rather mad, than mortified, for him to refrain that never knew love, is either to suspect him of folly without cause, or the next way for him to fall into folly when he knoweth the cause. "A lover is like the herb heliotropium, which always inclineth to that place where the sun shineth, and being deprived of the sun, dieth. For as lunaris herb, as long as the moon waxeth, bringeth forth leaves, and in the waning shaketh them off: so a lover whilst he is in the company of his lady, where all joys increase, uttereth many pleasant conceits, but banished from the sight of his mistress, where all mirth decreaseth, either liveth in melancholy, or dieth with desperation." The Lady Flavia speaking in his cast,' proceeded in this manner: "Truly, Martius, I had not thought that as yet your colt's tooth stuck in your mouth, or that so old a truant in love, could hitherto remember his lesson. You seem not to infer that it is requisite they should meet, but being in love that it is convenient, lest, falling into a mad mood, they pine in their own peevishness. Why then let it follow, that the drunkard which surfeiteth with wine be always quaffing, because he liketh it, or the epicure which glutteth himself with meat be ever eating, for that it contenteth him, not seeking at any time the means to redress their vices, but to renew them. But it fareth with the lover as it doth with him that poureth in much wine, who is ever more thirsty, than he that drinketh moderately, for having once tasted the delights of love, he desireth most the thing that hurteth him most, not laying a plaster to the wound, but a corrosive. "I am of this mind, that if it be dangerous, to lay flax to the fire, salt to the eyes, sulphur to the nose, that then it cannot be but perilous to let one lover come in presence of the other." Surius overhearing the lady, and seeing her so earnest, although he were more earnest in his suit to Camilla, cut her off with these words: "Good Madam, give me leave either to depart, or to speak, for in truth you gall me more with these terms, than you wist, in seeming to inveigh so bitterly against the meeting of lovers, which is the only marrow of love, and though I doubt not but that Martius is sufficiently armed to answer you, yet would I not have those reasons refelled, which I loathe to have repeated. It may be you utter them not of malice you bear to love, but only 1 1 style, manner 2 know 3 refuted to move controversy where there is no question: for if thou envy to have lovers meet, why did you grant us; if allow it, why seek you to separate us?" The good lady could not refrain from laughter, when she saw Surius so angry, who in the midst of his own tale, was troubled with hers, whom she thus again answered. "I cry you mercy,' gentleman, I had not thought to have catched you, when I fished for another, but I perceive now that with one bean it is easy to get two pigeons, and with one bait to have divers bites. I see that others may guess where the shoe wrings, besides him that wears it." "Madam," quoth Surius, "you have caught a frog, if I be not deceived, and therefore as good it were not to hurt him, as not to eat him, but if all this while you angled to have a bite at a lover, you should have used no bitter medicines, but pleasant baits." "I cannot tell," answered Flavia, "whether my bait were bitter or not, but sure I am I have the fish by the gill, that doth me good." Camilla not thinking to be silent, put in her spoke as she thought into the best wheel, saying, "Lady, your cunning may deceive you in fishing with an angle, therefore to catch him you would have, you were best to use a net." "A net!" quoth Flavia, "I need none, for my fish playeth in a net already." With that Surius began to wince, replying immediately, "So doth many a fish, good lady, that slippeth out, when the fisher thinketh him fast in, and it may be, that either your net is too weak to hold him, or your hand too wet." "A wet hand," quoth Flavia, "will hold a dead herring:' "Aye," quoth Surius, "but eels are no herrings." "But lovers are," said Flavia. Surius not willing to have the grass mown, whereof he meant to make his hay, began thus to conclude: "Good Lady, leave off fishing for this time, and though it be Lent, rather break a statute which is but penal, than sew a pond that may be perpetual." "I am content," quoth Flavia, "rather to fast for once, than to want a pleasure forever: yet, Surius, betwixt us two, I will at large prove, that there is nothing in love more venomous than meeting, which filleth the mind with grief and the body with diseases: for having the one, he cannot fail of the other. But now, Philautus and niece Francis, since I am cut off, begin you: but be short, because I beg your pardon 2 drain, empty They came no sooner nigh the folds, but they might see where their discontented forester was walking in his melancholy. As soon as Aliena saw him, she smiled, and said to Ganimede: "Wipe your eyes, sweeting, for yonder is your sweetheart this morning in deep prayers no doubt to Venus, that she may make you as pitiful as he is passionate. Come on, Ganimede, I pray thee let's have a little sport with him." "Content," quoth Ganimede, and with that, to waken him out of his deep memento,1 he began thus: "Forester, good fortune to thy thoughts, and ease to thy passions! What makes you so early abroad this morn, in contemplation, no doubt, of your Rosalynde? Take heed, forester, step not too far; the ford may be deep, and you slip over the shoes. I tell thee, flies have their spleen, the ants choler, the least hairs shadows, and the smallest loves great desires. 