Gascoigne, The Adventures of Master F.J. (Page 8)
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"Yes, servant," quoth she, "I will see if you can sleep any better in my sheets," and therewith commanded her handmaid to fetch a pair of clean sheets. The which being brought (marvelous fine and sweet), the Ladies Frances and Eleanor did courteously unfold them and laid them on the bed, which done, they also entreated F. J. to unclothe him and go to bed.
Being laid, his Mistress dressed and couched the clothes about him, sithens moistened his temples with rosewater, gave him handkerchiefs and other fresh linen about him, in doing whereof, she whispered in his ear, saying: "Servant, this night I will be with thee," and after with the rest of the Dames gave him good night and departed, leaving F. J. in a trance between hope and despair, trust and mistrust.
Thus he lay ravished, commanding his servant to go to bed, and feigning that himself would assay if he could sleep. About ten or eleven of the clock came his Mistress in her night gown, who, knowing all privy ways in that house very perfectly, had conveyed herself into F. J.'s chamber unseen and unperceived, and being now come unto his bedside, kneeled down, and laying her arm over him said these or like words: "My good Servant, if thou knewest what perplexities I suffer in beholding of thine infirmities, it might then suffice either utterly to drive away thy malady or much more to augment thy griefs. For I know thou lovest me, and I think also that thou hast had sufficient proof of mine unfeigned good will, in remembrance whereof I fall into sundry passions: First, I count the happy lots of our first acquaintance, and therein I call to mind the equality of our affections, for I think that there were never two lovers conjoined with freer consent on both parties: and if my overhasty delivery of yielding words be not wrested hereafter to my condemnation, I can then assure myself to escape forever without desert of any reproof: herewithal I can not forget the sundry adventures happened since we became one heart divided in two bodies, all which have been both happily achieved and delectably enjoyed. What resteth then to consider but this thy present state? The first corrosive that I have felt and the last cordial that I look for, the end of my joys and the beginning of my torments."
And hereat her salt tears gan bathe the dying lips of her servant: who hearing these words and well considering her demeanor, began now to accuse himself of such and so heinous treason as that his guilty heart was constrained to yield unto a just scourge for the same. He swooned under her arm: the which when she perceived, it were hard to tell what fears did most affright her.
But I have heard my friend F. J. confess that he was in a happy trance, and thought himself for divers causes unhappily revived. For surely I have heard him affirm that to die in such a passion had been rather pleasant than like to pangs of death. It were hard now to rehearse how he was revived, since there were none present but he dying, who could not declare, & she living, who would not disclose so much as I mean to bewray. For my friend F. J. hath to me imported that, returning to life, the first thing which he felt was that his good mistress lay pressing his breast with the whole weight of her body and biting his lips with her friendly teeth: and peradventure she refrained (either of courtesy towards him, or for womanish fear to hurt her tender hand) to strike him on the cheeks in such sort as they do that strive to call again a dying creature: and therefore thought this the aptest mean to reduce him unto remembrance.
F. J., now awaked, could no less do than of his courteous nature receive his Mistress into his bed. Who, as one that knew that way better than how to help his swooning, gan gently strip off her clothes, and lovingly embracing him gan demand of him in this sort. "Alas, good Servant," quoth she, "what kind of malady is this that so extremely doth torment thee?"
F. J. with fainting speech answered: "Mistress, as for my malady, it hath been easily cured by your bountiful medicines applied. But I must confess that in receiving that guerison at your hands I have been constrained to fall into an Ecstasy through the galding remembrance of mine own unworthiness. Nevertheless, good Mistress, since I perceive such fidelity remaining between us as that few words will persuade such trust as lovers ought to embrace, let these few words suffice to crave your pardon, and do eftsoons pour upon me, your unworthy servant, the abundant waves of your accustomed clemency: for I must confess that I have so highly offended you as, but your goodness surpass the malice of my conceits, I must remain (and that right worthily) to the severe punishment of my deserts: and so should you but lose him who hath cast away himself and neither can accuse you nor dare excuse himself of the crime."
Dame Eleanor, who had rather have found her servant perfectly revived than thus with strange conceits encumbered, and musing much at his dark speech, became importunate to know the certainty of his thoughts.
And F. J., as one not master of himself, gan at the last plainly confess how he had mistrusted the change of her vowed affections. Yea, and that more was, he plainly expressed with whom, of whom, by whom, and to whom she bent her better liking.
Now, here I would demand of you and such other as are expert: Is there any greater impediment to the fruition of a lover's delights than to be mistrusted? or rather, is it not the ready way to erase all love and former good will out of remembrance to tell a guilty mind that you do mistrust it? It should seem yes by Dame Eleanor, who began now to take the matter hotly. And of such vehemency were her fancies that she now fell into flat defiance with F. J., who although he sought by many fair words to temper her choleric passions, and by yielding himself to get the conquest of another, yet could he by no means determine the quarrel.
