for a nap.  Several things I talkt to him of, but not a word of my last adventure, for I was afraid because I knew he envy’d every one that had a charm for me, and to prevent his suspicion, throwing my arms about him, I endeavour’d to give a proof of my love; but disappointed of the expectation I had rais’d him to, he rose very angry from my side, and accusing my weakness, and strange behaviour to him, told me that of late he had found my chief favours were bestow’d in another’s arms.

“My love to you, Gito,” said I, “has ever been the same, but now my dancing-days submit to reason.”

“Therefore,” said he, laughing at me, “in the name of Socrates, I thank you, because like him, you propose to love me:  Alcibiades, Encolpius, did not rise a virgin from that philosopher’s side.”

“Then,” added I, “believe me, Gito, I hardly know I’ve any thing of man about me, how useless lyes the terrible part, where once I was Achilles.”

When he found how unfit I was to confer the favours he wanted, and to prevent suspicion, of his privacy with me, he jumpt up and ran to another part of the house.

He was hardly gone, e’re Chrysis enter’d my chamber, and gave me a billet from her mistress, in which I found this written: 

“Had I rais’d my expectation, I might deceiv’d complain; now I’m obliged to your impotence, that has made me sensible how much too long I have trifl’d with mistaken hopes of pleasure.  Tell me, sir, how you design to bestow your self, and whether you dare rashly venture home on your own legs? for no physician ever allow’d it cou’d be done without strength.  Let me advise your tender years to beware of a palsie:  I never saw any body in such danger before.  On my conscience you are just going! and shou’d the same rude chilliness seize your other parts, I might be soon, alas! put upon the severe trial of weeping at your funeral.  But if you would not suspect me of not being sincere, tho’ my resentment can’t equal the injury, yet I shall not envy the cure of a weak unhappy wretch.  If you wou’d recover your strength, ask Gito, or rather not ask him for’t—­I can assure a return of your vigour if you cou’d sleep three nights alone:  As to myself I am not in the least apprehensive of appearing to another less charming than I have to you.  I am told neither my glass nor report does flatter me.  Farewell, if you can.”

When Chrysis found I had read the reproach, “This is the custom, sir,” said she, “and chiefly of this city, where the women are skill’d in magick-charms, enough to make the moon confess their power, therefore the recovery of any useful instrument of love becomes their care; ’tis only writing some soft tender things to my lady, and you make her happy in a kind return.  For ’tis confest, since her disappointment, she has not been her self.”  I readily consented, and calling for paper, thus addrest myself: