ter thee, and whether
thy son shall be a fool?' So might he well be if he resembled me, and
against such ill-chancing will I now be assured. A son after my own
heart do I find in thee, Ricciardo, for I have probed and proved thee,
taking the measure of thy mind until I know thee clean of soul as thou
art strong of body. I go in fulfilment of a secret vow, neither recently
nor lightly made, to end my days with the brotherhood of St. Benedict,
but first I do adopt thee son, and heir to all my estates. Let the
judgment of this court stand and the prize be to Prince Aldobrandino for
henceforth that is thy name and title."

The good man could not be swerved from this resolution. The lawyers drew
up the act of relinquishment, Archbishop Boniface blessed the happy
pair, who spent their honeymoon in their villa at Frascati, and from
thence was Richard called by election to be King of the Romans. It was
an honour which he held not long, nor did children of his continue the
line of the Aldobrandini. Too careless was he of his own advantage when
it ran counter to the desires of another; but in the magnificent
Frascati villa, where he made such short tarrying, you may still find
Richard's fountain not far from that of Atlas.

To his estates in Cornwall he shortly returned; and testimony to his
character corroborative of this story, and as credible as that of the
Italian authorities we have quoted (Sacchetti and Ser Giovanni), you
may read in the ballad of

ERL RICHARD, KING OF GOOD FELLOWS.

"His wine was for others' sipping,
For lightly he gave it up,
There's slipping 'twixt pouring and lipping
And his was a spilling cup.

"But ne'er for the lost good liquor
Was Richard heard to sigh.
'I shall not bicker so friends grow thicker,
And the cup of love hold I.'

"So in praise of that loser willing
They carved his cup awry,--
Spilling----but aye re-filling
To witness if I lie!"

[Illustration: _Alinari_

Villa d'Este, at Tivoli--Present State]

CHAPTER V

WITH TASSO AT VILLA D'ESTE

His weary heart awhile to soothe
He wove all into verses smooth.

* * *

for soothly he
Was deemed a craft-master to be
In those most noble days of old,
Whose lays were e'en as kingly gold
To our thin brass or drossy lead;
Well, e'en so all the tale is said
How twain grew one and came to bliss?
Woe's me, an idle dream