him thereof. The Welshman answered and said, he took it for no sin, for it was a custom among them that when any booty came of any rich merchant riding it was but a good neighbour's deed one to help another when one called another, and so they took that but for good fellowship and neighbourhood.

Here ye may see that some have remorse of conscience of small venial sins, and fear not to do great offences without shame of the world or dread of God: and as the common proverb is, they stumble at a straw and leap over a block.

Of the Boy that bare the Friar his master's money. A certain Friar had a boy that ever was wont to bear this Friar's money, and on a time, when the boy was far behind his master, as they two walked together by the way there met a man the Friar which knew that the boy bare the Friar's money, and said, "How, Master Friar, shall I bid thy boy hie him apace after thee?" "Yea," quoth the Friar. Then went the man to the boy and said, "Sirrah, thy master biddeth thee give me forty pence." "I will not," quoth the boy. Then called the man with a high voice to the Friar, and said, "Sir, he saith he will not." Then quoth the Friar, "Beat him." And when the boy heard his master say so, he gave the man forty pence.

By this ye may see it is folly for a man to say Yea or Nay to a matter except he know surely what the matter is.

Of the Man who would have the Pot stand there as he would. A young man late married to a wife thought it was good policy to get the mastery of her in the beginning. Came to her, the pot seething over the fire, although the meat therein was not enough,' suddenly commanded her to take the pot from the fire. Which answered and said, that the meat was not ready to eat. And he said again, "I will have it taken off, for my pleasure." This good woman loth yet to offend him, set the pot beside the fire as he bade. And anon2 after he commanded her to set the pot behind the door, and she said thereto again, "Ye be not wise therein." But he precisely said, it should be so as he bade. And she gently again did his commandment. This man, yet not satisfied, commanded her to set the pot ahigh upon the henroost. "What!" quoth the wife again. "I trow ye be mad." And he fiercely then commanded her to set it there, or else, he said, she should repent. She, somewhat afeared to move his patience, took a ladder and set it to the roost, and went herself up the ladder, and took the pot in her hand, praying her husband then to hold the ladder fast, for sliding; which so did.

And when the husband looked up and saw the pot stand there on height he said thus, "So now standeth the pot there as I would have it." This wife, hearing that, suddenly poured the hot pottage on his head, and said thus, "And now ben the pottage there as I would have them."

By this tale men may see that it is no wisdom for a man to attempt a meek woman's patience too far, lest it turn to his own hurt and damage.

Of the Courtier that did cast the Friar over the Boat. A Courtier and a Friar happened to meet together in a ferryboat, and in a communication between them fell at

1 Not enough. Not done enough; not perfectly cooked. In another of these tales a Welshman stole an Englishman's cock and put it in his pot to boil. The Englishman went to ask for it. Said the Welshman, "There it is, and if the cock's yours you shall have your share of it." "It is not enough," said the Englishman. "Well," said the Welshman, "if it's not enough it soon will be, for there's a good fire under it."

2 Anon, immediately; the implication of delay came later.

words, angry and displeased each with other, and fought and struggled together so that at the last the Courtier cast the Friar over the boat; so was the Friar drowned. The Ferryman, which had been a man of war the most part of his life before, and seeing the Friar was so drowned and gone, said thus to the Courtier, "I beshrew thy heart! Thou shouldest have tarried and fought with him a land, for now thou hast caused me to lose an halfpenny for my fare."

By this tale a man may see that he that is accustomed in vicious and cruel company shall lose that noble virtue, to have pity and compassion upon his neighbour.

Of Master Whittington's Dream.

Soon after one Master Whittington had builded a College, on a night as he slept he dreamed that he sat in his church, and many folks there also; and further he dreamed that he saw Our Lady in the same church with a glass of goodly ointment in her hand, going to one asking him what he had done for her sake; which said, that he had said Our Lady's Psalter every day, wherefore she gave him a little of the oil. And anon she went to another, asking him what he had done for her sake; which said, that he had said two Lady's Psalters every day, wherefore Our Lady gave him more of the ointment than she gave the other. This master Whittington then thought that when Our Lady should come to him she would give him all the whole glass, because he had builded such a great College, and was very glad in his mind. But when Our Lady came to him, she asked him what he had suffered for her sake. Which words made him greatly abashed, because he had nothing to say for himself. And so he dreamed that, for all the great deed of building of the said College, he had no part of that goodly ointment.

