Ganymede flew to the fist without any call; but Rosader, who took him
flat for a shepherd's swain, made him this answer:

[Footnote 1: wild.]

"Trust me, swain," quoth Rosader, "but my canzon was written in no
such humor; 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 favored 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 Aeneas' 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 honorable and excellent
as she, neither had the filbert tree sorrowed in the death of
despairing Phyllis, nor the stars been graced with Ariadne, but
Demophoon 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 Ganymede, "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[1]; the more
purer the chrysolite, the sooner stained; and such as have their
hearts full of honor, have their loves full of the greatest sorrows.
But in whomsoever," quoth Rosader, "he fixeth his dart, he never
leavet