The soft pillows, being present at all these hot words, put forth themselves as mediators for a truce between these enemies and desired that (if they would needs fight) it might be in their presence but only one push of the pike, and so from thenceforth to become friends again forever. But the Dame denied flatly, alleging that she found no cause at all to use such courtesy unto such a recreant, adding further many words of great reproach. The which did so enrage F. J. as that, having now forgotten all former courtesies, he drew upon his new professed enemy and bare her up with such a violence against the bolster, that before she could prepare the ward, he thrust her through both hands, and &c.
Whereby the Dame, swooning for fear, was constrained (for a time) to abandon her body to the enemy's courtesy. At last when she came to herself, she rose suddenly and determined to save her self by flight, leaving F. J. with many despiteful words and swearing that he should never (eftsoons) take her at the like advantage, the which oath she kept better than her former professed good will. And having now recovered her chamber, because she found her hurt to be nothing dangerous, I doubt not but she slept quietly the rest of the night. As F. J. also, persuading himself that he should with convenient leisure recover her from this haggard conceit, took some better rest towards the morning than he had done in many nights forepast.
So let them both sleep whiles I turn my pen unto the before named Secretary, who being (as I said) come lately from London, had made many proffers to renew his accustomed consultations: but the sorrow which his Mistress had conceived in F. J. his sickness, together with her continual repair to him during the same, had been such lets unto his attempts as it was long time before he could obtain audience. At the last, these new accidents fell so favorably for the furtherance of his cause that he came to his Mistress presence, and there pleaded for himself. Now, if I should at large write his allegations together with her subtle answers, I should but cumber your ears with unpleasant rehearsal of feminine frailty. To be short, the late disdainful mode which she had conceived against F. J., together with a scruple which lay in her conscience touching the xi. article of her belief, moved her presently with better will to consult with this Secretary, as well upon a speedy revenge of her late received wrongs as also upon the reformation of her religion. And in very deed, it fell out that the Secretary having been of long time absent, & thereby his quills & pens not worn so near as they were wont to be, did now prick such fair large notes that his Mistress liked better to sing fa-burden under him than to descant any longer upon F. J. plainsong.
And thus they continued in good accord until it fortuned that Dame Frances came into her chamber upon such sudden as she had like to have marred all the music. Well, they conveyed their clefs as closely as they could, but yet not altogether without some suspicion given to the said dame Frances, who although she could have been content to take any pain in F. J.'s behalf, yet otherwise she would never have bestowed the watching about so worthless a prise.
After womanly salutations, they fell into sundry discourses, the Secretary still abiding in the chamber with them. At last, two or three other gentlewomen of the Castle came into Madam Eleanor's chamber, who after their Bon jour did all una voce seem to lament the sickness of F. J. and called upon the Dames Eleanor and Frances to go visit him again. The Lady Frances courteously consented, but Madame Eleanor first alleged that she herself was also sickly, the which she attributed to her late pains taken about F. J., and said that only for that cause she was constrained to keep her bed longer than her accustomed hour.
The Dames (but especially the Lady Frances) gan straight ways conjecture some great cause of sudden change, and so leaving dame Eleanor, walked altogether into the park to take the air of the morning. And as they thus walked it chanced that Dame Pergo heard a Cuckoo chant, who (because the pride of the spring was now past) cried "Cuck cuck Cuckoo" in her stammering voice.
"Aha," quoth Pergo, "this foul bird begins to fly the country, and yet before her departure see how spitefully she can devise to salute us."
"Not us," quoth Dame Frances, "but some other whom she hath espied."
Wherewith Dame Pergo, looking round about her and espying none other company, said, "Why, here is nobody but we few women," quoth she.
"Thanks be to God the house is not far from us," quoth Dame Frances.
Hereat the wily Pergo, partly perceiving Dame Frances meaning, replied on this sort: "I understand you not," quoth she, "but to leap out of this matter, shall we go visit Master F. J. and see how he doth this morning?"
"Why," quoth dame Frances, "do you suppose that the Cuckoo called unto him?"
"Nay, marry," quoth Pergo, for (as far as I know) he is not married."
"As who should say," quoth Dame Frances, "that the Cuckoo envieth none but married folks."
"I take it so," said Pergo.
The Lady Frances answered, "Yes, sure I have noted as evil luck in love after the cuckoos call to have happened unto divers unmarried folks as ever I did unto the married: but I can be well content that we go unto Master J., for I promised on the behalf of us all that we would use our best devoir to recomfort him until he had recovered health, and I do much marvel that the Lady Eleanor is now become so unwilling to take any travail in his behalf, especially remembering that but yesternight she was so diligent to bring him to bed. But I perceive that all earthly things are subject unto change."
"Even so they be," quoth Pergo, "for you may behold the trees which but even this other day were clad in gladsome green, and now their leaves begin to fade and change color."
