thoughe he knewe it was past cure, yet to plucke money out of his handes as that blowe had plucked the eye oute of his heade, he promised him largely to heale it. And so he was in hande with him everye day for money, puttinge him in comforte that within sixe or seven dayes, he shoulde beegine to see wyth it agayn. The poore countrye manne gave him the litle he had, but whan he sawe him so prolonge the matter, he beegane to finde himself agreeved wyth the Physitien, and sayde that he was nothinge the better, neyther coulde he see anye more wyth that eye, then if he had hadd none at all in hys heade. At length M. Seraphin perceyvynge there was no more to be gotten at hys handes, saide: Brother myne, thou muste have pacience, thou haste cleane lost thine eye and no remedye is there for it, praye God thou lose not thyne other wythall. The Countrye manne seeynge thys, fell in weepynge, and lamented muche and saide: Mayster myne, you have pylled me and robbed me of my money, I will complayne to the Duke, and made the greatest outcryes in the worlde. Then sayde M. Seraphin in a rage and to cleere hymselfe: Ah thou vyllein knave: thou wouldest then have two eyes as Cityzins and honest menne have, wouldest thow? Get thee hence in the Dyvelles name. And these woordes were thruste out wyth suche furye that the poore selie manne was dismayed, and held his peace, and soft and faire departed in Gods name, thinking that he himselfe had bine in the wronge. It is also pretie whan a man declareth or enterpreteth a matter meerilie. As in the Spanishe Court in a morning there came into the Palaice a knight who was very ylfavoured: and his wief, that was verie beawtifull, both apparailed in white Damaske, and the Queene said unto Alonso Carillo: Howe thinke ye Alonso by these two? Madam, answered Alonso, me thnke the Ladye is the Dame, and he the aske, which signifieth a foule person and uglesome. Also whan Raphael de Pazzi sawe a letter that the Priour of Messina 

To enterpret a matter meerely. Dame aske. This letter be geven to the cause of my griefe. Familiar admonition in maner of counsell.

had written to a maistresse of his, the superscription whereof was: Esta carta s'ha da dar a qui en causa mi penar, Me thinke (quoth he) this letter is directed to Paul Tholossa. Imagine you how the standers bye laughed at it, for they all knew that Paul Tholossa had lent tenn thousand Ducates to the Priour of Messina, and bicause he was verie lavishe in his expences, he could finde no waye to paye his dett. It is like unto this, whan a man geveth familiar admonition in maner of counsell, but dissemblinglie. As Cosmus de Medicis said unto a friend of his that had more riches then wit, and by Cosmus meanes had compassed an office without Florence, and at his settinge furthe askinge Cosmus what way he thought best for him to take to execute this office well: Cosmus answered him: Apparaile thy selfe in scarlate, and speake litle. Of this sort was that Count Lewis said unto one that woulde passe for an unknowen person in a certein daungerous place, and wist not howe to disguise himself, and the Count beeinge demaunded of hys advise therin, answered: Apparaile thy selfe like a Doctour, or in some other rayment that wise men use to weare. Also Jannotto de Pazzi said unto one that minded to make an armynge coat of as manye divers colours as might be invented: Take the woordes and deedes of the Cardinall of Pavia. A man laugheth also at certein matters disagreeinge. As one said the last daye unto M. Antony Rizzo of a certein Forlivese: Gesse whether he be a foole or no, for his name is Bartholomew. And an other: Thou 

Matters disagreeinge. That seeme to agree. That agree not. The Rota in Roome is suche an other matter as the Court of the Arches in England.

seekest a rider and hast no horses. And this man wanteth nothinge but good and a horse. And at certein other that seeme to agree. As within these few dayes where there was a suspicion that a friend of oures had caused a false advoucion of a benifice to be drawen out, afterward whan an other Priest fell sicke, Antony Torello saide unto him: What doest thou lingre the matter, whie doest thou not sende for the Clerke and see whether thou cannest hit upon this other benefyce? Likewise at certein that doe not agree. As the last day whan the Pope had sent for M. Johnluke of Pontremolo and M. Dominick dalla Porta, which (as you knowe) are both crookbacked, and made them Auditours, sayinge that he entended to bringe the Rota into a right frame, M. Latin Juvenal saide: Oure holie father is deceived yf he thinke that he can bringe the Rota into a right frame with two crooked persons. Also it provoketh laughter, whan a man graunteth the thinge that is toulde him and more, but seemeth to understande it otherwise. As Capitain Peralta beeing brought into the listes to fight the combatt wyth Aldana and Capitain Molart that was Aldanus patrine requiringe Peralta to sweare whether he had about him any Saint Johns Gosspell or charme and inchanmente, to preserve him from hurt. Peralta swore that he had about him neyther Gosspell nor inchauntment, nor relike, nor any matter of devocion wherein he had any faith. Then said Molart, to touch him to be a marrané: Well no mo woordes in this, for I beleave without swearinge that you have no faith also in Christ. It is pretie moreover to use mataphors at a time in such pourposes. As oure M. Marcantonio that said to Botton da Cesena, who had vexed him with woordes: Botton, Botton, thou shalt one day be the botton, and the halter shalbe the bottonhole. And also whan Marcantonio had made a comedye whiche was verie longe and of sundrye actes, the verye same Botton saide in like maner to Marcantonio: to play youre Comedye ye shall neede for preparation asmuche wood as in Sclavonia. M. Marcantonio answered: And for preparation of thy Tragedie three trees is inoughe. Again a man speaketh a word manie times wherin is a privie signification farr from that appeereth he wold say. As the L. Generall here being in company where there was communication of a Capitain that in deede al his lief time for the more part had received the overthrow, and as then by a chaunce wann the victorie: and whan he that ministred this talke said: Whan he made his entrie into that towne he was apparailed in a verie faire crimosin velute coate, which he wore alwaies after his victories. The L. Generall said: Beelike it is verie new. And no lesse doeth it 

An answere to that a man hath not said.

provoke laughter, whan otherwhile a man maketh answere unto that which the other he talketh withall hath not spoken: or els seemeth to beleave he hath done that he hath not done, and should have done it. As Andrew Cosia, when he went to visit a gentilman that discourtiously suffered him to stand on his feete and he himselfe satt, saide: Sins you commaund me, sir, to obey you I will sitt, and so satt him downe. Also a man laugheth whan one accuseth himselfe of some trespace. As the last daye whan I saide to the Dukes Chapplaine, that my Lordes grace had a Chapplaine that coulde say masse sooner then he: he answered me, It is not possible. And roundinge me in the eare, saide: You shall understande that I say not the third part of the secretes. Also Biagin Crivello, when a priest was slain at Millane, he required his benefice of the Duke, the which he was minded to bestowe upon an other. At length Biagin perceyvinge no other reason wold prevaile, And what (quoth he) if I were the cause of his death, why will you not geve me his benefice? It hath also manie times a good grace to wish those thinges that can not be. As the last day one of our companie beehouldinge all these Gentilmen 

To wish that cannot be. A contrarye answere.

here playnge at fence, and he liynge uppon a bed, said: Oh what a pleasure it were, were this also a valiaunt mans and a good souldiers exercise. In like maner it is a pretie and wittie kinde of speakinge and especially in grave men and of authoritie, to answere contrarye to that he would, with whom he speaketh but drilie and (as it were) with a certein doubting and heedfull consideracion. As in times past Alphonsus the first Kinge of Aragon, gevinge unto a servaunt of his, horse, harneis and apparaile, bicause he toulde him how the night beefore he had dreamed that his highnesse had given him all those kindes of matters, and not longe after, the verie same servauntes said again how he dreamed that night, that he had given him a good sort of royalles, he answered him: Hensfurthe beleave dreames no more, for they are not alwaies true. In this sort also did the Pope answere the Bishop of Cervia, that to grope his minde saide unto him: Holye father, it is noysed all Roome over and in the Palice to, that your holynesse maketh me Governour. Then answered the Pope: Let the knaves speake what they luste, doubt you not, it is not true I warrant you. I could (my Lordes) beeside these gather manye other places, from whiche a manne maye dirive meerye and pleasant Jestes, as matters spoken with feare, wyth marveyle, with threatninges oute of order, with overmuche furiousnesse: beesyde this, certein newlye happened cases provoke laughter: sometime silence with a certein wonder, at other tymes verie laughter it selfe without pourpose: but me thinke I have nowe spoken sufficient, for the Jestes that consiste in woordes (I beleave) passe not these boundes we have reasoned of. As for such as be in operacion, though there be infinite partes of them, yet are they drawen into fewe principles. But in both kindes the chief matter is to deceive opinion, and to answer otherwise then the hearer loketh for: and (in case the Jest shal have any grace) it must nedes be seasoned with this deceit, or dissimulacion, or mockinge, or rebukinge, or comparason, or what ever other kinde a man will use. And althoughe all kinde of Jestes move a man to laugh, yet do they also in this laughter make diverse effectes. For some have in them 

Diverse effectes in jestes.

a certein cleannesse and modest pleasantnesse. Other bite sometime privily, otherwhile openlye. Other have in them a certein wantonnesse. Other make one laughe assone as he heareth them. Other the more a man thinketh upon them. Other in laughinge make a man blushe withall. Other stirr a man somewhat to angre. But in all kindes a man must consider the disposition of the mindes of the hearers, bicause unto persons in adversitie oftentimes meery toyes augment their affliction: and some infirmities there be, that the more a man occupieth medicine aboute them, the woorse they wexe. In case therfore the Courtier in jestinge and speakinge meerie conceytes have a respecte to the time, to the persons, to his degree, and not use it to often (for parde it bringeth a lothsomnesse if a man stand evermore about it, all day in all kinde of talke and without pourpose) he maye be called pleasant and feat conceyted. So he heedefull also that he be not so bitter and bitinge, that a man mighte conjecture he were an envious person in prickinge without a cause, or for plaine malice, or men of to great authoritie (whiche is lacke of discreation) or of to much miserie (which is crueltye) or to mischevous (which is vanitie) or elles in speakinge matters that may offende them whom he would not offende (which is ignoraunce). For some there be that thinke they are bound to speake and to nippe without regard, as often as they can, howe ever the matter goe afterwarde. And emonge these kinde of persons are they, that to speake a woord which should seeme to come of a readinesse of witt, passe not for staynynge of a woorthie gentilwomans honesty, which is a very naughtie matter and 

The smalle respett some have in jestinge. A paltockis ynn.

woorthie sore punishment. Bicause in this point women are in the number of selie soules and persons in miserye, and therfore deserve not to be nipped in it, for they have not weapon to defende themselves. But beeside these respectes he that wilbe pleasant and full of jestinge, must be shaped of a certein nature to all kinde of pleasantnesse, and unto that frame his facions, gestures and countenaunce, the which the more grave, steadie and sett it is, somuch the more maketh it the matters spoken to seeme wittie and subtil. But you (Sir Fridericke) that thought to rest your selfe under this my tree without leaves and in my withered reasoninges, I beleave you have repented youre selfe, and you recken ye are entred into the baytinge place of Montefiore. Therfore it shall be well done for you like a wel practised Courtier (to avoide an ill hosterie) to arryse somwhat beefore your ordinarye hour and set forwarde on your journey.

Nay, answered Sir Fridericke, I am come to so good an hosterie, that I minde to tarye in it lenger then I had thought at the firste. Therfore I will rest me yet a while, untill you have made an ende of all the talke ye have beegone withall. Wherof ye have left oute one percell that ye named at the beeginning: whiche is, Meerie Pranckes, and it were not well done to deceyve the companye of it. But as you have taught us manie pretie matters cancerninge Jestes, and made us hardie to use them throughe example of so many singular wittes, great men, Princis, Kinges and Popes, I suppose ye will likewise in Meerie Pranckes so boulden us, that we maye take a courage to practise some against you your selfe.

Then said M. Bernarde smilinge: You shall not be the firste, but perhappes it will not be your chaunce, for I have so manie times bin served with them, that it maketh me looke wel about me: As dogges, after they have bine once scaulded with hott water, are aferd of the colde. How be it sins you will have me to speake somewhat of this to, I beleave I may rid my handes of it in fewe woordes. And in mine opinion a Meerie Prancke is nothinge elles, but a 

What is a Meerye prancke.

friendlye deceit in matters that offende not at all or verie little. And even as in Jestynge to speake contrary to expectacyon moveth laughter, so doeth in Meerie Pranckes to doe contrarie to expectacion. And these doe so muche the more delite and are to be praised, as they be wittie and modest. For he that will woorke a Meerie Prancke without respect, doth manie times offende and then arrise debates and sore hatred. But the places that a man may dirive Merie Pranckes from are (in a maner) the verie same that be in Jestes. Therfore to avoide repetition of them, I will say no more but that there be two kyndes of Meerie Pranckes everye one of which may afterwarde be divided into mo partes. The one is, whan any man whoever he be, is deceyved wittilie, and after a feat maner and with pleasantnesse. The other, whan a manne layeth (as it were) a nett, and showeth a piece of a bayte so, that a man renneth to be deceyved of himself. The first is suche, as the Meerie Prancke was, that within these fewe dayes was wrought unto a coople of greate Ladyes (whom I will not name) by the meane of a Spaniarde called Castilio.

Then the Dutchesse: And whie (quoth she) will you not name them?

M. Bernarde answered: Bicause I would not have them to take it in yll part.

Then said the Dutchesse again, smilinge: It is not againste good maner sometime to use Meerie Pranckes with great men also. And I have heard of manie that have bine played to Duke Fridericke, to kinge Alphonsus of Aragon, to Queene Isabel of Spaine, and to manie other great Princis, and not onlie they tooke it not in ill part, but rewarded very largely them that plaied them those partes.

M. Bernarde answered: Neyther upon this hope do I entend to name them.

Say as pleaseth you, quoth the Dutchesse.

Then proceaded M. Bernarde and said: Not manie dayes since in the Court that I meane, there arrived a manne of the Countrie about Bergamo, to be in service wyth a Gentilman of the Court: whyche was so well sett oute with garmentes and so finely clad, that for all hys brynginge up was alwayes keapinge Oxen and could doe nothinge elles, yet a manne that had not hearde him speake woulde have judged him a woorthie gentilman. And so whan those two ladies were enfourmed that there was arrived a Spaniarde, servaunt to Cardinall Borgia, whose name was Castilio, a verie wittie man, a musitien, a daunser and the best Courtier in all Spaine, they longed verie much to speake with him, and sent incontinentlye for him, and after they had receyved him honorablye, they caused him to sitt downe, and beegan to entertein him with a verie great respect in the presence of all menne, and fewe there were present that knew him not to be a Bergamask Cowherd. Therfore seeinge those Ladies enterteine him with such respect, and honour him so muche, they fell all in a laughyng, the more 

The woorst speach in all Italy.

bicause the seelie felowe spake still his natyve language, the meere Bergamaske tunge. But the Gentilmen that divised this Prancke, had first toulde those Ladyes that emonge other thinges he was a great dissembler and spake all tunges excellently well, and especiallye the Countrie speache of Lumbardye, so that they thought he feigned, and manie tymes they beehelde the one the other with certein marveilinges, and saide: What a wonderful matter is this howe he counterfeyteth this tunge! In conclusion thys communication lasted so longe that eveye mans sydes aked for laughinge, and he could not chouse himselfe but uttre so manye tokens of hys noblenesse of birth, that at length those Ladies (but with much ado) beleaved he was the man that he was in deede. Suche Meerie Pranckes we see daily, but emong the rest they be pleasant that at the first make a man agast and after that, ende in a matter of suretie, bicause he that was deceived laugheth at himself whan he perceyveth he was afeard of nothing. As liynge upon a time in Paglia, there chaunced to be in the verie 

Whan a man is afeard of nothing. Paglia is a litle village in the utmost boundes of the territorie of Siena.

same ynn three other good felowes, two of Pistoia and one of Prato, whiche after supper (as the maner is for the most part) fell to gamynge. And not longe after, one of the Pistoiens losinge his rest, had not a farthynge left him to blesse himselfe, but beegan to chafe, to curse, and to bann and to blaspheme terriblye, and thus tearinge of God he went to bed. The other two after they had played a while, agreed to woorke a Meerie Pranke with him that was gone to bed. And whan they perceyved that he was fallen in sleepe, they blew out the candels and raked up the fire and beegane to speake aloude, and then make the greatest hurly burly in the worlde, makinge wise to contende together about their game. The one said: Thou tookest the carde underneath. The other deniynge it said: Thou hast viede upon flush, let us mount: and suche other matters with suche noise that he that slept awoke, and hearynge them at play and talkinge even as though they had seene the cardes, did a litle open his eyes: whan he sawe there was no maner light in the chamber, he sayde: What a Dyvell meane you to crie thus all night? Afterwarde he layed him downe again to sleepe. The other two companions gave him no maner answere, but still continued in their pourpose untill he awoke better and muche wondred, and whan he saw for certeintie that there was neyther fire nor anye kinde of lighte and perceyved they played still and fell in contention, he said: And how can ye see the cardes without light? The one of the two answered: I weene thou hast lost thy sight aswel as thy money. Seest thou not that we have here two candels? He that was in bed lift up himselfe upon his elbowes and in a maner angred, said: Eyther I am dronken or blinde, or elles you make a lye. The two arrose and went to bed darkelong, laughing and makinge wise to beleave that he went about to mocke them. And he again saide to them: I tell you troth I see you not. At length the two beegane to seeme to wonder much, and the one saide to the other: By good Lord, I beleave he speaketh in good earnest, reach me the candell and lett us see perhappes he have some impediment in his sight. Then thought the poore wretch surelie that he had bine blinde, and weeping dounright, saide: Oh Sirs, I am blinde: and furthwith he beegane 

The greatest pilgromage in Italy. Aquapendente is a towne of the Popes xii. miles from Paglia.

to call upon our Ladye of Loreto and to beeseche her perdon him his blasphemies and cursinge for the losse of his money. But his two companions put him in good comforte and saide: It is not possible but thou shouldest see us. Yt is some fansye that thou haste conceyved in thine heade. Oh good lorde, answered the other, it is no fansye, nor I see no more then if I had never had eyes in my heade. Thy sighte is cleere inoughe, quoth the two. And the one said to the other: Marke how well he openeth his eyes? And how faire they be to looke to? And who wolde beleave but he coulde see? The poore soule wept faster, and cried God mercye. In conclusion they said unto him: See thou make a vow to go divoutlye to our ladye of Loreto barefoote and barelegged, for that is the best remedie that may be had. And in the meane space we will goe to Aquapendente and the other townes here about to seeke for some Phistien, and will helpe the in what we can. Then did the seelie soule kneele upon his knees in the bed, and wyth aboundance of teares and verie bitter repentance for his blaspheminge, made a solemne vow to go naked to our ladye of Loreto and to offre unto her a paire of eyes of silver, and to eate no flesh upon the Wenesdaye nor egges upon the Fridaye, and to faste bread and water every Saturday in worship of our lady: yf she give him the grace to receyve his sight again. The two companions entringe into an other chamber, lighted a candell, and came with the greatest laughter in the world beefore this poore soule, who for all he was rid of so great an anguish as you may thinke he had, yet was he so astonied with his former feare, that he could not onlye not laugh, but not once speake a woord, and the two companions did nothinge elles but sturr him, saiynge that he was bounde to perfourme all those vowes, for that he had received the grace he asked. Of the other kynde of Meerie Pranckes whan a man deceyveth himselfe, I will give you 

Whan a man deceiveth himselfe.

none other example, but what happened unto me my selfe not longe sins. For this shroftide that is past, my Lordes grace of Saint Peter ad Vincula, which knoweth full wel what a delite I have whan I am in maskerie to play Meerie Pranckes with friers, havinge first given order as he had divised the matter, cam upon a daye with my L. of Aragon and certein other Cardinalles, to the windowes in the banckes, making wise to stande there to see maskers passe to and fro, as the maner of Roome is. I being in maskerie passed bye, and whan I behelde on the one side of the streete a frier standinge (as it were) in a studye with himselfe, I judged I had found that I sought for, and furthwith rann to him, like a greedye hauke to her preye, and whan I had asked him and he toulde me who he was, I made semblant to knowe hym, and wyth manye woordes beegane to make him beleave that the marshall went about to seeke him for certein complaintes against him, and persuaded him to go with me to the Chauncerye and there I would save him. The frier dismayed and all tremblinge seemed as thoughe he wist not what to do, and said that he doubted taking in case he should go far from Saint Celso. Still I put him in good comfort, and saide somuche to him that he leaped up beehinde me, and then me thought my divise was fully accomplished. And I beegane to ride my horse by and by up and downe the merchauntes streete, which went kicking and winsing. Imagine with your selves now what a faire sight it was to beehould a frier on horsebacke beehinde a masker, his garmentes fleeing abrode and his head shaking to and fro, that a man would have thought he had bine alwaies falling. With this faire sight, the gentilmen beegane to hurle egges out at the windowes, and afterwarde all the bankers and as many as were there, so that the haile never fell with a more vyolence from the skye, then there fell egges out from the windowes, whiche for the moste part came all upon me. And I for that I was in maskerie passed not upon the matter, and thought verilie that all the laughinge had bine for the frier and not for me, and upon this went sundrie times up and downe the Bankes alwayes with that furye of hell beehinde me. And thoughe the frier (in maner) weepinge beesought me to lett him goe downe and not to showe suche shame to the weede, yet did the knave afterward privile cause egges to be given him by certein Lackayes sett there for the nones, and makinge wise to greepe me harde for fallynge, squised them in my bosome, and many times on my head, and otherwhile in my forehead, so that I was foule arayed. Finally whan everie man was weerye both of laughinge and throwing egges, he leaped downe from behind me, and plucking his hood backward showed me a great bushe of heare, and said: M. Bernarde, I am a horse keaper in the stable at Saint Peter ad Vincula, and am he that looketh to youre mulett. Then wiste I not whyche prevayled moste in me, grief, angre or shame. Yet for the lesse hurt I fled towarde my lodgynge, and the nexte mornynge I durste not showe my heade abrode. But the laughynge at that Meerie Prancke dyd not endure the daye followynge onelye, but also lasteth (in a maner) until this daye.

And so whan they had a whyle renewed the laughinge at rehersynge this agayn, M. Bernarde proceaded. It is also a good and pleasant kinde of Meerie Pranckes, from whens in like maner Jestes are dirived, whan one beleaveth that a man will do a matter which he will not in 

To feigne the doinge of a matter.

deede. As whan I was in an Eveninge after supper uppon the bridge of Leo, and goinge together with Cesar Boccadello sportinge one with an other, we beegan to take houldfast the one of the others armes, as though we wold have wrastled, bicause then we perceyved no man about the bridge, and beeing in this maner together, there came two Frenchmen by, which seeing us thus striving, demaunded what the matter ment, and stayed to part us, thinkinge we had bine at debate in good ernest. Then said I incontinentlye: Helpe sirs, for this poore gentilman at certein times of the moon is frantike, and see now how he striveth to cast himselfe of the bridge into the river. Then did the two renn and layed hande upon Cesar with me and helde him streict. And he (sayinge alwayes that I was out of my witt) struggled the more to winde himself out of their handes, and they greeped him somuch the harder. At this the people assembled to beehoulde our rufflinge together, and everie manne rann, and the more poore Cesar layed about him with his handes and feete (for he beegane nowe to enter into coler) the more resorte of people there was, and for the greate strength he put, they beleaved verelie that he woulde have leaped into the river, and therfore helde they him the streicter, so that a great thronge of people caried him to the ynn above grounde, all tourmoiled and without his cappe, pale for wrath and shame that nothinge he spake coulde prevaile, partlye bicause those Frenchmen understood him not, and partly bicause I also cariyinge him to the the ynn did alwaies bewaile the poore soules ill lucke, that was so wexed out of his witt. Now (as we have saide) of Meerie Pranckes a man may talke at large, but it sufficeth to repete that the places whens thei are dirived be the verie same whiche we have said of Jestes. As for examples, we have infinit whiche we see daylye: and emong the rest there are manye pleasant in the tales of 

Giornat. viii. Novel. iii. Novell. v. Novell. vi. Novell. ix. Giornat. ix. Novell. iii. Novell. v. Pontius a scholar of Padoa.

Boccaccio, as those that Bruno and Buffalmacco played to their Calandrino, and to M. Symon: and manie other of women, which in verie deede are wittie and pretie. I remember also I have knowen in my dayes manye that have bine meerilie disposed in this maner, and emonge the rest a Scholar in Padoa borne in Sicilia called Pontius, which seeinge upon a time a man of the countrey have a coople of fatt capons, feininge himselfe to bye them, was at a point with him for the price, and bed him come wyth him to his lodginge, for beeside his price he woulde geve him somwhat to breake his fast withall. And so brought him to a place where was a styple that stoode by himself, alone severed from the Church, that a manne might goe rounde about him, and directlye over againste one of the foure sides of the stype was a lane. Here Pontius, whan he had first beethought himselfe what he had to doe, saide unto the man of the countrey: I have layd these Capons on a wager with a felowe of mine, who saith that this toure compaseth xl. foote, and I say no, and even as I met with thee I had bought this packthrid to measure it, therefore beefore we go to my lodging I will trie which of us hath wonn the wager. And in so saiynge he drewe the packthrid out of his sleeve, and put the one ende of it into the man of the countreys hand, and saide: Give here, and so tooke the Capons: and with the other ende he beegane to go about the bell toure, as though he would have measured it, making first the man of the countrey to stand still, and to houlde the packthrid directly on the contrary side of the toure to that, that was at the head of the lane, where assone as he came, he drove a nail into the walle, to the which he tied the packthrid, and leavynge it so, went his wayes without anye more a do downe the lane with the Capons. The man of the Countrey stoode still a good while, alwayes lookinge whan he wolde have done measuring. At length after he had said manie times, What do you so longe? he thought he woulde see, and founde that Pontius held not the line, but a naile that was driven into the walle, which onlye remayned for payment of his Capons. Of this sort Pontius played manye Meerie Pranckes. And there have bine also manie other pleasaunt men in this maner, as Gonella, Meliolo, in those dayes, and now our frier Seraphin and frier Marian here and manye well knowen to you all. And in verie deede this kinde is to be praysed in men that make profession of nothinge elles. But the Meerie Pranckes that the Courtier ought to use, must (by myne advyse) be somewhat wyde from immoderate jesting. He ought also to take heed that his Meerie Pranckes tourne not to pilferinge, as we see many naughtipackes, that wander about the 

Pilferinge Reverence to women.

world with divers shiftes to gete money, feining now one matter, now an other. And that they be not to bitter, and above all that he have respect and reverence, aswell in this, as in all other thinges, to women, and especially where the staininge of their honestie shall consist.

Then the L. Gaspar: Trulye, M. Bernarde (quoth he) you are to partiall to these women. And whie will you that men shoulde have more respecte to women then women to men? Set not you asmuch by your honestie, as they do by theirs? Thinke you then that women ought to nippe men both with woordes and mockes in every matter without any regarde, and men shoulde stande with a flea in their eare, and thanke them for it?

M. Bernarde answered: I say not the contrarye, but women in their Jestes and Meerie Pranckes ought to have the respectes to menne which we have spoken of. Yet I say with more libertie may they touch men of smalle honestie, then men maye them. And that bicause we oure selves have established for a lawe, that in us wanton lief is no vice, nor default, nor any sclaunder, and in women it is so great a reproch and shame, that she that hath once an yll name, whether the report that goith of her be true or false, hathe loste her credit for ever. Therfore sins the talkinge of womens honestie is so daungerous a matter to offende them sore, I say that we oughte to touche them in other matters and refraine from this. For whan the Jest or Meerie Pranck nippeth to sore, it goith out of the boundes whiche we have alreadye said is fitt for a gentilman.

Here M. Bernarde makinge a little stopp, the L. Octavian Fregoso saide smylinge: My L. Gaspar can make you an answere to this law which you alleage that we oure selves have made, that yt is not perchaunce so oute of reason, as 

Women. Continencie.

you thynke. For sins women are moste unperfect creatures and of litle or no woorthynesse in respect of menne, it beehoved for that they were not apt to woorke any vertuous deede of them selves, that they should have a bridle put upon them with shame and feare of infamye, that shoulde (in maner) by force bring them into some good condicion. And continency was thought more necessary in them, then any other, to have assuraunce of children. So that verie force hath driven men with all inventions, pollicies, and wayes possible to make women continent and (in maner) graunted them in all thinges beeside to be of smalle woorthinesse, and to do the cleane contrarye alwaies to that they ought to do. Therefore sins it is lawfull for them to swarve out of the waye in all other thinges without blame, if we should touch them in those defaultes, wherin (as we have said) they are to be borne withall, and therfore are not unseemelye in them, and passe full litle upon it, we shoulde never move laughter. For you have alreadye said, that Laughter is provoked with certein thinges that are disagreeinge.

Then spake the Dutchesse: Speake you (my L. Octavian) of women thus, and then complaine that they love you not?

The L. Octavian answered: I complaine not of it, but rather I thanke them for it, sins in not lovinge of me, they bind not me to love them. Neither do I speake after mine owne opinion, but I say that the L. Gaspar might alleage these reasons.

M. Bernarde said: Truly women should make a good bargayne, if they coulde make attonementes with suche two great ennemies as you and the L. Gaspar be.

I am not their enemye, answered the L. Gaspar, but you are an ennemye to menne. For in case you will not have women touched in this honesty of theirs, you ought aswell to appoynt them a law not to touche menne, in that whiche is asmuche shame to us, as incontinencye to women. And why was it not as meete for Alonso Carillo to make the answere which he gave maistres Boadilla of the hope that he had to save his lief, in that she wold take him to husband, as it was for her to say first: All that knew 

Boccaccio. Giornat. iii. Novell. vi. Giornat. vii. Novel. viii.

him thought the kinge wold have hanged him. And whie was it not as lawefull for Richard Minutoli to beguile Philippelos wief, and to trane her to that bayne, as it was for Beatrice to make Egano her husbande arrise out of his bed, and Anichin to beeswadell him with a cudgell, after she had lyen a good space with him? And the other that tied her packthrid to her great toe, and made her owne husbande beleave that he was not hymselfe, sins you saye those Meerie Pranckes of women in Boccaccio are so wittie and pretie.

Then said M. Bernarde smiling: My lordes, forsomuch as my part hath bin to entreat onlie of Jestes, I entende not to passe my boundes therin, and I suppose I have already showed whie I judge it not meete to touch women neyther in woorde nor deede about their honestie, and I have also given them a rule not to nippe men where it greeveth them. But I saye that those Meerie pranckes and Jestes whiche you (my L. Gaspar) alleage, as that Alonso said unto M. Boadilla, althoughe it somewhat touche honestie, yet doeth it not discontent me, bicause it is fett farr inoughe of, and is so privie, that it may be simplye understoode, so, that he might have dissembled the matter, and affirmed that he spake it not to that ende. He spake an other (in mine opinion) verie unseemlie, whiche was: Whan the Queene passed by M. Boadillas house, Alonso sawe peincted with coles all the gate over, suche kinde of dishonest beastes, as are peincted about ynnes in such sundrie wise, and cumminge to the Countesse of Castegneto said unto her: See (madam) the heades of the wielde beastes that M. Boadilla killeth everie day in huntinge. Marke you this, thoughe it were a wittie metaphor, and borowed of Hunters, that counte it a glorye to have manie wilde beastes heades nayled at their gates, yet it is dishonest and shamefull jestinge. Beeside that, it was not in answeringe, for an answere hath muche more courtesie in it, because it is thought that a manne is provoked to it, and it must needes be at a sodeine. But to retourn to our matter of the Meerie Pranckes of women, I say not that they do well to beguile their husbandes: but I say that some of the deceites whiche Boccaccio recyteth of women, are pretie and wittie inough, and especiallye those you have spoken of your selfe. But in mine opinion the prancke that Richarde Minutoli wrought, doeth passe the boundes, and is muche more bitterer then that Beatrice wrought. For Richarde Minutoli tooke muche more from Philippellos wief, then did Beatrice from Egano her husbande: bicause Richarde with that privie pollicie enforced her, and made her to do of herself that she wolde not have done: and Beatrice deceyved her husbande to do of herself that she lusted.

Then saide the L. Gaspar: For no other cause can a manne excuse Beatrice but for love, whiche ought to be alowed aswell in men as in women.

Then answered M. Bernarde: Trulye the passions of love bringe with them a great excuse of everye fault, yet 

Love without diissimulation. Tradiment against one beloved. The true end of lovers desires.

judge I (for my part) that a Gentilman that is in love, ought aswell in this point as in all other thynges, to be voide of dissimulation, and of an upright meaninge. And if it be true that it is such an abhominable profit and trespace to use tradiment against a mans verie ennemye: consider you how muche more haynous that offence is againste a person whom a man loveth. And I beleave ech honest lover susteyneth such peynes, such watchinges, hasardeth himselfe in suche daungers, droppeth so manie teares, useth so manie meanes and wayes to please the woman whom he loveth, not cheeflye to come bye her body, but to winn the fortresse of that minde, to breake in peeces those most harde Diamondes, to heate that colde yce, that lye many times in the tender brestes of these women. And this do I beleave is the true and sounde pleasure, and the ende wherto the entent of a noble courage is bent. And for my part trulye (were I in love) I wold like it better to know assuridlye that she whom I loved and served loved me again with hert, and had bent her minde towarde me, without receiving any other contentation, then to enjoye her and to have my fill of her againste her owne will, for in that case I shoulde thinke my selfe maister of a deade carcase. Therfore suche as compase their desires by the meane of these Meerie Pranckes, which maye perhappes rather be termed Tradimentes then Meerie Pranckes, do injurye to other, and yet receyve they not for all that the contentacion which a man should wishe for in love, 

Unhonest lovers. Gyftes in love.

possessynge the bodie without the will. The like I saye of certein other that in love practise enchauntmentes, sorceries, and otherwhile plaine force, sometime meanes to cast them in sleepe and suche like matters. And knowe for a sooth, that gyftes also diminishe muche the pleasures of love, bicause a man maie stand in doubt whether he be beloved or no, but that the woman maketh a countenance to love him, to fare the better by him: therfore ye see that the love of Ladies and great women is esteamed, bicause it appeereth that it can arrise of none other cause, but of perfect and true love, neyther is it to be thoughte that a great Ladye wyll at anye tyme showe to beare good will to her inferiour, onlesse she love him in verye deede.

Then answered the L. Gaspar: I denie not that the entent, the peynes and daungers of lovers ought not principally to have their ende dyrected to the victorye rather of the minde then of the bodye of the woman beloved. But I saye that these deceytes whiche you in men terme Tradimentes, and in women Meerie pranckes, are a verie good meane to come to this ende, bicause alwayes he that possesseth the bodie of women, is also maister of the mind. And if you beethinke you well, Philippellos wief after her great lametatyon for the deceyt wrought her by Richard, knowinge howe muche more savourye the kysses of a lover were then her husbandes, tournynge her rigour into tender affection towarde Richarde, from that daye forwarde loved hym moste deerlye. You maye perceive nowe that his continuall hauntinge, hys presentes, and hys so manye other tokens, whyche had bine so longe a proof of hys good will toward her, were not able to compasse that, that hys beeyinge with her a smalle while did. Nowe see this Meerie Prancke or Tradiment (howe ever you will terme it) was a good waye to wynn the fortresse of that minde.

Then M. Bernarde: You (quoth he) make a surmise, which is most false, for in case women should alwayes give their minde to him that possesseth their body, there should be none found that wold not love their husbandes more then anye person in the worlde beesyde, where it is seene not to be so. But John Boccaccio was (as you be) without cause an ennemye to women.

The L. Gaspar answered: I am no ennenye of theirs, but (to confesse the troth) fewe menne of woorthynesse there be that generally set any store by women, although otherwhile, to serve their tourne withall, they make wise to the contrarye.

Then answered M. Bernarde: You doe not onelye injurye to women, but to all menne also that reverence them: notwithstandinge (as I have saide) I will not swarve from my first pourpose of Meerie Pranckes, and undertake suche an enterprise so harde, as is the defence of women against you, that are a valiant Champyon. Therfore I will ende this my communication, whyche perhappes hath byne lenger then needed, but oute of paraventure not so pleasaunt as you looked for. And syns I see the Ladyes so quyet and beare these injuries at youre handes so pacyentlye as they doe, I wyll hensefurth beleave that some parte of that which the L. Octavian hath spoken is true: namely that they passe not to be yll reported of in everye other matter, so theyr honesty be not touched.

Then a greate parte of the women there, for that the Dutchesse had beckoned to them so to doe, arrose upon their feete, and ran all laughyng toward the L. Gaspar, as they wold have buffeted him and done as the wood women 

Orpheus was torne in peeces with women.

did to Orpheus, saing continually: Now shall we see whether we passe to be yll spoken of or no.

Thus partlye for laughinge, and partlye for the risinge of everye one from his seate, yt seemed the sleepe that now beegane to enter into the eyes and heade of some of them departed.

But the L. Gaspar said: See I pray you where thei have not reason on their side, they will prevaile by plaine force, and so end the communication, gevinge us leave to depart with stripes.

Then answered the L. Emilia: No (quoth she) it shall not be so: for whan you perceyved M. Bernarde was weerie of his longe talke, you beegan to speake so muche yll of women, thinkinge you shoulde finde none to gainsaye you. But we will sett into the field a fresher knight that shall fight with you, bicause your offence shall not be so long unpunished. So tourninge her to the L. Julian that hitherto had said little, she said unto him: You are counted the protectour of the honour of women, therfore it is nowe hyghe time to showe that you come not by this name for nothinge, and in case ye have not bine woorthelye recompensed at anye time for this profession hitherto, nowe muste you thinke that in puttinge to flight so bitter an ennemy, you shall binde all women to you muche more, and so muche, that where they shall do nothinge elles but rewarde you, yet shall the bondage still remaine freshe, and never cease to be recompensed.

Then answered the L. Julian: Me thinke (madam) you show great honour to your ennemy, and verie litle to youre defender: for undoubtedlye the L. Gaspar hath said nothing against women, but it hath bine fullye answered by M. Bernarde. And I beleave everye one of us knoweth, that it is meete the Courtier beare verie great reverence towarde women, and a discreete and courtiouse person ought never to touch their honestie neither in boord, nor in good earnest. Therfore to dispute of this so open a trueth, were (in maner) to put a doubt in manifest matters. I thinke wel that the L. Octavian passed his boundes somwhat in sayinge that women are most unperfect creatures and not apt to woorke anye vertuous deede, and of litle or no woorthinnesse in respect of men. And bicause manie times credit is geven to men of great authority, although they speake not the full truth, and also whan they speake in boorde, the L. Gaspar hath suffered himselfe to be lead by the L. Octavians woordes to saye that Men of wisdome sett no store by them, 

Men of worthines observe women.

which is most false. For I have knowen few men of woorthinesse at anye time doe not love and observe women, the vertue and consequentlye the woorthinesse of whom I deeme not a jott inferiour to mens. Yet if we should come to this contention, the cause of women were lyke to quaile greatlie, bicause these Lordes have shaped a Courtier that is so excellent and of so manie divine qualities, that whoso hath the understanding to consider him to be such a one as he is, will imagin that the desertes of women can not attaine to that point. But in case the matter should be equally devided, we have first neede of so witty and eloquent a person as is Count Lewis and Sir Fridericke, to shape a gentilwoman of the Palaice with all perfections due to a woman, as they have shaped the Courtier with the perfections beelonging to a man. And then if he that defended their cause were anie thinge wittie and eloquent, I beleave (bicause the truth will be a helpe to him) he may plainlye showe that women are as full of vertues as men be.

The Ladye Emila answered: Nay, a great deale more, and that it is so you may see, vertue is the female, and vice the male.

The L. Gaspar then laughed, and tourning him to M. Nicholas Phrisio: What is your judgement, Phrisio (quoth he)?

Phrisio answered: I am sorie for the L. Julian that he is so seduced with the promises and flatteringe woordes of the L. Emilia to renn into an errour to speake the thinge whiche for hys sake I am ashamed of.

The L. Emilia answered smilinge: You will sure be shamed for your owne sake, whan you shall see the L. Gaspar after he is convicted, confesse his owne errour and yours to, and demaunde that pardon whiche we will not graunt him.

Then spake the Dutchesse: Biscause it is very late, I will we defar the wholl untill to morow, the more for that I thinke it well done we folow the L. Julians counsell, that beefore we come to this disputacion we maye have a gentilwoman of the Palaice so facioned in all perfections, as these Lordes have facioned the perfect Courtier.

Madam, quoth the L. Emilia then, I pray God it fall not to oure lott to give this enterprise to anye confederate with the L. Gaspar, least he facion us for a gentilwoman of the Court, one that can do nought elles but looke to the kitchen and spinn.

