of the jealous Orfenio's flute, with an exquisite and sweet voice sang it and finished it. It was as follows: TIMBRIO. My hope is builded on so sure a base That, though the fiercer blow the ruthless wind, It cannot shake the bonds that firmly bind, Such faith, such strength, such courage it displays. Far, far am I from finding any place For change within my firm and loving mind, For sooner life doth in my anguish find Its end draw nigh, than confidence decays. For, if amidst Love's conflict wavereth The love-sick breast, no sweet nor peaceful home To win from the same Love it meriteth. Though Scylla threaten and Charybdis foam, My breast the while, exultant in its faith, Braveth the sea, and claims from Love its doom. Timbrio's sonnet seemed good to the shepherds, and no less the grace with which he had sung it; and it was such that they begged him to repeat something else. But he excused himself by telling his friend Silerio to answer for him in that affair, as he had always done in others more dangerous. Silerio could not fail to do what his friend bade him, and so, in the joy of seeing himself in such a happy state, he sang what follows to the sound of that same flute of Orfenio's: SILERIO. To Heaven I give my thanks, since I have passed Safe through the perils of this doubtful sea, And to this haven of tranquillity, Although I knew not whither, I am cast. Now let the sails of care be furled at last, Let the poor gaping ship repairèd be, Let each fulfil the vows which erstwhile he With stricken face made to the angry blast. I kiss the earth, and Heaven I adore, My fortune fair and joyous I embrace, Happy I call my fatal destiny. Now I my hapless neck rejoicing place In the new peerless gentle chain once more, With purpose new and loving constancy. Silerio ended, and begged Nisida to be kind enough to gladden those fields with her song, and she, looking at her beloved Timbrio, with her eyes asked leave of him to fulfil what Silerio was asking of her, and as he gave it her with a look too, she, without waiting further, with much charm and grace, when the sound of Orfenio's flute ceased, to that of Orompo's pipe sang this sonnet: NISIDA. Against his view am I, whoso doth swear That never did Love's happiness attain Unto the height attained by his cruel pain, Though fortune wait on bliss with tenderest care. I know what bliss is, what misfortune drear, And what they do I know full well; 'tis plain That bliss the more builds up the thought again, The more Love's sorrow doth its strength impair.