Thus they passed talking and walking until they returned unto the Castle, whereas they went straight unto F. J.'s chamber & found him in bed. "Why how now, Trust," quoth Dame Frances, "will it be no better?"
"Yes, shortly, I hope," quoth F. J..
The Ladies all saluted him & he gave them the gramercy. At the last, Pergo popped this question unto him: "And how have you slept in your Mistress' sheets, Master F. J.?" quoth she. "Reasonable well," quoth F. J., "but I pray you, where is my Mistress this morning?"
"Marry," said Pergo, "we left her in bed scarce well at ease."
"I am the more sorry," quoth F. J..
"Why, Trust," said Mistress Frances, "be of good comfort, and assure yourself that here are others who would be as glad of your well doing as your Mistress in any respect."
"I ought not to doubt thereof," quoth F. J., "having the proof that I have had of your great courtesies, but I thought it my duty to ask for my Mistress being absent."
Thus they passed some time with him until they were called away unto prayers, and that being finished they went to dinner, where they met Dame Eleanor attired in a night kerchief after the sullenest (the solemnest fashion I should have said), who looked very drowsily upon all folks unless it were her secretary, unto whom she deigned sometime to lend a friendly glance.
The Lord of the Castle demanded of her how F. J. did this morning. She answered that she knew not, for she had not seen him that day.
"You may do well then, daughter," quoth the Lord, "to go now unto him & to assay if he will eat any thing, & if here be no meats that like him, I pray you command for him any thing that is in my house."
"You must pardon me sir," quoth she, "I am sickly disposed, and would be loath to take the air."
"Why then, go you, Mistress Frances," quoth he, "and take somebody with you: and I charge you see that he lack nothing."
Mistress Frances was glad of the ambassade, & arising from the table with one other gentlewoman, took with her a dish of chickens boiled in white broth, saying to her father, "I think this meat meetest for Master J. of any that is here."
"It is so," quoth he, "daughter, and if he like not that cause somewhat else to be dressed for him according to his appetite."
Thus she departed and came to F. J. who, being plunged in sundry woes and thrilled with restless thoughts, was now beginning to arise: but, seeing the Dames, couched down again and said unto them, "Alas, fair Ladies, you put yourselves to more pains than either I do desire or can deserve."
"Good Trust," quoth Dame Frances, "our pains are no greater than duty requireth nor yet so great as we could vouchsafe in your behalf, and presently my father hath sent us unto you," quoth she, "with this pittance, and if your appetite desire any one thing more than other, we are to desire likewise that you will not refrain to call for it."
"Oh, my good Hope," quoth he, "I perceive that I shall not die as long as you may make me live."
And being now some deal recomforted with the remembrance of his Mistress' words which she had used over night at her first coming, and also thinking that although she parted in choler, it was but justly provoked by himself, and that at leisure he should find some salve for that sore also, he determined to take the comfort of his assured Hope and so to expel all venoms of mistrust before received. Wherefore, raising himself in his bed, he cast a nightgown about his shoulders, saying: "It shall never be said that my fainting heart can reject the comfortable Cordials of so friendly physicians."
"Now by my troth, well said, gentle Trust," quoth Dame Frances, "and in so doing assure yourself of guerison with speed."
This thus said, the courteous Dame became his carver, & he with a bold spirit gan taste of her cookery, but the late conflicts of his conceits had so disacquainted his stomach from repasts that he could not well away with meat: and yet nevertheless by little & little received some nurture. When his Hope had crammed him as long as she could make him feed, they delivered the rest to the other gentlewoman, who, having not dined, fell to her provender. In which meanwhile the Lady Frances had much comfortable speech with F. J. and declared that she perceived very well the cause of his malady.
"But, my Trust," quoth she, "be all whole, and remember what I foretold you in the beginning. Nevertheless you must think that there are remedies for all mischiefs, and if you will be ruled by mine advise, we will soon find the mean to ease you of this mishap."
F. J. took comfort in her discretion, and, friendly kissing her hand, gave her a cartload of thanks for her great good will, promising to put to his uttermost force and evermore to be ruled by her advise. Thus they passed the dinner while, the Lady Frances always refusing to declare her conceit of the late change which she perceived in his Mistress, for she thought best first to win his will unto conformity by little and little, and then in the end to persuade him with necessity. When the other gentlewoman had victualed her, they departed, requiring F. J. to arise and boldly to resist the faintness of his fever, the which he promised and so bade them a Dio.
The Ladies at their return found the court in Dame Eleanor's chamber, who had there assembled her secretary, Dam Pergo, and the rest. There they passed an hour or twain in sundry discourses, wherein Dame Pergo did always cast out some bone for Mistress Frances to gnaw upon, for that indeed she perceived her hearty affection towards F. J., whereat Mistress Frances changed no countenance but reserved her revenge until a better opportunity.
At last quoth Dame Frances unto Mistress Eleanor, "And when will you go unto your servant, fair Lady?"
"When he is sick and I am whole," quoth Dame Eleanor.
"That is even now," quoth the other, "for how sick he is yourself can witness: and how well you are, we must bear record."
"You may as well be deceived in my disposition," quoth Dame Eleanor, "as I was overseen in his sudden alteration. And if he be sick you are meetest to be his physician: for you saw yesterday that my pains did little profit towards his recomfort."
"Yes, surely," said the other, "not only I but all the rest had occasion to judge that your courtesy was his chief comfort."
"Well," quoth Dame Eleanor, "you know not what I know."
"Nor you what I think," quoth Dame Frances.
"Think what you list," quoth Eleanor.
"Indeed," quoth Frances, "I may not think that you care, neither will I die for your displeasure." And so half angry she departed.
At supper they met again, and the Master of the house demanded of his daughter Frances how F. J. did?
"Sir," quoth she, "he did eat somewhat at dinner, and sithens I saw him not."
"The more to blame," quoth he, "and now I would have all you gentlewomen take of the best meats and go sup with him, for company driveth away carefulness; and leave you me here with your leavings alone."
"Nay, sir," quoth Mistress Eleanor, "I pray you give me leave to bear you company, for I dare not adventure thither."
The Lord of the Castle was contented & dispatched away the rest: who taking with them such viands as they thought meetest, went unto F. J.'s chamber, finding him up and walking about to recover strength, whereat Dame Frances rejoiced and declared how her father had sent that company to attend him at supper. F. J. gave great thanks and, missing now nothing but his Mistress, thought not good yet to ask for her, but because he partly guessed the cause of her absence he contented himself, hoping that when his lure was new garnished he should easily reclaim her from those coy conceits. They passed over their supper all in quiet, and soon after, Mistress Frances, being desirous to requite Dame Pergo's quips, requested that they might continue the pastime which Dame Pergo had begun over night. Whereunto they all consented, and the lot fell unto Dame Frances to propound the second question, who addressing her speech unto F. J. said in this wise:
"Noble governor, I will rehearse unto you a strange history, not feigned, neither borrowed out of any old authority, but a thing done indeed of late days and not far distant from this place where we now remain. It chanced that a gentleman, our neighbor, being married to a very fair gentlewoman, lived with her by the space of four or five years in great contentation, trusting her no less than he loved her and yet loving her as much as any man could love a woman. On that other side, the gentlewoman had won (unto her beauty) a singular commendation for her chaste and modest behavior. Yet it happened in time that a lusty young gentleman (who very often resorted to them) obtained that at her hands which never any man could before him attain: and to be plain, he won so much in her affections that, forgetting both her own duty and her husband's kindness, she yielded her body at the commandment of this lover, in which pastime they passed long time by their politic government.
"At last, the friends of this Lady (and especially three sisters which she had) espied overmuch familiarity between the two lovers, and, dreading lest it might break out to their common reproach, took their sister apart and declared that the world did judge scarce well of the repair of that gentleman unto her house: and that if she did not foresee it in time, she should not only lose the good credit which she herself had hitherto possessed, but furthermore should destain their whole race with common obloquy and reproach. These and sundry other godly admonitions of these sisters could not sink in the mind of this gentlewoman, for she did not only stand in defiance what any man could think of her but also seemed to accuse them that because they saw her estimation (being their younger) to grow above their own, they had therefore devised this mean to set variance between her husband and her.
"The sisters, seeing their wholesome counsel so rejected and her continue still in her obstinate opinion, addressed their speech unto her husband, declaring that the world judged not the best, neither they themselves did very well like, of the familiarity between their sister and that gentleman, and therefore advised him to forecast all perils and in time to forbid him his house. The husband (on that other side) had also conceived such a good opinion of his guest & had grown into such a strict familiarity with him that you might with more ease have removed a stone wall than once to make him think amiss either of his wife or of her lover. Yea, and immediately after this conference, he would not stick thus to say unto his wife: 'Bess,' (for so indeed was her name) 'thou hast three such busy-brained sisters as I think shortly their heads will break: they would have me to be jealous of thee. No, no, Bess, &c.' So that he was not only far from any such belief, but furthermore did every day increase his courtesies towards the lover. The sisters, being thus on all sides rejected and yet perceiving more and more an unseemly behavior between their sister and her minion, began to melt in their own grease: and such was their enraged pretence of revenge that they suborned divers servants in the house to watch so diligently as that this treason might be discovered.
"Amongst the rest, one maid of subtle spirit had so long watched them that at last she espied them go into a chamber together and lock the door to them. Whereupon she ran with all haste possible to her Master and told him that if he would come with her, she would show him a very strange sight. The gentleman (suspecting nothing) went with her until he came into a chamber near unto that wherein they had shut themselves, and she, pointing her Master to the keyhole, bade him look through, where he saw the thing which most might mislike him to behold. Whereat he suddenly drew his Dagger and turned towards the maid, who fled from him for fear of mischief: but when he could not overtake her in the heat of his choler, he commanded that she should forthwith truss up that little which she had and to depart his service. And before her departure, he found means to talk with her, threatening that if ever she spake any word of this mystery in any place where she should come, it should cost her life. The maid for fear departed in silence, and the Master never changed countenance either to his wife or to her paramour, but feigned unto his wife that he had turned away the maid upon that sudden for that she had thrown a Kitchen knife at him whiles he went about to correct a fault in her &c.
"Thus the good gentleman drank up his own sweat unseen every day, increasing courtesy to the lover and never changing countenance to his wife in any thing but only that he refrained to have such knowledge of her carnally as he in times past had and other men have of their wives. In this sort he continued by the space almost of half a year, nevertheless lamenting his mishap in solitary places. At last (what moved him I know not), he fell again to company with his wife as other men do, and, as I have heard it said, he used this policy: every time that he had knowledge of her, he would leave either in the bed, or in her cushioncloth, or by her looking glass, or in some place where she must needs find it, a piece of money, which then was fallen to three halfpence and I remember they called the Slips. Thus he dealt with her continually by the space of four or five months, using her nevertheless very kindly in all other respects & providing for her all things necessary at the first call: But unto his guest he still augmented his courtesy, in such sort, that you would have thought them to be sworn brothers.
"All this notwithstanding, his wife much musing at these three half penny pieces which she found in this sort, and furthermore having sundry times found her husband in solitary places making great lamentation, she grew inquisitive what should be the secret cause of these alterations: unto who he would none otherwise answer but that any man should find occasion to be more pensive at one time than at another. The wife, notwithstanding increasing her suspect, imported the same unto her lover, alleging therewithal that she doubted very much lest her husband had some vehement suspicion of their affairs. The lover encouraged her, & likewise declared that if she would be importunate to enquire the cause her husband would not be able to keep it from her: and having now thoroughly instructed her, she dealt with her husband in this sort.
"One day when she knew him to be in his study alone, she came in to him, and having fast locked the door after her and conveyed the key into her pocket, she began first with earnest entreaty, and then with tears, to crave that he would no longer keep from her the cause of his sudden alteration. The husband dissimuled the matter still. At last she was so earnest to know for what cause he left money in such sort at sundry times that he answered on this wise:
"'Wife,' quoth he, 'thou knowest how long we have ben married together & how long I made so dear account of thee as ever man made of his wife; since which days, thou knowest also how long I refrained thy company, and how long again I have used thy company leaving the money in this sort, and the cause is this: So long as thou didst behave thyself faithfully towards me, I never loathed thy company, but sithens I have perceived thee to be a harlot. & therefore did I for a time refrain and forbear to lie with thee. & now I can no longer forbear it, I do give thee every time that I lie with thee a slip, which is to make thee understand thine own whoredom. And this reward is sufficient for a whore.'
"The wife began stoutly to stand at defiance, but the husband cut off her speech and declared when, where, and how he had seen it. Hereat the woman, being abashed and finding her conscience guilty of as much as he had alleged, fell down on her knees, & with most bitter tears craved pardon, confessing her offence. Whereat her husband, moved with pity & melting likewise in floods of lamentation, recomforted her, promising that if from that day forwards she would be true unto him, he would not only forgive al that was past, but become more tender & loving unto her than ever he was.
"What do I tarry so long? They became of accord: & in full accomplishment thereof, the gentlewoman did altogether eschew the company, the speech, & (as much as in her lay) the sight of her lover, although her husband did continue his courtesy towards him and often charged his wife to make him fair semblance. The lover was now only left in perplexity, who knew nothing what might be the cause of all these changes, & that most grieved him, he could by no means obtain again the speech of his desired: he watched all opportunities, he suborned messengers, he wrote letters, but all in vain. In the end, she caused to be declared unto him a time and place where she would meet him and speak with him.
"Being met, she put him in remembrance of all that had passed between them; she laid also before him how trusty she had been unto him in all professions; she confessed also how faithfully he had discharged the duty of a friend in all respects; and therewithal she declared that her late alteration and pensiveness of mind was not without great cause, for that she had of late such a mishap as might change the disposition of any living creature. Yea, and that the case was such as unless she found present remedy her death must needs ensue and that speedily: for the preventing whereof, she alleged that she had beaten her brains with all devises possible, and that in the end she could think of no redress but one, the which lay only in him to accomplish. Wherefore she besought him, for all the love and good will which passed between them, now to show the fruits of true friendship and to gratify her with a free grant to this request. The lover, who had always been desirous to pleasure her in any thing, but now especially, to recover her wonted kindness, gan frankly promise to accomplish any thing that might be to him possible, yea, though it were to his great detriment: and therewithal did deeply blame her in that she would so long torment herself with any grief, considering that it lay in him to help it. The Lady answered that she had so long kept it from his knowledge because she doubted whether he would be contented to perform it or not, although it was such a thing as he might easily grant without any manner of hurt to himself: & yet that now in the end she was forced to adventure upon his courtesy, being no longer able to bear the burden of her grief. The lover solicited her most earnestly to disclose it, and she (as fast) seemed to mistrust that he would not accomplish it.
