The good lady could not refrain from laughter, when she saw Surius so angry, who in the midst of his own tale, was troubled with hers, whom she thus again answered. "I cry you mercy,' gentleman, I had not thought to have catched you, when I fished for another, but I perceive now that with one bean it is easy to get two pigeons, and with one bait to have divers bites. I see that others may guess where the shoe wrings, besides him that wears it." "Madam," quoth Surius, "you have caught a frog, if I be not deceived, and therefore as good it were not to hurt him, as not to eat him, but if all this while you angled to have a bite at a lover, you should have used no bitter medicines, but pleasant baits." "I cannot tell," answered Flavia, "whether my bait were bitter or not, but sure I am I have the fish by the gill, that doth me good." Camilla not thinking to be silent, put in her spoke as she thought into the best wheel, saying, "Lady, your cunning may deceive you in fishing with an angle, therefore to catch him you would have, you were best to use a net." "A net!" quoth Flavia, "I need none, for my fish playeth in a net already." With that Surius began to wince, replying immediately, "So doth many a fish, good lady, that slippeth out, when the fisher thinketh him fast in, and it may be, that either your net is too weak to hold him, or your hand too wet.' "A wet hand," quoth Flavia, "will hold a dead herring:" "Aye," quoth Surius, "but eels are no herrings.' "But lovers are," said Flavia. Surius not willing to have the grass mown, whereof he meant to make his hay, began thus to conclude: "Good Lady, leave off fishing for this time, and though it be Lent, rather break a statute which is but penal, than sew 2 a pond that may be perpetual.' "I am content," quoth Flavia, "rather to fast for once, than to want a pleasure forever: yet, Surius, betwixt us two, I will at large prove, that there is nothing in love more venomous than meeting, which filleth the mind with grief and the body with diseases: for having the one, he cannot fail of the other. But now, Philautus and niece Francis, since I am cut off, begin you: but be short, because the time is short, and that I was more short than I would." 1 I beg your pardon 2 drain, empty APELLES' SONG Cupid and my Campaspe played Growing on's cheek (but none knows how); SPRING'S WELCOME What bird so sings, yet so does wail? Brave prick-song! who is't now we hear? Hark, hark, with what a pretty throat ΙΟ 5 ΤΟ 5 THOMAS LODGE (1558?-1625) FROM ROSALYNDE: EUPHUES' GOLDEN LEGACY They came no sooner nigh the folds, but they might see where their discontented forester was walking in his melancholy. As soon as Aliena saw him, she smiled, and said to Ganimede: "Wipe your eyes, sweeting, for yonder is your sweetheart this morning, in deep prayers no doubt to Venus, that she may make you as pitiful as he is passionate. Come on, Ganimede, I pray thee let's have a little sport with him." Content," quoth Ganimede, and with that, to waken him out of his deep memento,1 he began thus: "Forester, good fortune to thy thoughts, and ease to thy passions! What makes you so early abroad this morn, in contemplation, no doubt, of your Rosalynde? Take heed, forester, step not too far; the ford may be deep, and you slip over the shoes. I tell thee, flies have their spleen, the ants choler, the least hairs shadows, and the smallest loves great desires. 'Tis good, forester, to love, but not to overlove, lest, in loving her that likes not thee, thou fold thyself in an endless labyrinth." Rosader seeing the fair shepherdess and her pretty swain, in whose company he felt the greatest ease of his care, he returned them a salute on this manner: 'Gentle shepherds, all hail, and as healthful be your flocks as you happy in content. Love is restless, and my bed is but the cell of my bane, in that there I find busy thoughts and broken slumbers. Here, although everywhere passionate,3 yet I brook love with more patience, in that every object feeds mine eye with variety of fancies. When I look on Flora's beauteous tapestry, checkered with the pride of all her treasure, I call to mind the fair face of Rosalynde, whose heavenly hue exceeds the rose and the lily in their highest excellence. The brightness of Phoebus' shine puts me in mind to think of the sparkling flames that flew from her eyes and set my heart first on fire; the sweet harmony of the birds puts me in remembrance of the rare melody of her voice, which like the Syren enchanteth the ears of the hearer. Thus in contemplation I salve my sorrows, with applying the perfection of every object to the excellence of her qualities." 'She is much beholding unto you," quoth Aliena, "and so much that I have oft wished with myself that if I should ever prove as amorous as Enone, I might find as faithful a Paris as yourself." "How say you by this Item, forester?" quoth Ganimede. "The fair shepherdess favours you, who is mistress of so many flocks. Leave off, man, the supposition of Rosalynde's love, whenas, watching at her, you rove beyond the moon; and cast your looks upon my mistress, who no doubt is as fair though not so royal. One bird in the hand is worth two in the wood; better possess the love of Aliena, than catch frivolously at the shadow of Rosalynde." "I'll tell thee, boy," quoth Rosader; "so is my fancy fixed on my Rosalynde, that were thy mistress as fair as Leda or Danae, whom Jove courted in transformed shapes, mine eyes would not vouch to entertain their beauties; and so hath Love locked me in her perfections, that I had rather only contemplate in her beauties, than absolutely possess the excellence of any other." "Venus is to blame, forester, if, having so true a servant of you, she reward you not with Rosalynde, if Rosalynde were more fairer than herself. But leaving this prattle, now I'll put you in mind of your promise about those sonnets which you said were at home in your lodge." "I have them about me," quoth Rosader; "let us sit down, and then you shall hear what a poetical fury Love will infuse into a man." With that they sat down upon a green bank shadowed with fig trees, and Rosader, fetching a deep sigh, read them this sonnet: ROSADER'S SONNET In sorrow's cell I laid me down to sleep, to weep; But weeping tears their want could not suffice. Yet since for her they wept who guides my heart, They, weeping, smile and triumph in their smart. 