'Tis good, forester, to love, but not to overlove, lest, in loving her that likes not thee, thou fold thyself in an endless labyrinth." Rosader seeing the fair shepherdess and her pretty swain, in whose company he felt the greatest ease of his care, he returned them a salute on this manner: "Gentle shepherds, all hail, and as healthful be your flocks as you happy in content. Love is restless, and my bed is but the cell of my bane, in that there I find busy thoughts and broken slumbers. Here, although everywhere passionate, yet I brook love with more patience, in that every object feeds mine eye with variety of fancies. When I lock on Flora's beauteous tapestry, checkered with the pride of all her treasure, I call to mind the fair face of Rosalynde, whose heavenly hue exceeds the rose and the lily in their highest excellence. The brightness of Phoebus' shine puts me in mind to think of the sparkling flames that flew from her eyes and set my heart first on fire; the sweet harmonie of the birds puts me in remembrance of the rare melody of her voice, which like the Syren enchanteth the ears of the hearer. Thus in contemplation I salve my sorrows, with applying the perfection of every object to the excellence of her qualities." 1 meditation 2he Rosalynde disguised as Ganimede troubled "She is much beholding unto you," quoth Aliena, “and so much that I have oft wished with myself that if I should ever prove as amorous as Enone, I might find as faithful a Paris as yourself." "How say you by this Item, forester?" quoth Ganimede. "The fair shepherdess favours you, who is mistress of so many flocks. Leave off, man, the supposition of Rosalynde's love, whenas, watching at her, you rove beyond the moon; and cast your looks upon my mistress, who no doubt is as fair though not so royal. One bird in the hand is worth two in the wood; better possess the love of Aliena, than catch frivolously at the shadow of Rosalynde." "I'll tell thee, boy," quoth Ganimede; "so is my fancy fixed on my Rosalynde, that were thy mistress as fair as Leda or Danae, whom Jove courted in transformed shapes, mine eyes would not vouch to entertain their beauties; and so hath Love locked me in her perfections, that I had rather only contemplate in her beauties, than absolutely possess the excellence of any other. Venus is to blame, forester, if, having so true a servant of you, she reward you not with Rosalynde, if Rosalynde were more fairer than herself. But leaving this prattle, now I'll put you in mind of your promise, about those sonnets which you said were at home in your lodge." "I have them about me," quoth Rosader; "let us sit down, and then you shall hear what a poetical fury Love will infuse into a man." With that they sat down upon a green bank shadowed with fig trees, and Rosader, fetching a deep sigh, read them this sonnet: Meanwhile my sighs yield truce unto my tears, By them the winds increased and fiercely blow; Yet when I sigh, the flame more plain appears, And by their force with greater power doth glow. Amidst these pains all Phoenix-like I thrive, Since Love that yields me death may life revive. Rosader, en esperance.1 "Now surely, forester," quoth Aliena, "when thou madest this sonnet, thou wert in some amorous quandary, neither too fearful, as despairing of thy mistress' favours, nor too gleesome, as hoping in thy fortunes." "I can smile," quoth Ganimede, "at the sonettoes, canzones, madrigals, rounds and roundelays, that these pensive patients pour out, when their eyes are more full of wantonness than their hearts of passions. Then, as the fishers put the sweetest bait to the fairest fish, so these Ovidians,' holding Amo in their tongues, when their thoughts come at haphazard, write that they be wrapped in an endless labyrinth of sorrow, when, walking in the large lease of liberty, they only have their humours in their inkpot. If they find women so fond, that they will with such painted lures come to their lust, then they triumph till they be full gorged with pleasures; and then fly they away, like ramage kites, to their own content, leaving the tame fool, their mistress, full of fancy, yet without ever a feather. If they miss (as dealing with some wary wanton, that wants not such a one as themselves, but spies their subtilty), they end their amours with a few feigned sighs; and so their excuse is, their mistress is cruel, and they smother passions with patience. Such, gentle forester, we may deem you to be, that rather pass away the time here in these woods with writing amorets, than to be deeply enamoured, as you say, of your Rosalynde. If you be such a one, then I pray God, when you think your fortunes at the highest, and your desires to be most excellent, then that you may with Ixion embrace Juno in a cloud, and have nothing but a marble mistress to release your martyrdom; but if you be true and trusty, eye-pained and heart-sick, then accursed be Rosalynde if she prove cruel; for, forester, (I flatter not) thou art worthy of as fair as she." Aliena, spying the storm by the wind, smiled to see how Ganimede flew to the fist without any call; but Rosader, who took him flat for a shepherd's swain, made him this answer. 