"In the end, she took out a book (which she had brought for the nonce) and bound him by oath to accomplish it. The lover, mistrusting nothing less than that ensued, took the oath willingly. Which done, she declared all that had passed between her & her husband: his grief, her repentance, his pardon, her vow, & in the end of her tale, enjoined the lover that from thenceforthwards he should never attempt to break her constant determination. The lover replied that this was unpossible. But she plainly assured him that if he granted her that request, she would be his friend in all honest & godly wise; if not, she put him out of doubt that she would eschew his company & fly from his sight as from a scorpion.
"The lover, considering that her request was but just, accusing his own guilty conscience, remembering the great courtesies always used by her husband, & therewithal seeing the case now brought to such an issue as that by none other means than by this it could be concealed from knowledge of the world -- but most of all, being urged by his oath -- did at last give an unwilling consent & yet a faithful promise to yield unto her will in all things. And thus being become of one assent, he remaineth the dearest friend & most welcome guest that may be, both to the Lady & her husband, and the man & wife so kind each to other as if there never had been such a breach between them.
"Now, of you, noble Governor, I would fain learn whether the perplexity of the husband when he looked in at the key hole, or of the wife when she knew the cause why the slips were so scattered, or of the lover when he knew what was his Mistress' charge, was greater of the three? I might have put in also the troubled thoughts of the sisters & the maid when they saw their good will rejected, but let these three suffice."
"Gentle Hope," quoth F. J., "you have rehearsed (& that right eloquently) a notable tale, or rather a notable history, because you seem to affirm that it was done in deed of late & not far hence. Wherein I note five especial points: that is, a marvelous patience in the husband, no less repentance in the wife, no small boldness of the maid, but much more rashness in the sisters, and last of all, a rare tractability in the lover. Nevertheless, to return unto your question, I think the husband's perplexity greatest, because his losses abounded above the rest & his injuries were uncomparable."
The Lady Frances did not seem to contrary him, but rather smiled in her sleeve at Dame Pergo, who had no less patience to hear the tale recited than the Lady Frances had pleasure in telling of it, but I may not rehearse the cause why unless I should tell all.
By this time, the sleeping hour approached & the Ladies prepared their departure, when as mistress Frances said unto F. J., "Although percase I shall not do it so handsomely as your mistress, yet good Trust," quoth she, "if you vouchsafe it, I can be content to trim up your bed in the best manner that I may, as one who would be as glad as she to procure your quiet rest."
F. J. gave her great thanks, desiring her not to trouble herself, but to let his man alone with that charge. Thus they departed, and how all parties took rest that night I know not. But in the morning, F. J. began to consider with himself that he might lie long enough in his bed before his mistress would be appeased in her peevish conceits. Wherefore he arose &, being apparelled in his nightgown, took occasion to walk in the gallery near adjoining unto his Mistress chamber: but there might he walk long enough ere his mistress would come to walk with him.
When dinner time came, he went into the great chamber, whereas the Lord of the castle saluted him, being joyful of his recovery. F. J., giving due thanks, declared that his friendly entertainment together with the great courtesy of the gentlewomen was such as might revive a man although he were half dead.
"I would be loath," quoth the host, "that any gentleman coming to me for good will should want any courtesy of entertainment that lieth in my power."
When the meat was served to the table, the gentlewomen came in; all but Dame Eleanor & mistress Pergo, the which F. J. marked very well, & it did somewhat abate his appetite. After dinner, his Hope came unto him and demanded of him how he would pass the day for his recreation? To whom he answered, even as it best pleased her. She devised to walk into the park & so by little & little to acquaint himself with the air. He agreed & they walked together, being accompanied with one or two other gentlewomen.
Here (lest you should grow in some wrong conceit of F. J.), I must put you out of doubt that although there were now more cause that he should mistrust his mistress than ever he had before received, yet the vehement passions which he saw in her when she first came to visit him &, moreover, the earnest words which she pronounced in his extremity, were such a refreshing to his mind as that he determined no more to trouble himself with like conceits: concluding further that if his mistress were not faulty, then had he committed a foul offence in needless jealousy, & that if she were faulty (especially with the Secretary), then no persuasion could amend her nor any passion help him: and this was the cause that enabled him, after such passing pangs, to abide the doubtful conclusion thus manfully, and valiantly to repress faintness of his mind: nothing doubting but that he should have won his Mistress to pardon his presumption & lovingly to embrace his service in wonted manner. But he was far deceived, for she was now in another tune; the which Mistress Frances began partly to discover unto him as they walked together: for she burdened him that his malady proceeded only of a disquiet mind.
