With this Ganymede start up, made her ready, and went into the fields with Aliena, where unfolding their flocks, they sate them down under an olive tree, both of them amorous, and yet diversely affected; Aliena joying in the excellence of Saladyne, and Ganymede sorrowing for the wounds of her Rosader, not quiet in thought till she might hear of his health.  As thus both of them sate in their dumps, they might espy where Corydon came running towards them, almost out of breath with his haste.

“What news with you,” quoth Aliena, “that you come in such post?”

“Oh, mistress,” quoth Corydon, “you have a long time desired to see Phoebe, the fair shepherdess whom Montanus loves; so now if you please, you and Ganymede, but to walk with me to yonder thicket, there shall you see Montanus and her sitting by a fountain, he courting with his country ditties, and she as coy as if she held love in disdain.”

The news were so welcome to the two lovers, that up they rose, and went with Corydon.  As soon as they drew nigh the thicket, they might espy where Phoebe sate, the fairest shepherdess in all Arden, and he the frolickest swain in the whole forest, she in a petticoat of scarlet, covered with a green mantle, and to shroud her from the sun, a chaplet of roses, from under which appeared a face full of nature’s excellence, and two such eyes as might have amated[1] a greater man than Montanus.  At gaze upon the gorgeous nymph sat the shepherd, feeding his eyes with her favors, wooing with such piteous looks; and courting with such deep-strained sighs, as would have made Diana herself to have been compassionate.  At last, fixing his looks on the riches of her face, his head on his hand, and his elbow on his knee, he sung this mournful ditty: 

[Footnote 1:  dismayed.]

Montanus’ Sonnet

A turtle sate upon a leaveless tree,
Mourning her absent fere[1]
With sad and sorry cheer: 
About her wondering stood
The citizens of wood,
And whilst her plumes she rents
And for her love laments,
The stately trees complain them,
The birds with sorrow pain them. 
Each one that doth her view
Her pain and sorrows rue;
But were the sorrows known
That me hath overthrown,
Oh how would Phoebe sigh if she did look on me!

The lovesick Polypheme, that could not see,
Who on the barren shore
His fortunes doth deplore,
And melteth all in moan
For Galatea gone,
And with his piteous cries
Afflicts both earth and skies,
And to his woe betook
Doth break both pipe and hook,
For whom complains the morn,
For whom the sea-nymphs mourn,
Alas, his pain is nought;
For were my woe but thought,
Oh how would Phoebe sigh if she did look on me!

Beyond compare my pain;
Yet glad am I,
If gentle Phoebe deign
To see her Montan die.

[Footnote 1:  companion.]

After this, Montanus felt his passions so extreme, that he fell into this exclamation against the injustice of Love: