a piercing dart that will make you
cry _Peccavi_.

"And that is it, quoth Aliena, that hath raysed you so early this
morning?

"And with that she slipt on her peticoate, and start up; and assoone as
she had made her readie and taken her breakfast, away goe these two with
their bagge and bottles to the field, in more pleasant content of mind
than ever they were in the court of Torismond."

In the same way as in Shakespeare, fair Phoebe, deceived by Rosalind's
dress, Phoebe, who thought herself beyond the reach of love, becomes
enamoured of the page and feels at last all the pangs of an unrequited
passion. Lodge's Rosalind, more human we think than her great
Shakespearean sister, uses, to persuade Phoebe into loving Montanus, a
kindly, tender language, meant to heal rather than irritate the poor
shepherdess's wounds. "What!" will exclaim the great sister, ...

"... What though you have no beauty ...
Must you be therefore proud and pitiless?
Why, what means this? Why do you look on me?
I see no more in you than in the ordinary
Of nature's sale-work: Od's my little life!
I think she means to tangle my eyes too:--
No, 'faith, proud mistress, hope not after it;
'Tis not your inky brows, your black silk-hair,
Your bugle eyeballs, nor your cheek of cream
That can entame my spirits to your worship."[162]

Very spiritless, and tame, and old fashioned, will the other Rosalind
appear by the side of this impetuous, relentless deity. A few perhaps
will consider that her tame, kindly, old-fashioned, mythological piece
of advice to the shepherdess, makes her the more lovable: "What,
shepheardesse, so fayre and so cruell?... Because thou art beautifull,
be not so coye: as there is nothing more faire, so there is nothing more
fading, as momentary as the shadowes which growes from a cloudie sunne.
Such, my faire shepheardesse, as disdaine in youth, desire in age, and
then are they hated in the winter, that might have been loved in the
prime. A wrinkled maid is like a parched rose, that is cast up in
coffers to please the smell, not worn in the hand to content the eye.
There is no folly in love to had-I-wist, and therefore, be rulde by me.
Love while thou art young, least thou be disdained when thou art olde.
Beautie nor time cannot bee recalde, and if thou love, like of Montanus;
for if his desires are manie, so his deserts are great."[163] And it is
indeed quite touching to see po