When Zelmane had read it over, marvelling very much of the speech of Erona’s death, and therefore desirous to know further of it, but more desirous to hear Philoclea speak, “Most excellent lady,” said she, “one may be little the wiser for reading this dialogue, since it neither sets forth what this Plangus is, nor what Erona is, nor what the cause should be which threatens her with death, and him with sorrow; therefore I would humbly crave to understand the particular discourse thereof, because, I must confess, something in my travel I have heard of this strange matter, which I would be glad to find by so sweet an authority confirmed.” “The truth is,” answered Philoclea, “that after he knew my father to be prince of this country, while he hoped to prevail something with him in a great request he made unto him, he was content to open fully the estate both of himself, and of that lady; which with my sister’s help,” said she, “who remembers it better than I, I will declare unto you. And first of Erona, being the chief subject of this discourse, this story, with more tears and exclamations than I list to spend about it, he recounted.” “Of late there reigned a king in Lydia, who had, for the blessing of his marriage, this only daughter of his, Erona, a princess worthy for her beauty, as much praise, as beauty may be praise-worthy. This princess Erona, being nineteen years of age, seeing the country of Lydia so much devoted to Cupid, as that in every place his naked pictures and images were superstitiously adored (either moved thereunto by the esteeming that it could be no god-head, which could breed wickedness, or the shamefaced consideration of such nakedness) procured so much of her father, as utterly to pull down, and deface all those statutes and pictures: which how terribly he punished, for to that the Lydians impute it, quickly after appeared. {192}