over dear, with whom well pleased was I
Whilere past all that be,--
Who now before Him sittest in the sky
Who fashioned us,--have pity upon me
Who cannot, though I die,
Forget thee for another; cause me see
The flame that kindled thee
For me lives yet unquenched
And my recall up thither[210] impetrate.

[Footnote 208: Lit. made (_Di me il feci digno_).]

[Footnote 209: _i.e._ false suspicion (_falso pensiero_).]

[Footnote 210: _i.e._ to heaven (_e costa su m'impetra la tornata_).]

Here Lauretta made an end of her song, wherein, albeit attentively
followed of all, she was diversely apprehended of divers persons, and
there were those who would e'en understand, Milan-fashion, that a good
hog was better than a handsome wench;[211] but others were of a
loftier and better and truer apprehension, whereof it booteth not to
tell at this present. Thereafter the king let kindle store of
flambeaux upon the grass and among the flowers and caused sing divers
other songs, until every star began to decline, that was above the
horizon, when, deeming it time for sleep, he bade all with a good
night betake themselves to their chambers.

[Footnote 211: The pertinence of this allusion, which probably refers
to some current Milanese proverbial saying, the word _tosa_, here used
by Boccaccio for "wench," belonging to the Lombard dialect, is not
very clear. The expression "Milan-fashion" (_alla melanese_) may be
supposed to refer to the proverbial materialism of the people of
Lombardy.]

HERE ENDETH THE THIRD DAY
OF THE DECAMERON

_Day the Fourth_

HERE BEGINNETH THE FOURTH DAY OF THE DECAMERON WHEREIN UNDER
THE GOVERNANCE OF FILOSTRATO IS DISCOURSED OF THOSE WHOSE
LOVES HAVE HAD UNHAPPY ENDINGS

Dearest ladies, as well by words of wise men heard as by things many a
time both seen and read of myself, I had conceived that the boisterous
and burning blast of envy was apt to smite none but lofty towers or
the highest summits of the trees; but I find myself mistaken in my
conceit, for that, fleeing, as I have still studied to flee, from the
cruel onslaught of that raging wind, I have striven to go, not only in
the plains, but in the very deepest of the valleys, as many manifestly
enough appear to whoso considereth these present stories, the which
have been written by me, not only in vulgar Florentine and in prose
and without [author's] name, but eke