1 condescend Of these my tears a fountain fiercely springs, Where Cupid boweth his fair feathered wings. Love makes me weep it full unto the brink. Meanwhile my sighs yield truce unto my tears, By them the winds increased and fiercely blow; Yet when I sigh, the flame more plain appears, Amidst these pains all Phoenix-like I thrive, Rosader, en esperance.2 "Now surely, forester," quoth Aliena, "when thou madest this sonnet, thou wert in some amorous quandary, neither too fearful, as despairing of thy mistress' favours, nor too gleesome, as hoping in thy fortunes." "I can smile," quoth Ganimede, "at the sonettoes, canzones, madrigals, rounds and roundelays, that these pensive patients pour out, when their eyes are more full of wantonness than their hearts of passions. Then, as the fishers put the sweetest bait to the fairest fish, so these Ovidians,3 holding Amo in their tongues, when their thoughts come at haphazard, write that they be wrapped in an endless labyrinth of sorrow, when, walking in the large lease of liberty, they only have their humours in their inkpot. If they find women so fond, that they will with such painted lures come to their lust, then they triumph till they be full gorged with pleasures; and then fly they away, like ramage kites, to their own content, leaving the tame fool, their mistress, full of fancy, yet without ever a feather. If they miss (as dealing with some wary wanton, that wants not such a one as themselves, but spies their subtilty), they end their amours with a few feigned sighs; and so their excuse is, their mistress is cruel, and they smother passions with patience. Such, gentle forester, we may deem you to be, that rather pass away the time here in these woods with writing amorets, than to be deeply enamoured, as 1 bathes 2 in hope devotees of Ovid's Art of Love foolish 5 untamed hawks you say, of your Rosalynde. If you be such a one, then I pray God, when you think your fortunes at the highest, and your desires to be most excellent, then that you may with Ixion embrace Juno in a cloud, and have nothing but a marble mistress to release your martyrdom; but if you be true and trusty, eyepained and heart-sick, then accursed be Rosalynde if she prove cruel; for, forester, (I flatter not) thou art worthy of as fair as she." Aliena, spying the storm by the wind, smiled to see how Ganimede flew to the fist without any call; but Rosader, who took him flat for a shepherd's swain, made him this answer: "Trust me, swain," quoth Rosader, “but my canzon1 was written in no such humour; for mine eye and my heart are relatives, the one drawing fancy 2 by sight, the other entertaining her by sorrow. If thou sawest my Rosalynde, with what beauties Nature hath favoured her, with what perfection the heavens hath graced her, with what qualities the Gods have endued her, then wouldst thou say, there is none so fickle that could be fleeting unto her. If she had been Æneas' Dido, had Venus and Juno both scolded him from Carthage, yet her excellence, despite of them, would have detained him at Tyre. If Phyllis had been as beauteous, or Ariadne as virtuous, or both as honourable and excellent as she, neither had the philbert tree sorrowed in the death of despairing Phyllis, nor the stars have been graced with Ariadne, but Demophoon and Theseus had been trusty to their paragons. I will tell thee, swain, if with a deep insight thou couldst pierce into the secret of my loves, and see what deep impressions of her idea affection hath made in my heart, then wouldst thou confess I were passing passionate, and no less endued with admirable patience." "Why," quoth Aliena, "needs there patience in Love?" "Or else in nothing." quoth Rosader; "for it is a restless sore that hath no ease, a canker that still frets, a disease that taketh away all hope of sleep. If, then, so many sorrows, sudden joys, momentary pleasures, continual fears, daily griefs, and nightly woes be found in love, then is not he to be accounted patient, that smothers all these passions with silence?" "Thou speakest by experience," quoth Ganimede, "and therefore we hold all thy words for a kind of song 2 love axioms. But is love such a lingering malady?" "It is," quoth he, "either extreme or mean, according to the mind of the party that. entertains it; for as the weeds grow longer untouched than the pretty flowers, and the flint lies safe in the quarry, when the emerald is suffering the lapidary's tool, so mean men are freed from Venus' injuries, when kings are environed with a labyrinth of her cares. The whiter the lawn is, the deeper is the mole, the more purer the chrysolite the sooner stained; and such as have their hearts full of honour, have their loves full of the greatest sorrows. But in whomsoever," quoth Rosader, "he fixeth his dart, he never leaveth to assault him, till either he hath won him to folly or fancy; for as the moon never goes without the star Lunisequa,2 so a lover never goeth without the unrest of his thoughts. For proof you shall hear another fancy of my making." "Now do, gentle forester," quoth Ganimede. And with that he read over this sonetto: ROSADER'S SECOND SONETTO Turn I my looks unto the skies, He will be partner of my moan; ΙΟ For-why than Love I am more true; 20 He, if he speed 5 will quickly fly, But in thy love I live and die. "How like you this sonnet ? "quoth Rosader. Marry," quoth Ganimede, "for the pen well, for the passion ill; for as I praise the one, I pity the other" 1 discolored spot 2 Moon-follower 3 bathe 4 because 5 succeed Sitting by a river's side, II ΙΟ 20 30 |