“I grant it, fair shepherdess,” quoth he; “and to feed thee with the sweetness of hope, this resolve on:  I will never marry myself to woman but unto thyself.”

And with that Ganymede gave Phoebe a fruitless kiss, and such words of comfort, that before Ganymede departed she arose out of her bed, and made him and Montanus such cheer, as could be found in such a country cottage; Ganymede in the midst of their banquet rehearsing the promises of either in Montanus’ favor, which highly pleased the shepherd.  Thus, all three content, and soothed up in hope, Ganymede took his leave of his Phoebe and departed, leaving her a contented woman, and Montanus highly pleased.  But poor Ganymede, who had her thoughts on her Rosader, when she called to remembrance his wounds, filled her eyes full of tears, and her heart full of sorrows, plodded to find Aliena at the folds, thinking with her presence to drive away her passions.  As she came on the plains she might espy where Rosader and Saladyne sate with Aliena under the shade; which sight was a salve to her grief, and such a cordial unto her heart, that she tripped alongst the lawns full of joy.

At last Corydon, who was with them, spied Ganymede, and with that the clown rose, and, running to meet him, cried: 

“O sirrah, a match, a match! our mistress shall be married on Sunday.”

Thus the poor peasant frolicked it before Ganymede, who coming to the crew saluted them all, and especially Rosader, saying that he was glad to see him so well recovered of his wounds.

“I had not gone abroad so soon,” quoth Rosader, “but that I am bidden to a marriage, which, on Sunday next, must be solemnized between my brother and Aliena.  I see well where love leads delay is loathsome, and that small wooing serves where both the parties are willing.”

“Truth,” quoth Ganymede; “but a happy day should it be, if Rosader that day might be married to Rosalynde.”

“Ah, good Ganymede,” quoth he, “by naming Rosalynde, renew not my sorrows; for the thought of her perfections is the thrall of my miseries.”

“Tush, be of good cheer, man,” quoth Ganymede:  “I have a friend that is deeply experienced in negromancy and magic; what art can do shall be acted for thine advantage:  I will cause him to bring in Rosalynde, if either France or any bordering nation harbor her; and upon that take the faith of a young shepherd.”

Aliena smiled to see how Rosader frowned, thinking that Ganymede had jested with him.  But, breaking off from those matters, the page, somewhat pleasant, began to discourse unto them what had passed between him and Phoebe; which, as they laughed, so they wondered at, all confessing that there is none so chaste but love will change.  Thus they passed away the day in chat, and when the sun began to set they took their leaves and departed; Aliena providing for their marriage day such solemn cheer and handsome robes as fitted their country estate, and yet somewhat the better, in that Rosader had promised to bring Gerismond thither as a guest.  Ganymede, who then meant to discover herself before her father, had made her a gown of green, and a kirtle of the finest sendal,[1] in such sort that she seemed some heavenly nymph harbored in country attire.