Then said Phrisio: In deede that is an office fitt for herr.

Then the Dutchesse: I have a good hope in the L. Julian (quoth she) who will (for the good witt and judgement I knowe he is of) imagyn the greatest perfection that maye be wished in a woman, and in like maner expresse it well in woordes, and so shal we have somewhat to confounde the L. Gaspars false accusations withall.

Madam, answered the L. Julian, I wote not whether youre divise be good or no to committ into my handes an enterprise of so great weight, for (to tell you the troth) I thinke not my selfe able inoughe. Neyther am I like the Count and Sir Fridericke, whiche with their eloquence have shaped suche a Courtier as never was, nor I beleave ever shalbe. Yet if your pleasure be so that I shall take this bourden upon me, let it be at the least with those condicions that the other have had before me: namely, that everie man, where he shall thinke good, maye replye against me, and this shall I recken not overthuartinge but aide, and perhappes in correctynge myne erroures we shall finde the perfection of a gentilwoman of the Palaice whiche we seeke for.

I trust, answered the Dutchesse, your talke shall be such, that litle may be said against you. Therfore settle your minde to thynke upon onlie this and facion us suche a Gentilwoman that these our adversaries maye be ashamed to say, that she is not equall with the Courtier in vertue: of whom it shall be well done Sir Friderick speake no more, for he hath but to well sett him furth, especiallye sins we must compare a woman to him.

I have (madam) answered Sir Friderick, litle or nothinge now left to speake of the Courtier, and that I did thinke upon, M. Bernardes Jestes have made me forgete.

If it be so, quoth the Dutchesse, assembling together to morow beetimes, we shal have leiser to accomplish both the one and the other. And whan she had so said, they arrose all upon their feete, and takynge their leave reverentlye of the Dutchesse everye man withdrue him to his lodging.

LIBRO III

It is read that Pithagoras verie wittilye and after a suttill maner found out the measure of Hercules bodye, in that he knew that the space where everye fyve yeeres they kept the games or prices of Olympicus in Achaia nigh unto Elis beefore Jupiter Olympicus Temple, was measured by Hercules himselfe: and appointed a furlonge of grounde there of sixe hundreth and five and twentie of his owne feete: and the other furlonges whiche after his time were caste oute in diverse partes of Greece by his successors, were also of sixe hundreth and five and twentie of their feete, but for all that somewhat shorter then his. Pythagoras knewe furthwith by that proportion how muche Hercules foote was bigger then all other mens feete, and so the measure of his foote once knowen, he gathered that all Hercules bodye proporcionally in greatnesse exceaded all other mens, so muche, as that furlonge, all other furlonges. You may the (gentle M. Alphonsus) by the verie same reason easlie gather by this least parte of all the rest of the bodye, how farr the Court of Urbin excelled all the other in Italy. For if the sportes and 

Pisis. ad Jovem Olimpicum. Plin. lib. ii. cap. xxiii. De natur. histor. The Court of Urbin.

pastymes (that are used to none other end but to refresh the werisome mindes after earnest labours) far passed all such as are commonly used in the other Courtes of Italy: what (gesse you) were al the other vertuous practises, wherunto al men had their mindes bent and were full and wholly addicted. And of this I may be boulde to make my vaunt, nothing mistrusting but to be credited therin, consideringe I goe not about to praise so auntient antiquities wherin I might, if I were disposed, feine what I lusted: but of this I speake, I am able to bring furth manie men of woorthy credence, for sufficient triall, whiche as yet are in lief and have themselves seene and marked well the livinge and conversation of such as in times past excelled in that Court. And I recken my selfe bounde (for that lyeth in me to do) to stretch furth my force with all diligence to defende this famous memorie from mortall oblivion, and with my penn to make it live in the mindes of oure posteritie, wherby perhappes in time to come there shall not want that will envie this our time. For there is no manne that readeth of the wonderful families of times past, but in his mind he conceyveth a certein greater opinion of them that are written upon, then it appeereth those bookes can expresse though they have bine written with perfection: even so do we consider that all the readers of this our travayle (if at the least wise it shall deserve so much favour, that it may come to the sight of noble men and vertuous Ladies) will cast in their minde and thinke for a surety, that the Court of Urbin hath bine muche more excellent and better fournished with notable men, then we are able to expresse in writinge. And in case so much eloquence were in me, as there was prowesse in them, I should nede none other testimonie to make such give full credence to my woordes, as have not seene it.

Whan therfore the companye was assembled in the accustomed place the day folowinge at the due hour, and set with silence, everye man tourned his eyes to Sir Fridericke and to the L. Julian, waytinge whan the one of them would beegine to speake his minde.

Wherfore the Dutchesse, after she had bine still a while: My L. Julian (quoth she) every mans desire is to see this your Gentilwoman well set furthe, and if you showe us her not in such maner, that all her beawties maye be discerned, we will suspect that you are jealous over her.

The L. Julian answered: Madam, if I reckened her beawtifull, I would show you her without any other setting furth, and in suche wise as Paris did beehoulde the three 

Minerva. Juno. Venus.

Goddesses. But in case these Ladies be not a helpe to me to trim her (who can do it right well) I doubt me, that not onlye the L. Gaspar and Phrisio, but all the other Lordes here shall have a just cause to speake yll of her. Therefore sins she is yet in some part deemed beawtifull, perhappes it shall be better to kepe her close and see what Sir Friderick hath yet beehind to speake of the Courtier, which (no doubt) is muche more beawtifull then my woman can be.

That I had in minde, answered Sir Fridericke, is not so necessary for the Courtier, but it may be left out, and no hurt done: yea, it is a contrarye matter almost to that hitherto hath bine reasoned of.

And what matter is it then? quoth the Dutchesse.

Sir Fridericke answered: I was pourposed, in what I coulde, to declare the causes of these companies and ordres of knightes brought up by great Princis under diverse standardes, as is that of Saint Michael in the house of Fraunce, the order of the Garter under the title of Saint George in the house of Englande, the Golden Flice in the house of Burgony, and how these dignities be geven, and in what sort thei that deserve are disgraced from them how 

Order of S. Michael. Of the Garter. Of the Golden Flise. Great Turke. The Sophy.

they first came up, who were the founders of them, and to what ende they were ordeined, bicause we see that these knightes in great Courtes are alwayes highlye estemed. I minded also, if time had suffised me, beside the diversitie of maners used in the Courtes of christian princes in feasting and appeeringe in open showes, to speake somewhat also of the great Turkes: but much more particularlye of the Sophyes kinge of Persia: for whan I understood by merchaunt men a longe time trafficked in that countrey, the noble men there to be very ful of prowesse and well manered and use in their conversation one with an other, and in womens service, and in all their practisinges much courtesie and great sobrietie, and whan time serveth, in marciall feates, in sportinges, and undertaking enterprises much sumptuousnes, great liberality and braverie, I delited to knowe what order they take in these thinges which they sett most store by, wherin their Pompes consist and braveries of garmentes and armour, wherin they differ from us, and wherin we agree, what kinde of enterteinment their women use, and with what sober mode they showe favour to who so is in their love service: but to say the truth, it is no fitt time nowe to entre into this talke, especiallye sins there is other to be said, and much more to our pourpose then this.

Yes, quoth the L. Gaspar, both this and many other thinges be more to the pourpose, then to facion this gentilwoman of the Palaice, forsomuche as the verie same rules that are given for the Courtier, serve also for the woman, for aswell ought she to have respect to times and places and to observe (asmuche as her weaknesse is able to beare) all the other properties that have bin somuch reasoned upon, as the Courtier. And therfore in steade of this, it were not perhappes amisse to teach some particular pointes that beelong to the service about a Princis person, for no doubt the Courtier ought to know them and to have a grace in doing them. Or els to speake of the way that he ought to take in the bodily exercises, how to ride, to handle weapon, and wrastle, and wherin consisteth the hardnes of these feates.

Then spake the Dutchesse, smiling: Princis are not served about their persons with so excellent a Courtier as this is. As for the exercises of bodye and strength and slightnes of person, we will leave them for M. Peter Mount here to take charge to teache them whan he shall thinke most meete, for presently the L. Julian hath nothinge elles to speake of, but of this woman, whom (me thinke) you nowe beegine to have a feare of, therfore woulde brynge us oute of oure pourpose.

Phrisio answered: Certein it is, that nowe it is needlesse and out of pourpose to talke of women, especially beeinge yet beehinde somwhat to be spoken of the Courtier, for the one matter ought not to be mingled with the other.

You are in a great errour, answered the L. Cesar Gonzaga, for like as no other Court, great ever it be, can have any sightlinesse, or brightnesse in it, or mirth without women, nor anie Courtier can be gratious, pleasant or hardye, nor at anye time undertake any galant enterprise of Chivalrye onlesse he be stirred wyth the conversacion and wyth the love and contentacion of women, even so in like case the Courtiers talke is most unperfect ever more, if the entercourse of women give them not a part of the grace wherwithall they make perfect and decke out their playing the Courtier.

The L. Octavian laughed and saide: Beehoulde a peece of the bayte that bringeth men out of their wittes.

Then the L. Julian tourning him to the Dutchesse: Madam (quoth he) sins it is so youre pleasure, I will speake that commeth to minde, but with verie great doubt to satisfie. And iwisse a great deale lesse peine it were for me to facion a lady that should deseve to be Queene of the world, then a perfect gentilwoman of the Court, for of herr I wote not where to fett any pattern, but for a Queene I should not neede to seeke farr, and sufficient it were for me onlye to imagin the heavenly condicions of a lady whom I know, and through seeynge them, direct all my thoughtes to expresse plainlye with woordes the thynge that manye see with their eyes, and where I could do no more, yet should I fulfill my dutie in naminge her.

Then said the Dutchesse: Pass not your boundes (my L. Julian) but minde the order taken, and facion the gentilwoman of the Palaice, that this so woorthie a maistresse maye have hym that shall woorthelie serve her.

The L. Julian proceaded: For a proof therfore (Madam) that your commaundement may drive me to assaye to do, yea the thinge I have no skill in, I shall speake of this excellent woman, as I woulde have her. And whan I have facioned her after my minde, and can afterwarde gete none other, I will take her as mine owne, after the example of Pigmalion. And where as the L. Gaspar hath said, that 

Ovid. lib. xiii. Metam.

the verye same rules that are given for the Courtier, serve also for the woman, I am of a contrarye opinion. For albeit some qualities are commune and necessarye aswell for the woman as the man, yet are there some other more meeter for the woman then for the man, and some again meete for the man, that she ought in no wise to meddle withall. The verie same I saye of the exercises of the bodye. But principally in her facions, maners, woordes, gestures and conversation (me thinke) the woman ought to be muche unlike the man. For right as it is seemlye for him to showe a certain manlinesse full and steadye, so doeth it well in a woman to have a tendernes, soft and milde, with a kinde of womanlie sweetnes in everye gesture of herres, 

Wherin the woman should differ from the man. In what they agree. Beawtie.

that in goyng, standinge and speakinge what ever she lusteth, may alwayes make her appeere a woman without anye likenes of man. Adding therfore this principle to the rules that these Lordes have taught the Courtier, I thinke well, she maye serve her tourne with manye of them, and be endowed with verye good qualities, as the L. Gaspar saith. For many vertues of the minde I recken be as necessary for a woman, as for a man. Likewise noblenesse of birth, avoidinge Affectation or curiositie, to have a good grace of nature in all her doinges, to be of good condcyons, wyttye, foreseeyng, not haughtie, not envious, not yll tunged, not light, not contentious, not untowardlye, to have the knowleage to wynn and kepe the good wyll of her Ladye and of all others, to do well and with a good grace the exercises comely for women. Me thinke well beawty is more necessarie in her then in the Courtier, for (to saye the truth) there is a great lacke in the woman that wanteth beawtie. She ought also to be more circumspect and to take better heed that she give no occasion to be yll reported of, and so to behave her selfe, that she be not onlye not spotted wyth anye fault, but not so much as with suspicion. Bicause a woman hath not so many wayes to defende her selfe from sclaunderous reportes, as hath a man. But for somuch as Count Lewis hath verye particularly expressed the principall profession of the Courtier, and willeth it to be in Marsiall feates, me thinke also beehouffull to uttre 

Vertues of the minde. Commune Properties.

(according to my judgement) what the Gentilwomans of the Palace ought to be: in which point whan I have throughlye satisfied, I shall thinke my self rid of the greatest part of my dutye. Leaving therfore a part of the vertues of the minde that ought to be commune to her with the Courtier, as wisdome, noblenes of courage, staidenesse, and manie mo, and likewise the condicions that are meete for all women, as to be good and discrete, to have the understanding to order her husbandes goodes and her house and children whan she is maried, and all those partes that beelonge to a good huswief: I say that for her that liveth in Court, me thinke there beelongeth unto her above all other thinges, a certein sweetnesse in language that may delite, wherby she may gentlie entertein all kinde of men with talke woorth the hearynge and honest, and applyed to the time and place, and to the degree of the person she communed withall: accompaniyng with sober and quiet maners and with the honestye that must alwayes be a stay to all her deedes, a readie livelines of wit, wherby she may declare herselfe far wide from all dulnesse: but with such a kinde of goodnes, 

Sweetnesse in language. Livelinesse of wit. A meane.

that she may be esteamed no lesse chaste, wise and courteise, then pleasant, feat conceited and sobre: and therefore must she kepe a certein meane very hard, and (in a maner) dirived of contrarie matters, and come just to certein limites, but not passe them. This woman ought not therfore (to make herself good and honest) be so skemish and make wise to abhorr both the companye and the talke (though somwhat of the wantonest) if she be present, to gete her thens by and by, for a man may lightlye gesse that she feined to be so coye to hide that in herselfe, whiche she doubted others might come to the knowleage of: and such nice facions are alwaies hateful. Neither ought she again (to showe herself free and pleasant) speake wordes of dishonesty, nor use a certein familiaritye withoute measure and bridle, and facions to make men beleave that of her, that perhappes is not: but beeinge present at suche kinde of talke, she ought to geve the hearinge with a litle blushing and shamefastnes. Likewise to eschew one vice that I have seen reigne in 

Wanton talke. To much a familiaritye. To speake and give eare to ill reportes of other women.

many: namely, to speake and willingly to give ear to such as report ill of other women: for suche as in hearinge the dishonest beehaviours of other women disclosed, are offended at the matter, and make wise not to credit and (in maner) to thinke it a wonder that a woman should lead an unclean lief, they make proof that sins this fault seemeth unto them so foule a matter, they commit it not. But those that go alwaies harking out the loves of others and disclose them so point by point, and with such joye, it seemeth that they envy the matter, and that their desire is to have all men know it, that the like may not be imputed to them for a trespace, and so they tourne it to certein laughters with a kind of gesture, wherby they make men to suspect at the verie same instant that they take great contentacion at it. And of this arriseth, that men although to their seeming they give diligent ear to it, for the most part conceive an ill opinion of them and have them in verye small reputation, and (to their weeninge) with these beehaviours are enticed to attempt them farther. And many times afterward they renn so farr at rovers, that it purchaseth them worthely an yll name, and in conclusion are so litle regarded, that men passe not for their companie, but rather abhorr them. And contrariwise, there is no man so shameles and high minded, but beareth a great reverence towarde them that be counted good and honest, bicause that gravitie tempered with knowleage and goodnes, is (as it were) a shield against the 

Honest women esteamed with all men. Beehaviour in talke.

wanton pride and beastlines of saucy merchauntes. Wherfore it is seen that one woord, a laughter or a gesture of good will (how litle soever it be) of an honest woman, is more set by of every man, then al the toyes and wanton gestures of them that so lavishly show small shamefastnesse. And where they leade not in deede an uncleane lief, yet wyth those wanton countenaunces, babblinge, scornfulnesse, and suche scoffynge condicions they make men to thinke they do. And forsomuch as wordes that are not grounded upon some pithie foundacion, are vaine and childishe, the Gentilwoman of the Palaice, beeside her discreation to understand the condicion of him she talketh withall, to entertein him honestlye, must needes have a sight in manie thinges, and a judgemente in her communication to pike out such as be to pourpose for the condicion of him she talketh withall, and be heedefull that she speake not otherwhile where she wold not, woordes that may offende him. Let her beeware of praysing her selfe undiscreatly, or beeinge to tedious that she make him not weerie. Let her not go mingle with pleasant and laughing talke, matters of gravitie: nor yet with grave, Jestes and feat conceites. Let her not foolishlye take upon her to know that she knoweth not, but soberly seeke to be estemed for that she knoweth, avoiding (as is saide) Curiousitie in all thinges. In this 

Curiositie.

maner shall she be indowed with good condicions, and the exercises of the body comlie for a woman shall she do with an exceading good grace, and her talke shall be plentuous and ful of wisdome, honesty, and pleasantnesse: and so shall she be not only beloved but reverenced of all men, and perhappes woorthie to be compared to this great Courtier, aswel for the qualities of the minde as of the bodye.

Whan the L. Julian had hitherto spoken, he helde his peace, and settled himselfe as thoughe he had made an ende of his talke.

Then said the L. Gaspar: No doubt (my L. Julian) but you have decked gaily out this Gentilwoman, and made her of an excellent condicion: yet me seemeth that you have gone generallye inough to woorke, and neamed in her certein thinges so great, that I thinke in my minde you are ashamed to expound them, and have rather wished them in her, after the maner of them that somtime wishe for thinges unpossible and above nature, then taught them. Therfore woulde I that you declared unto us a little better, what exercises of the bodye are meete for a Gentilwoman of the Palaice, and in what sorte she ought to entertein, and what those many thinges be whiche you saye she ought to have a sight in: and whether wisedome, noblenesse of courage, staidnesse and those manye other vertues that you have spoken of, your meaninge is should helpe her about the overseeinge onlie of her house, children and houshoulde (the which neverthelesse you will not have her principall profession) or els to entertein, and to do these exercises of the body with a good grace: and in good felowship take heede ye put not these seelie vertues to so vyle an occupation that they may be ashamed of it.

The L. Julian laughed and said: You can not chouse (my L. Gaspar) but still you must uttre youre yll stomake againste women. But certes me thought I had spoken sufficient, and especiallyie beefore such audience, that I beleave none here, but understandeth concernynge the exercises of the body, that it is not comlye for a woman to practise feates of armes, ridinge, playinge at tenise, wrastlinge, and manye other thynges that beelonge to men.

Then said Unico Aretino: Emonge them of olde time the maner was that women wrastled naked with men, but we have lost this good custome together with manye mo.

The L. Cesar Gonzaga replied to this: And in my time I have seene woman playe at tenise, practise feates of armes, ride, hunt, and do (in a maner) all the exercises beeside, that a gentilman can do.

The L. Julian answered: Sins I may facion this woman after my minde, I will not onelye have her not to practise these manlie exercises so sturdie and boisterous, but also even those that are meete for a woman, I will have her to do them with heedfulnesse and with the soft mildenesse that we have said is comelie for her. And therfore in daunsynge I would not see her use to swift and violent trickes, nor yet in singinge or playinge upon instrumentes those harde and often divisions that declare more counninge then sweetenesse. Likewise the instrumentes of musike which she useth (in mine opinion) ought to be fitt for this 

Daunsinge. Singinge. Speculation of musike. Instrumentes of musike. How she should come to show her feates. Garmentes. Beawtie.

pourpose. Imagin with your selfe what an unsightly matter it were to see a woman play upon a tambour or drumm, or blowe in a flute or trompet, or anye like instrumente: and this bicause the boisterousnesse of them doeth both cover and take away that sweete mildenes which setteth so furth everie deede that a woman doeth. Therfore whan she commeth to daunse, or to show any kinde of musike, she ought to be brought to it with suffringe her self somewhat to be prayed, and with a certein bashfulnes, that may declare the noble shamefastnes that is contrarye to headinesse. She ought also to frame her garmentes to this entent, and so to appararaile herself that she appeere not fonde and light. But forsomuch as it is lefull and necessary for women to sett more by their beawty then men, and sundrie kindes of beawtie there are, thys woman ought to have a judgement to knowe what maner garmentes set her best out, and be most fitt for the exercises that she entendeth to undertake at that instant, and with them to arraye herselfe. And where she perceyveth in her a sightlye and cheerfull beawtie, she ought to farther it with gestures, wordes and apparaile, that all may betoken mirth. In like case an other that feeleth herself of a milde and grave disposition, she ought also to accompany it with facions of the like sort, to encrease that that is the gift of nature. In like maner where she is somwhat fatter or leaner then reasonable sise, or wanner, or browner, to helpe it with garmentes, but feiningly asmuch as she can possible, and keapinge herself clenlye and handsome, showe alwaies that she bestoweth no pein nor diligence at all about it. And bicause the L. Gaspar doeth also aske what these manye thinges be she ought to have a sight in, and howe to entertein, and whether the vertues ought to be applyed to this enterteinment, I saye that I will have her to understande that these Lordes have wylled the Courtier to knowe: and in those exercises that we have saide are not comelye for 

A judgement in exercises not meete for her. Qualities for a Gentilwoman. Vertues.

her, I will at the least she have that judgement, that men can have of the thinges which they practise not, and this to have knowleage to praise and make of Gentilmen more and lesse accordinge to their desertes. And to make a breef rehersall in fewe woordes of that is alreadye saide, I will that this woman have a sight in letters, in musike, in drawinge or peinctinge, and skilfull in dausninge, and in divising sportes and pastimes, accompaniynge with that discreete sobermode and with the givinge a good opinion of herselfe, the other principles also that have bine taught the Courtier. And thus in conversation, in laughing, in sporting, in jestinge, finally in every thinge she shall be had in very great price, and shall entertein accordingly both with Jestes and feat conceites meete for her, everie person that commeth in her company. And albeit staidnes, noblenes of courage, temperance, strength of the minde, wisdome and the other vertues a man wold thinke beelonged not to entertein, yet will I have her endowed with them all, not somuch to entertein (although notwithstanding they may serve therto also) as to be vertuous: and these vertues to make her suche a one, that she may deserve to be esteamed, and al her doinges framed by them.

I wonder then, quoth the L. Gaspar smilinge, sins you give women both letters, and staidnesse, and noblenesse of courage and temperance, ye will not have them also to beare rule in Cities and to make lawes, and to leade armies, and men to stand spinning in the kitchin.

The L. Julian answered in like maner smiling: Perhappes to, this were not amisse, then he proceaded. Do you not know that Plato (which in deede was not very friendly to women) giveth them the overseeing of Cities, and all other marciall offices he appointeth to men? Thinke you not there were manye to be found that could aswell skill in ruling Cities and armies, as men can? But I have not appointed them these offices, bicause I facion a waiting gentilwoman of the Court, not a queene. I se wel you wold covertly have up again the sclaunderous report that the L. Octavian gave women yesterday: namely, That they be moste unperfect creatures, and not apt to woorke anye vertuous deed, and of verie litle woorthiness and of no value in respet of men. But surely both he and you should be in verie great errour if ye thought so.

Then said the L. Gaspar: I wyll not have up again matters alreadye past, but you woulde faine presse me to speake some worde that might offende these Ladies mindes, to make them my foes, as you with flattringe them falselye will purchase their good will. But they are so wise above other, that they love trueth better (althoughe it make not so muche with them) then false praises: neyther take they it in yll part for a man to saye, that Men are of a more woorthiness, and they will not let to confesse that you have spoken greate wonders, and appointed to the gentilwoman of the Palaice certein fonde unpossible matters, and so many vertues that Socrates and Cato and all the Philosophers in the worlde are nothinge to her. For to tell you the plaine trothe, I marveile you were not ashamed somuch to passe youre boundes, where it ought to have suffised ye to make this gentilwoman of the Palaice beawtifull, sober, honest, welspoken, and to have the understandinge to entertein without renninge in sclaunder, with daunsinge, musike, sportes, laughing, Jestes, and the other matters that we see daily used in Court: but to go about to give her the knowleage of all thinges in the worlde, and to appoint her the vertues that so syldome times are seene in men, yea and in them of old time, it is a matter that can neyther be held withall nor scantlye heard. Now that women are unperfect creatures and consequently of less woorthiness then men, and not apt to conceive those vertues that they are, I pourpose not to affirme it, bicause the prowesse of the Ladies were inough to make me a lyer. Yet this I saye unto you, that most wise men have left in writinge, that nature, bicause she is 

A woman the default of nature.

alwaies set and bent to make thinges most perfect, if she coulde, woulde continuallye bring furth men, and whan a woman is borne, it is a slacknes or default of nature, and contrary to that she would do. As it is also seene in one borne blinde, lame, or with some other impediment, and in trees manye frutes that never ripen: even so may a woman be said to be a creature brought furth at a chaunce and by happe, and that it is so, marke me the woorkes of the man and the woman, and by them make your proof of the perfection of ech of them. Howbeit sins these defaultes of women are the wite of nature that hath so brought them furthe, we ought not for this to hate them, nor feint in havinge lesse respect to them then is meete, but to esteame them above that they are, me thinketh a plaine errour.

The L. Julian looked the L. Gaspar would have proceaded on still, but whan he sawe nowe that he helde his peace, he said: Of the unperfectnes of women me thinke you have alleaged a verye cold reason, wherunto (albeit may happ it were not now meete to entre into these subtil pointes) I answere accordinge to the opinion of him that is 

Substantia non recipit maius aut minus. Homo both man and woman.

of skill, and accordinge to the truth, that Substance in what ever thinge it be, can not receive it more or less: for as no stone can be more perfectlye a stone, then an other: as touchinge the beeinge of a stone: nor one blocke more perfectlie a blocke, then an other: no more can one man be more perfectlye a man then an other, and consequentlye the male kinde shall not be more perfect, then the female, as touchinge his formall substance: for both the one and the other is conteined under the Species of Homo, and that wherein they differ is an accidentall matter and no essentiall. In case you will tell me that the man is more perfecte then the woman, thoughe not as touchinge the essentiall, yet in the Accidentes, I answere that these accidentes must consist eyther in the bodye or in the minde: yf in the bodye, bicause the man is more sturdier, nimbler, lighter, and more abler to endure travaile, I say that this is an argument of smalle perfection: for emonge men themselves such as abounde in these qualities above other, are not for them the more esteamed: and in warr, where the greatest part of peinfull labours are and of strength, the stoutest are not for all that the moste set bye. Yf in the mind, I say, what ever thinges men can understande, the self same can women understande also: and where it perceth the capacitie of the one, it may in likewise perce the others. Here after the L. Julian had made a litle stopp, he proceaded smilinge: Do you not know that this principle is helde in Philosophy, Who so is tender of flesh is apt of mind? Therfore there is no doubt, but women beeing tenderer of flesh, are also apter of minde, and of a more enclined witt to musinges and speculations, then men. Afterward he folowed on: But leaving this a part, bicause you said that I should make my proof of the perfection of ech of them by the woorkes, I saye unto you, if you consider the effectes of nature, you shall finde that she bringeth women furth as they be, not at a chaunce, but fittlye necessary for the ende. For albeit she shapeth them of bodye not stoute and of a milde minde, with manye other qualities contrarye to mens, yet doe the condicions of eche of them stretch unto one self ende, concerning the self same profit. For even as through that weake feeblenes women are of a lesser courage, so are they also by the verye same more warie. Therefore moothers nourish up children and fathers instruct them, and with manlines provide for it abrode, that they with carefull diligence store up in the house, which is no lesse praise. In case you wil then consider the auntient Histories (albeit men at all times have bine verie sparing in writinge the prayses of women) and them of latter dayes, ye shall finde that continually vertue hath raigned aswell emong women as men: and that suche there have bine also that have made warr and obteined glorious victories, governed realmes with 

Women have acheved great enterprises. Women learned. In philosophie. In poetrie. In Rhetoricke.

great wisdome and justice, and done what ever men have done. As touchinge sciences, do you not remember ye have read of so manie that were well seene in Philosophie? Other, that have bine most excellent in Poetrye? Other, that have pleaded, and both accused and defended beefore Judges most eloquentlye? Of handicraftes, longe it were to reherse, neither is it needfull to make any rehersall therof. If then in the esentiall substance the man is no more perfect then the woman, nor yet in the Accidentes (and of this beeside reason, the experiences are seene) I wote not wherein this his perfection shoulde consist. And bicause you saide that Natures entent is alwaies to bring furth thinges most perfect, and therefore if she could, would alwayes bringe furth a man, and that the bringing a woman furth is rather a default and slackenesse of nature, then her entent, I answere you that this is ful and wholly to be denied, neither can I see whie you maye saye that nature entendeth not to bring furth women, without whom mankind can not be preserved, wherof nature herself is more desirous then of anye thinge elles, bicause through the meanes of this felowship of male and female she bringeth furth children, that restore the received benifites in their chldhood to their fathers in their old dayes, in that they nourishe them: afterwarde they renue them, in beegettinge them selves also other children, of whom they looke in their old age to receive it, that beeing yonge they beestowed uppon their fathers: wherby nature (as it were) tourning her about in a circle, fulfilleth an everlastingnesse, and in this wise geveth an immortalitie to mortall men. Sins then to this, the woman is as needefull as the man, I can not discern for what cause the one is made by hap more then the other. Truth it is that Nature entendeth alwaies to bringe furth matters most perfect, and therfore meaneth to bring furth man in his kinde, but not more male then female. Yea were it so that she alwayes brought furth male, then shoulde it withoute peraventure be an unperfectnesse: for like as of the bodye and of the soule there arriseth a compounde more nobler then his partes, whiche is, man: even so of the felowshippe of male and female 

Male can not be without female.

there arriseth a compounde preservinge mankinde, without which the partes wer in decaye, and therfore male and female by nature are alwaies together, neither can the one be without the other: right so he ought not to be called the male, that hath not a female (accordinge to the definition of both the one and the other) nor she the female that hath not a male. And for somuch as one kinde alone betokeneth an imperfection, the divines of olde time referr both the one and the other to God: wherfore Orpheus said that Jupiter was both male and female: and it is read in Scripture that God facioned male and female to his likeness. And the Poetes manie times speaking of the Goddes, meddle the kindes together.

Then the L. Gaspar: I woulde not (quoth he) we should entre into these subtill pointes, for these women will not understande us. And albeit I answere you with verie good reasons, yet will they beleave, or at the leaste make wise to beleave that I am in the wrong, and furthwith will geve sentence as they lust. Yet sins we are entred into them, only this will I saye, that (as you know, it is the opinion of most wise men) the man is likened to the Fourme, the woman to the Mattier: and therfore as the Fourme is perfecter then the Mattier, yea it giveth him his beeing, so is the man much more perfect then the woman. And I remember that I have heard (whan it was) that a greate Philosopher in certein Problemes of his saith: Whens commeth it that 

Fourme. Mattier. Aristot. i. Physic. xviii.

naturally the woman alwaies loveth the man, that hath bine the first to receive of her, amorous pleasures? And contrariwise the man hateth the woman that hath bine the first to coople in that wise with him? and addinge therto the cause, affirmeth it to be this: For that in this act, the woman receyveth of the man perfection, and the man of the woman imperfection: and therfore everie man naturallye loveth the thinge that maketh him perfect: and hateth that maketh him unperfect. And beeside this a great argument of the perfection of the man, and of the imperfection of the woman, is, that generallye everye woman wisheth she were a man, by a certein provocation of nature, that teacheth her to wishe for her perfection.

The L. Julian answered sodeinlye: The seelie poore creatures wish not to be a man to make them more perfect, but to have libertye, and to be ridd of the rule that men have of their owne authoritie chalenged over them. And the similitude which you give of the Mattier and Fourme, is not alike in everye point: bicause the woman is not made so perfect by the man, as is the Mattier by the Fourme, for the Mattier receiveth his beeinge of the Fourme, and can not stande without it: yea the more Mattier Fourmes have, the more imperfection they have withall, and severed from it, are most perfect: but the woman receiveth not her beeinge of the man, yea as she is made perfect by the man, so doeth she also make him perfect: wherby both the one and the other come together to beegete children: the whyche thinge they can not do any of them by them selves. The cause then of the continuall love of the woman towarde the first that she hath bine with, and of the hatred of the man towarde the first woman, I will not affirme to be that youre Philosopher alleageth in his Problemes, but I impute it to the surenesse and stablenesse of the woman, and waveringe of the man, and that not without naturall reason: for sins the male is naturallye hott, by that qualitie he taketh lightnesse, stirring and unstedfastnes, and contrariwise the woman throughe colde, quietnesse, steadie waightinesse, and more earnest imprintinges.

Then the L. Emilia tourninge her to the L. Julian: For love of God (quoth she) come once out of these your Mattiers and Fourmes and males and females, and speake so that you maye be understoode: for we have heard and very well understoode the ill that the L. Octavian and the L. Gaspar have spoken of us: but sins we understande not nowe in what sort you stand in our defence, me thinke therfore that this is a straiynge from the pourpose, and a leavinge of the yvell imprintinge in everye mans minde that these our ennemies have given of us.

Give us not this name, answered the L. Gaspar, for more meter it were for the L. Julian, whiche in givinge women false prayses, declareth that there are none true for them.

The L. Julian saide then: Doubt ye not (madam) all shall be answered to. But I will not raile upon men so without reason, as they have done upon women. And if perchaunce there were any one here that meant to penn this our talke, I wolde not that in place where these Mattiers and Fourmes were understoode, the argumentes and reasons which the L. Gaspar alleageth against you shoulde be seen unanswered to.

I wote not, my L. Julian, quoth then the L. Gaspar, howe in this you can denie, that the man is not throughe his naturall qualities more perfect then the woman, whiche of complexion is colde and the man hott, and muche more nobler and perfecter is heate then colde, bicause it is active and furth bringinge: and (as you know) the element poureth downe here emonge us onlye heate, and not colde, which perceth not the wookes of nature: and therfore bicause 

Heat muche perfecter then colde. Heate. Women cold of complexion. Why the woman is more temperate then the man.

women are colde of complexion, I thinke it is the cause of their feinthertednesse and fearfulnesse.

Will you still, answered the L. Julian, entre into subtill ointes? you shall perceive your self at everye time to come into a greater pecke of troubles: and that it is so, herken to. I graunt you, that heat in it self is more perfect then colde, but this foloweth not in meddled matters and compounded, for in case it were so, the body that were most hot should be most perfect: whiche is false, bicause temperate bodies be most perfect. I do you to weete moreover, that the woman is of complexion colde in comparason of the man: which for overmuch heat is far wide from temper: but as touching herself, she is temperate, or at the least neerer to temper than the man, bicause she hath that moisture within her of equall portion with the natural heat, which in the man through overmuch drouth doth sooner melt and consume away. She hath also suche a kinde of colde that it resisteth and comforteth the naturall heate, and maketh it neerer to temper, and in the man overmuch heat doth soone bring the natural warmth to the last degree, the which wanting nourishment, consumeth away: and therfore, bicause men in generacion sooner waxe dry then women, it happeneth oftentimes that they are of a shorter lief. Wherfore this perfection may also be geven to women, that living longer then men, they accomplish it, that is the 

Men sooner drie then women. The perfection of women above men. Fearfulnesse in women. Heady persons.

entent of nature more then men. Of the heat that the element poureth downe upon us, we talke not now, bicause it is diverse in signification to it which we entreat upon: the which sins it is nourisher of all thinges under the sphere of the moone aswell hott as colde, it can not be contrarye to colde. But the fearfulnes in women although it beetokeneth an imperfection, yet doth it arrise of a praiswoorthie cause, namely the subtilnes and readines of the spirites, that convey spedely the shapes to the understanding, and therfore are they soone out of pacience for outward matters. Full well shall you see many times some men,that dread neither death nor any thing els, yet are they not for all that to be called hardy, bicause they know not the daunger, and goe furth like harbraines where they see the way open, and cast no more with them selves, and this proceadeth of a certein grosnes of the dulled spirites: therfore a fond person can not be said to be stoutherted, but verie courage in deede commeth of a propre advisement and determined will so to doe, and to esteame more a mans honestie and dutye, then all the perils in the worlde, and althoughe he see none other waye but death, yet to be of so quiet an hert and minde that his senses be not to seeke nor 

Courage.   Eve.

amased, but do their duty in discoursing and beethinkinge, even as though they were most in quiet. Of this guise and maner we have seene and heardsay many great men to be, likewise manie women, which both in olde time and presentlie have showed stoutenes of courage, and brought matters to passe in the world woorthie infinite praise, no lesse then menne have done.

Then said Phrisio: These matters beegan, whan the first woman in offending made others to offend also against God, and for inheritance left unto mankinde death, afflictions, sorowes, and all other miseries and calamityes, that be felt nowe adayes in the worlde.

The L. Julian answered: Sins you will also farther youre pourpose with entringe into scripture, doe you not knowe that the same offence was in like maner amended by a woman? Whiche hath profited muche more then she hindred us, so that trespace acquited with so woorthye a deede, is counted most happye. But I pourpose not now to tell 

Our Lady.

you, how much in dignitie all creatures of mankinde be inferiour to the virgin our Ladye, for meddlinge holye matters with these our fonde reasoninges: nor reherse howe manye women with infinite stedfastnes have suffred cruell death under Tirannes for the name of Christ: nor them that with learninge in disputacion have confuted so manye Idolatrers. And in case you will answere me, that this was a miracle and the grace of the holy ghost, I say unto you that no vertue deserveth more praise, then that which is approved by the testimonie of God. Manye other also of whom there is no talke, you your self may looke upon, expecially in readinge Saint Hierom, which setteth out certein of his time with such wonderfull prayses, that they might suffise the holyest man that can be. Imagin then how many there have bine of whom there is no made no mention at all: bicause the seelie poore soules are kept close without the pompous 

S. Hierom. Religious men.

pride to seek a name of holinesse emong the people, that now a dayes many men have, accursed Hypochrites, which not minding, or rather setting smalle store bye, the doctrine of Christ, that willeth a man whan he fasteth, to annoint his face, that he may appeere not to faste, and commaundeth prayer, almes deedes, and other good woorckes, to be done, not in the markett place, nor Sinagoges, but in secrete, so that the left hande knowe not of the right, they affirme no treasure in the world to be greater, then to give a good example, and thus hanging their head aside and fastning their eyes upon the grounde, spreadinge a report about, that they will not once speake to a woman, nor eate anye thinge but raw herbes, smokye, with their side garmentes all to ragged and torne, they beeguile the simple: but for all that, they abstaine not from falsifiynge willes, sowinge mortall hatred beetweene man and wief, and otherwhile poison: usinge sorcery, inchauntmentes and al kinde of ribaldrie, and afterward alleage a certein authoritie of their owne heade, that saith: Si non caste, tamen caute, and with this weene to heale everye greate sore, and with good reason to perswade hym that is not heedefull that God forgiveth soone all offences how heynous ever they be, so they be kept close and no ill example arriseth of them. Thus with a veile of holinesse, and this mischevous devise, manie times they tourne all their thoughtes to defile the chaste minde of some woman, often times to sowe variance beetweene brethren, to governe states, to set up the one and plucke downe the other, to chop of heades, to imprison and banish menne, to be ministers of the wickednesse, and (in a maner) the storers and hoorders up of the robberies that many Princes commit. Other past same delite to seeme delicate and smothe, with their croune minionlye shaven, and well clad, and in their gate lift up their garment to show their hose sit cleane, and the handsomnesse of person in makinge courtesie. Other use certein bye lookes and gestures even at masse, whiche they houlde opinion beecome them wel, and make men to beehoulde them: mischeevous and wicked menne, and cleane voide not onlye of all religion but of all good maner. And whan their naughty lief is laide to them, they make a Jest at it, and give him a mocke that telleth them of it, and (as it were) count their vises a prayse.

Then said the L. Emilia: Suche delite you have to speake yll of Friers, that ye are fallen into this talke without all pourpose. But you commit a great offence to murmur against religious persons, and without any profit ye burden youre conscience: for were it not for them, that they pray unto God for us, we shoulde yet have far greater plages then we have.

Then laughed the L. Julian and said: Howe gessed you so even (Madam) that I spake of Friers, sins I named them not? But forsooth this that I saye, is not called murmuringe, for I speake it plaine and openlye. And I meane not the good, but the bad and wicked, of whom I have not yet spoken the thousandeth part of that I know.

Speake you not now of Friers, answered the L. Emilia: for I thinke it (for my part) a greevous offence to give eare to you, and for hearing you any more, I will get me hens.

