And with that fetching a deep sigh, she rise up, and went to Ganymede, who all this while sate in a great dump,[1] fearing the imminent danger of her friend Rosader; but now Aliena began to comfort her, herself being overgrown with sorrows, and to recall her from her melancholy with many pleasant persuasions.  Ganymede took all in the best part, and so they went home together after they had folded their flocks, supping with old Corydon, who had provided their cates.  He, after supper, to pass away the night while[2] bedtime, began a long discourse, how Montanus, the young shepherd that was in love with Phoebe, could by no means obtain any favor at her hands, but, still pained in restless passions, remained a hopeless and perplexed lover.

[Footnote 1:  mood of sadness.]

[Footnote 2:  until.]

“I would I might,” quoth Aliena, “once see that Phoebe.  Is she so fair that she thinks no shepherd worthy of her beauty? or so froward that no love nor loyalty will content her? or so coy that she requires a long time to be wooed? or so foolish that she forgets that like a fop she must have a large harvest for a little corn?”

“I cannot distinguish,” quoth Corydon, “of these nice qualities; but one of these days I’ll bring Montanus and her down, that you may both see their persons, and note their passions; and then where the blame is, there let it rest.  But this I am sure,” quoth Corydon, “if all maidens were of her mind, the world would grow to a mad pass; for there would be great store of wooing and little wedding, many words and little worship, much folly and no faith.”

At this sad sentence of Corydon, so solemnly brought forth, Aliena smiled, and because it waxed late, she and her page went to bed, both of them having fleas in their ears to keep them awake; Ganymede for the hurt of her Rosader, and Aliena for the affection she bore to Saladyne.  In this discontented humor they passed away the time, till falling on sleep, their senses at rest, Love left them to their quiet slumbers, which were not long.  For as soon as Phoebus rose from his Aurora, and began to mount him in the sky, summoning plough-swains to their handy labor, Aliena arose, and going to the couch where Ganymede lay, awakened her page, and said the morning was far spent, the dew small, and time called them away to their folds.

“Ah, ah!” quoth Ganymede, “is the wind in that door? then in faith I perceive that there is no diamond so hard but will yield to the file, no cedar so strong but the wind will shake, nor any mind so chaste but love will change.  Well, Aliena, must Saladyne be the man, and will it be a match?  Trust me, he is fair and valiant, the son of a worthy knight, whom if he imitate in perfection, as he represents him in proportion, he is worthy of no less than Aliena.  But he is an exile:  what then?  I hope my mistress respects the virtues not the wealth, and measures the qualities not the substance.  Those