us pronounced
with such an assured countenance, that it amazed both Aliena and
Ganymede to see the resolution of his loves; so that they pitied his
passions and commended his patience, devising how they might by any
subtlety get Montanus the favor of Phoebe. Straight (as women's heads
are full of wiles) Ganymede had a fetch[1] to force Phoebe to fancy
the shepherd, malgrado[2] the resolution of her mind: he prosecuted
his policy thus:

[Footnote 1: device.]

[Footnote 2: in spite of.]

"Montanus," quoth he, "seeing Phoebe is so forlorn, lest I might be
counted unkind in not salving so fair a creature, I will go with thee
to Phoebe, and there hear herself in word utter that which she hath
discoursed with her pen; and then, as love wills me, I will set down
my censure.[1] I will home by our house, and send Corydon to accompany
Aliena."

[Footnote 1: decision.]

Montanus seemed glad of this determination and away they go towards
the house of Phoebe.

When they drew nigh to the cottage, Montanus ran before, and went in
and told Phoebe that Ganymede was at the door. This word "Ganymede,"
sounding in the ears of Phoebe, drave her into such an ecstasy for
joy, that rising up in her bed, she was half revived, and her wan
color began to wax red; and with that came Ganymede in, who saluted
Phoebe with such a courteous look, that it was half a salve to her
sorrows. Sitting him down by her bedside, he questioned about her
disease, and where the pain chiefly held her? Phoebe looking as lovely
as Venus in her night-gear, tainting her face with as ruddy a blush
as Clytia did when she bewrayed her loves to Phoebus, taking Ganymede
by the hand began thus:

"Fair shepherd, if love were not more strong than nature, or fancy the
sharpest extreme, my immodesty were the more, and my virtues the less;
for nature hath framed women's eyes bashful, their hearts full of
fear, and their tongues full of silence; but love, that imperious
love, where his power is predominant, then he perverts all, and
wresteth the wealth of nature to his own will: an instance in myself,
fair Ganymede, for such a fire hath he kindled in my thoughts, that to
find ease for the flame, I was forced to pass the bounds of modesty,
and seek a salve at thy hands for my harms. Blame me not if I be
overbold for it is thy beauty, and if I be too forward it is fancy,
and the deep insight into thy virtues that makes me thus fond. For let
me say in a word what may be con