A kindly thing it is to have compassion of the afflicted
and albeit it well beseemeth every one, yet of those is it more
particularly required who have erst had need of comfort and have
found it in any, amongst whom, if ever any had need thereof or held
it dear or took pleasure therein aforetimes, certes, I am one of
these. For that, having from my first youth unto this present been
beyond measure inflamed with a very high and noble passion (higher
and nobler, perchance, than might appear, were I to relate it, to
sort with my low estate) albeit by persons of discretion who had
intelligence thereof I was commended therefor and accounted so much
the more worth, natheless a passing sore travail it was to me to
bear it, not, certes, by reason of the cruelty of the beloved lady,
but because of the exceeding ardour begotten in my breast of an
ill-ordered appetite, for which, for that it suffered me not to
stand content at any reasonable bounds, caused me ofttimes feel
more chagrin than I had occasion for. In this my affliction the
pleasant discourse of a certain friend of mine and his admirable
consolations afforded me such refreshment that I firmly believe of
these it came that I died not. But, as it pleased Him who, being
Himself infinite, hath for immutable law appointed unto all things
mundane that they shall have an end, my love,—beyond every other
fervent and which nor stress of reasoning nor counsel, no, nor yet
manifest shame nor peril that might ensue thereof, had availed
either to break or to bend,—of its own motion, in process of time,
on such wise abated that of itself at this present it hath left me
only that pleasance which it is used to afford unto whoso
adventureth himself not too far in the navigation of its profounder
oceans; by reason whereof, all chagrin being done away, I feel it
grown delightsome, whereas it used to be grievous. Yet, albeit the
pain hath ceased, not, therefore, is the memory fled of the
benefits whilom received and the kindnesses bestowed on me by those
to whom, of the goodwill they bore me, my troubles were grievous;
nor, as I deem, will it ever pass away, save for death. And for
that gratitude, to my thinking, is, among the other virtues,
especially commendable and its contrary blameworthy, I have, that I
may not appear ungrateful, bethought myself, now that I can call
myself free, to endeavour, in that little which is possible to me,
to afford some relief, in requital of that which I received
aforetime,—if not to those who succoured me and who, belike, by
reason of their good sense or of their fortune, have no occasion
therefor,—to those, at least, who stand in need thereof. And albeit
my support, or rather I should say my comfort, may be and indeed is
of little enough avail to the afflicted, natheless meseemeth it
should rather be proffered whereas the need appeareth greater, as
well because it will there do more service as for that it will
still be there the liefer had. And who will deny that this
[comfort], whatsoever [worth] it be, it behoveth much more to give
unto lovesick ladies than unto men? For that these within their
tender bosoms, fearful and shamefast, hold hid the fires of love
(which those who have proved know how much more puissance they have
than those which are manifest), and constrained by the wishes, the
pleasures, the commandments of fathers, mothers, brothers and
husbands, abide most time enmewed in the narrow compass of their
chambers and sitting in a manner idle, willing and willing not in
one breath, revolve in themselves various thoughts which it is not
possible should still be merry. By reason whereof if there arise in
their minds any melancholy, bred of ardent desire, needs must it
with grievous annoy abide therein, except it be done away by new
discourse; more by token that they are far less strong than men to
endure. With men in love it happeneth not on this wise, as we may
manifestly see. They, if any melancholy or heaviness of thought
oppress them, have many means of easing it or doing it away, for
that to them, an they have a mind thereto, there lacketh not
commodity of going about hearing and seeing many things, fowling,
hunting, fishing, riding, gaming and trafficking; each of which
means hath, altogether or in part, power to draw the mind unto
itself and to divert it from troublous thought, at least for some
space of time, whereafter, one way or another, either solacement
superveneth or else the annoy groweth less. Wherefore, to the end
that the unright of Fortune may by me in part be amended, which,
where there is the less strength to endure, as we see it in
delicate ladies, hath there been the more niggard of support, I
purpose, for the succour and solace of ladies in love (unto
others[1]the
needle and the spindle and the reel suffice) to recount an hundred
stories or fables or parables or histories or whatever you like to
style them, in ten days' time related by an honourable company of
seven ladies and three young men made in the days of the late
deadly pestilence, together with sundry canzonets sung by the
aforesaid ladies for their diversion. In these stories will be
found love-chances,[2]both gladsome and grievous,
and other accidents of fortune befallen as well in times present as
in days of old, whereof the ladies aforesaid, who shall read them,
may at once take solace from the delectable things therein shown
forth and useful counsel, inasmuch as they may learn thereby what
is to be eschewed and what is on like wise to be ensued,—the which
methinketh cannot betide without cease of chagrin. If it happen
thus (as God grant it may) let them render thanks therefor to Love,
who, by loosing me from his bonds, hath vouchsafed me the power of
applying myself to the service of their pleasures.