These feelings pursued him all the rest of the day, and still more closely at night.  He did nothing but think and sigh, and find the soft feathers harder than any stone.  Nor did he get better as time advanced.  His once favourite pastime of hunting now ceased to afford him any delight.  Nothing pleased him but to be giving dinners and balls, to make verses and sing them to his lute, and to joust and tournay in the eyes of his love, dressed in the most sumptuous apparel.  But above all, gentle and graceful as he had been before, he now became still more gentle and graceful—­for good qualities are always increased when a man is in love.  Never in my life did I know them turn to ill in that case.  So, in Prasildo’s, you may guess what a super-excellent person he became.

The passion which had thus taken possession of this gentleman was not lost upon the lady for want of her knowing it.  A mutual acquaintance was always talking to her on the subject, but to no purpose; she never relaxed her pride and dignity for a moment.  The lover at last fell ill; he fairly wasted away; and was so unhappy, that he gave up all his feastings and entertainments.  The only pleasure he took was in a solitary wood, in which he used to plunge himself in order to give way to his grief and lamentations.

It happened one day, early in the morning, while he was thus occupied, that Iroldo came into the wood to amuse himself with bird-catching.  He had Tisbina with him; and as they were coming along, they overheard their neighbour during one of his paroxysms, and stopped to listen to what he said.

“Hear me,” exclaimed he, “ye flowers and ye woods.  Hear to what a pass of wretchedness I am come, since that cruel one will hear me not.  Hear, O sun that hast taken away the night from the heavens, and you, ye stars, and thou the departing moon, hear the voice of my grief for the last time, for exist I can no longer; my death is the only way left me to gratify that proud beauty, to whom it has pleased Heaven to give a cruel heart with a merciful countenance.  Fain would I have died in her presence.  It would have comforted me to see her pleased even with that proof of my love.  But I pray, nevertheless, that she may never know it; since, cruel as she is, she might blame herself for having shewn a scorn so extreme; and I love her so, I would not have her pained for all her cruelty.  Surely I shall love her even in my grave.”

With these words, turning pale with his own mortal resolution, Prasildo drew his sword, and pronouncing the name of Tisbina more than once with a loving voice, as though its very sound would be sufficient to waft him to Paradise, was about to plunge the steel into his bosom, when the lady herself, by leave of her husband, whose manly visage was all in tears for pity, stood suddenly before him.