“Saladyne, ever since I saw thee, I favored thee; I cannot dissemble my desires, because I see thou dost faithfully manifest thy thoughts, and in liking thee I love thee so far as mine honor holds fancy still in suspense; but if I knew thee as virtuous as thy father, or as well qualified as thy brother Rosader, the doubt should be quickly decided:  but for this time to give thee an answer, assure thyself this, I will either marry with Saladyne, or still live a virgin.”

And with this they strained one another’s hand; which Ganymede espying, thinking he had had his mistress long enough at shrift, said: 

“What, a match or no?”

“A match,” quoth Aliena, “or else it were an ill market.”

“I am glad,” quoth Ganymede.  “I would Rosader were well here to make up a mess.”

“Well remembered,” quoth Saladyne; “I forgot I left my brother Rosader alone, and therefore lest being solitary he should increase his sorrows, I will haste me to him.  May it please you, then, to command me any service to him, I am ready to be a dutiful messenger.”

“Only at this time commend me to him,” quoth Aliena, “and tell him, though we cannot pleasure him we pray for him.”

“And forget not,” quoth Ganymede, “my commendations; but say to him that Rosalynde sheds as many tears from her heart as he drops of blood from his wounds, for the sorrow of his misfortunes, feathering all her thoughts with disquiet, till his welfare procure her content:  say thus, good Saladyne, and so farewell.”

He having his message, gave a courteous adieu to them both, especially to Aliena, and so playing loath to depart, went to his brother.  But Aliena, she perplexed and yet joyful, passed away the day pleasantly, still praising the perfection of Saladyne, not ceasing to chat of her new love till evening drew on; and then they, folding their sheep, went home to bed.  Where we leave them and return to Phoebe.

Phoebe, fired with the uncouth[1] flame of love, returned to her father’s house, so galled with restless passions, as now she began to acknowledge, that as there was no flower so fresh but might be parched with the sun, no tree so strong but might be shaken with a storm, so there was no thought so chaste, but time armed with love could make amorous; for she that held Diana for the goddess of her devotion, was now fain to fly to the altar of Venus, as suppliant now with prayers, as she was forward before with disdain.  As she lay in her bed, she called to mind the several beauties of young Ganymede; first his locks, which being amber-hued, passeth the wreath that Phoebus puts on to make his front glorious; his brow of ivory was like the seat where love and majesty sits enthroned to enchain fancy; his eyes as bright as the burnishing of the heaven, darting forth frowns with disdain and smiles with favor, lightning such looks as would inflame desire, were she wrapped in the circle of the frozen zone; in his cheeks the vermilion teinture of the