I am well pleased, quoth the L. Julian, to speake no more of this. But to retourn to the prayses of women, I saye that the L. Gaspar shall not finde me out any notable man, 

Women not inferiour to men.

but I will finde his wief or sister or daughter of like merite and otherwhile above him. Beeside that, manie have bine occasion of infinite goodnesse to their men, and sometime broken them of manye erroures. Therfore sins women are (as we have declared) naturallye as apt for the selfe same vertues, as men be, and the proof therof hath bine often seene, I wote not whye, in givinge them that is possible they maye have and sundrie times have had and still have, I ought to be deemed to speake wonders, as the L. Gaspar hathe objected against me: consideringe that there have ever bine in the worlde and still are, women as nigh the woman of the Palaice whom I have facioned, as men nigh the man whom these Lordes have facioned.

Then said the L. Gaspar: those reasons that have experience against them (in my minde) are not good. And ywisse, yf I shoulde happen to aske you what these great women are or have bine, so worthy praise, as the great men whose wives, sisters, or daughters they have bine, or that have bine occasion of anye goodnesse, or such as have broken them of their erroures, I beleave it woulde combre you shreudlye.

Surely, answered the L. Julian, none other thinge coulde combre me, but the multitude of them: and if time served me, I woulde tell you to this pourpose the Hystories of Octavia wief to Marcus Antonius and sister to Augustus. 

Octavia. Porcia. Cecilia. Cornelia. Alexandra. Egesipp. lib. 1. cap. 12.

Of Porcia daughter to Cato and Wief to Brutus. Of Caia Cecilia wief to Tarquinius Priscus. Of Cornelia daughter to Scipio, and of infinite other, which are most knowen. And not onelye these of oure Countrey, but also Barbariens, as that Alexandra whiche was wief to Alexander Kinge of the Jewes, who after the death of her husbande, seeinge the people in an uprore, and alreadye runn to weapon to slea the two chidren whiche he had left beehinde hym, for a revenge of the cruell and streict bondage that their father had alwayes kept them in, she so beehaved herselfe, that sodeinlye she asswaged that just furye, and in a moment, with wisdome made those myndes favourable to the children, whyche the father in manye yeeres with infinit injuries had made their most ennemies.

Tell us at the leaste, answered the L. Emilia, howe she dyd.

The L. Julian saide: she perceiving her children in so great a jeopardye, immediatlye caused Alexanders bodye to be caste oute in into the middes of the markett place: afterwarde calling unto her the Citizins, she said, that she knewe their mindes were set on fire wyth moste juste furye againste her husbande: for the cruell injuries whiche he wickedlye 

She asswaged the furye of the people.

had done them, deserved it: and even as whan he lyved, she dyd her best alwayes to withdrawe hym from so wicked a lief, so nowe she was readie to make a triall therof, and to helpe them to chastise him even deade, asmuch as she might, and therfore should take that bodye of his and give it to be devoured of Dogges, and rente it in peeces in the cruellest maner they coulde imagin. But yet she desired them to take pity uppon the innocent chyldren, that coulde not onelye be in no fault, but not so muche as weettynge of their fathers yll doynges. Of such force were these woordes, that the ragynge furye once conceyved in all that peoples myndes was sodainlye asswaged, and tourned into so tender an affection, that not onelye with one accorde they chose those children for their heades and rulers, but also to the deade corps they gave a most honourable buryall.

Here the L. Julian made a little pause, afterwarde he proceaded: Knowe you not that Mithridates wyef and Systers showed a farre lesse feare of death, then Mithridates 

Laodice. Harmonia Obstinacie called stedfastnesse.

him selfe? And Asdruballes wief, then Asdrubal himselfe? Know you not that Harmonia daughter to Hiero the Syracusan, woulde have died in the burninge of her Countrye?

Then Phrisio: Where obstinacye is bent, no doubt (quoth he) but otherwhile ye shall find some women that will never chaunge pourpose, as she that coulde no lenger call her husbande pricklouse, with her handes made him a signe.

The L. Julian laughed and said: Obstinacy that is bent to a vertous ende, ought to be called stedfastnesse, as in Epicharia a libertine of Roome, which made privie to a great conspiracie against Nero, was of such stedfastnesse, that beeinge rent with all the most cruell tormentes that 

Epicharia. Leena bitt in sunder her tunge and spitt it in the face of Hippias the Tiran. Plin. Lib. 34. cap.8.

could be invented, never uttred any of the partners: and and in the like perill manie noble gentilmen and Senatours fearfullly accused brethren, friendes, and the deerest and best beloved persons to them in the worlde. What saye you of this other, called Leena? In whose honoure the Athenians dedicated before the castle gate a lionesse of mettall without a tunge, to betoken in her the steady vertue of silence. For she beeinge in like sort made privie to a conspiracy againste the Tirannes, was not agast at the death of two great men her friendes, and for all she was torne with infinite and moste cruell tormentes, never disclosed any of the conspiratours.

Then saide the L. Margaret Gonzaga: Me seemeth that ye make to breef rehersall of these vertuous actes done by women. For although these our ennemies have heard them and read them, yet they make wise not to knowe them, and would faine the memorye of them were loste. But in case ye will doe us to understande them, we will at the least honour them.

Then answere the L. Julian: With a good will. Now wil I tell you of one, that did suche a deede as I beeleave the L. Gaspar himself will confesse that verie fewe menne doe. And beegane. In Massila there was in times past an usage, whiche is thought came out of Greece: and that was, that openlye there was poyson layed up meddled wyth Cicuta, and it was lefull for him to take it that alleaged to 

Cicuta a venimous herbe horrible of savour, one kinde whereof is supposed to be hemlocke.

the Senate that he ought to be rid of his lief for some discommoditie that he felt therin, or elles for some other juste cause: to the entent that who so had suffered to much adversitie or tasted over great prosperitie, he might not continue in the one, or chaunge the other. In the presence therfore of Sextus Pompeius-&nobr;-&nobr;-&nobr;-

Here Phrisio not tariynge to have the L. Julian proceade farther: This me seemeth (quoth he) is the beeginninge of some longe tale.

Then the L. Julian tourninge him to the L. Margaret, said: See, Phrisio will not suffre me to speake. I would have toulde you now of a woman, that after she had showed the Senate that she ought of right to die, glad and without any feare, tooke in the presence of Sextus Pompeius the poyson with such stedfastnesse of minde and with such wise and loving exhortations to hers, that Pompeius and all the rest that beeheld in a woman suche knowleage and stedinesse in the tremblinge passage of death, remayned (not without teares) astonied with great wonder.

Then the L. Gaspar smiling: And I again remember (quoth he) that I have read an Oration, wherin an unfortunate husband asketh leave of the Senate to die, and alleageth that he hath a just cause, for that he can not abide the continuall weerisomnes of his wives chattinge, and had leiffer drinke of that poison which you say was laied up openly for these respectes, then of his wives scoldinges.

The L. Julian answered: How many seelie poore women should have a just cause to aske leave to die, for abidinge, I will not say the yll woordes, but the most yvell deedes of their husbandes? For I know of some my self, that in this worlde suffre the peines which are said to be in hell.

Bee there not againe, trow you, answered the L. Gaspar, manye husbandes that are so tourmented with their wives, that everye hour they wishe for death?

And what displeasure, quoth the L. Julian, can women doe their husbandes, that is so without remedy, as those are which husbandes do their wives? which though not for love, yet for feare are obedient to their husbandes.

Sure it is in deede, quoth the L. Gaspar, that the litle they do well otherwhile, commeth of feare, for fewe there are in the world that secretlye in their minde hate not their husbandes.

Nay, cleane contrarye, answered the L. Julian: and in case you will remembre what you have read, it is to be seene in all Histories, that alwaies (in a maner) wives love their husbandes better than they their wives. Whan have you ever seene or read that a hasbande hath showed such a token of love towarde his wief, as did Camma towarde her husbande?

I wote not, answered the L. Gaspar, what she was, nor what token she showed.

Nor I, quoth Phrisio.

The L. Julian answered: Give eare. And you (my L. Margaret) looke ye beare it well awaye. This Camma was 

An example of the true love of a wief toward her husbande. Plutarc.

a most beawtifull yonge woman, indowed with suche modestie and honest condicions, that no lesse for them, then for her beawty she was to be wondred at: and above other thinges with all her hert she loved her husband, who had to name Synattus. It happened that an other Gentilman of greater authoritie then Synattus, and (in a maner) head ruler and Tirann of the Citie where they dwelled, fell in love with this yonge woman: and after he had longe attempted by all wayes and meanes to compasse her, and all but loste labour beethinkinge himselfe that the love she bore her husbande, was the onlye cause that withstood his desires, he caused this Synattus to be slayne. Thus instant upon her afterwarde continuallye, other frute coulde he never gete of her, then what he had beefore. Wherfore this love daily encreasinge, he was fullye resolved to take her to wief, for all in degree she was muche inferiour to him. So suite beeinge made to her friendes by Sinoris (for so was the lover named) they tooke in hande to perswade her to be contented wyth it: declaring that to agree therto, was verye profitable, and to refuse it, perilous for her and them all. She after she had a while gainsaied them, at length made answere that she was contented. Her kinsfolke brought this tidinges to Sinoris, which passing measure glad, gave order to have this mariage made out of hande. After they were then both come for this pourpose solemnlye into the Temple of Diana, Camma had caused to be brought to her a certein sweet drinke whiche she had made, and so beefore the image of Diana in the presence of Sinoris she dranke the one moitie. Afterwarde, with her owne hand (for this was the usage in mariages) she gave the remaine to the bridegrome, whiche dranke it cleane up. Camma assone as she sawe her device take effect, kneeled her downe verye joyfull before the image of Diana, and said: Oh Goddesse, thou that knowest the bottome of my hert, be a good witnesse to me, howe hardlye after my deere husbande deceased, I have refreined from killinge my selfe, and what peines I have susteined to endure the greef to live in this bitter lief, in whiche I have felt none other joye or pleasure, but the hope of the revenge whiche I perceyve nowe is come to effect. Therfore wyth gladnesse and contentation I go to finde out the sweete companye of that soule, whiche in lyef and death I have alwayes more loved then mine owne selfe. And thou Caytif, that weeneddest to have bine my hubande, in steade of a mariage bed, give ordre to prepare thee a grave, for of thee do I here make a sacrifice to the shadowe of Synattus. Synoris amased at these woordes, and alreadye feelynge the operation of the poyson within him that put him to great peine, proved many remedies, but all prevayled not. And Camma had fortune so favourable on her side, or what ever els, that beefore she died, she had knowleage that Sinoris was deade. Whan she hearde of that, with verye great contentation she layed her upon her bed, with her eyes to heaven, continuallye callynge upon the name of Synattus, and saying Oh most sweete mate, sins nowe I have bestowed for the last tokens upon thy death, both teares and revenge, and perceive not that I have anye thinge yet beehinde to doe for thee here, I flee the world and this without thee a cruell lief, which for thy sake onlye in times past was dere to me. Come therefore and meete me (oh my Lorde) and embrace as willinglie this soule, as she willinglye commeth to thee. And speakinge these woordes, and with her armes spred, as thoughe she woulde at that instant have embraced him, died. Say nowe Phrisio, what thinke you by this?

Phrisio answered: Me thinke you woulde make these Ladies weepe. But let us sett case this was true, I say unto you that we finde no more such women in the worlde.

The L. Julian saide: Yes, that there be, and that it is so, give eare. In my dayes there was in Pisa a gentilman whose 

An other example of fressher yeeres. Thomaso Lucchese.

name was M. Thomas, of what house, I remember not, for all I heard my father often times tell it, which was his great friend. This M. Thomas then, passinge upon a daye in a litle vessell from Pisa towarde Sicilia about his affaires, was overtaken with certein foistes of Moores, that were on the backe of him unawares and beefore the governours of the vessell had espied them. And for all the men within, defended them selves well, yet bicause they were but fewe and the ennemies manie, the vessell with as manie as were on borde was taken by the Moores, some hurt, some whole, as fell to their lotte, and emonge them M. Thomas, whiche had played the man and slaine with his owne hande a brother of one of the Capitaines of those foystes: for which matter the Capitain full of wrathe, as you maye conjecture by the losse of his brother, woulde have him for his prisoner, and beatinge and buffetinge him daily, brought him into Barbary, where in great misery he determined to kepe him alive his captive and with muche drugerye. All the rest, some one waye, some an other, within a space were 

M. Argentin.

at libertye, and retourned home, and brought tidinges to his wief, called M. Argentin, and children, of the hard lief and great affliction which M. Thomas lived in, and was like without hope to live in continuallye, onlesse God wonderfullye helped him. The which matter whan she and they understoode for a certaintie, attemptinge certein other wayes for hys deliveraunce, and where he himselfe was fullye resolved to ende his lief, there happened a carefull affection and tender pitie so to quicken the witt and courage of a sonne of his called Paul, that he had respect to no kind of daunger, and determined eyther to die or to deliver his father. The which matter he brought to passe and with suche privie conveiaunce, that he was first in Ligurno beefore it was knowen in Barbarye that he was parted thens. Here hens M. Thomas (beeinge arrived in safetye) writ to his wief, and did her to weete his settinge at libertie, and where he was, and how the next daye he hoped to see her. The honest Gentilwoman filled with so great and sodeine joye, that she shoulde so shortlye aswell throughe the zeale as prowesse of her sonne, see her hubande whom she loved 

Inordinate affection.

so much, where she once surelye beleaved never to have seen him again, after she had read the letter she lifted her eyes to heaven and calling upon the name of her husbande, fell starke dead to the grounde, and with no remedie done to her, did the the departed soule retourn to the body again. A cruell sight, and inoughe to temper the willes of men and to withdrawe them from covetinge to ferventlye superfluous joyes.

Then said Phrisio smilinge: What know you whether she died for sorowe or no, understanding her husbande was comminge home?

The L. Julian answered: Bicause the rest of her lief was nothinge agreeable therto. But I weene rather the soule could not tary the lingering to see him with the eyes of her bodye, and therfore forsooke it, and drawen out thens with covetinge, fled by and by where in readinge the letter, her thought was fled.

The L. Gaspar said: It may be that this woman was overloving, bicause women in everie thinge cleave alwayes to the extremitie, which is yll. And see, for that she was overloving, she did yll to herselfe, to her husbande and to her children, in whom she tourned into bitternesse the pleasure of that daungerous and desired libertie of his. Therfore you ought not to alleage her for one of the women, that have bine the cause of so great goodnesse.

The L. Julian answered: I alleage her for one of them that make trial that there are wives whiche love their husbandes. For of such as have bine occasion of great profittes in the world I coulde tell you of an infinite number, and reherse unto you so auntient, that welnighe a man wolde judge them fables. And of suche as emong men have bine the inventors of such kinde of matters, that they have deserved to be deemed Goddesses, as, Pallas, Ceres, the Sybilles, by whose mouth God hath so oftentimes spoken and discovered to the world matters to come. And such as 

Aspasia loved and taught the eloquent Pericles Duke of Athens. Nichostrata. Hermione. Corinna. Sappho.

have taught verye great men, as Aspasia, and Diotima the which also with sacrifice drove of a plague tenn yeeres that shoulde have fallen in Athens. I coulde tell you of Nichostrata mother to Evander, whiche showed the Latins their letters. And of an other woman also that was maistres to Pindarus Liricus. And of Corinna and Sappho, which were most excellent in Poetrie: but I wil not seeke matters so far of, I say unto you that leaving the rest apart, of the greatnes of Roome perhappes women were a no lesse cause then men.

This quoth the L. Gaspar, were good to understande.

The L. Julian answered: Herken to it then. After Troye was wonn, manye Trojans, that in so great a destruction escaped, fled some one way, some another: of whiche, one part, that by manye Sea stormes were tossed and tumbled, 

Women the cause of the greatnes of Roome. Tiberis. Roma.

came into Italy the coost where the Tever entreth into the Sea: so landing to provide for their necessaries, beegane to goe a forraginge about the Countrie. The women that taried beehinde in the shippes, imagined emonge themselves a profitable divise, that shoulde make an ende of their perilous and longe Seawandringe, and in steade of their lost Countrey recover them a new. And after they had layed their heades together, in the mens absence, they sett fire on the shippes, and the firste that beegane this woorke was called Roma. Yet standinge in feare of the mens displeasure that were retiringe backe again, they went to meete with them, and imbracing and kissing in token of good will, some their husbandes, some their next a kinn, they asswaged that first brunt: afterwarde they disclosed to them quietlye the cause of their wittie enterprise. Wherfore the Trojans, on the one side, for neede, and one the other for beeinge courteiouslye receyved of the inhabtauntes, were very well pleased with that the women had done, and there dwelled with the Latins in the place where afterward was Roome. And of this arrose the auntient custome emonge the Romanes, that women meetinge their kinsfolke, kissed them. Now ye see what a helpe these women were to give the 

An auncient custome emonge the Romanes. Women a helpe to the encrease of Roome. T. Tatius.

beeginninge to Roome. And the Sabine women were a no lesse helpe to the encrease of it, then were the Trojane to the first beeginning: for whan Romulus had purchased him the generall hatred of al his neighboures, for the ravine that he made of their women, he was assayled with warre on all sides, the which for that he was a valiaunt man, he soone rid his handes of with victorie: onlye the warr with the Sabines excepted, which was verie sore, bicause Titus Tatius kinge of the Sabines was verye puissant and wise. Wherupon after a sore bickeringe beetweene the Romanes and Sabines, with verie great losse on both sides, prepayrynge for a freshe and cruell battaile, the Sabine women clad in blacke, with their heare scattred and haled, weepinge, comfortlesse, without feare of weapons now bent to give the onsett, came into the middes beetweene their fathers and husbandes, beseachinge them not to fill their handes with the bloode of their fatherinlawes and sonninlawes, and in case it were so that they repined at this aliaunce, thei should bend their weapons against them: for much better it were for them to die, then to live widowes or fatherles and brotherlesse, and to remembre that their children had bine begotten of such as had slaine their fathers, or they them selves of such as had slaine their husbandes. With these pitifull waylinges, manie of them caried in their armes their yonge babes, of whom some beegane alreadie to leuse their tunge and seemed to call and sport with their graundfathers, unto whom the women showinge furth their nephewes and weeping, said: Beehoulde youre owne bloode that is in such rage ye seeke to shed with youre owne handes. Of suche force was in this case the affection and wisedome of the women, that there was not onlye concluded beetwene the two Kinges ennemies together, an indissoluble frendship and league, but also (which was a more wonderfull matter) the Sabines came to dwell in Roome, and of two peoples was made one, and so did this accorde much encrease the strength of Roome: thanked be the wise and couragious women whiche were so rewarded of Romulus, 

30 curiæ Sp. Tarpeius daughter corrupted with money by T. Tatius.

that partinge the people into thirtie bandes, gave them the names of the Sabine women.

Here the L. Julian pausinge a while, and perceyvinge that the L. Gaspar spake not: Trowe you not (quoth he) that these women were occasion of goodnes to their men, and helped to the greatnesse of Roome?

The L. Gaspar answered: No doubt, they were woorthie much praise. But in case you woulde aswell tell the faultes of women, as their well doinge, you woulde not have kept hid, that in this warr of T. Tatius a woman betrayed Roome, and taught the ennemies the waye to take the Capitolium, wherby the Romanes were welnighe all undone.

The L. Julian answered: You mention me one ill woman, and I tell you of infinite good. And beeside the afore named, I coulde applye to my pourpose a thousand other examples of the profit done to Roome by women, and tell you whie there was once a Temple buylded to Venus armata, and an other to Venus calva, and howe the feast of 

Venus armata. Venus calva. Fulvia.

Handmaydens was instituted to Juno, bicause the Handmaidens once delivered Roome from the guiles of the ennemies. But leavinge all these thinges a part, that couragious act for discoveringe the conspiracye of Catalina, for whiche Cicero is so praised, had it not cheeflye his beeginninge of a commune woman, which for this may be said to have bin the occasion of al the good that Cicero boasteth he did the commune weale of Roome? And in case I had sufficient time, I would (may happe) showe you also that women have oftentimes corrected men of manye vices: (I feare me) my talke hath alreadye bine overlong and combrous. Therfore sins I have accordinge to my pour fulfilled the charge that these Ladies have geven me, I meane to give place to him that shall speake more woorthier matters to be heard, then I can.

Then the L. Emilia: Do you not deprive (quoth she) women of the true praises due unto them. And remembre thoughe the L. Gaspar and perchaunce the L. Octavian to, heare you with noisomnesse, yet doe we and these other Lordes herken to you with pleasure.

Notwithstandinge the L. Julian woulde there have ended, but all the Lordes beegane to entreat him to speake. Wherfore he saide laughinge: Least I should provoke my L. Gaspar to be mine enemy any more then he is, I will but breefly tell you of certein that come into my minde, leavinge manye that I could recite unto you. Afterward he proceaded: Whan Philipp Demetrius sonne, 

Philippus kinge of Macedonia sonne to Demetrius.

was about the Citie of Scio, and had layed siege to it, he caused to be be proclaymed, that what ever bondemen woulde forsake the Citie and flee to him, he promised them liberty and their maisters wives. The spite of women for this so shamefull a proclamation was such, that they came to the walles with weapon, and fought so fierslye, that in a smalle time they drove Philipp awaye with shame and losse, which the men could not do. These selfe same women beeing with their husbandes, fathers and brethren that went into banishment, after they came into Leuconia, did a no lesse glorious act, then this was. For the Erythreans that were there with their federates, made warre against these Sciotis, which not able to houlde out, came to accorde with composition to depart onlye in their doblet and shirt out of the Citie. The women hearinge of this so shamefull a composition, were muche offended, revilinge them, that leavinge their weapons, they would issue out like naked men emonge their ennemies. And whan they made answere that it was alreadie so condicioned, they willed them to carye their shield and speare, and leave their clothes, and answere their ennemies that this was their arraye. And in so doinge by their womens counsell, they covered a greate part of the shame, which they coulde not cleane avoide. Likewise whan Cirus had discomfitted in battaile the armye of the Persians, as they rann awaye, in their fleeinge they mett with their women without the 

The stout hert of women.

gates, who comminge to them, saide: Whither flee ye you cowardes? Entende ye perhappes to hide you in us from whens ye came? These and suche like woordes the men hearinge, and perceiving howe muche in courage they were inferiour to their women, were ashamed of themselves, and retourning backe again to their ennemies fought with them a freshe and gave them the overthrowe.

Whan the L. Julian had hitherto spoken, he stayed, and tourning him to the Dutchesse, said: Now (Madam) you will licence me to houlde my peace.

The L. Gaspar answered: It is time to houlde your peace, whan you knowe not what to saye more.

The L. Julian saide smiling: You provoke me so, that ye maye chaunce be occupied all night in hearing the praises of women. And ye shall understande of manye Spartane women that much rejoyced at the glorious death of their children: and of them that forsooke them or slue them with their owne handes whan they hard they used dastardlinesse. Again how the Saguntine women in the destruction of their Countrey, tooke weapon in hand against Hannibales souldiers. And how the armie of the Dutch men vanquished by Marius, their women not obteininge their suite to live free in Roome in service with the virgins vestalles, killed themselves everie one with their younge children. And a thousand mo that al auntient Histories are full of.

Then said the L. Gaspar: Tushe (my L. Julian) God woteth how these matters passed, for those times are so farr from us, that many lyes may be toulde, and none there is that can reprove them.

The L. Julian said: In case you will measure in everye time the woorthinesse of women with mens, ye shall finde that they have never bine nor yet presently are any whit inferiour to men. For leavinge apart those so auntient, if ye come to the time whan the Gothes raigned in Italy, ye shall finde that there was a queene emong them Amalasunta that ruled a long while with marveilous wisdome. Afterward Theolinda, queene of the Longobardes, of singular vertue. Theodora Empresse of Greece. And in Italy emong many other was a most singuler Lady the 

Amalasunta. Theolinda. Theodora. Countesse Matilda. Urbin. Mantua. Ferrara. Ann French Queene. L. Margaret.

Countesse Matilda, whose praises I leave to be toulde of Count Lewis, bicause she was of his house.

Nay, quoth the Count, it is youre part, for you knowe it is not meete that a man shoulde praise his owne.

The L. Julian continued on: And how many famous in times past finde you of this most noble house of Montefeltro? Howe manye of the house of Gonzaga, of Este and Pij? In case we will then speake of the time present, we shall not neede to seeke Examples far fett, for we have them in the house. But I will not serve my pourpose with them whom we see in presence, least ye should seeme for courteisie to graunt me it, that in no wise ye can denye me. And to goe oute of Italye, remembre ye, in oure dayes we have seene Ann Frenche Queene a verye great Ladye, no lesse in vertue then in State: and if in justice and mildenesse, liberalitye and holynesse of lief, ye lust to compare her to the Kinges Charles and Lewis (Whyche had bine wyef to bothe of them) you shall not finde her a jott inferiour to them. Beehoulde the Ladye Margaret daughter to the Emperour Maximilian, whyche wyth great wysedome and justyce hitherto hath ruled and still doeth her State. But omitting all other, tell me (my L. Gaspar) what king or what Prince hath there bine in our dayes, or yet many yeeres beefore in Christendome, that deserveth to be 

Isabel Queene of Spaine. Praise of her.

compared to Queene Isabel of Spaine?

The L. Gaspar answered: Kinge Ferdinande her husbande.

The L. Julian saide: This will I not denie. For sins the Queene thought him a woorthie husbande for her and loved and observed him somuch, yt can not be said nay, but he deserved to be compared to her. And I thinke well the reputacion he gote by her was a no lesse dowerie then the kingdome of Castilia.

Nay, answered the L. Gaspar, I beleave rather of manie of kinge Ferdinandes actes Queene Isabel bore the praise.

Then saide the L. Julian: In case the people of Spaine, the Nobles, private persons, both men and women, poore and rich, be not al agreed together to lye in her praise, there hath not bine in our time in the world a more cleere example of true goodnesse, stoutnesse of courage, wisdome, religion, honestie, courtesie, liberalitie, to be breef, of all vertue, then Queene Isabel. And where the renoume of that Ladye in everie place and with all Nations is verye great, they that lived with her and were present at all her doinges, do all affirme this renoume to be spronge of her vertue and desertes. And whoso will waye her actes, shall soone perceive the truth to be so. For leavinge apart infinite thinges that make triall of this, and might be toulde, if it were our pourpose, everye man knoweth that in the first beginninge of her reigne, she founde the greatest part of Castilia possessed by great Astates: yet recovered she the wholl again, so justly and in such sort that they dispossessed themselves continued in a great good affection, and were willing to make surrender of that they had in possession. It is also a most knowen thinge with what courage and wisedome she alwaies defended her realmes from most puissant ennemies. And likewise to her alone may be geven the honour of the glorious conquest of the kingdome of Granada, whiche in so longe and sharpe a warr against stubborne ennemies, that fought for their livelode, for their lief, for their law, and to their weening in Goddes quarrell, declared evermore with counsell and with her owne person somuch vertue and prowesse, as perhappes in oure time fewe Princis have had the stomake, not onelye to folowe her steppes, but to envie her. Beeside this, all that knewe her, report that there was in her suche a divine maner of government, that a man woulde have weened that her will onlye was almost inoughe to make everye man without any more businesse, to do that he ought: so that scase durst a man in his owne home and in secrete commit any thinge that he suspected woulde displease her. And of this a great part was cause the wonderfull judgement which she had in knowinge and chousinge ministers meete for the offices she entended to place them in. And so well could she joigne the rigour of justice with the mildenesse of mercye and liberalitie, that there was no good person in her dayes that coulde complaine he had bine smallye rewarded, ne anye yll, to sore punisshed. Wherfore emonge her people toward her, there sprange a verie great reverence dirived of love and feare, which in all mens mindes remayneth still so settled, that a man woulde thinke they looked that she should beehoulde them from heaven, and there above eyther praise or dyspraise them. And therfore with her name, and with the wayes which she ordeined, those Realmes are still ruled, in wise that albeit her lief wanteth, yet her authoritie lyveth, like a whiele that longe swynged about with violence, keepeth the same course a good while after of it self, 

Ferdinando Gonsalvo.

though no man move it anye more. Consider you beeside this (my L. Gaspar) that in oure time all the great men of Spaine and renowmed in what ever thinge, have bine made by Queene Isabel. And the great Capitain Gonsalve Ferdinande was more setbye for it, then for all his famous victories and excellent and couragious actes, that in peace and warr have made him so notable and famous, that in case fame be not unkinde, she will for ever spred abrode to the worlde his immortall prayses, and make proof that in oure age we have had fewe Kinges or great Princis, that by him have not bine surmounted in noble courage, knowleage and all vertue. To retourn therfore to Italye, I saye unto you that we have not wanted here also moste excellent Ladies. For in Naples we have two Queenes, and not longe a go in Naples likewyse died the other Queene of Hungarye, as excellent a Ladye as you knowe anye and to be compared well inoughe to the mightye and glorious kinge Mathew Corvin her husbande. Likewise the Dutchesse Isabell of Aragon most woorthie sister to kinge Ferdinande of Naples, which as golde in the fire, so in the stormes of fortune hath 

Queenes of Naples. Queen of Hungary. Dut. Isabel of Aragon. Isabel Marq. of Mantua. Dut. Beatrice of Millane. Dut. Elinor of Ferrara.

she showed her vertue and prowesse. If you will come into Lumbardy, you shall marke the Ladye Isabell marquesse of Mantua, whose moste excellent vertues shoulde receyve great wronge in speakinge of them so temperatelye, as whoso will speake of them in this place must be driven to do. I am sorye moreover that you all knew not the Dutchesse Beatrice of Millane her sister, that you might never again wonder at a womans wit. And the Dutches Elionor of Aragon Dutches of Ferrara, and mother to both these Ladies whom I have named, was such a one, that her moste excellent vertues gave a good triall to all the worlde, that she was not onlye a woorthie daughter to a kinge, but also deserved to be a Queene over a farr greater State then all her auncestours possessed. And to tell you of an other: Howe manie menne knowe you in the worlde, woulde abide the bitter strokes of fortune so pacientlye, as Queene Isabell of Naples hath done? Whiche for all the losse of her kingdome, banishment and deathe of kinge Fridericke her husbande and two sonnes, and imprisonment of the Duke of Calabria her eldest, yet still showeth her selfe a Queene: 

Queene Isabel of Naples. Pisanes.

and so beareth out the myserable inconveniences of wretched povertie, that every man maye see, thoughe she hath chaunged fortune, yet hathe she not altered condicion. I omitt the naminge unto you of infinite other great Ladies, and also women of low degree, as many Pisanes that in defence of their countrey against Florentines, have declared that noble courage without any feare of death, that the most invincible courages coulde doe that ever were in the worlde: wherfore certein of them have bine renowmed by many noble Poetes. I coulde tell you of certein most escellent in letters, in musicke, in peinctinge, in carvinge, but I wil not any more go searching out emonge these examples, whiche are most knowen to you all. It sufficeth that if in youre myndes ye thinke upon women whom you youre selves knowe, it shall be no harde matter for you to understand, that they are not most commonlye in prowesse or woorthinesse inferiour to their fathers, brethren and husbandes: and that manye have bine occasion of goodnesse to menne, and manie times broken them of manye of their vices. And where presentlye there are not founde in the worlde those great Queenes that go to conquer farr Countreys, and make great buildinges, Piramides and Cities, as Thomiris Queene of Scithia, Artemisia, Zenobia, Semiramis, or Cloepatra, no more are there also men like unto Cæsar, Alexander, Scipio, Lucullus, and the other noble Romane Capitanes.

Say not so, answered then Phrisio laughing, for presently there are more found like Cleopatra or Semiramis, then ever there were. And thoughe they have not so many 

These queenes gave themselves to all their appetites. Sardanapalus a king in Assiria monstrous in all kinde of lecherie.

states, poures, and riches, yet there wanteth not in them good wil to counterfeit them at the least in giving themselves to pleasure, and satisfiying al their lustes asmuche as they may.

The L. Julian said: You will ever Phrisio passe your boundes. But in case there be found some Cleopatres, there want not for them infinit Sardanapalles, whiche is much woorse.

Make not this comparason, quoth the L. Gaspar then, I beleave not that men are so incontinent, as women be: and where they were so, yet shoulde it not be woorse. For of the incontinencye of women arrise infinite inconveniences, that do not of mens. And therfore (as it was well said yesterday) they have wisely ordeined that it may be lawfull for them to be out of the way without blame in all other thinges, that they maye applye their force to kepe them selves in this one vertue of chastitie, without the which children were uncertein, and the bonde that knitteth all the world together by bloode and by the love that naturallye ech man hath to that is borne him, shoulde be lewsed. Therfore a wanton lief in women is lesse to be borne withall then in men, that carie not their children nine monthes in their bodye.

Then answered the L. Julian: Doubtlesse these be pretie argumentes that ye make, I merveile you put them not in writinge. But tell me. For what cause is it ordained that a wanton lief shoulde not be so shamefull a matter in men as in women? Consideringe if they be by nature more vertuous and of greater prowesse, they maye also the easelier kepe themselves in this vertue of continencie: and children should be no more nor lesse certein, for if women were geven to wanton livinge, so men were continent, and consented not 

The wanton lief of men make women unchast. Men have calenged a libertye.

to the wantonnesse of women, they emonge themselves and without anye other helpe could not beare children. But if you wil tel the troth, you your self know, that we have of our owne authority claymed a libertie, wherby we will have selfe same offences in us verye light and otherwhile woorthie praise, and in women not sufficientlye to be punished, but with a shamefull death, or at the least everlastinge sclaunder. Therfore sins this opinion hath taken root, me thinketh it a meete matter to punish them in like maner sharpely, that with lyes bringe up a sclaunder upon women. And I beleave that everie worthie gentilman is bounde to defende alwaies with weapon, where neede requireth, the truth: and especially whan he knoweth any woman falslye reported of to be of litle honestie.

And I, answered the L. Gaspar smilinge, do not onlye affirme to be everye worthye gentimans dutye that you saye, but also take it for great courtesy and honestie to cover some offence that by mishappe or overmuch love a woman is renn into. And thus you may see that I am more on womens side, where reason beareth me oute, then you be. I denie not that men have taken a litle libertie, and that bicause they know by the commune opinion, that to them wanton living is not so sclanderous as to women, which through the weaknes of their kinde, are much more enclined to appetites, then men: and in case they absteine otherwhile from satisfiynge their lustes, they doe it for shame, not that will is not most readye in them, and therfore have men layed uppon them feare of sclaunder for a bridle, to keepe them (in a maner) whether they will or no in this vertue, without the whiche (to saye the trothe) they were litle to be set bye: for the world hath no profit by women, but for gettinge of children. But the like is not of men, which governe Cities, armies, and doe so manye other waightye matters, the whiche (sin you will so have it) I will not dispute, how women coulde do, yt sufficeth they do it not. And whan it was meete for men to make triall of their continencie, aswell howe they passed women in this vertue, as in the rest, althoughe you graunt it not. And about this, I will not reherse unto you so many Histories or fables, as you have done, I remit you to the continencie onlie of two most mightie personages, youthfull and upon their victorye, whiche is wont to make haute men of lowest degree. And the one is, the great Alexander toward the most beawtiful women of Darius his 

The continencie of Alexander toward Darius wief and daughters. Q. Curt. lib. iii. Carthago nova. The continency of Scipio toward a yong Ladye betrothed to Allucius a lord among the Celtiberians. Xenocrates.   Pericles reprehended Sophocles for sayinge O puerum pulchrum.

ennemie and discomfited. The other, Scipio, unto whom beeinge xxiiii. yeeres of age, and havinge wonn by force a Citie in Spaine, there was brought a most beawtiful and noble Damisell taken emonge manye other. And whan Scipio understoode that she was affiansed to a Lorde of the Countrey, he did not only absteine from all dishonest act towarde her, but undefiled restored her to her husband and a large gift withall. I coulde tell you of Xenocrates, which was so continent, that a most beawtifull woman lyinge naked by his side and dalying with him and using all the wayes she coulde (in which matters she was verie well practised) she had never the pour to make him once showe the least signe of wantonnesse, for all she bestowed a wholl night about it. And of Pericles that did no more but heare one prayse with overmuche earnetnesse the well favourednesse of a boye, and he tooke him up sharplye for it. And of manye other most continent of their owne free wil, and not for shame or feare of punishment, that compelleth the greatest part of women to kepe them selves upright in this vertue, whiche notwithstandinge deserve much praise withall: and whoso falsely bringeth up of them a sclanderous report of uncleannesse of lyvinge, is worthie (as you have said) very sore punishment.

Then spake the L. Cesar whiche had helde his peace a good while: Judge you in what sort the L. Gaspar speaketh in the dispraise of women, whan these are the matters that he speaketh in their praise. But if the L. Julian will give me leave, that I maye in his steade answere him certein few matters, as touchinge where (in mine opinion) he hath falselye spoken against women, it shall be good for him and me bothe. For he shall rest him a while, and shall afterward the better go forwarde to speake of some other perfection of the Gentilwoman of the Palaice, and I shall have a good tourne that I have occasion to execute jointlye with him the dutie of a good knight, whiche is to defende the truth.

Mary I beseche you, answered the L. Julian: for me thinke I have alreadye fulfilled accordinge to my poure, that I ought, and this communication nowe is out of the pourpose that I went about.

The L. Cesar then beegane: I will not nowe speake of the profit that the worlde hath by women beeside the bearinge of children, for it is well inoughe declared howe necessarye they be, not onlye to be oure beeinge, but also to oure well beeinge. But I saye (my L. Gaspar) that in case they be as you affirme more inclined to appetites, then men, and notwithstanding absteine more then men (which you your selfe graunt) they are so much the more woorthie praise, as their kinde is lesse able to withstande naturall appetites. And if you saye they do it for shame, I can not see but for one vertue you give them two. For in case 

Shame. Injurious persons to God and nature.

shame can doe more in them than appetite, and throughe it refraine from ylldoynge, I esteame this shame (which in conclusion is nothinge els but feare of sclaunder) a moste sildome vertue and reigninge in verie fewe menne. And if I coulde without infinite reproche to menne, tell howe manye of them be drowned in unshamefastnesse and impudencye (whiche is the vice contrarie to this vertue) I shoulde infect these devoute eares that heare me. And for moste part these kinde of injurious persons both to God and nature, are menne wel stricken in yeeres, which professe some preesthoode, some Philosophye, some divinitie, and rule Commune weales with suche Catoes gravitie in countenance, that it maketh an outwarde showe of all the honestye in the worlde, and alwaies alleage woman kinde to be most incontinent, where they at no time finde them selves more agreeved, then at the want of their naturall lustynesse, that they may satisfie their abominable desires, whiche still abide in the minde after nature hath taken them from their bodye, and therfore manye times find oute wayes, where force preveyleth not. But I will not tell farther. It suffyceth for my pourpose ye graunt that women absteine more from uncleane livinge, then menne. And sure it is, that they are not kept short with any other bridle, then what they put upon them selves. And that it is true, the moste part of them that be kept under with overstreict looking to, or 

Zeale of true vertue and good report.

beaten of their husbandes or fathers, are lesse chaste, then they that have some libertye. But generallye a greate bridle to women, is the zeale of true vertue and the desire of good name, whyche manye that I have knowen in my dayes more esteame, then their owne lief. And in case you wil tell the troth, everie one of us hath seene most noble yonge menne, discreete, wise, of prowes and welfavoured, spend many yeeres in lovinge, sparinge for nothinge that might entice, tokens, suites, teares: to be short, whatsoever may be imagined, and all but lost labour. And if it might not be tould me that my condicions never deserved I shoulde be beloved, I would alleage my self for a witnesse, which more then once throughe the unchangeable and overstedfaste honestie of a woman was nighe deathes doore.

The L. Gaspar answered: Marveile you not therat, for women that are suid to, alwayes refuse to fulfill his request that suith to them, but those that are not suid to, sue to others.

