solicitude or Timbrio's love, nor yet was she disdainful in such a manner that her displeasure and aversion made us both abandon the enterprise. This went on till it came to Timbrio's knowledge that his enemy Pransiles, the gentleman he had wronged in Xeres, being desirous of satisfying his honour, was sending him a challenge, indicating to him a free and secure field on an estate in the Duke of Gravina's territory, and giving him a term of six months from that date to the day of the combat. The care induced by this news did not cause him to become careless in what concerned his love-affair, but rather, by fresh solicitude on my part and services on his, Nisida came to demean herself in such a way that she did not show herself disdainful though Timbrio looked at her and visited at the house of her parents, preserving in all a decorum as honourable as befitted her worth. The term of the challenge now drawing near, Timbrio, seeing that the journey was inevitable for him, determined to depart, and before doing so, he wrote to Nisida a letter, of such a kind that with it he ended in a moment what I during many months and with many words had not begun. I have the letter in my memory, and to render my story complete, I will not omit to tell you that it ran thus: TIMBRIO TO NISIDA All hail to Nisida, from a loving swain Who is not hale nor ever hopes to be, Until his health from thine own hand he gain. These lines, I fear, will surely gain for me, Though they be written in my very blood, The abhorred reproach of importunity. And yet I may not, e'en although I would, Escape Love's torment, for my passions bear My soul along amidst their cruel flood. A fiery daring and a chilly fear Encompass me about, and I remain, Whilst thou dost read this letter, sad and drear; For when I write to thee, I do but gain Ruin if thou dost scorn my words, ah woe! And spurn my awkward phrases with disdain. True Heaven is my witness and doth know If I have not adored thee from the hour I saw the lovely face that is my foe. I saw thee and adored--What wouldst thou more? The peerless semblance of an angel fair What man is there but straightway would adore? Upon thy beauty, in the world so rare, My soul so keenly gazed that on thy face It could not rest its piercing gaze, for there Within thy soul it was upon the trace Of mighty loveliness, a paradise Giving assurance of a greater grace. On these rich pinions thou to Heaven dost rise And on the earth thou sendest dread and pain Unto the simple, wonder to the wise. Happy the soul that doth such bliss contain, And no less happy he who to Love's war