With that he burst open the buttery door, and with the help of Adam Spencer covered the tables, and set down whatsoever he could find in the house; but what they wanted in meat, Rosader supplied with drink, yet had they royal cheer, and withal such hearty welcome as would have made the coarsest meats seem delicates.[1] After they had feasted and frolicked it twice or thrice with an upsee freeze,[2] they all took their leaves of Rosader and departed.  As soon as they were gone, Rosader growing impatient of the abuse, drew his sword, and swore to be revenged on the discourteous Saladyne; yet by the means of Adam Spencer, who sought to continue friendship and amity betwixt the brethren, and through the flattering submission of Saladyne, they were once again reconciled, and put up all forepassed injuries with a peaceable agreement, living together for a good space in such brotherly love, as did not only rejoice the servants, but made all the gentlemen and bordering neighbors glad of such friendly concord.  Saladyne, hiding fire in the straw, and concealing a poisoned hate in a peaceable countenance, yet deferring the intent of his wrath till fitter opportunity, he showed himself a great favorer of his brother’s virtuous endeavors:  where leaving them in this happy league, let us return to Rosalynde.

[Footnote 1:  dainties.]

[Footnote 2:  “a toast.”—­Greg.]

Rosalynde returning home from the triumph, after she waxed solitary, love presented her with the idea of Rosader’s perfection, and taking her at discovert struck her so deep, as she felt herself grow passing passionate.  She began to call to mind the comeliness of his person, the honor of his parents, and the virtues that, excelling both, made him so gracious in the eyes of every one.  Sucking in thus the honey of love by imprinting in her thoughts his rare qualities, she began to surfeit with the contemplation of his virtuous conditions; but when she called to remembrance her present estate, and the hardness of her fortunes, desire began to shrink, and fancy to vail bonnet, that between a Chaos of confused thoughts she began to debate with herself in this manner: 

ROSALYNDE’S PASSION

“Infortunate Rosalynde, whose misfortunes are more than thy years, and whose passions are greater than thy patience!  The blossoms of thy youth are mixed with the frosts of envy, and the hope of thy ensuing fruits perish in the bud.  Thy father is by Torismond banished from the crown, and thou, the unhappy daughter of a king, detained captive, living as disquieted in thy thoughts as thy father discontented in his exile.  Ah Rosalynde, what cares wait upon a crown! what griefs are incident to dignity! what sorrows haunt royal palaces!  The greatest seas have the sorest storms, the highest birth subject to the most bale, and of all trees the cedars soonest shake with the wind:  small currents are ever calm, low valleys not scorched in any lightnings,