The L. Cesar said: I never knewe them that have bine suid to by women, manye there be that perceivinge they have attempted in vaine and spent their time fondlye, renn to this noble revenge, and saye that they had plentie of the thinge whiche they did but caste in their minde. And 

Sclaunderous persons of womens honesties.

to their weeninge, to report yll and to studye for inventions how to bringe up sclaunderous tales of some woorthie gentilwoman, is a kinde of Courtiers. But these kinde of persons that knavishelye make their vaunt of anye woman of price, be it true or false, deserve very sore correction and punishment. And if it be otherwhile bestowed upon them, it can not be saide howe muche they are to be commended that do this office. For in case they tell lyes, what mischiefe can be greater then to take from a woorthy woman with guile the thinge which she more esteameth then her lief? And no other cause, but that ought to make her remowmed with infinite prayses. If again, it be true they say, what peine can suffice so trayterous a person, that rendreth suche ingratitude in recompence to a Gentilwoman, whiche wonne with his false flattringes, feigned teares, continuall suites, bewaylinges, craftes, deceites, and perjuries hath suffred her selfe to be lead to love overmuche, afterward without respect, hath given herselfe unheedfullie for a praye to so wycked a spirit? But to answere you beeside to this wonderful continencye of Alexander and Scipio which you have alleaged, I saye, that I will not denie but eche of them did a deede woorthie much praise. Notwithstandinge least ye should saye that in rehersinge to you auntient matters, I toulde you fables, I will alleage a woman of oure time of base degree, who notwithstandinge showed a farr greater continency then anye of these two great astates. I 

An example of true continencye.

say unto you therfore that I knewe once a welfavoured and tender yonge woman, whose name I tell you not, for givynge matter to manye leude persons to report yll, whiche assone as they understande a woman to be in love, make an yll descantinge upon it. She therfore beloved of a woorthie and faire condicioned yonge Gentilman, was bent with hert and minde to love him. And of this not I alone, unto whom of her owne accord she uttered trustfullye the wholl matter, no otherwise then if I had bine, I will not say a brother, but an inward sister of herres, but all that beehelde herr in companye of the beloved yonge man, were well weettinge of her passion. She thus ferventlye lovinge, as a most loving minde coulde love, continued two yeeres in suche contynencie, that she never made anye token to this yonge man of the love that she bore him, but suche as she coulde not hide from him. At no time she woulde speake with him, nor receive any letters from him or tokens, where there never passed daye but she was tempted with both the one and the other. And howe she longed for it, that wote I well, for yf otherwhile she coulde privilie gete anye thinge that had bine the yonge mans, she was so tender over it, that a manne woulde have thought that of it had spronge her lief and all her joye. Yet woulde she never in so long a time content him with other, then to beehoulde him and be seene of him again, and somtime happening to be at open feastes, daunce with him as she did with others. And bicause there was no great difference in their degree, she and the yonge man coveted that so great a love might have a luckye ende, and be man and wief together. All the men and women in the Citie desired the same, savinge her cruell father, which of a weywarde and straunge opinion minded to bestowe her upon an other more welthie. And this was not by the unluckye mayden otherwise gainstoode, then with most bitter teares. And after this unfortunate mariage was concluded with great compassion of the people there, and despaire of the poore lovers, yet did not this stroke of fortune serve to roote up so grounded a love in the hert of ech other, but lasted afterwarde the terme of three yeeres, albeit she full wiselye dissembled it, and sought everye waye to cutt in sunder those desires, whiche now were past hope. And in this while she folowed on still in her set pourpose of continencye, and perceivinge she could not honestly have him, whom she worshipped in the world, she chose not to have him at all, and continued in her wont not to accept messages, tokens nor yet his lookes. And in this resolved determination the seelie soule vanquished with most cruell affliction, and wexed through longe passion verie feint, at the three yeeres ende, died. Rather woulde she forgoo her contentacions and pleasures so much longed for, finally her lief, then her honestie. And yet wanted she no meanes nor wayes to fulfill her desire most secretlye, and without perill either of sclaunder or anye other losse. And for all that, refrained she from the thinge of herselfe that she so muche coveted, and for the whiche she was so continuallye attempted by the person whom alone in the world her desire was to please. And to this was she not driven for feare or anye other 

An other example of a mayden.

respect, but onlye for the zeale of true vertue. What will you say of an other? that for sixe monthes almost nightlye laye with a moste deere lover of herres, yet in a gardein full of most savoury fruites, tempted with her owne most fervent longinge and with the petitions and teares of him that was moore deere to herr then her owne selfe, refrayned from tastinge of them. And for all she was wrapped and tyed in the streict chaine of those beloved armes, yet never yelded she herselfe as vanquished, but preserved undefiled the floure of her honestie. Trowe you not (my L. Gaspar) that these be deedes of continencye alike to Alexanders? Whiche most ferventlye inamored not with the women of Darius, but with this renowme and greatnesse, that pricked him forwarde with the spurres of glorye to abide peines and daungers to make himself immortall, set at nought not onelie other thinges, but hys owne lief, to gete a name above all men? and do we marveile with suche thoughtes in his hert that he refrayned from a thinge whiche he coveted not greatlye? for sins he never sawe those women beefore, it is not possiible that he shoulde be in love with them at a blushe, but rather perhappes abhorred them for Darius his ennemies sake. And in this case everie wanton act of his towarde them, had bine an injurye and not love. And therfore no great matter if Alexander, whiche no lesse with noblenes of courage then marciall prowesse subdued the world, abstained from doing injury to women. The continency in like case of Scipio is 

Scipio.

doubtlesse much to be commended, yet if ye consider wel, not to be compared to these two women: for he in like maner also refrayned from a thing that he coveted not, beeinge in his ennemies countrey, a fresh Capitain, in the beeginning of a most weightie enterprise, leaving beehind him in his Countrie such expectacion of himself, and having beeside to give accompt to rigorous judges, that often times chastised not only the great, but the least offences of al, and emong them he wist well he had enemies, knowing also if he had otherwise done, bicause she was a noble damsel and espoused to a noble man, he should have purchased him so many enemies and in such sort, that many wold have driven of and perchaunce have set him cleane beeside his victory. Thus for so many respectes and so weighty, he absteined from a light and hurtfull appetite, in showing continency and a freeherted welmeaning, the which (as it is written) gote him all the hartes of that people: and an other armie stood him in steade with favour to vanquish mens hertes, whiche perhappes by force of armes had bine invicible. So that this maye rather be termed a warlike pollicie, then pure continencie: albeit beeside, the report of this matter is not all of the purest, for some writers of authoritie affirme that this Damsell was enjoyed of Scipio in the pleasures of love: and of this I tell you ye maye depose upon.

Phrisio said: Perhappes ye have founde it in the Gospell.

I have seene it my self, answered the L. Cesar, and 

Cn. Noevius. Val. Antiates. Alcibiades was Socrates scholer the welfavouredst yonge boy in al Athens. Xenocrates. Lais of Corinth. Olde men desyrous of wine.

therfore I have a much more certeintye of this, then you or anye man els can have that Alcibiades arrose no otherwise from Socrates bed then children do from their fathers beddes: for to saye the truth, a straunge place and time was bed and night to view with fixed minde the pure beawty which is said Socrates loved without anye unhonest desire, especiallye lovinge better the beawtie of the minde, then of the bodye: but in boyes, not in old men, for all they were wiser. And in good sooth a better example could not have bine pyked out to praise the contenencie of men, then this of Xenocrates, which occupied in his studye fastned and bound by his profession, whiche is Philosophie, that consisteth in good maners, and not in wordes, old, cleane, spent of his natural lustinesse, nothinge able, no not in makinge profer to be able, refrayned from a commune haunted woman, which for the names sake might abhorr him. I woulde sooner have beleaved he had bine continent, if he had declared any token to have bine come to his right senses again, and in that case have used continencie: or elles abstained from the thinge which olde men covett more then the battailes of Venus, namelye from wine. But to establishe well continencie in olde age, it is written that he was full and laden with it. And what can be saide to be more wider from the contiencie of an olde man, then dronkennesse? And in case the shonning of Venus matters in that slow and colde age deserveth so much praise, how much should it deseve in a tender mayden, as those two I have tould you of? Of whiche the one most streictlye bridlinge all her senses, not onlie denied her eyes their light, but also toke from the hart those thoughtes, whiche alone had bine a moste sweete foode a longe time to kepe him in lief. The other ferventlye in love, beeinge so often times alone in the armes of him whom she loved more a great deale then all the world beeside, fightinge against her owne self and against him that was more deere to her then her owne selfe, overcame that fervent desire, that many times hath and doth overcome so manie wise men. Trow ye not nowe (my L. Gaspar) that writers may be shamed to make mention of Xenocrates in this case, and to recken him for chaste? where if a man coulde come bye the knowledge of it, I wold lay a wager that he slept al that night until the next day diner time, like a dead body buried in wine: and for all the stirringe that woman made, coulde not once open his eyes, as though he had bine cast into a dead slepe.

Here all the men and women laughed, and the L. Emilia: Surelye, my L. Gaspar (quoth she) yf you will beethinke your selfe a little better, I beleave you shall finde out some other prety example of continencye alike unto this.

The L. Cesar answered: Is not this other (thinke ye Madam) a goodly example of continencye which he hath alleaged of Pericles? I muse that he hath not aswell called to rehersall the continencie and pretie saiyng that is written of him that a woman asked to great a summ of for 

Demosthenes answer to Lais of Corinth that asked him xxiii. li. for one night.

one night, and he answered her, that he minded not to bye repentence so deere.

They ceased not laughinge, and the L. Cesar after he had stayed a while: My L. Gaspar (quoth he) perdon me, yf I tell troth. For in conclusion these be the wonderful continencies that men wite of themselves, accusinge women for incontinent, in whom are dailye seene infinit tokens of continencie. And certesse if ye ponder it aright, there is no fortresse so impringable, nor so well fensed that beeinge assaulted with the thousandeth part of the inginnes and guyles that are practised to conquer the steadie mind of a woman, would not yelde up at the first assault. How manye trained up by great astates and enriched throughe them and advaunced to great promotion, having in their handes their fortresses, houldes and Castles, wherupon depended their whol state, their lief and al their gooddes, without shame or care to be named Traiters, have disloyallye given 

Trayters. Theeves. Prelates. Lawyers. Phisitiens.

them to whom they ought not? And would God in our dayes there were suche scarcitie of these kinde of persons, that we might not have much more a do to find out some one, that in this case hath done that he ought, then to name suche as have failed therin. See you not so many other that daily wander about to kill men in thickettes, and rovinge by sea, onlye to robb mens money? Howe manye Prelates make marchaundise with the goodes of the Churche of God? How manye Lawiers falsifie testaments? What perjuries make they? How many false evidences, onlye to gete money? How manye Phisitiens poison the diseased, onlye for it? Howe manye again for feare of death do most vile matters? And yet all these so stiff and hard battayles doeth a tender and delicate yonge woman gainstande manye times, for sundrye there have bine, that have chose rather to dye then to lose their honesty.

Then said the L. Gaspar: These (my L. Cesar) bee not, I beleave, in the world nowadayes.

The L. Cesar answered: And I will not alleage unto you them of olde time. But this I say, that manye might be found out, and are daily, that in this case passe not for death. And nowe it commeth into my mynde that whan Capua was sacked by the French men (which is not yet so longe since, but you may full well beare it in minde) a well 

Examples of the chastitie of women. Ulturno.

favoured yong gentylwoman of Capua, beeinge lead out of her house where she had bine taken by a companye of Gascoignes, whan she came to the ryver that renneth by Capua, she feigned to plucke on her shoe, insomuch that her leader lett her goe a litle, and she streight waye threw herselfe into the river. What will you saye of a poore Countrey wenche, that not manye monthes ago at Gazuolo beeside Mantua gone into the fielde a leazinge with a sister of herres, sore a thirst entred into a house to drinke water, where the good man of the house, that was yonge, seeinge her meetlye welfavoured and alone, takynge her in his armes, firste with faire woordes, afterwarde with threatninges attempted to frame her to do his pleasure, and where she strived still more obstinatelye, at length with manye blowes and by force overcame her. She thus tossed and sobbinge, retourned into the fielde to her sister, and for al the instance that she made uppon her woulde never disclose to herr what outrage she received in that house, but still drawinge homewarde, and showinge herselfe apeaced by litle and litle, and to speake without desturbance, she gave her certein instructions. Afterward when she came to the Olio, whiche is the river that renneth by Gazuolo, keapinge 

Olio.

her somewhat a louf from her sister, that knew not nor imagined that she minded to do, sodeinlye cast her self into it. Her Sister sorowfull and weepinge, folowed downe by the rivers side as faste as she coulde, whiche caried her a good pace awaye, and everye time the poore soule appeared above water, her sister threw in to her a corde that she had brought with her to binde the corne withall. And for al the corde came to her handes more then once (for she was yet nigh inoughe to the bancke) the stedfast and resolved girl alwaies refused it and pushed it from her. And thus shonninge all succour that might save her lief, in a short space died. She was neyther stirred by noblenes of blood, nor by feare of death or sclaunder, but onelye by the greef of her lost maidenheade. Nowe by this you may gather, howe manye other women doe deedes moste woorthye memorye, sins (as a manne maye saye) three dayes a go, this hath made such a triall of her vertue, and is not spoken of, ne yet her name knowen. But had not the death folowed at that time of the Bishop of Mantua uncle to oure Dutchesse, the bancke of the Olio in the place where she cast herselfe in, had nowe bine garnished with a verie faire sepulture, for memorie of so glorious a soule, that deserved somuch the more cleere renowme after death, as in lief it dwelled in a unnoble bodye.

Here the L. Cesar tooke respit a while, afterwarde he set forwarde: In my dayes also in Roome there happened a like chaunce, and it was, that a welfavoured and well borne 

A chaunce that happened to a gentilwoman in Roome. One of the vii. Churches of Roome ii. miles without the City.

yonge Gentilwoman of Roome, beeinge longe folowed after of one that showed to love her greatly, wold never please him with any thing, no not somuch as a looke. So that this felow by force of money corrupted a waitinge woman of herres, who desirous to please him to fingre more money, was in hande with her maistresse upon a daie, no great holye day, to go visit Saint Sebastianes Church. And giving the lover intelligence of the wholl, and instructinge him what he had to doe, lead the yonge Gentilwoman into one of the darke Caves under grounde, that whoso go to Saint Sebastianes are wont to visit. And in it was the yonge man first closely hid, whiche perceivinge himselfe alone with her whom he loved somuche, beegane everye waye to exhort her with as faire language as he could, to have compassion upon him, and to chaunge her former rigour into love. But whan he sawe all his prayers coulde take none effect, he tourned him to threatninges. And whan they prevayled not, he all to beate her. In the ende he was full and wholye bent to have his pourpose, if not otherwise, by force, and therin used the helpe of the naughtye woman that had brought her thither. Yet coulde he never do as muche as make her graunt to him, but in wordes and deedes (althoughe her force was but small) alwaies the seely yonge woman defended herselfe in what she coulde possible. So that what for the spite he conceived, whan he sawe he coulde not gete his will, and what for feare least the matter shoulde come to her kinsfolkes eare and make him punished for it, this mischevous person wyth the aide of the woman that doubted the same, strangled the unluckye yonge woman, and there left her, and rennynge his waye provided for himselfe for beeinge founde out again. The waiting woman blinded with her own offence, wist not to flee, and beeinge taken upon certeine susspitions, confessed the wholl matter, and was therfore punished accordinge to her desertes. The body of the constante and noble gentilwoman with great honoure was taken oute of the cave and caried to buriall within Roome, with a garlande of Laurell about her heade, accompanied with an infinit number of men and women: emong whiche was not one that brought his eyes to his home again without teares. And thus generallye of all the people was this rare soule no lesse beewayled then commended. But to tell you of them that you your selfe know, remembre you not that ye have heard tel, as the Lady Foelix della Rovere 

Lady Foelix della Rovere. Praise of the Dutches that lead a widowes lief with the Duke.

was on her journey to Saona, doubting lest certein sailes that were descried a farr of, had bine Pope Alexanders vesselles that pursuid her, was utterly resolved, if they had made toward her, and no remedie to escape, to cast herself into the Sea. And this is not to be thought that she did upon anye lightnesse, for you aswell as any man, do know with what a witt and wisedome the singuler beawtie of that Ladye is accompanied. I can no lenger kepe in silence a woorde of our Dutchesse, who livinge xv. yeeres in companye with her husbande, like a widowe, hath not onlye bine stedfast in not uttringe this to anye person in the world, but also whan she was perswaded by her owne friendes to forsake this widowheade, she chose rather to suffer banishment, poverty, and al other kinde of misery, then to agree to that, which all other men thought great favour and prosperitie of fortune.

And as he still proceaded in talkinge of this, the Dutchesse saide: Speake of somwhat els, and no more ado in this matter, for ye have other thinges inoughe to talke of.

The L. Cesar folowed on. Full well I know that you wil not denie me this (my L. Gaspar) nor you Phrisio.

No doubtlesse, answered Phrisio: but one maketh no number.

Then saide the L. Cesar: Truth it is that these so greate effected and rare vertues are seene in few women. Yet are they also that resist the battailes of love, all to be wondred at, and such as otherwhile be overcome deserve much compassion. For surelye the provocations of lovers, the craftes that they use, the snares that they laye in waite are suche and so applyed, that it is to great a wonder, that a tender girle should escape them. What daye, what hour passeth at anye time that the yonge woman thus layed at is not tempted by her lover with money, tokens, and al thinges that he can imaginn may please her? At what time can 

The carefull diligence of lovers.

she ever looke out at a window, but she seeth continuallye the earnest lover passe by? With silence in woordes, but with a paire of eyes that talke. With a vexed and feint countenance. With those kindled sighes. Often times with most abundant teares. Whan doeth she at any time yssue out at her doores to Church or any other place, but he is alwaies in the face of her? And at everye tourninge of a lane meeteth her in the teeth, with such heavy passion peinted in his eies that a man wold weene that even at that instant he were ready to die? I omitt his precisenesse in sundry thinges, inventions, meery conceites, undertaking enterprises, sportes, daunses, games, maskeries, justes, tourneimentes, the which thinges she knoweth al to be taken in hand for her sake. Again, in the night time she can never awake, but she heareth musike, or at the least that unquiet spirit about the walles of her house casting furth sighes and lamentable voices. If by a hap she talketh with one of her waiting women about her, she (being already corrupted with money) hath straight way in a readinesse some pretye token, a letter, a rime, or some such matter to present her in the lovers behalf: and here entring to pourpose, maketh her to understand how this selie soule burneth, how he setteth litle by his owne lief, to do her service, and how he seeketh nothing of her but honesty, and that only his desire is to speake with her. Here then for all hard matters are founde out remedies, counterfeit kayes, laders of ropes, wayes to cast into sleepe, a trifling matter is peincted out, examples are alleaged of others that do much woorse: so that every matter is made so easy, that she hath no more trouble, but to say, I am content. And in case the poore soule maketh resistaunce but a while, they plye her with suche provocations, and finde suche meanes, that with continuall beatynge at, they breake in sunder that is a lett to her. And many therebe that perceiving they can not prevaile with faire woordes, fall to threatninges, and say that they wil tel their husbandes they are, that they be not. Other bargain bouldlye with the fathers and many times with the husbandes which for money or promotions sake give their owne daughters and wives for a prey against their wil. Other seeke by inchauntmentes, and witchcraftes to take from them the liberty that God hath graunted to soules, wherin are seene wonderfull conclusions. But in a thousand yeere I coulde not repeate all the craftes that men use to frame women to their willes, which be infinit. And beeside them which every man of himselfe findeth out, there hath not also wanted that hath wittily made bookes, and beestowed great study to teache how in this beehalfe women are to be deceived. Now judge you how from so manye nettes these simple dooves can be safe, tempted with so sweete a bayte. And what great matter is it then, in case a woman knowinge her self somuch beeloved and worshipped many yeeres together, of a noble and faire condicioned yong man, which a thousand times a day hasardeth his lief to serve her, and never thinketh upon other but to please her with the continuall beatinge whiche the water maketh when it perceth the most hard marble stone, at length is brought to love him? Is this (thinke you) so haynous a trespace, that the seelye poore creature taken with so manye enticementes, deserveth not, if the woorst should fal, the perdon that many times murtherers, theves, fellones and traiters have? Wil you have this vice so uncomperable great, that bicause one woman is found to renn into it, all women kinde shoulde be cleane despised for it, and genrallye counted voide of continencye? Not regardinge that manye are founde moste invincible, that against the continuall flickeringe provacations of love are made of Diamondes, and stiff in their infinite steadinesse, more then the rockes against the surges of the Sea?

Then the L. Gaspar whan the L. Cesar stayed talkinge, beegan to make him answere, but the L. Octavian smilinge: Tushe, for love of God (quoth he) graunt him the victory, for I know ye shall do small good, and me thinke I see you shall not onelye make all the women youre ennemies, but also the more part of the menne.

The L. Gaspar laughed and said: Nay, the women have rather great cause to thank me. For had I not contraryed the L. Julian and the L. Cesar, they shoulde not have come to the knowleage so manye prayses as they have given them.

Then saide the L. Cesar: The prayses whiche my L. Julian and I have given women, and many mo beeside, were 

Women. The operations of love.

most knowen, therfore they have bine but superfluous. Who woteth not that without women no contentation or delite can be felt in all this lief of ourse? whiche (sett them aside) were rude and without all sweetnesse, and rougher then the lief of forest wilde beastes? Who knoweth not that women rid oure hartes of al vile and dastardlye imaginations, vexations, miseries, and the troublesome heavinesse that so often times accompanieth them? And in case we will consider the truth, we shall know moreover as touchinge the understanding of great matters, that they do not stray our wittes, but rather quicken them, and in warr make men past feare and hardie passinge measure. And certesse it is not possible, that in the hart of man, where once is entred the flame of love, there should at any time reigne cowardlynesse. For he that loveth, alwaies coveteth to make himself as lovely as he can, and ever dreadeth that he take no foyle, that should make him litle set by of whom he desireth to be much set by: and passeth not to go a thousande times in a daye to his death, to declare himselfe woorthye of that love. Therfore whoso coulde gather an armie of lovers, that shoulde fight in presence of the ladies they loved, shoulde subdue the wholl world, onlesse against it on the contrarie part there were an other armie likewise in love. And to abide by, the houldinge out of Troye x. yeeres against all Greece, proceaded of nothinge elles but of certein lovers, whiche whan they entended to issue out abrode 

Why Troy withstoode all Greece x. yeeres. Women the cause of the conquest of the kingdom of Granada.

to fight, armed themselves in the presence of their Ladies, and many times they helped them themselves, and at their settinge furth rounded them some certein woord, that set them on fire and made them more then men. Afterward in fightinge they wist well that they were beeheld from the walles and Toures by the Ladies, wherfore they deemed every bould enterprise that they undertooke, was commended of them, whiche was the greatest rewarde to them that they coulde have in the worlde. Manye there be that houlde opinion that the victorye of Kinge Ferdinande and Isabell of Spaine, against the kinge of Granada was cheeflye occasioned by women, for the most times whan the armye of Spaine marched to encounter with the ennemyes, Queene Isabel set furth also with all her Damselles: and there were manye noble gentilmen that were in love, who til they came within sight of the ennemies, alwaies went communing with their Ladies. Afterwarde echone takinge his leave of his, in their presence marched on to encountre with the ennemies, with that fiersenesse of courage, that love and desire to showe their Ladies that they were served wyth valiaunt men, gave them. Wherupon it beefell manye times that a very few gentilmen of Spain put to flight and slue an infinit number of Moores, thanked be the courteious and beloved women. Therfore I wote not (my L. Gaspar) what weywarde judgement hath lead you to dispraise women. Do you not see that of all comelye exercises and whiche delite the worlde, the cause is to be referred to no earthlye thynge, but to women? Who learneth to daunce featlye for other, but to please women? Who applyeth the sweetenesse of musicke for other cause, but for this? Who to write in meeter, at the least in the mother tung, but to 

Women the cause of worthie qualities. Francesco Petrarca. Salomon.

expresse the affections caused by women? Judge you howe manye most noble Poemes we had bine without both in Greeke and Latin, had women bine smallye regarded of Poetes. But leavinge all other a part, had it not bine a verye great losse, in case M. Francis Petrarca, that writt so divinlye his loves in this oure tunge, had applied his minde onlye to Latin matter: as he woulde have done, had not the love of the Damsell Laura sometime strayed him from it? I name not unto you the fine wittes that are nowe in the worlde, and here present, whiche dailye bringe furthe some noble frute, and notwythstandynge take their grounde onlye of the vertue and beawtye of women. See whether Salomon myndynge to write mysticallye verye highe and heavenlye matters, to cover them wyth a gracious veile, did not feigne a fervent Dialogue full of the affection of a lover with his woman, seeminge to him that he coulde not fynde here beeneth emonge us anye lykenesse more meete and agreeinge wyth heavenlye matters, then the love toward women: and in that wise and maner minded to gyve us a litle of the smacke of that divinitye, whiche he bothe for hys understandynge and for the grace above others, had knowleage of. Therefore thys needed no disputacyon (my L. Gaspar) or at the least so manye woordes in the matter. But you in gainsaiynge the truth have hindred the understandinge of a thousande other pretie matters and necessary for the perfection of the gentilwoman of the Palaice.

The L. Gaspar answered: I beleave there can be no more be said. Yet if you suppose that the L. Julian hath not garnished her throughlye with good condicions, the fault is not in him, but in him that hath so wrought that there are no mo vertues in the worlde: for all that there be, he hath beestowed uppon her.

The Dutchesse saide smilinge: Well, you shall see that the L. Julian will yet finde out mo beeside.

The L. Julian answered: In good sooth (Madam) me seemeth I have sufficientlye spoken. And for my part I am well pleased wyth this my woman. And in case these Lordes will not have her as she is, let them leave her to me.

Here whan all was whist, Sir Fridericke saide: My L. Julian, to give you occasion to saye somewhat elles, I will but aske you a question, as touchynge that you have willed to be the principall profession of the Gentilwoman of the Palayce. And this it is, that I longe to knowe howe she shoulde beehave herselfe in a point that (to my seemynge) is moste necessarye. For albeit the excellent qualityes 

Enterteinment. To talke of love.

whiche you have geven her conteine in them discretion, knowleage, judgemente, sleight, sobermoode, and so manye other vertues, wherebye of reason she ought to have the understandynge to entertein everye manne and in all kinde of pourpose, yet thinke I nothwithstandynge above any other thing that it is requisite for her to knowe what beelongeth to communication of love. For even as everye honest Gentilmanne for an instrument to obteine the good will of women, practyseth those noble exercises, precise facions and good maners whyche we have named, even so to this pourpose applyeth he also hys woordes, and not onlye whan he is stirred thereto by some passion, but often times also to do honour to the woman he talketh withall, seemynge to him that to declare to love her is a witnes that she is woorthie of it, and that her beawtie and woorthynesse is suche, that it enforceth everie manne to serve her. Therfore woulde I knowe, howe this woman in suche a case shoulde beehave herselfe uprightlye, and howe to answere him that loveth her in deed, and how him that maketh false semblant: and whether she ought to dissemble the understandinge of it, or be answerable, or shonn the matter, and howe to handle herselfe.

Then said the L. Julian: It were first needefull to teach her to knowe them that make semblant to love, and them that love in deede: afterward for beeinge answerable in love or no, I beeleave she ought not to be guided by any other mans will, but by her owne self.

Sir Fridericke saide: Teach you her then what are the moste certein and surest tokens to descerne false love from true, and what triall she shal thinke sufficient to content herselfe withall, to be out of doubt of the love shewed her.

The L. Julian answered smiling: That wote not I, bicause men be nowadayes so craftye, that they make infinite false semblantes, and sometime weepe, whan they have in deede a greater lust to laughe. Therefore they shoulde be sent to the constant Ile under the Arch of faithfull lovers. But least this woman of mine (which is my charge and no man elles, bicause she is my creature) should renn into those errours whiche I have seene manye other renn into, I would saye that she should not be light of credence that she is beloved: nor be like unto some, that not onlie make not wise they understande him not that communeth with them of love, be it never so farr of, but also at the first woorde accept all the prayses that be given them: or elles denie them after such a sort, that it is rather an alluringe for them to love them they commune withall, then a withdrawinge of themselves. Therfore the maner of enterteinment in reasoninge of love that I will have my woman of the Palaice to use, shall be alwaies to shonn beeleavinge that whoso talketh of love, loveth her anye whitt the more. And in case the Gentilman be (as manye suche there are abrode (malapert, and hath smalle respect to her in his talke, she shall shape him an answere, that he shall plainly understande she is not pleased withall. Again if he be demure and useth sober facions and woordes of love covertlie, in suche honest maner, as I beeleave the Courtier whom these Lordes have facioned will doe, the woman shall make wise not to understand him, and shal draw his woordes to another sense, seekinge alwaies sobrely with the discretion and wisedome that is alreadye said becommeth her, to stray from that pourpose. But in case the communication be such that she can not feigne not to understande it, she shall take the wholl (as it were) for a meerie divise, and make wise that she knoweth it is spoken to her rather to honour her withall, then that it is so in deede, debasinge her desertes and acknowleginge at the Gentilmans courtesie the prayses which he geveth her: and in this sort she shall be counted discreete, and shall be on the surer hande for beeinge deceived. Thus me seemeth the Gentilwoman of the Palaice ought to behave herself in communication of love.

Then Sir Frederick: You debate this matter, my L. Julian (quoth he) as though it were requisite, that all suche as speake with women of love shoulde tell lyes, and seeke to deceive them, the whiche in case it were so, I woulde say your lessons were good. But if this gentilman that enterteineth, loveth in very deede, and feeleth the passion that so tourmenteth mens hertes sometime, consider you not in what peine, in what calamitie and death ye put him in, whan at no time you will that the woman shall beeleave him in any thinge he saith about this pourpose? Shall othes,teares, and so many other tokens then, have no force at all? Take heede (my L. Julian) least a manne may thinke that beeside the naturall crueltye whiche manie of these women have in them, you teach them yet more.

The L. Julian answered: I have spoken, not of him that loveth, bot of him that enterteineth with communication of love, wherein one of the neccessariest pointes is, that woordes be never to seeke: and true lovers as they have a burninge hart, so they have a colde tunge, with broken talke and sodeine silence. Therfore (may happ) it were no false principle to saye: He that loveth much, speaketh litle. Howbeit in this I beleave there can be given no certein rule, by reason of the diversity of mens maners. And I wote not what I should say, but that the woman be good and heedfull, and alwaies beare in mynde, that men may with a great deale lesse daunger declare themselves to love, then women.

The L. Gaspar said laughinge: Why (my L. Julian) wil not you that this your so excellent a woman shall love again, at the least when she knoweth certeinlye she is beeloved? consideringe if the Courtier were not loved again, it is not likelye he woulde continue in lovinge her: and so shoulde she want manye favours, and cheefly the homage and reverence, wherwithal lovers obey and (in a maner) woorship the vertue of the woman beloved.

In this, answered the L. Julian, I will not counsel her. But I say pardee to love, as you now understand, I judge it not meete, but for unmaried women. For whan this love can not ende in matrimonye, the woman muste needes have alwaies the remorse and pricking that is had of unlefull matters, and she putteth in hasarde to staine the renowme of honestie, that standeth her so much upon.

Then answered Sir Fridericke smilinge: Me thinke (my L. Julian) this opinion of yours is verie soure and crabbed, and I beleave you have learned it of some Frier Preacher, of them that rebuke women in love with lay men, that their part may be the more. And me seemeth you sett over hard lawes to maried women, for manye there be that their 

Maried women.

husbandes beare verye sore hatred unto without cause, and nipp them at the hert, sometime in lovinge other women, otherwhile in woorkinge them all the displeasures they can imagin. Some are compelled by their fathers to take olde men full of diseases, uglesome and weywarde, that make them lead their lief in continual misery. And in case it were leful for such to be divorsed and severed from them they be ill coopled withal, perhappes it were not to be alowed that they should love any other then their husband. But whan eyther through the sterres, theyr enemies, or through the diversitie of complexion, or anie other casualtie it befalleth, that in bed, whiche ought to be the nest of agreement and love, the cursed furie of hell soweth the seede of his venime, which afterwarde bryngeth furth disdeigne, susspition and the pricking thornes of hatred, that tourmenteth those unluckie soules bound cruelly together in the fast lincked chaine that can not be broken but by death, why will not you have it lefull for this woman to seeke some easement for so harde a scourge, and give unto an other that which her husbande not onlye regardeth not, but rather cleane abhorreth? I houlde well, that suche as have meete husbandes and be beloved of them, ought not to do them injurie: but the other in not lovinge him that loveth them do them selves injurie.

Nay, they do themselves injurie in lovinge other beeside their husbande, answered the L. Julian. Yet sins not loving is not many times in our will, if this mishap chaunce to the woman of the Palaice, that the hatred of her husbande or the love of an other bendeth her to love, I will have her to graunt her lover nothing elles but the minde: nor at any time to make him any certein token of love, neither in woorde nor gesture, nor any other way that he may be fully assured of it.

Then saide M. Robert of Bari smilinge: I appeale (my L. Julian) from this judgement of youres, and I beleave I shall have many felowes. But sins you will teach this currishnesse (that I maye terme it so) to maried women, will ye also have the unmaried to be so cruell and discourtious, and not please their lovers at the least in somewhat?

In case my woman of the Palaice, answered the L. Julian, 

How maidens shoulde love. A generall rule.

be not maryed, myndinge to love, I wyll have her to love one, whom she maye marye, neyther will I thinke it an offence if she showe him some token of love. In which matter I will teache her one generall rule in fewe woordes, and that is, That she showe him whom she loveth all tokens of love, but such as may bring into the lovers minde a hope to obtein of of her any dishonest matter. And to this she must have a great respect, bicause it is an errour that infinit women renn into, which ordinarilye covett nothinge somuch as to be beawtifull: and bicause to have manye lovers they suppose is a testimonye of their beawtie, they do their best to winn them as many as they can. Therfore often times they renn at rovers in beehaviours of small modestie, and leavinge the temperate sobermoode that is so sightlye in them, use certein wanton countenaunces, with baudie woordes and gestures full of unshamefastnesse, houldinge opinion that menne marke them and give eare to them willyngly for it, and with these facions make themselves beloved, which is false: bicause the signes and tokens that be made them, sprynge of an appetite moved by an opinion of easinesse, not of love. Therfore will not I that my woman of the Palaice with dishonest beehaviours should appeere as though she wold offre herselfe unto whoso wyll have her, and allure what she can the eyes and affection of who so beehouldeth her: but with her desertes and vertuous condicions, with amiablenesse and grace drive into the mind of whoso seeth her the verye love that is due unto every thinge woorthy to be beloved: and the respect that alwaies taketh awaye hope from whoso mindeth anye dishonest matter. He then that shall be beloved of such a 

The love of honest women.

woman, ought of reason to houlde himselfe contented with everye litle token, and more to esteame a looke of herres with affection of love, then to be altogether maister of an other. And to such a woman I wote not what to ad more, but that she be beloved of so excellent a Courtier, as these Lordes have facioned, and she likewise to love him, that both the one and the other may have ful and wholy his perfection.

After the L. Julian had thus spoken he helde his peace, whan the L. Gaspar laughinge: Now (quoth he) you can not complaine that the L. Julian hath not facioned this woman of the Palaice most excellent. And if perdee there be any suche to be found, I say that she deserveth well to be esteamed equall with the Courtier.

The L. Emilia answered: I will at all times be bounde to finde her, whan you finde the Courtier.

M. Robert said then: Doubtlesse it can not be saide nay, but the L. Julians woman whiche he hath facioned is most perfect. Yet in these her last properties as touching love, me seemeth notwithstanding that he hath made her somwhat over crabbed, and especially where he will have her in woordes, gestures, and countenance to take cleane away all hope from the lover, and settle him as nigh as she can in despaire. For (as all menne know) the desires of man stretch not to suche kinde of matters, whereof there is no hope to be had. And althoughe at times some women there have bine, that perhappes bearing themselves loftie of their beawtie and woorthinesse: the first woorde they have said to them that communed with them of love hath bine, that they should never looke to come bye anye thinge of them that liked them: yet in countenaunce, and daliance together they have afterward bine more favourable to them, so that with their gentle deedes they have tempred in part their proude woordes. But if this woman both in woordes, deedes and beehaviours take hope quite awaye, I beeleave our Courtier, if he be wise, will never love her, and so shall she have this imperfection, that she shall be without a lover.

Then the L. Julian: I wyll not (quoth he) have my woman of the Palaice to take away the hope of every thinge, but of dishonest matters, that which, in case the Courtier be so courteious and discreete, as these Lordes have facioned him, he will not onelye not hope for, but not once motion. For if beawtie, maners, witt, goodnesse, knowleage, sobermoode, and so manye other vertuous condicions which we 

Honest love. Sundrye kindes of beawtye.

have given the woman, be the cause of the Courtiers love towarde her, the ende also of this love must needes be vertuous: and if noblenesse of birth, skilfulnes in marciall feates, in letters, in musike, gentlenesse, beeing both in speach and in beehaviour indowed with so many graces, be the meanes wherwithall the Courtier compaseth the womans love, the end of that love must needes be of the same condicion that the meanes are by the whiche he commeth to it. Beeside that, as there be in the world sundrie kindes of beawtye, so are there also sundrie desires of men: and therfore it is seene that manie, perceivinge a woman of so grave a beawtie that goinge, standinge, jestinge, dalyinge, and doinge what she lusteth, so tempreth al her gestures, that it driveth a certein reverence into whoso behouldeth her, are agast as a ferde to serve her: and rather drawn with hope, love those garishe and enticefull women, so delicate and tender, that in their woordes, gestures and countenance declare a certein passion somewhat feeble, that promiseth to be easely brought and tourned into love. Some to be sure from deceytes, love certein other so lavishe both of their eyes, woordes and gestures, that they do what ever first commeth to minde, with a certein plainesse that hideth not their thoughtes. There want not also manye other noble courages, that seeminge to them that vertue consisteth about hard matters (for it is over sweete a victorie to overcome that seemeth to an other impringable) are soone bent to love the beawties of those women, that in their eyes, woordes and gestures declare a more churlish gravitie then the rest for a triall that their prowesse can enforce an obstinate minde, and bende also stubborne willes and rebelles against love, to love. Therfore suche as have so great affiance in themselves, bicause they recken themselves sure from deceit, love also willinglye certein women, that with a sharpenesse of wit, and with art it seemeth in their beawtie that they hide a thousande craftes. Or elles some other, that have accompanied with beawty a certein skornefull facion in few wordes, litle laughing, after a sort as though (in a maner) they smallye regarded whoso ever behouldeth or serveth them. Again there are founde certein other, that vouchsafe not to love but women that in their countenaunce, in their speach and in all their gestures have about them all hansomnesse, all faire condicions, all knowleage, and all graces heaped together, like one floure made of all the excellencies in the worlde. Therfore in case my woman of the Palaice have scarsitie of these loves proceadinge of an yll hope, she shal not for this be without a lover: bicause she shal not want them that shalbe provoked through her desertes and through the affiance of that prowesse in themselves, wherby they shal knowe themselves worthy to be beloved of her.

M. Robert still spake against him, but the Dutchesse toulde him that he was in the wrong, confirminge the L. Julians opinion: after that she added: We have no cause to complaine of the L. Julian, for doubtlesse I thinke that the woman of the Palaice whom he hath facioned, maye be compared to the Courtier, and that with some avauntage: for he hath taught her to love which these Lordes have not done their Courtier.

Then spake Unico Aretino: It is meete to teache women to love, bicause I never sawe anye that coulde doe it, for almoste continuallye all of them accompanye their beawtye 

Beawtifull women cruell.

with crueltye and unkindnesse toward suche as serve them most faithfullye, and whiche for noblenesse of birth, honestie and vertue deserved a rewarde for theyr good will: and yet manye times gave themselves for a prey to most blockish and cowardly men and verye assheades, and which not only love them not, but abhor them. Therfore to shon these so foule oversightes, perhappes it had bin well done first to have taught them to make a choise of him that should deserve to be beloved, and afterward to love him. The whiche is not necessarye in men, for they knowe it to well of themselves: and I my selfe can be a good witnesse of it, bicause love was never taught me, but by the divine beawty and most divine maners of a Lady, so that it was not in my will not to woorshippe her: and therfore needed I therin no art nor teacher at all. And I beleave that the like happeneth to as manie as love truly. Therfore the Courtier hath more neede to be taught to make him beloved then to love.

Then said the L. Emilia: Do you now reason of this then, M. Unico.

Unico answered: Me thinke reason woulde that the good will of women shoulde be gotten in servinge and pleasinge them. But it, wherin they recken themselves served and pleased, I beleave muste be learned of women themselves, whiche oftentimes covett suche straunge matters, that there is no man that would imagin them, and otherwhile they themselves wote not what they should longe for: therfore it were good you (Madam) that are a woman, and of right ought to know what pleaseth women, shoulde take thys peine, to do the worlde so great a profit.

Then saide the L. Emilia: For somuch as you are generallye most acceptable to women, it is a good likelihoode that you knowe al the waies how their good will is to be gotten. Therfore is it pardee meete for you to teach it.

Madam, answered Unico, I can give a lover no profitabler advise then to procure that you beare no stroke with the woman whose good will he seeketh. For the smalle qualities which yet seemeth to the world sometime to be in me, with as faithfull a love as ever was, were not of such force to make me beloved, as you to make me be hated.

