h 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 of his thoughts. For proof you shall
hear another fancy of my making."

[Footnote 1: stain.]

"Now do, gentle forester," quoth Ganymede; and with that he read over
this sonetto:

_Rosader's second Sonetto_

Turn I my looks unto the skies,
Love with his arrows wounds mine eyes;
If so I gaze upon the ground,
Love then in every flower is found.
Search I the shade to fly my pain,
He meets me in the shade again;
Wend I to walk in secret grove,
Even there I meet with sacred Love.
If so I bain[1] me in the spring,
Even on the brink I hear him sing:
If so I meditate alone,
He will be partner of my moan.
If so I mourn, he weeps with me,
And where I am there will he be.
Whenas I talk of Rosalynde
The god from coyness waxeth kind,
And seems in selfsame flames to fry
Because he loves as well as I.
Sweet Rosalynde, for pity rue;
For why, than Love I am more true:
He, if he speed, will quickly fly,
But in thy love I live and die.

[Footnote 1: bathe.]

"How like you this sonnet?" quoth Rosader.

"Marry," quoth Ganymede, "for the pen well, for the passion ill; for
as I praise the one, I pity the other, in that thou shouldst 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
honorable, the will than the wealth, having loyalty the object whereat
they aim their fancies. But leaving off these interparleys,[1] you
shall hear my last sonetto, and then you have heard all my poetry."
And with that he sighed out this:

[Footnote 1: discussions.]

_Rosader's third Sonnet_

Of virtuous love myself may boast alone,
Since no suspect my service may attaint:
For perfect fair she is the only one,
Whom I esteem for my beloved saint.
Thus, for my faith I only bear the bell,
And for her fair she only doth excel.

Then let fond Petrarch shroud his Laura's praise,
And Tasso cease to publish his affect,
Since mine the faith confirmed at all assays,
And