"And if it did so, my gentle Hope," quoth he, "what remedy?
"My good Trust," quoth she, "none other but to plant quiet where disquiet began to grow."
"I have determined so," quoth he, "but I must crave the help of your assured friendship."
"Thereof you may make account," quoth she, "but wherein?"
F. J., walking apart with her, began to declare that there was some contention happened between his mistress & him. The Lady told him that she was not ignorant thereof. Then he desired her to treat so much in that cause as they might eftsoons come to Parley.
"Thereof I dare assure you," quoth Mistress Frances.
And at their return, she led F. J. into his Mistress' chamber, whom they found lying on her bed, whether galded with any grief, or weary of the thing which you wot of I know not, but there she lay, unto who F. J. gave two or three salutations before she seemed to mark him.
At last said the Lady Frances unto her, "Your servant hearing of your sickness hath adventured thus far into the air to see you."
"I thank him," quoth Dame Eleanor, & so lay still, refusing to give him any countenance.
Whereat F. J., perceiving all the other gentlewomen fall to whispering, thought good boldly to plead his own case, &, approaching the bed, began to enforce his unwilling mistress unto courtesy, wherein he used such vehemence as she could not well by any means refuse to talk with him. But what their talk was, I may not take upon me to tell you unless you would have me fill up a whole volume only with his matters, and I have dilated them over largely already. Sufficeth this to be known, that in the end she pretended to pass over all old grudges & thenceforth to pleasure him as occasion might serve. The which occasion was so long in happening that in the end F. J., being now eftsoons troubled with unquiet fantasies, & forced to use his pen again as an Ambassador between them, one day amongst the rest found opportunity to thrust a letter into her bosom, wherein he had earnestly requested another moonshine banquet or Friday's breakfast to recomfort his dulled spirits. Whereunto the Dame yielded this answer in writing, but of whose enditing judge you.
I can but smile at your simplicity, who burden your friends with an impossibility. The case so stood as I could not though I would. Wherefore from henceforth either learn to frame your request more reasonably, or else stand content with a flat repulse.
SHE.
F. J. liked this letter but a little: and being thereby droven into his accustomed vein, he compiled in verse this answer following, upon these words contained in her letter, "I could not though I would."
I could not though I would: Good Lady, say not so,
Since one good word of your good will might soon redress my woe.
Where would is free before, there could can never fail:
For proof, you see how galleys pass where ships can bear no sail.
The weary mariner when skies are overcast
By ready will doth guide his skill and wins the haven at last.
The pretty bird that sings with prick against her breast
Doth make a virtue of her need to watch when others rest.
And true the proverb is, which you have laid apart,
There is no hap can seem too hard unto a willing heart.
Then, lovely Lady mine, you say not as you should,
In doubtful terms to answer thus: I could not though I would.
Yes, yes, full well you know your can is quick and good,
And willful will is eke too swift to shed my guiltless blood.
But if good will were bent as press'd as power is,
Such will would quickly find the skill to mend that is amiss.
Wherefore if you desire to see my true love spilt,
Command and I will slay myself, that yours may be the guilt.
But if you have no power to say your servant nay,
Write thus: I may not as I would, yet must I as I may.
F. J.
Thus F. J. replied upon his Mistress answer, hoping thereby to recover some favor at her hands, but it would not be. So that now he had been as likely (as at the first) to have fretted in fantasies, had not the Lady Frances continually comforted him: and by little & little, she drove such reason into his mind that now he began to subdue his humors with discretion, and to determine that if he might espy evident proof of his Mistress frailty, he would then stand content with patience perforce, & give his Mistress the Bezo las manos.
And it happened one day amongst others that he resorted to his Mistress' chamber & found her (allo solito) lying upon her bed, & the secretary with Dame Pergo & her handmaid keeping of her company. Whereat F. J. somewhat repining, came to her and fell to dalliance, as one that had now rather adventure to be thought presumptuous than yield to be accounted bashful. He cast his arm over his Mistress and began to accuse her of sluggishness, using some other bold parts as well to provoke her as also to grieve the other. The Lady seemed little to delight in his dallying, but cast a glance at her secretary and therewith smiled, when as the Secretary & dame Pergo burst out into open laughter. The which F. J. perceiving, and disdaining her ingratitude, was forced to depart, and in that fantasy compiled this Sonnet.
With her in arms that had my heart in hold,
I stood of late to plead for pity so.
And as I did her lovely looks behold,
She cast a glance upon my rival foe.