Then answered the L. Emilia: God save me (M. Unico) for once thinking and much more for working anye thing that should make you be hated. For beeside that I should doe that I ought not, I shoulde be thought of a sclender judgement to attempt a matter unpossible. But sins ye provoke me in this sort to speake of that pleaseth women, I will speake of it, and if it displease you, laye the fault in your selfe. I judge therfore, that whoso entendeth to be beloved, ought to love and to be lovely: and these two 

Howe to obtein the good will of women.

pointes are inoughe to obtein the good will of women. Nowe to answere to that which you lay to my charge, I say that everie manne knoweth and seeth that you are moste lovelie. Mary whether ye love so faithfullye, as you saye ye do, I am verye doubtfull and perhappes others to. For, your beeing over lovely, hath bine the cause that you have bine beloved of many women: and great rivers divided into manye armes beecome smalle brookes: so love likewise scattered into mo then one bodye hath smalle force. But these your continuall complaintes and accusinge of the women whom you have served of unkindenesse (which is not likely, consideringe so manye desertes of yours) is a certein kind of discretion, to cloke the favours, contentations and pleasures whyche you have received in love, and an assurance for the women that love you and that have given themselves for a prey to you, that you will not disclose them. And therfore are they also wel pleased, that you should thus openlye showe false loves to others, to cloke their true. Wherfore if haplye those women that you nowe make wise to love, are not so light of beleaf, as you would they were, it happeneth bicause this your art in love beginneth to be discovered, and not bicause I make you to be hated.

Then said M. Unico: I entende not to attempt to confute your wordes, bicause me seemeth it is aswell my destiny not to be beleaved in truth, as it is yours to be beleaved in untruth.

Saye hardlye M. Unico, answered the L. Emilia, that you love not so, as you woulde have beleaved ye did. For if you did not love, all your desires should be to please the woman beloved, and to will the selfe same thinge that she willeth, for this is the lawe of love. But your complaininge somuche 

The lawe of love.

of her, beetokeneth some deceite (as I have said) or els it is a signe that you will that, that she willeth not.

Nay (quoth M. Unico) there is no doubt but I will that, that she willeth, which is a signe I love her: but it greeveth me bicause she willeth not that, that I will, which is a token she loveth not me, according to the verie same lawe that you have alleaged.

The L. Emilia answere: He that taketh in hande to love, must please and applye himself full and wholy to the appetites of the wight beloved, and accordinge to them frame hys owne: and make his owne desires, servauntes: and hys verye soule, like an obedient handmaiden: nor at anye tyme to thynke upon other, but to chaunge his, if it were possible, into the beloved wightes, and recken this his cheef joy and happinesse, for so do they that love trulye.

My cheef happinesse were jumpe, answered M. Unico, if one will alone ruled her soule and myne both.

It lieth in you to do it, answered the L. Emilia.

Then spake M. Bernarde interruptinge them: Doubtlesse, who so loveth trulye, directeth all his thaughtes, without other mens teachinge, to serve and please the woman beloved. But bicause these services of love are not otherwhile well knowen, I beleave that beeside lovinge and servinge, it is necessary also to make some other showe of this love, so manifest, that the woman may not dissemble to know that she is beloved: yet with such modesty, that it may not appeere that he beareth her litle reverence. And therfore you (Madam) that have beegone to declare how the soule of the lover ought to be an obedient handmayden to the beloved, teach us withall, I besech you, this secrete matter, which me thinke is most needefull.

The L. Cesar laughed and said: If the lover be so bashfull, that he is ashamed to tell it her, let him write it her.  To this the L. Emilia said: Nay if he be so discreete, as is meete, beefore he maketh the woman to understand it, he ought to be out of doubt to offende her.

Then saide the L. Gaspar: All women have a delite to be suide to in love, althoughe they were mynded to denye the suite.

The L. Julian said: You are muche deceyved. For I woulde not counsell the Courtier at anye time to use this way, except he were sure not to have a repulse.

What shoulde he then do? quoth the L. Gaspar.

The L. Julian answered: In case you will needes write or 

Howe a man should disclose his love to a woman.

speake to her, do it with such sobermoode, and so warilye, that the woordes maye firste attempt the minde, and so doubtfullye touch her entent and will, that they maye leave her a way and a certein issue to feine the understandinge that those woordes conteine love: to the entent if he finde anye daunger, he maye draw backe and make wise to have spoken or written it to an other ende, to enjoye these familiar cherishinges and daliances with assuraunce, that oftentimes women showe to suche as shoulde take them for frendshippe, afterwarde denye them assone as they perceyve they are taken for tokens of love. Wherefore suche as be to rashe and venture so saucilie with certein furies and plunges, oftentimes lose them, and woorthilie: for it displeaseth alwaies every honest gentilwoman, to be litle regarded of whoso without respect seeketh for love at her beefore he hath served her. Therfore (in my minde) the way which the Courtier ought to take to make his love knowen to the woman me thinke should be to declare them in signes and tokens more then in woordes. For assuredlye there is otherwhile a greater affection of love perceyved in a sigh, in a respect, in a feare, then in a thousand woordes. Afterwarde, to make the eyes the trustye messengers, that 

The eyes.

maye carye the ambassades of the hart: bicause they oftentimes declare with a more force what passion there is inwardlye, then can the tunge, or letters, or messages, so that they not onelye disclose the thaughtes, but also manye tymes kendle love in the hert of the person beloved. For those lively spirites that issue out at the eyes, bicause they are engedred nigh the hart, entring in like case into the eyes that they are leveled at, like a shaft to the pricke, naturallye perce to the hart, as to their restynge place and there are at truste with those other spirites: and with the moste subtill and fine nature of bloode whyche they carie with them, infect the bloode about the hart, where they are come to, and warme it: and make it like unto themselves, and apt to receive the imprintinge of the image which they have caried away with them. Wherfore by litle and litle comminge and goinge the waye through the eyes to the hart, and bringinge backe with them the tunder and strikinge yron of beawtie and grace, these messengers kendle with the puffinge of desire the fire that so burneth, and never ceaseth consuminge, for alwayes they bringe some matter of hope to nourishe it. Therfore it may full well be said, that the eyes are a guide in love, especiallye if they have a good grace and sweetenesse in them, blacke, of a cleere and sightlye blackenesse, or elles gray, meery and laughinge, and so comely and percinge in beehouldinge, as some, in which a man thinketh verilie that the wayes that give an issue to the spirites are so deepe, that by them he maye see as farr as the hart. The eyes therefore lye lurkinge like souldiers in warre lyinge in wayte in bushment, and if the fourme of all the bodye be welfavoured and of good proportion, it draweth unto it and allureth whoso beehouldeth it a farr of, until he come nigh: and assoone as he is at hande, the eyes shoote, and like sorcerers, beewitch, and especiallie whan by a right line they sende their glisteringe beames into the eies of the wight beloved at the time whan they do the like, bicause the spirites meete togehter, and in that sweete encounter the one taketh the others nature and qualitye: as it is seene in a sore eye, that beehoulding steadily a sound one, giveth him his disease. Therefore me thinke oure Courtier may in this wise open a great percel of the love to his woman. Truth it is that in case the eyes be not governed with art, they discover manie times the amorous desire more unto whom a man would least: for through them (in a maner) visibly shinefurth those burninge passions, whiche the lover mindinge to disclose onlie to the wight beloved, openeth them manie times also unto whom he woulde most soonest hide them from. Therfore he that hath not lost the bridle of reason, handleth himselfe heedfullye, and observeth the times and places: and whan it needeth, refrayneth from so steadfast beehouldinge, for all it be a most savourie foode, bicause an open love is to harde a matter.

 

Open love.

Count Lewis answered: Yet otherwhile to be open it hurteth not: bicause in this case manye times men suppose that those loves tende not to the ende which everie lover coveteth, whan they see there is litle heede taken to hide them, and passe not whether they be knowen or no: and therfore with deniall a man chalengeth him a certein libertye to talke openly and to stande without susspition with the wight beloved: whiche is not so in them that seke to be secrete, bicause it appeereth that they stande in hope of, and are nighe some great rewarde, whiche they woulde not have other men to knowe. I have also seene a most fervent love springe in the hart of a woman towarde one, that seemed at the firste not to beare him the leaste affection in the world, onlye for that she heard say, that the opinion of many was, that they loved together. And the cause of this (I beleave) was, that so generall a judgement seemed a sufficiente witnesse, that he was woorthie of her love. And it seemed (in a maner) that report brought the ambassade on the lovers beehalfe muche truer and worthier to be beleaved, then he himselfe coulde have done with letters, or woordes, or any other person for him: therfore sometime this commune voice onlye hurteth not, but farthereth a mans purpose.

The L. Julian answered: Loves that have report for their messenger, are verye perilous to make a man pointed to with a finger. And therfore who ever entendeth to walke this race warily, needes must he make countenaunce to have a great deale lesse fire in his stomake, then in deede he hath, and content himselfe with that, that he thinketh a trifle, and dissemble his desires, jeolosies, afflictions and pleasure, and manye times laugh with mouth whan the hart weepeth, and showe himselfe lavishe of that he is most covetous of: and these thinges are so harde to be done, that (in a maner) they are unpossible. Therfore if oure Courtier would folowe my counsell, I would exhort him to kepe his loves secrete.

Then said M. Bernarde: You must then teache it him, and me thinke it is much to pourpose: for beeside privie signes that some make otherwhile so closely, that (in a maner) without any gesture, the person whom they covett, in their countenance and eyes reade what they have in the hert, I have sometime heard betweene two lovers a long and a large discourse of love, wherof yet the standers by could not plainlye understand any particuler point, nor be out of doubt that it was of love, suche was the discreation and heedfulnesse of the talker: for without makinge anie maner showe that they were not willinge to be hearde, they rounded privilye the wordes onlie that were most to pourpose, and al the rest they spake aloude, which might be applied to divers meaninges.

Then spake Sir Friderick: To reason thus in peecemeale of these rules of secretnesse, were a takinge of an infinit matter in hand: therfore would I that we spake somwhat rather how the lover shoulde keepe and maintein his Ladies good wil, which me thinke is much more necessary.

The L. Julian answered: I beleave the meanes that serve 

To maintein good will.

him to compasse it, serve him also to kepe it, and all this consisteth in pleasinge the woman beloved, without offending her at any time. Therfore it were a hard matter to give any certein rule, bicause whoso is not discrete, infinit wayes committeth oversightes, whiche otherwhile seeme matters of nothing, and yet offende they much the womans minde. And this happeneth more then to others, to suche as be mastred with passion: as some that whenso ever they have opportunitie to speake with the woman they love, lament and bewaile so bitterlye and covett manye times thinges so unpossible, that through this unreasonablenesse they are lothed of them. Other, if they be pricked with anye jeolosie, stomake the matter so greevouslye, that without stopp they burst oute in raylinge upon him they suspect, and otherwhile it is without trespace eyther of him or yet of the woman, and will not have her speake with him, nor once tourne her eyes on that side where he is. And with these facions manye times, they do not onlye offende the woman, but also they are the cause that she bendeth herselfe to love him. Bicause the feare that a lover declareth to have otherwhile least his Ladye forsake him for the other, beetokeneth that he acknowleageth himself inferiour in desertes and prowesse to the other, and with this opinion the woman is moved to love him. And perceyvinge that to put him out of favour he reporteth ill of him, although it be true, yet she beleaveth it not, and notwythstandinge loveth him the more.

Then saide the L. Cesar: I confesse that I am not so wise that I coulde refrayne speakynge yll of my felow lover, except you coulde teache me some other better waye to dispatche him.

The L. Julian answered smilinge: It is saide in a Proverbe, Whan a mans ennemye is in the water uppe to the middle, lette him reache him his hande, and helpe him from daunger: but whan he is up to the chinn, set his foote on 

An Italian proverbe.   Howe a womans good will is to be drawen from a mans rivale.

his head and drowne him out of hand. Therefore certein there be that playe so with their felow lovers, and untill they have a sure meane to dispatche them, go dissembling the matter, and rather show themselves friendes then otherwise. Afterward whan occasion serveth them so fitlye, that they know they may overthrowe them with a sure riddaunce, reportinge all yvell of them, be it true or false, they doe it without sparynge, with art, deceite and all wayes that they can imagin. But bicause I woulde not lyke that oure Courtier shoulde at anye tyme use any deceyte, I woulde have him to withdrawe the good will of his maistresse from his felowlover with none other arte, but with lovinge, with servinge, and with beeinge vertuous, of prowesse, discreet, sober, in conclusion with deservinge more then he, and with beeinge in everye thynge heedfull and wise, refrayninge from certein leude folies, into the which often times manye ignoraunt renn, and by sundrie wayes. For in times past I have knowen some that in writinge and speakinge to women used evermore the woordes of Poliphilus, and ruffled so in their subtill pointes of Rhetoricke, that the women were oute of conceit with their owne selves, and reckened themselves 

Men that professe to be to lovinge in woordes. The fondnes of some lovers.

most ignoraunt, and an houre seemed a thousand yeere to them, to ende that talke and to be rid of them. Other, bragg and boast to by yonde all measure. Other speake thinges manie times that redounde to the blame and damage of themselves, as some that I am wont to laughe at, which make profession to be lovers, and otherwhile save in the companye of women: I never founde woman that ever loved me, and are not weetinge that the hearers by and by judge that it can arrise of none other cause, but that they deserve neither to be beloved, nor yet so much as the water they drinke, and count them assheades, and would not love them for all the good in the worlde: seeming to them that in case they should love them, they were lesse worth, then all the rest that have not loved them. Other, to purchase hatred to some felowe lover of theirs, are so fonde that in like maner in the companye of women they saye: such a one is the luckiest man in the worlde, for once, he is neyther welfavoured, nor sober, nor of prowess, neyther can he do or say more then other menne, and yet all women love him, and renn after him, and thus uttringe the spite they beare him for this good lucke, althoughe neyther in countenaunce nor deedes he appeereth lovelye, yet make they them beleave that he hathe some hid matter in him, for the whiche he deserveth the love of so manie women, wherfore the women that heare them talke of him in this wise, they also upon this beleaf are moved to love him muche more.

Then Count Lewis laughed and saide: I assure you our Courtier if he be discreete, will never use this blockishenes, to gete him the good will of women.

The L. Cesar Gonzaga answered: Nor yet an other that a Gentilman of reputation used in my dayes, who shal be namelesse for the honour of men.

The Dutchesse answered: Tell us at the least what he did.

The L. Cesar said: This manne beeinge beloved of a 

Blockish over sightes.

great Lady, at her request came privilye to the towne where she laye. And after he had seene her and communed with her, as long as they thought meete and had time and leyser therto, at his leave takinge with many bitter teares and sighes in witnesse of the extreme greef he felt for this departinge, he required her to be alwaies mindfull of him. And afterward he added withall, that she woulde discharge his ynn, for sins he came thither at her request, he thought meete that he should not stand to the charges of his beeing there himself.

Then beegan all the Ladies to laugh, and said that he was most unwoorthy of the name of a Gentilman: and many were ashamed with the selfe shame that he himselfe shoulde woorthilye have felt, if at anye time he had gotten so muche understandynge, that he might have perceyved so shamefull an oversight.

Then tourned the L. Gaspar to the L. Cesar and said: Better it had bine to have omitted the rehersal of this matter for the honour of women, then the naming of him for the honour of men. For you may well imagin what a judgement that great Ladie had in lovinge so unreasonable a creature. And perhappes to, of manye that served her, she chose him for the most discreatest, leavinge beehinde, and showinge ill wil unto them that he was not woorthie to wayte upon.

Count Lewis laughed and saide: Who woteth whether he was discreate in other thinges or no, and was out of the waye only about ynnes? But many times for overmuch 

Love maketh men commit great folies.

love men committ great folies. And if you will tell the truth, perhappes it hath bine your chaunce to commit mo then one.

The L. Cesar answered smilinge: Of good felowshippe let us not discover oure owne oversightes.

Yet we must discover them, answered the L. Gaspar, that we may know how to amende them, then he proceaded: Now that the Courtier knoweth how to wynn and kepe the good will of his Lady, and take it from his felow lover, you (my L. Julian) are dettour to teache her to kepe her loves secrete.

The L. Julian answered: Me thinke I have sufficientlye spoken, therefore gete ye nowe an other to talke of this secreate matter.

Then M. Bernarde and all the rest beegane a freshe to be in hande with him instantlye, and the L. Julian said: You will tempt me. Yet are all the sort of you to great Clearkes in love. Yet if ye desire to know farther, goe and reade Ovid.

And howe, quoth M. Bernarde, shal I hope that his lessons are any thing worth in love, whan he counselleth and saith that is is very good for a man in the companye of his maistresse to feigne the dronkarde? See what a goodly way it is to gete good will withall. And he alleageth for a pretie divise to make a woman understande that he is in love with her, beeinge at a banckett, to diepe his finger in wine and write it upon the table.

The L. Julian said smilinge: In those dayes it was no fault.

And therfore, quoth M. Bernarde, seeinge so sluttish a matter was not disalowed of men in those daies, it is to be thought that they had not so courtlye beehaviours to serve women in love, as we have. But let us not omitt oure first pourpose to teache to keepe love secrete.

Then saide the L. Julian: In myne advise to keepe love 

To kepe love secrete. A friende.

secrete, the causes are to be shonned that uttre it, whiche are manye: yet one principall, namelye, to be over secrete and to put no person in truste. Bicause everye lover coveteth to make his passions knowen to the beloved, and beeinge alone, he is driven to make many mo signes and more evident, then if he were aided by some lovinge and faithfull friende. For the signes that the lover himselfe maketh, give a farr greater susspition, then those that he maketh by them that go in message betweene. And forsomuch as men naturallye are greedie to understand, assone as a straunger beeginneth to suspect the matter, he so applieth it, that he commeth to the knowleage of the truth, and whan he once knoweth it, he passeth not for disclosinge it, yea sometime he hath a delite to do it. Which happeneth not of a friend, who beeside that he is a helpe to him with favour and counsell, doeth many times remedie the oversightes committed by the blinde lover, and alwaies procureth secretnes, and preventeth many matters which he himself can not foresee: beeside the great comfort that he feeleth, whan he may uttre his passions and greeffes, to a harty friende, and the partening of them likewise encreaseth his contentations.

Then said the L. Gaspar: There is an other cause that discovereth loves much more then this.

What is that? answered the L. Julian. The L. Gaspar said: Vaine greedinesse joigned with the 

What discloseth love.

fondenesse and cruelty of women, which (as you your selfe have saide) procure as muche as they can to gete them a great numbre of lovers, and (if it were possible) they would have them al to burne and make asshes, and after death to retourn to lief, to die again. And thoughe they love withall, yet rejoice they at the tourment of lovers, bicause they suppose that greef, afflictions and the calling every hour for death, is a true witnesse that they are beloved, and that with their beawtie they can make men miserable and happy, and give them life and death, as pleaseth them. Wherfore they feede upon this only foode, and are so gredie over it, that for wanting it they never throughly content lovers, nor yet put them out of hope, but to kepe them still in afflictions and in desire, they use a certein lofty sowernesse of threatninges mingled with hope, and wold have them to esteame a woorde, a countenance or a beck of theirs for a cheef blisse. And to make men count them chaste and honest aswel others as their lovers, they finde meanes that these sharpe and discourtious maners of theirs may be in open sight, for every man to thinke that they will much woorse handle the unworthy, sins they handle them so, that deserve to be beloved. And under this beleaf thinking Themselves with this craft safe from sclaunder, often times they lie nightlie with most vile men and whom they scase knowe. So that to rejoice at the calamitie and continuall complaintes of some woorthie gentilman, and beloved of them, they barr themselves from those pleasures, whiche perhappes with some excuse they might come bye, and are the cause that the poore lover by verye debating of the matter is driven to use wayes, by the which the thinge commeth to light, that with all diligence shoulde have bine kept most secrete. Certein other there are, whiche if with deceite they can bringe manye in beeleaf that they are beloved of them, nourish emonge them jeolosies with cherishinge and makinge of the one in the others presence. And whan they see that he also whom they love best is now assured and oute of doubt that he is beloved, through the signes and tokens that be made him, manie times with doubtfull woordes and feigned disdeignes they put him in an uncerteintie and nippe him at the verie hart, makinge wise not to passe for him and to give themselves full and wholye to the other. Wherupon arrise malice, enimities, and infinite occasions of stryfe and uttre confusion. For needes must a man showe in that case the extreme passion which he fealeth, althoughe it redounde to the blame and sclaunder of the woman. Other, not satisfied with this onlye tourment of jeolosye, after the lover hath declared all his tokens of love and faithfull service, and they receyved the same with some signe to be answerable in good will, without pourpose and whan it is least looked for, they beegine to beethinke themselves, and make wise to beleave that he is slacked, and feininge newe suspitions that they are not beloved, they make a countenaunce that they will in any wise put him out of their favour. Wherfore throughe these inconveniences the poore soule is constrayned of verye force to beegine a freshe, and to make her signes, as thoughe he beegane his service but then, and all the daye longe passe up and downe through the streete, and whan the woman goith furth of her doores to accompanye her to churche and to everie place where she goith, and never to tourne hys eyes to other place. And here he retourneth to weepinge, to sighes, to heavie countenance, and whan he can talke with her, to swearing, to blaspheminge, to desperation, and to all rages which unhappie lovers are lead to by these wielde beastes, that have greater thirst of blood then the verie Tygres. Such sorowfull tokens as these be are to often sene and knowen, and manie times more of others then of the causer of them, and thus are they in fewe dayes so published, that a stepp can not be made, nor the leaste signe that is, but it is noted with a thousande eyes. It happeneth then, that longe before there be any pleasures of love beetwext them, they are ghessed and judged of all the world. For whan they see yet their lover nowe nighe deathes doore, cleane vanquished with the crueltye and tourmentes they put him to, determineth advisedlye and in good ernest to drawe backe, then beegine they to make signe that they love him hartely, and do him al pleasures and give themselves to him, leaste if that fervent desire should feint in him, the frute of love shoulde withall be the lesse acceptable to him, and he ken them the lesse thanke for doinge all thinges contrarily. And in case this love be already knowen abrode, at this same time are all the effectes knowen in like maner abrode, that come of it, and so lose they their reputation, and the lover findeth that he hath lost time and labour and shortned his life in afflictions without any frute or pleasure, because he came by his desire, not whan they should have bine so accepatable to him that they woulde have made him a most happie creature, but whan he set litle or nothinge by them. For his hart was nowe so mortified with those bitter passions, that he had no more sense to taste the delite or contentation offred him.

Then said the L. Octavian smilinge: You helde your peace a while and refrayned from speakinge yll of women, but now ye have so wel hit them home, that it appered ye waited a time to plucke uppe your strength, like them that retire backeward to give a greater pushe at the encounter. And to say the truth, it is ill done of you, for nowe me thinke ye may have done and be pacified.

The L. Emilia laughed, and tourninge her to the Dutchesse she said: See Madam, oure ennemies begine to breake and to square one wyth an other.

Give me not this name, answered the L. Octavian, for I am not your adversarie, but this contention hath displeased me, not bicause I am sorye to see the victory upon womens side, but bicause it hath lead the L. Gaspar to revile them more then he ought, and the L. Julian and the L. Cesar to praise them perhappes somwhat more then due: beeside that through the length of the talke we have lost the understandynge of manye other pretye matters that are yet beehinde to be said of the Courtier.

See, quoth the L. Emilia, whether you be not oure adversarie, for the talke that is past greeveth you, and you would not that this so excellent a Gentilwoman of the Palaice had bine facioned: not for that you have any more to say of the Courtier (for these lordes have spoken alreadye what they know and I beleave neither you, ne any man elles can ad ought therto) but for the malice you beare to the honour of women.

It is out of doubt, answered the L. Octavian, beeside that is alreadie spoken, of the Courtier, I coulde wishe muche more in him. But sins every man is pleased that he shall be as he is, I am well pleased to, and woulde not have him altered in anye point, savinge in makinge him somwhat more frindlye to women, then the L. Gaspar is, yet not perhappes, so much as some of these other Lordes are.

Then spake the Dutchesse: In any case we must see whether youre witt be suche that it can give the Courtier a greater perfection, then these Lordes have alreadye done: therefore dispose your selfe to uttre that you have in your minde, els will we thinke that you also can not ad unto him more then hath alreadie bine saide, but that you minded to diminish the praises and worthinesse of the gentilwoman of the Palaice, seeing ye judge she is equall with the Courtier, whom by this meane you would have beleaved might be muche more perfect, then these Lordes have facioned him.

The L. Octavian laughed and said: The prayses and disprayses given women more then due, have so filled the eares and minde of the hearers, that they have left no voide rowme for anye thinge elles to stande in: beeside that (in mine opinion) it is very late.

Then said the Dutchesse: If we tarie till to morowe, we shall have more time, and the prayses and dispraises, whiche (you saye) are given women on both sides passinge measure, in the meane season will be cleane out of these Lordes mindes, and so shall they be apte to conceyve the truth that you will tell us. Whan the Dutchesse had thus spoken, she arrose upon her feete, and courteisly dismissing them all, withdrew her to the bedchamber, and everye manne gote him to his rest.

LIBRO IV

Thinking to write oute the communication that was had the fourth night after the other mentioned in the former bookes, I feele emong sundry discourses a bitter thought that gripeth me in my minde, and maketh me to call to remembraunce worldlie miseries and our deceitfull hopes, and how fortune many times in the verie middes of our race, otherwhile nighe the ende disapointeth our fraile and vaine pourposes, sometime drowneth them before they can once come to have a sight of the haven a farr of. It causeth me therefore to remember that not long after these reasoninges were had, cruell death bereved our house of three moste rare gentilmen, whan in their prosperous age and forwardnesse of honour they most florished, and of them the first was the Lord Gaspar Pallavicin, who assaulted with a sharp disease, and more then once brought to the 

L. Gaspar Pallavicin. L. Cesar Gonzaga.

last cast, although his minde was of suche courage that for a time in spite of death he kept the soule and bodye together, yet did he ende his naturall course longe beefore he came to his ripe age. A very great losse not in our house onlie and to his friendes and kinsfolke, but to his Countrie and to all Lumbardye. Not longe after died the L. Cesar Gonzaga, which to all that were acquainted with him left a bitter and sorowfull remembraunce of his death. For sins nature so sildome times bringeth furth such kinde of men, as she doeth, meete it seemed that she shoulde not so soone have bereaved us of him. For undoubtedlye a man maye saye that the L. Cesar was taken from us even at the very time whan he beganne to show more then a hope of himself, and to be esteamed as his excellent qualities deserved. For with manye vertuous actes he alreadie gave a good testimony of his worthinesse, and beeside his noblenesse of birthe, he excelled also in the ornament of letters, of marciall prowesse, and of everye woorthie qualitie. So that for his goodnesse, witt, nature, and knowleage, there was nothinge so highe, that might not have bine hoped for at his handes. Within a short while after, the death of M. Robert of Bari was also a great heavinesse to the wholl house: for reason seemed to perswade everie man to take 

M. Robert of Bari. The promotinge of certein mentioned in the booke.

hevily the death of a yonge man of good beehaviour, pleasaunt and most rare in the beawtie of fisnamye and in the makinge of his person, with as lucky and lively towardnes, as a man coulde have wished. These men therfore, had they lived, I beleave would have come to that passe, that unto whoso had knowen them, they woulde have showed a manifest proof, how much the Court of Urbin was worthie to be commended, and howe fournished it was with noble knightes, the whiche (in a maner) all the rest have done that were brought up in it. For trulye there never issued out of the horse of Troy so many great men and capitaines, as there have come menne out of this house for vertue verie singular and in great estimation with al men. For as you knowe Sir Fredericke Fregoso was made archebishop of Salerno. Count Lewis, Bishoppe of Baious. The L. Octavian Fregoso, Duke of Genua. M. Bernarde Bibiena, Cardinal of Santa Maria in Portico. M. Peter Bembo, Secretarye to Pope Leo. The L. Julian was exalted to the Dukedome of Nemours and to the great astate he is presentlye in. The Lord Francescomaria della Roveré, Generall of Roome, he was also made Duke of Urbin: although a much more praise may be given to the house where he was brought up, that in it he hath proved so rare and excellent a Lorde in all vertuous qualities (as a man may beehoulde) then that he atteined unto the Dukedome of Urbin: and no smalle cause thereof (Ithinke) was the noble company where in daily conversation he alwaies hearde and sawe commendable nourtour. Therfore (me thinke) whether it be by happe, or throughe the favour of the sterres, the same cause that so longe a time hath graunted unto Urbin verie good governours, doth still continue and bringeth furth the like effectes. And therefore it is to be hoped that prosperous fortune will still encrease these so vertuous doinges, that the happines of the house and of the State shall not only not diminish, but rather daily encrease: and therof we see alreadye manye evident tokens, emonge whiche (I recken) the cheeffest to be, that the heaven hath graunted suche a Lady as is the Ladye Eleonor Gonzaga the newe Dutchesse. 

L. Eleonor Gonzaga Dut. of Urbin.

For if ever there were coopled in one bodye alone, knowleage, witt, grace, beawtie, sober conversation, gentilnesse and every other honest qualitie, in her they are so lincked together, that there is made therof a chaine, whiche frameth and setteth furth everie gesture of herres with al these condicions together. Let us therforee proceade in our reasoninges upon the Coutyer, with hope that after us there shall not want suche as shall take notable and woorthye examples of vertue at the presente Court of Urbin, as we nowe do at the former.

It was thought therefore (as the L. Gaspar Pallavicin was wont to reherse) that the next daye after the reasoninges conteined in the laste booke, the L. Octavian was not muche seene: for manye deemed that he had gotten himself out of companye tho thinke well upon that he had to saye without trouble. Therfore whan the company was assembled at the accustomed houre where the Dutchesse was, they made the L. Octavian to be diligentlye sought for, whiche in a good while appered not, so that manye of the Gentilmen and Damselles of the Court fell to daunsynge and to minde other pastymes, supposynge for that night they shoulde have no mre talke of the Courtyer.

And nowe were they all settled about one thinge or an other, whan the L. Octavian came in (almost) no more looked for: and beehouldinge the L. Cesar Gonzaga and the L. Gaspar daunsinge, after he had made his reverence to the Duchesse, he saide smilinge: I had well hoped we shoulde have heard the L. Gaspar speake ill of women this night to, but sins I see him daunce with one, I imagin he is agreede with all. And I am glad that the controversie, or (to terme it better) the reasoninge of the Courtier is thus ended.

Not ended, I warant you, answered the Dutchesse, for I am not such an ennemye to men, as you be to women, and therfore I wil not have the Courtier bereved from his due honour and the fournimentes whiche you youre selfe promised him yester night.

And whan she had thus spoken, she commaunded them all after that daunse was ended to place themselves after the wonted maner, the which was done.

And as they stoode all wyth heedfull expectation, the L. Octavian said: Madom, sins for that I wished manye other good qualities in the Courtier, it foloweth by promise that I muste entreate uppon them, I am well willinge to uttre my minde: not with opinion that I can speake all that might be said in the matter, but only so much as shall suffice to roote that oute of your mind, which yester night was objected to me: namely, that I spake it more to withdrawe the prayses from the Gentilwoman of the Palaice, in doinge you falselye to beleave that other excellent qualities might be added to the Courtier, and with that pollicie prefarre him beefore her, then for that it is so in deede. Therfore to frame my selfe also to the houre, which is later then it was wont to be whan we beegane our reasoninges at other 

Thinges good.

times, I will be breef. Thus continuinge in the talke that these Lordes have ministred, whiche I full and wholye alowe and confirme, I say, that of thinges which we call good, some there be that simply and of themselves are alwaies good, as temperance, valiant courage, helth, and all vertues that bring quietnesse to mens mindes. Other be good for diverse respectes and for the ende they be applied unto, as that the Courtier (if he be of the perfection that Count Lewis and Sir Friderick have described him) maye in deede be a good thinge and woorthie praise, but for all that not simplye, nor of himself, but for respect of the ende wherto he may be applied. For doubtlesse if the Courtier with his noblenesse of birth, comlie beehaviour, pleasantnesse and practise in so many exercises, should bringe furth no other frute, but to be suche a one for himself, I woulde not thinke to come by this perfect trade of Courtiership, that a man shoulde of reason beestowe so much studye and peynes about it, as who so will compase it must do. But I woulde say rather that manie of the qualities appointed him, as daunsing, singinge and sporting, were lightnesse and vanitie, and in a man of estimation rather to be dispraised then commended: bicause those precise facions, the settinge furth ones selfe, meerie talke and such other matters belonginge to enterteinment of women and love (althoughe perhappes manie other be of a contrary opinion) do many times nothinge elles but womannish the mindes, corrupt youth, and bring them to a most wanton trade of livinge: wherupon afterwarde ensue these effectes, that the name of Italy is brought into sclaunder, and few there be that have the courage, I will not saye to jeoparde their lief, but to entre once into a daunger. 

Dastardlinesse. The ende of a Courtier.

And without peradventure there be infinite other thinges, that if a man beestow his labour and studie about them, woulde bring furth muche more profit both in peace and warr, then this trade of Courtiershipp of it self alone. But in case the Courtiers doinges be directed to the good ende they ought to be and which I meane: me thinke then they should not onlye not be hurtfull or vaine, but most profitable and deserve infinit praise. The ende therfore of a perfect Courtier (wherof hitherto nothinge hath bine spoken) I beleave is to purchase him, by the meane of the qualities whiche these Lordes have given him, in such wise the good will and favour of the Prince he is in service withall, that he may breake his minde to him, and alwaies enfourme him francklye of the trueth of everie matter meete for him to understande, without fear or perill to displease him. And whan he knoweth his minde is bent to commit any thinge unseemlie for him, to be bould to stande with him in it, and to take courage after an honest sort at the favour which he hath gotten him throughe his good qualities, to disswade him from everie ill pourpose, and to set him in the waye of vertue. And so shall the Courtier, if he have the goodnesse in him that these Lordes have geven him accompanied with readinesse of witt, pleasantnesse, wisedome, knowleage in letters and so many other thinges, understande how to beehave himselfe readilye in all occurentes to drive into his Princis heade what honour and profit shall ensue to him and to his by justice, liberalitie, valiauntnesse of 

The floure of courtlines. The frute of it. Well doinge.

courage, meekenesse and by the other vertues that beelong to a good Prince, and contrarie to them. And therefore in mine opinion, as musike, sportes, pastimes, and other pleasaunt facions, are (as a man woulde saye) the floure of Courtlines, even so is the traininge and the helping forward of the Prince to goodnesse and the fearinge him from yvell, the frute of it. And bicause the praise of weldoinge consisteth cheeflye in two pointes, wherof the one is, in chousinge out an ende that our pourpose is directed unto, that is good in deede: the other, the knowleage to find out apt and meete meanes to bringe it to the appointed good ende: sure it is that the mind of him which thinketh to worke so, that his Prince shall not be deceived, nor lead with flaterers, railers and lyers, but shall knowe both the good and the bad and beare love to the one and hatred to the other, is directed to a very good ende. Me thinke again, that the qualities which these Lordes have given the Courtier, may be a good meanes to compasse it: and that, bicause emonge manye vices that we see now adayes in manye of our Princis, the greatest are ignoraunce and self leekinge: and the roote of these two mischeeves is nothing elles but lyinge, which vice is worthelie abhorred of God and man, and more hurtful to Princis then any other, bicause they have more scarsitye 

Lies engender ignorance and self leeking. Enemies. Friendes.

then of any thinge elles, of that which they neede to have more plenty of, then of any other thinge: namely, of suche as shoulde tell them the truth and put them in minde of goodnesse: for enemies be not driven of love to to do these offices, but they delite rather to have them live wickedly and never to amende: on the other side, they dare not rebuke them openlye for feare they be punished. As for friendes few of them have free passage to them, and those few have a respect to reprehende their vices so freelye as they do private mens: and many times to coorie favour and to purchase good will, they give themselves to nothinge elles but to feede them with matters that may delite, and content their minde, thoughe they be foule and dishonest. So that of friendes they become flatterers, and to make a hande by that streict familiaritie, they speake and woorke alwaies to please, and for the most part open the way with lyes, which in the Princis minde engender ignorance, not of outwarde matters onlie, but also of his owne selfe. And this may be said to be the greatest and fowlest lye of all 

Flattery. Great men.

other, bicause the ignorant minde deceiveth himself and inwardlie maketh lies of himself. Of this it commeth, that great men, beeside that they never understande the truth of any thinge, dronken with the licentious libertye that rule bringeth with it and with abundance of delicacies drowned in pleasures, ar so far out of the way and their mind is so corrupted in seeing themselves alwaies obeyed and (as it wer) woorshipped with so much reverence, and praise, without not onlye anye reproof at all, but also gainsayinge, that through this ignoraunce they wade to an extreeme self leekinge, so that afterwarde they admitt no counsell nor advise of others. And bicause they beleave that the understandinge howe to rule is a most easye matter, and to compasse it there needeth neyther arte nor learninge, but onlye stoutenesse, they bende their minde and all their thoughtes to the maintenance of that port they kepe, thinking it the true happynese to do what a man lusteth. Therfore do some abhorr reason and justice, bicause they weene it a bridle and a certeine meane to bringe them in bondage and to minishe in them the contentation and hartes ease that they have to bear rule, if they should observe it: and their rule were not perfect nor wholl if they shoulde be compelled to obey unto dutie and honetie, bicause they have an opinion that Whoso obeyeth, is no right Lord in deede. Therfore taking these principles for a president and suffering them selves to be lead with selfe leekinge, they wexe loftie, and with a statlye countenance, with sharpe and cruell condicions, with pompous garmentes, golde and jewelles, and with comminge (in a maner) never abrode to be seene, they thinke to gete estimation and authoritie emong men, and to be counted (almost) Goddes: but they are (in my judgement) like the Colosses that were made in Roome the last yeere upon the feast day of the place of Argone, which outwardlye declared a likenesse of great men and horses of 

Images of horrible greatnesse.

triumph, and inwardly were full of towe and ragges. But the Princis of this sort are so muche woorse, as the Colosses by their owne waightye pese stande upright of them selves, and they bicause they be yll counterpesed and without line or levell placed upon unequall grounde, throughe their owne waightinesse overthrowe them selves, and from one errour renn into infinit. Bicause their ignoraunce beeinge annexed with this false opinion that they can not err, and that the port they kepe commeth of their knowleage, leadeth of them every waye by right or by wronge to lay hande upon possessions bouldly, so they may come by them. But in case they woulde take advisemente to knowe and to woorke that that they ought, they would aswell strive not to reigne as they doe to reigne, bicause they shoulde perceyve what a naughtye and daungerous matter it were for Subjectes that ought to be governed, to be wyser then the Princis that shoulde governe. You may see that ignorance in musike, in daunsinge, in ridinge hurteth no man, yet he that is no musitien is ashamed and aferde to singe in the presence of others, or to daunse, he that can not, or he that sitteth not wel a horse, to ride: but of the unskilfulnes to govern people arrise so manie yvelles, deathes, destructions, mischeeffes and confusions, that it may be called the deadliest plagu upon the earth. And yet some princes most ignorant 

Igorance of rules. Princis of olde time were refourmable.

in government, are not bashfull nor ashamed to take upon them to govern I wil not say in the presence of foure or half a dosen persons, but in the face of the world: for their degree is sett on loft, that all eyes beehould them, and therfore not their great vices only, but their least faultes of all are continuallie noted. As yt is written that Cimon was yll spoken of bicause he loved wine, Scipo, sleepe, Lucullus, bancketinges. But wolde God, the Princis of these oure times wolde coople their vices wyth so many vertues as did they of olde time: which yf they were out of the way in any point, yet refused they not the exhortations and lessons of such as they deemed meete to correct those faultes: yea they saught with great instance to frame their lief by the rule of notable personages: as Epaminondas by Lisias of Pythagoras sect: Agesilaus by Xenophon: Scipio by Pan&elig;tius, and infinit others. But in case a grave Philosopher shoulde come beefore enie of our Princes, or who ever beeside, that wolde showe them plainlie and without enie circomstance the horrible face of true vertue and teache them good maners and what the lief of a good Prince ought to be, I ame assured they wolde abhorr him at the first sight, as a most venimous serpent, or elles they wolde make him a laughinge stocke, as a most vile matter. I saye therfore that sins nowadayes Princis are so corrupt through yl usages, ignoraunce and false self leekinge, and that yt is so harde a matter to geve them the knoweleage of the truth and to bende them to vertue, and men with lyes and flatterie and such naughtye meanes seeke to coorie favour wyth them, the Courtier by the meane of those honest qualities that Count Lewis and Sir Friderick have given hym, may soone, and ought to go about so to purchase him the good will and allure unto him the minde of his Prince, that he maye make him a free and safe passage to commune with him in every matter without troublinge him. And yf he be suche a one as is said, he shall compase yt with smalle peine, and so may he alwayes open unto the truth of everie matter at ease. Besyde this by litle and litle distille into his minde goodnesse, and teache him continencie, stoutnesse of courage, justice, temperance, makinge him to taste what sweetenesse is hid under that litle bitternesse, which at the first sight appeereth unto him that withstandeth vices: which are alwaies hurtfull, displeasant and accompanied wyth yl report and shame, even as vertues are profitable, pleasant and praisable, and enflame him to them with the examples of manie famous Capitanes, and of other notable personages, unto whom they of old time used to make ymages of mettal and marble, and sometime of gold, and to set them up in commune haunted places, aswell for the honoure of them, as for an encouragynge of others, that with an honest envie 

Images in the honour of men.

they might also endevour them selves to reach unto that glorie. In this wise maye he leade him throughe the roughe way of vertue (as it were) deckynge yt about with boowes to shadowe yt and strawinge it over wyth sightlye flouers, to ease the greefe of the peinfull journey in hym that is but of a weake force. And sometyme with musike, somtime with armes, and horses, somtyme with rymes and meeter, otherwhyle wyth communication of love, and wyth all those wayes that these Lordes have spoken of, continuallye keepe that mynde of his occupyed in honest pleasure: imprintynge notwythstandynge therin alwayes beesyde (as I have said) in companie with these flickeringe provocations some vertuous condicion, and beeguilinge him with a holsome craft, as the warie phisitiens do, who manye times whan they minister to yonge and tender children in ther sicknesse, a medicin of a bitter taste, annoint the cupp about the brimm with some sweete licour. The Courtier therefore applyinge to such a pourpose this veile of pleasure, in everie time, in everie place, and in everye exercise he shall attaine to his ende, and deserve muche more praise and recompence, then for anie other good woorke that he can do in the worlde, bicause there is no treasure that doeth so universallie profit, as doeth a good Prince, nor anie mischeef so universallie hurt, as an yll Prince. Therfore is there also in peine so bitter and cruell that were a sufficient punishment for those naughtie and wicked Courtiers, that make their honest and pleasant maners and their good qualities a cloke for an ill ende, and by meane of them seeke to come in favour with their Princis for to corrupte them and to straye them from the way of vertue and to lead them to vice. For a man may say, that such as these be, do infect with deadlie poyson, not one vessel wherof one man alone drinketh, but the commune fountain that all the people resorteth to.

