With these gentle and courteous words of Elicio the shepherd was calmed, and with no less gentleness replied to him, saying: 'I gratefully acknowledge your kind offer, whoever you be, courteous shepherd; but, as for fortune, if you desire to learn mine who never had any, you will scarce be able to have your wish.' 'You speak true,' answered Elicio, 'since from the words and plaints I this night have heard from you, you clearly show the little or none that you have. But you will no less satisfy my desire by telling me your troubles than by making known to me your joys. May fortune give you these in what you desire, so that you do not deny me what I beg of you, if indeed your not knowing me do not prevent it; although I would have you know, so as to reassure and move you, that I have not a soul so happy as not to feel as much as it should the miseries you would recount to me. This I tell you, for I know that nothing is more wasted, nay thrown away, than for an unhappy man to recount his woes to one whose heart is brimful with joys.' 'Your kindly words,' answered the shepherd, 'compel me to satisfy you in what you ask me, not only that you may not fancy that from a mean and craven soul spring the complaints and lamentations you say you have heard from me, but also that you may realise that the feeling I show is but small as compared with the cause I have for showing it.' Elicio thanked him heartily, and after some more courteous words had passed between the two, Elicio giving proof that he was a true friend of the woodland shepherd, the latter, recognising that they were not feigned promises, granted in the end what Elicio asked. The twain sate them down on the green grass, covered with the splendour of the fair Diana, who could that night rival her brother in brightness, and the woodland shepherd, with tokens of a tender grief, began to speak in this wise: