Rosalynde Part 5

At this Alinda smiled, and upon this they agreed, and presently gathered up all their jewels, which they trussed up[1] in a casket, and Rosalynde in all haste provided her of robes, and Alinda, from her royal weeds, put herself in more homelike attire. Thus fitted to the purpose, away go these two friends, having now changed their names, Alinda being called Aliena, and Rosalynde Ganymede. They travelled along the vineyards, and by many by-ways at last got to the forest side, where they travelled by the s.p.a.ce of two or three days without seeing any creature, being often in danger of wild beasts, and pained with many pa.s.sionate sorrows. Now the black ox[2] began to tread on their feet, and Alinda thought of her wonted royalty; but when she cast her eyes on her Rosalynde, she thought every danger a step to honor. Pa.s.sing thus on along, about midday they came to a fountain, compa.s.sed with a grove of cypress trees, so cunningly and curiously planted, as if some G.o.ddess had entreated nature in that place to make her an arbor. By this fountain sat Aliena and her Ganymede, and forth they pulled such victuals as they had, and fed as merrily as if they had been in Paris with all the king's delicates, Aliena only grieving that they could not so much as meet with a shepherd to discourse them the way to some place where they might make their abode. At last Ganymede casting up his eye espied where on a tree was engraven certain verses; which as soon as he espied, he cried out:

"Be of good cheer, mistress, I spy the figures of men; for here in these trees be engraven certain verses of shepherds, or some other swains that inhabit hereabout."

[Footnote 1: packed.]

[Footnote 2: ill-luck.]

With that Aliena start up joyful to hear these news, and looked, where they found carved in the bark of a pine tree this pa.s.sion:

_Monta.n.u.s's Pa.s.sion_

Hadst thou been born whereas perpetual cold Makes Tanais hard, and mountains silver old; Had I complained unto a marble stone, Or to the floods bewrayed my bitter moan, 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 a.s.sails: 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 pa.s.sion 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 s.e.x, that you see it painted out in the shepherd's pa.s.sions, 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 April flowers and leaf and tree, Before I false my faith to thee.

First shall the tops of highest hills By humble plains be overpried, And poets scorn the Muses' quills, And fish forsake the water glide, And Iris loose her colored weed,[1]

Before I fail thee at thy need.

First direful hate shall turn to peace, And love relent in deep disdain, And death his fatal stroke shall cease, And envy pity every pain, And pleasure mourn and sorrow smile, Before I talk of any guile.

First time shall stay his stayless race, And winter bless his brows with corn, And snow bemoisten July's face, And winter spring, and summer mourn, Before my pen, by help of fame, Cease to recite thy sacred name.

MONTa.n.u.s

[Footnote 1: garment. In what modern expression is this meaning of the word retained?]

"No doubt," quoth Ganymede, "this protestation grew from one full of pa.s.sions."

"I am of that mind too," quoth Aliena, "but see, I pray, when poor women seek to keep themselves chaste, how men woo them with many feigned promises; alluring with sweet words as the Sirens, and after proving as trothless as Aeneas. Thus promised Demophoon to his Phyllis, but who at last grew more false?"

"The reason was," quoth Ganymede, "that they were women's sons, and took that fault of their mother, for if man had grown from man, as Adam did from the earth, men had never been troubled with inconstancy."

"Leave off," quoth Aliena, "to taunt thus bitterly, or else I'll pull off your page's apparel, and whip you, as Venus doth her wantons, with nettles."

"So you will," quoth Ganymede, "persuade me to flattery, and that needs not: but come, seeing we have found here by this fount the tract of shepherds by their madrigals and roundelays, let us forward; for either we shall find some folds, sheepcotes, or else some cottages wherein for a day or two to rest."

"Content," quoth Aliena, and with that they rose up, and marched forward till towards the even, and then coming into a fair valley, compa.s.sed with mountains, whereon grew many pleasant shrubs, they might descry where two flocks of sheep did feed. Then, looking about, they might perceive where an old shepherd sat, and with him a young swaine, under a covert most pleasantly situated. The ground where they sat was diapered with Flora's riches, as if she meant to wrap Tellus in the glory of her vestments: round about in the form of an amphitheatre were most curiously planted pine trees, interseamed with limons and citrons, which with the thickness of their boughs so shadowed the place, that Phoebus could not pry into the secret of that arbor; so united were the tops with so thick a closure, that Venus might there in her jollity have dallied unseen with her dearest paramour. Fast by, to make the place more gorgeous, was there a fount so crystalline and clear, that it seemed Diana with her Dryades and Hamadryades had that spring, as the secret of all their bathings. In this glorious arbor sat these two shepherds, seeing their sheep feed, playing on their pipes many pleasant tunes, and from music and melody falling into much amorous chat. Drawing more nigh we might descry the countenance of the one to be full of sorrow, his face to be the very portraiture of discontent, and his eyes full of woes, that living he seemed to die: we, to hear what these were, stole privily behind the thicket, where we overheard this discourse:

_A Pleasant Eclogue between Monta.n.u.s and Corydon_

CORYDON

Say, shepherd's boy, what makes thee greet[1] so sore?

Why leaves thy pipe his pleasure and delight?

Young are thy years, thy cheeks with roses dight: Then sing for joy, sweet swain, and sigh no more.

This milk-white poppy, and this climbing pine Both promise shade; then sit thee down and sing, And make these woods with pleasant notes to ring, Till Phoebus deign all westward to decline.

[Footnote 1: weep.]

MONTa.n.u.s

Ah, Corydon, unmeet is melody To him whom proud contempt hath overborne: Slain are my joys by Phoebe's bitter scorn; Far hence my weal, and near my jeopardy.

Love's burning brand is couched in my breast, Making a Phoenix of my faintful heart: And though his fury do enforce my smart, Ay blithe am I to honor his behest.

Prepared to woes, since so my Phoebe wills, My looks dismayed, since Phoebe will disdain; I banish bliss and welcome home my pain: So stream my tears as showers from Alpine hills.

In error's mask I blindfold judgment's eye, I fetter reason in the snares of l.u.s.t, I seem secure, yet know not how to trust; I live by that which makes me living die.

Devoid of rest, companion of distress, Plague to myself, consumed by my thought, How may my voice or pipe in tune be brought, Since I am reft of solace and delight?

CORYDON

Ah, lorrel lad, what makes thee hery[1] love?

A sugared harm, a poison full of pleasure, A painted shrine full filled with rotten treasure; A heaven in show, a h.e.l.l to them that prove.[2]

A gain in seeming, shadowed still with want, A broken staff which folly doth uphold, A flower that fades with every frosty cold, An orient rose sprung from a withered plant.

A minute's joy to gain a world of grief, A subtle net to snare the idle mind, A seeing scorpion, yet in seeming blind, A poor rejoice, a plague without relief.

Forthy,[3] Monta.n.u.s, follow mine arede,[4]

(Whom age hath taught the trains[5] that fancy useth) Leave foolish love, for beauty wit abuseth, And drowns, by folly, virtue's springing seed.

[Footnote 1: praise.]

[Footnote 2: try, test.]

[Footnote 3: hence.]

[Footnote 4: advice.]