The L. Octavian helde his peace as though he would have said no more, but the L. Gaspar: I can not see, my L. Octavian (said he) that this goodnesse of minde and continincie, and the other vertues whiche you will have the Courtier to showe his Lorde, may be learned: but I suppose that they are given the men that have them, by nature and of God. And that it is so, you may see that there is no man so wicked and of so ill condicions in the world, nor so untemperate and unjust, which if he be asked the question, will confesse him self such a one. But everie man be he never so wicked, is glad to be counted just, continent and good: which shoulde not be so, in case these vertues might be learned, bicause it is no shame not to know the thinge that a man hath not studied, but a rebuke it is not to have that which we ought to be indowed withal of nature. Therefore doeth ech man seeke to cover the defaultes of nature, aswell in the minde, as also in the bodie: the which is to be seene in the blind, lame, crooked and other may[m]ed and deformed creatures. For although these imperfections may be layed to nature, yet doeth it greeve ech man to have them in him self: bicause it seemeth by the testimonie of the self same nature that a man hath that default or blemishe (as it were) for a patent and token of his ill inclination. The fable that is reported of Epimetheus 

Fable of Epimetheus.

doeth also confirme myne opinion, whiche was so unskilfull in dividinge the gyftes of nature unto men, that he left them much more needie of everye thinge then all other livinge creatures. Wherupon Prometheus stole the politike wysdome from Minerva and Vulcan that men have to gete their livinge withall. Yet had they not for all that, civill wisdome to gather them selves into Cities, and the knowleage to live with civility, bicause it was kept in the Castle of Jupiter by most circumspect overseears, whiche put Prometheus in suche feare, that he durst not approch nygh them. Wherupon Jupiter takinge pitye upon the miserye of men, that could not felowshipp together for lacke of civill vertue, but were torne in peeces by wielde beastes, he sent Mercury to the earth to carie justice and shame, that these two thinges might fournish Cities and gather Citizins together: and willed that they shoulde be given them, not as other artes were, wherin one counning man sifficeth for manie ignorant, as phisike, but that they should be imprinted in everie man. And ordeyned a lawe, that all such as were without justice and shame, should be banished and put to death, as contagious to the Citie. Beehoulde then (my L. Octavian) God hath graunted these vertues to men, and are not to be learned but be naturall.

Then the L. Octavian somwhat smiling: Will you then, my L. Gaspar (quoth he) have men to be so unfortunate and of so pevish a judgement, that with policie they have found out an art to tame the natures of wield beastes, as beares, wolves, Lions, and may with the same teach a prety bird to fle as a man lust, and retourne back from the wood and from his naturall libertye of his owne accord to snares and bondage, and with the same pollicy can not, or will not finde out artes whereby they maye profit themselves, and with studie and diligence make their mind more perfect? This (in mine opinion) were like as if Phisitiens shoulde studie with all diligence to have the art onlie to heale fellonies in fingers and the read gumme in yonge children, and lay aside the cure of fevers, pleurisie and other sore diseases, the which how out of reason it were everie man may consider. I beleave therfore that the morall vertues are not in us all together by nature, bicause nothinge can at anye time be accustomed unto it, that is naturallie his contrarie: as it is seene in a stone, the whiche though it be cast upward ten thousand times, yet will he never accustome to go up of him selfe. Therefore in case vertues were as natural to us, as heavinesse to the stone, we shoulde never accustome our selves to vice. Nor yet are vices naturall in this sort, for then shoulde we never be vertuous: and a great wickednesse and folie it were, to punishe men for the faultes that came of nature without oure offence: and this errour shoulde the lawes committ, whiche appoint not punishment to the offenders for the trespace that is past, bicause it can not be brought to passe that the thinge that is done, maye not be done, but they have a respect to the time to come, that who so hath offended maye offende no more, or elles with 

Vertues many be learned. A difference beetween that a man hath by nature and by custome.

yll president give not a cause for others to offende. And thus yet they are in opinion that vertues maye be learned, whiche is most true, bicause we are borne apt to receive them, and in like maner vices: and therfore there groweth a custome in us of bothe the one and the other throughe longe use, so that first we practise vertue or vice, after that, we are vertuous or vitious. The contrarie is knowen in the thinges that be geven us of nature, for firste we have the pour to practise them, after that, we do practise: as it is in the senses, for first we can see, heere, feele, after that, we do see, heere and feele: although notwithstandinge many of these doinges be also sett oute more sightle with teachinge. Whereupon good Schoolmaisters do not only instruct their children in letters, but also in good nourtour in eatinge, drinkinge, talking, and goinge with certein gestures meete for the pourpose. Therefore even as in the other artes, so also in the vertues it is behoufful to have a teacher, that with lessons and good exhortations may stirr up and quicken in us these morall vertues, wherof we have the seede inclosed and buried in the soule, and like the good husbande man, till them and open the waye for them, weedinge from about them the briers and darnell of appetites, which many times so shadow and choke our mindes, that they suffre them not to budd nor to bringe furth the happie frutes, which alone ought to be wished to grow in the hartes of men. In this sort then is naturally in everie one of us justice and shame, which (you saye) Jupiter sent to the earth for all men. But even as a bodye without eyes, how sturdie ever he be, if he remove to anie certein place, often times faileth: so the roote of these vertues that be potentiallie engendred in our mindes, yf it be not aided with teaching, doth often come to nought. Bicause if it shoulde be brought into doinge and to his perfect custome, it is not satisfied (as is said) with nature alone: but hath neede of a politike usage and of reason, whiche maye clense and scoure that soule, takinge away the dymm veile of ignorance, wherof arrise (in a maner) all the erroures in men. For in case good and ill were well knowen and perceived, every man would alwaies chouse the good and shonn the yl. Therfore may vertue be said to be (as it were) a wisdome and an understanding to chouse the good: and vice, a lacke of foresight and 

Vertue. Vice.

an ignorance that leadeth to judge falsely. Bicause men never chouse the il with opinion that it is ill, but they are deceived through a certein likenesse of good.

Then answered the L. Gaspar: Yet are there many that know plainlie they do ill, and do it notwithstanding, and that bicause thei more esteame the present pleasure which they feele, then the punishment that they doubt shall fall upon them, as theeves, murtherers and such other.

The L. Octavian said: True pleasure is alwaies good, and true sorow, evell: therfore these be deceived in taking false pleasure for true, and true sorowe for false: wherupon 

True pleasure. True sorow. True knowleage.

manye times through false pleasures, they renn into true displeasures. The art therfore that teacheth to discerne this trueth from falshood, maye in like case be learned: and the vertue by the which we chouse this good in deede, and not that which falsely appeereth to be, may be called true knowleage, and more available for mans lief, then anye other, bicause it expelleth ignorance, of the which (as I have said) springe al evelles.

Then M. Peter Bembo: I wot not, my L. Octavian (quoth he) how the L. Gaspar should graunt you, that of ignoraunce should springe all evelles, and that there be not manye which in offendinge knowe for certeintie that they do offende, neyther are they anye deale deceived in the true pleasure nor yet in the true sorow: bicause it is sure that such as be incontinent judge with reason and uprightly, and know it, wher unto they are provoked by lust contrary to due, to be ill, and therfore they make resistance and sett reason to matche greedy desire, wherupon arriseth the battaile of pleasure and sorow against judgement. Finally reason overcome by greedie desire far the mightier, is cleane without succour, like a shippe, that for a time defendeth herself from the tempestuous Seastormes, at the end beaten with the to raginge violence of windes, her gables and tacklinges broken, yeldeth up to be driven at the will of fortune, without occupying helme or any maner help of 

Reason. Incontinency. Continency.

Pilott for her safegard. Furthwith therefore commit they the offences with a certein doubtfull remorse of conscience and (in a maner) whether they will or no, the which they would not do, onlesse they knew the thing that they do to be ill, but without striving of reason would ren wholy headlonge after greedy desire, and then shoulde they not be incontinent, but untemperate, which is much woorse. Therfore is incontinencie said to be a diminished vice, bicause it hath in it a part of reason, and likewise continency an unperfect vertue, bicause it hath in it part of affection: therefore (me thinke) that it can not be said that the offences of the incontinent come of ignorance, or that they be deceived and offende not, whan they know for a truth that they do offende.

The L. Octavian answered: Certesse (M. Peter) youre argument is good, yet (in my minde) it is more apparant then true. For although the incontinent offend with that doubtfulnesse, and reason in their minde striveth againste greedye desire, and that that is yll, seemeth unto them to be ill in deede, yet have they no perfect knowleage of it, nor understand it so throughly as nede requireth. Therefore of this, it is rather a feeble opinion in them, then certeine knowleage, wherby greedie desire overcometh reason, is ignorance, neyther can true knowleage be ever overcome by affection, that proceadeth from the body and not from the mind, and 

Ignorance. Reason.

in case it be wel ruled and governed by reason it becommeth a vertue: if not it becommeth a vice. But such force reason hath, that she maketh the sense alwaies to obey and by wonderous meanes and wayes perceth least ignorance shoulde possesse that, which she ought to have: so that althoughe the spirites and the sinewes, and the bones have no reason in them, yet whan there springeth in us that motion of minde, that the imagination (as it were) pricketh forward and shaketh the bridle to the spirites, all the members are in a readinesse, the feete to renn, the hands to take or to doe that which the minde thinketh upon, and this is also manifestlye knowenn in many, which unwittingly otherwhile eate some lothesome and abhorring meat, but so well dressed that to their taste it appeereth moste delicate: afterwarde understandinge what maner thynge it was, it doeth not only greeve them and loth them in their minde, but the bodie also agreeth with the judgement of the minde, that of force they cast that meate up again.

The L. Octavian folowed on still in his talke, but the L. Julian interruptinge him: My L. Octavian (quoth he) yf I have well understoode, you have said that continencie is an unperfect vertue, bicause it hath in it part of affection: and me seemeth that the vertue (where there in in oure minde a variance beetweene reason and greedie desyre) whiche fighteth and giveth the victorye to reason, ought to be reckened more perfect, then that which overcommeth havinge neyther greedie desire nor anie affection to withstand it: bicause (it seemeth) that that minde absteyneth not from yll for vertues sake, but refrayneth the doing it, bicause he hath no will to it.

Then the L. Octavian: Which (quoth he) wolde you esteame the valianter Capitain, eyther he that hasardeth him selfe in open fight, and notwithstanding vanquisheth his enemies, or he that by his vertue and knowleage weakeneth them in bringinge them in case not able to fight, and so without battaile or anie jeopardie discomfetethe them?

He, quoth the L. Julian, that overcommeth with most suretie, is out of doubt most to be praised, so that this assured victorie of his proceade not through the slackenesse of the ennemies.

The L. Octavian answered: You have judged aright. And therfore I say unto you, that continencie may be compared to a Capitain that fighteth manlie, and though his ennemies be stronge and well appointed, yet geveth he them the overthrowe, but for al that not without much a do 

Temperance.

and daunger. But temperance free from all disquietinge, is like the Capitain that without resistance overcommeth and reigneth. And havinge in the mynde where she is, not onlie assuaged, but cleane quenched the fire of gredie desire, even as a good Prince in civill warr dispatcheth the sedicious inward ennemies, and giveth the scepter and wholl rule to reason, so in like case this vertue not enforcing the mind, but powringe therinto through most quiet waies a vehement persuasion that may incline him to honestie, maketh him quiet and full of rest, in everie part equall and of good proportion: and on everie side framed of a certein agreement with him self, that filleth him with such a cleare caulmenesse, that he is never out of pacience: and becommeth full and wholy most obedient to reason, and readie to tourn unto her all his motions, and folow her where she lust to leade him, without anie resistance, like a tender lambe that renneth, standeth and goith alwaies by the ewes side, and moveth only as he seeth her do. This vertue therefore is most perfect, and is cheeflie requisit in Princis, bicause of it arrise manie other.

Then the L. Cesar Gonzaga: I wott not (quoth he) what vertues requisit for Princis may arrise of this temperance, yf it be she that riddeth the mind of affections (as you say) which perhappes were meete for some Monke or Heremite: but I can not see how it should be requisit for a Prince that is couragious, freeharted and of prowesse in marciall feates, for whatsoever is done to him, never to have angre, hatred, good will, disdeigne, lust, nor any affeccion in him: nor how without this he can get him authoritie emonge the people and souldiers.

The L. Octavian answered: I have not said that temperance shoulde throughlye ridd and roote oute of mens mindes, affections: neyther shoulde it be well so to do, bicause there be yet in affections some partes good: but that which in affections is corrupt and striving against honestie, she bringeth to obey unto reason. Therefore it is not meete, to ridd the troublesome disquietnesse of the mind, to roote up affections cleane, for this were as if to avoide dronkennesse, there shoulde be an act established, that no man shoulde drinke wine: or bicause otherwhile in renninge a man taketh a fall, everie man should be forbed renning. Marke them that breake horses, they breake them not from their renninge and comminge on loft, but they will have them to do it at the time and obedience of the rider. The affections therefore that be clensed and tried by temperance are assistant to vertue, as angre, that helpeth manlinesse: hatred against the wicked, helpeth justice, and likewise the other vertues are aided by affections, which in case they were cleane taken away, they woulde leave reason verie feeble and feint, so that it shoulde litle prevaile, like a shipp maister that is without winde in a great caulme. Marvaile ye not then (my L. Cesar) if I have said, that of temperance arrise manie other vertues: for whan a minde is in tune with this harmonie, by the meane of reason he easely receiveth afterward true manlinesse, which maketh him boulde and safe from all daunger, and (in a maner) above worldly passions. Likewise Justice, an undefiled virgin, friend to sobermoode and goodnesse, queene of all other vertues, bicause she teacheth to do that, which a man 

True manlinesse. Justice. Stoutnesse of courage. Wisdome.

ought to do, and to shon that a man ought to shonn, and therfore is she most perfect, bicause through her the woorkes of the other vertues are brought to passe, and she is a helpe to him that hath her both for him selfe and for others: without the which (as it is commanlye said) Jupiter him selfe coulde not well govern his kingdome. Stoutnesse of courage doeth also folowe after these, and maketh them all the greater, but she can not stand alone, bicause whoso hath not other vertues can not be of a stoute courage. Of these then wisdome is guide, which consisteth in a certein judgement to chouse well. And in this happie chayne are also lincked liberalitie, sumptuousnesse, the desire to save a mans estymation, meekenesse, pleasantnesse, courtesie in talke, and manie other which is nowe no time to speake of. But in case oure Courtier wyll do as we have saide, he shall finde them all in his Princis minde: and daylie he shall see springe suche beawtifull floures and frutes, as all the delicious gardeins in the world have not the like: and he shall feele verie great contentacion within him self, whan he remembreth that he hath given him, not the thinges whiche foolish persons give, whiche is, golde, or silver, plate, garmentes, and such matters, wherof he that giveth them hath him self verie great scarsitie, and he that receiveth 

The way to govern well. The reigne of a good prince.

them exceading great store: but that vertue, which perhappes among all the matter that belong unto man, is the cheeffest and rarest, that is to say, the maner and way to rule and to reigne in the right kinde. Which alone were sufficient to make men happie, and to bring once again into the worlde the golden age, whiche is written to have bine whan Saturnus reigned in the olde time.

Here whan the L. Octavian paused a litle as though he would have taken respite, the L. Gaspar said: Whiche recken you (my L. Octavian) the happiest government and that were most to pourpose to bring into the world again that golden age whych you have made mention of, eyther the reigne of so good a Prince, or the governance of a good Commune weale?

The L. Octavian answered: I woulde alwayes prefarr the reigne of a good Prince, bicause it is a government more agreeable to nature, and (if it be lawfull to compare small matters with infinit) more like unto Goddes, whiche one and alone governeth the universall. But leavinge this, ye see that in whatsoever is broughte to passe with the pollicie of man, as armies, great saylinge vesselles, buildynges and other lyke matters, the wholl is committed to one alone, to dyspose therof at his will. Likewise in oure bodye all the membres travaile and are occupied as the hart thinketh good. Beeside this it seemeth meete that people shoulde aswell be governed by one Prince, as manye other livinge creatures be, whom nature teacheth this obedience, as a moste soveraign matter. Marke ye whether deere, cranes and maye other foules, whan thei take their flight do not alwaies set a Prince beefore, whom they folowe and obey. And bees (as it were) with discourse of reason and with such reverence honour their kinge, as the most obedientest people in the world can do. And therefore this is a verie great argument that the soveraigntie of a Prince is more accordinge to nature, then a Commune weales.

Then M. Peter Bembo: And me thinke (quoth he) that 

Libertye.

sins God hath given us libertie for a soveraigne gifte, it is not reason that it should be taken from us: nor that one man should be partner of it more then an other, which happeneth under the rule of princis, who for the most part keepe their people in most streict bondage. But in Commune weales well in order this libertie is well kept. Beeside that, both in judgementes and in advisementes it happeneth oftner that the opinion of one alone is false, then the opinion of many, bicause troublous affection either through anger, or throughe spite, or through lust, sooner entreth into mind of one alone then into the multitudes, whiche (in a maner) like a greate quantitie of water, is lesse subject to corruption, then a smalle deale. I saye again that the example of the beastes and foules doth not make to pourpose, for both Deere and Cranes and the rest doe not alwaies sett one and the self formost for them to folowe and obey, but they still chaunge and varie, givinge this prefarment somtime to one, otherwhile to an other, and in this maner it beecommeth rather the fourme of a Commune weale, then of a kingdome, and this maye be called a true and equall libertie, whan they that sometime commaunde, obey again an other while. The example likewise of the bees (me thinke) is not alike, bicause that kinge of theirs is not of their owne kinde: and therefore he that will give unto men a worthie head in deede, must be faine to finde him of an other kinde, and of a more noble nature then mans, if menne (of reason) shoulde obey him, as flockes and heardes of cattell that obey, not a beast their like, but a sheppharde and a hardman, which is a man and of a more woorthie kinde, then theirs. For these respectes, I thynke (my L. Octavian) the government of a Commune weale is more to be coveted, then of a kinge.

Then the L. Octavian: Against your opinion, M. Peter (quoth he) I will alleage but one reason: whiche is, that of 

Three kindes of wayes to rule.

wayes to rule people well, there be onlye three kindes. The one a kingdome: the other, the rule of good men, whiche they of olde tyme called Optimates, the third, the governance of the people. And the transgressinge (to terme it so) and contrarie vice that every one of these is chaunged into beeinge apayred and corrupted, is whan the kingdome beecommeth a Tyrannie: and whan the governance of good men is chaunged into the handes of a few great men and not good: and whan the rule of the people is at the disposition of the communaltye, whiche making a meddlie of the ordres, suffreth the governance of the wholl at the wil of the multitude. Of these three yll governmentes (it is sure) the Tyrannie is the woorst of al, as it may be proved by many reasons. It foloweth then, that of the three good, the kingdome is the best, bicause it is contrarye to the woorste, for (as you knowe) the effectes of contrarie causes, they be also contrarye emong them selves.

Nowe as touchinge it, that you have spoken of libertye, I answere, that true liberty ought not to be saide to live as a manne will, but to lyve accordynge to good lawes. And to obey, is no lesse naturall, profitable and necessarye then to commaunde. And some thinges are borne and so appointed and ordeyned by nature to commaunde, as some other to obeysance. Truth it is, that there be two kyndes of bearinge rule, the one Lordlye and forsyble, as maisters over 

Two kindes of wayes to beare swinge. How good men be to be ruled.

slaves, and in this doeth the soule commaunde the bodye. The other more milde and tractable, as good Princis by waye of the lawes over their Subjectes, and in this reason commaundeth greedie desire. And ech of these two wayes is profitable: bicause the bodye is created of nature apte to obey the soule, as so is desire, reason. There be also manye menne whose doinges be applied onlye about the use of the body: and such as these be are so farr wide from the vertuous, as the soule from the bodye, and yet bicause they be reasonable creatures, they be so much partners of reason, as they doe no more but know it, for they possesse it not, ne yet have they the use of it. These therefore be naturallye bondemen, and better it is for them and more profitable to obeye, then to beare swey.

Then saide the L. Gaspar: In what maner wise be they then to be commaunded that be discreete and vertuous and not by nature bonde?

The L. Octavian answered: With that tractable commaundment kinglye and civill. And to such it is well done otherwhile to committe the bearinge of suche offices as be meete for them, that they maye likewise bere swey and rule over others of lesse witt then they be, yet so that the principal governement maye full and wholye depende uppon the cheef Prince. And bicause you have said, that it is an easier matter to corrupt the minde of one, then of a great sort, I saye, that it is also an easier matter to finde one good and wise, then a great sorte. Both good and wise ought a man to suppose a kinge maye be, of a noble progenie, inclined to vertue of hys owne 

A kinge.

naturall motion, and throughe the famous memorye of his auncestoures, and brought up in good condicions. And though he be not of an other kinde then man, as you have saide is emonge the bees, yet yf he be helped forwarde with the instructions, bringinge up, and art of the Courtier, whom these Lordes have facioned so wise and good, hee shall be moste wise, moste continent, moste temperate, moste manlye and most juste, full of liberalitie, majestie, holynesse, and mercye: finallye he shall be moste glorious and moste deerely beloved both to God and manne: throughe whose grace he shall atteine unto that heroicall and noble vertue, that shall make him passe the boundes of the nature of manne, and shall rather be called a Demy God, then a manne mortall. For God deliteth in and is the defendour 

God the defendour of good Princis. A good Prince an Image of God.

not of those Princis that will folowe and counterfeit him in showinge great poure, and make themselves to be woorshipped of menne, but of such as beeside poure, whereby they are mightye, endevour themselves to resemble him also in goodnesse and wisdome, wherby the maye have a will and a knowleage to doe well and to be his ministers, distributinge for the beehouf of manne the benifittes and giftes that they receive of him. Therefore even as in the firmamente the sonne and the moone and the other sterres show to the world (as it were) in a glasse a certeine likenesse of God: so uppon the earth a muche more liker image of God are those good Princis that love and woorshippe him, and showe unto the people the cleere light of his justice, accompanied with a shadowe of the heavenlye reason and understandinge: and suche as these be doeth God make partners of his true dealing, rightuousnesse, justice and goodnesse, and of those other happy benifittes which I can not name, that disclose unto the worlde a much more evident proof of the Godhead then doeth the light of the sonne, or the continuall tourninge of the firmament with the sundrye course of the sterres. It is God therfore that hath appointed the people under the custodie of Princis, which ought to have a diligent care over them, that they may make him accompt of it, as good stewardes do their Lord, and love them and thinke their owne, all the profit and losse that happeneth to them, and pricipally above all thing provide for their good astate and welfare. Therefore ought the prince not only to be good, but also to make others good, like the Carpenters square, that is not only straight and just it self, but also maketh Straight and just whatsoever it is occupied about. And the greatest proofe that the Prince is good, is whan the people are good: bicause the lief of the Prince is a lawe and 

The lief of the kinge a lawe to the people.

ringleader of the Citizins, and upon the condicions of him must needes al others depende: neyther is it meete for one that is ignorant, to teach: nor for him that is out of order, to give order: nor for him that falleth, to help up an other. Therfore if the Prince will execute these offices aright, it is requisit that he apply all his studie and diligence to get knowleage, afterward to facion within him selfe and observe unchageablye in everye thinge the lawe of reason, not written in papers, or in mettall, but graven in his owne minde, that it maye be to him alwayes not onlie familier, but inwarde, and live with, as a percell of him: to the intent it may night and day, in everye time and place admonish him and speake to him with his hart, riddinge him of those troublous affections that untemperate mindes feele, whiche bycause on the one side they be (as it were) cast into a moste deepe sleepe of ignorance, on the other overwhelmed with the unquietnesse which they feele through their weyward and blind desires, they are stirred with an unquiet rage, as he that sleepeth otherwhile with straunge and horrible visions: heaping then a greater poure upon their noughtie desire, there is heaped also a greater trouble withall. And whan the Prince can do what he will,then is it great jeopardie least he will the thing that he ought not. Therefore said Bias well, that promotions declare what men be: for even as vesselles while they are emptie, though they have some chinke in them, it can ill be perceived, but 

Bias sayinge. Authorities disclose vices. Tirannes.

if they be filled with licour, they showe by and by on what side the fault is, so corrupt and il disposed mindes syldome discover their vices, but whan they be filled with authoritie. For then they are not able to carie the heavie burdien of poure, but forsake them selves and scatter on every side greedie desire, pride, wrath, solemnesse and such tirannicall facions as they have within them. Whereupon without regard they persecute the good and wise, and promote the wicked. And they can not abide to have frendshippes, assemblies and conferences among Citizens in Cities. But maintein spies, promoters, murtherers and cutthrotes to put men in reare and to make them become feintharted. And they sowe debate and streife to keepe them in division and weake. And of these maners insure infinit damages and the uttre undoinge of the poore people, and often times cruell slaughter or at the least continuall feare to the Tirannes them selves. For good Princis feare not for them selves but for their sakes whom they rule over: and Tyrannes feare verie them whom they rule over. Therfore the more numbre of people they rule over and the mightier they are, the more is their feare and the more ennemies they have. How fearefull (think you) and of what an unquiet mind was Clearus Tirann of Pontus every time he went into the market place, or into the theatre, or to anie banket, or other haunted 

Clearus.

place? For (as it is written) he slept shutt into a chest. Or Aristodemus of Argos? which of his bed had made to him self a prison (or litle better) for in his palaice he had a litle roume hanginge in the aer, and so high that he should clime to it with a ladder, and there slept he with a woman of his, whose mother overnight tooke away the ladder, and in the morning sett it to again. Cleane contrarie to this therfore ought the lief of a good Prince to be, free and safe and as deere to his subjectes as their owne: and so framed, that he may have a parte of both the doinge and beeholdinge lief, asmuche as shall be beehoufful for the benefit of hys people.

Then the L. Gaspar: And whiche of the two lives, my L. Octavian (quoth he) do you thinke most meete for a Prince?

The L. Octavian answered smilinge: Ye thinke perhappes that I stand in mine owne conceite to be the excellent Courtier that ought to knowe so manye matters, and to applye them to the good end I have spoken of. But remembre your selfe, that these Lordes have facioned him with manie qualityes that be not in me: therefore let us firste doe our best to finde him out, for I remytt me to him both in this and in al other thinges that belong to a good Prince.

Then the L. Gaspar: I thinke (quoth he) that if anye of the qualities geven the Courtier want in you, it is rather musike and daunsinge and the rest of smalle accompt, then such as beelong to the instructing of a Prince and to this ende of Courtlines.

The L. Octavian answered: They are not of small accompt all of them that help to purchase a man the favour of a Prince, which is necessarie (as we have said) before the Courtier aventure to teach him vertue, the which (I trowe) I have showed you may be learned, and profiteth asmuch as ignorance hurteth, whereof springe all vices, and speciallye that false leekinge a man hath of him selfe. Therefore (in mine opinion) I have sufficientlye said, and perhappes more then my promise was.

Then the Dutchesse: We shal be so much the more bounde (quoth she) to your gentilnesse, as ye shall satisfye us more then promise. Therfore sticke not to speake your fansye concerninge the L. Gaspars request. And of good fellowshippe showe us beside whatsoever you woulde teache your Prince, if he had neede of instructions: and sett the case that you have throughlye gotten his favour, so as it maye be lawfull for you to tell him francklye what ever commeth in your minde.

The L. Octavian laughed and said: Yf I had the favour of some Prince that I knowe, and shoulde tell him franckly mine opinion (I doubt me) I shoulde soone lose it: beeside that, to teach hym, I should neede firste to learne my selfe. Notwithstandinge sins it is youre pleasure that I shall answere the L. Gaspar in this also, that (in my minde) 

Vita contemplativa.

Princis ought to give them selves both to the one and the other of the two lyves, but yet somewhat more to the beehouldinge: bicause this in them is divided into two partes, whereof the one consisteth in knoweynge well and judgeing: the other in commaundinge aryght, and in suche wyse as it shoulde be done, and reasonable matters and suche as they have authoritye in, commaunding them to hym, that of reason ought to obeye, and in time and place accordingely. And of thys spake Duke Friderick, whan he said, He that can commaunde, is alwayes obeyed. And to commaunde is evermore the principall office of Princis, which notwithstandinge ought manye times also to see with their eyes and to be present at the deede doynge, and accordinge to the time and the busenesse otherwhile also be doynge them selves, and yet hath all thys a part wyth action or practise. But the ende of the actyve or doinge lief ought to be the beehouldinge, as of warr, peace, and of peynes, rest. 

Vita activa. How to trade people.

Therfore is it also the office of a good Prince so to trade his people and with such lawes and statutes, that they maye lyve in rest and in peace, without daunger and with encrease of welth, and injoye praisablye this ende of their practises and actions, which ought to be quietnesse. Bicause there have bine often times manye Commune weales and Princis, that in warr were alwayes most florishinge and mightie, and immediatlye after they have had peace, fell indecaye and lost their puissance and brightnesse, like yron unoccupied. And this came of nothing elles, but bicause they had no good trade of lyving in peace, nor the knowleage to injoie the benefit of ease. And it is not a matter lawfull to be alwayes in warr without seekinge at the ende to come to a peace: although some Princis suppose that their drift ought principally to be, to bringe in subjection their borderers, and therfore traine up their people in a warlyke wyldenesse of spoyle, and murther, and suche matters: they wage them to exercise it, and call it vertue. Wherupon in the olde tyme it was an usage emonge the Scythes, that whoso hadde not slayne some ennemie of his, could not drinke in solemne banckettes of the gobblet that was caried about to his companions. in 

A custome among the Scythes. Greate high square stones smaller and smaller unto the top. Why Princis should make their people warlike. The ende of lawes.

other places the maner was to reare about ones sepulture so manye Obeliskes, as he that laye there buryed had slain of his ennemies. And all these thinges and many mo, were invented to make men warlike, onlye to bring others in subjection, which was a matter (almost) unpossible, bicause it is an infinite peece of woorke, untill all the worlde be brought under obeysance: and not very reasonable, accordinge to the lawe of nature which will not have, that in others the thinge should please us, whiche in our selves is a greefe to us. Therfore ought Princis to make their people warlyke, not for a greedie desire to rule, but to defende themselves the better and their owne people, from whoso woulde attempt to bringe them in bondage, or to do them wrong in any point. Or els to drive out Tirans, and to govern the people well, that were yll handled. Or elles to bringe into bondage them, that of nature were suche, that they deserved to be made bondmen, with entent to govern them well, and to give them ease, rest and peace. And to this ende also ought to be applied the lawes, and al statutes of justice, in punishing the yll, not for malice, but bicause there should be no yll, and least they shoulde be a hinderaunce to the quiet livinge of the good: because in very deede it is an uncomelye matter and woorthie blame, that in warr (which of it selfe is nought) men shoulde showe themselves stout and wise, and in peace and rest (which is good) ignoraunt, and so blockishe that they wiste not howe to injoye a benefit. Even as therfore in warr they ought to bende their people to the profitable and necessarye vertues to come by that ende (which is, peace) so in peace, to come by the end therof also (which is, quietnes) they ought to bend them to honest vertues, which be the end of the profitable. And in this wise shal the sujectes be good, and the Prince shall have manye mo to commende and to rewarde, then to chastise. And the rule both for the subjectes and for the Prince shall be most happye, not Lordly, as the maister over his bondeman, but softe and meeke, as a good father over his good childe.

Then the L. Gaspar: Gladly (quoth he) woulde I understande what maner vertues these are, that be profitable and necessarye in warr, and what honest in peace.

The L. Octavian answered: All be goode and helpe the 

Manlinesse. Steadfastnesse.

tourne, bicause they tende to a good ende. Yet cheeflye in warr is much set by that true manlines, which maketh the minde voide from all passions, so that he not onlye feareth not perilles, but passeth not upon them. Likewise steadfastnesse, and pacyence, abidinge with a quiet and untroubled minde all the strokes of fortune. It is beehouffull likewise in warr and at all other times to have all the vertues that beelonge to honestye, as justice, staidnesse, sobermoode: but muche more in peace and rest, because often times men in prosperitie and rest, whan favourable fortune fauneth upon them, wexe unrighteous, untemperate, and suffre themselves to be corrupted with pleasures. Therfore suche as be in this state have verie greate neede of these vertues, bicause rest bringeth yll condicyons to soone into mens mindes: wherupon arrose a Proverbe in olde time, that Rest is not to be given to bondmen. And it is thought that the Piramides of AElig;gipt were made to kepe the people occupied, bicause Unto everie manne, use to abide peynes is most 

Rest. Hugious great stones steeplewise.

profitable. There be more over manie other vertues, all helpfull, but it sufficeth for this time to have spoken this muche: for if I could teach my Prince and traine him in this maner and so vertuous a bringinge uppe (as we have sett furth) in doinge it without anye more (I woulde beeleave) that I had sufficientlye well compased the ende of a good Courtier.

Then the L. Gaspar: My L. Octavian (quoth he) bicause you have muche praysed good bringing up, and seemed (in a maner) to beleave that it is the cheef cause to make a man vertuous and good, I would knowe, whether the Courtiers instructing of hys Prince, ought to beegine firste of use and (as it were) daylye facions, that unawares to him may make him to accustome himselfe to weldoinge: or elles whether he ought to beegine it himself in opening unto him with reason the proprety of good and yll, and in makinge him to perceive, beefore he take the matter in hand, which is the good waye and to be folowed and which the yll, and to be shonned: finallye whether into that minde of his, the vertues ought to be driven and grounded with reason and understanding first, or with custome.

The L. Octavian said: You bringe me into overlonge a discourse. yet bicause you shall not thinke that I will slacke for that I am not willing to make answere to your requestes, I saye, that like as the soule and the bodye in us are two thinges, so is the soule divided into two partes: whereof the one hath in it reason, and the other appetite. 

Reason. Appetite.

Even as therefore in generation the body goith beefore the soule, so doeth the unreasonable part of the soule go before the reasonable: the whiche is plainlye to be descerned in yonge babes, who (in a maner) immediatelye after their birthe uttre angre and fervent appetite, but afterwarde in processe of time reason appeereth. Therfore first must the bodye be cherished beefore the soule: after that, the appetite beefore reason: but the cherishinge of the bodye for a respect to the soule, and of the appetite for a respect to reason. For as the vertue of the minde is made perfecte with learninge, so is the civill wyth custome. Therefore ought there to be a grounde made firste wyth custome, whiche maye governe the appetites not yet apt to conceyve reason: and wyth that good use leade them to goodnesse: afterwarde settle them wyth understandynge, the whyche althoughe she be laste to showe her light, yet doeth she the more perfectlye make the vertues to be injouyed of whoso hathe his mynde well instructed wyth maners, wherein (in mine opinion) consisteth the wholl.

The L. Gaspar said: Beefore ye proceade anye farther, I woulde knowe howe the body should be cherished: bicause 

Cherishing of the bodye.

you have saide that we must cherishe it beefore the soule.

The L. Octavian answered smiling: Know of these men that make much of it and are faire and rounde, as for mine (as you see) it is not half well cherished. Yet may there also be much said in this beehalf: as, the time meete for mariage, that children be neither to nigh nor to farr of from the fathers age: exercises, and bringinge up soone after there birth, and in the rest of their lief to make them handsome, towardlie, and livelie.

The L. Gaspar answered: The thing that woulde best please women to make their children handsome and wel-favoured (in my minde) were the felowship that Plato will have of them in his Commune weale, and in that wise.

Then the Lady Emilia smilinge: It is not in the covenaunt (quoth she) that ye shoulde a freshe fall to speake yll of women.

I suppose, answered the L. Gaspar, that I give them a great praise, in sainge that they shoulde desire to have a custome brought up, which is alowed of so woorthye a man.

The L. Cesar Gonzaga said laughing: Let us see whether amonge the L. Octavians lessons (yet I wott not whether he have spoken at all or no) this may take place: and whether it were well done the Prince should establish it for a lawe or no.

The few that I have spoken, answered the L. Octavian, may perhappes be inough to make a good Prince, as Princes go nowadayes. Although if a man would go more narrowly to woorke in the matter, there were muche more for him yet to saye.

Then said the Dutchesse: Sins it costeth us nothinge but woordes, show us of good felowshippe that, that woulde come in youre mind to teach your Prince.