His fleering face provoked her to smile
When my salt tears were drowned in disdain:
He glad, I sad, he laugh'd; alas the while,
I wept for woe, I pin'd for deadly pain.
And when I saw none other boot prevail
But reason's rule must guide my skilful mind:
Why then, quoth I, old proverbs never fail,
For yet was never good Cat out of kind:
Nor woman true, but even as stories tell,
Won with an egg, and lost again with shell.
F. J.
This Sonnet declareth that he began now to account of her as she deserved, for it hath a sharp conclusion, and it is somewhat too general. Well, as it is he lost it where his Mistress found it, and she immediately imparted the same unto Dame Pergo, and Dame Pergo unto others: so that it quickly became common in the house. Amongst others, Mistress Frances, having recovered a copy of it, did seem to pardon the generality and to be well pleased with the particularity thereof. The which she bewrayed one day unto F. J. in this wise:
"Of all the joys that ever I had, my good Trust," quoth she, "there is none wherein I take more comfort than in your conformity. And although your present rage is such that you can be content to condemn a number unknown for the transgression of one too well known, yet I do rather rejoice that you should judge your pleasure over many than to be abused by any."
"My good Hope," quoth he, "it were not reason that, after such manifold proofs of your exceeding courtesies, I should use strange or contentious speech with so dear a friend, and indeed I must confess that the opinion which I have conceived of my Mistress hath stirred my pen to write very hardly against all the feminine gender, but I pray you pardon me," quoth he, "& if it please you I will recant it, as also (percase) I was but cloyed with Surquedry and presumed to think more than may be proved."
"Yea, but how if it were proved?" quoth Dame Frances.
"If it were so (which God forbid)," quoth he, "then could you not blame me to conceive that opinion."
"Howsoever I might blame you," quoth she, "I mean not to blame you. But I demand further, if it be as I think & you suspect, what will you then do?"
"Surely," quoth F. J., "I have determined to drink up mine own sorrow secretly, and to bid them both Adieu."
"I like your farewell better than your fantasy," quoth she, "and whensoever you can be content to take so much pains as the Knight which had a nightgown guarded with naked swords did take, I think you may put yourself out of doubt of all these things."
By these words and other speech which she uttered unto him, F. J. smelt how the world went about, and therefore did one day in the grey morning adventure to pass through the gallery towards his Mistress' chamber, hoping to have found the door open, but he found the contrary, and there attending in good devotion, heard the parting of his Mistress and her Secretary with many kind words: whereby it appeared that the one was very loath to depart from the other. F. J. was enforced to bear this burden, and after he had attended there as long as the light would give him leave, he departed also to his chamber, and, appareling himself, could not be quiet until he had spoken with his Mistress, whom he burdened flatly with this despiteful treachery: and she as fast denied it, until at last being still urged with such evident tokens as he alleged, she gave him this bone to gnaw upon:
"And if I did so," quoth she, "what then?"
Whereunto F. J. made none answer, but departed with this farewell: "My loss is mine own, and your gain is none of yours, and sooner can I recover my loss than you enjoy the gain which you gape after." And when he was in place solitary, he compiled these following for a final end of the matter.
And if I did, what then?
Are you aggriev'd therefore?
The Sea hath fish for every man,
And what would you have more?
Thus did my Mistress once
Amaze my mind with doubt
And popp'd a question for the nonce
To beat my brains about.
Whereto I thus replied:
Each fisherman can wish
That all the Sea at every tide
Were his alone to fish.
And so did I, in vain,
But since it may not be,
Let such fish there as find the gain,
And leave the loss for me.
And with such luck and loss
I will content myself
Till tides of turning time may toss
Such fishers on the shelf.
And when they stick on sands,
That every man may see:
Then will I laugh and clap my hands
As they do now at me.
F. J.
It is time now to make an end of this thriftless History, wherein although I could wade much further, as to declare his departure, what thanks he gave to his Hope, &c., yet I will cease, as one that had rather leave it unperfect than make it too plain. I have past it over with quoth he and quoth she, after my homely manner of writing, using sundry names for one person, as the Dame, the Lady, Mistress, &c., The Lord of the Castle, the Master of the house, and the host. Nevertheless ,for that I have seen good authors term every gentlewoman a Lady and every gentleman domine, I have thought it no greater fault then petty treason thus to intermingle them, nothing doubting but you will easily understand my meaning, and that is as much as I desire. Now henceforwards I will trouble you no more with such a barbarous style in prose, but will only recite unto you sundry verses written by sundry gentlemen, adding nothing of mine own but only a title to every Poem, whereby the cause of writing the same may the more evidently appear. Neither can I declare unto you who wrote the greatest part of them, for they are unto me but a posy presented out of sundry gardens, neither have I any other names of the flowers but such short notes as the authors themselves have delivered thereby. If you can guess them, it shall no way offend me. I will begin with this translation as followeth....
G. T.
