are above
my deserts: only at my death this favor cannot be denied me, that all
shall say Montanus died for love of hard-hearted Phoebe."

[Footnote 1: duty.]

At these words she filled her face full of frowns, and made him this
short and sharp reply:

"Importunate shepherd, whose loves are lawless, because restless, are
thy passions so extreme that thou canst not conceal them with
patience? or art thou so folly-sick, that thou must needs be
fancy-sick, and in thy affection tied to such an exigent,[1] as none
serves but Phoebe? Well, sir, if your market may be made no where
else, home again, for your mart is at the fairest. Phoebe is no
lettuce for your lips, and her grapes hangs so high, that gaze at them
you may, but touch them you cannot. Yet, Montanus, I speak not this in
pride, but in disdain; not that I scorn thee, but that I hate love;
for I count it as great honor to triumph over fancy as over fortune.
Rest thee content therefore, Montanus: cease from thy loves, and
bridle thy looks, quench the sparkles before they grow to a further
flame; for in loving me thou shall live by loss, and what thou
utterest in words are all written in the wind. Wert thou, Montanus, as
fair as Paris, as hardy as Hector, as constant as Troilus, as loving
as Leander, Phoebe could not love, because she cannot love at all: and
therefore if thou pursue me with Phoebus, I must fly with Daphne."

[Footnote 1: necessity.]

Ganymede, overhearing all these passions of Montanus, could not brook
the cruelty of Phoebe, but starting from behind the bush said:

"And if, damsel, you fled from me, I would transform you as Daphne to
a bay, and then in contempt trample your branches under my feet."

Phoebe at this sudden reply was amazed, especially when she saw so
fair a swain as Ganymede; blushing therefore, she would have been
gone, but that he held her by the hand, and prosecuted his reply thus:

"What, shepherdess, so fair and so cruel? Disdain beseems not
cottages, nor coyness maids; for either they be condemned to be too
proud, or too froward. Take heed, fair nymph, that in despising love,
you be not overreached with love, and in shaking off all, shape
yourself to your own shadow, and so with Narcissus prove passionate
and yet unpitied. Oft have I heard, and sometimes have I seen, high
disdain turned to hot desires. Because thou art beautiful be not so
coy: as there is nothing more fair, so there is nothing more fading;
as momentary a