By this ye may see that to suffer for God's sake is more meritorious than to give great goods.

In 1531 Sir Thomas Elyot published, with a dedication to King Henry VIII., a book called "The Governour," described by himself as an "endeavour to describe in our vulgar tongue the form of a juste publike weale, which matter I have gathered, as wel of the sayinges of most noble authors (Grekes and Latines) as by mine owne experience: I being continually trained in some daylye affayres of the publike weale of this your most noble realm, almost from my childhood, which attemptate is not of presumption to teach anye person, I myself having most nede of teaching: But only to the intent that menne which will be studious about the weale publike, may finde the thing thereto expedient, compendiouslye written. And for as much, as this presente booke treateth of the education of them, that here after may be deemed worthy to be gouernours of the publike weale under your hyghnesse (which Plato affyrmeth to bee the first and chiefe parte of a publike weale: Salomon saying also, where gouernours be not, the people shall fall into ruine) I therefore have named it the Gouernour, and doe nowe dedicate it unto your hyghnesse, as the first fruites of my study."

Sir Thomas Elyot was son to Sir Richard Elyot, once attorney-general to Elizabeth, queen of Henry VII., and afterwards a Justice of the Common Pleas. He was educated in Jesus College, Cambridge, and

took his degree of M.A. in 1507. After his father's death, in 1520, he succeeded unexpectedly to an estate at Carlton in Cambridgeshire, which had belonged to his second cousin, and successfully defended his right in a Chancery suit. In 1523, by the influence of Cardinal Wolsey, Thomas Elyot was appointed Clerk of the Star Chamber, which office he lost when Wolsey fell from power. But Elyot was then knighted and employed by the king in various services. In 1530 he was one of a commission to inquire into Wolsey's possessions in Cambridgeshire. In 1531 he published "The Governour," and in the following year Henry VIII. sent him as an envoy to Rome to treat of the king's divorce. In the same year, 1532, he was appointed Sheriff of Cambridgeshire and Huntingdonshire. In 1536 he was sent as an embassy to the Emperor. In 1545 he was a second time sheriff of his county, and in 1546 he died at Carlton. He was married and had three sons who died before him.

Besides "The Governour," published in 1531, Sir Thomas Elyot wrote a book "Of the Knowledge which maketh a Wise Man," and "The Castle of Health," "The Banquet of Sapience," "Pasquil the Plain," a Dictionary, several translations from the Greek of writings illustrating the wisdom of life, including Plutarch on the Education of Children, also "The Defence or Apologye of Good Women," and in 1545, the year before he died, "A Preservative agaynste Deth." The translation, by Sir Thomas Elyot, of Plutarch on the Education of Children doubtless came into the hands of John Lyly; for in that part of his "Euphues," published in 1579, which treats of education under the title "Euphues and his Euphebus," it is evident that Lyly had been fastening with sympathy on Plutarch as well as on Ascham. The twelfth chapter of the second book of Sir Thomas Elyot's "Governour" a piece complete in itself.

THE WONDERFUL HISTORY OF TITUS AND GISIPPUS, And whereby is fully declared the figure of perfect amity.

is

But now in the midst of my labour, as it were, to pause and take breath, and also to recreate the readers, which, fatigued with long precepts, desire variety of matter, or some new pleasant fable of history, I will rehearse a right goodly example of friendship, which example, studiously read, shall minister to the reader's singular pleasure, and also incredible comfort to practise amity.

There was in the city of Rome a noble senator, named Fulvius, who sent his son, called Titus, being a child, to the city of Athens, in Greece (which was the fountain of all manner of doctrine), there to learn good letters: and caused him to be hosted with a worshipful man of that city, called Chremes. This Chremes happened to have also a son named Gisippus, who not only was equal to the said young Titus in years, but also in stature, proportion of body, favour, and colour of visage, countenance and speech. The two children were so like, that without much difficulty it could not be discerned of their proper parents, which was Titus from Gisippus, or Gisippus from Titus. These two young gentlemen, as they seemed to be one in form and personage, so shortly after acquaintance, the same nature wrought in their hearts such a mutual affection, and their wills and appetites daily