The L. Octavian answered: Manie other matters I woulde teache hym (madam) if I knew them my selfe: and amonge the rest, that he should pike out a certein numbre of Gentilmen emonge his subjectes, of the noblest and wisest, wyth 

A counsell of noble men. A counsell of the commons. Cares in a Prince.

whom he shoulde debate all matters, and give the authority and free leave to uttre their minde francklye unto him without respect: and take suche order wyth them that they maye well perceive, that in everie thinge he woulde knowe the truth and abhorr lyinge. And beeside this Counsell of the nobilitie, I woulde perswade him to chouse out others amonge the people of a baser degree, of whom he shoulde make an honest substanciall Counsell, that shoulde debate with the Counsell of the nobilitye the affaires of the Citye beelonginge to the commune and private astate. And in this wise shoulde be made, of the Prince, as of the head, of the nobilite and communes, as of the membres, one bodie alone knitt together, the governance wherof should cheeflie depende upon the Prince, yet shoulde the rest beare a stroke also in it: and so shoulde this state have the fourme and maner of the three good governmentes, which is, a kingdome, men of the best sorte, and the people. Afterward I woulde showe him, that of cares beelonging to a Prince, the cheefest is of justice: for maintenance wherof wise and well tryed men shoulde be chosen out for officers, whose wisdome were verie wisdome in deede, accompanied with goodnesse, for elles it is no wisdome, but craft. And where there is a want of this goodnesse, alwayes the art and subtill practise of lawyers is nothing elles, but the uttre decay and destruction of the lawes and judgementes: and the fault of very offence of theirs is to be layed in him that put them in office. I would tell him how that of justice also dependeth the zeale toward God, which beelongeth unto all men and especiallye to Princis, who ought to love him above all 

Godly affections.

thinges, and to direct all their doinges unto him, as unto the true ende: and (as Xenophon saith) to honoure and love him alwayes, but much more now in prosspiritie, bicause they may afterwarde lefullye with a more confidence call to him for assistance whan they bee in anye adversitye: for it is not possible to govern either himself or others well, without the help of God, wo unto the good sendeth otherwhile good fortune for his minister, to helpe them out of great daungers, sometime adversitye leaste they shoulde slumber so much in prosperity that they myght happen to forgete him, or the wisdome of man, which manie times redresseth ill fortune, as a good player the ill chaunces of the dice, with counninge play at tables. I woulde not forgete also to put the Prince in minde to be devoute indeede, not superstycious, nor given to the vanitie of nigromancy and prophecies: for in case he have accompanied with the wisdome of manne, a godlye zeale and true religion, he shall also have good lucke, and God his defendour, who will alwayes encrease his prospiritie both in peace and warr. Beeside, I woulde declare unto him how he shoulde love his Countrey and his people, keapinge them not in tomuch bondage, for beeing hated of them wherof arrise sedicions, conspiracies, and a thowsand mischeeves beeside: nor yet in to much 

To love his Country and people. Equalitye. Partialitye.

libertye, lest he be set at nought, wherof proceadeth the licencious and riotus livinge of the people, theft, robberye and murther withoute anye feare of lawes, often tymes the decay and uttre destruction of cities and kingdoms. Moreover how he shoulde love them that be nighest to him from one degree to an other, observinge among them all in certein matters a like equalitie, as in justice and libertye, and in some matters a reasonable partiality as in beeing liberal, in recompensing, in bestowinge promotions and honours according to the unequalnesse of desertes, which ought not alwaies to exceade, but to be exceaded with recompences. And that in thus doing he should not only be beloved, but (in a maner) worshipped of his subjectes, neither should he neede to commit the guarde of his person to straungers for his own (for the better safegard and profit of them selves) would guarde him with their own person: and ech man woulde willinglye obey the lawes, whan they shoulde see him to obey them him self, and bee (as it were) an uncorrupted keaper and minister of them: and so shall he make all men to conceive suche an assured confidence of him, that if he shoulde happen otherwhile to go biyonde them in anye point, everie one woulde know it were done for a good entent: the self same respect and reverence they woulde have to his will, as they have to the lawes. And thus 

To much welth. How to ordre his citizins.

shoulde the Citizens mindes be tempered in suche sort, that the good woulde not seeke for more then is requisit, and the badd shoulde not perishe: bicause manie times abundance of wealth is cause of great destruction, as in poore Italy, which hath bine and still is, a prey and bootie in the teeth of straunge nations, aswell for the ill government, as for the abundaunce of riches that is in it. Therfore the best way were, to have the greater part of the Citizins, neyther verye wealthie, nor verye poore: bicause the over wealthy many times were stiff necked and recklesse, the poore, desperate and pikinge. But the meane sort lye not in waite for others, and live with a quiet minde that none lye in waite for them. And where this meane sort are the greater number, they are withall the mightier. And therfore neyther the poore nor riche can woorke anie conspiracie against the Prince, or against others, nor move sedicion. Wherfore to avoide this evyll, the most surest way is universally to maintein a meane. I would counsell him therfore to use these and many other remedies for the pourpose, that in the minde of the subjectes there springe not a longing after newe matters and alteracion of state, whiche most communly they do, either for gain, or elles for promotion that they hope upon, or for losse, or elles for some toile that they be a ferde of. And these sturres in their mindes be engendred some time of hatred and despite that maketh them desperate for the wronges and unshameful dealing that they receive through the covetisenesse, pride, and crueltye, or unlefull lust of the higher powers: otherwhile of a contempt and litle regard that ariseth in theem through 

Alteracion of state. Extortion of the higher powers. Lacke of wisdome in princis. That the evell wexe not great. Il customes. Goodes of the minde, of the bodye and of fortune.

the negligence and ill handlinge and lack of foresight in Princis. ANd these two faultes must be prevented with purchasing him the love of the people, and authoritye, whiche is done in rewardinge and promotinge the good and in finding wiselie a remedy, and sometime with rigour, that the evil and sedicious wexe not great: the whiche thinge is easier to be stopped beefore they come to it, then to plucke theym downe againe after they are once come on loft. And I would saye, to restraine the people from renninge into those inconveniences, there is no better way, then to keepe them from yll custommes, and speciallye suche as be put in use and creepe in unawares by litle and litle, bycause they be secrete infections that corrupte Cities beefore a manne can not onlye remedye them, but spie them out. With suche meanes I woulde counsell the Prince to do his best to preserve his subjectes in quiet astate, and to give them the goddes of the mynde, and of the bodye and of fortune: but them of the bodye and of fortune, that they maye exercise them of the minde, whiche the greater and plentier they be, so much the more profitable be they: that happeneth not in them of the bodye, nor of fortune: in case therefore the subjectes bee good and of worthynesse and well bent to the ende of happynes, that Prince shall be a verye great Lorde: for that is a true and a greate governement, under the whyche the subjectes be good, well ruled and well commaunded.

Then the L. Gaspar: I suppose (quoth he) that he shoulde be but a small Lorde, under whom the subjectes were all good. For in everye place there be fewe good.

The L. Octavian answered: In case some serein Circe shoulde tourne into wilde beastes all the French Kinges subjectes, woulde not you thinke him a smalle Lorde for all he reigned over so manye thousande beastes? And contrarywyse yf onelye the Cattell that scattre abrode feadynge aboute oure Mountaignes here, might become wise menne, and valiaunt Gentilmen, woulde not you thinke that heardmenne that should governe them and have them obedient to them, of heardmen were become great Lordes? you maye see then, that not the multytude of Subjectes, but the woorthynesse of them makes Princis greate.

 

Not the multitude, but the woorthy.

The Dutchesse, the L. Emilia, and all the rest gave verye diligent ear to the L. Octavians talke for a good while together, but after he had here made a litle stop, as though he had made an end of his talk, the L. Cesar Gonzaga saide: Certesse (my L. Octavian) it can not be saide, but your lessons be good and profitable: yet shoulde I beleave that if ye instructed your prince wyth them, ye deserved rather the name of a good Schoolmaister then of a good Courtier: and he of a good governoure rather then of a good prince. Yet my meaninge is not, but that the care of princis shoulde be to have their people well ruled with justice and good usages, notwithstandinge it maye be sufficient for theym (in my minde) to chouse out good ministers to execute these kinde of matters, but the verie office of them is farr higher. Therefore if I thought myself to be the excellent Courtier that these Lordes have facioned, and in my princis favour, without paraventure I woulde never incline him to any vitious matter: but to atteine unto the good ende (you speake of, and the which I confirme ought to be the frute of the Courtiers travailes and doinges) I woulde endevour to put into his head a certein greatnesse, wyth that princelye sumptuousnesse, and readynes of courage, and unconquered prowesse in armes, that shoulde make him beloved and reverenced of all menne, in such wise, that for this in especiall he shoulde be famous and notable to the worlde. I woulde showe him also, that he ought to accompanye with his greatnesse a familiar gentle beehaviour, with a soft and lovelye kindenesse, and good caste to make muche of his subjectes and straungers discreatlye more and lesse accordinge to their desertes, observing alwaies notwithstandinge the majestye meete for his degre, that shoulde not in anye point suffre him to diminish his authoritie through overmuch abaysinge, nor yet purchase him hatred throughe over soure rigorousnesse: that he ought to be full of liberality and sumptuous, and give unto everye manne without stint, for God (as they say) is the tresurer of freharted princis: make gorgious bankettes, feastes, games, people pleasinge showes, kepe a great number of faire horses for profit in war, and for pleasure in peace, Haukes, Houndes, and all other matters that beelong to the contentation of great Princis and the people. As in our dayes we have seene the L. Francis Gonzaga marquesse of Mantua do, which in these thinges seemeth rather kinge of all Italy, then Lorde over one Citie. I would assay also to bring him to make great buildinges, 

Markq. of Mantua. S. Peters church. Belvedere. The great Alexander. Plutar. Athos a hill in Thracia of a wonderfull height.

both for his honour in lief, and to give a memorie of him to his posteritie, as did Duke Friderick in this noble Palaice, and nowe doeth Pope July in the Temple of Saint Peter, and the waye that goith from the Palaice to his house of pleasure Belvedere, and many other buildinges, as also the olde auntient Romanes did, wherof so many remnantes are to be seene about Roome, Naples, Pozzolo, Baie, Civita Veccia, Porto, and also out of Italy, and so manie other places, which be a great witnes of the prowes of those divine courages. So did Alexander the great in like maner, whiche not satisfied with the fame that he got him worthelie for subduing the world with marcial prowesse, built Alexandria in AElig;gipt, Bucephalia in India, and other Cities in other Countries: and entended to bringe the mountaigne Athos into the shape of a man, and in the left hande of him to builde a verie large Citie, and in the right a greate boule into the whiche should gather al the rivers that rann from it, and thens shoulde fall downe towarde the Sea, a pourpose in verie deede princelye and meete for the great Alexander. These thinges (thinke I) my L. Octavian, beecome a noble and a right Prince, and shall make him both in peace and warr most triumphant, and not put him in the heade of such particuler and smalle matters, and have a respect to take weapon in hande onelye to conquer and vanquishe suche as deserve to be conquered, or to profitt his subjectes withall, or to dispossesse them that governe not as they ought. For in case the Romanes, Alexander, Hanniball and the rest had had these respectes they should never have reached to the toppe of the glorye they did.

The L. Octavian answered them smilinge: Such as had not these respectes shoulde have done the better in case had hadd them: althoughe if ye consider well, ye shall finde that manie had them, and especiallye those auntientest of olde time, as Theseus and Hercules. And thinke not 

Tirannes Monstres. Alexander profited the vanquished.

that Procrustes, Scyron, Caccus, Diomedes, Antheus, and Gerion were anye other then cruell and wicked Tirannes againste whom these noble couraged Demigoddes kept continual and mortall war, and therfore, for ridding the world of such intollerable monstres (for Tyrannes ought not to be called by other name) unto Hercules were made Temples, and sacrifices, and godlye honours given him, bicause the benefit to roote up Tiranes is so profitable to the worlde, that who so doeth it, deserveth a farre greater rewarde, then whatsoever is meete for a mortall man. And of them you have named, do you not thinke that Alexander did profit with his victories the vanquished? sins he so traded those barbarous nations whiche he overcame, with such good maners, that of wylde beastes he made them men? He built manye beawtifull Cities in Countreis ill inhabited, plantinge therin civill kinde of living, and (as it were) coopled Asia and Europe together with the bonde of amitie and holy lawes, so that the vanquished by him were more happie then the rest, bicause emong some he brought in matrimonie: emong other, husbandrie: emong other, religion: emonge other, not to sley, but to make muche of their parentes in their olde age: emong other, the refraining from bedding with their mothers, and a thousand other matters, that might be said for a witnesse of that profit which his victories brought to the world. But leaving aside them of olde time, what enterprise were more noble, more glorious, and more profitable then if Christians would bend their force to conquerr the infidelles. WOuld you not thinke that this warr, prosperously acheved, and beeing the cause of so manye a thousande to be brought from the false sect of Mahumet to the light of the Christian truth, it should be a profit aswel to the vanquished, as to the subduers? And undoubtedly, as Themistocles in times past, being banished out of his Countrey, and imbraced of the king of Persia, and much made of, and honoured with infinit and most rich giftes, said unto his traine: Oh sirs we had 

Xerxes. King Francis the first. Kinge Henry the VIII.

bine undone, had we not bine undone, even so might then the Turkes and the Moores speake the very same with good cause, for that in their losse should consist their welfare. This happinesse therfore (I hope) we shall come to the sight of, if God graunt so long lief to Monseigneur d'Angoulesme that he may come to the Crowne of Fraunce, who showeth suche a hope of him selfe, as foure nightes agoe the L. Julian spake of. And to the Crowne of England the L. Henry Prince of Wales, who presentlye groweth under his most noble father, in all kinde of vertue, like a tender ympe under the shadow of an excellent tree and laden with frute, to renue him much more beautiful and plentuous whan time shal come, for as our Castilio writeth from thens, and promiseth at hys retourn to tell us more at the full, a man can judge no lesse, but that nature was willing in this Prince to show her counning, planting in one body alone so many excellent vertues, as were sufficient to decke out infinit.

Then said M. Bernard Bibiena: a very great hope of him self promiseth also the L. Charles Prince of Spaine, who not yet fullye tenn yeeres of age, declareth now such a wit, and so certein tokens of goodnes, wisdome, modesty, noble courage and of every vertue, that if the Empire of 

The Emperour Charles the V. Emulation emonge Kinges.

Christendome (as it is thought) come to his handes, it is to be reckened upon, that he will darken the name of many Emperours of olde time, and in renowme be compared to the most famous that ever were in the worlde.

The L. Octavian proceaded: I beeleave therefore that God hath sent suche an so heavenly Princis upon the earth, and made them one like an other in youth, in mightines of armes, in state, in handsomnes and disposition of person, that they may also be minded alike in this good pourpose: and in case anye maner envye or strife of matching others arrise at any time emong them, it shall be, who shall be the first, and most inclined and most couragious in so glorious an enterprise. But let us leave this kinde of talke, and retourne unto our owne. Unto you therfore (my L. Cesar) I say, that such thinges as you would have the Prince to do, be very great and worthye muche praise. But you must understand that if he be not skilfull in that I have saide he ought to have a knowleage in, and have not framed his minde in that wise, and bent it to the waye of vertue, it shall be harde for him to have the knowleage to be noble couraged, liberall, just, quicke-spirited, wise, or to have any other of those qualities that beelong unto him: neither would I have him to be suche a one for anye other thinge, but to have the understanding to put in use these condicions (for as they that build, be not all good workemen, so they that give, be not all liberall) for vertue never hurteth anye man: and manye there be, that laye hande on other mens gooddes to give, and so are lavish of an other mans substance. 

Liberalitye. Knowleage. Vertue in the middle. Extremities, vices.

Some give to them they ought not, and leave in wretchednesse and miserie such as they be bound to. Other give with a certein yll will and (as it were) with a dispite, so that it is knowen they do it, bicause they can do none other. Other do not onlye kepe it secrete, but they call witnesse of it, and (in a maner) cause their liberalities to be cried. Other foolishlye at a sodeine emptye the fountain of liberalitye, so that afterwarde they can use it no more. Therefore in this point (as in all other matters) he must have a knowleage, and govern him self with the wisdome that is a companion unto all the other vertues whiche for that they are in the midle, be nygh unto the two extremities, that be vices. Wherefore he that hath not knoweleage renneth soone into them. For as it is a harde matter in a circle to find out the pricke in the centre, whiche is the middle, so it is harde to find out the pricke of vertue placed in the middle beetweene two extreme vyces, the one for the overmuch, and the other for the overlittle, and unto these we are inclined sometime to the one, sometime to the other, and this is knowen by the pleasure and greef that is felt within us, for through the one we doe the thinge that we ought not, and through the other we leave undone that, which we ought to do: although pleasure be muche more daungerous, bicause oure judgement is soone lead by it to be corrupted. But bicause the perseverance how farr a man is wide from the centre of vertue, is a hard matter, we ought by litle and litle to drawe backe of our selves to the contrarie part of this extrmytye, whiche we know we be inclined unto, as they do, that make straight crooked staves, for by that meane we shall draw nighe unto vertue, which is placed (as I have said) in that pricke of the meane: wherby it commeth that by manye wayes we be wide, and by one alone we do oure office and dutye: like as Archers by one waye alone hitte the marke, and by manye mysse the pricke. Therefore oftentimes a Prince to be gentle and lowelye, doeth manye thinges contrarie to comelinesse, and so humbleth him selfe that he is nought sett by. Some other to show a grave majestye with authoritye according, beecommeth cruell and untollerable. Some one, to be counted eloquente, entreth into a thowsande straunge matters and longe processes with curious woordes giving ear to hym selfe, so that other men can not for lothsomenesse heare him. Therfore (my L. Cesar) do you not call a smalle matter anye thing that maye better a Prince how small so ever it be. Nor thinke that I judge it to be in the reproofe of my lessons where you say, that a good Governour were 

A good Prince a good governour. Mistrustinge. The Prince towarde his subjectes.

rather instructed therewithall, then a good Prince: for perhappes there can not be a greater praise nor more comlye for a Prince, then to call him a good Governour. Therfore if it shoulde fall to my lott to instruct him, he should have a care not only to govern the matters already spoken of, but also farre lesser, and understande in peecemeale whatsoever belongeth to his people, asmuch as were possible: and never credite nor trust any officer so muche, as to give him the bridle wholy into his handes, and the disposinge of the wholl government. For no man is most apt to all thinges. And much more hurt commeth of the light beeleaf of Princis, then of mistrusting, whiche otherwhile doeth not onlye not hurt, but oftentimes profiteth exceadingly. Yet in this point a good judgement is verye necessarye in a Prince to descern who deserveth to be put in trust, and who not. I woulde he shoulde have a care to understande the doinges and to be an overseear of his officers ministers. To breake and to ende controversies emonge his subjectes. To take up matters beetweene them and to knitte them together in alliance by marriage. To provide so, that the Citye may be all joyned together and agreeinge in amitye, lyke a private house, well peopled, not poore, quiet, and full of good artificers. To show favour to 

Citye. Marchaunt men. Houskeepinge Superfluous thinges.. Excesse of women. Good Princes verye scant.

marchaunt men and to helpe them also with stokkes. To be liberall and honourable in housekeepinge towarde straungers and religious persons. To tempre all superfluous matters, bicause throughe the offences committed in these thinges, albeit they appeere but small, cities manye times fall in decay: therefore it is reason that the prince set a stint to the oversumptuous buildinges of private men, bancquettinges, unmesurable doweries of women, their riotous excesse, their pompe in jeweles and apparaile, whiche is nothinge elles but a token of their foly: for (beeside that throughe ambicion and malice that one of the beareth an other, they many times lavish out their livelode and husbandes substance, otherwhile for some pretye jewell or other matter of fansye) sometime they sell their honestie to him that will buye it.

Then said M. Bernarde Bibiena smilinge: You beegine (my L. Octavian) to to take my L. Gaspars and Phrisios part.

Then the L. Octavian answered in like maner smilyng: The controversye is ended and I entende not nowe to renue it. Therefore wil I speake no more of women, but retourn to my prince.

Phrisio answered: You may now leave him hardely, and be contented to have him suche a one as you have instructed him. For doubtles it wer an easier matter to find out a woman of the qualities the L. Julian hath spoken of, then a prince of the qualities that you would have in him. Therfore (I feare me) he is like the Commune weale of Plato, and we shall never see suche a one, onlesse it bee perhappes in heaven.

The L. Octavian answered: Thinges possible, though they be hard, yet is it to be hoped that they maye be: therefore maye we yet parhappes see him upon the earth in oure time. For althoughe the heavens be so scante in bringinge furth excellent Princis, that in so manye hundreth yeeres we do scantlye see one, yet may this good lucke happen to us.

Then said Count Lewis: I have a good hope of it. For beeside the three great ones that we have named, of whom may be hoped it, that beelongeth to the high degree of a perfect Prince, there be also nowadayes in Italy certein Princes children, which although they be not like to have such power, may happe will supply it with vertue: and he that emonge them all declareth a more towardenesse and promiseth of him selfe a greater hope then anye of the reste (me think) is the L. Fridereick Gonzaga, sonn and heyr so the marquesse of Mantua, and nephewe to oure Dutchesse 

L. Fridericke Gonzaga Duke of Mantua.

here. For beeside the honest inclination to good nourtour and the discreation that he declareth in these tendre yeeres, they that have the bringing upp of him, reporte suche wonderous thinges as touchinge his beeing wittye, desirous of glory, stouthearted, courteious, freeharted, frindlye to justice, so that of so good a beeginning, there can not be loked for but a verye good ende.

Then Phrisio: Well, no more of this (quoth he) we will pray unto God that we may se this your hope fulfilled.

Here the L. Octavian tourning him toward the dutches, after a sort as though he had ended as much as he had to saye: You have now heard, madam (quoth he) what I am able to say of the ende of the Courtier, wherin though I have not satisfied in all pointes, it shall suffice me yet, that I have showed, that some other perfection may be given him beside the matters whych these Lordes have spoken of, who (I beleave) have lefte out both this and what so ever I am able to saye, not bycause they knew it not better then I, but bicause they were loth to take the peynes: therefore will I give them leave to go forward, if they have anye thinge elles lefte beehinde to be saide.

Then said the Dutchess: Beeside that it is late (for within a while it will be time for us to make an ende for this night) me thinke, we ought not to mingle anye other talke with this wherin you have gathered together suche sundrye and goodlye matters, that concerninge the ende of Courtlinesse, it may be said, that you are not onlie the perfect Courtier whom we seke for, and able to instruct your Prince well, but also (if fortune be so favourable on your side) ye maye be the good Prince your self, whiche shoulde not be withoute great profit to your Countrey.

The laughed the L. Octavian and said: Perhappes (madam) were I in that astate, it woulde be with me as it is with maye others that can better saye well, then do well.

Here after a little debatinge of the matter to and fro emonge the company, with certein contentions tending to the commendacion of that that had bine spoken, and agreeinge on all handes not yet to be bed time, the L. Julian saide smilinge: Madam, I am so verie an ennemye to crafte and guile, that needes must I speake against the L. Octavian: who for that he is (as I muche doubt him) a secrete conspiratour with the L. Gaspar againste women, hath overshott himselfe in committing of two errours (in mine opinion) very great: wherof the one is, that meaninge to preferr this Courtier beefore the Gentilwoman of the Palaice, and to make him to passe those boundes that she is not able to reache to, he hath also preferred him beefore the Prince, whiche is most unseemlye. The other, that he hath given him suche an ende, that it is evermore harde and otherwhile unpossible for him to comebye it: and yet whan he doeth come by it, he ought not to have the name of a Courtier.

I can not see, quoth the L. Emilia, howe it is harde or unpossible for the Courtier to come bye this his ende, nor yet howe the L. Octavian hath prefarred him beefore the Prince.

Graunt it him not, answered the L. Octavian: for I have not preferred the Courtier beefore the Prince. And as touchinge the ende of Courtlinesse, I dare undertake that I am not overseene in any point.

Then answered the L. Julian: You can not say (my L. Octavian) that alwaies the cause, by which the effect is such as it is, is no more suche as the effect is. Therfore needes must the Courtier, by whose instruction the price must be of such an excellencye, be more excellente then the prince: and in this wise shall he be also of a more woorthinesse then the prince himselfe, which is most unsittinge. Then concerninge the ende of Courtlinesse, that which you have spoken may folowe whan there is litle betwene the age of the prince and the Courtiers: yet verye hardlye, for where there is smalle difference of age, it is likelye there is also smalle difference of knowleage. But in case the prince be olde and the Courtier yong: it is meete that the olde prince knowe more then the yonge Courtier, and where this foloweth not alwaies, it foloweth somtime, and then is the ende which you have appointed to the Courtier unpossible. In case againe the prince be yonge and the Courtier aged, muche a doe shall the COurtier have to wynne him the good will of the prince with those qualities that you have given him. For (to saye the truth) feates of armes and the other exercises beelonge unto yonge menne and be not comelye in age: and musike, daunsinge, feastinges, sportinges, and love, be matters to be laughed at in olde menne, and (me thinke) to an instructor of the lief and maners of a prince, who ought to be a grave person and of authoritie, ripe in yeeres and experience and (if it were possible) a good Philosopher, a good Capitain and to have the knowleage almost of every thinge, they are most unseemly. Wherfore he that instructeth a Prince (I beleve) ought not to be called a Courtier, but deserveth a far greater and a more honourable name. Therfore (my L. Octavian) perdon me in case I have opened this your craftye conveiance, which I thinke my self bounde to do for the honour of my woman, whom you would have to be of lesse worthines then this Courtier of yours, and I wil none of that.

The L. Octavian laughed and saide: A more praise it were for the Gentilwoman of the Palaice (my L. Julian) to exalt her so muche that she maye be equall with the Courtier, then so much to debase the Courtier that he shoulde be equall with the Gentilwoman of the Palaice: for it were not unfitt for the woman also to instruct her ladye, and with her to drawe to the same ende of Courtlinesse, whiche I have said is meete for the Courtier with his prince. 

This ende of the Courtyer serveth also for a Gentil woman with her Lady.

But you seeke more to dispraise the Courtier, then to praise the Gentilwoman of the Palaice, therfore shall it become me also to take part with the Courtier. Now to make you answere to youre objections, you shall understande that I have not saide, that the instruction of the Courtier ought to be the onelye cause why the Prynce shoulde be such a one, for in case he be not inclined of nature and apt to be suche a one, all diligence and exhortacion of the Courtier were in vaine. As in like maner every good husband man should labour in vaine, that would take in hande to tyll and sowe with good graine the barraine sande of the Sea, bicause this barrainnesse in that place is naturall. But whan to the good seede in a frutefull soile with the temperatnesse of aer and rayne meete for the season of the yeere, ther is also applied the diligence of mans husbandinge the grounde, alwaies great abundance of corne is seene to springe plentuouslye: yet for all this, it is not to be saide, that the husbande man alone is the cause of it, although without him all the other thinges do litle or nothinge helpe the pourpose. There be therfore manie Princis, that would be good, in case their myndes were well tylled, and of theym speake I, not of suche as be like the barraine Countrey, and of nature so farr wide from good condicions that no teaching were able to frame their minde to a right trade. And forsomuch as (as we have already said) such custommes 

Virtus in actione. The ende of the Courtier harde.

and properties be ingendred in us, as oure doinges are, and vertue consisteth in doing and practise, it is not unpossible nor any marveile, that the Courtier should traine his Prince in many vertues, as justice, liberality, noble courage, the practisinge wherof he, through his greatnesse, maye lightlye put in use and make it custome, whiche the Courtier can not do, bicause he hath no meanes to practise theym, and thus the Prince inclined to vertue by the Courtyer, may beecome more vertuous then the Courtier: beesyde that, you muste conceyve that the whettstone which cutteth not a whitt, doeth yet make a toole sharpe: therfore althoughe the Courtier instructeth his Prince, yet (me thinke) it is not to be said that he is of a more woorthynes then his Prince. That the ende of this Courtier is harde and somtime unpossible, and that whan the Courtier doeth come bye it, he ought not to be named a Courtier, but deserveth a greater name, I tell you plainlye, that I denye not this hardnesse, bicause it is no lesse harde to find out so excellent a point that you have alleaged. For in case the Courtier be so yong that he hath not understanding in the thinge, which he ought to have a knowleage in, it is not to the pourpose to speake of him, bicause he is not the Courtier that we entreate upon, neyther is it possible for him that must have a sight in so many thinges to be very yonge. And if it happen moreover the Prince to be so wise and good of him selfe, that he needeth no exhortations or counsell of others (although it be so harde a matter as everye man knoweth) it sufficeth that the Courtier be such a one, as if his Prince had neede, he coulde make him vertuous: and then may he in effect fulfill the other part, not to suffre him to be deceived, and to worke that evermore he may understande the truth of everye thinge, and bolster him against flatterers and raylers, and all suche as shoulde endevour to corrupt his minde with unhonest delites. And in this wise shall he comebye a part of his ende though he can not practise the wholl, which can not be justlye layde to him for a fault, sins he refrayneth the doinge of it upon so good a ground. For were an excellent Phisitien in place where al were sound and in helth, a man ought not therefore to saye, that the Phisitien (althoughe he cured no diseased) wanted of his end. Wherefore as the Phisitiens respect ought to be the 

The Courtiers respect, the vertue of his Prince. Olde Courtiers.

helthe of men, even so the Courtiers, the vertue of his Prince: and it sufficeth them both to have this end inwardlye grafte in them, whan the want of uttringe it outwardelye in practise, is occasioned by the subjecte, to the whiche thys ende is directed. But in case the Courtier were so olde, that it became him not to be doing in musike, feastinges, sportinges, marcialfeates, and the other slightes of the bodye, yet can it not be saide not wythstandinge, that it were unpossible for him to entre that way in favour with his Prince: for where his age taketh awaye the practisinge of those thinges, it taketh not away the understandinge of them, and if he have practised them in his youth, it maketh him to have so muche the more perfect judgement in them, and giveth a knoweleage to teach theim his Prince so muche the more perfectlye, as yeares and experience bringe knowleage of all thinges with them. And thus shal the aged Courtier, although he exercise not the qualities that he is indowed withal, comebye his ende at length, to instructe well hys Prince. And in case you will not call him a Courtier, it shall nothing offende me, for nature hath not appointed suche narrowe boundes to the dignities of men, that one maye not come up from one to an other: therfore many times meane souldiers arrise to be Capitaines: private men, kinges: priestes, Popes: and scolers, maisters: and so with there degree or dignitie they take their name accordinglye. Wherfore perhappes a man may say that to beecome the Instructer of a Prince were the ende of a Courtier, althoughe I perceive not who should refuse this name of a Perfect Courtier, whiche (in my minde) is woorthie verye great praise. And I can not see but Homer, as he 

Instructer of a Prince. Achilles. Ulisses. Phoenix. Aristotell and Plato were Courtiers. Both the Dionysses. The office of a good Courtier. Aristotel wayed the nature of Alexander. Stagira destroyed by Philip Alexanders father.

facioned two most excellent personages for example of mans lief, the one in practises (whiche was Achilles) the other in passions and sufferances (which was Ulisses): even so in like maner he minded to facion a perfect Courtier (whiche was Phoenix) who after rehersall of his loves and manye other matters of youth, declareth that he was sent to Achilles by his father Peleus, to be in his companye and to teache him to speake and to do: whiche is nothinge elles but the ende that we have appointed for oure Courtier. Neyther can I thinke that Aristotel and PLato tooke scorne of the name of a perfect Courtier, bicause it is plainlye to be seene that they practised the deedes of Courtiershippe and gave them selves to this ende, the one with the greate Alexander, the other with the kinges of Sicilia. And bicause it is the office of a good Courtier to knowe the nature and inclination of his Prince, and so accordynge to the busynesse and as occasion serveth with slightnesse to entre in favour with him (as we have saide) by those wayes that make him a sure entry, and afterward bend him to vertue, Aristotel so well knew the nature of Alexander, and with slightnesse framed him selfe so well thereafter, that he was beloved and honoured of him more then a father. Wherfore emong many other tokens that Alexander showed him, for a witnesse of his good will, he caused Stagira the citye where he was borne once destroied, to be builded new again. And Aristotel, beeside the directinge him to that glorious end, that was to make the worlde onelye a generall countrey, and all men, as one people, that shoulde live in amitye and agreement together, under one goverment and one lawe, that (like the sonn) should generally geve light to all, he instructed hym in the naturall sciences and in the vertues of the minde full and wholy, that he made him most wise, most manlie, moste continent, and a true morall Philosopher, not in woordes onelye, but in deedes. For there can not be imagined a more noble Philosophy, then to bringe to a civill trade of living such wild people as were the inhabitauntes of Bactria and Caucasus, India and Scithia, and to teache them matrimonie, husbandrye, to honour their fathers, to abstaine from robbing and killinge and from other noughty condicions, and to builde so many noble Cities in straunge Countries, so that infinit throughe those lawes were brought from a wilde lief to live lyke men. And of these thinges in Alexander the Author was Aristotel in practisinge the wayes of a good Courtier. The which Calisthenes coulde not do, for all Aristotel showed him the way of it, who bicause he was a right philosopher and so sharpe a minister of the bare truth without mynglinge it with Courtlinesse, he lost his lief and profited not, but rather 

He rebuked Alexander for beeinge woorshipped as a god, and therfore died upon the rack. Q. Curt. lib. 8. The Courtier ought not to serve the wicked.

gave a sclaunder to Alexander. With the very same way of Courtlinesse Plato framed Dion the Syracusan. But when he mett afterwarde with Dionysius the Tyrann, like a booke all full of faultes and errours, and rather needful to be cleane blotted out, then altered or corrected, bicause it was not possible to scrape out of him that blott of tiranny wherwithall he was stained so long together, he would not practise therein the wayes of Courtiership, for he thought they shoulde be all in vaine: the whiche our Courtier ought to do also, if his chaunce be to serve a Prince of so ill a nature, that by longe custome is growen in use with vices, as they that have the consumption of the lunges with their desease. For in this case he ought to forsake his service, least he beare the blame of his Lordes yll practises, or feele the hartgreefe that all good men have which serve the wicked.

Here whan the L. Octavian had made a staye, the L. Gaspar sayde: I had not thought oure Courtier hadd bene so woorthy a personage. But sins Aristotel and PLato be his mates, I judge no man ought to disdeigne this name anye more. Yet wott I not whether I may beleave that Aristotel and Plato ever daunsed or were musitiens in all their lief time, or practised other feates of chivalrye.

The L. Octavian answered: Almost it is not lawfull to thinke that these two divine wittes were not skilfull in everye thinge, and therfore it is to be presupposed that they practised what ever beelongeth to Courtlynesse. For where it commeth to pourpose they so penn the matter, that the very craftes maisters them selves know by theyr writinges that they understoode the whol even to the pith and innermost rootes. Wherefore to a Courtier or instructer of a Prince (howe ever ye lust to terme him) that tendeth to the good ende, which we have spoken of, it is not to be said but that all the good qualities which these Lordes have given him do beelonge, though he were never so grave a Philosopher or holie in his maners: bicause they strive not against goodnesse, discreation, knoweleage and will, in all age, and in all time and place.

Then the L. Gaspar: I remembre (quoth he) that these Lordes yesternight reasoninge of the Courtiers qualities, 

The Courtier a lover.

did alowe him to be a lover, and in makinge rehersall of asmuche as hitherto hath bene spoken, a manne maye pike out a conclusion, That the Courtier (whiche with his worthynesse and credit must incline his Prince to vertue) must in maner of necessite be aged, for knoweleage commeth very syldome times beefore yeeres, and speciallye in matters that bee learned wyth experyence: I can not see, whan hee is well drawen in yeeres, howe it wyll stande well wyth hym to be a lover, considerynge (as it hath bine said the other night) Love frameth not with olde men, and the trickes that in yonge men be galauntnesse, courtesie and precisenesse so acceptable to women, in them are meere folies and fondnesse to be laughed at, and purchase him that useth them hatred of women and mockes of others. Therfore in case this your Aristotel an old Courtier were a lover, and practised the feates that yong lovers do) as some that we have sene in our daies) I feare me, he woulde forgete to teach his Prince: and paraventure boyes would mocke him behinde his backe, and women would have none other delite in him but to make him a jestinge stocke.

Then said the L. Octavian: SIns all the other qualities appointed to the Courtier are meete for him, althoughe he be olde, me thinke we shoulde not then barr him from this happinesse to love.

Nay rather, quoth the L. GAspar, to take this love from him, is a perfection over and above, and a makynge him to lyve happilie out of miserie and wretchednesse.

M. Peter Bembo said: Remember you not (my L. Gaspar) that the L. Octavian declared the other nighte in his divise of pastymes, although he be not skilfull in love, to knowe yet that there be some lovers, which recken the disdeignes, the angres, the debates and tourmentes whiche they receive of their Ladies, sweete? Wherupon he required to be taught the cause of this sweetenesse. Therefore in case oure Courtier (thoughe he be olde) were kendled with those loves that be sweete without any bitter smacke, he should feele no miserie nor wretchednesse at all. And beeing wise, as we set case he is, he shoulde not be deceived in thinkinge to be meete for him what so ever were meete for yonge men, but in lovinge shoulde perhappes love after a sorte, that might not only not bringe him in sclaunder but to muche praise and great happinesse, without any lothsomnes at all, the which verie sildome or (in maner) never happeneth to yonge men: and so should he neyther lay aside the teachinge of his Prince, nor yet commit any thinge that should deserve the mockinge of boyes.

Then spake the Dutchesse: I am glad (M. Peter) that you have not bine muche troubled, in oure reasoninges this night, for now we maye be the boulder to give you in charge to speake, and to teache the Courtier this so happie a love, which bringeth with it neither sclaunder, nor any inconvenience: for perhappes it shall be one of the necessariest and profitablest qualities that hitherto hath bine given him, theerfore speake of good felowship asmuch as you know therin.

M. Peter laughed and saide: I would be loth (Madam) where I say that it is lefull for olde men to love, it should be an occasion for these Ladyes to thinke me olde: therefore hardely give ye this enterprise to an other.

The Dutchesse answered: You ought not to refuse to be counted olde in knowleage, thoughe ye be yonge in yeeres. Therfore saye on, and excuse your selfe no more.

M. Peter said: Surelye (madam) if I must entreate upon this matter, I must first go aske counsell of my Heremite Lavinello.

The L. Emilia said then halfe in angre: There is never a one in al the company so disobedient as you be (M. Peter) therfore shoulde the Dutchesse doe well to chastice you somewhat for it.

M. Peter said smilinge: For love of God (madam) be not angrye with me, for I will say what ever you will have me.

Goo to, saye on then, answered the L. Emilia.

Then M. Peter after a whiles silence, somewhat settlinge hymselfe as thoughe he shoulde entreat uppon a waightie 

Olde men may love without sclaunder. What love is. Knowleage. Coveting. Sense.

matter, said thus: My Lordes, to showe that olde menne maye love not onlie without sclaunder, but otherwhile more happilye then yonge men, I must be enforced to make a litle discourse to declare what love is, and wherein consisteth the happinesse that lovers maye have. Therefore I beseche ye give the hearynge wyth heedefulnesse, for I hope to make you understand, that it were not unsitting for anye man here to be a lover, in case he were xv. or xx. yeeres elder then M. Morello.

