as by some sprightly sally have repulsed an attack, or by some ready retort or device have avoided loss, peril or scorn.”  The rule being heartily approved by all, the queen rose and dismissed them till supper-time.  So the honourable company, seeing the queen risen, rose all likewise, and as their wont was, betook them to their diversions as to each seemed best.  But when the cicalas had hushed their chirping, all were mustered again for supper; and having blithely feasted, they all addressed them to song and dance.  And the queen, while Emilia led a dance, called for a song from Dioneo, who at once came out with:—­’Monna Aldruda, come perk up thy mood, a piece of glad tidings I bring thee.’  Whereat all the ladies fell a laughing, and most of all the queen, who bade him give them no more of that, but sing another.  Quoth Dioneo:—­“Madam, had I a tabret, I would sing:—­’Up with your smock, Monna Lapa!’ or:—­’Oh! the greensward under the olive!’ Or perchance you had liefer I should give you:—­’Woe is me, the wave of the sea!’ But no tabret have I:  wherefore choose which of these others you will have.  Perchance you would like:—­’Now hie thee to us forth, that so it may be cut, as May the fields about.’” “No,” returned the queen, “give us another.”  “Then,” said Dioneo, “I will sing:—­’Monna Simona, embarrel, embarrel.  Why, ‘tis not the month of October.’"(1) “Now a plague upon thee,” said the queen, with a laugh; “give us a proper song, wilt thou? for we will have none of these.”  “Never fear, Madam,” replied Dioneo; “only say which you prefer.  I have more than a thousand songs by heart.  Perhaps you would like:—­’This my little covert, make I ne’er it overt’; or:—­’Gently, gently, husband mine’; or:—­’A hundred pounds were none too high a price for me a cock to buy.’” The queen now shewed some offence, though the other ladies laughed, and:—­“A truce to thy jesting, Dioneo,” said she, “and give us a proper song:  else thou mayst prove the quality of my ire.”  Whereupon Dioneo forthwith ceased his fooling, and sang on this wise:—­

So ravishing a light
  Doth from the fair eyes of my mistress move
  As keeps me slave to her and thee, O Love.

A beam from those bright orbs did radiate
  That flame that through mine own eyes to my breast
  Did whilom entrance gain. 
  Thy majesty, O Love, thy might, how great
  They be, ’twas her fair face did manifest: 
  Whereon to brood still fain,
  I felt thee take and chain
  Each sense, my soul enthralling on such wise
  That she alone henceforth evokes my sighs.

Wherefore, O dear my Lord, myself I own
  Thy slave, and, all obedience, wait and yearn,
  Till thy might me console. 
  Yet wot I not if it be throughly known
  How noble is the flame wherewith I burn,
  My loyalty how whole
  To her that doth control
  Ev’n in such sort my mind that shall I none,
  Nor would I, peace receive, save hers alone.