I then could bear the burthen of my grief.
But even the pride of countries at thy birth,
Whilst heavens did smile, did new array the earth
With flowers chief.
Yet thou, the flower of beauty blessed born,
Hast pretty looks, but all attired in scorn.
Had I the power to weep sweet Mirrha's tears,
Or by my plaints to pierce repining ears;
Hadst thou the heart to smile at my complaint,
To scorn the woes that doth my heart attaint,
I then could bear the burthen of my grief:
But not my tears, but truth with thee prevails,
And seeming sour my sorrows thee assails:
Yet small relief;
For if thou wilt thou art of marble hard,
And if thou please my suit shall soon be heard.

"No doubt," quoth Aliena, "this poesy is the passion of some perplexed
shepherd, that being enamored of some fair and beautiful shepherdess,
suffered some sharp repulse, and therefore complained of the cruelty
of his mistress."

"You may see," quoth Ganymede, "what mad cattle you women be, whose
hearts sometimes are made of adamant that will touch with no
impression, and sometime of wax that is fit for every form: they
delight to be courted, and then they glory to seem coy, and when they
are most desired then they freeze with disdain: and this fault is so
common to the sex, that you see it painted out in the shepherd's
passions, who found his mistress as froward as he was enamored."

"And I pray you," quoth Aliena, "if your robes were off, what mettle
are you made of that you are so satirical against women? Is it not a
foul bird defiles the own nest? Beware, Ganymede, that Rosader hear
you not, if he do, perchance you will make him leap so far from love,
that he will anger every vein in your heart."

"Thus," quoth Ganymede, "I keep decorum: I speak now as I am Aliena's
page, not as I am Gerismond's daughter; for put me but into a
petticoat, and I will stand in defiance to the uttermost, that women
are courteous, constant, virtuous, and what not."

"Stay there," quoth Aliena, "and no more words, for yonder be
characters graven upon the bark of the tall beech tree."

"Let us see," quoth Ganymede; and with that they read a fancy written
to this effect:

First shall the heavens want starry light,
The seas be robbed of their waves,
The day want sun, and sun want bright,
The night want shade, the dead men graves,
The Ap