not confined to any particular theme, but that you be at liberty to discourse on such wise as to each may seem best; for well assured am I that thus to speak of divers matters will be no less pleasurable than to limit ourselves to one topic; and by reason of this enlargement my successor in the sovereignty will find you more vigorous, and be therefore all the more forward to reimpose upon you the wonted restraint of our laws.”  Having so said, she dismissed all the company until supper-time.

All approved the wisdom of what the queen had said; and being risen betook them to their several diversions, the ladies to weave garlands and otherwise disport them, the young men to play and sing; and so they whiled away the hours until supper-time; which being come, they gathered about the fair fountain, and took their meal with gay and festal cheer.  Supper ended, they addressed them to their wonted pastime of song and dance.  At the close of which the queen, notwithstanding the songs which divers of the company had already gladly accorded them, called for another from Pamfilo, who without the least demur thus sang:—­

So great, O Love, the bliss
  Through thee I prove, so jocund my estate,
  That in thy flame to burn I bless my fate!

Such plenitude of joy my heart doth know
  Of that high joy and rare,
  Wherewith thou hast me blest,
  As, bounds disdaining, still doth overflow,
  And by my radiant air
  My blitheness manifest;
  For by thee thus possessed
  With love, where meeter ’twere to venerate,
  I still consume within thy flame elate.

Well wot I, Love, no song may e’er reveal,
  Nor any sign declare
  What in my heart is pent
  Nay, might they so, that were I best conceal,
  Whereof were others ware,
  ’Twould serve but to torment
  Me, whose is such content,
  That weak were words and all inadequate
  A tittle of my bliss to adumbrate.

Who would have dreamed that e’er in mine embrace
  Her I should clip and fold
  Whom there I still do feel,
  Or as ’gainst her face e’er to lay my face
  Attain such grace untold,
  And unimagined weal? 
  Wherefore my bliss I seal
  Of mine own heart within the circuit strait,
  And still in thy sweet flame luxuriate.

So ended Pamfilo his song:  whereto all the company responded in full chorus; nor was there any but gave to its words an inordinate degree of attention, endeavouring by conjecture to penetrate that which he intimated that ’twas meet he should keep secret.  Divers were the interpretations hazarded, but all were wide of the mark.  At length, however, the queen, seeing that ladies and men alike were fain of rest, bade all betake them to bed.

—­ Endeth here the eighth day of the Decameron, beginneth the ninth, in which, under the rule of Emilia, discourse is had, at the discretion of each, of such matters as most commend themselves to each in turn. —­