And if it were “possible to have an army composed of lovers—those who love or are loved—they would be exceptionally brave and wise in governing themselves. A sense of shame would keep them from doing wrong; rivalry would urge them to do what is good and honourable; and a few of them would overcome a great host of others.”

There is no man so faint-hearted, so utter a coward, whom love would not kindle, endow with a godlike nature and a heroic spirit. As the poet said in a similar case, “Let the whole mass of heaven collapse: I am not afraid,” and so forth. Nothing can terrify or dismay them. They fight as Sir Blandimor and Paridel, those two brave Faerie knights, fought for love of fair Florimel in her presence—

And both drew their swords in renewed fury; Like two mad mastiffs, each struck to kill the other; They sliced shields, tore mail and hacked helmets. So furiously they attacked each other, As if at once to tear the souls Out of their breasts, that streams of blood poured Down, as though the fountains of their life were drained; All the ground was spattered with purple blood, And all their armour stained with bloody gore. Yet scarcely once would they pause to breathe: So deadly was their hatred, and so fierce, That both resolved to die before they yielded.

Every humble rustic in love will dare as much for his dear mistress’s sake. He will fight to fetch “the Argive shield,” that famous buckler of Argos, to serve her; risk everything and undertake any enterprise. Like Serrano, the Spaniard then governor of Sluys, who answered the Marquis Spinola that even if the enemy brought fifty thousand devils against him, he would hold it.

The Nine Worthies, Oliver and Roland, and forty dozen peers are all combined in him. He is all courage, armour tested and proven, more than a man; in this condition he surpasses himself. For, as Agathon argues, a true lover is wise, just, temperate and brave.

“I do not doubt, therefore, that if a man had such an army of lovers,” as Castiglione supposes, “he could soon conquer the whole world, unless by chance he encountered another such army of enamoured people to oppose it.” For then, perhaps, they might fight like that fated Dog and fated Hare in the heavens, chasing round after one another without ever reaching an end.

Castiglione thinks Ferdinand, King of Spain, would never have conquered Granada if Queen Isabella and her ladies had not been present at the siege. “It is impossible to express what courage the Spanish knights gained from the ladies’ presence: a few Spaniards overcame a multitude of Moors.”

They will face any danger whatsoever. So Sir Walter Manny, in Edward III’s time, covered with ladies’ tokens, fought like a dragon. For, as Plato holds, “only lovers desire to die for their friends”: only lovers will die for their friends and in their mistress’s cause. For that reason, he would have women follow the army, to witness and encourage noble deeds. On such an occasion, the Squire of Dames himself, Sir Lancelot or Sir Tristram, Caesar or Alexander, would be no more resolute and could not surpass them.

Love supplies not only courage but, as I said, ingenuity, wit and many clever devices:

For love inspires stratagems and supplies deceits.

Jupiter, in love with Leda and not knowing how to achieve his desire, turned himself into a swan and persuaded Venus to pursue him in the form of an eagle. When she did so, he fled for shelter to Leda’s lap, “and settled himself in her bosom.” Leda embraced him and fell fast asleep, “but Jupiter had intercourse with her while she slept”; in this way Jupiter had his will. Love can invent endless tricks of this kind, an abundance of such ingenious feats, with wisdom and watchfulness: “Who could deceive a lover?”

And every kind of courtesy, propriety, politeness and good behaviour, “more wit and charm,” refined graces and merry fancies. Boccaccio has a pleasant story to this purpose, borrowed from the Greeks, which Beroaldus turned into Latin and Bebel into verse: the story of Cymon and Iphigenia. This Cymon was a fool, a handsome man in person and the son of the governor of Cyprus, but a complete ass. His father was so ashamed of him that he sent him to be brought up at a farmhouse he owned in the country. There, as he was walking alone, as was his custom, he happened to see a fine young gentlewoman named Iphigenia, the daughter of a magistrate of Cyprus, with her maid, beside a brook in a little thicket. She lay fast asleep in her shift, having just bathed there.

“When Cymon saw her, he stood leaning on his staff, staring at her motionless and amazed.” At last he fell so deeply in love with that glorious sight that he began to rouse himself, to reflect on what he was, and insisted on following her to the city. For her sake he began to acquire good manners, learn to sing and dance and play instruments. In a short time he acquired all those gentlemanly accomplishments and social graces, to the great delight of his friends. In brief, from a simpleton and a boor he became one of the most accomplished gentlemen in Cyprus, performed many courageous exploits—and all for love of Mistress Iphigenia.

In a word, I can say this of them all: however boorish, uncouth and rough they may be, however ill-mannered or slovenly, once they fall in love they become wonderfully neat and smart. For “love surpasses everything, even the brightest splendours.” They follow the fashion, begin to dress themselves up and think well of their own appearance, “for Venus is the mother of charms.” A ship takes less time to rig than a young gentlewoman takes to dress herself before her sweetheart arrives.