more and more so confederated themselves, that it seemed none other, when their names were declared, but that they had only changed their places, issuing (as I might say) out of the one body, and entering into the other. They together, and at one time went to their learning and study, at one time to their meals and refection, they delighted both in one doctrine, and profited equally therein; finally, they together increased in doctrine, that within a few years few within Athens might be compared unto them. At the last died Chremes, which was not only to his son, but also to Titus cause of much sorrow and heaviness. Gisippus, by the goods of his father, was known to be a man of great substance : wherefore there were offered to him great and rich marriages. And he then being of ripe years, and of an able and goodly personage, his friends, kin, and allies exhorted him busily to take a wife, to the intent he might increase his lineage and progeny. But the young man, having his heart already wedded to his friend Titus, and his mind fixed to the study of philosophy, fearing that marriage should be the occasion to sever him both from the one and the other, refused of long time to be persuaded, until at the last, partly by the importunate calling on of his kinsmen, partly by the consent and advice of his dear friend Titus, thereto by other desired, he assented to marry such a one as should like him. What shall need any words? His friends found a young gentlewoman, which in equality of years, virtuous conditions, nobility of blood, beauty, and sufficient riches, they thought was for such a young man apt and convenient. And when they and her friends upon the covenants of marriage were thoroughly accorded, they counselled Gisippus to repair unto the maiden, and to behold how her person contented him: and he so doing found her in every form and condition according to his expectation and appetite, whereat he much rejoiced, and became of her amorous, insomuch as many and oftentimes leaving Titus at his study, he secretly repaired unto her. Notwithstanding, the fervent love that he had to his friend Titus at the last surmounted his shamefacedness, wherefore he disclosed to him his secret journeys, and what delectation he took in beholding the excellent beauty of her whom he intended to marry, and how with her good manners and sweet entertainment, she had constrained him to be her lover. And on a time he, having with him his friend Titus, went to his lady, of whom he was received most joyously.

But Titus forthwith as he beheld so heavenly a personage, adorned with beauty inexplicable, in whose visage was a most amiable countenance, mixed with maidenly shamefacedness, and the rare and sober words and well couched, which issued out of her pretty mouth, Titus was thereat abashed, and had the heart through pierced with the fiery dart of blind Cupid, of the which wound the anguish was so exceeding and vehement, that neither the study of philosophy, neither the remembrance of his dear friend Gisippus, who so much loved and trusted him, could anything withdraw him from that unkind appetite, but that of force he must love inordinately that lady, whom his said friend had determined to marry. Albeit with incredible pains he kept his thoughts secret until that he and Gisippus were returned unto their lodgings. Then the miserable Titus, withdrawing him as it were to his study, all tormented and oppressed with love, threw himself on a bed, and there rebuking his own most despiteful unkindness, which by the sudden sight of a maiden, he had conspired against his most dear friend Gisippus, against all humanity and reason, cursed his fate or constellation, and wished that he had never come to Athens. And therewith he sent out from the bottom of his heart deep and cold sighs, in such plenty, that it lacked but little that his heart was not riven in pieces. In dolour and anguish tossed he himself by

a certain space, but to no man would he discover it. But at the last, the pain became so intolerable, that would he or no, he was enforced to keep his bed, being for lack of sleep and other natural sustenance, brought in such feebleness, that his legs might not sustain his body. Gisippus missing his dear friend Titus, was much abashed, and hearing that he lay sick in his bed, had forthwith his heart pierced with heaviness, and with all speed came to him, where he lay. And beholding the rosial colour, which was wont to be in his visage, turned into sallow, the residue pale, his ruddy lips wan, and his eyen leaden and hollow, might unneth keep himself from weeping but to the intent he would not discomfort his friend Titus, dissimulated his heaviness, and with a comfortable countenance demanded of Titus, what was the cause of his disease, blaming him of unkindness, that he so long had sustained it, without giving him knowledge, that he might for him have provided some remedy, if any might have been got, though it were with the dispensing of all his substance. With which words the mortal sighs renewed in Titus, and the salt tears burst out of his eyen in such abundance, as it had been a land flood running down of a mountain after a storm. That beholding Gisippus, and being also resolved into tears, most heartily desired him, and (as I might say) conjured him, for the fervent and entire love that had been, and yet was between them, that he would no longer hide from him his grief, and that there was nothing to him so dear and precious (although it were his own life) that might restore Titus to health, but that he would gladly, and without grudging employ it, with which words, obtestations, and tears of Gisippus, Titus constrained, all blushing and ashamed, holding down his head, brought forth with great difficulty his words in this wise.

"My dear and most loving friend, withdraw your friendly offers, cease of your courtesy, refrain your tears and regrettings, take rather your knife, and slay me here where I lie, or otherwise take vengeance on me, most miserable and false traitor unto you, and of all other most worthy to suffer shameful death. For where as God of nature, like as He hath given to us similitude in all the parts of our body, so hath He conjoined our wills, studies, and appetites together in one, so that between men was never like concord and love, as I suppose. And now notwithstanding, only with the look of a woman, those bonds of love be dissolved, reason oppressed, friendship is excluded, there availeth no wisdom, no doctrine, no fidelity or trust: yea, your trust is the cause that I have conspired against you this treason. Alas! Gisippus, what envious spirit moved you to bring me to her, whom you have chosen to be your wife, where I received this poison? I say, Gisippus, where was then your wisdom, that ye remembered not the fragility of our common nature? what need ye to call me for a witness of your private delights? why would ye have me see that, which you yourself could not behold without ravishing of mind and carnal appetite? Alas, why forgot ye, that our minds and appetites were ever one? and that also what so ye liked was ever to me in like degree pleasant. What will ye more? Gisippus, I say your trust is the cause that I am entrapped. The rays or beams issuing from the eyen of her whom ye have chosen, with the remembrance of her incomparable virtues, hath thrilled throughout the midst of my heart, and in such wise burneth it, that above all things I desire to be out of this wretched and most unkind life, which is not worthy the company of so noble and loving a friend as ye be." And therewith Titus concluded his confession, with so pro

1 Unneth, First English, "uneath," not easily.

2 Cease of, cease from; once a common combination.

found and bitter a sigh, received with tears, that it seemed that all his body should be dissolved and relented into salt drops.

But Gisippus, as he were therewith nothing astonished or discontented, with an assured countenance, and merry regard, embracing Titus, and kissing him, answered in this wise: "Why, Titus, is this your only sickness and grief that ye so uncourteously have so long concealed, and with much more unkindness kept from me, than ye have conceived it? I acknowledge my folly wherewith ye have with good right upbraided me, that in showing to you her whom I loved, I remembered not the common estate of our nature, neither the agreeableness, or (as I might say) the unity of our two appetites. Surely that default can be by no reason excused, wherefore it is only I that have offended. For who may by right prove that ye have trespassed, that by the inevitable stroke of Cupid's dart are thus bitterly wounded? Think ye me such a fool or ignorant person, that I know not the power of Venus, where she liketh to show her importable violence? Have not ye well resisted against such a goddess, that for my sake have striven with her almost to the death? What more loyalty or truth can I require of you? Am I of that virtue, that I may resist against celestial influence, preordinate by providence divine? If I so thought, what were my wits? where were my study so long time spent in noble philosophy? I confess to you, Titus, I love that maiden as much as any wise man might possible: and took in her company more delight and pleasure than of all the treasure and lands that my father left me, which ye know was right abundant. But now I perceive that the affection of love toward her surmounteth in you above measure, what, shall I think it of a wanton lust, or sudden appetite in you, whom I have ever known of grave and sad disposition, inclined alway to honest doctrine, flying all vain dalliance and dishonest pastime? Shall I imagine to be in you any malice or fraud, since from the tender time of our childhood, I have alway found in you, my sweet friend Titus, such a conformity with all my manners, appetites, and desires, that never was seen between us any manner of contention? May God forbid, that in the friendship of Gisippus and Titus should happen any suspicion or that any fantasy should pierce my head whereby that honourable love between us should be the mountenance of a crumb perished. Nay, nay, Titus, it is as I said, the only providence of God: she was by Him from the beginning prepared to be your lady and wife. For such fervent love entereth not into the heart of a wise man and virtuous, but by a divine disposition: whereat if I should be discontented or grudge, I should not only be unjust to you, withholding that from you which is undoubtedly yours, but also obstinate and repugnant against the determination of God, which shall never be found in Gisippus.