1 devotees of Ovid's Art of Love 2 foolish 2 "Trust me, swain," quoth Rosader, "but my canzon' was written in no such humour; for mine eye and my heart are relatives, the one drawing fancy by sight, the other entertaining her by sorrow. If thou sawest my Rosalynde, with what beauties Nature hath favoured her, with what perfection the heavens hath graced her, with what qualities the Gods have endued her, then wouldst thou say, there is none so fickle that could be fleeting unto her. If she had been Æneas' Dido, had Venus and Juno both scolded him from Carthage, yet her excellence, despite of them, would have detained him at Tyre. If Phyllis had been as beauteous, or Ariadne as virtuous, or both as honourable and excellent as she, neither had the philbert tree sorrowed in the death of despairing Phyllis, nor the stars have been graced with Ariadne, but Demophon and Theseus had been trusty to their paragons. I will tell thee, swain, if with a deep insight thou couldst pierce into the secret of my loves, and see what deep impressions of her idea affection hath made in my heart, then wouldst thou confess I were passing passionate, and no less endued with admirable patience." "Why," quoth Aliena, " needs there patience in Love?" "Or else in nothing," quoth Rosader; for it is a restless sore that hath no ease, a canker that still frets, a disease that taketh away all hope of sleep. If, then, so many sorrows, sudden joys, momentary pleasures, continual fears, daily griefs, and nightly woes be found in love, then is not he to be accounted patient, that smothers all these passions with silence?" "Thou speakest by experience," quoth Ganimede, "and therefore we hold all thy words for axioms. But is love such a lingering malady?" "It is," quoth he, "either extreme or mean, according to the mind of the party that entertains it; for as the weeds grow longer untouched than the pretty flowers, and the flint lies safe in the quarry, when the emerald is suffering the lapidary's tool, so mean men are freed from Venus' injuries, when kings are environed with a labyrinth of her cares. The whiter the lawn is the deeper is the mole, the more purer the chrysolite the sooner stained; and such as have their hearts full of honour, have their loves full of the greatest sorrows. But in whomsoever," quoth Rosader, "he fixeth his dart, he never leaveth to assault him, till either he hath won him to folly or fancy; for as the moon never goes without the star Lunisequa, so a lover never goeth without the unrest 1 a kind of song 2 love 3 Moon-follower of his thoughts. For proof you shall hear another fancy of my making." "Now do, gentle forester," quoth Ganimede. And with that he read over this sonetto: ROSADER'S SECOND SONETTO Turn I my looks unto the skies, He will be partner of my moan; 2 But in thy love I live and die. "How like you this sonnet?" quoth Rosader. 'Marry," quoth Ganimede, "for the pen well, for the passion ill; for, as I praise the one, I pity the other, in that thou shouldest hunt after a cloud, and love either without reward or regard.' "Tis not her frowardness," quoth Rosader, "but my hard fortunes, whose destinies have crossed me with her absence; for did she feel my loves, she would not let me linger in these sorrows. Women, as they are fair, so they respect faith, and estimate more, if they be honourable, the will than the wealth, having loyalty the object whereat they aim their fancies. But, leaving off these interparleys, you shall hear my last sonetto, and then you have heard all my poetry." And with that he sighed out this: Then let fond1 Petrarch shroud his Laura's praise, 4 And Tasso cease to publish his affect, "Thus," quoth Rosader, "here is an end of my poems, but for all this no release of my passions; so that I resemble him that in the depth of his distress hath none but the Echo to answer him." Ganimede, pitying her Rosader, thinking to drive him out of this amorous melancholy, said that "Now the sun was in his meridional heat, and that it was high noon, therefore we shepherds say, 'tis time to go to dinner: for the sun and our stomachs, are shepherd's dials. Therefore, forester, if thou wilt take such fare as comes out of our homely scrips, welcome shall answer whatsoever thou wantest in delicates." Aliena took the entertainment by the end, and told Rosader he should be her guest. He thanked them heartily, and sat with them down to dinner: where they had such cates as country state did allow them, sauced with such content and such sweet prattle as it seemed far more sweet than all their courtly junkets. 6 As soon as they had taken their repast, Rosader giving them thanks for his good cheer, would have been gone; but Ganimede, that was loath to let him pass out of her presence, began thus: "Nay, forester," quoth he, "if thy business be not the greater, seeing thou sayest thou art so deeply in love, let me see how thou canst woo. I will represent Rosalynde, and thou shalt be, as thou art, Rosader. See in some amorous Eglogue, how if Rosalynde were present, how thou couldst court her; and while we sing of love, Aliena shall tune her pipe, and play us melody." "Content," quoth Rosader. And Aliena, she to show her willingness, drew forth a recorder, and began to wind' it. Then the loving forester began thus: Sweet Rosalynde, my love (would God my love!), My life (would God my life!), ay pity me; Thy lips are kind, and humble like the dove, And but with beauty pity will not be. Look on mine eyes, made red with rueful tears, From whence the rain of true remorse descendeth, All pale in looks, and I though young in years, And nought but love or death my days befriendeth. Oh, let no stormy rigour knit thy brows, Rosalynde Love's wantons arm their trait'rous suits with tears, With vows, with oaths, with looks, with showers of gold; But when the fruit of their affects' appears, Thus blind the eyes their sight by subtil charms. Rosader 1 pray thee, Rosalynde, by those sweet eyes That stain the sun in shine, the morn in clear; ' By those sweet cheeks where Love encamped lies To kiss the roses of the springing year; I tempt thee, Rosalynde, by ruthful plaints, Not seasoned with deceit or fraudful guile, But firm in pain, far more than tongue depaints, Sweet nymph, be kind, and grace me with a smile. So may the heavens preserve from hurtful food Thy harmless flocks, so may the summer yield 1 affections 2 truth 3 excel 4 clearness |