And here after they had laughed a while, M. Peter proceaded: I saye therefore that accordinge as it is defined of the wise menn of olde time, Love is nothinge elles but a certein covetinge to enjoy beawtie: and forsomuch as covetinge longeth for nothinge, but for thinges knowen, it is requisite that knowleage go evermore before coveting, which of his owne nature willeth the good, but of him self is blind, and knoweth it not. Therfore hath nature so ordeined, that to every vertue of knowleag ther is annexed a vertue of longing. And bicause in oure soule there be three maner wayes to know, namelye, by sense, reason, and understandinge: of sense, there arriseth appetite or longinge, which is commune to us with brute beastes: of reason arriseth election or choise, which is proper to man: of understanding, by the which man may be partner with Aungelles, ariseth will. Even as therfore the sense knoweth not but sensible matters and that which may be felt, so the appetyte, or covetinge onlye desireth the same: 

Reason. Understandinge. Beawtie. The face.

and even as the understanding is bent but to beehoulde thinges that may be understoode, so is that wil only fead with spirituall gooddes. Man of nature indowed with reason, placed (as it were) in the middle beetwene these two extremities, may through his choise inclinynge to sense, or reachynge to understandynge, come nigh to the covetinge sometime of the one sometime of the other part. In these sortes therfore may beawtie be coveted, the general name wherof may be applied to al thinges, eyther naturall or artificiall, that are framed in good proportion, and due tempre, as their nature beareth. But speakynge of the beawtie that we meane, which is onlie it, that appeereth in bodies, and especially in the face of mann, and moveth thys fervent covetinge which we call Love, we will terme it an influence of the heavenlie bountifulness, the whiche for all it stretcheth over all thynges that be created (like the light of the Sonn) yet whan it findeth out a face well proportioned, and framed with a certein livelie agreement of severall colours, and set furth with lightes and shadowes, and with an orderly distaunce and limites of lines, therinto it distilleth it self and appeereth most welfavoured, and decketh out and lyghtneth the subject where it shyneth wyth a marveylous grace and glistringe (like the Sonne beames that strike against beawtifull plate of fine golde wrought and sett wyth precyous jewelles) so that it draweth unto it mens eyes with pleasure, and percing through them imprinteth him selfe in the soule, and wyth an unwonted sweetenesse all to stirreth her and delyteth, and settynge her on fire maketh her to covett him. Whan the soule then is taken wyth covetynge to enjoye thys beawtie as a good thynge, in case she suffre her selfe to be guyded with the judgement of sense, she falleth into most deepe erroures, and judgeth the bodie in whyche Beawtye is descerned, to be the principall cause therof: wherupon to enjoye it, she reckeneth it necessarye to joigne as inwardlye as she can wyth that bodye, whyche is false: and therefore who so thinketh in possessynge the 

In possessing the body beawtie is not enjoied. They that love sensuallye.

bodye to injoye beawtie, he is farr deceived, and is moved to it, no wyth true knowleage by the choise of reason, but wyth false opinyon by the longinge of sense. Wherupon the pleasure that foloweth it, is also false and of necessytye full of erroures. And therefore into one of the two vyces renn all those lovers that satisfye theyr unhonest lustes with the women whom they love: for eyther assone as they be come to the coveted ende, they not onely feele a fulnesse and lothesomnesse, but also conceyve a hatred against the wyght beloved, as thoughe longinge repented hym of hys offence and acknowleaged the deceite wrought hym by the false judgement of sense, that made hym beleave the yll to be good: or elles they contynue in the verye same covetynge and greedynesse, as thoughe they were not in deede come to the ende, whyche they sought for. And albeit throughe the blynde opynyon that hath made them dronken (to their seeminge) in that instante they feele a contentation, as the deseased otherwhile, that dreame they drinke of some cleare spring, yet be they not satisfied, nor leave of so. And bicause of possessing coveted goodnes there arriseth alwayes quietnesse and satisfaction in the possessors minde, in case this were the true and righte end of there covetinge, whan they possesse it they would be at quietnesse and throughlye satisfied, whiche they be not: but rather deceyved through that likenesse, they furthwith retourn again to unbridled covetinge, and with the very same trouble, which they felt at the first, they fall again into the raginge and most burninge thirst of the thinge, that they hope in vaine to possesse perfectlye. These kind of lovers therfore love most unluckely, for eyther they never comebye their covetinges, whiche is a great unluckinesse: or elles if the do comebye them, they finde the comebye their hurt, ande ende their myseryes with other greater miseries, for both in the 

Properties of lovers.

beginninge and middle of this love, there is never other thinge felt, but afflictions, tourmentes, greeffes, pining, travaile, so that to be wann, vexed with continuall teares, and sighes, to lyve with a discontented minde, to be alwaies dumbe, or to lament, to covet death, in conclusion to be most unlucky are the propreties which (they saye) beelonge to lovers. The cause therfore of this wretchednesse in mens mindes, is principally sense, whiche in youthfull age bereth moste swey, bicause the lustinesse of the fleshe and of the bloode, in that season addeth unto him even so much force, as it withdraweth from reason: therfore doeth it easelye traine the soule to folowe appetite or longinge, for when she seeth her selfe drowned in the earthly prison, bicause she is sett in the office to govern the body, she can not of her self understand plainly at the first the truth of spirituall behouldinge. Wherfore to compasse the understanding of thinges, she must go begg the beginning at the senses, and therfore she beleaveth them, and giveth ear to them, and is contented to be lead by them, especiallye whan they have so much courage, that (in a maner) they enforce her and bicause they be deceitfull they fyll her with errours and false opinions. Wherupon most communlye it happeneth, that yonge men be wrapped in this sensual love, which is a very rebell against reason, and therfore thei make them selves unwoorthy to enjoy the favoures and benifites, which love bestoweth upon his true subjectes, neither in love feele they any other pleasure, then what beastes without reason do, but much more grevous afflictions. Setting the case therfore this to be so, which is most true, I say, that the contrary chaunseth to them of a more ripe age. For in case they, whan the soule is not nowe so much wayed downe with the bodyly burdein, and whan the naturall burning asswageth and draweth to a warmeth, if thei be inflamed with beawty, and to it bend their coveting guided by reasonable choise, they be not deceived, and posses beawtye 

Beawtie.

perfectly, and therefor through the possessing of it, alwaies goodnes ensueth to them: bicause beauty is good and consequently the true love of it is most good and holy, and evermore bringeth furth good frutes in the soules of them, that with the bridle of reason restraine the yll disposition of sense, the which old men can much sooner do then yong. Yt is not therfore out of reason to say, that olde men may also love without sclaunder and more happily, then yong men: taking notwithstanding this name Olde, not for the age at the pittes brinke, nor when the canelles of the body be so feble, that the soule can not through them worke her feates, but when knowleage in us is in his right strength. And I wil not also hide this from you: namely, that I suppose, where sensuall love in every age is naught, yet in yonge men it deserveth excuse, and perhappes in some case lefull: for although it putteth them in afflictions, daungeres, travailes, and the unfortunatenes that is said, yet are there many that to winne them the good will of their Ladies practise vertuous thinges, which for all they be not bent to a good end, yet are they good of them selves, and so of that much bitternesse they pike out a litle sweetnesse, and through the adversities which they susteine, in the ende they acknowleage their errour. As I judge therfore those yong men that bridle their appetites, and love with reason, to be godlye: so do I houlde excused suche as yelde to sensuall love, wherunto they be so inclined through the weakenesse and frailtie of man: so they showe therin meekenesse, courtesie, and prowesse, and the other worthie condicions that these Lordes have spoken of, and whan those youthfull yeeres be gone and past, leave it of cleane, keapinge alouf from this sensuall covetinge as from the lowermost steppe of the stayers, by the whiche a man may ascende to true love. But in case after they drawe in yeeres once they reserve in their colde hart the fire of appetites, and brynge stoute reason in subjection to feeble sense, it can not bee said how much they are to be blamed: for lyke men without sense they deserve with an everlasting shame to be put in the numbre of unreasonable living creatures, bicause the thoughtes and wayes of sensuall love be farr unsittinge for ripe age.

Here Bembo paused a while as though he woulde brethe him, and whan all thinges were whist M. Morello of Ortona saide: And in case there were some olde man more freshe and lustye and of a better complexion then manye yonge men, whie woulde you not have it lefull for him to love with the love that yonge men love?

The Dutchesse laughed and said: Yf the love of yong men be so unluckye, why would you (M. Morello) that old men should also love with this unluckinesse? But in case you were old (as these men say you be) you woulde not thus procure the hurt of olde men.

M. Morello answered: The hurt of olde men (me seemeth) M. Peter Bembo procureth, who will have them to love after a sort, that I for my part understande not: and (me think) the possessing of this beawtye, whiche he prayseth so muche, without the body, is a dreame.

Do you beeleave M. Morello, quoth then Count Lewis, that beauty is alwaies so good a thing as M. Peter Bembo speaketh of?

Not I in good sooth, answered M. Morello: but I remembre rather that I have seene manie beautifull women of a mostly yll inclination, cruell, and spitefull, and it seemeth that (in a maner) it happeneth alwaies so, for beawtie maketh them proude: and pride, cruell.

Count Lewis saide smilinge: To you perhappes they seeme cruell, bicause they content you not with it, that you would have. But cause M. Peter Bembo to teach you in what sort old men ought to covet beawtye and what to seeke at their Ladies handes, and what to content them selves withall: and in not passinge out of these boundes, ye shal se that they shal be neither proud nor cruell: and wil satisfy you with what you shal require.

M. Morello seemed then somwhat out of pacience, and said: I will not knowe the thinge that toucheth me not. But cause you to be taught how the yonge men ought to covet this beawty, that are not so fresh and lusty as olde men be.

Here Sir Fridericke to pacifie M. Morello and to breake their talke, would not suffer Count Lewis to make answere, but interrupting him said: Perhappes M. Morello is not altogether out of the way in saing that beawty is not alwayes good, for the beautye of women is manye times cause of infinit evilles in the worlde, hatred, warr, mortality, and destruction, wherof the rasinge of Troy can be a good witnesse: and beawtifull women for the most part be eyther proude and cruell (as is saide) or unchast, but M. Morello woulde finde no faulte with that. There be also manye wicked men that have the comelinesse of a beautifull countenance, and it semeth that nature hath so shaped them, bicause they may be the redier to deceive, and that this amiable looke were like a baite that covereth the hooke.

Then M. Peter Bembo: Beleave not (quoth he) but beautie is alwayes good.

Here Count Lewis bicause he woulde retourn again to his former pourpose interrupted him and said: Sins M. Morello passeth not to understand that, which is so necessary for him, teache it me, and showe me howe olde men maye come bye this hapinesse of love, for I will not care to be counted olde, so it may profit me.

M. Peter Bembo laughed and said: First will I take the errour out of these gentilmens minde: and afterwarde will I satisfie you also. So beeginning a fresh: My Lordes (quoth he) I would not that with speakynge ill of beawtie, which is a holy thinge, any of us as prophane and wicked shoulde purchase him the wrath of God. Therfore to give M. 

A notable Poet whiche lost his sight for writing against Helena, and recanting, had his sight restored him again. Judgment by the face.

Morello and Sir Fridericke warninge, that they lose not their sight, as Stesichorus did, a peine most meete for who so dispraiseth beawtie, I saye, that beawtie commeth of God, and is like a circle, the goodnesse wherof is the Centre. and therefore, as there can be no circle without a centre, no more can beawty be without goodnesse. Wherupon doeth verie sildome an ill soule dwell in a beawtifull bodye. And therefore is the outwarde beawtie a true signe of the inwarde goodnes, and in bodies thys comelynesse is imprynted more and lesse (as it were) for a marke of the soule, whereby she is outwardlye knowen: as in trees, in whiche the beawtye of the buddes giveth a testimonie of the goodnesse of the frute. And the verie same happeneth in bodies, as it is seene, that Palmastrers by the visage knowe manye tymes the condicions, and otherwhile the thoughtes of menne. And which is more, in beastes also a manne may descerne by the face the qualitie of the courage, whiche in the bodye declareth it selfe as muche as it can. Judge you howe plainlye in the face of a Lion, a horse and an Egle, a manne shall descerne anger, fiersenesse and stoutenesse: in Lambes and Doves simplenesse and verie innocencye: the craftye subtiltye in Foxes and Wolves, and the like (in a maner) in all other livinge creatures. The foule therefore for the most part be also yvell and the beawtifull, good. therfore it maye be said that Beawtie is a face pleasant, meerie, comelye, and to be desired for goodnesse: 

Beawtie. Foulnesse. De Orat. lib. 3. The worlde. The heaven. The earth. The moone. The planettes.

and Foulness a face darke, uglesome, unpleasant and to be shonned for yll. And in case you will consider all thinges, ye shall finde, that what so ever is good and profitable hath also evermore the comelinesse of Beawtie. Behoulde the state of this great Inginn of the world, which God created for the helth and preservation of every thing that was made. The heaven rounde besett with so many heavenly lightes: and in the middle, the Earth invironed wyth the Elementes, and uphelde wyth the verye waight of it selfe: the sonn, that compassinge about giveth light to the wholl, and in winter season draweth to the lowermost signe, afterward by title and litle climeth again to the other part: the Moone, that of him taketh her light, accordinge as she draweth nigh, or goith farther from him: and the other five sterres, that diversly keepe the very same course. These thinges emong them selves have such force by the knitting together of an order so neccessarilye framed, that with altering them any one jott, they shoulde be all lewsed, and the worlde would decaye. They have also suche beawtie and comelinesse, that all the wittes men have, can not imagin a more beawtifull matter. Thinke nowe of the shape of man, which may be called a litle world: in whom every percell of 

Man. Aristot. 8. Phisic. Foules. Trees.

his body is seene to be necessarily framed by art and not by happ, and then the fourme all together most beawtifull, so that it were a harde matter to judge, whether the members, as the eyes, the nose, the mouth, the eares, the armes, the breast and in like maner the other partes: give eyther more profit to the countenance and the rest of the body, or comelinesse. The like may be said of all other livinge creatures. Beehoulde the fethers of foules, the leaves and bowes of trees, which be given them of nature to keepe them in their beeinge, and yet have they withall a verye great sightlinesse. Leave nature, and come to art. What thinge is so necessaries in saylynge vesselles, as the forepart, the side, the mainyardes, the mast, the sayles, the sterne, owers, ankers, and tacklinges? all these thinges notwithstanding are so welfavoured in the eye, that unto who so beehouldeth them they seeme to have bine found out aswell for pleasure, as for profit. Pillars and great beames uphoulde high buildinges and Palaices, and yet are they no lesse pleasurfull unto the eyes of the beehoulders, then profitable to the buyldinges. When men beegane first to build, in the middle of Temples 

Shippes. Buildinges. The rouffes of houses.

and houses they reared the ridge of the rouffe, not to make the workes to have a better show, but bicause the water might the more commodiouslie avoide on both sides: yet unto profit there was furthwith adjoined a faire sightlinesse, so that if under the skye where there falleth neyther haile nor rayne a mann should builde a temple, without a reared ridge, it is to be thought, that it coulde have neyther a sightly showe nor any beawtie. Beeside other thinges therfore, it giveth a great praise to the world, in saiynge that it is beawtifull. It is praised, in saiynge, the beawtifull heaven, beawtifull earth, beawtifull sea, beawtifull rivers, beawtifull wooddes, trees, gardeines, beawtifull Cities, beawtifull Churches, houses, armies. In conclusion this comelye and holye beawtie is a wonderous settinge out of everie thinge. And it may be said that Good and beawtifull be after a sort one selfe thinge, especiallie in the bodies of men: of the beawtie wherof the nighest cause (I suppose) is the beawtie of the soule: the which as a partner of the right and heavenlye beawtie, maketh sightlye and beawtifull what ever she toucheth, and most of all, if the bodye, where she dwelleth, be not of so vile a matter, that she can not imprint in it her propertye. Therfore Beawtie is the true monument and spoile of the victorye of the soule, whan she with heavenlye influence beareth rule over materiall and grosse nature, and with her light overcommeth the darkeness of the bodye. It is not then to be spoken that Beawtie maketh women proude or cruel, although it seeme so to M. Morello. Neyther yet ought beawtifull women to beare the blame of that hatred, mortalytie, and destruction, which the unbridled appetites of men are the cause of. I will not nowe denye, but it is possible also to finde in the worlde beawtifull women unchast, yet not bicause beawtie inclineth them to unchast livinge, for it rather plucketh them from it, and leadeth them into the way of vertuous condicions, throughe the affinitie that beawtie hath with goodnesse: but otherwhile yll bringinge up, the continuall provocations of lovers, povertie, hope, deceites, feare, and a thousande other matters overcome the steadfastnesse, yea of beawtifull and good women: and for these and like causes may also beawtifull menn beecome wicked.

Then said the L. Cesar: In case the L. Gaspars sayinge be true of yesternight, there is no doubt but the faire women be more chast then the foule.

And what was my sayinge? quoth the L. Gaspar.

The L. Cesar answered: If I do well beare in minde, your saiynge was, that the women that are suide to, alwaies refuse to satisfie him that suith to them, but those that are suide to, sue to others. There is no doubt but the beautiful women have alwaies more suyters, and be more instantlye laide at in love, then the foule. Therefore the beawtifull alwayes deny, and consequentlye be more chast, then the foule, whiche not beeinge suied to, sue unto others.

M. Peter Bembo laughed and said: This argument can not be answered to.

Afterwarde he proceaded: It chaunseth also oftentimes, that as the other senses, so the sight is deceyved, and judgeth a face beawtyfull, which in deede is not beawtifull. And bicause in the eyes and in the wholl countenance of some women, a man behouldeth otherwhile a certein lavish wantonnes peincted with dishonest flickeringes, many, whom that maner deliteth bicause it promiseth them an easines to come by the thing, that they covet, cal it beawty: but in deed it is a cloked unshamefastnes, unworthy of so honorable and holy a name.

M. Peter Bembo held his peace, and those Lordes still were earnest upon him to speake somewhat more of this love and of the waye to enjoy beautye aright, and at the last: Me thinke (quoth he) I have showed plainly inough, that olde men may love more happelye then yonge, whiche was my drift, therfore it belongeth not me to entre anye farther.

Count Lewis answered: You have better declared the unluckinesse of yonge men, then the happynesse of olde menn, whom you have not as yet taught, what waye they must folow in this love of theirs: onelye you have saide, that they must suffre them selves to bee guided by reason, and the opinion of many is, that it is unpossible for love to stand with reason.

Bembo notwithstanding saught to make an ende of reasoning, but the Dutchesse desired him to say on, and he beegane thus afreshe: Too unluckie were the nature of man, if oure soule (in the whiche this so fervent covetinge may lightlie arrise) should be driven to nourish it with that onelye, whiche is commune to her with beastes, and coulde 

Sense. Reason.

not tourn it to the other noble parte, whiche is propre to her. Therfore sins it is so your pleasure, I wil not refuse to reason upon this noble matter. And bicause I know my self unworthy to talke of the most holye misteries of love, I beseche him to leade my thought and my tunge so, that I may show this excelent Courtier how to love contrarye to the wonted maner of the commune ignorant sort. And even as from my childhode I have dedicated all my wholl lief unto him, so also now that my wordes may be answerable to the same intent, and to the prayse of him: I say therfore, that sins the nature of man in youthfull age is so much inclined to sense, it may be graunted the Courtier, while he is yong, to love sensuallye. But in case afterwarde also in his riper yeres, he chaunse to be set on fire with this coveting of love, he ought to be good and circumspect, and heedful that he beeguyle not him self, to be lead willfullye into the wretchednesse, that in yonge men deserveth more to be pitied then blamed: and contrarywise in olde men, more to be blamed then pitied. Therfore whan an amiable countenance of a beautiful woman commeth in his sight, that is accompanied with noble condicions and honest behaviours, so that as one practised in love, he wotteth well that his hewe hath an agreement with herres, assoone as he is a ware that his eyes snatch that image and carie it to the hart, and that the soule beeginneth to beehoulde it with pleasure, and feeleth within her self the influence that stirreth her and by litle and litle setteth her in heate, and that those livelye spirites, that twinkle out throughe the eyes, put continually freshe nourishment to the fire: he ought in this beginninge to seeke a speedye remedye and to raise up reason, and with her, to fense the fortresse of his hart, and to shutt in such wise the passages against sense and appetites, that they maye entre neyther with force nor subtill practise. Thus if the flame be quenched, the jeopardye is also quenched. But in case it continue or encrease, then must the Courtier determine (when he perceiveth he is taken) to shonn throughlye all filthinesse of commune love, and so entre into the holye way of love with the guide of reason, and first consider that the body, where that beawtye shyneth, is not the fountaine frome whens beauty springeth, but rather bicause beautie is bodilesse and (as we have said) an heavenlie shyning beame, she loseth much of her honoure whan she is coopled with that vile subject and full of corruption, bicause the lesse she is partner therof, the more perfect she is, and cleane sundred frome it, is most perfect. 

Beawtye severed from the body is most perfect.

And as a mann heareth not with his mouth, nor smelleth with hys eares: no more can he also in anye maner wise enjoye beawtye, nor satisfye the desyre that shee stirreth up in oure myndes, with feelynge, but wyth the sense, unto whom beawtie is the very butt to levell at: namelye, the vertue of seeinge. Let him laye aside therefore the blinde judgemente of the sense, and injoye wyth his eyes the bryghtnesse, the comelynesse, the lovynge sparkles, laughters, gestures and all other pleasant fournitours of beawty: especially with hearinge the sweetenesse of her voice, the tunablenesse of her woordes, the melodie of her singinge and playinge on instrumentes (in case the woman beloved be a musitien) and so shall he with most deintie foode feede the soule through the meanes of these two senses, which have litle bodelye substance in them, and be the ministers of reason, without entringe farther towarde the bodye with covetinge unto anye longinge otherwise then honest. Afterward let him obey, please, and honoure with all reverence his woman, and recken her more deere to him then his owne lief, and prefarr all her commodities and pleasures beefore his owne, and love no lesse in her the beauty of the mind, then of the bodye: therfore let him have a care not to suffer her to renn into any errour, but with lessons and good exhortations seeke alwaies to frame her to modestie, to temperance, to true honestye, and so to woorke that there maye never take place in her other then pure thoughtes and farr wide from all filthinesse of vices. And thus in sowinge of vertue in the gardein of that mind, he shall also gather the frutes of most beautifull condicions, and savour them with a marveilous good relise. And this shall be the right engendringe and imprinting of beawtie, the whiche some houlde opinion to be the ende of love. In this maner shall oure Courtier be most acceptable to his Lady, and she will alwayes showe her selfe towarde him tractable, lowlye and sweete in language, and as willinge to please him, as to be beloved of him: and the willes of them both shall be most honest and agreeable, and they consequently shall be most happy.

Here M. Morello: The engendringe (quoth he) of beawtye in beawtye aright, were the engendringe of a beawtyfull chylde in a beautifull woman, and I woulde thinke it a more manifest token a great deale that she loved her lover, if she pleased him with this, then with the sweetenesse of language that you speake of.

M. Peter Bembo laughed and said: You must not (M. Morello) passe your boundes. I may tell you, it is not a small token that a woman loveth, whan she giveth unto her lover her beawtye, which is so precious a matter: and by the wayes that be a passage to the soule (that is to say, the sight and the hearinge) sendeth the lookes of her eyes, the image of her countenance, and the voice of her woordes, that perce into the lovers hart, and give a witnes of her love.

M. Morello said: Lookes and woordes may be, and oftentimes are, false witnesses. Therefore whoso hath not a better pledge of love (in my judgement) he is in an yll assurance. And surelye I looked still that you would have made this woman of yours somewhat more courteyous and free towarde the Courtier, then my L. Julian hath made his: but (me seemeth) ye be both of the propretie of those judges, that (to appeere wise) give sentence against their owne.

Bembo said: I am well pleased to have this woman muche more courteyous towarde my Courtier not yonge, then the L. Julians is to the yong: and that with good reason, bicause mine coveteth but honest matters, and therfore may the woman graunt him them all without blame. But my L. Julians woman that is not so assured of the modestye of the yonge man, ought to graunt him the honest matters onlye, and deny him the dishonest. Therefore more happye is mine, that hath graunted him whatsoever he requireth, then the other, that hath parte graunted and parte denyed. And bicause you may moreover the better understande, that reasonable love is more happye then sensuall, I saye unto you, that self same thinges in sensuall ought to be denyed otherwhile, and in reasonable, graunted: bicause in the one, they be honest, and in the other dishonest. Therfore the woman to please her good lover, beside the graunting him merie countenances, familiar and secret talke, jesting, dalying, hand in hand, may also lawfullye and without blame come to kissinge: whiche in sensuall love, accordinge to the L. Julians rules, is not lefull. For sins a 

A kisse.

kisse is a knitting together both of body and soule, it is to be feared, least the sensuall lover will be more inclined to the part of the bodye, then of the soule: but the reasonable lover woteth well, that although the mouthe be a percell of the bodye, yet is it an issue for the wordes, that be the enterpreters of the soule, and for the inwarde breth, whiche is also called the soule: and therfore hath a delite to joigne hys mouth with the womans beloved with a kysse: not to stirr him to anye unhonest desire, but bicause he feeleth that, that bonde is the openynge of an entrey to the soules, whiche drawen with a coveting the one of the other, power them selves by tourn, the one into the others bodye, and be so mingled together, that ech of them hath two soules, and one alone so framed of them both ruleth (in a maner) two bodyes. Wherupon a kisse may be said to be rather a cooplinge together of the soule, then of the bodye, bicause it hath suche force in her, that it draweth her unto it, and (as it were) seperateth her from the bodye. For this do all chast lovers covett a kisse, as a cooplinge of soules together. And therfore Plato the divine lover saith, that in kissing, his soule came as farr as his lippes to depart out of the body. And bicause the separatinge of the soule from the matters of the sense and the through coopling her with matters of understanding may be betokened by a kisse, Salomon saith in his heavenlye boke of Balattes, Oh that he would kisse me with a kisse of his mouth, to expresse the desire he had, that hys soule might be ravished through heavenly love to the behouldinge of heavenly beawtie in such maner, that cooplyng her self inwardly with it, she might forsake the body.

They stoode all herkening heedfullie to Bembos reasoninge, and after he had staide a while and sawe that none spake, he sadie: Sins you have made me to beegine to showe oure not yonge Courtier this happye love, I will leade him somewhat farther forwardes, bicause to stande styll at this stay were somewhat perillous for him, consideringe (as we have often times said) the soule is most inclyned to the senses, and for all reason with discourse chouseth well, and knoweth that beawtie not to spring of the bodye, and therfore setteth a bridle to the unhonest desires, yet to beehould it alwaies in that body, doeth oftentimes corrupt the right judgement. And where no other inconvenience insueth upon it, ones absence from the wight beloved carieth a great passion with it: bicause the influence of that beawtie whan it is present, giveth a wonderous delite to the lover, and settinge his hart on fire, quickeneth and melteth certein vertues in a traunce and congeled in the soule, the which nourished with the heat of love, floow about and go bubbling nigh the heart, and thrust out through the eyes those spirites, whiche be most fyne vapoures made of the purest and cleerest parte of the bloode, which receive the image of beawtie, and decke it with a thousande sundrye fournitures. Wherupon the soule taketh a delite, and with a certein wonder is agast, and yet enjoyeth she it, and (as it were) astonied together with the pleasure, feeleth the feare and reverence that men accustomably have towarde holy matters, and thinketh her self to be in paradise. The lover therfore that considereth only the beawtie in the bodye, loseth this treasure and happinesse, assoone as the woman beloved with her departure leaveth the eyes without their brightnes, and consequently the soule, as a widowe without her joye. For sins beawtie is farr of, that influence of love setteth not the hart on fire, as it did in presence. Wherupon the pores be dryed up and wythered, and yet doeth the remembraunce of beawty somwhat stirr those vertues of the soule in such wise, that they seeke to scattre abrode the spirites, and they fyndinge the wayes closed up, have no yssue, and still they seeke to gete out, and so with those shootinges inclosed pricke the soule, and tourment her bitterlye, as yonge chilldren, whan in their tender gummes they beegin to breede teeth. And hens come the teares, sighes, vexations and tourmentes of lovers: bicause the soule is alwayes in affliction and travaile and (in a maner) wexeth woode, untill the beloved beawtie commeth beefore her once again, and then is she immediatlye pacified and taketh breth, and throughlye bent to it, is nouryshed wyth most deintye foode, and by her will, would never depart from so sweete a sight. to avoide therfore the tourment of this absence, and to enjoy beawtie without passion, the Courtier by the helpe of reason muste full and wholy call backe again the coveting of the body to beawtye alone, and (in what he can) beehoulde it in it self simple and pure, and frame it within in his imagination sundred from all matter, and so make it frindlye and lovinge to hys soule, and there enjoye it, and have it with him daye and night, in every time and place, without mystrust ever to lose it: keapinge alwayes fast in minde, that the bodye is a most dyverse thynge from beawtie, and not onlie not encreaseth, but diminisheth the perfection of it. In this wise shall our not yonge Courtier be out of all bitternesse and wretchednes that yong men feele (in a maner) continuallye, as jelousies, suspicions, disdeignes, angres, desperations and certein rages full of madnesse, wherby manye times they be lead into so great errour, that some doe not onely beate the women whom they love: but rid them selves out of their lief. He shal do no wrong to the husband, father, brethren or kinsfolke of the woman beloved. He shall not bringe her in sclaunder. He shall not be in case with much a do otherwhile to refraine hys eyes and tunge from discoverynge his desires to others. He shall not take thought at departure or in absence, bicause he shall ever more carye his precious treasure about wyth him shut fast within his hert. And beeside, through the vertue of imagination he shall facion within himself that beawty muche more faire, then it is in deede. But emong these commodities the lover shal finde an other yet far greater, in case he will take this love for a stayer (as it were to clime up to an other farr higher then it. The whiche he shall bring to passe, if he will go and consider with himself, what a streict bonde it is to be alwaies in the trouble to beehoulde the beawtie of one bodye alone. And therfore to come out of this so narrow a rowme, he shall gather in his thought by litle and litle so manye ornamentes, that meddlinge all beawties together, he shall make an universall concept, and bringe the multitude of them to the unitye of one alone, that is generally spred over all the nature of man. And thus shall he beehoulde no more the particuler beawtie of one woman, but an universall, that decketh out all bodies. Wherupon beeing dymm with this greater light, he shall not passe upon the lesser, and burnynge in a more excellent flame, he shall litle esteame it, that he sett great store by at the first. This stayer of love, though it be verye noble, and such as fewe arrive at it, yet is it not in this sort to be called perfect, forsomuch as where the imagination is of force to make conveiance and hath no knowleage, but through those beeginninges that the senses helpe her wythall, she is not cleane pourged from grosse darkenesse: and therefore though she do consider that universall beawtie in sunder and in it self alone, yet doeth she not well and cleerlye descerne it, nor without some doubtfulness, by reason of the agreement that the fansyes have with the bodye. Wherefore suche as come to thys love, are lyke yonge Birdes almost flushe, whyche for all they flytter a litle their tender wynges, yet dare they not stray farr from the neste, nor commytt theym selves to the wynde and open weather. Whan oure Courtier therfore shall be come to this point, although he maye be called a good and happye lover, in respect of them that he drowned in the miserye of sensuall love, yet wil I not have him to set his hart at rest, but bouldlye proceade farther, folowinge the high way after his guyde, that leadeth him to the point of true happinesse. And thus in steade of going out of his witt with thought, as he must do that will consider the bodilye beawty, he may come into his witt, to behoulde the beawty that is seene with the eyes of the minde, which then beegin to be sharpe and thorough seeinge, whan the eyes of the body lose the floure of their sightlynesse. Therefore the soule rid of vices, purged with the studyes of true Philosophie, occupied in spirituall, and exercised in matters of understandinge, tourninge her to the beehouldyng of her own substance, as it were raysed out of a most deepe sleepe, openeth the eyes that all men have, and fewe occupy, and seeth in her self a shining beame of that lyght, which is the true image of the aungelike beawtye partened with her, whereof she also partneth with the bodye a feeble shadoe: therfore wexed blinde about earthly matters, is made most quicke of sight about heavenlye. And otherwhile whan the stirringe vertues of the body are withdrawen alone through earnest behouldinge, eyther fast bounde through sleepe, whan she is not hindred by them, she feeleth a certein previe smell of the right aungelike beawtie, and ravished with the shining of that light, beeginneth to be inflamed, and so greedilye foloweth after, that (in a maner) she wexeth dronken and beeside her self, for coveting to coople her self with it, havinge founde (to her wening) the footsteppes of God in the beehouldinge of whom (as in her happy end) she seeketh to settle her self. And therfore burninge in this most happye flame, she arryseth to the noblest part of her (which is the understanding) and there no more shadowed with the darke night of earthlye matters, seeth the heavenlye beawtye: but yet doeth she not for all that enjoye it altogether perfectlye, bicause she behouldeth it onlye in her perticular under standinge, which can not conceive the passing great universall beautye: wherupon not throughlye satisfied with this benifit, love giveth unto the soule a greater happines. For like as throughe the perticular beawtye of one bodye he guydeth her to the universall beawtye of all bodies: evenso in the last degree of perfection throughe perticular understandinge he guideth her to the universall understandinge. Thus the soule kindled in the most holy fire of true heavenlye love, fleeth to coople her selfe with the nature of Aungelles, and not onlye cleane forsaketh sense, but hath no more neede of the discourse of reason, for being chaunged into an Aungell, she understandeth al thinges that may be understoode: and without any veile or cloude, she seeth the meine sea of the pure heavenlye beawtye and receveth it into her, and enjoyeth that soveraigne happinesse, that can not be comprehended of the senses. Sins therfore the beawties, which we dayly see with these our dimm eyes in bodies subject to corruption, that neverthelesse be nothinge elles but dreames and most thinne shadowes of beauty, seme unto us so wel favoured and comely, that oftentimes they kendle in us a most burning fire, and with such delite, that we recken no happinesse may be compared to it, that we feele otherwhile through the only looke which the beloved countenance of a woman casteth at us: what happy wonder, what blessed abashement may we recken that to bee, that taketh the soules, whiche come to have a sight of the heavenly beawty? what sweete flame? What soote incense maye a mann beleave that to bee, whiche arriseth of the fountaine of the soveraigne and right beawtye? Whiche is the origin of all other beawtye, whiche never encreaseth nor diminisheth, alwayes beawtyfull, and of it selfe, aswell on the one part as on the other, most simple, onelye like it self, and partner of none other, but in suche wise beawtifull, that all other 

Heavenlye beawtie.

beawtifull thinges, be beawtifull, bicause they be partners of the beawtie of it. This is the beawtye unseperable from the high bountye, whiche with her voyce calleth and draweth to her all thynges: and not onlye to the indowed with understandinge giveth understandinge, to the reasonable reason, to the sensuall sense and appetite to live, but also partaketh with the plantes and stones (as a print of her self) stirring, and the natural provocation of their properties. So much therfore is this love greater and happier then others, as the cause that stirreth it, is more excellent. And therefore, as commune fire trieth golde and maketh it fyne, so this most holye fire in soules destroyeth and consumeth what so ever there is mortall in them, and relieveth and maketh beawtyfull the heavenlye part, whyche at the first by reason of the sense was dead and buried in them. This is the great fire in the whiche (the Poetes wryte) that Hercules was burned on the topp of the mountaigne Oeta: and throughe that consumynge with fire, after hys death 

A mounteign betweene Thessalia and Macedonia where is the sepulchre of Hercules.

was holye and immortall. Thys is the fyrie bushe of Moses: the divided tunges of fire: the inflamed Chariot of Helias: whych doobleth grace and happynesse in their soules that be worthy to see it, whan they forsake thys earthly basenesse and flee up into heaven. Let us therefore bende all oure force and thoughtes of soule to this most holye light, that showeth us the waye which leadeth to heaven: and after it, puttynge of the affections we were clad withall at our comminge downe, let us clime up the stayers, which at the lowermost stepp have the shadowe of sensuall beawty, to the high mansion place where the heavenlye, amiable and right beawtye dwelleth, which lyeth hid in the innermost secretes of God, least unhalowed eyes shoulde come to the syght of it: and there shall we fynde a most happye ende for our desires, true rest for oure travailes, certein remedye for myseryes, a most healthfull medycin for sickenesse, a most sure haven in the troublesome stormes of the tempestuous sea of this life. What tunge mortall is there then (O most holy love) that can sufficientlye prayse thy woothynesse? Thou most beawtifull, most good, most wise, art dirived of the unity of heavenly beautie, goodnesse and wisedome, and therin doeth thou abide, and unto it through it (as in a circle) tournest about. Thou the most sweete bonde of the worlde, a meane beetwext heavenlye and earthlye thynges, wyth a bountifull tempre bendest the High vertues to the government of the lower, and tourninge backe the mindes of mortall men to their beeginning, coolest them with it. Thou with agreement bringest the Elementes in one, stirrest nature to brynge furth, and that, which arriseth and is borne for the succession of the lief. Thou bringest severed matters into one, to the unperfect givest perfectyon, to the unlyke likenesse, to enimitye amitye, to the Earth frute, to the Sea calmnesse, to the heaven lyevelie light. Thou art the father of true pleasures, of grace, peace, lowlynesse and good will, ennemye to rude wildenesse and sluggishnesse, to be short, the beginninge and ende of all goodnesse. And forsomuche as thou delitest to dwell in the floure of beawtyfull bodyes and beawtyfull soules, I suppose that thy abydinge place is nowe here emonge us, and from above otherwhyle showest thy selfe a litle to the eyes and mindes of them that be woorthye to see thee, Therfore vouchsafe (Lorde) to harken to oure prayers, power thy selfe into oure hartes, and wyth the bryghtnesse of thy most holye fire lyghten oure darkenesse, and like a trustie guide in thys blynde mase, showe us the right waye: refourme the falsehoode of the senses, and after longe wandringe in vanitye gyve us the ryght and sounde joye. Make us to smell those spirituall savoures that relieve the vertues of the understandinge, and to heare the heavenlye harmonie so tunable, that no discorde of passion take place anye more in us. Make us dronken with the bottomlesse fountain of contentation that alwaies doeth delite, and never giveth fill, and that giveth a smacke of the right blisse unto who so drinketh of the renning and cleere water therof. Pourge wyth the shininge beames of thy light our eyes from mysty ignoraunce, that they maye no more set by mortall beawty, and wel perceive that the thinges which at the first they thought themselves to see, be not in deede, and those that they saw not, to be in effect. Accept oure soules, that be offred unto thee for a sacrifice. Burn them in the livelye flame that wasteth al grosse filthines, that after they be cleane sundred from the body, thei may be copled with an everlastinge and most sweet bonde to the heavenly beawty. And we severed from oure selves, may be chaunged like right lovers into the beloved, and after we be drawen from the earth, admitted to the feast of the aungelles, where fed with immortall ambrosia and nectar, 

The poetes feigne to be the meate and drinke of the Goddes.

in the ende we maye dye a most happie and livelye death, as in times past died the fathers of olde time, whose soules with most fervent zeale of beehouldinge thou diddest hale from the bodye and coopleddest them with God.

When Bembo had hitherto spoken with such vehemencye, that a man woulde have thought him (as it were) ravished and beeside himselfe, he stoode still without once mooving, houldynge his eyes towarde heaven as astonied, whan the Lady Emilia, whiche together with the rest gave most diligent care to this talke, tooke him by the plaite of hys garment and pluckinge hym a litle, said: Take heede (M. Peter) that these thoughtes make not your soule also to forsake the bodye.

Madam, answered M. Peter, it shoulde not be the first miracle that love hath wrought in me.

Then the Dutchesse and all the rest beegan a fresh to be instant upon M. Bembo that he woulde proceade once more in his talke, and every one thought he felt in his minde (as it were) a certein sparkle of that godly love that pricked him, and they all coveted to heare farther: but M. Bembo: My Lordes (quoth he) I have spoken what the holye furie of love hath (unsaught for) indited to me: now that (it seemeth) he inspireth me no more, I wot not what to say. And I thinke verelie that love will not have his secretes discovered and farther, nor that the Courtier shoulde passe the degree that his pleasure is I shoulde show him, and therfore it is not perhappes lefull to speak anye more in this matter.

Surelye, quoth the Dutchesse, if the not yonge Courtier be such a one that he can folowe this way which you have showed him, of right he ought to be satisfied with so great a happines, and not to envie the yonger.

Then the L. Cesar Gonzaga: The way (quoth he) that leadeth to this happines is so stiepe (in my mind) that (I beleave) it will be much a do to gete to it.

The L. Gaspar said: I beleave it to be harde to gete up for men, but unpossible for women.

The L. Emilia laughed and said: If ye fall so often to offende us, I promise you, ye shall be no more forgiven.

The L. Gaspar answered: it is no offence to you, in saiynge, that womens soules be not so pourged from passions as mens be, nor accustomed in behouldinges, as M. Peter hath said, is necessary for them to be, that will tast of the heavenly love. Therfore it is not read that ever woman hath had this grace: but manie men have had it, as Plato, Socrates, Plotinus, and manie other: and a numbre of our holye fathers, as Saint Francis, in whom a fervent spirite of love imprinted the most holie seale of the five woundes. And nothinge but the vertue of love coulde hale up Saint Paul the Apostle to the sight of those secretes, which is not lawfull for man to speake of: nor show Saint Stephan the heavens open.

Here answered the L. Julian: In this point men shall nothinge passe women, for Socrates him selfe doeth confesse that all the misteries of love which he knew, were oped unto him by a woman, which was Diotima. And the Aungell that with the fire of love imprinted the five woundes in Saint Francis, hath also made some women woorthy of the same print in our age. You must remembre moreover that S. Mari Magdalen had manye faultes forgeven her, bicause she loved muche: an perhappes with no lesse grace then Saint Paul, was she manye times through Aungelyke love haled up to the thirde heaven. And manye other (as I showed you yesterdaye more at large) that for love of the name of Chryste have not passed upon lief, nor feared tourmentes, nor any other kinde of death, how terrible and cruell ever it were. And they were not (as M. Peter wyll have his Courtier to be) aged, but soft and tender maidens, and in the age, when he saith that sensuall love ought to be borne withal in men.

The L. Gaspar began to prepare himself to speake, but the Dutchesse: of this (quoth shee) let M. Peter be judge, and the matter shal stand to his verdite, whether women be not as meete for heavenlie love as men. But bicause the pleade beetweene you may happen to be to longe, It shall not be amisse to deferr it untill to morow.

Nay, to nyght, quoth the L. Cesar Gonzaga.

And how can it be to night? quoth the Dutchesse.

The L. Cesar answered: Bicause it is day already, and showed her the light that begane to entre in at the cliftes of the windowes. Then everie man arrose upon his feete with much wonder, bicause they had not thaught that the reasoninges had lasted longer then the accustomed wont, savinge onelye that they were beegon much later, and with their pleasantnesse had deceived so the Lordes mindes, that they wist not of the going away of the houres. And not one of them felt any heavinesse of slepe in his eyes, the which often happeneth whan a man is up after his accustomed houre to go to bed. Whan the windowes then were opened on the side of the Palaice that hath his prospect toward the high top of Mount Catri, they saw alredie risen in the East a faire morninge like unto the colour of roses, and all sterres voided, savinge onelye the sweete Governesse of the heaven, Venus, whiche keapeth the boundes of the nyght and the day, from whiche appeered to blowe a sweete blast, that filling the aer with a bytinge cold, begane to quicken the tunable notes of the prety birdes, emong the hushing woodes of the hilles at hande. Wherupon they all, takinge their leave with reverence of the Dutchesse, departed toward their lodginges without torche, the light of the day sufficing.

And as they were now passing out at the great chambre doore, the L. Generall tourned hym to the Dutches, and said: Madam, to take up the variance betweene the L. Gaspar and the L. Julian, we will assemble this night with the judge sooner then we did yesterdaye.

The Lady Emilia answered: Upon condicion, that in case my L. Gaspar wyll accuse women, and geve them (as his wont is) some false reporte, he wil also put us in suretye to stand to triall, for I recken him a waveringe starter.