"Therefore, gentle friend Titus, dismay you not at the chance of love, but receive it joyously with me, that am with you nothing discontented, but marvellous glad, since it is my hap to find for you such a lady, with whom ye shall live in felicity, and receive fruit to the honour and comfort of all your lineage. Here I renounce to you clearly all my title and interest, that I now have or might have in the fair maiden. Call to your pristinate courage, wash clean your visage and eyes thus bewept, and abandon all heaviness. The day appointed for our marriage approacheth: let us consult how, without difficulty, ye may wholly attain your desires. Take heed this mine advice: ye know well that we two be so like, that being apart, and in one apparel, few men do know

3 Importable, unbearable.

+ The mountenance of a crumb, to the amount of a crumb.

ye shall abide in a place secret, where I shall appoint you, until it be night. And then shall ye quickly convey yourself into the maiden's chamber, and for the similitude of our personages, and of our apparel, ye shall not be espied of the women, which have none of us any acquaintance, and shortly get you to bed, and put your own ring on the maiden's finger, and undo the girdle of virginity, and do all other thing that shall be to your pleasure. Be now of good cheer, Titus, and comfort yourself with good reflections and solace, that this wan and pale colour, and your cheeks meagre and lean, be not the cause of your discovering. I know well that, ye having your purpose, I shall be in obloquy and derision of all men, and so hated of all my kindred, that they shall seek occasion to expulse me out of this city, thinking me to be a notable reproach to all my family. But let God therein work, I force not what pain that I abide, so that ye, my friend Titus, may be safe, and pleasantly enjoy your desires, to the increasing of your felicity."

With these words Titus began to move, as it were, out of a dream, and doubting whether he heard Gisippus speak, or else saw but a vision, lay still as a man abashed. But when he beheld the tears trickling down by the face of Gisippus, he then recomforted him, and thanking him for his incomparable kindness, refused the benefit that he offered, saying that it were better that a hundred such unkind wretches as he was should perish, than so noble a man as was Gisippus should sustain reproach or damage. But Gisippus eftesoones comforted Titus, and therewith sware and protested, that with free and glad will he would that this thing should be in form aforesaid accomplished, and therewith embraced and sweetly kissed Titus. Who perceiving the matter sure, and not feigned, as a man not sick, but only awaked out of his sleep, set himself up in his bed; the quick blood somewhat resorted unto his visage, and after a little good meats and drinks taken, he was shortly, and in a few days, restored into his old fashion and figure. To make the tale short: the day of marriage was come. Gisippus, accompanied with his allies and friends, came to the house of the damosell, where they were honourably and joyously feasted. And between him and the maiden was a sweet entertainment, which to behold, all that were present, took much pleasure and comfort, praising the beauty, goodliness, virtue, and courtesy, which in this couple were excellent above all other that they had ever seen. What shall I say more? The covenants were read and sealed, the dower appointed, and all other bargains concluded, and the friends of either part took their leave and departed the bride with a few women (as was the custom) brought into her chamber; then, as it was before agreed, Titus conveyed himself, after Gisippus returned to his house, or perchance to the chamber appointed for Titus, nothing sorrowful, although that he heartily loved the maiden, but with a glad heart and countenance that he had so recovered his friend from death, and so well brought him to the effect of his desire. The morrow is come. Gisippus, thinking it expedient that the truth should be discovered, assembled all the nobility of the city at his own house, where also by appointment was Titus, who among them had these words that do follow :

"My friends, Athenians, there is at this time showed

1 I force not, I do not care. So "no force": no matter.

among you an example, almost incredible, of the divine power of honourable love, to the perpetual renown and commendation of this noble city of Athens, whereof he ought to take excellent comfort, and therefore give due thanks to God, if there remain among you any token of the ancient wisdom of your most noble progenitors. For what more praise may be given to people than benevolence, faithfulness, and constancy? without whom all countries and cities be brought unto desolation and ruin, like as by them they become prosperous and in most high felicity. What, shall I long tarry you in conjecturing mine intent and meaning? Ye all know from whence I came unto this city, that of adventure I found in the house of Chremes his son Gisippus, of mine own age, and in everything so like to me that neither his father, nor any other man could discern of us the one from the other, but by our own insignment or showing: in so much as there were put about our necks laces of sundry colours to declare our personages. What mutual agreement and love have been alway between us during the eight years that we have been together, ye all be witnesses, that have been beholders and wonderers of our most sweet conversation and consent of appetites, wherein was never any discord or variance. And, as for my part, after the decease of my father, notwithstanding that there was descended and happened unto me great possessions, fair houses, with abundance of riches; also I being called home by the desirous and importunate letters of mine allies and friends, which be of the most noble of all the senators, offered the advancement to the highest dignities in the public weal, I will not remember the lamentations of my most natural mother, expressed in her tender letters, all besprent and blotted with abundance of tears, wherein she accuseth me of unkindness, for my long tarrying, and especially now in her most discomfort. But all this could not remove me the breadth of my nail from my dear friend, Gisippus. And but by force could not I, nor yet may be drawn from his sweet company, but if he thereto will consent. I choosing rather to live with him as his companion and fellow, yea, and as his servant rather than to be Consul of Rome. Thus my kindness hath been well acquitted (or as I might say), redoubled, delivering me from the death, yea from the most cruel and painful death of all other. I perceive ye wonder hereat, noble Athenians, and no marvel. For what person should be so hardy to attempt any such thing against me, being a Roman, and of the noble blood of the Romans? Or who should be thought so malicious to slay me, who (as all ye be my judges) never trespassed against any person within this city. Nay, nay, my friends, I have none of you all therein suspected. I perceive you desire and hearken to know, what he was, that presumed to do so cruel and great an enterprise. It was love, noble Athenians, the same love, which as your poets do remember, did wound the more part of all the gods, that ye do honour, that constrained Jupiter to transform himself in a swan, a bull, and divers other likenesses: the same love that caused Hercules, the vanquisher and destroyer of monsters and giants, to spin on a rock, sitting among maidens in a woman's apparel: the same love that caused to assemble all the noble princes of Asia and Greece in the fields of Troy the same love, I say, against whose assaults may be found no defence or resistance, hath suddenly and unaware stricken me unto the heart with such vehemence and might, that I had in short space died with most fervent torments had not the incomparable friendship of Gisippus holpen me. I see you would fain know who she is that I loved. I will no longer delay you, noble Athenians. It is Sophronia, the lady whom Gisippus had chosen to have to his wife, and whom he most entirely loved. But when his most gentle heart perceived that my love was in a much higher degree

than his toward that lady, and that it proceeded neither of wantonness, neither of long conversation, nor of any other corrupt desire or fantasy, but in an instant, by the only look, and with such fervence, that immediately I was so cruciate, that I desired, and in all that I mought provoked death to take me. He by his wisdom soon perceived (as I doubt not but that ye do) that it was the very provision of God, that she should be my wife and not his whereto he giving place, and more esteeming true friendship than the love of a woman, whereunto he was induced by his friends and not by violence of Cupid constrained, as I am, hath willingly granted to me the interest that he had in the damosel. And it is I, Titus, that have verily wedded her, I have put the ring on her finger, I have undone the girdle of her shamefacedness: what will ye more? I have lain with her, and confirmed the matrimony, and made her a wife."

At these words all they that were present began to murmur, and to cast a disdainous and grievous look upon Gisippus. Then spake again Titus:

"Leave your grudgings and menacing countenance towards Gisippus; he hath done to you all honour, and no need of reproach. I tell you he hath accomplished all the parts of a friend: that love, which was most certain, hath he continued. He knew he might find in Greece another maiden, and fair and as rich as this that he had chosen, and one, perchance, that he mought love better. But such a friend as I was, having respect to our similitude, the long approved concord, also mine estate and condition, he was sure to find never none. Also the damosel suffereth no disparagement in her blood, or hindrance in her marriage, but is much rather advanced (no dispraise to my dear friend Gisippus). Also consider, noble Athenians, that I took her not my father living, when ye. mought have suspected that as well her riches as her beauty should have thereto allured me: but soon after my father's decease, when I far exceeded her in possessions and substance, when the most notable men of Rome and of Italy desired mine alliance; ye have therefore all cause to rejoice and thank Gisippus, and not to be angry, and also to extol his wonderful kindness toward me, whereby he hath won me and all my blood, such friends to you and your city, that ye may be assured, to be by us defended against all the world: which being considered, Gisippus hath well deserved a statue or image of gold, to be set on a pillar, in the midst of your city, for an honourable monument, in the remembrance of our incomparable friendship, and of the good that thereby may come to your city. But if this persuasion cannot satisfy you, but that ye will imagine anything to the damage of my dear friend Gisippus after my departing, I make my vow unto God, creator of all thing, that as I shall have knowledge thereof, I shall forthwith resort hither, with the invincible power of the Romans, and revenge him in such wise against his enemies that all Greece shall speak of it to their perpetual dishonour, shame, and reproach."

And therewith Titus and Gisippus rose, but the other for fear of Titus dissembleth their malice, making semblant as they had been with all thing contented.

Soon after, Titus, being sent for by the authority of the Senate and people of Rome, prepared to depart out of Athens, and would fain have had Gisippus to have gone with him, offering to divide with him all his substance and fortune. But Gisippus, considering how necessary his counsel should be to the city of Athens, would not depart out of his country. Notwithstanding that above all earthly things, he most desired the company of Titus: which abode also, for the said consideration, Titus approved.

Titus with his lady is departed towards the city of Rome, where, at their coming, they were of the mother of Titus, his

kinsmen, and of all the Senate and people joyously received. And there lived Titus with his lady in joy inexplicable, and had by her many fair children: and for his wisdom and learning was so highly esteemed, that there was no dignity or honourable office within the city, that he had not with much favour and praise achieved and occupied.

But now let us resort to Gisippus, who immediately upon the departing of Titus, was so maligned at, as well by his own kinsmen, as by the friends of the lady that he, to their seeming, shamefully abandoned, leaving her to Titus, that they spared not daily to vex him with all kinds of reproach, that they could devise or imagine: and first they excluded him out of their council, and prohibited him from all honest company.

And yet not being therewith satisfied, finally they adjudged him unworthy to enjoy any possessions or goods, left to him by his parents, whom he (as they supposed) by his indiscreet friendship had so distained. Wherefore they despoiled him of all things, and almost naked, expelled him out of the city. Thus is Gisippus, late wealthy, and one of the most noble men of Athens, for his kind heart, banished his country for ever, and as a man dismayed, wandering hither and thither, finding no man that would succour him. At the last remembering in what pleasure his friend Titus lived with his lady, for whom he suffered these damages, concluded to go to Rome, and declare his infortune to his said friend Titus. What shall need a long tale? In conclusion, with much pain, cold, hunger, and thirst, he is come to the city of Rome, and diligently enquiring for the house of Titus, at the last he came to it but beholding it so beautiful, large, and princely, he was ashamed to approach nigh to it, being in so simple estate and unclad, but standeth by, that in case Titus came forth out of his house, he might present himself to him. He being in this thought, Titus, holding his lady by the hand, issued out from his door, and taking their horses to solace themselves, beheld Gisippus, and beholding his vile apparel, regarded him not, but passed forth on their way, wherewith Gisippus was so wounded to the heart, thinking Titus had contemned his fortune, that oppressed with mortal heaviness, fell in a sownde,' but being recovered by some that stood by, thinking him to be sick, forthwith departed, intending not to abide any longer, but as a wild beast to wander abroad in the world. But for weariness he was constrained to enter into an old barn, without the city; where he, casting himself on the bare ground with weeping and dolorous crying, bewaileth his fortune; but most of all accusing the ingratitude of Titus, for whom he suffered all that misery, the remembrance whereof was so intolerable, that he determined no longer to live in that anguish and dolour. And therewith drew his knife, purposing to have slain himself. But ever wisdom (which he by the study of philosophy had attained) withdrew him from that desperate act. And in this contention between wisdom and will, fatigued with long journeys in watch, or as God would have it, he fell into a deep sleep. His knife (wherewith he would have slain himself) falling down by him.

In the meantime, a common and notable ruffian or thief, which had robbed and slain a man, was entered into the barn where Gisippus lay, to the intent to sojourn there all that night. And seeing Gisippus bewept, and his visage replenished with sorrow, and also the naked knife by him, perceived well that he was a man desperate, and surprised with heaviness of heart, was weary of his life: which the said ruffian taking for a good occasion to escape, took the knife of Gisippus, and putting it in the wound of him that was slain,

1 Sounde, swoon.